#[RATTLES THE CHAINS ON MY WRISTS] GOOD SIRS!! FROM WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?

[mako-neexu]

[velariscalling]

Poison - A Cassian Imagine

Characters: Cassian x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Cassian and Reader have some history, and when she captures him for Hybern, they pick up where they left off, despite how she may have just cursed him to death.

Warnings: Smut, oral (both receiving), restraints, wingplay for a sec, mentions/description of injury, mentions of death, Cassian is literally poisoned.

A/N: Ok my first smut is here, please be kind lol. I'm actually much more nervous posting this than I was with my first fic, which is crazy! Also, happy birthday to the wonderful @sarawritestories! I hope you like it my lovely <3

Disclaimer: GIF isn't mine - credit to whoever it belongs to.

“Very good work, I’m impressed.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Cassian stifled a groan as he rolled his neck to the side, cracking the bones that had gone stiff in his slumber. The voices he heard continued, but muffled as if he were underwater, and his vision swam so much that he nearly gagged.

He moved to reach an arm up to rub the back of his neck, needing to relieve the dull ache he felt, when he realised his hands weren’t moving. They couldn’t move. The chains rattled around his wrists over the alarm sounding in his brain as he snapped back into action, seeing the world in stark clarity.

“Oh, you’re awake,” A melodic voice chirped up from a few metres away. Why did that voice sound so familiar? “I’m glad. I missed you, actually.”

Cassian lifted his head and his eyes focused on the female stood in the shadows, leaning against the wall casually. Something sinister glinted from her hands in the flickering light - something metal, he realised with a jolt. No. Remain calm. That’s the one thing he would never forget from his training - never let your opponent know what you’re truly feeling. Even if you’re completely shitting it. “What is this? Or better yet, who are you?” He asked with lethal calm, still training his eyes on the dark silhouette, coaxing her to take the bait and fear him.

A huff sounded from the darkness. “I’m hurt, Cassian,” She stepped forward, illuminating her features only slightly, but enough for him to make out her exaggerated pout. “Really hurt. Here I was thinking we could have had something, and you don’t even remember me? We are definitely not off to a good start.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot, sighing like a disappointed mother with a shake of her head.

He squinted, zoning in on her features. Her stature, her hair, her eyes. It wasn’t until his gaze met the intensity of her stare that the memories began to wash over him like ice cold water.

~~~

Leading an army into war was never going to be an easy task. Cassian knew this - it was not the first time he’s done so of course. But when so many of his front line had been struck down by Hybern soldiers, it was a little difficult to remain level-headed. For the first time in his centuries of experiences, Cassian felt like his control was slipping from his grasp.

People were coming at him from every direction, soldiers informing him of their comrades’ predicaments, and not a single one of these people seemed to scent the blood soaking through his leathers, or notice the wound gaping from his arm. Cassian winced every time something brushed against it or he had to move the arm, but continued to tend to the injured as much as he could before sending them to the healers tent.

“You’re hurt,” A soft voice stopped him in his tracks. He turned to look in the direction the voice had come from, only to spy a female, not looking to be more than a couple of centuries old. A healer, it seems.

“You would be the first to notice,” Cassian responded gruffly. He couldn’t help noticing how beautiful she was, like an angel come to help him during his time of need, but he quickly brushed off the thought, deeming it inappropriate in the current time and place. And frankly, irrelevant. “It’s fine, I have things to sort out-”

“Cassian, if I may,” she interrupted, eyes careful as she gauged his reaction to her urgency. “You’ll bleed out if you don’t get someone to take a look at this soon. Please, come with me to my tent and I will fix you up. It should only take a few minutes at most.”

Cassian’s brain ticked back and forth, weighing up the options. He knew that his priority should be his men - it's always been the army first, himself later - but she was just so inviting. And as the gash on his arm throbbed with pain, he found himself nodding at her in agreement.

Her tent was small, and more or less bare. He didn’t even notice the lack of a bed, or even a blanket to sleep on. Only a chair which she gently coaxed him onto as she opened a small kit, mixing together an ointment to apply to his arm. She left it on the side to sit for a moment, presumably to let the compounds mould together before use, and approached him with a wet rag.

The way she peered down at him intently as she cleaned his arm had his cheeks flushing from something other than pain and stress. He silently thanked his already red cheeks for concealing any giveaway that the intimidating general was really just a big softie. He flicked his eyes up to watch as she worked, and couldn’t help but take in all the details of her face: the slight squint as she concentrated, the way her eyes flicked back and forth to ensure there were no bits of dirt remaining in the blood, and how her tongue poked out between her teeth as she focused. There was something else about her as well that he couldn’t quite pin-point… something familiar, as if he recognised her, but also something- something wrong. Like her features had been rearranged to conceal someone he used to know.

“Do you often stare at your healers?” She asked as the stepped away to dispose of the rag, interrupting his train of thought. Her tone was chastising, but the ever so subtle cheek to her voice gave away the tease.

Cassian bristled, fumbling for a moment as he felt like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t, and frantically searched for a way to jump back on top of the situation as she shook her ointment, seemingly satisfied that it was ready. “Only the pretty ones,” He grinned smugly, completely in control in that effortless, almost arrogant way of his.

The healer raised her eyebrows as she approached him, an amused glint in her eyes as she steadied his arm with one hand and prepared the ointment with the other. “This might hurt,” she said shortly, before pressing it against his wound. Cassian hissed in pain, gritting his teeth together to try to dampen the blow. This was worse than actually getting the gash in the first place, he thought.

A few moments passed, which felt ridiculously long to Cassian, until the female straightened her back and took her hands away from his arm. “All done,” she quipped, before turning away from him to dispose of her equipment once again. Cassian unclenched his fists at his side in an attempt to relax, despite the tingling in his arm resembling a dance troupe of a million needles tapping away on his bloody cut. “You might want to sit there for a moment, Cassian. Not everyone reacts well to the medicine, I would like to make sure you’re okay before you get back out there.”

Cassian shook his head softly. “I’ll be fine, thank you for your care,” he began, ready to brush off her advice with a wave of his hand. He attempted to stand up from the chair, using the armrests to push himself up, but he barely rose a few inches before his head swam as if he’d been dealt an uppercut to the chin, and he fell back into the seat with a gasp. His body was suddenly heavier than he’d ever felt it before, every single limb feeling like it had at least three sand bags attached. “Shit…” he mumbled, his vision scattered with sparkling dots and patches of darkness.

“Just relax, Cassian…”

Her voice sounded distant, like a call to slumber, beckoning him to fall victim to the darkness. And as his head lulled to the side, he allowed it to coax him into the abyss, just as he saw the glamour flicker off her face.

~~~

“Y/N.”

“Surprise, Cassian,” She grinned as she stepped closer, completely leaving the darkness in order for Cassian to see her face - her real face.

“So, you poisoned me,” Cassian deadpanned, after his memories fully returned. “You posed as a healer, and infected me with poison through my cut.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled as she watched it all come back to him, piece by piece fitting together in a puzzle to create a complete picture. “And didn’t I put on such a spectacular performance?” Cassian rolled his eyes, averting his eyes from her piercing gaze as she continued talking at him. “You were so enamoured with me. And all from one pure act of kindness? So easy to please, General. I’m just a little offended I didn’t look like me at the time.”

“Enough changing the subject,” Cassian growled, growing increasingly irritated, not only at the female in front of him but also the fact that he was not in control. He needed control. “Who glamoured you? The King himself? I wouldn’t put it past his petty ass.”

Y/N scoffed, delighted to see his agitation. “Does it matter? You’re here now, exactly as planned.” She ran a menacing finger down the edge of the blade in her hand, watching the shine of the metal. The contrast was stark - the deadly glint of the dagger against her soft, delicate skin. But Cassian knew that that was her own, constant glamour. There was nothing delicate about her - she was more deadly than any weapon.

As Cassian tested the chains round his wrists binding him to the armrests, he realised the grave mistake he made. He roared in pain as the chains sizzled his flesh, and Y/N couldn’t help but bite her lip to surpress a grin at the way his muscles tensed and rippled as he writhed. “I wouldn’t bother, darling. Faebane chains. Aren’t they fantastic?”

Gritting his teeth, Cassian opened his previously clenched eyes, setting on her with an air of distaste. “Anything else up your sleeve?” The question was dry, sick to death of the games already, but the excitement practically vibrating off Y/N told him she wasn’t finished with him just yet.

“Well, maybe just one tiny detail. You may have woken up from that poison, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still in your system. You’ll die without the antidote.” She said idly, eyebrows raised with a slight mocking pout on her lips as she examined her fingernails without a care in the world.

Cassian startled. He knew there was more to the story, of course there was, but that is not what he was expecting. His mind whirred with a way to get out of this situation, a way to turn the tables in his favour, but he kept coming up short. “What’s the point, Y/N? Huh? You never even told me why I’m here in the first place, I think it’s only fair that if I’m gonna die, I should at least know why I’m going down.”

“Well of course I was going to tell you, I’m not a monster,” Y/N laughed - actually laughed. “You’re here because we can’t have you commanding those Illyrian bastards to victory. Without you, they’re lost, leaving the goal wide open for a win for my side. Silly little baby, aren’t you?” She went to tap his nose - condescending little bitch, Cassian thought, and turned his head to the side with a grimace, which Y/N did not like one bit. That playful grin on her face was gone in an instant, replaced by a face so stoney and cold that even the worst of creatures would be afraid. In that split second of rage, Y/N grabbed Cassian’s jaw with her whole hand and yanked him back to face her where she was suddenly inches away from him. “That was rude, Cassian.”

Then, he snapped. He finally snapped, and her hand around his jaw, commanding him as if she were his superior was the breaking point. Her control was his breaking point as he spat in her face, completely losing his grip on the leash to his anger. But Y/N… oh no, Y/N wasn’t so easily perturbed, and as Cassian’s rage subsided and he watched her eye him with malice, he remembered as much.

“So feisty,” she purred as she wiped her face with her hand, eyes not leaving his pissed expression for a minute. She just loved the way his jaw ticked with anger, and how sharp the lines of his face became as he watched her every move, just like he used to do… well, with less anger and more lust. “You used to love when I took control, Cassian, remember?”

Gods, he remembered, of course he did. He remembered their secret rendezvous, the way they snuck around not to get caught. He remembered how she would crawl on top of him agonisingly slowly, and kiss all the way up his abs and chest, leaving her scent all over his body. Or how they’d wind up cramped in a tiny storage closet, her back pressed against the wall and her nails digging into his skin as he took her as his own, stifling their sounds of pleasure at the mere whisper of someone walking past. But what he loved most was when his face was buried between her thighs as she crossed her ankles, locking him in, his own hips rutting against the bed for any sort of friction he could get amidst the desperation to draw high after high from her.

“Oh,” Her voice dipped in honey shook him out of his reverie as he remembered where he was, hands bound and body poisoned. He caught her eyes once more, and a gasp escaped him as he saw just how blown out her pupils had become, almost sucking up any light remaining. “I think someone still likes that idea.” It took Cassian a moment to realise what she meant, and just how sloppy he had become. During his trip down memory lane, he had allowed his scent to shift, completely exposing just how turned on she still had the power to make him.

With eyes like the devil, Y/N leaned forward and licked a hot stripe up the side of Cassian’s neck, dropping her dagger in favour of caging him in with her arms. “Remember this?” She asked, her voice dripping with seduction as she moved to brush her lips up his clenched jaw, a hand slowly travelling down his front. Once her lips had reached his ear and she nibbled on the soft flesh of the lobe, her fingers ghosted across the growing bulge in his lap. “And this?” She whispered, her breath on his ear making him shiver as she squeezed lightly, feeling him through his leathers. She bit her lip - he was just as big as she remembered. Cassian grunted at the feeling, teeth clenched in a feeble attempt not to give himself over so easily, despite the fact that they both knew it was useless.

Y/N pulled away far too soon, leaving Cassian feeling cold without her touch. “Are you tempted yet? I’m sure there are better ways we could be using this time, don’t you think?” She began to circle his chair, eyeing him up like a predator would stalk their prey. Oh, how she loved seeing him try to fight it, fight her, fight his inevitable arousal. It was already thick in the air, weighing down on them both, and he was only lying to himself.

“Better ways such as letting me go so I can lead my armies?” Cassian countered. Gods, he was so adorable when he tried to steer the conversation away from what he truly wants. His voice was so tense, almost like he was in pain, trying to reign in his instincts to ravage her… not that there was a whole lot he could do from his position. But any self-restraint was shattered once Y/N had made her way behind him and trailed a delicate finger along the edge of his wing. A strangled groan left his mouth as soon as she made contact, just like she used to do, her nail grazing the fragile skin.

“Don’t be silly, Cassian,” she crooned, breathing hot air onto the trail of fire she just left on his wing. She made her way back around to his front, studying him like she was able to see right through him. With her lips curled up wickedly, she leaned in once again, placing her hands on both of his muscled thighs. “Are you nervous, General?”

“No,” Cassian breathed, throat tight and strained. A lie.

“Do you want me?” A shift of her hands, closer to where he was straining against his pants.

“Yes.”

The word came out too quickly, and Cassian could have cursed his mind for running on auto-pilot and blurting it out, but he knew it was the truth. He couldn’t take it anymore. He was desperate, and if his needs weren’t sated, he would become a wild animal bucking and thrashing to get out of these chains, uncaring if they burned all the way through his wrists.

“Say it again. I need to know you mean it.”

“Yes, Y/N,”

The next few moments were a blur, but all he knew was that he felt the chill air on his cock, hard and leaking, and that Y/N was already on her knees. Fuck. Her eyes glimmered with a sinful satisfaction at how red and throbbing she’d managed to already make him, and she leaned forward to gently lick the bead of pre-cum that sat on his tip. Cassian shivered, wanting nothing more than to wind his fingers in her hair and push her down on his cock, but all he could do was watch. Y/N had always been in control, really, and a part of him buried deep down had always liked it. His waiting cock pulsed at the thought, which didn’t go unnoticed by Y/N, a wide grin spreading across her face before she dipped her head and took him in her mouth.

Cassian’s head tipped back in pleasure, his body completely at her mercy as she bounced her head up and down, taking him like only she could. “Fuck, you were always so good at this,” he groaned, fists clenched to make up for the way he longed to touch her. “Take me so fucking deep.”

Y/N moaned around him as she took him as deep as she possibly could at his words, the vibrations causing him to buck his hips up into her mouth. His cock hit the back of her throat and she gagged, an obscene wet sound filling the room as she pulled her lips off him with a pop. The sight was truly erotic, as a string of saliva connected her mouth to his weeping cock.

“Why’d you stop?” Cassian panted, ignoring the desperate tinge to his voice. Ignoring how he’d become a puppet for her to play with. “I was getting close, come on, just-” He made to reach for her again, before he remembered the lesson he’d learnt earlier. Y/N only watched on, amused.

“You’re getting weak,” she tutted as she rose from the floor. “Have you forgotten, Cassian? You can’t cum unless you can make me cum first. Those were always the rules…” she trailed off as she undid the buttons of her leathers, pulling them down along with her panties in front of him. Putting on a show that he was only allowed to watch, and not participate in. For now.

Cassian’s eyes bulged as she carefully climbed on top of him, making sure to avoid the chains and planting her feet either side of him. She stood, holding onto the back of the chair for balance, and it was then that she lifted one leg, planting her foot next to where she held the chair, exposing her glistening core to him. “Are you gonna be able to make me cum, Cassian? Or has it been too long that you’ve lost your touch? It would be a shame to leave that cock of yours desperate and leaking, but rules are rules.”

“Please,” Cassian felt the shock as Y/N’s eyebrows rose at his plea. She didn’t think he’d ever begged before. He was even surprised at himself, but didn’t have enough time to think about it. No, there was no time, he needed to act, and act now. “Please Y/N come on, I can do it, just let me taste-” His words were cut off as Y/N pressed herself against his mouth, turning his rambling into muffled noises.

Cassian responded immediately, as if a shot of adrenaline had been released into his veins. His tongue flicked out, lapping up her wetness that had been pooling in her panties ever since he woke up. He groaned at the taste, plunging his tongue inside her, trying to taste as much of her sweet nectar as he possibly could. “You’ve missed this, haven’t you?” Y/N gasped, her tone almost patronising, but Cassian didn’t care. Quite the opposite, actually - this side of her always had him craving more and more. She grabbed hold of his hair that had long since fallen out of it’s half-bun, and began rocking her hips against his face. “Look what a little time off has reduced you to. A desperate, begging mess, just for me.”

He was in a state of utter bliss. Cassian held his tongue out obediently, allowing Y/N to ride him as she pleases. She spread her wetness over his mouth and chin, coating the stubble prickling on his skin, and she moaned as her clit rubbed deliciously against his nose. “Stay there for me General, that’s it,”

Cassian groaned as she used him for her own pleasure, content to be her personal fuck toy. But as his knuckles turned white with the force that he was gripping the armrests with, it was clear how much he wanted to use those bound hands. He wanted to slap that ass as she rocked her hips until his handprint was burned into her skin. He wanted to reach up and play with her nipples that he knew were hard and perky for him. And better yet, he wanted to explore even further inside her with his fingers, further than his tongue could reach, and have her release crashing down on him.

A wave of need washed over him and he grunted, moving to suck her clit into his mouth. Her balance wavered for a moment as she yelped, and Cassian couldn’t help but smirk. The one thing he could take control of in this situation was making her cum, so he vowed to do just that. He switched fervently between sucking her clit and licking bold stripes up her centre, determined now to give her an orgasm like it was his entire life’s purpose. The lewd noises coming from where his mouth met her core was enough to make her shiver as Cassian coaxed moan after moan from her.

“Getting close?” Cassian found his voice for a moment and growled against her skin, hell-bent on sending her over that edge. He’d do it if it was the last thing he ever did - which could end up being a possibility, strangely. But the Illyrian had completely forgotten about the poison eating away from him on the inside, that would be a problem he’d deal with later. After he felt her essence dripping down his chin and neck, staining his scent for weeks.

By the way Y/N’s hips stuttered as she attempted to speed up, he knew the answer. She was too proud to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but those pretty moans increasing in pitch sang to him his praise. As she neared her high, Y/N gripped Cassian’s hair and yanked it even harder, sending his eyes rolling back in his head as he helped her chase it, beckoning and pulling her to release. “Fuck, Cass,”

Hearing his name tumble from her lips as the reigns of her power slipped from her grasp had Cassian devouring her like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. His victory shone in his eyes as he watched her mouth gape open and felt her legs tremble, and her screams filled the dark room as she free fell into the best orgasm she’d ever had from someone using only their mouth. She had to admit, he had quite the talent with that tongue of his. Meanwhile, Cassian was in heaven. He didn’t care that he was bound to a chair in chains that would burn his flesh if he moved. He didn’t care that poison was rotting his insides minute by minute. He didn’t care that he was dying, and it was all her fault. All he cared about was the blissed out look on her face as she rode out her high on his face, and the taste that he prayed wouldn’t leave his mouth until his last breath.

A moment passed and Y/N regained her composure, sliding off his body and taking back her position of authority in front of him. Minus the clothes on her lower half, of course. “Not bad,” she quipped, plucking up her underwear from where it had been carelessly discarded.

Cassian chuckled darkly. “Whatever. You can pretend that wasn’t the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in a long time, I don’t care. You still taste just as delicious as I remember.” His eyes burned into her as she dressed herself, once again hiding herself from him, but he felt like he could see right through those leathers. “So?” He said expectantly, nodding down to where his cock was still hard and throbbing with need.

“Oh, Cassian…” The way Y/N shook her head and laughed quietly to herself had Cassian’s insides churning. Whatever was about to come out of her mouth, he had a funny feeling that he wasn’t going to like it. “You didn’t really think it would be that easy, did you? You gave me what I wanted and I thank you for that, but I’d much prefer to leave you here, desperate and needy and pathetic… oh, and dying.”

This bitch is a fucking psycho.

Cassian clenched his jaw so hard he thought it may shatter on impact. “And how might I get this antidote?” He seethed, his voice shaking with how hard he was trying to remain calm, as he always tried to do, whilst simultaneously attempting to ignore the humiliation of having his cock exposed and still ridiculously stood to attention.

Y/N sighed dramatically, placing a hand casually on her hip. “You know Cassian, I really don't want to kill you, truth be told. I’d like to keep you alive. But I’m not allowed to give you that antidote until the war is over and Hybern has won.” 

“So you’ll give it to me?”

“Depends. On how long the battle lasts. You might not last as long.”

Dead silence filled the room. Cassian didn’t deem this worthy of an answer. He was done with childish wordplay. He was bound, exposed, powerless and dying, and he intended to find a way out of all of that.

“As for that blowjob,” she continued, breaking the silence. Cassian raised his eyebrows, hating himself for the interest that bubbled up inside him, and also for the way his cock twitched. “Well… I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

With that, Y/N stepped back into the shadows, disappearing without a trace, leaving Cassian helpless in two ways. Searching for a way to free and save himself, and unable to relieve the throbbing ache from between his legs. At least, not until she returns…

UMMMMM PART 2 IDK???

[starksvinyls]

Title: Playing With Girls Rating: Explicit Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Tags/Warnings: Trans Peter Parker, Female Terms for Peter's Genitals, Feminization, Breeding Bench, Restraints, Paddles, Spanking, Barebacking, Daddy Kink, Under-negotiated kink, (nothing too serious, there's some minor changes of plans during the scene but they check in), BDSM, Dom/sub Summary: Peter has a fantasy he wants to try, and Tony is always willing to give Peter what he wants. Notes: this fills square B4 ‘breeding bench’ on my @starkerfestivals Summer Bingo card! And gets me my first bingo for this round! Title is from the AC/DC song of the same name. AO3 Link

Peter looked gorgeous, splayed across the breeding bench, wrists and ankles secured in cuffs attached to the legs. The soft glow of their playroom’s track lighting illuminating the soft, pale, naked expanse of his his back.  

“How are the cuffs?” Tony asked. 

“Good. No pinching, not too tight.” Peter dutifully replied, knowing what Tony wanted to know. 

“Good boy.”  

