The last time he saw you, you kissed him on the tarmac. Your gear was half-done, hair pulled back in a rush, and you smiled like you werenât walking straight into danger. Bucky had both hands on your waist, holding you in place like you might float off if he let go. Your lips brushed his cheek, soft as anything, and you said, âIâll be back by Thursday. Donât forget to feed Alpine.â
Heâd said, âI donât like this op.â
And youâd just smiled that cocky smile, that unbreakable fire in your eyes, and replied, âYou never do. I always come home.â
But you didnât.
The mission had been simple on paperâreconnaissance at a suspected dormant Hydra facility just outside Belarus. It was too quiet, which shouldâve been their first clue. You were the last to step through the threshold before everything exploded into chaos. The walls caved in. Fire poured from the ceilings. Smoke and shouting and your scream over the commsââThey're behindââ
Then nothing.
Bucky was two time zones away when it happened. When Sam called, he didnât even let him finish the sentence. Bucky was already moving, already packing, already shoving knives and ammo into bags. He didnât eat. Didnât speak. He flew out with Steve that night, stone-faced and silent, fingers drumming against the grip of his knife the entire flight.
By the time they reached the site, it was ashes.
No body. No trace. No sign of you except for the busted comms unit found in a bloodstained hallway.
They told him the mission was a trap. That Hydra had been waiting. That youâd been the target.
He told them you were still alive.
No one argued. Not because they believed it, but because Bucky Barnes looked like a man who would kill anyone who said otherwise.
The next days blurred. He tore apart the war room trying to trace your location, running on caffeine and fury and gut instinct. No detail was too small. No theory too far-fetched. He didnât care what rules he broke, what old contacts he had to burnâhe would find you. He had to.
The rest of the team tried to help, but they couldnât reach him. Steve offered quiet support. Sam tried logic. Nat said nothing, but her eyes followed him with worry every time he passed.
He barely noticed.
The nights were worse. Thatâs when the dreams cameâvisions of you bleeding out in some freezing cell, your eyes dull and lifeless as you whispered his name and he couldnât reach you in time. Heâd wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, fists clenched so tight he left bruises on his own palms. But you werenât there to pull him back. You werenât there to touch his cheek and tell him it was just a dream. You were gone.
The guilt ate him alive.
Heâd failed you.
Heâd let them take you.
So he worked harder. Days turned to weeks. He stopped shaving. Forgot to eat unless someone physically handed him a protein bar. His knuckles were raw from punching walls when leads went cold. The spiral was vicious. Dark. Dangerous.
He started slipping.
It was Steve who noticed it firstâthe twitch in Buckyâs jaw, the way his eyes glazed over in moments of silence, as if a colder part of him was surfacing. He didnât want to believe it. Didnât want to see the signs.
But the Winter Soldier wasnât gone.
He was waiting.
And the moment Bucky found what he needed, he let him out.
Three weeks after your disappearance, Bucky found it. A shred of code embedded in an old server theyâd recovered from a black-market trader in Latvia. It matched a defunct Hydra division last believed to be dismantled in 1994. One of the scientists linked to it was still alive, operating under a new alias in Smolensk. Bucky went alone.
He came back with blood on his shirt and coordinates burned into the inside of his arm.
Steve tried to stop him. Told him they needed a plan. Reinforcements. Surveillance.
But Bucky looked him dead in the eyes and said, âIf she dies while we wait, I will never forgive you.â
And then he was gone.
The compound was buried beneath a forest near the Russian border, surrounded by snow and fog and silence. Bucky made it there by nightfall.
He didnât wait.
He didnât sneak.
He descended.
The first guard didnât see him coming. A blade to the throat. The second got a bullet to the skull. Within minutes, alarms were blaring, red lights spinning, but it didnât matterâhe wanted them to know. He wanted them to fear. He wanted them to understand what theyâd done.
They took you.
So he brought hell with him.
The Winter Soldier moved through the compound with terrifying efficiency. Every bullet found its mark. Every bone he broke was precise. The corridors were painted in blood by the time he reached the sublevels.
He tore the last guardâs arm from its socket before demanding access codes. When the man refused, Bucky ripped the panel from the wall instead.
He found you in the last cell.
The door was thick steel, bolted from the outside. There was no window. No light. The air reeked of rot and decay.
And then he heard it.
Your voice.
So faint he thought he imagined it.
âB-BuckyâŠ?â
His vision went white.
He punched through the door like it was paper.
You were huddled in the corner, covered in bruises, eyes swollen, lip split, body shaking. Blood soaked through your shirt. There were fingerprints on your neck. Rope burns on your wrists.
But you were alive.
Alive.
He dropped to his knees beside you, metal hand trembling as he reached out. âY/N⊠itâs me. Iâm here. Iâve got you.â
Your fingers curled weakly into his collar. âI knew⊠I knew youâd come.â
He let out a broken sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and pulled you into his chest. You winced, and he cursed himself, adjusting so he held you without pressure.
âIâve got you. Youâre safe now. No oneâs ever going to touch you again.â
You nodded against him, breathing in his scent like it was oxygen.
âLetâs go home,â you whispered.
He carried you out of that compound like you weighed nothing, blood soaking into his shirt, your breath warm against his neck. The building burned behind him. Hydra soldiers lay broken at his feet. And he never once looked back.
You spent the next two weeks in the hospital. Internal bleeding. Three fractured ribs. A dislocated shoulder. Malnourished. Sleep-deprived. But you were alive.
Bucky didnât leave your side.
Not once.
He sat beside your bed every night, head resting on your mattress, hand wrapped around yours like a lifeline. When the nightmares came for you, he was already there. When the pain was too much, he held you through it. He fed you ice chips, brushed your hair, kissed your forehead, and whispered promises you barely remembered.
The doctors said you were strong. That your survival was a miracle. That patients who endured what you did often gave up long before rescue.
But you didnât.
Because you knew Bucky would come.
And he did.
By the time you were cleared to go home, you could barely walk unassisted, but you refused the wheelchair. Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist and supported your weight like it was nothing. The rain poured down in sheets outside the hospital doors, but he didnât flinch. He was waiting with your favorite hoodie, your warmest socks, and a blanket tucked under his arm.
You looked at him, trembling, exhausted, but whole.
âHi,â you said softly.
And he broke.
His lips crashed into yours, hands framing your face so gently you wanted to cry. The kiss tasted like rain and salt and desperate joy. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
âI thought I lost you,â he whispered.
âYou didnât,â you murmured. âYou never will.â
The weeks after werenât easy. You couldnât sleep through the night. Certain sounds made you flinch. You hated closed doors, and sometimes you just cried for no reason.
