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fanfictionera · 4 months

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My Queen (BuckyxReader) Smut

A/N: I have always wanted to write a Sex Pollen fic but every time I tried to write one it didn't feel right. Finally I started writing and the vibes started flowing. I wanted filthy smut but with emotion and feeling and I hope that I achieved that. Either way I am super proud of this and I hope readers enjoy!

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Synopsys: The reader and Bucky are sent on a mission where they are exposed to what is referred to as Sex Pollen. Their feelings for each other are forced to be faced.

Word Count: 6,218

Warnings: Sex Pollon, Friends to Lovers, forced sex (due to drugs), sprinkle of Angst, Bucky, SMUT, SMUT SMUT SMUT. SO LITTLE PLOT.

My Queen

Bucky stood in the back of the Quinjet, checking over his person. It was like a ritual for him, starting from the top he would check every strap and belt, double check each gun and knife blade. His body swayed, compensating for the slight lurch of the Quinjet before it leveled out.

“And we have touched down,” Y/N said from the pilot's seat, with a press of a button her chair spun around. She came up behind Bucky gently tugging on his back harness. The back of the Quinjet dropped down, revealing several structures in a clearing, surrounded by trees. They began to make their way to the larger building in the center. The clearing was shrouded in a dark gray filter as the misty fog creeped its way through the trees, under a sky blanketed by cloud cover, reclaimed by nature. A scan showed no signs of human life, which was little in the way of relief.

They silently approached the front door before stepping into the building. A home. The remnants of one anyway. They entered the kitchen, with a table still made. Flowers in a porcelain milk jug left dead, wilted and dried in the center. A plate sat next to a folded newspaper. Y/N could feel the shift in the air as soon as they walked in. The weight of the secrets of the house, hidden behind the semblance of a quiet life, mixed with the pure evil that seeped from its walls in tendrils made Y/N uneasy.

They progressed through the first and second level of the home. Although every surface was covered in a thick layer of dust each room sat pristine, frozen in time as if the owner just ceased to exist. One of many of Hydra’s calling cards.

They made their way back outside and to the side of the house. Y/N turned scanning the tree line as Bucky yanked and cleared away brush that covered the storm doors nestled against the house. Nature revealed the chained and padlocked metal doors.

Bucky pulled the chain, breaking it in his metal hands. The parts slipped through his fingers like sand. The doors opened with a gut dropping creek revealing a set of stairs leading down into a dirt floor cellar.

“Ladies First.” He waved his hand as he motioned his hand forward, his eyes scanning behind Y/N.

She walked forward, “What a gentleman.”

The cellar was packed hard, the air was stale and stagnant. The wooden shelves that lined the stone wall held glass jars full of canned food.

Bucky walked to the corner, moving a basket out of the way, revealing a hatch.

The ladder led down to a concrete room, with the only doorway being a gated elevator shaft. An electrical box was mounted on the wall. Bucky opened it and began to check it over before pulling the large handle down. It made a large metallic thunk as Bucky forced the handle down. A soft wiring noise began to buzz.

Bucky pulled the metal gate to the side, ushering Y/N into the car, he closed the gate after he stepped on and reached for the hand crank on the side. Slowly the metal gears began to move and creak as the elevator descended. “Why does every Hydra base have a creepy elevator?” Y/N asked as she took in the rust-streaked walls of the shaft illuminated by dingy yellowing lights that flickered as they warmed up.

“Günter did suggest rainbows and butterflies, but as you can see, he was outvoted.” Y/N tried to hide her smile as she rolled her eyes.

The elevator came to a stop as it reached the bottom of the shaft, pulling the gate aside again, they found themselves in a storm of destruction “What is this place?”

“It's a lab, was a lab.” Bucky looked around, “I don't believe I was ever here, but it's where they developed all kinds of fun.”

They began to clear the room, flashlight in hand. Tables sat disheveled and tipped over, their contents scattered. Papers littered every surface like confetti. Various medical equipment and hardware mixed and mingled with the papers, while every box of a computer was shattered or broken. As if someone punched every screen. Several lighting fixtures hung from the ceiling, attached by a few wires, while others found their way to the floor. Bucky held a dangling light to the side, letting Y/N walk through before following.

She scanned the room as she took another step, a loud popping crunch noise made her jump, she looked down, lifting her foot, to see the glass shards sprayed across the floor.

Bucky laughed as he pushed past her. “You’ve been playing to many zombie games,”

“Shut up.” She walked behind him.

Bucky laughed again as he held his arms out, doing his best zombie impression, ‘Brainsss.” He turned to grab her head. “No brainsssss”

Y/N shoved him playfully, "Can we just do this and get the hell out of here?" Bucky chuckled as he clicked on his flashlight and continued sweeping the lab with a smug smile on his face. Y/N wasn't going to lie, nothing about this place made her feel good. She wasn't sure if it was because of its history or its current state, either way she was very much looking forward to leaving.

As they continued into the next room, Y/N eyes came to rest on Bucky’s back. They trailed across his harness, how it spanned across his wide shoulders. The dim lights still highlighted the muscular lines built into the metal of his arm. Bucky paused for a moment, pivoting on his heel to double check a dark corner. His face was concentrated, eyes trained. She couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to have them trained on her.

She shook her head, focus, she mouthed to herself. With the room cleared they were moving forward again; her eyes came to the back of his head and down his back. They slowly trailed down to his ass, framed perfectly in his tactical pants, the seams accentuating his curve.

Suddenly Bucky stopped, looking up at a mess of chains, “Let’s see what's behind door number one.” He put his flashlight between his teeth as he began to roll his sleeve up his flesh arm.

Y/N watched, entranced by the simple action, she glanced up to see Bucky watching her. He smiled around the flashlight; he reached up with this metal hand taking the source of light. He took several steps toward her before bringing his hand up to her jaw.

“That’s what does it for you?” he swiped his thumb against her bottom lip before swiping his thumb down, pulling her lip with it. “Is it my arm?”

She nodded.

“Or is it my fingers?” Her eyes dilated as Bucky chuckled leaning forward, “Do you want my fingers?” She could feel his breath against her skin as he walked behind her, his flesh hand reaching around, grasping the toggle of her zipper. She could hear each tooth unzip as he pulled the zipper down its full length. The coolness of the metal left a tingling sensation as he followed in the zipper wake, his palm slid down her stomach, closer to her aching core. Her breathing became heavy as her head began to spin.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice sounded firm, the look of concern evident “Are you okay?”

The world came crashing back in a blink of her eye. Her eyes snapped open to find Bucky standing in front of her, still messing with the chains. She shook her head trying to shake off the ghost feeling of his touch. Y/N took a deep breath, her brow began to pull together, "Do you smell that?” She takes another deep breath through her nose, “It's almost sweet, floral, its faint.”

Bucky looked at her puzzled, the air around them smelled musty and old. Then the realization hit him. "Shit.” With the chains forgotten, Bucky grabbed her arm and pulled her back down where they came, “Where is that vile you stepped on?”

His touch was distracting, “Over, over there, I think?" He let go of her, "What's going on?” Y/N asked as Bucky began searching the ground.

He turned still looking, “Just, please, we need to find it.”

She walked back over a row and kicked a pile of papers, a cracked vile rolled out, “It's right here.” The end was still intact, the label holding the shards together.

Copulation Stimulant

Y/N’s eyes read over the label, “Is this?” She looked back down again hoping she read it wrong, “This is, oh my god--no-no-no-no.” She dropped the vile again, the realization setting in, her hands coming to her face as she rambled, “I can't do this, this has to be some cruel joke. Yeah? It’s labeled wrong? I can’t actually fuck my best friend…I can't--”

11-197020-43

“Oh, come on now,” As Y/N began to spiral Bucky knelt down to confirm his suspicion, "Best Friend!?" He tried to joke, to keep Y/N with him. "Nat might fight me for that title."

"Stop. I'm serious. You don't understand," She began shaking slightly, overwhelmed as the tears began to fall down her cheek.

Bucky's smug smile dropped from his face as he took in Y/N’s state, his eyebrows knitted together.

Y/N's chest tightened as she looked up at him. “I can’t fuck my best friend because I’m in love with my best friend."

"Sweetheart" The word came out of Bucky’s mouth like an exhale as he took in her words.

“Oh my god, am I going to fuck my best friend, who I’m in love with, for the first time in a dingy old Hydra base." Y/N's mind was moving a million miles a second. A heat began to spread from her core, she took a deep breath.

“Come on,” Bucky gently grabbed her arm, "Not here, let's get back to the Quinjet, okay?”

Y/N shook her head as she let Bucky lead her out of the bunker. She could feel the heat spreading throughout her body, like water slowly trickling down through the soil, saturating each grain as it was pulled down by gravity. It felt invasive.

The Quinjet bay door began to close as Bucky climbed into the pilot's chair. Y/N sat in the back, her breath becoming heavy. "I'm getting really hot."

“Like little pin pricks of heat all over your skin?" The Quinjet shook slightly as it rose into the sky.

"Yeah-h" Y/N said as a sheen of sweat began to cover her face.

"It's hitting you faster." He quickly flipped some switches before getting up out of the chair, he grabbed a med kit duffle bag out of the closet before kneeling in front of her.

Y/N's brow slowly pulled together, "Why?"

"It's designed for super soldiers." Bucky began as he pulled out and cracked a jelly ice pack, instantly making it cold before placing it on her neck. "Which means it's stronger for you."

Y/N felt the sting of the cold radiate, "Okay, okay…okay. What's going to happen?" Her head swirled as she placed her hand over his that held the ice pack, grounding herself. “Be honest.”

Bucky took a deep breath, unable to pull his gaze from her pleading one. "Your adrenaline will slowly rise, until your heart feels like it's going to burst and every cell in your body is vibrating." He flipped the ice pack to the other side of her neck. "It's going to alter chemicals in your brain, driving up your sex drive and arousal." His chest began to heave as he began to feel the effects. “At the same time, it will lower your inhibitions and block all sense of self control.”

Y/N took a deep breath through her nose. "And sex is the only way?"

"No, we can ride this out." Bucky said as he also breathed deep. "It will be torture, an ache of a pain that will thunder through your existence. Every second you resist will feel like one second closer to death, but it won't kill you."

Y/N fought through another wave of heat before responding, "I don't know what to do. It's getting hard to think."

"Yeah." Bucky knew what was to come. How many hours they would have to endure if they waited it out. He dropped the ice pack, now warm, before bringing his hands up to the sides of Y/N's face, pulling her focus back. "Listen to me," He took a moment, “Never in a million years would I have wanted this to be our first time." He let out another grunt as he fought another wave, a smirk appeared through it. "I planned on asking you out, on a real date, before I led you to my bed. To treat you like a queen. My queen.” Tears threatened the corners of Y/N's eyes. Her heart was beating in her ears, and it felt like years as they leaned forward, their foreheads resting against each other. “If we do this now, it won't be like that, you need to know once I start, I will not be able to stop. You will not be able to stop."

Her fingers came up dragging down the edge of his scruff-covered jaw line. “I understand. I trust you, please, I trust you.”

The moment his lips touched hers everything stopped. Bucky physically felt Y/N's body relax as her lips began to move against his. She snaked her hands up his chest and behind his neck before pulling herself off the back of the chair and as close to him as she could.

Y/N got lost in the intense high created, everything slowed down and hazed over. A dull, mind numbing, wave of emotions swirled in her brain as all sense of time was lost till eventually it wound itself into a ball and exploded against the back of her eyelids. The heat began to fade, leaving a chill across her skin. Her head felt empty and tired. Mentally she couldn't string two coherent thoughts together. Her body felt loose, and her eyes watered as a tear slid down.

"Hey, it's over." Bucky was catching his breath as he held her head in his hand, looking into her eyes, "it's over," her gaze was distant.

"Shit." Bucky held onto her, held her close as he began rummaging through the duffle bag, "Come on, there you are." Bucky returned to Y/N, "Y/N, doll, I need you to take this. It will help, can you do that?"

Y/N Glanced down at the small syringe in his hand, "What is it?" The words slurred and tired.

"It will let you sleep till we get back and Bruce can help." Bucky replied softly.

The tears began to stream down her face, "I'm feeling everything. At once."

“I know. It’s the drug, a side effect.” Bucky took her hand, “Sleep will help.”

“Okay,” Y/N shook her head as she sniffled. Within moments of the liquid entering her blood stream, Y/N's eyes became heavy, and her body relaxed as she drifted off. Bucky gently maneuvered her, placing her on her side across several seats. He fixed her suit, now ripped wide open from navel down to her exposed thighs, her breasts out on display. He pulled the sides of the fabric, covering her the best he could before he grabbed one of the packs of the on-board pillows and blankets, ripping it out of its packaging. He positioned the small pillow under her head and draped the blanket over her body before cleaning himself up and making his way to the cockpit.

Bucky listened and waited for her to fall into a deep sleep before grabbing the headset. "Friday, please connect me with Steve and Bruce."

"Right away," Friday responded as two small transparent screens appeared in front of Bucky's face.

Steve's face was scrunched as he slowly woke up, "Hey, what time is it?"

"Two." Bruce replied as he did a double take, pulling on his glasses, "In the morning."

"There's been a situation," Bucky's voice was low, Steve's attention was immediately caught, and he finally took in Bucky's appearance, "We came into contact…with a substance," Bucky looked back again making sure Y/N was still out, "It was developed by Hydra for their breeding program, they called it copulation stimulant, but everyone referred to it as sex pollen." As the Quinet silently made the trek back to the compound, Bucky filled them in.

Bucky tossed and turned in bed, he rolled over, sheets tangled around his legs and stared up at the ceiling. Taking a deep breath he reached over for his phone, the screen turned on showing it was only mid-morning.

He rubbed his face before kicking his sheets off and sitting up on the edge of the bed. He stared down at his floor, his mind taking over sucking him back into that moment. Flashes of Y/N's face, filled with fear, overwhelmed with emotions and emptiness played on repeat.

He blinked away the images as he made his way out of his room. Bucky walked down the hall towards Steve's room.

Steve sat at his table; papers strewn about as he caught up on his paperwork. He heard the knock before Bucky walked in.

"How are you feelin'?" Steve asked as Bucky slumped into a chair, aimlessly picking up a piece of paper, setting it back down, not interested.

"How is she?" Is all Bucky asked.

Steve pushed a tablet towards him, "Medically speaking, she's okay, nothing more than a few bruises."

Bucky looked down at the screen, a mission report, currently on the recorded incidents page. His eyes instantly skimmed and settled on Y/N's list of injuries before swiping through the rest of the report.

"I decided not to include the details." Steve continued as Bucky sat the tablet down with an exhale. Steve slowly set down the pen as he leaned back in his chair slightly. "Buck, how are you?"

"Angry." Bucky shook his head. "For me to go through it again, fine. But not her."

"Did Hydra use this stuff often?" Steve's brow pulled up softly.

Bucky's lips flashed a sad smile with a huff of a laugh, "It cycled through. They called it a compliance tool." He looked at his friend, "Sometimes they would call it a reward."

"Jesus." Steve let out under his breath.

“They had an endless supply of compliance tools and rewards.” Bucky shrugged slightly, "I'm okay Steve, honestly.”

"I was going to go check on her in a bit.” Steve leaned forward and picked up his pen again as he glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Bruce gave her something to help her sleep more, rest is probably the best for her right now, so she probably won't be stirring for another hour or two." Bucky nodded his head slightly as Steve spoke.

Steve watched as Bucky began to slip back into his thoughts. "Hey," His voice pulled Bucky's eyes to him. "You guys will be dancing around each other again soon enough."

"I told her." Bucky's confession came out softly. "How I feel, right before I railed her brains out in a fit of uncontrollable horny rage."

“I’m sorry, what?” Steve sat staring at his friend, “You thought, that after being exposed to a chemical weapon used to sexually exploit their victims, yeah this is a good time to confess my feelings to the woman I’ve been absolutely obsessed with since the first day I saw her?”

"Yup," Bucky popped the p, "In my defense she confessed first.”

“Unbelievable,” Steve pinched, “Why are you two like this?”

“In love? Or Insane?” Bucky asked back with a shrug,

Steve crossed his arms as he leaned back, “Go talk to her you jerk."

…

Y/N’s room was dark, every curtain pulled tight and not a single light was on. She had woken up several times only to roll over and fall back asleep, not wanting or ready to face the world yet. She lay on her belly, letting herself lay there, her head spiraling with thoughts. She grabbed for her phone, the brightness from the screen making her recoil, it was already close to two in the afternoon. She rolled back over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.

“What's wrong with me?” She asked quietly to herself.

She never wanted to experience sex pollen again, it scared her to her core to have her own free will taken away. Her heartbeat picked up as she thought about it, a panic slowly bubbling. She took a deep breath, “We can ride this out.” His words echoed in her head. “I wanted to take you out on a date. Treat you like a queen. My queen.” Her heart stuttered a moment as she took another deep breath.

A knock at her door drew her attention. Slowly she rose from her bed, just as she approached the door another soft knock came. She reached for the handle and opened it to find Bucky standing with a paper bag in hand.

She stared at him, her words stuck in her throat, “Team ordered out, I got your favorite.” Bucky held the paper bag up. “I, um, I wanted to check in and.." He paused as he shrugged.

Y/N could see the anxiety and pain behind his eyes. She stepped closer to him, her hands coming to the sides of his torso and sliding back, as she hugged him.

As if on que Y/N stomach growled and she let out a small laugh. She pulled back, taking the bag from Bucky. “Thank you, I don't think I ate anything in the med bay when we got back.” She turned into the room, “Wanna come in?"

As Y/N walked back in, she flicked on a few lamps, creating a soft glow. Bucky closed the door behind him, unsure of what to do. Her desk was sitting just far away to be awkward but the only other place to sit would be her bed, somewhere he had never thought twice about before as he would just sit down or jump in. Now? He was acutely aware of his actions, and it created a ball of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

“Bucky, you're welcome to sit on my bed.” Y/N noticed his hesitation.

He shrugged. “I didn't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You aren't” Y/N said as she pulled a plate down from a cabinet in her Kitchenette.

