Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
The harsh walls of your cell were growing smaller, the surface so stark it hurt your eyes to stare for too long. The quiet pressed against your eardrums like an invisible pressure, becoming so unbearable that you would scrape the bottom of your boots against the floor just to break the deafening silence.
You didn’t want to think about him. You didn’t want to acknowledge that his visit—and what he had done to you during it—had eased your torment and made the suffering more bearable. At least, for a short amount of time. Was this some new kind of torture? Give you a respite from the terror and isolation only to make it that much worse when you were left alone?
If that was the case, it was working. Your muscles were tensed into coils and you could feel your heartbeat pounding your chest, thumping like a caged rabbit. You wanted to get up and pace to burn the excess energy, but the part of you that still held onto Rumlow’s teachings told you to wait. Conserve energy, rest, and prepare. Always be prepared.
But the hypervigilance was wearing on you too. As you sat slumped against the wall, your mind began to wander, treading dangerous ground as it desperately searched for something to latch on to. If the assassin was acting under orders, at least you knew where you stood with him. He was your tormentor and you were the imprisoned. He would break you down eventually, using your need for comfort as a weapon against you.
But, what if… what if he was acting alone? If he had come to your cell of his own volition, acting on no authority but his own, that was even more dangerous. It made him unpredictable. Someone with a hidden agenda.
this horror, dread, and violence all pair a little too comfortably for this will they, won’t they thing going on. it makes everything so much moreromantic.
your humanity was a joke in this place; the punchline an unmarked shallow grave. that isart.☝
jesus. i thought the description of him as a cold, merciless, feral beast, as death itself was too much, but this? his stance tensed and withdrawn, he looked like a downtrodden dog who had been beaten one too many times. it somehow pains me more. i ache greatly, deeply.
it’s like he acts more humanthe longer he spends time with her. do you think he would furrow his brows before her, in his day to day?
the way his eyes widen in surprise when she grabs him by his gear. god.there’s something so cute about that. he is taken off guard when she manhandles him roughly.
for how imposing and terrifying he is, i love how softyou make him when it comes to being touched. how he eyes her hand like a weapon, gripping her shoulders more tightly until it almost hurts, trembling fingers and uneven breathing. wary, to confused, to uneasy. dear god.
and the way you purposefully give him a more human description when she unmasks him. gentle, handsome, sorrowful eyes, something soft and sadly sweet.
heartbreakingis a perfect descriptor for this: most startling of all was when his eyes became unfocused, half-lidded, and almost fluttered shut as he actually leaned into your touch. the sadness he is cloaked in: marveling at the way he couldn’t seem to get enough. as if he craved it. needed it. + when your thumb stroked lightly across his cheekbone, he gave a noticeable shiver.
and then: his lips. his LIPS.
my baby is about to become a fully fledged person. he was born out of his skin because of her.god.
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
The next time you opened your eyes, you had the sense you hadn’t slept for a full night. Regardless, you felt… better. Your fever had broken, your arm no longer throbbed, and you were alert and clear-headed.
The assassin hadn’t injected you with anything harmful. He had given you a shot of antibiotics.
You pressed your lips tight together as your eyes burned again, shame creeping through you at the pathetic reaction. He had been instructed to keep you alive, that was all. It didn’t mean anything, and it certainly didn’t make up for all of your dead teammates. It didn’t erase Mr. Kartal’s grisly death, or the fact the assassin had brought you here in the first place.