But Bucky never left.
He learned your rhythms. Your silences. The way you needed space but hated being alone. Heâd sit at the foot of the bed and read when you couldnât talk. He cooked you soups and changed your bandages. He helped you shower the first time, fingers gentle as lace, voice steady even when yours cracked.
âIâm right here. Iâve got you.â
He never asked what they did to you. Not once. He never made you relive it. But one night, curled against his chest, you told him anyway. In the dark. Just a whisper.
And when you woke the next morning, a news report aired of a black site explosion in northern Russia.
No survivors.
Bucky never said a word.
Weeks passed. You healed slowly. On the surface, anyway. The bruises faded. Your bones knit back together. You walked more. Slept a little better.
But it was the way Bucky looked at you that healed the most â like you were made of stars. Like you were unbreakable. Like nothing, not even a whole fucking war, could ever make him stop loving you.
One morning, months after it all, you woke before him. The sun was rising through the curtains, pale light pooling across the bed. Buckyâs arm was slung over your hip, his face soft in sleep.
You touched his jaw gently and whispered, âYou saved me.â
Tihihi I'm back XD y'all I never thought so many others would like this silly scenario too. But anyways I've proofread and edited my first version and of course wrote more.
I've had cenarios about kidnapped!reader, locked up in their dedicated room by kidnapper, stuck in my head. Something with the walls painted their favorit colour, TV on the wall, Books and trinkets littering shelves and tables with rounded edges. A suctioncup birdfeeder stuck to the window that kidnapper fills up dutifully each morning. Pillows and soft blankets piling up on the couch and bed wich are housing a collection of stuffed animals.
This setting is great for so many nice options.
Like reader asking kidnapper for a dog. Something to keep them company. To cuddle and chase away the tiring routine of the days. "I'll think about it" said Kidnapper who doesn't really look forward to the hassle of getting another pet. How convinient he had to get rid off the young police officer working your case anyways. He had gotten a little too close to figuring out who had taken you after all these months.
You stared at the lean man in front of you. His blond hair was messed up, as was the navy blue uniform declaring him as police. His handcuffs where clasped securely around the mans wrists. No trace of the other gear he should be carrying. Your kidnapper look's at you expectantly. "I asked for a dog" you pouted. Exasperation giving way to dissapointment.
"I'm sure he'll bark for you, lovie" drawled your kidnapper. Nudging the blond infront of him demandingly wich earned him a grim stare from the officer. A muttered "Go to hell" lead to your kidnapper kicking the other man in the back of his knees. Making the younger one collapse down onto his knees. One hand roughly yanking at his hair turned the blond mans gaze back up to you. Kidnapper wouldn't tolerate such insolence towards his precious darling.
Meanwhile police officer that had worked your case for months after he was handed the files as a way to feed him off, after your case had run cold, was now finally where he wanted to be. Well kind off. Sure he had imagined himself in a much less compromising position when he would come to your rescue. His thoughts had wandered off sometimes during all those sleepless nights hunched over your files. But his heart had still hammered a tad bit faster when he finally locked eyes onto you and you seemed fine. Well, apart from all the hammering it already did. Because fuck how did he screw this up so bad? Trying to come to your rescue alone after his higher ups brushed him off after telling them he got a lead. Being nocked out after his shift. Waking up with his hands bound by his own cuffs, a pounding headache and worst of all his gun missing and a behemoth of a man towering over him. The beating that had followed certainly hadn't been in his imagination either.
The slap echoed through the room. A red handprint started to bloom on his pale skin from where the contact of kidnappers hand had sent the younger man off balance. He had looked up at you then. Really looked at you. Not trying to shoot another dirty glare at Kidnapper. No, you where staring into his eyes now. Curious to see if the new toy you where brought for your amusement would hold up to your expectations of having a real dog.
The previous beating still had his body aching. Flinching at any movement that promised pain. This was humiliating. Mortified he glanced up at the both of you. A coldhearted expression etched onto the bigger mans face. Yours much more innocent but somehow more unnerving. Anticipation mixes with expectation crossed your giddy features as your eyes met. The kidnappers jaw ticked. Hellbent on proving to you that the Gift he got you would live up to your expectations. The muscles in his arm twitched. Ready to beat the youngster into the perfekt little pet you wanted as a mortified "woof" left the younger mans lips.
You hadgrinned at that and bounced up to the balls of your feet excitedly. A joyfull giggle breaking past your lips as you clasped your hands together. The kidnapper evidently satisfied at your aproval had left after raking his eyes over your giddy features.
Your eyes seroed in on the man on your floor. The door had clicked shut behind your kidnapper. "Be nice" he had said. Not bothering to specify if he ment you or the cute mutt he had left at your feet.
"Puppy" you determined, squealing. Your arm purposefully reached out for him. Before he knew any better he felt your delicate fingers carding through his hair. In a fraction of a second he almost relaxed a little. But as your touch left him just as quickly as it came he snapped back to reality. He had to get you out of here. Free you from the clutches of that clearly insane man, that had obviously turned you nuts too. Clearing his throat he quickly scrambled up off the ground. Ending up towering over you. Concern etched onto his face. You clearly where unwell. The months of isolation and what ever else you had suffered through must have gone to your head. "Are you alright?" He askes . Gently touching your ellbow in what one would deam a professional manner.
Suddenly the man looked a whole lot less pathetic and much more like an actual police officer. Funny. The man rambled on. Something about standart procedere questions and how he had been looking for you. "It's going to be okay. I'll get you out of here in no time, alright?"
Maybe kidnapper had hit him over the head a view times to hard you pondered. Taking in the bloodied cuts on his face where his skin must have given way to kidnappers nuckles. Leaving streakes of dried blood on the police mans face.
You could clean that up! "Puppy's dirty" you exclaimed. Grabbing the piece of his handcuffs that connected his wrists. Fingers accidentaly comming into contact with his much warmer hands. You're innocent movement towards the adjoint bathroom was stopped abruptly though. The cop had not moved an inch at your pull on his wrists. Staring down at you with a bewildered expression. Furrowing your brow you stubbornly leaned forward until he finally followed your instistent tug.
Pleased by your success you rumaged through the bathroom cabinets filled to the brim with hair and beautiproducts. Reaching for the first aid kit. After you had hopped eagerly onto the counter you dapped away at the crusted blood on the mans face. Legs leasurly swinging on each of his thighs as you worked. Head bobbing to a song stuck in your head while he tried to get you to focus on all the questions he was asking. But those were boring and would only lead to nothing at all. If Kidnapper wanted someone staying here they would.
AN: There are some Halloween-themed reader-inserts coming up in the upcoming days. Keep an eye on my account if you like my writing style.