Bucky paused for a moment before taking a deep breath, "What's going through your head?" Y/N stopped what she was doing, food forgotten as he continued. "Be honest."

Y/N turned, leaning against the counter, to face him. She crossed her arms as she took a moment to bring her words forward, "Did you mean what you said?" her question was soft and quiet. "Your queen." She blinked her gaze up to his.

Bucky let out a huff of a laugh, the corner of his mouth pulling up, “I remember the day you arrived at the compound.” He continued. “That morning Steve and I were set to leave to go on a recon mission. We were going back to the Siberian Hydra base; I hadn't been back since the airport incident. I was an absolute mess leading up to it.” Bucky looked down at his hands as he absentmindedly followed the lines and seams of his metal finger with this flesh. “I probably shouldn't have gone.” He paused again. “I had come so far, the words out of my head, a family around me and I had finally thought I found peace. Yet the moment I stepped back into that room, I looked upon that pit with that monstrosity of a machine still sitting there. I lost it. It instantly triggered a spiral of anger and I felt pushed right back down to my lowest existence.” Bucky kept his eyes trained on the floor. “Steve watched as I destroyed the machine, before helping me calm down. We got the answers we needed, well Steve got the answers we needed. When we got back, I was so far stuck in my head, but then I heard this laughter, it was light and contagious.” Bucky looked up at Y/N who was giving him her full attention. “Your laughter.”

“I followed that sound, until I saw you. Sitting at the counter, a smile on your face and I swear I had never seen anything more beautiful in my life. For the first time since I could remember I could feel this spark of a flame ignite inside of me.” Bucky continued. “This spark that created light and hope and feeling. It only grew. Day after day. It grew with your kindness and confidence. Your strength and your intelligence. That day you took Steve down, he played it off, but I knew that you had genuinely taken him by surprise, I could see it in his eyes. So, I let myself fall in love, I let that light grow into a raging blaze. Until I found myself trying to muster up the courage to tell you while simultaneously trying not to take you where you stood. Ask me again, ask me if I meant what I said.”

Tears were building up in Y/N’s eyes, “Did you mean it?”

"Every word." There was no hesitation in his response as he didn't look away. "I would worship every inch of your mind and body, if you'd let me."

The world began to fade away as Y/N's heart began to beat faster. Bucky's words swirled in her head as she tried to comprehend their meaning as if she couldn't believe them. Bucky sat patiently watching as Y/N slowly walked up to him. Her gaze uncertain, he could feel the tension in the air, as the line they both were hesitant to cross was quickly approaching.

Y/N tentatively stepped between his legs. She could feel the tug of war between her anxiety and adrenaline as she reached to touch his face. She moved her thumb across his jaw, Bucky could see her mind taking off.

He brought his hands up to rest on her hips, "Look at me." Y/N stood quiet for a moment as she took in his unwavering gaze. "What do you need?”

Y/N took a deep breath, "To be your queen.”

He gently pulled her closer. His lips pressed against hers, a tingling sensation ran through her body. Y/N felt Bucky’s hands gently slide down to the crook of her knees. He pulled her up onto his lap, sliding his hands over her thighs following the curve of her ass, before pulling her flush as he deepened the kiss. His lips moved against hers with a gentle urgency as they began to get lost in each other. In that moment, nothing else mattered - no worries or fears, no past or future. There was only the heat of the moment, the electricity between them.

Y/N let her fingers sink back into his hair, tugging slightly, as a low moan tumbled from Bucky’s mouth. “I need more.” Y/N said as Bucky kissed down to the nape of her neck.

He slid his hands up under the hem on her shirt, letting them slowly trail up her sides. Her chest heaved as his thumbs ghosted the underside of her breasts.

She pulled herself off him, sliding herself back to stand between his legs again, slowly she pulled her shirt up and over her head. He reached up and pulled his own shirt over his head, discarding it. He leaned back, picking up his hips as he pulled his pants down, kicking them off. His length sprung up to full attention and Y/N’s eyes dilated. She stood back admiring Bucky, taking in his sheer size, she bit her lip as her core began to pulse.

“Come here,” Bucky’s words pulled her in like a lure.

As she climbed back on his lap her hands came to the side of his face and pulled him into her lips. A breathy sigh of a moan escaped Y/N. She lifted herself up on her knees, pushing him slightly back to get to the right angle. She could feel his tip resting at her entrance.

Bucky nudged her nose with his, getting her to look at him. She held eye contact as she slowly slid down, feeling herself stretch around him until she bottomed out. A broken gasp fell from Y/N as the feeling of fullness made her body shutter, Bucky’s stomach twitched in response. She slowly began to roll her hips. His hands squeezed her thighs as he let out a swallowed moan. Her pace quickened until her hips began to fall out of rhythm as she desperately chased her release.

"That's it sweetheart," His words of encouragement doused in an aroused tone. He felt her sides flutter. He could feel her pressing down on him. He kissed the edge of her jaw as his other hand cupped the back of her head before slowly sliding his lips down her neck. Grazing over her nipples. Another flutter. Her hand slid up into his hair and gently pulled him closer, pressing her nipple to his lips. The way she took what she wanted made him feral. "Fuck" Bucky whispered. The sound was low and guttural, skittering over her skin like wildfire.

With every heavy breath a moan escaped. With the last roll of her hips her orgasm exploded through her. Y/N's let out a choked moan as her knees clenched together on either side of Bucky. She felt his metal fingers splayed across her back and his flesh held onto her waist.

Still fully seated, She let her head fall onto his shoulder as she attempted to catch her breath. Bucky pressed his lips to the other side of her neck before tipping her head back up to see her face. She felt like she was floating in euphoria.

"Feeling good?" Bucky's hand cradled her head.

A smile spread on her face as she nodded into his hand. "I need more."

Bucky pulled her face to his, guiding her to his lips. Kissing her slowly as he reached his hands behind her, sliding them down her back. He began kissing down her neck and chest as she leaned back slightly. He sucked a nipple into his mouth, feeling Y/N pulse around his sheathed member. He let it fall from his mouth watching the soft skin bounce slightly before latching on again. Y/N squirmed, grinding down, desperate for any movement.

Bucky gripped her hips and pressed her down further as he worshipped her chest. "James," His name came out as a broken whine.

"Say that again." Bucky instructed, "Say my name."

"Ja-ahhhh-mes" He sucked her nipple again as she spoke.

He smirked slightly as he slid his hands under her ass and stood up, Y/N held on as Bucky turned them around and dropped her on the bed. Y/N rubbed her thighs together from the loss of friction. Bucky watched for a moment before Y/N let her legs fall open. Splayed fully open for him, Bucky instantly crawled over, his breath against her sex making her shutter. His lips trailed kisses up her stomach.

“How many nights have you imagined me like this?” A low chuckle came from Bucky, “Not just nights, and not just this.” He sucked her nipple between his teeth, making her gasp, before he soothed the shock away with his tongue. Y/N’s fingers ghosted over his hairline as she slid them back into his hair, he looked up at her and his eyes darkened as he sunk down and ran his tongue flat against her core.

Her fingers curled, pulling his hair as her back arched off the bed. Electricity buzzed and exploded up over her body. His hands gripped her hips, keeping her from going too far.

Y/N fell further into bliss as Bucky explored her folds with his tongue. Soft moans spilled between her breaths. She gasped as he slowly inserted a finger, moving it in and out, then two, he felt her walls constrict as he slowly moved and curled his fingers. Y/N began to rock her hips against his face. His lips captured her clit sucking softly before pulling back, letting it fall from his lips. Y/N’s mouth fell open as the filthiest moan fell from her lips.

He began rubbing his lips and tongue against her in a smooth pattern that felt like a love letter. Her hands gripped his, slipping back to his wrists as she writhed with him, completely letting him guide her over the edge.

A choked moan came as Y/N’s legs squeezed Bucky’s head. She involuntarily curled up. Bucky wiped his mouth as he sat back on his knees, bringing his fingers up, sucking them clean.

He reached down and grasped her thighs, pulling them up and over his. He leaned back down, letting his hands slide up her torso, up and under her breasts, as his lips found hers once more.

Y/N could feel his tip at her entrance, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

She clung to his shoulders, nails dragging across his skin as he slowly pushed himself to his base. She felt the stretch as Bucky began to roll his hips, slowly dragging himself in and out. He began to pick up his pace, to read her body and follow her needs. Y/N hand snaked back around Bucky’s neck, as he sat back up on his knees, she clung to him as he continued his relentless pace. Y/N gripped onto the back of his neck with one hand as she found his knee with her other hand, propping herself up. There was no need however, as Bucky held her up, with his metal hand firmly on her ass and his flesh arm wrapped around the small of her back. He watched as her eyes rolled back into her head, his lips catch and dragged up her neck before sucking on her pulse.

Y/N’s body trembled as she fought to hold back, selfishly wanting more yet not knowing if she could take it.

She felt her core wound as tight as it would go, unable to hold on to it any longer, she let go. Her body shuttered and Bucky could feel her orgasm pulse around him, squeeze him. He continued, fucking her through, dragging her out as far as he could. He was close and couldn't take it anymore. He let Y/N fall back onto the bed, as he pulled out and finished on her stomach.

Their breathing was heavy as Bucky leaned over once more, bringing his hand up to Y/N face, her eyes glossed over in euphoria. “Are you okay?’

“Yeah,” She shook her head as she let out a sigh, “More than,”

A smile spread across Bucky’s face as he kissed her, “I am going to go get the shower ready for you, is that okay?”

Y/N Shook her head again before gently pressing her lips to his. “I need to lay here for a moment.”

“You just lay here and look pretty,” Bucky pulled himself off the bed.

Bucky walked into the bathroom, turning the water on to let it warm up. He quickly washed himself and cleaned up before setting up the bathroom for Y/N. He pulled a fresh towel out, placing it in the warmer next to the shower. A purchase that at first, he thought was ridiculous but has since rescinded that opinion.

He heard Y/N soft pitter pats as she walked in, the steam beginning to form and build. “All set, towel is in the warmer.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said as she made her way to the shower.

“Don't be too long, your food will get cold.” Bucky kissed her forehead before he left Y/N to clean up as he went back out and continued to reheat the food, he had gotten for her. While the microwave hummed, he stripped the bed and stretched new sheets from corner to corner. Laid out the blankets and pulled them back slightly ready for Y/N to crawl in.

He pulled down another plate for himself before playing up the food. Just as he finished cleaning up Y/N walked out. “Smells good.” She came up to Bucky’s side, wrapping a hand around his arm, leaning against his shoulder. “I am so hungry,” a laugh escaped Y/N, her head moved slightly as Bucky moved his arm. “Go eat, I’ll be right there with some water.”

“Thank you,” Y/N grabbed the plate and took a deep smell through her nose and smiled. “You really did get my favorite.” She said as she settled in on the bed and took a bite.

Bucky sat a cup of water down on her side table before crawling in to join her, “I know. I know all your favorites.”

“Oh?” Y/N asked as she took another bite.

“And I have the rest of the night to figure out the ones I don't know.” A blush spread across Y/N’s cheeks.

“I am looking forward to it.” She smiled as she glanced over at Bucky. “I could get use to this queen shit.”

“Oh, you just wait Doll,” Bucky replied. “I am just getting started.”

-End-

#bucky barnes x reader #buckyxreader #bucky #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #marvel fic #marvel #mcu #steve rogers #sex pollen #smut

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xinxiaogato · 5 months

Text

— love at first thrust

summary. as an ambassador from mondstadt, your goal was to persuade the duke of fontaine’s underwater fortress (who reportedly had a herculean physique and an absolute bakery) to agree with your plan on improving international relations. the last thing you anticipated was for him to agree to you getting his rocks off.

love interest. fem!reader x wriothesley.

warnings. unedited, 18+ content (mdni), nsfw, cursing, masturbation, voyuerism, size difference kink, cunnilingus, fingering, name calling (slut), slight orgasm denial, skin biting, almost a handjob, angst (somehow) and comfort, mentions of murder, mentions of pregnancy, porn w plot, virginity loss, unprotected sex, p in v, fondling, rough sex, impregnation, bdsm (handcuffs), soft dom!wrio.

word count. 5,303.

note. my first time dabbling in smut… to whoever is reading this that somehow knows me irl, pls turn straight around ! you are referred to as “reader” by the way.

romance schmomance. how did anyone expect wriothesley to allocate time in his schedule for a lover while properly running the fortress of meropide? his grace was perfectly content with teasing his two tsundere subordinates, who refused to face their feelings for each other. besides, love appeared too complicated of a matter, as evidenced by the prisoners he overheard lamenting on a day-to-day basis about their marital affairs and unsuccessful endeavors in flirting.

but sigewinne thought otherwise, pestering him recommending that he seek a partner because not only would it fulfill his social needs but also satisfy his sexual urges (he scrunched up his nose every time she made that point). frankly, all the duke needed was his right hand, some lotion, and a thirty-minute break of privacy.

…so what was a pair of eyes doing from the staircase to his office, staring incredulously at him fucking his cock into his curled fist during the thirty-minute break of privacy?

keyword: privacy, meaning no one was supposed to be in his office during this time!

a few minutes earlier…

“ah, ms. reader, right this way!”

an eager guard ushered you to an imposing set of metal doors to which your house back in mondstadt paled in comparison. as the guard, who appeared to be a rookie, fumbled with the keys to the administrator’s office, you turned your attention to the rest of the surroundings that seamlessly blended together due to the lack of decor. rusting pipes ran from the bottom up in austere grandeur, and warm lights were scattered across the stronghold, illuminating the faces of the few dozen or so prisoners wandering around the open space.

although the conditions weren’t all sunshine and rainbows (literally, since the fortress is hundreds of feet under the surface), serving time in the fortress of meropide was bearable enough to the point that some convicts continued living there even after their sentences were up. this was the piece of information that piqued your interest during extensive research into the nation of justice, as access to rehabilitative programs while incarcerated had reduced the crime rate there.

thus, there you stood, prepared to present the ultimate strategy for promoting bilateral relations to the administrator of fontaine’s correctional institution. in exchange for advice from monsieur wriothesley on how to reform mondstadt’s prison system, the two neighboring countries could collaborate on an event similar to that of the “neighboring nations congenial poetry gala” between mondstadt and liyue.

it made sense since both fontaine and mondstadt were renowned for their romanticism, and the only other thing you could offer from your hometown besides poetry and artistry was… wine, which you knew wouldn’t fly. no government wanted more drunkards bumbling down their streets than they already had.

finally, the guard pushed the doors open (not without almost popping a vein) and gestured for you to enter monsieur wriothesley’s office, and once you did, you averted your gaze to the spiraling set of stairs.

however, prior to making your presence known, strange… grunting noises from the upper floor sent a shiver down your spine and planted you firmly to the ground. rapidly, your mind swirled with a million possibilities of what the source could be. although the duke was allegedly benign, he was still a warden through and through. was he personally punishing someone for their misconduct?

it frankly sounded quite painful, and you were getting worried that you came in at a bad time. after all, you did arrive an hour earlier than scheduled.

…one peek couldn’t hurt, right?

then you’ll be able to determine whether or not he needed a minute.

curiosity killed the cat, and that cat was you. because after gingerly ascending the staircase and stopping to be able to peek just above the metal floor, you chanced upon a scene that not even your wildest dreams could conjure.

the black-haired duke’s coat was popped open, with the hem of his dress shirt stuffed between his lips to muffle groan after groan that flowed past them. for several long seconds, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the scars running down his neck and heaving pectorals, gleaming in a slight sheen of sweat.

and when you did manage to tear your eyes away, they instantly flitted past his abdomen (which needed its own place in a museum) to the sight of wriothesley’s large—and you meant large—appendage thrusting desperately into his calloused hand between his gargantuan thighs. a bit of precum dribbled from the tip, trailing down his length only to be pushed back up by his fingers and creating a frothy ring near the head of his cock.

you had to stifle a gasp behind your clipboard, trying to process what the hell was happening. the prison administrator and his little friend definitely needed a minute, so you quickly swiveled around to give them just that—only for the sound of his chair screeching backward to freeze you in your tracks.

“who goes there?” his voice boomed throughout the office.

shit!

your heels weren’t doing you much of a favor as you bolted down the staircase, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins overrode every inconvenience to get you to the doorway as fast as possible. however, you didn’t have the strength to budge the doors open (what were they made of? tungsten!?), and before you could even blink, wriothesley had you trapped between the only way out and his bulky figure.

“you thought you could get away?” he snarled, grabbing you by the shoulder (with the hand that was just wrapped around his dick, mind you!) to twist you around and get a good look at your face. your clipboard clattered to the floor, and you nearly screamed when his cock—which was somehow more enraged than he was—prodded against your stomach, making your insides feel like they were doing backflips.

you tried your best not to look at… it… as you spoke up to defend yourself. “sir, it isn’t what it looks like—”

“i think it’s exactly what it looks like,” he interjected angrily, thick eyebrows furrowed above a pair of piercing blue eyes. “what? did one of your fellow inmates dare you to snoop on the warden for blackmail? how many coupons did they offer? hmm?”

“inmates? coupons?” now your eyebrows were furrowed. “monsieur, if you could please let me explain!”

it took a second for wriothesley to regain his senses, and after noticing your foreign attire and trembling form, he retreated at once. “archons, i…” he stroked his face with his hand and covered his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. “i’m terribly sorry. i thought you were one of them.”

“them?”

he nodded dejectedly in response before dropping his hand to the side and meeting your eyes, but this time, it wasn’t with indignation. “yes, a group of ill-intentioned people recently formed in order to unmask my secrets…” he had to look away for a moment before continuing. “...one of them being what i do in my office during lunchtime.”

“...oh.”

“as for you…” over his broad chest, he crossed his arms that could crush watermelons with one flex (okay, maybe you were overexaggerating.) “how did you gain entry into my office? it should have been locked.”

you cleared your throat. “a guard let me in.” wriothesley parted his lips to question that, but you were already one step ahead. “he seemed new.”

the warden managed to put two and two together, and a sense of dread began consuming him from head to toe. “you’re… the envoy from mondstadt,” he realized, a taste in his mouth more bitter than the tea he oversteeped this morning. “i must say: you’re a bit early.”

you replied with a light shrug, “the cavalry is expeditious.”