Tony stood up and circled around the back of the bench, grinning when he could see a peak of Peter’s folds, already glistening. He picked up a small leather paddle, then “What’s your safeword?” 

“Yellow to pause, red to stop.” 

That was Tony’s cue to begin. He rubbed circles with the paddle over the globes of Peter’s ass, warming him up. Then, he pulled back and swatted across the center of the younger’s ass, not nearly as hard as he knew Peter could take; this was just a nice little appetizer, after all. The chains of the cuffs rattled as Peter wiggled around, and Tony swatted him again, quickly, in reprimand, making Peter still. Four more swats, two on each cheek, and then Tony set the paddle back down on the table set up next to them. Peter’s skin was warm as Tony rubbed over the skin, soothing any residual sting. 

“Such a good girl.” It felt wrong coming out of his mouth, but the way Peter moaned would be seared into Tony’s brain forever. 

There had been plans, ideas of what to do with Peter once he had him at his mercy, but the anticipation was too great. Tony needed to be buried balls deep in his boy’s pussy, and he knew Peter wouldn’t mind a little change in plans. His shorts were hastily pushed down, the fabric pooling around his ankles, and then kicked off out of the way. Tony brought his hand down to Peter’s pussy and ran one finger through his folds. 

“So wet already, baby, this pussy is practically begging for my cock, huh?” 

Peter moaned again, and nodded. “Please, Sir.” 

Tony grinned and pressed his finger into Peter’s hole, still so tight, and quickly added a second. It was a stretch for Peter, but Tony knew he liked it. Peter had spent fifteen minutes, once, describing how incredible the stretch felt while he was sitting on Tony’s cock. Growing impatient, and letting his dick do the thinking, Tony made quick work of stretching Peter out, filthy promises falling from his lips. 

“Gonna fill this pussy up, gonna fuck you so good. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you? You’re gonna take everything I give you and thank me for it, aren’t you?” He demanded. 

“Yes!” Peter wailed. “Thank you, Sir, thank you. Oh, god, just your fingers feel so big inside of me.” 

Tony’s mouth started to run away from him, thoughts tumbling from him faster than he could process. “Just you wait, baby, Daddy’s cock is going to stretch out your little girl parts and ruin you for anyone else.” 

“Oh, fuck, Tony.” Peter panted.

He paused, leaning forward to see where Peter was peaking at him over his shoulder. “Too much?” They had never played around much with daddy kink, but apparently it went hand in hand with feminizing Peter and his pussy for Tony. 

A shake of his head. “No, god, just give me a sec.” 

Tony nodded, still paused with his fingers inside of Peter. When given the go ahead, Tony began to finger fuck Peter again, adding a third finger. 

“Oh, Daddy! It’s- it’s too much.” Peter whined. 

Tony’s other hand flew down to grab the base of his cock. Jesus, this was hot. He grunted and forced his fingers in again, his knuckles soaked with Peter’s juices. There was no way he could wait until Peter was comfortable with four fingers, and Tony knew Peter could take it. He decided to go for it. Pulling his fingers free, Tony grabbed his cock with his wet fingers and brought it up to Peter’s pussy, rubbing the head up and down the slit. 

“Daddy’s gonna put his dick inside your little girl hole and mold you to the shape of my cock, baby.”

Peter just moaned in response. 

Tony lined himself up and began to push in, working against the resistance of the tightness still clinging to Peter’s pussy. He groaned as Peter’s walls squeezed around his cock, pushing through the velvety heat. Fully seated, he waited a moment to let Peter breathe through it, and then pulled back and slammed back in. His rhythm was punishing, forcing little noises out of Peter with each thrust. 

“Fuck, you feel so good around Daddy’s cock, baby girl, I’m not going to be able to stay away from your little hole now.” 

Peter was making a constant stream of noise, unable to hold any of it in. “Daddy, it’s too big, it hurts.” 

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re making Daddy feel so good, princess, you’re being so good.” Tony gave a hard thrust. “Don’t you want to be good?” 

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter replied, sounding meek. 

God, his boyfriend was a fantastic actor. No matter what they roleplayed, Peter always managed to make it all seem so real, always pulled Tony into the scene with just a few artful looks and crafted words, and was able to improv and play off of Tony. Tony really felt like the dirty old man he was playing at.  

Tony had his reservations, when Peter first brought up his fantasy, how could he not? He had never once thought of Peter as anything other than a boy - a man, and he hadn’t been sure he would be able to degrade Peter the way he was asking for. After hours of discussion and reassurances on both sides, though, Tony could say this was the hottest thing they’ve done together. To know that Peter, his boy, trusted him that much, knew that Tony didn’t actually think those things, but was willing to indulge Peter, it ratcheted up the intensity of the actual fucking by about a thousand. 

His balls slapped against Peter’s cock as he fucked in and out of the boy’s stretched hole, his grip on Peter’s hips no doubt making little finger shaped bruises that would fade before they were even out of their after scene bath. 

“Daddy’s gonna come inside you, gonna fill up your womb, princess.” Tony moaned. 

Peter tried to push himself up, but was held down by the cuffs. “No! Daddy, don’t! You can’t come inside!” 

Tony grunted and fucked into Peter’s pussy just a bit harder. “Daddy can do whatever he wants, baby, and Daddy doesn’t pull out. So you’re going to take it all like a big girl, understood?” 

“Yes, Daddy.” Peter choked out. 

He was close, he hadn’t been this close this fast in a long time. It took him by surprise, but Tony really shouldn’t be surprised by anything else during this scene; nothing had gone as he expected in the best ways. His balls tightened, making Tony thrust that much harder into Peter. If the bench wasn’t bolted down, it would be scraping across the floor with Tony’s movements, he was sure. 

Peter was making the most delicious sounds and Tony groaned as he started coming. Rope after rope of come pulsed into Peter’s womb, just as promised. When Tony pulled out, a gush of come followed, dripping down to the floor. Peter was limp, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, draped over the bench. 

“You wanna come, baby?” Tony murmured, gently rubbing Peter’s lower back. 

Sometimes Peter was too sensitive just from the fucking, especially if Tony took him from behind. Having Tony’s balls slap against his cock could be quite stimulating, according to Peter, and an orgasm would send him into an overload. Other times, he was damn near insatiable and Tony had to break out the vibrator. 

“Y-yeah,” The younger man panted. “Just your fingers.” 

Tony wasted no time in bringing his hand back down to Peter’s pussy, running two fingers through the mess of Peter’s juices and Tony’s semen, down to his cock. He used the pads of his fingers to gently massage the length, knowing just how Peter liked to be touched. A tremor ran through Peter’s body and he moaned as he came quickly, hips trying their hardest to buck despite the restraints. 

Tony rubbed soothing circles on Peter’s back as he calmed down, and then knelt down to undo the restraints. Peter brought his arms up and crossed them on the main body of the bench, giving himself a pillow. His head was turned to the side, watching Tony as he began doing a  quick, rudimentary clean up - the rest could wait til later. 

“Ready for a bath?” The older man asked, squatting down to be at eye level with Peter. 

Peter smiled. “Can we have the cactus lily salts?” Those were his favorite scented bath salts. 

“Absolutely,” Tony stood, wincing as his knees popped, and held out his hand to help Peter up. “Anything for you, baby.” 

[lovejosephquinn]

I don’t care if it takes all night, you will submit. 🥺🥺 please

You just wanted to rile Joe up, he had his dominant head on and that really did something to you. On the outside, most people see him in his gentleman persona, 99% of the time; it's true. It was so much the case tonight as he was busy cuffing your wrists to the headboard, Joe wanted to make a point that on this particular night in question, he was in charge, as much as he tried you would squirm and wriggle about the bed to drive him crazy.

Your ass was already sore from being bent over and spanked a countless amount of times, he even struggled to lock the handcuffs because his own hands were tingling from the contact to your cheeks. Your mind kept on repeating the sound of his voice, the way he growled as you took the sharp burning hits.

'You're such a little slut, you even enjoy being spanked. For goodness sake I'm going to have to restrain you aren't I?'

Now here you were, chains bashing against the headboard where you continued to squirm.

"Carry on and see what you get, brat." Joe grunted.

You pouted your lips to the side, pretending like you were considering it but that was actually never an option. "I think I'll carry on." you giggled innocently.

Joe climbed over you, hoisting your head to a more tilted position, his thighs leaning up to press against just above your shoulders. Stroking his cock inches away from your face pointing the tip towards you, he glared at you with darkened pupils. "I don't care if it takes all night, you will submit."

You smirked as you rattled your restraints as loudly as you possibly could.

"Open that filthy little mouth of yours."

You disobeyed and within seconds Joe hooked his hand around your chin, pressing into your cheeks. "I think you misheard me." Your mouth began to jolt open, you knew he meant business. "Open. Your. Fucking. Mouth."

You did it. Joe forcefully pushed every inch into your mouth, not giving you any room for adjustment, thrusting his hips forward ferociously, your throat being tapped by the tip of Joe's length.

"Your warnings passed my darling girl, take my fucking cock." He snarled following on with a wicked, deepened chuckle, his cock passing your tonsils and pushing a few inches down your throat making your gag reflex hit it's peak. Joe pulled out for what felt a millisecond before shoving it back in.

"Are you going to be a good girl for me?"

The tears stained the corners of your eyelids, you nodded slight, mouth stuffed full not being able to respond verbally.

"Answer me."

"M-m-mhmm." You managed.

Joe pulled out of your mouth completely as you panted for breath, he moved his way down your body, his mouth following the trail nipping at every bit of skin he passed. With his head between your thighs, the slight biting turned into subtle kisses along your slit.

"Tell me who's good girl you are." Joe muttered calmly.

"Yours." You whispered, desperate for him to dig into your cunt.

"Pardon?" He spoke a little louder.

"Yours, sir." You almost yelled it out, you didn't want to say it again, you just wanted Joe to give you what you were craving.

"Damn fucking straight."

The smile you received was most definitely to be perceived as a good will gesture for the head you were about to receive.

[obae-me]

Upside Down CH-1

Author’s Note: Hi, yes, hello, welcome to the fic series that no one asked for! Do I have other things I need to finish? Yes! But has this been the only thing on my mind for the past four days? Also yes! For some reason I was incapable of writing anything else! Thanks, brain, for this out of the blue obsession! 

Tags: Reverse AU

Word Count: 4587

                                                      Next Chapter

Hell Away From Hell

Wrong. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was a mistake. It had to be. Although, with every clink of your restraints, your reality was becoming ever clearer. The chains rattled, echoing down the hall like a set of twisted wind chimes. Ones that sung of your dismal fortune. The demon ahead of you yanked the lead attached to your cuffs, sending you stumbling forward. You bit your lip to keep from cursing. Steading your body, you took their less-than-subtle message and picked up the pace. Keeping your eyes glued towards your destination, your stomach sank to your knees. Why? Why had you been brought to the castle? You hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, not anything to warrant being escorted by the palace guards in chains. And as they led you silently inside, past the polished halls and gaudy antiques, your fate pounded just fervently in your mind as your heart was in your chest. 

They were going to present you in front of the prince. 

It was torture in and of itself just making it to the throne room. The worst part about it all was your rampant imagination. You could only imagine what type of horrific techniques the prince was aware of. Halting in front of the large double doors, the demon behind you moved to open the entrance. Holding it open, the guard tugging you along guided you in. You managed to take only a few steps inside the room before you were practically thrown inside, your body tumbling over the ground. Both the guards smirked at you, flashing their pointed fangs in their conceited gestures before shutting the door, leaving you alone inside. 

“MC.” All the air inside your lungs had conveniently escaped. Lifting your chest off the ground, you tightened your lips as you met his gaze. Those glistening emerald eyes pierced right through you. Quickly, you lowered your eyes, attempting to show as much respect as you could to gain his favor. 

“M-my lord.” 

The melodic note that left his throat was a mix between a laugh and a coo. “Now, now, none of that groveling. I had you brought here to ask you a favor!” You could hear him stand to his feet, and you watched his shoes approach, clicking against the marbled tile. Then, you felt the smooth skin of his hand caress your right horn. The sudden sensitive feeling had your tail rapidly twitch and tuck under your leg. He pushed your horns back, raising your chin so you could look up at him. His dark hair drifted down across his forehead, curling around his horns that curved above his head like a broken halo, his face soft and inviting, and yet your gut wouldn’t let you believe it. “Please, from now on, just call me Simeon.” 

Simeon hummed as he lifted his tea cup to his lips. He had been hospitable enough, but you still couldn’t shake this feeling of unease. Plus...what he had brought you in to ask you was...well, something short of insanity. You continued to rub your wrists where your constraints had been. And as much as the prince of hell apologized for his guard’s brutish behavior, you had a feeling it was purposeful. A message of sorts. Even now, as he had his little servant bring in sweets and tea as sickly sweet as it could get, it all tasted bitter to your tongue. “So let me get this straight,” you started. “You want me to be a member of this…” 

The prince tilted his head, eyes practically shining. “Restoration program.” 

You cleared your throat after the little scone this blonde demon had given you made your throat run dry. “R-right. And I’m assuming I don’t have a choice in the matter?” 

His voice was soft, but the light reflecting off his horns and his fangs suggested another answer. “We all have choices, MC.” 

Swallowing your nervousness, you lowered your head again. “But, with all due respect, sir...why? Why a restoration program?” 

Another voice chuckled behind your figure. “Because, why not?” You strained your neck, getting a view at the newcomer behind you. White hair, a mischievous smile, and something unknown swimming at the back of those dark eyes. Not only that, but the figure was wearing clothes as pure as clouds, with a certain glow to him. 

Simeon stood, hand out to greet this person as if they were an old friend-and for all you knew, they might’ve been. “Solomon, how good to see you.” 

The new guest-now known to you as Solomon-beamed. “Likewise. You’re looking well.” He turned, giving you a once-over to take you in before nodding. “And you are MC, yes?” 

Glaring, already feeling your skin about to burn, you leaned away from him. “And you’re an angel.” Your distrustful attitude let him frown for just a moment, but whether it was just his angelic nature or his personality, that smile was right back on his face. 

“Yes, well, the plan requires an angel, so Simeon personally asked me for my hand in this matter.” 

The both of them could tell that you were unbelievably confused, so Simeon gestured for the angel to take a seat at the table. “Luke.” The prince gestured to his small servant, the one who had not only brought you sweets but had taken the liberty to be staring you down the entire time. Finally, he turned his attention away from you. “Please do me a favor and get our new guest some refreshments.” The lesser demon squinted at you, nearly growled at the angel, and then took his leave with rapid little steps. Simeon laughed quietly to himself. “Don’t worry about him, he’s not used to others quite yet. But, MC.” With your name mentioned, you straightened your posture. “I’ve been planning this for quite some time. It’s been a desire of mine to bring the three realms closer together.” You couldn’t help but wonder why, what purpose it served, but you kept your mouth shut. “And while I’ve started to make decent progress fixing the old wounds between the Devildom and Celestial Realm, most of my kingdom and Solomon’s people refuse to make connections with the humans.” 

Mortals...even just the mention managed to leave a heavy pit in your stomach. “If I may speak.” You waited for the prince’s go-ahead before speaking your mind. “What would be the point of connecting with the humans? They serve little purpose. They’re either so corrupt they destroy their own kind or they think they’re so pure they isolate themselves or get themselves killed in the name of their twisted justice.” Speaking so passionately against the idea, you didn’t realize your nails had grown into talons, leaving marks in the wooden table. You took a breath, reclaiming your typical form. “They can’t even do themselves any good, what makes you think they’d be good for our realms?” 

Solomon, an expression of understanding mixed with pity, bounced a little in his seat. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” He turned his head to Simeon, who was nodding at you with a bit of approval. 

“That’s what this plan is all about. Testing them, observing them. We’ll be watching these humans, and at the end of this project, we’ll be able to determine if they’re ready and worthy of being brought together with us.” The ruler crossed one leg over the other, his tone making it sound as it was as simple as eating pie. 

Setting down the fork to your pastry, you felt a sense of dread wash over you. “And by we you mean?” 

“Why, you and Solomon of course! A demon and an angel, both working together to restore the bond between the human world and ours! The Demonic and Angelic Restoration program! Or D.A.R. -dare- for short.” If it weren’t for the horns, you’d almost think this demon was an angel with the way he eagerly talked about restoring bonds and bettering the nature of the realms. But, then you felt nauseous. 

“What...what exactly do you need me to do to help with this...program? And why me?” 

It was actually the angel that spoke up. “I’m sure you’re aware of the Morningstars?” 

It was such a silly question, you ended up scoffing. “Who doesn’t down here? Those brothers are filled with so much corruption and chaos they end up fueling about half the lesser demons down here...why?” 

They both straight up ignored your question and instead asked you some of their own. Simeon leaned forward, looking at you intently. “It took me quite a bit of time to find you MC. Most people don’t know you exist, and those that do hardly know your name. You simply are known to most as Isolation. Is it true that you’ve never made a pact with a human? Rumor is that you even refuse to subsist off their sins. And you’ve never taken a soul? That’s typically unheard of nowadays.”  

Shifting in your seat, you gave it to them straight. “It’s true. I do whatever I can to avoid contact. Haven’t even seen a human in the past millennia. Haven’t talked to one in about twice that time.” 

Clapping his hands together, Simeon let out an amazed sigh. “Perfect. You will be able to have a fresh eye! A clean slate. An unbiased--well, mostly unbiased opinion. You won’t be tempted to corrupt them, you’ll give me honest answers.” 

“Plus,” the angel agreed, “if you have the strength and willpower to live without human sustenance and influence for this long, you probably will have the patience to keep from killing them. If anyone could manage to live with the Morningstars, it would be you, from what I’ve heard.” 

You were grateful you had put down your drink a while ago. Your breath caught in your throat. “Wait, excuse me, what did you say? Live...with the…” 

“Mr. Morningstar!” A laugh, a handshake, even a pat on the shoulder, it nearly made you ill watching the upcoming king of the Devildom greet a human like this so casually. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at this mortal...one of the Morningstars, the eldest. The one who fueled the most demons without even knowing about it. People down in the Devildom called him by Pride. A human world CEO-whatever that meant. He was powerful, influential, not to mention ridiculously rich. And he’d do whatever it took to keep his status, even at the misfortune of plenty of other people. His suit and posture told you pretty much all you needed to know about him. A fancy well tailored pitch black suit, a striking red tie with a subtle but regal diamond design, diamond cufflinks, the works. It was as if dust and winkles knew to avoid him entirely. His hair was as dark as his suit, save for the ends which were greying. He didn’t seem that old, so you wondered if it was intentional or simply stress. You thought you heard someone say that once, that humans could get grey hair from stress. Did they all possess capabilities to change their hair based on their emotions? That human lady you saw outside the building with the blue hair must’ve been feeling something intense. 

“Mr-” The human you had come to see was cut off. 

“Please, you know to call me Simeon by now!” 

The mortal cleared his throat. “Simeon…” The human glanced at you, and raised his chin as he took Simeon by the shoulders and brought him away from you. If you had been a human, it would’ve been a decent tactic to keep you out of earshot. Unfortunately, you could still hear everything they were saying. “I know you have good standing with the company, and I’m pleased to know you respect and trust me with such a task, but...this is far from business.” You could feel his eyes on you. “I have to respectfully decline your request. I don’t think I can allow them to live with us for a year. You know my family.” 

“It would only be for a year, and I know you have plenty of room in that house of yours!” Simeon laughed a bit and then lowered his voice. You could feel the alluring pull of his influence flood the space. The human stiffened, his intuition picking up on a shift in the room. “Besides, Lucifer. You know I wouldn’t ask for a favor like this without some proper and well deserved remuneration. Listen...I happen to have something on the head of that business owner that’s been butting heads with your company. Wouldn’t it be nice to have them completely out of the picture? Not only is that increasing your profit, but if they happen to...I don’t know, completely go bankrupt, that little building of theirs on the corner of Main is some prime real estate.” Reaching into his pocket, Simeon pulled out a small...plastic...rectangle of sorts, with metal on one end. “I got everything right here.” Smiling, one hand firmly against Lucifer’s upper back, he looked him right in the eyes and whispered something you knew would have this human caught. “You can’t let them bother you like this. You need to show them and everyone else who you are, and that you’re not to be messed with.” 

It took the mortal a moment of internal struggle. Decline the offer and figure things out himself without assistance? Or swallow the smallest bit of ego for self satisfaction? Either way, this mortal was past helping. Already drowning in pride. Eventually, he gripped the object, tucking it into a pocket beneath his suit jacket. Despite being handed assistance, he still found a way to be demanding. “Alright, but no more than a year, and if I feel like anything is going awry, I’m sending them away. Is it really too unreasonable to just set them up on their own? Surely for you it’s no problem.” 

Backing up slightly after his incentive worked, Simeon shook his head. “I would feel endlessly guilty leaving alone, desolate, isolated, after what happened. Poor thing...they haven’t even said a word to me in days.” That last part wasn’t a lie. You’d nearly refused to say anything to him since being dragged to the human world. Prince or no prince. “My poor cousin, suddenly losing all their family like that. It’s tragic, isn’t it? Losing people you love?” 

Lucifer, with his arms folded, let his hand tightly grip the fabric of one of his sleeves. His eyes lowered the slightest touch, his jaw tightening. “It...is...I know it all too well.” You caught a hint of some emotion from the mortal. 

“Then you know that what would be best for them right now is company. Trust me, I wouldn’t have brought them to you if I didn’t think it would help. Besides, this is a win for all parties involved, right?” Simeon gestured to the gift Lucifer had tucked away, and the last string of resistance had been snipped. 

Sighing, the human looked at the luxurious watch on his wrist. “I’ll take them home. Let my brothers know what’s happening. Is it too much to assume they’ll be better behaved with a guest in the house?” 

Laughing once more, the prince shrugged. If only Lucifer knew who he was in the presence of. “You’ll all just have to find out!” Patting the other man on the shoulder, Simeon then came over to you with his arms outstretched. “It’s all settled, MC!” He pulled you into a hug, taking the time to speak quietly to you. “Remember to keep your identity a secret. I’ll be checking up on you and Solomon once a month for a report. Keep them safe. Play nice.” He pulled apart, coming around behind you and settling his hands on your shoulders. “And remember, what Mr. Morningstar is doing is unbelievably nice, so make sure to thank him and keep yourself out of trouble.” 

