#and see him just standing in the middle of the warehouse and dancing

[cynicalmusings]

IMAGINE A MASQUERADE BALL WITH XIAO???

…see, you’ve done the very dangerous thing of reminding me of the 100 followers special continuation i was planning that includes xiao and heizou… and a little of my cinderella au with him, too. 

but i need to brainrot about this now.

thing is… we could go down the usual route of fantasy masquerade ball with big fancy chandeliers and a nice ballroom, but i feel like a spin could be put on it to make it more interesting.

namely, cyberpunk; a setting that i think fits xiao very well. (let me generate some ideas for a second…)

maybe this masquerade ball is inspired by old fragments of books and paintings uncovered in the wreckage of historical buildings, and a group of people are trying to resurrect it, just for fun. it’s likely nowhere as grande as the ‘proper’ ones, and takes place in some abandoned warehouse or the basement of a pub. the music is an electronic, bass-y version of some classical pieces, performed by a mini-orchestra of electric classical instruments. there are some asymmetrical make-shift chandeliers welded from old bits of metal hanging from the ceiling, sporting some LED light bulbs. 

people come wearing all sorts of clothing; most try to imitate the gowns and suits worn in the old days but with a spin of cyberpunk, with metal masks and hand gauntlets, while a few wear visors and their typical fashion.

xiao’s mask is no doubt based on his yaksha mask, put together with metal and cogs and some pieces of wood, and there are neon blue lights around the eye sockets, which mirror his original mask’s glowing eyes. the fangs are made of steel and bronze. 

the atmosphere is lively, although the location is quite dark. as they dance, people try to guess who the person behind the mask is. xiao prefers not to know. 

xiao is a really, really good dancer. he meets you in one of the dances, and you’re floored by his dancing. his movements are fluid and graceful, almost like water, and each step and twirl is precise, like he’s been doing this all his life. he’s actually quite courteous while dancing, too; he’s a guy who prefers actions over words, so it’s no wonder that he lets his dancing speak for itself. he finds it so much easier to carefully spin you around than start a conversation, in which he’s certain he would come across as brash.

meanwhile, you try your very best to figure out who this person is, and whether you’ve met him before, but his identity eludes you. you only spend a brief time together before the music changes and you’re both met with new partners, but somehow he still stands out to you the most. 

after the dance, the crowds disperse, and you try and look for him, absentmindedly taking off your mask because the dance is over. for a moment, you catch a glimpse of glowing blue in the crowd, meeting your eyes from behind a familiar metal mask. when you blink, he’s gone, and you don’t find him again afterwards.

(meanwhile, xiao probably just ducked behind some wall or pillar because he was not prepared for you to be so stunning behind that mask and needed a second to gather his thoughts.)

[thethistlegirlwrites]

You Only Live Twice

Emma tries not to look too closely at the deep gash in her forearm as she unwinds the bandage around it.

It’s nothing. She’s had worse.

She’s had worse enough times, as a hunter, to know when it’s getting infected.

It’s not bad enough for blood.

She washes it out, smears on the expired but probably still viable antiseptic cream, wraps a fresh bandage around it, then rifles through the clothes hanging from the exposed pipe that doubles as a sort of makeshift closet for a long-sleeved dress that isn’t one of the ones she’s worn the past three days. 

She’s not going to give anyone anything to talk about. She can’t afford to.

She’s only had this club eight months. Any sign of weakness, any misstep, could land her in the same position as its former owner.

So could the hunter who shows up less than half an hour after opening.

He stands out in the crowd, between the silver-laced bullwhip coiled on his hip, the massive knife sheath hanging from his belt, and the vivid crimson scars on his neck. She descends the stairs from the balcony where she’s been keeping an eye on the club business (she usually mingles more, but last night someone brushed against her arm, and she hissed, and despite being able to pass it off as being insulted at the lack of apology given on her own turf, she doesn’t want to make it a habit).

By the time she reaches the main floor, the hunter in question is sitting at the bar. He’s got a glass in front of him, but he’s not actually drinking it. A trick she’s seen him use a hundred times. Makes him a customer, so the owner can’t ask him to actually order something or leave, but he won’t get in trouble for drinking on the job.

“Stoker.”

“Heard you were moving up in the world. The industrial grunge vibe is kind of cutting-edge fashion for an upscale place. Missing that warehouse you used to party in already? Myself, I’d get some steer horns on the wall, a little space in the middle of the floor for some line dancing, and a couple vintage Eastwood western posters on the walls, but that’s just me.” 

“I didn’t ask for an interior decoration consultation.”

“You sure? I think “A Fistful of Dollars” would look perfect over that corner table.”

Coven rivalry heating up due to outside agitation. And at least one of the vamps at that table is an instigator. She has to admit, she wasn’t a fan of his classic western team bonding movie nights, but it did offer them a whole coded language to use in the field. 

Apparently, he still thinks they’re some sort of team.

But she’s on a coven borderline, and if someone ties the vamps stirring up trouble to her bar, she’ll have a lot more to worry about than a wound that won’t heal and being seen talking to a hunter. 

“I never was much of a fan of that movie. Out of town gunslingers shouldn’t be poking their noses in a town’s affairs.”

She’ll take care of the problem. Which she’s pretty sure Stoker knew would happen. He’s not appealing to a sense of justice the human Emma used to have. He’s appealing to her new nature’s self preservation instincts. 

He’s always been smarter than he looks. 

She moves to get up, but he catches her wrist, just below the bandage on her arm.

She bares her teeth.

“I’d like to see the upstairs too. Might have some pointers for that.”

There’s plenty up there for a hunter to object to. Private soundproofed rooms for parties. Emma’s put her foot down hard on any hosting happening here, and all her employees are people she trusts to do the same, but the simple fact that she left those rooms in this building could be cause for a conscientious hunter to run her in to the agency. 

“I can ask, or I can come back with justifiable cause. We’ve raided this place back when it was Corbin’s. He had host parties going on on the balcony level. Looks to me like you’ve still got doors closed up there.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“I think you do.”

He’s not looking at the doors.

He’s looking at her cheek.

Damn that tic. She chews the inside of her cheek when she’s in pain, and it makes a dimple-like divot. He’d learned a long time ago to recognize that for what it was, around the same time he benched her for a busted ankle she was insisting was a sprain. 

Apparently, some of her human habits carried over into this version.

“Fine. I’ll let you put your mind at ease so my customers don’t need to be subjected to a raid team over nothing.” She makes him go first up the stairs. No matter how much they used to trust each other, no one with a stake is getting behind her in her blind spot.

“I’m going to need to inspect each of these rooms for any residual blood,” John says, pulling a spectrum light from his pocket. Emma steps back from the glow. UV is unpleasant to be around at the best of times. It’s making her genuinely nauseous right now. 

Checking the smaller rooms, which she’s now using mostly as storage space, takes very little time. But the big room, the one she still actually does rent out to vamps who want a little more exclusivity than mingling on the first floor, is going to take a little longer.

John steps inside, then motions to her to join him and close the door.

She does, and the thumping bass from downstairs dies off. It’s nothing more than a heartbeat in here, a faint echo of the one she can hear from her former partner’s chest.

“Show me.”

“I don’t answer to you anymore.”

“I know that.”

She shakes her head but rolls up her sleeve. The bandage is starting to turn brown and yellow. 

“Some scumbag objected to being thrown out for harassing my bartender. I’ve had worse.”

“You’ve had worse as a human. Have you been hurt as a vampire before?”

“How do you think I got this place? That Corbin just walked away?”

“Heard about a raid on a blood bank two days before you took over. Whoever pulled it off got away clean. Took only one bag of the most common types, left anything rare and the universal donor.” He frowns. “Almost like they were minimizing the damage they did. Even left just enough evidence to point out the flaw in security where they got in, but not enough to be IDed.”

“I’ve heard you talk confessions out of people too many times, Stoker.”

“Not my point. My point is, you had blood. That’s why you healed. Your body isn’t going to put itself back together on its own anymore. You’re a dead woman walking, Em.” He looks at her arm. “Dead bodies don’t have an immune system. They decay.”

“So what is this? Tricking me into doing something you can run me in for? If you can prove I’m drinking human blood, it’s at best six months in your holding cells detoxing. No way I keep the club if I’m away from it that long.”

“No way you keep it if you go into a coma while some bacteria eats away at your corpse either.”

He’s got a point, as much as she hates it.

“I told you. I don’t drink human blood anymore.”

“And I don’t smoke anymore. But if an undercover calls for it, I’m gonna light up a cigarette.”

“That’s different.”

“Maintaining a cover keeps me alive. Drinking a little genuine blood is going to do the same for you. If you don’t, I guarantee you, within a day or two you won’t be able to get out of your coffin. Infections spread a lot faster in a body that can’t fight them.”

She’d seen the burgundy streaks running up and down her arm away from the wound, as much as she’d tried to ignore them.

“Thanks for the advice. You’ve given it. Now get the hell out of my club.”

“You’re stubborn enough not to take it.” Stoker reaches for his knife. She tenses, until he shrugs the shoulder of his leather jacket down his other arm and then makes a neat slice along the inside of his forearm.

Blood wells up, bright, tangy, tempting. Overpowering.

“Well, you better do something, or this is going to get all over the floor and my spectrum light is gonna turn it into a Christmas tree.”

“Blackmailer.”

“Mule-headed idiot.”

She missed that insult.

She dives forward and catches the first falling drop of blood in her palm a fraction of a second before it hits the ground.

She keeps her hands cupped below his arm as she cleans up the overflow of blood, but in moments it’s a manageable trickle. She can feel her arm putting itself back together, an agonizing ache somewhere between being burned and having glass shards pulled out of her skin one at a time, but she can also feel her body forcing out the infection.

She hadn’t realized how awful she was feeling until she isn’t anymore.

A hand holding a white sterile compress slips between her tongue and his skin, and she almost snarls and bites down on it, but she forces herself back with all her re-acquired strength. 

She’s left enough indelible marks on Stoker’s skin.

“That should hold you. You’ll get a delivery tomorrow night. A little congratulations on the new place gift from an old friend. Make sure to chill it well, it’s best served that way.”

When they leave the room together, it looks like the whole club is holding the collective breath most of them no longer actually need to take. And when Stoker opens the door, then turns to yell back, “You got away with it this time, Cole, but someday, we’re going to nail you, mark my word,” before vanishing into the night, there’s a moment’s silence and then a collective cheer.

Emma descends the stairs with her accustomed grace, simply nodding at the congratulations on surviving her first surprise inspection by hunters.

“I have nothing to hide,” she says to those who ask what cleaning service she’s getting in.

It’s true until the next night, five minutes before opening, when an unmarked van parks at the back door and rings the delivery bell. 

Carlos has to call Emma back personally to sign for the damn thing. Someone sent it certified delivery.

She waits until the club opens and her staff are busy filling orders and watching the crowd before she opens it in the privacy of her personal office.

Inside is a cold-storage pack, and inside that are two bags of shelf-stabilized blood, stamped with the O- type marker and a string of ID numbers. 

SJ 79110806007.

Only John Stoker would have been issued a double-oh-seven ID number by sheer luck of the draw.

Next time he shows up, she’s going to have a poster of “You Only Live Twice” hanging over the end of the bar.

It’ll clash with the aesthetic a little, but the sentiment fits just fine.

(You can read this story and others from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!)

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @ettawritesnstudies  @writeouswriter

[carolinaboy34]

Dance

Colin and I had been seeing each other for a while now and had settled into a nice relationship. We weren’t exclusive. I knew he was still hooking up at the house when they had parties and I wasn’t there, and he knew about ‘most’ of my adventures, because we shared them with each other. We both knew the other was a slut and had no intention of getting in the way of that.

But even though we weren’t exclusive when it came to sex, we acted like boyfriends in every other respect. We walked to class together, frequently hand in hand, ate meals together, spent nights together often and generally considered the other a boyfriend. It was great. I really enjoyed getting to know someone else on such a deep level, to be able to rely on them and know they were there, and be there for them when needed.

Anyway, we went out to dinner one night recently and decided to make a night of it. The dinner was superb - a new Hawaiian place in town that served authentic food in a great atmosphere. Afterwards, we decided to check out a new gay club that had recently opened up. We generally didn’t go to them, but we thought it might be fun to try it out.

It was a huge, industrial club in the warehouse district just outside of downtown. They had not spent much on decor - lots of concrete and steel. But they spent a fuck-ton on lights and the sound system. It was epic. The dance floor was in the middle of the main floor with a bar off to the side, and there were two levels above the dance floor open to below, so you could stand up there and look down on the dancing. Lights mounted on each floor and the ceiling shining down and all around the place added to the vibe. It was a great dance club.

I showed my ID to the hot bouncer and went right in. Colin and I got a shot each then a drink and walked around some, getting up to the second floor and looking out over the crowd below. It was later by the time we got there, so it was packed. Hundreds of shirtless, buff guys grinding on each other to the beat of the incredible dance music. We were dancing together, looking out, moving to the beat, then we both looked at each other, silently communicating that it was time to join the crowd (you couldn’t talk much anyway…).

We made our way down onto the dance floor and got absorbed into the crowd. We stayed together and just got sucked into the music and the atmosphere that completely engulfed us and closed out the world around. No school worries. No social worries. No family worries. Just us and the crowd and the music, all enjoying the same thing at the same time. We ditched our shirts and got sweaty with everyone else, grinding together and feeling slick skin all around us. It was incredibly erotic and turned us both on to the max.

Colin spun me around and was dancing behind me, rubbing his hands over my torso and the front of my pants. I had my hands behind me, rubbing his butt and pulling him to me as tightly as I could. I felt his hard dick bumping and grinding into my ass as we moved. We danced like this for a while, enjoying everything about the experience. I was nearly in a trance, my hands in the air, my butt bumping against Colin’s groin, absorbing everything my senses could take in, when I felt someone come up in front of me. I focused on him and saw a gorgeous guy looking me in the eye and smiling, dancing to the music. He was slightly taller and had perfectly styled blonde hair, bright blue eyes and a sculpted face with high cheekbones and a sharp jaw. He was wearing just enough makeup to accent his features and had glitter all over his exposed skin. He was shirtless, of course, and had broad shoulders and square pecs with tiny nipples, smooth skin and high waist bones over his low riding leather pants. He was fucking beautiful.

He danced in front of me and looked both Colin and I in the eyes for several minutes before saying anything. He leaned into my ear and yelled “Hi gorgeous! My name is Ben.”

“I’m Drew. This is Colin, my boyfriend!”

“Nice! You two make a great couple. You look perfect together.”

“Thanks! You look great too!”

He pulled back and smiled a huge, open smile, his big red lips and perfect white teeth on display. Colin grabbed me around the waist and spun me around again. We were face to face. He had a devilish look on his face, then leaned in and kissed me, grabbing my head and pulling me into the deepest kiss we’ve ever shared, his tongue dancing with mine as our bodies continued to grind together. He pulled away and looked me in the eye again, with an almost questioning look, then hugged me tight and put his chin on my shoulder. After several seconds, I felt another set of arms embrace me and looked to Colin and saw he and Ben making out. They looked very hot together. Both slightly taller and blonde, they made a great pair.

I felt Ben’s hands on my side and his crotch grinding into my ass. Colin let go of Ben’s face and came back to me. He held my face in his hands and looked me in the eye, then raised an eyebrow. I demurred for a moment then shook my head yes. Colin hugged me tight then reached back and pulled Ben into us. We continued to dance together as I was sandwiched between my tall blonde partners. Colin and I made out and ground into each other, while Ben humped into my ass and hugged us tight, occasionally kissing my neck or Colin’s lips. Ben reached down and cupped my ass, massaging it while he danced. His hands felt big and strong, and my muscles relaxed in his grip. I felt him reach around me and run up and down Colin’s side for a moment then put his hands between us, rubbing my abs. His hands grabbed my hips and held me tight for a moment then snaked down the front of my pants. He grabbed my dick and balls in the confines of my pants and squeezed and handled them skillfully. It was amazing and I quickly got hard, the tip peaking out the waistband of my pants. I love having my balls manipulated firmly, and he was an expert. Colin saw my dick and reached down and touched it, gathered some precum and brought it to Ben’s lips.

Ben smacked his lips then started kissing my neck vigorously, licking and even chewing under my ear, certain to leave his mark. Colin was rubbing my front while Ben continued to handle my junk. Colin reached down and undid my belt a couple notches then reclasped it. He undid my button and the first little bit of my zipper, giving Ben more access to my body. Ben was able to push my pants down under my ass, exposing my cheeks, which he grabbed onto and massaged. Colin continued to dance with me, his arms on my shoulders reaching back to hug around Ben’s neck. Ben was still looking down at my exposed ass cheeks, the disco lights shining and highlighting them in different colors. Colin came up and kissed me hard, and at the same time, Ben took a finger and pushed down my crack until he came in contact with my hole, where he focused and pushed against until I opened and accepted his finger to the first knuckle.

I moaned into Colin’s mouth and looked him in the eye. He looked back and continued to kiss me deeply. I spread my legs as much as I could with my pants around my thighs, to help hold them up and to give him more room. I pushed back against his finger and it went in further, until he was all the way in and working it around inside me. His finger felt amazing, and it was warming me up quickly. I felt something splat on my ass at the top of my crack, then run down to Ben’s finger, and figured he spit to give some lube. He worked the spit into my hole and added some more, then pulled his finger out slowly, pulling on my ring to stretch me open more.

Colin and I continued to kiss, and he was slowly jacking my dick against his belly, which I was humping into. I felt something big and smooth run along my crack, spreading around more spit. He zeroed in on my hole and held the tip against it. I was still moving slightly to the music, but Colin was holding me tight and Ben held firm behind me. I wiggled my ass, focusing on his dick touching my hole. I took a deep breath, still kissing Colin, and pushed back, bringing Ben into my body. His dick slowly entered me and didn’t stop until I felt his pubic bone against my ass cheeks. He felt big, and the stretch he gave my ass was perfect. Colin reached around us and grabbed Ben, pulling him tight to my back.

We moved as one, dancing slowly to the music, my arms tight around Colin as we continued to make out, and Ben’s arms tight around both of us, as he kissed my neck and continued to leave marks. Slowly, Ben started to hump into me, pulling out slightly then pushing back in. He didn’t pull out much, but the sensations coming from my ass sent fireworks throughout my body. His thrusting became stronger, and he pulled out more and more each time until he was nearly all the way out before he slammed back in, the ridge of his dick head rubbing delightfully over my prostate. To see the three of us from the shoulders up, we looked like a thruple enjoying the dance floor together. A wider view, though, would show Ben’s hips frantically pumping into my ass, pushing me into Colin, who had trapped my dick against his abdomen. Colin and I never broke our kiss while Ben brutally fucked me from behind. I moaned and squealed into Colin’s mouth while we kissed. Ben slowed down but stayed inside me, keeping me speared on his hard dick, and Colin broke our kiss for the first time and leaned forward to make out with Ben. We stayed like that for a few minutes then Ben pulled out of me slowly and grabbed my shoulders to spin me around to face him. His hard dick, glistening with spit and me, was sticking out of the fly of his pants, but his belt remained fastened. I grabbed onto him and leaned up to kiss him, bending slightly at the waist. We were making out when I felt Colin playing with my ass and fingering my hole. Soon, I felt him push his dick into my ass crack and seek out my well-used entrance. Once he found it, he pushed in, the familiar feeling of his dick sending shivers up my spine as he lodged himself fully inside me.

We continued to dance, now facing Ben with Colin frantically fucking me from behind. He was hitting all the right spots, and I was screaming into the air with the sensations radiating from my ass. I began making out with Ben, each of us playing with the other's dick. His arms were around my neck and holding Colin, who was hugging me tightly. We had attracted the attention of a couple of guys dancing close to us, but they just patted me on the back and congratulated me, then went on dancing.

Colin grabbed onto my hips and used them as a handle to pull me onto him, slamming into me at the same time. The tremors sent shockwaves through my body and kept pushing me into Ben. He held me tightly as we continued to make out and jack each other off, bringing me closer to orgasm. Colin grunted in my ear and pushed into me one last time before holding me tight against his body and convulsing, sending his searing hot cum deep inside my body. He fucked into me a few more times, depositing all he had inside me. The warmth from his cum spread from my belly throughout my body. He slumped against me and held me tight as he regained his breath and strength, his softening dick remaining lodged in my hole.

Ben kissed me deeply one more time, then pulled me away from Colin and spun me around, clearly ready to finish what he started a while ago. Colin held me up, and Ben grabbed my hips, handlessly forcing his dick back into my hole. He pushed in all the way until his balls smashed against my ass and his dick pulsed my stretched muscles. He remained fully inside and hugged Colin and I together, making us a single unit again. I swayed my hips slightly between them, rubbing my dick on Colin and moving Ben inside me. He got the hint that I wanted to be fucked, so he grabbed my hips again and pulled out all the way before slamming back into me, repeatedly punching into my hole with each thrust.

He couldn’t possibly last very long with the vigor he was using to fuck me, but he held out and sent me to bottom-boi heaven. My body was his to use to get off, and he pulled me onto him just as he pushed into me, slamming against my ass with each thrust. Colin was holding me and making out with me, but I barely felt him as Ben was dominating me thoroughly.

We had garnered more attention and had a small crowd gathered around us, a couple with their dicks out jacking off. All the eyes on me being so slutty in public drove me over the edge, and I blasted my load all over Colin, who continued to jack me while I came. My orgasm caused my body to shudder, sending shivers down my spine to my ass, which contracted around Ben as he continued his overwhelming assault on my now completely surrendered hole. I could feel Colin’s load squishing out with each thrust, spreading across my ass cheeks and pooling in my pants just under my taint. Ben finally seemed to enter the final stretch, slamming into me with all of his strength until he howled and pushed into me one final time. I could feel his dick expand in my ass then blast his load inside me. He shook with each powerful explosion of his orgasm, sending shivers continually throughout my body.

I think I felt a couple of others blow their loads on me, but I wasn’t too sure. Ben hugged me tightly from the back, and Colin hugged both of us tightly from the front. We just held each other for a while, swaying to the music and enjoying the warmth and comfort of each other’s arms. Ben eventually softened enough to plop out of my ass, and with him a huge gush of his and Colin’s cum. Ben separated from us and tucked his magnificent dick back into his pants. Colin undid my belt and helped me pull up my pants, the cum that had gathered there spreading over my taint and running down my leg. The three of us went to the bar and got a drink, Ben toasting the hot encounter and hoping for a repeat sometime soon, rubbing down Colin’s back and patting his butt. He was a grad student at school and lived off campus with a couple other students. Colin laughed and told him “It’ll be a while before that happens again!”, referring to our encounter with George, which was totally lost on Ben. After our drink, Colin gave Ben a hug and got his contact info, which he shared with me, then pulled me out to the sidewalk in front of the club. He lit up a cigarette and offered me one, which I gladly took. We slowly walked back home, arm in arm, reliving the epic night in the dance club, as both their loads leaked out of my loose hole and down my leg.

[scxttershot]

⏰ a sexy experience?

[Anon you get me more than any other. We shall have a winter wedding. But also Mother has been screaming at me for the past 4 hours and is still fucking screaming, actively, as I try to write this, so we'll see how this is. As I've said before I write all these off the cuff; no beta reading, no editing, etc. NSFW under the cut for the sake of being polite to my followers.]

He's definitely tired, and he's definitely covered in blood and gore that is decidedly not his own. Thankfully, the Deadshot costume is relatively impermeable; but the mess is coating his gloves, his front, everything in-between. Floyd wouldn't have been lying if he said he was compelled to strip and shower as soon as possible. Still; they have to go home first, and a smoke break's in order. So, standing in the middle of the sketchy-ass warehouse that he, Kani, Scandal, and Thomas had just cleared of all hostile life, he lights up. It's with the click of the lighter that he realizes familiar eyes are upon him. Floyd slips it back into his pocket. "Tomcat. What." "You look nice like that." Thomas, leaning against a load-bearing beam, chuckles. Despite the cowl pinning most of it back, his sandy hair is in his eyes. "A predator, relaxing after the kill." "I don't feel nice, Blake," Floyd grumbles, narrowing his eyes in Catman's direction. "I feel sticky." But there's not much time for Floyd to actually think about that, as soon enough Thomas is upon him, biting at his neck. Despite himself, Floyd groans; a little in shock, a little in something more. But the cigarette remains in his mouth. Thomas continues gnawing, and licking, and sucking, sliding a hand underneath Floyd's top to play with his nipples. The claws were still attached, steel tips digging into the skin of his chest, but Floyd in no way minded. This was fine. He makes an attempt to reciprocate with his own hands, and then- "No." Thomas's voice is firm, and Floyd stills. "Let me." And damn, wasn't that just the sexiest thing. Aside from Floyd's occasional moaning - and Porcelain's softer footsteps as, unbeknownst to either man, they looped back around to check on the rest of the team with a soft "damn, Thomas. You're making me blush" - they don't speak, Thomas instead growling as he rolls his hips into Floyd. The sharpshooter shifts to accommodate the extra weight as Catman leans further into his body, dipping Floyd like he's the woman in a dance. "Lower," Floyd manages to hiss out. Thomas obliges, licking a slow, lazy stripe down his stomach. They lock eyes. "Fuck, kitty cat, there were better places for a screw." Floyd damn near laughs, angling his head so he doesn't smack himself against the hard concrete floor. Thomas shrugs one shoulder in response. "Don't get yourself covered in blood on the regular and we'll talk." "Fair enough, I s'pose." For Thomas's troubles, Floyd gently blows a smoke ring in the man's face. "Fucking furry." Thomas moves lower, only pausing to unbuckle Floyd's belt and move aside the waistband of his underwear before cupping a hand around his balls, the pad of his thumb moving in slow circles. (Beside them, Porcelain tittered, a hand coming up to cover their mouth.) Honestly, Floyd didn't even mind the lack of lube. The metal of the cat-claws felt cool against his skin, the occasional prick of pain from the sharpened tips a nice reminder that this was real, and that they were alive. The miasma of cigarette smoke settles around them like a blanket, warm and comforting. Floyd damn near wishes he could bottle this moment.

[to-the-captain]

Stranger: (Seb and Sev haven't seen each other since they were teens)

Severin stood square in the middle of the warehouse, waiting for Moriarty or his representative to show. He'd spent weeks playing his boss, the Russian, into arranging this meeting, under the pretence of a false business deal just on the chance that he would be seeing a man he hadn't seen in a very long time. For now he kept his face half covered with a scarf, a knife in his pocket but outwardly unarmed, and all he could do was wait.

You: It was quite a pedestrian meeting, Sebastian didn't even know why Jim insisted on sending him personally - really, he had better things to do. Sighing, Sebastian arranged his hair, placing his pistol in its holster underneath his jacket before he stepped out of the black car. It'd wait for him, no questions asked. Since the Russians had proven themselves to be sneaky motherfuckers, Sebastian was wearing his heavy combat boots under his dark jeans, already annoyed at the prospect of potentially cleaning blood off them. So, he stepped into the warehouse, shoulders squared as he assessed his surroundings confidently. "It's a little rude not to show your face, aren't you aware?" was what he first said as he spotted their 'business partner'.

Stranger: Severin visibly tensed when he saw that Sebastian had come in Moriartys place, but he forced his shoulders to relax. After all, he had to keep himself anonymous until his safety was assured. "Moriarty isn't the only one who wants to protect himself." He said simply. He scanned the man in front of him - clocking the pistol. Evidently Moriarty didn't trust Leonov. He was probably right not to. When Sebastian got close enough, he went on, straight to business if it would help avoid a fight. "To business, then. My boss has a small empire in Eastern Europe, that Moriarty has shown interest in. He's offering 40% of the profits if Moriarty provides protection and passage for the men involved." That was the arrangement he'd spent weeks drawing up to get Moriarty's attention.

You: A small smirk danced over his lips as Sebastian heard the answer - ridiculous. "You refuse to show us your face, yet expect us to provide protection? So you do have no manners," he mused, as he stuck his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. Might as well, considering manners had officially left the building. "You'll need to show your face if you hope to conduct any kind of business today. Otherwise, I have no issue leaving you to stand right here, right now." It always was annoying when people thought Moriarty was reliant on them, when they thought they were special or important. "We have other partners in Eastern Europe. I'm sure you're very aware of who I am, might as well introduce yourself."