But… his actions didn’t make sense, either. The lab coats had been more than happy to let your wound rot. Or had that been a hallucination? A combination of fever and pain and narcotics? Sometimes you wondered if the torture in and of itself wasn’t a delusion. Nothing in that room felt real.
this chapter makes me want to cackle and rub my hands together. i am going to become the joker, but only for good reasons.
i want so much to know what is going on inside his head. what was the first moment something in him shifted for her? is there conscious thought behind his actions or does he move by instinct? why does he only ever come to her with some sort of disguise?
it was time. the passage of it was like a constant pressure on your thumbnails and eyeballs. it kept you suspended above a pit of vipers. it held you down on a bed of nails. there was no respite to be found from the constant, innumerable seconds that drew out your misery like the grim note of a funeral dirge.
so in response to that fucking masterpiece right there, i found this from a brandedcomment:
knowing what comes later, her prayers and borderline worship of rumlow is particularlysad. they share so much history that she instinctively knows he’s looking for her.
and there’s no way i can come up with anything coherent to say about what happens next.
how he wordlessly says to her, i’m going to stand here until you eat. there is something inthat, there is something tothat. this one quote here: i love you. i want us both to eat well. [from our beautiful life when it’s filled with shrieks.]
and the way he speaks to her through touch, and the violence and rage she throws back at him. fuck your food and fuck your medicine and fuck your fake-fucking-compassion.
what is he thinking? what is he thinking? for all his rage, all his tragedy, he initiates these touches. what is happening in his mind as he brushes his thumb over her neck? she goes to move, but he tightens his grip on her to keep her in place. what is he thinking?
the peaceful surrender in this: you closed your eyes and tilted your head back, surrendering to the sensations and forgetting where you were. nothing mattered aside from his fingers that were stroking life back into you after you had consigned yourself to a painful, lonely death.
god, i think the world of this. i think the world of you.
he really went to see her, tried to get her to eat by refusing to leave, held her fighting body against his, made her come, and left. what a fucking dork.
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
The second time the men come to your cell, your struggles were far weaker than before. You had a suspicion as to why, and it was confirmed by the lab coats as they began to pump drugs into the IV catheter in your hand.
“She has a fever of one-hundred and two.”
“Irrelevant. She’s nearly ready for the procedure.”
“Will she survive it if that wound festers?”
“If the procedure succeeds, she will be able to survive more than that. Proceed.”
“Hail HYDRA.”
The words washed over you without meaning; the narcotics had already hit your bloodstream, and you floated in the euphoria before the pain began, shooting lightning into your skull and down into the roots of your very being.
When next you opened your eyes you were back in your cell, lying on the mat with the echoes of screams in your ears. You couldn’t remember how you got there, and you weren’t sure if the memory of screams were yours or the remnants of a bad dream.
Seeing as how your life had become a nightmare, maybe the answer didn’t matter.
this quiet, unrelenting horror! this inevitability of death and the abandonment of hope!
she’s clinical even in the way she analyzes her deteriorating mental state, like it’s not happening to her.
and the way hydra is good if she lives or succumbs to infection. the way they don’t care if she’s particularly healthy enough to withstand their treatments.
how she falls apart with this: when next you opened your eyes you were back in your cell, lying on the matt with the echoes of screams in your ears. you couldn’t remember how you got there, and you weren’t sure if the memory of screams were yours or the remnants of a bad dream. god, that’s terrifying.
she’s like, not this fucking freak with the metal arm. what are you gonna do, touch my cheek again? breathe unevenly at me? storm out of the room like a moody teenager?
i’m weak for that trope where A hesitantly reaches out for B like they’re reaching towards a feral animal. it’s so romantic.
and he visciously stabs her with a needle in return! god, there’s not understanding social cues, and then there’s brutally jamming a syringe into someone’s thigh.
you knew the signs of mental deteriorating from isolation and torture. you should have seen it coming, but you hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly. and yes, maybe a small arrogant part of you had thought you were tough enough to resist the effects of such abuse.
the talent that you have … many thoughts … not all of them coherent … but … they’re all an outpour of love.
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
Chapter Warnings: Intimidating sexual tension, brief suicidal ideation
The torture seemed to go on forever. There was no end in sight. No one to help you. No one who even knew where you were. There was only you and the white-hot agony that was so much worse than simple pain. It threaded down into your thoughts, wrenched at your memories, conflagrated your hopes and dreams and left them as piles of ash.