You broke your vow of silence out of irritation. “I’m not a child you’re sending away to school. I know how to keep my own head on my shoulders.” You attempted to brush his hands off but the grip was tightened. Swallowing your frustration, you kept yourself from grimacing, looking at the fabled Lucifer Morningstar. “Thank you...for letting me live with you.” 

For a human, he had a tenacity for picking up on things. He noticed your lie, giving you a stare down of his own before grabbing his phone. You only recently figured out what those devices were. Simeon had made sure he gifted you one of your own, since apparently it was the main source of communication in this realm. Too strange, but you picked it up fairly quickly. Lucifer just raised his head and pressed his cell against his ear. “Just make sure you refrain from being as irksome as my brothers.” The line he was dialing picked up. “Yes, have a driver prepare to come pick me up. And someone please contact my brothers for me so they know I’m bringing home a...guest.” 

It was going to be a long year…

The...metal contraption rumbled, making your head feel light. Without magic to get around, they had to use...these things. The movement slowed till it came to a stop. Looking out the pane of glass, you peered forward to see what the issue was. A big red circular light shone a bright crimson in front of the lane. Was it a threat? If so, why was the world seemingly filled with them? Then the eye turned green and the long carriage rumbled back to life. It was completely different than the last time you had been here. 

“Before you even step foot in my home, we need to set some ground rules.” Even just the sound of his voice almost physically rubbed you the wrong way. You bit the inside of your cheek. Play nice, the prince had said. How long could you keep your patience around these mortals? You looked up at him, feeling him stare you down to the corrupt depths of your soul. “Since you’re going to be living with us for so long, you’re going to have to follow the same rules I give my brothers? Understand?” 

Was this all worth it? Would having your soul be torn to shreds be that bad? “Yes.” 

He nodded, then decided his attention would be better focused towards whatever he had on that electronic device of his. He gave you orders without even looking at you. No wonder all the lesser demons who fawned after him were so pretentious. “No parties. No pets. You can stay up however long you want, but you must be back at the house no later than midnight. You can have your own room but you must keep it clean, don’t expect me to hire a maid for you. You’re responsible for looking after yourself. I might be providing a roof over your head, but anything you need is up to you. You break anything, you’re responsible for replacing it. Just use the basic level of common sense and we should have no trouble. Hopefully the year will be over before we—oh excuse me.” Without another word he picked another call, his third one since you’d been blackmailed into this ride. You just gave a gentle sigh and stared out the window. Just a few days ago you’d still existed in your botherless existence. A personal utopia of your own making. Now you were in this...hell away from hell, the scent of smog and exhaust still burning the inside of your nose. 

The rest of the ride was spent with you trying to think of ways to escape this fate, but finding none in sight. You didn’t need to fully see the building to get this overwhelming wave of impurity. The tempting allure of sin. Practically a demon buffet. These morons were just screaming to be killed or worse, eaten. Even just approaching the gate to the driveway, you could see remnants of spirits, demons without full forms clawing at the fence. Wisps of black sinking into their sidewalk. But not even those, you could smell the presence of other lesser demons...but more dangerous ones. Outside the gate were small crowds, not too many, but enough to safely conceal their presence. Photographers, journalists, fans, wherever they were, they were eager to get in. And amongst the rabble stood demons pretending to be mortals in an attempt to sink their fangs into one of the Morningstars. You slunk down in your seat, trying to conceal your presence, but you were sure they’d be able to feel you. The car slipped past all of them, approaching the first set of gates. Whoever was patrolling the vehicle pressed their fingers against a small pad attached to a pillar by the gate. It waited for a moment, then made an affirming noise before the gate swung open. The cries of mortal and hidden demons alike pleading for the smallest sliver of attention from this human made you feel sick. 

Despite having nearly ignored you the whole time, Lucifer scoffed. “You’ll get used to it.” The curved metal fence shut behind you, and the sound of the crowd slowly faded as you pulled up in front of the massive house. If anything, it reminded you a little of home. It was an old fashioned looking house, but fanciful nonetheless. With dark stone, piercing towers, arched windows, and an overall gothic aesthetic. You managed to take a moment to breathe. At least there was one silver lining. Lucifer stepped out of the idle vehicle first, paying you no mind as he approached the steps to the door. Slightly panicking, you tried simply pushing the door before noticing the small handle. Pulling it unlocked it, and you rapidly exited, feeling the motion sickness fade with your feet on the ground. You followed the mortal to the door, and was slightly pleased when he put his phone away to open the door, leaving it open for you. Lucifer shut the door, a small high pitched noise ringing through your ears. You turned and watched him mess with a little panel near the door. “Our security is top of the market. I make sure the code is changed every day, so if you’re not inside by midnight, I hope you enjoy camping.” 

You were about to speak up about that, but both of you were bombarded with noise. A noise you would later learn to get used to. “Oi! Lucifer!” A bundle of energy came racing down the stairs. Wild hair, dark skin, rings on nearly every finger, you recognized this individual without having to ask his name. You could feel the influence. Greed. Demons almost loved this brother more than Pride, because from what you’d heard, he’d make deals impulsively with demons without knowing their true intentions. As long as money or something expensive was in front of him, he’d jump for anything. It had gotten him in more than enough trouble, and it made him too much of a prime target. At least Lucifer knew how to look over his shoulder. The second brother confronted the eldest. He didn’t even glance at you. “Hey, I need some cash! For some reason my card keeps declining...you can spot me right?” 

Lucifer didn’t even hesitate. “No.” 

“Eh? Why not?! I did that thing the other day for you, remember?” 

“Hm?” Lucifer tilted his head, taking the time to recall-or pretending to. “Which thing would that be? Would it have been before or after you stole and immediately maxed out my card?” Lowering his eyes, the older one gave off a menacing smile. 

Mammon took a step back, muttering. “O-oh you found about that, huh?” 

The smile turned into a full on yell. “Of course I found out! I got a call from the bank as soon as they saw the purchase! What exactly do you need a golden tiger statue for, Mammon? Seriously, you’re absolutely ridiculous! I returned it by the way, and in the meantime I cancelled all your cards.” Mammon went to open his mouth in anger but didn’t have the chance to say anything. “You can try to find some extra work to pay off all the bills you’ve left me with. And if I think you’re ready, I’ll reopen your accounts in two months.” The effort of shouting sent Pride’s eye twitching. He lifted a hand to press against his forehead, the blood draining from his face. You shifted ever so slightly in your spot and he groaned. “Right, you’re here. Mammon, this is MC.” 

Eyebrows raised, he jumped a little when he finally spotted you were in the room. “Wait, wait, wait, that whole thing with someone staying with us for a year wasn’t a joke?” 

“No.” Although the slight warble to his voice seemed that that fact was just now settling in. “It wasn’t. And since you’ve so kindly volunteered yourself, you can take their bags and show them to their room.” He simply turned. No welcome, no tour, no warmth in those cold eyes of his. 

“Hey! Come back here!” Yet the younger sibling showed no signs of chasing after him. “Lucifer!” His older brother just quickly headed up the stairs and disappeared into the house. Was it really going to require a full year of observation? Just from what you were seeing right now, you wanted nothing to do with humans. Nothing. Mammon ran a hand through his hair, one of his strands getting stuck in one of his rings, but he tugged it out without noticing, like it was a daily occurrence. “I can’t believe this.” You could watch as the anger started to swell within him. “Screw this, I’m out of here!” You were ready for him to leave, to give into his emotions. He had wrapped his hand around the door handle before he stopped. Pausing, he just tutted to himself before shoving his hands in his jacket-pockets, looking in your direction but not fully at you. “You want the guest room we have upstairs or down?” Loud, brash, rude in some ways, but there was a weird sort of innocence about him. You simply shrugged. He nodded, grasping one of your bags suddenly, gesturing you to follow. “I’ll give you the downstairs one. Most of our rooms are on the second floor, so it’s a bit quieter down here, plus it stays cooler.” He led you past the entrance hall and back into the rest of the house. “Plus, it’s easier to sneak out from here, but you didn’t hear that from me. I’m guessing Lucifer gave you the whole rule spiel?” 

You restrained the urge to roll your eyes. “Yeah.” 

He hissed in air through his teeth. “Sucks, man, are you sure you want to stay here?” 

The pain around your wrists was still too prominent. Etched into your skin was a mark, a line of runes and symbols around your wrists. Who knew demons could give temporary pacts to other demons? Simeon ensured you a small fraction of his power, just in case you ran into trouble. But in exchange he had a hold on you, able to summon you to him whenever he needed you. It was your chain keeping you imprisoned here. There was no running. There was no hiding. “I didn’t have a choice.”

[fanfic-collection]

Loki x Reader: Ice Elf Assassin

Who knows what I wrote, have a read, please like and comment if you can, I appreciate that.

It's based on a prompt about people removing hidden weapons while undressing

-

The cold of this land was far different than what you were used to. As an ice elf, you had experience with cold, bitter winds, but Jotunheim? This frigid land chilled you to the bone.

Your boots crunched miserably through the wind as your partner walked lithely beside you, silent and unheard. You were out of your element.

Some great assassin you were turning out to be.

Your thoughts turned back to the shady tavern your companion had met you in. It was not unusual to meet potential employers in such places. You were the sort of assassin who was often hired, quite skilled at your job, lethal, efficient, you were known to get the job done. Even if few people actually knew who you were.

However this patron had set you on edge, he seemed to guess your every move, know your every thought. He was clearly not of that realm, Nornheim, and did not appear to be of the realm he was hiring you to visit. Who he was though, with such a heavy coined purse, perplexed you. Usually you made it in your best interest to know your employers. When you tried to press him, the man laughed it off, merely assuring you he was wealthy enough to compensate you and that you could call him Loki.

“Loki.” That name sounded familiar.

Stealing a glance at the tall man with sharp cheekbones and long black hair, he wore regal green and gold armor. The armor was fitting with his wealthy persona, clearly he was some sort of nobleman, or wealthier. Yet he carried himself with an assured stance, like a warrior, yet always casting furtive glances around, always on the ready for any signs of ambush - just as you did. He was cut out for the life of an assassin just as much as you were. Evidently he was used to watching his back and not trusting those around him. Yet he had wrinkles around his eyes that indicated he was as quick to smile as he was to worry. The heavy green cloak that trailed behind him offered no camouflage in this blue and white barren environment and yet he did not seem to care.

You had clothing for any land you were traveling to, mottled cloaks aimed to disappear into your surroundings. Loki strode with confidence beside you, silently challenging anyone who dare step out and face you. While you could hold your own in an open battle, you preferred to ambush, slit their throats and recede into the night. What this strange man was thinking… as before, you could not fathom.

“The sun is setting.” Loki murmured suddenly.

Your rattling teeth were so loud you almost missed his soft voice. “Yes, it appears so.”

“We need to get shelter.”

You nodded, wrapping your cloak tighter around yourself. “Good idea.” With the fall of night, temperatures would rapidly plunge.

Loki glanced at you, a bemused expression on his face. “I thought ice elves could handle the cold.”

“We can.” You sniffed indignantly. “This wretched place is an entirely different beast altogether.”

“Oh?”

“This isn’t just cold, this is death. What could possibly live out here?” You grumbled, looking around for signs of shelter. Stamping your boots and rubbing your hands together beneath your cloak, you tried to keep blood flowing.

Loki nodded thoughtfully, “I chose correctly in bringing an ice elf at the very least, it seems if I had brought anything else, they’d be dead.”

You shrugged, “Jotunheim is certain death. But if you want to bring death to death, I suppose I’m your best bet.”

“Sounds a bit cliche, no?”

“It would be if it weren’t true.”

Again, Loki nodded thoughtfully.

“I’ve earned my reputation, and I’ve kept my head down too. That’s why you have to know how to contact me.”

A smile spread across Loki’s face, “Yes, the bribes I had to give out to finally reach you could bankrupt a small kingdom.”

“So you’re a prince then?”

“Would you like to know?”

You threw your hands up in the air exasperated, “Yes!”

Loki tapped his chin as he looked back up at the sky, “It’s getting cold. You need shelter.” He turned, saying no more and began to trot away as the winds picked up, whipping the snow covered ground into flurries.

You scrambled to keep up with him, the icy wind burning your throat as the snow stung at any exposed skin. There wasn’t much, as you knew what you were getting into, but the nature of walking for a long distance in the cold always meant some skin eventually was revealed.

Arm held up in front of your face, fighting against the buffeting wind as your field of vision faded to next to nothing, you let out a soft squeak of a scream when a hand reached out and grabbed you through the white out.

The hand tugged at you and suddenly you were in a cave, falling forward and into the armored chest of Loki. Your gloved hands rested on his breast plate as you stared up at him, while he looked down at you, holding your wrists - your clothing caked with snow.

Despite yourself, you felt your cheeks heat up, and for once, you were thankful for the thick scarf wrapped around your face.

Stiffly, Loki righted you, as you forced yourself off his chest and straightened up, each of you clearing your throats.

“Come,” Loki muttered, motioning for you to follow him.

Back a short distance from the mouth of the cave, it took a sharp turn and the howling wind outside was blocked off.

To your surprise, a small green fire sat on the floor flickering lively and warmed the area a small amount.

For an ice elf such as yourself, it may as well have been a blazing bonfire.

You gasped and rushed forward, holding your hands up to the fire and knelt down, allowing yourself to thaw.

Loki chuckled as he leaned against the wall of the cave, watching you.

Biting your gloves, you peeled them off one by one. Throwing caution to the wind you let them drop to the ground with a loud clatter, the hidden daggers within bouncing on the hard cave floor beneath you.

Loki raised his eyebrow as you glanced back at him with a sheepish smile.

Slowly you unwound your scarf, carefully setting it on the ground. Barely visible, but making sure he could see them, were a half dozen throwing stars. You lowered your hood, that you had kept in place with hair sticks. Setting the hair sticks carefully on the ground, you paused to look at them, checking to make sure the poison vials within them were still intact.

And so it went, as you began to undress, making sure your clothes could dry.

Loki walked over and sat beside you, leaning back on his elbow, one knee resting on its side on the ground, the other bent so his boot was flat.

While you took out weapon after weapon, Loki merely took a knife from his boot and held it on the tip of his index finger, balancing it; all the while his gaze was fixated on you.

Finally down to your tunic and trousers, boots removed, and a small arsenal beside you, you turned to openly face Loki. “There, I have no secrets from you.” You said, bowing your head.

Loki hummed thoughtfully as he straightened up. “Do you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. Slowly you reached up and unclasped a silver chain around your neck.

Loki laughed, “How does that one work?”

“The lock activates barbs. It’s a last effort usually.”

“Your mother’s necklace I imagine.” Loki raised his voice mockingly, “Please sir, don’t take it away from me, it means so much.”

You pursed your lips before scowling at him, “Yes.” You replied shortly.

Loki laughed, “Wonderful. And the others?”

“There’s nothing.”

Loki hummed.

You squinted your eyes and glared at him, “What about what you’re hiding from me?”

“Me?” Loki’s eyebrows rose, feigning offense.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Loki.”

“Where is your money from?”

“Surely you should have researched your employer before agreeing to go to such a deadly realm with him.”

“I can hold my own.”

“Can you? Against me?” Loki leaned forward, pointing his dagger at you.

“Can’t take on a helpless, unarmed elf?”

Loki chuckled darkly, “We both know neither of us is unarmed.”

You grabbed the knife hidden on your thigh holster and leapt to your feet, holding it at the ready.

Loki stood up slowly, dropping his dagger to the ground with a soft clatter. He held his hands up in surrender, head turned to the side warily.

Staring him down, you held the dagger out. “Who are you exactly?”

Loki snapped his fingers and the fire went out.

The cave went black.

The temperature plunged.

You fought the urge to step back, possibly tripping.

From somewhere in front of you, Loki’s voice replied, “I am Loki, prince of Asgard.”

You cursed softly, “Asgardian. I should have known.”

“And I was tasked with executing you for the thorn you’ve been.”

You swallowed hard. Your teeth started to clatter as you began to shiver violently. Even worse was the oppressive blackness of the cave.

“The Allfather is not fond of assassins that aren’t strictly in his employ.”

Your mouth dropped open, “You’re kidding… he hires assassins.”

“More than you know.” Loki replied dryly. “Though usually he’s not so subtle.”

“What?”

“Normally he just sends my brother to murder whoever he needs in daylight. I think an assassin who actually can do such a job would be imperative to Asgard’s security.”

There was a snap of fingers and the flames burst to life again. Feeling began to return to your extremities, and you rubbed at your frigid skin.

Loki walked over and put your mostly dry cloak around you, rubbing his hands through the fabric against your body wherever it was polite. You felt another shiver run through you for entirely different reasons.

Inwardly you wanted to slap yourself, he had just nearly tried to kill you. And yet…

You looked up at him gratefully as his large hands smoothed at the cloak.

“I apologize.” Loki murmured, “It was a formality, I had to know you were as good as they said.”

You nodded, and without realizing, rested your head on his shoulder. Letting out a heavy sigh you closed your eyes, “Yea, it’s fine.”

Loki blinked looking down at you. The corner of his mouth quirked up.

“So, are you going to show me where you keep all your weapons?” You muttered.

“Absolutely not.” Loki replied.

“Someday?” You asked.

Loki chuckled and shook his head.

You touched his thigh abruptly, “Is that one?”

Loki sighed and reached down into his trouser leg, pulling out a wicked jagged dagger, “Yes.”

You blinked, mouth opening and closing. “Oh.”

Snorting, Loki tossed it onto your pile of weapons as he scooped you into his arms, cloak and all. “Come, you need warmth to get you back to the Bifrost. Rest now.”

You nuzzled your face into his neck, too sleepy to realize what you were doing, and slowly drifted off.

Loki’s face flushed pink as he gazed down at you. It had been some time since he had known someone to be so affectionate. He found he quite liked it.

[babbushka]

Somethin’ Brewin’

Pale x Reader (Blue Moon ‘Verse)

2.5k; NSFW (uniform kink, PIV, fingering, spanking, derogatory names, rough sex, begging, finger-sucking)

Kinktober 2020 Masterlist || Available on AO3

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

It’s late, real late. The kind of late where there ain’t even any taxis speedin’ past. An empty diner late at night sure was somethin’, wasn’t it? Sunday nights weren’t too busy, not when everyone had to get up early and head out to their 9-to-5s the next morning. So there you were, all by your lonesome, a couple dimes in the jukebox to keep you company.

Rain slicks up the pavement of the driveway outside, and through the windows you can see the reflection of all the neon out there in the cold and wet. In many ways, you love the diner like this; some soft jazz playing on that jukebox that’s gotta be older than you are, no one to disturb your thoughts as you rinse the last of the dishes and put them in the sinks for the third shift bus-boys.

The bus-boys have all gone, and so has the cook. The diner only serves coffee and whatever you’re willin’ to whip up, when it gets this late. It don’t matter, not one bit, ain’t nobody around to want you to whip anything up anyway.

Oh well, you think as you wipe down the milkshake bar, soon that little hand will hit one and then you’ll get to go home.

“Shit.” You tsk the roof of your mouth, you forgot your damn umbrella.

Fish ain’t here to let you take his this time, he went home an hour ago when it was dry. Maybe you’ll call for a ride, you mull the thought over. You’ve got the pocket cash for it, could just pull a bill or two from the tip jar and call it an evening, but the thought annoys you. That tip jar money’s been goin’ right into a special box that you’ve been working on, hopin’ to surprise your man for somethin’ nice for the holidays.

A bell at the front door dings, and any thoughts about loneliness in an empty diner are cast right outta your head, because as if he was summoned by your very thought, standin’ in front of you is your very own Pale.

Poor guy looks angry, but then again he always does. First thing in the morning after a long night of dead-to-the-world sleep and he looks angry, that was your Pale. He’s got a good reason to be annoyed tonight, just on account of the rain and all, his big leather jacket protected him from most of it, the rest he shakes off right at the door. He hangs up the jacket and reveals one of those silk shirts he loves to wear, gold chain glinting in the soft neon light.

“Wasn’t thinkin’ I’d be seein’ you tonight.” You greet him warmly, setting down the last of the thick glass cups that you’ve been rinsing out.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” He frowns, makes his way over to you where you’re waiting for him with your eyes closed and lips pursed.

You sigh against his mouth when his lips meet yours in a deep kiss, Pale leaning and reaching over the counter to grab at you. His hands don’t ever keep to themselves, and you grin against the corner of his mouth when he gives your ass a firm squeeze.

“Past couple of Sundays you’ve been real busy, that’s all.” You give him a casual shrug. You’re thrilled that he’s here, thrilled that your shift is almost over and that he’s come to pick you up, come to spend a little time with you before you go back to his place and spend the whole night together.

You don’t often spend nights together, just with how hard he works.  

“I’m never too busy for you sweetheart you know that – why don’t you go pour me a cup of somethin’ hot, hm?” Pale scrubs the hair out of his face, shakes it back a little so it falls nice and even. It’s wet, but that’s no issue, you like how he looks like this, and the diner is warm enough so he won’t go catching any colds.

“You’re in luck, I’ve got just enough coffee left in this pot for one VSOP.” You give a glance to the coffee pot on the warmer that has been pitifully neglected, save for a swirl every now and again.

Pale nods, and you don’t think you’ll ever stop being smug about that, about converting him to being a coffee drinker. He used to say it sours his stomach, but that’s just because he’s never had a good cup, he never had any of yours. Now he can’t get enough of the shit, and you take that as a win.

Bending over to reach for his favorite mug – you keep it someplace special so that none of the other waitresses send it out to customers during the day – you don’t even think about the fact that your skirt must be ridin’ up until you hear Pale’s very measured and even voice ask, “Hey sweetheart?”

You stand upright and look over your shoulder, that mug of his in hand and a sly smile creeping across your face.

“Yeah Pale?” You bat your lashes at him, acting oh so innocent – even though you’re anything but.