Stranger: Severin took a long time to answer, weighing up his options. Sebastian was poised for a fight, and the last time they saw each other, they had fought - nearly killed one another, so revealing his identity might not be the safest option. But then, if Sebastian walked away, it was all for nothing. So there was no choice. "Very well. My name os Andrei..." Slowly, he raised his hand and pulled the scarf from his face, eyes pinned on Sebastian, on his pistol, ready to move very quickly if he had to. "Or, at least, that's the name I've gone by for ten years now..."

You: It took an awful long time for his opposite to answer, even though it was quite clear that no business would be done that day if the man continued to cover his face. Was the deal less important for the Russians than they had said it was? Was it just bait to get him to come to this godforsaken warehouse? Was this a ruse? Not letting any of these thoughts show on his face, Sebastian waited, only moving to glance at the expensive watch he was wearing. Whether it was a trap, a ruse or a legitimate deal, it certainly was a waste of time. As the scarf was moved, Sebastian's eyebrows shot up. /Oh/. The fingers of his right hand twitched very slightly yet he didn't move, deciding to remain collected above anything else. "It doesn't suit you, you don't have the accent for it," were the first words he addressed to his brother, his baby brother, "Is this why I'm here? You came to finish what you started?"

Stranger: There was a slight pause, the briefest second where Sebastian moved and Severin thought he was about to get shot, but he didn't, and he found himself facing his brother for the first time in a decade. His hand brushed his pocket, as if to check the knife was still there, just in case. "No. I'm not- I don't want to fight you." He said quickly. Severin didn't want to fight and, most of all, he didn't believe he would win a fight if it happened. He reached down, he'd placed a file on the ground when he arrived, and slid it over to Sebastian. "The deal is real. Leonov really does want to make an offer - but I have a better offer. 100% of the trade, 100% of the profits... in return for my own protection."

You: It was surprisingly hard to keep up the facade with a myriad of emotions bubbling under the surface, crawling underneath his skin and up his throat. There were over three decades of unfinished business between them, and Sebastian had hoped it would just never come up again. Now, that they were in the same building, he just couldn't help himself. "So, Father threw you out to the dogs, huh?" he said when he crouched down to pick up the manila folder, thumbing through it but not actually bothering to read it - he wanted to hear it straight out of his brother's mouth. "I'm impressed you dare to show your face around here. Well. You didn't. But we both know your character has always been a little... questionable." Oh, Sebastian was bitter about what had happened, and he only just realised how bitter he actually was. "How far did you think were you going to get with your pocket knife? And you really think your boss is just going to let us take over? You're just offering us work in return for your protection. We don't need you to take over Leonov's part."

Stranger: Severin glanced at the floor, Sebastian's words cut him more than he would care to admit. They were true, for the most part - it was their father who had handed him to Leonov, after a fight (about Sebastian, of all things). He took a small step backwards. "The hard work is done. I've been running that branch for over a year. I can give you seamless control of the finances, names and locations of staff. it will continue to run as it always did, no extra work on Moriarty's behalf." He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous tick he'd never been able to shake. "Look, if you'd walked in here and you knew it was me, you'd have shot me on sight, and you know it."

You: Of course, Sebastian listened, but the explanation left a lot to be desired. Since there were no denials, he assumed that he had got the general context of what had happened, which gave him a little satisfaction at least. "So, it's only a branch. Why would we bother with that? You made your bed, my dear brother, and now you refuse to lie in it. What can /you/ offer to us, personally? Why should we care?" After everything that had gone on in his family, playing that card certainly wasn't going to help Severin's case. "Oh, I wouldn't have shot you on sight. I'm a gentleman, you see. I'd say I was raised right, but we both know that's a lie." A sick little part of him was actually enjoying this, enjoying playing with his desperate brother - another, small part yearned to make amends.

Stranger: Severin knew he was being toyed with, and he tried to remain calm, tried to talk his way out of this, tried not to let his emotions bubble over because he knew Sebastian would just treat him like a child having a tantrum. "What more do you want? I can get you control of Leonov's whole company, if that's what it takes. Leonov is a cruel bastard, but I worked my way to the top. I did every damn thing he ever asked of me, I know his company inside out..." Clutching at straws, slightly. He had the faintest idea that Sebastian was just looking for a reason to shoot him.

You: Oh, someone was getting riled up. Interesting. Seeing the emotions dance over Severin's face, Sebastian stepped a little closer, just needing to witness the spectacle for himself. Somehow, this soothed his need for revenge just a teensy, tiny little bit. "I will have to talk this over with the boss," he concluded eventually. It was the truth, what his brother was offering seemed like a big decision, a large change in how the organisation worked. "Of course, only having a branch makes little sense. It'd need to be everything. Someone would have to take care of Leonov..." Trailing off, he looked at Severin, making clear that he would have to clean up after himself, should their deal ever actually come to fruition.

Stranger: Severin mirrored his brother's movement, stepping backwards so that Sebastian could not get any closer. "I can get you everything." He promised, his voice quiet. "And I can do what needs to be done." He hoped he sounded a little bit more confident than he felt. After all, Leonov was cruel, if Severin was the one who had to slit his throat, he'd shed no tears on the matter. He sttod straight, meeting his brother's eyes. "It's been ten years, Sebastian. I'm good at what I do. Very good - you've seen that file there, that's just the start. Don't underestimate me."

You: A little chuckle escaped Sebastian as his brother tried to sell him on him, as if statistics were the most important details in their kind of business. "Your skills might be fine, they might be usable." There were a lot of people who could do what he suspected Severin was able to. "However. We- I have no reason to trust you. You're a traitor. You betrayed me." It felt good to say it, to finally say it out loud. "And now you don't even dare to hold your ground. How can we rely on you to tell the truth? Do you expect me to recommend you to my employer with flying colours?" Jim would have to decide whether the deal was attractive enough to work with someone like Severin.

Stranger: That made Severin seethe, and he stepped forward until he was inches away from his brother. "I didn't betray you." He snapped, images of that final fight shooting through his mind. "You wanted to leave, you wanted to start everything with dad, you started that fucking fight..." His hands were clenched in fists, and it was taking every ounce of concentration not to punch Sebastian square in the face. "I don't care if you hate me, Sebastian. I don't care if you don't trust me. But you don't get to call me a traitor when you're the man who left us."

You: Again, Sebastian's eyebrows shot up, his fingers clenched, unclenched, clenched, until he had his full composure back. His brother looked tired, worn from what he could see up close. "You have an interesting definition of loyalty, then," Sebastian said coldly, almost expecting his brother to just sock him. "You have no idea about half of the things that man did to me, Severin." It was the first time he took that name in his mouth in years, having pushed most of the memories to a dark corner of his mind where he wouldn't have to interact with them. "You have no idea, because you were the golden child. You really expected me to work with /him/ and then acted offended when I asked you what had gotten into you. You just pulled your tail between your legs and agreed to whatever he wanted from you. And after all those years, you still don't have a fucking clue."

Stranger: The golden child. That's what Sebastian had always called him, taunted him with that name. "Don't call me that." He hissed. "You were the eldest, you were supposed to be the heir, you had every opportunity to have it all." He'd known, every time, what was happening, because he'd been at the recieving end himself. And he always thought he was the more sensible, just going along with their father to avoid punishment, but in truth, he knew he'd been a coward. "You pushed and pushed and pushed and of course you got punished. If you'd just done what you were told..."

Stranger: (Really sorry I have to go. If you want to continue, it's moriartysmusketeer@yahoo.com - if not, this was fun!)

[unohanadaydreams]

Polyandrous, sexy, hot relationship between fem reader and Shinji, Rose and Kensei😈😈😈🔥🔥🔥 (sorry, I had a typo in the previous ask😓🤭🙃😄)

Oh my god. Like, imagine being the filling between three captains….real hot girl shit.

Features: Smut, a lil angst, and me bending my back to make these three bang reader and each other.

this is fantasy not a how-to guide on poly relationships thanks.

largely unedited bc its thirst post tower content, and pretty much all consent is implied instead of strictly stated. i checked with all 4 of them though and they told ME it’s consensual. Except Kensei. He told me to fuck off ):

Triple Threat Team-up

(Shinji Hirako x Rose Otoribashi x Kensei Muguruma x F!Reader):

How it seeded:

The relationship started with Rose. He wooed you with his flowery words and romantic fashion, paired well with his cool demeanor. Although some of his ideas on love are dated, he’s not one you could call traditional.

As a group, the vizards have endured much and gained little unless they gave to each other. When Shinji walks in on you and Rose naked, using his shunpo to grab a CD before leaving, you find it odd. Rose does not.

He admits that most of the vizards have been some form of...thing at some time in the past. “You can’t be too shocked,” he says. “It’s hard to stay warm in a warehouse.” The phrasing is odd, letting you know there’s something more he means than winter temperatures.

How it took root:

Shinji is odd too. Casual, yet guarded in a way that becomes awkward should he be forced to relax. There is always a joke or gross face or biting word that keeps him at a distance.

The trick is alcohol, like it is for most people. Rose displays you, a bloom with glistening petals and fragrant scent at every private party he arranges. And eventually, Shinji stops finding reasons to flee, his fingers skimming your petal-soft skin as he kisses Rose.

The two of you lure Shinji in, kissing him softly, feeding him well, and paying him attention when he knocks on the window. Who doesn’t love a stray coaxed into domestication?

Rose speaks like he’s telling a story, his eyes most often on yours, his calloused fingers feeling their way down your body until you have to break the eye contact. You never feel like he’s playing you--using you like one does an instrument--, not at all. If anything, you feel as though he’s teaching you a dance, his steady instruction bringing you to revelation each lesson.

Shinji’s eyes are always, always moving to drink in your body as he moves with you, his mouth just as restless. He can never settle on the perfect position, always toying with having more of his body on yours versus more of your body on display. Each time is a revolving puzzle of moments that end well and make him want to test again.

Together, they are easily overwhelming, even when their focus is on each other. Rose’s proclivity for words gets Shinji’s skin flushed as much as yours. Shinji’s restless approach to sex keeps your eyes excited, the play of their bodies combining with the rise and fall of their voices to make for a thrilling, climactic show.

How it sprouted:

If anyone has taken the repositioning to the Seireitei like a bullet, it’s Kensei. He’s not one for shows of sentimentality, leaving the vizards in the human world be, half to keep from missing them and half to stay sane away from them. And the separation feels cruel, a sloppy sever somewhere inside of him that he refuses to see.

The news of Rose and Shinji sharing you wrinkles his nose at first. Really? Is it some kind of middle finger to the “Man”? Seems ostentatious, how open they are about it, like shoving their tongues down your throat in his personal quarters is acceptable. Sure, he’s cooking with his full, undivided attention on the kitchen, but Kensei still has ears. No way would he purposefully hone in on the wet sounds and mewling of you being pressed in between their bodies in the other room as his sauce breaks.

After a sound lecture, Rose and Shinji seem to get the message. Sort of. The couple nights a week that they insist are Kensei’s turn to cook, a nostalgic bit that squeezes his heart enough to agree to, still happen. But it’s just you and Kensei.

And eventually, Kensei can’t help but ask the questions he wants to know, albeit fueled by visible frustration. It’s aggressive and a bit mocking, how he asks, but you answer freely. Which doesn’t help. Just like waking up wet in the pants and sweaty night after night at the thought of picking you up and fucking you in front of Shinji and Rose to teach them a lesson on home etiquette doesn’t help.

The need and want and well of shitty fucking loneliness comes to a head when Rose and Shinji invite themselves back to dinner one night, Shinji’s hand toying with your thigh as Rose whispers something that glazes your eyes.

One of the pots over boils when Shinji palms between your legs with one hand, his other coaxing a saucer of sake past your lips. Rose is between you and Shinji, his fingers kneading your waists.

That’s it, really. The food getting fucked over by his own inattention. The way your thighs are shaking as your kimono is un-tucked. The far too comfortable looks on Shinij and Rose’s degenerate fucking faces.

He makes what he’s been dreaming about for months into a reality, your squeaking morphing into low moans as he pounds into you, picking you up and away from the other two vizards each time they reach for you. They even beg a little and Kensei ignores their panting, their playing with one another, and pretends he’s teaching them a lesson.

How it blossomed:

Alcohol, food, and sex can’t soothe every tear, but they patch up enough to keep the wheels of your relationship greased. The sober statement that you are all in a relationship with each other does hit one of you with a splitting force at times. It’s not uncommon for someone to pull away, unsure how much their needed, wanted, or meant for such a thing.

But there are always enough hands to come around them, reassuring them back.

Kensei doesn’t lose his prickly sensibilities, almost never letting more than one of you touch him at once. He favors positions where he’s able to stand or kneel above one or two people, close enough be inside someone, but far enough to get away should be too much for him. Kensei is most uncomfortable fucking Rose; the dirty words constantly dripping from Rose’s lips and his eyes so focused on Kensei’s over stimulating. Kensei usually presses a hand over his face, muffling his look and words in one swift move.

He likes everyone having their place, approaching sex with three other people like a scene he’s seen before. Kensei loves attention, too. Rarely, he’ll let that show. Dropping his need to be in charge, he’ll let all three of you treat him to the full weight of your bodies and all that comes with it, usually three hands tugging cum to spill over his stomach as all of your mouths leave dark marks over the span of his body. Usually, he wants someone to drive into or a head to force deeper on his cock.

Rose loves those times the most, where everyone is stripped bare of their baggage, just bodies reaching for one another. Like those concerts where everyone is squished together, all feeling the music separately but together. His enjoyment of having some control is less about the power and more about the flow--it’s easier to make the ending come at just the right time when there isn’t a meaty hand squishing his face into the mattress. Anything that leaves his mouth free pleases him, especially if he’s able to drape himself over or in between bodies, guiding them closer to orgasm with verbal and physical encouragement.

Shinji doesn’t care about the positions or pace or anything outside of him being involved. He’s there and that’s vulnerability in itself. Saying that, the playing that thrills him most is the kind that makes him feel like he’s spilling over from contact alone. His body pressed under yours, his cock sliding at your back as you’re fucked above him. Or someone being hugged to him as he lays on his side, both he and them being fucked closer. His mouth is always happy to be at work, the flat of his tongue flicking his piercing over hot, puffy flesh.

Over all, your sex life probably has a color coated calendar--courtesy of Kensei--and you’re often doing overtime if you’re counting orgasms as work.

[bi-bard]

Chick Flick Moments - Sam Winchester Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: Chick Flick Moments

Pairing: Sam Winchester X Reader

Requested: by an anonymous reader

Word Count: 2,363 words

Warning(s): violence, cussing, Sam embarrassing himself, spoilers for any movie/show listed in the author's note

Summary: (Season 11) Gabriel takes a break from hiding to teach (Y/n) and Sam to forgive each other.

Author's Note: I had so much fun putting this request together! Also, if I remember correctly, this reader wanted to remain anonymous.

Here are links to all the scenes that inspired parts of this imagine:

1 (Princess Bride), 2 (8x12 Criminal Minds; can't find just the scene to link), 3 (Moulin Rouge), 4 (The Notebook), 5 (The 10 Things I Hate About You), 6 (Gilmore Girls), 7 (La La Land)

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

-----------------------------------

I rolled my eyes as I walked through the bunker.

Sam was still ranting about the most recent hunt. I was just tired of listening to it. Dean had long since given up trying to control his brother, who had shown no sign of listening to anyone.

"You can't just throw yourself into every single enemy," Sam yelled. "Fun fact, you're not Superman!"

"Oh my god," I finally, turning around. I had been halfway through the library at this point. Dean continued through the bunker, ignoring us. "I ran up to one extra vamp because you were about to get your throat ripped out! Yes, I put myself in danger but it was to save you!"

"Why are you so desperate to be a hero," he asked.

"Why are you so pissy that I saved you," I shouted back.

I let out a yell before turning and leaving.

"Where are you going?"

"To bed," I shouted from down the hall. "Maybe you'll be nicer in the morning! You're welcome for saving your ass!"

I stormed into my room and slammed the door shut. I changed quickly, throwing my old clothes into the corner before curling up on my bed. My emotions got the better of me. I started crying into my pillow.

Imagine saving the man you secretly loved... and then he got mad at you about it.

I fell asleep crying that night.

--time skip--

I shot awake, cringing at how bright it was.

I looked around, letting my eyes adjust to the light.

I was on a hill. I was on a hill, lying in the grass with the sun shining on my face. This is not good.

I stood up and did a circle to look around the long stretches of grass. Nothing looked even slightly familiar.

"For fuck's sake," I muttered.

I decided that the best option would be to try to climb down and find a person... somewhere.

I was just about to start making my way down the hill when I felt a hand grab me.

Out of pure fear, I grabbed the person and pulled them from behind me. The person went flying down the hill.

"(Y/n)," I heard Sam's voice yell as he rolled down the hill.

I put my hand over my mouth. He soon stopped rolling and then he stood up, scrambling to pull the black mask off of his face. I sighed, dropping my hand when I saw he was alright.

"Sam," I called.

"Your instinct is to throw some down a hill," Sam asked.

"When a masked man tries to grab me, definitely," I replied. "Fun fact, Sam, I can actually defend myself."

He gave me a sarcastic smile. I shot it right back to him.

Sam looked down at his outfit before sighing and shrugging at me. He had just started to move back up the hill when my visions went dark.

I opened my eyes a few moments later.

What had been an open field was now a dark warehouse or factory. I saw Sam across from me, but also a group of people behind him. I recognized them. They were characters from Criminal Minds, a guilty pleasure I watched when we weren't hunting.

I tried to figure out what was happening.

Then, I became all too aware of the barrel of a gun pressing into my neck.

"No," Sam yelled.

It clicked.

Sam was supposed to be Spencer. I was Maeve. This was Zugzwang.

My heart dropped.

"Wait, please, don't," Sam yelled as the gun pressed harder on my neck.

"Sam, shut up," I snapped.

"Me for (Y/n)," he shouted.

"You would do that," Diane- the unsub of that episode- asked.

"Yes," Sam replied.

"No," I yelled. "Sam, shut up."

"You shut up," Diane growled at me.

"One difference between me and her...," I growled back.

I grabbed the gun, pushing it forward, away from my neck. The bullet she tried to fire hit the brick wall. I turned, bringing an elbow down on her arm. Her hand dropped the gun into my grasp. I pointed it toward her.

"...I'm not scared of a simple gun."

The others walked over and arrested her. I looked at Sam.

"If you continued, she would've killed herself, which would've killed me," I explained. He furrowed his eyebrows. "I watch this show when we aren't hunting."

He walks over, going to hug me before the scene changes again.

"Holy...," I trailed off as I looked around.

Around us, we could see the tops of roofs and a beautiful night sky. It was almost a dreamy setting.

"Where are we now," Sam asked.

"Only the great Moulin Rouge," Sam and I both twirled around to face... Gabriel. "I know, I know... I'm not dead, anyway!"

I rolled my eyes.

"You two need to learn a lesson," he pointed at us.

"It's like back in 2010," I mumbled. "Play our roles to get out. Probably why we were pulled out of the last two."

"You'll fall into them naturally, I promise," Gabriel smirked. "And yes. Stop ignoring the plotline."

"Alright... sure, I was gonna get shot for your crappy game," I snapped sarcastically.

Then, he was gone. I rolled my eyes.

"So, what are the roles," Sam asked as I walked around the top of the elephant.

"Well, Christian and Satine," I pointed between us. "Maeve and Spencer. The Princess Bride and Westley. It's all romance."

"Why," Sam scrunched his face up.

"Because Gabe wants to get his rocks off," I said sarcastically, "I don't know, Sam!"

I walked down the stairs of the elephant. It was gorgeous here. It was just as vibrant as the movie made it look.

"Wow," I look back at Sam. "This is awesome."

I chuckled and nodded.

"What seen is it?"

"The Elephant Love Medley," I said. "Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman sing this mash-up of famous love songs as his character tries to convince her that there is nothing more important than love."

"I'm not gonna sing," Sam shook his head.

"I was not gonna ask you too," I chuckled. "I've heard you sing."

"Rude."

I just shrugged.

I looked around at the room, trying to figure out how to play these roles without the singing.

"Wait," I said. "Come on."

I grabbed his hand and pulled him back to the stairs.

"What is it," Sam asked as we made it to the top.

"At the end of the medley, Christian and Satine are dancing and they walk out onto this field of clouds and are held up in the sky."

"What-"

"This whole movie feels like a fever dream the first time you watch it."

"Come on," Sam held a hand out to me.

"Can you dance?"

"Not well," he chuckled. "The role didn't say I needed to be good."

He grabbed my hand and pulled me closer to him.

I tried to lead his steps and laughed as he stumbled into a pattern.

"Come on," I moved back so I could grab only one hand.

I led him a few steps forward and onto- what seemed to be- steps in the clouds. I let out an excited laugh when it worked. Sam looked at me and grinned at my excitement.

As soon as got to the top of the steps... it was gone.

We were in the middle of the street now.

"Aw, that was just mean," I mumbled. I glared at Sam when I heard him laughed.

He held his hands up jokingly before extending one toward me. I furrowed my eyebrows at him.

"I know what movie this is," he shrugged. I motioned for him to continue explaining. He walked over, hand still held out to me, "The Notebook. Noah and Allie dance in the street. So... will you dance with me? Even without the sequence where we dance in the clouds."

I bit my lip as I smiled.

I took his hand and let him pull me into the street. I laughed as I stumbled into his chest.

We fell into the scene naturally.

Sam held one of my hands in his and held my waist with the other. I placed my free hand on his shoulder. I looked up at him. It felt strange that we so casually fell into the scene but I was happy.

Sam jokingly twirled me around before pulling me back to his chest. I closed my eyes and chuckled.

"What," he asked.

"Nothing," I shook my head. "I just never saw you as such a romantic."

"Well, don't tell anyone, you'll ruin my reputation," he said sarcastically.

I rolled my eyes.

Sam spun the two of us in a circle before going to dip me. I didn't think I'd ever get to experience something like this. It always just felt like something I should forget about as a hunter. I was starting to forget why I was so angry with Sam in the first place.

I barely noticed that Sam was leaning in before the scene around me changed.

I was on a football field.

I looked around.

There was no sign of Sam.

"Crap," I mumbled, trying to figure out where to look first.

Then, there was a voice going over the field's speakers.

"You're just too good to be true... can't take my eyes off of you..."

I looked around toward the stands to see Sam walking with a mic. Can't sing, my ass.

"You'd be like heaven to touch... I wanna hold you so much"

"Oh my god," I muttered.

"At long last love has arrived... And I thank God I'm alive... You're just too good to be true... Can't take my eyes off of you."

I tried to bite back my laugh. He shrugged at me with an embarrassed smile and stepped into the actual stands.

We both jumped when the marching band started playing. I looked to see Gabriel smirking and leading their march.

Sam and I shrugged at each other. He continued on with the act.

Now, Sam Winchester pretending to be Patrick in "10 Things I Hate About You" was a treat... and was exactly what you imagined it would be.

He was almost stumbling down the steps as he continued on with the act. I was laughing hysterically by the time I saw the security guards starting to run in.

"Sam," I yelled, pointing behind him.

"Crap," I heard through the mic (which made me almost double-over in laughter) as he tried to take off running.

As soon as he was grabbed, the scene changed.

We both took a deep breath when we realized we were sitting together in a car.

"Thank god," Sam mumbled.

"That was a great performance, by the way," I said, still chuckling.

"Shut up," he muttered, laughing along with me. We fell silent after a minute. "So... what scene is this?"

"I have no idea," I replied.

"It's Gilmore Girls, dumbasses," we heard Gabriel's voice but saw no sign of him. "Season 1, Episode 16... absolute idiots."

"Didn't peg him for a Gilmore Girls fan," I said. Sam laughed.

"Me neither."

We fell silent again.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, looking over at me. "You were right. You can defend yourself and you were just trying to help me. I'm sorry for being such a dick about it."

I grinned, "Thanks... I forgive you. I know you were just worried about me."

Sam smiled back.

"I... umm...," Sam looked down for a moment, clearing his throat and collecting his thoughts. "I just... I love you."

My heart leaped up into my throat. I blinked at him a few times and forced a chuckle out. Which was the wrong response but I panicked. Hunters... we could face the devil but emotions were a no-no.

"(Y/n)," Sam's smile dropped slowly when he realized I wasn't responding.

I was just about to respond when the scene changed again.

Sam was gone again and I was on a city street.

"Dammit," I muttered.

I ran down the street, turning the corner. I looked at the wall of the building I was by. Was this a jazz club?

I walked through the door and was guided to a table so I could sit down and watch the performance.

"La La Land," I said.

Sam and I watched this together. Dean had gone to bed. We weren't tired and just turned this movie on because it looked like it was mostly happy.

Big dance numbers, beautiful effects... and the epilogue that made me hide tears from Sam.

I looked at the stage. Sam was sitting there, wearing a suit, looking at the audience nervously. He hesitantly reached toward the piano. It was like it was a prerecorded track. It sounded just like the movie.

I smiled.

I just wanted to talk to him.

Soon the performance ended.

I stood up and started walking over, seeing Sam starting to walk out.

I grinned at him, "Sam-"

He cut me off by cupping the sides of my face and kissing me softly. I touched his sides lightly, smiling against his lips. It was... magic. Absolute magic.

Then, I shot awake, back in my bed in the bunker.

The game was over. Thank God.

"(Y/n)," I heard yell through the bunker hall.

I ran into the hall and ran toward his room.

We stopped as soon as we saw each other.

"Please tell me that wasn't a dream," I said. He shook his head, smiling widely at me.

I ran over, pulling him down to kiss him again. It was softer than our last kiss and I loved it. His arms wrapped around me and pulled me closer. I buried my hands through his hair.

"Woah, what did I miss," we pulled away when we heard Dean.

I could basically feel Sam chuckle against my lips before he moved to look at his brother. I turned around in Sam's arm.

"A chick flick moment," Sam answered.

"Alright," Dean gave us a weird look before leaving without another word.

I looked back at Sam with a smile, "I love you."

"I love you too," he grinned and leaned in to kiss me softly again.

-----------------------------------

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Killer

Gif sources:  1  |  2  |  3

Pairings:  Baron Helmut Zemo/Reader

Warnings:  TFATWS Spoilers! Hurt/comfort, slight angst but hopeful ending, a little bit of spice 🤏 but it’s still solidly SFW and mostly near the end; insignificant character death; canon violence; Zemo being a menace not only to my heart but my mental health

Word Count:  11,932 words

Reader Gender:  Female

Author: Meg

Summary:  While tracking the Flag Smashers across Europe alongside Sam and Bucky, you suddenly find yourself in need of a hero. The man who comes to your rescue, however, is the villain of too many people’s stories to ever be mistaken for one. The lines between what is and what should be become blurrier, making it too easy to forget that you aren’t supposed to like Baron Helmut Zemo at all.

A/N:  Based on a simple sentence my friend said in the middle of us both simping over Zemo together, which inspired a novel lolol 😂 Whoops! Sorry I’m so long-winded, but I hope you guys like this anyway!

Oh, this was not good.

So very, very not good.

A twisting grip on your arm, pain shooting up your shoulder and from the side where the knee of the supersoldier atop you digs into the flesh of your hip, pinning you down. Cement bites into your cheek like a taunt of the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into when he slams you into the ground. Wind knocked out of you, you feel the painful strain in your joints, and know that if your arm is pushed too much further at this sharp angle, it’s likely your shoulder will come out of socket.

A whimpered yelp that you can’t bite down escapes just as the supersoldier’s grip tightens when you struggle beneath him, desperate panic lacing your blood as you realize you can’t escape his grip. You remember the sight of the back of Sam and Bucky’s heads when they went off towards the east side of this warehouse, and for a brief moment you wonder if that’s the last you’ll see of them. Splitting up had been the last thing you wanted to do, but the maze of this place made it a necessity if you were to do the thorough sweep of the area for the group of Flag Smashers rumored to be taking shelter here.