You still didn’t understand what they had done to you. Even as you were dragged back into your cell and dumped on the concrete floor like a garbage sack, you couldn’t come to terms with what had happened. It felt like someone had taken your brain out of your skull, mashed it in their hands like dough, and shoved it back in.
it was only you and the white-hot agony. it threaded down into your thoughts, wrenched at your memories, conflagrated your hopes and dreams and left them as piles of ash.whew.
you still didn’t understand what they had done to you. even as you were dragged back into your cell and dumped on the concrete floor like a garbage sack, you couldn’t come to terms with what had happened. it felt like someone had taken your brain out of your skull, mashed it in their hands like dough, and shoved it back in. oh … god. i can’t tell you how pretty that is to me. how perfect.
jesus. i’m not kidding you. every line in this reads like poetry.
you had caught a glimpse of him as they dragged you; he had been watching from the shadows, face obscured by darkness rather than a mask. you could remember seeing his eyes, cold and colorless in the pale light. it was exactly how you imagined the face of death would look like. okay, let’s pause here and re-assess, okay? watching from the shadows, a mask for him all the same. my god. eyes cold + colorless in the pale light. exactly how you imagined the face of death. okay. god.GOD.and also, what if he actually was though? like what if he actually like … was death, you know? like wouldn’t that be so crazy?
look, i’m not done, okay? because you have to know what you did: and yet, when you had passed him in the corridor, you remembered doing … something. what was it? you had said something to him. pled with him. begged. “please…” i love how this is tinged with terror and agony. it’s how her brain is already falling apart. her recall is already damaged. it’s quietly devastating.
even how she comes to the conclusion that shield has a gigantic fucking rat infestation, that’s terrifying. how! do! you! do! this! how is there such purpose for everything! you weave in all kinds of horror elements. i don’t know, i feel like there’s subtleties differentiating terror, fear, and dread. and you bring them in at different times, to different extents, and often all at once. god. i’m shaking my fist, but it’s not out of anger.
and here comes death himself. boy, i fucking tell ya. how she immediatelyis seized by fear. the way you write him in this scene. goggles gone, you wondered if they might have been better than seeing those cold eyes back at you; bordered by black paint, the blue of his irises almost feral, the mask contributing to the impression of a muzzled beast.
god. DAMN. i’m biting my fist. i’m crying my eyes out. i’m writing a will. you need to know. you needto know. a muzzled beast … the way she thinks maybe the eye piece was less terrifying .. black paint around his eyes … looking almost feral … oh.
it was the eyes that made your insides churn with dread. that fear, that terror, that dread, how absolute they all are.
his fucking silenceis … divine.
no, ‘cause he just … he stroked her cheek. he just stroked her cheek. he just … he lightly grazed the path of her tears. as in … where she cried. he just traced it with his fingertips. shockingly gentle, almost tender. + his breathing, a moment ago stable and methodical, was now uneven. strained. it even hitched when you turned your head enough to meet his eye. and that’s when you saw the second startling thing. his pupils were blown large and black … like they actually saw you.
he just … gently, perhaps tenderly … strokes her cheek, in the path of her tears. his breathing goes uneven, strained, and has the good goddamn audacitytohitch. all because she looks him in the eye. and then she sees his pupils are dilated. no. no. because there’s no way a cheek graze ((that followed the path of her tears, might i remind you)) is taking me out like this. ain’t no way. no.
i need to talk about this or else i will burst. i know later he comes in to treat her wounds, and um, do other stuff, but this here? he walks in. she’s only able to get a good kick in before he overpowers her, like she’s an ant trying to fight off the boot of a god. he holds her still … touches her cheek, tracing the path of her tears. breathes unevenly, hitching when she eventually meets his gaze. his pupils dilated with desire, with want. and then he storms out, slamming the door behind him.
he … sees something of himself in her? like, he’s spent all this time being tortured, rearranged, and reassembled, alone. and there she is, being dragged down the same path he was forced on. only he is aware and he knows. he has had no instinct to show true, genuine, non-robotic emotion until her.until this, until now. he knows what that pain feels like and wants to comfort her through it. ugh. ugh. UGH!what hozier song is this?!
reading how he stared at her and touched her, it feels frozen. like everything in the story stops. all those hydra nazis freeze in place. there’s so much gravity, momentum, to that small movement. and how after he slams the door shut, he touches where he touched her. like.
the way you covered this trope - something among the lines of, character A kisses character B’s cheek or something like that and then leaves, and B brings their hand to the place where A touched them. my fucking god.
even the way he storms out of the room is so much to me.
