#procedural intel

[computerised-scientist]

(Dr. Gemma Toystore AU) After a long Friday afternoon of families coming in and checking out the store, Gemma finally closes up shop. She gives a yawn and heads to Harley Sawyer's room with her cane. When she arrives, she knocks on the door. "Hi Harley, can I come in?"

*you hear him approach the door and suddenly the lock clicks as he pulls it open* come on in my Gemma, make yourself at home. *he’d slowly walk off to some table, pulling out a chair for you, beckoning you to enter* why don’t you take a seat my friend?

[santa-claus-fireside-chats]

Supposedly valid security concerns or procedures used to conceal evidence or testimony related to crimes

[demilypyro]

"Another damn Super."

Shotgun Sally had had her fill of fighting superheroes. Henching used to be easy. Crack some safes, intimidate some people, stand guard at some deals. It's the only skillset she's ever had, and she was happy doing it. She had no interest in moving up - too much paperwork and headache - and going straight was impossible with her record. No, henching was where it's at. Or it used to be. Until those meteor storms a few years ago. People getting superpowers from the radiation. Started wearing costumes. Ridiculous. Comic book stuff. Job hadn't been the same since.

Intel came in. Sally answered the phone, writing down all the info in her notebook as usual. New hero. Contact said she goes by "Miss Fire." Left a calling card, apparently? Stupid name. Basic. Probably young, unsponsored. Hasn't been caught on camera yet, but apparently some deals went bad. Bodies at the scene had third degree burns on their hands and faces. Not one of those no-killers, this one. The name made her easy to figure out. Typical energy projection hero, probably has flamethrower breath or shoots fireballs. You hear it all the time, kid gets some flashy powers, gets full of herself, decides to be a crime fighter. Nobody ever trains the Supers to care about human life. Sally'd never had a reason to kill anybody in her work. Some rounds at the feet usually scares people into compliance. At most she'd take a few teeth or break some bones, but she'd never killed. What was their excuse?

Sally was tense. The contact was late. Deal was supposed to be done by now. That meant something was up. But it wasn't her decision whether they pulled out or not, that was up to the boss. She was watching a rat eat a pizza. Then she heard it. Gunfire, sounds of burning and screaming. "We got a Super!" A nod from the boss, and Sally was off.

Sally darted around a corner. There she was. The kid wasn't exactly what she was expecting. Usually these flashy types are dressed in spandex, or wearing heels (ridiculous), but this one was wearing simple boots and a parka. What confused Sally most of all was the lack of any glowing. Usually with these energy projection heroes you could tell what bodypart their powers came from by a residual glow, especially if they'd used their powers recently. Nothing around the throat or the hands.... In fact, her hands weren't even out. They were in her pockets. She looked totally relaxed. Was this not the hero?

Sally leveled her shotgun. She was about twenty paces away. Standard procedure with heroes was to keep your distance, in case they have melee powers. But she was more than close enough to turn the girl into a cheese grater if need be. She had to find out if this was the hero or not. Sally always preferred the direct approach. "Miss Fire, I presume?"

"That's me," the girl replied. Her face was blank. "You don't wanna be pointing that thing at me."

The girl's candor was annoying. "I believe I do. See I've been hearing about you hurting my people. I can't have that."

"They shot first. It wasn't on me."

"I'm gonna give you one chance to get out of here. It's past your bedtime."

"Make me."

Alright, that was enough talking. Sally couldn't tell if this kid had powers or what, but there was only one way to find out. Sally switched her shotgun to a low-spread mode and aimed between the girl's feet. If this wasn't the Super, this would scare her off. If she IS the Super... well, whatever happens happens.

Sally almost missed it. In a swift motion, the girl took her hands out of her pockets and opened both at Sally as if to reach out to her. Sally's reflexes kicked in, throwing herself to the ground to dodge the oncoming fireball or laser beam or whatever it was. But nothing came. The girl was just standing there, with her arms out. She looked like an idiot. Sally got up. "Of all the... what the hell do you think you're doing? I could've shot you."

The girl seemed surprised that she hadn't. She looked scared. "Usually they do by now..." she whimpered. She suddenly turned around and started running in the other direction. Sally was stunned. She was about to chase after her, but then she heard a noise she didn't like. Her gun. It was hissing at her. In fact, it was glowing. Alarmed, Sally threw the shotgun away from her as fast as she could. As it collided with the ground, it exploded into a ball of purple and blue flames.

Sally sat on the ground, watching the smoking remains of her favorite gun. She took her notebook out, and flipped to the info about the new hero. She crossed out "Miss Fire" and wrote "Misfire" under it.

"I hate Supers."

[rioromanoffroses]

Ovulation

G!P Natasha Romanoff x Fem Reader

Warnings: 18+ content, masturbating, oral sex (R and Natasha receiving), finger sucking, dry humping, fingering, unprotected sex (P in V), overstimulation

Summary: You're ovulating while on a mission, causing you to be uncomfortably aroused. Luckily, the agent with you is more than eager to help you out...

WC: 4.1k

The motel was just like any other – grey, dusty and lit only by dim off-white. You would only be here for a night and when you pressed your hand against the cold metal of the radiator, you were glad. You debated whether or not you ask the receptionist about it but keeping your head low was key when travelling on an undercover mission. The more questions you asked and the more times your face was seen and captured by CCTV, the greater the risks. You decided against it.

You inspected the bedroom, following safety procedures which included searching for signs of any electronic devices but luckily, there were none. The bed was a small double with beige, striped sheets that were thinner than you would’ve liked. The back wall was taken up entirely by a sturdy, wooden cupboard that matched the tawny-brown, bedside tables covered in dust. You switched on the lamp and ran your hand over the mattress, noting that you would need to wear thick layers of clothing to bed. You assumed the other bedroom was the same but didn’t bother checking. The other agent could do that.

You sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing your forehead with the palm of your hand. One of the things you hated most about being a woman and a spy was the problems it caused when it conflicted with your cycle. Missions on your period were uncomfortable, draining and painful. Ovulation week was also a mess; you had no way of dealing with the surge of hormones it triggered while on a mission. You made a mental note to take a cold shower after the other agent arrived. 

You read over the intel for the upcoming mission while you waited for them, straining your ears for the door. It was a complicated mission; you had to infiltrate the base of a growing terrorist organisation and hack into their systems to gather as much information about them as you could. S.H.I.E.L.D. knew scarily little about the organisation so you were going in almost blind – anything could happen. 

The plan was for two agents, including you, to blend in as one of the terrorists to get into the base. You were unaware of the identity of the agent you were paired with. You were curious to know if they were someone you’d worked with before or a complete stranger. You assumed the latter – you were still young and hadn’t been assigned to many difficult missions yet. You tightened your arms around yourself, shivering as the light outside the window was sucked from the sky, the moon blocked out by an array of dark, restless clouds. 

“You look cold.” You jumped and leapt on your feet, spinning around to see a woman standing behind you. Her face was painted with a smirk and she looked at you with her hands on her hips, her jade eyes travelling up and down your body. You swallowed. How did you not hear her come in? S.H.I.E.L.D. weren’t exaggerating when they said she was the very best they had at espionage. You didn’t realise you were staring at her until she brought you out of your thoughts, “Cat got your tongue?”

“Uh, sorry,” you said, clearing your throat, “Yeah, I am. East Europe is always freezing at this time of year.” You could feel sweat trickling down your neck. Not only were you ovulating on a mission but you were stuck with an extremely attractive woman during it. You were so fucked. 

“Mm, it is,” she said, stepping towards you and offering out her hand. You noticed the electrified branches of azure and emerald running down her arms up to her fingers, pushing up against the skin, your heart thundering against your ribcage. You quickly pulled yourself out of your trance. You were a spy for goodness sake, not the nervous wreck or helpless whore your elevated levels of estrogen were making you feel like. You shook her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said, “I’m Agent Y/l/n.” You pulled your hand away from hers before she could pick up on your clammy palms but unbeknownst to you, she’d already felt them. 

“I know,” she said, “I’m Agent Romanoff but to you, it’s Natasha.” You could feel your breath hitch in your throat. Natasha. You could already imagine how those three, pretty syllables would feel falling off your tongue. 

You dismissed your dirty thoughts immediately, feeling ashamed of yourself. She was a stranger and your teammate; you seriously needed to pull yourself together. She nodded to the file in your hand, “I see you’re already prepared for the mission.”

“I was just double-checking all the details,” you said. The tight, black shirt and jeans she was wearing hugged her in all the right places, her sculpted arms in full view to you. She must take her training seriously, you thought, I wonder how often she goes to the gym.

“Good,” she said, dropping her bag on the floor, “I already know I’ll enjoy working with you.” You placed your hands behind your back so she couldn’t see your fidgeting fingers. Your gaze fell onto the bag and you frowned.

“Oh, were you planning on sleeping in here?” You said, “I’ll move to the other room then.” She held her arm in front of you as you stepped towards the door. 

“There isn’t another room.” You felt your heart drop. You realised the other door must be to the bathroom. You couldn’t imagine how your situation could get any worse, “Are you unhappy with that arrangement?”

“No, not at all,” you lied, “I just didn’t expect it, that’s all.” You swallowed, hard. You started moving towards the door, “I’m going to take a shower,” you mumbled, not waiting for her answer. You fumbled with the handle, cursing under your breath and slammed the door shut behind you. 

You didn’t waste any time taking off your clothes and turning on the shower, sighing as the cold droplets collided with your burning skin. The water only offered you a few moments of relief, however. The more you thought about the redhead and how close you’d be together that night, the more you fed the raging arousal between your legs. It became clear that there was only one way you were going to calm yourself down.

You covered your hand with your mouth as you touched yourself, your mind overwhelmed by images of Natasha. It didn’t take long for you to reach your climax and you were certain that the sound of the shower and your hand had muffled out all your moans. You cleaned yourself before stepping out, drying yourself with a towel and getting dressed, praying that your body would be satisfied for the night. When you returned to the bedroom, Natasha was on the bed facing you, resting a pillow on her lap.

“You’re even prettier in real life than you are in your pictures,” she said, the unexpected compliment drowning you in butterflies. You noticed that her cheeks were flushed a bright red and her breaths seemed more laboured than before. 

“Really?” you said in disbelief. You had never seen yourself as unattractive but you didn’t think you were anything special either. You were nothing compared to the Goddess in front of you, that was for sure. She chuckled.

“You’re a humble one,” she mused, “How cute.” You couldn’t quite believe her words. Natasha thought you, of all people, were humble? You searched the room, looking for any kind of escape from the conversation and spotted a clock hung above the bed.

“It’s getting late,” you said, trying to hide your stutter, “I’ll sleep on the floor.” You knew it would be uncomfortable but anything was better than being next to Natasha. You’d slept in awkward places before so you’d just have to deal with it.

“No you won’t,” she said, shuffling to the other side of the bed and lifting the sheets, “There’s room for both of us, see?” The amount of room wasn’t the problem – it was the proxemics between you and the internal chaos your body was experiencing. How were you supposed to explain that to Natasha though? You noticed the moment your eyes fell on her that her autonomy wasn’t the same as yours so she wouldn’t understand your dilemma.

“Uh, okay,” you said, knowing you had no choice. You never sounded nervous or vulnerable, not even with your close family and friends. If embarrassment was a type of poison, you’d have collapsed in agony by now. You climbed into bed beside Natasha, turning your back to her. You were reminded of how small the bed was when you shifted slightly and felt her hand brush against the small of your back. You took a deep breath. You were in for a long night. 

She switched off the bedside lamp and to your horror, you could hear her unbutton her jeans and discard them on the floor. It was almost as if she was doing it on purpose. You tensed your muscles, forcing yourself to stay as still as humanely possible so there was less chance of you accidentally making contact with each other again.

“That’s better,” she mumbled and you felt her leg against yours as she adjusted her position to make herself more comfortable. You didn’t know how long it took for you to fall asleep with her body so close to yours, her breath creating goosebumps along every part of your skin that it hit. Unfortunately, you found out the hard way that your head was the worst place to escape to you in your current state. 

You woke up, gasping and blinded by the darkness around you. You pushed yourself up, feeling the slick on your thighs from the filthy dream you had just experienced. Natasha’s head had been buried between your thighs and you had been an absolute mess beneath her. You could honestly die from humiliation – how could your mind conjure up something so vile while you were sleeping next to her? As you were about to move off the bed and sprint into the bathroom, a light was switched on and you felt a hand tighten around your wrist. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Natasha said, a dark rasp accompanying her words, “You are not going into the bathroom to fuck yourself again.” Your eyes widened and you felt a tide of heat rush to your cheeks. She’d heard you. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said, “I shouldn’t have, it was really inappropriate of me…” She silenced you by straddling your hips, trapping you beneath her on the bed. Before you could react, you were distracted by the feeling of something hard against your stomach. You looked down to see Natasha in only her boxers, the bulge pressing against your abdomen straining in its confines. Your jaw dropped. It had never even occurred to you that there was a chance she’d want you too.

“I was going to let you make the first move,” she said, “But you took too long.” From how the other agents described you, she had been so sure your boldness and confidence would’ve caused you to spring onto her immediately. She was annoyed that she’d had to listen to you pleasure yourself in the shower without her but at the same time, Natasha loved that her presence had changed your demeanour so much. 

You gulped and looked up into her eyes, seeing that her iris had shrunk into a thin line around her blown pupils. You drunk in the sight of her on top of you, placing your hands on top of her bare, supple thighs, her skin like velvet beneath you. 

“Fuck,” you breathed. She tilted up your chin, running her thumb over your bottom lip, wanting a better view of you.

“Tsk tsk. Such a dirty mouth.” You knew you shouldn’t be letting her walk all over you but you were enjoying it more than you wanted to admit. She lifted herself off your body so she could move her other hand to the waistband of your trousers. She hooked a finger underneath the material, “Can I?” You nodded and she dug her nails into your chin, “I want to hear you say it.” You weren’t used to this power dynamic – you were always the more dominant one. 

“Yes,” you said, “You can. Please.” She grinned at your obedience and slipped her hand into your pants, feeling you drip onto her fingertips. She groaned.

“Oh God, you’re so wet already,” she said, “I could stuff you with my cock right now if I wanted to.” She removed her hand from your underwear and brought it to your mouth, pushing her fingers past your lips. You sucked her digits hungrily, tasting yourself on your tongue. The sight only drove Natasha even crazier but she also felt a pang of envy, wishing it was her cock in your mouth instead. You felt so good around her fingers.

After pulling her digits out of your mouth, she lowered herself onto your body and she didn’t hesitate to connect her lips with yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. Her lips moulded against yours perfectly and you moved in sync with her, your kisses becoming more and more desperate. She could taste your sweetness as she kissed you and she forced herself to forget about breathing, not wanting to pull away for even a second. Her hands cupped your face and you reached up to tangle yours in her hair, her lips staining yours with garnet lust. 

You pulled her even closer against your chest, your mind a buzz of her and her only. You let her tongue slide between your teeth when you felt it press against your bottom lip, making no effort to fight against it with your own. She swallowed your whines, her crotch grinding against your thigh. You had never hooked up with anyone before; you weren’t that kind of person. But you were willing to break all your rules for Natasha and give every part of you to her without hesitation. 

Her mouth moved to your jawline, littering your face with kisses, her hands trailing down your arms. You shivered under her feather-light touch, gasping as her teeth sunk into your neck, intending to leave a bruise that everyone else would see. She tugged at the hem of your shirt.

“Take it off,” she said. She leaned back to give you space to pull it over your head and unhook your bra before she pounced on you like an animal. She traced her fingers over your collarbones before venturing further down to your chest, her fingers circling your nipples. You arched into her touch as she caressed your breasts, her movements sending a spark straight to your core. You reached down to cup her bulge, noticing the wet patch on her boxers but she slapped your hand away, “No touching,” she snapped. 

“Please, Natasha,” you said, “I need you; it hurts.” She tutted.

“Patience,” she husked. She pulled away from you and started taking off her clothes, freeing her aching breasts before pushing down her boxers. Her erection sprang out from the material, the tip inflamed and ringed by an enraged red, pre-cum dribbling onto the sheets beneath her. 

She led back onto the pillow, giving you a full view of her body and you took a moment to admire her. Everything about her was a masterpiece – her facial features, her muscles, her curves. Her crimson hair was a mess around her shoulders and the front pieces had fallen forward, framing her face, “I want to fuck that pretty mouth of yours.” You shook your head.

“No, Natasha,” you pleaded, “It’ll feel so much better in my pussy, I promise…” You fell silent as her eyes burnt into you. You reluctantly crawled over to her on all fours, hesitating before wrapping your mouth around the tip. You tried to irk her, moving as slow as possible but she grabbed a hold of your head and started pushing you down on her cock. 

“Suck.” You gagged around her length as she started bucking her hips upwards so she was fucking your mouth but the sound only drove her more. It didn’t take long for you to start moving your head up and down her cock without any guidance, guttural moans escaping Natasha’s mouth from the warmth and skill of your tongue, “Fuck, that shut you up.”

Tears spilt down your cheeks as she hit the back of your throat over and over again, the vibrations of your whines sending even more waves of pleasure through her body. She lifted her legs onto your shoulders so you could grab onto her thighs, spurring you on even more, “I’m so close,” she breathed. Her thrusts were messy and out of rhythm by the time she came undone, spilling her cum into your mouth. You made sure to swallow it all. 

She pulled her cock out of your mouth, a mixture of cum and drool coating her length, some of it dribbling down your chin, “You did so well. Such a good slut for me.” She took a moment to catch her breath, watching with eagerness as you pulled down your trousers and your panties that were positively ruined, throwing them on the floor. There were tears of white running down your legs and your clit was visibly swollen. She smirked wickedly, “You want me that bad, huh?”

“Please, I’ve been a good girl,” you whined. You tried to reach for her again but she caught hold of your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Lie down.” You went to lay on your back but she grabbed your shoulders, her nails indenting crescent-moons into your skin before pushing you down onto your stomach. You gasped as her hand pressed against your cunt, her fingers running through your sensitive folds. Her movements were slow and deliberate, intending to increase your need but not give in to it.

“More,” you begged as her thumb massaged your clit. The smell of sex was heavy in the air and your senses were intoxicated by the vanilla and brown sugar fragrance of her perfume. She gave your clit a sharp pinch in response to your pleas, causing you to inhale a sharp intake of breath.

“You’re insatiable,” she said, “You’re begging to be fucked by a woman you just met. Like a whore.” You started rubbing your crotch against her hand, your motions erratic and frantic. 

“More, please,” you cried, your thoughts becoming incoherent as the need between your legs started to burn, “Please, Natasha.” She pushed two fingers inside of you, stretching out your entrance but making sure to avoid your g-spot. 

“Tell me what you want.” 

“I want you inside of me,” you groaned as she added a third digit to your cunt. Natasha started to play with her breasts using her free hand; she was burning for you just as badly as you were for and the sound of your begging only worsened her desire. It took all the strength in her body to hold herself back and not ruin you right there and then. She was so glad you couldn’t see her.

“I am inside of you.” You whined.

“I want your cock. I need it inside of me, please.” She grabbed hold of your hips, smirking. As much as she enjoyed seeing you so needy for her, her patience was wearing thin.

“Then you’ll take it all.” She suddenly rammed inside you without any warning, not being able to resist you for any longer and you cried out in shock. Your initial discomfort was drowned by explosive bliss as Natasha filled you to the brim, hitting places you didn’t even know existed. She was met with no resistance as she rutted into you despite her size which stretched you out deliciously. Your pussy was so much better than she could’ve ever imagined.

She flattened herself against your back, needing to feel more of you. She grunted against your ear as her hips slammed into your ass with each powerful stroke. You were dizzy with pleasure as her speed increased, your moans intensifying as she started to pound into your sweet spot. She was older and more experienced than anyone you had been with before which was evident in how she was making you feel. Your body was coursing with more pleasure than you thought was humanely possible. 

The knot in your stomach was tightening fast and the sounds of your wet cunt were echoing through the room, “Oh fuck, you’re so tight,” Natasha said, not caring about her dignity anymore, too lost in the sensation of your warmth clenching around her cock, “Tell me how you feel baby.” 

“I feel so, so good,” you said, “Please, don’t stop.” You looked back at her and she tilted her head so your lips could connect for a moment before her mouth moved to your shoulder. She sucked on the soft skin there, slowing down so she could sink deeper into your cunt. She could feel your legs trembling beneath her own as you pushed back in rhythm with each of her thrusts.

“How close are you?” Natasha didn’t want to admit it but she was already teetering on the edge, struggling to hold back from how well you were taking her. You could feel her movements become sloppy as more and more of your juices gushed from your entrance. 

“So close,” you said, your walls clenching even harder around her cock. It only took a few more thrusts before you could feel gasoline flood your bloodstream, ready to be set on fire, “Natasha, f-fuck…” You didn’t even have to say it.

“Let go for me,” she commanded. You let the knot in your stomach unravel, screaming her name as all the nerves in your body were electrified, sparks of searing light shooting across your vision. No drug could replicate the state of euphoria you were both lost in as your walls were drowned by white, your cunt milking her cock dry until there wasn’t a single drop left to give. You had never experienced an orgasm so strong, so prolonged, so incredible. You expected Natasha to stop after fucking you through your high but instead, she picked up her pace again. You whimpered.

“Natasha, that’s enough…” She pulled out of you and flipped you onto your back before slipping straight back inside of you. Your eyes widened. 

“What’s wrong?” she mocked, “You begged for my cock, slut. Isn’t this what you wanted?” She smirked when you didn’t give her an answer, already drowning in ecstasy again despite the building ache between your legs. You were losing your grip on reality as the new angle gave her access to more places inside of you and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you were overstimulated. 

She didn’t take her eyes off you, wanting to see your reaction to everything she gave you. You were growing more sensitive by the second and you could feel her cock throbbing against your walls each time you squeezed her, drops of perspiration gleaming on every inch of your skin. You reached up to cup Natasha’s breasts, the extra layer of stimulation pushing her towards yet another climax in record time. 

She started to rub your clit, hoping to speed up your release but it was becoming evident she’d have to release without you. You wrapped your legs around her waist, pulling her even closer and for a moment, she forgot your pleasure, getting too lost in her own. She tore her eyes away from you and threw her head back, panting like a dog. 

“Cum inside me,” you said and at the sound of your words, she didn’t hesitate, letting her orgasm crash into her body with full force. She moaned your name between gasps as she was hit by waves of bliss that slowly decreased in intensity as the milliseconds passed, pulsing through her entire body. She finally pulled out of you and collapsed on the bed. You both gasped for breath, your thighs and the sheets beneath you stained with lust. You were glad you hadn’t climaxed this time – you didn’t think you’d have survived it. 

“That was fucking incredible,” Natasha admitted, turning her head to face you. You nodded in agreement, too fucked out to form a sentence, your limbs still shaking from adrenaline.

That morning, Natasha woke you up with her cock between your legs, already hard and ready for another round. Her hands only left your body during the mission and three days later after its success, she didn’t hesitate to fuck you senseless until you passed out.

Part 2

[harmonyrae]

Vow - Part 3

Synopsis: You need to fix this. It’s not about protection anymore, you need him. Just him. And what you don’t know yet… he needs you too.

AN: I've decided to post shorter parts instead of ~20k chapters. It means I can post more often and enjoy the process a lil more. I can also provide more cliffhangers. Smile. Cover image from Pinterest.

Content Warnings: Explicit language & sexual themes, serious injuries, blood, graphic violence & implied death, medical terms/procedures described, HEAVY praise kink, Cunnilingus, Genital Piercings, Dom!Sylus & Domestic!Sylus in one chapter (delicious), Sub/Brat!FMC (reader), Mating Press (yas pls), 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 8.1k

Sylus’s POV

She hates you. She thinks you’re a monster. And she’s right. Becoming the leader of Onychinus wasn’t exactly agreed upon over a business luncheon. You killed for the right to bare the title. But it's not all about violence and illegal protocore trading, you’ve made an impact. Legal businesses, safe places to live, it’s better than it was when you arrived. But she’ll only ever see your darkness.

You’re not even paying attention to how fast you’re going at this point. You know the roads to take, the alleys to avoid and officers won’t pull you over. Police in the Zone have given up chasing your bike - they know better. You also pay most of them to keep their noses clean. Yes, technically they’re still dirty cops since they’re taking a bribe, but they’re actually protecting people now that they’re well paid. 

A warehouse on the water, your intel wasn’t rock solid, but it was enough to go off of. You’ll burn the whole complex down if you need to. Once you spot the Escalade you try to ignore the feeling of disappointment. A little arson would have been nice. 

You park your bike behind a box truck and remove your helmet. With every step closer to the entryway, you feel the ground pulse with energy, you sense 6 distinct sources. One of which is approaching the door you need to get through. Wouldn’t it be nice… 

“Fuck –” 

The man who swings open the door immediately recognizes you, but he’s thrown back before he can utter another word. Chaos ensues as the other men rise to their feet and unholster their weapons. To your surprise, their weapons are advanced and definitely use protocore power. Seems Onychinus has a rat, Volkova has been building his arsenal with your weapons.

Okay, well, maybe the rat is doing you a favor, these weapons are absolute shit. Letting the bullets phase through you is easier than dodging at this point, so when half of their guns jam it just means time saved. You disarm the men, their guns dismantled and displaced. A stray bullet from the man upstairs rips through your jacket and into your upper back. You’re accustomed to pain, but it still stings like a bitch.

“Annoying…” You mutter.

The man disintegrates where he stands. The other men, who’ve barely regained their footing, barrel towards you. Paying them half-a-mind, you continue walking to the back office where your primary target most likely has dick in his hand, celebrating a victory that hasn’t come to pass. He really needs to stop doing that, has he learned nothing?

A knife wedges itself deep between your ribs. If it was a normal knife you would have laughed, but Volkova has smuggled protocore knives from Linkon. Of course he has. The knife erupts, sending a burst of heat through your side. Falling forward, you try to yank it out, but two men pile on top of you. 

“I got him!”

“Sure about that?”

One’s sent straight up in the air, knocking the other man aside. You pull the knife free and roll over. As the man descends, you hold out your arm so he lands directly on the knife, the blade buried in his stomach. Using his corpse as a weapon, you fling him across the room to knock down the other men. With the rest of them unconscious, you brush yourself off and try to ignore the brutal sting in your side. 

You bring the only worthwhile weapon in the room back to you with a snap of your fingers. A knife with explosive capabilities that localizes to the wound? Sure, you’ll keep this one. You wipe the blood off on your pants and head into the next room.

As soon as you’re inside, a door flies open and a large man - no, large isn’t the right word… A colossal, behemoth, a monstrosity of man steps through. You didn’t realize the Hulk’s body was attainable. He doesn’t have a weapon, he doesn’t need one, he is one. Your mind buzzes with anticipation, immediately calculating the size of the room, your current injuries dampening your evol, his fist size… This one might hurt. 

“Malen'kiy chelovek, ukhodi.” 

“I’ve never been called little before. Well…”

She had suggested “Lil S” as a nickname. The way her eyes twinkled as she giggled, so pleased with herself. Did she get home safely?

“Malen'kiy chelovek umret.”

Damn, your Russian is rusty. 

“Bol'shoy chelovek, zatknis' nakhuy.”

Big man is not pleased, telling this beast of a man to shut the fuck up may have been a bad move. But he did just threaten to kill you, so it’s only fair. He roars and only needs three steps to reach you. His massive hand is around your throat and if your evol hadn’t been on autopilot, your head would be rolling across the floor like a bouncy ball right now. You grunt and gasp as he lifts you up, your feet kicking to find some kind of leverage. 

The knife in your hand rips through his suit and slices at the flesh of his forearms. He shouts and hurls you across the room, so this is what it feels like… Your body slams into the wall and the room dims for a moment. Ears ringing, blood trickling down your forehead, a few bones definitely broken, you lay on the floor and regain control of your lungs. Your giant friend stalks over. You keep your eyes closed, feeling the vibrations through the floor, his energy pattern forming a bright outline behind your eyelids. Closer, just a bit closer.

“Malen'kiy chelovek ne sootvetstvuyet legende.” 

Rude, he’s catching you on an off day, you write your own legends of course they’re accurate. He crouches and your eyes flutter open, barely able to make out his face as he blocks out the light above you. But his smile is unmistakable. 

“Arrogant…” 

With your last bit of energy, you roll and jab the knife between his eyes. The son-of-a-bitch staggers and falls forward. Sitting up on your knees you put all your body weight onto the knife, ending the poor bastard's miserable existence. You have to use your foot to pull the knife free, like hell you’re leaving it now. 

It’s been a very long time since you’ve emerged from a fight looking bloody and beaten. And you haven’t even confronted Volkova. You sigh and limp up the stairs to the final door, only one pulse of energy is in this room. Kicking the door in, you see Volkova lounging in an armchair in the corner, like he’s been waiting for you. 

