#honestly it would be more believable seeing how large the Italian mob got in the 70s

[asidewalksymphony]

There was one thing that's been bothering me about Angel Dust's backstory (aside from him not looking like a man who died during the 1930s in the slightest) was how he died. I dunno if this will be retconned in the future, but apparently he died from OD'ing on PCP aka "Angel Dust". It's part of why that's his name in Hell. But...he died in the 30s/40s. PCP does NOT sound like a drug that would have been around then.

And that's because it wasn't! PCP was created in 1956 as an anesthetic medication then was disallowed in 1965 due to the high amount of side effects. It then became popular as a street drug in the 1970s, because of said effects.

[soulmate-game]

Maribat March 2021 @maribatmarch-2k21

Day 1: Found Family

“Ah! Bonjour!” A cheery voice called, as a short Eurasian girl bound over to the unfairly intimidating mob of tall people with sharp eyes. Chloe had called in a favor. “My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Chloe told me that your tour guide cancelled at the last minute, so she blackmail—sorry, begged me to fill in for them. You are the Wayne’s, non?”

The one at the front of the group, clearly Bruce Wayne since Marinette didn’t live under a rock and had seen the man on several American news broadcasts before, nodded and cleared his throat. Man, was he intimidating. Even when he shot her a dazzling smile that was sure to blind Paparazzi with fake cheer. It was a nice smile, Marinette wasn’t about to deny. But it was empty. Distant. And Marinette wasn’t going to buy it for a second.

“Yes, that’s us. Mademoiselle Bourgeois mentioned she had asked a close friend of hers to take care of our tour.”

Marinette nodded again, clasping her hands behind her back. “I guarantee, you won’t miss anything the tour guide would have shown you. In fact, Chloe mentioned that you all were very curious about the now retired Parisian heroes, right? My former best friend ran the Ladyblog back when they were active. I am more than confident that I can answer any questions you have while we go through the city.”

A boy with a white streak in his hair rose his hand, as if he was in a class and needed to wait to be called on. Which, considering the sheer size of their family, Marinette was actually grateful for. But damn, this was another imposing figure. Slightly taller than even the six-foot-three-inches that Bruce Wayne owned, he was solidly built and rocked a brown leather jacket and ripped black jeans. Marinette smiled and nodded for him to speak.

“How old are you? Because I don’t know if twelve year olds are allowed to do guided tours,” there was an obvious tease in his voice, but there was also legitimate concern in his blue-green eyes. Marinette almost missed that concern amid her quickly building annoyance. She even felt her eyes twitch.

“I’m turning eighteen in a few months if you need to know, Monsieur,” she evened out the bite in her voice with an overly sweet smile. “And if you want to get lost and possibly pickpocketed in the busy streets of Paris, then please continue to make comments on my height. If not, we can begin our tour and you might even enjoy it.”

Several Wayne’s snickered at her comeback, one man in particular elbowing the white haired gentleman with a little too much glee. Even the stoic Bruce laughed softly, and a boy with enough bags under his eyes to make the airport jealous nearly fell over himself with his suppressed laughter.

The man himself just snorted, sending her a lopsided smirk that oddly radiated approval. It was almost as if she had passed some sort of test.

“My name’s Jason, Pixie. You already know B. The guy trying to break my ribs,” he pointedly shoved off the one who had elbowed him, “is Dick. He’s Bruce’s first adoptive casualty. The one that looks like a zombie is Tim, we might need to take a break to get him more coffee before he passes out halfway through. The one who hasn’t stopped glaring at you is Damian, the badass redhead is Barbara but we all call her Babs. The annoying blonde is Stephany, the other cool badass over there is Cass. She doesn’t talk much. And the one trying to pretend he doesn’t know us is Duke.”

Each member he introduced gave her a little wave or nod. Even Damian managed a short nod of acknowledgement before resuming his glare. He looked to be a couple years younger than her, so she just brushed it off as teenage drama.

“Alright then! It is very nice to meet you all. Now, Chloe did inform me that you guys are very multilingual, which is another reason she asked me instead of one of our other friends. If you ever need it, I obviously am fluent in both French and English. But added to that, I am fluent in Cantonese, Mandarin, Italian, and I know basic survival Japanese. I also know French Sign Language, though I’m not sure if that’s very useful for you unfortunately. If you ever need to communicate non-verbally, I will do my best to accommodate that. Now, I believe you guys were scheduled to start the tour with a visit to the Louvre, non? Right this way.”

As Marinette led the large group out of the Grand Paris, they didn’t bother taking time to admire the sights before asking questions.

“Have you ever met one of the heroes?” Dick, who might have been shorter than Jason and Bruce but was muscular enough to still inspire caution (and admiration), asked. His blue eyes seemingly stared right through Marinette as he continued; “If you’re almost eighteen, then they must have been active through a lot of your school career.”