“right. that’s… great.” he gave you a tight-lipped smile. “could… could you give me a minute? i would like to make myself presentable so that i can give you a proper introduction, and… again, i want to apologize for having you walk in on something so vulgar. i’ll be sure to compensate for it in any way possible.”

your original plan from the beginning was to give this man a minute, but… the longer you stood in his presence, the more aroused you felt. he was really handsome, standing many heads taller than you and practically oozing with sex appeal. the tidbits about his appearance that you heard through the grapevine in mondstadt couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing. watching him jerking off earlier, there was definitely a moment when you wanted to replace his hand with your cunt.

pause.

this might be the only opportunity for you to break away from the perfect image you were constantly upholding. throughout your adolescence and young adulthood, you had trained to become a professional in your field and garnered copious experience in diplomacy so that you could obtain a high-ranking position in government. this caused you to miss out on a lot of the joys in life, including sex. that was the first time you had seen a penis in the flesh.

“did you say any way possible?” you inquired.

“of course, i’m a reasonable man. i doubt i’ll be opposed to anything during today’s negotiations.”

after a moment of hesitation, you braced yourself for an eternity’s supply of humiliation and let your last thread of sanity snap in two. you fell to your knees right in front of his throbbing member, which was still as hard as a rock.

“...then you won’t be opposed to this, right?” you murmured. in a bold move, you leaned forward to press your cheek against the side of his cock, all while maintaining eye contact with him.

wriothesley sharply inhaled through his teeth, blood rushing to his face as he took a step back. “what… what are you…!?”

but he wasn’t dumb. he knew what you were intending. however, this felt more like you were doing a favor for him when he was supposed to be doing one for you.

and do one he shall.

in one frame, you were hunkered down on the floor in front of his grace, and in the next frame, you were being carried to the second floor of the office in his sinewy arms. you were in no danger of being dropped, but you clung onto his shirt regardless, squealing your head off and flailing your legs like a feral animal, which only added to wriothesley’s amusement.

“are you regretting your decision?” he asked, his lips curled into a smug smile. “i can always stop. just say the word.”

your heart was racing at a mile a minute as he kicked a coffee table out of the way and plopped you onto the couch. when he crouched between your legs, a sheepish you batted his greedy hands away and hurriedly shoved your thighs together. “wait, i… this is escalating way too fast!” you quavered. “are we about to…” do the devil’s tango? the pickle in the jar? the train into the tunnel!?

a gruff chuckle rumbled from his chest. “you were the one who initiated it,” wriothesley pointed out with a wolfish grin. “i’m just finishing what you started, mondstadter.”

“but i just wanted to help you with your… ‘problem’!” you shot back, cheeks rivaling the red of a tomato. “why am i suddenly on the receiving end!?”

“ah, that’s where you’re wrong, because this will help me with my problem,” the duke replied, tugging your pants down your hips to reveal your drenched undergarment. you instantly convulsed and buckled your knees as he pressed his thick fingers against your clothed pussy, and when he drew them back, a string of wetness extended from your underwear to his fingertips.

remember when wriothesley convinced himself that all he needed was self-love?

fuck that.

“your grace!” you cried out as he dove forward and, with his hands anchoring your thighs, began ravaging your clit through the fabric, his tongue swirling and swiping against it ruthlessly. you had not even a millisecond to breathe as your vision blurred from tears of unmitigated satisfaction. with little strength, you reached out to wrench at his dark locks of hair, which only spurred him on further to attack your quivering folds.

archons almighty, what would it feel like if he—

as if he was reading your mind, wriothesley peeled your panties to the side, and the roughness of his tongue along with his pointer finger sliding in sent your body into another realm of pleasure. if accidentally smacking the back of your head against the couch’s gilded crest rail wasn’t the reason you saw stars just now, then it undoubtedly had to be the duke’s skillful ministrations.

“you’re so responsive,” wriothesley murmured, his hot breath deliciously fanning your skin. you were going crazy from his nose nudging against your sensitive bud as he flattened his tongue to completely coat each and every taste bud with your essence, and his digit continued to slide in and out at an inhumane speed, coaxing more and more of your whines and moans. “fuck, and your slut pussy is taking my finger so well. how many people have gotten the chance to see this pretty view?”

pretty view? you mentally scoffed while struggling to keep your wits about. says him! not every day did a tall, dark, and handsome man lap at your arousal like it was his last meal! you questioned how he could even breathe down there.

“no, i… j-just… just you…” you managed between labored gulps of air, your cheeks flushed of color. “i… i’ve never… d-done this… before.”

in the midst of leaving a bite mark on the side of your thigh, wriothesley abruptly extricated his finger, which made your pulsating hole very unhappy. “are you saying this is your first time?” he asked in disbelief.

you nodded timidly. when he didn’t respond right away, you grew worried that he got turned off by your admission, but weirdly enough, he snickered.

“looks like we’re in the same boat,” wriothesley stated to your bafflement. having withdrawn his finger, he brought it to his mouth and sucked it clean of your fluids before returning to lightly thumb your clit using circular motions. you had to scoot away because how else were you going to speak clearly with him doing that!?

“y-you’re a virgin!?” you spluttered, ogling down at this man like he had just grown a horn on top of his head.

“way to rub it in,” he jeered at you in a mocking tone. “yes, i’m a virgin. what’s so surprising?”

“because… you’re you!” you stressed. “have you seen yourself in the mirror? it’s a crime for you to look like a sex god without having had sex!”

once again, wriothesley found himself enlivened by your visceral reactions. when an advisor informed him of a diplomat’s advent this week, the warden was ready to be bored to tears by another mundane businessperson. and could you blame him? a few weeks ago, an ambassador hailing from sumeru went on and on about an invention that they wanted to promote to the fortress of meropide’s inhabitants.

…that invention boasted a 41% success rate.

so imagine wriothesley’s gaping jaw when, the moment you bent your knees and voiced your offer, all of his expectations were chucked out of the window.

“‘crime’?” he echoed, followed by a husky chuckle. “i see what you did there. how does it feel to be in love with a criminal?”

a frown weighed down the corners of your lips. “hold on. i may or may not be succumbing to a criminal, but who’s saying i’m in love with one?”

“your body is telling me everything i need to know,” rizzley wriothesley crooned as he rested the side of his head against your thigh. “well, except for your name.”

“…reader,” you answered breathily. “my name is reader.”

“reader.” he nodded in approval. “well, reader, let me show you how we do it in fontaine.”

with newfound vigor, wriothesley mounted the couch so that he was now towering over you and interlocked his hands with yours, pressing them into the vermillion back cushions on either side of your head. as if he was communicating to you that you could no longer escape his advances, even if they became too much.

for some time, he gazed intensely at your blushing face, committing each detail to memory, before he bent down and connected his lips to yours. you tentatively reciprocated his tender kisses, moving your mouth in ways that were unfamiliar yet exhilarating, and shutting your eyes slipped the ground away from your feet and made you feel like you were floating. he let go of one hand to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind your ear, which grew into him absentmindedly caressing your cheek like you were made of glass. your neck tickled. your ear burned. every single touch felt like fire on your skin. every kiss was slowly melting your body into mush, melding your body with his. there was no longer a distinction between where you ended and where he began.

after you parted your lips to impart the permission wriothesley’s tongue frenziedly sought, it wasn’t long before the kiss spiraled into a battle for dominance—a battle you lost in the blink of an eye. you could taste remnants of yourself on his tongue from his previous indulgences, which successfully heightened how aroused you were tenfold. your free hand crept up and started kneading your breast through your blouse, your moans swallowed by wriothesley’s mouth.

when he noticed you began touching yourself, he pulled away to your dismay.

he really liked how you craned your neck toward him at the very end of the kiss when he disentangled from you, as though his and your pairs of lips were opposite ends of a magnet. he liked seeing you craving more.

he didn’t like that you were getting ahead of yourself.

“nuh-uh, love,” he whispered, pulling your wrist to the side. “that’s my job.”

wriothesley tugged the hem of your blouse up to expose your bra, and he whistled at the sight. “beige?” he just had to point out with a smirk, bearing a canine. “you really know how to rile me up.”

you internally facepalmed at morning you’s choice of wardrobe. “i was walking into this expecting to have a proper conversation, not to get laid.”

he cocked an eyebrow and suddenly went into business mode. “what was your proposition anyway?”

you couldn’t help but laugh out loud before grasping his large hand and placing it on your chest. “are we really about to do our meeting now?” you chided him.

“you and i are already ‘meeting’ in every sense of the word.”

an affectionate smile broke through your face, and you tugged the man forward by his red tie. “come here, you big hunk.”

wriothesley mirrored your warmth and captured your lips in a searing kiss before traveling down to pepper smooches on your neck and suckle along your collarbone, his teeth the paintbrush and your skin the canvas. he slithered his fingers into the confines of your bra and pinched your nipples to elicit more r-rated sounds from your mouth, and in the corner of your low-lidded eyes, you became very conscious of the reality that his dick would twitch every time you moaned.

anemo archon, forgive me for mine own sins.

“reader,” he gasped. he hunched forward and almost smothered you with his chest as you began to stroke his cock, a bolt out of the blue. you weren’t expecting him to display such a visceral reaction, so you halted at the base of his manhood (which your hand couldn’t even fully wrap around…)

“did i do something wrong?”

“no, not at all,” he affirmed strongly. “i think the problem…”

…was that the sensation of your touch felt astonishingly different to him greasing the pole. it was a shuddering ecstasy that sprinted along his body and unlocked the carnal desires he had kept stowed away.

the key to his dick heart was supposed to have been eternally lost at sea. that was something he was sure of. that was something every person who tried to get close to him was sure of. so he ignored sigewinne’s recommendations, he ignored the rumors of his impotence among the prisoners, and he tried to ignore the hot flashes that jolted him awake in the dead of night, reminding him again that he had always been devoid of love since the start.

but then you came prancing into his office, swinging that key around your finger.

wriothesley’s breathing became shallow, and he pressed his lips firmly into a thin, white line as he stared down at you. how were you shining so splendidly in contrast to the dull lights of his office? how did your frowning lips still look so kissable? how were you looking at him like you were seeing right through him?

he didn’t even know you.

was he deluding himself?

did sigewinne spike his tea?

should he keep going?

what if he hurt you?

a gentle tapping on his forearm hauled wriothesley out of his rumination. he realized he was sweating a lot.

“now i’m sure i did something wrong,” you said worriedly.

wriothesley swallowed harshly before shaking his head, his tufted black hair swaying from side to side. “no… the problem is that… i don’t think i can hold back.”

…

“then what are you waiting for?” you deadpanned. “are you into blue balling?”

wriothesley blinked. “uh, not necessarily…”

“then let’s do it on your table.”

…

“reader…” wriothesley covered his blushing face with the back of his hand. “has anyone told you how… forward you can be?”

a giggle bubbled from your throat. “i’m pretty sure my field requires me to be forward. is it a turn-off?”

“i couldn’t be happier,” he reassured you gladly, and you were soon swept up into another bridal carry. “i will warn you though. if you make a mess of my documents, there will be punishment.”

you smiled. “looking forward to it.” (hopefully, wriothesley didn’t notice he was already going to need new seat cushions after this.)

wriothesley set you down onto his hardwood table, your back toward him, and had you prop one leg up onto the edge, putting your pussy on full display for his enjoyment. he watched in a hypnotic trance as your fluids dripped like a leaking faucet, and he wanted nothing more than to plug you up and fill your needy cunt to the brim. the warden soaked his fingers in your juices to lather them over his shaft, but while he had one hand gripping your hip and the other lining his member up with your entrance, his muscles stiffened. you peeked at him from over your shoulder.

“blue balling bastard!” you almost shouted, but he appeared too distraught to be badgered.

“i don’t have a condom,” wriothesley moaned, falling forward and smacking his forehead against your shoulder. for the first time in a long time, he really wanted to cry. “i would have to walk over to the infirmary and grab one for us, but—”

“—i can’t wait much longer,” you two finished in tandem breathlessly, eyes fixed upon each other. in a matter of seconds, this became a pressing matter that left you and wriothesley in deep contemplation. two strangers—total virgins at that—were literally about to raw dog it. honestly, your parents would be bouncing off the walls over this since they always lamented their graying hairs yet shortage of grandchildren.

but wriothesley… you knew a man of his status was much too preoccupied with handling prison affairs as opposed to prison "affairs". although the iudex of fontaine would be anyone’s first thought at the word “justice”, the administrator of the fortress of meropide delivered his own fair share of justice to maintain order when fights broke out in corridors, to overlook the production of gardemeks, and to protect the peace he had fostered in this very structure.

these things were what made you hurriedly request an audience with wriothesley in the first place. his impressive accomplishments as the new leader of the stronghold were what brought the you from mondstadt to the him in fontaine. however, you now found yourself in a sticky situation that would burden wriothesley further if you two took this risk. a child between you and him… that hadn’t been in your agenda.

plus, the steambird would really get a hoot out of this. “breaking news: mondstadt ambassador walked into the fortress of meropide and walked out with a baby lump.”

so, you made up your mind.

“wrio—”

“will you let me come inside of you, reader?” he whispered against the shell of your ear, making your heart drop to the pit of your stomach. your vaginal walls automatically clenched around nothingness at the thought as you gasped and gaped back at him in bewilderment.

“what…? are you sure!?”

wriothesley nodded. “i-i promise, reader, to be a loving partner to you and devoted father to our child,” he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “i’ve dreamt of having kids with the person i cherish so that they can grow up in a household where they feel safe, but… my greatest fear in life is becoming the monster that… th-that my foster parents were to me and my adoptive siblings.” his face went white. he could feel himself on the verge of vomiting, which he swore he had rooted out long ago. the scars on his body had never felt more painful. “i know that that belief is unfounded, but… i’ve been a violent person since i was a teenager. since the day that i… i killed them.”

“so if you do not wish to bear a child with a person like me, i understand,” wriothesley avowed, his eyes turned down in shame. “i can find other means to make you feel good, and i’ll just… go to the restroom to finish my business.”

you were finally learning about the warden's haunting backstory, sealed behind his assertive exterior. immediately, tears sprung to the corners of your eyes. you twisted your torso to cup his face with shaking hands and look him square in the face.

“wriothesley… you are so much more than your past,” you insisted earnestly. “are you not aware of how incredible of a person you are? of how many lives you have changed for the better? you couldn’t change the past, so you made it your life mission to change the future of every person who’s living and breathing in this stronghold right now. you converted your suffering into something that led to the liberation of many others’.” you gave him a wobbly smile through the tears streaming down your cheeks like waterfalls. “that’s why i wanted to meet you, wrio. i wanted to meet the man behind the operations, behind the smiles on these prisoners’ faces. so please… don’t ever think badly of yourself.”

as the color returned to wriothesley’s cheeks, the duke couldn’t look away from the eyes that sparkled up at him so brilliantly. it was mesmerizing. his heart had never felt this full, and he wanted it to be as close to yours as possible. without missing a beat, his arms wrapped around your body, lightly brushing against your nipples in the process and causing them to harden on contact. he pressed his entire frontside against your back, and you could clearly feel his heart pounding wildly against his ribcage (and his dick saying hi from between your thighs).

“you’re so good to me, reader,” wriothesley mumbled. “what did i do to deserve this?”

you laughed and caressed the side of his head. “i just told you, idiot.”

his signature smirk returned in all of its glory, and he trailed his hands down to rest on your hips. “hold onto something.”

“what? agh!”

your body lurched forward once wriothesley drove his cock into your sopping heat, every inch dragging along your walls until he reached your cervix and his pelvic bone was right against your ass. a guttural moan escaped as he remained perfectly motionless, reveling in the feeling of your pussy rippling along his length, and you clamped a hand over your mouth to mask the embarrassing noises seeping through. the pain was unexpectedly minimal, but now you had to deal with this enormous object penetrating you to your very core. and not a moment passed before he started pushing in and out of you, squelching noises rebounding off the metal surroundings as your bated breath was yanked from your throat. throughout wriothesley’s grunts of exertion, a moan poured past your lips at each thrust, his balls slapping against your puffy lips and the table legs screeching in reply. his hands slid up to mercilessly flick your nipples with his thumbs at a rate that engendered tightening sensations to build up inside of your lower abdomen.

“wrio!” you exclaimed, writhing in ecstasy. you didn’t think you could handle the pert beads on your chest being fondled in unison with him pistoning your cunt from the back for another minute. “wr-wrio…! hnngh… ah! i feel so w-weird… ah! nngh…!”

“it’s a good weird, yeah?” growled wriothesley amid nibbling on your earlobe. “i can tell by the way your womb is descending to meet my cock, just begging for my seed. and that’s exactly what i’ll give you.”

“nngh, i… i’m… a-agh!” you pathetically blubbered. a stream of saliva ran from the corner of your lips as he pounded into your tight channel with savage intensity, the whites of your glazed eyes beginning to show. “i-i think i’m gonna c-come…!”

“shit…” he rasped, noticing the telltale signs of an orgasm building up in both of you. “me, too…” he roughly grabbed your chin, fingers digging slightly into flesh, so that he could witness your expression contorting with bliss as you reached your cusp. “i want you to take every drop of my cum, reader. every fucking drop until nothing but my essence flows from your depraved hole.”

you nodded and pursed your lips, overwhelmed by the persistent and passionate onslaught on your pussy that was utterly molded into the shape of his velvet-wrapped steel. “yes, p-please…! wrio, please shoot it inside of me!”

finally, wriothesley bit down on your shoulder and slammed home into your depths, burying himself inside of your womanhood while releasing thick ropes of semen. your muscles convulsed and clamped down onto his cock with a vice, milking it until he had emptied his balls completely. the light humming of the industrial fan above commingled with the heavy panting of the two bodies that have become one, drunk on the languid atmosphere.

“you’re so obedient,” he cooed, nudging aside a lock of hair that was clinging to your sweaty forehead, whereas you were still reeling from wave after wave of endorphins. as you endeavored to muster the strength to respond, wriothesley glanced down at his files freshly marinating in your juices. “well, for the most part,” he added. “what did i say about my documents?”