Well, you found them, alright.

Why did you have to be the one to get stuck searching the west side with Zemo?

The reluctance you’d displayed when Sam initially split you up with Zemo wasn’t exactly one-hundred percent truthful, though, was it? God, maybe it made you stupid and foolish, but a secret, cursed part of your stomach had flipped with nervous anticipation at the thought of being entirely alone with him. Something which had only been accomplished briefly over these past few days of tracking the Smashers all over Europe.

A subtle glance in Zemo’s direction had revealed no such similar reaction on his part, his stare meeting yours. Distant and unreadable, is what he was.

Except for when he wasn’t. Distant, that is.

Except for when he treated you with a modicum of civility. No, you couldn’t even fool yourself into believing it was simple civility, or even whatever traditional ingrained gentlemanliness that a Baron of Sokovia would have been taught in his youth.

Zemo had treated you with something more than that, especially when no one else was looking.

Sometimes, even if they were, and you still hadn’t decided if that dangerous toeing of the line between animosity and flirtation was a manufactured tactic to manipulate you or not. Uncertain if you should be offended that Zemo figured you the weakest link of your companions, or if, in the case that his interest was genuine… it wasn’t, so no use dwelling on what you would do in that case.

What you should do, when he set upon you with that look in his eye, like he knew something about you that you didn’t.

Like at the end of Sam’s introductory speech detailing the plan of the warehouse sweep, where that lingering glance in Zemo’s direction had ended with a slight curve of his lips upwards. Looking bizarrely satisfied with the announcement of Sam’s plan, and you couldn’t tell if it was at the thought of hunting supersoldiers, or the strange, treacherous feeling swimming in your own gut--- that Zemo’s pleasure was even minimally at the truth of another opportunity to have you, all to himself.

It had been enough to make you tear your eyes away, but not enough to get his lingering stare to stop itching the back of your neck. Enough to make Bucky raise a brow at you, a wary look in his eyes as he observed the one member of your party who seemed at all pleased with the fact that you were all likely heading into a fight, or worse, nothing at all, in mere moments. A warning simmered in blue, Bucky’s unspoken, “be careful,” resting on the solemn line of his frown.

You’d been told it enough in the past few days, to be careful of Zemo. Terrorist, criminal, killer--- a portion of the words they’d used to describe Zemo.

At first, you were acutely aware of the warnings you’d been given, of the story they’d told you. The same one you’d heard pieces of from different sources. What had happened in Bucharest was national news, but to think that the man who had sat across from you on his private plane, tension thick in the air while a smile rested on his own lips, had been responsible… it had churned your stomach at first. Sitting there in his finery, attended by a footman, he seemed a strange visual for the description that predated your formal introduction to him.

And you had excused yourself to the bathroom, if only to escape the feeling. The animosity of Bucky’s conversation and the tension in Sam’s shoulders, the weight of curious eyes, which always seemed to glance back towards you.

He was unnerving, if only because of how peculiarly normal he seemed in certain moments. Approachable. Amiable, even. A predator’s façade, meant for you to wonder if he had truly been the kind of man capable of terrorizing Bucharest and your friends the way he had.

Which was how he looked at you, just like a predator sizing up new prey.

The quaint jet washroom could not be your solace forever, and you were inevitably forced to emerge, or face the embarrassment of worrying your companions with an abnormally long bathroom break. When you emerged, however, you found the murmured conversation to be of a slightly lighter tone, and soon discovered the reason for it when you nearly walked straight into the chest of the man you’d gone to the restroom to escape.

“Apologies,” he had said, as if you were not the one who almost ran straight into him, amusement dancing in his eyes as his body easily blocked the narrow aisle towards where Sam and Bucky sat further in. They’d not yet noticed your emergence from the restroom, and your hoped your quick glance towards them had not looked too desperate. Torn back to Zemo with the startling shock that he would even offer, “Would you enjoy a drink? I was just on my way to get a refill, you see,” he raised the short glass in his hand, ice clinking, empty otherwise. Your pause was pregnant enough that he eventually teased, “I promise not to poison you, if that is your concern, my dear.”

“No, thank you,” had been your curt answer, pushing down the heat that threatened to burn your cheeks at his familiarity with you when you attempted to move around him, forced by the narrow aisle to graze his chest with yours in order to return to the attention of your companions, ignoring the additional attention which had followed you from the aisle.

The outfit you discovered he had chosen for you upon landing on the outskirts of Madripoor was… just another reason to dislike him. The one relief was that it was comfortable enough to fight or run in, if need be, but nothing about it was sensible in the least. What the outfit lacked in cleavage, it made up for in its form-fitting style, leaving little to the imagination otherwise. You felt as if every inch was on display for the perusal of whoever simply cast their eyes upon you, regardless of how you would tug and pull at the fabric in an attempt to make certain areas less focal.

And then there was what he’d said about it, humming appreciatively when you emerged from the jet just after Bucky and Sam to be offered a hand by Zemo at the last step, if only to scrutinize you in this ridiculous outfit as you equally scrutinized him, donned in a fur-trimmed jacket that you reluctantly had to admit made him look… handsome, “Good. In that, you shall make a believable lover.”

You’d almost tripped that last step at his words, despite the firm grip keeping you upright, eyes wide as you heard Bucky choke on his own spit before collecting himself.

Zemo paused long enough that you think he simply enjoyed watching whatever conclusions you were jumping to flash upon your face until he clarified, just as you opened your mouth to demand an explanation, wishing there was some way to wipe the smirk from his lips, “Not my lover, of course,” a gesture towards Sam, “but that of our friend, the Smiling Tiger.” His smirk broke out into a proper grin as you snatched your hand from his, realizing your form complimented Sam’s own ridiculous outfit, as Zemo addressed him, “The source of your alias is known for philandering various women. Seeing the Smiling Tiger with another woman has become somewhat expected.”

“He takes different women with him, even to do business?” Sam raised a brow.

Zemo chuckled slightly, “Certainly not.”

“What am I supposed to be doing tonight if I’m not going to meet the contact with the rest of you?” jutting your chin out, you cross your arms over your chest, if only to attempt to appear as if Zemo didn’t utterly disarm you with the slip of his attention back to you, “I’m not here to stand around and look pretty, you know.”

“Although I’m certain you would excel at that,” Zemo had purred, your poker face almost breaking under the shock of his forwardness, wondering if he simply enjoyed toying with you--- if perhaps you were an easier read than you thought, “Madripoor is full of dangers, but no one would dare bother a woman who belonged to the Smiling Tiger. It is typically assumed that these women pose no threat in and of themselves, considering his habit of picking shallow, frivolous women who rarely realize they are not the only of their kind in his orbit. This assumption will offer you the perfect position to scout the outskirts of our interaction for anyone unsavory, who might try and interrupt us during our business tonight.” He reached out, pushing your hair from your shoulder, and you took effort not to flinch back at the ghost of a touch on your bare skin, “While you will undoubtedly draw the eyes of many, none who are searching for a potential threat will linger on you long.” Zemo’s teeth flashed with his smile, his hand returning to his side, delving into the pocket of his coat leisurely when he shrugged, “You are simply another beautiful woman on the arm of a dangerous man tonight. That is nothing new in Madripoor.”

“And just how loving is Smiling Tiger with his girlfriends?” Sam huffs, and you wondered if the apologetic look he cast your way was for Zemo’s behavior, or what would undoubtedly be his own tonight.

Striding forward towards the waiting car, Zemo glanced over his shoulder as he passed your companion, “Very. You might want to warm up to each other rather quickly, if that is to be an issue.”

But you’d done worse undercover before, and a night of flirting on the arm of Sam Wilson was the least of your worries, so you mimicked the shrug Zemo had given you, and fell into step beside Sam, “No problem.”

Sam nodded, “None for me, either.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Bucky agreed with a clench of his jaw, marching after Zemo towards the car, and you remembered that whatever you had to endure tonight, would probably be only a fraction of the discomfort Bucky would feel at reliving his Winter Soldier days.

Even if it wasn’t real.

Part of you yearned for the weight of Sam’s hand in yours, his breath tickling your neck where he had kissed it for show, upon being left alone at the bar in this strange Babylon that was the Low Town of Madripoor. Not that you were incapable of defending yourself, but you were outnumbered--- really, you all were.

And you preferred for your only intel on the region to not have come from the single man in your company who you knew you couldn’t trust. Zemo’s word that no one would bother you, alone, in this ridiculous outfit, simply because they’d seen Sam--- or, the Smiling Tiger, as he was tonight--- all over you? Well, it wasn’t enough to put your mind at ease.

You tried to hide that unease behind the drink in your hand, thankful that you’d been given something fruitier and less daring than the drink Zemo had ordered for Sam, as your eyes scanned the bar, catching where the three of them had disappeared into the unknown of the one area you could not enter.

Technically, you could, but you’d have to take out the four--- no, five--- guards lingering in the main chamber of the bar, before doing so. You couldn’t do that without starting a scene, though, and there was no reason to do so until absolutely necessary.

Pushing away from the bar, your only indication of what was going on past those burly statues of guards flanking the way beyond was the sound of the earpiece in your ear, shaded from view by your hair. A whisper, compared to the throbbing music around you, but just loud enough with its closeness to make out the conversation you weren’t otherwise privy to. It was going well enough, as you moved throughout the bar, ensuring your counted five guards remained in their positions, with their relaxed posture, and counting a sixth one as he returned from the direction of the restrooms.

Some tried to stop you, to get you to dance with them, but a simple name of your alleged lover had sent them on their way easily enough. So perhaps Zemo had not been entirely untruthful, it seemed.

Then, the meeting had turned sour. Going south fast, and you watched as the two guards flanking your companion’s escape tilted towards their bulky earpieces, but you were on them before they could go further within, to where you now heard fighting in your own subtle earpiece.

Doing your best to sound like a bubbly drunk, you draped yourself between them, obstructing their path, “Oh, is this the way to the bathroom?” You were two steps into the hall, when one grabbed you by the arm, the other attempting to walk around you, but you easily blocked the way as you tumbled yourself into his arms, apparently losing your footing at the tug on your arm, “You don’t have to be so rough!”

“Get out the way, lady, this isn’t the bathroom,” the one whose arms you were haphazardly steadied with grunted, and you watched as the other slipped past you towards the beyond, his partner following close behind.

But by then you were halfway across the bar in a quick stride, hearing the hushed, “Meet us outside, we’re going out the back,” that Bucky murmured, just for you.

“No weapons,” Zemo added curtly. “We are not ready to cause a scene, my dear.”

The threatening chime of the phones around as you hit the front doors and pushed beyond, only to find that the clinging followed you even there, lifted up by the chill and stink of Madripoor’s Low Town air, had you growling out, “Looks like that scene’s already started, whether or not you want it to, Baron.”

You caught sight of them up ahead, walking just as briskly down the side-street, and nearly had to run to catch up to their pace. By the time you did fall into step beside Sam, the neon glow of the bar at your back went black with a heart-stopping shunt, right before the gunfire started.

Your only relief as Sam pushed you down with his ducking, was that whoever was firing the automatic weapon was not a good shot. Then, you ran.

But, from the corner of your eye, you saw the flap of a long coat, the swivel on firm calves, as Zemo turned to the side, and escaped beyond the adjacent alley, and, right then, you thought that would be the last you saw of him. Yet, you couldn’t be concerned with hunting him down, what with the gunfire coming from all directions, straight at you, Sam, and Bucky. Allowing the perfect moment for Zemo to slip away.

As you ran, heart pounding and barely registering the sound of your companion’s voices, you almost laughed bitterly with the hysteria of the chaos around you, and the thought that maybe Zemo had created it just to escape. Whether he did or not, it certainly worked to his advantage, and the rev of motorcycle engines biting at your heels reminded you that, like it or not, you couldn’t worry about where he had gone, down that side-street, at the current moment.

Blindly following Sam, who was blindly following Bucky, down the alleys of Low Town, you turned the next corner as a shot rang out. Not the same, quick bursts of an automatic, but rather, the loud, resounding hollowness of a sniper’s bullet.

Air brushing against your cheek, the deathly kiss of wind as the bullet moved past your head, and straight into the motorcyclist behind you. You barely breathed as the second, then third shot rang true, and your pursuers fell dead on the slick, black wetness that was Madripoor’s alley streets.

Just as Zemo emerged from the opposite end of the street, catching your bewildered stare as his own, matching confusion, accompanied a breathless, “You seem to have a guardian angel.”

Even by looking at her, you could tell Sharon Carter was anything but your guardian angel.

Madripoor had changed her. The events which had trapped her here had done even worse. Something bitter and estranged lingered under each word the former agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. said as she presented her story for the four of you. Enough to make you wary of her intentions, regardless of how helpful she may have seemed.

Despite the fact you had known her, when you, too, once worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Well, this is just too perfect,” were her first words, when she’d come upon the four of you in that alleyway.

Too perfect, was right. Her High Town home, her art gallery full of stolen things, the undisclosed clientele she apparently kept, and expected, resulting in your hasty changing of clothes. It all was too perfect, even down to her tragic story of exile from the States. Something was off, but you had too much to worry about to concern yourself with picking apart the story of your host, your momentary refuge provided by her hand.

You wondered if Bucky could sense it, too, when he said, “She’s kind of awful now,” following her abrasive callousness in detailing the hypocrisy of heroism.

If not him, then perhaps the look Zemo sent your way could confirm your suspicions, but he buried it down behind the glass of whatever hard liquor he had acquired in her too perfect home. Nagel, Wilfred Nagel was who you should have been focusing on, rather than the question you nearly dared to ask Zemo right there, as Sam offered Sharon a pardon that you all knew relied on too many bureaucrats to ever be a certain promise.

The longer Zemo held your gaze, the less you concentrated on the conversation around you, until something of a party was mentioned, and the low promise of the, “Trouble,” that Sharon would find parted Zemo’s lips. You could believe that, more than whatever Sam had promised her.

The art gallery had taken on the atmosphere of a club, rather than some simple party. Music throbbed, louder than that of the bar earlier in the night, pulsing bodies to move in tandem with the beat of the sound. Veins, stretching out from the same, beating heart.

But further in, past the stage and the DJ, was a viewing of priceless art, which was certain to be priced and sold tonight. The business Sharon was conducting, the contacts she’d said she would work for information on Nagel’s location, were undoubtedly among the people gathered there.

Waiting around was rarely enjoyable.

Your group moved towards the open bar, but none of you looked to the bartender for a drink. Zemo’s eyes affixed along the dancefloor, surveying, as much as Sam or Bucky were. If someone were to look closely enough, in that moment, that simple glance would give away their training. Your eyes, however, traveled past them, catching the questioning glance Bucky sent your way as you moved to separate and disperse into the crowd of writhing bodies around you.

“I’m going to dance,” was your only explanation. If the three of them had not seen some potential threat in those few moments of surveying, then it likely wasn’t there.

Either way, Sharon had said, “Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party,” before sending you on your way.

That much, you could oblige her with.

Considering the dancefloor was a great percentage of the party, dancing also allowed you to survey the room without looking like you were gawking. Thankful to be back in your own clothes, the black on black and buckles of your light tactical wear fit in appropriately with the variety of party-goers around you. Tempo flaring, sweat and alcohol, adrenaline rushing your veins, for a moment you found you were enjoying yourself, after the initial sweep of the dancefloor had come up empty of threats. Or, well, anything that was immediately threatening to you.

Which is why you could have kicked yourself for letting what might have been the biggest threat in the room creep up on you, in that brief moment of thrumming ecstasy.

His hand caught in the buckled strap at your waist, pulling you into a firm back, not unlike other dancers around you had, but his breath smelled of bourbon as it ghosted your cheek, and the accented voice at his lips was enough to have you whirling in his arms, “Do you mind if I dance with you?”

In your defense, the last you’d seen of Zemo had been moments ago, across the bar as he perused the artwork with Sam and Bucky. You could hardly believe he’d crossed the room as quick as he had--- quick enough to catch you off-guard.

“What?” you question blandly, the mixture of unease and shock churning into something else that you wouldn’t dare admit as he offered a dazzling smile, and you suddenly realized you were still standing far too close, with the growing crowd around you.

He mistook your confusion for difficulty hearing over the blaring music, and leaned closer, to catch you by the ear, “Dance with me.” Not a question, this time.

He was close enough you could smell his cologne--- a rich scent, peppered with cinnamon, which had you wondering just how much he had paid for the bottle of whatever it was, or if it had been something Sokovian from before the fall. It was unlike anything you’d scented before. He even smelled expensive.

For a second time, you almost jumbled his question, though not from shock. The heat rising to your cheeks and the skip in your chest, you couldn’t convince yourself was entirely from the dancing or the light drink you’d had earlier in the evening.

His own cheeks were faintly pink, upon closer inspection, but otherwise there was no evidence in his smooth posture of the multiple glasses of liquor he’d had tonight, yet it’s enough to make him look warm--- perhaps not as cold as he once had appeared.

Human.

“We are to enjoy ourselves, are we not?” he suggested, as if that would push you toward one answer over another, and it worked.

“Yes,” your lips said it before your mind caught up with them, and his smile widened into a grin, as brief as it was.

“Then, dance, my dear.”

His own dancing was rigid, but he kept beat. Small movements which would not draw attention from anyone, yet were somehow the barest ability required to be considered dancing. As if he had little experience dancing to club music like this, though you couldn’t be sure. It was almost comical, yet no-one could laugh at him, since he miraculously managed to pull it off.

Well, you, at least, were able to bite back a chuckle at the sight of him. Something about it, about him, in that moment, dancing so awkwardly yet with so much confidence, brought a genuine smile to your face, as you danced alongside him.

And when he gestured in a round motion with his hand for you to spin, you did that, too, without a second thought. It was easy to forget, for only a second, when your eyes caught his in the strobing light and the smile upon his face, his hands coming together to clap for you in time with the pulsing beat between you, just who he was, and what he’d done.

Far too easy to forget.

But one glance towards the edges of the dance floor has you remembering, as you caught the movement of Bucky and Sam following after the slip of Sharon’s form. Bucky’s eyes bored into you, his jaw clenched. Displeasure written on his face, and you don’t think the sake of blending in would be enough to excuse your dancing with Zemo, or the enjoyment with which you’d done it.

“Perhaps, she has found our missing Doctor Nagel,” Zemo’s form was too close, all over again, and this time you do step away from him, if only a single step. It’s enough to breathe, to clear your head of whatever had overcome you moments before. He’s too busy looking after their three retreating forms to notice the guilt catching at the back of your throat, suffocating you for barely a second.

You ensure any proof of the feeling settling in your gut was gone by the time he cast his eyes towards you, the brown of his irises nearly black in the lowlight of a High Town party, but you didn’t keep his stare long, “Let’s find out.”

The sun was dawning when you emerged onto the street, and reached over your heads by the time you made your way to the water-side lot filled with shipping containers. Sharon’s intel had led you to it, and container four-two-six-one had come to your knowledge with little questioning on Sam and Bucky’s part, if only because she was an old friend.

You still wondered who would give her the location of such a prize as this, and what it had cost her, since you were slowly learning that nothing in Madripoor came free. Regardless of where she had received the information, it had been where Nagel was hidden, along with the remainder of his serum research.

It had also been where the bounty hunters of Madripoor descended upon you.

Dr. Nagel was a young, lanky man who had barely finished his exposition of where to possibly find the Flag Smashers who had stolen his serum when the very man you had danced so happily with not two hours before shot a bullet right through his heart. All you could think, in the stunning moment of realization that Nagel had been dead before he even hit the ground, was how stupid you were to ever let your guard down around this man--- this killer.

“What did you do?” Sharon’s cry rang in your ears as the gun clattered to the ground from Zemo’s hand, jolting you into action from staring at Nagel’s body to turn on them. Catching Zemo’s cold eyes--- no remorse within them--- as Sam and Sharon struggled to pin him to the grated shelves of Nagel’s lab. You think you might hate him, just in time for the blast of an explosion to push you face first into the metal slatted floor of Nagel’s bunker.

That hate was all you had left to fuel you from getting up off the floor, bones creaking as flames danced in your peripheral, a hole blown through the side of the crate. That anger, and the grasp of Sam’s hands on your forearm, pulling you up after he got his own footing.

Zemo had been gone by the time you had enough sense to scan the area, but there would be no searching for him this time, either, as the bounty hunters descended upon your location with the ease of wolves circling their prey. Shooting out from cover, you knew the bullets of your pistol weren’t enough to last you for all of them, and they had you pinned.

Part of you still hated him, even when he saved your asses. Another part wondered why he even bothered.

You hoped you radiated that hatred when you got into the back of that getaway car he’d found, too sullen to even wish Sharon a farewell, let alone offer a smile at the cheeky attitude Zemo had pulled up in it with. After everything, it only made you stew more--- his nonchalance. If you were being truly honest, you were angrier still at yourself, and the thought that he’d played you like a fiddle. If you had kept your guard up and kept an eye on him, perhaps Nagel would still be alive. Perhaps you wouldn’t feel like Zemo was playing this two steps ahead of the rest of you.

Even on the plane out of Madripoor, you had sat in sullen silence, refusing so much as to look at Zemo, even when he offered you food.

You hoped your sharp, “I’m not hungry, thanks,” cut deep, as childish as it may sound. You didn’t bother to look long enough in his direction to see if it had. Speaking exclusively to Sam and Bucky, even when Zemo changed your course to Latvia, you had not spoken a word to him until you landed in Riga, and his conversation turned towards Sokovia.

“Erased from the map,” he clicked his tongue, but his pace didn’t slow, when he spoke in what was as much an accusation as a question, “I don’t suppose any of you bothered to visit the memorial?” Met with silence when he looked upon Sam, he turned his eyes toward Bucky, then you, and it was the longest you’d dared hold his gaze since he killed Nagel, when he scathingly said, “Of course not. Why would you?” Nodding towards an old set of double doors, he drops the subject as suddenly as he’d brought it up, “We are here.”

Your traitorous heart clenched as you watched him disappear beyond them, Bucky remaining by your side while you lingered at the bottom of the steps leading into the residence.

“I’ll be back,” Bucky murmured, glancing your way, to which you silently nodded, too troubled by the fact that you felt anything at all akin to pity for that horrible man to worry where your friend might have to wander to in the middle of Latvia. Zemo was, undeniably, horrible, wasn’t he?

A huff of annoyance blew past your lips as you marched the steps towards where Sam and that man had disappeared beyond. Maybe you were just getting soft in your old age, or something.

Yeah, that had to be it.

What you hadn’t expected was for Sam to meet you at the doorway to Zemo’s… loft? Loft.

“I’m gonna’ hit the corner store, if you’re alright to watch you-know-who,” Sam murmured low, and you scrambled for words to say aside from the hell no which threatened to spill from your lips. “He’s in the shower, so maybe he’ll be a while anyway.” Glancing over your shoulder, Sam’s brow furrowed, “Where’s Bucky?”

“Said he’d be back,” you looked behind yourself, as if expecting to find him there. “Don’t know where he ran off to, though.”

A questioning breath was sucked through Sam’s teeth, before he let it out in a sigh, affixing you with a, “You good?”

With babysitting Zemo?

No.

“Yeah, go,” you had ushered him out the door despite your current feeling towards the subject, and by the time you shut the door behind him and rummaged into the kitchen area to ransack the refrigerator, you realized why Sam was going to the corner store. This place was positively barren of the necessities. Groaning in disappointment, you lean your head back in a silent cry to the heavens. Why was nothing going right on this mission? You were starving, and hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep on the plane over.

Standing there for a moment, you let the cold air hit your skin, daring it to keep you awake.

The door to the washroom pushing open grasps your reluctant attention, head lulling to the side slightly as you shut the empty refrigerator. There he was, the bastard, clad only in a robe and lounge pants, pushing a folded towel along his neck, catching the water there which dripped from his semi-dry hair.

Footsteps softened by the slippers at his feet, he asks upon taking a look around the room to find only your presence there, “And where have your soldiers run off to?”

You grit your teeth, forced to answer him, “Sam went to the store, because you don’t keep your safe houses stocked with food.”

“This is not a safe house,” he murmurs, coming close enough that the sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows catches along something gold glinting at his throat. Large hands lower the towel and fold it neatly, as your gaze lingers, observing the necklace where it delves into his chest, a view allowed by the robe’s relaxed fit, just open enough to reveal the soft hairs there. You snap your eyes back up before you can stay there for too long, and Zemo is smiling slightly. Bastard caught you.

“What is it then?”

“A vacation home.” For a pitiful instant, your mind sent you images of the family he’d lost in Sokovia. The last thing you needed was to feel sorry for him, so you clear your throat, shaking off the thought of what was missing. What had led to who he’d become. Your pity thankfully didn’t show as he moved ever closer into the kitchen, feet stopping just before your own so that he could look you down. You couldn’t help but grasp the counter you leant yourself upon until your knuckles blanched under his scrutiny, nearly on the verge of demanding he explain what his problem was, until he nodded to the cabinet beside your head, “Excuse me.”

You almost jumped out of his way.

Watching, desperately clawing for the anger that had been so comfortingly oppressive in your chest earlier in the morning, because anything was better than lingering on the cut of his jawline, or the way his robe dipped as he reached for that very cabinet you had been standing in the way of a moment before. Anything else, focus on anything else.

When he opened it, your eyes snapped to the few jars within. Olives and fruit lined the shelves in twistable jars, flanked by large bottles of that same dark liquor he seemed to favor, and a tin of coffee beans. In the back, nestled away for a rainy day, was a box of Turkish delight.

“Ah,” he breathed pleasantly, shooting you a cheshire grin, “so it is not entirely as empty as you thought.”

Bastard, bastard, bastard---

The word rings in your head like a mantra as you feel the anger crumbling, fading away with each second he looked at you like that. What was wrong with you, to be this easy? Something had to be.

His eyes were thankfully torn away when he looked into the cabinet once more, plucking the fruit--- peaches, looked like--- from the shelf, along with the coffee and candy, “I doubt you would like to eat pickled olives alone.” He says it, right before he closes the cabinet, and reaches out with the jar of peaches towards you.

Blinking up at him, you don’t dare take them, genuinely curious, “They’re not for you?”

“You did not eat on the plane, and it has been hours, now; you must be starving.”

You’re surprised he even cared, or made the appearance of caring, but that shrivel of spiteful anger you clutched onto with all your might refused to take them from his hand, despite the growl in your stomach, “Sam will be back soon enough with food.” Turning on your heel to keep yourself from going back and snatching them away like a starving animal, you move to the other side of the kitchen.

His jaw is set when you look back at him at the sharp tap of glass and metal along the countertop. Zemo’s fingers clutched the jar and coffee tin with a fury that was only revealed in the depths of his dark eyes, watching you move across the living room without so much as a word.

Until you sat down, and he breathed calmly, so calmly, that you knew it was the calm before the storm, “Am I to expect you to act as a petulant child for the remainder of the mission, or shall I ready myself for you to come to your senses?”

You scoffed at him, “Excuse me?”

“Please do not make me repeat myself, my dear.”

“I’m sorry, Baron,” you grit with as little remorse as possible, that once-simmering anger nearly boiling again, “that I don’t want to trade peaches with a man who murdered someone not two feet from where I stood.”

“Try again.”

“What?”

“Try, again,” he breathed slowly, as if he had to do so to keep himself from breaking into some fit of rage. You’d never seen him enraged, even when he fought and killed, he was always a deathly calm, and some sick, twisted part of you wanted to see him truly, frightfully angry, “You don’t treat Wilson and Barnes with this childish disdain, despite them killing countless people in your presence.”

“Don’t even compare yourself to them. You killed an unarmed man!”

“I do not wish to litigate the details of what may or may not have happened---”

“‘Litigate?’” you rose to your feet from the couch, not even realizing that he had half-way crossed the room by the time you did, “Do you even hear yourself? You put a bullet in his heart! What is there to litigate?”

“He was a threat.”

“He could have been arrested, or---”

“Criminals can escape prisons,” he bit, nearly in each other’s faces by the time you laughed at your own bitter answer.