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
You awoke with a start, limbs jerking as you opened your eyes to find a bare concrete ceiling above you. While remaining completely still, you took quick stock of yourself: you were tired, thirsty, cold, and your upper right arm throbbed in time with your heartbeat. Slowly and with great care, you sat up and panned your head to assess your new situation.
You were in a small room of some kind, an isolation cell by the looks of it. A single bulb behind a cage illuminated your stark surroundings. There was barely anything in the way of furnishings, a combination sink/toilet, a thin sleeping mat, and a door made up its entirety. It was steel and had a small square window in the top.
The more you examined the cell, the more convinced you were that you were in an actual prison or some kind of correctional facility. The air was stale, chilly, and carried a sour hint of mold.
You looked down at your arm and winced. You had been stripped of your vest and long-sleeve shirt, leaving you only in your black tank and tac pants. You could see the wound clearly, a nasty gash tacky with dried blood, and while the wound itself had clotted it was clear it had been left untreated.
There was no way to tell how much time had gone by—nor if you were still in New York. You weren’t hungry and your thirst wasn’t enough to convince you that more than a couple of hours had passed. But you had no doubt that HQ would be looking for you by now.
You had reasonable expectations when it came to your chance of survival. Whoever had taken you had also divested you of your radio and cell phone. If they were smart, they would have done so at the scene before taking you away.
No, not they. Him. He was the one who had taken you. The assassin with the metal arm.
i don’t know how many times i can say that i love how you write without it sounding less meaningful each time. but i just truly, truly fucking love how you write. i love every last thing about it. i love how sheassesses.
the utter horrorof this: there were, however, only two reasons he would have spared your life: to pry you for information, or for a hostage exchange. and shield didn’t negotiate with terrorists. every agent going into the field knew that. it was expected that if you were caught behind enemy lines and you couldn’t be extracted, you kept your mouth shut until the bitter end. the last chapter, how i said you write with such knowing. you’re so good with language. and i think that’s why this story, and all of your work, feels so immersive.
look at all these spy words: a bare concrete ceiling; a small room of some kind; a single bulb to illuminate it; bare furnishings; you could see the wound clearly, a nasty gash tacky with dried blood, and while the wound itself had clotted it was clear it had been left untreated; no way to tell how much time had gone by, but the way she deduces from the lack of hunger & thirst it had been no longer than a couple hours; HQ; the winter chill that pervaded the room; caught behind enemy lines; extracted; keep your mouth shut until the bitter end; the way her mind immediately goes into strategizing mode each time she opens her eyes.
shield had access to every sort of intelligence available on the planet. satellite with various imaging filters. access to highway cams. the vehicles themselves would have sent an automatic distress signal as soon as they had been damaged. no doubt your SO would use every resource available to find you. i’m telling you, i’m there right now.
god, and she immediatelykicks ass, disoriented, injured, and all. i get the image of bloodied, gritted teeth. surviving out of spite. fueled by rage.
and truly, if i picked out every last detail that i loved, i would straight up fucking quote this entire chapter ((and all chapters)) word by word. i’m trying not to do that, but you make it hard. i love how you describe this: they pulled you along at a brutal pace, led down corridor after corridor, leading you somewhere else. everything here screams death and inevitability, blankness and nothingness.
this torture room - how you write it the way she analyzes it - matter of factly, seriously - how she clocks item by item manually, on autopilot - each description is infused withhorror. it’s scary. it’s gothic.