“i…” you scowled and snapped back at him haughtily, “i wasn’t trying to ruin them!”

his mellow chuckle resonated in your ears, and in the ensuing seconds, the sound of clinking metal pivoted your attention.

“well, you can’t argue that they’re illegible now,” he said, effortlessly restraining your wrists in handcuffs from archons knew where. you also came to the startling realization that his member hadn’t softened one bit since he came within your spongy walls. “and as the duke of the fortress of meropide, i must carry out punishment where i see fit.”

“…lord barbatos.”

“haha, i love you, too.”

(several days later, charlotte got her big paycheck after spotting another “meeting” between you and wriothesley behind café lutece.)

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x y/n #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #wriothesley x reader #fluff #crack #comfort #angst #smut #stella writes — !#love at first thrust

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theartofangirling · 8 months

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part 2 of the 2023 version of this post: young adult books!

part 1: middle grade books | part 3: adult books

this is a very incomplete list, as these are only books I've read and enjoyed. not all books are going to be for all readers, so I'd recommend looking up synopses and content warnings. feel free to message me with any questions about specific representation!

list of books under the cut ⬇️

aces wild by amanda dewitt

the chandler legacies by abdi nazemian

bruised by tanya boteju

juliet takes a breath by gabby rivera

picture us in the light by kelly loy gilbert

when we were magic by sarah gailey

iron widow by xiran jay zhao

the rise of kyoshi by f.c. yee

jane unlimited by kristin cashore

summer of salt by katrina leno

the wicker king by k. ancrum

the dead and the dark by courtney gould

wilder girls by rory power

i kissed shara wheeler by casey mcquiston

her royal highness by rachel hawkins

tell me how you really feel by aminah mae safi

the weight of the stars by k. ancrum

you should see me in a crown by leah johnson

last night at the telegraph club by malinda lo

the grief keeper by alexandra villasante

crier's war by nina varela

how to excavate a heart by jake maia arlow

imogen, obviously by becky albertalli

in other lands by sarah rees brennan

carry on by rainbow rowell

cemetery boys by aiden thomas

felix ever after by kacen callendar

i wish you all the best by mason deaver

little thieves by margaret owen

technically you started it by lana wood johnson

the gentleman's guide to vice and virtue by mackenzi lee

the infinite noise by lauren shippen

bonds of brass by emily skrutskie

the darkness outside us by eliot schrefer

simon vs. the homo sapiens agenda by becky albertalli

what if it's us by becky albertalli and adam silvera

aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe by benjamin alire sáenz

like a love story by abdi nazemian

different for boys by patrick ness

history is all you left me by adam silvera

twelfth grade night by molly horton booth, stephanie kate strohm, and jamie green

across a field of starlight by blue delliquanti

heartstopper by alice oseman

check, please! by ngozi ukazu

bloom by kevin panetta and savanna ganucheau

laura dean keeps breaking up with me by mariko tamaki and rosemary valero-o'connell

the princess and the grilled cheese sandwich by deya muniz

if you'll have me by eunnie

on a sunbeam by tillie walden

the girl from the sea by molly knox ostertag

always human by ari north

rust in the root by justina ireland

dread nation by justina ireland

pet by awkwaeke emezi

the darkest part of the forest by holly black

elatsoe by darcie little badger

i was born for this by alice oseman

loveless by alice oseman

i hate everyone but you by gaby dunn and allison raskin

you know me well by nina lacour and david levithan

the black flamingo by dean atta

spinning by tillie walden

dreadnought by april daniels

a lesson in vengeance by victoria lee

all the bad apples by moira fowley-doyle

clap when you land by elizabeth acevedo

summer bird blue by akemi dawn bowman

the miseducation of cameron post by emily m. danforth

we are okay by nina lacour

radio silence by alice oseman

we used to be friends by amy spalding

a neon darkness by lauren shippen

i hope you get this message by farah naz rishi

are you listening? by tillie walden

alone in space by tillie walden

all out edited by saundra mitchell

out now edited by saundra mitchell

out there edited by saundra mitchell

#lgbtq+ books #queer books #book recommendations #gay books #ya books #lgbtq+ ya books #book flow chart #part 2 of 3!#dear god this almost twice as many books as the previous flow chart. and it's JUST YA.#mp

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thegnomelord · 10 days

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CH 3: Hold Your Demons Close Maybe Then You'll Feel Something

CW:NSFW blood, gore, mutilation, killing, cannon typical violence, child abuse (it's minor but still there), drugging, military inaccuracies, Mage reader, Monster cod AU, poly141, eventual poly141 X reader, reader isn't a good person, a few masc terms used but overall gn.

Ao3; Word count: 19.1k (It's a heckin chonker) Big thanks for @rodolfoparras and @princeguri66 for betaing for me, love you guys!

Masterlist; Chapter 2 <-Chapter 3 (You are here) -> Chapter 4

Aisha remembers the day she thought she would die.

As a gift for the 10th birthday her mother had taken her to the market in the big city. It had been chaotic compared to their little village, so many people donkey carts, and mopeds moving around like crazy ants in a freshly exposed nest. Aisha had gotten lost, swept away by the time of movement, and ended up at the entrance of a shady alley where she'd stumbled on an old beggar woman.

Long as she lives she will never forget the sight of the woman. Strip her of flesh and blood and the memory will still be etched into her bones — of ghostly blue lines forming impregnable chains across sunken sunburned skin. Of dirty rags loosely hanging off skeleton thin shoulders. Of blood crusted bandages wrapped tightly around her shaved head to not scare the children running about, the cloth dipping into the eyeless sockets of her skull. Of her asking passerby for alms with the handless stumps of her arms.

The sight alone had frightened Aisha, but then the beggar had turned her head to Aisha as if she could hear the frantic beating of her heart. A sad saccharine croon left the mage woman's chapped lips as she looked right at her. "Hello, fellow daughter of Magnus."

Her mother found her then, pulling Aisha back while shouting at the woman at the top of her lungs. Aisha's mind had been too full of thoughts to notice her mother drop their shopping in favor of scurrying out of the market with Aisha in hand. She had only snapped back to reality when her mother had thrown Aisha into her father’s rusted little car, barely able to sit up straight before they were driving home to their village as fast as the car’s geriatric engine could go.

Aisha had been locked in the room she shared with her sisters, but the door did little to mute the way her parents argued all day long, accusations of infidelity and cursed bloodlines thrown around like bird feed. Most of it flew over her head, but Aisha had understood one thing: Her parents were afraid.

The strange men came to her house just as the sun had set, drawn out by the dying light like coyotes hunting for a stray lamb. The strong stench of rot heralding their arrival made her sputter to hold back the bile burning her throat. She remembers the sparks of yellow and red and blue and all the other stolen colors of the rainbow swirling in their cold eyes.

They chatted while inspecting her like a cow in the market, their language just as rough and hard as their hands. But they lost interest quickly, unable to find what they wanted to see. They turned to throw lecherous looks at her mother and older sisters before her father had stepped between them and her, protecting his daughter now that he knew Aisha wasn't a freak. He'd tensely asked them to leave after paying for their time, standing in the doorway and only going back inside when the strange men were well and truly out of sight.

Her parents let them in without complaint; Her father held her down, his steely gaze watching the men crowd her. Her mother whispered trembling words into her ear to just be a good girl as the men tore her shirt off. Aisha's questions and pleas and panic fell on deaf ears, her mother pressing a worn hand over her mouth to silence her cries as the men inspected her chest and arms. They pinched and pulled on her skin with hands scarred like gnarled tree bark, the roughness of their palms chafing her soft flesh.

Aisha remembers the days she thought she would die.

Waking up each day to wash under her mother's stalwart gaze so she could ensure Magnus hadn't sown seeds into Aisha's body while she slept. Going each week to the village elders to drink the special brew of Morgana's tears, spending agonizing hours curled up and sobbing on the floor with a stabbing pain in her chest, her heart beating like the wings of a snared bird as the poison made its way through her system. She'd lost count how many times her heart would stutter after every bout of joy or childish argument on the rare moments the children of the village would interact with her — any lick of emotion would force her to run home to check the pads of her fingers in fear that this time magic had cracked through her skin.

She had been so happy on her 15th birthday — the danger had passed. She wasn’t a mage. She could finally live a normal life, meet a boy, get married, have a family.

She’s 16 now. All those years of worry and fear feel like childhood bliss.

Aisha knows she will die.

It happened so suddenly; When her friend had jokingly rubbed a feather duster in her face, Aisha would have never expected a stupid sneeze to force liquid frost through her fingers. Pain had raced through her chest at the speed of lightning, an unknown force pulling her arms up, and the next thing she knew she had frozen over her neighbor's entire crop field. Aisha had barely heard her friend scream over the pounding in her ears, her legs moving on their own long before her brain could understand the pain in her hands or what she had done.

Her mind might still have been reeling, but her body understood she needed to run, needed to hide, before the sun fell and the coyotes came for her.

The house she's found to hide in is one of the many corpses the Russians left behind, stripped bare to rotting wood bones and crumbling bricks, moldy wall paper peeling in long thick strips and rickety boards creaking under the slightest pressure. Gravel crunches beneath heavy tires outside the decrepit house and a rumbling engine cuts through the silence. Aisha scrambles up the stairs to the second floor, hiding in a dingy closet with it's walls closing in around her like the sides of a cramped coffin. Termite made holes in the closet door act as peepholes, letting her see into the bedroom and watch the long shadows created by the car's lights stretch across the floor.

She bites her lip as the slightest twitch of her pinky finger makes pain bloom across her entire hand, though she's barely able to move her fingers with how stiff they are. Her tan skin bellow the wrists is corpse pale and cold, blood crusting the creases of her knuckles. The creaking of floorboards has Aisha hastily pressing her ice cold hands against her lips, the taste of her blood — copper and iron with a hint of something sweet like antifreeze — failing to churn her stomach when even the hint of slowly encroaching rot has her heart clogging her throat so not even a whimper can make it past her lips.

She’s sure her lungs stop working when a man crosses the threshold into the room, and immediately she’s hit with such a strong smell of decay, like death had crawled up her nose and died there. Her throat and chest spasm with the need to cough, tears freely running down her cheeks from how much effort it takes to keep quiet, but past her blurry vision she can see the man slowly walk into the room.

He’s tall and gangly like a newborn foal, bulky clothes widening his frame that’s mostly skin and bones, thinning blond hair badly swept over a sizable bald spot. He wouldn’t be so scary if his eyes didn’t glow an unnatural mixture of toxic green and burning red— the sight alone has goosebumps spreading across his skin, followed by a deep seated discomfort as if leeches are crawling inside her bones.

“Come out little girl,” Even his voice feels wrong, like glass ground on sandpaper, but he speaks with so much sweetness it’s disgusting. “We only want to talk to you, don’t worry you’re not in trouble.” She can tell he’s not from Urzikstan by the rough accent that muddles the Arabic words he speaks.

The floorboards creak softly as she shifts. His head swivels to look around the room and the man quickly walks over to the bed, dropping to his knees to look under it. “Fuck!” His facade falls as he snarls when he sees she’s not there, stumbling to his feet like a drunk. “I mean uh- don’t worry I’m not mad kid,” He chuckles lightly, trying to put on an act of a worried Samaritan, though the attempt falls short when his predatory eyes fall on the closet she’s hiding in.

“Hey, did you find her yet?” Another voice rings from the entrance of the room, this one feminine and with a slight drawl to her words as she speaks in english. It makes Aisha jump, though the squeaking boards beneath her go unnoticed when the new voice continues. “Boss is starting to get antsy and if we don’t find her soon he’ll be sticking your ass with the pigs.”

She can’t see well, but she’s certain the man shows a middle finger to the unseen person. “Fuck off,” He spits out the response like it’s a mouthful of poison, “We both know you’re the dead weight.” He says, taking a few steps around the bed, but luckily for Aisha he stops in the middle of the room. Aisha can hear how deeply he breathes in, before something catches in his throat and he coughs. “I can smell the magic, the wench is still in the house.”

“Bullshit.” The woman scoffs, “You say that every hunt and we end up wasting our time.” A moment passes before the unseen woman chuckles and adds. “You couldn’t smell shit if you shoved your head up your ass!”

The man openly seethes, quick and heavy footsteps carrying him right up to the woman and out of Aisha’s field of view. “You take that back you fucking bitch!” The snarl is more animal than man. Aisha can only assume he punches the woman from the way the floorboards groan loudly in the otherwise silent night, shoes scuffing on the floor, grunts and swears filling the air as the noises of fighting steadily recede to another room.

She’s light headed by the time she manages to pull her hands away from her mouth enough to draw in a breath of stale air, her lungs burning from how long she had gone without breathing. Her heart drums loudly in her skull, her ears pricked to listen to the two strangers exchange angry words in a language she doesn't understand, each passing second of the continuing scuffle making confidence slowly form in her mind.

This is her chance!

. . . to do what?

She doubts she could take them on, she's pretty sure she saw a gun hanging off the man's waist, and she definitely knows she won't be able to outrun them. She's stuck. Cornered.

“Whatever, you just fin-” The sound of footsteps once again nearing the room she's in forces her body to act without her input.

Fishhooks tug on her fingers and force them to splay out flat in the air despite the pain. Her mind scrambles to think of something, anything, before unseen hands pull her mouth open. A shaky breath escapes her lungs and before she knows it words are falling from her lips, so smooth and fluent like her mind is reading a script carved into her bones. “Oh harsh creatures of brutal winter, please, I need your help-” Something cold and sharp stabs behind her chest, more of her skin turning pale as magic slowly crawls down her arms.

It hurts —

Spiderweb cracks of broken glass spread across her knuckles and a fat drop of blood rolls down her chin from how tightly she bites her lip. Her blood beads through the cracks in her skin, the dark crimson turned a light pink by the freshly exposed white light that pulses beneath her skin like a living thing. Aisha sucks in a sharp breath before continuing, “- I beg you, give me a crumb of your power, a ball of silent snow to hide my life-” The more she speaks, the more the white light cracks through her skin until it cracks through the pads of her fingers and escapes as shoddily formed snowflakes.

They dance through the air like drunken fireflies before finding the right position and floating in the air. More of them spawn from each finger with every word spoken, taking their own place in an unknown pattern.

Slowly the overlapping snowflakes take on the shape of a scratchy circle, trembling lines forming a complex web of shapes inside it. The pain grows with it; it turns her fingers pale and numb as if she had stuck her hands in freezing water, the icy bite of frost spreading up her wrists. Her frozen skin cracks from even the slightest tremor in her hands, white speckles dancing in her crimson blood as it leaks down her palms. Each second taken to breathe and bite back a whimper disrupts the fragile collection of snowflakes, causing parts of the circle to break off and drop to the ground in big watery drops.

Her chest feels like it’s tightly packed with soaked wool, a type of pressure building behind her sternum, her shoulders stiff as her body is getting ready for. . . something good—

The closet door swings open with enough force to break it off its hinges. White light of the circle refracts off the gun aimed at her.

Bang!

A bullet tears through the magic circle and shatters it into pieces, all the pressure that had been building in her body rushing through the crumbling remains of the circle right back at her.

She screams and shakes, fat tears freely running down her cheek like the blood flowing from her palms. There’s not a single word in any language able to describe the pain rushing through her veins, the liquid agony infesting every cell — sharp and blunt and deep and gnawing, like her body is trying to eat itself, like she’s infested with maggots; the bullet that tears through her side feels like a soft mercy.

“Fucking moron!” She barely hears the woman snarl over the rush of blood in her ears. The gun aimed at her is roughly pushed down. “Are you trying to get the boss to take our heads?” The stench of rot only worsens it, disorientating her further and she’s barely able to make her fingers twitch. She’s got no defense from the rough hand that roughly grabs her by the hair and pulls her out of the closet.

“I’d rather not die from a first time mage!” The man yells, grabbing her by the shoulder. Aisha’s legs can’t support her weight no matter how much she tries, but the man is far stronger than she had expected and has no problem holding her up. Her lungs manage a pained sound before her arms are grabbed and painfully wrenched behind her back, handcuffs softly clicking as they’re tightened until the steel digs into her aching wrists.

“Oh so when I’m the one on the end of the damn spells it’s fine then?” The woman’s anger shows in the way her cracked nails dig into Aisha’s scalp and pull her head back like she's trying to take it off entirely. Aisha struggles to breathe, gasping and wriggling to the best of her ability but it’s useless and a second later a thick metal collar is tightened around her neck, rusted needles on the inside of it pricking her skin enough to draw blood.

It burns. The collar rapidly heats up like she's got a string of hot coals around her neck, the heat traveling down her skin to grip her heart in a vice. The collar is so tight she can’t even gasp, fresh adrenaline pouring through her veins as she tries to scramble out of the handcuffs, tries to shake out of their hold, tries to just get away. . . but she’s about as strong as a kitten.

“You’re expendable. The girl could make a better spell than you.” The man holding her shoulder laughs and pulls her away as soon as the woman lets go of her hair, all too happy to drag her like a sack of potatoes behind him. Each step down the stairs has the base of her spine awkwardly hitting the step, accosting her frazzled brain with even more pain.

“We got the girl, boss!” The man says triumphantly, pulling her up so she’s facing another man. Even with the tears blurring her vision, Aisha can tell the ‘boss’ isn’t from Urzikstan; He’s a pudgy little man with a wide flat nose and other features that don’t quite fit his face, but his eyes — they glow the same rainbow hue as the other two, with the same malice.

“Finally.” The boss huffs, not wasting a single second and pulling a knife from his pocket. A rough hand holds Aisha’s head so she can’t squirm away from the knife as it cuts across her cheek. Just that small cut feels like a gaping wound and a small whimper falls from her lips as the boss pulls the knife back, specks of white floating in the dark blood coating the metal. A black tongue slips from his lips to lick up the bloodied edge, the sight making her stomach curl with disgust.