Marinette smiled. “They did only retire last year,” she agreed with a nod. “Yes, I have met all of the Parisian heroes at least once,” she snorted at a stray thought. “In fact, I met Chat Noir quite a lot. You see, my old College was basically ground zero for a lot of akuma attacks. And by a lot, I mean a majority of them,” she shook her head before pausing to get everyone to cross a street. “After a while, Chat Noir started calling me ‘princess’ to make fun of how often he had to save me. He’s an annoying ass.”

Despite her words, everyone behind her could easily hear the fondness there. They all traded glances. What if this was a Lois and SuperMan situation? Regardless, they all had a suspicion that Marinette knew more about the heroes than she let on. Or, at least more about Chat Noir.

“When you say that your school was a hotspot for Akuma attacks,” Bruce spoke up cautiously, his Dad Senses going haywire. He didn’t like how nonchalantly she had said it— she was far too casual. Sure enough, he watched as the muscles between her shoulders stiffened slightly at the conversation change. “What do you mean? Surely it couldn’t have been that bad if the school is still around.”

Marinette sucked her teeth, grimacing. “The school is still there, yeah, but only because of Ladybug’s ability. You’ve heard about the Cure, right?” It was Tim who answered her;

“Yeah. It fixed the damage done during a fight, right?” He asked, tilting his head a little. Marinette ignored her brief thought that the gesture made him look like a curious puppy. She sighed.

“Yeah. But when they say damage, they mean everything. Injuries, collateral. Death,” she said the last example darkly, far too much weight behind the word for it to be meaningless. She heard Jason hiss in sympathy. “But there are good things. The Cure also erased anyone’s memories of dying besides the vague knowledge that it did happen, so there isn’t much trauma there to unpack. Not as much as there could have been anyway,” she assured them. “And I’m one of the lucky ones. I never died, and I was never Akumatized.”

“Hmph,” Damian’s voice cut through the brief silence that followed her admission. She looked back at him to see his sharp green eyes staring right into her. “You don’t honestly believe that’s lucky.” It wasn’t a question. Marinette clenched her jaw, turning around and ignoring him.

Because, no. It wasn’t luck. It wasn’t lucky that she was the only one that remembered everything— all of the deaths, all of the Akumatizations, everything that others mercifully forgot. Since she lived through all of it, she remembered all of it. And survivor’s guilt is nothing to scoff at.

But she wasn’t about to reveal her trauma, or at the very least the full scope of it, to people she had just met and was leading on a tour.

“If you look to the left, you’ll see a statue that was made depicting Ladybug and Chat Noir back during the first years of their activity,” she suddenly told them, gesturing to the still-standing statue. Nobody missed the obvious topic change, but nobody commented on it either. Turns out the statue was something they had been looking forward to seeing in person, Tim even went up to take a few photos with his camera. Barbara took a few circles around the statue, easily pivoting her wheelchair around it as if she was trying to see every angle and imperfection possible. Marinette couldn’t help but chuckle fondly at the sight.

“Your family are pretty big fans, huh?” She asked Cass and Duke, the only ones that had stayed back with her. Duke snorted, and Cass gave her a small grin.

“They like to keep up to date with all the heroes,” Duke answered with a shrug. “Since we’re so high profile, it isn’t weird for us to be saved by one here or there even when we’re away from Gotham.”

Marinette just gave him an odd look, furrowing her brows. “But the Miraculous team has been disbanded since HawkMoth was defeated,” she reminded them. “There’s no need for them to save anybody anymore.”

“Old habits,” Cass spoke up softly, her voice barely a whisper. Her eyes locked with Marinette’s. “Not easy to break.”

The smaller woman had a feeling that Cass wasn’t talking about her family’s habit of keeping up to date on heroes.

“Alright! We need to head to the next stop or we might not have time to see everything!”

The tour went pretty similarly. The walks between stops were pleasant, and filled with questions about the period of time where HawkMoth was active. Marinette wasn’t even the least bit surprised nor put off; everyone was curious about those years now that the tourism restriction was lifted and people could ask freely about it. Besides the many questions about the Heroes, Marinette found the group to be very pleasant company. They were polite, but also rowdy in a very endearing way. She caught a lot of inside jokes they had with each other, and a lot of good natured teasing and fighting. They even managed to rope her into it somehow, and she found herself snidely teasing Damian or casually threatening Tim with not allowing them a coffee break. She even got to ride on Jason’s shoulders for a bit after he made another comment on her height that she Did Not Appreciate. But the ride she got made it worth it.

But soon the sun was high in the sky, and it was about time for them to take a lunch break. They had all been walking for hours with only a few chances to rest, and honestly Marinette was impressed that none of them seemed too tired out by it.

“Alright,” she put her hands on her hips proudly. “Since some of you won’t stop whining about needing coffee or being hungry— Dick, don’t you dare buy anything from that vendor! I’m gonna lead you all to my parent’s bakery so we can have lunch and caffeinate all of you. And conveniently enough,” she smiled widely. “The bakery is right across the street from my old College! So you’ll be able to get a look at where the majority of Akuma attacks happened, and maybe I can tell you a few specific stories if you want,” she offered. There were a couple cheers (Tim and Dick) from the crowd and everyone seemed pretty pleased with the next step in their tour. Smiling, Marinette turned and began to lead them in the direction of her home.