“Do that again.” His eyes have darkened, that cigarette of his clenched between his teeth, the red tip glowing as he takes a forceful drag.

Instead of bending over, you simply hike your skirt up, giving him exactly what he wants. You’re wearing underwear, but it’s the kind he likes, the soft cotton kind that rips easily, that hugs your hips and ass nicely. It’s white, and you just know Pale is already thinking about how soaked that fabric is gonna get, because he’s pouncin’ out of his seat in an instant.

“Like what you see?” You laugh brightly, playfully, dropping your skirt and turning to face him as he pushes his way through the little swinging door of the milkshake bar, is crowdin’ you up against the counter.

“Damn right I do – hold on.” Pale grunts, flicks his ash and yanks open his belt buckle.

You lick your lips while you watch him, casting a cursory glance to the rest of the diner. Anyone could come in, anyone could walk right in and you’d have nowhere to go or hide. The thought thrills you, especially as Pale manhandles you and turns you around, bends you over the counter. He keeps a hold of your wrists, bound behind your back, as he kicks your feet open.

“I love this fuckin’ uniform.” Pale licks his teeth, the hand that ain’t holdin’ your wrists shoves between your legs, rubs at the folds of your pussy and coaxes all kinds of wetness out of you, making you breathe hard from the pleasure that friction brings, “Don’t go workin’ nowhere else – or if you do, steal one of these and bring it back home to me whydontcha.”

“It’s the uniform that does it for you, hm?” You tease him, wriggling your ass against his hand as he slips a couple fingers under your panties and into your pussy, scissoring roughly just to get you stretched enough to take the tip of him. You moan out loud, “Ohhhhh, is that it? You like me in this short skirt?”

“The little hat,” Pale corrects you, and something about that catches you off guard and makes you push back against his hand, his hips, and he groans, “Fuck you’re sexy.”

“How do you want me, sir?” You gasp, “Well done…or over easy?”

That seems to be enough for him, because he pulls his hand out of your underwear and spanks you hard, making you yelp. It stings in the best way, and you can’t help but clench around nothing, wanting to be filled.

Drool pools out of your mouth and drips onto the counter when you get your wish, when Pale shoves down your underwear and you feel the head of his cock push its way roughly into your cunt, using your own slick and some of his spit to lube the way. Your legs spread even wider for him, as wide as the panties around your thighs will let you.

“Atta girl, there it is, right there. All this, this wet for me?” Pale grunts, one hand holding your wrists steady and the other now moving to pin your hip in place as he wastes no time thrusting.

“Shit, yes, Pale – your cock’s so big!” You moan, loud and high because there ain’t nobody around to hear you, no one’s coming, you can be loud loud loud as he thrusts his big dick into your wet cunt.

Stuff on the counter clamors and rattles as he speeds his pace up, not in the mood for anything gentle tonight. You loved it, loved what he gave you and took it eagerly. Pale hadn’t fucked you since last night, and you were starting to miss the feeling of his thick cock rammed up inside you.

“Been dreamin’ about this pussy all day, you know that? Couldn’t fuckin’ wait to get home only to find the place empty, figured you’d be here and damn I’m glad I was right, damn this pussy’s good.” Pale smokes while he fucks you, cigarette clenched between his teeth as you clench around his cock.

“Where – oh! – where the hell else am I gonna go this late?” You gasp and bite your lip, eyes struggling to stay open, the world shaking around you. If you weren’t bent over and pressed against the counter, your tits would probably be sore from how much they’d bounce.

“Off to one of your other boyfriends maybe, I don’t know I ain’t your keeper or nothin’.” Pale pretends he doesn’t give a fuck but you manage to smack his hand even pinned down like you are.

“Shut up with that shit, I’m your girl Pale, always your girl.” You huff out, before shifting your weight so you can meet every one of Pale’s thrusts, your pussy tight and hot around that aching pleasure, “Does this feel like anybody’s fucked me but you?”

“Say it again.” Pale’s quick to say, ignoring your question, and if your body weren’t on fire you’d roll your eyes, because he only riled you up enough so that he’d hear you say his favorite thing in the world,

“I-I’m yours. Your whore, your needy whore, oh fuck, harder Pale please, please!” You beg, beg because it’s all you can manage, his balls slapping your ass fast fast fast, your pussy drooling and dripping onto your panties, soaking into the fabric as his cock spears in and out of you, rough and dirty as he smokes his cigarette.

“I was just teasin’ you know, you’re good to me, my good girl. I like when you make that face you make at me, gorgeous.” Pale sounds like he’s smiling, even as he’s breathing hard, as he’s grunting and groaning and squeezing your hip, your wrists. You shoot a dirty look over his face and Pale thrusts sharply into you from it, “Yeah that’s it, be mad at me baby.”

“You’re – ah, right there right there – you’re awful to me, so mean, god you feel so good!” Your voice climbs higher and higher until you’re gasping loud, body jerking as Pale brushes against your gspot, the head of his cock knocking up against your cervix on every thrust.

“Keep your hat on sweetheart.” Pale grunts and groans, pulls his hand off your hip to smack at your ass again, another hit right on the flesh of your thigh, before that hand of his comes forward to stick his fingers into your mouth. You immediately suck on them, kissing and licking and biting them, hollowing your cheeks around them as he fucks you, “Big boss could come walkin’ in any minute and then you’d be in some real trouble, wouldn’t you? Real big trouble, gettin’ dicked down like this right out in the open.”

“Don’t care,” You moan around his fingers, they’re so thick, so wide, he can barely fit three of them against your tongue.

“’Course you don’t, slut.” Pale scoffs, and you chuckle warm in your chest, because you really are – but only for him. “You close?”

“Yes – yesyesyes, please, just a little more, touch me please.” Your voice is muffled against his hand, his fingers, but he can hear you just fine. Pale’s jeans chafe against your ass, your knees shake and body tenses, the pit of fire in your stomach rolling through your body. Your nipples are stiff, so stiff against your bra and the friction there makes your cunt clench, tears starting to well up in your eyes, if you don’t come soon you’ll be in pain from how good it all is.  

“Only because you ask so pretty.” He groans, coating his fingers with your spit for a moment or two longer, before lowering them to quickly rub harsh circles on your clit while he fucks you to completion.

“Oh!” Your knees turn in and your body goes limp with pleasure as your nerves tingle and sing up and down your spine, soaking his cock with your come.

He relishes the feeling and soon after you feel the hot splash of his come filling you up, pumping into you. Pale always did have such a big load, you’re almost disappointed that you won’t get to keep it safe for him all day – that dirty secret leaking out of your pussy while you served coffee was one of your favorite thrills.

This was good though, just this, just Pale, the two of you in the empty and quiet diner. Neon spots dance in front of your eyes, as Pale slows to a lazy languid pace, milking your orgasms for all they’re worth.

“Mmmm, thank you.” You sigh dreamily, pleasure like pepsi-cola bubbling and fizzing your brain, your nerve endings when his hips finally come to a stop.

“Don’t go thankin’ me for nothin’, we’re only getting started.” Pale stubs his cigarette out in one of the little ashtrays on the counter, and eases his cock out of you. You stretch and pop your joints, pulling your panties up and feeling thoroughly used in the best way, especially when he pinches your chin and kisses you with, “Now howsabout that coffee?”

“’Fraid we’re all out.” You lie, seeing that the clock struck one, your shift officially over.

Pale grins, kisses you once more and takes your hand, guiding you from out of the milkshake bar on wobbly legs.

“You’ll just have to come home with me then pretty girl,” Pale grabs that leather jacket of his and slings it around your shoulders when you make it to the front door, “We’ll get somethin’ brewin’ real quick.”

And if the third shift girls notice anything funny about you when you pass them in the parking lot, well, you’ve got the whole day off tomorrow to avoid their questions, spendin’ it with your man, your VSOP, instead.

[kythed]

the fallen

futakuchi x reader

synopsis: it’s a fallen world, and futakuchi is a fallen man. apocalypse au.

Strength alone won’t carry you through the end of the world. 

Futakuchi Kenji knows this better than anyone. He’s seen countless men go down, most of them armed with machetes, rifles, and muscles three times the mass of his own. They walk around with the bravado of decorated generals only to get taken out by a single biter lurking in the storage closet of an abandoned gas station, destined to join the putrid ranks of the undead.

No, strength is not enough. You have to be clever, too. Extremely clever. 

That’s the only way Kenji’s stuck around this long, he thinks, shoving cans into his backpack. He’s kneeling in front of a shelf in an empty supermarket, replenishing his rations without even bothering to read the labels. He can’t afford to be picky. Nowadays, “good food” is just whatever doesn’t give you salmonella. 

He happens to catch the words on the last can as he gingerly places it atop the pile. Chicken noodle soup, it reads. Zipping the bag up and hefting it onto his shoulders, he wrinkles his nose-- he hates chicken noodle. 

Clever means something else, too. Before, it meant report cards littered with As, college scholarships, knowing how to find the differential of a function. Now, it means survival. It means being able to keep your body moving even when every single fiber of your being is screaming at you to stop. It means knowing how to find clean water, how to bandage a tourniquet, how to identify biter tracks and have the good sense to bolt the opposite direction.

It means being able to leave people behind. 

Kenji slips out the supermarket entrance, careful to avoid ringing the little bell that still hangs from the doorframe, a mockery of what was once civilization. Swiveling his head in every direction, he scans for even the barest trace of biters before darting out into the middle of the road, careful to keep the cans in his bag from rattling too loudly. 

He’d started out with a small group comprised of several guys from his hometown. In retrospect, Kenji thinks he should’ve split that first week. Then maybe he wouldn’t have had to see Iwaizumi trampled by a herd of rabid biters, reduced to a bloodstain on the sidewalk. He wouldn’t have seen Kamasaki torn limb from limb right before his eyes while he could do nothing but watch in horror, paralyzed by fear. 

Kenji is glad he’s run out of tears to cry. 

“Fuck off!” 

He’s shaken from his reverie by a string of cuss words and a drawn out scream, followed by the solid thwack of metal on flesh and the angry hissing of a biter. 

“Somebody! Anybody, please! Help me!” 

Sounds like a girl, Kenji thinks. He hates coming across girls-- that’s something he never, ever thought he’d say back before everything went to shit. But girls have always been more trouble than they’re worth, and it’s even truer these days. Kenji shrugs his shoulders, shifting the weight of his bag a smidge, and tries to trudge on. 

“Please!” 

Kenji cringes, halting in his tracks. Your voice is so achingly desperate, torn raw by terror. It’s the voice of someone who wants to live. And that, well, that’s something Kenji can relate to. 

Against his better judgement, he heaves a heavy sigh and turns on his heel, grasping the duct taped handle of a baseball bat protruding from his bag’s outer pocket and spinning it in a practiced motion. He sprints towards the sound of your voice, silently hoping he’ll arrive before a biter takes a nasty chunk out of your arm. 

Kenji is clever, and he knows it. He can find clean water, bandage wounds, and track biters. But leaving people behind? That’s something he has to work on. 

-- 

You’re backed into a corner, wedged between the brick wall of a storefront and a recycling bin. Three biters claw at you and you swing at them with a crowbar, but it seems futile-- they’re already dead, and you’re not sure if they can even die again. 

“HEY!” Kenji calls, tossing his bag to the side. The biters turn towards him with clumsy, lurching motions, decaying flesh dripping from their bones and empty sockets where their eyes should be. “Come and get me, shitheads! Bet I taste a whole lot better!” 

One by one, they obey, snarling as they approach him. And one by one, Kenji takes them out with a violent swing to the head. Wide eyed, chest still heaving, you watch as their brains splatter on the sidewalk in foul pink lumps. 

When the last biter falls to the ground, Kenji looks up at you breathlessly. “You good?” 

He’s more than taken aback when you run towards him and throw your arms around his neck, squeezing tightly. Instinctively, he returns the embrace, pulling you close by the waist. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, and he feels your heartbeat thumping wildly against his own rib cage. “Thank you, thank you. I really thought I was dying today.” 

For a fraction of a second, he lets himself melt into your arms. It’s been a long time since he’s touched another human, and even longer since he’s hugged one. Sighing, he gently pries you off by the shoulders. 

“No problem,” he says. You’re still clutching at his sleeve, looking up at him with something like admiration-- or maybe shock. He clears his throat and nods curtly, carefully pulling your wrist away and turning to grab his bag. “Uh, good luck out there, I guess. I gotta go.” 

“Hey, wait,” you say, and he does, despite himself. More than anything, he wants to get out of there and back on track. He can’t risk the burden of company— in the apocalypse, company just means a broken heart waiting to happen. “I’m coming with you.” 

“Oh, no you’re not,” he says, a wry laugh threatening to rip from his lips. “I travel alone.” 

“Not anymore,” you say, and for a moment Kenji is speechless-- a rare occurrence. “Don’t give me that lone wolf shit. It’s a dangerous world out there, and two is better than one.”

Kenji raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re the one who was almost lunch just now. I can handle myself just fine.” 

“Can you?” you say, stepping closer. You stare pointedly at his forearm, and he groans inwardly. He’d forgotten about that. It’s a cut, fairly shallow but long, and it’s begun to turn an oozing orangey-yellow. He’d caught his arm on a chain link fence he’d been trying to vault over— lame. “That doesn’t look good.”

“I know how to bandage a cut,” Kenji insists. It’s not a lie. But the issue is really that—

“It’s infected,” you say. You tilt your head back towards the storefront. “I have Neosporin in there. And half a bottle of painkillers, which you might need, depending on how bad that little scratch gets.” 

“I’m fine,” Kenji insists. The “little scratch” throbs painfully as he lies through his teeth. “It’ll take care of itself.” 

“Like hell it will,” you snort, glancing towards the store again. A faded sign above the doorway reads Miyazawa’s Convenience Corner, accompanied by the image of a grinning cat. “Wait just one second, then we can get going.”

Kenji doesn’t know why, but when you scamper into the store, he stays. He glances at his watch, a silver analog whose glass is split in two by a crack straight down the middle. He’d found it on the wrist of the first biter he’d ever taken down. 

“Okay, let’s go,” you call, emerging once again. You’re bearing a backpack similar to his-- threadbare and distinctly not yours. He wonders who it used to belong to. “You got a camp?” 

“Woah, slow your roll,” he says. He crosses his arms and stares down at you-- you’re pretty, he notices, underneath that layer of sweat and grime. You’re the type of girl he probably would’ve tried to hit on in the past. “First of all, I don’t even want you to come with me.”

You scowl at him, ready to disagree-- he silences your protests with a raised finger. 

“But,” he adds, “if you insist on doing so, we need to set some ground rules.” 

“Sir, yes, sir,” you say, giving him a mock salute and a bright smile. He rolls his eyes. 

“First,” he says, sternly as he can manage, “I get all the canned oranges we find.”

You raise your eyebrows but nod nonetheless. 

“Second, we don’t interact with other groups. Humans can be just as fatal as biters.” Kenji’s had to learn this the hard way, and from the way you swallow, expression solemn, he thinks you must’ve too. 

“Lastly,” he says, allowing himself a small smile as he bends down near your ear. “Don’t fall in love with me.” 

“Like I’d ever,” you scoff, stepping back. “You’re not my type. You just happen to be the only other person I’ve seen for months.” 

“I’m everyone’s type,” Kenji says, with about as much confidence as he’d say the sky is blue and the grass is green. “Just be careful.” 

“Sure,” you concede, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “So long as you don’t fall in love with me, either.” 

“I’ll try my best,” Kenji says, and he will. He can’t afford to fall in love. Love is a painful, risky business-- and it’s expensive. Love costs a whole heart and about half a brain, two things he’s going to need if he wants to survive. 

Still, you’re pretty. Real pretty. You’re kind of funny, too-- a deadly combination, and he’s no Achilles.

When he starts walking towards the street, you follow, struggling to match his long strides. He shoots a glance over his shoulder, along with a wicked smile. He’s missed this. “But no promises.”

[hopeaterart]

Evil Ozpin AU: Dinner with a bird

Context: Ozpin and Salem more or less swap place, it's a bit complicated. This fic is here to explain how it happened by way of Ozpin monologuing to a (still on Salem's side at the time) Qrow. There's some hints of Ozqrow in there. Like, you're definitely supposed get Vibes. For those unaware: here's my Evil/Swap!Ozpin.

"So... You're Salem's latest pawn." Qrow scowled, eyes narrowing at the monster sitting from across him. How he'd ended up sitting at the same table as Ozpin, also widely known as 'the Wizard', was a blur in his memory, and granted, not that great a story.

Went on a mission for Salem to find his base of operation, with the only info being that it was somewhere in the forests of Sanus. Had to go alone because Tai and Raven had their hands full with Yang and a pregnant Summer. Got caught by Ozpin's latest apprentice- a blond woman about his age with the ironic name of 'Goodwitch'. Letting himself be captured in order to get taken to Ozpin.

One trip to an old monastery latter, he was now separated from Harbringer, had Aura-suppressing manacles on his wrists (thankfully with no chains), and was sitting in front of the Wizard himself. They were on some kind of balcony with only a small table between themselves, and there was a plate on the table with bread on it that neither were touching.

"And you're the guy who's trying to burn down Remnant." He bit back. Ozpin sighed, silver eyelashes fluttering as he narrowed his eyes.

"Is that what my traitorous ex-wife told you?" Ozpin asks, smiling like a predator about to eat it's prey when Qrow's eyes widened in confusion. "I mean- she's not wrong, but Salem isn't exactly the hero of our tale."

"Wh- your ex-wife!?" Qrow exclaimed, before gritting his teeth. "You're lying." He accused Ozpin, who didn't even flinch at the accusation.

"So she didn't tell you." He observed. "Oh, what am I talking about? Of course she'd keep that hidden, that self-righteous hag." Ozpin hissed as he took one of the small bread. "Doesn't want to acknowledge me being a thing is her fault, after all." He opened his mouth, momentarily exposing too-sharp canines as he bit the bread in half. He stared in Qrow's eyes as he chewed, before swallowing. "It's garlic bread. An entrée before the main dish, if you will. I'm not going to poison you, erm... Qrow Branwen, is it?"

Qrow grit his teeth. "And I should believe you, because?"

"Sheer pragmatism on my part, really. We're eating the same food, and I am not interested in poisoning myself." Ozpin explained, shrugging as he finished eating the bread he had in hand. "'Poison damage' is not really the kind of pain I like."

Qrow raised an eyebrow at that. He'd heard stories of Ozpin letting anything and everything hurt him with ecstasy written all over his face, but hearing what seemed like confirmation was a bit... much. "Uh... so what's the deal? Why are you having me eat here with you instead of- oh, I dunno, locking me in some kind of torture dungeon?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, pretty bird?" Qrow averts his eyes at that, his gaze landing on the plate of bread as his cheeks warm up. He hesitantly took one of the bread, shoving it in his mouth and chewing quickly.

He took another one, eating slower and actually savoring it this time as Ozpin turns to look at the scenery. The forest stretches beyond the horizon, any traces of Grimm hidden from sight. Qrow's not fooled, he knows the monastery probably hides a few nasty surprises. The marble-skinned weirdo in front of him is proof enough.

Credit where credit is due, whoever cooked this is a damn good cook. "Who made this?" He asks as he takes another bread. "Didn't expect you to have a five-star chief."

It was Ozpin's turn to be caught off-guard. "I'm... glad you like my cooking." What. Qrow stared at his third half-eaten bread. "Oh, don't be a baby. I have literal centuries of experience behind me, and my cycle of immortality is different from Salem's. Since I need sustenance, might as well be good at it."

"Still not entirely convinced you're not poisoning me." Qrow noted.

Ozpin groaned in exasperation. "If I wanted to kill you, there's a myriad of ways that would be easier and less-headache inducing than this." Ozpin snapped as he got up and started walking away. Qrow turned to look at him as he went behind his chair, before going rigid as cold fingers dug into his shoulders. "Stay there. I'm getting the side and main courses."

Ozpin left the balcony in a puff of smoke, and Qrow let out a breath he didn't knew he was holding. He reached inside his jacket, relieved to see his Scroll was still there. Only for his mood to immediately crash when he realized that this part of Vale didn't get reception.

"Trying to call for help, are you?" Qrow whirled around, scowling when he saw Goodwitch. "I'm telling you now, it's not gonna work. Ozpin has taken precautions."

"What, precautions against modern tech!?" Qrow snapped, getting up as his chair rattled. He didn't care if Goodwitch had one of the most powerful Semblances he'd ever seen while he couldn't even activate his Aura right now. He brought misfortune wherever he went, made sense his shit Semblance would turn against him one day. "Does the guy think we still live in the Dark Ages?"

Goodwitch bristled. "Why, you insufferable- Ozpin is trying to offer you a chance to redeem yourself from working with Salem, and you're squandering it for-"

"Glynda." Both stilled as Ozpin came into view. There was a disappointed frown on his face. "That's no way to treat guests."

"But sir-"

"No buts, young lady." Ozpin reprimanded, waving his fingers as floating plates, glasses and a bottle of something came into view. "Help me with putting on the table, will you?" He asked Glynda, who nodded and took the two plates with food on them to put on the table. "Sit back down, Qrow."

"Don't call me that." The huntsman hissed even as he sat back down. He glared at his plate, which had fish and some kind of salad and... something else in it. He raised his head slightly as the bottle landed on the table, Ozpin dismissing Glynda with a 'thank you' before sitting back down. He pointed at the weird stuff. "What is that?"

"Oysters." Ozpin told him. "I opened them earlier, they're all good. Do you know how to eat them?" Qrow shook his head. "Alright, so first you need to loosen them up..." Qrow followed Ozpin's instructions, pulling a face after eating his first one. Ozpin frowned. "Don't like it?"

"Texture's weird." Ozpin hummed, before taking the bottle and popping the cork off and pouring Qrow a glass.

"It's champagne. Laurent-Poirier. Goes well with oysters, use it to wash them down." Qrow nodded, taking the flute and taking a small sip. "Not a fan of alcohol?"

"Opposite, actually." He started, remembering how his father got after too many bears. "Runs in the family." Ozpin thankfully didn't push the subject, simply turning toward his own plate and taking a bite of his salad.