“What? Like you?”

“Precisely,” he agreed, and you met his glare with one just as heated, until something shifted in his gaze. A sort of dawning understanding that muddled his glare, until a raise of his brow accompanied the easing tension in his shoulders, and you already knew you weren’t going to like what he was going to say before he’d even said it, “Is that what bothers you?”

“What?” you ask warily.

“That I am considered a criminal.”

“You’re a killer.”

“My question stands, regardless.”

“I’ve worked with criminals before,” you shook your head, making to turn back to the couch, but a fast grip at your upper arm stopped you in your tracks, and he was far too close all over again. Suffocating you with his closeness, with the oppressive cleanliness and water his scent still carried from his recent shower. Ungloved, his fingers were warm, radiating through the sleeve of your shirt, digging firmly into the pliant flesh of your bicep.

His breath carried the faint smell of mint that comes after a fresh brushing as it wafted past your skin alongside his demanding amusement, and your stomach dropped dreadfully when he teased, “Ah, but you danced with me.”

Have you ever let someone you didn’t trust get too close?

The question seemed to dance in the black endlessness of his dilated pupils, rimmed with the deceptive warm brown of his irises. You were so close that you could notice the gold flecks in them which caught in the sunlight streaming from the window, something you otherwise would have missed. A dare in the dangerous flick of his lashes, he glanced to your lips and back; was he all too aware of your closeness, too?

The reflexive dart of your tongue to wet your lips gave you away, face burning hot with anger and embarrassment, and you ripped yourself from his grip, “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“I’m sure you’re clever enough to figure it out,” is his sarcastic counter, a satisfied smirk which said he had all the answer he needed already left you wishing there were some way to rip it from his face, because were you really that obvious? Or was he just that good at reading people?

This time, when you headed to sit back on the couch, he simply stood there, allowing you to be unobstructed. You plopped down upon the couch with all the defeat you felt at his satisfaction, lying down in the hope that if you ignored him, he’d simply go away.

When you hear the sound of his slippers along the floor, signaling his departure from your side, the distant shuffle paused in their tracks when you couldn’t help yourself from asking, “Why did you come back?”

“Hmm?”

“When we were in Madripoor,” you breathed slowly, curiosity overcoming your anger, “you had escaped us twice. It was the perfect chance to run for your freedom. Why come back?”

You don’t dare open your eyes, even with the length of his pause, before he answers, a solemn honesty in his voice, “This is not a mission which I can abandon. I must see it through.”

You almost asked him why, once again, but thought better of it. Something told you he wouldn’t have given you a straight answer, either way.

Just when you think he’d gone on his way, the shuffling sound of his slippers closed in once more. Tempted to look, your curiosity at his approach was answered with the sharp sound of glass clicking against the wooden coffee table.

“Feel for me as you will, but eat,” his voice is low, soft. You don’t know if it was the straining of your ears to make up for what you would not see, but you could have sworn you heard an apologetic tone when he added, “You’re no use if you lack the strength to fight your enemies. As you are now, anyone could overpower you if they wished.”

That earns him a peek of a glare from out of the corner of your eye, and you earn a stern look in return as he nods towards the canned peaches on the table.

You couldn’t help yourself from asking sarcastically, before cracking a small smile, “So, are the Flag Smashers about to propel from the ceilings to catch us unaware, or is it you I should be worried about overpowering me?”

No apologies, from either party, but his dark chuckle is enough to set your soul aflame when he teases, sounding too much like a promise, “I would only overpower you, should you to ask me to.”

And that was when you realized how your question had come across. The burning in your face only increases as you sat up sharply at his words, about to protest that it had not been what you meant by them, but the doors to the loft opened, saving you the embarrassment of that conversation.

“Where’s Sam?” Bucky asks, and Zemo leans away from the coffee table, freeing you from the sweltering scrutiny of his gaze.

“I’m afraid we are running low on groceries, and he was so kind as to do the shopping for us,” Zemo explained innocently enough, but Bucky’s eyes narrowed at him regardless.

“Speaking of going out,” you reached for the jar of peaches, feeling Zemo’s glance upon you as you popped the top open, “where’ve you been?”

“I saw an old friend,” Bucky grumbled, shrugging off your question as he moved towards the washroom, “I’ll tell you when Sam gets back.”

The door closed behind him with a certain finality on the subject, at least until Sam returned. By the time you looked back towards Zemo, he was fiddling with the box of candy.

“I shall put the coffee on,” he announced, glancing to catch your eye with the flick of a candy wrapper glinting between his fingertips, offering, “Turkish delight?”

Upon Sam’s return, the news that Bucky’s old friend had been a warrior of Wakanda was a bad one, at least for Zemo. But with bad news came good news, and soon enough you were following the trail of the Flag Smashers once again, even if that meant the Wakandans were following your trail.

Hours turned to days, and by the end of a weeklong trek across Europe filled with close-quarters and even closer encounters with your Sokovian prisoner, you were standing in front of the dingy warehouse which had found you in this final, terrifying predicament.

Wondering if it had all been pointless, to be snuffed out at the hand of the supersoldier above you, pushing you into the dirty concrete. He wouldn’t need a gun to end you, and you both knew it. So you might have been panicking, with how savagely you pulled in his grasp. A trapped animal, fighting to get free.

Blood rushing to your head fills your ears, catching the first sight of the man pushing you into the ground just barely out of the corner of your eye, and the dark mask covering his face with a handprint. You could make out that he was light-skinned, dark hair pushing down past his chin, young enough to make you wonder just how old he was, and if yours would be the first life he’d take.

His voice is softer than you expected, for someone who sounded so terrifying when he began his order of, “Stop struggli---”

The bullet that rips through his neck tears his grip away from your body, ringing off the hollow echo of the room for just the moment it took the eyes beyond the frame of his mask to widen and dilate as they looked into your own. Green.

His eyes were green.

Silence far too sudden for the adrenaline of the close gunshot not to shake you to your core.

The supersoldier is dead before he hits the ground, and you’re pushing yourself up on aching joints to get on your feet as quickly as possible, until the familiar voice of your companion meets your ears in a thick, Sokovian accent, “He did not hurt you.” It’s flat, not hitching into a recognizable question at the end, but the dark eyes of your savior seem to question you despite the cracking disinterest of his tone.

There was no denying you were happy to see him.

“Zemo,” it’s breathless, and sounds too much like a hoarse relief for your own liking, so you focus instead on rolling your bruised shoulder and avoiding the searing gaze upon you, trying not to appear as shaken as you truly were, “Not anything I can’t walk off.” The sound of something muttered in Sokovian under his breath brings you to look upon him again, finding that his gun lingers along his hip, locked in the tight, leather-gloved grip. He looks displeased, lips set into a tight line that suggests he’s angry, even, but not in the same way he had been in Latvia. This was worse, a colder, solemn anger that threatened the fire behind his eyes, threatening to burn this whole place to the ground, and you can only question, “What is it?”

“Undoubtedly any others remaining here have been alerted by the noise,” Zemo says curtly, turning towards the hallway from whence you came. He is angry, you manage to confirm, when he bites across his shoulder, “Mind your surroundings this time, so that you don’t find yourself pathetically helpless again.”

His words were scathing, but they’re meant to be. Even worse, you know he’s right. This dead one, whose blood was splattered over the top half of your tactical gear, had crept up on you too softly, and was too strong to shake off once he’d gotten hold of you.

Constructed to kill, thanks to the serum.

Even going into a fully aware fight, you were at a disadvantage, especially in close quarters. It was something he understood. Something he used repeatedly in his own strategy against opponents which were physically stronger in every way.

Your only hope of an upper hand had to come from either distance, or subterfuge. At least, if you weren’t accompanied by Bucky or Sam.

You’re lucky, despite the burning ache in your side and back, that it hadn’t been worse than it was, and that Zemo had come upon you as he did.

“Remain close,” he murmurs, as you emerge out into the hall, and you don’t dare to argue with him on it, even if you might have had the situation which just transpired not done so. Clearing the upper west floors were methodical, swift, and it became apparent by the third that whoever had been here was gone, either before or after Zemo’s gunshot had rung true.

Bucky and Sam appeared winded when you regrouped at the designated meeting point, and you didn’t have to wait for Bucky’s explanation to guess what had occurred, “We tangled with a few of them. They got away, but we got another lead from what they left behind…” Bucky trailed off, swapping a glance with Sam at the sight of your disheveled state.

“What happened to you two?” Sam’s eyes dart between your torn clothes and the scrapes along your skin towards Zemo’s tense, rigid frame.

“I was jumped by one,” you grit, embarrassed enough that he’d caught you off-guard without even verbalizing it, “he had me on my stomach, but Zemo, he---” you clear your throat, remembering the vacant green stare and splash of deep, vibrant red that had accompanied your rescue.

“It has been handled,” Zemo supplies for you, and before Sam could question him further, he adds, “the man is dead.”

The blood along your black tactical gear has dried by now, but it’s black stickiness must be ever apparent for them now, as Bucky sighs a weary, “Well, shit.”

“Are you okay?”

You open your mouth to answer Sam, but Zemo gruffly responds, “She’ll live,” before brushing past the two of them towards where the car which would take you back into the heart of the city was waiting.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sam wonders, when Zemo is far enough ahead that he can’t hear the question.

“You want a list?” Bucky grumbles dismissively, stretching his metal arm in a wide circle that suggested it had set peculiarly after his last fight.

Your throat tightens, and you try your best to keep from remembering that helpless, desperate feeling which had drenched your soul as the supersoldier pinned you to the concrete.

Forcing a humorless laugh, you offer up a half-hearted explanation, daring it to sound as unbothered as you wished you truly were, “Maybe he regrets the bullet he spent saving me.”

Bucky’s exhale is somewhere between a bitter laugh and sigh, “Who knows, with him.”

As much as you wished for it, you couldn’t be sure if those words you’d spoken didn’t ring true.

“Whatever,” Sam agrees, dismissively rubbing the back of his neck. Redirecting back on the target of chasing the Flag Smashers, you hoped you’d get a step ahead of them soon when Sam instigates your following of Zemo to the car, “We’d better get back to the motel and regroup. Got an early day ahead of us tomorrow.”

The, “yeah,” you supply the back of their heads with, finding yourself following after them, is almost as distant as you felt. Internalized, and thrumming with the melting adrenaline which made way for exhaustion to settle into your bones and take hold.

Yet, you can’t get that deathly, dilating green out of your mind, or the ghost clinging to the ache in your back, where murderous weight had been.

Zemo did not meet your eye the whole ride to the motel--- and it was nothing like the dazzling vacation home Zemo had introduced you all to in Riga. Complete with plain walls and shuttered windows, the view of Prague you received from the window set in the dead center of the narrow bedroom was that of the wall of the building opposite. Utility, over luxury, but privacy had been key, as well.

He had retired to his own room just as soon as you’d set foot before it, bizarrely silent in that same way that you had come to realize could never be a good thing, because it meant Zemo was lost in his own head. Neither Sam nor Bucky made note of it, at least aloud, and so you held your tongue as well, rather than acknowledge the dark cloud which seemed to follow the man as he disappeared beyond the click of the motel room door.

“We can trade,” breaks you from your intense scrutiny of that door, key card clutched firmly in hand as you glance towards where Bucky stiffly supplies, “I don’t blame you if you’re not okay with it. You can stay with Sam instead.”

Your heart clenches, and for a moment you’re brought out of your remembrance of the Flag Smasher’s body atop your own by the offer, somewhat touched that he would take your place as Zemo’s keeper tonight at the sacrifice of his own comfort. Even after all that Zemo had done to him, he would take the bed which you had agreed to sleep in earlier, when the motel owner had explained the issue of limited capacity.

You can see the apprehension behind his eyes, despite his generous offer. He was still unsettled by Zemo, and, if you were being honest, so were you. You won’t make him do that for you, all so that you can avoid whatever tension lingering between you and Zemo.

Instead, you pat Bucky in the chest gently with the palm of your hand and swallow down the nauseous churn of your stomach, forcing a light tone, “I’m a big girl, Bucky, but if he gives me any trouble, I’ll shout for you guys. How’s that sound?”

“If he gives you a chance to shout,” Bucky frowns.

“Well, if he suffocates me in my sleep, I’ll haunt him forever,” it’s meant to be teasing, but it comes out dry.

“Our side will be unlocked, just in case,” Sam mentions, lingering in the open doorway of the adjoining room, “might wanna’ unlock yours, too.”

“Or else I’ll just have to break through it if anything happens,” Bucky’s tone is just as dry. Tired. This chase was wearing on you all, and you could only hope that tomorrow would be different than today.

Slipping the key card along the door, it whirs to life with a click. The acceptance of your entry indicated by the green glow of the lock’s internal light. Slipping into the room, you rest your back against the shut door, willing the green remembrance of your attacker’s eyes to shake from your head.

Your death-grip on the key card doesn’t ease as the bathroom door opens, and you catch sight of Zemo. He’s shed his jacket, left in that dark turtleneck and slacks. His hair had fallen, ever so slightly, from its perfected part against his forehead. The tips of a few strands there are dark with a dampness which evidenced the water he must have splashed his face with before emerging from the restroom.

His hands are free of his gloves as he flexes them at his sides, pausing for but a moment of acknowledgement at your presence before he goes further into the room, towards the full bed near the window which he must claim as his own. The jacket lies there, until he retrieves it to hang in the closet on one of the wooden hangers provided within.

Not a word. You don’t know if it should make you relieved or concerned, but truthfully, it makes you feel nothing. Because you’re still standing at the door by the time he turns from the closet, staring unfocused at the floor before you and screaming internally to pull yourself together when he does it for you.

“Are you going to stand there for the remainder of the night?” Curtly, “If my presence has you so paralyzed with fear, you may as well take up your soldier’s offer to switch rooms.”

His voice holds an edge, despite the deceptively smooth calmness to it. A taunting, instigating bait hung there. As if he were still angry at you.

And for what? For getting attacked?

The thought sends white-hot, simmering rage swelling in your own chest. Did he think you a nuisance, after having to save you from that brute of a supersoldier this evening? It had been a sneak-attack! You doubt even having your wits about you would have helped catch the silence with which you’d been crept up on in that warehouse, now that you’d had time to replay every second of it in your mind twofold.

Glaring at him with that fire in your eyes, was better than that frightfully distant look you’d held a moment before, he thought.

“What do you want from me?” comes biting from your teeth, bared at him as you bristled under the cold anger of his own stare.

“There is nothing you could possibly offer me that I would want,” he strikes back.

Snake, meet wolf.

“As if I would offer you anything at all after the way you’ve acted,” it’s an effort to keep your voice from rising. You want to fight; to feel something other than the crippling terror that had nearly killed you this evening--- that panic, which had gripped your heart until it felt like it bled.

“The way I’ve acted?” Zemo’s demeanor changes, flaring rage in his eyes as he stalks across the room. It takes everything you have not to wilt in his approach, but to instead glare right back at him, even when he crowds you up against the door, palm coming flat against where your head resides. His voice doesn’t rise with his seething fury, but rather, lowers into a tone that turns your blood cold as it rushes through the heat his closeness spreads through you, “I am not the one who almost got myself killed.”

“Well,” you struggle to remain even, as you breathe all the disdain you can muster into your words, “I’m not going to apologize for you having to save me.”

His head tilts to the side, snarling through his thick accent at the thought, “I do not want an apology for that.”

Standing straight from your leaning on the door, if only to feel as if you were invading his space rather than the other way around, you find that he leans away ever so slightly when you snap, “I’m not going to thank you for it, either.”

“Thank me for---?” he stops himself with a clench of his jaw, breathing slowly through his nose, as if to calm the crackling fire behind his eyes as his glare burns into your own. Too close; he’s still standing much too close.

And he moves so quickly you have zero chance of escaping his path. The hand he didn’t have laid flat on the door pushes you roughly by the shoulder, into it. By the time your mouth is open to even yelp in surprise, it’s suffocated by the hasty press of his lips against yours. Searing, pressing the length of his body firm against your own as he kisses you with all the wild fury his eyes betrayed. Nothing was left of the collected calmness of his posture or voice from before, as his hand on your shoulder digs into the hair at the nape of your neck, tugging you into him.

Not that you needed to be coaxed, with the way your fingers dig and scrape into the fabric along his chest, his shoulders, his throat, his hair. Digging in, his part is destroyed as you nip at his lips, teeth and tongue distracting you from any fragment of sense that was left screaming at you to remember it. To remember who he was, and how things are supposed to be between you.

Which was definitively the opposite of this. His hands were never supposed to find themselves fistfuls of your hair, your hip, your flesh, as they did now. You were never supposed to know that he tasted like something sweet, or felt soft beneath the hard lines of his turtleneck.

He was dragging, pulling, tumbling with you away from the door, as anger and fury melted into a complex, sweltering mixture of something else entirely, heat burning through your core when he tugged at the buckles of your tactical gear.

The world turns sideways, and then you’re falling upon something soft--- the mattress creaking beneath your weight and the weight of him kneeling atop you as you dragged him down to your lips once again. Rough, not gentle, as you arched into him and tugged at his hair, a breathy groan escaping into your mouth from his own.

He inhales sharply, as if suddenly realizing the position you were both in, as his fingertips grazed the bare skin of your waist, where your shirt had become untucked from your pants.

Breaking, parting, breathless, he stares down at you. Brown eyes blown wide and dilated, staring at you like a deer in the headlights--- perhaps the most honest expression you’d ever seen on Zemo’s face.

You were no better, sprawled along the comforter and trying to catch your breath. A single question ringing around your brain in search of an answer, any answer.

What are you doing? What are you doing?

“I,” he breathes softly, in a lilting apologetical tone, and you realize he’s between your legs, hooked along his hips precariously. Your anger dissipates, evaporating like it had been burned away with the roaring flames he’d ignited within you, and he clears his throat slightly. Troubled is how he looks, when his eyes become incapable of holding your own, “I can’t do this.”

No apology, though it may as well be there, in the way he said it.

Though you know he’s keeping you from a terrible mistake, part of you is lying when you murmur, “It’s okay,” back up to him.

“Yane mogu etogo sdelat,” he leans down, as if collapsing under the pressure of whatever he was feeling, right into the curve of your stomach. Sokovian, you register faintly, as another reverent, “I can’t do this,” falls from his lips to be muffled in the fabric between you.

Your hand finds his head, fingers carding through his hair reflexively, and you don’t know if it’s from the shock of your situation or a genuine desire to comfort him, when you repeat, even softer, “It’s okay, Helmut.”

It’s the first time you’ve called him by his first name, you realize.

Maybe it’s the fact that he was still tangled up in you, or the fact that you’d been mere moments away from letting him have his way with you, but you don’t dare move from this spot. From pushing your fingertips against the crown of his scalp, or the weight of him against you. Neither does he, as he breathes raggedly for a moment against your stomach, face buried there.

Breaking the silence almost feels wrong, but you do it anyway. A compulsive, desperate need to do so crawls up your throat, until you can’t contain the words any longer.

Reaching down, finding the curve of his jaw, you pull, until he lifts his head enough to peer over the curve of your chest to meet your eye, questioning after a moment of peering into the lingering want, and tragic grief of his stare, “Are you okay, Helmut?” But you already know the answer; you finally understand that this man is far more broken than you’d ever realized.

“Is anyone ever just, ‘okay?’” is his evasive answer.

You say it before you can think better of it, offering him another piece of you with which you probably shouldn’t have, but you were already neck deep in possible regrets, so what was one more?

“People’ve said I’m a good listener before, if you need to talk about whatever it is that’s troubling you.”

You liked to think he owed you some kind of explanation for all this, but if he’d asked you for the same, you don’t know if you could give him one, either. It had just… happened. No rhyme or reason, but some bizarre, broken part of your own soul had called out to whatever was cracked and frayed in his own. It was all the answer you could think of, for why you were flat on your back beneath him still.

“I would not bother you with my troubles,” Zemo starts, attempting to piece back that calm, collected mask which kept this fragment of him that you had bore witness to hidden.

“If not me, then you should bother someone with them.”

And maybe it’s the soft, bittersweet smile with which you look up at him, or a deep craving to be understood by just one other human being in this world, but his chin remains firmly planted against your chest as he says quietly, sadly, “I have no one left. They are all gone.” He doesn’t flinch away when you brush the hair from his forehead, out of his eyes, catching sight of the confusion, the trouble in his soul.

Trouble, indeed.

Stormy, dark, he stares a hole into your soul, and you ache with the hollow tragedy of it, when he murmurs as firmly as he can, almost worse than if his voice had cracked with emotion, “I have lost them all.”

You want to tell him the reflexive compassions that come at times like these, but sorry feels cheap, and you could never understand the pain he must feel. You hope you never do.

So you breathe out slowly, one word at your lips, “Sokovia?” as if you didn’t already know. As if you had not read his file, years before he joined you for this mission. Back when he had terrorized the Avengers and murdered diplomats at the United Nations hearing. You tried not to think of it, now, when he looked so vulnerable, and sad, as the slight nudge of his chin into the flesh of your skin is all that’s required to acknowledge your question.

“You already bother me enough, Zemo,” you try to add a joking hum to your voice, as you sigh beneath him, but even that sounds bittersweet, “so feel free to bother me more with your troubles, if you like.”

There’s quiet for what feels like a long time after that. Your words permeating the space between you, and you don’t know if he watches you like he does to gauge your sincerity, or because he simply likes looking at you like this.

He gives you a fragment, when his body shifts, and his weight moves up just enough to catch your eye from where you were left staring at the ceiling in this thrumming silence, your fingers slipping from his hair to his shoulder, “I…” he clears his throat softly, “saw you underneath that supersoldier, and I just… could not lose one more.” Zemo doesn’t say he cares about you, not explicitly, “He was going to kill you.”

“I know,” it tastes hollow in your mouth, as you do your best not to go back there, to how he’d found you.

“It,” he breathes, searching for the right word, “frightened me, and so I was furious. Not entirely at you, but because…”

He trails off, and you supply instead, the similar feeling which had buried itself in your own chest, “Because of how it made you feel?”

Zemo nods, his hands smoothing down your back, catching at your waist, “I did not like the way it made me feel,” his gaze flicks along the planes of your face, before returning to your own, that want-mixed-grief once again swirling within them. “The way you make me feel. It is like… a betrayal.” His voice does shake this time, when he breathes, “It is too soon since… I lost my whole world.”

A betrayal, he had called the feeling.

It felt like that for you, too. This swirling, guilty want in your bones for him, when you know it’s the last thing you should want. That he should be the last thing you want. If Bucky or Sam saw you like this--- you think they might hate you for it.

For wanting him.

Your hand rests at the curve of his neck and shoulder, thumb close enough to feel the short stubble which threatened to peek through at his jaw with the late hour of the day, and you agree, “I was angry, too, because of this feeling.”

“The feeling of wanting something you cannot have,” he chuckles, a truce, offered from his body to yours in the vibrations of it which resound in your chest.

“You could say that.”

Perhaps, in a different world, things could be different.

Maybe, if you’d met him at a different time.

But as things were, you were just two broken people, seeking solace in one another when every fiber of your being told you not to. That it was wrong--- despite how comfortably right he felt against you here and now, lingering between your thighs and against your body for as long as he possibly could, despite the guilt that you’d shared, without even knowing it.

It’s not your place, but when he sits up finally, his weight lifting off of you and somehow leaving you feeling more suffocated than when it had been there, you catch his attention with the sound of his name, “Helmut?”

“Hmm?” he wonders, knees pressing into the mattress as he’s halfway detangled from between your legs.

Catching his eye, you hope you look as sincere as it felt within you, the ache in your chest for him, “Anyone who could have loved you, would have wanted you to be happy.” It sounds cliche and generic, but you don’t dare mention his wife specifically, or the terrible emptiness that comes with the loss of a child. Still, you see it in his eyes, in the way he observes you with increased curiosity, that he knows it to be true, despite that desperate, clawing pain you know he must feel within his chest.

Zemo’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “That is a sweet sentiment.” And he’s gone, leaving you spread there to watch after him as he crosses the room, towards the restroom, probably for a moment of privacy. Stopping in his path, he glances at you, hand resting on the doorframe, “But they do not have to go on living without them.”

The bathroom door shuts behind him with a definitive click, and you’re left reeling as you piece together the facts of the night. The pieces of his grief, and want, which you’d witnessed. The fragments of yours which only seemed to swell with his own.

A miserable, self-pitying groan slips past your lips.

You were truly in trouble, now.

[lustbile-archive]

Abandoned Part 2

MarkxReader

Word Count: 7.4k+

Summary/Warnings: You can try to pretend that the monster you met on halloween night didn’t actually exist, and you can definitely pretend that he didn’t do what he did. You can pretend all you want but that doesn’t change anything, and it also doesn’t change the fact that you cant stop thinking about him every night. Monster!Mark

PART 1 HERE

It took you about three full weeks before you could return to the warehouse again. It wasn’t that you weren’t thinking about it, you thought about it every single day in fact. The building itself stood tall right in the center of town, looming over you and everyone else who was blissfully unaware of what lived in its walls, and you were forced to pass it every single day of your life.

So no, its not that you weren’t thinking about it, or him more specifically, but the fear of facing the truth of what had happened that night, what you had done and let him do to you, made you avoid the building like the plague. Just the cringe you got from remembering the unconvincing lie you had to conjure to explain to your friend why you returned with wrinkled clothes stained with black liquid made you wish the building would just disappear.

You’d drop your eyes whenever you had to pass by the building, a queasy and unsure bile stinging your throat, and every time your friend would bring up your little halloween adventure to impress someone irrelevant, you’d brush it off with a comment of, ‘nothing really interesting happened, just an old gross building.’

But your avoidance or denial did nothing to erase him from your mind. He plagued your dreams, lived freely in your thoughts and every minuscule space in your bones. The things your mind subjected you to in your unconscious state, for any other person, would be things of nightmares.

Everything was all sharp teeth, a thick dripping black liquid, and a grinning boy whose tongue was longer than your forearm danced in your fantasies like the building blocks for your own personal fucked up prince charming.

But regardless, the idea of seeing and experiencing him again, and maybe even stealing a few answers in the process, pulled you to the building like a magnet. The whistling air the ran through the rooms, the broken glass, and crumbling walls called to you like a siren, and after three weeks of denying it, you were getting dressed and sneaking out in the middle of the night to go find him.

It was colder than it was on halloween, the biting cold of a dark November night greeting you as you escaped the walls of your home. Every step you took as you walked to your fate was followed by a harsh bite pressed deeply against your bottom lip, and the moment you were faced with the same decrepit door way that you and your friend had snuck into that night, you knew that it was the point of no return.

Trekking through the rubble of the old building was different now that you were alone. Every room devoid of light felt darker, the creaking of wood louder, and it felt like every step you took was seen by millions of invisible eyes. The only thing that stopped you from letting out a yelp in surprise when a couple of large rats ran directly in front of you, was the fear that something other than the creature you were searching for would hear and find you before he could.

It took you about half an hour to find the room again, but your lack of company and the fact that you kept your arms wound tightly around yourself stopping you from reaching for your phone made it feel like an eternity. You silently scold yourself for not remembering better, or leaving some form of marker to remind you where to go, but as you finally stand in front of the glass filled room, the only feelings that truly remain in your chest is the dread of unknowing and a silent wish that your search had taken just a little longer.

The door to the room lets out a jarring scream that echoes down the halls and makes you flinch as you push it open. The heavy metal has become uneven with age and scraps along the floor loudly, and you find yourself conflicted in hoping that the sounds you cause tipped the creature off to your presence and praying that he didn’t hear it at all.

You cringe as your breath and heartbeat are the only noises that drum against your ears after the door slams shuts behind you. And as you stand frozen in the hallow room, a small part of you is disappointed that he’d isn’t standing there waiting like your knight in shining armor.

The glass still glitters just as beautifully as it had so many nights before, and you almost curse it for being the thing that got you into your position in the first place.

But as you stand scowling at the inanimate pieces, it’s at this moment you realize you have no idea how to get him to know you’re there, as well as realizing that you’re not sure if you want him to know as it would mean you’d have to face something that you hadn’t even fully decided was real.

