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januaryembrs · 7 months ago

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THE KID SWINGS BACK | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [4]

Description: The THREE times things feel weird between Spencer and you because you're just best friends.

Length: 21k (this is HALF of what I wrote for this chapter before I split it into two parts :0)

Warnings: explicit hints of suicidal ideation, as I have said in the last two chapters, Bugsy has really struggled with losing Emily and has been in a bad place. it is mentioned once or twice but please read with caution if you feel topics of mental health, not vividly described but the effects of it, are mentioned. Spencer's addiction is also mentioned. Violence, blood, swearing, usual CM warnings. Also there is a brief mention of SA (bugsy gets spanked by a stranger in a casino), again if this is triggering please be cautious. EXPLOSION. Emily and bug argue + fight. Bug + hatch fight. Bugsy takes no prisoners in this one won't lie. Spencer and bugsy turn each other on accidentally.

authors note: this was supposed to be a lot longer (I've had to split it with the next part released in a few days time) and yet every time I tried to upload to Tumblr, it crashed because it was over 30k words ;-; OTHER HALF IS COMING SOON.

previous chpt | next chapter

‘If you take a swing, the kid swings back,

she say I’m not your punching bag,’

The one where Emily comes back.

She felt the headache as soon as she woke up. She’d experimented with Molly her first week of college, hated every second of it after she had prattled on for two hours to some other random freshman about the breakthrough research in enzyme-replacement therapy like she was catching him up on an episode of the Kardashians. She’d tried the odd few brownies, though they usually turned her stomach the next day and made her paranoid for about a week, before she swore them off entirely for their yummy, sober counterpart.

She should have known what to expect when she woke up, but then again, if she had been smart enough to pre-empt how awful she’d feel the next day, she probably wouldn’t have taken the little pink pill with a candied love heart on the top at all.

The duvet was soft against her face, and for a moment she didn’t care about anything except chasing the warmth it provided; just that she was cosy and it smelled nice, smelled familiar.

Her eyes pinged open when she realised that whatever that familiar smell was, it was very much not her own sheets. And she was very much not in the clothes she left the house in last night.

Bugsy sat up too fast, that much she knew, because in the time it had taken her to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, reach for the side table where she hoped to find her phone, a home phone, or just any working phone she could call someone off, she felt the room that smelled like a dream spinning around her.

Her legs turned to jelly, her stomach tossed with a mix of nerves and nausea, and, graceful as ever, she fell face first to the ground with a thud, smacking her temple off the corner of the bedpost on her way down.

“Fuck,” She whined, raising a hand to her brow that thudded with more than the side affects of last night, and she was quick to hear footsteps approaching as if in a half run. The door to the bedroom dragged on the thick sherpa carpet as it swung open, and she blinked wearily up at the culprit.

“Alright, up we get,” There were hands slipping under hers before she got a chance to see anything that wasn’t a blurry mess of brown hair and worried eyes, and it wasn’t until she heard his voice she felt herself sigh in relief, “Of course you wake up the second I turn around,”

“Sencer?,” She cleared her throat, hands latching onto his shoulders as he lifted her back onto the bed, “Spencer?” She tried again, her lips chapped, her skin clammy.

“Good morning, to you too,” His voice was soft, quieter than usual, like he knew just how delicate her head was and changed his tone accordingly, “Did you sleep well?”

“Morgan- where’s Morgan, I thought we…” She murmured, turning her head in confusion to the window where Spence had gone so far as to pull the curtains closed for her, seeing just the smallest crack of daylight filtering over the bed sheets. Her hands ran down his chest, her eyes lost and dazed, like someone had taken her batteries out, and Spencer took it as an opportunity to hand her the glass of water he’d got her and two advil.

“Morgan’s safe; he went home, he said he had a wonderful night,” Spencer lied, hoping she was just a little out of it that she didn’t catch him in it. She always knew when he was lying. But, as he’d suspected, she barely picked up on it, her lips pouting in confusion when she took note of the medicine he’d given her, “Drink up, Morgan said you did a lot of dancing last night, you’re probably dehydrated.”

“I did…” She echoed him, trailing off when the blur of the nightclub caught up to her, and she remembered exactly the last time someone had handed her a little tablet like those ones. Her heart plummeted, her eyes widening into saucers, and she swore she might have felt the glass crack beneath her palm with how tight her grip became. She looked up at him, and instantly picked apart the pity and the sadness swimming in his honey pooled eyes, “You know,”

He nodded softly, his hand coming up to stroke her hair away from her face, his gaze falling to where she felt something sore and achy forming on her forehead, bleeding into her brow.

“Spence-” Her own groan of pain cut her off when he brushed over the bump on her temple, and she understood she had perhaps hit it much harder than she’d initially thought.

“Let’s get you breakfast, and then we’ll talk,” He whispered softly, concern thick in his voice, and for the first time in months, she didn’t fight it. She just listened, and let him love her.

“God, I am truly pathetic,” She muttered, sipping her coffee with a scowl in between the maple ladened pancakes going down with a vicious chomp on her fork. Her other hand was occupied holding a bag of frozen peas to her head, where a nice dark bruise was spreading its way over the right side of her face, spider webbing out into a black eye.

“You’re not pathetic, everyone makes mistakes,” Spencer tried reassuring her, but he couldn’t help but smile as she devoured breakfast with the anger of a raccoon being dragged from a garbage bin, “You’re safe, that’s all that matters,”

She sighed, and Spencer didn’t actually think she had ever been so grumpy around him before, “Spencer, look at me,” He did, he had been all morning, but he did as he was told anyway, “I’m a federal agent who took molly from a frat boy all because I can’t just grieve like a normal person and cry my pathetic little heart out and be done with it. I crashed your night because I can’t even handle a little ecstasy without needing supervision and I just got into a fight with your bedframe,” She finished with a huff, dipping her next mouthful of pancake in the puddle of maple syrup she’d created on the plate, “And the fucking bedframe won.”

He smiled despite himself, reaching out to hold her wrist gently, making sure it was her turn to listen to him now, “Bug, I grew up being shoved into lockers and swirlied my whole life. I was the only kid in a classful of seniors that used to wedgie me so hard I had to have the school librarian, Mrs Addler, walk me between classes. Believe me, I’ve seen pathetic and you’re not- why are you crying, Bug, don’t cry,”

He remembered this bit, the mood swings, when he would pendulum between exhaustion and irritation straight into sadness and hopelessness, like there would never be an impasse between them unless he did more of the thing that had made him feel so awful in the first place. Still, he gently took the bag of now slightly soggy peas from her head, wrapping an arm around her back and scooching his chair to sit next to hers as she dropped onto his shoulder with a weepy sniff.

“I’m crying because I just thought of baby you all alone with Mrs Addler-” She sobbed loudly, and his heart bled out in his chest with warmth. No one had ever cried for him. “How could they be so cruel to you, I swear if we ever see those bastards, I’ll show them how we settled things in Russia-”

He chuckled, shaking his head, and she snuggled closer to him the way she had last night when the only thing keeping her on earth had been his body heat.

“It wasn’t all bad, she used to share her butterscotch with me,” He said with a small smile when she raised a wet glance at him.

“You know, you never have to be alone again, right?” Bugsy murmured, and he swore his heart might have just jumped right up into his mouth then and there, “You’re my best friend in the whole world, and I promise I’ll never leave you again. That was… selfish of me, I’m sorry I was so selfish.”

Spencer felt his throat tighten as he looked at her, innocent and entirely truthful, like he could ask anything from her right this second and her god’s honest words would be ‘Anything for you, Spencer, I’d do anything for you.’ He had never had anyone look at him like that, nothing even close.

“You’re my best friend too. And you weren’t selfish, you were grieving,” He choked out, and she tucked herself beneath his chin then, satisfied with the response, but his stomach turned sour when he remembered what he was going to tell her last night, what he should have told her months, years, ago instead of lying to her. Because he knew she would understand, knew she would get him the way no one else had even tried to, because she was just her. “I have to tell you something,”

She sat up straight, sensing the seriousness in his tone, and looked at him with imploring eyes, still sleep-addled and slightly wet around the edges.

He cleared his throat, “When I told you I was allergic to narcotics since I was born, that wasn’t entirely true, and I’m sorry I lied to you,” Her brows softened, creasing in a way that told him she was worried, or she knew where he was heading but couldn’t find a voice in her to say anything. He ran clammy palms over his pyjama pants, “There was a case, a while back, where we were tracking an UnSub to this farmhouse in the middle of Atlanta. Me and JJ got split up and the UnSub took me hostage in his father’s shed,”

She stayed quiet, but she quickly took his hand in hers when she saw him fidgeting with it in his lap. He smiled at her weakly, and squeezed her fingers gently, telling her he was okay to talk about it no matter if his chest was rattling and his face felt like fire.

“He was very sick, the UnSub. Tobias. He took on an alter of his dead father because he couldn't handle life without him. Even though his father was extremely violent and abusive, he still loved him enough to never want to let him go,” His lip pulled between his teeth for a moment, and he couldn’t look at her for what he was about to say, “Tobias tried giving me something to stop the pain of his father’s beatings when he would front and being a drug addict himself, the best thing he had was dilaudid. So, he gave it to me for the three days I was with him before the team found me,”

“Spence,” She said softly, knowing he would hate to hear an ‘I’m sorry’ because she hated those two words with a passion, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,”

“No, I want to, it’s just a little… fuzzy in parts,” He whispered, and she nodded, gently knocking her head against his jaw to let him know she was there to listen, “After the case wrapped up, everyone got home and just sort of pretended things went back to normal, even though I felt like I was drowning in everything that had happened, and the only thing I could think that had stopped the pain was the dilaudid. So I took more, and more, until I was using every other day, sometimes even at work to cope with the cases,”

“Did anyone know?” She asked, lips pressed tight as she scolded herself for talking, but he stroked her hand with his thumb to show he didn’t care if she asked questions, “Did Emily know?”

He nodded gingerly, “Everyone knew, but no one could do anything, or say anything, because otherwise Hotch would have to file a report on me, and I’d be forced to leave the team,”

“So no one helped?” She said, and there was an unexpected trace of anger in her tone that he knew too well. He’d be lying if he said that there were more than a handful of times when he was at his lowest he didn’t curse the team out for not giving a single shit about his condition. But when he’d sobered up, when he’d got clean and back to his usual self, he knew they were trying to do what was best, that they were in uncharted waters as to what would be the correct approach to helping him that wouldn’t diffuse a bomb that could ruin all of their careers.

“There was nothing they could do, Bug. If they said anything they would be just as liable as me for what I was doing, the same way Morgan and I aren’t going to say a word about what happened last night,” He pointed out, and she seemed bitter as if she knew he was right but hated the point of it anyway.

She held onto herself for long enough hearing that, and he saw it coming before it came as a shock when she threw her arms around him, hugging him tighter than she ever had before, not crying like she had been, but full to the brim of sadness and grief and mourning, as if she was trying to squeeze it all out of him so she could take it on for herself.

“You’re never going to be alone again, I swear, Spencer,”

And he believed her with everything in him.

–

Bugsy had been back in the field for five weeks now, looking healthier than ever thanks to Hotch’s insistence she joined Beth for triathlon practice despite the fact she really had started feeling more like herself.

It had only taken six months, but who was counting, right?

Sure, walking past Emily’s desk had stopped her in her tracks the first day she got back, and Morgan had quickly jumped in to distract her with a cup of coffee, leading her over to the kitchenette and far away from the empty table her sister’s things had once been on.

She was still adjusting to this alternate reality version of the BAU where Emily wasn’t there to protect her and watch out for her, and where they didn’t bicker about who got to ride shotgun with Hotch because Bug loved when he would drive fast (he pretended not to notice but would floor it when they hit the freeway), or when they would butt heads over who finished off the biscuits Emily kept in her secret stash (it was almost always Bugsy sharing them with Spencer and Penelope, when the three of them would gossip in Pen’s lair at lunchtime.)

She was adjusting, slowly yes, but there was one thing to keep her going, to keep her holding her head high as she walked past Emily’s picture on the way, full of smiles and dark hair the day she’d been instated in the bureau, her excitement tangible even through a piece of paper and a thin sheet of glass.

There was one thing keeping her going, and it wasn’t Penelope’s cheerful good mornings she showered her in the minute she entered the building, it wasn’t Beth’s runs that would take everything out of her even though she felt stronger than she ever had, it wasn’t Rossi’s insistence on cooking for her once or twice a week because ‘he had more wine he could ever need alone and she could stir the pasta while he chopped the meat’, and it wasn’t even Spencer sticking to her side like damn velcro since she had been back. Although, they played a pretty big part in it.

No, the one thing keeping her going was revenge.

Morgan had let it slip accidentally, the morning she had come back into the headquarters to fill in some forms with Hotch and Strauss before Hotch was reassigned to Pakistan, when she had slinked into his office with an apology ready at her lips for the way she had behaved, to which he was going to say he had no idea what she was talking about because that was how things had to be, only to find file upon file upon caseload on Ian Doyle splayed all over his desk, and she quickly realised Derek was not one to let sleeping dogs lie either.

And, reluctantly, he had let her help, because he hated the idea of them keeping secrets from her. Especially ones that involved them secretly tracking down the guy who killed her sister, who had threatened to abduct, torture and kill her if Emily hadn’t gone after him first.

Because Bugsy was always going to be her little sister, no matter how grown and headstrong and stubborn as an ass she was. And Emily had had zero intention of letting Bugsy come even close to danger at the hands of Ian Doyle or any other motherfucker dumb enough to think they’d get away unscathed making threats to her sister. Which was why Emily had been the one to track him down first, no matter who she had to trample on, what lines she had to cross.

And now it was Bug’s turn to reciprocate the favour.

The one thing that bounced around her head with every step she took across the BAU floor was how Ian Doyle would look when she dragged him to hell and back and everything in between, when she made him burn the way she had burnt.

Hotch had been away on temporary duty for the month, bar the occasional phone call where he checked in on her directly or through Spencer, and it wasn’t until she walked into Morgan in a blunt exchange with his own cell that she realised he was perhaps closer to coming home than she’d thought.

The man nodded, and bid the mystery caller goodbye before he flicked a look up to where Bugsy had entered his office with a cup of to-go coffee and an expression of intrigue.

“We got him,” Morgan said, and it was the three words she had been waiting to hear for two hundred and fifteen days.

They had found Doyle.

She was in the back of an SUV not even two hours later, strapped to her neck with tactical gear and two loaded pistols holstered at her hips.

“You’re sure you’re alright to do this?” JJ asked from her place beside her, noting the way the girl’s leg was bouncing, her fingers twitching as the three of them crowded around the screen linked to the surveillance camera set up outside Doyle’s apartment, Spencer and David watching an identical feed in the next block over, outside the safe house his son, Declan, was supposed to be in.

Only, when they’d arrived, the little blonde haired, blue eyed boy that was the only thing Doyle gave a damn about in the world was gone, two agents and his nanny lying dead on the floor.

“Put it this way, JJ, I’m going in after that son of a bitch whether you guys cover me or not, and it would be real nice to have back up,” Bugsy said simply, like she was reciting the weather, not ready to rain hellfire on anyone who got in between her and wringing Doyle’s neck.

The blonde woman exchanged a look with Derek, the two of them cautious about her behaviour, but thought better than to try stop her when she had just as much right as any of them for justice.

Before any of them could say another word, a car sped around the corner of the cul-de-sac, veering and wavering between parked cars, narrowly missing theirs by an inch, and red-blue blaring lights came racing after it within seconds, the siren full blast and no doubt waking the neighbours.

Or at least one neighbour in particular, as they spotted the curtains twitching in Doyle’s apartment, and they had their first sign of life in hours.

“He’s in there, someone’s in there,” Bugsy pointed to where the fabric moved in the dead of the night, unholstering one of her weapons and bursting the back door to the SUV open.

JJ clicked her radio on, speaking into her shoulder as Morgan was a hair width behind Bugsy, equally armed and ready, “We got movement on Doyle, we’re heading up to search his apartment,”

“Be careful, keep an eye on the kid,” Rossi ordered, he and Spencer adjusting their positions in their SUV, waiting for forensics to show up and investigate the nanny’s house. Spencer licked his lips nervously, and he could only imagine what was going through Bugsy’s mind at that moment, wishing more than ever she could have just stayed with him and let Morgan and JJ catch Doyle.

But she would never. She had nearly ripped Rossi’s head off for suggesting it even.

–

She’d seen him move up to the roof, had taken the stairs in twos, and she felt like kissing Aaron the second she saw him for all that cardio paying off a treat. She heard Morgan panting behind her, urging her to wait up so she wasn’t going in alone, but she didn’t listen, not when she was this close to getting that rat in her grasp and squeezing the life out of him barehanded.

She kicked down the door leading to the roof from the stairwell, her pistol drawn high and sharp and Morgan’s steps racing up behind her were the only sound for a moment.

He was here somewhere, watching them, god only hoped they had caught him unaware before he could call in his own backup.

Taking a careful step out onto the concrete, willing herself to take a deep breath and calm herself; she checked her nine o’clock, checked her three, before her boots crunched under her and she moved further out onto the roofing. Flicking a look around again, her eyes squinted against the moonlight that did little to no good, searching for even the smallest movements that would give him away.

“I heard you wanted to see me, Doyle,” She said loudly, hoping he would fit the profile they’d put together and want to tie up his loose ends once he realised who she was, “Truth is, I’ve been wanting to see you too,”

She had barely a second to react as she felt something hard slam across the back of her head, and she realised he had hit her with a rogue, loose pipe, hard enough for her to stumble forward, dropping her pistol when his body soon followed to tackle her completely to the ground in the effort to grab for the gun himself.

But she felt like body was alive with excitement, like the pain in her skull didn’t ache, didn’t matter, because she had him in her reach.

It took her barely a second to bring her elbow into his stomach, winding him hard enough he weakened his grip on top of her, then another hit square across his jaw, another to his temple, one to his already crooked nose and she threw a downward thump into his groin for good measure.

He hissed, cursing her something vile, and it was only then she saw the grey-blue eyes of the man who had killed her sister with no remorse, who had taken the person she loved unconditionally within a blink of an eye.

“You recognise me?” She said, a manic smile on her face as she raised the other gun from its holster, kicking him hard in the knee she’d seen him limping on, a bullet wound shaped scar giving his weakness away in seconds.

She wasn’t the only enemy he’d made in that business of his, but she sure as hell would be his last one.

He fell to the floor, his eyes wary as he looked up at the girl he had spent weeks collating photos of, the girl he’d had two of his best men tracking, snapping pictures of her going about her day to day life before he sent them to Emily. Because she would know what that meant no words needed.

This was her sister. Her little sister she had fought tooth and nail for, that she had given her life for. Her sister, who had the same rock solid loyalty to her family as Lauren had.

“Do you want to know where you went wrong, Doyle?” She asked, and her voice wasn’t calm like her body was, it was hiding the glee she was taking from his alarmed expression, like they both knew she was the last person he would have expected to be grabbing him in the night, “Your mistake, Doyle, was not killing me first,”

She raised her finger to the trigger, feeling for a second the same thrill as when she popped that molly just to forget everything that was happening. Because she had tunnel vision, and pulling the plug on Ian Doyle’s pathetic existence was the solution.

Until Morgan’s hand came over hers, and his voice was closer than she’d expected to her ear. She’d barely heard him creep up on her, she realised with a jolt.

“Don’t do this, kid,”

“He deserves it,” She spat, hating the sorrow in his voice when he pointed the gun away from Doyle who wiped his fingers beneath his nostrils and pulled back with a wince and a blob of blood over the back of his hand.

“I know he does. But we need to find Declan, and we can’t do that without him,” Morgan’s voice was deep and bitter, knowing full well he had to be the one to take the reins as much as he would love to just let her have at him.

Her nose scrunched in disgust when Doyle laughed at her annoyance, and she quickly holstered her weapon, pulling the cuffs out of her back pocket and helping Morgan yank him off the floor.

“I got some friends that would love to meet you, honey,” Doyle said through a wheezing breath, despite Morgan’s rough hands shoving him forward towards the stairwell.

She chuckled however, her face still bitter, her eyes something nasty and wild as she flanked his other side, “Don’t worry, I have some friends for you to play with too, Doyle.” She tightened her grip on his arm just to make it hurt, “I wonder how the Chernuses would feel about you and your men being so close to their turf. You ever fucked with the Russian Mob, Ian?”

His smile wiped clean off his face at that.

“How’s it going?” Hotch asked, and she barely had time to comment on the fact he looked rather dashing with a beard and a tan, or that he had lost ten pounds, before he was straight back to business, even after an eighteen hour flight.

“He won’t talk. He said the only person who could have helped us find Gerace would have been Emily.” She replied, rubbing her hands over her eyes with a huff, “Just another dead end,” She threw the file onto the roundtable, which was slowly piling up with documents relating to anyone Ian Doyle had ever had relations with.

Hotch’s face tightened. He took a single moment to enjoy the calm that overcame the room, took a second to enjoy the fact she was looking normal and healthy compared to when he had all but barged into her apartment to force her on a run.

Because he knew the normalcy they had found themselves in now was about to be flipped on its head, JJ confirming with a nod from the other side of the room that she was on her way.

He turned to look where Morgan, Rossi and Reid had walked in, Reid stroking a gentle hand over Bugsy’s hair where she hunched over the table and flicked through some files for anything to keep her mind off of going into that interrogation room and ripping into Doyle. She flicked a small smile up at him as he passed her, leaning over her shoulder to take half her workload off her.

She looked happier than she had in months, and he was about to take it all away again. Hotch swallowed the self loathing that threatened to choke him alive, and opened his mouth.

“Everybody have a seat,” The team looked up at him in confusion, but followed orders, JJ moving around the table to stand beside him, the same reluctant look on her face when she saw Bugsy’s frown.

“Why?” Morgan asked, seeing as no one else was going to, “What’s going on? Everything alright?”

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team,” Hotch began, his eyes immediately flicking to where the youngest Prentiss faltered, “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. But the doctors were able to stabilise her,”

Bugsy’s ears started ringing just hearing her sister’s name coming from his lips, said so casually and blunt that it felt like he had punched her in the stomach and she thought she was maybe over estimating how well she had overcome the grief.

And that hadn’t even been the worst part, she quickly realised. The doctors were able to stabilise her.

“And she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration. Her identity was strictly need to know. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security,” Hotch said, avoiding the piercing eyes that were slowly melting between confusion to heartache to one she finally could land on, horror.

No one breathed for a moment, no one said a thing as the words sunk in, and she felt her entire body wash over with a gut wrenching numbness as it dawned on her what he was saying.

Emily never died on that table like JJ had said. She had never died at all.

“What?” Her voice was tiny and childlike when it came out, and she felt like she was stuck in the world’s worst nightmare, like she could claw and scratch and rip at her skin just to wake herself up from this terrifying dream where Hotch had lied and Emily had left her and everyone who was supposed to care about her had kept her in the dark.

“She’s alive?” Garcia asked, tears in her own green lined eyes, looking at Hotch with utter shock.

“But we buried her,” Spencer found it in himself to murmur, because none of this made sense and if any of what Hotch was saying was true, then he knew things were about to become really ugly.

“As I said I take full responsibility for the decision; if anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me,” And it was only then he looked at Bugsy fully, properly, since he had opened his mouth.

He could have swore he had never seen such complete and utter betrayal written across someone’s face, let alone directed towards him. Because he knew that’s what it was. He knew he had taken every scrap and shred of trust she had placed in him since that day she ran away from her own wedding and found herself stuck in that very same office, hugging him tightly with her sodden veil and even more soaked white dress, he had taken everything vulnerable she had ever given him and spat it right back at her.

He felt like crying but before he could think too hard about it, he saw Emily walking down the hall and her own face was just as, if not more, devastated than his own and he knew he had to be the one to stay strong.

Garcia’s head snapped to the doorway, the sight of it leading Spencer and Rossi to do the same, and Morgan’s face morphed into anguish when he took a look for himself.

Because there, looking like a glowing beacon of everything they’d been missing in seven months, was Emily Prentiss, alive and well.

She seemed lost for words, her eyes falling to her sister who seemed to force herself to look up at her from where she was staring in wide eyed terror at the table, as if she was struggling to comprehend any of this, or like the building was falling down around her and she was in complete fight, flight or freeze.

But she did, she looked up at her after a second, her face unrecognisable to Emily for a moment, and it took all of three moments where she seemed relieved to see her, before it curled into a vitriolic anger Emily had never, never seen from her.

She looked like she was ready to kill her with her bare hands herself.

Penelope was first out of her seat, practically flying across the room to grab her close friend in a hug, a complete bubble of sobs and wails, her pigtails shaking with her rattling chest as Emily hugged her tight to her.

“Oh, my god, it’s real-you’re real- like I can actually touch you and you’re safe and not in that god awful box-” Penelope was a catalyst for the rest of the team standing up to take their turn crying on the woman’s shoulder.

That is, the rest of the team except Bugsy.

She remained in her seat, her gaze falling back to the mess of files that all of a sudden felt a complete waste of time, felt irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Who cared who was Doyle’s financial advisor between the years of 2005 and 2007 when Emily was alive and they had known the whole time.

And the more she thought, the more furious she got. And then the more furious she got, the stiller she became; an atomic bomb ready to detonate at the slightest prod.

“I am so sorry, I really am,” Emily said as Spencer had wrapped his giant arms around her tentatively, smelling her perfume and feeling his heart ache with how warm and alive and healthy her body felt. “Not a day went by that I didn’t-”

But a sound cut her off, one none of them were expecting in the slightest.

Bugsy was laughing.

Not the sweet chirp she normally gave, or the hearty one that came from her gut that they hadn’t heard in months, but something manic. Something frenzied, beserk. Deranged.

Hotch’s head snapped to her, Emily’s too, though she had already taken note of the fact her sister hadn’t so much as moved from her feet, and stupidly she had hoped it was the shock sinking in.

But her eyes were cruel, her teeth more of a snarl than a smile and the laugh she gave was that of a person over the edge.

The straw that broke the camel’s back, she believed it was called.

“She never made it off the table,” Bugsy imitated woefully, her eyes snapping to JJ, who felt smaller than she ever had under the hatred in them, though the girl’s nasty smile hadn’t let up, “You are good, Jennifer. You really got me there, hey maybe if the agent thing doesn’t work out then acting is alway an option for you,”

“Bug-” Hotch started, only for her to stand up so harshly her chair nearly tipped back, but she didn’t seem to care as she rounded the table towards him in a bitter chuckle.

“And you! I didn’t know you had it in you. But very good, Hotch, very well played out. For a second I thought you actually gave a fuck about me,” She fist bumped his shoulder, a little harsher than something innocent behind it, before something spiteful settled in her tone, “But then again, you are nothing if not professional, aren’t you? I guess a suicide on your team would look terrible on your report card,”

“I think you need to calm down and let’s talk about this for a second,” Hotch tried to jump in, his brows furrowed enough to make him look annoyed but anyone with two eyes could see the worry that brewed there, that chased her as she retreated to where her jacket was slung over the back of her seat. She laughed again viciously, shaking her head. Grabbing her coat, she headed for the door where Emily stood helplessly, not knowing what to say for the best, and she thought for a minute her little sister was going to address her.

But she didn’t; didn’t even look her way as she approached, and it wasn’t until Hotch rounded the room after her with a fixed gaze she showed any sign of stopping. Not until he reached for her arm with a tight grip, a call of her name, did she even halt in her step.

“Stop, let’s just talk,”

“Let go of me,” Bugsy snapped, and it was the first time she actually gave way to the anger she felt, the amusement coming from a place of distraught long gone. She sounded pissed.

“Listen to me, we had no choice here,” Hotch barked, because it was the only way he could communicate when he felt this lost. And that’s what he was; he was losing her. They all were. “And I would have thought you’d be able to stop being so spoiled for one god damn second to see we were protecting-”

Her palm whirled around faster than he could have ever anticipated, slapping clean and sharp against his cheek, hard enough the air was sucked out of the room and his words died in his throat.

Penelope gasped. Spencer’s eyes widened. Emily took a heavy gulp.

“Bugsy!” Emily said in horror, and it was then her little sister’s eyes actually set on hers, every bit as cruel and hateful she’d expected.

“I want nothing to do with you, do you hear me? I don’t want to talk to you, or see you, don’t even speak that name, I don’t want it from you anymore,” Bugsy pointed at her with crooked, bitten nails Emily knew all too well, “You left me. You left me.”

With those three choked words, the other’s could only watch hurricane Bugsy whirl and burn and crash her way out of the room.

–

She sat on the steps to the federal building, perfectly dressed agents filtering around her with the occasional tut in disgust.

She couldn’t really blame them; her face was wet with tears, she was pretty sure there was snot running out of her nose hastily, and between her free hand, the other of which was pulling at her hair, was a cigarette that swirled its grey smoke around her head with a horribly addictive smell.

She heard footsteps approaching her from the back, different from the rest, and felt someone stop beside her, sliding to their ass on the step.

“Spencer, if you’re going to tell me this is taking seven minutes off my life then please can it wait for another day-” Bugsy started with a tearful cadence, only to be cut off by a woman’s voice.

“I was actually going to ask if you had a lighter,” Erin Strauss said, pulling her own menthol cigarette between her lips, and Bugsy dug around her pocket for the cheap ‘I <3 Virginia’ lighter she had snagged on New Years, clicking the flame out long enough for her boss’s boss to light the tip, “I heard you gave Aaron a shock,”

Bugsy stayed silent, taking a drag that burnt her lips and tasted awful, but it was the only thing she could turn to that would calm her even in the slightest, even if it was just the chemicals.

“Bit of an understatement,” She mused, exhaling softly with a frown, “Did you know?”

“Are you going to slap me too if I said yes?” Erin asked, and Bugsy gave a small, wet chuckle, shaking her head, “Would it matter if I did?”

“No, I guess not,” She replied, breathing in through her nose, “I want to feel sorry, but all I feel is just … empty. Why did JJ and Hotch know what happened to her but she didn’t think to tell her own sister?”

“Probably because you’re the one she loves the most,” Strauss picked over the hem of her navy blue midi dress that had been pressed neatly just that morning, and now here she was sitting on the steps to her building helping a girl in crisis chainsmoke, “It was how she ended up there in the first place, right? Because she wanted to protect you,”

“She left me torturing myself for months that her death was all my fault; believe me protection was not what I needed,” Bugsy said harshly, her final drag reaching the brown stub, and she scowled as she doubted it on the concrete floor below her, tucking her knees up to her face and resting her head on them.

Erin sighed, patting her on the back gently, not wanting to cross any lines for such a fragile girl, but not wanting to leave her entirely alone either.

“Our most basic instinct is not for survival but for family.” Strauss quoted, taking one more breath of her own cigarette before she squished it under her heel quickly. “Paul Pearsall,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bug asked quietly, tilting her head onto her cheek to look over at the woman.

“It means you can hate her as much as you can right now, but sooner or later, you’re going to need her, or she’s going to need you, and you’ll wish you never pushed each other away,”

2. The one where you pretend to be a couple.

Her hair was shorter, Bugsy noted, where she saw the back of her sister’s head from her desk. It looked nice, not that she would tell her that.

She wouldn’t tell her anything.

It had been eight weeks, three of which Bugsy had spent taking a leave of absence and been forced to see the designated federal councillor for her behaviour towards Hotch. She had gone to the handful of sessions to keep him off her back, but had stayed quiet for most of them, except the one where she got the psychologist to tell her the dirt on her recent, messy break up so they’d have something to talk about at least.

She had only really been speaking to Spencer the weeks since she had returned to work, had handed the slip of paper that declared her fit to work to Hotch with a smug look on her face, daring him to extend her sick leave as punishment for the tantrum she’d thrown.

She knew it was dragging, knew most of the team were at least trying to adjust to the shellshock of Emily being back from the dead, but then again, the rest of the team hadn’t been writing their own eulogy so the burden wouldn’t fall onto someone else if they ever found her unresponsive.

In the time Emily had supposedly been dead, her mind had wandered someone cold and dark and alone. Worse than any of them had ever thought it had been, worse than they gave her credit for.

Only for it to be fake. As though she was the star of her own Truman show, with a laugh track playing on loop in the back; her own friends, people she’d considered family, watching her kicking and screaming and fighting through every breath for some sort of relief from the pain, a pawn in their little sitcom of horrors.

Morgan had forgiven her sister with little resistance. She’d always known that, to Morgan, trust was higher than anything in his books. Yet with some soft words and tears shed, Derek had cracked and accepted Emily back warmly like nothing had happened. Rossi and Penelope had just been happy to see her, happy to have her back and very much not dead, so convincing them she was innocent had been no big feat. The only other person who had put up nearly as much fight as her had been Spencer. He had told her about the spat he and JJ had gotten into for being an accomplice to their pain, but even he was beginning to warm back up to her sister, not that she could really blame him.

Emily was putting in overtime trying to get back into her good books, while she couldn’t even stand to look at her without remembering how hard she’d cried when she realised Nico and Sergio would be in her apartment alone and confused if she had been sad enough to do something rash.

“Good Morning,” Emily’s voice was nails in a chalkboard, two arms winding over her shoulder to plonk two take out coffees in front of her and Spencer, one with his name written in black ink on the lid and the other with a dozen hearts dotted over the cup, a little doodle of a lady bug and a bumble bee cuddling. What she supposed was meant to be the two of them.

Spencer watched Bugsy fight the urge to roll her eyes, surprisingly somewhat progress for her since the first two weeks of Emily even being near her resulted in the two of them screaming at one another until they were separated. Emily was growing tired of being punished for trying to keep her sister safe, Bugsy was full of hatred for every lie they had told her.

But he saw the way she immediately knocked the coffee into the trash without a second thought, ignoring the fact she would need to take out a very heavy and wet bin liner later, if only to drive the point home to her older sister. I don’t want your charity.

Emily faltered for a second, her eyes snapping to him as if he could do or say anything to help her out, but he could only give her one of his awkward, straight smiles, because he had absolutely no intention of pushing Bugsy to heal any faster than she was doing like everyone else was, nor did he want Emily to feel like he didn’t care she was hurting too.

Emily gave a resigned nod, daring to pat her sister on the shoulder. “Better in the trash than thrown over my face, right?”

She moved away from the woman’s desk, shooting a disheartened look at Reid as she passed him and he murmured ‘thankyou’ for his own coffee, until the sound of JJ calling them into the round table room cut off whatever she was going to say back.

Spencer thoughtlessly handed Bugsy his own latte, smothered with caramel and cream the way he liked it, and she took an appreciative sip without a word.

He hadn’t brought up that night, hadn’t spoken about the way she’d pressed her lips to his for a split second the night Morgan had dragged her over to his apartment to sober up. And because she hadn’t brought it up either, he assumed she didn’t want to talk about it anymore than she wanted to talk about what had got her there in the first place.

He had helped her brush her own teeth more than once in the early days of her grief, hell he had even had her lips against his, so when she handed him the coffee cup back, he didn’t think much of it when he continued drinking the hot caffeinated goodness.

Bugsy was wired differently in his brain, everything about her was different than how he felt about everyone else. So if she didn’t want to talk about kissing him, if she wanted to forget it ever happened, then he would swallow his feelings and accept she didn’t ever want to do it again. If she wanted to keep the bond they had carefully crafted through days and months and weeks of being each other’s solace, then he wouldn’t fight it. Because he didn’t want to ruin it either.

He just nudged her gently with his shoulder as they meandered up the stairs to the round table room, looking at her with the puppy dog eyes that usually followed her around when she was in one of her silent moods.

“You okay?” He asked carefully, noting the way she tugged her files to her chest, smiling up at him nevertheless. Because she could never be mad at him, it was Spencer.

“You don’t have to do that, you know?” She said, lowering her voice as Morgan trailed behind the two of them his own mug of fresh brewed coffee sloshing in his hand, “Pretend like you don’t forgive her for my sake. I want you to be friends again if that’s what you want,”

She’d noticed his sheepish glances when he met Emily’s gaze, unmoving from her side like he wanted to make it clear he was there for her above everything else. But she saw how he would smile and joke with her sister when he thought she was in the bathroom, or when they would return from a crime scene, working together again like a well oiled machine.

They were still friends, even if she felt sick every time she saw her sister’s noir black bangs flick her way, even if her heart was aching and her chest heavier than she would have ever let on.

“But you’re upset with her?” Spencer muttered back, with a frown on his face, “I’m upset you got so hurt by the whole thing. I’m essentially hurt by proxy,”

She snickered, leaning into his side for a moment, pulling away when they reached Rossi’s office and began walking past the long window she saw everyone settling down behind, “I appreciate that, Spence, I do. But you were her friend first, and she’s my sister. It’s different for you guys. And it’s not like we’re dating, because then I’d be allowed to be upset if you were still friends with her,” She explained lightly, though she felt her chest pick up at the very fact she had let that silly little dating word slip past her lips.

She had no idea where they were. He was the only thing keeping her together some days, the only one who understood her for all her silly, complex feelings and didn’t make her feel dumb or crazy for feeling the world so deeply. He was special to her in a way no guy had ever even come close.

She just wished she hadn’t made such an idiot of herself that night with Morgan; wished she remembered anything of what was said or done, because things had felt electrified since then and she had no idea why. All she knew was she was falling harder for him every time he stood so close, or offered her his drink, or every time they had a movie night at his and fell asleep on his couch pressed together like they were meant to be that way forever.

He sighed, still stuck on the situation, and shot her a frown, “I’ll never understand the rules,” Though he hoped she didn’t see how his cheeks tinged pink at the fact she’d brought up whatever it was between them too.

Because he wasn’t entirely talking about her and Emily. Sometimes, he really didn’t understand the rules of telling your best friend you were in love with her.

The press was calling him “The Circle of Eight killer,” no matter how much media liaison JJ had tried to do to stop them from giving him notoriety and possibly boosting an already inflated ego. But the team had already managed to profile that the killings were some sort of ritual the UnSub was using to turn his luck on a gambling addiction, or whatever suspicion he had mentally linked from the victims needing to die and being dealt a royal flush.

“Eighty eight dollars, the UnSub’s getting generous,” She said grimly, her gloved fingers counting the wad of cash tossed over the victim’s body. Where they had usually found eight, single dollar bills and an eight card of any suit, his signature seemed to have changed on the most recent body and he had dumped a much larger sum of money, “There’s more remorse with this kill too; shot from behind so he didn’t have to see the victim when he did it,”

Bugsy slipped the cash into a clear baggie to send to forensics to see if they could pull prints, but then again bills usually gave a million possible UnSubs with how many people touched them. “There’s less rage here, an undoing,” Emily chimed in, her own gloved fingers checking the victim’s pockets for anything off.

When they were in the field, Bug could hold her eye rolls and sharp tongue and resting bitch face for the sake of helping the victim’s families find closure. Because, despite how much she seethed in private about how Hotch, JJ and her own sister had conspired without her, she knew she could choke it down if it meant she could help someone, if it meant no one else had to grieve as deeply and gut wrenching as she had when Emily ‘died’.

“There’s no sign of robbery either, wallet is still intact except his ID,” Spencer added, standing back from the body while Bugsy handed the evidence off to CSI and the chief on the case headed their way.

“Is it even the same guy?” Agent Goslin asked, looking between Hotch and Emily for an explanation, Hotch shaking his head with a stoney look on his already tired face.

“The ritual’s too similar to discount,” He said, Bugsy frowning and tugging her lip between her teeth in thought.

“The change in MO makes sense if the UnSub is still refining his system, maybe killing the cashier at the gas station didn’t work so he’s back to the drawing board.” Emily speculated, her little sister nodding along with her in the first sign of agreement she’d seen all day.

“Two eights instead of one could also be significant; I know in China the number eight symbolises prosperity, the more eights the better. As a matter of fact, in Chengdu, a telephone number consisting of all eights recently sold for over a quarter of a million dollars,” Spencer said, and Bugsy flashed a look up at him, her eyes thoughtful.

“In ancient Egypt, the number seven represented completion in this life while the number eight represented success through ambition and determination in your reincarnated life,” She replied, peeling the gloves down her hands as they clung to her skin with tight clamminess, “And the eight pointed star is associated with the Babylonian goddess, Ishtar, or the light bringer,”

He nodded with her and he hated to admit that he loved that she managed to fill in the gaps in his own knowledge, like they were two puzzle pieces finding a way to fit together; like they were two halves cleaved from the same brain that hadn’t stopped growing in the entirety of her twenty seven years.

That, and he’d always found her brain one of the most attractive things about her. One of the long list he could think of.

“Why would he be doubling up on his luck out here, away from all the casinos?” Emily asked, because she was trying not to stand in awe of her sister’s fat brain that rivalled even their pretty boy.

“There’s been another killing,” Agent Goslin stated, hanging up the phone with a tense frown on her face, “A guest in his room at the Sapphire Lady,”

“Same ritual?” Hotch asked without a pause, because they were on body number five now and they were barely closer to understanding him than they were a few hours ago.

“No. His neck was broken. And he was robbed of $50,000.” Goslin replied, shaking her head, “Strange thing is? The killer left another $20,000 behind with the body,”

“Money isn’t his motive here,” Bugsy input, crossing her arms while Hotch got on the phone to Garcia, “Atleast, not that guy’s money,”

“Garcia, is there a casino in the neighbourhood of Penrose and Morningside Avenue?” He asked, clicking the perky woman onto speakerphone.

They heard a quick clatter of typing, “Uhhh, No casinos per se, but there’s a private gambling establishment right around the corner.” She replied helpfully, with another bout of her long, delicately painted nails against her keyboard.

“Is it legal?”

“Yeah, but it’s ultra exclusive. They have a monthly high-stakes poker tournament,” She paused for a second, “Today being the day for the month, coincidentally enough,”

“Or no coincidence at all,” Emily said, as they began putting together exactly where this chain of events had come from.

“What’s the buy in?” Bugsy asked, though she already guessed the answer.

“Yikies, $50,000,” And with that Bug and Reid exchanged a knowing look, her suspicion confirmed, “But, it’s a million dollar guarantee if you win,”

“What time does it start?” Hotch asked, Bugsy already rubbing the bridge of her nose with her fingertip, willing herself not to be right about what they were going to do.

“Later this evening,” Pen replied and Hotch thanked her, hanging up the phone. A second of silence spread around the crime scene.

“So, if anyone’s got fifty k lying around, now would be a great time to share with the group,” Busgy humoured herself with a straight face, realising the paperwork that would almost definitely be declined if Strauss had anything to say about it the would enable them to borrow fifty thousand from the government.

Because if they missed their chance tonight, she had no clue when they would get another.

–

“Any luck?” JJ asked, Emily sat to her right, Rossi across from her. Spencer and Bugsy sat on the end of the table, the girl breaking a KitKat in half to share with him, which he accepted happily.

“No, they don’t want to allocate emergency funds for the buy-in, I’m still working on it,” Hotch said shortly, his phone blowing up with messages, no doubt needing a lot more details if they were really going to get the money they needed.

“Well, I can’t imagine why not, we’re only asking for fifty thousand bucks of taxpayer money, so that FBI agents can play Texas Hold ‘em,” Rossi drawled, shaking his head with a cynical humour that was all they had to hold onto while they waited in limbo.

“Hey, what about you?” Emily asked, something mischievous in her eyes as she watched David freeze in his seat, so like the old Emily that Bugsy felt her stomach turn.

“What about me what?” David said with a frown, pausing in his writing for a moment.

“You could stake us the buy-in,” She suggested, and the other three members of the team turned their attention back to Rossi’s palling face.

“You’re a best selling author,” Spencer chimed in, devouring the last of the chocolatey biscuit snack as she pulled another out of her bag.

“No,” Rossi replied, slightly wide eyed at the suggestion of it, to which Emily jumped in.

“Why not?”

“One, it’s against regulations and I’d like to hold onto this job for a little while longer.” David said, his arms out in a defensive stance towards the four people who suddenly felt like his kids asking for the newest IPhone on the market for Christmas.

“It’s a minor administrative violation,” Bugsy pointed out between bites, offering the second half again to her best friend who took it without delay.

She could have given the whole thing to him to start with, and had the first one for herself, it would have ended the same, but she liked sharing with him. She liked being the one to split things with him when he cringed in horror at other people touching his food.

“And, two, I prefer to spend my money on actual things, like single malt scotch, a fine cigar, beautiful artwork,”

“Poker chips are things!” Emily tried to reason, but it only ended with David scoffing in her cheeky, hopeful face.

“Maybe just think of it as a new experience, I mean at your age how often does that happen?” Spencer said innocently, licking the chocolate from the tips of his fingers, noticing how Bugsy tensed up and Rossi slowly turned in his seat to face the BAU’s youngest members.

“At my what?” He asked in an aghast tone, Bug grabbing onto Spencer’s forearm with a gentle squeeze.

“Reel it in, reel it in,” She whispered, and he looked at her with a lost expression, willing her to explain to him where he had gone wrong, because he knew she would, “What he meant to say was this may be our only chance to get this guy,”

David chewed his words for a second, as if he was trying not to bite at the kids who looked between one another hopefully, and he wondered if this was what being a father felt like; handing his credit card over to two twenty something year olds and watching his bank deposit plummet in seconds.

“All right. Fine.” He sighed heavily like he’d seen the fifty thousand burned there and then, “I’m a decent poker player, but I can’t promise that I can stay in the game long enough to…”

“You know what? I bet you’re a great poker player,” Emily started kindly, her gaze drifting over to the hazel hues that watched between them curiously, “But what if we sent in Reid?”

“I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin and Pahrump because of my card counting ability,” Spencer said, and Bugsy rolled her eyes.

“They can’t ban you for maths, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” She said, nudging his side with her shoulder, “They hate to see an underdog win, it’s Rocky all over again,”

“Tell me about it,” He murmured back, even though he had never watched any of the Rocky movies, he just liked humouring her.

“Look I know I’m not a genius like the boy wonder here, but poker is not black jack. It’s about bluffing; reading human nature, head games.” Rossi pointed at Reid, who badgered over Bugsy’s shoulder for the cookies she had packed in her rucksack, “The kid does not have a poker face.”

“Which is why we’re going to send him with someone who does,” JJ chimed in, and it was then that the youngest members of the team looked up from where they had cracked open the packet of chocolate chip delights, near identical looks of innocence painted on their faces, like they really were kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Bugsy looked between JJ and Rossi, who had equal parts hopeful and worried looks on their faces, before she glanced over to Spencer to see if he had any explanation. He looked as lost as she did.

“Huh?” She asked cluelessly, as Rossi buried his head in his hands.

At this rate was going to have to remortgage his house for wedding number four, he thought sourly.

–

“I swear to god if this dress rides up anymore, it will be me who’s charging fifty thousand per head,” Bugsy growled, her hands frantically tugging the dress down her legs more. She couldn’t deny it was a beautiful dress, bunched around certain areas that made the most of her body, but goodness was it shorter than she would have ever picked out for herself. She was the last person to be a prude when it came to showing off just how alluring she could look when she made an effort, but this was something else.

It was a striking red, meant to match the ruby of her lipstick and the vermillion of the diamonds and hearts on the cards spread around the tables in the room, flushed in between little plastic chips worth thousands of dollars, handfuls of dice being tossed over the green velvet surfaces, deciding whether the players lost their cars or paid off their kids college fund.

They queued up to be patted down, as if they were heading through airport security or into a packed nightclub. A handful of bouncers waved metal detectors over patron’s clothing, dipping hands into coat pockets, trousers, even some shoes were ordered off in the name of a fair game. She swore she had never seen so many sets of weighted dice confiscated off one man who swore blind as he was kicked out.

“Only fifty? You could rinse them for a hundred at least,” Spencer replied, his arm entwined behind her back, if not to hold her up in the clunky heels one of the women on Goslin’s task force had loaned her along with the dress. She smirked at him, pressing herself closer to him when they both saw a dozen eyes shoot towards her as they entered the building, and he tightened his grip just the slightest with a calculating coolness.

He wished his cheeks didn’t feel so hot feeling her body so close to his, wished she hadn’t made such an effort to look the part of the expensive call girl they knew the UnSub had a history with, not because he didn’t like it, but because she made everything a little more difficult when she looked like that.

He was having a hard time trying to calm the way his manhood brushed against his pants whenever she showed some of that saccharine affection, even though he knew it wasn’t real. Or atleast, was an extreme version of the love she usually showed him.

The bouncers called them up next, and he let her go first, because getting her through would be easy. He was the one with the panic alarm disguised as a shot of Halitosis in his pocket.

Spencer would never admit that his eyes fell straight down to the curves of her butt that seemed to be spotlighted by that damn dress.

Why did she have to look so irresistible? He supposed that was the point; he was the mysterious young gambler that was going to keep them in the game long enough to spot the UnSub, she was the attractive, woman of the night brought only to boost his ego and as his good luck charm. She certainly wasn’t the only one, she’d already seen a handful of other women, tall as models and so toned it looked as though they hit the gym every morning and didn’t leave until sundown, primped and primed for their player’s delight.

They were ten times better looking than she was, but to Spencer, she was the only woman in the room who he was envisioning ripping that dress right off.

She was making it very hard, no pun intended, for him to accept the idea of them as just friends.

The bouncer patted her down, Bugsy flashing him a cheeky smile just a little too forced for it to be one of her real ones, when the woman patted around her waist and hips for any hidden pockets or stashed bills.

“You wish this was you, huh, baby?” She teased him with a wicked look in her eyes, and he could only smirk back, hoping his blush didn’t give him away as quick as he reckoned it did.

He felt his knees weaken, worrying he might just fall to the ground there and then and be forced to crawl towards her if he had any hope of getting into the casino alive, but even that sent a new wave of lewd thoughts through his head, and he was grateful when the other bouncer called him forward to inspection.

The muscled guy waved a metal detector over his torso, moving down to his trouser legs where he wondered with cynical humour if the rod he now sported in his pants painfully would set off the alarm. It didn’t, and he begged his crotch to let up even the slightest if he had any hope of keeping his head on his shoulders during this game, but the detector sprung to life the minute it waved over the alarm in his pocket.

He produced the medical looking device, one they’d already planned and checked for faults, showing the fake prescription clearly to the guard, “Halitosis,”

The guy seemed to frown, took another look over the gangly guy who was with a woman way, way out of his league. A woman who waited for him after her own inspection, a very real diamond necklace that had been a sixteenth birthday present from Steph around her neck, courtesy of her dad’s bank account and ten years worth of emotional distance. Whether he took pity on Spencer because Bugsy looked like the kind of girl who could chew up a guy like him and spit him right back out, or he really didn’t care about his medical condition, he didn’t know, but he waved him through without another thought, and they both took a sigh of relief.