this is something else entirely: but the centerpiece of the room was a particular chair. it had restraints along the arm and leg rests, but what drew your eye was the machine behind it. there was a mismatched headpiece hanging above it, its proportions large enough to fit around a human head. just looking at it made you shiver. [just reading this makes Me shiver.] +it was only a piece of metal, but it looked predatory. and hungry.
it was only a piece of metal, but it looked predatory. and hungry. my god. that is such poetry to me, man. it looked predatory. hungry.
you pressed your lips together, not allowing them to tremble as your heart beat frantically in your chest. you tried to remember as many details of their faces as you could on the off-chance you survive long enough for a debriefing. my god. my god. mygod. it is as i said, everything here, infused with horror. not allowing them to tremble. tried to remember as many details of their faces as you could. the off-chance you survived long enough for a debriefing. god. ghostly, how haunting that feels.
am i, like … notsupposed to fixate on this?: then the screaming started. and it took some time, drowning as you were in a haze of electric agony, to realize that the screaming was your own. i mean, holy effing shit, dude. you’ve gotta be kidding me. ain’t no way, man. ain’t no way. jesus.
Pairing: The Winter Soldier x S.H.I.E.L.D. agent!Reader
Summary: With your team dead and your mission failed, you’ve been taken by the assassin to an unknown location and are at the mercy of your cruel tormentors. (This fic is explicit, 18+ only, mild dubcon)
Relocate the Kartal family from their house in the Hamptons to a S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house. Simple. You had run the scenario a hundred times with other members of your team.
It should have been simple. That’s what you told yourself as you hid Mrs. Kartal and her son behind a rusted tractor, wiping Mr. Kartal’s blood out of your eyes and checking to see how much ammo was left in your P226. You had already run out of magazines for the Glock, spent in vain to try and stop the man who had attacked your convoy.
Not a squad. Not an enemy raid. Your entire team had been killed and the primary escort target had had his brains blown out inches away from your face.
i have loved this story for a very, very long time. i’ve thought of it often. i’ve replayed it out in my head before i go to sleep. i have theorized, i have analyzed the text like a bible. i have sat down so many times to write out my love for this story. i’m a criminal for taking so long. i just worry that i won’t be able to convey it all, you know? you have shared something so precious i feel paralyzed that i can’t give you anything worth giving in return.
it’s like you have superpowers. i don’t know what it is. for this story specifically, i get such main character vibes. a strong lead in an indie movie with bits of blood, horror, and action thrown in. jesus, the way you write this. i’m watching an action movie.
the format in which you date it, begin with a straightforward op, relocate the kartal family. everything is backed and organized into neat little boxes. it’s so straightforward it’s practically clinical. it does so much to show the reader’s needfor control - emotionally, professionally. it is how she doesn’tlose her mind and how she stays alive. you always, always speak and write with such purpose. my love.
i am always thrilled to read in-depth, plot-driven pieces like this. the way the author speaks with such knowing,suchtruth.if you told me you were a survivalist or had personal knowledge of guns or weaponry, i would believe you, easily. that would make so much sense in my mind. i can see it in your work, the way in which you write this. i feel so there. i feel imbeddedinto the story. i feel swept off my feet, with how you write.
even though things are very fast paced and everything is quickly, immediately dissolving into unmanageable chaos, you handle it with such even pace. i just feel like everything is so perfect. you have the exact amount of detail needed. you don’t weigh anything down with unnecessary wording, but at the same time you don’t use too little detail. god, it’s like it’s effortless of you. i think that’s so beautiful.
i love how there’s so many things at once. the undercurrent of horrorand the way it bleeds into all the action. the immediate intrigue. oh, your superiors lied to you?oh,we contacted the fbi and not you? shield is notwhat i think it is?
i love this detail of the reader rising to her feet after running out of ammo. that is bad bitch behavior, and we stan. and the way this man does the same thing. ♀️
i don’t know why, i don’t know how to explain it for the life of me, but the way he mirrorsher action is taking me the fuck out.
