#with a knife pressed to his throat or a stake about to go into his chest

[cosmic--static]

losing my mind over this line from my dark urge playthrough

[reidsdimples]

Strictly Professional | Part 4

Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

18+❤️‍🔥 MDNI ‼️

You go see Spencer in his hotel room after a case is wrapped up.

Part 1, 2, 3

“You’re staring,” JJ says, startling you.

“Wha-“ you say absentmindedly.

She nods towards Spence who is leaning against one of the black SUV’s talking to Rossi.

His legs are crossed at the ankles, his sleeves rolled up, and his hands are shoved into his pockets. The streetlights above his cast his features in stark shadows. It was… distracting to say the least.

“It’s the pants right? They’re more form fitting,” JJ laughs. You turn to her with your mouth agape.

“I wasn’t…”

“Come on, you’d have to be blind not to see how good he looks,” she nudges you.

“Aren’t you married?” You ask playfully,

“Married, not blind,” she winks.

You smile and roll your eyes.

“Yeah it’s definitely the pants,” you surrender.

“So make a move,” she says and hands you a piece of gum.

You’re all waiting around for Hotch and Prentiss to call you into the house a block down which they are staking out.

“No way, we’re coworkers,” you make an effort to sound appalled and hope she doesn’t pick up on the insincerity.

“Oh please, it wouldn’t be the first time romance struck the BAU,” she says. You give her a blank and confused stare. “Kevin and Penelope?”

“Oh right, but they work in different units,” you point out. “It doesn’t matter, I’m not interested in him like that,” you decide to shut the conversation down.

“What are we talking about?” Morgan hops in.

“Nothing,” you and JJ say in unison.

“Damn, okay,” he laughs and holds up his hands feigning innocence.

“He’s got the girl, we’re going in,” Hotch comes over the ear pieces. You all jump into one of the SUVs.

Morgan drives and Rossi takes the front seat.

You, JJ, and Spencer cram into the back in a hurry. You slam into Spence when you stumble over the middle console, your face colliding with his chest. JJ is shoving herself into the space next to you.

“Sorry,” you push yourself off of him and sit up. He lets out a soft laugh.

Your bulky vests make the whole thing awkward as the car speeds towards the unsubs house.

You’re in the middle, pressed into Spence who is looking everywhere but towards you. You inhale his familiar scent and your body comes to attention. It recognizes him, craves him. You adjust to pull your arm out from between the two of you and he lifts his arm to help. He props it on the head rest behind you but doesn’t touch you. He’s close enough that the heat and electricity starts buzzing between you. He clears his throat and you swear he’s adjusting himself by shifting his legs. You nearly smirk because you have the same effect on him.

The car stops abruptly and you’re all piling out of it. You get back on your A-game and pull your gun from the holster.

Somewhere in the house you hear Rossi reasoning with the man who comes into view.

The 10 year old little girl is trembling under his knife, her face streaked with tears.

“Hey Kelly,” Spencer begins quietly. You glance it him, unsure what he’s doing. The unsub seems put off too.

“Can you tell me how you feel, tell him how what he’s doing is hurting you,” he says gently. His gun is holstered.

The unsub had taken the little girl after his own daughter was murdered. He was trying to create a new life with a new child to fill a void. He didn’t profile as someone who would hurt the child.

“I don’t like it, it’s scary,” the girl cries.

“It’s going to be okay Kelly, we’re going to get you out of here,” Spencer says softly. She nods and sniffles.

“Lionel you hear that? You don’t want to hurt her the way they hurt Maya do you?” Rossi reasons.

“I want my daddy,” she cries again. Her small frame rattling with fear.

Lionel is looking frantically around the room, trying to find a way out.

“There’s no way out, you need to let her go. We can help you,” you say, keeping your gun centered on him.

“No one can help me!” He bellows angrily, causing Kelly to whine.

“Maya wouldn’t want this. You know you can’t replace her,” Spencer says.

That seems to break something in the man who drops his arm in defeat.

The girl sprints towards your team, immediately latching onto Spencer who allows her to grab his arm. She looks back at you with big teary eyes.

“You’re safe now,” you whisper to her.

The man is on his knees and the gun is kicked aside while Prentiss makes the arrest.

You and JJ walk with Spencer and the little girl outside where CPS will work out getting her home.

Cases didn’t always have happy endings but this was as close as it got. The mad had killed two other girls who didn’t fit his delusion but your team was able to save Kelly and stop him. It felt good.

“Good job in there,” you tell Spencer and offer him a fist bump.

“Thanks,” he reluctantly returns the odd gesture with a shy grin.

-

The team returns to the hotel and you’re so tired you can hardly think straight. The weight of the last week and a half finally starting to dissolve with the cases conclusion.

Once again you’ve had radio silence from Spence outside of professional interaction. Two weeks had passed since Penelope caught you red handed and you expected never to hear from him again.

You sigh and pour yourself a glass of red wine as you sink into the bathtub. You convince yourself it’s fine that he hadn’t made a move, you were fine with not having him. It’s fine.

But then time passes and you’re half a bottle of wine in, your mind wondering to the way those damn pants hugged his hips. The way it accentuated his ass and his long legs. You’re biting your lip when your hand drifts down into the water and over your clit.

Images of him with his vest on, his gun raised, his mouth moving as he talked had you squirming.

Then you remembered how good he always felt inside of you. How you’ve never cum so hard as when he fucked you. Ugh.

You become frustrated and stop rubbing yourself.

Fuck it.

You throw back another half glass of wine and pull on your pajamas. His room was three doors away. You would just march over there and antagonize him. Screw waiting for him to make a move. You were sick and tired of waiting for him to need you. It was your turn.

You knock lightly on his door so as not to alert the rest of the team in the other rooms. It takes a moment but he opens it after looking through the peephole.

“Hey,” he rubs his eyes.

He had been asleep, his hair tousled. He was wearing nothing but pajama pants and your eyes couldn’t help but trail to his stomach.

You place your hand on his chest and push him backwards as you step inside. Your eyes pinned on his. He immediately acquiesces to your command, especially when you push him against the wall and kiss him hard.

It’s clumsy, unpracticed. But you don’t care, you need him. His soft mouth melts and moves against yours until his hands trail up the small of your back.

“We really shouldn’t keep doing this,” he whispers but kisses you again.

“It’s so bad,” you agree.

It was bad, your addiction to one another.

“Mhmm,” he moans drunkenly as though intoxicated by you.

He lifts you up so your legs wrap around his waist, you slam your hand against the wall as you kiss him harder. Your tongues sliding together in teasingly slow motions. God he tasted so fucking good, you could devour him for an eternity.

You roll your hips against him where his erection is pressing into you and a sinful groan escapes him.

“You looked so fucking good today,” he praises as he carries you towards the bed. You’re licking and sucking at his neck, needing to taste him.

“You did too” you purr when he lays you flat on your back.

“How much did you drink?” He asks thoughtfully as he stands above you, taking you in.

“Just a couple of glasses of wine,” you wave your hand dismissively. You move your feet up his chest until they’re resting on his shoulders.

He abruptly grabs your ankles and drops your legs from him before walking out of view. You sit up, confused.

The he takes a seat in the chair behind the desk on the other side of the room. The desk has been covered in books and paperwork in the 10 days he’s occupied the room. It was so him that you grin.

“You came here because you wanted me,” he muses as he lifts his hips to pull down his pants. “Show me how bad you want me, pretty girl.”

He lounges back in the chair, his cock just out and ready for you. You bite your lip nervously but move over to him. He rolls the chair backward from the desk to ensure there’s plenty of room. He looks glorious bathed in the moonlight from the window.

You step out of your pajama shorts in straddle him, taking his face in your hands.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he pushes.

“I think I want you like this all of the time,” you whisper as you grind your wetness against his length.

He grips your hips as you begin to align yourself with the tip of his cock. You lower yourself down and he tries to slow you by digging his nails into your skin. He sucks air through his teeth and throws his head back as you take him completely.

“So tight,” he shudders. Then you rock your hips forward, your clit against him as his cock throbs inside of you.

You continue to roll your hips, keeping him as deep as possible as you find the exact rhythm you need.

You begin to move up and down his length and he groans when your grip his hair.

“Use me, make yourself cum,” he whimpers.

It’s a softer, needier side of him that you hadn’t seen before but you love it. So you do just that. You begin riding him and grinding down on him. Not caring necessarily about what feels good to him but about what feels good to you.

One of your hands trails down the column of his neck and you gently squeeze. His hands find your nipples and he squeezes them hard as he fights to keep quiet.

He’s a mess of groans and whimpers. You throw yourself forward and bite down on his shoulder as you fall into a desperate grind against him as you chase your orgasm.

You moan against his skin as you climax, your walls tightening around his cock in a way that has him squirming beneath you, one hand pulling at your hair while the other digs into your thigh.

“Fuck Spence,” you whisper and roll your head back.

You can feel your cum all over him and it feels so good as you continue to rock your hips back and forth.

“Hold on,” he says, his voice husky.

You do, you prop your hands on the chair behind him as he lifts your hips so you’re halfway up his length.

Then he starts thrusting up into you fast and hard until you’re biting your tongue to stifle your moans.

You have a hard time holding yourself up as he thrusts mercilessly into you, the sound of wet flesh slapping together filling the room. You wrap your arms around his neck and hold on as he pulls you closer. He doesn’t let up, his stamina unmatched as he pounds into you harder.

Your eyes roll back as you attempt to absorb the pleasure beating through you. He buries his head between your tits, his jagged breathing fanning against your skin. The two of you are absolutely lost in each other, unable to get enough. You’re moaning softly, trying to stay quiet when his nails dig into your back.

The sensation is enough to send you over the edge again.

“Baby, fuck baby,” he bites out as you orgasm over him again. He’d never called you that, it’s heady, it makes you smile.

His rhythm slows as you pull him to his climax until he’s cumming inside of you. You roll your hips down on him as he pumps his cum into you, knowing how good it must feel to be as deep as possible while he finished.

“Fuuuck,” he shudders.

His eyes are wide and his mouth is open as he watches you roll your hips the last few times, greedily taking all his cum.

Your eyes linger on each other as the moment softens. You lean in and kiss him, delighted when he kisses you back. It’s more passionate, less needy.

You pull away, not wanting to get lost in the labeling or feeling behind anything. You get off of him and hurry to the restroom where you start the shower. The mixture of both of your releases is running down your thighs and you need to focus on cleaning up rather than whatever you’re feeling.

Something like sadness washes over you, sadness that this can’t be more, that it isn’t more because he doesn’t want it to be.

You’re washing your hair when Spencer steps into the shower.

“Oh,” you startle.

“Is this okay?” He asks.

You nod, taking in his beautiful body as you pull him under the water.

You turn away from him and wash your face. That’s when he wraps his strong arms around you and pulls you flush against him. You stare down at his forearms overlapping across your stomach. He fits against you so perfectly as you lean back into him. He sways gently but doesn’t speak. The intimacy of just holding you seems to be what he needs, it’s not a side of him you’ve seen very much.

“You want me like this always too?” He whispers.

It takes you off guard, the vulnerability in his voice. It’s as though he’s searching for some clue that he means more to you than you let on.

You turn in his arms and reach up to smooth back his wet curls.

“What if I do?” Your voice is hoarse.

“I don’t know how this can be more,” he shakes his head.

You got it, you understood how much it would complicate things. When emotions and favoritism came into play amongst coworkers it could be distracting.

“What do you want Spence?” You decide to be brave and ask him.

Your bodies are pressed together, the warm water trailing between you.

“I want…” he looks at you with what can only be described as puppy dog eyes. Some mixture of fear and sadness painting his beautiful features.

“Reid,” comes Hotch’s voice with a swift knock on the door.

He jumps back, his eyes wide.

“Shit,” you whisper.

Spencer rushes out of the shower as panic consumes you. Why would Hotch need to talk to Spencer at one in the morning!?

[lunarw0rks]

Hi! I was wondering if you’d be open to writing a Ghost x Reader fic where the reader is relatively new to the 141. The team has seen her work but still doesn’t trust her fully. Ghost and her seem to have a magnetic pull to one another with both trying to avoid their attraction. One day while sparring the reader ends up straddling him with a training knife pressed to his throat. Both stare at one another, realizing. (NSFW or SFW whichever!) Feel free to change whatever or not write it if it’s not your vibe!

A/N: Ghost has a knife kink, confirmed ;) Not explicitly NSFW, but it's hinted. Part two w smut??

Summary: During a sparring session with Ghost, you end up on top of him, and he struggles to hide his amusement.

Warning(s): knives, canon-typical violence, suggestive content, sexual tension | Word Count: 1k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ PART TWO | ao3 ver. // have a request?

Sparring

From the minute you set foot on the base, you felt like you didn’t belong there. Based on your records, training, and skills? You were a perfect fit. Personally? Not so much.

Of course, some welcomed you, putting on their fake smiles and at least attempting to include you in things.

Captain Price, who was under obligation to be civil because he was your boss. Gaz, who was closer in age, usually followed behind the Captain’s decisions. The Scot or “Soap”, as they called him? Indifferent to you. His usual humorous demeanor would diminish the second you entered a space.

Then, there was Ghost, who perhaps had the most intimidation about him. Though he didn’t trust you, or anyone either, his distaste wasn’t as potent as the other soldiers. Sure, he could be harsh and cold when he wanted to be, but that was the way he approached conflicts.

You learned to expect it, to work around it. You didn’t have a choice. Go AWOL over some social rejection? Not in the cards for you.

—

You’re set to deploy with them, take down some figure named “Hassan”, or so the folder you read stated. To prepare, you need to get yourself physically prepared. These new operations were no joke, undoubtedly worse than months of boot camp.

You’re panting, and feel like your legs are going to crumble from their overuse. He won’t let up on you, not that quickly.

“Are you even trying, Sergeant?” Ghost heckles you, dripping in self-confidence, as he dodges your slices with ease. He always seems double the speed you are, even before you were winded and dissatisfied with your performance.

You grit your teeth in response, remaining determined that you’ll get one good jab at him. In your wild imagination, the foam knife you’re holding would somehow turn real when it slices him — cut the arrogance right out of him.

Realistically, however? Not a chance, unless you can find a way to slow him down.

“You’d be dead ten times, ‘you keep stabbing like that.” He puts his defensive arms down, allowing you to rest for a few seconds.

Or so you thought.

Suddenly, he grappled you to the foam mat beneath you, knocking the small amount of air you had left straight out. You struggled against his pin, but he was much too strong.

He squints down at you, as he maintains his solid grip. “You only have about ten seconds to win a knife fight, before you’re dead, or pinned just like this, with nowhere to go.” He motions to the predicament you’re in currently.

Your thighs were pinned against the floor with his knee, and wrists contained on each side of your head. You’re tempted to give him his victory, so he’ll leave it at your metaphorical death.

“Maybe what you need,” his eyes drill into you, as he begins his theory, “is a raise of the stakes.” He reaches into his holster and pulls out his very real knife. He holds it up, examining the way it glimmers against the fluorescents.

If he was anyone else, you probably would’ve tapped out or insisted on using the fake one. But based on the way he was caging you, he wasn’t asking. It was an order.

As if to prove the danger, he holds the blade to your cheek—not letting it cut you, but applying just enough pressure for you to understand the lesson of it.

Never let the enemy pin you, chances are you’re dead in seconds. He’d lectured you with that statement before when you sparred with him.

With his right arm occupied, there was a rapidly closing window for you to find a way out of this. You swung your arm, smacking the blade out of his fist.

You ended up straddling him and clambered for the knife. If this were his full potential, he would’ve already retrieved his knife and cut your throat. But he was allowing you to overtake him this time as if he was amused by it.

You pressed the blade to his throat, which was protected by the fabric of his balaclava. Thighs to thighs, stomach to stomach. His stare didn’t change once, remaining stoic even when held at knifepoint, with his own weapon nonetheless.

“That’ll suffice.” His voice weathered a bit, like it was hard for him to choke out something professional, given the fact that you could feel every bit of him at the moment.

You couldn’t lie, the position was questionable. But you’d proved your point.