“You want a drink?” He asked nonchalantly as possible, wrapping his arm around her waist again, and he tried to not let his flustered demeanour show when he found slits cut into the side of the fabric, and he felt the softness of her hips under his fingertips.

“My treat, to get you started,” Bugsy replied, something unreadable in the teasing of her eyes, and she leaned up to his jaw to steal a quick kiss there like any other girl wanting to be paid the full sum of her night would have done.

At least that’s what she told herself, pretending as if her brazen action hadn’t caused her heart rate to spike.

She got him an iced tea, because she knew he wouldn’t want alcohol, and got herself a half shot Moscow Mule, sipping the lime rim appreciatively.

“See anything yet?” She asked under her breath, one hand trailing over the back of his neck, playing with the curls that sat there with vixen sly eyes that scanned the room.

He forced himself not to moan at the sensation, and he worried it was too obvious to the other patrons in the gambling room just how easily he melted beneath her fingertips. He felt like a dog drooling after a bone, like she was shaking a lead in his face and asking for walkies, and he was panting beneath her, tail wagging and dopey eyed.

Not the look of suave, mysterious stranger they were initially going for when they were coming up with identities for their covers. But at least it sold the part of a man desperate to win the jackpot if it meant he could spend the night with the siren woman that clung to him with a giggly sip of her pink straw.

“No one looking particularly suspicious,” He noted; everyone was almost too good at a poker face, though he supposed that it made sense seeing the value of the prize pool, “You are getting a lot of attention however,”

And she was. In fact, he was quick to take her hand in his own free one when he saw a group of men dressed to the nines, solid gold rings along their knuckles, diamond encrusted Rolexs staring back at him from their wrists, their faces dead yet starved when they drank in every inch of her skin, their eyes falling to where her dress rode up high, as she had whined about the entire way there.

She chuckled, and something about it sounded like her own, not the woman she’d had to become for the evening, and she kissed where his jaw clenched in annoyance, “Not from anyone that matters, boy wonder,”

And he felt his heart rest for a moment, because as long as she was with him he knew he could shift that big brain of his into gear. He loved nothing more than the click he felt when he was with her, like their brains and bodies just seemed to bluetooth to one another and they weren’t Spencer and Bugsy they were just them. A since cell amoeba.

He smiled at her, and she preened under his attention, so genuinely her that he felt the vignette that had clouded his vision shift into focus, and he knew he could find their UnSub if she was there with him.

He sat at the nearest table to them that was about to deal in, and within twenty minutes he was racking up a nice, fat pile of poker chips next to his iced tea.

Bugsy knew he was a smart man, knew he was good at magic tricks, but if he had turned to her then and there and pulled a rabbit out her ear hole she wouldn’t have questioned him otherwise. Watching him play was something else.

It was entirely sordid, the whole hour of his first game was spent trying to keep her focus on any patrons sat at their table and the rest that seemed to be twitching, whilst also trying not to look awed at just how amazing his brain was when he won damn near every time.

But she did manage to rip her eyes off him when she could, not enough to seem suspicious, just enough to scan the area for someone who could be their UnSub, her eyes quickly jumping to the guy on the table across from them with a large magic 8-ball tattoo across his bicep, unsurprisingly already looking her head to toe as he waited for his hand to be dealt out. He winked at her, a smarmy, cocky grin on his face, almost too confident in his ability to be someone to turn to suspicions and rituals in order to win.

A serious contender, but nothing that screamed their UnSub.

She looked around a little more, ignoring the handful of men who tried to grab her attention, who thought they were somewhat validated or interesting for having her look at them for a split second. They were just part of the wallpaper compared to Spencer anyway.

It wasn’t until she spotted a guy in a baseball cap a few paces away from them fiddling with yet another magic 8-ball, though this time a key chain, giving it a gentle touch every time he picked up his hand as if it really had the power to change the values once they’d been dealt.

From the quick glance she got of his face, he seemed to be running on an hour’s sleep tops. His eyes were rimmed redder than her lipstick, and his hair was damp with sweat and grease against his temple.

Unstable if there ever was a man for the word.

She quickly looked back to Spencer’s cards, her hands weaving over his shoulders to rub his muscles gently, the signal that she’d seen something important masked as an affectionate gesture.

The House called the end of the round, Spencer being awarded a heaped pile of tens, hundreds even a small few thousands thrown in there, to which he collected onto his tray they had handed him at the door.

Bugsy leaned down with a girlish squeal, giving him another big, cherry lipped kiss to his cheek, to which he felt himself blush under immediately. Quickly dodging to whisper into his ear, it looked to the other patrons as if she was simply promising him an even bigger reward later for his winnings in exchange, “Nine O’Clock at table two, guy in the green jacket has an eight ball keyring he ritually plays with before drawing,”

Spencer nodded, standing from the table with his winnings, using Bugsy’s as an excuse to angle himself to where she was talking about. He pulled her to him effortlessly, his long arms wrapping over her bare back, his neck craning over her shoulder to serveill the table she had indicated, and she quickly hugged him back with that fake giggle of hers, her body pressing to his desperately like the other ladies of the night he had seen with men three times their age.

He clocked who she was talking about almost immediately, running a hand down her spine and squeezing her waist gently to let her know he’d seen him.

They moved in tandem, just like they always had.

A hostess came over to them, all big smiles and a tight fitted black dress, a log book in her arms of where everyone was sitting in the next round to keep a fair game. Bugsy took a look at him, wiping away the smudged lipstick on his cheek with a loving swipe of her thumb, nodding at him for a small bout of reassurance.

“I’m going to go get another drink, honey,” She said loud enough for the hostess to hear, as she flashed him a flirty smile, “Don’t forget to wait for your lucky charm,”

He bristled, a smile twitching at his lips at that, “I wouldn’t dare,”

Because her message was clear. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m updating the team.

She swanned through the crowd as if she owned the place, but then again a packed scene had never been an issue for her. She felt through her concealed inseam of the tiny cardigan she draped over her shoulders, until she felt the long bullet shaped object stuffed into a tampon wrapper that Penelope had geniously planted there to look like a feminine product.

Her own alarm, the one meant to let the team know they had sights on the guy and to be ready. It was Spencer’s that would give them the signal to enter.

She was fiddling with the damn thing when she felt it, a sharp crack across her ass as she was walking towards the bar, heard the laughter in the second she froze up.

Turning on her heel with a tight expression, the anger burnt hot in her eyes when she saw the guy with the tattoo who had been trying to get her attention not even a half hour ago, watched him sidling up to her with a conceited smile.

“So, has that twiglet over there paid for you in advance or are you going home with the highest bidder?” He said, his head flicking to Spencer who now sat at table two, counting his chips out onto the table and paying himself in.

She smiled at the assailant widely, and it would have been pretty had it not been for the crazy look in her eye that twitched when he made a move to step towards her more.

“I’m spoken for in advance,” She said lightly, eyes trailing down his outfit like she was trying to commit it to memory, over his defining markers like the slit in his brow and his tattoos that looped over his hands, “But I’m sure I’ll be seeing you real soon, sweetheart,”

And she flashed him a toothy smile again, yet something was wolfish about it this time, like she was ready to lunge for him there and then.

The guy wasn’t their UnSub but he had made it to the very top of her hit list in a split second decision.

She waltzed away, securing herself another Moscow Mule she had no intention of drinking, and headed back to where Spencer was being allotted his hand of cards. Their round started, Bugsy keeping a close eye on the UnSub who sat directly to Spencer’s right, and she found a little solace in the fact he couldn't have brought in any weapons since they had all been patted down at the door.

It didn’t shake the feeling of edge the guy with the tattoo had put her into when she watched their guy flick a look over Spencer’s shoulder to look her head to toe, glancing back at Spence who was already glaring at him.

“Is she part of the winnings?” The other guy to his right chimed in, sliding a stack of hundred dollar chips into the centre, two of the players already bust as they watched the others play on for the house.

She saw her partner tense in his spine when he heard the man’s drawling voice, and she knew he was struggling to keep a lid on the facade they were putting on for the evening.

Snickering, she ran a gentle hand through his hair, down the nape of his neck with a sickeningly sweet simper, “Sorry, boys. Only person who’s taking me home tonight is the pretty boy,”

One of the guys who had already busted out scoffed, grumbling under his breath, “Lucky fucker,”

And Spencer knew it too. He felt almost rejuvenated just feeling her near, a damn near cocky smile on his face when he pushed his chips into the centre of the table, barely flicking a glance at his hand when he realised he had almost certainly secured a winning run.

Maybe she was his lucky charm, he thought cynically. Maybe he couldn’t blame the guy to his right for carrying a silly little trinket around with him in the name of luck if he was no better.

“I’m calling,” The guy on the far right declared, shuffling two piles of his chips into the middle with the total pooling.

“I’ll raise,” The UnSub cut in, grabbing some of his black thousand dollar tokens and clinking them one by one next to his opponents, “Eight thousand,”

What a surprise, eight thousand, Bug mused, squeezing onto Spencer’s shoulder again as he was quick to match the bidding and then some with his own checks.

“$8,000, that’s fifty six months’ wage for the average person in Bangladesh,” Spencer said, doubling the bet with a flick of those long fingers of his. It was heinous how much his brain managed to warm her insides, Bugsy thought, hoping she kept her poker face intact, “Kind of makes you think, doesn’t it?”

The two remaining players, UnSub included, looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and Bugsy fought off the urge to laugh in their face, because for a minute he was so Spencer like all she wanted to do was quip something back equally as smart.

“Look, it’s eight thou’ to you, are you in or are you out?” The first man snapped, perhaps seethin with jealousy that the pretty woman wanted nothing to do with him or perhaps just pissed that the fresh faced teenager of a man was serving their asses up cold.

“I am in,” He moved some more chips towards them, his eyes falling back to the guy they suspected was their UnSub with a challenge in his eyes, “And I raise,”

“Three raise,” The dealer declared, and the first guy huffed in defeat.

“That’s too rich for my blood,” He growled, crossing his arms and flipping his dead cards over.

“Sir, are you in?” The dealer asked the UnSub, and for a minute his eyes snapped to Bugsy’s where she was keeping a calm look on her face despite the fact her insides were stumbling with nerves. But she never doubted Spencer’s maths, she would stake her life on it in fact.

“I’ll call,” The UnSub replied, flicking his cards over with another small token of a hundred, an okay run of cards but not an entire failure.

Spencer met it with a couple hundreds of his own, revealing his four and his eight that met the five, six, and seven he already put down. A winning flush. “Straight.”

Her smile was genuine, dazzling, when the pile of chips were pushed over to him, and she would have laughed with glee had the UnSub’s face not dropped into something devastated, borderline demented, when he saw his ritual had meant nothing. That he had lost despite killing his own friend and four more people as a sacrifice.

He was unravelling fast, and it was then Bugsy knew they had only moments to confirm he was their guy obsessed with his suspicions and that damn lucky number eight.

“I guess you won’t be needing this anymore, will you honey?” Bugsy reached over for the charm with a cheeky grin as the other patrons grumbled at their losses, only for the guy’s hand to come slamming down on top of hers with a brutal grip, hard enough she knew it was going to bruise by morning.

“Don’t,” He hissed at her, and it seemed to click with confirmation in Spencer and Bugsy’s mind there was no doubt this was their guy.

Spencer stood up to defend the woman, only for both of them to be grabbed by security second’s later.

“You’re going to let a man put his hands on a woman like that- would you relax I can walk,” Spencer snapped, watching the other security guard manhandle Bugsy just as roughly, pinning her arms behind her back, though she complied with a victorious grin, “Real tough there pal, grabbing on a woman half your size,”

“Relax honey, I got a taser in my pocket if they really want to behave like bad boys,” The bouncers looked at her in alarm, and it was the distraction Spencer needed to reach into his jacket and trigger the signal. She gave the three of them a shit eating grin, and Spencer thought he might just love her even more, “Don’t shit your pants, I’m kidding. I charge extra for the rough stuff,”

Spencer was still laughing when Hotch and Emily barged past them after the UnSub, who was by now leaving out the back door.

–

“Spencer, really, we can go back to the hotel and forget about it,” After revealing their cover with the bouncers, courtesy of one David Rossi and his famous face clearing their names, and the UnSub caught and well on the way to the nearest jail cell for questioning, Bugsy was more than tired and ready to strip out of the impossibly tight dress.

“I want to see this guy brought to justice, think of him as another UnSub,” Spencer said, his arms crossed over his chest as they sat on the bonnet of a squad car out the front of the building, the tournament slowly trickling to an end with its patrons leaving for the night.

She rolled her eyes, his jacket over her arms the only thing keeping her warm against the evening air. It would have been so much easier if they had been allowed back in, but FBI agents or not, the guards had clear rules against breaching the peace in such a high stakes game. A bad rep for having the feds show up on their busiest day of the year was not welcomed, just as much as they weren’t.

“Except he’s not murdered anyone,” She replied, eyes darting between the guests leaving with their earnings spilling out of their pockets, “He’s just some dumb asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself and- it’s him,”

The guy with the tattoos, Mike Folio as would later be printed on the police report, had barely a second to grieve his losses of the night before Spencer had him cuffed against the squad car, yelling and spitting about his rights as an American citizen.

It wasn’t until he saw the gorgeous woman donned in the candy red dress looking down at him with amusement that he felt the colour drain from his face.

“Hi sweetheart,” She smiled viciously, “I told you I’d see you again. Spence, read him the Mirandas,”

3. The one with the bank explosion

The tweed trousers irritated her thighs, the head band fluffed her hair away from her face in a way she kept trying to fix, and the brown pumps squeaked every time she walked, but her smile was dazzling nevertheless.

“Okay, the TV movie is at Hall H at nine, can we go to that?” Penelope asked, reading from the pamphlet as Bugsy and Spencer all but ran to keep up with her.

“Absolutely!” Spencer chimed in, “Do you think we can make it to the Captains of Enterprise at eleven?”

“Obvs,” Penny replied, fixing the bow tie necklace her and Bugsy had made not even the week before. She looked over at the younger woman, who had a matching K-9 pendant, because apparently FBI salaries did not take into account life sized robot dogs, “Thanks for coming with me,”

“Ofcourse, I’ve been knitting this scarf for weeks,” Spencer replied, his eyes falling down to where Bugsy donned a Sarah Jane Smith cosplay.

“Who are you going as?” She’d asked, the minute he’d asked her to go, because there were few things he did these days without her.

“The Fourth Doctor,” Spencer replied, because he had explained in length to her about the concept of regenerating and had even flicked on some of the newer series for her to watch with him, “Tom Baker’s Doctor, he’s a fan favourite,”

He showed her a picture of the time lord stood outside the TARDIS, a younger girl stood opposite him in a pink suit, large white peter pan collar hanging wide over her chest.

“Who’s that?” She asked, pointing the girl with the cute bangs and pleated skirts.

“That’s Sarah-Jane, or Sarah-Jane Smith. She’s one of the longest starring companions since she was the Third Doctor’s companion first and also was in the spin off show for her dog, K-9,” He explained, warming inside when Bugsy listened with raptured interest.

“So like, is she his girlfriend or-”

“No, no! The Doctor is often speculated to be asexual when it comes to relations with humans. Sarah Jane was one of his closest friends however, and in the Tenth Doctor’s third season he even comes back to rescue her from a wedding set up by one of his enemies,” He said, and her smile pulled out widely when an idea popped into her head.

“Well, can I be her? For your convention?” She asked, somewhat shyly, still a little unsure how the show worked in the fine details, “You know, since you saved me from my wedding?”

He paused, because she’d never really spoken about that day she’d jumped into his arms in the elevator, holding him to her like he was the only thing that made sense. Bugsy was like that alot; giving him everything he ever dreamed in the moment and then acting like it was never a big deal the next.

“S-sure! Yeah, that would be really nice.” He said, and she immediately started searching up what she should wear for it, “I didn’t really save you though, you know, you saved yourself,”

She snickered, nudging him with her shoulder, “You all saved me, I don’t know what I would have done if Em-” She stopped herself, swallowing thickly, and he saw the glow leave her eyes.

If Emily hadn’t been there.

Things were still awkward between them. There were no more catfights, thank goodness, though there also wasn’t any doting between the sisters anymore. It was like a clean break had slit between them. Emily had given up trying to warm to her, given up trying to get her to come around, and had instead taken the high road of waiting for Bugsy to make the first move.

But Bugsy was nothing if not stubborn. So Emily would be waiting a while longer.

“Hey, listen, next time I promise I’ll be the first one to object and then you can say I saved you,” Spencer joked, because he knew the subject of Emily stung her, because he knew she needed to stop thinking about it or she’d unravel into self hatred.

She chuckled aghast, “Next time? I was kind of hoping to keep the next one, Spence, whoever the unlucky guy is,”

He shook his head, a fake look of disapprovement, “Sorry, rules are rules. You wanted to be Sarah-Jane, I have to crash your wedding with the TARDIS I’m afraid,”

She laughed, resting her head on his shoulder as they flicked through the TV some more together.

“Well, I mean if those are the rules,” She simpered, snuggling under his chin, “Does this mean I get a sick robo-dog too?”

She looked every bit the part he would have ever expected her to look. Down to the maroon tie, and the white dress shirt, and the matching tweed blazer and pants that made her look embarrassingly hot.

He was about to tell her just how great she looked because she still seemed unsure, being a casual fan of the show not nearly as religious as some of the surrounding guests were, when Penelope cut them off in a near gutted voice.

“Oh my god,”

“Penelope?”

Bugsy and Spencer looked up to see Penelope’s ex beau, Kevin, dressed in a nearly identical outfit to her (though in Bug’s opinion he didn’t have the same pzazz as she did with the glitter and the sparkliness,) a red headed woman beside him donned in a police woman uniform.

“Kevin, hi, you came,” The blonde woman replied, her face mortified as she took in just how pretty the other woman was, “And you brought a friend, CSU technician Sharp, how are you?”

Hannah Sharp, from two floors below them in the BAU, grinned tightly, as if she could sense just how disastrous the situation had suddenly become, “I’m fine, uh, you?”

Bugsy gripped onto Spence’s arm tightly, hating the turn this was taking, every second of it.

“I am also fine,” Pen replied, though she looked as though she was ready to float outside of her body any minute now. “Okay, well, see ya,”

“You’re not gonna go in?” Kevin asked, his eyes crestfallen when he saw Penelope also grab onto the boy genius’ arm, and he cursed Spencer Reid for getting so many attractive women.

“Actually, we just went in and it’s super lame,” Bugsy interrupted, flashing a disjointed smile at the two of them, turning to usher her best friend away before he could call her out in her lie. “So we’re leaving,”

“Oh, okay,” Kevin replied, his date all but forgotten as the three of them made a sharp exit, a wince on the youngest Prentiss’ face when they got far enough that the girl could cringe in peace, “Well, great costumes,”

“Yeah, you too,” Penelope called back, her heels practically leaving tire marks with how fast she had sped away from her ex that was opening fresh wounds as they spoke. At work they were separated by a whole floor, so it wasn’t quite so scathing to see each other around or even hear of one another, but to be brought out in front of what she could only assume was his new woman was horrifying.

Bugsy was at her side immediately, grabbing onto her hand with a squeezing grip.

“Well, that was awkward,” Spencer noted aloud, and Bugsy lightly slapped his arm for him to shut up, her eyes wide with worry.

He looked at her in alarm, but her face told him everything he needed to know. Girl rules.

He hated girl rules. He never understood them.

“Oh my god, we used to come every year, I can’t believe he brought someone else,” Penelope sighed to the younger girl, who watched her with furrowed brows.

“Well you brought someone else,” Spencer pointed out, only to have his arm whipped at again in a chiding motion, and he watched Bugsy stroke Pen’s back with a bite in her tone.

“Girl rules, Spencer, girl rules,” He tutted at her, rolling her eyes as if they were a married couple and she was nagging him to wash the dishes.

Sometimes it felt easy like that with them. Like she really was just his best friend and not the only girl who held any sort of romantic connection to his heart.

“Yeah, someone I couldn’t possibly be attracted to,” Penelope stated, “Besides, he always thought the two of you were a thing anyway, oh god what if he thinks I’m your guys third-”

“Woah, woah, what?” Bugsy asked with wide eyes, “He thought me and Spencer were, like, dating?”

Penelope nodded, and Bugsy couldn’t even look at him without stumbling over her words.

“Well he knows we’re- like I mean we’re not even each other’s seconds so how could you be our third you know?” She said with a forced laugh, because she could feel her face going hot.

Spencer watched her tongue tie herself into oblivion, thinking of any and every excuse as to why she didn’t want dating associated to the two of them. Because how could she ever feel the same way? He was just him and she was, well, her. So incredibly, beautifully her.

It wasn’t until she bumped into an older gentleman waiting for his valet she even shut herself up.

“And I mean Kevin shouldn’t have just assumed- oh sorry,” She whirled around to apologise the man she presumed was a fan of the early seasons of the show, perhaps even around when they first aired, though the thought died in her throat when he turned around, “Oh, Rossi?”

David Rossi looked suave as ever in his age, a blazer thrown casually over his shoulder, a neat shirt and dress pants ensemble at his hips as he looked between the three of them, their costumes staring back at him entirely too colourful for a Saturday morning.

He sighed, hard.

“Why doesn’t this surprise me?” He asked with a tired voice, as Bugsy bounced back over to Spencer’s side with an incredulous look on her face.

“Are you here for the convention?” Spencer asked, excitement bubbling in his tone as Bug grabbed his forearm gently, already sensing Rossi hadn’t had nearly enough coffee to put up with them today.

“Who schedules a cigar aficionado event back to back with this?” Rossi asked, his eyes clamping on the pendant around her neck, “What is that, a robot dog?”

“K-9,” The three of them replied, and it was as if it tipped him over the edge, his hair growing whiter by the second.

“Kevin brought another woman, I’m plotting revenge. Do you want to help?” Penelope asked, her face still warm from running into the guy who was almost her fiance.

“Know where we can get any horse heads?” Bugsy asked, her expression lost in though as Penelope gasped, “What? I’m thinking go big or go home. Also, horse head in the bed means they can't have sex-”

“I’m taking that as my cue to leave,” Rossi cut in, just as his valet arrived, “Now you know I love all three of you, but this is Saturday, and it is my day off, so I’m going to love you from afar,”

He ruffled Bugsy’s hair fondly as he took his leave, throwing his blazer over the passenger seat and bidding them a wave goodbye.

They watched him go, wondering where it left them for a moment before Bugsy spoke up again, “So are we saying a definitive no to the horse head idea, because I’m sure I know a guy in college-”

“No, Bugsy,” Penelope hissed, her face scrunched in disgust, and Spencer swore she turned green, “Definitive no,”

–

They had been half way through breakfast when Spencer got an emergency call from Hotch for a team of serial killers robbing a bank downtown, hostages and guns on scene.

She had barely had time to whip the tweed blazer off her shoulders, keeping the shirt and pants on as Derek threw her a kevlar vest.

“It’s definitely them,” Will said in his soft Southern drawl, JJ embracing him tightly to her with a worried expression. It had been him and his partner first on the scene, though unfortunately things had not ended well for her when they had ran into the three UnSubs slipping out the back of the bank and had engaged in a shoot out; Will’s partner getting a bullet to the head almost immediately, and Will narrowly escaping unscathed, but not before he managed to gun down one of the UnSubs in the stomach.

So there they were, the UnSubs back inside the bank for safety since they were now surrounded by the city police, the FBI, the SWAT team and a handful of ambulances and medics on standby.

“I only saw the King and the Jack but I figured the Queen’s inside too,” He added, JJ peeling herself from his side as they headed towards the building.

“The media's calling them the face cards,” Hotch informed his team, all eight of them decked in their thickest vests and weapons loaded in full, “Seven bank robberies in seven months. They’ve killed one person at each robbery,”

“MO?” Rossi asked, now dressed out of his smart, Saturday wear and something more akin to his usual business attire.

“Single gun shot wound, each of the victims has bled out,” Hotch replied, and it wasn’t until they turned the corner towards the bank did Bugsy realise just how packed the street was with law enforcement.

Three or four choppers circled overhead with snipers and back up SWAT teams at the ready.

“Serial killers with a thirty day cooling off period, and we’re only just hearing about this now?” Emily asked in an incredulous tone, her voice raised to accommodate the shouting between other chiefs and their units.

“Headquarters characterised them as robbers first, killers second,” Hotch said, his hands on his hips as they all assessed the situation from afar. Naturally a few new anchors had pulled up to the scene as well and were setting up their equipment despite the officers trying to corral them away.

“Oh yeah? How did that turn out for them?” Bugsy grumbled behind her thick, dark sunglasses, biting her lip from saying worse.

“I disagreed with the original assessment, I was overruled,” Her chief shot back, because things had been just as cold between them since that day as they had with Emily.

JJ was slowly reaching out the olive branch in her direction, and if it wasn’t for Henry being so darn cute every time he begged ‘Buggy’ to come play with him, she reckoned JJ would have taken even longer to forgive as well.

“Why are we here now?” Rossi chimed in, eyes locked on Aaron’s frown, that seemed to harden every step they took closer to the bank.

“Because crisis negotiation is overseas.”

“What do we know about them?” JJ jumped in straight away with the problem solving, because even if they were out in the field and not in their pretty little round table room anymore, the UnSubs were still just pictures on a white board needing that red string to connect them all together.

“They’re organised, they're efficient,” Hotch fired off, mentally running through whether he had loaded the pistol he kept around his calf for emergencies, “Each strike lasts about two minutes,”

Derek’s face scrunched in confusion, “They gotta be scouting out the banks in advance, why haven’t we been able to ID them off of surveillance footage?”

“They hacked the security feed and turn off the cameras both during the initial canvas and during the robbery, until the masks come back on and then were allowed to watch” Hotch replied, and the eight of them slipped into the base of operation for the day; a wide trailer converted to house the high tech computers Penelope needed to keep an eye on the cameras with those magic skills of hers.

Bugsy’s eyes landed on the black and white feed of inside the bank, her heart lurching in her throat when she saw well over forty men, women and children lined on their knees execution style, facing the doors to the bank to act as a shield if the snipers did happen to get a shot through the windows.

The woman took the lead, a mask over her face with a doll-like expression on it, the other men soaked in blood as one fought to hold the injured one up for dear life.

“Why haven’t they cut the feed now that they’ve been cornered,” Derek said with a shake of his head, his lips pulled into a grimace, “Letting us see inside gives us a tactical advantage, they have to know that,”

“Unless they want the audience,” Bugsy suggested, watching the jack slowly growing weaker and weaker as they discussed tactics, “Although the only one who really strikes me as the attention seeker is her, he seems more prioritised with the other male,”

“The masks add to their narcissism,” Spencer input with a nod, “Their personas are the royalty of poker,”

“JJ, you, Bugsy, Reid and Prentiss, look at past robberies, that’s going to be our victimology,” Hotch ordered, and they did as ordered with little delay, heading to the office they had set up in the opposite trailer.

This was going to be a long day.

–

“I can help,” Bugsy offered herself before the team even had a chance to protest.

It hadn’t even been an hour into them pulling research from InterPol as to who their UnSubs were before they had made their next dramatic move; they had shot a hostage.

Which meant they needed medics in there fast, fast enough to save the hostage and the jack if it kept the king from unravelling into a massacre.

“What do you mean you can help?” Emily said with a scathing tone, “Bug, you can’t just throw yourself in harm’s way if you have no clue what you’re-”

“I did three years of a medicine degree alongside my biochemistry before I got bored of doing both and gave up on it,” Bugsy snapped at her sister, brows contorting into a harsher frown than she’d had in months. She preferred it when they weren’t speaking at all.

“Because you were bored?” Derek asked, his face incredulous at the gall of the twenty year old they’d plucked from college and sent into the midst of the Russian Mob five years ago, “Did you not have anything better to do like partying or making out with guys- a whole medical degree on the side is your idea of downtime?”

She shrugged, looking back at Emily with a glare who seemed to bristle at the information.

“Can I speak to you outside please?” Emily said in the coolest tone she could muster, though even that sounded like a bite.

Something shifted in the air of the tiny, makeshift office and the other inhabitants tensed up at the sight of the Prentiss women gritting their teeth almost identically, staring daggers at one another for a moment before they stood from their seats and waltzed out of the side of the trailer to where there wasn’t the bustle of squad cars or media to be seen.

JJ looked to Morgan, who looked to Spencer, who seemed to have paled for a moment, and the three of them were out of their own seats to linger at the doorway in case things really did get ugly between the sisters.

“Do you honestly think that throwing yourself into the line of danger today is a good idea or are you trying to hurt me to get back at me?” Emily seethed the minute they had stepped foot on the ground, and the scoff that left her little sister’s throat was something nasty.

“Oh, please, don’t make yourself sound so important.” Bugsy snapped, whirling around on her heel to glare at her sister, “I’m not doing any of this to get back at you, I’m trying to save those hostages in there-”

“So I just happened to have never heard about this medical side quest you set yourself on until now because, what, it just never came up?” Emily laughed, laughed, in her sister’s face, and Bugsy saw red even more, “I thought you were a better liar than that,”

“Maybe if you’d bothered to even speak to me before you needed something from me that day with the Russians then you would have known anything about me that wasn’t being your dumb little sister you can just walk all over like you’re my mom or something,” Bugsy’s voice was getting louder, and Emily’s smirk wiped right off at the sound of that, because she knew she could have been ten times a better sister had she not wanted to get as far away from her mother as fast as possible. “Same with Hotch, he never wanted much to do with me until his wife died and then who did he come to needing help grieving, none a single one of you, and who gets bitten in the ass and punished when I find out I spent seven months grieving like some idiot to that uptight prick who lied to me-”

“Do not speak about him like that,” Emily was shouting now too because Bugsy was truly holding nothing back on her.

“Why? Are you going to pick him over me, Em?” The younger woman snarked, her eyes hateful and narrowed, “Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest given your track record-”

Emily shoved her, like, truly shoved her back and it robbed the words out of the girl’s throat. Yet it made JJ gasp where they were watching from the crack in the doorway, wanting to break them apart but knowing they needed to fix it for themselves.

The three of them hissed when Bugsy’s hand swiped against Emily’s cheek in a territory neither of them had ever wandered into. Emily was always too old to argue with her sister, too big to fight the way most siblings did with slaps and hair pulls and scratches, but Bugsy was a grown woman now; they both were.

Emily swatted the same back to her own cheekbone, after a second of shock washing over her face, and it was like they were two cats fighting in a back alleyway over a scrap of chicken.

Bugsy shoved at her around the tits, because she knew it would ache, Emily pulled at her braid with a yank that made Bugsy’s eyes water, the two of them banging against the wall of the trailer, their heads clunking together.

“Fucking punishing me after months like some insolent child-”

“I would never have left you thinking you were to blame for my death- I would never fucking do this to you-”

This was childish, entirely childish, playground offences and girlish curses in between. The worst part was they knew they could do much worse, they knew they could truly hurt one another if they wanted to. They were both trained to kill, and yet Emily had Bugsy grabbed in a headlock like they were two infants fighting over a sandpit.

Because they didn’t want to properly hurt one another in any way that would last. Never.

“Get the fuck off me or I’m punching you in the crotch,” Bugsy barked, trying to wriggle her way out of her sister’s freakishly strong arms with a frown, “EMILY- I SAID-”

“I was trying to protect you- just get your head out of your ass for two seconds and listen to me- I was trying to protect all of you-” But by the time Emily had somewhat gotten her to stop squirming, the girl had grabbed her by the calf where she had been forced to bend at a forty five degree angle, holding her one leg up off the floor while she sweeped at the second one to knock her off balance.

She had been known to shoot an assailant in the foot from twenty feet away to stop them from getting away, and yet she was resorting to simply pushing her sister over as a way to get one up on her.

She felt like she was ready to finger paint and take a nap time next; like they were about to be sat in the headmaster’s office and have their wrists slapped with a ruler for not keeping their hands to themselves.

But it worked, and in seconds the Prentiss girls were on the floor, puffing out of breath, Bugsy’s lip bleeding where Emily’s ring had caught it on the corner, Emily’s cheek red and raised from where her sister had a surprisingly strong right hook. They took a minute to breath, Bugsy glaring at the awfully clear blue sky, much too happy and cheery for the travesty that had been her entire day. And it was only then did she hear the other three members of their team exit the trailer, JJ going to help Emily up while Morgan's face appeared in the middle of the powdered clouds, something sad and sympathetic in his eyes and it was then that he held out his hand to get her up.

She didn’t want to, had every intention of laying there and staring at the broad daylight until she managed to float far away from there and from where her chest hurt with betrayal and her lip bled with lies.

He yanked her off the floor, offered her a cold can of coke for where she felt her lip swelling already, and she resigned to sit on the stairs to the trailer with her head in her hands until her temple stopped pounding or at least until she felt herself calm down in the slightest.

Emily shuffled to sit down next to her, her breathing still uneven but she could tell because she felt a tentative hand on her thigh rubbing gently, in the motherly way Emily had always watched her.

Because Bugsy had always been her baby, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

“Bugsy?” The younger woman huffed in indignance, pouting as she stared at her lap, because she felt the tears welling up already, “I’m so sorry I left you, you know I never, ever wanted to, you know that right?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice cracked as she finally looked over at her sister’s solemn face, “You told JJ and Hotch but you couldn’t even tell me? Did you just not want to come back for me?”

Emily’s brows pulled up into a sorrowful frown, and she felt her eyes start to burn too.

“No, that was never a part of it, I swear, there wasn’t a day when I didn’t want to come home to you,” She replied, taking a deep breath in through her nose as not to start bawling her eyes out there and then, “I had to tell Hotch and JJ as a matter of precaution, not because I wanted to tell them and not you. Bug, I missed you every day, I missed Niko and Sergio and those dumb documentaries you made us watch,”

Bugsy smiled despite herself, wiping a finger under her nose to stop the tears that had already started rolling there, “Well, I don’t know about Niko but Sergio missed you a whole lot,” She sniffled, rolling the Coke over to a cooler side to sooth her lip some more, “But I think he feels like you kind of abandoned him, and like you maybe don’t love him as much because he can be kind of annoying and, like, he’s real torn up about me telling him you died only to find your you’re not, like you can’t just do that to Sergio, Em, he doesn’t deserve that,”

Bugsy’s lip was quivering by the time she’d finished, but Emily chuckled wetly, wrapping an arm over her shoulder and pressing their pounding heads together.

“Are we maybe not talking about Sergio anymore, Bug? Are we talking about you-”

“No, we’re definitely talking about Sergio,” She cut in, wiping under her eyes with her sleeve, looking back up where Emily’s face was glistening with tears though it seemed like she had somewhat calmed under her sister’s gaze that wasn’t so full of vitriol hatred anymore.

Emily nodded, a humoured smile on her lips, “Right, okay, my bad. Definitely Sergio,” She held up her hand, stroking down Bug’s cheek for her where her tears had started pooling, “Well, I want Sergio to know that even if he is annoying sometimes, that there’s nothing that could ever take me away from him again, cause even though I’m not his mom, he’s still always going to be my kid, you know?”

Bugsy’s face crumpled in pain for a minute, sniffling and meeting Emily’s eyes, dark brown hues watching her sadly, imploring her to know how much her heart called out for her.

“Really? You promise?” Bugsy whined, and Emily nodded with a sad smile, stroking the back of her braid that looked a little ratted and wispy from where it had been yanked at. She took a shaky breath, looking down to her shoes where they scraped against the steps, “Well, I’m sure he’ll love to hear that, I’ll tell him when we’re home-”

Emily laughed, kissing her sister’s forehead, and pulling her into a side hug.

“Alright, tough guys. Let’s get back to working on the profile, Sergio can wait for a minute,” Morgan said, though his face fought off the smile that crept on his lips seeing two of his favourite girls finally at peace with one another.

Bugsy looked five years younger within seconds, and they clicked back into place, hopping up off the steps to get right to work, cursing herself for wasting so much time on silly things like hating her sister, because forgiving her felt cathartic in a way she didn’t understand she needed.

Maybe they had a chance after all.

–

Bugsy swore she would never have an optimistic thought a day in her life again.

Because just as they had thought perhaps things could look up; just as they had sent in a different agent medically trained enough to save the jack, their UnSub, that they’d identified as Oliver, had bled out before he could have done anything to save him. Without a second thought, the king, Chris, had shot the agent, and demanded he wanted Will next as retribution for his brother’s death.

They had of course turned down the offer in a heartbeat but the moment everyone turned their backs, Will, ten times the cop Bugsy could ever hope to be, had walked into the bank with his arms raised in surrender despite JJ screaming for him to stop from where Morgan and Hotch held her back from following him in.

Bugsy and Penelope watched from the CCTV in blood curdling horror when Chris put two bullets in him before he could even declare he was unarmed.

“Did you see where he was shot?” JJ asked, her tone empty, her eyes bloodshot where she had broken down into a fit of wails as soon as the gunshots had sounded through the street.

Bugsy opened her mouth to speak, losing all hope as soon as the bluebell gaze fell to her for an explanation.

“Is he alive or dead, Bug?” JJ snipped, but she knew she didn’t mean it, knew she was just worried out her mind and grasping at straws.

“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Bugsy replied, Emily’s hand at the small of her back in a comforting gesture because she sounded scared. She wished Spencer was with her, he always knew how to make people feel better, but he and Kevin had gone back to their office uptown to use Penelope’s personal lair for better coverage on the BAU’s resources.

“He was wearing a vest,” Emily jumped in, because Bug was tense and upset enough as it was, “He might be okay,”

“Might be?” JJ said humourlessly, her face hollow with sadness, “Alright we need to get inside,”

“JJ, it’s too risky,” Morgan tried as the woman stood up, a new found determination, because she refused to accept her partner, the father of her child, was dead until she saw him in a body bag for herself, “We don’t have eyes in there anymore,”

Jennifer’s eyes welled up again, and she turned to their unit chief; he was the only one who could understand just how desperate she felt right now if there was even the smallest chance he could still be alive. “Aaron.”

Hotch took a breath, nodding to her with complete empathy, “Let’s go in,”

Bugsy leapt for the medical kit they’d kept in the cupboard, because if she could stop the bleeding as soon as possible he might have a chance. She was taken back to when she had gotten to Emily that night with Doyle, when she had nothing but the clothes on her back and a loaded gun to treat her sister with, when she had felt completely helpless.

She refused to feel like that again, not now she’d been lucky enough to get Emily back. She refused to let JJ and tiny Henry go through what she did.

Will wouldn’t die if she had anything to do with it.

“Seeing what’s going on outside doesn’t help us inside,” Spencer said, standing behind where Kevin sat in Pen’s office, his hazel eyes falling to the surveillance footage of the bank live streaming from one of the choppers, where the familiar woman he worried for more than he could ever tell her moved behind a SWAT unit towards the front doors, a large med kit strapped to her back, a pistol at her side.

He looked down at the blueprints of the bank because if he watched her get even ten feet away the bank he thought he might just throw up, even if there were four armed men shielding her.

“Kevin, can you possibly pull up each of the surveillance feeds prior to Will being shot?” He asked, quickly diverting his attention away from where they were at an impasse waiting for something to happen, Emily’s SWAT team moving slowly towards hers.

“Sure, what are we looking for?” The other man asked, his fingers sprawling over Penelope’s keyboard as he did as requested, playing the older footage on the opposite screen, though even he was getting cold feet watching their team getting ready to breach the perimeter.

“The female UnSub disappeared once before, if she wasn’t looking for an escape, what was she doing?”

Spencer paused, because he couldn’t help when his eyes flicked back to the footage of Bugsy shuffling closer to the entrance behind one SWAT agent, and the doors burst open, the entire street pausing for a second to see what the movement was.

The hostages. The civillians caught in the crossfire at the bank slowly trickled out of the doorway, their arms raised in peace, some crying in relief though there was no sign of Will anywhere.

This was bad. Though he felt utmost care that the hostages had been released safely, he knew that the UnSubs keeping Will meant one of two things. One, that Will was already dead and useless to them, or two, keeping him bleeding out as a bargaining chip was their final play. Meaning they had no intention of releasing him, otherwise they would be left with nothing.

If he wasn’t already dead, he would be any minute now.

Spencer’s chest crashed in devastation for his friend and his godson, though it soon took a turn of terror when it seemed the same thought ran through Bugsy’s mind and she began stepping forward towards where the hostages were shuffling out in floods of tears.

He saw Morgan and Emily yelling at her to stop, two of the SWAT team trying to follow her because they had no idea what had come over the twenty something year old rookie with a death wish. Spencer tried to ignore the way his chest clawed in horror, his eyes snapping back onto the surveillance of the female UnSub disappearing into the back rooms of the bank, completely ignoring the vault and the very clearly marked exit, meaning she had no intention of using either.

So what was she doing?”

Spencer felt his head rattling with a horrid thought, hoping his intuition was wrong when he held the blueprints up to the screen, his skin turning to gooseflesh when he realised just exactly where she had been dipping out to with that backpack of hers.

“Gas mains,” His voice was numb with fear, his body diving for their comm link to Garcia, where she sat in the trailer with Strauss and Rossi, watching the surveillance just as he was, “Garcia, get them out of there now,”

But no sooner had he said anything, Bugsy’s figure disappeared into the building, the SWAT team confirming that the entrance was clear, JJ and Morgan moving after her with their own agents protecting them.

But she was already inside, his head screamed at him. Even when he heard David’s frantic voice through the radio they had linked to their kevlars, “ABORT, ABORT!”

Even when he heard Hotch swear hastily, calling to his team to hold back, trying to yell loud enough JJ and her team could hear his orders to take cover.

Spencer couldn’t truly take any of it in as he watched the large glass windows wobble for a second, a shock wave of what he knew was about to come.

The lines went dead, and he thought for a second his heart stopped. Because he hadn’t figured it out fast enough, hadn’t warned them before she had chance to throw herself head first into danger the way he should have known she would.

Because Spencer watched the footage with a terror he had never known, not even in his eight years on the team, not even in his own situations as a hostage, not even when he was at his lowest and he thought the dilaudid was going to finish him off, alone and high in his apartment’s little bathroom, a burnt out drug addict who had so much going for him.

Spencer had never felt the sheer, spine-chilling dread that he did when he watched, useless and heart broken, as the bank went up in a colossal explosion, a plume of flames bursting out of every window, shattering glass and cracking the brickwork, hard enough he watched part of the building start to crumble inwards.

And Bugsy went down with it.

Taglist:

@release-your-sweets @smileykiddie08 @caramelised-onions. @the-tpd-bau @stephthepeach @sunflowersndpeaches @sammy-4103 @starmansirius @yeonalie @delusionallooney @hades-disappointment-child @sadbae-33 @mdanon027 @swag13r @frickin-bats @bilesxbilinskixlahey @mindfullycriminal @mrsbellastyles @nilopillo @imagines--galore @bluejaysaysstuff @imaginexred @flow33didontsmoke @spicyspirit @mywellspringoflife @lovelyygirl8 @pleasantwitchgarden @star-girl-interlud3 @rosylnsworld @jamieolivia27 @halcyonwithletters @waywardhunter95 @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist t @theoraekenslover @niktwazny303 @bliindmattmurdock @alyeskathewave @littlemadamred

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew grey gubler x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #Emily Prentiss x Sister!reader

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astrobiscuits · 9 months ago

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Chiron persona chart obs

WARNING: BRIEF MENTIONS OF ED, S*ICIDE, S*XUAL AB*SE. I HIGHLY RECOMMEND NOT TO READ THIS POST IF YOU'RE VERY SENSITIVE thank you

Stelliums show us where our main trauma or wound lies:

Stellium in Aries/1st house - body image issues/body dysmorphia, hating ones face and wanting to change it at all cost, being so focused on ones trauma that it results in excessive independence

Stellium in Taurus/2nd house - self worth issues, hating ones voice and/or being made fun of for how ones voice sounds, excessive shopping due to fear of having nothing, having stash of cash hidden everywhere in the house due to being scared of getting robbed

Stellium in Gemini/3rd house - being too scared to speak to others, hating the way you express yourself, being an overachiever at school due to fear of being seen as "stupid", fear of being run over by a bicycle or a car

Stellium in Cancer/4rd house - family problems (divorced parents, one of the parents is out of the picture for whatever reason, family members dealing with addictions, family abuse), issues when it comes to comforting yourself in times of crisis, HEAVY abandonment issues

Stellium in Leo/5th house - had to grow up too fast instead of enjoying childhood, fear of not being "the perfect parent", fear of not making it in the industry (for those pursing creative careers or following their passions), issues regarding getting pregnant and delivering a child, fear of being burned by the sun or by fire

Stellium in Virog/6th house - fear of contacting an incurable disease, issues regarding eating disorders, trauma regarding messy spaces, which results in OCD

Stellium in Libra/7th house - issues caused by getting cheated in a relationship, fear of trusting someone in a one-on-one connection, trauma resulted from business affairs which have gone wrong

Stellium in Scoprio/8th house - fear of death, issues caused by sexual trauma/sexual abuse, grooming, stalking, human trafficking, mysterious disappearances, divorce, taxes, loans

Stellium in Sagittarius/9th house - fear of not being able to experience everything one has always wanted, issues caused by not living to ones full potential, fear of travelling too far away, religious trauma

Stellium in Capricorn/10th house - fear of being forgotten and not standing out, issues regarding not looking & acting in a professional manner when needed, fear of not being promoted in ones career, the trauma is very visible to the public

Stellium in Aquarius/11th house - fear of not fitting in a crowd or a friend group, issues regarding being part of LGBTQ+ or a subculture often dismissed (POC, people with disabilities, orphanage kids, emos), trauma related to the country's government and (possible) implications in war, fear of dying in a natural disaster (earthquake, tsunami, volcano), fear of dying by electrocution or in an airplane crash

Stellium in Pisces/12th house - fear of being admitted to a prison, asylum or nursing home, having frequent thoughts of unaliving onself, fear of drowning, fear of what happens after death, fear of being misunderstood or made fun of for hearing voices and seeing things which aren't real

Moon shows us how we process our trauma and wounds:

Moon in Aries/1st house : screams, throws things around (maybe also breaks a few things), if anyone reminds them of their wounds/traumas, they'd literally break that person's neck; they might recklessly drive, play with fire or drink excessively out of anger

Moon in Taurus/2nd house : resorts to retail therapy, cooks their favourite meals, gets some comfy pillow and blankets and watches their favourite show; they're slow to heal their wounds, but they manage to do so

Moon in Gemini/3rd house : overanalyzes what happened to the point that they've thought of every scenario possible, (if they have more than one wound/trauma) switches between wounds, is usually open about their wounds and traumas with siblings and acquaintances

Moon in Cancer/4th house : cries 24/7, acts distant with people who are not close to them and defensive with those who want to talk about their feelings; they tend to have very, very unhealthy coping mechanisms (aka they resort to self-harm)

Moon in Leo/5th house : transforms their pain & wounds into a form of art - whether it's through dancing, painting, singing, acting, photography, videography; sometimes they might not recognize how much their past affects them, especially around others, they boast about how "it wasn't that bad" even though they're clearly affected by what happened

Moon in Virgo/6th house : focuses on the details, what they could have done better and what they didn't, easily becomes anxious, cleaning the house becomes a form of therapy for them; in case of physical wounds, they document themselves very well (sometimes they are even able to heal themselves, since this Moon sign in Chiron persona chart has a sort of 6th sense about medicinal procedures)

Moon in Libra/7th house : their s/o knows every pain, wound and traumas they've ever experienced, analyzes the past in a logical manner and tries to find a healthy coping mechanism, without hurting anyone else in the process; listens to sad, romantic songs

Moon in Scorpio/8th house : if someone else is guilty for their wounds/traumas, they're going to plot revenge and execute their plan in a discreet manner; often jealous, they might pursue fwb connections to stop thinking about their pain; the ones who manage to deal with their past in a healthy manner become a completely different person in the process

Moon in Sagittarius/9th house : dealing with their wounds/traumas opens a new world for them, they end up adopting a new set of beliefs as a coping mechanism, travelling to another country to get some space from their surroundings helps them heal

Moon in Capricorn/10th house : replays the past over and over again, they numb their emotions, if asked about their wounds/traumas, they answer very stoic; they also tend to be more realistic and don't like to tell themselves lies or hear lies about their trauma

Moon in Aquarius/11th house : resorts to technology to cope with the pain, is usually open about their wounds and traumas with their friends or on social media, but not with family; they might try some unusual coping mechanisms

Moon in Pisces/12th house : they isolate themselves from everyone in order to cope with the pain, meditation and breathing techniques are their to-go methods of calming their anxiety down; if they don't manage to cope in a healthy way, they dissociate and go through a depersonalization process or an addiction takes over them (drinking, smoking, they overuse medication etc.)

Jupiter shows us where we're blessed, but fail to see. The stronger the modality, the more obvious it is to other people.

♃ Jupiter in fixed signs (Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, Aquarius) and/or fixed houses (2nd house, 5th house, 8th house, 11th house) are extremely blessed and everyone is able to notice, but the native.

♃ Jupiter in cardinal signs (Aries, Cancer, Libra, Capricorn) and/or cardinal houses (1st house, 4th house, 7th house, 11th house) are blessed, but only a specific category of people notice it.

♃ Jupiter in mutable signs (Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, Pisces) and/or mutable houses (3rd house, 6th house, 9th house, 12th house) are still blessed, but the effect is hardly noticeable to anyone.

Those with:

Grand Trine/Kite/Yod (Finger of God)

Sun, Jupiter, North Node and ruler of the chart conjuncting MC and/or placed in 10th/11th house (minimum 2 placements)

Stellium in 10th house/11th house

-> have got amazing healing abilites and often end up pursuing careers where they help & heal society (usually as doctors, therapists, spiritual advisors, social workers, advocates who actually make a difference, etc.) They usually become famous for their healing gifts.