and so is he braced his rifle against his shoulder and strode toward you as if he didn’t have a goddamn care in the world. his stride, the broad set of his shoulders, the way he swaggered that was almost graceful - it was a powerful sort of confidence -
i am eating my fist. like?? i knowwe’re talking about the murder strut. it’s been a lifetime since that godforsaken movie and i still die every time he does it.
oh,oh,andthis:his metal plated arm reflected in the sunlight with a deadly sort of beauty, like the gleam of light on a knife. he was death personified. a deadly sort of beauty, like the gleam of light on a knife. death personified. ☝
his dark goggles giving him the impression of some kind of insectoid alien bearing down on you, inhuman and merciless. you write this so fucking well. and i know this is besides the point, but like? what if he was though??
you shut your eyes. you couldn’t bear to look at him a moment longer. jesus, you give such weight to this. i love that. i love how it reads the way it plays out in her mind. slowly, surreally. a nightmare-scape, choking in dread and inevitability.
here you were, shutting your eyes like a child waiting for the monster under the bed to vanish. oh, man. i tell ya, i tell ya.
the way she fears death and survival equally.
i’ve read this more times than i will ever know. i’ve loved it each time. i’m sorry i take so long. i hope you’re okay. ❤
“I don’t understand people who say that VaniJeanne is unhealthy and therefore their other ships are better. The dark aspects of the ship is one reason why I love it! The blood drinking with dubious consent, the death pact and the initial hatred is fun and hot to me. If I wanted pure and healthy then I wouldn’t be shipping VaniJeanne. Pure and healthy is boring.“
(ModNote: Please read the tags on this story carefully as it features heavy scenes of rape and humiliation.)
It’s been a long long time but I wrote a pregnant mobster story Called “Right Hand Man” WAaaAAY back when and decided to write another self-indulgent fic uwu. Hope you guys enjoy and let me know if you want me to continue!- Leo
~
Being a celebrity was difficult as it was. Going out into the public wearing regular clothing wasn’t as foolproof as you thought. Especially carrying a few dozen or so eggs in you. Over the months you had grown larger, around four you had to hide away in your home, you were larger than what most carried and never did you want your scandalous secret to go out into the public. Stress wasn’t good for the eggs and reading tabloids that made up conspiracies about your disappearance didn’t help as well. But enough was enough. No one would suspect you being massively pregnant. Would they? So far no one recognized you on the street. You wore a wig, a baggy sweater, and a long skirt. Of course you shouldn’t have snuck out of the house so close to your due date but you couldn’t help it. You needed to get out. Even if just for an hour.
You went to a coffee shop and sat down in the far corner reading another magazine article about your disappearance. Happily you sipped on your coffee and felt a pang deep within your stomach. It was happening all morning and you thought nothing of it. This time it was worse though and it worried you. Maybe you would make it home in time for the birth. You closed the magazine and pretended to finish up your drink but soon you realized you were being watched. You lowered your coffee before they came over. But it was too late. The paparazzi knew it was you. They were ready with their phones to take pictures and soon fans spun around to look at you. They chanted for your name and told you to look into the camera. They asked you who the father was. Another pang came to your side as the stress came over you. You groaned, widening your legs as the pressure became too much all too suddenly. You felt something give way in your lower pelvis, water gushing forth from your heat and down your legs. You groaned struggling to get up from the booth but your belly was in the way. You barely made it out, a paparazzi taking you by your skirt. You didn’t care that it ripped. You had to get away. You rushed out of the coffee shop the best you could, fighting the clamping sensation around your belly. You had to stop as a contraction ripped through you. You felt like a boulder was sitting in your pelvis, giving you the false idea to push. You groaned, clawing at the brick wall next to you. “No, no, no!” You chanted face twisted into pain From around the corner you heard the paparazzi catching up to you. Luckily the contraction went away and you could start running once again. But with each step more fluid ran down from between your legs. Something was coming out. You cried out in pain coming to a stop in an