The two ate in silence for a while. Ozpin opened his mouth again as Qrow tried his second oyster. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Does it matter if I say no?"

"No, but you don't have to answer it." Qrow nodded. "How did you end up working for Salem? I thought the Branwen were a bandit tribe from Mistral?"

Qrow hissed in between his teeth. "I... me and Raven, we... Our parents, they- urgh. Look, all that matters is: we're not going back, and we're never going back."

"Raven..." Ozpin seemed deep in thoughts, as if he was trying to remember something. "That's your sister, right?"

"Yeah." Something occurred to Qrow. "Say, the whole reincarnating wizard thing. You used to be, like, a regular, not-Grimm person, right?"

"That's one way of putting it, but yes." Ozpin answered. "I used to be mortal."

"Did you have siblings? Before the whole..." Qrow made a vague gesture in the other's general direction. Ozpin stilled at that, a faraway look on his face.

"No, none by blood. I grew up in the mountains with only my parents before obtaining my powers." He answered. "I... did have someone I considered my sister, but I was already well into becoming what I am now when I met her." The look on Ozpin's face was absolutely miserable. "Salem killing her pushed me over the edge."

"... Ah." Qrow took a sip of his champagne. "That sucks. Sorry for your loss."

Ozpin waved a hand. "I- it's fine. You're not the one who blasted her with magic for the crime of trying to help me stay me." He quickly ate an oyster, seemingly cheering up. "Anyway, my turn to ask you a question!"

Qrow snorted despite himself. "What is this, 21 questions?"

"My crush is no one, if you're wondering." Ozpin joked, before straightening in his chair. "What did Salem tell you about me?"

Qrow shrugged as he cut some of his fish. "You want to burn down Remnant. You can do magic. Whoever you reincarnate in dies the moment you come into the picture. You started the whole thing with Salem. And she doesn't know how to stop your cycle."

Ozpin hummed. "I see. Your turn."

"How... much of what I told you do you agree with?" Between the ex-wife comment and the very real grief he had when talking about his sister, it was clear had a different version of the events. Besides, the monster Salem had described to him wouldn't simply sit him down to talk.

Ozpin hummed, a piece of fish on his fork as he waved it in the air. "I do want to do some burning, but it's more 'everything Salem ever worked for' than Remnant. Come on, Qrow, I live here. And I'm stuck here." He ate his fish. "If I really wanted to destroy Remnant, I'd simply use the Relics."

He hummed. "Yeah, that's fair- wait. You know where the Relics are!?" The amount of people that were on wild goose chases to find them... And this whole time, Salem's sworn enemy could get to them the moment he decided to stop playing around.

"Of course I know where they are. I'm the one who hid them in the first place." Ozpin noted. "Can't have Salem blowing up my body with the Sword again... urgh, retrieving it and the Lamp was such a pain!" Qrow numbly nodded. "Anyway, you wanted to know about my magic?"

"Uh-" Ozpin snapped his fingers, whisps of green and gold rising from them as pitch black eyes burst into green flames. Like a Maiden's. "Oh shit!"

Ozpin smiled as the magic faded, Qrow numbly realizing there were brown irises somewhere in those pools of tar. "I can. And unlike Salem, I'm willing to share."

"You- you're the guy who created the Maidens!?" The fairytale explaining their origin spoke of an old, cruel magician, who took four sisters under his wing and taught them how to use magic.

"Ah, yes." Ozpin spoke with fondness. "The first Maidens. They reminded me of the first daughters I had, and they were so very loyal to me... loyalty deserves to be rewarded, don't you think?"

Qrow frowned. "Is that why they keep turning against Salem when she finds them first? Something to do with your magic?"

"What- no!" Ozpin exclaimed, clearly offended. He then frowned in confusion. "I think. If it is a thing, then it wasn't intentional." A pause as Ozpin downs his flute, before pouring himself more champagne. "Anyway, my reincarnations..."

Qrow raised an eyebrow as Ozpin downed more champagne. "Sensitive point?"

"More angry about Salem being right on this one. Or..." He chuckled. "Was right. I proved her wrong, in this life. Ozma isn't in control anymore."

"There's literally nothing in what you just said that's reassuring." Qrow noted, Ozpin smiling at him as he finished his salad. "Who's Ozma?"

"The name of the first soul in the cycle." Ozpin told him. "He used to absorb whoever he reincarnated in into himself the moment he was in their bodies, but his soul weakened over time, and it took more and more time and efforts to absorb them. By the time he reached me, it him almost twenty years for our souls to fuse, and then..."

"... you're the one who absorbed him." Qrow finished. He frowned. If Ozma's soul was driven by anger at being betrayed by the woman he loved, then... "Holy shit, what did Salem do for you to hate her that much!?"

"What would you do," Ozpin started. "If you wanted to live, but someone wanted you dead? Because you know of something you couldn't care less about that could destroy her life? What would you think if someone thought of you as nothing less than the latest stain on her self-inflated ego? Proof that she's just human, if not worse than that?"

Qrow frowned at that. Was that how Ozpin saw the conflict? But nevertheless, he knew the answer to that question. It wasn't one he was happy with, but... "I'd kill her before she killed me."

"Good answer. And the answer to who started our conflict: as far as I'm concerned, it's all. Her. Fault." The two finished their plates in silence after that, Ozpin first and spending the next few minutes watching Qrow.

They stared at each other for a while. "Uh. All that fancy stuff, and no dessert?" Qrow joked. The tiniest bit of relief struck him as the corners of Ozpin's eyes crinkled.

"Now, you're speaking my language!" The pale-skinned man clapped his hand, and Qrow nearly jumped out of his skin when a Grimm came out of the shadows.

It was unlike any Qrow had seen before. A glossy sphere with bone shards on it's lower half, floating with an array of thin tentacles trailing under it. There was an ominous light coming from into the sphere, even if it wasn't really visible in this light.

It was also green instead of red, which meant Ozpin had created the fucking thing. Black smoke rose up from under the plates at a wave of the Wizard's hands, handing them to the Grimm. "Bring these to the kitchen, and bring back the dessert. It's on the pastry cart." The Grimm simply took the pile of plates and floated back in the darkness of the inside.

Qrow inhaled sharply. "What the fuck was that-"

"Seer Grimm. I've put enchantments all over the place so we don't end up getting detected by the CCT, but I need a way to communicate with my followers when they're away." Ozpin explained with a shrug of his shoulders as he poured himself yet another glass of champagne. Qrow stared at him. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm pretty sure most of my bodily fluids have been replaced by Grimm sludge, it takes an insane amount of alcohol for me to get drunk."

"Yikes." That word alone could describe at least half of what Qrow had learned about Ozpin today.

"Want a refill?" Qrow looked at what Ozpin was pointing at. His own flute, now empty. He nodded, letting the wizard pour him a second glass. Ozpin got up from the table after that, his glass in hand as he leaned on the balcony, back to the Huntsman. "Anyway, there's still one part of your question I haven't answered yet."

Qrow frowned, before remembering. "Is there a way to stop your cycle of reincarnation?"

If he had seen the manic smile on Ozpin's face, Qrow would've been scared for life. "Nope~. There was, but Salem would've had to die, and she was unwilling to. And now, the only way to get rid of me has been made useless."

"What do you mean by that...?"

Before Qrow could get his answer, the Seer Grimm was back, pushing a tray with a plate that had a mountain of what looked like chocolate truffles on it. Ozpin turned around, snapping his fingers as he did so. The Seer rotated, floating toward Ozpin as the wizard reached a hand out, caressing the smooth surface. He looked at the Grimm warmly, before turning those same eyes on Qrow, making something in his chest flutter. "Slit my throat open."

One of the Grimm's tentacle morphed into a blade, and faster than Qrow could see, Ozpin's throat was opened with a gush of tar-like blood. Ozpin gurgled, more of the black sludge coming out of his mouth as he took a few steps back, before falling backwards over the edge of the balcony. Qrow's better nature took the better of him as he rushed out of his chair, rushing to try and catch the wizard. "OZPIN!"

... Only for the man to raise into the air, eyes ablaze as a gentle breeze carried him. Ozpin laughed awkwardly as the other man stared at him in shock. "Were you scared for me?" Qrow took a step back as what he realized was a nothing less than a living god touched down on the balustrade. "Don't worry, there's no need to! I know it's always a bit scary when I take risks like that, but I assure you: there's no need to, since I-"

"Can't die." Qrow finished, realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. "You can't die."

Ozpin frowned sympathetically at him as he sat down on the balustrade, looking up at Qrow. "She didn't tell you, did she?"

His answer came in the way Qrow crumpled to the ground, breathing harshly as if he was trying to refrain himself from crying. "No one wanted me-" He started in between gasps, Ozpin frowning as he came to kneel down next to him. "I gave my life to her because she gave me a place where- where I belonged-" He continued, letting the other man manhandle him into a hug. "I thought I was finally- finally-"

"Doing some good?" Ozpin finished for him. That opened the floodgates, Qrow burying his face in Ozpin's chest as he sobbed. Ozpin gently carded a hand through his hair, resting is lips on the top of his head. "You poor thing..." He muttered. "I'm afraid meeting Salem was the worst luck of your life."

Qrow continued crying, not noticing Ozpin manhandling him further until he was sitting in Ozpin's former chair. The wizard had his back turned to him, taking the plate with the truffles. "What are you...?"

Ozpin turned toward him, a kind smile on his face. "After everything you learned today, you must be exhausted. I just want to make you feel a bit better, is all." He came to sit on the table, plate next to him. He picked the truffle at the top, bringing it to Qrow's mouth. "Open."

Qrow nodded, opening his mouth and letting Ozpin handfeed him sweets, the wizard occasionally cradling his face or petting his hair. Ozpin smiled, picking up Qrow's discarded glass of champagne and sipping on it as the other leaned in his hand.

I win this time, dear~

[clockworkgraystairs]

Beg for me || Jurdan Dom-Sub One Shot

Jurdan Smut Week 2020   •   DAY 1

@jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

Rating: M

Summary: “I need you.” 

                  “Then say it. Beg for me.”

Masterlist   •   AO3

Thank you so much @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 for helping me betaing this, even when you’re sleep deprived, I have no words! 🧡

“Look at me, love”

Kneeled before him, Jude lifted her head slowly, her breath coming out in faltering huffs. A prickling sensation ran over her swollen lips. Surely a reaction to the punishing kisses he’d given her just seconds before. The moment their eyes connected, the intensity she saw there sent an anticipatory pulse down to her stomach.

“Do you know why I am doing this?” He said, cocking his head to the side and arms crossed over his chest. His words were low and honeyed. 

Oh she definitely did. Yet, she tugged her lip between her teeth.  

Arching an eyebrow he hauled the little chain that connected with the leather band around her neck, his movement soft but firm. Answer me, it said.

The corner of her lips quirked up a bit. The only sign of defiance she’d allow her body to show, or at least that’s what she tried. “Because I misbehaved… sir.” She quickly added at the change in his gaze.

He chuckled. “I might not be your boss at this moment, but I would appreciate it if you still minded your manners.” With another tug to the chain he signaled her to stand. “On the bed, dear.”

Heat creeped up her cheeks at the appreciative hum that left his mouth at the full sight of her. Black lace that barely covered part of her body, combined with high stockings framing her long legs. She’d bought it knowing he’d like it, but couldn’t get used to how much skin it showed. 

It was almost unfair that he could keep his clothes on. However, she couldn’t really decide if she liked her boss better when he was completely naked, or just like he looked in that moment: bare feet, black trousers and loose white shirt, sleeves rolled up his arms. More than ready to play with her for hours. 

The soft mattress sunk under her. Jude lay down, her pulse rose as he walked towards her. 

“Hands up.” He commanded. A familiar clang reached her ears from the drawer he was rummaging in, sending a shiver down her back.

She swallowed before obeying. He had plenty of punishments in his repertoire, but only few include that artifact in particular. That narrowed the options. 

Cold metal kissed her wrists and Jude gasped. With a small movement she felt the chain of the handcuffs firmly secured to the bed’s headboard. Her chest rose and fell with elaborated breaths.

She was officially at his mercy.

Turning her head back, she watched him loosen his tie and take it off. Popping the first buttons from his shirt open. His carefree movements, along with those mischievous eyes of his always took Jude off guard. 

“Enjoying the view?” He asked.

“You know I do, sir.”

“Hmm.” Her boss purred. “Too bad it has to end.” At that he gently coiled his tie around her head, covering her eyes. He tied it tightly to keep it from falling but not enough for it to hurt. 

Pulling away, he left her there, aroused and disoriented. Jude tried to sense where he’d gone. Focusing all she could on-

Jude yelped when something soft caressed her torso. A low chuckle came from the left. 

The thing about being sight-deprived was that her other senses intensified in a terrible yet exhilarating way. And he knew it very damn well.

Whatever object it was, probably a feather, he used it to roam over every piece of uncovered skin. He trailed it down her arms, her neck, between her shuddering breasts. Dropped kisses here and there, nibbling at her sensitive spots. The sensation was too much and yet not enough, Jude was quickly losing all coherent thoughts. Every time he sucked low moans escaped from her throat.

She breathed his name as his mouth moved down to her hips. He continued his ministrations, carefully avoiding that hot and needy spot between her legs. 

“Are you going to defy my decisions in front of my coworkers again?” 

Of course she would, they were both aware of that. Especially if it lent to more sessions of this. It was all part of their game. She was brilliant at work, with her intelligence and sharp temper she had everyone around her finger in no time. And he, a promising talent on the rise, did everything on his power to conquer her. Even when it implied hiding it from the whole company.  

It felt so good to quarrel in meetings. But it was better when he gave her that look, the one that signaled he would use that same argument against her later. Alone, and naked. 

Jude opened her mouth to answer but felt as if her mind had forgotten how to form words. Fuck, she should be doing better than this, she scolded herself. Focus.

He sucked down on her inner thigh, really close to where she desperately wanted him and she cried out, arching her back. The handcuffs rattled against the board. That damned sound always remained to haunt her in her deepest dreams.

Hot breath caressed her core as he spoke again. “I asked you a question.” 

She licked her lips. “No sir, I won’t.” He hummed, using his thumb to play with the lace of her panties and pulled them down just a fraction. Then he seemed to change his mind and dragged his hands up her sides earning a protest from her. 

Jude felt the mattress shift under his weight, then hot bare skin pressed flush against her as he stretched on top of her. He still wore his pants and even with them, his hardness was evident. She tilted her hips up seeking some friction, but a strong hand held her hips still. She whined one more time and his fingers now grabbed her with enough force to leave bruises.  

“What was that again?” His gruff voice was now against her ear. 

She moved to put her arms around his neck but a metallic sound and a yank to her wrists reminded Jude of her position. She almost said the word she knew he wanted. But held back, huffing in frustration. “I need you.” 

“Then say it.” He groaned, nipping her earlobe. The hand holding her down moved once more, soft fingers positioning on the edge of her underwear. Please, the word was there on the tip of her tongue. With a torturing pace, he slid them under the thin fabric. “Beg for me, Ember.”

“CUT! Excellent, I think we got it. Good work everyone!”

Voices burst around them. 

Jude sighed, the air wavering. Seconds later cold air hit her skin as he moved away from her. 

The tie was taken from her eyes and the bright light blinded her a moment. The handcuffs shackled again and were off a heartbeat later.

“Hey.” She turned to find Cardan, stripped down to only his trousers, with the offending artifact on his hand. “Are you okay?”

She blinked and sat up, taking in her surroundings. Filming set, not suite room. And Cardan, her co-star, not her boss. Sometimes she really envied Ember, her character. Getting the chance to live the excitement of a forbidden romance. A hot, forbidden romance. 

At her lack of answer, he sat next to her and cupped her face. Worry filled his voice. “Jude? Did I overstep?” 

“No, no.” Shaking her head, Jude grinned. “You were perfect, I’m just recovering my breath. I tried to put myself more into it this time.”

“I noticed,” Cardan chuckled. “If I’m honest, for a moment I almost forgot we were acting.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. Me too, she almost said. Instead she just looked at him. Even out of character there was something in his eyes that captured her in a way she didn’t believe was possible. He was kind, funny and incredibly respectful on and off of the set. 

Jude couldn’t help the real fluttering in her stomach in every scene they shot together. 

She knew romances weren’t unusual in their line of work, but since she was relatively new, this tv series her first leading role, she was still terrified to ruin it. Most of all, to ruin the friendship she’d built with Cardan in all those months. 

Coats were given to them, observations from the director and the screenwriters too and at last, they could leave for the day. 

Cardan walked her to her trailer, telling another of his weird experiences he’d had while filming. Tears fell from her eyes from all the laughing. 

“I trust  you’re laughing at the situation and not actually at me.” He teased.

“Oh I’m definitely laughing at you, no need to ask.” 

Making an offended sound he ruffled her hair, Jude shrieking and pulling away. 

“Jude,” He said, his tone more serious than before made her stop her mocking too. “Are you sure everything was okay with the scene?”

A blush covered her cheeks. “It was. You know I’m relatively new to this. I guess I’m just getting used to all of it.” 

He nodded. 

“But, thank you.” She added. “For making sure I’m ok, and...for all of your fun stories that make me relax after. It is...really nice from you.”

Cardan’s wide smile almost left her breathless again. 

“It’s nothing.” He hesitated for a second. “I have more stories though… We could... go buy some coffee and I could tell you all of it. If you want to, of course.”

She stared at him, not quite believing his words. 

He bit her lip and gave her an apologetic smile. “Think about it, will you? I’d really like to...go out with you someday.”

Jude smiled gradually, feeling her heart nearly jumping out from her chest. “I’ll think about it.” She said softly. 

“Let me know.” He walked backwards and winked at her. “And Jude… just for the record, I enjoy being tied up too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​ @sweetlyvillainous​ @aesthetics-11​ @thesirenwashere​ @jurdanhell​ @nightbringer​ @b00kworm​ @mysweetvillain​ @thefolkofthefic​ @yafandomsdotnet​ @vanessa172003​ @tessas-herondales​

If you wish to be tagged/untagged (or if I forgot to tag you) please let me know!

[piceuscelus]

oops have some more fucktoy ciri verse, this time with branding! sooo the usual noncon, body mod via hot iron branding, mind control, sex slavery, underage, daddy kink, any of the usual warnings on the verse i’ve forgotten,

also on ao3!

It’s Lambert who suggests it, one day while Vesemir is fiddling with the old brands still sitting in the armory, from the days when Kaer Morhen had herds of cattle and other livestock. 

“We should mark her,” he says. “Permanently.”

“With what?” Eskel asks, before he looks over to Vesemir. “Those?”

Lambert nods, then shrugs. “Or others, we have what we need to make more, don’t we?”

Eskel hums. “What do you think, Geralt?”

He hums right back, thinking for a moment. Ciri is in the dining room currently, entertaining Coën; he can just hear the sounds of skin slapping skin and Ciri whimpering desperately, half-pained. He thinks about all that smooth, blemish-free skin they all love to bruise and mark, and the idea of something permanent….

“Yes,” he nods. “Yeah, we should.”

– – – – – 

They decide to use one of the old Kaer Morhen brands, specifically the one they used on the bitches marked for breeding, but also make some new ones, too. The process of making the new brands takes about two weeks, and meanwhile they get all of the use out of Ciri they possibly can.

Sure, her pain isn’t of much concern, but they don’t want to deal with any of the brands getting infected.

The night before they plan to brand her, they put her up on the bench after dinner. She’s eager for it, even without any of the usual potions, squirming against the bonds as she’s tied and begging prettily to be used.

“We’ll use you, little slut, be patient,” Lambert snaps when she asks for him specifically, and Coën follows the words up with a harsh slap to Ciri’s backside, leaving a livid red handprint. Tears spring to her eyes but she doesn’t beg any further, just makes a weak, wanting little noise, still squirming against her ties. 

“Be good, Ciri,” Geralt orders, and she makes another meek little noise.

“I will, Daddy, I’ll be good, sorry,” she says softly, and he reaches over to pet over her hair in approval.

Lambert finishes up with getting her strapped to the bench, and his hand joins Geralt’s in her hair, but he grips harshly and pulls, making the tears spill over. “Needy little brat,” he hisses. “Beg me to fuck your throat.”

“Please fuck my throat, sir,” Ciri gasps immediately, still with tears streaking down her face as Lambert doesn’t relent on the grip in her hair. Geralt – and the others – settle back into their seats to watch. “Please, want your cock so badly, please give it to me – I’ll be good, please fuck my throat, sir, please?”

Lambert huffs. “Not half bad,” he says, about as close to praising Ciri as he ever gets, and finally lets go of her hair. She doesn’t drop her head, though, just opens her mouth and sticks her tongue out, practically a welcome mat, and that makes Lambert laugh. 

“Nasty little whore, you really are desperate for it, already drooling.” He pulls his cock out of his breeches and rubs the head of it over her tongue, laughing again when she makes a needy noise and tries to surge forward to suck at him. It’s futile, with the straps keeping her immobile on the bench, but it’s fun to watch her struggle, and Lambert lets her try for several minutes, just teasing her with rubbing his cockhead over her tongue, her lips.

Eventually, though, he gets bored with that and steps forward, rolling his hips so his cock pops right into Ciri’s throat. She chokes and gags violently, the bench rattling with how hard she convulses; Lambert just groans.

“Gods, yeah, just like that, keep your throat nice and tight,” he mutters, rocking his hips.

It doesn’t take long for Ciri to turn red, and then near purple, and only when her head starts to wobble does Lambert pull back enough to let her breathe properly.

“Thank you, sir,” she chokes out around heaving gasps, “please, please want your cock again, thank you, please fuck my throat – ”

Lambert just grunts and fucks back into her mouth. At this point, Geralt has pulled his cock out of his breeches to stroke, and so has Eskel. After a bit longer of listening to her gag and convulse, though, apparently Coën is tired of waiting; he steps up, breeches already gone, and sets to fucking his cock into her ass. He never preps her, not after that first time, just uses a ton of lube – according to him, it’s the only way she’s tight enough to enjoy. Ciri sobs when he says it, but begs for him to fuck her sore every time.