Title: Tears
Fandom: The Black Phone
Pairing: The Grabber (Albert Shaw) x Captured! Reader
Rating: Explicit!
Warnings: Kidnapped!Reader, Dub-con/Non-con, Dacryphilia, Daddy Kink, Mocking/Cooing, use of 'Little One', Belt Whipping, Name Calling (Good Girl), Reader might have a praise kink.
This is a prompt fill by one of my top supporters. If you want to show your support, you can always buy me a ko-fi.
The prompt (I also added the items you sent in your later message):
TEARS
The chilly air brushed past your legs, reminding you once again of how vulnerable you actually were. Lying there like prey, waiting for the monster to come again. You hated it, but until you figured a way out, you would have to do with all the lemons life decided to throw at you. Even if they came in the shape of a demonic stranger who hid himself behind masks and depravity. Â
You had grown tired of being tied to Albert Shaw's bed, having only an old oversized t-shirt that belonged to him to preserve some of your dignity. You knew that the cloth was a lie, though. Easy access, that was all it was. His hands would roam underneath as easily as breathing.
The cold metal of the handcuffs dug into your wrists as they kept you bound and vulnerable on the soft mattress. A contrast that was as big as your kidnapperâs personality: hot and cold. Evil and kind. An icy chill swept through the room, causing goosebumps to form on your skin and making the hairs on your legs stand on end. You had felt it before, and it usually meant the front door had been opened. Heâs home. The thought sent a chill down your spine. Loud barking of the dog confirmed he had indeed returned from walking their round.
You held your breath and listened for the sound of footsteps. Was he heading your way? Or would he go to the kitchen first? The soft mumbles of the man reached you and you assumed he must be talking to his dog. Perhaps you were in luck and heâd leave you alone for a little while longer. But then the door creaked open and in walked Albert, wearing only the upper part of his mask. It concealed the top of his face, but his devil's horns no longer frightened you. What did send shivers down your spine, however, was the sight of his lips and the smirk that played upon them.
He showed off his sharp canines in a grin that spelled what was to come. He wanted to touch you again.
"So, how have you been, little one? Not too scared while I was away, I hope,â Albert drawled, his words dripping with sinister intent. Little, you huffed. He seemed to like to call you that way just to establish some kind of power balance between the two of you.
You tried to keep your breathing calm, though your heart raced like a wild animal caught in a trap. Your eyes followed his every movement, trying to anticipate what he would do next.
âI suppose you can show Daddy how much you missed him,â he continued in that overly dramatic theatrical voice. He moved to the side of the bed and carelessly dropped his cardigan at the end of the bed, just out of your reach. Teasing you.
But you knew what it meant.
His chest was already bare, had been so underneath the piece of garment. Heâd never fully dressed after the last round, you realized with a shock.
"Please, don't..." you whispered, but your voice wavered with fear, betraying any semblance of bravery you hoped to display.
Albert chuckled, deep and throaty, sending shudders up your spine. "Now, now, sweetheart. You know I can't resist you when you're all trussed up like this."
You swallowed hard, your mind racing with thoughts of escape and retaliation, even though you knew it was futile. In this room, with Albert looming over you, there was no way out, no hope for reprieve.
As he approached you, you could see the hunger in his eyes and feel the weight of his gaze as it roamed over your body. It felt like a predator sizing up its prey, and you knew that soon enough, he would once again have his fill.
"Let's see how feisty you are tonight," Albert mused, his voice low and grating.
He approached you with a predatory grace, his hands reaching out like tendrils seeking to coil around your body. You hissed and tried to pull away as he ran his palms all over your trembling form, but there was nowhere to go, no escape from his touch.
"Still got some fight in you, huh?" Albert growled, growing impatient with your resistance. His palms slid down your naked thighs, calloused skin brushing past soft flesh. You felt his fingertips as they traced patterns down your sides, down your hips and legs, how his nails raked past your skin.
He moved his hands up and down a few times, admiring you, exploring you. He cupped your breasts underneath the shirt, tweaking your nipples between his fingertips a few times for good measure, having you bite back a moan.
A low growl escaped his throat, but you didnât know whether it was a sound of approval or annoyance at the way you still tried to resist him. His hands ran down from your breasts, past your belly and to your hips where he got a good grip on you.
âCome on, sweet thing, open up.â His ice-blue eyes stared intently at you through the holes of the mask. His lips were curved upward in a grin full of malicious intent. You realized he wanted you to spread your legs, which you did, hesitatingly.
His one hand sneaked in between while the other pressed down on your thigh, forcing you to keep your legs spread open for him. He rubbed his thumb past your clit, little circular motions that sent jolts of pleasure down your core. You bit your lip in an attempt to keep silent. You didnât want him to hear how he played you like an instrument, how much pleasure he sparked deep inside. But your walls slickened, so he must know. Your body never allowed you to hide its reactions.
âThere,â he whispered, almost lovingly. And again. âThere.â
Disgusted by the pleasure he made you feel, you tried to move your hips away from him. Just anything to relieve some of the tension you felt building up inside your core. He was working you towards an orgasm, you felt it. But you didnât want to give him the pleasure.
Your reluctance didnât go unnoticed, and with a sigh, he took his fingers from your clit. With a clap of his hands on his knees he pushed himself up into a standing position. Your heart pounded as he slowly removed his belt, the leather slithering against itself like a snake preparing to strike. You knew all too well how much he enjoyed using it on his victims, and fear tightened around your throat like a vice.
"Please..." you choked out, bringing your knees together to protect your precious core from his roving eyes. But your plea fell on deaf ears.
âNow, now,â Albert cooed, âGood girls deserve treats,â he said, swirling the leather band of the belt around his left hand, then pulled at the ends, showing the belt as it stood taught. You couldnât help but feel how your eyes were drawn towards it. A clear signal that you were in trouble.
You trembled when he took a step closer towards you again. With his right hand, he let go of the belt, so the torturous item was only held in his left. But that right hand â oh. You dreaded to look at how he spread his fingers and then pushed down upon your tummy. His hand slipped lower and tapped against your knee.
âBad girls need to be punished,â he said, huskily. âNow, open your legs again for me, sweetheart.â
You felt the pressure he gently supplied with his right hand on your knee and did as you were told, not eager to make him use force. As you lay there, trembling, you tried to think of anything but the man now looming in front of your cunt. You could feel his breath pass over your skin. Keeping your legs apart cost you real effort and you knew that he could tell you were trembling from fear. His thumb started to draw small circles on your thigh, effectively keeping your legs spread open with the comforting motion. As if it was enough to appease you.