Other small considerations:

Ascendant shows us how we are perceived at first glance when we are dealing with pain

IC shows us how we are perceived by our family (or in a safe, secluded place) when we are dealing with pain

DSC shows us how we are perceived by our partner or best friend when we are dealing with pain

MC shows us how we are perceived in public (or in our career) when we are dealing with pain

North Node shows us our salvation (where we need to focus on in order to heal)

🕊 Sun trine Moon & Sun sextile Moon individuals have an easier time healing their traumas and wounds

🕊 Sun opposite Saturn & Sun square Saturn individuals feel the need to rebel from their father/grandparents, norms that have been imposed on them, old customs & traditions, institutions/government, in order to heal themselves

#astro #astro community #astrology #astro placements #astro observations #astro posts #astroblr #astro blog #astro notes #persona chart #chiron #chiron persona chart

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lina-lovebug · 10 months ago

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I'd Fight The Devil

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, FINALE

Background: The future heir of Hell is on the way! Alastor has his doubts about being a good father and Lucifer is losing his mind.

_ _ _

(Y/N) Morningstar is due any day now!

That dreaded due date was getting closer and closer and honestly, Alastor didn't know how to handle it.

Of course, he was happy when he found out that his beloved was pregnant. From what he knew, sinners couldn't reproduce! But from a brief (while crying) explanation from Lucifer, (Y/N) is extremely fertile and this could continue happening or just be a one time thing.

Honestly, it broke Alastor seeing her miserable. Her swollen hoofs, going days without sleep because of their spawn kicking up a storm, and not to mention the crying. It didn't bother him that she became much needier, as he was happy to give her all the hoof rubs and cravings she desired.

Alastor felt bad because he hears her confide in Charlie, "honestly, I'm not sure I want to do this again. It feels like my body doesn't belong to me."

He's heard that some pregnant women feel that way, but the way her voice broke when she said it.

He'd never touch her again if she asked.

"Need anything, mon cher?" Alastor asked as she waddled to the bathroom.

"No, but thank you," She smiled. He had been so attentive and it made this pregnancy a bit more enjoyable.

(Y/N) hated herself. Not because she hated their child, no, but because she hated how she felt. She hated that she wasn't enjoying her pregnancy like so many other mothers, and hated how she felt like a prisoner in her own body.

But today: she'd be free.

"ALASTOR!"

A scream awoke the half asleep Radio Demon and he instantly appeared by her side, "what happened?! Are you okay?!"

"I think my water broke last nigh-ah! I'm having contractions!"

The baby was coming.

THE FUCKING BABY WAS COMING.

He instantly got them to the hospital, all while waking up the entire hotel. Vaggie shook Charlie awake, Husker threw a bottle at Angel Dust, and Niffty was frantically killing any bug she saw.

"MY BABY! WHERE'S MY LITTLE PUMPKIN?!"

Lucifer was panicking more than Alastor.

"Oh, my sweet pumpkin!" Lucifer ran to her side as she groaned at the contractions, her horns peaking in and out every time pain lashed through her body.

"Dad, it hurts."

"Where are the scrubs?! I need-!"

"Dad, isn't it the father who's supposed to get scrubs?" Charlie questioned nervously.

"But my baby needs me!"

"What I need is everyone to get the fuck out!" (Y/N) screamed, completely overwhelmed by all of it. Charlie dragged their dad out of the room, and Alastor stayed.

"I'm sorry," She began to cry, feeling horrible about yelling at him.

"You have nothing to apologize for, my sweet girl," His radio voice broke momentarily as he held her hand, "all this pain will be over and we can finally hold our child."

"I already feel like such a bad mom," She cried, "I'm supposed to love being pregnant, but I fucking hate it."

His heart ached for his sweet love. She was in constant pain but hated herself for it.

"I'd never lay another hand on you if it meant you'd never feel like this again," He confessed.

"I'll cut off anyone's hands who touch you."

She smiled at that, "I think. . .I think I'm done after this little one. Definitely need to find out if I can stop being so fertile."

But just as things were calming down, her hand tightened his, and another wave of contractions came. It continued like this for an hour, and with a few more pushes, their child was born.

And even though Lucifer tried breaking into the room, he kept away for a little while longer.

"It's a girl?" Alastor asked.

"Yes. Congratulations!"

"Oh, she's so precious," (Y/N) looked at their daughter, now resting in her arms. She had two small deer horns poking out of her soft head, a ruffle of red hair to go along with it.

"I will give you all the demon meat you desire," Alastor felt satisfied when he looked at his daughter, and felt a pang of happiness within him.

"I think I know what her name is, Alastor," she had been snooping around and found a name from his past, which would make her future husband all the more joyful.

"And what's that, my dear?"

"Manon," His smile faltered.

It was his mother's name.

He looked upon his daughter as she handed him over, her eyes opening to see the Radio Demon - her father.

"It's perfect," He smiled.

"Manon Morningstar."

When Alastor looked at her, all his doubts faded. He remembered how his mother doted on him, loving him and always being his number one supporter and just new that he would do the same for her.

"Can we come in?" Charlie asked carefully with Lucifer peaking in.

(Y/N) nodded and in came Vaggie, Charlie and Lucifer. Lucifer held two giant bouquets of roses, setting them on a table.

"Oh, she's adorable!" Charlie grinned.

"Would you like to hold her?" (Y/N) asked, and her sister happily accepted. The small demon wasn't fussy about being in her arms, just staring with curious eyes.

"Vaggie?"

Her eyes widened, "oh? Me? Uh, I mean, I don't know, I've never-"

"You'll be fine," before she could contest any further, Vaggie was holding Manon. Manon babbled at her, spit dribbling from her mouth as her hand reached up and pulled her hair.

"Okay! My turn!" Lucifer snatched his granddaughter away, staring at the baby with a happy-go-lucky smile.

"Oh you're so precious! I think you'll love duck's! In fact, it's your first toy," He squeaked a small rubber duck with wings in her face, and she began to cry.

"No, no, no, no! Please don't hate me! I love you!"

"I think mommy needs some rest, and Manon is hungry," Alastor scooped back his daughter, and Vaggie dragged Lucifer out as he cried over the fact that he is convinced his granddaughter hates him.

"She's perfect," (Y/N) sighed as she begun to feed upon her, and Alastor gave them both a kiss on their foreheads.

"You're perfect."

#alastor imagine #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine

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frantic-fiction · 11 months ago

Text

I'll Find My Way Back to You

(Can't find source of pic if it's yours let me know)

Astarion x GN!Reader

Prompt: A century after Tav passes Astarion comes across an artist who is oddly familiar and paints moments that seemed to be pulled straight from Astarion's life.

Thank you to @justporo for letting me use their idea. Go show them some love.

Warnings: Tav's death, brief mention of s*icide, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 4.6k (Oops kinda went overboard)

Masterlist

“There’s no world I wish to live in without you,”

“My dear Astarion, we will find our way back to each other. This is not the end.”

Over a century has passed—a long, lonely century without Tav by his side. Astarion doesn’t understand how he’s endured, not with the void in his chest that appeared the moment he laid them to rest. The absence of his person, his love, his Tav, has left Astarion once again alone.

For nearly a decade, he found himself trapped in a state of near-catatonia, a prisoner of time within their empty home. He wasted away, the days blending into one another, each marked by a silent ache in his chest—the void left by Tav’s departure. Tears soaked into the earth of the carefully tended grave, adorned with vibrant flowers from Tav’s garden. He often contemplated surrendering to the sun’s embrace, letting its rays turn his existence to ash for a semblance of peace.

He yearned to end the pain, yet he refrained. He made a promise whispered with heavy hearts and painful sobs—a promise that forced them to confront the harsh reality that Tav would always leave first. Instead of embracing the end, Astarion wasted away, a ghost of his former self, yearning for the return of his love. Change arrived when Tav visited him in a dream; the details were blurry, but Tav’s beautiful smile was etched in memory. The sweet words in that dream eluded him, yet upon waking, a faint lightness settled within him. Astarion graced the night with a flicker of energy for the first time since Tav’s passing.

Tav would have wished for him to move on. They would have wanted him to live. The stagnant life he clung to wasn’t what Tav would want for him. So that day, Astarion gathered his essentials into a bag and set forth as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. Only momentarily stopping to bid his love a final, tearful farewell. Since that moment, he hasn’t stopped moving.

Astarion believed Tav would take pride in the life he’s built—the good he’s accomplished over the many years. He traversed all over Faerun, from Waterdeep to Skull Crag, never lingering in one place for too long. He wasn’t the hero Tav was, but he aided towns against monsters, dispatched goblins, and took odd jobs to help however he could. Throughout his travels, he dedicated most of his time to sharing stories of Tav, ensuring their memory lived on. When he first heard the bards’ songs recounting the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, he knew he had succeeded. Now, you can’t sit in a tavern without hearing tales and melodies about Tav.

Every day, he longed for Tav to be by his side. He yearned to feel their soft skin, experience their tender kisses, and sense their warm arms encircling his waist—the echo of their laughter dancing in his ears. He missed every aspect of Tav and would do anything to see them again. Yet, the world ran out of miracles for him. Instead, he learned with time to cope, to come to terms with their absence, and keep them close to his heart.

***

Astarion traverses the dusty cobblestone of Wyrm’s Crossing and finds himself back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate—a city he’s consciously avoided for most of the century. It’s a place drenched in memories from his past life with Cazador, but mostly, the streets seem to be haunted by the presence of Tav.

His return to Baldur’s Gate remains shrouded in mystery. All he can discern is that he awoke one day in Daggerford, gripped by an inexplicable yearning to revisit the city. A compelling force tugging him down the Sword Coast, Astarion initially dismissed it as mere homesickness, scoffing at the notion. Yet, the persistent thought lingered, infesting his mind until he could no longer ignore the instinct to return.

The city remains strikingly unaltered despite the passage of time and the trials it endured. The same piss-stained cobblestone, alleyways cluttered with remnants of urban life, and a diverse array of inhabitants navigating the night. It’s an unsettling constant, especially juxtaposed against the transformation of Astarion’s existence.

Wandering through the back alleys and side streets, Astarion meanders aimlessly. Occasionally, a sight triggers memories, evoking a lump in his throat. The Elfsong Tavern, once familiar, now bears a different name and identity, a formal establishment concealing the echoes of nights spent in Tav’s comforting embrace. Bloomride Park, the graveyard, and the docks—all weave together, painting a vivid tapestry of Tav’s omnipresence.

Amidst the tumult of emotions, Astarion grapples with why he subjected himself to this emotional turmoil. The urge to retreat, to flee Baldur’s Gate before the dawn breaks, lingers within him. Yet, the itch persists, buried deep within his bones, propelling him forward. He silently promises himself the night to wander the city, and by this time tomorrow, he will be on his way to another town for another adventure.

Venturing into a dim, isolated street, Astarion observes a solitary lamplight spilling its soft glow from a store window. Peering through, he discovers a small art studio. Within, a graceful elf seems to dance with a paintbrush, each stroke deliberate yet flowing. Like a harpie song, Astarion is mesmerized and utterly captivated. He watches on silently, observing the elves happily consumed with their work. It gives him a wave of nostalgia, moments of watching Tav as they painted, unaware he was watching from the door. Astarion could almost hear the sweet hums that filled the room between brush strokes.

Then he freezes, gaze snapping to the paintings that adorn the studio, scattered reflections of his life. Images of Karlach, Shadowheart, and all the others grace the space. However, it’s the depictions of himself that seize his breath. Compelled by an unseen force, Astarion walks right into the studio. In a far corner, he sees an intimate portrayal—an embrace that resonates with familiarity.

The bell rings, and you break from your artistic trance. Startled, you look up, and there stands the pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves. Startled, you look up, and there stands a pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves.

The dreams began as mere fragments—white curls, sharp teeth, delicate hands. Gradually, they evolved into more vivid scenes—muffled conversations by a campfire, laughter and gentle shoves, and stolen kisses between bed sheets—private moments of a stranger, a byproduct of an active imagination intertwined with an elven crush. Or at least that was what your mother would say. Now, the subject of those dreams stands before you.

Astarion, surrounded by the art that mirrors his life, fixates on a miniature portrait. The details are hazy, yet he recalls the campfire, the desperation in his gaze, and a significant confession followed by an embrace.

You pick up a fallen brush with a trembling hand, placing it in a water cup. Asterion was just as breathtakingly beautiful as your dream portrayed, but to see him in person has your heart hammering in your chest and your breath quickening with nerves. Wiping paint-covered hands on your smock, you took a deep breath and gathered the courage to approach Astarion.

Staring at the portrait, you utter quietly, “This one’s my favorite. Though I wish I could have captured the others’ images better.”

“Tav.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The person you painted. My partner Tav, they used to paint too,” Astarion’s voice carries the weight of unspoken emotions.

“Oh, yes. They were the leader of your group, if I remember correctly. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Astarion remains silent, the canvas now a source of unbearable memories. He moves through the studio, examining the art up close. It’s weird to have your muse perusing around your gallery. It’s embarrassing to have Astarion see just how many pieces have been dedicated to him. What do you do at this point? Should you follow him, tell him about each piece and the dreams behind them? No, that seems pretentious, so you retreat to the canvas you’ve been working on for the better part of the week.

This piece was different—a symbol rather than a person or scene. Rings of unknown runes fan out in jagged edges, evoking a sense of beauty tinged with profound sadness. It disturbed you to your core, but you needed to paint it. It’s how it always goes. Once a dream pops into your head, whether it’s a scene, a person, or a symbol, it refuses to leave until you’ve laid it on a canvas. Picking up the brush, you dip it back into the red paint and continue to bolden the lines.

“Who are you?” Astarion’s voice is right behind you; you jump, knocking a pot of paint over. Cursing softly, you quickly right the pot, attempting to salvage the spilled paint. Paint isn’t cheap, and in your non-upper-class circumstances, every drop is precious.

“Oh, I’m sorry; I have been very rude,” you offer your name. “I, of course, already know you, Astarion. It’s hard not to come across the tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, but I guess—” Your rambling trails off pathetically as something changes in Astarion. There’s tension in his shoulders, a coldness in his eyes. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nervously play with a loose thread on the smock.

Astarion scrutinizes you with a piercing gaze, his eyes lingering on your face as if searching for hidden truths. The air becomes taut, charged with an almost palpable intensity. Then, as if propelled by an unseen force, he reacts like a tightly wound rubber band snapping. Reaching out, he harshly pulls you to him, bearing his teeth at you. Your stomach drops, shocked by the aggression.

“Have you been following me? Stalking me?” His voice carries a storm of anger, his grip on your shoulders unyielding, the coldness of his touch akin to ice piercing through the fabric of your being. “Don’t lie to me because I’ve shown one person that fucking scar, and I buried them.”

Your heart races, fear coursing through your veins as you whimper a response, tears welling up in your eyes. “I-I don’t know, I’m sorry,”

“Don’t lie!”

“Please, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know; I have dreams; I don’t know why, b-but I dream of you,” your voice falters, and your vulnerability is laid bare. “I dream of you, your friends, and places I’ve never been. I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I promise.”

As abruptly as his hands seized you, they vanished, leaving you stumbling to your knees, unable to contain the torrent of tears streaming down your face. Curling in on yourself, you can’t stop the cries of apologies and promises of never picking up a brush again, of burning every last piece in the room.

Astarion looks down at you, his expression shifting from anger to a complex amalgamation of horror and something else—perhaps realization. Stepping away, he leaves you rooted to the spot. Your gaze fixed blankly out the window. Odd and conflicting emotions swirl within you—fear, confusion, longing?—all clashing fiercely. Amidst the tumult, one thought emerges with undeniable clarity—this won’t be the last time you see Astarion.

Astarion’s breaths come in ragged gasps as he runs through the barren streets, escaping the grasp of the haunting memories that threaten to consume him. His thoughts are a raging storm, and he pays no heed to the bewildered faces of those he rudely pushes past. The town of Rivington is a blur as he sprints through it, a desperate escape, picking a direction and refusing to stop until his body aches, halting only when the sun begins its ascent above the horizon.

In his frantic need to run, there was no consideration for shelter from the sun’s relentless rays. Mercifully, he stumbles upon an abandoned cave. Dry, dusty, and shrouded in darkness, it becomes his refuge. In a corner, he sinks slowly against the cool, rough wall to the ground, seeking solace in the obscurity.

Astarion pulls his knee to his chest, pressing his forehead against his crossed arms. Shaking and shivering, a stark contrast to the bitter summer heat enveloping the cave, he clings to his vulnerability. Eyes shut tight, jaw clenched, fingernails dig deep into his arms as if attempting to anchor himself in the reality that threatens to crumble around him.

Desperation claws at him, and he yearns for Tav. The desire to feel Tav’s warm embrace, hands crossing over his chest, pulling him close, torments him. He longs for the soft whispers of love and the gentle press of lips. Astarion can’t navigate this without Tav. He’s a mess, barely holding on, living each agonizing day, acutely aware that the best part of him is gone, and he can do nothing to reclaim it.

The cruelty of encountering such intimate moments from his past life with Tav wounds him deeply. These were moments meant for him and Tav alone. Realizing that a stranger could capture those cherished memories intended for one person alone turns his stomach.

Anger becomes a conduit for his overwhelming emotions, and the terrified look on the artist’s face is etched in his mind, an indelible scar on his conscience. Shame burns within him, a searing reminder of the boundaries he violated. Physically assaulting someone in their own space—what would Tav think of him now?

The artist adds another layer to Astarion’s confusion. The familiarity is uncanny—the excited calf raises, the almost-stumbles afterward, the nervous lip biting, puffed cheeks during deep concentration, and the mindless dancing when no one is watching. Every little thing the artist did mirrored Tav, and with all his memories physically displayed, Asterion finds himself lost in a sea of confusion. Why does this stranger resemble his love so deeply?

The bards’ tales of soulmates and reincarnation, once dismissed as mere children’s stories and fiction, now claw at the edges of Astarion’s consciousness. What if? What if Tav found their way back to him? Weirder things have happened in his long life, and the possibility plants a seed of hope within him.

Yet, he forcefully suppresses that hope. It won’t serve him, not now. Instead, he resolves to learn more. By nightfall, he returns to the city, catching the first boat to Waterdeep. After a day and some change, he stands outside the Wizards’ tower, resentment simmering as he contemplates turning to Gale, his best chance at answers.

A groan escapes Astarion as he hangs his head, and a series of knocks echo on the thick wooden door. “This better be worth it…”

The door swings open on its own into a dimly lit foyer. Astarion follows a familiar path, the cool air and faint scent of ancient tomes embracing him. He ascends the staircase with nostalgia and reluctance, each step echoing the countless times Tav and himself sought knowledge and assistance within these walls.

As he pushes open the study door, a scene unfolds before him. Gale is hunched over a worn scroll, graying hair ruffled, and a small pair of reading glasses set on the tip of his nose. The room is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, creating an intimate ambiance. Notes adorn the margins, evidence of Gale’s ceaseless quest for understanding.

Gale looks up, a broad, warm smile gracing his features, and Astarion is momentarily transported back to the times when this sage was only a joke he poked fun at across camp. Removing his reading glasses, Gale pushes up from his desk, an air of welcoming familiarity enveloping the room.

“Well, look who the tressym dragged in. How are you, Astarion?”

Astarion stiffens as he is pulled into a spontaneous hug by Gale. The embrace is both unexpected and oddly comforting, a physical manifestation of the genuine camaraderie they’ve shared through the years. Astarion, unaccustomed to such displays of affection, awkwardly pats Gale’s back before gently pulling away.

“I’m afraid I’ve been better.”

Gale’s eyes convey concern and understanding as he gestures for Astarion to sit. The worn chair creaks under the weight of memories and the weightier burden of Astarion’s troubled soul.

“Then sit down, my friend, and tell me how I can help.”

***

Days of tireless research and a network of favors exchanged between magical acquaintances have led them to a glimmer of hope. Though not expansive, the discovery hints at the possibility that souls entwined so tightly may have a magnetic pull toward each other. A pull is so strong that souls can find each other in different lifetimes. Tales have described soulmates experiencing memories from previous lifetimes together, but they were vague at best. The specific remains elusive, shrouded in mystery, yet it’s enough to kindle a spark of hope within Astarion’s lonely heart.

Gale, ever the bore, offers a gentle reminder, “Now, just remember, if you try to force feelings before—”

“I would never!” Astarion’s retort carries a venomous edge, an unspoken warning to watch his following words carefully. Gale raises his hands in defense.

“My point is the brain is a prickly thing. It’s best not to rush anything it’s not ready for.”

“Yes, yes, you have said this five times already. Would you please activate the portal? I have an apology to make.”

Anticipation hums in the air, a palpable energy that courses through Astarion. A fleeting smile graces his lips, and for a moment, the weight of his grief is replaced by a glimmer of life.

Looking at Astarion with a fondness born of shared trials, Gale responds, “Of course, Astarion.”

With a confident shake of his wrist, he activates the magical circle, and the room is bathed in a radiant glow of bright runes, their purple luminescence dancing in the semi-darkness.

Astarion steps toward the portal, his heart pulsating with trepidation and newfound hope. However, before crossing the threshold, he turns around to face Gale, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Gale. I will not forget this.”

“It was my pleasure. Now, I expect to meet this lovely artist sooner rather than later.” Gale’s parting words hang in the air, infused with the hope of rekindling a connection beyond the realms of understanding.

Back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion swiftly navigated the bustling streets, an air of anticipation accompanying him. His purpose was clear—to reach your studio and beg for your forgiveness. A brief pause along the way allowed him to acquire a small bundle of daisies, a spontaneous choice fueled by the memory of Tav’s fondness for these delicate blooms.

As Astarion approached the studio, a surge of uncertainty clawed at him. Hesitation gripped his every step, the shadow of fear etched across his features. The fear in your eyes during the last encounter was seared into his memory. Had his previous outburst irreparably damaged any chance of reconciliation? The conflicting forces of his desire to see you again and the instinct to flee wrestled within him. Yet, he pressed forward, forcing himself down the street, and there you stood.

The scene that greeted him was a chaotic masterpiece of colors. Paint adorned your cheeks and arms, a testament to the artistic fervor that consumed you. Your hair, a cascade of untamed strands, framed a face that mirrored both exhaustion and creative passion. Astarion had a sudden urge to brush the strands away and press a soft kiss to your cheek, something he often did with Tav.

Your weariness was palpable—shoulders slumped, eyes half-lidded. Perhaps, he pondered, he should postpone this encounter, allowing you the reprieve of rest. The realization that he might be the last person you wanted to see compelled Astarion to take a step back, an unspoken retreat.

But just as he moved to leave, your eyes jumped up to meet his, you froze mid-stroke, and Astarion couldn’t read your expression. He should go. Why did he think this was a good idea? He’s just about to run when you nod for him to come in. Obliging, Astarion found himself standing awkwardly within the studio; you went back to painting. Your brush danced across the canvas, applying a vibrant shade of blue in deliberate strokes. Astarion’s attempts to break the silence faltered, his words dissolving into the room’s stillness.

“What are you doing here, Astarion?” The steadiness in your voice pierced the calm. You tried to hold on to your anger for the man all week. But upon seeing him standing so lost on the street had your resolve crumbling. You can’t deny the mild excitement that fluttered through your veins upon seeing him again.

His voice, momentarily lost, found its way back. “I-I came here to apologize for last week. My behavior was deplorable, and I wish to make things right.”

A wry amusement flickered in your eyes as you evaluated the bouquet, now slightly worse for wear under his tight grip. “And you believe a bundle of broken daisies would win you my forgiveness?”

Astarion, caught off guard, looked down at the bruised bouquet. “Um…well, I was hoping for roses, but they were fresh out.”

A snort escaped you as you put down your paintbrush and approached him. A tentative touch on his forearm transferred the flowers from his grasp to yours, eliciting a shiver down his spine. The longing to reach out is strong, but Astarion holds still as you retreat.

Intently studying the daisies, you began to divide the bundle into two piles. Astarion watched silently, recognizing echoes of Tav’s essence reflected in your actions. While understanding that you were not Tav, the profound sorrow gripping his heart seemed to ease in your presence.

“Half,” you declared suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Half of the daisies survived.”

“And where does that leave us?”

With a theatrical flair, you pondered the question, pacing the room. “That, good sir, is the question. What is my forgiveness worth? I did luck out; daisies are my favorite, so you’re a step farther than roses would have gotten you.”

Astarion, grasping the playful undertone, decided to play along. With a hand on his hips and a wicked smirk, he responded, “Well, I am a pretty lucky man. Now, please, I beg, what more can I do to gain your forgiveness?”

You hummed softly, tapping your chin. You keep Astarion in suspense for a moment before you suddenly turn to the man. “How about…I get dressed, you take me out to dinner, and we’ll go from there?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” The agreement hung in the air, a hope for something more lingering.

***

The dinner evolved into an evening stroll, a seamless transition from pleasant chatter to playful banter. It was an unexpected evening, but the time spent with Astarion was so easy, so familiar you didn’t want it to end. Reading about the saviors of Baldur’s Gate was intriguing, and dreaming of a vampiric elf held its allure, but nothing compared to the tangible presence of the real Astarion.

Astarion embodied the epitome of perfection – handsome, intelligent, and endowed with a wit that had you giggling all night. He was the quintessential gentleman, the embodiment of every mother’s hopeful wish for their child.

What started as a single date quickly snowballed into a series of enchanting encounters – one date led to two, then five, until you found yourself drawn into his orbit every week. The pace was exhilarating, and being around Astarion felt like being charged with an electric current. It was not just addictive; it was a whirlwind of happiness, and you couldn’t help but revel in it.

If one indulged in whimsical tales, the idea that Astarion might be your soulmate would have crossed your mind. His ability to read you so intimately sometimes felt like he delved into the depths of your mind.

The dreams persisted, evolving into a kaleidoscope of memories that intertwined your moments with Astarion and a phantom era where someone else shared his company. Astarion, at times, would cast glances at you as you transferred another dream to canvas, an anticipation lingering in his eyes. Despite his attempts, he couldn’t veil the disappointment when the visions resulted in nothing more than another painting adorning the wall.

Then, it occurred on a serene spring day, three years since Astarion first entered your studio. The sun had yet to set, and you found solace curled up with Astarion. Limbs tangled, chests pressed together, hands intertwined – a tableau of intimate connection. His cold nose nestled against the crook of your neck, his white curls playfully tickling your nose.

Behind your closed eyelids, soft images of a forest clearing unfolded – Astarion shirtless, beckoning you towards him. Something clicked, and suddenly, the foreign memories that greeted you each night became a mosaic of your own experiences. The floodgates opened, overwhelming you with a lifetime of moments – kisses beneath the stars, laughter resonating around a campfire, and heart-stopping close calls with death.

Astarion often spoke of Tav, a robust and kind soul who played a pivotal role in shaping him. He wouldn’t be who he is today without them. You now knew a bit better; yes, you had nudged him along the way, but his growth was his own, and you couldn’t be more proud. To think of the years he spent without you, the grief he must have had to push through. If the roles were reversed, you don’t believe you would have been strong enough to keep going.

Startled from his slumber, Astarion found your body descending upon his, your hand meeting his chest with firm slaps. “Stop you, little gremlin.” Groggily, he attempted to restrain you in a tender embrace. He was met with your swift departure from his lap. He heard the patter of your feet retreating from the bed.

“You are a bastard, Astarion!”

Fully alert and by your side instantly, “What did I do, my sweet?”

Worry etched into every crease of his face as he cupped your jaw, looking frantically into your eyes. You intertwined your fingers with his, your other hand reaching out to caress the skin of his hip. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Astarion scrutinized your face, his eyes delving deep into yours. The faintest furrow of his brows betrayed his thoughts. As if following an unspoken script, he pulled you in by the waist, foreheads gently meeting.

Glistening with unshed tears, Astarion whispered, “You remember?” His voice trembled.

“Yes… maybe it’s all still tangled. But yes, I remember Tav – well, I remember us.”

Astarion’s smile widened, his fangs peeking out, and his lips met yours in a heated kiss spinning the two of you around the room. It was a slow dance of lips as if Astarion had all the time in the cosmos to savor this moment. While you could quickly lose yourself in the embrace, you were privy to all his subtle tricks. You turned your face when he attempted to draw you back into the kiss.

“Gods, Astarion, for three years, you knew and never said anything. I’ve painted you for almost as long as I could wield a brush, and for three years, you knew why!” Another slap graced his chest, and tears trickled down your cheeks, eagerly wiped away by his thumbs.

“I wanted to, my love. The moment I realized I wanted to. But this couldn’t be rushed; you can’t rush the mind.”

“Star, I’m so sorry I took so long,”

“No, stop; you took as long as you needed to return to me.” His forehead rests against yours once more, and the room stands still for a moment. “What matters is you’re here, in my arms, and I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

A choked sob mingled with a chuckle, and you nuzzled closer into Astarion, hiding your face into his neck. “Gods, I love you, Astarion.”

“And I love you.”

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Okay loves, let me know what you think. I've been working on this for over a week and still find some sections I'm not all that happy with, but I want to move on to other pieces. Any and every interaction makes my day.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #reader insert #astarion imagine #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion #fanfic #writing #soulmates #soulmate au #reincarnation #frantic fiction

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chinesehanfu · 2 months ago

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[Hanfu · 漢服]The past and present of "eating mooncakes during the Mid-Autumn Festival"

As the Mid-Autumn Festival/Zhong Qiu Jie 中秋节 is coming, let us learn how “mooncakes/月饼” became an iconic traditional food of the Mid-Autumn Festival

🌕🥮Mooncake/月饼🥮🏮

A mooncake (simplified Chinese: 月饼; traditional Chinese: 月餅) is a Chinese bakery product traditionally eaten during the Mid-Autumn Festival (中秋節).The festival is primarily about the harvest while a legend connects it to moon watching, and mooncakes are regarded as a delicacy. Mooncakes are offered between friends or on family gatherings while celebrating the festival. The Mid-Autumn Festival is widely regarded as one of the four most important Chinese festivals.

Mooncakes were originally used as offerings to worship the moon god.

Worshiping the moon is a very old custom in China. It is actually a worship activity for the "moon god" by the ancients. Eating mooncakes and appreciating the moon during the Mid-Autumn Festival are indispensable customs for celebrating the Mid-Autumn Festival in all parts of China. Mooncakes symbolize reunion. People regard them as festive food, use them to worship the moon, and give them to relatives and friends.

Cultural relics believed to be the predecessor of mooncakes were unearthed:

<China Tang Dynasty Baoxiang flower-patterned mooncakes/宝相花月饼>⬇️

Mooncakes, traditionally offered as a tribute to the Moon Goddess, have a long and rich history. The term "mooncake" was first recorded in the Southern Song Dynasty in Wu Zimu’s <梦梁录/Meng Liang Lu>.

Over time, mooncakes merged with various regional culinary traditions, giving rise to different styles such as Cantonese, Shanxi, Beijing, Suzhou, Chaozhou, and Yunnan mooncakes, all of which are beloved by people across China：

Mooncakes truly became associated with the Mid-Autumn Festival during the Ming Dynasty. In the writings of Liu Ruoyu 刘若愚, a eunuch during the reigns of the Wanli and Chongzhen emperors, he mentioned in his prison work Zhuozhong Zhi 《酌中志》(Vol. 20, "Brief Record of Culinary Preferences"): “八月宫中赏秋海棠、玉簪花。自初一日起，即有卖月饼者。加以西瓜、藕，互相馈送。西苑鹿藕。至十五日，家家供月饼瓜果，候月上焚香后，即大肆饮啖，多竟夜始散席者。如有剩月饼，仍整收于干燥风凉之处，至岁暮合家分用之，曰‘团圆饼’也”

Translation：

"In August, the palace having event appreciates autumn crabapple blossoms. From the first day of the month, mooncakes are sold,it accompanied by watermelons and lotus roots, and are exchanged as gifts.By the fifteenth day, every household offers mooncakes and fruits in worship, waiting for the moon to rise before burning incense and feasting lavishly, with some gatherings lasting all night. If there are leftover mooncakes, they are stored in a dry and cool place until the end of the year, when the whole family shares them, calling them 'reunion cakes.'

In the Qing Dynasty, there were books that detailed the methods of making mooncakes. For example, Zeng Yi, a female writer and female doctor in the late Qing Dynasty, recorded the "Method of Making Crisp Mooncakes" in her book "Zhongkuilu": "Use white ash flour, half of which is steamed in a steamer, and no water vapor is seen; the other half is raw, and kneaded with lard and cold water. Then, mix the steamed flour with lard. Use a ball of raw oil flour, and wrap a small ball of cooked oil flour inside; use a rolling pin to roll it into a cup-sized shape, fold it into a square; roll it into a ball again, and fold it into a square again; then wrap the filling. Use a cake stamp to stamp it, and put it on the stove to cook. For the oil-flavored filling, use cooked flour, sugar, walnuts, etc., and add a little sesame oil, so that it will not fall apart." The method is very similar to today's Suzhou-style mooncakes.

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🧚🏻‍Production & Model/Makeup：@曾嚼子

🔗Xiaohongshu:https://www.xiaohongshu.com/discovery/item/66e66ef70000000026033df2

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#chinese hanfu #hanfu #Mid-Autumn Festival #Zhong qiu jie #中秋节 #mooncake #Chinese traditional food #Chinese Traditional Festivals #Chinese history #hanfu accessories #china #chinese

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comfortless · 8 months ago

Note

I already sent you an ask today so hiiii

(Alright so now I hopefully have your attention, imagine: ancient settling, mercenary könig is made prisoner and enslaved and reader, a cute noble girl, buys him to ☆have fun☆. He doesn't mind at all.)

Have a good day!

anon whoever you are… every message that you have sent has been like you putting a clawing animal in my brain. all of these concepts are so good. sorry it took me a bit to get around to this one. <:•)

captured mercenary! König x noblewoman! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. medieval au (so: gender role nonsense), slightly mean slightly pathetic König, very brief mentions of violence/beheading, masturbation.

“That one.”

You hear yourself speak without thought. Your voice is shy, almost. It’s unbecoming of your station to seem so meek… even as you eye the men lined up before you like cattle prepped for slaughter.

Prisoners, they were. All apart from the one you had chosen would be little more than toys for the executioner after what they’ve done: to think that such a little band of mercenaries would even be planning for a siege… ridiculous. Most of the men have already had their hair cut cleanly away from their necks in preparation for the blade that would be slicing past each vertebrae and layer of muscle to chop away their heads.

This one is saved only because he’s been stripped of his armors, and though his face is rather rugged… there’s strength beneath his skin and such a deep misery in his eyes it sets your chest ablaze with pity. He could be useful, a willing servant if you could only save him from what terrible thing haunts him.

Maybe it’s the old wounds that flare his skin with the raised flesh of scar tissue, perhaps it’s the harelip or the wild thing set between his thighs where he’s forced to kneel. It catches your eye, that last one…

The prisoner’s jaw sets when your finger does point his way, blue eyes narrow just a fraction as realization settles in the pit of his stomach. No freedom to be garnered here, no love, nothing but that blade he had intended to use against you sworn to you instead. If the giant spit at your feet then, it would be expected, welcomed almost with the way your chest roars with sympathy.

He only stares.

You pay off his captors with a few silver coins and watch as they lead him bound to your side. His arms are tied too tightly before him, muscles slack with exertion after trying to fight the ropes for what must have been hours. Whether he sees you as savior or something revolting remains unknown. He doesn’t speak, not even as a servant leads him into the back of your carriage and you step inside after him, holding up the middle of your gown as to not sully it with the dirt and old blood splattered over the stones layered for street.

When the horses begin to move you give the man a proper once over, hiding your smile beneath a handkerchief, free hand curled into the lap of your skirts. He’s not just tall and broad, but incredibly well endowed. Not just sad and downtrodden, but pissed, though the only tell remains his shaking fists. His gaze never meets yours for longer than a moment before it settles back to gaze at the passing tall grass and sheep prancing about the fields, but each time that it does… there is no denying the mixture of confusion, maybe even attraction upon his face.

Your home was something this giant had never had a taste of prior to you: a castle atop a hill, charming and stone with its high ramparts and blunt roof. You didn’t need his confirmation in words, though you do ask and get nothing in turn.

The carriage pulls you right through the gate and it is almost cute the way that this man’s eyes seem to wander as he takes it all in. There are other servants tending to the sheep and horses, the smell of fire and the chiming of blade meeting blade ringing out as men spar, there are cats to keep away pests and modest but cozy homes, a tavern, an inn all beyond the wall. A small city of your own: all for the perfect little noblewoman that you were.

The only thing that you lacked was the trained sword of a man to ensure your safety, and now you had that, too.

You explain to him his place here, the role that he would take for the price you paid as you both disembark from the wooden carriage. He would be fitted for armor donning your family’s crest come the morning, whipped into obedience should he dare raise a hand toward any one here. You even think to warn him of the executioner’s sloppy work, how he may even live with his head chopped only halfway off should you request it…. some horror you had heard one of the travelers speak of.

As the weeks pass, König does begin to settle immensely. His speech is disjointed and parsed, his mother tongue muddled with your own language in a way that is cute… terribly, horribly cute.

He’s intelligent and strong: spends much of his time out amongst the lower men aiding with the animals and teaching them the deft way he swings his blade. It is an art form in its own right, the way that he paints the air with swift strokes… For a woman to fawn over a man’s swordplay was absurd, but it was impossible not to enjoy when he taunts and jabs the way that he does.

He rarely wears that armor the blacksmith crafted for him, both a flattery and an insult. You don’t mind watching him best smaller men in solely his trousers, pressing their faces into the muck while he barks his insults to them in words they can not understand. To you, now, when he flashes the most beastly of grins in your direction and utters the words, “Verpiss dich.”

You aren’t even certain why you stand there rather than hissing out orders to have him taken away. Your stupid corset feels too tight, gown too small, and your chest aches. There's not been a thing you could do to have this man do more than simply tolerate you. He sleeps within his own room in the castle, eats his fill and then some, you talk to him and layer your words with praise. He has not once been punished for anything. Not even now.

“Come here,” you demand without thought, walking down the staircase to cross the yard with your hands balled into delicate fists at your sides.

Your giant only looks confused for a moment as he clambers off of the man he’s just wrestled to the earth and rights himself. His eyebrows raise, his nostrils flare… and then he laughs. At you like you’re the most puny of rabbits, hardly a threat. Your betters would have laughed too at just how fragile you sound, on the cusp of tears over what? Some ridiculous little crush on a captive soldier??

He eventually does as you ask, stomping over to stand before you- not kneel, he never knelt. If his height and stature were meant to intimidate… your god would have to forgive the thoughts that muddle your head then, like filthy water as you drink him in.

“Was…?”

So you explain to him as best you can just how insolent he’s being, how horribly he repays your kindness, how he would be dead on some shrouded mountain pass or have his body tossed into the river if not for you. You explain your heart out when tears come to your eyes and spring forth as your chittering continues, and you don’t even know if the moron can understand; he only stands there with the wildest grin on his face when he sees you beginning to sniffle and sob.

“Was?,” he demands again, blunt even as he takes your face into one of his large hands, turns your head to brush a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Why are you crying?”

“You need to learn your place!” And you know you’re being a hypocrite, that a proper lady should never allow a man to touch her like this, look at her the way that König does. You should call for a servant to have him dragged through the yard and whipped… or worse, but your voice only comes in a crestfallen whisper.

He shrugs those massive shoulders, rolls his neck and huffs a breath as he gazes down at you before his hand falls to his side and he merely walks away. That’s it.

Though you had the hopes that your warning had been taken seriously, the days following seem even worse.

König abandons his duties and takes up the most horrendous idea of courtship that he can muster. If courtship is even what it could be considered. It is more like a direct taunt, a jab now that he’s been made perfectly aware just how fragile the maiden he was sold to guard is.

He takes liberties once you’ve bedded down each night, your dresses stripped away to be replaced with a plain linen gown with nothing beneath: your only protection in the form of the wooden door between you two because König is no protector.

It always starts with the sound of spitting into his palm, then a drawn out sigh that rises to a near-animalistic groan. Sometimes he speaks, other times the soft, wet sounds rise in tempo until all that comes from his mouth are sharp hisses and whines.

This night proves to be the worst.

The wood creaks under his weight as he leans back against the door, stroking himself to the thought of you behind it. He makes it apparent when he breathes your name, low and shaky as you squeeze your eyes closed and pretend to not hear the words that follow.

“Scheiße… bet you’re tight,” he hisses between his depraved whimpers, the slick sounds increasing even as he rights himself to stand proper. You can almost hear the way he salivates, can almost imagine the way his jaw must fall slack and his eyes go dazed as he pleasures himself… you squeeze your thighs shut.

“Ja… you want it too, huh…” The bastard is most assuredly imagining you, knelt before him with the most helpless, reverent gaze as you plead for him. It should make you ill, yet it only stokes a fire in your belly, one that bridges between rage and need. “Ich will dich ficken…”

Your breath comes to a halt when your hand drifts beneath your thin gown, forcing yourself to listen as he brings himself to ruin in the halls as your finger presses to the spot that demands attention most of all. A fragile, shaking circle before your breath already begins to catch.

“Bitte…”

The brute sounds so helpless now, no longer the horrid thing that ordered you to “piss off” or scowled in your direction. He doesn’t know a thing about love… about how one should yearn for a maiden, only of spilling blood and seed. It’s only in the quiet of the night when the rest of the castle sleeps does he allow himself to be even this vulnerable… only his vulnerability seems even more terrifying.

His groans morph into pitiful sighs as he no doubt slows his motions, drawing out an impending orgasm in the hope that you will crawl to your door to let him in and fuck you rough on your bed.

“Just let me…”

Your thighs tremble as you weep between them in longing. The sooner it’s over the sooner you can close your eyes and drift back to sleep, no longer needing him the way he seems to need you now.

Your motions grow more heady, the patterns traced quicker and more deliberate as the heat rushes down further like the most vast wave of pure fire… When you tense, when your lips part to allow a low murmur of pleasure to slip from them, you’re met with laughter from the other side of the door.

“Ja… my lady… you do want it,” he hums as you draw your covers up and over your head in shame. You hadn’t been that loud, surely… but the way that he follows after, coming undone himself with a loud grunt as though it were some ridiculous competition…

“Let me fuck you next time,” he rasps, panting soft as he leans back. Depraved as he was, you were certain he was probably admiring the pearly paint he left along the stones. “That is my place, hm?”

#könig x reader #konig x reader

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aurora-starwars · 2 years ago

Text

Betrayal Is An Inherent Part Of Love

Pairing: Sully Family, Metkayina Clan, Ao’nung x fem!Sully!reader

Summary: Reader finds her place in the Metkayina clan, as well as something more

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: angst, swearing? brief mentions of mating

A/n: The awaited part 2! Thanks for waiting as well as all of the support on the first one! Also, I didn’t proof read it, might do that later. Anyway I put a lot of time an effort into this! Enjoy! <333

Part 1: Betrayal Is The Only Truth That Sticks

Masterlist

[Name] tried to rid all thoughts from her head as she took a sharp turn around a coral covered rock. If she wanted to win this race, she would have to stay focused. She signalled her Ilu to take another sharp turn to avoid one of the other racers. Manoeuvring out of the way, she watched as the Metkayina girl beside her caught up. Making a quick move, her Ilu crossed directly in front of the other girl, cutting her off. The girl’s Ilu was spooked, causing the girl to slow down leaving [Name] to get ahead.

The races had started pretty soon after [Name] was accepted in to the group, and since then have only become more competitive. The first few races were just for fun, another thing to do in spare time. But as the months went on, the races had become more of a proof of skill. A way to prove that you were better than others and to show who was best rider in the reef.

[Name] knew the path like the back of her hand and every precise turn reflected that. Her movements were quick but smooth, helping her move through the path with speed. [Name] would pass other riders and rocks swiftly, not fearing when she was only inches away from obstacles.

As she looked over to her left, she found Ao’nung’s quick movements matching her own. Now just barely a head, his Ilu blocked her vision as the path narrowed. She had to move by memory, her sharp turns were reliant on the movement of his body and her memory alone. As she struggled to match his movements, her mind flickered to the feeling of the water.

Even when rushing in her face, [Name] found herself at home within the sea. The warm waters of the Metkayina have brought her great happiness over the past few months. Only a few months less than a year ago, she was still tormented by the separation she felt from her family. It had only been when the kids of the Metkayina took her in that she finally learned what family felt like.

Over the last few months, she had finally felt free from the prison in her mind. A prison she was backed into when she was just a young child begging for love she would not receive. She had become best friends with many of the Metkayina kids, choosing to spend time with them instead of her family. And when that caused tension in the Sully family, her friends were there to save her, welcoming her into their homes.

Although [Name] never need to stay in other’s houses, for the day that [Name] finally turned her back on the family that had neglected her, was the same day that Ao’nung’s parents, Ronal and Tonowari, let her in their family.

[Name] was never alone from that point, never left to tame the demons in her mind on her own. No, from that point on, the entirety of the clan had given their attention and love to [Name]. Even just from the Metkayina kids telling their parents, majority of the clan had known of the crimes of the Sully family. Although they tried not to show their feelings towards the Sully family, the stares always seemed to slip out when a Sully member was in [Name]’s general vicinity.

The protective nature of the Metkayina clan over [Name] made her heart warm, like a warm dish on a cold night. Although [Name] appreciated the Metkayina clan as a collective, she enjoyed individuals of the Metkayina clan even more.

[Name]’s friends had loved her from the start, even before they met when she was just beginning to learn their ways. [Name]’s genuine interest and quick skill was intriguing to them. But as the time went on, it was really her personality and kindness that kept them coming back for more.

Ao’nung made a sharp turn into an open area, catching [Name] off guard. It only took a short beat before [Name] realized that this open area was the last stretch of the race. In a quick jerk, [Name] moved her Ilu beside Ao’nung’s, her mind focusing on the finish line. The line was really just two rocks that the Ilu’s would swim between, but it meant so much more as their friends not in the race floated around the rocks, waiting to see who was the winner.

The race was close, Ao’nung and [Name] swimming side-by-side. [Name]’s Ilu creeping in front of Ao’nung’s was enough for determination to flood Ao’nung’s face. He broke into a grin and as they approached the finish line, Ao’nung’s Ilu darted forward, taking the place of [Name]’s between the rocks. Only when Ao’nung’s Ilu started to slow in front of her, did [Name] realize that they had passed the finish line.

Fists pumped in the water and the muffled sound of cheers bubbled from around them. The feeling of adrenaline started to wane as [Name] looked around her. Ao’nung was looking at her with a very familiar look to [Name], a grin plastered on his face.

Ao’nung had won.

As the group made it to the surface, the cheering only got louder, and the shouting of Ao’nung’s name became clear. Even as they were applauding his name, Ao’nung’s eyes stayed firmly placed on [Name], his smirk not wavering as [Name] stare right back at him. Other’s started to pop their heads out of the water as other racers completed the race. A few of the Na’vi not racing, began clapping the racer’s backs, telling them how well they did. A few close to Ao’nung did that to him as well, but his eyes stayed locked on [Name]’s.

[Name] rolled her eyes before smirking. Ao’nung, as stubborn as always, never gave up, did he? The water rippled around them, evidence that there were still people around them and not just the two of them in their own world. As Ao’nung’s amused expression remained, [Name] let out a light hearted huff, shaking her head.

“Good game. You beat me,” [Name] said, trying to keep some level of maturity as she felt her competitive nature creep up.

She never was able to be competitive as a kid, never able to compete really. If there was a competition for her parent’s affection and attention, she lost the moment her siblings were born. Out of the running, benched as she would watch her family grow from the sidelines. But ever since being accepted as a member of the Metkayina clan, she had been learning new things about herself that she was never able to explore before.

“You’re right. I did beat you. Again,” Ao’nung was practically beaming, his face smug from the prospect of beating one of the clan’s best racers.

“Ugh, just barley, if that girl hadn’t cut me off, I would have won,” [Name] stated as matter of fact, chin tilting up in defiance. No way was she going to let this go to Ao’nung’s head.

“And I have been the one winning the past few races, so I don’t know what you’re on about,” [Name] added.

“Sure, but I won the last race and I have won again,” Ao’nung smirked at her for what felt like the hundredth time.

[Name] punched Ao’nung’s arm half-heartedly as she rolled her eyes, “Yes, whatever. You have won this time, but know that I will win the next,” [Name] smirked, eyebrows furrowing into as serious look as she pointed at Ao’nung.

Ao’nung only put his arms in the air, a look of smug disbelief painted across his face, “You will try, but I think second place suits you just fine.”

The sun beating down on them was warm and the water, calm. The ripples that were previously cause by the people around, were calmer and there was less splashing. One quick look around told [Name] that most of the riders were retreating back to the village after a long day.

“I guess you will have The Spear of Yora’tu (winners) for the next week,” [Name] smirked, already knowing Ao’nung’s reaction as she has seen it before.

Ao’nung’s eyes light up, puffing out his chest slightly as he smiled at the reminder.

The Spear of Yora’tu (Spear of Winners) was something the racers came up with a few months into the races. Racing had never been an official thing and so there was no official prize. That was until Ao’nung fought off an Akula, a ferocious and sharp toothed predator that swan just outside of the reef, with the spear. Since then, many in the tribe, including [Name], were able to fight off a predator with it.

Spear was then named for it’s incredible luck and they deemed that the Spear could only be earned by winning an Ilu race. So, since then they have been competing for the spear, which in itself would be enough of a prize, even if it didn’t come with bragging rights.

Ao’nung was known for holding the Spear the longest, though [Name] was always giving him a run for his money. And once again Ao’nung had won it, meaning that he would not let her live it down for the next few days.

“Ah, yes. Proof that I am a winner and better than you,” Ao’nung teased.

[Name] couldn’t help but laugh at that. It hadn’t taken much to get [Name] to laugh at Ao’nung’s jokes lately, however stupid.

Warm wind blew softly by them, blowing their wet hair so gentle it seemed Eywa was caressing them herself. [Name] took a deep breath, eyes closing as she experienced the warm wind around her. Ao’nung was left to watch her, his smirk fading into a small smile as he watched the beautiful girl in front of him.

Ao’nung found it almost a shame that [Name] was never taught in the ways of the Tsahik. Even though she should have been taught simply because of her heritance, the way she experienced the world around her felt as if Eywa flowed right through her. As she breathed in the air, [Name] looked as if she was breathing in the life of the world and had never felt more at peace because of it.

The soft look on Ao’nung’s face was almost a perfect refection of his thoughts.

A thought crossed his mind and Ao’nung decided to voice it, “Do you wanna explore the reef some more tomorrow? Maybe end at the beach?”