Ciri screams, at least the best she can around Lambert’s cock in her throat; Coën and Lambert just laugh and keep moving. Geralt has to swallow back a flood of drool at the thought of how sore and used she’ll be tomorrow, how loud she’ll scream and cry when they brand her – how pretty she’ll sound when he makes her come with each brand.

They spend the rest of the night fucking her, until all of her holes are gaping and she’s cross-eyed, nearly unconscious from the amount of times she’s been fucked straight through several orgasms in a row. She’s still drooling and mumbling thanks and pleas when they plug her up to keep their cum inside and put her to bed.

– – – – –

The next morning, Vesemir is the one to get her out of bed and take her down to the dungeons. She goes obediently and without question, as usual, and Geralt tries to ignore the way his cock throbs at the wide-eyed, trusting look she gives all of them when they crowd into the room with her.

“Arms up,” he orders, and she puts her arms up immediately, looking up at him when he comes near. He can’t resist kissing her, petting a hand down her front to feel the way her belly is still bulging from their cum and the plugs. She hisses, tears welling up at the shifting, but just bites her lip and looks at him, arms still held in the air.

“Good girl,” he praises, and she beams. He steps aside to grab the chains that Vesemir already set up, and pulls her wrists up a little further to lock them into the manacles. It leaves her balanced on her tiptoes, wobbling a little, and he swats at her ass just to see her flail and hear her squeak.

Eskel gets her feet chained, leaving her entirely suspended with her legs spread. She looks a little afraid, at that point, but when Geralt pets over her hair and whispers, “Be a good girl,” in her ear, she nods.

“I will, Daddy,” she says, and then, when Lambert snorts, “I will, sir, I’ll be good.”

“Mhm,” Lambert nods, intentionally doubting. Geralt chuckles when Ciri huffs, but when she opens her mouth to protest he stops her with a mean pinch and twist to her nipples.

She cries out and thrashes for a split second before settling when he lets go. “Sorry,” she says. “I’ll be good, I’m sorry.”

Eskel steps up to her front, so she’s essentially pinned between he and Geralt, and puts a hand over her cunt, making her gasp. 

“You’ll get a reward if you are,” he promises, and from the way Ciri shudders and her head lolls, he presses at the pugs keeping her stuffed.

“Yes, sir, thank you sir, please, I’ll be good.”

The two of them step away, Geralt with one last nipping kiss to Ciri’s throat and Eskel with a mean flick to her already-swollen clit, and Vesemir lights the fire in the makeshift oven he built in the corner. He goes first, once the original breeding bitch iron is hot, stepping in front of Ciri and, ignoring her frightened squeaking, carefully pressing the metal just above her cunt, right over her womb.

She screeches, shrill and piercing, and Eskel is quick with Axii. 

“Come.”

She screams again, pleasure this time as she gushes all over the floor. “Th-thank you,” she stammers when she’s done and Vesemir has pulled the brand away, leaving an angry red burn that clearly marks her as one of Kaer Morhen’s breeding bitches.

Geralt spares a momentary thought to getting some hunting dogs again, just so they can let the mutts knot Ciri, but pushes it aside for later. 

Coën and Lambert go next, both at the same time, marking her inner thighs on each side. Her entire body jerks and convulses with the pain, but Eskel’s Axii is strong, and when he orders her to come again, she does with a reedy whine, panting like some kind of overtaxed animal. 

Since Eskel is maintaining the Axii, Geralt goes after Coën and Lambert. His brand is the biggest of them, though none of them are particularly large.

“Look at me, Ciri,” he orders, and she does, eyes hazy but on him, mouth open and spilling drool and a little blood where she must have bitten her cheek or tongue. “You’re mine, aren’t you? And ours.”

“Yes, yes,” she slurs, nodding. “Yours, Daddy.”

“Good girl.” 

He presses his brand right below her throat, on her collar and just slightly between her perky tits. Her voice gives out on the scream she gives at the pain of it, but she’s whispering a hoarse, “Thank you,” before Eskel even makes her come.

When the Axii drops, she sobs, thrashing in the chains, but Geralt puts her under again quickly, making soothing noises.

“You feel so good, don’t you, Ciri?” he asks. “Everything feels so good.”

He watches as his will overtakes her own, her face falling slack, and his cock throbs. He’ll have to take care of himself until all their brands are healed, but that’s fine. She sleeps in his room; he’ll be able to look at her, and see the brands when he changes her bandages, and hear her sweet, hurt little noises. It’ll be plenty of fodder for him to jerk off to – and besides, he can feed her his cum off of his fingers without risking her healing.

Eskel is last, and he circles around to her back, placing his brand just above her ass. Thanks to Geralt’s control, she comes without even being ordered, feeling even intense pain as pleasure now, and he’s not the only one who groans desperately about it.

“Good girl,” he praises, carefully holding her up as Lambert and Vesemir unshackle her. “Such a perfect little toy, Ciri, and all ours.”

“Y-yours,” she slurs, voice shattered, and passes out.

also in the work on ao3!

[refinedbuffoonery]

Flawless (1)

A Heist/Ocean’s 8 AU // Masterlist 

This story has been rattling around in my head for months now, and I’m so excited to finally share it with you! I’ve been describing this as an Ocean’s 8 AU, but it’s based more on the concept of the movie than the actual plot, although a few of the basic scenes are the same. Regardless, I have big plans for these girls. Content warnings for this fic are listed on the masterlist (link above). 

*****

“Good morning,” the parole officer said. “Please state your name for the record.” 

“Riley Davis.” 

“Thank you. Miss Davis, the purpose of this hearing is to determine whether you are likely to break the law again if released. According to the record, this is your first conviction, and you have never been suspect in another criminal investigation. During your time in prison, you kept to yourself and were well behaved.” The man looked up from her file. “As you know, parole is not a right. Parole is an immense privilege, Miss Davis, one you should not take lightly.” 

“I agree,” she said. 

“Good. What would you do if released?” 

Riley paused, thinking through her answer. “I would settle down, find a good job, fall in love, maybe have kids. I’ve learned my lesson, sir. It was a mistake. Now all I want is to lead a simple, happy life.” She placed one hand over the other, crossing her fingers on her covered hand. 

He squinted at her for a long time, like he was trying to read her mind. Riley painted her face in remorse. After several minutes, the parole officer relented and, apparently satisfied with her answers, said, “Very well.” 

Riley breathed a sigh of relief. By the end of the day, she’d be free. 

The officer continued, “The following are the conditions of your parole. You will report to me, in person, every two weeks until your parole period has ended. You may not cross state lines without my express permission. You must find and maintain steady employment. You may not use drugs or alcohol, nor enter any drinking establishments. You may not possess firearms or other weapons, and you may not associate with other persons with criminal records. In addition, you must obey all federal, state, and local laws, and generally be an upstanding citizen. If you do not follow these rules, Miss Davis, you will find yourself back in custody. Do I make myself clear?” 

Riley nodded. So close. “Yes, sir.” 

Extending his hand, the parole officer said, “Congratulations, Miss Davis. You are now a conditionally free woman.” 

“Thank you.” Riley shook his hand. 

The rest was all a blur. One minute she was sitting in a cold, metal chair with her wrists cuffed to a table, and before she knew it, Riley found herself changing out of her atrocious orange jumpsuit and pulling on skinny jeans and her buttery soft black leather jacket. Wearing real clothes didn’t hide the fact that she looked like shit, but in that moment Riley didn’t care. She was getting out of prison. 

After two years, one month, and four days, she was finally being released from prison. 

Two officers walked her to the exit. Opening the door, Riley squinted in the bright afternoon sunlight. She found herself in one last cage of chain-link fences with coils of barbed wire arching over the tops, and Riley quickened her steps through the open gate in front of her. 

A familiar face waited in the parking lot, perched on the back of a motorcycle. “Welcome back,” Nikki Carpenter said. The pair shared a conspiratorial grin. 

Riley hadn’t known who the officers called to pick her up, but perhaps her best friend coming to take her home was the universe’s repayment for the last two years. Nikki handed Riley a helmet before putting on her own and swinging her leg over the sleek, white bike. 

Riley started to put the helmet on and hesitated. She turned, looking back at the concrete cage she’d spent the last two years of her life in. Even though her sentence was only three years, the nagging voice in the back of her mind had reminded her every day that she might not make it out. Taking a shaky breath, Riley vowed to herself that she would die before finding herself on the wrong side of those fences and walls again. 

Never again. No matter what. 

Nikki must’ve noticed her hesitation, because she rested a hand on Riley’s shoulder. “You okay?” 

Still facing the prison, Riley couldn’t form the words to respond. 

“Hey. Thank you,” Nikki added softly. 

Riley didn’t want to deal with the implications of that ‘thank you.’ Not yet. Finally tearing her eyes away, she said, “Let’s get out of here.”

*****

“God, I need a drink,” Riley said as soon as they entered Nikki’s cozy two-bedroom apartment. Located in the heart of downtown LA, it was on the top floor of her building, so Nikki wasn’t subject to loud overhead neighbors stomping and dropping things in the middle of the night, but the elevator moved at a glacial pace and descending twelve flights of stairs was a bitch. Riley preferred residences that were easier to vacate—in case of emergency or unfortunate run-in with the feds—but it was nice enough. 

Nikki raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t avoiding alcohol a condition of your parole?” 

Riley shot her a withering glare and strode into the kitchen. She opened the white-painted cabinet above the stove, revealing Nikki’s extensive stockpile of wine and hard liquor, and dug around until she found the mason jar full of moonshine hidden in the back. Taking a big swig, Riley held Nikki’s gaze, daring her best friend to try to stop her. 

Nikki simply opened the fridge, pulled out some sort of leftovers, and put them in the microwave. While she waited, Nikki studied her. This is what it feels like to be an animal at the zoo, Riley thought as she squirmed under her friend’s scrutiny, crossing her arms over her chest. Riley took another big gulp of moonshine, letting the clear liquid burn her throat and make her stomach churn. 

The microwave beeped. Nikki grabbed a fork and the food and held it out to Riley. Content to doom herself to the worst hangover of her life, Riley shook her head in dismissal. 

“Eat,” Nikki commanded. She tugged on the waistband of Riley’s jeans. “You and I both know those weren’t mom jeans when you bought them.” 

Riley blinked. She’d eaten less while in prison, but it never seemed like a big deal. But the way Nikki was looking at her...she might as well have turned into a skeleton. Suddenly self-conscious, Riley obediently traded her drink for the food—lasagna, she realized—and settled onto the couch. 

After two years of cardboard-flavored prison food, the lasagna tasted like heaven. 

Riley waited until Nikki was mid-gulp before announcing, “I’ve got a plan.” Her best friend nearly choked. “Want to help me get the gang back together?” 

“What’s your plan?” Nikki ground out between coughs. 

Riley grinned. “I figure it’s time we go on that little trip to Paris we’ve always talked about.” 

Nikki shook her head. “Damn, you’re one crazy bitch, Riley Davis. You know that?” She paused, contemplating. “I’m in.” Handing back the moonshine, Nikki added, “But tonight, I say we get drunk and celebrate your freedom. Deal?” 

“Deal.” 

Thirty minutes in, they’d finished the whole jar of moonshine, and Riley’s head spun. She stumbled into the kitchen in search of water, suddenly grateful Nikki had made her eat a substantial meal before drinking. 

“So,” Riley slurred. “How’s it going with that boyfriend of yours? The cute blonde one.” 

Nikki groaned. “You mean the big fat liar? Fabulous.” 

“So it all blew up in smoke.” 

“You have no idea.” Nikki shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth. “Anyway, I’m back to being single, but Sam and Desi are still as insufferable as ever.” 

“Think they’ll get married?” 

“No way. That’s just one more thing they’d have to deal with if they ever have to fake their own deaths.” 

“On the contrary,” Riley drawled, “they should take out disgustingly large life insurance policies and then take turns faking their deaths every time they run out of money.” The idea sounded flawless to her drunk brain. “I’ll help them with their new identities for a cut.” 

“How big?” 

“Twenty percent.” 

Nikki snorted. “Like they’d ever agree to that.” 

Riley snuggled up to Nikki as they settled in to watch a movie, ducking under Nikki’s arm and using her boobs as a pillow. As Riley’s eyes caught Nikki’s laptop charging on a nearby table, her friend’s babbling about what chick-flick to watch faded into white noise. Riley’s fingers twitched. It’d been too long since she had the comfort of a keyboard beneath the pads of her fingers—since she felt powerful, the way Riley always did when armed with a computer. 

Too long, in fact, since she’d had any agency at all. Riley banished the thought before Nikki could notice where her attention had wandered. 

The movie turned out to be one they’d seen a thousand times, but Riley didn’t mind. Honestly, she needed the familiarity, not that she would admit that to Nikki. Even drunk, Riley loathed to reveal any sort of weakness, no matter how small and insignificant. 

Nikki pinched her side. “You’re brooding. Stop it.” Riley grumbled, but she let the movie distract her all the same. 

When the credits rolled, Riley glanced up at Nikki and found her friend already staring down at her as she rubbed Riley’s head. That caged animal feeling resurfaced. It was moments like these when Riley hated how well Nikki knew her, making it that much harder to hide everything going on in her head. 

In an attempt to escape, she said, “I’m thirsty. Let’s celebrate.” Riley forced a giggle as she walked back to the kitchen, grabbing two wine glasses from the cabinet. Everything in Nikki’s kitchen was exactly where it was two years ago, the layout as familiar to her as her own. Did she still have her own? Riley was too drunk to remember what happened to the spacious penthouse apartment of a convicted felon. 

“Riles, nooooooooo,” Nikki whined. “We are so drunk already. We cannot drink any more.” 

“Relax.” Riley rummaged through the fridge, pulling out the milk and a bottle of chocolate sauce. She filled the wine glasses with milk, then added an ungodly amount of chocolate, giggling again when the bottle made a fart noise. Riley didn’t mix it very well, but she was too drunk to care. “Your chocolate milk, milady.” She held out the better mixed of the two, keeping the worse one for herself. Nikki accepted. 

Riley held up her glass in a toast. “To freedom,” she said. “And doing whatever the fuck we want.”

*****

“Phone,” Riley demanded the next morning. Nikki handed hers over without even looking up from the scrambled eggs she was making. Riley unlocked it on the first try. “You haven’t changed your password in the last two years? C’mon, you know better than that!” 

“My password is twenty-nine characters long! I don’t think anyone is going to…Wait you still remember it?” 

Riley scrolled through Nikki’s contacts with one hand, the other busy stuffing her face with toast. “Obviously,” she said through a mouthful of cinnamon swirl bread. 

“Damn,” Nikki muttered, turning back to her eggs. 

Riley found the name she was looking for. Desi Nguyen. The call nearly went to voicemail before the woman on the other end snarled, “What?” 

Riley couldn’t help her grin. “I’m out, and I’ve got a job.” 

“Good for you. Let me know how long you last living the clean life.” 

“No, you jackass. A job. You in?” 

Desi didn’t even hesitate. “Hell yeah I’m in.” 

“Great,” Riley said, “and since I’m assuming Cage’s mouth is too occupied to answer, tell her I say hello.”

“Fuck off,” Desi growled, but it came out just a tad breathless. She hung up before Riley could make a snarky comment about being right. 

“So,” Nikki asked. She dumped the scrambled eggs on two plates. “Are they in?” 

“They’re in.” Riley smirked, gratefully accepting her plate. She sat down at the kitchen table and resumed scrolling through Nikki’s contacts. Riley reached the bottom of the list, but the name she was looking for wasn’t there. Riley checked again to make sure she hadn’t overlooked it. 

“Why isn’t Leanna’s number in your phone?” Nikki kept eating. “Nik,” Riley pressed. “Why don’t you have her number? What happened while I was...gone?” If Nikki noticed how she’d stumbled over the last word, her friend didn’t let on. 

“Leanna got out. Got clean. She’s CIA now.” Nikki’s cold stare was clear. Do not ask me about this again. 

“Oh.” Riley hadn’t seen that coming. “How the hell did she pull that off?” 

“She’s good at making people disappear,” Nikki said matter-of-factly. “Guess she finally used her skills on herself.” There was more Nikki wasn’t saying, but Riley didn’t push her. 

They ate their scrambled eggs in silence. 

As she cleared their plates, Nikki said, “So tell me about this plan of yours. Are we really doing it?” 

“If by ‘it’ you mean the heist of a lifetime, then yes. We are absolutely doing it.” Riley swung her feet onto Nikki’s now-vacated chair. “I had two long years to figure out exactly how to pull it off. All I need now is my team.” 

Nikki raised an eyebrow. “Your team? Last I checked, the Five Eyes were our team.” 

Rolling her eyes, Riley snarked, “Semantics.” 

“Whatever.” Nikki was clearly upset, but Riley couldn’t bring herself to care. “I’m going to take a shower.” 

“Don’t drown,” Riley replied automatically. 

As soon as she heard the rush of water moving through the pipes, Riley snatched Nikki’s laptop. Once again, the password was still the same. Nikki took long showers, so Riley figured she had at least thirty minutes to find the information she needed. 

Hacking into the CIA’s employee database was all too easy for someone like Riley Davis. She practically had the secrets of the universe at her fingertips, but Riley didn’t waste time snooping. All she cared about was one name: Leanna Martin.

[yandere-sins]

Stronger Together

An awesome commission from an anonymous client! Thank you so much for commissioning me and being patient ♥

Characters: Yandere!Dragon!Shinguji Korekiyo x Boyfriend!Gokuhara Gonta x Reader Warnings: Yandere, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Mentioning of torture, Mentioning of blood & wounds, Threatening

With a painful thumping in your head, you slowly woke up, feeling your sore muscles tense as you regained conscience. The taste of blood in your mouth was the first thing you could acknowledge of your senses, making you wonder if you bit your lip or tongue, and a groan escaped you as you took a sharp breath. Only now, you began to feel your arms sting, held over your head by a rope that caused rubbing friction against your skin when you moved. You could only assume and fear the room you were in, your eyes showing you nothing aside from blurry specks even if you opened them widely. There was only one other sound in the room you were in, and it frightened you not being able to see where exactly it was coming from. 

The first thing coming back to mind as you listened to the rattling of chains was your boyfriend, and you braced your throat to call out to him despite the dryness you felt. But when you finally managed to croak out his name, nothing but a muffled cacophony managed to escape you. Concerned, you finally noticed the gag in your mouth, wondering how it had gotten there but judging by the wooden taste, it was what also scratched open your mouth and now kept you from asking for the well-being of the person most important to you. You began to shiver as there was no way to communicate, and your fear rose as you couldn’t hear anymore rustling from what was with you in this room. Gonta had always been by your side. Even when your village got attacked, and a dragon kidnapped you two, he had never left you, shielding you and taking punishments that were meant for you, even if he was just as scared. Not having him with you now scared you greatly.

Leaning your full weight into the ropes that held up your arms, you wished there was another way to communicate, even if whatever shared your cell wasn’t anything you were familiar with. You called out again in a pitiful muffle, head moving around and your eyes slowly focusing, but this time, the ominous sound of metal shackles scraping over the cold stone floor rattled in response. Even though your head was still foggy after you were overwhelmed and knocked out before, you pieced together the evidence you had, making one more attempt to reach the presence with you, at least with the rustling of the ropes.

A groan resounded from not too far, yet not near you. You panicked at first, seeing a rising shadow in the corner across from you. It sounded as if whoever was there seemed to be in pain and confused, but some questions remained with your stomach getting nervous about what to expect. Why wasn’t that ‘person’ answering? Was there something they could see that you couldn’t? Who was locked up with you here? Your own heartbeat quickened as you had to wait and wonder about what was going on, only more grumbling reaching your ears from the other side of the room. 

“[Name]?” an anxious, tender voice called out, and you released a deep breath, recognizing it. For a moment, you had feared there might be a beast locked in with you, and you preferred Gonta over everyone else. Struggling and making yourself known with your muffled screams, Gonta slowly but surely regained his senses. He finally stepped out of the darkness and into the weak, remaining light of a candle hanging high above your heads. It wasn’t enough to illuminate his whole form, his shackles rattling terrifyingly as he moved, but at least his arm and the side of his face revealed themselves to you. With horror you saw cuts and bruises littering his skin, and just as worse was the fact he had some kind of metallic blindfold clasped over his head, searching for you with his hands in complete darkness. 

Immediately you were ridden with guilt, knowing he couldn’t see or even properly hear you, knowing he was relying on his excellent sense of hearing to make anything, and yet, you couldn’t even console him - the only thing you were good for in this situation. Gonta called out for you again, and you could do nothing but try to gain his attention. Even if only half of his face revealed in the light, you saw the fear and panic in his expression.

Tears of frustration welled up in your eyes as you threw your body around, screaming into the wooden gag, hoping he could hear you being near. Gonta soon enough fell back to his knees after having tried to reach you, and your strength began to wane too. It was a true nightmare not to be able to talk with him and assure him everything was okay. He usually was such a big and strong man, but he appeared more exhausted and fragile with his wounds than ever. All you wanted was to crouch over to him and hold him, tell him everything was going to be okay. 

“[Name]...” you heard again, and it broke your heart. You wouldn’t have minded breaking a wrist or two if it had freed you out of this predicament and let you console your just as confused and scared boyfriend. Your heart began to beat faster as you thought of ways to get out or to have something useful come out of this, but the more you panicked, the more your head felt like passing out again from the stress, and the last thing you could need was another ‘nap’ in this cold room. The best thing to do now was to think over your options and how to proceed calmly, even if it was urgent. The future of you two was still uncertain, and you feared the longer you two were stuck in your current situation, the more likely he was to pick up on you two being awake and ready to be bothered again.

All previous negotiations, pleads, and begs hadn’t done anything to change the dragon’s mind. You weren’t sure why you’d think they’d work in the first place, perhaps because the dragon could take on a human form, with features that didn’t appear strange at first glance. Maybe that’s why you thought of him more of a noble than a beast, someone you could reason with instead of a monster lacking the emotional range to understand your fear and frustration. That someone that kidnapped and burned down a village, all for the mere pleasure of watching its captives, wasn’t a person you could deal with at all had slipped your mind for the longest time of your capturing.