âAh there,â as he studied your exposed flower, wet and pulsing for his cock. âWhat a pretty sight, little one.â
For a moment, you glanced at him through your lashes, thinking that perhaps you had escaped the dance. Perhaps him showing off his belt had been enough; a reminder of a punishment you could have deserved if you defied him any further.
But you were mistaken.
Without a warning, he fiercely pushed your leg down with his right hand, his thumb no longer making soothing motions. Then raised the belt up into the air with his left.
You instantly knew where he wanted to strike.
No. Anywhere but there.
"Tell me you want this," Albert demanded, his left hand still up in the air. You could see the leather of the belt glisten teasingly, challenging you to defy. His knuckles had turned white, the leather straps were circled around them just once. His gaze locked on yours, unrelenting and unforgiving.
"Say it."
You couldn't bring yourself to utter the words, your defiance sparking something dark within him. With a sadistic grin, he struck down. A loud snap and an instant jolt of pain as he deliberately smacked it against your pussy. The pain seared through you, and you couldn't hold back your cries and tears.
"Say it," he ordered, his tone callous and cold. "Tell me you like it." He raised the belt again like a whip and panic seized through you. You struggled against your bonds anew and would have closed your legs if he would have so much as allowed it.
The words didnât come out fast enough, and so he hit again. Your hands curled into fists and your back arched. The tears welled up in your eyes as an awful cry escaped your lips. Your pussy burned.
âYou sweet little thing,â you heard the man coo, mockingly. That demon, you thought, as you tried to look at him through the tears in your eyes.
He fell silent and for a moment, simply stared at you. Just as you were starting to wonder why, a grin twisted his lips. âI love it when you cry,â his voice was low and husky, dripping with arousal. This whole thing got him turned on, you realized with a start. He derived pleasure from your pain. The bastard.
âBut you know what?â he asked, voice sultry. You didnât want to know. Your pussy still hurt and you did not think you could stand another blow. Tears were still rolling down your cheeks, you could taste them. âI love it even more when you take my cock,â Albert said, voice dangerously low.
âNow, I will ask you again,â the warning was clear. âDo you like what I am giving you?â He raised the belt once more, igniting fear deep inside of you. You wiggled against the bounds again but felt his burning hand upon your thigh, reminding you he had no scruples in hitting you once more.
"Y-yes," you gasped out, the humiliation burning as hot as the pain. "I like it."
He watched you, the mask hiding his true expression. But you could feel the anger behind it.
âDaddy,â he sounded furious. The calm kind of furious that made you know not to make any missteps again. âI like it, Daddy,â he said, waiting for you to repeat the words.
His eyes gleamed with depraved satisfaction. The belt was still raised dangerously beside his head. The hand he had on your leg, pushing them wide apart, pressed even harder, betraying his anger.
You bit your lip, your shame and self-loathing warring with your desperation to end the torment. You could try and struggle all you want, but you knew you could not break free. That this man had you. All of you. And he would take all that he craved. Finally, you gave in, whispering the word that sealed your submission.
"I like it, Daddy..."
The belt lowered., but you did not draw a sigh of relief. It was too early for that. Your pussy stung from the hideous slaps heâd given it. And yet, your core felt slick. As if your body actually wanted it. As if he was telling you to say what your body already betrayed. That you wanted it. Him. More.
As if he could read your mind, you heard his low voice grumble. âTell me you want more,â the low command made you want to curl up into a ball and hide your vulnerable flower from his wicked belt.
âI need more,â you said, a breathless whisper as you finally dared to raise your gaze and look at him fully. He stood there, sweating, panting, obviously aroused. The tent in his pants gave it away.
âNeed it,â he sounded pleasantly surprised by your choice of words. Then he dangled the belt towards your pussy, having the leather dip against your slick pussy lips. âNeed my cock in there?â
You squeezed your eyes shut in shame and swallowed. A silent nod was your first reply, but you could tell by the way he pushed the belt against your slick core that it wasnât enough. And so you opened your eyes again to caught his staring, waiting.
âI need your cock,â you said, chest heaving up and down rapidly. âDaddy.â
A pensive hum, voice dripping with lace and sin. âI thought so.â
With your eyes squeezed shut, you could feel it. First, he dipped forth. A warm, wet tongue licked the tears from your cheek.
Then, a low hum.
âDelicious, little one.â
The words made you flinch, though you tried to hide it.
The rough leather edge as it tapped gently against your clit. He was dangling the belt in front of your pussy, letting the leather slip past your sensitive slit, forcing a moan from your lips.
A low laugh escaped him, then he suddenly grew silent.
"Enough," Albert finally whispered, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he lowered the belt. The torment ceased, leaving you shaking and gasping for breath.
He moved closer, cradling your head in his strong hands, forcing you to look into his eyes. His grip was firm, almost painful, but it was the obscenities that escaped his lips that made you feel small and defenseless.
"Such a pathetic little thing," he sneered. "You're nothing without me, you know that?"
Tears welled up in your eyes once more, but you couldn't turn away from his piercing gaze. You tried not to look down at how he palmed his own hard cock through his pants while breathing heavily. You knew he was right, and it shattered what little dignity you had left.
âFuck, those pretty tears of yours,â he murmured. Youâd forgotten he liked it when you cried, and threw him an angry glare.
His laughter was cold and unforgiving as he undid his fly, exposing his hardened length. He looked down at you with predatory eyes, taking in your bound form, the bruises and welts that marked your skin. The tears in your eyes.
You saw him close his eyes for a short moment, throat bobbing as he swallowed, then opened his eyes again and let out a shivering breath. He studied you while he took his cock in his hand and though you tried not to look down at him preparing himself, you couldnât help but catch a glimpse of his hard throbbing shaft. The skin was already purple, the veins angrily popping out, the head leaking in anticipation. Youâd seen him hard before, but never like this.
"Please," you choked out, hoping against hope that some shred of mercy remained within him. But deep down, you knew better.
"Still begging, are you?" he taunted. "You never learn."
"Please don't..." Your voice cracked, fear making it impossible to speak more than a whisper.
"Too late for that," Albert growled, positioning himself between your legs. âIn case youâd forget,â here he hesitated, letting the tip of his shaft brush threateningly past your entrance. âYouâre mine.â
And then, despite your pleas for him to stop, his hips moved forward and he buried his cock deep inside - another act of dominance, another reminder of his control over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the pain, the humiliation, the utter degradation. But there was no escaping it, not when he held you so completely in his grasp.
You whimpered as you trembled underneath him, feeling how his length dipped deep inside, how all his ridges and veins stroked your walls and stole your slick. It was just one thrust to bury himself to the hilt and establish his dominance. But as he slowly moved out, you felt it: all of him. It felt ridiculously good. He was hot, warm, rigid, unyielding. His hips moved fiercely against yours, working his way back into your throbbing pussy.