[Name] looked at his soft expression with confusion, although she didn’t show it. It wasn’t often that Ao’nung showed his soft side, in fact, [Name] was quite sure she was one of few who had. Tsireya, his sister, had, having been comforted after she got her queue caught on some coral. It was a touching moment that [Name] felt she should not have seen but seeing Ao’nung wrapped his arms around his sister as tears fell from her face, made [Name] feel soft and warm inside. A feeling she could describe as comforting.

But besides his sister, [Name] had hardly seen that expression on Ao’nung, as usually choose to grin or glare. The first time she had ever seen that face was when she had won her first Ilu race. Ao’nung wouldn’t stop telling everyone about how the forest girl won against even the best, for weeks. She didn’t understand it, but she did welcome the feeling she got every time Ao’nung started boasting about her to the other members of the clan.

“That sounds fun! Who’s all coming?” [Name] smiled, ignoring the soft look on his face, or how he was staring in her eyes like she was the only one he has ever seen.

“Oh, it was just going to be us,” Ao’nung explained, his soft look dropped only to be replaced by another smirk.

After a moment of thought, [Name] smiled, “Well, I am in. How could I turn down quality time with you?” [Name] smirked, her teasing hanging in the air, waiting for someone to make a move.

“You just can’t get enough of me, who wouldn’t want to hang out with me?” Ao’nung laughed. [Name] rolled her eyes again, holding in her own laugh, as they made their way back to the village.

Only a few hours later, [Name] found herself in a circle with some of her friends, girls of the Metkayina clan. She carefully guided them through the process of weaving flower crowns, just like she taught Tuk all those years ago. The goal was for them to make them for their families as gifts, as many of the girls had fathers, brothers and mates who were out all day hunting and protecting the seawall and wished to convey their appreciation.

This wasn’t the first day [Name] had taught them, only a few weeks prior she had been trying to teach them when Ao’nung challenged a boy to a race again, and [Name] and many of the girls could not miss that.

Since that day though, the girls had been practicing their skills, impressing [Name], who was more than proud to hear of this. The girls in the circle now were refining their skills, using them to make personal crowns for the ones they loved. [Name] thought the way the personalized them were brilliant. She had never thought to weave shells and pretty beads into the crowns using beading techniques, and she was excited to experiment.

“All I am saying, is that if he really cared he would approach you about it,” One of the girls told the girl beside her as she added a blue flower to her crown.

Mumbles of agreement sounded from around the circle, all seemingly deciding that that was the end of that argument. It was silent for a moment, only the sounds being of hands hard at work weaving and waves crashing next to them.

Then one girl piped up, looking at [Name], “I think I know the answer, [Name], but has anything gotten better with your family?”

All of the girls seemed become somber at that thought. They had seen [Name] around and they knew that things had not gotten better, in fact, the might have become worse. The Sully family was leaving their marui less and less, and they knew that [Name] blamed herself, as much as she didn’t want to think about it.

“No, no it hasn’t,” [Name] sighed, she had thought about this a lot. Even after separating herself from them and creating a new life for herself that she loved, she still felt guilty and responsible for the family she grew up with.

The girls around her muttered words of comfort, and the girls beside her held her hands and shoulders.

“They don’t deserve you, you deserve better.”

“Yeah, you’re with us now.”

“And we love having you around!”

“Of course, look what you have taught us,” One girls said, holding up her crown. “We thought we were just going to teach you.”

The girls nodded eagerly at each of the statements as if they believed them whole heartedly. [Name] smiled, looking at all of the faces that loved her very much. After a moment of comforting from the girls, they began to weave their crowns again and one of the girls made a move to change the subject.

“How are you and Ao’nung?” She questioned, [Name] would have said innocently, but as the girl started to smirk, she thought otherwise.

“What about me and Ao’nung?” [Name] hesitantly, wondering if this was going the way she thought it was going.

“How has courting each other been?”

Giggles sounded around the circle, smirks finding their way on many of the girl’s faces.

“What do you mean? We are not courting each other,” [Name] questioned, her eyes wide in alarm, blood rushing to her cheeks, did they think that they were courting eachother?

Choruses of gasps of shock and mumbles of ‘what?’ erupted from around her. [Name] was met with the prospect that others thought there was something going on between her and Ao’nung. Why did others see this but not her? Honestly, [Name] though they were going to ask if [Name] had a crush on Ao’nung, and was surprised that it seemed they had skipped that step.

“You mean to tell us that all this dancing around you have done, is unintentional?” Another of the girls asked, visibly perplexed.

“I mean, I thought we were just good friends…” [Name] muttered to herself, but the girls heard.

The thought did cross [Name]’s mind, that maybe she didn’t really know the difference between friends and something more, Ao’nung being her first friend and all. What if the comfort [Name] found in Ao’nung was mutual?

“Why did you think we were courting each other?” [Name] just had to ask, had to be sure.

“Are you kidding? We see how you two act around each other, like you can’t get enough of each other,” A girl started.

“Like you two are the only ones in the ocean,” One of the girls finished.

“Really?” [Name] felt that familiar warm feeling in her stomach. “I would have thought there was a better, Metkayina girl for him.”

The girls erupted in a laugh again. A good feeling, hearty laugh from the stomach at the idea of Ao’nung having anyone else ‘better’ for him.

As one of the girls started to come down from her laughter, she put her hand on [Name]’s shoulder, “Look, I love all of the girls of the Metkayina clan, except for Tseiie, can’t stand her,” The other girls giggled at that, knowing of her discontent for that girl. “But everybody knows that there is nobody better for Ao’nung than you.”

Another wave of nodding occurred, as well as mumbles of agreement.

“I don’t know about everyone…" [Name] reasoned, not believing that the entirety of the clan believed that [Name] was best for the leader’s son.

“No, it is everyone. Every girl and their mother knows that you are the best for him.”

“We have seen you two, he is so much nicer to everyone when you’re around.”

“Not to mention how nice he is to you.”

“When you first became friends, he actually started to be nicer. Like, not bullying people!”

“Yeah, that was nice.”

“And to think that is all because of you.” One of the girls threw the back of her hand on her forehead and pretended to faint.

[Name] sat there looking at all the girls confirming the situation with Ao’nung as truth, her face hot and flushed. [Name] hardly knew what to think, everyone thought Ao’nung and [Name] should be together? Her best friend, the one who took her in when her family failed, the man who had unknowingly carried her heart so gently for months. They were best for each other? [Name] found herself smiling at the thought, after coming second in the race, who knew that this day could get better?

“Even the Tsahik, interrupter of Eywa, his mother, thinks that nobody is better for her son than you,” One of the girls whispered, making the whole circle smile like madmen.

“Their whole family thinks you are perfect for one another.”

[Name]’s flushed a deep red at that. It was one thing for the clan to think they should get together, but his parents? The Tsahik? The implications of that were on an whole other level. [Name] had begun to think about how maybe they could court each other. Being the son of the leaders, and [Name] being the daughter of outsiders, she didn’t think it could ever happen. Never allowed to be. But after hearing about the clan as well as the leaders hoping for them to be, [Name] couldn’t help but hope for mutual feelings from Ao’nung.

Ao’nung’s parents had been nothing but loving since the day her family cornered [Name]. After finally leaving her family, Ao’nung brought [Name] back to his family’s marui, where he explained to his parents what had happened. His parents were more than happy to let [Name] into their home. That night was spent sharing shed tears and comforting on another. From that day on, [Name] stayed with Ao’nung’s family and they loved her like one of their own.

Ronal’s love really solidified when [Name] offered to help her and Tsireya with their tasks and chores. At first, Ronal was unsure but as she watched [Name] help her daughter, staying kind and caring even when things got stressful, Ronal found herself wondering how anyone could forget about [Name].

[Name] smiled at the thought of finally having a family who loved her. After a moment of the circle of weaving flower crowns, [Name] decided to share her plans for the next day.

“Ao’nung asked me to explore the reef with him tomorrow,” [Name] smirked knowing the girls would eager to know more. “And he made sure I knew that we would be alone.”

“What? No way!”

“Oooooo, somebody has a date~” One girl sung.

“You have to tell us everything!” The girls giggled.

[Name] smirked to herself as the girls leaned in to hear her next words.

“He said we would end at the beach just before eclipse.” [Name] whispered, leaning in herself.

“Thats when the sky is the prettiest!”

“You are so lucky, you know? Ao’nung a year ago was the worst.” More giggling sounded from around the circle.

“That is so cute! Do you think he will ask to–”

“They can’t until she has competed Iknimaya.”

[Name] knew what they were talking about. Iknimaya was the rite-of-passages that lead to becoming an adult in the Metkayina clan. [Name] had completed many of them over the last few months with her soul sister, the Tulkun she bonded with, but she hadn’t complete the last one.

Taming a skimwing.

[Name] knew that Ao’nung had already completed this last rite-of-passage and had become an adult in the eyes of the clan. Ao’nung was already eligible for a mate, unfortunately [Name] would not be in the selection if she did not become an adult herself in the eyes of the clan.

“Oh, she will be able to complete it soon. Won’t you [Name]?”

[Name] smiled, focusing back on her flower crown. She planned to complete that very soon.

Kiri hesitantly enters the marui where her family resides. She can see so clearly on their faces the regret and broken hearts. Ever since the day that she, Lo’ak, and Neteyam sought out answers from [Name], they had been a broken family. Kiri wasn’t sure how they were able to miss so much of [Name]’s torment, or how they missed how they were the cause of it. Years of neglect had lead [Name] to find family in the Metkayina rather than her own. Kiri understood now just how much that neglect affected her oldest sister.

It was a shame, Kiri could hardly remember her youth with [Name], and she knew Lo’ak and Neteyam felt the same. Looking through their memories of [Name], one would think that [Name] wasn’t even related, at best a distant cousin. [Name] was a blur in their minds, and after a while of not seeing [Name] around, they began to forget what she looked like. Although one would think that someone could recognized their sibling in a crowd, the only tell that [Name] was their sibling was that she was the only formerly-Omatikaya body in a crowd of Metkayina.

Kiri’s heart hurt every time she watched the familiar blue body of her older sister leave the Olo'eyktan and Tsahik’s marui in the mornings. It wasn’t often that any of the Sully family saw [Name] anymore and because of that, Kiri woke up at the same time every morning to watch [Name] swim off with her friends.

Almost every time she saw [Name], she was reminded of the night [Name] finally severed herself from the family she grew up with. Walking back to their marui had proven difficult as the prospect of telling Tuk of what had happened was enough to break their hearts. Their oldest sister was everything to their youngest sister. It was hard to imagine why they were so close, being that Kiri and her brothers never actually saw Tuk and [Name] hangout, they just knew that they did.

The walk back was slow, their footsteps the whole way heavy, a thousand thoughts wrapping around their heads like a hurricane.

She’s gone. How is she gone? Where did we go wrong? What just happened? How could we forget about her.

Kiri will never forget the look on their parent’s faces when they heard about [Name]. Neytiri dropped to her knees, eyes blown is shock. Jake just stared, still in his place. The three had just walked into the marui, hearing Tuk, Jake, and Neytiri laughing. Laughing that stopped abruptly when they saw the looks on their sibling’s and children’s faces. Expressions that could rival losing a loved one, which, one might suppose they did.

After the initial shock, they all watched as Neytiri brought Tuk close as tears started to stream from her eyes. Between Tuk and Neytiri, there was enough tears to be labeled as a waterfall. Jake didn’t move, stuck in his mind, only coming back to when his two sons came to his side, hugging him tight.

It was difficult to describe the pain that went to their hearts that day. Both from losing [Name], but also from their own personal inadequacies. How in the entirety of Pandora could they forget their oldest daughter. Their daughter who they know was always there for them, even if they didn’t let her. She was always by their side, helping them with whatever they needed. There was a point where [Name] was left to take care of her siblings every time her parents went on dates. [Name] had always had their backs and they stabbed [Name] in hers.

[Name] was the reason Jake and Neytiri wanted more kids. Even from the beginning, [Name] never made a fuss. She was the sweetest child they could hope for, always giggling and smiling at them. As Neytiri was pregnant, they would tell [Name] of how she was to become a sister, and even as a baby, [Name] seemed overjoyed to be an older sibling. Then Neteyam was born and it was like a switch flipped and [Name] no longer was the centre of attention. Sure, she still had some attention, being a baby in all. But as she was nearly a year older than Neteyam, when Neteyam and Kiri turned one, [Name] became an afterthought. Only really being cared for after Neteyam and Kiri.

Jake and Neytiri never meant to overlook their oldest child, but as the years flew by and they gave attentive care to [Name]’s siblings, it became unforgivable. There is a certain point where the neglect becomes intentional. A point when one is no longer able to ignore the fact that it would have been difficult to actively ignore someone you see every day for the first half of their life. If this was accidental, it happened out of a lack of care.

Lo’ak was gutted, not only because of [Name]’s separation from the family, but also because Tsireya stopped talking to him. [Name] had always been there for him, this much he knew. But over the years her face started to fade in his memories, only seeming to have actually hung out with her while they were young. Lo’ak knew that [Name] cared for him, but he couldn’t remember why he knew that. What actions in their past made him believe this about her.

He tried to look back, remember what his older sister was like when they were young. He was born not long after Kiri, and he remembered [Name] being around a lot, taking care of him and giving him her care and attention. [Name] was young as well at the time, but that never stopped her from offering a small hand to Lo’ak when he fell. As the years flew by, Lo’ak remembered less and less of his oldest sister, being as he started to push her away. A truth Lo’ak was finding hard to accept as of late.

Neteyam remembered more than most of his siblings, having been there with [Name] the longest. He remembers learning to hunt and shoot with her, running off in the forest away from Jake who was pretending to be a monster with her. He remembers [Name] fixing his small cuts from falling and placing leaves on his blisters caused by their bows. But much like Lo’ak, his memories of his sister faded as she became a background character in their important lives. Yes, [Name] was always still there, but she felt like a ghost. Only reminder that she was there was her soft movements that would usually head in the direction of the forest.

The two boys were not only upset at her leaving, but at their parents neglect to their oldest sister. They were upset at Ao’nung for taking [Name] from them. And they were upset at themselves for letting their sister become distant and separated from their lives practically their entire lives.

Although everyone took this news to heart, the one that took it the hardest was Tuk. Tuk had always loved [Name], and from the moment she was born [Name] had loved Tuk. Tuk was the first to have experienced [Name]’s matured and more motherly love. Even though [Name] was still young, she was in no way considered a baby, and thus was more than capable to take care of Tuk.

And take care of Tuk she did. Tuk was by far the most loved child, not only because she was the youngest, but because she had [Name]. [Name] was always there to care for her, being pretty much the only other one to hold Tuk when she was young, other than their parents. While Tuk was a baby, [Name] could often be found trying to make her baby sister laugh, entertaining her for hours.

As they grew, the two only grew closer. [Name] taught Tuk everything she knew, and although she knew Tuk was to get a lot more attention than she did, she made sure that Tuk knew she was enough just on her own. Tuk learned about beading, flower crown weaving and the basics of healing from [Name], all things she couldn’t quite do with her tiny hands but enjoyed learning none the less.

Tuk began to hang out with her other siblings more as she grew older, but still always found time to enjoy [Name]’s company. [Name] couldn’t blame her youngest sister for wanting to hang out with her other siblings more, for she wanted that just as much. But [Name] knew that she had tried and there was no reason to continue to bug her siblings further. So she let Tuk run off with Kiri and Spider, and get into trouble with Lo’ak. Lo’ak always the one getting in trouble, even if it was Tuk’s doing.

Tuk remembers the most of her siblings, even more than Neteyam, so when she heard of [Name] not going to be in their lives anymore, Tuk felt as if her heart was pulled out. Tuk, being as young as she was, couldn’t even find a way to communicate her sadness over the loss of her sister. Tears seemed to only stop flowing from her eyes when there were no more tears left to cry. The Sully’s had to make sure she was drinking lots of water being as she almost never stopped crying. They were worried for their youngest, who didn’t stop crying even in her sleep. Tuk’s experience with [Name] was so positive that if Tuk didn’t already have a mother who loved her immensely, she would ask for [Name]’s love as a replacement.

Tuk never wanted to leave the marui, only really doing so to see Ilus. Her family’s attempt at making her feel better, and while it did a little, it only really confirmed just how much damage their neglect had on [Name].

Tuk only really stopped crying when one day Tsireya came by and offered to take Tuk out for the day. Kiri remembers how grateful her family was that Tsireya was giving Tuk an opportunity to get some fresh air and enjoy life again. What Kiri didn’t know, was that Tsireya planned to meet up with [Name].

When Tuk caught sight of [Name], she ran to her with no hesitation. Tuk spent the rest of the day held in [Name]’s arms. The walked on the beach, explored more of the reef and played on Ilus, all while Tuk was firmly wrapped in [Name]’s warm embrace. She didn’t leave her arms for hours, only letting go once it was past eclipse and Tuk knew she should be getting home if she didn’t want to get into trouble.

When Tuk got home, the entire family notice just how much happier Tuk was. The girl finally wasn’t crying every moment.

From then on, it became a regular thing for Tuk hang out with [Name] and her friends for the day, and everyday Tuk would come back home with a smile. Even if someone would ask what has gotten her smiling, she would smile and shrug, not giving any more information.

One day, Tuk came home with a pretty flower crown on her head and her parents along with her siblings were in awe. Kiri remembers one of them asking if Tuk had made the pretty crown that sat comfortably on her head. Tuk only shook her head, stating simply that it was [Name]’s handy work and skipped over to where dinner had been prepared.

Their stomachs dropped, Tuk had been hanging out with [Name]? [Name] let her do that? And when did [Name] become so good at weaving flower crowns? The wondered if Tuk taught her, knowing that Tuk had made them all flower crowns when they were young. Desperate to have their questions answers, they asked Tuk.

“Who taught [Name] to weave? Did you, Tuk?” Neytiri asked, watching her youngest closely as to not miss a sliver of information about their oldest.

“What? No silly. She taught me. [Name] has always been the best weaver in the clan, this clan and the last.” Tuk stated simply, smiling to herself as she thought about all of the beautiful projects [Name] was able to make.

“She taught you? When did she teach you? And when was she taught?” Jake asked, the last part more to himself but everyone else in the marui caught it.

“Of course she taught me! Who else? She taught me a long time ago, remember when we gave you those flowers crowns a while ago? Yeah those were hand made by [Name], I was only able to make two of them. It’s hard with my tiny hands.” Tuk finished, taking a bite of her dinner.

“She made those? We thought you did…” Kiri muttered.

“You think I did? I was like 5.”

“Who taught [Name] then?” Lo’ak asked, eyes furrowed in confusion.

“I don’t think anyone did. I think she has learned a lot of things from watching people. You know, because nobody will teach her,” Tuk explained, taking another big bite of her dinner, of which she seemed to enjoy.

They weren’t sure if Tuk realized it or not, but her statement was a silent dig at their parenting. Parenting that for [Name], didn’t include much teachings. Besides being taught to hunt and use a bow, [Name] was not taught about much else, leaving her to figure it out on her own. If watching people was how she learned, then that really reflected how poorly Jake and Neytiri had been at teaching her.

That night ended cold and sad for the Sully family. The thought of not realizing yet another part of [Name]’s brilliance weighed on them.

It was a bright day in the reefs, the water was warm and the breeze gentle as [Name] and Ao’nung explored the colourful corals and wildlife that the Metkayina clan had to offer. Rounding the corner of a particularly colourful piece of coral, [Name] found herself face to face with a grinning Ao’nung looking at her.

“What?” [Name] signed, slightly worried at his all too happy expression.

“What? I can’t smile?" Ao’nung teased, signing back.

“Not when your smiling like you have something planned,” [Name] signed.

“Why is it that you always think I am up to something?” Ao’nung signed, lifting his brow playfully.

“If you saw your expression right now, you would understand why,” [Name] giggled, watching Ao’nung rolled his eyes playfully.

Only a few hours later, [Name] and Ao’nung found themselves walking on the beach side-by-side. The sun was low, teetering on eclipse, making the bioluminescence of the water and the wildlife glow a marvellous, ethereal light that [Name] was never able to get enough of. Their walk was slow and silent, but brought great comfort to both of them.

Their hands hung by their sides, brushing one another from time to time but neither had the heart to move away or take the chance and grab the other’s hand. [Name] sighed, her mind on the day she left the Sully family.

“I just want to thank you for helping me that day, you know, bringing me into your friend group and all. I have never forgotten that day, and not a day goes by that I don’t appreciate what you have done for me,” [Name] confessed, slowing down to as stop in order to get her message across.

“It’s alright [Name],” Ao’nung begun, stopping next to [Name] before turning to face her.

[Name] cut Ao’nung off before he could continue, “Really. I have no idea where I would be if you and your friends didn’t come to make fun of me that day.”

Ao’nung grimaced at that. Making fun of the girl before him was not something he like to remember.

“It’s really okay, I am glad we are friends.” Ao’nung said in attempts to comfort the girl in front of him. He grabbed her hand gently and guided her to sit next to him on the beach as she continued.

“And everything you have done for me since! You really are the best, thank you so much for all you have done for me,” [Name] spoke earnestly, looking directly in Ao’nung’s eyes, something that caught Ao’nung off guard.

“[Name], I would do it all again a million times if it meant becoming friends with you,” Ao’nung spoke truthfully, that familiar tease in his voice none existent as he gazed into [Name]’s eyes. “I would do it all again in a heartbeat.”

[Name] smiled at his words, watching Ao’nung’s face once again. There was that look again. That look of softness that was oh so rare, sitting perfectly on Ao’nung’s smooth face. A moment went by, the two of them just looking in each other’s eyes. But then [Name]’s mind went back to what she was thankful for, Ao’nung could practically see the shift on her face.

“Thank you so much for all that your family has done as well. Letting me into your home must not have been easy but I am so grateful for all that you and your family have done to make me feel at home.” [Name] began again, she spoke as if this had been weighing on her for a while, and it probably had.

Ao’nung let out an amused huff, shaking his head affectionately, “[Name], please don’t worry about it. We love having you around. Honestly, I think my mother likes you more than me at this point.”

“She does not,” [Name] smiled, shaking her head.

“I’m not even kidding, she will push me aside when you walk in,” Ao’nung joked, but somewhere in [Name]’s gut knew that it was not as much of a joke as Ao’nung was letting on.

“Thank you,” Ao’nung started, catching [Name] completely off guard. “Thank you for coming into our lives and making them better.”

Ao’nung paused for a moment, hesitating on whether or not to continue.

“Thank you for making my life better,” Ao’nung smiled softly, holding both of [Name]’s hands.

[Name] smiled as if she had never been told such beautiful words, and rested her forehead against Ao’nung’s. The sun set behind them, the beauty of pandora finally glowing once again, but [Name] and Ao’nung could only find bliss in each other in this moment.

Less than a week later, [Name] and Ao’nung along with some of their friends, were hanging out in the shallow waters next to a more secluded beach not far from the village. It wasn’t at all private, in fact many of the Metkayina kids favoured hanging out here in their free time. The beach was beautiful, long billowing overhanging trees acting as a sort of cover from the sun and the rare rain, and beautiful naturally growing flowers surrounded the beach.

It had been a long day mostly consisting of chores and teaching [Name] to successfully tame a skimwing. They were readying up for the day she would complete her last iknimaya, which would take place in just over a week. [Name] was excited to become an adult in the eyes of the clan and Eywa but at the same time she was beyond nervous about the whole ordeal. [Name] would manage though, after all she had all of her friends who were more than eager to help her in anyway. Ao’nung even offered to give her a ride on the skimwing he tamed, but [Name] declined as she didn’t want her experience to be different than any other kid in the Metkayina clan.

Regardless, they were taking the night to relax. [Name], Ao’nung and their friends were laughing and joking around all evening, finding humour in even the smallest of things. Even their own laughter was enough to keep them laughing. Some of their friends facing the beach’s laughter died down all of a sudden. Following in suit, [Name] and the others facing their backs to the beach, turned in order to see what was the cause of this sudden seriousness.

But when they turned around they found Lo’ak, Neteyam, and Tuk walking past. There was a moment of silence and that was when the three Sullys noticed the group watching them. The group grabbed [Name]’s shoulders, pulling her close and most importantly, away from her brothers, and sent nasty glares in their direction. Neteyam and Lo’ak’s heads lowered in shame when the noticed the darker blue body among the group. As they walked past, [Name] noticed Tuk looking at her, a familiar longing on Tuk’s face. So as they walked by, almost out of view, [Name] nodded at Tuk for her to join them.

Tuk’s light up, her smile as bright as the sun. She gave Neteyam a small tap that alerted him of her departure and run off to join [Name] and her friends. Tuk ran into the water and splash over until she crashed into [Name], who was more than happy to reciprocate Tuk’s affection. The day ended in smiles and contagious laughter, another good day in the Metkayina clan.

[Name] felt as if she was born ready. Born ready to finally tame a skimwing and become an adult. She had been waiting for this day ever since she started learning the ways of the Metkayina people. Her commitment, dedication, and passion kept her learning, growing, and building her skills. And it had all lead up to this day.

The task was rather simple, get on the skimwing, bond with it, and stay on the skimwing. And that was all she thought about as she moved to tackle the skimwing before her.

As she grabbed on, the skimwing darted forward and [Name] was reminded of Ilu racing. This couldn’t be much different, could it? Her question was quickly answered when she was promptly thrown to the side, [Name] swallowing a gulp of water as she hits the surface. [Name] had no other choice but get back up and try again. A lot was riding on this. If she completed this, if she managed to tame the skimwing, she would be an adult and they would hold a ceremony for her. They had already begun preparing it, already so sure of her awaited success.

[Name] made another quick movement, jumping back on the skimwing. This time she locked her legs around the slippery animal and grabbed both the queues, connecting them. All of a sudden everything became clear. The skimwing settled down, his heartbeat matching with [Name]’s as she felt everything in her body as well as his. With a firm hand on the handle, [Name] commanded the skimwing to move.

She was instantly jutted forward as the skimwing dove into the water. [Name] didn’t think she would be able to hold on, it quickly becoming a struggle. But after a few seconds, she started getting used to the feeling of water rushing at her. Readjusting her grip, [Name] told the skimwing to jump out of the water into the air, and the skimwing did.

Jumping out of the water, [Name] was left to see the whole clan watching her success and cheering her on. Bright smiles and enthusiastic clapping was heard from all around the village as [Name] and her skimwing made their rounds.

When the ceremony finally came, [Name] was practically bouncing in her seat. Her excitement could hardly be contained as she watched Ronal and Tonowari approach her with proud smiles, beads and necklace in hand.

“[Name], you have done much in the last year. Learning faster than most of our ways and you are more than eligible to become an adult in the eyes of Eywa,” Tonowari started, Ronal nodding proudly from beside him.

“These beads are to add to your songcord, as a way to commemorate your progression into adulthood,” Tonowari handed [Name] three small beads, one made of a small shell, one a pretty green bead and the last a small chunk from a tooth of a skimwing.

“And this,” Ronal began, laying the beautiful pearl and beaded necklace around [Name]’s neck. “Is a necklace that my daughter, Tsireya beaded for you for this special day.”

[Name] smiled at them, looking up at the leaders as if they were her parents, real parents that loved her. She smiled at Tsireya as well, who was standing just behind her parents.

“Now that you are an adult, you may get your first tattoo. The tattoo of your soul sister.” Tonowari smiled. “But all in due time, for now, we feast!”

The clan erupted in applause and cheers, another child growing into an adult of the Metkayina clan. A time to celebrate and enjoy.

Ao’nung took no time in approaching [Name] after she thanked Tsireya dearly for the wonderful necklace. [Name] was still fiddling with the necklace with a smile when Ao’nung appeared in front of her.

“You know, I helped her make that.” Ao’nung smirked, watching the disbelieving look creep onto [Name]’s face.

“Really?” [Name] deadpanned.

“Really," Ao’nung stayed smirking but there was no hint of deception on his face nor in his voice. “I mean, it was just a few beads and I told her your real size when she got it wrong, but I still helped.”

[Name] smiled, touched by the fact Ao’nung help make something so beautiful just for her.

“Thank you, Ao’nung,” [Name] smiled, moving to lay a quick peck on Ao’nung’s cheek. “I really appreciate it.”

Only two days later, [Name] and Ao’nung found theirselves walking down a beach again. The walk was silent but comfortable. The two were more than happy to enjoy the beauty of the world around them in silence as they walked hand in hand. They had just gotten back from a meal spent with Ao’nung’s family, as usual, when Ao’nung asked for [Name] to walk with him. When [Name] agreed, Ao’nung grasped her hand and tugged her in the direction of the shore.

The plant life was glowing around them once again, the darkness of the night only accentuating the already apparent beauty of pandora. Ao’nung noticed how beautiful the glowing speckles on [Name]’s face were as he snuck glances at her from the corner of his eye.

Ao’nung slows to a stop, his and [Name]’s attached hands brings her to a stop as well. Ao’nung turns to face [Name], and it met with her soft gaze. Ao’nung has always found [Name] beautiful, but in this moment, with the light from the flowers around her reflecting off the water and on to her soft face, Ao’nung thought she was the most beautiful entity in all of pandora. Maybe even the universe.

“[Name], I am so glad to have met you. You are every star in the sky, every thought I think, ever breath I take,” Ao’nung stares in [Name]’s eyes as if they were the gateway to her soul, a soul he has fallen in love with. He watches as [Name]’s smile starts to widen, her eyes starting to water.

“I wish to never leave your side, to be there for you forever,” Ao’nung’s smile begin to widen as [Name]’s hand cupped his face.

“I want to be with you forever, [Name],” His smile was soft, a reflection of [Name]’s soft smile as she put her other hand on Ao’nung’s cheek.

[Name] had been dreaming of this moment, and by the look on Ao’nung’s face, it was evident he had too.

“I see you, Ao’nung,” [Name] whispered so softly it was as if she thought she might scare Ao’nung away.

“I see you, [Name]," Ao’nung beamed, holding her neck and jaw in his evidently much bigger hands.

A small, happy tear fell from [Name]’s face. She wasn’t sure if it was Ao’nung’s attentiveness or the thought of finally finding someone who wanted to spend the rest of their life with her. Either way, [Name] was happy.

Ao’nung pulled her into an intimate kiss, their bodies stayed close as they moved in unison. The kiss was like a promise, filled with untold secrets and unspoken words. The kiss was first of many that night, and many for the rest of their lives, as they mated under Eywa. The two becoming one in a single, long awaited day.

The very next day, they told Ronal and Tonowari. At first they were worried that Ao’nung’s parents would be mad, but as the news came out, the two leaders were instantly beaming. Ronal brought [Name] into a tight hug, whispering in her ear at just how happy she was that [Name] was now her daughter under Eywa. Tonowari clapped his son’s back, telling him just how amazing a mate was going to be and how proud of him he was for choosing [Name].

Tsireya was just as happy, jumping around in circles with [Name]’s hands in hers when she heard the news. She told [Name] that she was happy to have a sister and about how much fun they were going to have.

In the next few days, [Name] got her tattoo, and started to learn the ways of the Tsahik. Ronal insisted [Name] learn the ways of the Tsahik if she was going to be the future leader of the clan. Tsireya, although she believed what her mother said, she also thought that it was just another excuse for her to hang out with [Name].

[Name] was beaming when she learned she would be taught the ways of the Tsahik, as she was not previously allowed to by her birth parents. [Name] although in line for the Tsahik, was never in the running, so as she was being taught, [Name] couldn’t help but be excited about every new thing she learned.

It had only been a few weeks since she mated with Ao’nung, when the Sully family came knocking at their marui. It was a surprise to all to see them, the Sullys were known to stick to themselves, never seen talking to anyone other than each other. [Name] was enjoying her dinner with her family when she saw them in the opening of the leader’s marui. Ronal and Tonowari stood up immediately, looking at the Sully parents with clear discontent.

“What are you doing here?” Tonowari asked, his voice commanding but restrained as he tried to remain civil.

“You have no place standing there, what is it you want?” Ronal demanded, not as patient as her mate.

Jake and Neytiri put their hands up as if to show they mean no harm. Still the two leaders of the clan stepped forward as to block [Name] from view, shielding her from whats to come.

“We just came to talk to [Name], if we could have a moment,” Jake asked calmly.

“No. Whatever you can say to [Name], you can say to us,” Ronal stated clearly.

“Okay…” Jake started hesitantly, seeing the hostile looks on each of the faces in the room. Particularly Ao’nung.

“We just wanted to say,” Jake looked around at his family for conformation, and when he got it, he continued. “That we are so sorry for what we did. And what we continued to do your whole life. I am sorry we neglected you and weren’t really there. We promise we care and love you.”

“We are hoping you will come back?” Neytiri tried, the her children nodding from behind her.

“Come back? After what you did to her, or really, all that you didn’t do for her?” Ronal roared.

Ronal was beyond pissed at this point, fed up with all of the neglect [Name] faced at the hands of her so called parents. It baffled her how they could treat such a sweet and amazing child like [Name], so horribly.

“You are out of your minds if you think that she would come back to you after all you have done.” Tonowari’s jaw was clenched and his fists tight, an almost identical expression on Ao’nung. “What do you even know about [Name]?”

Jake and Neytiri were frozen and at a loss for words. What did they know about [Name]?

“She makes flower crowns?” Neytiri offered, an already troubled by the lack of information she had about her oldest.

“Do you know her favourite thing to do is?” Ronal asked, immensely curious as to if she was going to get an answer.

Ronal’s question was met with silence and awkward shuffling from the Sully family.

“Did you know that [Name] has become the top Ilu racer?” Tsireya asked, peaking from behind her father.

Silence.

“Did you know that she had complete that last rite-of-passage and is now an adult of the Metkayina clan?” Tonowari asked.

More Silence.

“Did you know that she is mated to Ao’nung?” Ronal questioned, getting more upset by the second at the Sully’s silence.

More Silence.

“Did you know she is training to be the next Tsahik?” Ao’nung asked, becoming incredibly frustrated at his mate’s former family.

Once again, they were met with silence.

“Do you even know when is [Name]’s birthday?” Tsireya asked, mortified by the silence, tears already swelling in her eyes.

When the Sullys made no move to say anything, that’s when [Name] finally broke.

“It’s today. My birthday is today. You didn’t know that?” [Name] asked softly, her voice coming out as a broken whisper.

Tears were now streaming freely down [Name]’s face, right in view of the Sullys as Ronal and Tonowari stepped to the side.

It was then that Jake, Neytiri, Lo’ak, Neteyam, and Kiri all realized just how little they knew about their sister and daughter. [Name] had never really left, she was always within distance. At any point they could have ask someone, or [Name] herself, how she was doing. But they didn’t, instead they moped and let themselves feel bad for themselves as if [Name] had done something to them.

“Even Tuk knew, and she wished [Name] a happy birthday.” Tsireya added.

“Why didn’t you tell us Tuk?” Neytiri asked, turning to her youngest.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t know your first born’s birthday, can’t do your parenting for you.” Tuk stated simply before running up to [Name] and embracing her in a warm hug.

“You are terrible parents. Even after learning of your own inadequacies, for months you refused to learn and grow. You don’t deserve [Name], she deserves better.” Ronal informs them firmly, not shying away from the rudeness in her tone.

[Name] shook her head as she looked at her old family, “I can’t believe even after all of these years, you still have no idea what you have done to me. What I have lost because of you! I never knew what true happiness was like until we came here and I met some of my favourite people,” [Name] spoke, looking around at her real family with a small smile. “I am Metkayina now, I have found a family who loves me and actually shows they care for me!”

Ao’nung wraps his arm around [Name]’s shoulder and Ronal and Tonowari rest their hands on [Name]’s back, Tuk’s arms still firmly wrapped around [Name]’s. Her new family smiles at her, showing her the love and attention she has always wanted.

“I am daughter of Ronal and Tonowari now. Sister of Tsireya and mate of Ao’nung. This is my life and I love it more than anything. So please stop taking good things away from me!” [Name] finished, glaring at her former family.

The Sullys had tears in their eyes, Neytiri’s were streaming down her face, but they remained silent.

“You heard my daughter, we are her family now. Now leave, before I change my mind about let your family stay in our clan," Ronal’s threat hung in the air as the Sullys rushed to leave.

Each Sully left that marui more broken than before, knives plunged deeply into their chests. They knew they had been terrible to [Name], but as they just witnessed, it was clearly only a fraction of the damage they had done. Each of their hearts were heavy with the fact they had no idea anything about [Name]. How had they missed her rite-of-passage? Or her being mated under Eywa with the son of the leaders?

How had they not know that it was [Name]’s birthday?

The words said would haunt them for the rest of their lives. Lo’ak couldn’t believe he’d missed [Name] becoming an adult, when had that happened? Neteyam was shocked to learn that [Name] had a mate. Kiri was conflicted when she heard [Name] was learning the ways of the Tsahik, shouldn’t [Name] have been the one getting taught the ways of the Tsahik with Kiri, all those years ago?

Jake and Neytiri were beside themselves, their minds messes. They truly were terrible parents, weren’t they?

Tonowari and Ronal were left to comfort their oldest daughter when the Sullys finally left. [Name] was crying, Tuk still in her arms, as Tsireya and Ao’nung already begun comforting the girl.

“[Name], you know you will always have us,” Tonowari spoke, his voice soft, a stark contrast to how he spoke to the Sully family.

“Yes and you are loved and cared for here,” Ronal added, smiling down at the teary eyed girl before her.

[Name] couldn’t help but smile. Because after all, she knew that this family would never betray her.

A/n: Thank you so much for reading! And thank you to everyone who gave me all that support on the first part! I love you guys so much! This is what I did with the soul I found! I sold it to the devil again! I hoped you enjoyed and let me know what you thought! <33333

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willows-escape · 8 months ago

Text

Carpe Diem - Musical!Erik x Reader

Pairing: Musical!Erik x Fem!Reader

Summary: You'd received possibly the worst news a high status woman could receive in their entire life time, and you had only one thought and one goal in mind. Erik had a different one.

Warnings: angst, forced marriage, a lot of crying, jealousy, uninformed consent (?), almost getting caught, oral (f and m receiving), finger sucking, vaginal fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, crying during sex, forced mask reveal, mentions of murder, gaslighting, manipulation, kidnapping

Words: 9570

Notes: sorry this took so long, coursework's a pain in the ass and i've written and deleted what i've wanted to write so many times. i've written seven different stories at this point and rewritten them each at least three times. i decided to pull back all the complexity of what i was originally going for and ending up with this thing.

i tried to make the phantom more submissive because i know people wanted to read that but musical!erik just doesn't feel submissive to me, at least not in this kind of scenario. he's just too much of a control freak i feel and i think he would become more of a switch later into a relationship when he grows comfortable.

hopefully i don't take so long to write my next thing in future, and i pray i continue to improve in my writing skills lol.

You were in flight, your heart pounding a thunderous rhythm in your chest, matching the frenzied drumming of your feet against the opera house's ancient wooden floors. Every sinew in your body screamed in protest, yet you willed yourself to run faster, harder. The adrenaline coursing through your veins drowned out all thought, all reason, save for one - you have to get to the rooftop.

Your relentless fate was stealthily stalking you, icy tendrils of fear unfurling down your spine, as you envisioned the pitiless roots of destiny relentlessly chasing you, eager to entangle you within their remorseless clutches. The letter you gripped in your trembling hand was the harbinger of your impending doom, a chilling memento of the ominous vow you had once made.

As you turned the corner, your heart pounded in your chest as you darted up the flight of stairs towards the clandestine meeting point. The anticipation hung heavy in the air, matching the dusky sky's ethereal haze. As nightfall descended, it signalled the time when both of you could shed your public facades and bask in the tranquillity of each other's presence, shrouded in shadows and secrecy.

Every muscle in your thighs and calves screamed in protest, pleading for mercy as you drove yourself onward. You forced yourself through each step. As you pushed through the final barrier, the rooftop door swung open, revealing your destination. A gust of crisp, cold air met your face, a shocking contrast against the sweltering heat of your exertion. The sudden chill cut through the stifling humidity clinging to your skin, offering a brief, but sweet, respite.

"Erik? Erik, where are you?" you called out aimlessly, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

The tension of anticipation didn't linger long. Soon, the haunting familiarity of the black suit and porcelain mask punctuated your line of sight. A smile, so ignorant and blissful, graced his hidden face, while your own mirrored nothing but distress. As your eyes met, his smile faltered and a sense of panic ignited within his gaze.

"Has somebody hurt you?" The first conclusion came tumbling out of his lips as he rushed to stand in front of you, hands reaching out to caress your arms.

An onslaught of feelings of safety and security besieged you. The caress of his gentle touch, his sugar-coated words, and the purity of his love stood stark against the frigid future looming ahead - ice-cold eyes, indifferent touch, and a home that was nothing more than an glorified prison. Your vision blurred, as if submerged underwater, with briny tears carving trails down your icy cheeks. Your body convulsed with splutters and coughs, surrendering to the raw unravelling of your emotions.

"My dear, please, who did this to you?" His voice wavered, desperation tinging his plea. "I can't bare to see you like this," he confessed, his heart aching to draw you into his arms, to cocoon you in a protective embrace. Yet, his hands twitched with uncertainty, unaccustomed to offering unbidden comfort and tormented by the fear of making the wrong choice.

Struggling, you gasped for the words that seemed to evade your grasp. Finally, in a pitiful whimper, you managed to choke out the truth, "My father. It's my father."

"He has hurt you?" His words, taut with restrained fury, barely managed to mask the cataclysmic rage broiling within his core. His eyes flamed with the intensity of a thousand suns, pledging an unspoken oath that he would move heavens and earth to guard you from any harm. He would not let this happen again, his earlier leniency was a mistake he wouldn't repeat.

"No... well, yes, sort of," you stammered, every word a struggle as tears choked your speech. Your sentences, muddled and hardly coherent, tumbled out in a rush. He stood there, a silent pillar of patience amidst your storm. "The curtain had just fallen on tonight's performance, when Madame Giry found me, said someone had come to the Opera Populaire with a letter for me. I ventured backstage, and – and –”

"Take your time," he reassured you, trying to keep his tone soft and soothing when he was feeling anything but that.

"My father," you began, your voice trembling slightly, "He sent this to me," you raised your arm, presenting him with the damning parchment that bore the news, "It declares that I have a single week to make my return... and to dutifully submit to his wishes, to bind myself in marriage to a man he's handpicked for me.”

As the words tore from your lips, a deluge of sobs overpowered you, shattering your composure into fragments. You crumpled onto the frigid concrete, your body convulsing with the ferocity of your wails, echoing the raw torment festering within.

"He has already decided my fate, to wed me to Alexander Beaumont, heir to one of the wealthiest fortunes in Paris. But, Erik, I cannot bear the thought! I'd choose the most excruciating demise before even contemplating marrying him!" Your tears began to mingle with your snot, humiliation gnawing your insides, knowing he was bearing witness to your disarray. Yet, you were powerless to stop it, and no amount of snivelling could quell the impending sense of doom building within you.

Erik was consumed by a fury so intense, it was a blinding white light in his mind. Thousands of brutal scenarios played out in rapid succession, each a unique way he could annihilate the man who dared to pull you away from him. The man who had reduced you to nothing more than a pawn, a puppet to be used in his ruthless climb up the social ladder.

"I've met him before, his gaze piercing through me, speaking of me as though I were a mere fly on the wall... If I were to wed him, I'd be reduced to nothing more than a trophy wife, imprisoned within the confines of a household, expected to bear children annually until nature robs me of the ability," you choked out between sobs, bitterly recalling his elaborate discourse to your father about his archaic aspirations for a wife, a die-hard traditionalist to his core.

"The Opera Populaire, an impossibility now. My friends, forever out of reach. And you... you, I shall never feast my eyes upon again." The tears assaulted you, battering you with the unrelenting force of a tempest as the brutal reality bore down, each tick of the clock amplifying the sting of truth.

"Then don't go," he uttered, his words masquerading as a suggestion, yet ringing with the commanding tone of a demand, "Don't return home, do not bend to your father's will. There's always another escape, always."

"Oh, Erik," your voice broke, anguish seeping into each syllable, "I can't." A hard lump constricted your throat, the bitter reality of your predicament sinking in. "My father...he wields power, he has influence. If I dare not return, all of Paris would be hunting me down, a bounty on my head. I'm cornered, Erik. I'm left with no other choice."

Before he could utter another syllable, you swiftly eradicated the residue that had amassed on your skin and surged to your feet. Your eyes were ablaze with a bloodshot hue, stray teardrops stubbornly tracing a path down your face. Yet, an unyielding determination was etched across your features. You yearned for one final moment, one last poignant memory before the unavoidable reality of leaving him forever would consume you.

"Take me," you urged in a hushed plea, your gaze ensnaring him with such profound intensity that he was left with no room to misconstrue your meaning. Your purpose was undeniable, and it struck him into stillness. "Please, I beg you, do not deny me this final experience, this closing moment of exhilaration. For I am to be condemned.”

Your fragility was palpable, an image of vulnerability and innocence that made the idea of your bodies entwining, your souls merging into one, nearly impossible to suppress. Erik was gripped by a relentless thought; this encounter wouldn't be your last. A scheme was rapidly taking shape in his mind, a bold plan that he was awaiting the opportunity to enact. Yet, beneath it all, he was merely a mortal, how could he resist such a sweet opportunity laid before him?

As though your initial plea wasn't potent enough, you read his silence as a stark rejection. With a desperate urgency, you persisted, "I must experience what it means to unite with someone who harbours a profound love for me, and whom I equally adore, before time steals this chance forever. This is my final request of you, please, grant me this.”

Every trace of Erik's reservations - his mask, his insecurities, his lack of experience - evaporated in an instant. His entire being was consumed by the sight of your pleading eyes and enticing lips, desperately imploring him to make love to you. The intensity of your need, your last request born out of the fear of never seeing him again, ignited a scorching fire in his abdomen. His slacks tightened unbearably as his body responded to the raw desire coursing through him.

He didn't respond with words. Instead, his body lunged forward, crashing against yours, his lips desperately colliding with yours in an intoxicating, chaotic ballet. It was flawlessly imperfect, devoid of rhythm or pattern, yet it echoed the sheer intensity of your shared lust and fervour. A surge of electricity coursed through your veins, your skin prickling, your stomach churning with a heady mix of anxiety and exhilaration as you passionately kissed him.

Small, desperate gasps and whimpers escaped your trembling lips as they urgently sought his, the icy chill of Paris causing a cascade of goosebumps to erupt across your skin. You clung to him with a ferocity born of pure, raw fear, as if you were precariously perched on the brink of an abyss and he was the only tether keeping you from plummeting into the void. He was your sole anchor in a sea of chaos, the only force keeping you alive.

The searing heat of your skin beneath his fingertips sent his mind spiralling, the sensation of you - so soft, so yielding under his hands, a staggering, unfamiliar experience. He could feel the rhythmic surge and ebb of your chest, your breath, a hot whisper against his face as your lips clashed and fused, time and time again - he was certain he could feel the pulsating rhythm of your veins as your blood roared through your body. So vivid, so fiercely alive.

Inescapably, the mask had turned into an intolerable burden. Each movement caused it to ruthlessly scrape against your skin, the epidermis painfully inflamed and raw. With a heavy sense of reluctance, you retreated, your eyes slowly fluttering open to behold the breath taking spectacle of your angel, gasping for air, his eyes wide and darkened with intensity.

"My love," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers nervously fiddling with the lapels of his coat. "I know this is a significant request..." The tension hung heavy in the air between you two. "But, would you consider... removing your mask?" Your heart pounded in your chest as you dared to meet his eyes. "It's been catching on my skin, and it's starting to hurt. If it's too much, I understand! We can find another way. It's just that... I yearn to see all of you, unobstructed."

His expression shifted to one of grave solemnity. Deep within, he had known this moment would arrive, yet he had clung to the hope that it would be delayed, that he could savour more of you and this opportunity before you were cruelly torn from his grasp. Now, his countenance was a spectacle of terror, a sight so horrific that he was certain it would repel you instantly, forever severing any connection you could have had. It was this dread, this fear of losing you, that compelled him to deny your request.

"No," he declared, his voice cold and final, making it clear he had no intention of prolonging this conversation any further.

A lump formed in your throat, a silent reflection of the tension in the air. His features were chiselled, hardened as if sculpted by an unseen force. His eyes, unyielding and intense, bore into you, commanding silence without uttering a single word. You were far from foolish, aware that any protest would shatter the brittle tranquillity of the moment. Respecting his unspoken plea, you held your tongue, allowing the silence to envelop the space between you.

You plunged back into the fervour of your previous kisses, this time contorting awkwardly to keep your face clear of the cold, threatening porcelain weapon. With each passing moment, you fought to maintain the connection, a bizarre dance with a man whose full face you'd never seen. A wave of filth washed over you, a creeping sense you should be drowning in shame, but you found no room for such feelings. Not when his touch set your skin ablaze with desire.

His hands settled on the small of your back, gently rubbing above the fabric of your dress. You naturally moved closer, your soft chest against his solid one. Your hands wandered, touching every part of him within reach.

"Is this what you call a lovers outing, Piangi? It's cold and dirty!" The piercing voice of the renowned prima donna erupted from the rooftop entrance, slicing through the silence. You and Erik froze.

"Ah, forgive me, my love," replied her lover, his familiar Italian accent flooding through his words. His voice sounded awkward and dejected. One could almost imagine his look of shame, realizing his romantic gesture wasn't appreciated. "I wanted to look at the stars with you, but if that's not what you desire-"

"Forget it," Carlotta spat out. The echo of footsteps approaching sent jolts of panic through your veins, your heart hammering against your ribcage. Erik, however, remained calm amongst the chaos. His fingers laced through yours, pulling you urgently towards the shadowed sanctuary of the rooftop's far corner.

"If you get too cold, dear, I have my coat with me. Just say the word and I will give it to you," Piangi spoke, his voice straining with the effort to pierce through Carlotta's gloom.

As their voices clashed in petty discord, a sudden blast of searing air prickled the nape of your neck. Goosebumps erupted across your skin, your hair bristling on end. A whispered command, laced with urgency, pierced the tension, "Stay behind me and follow. Make no noise. Not even a whisper."

With a sense of increasing trepidation, you gave a tense nod. You watched, breath held, as Erik emerged from your concealed sanctuary, prowling the expanse of the rooftop with a predator's stealth. He would intermittently halt, shielding himself within various makeshift hideaways. You hastened to mirror his movements, until at last, you found yourself inside the familiar confines of the opera house. His hand ensnared yours, his grip firm yet comforting, as he urged you onwards into the unknown.