Another hand grabs her cheek, cracked fingers like claws digging into the cut until blood flows over the man's fingers. The man holding her pulls his bloodied fingers into his mouth, humming. A second passes before he curses and spits at his feet. “There’s barely anything there,” He says, the hold he has on her tightening. “Barely worth the bullet.”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem.” The boss waves him off, sharp rainbow eyes looking her up and down. “Couple of grams from ol’ daddy Magnus and we’ll have ourselves a proper sow.” He reaches out to pat the top of her head, condescending — like she's just a dumb animal. “Alright, put it in the truck.” The boss orders and the man holding her complies, starting to drag her to the truck parked in front of the house.

Somehow, behind the the loud beating of her heart, she hears rumbling. Somehow, though her mind is like tangled yarn and she can barely grasp a thought, she feels something — an emotion that doesn't belong to her: Anger

Violent anger. Burning hot in the cold night, so all consuming it leaves the world around her trembling.

"Hold on-" The boss says suddenly, quickly raising his head to sniff the air. "Do you smell that?"

Tires screech against the rocky road, orange flames sparking from thin air as a motorcycle appears out of nowhere. Aisha only manages to get a glimpse of glowing orange eyes before she's blinded by bright light. She closes her eyes, heat washing over her body before she hears the head of the man holding her explode.

Shards of bone and brain matter rain down on her, sticking to her dark curly hair. The body stands for a second, unaware it no longer has a head as the charred stump of the neck steams. The body falls to the ground and takes Aisha with it, falling on top of her.

The elbow digs into her bleeding side, her eyes flying open as she struggles to get out from under the man, managing to push him off. Her gaze flies to the steaming charred stump where the head used to be. Panic rising she breathes in and oh god the smell — it’s an automatic response; Her stomach convulses and she pukes, bile burning her throat, retching and crying as the scent of her bile only makes it worse.

She feels heat rush over her and she doesn’t need to see to know your magic makes the other man and woman’s heads pop like grapes. Their bodies drop to the ground somewhere behind her, but what makes adrenaline rush through her is the soft sound of the motorcycle stand clicking against the ground.

Her head flies up to look, heart beating like a bird in the cage of her ribs; Dirt crunches beneath your boots but to her it sounds like breaking bones, steam rises off your body, the bright glow of your arms and the intense glare of your eyes behind the tinted lenses of your mask. . . it all gives the image of a demon — of something she needs to flee from.

If the people had been coyotes, then this person— no. . . the thing that had found her was a starved lion.

She tries to scramble back but it's useless when the smallest twitch of a muscle has her whimpering, blistering cold gnawing on every inch of her nerves.

You reach her in seconds, leaning down to grab her by the front of her clothes to pick her up like she weighs nothing. Your scent floods her nose, rot and just a small hint of sweetness, like honey poured on the floors of a burning charnel house. She tries to kick you but can barely move her toes, her legs just swaying uselessly beneath her. Your fingers, warm but not burning hot, hook under the steel wrapped around her neck.

Your jaw tenses, trying to remember how to speak. "Hold still." You order.

Your voice is soft. Not the velvet softness of her mothers', more akin to the smoothness of a tar pit right before it pulls a hapless creature into its inky depths. But you don't hurt her.

Metal screeches as the rusted steel bends like clay under your fingers. It only takes a few seconds before the collar clatters to the ground. The sudden release of pressure has Aisha gasping for breath so quickly she starts coughing and almost pukes but luckily her stomach is empty.

She doesn't feel you free her hands, the world spinning a thousand miles a minute before her eyes. She's forced to close her eyes shut in an attempt to fight back the nausea, rainbow spots crackling in the darkness of her vision.

Casually stepping over the corpse of the Devourer you sit her down on the hood of the truck, keeping a hand on her shoulder to make sure she doesn't fall face first to the ground. She shivers under your touch, trembling hands slowly raising to grip your wrist. You don't need magical sight to know an aborted spell is ravaging her insides; her fingertips turning black in front of your eyes and the specks of white dancing in her pupil is enough.

Judging by the way you can barely pick up the scent of mage standard rot on her, you can only assume she's a late bloomer. With a small huff you place your other hand on the middle of her chest, casting a simple circle at your palm.

Aisha gasps, fingers scrambling to try and pull your hand off, too numb with cold to register how the cooling lava making up your skin warms up. But it's like trying to move a mountain. You don't budge an inch. She can feel something inside her move, burning frost shepherded by blistering heat slinking down her fingers back into her heart, increasing speed with every inch it travels. She barely notices the aching in her side subsiding, or the sensation returning to her fingers.

You let go of the girl when you’re satisfied she won’t die from either blood loss or mana shock, leaving her to sit on the hood of the car as she looks dumbly at you.

The bullet loudly clatters on the steel hood. She turns her head and her eyes nearly pop out of her skull at the sight of her blood literally bleaching out of her clothes like it's being drawn back into her body. Letting go of your wrist she lifts her shirt, and there's not even a mark on her tan skin.

She’s no threat to you.

No sooner that you take a step away from her does Beelzebub's cold presence rush out of your heart with enough force to make you stumble back. People say it’s madness for a spell, a tool, to have personality. But the way black candlelight flames spark at your fingers and immediately rush out like a swarm of locusts to devour the three bodies is. . . it's angry. Vengeful As it should be. You can't fool yourself into thinking the way Beelzebub's magical fires eat away the Devourers hands before spreading over the rest of the body, crackling and buzzing like thousands of flies as they devour skin, then muscle, then bone until not even dust remains, is anything but vindictive.

Like erasing mistakes, it brings you a sense of satisfaction.

Your fingers twitch but you stop yourself from reaching up to trace the faint blue magic gluing your throat together. Instead, you focus on converting the mangled chunks of mana Beelzebub deposits in your chest into something you can use. Devours are a pain in the ass, so much different mana all twisted and held together with gum and staples, all of it now bashing against your ribs like wailing ghosts. With a huff you focus, the rock chunks on your arms getting wider and bigger as you store the stolen mana for later use, steam lazily rolling off your shoulders.

Aisha watches you, eyes wide, but. . . not scared. She doesn’t notice when she opens her mouth, her voice far too loud in the silent night. “Are you a jinn?” She asks, and cringes at her words. Of all the things she could have said, she chose that?

You don't know how you manage to open your mouth enough to answer. “No.” Beelzebub, satisfied as a hog in shit, burns on the ground for a few seconds in the shape of the bodies before seeping back into the earth, settling back to slumber in your heart.

You roll your shoulders. The slight bite of pain and the spasm of your muscles reminds you of the glass sticking out of your back. A grunt forces past your lips, more from annoyance than actual pain. A simple thought is enough to activate the magic you had cast on yourself, vestigial sparks flickering across your shoulders and boring a hole into your jacket. The edges glow brightly before they birth flames that eat away the bulletproof vest and the rest of your clothing until a sizable chunk of your back is exposed.

Aisha catches the edge of a small circle scribed atop your spine in the middle of your back, but her eyes are soon drawn to the mess of glass shards sticking out of your skin. There’s not a speck of blood in sight, but somehow that makes the sight more disturbing. Her gasp falls deaf on your ears, your mind more focused in trying to remove them.

Forcing your opposite hand to cool down enough so the heat doesn’t shatter the glass, you reach back as far as you can, trying to feel as best you can with your numb fingers. But your hands are stiff and unfeeling, making you fumble about like a bull in a china shop as you try to get one shard and miss. The only time you manage to grasp the sharp edge, you break it when you attempt to pull it out. A curse slips past your lips and you crush the broken piece between your fingers.

Aisha doesn’t know what possesses her, nothing good probably, but she speaks up. “Can I-” Your head turns to her so fast she startles, mouth snapping shut with an audible clack of her teeth. She can only stare at those burning eyes for a second before her animal brain forces her to look away, focusing on the gas mask portion of your mask because looking at your eyes feels wrong. But she powers through it, forcing herself to speak. “Can I help you?”

That was not what you expected.

“No.” You say, your head swiveling to glance at the road and then back up to the sky, a pulse of formless magic slipping past your fingers on instinct to ensure you’re covering all your bases as far as relative safety goes. You don’t see nor sense any form of life besides the girl, nor any mage magic save for the tracker in your pocket.

You hate to admit it, but the wraith was good. And so was the mage that made the tracker, it took you a good while until you had sensed the small piece of enchanted rock hidden in your pocket. You’re still unsure what you want to do with it, maybe you could somehow game the situation or send the monsters after you on a wild goose chase, so for now you’ve only isolated it with your magic instead of destroying it.

Aisha persists. “Please,” She grits her teeth, resisting the urge to shrink back when your eyes once again settle on her. “I- you helped me, I don’t want to hold debts.” There is a kind of determination in her eyes you know too well, the same kind Frosty had right before you and him—

If anyone asks or puts a gun to your head, you will blame this moment on many things — the fatigue, the side effects of using too much magic, the spiraling descent into lichdom, finally losing what dredges of sense you have in your no good skull; “Fine.”

You take careful steps towards her until your knees press against the bumper before turning your back to her, forcing her to spread her legs to accompany your body. You keep your body turned in a way that still keeps her in your periphery. Not that it matters. Even if she had a knife hidden on her person nothing short of 30/06 ammo could leave any damage you couldn’t immediately heal off.

Aisha hates the part of her that regrets her decision now that she's presented with the large array of glass sticking out of your skin. She reaches out like she would try to pet a wild dog, cold fingers gripping the sides of one piece, bracing her other hand on your back. She tries to wiggle it out, and though you keep yourself from hissing, your muscles still spasm around the sharp glass. “Sorry, sorry-”

“You’re fine rookie,” You grunt automatically. “Just yank it out.”

She sucks in a sharp breath and prepares herself like she’s the one with half a ton of glass using her as a pin cushion. But she does as you say before she can shy away from it. The glass slides out easily enough, glowing orange blood staining it. Her eyes go wide when the blood suddenly drips off the shard in one continuous stream until she’s holding a perfectly clean piece of glass. The blood lands on your back and slithers up your skin into the wound, repairing muscle and flesh until there’s not even a mark to indicate where the glass had pierced your skin.

“Are you like me?” She asks tentatively, mentally hitting herself for such a stupid question; of course you’re a mage, what is she even thinking? Hoping to escape the embarrassment she pulls another shard out of your back.

“You and I are mages.” You say simply, occasionally glancing to the road and sky before turning your attention back on the girl. It feels… strange. You don't remember the last time you've spoken with someone who didn't want anything from you. Someone who didn't want to use you. Kill you.

“Ye- yeah, I figured.” Aisha bites her lip, squinting her eyes. “Why… why did you save me?” She finally asks the question that had been plaguing her.

“I just did.” You shrug your shoulder, a small breath slipping past your clenched teeth as the motion makes the glass dig deeper into your shoulder.

Aisha’s shoulders fall, a frown tugging on her lips. She doesn’t know what she had expected. “Thank you.”

Her words make your head turn to look at her fully, “Why?”

“Why not?” Another chunk of glass falls to the ground, “You saved me from. . . them. You killed to save me.” She says, nodding her head at the three body shaped scorch marks on the ground. She doesn’t know why talking about the death of them suddenly feels so. . . normal, like she’s walking through a dream and none of this is real. More like a nightmare.

“Killing bad men doesn't make me a good one.” You grunt, choosing not to voice how your motives for killing them had been far more selfish than she could imagine. Vengeance and anger are poor motives, but motives nonetheless.

Aisha clicks her tongue and scowls. “And saving me would make you bad? One good deed has to amount for something, right?”

A pregnant pause rings through the silent night.

“You are strange.” Is the only thing your mind can turn into words.

“So are you!” She shoots back quickly, lowering her head when her words register in her brain. Chewing on her bottom lip she pulls out the last glass shard from your skin, letting it fall from her fingers where it joins the small pile on the ground. She awkwardly pats your shoulder. “Who were they?” She finds her voice again.

“Devourers.” You fail to hide the hate in your tone. Stepping away from her you activate the spell you’ve cast on yourself. The magic burning at the edges of the hole in your clothing flares up, fire washing over your naked skin to reconstruct the fabric you had destroyed. “Humans who want magic, and will bleed you dry to get it.” The jacket feels bigger on you than it should, you don’t even doubt that you’ve lost a few pounds just in the past few hours as you’re forced to tighten your belt to keep your pants from sagging. "Kill them if you can, avoid them if you can't."

“Why did they want me?” Aisha asks, bracing herself on the car’s hood and slowly sliding down until her feet touch the ground. She feels lightheaded and sways on her feet, gripping the hood to keep upright. You glance at her but she just shakes her head — you two are even now, she hopes, she doesn’t want to have to ask for help for something as simple as standing.

“You’re a mage, they want magic.” You shrug, fixing the cuffs on your jacket so not an inch of your mage marked skin shows. “They want your blood, by drinking it they can use what they lack.”

Unwanted thoughts laugh at the back of your mind. Phantom pain blooms across your throat as you swallow, your lungs stuttering to draw breath. Memories you'd rather not revisit nibble at the back of your mind, just begging to gain your attention. Your hand reaches out to hold the tags—

Nothing.

You come up empty.

Your heart finally stops.

You hold your fist against your chest for a few seconds, the need to break something, even your own sternum, crooning soft melodies in your ears. Finally your fingers slowly uncurl so your palm rests flat over your heart. Your body is warm, but a blizzard rages inside your ribcage. You lost them, again. . . and you don’t feel fury, or sadness, or any other way. You don’t feel shit.

A low pathetic sound escapes you. Titanium wires stitch your jaw closed, pulled so taut you'd chip a tooth without your magic. For a split second you think of dispelling the magic around the tracker and letting them come to you. . . but you don’t; at least Taurus’s training remains effective. You’re sure your brain will let you feel anger as soon as you’ll be in a position to survive the consequences of anger birthed stupidity.

Aisha leans to her side just enough to see your front, confusion written on her face as to why you had suddenly gone quiet. Though your eyes still burn with an inferno, they feel empty to her. She remembers her father’s eyes had been the same when he had returned from fighting. “Did you lose someone?” She asks, voice soft.

“Yes.” You grunt, and fuck, it feels insulting to them how lost you sound. You’re one of the best mages on the planet for fuck’s sake, you’re not supposed to feel this way. “Lost a lot of people.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be.” You finally pry your hand off your chest, both hands now hanging by your sides, fingers curled into fists. “You had nothing to do with it.” You wish you could say the same to yourself.

You shake your head; feelings can come after the job is done. You know the general lay of the land enough to know there is a small city not far from where you are, one that isn’t too harsh on mages. It would take her a couple of hours on foot to reach, but it’s better than nothing. You tell as such, starting to walk towards your motorcycle. “Get to the city, don’t linger around here.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Aisha follows after you, struggling to keep up. “What am I supposed to do when I get there?” Her mind swirls with all sorts of questions, where will she go? What of her parents? What if—

“Do what you want.” You shrug and get on the motorcycle, the engine roaring to life. “Join the military or the circus or whatever else, just don’t stay here.” And with that you drive off.

. . .

"Well, would you look at that." A man sighs as he pulls the binoculars down to rest in his lap, a deep frown on his face. It only lasts for a scant few seconds before he smirks, crows feet forming around his eyes. "Our firebug's manners haven't changed one bit." The man chuckles and turns his head to regard his companion, eyes glowing the color of crystal clear quartz.

"Oh, I wonder who taught him that." The woman sitting next to him snarks, the blue chains marring her arms disappearing like a mirage when she dispels the illusion spell. The human skin melts away to coarse sand and weathered whalebone, red bone eating worms squirming and boring holes into the whalebone, small anglerfish lures softly waving through the air as if she's deep beneath the sea.

The man purses his lip, "I've no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm sure, mister 'I dropped a mountain on an oil rig with my second in command still in it'." Water flows between the seams of whalebone, extending past the stumps of her wrists to form hands of seafoam and salt.

She uses her newly remade hands to tug on the man’s ear like he’s a disobedient child.

The man scoffs and bats her hand away. "Hey now, you did say you wanted to go diving." He shrugs, "Oh, and looks like I won our bet." He smirks, catching the golden coin the woman throws him. Charles's face smiles on one side of it, but the man pays it no mind and puts the coin in his pocket; they’re both far too old to care about money and the dead kings on them.

“Yes, but not like that!” She snaps, not even the bandages around her head able to hide the glare she throws at him. But instead of following up on her anger she sighs and looks down at her hands. Glowing blue plankton swim in the crystal clear waters, but it feels like yesterday her hands were dyed a burning orange.

She hates what they had to do. What they continue to do. “Ifrit is still too reckless. Your plan failed.”

“No it didn’t.” He shoots back. “We just overestimated the kid again. It wouldn’t have been a problem if you hadn’t coddled them all so much.”

The man fully expects the slap on the shoulder he receives, cool water splashing on his greying blond hair. He doesn’t comment on it, simply runs his hand over the patch of wet hair. Small green shrubs bloom on the cracked earth texture of his palm, moss crawling up the crystalline outcrops along his elbow bone, little flowers sprouting in his hair and beard.

They sit in silence for a moment before the woman sighs and hangs her head. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.” Lifting her head she angles it to look at the man. “I just… I wish we didn’t have to do this.” She confesses. “It breaks my heart to see Ifrit so lost.” As much as her still heart can be broken.

“I know, I know.” He reaches out to gently take her hands into his. Though she can’t see his face, even her magic can only go so far, she knows he’s sporting a gentle smile. “Ifrit will be fine. He has no choice.”

Two jet planes fly overhead, engines screaming, blind to their existence as they rush after their prodigal soldier like bats out of hell.

The woman grimaces, water easily sliding past his fingers as she pulls her hands away. “I know,” She tilts her head towards the abandoned house, and the girl slowly walking away from it. “I suppose I’ll find something to occupy myself with.” The woman gets up, glancing at the man once again. “I hope you know what you’re doing Taurus.”

"I always do Sierra."

. . .

The atmosphere is so thick a vampire could bite into it. They all know first hand how missions can go wrong in a moment’s notice, but none of them had expected it to go this pear shaped; some of the mages they had been given are dead, the rest are all in some kind of coma, and it’s a miracle that Captain Roberts had survived long enough to get medical evac with how burned up she was. Gaz had almost lost his lunch when he’d gone to pick up the mage captain and her arm had fallen off in brittle pieces of blackened bone, fabric and skin melted together all over her torso.