You felt his teeth as he grinned against your neck while his grip on you tightened.
"Oh, that is so good, little one," he breathed against your ear as he thrust into you, each movement calculated to remind you of your place in his world.
He was ravishing you like a man starved. You could feel it, the passion with which he moved his hips against yours and how the head of his shaft battered your insides without mercy, spurting pre-cum along the way. Â He slipped from your core way too easily, the way now lubed with a mixture of your combined juices. He let out a laugh, making you flinch for his lips were still near your ear.
âYouâre so, so wet,â he breathed, the puff of air sending goosebumps to form on your skin. You closed your eyes and tried to block him out. But he slid in and out of you smoothly, lubing your walls, hitting a spot inside that made your pussy quiver around his hard cock. At first, when he took you, the pain threatened to consume you, each thrust like a burning dagger inside your already bruised and battered body. But as he moved within you, something began to change â the fear and disgust that had been your constant companions began to ebb away, replaced by a twisted kind of pleasure.
"Fuck... why does it feel so..." he gasped out, and you had to agree. You were unable to comprehend the sensations coursing through you. The agony was still there, but it was being overtaken by waves of ecstasy that left you breathless and wanting more.
Without a warning, your walls started to clamp down hard, milking his cock hard and eager, drawing a loud moan from your lips that you were too late to withhold. Your fingers curled above your head, your whole body twisted in the throes of desire. Â
And above you, thrusting still, your masked captor grinned down at you. A droplet of sweat fell from his head upon your half-clad chest â the shirt had ridden up to reveal your breasts.
âThatâs it,â the words were vague, blocked out by the bliss of your orgasm. You felt how his fingers dug deeper into your skin, how his length kept battering your overly sensitive walls as he worked himself towards his own. His thrusts became erratic, and just when you thought you could take it no more, he slammed inside of you hard and buried himself deep. You felt the pulsing of his shaft and the hot warmth that filled you deep inside your tummy.
You caught your breath, body sensitive around his twitching cock. Thatâs when you heard it, the whispered words near your ear. You felt Cheshire grin against your neck and felt how the edge of the mask pressed painfully against your cheek.
"You were made for this," Albert hissed, his fingers biting into your hips hard enough to leave bruises in their wake. "You were born to be my good girl, werenât you?"
His words should have repulsed you, sickened you to your core. Instead, they ignited a spark deep within. Yes, you thought. You felt like you were. Your body was thrumming pleasantly, the afterglow of the orgasm making you feel dozy and warm and â not yourself.
"I know," you admitted, your voice barely audible through your tears. You werenât quite certain if you said it just to please him and save yourself from his ire any longer. You were too tired at this point to fight. "Daddy."
"Good girl," he murmured, propping himself up on his elbows, cock still softening inside your core. His words echoed hauntingly through your mind. You were born to be my good girl. You were made for this. Â
You glanced up at him to meet his blue eyes, cold and hungry and devious. They rested upon you, piercing you, making you feel as small as he always wanted to make you believe that you were. You could see the darkness swirl within them. Something that you couldnât name. He wasnât done yet?
âTell me what you are," he commanded, his voice low and dark, filled with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.
"I'm... I'm yours, Daddy," you whispered, feeling his softening cock twitch at your answer. âI am your good girl.â
"Damn right, you are," he growled. And then, as if nothing had happened, as if the world hadn't just shifted beneath you, he leaned down and pressed a soft, tender kiss to your forehead.
"Good girl," he murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle now. And before you could fully process what was happening, he slid down beside you on the bed, cock slipping out of your core with a squishy sound, his arms wrapping around you in a hold that was almost â almost â comforting.
You felt Albert's fingertips tracing the delicate skin of your bare arms, feather-light touches that sent shivers down your spine. His breath caressed your ear as he whispered words you'd never expected to hear from him.
"Such a beautiful girl," he murmured, his voice low and sultry. "Look at how well you take what I give you."
Your heart pounded in your chest, the sweet words and gentle touches somehow more terrifying than the violence that had come before. But there was something intoxicating about it too, a heady mixture of fear and desire that made it impossible to look away.
"Tell me you love it," he demanded, his fingers tightening around your arm. "Tell me you need it just as much as I do."
"I-I love it," you stuttered, feeling a flush of shame rise in your cheeks. "I need it, Daddy."
"Good girl," he purred, his grip on your arm relaxing as his lips brushed against your neck. The sensation was intoxicating, overwhelming; your world narrowed down to the feel of his mouth on your skin, the warm breath tickling your ear.
"Please," you whimpered, unable to hold back any longer. "Kiss me."
He chuckled softly, clearly pleased with your submission. "As you wish," he breathed against your lips before capturing them in a passionate kiss.
It was a kiss unlike any other, a maelstrom of raw emotion that left you reeling, desperate for more even as you knew you should be pushing him away. But in that moment, wrapped up in Albert's warmth and the sweet lies he whispered into your ear, you couldn't help but feel comforted and loved.
And so you let yourself fall deeper into the darkness, knowing full well that there would be no return.
~
Fin
~
AN: Hope you enjoyed it :) In the days running up to Halloween, I will be posting a few Halloween-themed reader inserts. Some are smutty, some are dark, some or sugary sweet.
Iâm looking for a series (3 parts) and it was dean x reader where the reader was an FBI agent in training and was working with both Sam and dean. The reader gets kidnapped and then Sam and dean save her
Iâm sorry nonnie i was unable to find this in the allotted time. were the boys hunters or FBI as well?
For any followers if this fic sounds familiar please add to the post so we can find this fic for Nonnie
Would you be willing to do a few HCs for how the Shimadas (separate) treat a kidnapped s/o?
this was not supposed to be LONGÂ >:v
(i have no one to blame but myself)Â
   : : :  HANZO:
+Â Keeps you on a very tight leash- and not just to begin with.
+Â Hell hath no fury like a disobeyed Hanzo, and the second you put a toe out of line, his ire will come crashing down around you.
+Â Although heâs an easy master to displease, his anger is cold and calculated. There are no threats, no yelling, no raised fists. No desperate last struggle of cornered prey.
+Â There is only the hard, steely set of his jaw, and the cruel flash of resolve in his eyes. Frigid terror has its claws around your throat long before you feel the brush of soft leather clamping down on your windpipe.
+Â With the expectation of absolute obedience, defying him is no easy task.
+Â He is clinical in giving punishment; an unyielding wall of authority, unmoved by begging, sobbing, and pleading. And yet, he hates to see his property damaged or marred.