alleyway. You covered your mouth as the crowd of people rushed by you. Thankful you bought enough time you traveled further into the alleyway. You stopped once more crouching into a squat as another contraction took hold. More liquid that surrounded your eggs poured from your heat as something heavy knocked into your unprepared cervix. “No…please, no…oh god…” You rasped holding your twitching belly. You could feel the way the eggs clacked against one another, the way contractions forced them to stir within you. Your womb was filled to the brim. Finally you fell onto your hands and knees rocking back and forth as the contractions came closer. Your stomach gurgled and shifted as you tried to stifle your moans. Your fingernails clutched the surface of the damp ground. The first egg assaulted your cervix forcibly opening you wider. You couldn’t help it. A cry that started in your throat was released as a wail as the egg forcibly opened you up. Your pussy bulged outward as a light blue shell was seen from between your puffy pregnant lips. Fluid continued to drip from your hole and along the underside of your belly. You were thankful you didn’t wear underwear. “Oh god…oh god please…” You begged tears in your eyes. Slowly it continued to spread you open forcing you to spread your knees wider. The tip was now out and had paused at its widest width. You felt like you were going to split or tear but miraculously you didn’t. The egg slowly pushed forward with another grunt and push and came out with a squelch of amniotic fluid. You collapsed on your side in exhaustion clutching your still too filled belly. Breaths came out of you in short pants. Sweat beaded your forehead. Another egg was already in place. And not only that an anal egg was ready to be birthed. You clasped a hand over your mouth, tears in your eyes as they slowly descended to be birthed from your holes. With one hand you raised your leg by your thigh, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you gave birth both analy and vaginally. The blue eggs slowly widened you, further and further, gooey fluid gushed from around the eggs as they popped out of you one by one. When they were free you lay there exhausted and somehow so very turned on. Somewhere from the opening of the alleyway you heard a voice but at this point you didn’t care. The pain was mixing with the pleasure. And even as the paparazzi found you and said their words of disgust. You could see the arousal in their pants. The women even began to circle their clits. Flashes from the camera blinded you as you tried to get away murmuring to not look. You tried getting onto all fours once more but another contraction ripped through you and you moaned loudly. One of the men stepped forward with a grin shoving your face into the ground so your ass was presented perfectly. “No one will know about this if you do us one favor.” You knew what was coming. He rammed his cock into your swollen and battered pussy and you cried out. Another cock was forced into your mouth before you could protest. Around the large cock you whimpered and moaned. Your eyes looked up to the man who held a camera down at you. Disgust was betrayed with lust and suddenly you didn’t seem to mind. Deep down you knew you were made for this. To be used, and bread, and constantly filled with eggs. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the man shoved his cock down your throat, bulging your neck as he did so. “Such a good little whore.” Your eggs continued to press further and further against your pussy. But the cock in you stopped any progression. You moaned in frustration and pain, but the man face-fucking you only cooed at the vibrations you were making. “Fuck, I can feel it in you. What the fuck did you do you little whore?” The man gripped you around your swinging belly, his balls slapping hard against your clit as he slammed into ruthlessly. “Fuck it’s right there…you feel so good around me. Fuck…!” His pace became messy as he came in you. His heat made your stomach cramp up and to your horror your stomach gurgled. You widened your eyes trying to push the man you were sucking off away before he came too. But he forced you to take his cock balls deep as he painted your throat with his load. You held your stomach as you sobbed around his cock. Before your eyes your stomach grew larger, the eggs growing in size. “What the fuck?” One of the women said. “Holy shit.” You sobbed freely as the eggs grew and grew with both loads swimming in your belly. When the cock was pulled free from your mouth you raised yourself onto all fours choking and gagging for air. “Please-!” You said. “No more…or I won’t be able to-” You couldn’t say another word. Another cock was forced into your mouth. “Suck it bitch, we