"Are you boys alive?" Is the first question out of Laswell's lips when the contact her. The shoddy connection makes her face grainy and pixelated, but her voice is clear enough, tinged with exhaustion and the light of the screen darkens the bags under her eyes.

“Yeah,” Kyle says, “Besides nearly getting turned into KFC we’re fine.” He moves his wings for emphasis, holding back a grimace at how the residual soot and ash irritates the soft skin beneath his feathers. He’ll be lucky if it’ll wash out after a week, though the grime is only secondary to the stench of death and heat clinging to him.

Soap grunts, not bothering or simply forgetting to pull the frozen piece of rubber from his mouth before speaking. “O-cgh ohnlhy ah fheph burhnrs.” Spit leaks down his swollen lip as he gurgles. It hadn't been noticeable at first, but when the adrenaline wore off the pain in his gums hit him like a truck. The medic had given him the rubber to soothe the burns all over his mouth, and he would have been pissed about how much it looked like a doggy chew toy if the relief it brought wasn’t worth it. Doesn’t mean he’s any less agitated about looking like a teething puppy.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Kyle chides, singed wingtips flicking against the back of Soap’s skull.

Johnny pulls the rubber out of his mouth enough to growl back and simultaneously tries to swallow the saliva. He chokes, hitting his chest a few times and coughing, “Yae try ta talk with a burned mouth! Feel like ah’ve been gargling devil pish.”

“Boys.” Price snaps, voice as cold and hard as his reptilian eyes. “Enough.” There’s a hardness in his gaze neither men have seen in a while or even think of challenging. It’s easy to see that something is bothering the dragon, even if he doesn’t say it, and whatever it is, it’s got Price angry.

Not the usual ‘shouting and arguing’ angry Price gets when he’s given dog shit orders, no. This is the cold and silent anger that precedes the destruction of cities.

Soap looks away, biting down on the frozen rubber. Gaz mumbles an apology.

“John,” Kate begins, sensing the storm in his head. “What did you find out?”

“Ifrit knows Ruin magic.” Price says, bits of steam rising from the corners of his lips as his anger shows. He had gone centuries believing that despicable magic had finally died out and rotted away like every mage that used it. He was wrong. Very wrong.

“Shit.” Laswell rubs the bridge of her nose, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Price’s wing flares out a bit, tail flicking side to side in a subconscious show of agitation. “I felt it.”

“Anyone care to share with the class.” Simon asks, arms crossed over his chest and claws digging into his biceps. The light pricks of pain keep him grounded enough to ensure his arms don’t turn into puffs of dark smoke; he’s had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach ever since the fight, something about you — how you moved, how confidently you used magic — he hadn’t seen it in a while.

And it didn’t bode well. It was better when a mage was scared of their own shadow and put on a cheap mask of confidence. But with you? There wasn’t even a single second of hesitation in anything you did.

Price looks at him, then at the two sergeants, finally looking at Laswell as the two exchange nods. “It’s nothing good.” A sigh leaves him. “Ruin magic is old and dangerous,” Price starts, eyes hard like stone. “The last time it was used a plague swept across Europe.”

“What?” Kyle’s eyebrows furrow. “Do you seriously mean the black death was caused by magic?”

"Yes," Kate says, "But we can have a history lesson later. Ifrit knowing ruin magic changes things, they're now our top priority."

"Ah dhogh geh-" Soap remembers they can't understand him and pulls the rubber out of his mouth. "Ah don't get it, what's so special about ruin magic? Ain't all that magical shite the same?"

"No." Price grunts, "A ruin mage needs the body of another person to learn a spell. They see anything or anyone living as chunks of meat to be used in their spells." His eyes darken, claws digging into his palms.

He shakes his head. “Did you manage to get any information about Ifrit from the tags?” Price asks. He had sent photo copies of each dog tag to Laswell as soon as Johnny had given them to him.

Soap pulls the rubber from his mouth, swallowing the excess spit before reaching out to grab the tags laying on the table. He doesn’t know why, but something about holding them feels sacrilegious to him; like he’s holding the pelt of another werewolf instead of pieces of metal.

“No, Ifrit’s tags aren’t ones made by the military.” Laswell says, and that piques Kyle's interest. He leans over to look at the tags as Johnny inspects them. The metal chain hangs loosely off his fingers, weighed down by more than a dozen tags dangling from it. They vary in damage, some are bent, some have black heat marks on them in the shape of fingertips, and some are so blackened he needs to use his fingers to feel the text. Silicon silencers prevent the tags from making noise when he lays them down in a pile on his palm, a couple of them spilling over to hang at the sides of his hand. The first thing he notices is the stench, nothing specific like the smell mages have, but it’s not pleasant either.

Soap takes a random tag and reads off the fine text —

‘JACHAL

VENENUM, ACIDUM, L9

MAJOR

O NEG

JEWISH’

“Yer telling me.” Soap huffs, taking out his own tags from beneath his shirt to compare the two, just to make sure he’s not insane and the tags don’t make sense.

“What kind of shite even is this?” Johnny’s tags sport his full government name and security name without mentioning his rank. The tags he has in his hand look more like the ones civies would get personalized than anything else. He grimaces and hands the tags over to Gaz, “Are they even real?” He asks.

“Why would someone just carry around a bunch of fake tags?” Gaz asks, inspecting them as well.

“Could be part of a wannabe militia. Wouldn’t be the first time some punks with guns tried to play army.” Ghost shrugs. “Could also be to throw us off.” Ghost suggests, tilting his head enough to see Kyle appraise the small hunks of metal. “Or it’s all for shits n’ giggles.”

Kyle’s sharp eyes spot the tag he had been looking for; the tag is the only one without a silencer, the metal caked in soot and ash that the letters are hard to see and Kyle needs to trace the metal with the pad of his thumb to understand what they say:

‘IFRIT

IGNIS, CINIS, RUINA L10

CAPTAIN–

“Whoa,” Gaz’s eyebrows raise. “Ifrit’s a bloody captain.”

“What’s someone like that doing as a terrorist’s dog?” Soap asks.

“Ifrit’s motives remain unclear, but I did find something.” Kate shuffles some papers off screen, pulling up two thin looking file folders. “Two of the tags you sent me have actual people on them.” She says, taking a paper from each folder. Even through the camera they can see how the once crisp white paper has been yellowed with age. “Lance Corporals Hutch and Lambert, both presumed KIA nearly 11 years ago along with their entire squad. Apparently they were led by Corporal Yerrow to conduct a reconnaissance mission in Iraq to investigate a human smuggling ring, but a shoot-out caused a forest fire and no bodies were ever recovered.”

Johnny sniffs the air, crossing his arms over his chest, tail tip slowly wagging. “Anyone smell bull shite?”

“You’re not the only one.” Kate turns the files so the text side is aimed at the camera. More than half of the documents are redacted to the point it looks like a rorschach test. “I haven’t been able to access the original files, if they even exist, but the agent that oversaw the mission was a predecessor of mine, I’ll see if I can get in contact with him. ” It wouldn’t be the first time the CIA covered something up, but what could have happened back then that even Kate couldn’t get to the files?

“Great, what other shite can we pile on our plates?” Soap growls, ears twitching.

“Don’t jinx it.” Kyle says, gently setting the tags on the table.

“There’s another thing.” Kate adds, putting the files away.

“Nice going puppy.” Ghost grunts, ignoring the look Soap gives him.

“Whatever it is, it’ll need to wait.” Price says, speaking up finally. “Ifrit’s a ruin mage. We need to put it down before it melts half the country to slag.”

“That’s the problem.” Kate’s voice makes Price’s eyes sharpen, slitted pupils turning into thin black lines. “We’ve managed to identify the gas used in the terror attack. It was Sarin gas, remnants of Barkov. The same ones Makarov stole.”

“Told you they’re a damn magnet fer wankers.” Soap mutters under his breath. Price's eyes shift to him, giving him a hard look and making it very clear it’s not the time for his comments. Soap’s ears twitch and his tail curls around his leg.

“How did Al-Qatala get their hands on the gas? There’s no way Makarov would just hand over his toys.” Ghost asks.

“We don’t know yet. And we might not ever know if you don’t hurry.” Kate stresses. “The top brass figured out Khaled’s location, they think Ifrit’s going after Khaled so they’re sending troops to take them both out in one place as we speak.”

Price catches on quickly. “Kate, you’re not telling me we need Ifrit alive?” Price stresses, body stiff.

“I’m not,” Kate rebuts, just as tense. “This is an order.” Price flashes his teeth at her, but finally looks away, black smog escaping past the corner of his lips.

“If you can’t get to Khaled, Ifrit will be our only chance to get Makarov.” She ads.

“So go capture the human bomb without dying.” Gaz summarizes, claw tips nervously scratching at the fresh pin feathers growing from his forearms. “Sounds easy.”

“Walk in tae park.” Johnny snarks.

"Only the parks on fire." Ghost adds, tone dry as old bone.

Price stays still and silent for a few moments. Thunder rumbles in his chest and his tail tip lashes against the floor as indications of his anger. His claws scrape against his palms with the need to tear into the festered flesh of the ruin mage, to rip out the heart and destroy it so he can make sure that blasted magic is gone for good.

But he relents, only so he can have unrestrained access to you once they get the information they need. “Pack up. On the double.” Price growls. “We’ve got a mage to hunt.”

. . .

Why did you do it?

It had been a split second decision to divert course when you'd sensed the Devourers, and even then, the mana they gave you through Beelzebub was miniscule compared to what you were used to handling. Hell, you probably wasted more mana using the temporary invisibility spell to get close to the Devourers than what you made from them.

With Khaled's betrayal and an unknown military likely after your head, ignoring the Devourers would have been the smart move. Your ‘heroic’ act won’t earn you any brownie points with whatever made the mistake of putting you on the planet — that’s for fucking sure.

But. . . she reminded you of, well, you. The you violent flames had cremated when they first sparked across your fingers. The you you’d left behind when you took your friend’s hand and ran as fast as your legs could carry. The you you’d been forced to stuff beneath the floorboards and ignore as you lied to the recruiter. The you you sometimes wish you hadn’t forsaken for the sake of survival.

. . . eh, what does it matter? Frosty’s as dead as the rest of them and no amount of grief and tears (assuming you could even force yourself to weep) will bring him back. Maybe it’s a good thing you never found his tags, the universe’s way of keeping him from suffering the humiliation you’ve inflicted on the others.

The engine roars beneath you like a caged beast, each little rock and hole in the uneven terrain causing the motorcycle to buck, the back of the seat knocking up into your tailbone. It’s a necessary evil, driving far away from the main road with the lights off helps you evade detection slightly better, and you’ll take anything you can get. Your commander’s words are etched into your bones: “Only let your enemies know you’re coming when your knife is hilt deep in their throat.”.

The sizzle in your bones and little deep pinpricks of pain in your lower back are barely noticeable with how numb you feel. Both in body and in what’s left of your humanity. You’ve gotten good at that — turning off your emotions and doing what needs to be done; you’re sure if you got shot dead that your body would finish the mission before it figured out there was a bullet in your skull.

Sometimes you even wonder what a witch would see if she ever tried to scry into your heart. Would it still be the hellish landscape Taurus showed you all those years ago? Or would it be like Pompei? Or some other landscape of impeccably preserved tragedy?

Your fingers twitch around the handlebars in an attempt to stop yourself from reaching out for something that’s not there anymore. Some vestigial and selfish part of you whimpers and yearns for the brief respite the tags brought. Their absence feels more suffocating than all the times you’ve been hanged; more painful than when your throat had been used as an artistic butcher’s canvas.

Your magical senses pick up the life signs long before your enhanced ears hear the screech of jet engines. You nearly snap your neck with how quickly you look up, able to catch two jet planes flying overhead by the glow of their engines, trying to track both of their flight paths.

You tighten the grip on the handlebars and increase the speed. You don’t stop to see if they saw you, you know they did from the way the planes twirl in the air. . . and from the way they shoot rockets at you.

Letting go of one handle you let mana rush to your fingers, cinders burning away your sleeve and glove. Just as the rockets get close enough for you to hear their screeching you swing your arm up, a burning arch of flames following after your palm. The motion is enough to tell your brain what you want, a thick screen of roaring flames spreading out from the arc in front of you.

The missiles hit the wall of flames instead of you. You swear you nearly go deaf from the loud explosion the missiles make when they connect with your defense magic, everything around you shaking from the sudden force but the spell holds, not even a scratch in sight. The resulting smoke flares around the sides in a suffocating cloud, the thick wall of fire obscuring your vision and forcing you to blindly swerve side to side.

Your magic may protect you, but it can’t stop the rocket from hitting the ground right in front of the wheel. The whistle and screech of the missile is the only warning you get before the ground beneath you explodes and sends you flying. You hit the ground and roll, jagged rocks slamming into your bones, scraps of metal pelting your back. Magic washes over you to heal the bones you break.

It leaves you feeling every bit of pain when the motorcycle falls on top of you, pushing the breath out of your lungs. The sudden force has your jaw slamming onto the ground, your tongue caught between your teeth. Blood floods your mouth. It tastes like battery acid and burns your throat on its way down to your stomach, but it forces adrenaline to rush through your system and let you push the motorcycle off you.

Your spine cracks multiple times in the short seconds it takes for your magic to fix the bones, giving you back the sensation in your limbs so you can roll to your side and avoid another missile. You summon a few smaller flame shields to protect your head and vitals from the blast, but not from the sharp rocks that hit your back like grenade pieces.

Your vision swimming and ears ringing you scramble to your knees. You’re given no choice but to use your own blood. Even with the distraction of another missile hitting your shield, it’s easy for you to focus your mana. It flows from your heart to your fingers but you don’t let it escape like it wants. Forcing it to pool in your palms until the heat burns away your remaining glove and turns the stone of your hands into lava.

It only takes a few seconds for fat drops of brightly melted rock to drip onto the ground, and only then can you feel your blood, both the one in your veins and the rivulets of bright orange freely flowing down your back. Burning hot and brimming with so much mana it’s no problem for you to take hold of the blood you've bled. Bright crimson crawls across your back to draw a magic circle from memory alone.

Quickly hunching your back generates enough force to make your blood bust through your vessels, two arcs of blood tearing through skin and muscle like a knife. The bright glow of your blood lights up the dark, stray droplets hovering in the air like oil in water as more of it flows from your body and branches out until it resembles skeletonized wings. Fire sparks at your skin and follows the blood, forcing it to crystallize in place as ash takes up the space between the bones and cascades down in long shrouds. Obsidian sharp crystal blood digs into your skin with every little move of your new wings as they twitch erratically. Lighting races up your spine, your mind forced to create new nerves and deal with sensations it wasn’t designed for.

You summon a circle beneath your feet, ash bursting up to send you high into the air in a long continuous column like it’s the tower of Babel just as another missile hits the place you had been moments ago. The spark from the rocket ignites the ash, giving you an extra few feet in the air before you start to fall.

The leftover smoke swallows you whole, gravity forcibly tipping you back until you’re falling head first. The wind screeches in your ears and the grounds gets closer and closer with every second, the grim reaper laughing over your shoulder; you remember yelling and screaming, even passing out, many times during this type of training. Now, you are calm.

Your mind finally creates the right nerves to move your limbs. Your wings spread out with the same violence they burst out of your back, sharply pulling on your chest muscles as they swing out and down. The flap of your wings breaks off a bit of the ash covering your crystallized blood, flames burning at the tips of your wings making the ash erupt in an explosion and creating enough force for you to soar high into the air.

Flying is hard regardless of how often you’ve done this, your back muscles cramping as you struggle to use your new wings. Not that it actually is flying in the same sense the harpies or other winged creatures would call it. More like gliding with extra steps. Either way, it serves its purpose in making you airborne and mobile.

You shoot high up into the sky like a bullet, trails of ash following after you and wrapping around you like a shroud. The quick movement of your wings and sharp turns let you avoid a set of missiles shot at you, but even at your fastest speed you’ve got no chance of hitting the quick jets flying around you like flies. So instead you use simple spells and hope your aim hasn’t gotten rusty. The muscles in your core and arms tense, a circle forming flush with your palms. Mana rushes to your arms and you use the brief stability in the air between the flaps of your wings to set off your spell.

A solid beam of concentrated flame shoots out, thin as a pencil but it tears through the clouds and metal plane like butter. You manage to cleave off a wing, the wound left behind in the metal glows brightly, before a simple thought activates the latent magic and the entire jet explodes a second later.

Rockets and bullets fly at your back like plague carrying insects, only to be burned away by your magic. Your neck hurts from how sharply you jerk your head to look behind you, mana flowing to your eyes to enhance your sight until the jet is clearly visible. At least you have comfort in the fact your hand eye coordination is still as sharp as ever, another beam of fire cleaving the jet in two.

And just like that, you’re alone in the sky.

You don’t realize how rapidly your heart is beating until you take a moment to breathe, wings spreading out to let you glide through the sky. You reach into your pocket to pull out the tracker, a small piece of rich green rock. Your magic swirls across the surface of it, cinders worming through the stone; You don’t know how they found you when your magic is still active on the tracker, there are no ‘happy accidents’ in your line of work.

Gritting your teeth you dispel your magic around the tracker and toss it as far as you can in the opposite direction, wings pressing closer to your body to increase the speed of your glide.

With your motorcycle more than likely fucked, you have no choice but to rely on your bloodmade wings longer than you’d like. Using the mana you’d stuck on Khaled as a compass you let yourself fall and gain speed before spreading out your wings. The deep muscles in your back and chest scream for a second with each flap of your wings before your magic silences them, the discomfort of using temporary limbs easy to shove into the back of your mind. Your flying speed is much faster than that of the motorcycle, the ground moving rapidly beneath you.

You’re only mildly surprised to feel Khaled’s presence in his base. It’s an old oil refinery that was abandoned when the Russians restricted the production of oil in the country. Khaled found it and turned it into a bastion, hiding up high in the mountains like he’s some kind of king.

Any old dragon can attest a kingdom of steel and concrete like that won’t survive scorching flame.

Your only problem is that it’s got magic sensing tech, which just means there’s some extremely sensitive electronics that end up sparking like shoddily made light bulbs when more than just the smallest amount of modern magic is used. Sometimes you hate how thorough you are.