Trying to escape… well, that failed too. Your current situation and the drumming in your head was prove of it, reminding you bitterly that you didn’t think this through properly. Or perhaps, you did, but your plan just wasn’t good enough in the end; you couldn’t tell. All you remembered was running for a long time through the castle, holding Gonta’s hand as if your life depended on it, as you two made your way to any kind of exit. Then, a sudden crash, with only darkness that followed.

Thinking hard about your possibilities, you were torn out of your planning by a door creaking open, and your head snapped toward the source of sound instantly. Another dim light appeared in the previous darkness, and eerily clacking steps followed it. Gonta, too, seemed to notice, bracing himself as good as he could, but a short glance back at him revealed he only got more scared since he couldn’t see the approaching danger, unlike you. 

Gulping, you were almost glad to lower your head and avoid your eyes. Not like you felt guilty towards the dragon for escaping, but perhaps, the best you could do right now for you and Gonta was to show some remorse. That didn’t spare you the feeling of piercing, reptile-like eyes drilling into you, though, a powerful presence passing by you gracefully before coming to a halt in front of your boyfriend. Only now did you dare to look up again, immediately feeling a nervous pull in your stomach as you feared what might happen to Gonta now that the dragon found you two awake after the failed escape. 

With the candle in one hand, you could watch the ‘man’ reach out his free one, laying it down on Gonta’s head. Innocent as he was, he flinched shortly before recognizing the touch as nothing too dangerous, even leaning in a little. But when you tore your eyes away from Gonta for a second, you met the dragon’s head on as he watched you much more than the person in front of him. An ice-cold shower ran down your spine, and it must have shown on your face as you heard a thoughtful hum resounding from the dragon’s mouth.

You were next on the agenda as it seemed, as he let go of Gonta, walking straight back to you again. Even before his hand reached far enough out towards you for contact, you had flinched away, pressing your eyes closed tightly like a child who hoped for things to go away if it didn’t look at it. But nothing touched you against your expectations. Instead, you felt the ropes tighten before you were shortly lifted and released, your arms falling to the floor with limb thuds, unable to hold themselves after being released. 

“Humans never cease to surprise me,” the dragon’s cold voice spoke up suddenly, and you dared to look up again, only to see him watch you intently. “I give you shelter and food, and yet you still try to escape, fearing my help even.”

You’d have loved to scream back at him how nothing he did was helping you in any way, but the wood in your mouth remained, even under your protests. However, Gonta, who could talk, took the word, less emotional and more aiming to please than you would have been able to. “Mister… Sir--”

“Korekiyo. I told you, haven’t I?” 

“Y-Yes…” For a moment, Gonta went quiet again, and you imagined he was trying his best to figure out how to deal with this in the best way. His awkwardness didn’t exactly help, but you knew he did it for you. To make sure nothing worse than he too already feared was going to happen to either of you, even if that meant pushing himself. “Korekiyo, we- we don’t want to upset you. We just want to go home and--”

“But this is your home.” Without any intentions to let him finish, Gonta was interrupted, closing his mouth and biting his lip as he noticed there wasn’t much that words could do. 

“You’re not the first humans I gave a home to. I care for everyone who keeps me company, and there’s been a lot over time that knew how to appreciate that.” Pausing, Korekiyo turned away from you, returning to Gonta’s side, and you feared what he was going to do. However, he passed your boyfriend, kneeling down elegantly somewhere behind him, and you could hear the rattling of the chains as he seemed to undo their lock. It snapped open, and Gonta perked up too, trying to carefully distance himself from the sound and more into the direction where he assumed you. 

You rose up at his, mumbling into the gag to signal your whereabouts to him. To the best of his ability, Gonta stumbled onto his legs to get to you, sinking down just before you and feeling around till he could pull you into a tight hug. You didn’t care if there was the smell of sweat and blood combining. All that mattered was the feeling of him holding you.

At least, until he suddenly and with a pained cry, got yanked away from you, and you instantly knew something was wrong again when you saw the claws that had dug into his hair. “Very interesting. I reckon that embraces are very important for you humans? I must admit, I never had a couple to study. You two are the most peculiar suspects so far.”

Gonta had always been too gentle to fight someone, despite his looks. If he could, he always chose to remain peaceful, so with the strength, only a dragon could have over a man like Gonta was, he pulled him away, and you couldn’t keep yourself from glaring, which Korekiyo seemed to analyze with keen interest. 

“I don’t know why you tried to escape when everything was going so well, but I thought about it, and I decided there was something I’d rather not have showed you, but it’s no use. Perhaps it will make you understand.”

Finally, he let go of the confused and whimpering Gonta, the mechanical device blindfolding him loosening until he could simply push it off. Walking towards you, one of the dragon’s sharp claws - that you’d rather not have anywhere near you! - came down onto your face. Nervously, you tried to avoid it, but it was no use as Korekiyo stuck it between your soft cheek and the strap keeping your gag in place. The pull needed to snap the band in half seemed to be little effort for him but yanked your head pretty harshly. However, more than anything, you were relieved to feel the restriction loosening, allowing you to spit out the wooden block in your mouth. 

“Gonta!” you croaked loudly, and he too was quick to react, catching you in his arms as you stumbled towards him. There were a million words you wanted to say to him, but all you could do was squeeze his hand and brush through his hair. Both of you had seen better days, but finally being reunited was giving you strength. 

“Now, let’s go,” Korekiyo urged, and you turned your head to look after him, body and candle stepping out of a wide-open door and turning around the corner, leaving you two behind in unhelpful darkness. “We… we should follow,” Gonta eventually spoke, and you turned to him, caressing his cheek softly. You had a very bad feeling about this. A very, very bad feeling, but you knew he was right. Waiting and sitting it out would only draw the dragon’s attention and possible anger towards you again. 

“Can you stand?” you asked quietly, and together you two managed to raise yourselves and support your weak bodies on each other. Even though your legs were wobbly and you felt dizzy from finally standing up again, somehow, you two managed to follow through dark corridors, using your hands to navigate. Ever so often, Korekiyo would stop and wait for you to come closer again, though only as long as he pleased. An occasional sigh escaped his lips, and even if you wanted to be angry at him and give him a hard time for all that he was putting you through, your hand holding Gonta’s reminded you that you had to be more careful or you were risking more than you wanted to. 

When Korekiyo finally reached his destination, he waited for you two to catch up to him, ominous, strange sounds being muffled by the door you three were standing in front of. It was then that your gut was telling you to make a run for it, as nothing good could possibly await you beyond this point, but Gonta squeezed your hand encouragingly, and Korekiyo motioned to the door for you to open it. Hesitantly, you reached for the knob, turning it nervously as if your life depended on how well you performed as the other two looked on. You were too scared to open the door once the lock gave away but unluckily for you, your captor wasn’t as hesitant, his hand giving it a rough push and your body flying forward by the force of the door. 

Landing on your shins, you had to take a deep breath to keep the pain under control, breathing into where it hurt, but soon it gave away to the sounds of agony and tortured souls that rose as they saw you coming inside. You could barely believe your eyes as you let them roam through the tall room, lit by more candles that reflected in the metal bars of weird constructions. Machines that had humans, famished and with leathery skin, fixed into them, doing things only God knew what. They were torture devices, punishments, and you didn’t even want to finish your thoughts and find out more about them, fearing it might drive you insane to look around the room even one more second. 

You gasped loudly as you turned away from the miserable sight in front of you, feeling your stomach twist and turn and close to throw up. With a call of your name and a, “Don’t look!” Gonta was by your side again, hugging you close as to shield you from the scene. There was little that could keep you from crying into his shoulder, even though his embrace was so tight it made you feel safe and secure. But the things you had already witnessed were burned into your mind and playing on repeat so that you had no other choice but to accept that terrible reality despite Gonta’s best tries.

“Do you understand now?” you heard the indifferent, cold voice of your captor, the person- dragon responsible for this. “I’ve been good to you, and I plan on staying this way. Unless you want to join these souls?”

He couldn’t see the instinctive shiver that went through you, as the thought crossed your mind to be kept down here like a prisoner on death row. You didn’t even know how long anyone of the people had been down here, but you figured it wasn’t just since yesterday. However, Gonta noticed your tension and fear very well, gently brushing his hand up and down your back to calm you. “N-No, please…” he whimpered, close to tears from what he had to witness here too. Just like you, he was scared and worried, much more about you than himself. 

“We’ll be good now, right, [Name]?” Gonta asked, and you realized you had to agree now, or else it would end terribly for you two. So you sat up and leaned away, careful to not look over Gonta’s shoulder, or you might catch a glimpse of the poor souls collecting in this dungeon. Instead, you simply turned towards the dragon, lowering your gaze submissively as you nodded. Appreciative, he let out a merry laugh as he took the necessary steps towards you two, leaning down to his little captives to pet your heads tenderly. 

“How about we go upstairs again and finally have dinner then?” Korekiyo suggested, and you gulped at the word, unsure if you’d ever be able to take another bite in your whole life after what you saw. “Sounds good!” Gonta chirped up in forced happiness, knowing he had to please Korekiyo, but feeling conflicted as he glanced back and forth between you and the dragon. 

With Gonta’s help, you managed to get out, Korekiyo closing the door behind you two. Though you felt terribly guilty, you were so relieved that the sounds grew quieter. “Come,” Gonta whispered to you, despite your legs not listening and wanting to give in so badly. All you could do was slowly lift your eyes from the ground again, catching Korekiyo’s as you did. In his gaze, there was a triumphant shine, and if you could have seen all off his face uncovered by fabric draped over what you thought were scales, you could have sworn he might have shown you an amused expression. But what else was there than to bow to the dragon’s will, when the alternative would surely kill you and your boyfriend?

All you could hold on to now was the gentle touch all around you, and you looked up at Gonta, who met your anxious gaze with a smile to cheer you up. He didn’t look sure himself, even more, worried beyond his cheerful expression. It reminded you that you had to be strong too. If he could, then so had you. You weren’t alone in this; at least that much was able to give you comfort. 

And perhaps, you’d be able to make yourself believe that everything was going to be okay if only you’d try to like this new arrangement you had agreed to. 

[noocturnalchild]

Of Thieves and Poets

Paterson X original female character 

warning: bad language, mention of abuse, mention of death, light depiction of violence. 

Summary: The night falls on Paterson City, A mourning bus-driver-poet saves a thief from her victim’s clutches, Will that simple gesture of kindness change the course of both their lives?

All the passages in italic are from a William Carlos williams poem : These. 

Chapter 1 

*

The bus exhaled a death rattle. The stars twinkled far above the cloudy night sky, unperturbed in their eternity. His eyes scratched the deep purple of the firmament and his tired lungs liberated a shaky sigh.

The year plunges into night and the heart plunges lower than night.

It still happened; the face floating before his eyes, in the crowded streets, the hem of her dress in the wind, the tinkle of her laugh, the sparkle in her brown, warm irises. All six feet under.  

It still happened when he set the table for two, when he dusted her nightstand, hung her dresses in her wardrobe, ironed and still smelling faintly like her, cupcakes and paint.

Paterson’s hands squeezed the wheel.

 “Stupid bitch!”

A slap.

A strident scream.

 All six feet under.

 It had been a while since Paterson had applied the brakes with such force. With panicked eyes he followed the scene unraveling through his rear-view mirror. What seemed like a serious dispute broke out in the rear of his bus; a dozen of passengers circling someone, beating someone up, insulting someone Paterson couldn’t see but only hear.

Sky piercing mewls of an abused animal.

Six feet under. Paterson’s eyes hurt. Paterson wanted to go home.

“Stop the bus! Are you deaf? Stop the fucking bus now!”

His hands stiffened around the wheel, it was slick with his cold sweat. He stood up and the noises ceased. Long strides, clean shoes, stopped right above where her head rested.

She was clutching to the Rolex for dear life. Fragile little fingers shaking, blood on her knuckles and on her nails and on the bus floor.

“Dirty little thief!” The man shouted, eyeing Paterson with disdain and pride “about to dash off the next station.” “Right in the-”

“You broke her wrist.” Paterson cut off the bragging man, kneeling already at the side of the little sack of bones, wailing in pain.

“She stole my Rolex, sir, what was I supposed to do!? Thank her maybe?!” The man fumed, high pitched voice from hell.

The crowd hummed in agreement, Paterson closed his eyes.

“Please, I think it’s best if everyone regains their seats now. I… I have this in hand” Paterson gently slid the Rolex from a cold trembling grip as the other passengers dispersed. Noses returned to phones, fingers furiously tapping the screens, eager to tell, to collect. Pity and compassion for sale.

“Here sir, your watch” He didn’t spare a glance to the man who appeared to still have many things to say.  

Paterson stared at her bloody hand. The little thing sobbed quietly, curled on herself, head inside her arm, broken wrist on display. A damaged, cheap porcelain doll.

Dirt and stains on her pale blue jeans, holes and scratches on her thin white crop top, ribs like knives,  hair like a sad abandoned willow nest. No, a chiffon doll, crumbling under old garbage in a basement, where no child would ever find her again, alone to rot and disintegrate. Paterson’s eyes hurt.

“It’s not over, scumbag, I’m pressing charges. Next station, she’s going with me.” The man puffed his chest, over checking his Rolex, disgusted and haughty.

“She is not going anywhere” Paterson stood, mimicking the man attempt at “Mr Menace”. But Paterson was a natural; the man quickly understood that, retreated in his fake fur mantle. You’ve either got big mouths or big balls.

“Sir, you have your watch, she has a broken wrist. I think you are more than even”. Paterson didn’t even has to rise his voice.

The man chewed insults but, like the others, regained his seat at last. The bus driver poet, knew always how to keep discipline in his wheeled kingdom, a natural gift he was barely aware of.

Now silence was only cut by quiet sobs, muffled hip hop notes, neon lights whirring, and Paterson’s gentle rustling as he tried to gather the little woman. One big hesitant hand on her back, the woman shuddered, recoiled, and her injured hand jolted, another sob of agony.

“I’m not gonna hurt you”  

The poet’s eyes softened. She sensed kindness, maybe, because now her head straightened up, and Paterson looked at himself. Eyes so watery he could see his reflection, dark golden beryl, just like his. Bleeding little nose and chapped plump lips, little high cheekbones and a greasy dark fringe swallowing a sweaty forehead, and for a moment, Paterson wondered if he looked just like her, if people could see how he truly looked like, if people could see the tears of his soul and the bleeding of his heart. If they could see all the bruises and the wounds and the decay. If when they closed their eyes, they could see her name on the grave stone, like he did.

“…It’s all good, just try not to move your wrist… there, let me just help you a little” Paterson muttered as he gathered her like she was nothing. Not even the weight of one of his blue tip matches… It was a bit of a surprise, the complete absence of resistance, she was yielding, completely defeated. Empty stomach and empty pockets. He sat her far from the others, far in the back. Not a sound emitted from her. The bus emptied little by little, he took off his jacket, covered her. She looked like she could fit all her puny self inside the warm wool of it. From time to time he stole a glance at the dark shape through his rear-view mirror.

Finally, the last passenger got off the bus, and finally she spoke.

“No hospital, don’t take me to the hospital” Her words came scattered, little voice uneven, like her hair, he noticed now. It was short, wrongly cut, as if someone had taken a handful of it and started slicing, with a knife, with anger, and a desire to do harm.

The bus was quietly parked in its nest of steel and red bricks, and Paterson could attend to her, at last.

“Your wrist is broken” He stoically stated, hands in pockets, considering his options in the back of his mind.  

“I said no hospital, you dweeb” Her eyes sparkled with defiance. It was a strange way to thank someone, to say the least, but Paterson didn’t flinch.

White plastic bags rode with the wind, like mad ghosts. The crime rate rocketed in town, Paterson had before his eyes one of the little thugs that populated the underground, the run-down warehouses and the bridges flanks.

“I’ll ignore that. It’s the hospital or the precinct” He sounded sorry.

Paterson had bad bags under his eyes, fruit of many sleepless nights. After her passing, he refused to spend the night, alone in the blue bed. He changed his shifts to night hours. Sleeping the few hours before dawn on his sofa, their room a shrine to her memory.

“Fuck you”

“It’s the hospital then”

*

The ER wasn’t flooded that night. Paterson sat quietly, in the waiting room orange plastic chair, while a diligent doctor wrapped her wrist in a cast, scribbled antibiotics and painkillers, asked the routine questions, did the routine job.

Laura would be proud of him. Laura was smiling, sat beside him in her polka dotted dress, she was taking his cold hand in hers, her warm brown irises thanking him silently. Laura.

Now Paterson was standing behind the pharmacist counter, prescription in hand and she was the one sitting, quiet, wrist against her heart.

Mina. 24.

Just that. Cold black on white.

He forced himself not to imagine her lonely two syllable name carved on a gravestone.

 “Where do you live?”

The warehouses, the subways, the streets, the basements, the bridges flanks. The rat holes.

The silence became awkward once out on the wet tiles of the sidewalk. Paterson switching his weight from one long leg to the other, still holding the bag of medicines, Mina looking at the orange flickering of signalization lights, his vest still on her shoulders. She looked like a kid from a dystopian   future, from the 80’s science fiction novels he used to read.

“None of your business” She extended her valid hand, waiting, impatience in her big amber eyes.

“You need to eat, and a bath, and the doctor said—”

“I know twat! You’re not my dad, gimme the fucking bag and fuck off!”

Her chin was wobbling. Paterson spun on his feet and walked away. Stoic and tall. Damn him.

“Hey!”

She knew she should run to catch his wide strides.

Mina rarely realized a mistake when made, and as she tugged on his sleeve to make the gentle giant stop, she wasn’t sure either. Her judgment wasn’t to be trusted. Her mind was a mess, just like everything, just like her life and her wrist and her hair, just like her heart.

“Your… vest”

“I know, you can… you can keep it, my place is just ten minutes away”

“Ok, let’s go then.”

She smiled.

to an empty, windswept place without sun, stars or moon but a peculiar light as of thought

*

“Wouha! Dude your place is cool”

Mina was everywhere, inspecting the living space and the kitchen with round curious eyes.

He laughed.

Dude. No one called him dude since the campus days. Dude. That was different.

“I… I have chickens wings… some broccoli, apple pie…”

He fetched the leftover boxes from his fridge and proceeded to put them in plates to reheat, but the little sack of bones jumped on the apple pie first, two bites and only crumbles were left on the counter.

“Mhm…goohd” Mouth and cheeks still full, she slid the cold chicken wings plate into her lap and attacked the tender flesh like a starved panther.

Paterson stood there like a stranger in his own house. A bit out of breath by the chain of events. The situation starting to sink in his lonely mind.

His routine was all shaken. He felt funny. Didn’t know if it was good or bad or just…ordinary. Laura was looking at him with surprised eyes. Laura was looking at the girl with amused questioning eyes. Paterson shrugged.

She deserves another chance, everyone does, don’t they, honey?

[subject-v]

A lesson in diplomacy (whumptober 5)

Five is punished for stealing.

TW: death, branding, blood, restraint, forced to watch, ableist language

“Wake up!”

I jerk upright, shoving hair out of my eyes, expecting to see it day outside because surely if Dex is here, in the servant quarters, I’ve slept until noon, but I can barely see by the flickering torchlight. He sets his torch in a sconce on the wall and drops something, no, someone, a body, with long hair and a ragged skirt. She grunts as she hits the ground, unable to catch herself. Ari rushes to her side to help her up but I remain frozen in place as she lifts her head: Amira. Why is Dex upset with Amira? She’s always done everything he’s asked of her.

“I have a simple question,” Dex says, leaning against the doorframe to block our only exit. “Who stole the cipher from my office?”

My stupid human brain still struggles to interpret sounds as a form of communication and I stumble over two words: cipher and office. Office is where he works and cipher is… oh. The paper I took off his desk, the one with the jumbled letters that were so fun to put back in order. I’d overheard him call it unbreakable with a group of senators, but it was a one-to-one substitution, easily broken with a little frequency analysis using books from his library. I’d solved it in about a decan and I couldn’t even read.

“Don’t look so terrified, Nike.” With no apparent effort, Dex leans forward and curls his fingers through Amira’s hair, pulling her back to her knees. “I know you’re too much of a simpleton for this. You three, however.” He flicks a finger at the other indentureds: Ari, Ermes, and Hesita, all of whom find reason to look elsewhere. “Only servants had access to the room since it went missing. Énas assures me it wasn’t one of the paid servants, so it was one of you.” A knife appears in his hands, a long, curved one with a terrible sharp point that he plants on Amira’s cheek, making her tremble, making her cry, and if I didn’t know from experience that nothing in my physical capacity could overpower Dex, I would jump at him then and there for scaring her. “Well?” A rivulet of blood rolls down her cheek.

“Sir,” Hesita begins. “I would never steal from you.”

“It’s not merely theft,” he says idly. “That cipher was a message from the rebels.” A small gasp goes up around the room, so whatever this rebel word is, I assume I want no association with it. “Whoever took it is a traitor and shall be treated as such.” He smiles, not the smile I’ve seen him use with other important people when he wants them to like him, the sort he flashed my way the first day we met, when being in a human body was still so new and unbearable and he’d seen the helplessness written all over my face. We were, I realized, helpless. None of us will leave this room alive but through his mercy. “Ari, perhaps?”

When he faces her, she ducks her head, just like Amira taught me to do. If you challenge him, he will try to break you, she’d said. Don’t give him reason to. “S-sir, I’m not a rebel.”

“They do love sending cute little things like you to my household. Did they give you that scar themselves, thinking it would make me less likely to abuse you? Ha!”

Ari’s chin is shaking. “I-I’m not-”

Dex waves her protestation aside. “They’ll elicit a proper confession at the Keep. Until then.” He plucks something off the wall behind him, a long metal stick like the one I use to tend his fires, and the one he once used to beat me when I let a fire burn too low, except this one has a shape on the end, an interlocking spiral made of wrought metal, and it makes Ari fall to her knees.

“Please don’t brand me, sir. I’m not a ciphramancer. I’ll do anything, please. It’s…” She takes  a deep breath. “Nike hides something in their shirt. Paper. Please, sir, it wasn’t me.”