Sirens blared, a fire truck zooming down the street next to them.

Headed in the same direction.

Marinette frowned, watching it go. “That’s weird. I hope everyone’s okay, whatever happened,” she mused idly. But as they kept going forward, the sirens didn’t get any softer. If anything, they started getting louder again after a while. Marinette was visibly concerned by then, her pace picking up. “This is my neighborhood,” she told the solemn group behind her. “I know everyone on this street—“ they rounded the corner, and Marinette stopped in her tracks. Her world ground to a halt.

There was the fire truck, stopped right in front of her bakery.

Which was completely ablaze.

A string of curses flew out of her mouth, the little Eurasian wasting no more time before sprinting towards the building. She could hear people yelling at her to wait, slow down, stop! But she ignored them. The only thing on her mind was that her home was on fire.

“Marinette! Wait!” Dick reached out to grab her arm, but like a snake Marinette easily slipped out of his grip and continued forward. Steph was next, deciding to just tackle Marinette— to no avail. The Parisian just shouldered the bigger woman off of her with pure adrenaline fueling her muscles, and everyone else knew by then that they could not stop her. The Wayne’s decided all they could do was jog behind Marinette, keeping her in sight as they tried to gauge the damage.

“The top floors don’t look like they have even been touched by the fire yet,” Tim whispered, though his eyes flew between the building and their tour guide. Marinette was speaking rapidly with a firefighter that wasn’t immediately busy, trying to get information. But before anyone could decipher what was said, Marinette tore a large strip off the bottom of her shirt and tied it in a hasty mask around her mouth.

“Wait!” Bruce was the first to realize what was happening, with his years of experience with self sacrificing children and their stupid stunts. But Marinette managed to kick him away before he could grab her, dashing into the inferno without paying any heed to the many protests that followed her.

The group of Gothamites could do nothing but watch the flaming building, then. If they went inside, it would only overcrowd a hazardous area. Minutes passed, and there was movement in the fire. Out of the doorway came Marinette and a firefighter, both having to work together to carry the body of a large man outside. The sight of the man made the Gotham family blink— he was as big as Bane! And that was nothing to scoff at. But despite his unusual size and muscle mass, the man had all the signs of being a normal civilian.

Marinette didn’t stop there. She ran back in. Coming out a lot more quickly this time with a barely conscious Asian woman— everyone saw the resemblance between her and this new woman immediately.

It had to be her mother.

“Shit,” Duke hissed. Nobody else could say a word. It wasn’t looking good, and this wasn’t a situation where random vigilantes showing up out of nowhere could actually help. Not this late into the fire. Bruce’s hands curled into fists.

The woman that everyone guessed was Marinette’s mother was suddenly struck by lucidity; she gasped and grabbed at Marinette’s hand without seeming to see who she was even talking to. A single word that none of the Waynes could hear left her throat, and judging by Marinette’s returning panic it hadn’t been good.

She rushed right back into the building, and came back out with the last firefighter who had been searching inside.

Marinette carried a child. She screamed out in panicked French;

“She’s not breathing! I need first aid now!”

That was their cue. The firefighters started their hoses, focusing on getting rid of the flames now that nobody was left inside the building. Bruce and Damian got to Marinette first, and this time she listened as they instructed her to set the child down. Damian, being smaller and having more hands-on medical knowledge, took charge of the resuscitation. Marinette sat there silently, eyes riveted to the small child— a girl.

But Marinette wasn’t reacting like a normal civilian to tragedy. She was eerily calm, eyes focused and barely concealing a terrible rage. She took over chest compressions when Damian started to lose momentum, not giving up.

But then the EMTs arrived, and it was only five minutes with the child hooked onto oxygen that the news arrived—

Marinette heard the monitors on the ambulance flatline before she even registered what people were trying to tell her. Manon. Manon was—

Marinette didn’t register Nadya Chammack at first. She was just another body in the quickly growing sea of them. That is, until she heard Nadya’s pained shriek. A mother who had just lost her baby girl.

“Perhaps we should head back,” Bruce offered softly, giving Marinette space but keeping a keen eye on her. He saw her begin to tremble, then shake. He was pretty sure he could hear the grinding of her teeth for a second before she went still. Just… all movement stopped, the tears that had been building just falling silently for a second before they ended.

And he recognized that carefully practiced emptiness in her bluebell eyes. The same emptiness he had seen in Damian’s eyes when he had first arrived at the Manor. The same emptiness he saw in Dick’s eyes in the days following his parent’s deaths.

The same emptiness he saw in the mirror, every time he had another nightmare about the day Jason had been taken from him, years ago.

Suddenly he could imagine all too well exactly what kind of strength she had to have, to avoid her negative emotions ever being used against her during Hawkmoth’s reign. Especially if she had constantly been dealing with her friends and family being Akumatized and/or dying on multiple occasions.

She didn’t even seem to have heard him. Bruce sighed.