Luckily for you, it’s not the first time you’ve had to sneak past such tech.

You land near the base of the mountain, just at the edge where you know the range of those sensors ends. You’d like to say you land gracefully and with barely a sound, but you’re pretty sure a tank would have an easier time than you. The exhaustion and the added weight on your back doesn’t help you in any way to keep balance, making you stumble forward and almost trip on a root. Your arms spread out to grip the trees for support, but you underestimate your strength and the wood splinters under your right hand, making you fall face first.

The few seconds you spend flat on the ground is probably the longest you’ve spent laying down in the past month.

With a sharp breath you get to your feet, carefully leaning your shoulder against a tree. Your makeshift wings press against your back and pull on your muscles, but the thought of ‘what if you’ll need them?’ keeps you from dispelling them. Embers burn away the clothing shielding your front, giving yourself just enough sight of your skin to be able to cast the spells you need.

It’s one thing to push your mana to your hands and out as magic, it’s another to force the burning heat through every little capillary in your skin and pull on it in certain spots until magical circles etch themselves into your skin. It’s not that far off from using blood magic, only it requires a little less mana and focus. You’ve done this so much you could do it with your eyes closed, filling the insides of the circles with little diamonds and magical sigils only your mind can grasp.

The body enhancing spell has an immediate effect. The pain in your back disappears suddenly like it was never there, the vestiges of weakness from mana use getting pushed back to the back of your mind. It even dispels the base painful thrum in your skull you hadn’t realized you had.

With a clearer mind you go about casting more similar spells that carve themselves into your skin; one to temporarily strengthen your body beyond what you already have, another to force your mana generator to increase in productivity, yet a third one to increase the potency of your spells; Buffs that push your body past the edge of what it can take, to the point you barely feel human.

This is the closest man will ever come to godhood. ”Don’t let it get to your little head firebug.”

Your last spell to prepare is different. A dirty trick.

“Valefar.” You huff, speaking another name for a spell that deserves respect. Nothing happens at first, but then you feel it. Like a living thing deep beneath the earth, Valefar hums a soft lullaby to the tune of crackling flames. The dirt beneath you expands and black flames break through the earth, creating a spider web of dark old magic that fills up the empty root system spanning the entire mountain. The flames don’t dare touch you yet. They’re waiting. . . hungry.

Before the problematic thing in your skull can give you grief, you let the waiting beast in and welcome it like a brother. Valefar’s black flames shudder and slowly, carefully, crawl up your legs, scampering along your abdomen and kissing the sharp transition between skin and mage marks. They paint the yellow glow of your mage marks a pitch black, the magma of your arms and your crystalized blood turning black as obsidian. Even the flames tipping the ends of your wings turn black as pitch.

For a second you’re accosted with the sensation of every bit of magic you had pushed into the earth over the months, every drop of mana obediently waiting its time in the rotten root system. But Valefar soothes your mind, dampening the glow of your eyes and shrouding your brain in water cool flames. Valefar lacks the crushing weight or the freezing cold of most ruin spells, simply almost thrilled to be used.

Ruin magic is too old to be tracked by modern means, and you take the first step into the range of the sensors without fear. You knew Khaled would betray you, you’ve almost started growing old in an industry that killed its soldiers young, you knew to listen to your stomach. Khaled had been one of those people you wouldn’t trust as far as you could throw them, though you never expected him to be so brazen about it. It’s no different than the day hellfire rained down on your hea-

You stop yourself mid thought the second you register your anger trying to boil over, the burning heat inside your chest making steam rise off your shoulders. Asmodeus, the one spell you won’t ever use, sparks beneath your skin; angry, vengeful. You stifle it before it can gain an upper hand, sparks of black flame flying past your lips as you breathe out and escaping through the filters of your mask.

Taurus always blamed your hotheadedness on your magic. What is a mage if not the fire Prometheus stole for you? The suffocating hate Vesuvius spewed? The blackened rotten blood giving birth to spells like Beelzebub and Valefar?

Loud gunfire breaks through your thoughts; Khaled would never practice shooting drills in the middle of the night.

You increase your pace, turning your jog into a run. As you near the old refinery something immediately stands out to you – there’s way too many life signatures than there should be. Even without a good line of sight you can sense them, all those beating hearts and flickers of life fluttering together like moths until you find yourself with a massive pain in your skull.

Breathing out a small breath you duck behind the tall trees just at the edge of the compound. To say you’re surprised to find Urzikstan soldiers engaged in combat with Khaled’s men would be an understatement. And the army didn’t hold anything back. There’s a fuck ton of soldiers, most of them hiding behind tanks that block the only exit from the compound and sponge up the machine gun fire Khaled’s men are unloading into them. Bullets rain down on both sides, there’s even fucking helicopters flying in the air — this is a full on assault.

You can still sense Khaled is in the refinery somewhere, you would be able to narrow down on his exact location if there weren’t so many living bodies buzzing around like ants. Your mind whirls with ideas; you could use the distraction and sneak past, or you could just destroy both sides in one quick and clean attack, you doubt anyone would be able to notice you using magic when they’re more focused about the hail of bullets.

A tree branch snaps beneath you, followed by the clicking of a gun and three rounds going off. “Mage in sight! I repeat I got mage in sight!”

Nevermind.

The bullets tear through your vest but just bounce off your magic enhanced skin. You turn on your heel, holding your arm out. “Beelzebub.” Burning cold swells in your heart and crawls through your veins, black flames shooting out from your palm at the soldier. He barely has the chance to scream before the black fire eats away his vocal cords, his gun clattering to the floor. In only a few seconds the only thing left of him is the uniform and the black flames burning in the shape of a man.

Despite how stupid it might be, you let go of the fine control you have over Beelzebub. It doesn’t waste a second, thousands of little wisps of obsidian fire breaking off from the main mass and shooting out at the nearest source of organic matter. Be they tree or human, Beelzebub will devour them all the same.

Fresh mana fills your chest and you’re quick to turn it into something useful. This time it takes significantly less time to spread your wings, summoning ash beneath your feet and launching yourself up into the air.

Tree branches whack you over the head before you make it into the open air. . . and accidentally smash your head into the belly of a helicopter. A dull 'thump' sounds and you're not sure if it's your head that's empty or the helicopter.

Your vision blurs for a second, and you shake your head to get rid of the temporary headache. The helicopter swerves to the side, the tail swinging right at you, the soldiers inside yelling. Tucking your wings close to your body you fall just in time to avoid the tail, twisting your body as you careen through the air until you’ve got a clear line of sight. One magic circle is all it takes to blast a sizable hole through the center of the flying machine, taking out the engine and the blades all at once.

Quickly flapping your wings you dart up through the hole you created, ash flooding the inside of the heli as you pass and erupting in an explosion a second later. The heli plumets down to the ground but you stay in the air, spreading your wings out to soar. This high up you’ve got a clear view of everything — the entire compound, made up of two big buildings connected with a catwalk and oil storage towers; The machine gun men shooting at tanks with no regard for how many bullets they use; Beelzebub’s black flames spreading across the terrain like a forest fire, consuming everything in sight until the only thing left is scorched earth and dust.

First things first, the machine guns. Though not as dangerous to you as the tanks, you’ve had enough of them to sate you for a lifetime, and you’d rather not be on the receiving end again. With sitting ducks for targets it’s laughably easy to cast simple homing spells to kill the gunner and melt the machine guns mounted on the rails.

A bullet hits your chest, tearing through the bullet proof vest. It bounces off your skin but the force nearly knocks you out of the sky. You go with the force, tucking your wings and flipping backwards in the air until you can spread them out to glide down. You notice the snipers, two on the roof of each building, one on the middle one of the tall oil towers just behind the buildings. You go for the straggler first, diving down with the speed of a bullet.

The sniper tries to shoot you again but you barrel roll out of the way. You shoot a ball of flames at the sniper when you're close enough, completely disintegrating him on contact. Turning to your side you soar through the gap between two oil towers, making a sharp left turn around the tower with a quick flap of your wings so you can quickly soar up.

The building to your right is closer and your next target. Gliding down close to the roof you you summon your spell, incinerating the closer of the two snipers. The other one drops his rifle to shoot at you with a pistol, but you just tuck your wings close and barrel roll to evade the bullets.

Your wings suddenly spread out with the force of a tightly coiled spring, the crystalline edge slicing straight through the sniper's neck like a guillotine. You're given no time to focus on the remaining snipers when a massive artillery shell flies at you. With a swing of your arm your flames race out to collide with the shell, an explosion going off right in front of your face. Ash and soot cake on top of your lenses but that's a small price to pay when you can safely dart through the smoke cloud; looks like the tanks have noticed you.

Pulling your wings close to your wings close to your body you divebomb to take out the final two snipers. You crash into one of them, your boots making contact with his chest and the force you’ve generated from your flight means you completely smash through his ribs the second his back hits the roof. The concrete cracks beneath your boot, but that doesn't stop you as you race across it, pulling your arm back to swing a fist at the remaining sniper. The skull cracks the second your fist connects, breaking completely under your knuckles, blood and brains splattering on the lenses of your gasmask.

The roof you're on has a helicopter on it, and you think of destroying it, but the tanks present a bigger problem. Leaping off the edge of the building you launch yourself back into the air, turning your attention to the tanks. There’s four of them, all spread out in a vague arc across the empty field of land between the buildings and the road leading out. Not a problem for you.

Slowing down to a smooth glide you stretch your arms out in front of you. Your flames rush out to hit the artillery shells shot at you, but it also forces the mana Beelzebub keeps stuffing into your chest to move to your palms. Summoning four evenly sized circles in front of you is easy for a mage of your caliber. With mana burning in your palms you squeeze your hands, forcing all that magic to shoot out through the centers of the circles as concentrated beams of flame. As if struck down by some god's smite, The tanks blow up the moment your magic hits them, leaving smoldering half melted skeletons of steel behind.

You land near one of the tanks with enough force to crack the charred ground beneath you, stumbling a few steps forward. You turn your head, using the tattered remains of your jacket near your shoulders to wipe away the lenses. It makes you see the clear destruction Beelzebub has wrought, the once lush forest surrounding the compound turned baren. Yet the spell hungers still, given the chance it would easily devour the entire world, and you can feel it gnaw on the edges of your passive control in it's attempt to stray away from you. Biting the hand that feeds. Arrogant. Just like Lambert.

You're forced to snuff it out, dispelling Beelzebub before it tries to sweep through the country like all ten plagues.

A shuddering breath leaves you for the first time in a while, your lungs stuttering as you breathe in for the first time in a while. Despite how stuffed to the gills with mana your chest is, how you can barely breathe with the pressure against your ribs, you can feel the familiar sting of your bones — the cost of mana use burrowing into your marrow. The missions, the ambush, this, it’s all starting to pile on. It’s the cost, you suppose, no mortal will ever become god, this is simply a consequence for your choices.

Shots ring out above the crackle of flames, bullets bouncing off your body and only making you aware of the soldiers. Thy are too much of a problem to be kept alive, but killing them with magic would be a waste of mana considering you’re slowly reaching the breaking point of how much even your augmented body can handle.

Fortunately, you’ve got a cheap trick up your sleeve. Quickly sensing the exact location of the Urzikstan soldiers you cast another spell, circles forming beneath their feet before chains of living flame ensnare them like rabbits. "Belial." You say, your gaze fixed on the Urzikstan soldiers.

Belial is softer on your arteries than Beelzebub, but it still passes from your heart and into your fingers like a kidney stone. Big globs of tar black lava drip from your arms, sizzling and steaming when splatter on the ground. But they don’t stay inert for long. You’ve seen the sight a thousand times; Roaches made of pure black lava crawl out of the puddles by the dozens, quickly skittering towards the hapless humans. They crawl up the bound soldiers, fiery mandibles eating away the flesh and boring holes through muscle, squirming into every orifice, infesting every inch of their insides.

The soldiers try to scream but their vocal cords are soon devoured as the roaches eat everything they deem useless. They gorge themselves on the fat, groups of them peeling off the skin in long strips until the bowels and other organs fall out to the ground with a wet 'splat' to be eaten by yet more roaches. The bodies twitch and convulse, falling to the ground when you dispel the chains. Blood and mucus froths at their mouths but the roaches drink up even that like it's the finest wine.

When they're done feasting they crawl into the body that's nothing more but muscle, ligament, and bone. A single hand motion is enough to command the bodies to rise. They do so slowly, limbs twitching and bodies shaking as the magical roaches squirm in the homes they've made between muscle fibers. The bodies stumble to their feet, eyeless slack jawed heads full of roaches staring at you.

Your control over them isn’t as fine as Jackal had over his puppets, but it’s still better than what most militaries see. Your well hidden anger bleeds into your magic, you don’t even need to speak for the charred puppets to stumble past you, seeking out to devour the stragglers you missed.

With that done you turn your attention to the large two story building where you can still sense Khaled’s presence.

. . .

"Ah still think this is bollocks." Soap growls when his head bumps against the roof of the Humvee because Price drove over yet another pot hole in the road. "Go capture tae mage that can turn yeh into a kebab, wonderful idea, no wee problem there."

"Noted sergeant." Price grunts, knuckles almost white as he grips the steering wheel. "Anything else you want to add?" He asks but receives a few grumbles in return. They've heard that one part of the army had come to lay siege on the refinery, and from the preliminary reports Laswell gave them, it didn't end well for the poor bastards.

"Do we even have a game plan sir?" Gaz asks, glancing between Ghost and Soap sitting in the backseat. "One that isn't 'let the mage shoot at us until they tucker out'?"

"Got a better idea?" Ghost asks with a small huff. "Let me n' Price do the heavy lifting." He grunts, "You two stay back and provide support."

Even with irritation nibbling on his nerves, Soap can't help himself. "Oh, you like it hot Lt?"

Gaz gives a surprised snort. Ghost side eyes Soap. "Mhm, scorching."

"We're getting close." Price warns, switching gears as the road starts going up the hill. His sharp senses already pick up the lingering hints of smoke and ash along with the tang of burnt flesh. Beneath all of that is something older: the rancid festering flesh of crumbling empires and wild animalistic grief.

Price grits his teeth. "Remember, we need Ifrit alive."

"Laswell never said we had to keep 'em in one piece." Ghost ads.

"Thank fock for that." Johnny says and bumps his shoulder against Ghost's. "Yae reckon she won't mind if ah take a few fingers off?" He asks, a mean grin pulling his lips back to bare his teeth.

"Play nice and I'll throw you a femur too." Ghost chuckles, ignoring the look Johnny gives him.

"Are we even sure this thing will work?" Gaz asks, looking down at the heavy piece of metal in his hands. It looks like a metal collar, runes and circles etched into the outside surface, tiny needles poking from the inside. Three vials filled with bright purple liquid are slotted into the back of the collar. The thing buzzes softly beneath his claws, like there’s a thunderstorm stuck inside the metal, making his fingers go numb.

"That's why we brought the arm restraints to be sure." Ghost says, absentmindedly tapping a clawed finger against the restraints he's holding. They look like big elbow length mittens made out of metal, similar runes scrawled over every inch.

Kyle purses his lips before his gaze turns to the roll of silver tape Price had haphazardly thrown on top of the dashboard. "What's the tape for? Planning to put a bow on Ifrit?"

"Got to wrap up the gift somehow." Ghost shrugs.

"Oh yeah, an I reckon the mage will just sit nice n pretty and let us play dress up." Soap snarks.

"Focus." Price orders, pulling their attention to the front windshield. The forest surrounding the main road abruptly disappears as if a god had photoshopped a different part of the world in it's place, verdant green replaced by scorched black ground and nothing else. The smell of burning metal and flesh is inescapable now, seeping through the cracks of the windows and making Gaz cough.

"Fucking hell." Gaz mumbles, tears stinging his eyes and forcing him to quickly put on the gas mask hanging off his neck. It doesn't help a single bit with the god awful smell.

"This shite is useless." Soap complains as he secures the gas mask to his own face. Soap had smelled his fair share of foul things in the demolition school, from Sulphur to gas and everything that could be used in making explosives, but the stench he's exposed to now makes everything else smell like daisies. "How the hell did the matchstick do this?" He can't help but ask.

"That's the work of ruin magic." Price says, tone hard and clipped.

They're forced to stop a little bit away from the compound as their path is blocked by the wreckage of a helicopter, the steel melted into the concrete road and the sides of the road too steep to drive around. They pile out of the Humvee, Soap and Gaz clutching their guns close; it's uncommon for them to use human made weapons when they're monsters, but Price isn't taking any chances with his mens safety.

They inch carefully past the remains of the helicopter, burnt cracked dirt crunching beneath their boots. With no trees in the way the compound is easy to see, and it looks just as bad as the surrounding area.

"Steaming Jesus." Johnny mutters as they walk around one of the four tanks, the metal melted and flames still flickering a top it. The land here looks like the hell his ma would describe in an attempt to put some godliness in him; The ground is cracked and charred black, hot under their boots. Ash and steam blanket the ground, making it hard to see where they step. Parts of the buildings have been melted, long strands of slag running down the sides of them. There's no light save the fires burning haphazardly across the ground, but their eyes can see fine in the dark.

"Should we check for survivors?" Kyle asks, finger tightly pressed against the safety switch, his wings spread out just enough to be able to quickly launch himself into the air if the need arises.

"Don't bother." Simon says, dark smoke slowly fizzling off his hands. The air in the compound feels heavy, feels like he's back in that fucking coffin. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end, anticipation crackling under his skin like static. "We didn't bring a dust bin. Or Henry the Hoover."

"Fuck Lt," Soap opens his mouth to speak more, but before he can make a sound, they hear a half mangled groan ring out from their side. Immediately raising his gun Soap narrows his eyes, managing to make out a dark outline stumbling towards them. At first Johnny thinks it’s a survivor, but then the steam clears enough to see it’s clearly not. What stumbles towards them is a completely skinned human, muscle and bone charred black, jaw gnashing as if it's already got their throat between its teeth.

Without thinking Johnny unloads a couple of bullets into the body, silenced gunshots echoing in the smoke. The body just soaks up the bullets, continuing to stumble after them. "Shit!" Soap hisses as he steps back, but before he can shoot at it again, Simon's shadows lash out at it.