Even though he knew there were dozens of countermoves he could use, and basically decimate you in the process, he doesn’t. He’d never admit how much he liked being under you, letting you threaten him with his own Army knife.

You felt a heat rise to your cheeks as you loosened up a bit, flipping the knife around so you could pass it back to him, handle first.

No matter how hard he tried to hide it, you had noticed the way his eyes softened when you flipped the power. 

Though your maneuvers needed work, he hadn’t expected the sudden burst of aggression—something you definitely needed when in the thick of battle. At least that’s what he’d tell himself to rationalize the feelings he was experiencing.

He returns his knife to the holster but doesn’t shove you off him like he thought he would. He instead places his hands on each hip, moving you to the side like your weight was nothing.

He moves to kneel beside you, meeting your eye level again. “Tomorrow, after hours. We’ll work at that aggression, yeah?”

You could hear the smirk on his face as he spoke, returning to his feet. He’s now standing above you briefly, looking down at you.

He straightens his balaclava, admiring the powerful stance he had over you as you knelt below him.

“Don’t be late.” He spits it out, then leaves the training room without another word. He smirks to himself as he strolls down the halls, thinking about the picture of you on your knees for the rest of his night.

Inside his head, he knew another sparring session was guaranteed to end up with you on top of him again. He was looking forward to it, no doubt.

[thatsoanjie]

The Price of Betrayal

Sebastian Sallow x reader

[spoilers, obviously]

Summary : You are now in your seventh year, and it’s been just over a year since you turned Sebastian in to the authorities. What happens when he corners you upon sneaking into Hogwarts?

WC : 1772

Notes : [HC] Sebastian wasn’t sent to Azkaban yet due to his age, but rather sent to a lower security prison for underage wizards and lower stake crimes.

In this story, you’ll also have done the Prizoner of love side quest. Nothing warranting PG!

Read by disclaimer and fair use notice here

The castle was unnervingly silent as you made your way through the dimly lit corridors, your heart pounding in your chest. You’d always found comfort in the stillness of Hogwarts at night, but tonight, the darkness felt oppressive, as if it were pressing in on you from all sides. You couldn’t shake the unease that had settled over you since that fateful decision, the one that had changed everything.

Turning Sebastian in had been the hardest choice you’d ever made. But it was also the only choice that made sense, at least at the time. You’d watched him descend further into his own darkness, his obsession with finding a cure for Anne consuming him until he was a shadow of the person you once knew. The final straw had come when he put an end to Solomon, sealing his fate. You had done what you thought was right, what you thought was necessary to save him from himself. But now, alone in the quiet of the night, doubt gnawed at you, making you question everything.

The memory of his face, twisted in shock and betrayal as he was led away by the Aurors, haunted you. The look in his eyes, a mix of disbelief and hurt, was seared into your mind, and no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that you’d done the right thing, seeing his deflated expression upon leaving Hogwarts still felt like a knife to the heart.

You reached the corridor to the Room of requirement, the air stilled around you as you quietly closed the door behind you. Deek was nowhere to be found. All the better, I don’t really feel like chatting with anyone about this, you thought.

You made your way up the stairs and were just about collapse into the spare bed in the room behind your vivariums when you felt it—a presence in the room. Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned, eyes wide with fear and confusion. Standing in the shadows by a bookcase was a figure, tall and dark, the dim light from the corridor casting eerie shadows across their face. You had left your wand on your desk of description, there wasn’t a single person in this school who knew about this place, even less in this form.

“Who’s there?” you demanded, your voice trembling despite your attempt to sound authoritative.

The figure stepped forward and your breath caught in your throat. It was Sebastian.

He was dressed in dark robes, his expression twisted with fury and pain, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your blood run cold. His wand was clutched tightly in his hand, and you knew, without a doubt, that he wasn’t here for a friendly chat.

“Sebastian…” you began, your voice faltering as you took a step back, your back hitting the wall.

“You betrayed me,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “After everything we went through, after everything I did for her, you turned me in.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as he advanced on you. “Sebastian, I—”

“Shut up,” he snapped, cutting you off. His wand was suddenly at your throat, the tip pressing against your pulse point, sending a shiver of fear down your spine. “You don’t get to speak. You don’t get to justify what you did. You betrayed me, and now you’re going to pay.”

Your breath hitched, panic rising in your chest as you stared into his eyes, seeing the raw, unfiltered rage that had taken hold of him. This wasn’t the Sebastian you knew, the one who had been your friend, who had fought by your side. This was someone else, someone consumed by darkness and vengeance.

“Sebastian,” you whispered, your voice shaking as you tried to reach the part of him that was still your friend. “I didn’t want to do it. But you were losing yourself to the Dark Arts. You were going too far.”

He let out a bitter scoff, the sound cold and devoid of humor. “Going too far? I was doing what I had to do to save Anne! And you—what did you do? You handed me over to them. You destroyed any chance I had of helping her.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away, trying to stay focused. “I thought I was helping you, Sebastian. You were hurting yourself, hurting others. I couldn’t just stand by and watch.”

His grip on his wand tightened, and you could feel the magic thrumming in the air around you, a dangerous, unstable energy that made your skin prickle with fear.

“Do you have any idea what they did to me?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be locked up, powerless, while your sister is out there, suffering? Do you?”

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “No, I don’t. But I couldn’t let you destroy yourself. I couldn’t let you go down that path.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his eyes burning with anger and something else—something like desperation, like the last thread of hope he had was about to snap.

“You were supposed to be my friend,” he said, his voice cracking. “You were supposed to be there for me, not turn me over to them like some criminal.”

Your heart broke at the pain in his voice, and you reached out, slowly, cautiously, your hand trembling as you touched his arm. “I am your friend, Sebastian. I always have been. I never wanted to hurt you. I just… I just wanted to save you.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might listen, like the part of him that still cared might come through. But then his expression hardened, and he yanked his arm away from your touch, his eyes narrowing with renewed fury.

“Save me?” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “You think you can save me now? After what you did?”

His wand pressed harder against your throat, and you winced, your heart pounding in your chest as you realized just how precarious your situation was. “Sebastian, please,” you begged, your voice shaking. “You don’t have to do this. What good would you be to Anne if you were locked up in Azkaban for good?” Too far, this went too far.

His eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment, you thought he might strike you down right then and there. But then, slowly, his expression shifted, the fury giving way to something else—something like sorrow, or regret.

“I can’t believe you’re using Anne to get to me,” he lowered his wand. “And I despise that you’re right.”

He lowered his wand, and you let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through you as the immediate danger passed. But you knew this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

“Sebastian,” you said softly, taking a tentative step forward. “You’re not lost. You can still come back from this. We can figure it out. We can help Anne, without having to sacrifice ourselves.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a deep, aching sadness. “You really think it’s that simple, don’t you? That we can just… go back to how things were.”

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “No, I don’t. I know things will never be the same. But I still believe in you, Sebastian. I believe you can find your way back.”

He let out a bitter laugh, turning away from you as he ran a hand through his hair, the tension in his body palpable. “You’re a fool,” he muttered. “A damn fool.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, your voice trembling with emotion. “But I’m willing to be a fool if it means you don’t lose yourself to this darkness again. I’m willing to fight for you, Sebastian. I always will be.”

For a long moment, he was silent, his back turned to you as he stared out the window into the night. The seconds stretched on, each one heavier than the last, until finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You gave up on me. Ominis gave up on me. Anne gave up on me. I don’t know if I can come back from this,” he said, his voice filled with a deep, haunting despair. “I don’t know if I want to.”

Your heart ached at the pain in his words, and you took a step closer, reaching out to touch his arm again, this time with more certainty.

“You can,” you insisted, your voice firm despite the tears that threatened to spill over. “I know you can. And I’ll be there with you, consequences be damned. It’s the least I owe you.”

He turned to look at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions—anger, pain, regret, and something else, something that looked almost like hope.

“Why?” he asked, his voice cracking with emotion. “Why do you care so much? After everything I’ve done, everything I’ve become… why would you still want to help me?”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you searched for the right words. “Because you’re my friend, Sebastian. And I still believe in the person you are, deep down. I still believe you’re worth more than wasting away in a cell.” You’d seen what had happened to Anne Thisbe. Could Sebastian really deserve all of that?

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, the tension in his body finally beginning to ease.

“Maybe you’re right,” he murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Maybe… maybe there’s still a chance.”

You felt a surge of relief at his words, and you smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. “There is,” you said softly. “There’s always a chance, as long as you’re willing to take it.”

He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as he finally let go of the anger that had consumed him for so long, shame consuming his posture. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But… I’ll try. For you, I’ll try.”

Your heart swelled with emotion, and you nodded, tears spilling down your cheeks as you reached out to take his hand in yours.

For the first time in a long time, you felt a glimmer of hope—a hope that maybe, just maybe, the person you once knew could find his way back from the darkness that had threatened to consume him.

In the end, you thought, no one is beyond redemption. Not even Sebastian Sallow.

*****

Thank you for reading! Requests are open, next fic coming monday at 4pm EDT.

[geode-crystal]

And we finally have a sequel to the Used as Bait story!

Rescue time! Darius and Mianu have gotten themselves into a bit of trouble. Can Mianu get them out? Or will his own dark magic just make things worse?

("Porque no los dos" lol)

Directly continues my previous story. Characters: Darius the knight, Prince Mianu, and some random mercenary whumpers.

Contents: kidnapping, restraints (chains), a little bit of magic torture, a little bit of blood, tons of threats, a knife, implied minor character death (left somewhat open ended)

______________________

“Let. Him. Go.”

Mianu’s voice rang through the room. There was power behind it, more than just the typical authority of royalty. His magic, already swirling around his arm, was making him even more imposing than usual.

It was terrifying. But gods, even in these circumstances, Darius couldn’t help but find it insanely attractive.

Not that he had time to think about that.  

The mercenary woman stepped forward, looming right in front of Darius. Darius couldn’t even see Mianu anymore. But that didn’t stop his heart from pounding so hard it nearly burst out of his chest.

“Ah, the lost little prince,” the mercenary sneered. “So glad you made it.”

“Don’t waste your breath,” Mianu hissed. “We both know I'm not here for games.”

Darius didn’t need to see his captor’s face to know she was smirking. “True enough. There’s far more at stake here than any simple game, isn’t there? Especially if you want your darling knight returned to you in one piece.”

Darius struggled against his chains once more. It was infuriating. It was agony. Mianu was right there, already falling to his dark magic, and Darius couldn’t reach him.

Not with his actions, anyway. But his captors had made a mistake. They hadn’t bothered to gag or silence him.

“Mianu, run!” Darius shouted. “Whatever she wants, it’s not worth it! I’ll be fine, just get out of here!”

“Silence.”

The mercenary’s command was followed up by another spell. The same one from before. The burst of magic flew right towards his head. Darius flinched, barely managing to avoid the worst of the damage. The curse cut into his cheek. He gasped at the harsh sting of it.

Mianu let out a wordless scream.

The room instantly got colder. And there was another sound, one that echoed and amplified Mianu’s cry. It was like the growl of a furious beast.

Darius struggled against his chains again. Mianu’s power was only growing. Gods knew what kind of a toll it would take on him…

“You have made a big mistake,” Mianu growled. “I will give you one. More. Chance. Let him go, now. Or I will show now mercy.”

“Yes, yes, very intimidating,” said the mercenary.

She snapped her fingers. The sound seemed to echo, repeated over and over. And more mercenaries appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

Mianu hissed in surprise. Darius tried to cry out again, to warn him, to get him the hell out of there—but any attempt was cut short as someone roughly grabbed his hair from behind. His head was yanked back. Something cold was pressed against his throat.

He didn’t need to see it. He knew the bite of steel all too well.

Mianu froze. Even the air seemed to go utterly still. The other mercenaries moved around them, drawing weapons, preparing more spells. Darius sensed more than saw the movements, only catching glimpses out of the corner of his eye. The only thing he could see clearly was the look on Mianu’s face.  

Gods, that expression was going to haunt him, no matter what happened next.

“You strike any one of us down, your highness, and your knight will be the next to fall,” Darius’ captor warned.

Slowly, his eyes never once leaving Darius’ face, Mianu lowered his hand. Magic still curled around his fingers. But he closed his fist, making sure that none of it could escape.

Not yet.

The lead mercenary laughed, a cold, cruel sound, as sharp as the knife against Darius’ throat.

“Much better.” She swept off to the side, deliberately walking right in front of Darius and over to something else that he—infuriatingly—still couldn’t see. But Mianu clearly could. The prince’s eyes went wide.

“Do you recognize this?” the mercenary hissed.

“Where did you get that?” Mianu demanded.

His shock sounded genuine. Darius tried to shift a bit, struggling in vain to get away. Of course, the figure just gripped his hair even tighter. The knife pricked his skin, drawing beads of blood. Not that Darius cared about his own state at the moment.

“Mianu, don’t listen to her,” he choked out. “She’s a liar. A thief. She’ll—”

“Oh, good, I’m glad you recognize it,” said the lead mercenary. She was completely casual. And completely ignoring Darius’ shouts.

Mianu scoffed. “Of course I do. It’s my sigil.”

That cut Darius off far more effectively than any threat. The royal sigil? How in the name of all the gods did these cowards get their hands on something like that? Especially when they were so far from home?

“Then you understand why we needed you,” the mercenary smirked. “Our task for you is really quite simple. All you have to do is get this open.”

“You don’t even know what’s in there,” Mianu countered. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

The mercenary sneered. “I’m eager to find out.”  

Open it? Darius desperately wanted to know what was going on. And why Mianu was hesitating. If it was something that made him respond like that, then it was something that should stay firmly shut. Especially when magic was involved. Who knew what could be sealed in… whatever it was that happened to be sealed up.

Darius looked right at Mianu. It was all he could do. Mianu met his eye just for a moment. Darius could feel his hesitation. He could see the magic still curling around Mianu’s fingers, down his arm, like a snake coiling around its prey.

Then Mianu’s eyes flicked back to the mercenary.

“Release Darius first.”

Mianu’s tone made Darius shiver. Or maybe that was just the way the temperature in the room had dropped even more. But that clearly did nothing to the mercenary.

“And lose the most important card I have on the table?” she said. “Not likely.”

Mianu scowled. “Fine. Then step back. All of you. I think we both know how dangerous this might get.”

It was a warning to Darius as well. But when Mianu looked back at him, he saw something more than that. Mianu’s eyes blazed with determination. He had a plan. All Darius needed to do was trust him.

Darius wanted to nod. To give any kind of sign that he did trust Mianu. But he could hardly even move. So he hoped the look on his face would be enough. And he risked speaking once more.

“Do what you have to do,” he whispered.

Even across the room, Mianu heard. So, unfortunately, did the mercenary.

“Oh, how noble,” she jeered. “A knight’s loyalty in action. However foolish that might be.”

Mianu said nothing. His eyes remained locked on Darius.

“Perhaps I must remind you what’s at stake,” the mercenary hissed.

She must have given some kind of signal. Darius’ head was jerked further back, fully exposing his throat. He couldn’t help another hiss of startled pain. Mianu visibly flinched, his magic surging again.

“Do what we ask, or we kill him,” his captor said simply.

Darius tried to keep his breathing steady. He wasn’t sure if it worked. But he kept his gaze firmly on Mianu, unwavering.

Mianu’s eyes went ice cold. He glared at the mercenary with pure hatred.

“You kill him, and you’ve lost any chance of me doing anything you want,” he hissed. “He dies, and you fall next.”

“Of course,” said the mercenary. She didn’t believe a word. “How about a compromise, hmm? We will step back. Allow you to do what you must. But he stays exactly where he is. And you know what will happen if you fail to comply.”

As though to prove her threat, there was another bright flash. Another spell cast. Darius didn’t have a clue what hit him this time. But he would have buckled under the agony of it if he hadn’t been held up by the hair. He tried to bite back his pain. It didn’t work. A strangled noise burst from his throat.

“I understand,” Mianu said quickly. “Just get out of the way.”

The mercenary laughed. Darius had heard laughs like that before. It was the laugh of someone who had already claimed their victory.