had an agreement.” You looked up to the man with teary eyes and he smiled down at you cupping your cheek. “Don’t be sad baby…we’ll make sure you feel nice and good when this is over.” He slapped you harshly and you groaned in pain. A scream left your throat as the egg that was being prevented from being birthed was now rushing out of you. You widened your legs and bore down with all you had, screaming around the cock in your mouth. You were seeing stars as the egg became lodged in your pelvis. “Sarah, help her out. I can’t use her hole like that!” A man said angrily. The woman was under you the next moment licking and sucking at your hole that was spread wide by an egg. She rubbed her own clit as she sucked your poor swollen nub. “Come on baby…celebrity or not we told ya we would take care of you…we don’t mean to be mean.” She hummed. As you continued sucking off the cock in your mouth your body convulsed and contracted around the egg keeping you wide and open. Your only saving grace was the buildup of your own release that the woman below you was creating. It didn’t take much. The growing wave was enough to push and pop the egg free. But as soon as it was out you were left with a finish, squirting and trembling. The woman chuckled sucking up every drop. “Did you cum around that fat egg?” She cooed, hands circling your ass to open it wider for the man complaining about the egg blocking his way. “Too bad.” You screamed around the cock in your mouth as a larger one was slammed into your asshole. Just as you screamed, the man finished in your mouth. “Don’t you dare waste a single drop. Swallow it all.” You were forced to swallow the bitter fluid down and in doing so your belly moaned and skin creaked as angry stretch marks spiderwebbed along the bottom of your belly. “She’s like a fucking cow.” The man behind you jammed his cock as deep as it would go and to your horror came his load in you as well. You cried out and held your belly as the impossible limits were pushed. Your belly button that wasn’t popped before now was. Your tits had grown and were now spewing milk. The woman was below you ready to suck on each one with pleased hums. “Come on, this isn’t so bad is it, mommy?” The cock in your ass felt raw and painful and the egg that was so much larger than you could birth was bearing down on your pussy walls. You swallowed the remainder of the load that was in your mouth and pulled off. “Please…please, it’s too big. I can’t…it’s gonna split me in two. H-Help me…I need to-” The feral groan that turned into a scream left your throat as your next egg pushed forward and pressed against the cock you were taking. “Please! St-stop no more!”
The woman below you held your still gigantic and swinging belly steady. “That’s it you bitch, cum on my cock and the fucking bastard I put in you.” That made something in you moan loudly. The man behind you wrapped your hair around his hand and pulled it back. You continued to grunt and moan on each contraction that pushed the egg out of you further and further. “Oh god, it’s splitting me in half. My fucking-my-!” You yelled again as the widest part of the egg faced outward. Your legs were forcibly pushed apart by the expanse of the egg, rubbing against your pelvis bone. Red swollen pussy lips were now stretched white, your swollen clit a barely noticeable nub at the top of your opening. Your asshole winked open and closed as you attempted to force the egg out of you. “Please help me. Please, it hurts. God it hurts…” The woman under you smiled, continuing to suck your milky tits. “How about we try again?” The woman said, wrapping her mouth around your clit once more, gently cupping the large egg that was splitting you in two. She suckled, moaning in pleasure as she circled her finger around your pulled too tight white lips. “Please, oh fuck…please, I’m going to split!” Your voice echoed. The woman under you sucked your nub harder and pressed a finger past the egg to assist you. It was enough to have a sudden finish come crashing over you. The egg jolted forward and fell onto her lap. She pulled off of you, gently cupping your ruined pussy. “There you go, babe. Got anymore in you?” She rubbed the underside of your belly so very lovingly, nudging her nose against your swollen belly button.
You had no energy left in you and for now the eggs that clacked in your stomach grew. You collapsed onto your side and twitched with the after waves of pleasure. “Because…” The woman now by your side was grinning and looking up to the men around you, stroking their half hard cocks. “It looks like they do.”
The young carriage driver catches the eye of his sex starved mistresses. If he wishes to have no hard brought to his family, he will comply with their every demand.