It didn't take long before he ceased his steps, drawn like a magnet to the first mirror you encountered. His grip on your hand slackened for a fleeting moment, his fingers dancing over the wall in a cryptic rhythm. There was a tense hush, then the sharp click echoed in the silence, and the mirror slid back with a menacing grace to unveil a hidden passageway.

"What on earth?" you whispered, a tremor in your voice as you gazed upon the hole in the wall where once a mirror was.

Erik wheeled around abruptly, a sense of urgency flickering in his eyes as he extended his hand to you. You paused, uncertainty clouding your features, "Where does this passageway lead? Where are you taking me?"

"Trust me," he implored, his voice barely a whisper, yet carrying an undertone of desperation.

You swallowed, your throat tight with a mix of fear and anticipation. The situation and context around it weighed heavily on your mind, a potent cocktail of potential consequences swirling before you. The silence was deafening as you deliberated, the seconds stretching into what felt like an eternity. Then, with a deep, steadying breath, you extended a trembling hand towards him, a silent acquiescence. You nodded, a solemn gesture of trust, surrendering your fate into his hands.

He responded with a nod of his own, guiding you towards the opening. The entrance was inconveniently elevated from the ground - not to an extreme where a leap was required - but enough to pose a considerable risk. With a firm grip, he assisted you as you stepped inside, ensuring the voluminous folds of your dress evaded entanglement. He trailed in your wake, the air heavy with anticipation.

With a precise touch, he activated a concealed point on the wall, causing the mirror to slide back into normalcy. The echo of silence descended, the only sound being the synchronization of your breaths reverberating through the confined passageway. A whirlwind of questions swirled in your mind, each one violently dismissed as the realisation of your shared purpose gripped you. Of what you were coming down here to do.

He steered you through a maze of bewildering turns, his whispers of caution echoing in the cold, damp air. His grip on your hand was constant, a lifeline in the suffocating darkness. His familiarity with the convoluted tunnels was unsettling, and a chilling worry gnawed at you, as you wondered what hidden dangers made him tread with such measured care.

Soon you were greeted by a lake, its misty greens and blues shimmering so bright it twinkled like glitter. The view was mesmerising, the many candles scattered around lending the stone walls a glorious golden glow that took your breath away. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen before, the foliage blending together beautifully as it decorated the walls. You gasped.

He guided you towards a gondola which was tethered to a stout wooden stake driven deep into the ground. With a steadying hand, he aided your entrance into the vessel, ensuring your balance as you nestled into the boat's hollow core. Following your lead, he stepped in with calculated caution, his grip closing around a weathered paddle, poised at the ready to commence the strenuous task of rowing.

"What is this place?" You asked, ogling at the scenery around you.

"My home, my hiding place, the Phantom's lair, the sewers under the opera house..." he drawled off, beginning to row, "whichever one you wish to call it. All apply."

"You live down here?" You questioned, your brow furrowed as the icy air bit harshly at your exposed skin. The beauty of the place was undeniable, yet it held a chilling solitude that whispered of profound isolation, making it a daunting place to inhabit.

"Since I was a young boy," he spoke as if the words that spilled from his lips held no weight.

You couldn't shake the thought that something terrifying lurked beneath the mask. He had warned you, but you'd never considered how truly terrible it could be until now. Your eyebrows shot up, eyes dilating as your mind spun wildly with grotesque possibilities. What could be so monstrous about his visage that he was compelled to conceal it in the depths of a dank cellar?

Clearly, you had no intention of broaching the topic; it would undoubtedly ruin your plans for the evening. Yet, as the journey unfolded, you became lost in a whirlwind of contemplation, feverishly imagining the concealed face beneath the mask. Your affection was unwavering, regardless of how horrific his face was you'd feel the same way, but the mystery added an exhilarating layer of intrigue that consumed you.

Within mere minutes of fervent rowing, the silhouette of land loomed ahead, jolting you from your daze back into reality. You remained in the confines of the boat as Erik disembarked with calculated precision. He secured the boat with a swift, practiced motion, restoring the paddle to its rightful place. Then, he pivoted towards you, his hand outstretched in an offer of assistance, his eyes locked onto yours.

You smiled graciously, accepting his helping hand as you stepped out of the boat. You were enchanted, looking around at his home and how it was decorated. It was beyond your wildest imagination, intriguing and enigmatic, labyrinthine and gothic.

You were struck by the vast arrangement of candles. They casted a dim, dancing light which bathed the walls in an ethereal glow, casting long, eerie shadows on the dank stone. There was a majestic, ornate pipe organ, and a big mirror off to the side. All the way in the farthest corner, you spotted a bed, grand and draped in heavy, dark fabrics. You were in awe.

Erik did not give you long to stand and stare, as he was quick to pull you in the direction of where his bed resided. After a long, unfamiliar journey, you found yourself standing at your ultimate destination.

Anxiety, like a shadowy predator, stalked and then launched itself upon you, its claws sinking deep into your psyche. Your blood surged in a torrent, your heart hammered an urgent rhythm against your ribs, and your palms became slick with cold sweat as the full weight of your hasty agreement descended upon you.

"Now, it's my turn to pose the question," Erik initiated, his every footstep purposefully resonating tension as he incrementally diminished the space between you both. Your eyes, wide and alert, mirrored the mounting suspense. "Will you do this with me? Allow us to feel each other, become one, before you are to leave and never return?"

Tears welled threateningly in your eyes, a bitter reminder to the tortuous ordeal that loomed above. A personal hell was waiting, embodied in the stony indifference of your father and the pitiless gaze of your suitor. Discarding caution and fear, you hurled yourself against him with the force of a dead weight. In the face of despair, your inner flame roared back to life, desperation clawing its way to the surface once more.

His arms coiled around you with an intensity that left your breath hitched, his lips fiercely claiming yours. With a sudden, swift motion, he hoisted you into the air, your legs automatically snaking around his waist in response. He gently, yet assertively, laid you upon the cool sheets of the bed. He loomed over you. He began to crawl atop, compelling your legs to part in silent compliance. A gasp of anticipation escaped your lips, swallowed by his own, as you felt the weight of him gradually descend upon you.

As you kissed, the inadvertent brush of his crotch against your core sent a jolt through you, driving your senses into a wild frenzy. The searing heat from his arousal, even through the barrier of his trousers, was palpable, each pulsating throb a teasing promise of what was to come. Your breath hitched, heart pounding in your chest, as saliva-slick tongues ventured into uncharted territories, escalating the tension that hung in the air.

Driven by instinct, Erik's hands made a beeline for your sleeves, yanking with an insatiable restlessness, a silent plea for their removal. You countered his advances, pushing him back, a giggle escaping you at his stubborn demeanour. Undeterred, his lips sought new territory, latching onto the sensitive expanse of your neck, peppering kisses and grazing his teeth in a seductive dance that sent shivers down your spine.

Erik's movements against your aching core grew in intensity as he realised what he was brushing against, threatening to silence you completely. Yet, if he truly desired your uninhibited vulnerability, he needed to grant you the space to shed every layer.

"Erik," you tried to infuse your voice with authority, but it faltered, punctuated by your ragged sighs and helpless whimpers, "I'm laced into a corset, it needs to come off. Release me."

He moved with urgency, moving away from your form and allowing the space for you to rise, your knees pressing into the solid mattress. With a focused precision, you began to unbutton your dress, the fabric gliding over your head with a practiced ease, your focus fully enveloped in the task at hand. So engrossed were you, you failed to notice the predatory way his gaze drank in the sight of your bared skin, or the noticeable gulp that resonated from his throat as more and more of you unfolded before his eager eyes.

Your fingers trembled, struggling against the stubborn knot that held the ties of your undergarments in a vice-like grip. It was a battle you were unaccustomed to, always having the help of someone else to aid you with your corset. Your difficulty was palpable, a silent cry for assistance. Lifting your gaze to Erik, your eyes were wide, desperate pools of plea.

"Would you... could you, do the honours?" you asked through gritted teeth, your fingers clawing fruitlessly at the defiant knot, the bulge in the string a mocking testament to the maid's overly-zealous efforts.

In a silent affirmation, he nodded his head, his hand reaching out with an unspoken authority to rotate your form, granting him unimpeded access to your corset. You felt your undergarments grow increasingly wet under his firm handling, a damp patch steadily spreading across the fabric in response to your mounting anticipation. Heat suffused your cheeks, each accidental graze of his fingers against your back as he navigated the complexities of the female attire sending a shocks of tension through your body.

After an intense struggle, he conquered the knot, crafted by your maid's expert hands. But victory left him bewildered.

"Now that it's undone, what's the next step?" His gaze bore into the corset's lacings, a new challenge awaiting him.

With a chuckle rippling through the tension, you interjected, "Allow me." Swiftly, you unhooked the busk at the front, stripping the garment from your form. It cascaded to the floor, disappearing from view.

Bare and unshielded, your form was revealed from the hips upward, only your undergarments veiling what remained. There you were, a portrait of vulnerability, kneeling in anticipation yet turned away, placing a blind faith in him, trusting his unspoken intentions.

His hands seized your hips with an assertive grip, drawing you into his sphere, letting you tumble back onto the mattress as you laid facing him. Your breasts bounded with the abrupt motion, your soft contours and supple skin devoured by his relentless gaze. He studied every detail, every curve and secret of your figure, etching them into his memory.

"You might find this... somewhat audacious," you stammered, your gaze darting around the room, evading his intense stare, "But I've come across something in a book. And I have this... this urge to experience it."

Erik seemed to snap out of a daze, his brows furrowing in curiosity. "And what might that be?" he asked.

You dropped your gaze, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you attempted to muster the courage to voice your desires. "Are you familiar with... cunnilingus?"

A silence fell over the room. Erik appeared shell-shocked, his lips parting but no sound escaping as he tried to comprehend the salacious request that had just spilled from your lips. His experiences with carnal pleasures were extensive, more so after meeting you- he'd spent countless nights engrossed in books filled with varying degrees of erotica. He'd envisioned you and him as the characters, and his fantasies of caressing, embracing, and making passionate love to you had kept him awake many a night.

"Briefly, why?" He asked, his voice steady but his façade barely concealing the turmoil within.

"I want... I want you to do that to me," you managed to utter, swallowing down the embarrassment that threatened to choke you. "My betrothed, he... he wouldn't. I need to know, just once, what it feels like."

A dark shadow passed over his face at your words, the mention of the man you were intended to wed igniting something within him. His lips met your skin with a ferocity that stole your breath away. His body was pressed against yours, a desperate attempt to meld into one, to erase the space that separated you. His kisses trailed a scorching path from your neck downwards, each mark he left with his teeth due to the simmering anger that consumed him.

His hot breath teased against your core, creating a whirl of anticipation that caused your legs to twitch restlessly, your back to curl off the bed. An tingling sensation flowed from your core to the tips of your legs, prompting your thighs to instinctively tighten. He exerted his dominance, forcibly parting your legs to the sides, his chest pulsating with a primal pride as he observed the clear signs of arousal staining your underwear. The thin fabric did nothing to veil your desire for him.

His lips embarked on a deliberate exploration around your intimate area, strategically withholding the direct contact you craved, fueling a desperate need within you. He relished in your quiet pleas, in your desperation for him, for his touch. He wanted to hear it again - your voice, filled with longing, confessing your need for him, your love for him.

A few teasing kisses and feather-light licks over the fabric of your underwear were enough to reduce you to a state of complete disarray. Your head thrown back, lips parted in a silent plea, you begged, "Please, God, please."

He was relentless, persisting in his torturously slow pace and feather-light touches. He was prepared to play this drawn-out game; after all, he'd been fantasizing about moments like this since the dawn of his adolescence. He could wait an eternity if needed.

By the time he finally conceded, you were a whirlwind of emotion, eyes squeezed shut, body writhing as you grappled with an overwhelming sense of embarrassment, struggling to voice your feelings. You appeared as if you had been plucked straight out of a painting, your body seemingly sculpted by celestial forces, the ethereal glow on your skin from your sweat rendering you nothing short of angelic.

His fingers danced along the delicate straps of your underwear, tracing the curve of your hips as he meticulously slid them down your legs. Your underwear was discarded with an impatient kick. He admired how your lips glistened with your wetness, eyes wide and mouth agape as he inspected your parts. His cock felt like it was suffocating in it's tight confinement, begging to be released. He subconsciously rubbed himself against his quilt, hips driving him harder and harder into the fabric.

He didn't allow himself to spend an excessive amount of time simply staring, his fingers gingerly parting the folds of your intimate area as he gradually moved ever closer to the spot where you craved his touch the most. His tongue hesitantly emerged, like a tentative explorer venturing into uncharted territory, testing the waters as he gradually grew accustomed to your unique taste. It was an intoxicating, addictive flavour that he found himself drawn to, your evident arousal dissolving on his tongue like the sweetest candy. As he became more familiar with your body's reactions, his actions started to grow decidedly bolder, his initial cautiousness melting away.

The smooth, cold porcelain of the mask, right where his nose should have been, made direct contact with a particular spot on your body. It was a spot so sensitive, so responsive to his touch, that it turned you into a trembling, moaning mess. Each touch was like heaven, each movement a wave of pleasure that washed over you. It was a sensation you had never experienced before, and it left you weak, gasping for breath.

He pushed himself further into you, his movements becoming more desperate, more needy. His tongue, warm and insistent, ventured into every hidden corner it could find. It was as though he was trying to memorize you, to imprint the taste of you onto his very soul. He was consuming you, devouring you in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The side of his face that wasn't hidden behind the mask was growing wetter with each passing moment. Each new wave of your arousal either swallowed by him or adding to the wet mess on his face. His eyes, dark and intense, never left your face, watching your every reaction, feeding off your pleasure.

With each passing moment, you found yourself teetering on the edge of exquisite pleasure, its intensity growing with a fervour that rendered you breathless. As cries of delight spilled from your lips, your fingers curled into the fabric of his bedsheets, clutching them with a strength that threatened to rip them to shreds. Now that you had experienced such ecstasy, you were unsure how you’d ever live without it again.

The pressure swelled within the depths of your abdomen, escalating dangerously as your eyes lost focus, surrendering willingly to Erik's touch. The burgeoning tension coiled within you like a heated serpent, until it could no longer be contained, compelling it to uncoil and release the pent-up passion that had been simmering within. Everything let go.

Erik's lips found your most sensitive spot again, sucking on it gently, coaxing a symphony of soft whimpers and quivering gasps from deep within your throat.

The intense sensations that flooded your body soon became far too much and left you with no other option but to gently, albeit reluctantly, push him away from your soaked cunt. His visible cheek and chin bore the shiny evidence of your pleasure, an erotic testament to the intimacy that had just transpired. His lips, swollen and red, were slightly parted as he laboured to catch his breath, the aftermath of your intense encounter leaving him just as breathless as you were.

He planted a single kiss on your thigh before he rose, drinking in the sinful sight of you lying beneath him. Your chest heaved, and the intimate area between your thighs was slick with a mixture of saliva and arousal, a mess he alone was responsible for. He was in disbelief at the sight before him - a woman who had pleaded for his touch, who had permitted him to venture into territory he was not meant to traverse.

You felt utterly winded, struggling to regain your breath as your mind remained in a dense fog. As you sat up, the ringing sensation of blood rushing in your ears was almost deafening. You gave him a once-over and let out a weary pout.

“Why am I naked and you are still dressed head to toe?” you playfully whined, clumsily rising up to fiddle with the buttons of his dress shirt.

A wave of panic washed over him. While a less sensitive subject than the removal of his mask, he was still hesitant about the concept of somebody seeing him disrobed. His hand swiftly intercepted yours, worried eyes looking directly into yours.

“We don’t have to do this,” you reminded him, “Removing clothes is quite necessary to engage in intercourse, so if that’s off the table, that is fine and we do not have to go any further.”

The looming threat of your sexual endeavours coming to a halt was so disconcerting that it pushed his fear of being seen nude into a corner of his mind. If you managed to bare all in front of him, then surely, he should be able to do the same. No horrifying disfigurement marred his body, save for a few scars and marks, which offered him a semblance of comfort amid his anxiety. Yet, it felt so extraordinarily odd - prior to you, people avoided him, disdaining him as a bizarre outcast to either laugh at or run away from. But you, you wanted to see him. You saw him.

With his consent, you delicately unfastened the buttons of his shirt, your fingers tracing the contours of his body as you gently slid it off along with his coat. The anticipation heightened as you unbuttoned his trousers, a sense of awe overtaking you as you noticed the visible sign of his desire pressing against the fabric of his underwear. With a slow, tantalizing motion, you slid his slacks down, pooling them around his ankles, leaving him to step out of them. The sight of him in such a state had your mouth watering, the subtle twitching under the thin fabric not going unnoticed. You glanced up, your eyes silently asking for permission before you proceeded to remove his last piece of clothing.

He was perfect - not too intimidating, yet not too modest. A balance that promised pleasure without the prospect of discomfort. A smile graced your lips as your hands were drawn to him, appreciating the prominent veins that adorned his underside and the swollen tip that seemed to crave the soothing touch of your lips. You didn’t have a second thought before you ducked down to take him into your mouth.

The moment that his length was enveloped by the soft, velvety embrace of your mouth, he felt an explosive sensation, as if he might shatter. The intoxicating blend of your warmth and the slippery wetness was an overwhelming sensory overload, causing his eyes to flutter closed as he savoured the sensation in its entirety. His low, primal groans amplified into a resonant hum of pleasure as you explored his length, your tender hand caressing the parts your lips had yet to discover.

You surfaced for air, drawing in a deep breath before giving him a seductive smile. Your hand continued to stroke him, maintaining the rhythm you'd established, "Have you heard of this one too? It's called fellatio. I've heard from men that it feels quite pleasurable, so I wanted to give it a try."

His brows knitted together in confusion and a hint of possessiveness, "Who's been talking to you about things like this?" he hissed, his fingers entangling in the roots of your hair. He didn't tug or pull, but simply let his hand rest there, grounding himself in the sensation of your touch.

“No one, I just overhear a lot,” you winked, a playful glint in your eyes.

Finding yourself drawn back to your prior task, you returned your mouth to its position, delicately licking around the sides and base of his manhood with a renewed vigour. You made a point to explore every contour, every ridge, leaving no part untouched by your careful ministrations. As you took him into your mouth once more, you hollowed your cheeks, creating a tight, welcoming space that made him gasp. You allowed your tongue to wander, tracing the map of protruding veins that decorated his length, making him shiver at your touch. You took your time, adjusting slowly but surely to accommodate his length.

Over time, you found a rhythm that was as steady as it was sensual, each movement drawing forth intoxicating sounds of pleasure from your lover. Your hand was rendered unnecessary, forgotten at your side as your face pressed closer, your nose brushing against the heat of his skin. The taste of him, the intimacy of the act, left you breathless, saliva slipping past your lips. The symphony of his escalating moans and guttural grunts echoed in your ears, signifying the mounting pleasure coursing through him.

Erik was teetering on the edge, every fibre of his being screaming for release. Time had lost all meaning; all he knew was the burning desire to break down your defences and claim you as his own. He tugged urgently at your hair, a silent plea for you to relinquish him from your mouth. His ego soared at the sight of your ravenous gaze and ragged breathing. Sweat was pooling uncomfortably beneath his mask, creating a stifling heat that was nearly unbearable. Yet, he would not — could not — remove it. For your love, he would endure any torment.

With a gentle persuasion, he coaxed you onto the plush solace of the bed, a wordless request to which you surrendered willingly. His fingers, rough yet tender in touch, traced the shape of your lips. You accepted them eagerly, lavishing them with a soft suckle until he withdrew them. Setting off on a slow, teasing journey, his fingers embarked on a path that danced across your lips, before descending the length of your neck. His touch was electrifying, a trail of shivers marking their progress.

His fingers continued their southern movement, drawn to the inviting warmth of your most intimate area. As he approached your yearning core, your breath hitched, a silent supplication mirrored in your eyes as you awaited his touch. He relished the anticipation, playfully circling the edge before carefully penetrating you with one of his fingers. The sensation of being filled by him was intoxicating, your eyes fluttering in sheer overwhelm as he moved in a rhythm that was leisurely and gentle. Every part of your being was tuned to his touch, each motion sending ripples of pleasure cascading through your body.

"Erik," you moaned, unaware of how you just moaning his name made his arms feel like jelly. He pushed through, eager to please and show you how good he could make you feel.

He cautiously inserted another finger, gradually stretching you out around his digits. He was utterly enchanted by the soft, plush feel of your walls, which seemed to welcome him in their embrace. He explored you curiously, his fingers gently probing, reaching deeper and deeper inside of you. It was like he was charting a course through a previously unexplored territory, each new discovery making him yearn for more.

The sounds that escaped your lips - cries of pleasure, of anticipation, of need - were music to his ears. The way your body responded to his touch, the way your breath hitched every time he moved, the way your fingers clung to him - everything about you made him feel weak with desire.

He didn't keep his fingers at work for very long, just enough time to make sure that you were adequately warmed up, ready for what would come next. With a simple gesture, he signalled for you to move further up the bed. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable, so he guided you to position your head against the plush softness of the pillows that lay strewn at the head of the bed.

His gaze was fixed on you, watching intently as you took the next step. Without needing any words, you communicated your agreement to what was about to unfold. You spat into your hand, a simple but intimate act, sitting up before carefully spreading the moisture over his length.

You allowed yourself to lay back down, your body welcoming the coolness of the sheets beneath you. Erik carefully positioned himself at your sopping wet entrance; his eyes, filled with a mix of anticipation and desire, locked onto yours as he began to push against you. You could feel his bulbous tip as it slowly pushed past your entrance, a sensation so new and unfamiliar that you couldn't help but squeal, your body jolting in response to the sudden intrusion. Erik's mouth hung open in a silent gasp, his breath hitching in his throat as he felt the first part of him slide inside you.

With a slow, cautious movement, he pressed forward further, sinking into you bit by bit, deeper and deeper until he was fully nestled within your warmth. Every inch of him was surrounded by you, his breath hitching once more as he adjusted to the velvety sensation.

For you, it was a fervent blaze, a primal burn that seared through every nerve. His manhood was a stark contrast to his previously tender touch, an unmerciful comparison that seemed impossible to reconcile. A soft whimper of pain broke free, a silent begging for him to pause his movements and allow your body to accommodate his invasion.

You lingered in the throes of this discomfort, each second diluting the initial shock and morphing it into a thrilling wave of bliss. It was a leisurely metamorphosis, a sultry dance between pain and pleasure, until all that was left was pure, unadulterated desire that left you gasping for air and craving more.

Once your body had succumbed to this new sensation, you gave him a silent nod of approval, a signal that he could resume. Erik let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, and his initial gentleness gave way to a carnal rhythm, each slow, deliberate thrust sending ripples of ecstasy that cascaded through your very being.

“So this is what it feels like,” you chuckled, less talking to Erik and more so thinking out loud.

Erik was so utterly focused on you and the indescribable sensations your body was offering him that he found himself unable to formulate an appropriate response. He was completely entranced by the way your intimate area, slick with your abundant arousal, enveloped him so thoroughly. He was lost in the feeling of you, engaged in an internal struggle between wanting to see the expressions of pure pleasure that danced across your face, or to look down and observe the erotic sight of his own manhood disappearing again and again into your inviting warmth.

He draped himself over you, his form a sanctuary, shielding you from the world beyond. His face nestled in the junction of your neck and shoulder, an alcove where he could inhale your scent. The cool porcelain of his mask contrasted with your heated skin, tempering the dew of perspiration that glossed your body. Underneath the mask, he endured the humid confinement - a necessary sacrifice for the exquisite torment he was bestowing upon you. Each powerful thrust sent ripples of ecstasy through you, rendering you breathless and dizzy with delight. The potent heat was all-encompassing, filling your consciousness with nothing but unadulterated, exquisite pleasure.

"I love you," you breathed out in a whisper, your voice dripping with desire. Each word was punctuated by a soft moan, the sound of it causing shivers to cascade down his spine, your hot breath against his ear igniting a fire within him.

As if his struggles weren't already overwhelming enough, your words seemed to only add more fuel to the already blazing fire within him. It was as though every syllable you uttered stoked the flames, pushing him further into a realm of passion he had never known before. His arm, strong and certain, forced its way behind your back, pulling you up to hold you close to him. It was a closeness that was almost palpable, almost too much, as he thrusted inside of you.

“I love you too,” he groaned, his words saturated with an intense, raw emotion that welled up in his eyes, the tears threatening to cascade down his face in an uncontrolled torrent of feeling.

You, on the other hand, were no better off, your own tears of sheer joy and devastating heartbreak pooling in your eyes until they were beyond their capacity to hold back any longer. They overflowed, running down your face like precious diamonds, a display of the depth of your misery. Making love to somebody who genuinely loved you back was a concept so beautifully simple, yet tragically forbidden. It was an experience that brimmed with a love so deep, a care so nurturing, and a passion and compassion so profound that it was unparalleled.

You knew you would never encounter such a feeling again in your lifetime. You were merely attempting to stave off the inevitable end, attempting to shield yourself from the stark reality that awaited your return to the surface world. Each moment was a battle against the clock, each second a desperate attempt to extend the blissful ignorance of the impending conclusion.

In that moment, you belonged to him and he to you, your bodies intertwined and connected as the flames consumed you both. You held onto him with a desperation that mirrored your own, your arms wrapping around him, hugging him close. You were a lifeline to each other, two beings lost in a sea of passion and desire, holding on to the only solid thing in a world that was spinning out of control.

With every pulsating sensation, you tried desperately to prevent the impending climax that was steadily building within you. You wrestled against it, mustering all of the strength and willpower you possessed. You didn’t want this magical night, this passion and desire, to end. The thought of the experience drawing to a close was unbearable, and yet there was nothing you could to do stop the familiar building pressure in your abdomen.

And you knew, in the deepest recesses of your mind, that you shouldn't have given in to the temptation- that you should have exercised restraint and kept your wandering hands to yourself. Despite this, you were a prisoner to your own overwhelming curiosity, a force so powerful it threatened to consume you whole.

The haze of pleasure Erik was weaving around you kept intensifying, it ebbed and flowed into every crevice of your consciousness, distorting the boundary between the tangible world and the intoxicating euphoria you found yourself spiralling into. Your hands, as though guided by an insatiable yearning that was wholly their own, found their way to the mask that resided on his head.

Your fingers, trembling with anticipation and anxiety, began to play with the thin string keeping the mask firmly in place, protecting his true form. The tension in your body was mounting, your anxiety and the impending orgasm that threatened to shatter your very being reaching the same intense peak.

The familiar ball of pleasure that had been steadily growing within you finally burst, sending shockwaves of pure ecstasy coursing through your veins. You could feel Erik's hot semen spurt inside you, marking you as his. As the intense waves of your climax washed over you, you summoned the last of your strength and ripped the mask off his face, revealing the man beneath.

You had comprehended the profound severity of Erik's disfigurement when he confessed that he had been residing here since his tender youth. Why else would somebody feel so compelled to withdraw from society? You had determined then, with unyielding resolve, to love him irrespective of his appearance. Your conviction remained unwavering as his visage came sharply into view. His eyes, dilated with raw fear, his mouth trembling on the verge of speech, and his hands, once securely encircling you, now trembled and twitched uncontrollably.

A sigh escaped you, a bright smile lighting up your face as you gazed at him dreamily. You leaned in, your hand tenderly cradling the side of his face which had remained disfigured and concealed until this moment. Tears which had been threatening to spill from his eyes now fell freely, and your own followed suit as the realization of parting hit you.

With a gentleness that belied the depth of your feelings, your fingers traced the lines of his marked skin. Your lips had found his in a passionate kiss, the tears that slid silently down your cheeks mingled with his, a silent symbol of the connection of your souls, a joining so profound that words failed to capture its essence.

With reluctance, you pulled away from the warmth of his body, rising slowly from where you were entwined with him. You wiped your tears away. A wince crossed your face as you felt Erik's softening length slip out of you, the sensation of his release dripping out of you, serving as a lingering reminder of the intimacy you had shared.

"Do you not take issue with that you see?" His voice was laced with an unnerving intensity, his eyes never leaving your form as you searched for your scattered garments. You assumed his weird behaviour was due to his feelings about your impending departure.

"Not when it's you," you confessed, a poignant smile pulling tragically at the corner of your lips, laden with unspoken emotions.

It didn't take long for you to find your garments. You fastened the corset around your waist, making sure it properly supported your bosom. Despite pulling the laces tightly, you found that you needed additional help. Each time you tried to tie the laces, the corset loosened.

"Could you lace this up for me, Erik? I'm struggling," you chuckled, turning back round to find that he had already put his underwear back on. "Corsets are tricky things. I often need someone else's help to put it on and take it off."

"You don't need it," he declared, his face a stoic mask, eyes unblinking and filled with unwavering resolve.

You hesitated, uncertain of how to respond or process his words. You thought he might not understand the full purpose of your undergarment. "I can't be amongst with people without wearing my corset. It's indecent. Without it, people could see my breasts," you said.

"And that's precisely why you don't require it," he shot back, his hardened face rigid with confrontation, eyes locked onto you as you blinked, wrestling with the weight of his words. "You aren't going anywhere."

"What? Erik, I have to leave," you leaped towards him, a wave of dread washing over you as he remained unaffected, "My father wields a lot of power and influence, a fact you're well aware of. Search parties will be dispatched and they'll hunt us down."

Erik's laughter echoed ominously around you, his jarring mirth only amplifying your unease, "He will not pose a threat, my dear. Act as though he doesn’t exist."

"How can you be so sure?" You shot back, eyes narrowing into slits as you regarded him with deep-rooted suspicion.

"Because he won't live to witness the week's end, fortunate if he survives the night," he sneered.

You were petrified, frozen in terror. The uncertain veracity of his words hung heavy in the air, but the fury etched in his gaze was unmistakable. It was a chilling declaration that bulldozed your defences, sending frigid lashes of fear snaking through your bloodstream.

“No, no,” you whispered, face twisted in dread.

"You said it yourself!" he yelled, seemingly unaffected by your flinch. You lifted your hands, ready to protect yourself if needed, but you knew that if he truly wanted to hurt you, you had no chance. "He was the one who tried to separate us, to spoil our love! How can I let him manipulate destiny? It's a sin!"

"Sin or not, he is my father!" you retorted, tearing off your corset and swiftly pulling your dress over your head. You let it fall over your figure. "I have to go."

“You forget yourself,” Erik's voice echoed ominously from the shadows, untouched by your retreat. “Was it not you pleading for me to awaken your senses to the touch of a genuine lover? Were you not weeping to me over the wreckage your father's deeds would cause in your life? Does Monsieur Beaumont need to be added to the list? Is that what you desire? I am merely aiding you!”

Trying to block out his taunting, you jammed your underwear down your bodice and clung to your corset like a lifeline. Panic was on the verge of consuming you, your thoughts spiralling out of control, too swift and chaotic to grasp. The realization of your own foolishness hit you like a punch, a bitter and unforgiving truth.

In your hour of fragility, you had sought solace in the one individual you deemed a sanctuary, a cure to your torments. But he, like a concealed predator, exploited your vulnerability, shrouding his true motives to feast upon your innocence and cast you into never ending isolation. The dread lay not in his visage, but in his very being, a monstrous revelation.

“Even if you escape, your father cannot. He has to pay for what he's done,” he hissed, his voice becoming a menacing whisper, fading into the background as you distanced yourself.

You were approaching the familiar boat, stepping carefully over the wooden structure. You untied the rope and with the paddle in hand, you prepared to set off on your journey.

CLINK, SLAM.

You froze.

“Besides the fact that you have no idea where you’d be going around the sewers and passageways and would probably end up fatally mutilated in one of my many traps,” he spoke once more, trailing off as he watched the light leave your eyes, “You don’t know how to open the gate. Unfortunate.”

What had you done?

any feedback is appreciated! sorry it ended there, i started writing this at 12pm and it's now 5:21am the day later. i have not had a break. it had to end.

#phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera musical #poto #erik destler #erik the phantom #gaston leroux #phantom of the opera x reader #musical #poto x reader #smut #angst #erik x reader #erik destler x reader #ramin karimloo #the phantom x reader #phantom x reader #1990 phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera 1990 #2004 phantom of the opera

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judesmoonbeauty · 3 months ago

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Jude Jazza's IF Prison Guard Story Set: "Lewd Punishment"- Story Two

MDNI. NSFW. This is part 2 of the story. Translations will include heavily cropped screenshots as mentioned here. Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. Thank you, for you support! ☾.

CW: Gagging, Brief mention of death, Dubcon/Noncon - Just in case. And probably the most awkwardly translated smut you'll read.

Kate: Ah…..Nn……ha!

Something hot drags itself inside me repeatedly, making me let out shriek-like cry.[1]

The enemy guard grabs me by my waist to stop me from escaping, and pounds his heat inside of me.

Before my foolish appearance, amethyst eyes glow dimly, and he smiles with satisfaction.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: At yer limit? ‘Forehand, when I gave ya my hand, ya said “It doesn’t feel good”.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Yer all bark ‘n no bite, small fry.

Kate: Ahhh…..!

He penetrates deep inside me, and just like that I hit my peak.

White sparks burst into my vision, my body trembling in the afterglow……after a period of time, he pulls out slowly.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: …..Ha, yeah that’s a good look.

I was a spy and now I'm a prisoner of war in an enemy country.

Even when I was interrogated by people from the enemy country while imprisoned, I never said a word.

— And the guard who couldn’t overlook that, began to punish me every night, by roughly embracing me.

(The guard hasn't come yet, although it's his usual time to do so.)

(Maybe something happened. Or perhaps he’s grown tired of me….?)

My body tingled when I thought of the guard — but then I can back to my senses.

(Was I…..hoping the guard would come just now?)

I thought I had a strong heart, but I’m sure we’ve grown closer.

The pleasure he’d given me was like a sweet poison, and before I knew it, I was addicted.

(….This is exactly what the other party wants.)

(If I’m going to go insane and give up information….then I’d rather die before that happens.)

Kate: Today, I’ll surprise you.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: ….Whaddya gonna do?

I smiled, open my mouth — and bit my tongue hard.

I could feel my teeth break through the soft flesh, as the taste of iron spreads in my mouth.

(……….Huh?)

But no matter how long I waited, the pain never came.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: ….Don’t be so selfish.

When I looked, the guard was sticking his finger in my mouth.

Apparently it was his finger that I bit.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: ‘N don’t chew off my finger. It ain’t tonight’s dinner.

I obediently opened my mouth and released the guard’s injured finger.

Kate: Why….

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Yer life doesn't belong to ya or to yer country. It’s mine now.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: I decide whether ya live or die. Don’t think ya can just die when ya want.

The guard said without hesitation while shooting me at sharp gaze.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: ….So, why’d ya do it?

Kate: ….

Kate: ….I, didn’t want to change.

Kate: I can't forgive myself for being addicted to the pleasure you give me, and waiting for you every night —….Mmph!

In the middle of my story, the guard kisses me and my eyes widen in surprise.

Kate: Ah…….w-what are you doing….mm

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Watcha said just now, sounded like a pickup line to me.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Ya can’t be satisfied without me, ‘n it’s hard bein’ away from me, innit?

Kate: No! I just want it all to end.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: I won’t letcha off ya for sayin’ that.

The guard spoke coldly, and forcibly gagged me.

It's probably one of the tools the guards carry around to prevent prisoners from biting their tongues.

(That's right... If I die, you won't be able to get any information.)

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Until ya no longer have the will to die, I ain’t takin’ this off, ‘cept for meals.

With the gag on, I could barely speak, so it was impossible to complain.

All I could do was glare at the guard with resentment.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: ……Those eyes are excitin’, but it’s borin’ when ya can’t say anything.

The guard flicked the gag with his fingertip, then rolled me on the bed, disheveling my clothes.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Don’t need nothin’ today, so this is the only place I’ll touch.

The guard ran his hand over my chest.

Kate: Mmph……

Seeing my breasts change shape from the guard’s large hands was both erotic and embarrassing.

Since I was gagged, I shook my head no, but I was able ignored.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: The tips are already so stiff. …..Nasty woman.

Kate: AHH!

When he pinches my nipples, my body feels a sweet bolt of lightning. [2]

The guard’s head approached my chest as he twisted my peaks.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Hmm……

Kate: UGH…..haa…haa

One of them is kneaded and crushed by the guard’s fingers, while the other was attacked by his mouth.

As I’m sweetly bitten and sucked on strongly, heat builds up in my lower abdomen…..

…..And before I knew it, I was rubbing my thighs together.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Haa…ya can’t hold back anymore. Yer an impatient woman.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard:…Toldja I wouldn’t touch ya anywhere but here t’night.

(The only place he’ll touch are my breasts…?)

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Ya tryin’ to lure me in by lookin’ like ya want it? Sorry but….

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: If yer feelin’ lonely inside, then do it yerself.

(I can't do that myself...It’s too embarrassing…...)

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Can’t do it?

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Ya say ya can’t do it unless it’s me, ‘n it’s hard when we’re apart,

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Even though I trained ya to cum here.

(I never said that….!)

Kate: Mmmhm…! Ugghh!

I tried to protest, but with the gag on I couldn't get any words out.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: …Haha, why’re groaning? How cute.

The guard kissed my cheek, while still gagged.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Well, just once. ‘Cause yer so cute.

The hands that had been torturing my breasts reached between my legs and massaged me with practiced hands, and —

Kate: Ahh….!

A hot shaft touched my slick entrance, and penetrated me swiftly. [3]

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Ya swallowed it right away... ..You've already memorized my shape, haven't ya?

Kate:Mmm…..ah…..!

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Oh, “I want it deeper”? Then it can’t be helped —

It was fabricated although I didn’t say a thing, and he thrust so deeply inside me.

Sparks fly around my vision and I nearly lose consciousness, but I endure it and glare at the guard pinning me down.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Ha, that’s nice look….

Even that seems to be a source of excitement for the guard, and his rhythm becomes more intense again.

(Ooh, what should I do?)

(I mustn’t accept this, but….)

Entangling our legs and holding each other tightly…..

In the end, I surrendered to the pleasure that was given to me.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: Haaah. ….Why would I become so absorbed with a woman like this?

The guard whispers to himself as he pulls out his heat from me.

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: …..It's yer fault for not openin’ yer mouth. Thanks to that, I hafta punish ya every night.

There's something sweet and sad about the guard's voice that sticks with me.

(The guard is just trying to get me to reveal information……)

(It seems like you're attached to me.…..but, I'm sure it's just my delusion.)

Amethyst-Eyed Guard: As expected...ya haven't had enough punishment yet, so I'll have to do it one more time.

Kate: …..[Gasp]?!

Even if I wanted to protest, the gag wouldn't allow me to speak.

(….. Ah, but maybe it's okay to stay like this forever.)

— Things like liking you, or loving you.

This will prevent us from having to convey our confused feelings due to misunderstandings, as our bodies grow closer.

Yoooo, you idiots better both properly communicate in the main route.

Ftn [1]: Rubs was replaced with drags. Ftn [2]: For the sake of variety, I changed “tips of my breasts” to nipples because dammit that’s what they are. Ftn [3]: This was literally translated: “A hot ferocious stake applied to my muddy entrance.” I…..couldn’t. CHANGED.

[Master List] Dividers: @.natimiles

Tags List: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @letter-from-afar @nateko @cosmowgyrall. @lunaaka

Please let me know if you want to be added to my tags list by commenting below.

#jude jazza #ikevil jude #jude jazza translations #ikevil translations #cybird translations #mdni

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rozcdust · 5 months ago

Text

I don’t speak to whores

Pairing: Bonten x AroAce!GN!Reader

Genre: Crack, SMAU

Word count: 500ish

Warnings: Canon divergent, profanity, ooc, whore behaviour, NO ROMANCE, just reader bullying Bonten

masterlist

The breakfast passed with Kazutora stubbornly trying to get to know Kakucho better - no matter the man’s valiant attempts of evading Kazutora’s curiosity - the latter was a relentless chatterbox in hours even Sanzu would find ungodly early to try and speak.

By ungodly early, Kakucho means before 1 p.m.

He picked up on the fact that Kazutora was apparently an early bird, the habit of waking up at 6 a.m. sharp still heavily instilled in him, even if it has been nearly a decade since he got out of prison - today was an exception, considering the events of last night exhausted everyone present, but still.

Kazutora clearly perfected the art of being both a talker and an excellent listener, with a soothing smile and perfectly placed nods whenever the conversation demanded it, bright, amber eyes shining with more life than Kakucho has personally seen in years.

It probably said something depressing about his joyless excuse of a life.

Kazutora’s optimism and genuine desire to get to know him made Kakucho feel exceedingly small. Kazutora, even while knowing his background, seemed kind, gentle, lithe shoulders perfectly relaxed even in the company of a wanted criminal, silky smooth hair cascading down his back, back slightly slouched so his collar bones were revealed, showing off the end of his tattoo.

You seemed to ignore the conversation between the two men entirely, only offering brief, sarcastic commentary upon request, busy braiding and unbraiding a small section of Kazutora’s hair as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

The coffee was better than anything Kakucho has tasted before.

“So yeah, y/n loves to trash Fight Club, but they rewatch that damn fucking movie at least once every other month.” Kazutora smiled at your scowling face, only a roll of your eyes indicating your true annoyance as you proclaimed Kazutora a traitorous bastard, letting go of his hair only to take hold of it again.

“It is a homoerotic, satirical movie mocking toxic masculinity, and then dudebros salivate over Tyler Durden and call him an alpha male. That man is a peacock*. I’m not admitting I like that shit publicly.”

“I think Ran likes that movie, actually.” Kakucho remarks, tilting his head - he’s pretty sure Ran told him about it before.

You snort, shaking your head.

“Of course he does.” You clicked your tongue, “He doesn’t get it. Next you're gonna tell me he loves Clockwork Orange too."

“Y/n is a bit of a movie snob.” Kazutora took your hand into his - he glances up at you, silently asking your permission - upon a slight nod of your head, he smiled, planting a soft kiss on your wrist.

Such an innocent little gesture.

It has Kakucho's chest aching.

"I don't think he does." Kakucho tilts his head, scratching his cheek, "He mentioned how he hated the main character."

Your quirk an eyebrow, sipping your coffee.

"Well. Maybe he isn't a hopeless dumb bitch."

"He truly isn't that bad."

You choked on your drink, glaring at the scarred man - he shrunk under your gaze.

"Get out of my house."

a/n: i'm alive. shockingly.

Taglist (i need to start a new one so please do say if you wish to be tagged):

@rinsie @r-xochitl @7rkx @sunahyejin @yamaguccitadashi @minoozi @trashmemebitch @sup-zfam @xashiui @hana-patata @erza-uzumaki @sh4nn @sisnot @kneeapartman @anahryal @reiners-milkbiddies @satsuri3su @aretheea @bluerskiees @winterv-black @astropheia @requiem-of-a-fool @kunikya

(rest of taglist in the comments, so sorry if i tagged anyone twice!)

#tokyo revengers #tokyorev #bonten x reader #bonten x y/n #kazutora x reader #kakucho hitto #kokonoi hajime #sano mikey manjiro #haruchiyo sanzu #ran haitani #rindou haitani

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s-4pphics · 1 year ago

Text

tag, you're it! (e.w.)

ITS PRIDE MONTH PUSSSSSSYYYYYYY

omg this is kindaaaa…. yeah

imma lil proud LOL hope y’all like it

wc;cw: 14.2k, ceosdaughter!ellie, tagger/artist!oc, ANGST!!, mentions of depression and suicidal ideation, illness, parental death & brief mentions of funerals, descriptions of foster care/homeless shelters and poverty, both oc n ellie have daddy issues, MOMMY ISSUES!!, brief mentions of drug addiction(coke), homophobia DURING PRIDE MONTH🤨🤨, internalized homophobia and misogyny, ellie is a horny touch starved loser n kinda stalkerish?, mentions of criminal injustice(police, prisons, etc.) i hate it here, rich ppl being demons, SMUT!!!!! MDNI!!!!, light descriptions of masturbation, potential dubcon!!, sexual tension😟, bratty subbottom!ellie, mean domtop!oc she carries her dick on her like a glock lol, slight fearplay, KNIFE PLAY/BLOOD, DIRTY TALK, finger and strap sucking, fingering, pussy eating, MOMMY KINK!!, nipple play, squirting <333 n creaming <333, riding, reverse cowgirl, slapping(FACE!!! ass titties), hitting it from the bbbbback, loss of virginity, masochism LOL, a lil ass play LOL, pretty taboo themes catch it

“She’s… I genuinely believe she’s deranged, your honor! She’s… uncontrollable! Look at what she’s done to our city! Civilians can see her tracks everywhere they go, and it’s disgusting! Not to mention she’s a pervert!”

You rolled your eyes as you listened to the high-pitched, ongoing shrieks of one of the wealthiest women in the state as she spat belittlements of you to the judge.

You were… fucked.

You adjusted in your uncomfortable chair, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest, turning your head to eye your lawyer, arching a brow at him as you waited for his defenses for you. He looked… scared shitless, to say the least.

Yeah. You were definitely going to fucking jail.

Were these pieces of shit really going to treat you like Satan himself for pulling a measly, little prank? Has April Fools truly lost all meaning?

A couple of days ago, on April 1st, you took it upon yourself to spray paint ♡GIRLDICK♡ across the largest building in the city, which just so happened to be owned by the Miller family, if anyone even bothered to call their cultist bond that. Their wealth swiftly accumulated when the now deceased founder of the organization, Joel Miller, discovered some new form of AI technology… or whatever the elders at the shelter told you. His death shook your city years ago; You weren’t sure why it was so moving for people, but R.I.P, you guess.

You assumed they were just another group of elitist fuckers, but he must’ve been decent at the most; You still remember his memorial broadcasting on the small TV at the shelter as the other residents mourned in solace.

Regardless, you hope all their institutions across the nation collapse one day, preferably with the rest of them inside.

The broad in the black, silk suit kept pointing her finger at you, and it took everything in your spirit to not get up out of your seat and rip it clean off her hand and shove it down her throat.

Not every tag you’ve done around the city has been rooted in “perversion”. There’s nothing perverse about… loving girldick. It’s a way of life!

Fuck security cameras.

Unbeknownst to them, you’ve already been coined as a hidden talent in the city, at least according to some people you know at the shelter. You’re faceless in the eye of the public, but that separation doesn’t negate their appreciation for your artwork. You even went viral for the mural you painted of your father for his birthday two years ago, even though the fucker that posted it on Instagram hadn’t included your signature. You could bet millions of people have seen it by now, and you gained absolutely nothing from it.

But, of course, your form of creative expression was being reduced to a jizzing penis. You've created countless mosaics around the city that represent the purest forms of love and sex, and now you are being blasted for being some sort of corrupt sicko. You only drew what came natural to you, and if people felt a way about it, they could choke on the fattest girldick known to humanity. You hate rich people.

Your father didn’t sacrifice everything he had to teach you the complexities of sketching for your name to be attached to outlines of dicks. You didn’t grow up watching your father skip meals so he could get you a new water paint set for your birthday every year for your art to be lawfully ridiculed. The only comfort this situation brought was that you knew he would’ve found the sloppily drawn cock hysterical. You still remember his laugh after all this time.

You miss him dearly. You probably could’ve been just as rich, if not more, as the bitch at the other table if he was still here with you. He would’ve ensured you didn’t stray off into the life you live now.

Being in foster care was the dissipation of your joy. You were considered a problem child very early on: fighting the caretakers when they tried to calm you, cursing at them, stealing, and nobody wanted to adopt you because of that, regardless of your talents. You were set up to fail too early, and you despised the world because of it.

Your record was horrendous, and you were going to jail. You fucking hate rich people.

… Except the Miller's eldest daughter. She gets a pass.

And she keeps staring at you.

Every time you caught her sparkly eyes, she blushed and looked forward, her freckles surrounded by a deep red that rushed down her neck. She was dressed much less… sophisticated than her mother: her hair tied back in a low bun and littered with black bobby-pins, a dark-blue sweater, rings on her thumb, black pants, and clean Vanz.

You knew a lesbian when you saw one. You could barely hide your knowing smirk.

“My child doesn’t need to be exposed to such… nauseating ideologies! Think of the children of the city and what they’re forced to see because of vile people like that,” she pointed at you again. You were this fucking close to stabbing her with that pen in front of you.

Your daughter’s gay, Mrs. Miller.

“With all due respect, ma’am,” the judge started. What kind of backwards shit was this; Wasn’t she supposed to be respecting him? “It’s important that we stay on track. You’re specifically suing her for vandalism— “

“Ongoing, unchecked vandalism! This is not her first charge, your honor, it’s her seventh! She’s… she’s— “

You tried to tune her out, looking around the congested space of the courtroom, and you caught eyes—shiny, green eyes— on you. Again.

She was fiddling with her hands in her lap, her teeth picking at the dry skin on her bottom lip. But she didn’t look away this time. You watched her eyes trail over your face, down to your jaw, your neck, your chest, only to come back up to your eyes.

You did the same, taking in the dots on her soft cheeks, her eyes, her pretty nose, and mouth, looking her up and down, biting your lip, letting her know you were gauging her. She was cute, you had to admit.

“—sentenced to three years in federal prison— “

You looked up in shock, feeling like your body had been dunked into a tub of ice water and left to die, instantly stiffening at the announcement of your sentence, the sound of the slamming gavel nearly putting you six feet under.

You couldn’t do anything but stare at the judge in disbelief as he organized his papers emotionlessly, your lawyer putting his hand on your shoulder. You knocked it off and glared at him. You looked over to the table, the family already up and taking their leave, Mrs. Miller’s hand tightly enclosed around her daughter’s wrist as she dragged her out the wooden doors.

Two security guards were already walking towards you with cuffs, gripping your arms too roughly to pull you up out of your seat and latching the metal around your skin. You started to panic as they walked you towards another set of doors.

“Wait, wait, my backpack, I need my— “

“You aren’t allowed to have anything on you. Your property will be held by the court until further notice.”

“But— “

“No buts, and don’t resist,” you felt the security grip your arm harder, and your anxiety peaked, your panting breaths hardly leaving your body.

You didn’t resist. You couldn’t. Your life was shattering around you in slow motion, loose shards slicing through you with intent to kill.

You allowed the brawly men to drag you… anywhere. You didn’t care anymore; You were tired, and no longer had the urge to fight left in your heart.

Ellie was brought up in isolation.

Homeschooled, no friends, no purpose outside of being the vessel to represent her family name, creating the next line of heirs for her father’s company.