“I called Chloe,” Barbara informed everyone solemnly, holding up her phone for emphasis. “She’ll be here in five.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Chloe hadn’t come alone. With her had been Adrien Agreste, former model when his father hadn’t been… well, in prison. Nowadays he was just a normal student who occasionally gave lectures on neglect and child abuse, and how to help children in those situations.

And, apparently, he was also Marinette’s closest friend. Even more so than Chloe. As soon as they arrived back at the Grand Paris, Chloe herded everyone up into her suite and she and Adrien surrounded Marinette with pillows and blankets. Adrien curled around Marinette like an affectionate cat, and Damien even swore he heard the guy purr at some point

“We should probably leave,” Bruce whispered to their hostess, who looked inbetween him and her friends for a moment before jerking her head towards the door.

“I wanna talk to you first,” Chloe whispered back. Once they all filed out into the hallway and the door was safely closed, Chloe took a breath. “First, I want to tell you that I got a call from the hospital. Marinette’s father is stable, but in a coma right now.”

“Is that the man who looked like he could bench press a car for fun?” Dick asked, earning a weak grin from the Bourgeois heiress.

“Yeah, that’s him. But…” Chloe’s face fell, and she looked around as if to double check nobody was eavesdropping. She still lowered her voice anyway. “Her mother, Sabine. She…” Chloe swallowed a lump in her throat, images of the extremely kind Chinese woman flashing through her mind without permission. “She didn’t make it.”

Several people took a sharp breath, acknowledging everything that had gone so wrong for Marinette on a day that had started so perfectly.

“The smoke?” Cass asked gently, but Chloe winced and shifted on her feet.

“No. They… there were rope marks on Sabine’s neck,” Chloe clenched her eyes shut at the admission. “Marinette’s dad might be big, but he’s not a fighter. Sabine, though… Sabine was. She was raised in a martial arts family back in China. I’ve seen Sabine take down five men at once, all twice her size,” Chloe kicked her lips, shaking her head in disbelief. “Somebody knew… somebody knew that the little Chinese woman was a threat but the big baker with tons of muscle was harmless.”

Nobody took that well. Not only had Marinette just lost her home and half of her family, but her father was in a coma and it had all been foul play.

“Okay,” Bruce nodded once the news had time to sink in. They could help with this; this was their specialty. They might have only known Marinette for six hours, but she had made a big impression. It wasn’t just anybody that could mesh with his family so seamlessly in that short span of time. “Is there anything else?”

“I want you to get temporary custody of her,” Chloe said it the way only Chloe Bourgeois could. With her back straight, chin high, and the tone of a woman who expected to be listened to or else she’d make life Hell for the person that didn’t take her seriously. Bruce could only blink.

“Can I ask for your reasoning?”

“Marinette has been closing herself off more and more over the years,” Chloe admitted. “Hawkmoth’s reign was hard on her. Only Adrien really knows everything she went through during those years. But even after the disbanding of the team, she hasn’t… she hasn’t allowed herself to get close to anybody new. That’s why I tricked her into doing your tour. She needed to socialize with new people, and if she wouldn’t do it herself then I had to pull some strings.”

A few eyebrows raised at the admission that Chloe had fully planned for Marinette to be their tour guide the whole time. It honestly seemed like the kind of well meaning manipulation that one of them would try to pull off.

“She likes you,” Chloe’s voice went soft again, showing how uncharacteristically serious she was about that fact. “She was comfortable enough to let you guys carry her back here. To let you try to help Manon. That might not seem like a big deal to you, but it says a lot to me and Adrien. And… getting her away from Paris for a while is probably a good idea. She was planning to go to Gotham for university anyway.”

The Waynes traded glances before Bruce crosses his arms and asked some more questions first. Doesn’t Marinette have other family? Answer; only her grandmother, who travels all the time and nobody ever knows where she is until she shows up. Bruce agreed that Gina Dupain didn’t exactly seem like a good candidate for Marinette’s new guardian with that description. But finally, to none of his children's surprise, he did end up agreeing.

“But,” he held up a single finger. “We’ll Wait here in Paris for a week, so that she can try to salvage everything she can from her house and so we can get an idea on how her father is doing. There’s still a chance he’ll come out of his coma fairly quickly. And of course, we will only go through with this if Marinette agrees when we ask her tomorrow.”

Chloe agreed to those terms, looking like a weight had been lifted off of her.

Chloe never cut corners when taking care of her hive. And if that meant making sure that her brave soldier bee could move on to start a new hive, one that was better equipped to take care of her, then Chloe would do everything she could to help that move. And really; Chloe was far more resourceful and observant than people gave her credit for. The butts definitely matched, and Bruce Wayne was her last hope to get Marinette the support she needed. Outside of Adrien, anyway.

Chloe took a breath, watching the Waynes trickle off into their own rooms. Marinette was like the little sister she never wanted, but grew to love more than anything. Though, Chloe knew she really chose Marinette as her sister the same way they both chose Adrien as their brother. She just didn’t want to admit she was sentimental like that. But Chloe knew that someone like Marinette needed a bigger family. More support.

She could only hope that Marinette and the Waynes grew to become family for her like she and Adrien had. Kwami knew that Marinette needed all the help she could get for the foreseeable future.