+Â Even at his most infuriated, heâll never leave a mark on you. Ice baths, figging, menthol oil, being bound in stress positions- anything that will deliver a strong, lasting lesson without the gruesome evidence on your skin. Rest assured, you wonât need bruises or welts to remind you of the consequences that come with disobedience.
+Â But, like all else in the universe, everything must have balance - even Hanzo. Wrathful when provoked, Hanzo can also be an extremely rewarding master to please. His praise is hard-won, and his affections warm and generous. He is the Occamâs Razor of strict discipline and gentle doting.Â
+Â Isolated and at his whim, Hanzo will become the be-all && end-all of your world.
+ No matter how rebellious, how headstrong or determined you areâŠ
+Â Hanzo will bring you to heel.
  : : :  GENJI:
+Â The second he has you in his clutches, youâll be sweaty and panting face-down on the floorboards with his knee in your spine and his voice in your ear. An impassive stranger sits with a buzzing needle against your skin, stamping you irrevocably as his property.
+Â You sob and shake as he violates your very being and removes your personhood, fingernails clawing up the worn finish of the wood and trying so hard to make yourself be anywhere but here, in this awful, humiliating room where time has abandoned you- but his hands soothe your sweaty hair and along your ribs like heâs calming a wild-eyed, frothing animal, and he tells you youâre doing so well. That it will be over soon, and youâll be his forever. Just a little longer. Youâre so close.
+Â Genji doesnât tie you to the bedpost, doesnât rule you with an iron first the way his brother might. He thrives on the chase, loves it when you fight tooth and nail- heâll let you taste the hope of freedom, let you almost, almost make it- then swoop in for the kill.
+Â Heâll wrap an arm around your shoulders, holding you close like a lover, laugh like youâre sharing a private, intimate joke. Heâll steer you home, somehow effortless even as you kick and scream and feel the light of day slipping through your fingers again.
+  âWhere were you going? Thereâs nothing out there, babe- not for you, not anymore.â
+Â He doesnât strive to force you into obedience or teach you your place like Hanzo would- complacency is boring and predictable. Genji keeps you just barely contained, something truly wild and bright and desperate that he can catch over and over, savoring each time he reigns you back in and your fight is renewed. This way, the light never really goes out in your eyes, but heâs still trapped you; a captive, untamed thrill.
+Â Genji is the more emotionally attached of the two Shimada brothers, as well. By nature, heâs more volatile, but youâre something precious and vulnerable that can never escape him, and in this way youâre the only thing he can invest all of his thoughts, affections, and hopes into. He can be raw and exposed, because youâre his.
+Â He loves you sincerely, and the more time you spend in his clutches the more tame he becomes. Because heâs decided this is a relationship, and even if youâre shackled to him, wings clipped and claws trimmed, he loves you and eventually youâll have to love him back, anyways, right? Itâs the only choice you have.
Summary: New chaos has risen, Eve has come back due to a simple warding failure and now TeamFreeWill is looking for someone that Chuck has sent them to find, as she is the key to defeating Eve once and for all- the only catch is, this isnât just any ordinary girl.Â
Warnings:Â âKidnappedâ Reader, Sarcasm, Drunk! Gabriel & Dean
Authors Note: Still trying to upload the rest of the story that Iâve written so far... If you have any feedback, questions or comments- you can leave them in my box! :D <3 Love you Guys, hope your day is great!
Previous Chapters: Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 .
Once Sam had gotten the girl and Cas in the car- they drove down a few blocks towards downtown before Sam turned down an alley and parked- the girl began to question what he was doing, starting to panic in the back- especially when she noticed the back doors were locked from the inside, âLook- we donât need you for any investigation- hey, hey, calm down! Weâre not murders pr anything! We just need your help- we need you for information- itâs just not for the FBI or any formal investigation. Weâre not going to the police station, I just thought Iâd be honest with you.â Sam said out of curtesy for the girl, since he didnât enjoy lying to people.
Castiel eventually had to make the girl âgo to sleepâ- due to her continual panicked state- or knock her out, whichever sounded better. Once theyâd gotten to the motel, they took the girl out of car, securely holding onto her arms and shoulders. Once they got inside they threw her on the bed and locked the door, ready to start questioning as sheâd woken up when they had taken her out of the car.
âWhat do you know about Eve?â Castiel was direct, not wanting to waste any time- as time was running out.
âEve? Who the hell is Eve? i donât know anyone named Eve!â She cried and sat up, still- so as not to rouse any unwanted actions by moving sporadically.
âEve- like Adam and Eve- you know the Bible verse, right? I mean, I do believe that is common knowledge of most people today still, correct?â Castiel countered, turning to Sam for an answer- to which he nodded. Sam took his jacket off and pushed up his sleeves, looking evermore dangerous and sat at the table near the window, Castiel still stood by the door, making sure the girl wouldnât escape. Sam questioned Casâ approach as he didnât think this would get them anywhere useful in any short amount of time- which is all they had now and days.
âOkay- no, no. Letâs not start it like this Cas- as much as I like the approach, we donât even know her name- let alone why Chuck would tell us that she was the one who would help us get the upper-hand on Eve. So, whatâs your name?â Sam turned his attention away from Cas and directed the question towards her.
âUh- Lyla, Lyla Marcus.â She replied, twiddling her thumbs ever so often, trying not to make too much eye contact with her âcapturesâ as she thought of them.
âThatâs Bullshit- you know it, and I know it- so tell us the truth.â Sam wasnât playing around- he was tired of this familys crap. Castiel began to read into whether or not what she was saying was the truth.
âFine- fine, itâs Gillian, Gillian Thompson.â She replied honestly as Cas had read it- she then rose her head to glare at Sam in the eyes. âAnd I donât know anything about a girl named Eve- even with knowing the Bible verse.â She said the last part with annoyance, as if it were the most stupid question a person could ask.
âOkay Gillian... Just- just wait here a moment while I talk with my partner.â Sam affirmed before getting up and whispering to Cas his plan, âChuck said to get her right? Thatâs it? Now we need to bring her back- we can just keep her locked in the bunker and then move on to Step two, letâs just do that.â Castiel shook his head in disagreement as Gillian watched them bicker over whatever they were planning, finally coming to a conclusion: they wouldnât go to the bunker immediately because they didnât want to have to deal with her and Dean- so theyâd see if there were any nearby hunts first and give Dean some time to cool off.
--------------------------------------------
The hunt was uneventful- just a poltergeist, which was easy- they took it out in about an hour once theyâd gathered all the information, and headed home despite the constant protest and whining coming from the âkidnappedâ backseat passenger. âStop whining, youâre not being kindnapped for the fiftieth time!â Sam continued to become increasingly irritated with this girl.