The benefits of his successes had simply… appeared when she was fifteen.

She remembered how he went from being present, gave her the utmost attention, played sports with her, taught her how to sing and self-defense with his past down switchblade, to not, completely cut off from society as he barricaded himself in his study and worked relentlessly on new forms of technology. Being an only child brought nothing but loneliness for her after a while.

But then they were rich. They moved to an affluent neighborhood and into a two-story house in a matter of months, driving Porches and buying out stores. Wealth appeared, but the relationship with her family suffered because of it.

Her father fell ill, and after a multitude of hospital visits, teary farewells, and a memorial, he was gone. Merely a memory that hardly seemed real. Her and her mother’s relationship became even more unsteady after his passing.

Ellie’s mother swiftly took over the company in an almost authoritarian way. She interacted with society in a robotic, rehearsed manner. Mechanical, soulless, the only proof of her humanity exposing itself when she snorted white powder.

Her mother had brought up the idea of marriage the second she turned eighteen, a year before her father’s passing, saying that there were multiple well-off men that were eager to be with her, willing to give her children. Multiple.

Men…. children… having children with men. Money. The empire. Her mother.

It all made her nauseous.

… But art didn’t.

She’d always kept her journals secret. Left in a box on the highest shelf of her walk-in closet where the maids couldn’t find them.

She expressed everything that she couldn’t to her mother on paper. Her depression, her insomnia, her desire for death, her mourning, the need for sex with non-men, any form of physical connection, something—anything that made her feel human, normal.

She needed a fucking hug. A kiss. Sex. She wanted to fuck.

The first time she saw your artwork on an abandoned building as she chauffeured to the museum, she’d nearly fainted.

It’d been two women on top of each other, the most intimate parts of their body covered with the other’s hands and skin. One had her head between the other’s legs atop blankets and flowers as the other… apparently in the middle of an orgasm. Her mother always made the point of sex sound so… stiff. Lifeless. Merely a factor of procreation.

But your art was so erotic. Sensual. So full of pleasure and softness and care.

She’d almost jumped out of the car and onto oncoming traffic to get a closer look at every detail, but the car was too quick. She couldn’t even get a fucking picture.

And she was soaking. How the fuck was she going to explore a museum when she was dripping like this?!

You’d given her one of the strongest orgasms she’d ever had in her life when she returned home that day, and she didn’t even know who you were. She’d spent hours with her hand between her legs as she thought of your creation while her mother was out working, moaning and crying out as loud as she wanted, and she wasn’t even embarrassed.

She would sneak out in the darkest clothes she had when her mother passed out on the couch, and just walk. Specifically in search for anything with your signature that she’d memorized like it was her own. She’d taken pictures of your content, memorized them, got off to the suggestive ones in secret, and appreciated your love and passion for your craft.

She’d even started recreating her own depictions of eroticism. All with women. They never looked the same: different heights, all skin tones and body types, anything that she could think of, she drew it. She’d tried to envision what you looked like after only a few weeks, and she prayed her envisions were at least somewhat accurate.

She never could draw self-portraits with precision, but she knew it was her. She was always in the middle of the raunchiness that she conjured up in her mind, being touched everywhere, tied up, beaten, completely ripped apart and forced to forget the suffocating world around her. Her reimagining's of herself would be drowned in pleasure, sometimes by you, by herself, by faceless strangers. Anything she wanted.

When she saw you for the first time, she almost couldn’t control herself.

She’d felt like a fucking creep as she ducked behind parked cars to watch you paint all over an abandoned freight train behind a trashed building. The streets had been silent as she watched you decorate the metal cart in floral interpretations of pussy, her heart in her throat.

You looked gorgeous and focused and tired. So, so tired, only in sweats and a tank top with a hefty bag strapped to your back. She assumed you kept your art supplies in there.

Ellie couldn’t keep her eyes off you when she’d seen you during your court hearing.

You were just as gorgeous as the first time she saw you, but, somehow, even more exhausted. Far away, not really present, but she couldn’t blame you. And she couldn’t stop staring, enthralled by you. Even in your grayest moments, you made her feel vibrant. And that brought her guilt.

But it also made her lustful. Hungry.

And she couldn’t stop staring.

When her mother dragged her out of the hearing, she was enraged, even more so when she degraded you on the way back to the car.

You fucking stared at that whore the whole time!

Don’t ever, in your life, embarrass me again.

I’ll throw you in the gutter with that rat if you ever disrespect me like you just did in there. Do you understand?

Ellie didn’t even know what she did to garner a response this aggressive, but she was used to it. And, for the first time in her life, she didn’t care. She didn’t give a fuck.

At that moment, she knew what she had to do.

It was your fifth day in prison, and you felt nothing.

You didn’t cry, you didn’t plead, you simply succumbed to your destiny in silence. Your father would be so disappointed if he were alive.

I raised a fighter, so you fucking fight!

But you couldn’t. You were tired, and you wished you could stay asleep, never to wake up again.

You’ve been working like a dog since you got here, and you accepted it. This was your life, and you felt nothing.

Until your cell unlocked. These fuckers were probably here to shit talk you again.

They cuffed your wrists and led you somewhere. You didn’t care where, keeping your head down as they encased your arms in a calloused grasp. You hoped this location would be your last forever.

They led you into an empty room and uncuffed you. You saw the old sweatsuit that you’d received from the shelter, and your heartbeat sped up. You looked at the security in confusion. What the fuck were they doing? What were they about to do?

You could barely hear what the officers were saying, jumbled words of bail bond and cash payments molding together and sounding like a foreign language to you. They undid your handcuffs and pointed towards the clothes, murmuring for you to change so they could transport you back to the courthouse to retrieve your belongings.

What the fuck is going on?

When you returned to the shelter, you inspected your bag. After nearly scrubbing your skin off while showering.

The contents were all in their original condition, each individual item wrapped in plastic with small notes attached to them. Except for your dick. You assumed the court had no comments.

Your paint, your brushes, random hairpins, your notebooks. They were all there in their original condition. Thank god.

What you didn’t expect to see was a new jacket, sweatsuit, and small note wrapped in the same plastic from inspection.

You ripped the plastic open and retrieved the note, unfolding it and… confusion, arousal, and fear rushed through you, shocking your body as all your feelings shot down your spine.

It was a sketch of… you. And a girl bent over with her hands bound behind her back as you fucked her. An… incredibly familiar looking girl.

A freckled girl. A rosy-cheeked girl. The rosy-cheeked girl from a week ago with the psychotic, sadistic mother.

Her expression in the sketch was pure ecstasy. It looked like she was screaming, her cheeks shaded dark with water-paint and her hair a reddish-brown, thrown in all sorts of directions. Her eyes wild and erotic. Yearning. Teary. Her pleasure seemed dream-like.

And you looked just as gone. Head tossed back, sweaty with your dick shoved inside her pussy, your nails digging into the soft skin on her hips, small, but deep, bloody scratches following the painful glide of your fingertips that make the red blotches on her backside. There were small doodles of strap-ons and pussies smudged, erased, fixed to perfection that seemed almost manic. Obsessive.

You looked at the bottom of the crumpled piece of paper, a small signature across the bottom of it.

♡GIRLDICK♡

Come back home. Five days.

E.M.

… Come back home? You don’t have a fucking home. And who the fuck is E.M? Your heart was beating against your chest, climbing up your throat in an attempt to escape your body entirely. You couldn’t stop your eyes from flying across the sloppy penmanship.

… ♡GIRLDICK♡

E.M.

♡GIRLDICK♡

… Miller Enterprise.

Miller.

… Freckles.

…. What in the fuck.

It was almost dark, and you were shivering as the wind blew past you.

It had been five days.

You were eyeing the large building in front of you from across the street, a giant M slapped across the top of it, windows galore, hoodie on your head and trembling hands shoved in your pockets.

You could see the last bit of employees trickling out of the building, clad in suits and tight pencil skirts, heavy briefcases and clicking heels.

You could also see the fresh white and black paint covering where your spray-painted dick used to be, and it made you chuckle to yourself. You were almost tempted to recreate it with your new snagged bottle of acrylic. It supposedly glowed in the dark.

But then you saw a dark shadow in the corner of your eye, hurriedly moving past the glass of the entrance.

Your heart raced instantly at the thought of being discovered, and you followed the body's movement. You could see it was Ellie the closer she got to the glass, dressed in a black sweater and comfortable pants, and her same shoes from the court hearing. She looked antsy, a bit on edge, but curious. She was anticipating seeing you.

You could see her messing with the keypad on the door, the loud sounds of locks clicking over the bustling streets. Flashes of red, swiftly replaced with flashes of green shined through the maxi-glass, and she looked around at all the doors. What was she checking for?

She seemed satisfied with her job, and she slid the entry door open, leaving it slightly ajar so she could slip something between it.

She gave one last glance at the system before bolting back inside and down the lengthy hallway before all the hall lights shut off.

Did she… did she just disable all the alarms for you?

Now, you were the one anticipating meeting her.

You ran across the street the second you got a chance, hurdling through traffic before running up onto the sidewalk and treading the stairs.

You looked down and noticed two pens taped together, holding the door open. You picked them up and inspected them, a glossy, silver M near the gel tip.

You stepped inside before anyone noticed, the door automatically shutting behind you before the same green lights came on, a robotic voice confirming that the doors were locked.

You were inside the Miller Enterprise, and you were terrified.

Ellie was so nervous.

She’d been checking her Chanel watch all day, obsessively monitoring the windows to see if anyone that resembled your form had arrived, but she was disappointed every time she looked. No sign of you, yet.

The later it got, the more anxious she became. Did you see the note she left in your bag? Was it too forward? Did you think she was fucking crazy? Did you hate her for what her mother did? She prayed not.

She was currently pacing around her mother’s—father’s—dark office, every step of her shoes echoing in the nearly empty room. She hasn’t been in here since she was seventeen, and it brought just as much anxiety as it did the first time.

This will all be yours when I’m gone, don’t fucking ruin it.

She hated everything about this space. Every aspect of her dad was completely gone. All his pictures, his vinyl, his pens and pencils, his nameplate. Everything. All of it, completely void of emotion.

She hated it, she hated it.

But then she heard a clang in the hallway, and her anxiety picked up even more before she could process it.

She quickly made her way over to the exit, peeking her head through the doorframe and examining the hallway, searching for you. The noise had to be you! You really came! She could feel her nipples getting hard already.

But she saw no one. No one was in the dark hallway.

… Fuck.

Why did she shut the system off? The lights wouldn’t come on!

Her hands instantly got clammy, her heart racing, and her knees shook. She hadn't felt like this since she was a kid, and she was horrified.

Someone’s here to hurt you, someone’s going to come in and hurt you!

You never leave doors unlocked! He always said to lock your doors, never, never, never—

She couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts from taking over her entire body, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her father’s switchblade, pressing its latch down to expose the blade. She slammed the door shut and walked over to the large window and tried to steady her breathing. She looked out of the glass and inhaled harshly.

Keep your grip tight when you strike!

Calm down calm down calm down—

“Boo.”

You saw Ellie jump with a hard gasp before spinning to face you, a fearful look on her face and her switchblade in hand, pointed edge towards you.

You could see her chest rise up and down with every shaky breath she took, her body trembling and cheeks flushed. You felt like your body was going to burst into flames, but you hid it, grinning slyly at her as you stepped forward.

Deep breath.

“Hi, Ellie.”

Another step forward. She took two back, nearly pressed against the glass.

“Y-You,” she stuttered as her eyes darted around nervously, and you could see her cheeks flushing in the darkness, “How’d you get in here?”

“I think you know how.”

You shrugged, the contents of your bag shuffling on your back. You pointed towards the large, stretched windows behind her that oversaw the entire city, the hustling streets and lights beaming into the dimly lit room from the last bits of sunset.

“View’s incredible,” your mockery littered in sarcasm. Don’t let her know you’re scared.

She took a bold step forward as her brows furrowed, anger twisting on her doll-like face. You took two, as well. You saw her eyes dart to your feet before meeting your gaze to hiss at you.

“There’re cameras on every floor of this fucking building! I press that button,” She darted her small knife towards the enclosed, red button on the side of the wall, a large print of EMERGENCIES ONLY directly above it. “And every cop in this city’ll show up and take your ass back to the fucking gutter where you’re supposed to be.”

… How the fuck was she going to threaten you when she told you to come here?! What was she playing at?

She pointed her weapon back at you. You ignored your confusion and raised an impressed brow before walking forward without pause, pulling her mother’s chair out from under the desk, the wheels squeaking against the marbled tile. You saw the grip she had on her knife tighten.

You smiled at her. “You’re pretty good with a knife, honey.”

“Fuck you. Don’t fucking call me that.”

“I dunno,” you scoffed, twirling on your heels as you took in the luxurious space around you. “I can bet my bottom ass dollar that you like it.”

Her glare hardened, and your smile brightened. You finally moved to sit in the chair, the plush leather molding against your body and stuffed backpack. You scooted back under the desk and rested your elbows on the hand-carved rosewood, completely calm. At least outwardly. Your insides were jittery from adrenaline.

You quickly inspected the contents of the desk: her mother’s matching rosewood nameplate, some loose paperwork with large sums of money scattered on them, dark pens and markers, and a signed restraining order. With your name on it.

You’re apparently not allowed a hundred feet within the perimeter of the building.

… Funny.

“Press it.”

Her scowl hardened, “What?”

You pointed a lax finger towards the button as you looked up from the document, “I said press it. You want me gone so bad, right?”

She didn’t reply, her fingers fidgeting around the knife as she adjusted her grip. Her eyes nervously flitted across the room, all over the white floors, back on you.

“You’re not gonna press the fucking button.” You spat with a devilish smile. “And I know why.”

“Fuck you, you don’t know sh— “

“You paid my bail.”

You heard her release a shaky exhale when you sliced through her words, her eyes widening in shock like she saw through you, and you knew you had her. Your smile widened as your nails pattered where you tapped on the desk.

“Uh huh. Why’d you do it?”

Her throat moved as she swallowed, and you almost laughed.

You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out the piece of paper that kept you company in your small cot during your restless nights, unfolding it and holding up the explicit depiction that she left in your bag days ago. You pressed her as you swung the chair with your foot, “Think somebody’s got a little crush. Mommy’s gonna be so upset with you.”

“FUCK YOU!” She marched towards you until she was in front of the desk, her scent enclosing around you before you felt the incredibly sharp blade against the side of your neck, and you stiffened in terror. You looked at her in shock, studying her expression. She looked pissed, but you saw… something in her eyes that made your core squeeze tight.

It was vulgar, needy, and you hoped she missed your body’s excited shudder at her crude rage.

She didn’t. Curiosity shone behind her lust and fiery, her enraged shrieks shook your eardrums.

“You’re fucking worthless! You really think anyone’s gonna care about you rotting in a fucking cell?! You’re… you’re nothing! You’re a low life! You’re… you’re! —“

You deadened your own eyes as you slowly moved to stand, but she pressed the knife deeper into your skin as she leaned over the desk, your faces closer together. You stiffened and felt a sting on your skin, and a drop of wetness. Your pussy squeezed, and you could feel sweat looking under your jacket.

“Gonna kill me, Ellie?” You glared at her, your heart pounding with fear and exhilaration.

Say you want me. Say it, sayitsayitsayit!

Her eyes were vengeful as she scanned your face, but you saw that glint grow behind the harsh overcast. Something you craved just as badly as she did.

“Really want mommy to see her precious girl killing somebody on camera? Hm?”

“She,” her breath shuddered. “wouldn’t give a fuck if it were you, I promise.”

You barely whispered your reply as you leaned even closer, your nipples hardening under your sports bra and your underwear clinging to your wetness.

“Then do it.”

The heavy breaths she released hit your face in a burning wind, and your core tightened once more. You could see the aggression on her face slowly dissipate, that giddy sparkle in her eye overtaking her pupils as they darkened.

You felt the cold steel pull away from you slowly, her hand coming down on the desk, — unfortunate— and it threw you into action.

Your hand flew up to her throat and squeezed the sides, and you heard the clatter of the object as it hit the wood. You heard her suck in a choked breath as her eyes glossed over, suddenly desperate and wanton and scared like you’d been seconds before. She looked like a neglected kitten, and it made you hold her neck in tighter constriction.

She whimpered aloud as she attempted to gasp, her hand coming up to grab your wrist, but you snatched it away with your free hand, and it limply dropped to the desk, her body submitting.

You leaned in closer to her, and her eyes squeezed shut, lips puckered, silently begging for you to kiss her. You snickered.

You let her neck go and slammed your palm across her blushing cheek, a loud crack! filling the room.

She cried aloud, looking like she was about to burst into tears as she jumped off the desk and backed away from you, her hand pressed against her searing cheek. You rose to your feet and circled around the desk, rushing towards her until she was pressed up against the window. Tears were running down her face. You shoved her closer against the glass, grabbing her cheeks to force her to look at you.

“You’ve been watching me, haven’t you? I got a little fan, is that it?”

“N-No— “

“Yeah, I do. Fuckin’ stalker. Probably gotta whole shrine t’me in your fucking room. Does mommy know that you worship me? The lowlife who fucked up her building?” You snapped at her.

She flinched at your tone before she choked out a gasped sob, “I j-just liked what you m-made.”

“Stop crying, Ellie.”

She nodded as she sniffled, wiping the tears off her cheeks. You grasp loosened on her cheeks as you cupped her face, your thumb brushing away the wetness on her already bruising skin. You noticed how she leaned into your caress. It made your heart jolt.

“Look at me,” you whispered.

She hesitantly met your eyes.

“You wanna kiss me?”

She looked down at her shuffling feet, and you saw her fist clench.

“Answer me.”

“Y-Yes, wanna kiss. Just… just one?”

You hummed in satisfaction, inching closer towards her like you did previously. She stiffened but shut her eyes tightly, her plush lips poking out in a pucker once more as your noses touched. You chuckled and whispered, your lips brushing against hers as you spoke.

“You ever kissed anyone, baby?”

She sighed out an uneven nuh uh, her mouth chasing yours. You grinned wider.

“Oh? M’gonna be your first kiss?”

She whined out a needy uh huuuh!

You stuck your tongue out, slowly running the wet muscle over her lower lip, and you felt her whole body tremble against yours. She brainlessly stuck her tongue out to lick yours, but you pulled back. She tried to follow you, but you yanked her head back by the small bun at the back of her head, the soft strands curling around your fist.

She let out a moan, and your tongue licked up her exposed throat, leaving a trail of spit up her chin, all the way to her mouth.

You relented and connected your mouths, and she let out a shocked noise into your mouth. You slipped your tongue in her gaping mouth, wet, smacking noises filling the room as you kissed her hotly. She couldn’t keep up with your quick movements, her lips and tongue moving sloppily against yours. Her spit was all over the outside of your mouth.

You felt her hands come up to your hips to grip your jacket in a tight fist as she moaned into your mouth.

The noises she let out were so sweet: little, excited gasps and whiny keens as she tried to pull you closer.

You released her hair and grabbed her chin to move her head to the side. You kissed down her neck, and she jerked against you. Her breaths increased in pace as you pecked her sweaty skin, lapping your tongue all over the side.

You sucked into the skin under her ear, right under her jaw, pulling her sweater down to mark her collarbone.

“Pleeease, pleaseplease, ah— “

You mumbled in between gentle sucks, “What, Ellie? Talk.”

You felt her hands grab your hips tighter, but she said nothing. You pushed her hands off you roughly and looked at her with piercing eyes. She shrunk into herself when she met them.

“When I tell you to do something, you do it. You understand?”

She nodded quickly.

“So fucking talk,” you gritted out.

“Want,” she whispered with a sharp gasp. “Want you.”

You smirked, “You want me?”

“Mmhm!”

You shoved your backpack off your shoulders, the thud echoing when it hit the floor.

“Want me to do what?”

She paused before looking down at her feet again, twiddling and picking at her fingers as her face burned red.

“Um…”

You rolled your eyes and turned away from her, but you felt her hand grab your wrist and you stopped. You looked at her in annoyance.

She looked at you tentatively, her breathing shaky.

But then she slowly brought your hand in between her legs.

She shivered as she placed her hand on top of yours, making you rub her cunt back and forth. She released pleased sighs as her lashes fluttered, her head falling back against the window as she looked at you up and down.

“P-Please?” She licked her lips. “Wan’you here.”

You scoffed in shock, and her thighs squeezed down on both your hands. You pressed your palm closer against her, and her hips bucked into you.

You moved closer to her, your clothed chests pressed together.

“Move your hand,” you spoke quietly, just for her to hear even though you were alone.

She dropped it limply. You pressed your palm into her covered clit, and she moaned.

You leaned in, your lips brushing her cheek as you spoke.

“Baby just wanted her pussy touched? That’s why you acted out earlier?”

She didn’t speak as she panted heavily. You brought your hand up to slap her cheek again, and she released a pained cry as her hips twitched.

“Talk!”

“Yes! Needa… need t’be touched!”

“Tell me where.” You brought your hand back down to her pussy as fresh tears slid down her cheeks.

She sobbed. “A-Anywhere!”

You leered at her soft face. “Yeah? I get t’choose?”

She nodded quickly, her eyes screaming touch me, please! Make me cum!

“Open your mouth, honey. Stick your tongue out.”

She mewled softly, but did what you asked, her shiny, pink muscle glistening under the beaming city lights.

You brought your hand up, rubbing your index and middle finger on her soft tongue.

“Get ‘em wet.”

She hummed as she sucked them into her mouth with no hesitation. You felt her tongue messily swirl around your digits as she sighed contently, and you pressed an encouraging peck on her cheek.

You slowly fucked your fingers in, pulling them out, only to push them back in again. You almost awwed aloud when she chased your digits every time you pulled out. She was already drooling for them.

You pressed her tongue down as you fucked in, and she gagged on them. Her eyes shot open and they instantly watered, her throat tightening around you.

“Bet you suck a mean dick,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

She moaned loudly as you fucked deeper into her mouth, pressing down on the back of her tongue.

“Oh, yeah? Want mine down that pretty throat?”

She garbled and nodded as much as she could with your fast thrusts in her mouth. You couldn’t wait to fuck it open.

“Snooped through my shit, didn’t you? Saw my fucking cock and creamed yourself? That’s why you bought me new shit?”

You saw her bring a hand down to touch her pussy, her hips bucking into her own hand, chasing any stimulation. You grabbed her wrist and pulled it away from her.

You finally eased up on her throat and pulled out completely, lines of slobber connecting your fingers and her mouth together. You cut them with your own tongue, her spit clinging to the edges of your mouth.

You planted a smacking kiss on her lips before you shoved your hand down her dark, flared pants and into her boxers.

She squealed when you immediately found her clit with your spit covered fingers, the slippery bud sliding between your already drippy fingers. You watched her hand fly to the white windowsill for balance as your hand went wild on her cunt.

“Such a wet fucking pussy. Feels good, baby?”

Her brows creased as she nodded, her body rocking with your movements. “A-Ah! —“

“Uh huh. You touch yourself like this when mommy’s at work? Hm?”

Her head shamefully jerked in confirmation. You could see her now: her pretty legs spread on her plush bed, her sopping pussy squeezing at the thought of you fucking her just how she needed. She’d be grabbing at her tits as she flicked her clit, desperate to cum all over her blankets for you. Your pussy was so wet.

“You think about me when you do it?” You knew the answer, but you needed her to say it. Confirm that she thought about you just as much as you thought about her.

“Yes! Yes, yes!”

“Fucking whore, no wonder she hates your guts.”

She moaned louder at your degradation. “S’c—coming! “

Your fingers were practically vibrating on her cunt, her clit thumping as her orgasm built. “Get my fingers nice’n sloppy, angel, c’mon— “

She reached down to grab your wrist as she jumped on your fingers, but before you could slap her, her body tensed, and her eyes rolled into her skull. You felt her clit pulsate under your touch, and you knew she was cumming.

“Fuckmemommy!”

You couldn’t stop the shock that appeared on your face as you watched her thrash on your hand, gasping out, asking you to please fuck me, mommy! Need you to fuck me!

You just massaged her through it, pressing your hips up against hers so she couldn’t run from your touch.

“Wan’mommy to fuck you, angel?” you mumbled in your daze as your pussy dripped, your brain barely registering what you just said.

“Yespleasepleaseplease, gimme— “

“Fuck, baby, need mommy inside you?” Your heart was pounding in your ears.

“M-Mhhm!—“

“Gimme your leg,” You lifted it up with your free hand, bringing it up so it came around your waist.

You slid your fingers down to her twitchy entrance and slipped the tip of your pointer finger inside. You almost moaned at how her walls clung to you, sucking you in deeper, milking you.

“Tightest fuckin’ pussy,” you mumbled to her, and she whimpered when your finger arched inside her. You prodded around until she slumped against you, pushing her hips down on your finger. You leaned in, your lips brushing her ear as you cooed right there? yeah? feels fuckin’ good?

She couldn’t even speak. She just plopped her head onto your shoulder and sloppily kissed your neck. Your cunt clenched and you flinched when her soft tongue licked into the small slit she made earlier. You heard her hum as her tongue swiped a line from your collarbone to your cut; She was licking your blood up like a fucking dog!

It made you punch that spot in her harder, and she cried out against your skin, her nails digging into your forearm.

You slowly pushed your middle finger in, and she sobbed as she stretched around you. You arched your thumb out to rub her clit as you poked that spongy spot in her pussy; She was so loud for you.

“Like when I touch you there?”

“I like it, like it s’much!” You felt her nodding mindlessly against you.

“Gonna cum on me again?” you spat at her.

“Fuck yes!”

“Know you’re gonna cum hard, can’t even fuck you like I wanna, squeezing me so tight.”

You dug your fingers as deep and fast into her as her cunt would allow. Her walls were choking the fuck out of you, practically screaming for them to stay where you were pressed inside her. How the fuck was she going to take you fully?!

The thought of breaking her open made you shake, “Gonna make this pussy take me. Can’t wait t’give you this fucking dick.”

Then she started screaming out for you, trying to get you closer, wrapping her arms around you, her leg dropping onto the floor. “Ohgodohgodohgod, m’cumming, mommy, I’mcu—AH!”

You almost fell back when she went limp on you, her knees buckling as her slick coated your fingers, your palm, her panties. You used your weight to push her back against the window, her head thudding against the glass like before, but she seemed too engulfed in her desire to care. You almost brought your hand up to comfort her sore spot, anyway, but you stopped yourself.

You took her in: practically dangling off you as she wailed from orgasm, her face beat red, the bun at the back of her head almost loose, her eyelids fluttering. You sneered at her, a nasty grin on your face.

“Atta girl, so excited for cock, ain’t she?”

She could only grind out yesyesyes between her teeth, her fingers still squeezing down on you as you rubbed her clit, her orgasm slowing down.

“You gotta make me cum first, m’kay?”

“W’na make… mommy cum!” she nodded like a bobblehead as she slurred.

“Yeah? Want mommy’s cum in your mouth?”

She wept desperately, “Yes, please, need it!”

You grinned, catching a glimpse of your desperate reflection in the mirror. You’re so glad she was too fucked out to notice.

“C’mon, honey.”

Ellie stood in front of you as you sat in her mother’s chair, her shoes kicked off.

Your bag was tossed next to you as you stared at her, noting her fidgeting stance. She wasn’t looking at you, at all. She was looking down, specifically at your occupied hands.

You’d picked up her discarded knife from the table, inspecting its rusty, scratched design, slightly bloody blade, retraction. You couldn’t stop fiddling with it.

“W-What’re gonna do with that?” You heard her ask.

You ignored it. “Where’d you get it?”

“It was my dad’s.” Her voice went sharp.

“What kinda father lets his baby play with such sharp objects?” You said in between sarcastic snickers.

“He’s fucking dead, who cares.”

You finally looked up at her sharp tone, examining her tense face, and your playful smile slowly dropped. She tried to appear as if mentioning it didn’t bother her, but you recognized that look in her eye from anywhere. Grief fucking sucks, no matter how much time passed.

“… Hm.”

You looked down at the blade again, then back up at her, “He taught you how to… handle it?”

She shrugged, her brows raising as her arms crossed over her chest. You nodded.

Your arm was suddenly incredibly itchy. “Mine taught me how to… draw n’stuff.”

You looked off to the side awkwardly as you reminisced on the first pack of colored pencils he’d bought you. You remembered how particular he was about the art utensils and their conditions. You didn’t realize that he was trying to ensure their quality because he couldn’t afford another pack until you got older.

Always make sure these bastards are sharpened! That’s true precision!

“… Cool,” you heard her say, and you looked at her, “Were you guys, uh, close?”

“Mhm,” You nodded stiffly, and silence surrounded the two of you. Ellie awkwardly nodded as she stared at the floor, and your lips twitched before you turned to stare out the window.

Some time passed in pure silence before you heard her speak.

“… Still wanna, uh… D’you still wanna fuck?”

You looked at her as she fumblingly scratched the back of her head. Her eyes met yours as her ears burned. You grinned as your shoulders rose.

“Up to you.”

“Like… I still wanna if you do,” She nibbled on her bottom lip.

You leaned back in her mom’s seat.

“Ellie.”

The deep tone of your voice made her look up, her eyes shining like crystals as her arms dropped to her sides.

“Yes?”

“… C’mere.”

She moved, her sock-covered feet padding on the floor until she was in front of you.

You looked up at her, your hand coming up to play with the hem of her sweater.

You spoke softly, “Off. C’mon.”

She grabbed the back of her top and lifted it over her head, her bare chest jiggling with her movements. She tossed the fabric to the floor.

You eyed her chest like you were going to swallow her whole, her perky nipples urging you to reach out and pull on them. Her pussy is so fucking sensitive; Were her nipples just as bad? Worse? Could she cum just from you touching them? Fuck, she probably could—

“Are they… Do you like them?”

Her soft whisper cut through your gawking. You met her eyes through your lashes as she squirmed in front of you.

Your hands came up to grab her hips, massaging them gently.

“Yeah, baby. They’re so pretty, fit you perfectly.”

She sighed in content, “T-Thank you.”

You planted a soft kiss to her tummy as you looked at your thumb around the elastic of her pants to pull them down.

Her stomach jerked with every sharp breath as your lips moved on her bare skin. You felt her hand come up to your shoulder to grasp it as she stepped out of her pants.

Your hands traveled upward to grab both her tits in a rough squeeze. She wheezed and arched her back so you could get closer. You heard her murmur a quiet fuckme, and you looked up. She was watching your every move with wide, curious eyes. You held her gaze as you licked up her torso, and she whimpered.

You brought your hands back down to grab the back of her thighs, moving her closer to your lap. She placed her hands on your shoulders as she climbed on top of you, and you sucked her nipple into your mouth.

She grinded down onto you and moaned, and your eyes fluttered shut. Your tongue made circular movements on the pert bud, and you hummed at the taste of her soft skin. Her head fell forward as she gasped right in your ear, and it made you suck on her hard.

Her hips were jerking on top of you, trying to fuck down onto your clothed thigh as her nails plunged into your back.

“Feels so… mmh!”

You brought your hand back up to her other tit and played with her nipple with your fingers.

And then you slapped it. Hard.

She let out a sharp squeak and mindlessly bounced on top of your leg; You could feel a slight dampness building on your jeans, and you scoffed at her, sneering when you pulled away. You hit her other tit just as hard, your spit transferring onto your palm.

“Ah! Fuckfuckfu— “

Smack!

“Yes!”

SMACK!

She squealed. “M’gonna cum!”

You reached up to slap her face before pulling her hair to the side with a tight fist.

You quickly grabbed her switchblade off the desk and unlatched the blade, the sharp edge popping up. You instantly pressed it to her neck, and she choked on a ragged pant.

The lust in her eyes was accompanied by fear, and you grinned.

“Don’t get scared now. You were waving it around earlier. So ready to fight, huh?”

She shuddered, rutting down on your leg again, and you pressed the sharp edge into her skin harder. Her eyes shut tight, and two fat tears fell down her cheeks. She nearly bounced on you.

“I could fuck you up right here, you know that, right?”

“Please, mommy, needa cu—!”

You moved the knife away and released her hair, slapping her in the face again. “Shut the fuck up, you nearly slit my fuckin’ throat and now you wanna fuck. I should leave right now, fucking brat.”

She sobbed, “Nonono, please don’t leave, mommy don’t go, m’sorryI’m— “

“Mommy, don’t go!” you mocked. “Get on your fuckin’ knees.”

You kept the blade pressed against her jugular as she clumsily shuffled to the floor, her cries shaking her body.

“You wanna apologize?” She nodded jerkily, minding the silver edge on her vein.

“Yeah? Wanna make mommy feel better?” You said with a mean pout.

“Mhm!”

You sloppily kicked your boots off and shoved them under the desk.

“Take m’pants off, baby. C’mon.”

She moved quickly, unbuttoning and tugging your jeans and underwear down your legs as she sniffled. She yanked them off with a hard tug, and her eagerness made you giggle as you lifted your hips. You unzipped your jacket and pulled it off your shoulders, tossing it to the floor, leaving you in your black tank top. You could’ve sworn you saw a glimpse of a grin on her face as she eyed your breasts before she dived towards your cunt.

You shoved the knife closer against her, and you saw blood pool at the edge of the blade. She looked up at you with an anxious expression.

“I didn’t say you could touch me. Ask nicely.”

She looked confused as she mumbled brokenly, “Ask you what?”

Your brows furrowed at her, “My mistake. You probably never had to ask for shit in your life.”

Her bruised cheeks glowed red as she looked down in embarrassment.

You grinned slyly. “Say, mommy, may I eat your pussy, please?”

Shock overtook her expression before she rolled her eyes at you and looked to the side.

“You’re fucking cra— “

You yanked her dark hair back and pointed the end of the blade against her bruised jaw. Her ragged breaths hit your face.

“Say it.”

“Y-You're not gonna hurt me,” she stated unsteadily.

“You don’t know shit about me, and even if I did hurt you, you’d want it. Admit it.”

She avoided your gaze and her lips quivered.

You continued. “You’d let me do anything I want because you’re disgusting. A filthy fucking slut with a silver spoon in her mouth.”

You huffed at her with a frown. “And you like girls. You’d be just as worthless as I am in her eyes if she found out.”

You nodded over to her mother’s nameplate, and her eyes shut like she was a child getting scolded for stealing candy at the store.

“I’m right, baby? You don’t want a husband? Don’t wanna get bred for the empire like she wants?”

She shamefully shook her head as tears fell down her face. You didn’t even know if she was in that circumstance or not, but by her reaction, it seemed to cut her deep. You ignored the searing pain in your chest.

“Mhm, so,” you turned her head so she could look at you, her red eyes burning through yours. “Something you wanna ask me?”

Her mouth dropped open in submission.

“M-Mommy, may I… May I eat your pussy, please?”

You smiled in satisfaction, placing a gentle kiss on her wet forehead.

“Yes, baby, you may.”

You pulled the knife away from her and set it on the desk, grabbing her chin to plant a kiss to her mouth. She whined happily into yours.

You pulled back and adjusted your position, leaning back with your legs spread, the underside of your knees hooked into the armrests of the seat, your cunt on full display for her. Your sopping pussy was right next to her face, and you saw her eyes flutter in delight.

“Want me t’show you how?”

She nodded intensely.

You brushed away the flyaway hairs on her forehead, your hand planted on the back of her head.

“Spit on my clit, babe. Get it nice n’wet.”

She released a glob of spit right onto your pulsing bud,

and you sighed as it dribbled down to your hole. You tilted her head back, remnants of slobber collecting on her chin. You gathered spit in your mouth and pulled her lower lip down, her mouth falling open. You spat onto her tongue, and she moaned, tilting her head down to spit it out all over your pussy. You bit your lip so hard; you almost drew blood.

You reached down and spread your lips, your throbbing clit poking through. You could see her trembling as she eyed you.

“Wanna taste, Ellie?”

“Yeah, please, mommy,” she choked out.

“Lick me, then, honey.”

She wasted no time, the tip of her tongue circling around the nub instantly. Your mouth fell open at the sensation. The pink muscle was so soft, the licks slow and gentle, barely there.

“Doing so good, baby, take your time,” you sighed out.

She keened at your praise; her lashes flitted like butterfly wings in Spring as she rubbed your clit in deep licks.

“Fuck, Ellie, s’so sensitive,” she whined against you, eyes begging for your approval as she watched your expression. You caressed her burning cheek with your pointer finger, and she licked deeper.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it, making me so happy,” her eyes rolled shut as she tongued you, sliding her tongue all over your pussy in slow strokes.

You moaned out every time she came up to lap at your clit. You guided her head down to your hole, and her tongue slipped inside, slurping up all your slick. You were gasping her name out as her tongue wiggled inside you, swirling all over your walls.

“Such a good girl, fuck, El!” you groaned out as wet sounds filled the room. “Wanna make mommy cum?”

She hummed excitedly and nodded, her tongue moving back up to massage your clit. You tightened her grip on her head, forcing it to move back and forth her hums shaking your clit.

She moved her head faster against you when she sucked your clit into her mouth, and your head fell back against the chair as your eyes rolled back. Your thighs were shaking, toes curled as you squealed out encouragement. You needed to cum, she was going to make you cum!

“Get me there, pretty, m’— gonna make me fuckin’ cum— “

“Wan’mommy’s cum, please?” she sloppily murmured against you.

“Gonna get it, baby, m’right there! —“

She was fully moaning all over your clit, “Gonna fuck you so good, angel, fuck yes!”

You peeled your eyes open and looked back down at her when she released your clit to moan aloud. Her drool and your pussy juice were all over her pink lips as she sighed and whimpered in pleasure. You couldn’t see what she was doing, but her forearm was moving frantically as quiet shhlcks filled the room.

“Ellie.”

“Mommym’gonnacum— “

“I swear to g— “

“S’so wet, oh god, please!”

SMACK!

Her head flew onto your thigh at your hard slap to her face, and she screamed out as her body tensed up. You watched her with a scowl as she squealed out m’cummimgsohardmommy against your skin, a puddle of drool forming on your skin.

You yanked her hand out of her boxers, and she whined in protest as her orgasmed died, her hips bucking back into the air. You stood up, pulling her up by her waist and bending her over the desk, holding her down by her neck.

“Stop fucking with me, Ellie.” You pulled her boxers down under her ass, taking in the sight of her still pulsating cunt and her twitchy ass.

She spat at you over her shoulder, “Or wha— “

SMACK!

She groaned out in pain against the wood when your hand connected with her asscheek in a fiery slap, your hand burning.

“Motherfuc— “

SMACK!

You hit her and hit her. And hit her again. And again. Until she was jerking away from you, her hips bucking against the desk and your handprints covering her ass in a cherry-red tint.

You don’t even remember how many times you slapped her, but she was sobbing out apologies against the desk, asking for your forgiveness over her tears.

“You done fucking around?” Your hand felt like it was in flames when you dropped it on the desk.

“Yesyes, mommy, I won’t—sob— won’t fuck up again!”

“I was actually gonna eat your pussy out,” you scoffed out nastily, and she only cried harder at the insinuation that you weren’t anymore. “You don’t want that, you don’t want me fucking nice.”

You pulled away and walked towards your discarded

bag on the floor, digging through it and pulling your dick out, stepping into and adjusting the straps as you watched her bruised ass jiggle with each wail.

Your dick stood up as you walked back over to her. You gave her one last hard slap on her marked ass and pulled her up by her arm, shoving her onto her knees in front of you so she was trapped between you and the desk.

You could see her wiping away tears, but you grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at you.

“You want dick so bad? Get it wet so I can fuck you.”

Shock appeared on her face.

“Y-You’re gonna fuck me with that?” You watched her inspect the size of you. The length, the girth, all the ridges. Her breathing got heavier the longer she stared.

“Now you’re fucking scared, really, Ellie?”

“I’m not sca— “

“Talk back again, and I’m leaving. You’re getting on my fucking nerves.”

She glared at you, but looked down, straight at your tip, then back at you.

And then she spit on it, a fat glob of saliva dribbling down the sides of your cock. Her hand came up to wrap around the base, rubbing her spit into the silicone. She held eye contact with you as she stuck her tongue out. You reached down and placed your hand on top of hers, slapping your tip on her slobbery muscle.

“Good fucking whore, good n’sloppy,” you let go to pat her still-red cheek with a heavy hand, and her pretty eyes hardened, her blush deepening. She dropped her mouth open, her lips curling on the tip as she sucked on it. You bit your lip as you watched her tongue swirl around you.

She moaned around the silicone, her eyes filthy. Her hand spread her spit up all over you as she took in your inches slowly, jerking you off and slobbering on you at the same time. She looked like a fucking pornstar, like she practiced for this, like she wanted to impress you, and you shook like you could actually feel her mouth. Your pussy was desperate to cum, but you pushed it aside and watched her.

She released you with a wet pop, her tongue flicking around your tip like she was lapping at your cum, and you couldn’t stop the moan that left your mouth.

“Nasty slut, goddamn— “

She smiled like you just called her the prettiest girl in the world before sucking you back in, her head bobbing up and down as she slurped you up. There was so much spit on your length that it started dripping onto the floor.

You bucked forward, your hips moving on autopilot, and she choked on you, her hand coming up to your thigh to squeeze it. You ignored her grasp and fucked into her mouth harder, pinning both her arms above her head on the desk. She gargled around your dick, and you could only imagine the tightness of her throat with each gag.

“What, baby? Don’t like it? Want me t’stop?” You gritted out. And you thrusted deeper. She moaned and her mouth opened wider.

She was making wet noises around you, her head thudding against the top drawer of the desk when you fucked in. You fucked your entire cock down her throat, and she gagged hard.

You pulled out and let her go.

She fell forward and coughed hard, her drool pooling down on the eggshell floors as she choked. You watched in irritation as she heaved.

“Get up,” her gasps slowed as she breathed in deeply, and she lifted her head to glare at you from her hunched position.

“Get up.”

“Fuck you,” she spluttered.

“I’m gonna. Get up.”

Despite her bitterness, she slowly stood and instantly bent over the desk with her scarred ass poked out towards you. You chuckled when you saw both her holes pulse in excitement.

“That’s how it is?” you slapped her asscheek, and her hips bucked back against your hand.

“Uh huh,” you heard her crackly mumble dazedly. “Need you t’make me cum.”

“Seemed alright doing it yourself a few minutes ago.”

She ignored you, and you smirked, “Need your cock, mommy, pleeease, please— “

You reached out, running two fingers over her drenched slit, and she pressed back on them as she sighed in pleasure. You slowly slid your fingers down to her clit, and she moaned aloud, her thighs jerking.

“Look at this fucking pussy, jesus.”

“I-It’s pretty?”

“Yeah, baby, fuck,” your mouth watered when you saw her walls clench. “Can’t even be mad, you’re so fucking hot.”

“Then fuck me,” she whined out sweetly, looking at you over her shoulder.

You leaned down until you were eye level with her pussy, her walls squelching and squeezing repeatedly. You bit your lip and kitty-licked her cunt, her slick painting your taste buds as her smell surrounded you, and she jumped at the feeling.

“Taste like fucking honey.”

“So do you, made me so wet,” she exhaled as she shivered in anticipation.

“S’gonna hurt,” you whispered, more to yourself as you eyed her tightness.

“Don’t care.” She pushed back on your face.

“Put your hands behind your back. Don’t move them.”

She shuddered and obeyed instantly, her hands overlapping at the wrists at the small of her back.

You pressed one last kiss to her pussy before standing upright, “You move your hands, I stop.”

“Not gonna move, mommy,” she whispered in between unsteady breaths. “Make me feel good, please. Please, please.”

“Shh. Got you, baby. Open your legs,” you caressed her back and she squirmed. You felt goosebumps rise all over her skin, and you smirked.

The gap between her thighs widened even more for you, her cunt on full display. You could hear her beckoning you to pop the tip inside her in tiny, desperate whispers, and it made your core clench.

You inched closer to her until the back of her thighs pressed against the front of yours. You wrapped a hand around your wet dick and brought it up to her slit, soaking it in her gooey slick and sliding it between her silky lips. Her cunt was already soaking your entire length and you didn’t even fuck her yet. She was subtly pushing back on you, trying to get you inside her.

You heard the enthusiasm in her voice when she keened, “Mommy, please, it’s right there!”

“Mhm, I know, I see it,” you mumbled wetly, her gooey cunt looked so pretty under the light of the city, shining like glitter.

“Making mommy so wet baby, such a pretty girl,” you brought your cock back up to her slit and pushed forward, slowly popping the tip in her snug opening. She squealed loudly, and you saw her fists clench at the end of her spine as her walls clung to you, pulling you in.

“Yesyesyes, oh god, mommy, fuck, uh huh!”

“Yeah, baby? It hurts?”

“Nooo, feels s’good, oh shit! —“

You slowly pushed in another inch, gauging her reaction for any discomfort, your thumb moving on her hip softly. She tried to push back to take you deeper, but you held her hips down.

“Fuck mefuckmefuckme— “

“Gonna be my good girl, baby? Gonna take it nice’n deep?”

“Yeah, mommy!”

You pushed in even deeper, and you could feel the resistance of her cunt the more you slid in. You couldn’t stop the moan you released when she said your name.

“Y-You’re splitting me open, ffuck— “

You pressed in the last bit of your dick, her ass resting at the top of your thighs, your hands propping you up on the desk as you leaned above her, placed on either side of her head. She was sighing heavily in satisfaction, and you could see her glossy eyes rolling.

“Feelin’ good?”

She nodded slowly, “U-Use me, mommy, please use me t’cum, fuck.”

“Gotta take care of my girl first,” you fucked out of her slowly before snapping your hips, fucking all your inches back into her, and she screamed. “Such a tight pussy.”

You bent down to kiss her pretty back, down her spine as you stroked her deeply. You’d barely completed your fourth stroke before you felt Ellie tense up under you, her body shuddering as she moaned quietly to herself. You snickered at her.

“Baby’s cumming?” you licked up her spine again.

You could only see her nod in jerky headshakes from where you stood, her cheek pressed against the desk. You looked down at where you were connected, and you could see how her walls struggled to choke your dick. You grabbed her wrists in one hand and fucked her through her orgasm, your free hand sneaking under her hips to rub her clit.

The second her body relaxed, you saw the muscles in her back flex again, the arch in her back deepening, “Mommy, think—m’cumming again, oh god, motherfu— “

“How many are you gonna give me, angel?” you rubbed her clit faster, fucking in harder.

“I feel it, I feel it, fuck!” She wasn’t listening to anything you were saying as she yelled in her pleasure. You could see how much she was wetting your cock, lines of her slick forming every time you pulled out of her. You angled your hips downward when you fucked back in, and she shouted your name out, her warnings of her orgasm echoing in your ears. You released her clit and pinned her down by her neck again.

“Like it right there, baby? That’s the spot?” You could feel your core squeezing with every cry she let out, her voice completely broken, her squeals scratchy.

She was babbling about something, but you weren’t listening, the squelchy sounds of her cunt increasing in volumes as you forced your dick in her, stirring her guts up.

You looked down and saw her ass squeezing with every quiver of her cunt, and you licked your lips. You let her wrists go and brought a hand to your mouth, sucking your thumb in to wet it before rubbing her ass with it.

She let out a loud slew of ah ah ahs before you felt a burst of wetness on your thighs, dripping down onto the floor. Her entire body was jerking back onto your, her rosy ass jiggling every time she hit your hips.

But then you heard a slam above her shouts of pleasure and mommy!

You looked up to check on her unsteady form as she continued to drench your lap, her hand resting on the back of her mother’s nameplate, her fingertips digging into the wood as she screamed in her euphoria.

It made you fuck her harder and pull her hand away from the dog tag. You didn’t even care about punishing her anymore, you needed to cum. You’d been riding that edge since you got here, and you knew you were going to cum so hard.

You leaned over her body and grinded into her, moving her hand away from the plate and sitting back up in its position. You grabbed her by her spit-coated chin so she could look dead at her mother’s name. She whimpered and tried to look away from it, but you tightened the grip on her face to keep her still.

“Look at it, baby— “

She sobbed, murmuring how hard she was about to cum again, her eyes fluttering as she stared at it, her cheeks glowing like apples.

You bent down to her ear, “You embarrassed, angel? Huh? Wanna close your eyes? Gonna squirt on me again?”

She was looking dead at the plate, “You’re so deep, mommy, fuck yes, m’gonna!—“

“Nasty fucking slut, taking it so good,” You looked up at the clear window as your thrusts picked up pace again, the entire city shining through the glass in all its glory. Every light of every building, people roaming, honking, noises of construction. It was all beneath you, and it was all theirs. The strap was bumping on your clit with each thrust.

“Look at your city, baby,” you lifted her weightless head by her wild, knotted hair and made her look into the distance as you groaned in pleasure. “Gonna be all yours one day, can do whatever you want with it soon.”

“Fuuuck— “

“Uh huh, you like having that power? You can get whatever the fuck you want— “

“M-Mommy!”

“Just need a baby, right? Gonna g-give her what she wants? Gonna give her that precious heir, that golden child?”

“Yesyesyes! Wan’your baby, ge’me fucking pregnant!”

You moaned at her begging as you babbled mindlessly to her, “Gonna cum in you, fuck, need it… t’catch— “

She was screaming about how your seed was going to catch in her womb, how hard she was going to squirt again, begging you to fuck her harder, hurt her, make her bleed, make her scream. You could feel your senses leaving as your orgasm built as she pushed back on you, and you moaned her name in her ear.

“Fuuuck, Ellie,” your clit jerked, and you let her go, her head falling onto her arm in front of her as she yelled in euphoria. “Gonna make that bitch raise my fuckin’ kid while I’m gone? Huh?”

She didn’t even react to your slip of your departure, “Yeahyesyesyes! Fuck, I’m cumming!”

You felt another spray of liquid drip down your legs as you drilled her, and it triggered your own orgasm. Your clit jerked as your release rushed through you, your walls clenching as your body shook on top of hers, grinding against her to ride it out. You could almost feel the sensation of filling her up, her cunt sucking your cum deep inside her.

She was still moaning above you, wringing the last bits of her orgasm out on your cock. You whined against her sweaty skin, the aftershocks moving through you.

You felt her go completely lax underneath you, heavy sighs leaving her parted lips.

You both caught your breaths in soothing silence.

After Ellie asked you to show her how to kiss properly, the pounding of your heart refused to slow down.