With a single quick order, the other mercenaries immediately went into action. Darius was finally released. His head dropped and he gasped for air, just for a moment. He was sickened by his own sense of relief.

He forced his head back up as quickly as he could. He locked eyes with Mianu. He didn’t even care that the other mercenaries clearly still held his life in their hands. Though they stood back, away from whatever magical object they wanted Mianu to deal with, all weapons and dark spells were trained directly on him. Darius could feel a dozen pairs of eyes on his back.

The leader was the only one who didn’t look directly at him. Her gaze was still firmly fixed on Mianu. Which was made clear by the way Mianu glared back at her.

But then, finally, Mianu looked at Darius again. And he whispered something that even Darius couldn’t hear. But the message was clear just from the shape of his lips.

Brace yourself.

Not an apology. Not any reassurance. Just a warning. The prince had nothing else to give.

There was nothing Darius could possibly do about it. So he nodded, praying that his determination would shine through.

He trusted Mianu with his life. A trust that Mianu had proven himself worthy of time and time again.      

Darius just hoped that Mianu believed that.

Mianu tore his eyes away from the captured knight. He stepped up to the magical artifact. His eyes blazed in the dark, glowing, shining like emeralds. His magic surged, billowing around his arm. Shadows slid up towards his shoulder. Mianu grimaced, his body tensing in the pain it caused.

Darius instinctively struggled against his bonds again. But there was nothing more he could do.

Mianu raised his hand, palm facing outward. Magic pooled in his palm, forming a near perfect sphere. He took a deep breath. Closed his eyes. Let all that air out in a slow, quiet sigh.

Then all hell broke loose.

The worst part of it was the sound. The noise alone seemed to pierce right into Darius’ skull. Or maybe into his heart. For at the center of it all—of the howls like beasts, the roar like gale-force winds, the shattering and snapping sounds, the cries of the mercenaries—was one single, haunting scream. Mianu’s scream. It was a broken roar. A feral cry that was more animal than human. The sound of all of his rage and fear and pain bursting out of him.

And his magic exploded out with it. Shadows leaped forward, taking on beastly forms. They attacked the mercenaries without mercy. Despite all their weapons and magic, the mercenaries were clearly unprepared for the onslaught. Some of the magically manifested monsters were struck down. But more appeared to take their place.

Darius lurched forward. His chains bit into his skin. He didn’t care. He shouted out, calling Mianu’s name. Begging for him to stop. He had to stop, no one was meant to wield power like this, it had already cost him, he was just going to hurt himself more…

But Mianu was too far gone. He didn’t hear any of his knight’s cries.

As quickly as it had started, everything ended. The wind died down. The shadows faded, drawn back towards Mianu. The room grew warmer again as the darkness slowly drained away. And everything was silent.

Darius instinctively glanced around, taking in everything that he could. All the mercenaries were on the ground, unmoving. The door that Mianu had burst through was wide open, but no other assailants came through. And now that he could actually turn his head, Darius could see the artifact that had started all this trouble.

It was just a chest. A relatively small one at that. The only two things that stood out about it at all were the familiar insignia etched into the lock and the small, circular mirror built into the lid. Other than that, it could have been any old trunk.  

All this… for something so simple.

Mianu dropped down to his hands and knees. Magic still snared around his bad arm, the shadows pulsing with his heartbeat. He was breathing heavily. He looked far too pale.

Darius tried to fight against his chains again. He didn’t notice how badly he was trembling.

“Mianu!” he called. “Mianu, talk to me, you have to be alright…”

Mianu didn’t respond. He took several more shaky breaths. Then he forced himself to is feet. He swayed, barely able to keep his balance, his opposite hand instinctively clutching at his cursed arm.

“Mianu…”

Darius’ call seemed to bring Mianu back to reality. If only for a moment. He stumbled over to Darius, almost falling to his knees.

“Gods… I’m sorry I took so long,” Mianu gasped out. He immediately grabbed at the chains around Darius’ wrist. Another burst of magic, and the chains turned to dust. “How long have you been bleeding like that?”

“I’m fine,” said Darius. He didn’t know the answer to Mianu’s question anyway, and that would just worry the prince more. “But Mianu, you—”

“Don’t worry about me right now,” Mianu snapped. He grabbed the chains at Darius’ ankles. Those, too, were reduced to dust. “We need to get you some help. Maybe I can…”

Before Darius could say another word, Mianu stumbled to his feet again. He was gone for only a moment before he returned with some torn fabric. Probably from the clothing of one of the mercenaries.

Darius glanced at a fallen form. “Are they… did you…?”

“I don’t know,” said Mianu, already roughly bandaging the wound on Darius’ side. “But I don’t want to stick around to find out.”

As soon as the fabric was tied around Darius’ waist, Mianu stood up again. He hauled Darius up with him. They both stumbled. Darius managed to catch himself first. He grabbed Mianu. The two of them practically fell into each other’s arms. Darius held Mianu tight. His heart was pounding so quickly and violently that he was sure Mianu could feel it. But neither of them seemed to care.

They stayed like that for a moment. Just long enough for a few breaths. Then Mianu pushed Darius away… though he kept a firm grip on his knight’s hand.

“Come on,” said Mianu. “We need to get out of here.”

Darius didn’t argue.

Neither of them were up for much running. Mianu stumbled again and again. Darius pressed his free hand to the wound at his side. But they managed to escape the mercenary stronghold. And they kept moving. They had no idea where they were going. Half the time, they didn’t have it in them to look for any kind of shelter.

But Darius was sure they would find something. They were together. Despite all the odds. Despite all of his own failures.

They would get through anything. They’d done it before.

He just had to hope that Mianu would recover… in more ways than one.

_________

@whumperofworlds I believe you wanted to be tagged in this? And @tildeathiwillwrite you might be interested in this as well (I will absolutely take your tag off if you want me to)

[maxdurden]

but slowly the instinct takes root in her throat

read it on ao3 here!

Story: but slowly the instinct takes root in her throat

Chapter: 1/1

Characters: Kipperlilly Copperkettle, Ruben Hopclap, Porter Cliffbreaker, Jace Stardiamond, (mentions of other Rat Grinders)

Summary:

Kipperlilly has been chosen by a nascent god of rage. She's proud of that fact, excited by what it might mean for her future. In the meantime, she's stuck on night watch during her sophomore spring break with Ruben Hopclap, her least favorite party member. She's been told to worship her rage, to accept it in all its savage glory. What could go wrong? -- A one-shot about my head canons for how the Rat Grinders' first quest to the Mountains of Chaos went down.

“It’s cold out here.” 

The knife in Kipperlilly’s hand stuttered over a knot in the stick she was carving into a stake. Her motions were harsh and confident, but not well practiced. Woodcarving wasn’t a hobby of hers, but she would have done just about anything to dull the boredom in this moment—and to distract her from the incessant whining of her companion.

That she was being asked to keep watch at all was an insult. The thought sat under her skin like molten metal, but she pushed it away. Not only had she been chosen, she’d risen to the challenge. She could feel the symbol under the stiff, pressed fabric of her shirt, and the memory of the ritual was still fresh in her mind. Jace’s magic, the glittering red shatter star, the oath she had sworn to the god of rage. 

Jace had continually checked his notes as he administered the oath, and Porter had seethed at the indignity. “Maybe I’d remember this better if I’d had the chance to undergo it myself.” The sorcery teacher was cool and unbothered around most of his students, but Kipperlilly had come to know him as a perpetually exasperated presence in her life. “But, no, it wasn’t this easy for me.” He said as he traced a slender finger down the page of his notebook.

“An eye for opportunity is well rewarded.” Kipperlilly had chirped unhelpfully. She smiled smugly in the direction of the barbarian teacher who, in an official capacity, was not meant to be attached to this quest at all. Even the rest of her party didn’t know he was here with them in the Mountains of Chaos. But he had revealed himself to her for this ritual, because she was his chosen, because he trusted her—

“It’s cold and boring. And doesn’t it freak you out that things are so dangerous here that we need a nightwatch?” The drone of Ruben Hopclap’s incessant complaints pulled Kipperlilly back to the present moment. 

The stick in her hand snapped under the pressure of her knife. It was no real loss. She didn’t need a stake, just a distraction. She needed Ruben to shut up.

“It’s the Mountains of Chaos.” She responded curtly. “Of course it’s dangerous.” 

“I heard Yolen Harris’ party is going to Harroway Bay to fight a sea serpent or something.” As he spoke, Kipperlilly grabbed a new stick to resume her carving. Something about the steady motion helped to ground her, and she needed that more now than ever. “I bet the serpent won’t be fun, but think about it: Toes in the sand and crystal service! Now that’s a decent spring break.” 

Kipperlilly watched as the wood parted from itself in thin, curling layers and grit her teeth. “It’s also a monumental waste of time. People kill sea serpents all the time. No one’s gonna remember that quest in a month.” 

She shouldn’t humor him with responses. Of all the people in her party, Ruben was the most indolent. Not that he lacked ambition; He envied Figueroth Faeth in all her stardom. He just didn’t have the actual follow through to do anything about it. It made Kipperlilly sick, and it was the lesser of the two things she hated most about him.

Kipperlilly was proud to say that Lucy Frostblade was her best friend. But, since they had met Ruben in middle school, she’d suffered the slight of having to share the claim to being Lucy’s. 

“Who cares!” Ruben whined. He was always whining. She found herself wishing the high-pitched frequency of his voice would drive a nearby pack of wolves into a slavering bloodlust and they would come here to rend him limb from limb. As she turned the stick in her hand, and notched her knife into it once again, she imagined the violent scene in great detail. It brought her some solace. “I’m cold! I’d rather be at the beach! Who’s gonna remember us for coming to this empty, useless temple and looking for a dumb name, anyway? Even if we find it.”

He didn’t know the plan. He didn’t know they would change the world someday. That they’d create their own god, raise him from his mortality. That they would carve Elmville from its stubborn mundanity and reform it in the image of something worthy. They would be greater than the Bad Kids, or any adventurer who had ever graduated from Aguefort. Many alumni of the school had saved the world, but none of them had ever remade it. 

“You’re probably cold because you dressed for the beach. Like an idiot.” She snapped, pointing with her knife toward his sandaled feet. 

“Dress for the job you want!” 

Kipperlilly felt hot, buzzing rage rising in her throat. It was a familiar feeling, like boiling water overcoming all her senses.

Her grandmother had once tried to endear her to her family legacy. She’d taken her to the kitchen, and showed her the Copperkettle, the magical item from which her family got their name. Most halfling families got their names this way, from heirlooms that often harkened back to a time before they came to Elmville. The Copperkettle was barely magical. 

Newly immigrated to Elmville, the family had struggled to make ends meet, and the Copperkettle had kept them fed anyway, against all odds. This was the only version of the story worth telling, but her grandmother had embellished it with all kinds of details—the names of her ancestors, what kinds of stew the kettle had produced, the tale of their eventual agreement to share the stew. The story dragged on until there was nothing but a frustrating buzz in the back of Kipperlilly’s young head where the anger rose to meet it. She didn’t want to be standing in her kitchen, listening to a lecture about the history of the most boring family in Elmville—She didn’t want to be reminded that she was a part of that family. 

She tried to sit still and quiet, to listen politely like her parents had taught her, but the anger ballooned inside her until it was too big for her tiny body to contain. She had felt near tears with it by the time she admitted it to herself, and acted on it. In her anger, she had scurried forward and kicked her grandmother’s knee—anything to get her to shut up. 

She remembered being dragged away by her parents. They had sat her on the cold cement porch stairs outside their family home, wagged disapproving fingers in her face. And she’d known then that they were right—or thought that they were. Anger was something to ignore, to push down and suffocate. 

Gods forbid it have the ability to suffocate back. 

That night, with Ruben seemingly incapable of shutting his mouth, the same anger was starting to expand hot and fast in her chest. Her anger was always vicious and strong, oftentimes stronger than her, but there was something new this time too. 

With the feeling, the symbol on her chest burned steadily. For a moment it was a grounding feeling. She could honor this anger, just like Porter had taught her. She could feel it and savor it—The way her face burned and the way her focus on the world sharpened until there was nothing but Ruben’s voice, and the knife, and the wood. 

“And this job sucks. Even if it was memorable, we’ll always be remembered as the dumb kids who needed a chaperone on our sophomore project.” Ruben filled the silence when Kipperlilly didn’t respond. 

Her stick snapped again, but this time in the tightening grip of her hand rather than under the pressure of her knife. 

“And the solution to that is to resign ourselves to a lazy beach week?” She let the words claw their way from her throat, and seep through clenched teeth.

Her hand held tight to the pommel of her knife. Without the grounding repetition of sliding it along the wood, she started to think of other things she could do with it. She thought of nothing but wolves, and blood, and the heat of rage that clung to her every breath. 

Ruben’s sniveling answer fell on deaf ears. She wanted nothing more than silence. She wanted peace. She wanted to not have to endure his weakness and whining. 

The first plunge of the knife came without thought. It was a mindless thing that drove her to stand, approach and attack. It all happened in the flash of prickling anger that overtook her senses and mind. But the scream that came with it pulled her back to reality, made her angrier. 

Kipperlilly was often angry. She had felt the urge to destroy—to tear the world apart, ruin her friends’ moods, to see things burn because of the fire in her stomach and on her tongue. But she had always felt remorse, too. That destruction, the harsh words, the cruel actions had always stopped her before—she always ended up just the same as that kid on the porch stairs, crying as her parents wagged their fingers in her face.

But not this time. This time, she relished in the anger. She did just as she was told. She let it consume her. It was like falling away from herself and being more present than ever all at once. She viscerally felt the skin and muscle part under her knife, felt as the blade scraped and stuck into ribs. She heard every scream, felt Ruben’s hand clawing at the sleeve of her pristine, white blouse. She saw the terror in his eyes fade into glassy, distant nothingness. 

But the whole time she was wrapped in the resplendent ecstasy of wrath. It kept her distant and safe. It kept the fire in her belly roaring and hungry for more. It smoothed over the edges. It distracted her from the way her hand slipped on the blood slicked grip of her knife and the way the blade cut into the flesh of her own palm. It held her anxieties about being heard and her guilt at a distance. 

She sat back from the unmoving corpse underneath her, and stared at the shredded chest of a boy she’d known since middle school. With shaking hands, she set her knife down beside them, in the fast collecting pool of blood. There was a fist-sized bloodstain on her blouse where Ruben had clung to her, but he’d long since lost the strength for that. Her sweater vest was ruined. Warm, tacky blood adhered her tights to her knees. Everything smelled so strongly like blood that she could taste iron on her tongue. 

And then there were Ruben’s dark eyes, staring, staring, staring, and seeing nothing. 

Kipperlilly lurched to the side and retched, but nothing came up. The weight of what she’d done settled on her like the sky falling. Tears blurred her vision, and she was grateful because she didn’t want to see. Whether they were tears of contrition or self pity, she couldn’t say. 

Somewhere nearby her party was asleep, if they hadn’t already been awoken by the screams. Sometime soon, they would see what she’d done—or otherwise notice Ruben’s absence. And Lucy. What would Lucy think? How would she ever look at her again?

Sitting there over the dead body, for maybe the first time in her life, Kipperlilly couldn’t think of a plan. She could think only one thing: Porter. 

She’d done what he’d said. She’d given into her rage. He had to help her fix this. He was the only one who would understand—even if he couldn’t have possibly foreseen that it would come to this. 

She tried to stand and her polished bar shoes slipped in the blood, sending her tumbling downwards and face to blank, pallid face with the corpse. It was washed in the sickly green light of distant beacon fires, which only made the quickly paling skin look worse. She couldn’t leave it here. This time, she knew the thought was one of self-preservation. 

Pulling herself to her feet, Kipperlilly carefully sheathed her bloody knife. Then, she gathered the body in her arms, and pulled it up the stone stairs into the temple. She slinked through the shadows, past the alcove where the rest of her party slept. It was some distance away and, by then, her arms ached under the weight but she hoped that the distance meant there had been no disturbance here. The rock face that made up the temple echoed with every sound, but things were quiet. There was no sound of confusion, or people rushing to arms. 