“You did good, my Queen.”

“I know, Pollen. Now we just have to find out who dared hurt my hive.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Dude this took so long to write, but I’m actually really proud of it. Probably gonna take this Maribat March a little differently than last year, and make a few longer stories by connecting some of the prompts together. Maybe each week will be a full story? Idk I’ll figure it out. I know I’m behind but I’m working on it.

I tried to keep the angst out, but it found it’s way in here anyway. Oh well!

[domesticblisss]

Nahër

Walter x Female Reader (Nicknamed ‘Hase’) Mob AU! Rating: Mature (Minors DNI) Word Count: 2517 Warnings: Smut. Choking, PiV, fingering, cum play, mild degradation, alcohol mention, drugs mention. A/N: Sooo, this happened. There’ll be a part 2. Might make it a series if I have enough attention span for it (and if you guys like it too!)

Honestly, I don’t know how I got here. Actually, I do. I met Axel a few weeks ago while buying groceries at the supermarket near my new apartment when we ran into each other. He was accompanied by four other men, all dressed similar in dark jeans and polo shirts. A very menacing look on their faces, they looked dangerous too, not the type that would hurt you for no reason, but the type that you respect just for their existence, the type that would give you a warning. Their presence was their warning.

Funny thing is that you don’t expect this whole vibe from good looking men, which, I’m going to be honest with you, is their case. Let me see if I can describe them properly. First is Axel, we met on the first year of high school, he was a tall, lanky, shy kid. Beautiful green eyes, blonde hair, the highest cheekbones I’ve ever seen with a permanent tinge of red in them. He looked like a Cherub. It was so funny but also a pain to watch all the girls throw themselves at him to be met with pure silence. He didn’t have any friends, the only person he would interact was me during all of our last school years. We had some sort of silent agreement: we would eat lunch together, I would get the girls out of his away and he would beat up anyone that annoyed me (even though I never asked him to). 

Back to present day, Axel looks the same, just a bit taller and way, way more muscles on his body. Next to him was a bald guy, the shortest of the group but still tall enough to tower over me, he was also the one that looked much more friendly than the others, with sparkling blue eyes and a distant smile on his lips. Beside him was a tall man with nice chocolate eyes, thick brown hair and beard, muscular, but super lean, a nice tan and a cute ass too, if I must say. Next to him was another blonde guy, his hair lighter than Axel’s, blue eyes that said he was about to reach breaking point, but something in him screamed ‘loyal’. Now, the last guy... where do I begin... He’s tall, the tallest of the group. He’s not muscular as the others, he’s thick, strong. Black hair in a military cut, steel eyes that I’m sure could stare deep into my soul. All the other guys had readable faces, his... his was blank, impassive. There’s something about the way he looked at me, it was chilling, but I liked it.

“Hase! God, we haven’t seen each other for so long.” Axel exclaim as we pass by each on the cereal aisle. “Ugh, I can’t believe you still remember that nickname.” I answered as we hugged each other. “You haven’t changed a bit, huh, the same angel face. Well, you look... buffer now, but the face is the same!” We talked a little bit about life, how we’re now and what we did after we left high school, his answers were a bit vague, but I brushed it off. Wanting to catch up and see me again, he offered “Look, me and my friends here, we own a little nightclub on St Pauli and we are having a special night tomorrow. If you’re still into the same stuff we were in high school, I’m sure you’ll have a blast. C’mon, what do you say? For the old times.” He gave me a look that I knew I couldn’t refuse. “Okay, for the old times.” I could feel those steel eyes staring at me and when I looked at him, he had the faintest smile on his lips. We exchanged contacts, said our goodbyes, and went on our ways.

Something tells me that our little run in wasn’t by chance.

Axel texts me to ask if I’m going and where I am, by that time I’m already in line to get in and he asks me to wait for him. A few minutes passes by and he shows up. “Why are you waiting in line? You know the owner of this place, you have a free pass here, everything you want, you got it.” “Wow, I’m feeling really important right now.” I answer him a in a sarcastic tone he’s used to. “Oh Kleiner Hase, you’re still the same sarcastic little shit, huh?” he laughs as we enter the building. The inside of the club is mesmerising. The decor is very minimalistic but still attention grabbing. We made our through the crowd. Flashing lights, industrial music is playing, sweaty bodies grinding to the beat of the music, couples are making out, friends are drinking and I’m sure I’ve seen an illegal substance here and there. Fuck, I’ve missed being this free so much. Once you start adulting, you don’t have that much free time and you’re constantly tired. It fucking sucks, I know.

It takes us a while to get through everyone, and Axel gushes on about how the club is thriving “Every night is like this, we’re packed and there’re lines of people to get in.” We climb a stair that takes us to a secluded room. Two security guards waits by the door and they let Axel and I in without any trouble. It’s a large room, with the same minimalistic decor from the club, a custom leather couch sits in the middle of the room, accompanied by two matching leather chairs and a slick centre table. On the far back, there are two beverage refrigerators, packed with all sorts of drinks and two doors, one of which I assume it’s the bathroom. The main wall is covered with a one-way mirror, where they can overlook the whole club. When we get inside the room, we’re greeted by his friends. The bald guy is speaking in italian on his phone, the brunette with kind brown eyes reads a book that I can’t figure out what it’s about and the other blonde one and the one I assume it’s their “leader” are quietly talking to each other.