A monitor on his desk flashes, scenes of the wreckage you’ve caused. You smile.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

Volkova stands, walking to the desk to lean against the edge.

“Watching you get thrown around was certainly entertaining.”

You take a cautious step forward, then another, slowly closing the distance.

“You should learn to fall from grace with… well, grace. Maybe then you’ll finally earn the respect you crave.”

He smiles and lifts a hand to run his fingers through his beard. 

“You think I haven’t noticed? How your plot to fuck me over by using her has become… well… Sylus, you’re the one who told me that happy endings don’t work out for men like us. Or do I have to remind you of what happened last time you tried?”

Your scream is raw and unfiltered, barely recognizable. He doesn’t get to mention her. You lunge for him, tackling him over the desk to the floor. He lands a punch to your jaw which knocks you back. He tries to get on top of you, but you send your knee into his gut. You’ve hit your limit, there’s no energy left in your tank. So you rely on your training, forcing the knife in your hand against his throat. The asshole smiles, even as a trail of blood begins to stain his shirt collar. 

“Touched a nerve? What makes her so special?”

“She’s mine.”

You flip the knife around and place the tip over his heart. He glares at you, his wicked smile remains, making your head pound. The pressure behind your eyes becomes unbearable and the familiar silence that precedes the glow begins. Volkova notices, you’re sure of it, because he finally shuts his mouth. A voice, you know it to be your own, but ancient and rigid, echoes through the small office. 

“The only reason you are still alive is because of her. An angel begging the devil to change his ways. You will leave the N109 Zone. You will stay away from her. Or you will watch everything you’ve built, everything you care about, burn before you have the honor of meeting your fate. Do you understand me?”

Volkova nods, but his eyes tell a different story. His rage knows no bounds, but he’s finally afraid. Like he should have been all along.

By the time you reach your bike the front of your shirt is soaked in sweat and blood. If you can make it home without crashing you’ll have a hell of a mess to clean up. What if she left? The thought sobers you and you push your bike to the limit to carry you home.

Stumbling through the elevator door, you nearly collapse onto the entry table. Taking small steps, you carefully shed your clothing. Your favorite jacket ruined with a large caliber exit through the front, shredding the leather holding the sleeve up. Your previously ash gray tank top stained brown with drying blood, a tear where the knife pushed through. Even your gloves are soaked as you peel them off, droplets of blood drip off your fingertips. 

The door to the bathroom slams against the wall, so much for being quiet. You close the door with your foot and limp to the sink, opening the mirror cabinet to retrieve the medkit and a few extra bandages. You look back and realize the mess you’ve made, footprints, a smear over the door, the sink spotted. Opting to use the shower as your recovery room, you slide down the cool tile wall. You hold a gauze pad over the wound on your side and close your eyes.

“Come on… Come on…” 

If only willpower was enough to refuel your evol. It’ll be awhile before you’re strong enough to close these wounds. Searching through the medkit you find some antiseptic wipes and spray, surgical tape and compression bandages. A single spritz of the spray has you groaning, why does that sting so goddamn much…

You’ve barely secured the compression bandage when a wave of dizziness overwhelms you. Resting your head against the shower wall, you hold pressure on the leaking wound to your side. With your other hand you feel your pants pockets only to realize you’ve left your phone in your jacket. Which is out in the hallway. Which is too far for you to crawl at this moment in time. You should have called Zayne before driving home… There’s another option, but she’s probably asleep. And she hates you. 

Waking up after crying yourself to sleep is never pleasant. Your eyes are puffy, your nose is stuffy, your head hurts, your pillow is wet with tears. You sit up slowly and press your palms over your eyes. You’ll never be able to go back to sleep with a headache like this. You need to wash your face again, maybe that will help. 

You wrap a throw blanket around your shoulders and shuffle out the door. The kitchen is dark, but you don’t want to risk Sylus finding out you’re awake. If he’s even home… You grab a water bottle out of the fridge and lean against the counter to down half of it. The “medical stuff” box is still in your closet, you might have some painkillers in there. 

As you walk back to your room, you notice the light by the elevator is still on. It’s automatic, which means Sylus must have just come home not that long ago. You take another step, but a heap on the floor by the elevator stops you. Curiosity gets the better of you and you get closer. It’s his jacket… And there’s muddy footprints all over the place. 

It’s not raining.

You look closer and cover your mouth to swear under your breath. It’s blood. You shrug off the blanket around your shoulders and toss it over a chair in the entryway. Following the bloody trail down the hallway, you find a smear of blood on the door to the bathroom. Just as you’re about to open the door you hear a low groan. Panic overwhelms you and before you can stop to consider what you’re walking in on, you throw open the door.

Jumping over the bloody boot prints, you enter the room and immediately spot Sylus sitting in the shower. You rush over to him and crouch down, dropping to your knees next to him. He’s patched himself up as best he can, but you can already tell there are a few wounds that need sutures. He hasn’t looked up so you assume he’s unconscious. You reach across his lap to retrieve the medkit beside him and scream when he grabs your wrist.

“Fuck! Sylus… oh my god, I thought you were unconscious. What happened?” 

“I’m fine.” 

His voice is strained and his breathing is labored. You’ve been a doctor long enough to know better. Why is he being so stubborn?

“You’re bleeding, you’re obviously not fine.”

“My evol will… fix it… I just need time… “

“Well your evol isn’t fixing it fast enough, you’ll bleed out. Let me –”

“Just go. I’m fine.”

“Sylus, stop. Let me help you.”

Is he pushing you away because he’s angry? Or because he’s in pain and doesn’t want you to see him like this? It doesn’t matter, you’re not going to let him bleed out. You grab the medkit and take inventory of the tools you have at your disposal. It’s not much, but you’ll make do. You reach out to lift the gauze on his side that is soaked through, but he stops you.

“Sylus…”

“Go.”

“No, I’m not leaving!”

He tries to move away, but you grab his shoulder making him wince.

“Sylus. Stop.”

He closes his eyes, he won’t admit defeat, but he won’t keep pushing you away. You’ll take what you can get at this point. You replace the gauze on his side and stand to scavenge through the medicine cabinet. To your surprise, you find another medkit with a small sewing kit inside. The kit labels the thread as a nylon material, so you hurry to the sink to wash your hands. When you turn around you see Sylus look away. You’d forgotten you were only wearing a thin t-shirt and panties to bed. It’s not like you’re going to throw on scrubs, he’s seen everything now… You return to his side and put on a pair of gloves out of the first medkit and sanitize the needle. 

“You’re wasting your time, they’ll be closed by morning.”

“I don’t care.” 

You clean the area as best you can and hold the wound closed. Sylus grabs your hand again.

“I don’t need –”

“Sylus, stop it! You’re the worst patient I’ve ever had! Now sit still and shut the fuck up!”

He stares at you with wide eyes. You can’t tell if he’s angry or amused, but it seems he’s done fighting. He lets you go and leans back. He winces and swears under his breath as you begin suturing his wound closed. You work quickly since you don’t have any anesthetic and if you think about the sight in front of you for too much longer, your hands will start to shake. You spread an antibiotic cream around the edges of the wound and place another bandage on top. 

The bruises forming over his ribcage and on his jaw are massive, but they seem to fluctuate, like a pulse. He said his evol would “fix it” - so he can self-heal? His body must be trying so hard to repair the damage. Patching up a few of his wounds may help his evol replenish faster. You don’t stop, suturing the exit wound on his chest next before having him lean forward to address the entry point. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Once you finish, he rolls his shoulder to test the strength of your stitches. You take his hand again, opening your own to begin cooling your skin with your evol. Tiny snow crystals form over your fingers. But before you can cover the swollen skin he, once again, pulls back.

“Why didn’t you go to Zayne?”

He remains silent. You rest your frosted hand over the bandage on his chest and he gasps, but he still refuses to look at you. His avoidance only irritates you further and your eyes soon glaze over with tears. You always cry when you’re mad and right now, you’re positively livid. 

“Sylus, you could have died. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means, it doesn’t matter. I bleed, heal, rinse and repeat.”

“So what? You almost bleed out in a bathroom and you what? You don’t care?”

“And you do?”

“Stop it!”

“What?” 

He looks away, but you grab his jaw and pull his focus back to you. He flinches as you hold his slightly swollen jaw still.

“Stop acting like if something happened to you it wouldn’t matter.”

“Would it?”

You slam your other hand down against the wall beside his head. As you hover over him, he just watches you, his once vibrant eyes vacant and misty. You can’t do this anymore. You can’t aimlessly flirt or fight with this man and watch him return to you battered and bloody. Because one day, he might not return at all.

“It would matter to me.”

“Why?” He whispers.

“Because yours is too…”

He remains silent, his lips try to form words but fail, so you continue.

“Your life is important to me. I don’t… I…I can’t lose you…”

Ignoring the fear, the worry, the doubt, the inconvenient timing, you grab his face and dive forward to kiss him. Your tender kiss becomes feral as soon as he grabs onto your hips, dragging you onto his lap. He groans into your mouth, his aching jaw long forgotten as he holds onto you, digging his fingers into your bare thighs. 

You suck on his bottom lip which earns you a delicious moan. A gentle bite and a smile forms on his kiss-swollen lips. Your hands thread through his hair, keeping him in place to continue your attack. It’s all teeth and tongue and gasps and groans, your mind goes blank as you surrender to the ecstasy of simply being close to this man. His fingers dip under the hem of your shirt, you roll your hips as you press your body against his. The unmistakable hardness of his cock strains against his jeans, you can feel him shake as you roll your hips a second time. 

“Angel…” 

He mumbles against your lips as he tries to break away. You kiss his cheek, his jaw, and continue down his neck. His breathing is staggered, his cocky laugh not so cocky. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

You sit back and grab the bottom of your shirt, pulling it over your head and dropping it to the floor beside him. He looks like a kid in a candy shop, not sure where to look first. Your flushed face, your glistening skin, your heaving breasts, your nipples just begging to be touched and bitten. You press your naked chest against his, his nipple rings providing a chill that sends a shiver down your spine. His hands travel up your back, his warm palms keeping you pinned against him.

“Yes… Sylus please…” You whisper against his ear.

He places a gentle kiss to the center of your chest, continuing along your collarbone and up the side of your neck. Your head tilts back and your eyes close. The wet heat of his tongue dragging along the center of your throat pulls a whimper from deep in your chest. His hands knead the flesh of your hips as his lips capture yours again. He wastes no time, opening his own mouth to invite your tongue inside. You might blackout if he keeps kissing you like this, but fuck… you don’t want him to stop.

You’re suddenly off balance and cling to his shoulders as he stands. You allow him to guide your legs around his waist, but look down at him with concern.

“You’re hurt… I –”

Sylus squeezes your ass and you jolt, your thighs tensing in a futile attempt to control your own arousal. He carefully side steps the bloody boot prints and carries you out into the hall.

“This…” He kisses your shoulder. “Is helping…”

He continues to hold you close, one hand spread across your back, the other supporting your thigh. You let your hand roam over his shoulder and back, the swelling around the gunshot entry is already subsiding. Maybe this is helping his evol replenish… in some odd way… Not that you’re complaining. 

The door to his bedroom slams against the wall and he hurries inside. He drops you on his bed and you sit up on your elbows to watch him. He undoes his belt and whips it off in one smooth motion. You bite your lip and try to shift onto your knees, but he stops you, grabbing your ankles and yanking you towards him. You giggle in response, he drops his knee beside your hip and bends forward to kiss you again. He kisses you breathless while his hands work your sensitive nipples. Rolling, pinching, tugging. When he lowers his head to suck one into his mouth, his tongue flicking at a languid pace, you dig your nails into his back and whine. 

“Sy…”

He sits up on his knees and just looks down at you. You reach out for him and he takes hold of your hands, threading his fingers with yours. His eyes roam over your body, smirking at every mark that has started to darken on your neck and breasts.

“Last chance, angel. Tell me you want this.”

Holding his hands tightly, you drop yours onto the bed above you, forcing him to lower his body onto yours. His hips press against your core and you lock your legs around him. 

“I don’t want this.”

Your mis-matched actions and words leave him dumbfounded. 

“I want you.”

His lips seal against yours, his chest pressed down to feel your heartbeat in tandem with his. You slide your hands free and rub his sides, careful not to touch the bandages. His pants were already unbuttoned and hanging loosely around his hips, you wanted them off. Now. You try to push the fabric down, but don’t get far when he takes hold of your wrists.

“Don’t you think…”

He quickly tucks an arm under your hips and brings them off the bed. You gasp and when he lets go of your wrists, you fist the bedding to level yourself. With his other hand free, he lifts your hips higher, sitting back on his heels. His hot breath across your inner thigh makes you whimper. 

“I need to regain my strength first?”

His fingers drag along the hem of your lace panties. You close your eyes, trying to ignore the embarrassment of how incredibly wet you already are. As his tongue darts out to swipe over the wet spot on the fabric you arch your back and gasp. You need to tell him. 

“I should have something to eat first.”

He lowers your hips just enough to slip your panties down, working them off one leg at a time. His hands lift your legs and hook them over his shoulders, his face inches away from your throbbing center. You release the bedding and reach for his hands, trying to get his attention. He feels your tension and stops, lowering you back on the bed. 

“What? Do you want to stop?”

You shake your head. He lets your hips meet the mattress and settles down on his elbows over you. His forehead rests against yours as one of his hands strokes your hip. 

“I just need to tell you something…”

He nods, urging you to continue. You’re sure you’re as red as a tomato and your lip is quivering. You’ve never told a guy this… You just keep it to yourself and pretend everything is fine. But with Sylus, you don’t want it to be like the rest. You actually feel something for him, not just a physical attraction, but something more... You take a deep breath and close your eyes.

“No one’s ever… done that and made me… uhm…”

“Come?”

Your eyes snap open and see him looking at you with brows raised. 

“It’s a me thing, I think. I just… I think…”

“Exactly.”

“What?”

“You think too much. And, if I had to guess, whoever tried before wasn’t putting your needs first, were they?”

You look away and bury your face in his shoulder. He chuckles and kisses your neck sweetly. 

“Sweetie, I don’t care if I have to spend all night between your legs, you’re going to come for me. Many times. And if you try to fake it…”

He pauses and just as you open your mouth to ask, he bites your neck. It’s not painful, but it takes you by surprise. A splendid, disturbing, thrilling surprise. 

“I’ll have to punish you.” He whispers.

He pushes off of the bed and kneels at the side of the bed. You barely have time to prop yourself up on your elbows before your legs are over his shoulders and his mouth is on you. You scream, the instantaneous burst of pleasure that shoots through you as he sucks on your clit is overwhelming. His hands keep your legs spread, you're completely exposed to him. He moans as he feasts, his tongue dipping down to your entrance. You immediately tense up and he feels it. He returns his mouth to your clit, his tongue teasing with precision. His fingers move away from your thigh to play at your entrance. Circling, dipping and finally thrusting inside. He takes his time, his movements precise. He pays attention to your responses, if you tense he stops and tries something else. It’s not long before he finds the perfect combination that has you writhing and trying to ride his face.

Three fingers in, curling upwards like he’s beckoning for your orgasm to come closer. His lips sealed around your clit, sucking while his tongue flicks the bundle of nerves rapidly. The occasional bite makes your hips lift and your vision to blur. The thought of faking crosses your mind but he bites your inner thigh and your back arches off the bed. You scramble, trying to get away, every touch sends you closer to either an edge or a wall and you’re terrified to find out which.

“Don’t run from it sweetie… look at me.”

Through blurry eyes, you see him looking up at you, his mouth and nose buried in you. The way his eyes glisten, half-lidded like he’s drunk off of your essence alone, his pupils wide with just a sliver of crimson circling them. He pumps his fingers faster and your entire body tingles, he pries your fingers away from the bedspread, threading them with his. Your habit of overthinking resurfaces - the way his mouth moves, his tongue, the way he’s watching you, his hand squeezing yours. What if you can’t? What if he gets upset? What if – fuck…

“Sylus. Sylus! Ahhh… Sy…!”

Your body convulses as your eyes roll back and your head hits the mattress. Sylus moans loudly, his mouth moving ever so slightly to make sure not a drop of your release is wasted. When your breathing steadies and your hips twitch, Sylus lowers you and crawls up the bed to hold you, his fingers comb through your damp hair. 

Before you can register what emotion is bubbling up, a sob escapes you. Tears stream down your cheeks and you can barely open your eyes. Sylus cradles you and strokes your back.

“Did I hurt you? Fuck… I… I’m sorry…”

“No no no you… you didn’t!” You whisper.

He rolls over on his side and extends his arm for you to rest your head. He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and dries your tears with his thumb. When you finally force your eyes open, you see his worry-laced expression and bring your own hand to his face.

“You silenced the storm…”

You want to say more, but Sylus presses a chaste kiss to your lips. 

“I think you silenced mine too.”

The confession brought on a new wave of tears. Sylus acts quickly, rolling you on your back and placing kisses all over your face before trailing down your neck. Whimpers turn to moans as he pinches your nipple and suckles the soft skin under your jaw. Your emotions settle and your mind clears, which means you know exactly what you want. 

“Sylus?”

He hums against your skin, waiting for your next question. You run your hands down his back and slide one between your bodies. When your fingers dip beneath his waistband he stops moving completely, his attention solely on your hand. You wait and he doesn’t stop you. He sinks his face into the crook of your neck as you continue. As your fingers travel lower, you feel more confident. Your other hand threads through his hair and you kiss his temple, enjoying his rather immediate responses. 

“Sensitive?” 

He doesn’t reply, well, not with words. He growls, it’s subtle, but the vibrations are heavenly against your skin. Your hand wraps around the base of his cock and you sigh, he’s fucking perfect. He shifts and you easily stroke him, your eyes widening at the slight change in width. His cock is long, god you want – oh god…

“Find something you like?” 

Damn right you did. You’d daydreamed about his lip rings against your clit, his nipple rings rubbing against your chest, but a fucking ladder? Your fingertips trace 6 distinct metal balls lined up, the rods just beneath his skin. He lifts his head and groans as you run your fingers over the piercings over and over. Your hand continues, but another bit of metal catches on your fingers and you grab a fistful of Sylus’s hair as you curse.

“Fuck me…”

“I’m trying to…” 

His hips jerk as you close your palm around his tip, two small rings loop through the ridge along its base. As you rub faster he starts to roll his hips, chasing the warmth of your hand. When you remove your hand from his pants entirely you can feel his entire body shake.

“Take them off.”

He stands beside the bed and holds his hand out, waiting for you to take it. He drags you over and places your hands on his hips. Taking the hint, you push his pants down and let them drop. You maintain eye contact as you pull his boxers down, you can tell the moment his cock is free because his breathing stutters. You don’t look down, you just let your hands explore.

Your palms lay flat on his stomach, memorizing every inch of his skin as you continue to lower them to his hips. He leans his head back and closes his eyes and you watch his face react to every tiny movement. Your hands return to his cock and you feel the weight of it, the length, how the piercings create a mouthwatering contrast against his hot skin. 

His abs tense as you lean forward and lick his tip. He doesn’t let you continue and you don’t argue when he lays you back. His cock rests against your stomach, his tip leaking furiously adding to the mess you previously made.

“Do I need –”

“No… I’m on the pill.”

“I can never finish a sentence around you huh?” He teases. 

You hook your arms around his neck and shut him up with a kiss. With a few tentative rolls of his hips, his cock nudges your clit. When you feel his piercing, you break away.

“Fuck me please… fuck… please…”

“I love hearing your voice…”

He finally sinks into you, the initial stretch coaxing another moan out of you. 

“That’s it… just like that.” 

His knee pushes your leg out and his hips meet yours. You can feel every single piercing, they drag along your slick walls making you whimper uncontrollably. 

“Ahhh you’re such a good girl for me…”

Your pussy clenches around him and you slam your head forward against his shoulder. Really? This is how you discover you have a praise kink? Right now? Fantastic. Sylus gasps, oh he’s not going to let you get away now.

“Oh she liked that, yeah? The way she’s squeezing me, I think she loves it. Does my good girl like it when I praise her?”

Again, your pussy spasms and you shout, you’ve never been so close to an orgasm so fast before. You were already obsessed with how good he felt, but now he’s talking to you like this? 

“Are you going to come for me already? Just from me calling you a…”

“Sylus!”

“Good fucking girl…”

You scream, you pump your hips and he matches your pace working you through your second explosive orgasm of the night. He kisses you, inhaling your whimpers like they’re oxygen. He rolls you both onto your side, holding your thigh up over his hip. He slows down, rolling his hips so you feel the drag of every piercing. Each time he bottoms out, he thrusts just enough to put pressure on your g-spot.

“I need one more from you, can you do that for me sweetie?” 

You nod, or at least you think you nod. You’re not entirely sure with how the room is spinning.

“Mhmm… that’s my girl…”

He withdraws almost completely to slam back inside making the bed rock and lamp on the side table shake. His languid rhythm returns and you can already feel another climax fast approaching. 

“Tell me… you’re mine.”

With his forehead pressed against yours, all you can do is stare into his eyes. His voice shakes and his movements falter. Your arms tighten around his shoulders. You never imagined he’d be begging to hear the very words you’ve been dying to say.

“I’m yours.” 

His hips snap forward and he grits his teeth, like he’s holding back. His eyes close and his arms tremble. You press a soft kiss on his cheek and drop your voice to a whisper.

“I’m yours.”

He gasps as he lets go. His release is just as explosive as your own. As he fucks his cum deeper inside of you he drops his head to your shoulder and repeats “you’re mine” like a prayer. Hearing his desperation you dig your heel into his lower back and let your sluttiest moan rip free as your climax hits. 

You’re not sure how long you lie there holding each other. Or when he slides out of you, careful to keep your legs tangled together. But when you open your eyes, the sun is on the horizon and your bodies are covered in a soft blanket. His head is buried in the crook of your neck, your arms around his shoulders. You stare at the wedding ring on your finger and smile as you slowly drift off to sleep.

The sun is fully risen when you open your eyes again. You roll over and realize you’re in bed alone. Sitting up, you notice you’re wearing one of Sylus’s button ups. After a closer inspection, you realize you’ve been cleaned up and the bedding changed. The only thing you can think about is finding Sylus, you have a million questions and you don’t want to lose your nerve. However, standing proves to be a tad difficult. Your legs shake as if you just ran a marathon and your pussy throbs, not in the fun way.

You limp to the door and look down the hallway, not a soul in sight, not even Ollie. You walk through the house, finally hearing soft music coming from the kitchen. As you round the corner, you see Sylus standing over the stove. Still shirtless and wearing only his boxers. It’s an oddly domestic sight. He hums along with the music, bobbing his head as he cooks. You lean against the doorway and clear your throat. He looks over his shoulder and grins.

“I was going to bring you breakfast.”

You walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, kissing his back before resting your cheek against him. He covers your hands with his.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

“I’m perfect.” 

He urges you to sit at the island and brings you a cup of coffee. When he serves you a plate with eggs, bacon and french toast you squeal with excitement. He laughs as he refills his cup and sits down next to you. A comfortable silence settles as you eat and sip your coffee. Sylus keeps looking at you out of the corner of his eye and when he smiles you break.

“Okay, what? What is it?”

“Nothing, I’m just admiring my artwork.” 

You hold up your spoon and try to see what he’s referring to. Even upside down and blurred to hell, you can see the dark marks along your neck and chest. You turn to face him and hold the spoon up for him.

“My artwork is pretty impressive too, don’t you think?”

He squints and then drops his gaze to his plate. You reach out and trace one of the marks under his jaw, following a path up to his ear. Watching his ear turn a soft shade of red and goosebumps rise makes you giggle in delight. He snatches your hand and holds your fingers up to his mouth, pressing tiny kisses to each fingertip. 

“It’s a shame. My good girl only appears at night, turns naughty when the sun comes up.”

“Sylus…”

“Mhmm…” He kisses your palm and you shiver.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

He lowers your hand and shifts to face you.

“What do you want this to be?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure. I want you, that’s all I know. So, if you’d like to see where this goes… I am very, very interested.”

You turn away sheepishly and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear in a pathetic attempt to be nonchalant. 

“I am… very, very interested, too.”

He moves to sit on the edge of his stool, his hands on your hips. He leans forward, his lips so close you can feel his warm breath.

“Then it looks like I’m dating my wife.”

You’re about to laugh, but he cuts you off with a kiss. You sigh as he stands, picking you up and sitting you on the island between your plates. He slots himself between your legs, he lifts the bottom of his shirt you’re wearing up over your hips. You push against his chest and he stops.

“That also means we need to work on how we communicate.” 

He raises a brow and backs up, his hands resting on the counter next to your thighs. 

“I’m sorry for how I reacted last night. It wasn’t fair of me to get angry. I mean, you saved my fucking life. I panicked, but I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

He reaches up to take your hand, holding it against his chest.

“I shouldn’t have expected you to just… accept what I did. Like you said, you save lives. I… took one, right in front of you. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me for that.”

You kiss the tip of his nose, his look of shock makes you smile. He’s not used to tender acts of affection, you make a mental note to shower him with them from now on.

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to hate you.”

You run your hands down his arms, admiring the way his muscles flex as you touch him.

“I just wish… I just don’t want to be afraid, I want to know I can protect myself. I can’t expect you to always be there. I’m so tired of being scared.”

“We can fix that.”

“How?”

“I can train you. Help you learn to protect yourself.”

Resting your forehead against his, he wraps his arms around you. You relax in his embrace. Looking down at the prominent outline in his boxers you take a deep breath and wrap your legs around him. He starts kissing your cheek, your jaw, your neck and you gently scratch his back.

“You know… a few years ago, I had a patient come in with a new piercing. He was bragging about it. Basically gave me a free class - Dick Piercings 101. His cocky attitude vanished when we needed to put a catheter in, but… I still remember the name of the piercing he had.” 

He steps back. You watch him slowly push his boxers down, letting them drop to the floor. Your eyes drop, yep, still pretty in the daylight. Swallowing hard, you shiver as he places his hands on your knees, spreading them wider and wider until you're just as exposed as he is. Gathering your courage, you continue.

“King’s Crown.”

He steps closer, your hand dropping to rub over the piercings along the ridge at the base of his tip. His cock stiffens as you let your thumb rest over his slit, rubbing small circles.

“What is it about using royalty terms and names for cock piercings? King’s Crown… Prince Albert… Trying to convince yourself of something?”

He nips at your shoulder and you yelp. He grabs the back of your neck and keeps your head bent forward, fully focused on his cock. Like you were able to focus on anything else.

“I don’t think I need to convince anyone of anything. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He moves your hand away and pulls you to the edge of the counter, his tip nudges your aching clit and you gasp. You can feel the corners of his mouth tip up into a smile as he kisses your neck. He takes hold of his cock and you shimmy your hips, fuck you’re needy…

“Tell me, do you enjoy teasing me?”

He holds your hips still, his mouth dipping down to the top button of your shirt. He uses his teeth to tug it open. You strain against his hands, one on your hip and one on the back of your neck - you need movement. Anything to alleviate the pressure building. 

“I do… just a little.”

He tugs another button free and licks a stripe up the center of your chest.

“So just a little bit of a brat then, hmm?”

You scoff and try to pull away, but he holds you steady.

“Watch…”

And you do. You watch him shift his hips forward, his cock sinking into you at an agonizing pace. He releases your hip to spread you wider, the erotic sight leaves you breathless. 

“Watch how she… sucks me right in. So perfect.”

He bottoms out and you groan, with how he’s forcing you to look down you can see the shape of him. You lower your hand, placing it over your stomach. As soon as you press down, both of you groan. Sylus lets go of your neck and you nearly fall back onto the counter. He rips open your shirt, buttons scattering across the kitchen floor. His hands return to your hips and as he thrusts, he pulls you closer. 

“Fuck Sylus… faster…”

He chuckles, but obliges. The lewd sounds of skin against skin echoes through the kitchen and you close your eyes to keep them from crossing. Your back arches off of the cool granite and your hands search for something to hold onto. 

Crash

Your hand swipes a plate off the counter, sending it crashing to the floor with a shatter. Sylus doesn’t stop, in fact, the sudden sound makes him thrust deeper - which you didn’t know was humanly possible.

“Yes! Yes, please don’t stop ahhh…”

Your begging pulls a growl from him, it’s becoming your favorite sound he makes. Feral, unashamed, dominating. You whine as your pussy clenches, spasming wildly. 

“That’s right angel, let me hear you. I love hearing your voice.”

He leans forward, one of his hands traveling up your body until he reaches your neck. His fingers wrap around your throat gently, the possessive action sparks a fire that quickly spirals out of control. An unfamiliar pressure builds and you hold onto his forearm, your nails digging into his skin.

“You’re so deep Sy… ahh fuck…!”