Your mind was still struggling to wrap itself around the events that had happened in the room that you stand in, and even with proof that the room at least exists, you can feel your mind trying to convince you that you had completely fabricated the creature. Something about the air that whips around you makes you feel like your losing your sense of reality, and with a last push of courage you decide there’s only one way to learn whether or not your mind is turning against you.

With a timid tone and a slight crack to your voice, you whisper out a quiet ‘hello’ as you finally move further into the room, your shaky voice bouncing off the cement walls almost as if to mock you.

When you’re met with nothing but deafening silence, you try once again only slightly louder.

You finally untangle yourself from your own arms, the heat you had accumulated almost immediately spilling from the sleeves of your sweater as you move to pull your phone from the band of your skirt and bush the button that will illuminate the room with its flashlight.

You let out a few more calls, the tension slipping from your shoulders each time before you find yourself pushing around the glass with your shoe as if you were kicking rocks. You almost cover the entire surface area of the desolate room and start to even slip into boredom before you have to face the fact that you are most definitely avoiding any space within three feet of the pitch black doorway of the closet that the creature had emerged from the first time you saw him.

With a deep breath that rattles your chest, you move closer to what feels like the visual representation of your personal demise. Glass loudly crunches under your shoes as you get closer and closer to the doorway and it feels like your heart has made residence in your throat.

You feel like your getting closer to a forbidden world as you now stand less than a foot away from the space who’s only hint of life had been the boy you had seen weeks ago, your flashlight close enough now to illuminate it a bit, but the only thing the article light exposes is a blank wall that mocks you.

The voice that resides in the back of your mind screams at you to turn around and leave, but your body moves with a mind of its own as you take your first step into the closet.

Without thinking, you lean forward, your hand pressing gently against the cinder wall that acts as the back of the small closet. You’ve convinced yourself that maybe it’s a false wall, that it will collapse and reveal the boy that’s lived in your dreams for so many nights. You feel slightly silly letting your mind wander to something that’s only been done in mystery novels, but considering you’re looking for a boy with a shark teeth and a demon’s tongue nothing seems imposible now.

With a harder shove and a deep huff from your chest, you start to cave into yourself for being foolish enough to let yourself believe in a secret passageway. You’re ready to tuck your tail between your legs and run out of the building in shame, when you feel something softly brush your shoulder.

Just the same as last time you jump, your phone slipping from your fingers and falling to the floor. A muffled crackling noise telling you that the crack that ran from one corner to the dead center of your screen had just been made bigger and even possibly had gained a few acquaintances. The sound of the loud yelp that leaves you being the only sound to join it other than the quiet gasp that comes from beside you.

He’s close enough that you can make out his features regardless of the dark, his mouth hanging in a soft o shape and his eyebrows lifted towards his hairline in shock from your reaction. You both stand there for a moment, a heavy silence between you showing that he was just as shaken by your presence as you were with his. And as realization and reality begin to bleed back into both of your brains, you feel your muscles relax as you lean back against the wall and the black liquid starts to drip out of his mouth again in excitement.

His eyes dance with happiness at seeing you again, the sight endearing enough that you’re weirdly unaffected by the liquid that begins to splash on the floor between his feet. With the images that had filled your mind for the past weeks, you find yourself pleasantly surprised by how cute he is, also slightly disappointed in yourself for letting yourself forget.

“Hi,” you speak first, your voice airy with relief. He’s not even half as scary as you had convinced yourself, and you could feel your heart start to beat rapidly at the sight of his excited grin, sharp teeth and all.

“I didn’t think you’d come back!” he speaks louder than you expected, his giddiness making you smile but his words slightly breaking your heart.

You only get a moment to sulk over the idea of him thinking he’d never see you again, before he’s all but jumping on you and latching his dripping mouth to your neck.

You freeze for a moment, the shock of his eagerness and the tingle that runs up your spine at the scrape of his teeth making you mind skip a beat. You almost allow him to continue on, greedily accepting the feeling of his warm tongue lapping at your skin, but your consciousness returns to you quickly enough that you can will yourself to lift your arms and gently push him away.

There’s a wet pop as he reluctantly pulls away, his mouth leaving a trail of liquid behind to drip down your skin. You’re ashamed of yourself for the way your heart clenches at his look of confusion and disappointment, but you tell yourself you can’t let anything happen again without talking to him and getting answers.

“You don’t have to do that,” you whisper gently, your hands sliding up to hold the sides of his face.

You’re both slightly panting already, your breath puffing from the feeling of his mouth, but his seems to come from his confusion and worry.

“Sorry,” he quickly apologizes, his eyes widening as his words spill out, “you seemed to enjoy it last time so I thought… you did like it last time didn’t you?”

You smile softly at his concern, “I did,” your head bobbing slightly to reassure him, “I did a lot. I just- we can talk first. Like what’s your name?’’

His eyebrows thread together, his head tilting to the side reminding you of a confused puppy, “name?”

Just the one word asked with a questioning tone threw you off, and it takes you a moment to collect your thoughts enough to understand you’ll have to explain what a name is.

“You know…” your hands move away from his face as they flail slightly as you think, his own hands compensating for the lack of physical contact by landing on the bend of your back, “like is there something specific that people call only you. Y’know to get your attention and stuff.”

“Oh!” he says, excited to understand slightly better, “well…. my friends call me Mark!”

“Mark…” you test out the weirdly normal name on your tongue, a small spike of shame running through you at the fact that you assumed it would be anything different, “cool…”

You offer your own name, the way his eyes light up at the syllables making your chest swell. There’s a beat of silence after he takes his turn in repeating your name, and you can feel yourself melting into the moment.

“I wanted to talk to you more,” he speaks up again, his fingers flexing against your back as his tongue dips out to wet his lips, “but I had to run off, and you took longer to come back then I thought so like…. but we can talk now!”

Your chest feels hallow when he mentions the time it took you to return, and you start to stutter to defend yourself, “well I.. what happened I had… I had never had someone do what you did so quickly after meeting so like, I’ll admit I was a little freaked out by the whole thing.”

“I didn’t mean to freak you out,” he steps closer, his body heat crowding you and blocking you from the cold air, “you just smelled and tasted so good… I wished you had said something.”

“No no no,” you rush to correct him, the idea of him thinking any different from how you actually felt stressing you out, “maybe freaked out was the wrong word. Um, it did throw me off a little, but I liked it. I feel like you could probably tell how much I liked it.”

“Yeah..” you both huff out a breath of air after the word lingers around you, “towards the end though you… what was that?”

“The end? I mean um, I came if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Came?”

“Oh you know, an orgasm?”

“Orgasm?”

You huff, your mind reeling at the idea of having to explain another word that came so naturally to you. You shake your head softly in disbelief, before taking a deep breath.

“Yeah, you know,” you start trying to string the right words together to describe such a thing, “you know when you did what you did. And you know what happened at the end. It felt good the whole time, but at the end it felt really really good. I’m sorry I’ve never explained this before.”

He laughs at your exasperated expression, before leaning his forehead against yours, “that sounds weird,” his bluntness makes you choke a bit on your breath before he continues, “can I do that?”

“Do it…?” you feel like your brain is working a million miles a minute as you stand with him in the pitch black, “I mean yeah, probably.”

“Probably?” his laugh almost taunts you, and you start to believe that he may be messing with you slightly, “do you think we could try?”

“You mean you want me to,” you gesture to his crotch, your eyes darting between his eyes and the space between his thighs, “like we have sex.”

“Okay,” he reasons, his head shaking as he pulls you even closer, “I’m clearly not getting this, but if sex will make an orgasm happen then yeah, I want to have sex.”

“Right,” you say, your face warming in embarrassment as you start to remember that whatever the boy that’s in front of you is, the last thing he is is a child. He knew enough to do what he did to you the first time, there’s no real reason for you to be beating around the bush like you are, “cool.”

“Cool.”

Any anxiety that still lingers in your chest, you swallow down, your hands lifting to return to the sides of his face in the process. With a soft sigh, you tilt your chin up, your forehead brushing against his as you move to press your mouth against his.

If it wasn’t for the first time you met him, you probably would have never dared to put your mouth against the mouth of a boy who drools a thick black slime. But with his slightly chapped lips brushing eagerly against yours, and the fact that the liquid slips into your mouth warm and smooth pushes any questions you may have out of your mind.

His lips are sloppy, his lips covering yours as he tries to follow your movements. He seems to be very aware of how sharp his teeth are, as they scrape gently across your bottom lip just enough that they won't break the skin. Your eyes slide shut and a soft moan rolls from your chest as he presses you flush against the wall.

It’s not hard to dip your tongue experimentally into his mouth as if hangs open in awe of the situation. You greedily lick across the roof of his mouth, reveling in the way it makes him shiver against you, and it's only a moment before you realise how much you're enjoying the taste of the liquid that spills from his mouth into yours.

It’s a soft sweetness, a dull taste that only hits you when you’ve had enough of it spill onto your tongue that it's dripping from the corners of your lips. The after taste of cotton candy after a long day at the fair, the smell of fresh strawberries so strong that you can taste it like a memory on the back of your tongue, licking your thumb to get rid of a smudge on your friend’s cheek only to taste the remains of the piece of candy she gave you hours ago. And as he pushes himself in the space between your legs in the cramped space, you can feel yourself fall into an addiction with the way he tastes.

He follows in your steps, his own tongue hesitantly dipping itself into your mouth along with the sticky substance, and when you feel the sharp tapered end of his tongue lick at the back of your teeth, you waste no time in sucking harshly on the muscle and pulling it deeper in your mouth.

The way the liquid coats your tongue makes you feel like you're swimming in syrup. Your body relaxed and lax to the extent that even when you feel his long tongue prod at the back of yours, your gag reflex is non existent, and you start to question if it just tastes good, or if it's truly making you lose yourself against his lips.

When he moves slowly away from your mouth to travel across your cheek, is when you finally get a moment to think. His tongue drags out of your mouth at a snail’s pace, the tip curling and tugging at the corner of your lips making you let out the first sound that’s not muffled by the space of his mouth, and you feel him grin against your jaw.

“Mark,” you try his name out once again as your hands move against him. One hand curls around the back of his head to thread your fingers through his wild hair, as you use your other to push the moment along.

You drag your nails slowly down his arm, your lip tucking between your teeth with a grin when he shudders again. When your hand finally reaches behind you, you wrap your fingers around his wrist. It doesn’t take much strength to tug his hand away from you back, and even less effort is needed when you guide his twitching fingers to slip under your sweater to press against your chest through the thin bra you wear underneath.

After flexing your own hand over his a few times, he picks up immediately. His own fingers kneading softly at the flesh, as your hand falls to leave him to his own devices and reach underneath your skirt.

It only takes a few tugs at the fabric of your underwear for them to pool around your ankles, and with a few steps and a small kick, the fabric is forgotten on the dirty floor a few feet away.

His tongue is back to showing its full potential, the thick muscle curling around your neck as he mouths at the skin below your jaw, and your traveling hand now dips into the band of his pants to tug him closer to you, your hips softly canting against his.

“Mark, please,” you quietly plead. He hums curiously as his body curls tighter against yours and you’re reminded that it’s better to be blunt with the boy against you, “can I take this off?”

“Yes,” he mutters against your neck, treating the sensitive skin protecting your jugular as if it’s his source of life and refusing to move away, “please.”

You tilt your head the best to your ability with the way his tucked against you, your own teeth desperately biting like a rabid animal to get as many bites at his soft skin as you can, your hand moving to push the fabric of his bottoms down his hips until you can feel his length release from the restraints.

You waste no time to wrap your hand around the base of him, and as you move your palm and fingers to drag up the length of him, you can’t help the quiet gasp you let out.

He’s bigger than you’d imagine he’d be with how slight his frame is, and even as you remind yourself that your sense of touch is probably tricking you a bit into thinking it's larger than reality, you know it’s not tricking you with the fact that something is slightly different.

It’s not abnormal in any sense, which isn’t surprising since, aside from the tongue and teeth, Mark just looks like a normal human guy, but some nagging in your mind tells you there’s something that’s unique.

You chance a glance down, rolling your eyes at yourself for letting your curiosity override your full knowledge that it’s probably too dark to see anything, but to you’re very pleasant surprise, you see that regardless of the busted screen, the flashlight of your phone still shines brightly enough to light up the space around your feet.

There’s still shadows dancing across you as you slowly begin to stroke him as he’s pressed against your hip, but you take what you can get in the moment.

Your hand had tricked you a bit, he wasn’t as large as your fingers had told you, but he’s still larger than expected. Though, your eyebrow raises slightly at the rest of the visual information you see. The swollen tip leaks a similar black as his lips, and you silently wish you were more shocked by the fact. And truthfully the small dusting of a royal blue color that covers the tip of him doesn’t fully surprise you either, but you admit the two bulbs that you can only describe as knot-like that rest above his base does give you a weird combination of confusions and excitement in your chest.

You shake your head, silently deciding you had come too far to act surprised now, so instead you brush your thumb against the liquid that now spills from his tip, and start to guide him closer by wrapping one leg around his hip.

His hand that’s not busied by groping at your chest jumps immediately to wrap around your lifted knee, his body pressing tighter against yours and a groan rattling against your neck in response.

You hesitate before you go any further, everything feeling suddenly too fast, and in an attempt to drag it out just a little longer, you let go of him. Regardless of the way it makes you feel, you ignore the quiet sound of disappointment he lets out against your skin, and instead run your hand up your body and across both yours and his neck to collect as much of the liquid on your fingers as possible.

It’s only when you feel like you’ve dipped your hand in thinned honey, do you return to the space between you where both of your bodies are begging for attention. You coat his skin in his own mess, the quiet noises he makes filling your ear again.

You pull him closer with your leg, finally allowing yourself some relief as you begin to drag his head against your dampened skin, the warm tip bumping against your clit in a way that makes your hips twitch.

The liquid worked as well as you had hoped as you slowly guide him to press into you, his slicked skin making the intrusion perfect and smooth. It doesn’t take any time at all before he’s seated fully inside you, and the way he stretches you out makes your head tilt back until it knocks against the cinder of the wall and your fingers harshly tug at the strands of hair caught between them.

You hold him against you for a moment, enjoying the feeling of being completely full and the small hums in content he lets out along your own. You feel your body flutter around him as you try to adjust to the foreign feeling of him, the widened bulbs around his base stretching your farther than you had ever imagined. His body reacts to you clenching with stuttering hips that aid in the air being knocked from your lungs and his monstrous tongue flexes around your throat tighter, slowing the blood flow to your head and making you feel like you’re floating in the dark space.

“You feel so good,” he speaks truthfully, his voice muffled and strained as he speaks around his extended tongue, his sharp teeth scraping against your skin as he slurs.

“Okay,” you find your voice finally as you start to calm down. One hand falls from his hair, trailing slowly down his body making him shiver against you, and finally gripping at his hip, “you can move.”

With your words, you push him slightly away from you. Your body clenches in protest at losing even the few inches of him that slips from him, the space that he slips from already becoming greedy for the heavy weight of him inside you.

He must agree with your hungry body, as even though he stays pressed against you everywhere else, he lets out a small whine at the feeling of you pushing him away.

The sounds of protest quickly die when you slip your hand under his shirt to press into the small of his back. Your nails dig slightly into his soft skin as you pull him to fuck into you again, every inch of him dragging against the nerves inside you perfectly making your teeth clench. He in return lets out a pleased purr that makes a goofy grin stretch across your lips.

“Just like that,” you whisper against the shell of his ear, before you let your own tongue slip out to lick at the sensitive skin. His hips stutter again as he chokes slightly, but thankfully the action doesn’t affect him enough to distract him from being a quick learner.

He pulls out about the same amount you had shown him, the widest parts of him tugging at your opening slightly from how snugly you’re wrapped around him, something about him moving on his own this time making your eyes flutter and roll.

Though he retreated gently, his excitement seems to take over his senses, as when he thrusts back into you, it's rough. Any air you had collected since he first filled you escapes again, a surprised yelp joining it.

Once he gets a taste of controlling the motions, it's as if something snaps inside of him. As if he’s become slightly wild, he starts to move faster and faster with each thrust. His hips are sloppy and erratic, his drool almost doubling in volume as its pools and drips around your neck, and for a moment you silently ask yourself what you’ve gotten yourself into.

Your hand remains on his back, your nails now digging harshly into the skin of his back in a desperate attempt to have something solid to cling on to. Your head knocks into the wall behind you with his thrusts, but the feeling of him drilling into you as your combined fluids drip around him turns your brain to mush and any pain is drowned out by the pleasure that bites at your stomach.

Broken syllables and slurs of his name and pleads slip through your teeth as you start to lose yourself to his rapid movements, and you're only vaguely aware of the way your own hips start to rock against him.

The way his body twists and presses against you makes it almost impossible to hold on to him, this and the small voice inside your head that tells you that this probably won’t be lasting as long as you may hope makes your hand move up and away. Instead of holding onto his back, you desperately grope to find the hand that still presses against your chest.

Slipping your fingers under your shirt along with his, you tug his stubborn hand away from your chest. His fingers are stiff with confusion as you pull his hand down your body until it’s tucked between your legs, but when you press the tips of them against your dampened skin he relaxes.

“Here,” you whisper again, your voice almost too timid to raise in the crowded space. Your fingers begin to move in slow circles guiding his to do the same as they press softly against your neglected clit, “touch me here please.”

After the words leave you, you remove your hand to rejoin the other that’s still tucked into his messy hair. Mark shows to be a quick and eager learner, as his digits swipe against your buzzing nerves perfectly, the feeling pushing you closer and closer to your finish.

You fist his soft hair between your fingers, making both of your feet shuffle around the floor as his hips pulse quicker from the pain. You guide him again, his tongue dragging against the center of your throat and making you groan as you lead his mouth back to yours.

“Somethings happening,” he mutters before your mouth pushes against his, your lips greedily sucking at his warm tongue as you finally admit you’ve become obsessed with the taste of him, “feels so good.”

“Don’t stop,” both of your words are muffled and slurred as you refuse to move too far from the others tongues. You know he’s close, and the way he focuses on rolling smooth circles against you, you know you are too, “want you so bad Mark.”

The sound of his name sputtering out of your messy lips is his trigger, the sound of it hitting him in the chest and his lower belly, and soon he’s feeling washes of pleasure all over his form.

Regardless of the noises that slip from him and the way his hips become even sloppier than what they were before, his determined fingers never let up. This and the feeling of him coming deep inside you, a feeling that feels almost unending as he fills you with an inhuman amount of his come, has you reeling.

As if it was even possible, you cling to him even more. A tight knot snapping in your belly as you clench and shiver around him. Every moan and whine you let out matching his perfectly as they swirl together in the minuscule space between your mouths.

He doesn’t stop moving as he carries you through your finish, wet noises surrounding you as the evidence of his orgasm starts to push and drip out of your from the speed of his thrusts. The muscles in your back begin to go lax as you let him get in his last pushes as you anticipate him stopping soon, but after a moment you realize he’s not slowing down or even going soft inside you.

“Mark?” your head tilts as you break the sloppy kiss you share, but any other words that could follow up die on your tongue as his fingers continue to move and make sparks of almost painful pleasure shock your body

“Feels so good,” he repeats, his head falling until his forehead rests on your shoulder, and with a strained and shaky moan you realize he has no intention of stopping, “wanna make you feel good.”

“You did Mark, you-“ your words are cut off again by an overwhelmed moan leaving you at the feeling of him nudging against a spot inside you that makes your vision blur and your jaw drop.

“I could do this forever,” he promises, and for your sanity, you pray he’s exaggerating.

It feels as if your own body betrays you when you feel even more of your own arousal gush around him, or maybe you are losing your sanity and it’s only more of his come being forcibly pushed from your body by his hips. Either way, you feel a terrible promise of another overwhelming orgasm creeping down your spine.

His hand abandones it’s hold on your leg, as he wraps it around your waist again. His arm holds a surprising amount of strength as it squeezes relentlessly around you, and as he pulls you against him enough that your lower body is pulled away from the wall, the way he pushes into can only be described as animalistic.

Any hope of keeping quiet flies out the broken windows as the way he pulls you apart with his fingers and thrusts has inhuman sounds ripping their way out of your throat. Your nails claw harshly into his scalp, and your entire body thrashes in his hold, and for a moment you start to think he’s turning you into a monster just like himself.

The second orgasm is almost painful in the way it makes you fall apart. Your eyes ache from how far they roll back into your skull, and your back arches at the exact spot his arm is wrapped around you. You fear that the muscles in your abdomen may cramp from how rapidly they flex, and the arches of your feet join in from the way your toes curl.

Mark revels in the way you let go, he’s enthralled by the way you feel and look against him as you lose every ounce of your shame and guard. He’s sure however you’re feeling is different than the way he feels with his finish, and he loves nothing more than the idea that it’s him making such a beautiful creature fall apart by just fucking in to you.

The now familiar tightened feeling returns to his gut as he watches you. His hips pick up again as he chases the finish. He’s unsure what leaves his body when the pleasure overcomes him, but he’s for certain that he loves the feeling of it filling you completely to the brim and he wants nothing more than to witness it again.

He doesn’t mean to bite you as hard as he does when he starts to orgasm again. It’s as if his mind blanks completely and his mouth is moving towards your shoulder before he can stop it. He feels his dagger like teeth sinking into the soft skin of your shoulder, and for a moment he panics. But the way it feels to empty himself in you, and the pleasured scream that you let out from somewhere deep in your belly makes him clamp down harder.

You breath out the remaining air left in your lungs in relief when you feel his hips stuttering to a stop, his own breath panting hot and damp against your shoulder as he slowly pulls his teeth from the shallow wounds he’s made in your flesh.

You cling to him, your hands slipping out of his hair to let your arms wrap around his shoulders in a hug, and his tongue makes a final appearance to lave over your shoulder to collect the beads of blood that form.

He pulls out of you, the empty feeling hitting harder than you had thought it would and making one last shiver wrack your body. It almost feels like you’ve had a pile of bricks lifted off you as you become aware of the weakness of your limbs, but Mark seems more than willing to support your weight as you lean against him, both of your breathing calming to a normal pace as his come starts to slowly trickle down the insides of your thighs.

“No words could have described that feeling,” he speaks, breaking the small lull of silence that had fallen over you, and you can’t help the endeared laugh you let out in response.

“Yeah it's pretty cool,” you retort awkwardly, not completely sure of how to respond.

You reluctantly let go of his shoulders, your hands falling to your sides as you lean back into the wall. The weird energy that surrounded you when you first saw him returns, and you’re unsure how to interact with him again, but regardless he either doesn’t seem to mind or doesn’t notice at all.

He makes no effort to hide his distaste for the sudden distance, and after he moves his hands away to tuck himself back into his pants, they move in search for some kind of contact again. He reaches down to take a hold of your hands and pulls them up until they sit wrapped in his, on his shoulders.

“I think you’re cool,” he puts bluntly, and his sparkling eyes as he speaks makes your heart thud against your chest, “what just happened was really cool, so please don’t take so long coming back next time because I want to talk to you more and do more of that okay?”

His rushed words make you breath out a laugh as your head bobs in agreement, “I promise, I’ll come back sooner.”

“And you can come in the daylight if you’re not busy,” he assures, his head nodding in determination, “I know this place can be freaky at night and I don’t want to think you’re uncomfortable when you’re with me.”

It’s so easy to slip into the idea that you’re just talking to some simple sweet boy when his wide eyes dance across your face, but the tapered end of his tongue slipping out to lick at his lips is all you need to remind you that he isn’t at all.

“I‘ll try, but even at night, I’m not uncomfortable with you Mark,” you speak truthfully, the fact even surprising you a bit, “but… can I ask you something?’’

“Anything. Anything at all,” he nods quickly, and you silently question why you were ever apprehensive of the boy who stands in front of you, no matter what he is.

“You… you’re not like me,” you say making his eyebrows knit together in thought. You almost want to kick yourself at his reaction, because obviously he’s not like you. You quickly stutter to explain yourself, “I mean like not human right? So if it’s not too much… what are you?”

You shrink slightly in apprehension as his face falls blank in thought. The gears in his head turn as he turns your question over in his mind, before a soft, shy smile pulls a little too wide across his face.

“I’m me,” he shrugs, “I mean I know I’m different from you. You’re the first person i’ve been this close to, but i’ve seen people before. Like there’s these men that come every once in a while to look at the building and write stuff on papers and some kids that run through, so I know enough to know that we aren’t the same. But my friends always kind of blow me off when I ask about it. They say that what humans are to us is what a dog is to a wolf, but I don’t really know what they’re trying to get at if I’m being honest.”

The analogy he offers rolls through your mind, but for your own sanity, you put the implications of it to the side and decide maybe it’s better if you don’t know.

“Hmm, yeah I don’t really understand what that means either but,” you sigh deeply, your hands flexing to squeeze at his fingers, “I guess it doesn’t matter too much. I was just curious, as long as you’re here that’s all that matters.”

Even in the dark, you see a warm blush flood his face at your words, and a boyish giggle slips from his lips. He shakes his head again before letting your joined hands fall to the side.

“As long as you’re here too,” there’s a heavy silence that falls between you, but unlike earlier it's softer, not awkward and cold.

“It’s late though,” he says with an air of disappointment around him, “I might not be human, but I’m also not nocturnal so I do have to go unfortunately.”

“Oh,” you speak softly, your own disappointment joining the air around you, “I know I should have come earlier, I’m sorry.”

“No no no, don’t be,” he leans his forehead against yours as he reassures you, the action being more intimate than you had anticipated and makes a cheesy smile tug on your lips, “just come earlier next time. We can talk and do what we just did as long as we want.”

“Or as long as I can handle it,” you huff, making him grin, “that’s another very inhuman thing about you Mark, I’ve never met someone with stamina like that in my life.”

“Is that a good thing…?” he asks with a ting of concern in his tone.

“Oh yeah definitely,” you nod, your lip tucking between your teeth momentarily before you continue, “definitely a good thing. It was a little overwhelming, but it felt amazing.”

“That’s so cool,” the word comes out one last time as his eyes sparkle in pride, “I can’t wait to see you again.”

“Me too,” you speak one last time before he moves away.

As he retreats to the pitch black that is the hall of the false closet in front of you, you become very aware of the fact that you’re alone again. The cold air takes its claim back on your skin, and the sticky liquid that dries against your thighs makes you shiver.

A sudden need to be out of the building rushes over you. Regardless of how sweet Mark turned out to be, the building itself feels hollow and mean when he’s not distracting you from it.

You're relieved when you see your phone still holds enough charge that the light still shines, at least making it easier to find. You bend quickly to grab it, a slight shiver running up your spine when you catch the state your lower half is in, the black liquid from his mouth mixing with the evidence of his orgasms that still drips from you that is the exact same black void color. Your fingers scrape against the floor as you grab for your phone and you silently hope you can find a way to clean up before you get home.

A gasp flies from you when you turn your phone over in your hand. The cracking noise proved true in that the screen is more destroyed than when you arrived, but as a cherry on top of the most confusing sundae, you find that on the way to the floor, somehow your phone’s camera had turned on. And from the blinking time stamp on the top of the screen, you see that it had recorded your entire encounter with Mark.

You quickly stop the filming, your thumb pressing harder against the screen than normal and it feels like your heart is lodged in your throat. You can’t even fathom the idea of having video evidence of what you had done together, and what Mark was capable of, but there’s a small devious voice in the back of your mind that taunts you. With a smug arrogance it whispers, ‘at least you can’t convince yourself nothing happened this time.’

[ohworm-writes]

BNA: Brand New Animal Various Relationship Headcanons

bna masterlist

‼ First Date Headcanons ‼

Featuring: Shirou Ogami, Michiru Kagemori, Nazuna Hiwatashi, Marie Itami, Pinga

Warnings: spoilers for BNA!, minor death mention in Marie’s part, anxious shirou

a/n - again, i love BNA, so i couldn’t resist! you can see which are my favorites very clearly~ enjoy!

content below the cut!

shirou ogami

» !! walk + bookstore viewing !!