She kept moving, past towering statues of proud warriors and their flaming horses, past the walls scrawled with words of prayer, until she reached the chamber where she knew Porter was staying. His presence was still unknown to the rest of the party and, at least as recently as the ritual, he wanted to keep it that way. This place, deep within the temple, was cavernous and massive. It was the place she had undergone her ritual earlier in the day but now, returning to it, she felt so far from the victorious spirit she’d clung to then. 

She stopped once inside, letting the corpse slump to the ground far from the giant altar at the other end of the chamber in front of which a bedroll was laid out. Porter wasn’t sleeping, though, he was standing on one of the staggered platforms, facing the iron brazier that dominated the center of the altar. 

Words failed Kipperlilly. She stood over the body and stared across the wide space between herself and the barbarian teacher—the soon-to-be god—who she’d worked so hard to impress, and couldn’t bring herself to speak. He had put so much faith in her, and surely this would be a grave disappointment. But in her panic, she didn't know where else to go.

“Kipperlilly?” He turned before she had to say anything at all, those dark eyes widening in shock. It must have been quite the sight. She was usually so well put together, but now she was disheveled and blood splattered. Not to mention the corpse at her feet. “What in the world have you done?”

“I—I didn’t mean to.” Now that she had found them again, words came tumbling out of her without her control. “He made me so mad. You said to lean into the anger! I pledged myself to it! It was supposed to be—You said it’d be holy, that it would be sacred, but I—” She got stuck on this word, stuttering it out too many times before the sentence died altogether in her throat. She couldn’t say it. 

She’d killed him. 

Porter jumped from the platform in one fluid motion and strode toward her. His features were pinched with a deep concern, but he didn’t seem panicked. Some small part of Kipperlilly wished that he did—maybe so she wouldn’t be alone with the suffocating feeling, or maybe because she thought it’d make her feel less small.

“Why didn’t you bring him to Lucy? She has diamonds, doesn’t she?” He demanded first, coming to stand in front of her and the corpse. She had to angle her face up to see him, always, but now she looked elsewhere. Anywhere but at him or the bloody mess at her feet. Her eyes fixed on the pictographs of war lining the temple walls. 

The thought of bringing the mangled body to Lucy made her throat close up. She thought of her gentle friend. She tried to imagine the way hate would contort her features but, for all the awful things she had done, all the ways she had failed Lucy in the past, she had no frame of reference. She knew that even now she was avoiding the full reality of what she’d done. Facing Lucy would mean facing this, and she couldn’t do either.

“I can’t…” 

Slowly, Porter nodded, “You’re right. She’d never forgive you.” He admitted callously. “None of them would ever look at you the same way again.” 

There was a pause. Wind whistled through the colossal, empty stone halls. “You were right to bring this to me.”

She was right. No one else would understand. She sniffled, trying to pull herself together. “There has to be something—” Something that didn’t involve a cleric. “Professor Stardiamond could summon something.” Just like their training in the woods. All the appearance of danger with none of its teeth.

“How would a monster have gotten here?” Porter asked, shaking his head. “No, that’s sloppy. You can do better.” He pressed. Then, “You wanted Ruben dead, didn’t you?” 

“No,” Kipperlilly said with so much conviction that she surprised even herself. She angled her face up to see the disbelieving expression looming over her. She allowed herself a glimmer of self-reflection, just a moment of honesty, to decipher her own meaning. “I wanted to kill him,” she admitted, “But I didn’t want him dead.”

“Those are the same thing.” 

They weren’t. Kipperlilly struggled against the fog of panic and misery in her head, trying to piece the words together. She had wanted the violence. She had relished sticking a knife between his ribs, but the consequences of those actions weren’t welcome. She hadn’t thought about them before they were real. But Porter was right; How could she have been so stupid? 

“I might be able to help.” Porter turned his eyes toward the still body between them. “But this wasn’t the plan. You were the one who agreed to the ritual. You were supposed to be my chosen.” He ground out the words in frustration. 

“What?” 

Some selfish dark thing seized in Kipperlilly’s gut. She remembered how she had felt special during the ritual. She had known that she would be relied upon. She would be great, with her name raised above the rest, when it came time for Porter to ascend. Despite the dead boy at her feet, she didn’t want to let that go. 

“The others will know something has happened, but they’ve already made their choice. That’ll need to be fixed.” 

“Fixed?”

“Go get Stardiamond.” Porter said, tone dismissive. “Bring him here and we’ll catch him up on the plan.”

“What do you mean fixed?” Kipperlilly had not asked for much. She obeyed dutifully. She paid her dues. She would follow Porter through the nine hells if it meant she got her shot at greatness; If she could be a legendary adventurer; If she could be better than the fucking Bad Kids. But, this once, she demanded an answer. 

“Even if we bring Ruben back, they’ll see you as a monster. We’ve got to get them on our side.” As if from nowhere, he produced a shatter star. It bathed the chamber in a low, pulsing red light, shifting as he examined it. It tore itself apart into fractal pieces and slammed back into itself. 

“How? They already made their choice.” 

Some more than others. Oisin, under the right circumstances, might have been convinced. He had a legacy to live up to; He understood ambition. Porter had talked about not giving up, about continuing to evangelize about rage, and the unnamed goddess. The others were never to know about Porter’s plan to ascend. But, they could be won over with stories about a plan to resurrect a dead goddess, with the promises of the glory that that would bring. But, these weren’t the right circumstances.

“We would have had time to change their minds.” Porter’s words were harsh, but grounding. It was Kipperlilly’s loss of control that had brought them here. Even if she couldn’t own up to the rest of it, she had to own up to that. “But there are other ways. Watch.” He instructed, and stepped forward to kneel over the corpse. 

The shatter star leapt forward from his hand, burrowing into the mutilated flesh in front of them. The forward motion was violent and eager, and the corpse thrashed disturbingly like a rag doll limp in the mouth of a vicious dog. Kipperlilly watched with wide eyes as blood splattered upward onto her already ruined clothes. 

The motion stopped and, for a fleeting moment and eerie peace settled on the room. Kipperlilly looked up, half panicked, to see the way Porter’s steady, focused eyes were fixed on the body between them. Before she could demand to know what was happening, a rasping breath shattered the silence and Ruben came flying upwards, sitting ramrod straight. 

An animalistic growl issued from somewhere deep in his chest. Kipperlilly stared—in horror or in awe she didn’t know—as Ruben’s wits returned to him and he turned on her with a murderous glare. 

“You fucking killed me!” He roared, launching toward her with a ferocious speed. She stumbled backwards in surprise, still not having fully processed that he was alive, and fumbled for her knife. 

Ruben’s hands were outstretched, his face contorted into a mask of animus and hostility. He was inches away from tackling her when he suddenly froze. He shook his head, and was left blinking in dazed confusion.

“We’ll have none of that.” Porter spoke, standing from where he’d been kneeling at eye level. “If you need to fight it out, let’s do it when there isn’t already a monumental mess to clean up.” He grumbled.

Ruben looked down at his bloody clothes, then back between Porter and Kipperlilly. “You killed me so I’d have to worship your stupid rage god?” His anger seemed more directionless, now, and that must have been just as well to Porter, who shrugged.

“You’d have to ask Kipperlilly why she killed you. My god and I just brought you back.” Porter brushed a speck of blood off his hands and onto his pants like it was a meer inconvenience, and added, “You’re welcome.”

“You’ll have to kill the rest of them?” Kipperlilly was slowly piecing it together.

Panic kicked at the inside of her ribcage. A tidal wave of thoughts came crashing down on her. This was her fault. Everyone could have had more time. She could have convinced them all eventually, the right way. But she had fucked it up. She had forced Porter’s hand. Ruben had chosen to worship rage rather than die. Everyone else would have to as well. But Lucy would never. 

Lucy would never. 

“Lucy’s stocked for revivify.” She blurted out, the words leaving her before she’d had time to process. “If she’s here while you’re killing the others—She can’t be here while you’re killing the others.” 

She could feel Ruben’s glare boring a hole in the side of her head, but she kept her eyes fixed on Porter. She would follow him through the nine hells. She would convince her friends to worship rage. She would kill them all, or let them die, if she must. But not Lucy. 

Lucy wouldn’t come back. Kipperlilly needed more time. She would have had it, if not for her own miserable wrath. 

Porter seemed to consider her words. “Get Stardiamond, tell him to bring the others to me. You keep Lucy busy. Tell her you don’t know where Ruben is, make her heal that cut on your hand. I don’t care, just handle it. You’ve made enough of a mess.”

Relief rushed over her, and Kipperlilly nodded, ever the dutiful soldier. “Right, of course.” Her eyes flickered briefly over to where Ruben’s burned into her like hot coals before she turned to carry out her marching orders. 

As she backtracked through the empty, echoing halls of the temple, she recalled slights against her and held them close to her chest like kindling for a fire. The way Oisin and Ivy would whisper behind their hands and snicker at her; Mary Ann’s brutal dismissal when she tried to bond with her; the betrayal of everyone when they changed their party name. The Rat Grinders could die. It was a price she was more than willing to pay for her own chance at greatness.  It was easier to take ownership of it all. To foster the anger inside and pretend that this was how she wanted things to go, rather than admit to losing control. The symbol of an unnamed god burned quietly against her chest.

[takamikeiigos]

Hewwo!! I see ur tags and I had to ask... feral Keigo huh... ? 👀 There's somethin' about reducing a usually chatty, friendly guy into nothing but seething, frustrated silence as he drags you towards the bedroom so he can stake his claim on u and maybe relieve some pent up stress

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!

okay there's like.. feral kei who fucks you good 'n hard, head empty and so caught up in the way your pussy feels around him

and then there's like... feral kei, who's tired of being optimistic, tired of the commission's bullshit and the way they expect him to bend and break at their every will.

he is exhausted. he is aggrieved. he is drawn tight like a bowstring, ready to snap.

it's not common - seeing keigo in such a tense demeanor. typically he tries not to let these things bother him, instead focusing on the bigger picture.

but let's just picture what it's like when keigo finally does let it slip. when he lets the frustration take its course and his patience and equanimity start cracking at the seams. to anyone else he'd seem untroubled - his usual charismatic self; a childish smile on his face as he drips reassurances and optimism to his peers like honey into warm tea.

but he is oh so tired, and you're able to notice something is off immediately. his wings are tightly drawn to his back, his shoulders tense as he walks through the front door of your shared space. his brow is pinched ever-so-slightly but the façade stays in place, and the way he greets you as if nothing is wrong makes your chest feel heavy.

of course, you'll try to pry it out of him. but it's about as useful as trying to light a fire with a pack of wet matches. he doesn't budge, instead tells you he's fine and not to worry about it. yet you continue to press the situation, because he rarely ever takes the time to open up or decompress; always moving so fast that he can barely keep up with himself.

and something clicks then. he raises his head - his gaze moving sharply from where it was once trained on the dinner plate in front of him to yours across the table. his pupils are reduced to thin slits - focused on where you're seated and holding you there, and the feathers of his wings are ruffled - standing on end.

you aren't expecting him to stand so abruptly, the dining room chair scraping across the floor in protest. he breathes in slow, deep; and his voice is low when he speaks, lined clean and sharp like the edge of a knife.

"do you want answers, songbird? because you keep asking questions. and quite frankly i'm tired of the constant prying from all of you."

he walks around the table, slow, like a predator toying with its food. it makes your breath catch in your throat, especially when he comes to a stop beside you, leaning forward and crowding into your space. the brush of his lips against your ear brings goosebumps to the surface of your skin, and you suppress a full-body shiver.

"i'll give you your answers, lovebird. but i'm going to fuck them into you, and you're going to take it and listen."

and he does just that; fucks you hard and deep, his grip on the back of your thighs unforgiving as he presses your legs to your chest, fucking you as thorough as he can.

"is this what you wanted?" he hisses, venom dripping from his words as he leers at you. "wanted to see what's got me so riled up? what happens when japan's number two gets fed up? tired of - fuck - tired of being used as a weapon? a toy?"

he raises a hand from one of your thighs and grips your face, his fingers rough against your cheeks as he squeezes.

"i'll show you exactly how i'm feeling, sweetheart. you'll see exactly what it feels like to be used - spread thin and fucking spent."

[thefallennightmare]

Soldiers-seven

credit to whoever created the gif. found on google/Pinterest.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes(winter soldier era) x Reader.

Warnings: angst, language, fluff, violence, smut.

Summary: Reader has spent the last seventy years in hell as a prisoner soldier; Hydra's greatest weapon. Well, second greatest weapon after The Winter Soldier. The only thing that got her through that hell was him, even if she was the one behind his biggest pain.

Authors Note: Smut ahead! Tags are open! There are a few sentences in Russian in this chapter, translations (best to me knowledge) will be at the bottom of this chapter.

Tags(open): @elizacusi-blog @pattiemac1 @yvessaintmuerte @mdpplgtz03 @mayjaysthots @broadwaybabe18 @sebsgirl71479 @yourfavunsub @themorningsunshine @nikwld @splendidreads @fall-myriad

6 MONTHS LATER

I let out an agitated groan as I let the sparks crackle to the tips of my fingers and wrap around the head of the man that kneeled before me. His cries of pain fell on deaf ears while I stared forward, keeping my eyes out in case anyone else surprised attacked me.

I scoffed at the thought. This man didn’t surprise me, nor did he even attack me. He thought he was being stealthy by sneaking up behind me but before he could press the blade of his knife across my throat, I spun on my heels and kicked his feet out from under him.

His body fell to the ground, lifeless eyes staring back up at me, and I stepped over it, the mission nearly finished. It was all I thought about, weighing heavy on my mind and shoulders because I knew that once I returned to the compound, it would put me in the good graces of Ivan. With how everything had been lately, that was something I desperately needed. I needed to show Ivan that he could send me on these high stake missions. Since he was now in charge, everything I did was under a hard gaze. He was apprehensive about my abilities ever since the first day they brought me to the compound. Even with everything I’ve accomplished for Zola, Ivan was still unsure.

At the thought of Zola, my heart dropped only for a split second. I didn’t feel sad that I missed him because I sure as hell did not. It was sad that now someone more ruthless than Zola was in charge. The Americans had captured Zola and there wasn’t a tear shed for that man from either Soldat or I.

Soldat.

My feet froze momentarily as I thought about him and how his mission was going. Our last mission together was when we hid in the closet, barely able to keep ourselves off of each other. When we returned a day later, we found out that Ivan was in charge and he did not like the idea of Soldat and I going together on missions.

If you both went on your own missions, we could get a lot more work done.

Ivan’s thick Russian words replayed in my mind and I shivered the exact way I did when he first said it.

While Soldat received all the high-stakes missions, they succumbed to Ivan’s errand girl. He only sent me in when he needed something cleaned up which is what I was doing now. One of Ivan’s men was supposed to steal an important document from this rich guy’s estate but failed when he was caught and hid somewhere in this house so Ivan sent me to find him and save him.

“Don’t forget the file!” Ivan called out after me while I was leaving the compound.

I turned the corner and met yet another dead end. An aggravating groan fell from my lips before I turned on my heels and went back the way I just came from. Whatever blueprints Ivan gave me for the estate haven't been updated in some time. They held the guy up in some kind of office but with four floors he could be in any of these rooms.

Stopping quickly, I decide to listen for where he was. I closed my eyes and focused on all the noises that were flowing through the house.

On the current floor, there were two voices down the long stretch of hallway. Young voices which meant kids, so I made a mental note to make sure they didn't catch me here. It still fucked my brain up from when I had to kill that young girl last year, I refused to do it again.

On the floor above me, there were two voices again, these older. Their breaths were short and raspy, moans echoing in my ears.

“Oh, Alexi. Harder.”

“Quiet! My wife is here, if she hears you I will cut off your tongue, understand?”

I rolled my eyes in disgust at the man who had no problem bringing his affair into the house where his wife and kids lived.

Two floors above, I heard a soft female voice singing while water ran in the background.

“Must be the wife,” I grumbled.

Then finally I heard Ivan’s man on the floor below me which I guessed was the basement. His cries were the only voice I heard downstairs and knowing that he was alone, I made quick work of slipping through the large house quietly, playing the errand girl yet again.