Without warning you feel that pressure release as your orgasm crashes over you. You’re so delirious you don’t register the splatter of something wet on the floor. Sylus curses under his breath and his movements become sloppy. Your breathing is erratic, staggered by whimpers. 

“Angel.. I need to - please…”

Your neck is released and your legs are suddenly lifted, your thighs press down against your chest. When you force your eyes open, you watch Sylus throw his head back, his brows furrowed, eyes closed. Equal parts bliss and agony. You squeeze around his length and he groans, low and deep as he spills into you. He drops his hands from the back of your thighs to the counter and hangs his head, breathing heavily. You awkwardly sit up, your lower half is coated in your shared release and… significantly more sore than when you woke up. When your arms coil around his neck he unsheathes himself and gathers you in his arms, holding you impossibly close. He kisses the shell of your ear, his hot breath making you shiver.

“You made such a mess sweetie…”

You try to look down, but he just picks you up and carries you out of the kitchen.

“I’ll clean that up later, you’re my priority right now.” 

As he turns the corner you see the floor is wet and the remnants of the shattered plate. You’re a fucking doctor, the fact it took a you the entire distance from the kitchen to Sylus’s bedroom to figure out you squirted is just embarrassing. 

“Oh my god…”

Sylus chuckles and carries you right into his bathroom and into the shower. He doesn’t put you down, just tightens his hold as he turns on the water and lets the warm water flow over your back. You slump forward, letting your arms hang limp against his back, your head on his shoulder. He sways, the steam fogging the glass around you.

“You’re getting a lot of my firsts, I hope you know that.”

He carefully lowers you, leaning you back against the wall to let you gain your footing. When he steps back to get soap you finally take a moment to just stare at his naked form. Toned, dark lines of ink with swirls of vibrant scarlet covering his arms, his back, his chest, the dusting of hair along his happy trail, and oh - great, he even has a perky ass. Sylus clears his throat and you look up to see him watching you over his shoulder. 

“Like what you see?”

You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. He begins lathering the fragrant soap over your arms, pulling them away from your chest. His eyes drink you in and drift as his hands roam. 

“I like what I see too… you’re… exquisite.”

He continues to clean you gently, but his lips find yours again. There’s no rush with how he kisses you, or touches you for that matter. Like he’s savoring every moment and every point of contact is sacred. You still have a million questions, but none of them seem important right now. You’ve never felt so… happy. 

“When do you go back to work?” He mumbles against your lips.

“New Years Eve and New Years Day… after that, I’m off for another week.”

He smiles into the kiss, his hands massaging your hips. 

“Good… I hope you don’t have any plans.” 🏍️۶ৎ🩺

Translations: "Malen'kiy chelovek, ukhodi." -> "Little man, go away." "Malen'kiy chelovek umret." -> "Little man will die." “Bol'shoy chelovek, zatknis' nakhuy.” -> "Big man, shut the fuck up." "Malen'kiy chelovek ne sootvetstvuyet legende." -> "The little man does not live up to the legend."

Part One Part Two

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[fangswbenefits]

Sweet Girl

Summary: Miguel isn’t all that excited about you joining spider society, so why and how does he enter a spiral of maddening obsession?

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

Miguel POV. Obsessed Miguel. Soft/inexperienced reader. Pining.

This is more an of an introduction to my current series Frustration. You don’t have to read the first 3 parts to enjoy this.

Miguel crossed his arms as he stood on the lowered platform.

He was waiting.

And he hated being kept waiting.

Tense minutes went by until a swirling flash of light tore through the space continuum right in front of him.

Jessica Drew stepped out first, followed closely by Peter B. Parker.

And you.

You seemed so out of it, that Miguel wondered how a spider person could have been this badly affected by a mere dimensional travel.

As you tumbled out of the portal, you immediately lurched forward. “Oh, I’m going to be sick.”

Without further warning, you emptied the content of your stomach onto the floor.

Amazing.

Arching an eyebrow, he glared at Jess who was patting your back reassuringly.

“It’s her first time, Miguel,” she frowned lightly, helping you straighten up.

Peter offered you a tissue. “Oh, I remember my first time. My intestines were not the same for a week, and I do-”

Miguel immediately cut him off, not at all interested in hearing about Peter Parker’s bowl movements. “Welcome to Nueva York,” he stepped out of the platform, extending his hand to you. “I’m Miguel O’Hara.”

You cleared your throat and shook his hand. “So… you’re the boss.”

“I’m the boss.”

Miguel saw your eyes scanning him him up and down, widening slightly. “You’re… big.”

Peter snorted and Jessica chuckled.

But he could only roll his eyes. “You’ll eventually get used to your portal jumps.”

You scanned the room with curious eyes. “That portal really needs stabilisation,” you then mumbled, adjusting your suit. “The motion sickness…”

He scoffed. “You’re a spider-woman. I’m sure you can manage motion sickness.”

“Well… it’s not the same as swinging around in your web,” you retorted with a light shrug.

Jessica patted your shoulder. “That’s why we recruited you. Your intel might be able to helps us with some of these… instabilities.”

You immediately smiled brightly. “Oh, sure! I can’t wait to get started. This place looks so cool.”

Miguel groaned inwardly. Amateurs.

He had scanned your file thoroughly and had been against your recruitment initially, but Jess had brought up valid points in your favour, despite the fact that you had only been bitten less than six months ago.

Inexperienced and ambitious.

These two hardly ever worked together, but your vast knowledge in tech compounds had made him give Jess the benefit of the doubt.

“Follow me. I’ll have to draw blood to run some tests and Lyla here will fill you in later on other procedures.”

The hologram popped in obnoxiously by your shoulder. “If he asks nicely, that is.”

Your mouth dropped open in absolute bewilderment. “Woah! AI? That is really, really awesome!”

“Thank you, pumpkin,” she grinned with a wink.

Miguel paced through the long halled that stretched out towards Lab 1, with you following close by, as Peter and Jess flanked you.

From the corner of his eye, he saw you glaring out of the tall windows, completely transfixed by the the countless skyscrapers that sprawled out as far as the eye could see.

“You built this?” your voice echoed in sheer wonder.

“Yes.”

“All of this?”

“Miguel is really gifted with technology,” Peter chimed in proudly.

“Woah…”

That tingled his ego nicely.

As the four of you walked inside the lab, the surrounding spiders at work glanced over, voicing their greetings.

“Take a seat.”

You immediately did as he said with Jessica standing next to you, hand on your shoulder.

Miguel put his gloves on and readied the material for the blood testing.

“Give me your arm.”

“So you’re a tech guy…” you started, and he gripped your forearm, rolled the sleeve of your suit up with fingers probing for a vein. “What else?”

“A geneticist.”

“Nice! So you’re like a two for one type of deal?”

Once he found what he was looking for, he aligned the tube with your skin. “This will sting a bit.”

Before you could reply, you let out a gasp at the sudden intrusion.

“And you work at the lab, too?”

“Do you always ask so many questions?” Miguel said, waiting for the tube to fill in.

You nodded with a warm smile. “I just like to know what I’m getting myself into.”

You had no idea, but Miguel was testing you, trying to gather as much of your personality as he could. He enjoyed piecing people together like puzzles. It stroked his sense of control.

“I thought Jessica had briefed you.”

“I did,” she immediately said.

“Yet you’re the one drawing my blood,” you chirped happily, your eyes fixed on his.

Well, maybe you had an idea.

Miguel felt the corner of his lips turn into a faint smile.

Good.

He needed perceptive people around.

He pulled away from from you slightly and pressed a cotton pad to the small puncture.

Sliding open one of the drawers nearby, he grabbed a watch, never letting go of your arm.

“This is a dimensional travel watch,” he explain, snapping it snugly around your wrist. “Keep it with you at all times.”

He let go of you and you seized the moment to inspect it closer, fascination never leaving your face.

“Let me guess… you also built this,” you said with a chuckle, pressing on the screen a few times.

He reached out his hand to stop you. “This is not a toy. Lyla will inform you on how to properly use it.”

You nodded firmly.

“Welcome to spider society.”

It didn’t take long for Miguel to start walking in on you sleeping in the lab.

For the fourth time.

He was all too familiar with the riveting excitement that came with scientific progress that often led to many sleepless nights.

But he still couldn’t allow this to keep happening.

Halting a few inches away from you, he took a moment to access the situation: you sat hunched over the lab table, head resting on folded arms and a string of drool dangling from the corner of your mouth.

A heavy sigh parted his lips.

He tapped his foot once on the leg of your chair, causing you to jolt upright with a yelp, nearly falling back from the loss of balance as the chair swayed dangerously.

But Miguel was fast enough to prevent that by steadying you with a firm grip on your shoulder. You then leaned forward, panting and clutching at your chest.

“Good morning.”

You turned your head to stare at him, deep bags under your eyes and sleep lines covering your face. “Miguel! Oh — hi! I’m… oh my… that was such a scare!”

His crimson eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s the fourth time this week.”

Trying to regain some composure, you straightened your clothes and wiped the string of drool trailing down your chin with the back of your hand.

“Right. I was… uh…” you paused abruptly and looked around, as if momentarily disoriented. “Oh. Yeah! I am — was working on running some diagnostics and must have dozed off waiting for the results… and-”

He clicked his tongue and spun your chair around, effectively silencing you, his eyes boring into yours. “This isn’t going to happen again. You need to rest.”

You swallowed. “I was resting…”

Miguel didn’t have neither the patience nor the time for this.

“You need proper rest,” he pressed on with a scowl. “Jessica scouted you for a reason, and if you’re too sleep-deprived to work, you’re of no use to us.”

You broke eye contact with him, lowering your head. “I’m sorry…”

The sincerity in your voice took him slightly aback, and he relaxed his face, wondering if he had perhaps been too harsh.

You were chewing on your lip, staring down at your entwined hands.

He had no idea why, but his heart skipped a beat.

Probably stress.

“Look,” he tried again, softer this time. “I know what it’s like to want more. To do more. I’ve been there,” he then crouched, so he could eye-level with you. “But you can’t keep pushing yourself like this. We have time to figure this out.”

You looked to the side, hesitating at first. “I… was talking to other spiders and some mentioned they feel the side effects of motion sickness if they use the portal more than twice a day,” you went on with newfound confidence, gripping the pad on the table and lighting up the screen. “I’m close to getting the chips to work and ther-”

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stop. Stop.”

You did.

“What part of me saying you need to sleep didn’t you understand?”

“I don’t mind sacrificing a few nights of sleep if it means I can help other spiders,” you said, a flash of defiance crossing your eyes. “Seriously, Miguel. I need to get this done… I need it.”

Miguel’s strictness shattered.

He then saw a reflection of himself staring right at him.

So much of your determination and persistence reminded him of his early days as a scientist. The struggle, the hunger for results, the need to achieve something that could help so many…

“I know you’re looking out for me,” you went on, placing one hand on his shoulder and giving it a soft squeeze. “And I’m grateful, but science and progress don’t wait. I know I can be helpful, so let me.”

For the first time in a very long time, Miguel O’Hara was left speechless.

“Please don’t fire me,” you laughed nervously.

He blinked a couple of times and stared down at his watch.

6:14AM

“You can come back in twelve hours.”

Your eyes widened in sheer excitement, lips parting into a wide smile.

He quicky lifted one finger. “If you try to sneak in, I’ll know.”

Your smile faltered, as he saw right through your intentions.

“And I’ll have you sent back to your dimension faster than you can say Nueva York. Got it?”

You lifted one hand in a salute and nodded.

He scowled. “And… stop hanging around Hobie.”

Dropping your hand, you bolted forward from your chair to hug him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

The sudden motion nearly caused him to topple over and you immediately let go of him, as he rose to his full height again.

“Oh! Sorry!” you stepped away, patting his arm apologetically.

He blinked.

Then, grabbing your pad, you began tapping rapidly. “I’m uploading all the data to your watch, so please take a look.”

He blinked again.

You gathered your backpack and threw him a final warm smile. “If you find anything important, please let me know!”

Miguel nodded curtly, but remained rooted in place, as you hurried across the lab and past the sliding door.

His heart skipped a beat for the second time that day.

Then it dawned on him: the last person who had hugged him had been Gabriella.

Miguel should probably call himself a hypocrite.

He was heavily against you or any other spider dozing off in the lab, but he had been indulging in this quite often as of late.

By the time he rose from his slumber, and sat back on his padded chair, he realised something soft had been placed around his shoulders.

He tugged on it and was met with a blanket covered in tiny prints of Peter B. Parker’s face.

This was definitely Mayday’s.

“What…” he drawled out, blinking a few times to adjust his eyes to the brightness that poured in from the windows.

The clock on the wall marked nine in the morning.

He stared down at his desk to find a handwritten note next to a plate of… empanadas?

“Hi~

wanted to wake you up, but you were sleeping so soundly and I didn’t want to disturb you. I found Mayday’s blankie on my lab desk — I suspect Hobie is sneaking her around to pull a prank on me hehe xOx

P.S. Jess told me you like empanadas, so I tried making some for you. Hope you like them~ (I’m crossing my fingers)

P.S. 2 You need proper rest :)”

You.

It had been you.

He glared at the plate containing the pastries, and grabbed one.

His heightened senses allowed him to immediately get flooded with an overwhelming delicious smell.

Taking a bite, he fluttered his eyes shut, allowing the overwhelming combination of flavours to take over.

It tasted so, so good.

It tasted like home.

He rose to his feet and walked out, scanning the lab for traces of you.

But he was met with Jessica instead who had just walked in.

“Oh, you look terrible.”

He swallowed what was left in his mouth. “Thanks.”

Her gaze dropped to your hand. “Oh! Did she make those for you?”

“Uh… yes.”

He felt ridiculous for having mumbled it like that.

The two of them paced along the corridors and into Lab 2, where you were sitting, back turned to them, visibly engrossed in your tasks.

“How’s she been doing?”

He took another bite. “Good. She’s persistent and focused. Those are good traits to have in this field.”

“She reminds me of yourself.”

Miguel wasn’t surprised in the slightest, because it was an undeniable fact.

“Hopefully, she won’t make the same mistakes I did.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll make some along the way,” she shrugged casually. “And she’ll learn from them, as you did.”

Miguel kept his gaze fixed on you and felt a strange need arise in him.

To look after you.

He took the last bite and savoured it in silence, as Jessica eyed him curiously.

“She really is a sweet girl,” she ended up saying lovingly. “She asked me what your comfort food was.”

Sweet girl.

He let the name replay in his head, and determined he liked the sound of it. It was fitting.

“Go on. Say it.”

Miguel arched an eyebrow at this. “Say what?”

Jess threw him a smug look. “That I was right for recruiting her. That you were wrong.”

In truth, Miguel hated having to admit to his mistakes, and it wasn’t even related to his ego or inability to take criticism.

As he had come to learn the hard way, his mistakes would usually lead to catastrophic consequences.

But when it came to you, he had no problem admitting he had been in the wrong. You had proved to be quite capable of handling a multitude of tasks.

… and now you were starting to grow on him.

“Yes. You were right, Jessica,” he mumbled, his eyes fixed on you. “She really is… something.”

She patted his back a few times. “Are you turning into a softie, Miguel?”

He scowled. “No.”

“Go ahead and thank her, then,” she said with a smile.

Miguel didn’t like being told what to do. He had every intention of letting you know he was grateful for your efforts.

But it had to be in his own way.

He parted ways with Jess and mad his way to you.

“Hey.”

You turned in your chair, bearing that kind smile he had grown so accustomed to. “Hi! You’re awake.”

“Cearly,” he grumbled with a shrug.

“Did you like the empanadas?”

He nodded. “They tasted amazing. Thank you.”

Like home.

“Great!” you beamed, your smile never wavering. “You looked really adorable while sleeping. Sorry for not waking you up.”

Adorable…?

He felt a lump form in his throat. Your energy was contagious, and he considered embracing it.

But he didn’t want to cave in…

He was a stubborn man by nature.

But he also didn’t want you to think he was too cold and distant like many in Nueva York thought.

“I want to show you something,” he said, tapping on his watch.

You waited expectantly and the screen in front of your flickered momentarily before a video started playing.

File: Gabriella.006

He didn’t even bother staring at the screen. He already knew by heart its content, and he didn’t want to revist the pain today.

No.

His eyes were fixed on you, instead.

He knew Lyla had already mentioned the event that led to him deciding to protect the multiverse.

He knew you knew of Gabriella.

Of what he had done.

Your smile dropped as the video went on, even though the sound of giggles and splashing water echoed around you.

“I’m not showing you this for you to feel bad for me.”

You shook your head, parting your eyes from the screen. “That didn’t even cross my mind.”

He paused the video.

“Right.”

Your eyes held kindness and your voice became softer. “I know why you’re showing this to me.”

He highly doubted it, but he waited for you to go on.

“We take care of each other here,” you began, twirling your chair to fully face bim. “And that means being open to showing vulnerabilities.”

He remained silent, digesting your words.

“Am I wrong?”

Partially, but he wouldn’t tell you that. The justification he had settled for in his head didn’t come close to your own.

And his heart skipped a beat.

He grown used to it happening whenever around you, but this time it felt more alarming.

More urgent.

“Miguel?”

You were eyeing him with concern, your hand reaching out to touch his arm.

He snapped out of his thoughts, and took a step back. “Send me the files you were working on yesterday. I need to check the coding.”

You gave him a nod, and he saw understanding soften your expression. He had expected you to press him on for an answer, but he was grateful you hadn’t.

“Oh, and… thank you, again. For… you know…” he drawled out as he ran a hand through his hair.

“You got it, Miguel,” you said, smiling sweetly.

Sweet girl.

His sweet girl.

It took Miguel one week to start dreaming about you.

At first, it would be a conglomerate of nonsensical blobs with your face or voice here and there. But as days went by, some began to take shape.

Your shape.

Nowadays, it would be your face and voice that would keep him company after tiring missions.

He had gotten quite fond of it.

Until things took a turn.

And he would wake up with a throbbing ache in between his legs, begging for relief.

That was when he knew he was letting his admiration for you get the best of him.

As he rose from his bed and walked to the tall window in his bedroom, he saw the sun lighting up the horizon line, bathing Nueva York in rays of orange and yellow.

He had built all of this in the hopes of a better future.

But now he started longing for one that had you in it somehow.

As a fellow spider.

A fellow scientist.

A friend, even.

He squinted as his sensitive eyes became increasingly sore from the intense light, so he moved to his bedside table and grabbed the peace of paper you had left him days ago.

Your handwriting mirrored your personality: graceful and captivating.

Maybe he should have tossed it away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

Walking into his living room, he booted up the screens on the wall.

There was this crescendo inside him that urged him to look for you.

He tapped through various sections of the lan, but he found you near the refrigeration area, tapping on your chin with a pencil, as you glared at the screens in front of you.

He wanted to call you.

To hear your voice first thing in the morning.

To commend you for being up so early already and committing to your duties.

Suddenly, he saw your lips turn into a soft knowing smile, and he knew you must have figured something out.

Of course you had.

Your perception and tenacity were unmatched.

As much as he wanted to talk to you, he decided against it.

In his mind, he was too undeserving of anything more than a friendship with you.

He convinced himself that he was not good enough, and that he was meant to watch you from afar.

You were just like a flame. Too close and it burns. Too far away and it freezes.

He grazed his thumb across the screen, close to you.

His sweet, sweet girl.

It would be better off this way. Not for him, of course. He was already in too deep. But it would be better for you.

You deserved better.

But he still craved you.

Miguel recognised the feeling that was started to seep into his heart and mind. He had almost forgotten how suffocating that felt.

He couldn’t tear his eyes from your face.

He couldn’t tear his heart from your hold.

The level of despair was unmistakable and he knew exactly what this feeling was.

Frustration.

Next part (if you can’t access it, click here)

Masterlist

[musicalnobody]

Little Secret Ch. 1

General Shepard's Daughter X Simon "Ghost" Riley ⋆ Call of Duty ⋆ MDNI ⋆ 9.3k words ⋆ 18+, explicit ⋆ Read the tags ⋆

⋆ AO3 link ⋆

Summary: After finding out about Shepherds betrayal, Ghost is sent to raid his residence. What he finds there is too good to resist.

Tags: Rape/noncon, Kidnapping, Drugging (brief, no drugged sex), the dove is struggling, pov second person, daddy issues, daddy kink, reader is shepherd's daughter, unsafe sex, age difference (Ghost is late 30's, reader just turned 18 prior to the story), manhandling, restraints, handcuffs, crying, dacryphilia, breathplay, pet names, squirting, creampie, deepthroating, rough oral sex, no use of y/n, spit as lube, size difference, cunnilingus

A/N: First piece on tumblr! I haven't been on this site since like sophomore year of highschool, so I'm a tad nervous! I have only played a little bit of call of duty so if there's any inaccuracies don't come for me. This fic does handle a couple (to say the least) dark topics so please tread carefully!

Ghost hadn’t wanted to go on this mission, let alone be playing ISpy in the now deceased General Shepherd’s home, a large 3-story, 6-bedroom house that sat in the middle of multiple acres of forest. It was a solo mission, said that it was just meant to make sure he hadn’t left anything at his personal residence that could’ve provided extra intel. When Ghost asked, Price didn’t even think twice, remarking that Ghost was perfect for the job before handing Ghost the papers and sending him on his way. He was excited at first. Free access to the General’s residence to comb through his personal belongings? It soothed his kleptomaniac tendencies. But then Soap had to go run his mouth, the careless bastard making one too many jokes on the way that didn’t land correctly. So, there he was, stomping through the forest as a steady downpour reminded him that his gear wasn’t entirely waterproof.

When Ghost arrived, he was in a worse mood than when he started. He made sure to take a stop into Shepherd’s personal quarters to change out his underclothing for something a bit drier. The pants were a tight fit, having found a slightly bigger size at the very bottom of his drawers. The black undershirt shirt gripped every curve and crevice of his body. As he was putting his vest back on, he heard a noise from the floor below him. He quickly grabbed his gun and went to make his way down the stairs quietly. When he didn’t find anything, he went to find another room he could rummage his way through, finally settling on what looked like his main office. He hadn’t even meant to look at her, but she was too clumsy, stepping on a floorboard that creaked loud enough for Ghost to hear.

She was a doll, a tiny little thing with big, bright eyes and puffy lips that contrasted her dark hair. He tried taking his eyes off her, all pink and frills, but you just begged to be looked at. Your Mary Janes were perfectly polished, the ruffles of your socks covering the buckles, your dress was short, something he wanted to fix, a pink gingham that looked so tearable it might as well have been a crime his hands weren’t on it at the current moment.

Your hair topped it off, two pigtails sitting prettily on your shoulders, white ribbons holding them in place. He had to suppress a groan. You see, Ghost was nothing short of a pervert. The way you were carelessly wandering around the large house, unaware of the other soul that occupied it. He creeped around the office, waiting till you entered the next hallway before slinking out from the doorway. He needed to figure out who you were. Why you were here. So, he chased. Down the hallway, up the stairs, and down another long and empty hallway. He used the shadows to aid him, years of military training finally paying off.

There was always the option to go forward with normal military procedures, but Ghost couldn’t handle himself. He pulled out the vial and the small rag tucked in his vest, saved for special emergencies, usually someone who wasn’t cooperating. But who’s to say how you would react? After all, you were occupying Shepherd’s residence, you could be volatile. At least, that’s what Ghost told himself as he crept up behind you, rag ready in his right hand. Attack. Wrapping his left arm around your waist, there was barely time for you to let out the cutest little scream Ghost had ever heard before there was a rag in front of your nose and your vision was rapidly fading to black.

Ghost grabbed her body, cradling it as he gently opened the door that he assumed led to your room. It was as if a tornado of pink had swept through the room and left frills and lace in its wake, but as he scanned the room, he noticed something. A dingy cage in the corner of the room, large enough to fit your body and a pillow. Something had gone down here, and he was determined to figure out what, but not before utilizing that gear that had already been given to him. Ghost never claimed to be a morally correct human being, in fact, he’d claim quite the opposite, especially as he watched your sleeping body bend perfectly into a fetal position within the cage, tucked in with a light blanket. As he shut the door to the small cage, he smirked to himself, now he could pay attention to more important things: Ripping your room apart for information.

He started with your numerous bookshelves, grabbing a diary and throwing it on the bed to read later. Checking under the bed, he found there to be nothing but stuffed animals and candy wrappers, how cute, he thought to himself. He looked through your vanity, finding various skin care and make up items, as well as jewelry, many adorned with the letter S. But as he moved to your desk, he knew had found exactly what he was looking for. Right there, on the top left of the first paper occupying the desk, Shepherd. His precious daughter.

He had kept you here all along, hiding you from the outside world. Ghost grinned, he could see why Shepherd would keep you here, too innocent to introduce to the cruel world. After all, the General’s life was full of danger that could’ve fallen to her as well. He stepped back and went to go sit on the edge of the bed, grabbing the diary sitting in the middle. Breaking the lock, he started reading the first page.

“Dear Diary, Dad got me this diary for my 18th birthday, said that he was going to start to go on longer trips and wanted me to be able to catch him up on what’s happened.” There was a high chance that you had gone completely untouched your whole life, even a chance that you’ve never seen another male figure except for your father in your 18 years of life. He could almost burst at the number of possibilities that flooded into his head.

Ghost didn’t make it that far before he heard your small whimpers infiltrate his ears. He looked down at his feet and there you were, tossing and turning as the tranquilizer wore off.

“Rise and shine, princess.” Ghost growled as he kicked the cage doors.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

            Your head was pounding, thoughts begrudgingly swimming around trying to collect themselves. You heard a voice telling you to wake a up. A deep voice, one that traveled through your whole body, it was too deep to be father’s voice. You tried to stretch out your arms, the weight of your head enough to cause your arm to fall asleep, but as you go to extend it you feel the dull pain of your hand hitting the cage walls.

“No…” you whimpered “No no no no no,” you couldn’t be in the cage again, you didn’t do anything wrong, you hadn’t seen father in weeks. You hear another chuckle above you and force your eyes open. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden light before you register the sight in front of you.

A man taller than your father stood menacingly over the cage. Large combat boots were the first thing your eyes fully registered. Caked in mud and larger than your head, your eyes traveled upwards till you saw the first glimpse of a color that wasn’t black. You yelped, your eyes filling with tears when you realized who was standing above you. You didn’t have any idea who he was, but you had seen him before. You saw him in papers that you overlooked your father reading and maps with red strings leading to his picture. You knew he was dangerous. “Don’t hurt me please, please I’ll do anything!” You pleaded.

“You should be careful promising things like that” he chuckled as he knelt down.  You scramble away from the cage door on all fours, pressing yourself against the back of the cage as far away as possible. “Awe come on angel, don’t be afraid” he cooed menacingly, moving to unlatch the lock “I won’t hurt you.” The way he was saying it almost made you let your guard down, but then the door was swinging open, and he was grabbing your ankle. You let out a cry and started kicking, but the second he felt your foot reel back so you could make impact his grip tightened.

“Unless you struggle.”

Suddenly, Ghost grabbed both of your ankles and yanked you out of the cage, cradling your head on the way out so you didn’t hit your head. You thrashed, not getting the hint. Ghost rolled his eyes, prepared for this sort of reaction from Shepherd’s brat. He quickly sat down and wrapped his arm around her waist once more, securing his other hand in your hair as he pulled you against his chest. “Stop. Struggling. Make this easy on yourself.” You knew something was wrong. Something had to have gone wrong on fathers last mission that had put you in this predicament. As you sat in his lap, struggling, you were throwing every childish insult at him, clearly not having learned many crass words in your time of confinement. Ghost could almost laugh at how easily he was able to keep you from getting away but couldn’t help but start to stir when you started moving your hips atop his groin. “Stop” he growled lowly, and his tone sent a shiver down your spine. His grip on your hair tightened and you cried out.

“Stop, don’t hurt me! Please!” tears were streaming down your pretty little face, and Ghost finally had the heart to let go of the tight grip on your hair.

“Oh you have no idea the amount of hurt I could cause you”

You frantically looked around the room, seeing your room now ripped apart, and mortifyingly, your diary sitting on the bed. Ghost followed your widened eyes and laughed when he saw the object of your fear. “You had no right to look through that!” You screeched, the waterworks starting back up again, this time in embarrassment. Now Ghost was intrigued, he had only made it through about a dozen entries

“Awe, what possibly could you have written in here that’s so scary? You know what, I think we should look through it together.” He said, and you can see him smile through his balaclava. Your heart might as well have stopped in fear, remembering exactly what’s contained in the small pink book. You realize quickly that your hands are still free and start struggling to pummel this large man in the face with your fists. Ghost snorts, easily dodging your fists and reaching into his pocket, out he pulls a nice set of silver handcuffs. Your tears, which you had somehow gotten to stop, start welling up in your eyes for a second time as Ghost seals your fate, wrangling your arms behind your back and clicking the handcuffs into place. He hoists you into the air, tossing you onto the bed, and grabs your diary. Ghost flips to the page he left off on, uninterested in your mundane retellings of the food you had ate and your studies, before pulling you once again, onto his lap.