Once they had gotten back to the bunker- a mini-hell seemed to have broken loose. Not only was Dean drunk, but he had found an old friend- and interestingly enough, neither Sam nor Cas was too shocked to see this âfriendâ- though the capacity to comprehend why Dean wouldâve possibly brought him back to the bunker alluded both Sam and Cas as theyâd known the âfriendsââ past feelings towards each other.
âI found him at the titty bar downtown- he was gambling with some no-hosers and I figured I had to see if he was actually, well- him! I mean, dude- we thought you were dead! Even though I hate you...â Dean grumbled in his wasted state, which was not so normal anymore- for Dean to be drunk- or maybe it was... Sam hadnât really been paying that much attention to Deans drinking anymore, at least, not lately.
âWell Sammy, itâs nice to see ya buddy-olâ pal! And Cassy! What a great surprise! Still hanging out with these dirt monkeys, huh? Well! Thatâs not too surprising, Iâll give ya that! And whoâs this?! We have NOT met before! Iâm Gabriel, pleasure to meet you buttercup. Are you one of the Winchesters new âfriendsâ?â The man wiggled his eyebrows before grabbing Gillians hand and twirling her around before dropping her hand and retreating to his seat at the Librarys table.
âI thought angels couldnât get drunk?â Sam joked to Cas, âEspecially- not Archangels.â Sam bumped Casâ shoulder, before going to take a seat on the couch.
âWait- did you say Winchester?â Gillian seemingly asked out of the blue, capturing the attention of everyone as she held her arms, being nervous surrounded by a bunch of unknown men in an unknown, new place.
âYeah, why?â Gabriel questioned, seeming intrigued, as was there rest of the fellow men in the room, they all stopped their side-conversations and listened for her answer.
âLike the rifle, right?â She answered- but to one ones surprise she just curious, but something changed, in her thoughts, in her demeanor- something was different.
âWell she canât stay!â Dean exclaimed while stumbling towards the hall to his bedroom.
âShe is!â Castiel and Sam yelled back, before helping Gillian to a room, making sure he was secured and âsafeâ.
âWhatever, I donât care as long- but youâre dealing with her!â Dean gave a final remark before probably passing out on his bed.
Hey love! Iâm so happy to see a new blog and I can feel that youâre already a favorite ;). Ok so, Iâm a 5â10 Mexican girl with a sharp tongue. I have a big heart and always help where I can. Iâm tough when I need to be and I donât let people walk over me, choosing to call them out loud af. Some of my hobbies are reading, having adventures with my friends, and learning about history. Can I have this be with s76? (Or anyone who you think would fit me bc tbh idk how to match myself) thank you!! <3
          HOW WOULD THEY BREAK YOU? ( CLOSED )  -  13 / 21
Having adventures with your friends? Are you guys like, slaying dragons? Fighting crime? Getting lost on the subway system in the rough part of town?
I guess the only important question here is: can I come with? I want to have adventures.
Rating: Sa/fe for W/ork
Warnings:Â Extreme social isolation, emotional abuse, nonconsensual use of drugs, needles/medical equipment, implied drug dependency, military themes, physical exertion, use of a shock collar. Jack is a little too methodical and efficient with this shit, but if weâre being honest thatâs really not surprising.
                   ---------------------------------------------------------
SOLDIER 76:
Why heâd work well with you: (because I do think he would!)
- Part of what draws him to you is your earnest, empathetic heart. Normally that soft, giving attitude would be found on someone sensitive and understated, but youâre a hell of a far cry from a pushover. You stand up for yourself (and even others) without a second thought, and he canât shake his fascination with that easy, natural strength.
- Perhaps, in some ways, you remind him of who he used to be.
- Taming you will be one of the greater challenges heâs faced in life, but he didnât survive the Enhancement Program for lack of will and fortitude. He overcame the serum, he overcame the collapse of Overwatch, and heâll overcome you, too.
- There may be some bloodshed between the two of you, in that you are so like Gabriel that sometimes he just loses it. But every time you hold your own, he remembers why he had to have you.
- Although your thirst for mental stimulation, for information, may run you into some trouble with 76, it also makes you quite adept at solving the puzzle that is him. Once you get a handle on his personality, his moods, and, maybe if you play your cards right, his history-- youâll find yourself equipped not only to handle him, but to hold your own as well.
- If all ends well, the two of you will be on the same level, able to keep each other engaged and challenged.
                  ---------------------------------------------------------
How heâd break you:
- In many ways, your life begins a lot like youâve entered a bootcamp you definitely did not enlist for.
- For the first few weeks, you donât even see your captor. An alarm blares shrill and angry in your eardrums at fuck oâclock in the morning (or at least, you assume it is. thereâs no natural light to indicate time), and a bodiless voice pushes you through a series of menial, exhausting physical tasks.
- The handy little collar secured around your neck ensures that itâs in your best interest to obey. On days youâre particularly unruly or rebellious, the labor drags on for hours longer than usual. When dinner comes through the little slot in the door thatâs built like itâd be the last thing standing in a nuclear fallout, itâs a gray, tasteless gruel.
- You shiver through the night on a cheap, scratchy cot with a thin, standard-issue infantry blanket, and you start to wonder if you actually have somehow ended up in a military prison.
- The voice is not sympathetic to your questions, and is overall unresponsive. Your only indication of being watched by a real human being, is the jarring zap your collar delivers when you misbehave.
- And then, after so long that youâre sure your missing persons posters have begun to peel off their walls and bulletin boards, hope lost and then forgotten-- your meals begin to improve. Less meatloaf and veggie loaf and other loafed atrocities, and more meals that have flavor. Meals that leave you feeling full and sated.
- After one particularly filling dinner, you feel groggy. Unbalanced, nauseous, weak in the knees. Distantly, you think you should have known better than to trust this new development.
- You wake up to a soft bed and a warm body spooning you from behind. When you think to fight, jerking away and thrashing, thereâs a deep sigh and a sleepy grumble from the stranger. You recognize that voice, dread filling you to the core, and before you can do much more than scramble to your feet, he has you wrestled down to the floor with the cap of a syringe in his teeth and a needle in your shoulder.
- This time whatever he gives you isnât strong enough to knock you out, but you canât do much more than feebly stumble towards any door you can find. Theyâre always locked, but you try and try until large, firm hands steer you away. The world is a hazy mess, pieces of memory constantly shifting like snapshots of a dream.
- Youâre certain no one is looking for you anymore, and no matter how much you hate him, how much you loathe him, the man that haunts you in this nightmare is the only human youâve seen in months. Maybe longer.