“Good work, Voin,” Ivan nodded with his lips pulled in a thin line as his hand gripped tight on the folder I had brought back.

Once he saw me stepping back into the compound with his man hoisted over my shoulder, he only cared for the folder that was tucked underneath my arm.

I nodded in return, hands clasped behind my back, as we stood in his office back at the compound. Finding his man tied up in a room in the basement was easy, as was the retraction and save as well. I got away with only killing two witnesses so as Ivan said; it was a good mission.

“Anything else?” I questioned.

Ivan ran a hand over his face as he mewled over something in his mind before shaking his head.

“You’ve done very well the last few weeks. I’m impressed. You can take the rest of the night off. No training or missions.”

I bit the sly remark deep into my tongue and nodded instead, quickly leaving his office before Ivan would change his mind. It was a rare occurrence after returning from a mission to take the rest of the day off. It usually was filled with rigorous training or leaving right away for another mission. But I couldn’t hide the small smile on my lips when I thought about everything I could do tonight.

First on my list was soaking away the dry sweat and blood from my body in the tub, letting the hot water ease my aching muscles. Then I’d spend the rest of the night in my small cot with the same book I had read countless times over. It wasn’t much but with the hell I had endured here the last handful of years; it was enough to bring a light up in my step.

There was hesitation in my steps as I came to a stop in front of Soldat’s living quarters. We haven’t seen each other in almost two weeks, both of our mission schedules not matching up. A part of me wondered if Ivan did that on purpose, he never liked the idea of Soldat and I being a team so it made sense that we would be sent on different paths. The door to Soldat’s room was closed so I couldn’t see if he was inside so I listened intently; I realized he wasn’t back yet from his mission. Ever since Ivan became in charge, he opted not to freeze Soldat in between missions only because they sent the both of us to one back to back. He would only freeze Soldat when Ivan deemed it necessary.

Thankfully, Ivan hasn’t made me erase Soldat’s memories in a long while. He wanted Soldat to be strong and remember every death that came at his metal fingers. My disgust at that was clear with the grumble low in my throat but I had to show I was happy about it; mostly because I wasn’t causing pain to Soldat.

Once safely inside my living quarters, I continued to walk the path toward my bathroom and let all of my things clatter to the floor. First were my weapons and the straps that held them. Then, I kicked off my boots; them sliding across the cold floor beneath my feet. I practically ripped myself out of my tac suit, the leather peeling away like a second skin. A guttural groan crawled its way through my throat when I let the cool air brush against my heated skin.

As the warm water filled the tub, I dared a glance in the mirror that hung above the sink. My hair was still in its braid to the side of my head, the end cascaded over my shoulder, and my eyes were dark with exhaustion. But that wasn’t what had my attention; it was the scars that littered all over my body.

Over the years being here, I had grown quite the collection from either missions or training. The largest and noticeably the worst one ran along my stomach, just above my belly button. It was about three inches long and the skin didn’t heal the greatest even with my super healing. The memory of how I got it was still fresh in my mind six years later.

I was on a mission, I couldn’t quite remember what for, but somehow got corned by two guards. I did my best to fight them off but when they eventually got the upper hand and dragged a hunter's knife across my stomach. My tac suit at the time wasn’t as strong and thick as it is now so the sharpness of the blade cut clean through. The blood pooled around my feet and for a moment; I thought I would die. But that thought left my mind as soon as it crept in. I gained some strength to kill the two guards and finish my mission.

The sudden cloud of stream brought me out of my past and I turned towards the tub, shutting off the water. With the tips of my toes first, I slowly stepped into the tub and let the heat of the water scold my skin. It washed away the remnants of today and I closed my eyes allowing myself to relax for the first time in quite some time. I hummed a Russian tune, my gentle voice echoing off the walls of my bathroom and when the water lost the warmth that my body craved, I reached for my shampoo. The peach scent made me immediately think of Soldat.

He told me when we were in the closet together that he loved the smell of my shampoo and ever since then I made sure to always use it. One of the few luxuries I could have here.

Once the bath was ice cold now, I stepped out and then wrap a towel around my body. The scratchy material felt rough on my skin but as always, I ignored it thankful that I could even take a bath. For being held captive here, Zola made sure I had everything I needed, with some restrictions. Ivan kept that rule once he took over.

My feet padded through the bathroom back to my bedroom where I froze suddenly, the large body looming in the doorway. The pounding in my chest from my heart was so loud and hard, I heard it echoing loudly in my ear as my mouth ran dry.

“Soldat,” I breathed.

His burning eyes watched me, unmoving. He still wore his mask and tac suit which meant he had returned from his mission probably not that long ago.

Feeling hot under his gaze, I gripped the towel tighter around me afraid it might slip through my shaking fingers. Usually, I have better control of myself when around him but this was the first time I had seen him since our time in the small closet; I wasn’t sure how he would react because of it.

Did he regret it?

Was he upset that I grabbed the side of his head?

Did it turn him on as much as it did me?

Did he think about it like I had?

“How was your mission?” I asked trying to ease the sudden tension between us.

“Eto bylo khorosh.”

The Russian words were muffled through his mask but I understood.

It went well.

I nodded once then took a step towards the dresser to grab some clothes. Soldat moved towards it before I could, blocking my path. My shoulders went rigid in slight fear. For the first time since we had been working together, Soldat was unreadable in what his actions meant and that scared the absolute shit out of me. I didn’t know why he was in my room, this being the first time. I was the one who trained him into who he was today so I knew if he was going to attack me, I would have a chance against him.

My mind swirled with so many scenarios on why he was in here. The one that stood out was that maybe Ivan had said those damn words to mind control him and sent him in here to kill me. Maybe Ivan wasn’t happy with how well my mission went and sent Soldat to take care of me.

“Soldat,” his name came out in a breath, “I need to get dressed.”

He stood unnerved, still blocking my dresser.

I let out a deep breath. “Please move.”

The way his hazel eyes burned into me made my entire body shiver with delight, goosebumps pricking at my skin. When I saw something twitch underneath his pants, I realized he was not here to kill me. Soldat was here for a different reason. My tongue rolled over my bottom lip slowly as the grip on my towel lightened a bit but did not let go.

“You don’t want me to get dressed, do you?” I asked.

Anyone without the trained eye I had would have said Soldat didn’t move his head, but I saw it; a small shake.

The surrounding tension became thick with something sexual and with one large breath, I let the towel fall to my feet now standing bare in front of Soldat. His eyes darkened with lust and my usual strong demeanor faded the longer he stared at me.

His name faltered off my tongue when he began stalking towards me like a predator ready to catch his prey after hunting them all day. The bottom strands of his hair bounced against his shoulder, eyes bright with desire. He was backing me farther into the room and only stopped when my back hit the wall. Soldat was so close to me, I could feel his warm breath through the holes of his mask. I could feel how wet I was between my legs because of his stare alone.

I clenched them together, hoping that it would curb my desire for a few moments.

One metal finger raised to my face, tracing the line of my cheek then my jaw, stopping at my bottom lip. The coolness of it ghosted over my bottom lip before all of his fingers wrapped around my throat and my blood filled with something other than fear.

Sheer ecstasy.

Soldat’s fingers gripped my neck, not tight enough to cut off my oxygen but hard enough to leave faint marks. I wanted to speak, but no words reached my lips.

His thumb pressed under my chin so he lifted my face closer to him, his nostrils flaring.

“Peaches,” was the only word he muttered.

I knew what it meant though; my shampoo.

Hand still wrapped aroung my neck, Soldat pressed his large thigh between my legs and the roughness of his pants scratched against my pussy. I moaned in pleasure with my eyes fluttering shut.

“YA tak davno khotel poprobovat' tebya.” His breath fanned over my lips.

I swallowed the large lump in my throat as best as I could with Soldat’s hand still wrapped around me. He still wore his mask and as much as I wanted in off so I could see all of his face, the thought of coming undone under him while he wore his ignited my skin.

“Soldat,” I whined at his words while rubbing my core against his thigh, trying to chase the high I desperately needed.

He grunted in response, hand dragging away from my neck and wrapping around my back. Our chests pressed together, and I pulled at all the straps and buckles of his vest hoping to get it off.

“Please,” I begged, a puddled mess in his embrace.

I kept rubbing my pussy against his thigh, my arousal coating his pants, as my high was so close I could almost taste it on my tongue.

“Y/N,” he groaned my name into the skin of my neck.

Being this close, I could hear him more clearly underneath the mask and knew that by the tone of his voice, my actions on his thigh was sending him over the edge as well. My hands began treading down his chest to the front of his pants where his erection was begging to be let out. Before my hand could palm it, Soldat gripped my hands and pinned them above my head.

“Oh fuck,” I moaned.

With my hands pinned above me and my erratic movements against his thigh, I felt myself bleeding into the white light of an orgasm.

So close. So fucking close.

I was afraid to do anything wrong or differnt to cause Soldat to step away from me. It had been so long since I had an orgasm and craved it so bad. As if he could tell, his metal fingers pinched and pulled at my nipples before cupping my breast into his hand. Feeling his finger work the perky buds of my nipples and my wetness soaking his pants was enough to make me reach the edge, but I needed a bit more to push me off.

“Konchi dlya menya, kukolka,” Soldat ordered through the confines of his mask.

That was all I needed. His words in Russian urging me to cum for him to tip me over the edge, a mind screaming orgasm wrecking through my entire body. I writhed against Soldat whose arms now wrapped around me to keep me steady as I rode out the last of my orgasm against him.

Our eyes locked and through my blissed out gaze, I saw his pupils were blow wide, blackness clouding his usual hazel eyes.

“Soldat,” I crooned his name, my pussy throbbing against him.

No words came from him as Soldat let me go, the coldness of the room painting over my blazed skin, and turned his back to me, leaving me standing in the middle of my room alone.

Eto bylo khorosh.-it went well

Konchi dlya menya, kukolka-cum for me, doll

YA tak davno khotel poprobovat' tebya-i've wanted to taste you for so long.

[justporo]

A Song of Night and Laughter (Part 13)

In which Astarion again says "Murder is okay, but not to disrespect my wife" because obviously, people didn't hear him the first time - so he says it harder... and with a knife.

Song for this one: Killing Time - Jordan Fiction

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You)

Warnings: Descriptions of violence

“You really thought you would get away with holding a knife to my throat, vampire spawn?”, Miyena hissed. The blade pressed into Astarion’s neck. You were frozen against the stone wall and since Astarion was being threatened and you were pressed up against him to a wall, you had exactly zero options to do something.

The vampire didn’t even spare Miyena a look. His eyes were boring into yours, highly alert and threatening although you knew it wasn’t because of you. His pupils were diluted, his body tense like a panther ready to pounce.

“And you really thought you could kill a vampire with a simple blade like this? You wound me – only figuratively so though”, he spoke with a sneer, seemingly not stressed out at all. You felt the slightest shift in his posture that allowed you just a tad of movement.

“Of course not, I’m not the idiot you’ve taken me for, vampire”, the tiefling woman answered with a hideous smile on her face. Then suddenly Astarion could feel a sharp stake press into his back. He cursed under his breath, his eyes wandering skywards where the moon shone in defeat but still keeping the nonchalant façade. This man would seemingly never lose his teasing and sassy nature – not even in the face of death. Maybe that was when he especially needed it.

You gulped but your mind raced feverishly trying to think of a way out of this. For starters, you decided to keep her talking: “How did you manage to get away from the cityguard? The place was swarming with them!” It worked, the tiefling’s focus shifted to you even though a wince from Astarion made sure to remind you that the stake was still pressing into his back.

“You are not the only one proficient with lockpicking and sneaking around – remember that we are thieves? And I am not as dull as Eodin. And you really think these sad little puppy guards could hold me for long?”, she hissed at you and spitting out your former friend’s name – she surely changed alliances quickly. You could see her arrogant sneer, her dark blue hair shimmering in the silvery moonlight.

But you had her where you wanted her: showing off and wasting precious time talking. Astarion had managed to shift his position ever so slightly. His eyes bored into yours again, flicking to the side for a split second. You understood.

When Miyena was about to tell you how she planned to take her revenge on you especially, you whirled out from under Astarion’s arm and swished to grab at the tiefling’s hand that was holding the stake. Meanwhile Astarion grabbed the hand that was holding the dagger and basically ripped it away from his throat then using her arm to twirl her around – not entirely different from the way he had made you do when you had danced.

The tiefling who had no hands free to do anything, yelped in shock. You twisted her hand to let go of the stake. It clattered to the cobblestones of the alley. You immediately grabbed it and broke it over your thigh then threw the parts further down the dark alley. Then you turned back around again.

Astarion had Miyena in a chokehold and he was the one again having a knife at her throat. His face was contorted in hatred and his fangs bared. You could almost see his red eyes glow, but it must have been a shimmer of the icy moonlight. The panther had pounced and had its teeth around his victim’s neck.

“You really thought you could come out here and threaten me and Tav?”, he hissed at the tiefling who was now helplessly grabbing at his arm holding her head in a tight chokehold – a far cry from the cocky demeanor she had been showing only a few moments ago. “You really thought you could come out here and just kill a vampire?”, he hissed with an even harsher tone. Fury radiated off Astarion, sending lava-hot and icy-cold shivers down your spine all at the same time.

He was basically feral: the way he held Miyena who clearly had not much air left and then on top of that a blade pressed to her face, that had already knicked the skin. You could see a thin line of blood running down her cheek. Even from a distance you could see his pupils dilate – not sure if caused by adrenaline or the smell of the tiefling’s blood that surely most have hit him holding her that close. And with that you saw that Astarion was only mere moments away from completely losing it.

There was a choice you had to make, and quickly. Let her be killed by your soulmate while you stood and watched – she had been the one threatening you in the first place after all – or step in. You felt cold hatred for her and fury deeply inside you which mimicked Astarion’s outer rush of emotions. A part of you would be delighted to see her killed, watch Astarion slit her throat right in front of you. Coming to this conclusion scared you: knowing what you’d be capable of if it was Astarion’s life that was at stake.

But for all the dark violent feelings you had, you still felt compassion: you had worked together for many years, overcome many challenges and shared many hardships – even though you might’ve never really considered her a friend. And you had never been a coldblooded killer – and you sure as all hells wouldn’t start now.

“Astarion”, you whispered. His gaze connected with yours, his face immediately softening. “Please”, you whispered again so faintly there is almost no sound at all. For a heartbeat or two you see different urges battle on the vampire’s face but he finally releases his hold on the tiefling’s neck. He kept holding her with an iron grip though and pressed the dagger against her neck.

Miyena coughed and wheezed trying to fill her lungs with air again, her eyes full of panic. She dared not to try and speak.

Astarion grabbed her by the chin and made her look at him – her faces so close they could’ve kissed. “I’ll have you know that if it had only been me you’d be dead now – leaking out onto the cobblestones”, he spoke intently, enunciating every syllable and with that showing his fangs with every single word. “And if you ever try to threaten us again or send someone else after us or even if I just see you across the street: know that I will kill you and I will make it slow.” Then Astarion’s eyes wandered to you again. Anger still swirled in them but there was also understanding and worry – for you.

You were sure that that was it. That he would let her go now and you’d never see a piece of her again. But Miyena obviously had thoughts on that. “You are so fucking pathetic, Tav, you know that?”, she scoffed and spat on the ground. “You run around acting all goodie-goodie like you’re better than all of us. But you’re a liar and the thief like the rest of us and probably a killer too. And still, you act like that, even making your pet vampire…”

A slash of silver, a feral hiss, a huge spray of crimson blood and a body toppled to the ground. Your eyes widened in shock. Astarion knelt over Miyena’s body. You feared that he had actually lost control. But then you saw the tiefling move, not dead.

The vampire was still standing over the tiefling and it seemed he was whispering something to her, Miyena’s eyes widened and she started to scurry away from him in panic, but slipped on the steady stream of thick red blood that had started running down her throat. The vampire stood up again. “If you run now you’d might find someone in time to save you from bleeding out. I’d hurry though – and don’t fucking scream or I will get you yet”, Astarion said cooly to her.