“Are you going to tell me what this little diary contains before I continue?” he pries, and you shake your head while scowling at him

“It’s none of your business you brute!” Ghost huffs, before beginning to read your entry aloud

“Dear diary, things have been getting real lonely around the house. The maids have stopped coming around as much, I’ve heard murmurs among them that they haven’t received their payment for the week. I decided to go into father’s office to see if there was any explanation, but all I found were files on some scary men he’s after.” You wiggle again,

“that’s enough, that’s enough! You’ve read enough!” You plead, Ghost just laughs and tightens his grip on you before continuing

“I heard the maids gossiping about me, about how sad it is that the only people I’ve interacted with is them. How sad it is that someone like me hasn’t had a romantic experience yet. Of course, I don’t care or anything, father has his reasons. But since he’s been gone for so long it’s given me time to… explore.” Ghost cocks his eyebrow as he looks down at you, your face is beet red and you’re shaking like a leaf “I found one of his magazines in his office, but everything I read about didn’t help, it still just felt weird. I think I’m broken, I wish I could be one of these girls…” Ghost trails off as he finishes the entry before his gruff voice cuts through the silence

“Time to explore, huh?” The tears that had been threatening to fall finally gave way as you started bawling

“Please don’t tell father, I didn’t do anything, I promise!” Ghost just laughs

“Didn’t do anything? These entries don’t show you didn’t do anything little girl.” You try and curl in on yourself, as much as you can with your hands behind your back. He grabs your jaw forcing you to look at him “But don’t you worry, your father has been, taken care of, to say the least” Ghost says ominously, his whole body pounding with need, with a hunger. Fresh meat. Just sitting in his lap, defenseless. A pang of fear stroke through your heart, your body shaking as you realized just how much danger you were actually in. He let your jaw go, returning his gaze to the diary, eyes scanning the next couple entries. Descriptions of your first time exploring your body, only knowing how because of that mistaken find, how you desperately humped your pillows with restless want, and how you’ve asked the maids for romance novels. Ghost closed the journal, he had seen enough.

“Dirty, dirty girl” he growled, and suddenly your journal was thrown to the side and his hand landed on your thigh.

You whimpered, shutting your legs tightly to try to prevent his hand from travelling further. It was no use. His other hand moved from your waist to your other knee as he wretched your legs apart. God your reaction was pathetic, Ghost thought, watching as you cried out and squeezed your eyes shut. “Come on, don’t you want this” he drawled “I’ll give you what you’ve been dreaming about, sweetheart.” Your thoughts are racing a mile a minute, you don’t know what to do, the only thing you can do is try to get off his lap. This seems to excite him more, actively hearing him try to calm his breath down. You start to whimper, muttering stop between shaky breaths. Your attempts had officially failed, as your mutters seemed to snap the remaining control Ghost had, his hands digging into your thighs roughly. “I’m going to do whatever I want with you, and it’s within your best interest to not put up a fight.” His voice was as rough as the grip on your thighs, and as one hand kept your thigh open, the other started to trail closer to the cloth covering what Ghost really wanted.

“I don’t have anything you want!” You cried, panting as his fingers finally rested on the fabric keeping him from his prize.

“Oh but you do, you have something very special for me to take.” And finally, it really clicked in your head.

“No… No no no, you can’t!” you screamed, fighting the handcuffs keeping you from fighting back. Ghost had enough with your incessant struggling, ripping his hands away from between your thighs, they returned under your arms as he lifted you to throw you onto the center of the bed. The way he was able to maneuver you was dizzying, lifting you as if you were nothing. You went to scoot to the top of the bed, hoping the fluffy texture of your pillows would be enough to calm you down, you faintly heard Ghost snicker. Watching his hulking figure fully get onto the bed and crawl to the middle of it, grabbing your ankle. He pulled roughly and watched in amusement as you yelped in surprise, your head hitting the pillows. You shut your eyes tight, wanting to pinch yourself to escape this nightmare. Ghost groaned as he finally gave himself some well needed attention by rubbing his bulge through his pants, relishing in your fear.

“I can see why your father kept you locked away from the outside world, you’d never make it out there” he cooed, taking in the way your shaking had caused the strap of your little pink dress to fall off your shoulder. Your pigtails had been slightly messed up from the way he had grasped your hair earlier. Your face was wet with tears and your lips were red and puffy from your nervous biting. He needed those lips on his cock, needed your eyes gazing up at him as he wrecked your throat. “Get on your knees.” He commanded, and you opened your eyes to see him in front of you on his knees, still managing to tower over you. You almost scoffed at him, how the hell were you supposed to do that with your hands behind your back. It was like he could sense your attitude as he grabbed both of your pigtails and yanked you forward, forcing you to rearrange yourself to get to your knees. You could see him smile under his balaclava, but his cold blue eyes stared at you with a look of feigned care. “Good girl” he cooed. He released his hold on your hair, letting you fall face first into your covers as he went to unbutton his pants, you turn your neck, trying to see what the large man was doing now. As the sound of a zipper hit your ears, your blood ran cold.

“I have an idea, little one” Ghost said, fake saccharine dripping off his words, everything he said made you feel like you were walking on the edge. Unbeknownst to you, Ghost was pulling a bandana sized piece of fabric out of one of his vest pockets. He used one hand to yank you up again “Keep yourself up” he growled as he folded the fabric. Your brain couldn’t comprehend what was happening until you registered his heated stare and his hands moving to move this piece of fabric towards you.

What was going on, what was he doing? But then it clicked, too late. As you started shaking your head from side to side, Ghost grabbed your chin harshly.

“Stay still, or you won’t like the results” and suddenly the tears were pouring down your face again.

“Please don’t do this, I hate this part, I don’t want to go back there!” Ghost couldn’t help but smirk at your begging, the puzzle pieces of your past slowly falling into place.

“Awe, did your dear old father do this? Take your sight before putting you in that little cage. Letting you sit there and rot?” He questioned, knowing he hit the nail on the head, your fright in the cage earlier helping him gather this conclusion. Your sobs only got louder and more frantic, believing that’s exactly what this man was going to do to you as well.

If Ghost was a better man, he would’ve reconsidered his sick idea. But Ghost wasn’t a good man, evident by the way he yanked the fabric tight around your eyes.

A knot tight enough that only nimble hands would be able to pull it apart, you were close to hysterical.

“Please,” you blubbered “don’t put me back there, I’ll be good!” it was at this confession that Ghost groaned, a groan resonating from deep in the back of his throat. He had you right in the palm of his hands, so malleable that Ghost couldn’t bear waiting any longer.

“Alright, alright” he huffed “I won’t put you back in that stupid cage.” At this your sobs quieted, but only a bit, the vast unknown behind the blindfold still making you vulnerable. “What do you say?” He sneered, patting your cheek lightly.

“Thank you! Thank you, thank yo—“ he cut you off

“Thank you, what?” He growled. You racked your head for what he could possibly mean, you had no idea who this man was, no inkling of a name. Your thoughts were suddenly cut off with a slap to your cheek, the pain causing you to yelp out

“Daddy!”

Time stood still. For the first time that night, Ghost couldn’t breathe. “What was that doll?” He managed to grunt out.

Your brain was so fuzzy from the slap, words were just pouring out of your mouth, anything to try and please the man in front of you “Thank you daddy, thank you” and Ghost simply couldn’t stop the way his hand shot to yank down his boxers, releasing his throbbing erection. He couldn’t be blamed for the way he grabbed your pigtails in his hands and yanked you forward. You cried out at the strain, the lack of support without your arms making this a particularly uncomfortable situation. Suddenly, there was something fleshy prodding against your mouth, you whimpered. What did he want you to do? What was this? Ghost looked down at the young girl in front of him, the tip of his cock was inflamed, he needed relief.

“Come on, sweetheart. Suck.” He growled. I’m going to tear her apart. Your brain had to be short circuiting. Nothing in your books had described anything like this, not even close. Heated make out sessions and light touching were the furthest her books went. What did he even want you to do? He grabbed your chin, squeezing your lips apart before thrusting his hips forward. You were suddenly overwhelmed by the salty, musky taste of his flesh, your mouth forced open to accommodate his width. He had only pressed in the tip, and you were already struggling, trying to shake your head and force him out of your mouth, but his grip on your pigtails returned as he shoved another inch in your mouth. “Come on, doll. You can do it.” The praise made your mind spin as your mouth was opened wider than it ever had before. You tried to follow what he told you to do and suck on the member in your mouth, you hear a low groan above you, a small indicator to keep it up.

“You sure you’re a virgin, sweetheart? Cause you’re taking it like a slut.” It was at this point that he yanked your head forward onto his cock, hitting the back of your throat.

You sputtered, and the tears really started falling, first soaking the fabric and then rolling down your face. Ghost couldn’t help but laugh at the pathetic display in front of him, letting go of one pigtail to faintly trace his hand along the size of your face. You were trying to shake your head again, trying to breathe, when Ghost finally let up. Just to shove you right back down. You cried, and cried, but the more you showed your distress, the rougher his thrusts became. You were desperately trying to suck air in through your nose and the rare times when he would pull all the way out. Then, when you were finally starting to get the hang of it, Ghost kept one hand on your pigtail and moved the other to the back of your head and forced you to the base of his cock. The shock was immediate, your body trying to reject him and your gag reflex kicking in. Ghost growled, you could hear how his breathing had picked up, but that was the last thing you were focusing on as you were desperately trying to break free from his grasp. Drool was pooling around the sides of your mouth, sweat had your hair sticking to your forehead, as you desperately tried to breathe, Ghost making it increasingly harder to. “Come on baby, you don’t need air that badly, you can just be a braindead whore.” His words faintly registered as your head increasingly felt fuzzier. You could feel yourself giving up the fight, letting him force you to deepthroat him.

“Finally,” he groaned “Let yourself be used like a little fleshlight.” You felt filthy, mixes of fluids dripping onto your chest. Ghost’s hips stuttered as he threw his head back, a low moan coming out of the back of his throat as once again he shoved your head to the very base. You still weren’t prepared, and this time, it was accompanied by a salty liquid hitting the back of your throat. He was forcing you to swallow this liquid that you had no knowledge of, not aware of what it was at all. Ghost could hear your cries, your gurgles as he came down your throat. It only got him off more. Finally, Ghost ripped his cock out of your mouth, forcing your mouth open to inspect it, making sure you had swallowed all of his cum.

“W-What was that, what did I just swallow?!” You cried, letting your head fall to his thigh.

“Oh, relax my sweet angel, you’ll be just fine.” It hadn’t even passed through his mind that you wouldn’t have any idea what cum was, and the very thought that you didn’t was enough to get him stirring again. You were desperately trying to get your body to calm down, finally able to breathe. You still couldn’t see, and Ghost had no intention of letting you anytime soon. Ghost picked up his half hard member and stoked it a couple times to the image of you in front of him. You had made an absolute mess on your covers, a large puddle of spit and tears evident below you.

“What a messy baby.” He laughed, tilting your face up so you could “look” at him. He looked at you again and realized that he wanted you on your back, now. He leaned down to your ear,

“Do you think you can follow Daddy’s orders? He whispered, the grumble in his accent making you shiver. You slowly nod your head, scared for what would happen if you disobeyed his actions. “Lay on your back.” He demanded. You suddenly had a choice, try and turn around and flop like a fish, or fall back and hope you didn’t hit your head. Before you could choose, Ghost was choosing for you, picking you up once again below the arms and throwing you onto your back. Your head hit the pillows, and you let out a small cry of surprise. “Not moving fast enough, princess” your head was spinning with all these pet names, each one leaving you with a different feeling.

“You’re wearing too much clothing doll, I think we should change that.” He observed, letting his hand run up your thigh again.

“No, no, I did what you wanted, I don’t want you to see me naked!” you wept, trying once again to close your legs.

“Oh, come on, little one, haven’t you learned by now?” His voice reached your ears as you suddenly hear him unsheathe a knife from its holster. You suddenly feel what you assume is the back of the knife along the outside skin of your thigh, and you bite your tongue to stop the tears from falling again, settling to whimper instead.

“Daddy, please, please don’t hurt me!” Ghost sits back, sets his knife down, and pretends to ponder even though you can’t see him.

“Hmm, I think I know just what to do with you.” You lay there hoping that means you’ll be released from these handcuffs, your hands uncomfortably sitting behind your back, but he opens your legs again instead. Ghost grabs his knife again, lifting your dress to reveal your panties. White cotton with pink rabbits decorating the fabric, and a cute little pink bow in the center, Ghost almost lost it right there. How adorable.

He peels the fabric away from your skin, he knows he could do this the easy way, but fuck, the power he held over you was enough to make him feral. He held a knife up into the fabric and pushed, the fabric giving way under the sharp knife. You cried out, not expecting your underwear to be violated in such a way. He continued to expertly cut the fabric off your body, before disposing of the ruined cotton off the side of the bed. This time, the tears had no choice but to fall, and Ghost realized after the first sniffle. “Awe sweetheart, don’t you worry, I won’t cut you unless you disobey me.” Yeah, because that was supposed to make you feel better. You mewled pathetically, trying to save yourself one last time

 “Please! Just don’t cut up this dress, if you uncuff me I’ll take it off for you and then you can put the cuffs right back on. Daddy please, please!” You rushed, trying to save one of your favorite garments. Ghost tutted at your display of fear, genuinely thinking your offer through.

“Mm, fine.” He grabbed the key from another pocket in his vest, unlocking your cuffs and grabbing them, keeping them close to him. “Put on a show, babydoll.” He leaned back, hoping that he had shown you enough to scare you out of disobeying.

You really wanted to run, you should’ve. But instead, your body started moving, hips swaying side to side as your hands went to clumsily fumble for the zipper. Ghost just sat back and watched you struggle, watching as you finally got your hands on the small piece of metal. Slowly pulling it down, he watched as you slid the lace straps of your pink gingham dress down your arms. Everything you did was with such sensualness that Ghost couldn’t help but feel proud of the display in front of him.

“Good job baby girl, now take it off for me.” And with that you slid the dress down to your waist, over your hips, and suddenly Ghost was growling low. His hand crept closer to the cuffs again, and he pounced. Just as your dress reached the crease of your knees, Ghost ripped your hands away from the dress and joined them above your head. The show obviously stunned you, causing you to cry out immediately, your heart starting to race.

“No, I thought I was doing good!” You pleaded, but Ghost just laughed.  “Oh you’re doing great sweetheart, but you look so much better defenseless.” His words laced around your heart, squeezing tightly as you started shaking from the cool breeze. You were exposed, your dress bunched at your knees, your hands held above your head, and your simple white bra covered your tits, something Ghost wanted to change. But first, he wanted you back in those handcuffs. He grabbed them from his pocket and wrapped them around your wrists, tighter this time just to see you squirm.

“It hurts,” you sniffled, the words barely leaving your mouth before a loud smack was heard resonating throughout the room. He had smacked you.

“That, is hurt, princess.” He sneered, watching as your head dropped in front of you, chin hitting your chest. You were truly in the hands of a bad man. Tears starting to dampen the fabric again, snot running down your nose. Ghost let your hands fall in front of you this time before pushing you backwards onto the bed. Once you landed on your back, Ghost took the opportunity to take off the dress and throw it into the corner of the room near your closet. “I’m going to devour you.” He growled as he spread your legs. If it weren’t for the fact that your head was still pounding from the last time he smacked you, you probably would have resisted the motion, but you couldn’t find it in you. You felt his hand snake behind your back as he expertly took off your bra with one hand, his skilled hand taking off your bra and roughly palming one of your breasts in his hand. Your tits weren’t small by any sense of the word, yet Ghost was able to almost cover an entire breast with one hand, something that reminded you of his sheer size.

“You have such perfect tits for me to play with,” he growled as he leaned down in front of you, one hand still palming your breast. Ghost shoved his mask up to his nose and suddenly, you could feel his hot breath inches away from your cunt, you didn’t know he meant devour literally. But your theory was confirmed as you felt the long stripe of Ghost’s tongue from the bottom of your slit to the top of your mound. You cried out at this, not knowing what to do at the new surge of pleasure that radiated through your body.

“What are you doing, what are you doing?!” You cried, you knew this was wrong, nobody was supposed to do this.

“Come on little girl, just let yourself experience this.” His voice almost like the devil on your shoulder, urging you to let him keep going.

“I don’t want you to see me like this, I don’t want anyone touching there!” The way you didn’t exactly know how to describe it was driving him nuts, leaving most thoughts behind he decided to bark out

“Quiet, before I shut you up in a different way.” The threat hung in the air as you whimpered pathetically. Ghost took this as his cue to continue his attack on your cunt. Despite your cries and protests, you were wet, deviously so. Ghost couldn’t get enough of the divine nectar that was gracing his tongue as he dove into you at a rabid pace. Shoving his tongue as far as he could into your hole, the intrusion foreign to you.

“Oh my God! D-Daddy!” You screamed, you didn’t know what to do. You had never felt so much overwhelm in your life. Your walls were clenching around his tongue, and just that was enough for his erection to make itself very noticeable. The only stimulation being the small rubs against the covers when he lapped at you just right, his cock was once again flushed. The tip dripping precum. But Ghost had a mission. Your cries of “stop!” and “help!” were mixed in with broken moans, that’s how he knew he was getting closer to his goal.

As he shoved his face further into your pussy, lapping at your spongy walls, you were squirming and crying, hands grasping at the top of his balaclava trying to get him to stop. “I can’t take it!” That was what he wanted to hear. Switch. His tongue trailed up to your clit, and suddenly your body was ignited with a fire that you hadn’t been feeling before. Your screams grew louder and higher as you begged him to stop. “Daddy I can’t take this, somethings happening!” It dawned on him that you had definitely never had an orgasm before, and you could feel the wide grin that spread on his face as he continued his assault.

“Come on baby girl,” he growled out, voice muffled between your thighs. His lips wrapped around your clit, and he sucked, hard, and suddenly your vision was going white. You were seeing stars. Ghost had to hold your legs in place as you screamed “Daddy!” so loud that he was glad this was your own residence.

“You make so much noise, princess. So greedy” He tutted. Tapping on your clit with his finger.

The stimulation was almost too much, lighting a spark again. Ghost rose from his hands and leaned back on his knees, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Such a delicious meal though, you did so good.” He cooed, and you preened with the praise, back arching and a small smile coming across your face, quickly overtaken by a look of fear again when you felt Ghost’s hands travel from your thigh to your core.

“What are you doing?” You said in a panic, “I’m sensitive!” you cried out, truly believing that would be enough to deter him. Ghost laughed, shocked that you hadn’t learned.

“No no, you owe me something baby girl,” And with that both of his hands were roughly grabbing and kneading your chest, pulling and pinching at your nipples as you mewled and moaned in abandon. He kept his left hand on your breast as he used his other hand to guide his cock to your pulsing entrance.

“What!” You shrieked. “What are you doing, I’ve had enough!” But Ghost wasn’t having it. Removing his hand from your breast with one last rough pinch to your nipple, he replaced it over your mouth to stifle your shrieking.

“Oh be quiet. I’ll take great pleasure in taking you.” You were already pushing against him, but still, the little lubrication you did have allowed the very tip to slip in with a “pop!” It was then that Ghost removed his hand from your mouth, and you screamed.

“Help, help, Daddy!” you cried. Tears readily streaming down your face. Ghost looked down and almost came on the spot, blood. Just a little bit, from the lack of prep. It was at this point that he didn’t want you blindfolded anymore. He wanted you to see how much he was wrecking your body. He wretched the tip out and you sighed in relief before Ghost’s hand snuck behind your head. Your breath hitched. Was he finally doing what you wanted? As the maker of the knot, he was able to take it apart quite easily, watching as the piece of fabric fell from your face. He rubbed his fingers between the soaked fabric, groaning as you still refused to open your eyes, afraid of what you would be faced with.

“Open your eyes, pretty girl. I want to see your eyes when I break you.” Your skin around your eyes was puffy and red, your eyes bloodshot, your mascara running down your face, lips cracked and bleeding from how much you had bitten them. You were the definition of wrecked beauty in Ghost’s eyes. You finally looked between your legs, seeing Ghost’s massive cock resting between your legs. Your sobbing started up again when you registered the red tinge on his tip, evidence of the strain the first time. “Oh come on baby, I can make this easier for you.” He cooed. He quickly leaned down and pulled his mask up to his nose, gathering a large wad of spit that he skillfully spat directly on your clit, watching as it slid down your pussy. “God, what a sight.” Ghost groaned as he pulled his mask back down.

“Please, please don’t do this,” you tried your best to get him to stop. There was no way this behemoth was going to be able to fit. You were going to die. Ghost just laughed at you again, “Come on, you know that won’t work with me.” He smiled underneath his mask and once again guided his member to your entrance.

“Three… two…” He didn’t let you wait. He shoved just a little more than the tip in, and even though the spit provided some lube, you still screamed.

“It hurts! It’s too much!” Tears were streaming down your face, the hulking man bullying his way into you had started to seriously break your mind. You were going mad. You swear you could feel your body tearing open, your brain was screaming at you to get him to stop. There was no way he was going to be able to fit. He was insane. Ghost must have sensed your growing anxiety, as he cooed at you quietly that you were doing “so good,” trailing his fingers from the center of your chest down to rest over your clit. Starting to circle his fingers around your sensitive nub, your cunt slowly started pulsing around Ghost’s dick. He wanted to take pity on you, really, he did, but you just looked so pretty stretched around his cock like this. As Ghost went to take one of your breasts in his hand again, you squeezed your eyes shut, but this wasn’t for long as the second Ghost noticed, a loud slap could be heard.

“You’re not being a good girl for me, isn’t that what you want to do, be a good girl?” He questioned as you tried to focus your eyes on the masked man in front of you. He was looming above you, one hand resting to the side of your head to steady himself and the other returning his harsh treatment of your breast.

Out on display like this, your body was shaking from both the exposure and the fear coursing through your veins. The slap had once again made your head fuzzy, like every time you received impact from his large hand, your brain reset. Ghost leaned back to inspect the way that you wrapped around him as he went to slowly push a few more inches in. There was one thing you were right about, and it’s that Ghost’s cock was most definitely too much for you. But Ghost didn’t have the heart to care, he would make sure it would fit.

“Don’t worry princess, you’re halfway there.” Your heart dropped, your sobs getting louder. At this, Ghost laughed, reminding you of the heartlessness of this beast.

“Go easy on me! Please, just this much, no more, no more!” You cried, and Ghost responded to this by pressing just a little harder on your clit.

“You need to realize that the more you struggle, the more this is going to hurt.” Ghost grunted out. But you didn’t care, you wanted him away from you. You utilized the fact that your feet weren’t bound and kicked your heel into his back. You heard a little “oof” before Ghost stopped all of his movement.

Uh oh. Something told you that was a bad move. A low growl reached your ears and your heart dropped to your stomach.

“You know,” He reeled back, stroking at his chin in faux pondering “that was laughable, mutt. We should really teach you how to kick properly.” His eyes looked down at you with amusement before narrowing “But that was also bad, very very bad.” His voice was thick, reaching your ears with such ferocity that your skin immediately erupted in goosebumps. Slowly, you could feel Ghost pull out, leaving just the tip inside. Without warning, his hand shot to your throat, squeezing immediately and causing you to choke on your breath.

“Oh you poor,” he slid in another inch, “sweet,” another inch “pathetic,” your head felt like it was surrounded by pillows and your vision had black dots swimming in front, you needed air, you needed- “whore.” And suddenly, he was thrusting his cock into you, A scream was ripped from your throat, the lack of breath causing it to die quickly. Your body was on fire, you couldn’t breathe, and you were thrashing to get out of his grip. But without air, your body was losing momentum quickly, and those black dots were getting increasingly larger. He hadn’t even moved, instead he squeezed your throat tighter. “Come on,” he grumbled lowly “submit.” You hadn’t had air for at least a minute, Ghost looked down at you and very faintly you could make out his grin through the mask. This sick bastard.

Despite you being the one with a hand around your throat, Ghost also couldn’t breathe. The way your cunt was pulsing around his cock had him trying to steadily gather air. “Fuck princess, you’re squeezing me so tight.” He groaned, but if you could hear him you didn’t make any indication of it. Ghost didn’t want to let his grasp on your neck go, your eyes were rolling back into your head. He felt like a teenage boy again, gathering the strength to not cum right then and there.

Finally, when the black dots had become swarms in your vision, he released. Your chest was heaving as you gasped for air, your head feeling as though it was underwater. But then your thoughts came back to you, and you broke down again.

“Please spare me! I don’t want to die, please, just leave me alone!” Ghost wasn’t listening, instead going to pull his hips back slowly, teasingly, as your walls clenched onto him like no tomorrow.

“You feel so good though sweetheart, how could I ever leave you alone” he cooed, his voice still carrying a dark weight behind it as he thrusted forward again. This caused yet another scream to be pulled from your body. You were mortified; you had no idea what to do.

Ghost couldn’t fucking believe the scene that was playing out in front of him. The velvet that was wrapped around his cock was addicting, and it took every fiber of his being to not slam into you repeatedly. He was trying to be nice, trying not to jackhammer into you like there’s no God, and yet he could feel his self-control slipping away. Piece by piece, his resolve fell away. Instead of the spit acting as lube, your own wetness was starting to drip onto him, and it was turning him on to no end. Knowing your body was slowly giving into him.

Knowing your body was slowly giving into him was only making you cry out louder. It was getting to your head, feeling hazy and clouding right from wrong. You started really looking at this man, tears swimming in your vision. You looked right into his icy blue eyes, the military paint around his eyes making them look so stark in contrast.

The eye contact was the last straw. The way your teary eyes were staring so intensely into his, almost studying him, made him snap. “Oh princess,” a slow thrust here “don’t look at me like that” another thrust, a bit quicker this time. “You’re gonna make me lose my resolve.” He growled. With that, he quickened his pace, and oh how you reacted. Your moans graced his ears with a heightened pitch and increase in quantity. “You’re such a whiny little baby” he cooed, watching you squirm as he used the same tone to belittle you further, “Can’t even handle me like this, so pathetic.”

The tears rolled down your face. You didn’t understand how any God could leave you at the hands of a man so cruel, but for once, the extra crying seemed to work on him. Almost.

After patronizing you more and watching fat tears roll down your pretty little face, Ghost was hit with an idea.

As you closed your eyes, you suddenly felt his warm tongue lap up the tears that had trailed down your chest, causing you to shiver. “D-Daddy!” You moaned, not expecting the sensation as he slowly trailed up your chest, up your neck, to your jaw, and finally your cheek.

“You want me to be nice to you sweetheart?”

You nodded, eyes looking up at him with such want, such plea, that Ghost almost felt bad was what he was about to do. He went to pull out, teasing your entrance with the tip. But then you started wiggling, whining at the loss of the feeling, and Ghost just couldn’t take it.

“Too bad.” He growled, and with that, he slammed into you with no remorse.

The scream you let out could’ve broken windows, and oh how it was music to Ghost’s ears. “Oh yes baby girl, let it allll out, tell the world exactly who this pussy belongs to.”

The pace that he begun was like that of a jackhammer, your pussy was on fire. The squelching noises mixed with the sounds of your screams? Moans? (You couldn’t tell anymore) had you realizing just how ruined your bed was going to be once this was all over. If it ever ended. But slowly, against your will, your body started reacting. The pain slowly subsided, and it started to feel good. The fire was still ongoing, but it raged in your core instead. Every thrust left you clinging to your soul and you weren’t sure you were going to get it back. Just then, Ghost went to angle his hips just a little higher, grabbing your hips and starting to use you like a fleshlight. Your breath hitched, and suddenly you were gripping onto your covers for dear life.

“Daddy, daddy! There, oh my God, there!”

“Oh yeah?” His fingers grabbed onto your hips harder, adding more pressure and making sure it would bruise. He watched as you nodded before thrashing your head back and forth. He almost wanted to take his mask off so you could see the wicked smile etched across his face, but he knew better.

You started to feel the sensation you had when Ghost’s face was between your thighs, and you almost wanted to run from it. “No, no! It feels weird, I feel funny!”

Ghost took that as his chance to make you launch into orbit, using one hand to trail up your chest to your neck, and his other to rest on your clit. Making small circles, your mewls were just getting louder and louder. But that stopped when Ghost started choking you again, your hands trying to wrap around his arms and pull them away.

“N-No” you choked out, tears starting to stream down your face again. But for some reason, the feeling persisted. As he was thrusting into you with the strength of a God while cutting off your air supply, you realized your body was still feeling good.

“Come on baby, submit. You know you like this.” Your pussy was squeezing him tighter the longer he rested his hand on your throat. He reveled in it before he started feeling the familiar pulsing he felt around his tongue. The sensation had him loosening his grip on your throat, watching as you gasped for air.