- He holds you close when you canât fight him, rubs gentle hands over your back and shoulders and lets his simple touch remind you how bone-achingly lonely you are.Â
- When he starts to ease you off the sedatives, it doesnât take long for you to notice. Suddenly the world isnât cloudy, everything is so crisp and clear and loud and bright, and half of you wants to run until your legs give out while the other half wants to curl back up underneath that blanket of soothing, muffled fog.
- He tells you itâs going to be alright, you just have to adjust to things normally again. Says you might be in withdrawal, but youâll get through it. Both of you.Â
-Â Paltry resistances wrack the tenuous relationship heâs forming with you, but whenever you fall asleep on the bathroom floor, exhausted from crying and from feeling everything and nothing at all, you wake up the same as you did that first morning.
- Privileges come slow and steady, a book here and a movie there. Things to do while heâs gone. He even tolerates some pushback, will entertain an argument, even a fight or a struggle. Although heâs wearing you down hard and mercilessly, he does have fun when that sharp-tongued personality begins to show itself once more.
- However, stepping over the line once or twice too many times has you waking on a rickety cot in a sealed room, familiar band around your neck. It doesnât matter when you sob or beg or rock on your heels for hours, curled in a ball on the floor. You serve your sentence in his hellish bootcamp, for however long his whims have decided. You never know how long it will be, only that you have no choice but to endure until heâs satisfied.
- And when you return to waking in that familiar bed, comfortable and warm and finally not alone, you begin to wonder if resistance is worth the price- or if this is really so bad, after all.
Hi um Iâm a female really short and petite with long brown hair and soft facial features Likes: video games, reading, exercise( all introvertedthings) Dislikes: being yelled at(but you can include it in the fic) Iâm really quite and shy and donât smile much. I like sticking to a strict routine, any deviations from it gives me anxieties. I work hard to be the best at anything I do otherwise Iâm not good enough so Iâm really harsh on myself. Also I need a lot of praise and validation from others
         HOW WOULD THEY BREAK YOU? ( CLOSED )  â  7 / 21
I really enjoyed this one, because Soldier normally employs an aggressively disciplinarian strategy. Getting to explore how he differs based on a quieter, softer personality was really fun! This is a little disorganized though, sorry;;
Rating: Sa/fe for w/ork
Warnings: The normal stuff- forced dependency, slight infantilization, emotional manipulation, insidious nurturing because apparently thatâs a thing now, anxiety, manipulation using mental health issues, hella stockholm syndrome, etc.
                     ââââââââââââââââââ
SOLDIER 76:
Why heâd work well with you:
- He doesnât have to treat you like an unruly recruit. You call for a different approach, and itâs a relaxing change of pace.
- Youâre quiet. Reserved. Coming home to companionable silence is⊠nice.
- You crave structure, need the reassurance of order and routine- and he lives and breathes routine.
- Anxiety gives him an angle to encourage your reliance on him, to seek comfort in his consistency and control. There are no surprises. The rules are the same. The routine is the same. His expectations donât waver.
- That hard-working attitude is a definite way to earn brownie points. Soldier will ease up on you the more he sees that spirit in you, and finds that it leaves him wanting to teach you new things.
- Heâd make you exercise anyways, so at least dragging you to the gym wonât make you miserable.
                    ââââââââââââââââââ
How heâd break you:
- Soft words and a firm hand. And he loves every minute of it.
- You start off with a few gracious privileges, but zero trust.
- He leaves behind books and other ways to keep yourself entertained while heâs gone during the day, and later lets you earn a few video games- not without some grumbling, though.
- Things like clean changes of clothes and relative privacy are granted to you, but he makes it clear they can be taken away.
- When you step out of line, all he has to do is raise his voice. You crumble like milktoast, and heâs even convinced your apologies are sincere.
- Conditions you to look forward to his return each afternoon. Tries to give you reasons to enjoy his presence, like bringing books or other things he thinks youâd like.
- Makes a show of controlling different aspects of your life. At mealtimes, he decides what you eat. Establishes set times for when itâs lights out, and in the beginning you go to bed long before he does. Heâll sit in bed, legs stretched across the mattress with a book in his lap, and wait for you to fall asleep.
- Showers you with praise when he finds you exercising of your own volition, and starts taking you to the gym with him every morning. Itâs early enough to resent, but the gym is a precious time spent out of his quarters.
- Eventually, you find yourself happy to do or accept things that you donât necessarily like yourself, but that were bestowed to you as a show of fragile trust that you dare not scorn.
- Having to yell at you is rare, but on the occasion it happens, he coaxes you into his arms and rubs your back, murmuring soft comforts in your ear.
- All of your needs are fulfilled through him, and him alone. Your routine is dependent on him in every aspect, and he makes you crave the structure of his authority and care.
- Doesnât like that youâre hard on yourself, but knows heâll be hard-pressed to condition it out of you. Itâs the ugly child of anxiety and a hard-working attitude, but he still praises you when youâve done well.
- Fills that need for praise and validation like you wouldnât believe. Youâre not the type to be broken down and rebuilt with punishment and anger. Instead, he gives his approval in small, precious increments. It makes you glow contently and crave more, all at the same time. Affection and praise are his tools.
- Giving you affection is a careful balancing act, but itâs one heâs confident in. Never too much or too little, but always just enough to break down your defenses and make you seek him out for more.
- Breaking you isnât an actual process of breaking, as most come to know it. Nurturing dependency and safety are the key to reshaping you. He stockholm syndromes the shit out of you.
- Occasionally, but rarely, designs a situation to stir up anxiety and panic. Just when you need a push in your progress. Heâll disappear from you in the halls, leaving you lost and completely alone in a massive base, or break routine under the guise of duties or emergency, and let you stew on your own for a while. Other times, heâll leave for a mission without a word- simply never coming back at the end of the day, or even not returning for a few days at a time if the mission calls for it.
- Allows you to cling to him for comfort and reassurance when he rescues you or comes home, often letting you sprawl in his lap and bury yourself in his chest.
- Freedoms are given bit by bit. You get to tag along at his side to different places, and eventually are given permission to certain rooms and areas, so long as he knows where you are.
- Soldier knows when to be harsh and when to be a firm, undeniable force. Heâll slowly fill all the little holes that you didnât realize were leaving you so empty, and make you want to earn his praise. Playing on your weaknesses and making you need him is a slow, steady game. It requires a great deal of patience, but is greatly effective. Over time, youâll be completely dependent on him to fill all of your needs and care for you absolutely. He is the only constant in your world, the only person you can trust wholly and completely.
- And this is how youâre broken. Not with pain. Not with fear.