This time time the tiefling cut her losses for good and got up to her feet and tumbled away – her wound leaving a trail of red. Astarion let the dagger clatter to the ground and turned to you.

You could see his whole face and half his body was splattered with the tiefling’s blood. His pupils were almost blotting out the red of his irises. He started to prowl towards you – his demeanor still predatory and his movement almost feline. His eyes never left yours until he was standing right in front of you. You saw the hunger in his eyes. He licked over his lips slowly, his eyes flickering shut as he tasted the fresh blood that coated them. Your lips opened as you watched his head roll back in bliss and saw his Adam’s apple work as he was trying to regain composure. Then he looked at you again, cocking his head with a smirk that barely did anything to hide the desire that clouded his features.

“Now, where were we, darling?”

Tags: @daedriclys

[pandalorian36]

Eric Coulter x Reader

Reader has been in love with Eric for ages little do they know he feels the same way and everything comes to light after a heated training session.

Gender neutral reader Warnings: Allusions to smut at the end. Mentions knives and guns.

Word count: 988

"Eric. I frown knocking on the door again "Eric?" the lock clicks and Eric appears his bulky form filling the gap "What?" I blink several times willing my brain to catch up with itself, Eric in nothing but loose grey sweats causing my brain to short circet. "Y/N?" I clear my throat "Erm, yea. Sorry. Max asked me to give you these." I hand him several folders "Right see you later, I'm going to go train."

"Y/N." I turn "Yea?"

"I'll head down with you. Just give me a sec." I smile tightly my pulse quickening slightly "Sounds great." He reappears with a t-shirt and dark trousers the two of us walking down to the training room. I start wrapping my hands while walking over to the punch bags running through basic exercises trying to ignore the six foot wall of muscle behind me.

Finishing with the punch bag I move to the targets picking up a handful of knives making the mistake of glancing over at Eric who is using the pull up bar arm muscles rippling. Turning away I pause a moment to clear my head before positioning my feet going to throw my first one yelping when a hand presses against my spine, swivelling around pressing the blade to the persons throat another to their stomach. "Good reflexs." I relax pulling away "Is that your idea of funny?" he chuckles holding up his hands "Sorry, all I was going to say was straighten your spine." I glare "I was about to until you interupted."

He grins picking up his own knifes "How about a little compotition?" I raise an eyebrow feeling confident, he's skilled with a gun but I know I am better with knives "Alright, what are the stakes?" he grins flipping his knife around "If I win I get to kiss you somewhere of my choosing," he pauses while I feel my cheeks heating "If you win you can have a whole weekend off."

"Really?" he nods and I grin "Alright then. Five throws, highest score wins."

I throw my first knife hitting just above the cross at the centre. He throws his hitting the edge of the inner circle. Smirking slightly I throw my next two hitting left and right of cross in a tight group. Eric hits the centre ring of too the left with his second and third. Fourth and fifth both hitting dead centre. I throw my fourth hitting the centre mark dead on and flick my wrist back ready to throw my fifth when Eric brushes up against my back causing me to release the dagger to early hitting the outer circle. "Looks like I win."

I scowl turning to face him "You distracted me." he chuckles leaning down "I win." I take a step back breath hitching "I errr." He grins tilting my chin up with a finger "You alright darlin?" I nod breathing heavily "Yep. Fine. Fine." He leans closer backing me up into a wall one hand resting above my head "You think I don't notice the stares? How your eyes always linger. Don't worry I do it too."

His lips press against mine his hands wrapping under my thighs lifting me up against the wall. I loop them around his waist arms wrapping around his neck as his tounge pushes past my lips. A soft moan escapes my throat making him pull away grinning pupils blown wide "Been wanting to do that for a while." I smile breathing heavily "Feel free to do it again." he chuckles kissing me again one hand cupping the back of my head deepening the kiss.

"Perhaps we should make this a regular training exercise." I grin feeling light headed as I drop my feet back to the floor "I like the sound of that." he grins kissing me again leaving me breathless and weak kneed "Same time tomorrow." he leaves and I stare after him in shock before recovering enough to go after him slamming my fist against his door "Eric!"

He opens the door smirking "Can I help sweetheart?" I scowl pushing him in the chest "You can't just kiss me like that then walk away. That's... That's.." he smirks backing me into his door "That's what?" I clear my throat frowning "Its ummm." he leans down grinning "What do you want to say love?" I scowl crossing my arms "I don't think its fair the power you hold over me. I've been in love with you for the past year then you finally kiss me and you just leave."

I feel my eyes widen shit I shouldn't have said that. Eric takes a step back "What?" I shake my head "Nothing. No it doesn't matter. I'm just going to go." Large hands wrap around my wrists preventing me from leaving lips crashing into my own. I relax into his grip as his hands slip around my waist "Don't go." I nod "Okay." he frowns grip tightening "I'm not good with words. Or feelings." I smile as he leans down again for a much softer kiss fingers brushing against my cheek "Your smart, strong, stunning. Ever since you knocked me to the ground in initiation I've wanted to tell you." I smile softly hands resting on his chest "You don't have to say anything if you don't want..."

"I love you."

I think my heart skips a beat as I move my hands around his neck "So what do we do now?" he grins "Now I've got you, I'm never letting you go." he steps back sitting on the sofa and pulling me into his lap something bright shining in his eyes I've never seen before. "What?" he shrugs grinning "Just looking forward to our next training session." I chuckle leaning so our lips are almost touching "We could have our own private training session right now." smirking his grip tightens "I like the sound of that." 

[ladyantiheroine]

We Both Have Teeth

Summary: Two monsters crawl back to their humanity.

Pairing: R x fem!vampire!reader

Requested by @kpopgirlbtssvt

Also tagging: @ninebluehearts​

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

Monsters had a habit of finding each other. Despite having lived as a vampire for centuries, you didn’t learn this until after the apocalypse. Vampires had managed to stay under the radar for a millennium, keeping the supernatural world a secret. 

Then, of course, the zombies had to show up and ruin everything. Once the dead started to rise, it didn’t take long for humans to start seeking out what other supernatural beings could exist. And this trend of hunting down anything that wasn’t always and fully human began.

You kept quiet for a while, but it was only a few months into the end times that someone caught you feeding on one of the compound’s livestock in a way that didn’t involve a fork and knife. You barely managed to escape the compound into the night before they sent a stake through your heart.

You wandered the wasteland for ages, sleeping in shelters during the day and walking amongst the dead by night. Corpses didn’t bleed, so feeding on them was futile. You tried to stick with animal blood as long as you could. But every now and then, a human would approach you and, seeing you were not a corpse, came to you for help. A decision they regretted when your sunk your own teeth into their flesh.

It was a lonely existence. You didn’t need to worry about survival, but everyone else di, and so there were no friends on your horizon.

Until him.

The corpse boy with the soulful blue eyes who couldn’t remember his name beyond the first letter. R, the zombie who found you feeding on the last suvivor wandering around the airport and took you back to his airplane home. The one who was not frightened by your monsterousness, but instead let it mesh with his own.

Suddenly, everything changed. You were both still monsters, but at least you weren’t alone. It was the two of you against the world. You lived together, fed together, and you were happy together.

Until, one day, R’s heart started beating.

The dead started changing. The world was not as hopeless as everyone thought, and it didn’t take long to figure out what the cure was: Love.

Just when you found your partner in monterousness, that same love you shared was turning him back to human. His pale face flushed, his body puled with life. You could feel it every day when you snuggled together under the quilt. Your corpse lover was becoming less and less dead.

Meanwhile, there appeared to be no cure for vampirism. You found yourself smiling less to hide your fangs, eating less so he wouldn’t see you feed from creatures’ blood. Eventually, R confronted you.

“Y/N,” he said. His voice was getting crisp and clear, no longer struggling to moan out words. “You’ve been different lately. What’s happened?”

You could hear the other question in his voice. He was being cured, becoming human, wasn’t that supposed to be a good thing? You felt selfish for wishing he were still a corpse, but you couldn’t deny what this meant for you both.

“I…” you said. “I just…I keep thinking about what this means. You’re alive, and that’s good, but…that means you’ll die again eventually. “ You looked at the ground. “Meanwhile, creatures like me never die. We just go on and on on…”

You sniffled, unable to look him in the eye. It was quiet in your airplane home and the air was thick with uncertain tension. Your voice felt corked inside your throat and you tried to restrain your tears as you speak.

“It’s selfish,” you said. “But…I miss how we were before. Us against humanity. But now you’re becoming human and…” You squeezed your teary eyes. “And I’m still like this.”

You began to quietly weep. Then, you felt two fingers lift your chin up. R looked down into your eyes, his blue gaze holding yours. He gently wiped the tears form your cheeks.

“Nothing has changed,” he said. He took your hand and pressed it to his chest. You felt his heartbeat, that life-pulsing rhythm in his ribcage you’d grown to resent. “I love you, Y/N. Having blood in my veins hasn’t changed that. All it means is that when I look at you, you can feel your effect on me.”

His heart was a vibrant thing under your hands. You felt a warmth in your hand, which you assumed came from him.

Your pursed your lips then paused. Something felt…different.

“Wait,” you said.

You turned and approached the airplane bathroom. You glanced into the mirror and showed your teeth. Your fangs…they were missing. They’d retracted into your gums and now resembled normal human canine teeth. Moreover, you felt…warm all over. In a way you hadn’t sinced before you were turned centuries ago.

You lifted your hands to your face. R stumbled behind you and looked at you in the mirror. He seemed t pick up what was happening.

“I want to be human again, Y/N,” he said. He walked up behind you and rested his chin on your head. “But I don’t want humanity unless you’re a part of it too.”

You turned around to face him. In that moment, both your heartbeats seemed to duet together, two warm bodies flushed and racing and full of more life than either of you could remember.

You gave him a small smile. Tears trickled from your eyes, but this time not from sorrow. You stepped closer and wrapped your arms around his neck

“Be human with me, R,” you whispered into his lips. “Let’s start this again together.”

R smiled, and pressed his burning lips to yours.

[johnnyssexytimes]

❛  wall .   to  pin  my  muse  against  a  wall . + ❛  oral .   to  give  my  muse  oral . -- @lovesver

you would think he was hungry, behaving the way he was. he had been watching for quite some time now -- watching from the dark corner of the room as leland talks to his prey amidst this motel room, the prey touching him, kissing on him. johnny felt the blood under his skin boil, an inferno that was on the verge of hell break. leland knows what he's doing -- it doesn't fall unnoticed the times leland looks his way, fishing for his reaction, knowing just how much it does.

he had to be the only one to touch leland like that. his leg bounces, bouncing from the ball of his foot & he chews at his cheek. are you done? a brow raises & his head tilts downward -- it was a question, one that he doesn't seem to get the reaction to immediately. a noise escapes leland & he feels the blood rush to his gut, like a punch.

there was another thing about johnny -- he was unpredictable, but yet, when fueled with possessiveness & jealousy? he was an open book. they both knew how this was going to end. & as said, knife comes to stab the stranger through the back, his other hand coming to leland's face. slit his throat. the narrowing of his eyes demand. & leland listens -- watching from the corner of his eye the blood that spurts forward, gushing, coating. he listens to the dying gasps, the dying breaths, as weakness fall over the stranger. slowly, johnny removes his knife from his back. puts it into the back of his neck, through his throat. the blade peaks through. johnny lets go of the knife, stepping away as the body falls & johnny gives the body a harsh kick -- to turn it enough to where he can retrieve his knife. later, though. he had something more important right now.

❛ what the fuck was that? ❜ johnny's tone sounds abrasive, but if actions spoke louder than words, they would : with johnny stepping around the body, his freed hand coming to take the other side of leland's face. there's a glimmer in his eye, a predator that wants to stake claim to what is his. he leans forth, crashing his lips into leland's. his hands fall from his face to bunch together the collar of his damned shirt. the fabric lifts, if but a little, with his vice grip, like it was the only thing keeping leland to him. he shifts a little, leading them around the motel room, if but little by little.

❛ fuckin' idiot ... ❜ he whispers when the kiss breaks, when his voice breathes, though the break doesn't last long. only reaching for air. johnny's hands grip onto the fabric of the shirt & tug at it, using his strength to tear it away. the kiss breaks, hearing leland's rough & breathy "hey --" before it is interrupted, johnny pushing leland back against the wall, practically slamming himself into him. he grabs leland's hands, using his force to pin them up above his head. his mouth presses kisses to leland's cheekbone, lowing to his jaw. open, sloppy, needy kisses that press to leland's throat.

❛ fuckin' hell ... ❜ johnny breathes into leland. he bites hard in a particular spot of his neck, a soft suckling at the bite to claim. i need you. the words don't come out. once again, actions spoke louder than words. he moves to press a leg between leland's, lightly moving his leg against leland's crotch, his own hips lightly bucking to get friction from leland's leg, his mouth detaching from leland's neck to meet his face, to press nose to nose, letting the warm breath of another get shared between them. pitiful. funny how even when he was seething with anger how hard he got, straining already in those jeans that left little to the imagination.

❛ wanna suck y' off, ❜ johnny lays the offer down between them, lays the metaphoric cards on the table. his head tilts & he watches as leland's face contorts. watches as brow furrows, a series of many emotions that seem to flow through him. he gets a nod. ❛ i need more than that & y' know it, baby, ❜ johnny whispers, halting his leg, halting the friction. a breathy yes releases from leland's mouth, the curve of johnny's lips raise. ❛ good boy, ❜ johnny praises, letting go of leland's hands. they trace his body -- tracing the outline of him, removing the ripped apart shirt. don't need that much anymore, do we?

his hand meets leland's clothed crotch, fingers that rub along it as he shifts, dropping himself to his knees. he looks up at leland -- narrowed eyes that dare ask, once again: may i? & he scoots himself closer, pressing against leland. his hand continues, he hears another breathy yes from above, urging him. johnny chuckles, then. how eager. he brings his head closer, his tongue coming from his mouth to lick a long, wet stripe against leland's clothed member, watching as it starts to stiffen.

johnny looks up at leland, his head cocking to the side. his fingers fiddle with the button of the pants, unbuttoning them. he opts to drop his hands for now, nuzzling his face into leland's crotch once. his teeth bite onto the zipper of the pants & flawlessly, zips them down. hot kisses press to leland's abdomen, right above the waistband of peeking underwear, of opened jeans. leland shifts before him, briefly, the shuffling of fabrics that lower, making it easier for johnny.

johnny licks at his lips at the sight, of leland exposed to him. wasn't a first, never a last. johnny looks like a starving man, still. like this was his dessert, like this was his treat. like this was everything he longed for. johnny twists his body in a way, with his legs widening so he can sink down further to the ground. a nuzzle of leland's cock, johnny's head lingers under, pressing soft kisses, small suckling at testicles. johnny's eyes focus in on leland, watching him from above. grab my hair, it's fine. his tongue laps from below, licking long beneath. he feels his mouth water a little. as tongue meets the head of leland's cock, his tongue flicks at the head, meeting slit. laps & twists gently before his mouth engulfs him.

careful, johnny reminded himself, tempting as it was to just bite down. he didn't want to hurt leland. not like that. not something he'd admit, either. he takes in leland, slowly, little by little. dry, salty. he knows the taste of him, a flavor he's had on his tongue once or twice. he feels a lil thick bead or two, he'd assume precum. swallows it, sinks leland's cock further into his mouth.

& he stops, eyes upward as he continues to stare at leland. how does this feel? he hums, vibrating his throat, his mouth, added feeling, as leland's cock is buried. the tickle of pubic hairs urges johnny's nose to scrunch, but he doesn't. no gag reflex. he mimics another swallow, to let his mouth tighten briefly. & slowly, his head raises back up, his tongue pressing to the underside of leland's cock.

it's instant, then -- johnny's head bobs against leland's cock. he shifts in such a way that he can press himself into leland's leg, rubbing himself along his shoe. some sort of friction. he feels the hand in his hair grip, tightening, feeling a nice burn on his scalp. & johnny doesn't think he can get enough.