“Daddy, I can’t take this!” You cried, digging your nails into his back.

He groaned “Yes you can angel, let go.” He picked up the pace by a notch, ramming into you like there was no tomorrow and God did you react. Ghost felt a final squeeze, before realizing his abdomen felt a little more wet than it did before. You had squirted on him.

The feeling was dizzying, fireworks were exploding behind your eyelids. The release was overwhelming, the way you screamed while digging your nails into his shoulders had you convinced there had to be blood. You felt electrified, panting heavily before realizing he hadn’t stopped, but his thrusts were faltering.

“Fuck, you can’t do that to me you dirty girl.” He grunted out. Resting one hand by the side of your head and the other on your breast, he started groping you before picking up his pace once again.

“W-Wait, I can’t take anymore!”

“Shhh, just a little more.” And then, with a particularly rough palm of your breast, he came. The thought of his cum being the first to fill you was enough to make his dick twitch to attention again, but he wanted to give you a break.

The feeling was unknown to you. You gasped quietly. You had just felt him twitch, felt the hot liquid hit your walls.

“Good job angel. You did so good for me.” He cooed, and you couldn’t help but writhe shyly at his praise. You felt him slowly pull out, and you whined at the loss. The empty feeling foreign after his onslaught. The wet feeling between your thighs seemingly growing by the second.

Ghost peered between your legs and groaned, watching his seed drip out of you slowly, before pulling his boxers and pants back up, turning around, and walking out of your bedroom. You tried to sit up quickly and fell back, whining loudly to try and show your distress. “Where are you going?” You shouted worriedly. You almost started to cry when you heard no response, but then you heard the faucet running. The large man appeared in the doorway holding a washcloth “I’ll give you the option, would you like a bath or just a rag?”

“Um… a bath would be nice?” You couldn’t believe you were letting this man pamper you after he broke into your house, but what else were you supposed to do? Your moral complaints were quickly quieted when he picked you up bridal style to walk you to the bathroom. He had somehow found the bubbles, and lined the tub ledge with the products that you used.

After finishing your hair, Ghost began to wash your body, taking great care to grope and caress each curve of your body. The bath felt too sensual, but you couldn’t be bothered to care when the water was so warm, when his hands were so comforting, when the feeling was so… nice. When all was said and done, he drained the bath, wrapping you in a fluffy towel and bringing you back to your room.

Pulling open your closet, Ghost’s eyes were assaulted with pink and frills. You had an array of dresses and outfits that he could choose from. He decided to randomly choose a pale pink dress that looked tantalizingly short, decorated with ribbons, lace, and bows, he could tell you were satisfied by his choice.

“Put this on princess, then we’ll leave”

“Leave?!” You panicked, scrambling away from him once again.

“You really think you can live here on your own? When all the maids have stopped showing up? What happens when you run out of food?” He growled; he didn’t have the patience for this.

“I don’t want to! Please don’t take me from here!” You cried, tears starting to well up in your eyes. “Daddy always told me I wouldn’t be able to survive out there, that they would eat me alive”

“Oh they would. Which is why you’ll be with me” He grunted. “You don’t have a choice little one, so make this easy on me, won’t you?”

The tears started falling as you nodded, grabbing the dress and slowly putting it on. You stood up and maneuvered around him carefully to grab white ruffle socks and some white mary janes, hearing Ghost groan behind you.

“You make it so hard not to rip your clothing off and take you all night long.”

You shy away from him, the statement reminding you that he was not a good man. As you go to grab underwear, he stops you.

“None of that, you don’t get that luxury”

You whimpered quietly, uncomfortable with the thought of going out without anything covering you. The dress was already short enough, one that you only wore when your father wasn’t around, and here he was, forcing you to go out of the house without. Too scared to complain, you grabbed a couple toiletries and your diary, before turning to him. “If you’re going to take me, can you at least tell me your name?”

His eyes narrowed. “Ghost.”

You opened your mouth to start to complain before shutting it again, accepting the answer. “Where are you taking me?”

“The base. Where Price will figure out exactly what to do with you.”

You swallow, not exactly thrilled with the answer but you nod anyways. Ghost checks over the room one more time before turning to you and picking you up bridal style once again, a shocked noise coming from your mouth.

“Can’t have you going anywhere sweetheart.”

And with that, you’re leaving the house for the first time in your life. He watches as you take in the woods around you, glad that the rain stopped a bit ago.

“Johnny will be waiting for us, you’re in good hands.”

You can't help but doubt that.

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ I blame it on your love.❞

Mark Grayson X ftm!reader | prologue, angst | wc: 1.1K

warnings: death, mentions of torture, experimental procedures done on reader, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of trafficking (briefly)

masterlist ; pt. 0

authors note: the reader's backstory was very much influenced by Luka (from Alien Stage) and Black Widow/Winter Soldier (spec. the MCU) but I just wanted to toy with the idea of reader being something made for one purpose, finding another, but realizing their feelings will never be returned... Until he sees that in another universe, it is. Listening to ▸CODA by GRAY / Track 10 by Charli XCX Patreon | Discord

The first human with powers had set a domino affect in motion. A gentle shove against the laws of psychics, something that could simply be passed on as a mutation. Maybe a third eyelid like that of a crocodile, or an extra finger, a tail even. The next few that came, whether through sheer luck at birth or through blindly groping around in an ancient cave to become a God's avatar, were less subtle in every way possible.

But the effects were written in history. From persecution, to worship, to fear and finally to now.

Necessity.

Who needed nuclear bombs when you had a man who could fly through the air, with the strength of a thousand men, with the name Immortal?

With his team of other super humans, some even non-humans, keeping the world safe; it was tough on business.

You despised them. Heroes. In their brightly coloured outfits, streaking through the sky as symbols of hope when all it was was blind adoration.

But you despised them more for being the catalyst to your birth.

Birth. The word sounds foreign to you. You needed a mother for that, a warm body, a soothing voice, warm milk made just for you and all that bullshit.

You weren't born. You were made. They didn't want a child, much less a baby, they needed a weapon.

"Nothing flashy," a voice would speak. His voice rough, garbled from the amniotic fluid of your tank and your newly formed ears.

"I don't need laser eyes or acid breath. I need a brawler, a killer, a fucking weapon."

Your first breath was on the floors of a cold room. You'd reached up to tear the stubborn film of fluid over your mouth and nose, little chest heaving as your eyes were blinded by the light of a flashlight.

The first thing you felt after being made was cold indifference. No excited tears, no relieved sobs, just pen scrawling on paper and deft fingers poking and prodding your body. Needles pushed in, scalpel nicked and sliced, monitored closely as they dragged your body onto the cold metal table. They spoke, while you watched.

There were metal hooks on the walls, with different variations of you's. The room was so cold that it would keep bodies fresh for as long as they needed to be and you let out your first cry as it settled over you.

What millions had looked for their entire lives, their purpose to be in this world, had been revealed to you the same night you were born.

A weapon.

The GDA had their hands full enough as it is, petty crimes weren't enough to get them to even glance their way. But when they hear whispers of a gang with a superhuman child who had the strength of a tank and with skin as strong as reinforced metal — well, that was new concern entirely.

It didn't help that you were wickedly good at using your age to put people off guard. The heroes who'd rush into the burning building at the sounds of your screams, found with their bodies burnt to crisps but their neck twisted and ribs split open before the smoke inhalation got to them.

The heroes who thought you were a kidnapped child, forced into some sort of skin trade as you huddled in the corner of dark room only to be torn limb from limb by you.

Cecil was disturbed by your violence but he couldn't help to think at how efficient you were.

The intel you'd stolen from countless organized crimes, the corrupted police men and government officials you'd gotten information from. Your methods were crude but perhaps with a little guidance, some well-placed warmth, a well-timed praise here and there...

Catching you proved to be an impossible task at first. Whatever these fucks had implemented in you hadn't mattered, it was your instincts from years of killing. You had a knack for finding cameras, your eyes brazenly making contact with the lenses before you jumped towards it.

You couldn't fly — Cecil didn't believe in God, but he did mutter some words of relief at this — but your super strength gave you the ability to leap high into the air, fingers tearing through brick and metal so you could climb onto the walls like some deranged spider monkey.

Wearing you down once they did corner you was another task entirely. Immortal had lived thousands of lifetimes, but he'd never seen the animalistic anger you had in your eyes. A broken arm didn't matter to you, you'd simply bared your teeth at him and tore of your hand from the elbow down.

If you felt pain, you didn't show it.

You used your exposed bone as a knife instead.

Immortal had decided that for the greater good, he would put you out of your misery.

Cecil had saved you.

No, that's not right. Cecil hadn't saved you because he wanted to; Cecil found usefulness in your purpose. You knew this the second he spoke to you, and you didn't fight back against the restraints of the pure white room you were in.

A weapon with no wielder, with no purpose, what choice did you have?

The missions didn't matter to you. You did them without question, without failure. Cecil would give you ice cream for a job well done and you'd take it to your room, quietly eating it as medics tended to you and recorded any anomalies.

You were useful. They needed to keep you alive.

They told you one day, this kindly lady with her dimpled grin and warm brown eyes, that you were 10 years old.

The revelation didn't stick, you stared impassively at her and nodded.

When you were 12, Cecil gave you a new mission.

Omni-Man's son, Mark Grayson.

With Omni-Man refusing to join the GDA, he was still a bit of a wild card. Cecil liked to keep his affairs in check and he had promised Deborah Grayson to keep away from Mark, to give him a normal childhood.

So why not give Mark a new friend?

[melliemell]

Pairing: Fyodor x f!reader

Contents: SFW, intense making out on chairs, fluff. Approx 2.6k words

Fyodor appeared to be engrossed in the bright screen before him, shoulders hunched as he bit at his thumb in thought. 

It was a sight you were steadily becoming accustomed to. At times you doubted he even heard you entering his “workspace”, but you knew him better. Fyodor was a lot more observant than he let on. 

There was no need to clear your throat or signal your arrival anyhow, you just saw his hand stretch out, ready to take the folder you brought for him, so you did just that. 

It was the usual routine as Fyodor flipped through its contents, eyes scanning carefully. Even as he looked exhausted. In fact, Fyodor always had an aura of perpetual tiredness around him, so it was hard to read whether it applied to his current state. The late hour made you impatient too, wishing you’d at least get to sleep off the few hours before sunrise. 

“I couldn’t get ahold of everything,” you said, keeping your voice even. “I’ve mapped out the building, so I’ll be able to retrieve the rest in quick time.” 

It wasn’t so much as finding the papers, but copying them swiftly without notice that prolonged your job this time. Fyodor liked everything as he planned it, and when something went awry, it wasn’t so much as him adapting to the new circumstance than having predicted it itself. 

Maybe that’s why you don’t feel worry now. He surely knew your capabilities–you’ve been doing these types of jobs for him for a while now–and you tried to be as strict with yourself as you could. Slip-ups happened, but there were rarely consequences for them. For you.

A thought to ponder over, indeed.

“I see. I would like to have it by tomorrow,” Fyodor said, glancing briefly at you, and smiled.

He always looked gentle, like this. A man who knew exactly what to say and when. All in service of getting what he wanted when he wanted it. It was easy to fall victim to.

You nodded, sensing the unspoken cue to leave. 

And you were… you were leaving– yes. Your legs were already turning as Fyodor drew his gaze back to the screen, his lips parting to bite at his thumb again. You didn’t know what it was about that gesture, but it left a feeling of discontent in you. 

And it kept on happening. Every time you came back, that small nagging voice in your head always guided your attention to Fyodor’s hands. For a man that seemed so easy to bodily harm, he had a knack for completely destroying his fingers. No wonder since he was a man of habit, but seeing that thoughtful look and calm demeanour combined with such an uncomely habit struck at your nerves. 

It even got to the point of genuinely considering going to an actual drugstore just to buy him some nail recovery polish. Or something. You suppose straight-up bandages would go a bit far, though Fyodor didn’t seem the type to be offended.

Honestly, it was so absurd you barely had any idea how he’d react to that.

It irked you even now, as he worked in on your regular intel again. Fyodor’s hands were pale, delicate things, way swifter than you had thought as he typed away on the computer, both of you hunched over and seemingly breaking into a government organization that should definitely have better defences. 

It was a slow procedure, but Fyodor’s focus didn’t waver once, just kept a steady pace of dedication you had grown to admire about him. If you had doubted him before, it was clear now, with every small precision and thoughtful act, his was not a game of chance, but planning. 

And he was prepared for everything.

A small beep emerged from the screen. Your brows creased. “That’s supposed to be good, right?”

“I wouldn’t label it quite like that, but yes,” Fyodor’s eyes narrowed as he drew his chair closer, forcing you to shift more of your weight on the armrest. Your back was beginning to ache. “It will take more time this way, unfortunately.”

You nodded. To be honest, you didn’t mind the proximity. It took some time but you were proud to say you’d won some form of trust in recent. Or at least felt like it wasn’t too much of a hassle to be in Fyodor’s personal space like this. He does have a penchant for stabbing people, so it’s good to have a guard up, just in case.

It grew boring just watching on as time went by. By now the screen looked more like it behaved by itself, with Fyodor hitting a key here and there. You rose up and stretched, feeling a few joints pop. “I can’t fathom how you have the patience for this, I feel like an old grandpa just by standing.”

Fyodor looked at you, eyebrow raised. “Exactly. You’re standing, and I’m not. Small wonders help a lot.”

You hummed in agreement. But it was still rather stuffy in this room, the only light coming from the technology. There could have been a sun peaking through if only there were any windows. “Not just that, you’ve positively entered your hermit era if you keep plotting in your dark dungeon like this.”

“Is that bad?” Fyodor asked, almost seeming thoughtful.

“Very.” You shifted, leaning your weight on the desk to have a better view of the man before you. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said absently, head already turned to the screen.

Yeah, you doubted it. Not yet, at least. There was a lot more to be done before the next phase of his plane. You sighed, casting your gaze back to the screen. 

The sound of tapping returned and soon you were in a struggle between keeping a facade of concentrated composure, and forcefully stuffing away any daydreams of buying that damned nail polish.

But as with all things, getting stuck in your head usually lead to idiocy in the real world. Without much thought, just as the screen behind you flashed, indicating you’ve finally made it in, your hand gently reached out, catching Fyodor’s mid-typing, stopping him on the spot. 

He looked curiously down, blinking slowly.

You, on the other hand, were on the verge of chanting an inner mantra of stay calm stay calm stay calm and cool stay–

In moments like those, it was paramount to stand your ground. You touch remained firm, even if your pulse was rising by the second. Carefully, you turned his palm upwards, your fingers gently sliding along his skin as Fyodor tilted his head to the side. Observing. 

“Now this is unexpected,” he remarked, but didn’t move away, compliant even now. You wondered if his words were true. He was never surprised. 

You paid him no mind. Fyodor’s fingers shifted in sync with yours as you examined them, almost giving you more access to your curiosity. 

“I like your hands,” you said, calmly. Testing the waters seemed safer, for now. “You should take care of them. It doesn’t go well with the image you want to send out.”

“And here I thought having layers was more eye-catching.” Damn. Fyodor was teasing you, by the sound of his tone. Almost playful as he reclined back in his chair and relaxed. The complete opposite of how you felt. 

Forcing some semblance of control, you went on, “Not in the expanse of self-care. Really, I’m this close to booking you a manicure.” 

A light chuckle escaped his lips. “I’ll respectfully decline. But it does warm my heart to see your concern.” 

The weight of his gaze surprised you. It felt like being caged, every detail of your soul examined and studied in the blink of a second before his features softened into his usual pleasant smile. Amicable, and entirely fake.

You knew Fyodor was a man to keep your distance from. You’ve barely met any of his subordinates, yet even that small glimmer of information was enough to guess he wasn’t one to put his trust in others. 

Hell, he wasn’t one to hold yours in either.

But this moment now… those moments… watching Fyodor was interesting. Seeing what he would do– even more so.

You didn’t have time to second guess yourself. You wouldn’t let your hand stay in another’s hold if you weren’t entirely against it, would you? 

With that small confidence in tow, you–slowly, your full attention on Fyodor–moved his palm to the soft cushion of your lips. The kiss was scarcely there, shy of barely grazing his skin. It locked both of you in place, the build-up of something you weren’t entirely sure of engulfed the space in between. 

If you were more observant, you would have noticed how stiff Fyodor’s hand had become, barely a waver in it. He was waiting, letting you guide the situation for reasons only he knew. 

Your breath spilt against his skin as you said, “I wasn’t expecting to do this.”

“Weren’t you?” Fyodor’s brow raised. 

You felt your skin warming. “You’re not pulling away.”

“Hm. Neither are you.”

Those words, simple and direct. It felt like permission, but to what? The fear of reading into this wrongly crawled into your belly, but you already fell into this situation. Might as well try–

“I wanted to see what will happen,” you said, not prepared for the intense look in Fyodor’s eyes. A moment later– your breath stilled in your chest just as the slow caress of Fyodor’s thumb brushed against your lower cheek, unexpected,

“What was that English phrase about killing curiosity?” The chair’s wheels scratched at the floor as Fyodor moved closer, leaning his weight on one armrest as he cocked his head in thought. “It’s very similar to a Russian one, so it can be a bother to mix up.”

Your answer came automatically, mind entirely on where you ended yourself up in. “How curiosity killed the cat? Yeah, I know that one.”

Fyodor hummed, pleased. “Yes, exactly. It’s a good phrase. Though a bit cliche.”

“Well, does it?” You swallowed. Your eyes never left his, still locked in place.

“‘Does it’ what?” He asked. There was no trace of his smile now. Just attention. All drawn to you.

“Kill it?” You searched his face. 

“That is what you think of me? How cruel,” Fyodor said. His tone was playful still; you realised you liked it. Him. Like this.

Tentatively, you stood up. Life was about taking risks, right? “I can’t be blamed. You are hard to read.” 

You weren’t sure how far you could push him, but the sight of his face morphing into one of surprise as your hand found balance on his shoulder, a moment later your legs dangling from one side as you found yourself seated on Fyodor’s lap. It wasn’t ideal, with too little space and two bodies in it, but feeling Fyodor’s hand finding its way on your hip, almost drawing you closer in help to keep you in balance, you weren’t about to complain. 

You spun your head around, feining surprise. You forced your voice lower, hyper-aware of your newfound proximity. Faking being in control was pretty close to the real thing. Mostly. “Huh, curiosity can lead to some interesting circumstances.”

Nailed it.

“Indeed, you should be very careful with it,” Fyodor said. Despite his remarks, he leaned back again. The hand you held long left your cheek was now resting on the armrest, absently drumming into the plastic. 

Fuck.

“I’m… trying. I’m guessing it’s fine for me to do this?” You wiggled your legs, wondering what exactly you wanted out of this. This felt nice, but you were nowhere near being comfortable enough with Fyodor to speak as openly as you wanted. Maybe there was a plus to this, the unpredictability of it all. He seemed way more at ease than you would like. “Where exactly are we going with this?”

“Why, I’ll be following your lead. It’s been amusing so far, I want to see what you will do.” And the bastard smiled.

Not ideal. But you brought this on yourself. The thought of that glimpse of surprise on Fyodor’s face from earlier made heat pool at your face again. You wanted to see more. Do more.

You leaned in, face scrunching in thought as Fyodor only looked down at you, eyebrow raised, almost beckoning you. The proximity felt nice, but something was missing. You tilted your head in contemplation. 

“I think I want to kiss you.” 

He leaned closer, the perfect image of composure. “I see.” 

Your skin prickled, feeling his hand trail to your lower back, firm. 

“Then go ahead,” Fyodor said, and your brain froze.

It’s funny when you reflect on it now, but then– you distinctly remember hearing those words, and you remember that it wasn’t you who moved closer. Or not just you. Your memory jumbled together the moment Fyodor’s lips were on yours. Other sensations became dulled, almost distant, and only his warmth engulfed you. You don’t remember when your hands trailed up, but you couldn’t forget Fyodor’s soft exhale against your lips as your fingers brushed through his locks. The kiss wasn’t even open, and it already sent goosebumps all over your shoulders and back. 

It started slow, measured. You found yourself straddling him as the small, chaste kisses became heated, the warmth in your lower belly pooling as his hand held your face close to his. You’ve never been explored like this, Fyodor’s tongue licking its way into your mouth leisurely, prolonging every moment to its utmost.

“May I?” Fyodor whispered, his hand trailing down your neck and pushing the loose strands of hair away. Not that he needed to ask; you tilted your head, and his lips ghosted over your skin, their touch laden with so much gentleness you wondered where it all came from. 

Fyodor’s manners were easy to notice, but here, now, he made you melt right into his hold. Chest to chest, your hands caressing his hair, neck, shoulders– silently encouraging as you become accustomed to the slow intertwined rhythm of your bodies.

It was irresponsible– enjoying this as much as you did. You didn’t know where this would lead to, or how you’d look Fyodor in the face seeing as you’d still be his employee. The dynamic had switched, forcing you into a completely new territory you weren’t prepared for.

But all that flew out the window as your hand found the hem of Fyodor’s shirt, your fingers coming into contact with warm, smooth skin, and Fyodor’s quiet exhale as he buried his face deeper in the crook of your neck. 

“I’ll take that as encouragement, then.” You smiled, turning to kiss the side of his temple as your touch sent small shivers up Fyodor’s back, nails gently grazing at his skin. Whether he meant to say something in return… well, it seemed all thoughts were forgotten as you felt his muscles relax against you, body almost melting into yours.

You doubted he got to experience this often. Fyodor didn’t strike you as the type to go out of his way for affection– physical or otherwise. He reminded you of a cat, really, one that got too caught up in its self-sufficient world to realise it didn’t mind some tenderness when it was offered.

Fyodor might have craved it, even. You weren’t sure yet. 

You stayed like that for a long time, the dim light flashing from the screens left for the future to worry over. Fyodor’s lips found yours a few more times, each leaving you feeling warm and at ease, as your tongues moved against each other lazily, more a lover’s exploration than those heated kisses you were used to seeing in the movies. Your breath did not hitch, nor did you feel like your heart was about to burst with desire. 

No, you only felt Fyodor’s warm breath against your cheek, his lips pulling into a smile between chaste kisses as he pulled you even closer, hands firm around your waist as you squirmed now and then into a more comfortable position.

Chairs were not ideal places for this, but…

It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t bad at all.

[lee-the-yeen]

Yeen's Blitzwing Headcanons!

Been going nuts about analyzing this big silly bot so here's some HC's

So, to start, I don’t think Blitzwing was one bot split in three, but two smashed together.

Blitz’s Icy face was a seeker, the off-color spaces on his cheeks even being the perfect place for where his theoretical vents would have been.

Hothead was a tanker, and while we get only one example of a “pure” tank cybertronian in TFA in the form of Warpath…

…you can see my vision here, right?

If you go with the ”split” method, no matter which face was the “original”, the other elemental power and alt mode had to come from somewhere.

But if Icy was the jet, and Hothead was the tank, where does Random come in? To answer that, I wanna get into the process of becoming a triple-changer.

The procedure could have been a way to try to make a super soldier, master of the land as well as the sky. Adding on Icy and Hothead’s elemental powers, the resulting individual would, in theory, be an unstoppable force.

If this sounds somewhat familiar, it should. A possibility for how Safeguard exists could be because the Autobots caught intel about the Triple Changer experiments. However, they would have had to make some serious adjustments since canonically, every single attempt to create a Triple Changer has either failed or ended up wildly unstable mentally. Blitzwing might even be in Megatron's inner circle purely because he’s the only “functional” Triple Changer to exist.

My thoughts for how the process goes is that not only are the frames and abilities combined into one, but their minds are combined as well.

Two consciousnesses being forced together, with all their memories and experiences preferably intact (that way your perfect soldier doesn’t have to re-learn to walk and talk), it causes an existential dissonance. Imagine being bombarded with the memories of someone else, and expected by everyone around you that they are yours now.

The resulting existential crisis burns out the processors, offlining the lucky, and maddens whoever manages to survive.

You have to be the cybertronian equivalent of drift compatible in order for it to go even decently well. Blitzy’s components were close, but not there yet.

What spared them the fate of other failed Triple Changers is a few precautions from Blackarachnia. She had the foresight to stick a third, empty processor in Blitzwing’s head to act as a buffer for the huge influx of data, as well as EMP-ing him as soon as the Existential Dissonance was occurring. This wiped the majority of his memories of his life before the procedure, but even all that wasn’t enough.

The trauma of the procedure, being torn apart and put back together again, as well as the Dissonance (whether they remember it or not), it was too much...leading Random to manifest within that empty processor.

Now, what brought me to this conclusion? Time for my amateur psychoanalysis under the cut!

To start, the expected disclaimers.

I am not a psychologist, and I do not claim to be. This whole thing is just for fun, and over-analysis of media I like is a big pastime for me. I also do not have DID, and anyone who does that has objections and/or critiques of my analysis, I fully encourage you to voice your thoughts.

Also, keep in mind that cybertronian brains likely don’t work one-to-one with how humans do, and that there’s no true equivalent to what Blitzwing is in terms of human psychology.

With that out of the way, with these headcanons in mind, Icy and Hothead are not alternate personalities in the psychological sense, seeing as they were once completely separate bots.

But Random is.

Random acts as something of a mediator or moderator for Icy and Hothead, in order to keep them somewhat balanced and working as a team. See the Jet-Tank argument, with him popping up to propose a compromise.

While all three faces can and do hold their own, to me Random especially acts as a protector. Examples being him headbutting Lugnut in ‘Lost and Found’ and his sudden change of trajectory in ‘Velocity’ (Never give up, never surrender, nevermind!). Bringing up the Jet-Tank argument again, he notably pops up while the sirens of the “autobot reinforcements” are getting closer and louder.

As for why Random pops in just to make jokes, humor is often used as a coping mechanism [he just like me fr], and not only did Blitzwing’s components go through the Triple Changer procedure, but millions of years of war. It’s no wonder, really.

And while a lot of Random’s jokes are very much “haha I’m so craaazy”, that feels like it’s more of a cry for help. Blitzwing is hyper-aware of his condition, and self depreciates as a way to cope [he just like me for realllllll :,)].

In conclusion, someone get this mech in Rung’s office, he desperately needs a psychotherapist (cyber-therapist?).

As a side note, something I really like is that, despite the nicknames for his faces in the Almanacs (that I used here mostly for clarity), Blitzwing is just referred to as Blitzwing, no matter what face is up front.

[computerised-scientist]

"Yes, I'm having a break down. But I still have the mom friend energy." @drgemmadawnnightingale

*he’d flinch from the sudden speech, contrasting the previous silence that had previously filled the atmosphere, causing him to turn his head, tilting it to show that he was left bemused, though his voice betrayed concern* firstly, what’s mom friend energy? Second of all, do you need comfort of any means? *he begins to approach her, slouched over from stress*

(Sorry it took so long to answer, I’m currently dealing with gastro)

[fairytaleendingss]

hey I was wondering if I can request an ava starr x reader of her taking care of the reader after a bad day? just like platonic fluffy being taken care of, thanks so much!

Darkest Hour

Summary: You fall apart after a mission goes horribly wrong. Luckily, Ava is there to help pick up the pieces.

Pairing: Ava Starr x fem!Reader

CW: Non-sexual nudity, blood, death, traumatic experiences, dissociation. Basically the reader is having a very bad time.

I'm so sorry, I only realised that you said you wanted this to be platonic after I started writing it. I hope this is still okay. I got a bit carried away with the angst here.

--

You're feet dragged along the floor of the compound as you exited the jet. Your eyes were tired, skin stained red with blood that (mostly) wasn't yours.

There was a bone deep ache that lingered inside you, a feeling that made you want to crawl outside of your skin. The mission had been compromised. Your intel was bad and the targets had expected you. Before you even had time to react, they were on you, bullets showering down upon you like deadly raindrops.

What was supposed to be a simple, in-and-out mission had become a lawless shoot-out. There'd been many causalities and most of the hostages you were sent to rescue has gotten caught in the crossfire. The sound of gunfire rang in your ears the entirety of the trip home as you stared vacantly in front of you, trying to rid your brain of the memories of blood splattering on concrete and bodies hitting the ground.

Bucky had come to sit beside you, doing his best to offer words of comfort but you didn't hear them. All you could hear was the ringing in your ears. Your hands shook where they were crushed together in your lap and an onslaught of overlapping emotions bubbled just beneath the surface of your skin. You wanted to cry, or scream or fall apart but you didn't.

You just sat, silently staring.

You felt like you were in a daze as you entered the Watchtower. People tried to talk to you, wanting to give you a post mission medical examination or get a debrief, as was standard procedure. But you just floated by them, unblinking, unfeeling, unseeing.