“Herren, look who is here! Hase, this is Fabian. Bookworm over here is Timothy, you can call him Tim. This lovely person is Alex, and finally, but not the least important, this is Walter. He’s the head that hold us together.” Axel introduces us, I quickly shake their hands and Walter stands up to greet me, his imposing figure towering over mine. His handshake is the strongest of all, very powerful, and he holds my hand a bit longer. “It’s very nice to properly meet you, Hase. Junior always told great things about you.” Walter tells me in a quiet but very polite tone. There’s something about him that is making me lose my mind. He has this energy that glues you to him and makes you want more. All he did was shake my hand and call me by my stupid childhood nickname. Pathetic.

The night goes smooth, whatever I wanted to drink, they made sure I got it, Axel, Fabian and I even went downstairs to dance for a while, I haven’t had that much fun in such a long time. 

We kept talking for some time before everyone, one by one, left, leaving me alone with Walter. Fabian had to pick up his parents from a late flight on the airport, Alex went home to his wife and kids, Tim wanted to train, and Marcel had the “hottest chick” waiting for him downstairs. I felt a thick tension in the air, almost making it hard to breath. It was probably all in my head though, as I looked at him by my left side on one of the chairs, going through his phone. He caught me staring at him and apologised for being a horrible host. “I’ve got some last-minute business to attend to but it’s all done. Come over here.” He said standing up, waiting for me. When I got up, he immediately placed his left hand on the small of my back, leading us to the one-way mirror. “Look, it’s beautiful isn’t it?” All I could do is nod back, his hand was rubbing small circles on my back. “Are you nervous, my dear? I know I look a certain way, but I promise I won’t do anything to you, anything you don’t want to.” “I’m sorry. You do have this... imposing aura that, you know...” my words failed me. “I should be the one apologising,” he said as he positioned himself by my right side, facing my profile as I faced the one-way mirror. He gently put a loose hair stand behind my ear, leaned closer to the same ear, as if he was going to tell me a secret and continued “but look at it. All these people dancing, having fun. Friends, one night lovers… isn’t it all beautiful, Hase?” “Yes.” I answered as I turned around to look at his eyes. “Very beautiful.”

We stayed like this and stared at each other for a while, and in a moment of courage, I closed the little space we had between us and kissed him. He wasn’t surprised, responding almost immediately to it. He deepened the kiss, holding me by my hair. The kiss was rough, desperate but his lips were surprisingly soft. He broke the kiss when he felt me moaning, biting my bottom lip and positioning himself behind my back.

He trapped me between his thick body and the mirror, his hard erection poking my back. His left hand held me by my throat, squeezing it softly, while his right one slid up my right thigh, lifting the hem of my black dress on its way up. He kissed his way up my neck, stopping by my ear to whisper, “Tell me to stop.” “Please don’t stop.” I whispered back to him, pressing my ass to his hard length. He lets out a little laugh, bites my shoulder and slides one thick finger between my slick folds. “Little Hase is a little hure, isn’t she?” he says as he rubs lazy circles on my clit. I just nod a let out a small yes. He keeps going like this for a few seconds, later holding my face to the glass one more time, telling me to look at everyone while he starts fingering me. His fingering starts slow, increasing to the beat of Nine Inch Nails’ Closer as it starts to get louder. I come right after the song ends. He keeps his body pressed to mine, knowing that if he let me go, I’d probably buckle down.

I started laughing as I came down from my high, the hand on my throat turning my head up to look at him. “What’s so fun, Hase?” “This is the best orgasm I had in ages... fuck.” “You’re not being properly fucked, are you?” “Nope.” “Come here.” He kisses my lips and lets go of my throat, guiding me to one of the doors I saw when I first got in the room.

Behind that door there is an office. The decor is completely different from the club and the watch room. It’s rustic, a lot of dark wood, one of the walls is completely full of books, there’s an old record player and several vinyls, leather couches and chairs that looks like to be a signature piece for him, the light is dimly lit, with a yellowish tone. There’s a big wooden desk, stacks of money on top of it, one unlit cigar near the lamp, some papers and pens too but it’s tidy. I look around and turn to him, saying “I feel like I’m at the Corleone’s house. This looks like some mob shit.” “Come here.” he says and grabs me by my chin, kissing me roughly “Shut up.” he commands as he takes my dress off. I finish taking my bra and panties off, as he takes care of his own clothes.

He’s on me again, sucking one of my nipples and the plays with the other. Gently, he backs us down to his table and I prop myself up on my elbows. His cock is not that long, but it is thicker than usual, he positions himself between my legs and enters my heat in one swift move.