You were seated in her mother’s chair once more, her wetness still coating you in stickiness as she straddled your lap, her arms around your neck as she gazed at you nervously.

“We just fucked, why do you look like that?”

Her brows creased, “Like what?”

“Like you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” she whispered, her eyes flickering down to your lips before looking back up at you.

You only hummed at her, brushing your noses together before leaning forward, grabbing the back of her neck to pull her down to you. Her eyes shut tightly, and her lips puckered in front of yours, and you pulled back, grabbing her face to stop her.

“Stop doing that, just relax.”

“… What’d I do?”

You mimicked her, poking your lips out stiffly before breaking out into a grin. She huffed with a tiny smile, shaking her head, “Sorry.”

You shrugged, uncaring. She looked down, “Where do I put my tongue?”

You snorted, “Nowhere yet.”

You craned your neck up slowly and connected your mouth with hers gently, your lips molding against hers. She sighed and leaned closer into you, her arms tightening around the back of your neck. You felt a sharp sting in your chest at her delicate touch, and you pulled away. A soft smack filled the room when you separated. She smiled softly, “That was cute.”

You nodded stiffly, murmuring a mhm, before looking down. Out the window. Behind her. Anywhere but her eyes.

You felt her nuzzle against your cheek, kissing it gently, “Are we… uh, fucking again?”

“You want to?” The pounding in your ears was giving you a headache.

You felt her nod. Another kiss to your cheek. Another pull in your heart.

Your hands planted on her hips, lifting them so she could sit on you, but she grabbed your wrists to stop you.

Her hands latched onto the hem of your shirt, attempting to pull it up and over your head, but your hand caught her wrist. Not harshly, but stern.

Her eyes softened at your masked expression, releasing the gentle grip on your shirt, “I’m, uh… I’m sorr— “

“It’s fine. Ready?” you grabbed the base of your dick in your hand, and she mumbled a quiet yes.

You felt her hand come on top of yours as she helped you guide it to her entrance, and your breath shook as you exhaled.

Her hips came down on you at her own pace, your free hand resting on her hip. She gasped when it slipped inside, her hands coming to support herself on each armrest.

“Feels different like this,” she whispered huskily.

You smirked, “I know, take your time.”

She nodded, slowly sinking down on you. You saw her eyelids get heavy as her walls caught on every ridge of you, her head falling back in her pleasure. Her soft locks disheveled all over her head, her bun nonexistent as her bobby pins stuck out from every direction.

She slid in too deep, though. She let out a pained gasp as she caught herself on the chair, her brows furrowing.

“Okay?” you checked in.

She nodded, her lip in between her teeth, “So deep like this, fuck… don’t know if I can go all the way down.”

“It’s fine, babe, make yourself feel good.”

“H-Help me?” her breathing was picking up as her hips bucked.

Your other hand flew to her hips, digging into her soft skin as you guided her hips on you. You eased her into a deep grind, and her hands flew behind you, landing on the headrest behind you.

Her head rested in the crook of your neck as she followed your movements, her wet moans hitting the side of your neck. The sensation of her breath on your skin made your pussy clench.

“Am I—gasp—doing good, m-mommy?”

“Fucking me so good, baby, shit,” you whispered in her ear, and she moaned aloud in yours. She sped up on you, the harness digging into your clit with each swivel of her hips.

Your hands moved down to grab her ass, spreading her cheeks before slapping them, grabbing the plush of them in your hands. She fucked you harder, and you felt her spit drip on your neck as she wailed into your skin. You threw your head back on the headrest when she sucked on your neck, right on your open scar.

She lifted her head up and looked at you with gentle eyes, her hands moving down from the headrest to grab your cheeks in a soft touch. She was panting on your mouth, her lips brushing against yours with every jump on you. She was so close and she smelled so good, her lips soft.

She whispered dreamily, “Can’t stop cumming— “

Your eyelids fluttered, “Then don’t. Give it to me, m’so close— “

She grinded harder as she leaned down to connect your lips in a honey-sweet kiss. You reciprocated against your brain's desires.

Push her away. She’ll never be yours! This is all she wants from you!

Tears built in your eyes as your peak approached, her moans increasing in urgency against your mouth. You sucked on her bottom lip, biting it hard. This is the most eager you’ve felt since you touched her.

“Cum with me, pleasepleaseplease— “

“I’m gonna, baby, fuck me hard!”

She was going crazy on your dick, full-on bouncing on you, taking it all despite her protests earlier, and you felt yourself tipping. Your pussy squeezed and soaked the harness as your orgasm pulled in your gut. You looked down at your cock, and it was drenched in her white, sticky substance. She was creaming all over your cock as she used you. It made your eyes cross in your skull as your euphoria hit you.

You were so loud as your nails tore into her skin, your moans matching hers in volume. You felt another splash of fluid on you, and you came harder, another wave crashing through you. You would’ve curled in on yourself if she wasn’t on top of you.

You felt her tongue slide into your hungry mouth, swirling around yours as you shouted through your high. She was making you feel so good, and you couldn’t fucking think.

You felt like you were cumming for minutes before the harsh pulses slowed into soft twitches, her hips slowing, and she bent down to kiss you. The touch was soft, sweet, undeserved. You stiffened, on guard immediately.

She was close, she was too close. Her soft caresses on your face snapped you out of your intoxication, pulling away from her mouth and grabbing her hips to pull her off your dick.

“T-Turn around, Ellie.”

“Huh?” she asked softly, her eyes teary and delicate.

“T-Turn around,” your voice trembled.

“O-Okay.”

She was too fucking close.

She lifted off you, planting her feet on the ground and you spun her. You pulled her down on your lap, her ass in front of your cock. You grabbed your tip, pushing it past her entrance, and she mewled. She took it with ease, mewling out as her back arched into you, swallowing you whole as she sunk down again.

She planted her hands on your knees and immediately bounced on you, her toned ass meeting the base of your harness with every jump on your cock.

You could see her pussy suck on your inches, suffocating your girth, her walls clinging to you.

You grabbed her neck and pushed her forward slightly, and she cried out in painful pleasure. You planted your feet on the floor and fucked up into her.

“Fuck! Your dick feels so fucking good! Oh my—agh!”

You saw even move cream spread over your dick with every fuck inside her squishy walls. You were moaning with her, fucking her harder, faster, the hand on her neck moving up to pull her hair hard. The sound of wet skin slapping accompanied the sounds you both made in your pleasured state.

You were going to cum so fucking quick, “Fuck, Ellie, shit— “

“I’m gonna cum so hard, mommy!” your hand in her hair flew down to her hip, grinding her down harder on you. You moaned at the feeling.

“Yeah? Already?” You were right behind her, those euphoric waves pulling in your gut.

“Fuck—fuckyes!”

“Want it so bad, get it all over this fucking dick, baby— “

Her hand that'd been playing with her tits flew down on top of yours on her waist, her fingers lacing with yours tightly as she shouted, screaming your name. She met your harsh thrusts as she bounced, and she squirted on you again, and you watched it gush out of her, wetting your stomach and harness and the chair beneath her, the sound of splattering liquid on the floor making you cum the hardest you ever had. Your vision whitened as your orgasm crushed you.

She kept cumming on you, and you kept cumming for her. The pleasure didn’t stop, and all you could do was scream her name out like she did yours, hold her hand tighter as your brain melted. She rocked back and forth on you, prolonging your orgasm, making you cum harder. It just kept building in intensity, the aggressive pulses wracking through you, your toes curling as she milked you, and all you could do was take it.

You blacked out in her mom’s chair, the last thing you remember seeing was her pulsing, squirting pussy, pulsing ass, and the auburn stars that painted her entire back.

Some time passed, your lashes fluttering open as you felt soft touches on your face.

You were met with delicate, green eyes, Ellie looking at you with a softness you hadn’t seen in years. It felt foreign, deep, and it made your heart pick up in panic.

You pulled away from her touches and looked around unsteadily.

She was too close. Too fucking close.

The office was a mess: clothes everywhere, the floor was soaked, the whole room smelled like sex and pussy, desk askew, its contents thrown everywhere, Ellie’s tears and puddles of spit all over the surface. You could even see splatters of… her on her mother’s restraining order against you.

You were suddenly terrified, moving into action and guiding her off your lap so you could stand. You undid the straps of your dick and stepped out of it, cringing at the drying stickiness, and throwing it into your backpack.

You heard her speak from behind you, “Hey, hey, you okay? What’s wr— ‘

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine, I gotta go,” you said tensely. Unwelcoming. Guarded.

“Did… did I do something?” She sounded too soft, too gentle.

“No, Ellie, I just, I gotta go,” You dressed erratically, pulling your underwear up and jeans on, wincing at your cum sticking to your garments.

You could hear the crack in her voice, “Can I… do you need help or— “

“Ellie, I’m fucking fine. I’m fine, okay? Forget it.” You spat over your shoulder as you repacked. Don’t look at her, don’t fucking look at her.

She sounded just as anxious as you did, “W-Why are you so upset with me all of a sudden? What’d I do— “

“You didn't do shit! Can you fucking drop it please!”

Her breath shuddered, “I thought… I thought we were… okay?”

You whipped around to face her, an incredulous look on your face. Your heart shattered when she flinched, but you yelled at her anyway. Why the hell did you look at her?

“Why the fuck would we be okay?! Did you forget how we fucking met in the first place!” You pointed behind her to the soiled court order, “We’re never going to be fucking okay! Get that through your fucking head.”

You reached down to grab your heavy bag, throwing it over your shoulder in a hurry. You felt like you were going to suffocate. You needed to go. Right now. You turned towards the door. You hadn’t even shut it all the way when you came in.

“I’m never going to see you again, am I?”

Your own tears fell at the dejected acceptance in her voice. She sounded so broken, and it was all your fault.

But you knew this was for the best. The two of you could never exist together in bliss, even though meeting her was the most human you’ve felt since you were a child. Since your father was alive.

But you were too different, too damaged. All you would do is hurt each other, you would resent each other, grow to hate, to regret. The world was too cruel, and she was not prepared for its harshness. You were barely prepared, and you lived it every day. And you promised yourself to never go through the despair of loss again. You walked towards the door and heard her release a quiet sob.

“No,” you pulled the knob, the spacious hallway being another reminder that you didn’t belong. Not here, not anywhere. Her mother was right.

You were worthless. Held no value in this society.

In another life, you could’ve been something great. Your cards could’ve been different, better. You could’ve made your father proud. The two of you could’ve been happy.

“You won’t.”

You left the same way you came, moving in urgency before her sobs lured you back to take her in your arms, against your will.

Maybe in another life.

hi lol OOOOOOWEEEEE

this was heavy sorry gworlies i love sad shit

don’t hate me too much?

omg tell me what y’all thought or whatever *looks away shyly

thank u 4 reading if u did :3

hi taglist love yall @cherriessxinthespring @ellieswifee @elliespookie @belovednanami @sevikasimp @saturnsellie

#ellie williams smut #ellie williams au #ellie williams #ellie williams angst #ceosdaughter!ellie #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #lesbian #ellie williams x you #works 𖧧࣪

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pxnsneverland · 7 months ago

Text

Something Immortal | Biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 1)

plot summary: In the gritty underbelly of a city ruled by werewolf biker gangs, Austin Butler reigned supreme as the ruthless leader of his pack. A man of unwavering ferocity, he lied, killed, and stole without remorse, living by a code of violence that defined his kind. Yet, even Austin harbored a secret weakness – his childhood friend Bonnie Barlow, the one woman he had loved in silence for years. Bonnie's father had once been part of Austin's gang, but after his death, she fled the treacherous world of the werewolves, unable to stomach the endless cycle of crime and brutality. For five years, she remained a fugitive from her own nature, until a fateful night when her life took an irreversible turn. Freshly released from a two-year prison stint, Austin returned to his pack, reveling in the debauchery of their den. But his revelry was cut short by a frantic call from Bonnie, pleading for his aid. Rushing to her side, he uncovered a grim truth – in a desperate act of self-defense against her abusive boyfriend, Bonnie had taken a life, awakening the dormant werewolf within her. As the next full moon loomed, she would undergo her first agonizing transformation, a fate she had always dreaded. Defying the pack's ruthless code, Austin sheltered Bonnie, guiding her through the excruciating metamorphosis that tore through her body each lunar cycle. In the depths of her torment, their bond rekindled, blossoming into a love they had long suppressed. Nights of shared laughter and reminiscence gave way to stolen moments of tenderness, their connection deepening with every passing moon. Yet, their newfound bliss was a fragile thing, forever threatened by the harsh realities that governed their world. For Bonnie was branded a deserter, her very existence a betrayal in the eyes of the pack. If Austin's treachery was uncovered, retribution would be swift and merciless.

pairings: biker!austin butler x oc

word count: 2746

warnings/notes: violence, mentions of murder, gang activity

Chapter 1: The Alpha's Return

As Austin pushed open the heavy oak door, the overwhelming cacophony of sound hit him like a physical force. The deep bass of the music thrummed through his chest and reverberated in his ears. The mixture of sweat, alcohol, and cigarette smoke assaulted his senses as he made his way into the dimly lit bar. Flickering lights hung haphazardly above the scattered tables and stools, casting shadows that seemed to dance with the rhythm of the music. In one corner of the bar, a group of men gathered around a pool table, their voices loud and boisterous as they cheered on their game. In another corner, a couple was engaged in a heated argument, their voices rising above the din of the bar.

Jerry Thompson, known as 'The Butcher' for his towering stature and imposing presence, immediately spotted Austin from his perch at the bar. Jerry's muscular arms were adorned with intricate tattoos that seemed to come alive with each movement as he stood up to greet Austin. His leather jacket emitted a low creaking sound as he moved, adding to his intimidating aura. With sharp eyes constantly scanning the room, he appeared to be assessing every person and potential threat.

"Austin!" Jerry bellowed with a wide grin, revealing his crooked teeth. Austin returned the gesture with equal enthusiasm and they met in a brief but firm hug, both happy to see each other after so long apart.

"Ace of Spades!" Jerry exclaimed, slapping Austin's back with a hearty laugh. The impact sent vibrations through Austin's body and he couldn't help but grin at his friend's exuberance. His booming voice echoed throughout the dimly-lit bar, drawing the attention of the other patrons. Heads turned, conversations paused, and eyes widened as they caught sight of the alpha in their midst.

"Still got your sense of humor, I see," Austin replied with a smirk. Despite the weariness in his voice, his piercing blue eyes sparkled with a fierce determination that radiated authority. He let his gaze wander around the room, taking in the familiar faces of his pack members and noting the new ones who had joined in his absence. The gang had clearly grown in numbers'.

"The pack's missed you," Jerry said, his deep voice barely audible over the pounding bass of the music. He motioned towards a back booth where a few burly men sat hunched over their drinks, their eyes gleaming under the dim lights. Jerry's eyes darted around the dimly lit room, his body tense with unease. He leaned in closer to Austin, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Things haven't been easy since you've been gone; a few of the newer guys, they don't respect the code... or you."

Austin straightened up, his gaze sweeping over the assembled group. The tension in his posture was palpable as he issued a silent challenge. "Name them," he demanded, his voice laced with authority and steel.

Jerry seemed to hesitate for a moment, his gaze trailing away from Austin’s intense stare. He let out a deep sigh, the weight of the situation evident on his weathered face. Finally, with a heavy hand he pointed towards the corner of the bar where two young bikers were shooting pool. Their boisterous laughter filled the room, oblivious to the fact that they were being talked about.

“Those two. Dal and Jimmy.” Jerry’s voice was rough and gruff, barely audible above the rowdy crowd. “Think they can run things their way. They’ve been challenging your rules ever since you left.”

Austin’s piercing gaze followed Jerry’s finger and then slowly moved to focus on the two men in question. They seemed hardly more than boys really, their matching leather jackets and cocky attitudes giving off the impression of overgrown pups trying to mark their territory. The sight of them sparked something in his chest - a cold, calculated anger that had him clenching his fists at his sides. “I see.” His words were sharp and clipped, void of any emotion except for a simmering rage that only those who knew him well could detect. With a determined stride, he pushed past Jerry and made a beeline towards Dal and Jimmy who were still engrossed in their game of pool. The tension in the room felt palpable as all eyes turned to watch Austin approach the group of challengers. Austin's body visibly trembles with a mix of rage and anticipation as he approaches the oblivious duo. His broad shoulders square up, ready for a fight, while his icy gaze pierces through them like a sharp blade. The laughter dies down around them as they finally notice the Alpha's approach.

Dal, a lanky man with a scar running down the side of his face, meets Austin's stare with a smug smirk that exudes defiance. Jimmy, shorter and stockier with a wild mop of red hair, takes an instinctive step back in fear and quickly averts his gaze under Austin's intense stare.

With a voice full of authority and malice, Austin addresses them. "You got a problem with my rules?”

Dal's smirk twists into a snarl as he leans back against the pool table, crossing his arms over his chest in challenge. "Our problem ain't with your damn rules, Butler," he spits out Austin's title with contempt. "Our problem is with you.”

The pool stick falls from Dal's grip with a loud clatter as he stands, his eyes blazing with anger. "You've been locked up for two years and now you think you can just waltz back in here and reclaim your throne as alpha?" He takes a threatening step forward, his voice dripping with disdain. "We've managed just fine without you, Butler. Who's to say you're still the strongest?"

"Is that a challenge, Dal?" Austin's voice pierced through the dim bar like a shard of ice, freezing the air around them. His crystal blue eyes glinted with a dangerous intensity as they locked onto Dal, who could feel his heart rate quicken under the alpha’s unwavering stare. The muscles in Austin's arms bulged as he stood tall, crossing them over his broad chest in a show of dominance

Dal shifted uneasily, almost feeling physically pinned under the weight of Austin's intense glare. The smirk on his face vanished, replaced by a fierce determination that hardened his features. Meeting Austin's gaze head-on, he squared his shoulders and spoke with a steely resolve, “Yeah, Butler. It is."

Without warning, Austin lunged at Dal with such ferocious speed that he was nothing but a blur. The crowd's hushed gasps were drowned out by the sickening thud of Austin's fist connecting with Dal's face. A fresh cut on his lip oozed blood as he lay sprawled on the ground, his body trembling with pain and shock.The air in the room seemed to thicken with tension as Dal slowly rose to his feet, wiping the blood away with a shaking hand. His gaze locked onto Austin's, filled with a fiery defiance. Without hesitation, he launched himself at Austin, their bodies colliding in a flurry of fists and grunts. But Austin was a force to be reckoned with, easily overpowering Dal with his brute strength and merciless blows. Each punch landed like a sledgehammer, causing bones to crack and skin to split. The smell of iron permeated the air as blood spilled, staining the floor beneath them. Dal was no match for Austin's relentless assault. A thunderous left hook knocked him off balance, leaving him dazed and stumbling. Before he could regain his bearings, Austin charged at him like a raging animal, slamming him back against the pool table.

Pain exploded through Dal's body as he hit the hard surface, gasping for air as if his lungs had been crushed. He struggled to focus through blurred vision, gazing up at Austin who loomed over him like a giant. With one final burst of strength, Dal tried to push himself up off the table, only to receive a brutal kick to the gut that sent him crashing back down. As he lay there, helpless and defeated, all he could taste was blood and defeat in his mouth.

Austin stood over him, chest heaving and fists clenched. His ice-blue eyes were alight with a victorious glint as he looked down at his conquest. The crowd parted in silence, every pair of eyes glued to the spectacle. Austin’s gaze shifted from Dal to the onlookers, his expression stern and unwavering. His voice rang out clear and commanding through the silence, “Let this be a lesson to all of you - I am your alpha, your leader...and I will not tolerate disloyalty or disrespect in my pack.”

He cast a final glance at Dal, then turned towards Jerry who had been watching the scene unfold from the sidelines. The Butcher's face bore a grimace of satisfaction; he approved of what Austin had done. Austin slowly walked back to him, the crowd parting to make way for their leader.

"Painful but necessary," Jerry muttered as he draped an arm around Austin's shoulder, "hopefully this little display of power will keep them in line."

Austin simply nodded his agreement, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. However, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. He knew that he had needed to assert his authority but the violent encounter left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hoped that no other member would dare to challenge him; he didn't want to shed any more blood of his own pack. But he would stand his ground and uphold order, no matter the cost.

"Well, that was a helluva welcome back party," Jerry chuckled and slapped Austin on the back. The two walked to the exit, their imposing figures outlined by the dimly lit bar behind them. Austin didn’t respond; his thoughts were elsewhere – on Bonnie Barlow. How would she react to tonight's events? Would she be afraid of him...or for him? As Austin sat in his cell, thoughts of Bonnie consumed his mind. She had been his only source of comfort during his time in jail, and now that he was out, she still lingered in his thoughts. It had been five long years since he last saw her, and he couldn't help but wonder how she had been and what she was up to now. Memories of her petite figure and expressive eyes flooded his mind, stirring a mix of emotions within him. Remorse for the mistakes he made and an intense yearning to see her again. His heart clenched at the reality of his situation. He wasn't just a man – he was an alpha, a werewolf. And Bonnie? She was the quiet beauty who had found her way into his heart, and then fled from the violent world he inhabited. Even as he craved to have her back in his life, Austin couldn’t help but acknowledge the bitter truth. The world he ruled with an iron fist was no place for someone as delicate and empathetic as Bonnie.

With a troubling thought gnawing at his mind, Austin abruptly shrugged off Jerry's arm and strode out into the cool, crisp night air. His heavy boots crunched with each step on the gravel path as he made his way to his motorcycle. The machine stood there like a ferocious animal lying in wait, its metallic body glinting in the moonlight.

"Hey, where you off to?" Jerry called after him, but Austin did not even spare a glance as he pulled on his leather gloves and climbed onto his ride. His mind was too cluttered with thoughts of Bonnie, bittersweet memories that brought both solace and a haunting pain.

The engine roared to life beneath him, a low growl that reverberated through the peaceful night. With one last look at the bar where his pack was still celebrating their leader's victorious return, he revved the engine and tore off into the darkness. The wind whipped against his face as he raced down the deserted roads, slicing through the quiet stillness of the night. He welcomed the chilling gusts, hoping they would blow away the weight of remorse weighing on him. But no amount of speed or distance could erase Bonnie's image from his mind or ease the ache in his heart. His thoughts kept returning to that fateful day five years ago when Bonnie had left.

She had vanished into the ether, leaving behind a void in Austin's life that he couldn't fill. No call, no text, no warning. One day, they were holding each other at her father's funeral - her tears staining his shoulder and his arms wrapped tightly around her. The next day, she was gone, taking all traces of herself with her. Austin searched high and low, calling every number he had for her and knocking on every door he could think of. But she had disappeared without a trace, leaving him feeling lost and alone. Weeks turned into months, which turned into years. The uncertainty of not knowing where Bonnie had gone or even if she was still alive weighed heavily on Austin's mind and heart. He would wake up from nightmares, drenched in sweat and trembling, his thoughts consumed by visions of Bonnie being hurt or in danger. As much as he wanted to protect her like he did when they were younger, he couldn't do anything if he didn't even know where she was.

The soft purr of his motorbike echoed through the stillness, offering him a strange sense of tranquility as he veered down onto the dirt path that led home. Austin’s cabin, nestled in the secluded wilderness away from town, was as rugged and unyielding as he was. A shabby structure with weathered timber walls and a roof so worn it seemed to blend into the overcast night sky. Sliding off his bike, Austin crossed the threshold, stepping into the austere living space. Minimalistic and practical just like him. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, its hearth filled with charred logs from a fire long gone. The rest of the furniture was plain and functional - a worn-out couch, a small dining table, and his bed tucked into an alcove.

He shrugged off his leather jacket and made his way to the worn-out armchair by the fireplace, sinking into its familiar comfort. Pouring himself a glass of whiskey from a dusty bottle, he stared at the golden liquid swirling within. Each drop mirrored years of torment and solitude that had gradually gnawed away at his soul. Drinking was not his means to drown the pain; instead, it was more of a ritual – an acknowledgement of his broken spirit and an attempt to numb the hurt festering within. The air around him crackled as he struck a match and brought it close to the dry logs in the hearth. The fire leaped up instantly, hungry flames lapping at the wood while releasing whispers of smoke into the air. Austin watched the dance of the fire, his mind lost in the glowing depths as he sipped from his glass. The warmth of the Scotch spread through him, a perfect foil to the cold emptiness he had grown accustomed to. The silence of his cabin was only broken by the sporadic crackle of the flames and the quiet hum of woodland creatures outside. This solitude was his sanctuary and yet it was also his prison cell.

The tranquil silence was broken in an instant by a shrill ring that made Austin jump. He quickly realized it was his cell phone, a device he hadn't heard from in what seemed like ages. His fingers fumbled for the familiar weight in his pocket, almost forgetting it had been there this whole time. The screen displayed ‘Unknown’ as the call persisted, daring him to answer and reveal the identity of the caller. Who could be reaching out to him, someone he had not seen at the bar? With a deep breath, Austin pressed accept and brought the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?" His voice came out rough and hesitant.

"Austin," said a soft voice on the other end.

Instantly recognizing the voice that had haunted his thoughts for years, Austin's heart began to race in his chest. The drink in his hand suddenly felt like a lead weight, and he carefully set it down on the small wooden table beside him. His fingers trembled slightly as he tightened his grip on the phone, as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

"Bonnie..."

Stay tuned for part 2!! Click HERE to view!

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the-palelady · 1 month ago

Note

I was wondering if you were writing your crime wife thought as a full story/longer drabble? If not may I request her meeting Ghost???? Thank you!!!

- 🪼

i have written some thoughts on this, and half of a chapter, but it's been so long since i've written a series. i'm not sure how i feel about it tbh. i'm pretty self conscious. i'll mention here and in the warnings that reader is afab and she also doesn't have a name, but she does go by a nickname. friend of mine helped me to decide on the nickname and where it came from so shoutout to them otherwise it would have ended up being something about sharks lmao

but plz feel free to send reqs for this little idea or any others! ♡

cw ; afab!reader, brief mentions of abuse, reader has severe anxiety and a stutter, brief mention of blood in a metaphor, reader does not have a name but she does go by a nickname, i tried to keep most other descriptions of reader pretty vague so everything else is up for interpretation, she and ghost are hella awkward

The breeze was a stranger to you, an unknown feeling against your skin as you stepped out into the spring sun. Your dress fluttered like the wings of the birds that flew about around you, dancing along the thralls of freedom, something you had longed to taste.

How long has it been now? How long have you been stuck here in this prison, the walls of your cell slowly closing in on you day by day? Time was hardly something you understood anymore. What was the point in keeping up?

Your husband had taken his leave earlier in the morning. You were thankful that he left you be, allowing you to stay consumed by your dreams. However, you could hardly call a void opening up underneath your feet and swallowing you whole a dream.

But nightmares were safer than the gaze and touch of your oh-so-loving husband.

You had the house to yourself, for the most part. You knew somehow, someway, your husband still had eyes on you. You were unsure how, but he always managed to know every little thing you were doing from what books you read to what time you decided to crawl into bed. Even if he was miles away from home, he knew every detail about your life. Your own personal dictator.

The thought made your temples pulsate, a headache beginning to form when you had barely stepped outside.

You wouldn’t let your husband get in the way of your one chance at solace. He wasn’t here to hound you about how disheveled your hair looked when the wind had torn through it, pushing it to and fro. He wasn’t here to decide what your dinner for the night would be. He wasn’t here to put his hands on you, shoving you back into the wall as he blamed you for every little wrong thing that happened in his life. He wasn’t here to blame you for his own mistakes.

So you put on a dress you had kept hidden in the back of your closet, a white sundress with blue lemon tree accents and puffy sleeves. The waist was cinched, revealing your curves, and the square neckline allowed the sun to kiss the exposed skin of your neck and shoulders. The dress cascaded down to the middle of your shins, pooling out around you as you sat amongst the blanket you brought with you to the garden.

You were surrounded by all of your favorite things: the sun, flowers, and butterflies that danced atop the curves of the leaves on the bushes you had spent years mothering.

This was your safe haven, your joy. The only happiness you felt you had left.

Soon your husband would return, and you’d have to retreat back into the warzone that was your own home. You’d be tucked back into your tower, unable to see the sun, unable to see the flowers you’d spent so long taking care of, flowers you’d watched bloom with your own eyes all those summers ago when love didn’t take the form of a wild bull. Its horns had ripped flesh from bone, puncturing what was left of your heart and letting you slowly bleed out.

Nausea began to settle deep in the pit of your stomach.

Your hands reached for one of the many books you had brought out, landing on The Picture of Dorian Grey, one you had already read a thousand times.

You open to the first page, your eyes gravitating to the words as if it were second nature. You read sentences, and paragraphs, ahead in your mind, the book memorized from front to back, engraved in the crevices of your mind.

And yet you still found yourself smelling the roses and lilacs of Basil Howard’s studio as he listened to Lord Henry boast about his art, and how he explained the beauty of the young lad Dorian Grey.

“You might see nothing in him. I see everything in him. He is never more present in my work than when no image of him is there. He is a suggestion, as I have said, of a new manner. I find him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of certain colours…” You read the lines aloud, word for word, your voice growing soft as you reach the end.

“...That is all.”

Snap.

Your eyes fly up to the bush that sits to your right. Over the years your ears had grown sensitive to the sounds around you, always listening for the footsteps of your husband, listening for the clack of the bulls' hooves as he charged towards your cell.

But you were met with a silence that sucked the oxygen from your lungs. You could have looked away. There was nothing there. Nothing that you could see at least. So it was safe, right?

So you blinked back the fear in your eyes, pushing it aside and turning your attention back to the book in your lap. However, it was hard to concentrate on the words now, the syllables jumbled into one chaotic mess, a tornado of letters that seemed incomprehensible. Your ears felt full of water. Your esophagus became tight, an unseen force pushing you under the waves of an ocean you’ve only ever seen in your nightmares.

You were being consumed by the fear that your husband had instilled into you, the vexed look in his eyes flashing behind your own. However, fright molded you into an ignorant woman, that very ignorance keeping you from seeing the brawn of a man standing from behind the very bush you had been wary of. He was slow, calculating, giving you plenty of time to react, and yet you didn’t.

You were lost at sea, plunged under the waves by the anxiety that had nestled its way into your life, so graciously placed there by the so-called “love of your life”.

The leaves rustled, and you blinked: once, twice, then three times.

You were intelligent. This was one of the few words of affirmation you had given yourself over the years, one of the few things you actually believed.

And yet in this moment, you couldn’t have felt any more stupid. Thinking wasn’t an option when his clouded, amber eyes locked with yours. His size was something you should have accounted for when your book fell out of your grip and you lept from the blanket. You thought you’d be fast.

But he was much faster.

His iron grip was on you before you could even take a step towards the house. His massive, gloved hand practically consumed your bicep. Out of instinct, you kept quiet. You blame your silence on your husband. The only sound you made was a quiet gasp as the stranger tugged you towards him, forcing you to face him.

Those chocolate eyes were so much brighter up close, the color reminding you of the outer wing pattern of an Atlas Moth. They shined in the afternoon sun, glowing in a way that had you enamored despite the pure horror that circulated through you. The rest of his face was obscured by a mask with a skull painted on it. The skin around his eyes was painted with black paint that seemed applied in a rushed or lazy manner, and you could see beads of sweat dripping down through the pigment.

Your eyes were wide, you were sure, a deer in headlights. Yet you didn’t resist, didn’t tug against the hold he had on you. After all, obedience was all you had ever known.

“Shh shh…husband doesn’t need t’know I’m ‘ere. Be quiet f’me, yeah?”

You simply watched the way his mask crinkled where his lips would be. His voice was a deep timbre, a sound most would find intimidating and yet you found it…charming. The way he spoke was hardly threatening, and over time his grip on your arms seemed to loosen as well.

“Well?”

Your eyes darted back up to his, lips parting to speak, but words were never your strong suit. So you instead opted to nod, bobbing your head up and down slowly, noting the way he studied your movements so closely.

And as quickly as his touch was there, it was gone, one hand falling to his side while the other reached up to rub across his face and down his chin.

“Bloody hell…” he whispered, your eyes still tracking his movements. After all, this was your home, your garden, and this complete stranger was just…standing here, speaking to you so casually, even making demands of you.

Not that you’d have told your husband anyway.

You watched his irises flick from the flowers of your garden to the windows of your house that sat behind you and then back down to you. You stood on the brink of being consumed by the stillness of the air, the situation making you fidget your fingers, index fingers intertwining with one another as your hands crossed.

It was impossible to read him, his body language relaxed and yet stiff all at once. You couldn’t tell whether he was scrutinizing you or simply just had a staring problem, maybe even both. The man simply towered over you, staring down at you with a look you couldn’t decipher even as he spoke.

“Husband did say ya were a quiet one. Although most people would scream if they were grabbed by a stranger.”

His statement was blunt, tone flat. Perhaps you had a staring problem as well, focus cast on the look in his eyes, and the way the sun made the pools of amber sparkle. You didn’t even notice the way your lips parted or the scratchy voice that came out right after.

“Just…just wasn’t expecting it was all.”

You were met with silence, the quiet air between you both making your skin crawl with an uneasy feeling, fingers wrapping around one another tighter.

“You’re one of the men from…across the street, right?” You finally blinked, his gaze becoming too much and you looked away, deciding that the ground was much more interesting now. He shifted his stance, arms crossing over his chest. His biceps bulged out a bit, the sleeves of his shirt tightening around the muscles.

“I am.”

You felt an odd sense of satisfaction knowing that someone else out there was just as bad at conversation as you were. The thought almost made your lips twitch into a smile, but you stopped it before it grew any wider.

The breeze picked up again, cutting through the stillness in the Spring air. Your hair swayed behind you, dress fanning out even as you pressed your palms down against your thighs to keep it from flying upwards. The longer you stood there in the quiet, the longer that familiar blade of anxiety cut through your sternum and dug deep into your chest. You felt sick.

His boots drug across the dirt when he uncrossed his arms, “S’pose I should ask your name?”

“It’s…um…” You stuttered out, eyes flitting from the ground, up to him, then back down. Why was talking such an impossible task, something so menial?

“Make it easier if I told ya mine first?” Your hand came up, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear while you nodded, looking up at him from under your lashes just the tiniest bit.

“Ghost.”

“Ghost?”

Even through the mask, you could see the way his eyebrow rose in a quizzical manner underneath.

“Got a problem with it?” You thought perhaps this was his way of sounding sarcastic. You let out a faint huff and shook your head in response.

“Good. Your turn then.”

You uttered your name to him, quiet, yet loud enough for him and the ensemble of flowers and butterflies around you to hear.

“But…most people call me Scarlet.”

There it was again—that same curious glint in his eyes from before when you questioned his own name.

“It’s a butterfly,” and as you spoke you turned. Distantly, you could hear him take a step towards you. However, you simply bent over, grabbing a hold of a book that sat on top of a larger stack of books. When you faced him again, you were already opening it to a page that was familiar to you. Of course, you had turned to this specific page numerous times before.

There was a large picture at the top of the left page with a black butterfly sitting front and center, and a few paragraphs of information listed underneath. Closest to the body and on the edges of the hindwings were sections of scarlet. You point to the image, his attention moving from you to the book.

“They’re called Scarlet Mormons. I’ve always…liked butterflies and moths, but they’re my favorite…” Your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment as you explain your favoritism for the species. In your mind, you sound like a child, so any scrutiny he decides to throw at you, you feel you deserve. And as he opens his mouth, you prepare yourself for the worst.

“They’re beautiful.”

Your apprehension becomes a distant memory at the sound of his voice and the words that fall from his lips, a word that sounds taboo coming from a sinister-looking man like him. Is a man like Ghost allowed to say such a word? Does he even know what it means?

You don’t take him for an idiot. Of course, he knows what it means, but it doesn’t stop your heart from pounding against your chest cavity, begging to burst from the space between your ribs.

“Why are you here…Ghost?” The question comes out hesitantly as you seek a change in subject. You don’t notice the way his eyes flick to your lips when you enunciate the syllables of his callsign, the way he tracks your hands when you close the book and press it to your chest.

When you do finally look back towards him, you can see him pondering something. The gears in his mind are working double time, and you don’t think you’ll even get a proper response. There’s a hundred possibilities as to why he’s here. You think maybe he works for your husband, cozying up to you to earn your trust and tell your husband all of your whereabouts and what you do while he’s gone. Perhaps he is an enemy of your husbands and you’ve made a terrible mistake, your ignorance once again clouding your judgment.

That same fissure begins to open up below you, threatening to pull you under. You’ll be blamed, and this time the mistake will be your fault. Your husband will take the last bits of happiness you have: your garden, books, the sunlight.

And it’s like Ghost sees this void underneath you, the foreboding tendrils of your husband dragging you into the furthest depths of Hell when he whispers out, “Think you’ve been pulled into this war enough. That’s a secret for another time.”

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hereticpriest · 8 months ago

Text

Pyrrhic

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Baron Helmut Zemo x Female Reader

Length: 14k+

Summary: Once, HYDRA sought to create an improved version of the super soldier through breeding the Winter Soldier with another super soldier they made for that express purpose.

Now, fourteen years after escaping HYDRA's clutches, Bucky Barnes comes to you for help with the rise of super soldiers under the title Flagsmashers. Unfortunately, Barnes' feelings drive you closer to Baron Helmut Zemo, and you find yourself hoping for a future for the first time in your life.

Warnings: Unrequited Bucky Barnes/Reader, Bucky Barnes is a bit controlling, Manipulative Helmut Zemo, HYDRA comes with it's own whole bucket of warnings, HYDRA had a secret super soldier breeding program, Reader is a kidnapping victim, Reader is 3/4 Sokovian, P in V sex, oral sex (f receiving), reference to potential purity kink, loss of virginity, reader is touch-adverse, reader is also touch-starved, shower sex, ambiguous ending, consent is discussed multiple times, enthusiastic consent, Helmut Zemo is a consent king. Let me know if I missed something!

“Are you ever going to tell us about this person you’re insisting we need for this mission?” Sam asked as he stepped carefully through the thick brush of the forest around them. Bucky ducked under a large branch, shoulders tense as he practically stalked through the woods. His companions, reluctant as they may be, could tell that he didn’t want to answer the question - he was always evasive, but something about this person was making him especially tense. Sam was just happy that the Baron had kept his mouth shut so far. Considering his royal upbringing, one might think he would struggle on this mostly uphill hike through thick forest and untamed land, however Sam knew he’d been part of an elite Sokovian task force and that he had the strength and stamina to prove it.

“She was called Mat when I knew her, though she hated the title, so I wouldn’t recommend using it. Too fucking young for it anyways.” Bucky spat that last sentence, and Sam raised an eyebrow sceptically, not having the linguistic context to put two and two together. Zemo, however, huffed a breath laced with disdain and curiosity. Bucky shot him a dangerous look over his shoulder, and the Baron raised his hands placatingly, though Sam noticed him roll his eyes the moment Barnes looked away. The tension had been at a record high since Zemo was broken out of the German prison he’d been interred in, and Sam was starting to get sick of playing mediator between them.

“How did you know her?” Sam asked, and James paused mid-step, then turned to his two companions.

“She was held by an offshoot group of HYDRA scientists at a lab in the Czech Republic from the age of eight. They gave her a modified version of the super soldier serum used on the soldiers at the Siberian facility against her will, and they kept her locked in the facility until she escaped when she was eighteen.” Every word was said carefully, and while Sam took that as Bucky struggling to tell the girl’s story, Zemo observed him with open curiosity. He could tell that there was quite a bit that the former Winter Soldier wasn’t telling them.

“Modified how?” He asked, and Barnes scowled, but Sam’s equally curious gaze made him bite his cheek to stop from chewing the Baron out.

“She was… faster than any other super soldier I’ve ever seen. Not as strong physically, but her reaction time is far superior. She heals fast like the rest of us, but they did something to her pain responses. Dulled them, but didn’t remove them completely. She wasn’t as aggressive as the ones in Siberia were. The scientists made some hormonal changes as well.” Bucky shrugged, getting uncomfortable as he mentioned that last part, and Zemo tilted his head, studying his reactions.

“She didn’t want the serum, though? I mean, she was eight when they took her. How old was she when they gave it to her?” Sam asked, and Barnes closed his eyes briefly, his expression pained.

“They gave it to her shortly after she arrived at the facility. Maybe a month. She was just a kid. I could hear her screaming from the other side of the facility. They didn’t put her through the same brainwashing bullshit they did to me, but she wasn’t willing like the other soldiers, so they… they used to beat her until she started to learn to fight back like they wanted. She tried to escape, but they never let her out of the facility.” He replied, “So don’t start up your ‘I need to kill all super soldiers’ bullshit with her, Zemo. She never had a choice.”

The Baron considered his words, pursing his lips for a moment before softening ever so slightly.

“As you say, she was only a child.”

Bucky nodded, then continued his solemn march, cresting the top of the hill and sighing as a dark wood cabin came into view. Smoke trailed from the chimney, and there was a long driveway heading from the cabin to the road they’d abandoned nearly a mile back due to Bucky’s insistence that they approach on foot from the forest lest she know they were coming. An old, beat up pickup truck sat like a rusty silver beacon in the driveway with a large, newer-looking storage box hooked into the bed. There was a storage shed behind the cabin, and an old, large stump that appeared to be used as a woodcutter’s block considering the axe sunk deep into it. The firewood rack was full to the brim against the right wall of the cabin, and a full clothesline hung between the opposite side of the cabin and a sturdy nearby tree.

“You okay, man?” Sam asked, clapping Bucky on the shoulder when the other man didn’t move for over a minute, staring at the cabin trepidatiously. The hundred-and-six year old man was always tense, but his shoulders felt like iron under Sam’s hand.

“She might not be happy to see me.” Barnes admitted, and Sam hummed his acknowledgement, then started trudging down the small slope towards the house. This finally kicked Bucky into movement, and he followed swiftly, pausing only briefly when he spotted your tall frame exiting the shed behind the cabin. There was a Browning Citori against one shoulder, and blood had soaked into the dirty blue plaid shirt you wore. Your knees were muddy from kneeling in the woods. To the far left of the cabin in a clearing past a line of thick trees were two worn stones sticking out of the earth, and you approached calmly, dropping to kneel before them.

“Well, she looks real friendly.” Sam mused, clapping Bucky on the back, “Good luck.”

Five hours earlier, you had thumped a deer carcass down on the butcher table in your shed, then hung your trusty shotgun on the rack behind the door where it belonged. It had taken you a long time to perfect field dressing, and even longer to learn to get good at butchering your meat, but you had learned. You had no choice. Society and its shiny grocery stores full of pre-packaged food were far too dangerous for you. HYDRA still had a hold on the world when you first escaped, and there were still monstrous little tentacles everywhere who had escaped the punishment they deserved for what they had done. You knew how to hunt humans, so animals weren’t such a big stretch. Now, after fourteen years, you were an expert at surviving on your own. You went into town once a month at most, on a different day every time to avoid routine, to pick up the essentials you couldn’t scavenge for yourself.

With the deer butchered and packed away in your meat freezer, you made your way towards the two gravestones just out of view of your cabin. With a heavy sigh, you tucked the shotgun under your chin, sitting with it between your knees, and stared at the cold stones. Upon one, Rickard Stroud. On the other, Imogen Whitley.

“Thank you both. Thank you Imogen, for having mercy on a broken creature and freeing me from my shackles. I’m sorry that I couldn’t save you in return. I bet you’re sick of hearing it by now, but I will never forget what you sacrificed for me. Thank you Rickard, for leaving me everything I needed to survive. I wish I could have known you. I hope you wouldn’t be too mad at me for moving into your home, but I promise I’ve tried my best to maintain it with the care you clearly did.”

Bucky jerked forwards as he watched you point the shotgun at yourself, panic racing through his veins at the thought of losing you before he’d even gotten you back. Not that he’d ever had you in the first place - you were a name on his reparations list that he needed to cross off. He was responsible for what happened to you, regardless of whether he was in control of himself or not. The entire choice to upend and ruin your life was made because of him. The inability to make amends sparked every selfish fear response in his body.

“Wait-” The Baron’s gloved hand closed around Bucky’s metal bicep, not quite able to pull him back, but enough to pause his forward momentum, “Look closely, James. Her finger is not on the trigger. This is a ritual.”

Sam felt sympathy coil in his gut as he watched the woman kneel in the dirt, the cold metal against her skin as if it gave her peace. He inwardly acknowledged that if anyone might understand a grief ritual of this specific breed, it might be Zemo, though he didn’t want to give the man the credit. Bucky stared down at her, seeming to deflate before their very eyes, though his face showed some measure of relief. He shrugged Zemo’s hand off of his arm, then continued forwards at a slower pace, no longer panicking. Zemo watched for a moment before following them, noting the way the woman’s head tilted ever-so-slightly in their direction before straightening out again.

Three approached from the southwest. One stomped through the forest despite the ability to soften his steps, one walked with purpose but made a poor attempt to soften his steps, and the third walked leisurely but with an awareness to his gait. All soldiers of varying service, if you weren’t mistaken. One of them was, unfortunately, familiar.

You let out a long, laboured sigh as you laid your shotgun down in front of you, then pushed yourself up from your knees. The footsteps stopped, and you shed your plaid shirt, leaving yourself in only a black undershirt and your muddy sweatpants. If this was going to be a fight, you’d make sure it was one they regretted. You spun to face the trio with a raised eyebrow, biceps flexing, shoulders rolling as you prepared yourself.

“Soldat. Falcon. Ah, and the Baron as well, how curious. To what do I owe the pleasure?” You asked, noticing Bucky’s gaze fixed on your shotgun, “Relax, Soldat, I’m far too much of a coward.”

The former Winter Soldier scoffed, taking another step closer to you but freezing when you took a step back, “I’m not going to do anything, doll. I’m not… I’m not him anymore.”

The Falcon put his hand on Barnes’ shoulder as if to hold him back and steady him all in one shot while the former Winter Soldier processed your fear of him, guilt eating away at his guts. The Baron leaned against a tree nearby to observe, just out of the way to avoid getting in the middle of any conflict.

“I know what you are, Barnes. Better than most.” You replied, glancing from him to the Baron and taking the time to stare at him from top to bottom, curious, “You’re working with Zemo. I would assume that meant you were here to kill me, but you would have chosen an easier method, surely. Which means that there’s another super soldier or two running about, and you’ve decided to try and bring me along. Why?”

Bucky squirmed as your intense stare moved from the now slightly flushed Baron back to him, and he clenched his fists a few times to work through the nerves.

“I’ve known where you were for a while. Look, I don’t want to call you… that, so what name are you using these days? Your old name?” You don’t answer him right away, brow arched sceptically as you observe his expression. “You’re long overdue for an apology, and we need someone who can go toe-to-toe with super soldiers.”

You scoffed, turning your back on them.

“I don’t have- I’ve been going by Stroud, after the guy who owned this cabin before I found it. My old name is no one’s business but mine, Barnes. He certainly doesn’t need to know any more about me than he already does. I’d like to be offended that you brought a man to my doorstep who will no doubt want me dead, but I suppose that the greater good calls, doesn’t it?” You asked, gesturing towards Zemo, whose somewhat conflicted expression did nothing to quell your worry.

“I don’t want you dead, liebling. You did not choose your fate, and you’ve kept to yourself instead of enforcing your will on others.” The Baron said confidently, and you acknowledged him with a nod, then turned a twisted smirk towards Barnes.

“You didn’t tell them my whole story, clearly. Was that to protect me, James, or was it to protect yourself?” You asked, and both Sam and Zemo turned their concerned gazes to the former soldier. You picked up your shotgun lazily, marching towards the house.

“Why don’t we go inside and Barnes can tell you the whole story. From the beginning, since he remembers all of it. Take off your shoes - if you track mud through my house I’ll make you regret it.” You called over your shoulder, tapping off your boots on the porch then heading through the door. Once inside, you kicked them off and headed towards your bedroom to get changed. When you returned, the Baron was standing in your kitchen making tea while Barnes and Sam took up every inch of space on the small sofa. You claimed your armchair after scooting it at least a foot out of Bucky’s reach.

“Well, go ahead, James. Tell them my sordid tale. Or, at least, the parts you conveniently left out.” You encouraged him, accepting the tea that Zemo offered you with a soft ‘Danke’. He nodded, returning shortly after with a tray of tea and water for himself and the others. When he sat in the other armchair no more than a foot or two away from you, you didn’t scoot away, simply looked him up and down quickly as if assessing a threat. His demure smile did little to soothe you, but you weren’t scared of him in this situation - he was much more terrifying when he had the time and space to plan your demise.

“Stroud was eight when… when I was sent to kidnap her. She spent her summers and school breaks in Sokovia, but grew up in Canada, chosen because she had no genetic deficiencies or hereditary health issues. She was on vacation with her parents visiting her family in Sokovia when they sent me. I… I took her to the lab just outside of Prague, and HYDRA left me there for a couple of months while she settled in. They unfroze me up a couple times through the years to… to test her.” Bucky explained, watching Sam and Zemo’s faces to see their reactions.

“Your family is Sokovian?” The Baron asked, and you shrugged your shoulders but nodded.

“My father, and my mother’s maternal side. They were in Novigrad.” You explained, and he gave you a sympathetic nod, “Tell them the rest, James. I don’t believe the news will make my Baron want to kill me any more, now that he knows I’m one of his citizens.”

It was said teasingly, but from the way Zemo shifted in his seat and pursed his lips, you didn’t think you were far off. You could understand - he had lost his homeland, and you were a relic of that, using it against him to protect yourself shamelessly.

“The scientists chose her because… they liked her genetics. She didn’t have any concerning genes, hereditary health conditions, and none of her family suffered from any obvious addictions…” Bucky took a deep, steadying breath before continuing, “This was important to them because… because they wanted to… they theorised that breeding two super soldiers might create a stronger variant.”

Silence reigned, while you sipped your tea patiently, letting the men absorb that painful and disgusting truth. Sam got up from the sofa, clearly needing to pace, his hands resting on his hips as he thought it over. Bucky seemed to sink into the sofa on the other hand, as if he could hide from this somehow. Zemo rubbed his hand over his mouth, lost in thought, but it seemed that the most active of them all found his voice first.

“So they made you kidnap a child so they could turn her into your… what, baby mama?” Sam asked, his sneering face matching yours. He wasn’t mad at Bucky, obviously, but the entire concept of this was entirely antithetical to his worldview and moral structure.