Your vision tunneled. You needed to get away. To escape from the noise and the movement that buzzed around you. You took off through the tower, as fast as your tired legs would let you.

Someone called after you. Maybe it was Yelena, you couldn't quite tell. All you knew was you needed to escape.

--

When Ava heard that the team had arrived back from their latest mission, she was excited to see you. You had been gone for almost three days and she was itching for your touch.

When she stepped into the entryway of the tower, she frowned. She expected to see you standing beside Bucky and Yelena, debriefing the mission and congratulating each other on a job well done.

However, upon scanning the room, she noticed her two friends, still in mission suits, speaking in hushed tones by the far wall. But no you.

She approached cautiously, confusion and nerves beginning to take hold. The expressions on their faces when they saw her, made her heart drop.

"What's going on? Where's Y/n?"

Bucky sighed, running a hand over his face. His eyes were hollow with exhaustion.

Yelena looked up at her with an expression that was heartbreakingly sympathetic and made Ava feel slightly ill.

"Look, Ava. The mission went wrong. They knew we were coming."

"It was a bloodbath," Bucky supplied. "Only four of the hostages made it out."

Ava's heart seemed to stop beating all together. The world began to sway around her as her skin grew cold with dread.

"S-she's not..."

She couldn't even bring herself to say it. To utter the words that meant her worst nightmare had come to life.

"No, no. She's fine," Yelena reassured when she saw the look on Ava's face. She placed a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder. "We were all made it out pretty unscathed, considering... but it was hard on her."

Ava looked between them, regaining some sense of composure once she knew you were out of harms way.

"Well, where is she then?"

"She ran off," Bucky sighed. "As soon as we got back she just bolted. Didn't even let a medic look her over."

Ava nodded solemnly. She knew you better than anyone, maybe even better than you knew yourself. She was familiar with your habits and behaviours and she knew all too well that you had a tendency to run when your emotions got to big for you to handle.

She let out a breath through her nose. "I'll go find her."

Yelena gave her an uneasy smile. "Be gentle, okay? She's been through a lot."

"I will," Ava reassured her. "You take care of yourselves as well."

She looked at Bucky. "And don't try to bullshit the doctors this time, Barnes. I can tell you've bruised a rib just by the way you're standing."

With that, she turned on her heel, making a b-line across the tower.

--

She found you in the dark. Curled up on the floor of your room, knees tucked into your chest, breath heaving like there wasn't enough oxygen to fill your lungs.

Ava approached slowly, the way you'd approach a wounded animal. Her gaze was soft, and she feared her heart would crack in half just at the sight of you.

"Hi," she murmured lowly, coming to crouch beside you.

You didn't respond. You didn't even acknowledge that she was there. But you didn't pull away when she took your hand.

"I missed you," she sighed, running her thumb over the back of your bruised knuckles. In the dark of the space, she could just make out the spatters of blood that stained your skin. She pursed her lips. It was a feeling she knew all too well.

"How about we get you cleaned up. Do you think you can stand?"

You gave a small nod, still not meeting her eyes as you pushed yourself up off the floor. Ava was quick to secure you with a gentle arm around your waist. Gingerly you moved towards the bathroom.

Ava didn't know if you were injured at all, whether the blood crusted under your nails belonged to you or someone else, but she knew that in this state, there was no hope of convincing you to take a trip to the medbay.

Instead, she decided she'd have to do her best to help you herself. She placed you gently down on the toilet lid, kneeling between your legs so she could take a better look at you. You didn't meet her eyes.

You sat there in silence for a moment, unmoving, just listening to each other breathe. In the dim light of the bathroom, she could see the bruises that painted the skin of your cheekbone and peaked out of the collar of your suit.

With careful fingers, she reached a hand up to cup your cheek, the tip of her thumb brushing against the split in your lower lip. The action was gentle and tender, like she was scared that if she touched you, you would break apart. And in a way, you did.

For the first time that night, you met her eyes. They were hollow and clouded with a profound pain that looked unfamiliar on your features. Your lower lip trembled as the emotions you were trying so hard to suffocate inside you, threatened to rise to the surface.

Her arms moved around you before the first tear even fell.

"It's okay. I'm here. Let it out," she whispered softly as her embrace engulfed you, her arms holding you tightly. Reminding you that you were okay, you were safe, you were home.

Desperate sobs wrenched through you, a sound so tragic it made her skin crawl. You clutched Ava as if she was a lifeline, tethering to you to reality when you threatened to disappear into yourself.

She pulled you gently onto the cold tile floor where she rocked you back and forth, whispering soothing words into your ear as her hands stroked you back. She didn't encourage you to calm down or tell you that everything was going to be alright. The truth was, it probably wouldn't be for a while. She just held you, warm and tight in her arms, when she knew you didn't have the strength to hold yourself, and let you sit in your emotions.

And slowly, together, you rode out the storm.

You didn't know how long the two of you sat there, limbs intertwined on the bathroom floor. To you it felt like a lifetime. But after a while, you breathless sobs quieted to soft hiccups. Your tense, shaking muscles began to relax into her touch and the room grew silent once more.

She didn't begin pull away until you did first. Even then, she kept her hands on you, resting on your shoulder or weaving her fingers in between your own, a corporeal reminder that she was still here and she wasn't going away any time soon.

"Sorry," was the first word that fell from your lips. It was soft, almost a whisper on your tongue but the sound grated her ears.

She shook her head, looking you intently, eyes gleaming with a few tears of her own. "No, don't do that. You have nothing to apologise for."

You nodded, solemnly like you didn't quite believe her, looking down at the floor.

"Hey," she placed a hand beneath your chin, lifting your gaze towards her own. "I'm serious. Don't be sorry. I'm here for you whenever you need me, okay?"

You sniffled lightly and lips tugging with the ghost of a smile. Your eyes were glossy, tear trails imprinted into the skin of your cheeks. Her heart broke for you once more.

"How about we get you cleaned up?" she offered.

With careful hands, she stripped you of your suit, was stained with blood and dirt - the remnants of a torturous battle - and let the fabric fall to the floor. It was then she was able to get a real look at you. You're body looked like a road map, a smattering of reds and dark purple. There was dried blood crusted into your hair and caked under your nails.

With a gentle movement, she reached out and took your hand, leading you towards the shower. She quickly rid herself of her own clothes and stepped under the spray behind you. There she held you for a while longer, letting hot water wash over your aching body and flush the memories of the days before down the drain along with the dirt on your skin.

She washed your hair for you. Her fingers attentive and deliberate in their movements as she massaged shampoo into your scalp. You sighed softly against her shoulder, letting yourself relax into her touch. With shaking hands, you cleaned away the grime and scrubbed the blood stains from your skin.

Eventually, when you were ready, you climbed out and Ava was quick to dress you in your favourite sweatpants. You must have zoned out for a moment because next thing you knew, you were tucked in bed, her warm body pressed into your side.

You rolled your head to face her. She looked beautifully peaceful in the low light of the room. Her sea- glass eyes were swimming with affection as the bore into yours. With a small motion, you entangled your legs, pressing your head into the crook of her neck. You pulled her in impossibly closer, as if by doing so you'd be able to merge into one entity entirely.

You felt her sigh into your still-damp hair, placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

"Do you need to talk about it?"

You shook your head into her collar bone.

"No," you uttered quietly. "I just need you."

"Okay," she whispered, her voice dripping with a tender fondness too delicate to put into words. "I can do that."

She hated seeing you like this, sad and broken, a shell of your usual, vibrant self. She wished she could snap her fingers and make everything okay, but she also knew that what you needed more than anything right now, was time. And that she could give you, along with all the care and support she could summon.

She was determined to do everything she could to help you crawl your way back to okay, no matter how much time or patience or effort it took.

[imagination-mess]

A Second Chance at Life (Touya Todoroki X Fem!Reader) Chapter 3

Summary: For the past five years, you’ve been raising your son as a single mother. You’ve successfully avoided questions about his father by claiming that he died during the Paranormal Liberation War. From what you believe, this isn’t a lie. The last time you saw him was when he personally escorted you to U.A.’s shelter amidst the chaos in the streets.

Unbeknownst to you, he has been alive all this time, clinging to life in a facility working to keep him alive. His father, Enji, has been desperately searching for someone willing to heal him. After his presumed death, a single photo of you and Dabi began circulating through the underground, hinting at the nature of your relationship. To protect yourself and your child, you had to pay someone to stop the pictures from spreading further.

The photo provided answers to a long-standing question: who was the healer Dabi had been protecting? It identified you as the healer who had been deemed untouchable, but it also brought unwanted attention.

Word Count: 1.9K+ A/N: Sorry for any grammar or spelling errors. Previously: Chapter One, Chapter Two

You’ve already planned out the kind of procedure that would work best for Touya, since he needs an entirely new body. His current body is too damaged. There’s barely anything left to work with. It’s going to require massive reconstruction just to have a foundation to build on. The procedure will demand a large team and a tremendous amount of energy. It will be an uninterrupted operation, focused on keeping him stabilized the entire time. It’s going to take hours.

It wasn’t difficult to convince the doctors and nurses with the quirks most beneficial for increasing the procedure’s success rate.

Most of them you know from your residency years or from back in Shiketsu High School, where you went through the medical program. That program offered self-defense classes and the opportunity to accelerate into the hero course, allowing students to obtain their hero licenses if they wished to become both pro heroes and medical personnel.

Some of the others you met through your family members while completing your internship hours during high school and medical school.

Money can run the world, but connections often go further than money ever could. You’ve already checked with Enji to see what kind of budget he has, and you’re not surprised by the number of zeros in the account.

As tempting as it is to max out that budget, you’re not the kind of person to exploit someone’s money like that. The team you’ve gathered does expect compensation, but many are willing to participate for the sake of the medical study. They know full well that their client intel is going to skyrocket because of it.

However, the update you’ve just received from the hospital where Touya is staying is concerning. He hasn’t shown any signs of improvement, and worse, he hasn’t spoken a word in weeks.

He’s not just stagnant but declining. His body is showing more and more signs of shutting down.

You’ve already asked the team you assembled to remain on standby for the following two weeks.

The main reason why you wanted the Todoroki family to get even one word from Touya is that it would prove that he is semi-conscious. His mind is still there before doing the long, risky procedure. It would be worth nothing if he isn't conscious. 

When you were going to review Touya's binder to make sure that you had everything in place to receive a text message from the preschool that your son was attending.

It was expensive but worth every penny to have peace of mind seeing the security guards are retired heroes and having a good curriculum. It was a preschool for heroes or higher-level individuals to have top-notch security.

It was a picture of him laughing and playing with the other kids. 

You couldn't help but have a small smile climb up your lips seeing his smile being similar to Touya's. He could very well be the doppelganger of Touya and almost look identical to him, according to the media pictures. Pictures of the paparazzi of toddler Touya with Enji years ago. 

Yet there is a small difference. Renji has heterochromia like Touya's younger brother, Shouto, one eye (eye color) and the other turquoise. His hair is currently predominantly red, streaked with random patches of white. 

However, he was born with solely white hair, which was already a dominant genetic trait within your family, particularly your father's side, and you were able to trace it back to your great-grandmother's roots. It is one of the biggest detectors of their quirk that will be related to energy or healing.

It was already predetermined by the obstetrician that he will most likely inherit your quirk due to the malfunction that you have been experiencing and are unable to control your quirk. 

Renji wasn't planned at all. He came as a surprise to you. that you didn't even realize that you were pregnant until the incident in Jaku City. 

Your quirk started acting weird with the last patient of the day, before it started to malfunction to the point that you had to stand back because you couldn't control it. You didn't want to accidentally harm or, worse, kill the patient, who was Hawks.

After that, you had to get yourself checked out while psyching yourself that …

Perhaps you are stressing yourself out.

Perhaps you are overworking yourself. You did heal numerous people before Hawks.

But deep down, there was always the possibility of pregnancy. 

The only explanation why your quirk could malfunction and be difficult to control is because it didn't feel like yours. There are always times that your quirk will malfunction if you are overusing it or attempting to use it when you are already running on low energy. It felt different a couple of times for the past 2 months.

You came out positive in both the blood work and the traditional pregnancy test.

During the ultrasound, you genuinely didn’t know how to react when the sound of the heartbeat filled the room. the steady rhythm pulsing through the ultrasound machine as it checked how far you were in the progress of the pregnancy. 

The solid proof that there was a life growing inside you... 

It hit you harder than you expected. You couldn’t hold back the tears, the overwhelming emotions crashing down on you.

It felt like the worst possible time. The war was already raging, chaos was everywhere, and the future of Japan seemed more uncertain than ever. 

But eventually, it worked out.

The last month of pregnancy was the hardest thing that you ever experienced in your life. You had to isolate yourself at work and do paperwork duty. You weren't able to use your quirk due to not having any control over it at all. Your body was completely overflowing with energy, causing anyone who touched you to get healed if they had injuries or were previously exhausted. 

You were an emotional wreck after seeing the public announcement of the status of Touya. You were mourning over Touya. He was declared dead by his father to the media, who were hounding the family for information. 

At the very least, you had a believable excuse to provide to everyone on why you were emotional. Blaming your pregnancy when it wasn't the truth. Anything that reminds you of Touya makes you burst into tears like a crybaby. 

Even though Renji shares many of Touya’s features, you’ve never once regretted having him. You love him with your whole being. He’s the last physical piece of Touya you have, aside from the gifts he once gave you.

You had already made peace with raising him as a single mother. You weren't ever planning to get back in the dating pool anytime soon, not until Renji was in university. Your job will provide enough money to support Renji and yourself. 

Despite having 5 years to progress and move on, you couldn't erase 8 years of memories with Touya. The good and the bad. 

You were still unsure how to feel about the possibility of Touya being alive, but you had already decided that. 

If he followed through with the action plan his brother had made for him, you would always leave the door open for him to be a part of Renji’s life.

That’s if he survives the intensive procedure or, at the very least, shows signs of consciousness. ______________________________________________

Meanwhile in the facility, everyone within the Todoroki family has asked the same question to get the response that they need to proceed with the procedure.

No one has ever been able to get a response from him. Rei wanted to try one last thing before completely losing hope. 

Rei has been keeping something to herself and trying to process what she saw in the grocery store just a few weeks ago.

The young boy had similar features and looked at Touya when he was younger, wearing a child leash that was dinosaur-themed. The boy was clutching a hero plushie against his chest with a giant grin coming out of the store that held hero merch. 

A grin that made Rei envision a young Touya standing right where the boy stood.

She wouldn't be thinking this much about it if it weren't for the boy to have heterochromia like Shouto and the way that red hair had patches of white. It looked identical to his hair when Touya's quirk was rejecting his body, causing his bright red hair to slowly turn into white. 

No one truly knows who Touya was. The furthest memories anyone has of him are from his early teenage years. The rare, brief conversations they manage to get from him aren’t nearly enough to understand the person he became.

The only words he managed to push out that he wanted to live came when Fuyumi was talking about her children. She had shared their names, their little personalities, and the dynamic they had as siblings.

"Touya?" Rei spoke softly, but the heart rate monitor remained steady.

"Do you have a family outside of us?" 

The change of heartbeat was shown on the heart monitor for the first time in a long time. Touya opens his eyes to stare at his mother within his confinement. He is conscious and listening to her. 

"Is that why you said you wanted to live?" Rei continued, seeing the heartbeat was showing something other than the steady heartbeat. 

"When Fuyumi spoke about her family… was it because you know you have family out there?"

There was silence being filled with the machines that are keeping him alive. The soft beeps from the heart monitor showed his heartbeat. The monitors were showing more movements than ever, which Rei was starting to get concerned about. 

Thankfully the machines had sent out an alert to one of the nurses that is taking care of Touya about his vitals. 

A mouse mutant nurse peeks through the door, "I am sorry to be interrupted; I just have to check everything is okay. His vitals are showing abnormal—"

"Yes." 

It was the clearest response that Nurse and Rei have heard in years. 

But the weight of the question triggered something deep within him. The flood of memories of you throughout the years and the strain of forcing himself to speak after so long of silence. 

It was too much. 

His body could no longer handle it, triggering every vital machine to start beeping aggressively. The spike of his heart and blood pressure skyrocketed dangerously before dropping aggressively.

More nurses and doctors burst through those same doors, screaming at each other. 

Everything was so blurred for Rei that she didn't realize that she was escorted out of the room that Touya resided in. She could hear one of the doctors behind the door screaming.

"Someone get Doctor Remedy on the phone now! It's either we do it today or never!"

Doctors have repeatedly told all the Todoroki family to avoid any stressful or emotional change questions. Anything that could send his heartbeat spiraling out of control.

She didn't know that question would have sent Touya's body into overdrive. 

It was an innocent question that came out of pure curiosity. 

She wasn't expecting it to be true. It could have been a random child who reminded her of her children. 

The weight of knowing that it was her fault for asking that question of sending her son into a medical crisis. She once again failed her son. The realization settled in knowing there was a possibility of a family that has been waiting for him to come back home. 

And yet, all this time, he had been trapped here, fading away with time.

It was too much to bear. Her knees buckled as the sobs overtook her.

She had failed Touya again. _____________ Comments are appreciated! 😊

Next Chapter 4

[betweenstorms]

Chapter 5/2 of Skin Of Thunder Where Butterflies Go to Die (previous chapter) (next chapter) (all SOT chapters) (masterlist) Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

“In the corner of the universe, where butterflies go to die, there is no farewell, no final flutter, just the slow, quiet decay of something too soft for this harsh world.”

They say war makes strange bedfellows—

—and Ghost had encountered his share of hard men.

Grizzled bastards with twitching trigger fingers, the kind who chewed nails for breakfast and pissed adrenaline by midday. He’d stood alongside monsters and martyrs, saints and absolute lunatics, but nothing—nothing—had steeled him for this particular torment.

Sharing an office.

With you.

It was beyond a piss-take. Beyond cruel.

It was damn near biblical in its irony, the universe folding in on itself just to spit in his bloody eye one last time. Ghost had never been one to suffer fools gladly. And Price knew it. Laswell knew it. Hell, even Johnny knew it, though the Scotsman seemed to take particular delight in testing his limits.

But this—this fucking arrangement was beyond the pale. It felt like he’d been assigned penance for sins he couldn't remember committing, stuck in some goddamn infernal loop designed specifically to break whatever brittle patience he had left.

And Price? Oh, that bastard had acted like it was all standard procedure, like it was the most natural thing in the world to toss a civvie into Ghost’s office, like it didn’t crack open every fault line running through him.

“She’s gotta be on a secure system now, needin’ constant supervision,” Price had explained, casual as you like. “Intel’s sensitive. Laswell sorted the clearance, but she needs access to the same internal threads we do. And your setup’s already logged into the mainline.” Then he’d added, like it was the final fucking insult, “You'll be in and out anyway, so it's ideal.”

Ideal.

Right.

“And that's my bloody job now, is it? Babysittin’?”

Then, to rub salt straight into the wound, Laswell had chimed in with that thin-lipped smile of hers, cool and precise. “She can use a second terminal in your office. It’s secure, and you’re already on standby, Lieutenant. Consider it insurance.”

Insurance.

More like a goddamn collar.

Ghost had felt his blood simmer beneath the surface of his inked skin, boiling quiet like tar. He didn’t argue—not then, not in front of them all. He wasn’t about to throw a tantrum in the briefing room like some bloody schoolboy. However, the worst part wasn't the supervision or the babysitting or whatever the hell they wanted to call it. No, the worst part was how you'd looked at Price when he'd broken the news, your lovely eyes widening for just a fraction of a second, discomfort flickering briefly before you wrestled them back into submission.

But Ghost saw. He always saw.

“Captain,” you'd said, carefully avoiding Ghost's gaze as though even looking at him might burn you. “I…I’d rather not. For the sake of—” your voice wavered slightly, only noticeable to Ghost because he'd memorized its quiet cadence “—for efficiency. I’ll work wherever is necessary but… I mean, perhaps there’s another option?”

Christ, you'd twisted that knife nicely.

You’d said it clean, professional, stripped of anything sentimental—but Ghost heard it. Every syllable, every crack in your voice that you thought you’d hidden. You didn’t want to be near him. And it wasn’t just the awkwardness, was it? No, there was something deeper, something raw, something personal. He wasn’t proud of the prick he’d been in recent days, cold, distant and dismissive, but to hear it from your pretty lips, like you were confirming what he already feared, it made something in him bristle. Snap.

Perhaps you didn’t feel safe with him.

And that?

That tore through him like fire to bone.

Soap watched the two of you curiously, blue eyes darting between you like he was waiting for one of you to crack under the heavy, suffocating silence. Gaz, ever the gentleman, cleared his throat, pretending to find sudden fascination in Laswell’s briefing notes projected on the wall—dry as dust intel summaries he’d read a dozen times already. Bloody saints, both of them, though even their patience was wearing thin.

Ghost felt a slow, familiar pulse behind his eyes, the onset of a headache that had nothing to do with fatigue and everything to do with frustration.

Price had simply looked between you both like he was watching two starving dogs refuse to touch food from the same bowl, unimpressed and annoyed. His blue eyes flicked from you to Ghost and back again. To you. You, you, you. Then he sighed. Rubbed a hand over his beard like he was already exhausted by the whole thing.

“We need every crumb of information to stay ahead,” he said at last, quiet but firm. “And that means she stays. End of. Understood?”

And just like that, Ghost’s personal hell was no longer hypothetical.

It was tangible.

Seated at a spare desk.

“Computer’s up,” he muttered after you received your new keycard, voice low and clipped. “Credentials’re in the doc. Top right. Don’t fuck with anythin’ outside the brief.”

There was a pause. Then the faintest response.

“…Yeah. Okay.”

The desk had been rearranged the day before.

He’d done it himself. Not out of bloody kindness—don’t get it twisted, alright?—but because he wanted it done his way. Wanted the extra computer set up without some sprog fucking up his cable management or scratching the floor. He’d moved the filing cabinet to the corner. Shifted the printer so you wouldn’t bump into it. Cleared shelf space without a word. Brought in a chair from supply.

Then he hadn’t spoken to you directly.

Not properly, anyway.

Not the kind of talking that meant something. Oh, there’d been clipped exchanges about access codes, network redundancies, a few low grunts that barely counted as acknowledgement when you handed him requisition reports, but nothing more. You didn’t speak unless you had to, and even then, it was filtered through that hesitant, professional tone that made his skin itch. The sort of voice someone used with a wounded animal, unsure if it would lash out or die right in front of them. The air between you had grown thick, congealed with everything unsaid—an atmosphere heavy with blame, silence, and that awful brittle tension he couldn't name without wanting to break something.

He’d avoided the office for as long as possible. Made excuses. Took longer shifts in the yard, cleaned weapons that didn’t need cleaning, spent hours going over briefings that could’ve been skimmed in five minutes flat. But eventually, he had to return and had to face the quiet storm waiting behind that reinforced door.

You didn’t look at him.

You never fucking looked at him anymore.

You’d mastered the art of avoidance with lethal precision, eyes fixed on your monitor, hands always busy, nails tapping away at your keyboard, flipping through secure files, highlighting shit that didn’t even matter just to avoid acknowledging his existence.

And Ghost? He was haunted.

Not by you, precisely—but by everything you made him feel.

You weren’t particularly loud. You didn’t argue. Didn’t press for conversation or prod him for answers. But that silence? That deliberate, careful stillness of yours? It was a fucking mirror, and Ghost hated what he saw in it. He didn’t know which part of this arrangement was worse, your physical presence only feet away from him, or the gaping emotional absence you carved out with every moment you refused to meet his eye.

The desk they’d shoved in for you sat awkwardly opposite his. It didn’t belong there, like a daffodil in a field of fucking ash. You brought shitty little things to make it yours, ridiculous things that only made his teeth grind. A crooked pen holder. A mug with some cartoon dog printed on it, Sip Happens written on the side. A half-dead orchid that tilted dramatically to one side, clinging to life like it shared your anxieties. You set a framed photo beside your monitor, face turned away from him, but he knew it was family. The ones you’d walked away from for this job. The ones you probably thought about when you got that look in your eyes like you were far away—

—too far for him to reach.

And the smell.

Fucking hell, the smell of you.

You had started wearing a new perfume.

A soft vanilla fragrance that clung to the air long after you were gone, sweet like gingerbread and warm like cinnamon. It was maddening, in the way it lingered on the fibres of his coat, slipping past the edges of his mask, invading his every fucking breath. God, each inhale was a reminder—of your proximity, of the softness that he couldn’t escape, of everything he had sworn to deny himself.

He hated it.

He hated how it made him think of your throat, your collarbones, your pulse—a delicate thing that beat wildly whenever he got too close. He could hear it. He could fucking hear it some days, like your body knew before you did that he wasn’t safe to be around.

And maybe he wasn’t.

Maybe that was the worst of it. Maybe you were right to flinch.

The second terminal clicked to life at exactly oh-seven-thirty every morning, your fingers dancing softly over the keys, your files already open, your stupid bloody bubblemint gum chewing in rhythm with the tap-tap-tap of your work. He hated that too. Despised the smell, loathed the sound, disliked how it stuck to the roof of his mind long after you’d gone.

A sickly-sweet echo in a sterile grave.

Worse still were the colours. Jesus Christ, the colours.

One day it was a burnt orange jumper with some wild pattern like shattered glass, the next, a seafoam green blouse that floated when you moved, sleeves far too soft for the hard edges of a military base. Once, you’d left your coat draped over the back of your chair. It was yellow. Canary-fucking-yellow. He stared at it for ten minutes straight before grabbing it with two fingers like it might burn him and chucking it onto the spare hook behind the door.

He didn’t say a word about it. Didn’t need to. Who the fuck wore shit like this to a secure military base? You did.

And somehow, no one said a word.

They all liked you, the poor bastards.

And him? Ghost couldn’t so much as look at you without his chest tightening like a fucking vice. That’s because you only smiled at them. You tried, even when it wasn’t easy. Even when your eyes looked like they were swallowing something bitter, you still offered those small, childish grins to Soap and Gaz, thanked Price with a polite nod and a soft smile, left little notes attached to requests that read, Cheers, much appreciated! :)—always a fucking smiley face that nearly drove Ghost off the edge.

And then came the jumper.

It was late afternoon. The rain hadn’t stopped all day, a cold, insistent drizzle that blurred the outlines of the military base. Fog hung low, thick enough to smother the huge fence line. The concrete courtyard shimmered like oilskin, puddles reflecting the dull overhead lights. Ghost had been delaying his return to the office, circling the armory like a buzzard, pretending to be needed elsewhere. But eventually, paperwork caught up with him. Somehow, it always did. It was nearly seventeen-hundred when he trudged into the small admin wing, water trailing off his shoulders, balaclava damp beneath the collar of his jacket.

He stopped dead in the doorway.

It was the jumper.

Pink.

Soft as sin.

Not just pink—pastel. Fucking marshmallow pink, with baby blue butterflies fluttering across the material. The knit was soft, oversized, sleeves nearly swallowing your hands. And to top it all off, like some cherry dropped on a maddening sundae, you’d tied your hair up with a satin ribbon. A bow. Baby pink, matching the jumper.

He stared.

Longer than he should have.

You didn’t look up, busy typing, your brow furrowed in concentration as your fingers danced across the keys, glossy lips pursed as you stared ahead. You were focused, efficient, barely even chewing your gum today. Probably had no idea the sight of you had just disarmed him completely. He stood there like a twat in the doorway—drenched, dripping, jaw clenched behind the mask.

Bloody hell.

He'd been shot at in better company.

Ghost stepped inside, boots thudding against the floor, shoulders soaked. He set his jacket on the back of his chair with deliberate slowness, every movement precise. He tried to pretend it didn’t bother him. That the knot in his stomach was something else. That his throat hadn’t gone dry. That his first thought hadn’t been how the fuck are you real?

Instead, he said nothing. Sat at his desk. Logged in.

The silence stretched, taut and unbearable.

And then you spoke.

“I can feel you judging me from here.”

Ghost stripped his hands bare from his wet gloves, each movement methodical, deliberate, like peeling skin off bone. He looked up slowly, water trailing down the curve of his mask, darkening the collar of his grey shirt. Your voice wasn’t sharp, wasn’t even defiant.

If anything, it was dry. Flat.

Meant to cut tension, not draw blood.

His eyes swept over you again.

“You look like a kid’s party threw up on you.”

You glanced up with a quiet sort of weariness, as if you’d already endured worse in the past hour than his barbed humour could throw at you. You just gave a small shrug and went back to typing. There was something almost impressive about that—

—the way you didn’t rise to the bait.

“Better than looking like a drenched funeral,” you murmured, not even looking at him.

Ghost froze.

For a second, the silence between you hovered—surprised, stunned, teetering on the edge of laughter or violence. And then, against all odds, he let out a quiet sound behind the mask. Not quite a laugh. More a huffed breath. Barely there.

Fucking hell.