He lifts my right leg up and positions it on his shoulder, turning his head to kiss and bite my calf. His ministrations are hard and all we can hear is the sound of our skins slapping on one another. He tells me to touch myself and increases his speed making my orgasm hit me before I can even feel it coming. He keeps his thrusts hard even while I’m spasming around him. I can feel him twitch inside me and he pulls out immediately, emptying himself on my stomach.

He stares at me with that same mysterious face from the day we first saw each other on the grocery store. I make sure to put on a show as I collect his cum from my stomach and lick it off my fingers. The faint smile is back on his face.

I put my elbows down for a bit and lay down the table. He grabs a couple of bottles of water for the both of us, and I use mine to cool down my skin for a bit. We stay in silence all the time.

I feel something heavy being thrown on my stomach and when I prop myself up once again to look what it was, it’s one of the stacks of money that were on Walter’s table.

“Are you fucking serious? Do I look like some fucking prostitute to you?” I asked him, incredulous.

“I’m not saying you’re a prostitute. I’m offering you power.”

“You fucked me like you wanted and threw money at me. That doesn’t look like a power offering to me! Again, I’m not a fucking prostitute.”

I keep my position, looking up at him, waiting for an answer. He exhales, looks down at me, at my body and shakes his head. One of his hands are at my waist, the other is at his shaft making himself hard again.

“Are you serious?” I ask him.

“Am I?” and in one sharp move he’s back inside me. He moves slow this time, torturing me. The hand on my waist leaves and grabs another stack of money. And another, another, and another. A total of five. Layered out all over my body.

He grabs my throat again, pulls me up and closer to him, all that money spilling over on the floor. He slaps my face twice, softer than I imagined he would and kisses me. We come together.

He holds me close to him, but still leaving a bit of space between us, enough for his other hand find it’s way to my pussy, inserting two thick fingers to play with his own cum inside of me.

“I’ll ask you again, do you want power, little hure?”

---

Translations Hase: Bunny Kleiner Hase: Little Bunny Herren: Gentlemen Hure: Whore

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[smallestchances]

The Beast of the Ball

Ivar’s Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Ivar and the reader attend the annual Viking ball, but the reader has a less than ideal time

Warnings: Implications of Sex, cursing, humiliation, Ivar being a dick

Ask to be tagged/any questions about what happened in this AU >>>HERE<<<

To no surprise, the Annual Viking Ball was nothing short of exquisite.

Every person that considered themselves of mob blood---Italian, Greek, American, Brazilian---showed up to as a display of good faith and temporary peace.

But less was it a neutral night for the mafias, and more was it a spectacle of wealth and power. Nothing was dared to be spared for such an event. Once the invitations were handed out---almost immediately after the ball the year before was over--- ballgowns of magnificent designs were requested and tuxedos of only the finest materials were considered for wear. The Viking Ball was known for the show, for the controlled chaos of cultures that would no doubt be present.

Despite it’s elegant appearance, the ball itself was just as cutthroat as the name suggested. Despite it being a neutral night, threats were slipped into withering looks, whispers of what was to come would be passed to another’s ear, and slight blood would splatter before anyone could blink an eye.

Yes, the Viking Ball was both exceedingly beautiful and terrifyingly deadly as one would expect.

Which was why you couldn’t wait to go.

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You believed it would be years before you could ever attend another Viking Ball.

Fuck, you thought you’d actually die before you’d see another Lothbrok again.

But here you were.

“Stand up straight.”

The stern voice of Ivar blinked you away from your thoughts, and your eyes lazily met his. The intensity of his gaze burned at you in a way it always did, but at the same time it was like something you had never felt before. He was slightly hunched over on his crutches, his black tux molding to his body like a second skin. The dips and creases of his biceps and shoulders made you unconsciously lick your lips, and for a split second you thought you saw Ivar follow the movement with his eyes.

You felt perspiration build up in your armpits as well as the back of your neck as his gaze seemed to get sharper. For a few moments, there is only silence between you two, smoldering within the air before you dropped your gaze to smooth out the ballgown that adorned your body.

As usual, it was red---Ivar’s favorite color on you. It accentuated your chest, the slightly sheer material teasing the curves of your breasts, the velvet wrap included with the dress pressing them together in a seductive display. The measurements were perfect, and the skirt started right above your belly button. It fanned out delicately, the embellishments striking but not over exaggerated---it was everything you wanted in a dress.

A lump caught in your throat, and you cleared it violently to make it disappear. The details and care put into this dress contradicted how Ivar said he felt about you---because it is obvious that he remembered the specifics.

You grasped the sides of the skirt, staring down at it in both anxiety and awe. “How do I---do I look okay?”

Ivar didn’t answer you. Instead, he entered the room carefully, the dull thuds of his crutches beating in time with your heart. As he got closer, the necessity to breathe became harder to fulfill, because for the first time in a long time, Ivar was coming closer to you, Ivar was going to touch you---

He stopped close before you. Close enough that you could feel his breathing, and reach out and touch him if you had the guts. The distance he chose was calculated, and you were again made aware of that everything Ivar did had a purpose. He wanted you to feel his body heat, he wanted you to smell his cologne, to see the details of his eyes---he was feeding your desire to feel him as you once did before.