» shirou is a bit clueless when it comes to a first date

» even living a thousand years, he’s rarely had a real relationship

» he’ll search up first date ideas, i have no doubt about that

» he’s not really keen on a fancy dinner or movie or that

» he wants something relaxing, something you could do as friends too

» it’s his own insecurities coming in at full force, but it’s what makes him comfortable

» he decides for the first part of the date, he’ll take you out for a walk

» sure, it doesn’t sound all the special

» but remember, it’s Anima City we’re talking about

there’s always something to see

» something to do

» he starts right at your apartment, walking around with you

» he tries to strike up conversation, as nervous as he is about it

» he really does like you, but he’s not all that sure of how to show it

» he’s scared to even take your hand in his

» will it make you uncomfortable? will he be overstepping? what if you never want to go out with him again?!

» if you want that sort of stuff to happen, you are going to have to be the person to initiate it

» if you do initiate it, though, he’d never turn you down

» he’s the quiet type, but a fantastic listener!

» he loves to hear you talk about yourself, the things you love, everything!

» he’s awkward talking about himself

» how does he explain to you that he’s the silver wolf

» that’ll take him a while for him to tell

» maybe after a few more dates?

» anywho, your walking inevitable leads you to a small bookstore in the middle of the city

» it looks small from the outside, but the inside

» it’s a wonderland

» even if it seems like quite the find from a random stroll

» he’s had this all planned out

» he watches your face as you walk inside

» the way your eyes light up

» the way your grin reaches your eyes

» he’s enamored by it

» he’d let you pick out anything you want

» a huge book series? it’s as good as yours

» a single book? that’s no problem

» a weird snake shaped eraser you found at the front? why not!

» whatever makes you happy

» you don’t see it, but he has this smile full of adoration while he’s around you

» when you finally reach your home, and it’s late into the night, only then will he ask you for a second date

» he’s all blushy, but his words come out strong

“I enjoyed today with you, more than I could have imagined. Would you want to do this again soon?”

michiru kagemori

» !! theme park !!

» michiru is a sweetheart, we know this

» so her bringing you to a theme park on your first date doesn’t seem all too out of character for her

» she’d probably meet you there, seeing as he doesn’t have a vehicle of her own

» and she doesn’t think you want to hang onto her for dear life as she flies the two of you over there

» so meeting up seemed like the more… plausible option

» tons of games!

» no matter what the game is, she’ll play every. single. one.

» those strength games?

» she may have won the top prize for it

» how? she’ll never tell

» loves the co-op games though, they’re her favorite

» very competitive

» it’s lighthearted, of course, but she will try and sabotage you

» she tries to win you tons of stuffed animals

» Y/n: Michiru, my arms are full, I can’t hold any more plushies-

» Michiru: wait Y/n look! that stand has a huge duck plush! i’m winning that for you

» Y/n: Michiru no-

» in all seriousness, she wants to make a lasting impression

» she goes with you on every ride that you want to go on

» the scariest roller coaster there?

» sure! just know she’ll deny you seeing her shaking like a leaf in line for it

» if you want to go on more mellow rides?

» she’s all for it! whatever you want

» towards the end of the night, she goes on the Ferris Wheel with you

» cliché? maybe so

» but it doesn’t matter to her

» she really likes you, and she wants you to know

» she won’t kiss you, she doesn’t want to force you into anything

» but she will thank you for spending your night with her

“If you want, can we do this again? I’d really really like to.”

nazuna hiwatashi

» !! movie !!

» oh my sweet, sweet girl

» she was so lost on what to do

» 1. you accepted her date

» why? how? she’s not complaining, not in the slightest, but- you? her? why!

» 2. she has no clue what to do for a first date

» she had to search up “first date ideas”

» but in all seriousness, she’s very excited for your night together

» she didn’t want to go out to a theater, so she opted to bring you to her place to watch something

» she bought everything you could ask for

» ice-cream? check

» drinks? check

» popcorn? she’s bought the packets and the stove-top brand

» she’s going all out for your night together

» she has quite the collection, so she’d let you pick out whatever you like

» once the movie is picked, it’s time to get comfy!

» she has so many pillows and blankets

» she not only are some of them placed meticulously around the area in front of the TV, giving you both a comfy space to watch

» but she also has extras in case you get cold or want more comfort! 

» she’s very adamant about giving you your needed space

» she doesn’t want to overstep

» butttt, if she can, she’ll lean up against you and watch the said movie with you

» you both give commentary on the movie as well

» critiquing it, the actors, the scenes, all of it

» it adds for some playful banter between the two of you

» Nazuna: i think the actor could have shown more emotion during the scene, you know?

» Y/n: Nazuna, he was playing a dead man. i don’t think he’d be able to show emotion

» Nazuna: well- still!

» when your night of watching films is over, she’ll bring you home

» it’s a lot more comfortable, especially when you tell her how good of a time you had

“Thank you for being with me tonight, Y/n. If it’s okay, maybe we can do this again?”

marie itami

» !! haunted location + ice cream !!

» cocky little thing, she is

» while she was surprised you actually accepted her offer, she doesn’t seem like it whatsoever

» she’s very confident, dripping with it

» so, why not impress you with something scary

» she’d found out this warehouse by the docks was actually the death site of several people

» and she also heard there had been ghost sightings, so she took to first chance to take you there

» she may seem all cocky and full of herself, but if something even mildly scary happens

» she’s out of there

» you don’t know that though

» she uses her phone’s flashlight to look around, you by her side

» if you’re scared, she’ll tease you oh-so much about it

» in a loving way

» honestly, no matter what you think of the situation, she’ll tease you

» Y/n, unfazed by the whole situation: are you alright Marie?

» Marie: are you asking me because you’re scared? come on Y/n, you know i’ll protect you~

» queue a broom falling down in the background, Marie screaming and running out of there with you

» after you both leave, she still tries to play off the whole situation

» she leads you to a small ice cream stand nearby

» she sounds annoyed when she pays for you, but she thinks it’s so worth it

» you won’t see it, she’s sly, but she’s staring at you the whole time

“So, Y/n, you free to do this again Saturday?”

pingua

» !! diner + dancing in the park !!

» pinga, the gentleman as ever, makes your first date classy

» he takes you to a small, family owned diner in the city

» the place itself is cozy, warm, welcoming

» he knows all the workers there

» he gets a booth for the two of you to sit at near a large window

» he spends a lot of the date admiring you

» the way your eyes light up as you talk about something you’re passionate about

» the way your cheeks flush when he compliments you

» the way your eyes are on him so intently when he talks

» he adores it

» speaking of…

» lots, and i mean lots of flirting and compliments from him

» he loves teasing you

» if you bite back, he’ll seem unfazed

» but he finds it awfully attractive

» his idea of a first date is really getting to know the other person

» their likes, dislikes

» the things that make them double over laughing

» the things that make them tick

» everything and anything

» of course, he pays for your food

» there’s no room for arguing with him

» Y/n: Pinga, please let me at least pay for this all

» Pinga: i’ll have no such thing. come on Y/n, dear, allow me

» he’s so nice about it, you can’t even tell him no

» once your dinner is over, he’ll hold your hand and lead you away from the diner to the park nearby

» [ a/n - i like to imagine this is the one in episode 6 where michiru and nazuna have their argument ]

» it’s late, the path is only visible from the streetlamps overhead

» he’d hold your hand tighter, not too tight, and slowly bring you into a slow dance

» the stars are barely visible in the city, but their still there

» he’s so elegant when he dances too

» light on his feet, full of passion

» he’s falling for you

“You know my dear, if you’d allow me, I’d love to do this again sometime with you.”

[infjsnightmare]

How You Met: Port Mafia Style

Before I start, thank you @jadegreenimmortality for sharing and liking my first one! It gave me the confidence to actually write this one! 💕 This is similar to the How You Met: ADA Style, except this one has spoilers via Gin's and a TW for human trafficking and blood via Aku's, so not as fluffy as before either. Those are the first two under the read more, so if you don't want to see spoilers or read about above mentioned TW, then please skip them. Characters like Ace, Oda, and Ango will be included in a later edition of this series. With that out if the way, here you go!

Gin: You were taking a back alley home to avoid the usual foot traffic around lunch time. You saw a small-framed man walking opposite you in the darkened street, his lower face covered in bandages with a black cloak wrapped around himself. You clutched your bag tightly and moved to give more space between you as you bumped into a dumpster. Locking eyes, you bolted for the corner. After a few minutes, you felt safely alone, relaxing until you heard the quick pitter-patter of footsteps. You turned to see the most beautiful woman dressed in a gray shirt and slacks, face red as if she'd been hurrying, her long hair messy and framing her face. In her hand you saw your wallet.

"I saw you running from someone back there and I think you dropped this."

Ryunosuke: The ocean breeze felt nice against your skin as you sat up against the warehouse by the docks. You were in the middle of unwrapping your lunch when you felt multiple hands grab at you, yanking out your earphones. A hand covered your mouth as you heard foreign words being exchanged among the traffickers. Tears filled your eyes wetting your face until you felt warm liquid covering your arms. The traffickers lay dead before you as a man whose face you'd seen many times on wanted posters walked rigidly towards you, his black trench coat fanning outwards in the wind.

"They were conducting business on Port Mafia grounds. Speak nothing of what you've seen here, understood?"

Chuuya: Sighing, you pushed open the door to dimly lit nightclub while the sound of jazz filled your ears. You were tired from work and needed a drink to help unwind. You skimmed the bar and sat yourself on a barstool next to a short red-head who was lazily swirling red wine in his glass. You stared at the menu bewildered by all the options while the bartender eyed you expectantly. Your brows furrowed, unsure of what to order until the man next you straightened up in his seat looking at you with piercing blue eyes.

"They'll have a glass of 2009 Vega Sicilia Unico. Put it on my tab."

Hirotsu: You were silently admiring the many different pieces at the latest art exhibit to come to town. The well lit gallery looked like perfection in your eyes. The droves of people coming and going couldn't even detract from its beauty. You came across a lonely corner of the exhibit and sat on a bench to observe the painting before you. The darker colors had muddled into the lighter pastels as if to taint them. You pondered various interpretations of the piece as an older gentleman took a seat next to you, eyes appraising the painting.

"As with all things in this world, light becomes tainted with darkness. You must have a keen eye to enjoy a piece like this."

Tachihara: The sun was shining, there was a light breeze and the trees provided just enough shade. It was the perfect atmosphere for your afternoon jog. You laced up your shoes and were off on your merry way. As you were jogging you noticed a young man with ruddy red hair run ahead of you. Trying to remain inconspicuous, you upped your pace to pull ahead of him. That was until he easily began running faster. After a few minutes of back and forth you had both broken into a full on sprint until you reached the end of the trail you were on, with him reaching the end just before you. You wiped your brow and looked up seeing the cheesiest grin.

"Best two out of three?"

Mori: You were honestly too old to be running around in the park and climbing on the playground equipment, but it was a quiet time where there were no children around. This was probably the only chance you were going to get to relive your youth. You felt the familiar rush of excitement as you climbed up the large set and jumped, grasping for the handle of a monkey bar. Only you didn't grasp it. You fell to the ground, bracing the full weight of your body on one forearm, hearing a loud "pop". Your shoulder was in excruciating pain and you could feel the heat building as it began to swell. You felt a gentle hand firmly holding your body still as a man with long dark hair and tired eyes examined you. He placed his other hand towards your injured shoulder, looking you in the eyes.

"Don't worry, I'm a doctor. But, this is going to hurt."

Higuchi: Your friend had been helping to push you along the trails, since the uneven ground was sometimes difficult to navigate alone in your wheelchair. But, lunch had finally caught up with your friend and they needed to make an emergency pit stop to the restroom. They engaged the brakes because of the incline and headed off to do their business. You were enjoying the chirping of the birds and the Ray's of sunlight streaming between the trees. Until your brakes broke. You felt your stomach sink as you rolled backwards, unable to see where you were going. You were about to use your hands to stop yourself when the chair stopped and began moving forward. You looked up to see a soft-featured blonde woman with her brows knit with worry.

"Are you alright? That could have been a nasty spill."

Kouyou: When you found the clearing in the forest, it felt like heaven. Your own personal sanctuary. You'd been coming here to practice guitar for a while now. Softly, you began adding in vocals as the breeze carried your voice away. The music entered your eardrums and you slowly lost yourself in it. So much so, that you didn't even notice the light and swift footsteps that began dancing as you played. That is until a flash of pink blurred your vision. You stopped playing to see an angelic woman twirling about and glancing at you with her cherry eyes. Her giggle twinkled like chimes.

"Please, do go on. It sounded lovely."

Kajii: The stars in the sky were absolutely gorgeous tonight. Winding down with a beer after the festival, you sat down on the soft grass at the bank of the river. You had hoped to see more of the fireworks, but it was so crowded, you could barely have seen in a foot in front of you. You then spotted bright, colorful lights not far off down the river from where you sat. Your curiosity got the better of you as you wandered down to where you saw a man with goggles and a lab coat furiously arranging various powders. He lit the first one, creating a small firework. The sound of your shoes kicking up some pebbles in the ground caught his attention. He grinned maniacally as he met eyes with you.

"You're going to want to stand back. This next one should be huge."

[thedollface221b]

A Touch Of Magic

Pairing - Younger Neville Griffin (Misdirection - Inside No 9)/Original female character (can be read as reader insert)

Rating - Explicit - Over 18s ONLY

Warnings - soft BDSM

Summary - You get a job working as an assistant for a young Magician, but you find yourself fiercely attracted to him. Can you keep your mind on the job, or will lust win out?

Dedicated to the amazing @barkilphedros-hat for being wonderful. I ❤ you!

I searched through all the available jobs pinned on the job centre noticeboard and sighed. Absolutely nothing, yet again. I was just about to give up when I noticed a small, type-written card in the far corner. It read:

“WANTED

Assistant to a young, up and coming Magician.

Must be flexible”

Beneath that, written in red pen as if an afterthought was, in brackets:

“(Both in hours AND body!!)”

Typewritten again for the following:

“Please call Neville Griffin for more details”

Below that were two numbers, which I presumed were his landline and his mobile phone.

Scribbling down the info in my notebook, I resolved to call this Neville Griffin later that day. I had absolutely no experience at being a magician’s assistant but I had always been fascinated by magic ever since I was a little girl, and I was always being teased by my lovers by how amazingly bendy I was in bed – so why not give it a go?

______

After a brief phone call where we spoke only to arrange a meeting place and a time - his warehouse at noon the next day - I was left to wonder what Neville might be like. I couldn’t help but pre-judge him, with a name like Neville he was bound to be a total nerd, or perhaps older than he was letting on. Still, he did have a nice voice...

Whatever, I needed the work and impressing him with my appearance could go a long way... even nerds liked pretty girls and you didn’t often see a plain magician’s assistant, so I needed to look my absolute best. I spent the rest of the evening exfoliating, shaving, deep conditioning my hair, and giving myself a mani-pedi and a facial in preparation for the following day.

Despite my best efforts I slept fitfully, nerves getting the better of me. Putting on a little extra concealer to hide any dark circles my sleepless night may have caused, I finished off my make-up with a pop of cherry-red lipstick. Something a little bit daring and sexy. It paired well with the knee length, floaty red summer dress I was wearing, its sweetheart neckline giving onlookers just a peek of my décolletage.

I arrived at the road the warehouse was situated on a few minutes early so I could scope the place out. ‘Number Nine', I read off the GPS directions on my phone. It was a fairly barren looking alley, the kind of place you’d see on police shows where murders or rapes had taken place. I double checked my bag for my pepper spray and my rape alarm. All set.

Taking a deep breath and fixing a smile in place, I knocked on the door. It took a minute before I heard the heavy, metallic clank of a lock sliding back and the creak of the door opening to finally reveal Neville Griffin.

Oh.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t a young, ridiculously good looking guy. His long, brown hair - just reaching his chin - framed a classically handsome face. Azure-blue eyes hid behind wire-rimmed glasses, resting on a strong nose, and his lips were a delicate pink and looked deliciously plump and kissable. He was dressed in a dark blue hoodie worn partially zipped over a red t-shirt, black jeans and a pair of black converse All Stars. All clothes of a typical guy in his late 20s.

“Oh, hello.” he said, his forehead wrinkling in confusion as if he hadn’t expected to be interrupted.

“Hi? I spoke to you on the phone last night, I’m here about the...”

“Oh, the assistant job, of course.” He wiped his hand on his jeans even though it didn’t look particularly dirty. “I’m sorry I was working and lost track of time.”

He held out the hand and I took it. It was warm and soft, with several calluses on his fingers, likely from day after day of practicing card tricks. For a guy of relatively small statue – around 5ft 7 I guessed – and lean build, he had large hands and long, thick fingers. My pussy gave a small, involuntary throb at the thought of what those fingers could do if given the opportunity. His grip was firm and I idly wondered if he was one of those guys who looked slight but was actually deceptively strong. Fuck, I had to stop thinking like that and concentrate on the interview. This guy could potentially be my Boss, not a one-night stand.

“Do come in,” he nodded, standing aside to let me enter the warehouse. It was dark, despite the overhead lighting, and the entire place was cluttered with debris of various magic tricks, boxes, notebooks and unquantifiable detritus. I noticed a zigzag lady in the corner, and a very cool looking guillotine towards the back.

Neville guided us towards two old, shoddy-looking stools placed right in the middle of the room and indicated that I take a seat. I sat up straight, my knees together and my hands placed in my lap. I had read somewhere that it was how Royalty was taught to sit, and that it was supposed to make you look more elegant and sophisticated.

Neville threw himself down on the stool in front of me, our knees almost touching. I could feel the heat emanating from his body, smell his aftershave, which was a musky, woody scent and very sexy. Jesus, I had to stop thinking like that!! Concentrate!!

“OK,” he started, “First off, are you a fan of magic?”

“Oh yes,” I said honestly, “I’ve loved it since I was a little girl.”

From his nod and smile, I figured we were off to a good start. The rest of his questions were pretty easy to answer and we fell into a casual conversation rather than a formal interview. It was looking good.

“And just one more question,” he said finally. “Do you think you can drop ten pounds?”

The flat of my palm made a satisfying crack as it made contact with his cheekbone.

“No!” he cried, clutching at his reddening face. “You misunderstood. It’s because the spaces you have to squeeze yourself into are so tiny. You need to be as small as you can possibly get yourself, that’s all.” He rubbed at his cheek. “I think you look perfect as you are. I mean fine. I mean you look...” He stopped. The other side where I hadn’t slapped was turning red now too.

“Oh.” I dropped my head, kicking myself for losing such a great job in the dying minutes. Talk about clutching defeat from the jaws of victory. “I’m sorry.”

“It's fine.” He stood and offered me his hand again. I stood too and took it.

“Thank you for seeing me.”

“It was no problem. Well, almost no problem. Can you start on Saturday?” he asked, looking almost scared in case I slapped him again.

“You mean you want me?” I asked, shocked. I couldn’t believe that I had still got the job despite screwing up so heinously at the end.

“Yes, I want you. For the job!” he clarified. Together we walked to the door of the warehouse and he showed me out into the filthy alleyway. “Saturday at 4pm. Don’t be late.”

As the door shut behind me I did a little happy dance before setting off to catch my tube. I was going to be a magician’s assistant. What the actual fuck.

_____

I wasn’t really sure what to wear to my first day as a Magician's Assistant, so I just threw on what I normally wore to yoga. Skin-tight lilac leggings with a matching sports bra and a sloppy, cropped vest in baby pink. I chose ballet style trainers as I thought they’d have the most flexibility if I had to do anything particularly bendy. I covered it all with an oversized hoody to keep me relatively decent on the tube. I didn’t fancy having my ass groped by some greasy stranger.

The door to the warehouse was slightly ajar so I just knocked on it, called out a hello and let myself in, unzipping my hoody as I walked through the cluttered space. I tossed it over some boxes out of the way. I didn’t see Neville at first, until I spotted him kneeling beside the guillotine, tightening some screws. He looked good in his dark blue jeans and navy and white striped top and I took a moment to appreciate the view. He didn’t seem to notice me at first so I cleared my throat. Still nothing. I called his name again, louder this time and he jumped, looking up at me with wide eyes, scrambling to get up while simultaneously pulling earbuds from his ears.

“Sorry I didn’t see you... hear you come in.” he said, winding the cord of the earbuds around his phone and setting it on his desk beside him.

“I'm a few minutes early,” I said apologetically.

“No, it’s... fine,” he nodded. I noticed that he was still looking down at the phone he had placed on his desk. I wondered what was so important about it. Especially as it was switched off.

“I didn’t really know what to wear so I hope this is appropriate.” I indicated to my outfit and he gave me a quick glance before looking down again.

“It's fine,” he repeated. OK, so it was going to be like that. Still, if Neville was going to be weird and anti-social it was going to make it a lot easier to not be attracted to him.

“So what are we doing first?” I asked with fake brightness, trying to lighten the mood.

“First things first,” he tapped the table three times with his fingers and then finally deigned to look at me, “Your name. We need to change it.”

“What’s wrong with my name?” I asked indignantly, crossing my arms beneath my breasts. I knew this action would push them up slightly and make them more apparent but to be honest I wasn’t really caring about that at that particular moment. Neville, however, definitely seemed to notice as his eyes widened slightly before he realised himself and forced eye contact again.

“It’s not exactly showbiz, is it? You need something with a bit of spark, a bit of pizazz. So from now on, your name is Miss Ruby Jewel.” He moved his hand through the air as if performing some mystical action.

“Ruby Jewel? It sounds like a fucking porn star, no way!” I shook my head.

“Well, I was thinking more Bond Girl,” Neville sniffed haughtily. “Anyway it's too late now, I’ve already started designing the promotional material. You'll get used to it. Besides, it goes with my ideas for your costume.”

“Oh yes, I meant to ask, where do I get my costume? Is there some sort of dress shop that caters exclusively for Magician’s Assistants?” I enquired, half joking.

“Of course not, you silly girl!” he snapped.

I jumped. While I was shocked at his outburst, I was ashamed to say that a part of me found the dominance in his voice... kind of arousing. A shiver travelled up my spine and I felt my nipples start to harden against the soft fabric of my sports bra.

Oh please God let the two layers of my bra and vest be thick enough so my erect nipples don’t show through.

No such luck. I could see them poking out through my top like two tiny pebbles.

Neville cleared his throat and continued, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been working so many long hours trying to come up with new tricks... I just need something...” He trailed off and turned away for a moment before shaking his head and turning back to me with a smile, as if the previous moment hadn’t just happened.

“There’s a local seamstress who will make your costumes couture. Although we can only afford one for now. I’ve already sent her my design ideas and so I just have to get your measurements and email them to her and she can begin.”

My heart leapt into my throat and my legs almost gave out at hearing him say that. Surely that couldn’t be right. “I’m not going to her to be measured? Isn’t that standard?”

“Doing it this way will save us time and money,” he confirmed, already picking up the tape measure from his desk. “I think you’ll love your costume. It’s going to be ruby red and adorned with lots of sequins and jewels. And you will wear red lipstick like the one you had on during your interview, as that was...” He paused and swallowed hard. “Sufficient.”

“Does it have to be so... gaudy?” I asked, my nose wrinkling in distaste as he measured my height and my body length.

“We need you to be as bright and flashy as possible.” I quivered slightly as he fastened the tape around my waist. We were practically nose to nose, except he was looking down to read the numbers on the tape. I could smell his aftershave again but this time I was close enough to also smell his shampoo and his soap. He smelled clean, with that same woody, musky scent from before, but with a hint of coconut from the shampoo. Heady, sexy and inherently male.

My pussy was throbbing again, despite me telling myself that this was my Boss and nothing could ever happen. Unfortunately my body didn’t want to listen to my brain and continued to send signals of arousal south. I could feel myself getting wet already. Fuck, this was bad.

He whipped the tape away and stood back, and already I missed the heat from his body.

“The reason Magicians use beautiful female assistants in bright outfits,” he began, rolling up the tape, “is because we want the audience to be watching them here...” he waved his empty hand around in the air in front of me, “while the magic is happening over here!” He clicked the fingers of his other hand, then opened it to reveal that the tape had disappeared. “Classic misdirection.”

“I’m impressed!” I laughed, applauding. “OK so where is it?”

He leaned in and for a split second I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead he brought the tape out from behind my ear where it had supposedly been hiding. The disappointment of not being kissed must have shown on my face because he said “What, the old ‘behind the ear’ gag not good enough for you?”

“No, it’s great, really.” I faked a smile. “But we should get on, don’t you think?” I wanted this torture over with as soon as possible. Still, Neville had called me a ‘beautiful assistant’. That was something at least.

“Yes, quite right.” he agreed. “I just need to do your... ah... your top area.”

Wait, did he mean my bust? Was Neville really going to put that mother fucking tape around my breasts? Fuck!

Awkwardly he put his arms around me as I stood frozen to the spot like a statue, my arms stretched out wide either side of me like wings. I didn’t even dare breathe. After fumbling with and dropping the tape twice, he finally got it around the largest part of my breasts, touching the two parts of the tape together as quickly as he could. His knuckles brushed against my still painfully erect nipples so there was no possible way he couldn’t have noticed them. The movement was sending little zings of pleasure through me and I had to clamp my lips shut so as not to accidentally moan out loud.

I noticed that his hands were trembling and when his eyes met mine for a moment I could see how large and dilated his pupils were. Wait a minute... was it possible that he was finding this just as arousing as I was?

“OK, got that,” he mumbled, letting the tape drop to the floor and rushing over to his desk to jot down the details. “I’ll email those details to Sarah tonight and she can get started on your costume first thing tomorrow. I’ll give her your number and she can call you when she wants you to come in for a fitting.”

“Sounds good,” I said, eying up the bottle of whiskey sitting on Neville's desk. God I could really use a drink right now. But that wouldn’t be very professional and I was already walking a very thin tightrope there. Instead I went over to my bag, got my bottled water and took a long slug, hoping it would cool my ardour as well as my body.

The rest of the evening was spent explaining to me how most of his bigger tricks worked and what I would be expected to do as an assistant. I was actually quite excited to begin learning how to perform properly.

“We'll have our first proper rehearsal on Monday, but we’ll take it slow and I’ll just walk you through a few tricks to start with using the actual props,” Neville was saying as he walked me to the door. “Nothing too difficult at the beginning, maybe the zig zag lady, or I could saw you in half, show you the Rope escape...”

“That all sounds great. Well, bye then,” I waved, fighting the urge to grab him and kiss him goodbye.

“Bye, see you on Monday,” he smiled, and my stomach did a backflip.

______

I lay in bed that night thinking back to everything that had happened that evening. Remembering Neville’s touch, the way his knuckles brushed against my sensitive nipples, the intoxicating scent of him. Fucking hell, I was so aroused!! If I didn’t do something to take the edge off I would never sleep. Fumbling in my bedside cabinet I found a small bottle of lube and my trusty rampant rabbit vibrator.

I let my imagination run wild as I switched on the pink silicone device. I closed my eyes and pretended the long, thick dildo section was really Neville's cock as it stretched me open, and the tiny little ‘ears' buzzing rapidly against my clit and sending electric shocks of pleasure through me were really his fingers working me to orgasmic bliss. I recalled his domineering attitude from earlier and quickly made up a fantasy scenario in my head where I kept getting the trick wrong and he was shouting at me that he was going to have to punish me, that every time I made a mistake he was going to have to fuck me until I learned to get it right.

I came hard and fast, his name on my lips.

I felt dirty once the afterglow had worn off, and not the good kind. Neville was my employer and no matter how attracted to him I was, I shouldn’t be getting myself off thinking about him like that. Even if it was the best orgasm I’d had in a long time.

I turned over on my side and fell into a broken, troubled sleep, full of crazy dreams about being sawn in half, and Neville leaving me there, carrying the bottom half of the box away with my bottom half still inside it. OK, surely that had to be some sort of weird sex metaphor.

______

Monday came around quickly and I was back at the warehouse. Despite telling myself I wasn’t interested in impressing Neville, I had dressed in one of my cutest vest tops - a tight black ribbed number - and a short, ice-skater style skirt in a bright, ruby red fabric. It was probably totally impractical for what we would be doing but I figured I could always claim I was trying to match my new name if Neville made any comments about it.