“Does that seem so far out of the realm of possibility for the psychotic eugenic-freak nazis, Falcon?” You asked, and he shuddered visibly, “I wasn’t trained the same way as the Widows, or the other Soldiers. I didn’t need to be. I was just a broodmare, and the Winter Soldier was to be my eighteenth birthday present. Shame they didn’t put a bow on him.”

Zemo squeezed his eyes closed in your periphery, his jaw clenched tightly, and you took pity on the men who were clearly struggling with this reveal. Sam’s fury was evident, his whole being like an exposed nerve upon which his last remaining vestiges of control were barely a bandaid. The Baron, however, kept himself far more under wraps than the other two. There were signs, of course, to his discomfort, but he restrained himself in a way that Sam and Bucky both were incapable of.

“I’m still… God, pleasantly surprised sounds terrible, but it was a shock that they waited until you were eighteen. I… I still have nightmares about that day. And only partially because you tried to bite my throat out.” Bucky said, trying to sound playful on that last part despite the trauma you were all discussing. He didn’t quite achieve the tone he was trying to set, and you gave him a serious look, bordering on sympathy.

“Tried? James, I nearly got your jugular. You had to go into surgery immediately, that’s the only reason they stopped the whole thing.” You reminded him, and he shrugged, clearly thinking he deserved it, “Enough about me. Tell me what brings three of the four horsemen to my doorstep.”

Barnes huffed a breath through his nose at the reference, but Sam stepped in to show you the video from Torres and explain the Flagsmashers to you. You hummed along appropriately, considering his words as he described the truck fight to you, and explained who the hell John Walker was when he came up. When Sam was done, you turned your gaze to the man who’d kidnapped you so many years ago and narrowed your eyes, dubious rather than angry.

“You come to my home bringing death and destruction to my doorstep, Barnes. Why? You think you’re enough to bring me into the light? I have weathered much darker storms, Soldat. I have kept to myself while your so called Avengers ripped themselves and each other apart. Why do you think I will join you now to squash this little resistance? All that your friends have done is raise the bar for sinister minds. I am not like you, James, I never wanted this. I never wanted to be a soldier, or to save the world. I wanted to be a gardener. I had such… Lofty aspirations. As if my hands can do anything now but destroy.”

You stood as you finished your tirade, eerily calm as you walked towards the kitchen, giving the men space. For your safety and theirs. You placed a box of your favourite tea on the counter, examining your kitchen for anything you would want to bring with you if you decided to accept.

“The people who have this serum are dangerous, doll. We don’t know how many there are, what their plan is, and how bad things will get. I need backup. I need someone who can withstand a fight against them, or this might go south.” Barnes explained as best as he could, “You’re hiding here, barely living. I get it. But you deserve better. If you help us, we can back you up against whatever remnants of HYDRA are left if they come for you. You could live a better life.”

You scoffed, splaying your hands out on the countertop to brace yourself as you considered your choices.

In the end, you think it must’ve been inevitable. What else could you have done?

Music pounds in your ears as you walk through a crowd towards the bar, your arm delicately linked with that of the Baron. No one knew you here despite your brief stint while you were roaming the world aimlessly in an attempt at getting away from your past, and having you as backup that blended in rather than outwardly dressed as a soldier was the best choice, according to Zemo. You weren’t sure you’d be much help at all - after years in the quiet of the woods by yourself, the bar was overwhelming at best. But, Zemo had been confident when he presented you with a dress that you were certain despite knowing very little about dresses that must have cost a fortune, and told you your role. Tonight, you would be arm candy. It had taken ages to get yourself groomed enough to pass as anything but a wild woman, but you had to admit as you admired yourself in the mirror that you did clean up well.

Despite knowing he is more of a threat than he appears - evident in the bulge of his bicep against your arm if nothing else - the man is a comforting presence. His grip on your waist is possessively tight as he guides you in front of him at the bar, caging you in with his body. His nose bumps against your ear and you shiver as he whispers against it.

“What would you like to drink, schatz?”

“Whiskey, please, Baron.” You say back, louder than he had asked you, looking at the bartender through your lashes. He hums a response, greeting Sam and asking for his drink order while he pours a shot for Zemo. You watch over the rim of your glass as Sam struggles with his repulsive drink, distracted by the soft stroking of Zemo’s hand over your stomach, and his lips against your neck. Something about having constant, roving contact with him is making it easier to tune out every other overstimulating input in the bar. You wonder if he planned it this way, or if he’s simply putting on a show. You can feel Bucky glaring at him, but the Baron seems nonplussed by the Winter Soldier’s ire.

You aren't a huge fan of physical contact, but Zemo had quietly explained his plan to you on the plane ride to Madripoor, and cleared what he might have to do to enforce your role with you. It was far more than you expected from the man, but the consideration was worthwhile in making you trust him at least a little. You had a safe word, which had been a new concept to you that Zemo had surprisingly patiently explained while studiously ignoring the way that Barnes glared daggers at his back. You weren't entirely sure what James' problem was with Zemo and you specifically, but you were putting it down to either base male ego due to the fact that you were intended for him (a gross concept) or protective instinct (less gross, but unnecessary). Or both, perhaps. He was only human, after all.

The Sokovian had done a good job of pretending that Barnes didn't exist, focused entirely on you as he explained that he may have to touch you quite intimately, and likely would have to kiss you. Selby was a woman who delighted in the obscene at times, and had a taste for pretty things. She might demand a show of perversion to prove you weren't a spy while simultaneously getting her rocks off. You gave him permission to do what he had to do, and promised that after the events were over, you would check in with him privately. You had to admit, you were impressed by his genuine show of concern, and the amount of effort he was putting into establishing consent and trust with you.

Even now, he kept his body between yours and anyone else's in a way that protected your personal space but seemed possessive to the outward eye. A man approaches Zemo from behind, telling him that the message from above is that he isn't welcome, and you splay your hands across his stomach to brace him, staring up into his eyes to see if he needs you. He speaks to the man calmly, and you slip your hand under his shirt to trace along his ribs, your gaze moving between your date for the night and the man ‘interrupting’ it like you were simply an impatient girl. The man leaves, and you listen as Zemo explains the power broker, pausing briefly and switching to Russian as a hand clasps around his shoulder.

"Winter Soldier. Attack."

The man is swiftly removed, and you watch around Zemo's shoulder as Barnes goes on the attack, your arms slipping around the Baron's waist in a way that he clearly approves of from the rumble he lets out, and the hand that covers yours to hold you in place. He’s smirking as he watches the fight, and you scoff as he pushes another body at Bucky before making a snarky comment to Sam about how little it took for him to fall back into form. Like it wasn’t his fault. You roll your eyes, pressing closer to the Baron as if trying to watch the fight, and using that closeness to whisper in his ear,

“Try to enjoy this a little less, Baron. You’re being too obvious. S’a flimsy basis for the wedge you’re trying to drive.”

You feel him shiver against you, and his honey eyes find yours over his shoulder, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“Apologies, häschen.”

Soon enough, the violence ends and you are brought back to meet Selby, letting the Baron guide you into his lap as if you belonged there. A large, warm hand closes around the meat of your thigh, just under the hem of your dress, and you watch Selby's eyes track the movement with a hunger that makes you squirm against the man beneath you. Barnes and Sam watch with disapproval on their faces, though they snap back into character swiftly enough it goes unnoticed. The Baron gives you two squeezes, and you settle, draping yourself back against his chest with your head on his shoulder, face tucked demurely into his neck.

"She's a pretty thing, isn't she? New pet, Zemo? Last I heard you were in a German lockup. How'd you get out, and how'd you get a sweet little thing like that so quickly?" Selby asks, and Zemo laughs.

"People like us will always find a way." He remarks, "As for this little häschen... she hopped her way to me when she found out I was free, like a good little girl."

Selby's gaze digs into you, and you lift your head from Zemo's shoulder to trail kisses along his jaw, murmuring a quiet 'Hel, baby, I'm bored.' against his skin. You say it just loud enough to be heard, and you can see Selby out of the corner of your eye, her eyes glued to your thighs as if staring hard enough would make them open. You pointedly ignore the stirring you feel beneath you, knowing he’s only a man and at that, a man who’d been imprisoned for eight long years. It probably has nothing to do with you. The conversation continues around you as Zemo offers Selby the Winter Soldier in exchange for information about the super soldier serum, and you do your job well despite having no experience to draw on beyond the seconds the Winter Soldier had his hands on you before you nearly tore his throat out with your teeth. The Baron shivers as you kiss along his jugular, stopping briefly mid-sentence to squeeze your thigh with one hand while the other grips your hair and pulls you back.

“Häschen, I am working. You will wait.” He reprimands you gently, nipping your lower lip when you pout dramatically. Liquid fire floods your veins, and you have to clench your thighs to temporarily quell the burn even though you know he’ll feel it and probably know why.

“Give the girl a bone, Baron, she’s clearly gagging for it.” Selby commands, and you know from her tone that you’ve ignited her. Zemo glances at Selby briefly before sliding his hand further up under your dress, his fingertips skimming across your cunt. He gives you a startled look when he realises you’ve forgone wearing underwear, but masks it quickly before Selby could notice. You’re mortified to find that you’re soaked, and he can definitely feel it. He knows. The little hitch in his breath at the realisation makes your cunt throb.

“I’ve been trying to teach her patience, Selby. You know how easily a brat is born without a firm hand.” He reminds her somewhat playfully, and Selby smirks as she watches him spread your legs a little. It’s embarrassing to know she can see you, and she is shameless about tilting her head to take a long look, but you knew it was a possibility and you didn’t blame him for it. You try for an eager look instead of nervous, but yelp as Zemo’s hand slaps your cunt with a loud and worryingly wet-sounding smack, “She will get what she wants when she earns it.”

Something in that makes you sigh, and Zemo lets out a soft breath of a laugh, catching your lips in a kiss that sends fire through your veins. Your first kiss, somehow at 32, and it’s all a bit of a game. At least it’s a good one, the Baron’s soft lips moving gently against yours, guiding you to respond to him as his hand cups your jaw. His thumb traces over your cheek, tongue slipping past your lips to taste you, and you try desperately to make it seem like you aren’t as inexperienced as you are.

“Now that you’ve had your fun-” Selby begins as you part, leaving a string of saliva connecting you, only to be interrupted by the buzzing of Sam’s cellphone. You close your eyes, biting your cheek to restrain any noise of frustration, then shift in Zemo’s lap as if nothing is wrong at all while you survey the room for all aggressors and exits.

“Answer it. On speaker.”

Sam does, and you listen with a roll of your eyes as the man has a conversation with his sister. Strong hands hold you as the tension in the room mounts, until Sarah says her brother’s name, and the jig is up. Fortunately, Selby is swiftly assassinated. Unfortunately, Selby is now dead, and it appears as if it is your fault. Walking the streets of Madripoor’s Lowtown knowing that a bounty is likely already set on your head with the dings of phones all around you as the soundtrack of your departure is, you find, a great way to raise your blood pressure.

As all hell breaks loose, Zemo drags you in the opposite direction as Sam and Bucky, and you let him despite the obvious warning signals. You’re touched by how protective he acts, tucking you behind him when someone gets into your path. He efficiently takes out a man with a handgun, pilfering it from his body and leading you through several alleyways until you meet up with Sam and Bucky just as their pursuers are executed.

“You seem to have a guardian angel.” Zemo remarks to the two men, and you hum, keen ears picking up the crunch of boots just as Sharon Carter rounds into the alley with you all.

“Well this is too perfect.” She chimes, gun pointed directly at the Baron instead of Sam or Bucky. Instinct flares, and you move before you can rethink your actions, one hand clasping around her wrist to remove the gun while the other jabs sharply into her elbows to buckle her arms and stop her from being able to immediately retaliate. You turn the gun on her, grip confident as you step out of her reach.

“Who the fuck are you?” She asks, sneering as you place yourself between her and Zemo. She shifts as if trying to get an angle on him, and you mirror her effortlessly, eyebrow raised as you wait for her next move.

“You do not need to know.” You reply, tuning out the world to listen to her heart pound.

“What are you, Zemo’s new guard dog?”

You smirk. The Baron’s gaze sits heavy between your shoulders, and you wonder at his expression. Barnes and Wilson’s are less difficult to imagine.

“Woof.”

Sam and Bucky intervene to explain the situation, and you take the gun from Zemo before the others can demand it, surprised that he lets you so easily. His eyes burrow into you, and you tilt your head nearly in time with him, both of you attempting to understand each other as in the background, Sharon offers you all a place to stay in Hightown. As the boys negotiate with Sharon for her cooperation, you duck into the bathroom to clean up, pulling up the skirt of your dress. There are bruises on your thighs already, your healing factor taking you through the process faster than any human body could. More worrying to you is how wet you are. It’s not as if you don’t understand what is happening - you have a lack of experience, not knowledge - and it’s not as if you’ve never touched yourself. Unfortunately, your night isn’t over, and the cause of your apparent arousal was waiting in the other room. You’d pointed a gun at the proprietor of the house for him less than an hour prior. The instinct to protect was strong in you - it always has been, and apparently, you wanted to protect Zemo. Why? Because he had been kind to you?

You breathe out a heavy sigh, cleaning yourself up liberally before you head back into the other room, and you catch Zemo’s eyes darkening as he looks upon you. At first, you’re uncertain why, until you see his gaze flicker down to your pelvis and you remember that he’s the only one in the room aware that you aren’t wearing underwear. You bite your lip, hoping perhaps that he’ll forget or misunderstand how wet you were. You think you might die if he brings it up.

“Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party. Try to stay out of trouble and I’ll see what I can find.” Sharon says as she heads upstairs, and Zemo smirks as he shrugs, one hand open palmed in faux innocence while the other grips his tumbler of whiskey.

“Trouble?”

You have to give it to Sharon, she definitely knows how to throw a party.

You move through the crowd as the beat pounds in your ears, dodging drunken party goers with a supernatural alacrity gifted to you by the serum. The blue neons cast a surprisingly attractive light across the crowd, and you watch with growing amusement as Sam flirts with a girl while pretending to examine a gorgeous Monet. Bucky tries to get you to stay close to him, but you dip under his arm and continue on your path to the bar, ignoring the way he calls after you. A shot glass is slid into your hand moments after you smell him approaching. Warm and musky and delicious, with traces of leather and old books lingering on the edges of your awareness.

“We should talk.” The Baron murmurs, and you nod despite wanting to run, turning to him to find yourself once more caged between his body and the bar. You take a breath, clenching your thighs again as he examines your expression like he’s dissecting you.

“When the night is over, as promised, we will talk.” You reply, taking the shot easily after clinking it against his glass. He raises his glass to you, then takes the shot as if it isn't even alcohol, keeping his eyes on you. In this light, they’re more chocolate than honey, but no less expressive. You wonder if he’s getting drunk - your tolerance is better than any human’s, and you’re not sure how much it takes someone who isn’t a super soldier to begin to feel it - since he’s now on his third or fourth drink at the very least tonight.

“My room or yours?” Zemo asks, and you consider it before offering him a faint shrug.

“Yours will do. I can’t promise Buck won’t be trying to break my door down for an unnecessary heart-to-heart.”

The Baron smirks, and you lean up to kiss his cheek as you slip past him, feeling him lean into it but not letting yourself dwell on it, “Have some fun, Zemo. I’ll come find you in a little bit. Be safe.”

“Tell me you’re seeing what I’m seeing.” Sam mutters to you, and you hum, looking away from the painting Bucky is showing you to follow the other man’s gaze. It doesn’t take long for either super soldier to spot what has caught his attention, and you stifle a laugh, pushing at Sam’s shoulder playfully. Bucky’s snort and subsequent coughing on his drink makes your laughter break through, and you end up gripping Sam’s shirt for stability as you try to get a hold of yourself.

“He’s a rich boy, Sam, I’m sure you’d look much the same if you tried your hand at a slow waltz.” You tease, drawing a chuckle from Barnes. He leans closer to you, hand sweeping over your lower back in what you’re sure is probably a platonic way, but still gives you the heebie-jeebies as he reminds you that you don’t need to defend the Baron. His lips are too close to your ear, and he’s looking at you too intensely for you to handle despite his playful smile. You turn your back to Zemo to look at both Bucky and Sam, stepping out of the former Winter Soldier’s reach.

“So, who’s gonna go save him from himself and show him how to actually dance? Any takers? Consider it charity work if it makes you feel better.” You grin at them, your tone playful despite how tense you are, and Sam snorts.

“How d’you know how to dance? You’re basically a homeschool kid on steroids.”

That draws a genuine laugh from you, and you shrug your shoulders as you begin backing towards the Baron, decision made.

“I spent years roaming Europe and at least a month clubbing here in Madripoor, Sam. I may not have experience in a lot of things, but dancing is definitely not one of them. You keep Buck here unmolested by the masses, and I’ll handle our Baron.” You tease.

“Yeah, you’ll handle him alright. Gross.” Sam retorts mostly under his breath, only audible to you due to your enhanced hearing. You’re laughing as you approach Zemo, and you boldly slide an arm around his waist from behind as you press yourself up against his back, grinning as he startles. He twists to face you, and his smile is more open - genuine - as he takes you in. You’re not sure if he’s just decided he likes you, or if he’s a little tipsy.

“You’ve never danced like this before, Baron.” You state plainly, and he laughs, almost bashful but not quite as he shrugs his broad shoulders.

“Perhaps not, but I am enjoying myself.” He retorts, letting you guide him until his hips are pressing into yours, winding with the music in a way that can’t possibly be anything but intimate. You’re not sure why it’s so easy for you to touch and be touched by Zemo, when Bucky laying a hand on you sends shivers down your spine, but you don’t want to think on that too heavily right now under the blue neon lights and the pulsing of the music. As the crowd closes in around you, you move with them, all the while guiding Zemo through it. He’s observant, and he learns quickly, watching the rest of the crowd move until finally he feels confident. You grin as he presses against your back, his arm looping around your waist slowly enough that you could escape it if you so desired. His chin brushes your shoulder, and you’re tempted to look at him to see what he’s looking at, but you get distracted by a man who had been approaching you until he froze a couple feet away. You tilt your head curiously as he turns around and walks the other way, but Zemo’s mouth brushes against the back of your neck, and you scoff as you put two and two together.

“Protective or possessive, Baron?” You ask him boldly, and he smiles against your skin as if he isn’t surprised by the question at all.

“Oh, I believe both should cover it, schatzi.” he replies, guiding you towards the bar with a gentle hand on your back, “You don’t like when people touch you, even if you like them well enough. You flinched when Sharon touched your arm to apologise for her presumed insult, you shy away from Sam even though you laugh and smile with him often, and I don’t think I need to begin to touch on your avoidance of Barnes. I appear to be exempt from that, however I didn’t think he would be. I apologise if I was presumptuous.”

You order a drink for the both of you, as well as a shot each, laughing to yourself despite being a little touched by his observance.

“No, you’re not sorry. You know you were presumptuous, you’re just banking on the fact that you’re right. And now, when I tell you you are, it will reinforce your behaviour in the future.” You inform him, letting him cage you against the bar for the third time this night, “Fortunately, I’m okay with your presumptuousness, in this circumstance.”

Zemo clinks his shot against yours, and you both take them together, laughing when you spot an incredulous Sam and a frustrated Bucky staring directly at you. His metal arm is tense, hand fisted, and you’re glad he isn’t holding on to anything because it would most certainly be crushed by now. You give them a cheeky wave, and have to bite back your snicker when Zemo, seemingly noticing their attention, pulls you tighter to him so he can press his smug little smirk into the curve of your neck.

“You’re going to get yourself attacked soon, you know?” You ask in a sing-song voice, and he chuckles against your skin, collecting his drink and letting you lead him through the rows of stolen artwork. He lets you take his hand and squeezes gently, keeping no more than a step behind you the whole way.

“I’m certain I can handle it.” He retorts, and you laugh for what feels like the thousandth time tonight. You can’t remember the last time you laughed so much. You can’t remember the last time your life felt so full.

“Man, you really are trouble, aren’t you Baron?”

‘Interogating’ Nagel is a complete shitshow. You don’t blame Zemo for what he did, despite Sam and Bucky’s endless irritation. Nagel was smart enough to recreate and refine the super soldier serum, and he had to be stopped. He worked for HYDRA. You hadn’t had the chance to ask, but you were sure he easily could’ve been involved in the project that created you. He was the type who would never stop, no matter what got in his way - this was his life’s work. He was the type who would keep recreating it and refining it until he made even worse monsters than he already had.

You were just thankful that Zemo dragged you out with him before the second explosion, even if you would’ve been fine with the others. You didn’t have a gun, and a firefight would have been less than ideal, though you knew you could handle it. The Baron takes down several men while wearing a purple mask before you could even try to help him, and you roll your eyes as you follow him through the rows of shipping containers until he finds a car that makes his eyes light up. You can’t help a fond smile as he helps you into the passenger seat as if you need it, and you kick your feet up onto the dash. He offers you a surprisingly boyish grin, and you don’t feel any inclination to move away when his gloved hand closes around your thigh through your jeans, giving you a gentle squeeze that sears through you. You close your hand around his, and his gaze burns through you as he starts to drive, only looking away when he absolutely has to.

You’re going to die if he doesn’t tuck that stupid lock of hair out of his face.

Following the trail to Karli Morgenthau to Riga was simple with the use of Zemo’s jet, but you didn’t know the trials and tribulations that awaited you when you made it to his home in Latvia. While Bucky went on a walk to be sneaky, the Baron gave you and Sam a tour of his house, which you were kind of in love with. The style of the house was stunning, and you found yourself looking around excitedly for the next subtle detail that would catch your eye. Sam was quick to agree when Zemo offered you one of the three bedrooms to stay in by yourself, claiming the master as expected, and leaving the third to Sam and James. Then, he told you you could wear any clothing you found, that the second bathroom had a shower if you needed it, and departed into the master to clean up.

Sam gave you the honour first, and you tried to be efficient with your time, turning the water up just on the right side of too hot while you scrubbed yourself down. Once you were done, you dressed in a large purple dress shirt paired with a stolen pair of boxers that covered up enough of your thighs to be decent.

Now, sitting in the living room watching Zemo in his navy silk robe as he moved confidently around the kitchen, you wish you would’ve chosen anything else. When he first saw you, his eyes had burned into you. Now, you had three pairs of eyes on you for very different reasons, and you wanted to punch someone in the mouth. Sam’s gaze is a bit disdainful, since he detests Zemo and finds it incredibly uncomfortable that you don’t. Zemo looks equal parts smug and starving, which you wouldn’t mind so much if it weren’t for James glaring between the two of you like you’d both insulted him. His glare was softer on you, sure, but it was still uncomfortable when he had no right to be upset with you for wearing clean clothes. It wasn’t your fault that they’d rushed you out of your house when you agreed to help, and you’d only packed a couple of outfits.

As the boys discuss Karli, you find yourself lost in thought. What was your endgame, here? The Flagsmashers had attacked the GRC (who could all get fucked if you were being honest) instead of simply stealing from them, blowing up a building with several people still inside. There was a death toll now. That changed things. You could sympathise with Morgenthau, but you weren’t at all comfortable with her possession of the super soldier serum - both the vials of it, and that which ran through her and her companions' veins. At this point, she seemed to be escalating, and there was nothing worse than the escalation of a being with unnatural abilities. Power corrupts, and it was beginning to corrupt her if it hadn’t already warped her mind.

The Baron rants about the serum, and Karli, and you sigh as you hop up onto the counter. Sam wants to save Karli, you know it, and you’re sad for him. You know she won’t give up, no matter the cost. Nothing could outweigh her aspirations at this point. Hopefully, speaking to her at Danya’s funeral would help, but you were aware it was equally as likely to feed Karli’s anger as it was her compassion. Your eyes track the turkish delight that Zemo tosses to Sam and you have to restrain a grin at the way he says ‘Titi’.

“Zemo is right. Karli is dangerous. It’s worth trying to speak to her to see if she can be reasoned with, but you can’t hold out too much hope, Sam. It’ll break your heart when she fails you. And she will.”

Zemo gestures to you in agreement, and you hum as he plucks a turkish delight from the dish, reaching for it. To Sam and Bucky’s disgust, he unwraps it for you, and you open your mouth obediently for it even though you might’ve normally protested. Bugging Sam and James was beginning to become a sport.

“Come on, man.” Sam grumbles under his breath as you lick the sugar from the Baron’s fingertips, and you flip him off blindly, grinning around the sweet treat. Zemo’s eyes are all molten chocolate as he watches you chew.

“Okay, you know what? I’m starving. I’m getting food. Buck, c’mon. If she wants to spend her time with the Baron, we might as well let her keep an eye on him, and get ourselves some time without him.” Sam remarks, slapping Bucky’s arm, and the two depart while you shout over your shoulder for them to bring dinner home for you. Once they’re gone, Zemo raises an eyebrow at you.

“We didn’t get to talk.” He reminds you, and you nod, “I would like to. Have I made you uncomfortable?”

You shake your head, and he examines your expression for honesty before continuing, “I hoped Selby wouldn’t take an interest in you. I apologise for… groping you the way I did. I hope I did not cause you undue discomfort. Thank you, for disarming Miss Carter when she pointed the gun at me in Madripoor.”

Shrugging, you lean towards him a little, trying to read his face despite feeling as if you know what he wants.

“Her interest made her ask fewer questions. You don’t have to apologise for touching me - you asked permission before the mission, and I enjoyed it, as I’m sure you’re aware. I know that Sam and Barnes don’t trust you, but I trust what I know of you - you’ve gone out of your way to establish consent with me when you didn’t have to, you’ve protected me despite the serum that pumps through my veins, and I know you want to put an end to the Flagsmashers if only because they chose their fate. I don’t agree with everything you’ve done, Zemo, but I… I like who you are, and I can understand your choices even if I don’t approve of them.” You explain, rolling your lip over your teeth, and he moves a little closer to you.

“Helmut.” He murmurs, and you smile, watching as he drops a hand to your knee to see if you’ll protest, “I would like it if you would call me Helmut.”

“Not Hel?” You ask playfully, grinning as his grip tightens, pulling you to the edge of the counter as he steps between your legs.

“If you want to feel the softness of my bed while I reclaim my stolen clothes, by all means.” Zemo replies, and your pupils dilate as you consider the possibilities. The consequences. He’s so close, and you clench your knees around his hips, drawing a soft gasp from his lips. You swallow it, cupping his cheeks in your hands as your lips press against his. It takes very little effort for Zemo to lift you into his arms, and he carries you to the master bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him so he can drop you on his bed in privacy. He wouldn’t put it past Barnes or Sam to interrupt them on purpose.

“You weren’t kidding - this is way softer than the bed you gave me, Hel.” You tease, and he chuckles as he crawls over you, pressing you back into the sheets. He doesn’t hover over you like you might’ve thought he would. Instead, he lays mostly on top of you, hips against yours, and you feel smothered by him in the best way possible. He kisses you softly at first, but his passion grows as you respond fiercely, your hands gliding through his hair to get a good grip.

“Have you done this before, liebling?” He asks quietly, hushed with the intimacy of the closeness between you. You shake your head, locking your legs around his hips as you comb your fingers through his hair.

“When I was… before I escaped, they made the Winter Soldier pin me to my bed and… he was about to put it inside, so I leaned up and bit his neck as hard as I could. Since then, I haven’t had much desire. I danced a lot at clubs around Europe and in Madripoor when I was running from HYDRA before I found my cabin, to get used to people, but I never… I never indulged. You were my first kiss.” You admit, curling his hair around your fingers, and you can see the way his pupils dilate at that. He captures your lips again, and you feel the rumble of his moan against you, bringing a smile to your lips.

“Do you have a purity kink, Helmut?” You ask with a giggle, and he nips at your collarbone, grinding his hips into you.

“Perhaps. I hadn’t thought of it before,” He admits breathlessly, pausing to suck a dark mark into your neck, “I like the idea of being the only man to have you.”

Warm hands slowly unbutton the shirt you’re wearing, and you lay your head back with a gasp as your Baron’s lips trail kisses down over every inch of exposed skin. He smirks against your sternum, murmuring sweetness in Sokovian that has you sighing and tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I understand you, you know?” You whisper, and he blinks up at you as you’ve cut him off in the middle of waxing poetic about the size and shape of your breasts. He raises an eyebrow, tweaking your nipple between his fingers and biting down gently on the curve of your breast.

“I know, liebling. I can feel you tremble as you burn for me.”

You grab at his robe in retaliation, shoving it down over his shoulders insistently while he simultaneously tries to get his stolen boxers off of you. It doesn’t go very well for either of you, so he sits back out of reach to take off his robe for you, leaving himself in only a pair of boxers similar to the ones you’re wearing. Your fingertips rake through his chest hair as he crawls over you, and he sighs at the feeling, pulling your legs around him. In one easy movement, he pulls you up into his lap, one hand holding your lower back while the other strips his shirt from you. He kisses you slowly, sliding his hands into your boxers to grasp at your ass, squeezing as he pushes your hips together so you can feel how much he wants you.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” Zemo whispers against your lips, forcing himself to part from you despite how much he’d rather not. He kisses along your neck as he waits for you to answer, thumbs stroking over your nipples as he grinds against you.

“I’m inexperienced, Hel, I’m not dead.” You retort with a laugh, gripping his hair, “You feel bigger than the toys I’ve used though.”

That draws a hum from your Baron, and he lays you back on the bed, hooking his fingers in your boxers so he can drag them down your legs to toss them behind him. You look down at the tent in his boxers, wetting your lips and slowly spreading your legs for him, letting him take a good long look at what he has done to you. A low groan slips from his lips and he skims his hands up your thighs to soothe the tremble in them.

“I won’t hurt you, schatz.” He reminds you, gentle but serious, and you nod to say you know and understand. You glance at his boxers again, and he follows your gaze, quickly realising what you want. You watch as he shuffles out of the tight fabric, tossing it off the side of the bed and giving you a chance to stare at him. You’ve seen a cock before from a distance, but your only other close-up experience hadn’t put you in a position to see anything and while the Winter Soldier was being taken away by medical staff, you were unable to see anything, too busy with the taste of blood and flesh in your mouth. It didn’t help that one of the scientists took it upon himself to backhand you as punishment for your act of self-defence, sending you reeling.

Helmut Zemo is a gifted man. You can’t help but stare as he gives his cock a couple slow strokes to ease his discomfort, thumb stroking over the head to collect his precum to ease the glide. He’s bigger than you expected, thick enough that you aren’t sure how he’s going to fit, and long enough that you know he’s going to bump against your cervix with every thrust. You swallow hard, mentally trying to compare his cock to the toys you’ve used in the past, and trembling as you realise he’s easily twice as thick.

Sensing your panic, Zemo crawls onto the bed with you, covering you with his body again as he presses kisses to your lips. Your legs wrap almost instinctively around his waist, but he doesn’t try to take advantage of the position, focusing on intimacy instead of quick pleasures.

“Relax, liebling. I’m right here. I have you.” he murmurs as he nuzzles against your cheek, and you let out a breathy sigh, clutching at his back. He strokes his hands up and down over your sides until you relax under his touch, then begins a slow trail of kisses down your chest and stomach. You sigh as you realise what he’s doing, and your head falls back against the pillows before his lips even manage to make contact with the wet, aching heat of your cunt. His hands close around your thighs from below, pushing them up and apart as he plants a kiss against you, then swipes the flat of his tongue up through your cunt all the way up to flick across your clit. You shudder, and he holds you a little tighter, delving in with soft licks and sucking kisses that have you grabbing at the sheets beneath you.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you whimper his name as he swirls his tongue around your clit then sucks it into his mouth, his eyes dark as night as he stares up at you to watch your face. Every move is calculated, running off of your reactions and looking to draw out more, desperate to feel you fall apart for him. It isn’t until his fingers gently prod at your entrance that you feel anything but pleasure. A small spike of fear, soothed by a gentle kiss to your tummy that feels unexpectedly sweet.

One finger, and then a second fill you, but you feel no pain. It’s about the same girth as the toy you’ve used, but no toy has ever been able to stroke across that spot inside of you with such surgical precision. His lips close around your clit, and you let out a cry as the dual sensations overwhelm you, trying your damnedest not to yank on his hair though you’re sure you fail since he grunts against you. There is nothing urgent or rushed about this - this is a slow, methodical dismantling of every rational thought, every worry, every fear you’ve ever had. This is a reconstruction on a spiritual level, replacing worries with pleasure, and fears with happiness, and thoughts with need.

You realise as you have the thought to tell Zemo how good he’s making you feel that there’s certainly no question about it. You didn’t even notice how much noise you were making, the soft whines and moans falling from your lips completely unrestrained, and it’s as if you zone back into your surroundings only to have them wiped away. A crook of your Baron’s fingers and a particularly hard suck on your clit have you tossing your head back against the pillows and shouting his name, “Baron!” and “Helmut!” in equal measure.

You return to yourself again to find yourself cradled in your Baron’s arms, his nose nuzzling gently against your cheekbone as he strokes your back, your thighs clenched around his hips as he presses you bodily into the mattress. You blink, and he smiles at the sight of you, dipping down for a gentle kiss that makes you tremble.

“Oh.” You whisper, and he laughs softly.

“Are you okay, schatz? Do you need a minute?” Helmut asks. You shake your head urgently, tangling your fingers in his hair so you can pull him into a kiss that has him moaning into your mouth. You chase the taste of yourself, tongue sliding across his, then part with a gasp.

“I need you.” You whisper, and he groans against your lips, grinding his hips into yours.

“You have me.” He promises, pushing himself up a little so he can take himself in hand and press the head of his cock against your desperate cunt.

“Now, Hel. Don’t make me wait.”

His groan reverberates through you as he pushes inside, inch by inch, carving his way through your insides. By the time he bottoms out, you’re panting for breath, clinging to his back as he presses his chest to yours. The closeness soothes you, and keeps you from digging in your nails.

“Fuck.” You moan, and he groans in response, nodding against your shoulder.

“You’re so tight, schatz, you’re strangling my cock.” He murmurs without a hint of complaint in his tone. You don’t think you’ll ever be ready when he finally starts to pull out, but his next thrust drives the breath from your lungs, and you sob, tears in your eyes from the pleasure. He kisses them away so gently that you nearly want to cry again, whispering to you about how beautiful you are, how perfect you feel around him, and how desperately he needs you to be his.

“I am!” You proclaim, and he groans his approval, catching your lips in a kiss that sends fire racing through your veins. His pace has been brutally slow so far, but he begins to move faster now, each thrust driving him in to the hilt. It feels like punishment. It feels like atoning. It feels like rebirth. It feels like a new beginning without the fear that’s kept you trapped in the woods all by yourself for so many years you felt like giving up. Blunt teeth clamp around your neck and you shudder, tilting your head back to bare more of it to him.

“Mine.” He mutters around your skin, and you nod frantically.

“Yours. And you’re mine, Helmut. My Baron. I won’t give you back.” You insist, and his laugh is broken by a groan. By the time he releases his hold on you, you’ve got a fresh bruise darkening on your throat.

“You may have to, schatz. Your friends don’t want me out of prison.” He reminds you softly even as he shatters you into pieces, each thrust breaking you apart and putting you back together again. You clutch him tighter to you like somehow, in the shattering and reassembling, he can become part of you. Pressure builds inside of you until you feel fit to explode.

“F-Fuck them.” You growl, and he reaches between you to stroke your clit, gritting his teeth. He groans - nearly growls - as he comes, filling you to the brim and fucking it in deeper with his next couple of thrusts. The heat sends you reeling, and you choke on a gasp as your orgasm breaks across you like a tsunami, washing you clean.

Laying together, panting for breath under your Baron’s sturdy weight, you realise the choice you’ve made for yourself. He’s gentle as he pulls out of you, stroking your legs to make sure you aren’t too stiff, and reaching for his towel to clean you up.

“Perhaps, showering after this might have been a wiser choice.” He murmurs, and you shake your head.

“No, clean was nice, I would’ve been self conscious otherwise. This was perfect. I’ll shower again if I have to.”

That draws a soft laugh from Zemo’s lips, and he curls around you, nuzzling his face into your neck, “Do you need anything from me?”

You contemplate his question for a moment, then hum softly to yourself, nodding.

“Just hold me a little longer. I promise I’ll get up soon.”

Helmut rolls his eyes, pressing kisses along the line of your shoulder as he strokes his hands down over your body.

“You’re in no rush, liebling. We have time.”

You sigh, because you know that you really don’t.

You’re reminded that Baron Helmut Zemo had a child before you as well as a wife when he interacts with the children in Riga. You overhear him speaking to them, and acknowledge them with a nod when he gestures to you and tells them you’re safe too. You know this will likely come back to bite you, but you let Zemo play his games. He’s got a plan, clearly, and you’re happy enough to go along with it. At least someone has one.

Ever since Sam and Bucky got back to the house, they’ve been giving you odd looks, and you can see the judgement in their eyes. You aren’t quite sure if they think you’re too stupid to know yourself and have just been wrapped up in Zemo’s sugary lies, or if they think you’ve switched sides somehow, but either way it’s beginning to get on your nerves. You aren’t a child, and you’re not stupid. You know when someone is lying to you, and you don’t sense mistruths or even manipulation from your Baron.

As Zemo leads you back into the house with Bucky and Sam, the argument starts up again. Sam believes in Karli’s goodness, while Bucky is being more practical. You roll your eyes as you sit beside Sam, and Zemo admits that he knows where the funeral for Donya will be.

“Keep talking.” Bucky snaps, and you breath out a heavy sigh. Like that’ll ever happen.

“Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli. Hmm. I prefer to keep my leverage.” Zemo replies simply. You watch as Bucky stands, grabbing Zemo’s glass and tossing it at the wall.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” He asks, and you plant your feet loudly, startling both men.

“Simmer down before I fucking make you.” You snap, while Sam gets up to stop Bucky.

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him. He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.” The leveller head says, drawing a snort from you, “Let me make a call.”

You roll your eyes, holding your hand out for a cup.

“You need to stop antagonising them. I don’t want to have to hurt them, Helmut.”

The arrival of John Walker throws a wrench in things. The new Captain America with everything to prove is not a stable resource, and you want nothing to do with him. As he approaches, all ramped up to 11 like it's his new state of being, you put yourself between him and Zemo.

“This better be an unbelievable explanation-”

“Hey, take it easy before it gets weird.” Sam insists, his gaze flicking to you, and you tilt your head innocently as if you’ve no idea what he means.

“I know where Karli is.” Zemo explains, beginning to move past Walker. John puts a hand on Zemo’s chest, and you grab it before it can make contact, holding onto him tightly.

“Well whe-”

“Awww, ain’t this romantic?” You ask teasingly, giving him a gentle shove out of Zemo’s way. He scowls at you, and you let him go to slip by with your Baron.

“All we know is, it’s a memorial.” Sam continues behind you, and you ignore the argument as Walker tries to ‘reason’ with Sam. Thank God for Lemar, as he seems to be the only thing keeping Walker in line.

“We’ll deal with you later.” Walker states firmly, pointing first to Zemo, and then you.

“I’m sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion. My associate is just up ahead.” Zemo replies, and you walk with him towards the little girl he’d been speaking to about Donya’s funeral. She leads you into a building, and you growl as Walker pushes Zemo, handcuffing him to a metal furnace door. Bucky hooks his arms under your armpits to stop you from fighting back, and you kick your legs out to smack against Walker’s stupid shield, running up his back and flipping over Barnes. He fights to get ahold of you, throwing you to the ground finally when you keep getting loose.

“Hey, you’ve got ten minutes-” Walker shouts after Sam.

“Really?” Zemo asks as he tests his handcuffs. His gaze finds you, checking you’re alright before looking back at John Walker.

“-then we’re going things my way.” The new Captain America finishes, making you roll your eyes.

“Aggressive.” Helmut comments, and you snort, “but I get it.”

You eye the handcuffs, but Zemo shakes his head, and you sigh.

“So, who the fuck is this?” John asks, and Bucky shakes his head.

“She’s none of your fucking business, Walker. Don’t look at her.”

Lemar and John both put their hands up, brows raised as they examine you, and you lean against the furnace door next to your Baron to keep an eye on the situation. Walker is clearly falling apart, staring at his shield like a psychopath, and you catch Lemar looking at you. You raise an eyebrow, then look at Walker and nod towards him. He follows your gaze, but doesn’t say anything.

“Uh-uh. No, no, no, this is a bad idea.” Walker starts, and you let Barnes field this one, knowing it won’t end well. You step closer to Zemo, watching the clearly unstable man with wariness in your eyes. You don’t want to have anything to do with him if you can avoid it. He goes after Sam, Lemar and Bucky at his back, and you rush to follow after giving Zemo a pointed look to take care of himself.

“You’re going to ruin it, Walker, give Sam a fucking chance. It’s like you want blood, you fucking maniac. What kind of Captain America doesn’t believe in peaceful conversation to avoid violence!?”

Your words fall on deaf ears, and you watch Karli run, Bucky close on her heels. You bolt off into the maze of the building, looking for where Karli could have gone, only to jump at a gunshot. You run in that direction, gunshots ringing in your ears, and you pray Zemo’s okay. You enter the room just moments after a shield collides with Zemo’s head, blue liquid and glass sprayed across the floor, and Karli nowhere to be found. You growl so deeply your chest feels like it’s about to come apart, and you’re across the room before you even know it.

“WALKER!”

Your fist nearly meets Walker’s spine, but Bucky grabs it, wrenching you back.

“NO! He could’ve killed him! You’re no Captain America, you fucking monster, I’ll tear you to pieces! Let me at him, Buck, I could kill him right here and solve all your problems. I’m already on the run, what’s one more stain on my name? Let me hurt him, please, come on, let me hurt him!” You shout, worming in Barnes’ grasp, but he’s stronger than you. All you’ve got on him is speed.

“Control your rabid dog.” Walker snaps, and you scream with frustration. Barnes drags you a few feet away, holding you tightly to him while you rage. Walker and Lemar leave, and only then does he let go of you, letting you sink to lift Zemo into your arms. You stand easily with his weight, your face permanently etched into a sneer as you stalk past Sam towards your Baron’s home. Sam follows you, watching as you lay Zemo down on the couch and get a cold towel for his head. When he wakes with a groan of pain, you bring him a drink, covering his eyes before he can open them.

“Are you okay?” He asks you, and you sigh.

“Barnes held me back. I was gonna break his spine.”

“Jesus Christ, kid, what the hell?” Sam asks, and you roll your eyes.

“He deserves worse. He’s a loose fucking cannon and you know it. The title is too much for him - it’s making him insane.” You spit as you stalk out of the room, “I need to wash up. If Walker shows him, tell him I’m going to rip his spine out and strangle him with it.”

Zemo laughs, but Sam scoffs, slamming down into an armchair with a muttered curse about excessive violence.

“Shouldn’t have given him the shield.”

“I didn’t give him the shield.”

“Well, Steve definitely didn’t.” You hear the tail end of Sam and Bucky’s argument as you exit the bathroom, tossing your bag down as the door slams open from Walker’s kick.

“Alright, that’s it, let’s go. I’m now ordering you to turn him over.” Walker orders as he stalks in with Lemar at his back.

“Hey, now, slow your roll. Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re running in here is your mouth.” Sam retorts calmly, “Now, I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful today, and we’ll need all hands on deck for whatever’s coming next.”

“How do you want the rest of this conversation to go, Sam, huh?” John asks, and you roll your eyes, moving forwards as Zemo circles the room towards you, “Should I put down the shield? Make it fair?”

You snort as he does just that, cracking your knuckles, only to be interrupted by the timely arrival of the Dora Milaje. Your shoulders relax, and Zemo gives you a quizzical look, but you don’t respond. They might be coming for Zemo, but Walker won’t be able to help himself. He’ll step right into their way, and get his ass kicked. You watch as exactly as predicted, Walker gets himself an asskicking, and you watch with a smile as you share a drink with your Baron. You’re not even slightly surprised when he grabs your hand and drags you into the bathroom behind him, closing and locking the door once you’ve grabbed your bag.

Together, you flee into the sewers, your hand gripping his as you race towards freedom. No matter how much you wanted to kick Walker’s ass, you know that the Dora Milaje will be able to do a better, and more demoralising job. And that’s what you’d prefer, honestly. You want John Walker broken down to his core as he realises that he never deserved the title of Captain America. Truthfully, he was just a placeholder while Sam figured his shit out.

The message you send to Barnes is simple.

‘If you take him from me, I will hunt you down to the ends of the Earth. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, James Buchanan Barnes.’

You discard the burner phone on a table outside of a cafe, running to catch up with Zemo where he waits in a nearby alley.

“They’ll come for me.” Helmut murmurs as he rubs his soapy hands across your stomach, up to cup your breasts, “I can only escape for so long.”

You snort, leaning back into his arms while your massage shampoo into his hair for him.

“They’ll certainly try. There are plenty of places we can hide.” You insist, sighing happily as he nuzzles against your neck. You dip under the running water to rinse yourself off, stealing a kiss from your Baron once the water runs clear. He swaps places with you and you run your hands over him slowly to rinse the soap away. Once the bubbles have been washed away, he presses you into the wall of the shower, and you gasp as he angles himself.

“Okay?” He asks, breathless, and you nod eagerly, spreading your legs a little wider. He pushes inside of you with a sigh, and you grasp at the tiles, eyes rolling back in your head.

“God, you feel so good around me, liebling. I did not… I did not expect this. I did not expect you.” He murmurs, grabbing your hips and rocking into you.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to me.” You whisper, letting him pull you back against him so he can steal a kiss, “I won’t lose you, Helmut. I won’t. If they come for you, I’ll destroy them.”

He sighs, holding you tighter, pressing soothing kisses to your neck, “You cannot, schatz. Do not sacrifice yourself for me.”

His next thrust makes you cry out, and he slips a hand between your thighs to stroke across your clit, driving you closer to the edge. It’s been barely any time at all, but you’ve been pent up with emotions, from aborted fights to nearly losing him. He holds you together as you tip over the edge in his arms, his thrusts quickening before you’ve even caught your breath. He strokes your clit firmly, and you find yourself caught in the drag of the tide, unexpectedly rising to your crest again so quickly you find yourself shaking in his arms.

“I can’t!” You gasp, and he chuckles against your neck.

“You can, and you will. Come for me, schatz. Let your Baron make you feel good.”

You claw at the tiles, pinned between the cold of them and the heat of his chest against your back, and your legs shake as he sends you spiralling over the edge into your end, shouting his name into the steam. He grunts against your neck, biting into your shoulder as he buries himself balls deep inside of you to fill you up. Gentle but strong hands clean you up, then guide you out of the shower and into a warm, plush robe. Your Baron guides you into the bedroom, and then into the bed, crawling in behind you to curl up around your back.

“Sleep, liebling. A nap will make things seem clearer when we wake.”

Together with Zemo, you decide to take your time together to hunt down the HYDRA lab you’d been kept in, and the scientists who may have worked there and escaped their due. Finding the lab was simple enough considering you’d escaped it fourteen years ago on foot. It wasn’t in any of HYDRA’s released records, which worries you. How many more facilities do they have hiding? Zemo watches with a smile on his face as you wrench open the door, breaking its seal as if the metal were molten. Not four steps in, you find the bloody bullet buried in the wall that took Imogen’s life, and you hear her screaming in your head for you to keep running as the blood drained rapidly from her body. There’s a stain on the floor, and it taunts you, outlining part of the shape of a body. You find her tucked into a security office only a few doors down, and Zemo has to lead you away, reading the security logs to discover what happened. Normally, she would have been discarded.

According to the logs, after you broke out, they went into a catastrophic failure, and the entire lab was purged with the loss of their only test subject. They didn’t think you’d make your way back to the lab so nothing was actually removed aside from personnel, but they didn’t need the facility so they closed it down and sealed it in case they needed it at a later date. You hunt through their files with your Baron, comparing them to the records of HYDRA operatives who’ve been found, until you find only one name that hasn’t been tagged.

Vanya Nikitin, one of the lead scientists behind your project. You remember him. He’s the one who hit you after you wounded their precious Winter Soldier. You stare at his picture, chest heaving as you find yourself lost in memories. How he used to touch your face and chest when you were strapped down and losing consciousness. How he stroked your stomach before he unleashed the Winter Soldier on you. How he promised you’d birth an army for them.

“Schatz.”

You jerk out of your spiral and glance at Helmut, letting him guide you over to look at the documents he’s digging through. He gestures to a paper and you muddle your way through it, your Russian rusty at best.

Fertility rates… show remarkable increase.

Your Baron’s hand strokes up and down your spine soothingly, and you crumple the page in your hand, “I can take the morning after pill.”

“You could.” Helmut agreed, sliding his arms around your waist, soothing you with his heat against your back, “For once, liebling, the choice is yours. I am happy to let you make this decision - I will support you if you want a child, and I will support you if you do not. You can have whatever you want.”

You nod, resting against him for a moment and letting yourself breathe. Something about being here with him is soothing. Like you’ve reclaimed the space from such evil, and it is once more just a simple laboratory instead of a place in which you were tormented.

“I can, can’t I? I mean, who the fuck is gonna stop me?”

Helmut smiles against your skin, and you only break away from him a few moments later to begin packing up the documents. Your phone dings, and you pull it out, looking at the screen with a raised eyebrow. You don’t know how the fuck you have reception in here, but it appears you do. The message makes you smile, and you show Helmut, stealing a kiss from him with happiness bubbling in your gut like champagne.

You’re emptying out a filing cabinet when you stumble across gold, pulling out Nikitin’s file and tossing it down on the desk in front of you, open to his personal information.

“Hey, Helmut, how do you feel about hunting for squid?”

“Whatever you like, schatz. I will give you whatever you like.”

“Breaking news. We’ve got a report from the Czech Republic - Two dead and thankfully none injured after an explosion at what appears to be a former HYDRA facility. Captain America Sam Wilson expresses his profound regret at the loss of Baron Helmut Zemo, former Sokovian royalty and the man who once tried to bring the Avengers to ruin. According to Wilson, the other deceased was a woman named Y/N Y/L/N, a victim of a HYDRA plot to create an army of super soldiers by way of forced impregnation of two victims of the super soldier serum. It appears that the two were attempting to destroy the facility in which she had been forcefully confined from the age of eight after she was kidnapped, and were caught when the detonation went off early.

James Buchanan Barnes and Sam Wilson will be holding a vigil for HYDRA victims in Y/L/N’s honour tonight outside of City Hall. A second vigil will be held at the Sokovian Memorial in three days time in honour of the late Baron and his family, to honour all the Sokovian lives lost, and those who no longer have a home.”

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