I frown when she points at me but I’ve broken the cipher and I’m not a rebel or a ciphramancer, whatever those are, so Dex can’t be mad at me. Really, I’ve helped him, by solving it. Maybe he’ll see how good I am at this and stop making me do all his laundry. I remember to vibrate my neck as I exhale and say, “I. Have it.” Then, even though esses always get stuck under my tongue, I add, “S-sir,” because he looks like he’s in a bad mood.

Dex raises an eyebrow. “I’m not in a joking mood, Nike.”

I pull the paper—cipher on the one side, decrypted version on the other—out of my tunic and hand it to him.

He is, for the first time since I’ve arrived here, dumbfounded. Gobsmacked, even. “Are you-you’re a rebel?” He forgets to keep holding Amira up and she collapses to her shoulder, her bound hands wriggling behind her back. “Nike?”

Ari has a gleam in her eye as she ducks her head. Wait a minute, I know that one. Relieved? Why is she-

Dex slams me into the wall behind me, his arm flat across my neck. “I refuse to believe you’re a ciphramancer.” My eyes bug out of my head, I kick dangling feet, trying to speak, tell him I can’t breathe, but he drops me the next second anyway. “Hesita, Ermes, leave us. Ari, get my son and my riding crop.”

They all flee, except Amira, whose legs are tied together with thick rope, and even before she looks up at me with those big, sad, disappointed eyes, I realize I may have made a mistake here. I clear my throat. “I can.” What’s the word? “Help. You.”

Dex laughs. “You will, Nike. But first, Cassian?”

Cassian has only just arrived but he already looks miserable, which is his default state, as far as I can tell. He lets Ari hide behind him as he steps forward, all six feet of him. “Yes, sir?”

This always confuses me. My understanding of human social politics is that people fear pain and so power comes through the ability to inflict it. I have to wash and dry Dex’s clothes because he can hit me and I can’t hit him, but Cassian is wider and taller than Dex and he still always defers to him in these sorts of situations, even though he clearly doesn’t want to be here. What’s up with that?

“She will be going to the Keep. Get the necessary supplies and contact a guard.”

Cassian swallows heavily. “Yes, sir.”

“Ari, out of curiosity, how long did you know Nike had the cipher?”

Ari has nowhere to hide anymore and presses her lips together. “Sir, I assumed you told her to have it. I’m sorry.”

“You will be. Take off your shirt.”

Could I slip out, if I ran fast? No, Amira’s body is in the way. I opt to crouch in my corner instead. If I’m small enough, he might forget me, and he does seem excited as he beats Ari’s back purple with the riding crop, pausing after each blow so she can choke out a number.

Is he going to do that to me next? My hand goes to my back, worried. He whipped me, once. This will hurt less, right? But in my mind, it hurts more. A great anvil settles on my chest, pressing down until I can barely breathe, and then when Cassian returns, he’s holding rope and other things I don’t even recognize. If Ari deserves this punishment for the crime of hiding my crime, what the hells are they going to do me?

The knife? Dex’s sword? Something worse? Cassian shoves the brand into the brazier on the far wall, rustling the coals against one another, and my stomach drops. Do they-are they going to make me touch the fire?

Tears spill into my eyes, making Dex laugh as he shoos Ari out of the room. Instead of falling on me though—I want him to, even as I cannot stand the thought, because at least once the pain starts, I know how bad it will be—he drags Amira to the wall by the back of her shirt. “Put those on,” he orders, kicking at a set of manacles. He flicks Amira’s chin up with the riding crop. “Do it or I’ll hurt her.”

I snatch them closer and fit them over my wrists, but they’re so big, they fall to my elbows. Cassian moves forward to tighten them, then tugs at the chain, looking at Dex to make sure he approves. I wish I had the words to ask him to help me, instead of Dex. Neither of us like Dex and with his size, we could probably take him, even though he is holding that riding crop. He treated me so well last night, feeding me, telling me stories about Marius. Isn’t he supposed to like me?

Maybe he can see this urge in my eyes because he looks away quickly.

“Pull down the shirt.”

Cassian’s hands are hot against the skin of my back. “Kneel, please,” he whispers. I don’t understand. Why? Why must I? What was my crime?

“I helped,” I manage to say.

“Kneel,” he repeats. “Please, Nike.”

I kneel and he presses my cheek into the cold stone wall. Someone stirs the embers and a moan escapes my mouth—mistake. “Yes, Nike, perhaps you should’ve considered how much this would hurt before you crossed me.”

The strength comes from nowhere but suddenly, I’m struggling, pressing against Cassian’s hands on my shoulders, trying to stand, and his grip tightens. “I don’t want-”

I hear it before I feel it. A sizzle, like meat on the grill. A hiss.

Then-

Gods. Someone screams, not me, even though it’s my vocal cords vibrating, because this is not a sound I could ever make. It echoes in the small room, cracks, warbles, louder than I’ve ever made, and when I run out of breath the pain is still there, pressed hard against my back. I smell something burning, then realize it’s me. I’m burning.

Even when Dex steps back, the pain doesn’t diminish, and Cassian allowing my shirt to fall back into place makes it worse. I drop to hands and knees, the chains rattling, my back keening. Dex props the brand against the wall and I almost sob because that means we’re done, this is it. I can survive this. I can-I can do this.

“Look up.” I struggle to obey. “She begged for me to spare you, you know that?” Dex taps the riding crop against Amira’s cheek, which is stained wet. “My original idea was to skin you in front of Ari until she confessed, but Amira begged me to use her instead. Isn’t that touching?”

Amira’s shoulders shake.

“I assume you feel something for her as well.” He punches her, even though she is already lying on the ground and bound and helpless, he punches her so hard, her head slams into the wall with a horrid crack and blood pours from her mouth and splatters across her grey hair. I flinch, reach out to her, forget about the chains, half fall. “As I thought. Let this be a lesson then: your beloved rebels will always hurt people more than they help.”  He kneels, strokes her hair, and slides his knife between her ribs.

I’m too weak to cry out as she babbles, as he lets her go, as she falls. Too weak to pull away from her spreading blood as it stains my skirt and skin. Too weak to struggle as Cassian lifts me up, avoiding the raw wound on my back, and carries me outside, and between the searing pain on my back and the terror in my chest, all I can find myself thinking is that he promised. He said if I obeyed he wouldn’t hurt her, and he hurt her, he killed her, she taught me to speak and he killed her, she’s dead and I wish I were too because it hurts more than I can comprehend.

As Cassian hands me to someone outside dressed all in grey, I manage to lift my head, look Dex in the eye, and though I cannot remember how to speak, I think he understands the look in my eyes because he ruffles my hair with a rueful smile. “I know, I lied. Don’t worry, better dead than where you’re going.”

[interrogatormentors]

BOOK TWO, EVENT 1: FLASHBULB MEMORY

While the Interrogatormentors as a whole lacked any sense of humor, Sollux found taking command of the BC Starskimmer Arisen after his graduation ironic as all hell. The ship upon which he’d served as helmsman hadn’t changed much in his absence apart from a few personnel changes, and Sollux had to stop himself from heading down the corridor to the helmsblock on more than one occasion. He couldn’t help but wonder if the assignment was just another test from Rapard or another one of the higher ups, giving him a ship to which he had such a fraught history with. He never voiced this suspicion of course and no one ever confirmed it, or so much as admitted Sollux had ever served aboard the ship in the first place. An echo of vindictive pleasure surged through Sollux every time a helming tech scurried away from him, or when Captain Pilthe had to tip his scarred chin upwards in deference to the interrogatormentor he’d once viewed as subtroll.

Sollux woke to a soft buzzing from his palmhusk, and he fished it out from where he kept it under his pillow. The Starskimmer came with two recuperacoons waiting for Sollux and Ophlia, but both had elected for platforms instead. They needed to keep alert, and Sollux felt sharp as anything as he answered the call without slime clinging to his frame. Ophlia sat up from her platform as he did so, looking over at him with vague disinterest. Sollux had to suppress a groan as he saw the caller ID, but answered the message all the same.

Gamzee Makara, the ship’s security officer, grinned all lopsided at him. “Got some motherfucking work for you two,” he said, drawling.

“Next prisoner transfer isn’t until midnight, Makara, tell me why you really called,” Sollux said.

“Nah, nah, I wouldn’t motherfucking dare lie to you.” Gamzee’s smile didn’t shift, and Sollux took a slow breath to enforce calm. He never could get a read on the purple with how all over the place his body language was on a good day. Gamzee kept talking, eyes half-lidded as he bobbed his head as if to some imaginary beat. “Them’s the prisoners yesterday brought in through our doors. I was sorting through their files and wouldn’t you motherfucking know it, clean and clear as a midmorning dewdrop, we got some rebellion criminal records blazing hot on my desk. Dunno how they motherfucking slipped through, but thought you might wanna take a motherfucking gander before they’re transferred away tonight.”

Sollux’s left eyelid twitched. “Get them in isolation rooms and halt their transfer until we perform an interrogation,” he said, and hung up the call. He pinched the bridge of his nose as Ophlia began to get dressed. “Pilthe fucked us over again.” Ophlia raised an eyebrow as she buttoned up her uniform, and cocked her head to the side. Sollux snorted. “Yeah, you’re right. I shouldn’t expect competency from a tenured seadweller. Wish the news didn’t have to come from Makara.”

Ophlia shrugged, waving a hand. “Serving his time,” she said, voice low.

“He’s treating forced conscription like a fucking vacation, is what he’s doing,” Sollux said. He threw off his sleep shirt, donning his uniform as well. “I don’t know how he passed through an interrogation from Rapard with his head intact, not if the rumors about his rebel ties were true.” Ophlia cocked her head to the side. She didn’t say anything, not really needing to, and Sollux growled as he shoved his feet into his boots. “This entire ship is comprised of weak links ready to snap.”

Ophlia snapped her fingers at him as she approached, right under Sollux’s nose. He inhaled through his nose and out through his mouth, clenching his hands into fists. He stopped only when he left his claws pierce his skin from the force, and blessed numbness flooded him as the pain reminded him to draw back, school his emotions back into a practiced plateau of calm. “Right. Sounded like there were at least two rebels that slipped through the net. One for each of us, at least, so we’ll be done by midnight anyways.” He picked up his earpiece as he headed for the door, putting it on and clicking it once to make sure the channel was clear. Ophlia put her own on, depressing the call button and tapping it once with a nail. Sollux heard the nail tapping loud and clear, and nodded.

Ophlia followed Sollux as they left their shared room and headed down the deserted halls, tall and resolute as ever. Sollux relaxed as they walked, squaring his shoulders and posture straightening to mirror his partner’s as they walked. He always felt better with a job to do, and the long stretch between any fruitful interrogations had put him on edge. Now he had something to focus on, to sink his teeth into, and he couldn’t wait to see the rebel unlucky enough to meet him on the other side of the isolation chamber’s door.

Gamzee waited for them outside the isolation blocks, scrolling on his palmhusk. He glanced up as Sollux and Ophlia approached, not even bothering to uncurl his spine from the terrible slouch he constantly bent himself into. He leaned against the wall, gesturing to the door on his left. “Got a motherfuckin’ rust and a cocktail olive for you, all wrapped up and special. Olive’s on the other end of the motherfucking wing, needed t’grab some motherfucking special shackles. She’s motherfucking feisty. Sent their files out to you like, motherfucking...two minutes ago.”

“Shackles or no, they’re not difficult to install, Makara,” Sollux said. He pulled out his own palmhusk, glancing through. The files didn’t have much apart from age range and names, but their files were flagged with their exact hex codes linked to rebellion activity. “You take the olive then, considering you’ll have to do wrangling, Davrot. I’ll take AA.”

Ophlia and Gamzee both stared at him, and Sollux blinked twice as he registered the error. Aradia Megido. His pan flipped right over in his skull as a memory clamored to be seen, acknowledged, something nostalgic and peaceful and mournful. Both his helming programming and interrogatormentor training fought against the surfacing thoughts, emotions too much to control. So Sollux forced himself to not think, his mind doing the work and blocking the memory off before it could surface and break his calm.

“A stutter,” he said. “I’ll visit the medbay following this interrogation. Aradia Megido.” Ophlia looked him up and down, eyes narrowing an increment in that same analytical way she’d looked at him back when the Reichenbach’s Head Admin had dropped Sollux’s wigglerhood trollhandle. Sollux returned her gaze without faltering even as a headache built behind his left eye at the strain of repressing his own memories, and after a few moments Ophlia bowed her head slightly.

Sollux let out a soft breath as his fellow interrogatormentor retreated down the lengthy hall to the far end of the isolation block wing. Gamzee cocked his head. “You gonna be motherfucking peachy keen in there, motherfucker?” Sollux narrowed his eyes and he laughed, low and rumbling. “Sir Motherfucker, excuse my motherfucking cheek.”

“There is nothing the matter,” Sollux said as his head throbbed. “More lip and I will have you reporting to reeducation in a few hours.” He didn’t have the energy to correct Gamzee on his manners right now. He could almost hear the remaining metal in his pan rattling around from the force. He pricked his own thumb with a sharpened claw, pressing the small smear of blood to the reader next to the isolation block’s door. He entered, and the world faded into nothingness as the soundproofed door slammed shut behind him.

The rustblood sat on the dingy sleeping platform of the cell, crosslegged and alert with her arms propped on her knees. Her face fell when she saw Sollux enter, but her eyebrows knitted together in something akin to pity rather than fear. She wore psionic-suppression cuffs on both wrists that weren’t shackled together by any sort of chain, but her arms looked too thin to possess any threatening amount of muscle.

Her arms. Something about her arms were wrong, they didn’t quite match the soft curves of the rest of her, and Sollux sank his nails into his palm again. He needed to remember, it seemed important, but the emotions roiling just below the thin veneer of trained calm threatened his professionalism.

He took a breath, raising his hand to the thermostat and sinking the temperature down. As a rust, this troll would feel uncomfortable long before he did. “Aradia Megido, hex code A10000?”

“Yes,” the rustblood said. She opened her mouth to say something, chest swelling to fuel some sort of tirade or threats perhaps, but she closed her mouth again and settled.

“They only call me in if you have something to hide.” Sollux folded his arms behind his back, keeping his posture straight and digging his nails into his own wrist where this Aradia could not see. “So make it easier for both of us and explain now why your blood code is linked to rebellion activity.”

“Well, because I’m a rebel,” Aradia said.

“You admit this?”

“I wouldn’t be saying it if it weren’t true. Would I lie to you, Sollux?”

Sollux felt his psionics burning at his own skin, his fingers acting as conductors for the pain that grounded him. He wanted, he needed to remember, but he couldn’t or he’d crack. He hadn’t felt this unstable since his training days, every moment a threat that could shatter his emotionless facade at any moment with Rapard’s voice snarling in his skull. Just turn your emotions off, like a husktop. You’re a piece of equipment, the right hand of the Empire. Act like it, cullbait. “You know of me, then.”

“Sollux, I know you.” Aradia stood then, and Sollux lowered an arm sparking with psionics. Aradia noticed and stopped, although she still lifted her hands up to him as if soothing a fussy lusus. “You look like a daywalker-- Are they even feeding you? Do you remember me?”

“I’m receiving the appropriate amount of calories for my weight and activity level and I don't need pity from a mudblooded excuse of filth.” The words came out of Sollux before he could stop them, harsh and angry and emotional. He gritted his teeth as Aradia inhaled sharply, raising a hand to his earpiece. “Davrot. Switch me.”

“Just reached the cell,” Ophlia said. “Just got the name.” “I don’t care,” Sollux said. “Switch to the rust. She is provoking an emotional response.”

“You--” Ophlia’s voice faded into static, harsh in Sollux’s ear.

Sollux turned away from Aradia an increment, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “Interrogatormentor Davrot. Is your equipment faulty? Repeat your last message.”

The static faded, and Ophlia’s voice returned with the exact same words and tone he’d heard a thousand times before. “All is fine.”

“Are you coming, then?”

A pause. “All is fine,” Ophlia said again, a little louder this time.

Sollux pursed his lips, looking back to Aradia. She took another step forward, and Sollux bared his teeth at her. “Sollux, please,” she said. “You were my best friend.” She held firm even as Sollux’s hand sparked again, his hand balling up into fists. She only spoke louder, faster. “I’d always make you come outside and you complained so much you finicky brat, but you did it anyways. For me. Even after Vriska happened, you still came.”

Vriska. The arms. Everything snapped back into focus for Sollux in one crystalline moment, and he lashed out with his psionics in a wave of force. Aradia braced herself, arms crossed in front of her with an inorganic clank as she sent up a shimmering shield of her own psionics that whispered of the dead. The arms weren’t real. Zahhak had made them after Vriska had bent Sollux's mind into putty, gorging him on mind honey and sending him after Aradia and crushing her limbs under heaps of rubble. His best friend. His moirail. The arms weren’t real. The cuffs weren’t working.

“Davrot!” Sollux gathered his psionics around his arm, sending them out in a solid beam that Aradia ducked under. “Ophlia, come in!”

“All is fine,” came Ophlia’s voice again.

Sollux swore under his breath as Aradia lowered an arm and a hatch opened along the side, and she pulled something out of it. She depressed a button along the side of the slender object and a whip unfurled, and she snapped it against the ground once before slinging it out towards him. The whip curled around his wrist and Sollux grabbed onto it, sending scorching psionics along its length. Aradia pulled the whip back just before the psionics reached her hand.

“Come on, Sollux, are you really surprised it’s a trap?” Aradia threw an arm back and then forward again, the whip snapping and lashing against Sollux’s cheek as he flung himself into the air to avoid the brunt of the attack. “It was super obvious! We didn’t even make fake names or anything. This doesn’t have to be so hard.”

Sollux landed back to the ground on the balls of his feet before lowering himself into a practiced fighter’s stance, clapping his hands together to blow back the whip as it came towards him again. “It doesn’t, you’re correct. Surrender now and you might live.”

He charged forward, coming well within her range to limit her usage of the whip. Aradia closed the gap, head lowered before tossing it back. Sollux sidestepped the horn-gouging attempt, throwing a right hook only for Aradia to dodge again. She threw a punch of her own. Sollux caught the clumsy fist with ease, nails digging into the false skin. Aradia grinned at him. “Surprise!”

The cuff clicked around his wrist from where Aradia had removed one of her own while he wasn’t looking, the light along its side glowing a soft green as Sollux’s psionics winked out of existence. Sollux stared a moment too long at the cuff and Aradia headbutted him again, hard. Sollux felt his nose crack and he stumbled back. Aradia readied her whip as Sollux turned and bolted. He yelled as the whip curled around his ankle as the door opened, sweeping his foot out from under him and sending him crashing to the ground. The whip slid back and away and Sollux scrambled to his feet, shooting out of the room and slamming the button outside it to close the door behind him. The whip cracked against the metal.

Sollux ran his fingers along the psionic cuff as he heard the muffled sound of psionics blasting against the door. He found no purchase, no groove, only a small numpad which he had no time to attempt to crack. He cursed again, looking down the hallway that Ophlia had gone down. He let out a soft breath as he spotted Gamzee jogging towards him. He had his clubs out, a welcome sign considering the whole situation. “Makara, status report on Interrogatormentor Davrot. The rustblood isn’t properly restrained.”

Gamzee slowed down, lips curling into a lazy smirk as he lifted his palmhusk. He pressed on the screen. “All is fine,” said Ophlia’s voice from Sollux’s earpiece.

“Surprise, motherfucker, you just got yourself motehrfuckin’ bamboozled,” Gamzee said, pocketing his palmhusk. “Welcome to your motherfucking rescue mission.” He spun his clubs around in his hands before swinging with frightening speed, and Sollux only just got out of the way in time. The club slammed into the wall, which dented from the force of the highblood’s swing.

“I knew it. I knew something was off about you,” Sollux said. He gritted his teeth as he avoided another strike aimed at his head.

Gamzee laughed, his whole body a dizzying blur that had Sollux’s head spinning. The voices of the doomed were quiet with his currently repressed psionics but something else whispered in his pan, something dark and ancient and hypnotic that made Gamzee’s form hard to track. Of course this fucker had chucklevoodoos. Of course.

Sollux backed up but Gamzee moved faster, slipping past him despite his massive bulk and blocking the corridor to the main ship. The door to Aradia’s cell blew open, still sparking with maroon light as she stepped out. Sollux wasn’t stupid. Without his psionics his limbs were tissue paper. He could fight without them, he’d sparred with Ophlia plenty of times, but the odds were stacking against him more and more. He turned and ran further into the cellblock wing, throwing his earpiece down onto the ground as Gamzee started mocking him with Ophlia’s voice as he fled. The pair followed him, keeping on his heels.

He almost barreled a troll over in his haste, but had the mental fortitude to jump to the side as the olive clawed at his face with knives jutting out from her gauntlets. He saw Ophlia lying on the floor halfway out of the cell, bleeding from a nasty head wound.

Sollux whirled around, and a club met him in the face. He took the blow at full force and flew back a few feet, slamming into the wall. Sollux pushed off from the wall despite the way his whole face throbbed from the blow, using the momentum to twist his whole body and roundhouse kicking another club away from his face. The olive to his side crouched and then sprang up into the air, swinging down with her clawlike knives. Sollux dodged the obvious attack, catching Aradia’s whip again. He tugged her forward, punching her in the jaw before she could react. She fell against the wall with a thud. Gamzee kept swinging his clubs at near-lethal speeds, and Sollux felt sweat dripping down his nose at the effort of bouncing away from them and ducking as the olive charged him again.

Finally Aradia’s whip cracked in the air and then wrapped around his neck, and Sollux fell backwards as she yanked the whip tight. Sollux tried to find purchase in the whip as it cut off his airways, tucking his chin in a futile attempt to find air. “Sorry, Sollux,” Aradia said, and her voice came to Sollux from the end of a tunnel as his vision went black. “Get well soon!”

Sollux snarled, but even with his interrogatormentor training he couldn’t hold his breath forever. His eyes rolled back as he gasped and choked, vision blurring. He gripped onto the whip, trying to tug Aradia down and forward, only for Gamzee to scoff. Another club smashed against the side of his head, and Sollux saw no more.