As it turned out he simply gave me a quick glance up and down and then told me he was leaving to run a few errands but would be back soon, and that I should pick up a deck of cards and practice shuffling them while he was out.

After almost 45 minutes I got bored of shuffling and started to poke around the warehouse, snooping in drawers, looking through boxes, peeking in notebooks. Nothing was particularly interesting, until I opened the bottom drawer of his desk. There, hidden amongst papers and decks of cards, was a box of condoms, still unopened in its cellophane wrapper.

Why Neville, you sly dog.

Of course there was nothing to say the box was new. He could have bought them ages ago, stuffed them in there and forgotten about them. They could even be for some kind of trick. But maybe, just maybe, he had bought them since I arrived, and that could be confirmation that he liked me back.

I closed the drawer just in time as Neville came back into the warehouse. “What took you so long?” I pouted. “There’s only so much card shuffling a gal can do.”

“I do expect you to be fully proficient.” He grabbed the cards and shuffled them like I’d only ever seen Blackjack dealers in Casinos do, with lots of fancy cuts and flips. OK, so that was impressive.

“Can we start working on an actual magic trick now?” I wheedled, my hand in a light grip on his arm for that little extra peer pressure.

He was staring at where my fingers massaged the bare skin. It was unusual to see him without his hoody – I remembered he had left wearing it but now he was just in his black t-shirt and light blue Levis.

“Fine, let’s do the rope escape,” he said after a moment. I let go to allow him to cross the warehouse to get the correct prop he’d need. It was a large wooden X style cross about 6 foot in height and behind that was a slightly taller pole. At the top of that pole was another rectangular pole coming off it, rather like one that would hold a shower curtain. Only this pole held a thick, dark blue velvet curtain that could be raised and lowered at will.

“Let me explain how it works,” Neville began, wheeling the entire contraption into place. “You will stand in front of the cross and I will take the rope from where it is already tied off at the back here, loop it around one ankle, then the other, then up to your wrist, then the other, and then back down to tie it off tightly again. A member of the audience can come up to verify you’re securely fastened in.”

We moved around to the back. “But the secret is that this lever here can turn and give you just enough slack to get out. So the trick goes that I tie you up, I pull the curtain up, I twist this and free you and I climb in to take your place, you twist it back to tighten the ropes again and pull the curtain down to reveal that we’ve switched positions.”

He looked at me to make sure I was following. I nodded - it all seemed pretty simple.

“With practice we can get it down to a matter of seconds to make the switch.” He snapped his fingers on the word ‘seconds’ for extra emphasis.

“Can I try?” I asked.

“Of course,” he nodded, almost proudly, as if he was pleased to see that I was so keen. I lined myself up against the cross, both arms in the air and my legs open wide in an X shape. Neville expertly looped the rope around each limb, loosely to begin with. “Are you OK for me to tighten it?” he asked. I gave a quick nod of acquiescence and the rope immediately snapped tight against my wrists and ankles, causing me to let out an involuntary gasp. He tied it off at the back and came around to stand in front of me.

“How does it feel?” he enquired. I noticed his voice was gruffer than before. “Can you free yourself?”

I twisted against the nylon rope in vain. “No, I’m well and truly trapped.” I confirmed. There was nothing I could do to free myself. I was totally at Neville’s mercy. And oh fuck if the thought of that wasn’t a massive turn on. My clit throbbed, and I wondered if I dare push the envelope with Neville. If I was right about the condoms, he wanted something to happen between us and this might be the perfect opportunity to test the waters. But... if I was wrong, I could lose everything.

“I feel so vulnerable like this,” I said breathily, my voice dripping with submissiveness. “You could do absolutely anything to me and I couldn’t stop you.” I sucked in my bottom lip and looked up at him coyly through my lashes.

Neville let out a long, shaky breath and stepped towards me, placing his left hand on my hip.

“Anything?” he asked, his voice cracking a little. We both knew exactly what question was really being asked in that one little word.

“Anything... Sir.” I confirmed. And with that his entire demeanour shifted. Any trace of nerves were gone, and the dominant Neville I so fantasised about took over.

“Do you know the traffic light system?”

“I do,” I nodded. It was on.

His fingernails dug into the soft skin of my hip even through my skirt. I’d probably have bruises there later and I’d wear them like a badge of honour.

“I already had to take a very uncomfortable walk home this morning with my hoody tied around my waist to hide my hard-on, thanks to you coming into work dressed like a little whore,” he sneered at me. “I think we’re going to have to have a very serious talk about professionalism in the workplace.”

The hand that had been on my hip suddenly disappeared, only to reappear with a hard smack on the side of my buttock, the only part of my ass that was accessible. I gasped at the sharp sting and then moaned with arousal as the flesh burned. Another smack, only this time he slipped his hand under my skirt and groped at the still-smarting globe of muscle over the satin of my underwear.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” I moaned, wishing that I could cross my legs and put some pressure on my almost painfully throbbing clit. But I was still bound and completely at Neville’s mercy.

He stared at me, eyes fiery, licking his lips like a wolf licking its chops before devouring its kill. He obviously enjoyed me calling him Sir, the light blue of his tight jeans doing nothing to hide the thickening outline by the inseam of his right thigh.

He must have noticed me staring at his hardening cock, as he palmed at it with his right hand, admitting, “I already came once today thanks to you, you little slut.”

“Yes Sir,” I gasped, trying to push my pelvis forward to give him more access to my ass, his fingers kneading into the hot flesh. But I needed more!

He moved behind me and I could hear him searching through the drawers. “The good thing about being a magician,” he smirked, coming towards me with a small pair of scissors, “is that I can make anything disappear.” He reached up beneath my skirt and with two simple snips my underwear came away in his hand. He slipped the scraps of black satin and lace into his jeans pocket.

Because I still had my skirt on I wasn’t actually exposed, but because of my stance, my legs spread open so wide, I felt more naked than I ever had.

“This too.” He placed the scissors at the bottom of my vest and slowly began cutting. I protested at first but that earned me another spank.

“Sorry Sir,” I apologised. Just knowing that I was completely under his control was making me so aroused that I could actually feel my wetness begin to drip down my thighs. He cut the vest away completely, leaving me in just my sports bra and tiny skirt. At least the bra zipped at the front so he wouldn’t have to cut that.

He set the scissors and fabric scraps on the desk and came back to stand before me, eying me hungrily. “Please Sir,” I moaned. “Touch me.”

Agonisingly slowly he clicked the zip on my bra down, tooth by tooth as I writhed against the ropes. Finally my top was completely open, and he took one of my hardened nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hot, pebbled skin. His hand massaged the other breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I groaned at being touched at last, my hands clenching in empty fists as lightning bolts of pleasure ran through my body.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he mumbled against the skin of my chest as his free hand found its way to my upper thigh. He rested it there for a moment and I whimpered, desperate for him to touch me more intimately.

“When I’m ready,” he scolded, biting my nipple as punishment.

“Yes, Neville.” He looked up at me through his impossibly long lashes with an angry look on his face, and I knew exactly what mistake I’d made. “I mean Yes Sir, I’m sorry Sir,” I gasped out, feeling my whole body flushing with arousal.

“Good girl,” he purred.

Torturously slowly, his fore and middle fingers traced a line across the smooth skin of my upper thigh, up under my skirt and then dipped down into the crease of my hip. He explored further still until he came to the delicate fold between my thigh and outer lip, where my juices had already dripped down.

“God, you’re soaked!” He sounded astonished that I could be so wet only from what we had done so far.

All I could do was moan in agreement, straining to try and force his fingers to slip closer to my clit. Thankfully he didn’t make me wait any longer and slid the two fingers either side of my dripping hole, collecting as much of my fluids on his thick digits as he could while still avoiding entering me, before at last rubbing his fingertips over that hot little bundle of nerves at my core.

I jerked and cried out at finally being touched.

“Easy, baby,” he cooed in a voice one might use to soothe a startled horse, all the while still rubbing circles on my clit. “I’ve got you.”

The ‘fuck’ that slipped out of my mouth was practically a sob. Neville really did have magic hands and I could already feel the beginnings of an orgasm building deep inside me.

It was killing me that I couldn’t reach out and run my fingers through his hair, but being tied up was turning me on more than I could have ever imagined it would.

“So fucking wet...” Neville moaned into my neck as he kissed down it, and I gasped as he suddenly pushed both fingers into my pussy without warning. The hot stretch of it felt so amazing and I just wished I could clamp my legs around him and grind into it. As it was I tried to tighten my muscles around him as much as I could. His thumb continued to work my clit and the tight ball of electricity started to grow deep in my stomach. Fuck, I was close.

“Gonna cum,” I gasped.

The thumb withdrew. I groaned in frustration and displeasure. I had been so close!

“You cum when I say so, babygirl.” he said assertively, biting and sucking at my collarbone as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out of me.

Finally the thumb returned and my pleasure built to a crescendo again. I couldn’t help myself, I moaned out, “Please Sir, let me cum!”

“As you asked so nicely,” he smirked. “Cum for me.”

I closed my eyes and allowed the white heat of my orgasm to overwhelm me, crying out as the waves of pleasure flooded through me, over and over and over.

Finally I blinked my eyes open, my body heavy and satiated. He was holding me up, as my legs could not do it for themselves and he didn’t want the rope to cut into my wrists. Reaching around behind me he pulled the lever to loosen the ropes and helped me to step out of the bindings, as I was wobbling like a new-born deer. Then he lifted me up and carried me to an old chaise lounge in the corner with half its stuffing missing.

“Are you OK?” he asked, checking my wrists and ankles for chafing. Thankfully there was none.

“I’m fine,” I answered honestly. “But what about you?” I nodded towards his crotch, where his very obvious erection was still waiting to be taken care of.

Once he knew I wasn’t hurt, dominant Neville came out to play again.

“Oh my sweet little babygirl, don’t worry,” he smiled, “I fully intend to take you.” He grabbed me by the neck to pull me into a deep kiss. I realised that despite him just giving me the most amazing orgasm, this was actually the first time we had kissed! His powerful tongue probed against mine, his hands roaming over my mostly naked body. Finally, with my own hands free I could touch everywhere I wanted to. They raked through his hair, across his back, cupping his tight buttocks. I was in heaven.

He stopped the kiss after a few minutes and stood up to pull off his T-shirt and jeans, while I slipped out of my last remaining pieces of clothing. I lay back and admired the view in front of me, this beautiful man all mine, his huge cock erect and already leaking pre-cum just for me.

He leaned down to kiss me again and then with one hand flat on my chest, forced me to lie back on to the chaise lounge. Both of us were now fully naked, our bodies shining in the dim light of the warehouse.

He reached down into the back pocket of his discarded jeans and pulled out a condom that he must have stashed there earlier when he was getting the scissors.

“Ready?” he asked, tearing open the foil and carefully rolling the prophylactic down his thick shaft.

“Yes Sir, please take me. I need you.”

His beautifully reddened, kiss-bitten lips twisted into a satisfied smile and he laid his full bodyweight on top of me, the blunt head of his cock resting against my dripping entrance. He teased me for a moment by circling the flushed cockhead around the hole before finally breaching my tightness, just with the tip at first. I let out a long, low moan at the delicious stretch and wrapped my legs around his back, trying to force him into me more quickly.

“Ah ah ah!” he scolded, his left hand flying to my neck. He squeezed lightly in punishment, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle so I didn’t need to use any of the safe words. “At my pace, little Princess.”

I kept my legs around his waist but I ceased any attempts to pull him closer. I threw my head back and mewled as he finally started to push himself in fully, enjoying that deep burning sensation of being completely filled. He bottomed out and began to thrust slowly inside me, drawing himself all the way out to the tip and then sliding back in again.

It was like sweet, divine torture. He obviously had no intention of rushing this, each stroke brushing against my G spot just enough to start building my orgasm but not enough to actually make me cum.

He kissed and nibbled at my throat, working his way up my neck to suckle on my earlobes which made me shiver with delight. I could feel my skin prickle with goosebumps as his tongue worked its way down again, finally ending up at my breasts. My nipples hardened in response and he sucked one into his mouth, his warm saliva leaving a trailed string from the pebbled skin to his bottom lip for a moment when he pulled away.

I grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him down to kiss me again, and as we kissed his thrusts began to speed up. We moaned into each other’s mouths, the arousal building for both of us. He reached down between our writhing bodies and started to finger my clitoris again, and I groaned loudly as immense pleasure overtook me. Neville was grunting with the effort of fucking me now, his thrusts growing more frantic and erratic.

My second orgasm was building, the tight knot of pleasure in my core growing as Neville’s cock brushed my G spot with every stroke, and his fingers expertly worked my clit.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” I announced, my eyes fluttering closed, stars behind them in my vision.

“That’s it, cum for me my good girl,” he praised. “So fucking beautiful.”

I let the orgasm wash over me, pure pleasure spiking every nerve in my body until everything turned white and I shuddered in Neville’s arms.

“Jesus, uh, fuck,” Neville groaned, and I felt him stiffen, then he too shuddered as he came inside me, his cock twitching as he unloaded into the condom. After a moment he collapsed on top of me, completely spent.

We lay there for a few moments until the chill made me shiver. Neville stood up and turned away to dispose of the condom, seemingly embarrassed for me to see him do the ‘clean up’. Then he grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge and a blanket that had been thrown over some boxes in the corner, and came back to the chaise lounge, throwing the blanket over the both of us.

“Are you OK?” he asked me, handing me the water. I took it gratefully and took a long drink. He did likewise and then set the bottle aside.

“I am,” I smiled, snuggling into his arms. Even though the dominant Neville was a huge turn-on, I was glad that he knew how to do the aftercare as well. “So what does this mean for us?” I asked, even though I was terrified of the answer. “Was this a one-off, or...”

“No!” he said, a little to quickly and loudly. “I mean, if you want us to... I’d like... do you want to go out? I’ve always thought you were attractive.”

“Same,” I smiled, relieved that he wasn’t just using me as a one night stand. I wanted to be with Neville. He seemed like a really nice guy, and they had been few and far between lately.

“So do you actually want to go out with me?” I asked, reaching a hand up to curl it affectionately through his hair.

“I do,” he confirmed.

“So... a proper date,” I mused. “How about tomorrow night?”

“That sounds great,” he smiled, taking the hand that had been in his hair and kissing it. “Oh, but I’ll have to take a rain check I’m afraid. I’ve got a magician coming round tomorrow night to show me a trick I’m interested in buying.”

“Oh right,” I replied, feeling a little bit annoyed, but understanding that work needed to come first. “Who’s the Magician?”

“Some old guy called Willy Wando,” he said. “But it probably won’t come to anything.”

Even if Neville didn’t hold out much hope, I had a funny feeling this trick was going to change his life.

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Wildfire

Chapter 8: A Golden Afternoon

Its the middle of the night - so Im definitely going to post this again in the morning - but here you go! thanks for the nice words I really appreciate it ❤︎

word count: 4120

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Barely five minutes had passed before Lysandra was sauntering down the stairs, arms now empty and her gaze lazily sweeping over Rowan’s bare chest. Her eyes burned with intent, but he knew she was cataloguing him, marking the strength, height, weapons in his hands – the gaze of a spy. And Rowan couldn’t help but wonder if she really was just spying for Aelin. With those wildcat eyes…who else would she be serving but herself? Was there a chance she might betray them?

Rowan could practically feel Aedion’s eyes on him from behind, his scent burning with jealousy. Rowan had to keep his own eyes from rolling.

Lysandra shot Rowan a wry smile as she passed them, and Rowan caught a whiff of her scent on the breeze. It was strange, almost…layered. He couldn’t quite figure it out, and before he could get a full breath, Lysandra had wrenched the rolling door open and left the warehouse, pulling it shut behind her.

Then Aelin appeared on the stairs, a pile of garments in her arms. “These are for you,” she to Rowan. “Looks like I owe Nesryn a favor, she asked Lysandra to bring them this morning.”

Aelin continued as Rowan started up the stairs to take the clothes off her hands. “She also brought news. Arobynn received a report last night that two prison wagons were spotted heading south to Morath – chock full of all those missing people. We need to send for Chaol.”

Aedion nodded, already heading out the door, while Rowan continued into the apartment to see if the new clothes would fit. When he passed Aelin, she smirked at him.

So that’s a no on the fit. Rowan held in a sigh. Knowing Aelin, she’d put him in tight clothing on purpose.

···

To Rowan’s relief, the clothes hadn’t been all that tight. The pants were loose enough that they no longer restricted his movement, even if they were nearly four inches too short at the ankle. But Aelin had still given him an overly-pleased once over when his back was turned. She was spending too much time with Lysandra.

By late morning, Chaol was standing in the middle of the clearing, his eyes fixed on the map between his fingers. His steel, cotton, and birchwood-flavored scent was exactly as Rowan remembered from when he’d first tasted it in Aelin’s blood all those months ago, in that reckless first bite.

The memory alone was enough for ice to crack through Rowan’s veins, freezing his expression in place. This man had been responsible for sending Aelin across the sea, with no warning and no protection, right into the arms of his former queen. Who had been responsible for the broken heart she had arrived with. And then, when she returned here, he had the impudence to tell her that it was her fault he had failed to protect his King. That it was her fault her cousin had ended up in prison and Dorian the walking dead.

Rowan wanted to rip his face off with his teeth.

But instead, Rowan just stood guard by the door. Keeping his eyes locked on the former captain of the guard.

The man was of slightly higher than average stature, with brown eyes and hair, and hardened features. He held his broad shoulders straight back, his spine rigid, but his limbs were unsettled. He couldn’t stop shifting in place, discomforted.

Rowan suppressed another grin.

The man’s eyes also kept shifting to Aelin, and as he moved in place yet again, Rowan caught the slightest hint of jasmine and flame in his scent – Aelin.

Even though he couldn’t detect even a trace of the captain’s scent on Aelin anymore, the captain was still holding on to her. Still carrying her scent. Fury bubbled in Rowan’s gut.

Despite the vile words he’d hurled at her, the captain still wanted Aelin, and now that Rowan was looking for it, he could see the pain from her rejection written all over him.

Rowan almost regretted being polite to the man. But he knew Aelin would be rightfully furious with him if he attacked Chaol when their alliance was already so fragile. So he stuck to the door.

But that didn’t mean Aelin didn’t notice his icy stare, nor the captain’s discomfort. Her eyes glinted. “You know, he won’t bite,” she crooned.

Chaol leveled a stare at her. “Can you just explain what these maps are for?”

“Anything you, Ress, or Brullo can fill in regarding these gaps in the castle defenses would be appreciated,” she said.

His lips pursed as he folded up the map, tucking it into the inner pocket of his tunic. “For you to bring down the clock tower?”

“Maybe,” Aelin said flatly.

Chaol bristled. He was still obviously avoiding Rowan’s gaze. “I haven’t heard from Ress or Brullo for a few days,” he said tersely. “I’ll make contact soon.”

Aelin just nodded, pulling out a second map – this one of the sewer network. She weighed it down on the table with two of the daggers hidden up her sleeves.

Chaol shot her a disapproving look that made Rowan want to snarl.

Aelin ignored them. “Arobynn learned that the missing prisoners were taken to Morath last night. Did you know?”

Chaol tensed. “No.”

“They can’t have gotten far. You could gather a team and ambush the wagons.”

“I know I could.”

“Are you going to?”

He laid a hand on the map, his face darkening. If Rowan didn’t know any better, he might have felt sympathetic. The man was obviously in pain.

His words were low, but hard. “Did you bring me here to prove a point about my uselessness?”

Aelin straightened. Rowan leaned forwards slightly, readying himself. Aelin spoke, choosing her words very carefully, “I asked you to come because I thought it would be helpful for the both of us. We’re both – we’re both under a fair amount of pressure these days.”

“When do you make your move?” the captain asked, his eyes roving over the map.

“Soon.”

Another purse of the lips. Apparently, he didn’t like her non-answers. “Anything else I should know?”

“I’d start avoiding the sewers. It’s your death warrant if you don’t.”

“There are people trapped down there—we’ve found the nests, but no sign of the prisoners. I won’t abandon them.”

“That’s all well and good,” Aelin said calmly, even as Chaol slammed his teeth together, “but there are worse things than Valg grunts patrolling the sewers, and I bet they won’t turn a blind eye to anyone in their territory. I would weigh the risks if I were you.”

The captain was angry, but he kept silent as Aelin combed her fingers through her hair and asked, “So are you going to ambush the prison wagons?”

“Of course I am.”

Rowan couldn’t doubt the sincerity there, and it seemed Aelin couldn’t either. Her eyes softened in concern, her scent flickering. And Rowan knew that there was still some affection left for the old captain of the guard. But how much?

Aelin sighed softly. Then said, “They use warded locks on the wagons. And the doors are reinforced with iron. Bring the right tools.”

It was Rowan’s turn to clench his jaw. Aelin would know, she had spent weeks in one. Chained up and in the dark. On her way to slavery.

It took all of his self control to remain still and standing.

The captain straightened up, making to leave.

“Tell Faliq that Prince Rowan says thank you for the clothes,” Aelin said. And even though confusion passed over Chaol’s face, he nodded his agreement. Rowan stepped aside with a murmur of farewell as the captain stepped into the bright sunlight of the golden afternoon.

···

To his great surprise, Aelin told him that there wasn’t anything pressing they needed to take care of that day, so instead, she spent the time showing him her city.

She took him through the slums, keeping to the shadows whenever possible, and they walked all the way through the capital to the elegant residential districts and the busy markets squares, now crammed with vendors selling goods for the summer solstice in two weeks.

She talked all the while, pointing out paths and walkways, busy intersections and guard postings, along with all those little details that made this place her home, the good and the bad. And so much of it seemed to be connected to Sam.

Places they had walked together, ate together, laughed together – where they had grown up. She even pointed out the place Sam had rescued her from the sewers when she had been kidnapped and nearly drowned.

The cobbles were warm with the afternoon sunlight, and despite the darkness of the Valg guards, the pair of them walked through the city as if belonged to them. As if the streets and buildings were but a carpet unrolled before their feet.

“The man who runs that store always used to give me free tarts.”

“That dressmaker was my favorite, she always knew exactly how to alter a garment to suit you perfectly.”

“I had dance lessons here for years, the instructor is an amazing woman, you would have loved her. She let me play her piano, even if my back was never straight enough for her. She helped me rescue Aedion.”

They even spent almost half an hour in an old music repair shop, wandering among the aisles of old instruments and piles of music sheets. Even if, in Rowan’s opinion, no piece of music could be more beautiful than the sound of her laugh as he nearly tripped over some twisted pieces of metal she told him belonged to a broken brass horn.

Aelin also took him to one of Nesryn’s family bakeries, where she tried force him to eat some of a pear tart, no matter how many times he told her that it smelled sickly sweet to him. 

At the docks however, Rowan actually managed to convince Aelin to try some pan-fried trout. She cringed and swore at first, but once she’d tried it, she finished her fish in record time and soon was trying to sneak bites of his. Rowan snarled at her, but he couldn’t keep his lips from twitching into a smile.

After their late lunch, they sat at the edge of the docks and cooled by the water. They were mostly silent, instead listening to the sounds of the shipyards, seabirds and waves.

Rowan found that his thoughts kept sliding to Sam. He’d been just a boy when he died, barely eighteen. They’d had so little time together. And before Aelin had gotten a chance to deal with his death, she had been sold into slavery.

Rowan tried to find the words to ask her about Sam, about how she felt for him, but before he could, the sound of a whip cracked through their pleasant silence.

Aelin met his eyes, her face grave. Soundlessly, they stood and walked away from the water and back to the shore, where they watched as a cluster of chained slaves hauled cargo onto one of the ships. People who, no doubt, were captured and enslaved because of their opposition to Adarlanian rule. Rebels in chains, allies of Terrasen and its queen.

They watched, and could to nothing.

A cold, endless fury burned in Aelin’s eyes; a fury that made him want to call a storm of ice and wind so strong it would turn the shipyards to rubble, the slavers with them. But he couldn’t, and not only because his magic was locked inside his body. Instead they just stared. And swore to themselves that soon, perhaps very soon, those slaves would be freed.

He and Aelin wandered away, back through the market stalls from which they came, though now the silence between them felt heavy with darkness.

Now the wooden paths were full of the scent of roses and wild lilies, the ocean breeze sweeping petals of every shape and color past their feet as the flower girls shouted about their wares. Husbands leaned over bouquets to bring home to their wives, bachelors picked out arrangements for their intended, while girls giggled over daisies and shot the boys looks from beneath their lashes when they thought no one was watching.

Rowan stopped in his tracks. The smell, the laughter, the color – it was all so familiar that it made his heart wrench in two.

There was a woman across from them in the center of the square, a basket of hothouse peonies on her thin arm. She was young, pretty, and dark-haired, and her eyes sparkled with something hidden – twin to his mate of two centuries earlier.

Memories began flashing behind his eyes – a mountain home in smoke, arms digging a grave, blood running tracks down the backs of his hands. The face of a woman in a market across the sea, flowers in her arms and hair, a smile lighting up her face. Even the queen by his side couldn’t dull the screaming reverberating in his head.

Rowan didn’t hear what Aelin said as she turned to him, but he saw her face. Her eyes widened, and she clenched and unclenched her fingers, any words lodged in her throat.

Rowan just stared at the girl, who was smiling, alight with life and a vibrant energy that sliced through him like a knife. She smiled at a passing woman, holding out her peonies for a sale.

Rowan breathed, Aelin’s anxiety brushing past him with a wash of flickering embers. Truth. The only thing he could offer her. 

“I didn’t deserve her,” he said quietly.

Aelin swallowed hard. A long pause. Then, “I didn’t deserve Sam.”

Rowan turned to look at Aelin, her eyes downturned, her mouth soft. He would do anything to keep that sadness off her face. Anything.

Rowan reached out to brush her fingers with his, maybe to hold her hand, or pull her body into his. But at the last moment, he remembered himself, and dropped his arm back to his side.

He must have invented that glint of disappointment in Aelin’s eyes.

“Come,” she said. “I want to show you something.”

They left the flower girls behind, moving deeper into the city, but Rowan was unable to completely let go of the pain wrapping his heart in ice.

···

Aelin scrounged up some dessert from the street vendors while Rowan waited in a shadowed alley, then she pulled him deeper into the city proper, until they darted into a side alley and ducked into a hidden entrance that led to a rickety wooden staircase. 

Now, Aelin was munching on a lemon cookie while they sat on one of the wooden rafters in the gilded dome of the darkened Royal Theater, Aelin swinging her legs in the open air below.

The space was dark and silent, unnaturally so. As if the very seats and aisles longed for the return of the music that had once blanketed them. Sunlight poured in from the roof door they’d entered through, illuminating the rafters and the golden dome, gleaming faintly off the polished brass banisters and the blood red curtains of the stage below.

“This used to be my favorite place in the entire world,” Aelin said, her words full of a loving nostalgia. “Arobynn owns a private box, so I went any chance I could. The nights I didn’t feel like dressing up or being seen, or maybe the nights I had a job and only an hour free, I’d creep in here through that door and listen.”

Rowan finished the cookie Aelin had foisted on him, still just gazing into the dark space below. He still hadn’t said anything since they’d left the flower vendors, and he could smell the scent of Aelin’s worry wafting around them. Wanting to ease her tension, and to turn away from the icy marble deep in his chest, he turned back to her.

Aelin seemed to practically sigh in relief as he said, “I’ve never seen an orchestra – or a theater like this, crafted around sound and luxury. Even in Doranelle, the theaters and amphitheaters are ancient, with benches or just steps.”

“There’s no place like this anywhere, perhaps. Even in Terrasen.”

“Then you’ll have to build one.”

“With what money? You think people are going to be happy to starve while I build a theater for my own pleasure?”

“Perhaps not right away, but if you believe one would benefit the city, the country, then do it. Artists are essential.”

Aelin sighed, seemingly unable to handle another burden, small as it was. “This place has been shut down for months, and yet I swear I can still hear the music floating in the air.”