Were you making jokes now?

Ghost leaned back slowly in his chair, the furniture creaking beneath the weight of him, the soft clatter of rain on the windows crawling through the silence like a dying beast. You didn’t glance up at him again. Didn’t chase his reaction. Maybe it hadn’t even been a joke. Maybe you hadn’t meant to slip humour into your tone at all.

After what felt like an eternity, you exhaled slowly, a soft breath that seemed to release all the tension that had built between you. Then, much to Ghost’s surprise, you lifted your gaze to meet his—like a quiet surrender, something unspoken hanging in the air. You cleared your throat, the sound awkward and fragile, and spoke again.

“You know,” your lovely voice dipped into something almost sheepish, “when I was little, my granny used to sew patches on all my school uniforms. Little animals, stars, stupid stuff. I loved them all. But the butterflies were always my favourite.”

Ghost didn’t know what to do with that.

Didn’t know what to do with the image of you as a girl. Something about it made his ribs feel too tight, like someone had reached inside his chest and squeezed.

He cleared his throat. “Military family, yeah?”

You grimaced. “Unfortunately.”

“Doesn’t show.”

Your lips twitched.

A brief flicker of something crossed your face—wry amusement, maybe—but you smoothed it out before it could settle.

“No one ever says that like it’s a compliment,” you muttered.

Ghost watched you intently, mask still damp, jaw ticking faintly behind the fabric. There was no malice in his voice when he said it. Hadn’t been from the start. But his gruff tone was dry as dust, laced with that thread of disbelief he hadn’t quite managed to cut loose since the first day you’d walked into his life like a ray of fucking sunshine that had taken a wrong turn and ended up buried in concrete. Because Ghost had read your file.

Of course he had, alright?

All neat and clinical, tucked into the system under clearance only Task Force had the teeth to bite through. He’d memorised it in one pass, as he did with most things. Military family. Royal Marine father, Field Medic mother. No siblings. Just you. He didn’t get it. Didn’t know how someone raised by that kind of steel could move through the world like silk. As if you were daring the world not to tear you.

As if you were daring him.

He looked away.

It wasn’t shame, not exactly. Ghost didn’t do shame the way others did. It didn’t roll through him in waves—no, it sat in his gut like an old injury, dull and rotting, a scar so deep it didn’t bleed anymore. But he knew when something cut close to it. You did. You always fucking did. And the worst part was, you didn’t even know it.

You didn’t know what it meant to him, that you were still soft. You didn’t know that every time you breathed beside him, something in him ached with the effort it took to stay distant.

Ghost rubbed at his jaw beneath the mask.

The silence itched, thick and too close again, pulling at the frayed corners of his thoughts. He needed out. Needed something else. Anything else. A shift in the air. A crack in the surface.

Anything to steer this conversation back into safer territory, away from the swell of memory and the way your words made something ache behind his ribs.

He cleared his throat, rough and low, like gravel grinding together in the back of his mouth.

“You always dress like that?”

It was a pathetic deflection. He knew it.

Christ, he’d trained with SAS instructors who were better at subtlety, and they’d screamed orders in his bloody face at two in the morning. But it was something. A crooked bridge out of the mire he’d wandered into. He wasn’t cut out for mindless chatter. It stuck to his skin like blood that wouldn’t wash off.

You glanced at him, the corner of your mouth twitching.

“If I’m going down, might as well go down in pink.”

Ghost huffed, folding his arms across his chest.

“Pink’ll get you shot first.”

You shrugged. “Good. I hate cardio.”

That one hit him square. He turned away quickly, but not quick enough to hide the sound that slipped out—half breath, half scoff. A proper one this time. Almost a laugh. Ghost scrubbed a hand over his face like it might wipe the sound off his lips.

You were catching on, weren’t you?

Something shifted at your desk. He didn’t need to look to know you were glancing at the pen holder again—your absurd lavender one, now facing the wrong bloody direction for the third time this week. He hadn’t meant to move it, not really. He just straightened things when you weren’t around. Couldn’t stand when they sat wrong. Uneven. Off-centre.

You didn’t look up when you spoke again.

“Well,” you said, eyes crinkling, “I suppose I figured someone who sleeps in a mask wouldn’t keep rearranging my pen holder.”

His eyes narrowed.

“You line everything up like you’ve got OCD.”

Ghost grunted. “Just hate mess.”

“I had the pen holder right where I liked it.”

He tilted his head. “It was crooked.”

“It had character.”

“Looked like it was about to fuckin’ fall over.”

You chuckled.

Not loud, not enough to draw attention if someone were passing in the hall, but soft. Warm. Caught between amusement and something gentler, something more dangerous. It clung to the corners of the room, your laughter, like smoke that didn't know whether to rise or sink. It tugged at something inside him.

Something he didn’t want touched.

Ghost didn’t move. Didn’t let the sound show on his face. Mask or no mask, it didn’t matter. But it hit all the fucking same. Somewhere beneath the sternum. Right in the bit of him that still remembered how it felt to be young and too hopeful for his own good.

You were still looking at the pen holder, manicured fingers tapping idly against the desk like a metronome. Steady. Composed.

“You rearranged my orchid too,” you added, eyes still fixed on your stuff on your desk, though your voice had gone somewhere softer now. Less teasing. “Turned it so the dead side faced the window. As if that’ll save it.”

Ghost didn’t deny it.

Didn’t say anything for a long moment.

He just stared up at the stained ceiling tiles like they held answers. But they never did. They were cracked, yellowing at the edges, as if the bones of the building were decaying from the inside out. Bit like him, if he was honest.

“Looked like it were beggin’ for mercy.”

You huffed a quiet breath.

“You could’ve said something.”

Ghost shrugged. “Could say that ‘bout a lot of things, sweetheart.”

That landed heavier than intended.

The humour in the room faltered, dipped. Something about the way you looked at him, steady and unflinching, like you knew. Like you were beginning to understand the parts of him that had never been explained, only endured.

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t like the way you unraveled him, piece by piece, without ever needing to raise your voice. It was as if you were a butterfly, delicate and still, wings fragile but capable of slicing through his defenses with the weight of silence. Fuck, quiet women were dangerous that way, weren’t they? Their stillness was sharp, a blade wrapped in velvet, a soft breath that could break the hardest of hearts. And though he couldn’t explain it, it felt like each silent gaze you gave him was a death sentence he didn’t know how to escape from.

You dropped your gaze again, fiddled with your mouse. You were moving it around like it meant something, cursor flitting back and forth across nothing in particular, as if maybe the right file would save you from the thing you were about to say.

Ghost knew that look

He knew that kind of quiet. He’d seen it in interrogation rooms, seen it on battlefields, seen it in the cracked reflection of his own eyes too many bloody times. That look meant something had taken root in your chest. Something you couldn’t shake.

Something you had to say.

And still, he didn’t stop you.

Didn’t cut in when you finally exhaled through your nose, fingers stilling on the desk—

“About last week…”

—but he fucking should’ve.

Ghost’s spine stiffened.

His shoulders squared. It was like the temperature in the room dropped five degrees flat. That warmth from earlier, the faint and precarious glow you’d both managed to build between the bickering and the bad jokes, snuffed out like a candle under a boot.

He hadn’t expected you to bring it up. Not out loud. Not after you’d gone all stiff and quiet, spent a week hiding behind polite emails and perfunctory nods. He’d hoped you wouldn’t mention it. But you had to say it. Of course you fucking did.

“I, uhm…” you began. “I'm sorry. About the other day. When I… said your name.”

He stilled.

Every muscle. Every breath.

The hum of the office, the patter of rain, the distant clatter of boots down the corridor, all of it dimmed. Like the world paused, listening in.

“I didn’t mean to,” you added, the words tumbling quiet from your lips, “I mean—I know you don’t… like that. I just—”

“Don’t.”

You blinked, lips parted.

“I just thought—”

“You thought wrong.”

Your breath caught. He heard it. Felt it echo through the tiny crack that had started to form between you earlier—your laughter, your ribbon, the butterflies, the pen holder. All of it. 

Gone.

Ghost felt his fingers twitch.

Small. Barely there. A flicker in the tendon running from wrist to knuckle, like a misfire in his wiring. But he felt it. That spark. That itch under the glove he wasn’t wearing, the one that always came just before red bled in—frustration, anger, that sharp blade of discomfort when someone touched too close to bone.

Back to square one.

Christ, why’d you have to bring it up?

You’d spent the whole fucking week dancing around it, walking on the edges of things like the floor might give out. He’d let himself believe, foolishly, that the quiet was enough. But here it was. Resurrected. Like a ghost. His ghost.

His name.

Simon.

You’d said it once. One slip, soft and breathless and far too human, in the haze of that long day, right before everything fell apart. He could still hear it—burned into the inside of his skull. And now here you were again. Dredging it back up like it wasn’t a loaded gun in the middle of the room. Like it wasn’t the one thing he couldn’t afford to hear from your mouth.

He didn’t look at you. Couldn’t.

Because he saw it now—how your gaze shifted, how your voice faltered. You weren’t seeing the man who’d turned your dying plant toward the sun. You weren’t seeing the bastard who rearranged your stupid lavender pen holder. You were seeing the soldier. The mask. The rank. The man who ran from the sun. Who buried himself in shadows and discipline and the cold familiarity of his title. The one who pushed a girl dressed like a bloody flower bouquet away with the precision of a trained killer.

And still—still—you blushed.

Despite everything.

Despite the cold weight of the moment, despite the embarrassment that burned at your words, you flushed like it meant something. Like there was a part of you, even now, that wanted to know him. The man beneath the skull.

“I just…” you started again, voice so damn small he barely heard it over the hum of the monitors. “I just like it better. Your name.”

Ghost didn’t answer.

Not with words.

Instead, he reached for a report folder, hands steady, mask unreadable, spine carved from cold fucking stone. Your words floated in the space between you like fog off the moors, soft and shapeless and clinging to everything it touched. And still he said nothing.

Because what the fuck was he supposed to say to that?

Like it was that simple.

Like it wasn’t a curse. Like it hadn’t been ripped from his throat too many times in pain or grief, twisted into a tool by enemies, abandoned by fellow soldiers, swallowed by fire. His name wasn’t something he cherished. It was a reminder. A marker of a weak boy long dead and buried. A whisper the wind carried on bad nights, when the silence grew teeth and he lay staring at the ceiling wondering who the fuck he was anymore.

And you liked it.

He didn’t breathe for a long second. Just stared down at the folder like it might offer him some lifeline, some foothold, something to grab onto.

But it didn’t. Of course it didn’t.

So he flipped it open, and said, “That all?”

Your chair creaked.

He could feel it. That quiet, wounded gaze of yours.

But you didn’t press it. Didn’t ask again.

You just murmured, “Yeah. That’s all, sir.”

Ghost didn’t lift his head. Couldn’t.

He didn’t watch you reach up and pull the ribbon from your hair. Didn’t let himself see the way it fluttered like a flag laid down. Didn’t let himself think about what it meant.

He needed to end this wretched pendulum swinging between restraint and ruin. He needed to silence the hunger, take the blade of reason to it and split it wide, gut it raw, swallow it down until even the memory of wanting you turned to rotten flesh on his tongue. He couldn’t keep circling the flame, not when it was you who burned. You were never meant to be his—no, you were the worst thing to ever touch his life with grace. The kind of mercy that made men weep. An unbearable blessing and a sweet, agonizing curse, wrapped in the sweetest fucking smile he could never taste.

This was purgatory.

And he’d been stationed here with you, a living reminder of the only thing he couldn’t kill, couldn’t outrun, couldn’t forget.

Butterflies, they said, were delicate things. Pretty. Fragile. But no one ever talked about how hard they were to catch once they’d taken flight.

And Ghost?

Ghost never chased after things meant to fly away.

Not anymore.

“In the corner of the universe, where butterflies go to die, there is no mourning, only the soft, haunting reminder that beauty, no matter how fleeting, was once here.”

Skin of Thunder Chapters

[moody-alcoholic]

These Violent Delights

Chapter 26 - Where Do We Draw the Line

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe 8.8k words.

CW: a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes, blood, medical procedures, medical inaccuracies, drugging, nightmares, omega is hearing voices (well just one voice), mentions of past abuse, death, suggestive touching, descriptions of injuries, PTSD.

Previous - masterlist - next

AO3

enjoy <3

Hale walks around the ruined space. The tall glass windows of his old office have been smashed. The ceiling had collapsed down on his desk, water has warped the antique wood desk. It took them a whole week to clear out most of the rubble. Now he’s left with a semi-functional space, at least something he can work with to get this place back up and running.

Whatever explosives they used to blow the place clearly didn't do as much damage as they thought. Some soldiers from the shadow company said the bunker being so deep underground worked in their favor, the dirt absorbed the explosions. Hale doesn’t quite understand the technicalities but that's not important. 

What's important is that this place is salvageable. He walks over to the door in his office and pulls it open. It’s a small room, the bed is covered in more of the ceiling. The whole place feels empty without his omega. 

“This place looks like it’s seen better days.” He turns to see Graves standing in the doorway. 

“It could be alot worse.” Hale replies. Graves nods coming over to him with a tablet in his hands. 

“From our man on the inside.” Graves says. It’s pictures, of you and one of the alpha’s. Not captain Price, Ghost, the one Hale has never seen face of. He’s seeing it now, he’s seeing you walk hand in hand with him, kiss him. It makes him angry, jealous. How dare they take his omega. He goes to hand the tablet back to Graves, he doesn’t want to see this.

“There’s more.” He says reaching over and flicking to the end of the photos. This time it’s pictures of the inside of the building. It takes a second for Hale to realise what he sees, but there it is, clear as day Piper Montgomary. He flicks to the next photo, to confirm it.

“Son of a bitch. I should have killed her when I had the chance.” Hale spits, there’s a new person, another woman. Dark skin and long braids. 

“Who’s the other person?” Hale asks looking up at Graves who takes the tablet from him. 

“Dr. Fleur Goodwin, geneticist. Finding intel on her is hard. MI5 have been keeping the details very close to their chest.” Graves explains. 

“Piper is alive which means she’s working on a cure. We can’t let that happen.” Hale says.

“There’s not much we can do right now.” Graves replies. 

“You have a man on the inside. Kill her.” Hale says as a matter of fact. Graves laughs. 

“Even if that was a possibility it could spook them and we could lose them again. Not to mention it will expose my moles.” Graves says. 

“If she manages to get a cure it will be over for all of us. So either you get the omega out or you kill Dr. Montgomery.” Hale snaps. Graves presses his lips together, Hale can smell his alpha, he can smell his irritation.

“I will see what I can do.” Graves says turning to leave the room. 

Hale watches him leave then looks back into the small room. This is where you belong. If Piper can get a cure and give it to you before Hale can get you back it will ruin everything he’s ever worked for. He slams the door closed. 

He needs to get you back. Now more than ever. 

You are on the sofa with your knees pulled up to your chest. You’ve been chewing on the skin around your nails for what feels like hours. They’re wet and raw, you’ve already drawn blood. Piper won’t be happy but you don’t care.

Johnny and Kyle are waiting over on the other sofa. Johnny wanted to sit with you but you won’t let them near you. You don’t want their comfort, they’re hiding something from you. John and Simon won’t look you in the eyes. Johnny and Kyle are tense. You don’t even want to look at them. More tears come out rolling down your face. 

You don’t brother wiping them away. What difference would it make? More will come anyway.

‘You never were a good omega.’ Hale’s voice rings in your head. 

No, you never were. 

‘People keep getting hurt because of you.’  

People die because of you. Dr. Miller and Hale died because of you. You thought Piper died because of you. Now Fleur. Now she is going to die because of you. 

‘You’re never going to be a good omega.’ Hale says, he’s in your head but you can hear him like he’s right next to you. You look over at Johnny and Kyle, they haven’t moved, they’re just looking at you. You turn away. 

‘You can’t even keep your own pack threads tight. Useless omega.’ 

Piper, John and Simon walk into the room. You can smell the blood, you can smell Piper's worry. It makes you swallow hard. She comes over to you and sits on the sofa resting her hands on yours.

“Is she dead?” You ask. 

“No, she’s alive.” 

“What happened?” 

“It seems like her body is trying to repair itself. The cure is forcing her body to use all the blood it has to change her back to normal.” Piper says her hand squeezing yours. 

“You need my blood.” You say. 

“Piper? This is not what we talked about.” John says walking over. You look up at him. 

“She didn’t tell you.” You look back at Piper. “Omega’s are the only people who can give blood to humans.” 

“Normally if a trauma is too big to heal your body won’t even attempt it. The cure is forcing her body to fix itself though. If we don’t give her yours she will just use all hers up and die.” 

“There’s no other way you can stop it?” Kyle asks. You look over at him. Him and Johnny are stood up now. 

“Not quick enough to save her.” Piper says. 

“You can take what you need.” You say getting up to your feet. She stands up too her hands resting on your shoulders. She looks at you sympathetically, you understand it’s not up to you. 

You turn walking over to John.

“Please let me help.” You say, he lets out a sigh crossing his arm.

“Let me talk to Piper first.” He says. You bite the inside of your cheek. “Soap.” 

Soap. Not Johnny. It feels so clinical, professional. Johnny gets up and follows John to the door. You stay with Piper watching as they talk in hushed voices you’re not paying attention to. There's the silent nodding of heads, Simon and Kyle exchanging glances and before you know it Johnny’s smiling and coming towards you.

‘Don’t trust him.’ It’s Hale’s voice again.

His hand lands on your shoulder then runs down your arm. The touch is familiar but you see the uncertainty in his eyes, there's something behind them. It’s like he’s trying to put you at ease but it's not helping. 

“C’mon love. Let's get something to eat.” he says, grabbing your hand trying to pull you towards him. You hold your ground forcing him to stop. 

“I’m not hungry.” You sniffle hanging your head. You feel Pipers hand run up your back. 

“Go with Johnny. I’ll come and get you, I promise.” She says. You look up at Johnny, his hand squeezes yours. You nod and let him lead you out to the dining room. Kyle follows behind going into the kitchen, you sit down at one of the tables. You go to bite your fingers again but Johnny laces his fingers with yours stopping you.

“Piper knows what she’s doing, it'll be okay.” Johnny says. You can smell his beta trying to put you at ease but it’s not working. You know what Fleur needs, she needs your blood and the longer they wait the more likely she’ll die.

You hear the ping of a microwave and Kyle comes out with a plate. He puts it down in front of you with some cutlery. 

“I’m not hungry.” You repeat. 

“If you’re going to give blood you should eat.” Kyle says sitting on the other side of you. You sigh, reaching over for the fork and start pushing food around the plate. 

“It was a good job you stayed to talk to her or it might have been hours before we found her.” Johnny says letting go of your hand. That makes dread rise in you, she could have died and no one would have known until someone went to check on her then maybe you wouldn’t have been able to do anything.

“She would have died.” You whisper, putting your fork down. Johnny’s hand comes to rub your thigh.

“Pipers is a great doctor.” Kyle says. You nod. It feels like you’re waiting for ages, eventually you do end up eating something while Johnny and Kyle talk. When Piper and John do finally come in everyone stands up. 

“Come on.” She smiles, you nod going over to her. John crosses his arms, you get the impression he’s not as happy with this as you and Piper are. You almost don’t care, this is her only chance of survival if what Piper is saying is true. 

You smile at him as you follow Piper out and across to the medical room. When you make it inside you immediately look over at the bed tucked against the far wall in the room. Fleur looks like a ghost of what you’re used to seeing. The energetic bubbly person has been stripped away leaving a shell behind. 

It makes you stop in your tracks, you feel sick looking at the thing sheen of sweat on her face. 

“Hop up.” Piper says patting on the exam bed. 

“Is she okay?” You ask your eyes looking up at a monitor with numbers and lines on it. 

“She’s stable.” Piper says going over to the cupboards and pulling out supplies. When you see the empty IV bag your stomach sinks. 

“Will it hurt?” 

“No, you might feel a bit weird but don’t worry. I’ll start with 2 units, that should tide her over for now.” She says coming over with the tray.  You look over at Fleur watching her chest rise and fall. She’s breathing which means she has a chance and you’re going to make sure she has the best chance possible. 

The next day is more of the same. Each time Piper takes a bag of blood, then lets you recover for a few hours before you’re back for more. Your blood replenishes itself faster than normal people but it feels like Piper is taking it just as quickly as you can restore it. 

You don’t care though, there’s no way you’re going to let Fleur die. For some reason though this time you feel worse. You’re feeling dizzy and faint even before the blood bag finishes filling up. Piper walks over to you, disconnecting your tube and taking out the needle.  

“Will it be enough?” You ask. There’s a sombre look on her face. You move to sit up but she pushes you back down.

“Lay down, you need to rest.” She says. You nod, laying back down. You watch as she goes over to the bed with the bag of blood in her hands. Seeing it makes your head swim, that used to be inside you, now it's going into Fleur. 

“How much do you need?” You ask as she hangs it up next to another almost finished bag. 

“I don’t know, her body is going through it faster than you can produce it.” She swaps some tubes around. 

“Can’t you just stop the bleed?” You ask.

“It’s not as simple as that, it’s not like there’s an active bleed. The body is using its supply of blood to change her back into human, repairing the changes it made when she became an omega.” Piper looks back over at you taking her gloves off. She walks over to a cupboard and pulls something out. She comes over with a juice box.

“You look pale,” she presses the back of her hand on your forehead. “You need to take it easy for a little while.”

“Are you going to take more today?” You ask, opening the drink. She sighs her hand running down your arm.

“I hope I don’t need to, I’ve taken a lot today.” You look past her over the hanging bags of blood. 

“If you don’t take it though she’ll die.” You say. 

“She’s improving, her body is healing. She is going through the blood slower.” She says. 

“Is that good?” You ask, she squeezes your arm. It’s not good, you can see it on her face. 

‘She’s going to die. All because you want a cure.’ It’s Hale again, you swallow hard blinking a few times. It’s almost like you can see him now, like he’s always in the corner of your eye. Maybe it’s his ghost, maybe he’s haunting you. Even when he’s dead he’s still in your head.

“Just lay here for a bit.” She says. You nod sipping on the juice and lay back on the exam bed, you watch the numbers and lines flick on the monitor. 

When you leave the room you still feel dizzy. Your body feels heavy, your legs feel like jelly but your arms are stiff. Whatever drug Piper is giving you to help you replenish blood quicker or whatever makes you feel sick. You just want to lie down, it takes effort to walk, each step makes your head spin. It’s like all your energy has been sucked out of you. 

You can smell beta in the air as you make it to the living room. Johnny and Kyle must be in here. You have to lean up against the door to push it open, it takes way more effort then you know it should. When you walk in, people turn, you can see Johnny and Simon on one of the sofas. You let go of the door to walk to them but your breath catches in your throat. A wave of dizziness overtakes you, you try to look around but everything goes black.

“C’mon love.” It’s Johnny's voice, it’s his hands on your face. This feels like deja vu somehow. You’re not really even sure what happened. “There we go, had us worried for a second.”

“Sorry. I must have slipped.” You try to move but you’re in someone's arms, you look up at Simon. He’s resting you up against his knees. 

“Christ love you’re white as a sheet, don’t move till the doctor gets here okay?” Johnny says. Something in your mind snaps. You can’t let them worry, if they worry Piper might stop then Fleur will die. You use the wave of adrenaline to try and push yourself off Simon. 

“I’m fine.” You say. It doesn’t last long though and you can’t hold yourself up slumping back down into his arms. The door to the living room opens and you see John walk in. He looks worried, angry about something. He comes over to you bending down and holding your face in his hands.

“I’m just tired.” He doesn’t say anything, just looks up at Simon, the door opens again and he gets up. You see Piper and Kyle come in. 

Piper comes over to you, you try to move but Simon doesn’t let you this time, keeping you tight against him. She bends down, running her cold hand over your head and pressing her fingers into your neck. 

“You need to rest.” She says turning away from you. John is standing with his arms crossed watching you, Johnny and Kyle share worried glances. You should have waited for longer before you left, taken a nap, something. 

“She can’t keep this up Piper. You need to stop.” John says. 

“No.” You call trying to move again but Simon holds you firm.

“It wasn’t a suggestion.” John says his voice louder. His alpha is strong in the air making you dizzy. He walks up to Piper.

“This stops now. You tried and you couldn’t save her, you have to stop or you’re going to kill her.” John says, there’s anger in his voice, it’s an order. He starts to walk over to you. 

“John!” Piper snaps, he stops in his tracks turning to her. “What if it was one of them?” She points and Simon and Johnny. John tenses taking a step up to her. Your nostrils flare. She’s made him mad, you’ve never seen him like this before, he’s usually so calm and collected. 

“Think very carefully about the next words out your mouth doctor.” He says his voice low and rumbling, it makes goosebumps rise on your neck. Your fear fills the air, you know Simon can smell it, his hands gripping you tighter. Everything in your body is telling you to run and you’re not even the one who upset him. 

“Please, don’t fight.” You say feeling tears well up in your eyes. John shoots a look at you, now all you can smell is your fear. His expression changes instantly but it makes the tears you’ve been trying to hold back escape down your face. 

“Take her upstairs, stay with her.” John says. You don’t protest, just lean against Simon’s chest as he picks you up.

“Dr. Montgomery, we need to have a chat.” You hear John say as you’re taken out the room. Johnny follows behind you, he smiles, he’s trying to project his scent as Simon carries you up into John’s room. You still feel dizzy as you’re put down in bed Johnny comes over with a water bottle.

Your hands are shaking as you try to open it, Johnny looks worried, his hands resting on yours. He takes the bottle to open it for you, you look down at the bruise on the inside of your arm and run your fingers over it. It’s not healing, you don’t have enough blood for it to heal, not right now. 

“What's going to happen to Piper?” You ask, taking the bottle out of Johnny's hand. His hand comes to rub your leg. 

“Don’t worry about that.” He says, you look up at Simon standing away from the bed with his arms crossed. His eyes look dark, he looks mad, maybe he is mad. 

‘He should be mad, you’re a bad omega.’ Hale almost sounds like he's laughing as he says that. You drink a sip of water. You are a bad omega, you’ve made everyone worried and now John is going to be mad at you just like Simon is. You look back up at Johnny who’s still rubbing your leg. 

The door opens making you jump, you look over to see John standing in the doorway. 

“Simon?” He says moving out of the door. It makes your stomach sink as you watch Simon walk out the room. You feel sick bringing the bottle back up to your lips. Anything to try and squash the nerves. 

“It’s going to be okay love.” Johnny says his hand rubs your arm.

‘It’s not going to be okay. That's your fault, you’re a poison running through packs bonds. They would be better off without you.’  Your head swims with Hale’s words. He’s right, you’re an omega, it's your job to look after the pack's bonds, you’re nothing but poison to them right now. 

The door opens again and Price walks in, Johnny lets go of your arm getting to his feet. You screw the lid back on the bottle, putting it down. Silent glances are exchanged and you watch as he leaves the room. John comes over taking his place, his hand lands on yours and he lets out a sigh. 

You look up at him not knowing what to say, maybe he’ll shout at you. His expression is relaxed though. “You can’t help Piper anymore.” He says. It sounds like an order, it's not his usual calm and collected tone. He’s giving you an order, 

“If I don-” 

“No. I'm aware of what will happen to Dr, Goodwin.” He lets out another sigh running his other hand up the inside of your arm. He stops when he makes it to the bruise. 

“In this job sometimes I have to make difficult decisions. This was not a difficult decision. If you keep doing this you will hurt yourself. I’m never going to let that happen.” 

“She’ll die.” 

“Maybe. Piper is working on other options, but I will not let you get hurt.”

“I want to help.” You say. He squeezes your arm. 

“I know but right now you can’t help.” You don’t know what to say. You hang your head looking down at his hand on yours. You want to pick your fingers again, anything to make you feel better. He lets out a sigh, his hand comes to your chin and he tips your head up to look at him. 

He looks worried, his brow is creased, his head tipped to the side.

“You’ve done enough.” He says, dropping his hand.

“Are you mad at Piper?” You ask. 

“I’m not mad, I’m just worried, I don’t want to see you get hurt.” He says leaning closer to you. You sigh, you want to trust him, you so badly want to believe him that Piper can figure out a different way but you can’t. He seems to be able to see your uncertainty, your sadness. 

“Get some rest, you need it. I’ll come and get you for dinner.” He says, you nod and he leans in to kiss you. His forehead rests on yours. 

“I love you, I’m doing this because I love you. You might not see it now but you will.” You smile at him when he breaks from you. You’re already getting under the duvet as he goes to leave. You do need rest, you lay down looking over at the packet of sleeping pills on the bedside table. 

An idea pops into your head. A horrible idea that will destroy your trust with John, but you can’t sit by and let Fleur die. 