The whips of darkness knock the corpse to the ground, managing to tear off a desecrated arm off in the process. A disgusting sound gurgles in it's throat as it tries to crawl towards them, the cracked bone of its fingers clawing at the ground. Simon moves his hand up and a spike of darkness erupts from the walking corpse's shadow, destroying the head in an instant. Soap doesn't even have time to breathe before the body starts convulsing, large black pustules rapidly swelling on its back. They explode without warning, black flames spewing out in a few feet around it like a miniature bomb, incinerating the corpse in the process.

A second of silence passes.

"What the fock was that?" Soap stresses, staring at the black flames as they burn on the ground.

"Belial." Price mumbles under his breath, blue eyes narrowing as a small breath of smoke escapes past his lips. "Magic made undead.” Price grunts. “Ruin magic lets the mage control the body like a puppet."

"Great." Soap grunts, trying not to breathe in the scent of burning flesh. "First the bomb shaped mage, now focking zombies? Firecracker's pulling out all the stops." Soap’s tail flicks to his leg and he grips his riffle tighter. "Shit, that smell too." He doesn't know how you keep managing to make things smell worse and worse, but fuck, he's sure the stench will be stuck in his pores for the rest of his life.

"Not a fan of barbeque?" Ghost asks as they step around the burning corpse. Or rather what remains of it.

"Not quite the cook out ah have in mind LT." Johnny grumbles.

"Remind me not to join you two at the next brass dinner." Gaz ads with a humorless chuckle before his harpy eyes spot more movement. "Tangos, one o'clock." He says, and doesn't need to be prompted to fly up into the sky to be their eyes.

"Stick close and aim for the head." Price orders, all of them slowly and quietly making their way into the compound. They encounter more zombies, some of them stumbling around mindlessly, some simply standing. Knowing where to hit they're easy to take out unawares, a couple of bullets through the skull enough to get the corpses on the ground.

Kyle lands behind them when they near a two story building. Another one is opposite it, a catwalk above them connecting the buildings together. A nearby door is torn off its hinges, smoke spilling through it into the surrounding air. It's the only place they can think of where you might be.

"Simon, with me." Price says, "Gaz, Soap, secure the perimeter." Price doesn't need to say it twice. Simon steps close to him, guarding his six as they enter the building. Large holding tanks are built in the center of the building, smoke filling the room up to their knees and the occasional cinder of ash gracefully fluttering through the air. Price automatically checks his right, eyes focusing on the stairs leading to a small room on the second floor, one set of stairs on both sides of the room. Bits of thick ash cascade down the stairs, and both of them can smell the rot.

He makes a small hand motion and Simon understands easily, leaving his side to duck behind the towering oil tanks, crossing the room and reaching the other set of stairs. Quietly they make their way up, making sure not to make a single sound. The door on Price’s side is torn off too, his pointy ear flicking as he hears what he assumes to be your voice, low and muffled, simply asking: "How?"

. . .

Your hand shakes from how hard you try to keep yourself from crushing Khaled's skull. You can already imagine the way bone would softly creak before finally splintering to pieces, the way blood and brains would squelch between your fingers. You grip his head hard enough to bruise instead, his skin bubbling and hair burning from the barely controlled heat of your hand.

Khaled looks exactly how other prideful men look when you come to collect your due — eyes wide, teeth clenched, legs weakly kicking you as you have him dangling in the air. You’d usually feel satisfaction, but the only thing in your heart right now is a suffocating cold.

The cold extends to your free hand, turning the lava into inert stone so not even a single thread of the patch laying in your palm is burned; A black decapitated right hand sits in a crimson backdrop. A crimson eye in the center of it cries bloody tears. ‘Mortem Opetere’ is stitched on top of it, boldly proclaiming what awaits you. Across both sides just three measly words turn your world upside down: ‘Red Right Hand’.

Your jaw feels welded shut as you try to open it, moving your tongue like your mouth's full of barbed wire before you manage to force out one word: "How?"

Khaled grunts instead of answering, coughing as the ash cascading off your wings continues to twirl in the air. Beelzebub’s flames dance at your feet, consuming the magical ash the second it touches the floor so the room feels suffocating, but it doesn’t make him pass out.

You grip him harder, claws of lava burning through the surface of his skin until you’re digging into the muscles covering his bones, his screams fall deaf on your ears. Even like this, barely able to hold yourself back from cracking his skull like an egg, your magic is controlled. You only let enough mana linger in your palm so the heat burns and stabs at his nerves, but not enough to completely destroy them. “How. Did. You. Get. This?” You ask again, each word like a sharp stab to your tongue.

Khaled bites his lip so hard it bleeds, glaring at you with utter disgust in his eyes. “Ask your- mh!- your commander lich-”

You notice the enemy presence a second too late, gunshots blasting in your ears. Having dispelled your body enhancing spells because of how taxing they were, you’re left with no choice but to blindly throw up a shield of crackling flames to destroy the bullets.

You miss one.

The bullet hits the crystalized bone of your wing and it's all it takes to create a spark. The ash making up your wings erupts, the resulting explosion unable to damage your wing but it does knock you forward. Khaled slips through your fingers as you both are tossed to the ground from the force. Your magic surges through your hand even as you scramble to stand, magic circles forming in the air to shoot uncontrolled flames at the two exits of the room.

Ropes of dark shadows shoot out from the right doorway, forcing you to throw yourself to the side to dodge them. You get to your feet just as the shadows hit the wall at the height of your head, quickly eroding a hole into the steel; The wraith has found you, and likely the rest of the misfits too.

You're careful as you stuff the patch into your pocket, but have no regard for the muscles in your back when you spread your wings out. Fresh ash cascades down the crystalline bones just as you flap your wings to send a gust of ash towards the front of the room. Mana surges to your cold arm and melts the stone into liquid lava which you fling into the cloud of ash, the heat from those drops of lava causing another explosion. Unable to sense where the wraith is, you focus on completely blocking off the exits in your flames, bright circles forming at the doorways and white hot flames shooting up, spilling over the door frame to scorch the ceiling.

You’re too distracted to notice Khaled move "Idiot boy have I taught you nothing?" the crackle of flames and the exploding ash masking his labored footsteps. His hand grabs your shoulder and pulls you back enough to jab a cold needle of a syringe into your neck.

Your wing shoots out automatically, knocking him back with enough force to have him crash into the wall. You yank the syringe out and toss it to the ground. The glass shatters, residual drops of bright purple liquid seeping into the ground.

But it’s too late.

You can feel Morgana’s tears course through your system, burning each cell in your blood vessels like battery acid, leaving your throat feeling numb and head light and heavy at the same time. You sway on your feet before your legs go weak and you fall to your knees with a gasp as if someone had punched you in the gut, your burning fingers tearing gouges into the floor as your muscles tense and relax a million times a second. Beelzebub’s black flames shoot out from between your fingers, freezing cold solidifying around your heart and in your arteries. It's a useless attempt to stave off the serum, to give you a few seconds more to escape, but you're glad for it.

You push on the ground with all the strength you can muster and get back on your feet. The weight of your wings nearly makes you fall on your ass as you’re forced to take a few shaky steps to keep your balance. From the corner of your eye you can see Khaled stumbling away from you, to the third exit to the room which leads to a catwalk connecting this building with another.

Raising your hand you try to summon a spell to take him out, a shaky circle forming at your palm. It breaks into a million pieces when a heavy body slams into you like a train, breaking your concentration and your ribs. You’re forced back until your wings hit the wall, forcing them to spread out as some of the crystal audibly breaks and cracks, accosting your brain with pain signals your mind was never created to handle.

Your hands shoot up, “Fire-” You force out in an attempt to combat the shroud Morgana’s tears weave around your mind. A circle forms, the usually crisp lines wonky and inconsistent. A few measly sputtering sparks flicker in the center of the circle before you’re able to force a bout of unwieldy flames in the face of your opponent.

You can feel how weak your fire is, you doubt you could give a man a second degree burn, let alone scratch the fireproof skin of the dragon that comes charging through your magic. Icy blue eyes dance in the periphery of your vision seconds before the dragon punches you right in the diaphragm.

You hunch over and almost vomit up an organ as all the air is forced out of your lungs. You feel your muscles tear and ribs break, your magic too focused on healing you to numb any of the pain that comes racing to your brain. You don’t know how you’re still standing but you weakly manage to slam your elbow back into the wall, quickly cooling lava scraping the metal and causing a spark.

The ash explodes for a second time, the force of it making your wings crack further yet they still hold. It creates a hole in the wall and forces the dragon to stumble back with a cough. You tip back and fall through the hole, the whole world weighing down on your body before you crash on the hot hard ground. The sudden stop knocks the breath out of you a second time, every muscle in your back screaming at you. Your chest is steadily growing colder as Morgana’s tears bypass Beelzebub, your arms feeling stiffer with every waking second as the serum forces your mana to slumber.

Your vision swims and blurs like the lines of a water drenched painting, voices somewhere close echoing in your ears. The dragon’s cold blue eyes stare down at you for a second before he jumps through the hole. You roll out of the way with great difficulty, avoiding him just in time as the dragon’s fist lands where you had just been and shatters the earth.

Stumbling to your feet you feel your blood leak down your back, pain pulsing in your chest as your mana struggles to heal each broken bone. Your mind is scrambling for the names of the spells you haven't needed to use in a long time, your thoughts further slowed by the fact you need to dodge out of the way of the dragon's fist. “Jump.” You speak. You summon a circle beneath your feet you that launches you into the air, the whirling world almost making you vomit and you barely manage to catch yourself on an oil containment tower.

Somehow through the ringing in your ears you hear the whirring of helicopter blades, turning your head to see a helicopter quickly rise from the roof of a building and start to fly away. You don’t need magic sense to know Khaled is in it. Your hand shakes as you raise it, Morgana’s tears steadily taking more of your mana hostage to the point it's getting hard to cast a single spell. “Fire bullet.” You manage to say, shooting off a shaky ball of concentrated flames.

You miss the rotor you had been aiming for, but by a lucky chance manage to hit the tail. Your fire isn't hot enough to melt the metal fully, but it still enough to make the helicopter swerve wildly. You watch it slowly loose altitude and crash somewhere beyond the tree line.

You’re not given even a second to catch your breath before the tower shakes violently, beginning to list heavily. You catch sight of a werewolf trying to scale it and that forces you to jump off the tower. You land on the one in front of you and don't stop, leaping across the three towers. Jumping off the last one you manage to flap your wings, the pitiful explosion that goes off beneath you gives just enough lift for your slowly liquifying wings to reach the roof of the second building.

You stumble as you land on the roof, the coagulated blood forming your Daedalus wings falling to the ground with a wet 'splat'. It feels like every single inch of your veins and arteries have been turned into pin cushions, the hot lava of your arms, absent of mana, quickly cools until there’s only a thin surface of cracked rock covering your muscles and bones. Your vision swims and you can barely move your arms, trying your best to just stay upright.

Asmodeus is the only thing unaffected, burning at the back of your mind like the last star of an empty universe. It tempts you with the heat of the magic it can give, with the power you could use if you just let it in. What's a few more drops of blood when you're drowning in it?

The harpy comes out of nowhere, slamming into you with enough force to knock you off the building.

You land on your back, barely able to utter a sound from how loudly your bones crack. Your leg is numb. Lingering dredges of your magic crawl across your spine, trying to fix your wounds with the same grace as cavemen with stole tools. You whimper like a child as you try to get up, barely able to dig your fingers into the scorched dirt to get some stability.

Footsteps approach you. A boot sharply kicks your side and forces you to roll on your front. "Playtime's over." A voice rings somewhere in your ears. Your scattered brain focuses on the accent — Manchester you think — instead of the clawed hands that yank your arms behind your back. Instinctively you try to scramble out of the firm hold but it's useless and the only thing you achieve is making the enemy pull on you harder.

Your arm is forced into a sickeningly familiar constraint; The mage cuff seals around your forearm and forces your hand into a fist, the binding spells making the metal feel like your arm is coated in liquid nitrogen. Your other arm follows suit, powerful magnets activating and binding the cuffs. They lock your arms together and painfully force your chest to stick out to the point you can barely move your arm without the risk of dislocating it.

More footsteps ring behind you as you weakly struggle. "Stay fucking still." The man above you growls as he yanks the helmet off your head with enough force you’re surprised he doesn’t take your head off. You gasp as the ash and smoke filled air enters your lungs, so unused to going without your helmet. A collar is quickly snapped around your throat, so tight you can barely breathe, needles on the inside digging into your skin. The binding spell on the collar is just as vicious as the one on the cuffs, forcibly pulling your brain into the bottom of the ocean.

Your vision swims with black spots and you’re barely able to see a man squat in front of you until rough clawed fingers grip your chin hard enough to make you bleed dark purple-red blood over his fingers. The enemy tugs your head up, but you’re unable to make out more than bright blue eyes and a stupid mohawk. "Huh, ah was expecting uglier."

Spite flares in your heart. A glob of spit and red blood shoots from your mouth at his face before you can think. The slap you receive nearly knocks your head off your shoulders and bashes your brain against your skull. His claws rake across your cheek, blood pouring down your skin. "Ahgk! Fockin' disgusting-" But It's worth it to hear the man curse.

"Told you not to take it off." The enemy on top of you growls.

"Charming." A lighter voice, you think it's the harpy, ads. "He's not going to turn into. . . one of them?"

"No." A new voice joins in, hard, angry, rumbling like thunder. You think it's the dragon, but your brain struggles to stay conscious let alone try to think. "Tape."

You shake your head to be difficult just out of spite, but sharp fingers bury into your scalp and pull your head up so the tape can be sealed over your mouth.

The enemy, wraith, your mind reminds, has no problem hoisting up your cold body, manhandling you like a doll.

You’re barely conscious as you’re roughly pushed into somewhere, somewhere without a lot of space. Two unyielding bodies squeeze you in on either side, your chest is barely able to move enough to ensure your lungs get a bit of air. Panic tries to get a foothold in your mind, to make your silent heart race. The walls and ceiling feel like they’re closing in, like you’re getting squished down and at any moment your organs will rupture—

But the drugs smooth out your brain like ocean waves weather down massive cliffs, your body so exhausted you can’t manage even a small twitch of a struggle. You feel the cold muzzle of a gun press against your temple, the cool sensation making you aware of the pounding headache.

"Move," The man on your left says, voice rough like sandpaper and with a distinct accent, "An’ yer dead." His threat sounds like an order, you don’t doubt he’s just itching for you to make a single move he can justify to his brass as aggression and kill you. You know you would do the same.

The vehicle you’re in rumbles to life but you can barely feel it, body and mind too exhausted to even hold your head up. Your stomach twists and turns as if trying to find a way to crawl up through your mouth, your lungs burn from the lack of air.

“Laswell we got-”

“-bout Khaled-”

“-ead, arsonist shot do-”

“-get out, the army reinforcements are co-”

You try to pay attention to what they say, but their words bang uselessly around your hollow skull, shapes and edges blurring together into abstract art. With nothing stopping it, Morgana’s tears leisurely branch through your blood vessels like brambles, making you shiver from how cold you are. You’re stuck in maddening limbo, there’s not enough of the drug in your system to turn you temporarily catatonic — your body is too used to the drug — but at the same time it’s fucking agony.

You've done this before, you know how much small victories count. You don’t know what they want from you, but you swear to yourself not to cry from the pain, both now and when the torture starts. You’re not a fucking child, not that snot nosed private you were when you first felt the sting of Morgana’s tears, you’ve been through worse.

But the problem is, you’re not out of tricks.

Your control over Valefar slips, the exhaustion and drugs slowly wearing down the rope of control you've been maintaining for months. Since the first day you started working for Khaled. You knew he’d betray you, you had that feeling in your gut. The collar beeps as mana suddenly sparks in your chest, thawed by the ancient magic you use. Without warning the needles in the collar jab into your neck as your mana builds, pumping more of the poison into your blood.

But it’s useless, with steam starting to rise off your chest not even you are able to hold it back. A rough chuckle forces its way out of your throat. You always figured you would die by your hand or not at all.

"What’s with the giggling?" The werewolf demands, gun still trained on you. "Something funny?"

You gather your strength and slowly roll your head back, every vertebra in your spine cracking from how much damage your body has received. The trembling wall of the truck gives you the support you lack. Black spots dance in your vision, but you manage to turn your gaze to one side.

On your right is the wraith. A creature of death. Violent Death.

You feel like there’s a joke about the situation somewhere. Figures you’d be sat against the personification of violent death. You’ve been living on borrowed time for too long, the reaper doesn’t like to wait.

Shadows darkening what little you can see of his face through the skull mask, making his eyes look like you’re staring into the void.

Unnerving.

You’ve been told your eyes are much the same.

The wraith stares at your face, into your eyes. You’re pretty sure this is the first time in ten years that someone has seen the eyes you were born with. The color is so painfully drab and human.

But it don’t last. Out of nowhere mana sparks in your eyes like a violent forest fire set off from the cinder of a forgotten cigarette. Oranges, reds, and yellows swirl around the pitch blackness of your pupil, bright and intense like staring into a black hole.

There’s no grand gesture to show the snapping of your control. Your heart skips a beat as it births Valefar, the soft cool magic nibbling on your veins as a pulse of cool mana rushes through to your fingers. You see the wraith stiffen, only barely able to sense how the world quivers.

The earth shatters.

The truck jerks forward and you almost fly out of the front windshield, kept in place by someone's rough hand gripping and pulling you back in place. The earth shakes violently as months of accumulated mana melts through rock and suddenly erupts from the ground as a beam of pitch black flames. You can feel Valefar laughing beneath the ground, inside your hollow heart. It takes joy in spreading your magic as far as it can, incinerating the arriving helicopters full of soldiers before they can even understand what's happening.

The car swerves to avoid the rocks falling from the sky, the air around you trembling as Valefar makes a crater out of the mountain. They’re lucky that your control finally evaporated when they were far enough to escape the impact zone.

You tilt your head, catching sight of the wraith. He stares at you.

Your eyelids flutter without your consent, all strength leaving you, but you manage to wink at him.

You pass out.

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