Rowan angled his head, studying. “Perhaps the music does live on, in some form.” It was almost as though he could feel its absence, in the taste of the air and the flutter of the curtains. The space wasn’t just empty, it was waiting.

A silver lining appeared in Aelin’s eyes. “I wish you could have heard it – I wish you had been there to hear Pytor conduct the Stygian Suite. Sometimes, I feel like I’m still sitting down in that box, thirteen years old and weeping from the sheer glory of it.”

“You cried?” he blinked, watching as the memories passed behind her eyes and wishing he could see them as she did.

“The final movement – every damn time,” she sighed, almost laughing at herself. “I would go back to the Keep and have the music in my mind for days, even as I trained or killed or slept. It was a kind of madness, loving that music. It was why I started playing the pianoforte – so I could come home at night and make my poor attempt at replicating it.”

“Is there a pianoforte in here?” he asked, looking back into the darkness without waiting for an answer, the ghost of a smile passing over his face.

···

“I haven’t played in months and months. And this is a horrible idea for about a dozen different reasons,” Aelin complained for the tenth time as she finished rolling back the curtains on the stage.

Rowan kept quiet, focusing on lighting the single candle he had found backstage. He knew that the space had once been grand and beautiful, but now, amid the gloom of the dead theater, it felt like standing in a tomb. The chairs were still perfectly arranged for a massive orchestra, though they were now covered in dust. No one had been in here in weeks.

Rowan turned and walked over to the pianoforte, which was near the front of the stage. He had never learned to play, his court lessons not extending so far as learning an instrument. 

Rowan had been to his fair share of balls and events, but it had been a rare thing for him to have an opportunity to listen to music just for music’s sake. Much of those events had been heavily overshadowed by the annoyance of dealing with court maneuvering. And after Lyria’s death, he had avoided such things at all costs.

He could barely remember the last time he had been able to listen to any kind of music and just listen. To have the pleasure of experiencing the art, the magic of it. He ran a hand over the smooth surface of the instrument as if it were a prize horse, marveling at the potential the lay within.

Aelin was hesitating at his side. “It seems like sacrilege to play that thing,” she said, her words echoing too loudly in the space.

“Since when are you the religious type, anyway?” Rowan gave her an encouraging smile. He just hoped that it wasn’t too crooked. “Where should I stand to best hear it?”

“You might be in for a lot of pain at first.”

“Self-conscious today, too?” Maybe teasing would get it out of her.

“If Lorcan’s snooping about,” she grumbled, “I’d rather he not report back to Maeve that I’m lousy at playing.”

He just grinned as she pointed to a spot on the stage. “There. Stand there, and stop talking, you insufferable bastard.” He chuckled, and moved across to the center of the stage.

She swallowed as she slid onto the smooth bench and folded back the lid, revealing the gleaming keys beneath. She positioned her feet on the pedals, but made no move to touch the keyboard. “I haven’t played since before Nehemia died,” she admitted, the words heavy.

“We can come back another day, if you want,” he said softly.

“There might not be another day. And – and I would consider my life very sad indeed if I never played again.”

He nodded and crossed his arms. So get on with it then.

She sighed, but turned back to face the keys and slowly set her hands on the instrument, a great beast of sound and joy about to be awakened.

“I need to warm up,” she blurted, then plunged in, the notes soft and light.

It was just a random selection of chords and scales, but still, the music filled the hall with its caring whisper. The whole space seemed to breathe again, as if soaking up the music like light, or air.

And then she began for real.

The piece she played wasn’t merely happy or sad, calm or excited – it was far, far more than that. The complexity of the notes, the way they layered together and bounded off each other – it felt like the melody of life itself. Of the love and glory and pain and beauty in simply breathing.

It filled Rowan up with its warmth, and he felt Aelin’s fiery heat overflowing within each note. The music seemed to be made of her fire, and together they burned. All the while the music built, up and up and up and up, until the sound breaking from the instrument was like the heart-song of a long lost goddess.

Rowan stood and waited, letting the sound wrap around his form like a blanket, letting it slowly melt the ice around his heart. Aelin had always been able to do that, melt away his pain and resistance, without even realizing she could. And now she did so not with words, but with this music that flew from her fingers like small winged creatures, into the empty seats behind them.

Rowan drifted over to stand beside the instrument. He was drawn to her, to the fire that made him feel so alive. Then she whispered to him, “Now,” and the crescendo shattered into the world, note after note after note. The music crashed around them, roaring through the emptiness of the theater.

She brought the piece home to its final explosive, triumphant chord, and Rowan could feel tears lining his eyes. When she looked up, panting slightly, he just gazed at her, at the queen who had lit up his darkness, and marveled.

He struggled for words, but then finally breathed, “Show me - show me how you did that.”

···

They spent the better part of an hour seated together on the bench, Aelin teaching him the basics of the pianoforte – explaining the sharps and flats, the pedals, the notes and chords. At last when Rowan heard someone coming to investigate the music, they slipped out.

On their way back to the apartment, they stopped at the Royal Bank. Aelin went inside alone, having ordered Rowan to wait in the shadows across the street, impatient and pissed off. Luckily she only took a few minutes, returning with a bag of gold clasped to her belt.

“So you’re using your own money to support us?” Rowan asked, masking his irritation as best he could.

“For now.”

“And what will you do for money later?”

She glanced sidelong at him. “It’ll be taken care of.”

“By whom?”

“Me.”

He clenched his teeth, anger mounting. “Explain.”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” She gave him a small smile that drove him completely insane. Rowan made to grab her by the shoulder, but she ducked away from his touch.

“Ah, ah. Better not move too swiftly, or someone might notice.” 

He snarled viciously but she only chuckled. “Just be patient and don’t get your feathers ruffled.”

Rowan clenched his jaw, stopping another snarl in its tracks. This conversation could wait until they were both home. Maybe then he would be able to convince her that he absolutely needed to be let in on her plans. It was the only way to keep her safe.

But would she listen?

Rowan scowled at that thought, and took off into the shadows behind Aelin, following her back to the warehouse.

···

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···

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[rafael-silva]

joenicky + 45

thank you kayla!

joenicky + #45. rubbing the back of their hand with a thumb | from this prompt list

hurt/comfort, angst, description of injury, blood mention, grounding touches, emotional hurt/comfort, temporary character death, sprinkles of fluff

It happened quickly. Too quickly. But it also happened so agonizingly slow. He saw him drop from the corner of his eye, heard the pained yelp that escaped his husband’s lips, and caught Nile’s quick movements to take down the men responsible for his soulmate’s wounds. He backed up, hands tightly gripping his firearms as he pulls the triggers while moving on his heels to shield his husband from any further harm as he recovers.

Nicky expects to feel a hand on his shoulder soon, or at least the call of his name from behind, a system he and Joe had built over decades and decades. If one can’t turn to look at the other, a touch or a call of a name is in order.

However, standing in this dimly lit room, sweat rolling down the sides of his face, slightly panting from the exertion, neither touch nor sound come from Joe.

And it’s been too long. Nicky has to look over his shoulder.

He does. And in that split second, he gets a bullet to the shoulder but he doesn’t feel the pain, he doesn’t feel the sting. In fact, the entire room seems to fade away because Joe is still lying on the ground. He’s still bleeding. And he’s not moving.

With a hitched breath, Nicky finds himself clutching his sword with knuckles as white as snow, and the blood rushing through his body as hot and raging as fire. He stands his ground, not daring to move an inch, still protecting Joe, as he takes down the remainder of the cartel the team was hired to dismantle.

The silence is a welcomed sound dancing across the room. Andy and Nile quickly look around, to make sure it’s all clear, while Nicky doesn’t waste a single second in dropping to his knees next to Joe. His Joe. Joe, who’s still not moving. Who’s still bleeding.

Nicky’s voice pierces through the silence, sharp, but layered with worry.

“Joe.”

Nothing.

He can sense Andy and Nile standing above him, holding their breaths.

“Joe,” Nicky repeats, moving forward to hold Joe’s face in his hands, caressing his bearded cheeks with his thumbs.

Andy’s eyes remain glued on Joe’s wound, a gaping hole in his chest and stomach courtesy of a close-range shotgun blast. And there! Right there. It started to heal. Or was in Andy’s eyes tricking her?

“Yusuf,” Nicky’s voice quivers, on the edge of desperation.

Joe’s eyes remain closed.

“Come on, come on,” Nicky whispers. “Torna da me.” Come back to me.

Nicky’s wide eyes trail downwards to Joe’s chest and he, too, holds his breath.

And it seems Andy’s eyes were, in fact, not playing tricks on her because Nicky catches the movement, too.

Nile remembers Booker’s words then, bigger wounds take longer to heal.

And quite frankly, Joe’s middle is a mangled mess.

“Apri gli occhi per me, amore mio,” Nicky pleads. Open your eyes for me, my love. “Joe…”

Nicky shares a look with Andy and it’s filled with fear and uncertainty. Nicky’s bright green eyes are screaming, no, no, it’s not time, it cannot be time, please, no…

Nicky looks back at Joe, his heart racing in his chest, and then he’s placing a palm against Joe’s chest, right above his heart and Nicky closes his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm his own heart. And he breaks when the beats aren’t echoed inside Joe’s chest. Their hearts would always beat as one, and now…Nicky just feels the emptiness and the loneliness through his body when it’s only his heart that beats.

He feels it before he hears it. A thump against his palm. And then another. He opens his eyes just in time to hear the piercing breath Joe sucks in that immediately turns into a cough that escapes his mouth a second later.

His eyes are squeezed shut, he lets out a throaty groan and he’s undoubtedly in a lot of pain.

And Nicky, since the moment he took that bullet to his shoulder that has long-since healed, can finally let out a shaky breath.

He can feel Andy and Nile relax an inch, too. They’re still on alert, diving their attention on the couple and their surroundings.

“Sono qui. Sono qui,” Nicky whispers, and he isn’t quite sure he can use his voice much right now. I’m here. I’m here.  

With all the strength he can muster, Joe lifts a wobbly arm and clutches at the front of Nicky’s vest, needing something, anything, to hold on to. And of course, as always, Nicky is right there for him. Joe’s fingers weakly hold on and it’s all Nicky needs to lean down and touch his forehead to Joe’s.

He feels Joe taking in short, shallow breaths. “Easy, Joe. Easy.”

Joe swallows against his dry throat, giving his other half a nod.

“Nicolo,” Joe murmurs, his voice thick and low. Followed by another groan.

“Yusuf,” Nicky responds. “Habibi.” My love. “I know, I know.” He covers Joe’s hand with his own, helping to ground the injured man, while his other hands goes back to cup Joe’s face, offering a source of warmth and comfort as he continues the painful process of healing.

No more words are needed between them, Nicky looks into Joe’s brown eyes as he instantly knows what his husband needs.

He closes the gap between them by planting a tender kiss to Joe’s forehead, letting his lips linger there to allow Joe to take everything he needs from the touch. Joe’s free hand travels up Nicky’s arm and wraps itself around the back of his neck. Joe is holding on for dear life, Nicky his lifeline.

Once he’s positive his legs will be able to hold him up, Joe gives Nicky a nod and Nicky is helping Joe up, wrapping an arm around Joe’s waist as they make their way outside of the bloodied warehouse, Andy and Nile taking the lead with Joe and Nicky hot on their heels, Nicky glued to Joe’s side with Joe’s arm draped around Nicky’s shoulder as they swiftly move towards their getaway car.

Nicky helps Joe into the backseat and quickly makes his way around the car, getting in himself just as Andy gets into the drivers seat and Nile into the passenger.

Andy floors the gas petal and they all hear the tires screeching against the gravel as the car speeds down the road.

It’s silent for a few moments, and it’s Andy who breaks it this time.

“Joe?” She takes a speedy glance at him through the rearview mirror.

He nods. “I’m good, boss.” His voice is a little unsteady, but it’s strong.

Joe and Nicky are plastered at each other’s sides, and Joe reaches out, taking Nicky’s hand and gives it a powerful, reassuring squeeze. I’m here. I’m okay, I promise.

Nicky swallows, briefly looking down at their joined hands and it’s then he realizes his own hand is shaking a little. He then looks up at Joe, who’s eyes are focused on his face, and there’s so much in Joe’s brown irises, but what Nicky sees the most, is that they’re full of life. The way Joe’s eyes soften when they meet Nicky’s own, giving him a look of comfort. And Nicky feels like he wants to cry. To cry because he still feels the fear coursing through his veins, could still feel the echo of his heart shattering in his chest. But he also wants to cry because Joe is here, Joe is here, and he’s alive, and he’s looking at him like that.

“I just…” Nicky starts with a whisper. “I need a moment.”

His eyes well up with tears.

Joe nods. He understands.

Instead of saying anything more, Joe gently starts rubbing his thumb over the back of Nicky’s hand in a slow and soothing rhythm.

A grounding touch.

A touch that clearly spells: I love you.

Nicky lets Joe’s even movements guide his breathing. In his head, Nicky is repeating, he’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay. Along with Joe’s soft touch, a mantra to help anchor him, to help steady him.

And together, they sit in the back of the car, the world flying by in a blur outside the windows. But it doesn’t matter. What matters if that they’re together, breathing together, hearts beating together. Beating as one.

[lost-in-fanfic]

The Woman - Thomas Shelby x reader (Part 4)

A/N: Here is Part 4, I hope you enjoy. I just want to say thank you for the kind messages, comments and the likes i have received for the series so far. They mean so much. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Not my Gif and please don’t post my work on other websites. 

Warnings: Strong Violence and swearing

A brief summary: Y/N is heading home to London and is doing her best to put Birmingham and Tommy out of her mind. Tommy on the other hand is determined to track her down.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 

Word Count:  1939

Tommy leaned against the wall of the warehouse, casually smoking, staring coldly at the two Ricci brothers sat in front of him.  The Ricci’s were small time criminals compared to the notoriety of the Peaky Blinder’s and when they had realised that Tommy would be out for revenge for trying have him killed, they had been quick to try and flee. Not quick enough though, a couple of Peaky boys had brought them to an empty warehouse where the Shelby brothers had been waiting. The two men were already bloody from the punches they had taken on the way here, but they both did their best to hold their nerve under the three pairs of dangerous eyes looking at them.

“You cowardly fuckers put out a hit on my brother.” Arthur said, his voice dripping with menace. He slowly circled the Ricci’s, like a lion evaluating its pray, waiting for Tommy to give him the order to pounce. “Don’t even have the balls to try and take us on yourselves.” John spat in the face of the younger of the two, although both men were considerably older than he was. “Maybe we should take off what balls they have got? Clearly don’t know how to use them.” Arthur moved in front of the older brother, holding his cap in his hand, bending the peak of it back to show of the razor blades sewn inside. “Bastardo!” the man shouted. In less time than it takes to blink Arthurs fist smashed into the side of his head knocking him off the chair on to the floor. He covered his head as Arthur kicked him repeatedly. “Who. Said. You. Could. Fucking. Speak!” He shouted between kicks. John had started punching the younger brother, who had tried to make a move when Arthur had thrown the first punch. Tommy dropped his cigarette, stepping on it to put it out, he slowly walked over to his brothers who were mercilessly beating the men in front of them. “That’s enough.” Tommy’s voice was deep and calm, despite the scene in front of him, instantly halting his brother’s onslaught.

The older of the men simply laid on the floor moaning quietly, his brother pushed himself up and spat out a mouthful of blood which landed straight on John’s shoes. Tommy’s hand grabbed John’s arm as he moved forward, questions needed to be answered, meaning one of the Ricci’s had to still be able to speak. “Now, tell me” Tommy began, taking one of the chairs and sitting in front of the man knelt before him. “how did you contact the person you hired to kill me?” Tommy was leaning into the mans face. “Why should I tell you anything?” Ricci asked, “will you just let us go if I tell you?” Arthur let out a cold laugh, John smiled while chewing on a toothpick and Tommy leaned even closer. “You tried to have me killed Mr Ricci, if I let you go what sort of example would that set?” Tommy’s voice was so steady and relaxed he could easily have been discussing a small business deal, not the fates of the two men in front of him. “But I’ll tell you what, you tell me what I want to know, and Arthur and John here won’t go to pay your family a visit.” Leaning back in his chair Tommy took out his pocket watch and examined it, before letting his eyes lift to meet the wide eyed, panicked man before him. “They will be about halfway to the house you sent them to now wont they. You see Mr Ricci, the taxi driver is on our payroll, so I know the exact address they will be staying at.” Tommy couldn’t help but relish in the look of realisation dawning over Ricci’s face, it was the look of a man who knew he had been cornered and had no way out.

“Fine. There is an address in London, you tie a red ribbon around the metal railings there. You must write your name on it, with the address of where you are staying, then you will be contacted.” Mr Ricci’s eyes were down to the floor in defeat, his brother was still whimpering on the floor next to him, but he could feel the icy daggers of Tommy Shelby’s eyes piercing his flesh. Tommy held out a piece of paper and a pen, “Write it down.” He ordered, watching as the address was noted and the paper handed back to him. “Good.” Tommy said simply, standing up and putting the paper carefully in his pocket, he waved his hand and in a flash Arthur and John brought down their caps and took the eyes of both Ricci brothers. Turning and walking out he barely registered the dying cry’s behind him, to wrapped up in the excitement of being one step closer to Y/N.

Tommy inhaled on his cigarette, a victorious smile played across his lips, it was remarkably bright compared to the dingy warehouse.  He stood their basking in the afternoon sun and in his triumph as Arthur and John came out to join him. “Get rid of ‘em.” Arthur said to the two Blinders who had been waiting on orders. “What next Tom?” John asked, his blood pumping with adrenaline and excitement. Tommy looked at his brothers, seeing the love they had for this life dancing in their wild eyes. “I’m going to London. Alone.” He added quickly as Arthur went to speak. “I’ll drive down from here and stay with Ada and Freddie tonight, they aren’t far from this address.” Tommy patted the pocket where he had safely stored the paper. “Ring Ada for me John, let her know I’m coming, and ask her to go out and buy me a bit of red ribbon.” Tommy flicked the ash from his cigarette and began to walk away. “What about me Tom?” Arthur called after him. “Do whatever you want Arthur.” Tommy called back over his shoulder, he was too excited to stop, he hadn’t felt this exhilarated in what felt to him like a lifetime.

Y/N looked out of the train window at the passing countryside, she was now far from the dirt and smoke of Birmingham and was enjoying the bright colours and clear skies before the inevitable return to dirt and smoke that awaited her in London. She knew that each mile being put between her and Tommy should make her feel calmer, but instead she had an overwhelming desire to get off this train at the next station and go straight back to Birmingham. Being near to Tommy had been like standing at the very edge of a cliff looking out at the most beautiful view she had ever seen and even though she knew the ground could fall from beneath her feet at any second, there was still a voice in her head telling her to jump over and into the sea below. Y/N spent the rest of the journey having a fierce internal battle, half of her was committed to forgetting Thomas Shelby even existed and thinking it ridiculous that he had any effect on her at all in such a short amount of time. The other half of her was able to offer no coherent argument or firm reasoning but instead longed desperately to be back under the gaze of his eyes.

When she got off the train in London it was already nearing dinner time and hunger had overtaken all other emotions. Y/N moved quickly through the busy London streets, listening to the calls of the stallholders who were trying to sell at least one last thing before packing up for the night, and after stopping briefly to grab some bits for dinner she was finally home. She lived on the middle floor of a shared tenement house, it wasn’t much and with her savings she could certainly afford more, but this was the world she felt comfortable in. The back door was just for her use, it meant she could come and go without drawing attention and the neighbours were less likely to notice if she were away for days at a time. Y/N tried not to get to attached to people or places, but this was the house she had lived in the longest, and despite her best efforts she had grown to care for some, if not all, of her neighbours. The family upstairs consisted of a father, who was either at work or drinking his wages at the pub, a mother who gambled away what little money made it home and their four children. Most of the food on their table was thanks to the money the older children earned running errands for Y/N. She never asked anything dangerous of them, but she paid them good money to keep a look out for red ribbons tied to a gate three streets away. Downstairs, there was a nice couple with a young baby who mostly kept to themselves, Y/N wasn’t even sure of their names, but still the wife was pleasant enough speak to when their paths crossed.

After unpacking and having a quick dinner Y/N was ready for bed, it wasn’t particularly late, but the events of the past few days had taken their toll, she was just about to change for bed when someone knocked at her door. Y/N grabbed a knife and made her way downstairs, she didn’t get visitors and it was to late to be one of the children from upstairs. Slowly she opened the door revealing the face of the woman from downstairs. “Oh, good evening, everything alright?” Y/N asked, carefully keeping the knife hidden behind the door as she held it open. “Yeah, I’m sorry to bother you, it’s just I was wondering if you had a bit of ribbon going spare?” The woman was young and had thick Birmingham accent that Y/N had never taken much notice of before. “Ribbon.” It was the only word Y/N could manage, it was more of a statement then a question and she was trying hard not to panic. “Yeah,” her neighbour continued “red if you’ve got it. My bloody brother has invited himself down and wants me to get him some ribbon. God knows why he wants it and why it has to be red, but I left it to late to get the shop. Karl hasn’t been very well today, so I had to wait for my Freddie to get home and watch him. You don’t look to well yourself.” Y/N had been frozen as she listened, a cold sweat beginning to form on her brow. “No. I haven’t.” again she had to fight with herself to get words to come out “Night.” She muttered as she pushed the door shut. Y/N felt her legs begin to wobble beneath her, so she sunk to the floor, listening to the footsteps moving away on the other side of the door.

“Fuck.” Y/N whispered, holding her head in her hands. How could she have been so stupid? Why had she never bothered to remember what her neighbours name was? She had done her research in Birmingham and knew that the Shelby brothers had a sister named Ada who had moved to London, but when she learned that the sister was nowhere near, she hadn’t looked any further into her. Y/N had thought her irrelevant to her job. If she had dug a bit deeper in Birmingham, if she had gotten to know her neighbour better, she would have realised sooner than this, that Ada Shelby lived downstairs from her. “Fuck!”

@comebackjessica​ @nemesis729​ @spacenijntje​ @hinagiku0​ @fruitloopzzz​ 

[ichorai]

goldstorm and bug boy! ; 12.34 am.

pairing ; spiderman!yunho x antihero!reader

synopsis ; the one with arson and bejeweled leather jackets.

words ; 1.2k

warnings ; cursing, arson </3

goldstorm and bug boy! masterlist.

Yunho knew he shouldn’t have bought you that pretty black lighter for your one-year partner-versary. But he couldn’t help himself; especially not after seeing you practically press up against the window pane, quipping about how pretty the flames would look coming out of them with agape lips and blown pupils.

It’s not like you even smoked all that much. You just… liked fire. Alright, perhaps he should’ve thought it through a tad more.

Here the two of you were, standing in the middle of an abandoned warehouse, once the sanctuary to a notorious biker gang, known not to be impervious to theft and roughhousing. You were crouched down by the corner, rifling through a pile of dusty clothes.

“Be careful, Y/N,” Yunho warned as he strode away to observe broken lights and mirrors thrown into the back. “Never know if they’ve left something to detonate.”

And of course, you heeded no mind to his precautions, sifting out a fitting leather jacket, studded with opalescent gems. The worn dark grey leather would perfectly compliment the obsidian-and-gold colors of your hero garb. A cheshire-like grin festered across your face as you shrugged it over the lycra fabric of your suit, turning to Yunho with widely spread arms. “How do I look?”

Yunho merely offered you a distracted hum, glancing at you just momentarily before settling his eyes upon the bullets scattered across the musty floor of the warehouse. He kneeled down by the empty shells, running scans with his built-in mask system. There was something about his muted concentration that had you turning away from him with a roll of your eyes. Yunho was no fun when he was in work mode.

After about a minute, he spotted a flicker of light waver into fruition from the corners of his eyes, but he merely brushed it off as you fiddling around with the few lamps that weren’t broken.

Oh, how wrong he was.

It started with the slight sensation of warmth blossoming along his skin. A regular human would’ve taken longer to notice, but Yunho picked up on the distinct scent of smoke just three seconds after you ran the noir lighter he had gifted you just beneath the wooden support slants. Then came the first crackle of the sprouting fire, licking up the dry bark greedily.

Yunho turned in a panicked daze, eyes widening at the sight of you staring up at the flaming wooden support pillars with… was that adoration in your eyes or was he tripping?

“Oh, fuck, Y/N, get away from there!” Yunho scrambled back up to his feet, reaching you across the warehouse in no less than two elongated strides, slapping the lighter out of your hand and gathering you into his arms to tug out the door. Much to his dismay, it was already too late. The amber flames crept across the wooden slats and practically consumed the warehouse’s roof in a blazing inferno in just under two minutes.

Yunho was sweating now, beads of perspiration dampening his skin as he scrambled every which way to grab the last few pieces of evidence left of the disappearing biker gang. He had done so after gathering you in his arms and all but tossed your complaining, bejeweled leather jacket-clad form out the door, steered clear of harm’s way. Fuck, just why did he have to get you that pretty lighter?

Because you like Y/N, said the slimy voice in his head. Yunho rolled out of the way as a pillar groaned and collapsed in a mess of ashes and char and clementine flames. More than a superhero partner should.

He really didn’t have the time to think about silly passing crushes at the moment.

Yunho stumbled out of the double doors just before the warehouse crumbled in on itself, destroying the last bits of evidence in singeing flames. The thudding of his heart rang in his ears, a dark symphony of panic’s aftermath. You were just behind him, scuffing the weeds growing between the cracks in the sidewalk with the sole of your shoe, glancing at the flames with a faint smile.

To be frank, Yunho hadn’t the heart to be angry with you. Your partner pinched his fingers between his brows with a weary sigh. “Did you really just… set the warehouse on fire? Tell me you didn’t, Y/N.”

“Not gonna lie to you, bud,” you hummed. “I totally did. What about it?”

“What about it? Damn it, Y/N, we’ve talked about this before! No setting things on fire while we’re on a mission unless it’s the absolute last resort.”

“I know what you said,” you muttered, grumbling. “ I did that for you, you know.”

There was a moment of silence, and Yunho could swear his heart skipped a beat.

“What does that mean?”

You stepped closer to him, and Yunho wished you hadn’t. You smelled nice; like honey and vanilla and your shared lavender laundry detergent. He, on the other hand, probably smelled like he had just stepped out of a barbecue grill smoking dirty socks.

“The biker gang is gone, Yunho. They left and promised me they wouldn’t come back. It’s out of our hands now. If… if I hadn’t burned down the warehouse you would’ve spent the next six months obsessing over nothing. And I can’t let you go down that rabbit hole again. Not after what happened last time.” It was strange to hear your voice so calm and collected. Were you even the same person that set the warehouse on fire? With nimble fingers, you tugged his mask off his face so you could stare at him eye-to-eye. “As you always like to say, ‘it’s for the greater good’ bullshit, right? I did this for you, idiot. Now… let’s enjoy the show, shall we?”

Spiderman fumbled for words, lips slightly agape as he hesitated.

And after a moment to collect his rampant thoughts, Yunho placed a hand on your shoulder, leaning against you tiredly. He didn’t want to fight with you. Granted, the two of you often fought over trivial things such as best ice cream flavors and which Friends character was the worst, but you hardly ever got seriously angry with him. It’d never boiled down to true rage before, and Yunho wasn’t quite keen on starting a real fight now. “Okay. Okay, you win. Just… just promise me you’ll never spontaneously set things on fire without telling me. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“No, I wouldn’t. I’m perfectly capable of evading flames on my own. Saying this from personal experience,” you snorted, shoving at his arm. “Besides, you basically threw me out of the warehouse like I was a stack of hay.”

“I was just protecting you,” he gently reminded, watching the way the fire’s honeyed reflection seemed to dance and twirl in your irises. There was a queer sort of pride in your gaze that Yunho couldn’t really quite pinpoint whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. “I worry about you way too much. Every time you step out our door I swear I lose five years of my lifespan.”

“Shut up and watch the fire, Yunho,” you mumbled, tilting your head to the side ever so slightly so it just barely brushed against his forearm. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. Fuck, he was in too deep to get out now.