You feel guilt. It’s worse than anything you’ve felt before. John trusts you, he’s your alpha and he trusts you. He would be so mad if he found out but you can’t let Fleur die, you can’t live with yourself knowing you could have saved her. 

You turn in the bed John’s asleep, he’s snoring gently, his mouth tipped open slightly. Your fingers reach up to brush his face, gently running down his cheek to his chin. You lean in, your hand dropping from his face and kiss his forehead. You are sorry and when the time is right you will tell him how sorry you are. For now though you need to do this.

He doesn’t move when you gently pull his arm off you and start to crawl out the end of the bed. You feel bad but you had to do this, you can’t let Fleur die. You slip out of the room as quietly as you can, closing the door behind you. The whole building is dark, Piper won't be in the lab and you made sure to listen to each door opening and closing while John was falling asleep. 

You make it over to Piper's room and knock as loud as you dare. Her room is on the end but Kyle will be sleeping next door and Simon and Johnny’s room is after that, they could all easily hear you. You wait a few seconds hearing her move and come over to the door. She frowns when she sees you. She looks around her hand coming to land on your shoulder.

“You should be in bed.” She says quietly. 

“I want to help. Please take more blood.” You say. She sighs, squeezing your shoulder.

“I can’t, you know I can’t. Besides, it’s only been a few hours since you gave some last.” You know it’s a poor excuse, you know it and she knows it. You could give some now. 

“Where’s John anyway he’ll be mad if he catches you.” She says. You look around feeling guilty.

‘You should feel guilty, you’re a bad omega.’ Hale says in your head. You wish he would just leave you alone. 

“I put my sleeping pill in his drink.” You say. Her face darkens.

“Do you know how dangerous that is?” She says, her voice is low, it’s like she wants to shout at you but can’t. 

“Please Piper. If Fleur dies it’s my fault.” 

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I shouldn’t have rushed the cure. I should have waited, I didn't-” She stops talking, swallowing and stepping out of her room. 

“Come on, we need to be quick.” She says pulling your arm and heading towards the stairs. She doesn’t even have shoes on. When you make it into the medical room you can see Fleur still in the bed, the bag of blood Piper gave her earlier is almost finished.

She still looks worse somehow even paler, she looks like she’s never going to get better. You’re already going over to sit on the exam bed. Piper sighs, pulling things out the cupboard. 

“When will she know if she’s going to be okay?” You ask, watching her chest rise and fall. 

“I don’t know.” She replies, she sounds sad. 

“Did you never try to cure anyone in the bunker?” She doesn’t say anything, only looking over at Fleur quickly. She brings the tray over to you and sets it down. 

“Piper?” You ask, she’s avoiding the question. 

“Hale wasn’t looking for a cure, you know that.” She says tying the tourniquet round your arm. 

“No but you didn’t even think about it?” 

“In the early days, yes.” 

“Before I was around?” She nods, hooking the bag onto the leg of the bed. 

“What was it like before I was around?” You ask. 

“Quiet.” She smiles, you watch as she lines the needle up. “I was young, just out of med school. I was so excited to change the world.” You don’t remember much of what you think were your first few years in the bunker. 

“Lay back.” She says pressing on your shoulders, you follow her instructions and she ties a blood pressure cuff round your arm. “No passing out on me, yeah?” 

“Okay.” You smile. She picks something else up and presses it into your hand. You look at it and frown at her.

“Squeeze.” She says going over to Fleur. You squeeze the ball in your hand and watch as she picks up her stethoscope. She clicks something on the IV stand and you watch as she works, listening to Fleur’s chest, looking round her body adjusting things. 

“Is she okay to be down here alone?” You ask.

“I have a monitor in my room. It’ll alert me if anything happens.” She says. She stands pack up picking up a folder and writing something down in it. She sits down on a stool scooting back over to you. 

“Is it normal to see hallucinations when you have blood loss?” You ask. She looks up at you concerned.

“Are you having hallucinations?” She reaches out to grip your hand pulling herself up to the bed. 

“No, no. I read it in one of the medical books on the shelf in the living room.” 

“It can, but it’s not really common. I’m not taking enough from you to make anything like that happen.” She says letting go of your hand and wheeling round the bed to the other side. She looks down at the bag collecting the blood, you can’t see it from this angle instead you just squeeze the ball in your hand. 

“We only ever tried a cure once.” Piper says, she lets out a sigh. You can tell she doesn’t want to really talk about it. “It was very early development, we rushed it on purpose, it was never going to work but Hale was desperate.” 

“Why?” You ask. She lets out another sigh, her hand resting on your lower arm. It sends a shiver through your body. 

“There was an omega before you. Vanessa, she was Hale’s biological daughter.” She pauses looking up at you. You don’t know what to say. You always thought you were the only omega. You had no idea Hale had a real daughter, a biological daughter. 

Not only that she was an omega like you. 

“She got very sick. She had a very early version of the formula even before Hale had taken it. Her body couldn’t handle the physical change. We tried to make a cure to reverse it but it was too late.” 

“What happened?” You ask, trying to keep your voice level. 

“She died. We tried to save her but there was nothing we could have done.” She says. You don’t know what to say to her. Somehow you have even more questions. 

“Hale had a daughter.” You say, she nods looking back down at the bag. 

“Why-” You let out a sigh, you don’t know what to ask. “Does John know?” 

“He wanted to wait until you were more settled to take time to sit down with you.” She says. You nod at her, you’re not sure what to say. She waits a few seconds before bending down and picking up the bag. It’s almost full, she moves it round in her hands smiling at you. 

“Why did you never tell me?” 

“I never found the time to tell you.”

“For years?” You ask confused, now you’re angry at her. You’ve known her all your life and she never once mentioned that Hale had another daughter. 

“Hale didn’t ever want you to know.” You laugh leaning forward in the chair. It makes you lightheaded, forcing you to lay back. 

‘You shouldn’t trust her.’ Hale’s voice rings in your head. He’s right, she lied to you. All your life she lied. She lied about him being your step-dad, she didn’t tell you anything. You look in her eyes, her green eyes, at least they’ve always looked green to you. You used to trust her but you broke your bond with her. Hale’s right, she’s lied to you enough. You can’t trust her.

The beeping of a machine pulls your attention over to Fleur. Piper gets up to her and you lean forward in the bed.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, watching as Piper flicks a switch. You hear a hissing watching as she pulls a mask over her face. 

“Nothing. She just needs a little help to breathe.” Piper says, that doesn’t sound like nothing. That sounds like something very serious. She goes over to a cupboard to take out another juice box. 

“It doesn’t sound like she’s getting any better.” You say taking the juice box out her hand. She turns around pulling a key of her hip and opening the medicine cabinet and taking something out. 

“It’s good, it means her lungs are still working.” She pops a pill out the packaging and hands it to you. “You still need a good night's rest. Now more than ever.” You nod, taking it and drinking the juice.  

“I won’t tell John. That you told me about Vanessa.” 

“I can talk to him if you want?” She asks. You shake your head. 

“I think something is wrong.” You say hanging your head. 

“What do you mean?” She asks, frowning at you. 

“John has been busy lately, he’s been quiet.” You say looking up at her, she still looks strange without her glasses. 

“He’s had a lot on his plate lately. Nothing you need to worry about though.” She says. 

“Why don’t you wear your glasses anymore?”

“I lost sight in my eye when Hales mansion exploded.” You look up as she points at her eye. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” You say feeling guilty all of a sudden. You’ve not spent much time with her since you found out she was alive. You should spend more time with her, she sacrificed her life for you. It’s the least she deserves. 

‘Don’t forget she lied, she deserves to lose her eye.’ 

“It’s okay.” She smiles then lets out a sigh, you watch her take the needle out your arm throwing it in the trash. “You should really be getting to bed. You need the rest.” You nod at her as she presses the machine and you feel the blood pressure cuff tighten round your arm.

The door to the room swings open, you hold your breath expecting to see John red faced and angry. Piper turns in her chair and you see Simon walk in, he looks over at you both straightening up and crossing his arms. 

“What's going on Piper?” His voice is low, commanding. You can smell his alpha in the air. 

“I wasn't feeling well.” You say looking at him, you don’t know if he believes you or not. Maybe you’re lucky that Piper just started the blood pressure machine. 

“Is she okay?” Simon asks coming over to you. “Where’s Price?” 

“Sleeping.” You say. 

“She’s okay.” Piper says. “Her iron levels are low, she was feeling faint but that's to be expected. She needs rest.” You smile at him trying to put him at ease, his eyes linger on Piper as you swing your legs off the bed. He seems to buy it, his hand comes to rest on the small of your back. 

“Do you need to do anything?” He asks Piper. 

“No, she should go back to bed.” 

“How’s Dr. Goodwin?” He asks.

“Small changes. It’s still too early to say anything.” Piper says rubbing your thigh. You hop off the bed as she pulls the cuff off your arm. Your body feels heavy again, you feel your head swim as you lean against Simon. 

“Take her to bed.” Piper says. Simon nods leading you out the room. You turn back watching as she bends down to pick up the bag of blood she kicked under the bed. You’re saving her life, you need to make sure Fleur lives because she deserves that. 

She deserves to live. Simon takes you over to John’s room cracking the door open. You turn in his arms reaching up to plant a quick kiss on his lips. 

“I love you, I’m sorry about worrying you. I just didn't want to bother John.” To your surprise he seems to believe you, his thumb coming up to brush your cheek. 

“We’ll always worry about you and it’s never a bother. Are you feeling better now?” You nod and he squeezes your hip. He leans to press a kiss on your forehead. 

“Get some rest.” He says. You nod and watch him walk away as you go into John’s room. You stand with your back to the door. He’s still snoring softly, you don’t want to be in bed with him. Not after what you’ve done. You let him down, you betrayed his trust. He doesn’t deserve that. 

You turn walking back out of the room and into yours. Even your nest doesn’t feel like a safe place right now. You pull your duvet off the bed and curl up in it anyway. Your body and eyes are starting to feel heavy, you can’t tell if it’s because of the blood loss or the sleeping pill. 

‘You’re a bad omega. Your alpha will never trust you again.’ He’s right, you let the pack down. They’d be better off without you. 

You’re sitting on a chair looking into a room through a glass window. There’s a beta strapped to a chair. You know who she is, she was helping Piper over the last few days. Hale is leaning on the console, you look at the flashing lights and buttons, you’ve always wanted to know what they all did. 

A door opens and you hear the click of heels. You know who it is before she makes it into your line of sight. 

“What’s going on?” Piper asks, Hale stands up and turns, he looks at you quickly then back to her. He moves to the side pressing play on the computer. You don’t bother watching the video you’ve seen it already. You hear your voice fill the room, then her voice. 

‘I’ll get you out of here.’ She says on the recording. It makes you feel sick. Maybe she would have been able to get you out but you will never know. Instead you were scared, so scared that you thought it was a test, a trap by Hale. 

You turned her in and now she’s going to die. The video stops and Piper walks over to you. 

“You don’t have to do this Hale.” She says. 

“No. I don’t but what choice do I have? You know very well what’s at stake here, Dr. Montgomery.” He snaps. You look up at her, her body stiffens as she looks past him into the room. Hale looks away and she squeezes your shoulder, it’s the only comfort you’ll get today. 

“How long has she been bonded?” Piper asks. It’s routine at this point, they’re going to forcibly break a bond you’ve made, by killing the beta. 

“Long enough.” Hale spits. It always hurts, not physically but emotionally. You’ve done this before but this time you did cause this. You didn’t have to turn her in and now you’re being punished for it, which is what you deserve. 

“Let's get this over with already. I don’t have all day.” Hale says, stepping back to stand next to you. You see Piper hesitate before pressing a button on the counter, she quickly turns back to look at you. You can almost hear her voice in your head.

‘It will be over soon.’ You hang your head, you can already feel the sadness bubbling in you. A deep feeling of dread that makes your stomach drop. 

“The drugs are in.” Piper says. The tears come next, you try not to sniffle, you don’t want to give Hale the satisfaction. A lump rises in your throat as you try to hold the tears back, you feel sick. It's less of a sadness more of a horror. A sob leaves your throat as a beeping starts. 

You hear Hale sigh before he reaches down to pull your chin up. “How do you feel?” He asks moving to stand in front of you. 

“Fine.” You lie, he knows it's a lie. Piper who goes into the room with the dead beta knows it. That's what Hale wants to hear though because he doesn’t want to be around you when the only scent you’re protruding is sadness. 

“Smile then.” He says. You obey, forcing a smile as his thumb comes to brush a tear away. Piper comes back into the room with a stethoscope in her hand, Hale drops your chin and you blink tears away. 

“Let me know when the autopsy is finished.” Hale says gripping your arm and pulling you to your feet. You look over at her quickly before you’re pulled out the room. You’re taken in silence to his office while you fight while holding back the sobs. It almost feels like you’re choking on them, each one forces you to swallow hard and is followed with tears. 

Hale goes over to sit on his leather sofa, you stand there watching him get comfortable before he pats his knee. You sit down next to him laying down looking out into his office. 

You project your scent for him because that is what you’re supposed to do as a good omega. His hand runs over your head as you feel him relax into sofa, the leather squeaking beneath him. His thumb brushes the back of your neck, it makes you tense but you tip your head for him anyway. 

“Such a good omega.” His thumb digs into the back of your neck. “Not long until your next heat. Then you will be mine.” 

It makes you feel sick but you don’t have a choice. You just close your eyes and focus on making sure your scent isn’t tainted.

You wake to John’s hand squeezing your shoulder. 

“Hey,” he says as you sit up. You don’t feel well rested at all. “What happened, why are you in here?” 

“I wasn’t feeling well. I went to see Piper but I didn’t want to wake you.” You say sitting up. Why does the lie come so easily?

‘Because you’re a bad omega.’ 

“Are you feeling better now?” You look up at him and sigh. His thumb comes to stroke your cheek. 

“How about you go back to sleep. I’ll get Piper to come and check on you in a little while. I’ll send Kyle up with some food.” He says. Now you feel guilty, you don’t need taking care of, it’s your guilty conscience making you feel ill. You nod anyway, if not just to get him to leave. 

He deserves better, better than you being a bad omega. He kisses your forehead and stands up, you lay back down and close your eyes. Hale’s right, you were never a good omega. 

…

Kyle wakes you next. He has a plate in his hands. You’re not hungry, you don’t move, you feel a chill in the room. He puts the plate and a bottle of water on your bedside table. 

“How is Fleur?” You ask. 

“No change yet. Piper is working hard though.” You nod pulling the duvet tighter over you. “Do you want me to stay?” You shake your head. He looks disappointed but nods and leaves anyway. 

You look up at the plate, you’re not hungry, all you want to do is help Fleur, help Piper and you’re not allowed. Maybe you could sneak another pill into John’s tea again and give some more blood. If Simon catches you again though he’ll probably get suspicious. 

You turn over, you don’t want to do it again, it feels like the guilt is eating you alive. You close your eyes, at least when you’re sleeping you’re not feeling guilty. 

…

“Hey,” You wake to Piper shaking your shoulder. She's smiling, you look confused sitting up. John is stood in the doorway. “Fleur’s awake.” Your head snaps to Piper, for a second you feel like you’ve misheard her. 

“She’s awake?” You ask letting out a long breath. Piper nods, suddenly the room doesn’t feel cold anymore. Suddenly the guilt goes away. She’s alive, she’s awake and she’s going to be okay. You throw your arms around Piper who hugs you back. 

“Is she going to be okay?” You ask.

“She’s going to be okay.” Piper says. You almost want to cry, you squeeze your eyes closed and hug her tighter. When you break from the hug you look up at John, he’s smiling too. It was worth it, she’s safe and you helped keep her alive.

“Is she normal?” You ask looking back at Piper, she nods. 

“So the cure works.” You say. 

“Technically yes but it would be nice if it wasn’t trying to kill you first. It needs a lot more work.” She explains. You nod. She gets up to her feet. 

“If you’re feeling up for it later Fleur would like to say thank you.” You nod smiling at her as she goes over to the door, John moves to the side to let her out then comes over to you. You stand up letting the duvet fall to the floor. His hand runs down your arm picking up one of your hands. 

You look up at him lacing your fingers with his, he leans down to kiss you. You wrap your other arm around him pulling him closer to you. You don’t feel guilt, you feel at peace, you sink into the kiss. His hand lets you go and runs up your arm to your shoulder. 

You kiss him deeper letting your fingers dig into his hip. He picks up on your eagerness pressing his hands on your face. You moan as he gently strokes your cheek and plays with your tongue. Before you know it you’re pressing against him trying to move him to the bed. He breaks from the kiss looking down at you.

“You need to eat, you’ve been asleep all day.” He says. You don’t care you reach up pressing your lips back onto his, you run your hand up his shirt you feel the familiar muscles and scars. Your fingers lace through his chest hair. His kiss is nice, his hands running over you are grounding. This is what you’ve needed. 

“Christ love,” John breathes, breaking from the kiss and looks down at you. You can see the shine in his eyes, you can smell his scent in the air, you project yours for him smiling as you watch his nostrils flair. You don’t stop touching him, running your hands over him. You’re not sure what you want but you want some silence, you want him. 

You want to spend time with him, let him do what he wants. You smile reaching back up to kiss him as he walks you over to the bed. When your legs hit it you break from the kiss sitting down. 

He bends down so his head is level with yours, your foreheads are pressed together, your lips quickly brush. “What do you need?” He asks, his voice low, almost a whisper. 

“You alpha, please.” You say reaching out to grab his shirt as you chase his lips. He hums kissing you again. His hands grip your waist before he gently runs them up under your top. He’s about to make it to your breasts when there’s a knock at the door. You both break from the kiss looking over. 

“John, you’ve got a visitor.” You hear Simon say. You hear John sigh and he stands up straight.

“Who is it?” He asks. Simon doesn’t reply right away. 

“Are you decent?” He asks. John sighs again going over to the door. You stand up to follow him. 

“Kate, what are you doing here?” He says, Kate? You walk up behind him seeing Kate Laswell standing with Simon. 

“Shadow Company are on the move, I sent a million messages.” She says, she sounds mad about it. 

“Shadow Company?” You ask that's commander Grave’s people. They were the ones who looked after the base in America. 

“Laswell, let's talk about this in my office.” he turns to look at you. “Why don’t you go see Fleur?” 

“What's going on with Shadow Company, are they coming here?” You ask, feeling a lump rise in your throat. 

“No, probably causing problems elsewhere.” John says smiling. “Nothing to worry about.” You don’t believe him, you look over at Kate. She smiles at you too. 

“It’s nice to see you again.” She says as they turn to leace and Simon comes to stand next to you. You nod at her, Simon’s arm wraps around your waist. 

“Sorry for interrupting you.” You watch as Kate and John walk over to the stairs. You see Johnny jogging up saying hello. When he spots you and Simon he comes over. You start walking with Simon meeting him halfway.

“What's Laswell doing here?” Johnny asks. 

“You’ll have to ask Price.” Simon says, Johnny raises an eyebrow then looks down at you. 

“Hey, did you hear the good news, love?” Johnny asks cheerfully.

“We’re going to see her now.” You say. 

“I’ll take her, you can go find out what Laswell’s here for.” Johnny winks, throwing his arm over your shoulders. Simon doesn’t protest, or maybe he doesn’t get a chance because before he can say anything Johnny’s already pulling you to the stairs. 

“She said Shadow Company were moving or something.” You say. 

“That can’t be good. But I bet they're messing around in America with Shepherd.” He says. 

“What if they come here?” You ask looking over at John’s office door.

“Na, no reason for them to come here. Besides, we’ve got a whole army surrounding us.” He says, well that's true at least. You are on a military base. You feel nervous all of a sudden. Maybe this was why John has been so distant lately. 

That all seems to vanish when you make it into the medical room and see Fleur sat up in the bed. She doesn’t look as pale anymore. Piper is sat on a chair talking to her, she stands when she sees you and Johnny step in. 

“Hey Piper. Kate’s here, let me catch you up while they talk.” Johnny says. Piper frowns for a second but nods and walks past you. You go over to sit on the chair. 

“How do you feel?” You ask. That seems like the best place to start. 

“Tired, weak but I think that’s normal after you almost die.” She chuckles, you’re not sure what to do so you just smile at her.

“I wanted to say thank you. I heard what happened and I know you risked your life for this.” Her smile doesn’t falter but she shifts in the bed. 

“John wasn’t too happy about it.” You smile. She reaches out to touch your hand, you almost want to cry, you thought she was going to die. Last time you saw her she looked so sick. Before you can stop yourself you’re on your feet wrapping your arms around her. 

“I’m sorry you got hurt.” You say. She hugs you back, rubbing her hand up your back.

“It’s okay. I’m fine now.” You break from the hug but her hands land on your arms, you still have bruise marks from giving the blood, it’s the first time her smile fades.

“You’re normal again.” You say, getting her attention back.

“Yeah, it was interesting being an omega for a few days.” She smiles, you smile back and sit back down.

“I was surprised that the alpha’s smell so mellow. I thought it would be extremely overwhelming.” 

“They smell like the ground after rain.” You say. She smiles nodding her head.

“Petrichor. That's what they call the smell of the ground after rain.” She smiles. “So who’s kate?” 

“Kate is the American woman who works with John. She works for the CIA. She’s very nice.” 

“Ah yes, the woman Piper stayed with while she was recovering in America.” You nod. 

“And what's Shadow Company?” 

“They’re military contractors I think. There’s this guy Commander Graves, I don’t like him very much. They destroyed my nest in America.” You say.

“That's not very nice.” She says frowning. 

“No, but at least he doesn’t give me the creeps like Shepherd did.” 

“Shepherd?” She asks, frowning. 

“He was a Commander, or a General I think. In America.” 

Before she can respond you hear the door open. Piper comes back into the room. 

“We should let Fleur get some rest, she’s still got a long recovery.” Piper says. You nod getting up, Fleur is still smiling. 

“Come and visit tomorrow?” She asks. You nod smiling at her and follow Piper out the room. You follow her into the lab. You can see the sun setting, lighting the trees up in shades of orange. It’s spring now and the trees are starting to sprout new buds of green. The trees are different over here, not like the massive evergreen trees in America.

“You did well.” Piper says, pulling your attention from the window to her. You’re not sure what to say. 

“I’m glad she’s okay.” You say, Piper's hand strokes your arm.

“How do you feel now we’re closer to a cure?” 

“It’s good, it’s what they want.” You say, she sighs squeezing your arm. 

“You don’t need to take the cure.” She says. “You will always have a choice.” 

“What would be the point? Not much point in being an omega without a pack.” You say. She lets out a sigh, dropping her arm.

“There is still a long way to go, months maybe. I don’t want you to worry about this.” She says, you nod.

“You should go get something to eat. Johnny’s waiting for you.” She says smiling. You hug her, you can tell she wasn’t expecting it but she hugs you back instantly. Maybe you do want to repair your bond with her. You’re about to break from the hug when goosebumps rise on the back of your neck.

It’s like things happen in slow motion. A gasp leaves Piper's throat, your head turns to the window, there’s someone standing there with a weapon. You don't even get time to scream before the man opens fire.

next

Dividers by @gild-ui & @plum98

[lanaroff]

Unwanted- Part 9

Paring: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Y/N is an enhanced SHIELD agent who is forced to work with the Avengers. What happens when they discover that she’s not alone?

Warnings: ANGST

The mission was straightforward, as far as missions went. HYDRA had set up a new base, one of their many hidden facilities, and it was the team’s job to destroy it. Steve had a clear plan to wipe out the base’s defenses, Sam and Bucky would assist in taking out the soldiers, and Tony was on standby to neutralize any heavy artillery. The goal: destroy the facility, eliminate the threat, and get out clean.

But for you, there was more to it. While the rest of the team focused on taking down soldiers and disabling the base’s systems, you had something else in mind. Something personal.

You’d been scouring mission intel for weeks, and you’d finally found something promising. A mention of an archive room, tucked deep within the base. A place you’d hoped would contain the answers you needed about your mother. You’d heard rumors, whispers in the dark, of her connection to HYDRA. But nothing concrete, no files, no records.

You weren’t sure what you expected to find, but the urge to search was all-consuming. The alien inside you was dormant for now, its presence muted as you focused on the task at hand. It would stay quiet as long as you kept your emotions in check.

Wanda, of course, had been there every step of the way. At first, her presence had been a comfort—calming, steady. Slowly, over the past few weeks, you’d found something else in her—the softness in her eyes, the gentle touch of her hand when you needed it most. You’d learned to trust her, to rely on her in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to do with anyone in a long time.

Wanda was the one person who had never pushed you away. She had accepted your past, your mistakes, your anger. The bond between you had grown, and slowly, you had realized that you’d come to care for her deeply. Maybe even love her.

But that was before you found the file.

The archive room was as quiet as you had imagined, the dimly lit space filled with dusty files, old computers, and outdated technology. Your heart raced as you combed through the documents, tearing through pages and files in search of something—anything—that would lead you to the truth about your mother. The deeper you dug, the more you felt the weight of the room pressing down on you.

And then you found it.

A file on the Maximoff twins: Wanda and Pietro.

Your stomach dropped as you opened the file, scanning the documents in disbelief. The papers were full of old, familiar terms—HYDRA, Experiment 98, volunteers—and as you read on, the words blurred together in a haze of confusion and anger. Your breath caught in your throat as the truth unfolded in front of you.

Wanda and Pietro had been volunteers for HYDRA’s experiments.

Your mind struggled to process the information. The pieces didn’t fit. Wanda, who had been nothing but kind to you, who had shown you care and affection… how could she have been involved with them? She had never once mentioned her past like this. She’d told you about her powers, about her brother, but never this.

The file detailed how the twins had been subjected to HYDRA’s experiments, forced to undergo painful procedures to unlock their abilities, to become weapons for the organization. The file even mentioned The Sokovia Project, the experiment that would alter their very DNA, making them the most powerful tools in HYDRA’s arsenal.

You couldn’t breathe. The air in the room felt thick, suffocating. Every word, every sentence in that file felt like a dagger in your chest. The realization hit you like a tidal wave—you had trusted her. You had trusted Wanda with your deepest fears, your past, your heart. And now, it felt like she had lied to you this whole time.

Anger surged within you, but you could feel the alien stir beneath it, an ugly, dark presence that threatened to rise. You shoved it down, focusing on the rage that burned inside you instead. You had to stay in control. You had to think.

Just as you finished reading the file, the door to the archive room opened.

Wanda stepped inside, her face lighting up when she saw you. "Hey," she said softly, her voice warm. "We’re ready to go. The rest of the team is waiting for us outside."

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t even look at her. The words caught in your throat, but the disgust was too overwhelming. You couldn’t look at the woman who had lied to you for so long.

"Wanda," you said, your voice cold, barely more than a whisper. "What is this?"

Wanda stepped closer, her expression shifting as she saw the file clutched tightly in your hands. She froze. "I… I can explain," she said quickly, her voice betraying the nerves she was trying to mask. "It’s not what you think."

"Not what I think?" The words escaped you like venom. "You were a volunteer? You let them do this to you? And you never told me? Why? You lied to me, Wanda."

"I didn’t lie," Wanda said, her voice breaking. "I didn’t—" She stepped closer, but you backed away, shaking your head.

"No. I trusted you. I trusted you more than anyone, and this is what you’ve been hiding?" Your fists clenched at your sides, the betrayal so raw, it felt like it was tearing you apart.

Wanda’s eyes were wide with pain, but she was desperate now. "I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want you to know about my past. I was trying to protect you."

"Protect me?" You spat, stepping back again, your voice rising in anger. "You were never going to tell me, were you? You were just going to keep hiding it. How could I ever trust you again, Wanda? How could you do this to me?"

Wanda’s eyes filled with tears, her hands reaching out to you. "Please, let me explain. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I—I care about you so much. I’ve realized… I’m in love with you."

The words hung in the air between you, but they did nothing to heal the wound she had caused. Your heart twisted, but the anger was too strong. The trust was gone.

"You think that changes anything?" you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "You’ve lied to me this whole time, and now you think I’ll just forgive you because you love me? I can’t. I can’t do this."

Wanda reached for you, her hands trembling. "Please, just listen—"

You jerked away from her, your body shaking with fury and hurt. "No," you said, your voice hard. "I don’t want to hear it. I can’t. You’re not the person I thought you were."

And with that, something inside you broke.

Before she could say anything else, you turned and ran, bolting from the room. You didn’t care about the mission anymore. You didn’t care about the team. All you could think about was the betrayal that had just shattered everything.

As you pushed through the hallways of the HYDRA base, the alien inside you roared, angry and desperate, but you ignored it. You didn’t need anyone, especially not Wanda. She had lied, and now you were done.

You found the exit, your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way into the night. The team would catch up eventually, but for now, you were alone. And you didn’t know if you could ever trust anyone again.

You had trusted Wanda, and now you were nothing but a shadow of who you used to be.

You couldn’t stay.

And so, you disappeared into the dark.