But Ivar was just as cruel as he was calculating. For he did not touch you, nor make an effort to. He looked you up and down, his eyes never lingering like they used to---like you wish they still did.

“This will do,” he commented, and your stomach plummeted. “If you are lucky, you will not be outdone at the Ball. My taste with yours has always been unmatched, tonight should not bear different results.”

His words lifted your spirits slightly, and you breathed out when he stepped away and walked to the door.

“Ivar, wait, I--!” You called after him, trying to find the words. “The bracelet, you have not given---”

Before you could finish the sentence the door was slammed, and you flinched at the sound.

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

Ivar was right. Unsurprisingly.

When you walked into the Viking Ball on Ivar’s arm, all heads immediately turned to you. Whispers already fled the audience’s mouths, and your lips upturned slightly. Out of habit you looked up to Ivar (despite his accident he still towered over you), but you were disappointed to see that you were the furthest thing from his mind.

You both made your way to the uplifted dias in the front of the ballroom---in true Viking style, there was an honorary table set for only the most elite. Ivar’s brothers already sat with their partners at the table.

Bjorn and his partner were difficult, as usual---that seemed not to have changed. She was paying avid attention to the mobster that came up to talk to her, while Bjorn’s eyes never strayed from her form. It was tragic honestly,...their relationship. Two people so very much in love but have stabbed each other in the back too many times for the trust they once had to be rebuilded.

Next them, Hvitserk and his bride were...disgusting as usual. His hands never left her, and it seemed as if they’d both die if they didn’t have skin-to-skin contact. They hadn’t been together for a long time, from what you heard. It was a large opinion that they would split soon, but you knew better. The spark they had for each other had yet to fade, but that is because it never would. It was in the way they looked at each other---not in lust, but in adoration and devotion. It was in the way they touched each other---not in fleeting, hard grasps, but in long, soft caresses.

Tears formed in your eyes and a slight bitter taste settled in your mouth watching them, so you moved onto to Ubbe and his wife. They seemed to have the most mature relationship, the type that kept up proper appearances. Slight PDA, but not too much. The picture perfect couple---and despite being anything but, they were a team that had become unbreakable throughout the years of their unconventional love.

Sliding your eyes over one more time, you balked at the empty seat next to Ubbe and his wife. There was only one.

Wanting to stop, Ivar’s pace prevented you from doing so. Once you arrived, Ivar sat down without a care that there was no seat for you. Your throat constricted and it felt like your heart stopped beating. You knew what he was doing. He was going to humiliate you---

Despite you knowing his plan of action, you stood dumbly by Ivar’s side as he surveyed the room. Ubbe saw you and a frown crossed his face, a heavy sigh passing his lips.

“Ivar, are you not forgetting something?”

The youngest Ragnarsson gave him a fake look of confusion. “What are you talking about Ubbe? This table is for the most important of them all, is it not? I am exactly where I need to be.”

“Ivar--” You tried to squeeze out, but as soon as his gaze turned on you, it stopped your words.

His eyebrows raised in surprise before he laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry (Y/N)! Did you actually believe you were important enough to sit up here with me?”

“Ivar,” Ubbe’s wife warned, and your eyes fluttered closed. You heard the chattering of the people standing closest to you stop, and you knew they were watching.

“Did you really think I wanted you back up here by my side?” He snarled lowly, his eyes narrowing. “That you deserved to be treated more than the gum at the bottom of my shoe---”

“Ivar,” Ubbe snapped, and you turned away and stepped off the dias before you could hear whatever he had to say.

How could you be so foolish? To think that you could walk back in and reclaim whatever had been lost was a stupid ambition, and now your heart was bleeding at the hands of the man you loved.

Trying to go outside as fast as possible, you stumbled when a hand shot out and stopped your escape. Whirling in surprise, you were met with the mischievous eyes of King Harald---a man who had his eyes on you for quite some time.

“And where is the belle of the ball going?” He inquired, his teeth flashing in his alarming smile. It quickly dropped as he saw the tear buildup in your eyes that had started to fall. “Now who has made my Princess cry?”

“Not now Harald,” you snapped, trying to pull away before he brought you back.

“Shhh,” he cooed, bringing you into his arms where you rested your head against his chest. You allowed it, wrapping your arms around him tightly as you tried to get your emotions back on point. After a few moments of just comfortable silence, you pulled away and he wiped your tears softly.

“Leave with me,” he said suddenly, and you froze before shaking your head.

“I can’t---”

“Yes you can,” he reassured. “I hate this event and you look like you need to get as far away as possible. So leave with me.”

Once again hesitating, you turned your eyes back towards the front of the excellently dressed crowd where the Lothbroks sat. Ubbe and his wife were nowhere to be seen, and Ivar seemed to have a very interesting escort straddling his lap. Fire crept up into your veins as you saw him looking straight at you, encouraging the woman whose lips were attached firmly to his clenched jaw.

“Alright,” you said without another beat. You swallowed, looking Harold dead in the eye. “Take me wherever you want, far away from here.”