[sacrilegious-skeletal-scribe]

and the rain tasted of blood and plague, amen

the cicadas haven’t finished their number yet when you pull me past the drawn curtains

coming to rest in a hallway that smells like stale cigarettes and shed skin

my teeth fondle a joke about sight-lines and alibis and body bags

my fingers reach for it like a favorite lighter, but still all by themselves

because i’m afraid to see your face shutter, a hand stilling on your waistband

(i’ve always been squeamish about seeing the knife coming)

you waited for questions, an escape route, a cattle prod

but i don’t think i could get my voice past the weight in the air if i wanted to

(cowards press against each other like suffocating magnets; we’ve talked about this)

so you clear your empty throat and drag us past the exit sign that’s been mouthing off since we got back here

pacing a half-covered loading dock while a rainstorm leers down at us

i watch the motion scrape rust off your lungs, a gear or twelve kicked back into place

your voice whirring to life while red slurry seeps around your flashing teeth

(what else could it be but rust)

questions glint on the surface of a shouting match neither of us want anything from

broken glass smiling innocently up from a bed of rock salt

you spin against the railing, slam your hands against dirt and old metal

and i swallow the urge to pitch you over it

(it’s only six feet he’ll survive you’ve always wanted to bounce his head off a parking lot)

nothing would come out of it but an assault charge

(but aren’t you dying to find out)

you make it ten minutes before the rain swallows the hard edges of your speech

the hum of your throat like a skipping record halfway down a stairwell

i could step forward, interject, offer supplication or anger or peace

but my heels sink further into the concrete like they are witnessing something holy

and you stride past my peripheral vision like you are fleeing something

(and i am eight years old)

and there is a pastor on a spotlit stage

the ground beneath me reeks of dust and guilt and there is fire in the shape of a man 

who glares at the room as if we collectively put the stakes in the bronze angel sobbing over our heads

and then there is whiskey and meat on my tongue

and i realize you pressed yourself into my skin while i was not in it

and i wait for you to pull away so that i might look you in the eye when i sink this ship properly

but there are already tears in your eyes when you peel off me

and i hadn’t finished rearranging my mouth to put them there yet

so i press all the lines out of my face and watch you scream yourself hoarse

waiting for the other shoe to drop, hands fisted in the soft skin of my forearms

and you continue to work yourself up to something

until an impossible bolt of lighting spilts the world under my fingernails

(a lightbulb blew in the hallway we left exposed on our way outside)

and certainty drops into my stomach like brick to well

(someone is, in fact, going to die on this balcony)

but the desperation sloughing off your footsteps doesn’t carry you into arms length

and suddenly you are quiet, sorrow slipping off your face like you can’t help it

and you apologize like it’s killing you

and the wind is still kicking rain into our exposed socks

(eyes hearts clothes pain spite skin)

and i have to wonder if it’s the blood or the alcohol talking

and the water just keeps coming down

sobbing like it has been party to an execution

but we both know neither of us have ever cried like that

like we could curdle milk with our salt-coated teeth

(probably not for lack of trying)

better to finger the rim of a bottle from a dissolving sack

to smile with the ease of dress-shirt buttons

to earn that kick in the teeth rather than forget it’s coming

so with venom in mind my mouth drops open

and is flooded with light, a sun clawing past the curtain of rain

a passing spotlight from the service road neither of us realized was back here

heart dropping out of my throat when the lumbering gaze finally slides past us

knocking dully against my lungs as the back of your head catches its breath

(i was never very good at reading the room)

and malice is hard to keep pinned to the back of a strangers head

(turn around so i can get this murder one charge back up to speed)

[judassamara]

hunted

After spending the day with his favourite vampire, curled up on the sofa and watching science documentaries about all sorts of things, Judas had stepped out into the warm night air. They preferred to wake up in their own bed, not just because they had work to do the next morning but because it was their own and they hadn’t owned much luxuries in the past century and they wanted to enjoy it now. They weren’t paying much attention to their surroundings, instead just listening to the heartbeats of the people in the immediate area. There were only so many at this time of night. Even then, he hadn’t expected to run into anyone on this short stretch of street, empty and oddly dark without the street lights. Yet, there were two people in front of him and, as they soon realise, one behind them. 

They didn’t expect much, planning on getting past the strange pair in front of him clearly up to no good. Why else would they be wearing masks? He knew they were humans from their scent alone and wasn’t worried. At least not until they felt an impact on the back of their head. In an instant, they began to feel a familiar and entirely unwelcome sensation. It may have only been 5 months since their release, but over 120 years of being depowered in Zamok meant they knew exactly what it felt like, even it this wasn’t as effective. They still felt some of their strength and, with these attackers being human, it would be enough. 

Over the years, they’d been in enough prison fights to handle a few good hits. These hits came from various weapons because, of course, a human wasn’t going to attack a vampire unarmed. Between whatever they’d hit him with to weaken him and the way they whispered about “catching one alive”, it was clear this was all intentional and somewhat planned out. Still, Judas wasn’t one to go down without a fight and they already had the blood of humans on their hands. They weren’t afraid to add a little more. 

A crossbow bolt dug into the back of his shoulder as they closed the distance between himself and the two in front of them, one armed with a wood stake and another with a large knife. He went for the one with the knife first, knowing it was a more dangerous weapon. There was something unsettling about it, though he couldn’t pinpoint what in that instant. A solid punch with half the strength of a vampire was still enough to knock the human back, stumbling backwards while the other stabbed at him repeatedly with their stupid wooden stake. Grabbing that one by the wrist, the vampire flipped them to the ground on their back and took the stake, stabbing it into their shoulder. While they cried out in pain, Judas turned their attention back to the one with the knife as they swung it, slashing at him. 

Something far more solid stabbed at their back and jolts of electricity shot through them, enough to stun and disorientate them. In that time, the other two were back, hitting him with whatever they had. It was ironic, the blade managing to cut across his neck like a vampire’s bite. It created a large gash that immediately began to paint his clothing red with blood. Judas was so used to closed fists, meant to bruise and batter and send a message. This certainly was not that and he was going to stop treating it like it was.

Their hand shot up, wrapping around the throat of the human in front of him even as electricity rocked through them once more from the cattle prod pressed into their back and the wooden stake beat at his torso. Their nails dug into the human’s neck as they lifted them by their throat, letting blood coat their hand. The blade dropped to the ground with a clatter as feeble human hands tried to pry at the vampire’s. The prod came down like a bat on their arm, enough force on their elbow for their arm to bend under the sudden impact and loosen their grip. They stumbled back as the three humans grouped together a few meters away from him.

Hearing the frantic voices agreeing to get away while they still could, Judas backed down, feeling the various wounds beginning to affect them. They were bleeding from their injuries and their muscles began to ache from the hits he hadn’t realised he’d taken. Pressing their hand to the large wound across their neck, he leaned down to scoop up what he now realised was a dagger, clearly enchanted in some way. It was clear that he wasn’t healing as quickly as they would normally and they hastened their trip back home, dagger gripped firmly in his hand. It wouldn’t do him any good to stay out on the streets. 

One way or another, he was going to find those assholes again. That much was a certainty.

[whump-or-whatever]

Whumptober Day 8

Prompts: Everything hurts and I’m dying - stomach pain | head trauma | back from the dead

Fandom: Person of Interest

Context: Dakota Walker is an OC of mine in the POI universe who was rescued from a human trafficking organization by John, and then became part of the crew. They were tortured and conditioned pretty badly during their captivity.

Summary: Dakota and John were surveilling a number. The number was not happy about it.

• • •

Dakota and John were staking out a number’s house when John noticed an odd man lurking outside. After making sure Dakota would be okay in the car, he ran off to follow the guy.

Dakota continued watching the house, camera on the dash in case anything should happen. They sat calmly awaiting John’s return when someone suddenly yanked the passenger door open beside them. Strong hands grabbed their arm and pulled them out of the car, dropping them on the pavement.

Dakota stood up quickly, not wanting to be at any more of a disadvantage than they already were. Turning to face their attacker, they were somewhat surprised to recognize the number, Mr Vix.

“Who are you?” The man asked. He was only a little taller than Dakota, but far more muscled.

“I’m nobody, just passing through.” Dakota lied.

His nostrils flared in anger and he stalked forward, grabbing their shirt and throwing them into the side of the car.

Vix placed his forearm against their throat and pressed, causing them to choke.

“You’ve been parked outside my house for four hours, that’s not just passing through,” he snarled. “Why are you watching me?”

Dakota struggled to take in a breath, unable to answer the man’s question.

They gripped his arm, trying to pry it away from their neck. When that didn’t work, they started to look around for anything they could use to help them. They noticed something clipped to Vix’s belt and grabbed it, yanking it off. Luckily enough, it was a switchblade. They pressed the button to extend the blade, and stuck it forcefully into the man’s shoulder. Crying out and grasping for his shoulder, Vix stumbled back.

Dakota fell to the ground, sucking in air greedily. They wheezed and coughed, trying to keep an eye on the man at the same time. Vix managed to get his hand around the knife.

“Leave it in!” Dakota rasped, but the man ignored them, yanking out the knife with a grunt.

Dakota scrambled to their feet. The man came at them, knife in hand. Making a quick decision, Dakota kicked hard at his crotch. The air was knocked from his lungs and he curled in on himself, but not before he struck out with the knife and caught Dakota across their ribs.

They grunted in pain. Ignoring the stinging, they rushed forward, knocking the man off balance and sending him sprawling to the ground. They stepped on his wrist and pried the knife from his hand.

Vix grabbed Dakota’s ankle and yanked. They fell backwards, head smashing hard off the cement. They groaned as their head swam.

The number climbed to his feet and stood over Dakota. He stomped his heel down on their hand that held the knife. Dakota whimpered, and their hand fell open when the man removed his foot. He kicked the knife away.

He leaned over them in a vaguely threatening manner. “You’re going to get back in your car and you’re going to drive away. If I ever see you anywhere near here again, I will kill you.”

With that, the man kicked them hard in the side. They curled in on themself, moaning in pain.

Vix smirked and went to walk away. Dakota heard a thud and opened their eyes to see John standing over the man, having knocked him out with a pistol whip to the back of the neck.

Turning to Dakota, John’s face was masked with concern. He walked over and crouched down, putting a hand on their shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Dakota put their hand against their side and winced as they came into contact with the knife wound.

John pulled up their shirt to look at the cut, eyes scanning it appraisingly.

Dakota sat with unfocused eyes as they struggled against the woozy feeling in their head.

Eventually, they felt a warm hand on their cheek and John tilted their head to look into their eyes. Dakota tried to focus on him, but their vision swam.

Brows furrowed, John gently felt around the back of their head. Dakota’s eyes pinched closed and they moaned in pain when he hit a sore spot. John pulled his hand away to find blood. He cringed.

Grabbing them under the armpits, John lifted Dakota to their feet. He helped them into the car and shut the door before climbing into the drivers seat. He looked over at Dakota and noticed them reaching awkwardly with their left hand to grab the seatbelt. Looking at their right hand, John saw they held it open on their leg, trying not to jostle it.

John tapped his ear. “You there, Finch?”

“Always, Mr Reese.”

“We’re heading back to the library. Dakota’s hurt.”

Harold sat up straight in his chair, worry seeping into his voice. “What happened, are they okay?”

“I went after a guy who was hanging around outside Vix’s house, and while I was gone Vix went after Dakota.” John sounded guilty at not having been there to protect them.

“Why?” Harold asked.

John looked to Dakota. “What did the number want?”

Dakota spoke in a quiet voice, still struggling with the throbbing and spinning feeling in their head. “He uh, he wanted to know who I was, why I was sitting outside his house.” John took note of the fact that their voice was scratchy and rough. Narrowing his eyes, he noticed that their neck was quite red.

“Where is Mr Vix now?” Harold asked.

“Unconscious in the street outside his house.” John replied.

Harold pinched his lips together. “I’ll send detective Fusco to pick him up. Perhaps a night in the drunk tank will calm his nerves.”

John nodded redundantly.

“You never answered me John, are they okay?” Harold persisted.

“I’m fine Harold,” Dakota said. “I’ve had worse.”

“That is hardly any reassurance, Dakota,” Harold responded, but he did feel slightly better. “Get them back as fast as possible, Mr Reese.”

“On it, Finch,” John replied before ending the call.

• • •

If it hadn’t been for John’s steady presence, Dakota wouldn’t have even made it out of the car.

They had only been drunk a few times, and it was back before the other place, but Dakota thought that was the closest feeling they could remember to what they were experiencing now.

As they finally made their way into the library proper, Harold greeted them with a chair. They sat down gratefully. Bear ran up and Dakota gave him a quick scratch before John directed him to his bed.

“I would consider this to be far from fine,” Harold bit out, eyes scanning Dakota worriedly.

“I think they might have a concussion,” John said.

Dakota raised a finger in interjection. “I think I definitely have a concussion,” they said hoarsely.

• • •

Fin

[therenlover]

One Last Night In Madripoor (An 18+ Helmut Zemo/Reader Oneshot)

Synopsis: Baron Helmut Zemo is a lonely, wanted man looking for some fun, you’re a piss-poor bounty hunter in search of a connection before leaving your life of crime behind, and fate has brought you together at a party the likes of which has never been seen before. You only have one night left in Madripoor, so why not take a chance?

Tags: Smut, SoftDom!Zemo, Hook Up, Semi-Public Sex, Drinking, Safe Sex, Explicit Consent, First Meeting, Wall Sex, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Swearing, Explicit Sexual Content

Word Count: 4200~

This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!

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Madripoor was a place like nothing you had ever seen.

It wasn’t that the sights were anything special. You could find seedy criminal underbellies lined with neon where the streets ran red with blood anywhere if you looked hard enough. Even the ocean view didn’t do much to set it apart from any other place visually. No, Madripoor’s scenery and architecture weren’t what kept your eyes wide with wonder whenever you found yourself wandering through the winding back-alleys without a purpose. It was the people that kept you around.

Thieves, pirates, and miscreants had been taking shelter at the docks since before anyone there could remember. It was a city borne of the underbelly of society, the people nobody sees, but you saw them. You saw them every day when you stood in the main market waiting for an easy bounty. There were faces everywhere; big and small, tall and short, scarred and flawless. No two people in the streets of Madripoor were ever exactly alike. If you needed to remember someone, their unique face was right there waiting in your mind.

After living on the island for almost 6 months, most people were already cataloged neatly in your mind as friend or foe. This man, though, he was new. He was different.

The night was still young. There was some trouble at the Princess Bar that ended with Selby dead and a few murderers loose in the streets with a price on their heads, but you steered clear. Going after the killers meant going up against hundreds if not thousands of trained bounty hunters and assassins and no amount of money was worth dying over now, not while you were so close to freedom. Instead of chasing your doom, you decided to head to your room, get dressed up, and head out to wherever the music was loudest in search of a place to forget about your problems for the night. The thudding sounds of poorly DJ-ed club remixes led you to Leonardo’s Place. That’s where you found him.

You were two drinks in and sticking close to the wall when he stumbled into your line of sight. What initially caught your eye was his dancing. He couldn’t move for shit. What kept your attention, though, was his face.

There was transience to him, like at any moment someone could bump into him and he would disappear without a trace at their touch. Despite that he was gaudy. Everything about his clothing screamed wealth and fine taste from the thread count of his obnoxious purple turtleneck to the shine on his boots. He was strange, a walking contradiction, and one who had never had the pleasure of gracing your presence or screwing you over in the past. In the simplest of terms, he intrigued you. With nothing left to lose you downed the last of your cocktail and made your way to the gap in the crowd where the stranger had staked his claim. It was game time.

“You come here alone?” You asked. Your voice was barely a whisper above the heavy thrumming of the music.

He gave you a long look up and down before answering as if he were trying to size you up. Something about having his gaze linger on your body made your heartbeat soar. “I’m not looking for company,” His accented tone was gruff but left a sliver of room for reconsideration. You took the chance. What could go wrong?

With as much tact and grace as you could muster you let yourself slip a little closer to him. “What, do I look too expensive for you?” you teased, before backing off with a grin, “Thanks for the compliment, but I’m not here for that. My job is a little more… dangerous.” As you danced, the hem of your dress rode up your thigh just enough to reveal the knife holster in your garter belt. It pleased you greatly to see this handsome stranger do a double-take; that meant he was looking at your upper thigh in the first place. “I just liked what I saw in you… do you like what you see in me?”

Somehow, your little joke had endeared him to you, however minutely. Instead of brushing you off the man paused his jerky dancing for a moment to really take you in. Then, he caved. “Would you like a drink?” He asked.

You smirked. “Who would I be if I turned down a free drink from a handsome stranger,”

He met you in the middle as he offered you his hand. “I never promised it would be free,”

So, the two of you found yourselves at the bar, bodies leaned into each other and away from the rest of the sweltering crowd as the bartender slid you your order. The stranger was drinking a brandy straight while you opted for a sidecar. It was enough alcohol that you were starting to feel pretty buzzed, but you still felt in full control of yourself. You took a long sip before speaking. “So, what should I call you?”

It took him a moment to respond but once he did, he seemed sure of himself. “You can call me Helmut, but Baron is fine as well,”

You cocked up an eyebrow. “Is that a nickname?”

“More of a title,”

He took a drink as you gawked. “Like royalty?”

“Not like. I am,”

Your cheeks flushed. The rational part of your mind was so stunned by the ease with which Helmut lied that it seemed to short circuit completely, leaving you very puzzled and more than a little intrigued. “Well, pardon me, Mr. Baron. What’s royalty like you doing in a place like this?”

“There are plenty of reasons a man like me would have business here. A woman as beautiful as you, though… not so much,” he waved his hand in loose gestures as he spoke, “Why risk your life and beauty for this? A life living in the underground where you cannot so much as dream of seeing the stars?”

You finished your drink in one large swig. It burned down your throat but you relished in the pain. “Not all of us are lucky enough to be born in a place where we can see the stars. Funny enough, though, I’m just about to get out,”

“Is that right?”

“I finally saved up enough money from small jobs to buy my way out from under the Power Broker’s thumb,” Something about the way Helmut smiled at you made you feel safe. It was like you could tell him your worst, darkest secrets and not feel an ounce of fear or guilt. “I’m nothing special here, a small-time bounty hunter, and I kept it that way for a reason. I’m not valuable and I don’t know much. If I just pay my dues and keep the money coming until I can get their claws out of my back, I should be free to leave with a freighter tomorrow morning,”

Helmut was quick to respond. “Ah, travel by freighter. It’s terribly dangerous to be a stowaway, you know? Impossible to predict quite what the seas will be like,”

“Well, that’s just a risk I’ll have to take to get out of here and stop… what was it that you said I was doing? Risking my life and beauty?”

The two of you chuckled as Helmut took one last drink to empty his glass. Then, the conversation stilled. Around you people were alive, gyrating to the music as their pulses thumped to the beat, but it was like they weren’t even there. Instead, your whole being was focused on the strange man in front of you who had stolen away your sensibilities with his cool tone and thick accent. He made you feel alive. No, more than alive. Every color was brighter, every sound was sharper, every sip of your drink was crisper. He was a once-in-a-lifetime man, and this was a once-in-a-lifetime night. Oh, to hell with it!

“I like you, Baron,” you purred, pressing yourself close to him. His breath hitched the moment you touched him. He acted as if it had been a very long time since he was last touched like that. “And I think you like me too. In fact, I think you like me enough that we should take this conversation somewhere a little more private. What do you say?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, his gloved hand made its way around your wrist, and in a moment’s time, he was pulling you across the crowded dance floor towards a small, secluded hallway. You assumed that meant yes.

The instant you made it to the shelter of the shadows Helmut was on you like a man starved. One of his hands was quick to explore the skin just above the hem of your dress as the other pressed against the wall, caging you in and holding you as a more than willing hostage to his affections. He didn’t kiss your face, and you weren’t complaining about that, but he did put his mouth to good use sucking a dark bruise into your collarbone. His ministrations only stopped when a high, keening sound escaped your lips.

“You like that, don’t you, meine kleine schlampe?” he growled through gritted teeth. Something about his tone turned your already weak legs to jelly. The second you went limp in his grip, though, he pulled back. Straightening himself out, he offered you a steadying arm. You took it without hesitation. “I’m terribly sorry to be so rude. I assure you that I am not usually the type of man to hook up with someone on a whim, I’ve simply been… indisposed for many years and haven’t had many opportunities for pleasure, especially not with a woman as beautiful as you,”

His compliment was enough to have you blushing like a schoolgirl. You had killed more people than you could reasonably count, and probably fucked even more, but something about the way Helmut looked and sounded and acted made you feel almost innocent to his advances. He was a drug and you needed to get your fix before he disappeared forever.

“Does that mean you think I’m special?” You asked, all doe eyes with an innocent smile. Helmut ate it right up.

“Yes, schatzi. Very special,”

You hitched a leg up, letting your heel dig into his expensive dress pants and drag him closer to you once again. “First your little slut and now your little treasure? Which one is it, Helmut?”

“And so smart,”

“Move, Baron!”

At your insistence, Helmut was on you once again, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses down your neck as he fiddled with his gloves, yanking them off and shoving them in his back pocket before he continued. “So demanding,” he chided, and yet he continued to lavish you with affection, his hand climbing higher and higher up your thigh. Your back was pressed flush to the wall now, and you were painfully aware of just how warm Helmut was. He smelled like a rich man’s cologne and yet his skin tasted of cheap soap when you leaned in to give him a bruise of his own.

“You love it,” you replied. He let out a husky laugh.

“I suppose I do,” he chuckled, and then his fingers brushed over your core. Your knees buckled. Helmut kept you upright with his body as he continued to taunt you through your underwear, but he seemed more confident now, almost cocky. “My needy schatzi, have you no patience?”

Your response was breathless; a confession.

“Not with you,”

Something about your words lit a fire in Helmut’s eyes. In an instant he had your leg hiked up while he ground his hardened length against your clothed wetness. Your mind went blank. He felt big. A mindless whimper fell from your lips.

“How do you want me?” Helmut asked. As he spoke he ran a light finger down your elevated thigh. You offered up another whimper. “I’ll need you to use your words and tell me what you want or I can’t give it to you,” His tone had you wet enough that you worried you were dripping.

With a gulp, you managed to fumble out the words. “I’ll blow you first if you promise to fuck me,”

That had him grinning like a wolf. “Perhaps you are my little schlampe, so eager to get down on your knees for me…” And you were. Even on shaky legs, you found yourself happily falling to your knees as the Baron fumbled with his fly. It was only then that you found yourself gazing down the hall towards the cacophony of lights and sounds and people maybe 20 feet away from your hiding place in the shadows. As if he could sense your discomfort, Helmut paused. “Are you alright?”

You nodded quickly. “I just forgot we were out in the open for a second,”

“Do you want to stop? If the location is the problem, I would gladly pause so we can find a new hideaway,” he stopped short, looking down and meeting your heavily lidded gaze, “or perhaps the idea of putting on a show excites you?” Your heart jumped out of your chest. Helmut noticed. “Well, if my little schlampe is so keen on putting on a show, she should get a move on,”

That was your cue to get to work. In a swift motion, you finished unzipping his fly and shifted his boxers, letting his lovely cock spring free. It was a pleasant penis and far as they went, average in length but thick with a leaking purple tip at half-mast. Just looking at it made you clamp your legs together.

Slowly, you gave a tentative lick up the underside of his length. He felt heavy on your tongue in the best of ways. Helmut jerked upward, a man possessed. You couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s been a long time, huh?”

“Less talking, more working little schlam-” you cut Helmut off quickly by taking most of his length into his mouth. That seemed to shut him up. His wolf-like grin had dissolved into a slack-jawed mess the second you started to suck him off. Oh, this was going to be fun.

For the most part, the Baron let you set the pace, bobbing your head and taking as much of his length as you comfortably could, but after a short while his hands were buried in your hair as he fought the urge to buck into your throat, hard. With a particularly rough snap of his hips, Helmut pulled away.

“You are an angel from heaven, schatzi,” he groaned, pulling himself slowly from your mouth as you got your first good deep breath in a while, “but a deal is a deal, and it wouldn’t be quite fair if I got to have all the fun, now would it?” Your breath hitched in your throat. Finally time for the main event.

Helmut was surprisingly gentle with you as he offered you a hand and helped you back up, only pausing to wipe a line of dribble off your chin with his thumb. With anyone else, it would have felt wholly humiliating but with Helmut… well, it did things to you you would rather not admit. You quirked up an eyebrow, though, when he got on his knees in turn, mirroring your past position. “What are you doing, Baron?”

“I simply assumed my sweet schatzi would enjoy a reward for taking my cock so well,” his words had you biting your lip as your cheeks flushed, “now be a good girl and take what I give you. I want to hear those pretty noises you made earlier,” With that, his face disappeared under your skirt. He pulled down your panties and… snickered?

“What now?” you groaned, squirming as his hot breath hit your exposed nub.

“You’re sopping wet,” he replied. Out of habit, you moved to shut your legs but found Helmut’s large hand was holding them open. “I do enjoy being sandwiched between your thighs, but you shouldn’t hide yourself from me. Take your pleasure. You’ve earned it,” That was when he began his assault on your folds.

You had been with plenty of partners over the years, all with varying proficiencies when it came to giving pleasure, but no one had ever made you feel quite as good as Helmut did while you gripped his hair and rode his face with reckless abandon. He always hit just the right spot, alternating between sucking on your sensitive clit and running his rough tongue in sloppy circles against it. In no time flat your pleasure was building toward’s its peak as your knees trembled.

“Helmut,” you squeaked, “Helmut I’m gonna cuuuUUOH!”

You were suddenly thrown over the edge of pleasure as the Baron worked you open with his fingers, pressing that spot inside of you just right. It was a revelation. Nothing would ever compare to him and you hadn’t even fucked yet. Once you had regained some semblance of stability he emerged from his place between your thighs, face slick with your juices, wearing the expression of a cat that got the cream.

“You make such lovely sounds for me, schatzi,” Helmut groaned, rising from his place at your feet and reaching into his pocket. While he fumbled for a condom you took the time to actually remove your panties, lifting one shaky leg at a time before balling them up and tossing them on the ground. You could grab them later. Or not! In all honesty, your ruined undies were the last thing on your mind as your watched Helmut roll the condom onto his proud cock, pumping himself a few times. “Now, are you sure you want this?”

You had never felt more sober in your whole life despite the drinks you’d downed earlier.

“God, yes,”

“Wonderful,”

He caged you into his body once again, lining himself up on your slick folds, and then with a pronounced bite against your collarbone, he was entering you. It wasn’t painful or uncomfortable, you just felt full, like a missing piece of your body had been completed. For the first few thrusts, you were too blissed out to really take note of anything around you, but once you tuned back into the world of the living you realized Helmut was talking. Well, babbling was more like it. He seemed to simply be speaking his stream of consciousness into your ear as he pistoned in and out of you like a madman. There was a jilted rhythm to it, but the abnormality kept you on your toes.

“I won’t be letting you go any time soon, schatzi, and definitely not on some dank freighter like a rat from the gutters. No, you will travel with me. Once I help my friends and slip away from the front lines I can take you anywhere your little heart desires. Paris, Vienna, Australia… Mein Gott, what a sweet cunt,”

Any sane woman, after hearing his sex-drunken musings, would have run. They would have heard the wild ramblings of a madman and left after their little fling was done to never see him again. It was only rational. He didn’t even know your real name. Sane women didn’t run away with strangers claiming to be barons they hooked up with in a seedy club selling stolen Van Goghs in a hub of the criminal underworld.

The only thing was, though, that you weren’t a sane woman.

You were a killer, a child left in the streets to live or die who had scraped themselves together and dragged themselves towards life. So what if the idea of some rich mysterious benefactor with a good dick coming in to save the day sounded fantastic? It was fantastic. Like your own personal version of Pretty Woman. Even if he wasn’t as rich as he claimed to be, being poor and getting dicked down by him was better than being poor and alone.

For just a moment, and with no regrets, you let yourself get lost in the fantasy and just let go.

It was as if Helmut could sense a difference.

“Are you close, little schlampe?” He gasped, letting his thrusts take on a faster staccato rhythm.

You could do little more than moan and nod as he pounded you into the wall. That seemed to be enough for him to get the message, though.

“What a good girl,” he purred. His mouth was so close to your ear, his hot breath tickling the sensitive flesh with each heaving breath he took. As he chased his own climax, he brought a hand between your bodies and rubbed tight, wet circles around your clit. It was already sensitive, your body was only barely recovering from your first orgasm, and yet something about the overstimulation was thrilling, like racing towards an impossible dream. With a shout, you came for the second time, melting into Baron Helmut’s arms as he quickly followed.

The two of you stayed there, slumped against the cool wall and still connected by your dripping sexes, for a few moments, breathing heavy. Surprisingly, you were the first to speak.

“Wow,” you breathed, letting a soft laugh escape your lips.

Helmut returned the sentiment. “You were wonderful,” In a strange moment of intimacy, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, but then he pulled out, tying off the full condom and tossing it to the ground as he tucked himself back into his boxers and zipped up his fly.

“Are you just gonna leave that there?” you made a gesture towards his litter.

“They have janitors,”

A burbling laugh escaped from your lips. “That they do,”

Back in the main room of the party, the crowd had only grown larger as the night progressed. Nobody had seen you, nor had they noticed your cries as they danced and drank and made merry under the neon lights. You were, for all intents and purposes, invisible at Helmut’s side. Within and without. There was something exhilarating about knowing he was the only one that truly saw you in a room packed with hundreds. It was like something out of a twisted fairytale.

“So…” you broached the subject gently while you pulled down your dress to protect your modesty, “Did you mean what you said back there about Paris and Vienna, or…”

“Oh, you heard that?”

You snickered. “It was pretty hard not to with you breathing in my ear,”

“I apologize,” he leaned against the wall beside you, shoulder to shoulder in the darkness, “but yes, I meant what I said. I-”

Suddenly, from down the hall, a booming voice interrupted your moment.

“There you are!”

“Goddamnit, Zemo, I thought we told you to stay low not hire an escort,”

There, at the mouth of the hallway, stood two massive men. They were obviously displeased, and though their faces were obscured by the lights you could tell you weren’t the one they were after.

They called him Zemo… where had you heard that name before?

Helmut stepped away from the wall with a shrug. “At least I didn’t cause a scene by forgetting to put my phone on silent,”

The larger of the two men stayed where he was, while the other walked to meet the Baron in the middle.

“I swear to God, man, you’ve gotten ten times more insufferable since I learned you were rich.

The Baron shrugged. “It comes with the territory,”

“But you don’t have to be such a jackass about it,”

You felt it was a good time to chime in.

“Thank you so much for that, Helmut, but I think I should give you guys some privacy,” you said, straightening out your dress and walking deeper into the hallway. There had to be an exit somewhere…

“Wait!” When you turned, you found Helmut rushing to meet you. The men in the background looked shocked and almost smug. “Save your money. Meet me out at the airstrip tomorrow afternoon if you feel like seeing me again. If not, know that the Power Broker doesn’t let go of assets cheap, and you just slept with a man with a million dollar bounty, so buying your freedom isn’t an option. If you want to go without me, you’ll have to hitch a ride on a cargo ship but not as a stowaway. Working for your keep is the best way to stay under the radar. Nobody can touch you once you’r-”

You cut him off by pressing a finger to his lips. “I’ll see you at your private jet, Baron,”

He smirked. “So you will,” With as much gusto as a man could muster, he returned to his companions but not before offering one last goodbye. “Farewell, schatzi, until tomorrow,”

As you leaned up against the wall once more, you watched them go with a twinkle in your eye.

“Who was that?”

“None of your business, James,”

“Guys, what the hell did I just step on?”

“I believe that was my used rubber,”

“ZEMO!”

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a/n: I hope you enjoyed the filth! I haven’t written for Zemo before, even though I’ve loved him for years, but he’s definitely going into my main rotation now. If you have any ideas, send them my way! I’d love to fill the void, because there just aren’t very many Zemo x reader fics out there. If you enjoyed this, maybe reblog or leave a comment! I’d love to hear your thoughts. Thanks again!

Please do not post my works to any other sites, thanks! <3