#holding him in my teeth and shaking him like a rat | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

a-killer-obsession · 28 days ago

Text

Safe [Killer x OC Nina]

Commissioned by @dissvicious

CW: third person pov, canon x oc, mentions of drug use, mentions of sex work, drug withdrawal, attempt of noncon, oral sex, handjob, fingering, p in v sex

WC: 8.2k

Masterlist || Comissions Info

When Heat and Wire heard noises coming from the pantry, they expected to find some sort of wild animal, a racoon or rats or maybe even a stray dog. Well, there was an animal, a black cat missing limbs and most of its tail, but the cat wasn't really the cause of the issue. The real problem was the pink haired woman scavenging through the Kid Pirate's food stores, though she looked so feral she may as well classify as a wild animal anyway. Dirty, her clothes torn, her hair messy and overgrown where her style clearly dictated shaving, and pupils blown out from drugs. It was a look they both recognized well from their home island, making the two men exchange a saddened, sympathetic look as the woman looked at them with wide, frightened eyes - yet she continued to tear at her stolen turkey leg, like she was scared she wouldn't get to eat again. It made them wonder how long she'd gone without food, that the presence of two relatively massive pirates didn't deter her.

Her cat stumbling noisily behind her as it tried to shake a jar from its head broke the stand off between the three of them, and Wire was quick to snatch her up. She fought him, of course, trying to beat him off with her weak arms and her turkey leg, to which Wire merely sighed and adjusted his hold on her, tearing the turkey away from her and tossing it aside, much to her dismay. He held her out by the scruff of her shirt as she wildly swung all her limbs at him and growled like a caged cat, unable to reach him with her much shorter arms and legs. She was so small compared to Wire, he'd thought she was a child at first glance, if not for all the tattoos. Heat gingerly scooped up her cat, who was far more friendly than the woman and merely gave a chirp at the sudden abduction, following Wire out of the room to take the two invaders to the boss.

Kid sat in his throne like chair at the head of the dining table, gorging on meat as his first mate stood to his side. He looked up in confusion as he heard the shrill angry screams and familiar calls of “BOSS!” approaching from the hall. Wire dragged the woman in, putting her in a chokehold as she turned her anger on Kid the second she was close enough. ‘Is this love at first sight?’ Kid thought to himself as he watched the feral woman try to fight a man at least three times her size, unarmed but fearless at her captor. He liked a woman with a bit of fire to her, it was more of a challenge. This one was small too, he couldn't help but picture how easy it would be to manhandle her however he liked. He shook his head at the intrusive thought as his pants threatened to get tight. The woman clawed at Wire's arm, leaving deep gashes in his tan skin, but he paid it no mind.

“Found some rats in the pantry,” Wire told Kid in his deep monotone voice.

“I'LL SHOW YOU A FUCKING RAT,” the woman screamed, “GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OF ME YOU SORRY EXCUSE FOR A BDSM SCARECROW.”

“How the fuck did she get in the pantry?” Killer scowled under his mask, unphased by the slew of insults she continued to throw at them. “Heat, find out who was on watch, have them punished.”

“What do I do with the cat?” Heat asked, shifting awkwardly.

“Drown it or some shit, who cares,” Kid waved his hand dismissively, ignoring the woman screaming in his face. The wave of his hand brought it close enough to her mouth, and she took her opportunity to bite him as hard as she could, sinking her dirty teeth into his flesh. He recoiled his hand quickly, inspecting the deep, bleeding bite. “FUCKING BITCH!” he growled, “you better not have fucking rabies.”

“LEAVE MY CAT ALONE YOU FUCKING PIG FACED CUNT,” she spat at him, “HURT HIM AND I'LL BITE YOUR FUCKING DICK OFF NEXT, AND BURN YOUR STUPID SHITTY CASTLE AND YOUR STUPID UGLY ASS BOAT TO THE GROUND.”

Kid held his hand against the cool metal of his prosthetic to soothe the bite as the woman huffed from excursion in his face, her teeth bared at him like a wild animal. His dick twitched involuntarily at the threats, damn this woman. He leaned back in his chair, looking her up and down, inspecting her. Yeah, she was fuckable, even if she was filthy right now. Best not kill her cat if he wants her down to clown though.

There was something else about her too though, a desperation and a sadness in her eyes that reminded him of a woman he used to know. It made him feel sorry for her, perhaps even a little protective, or maybe just nostalgic. He sighed to himself, he couldn't just have his fun and be done with her, the guilt afterwards would eat away at him if he let a second woman die.

“Lock the cat in one of the spare rooms,” he decided flippantly, “give it a bowl of water or whatever. Food I guess, I don't know, what ever the fuck cats need. Then bring the lookout to me, find out how she got here. There's gotta be a boat or some shit.”

“On it boss,” Heat replied, leaving the room with the cat still in hand. The woman watched him leave, confused. Why the change of heart? She stopped fighting against the man holding her, eyes flicking back to the redhead who was clearly in charge here. He looked… sad? He looked her in the eye, holding her gaze for a moment, like he was trying to see what her true character was, whether she was worth keeping. There wasn't much the woman could do to convey her worth, she didn't feel she had any.

“Calmed down?” Kid asked gruffly. She looked away and stared at the floor, feeling exposed, the fight completely gone from her. Something about his amber eyes had torn the fight away. Maybe it was because she knew she had no chance of surviving these four men, but maybe if she behaved they would at least be gentle. She could only make assumptions about what four grown pirate men would want with her, let alone the rest of the crew she had yet to see. “Good,” Kid continued, taking her silence as an answer. Wire took it as his signal to let her go, but stayed close, in case she angered again. “What's your name pipsqueak?”

The woman stayed silent, staring at the floor. Why did they care what her name was? What did it matter when she was probably just a toy for them anyway, something to be used and discarded without care. “Speak,” Wire insisted behind her, giving her a short shove and causing her to stumble closer to the captain. She turned and hissed at him, before turning back to Kid with a little more fire in her.

“Nina,” she spat.

“Nina,” Kid repeated, like he was testing how it felt on his tongue, “you wanna join my crew?”

“Huh?” Nina huffed, completely thrown off. She hadn't at all expected that. Killer and Wire exchanged a look, it wasn't like Kid to just offer people a place on his crew, let alone so quickly. Then again, they'd both have to be blind to not see the similarities between this stubborn woman and Victoria. Neither was willing to risk Kid's wrath by pointing it out though, so they both held their tongues.

“What, you got a better plan?” Kid laughed, “seems to me that you're all alone and half dead, but you've got some fire in ya, and lucky for you I have a soft spot for basket cases. So you wanna join or what? Or we can just handle you the way we normally handle rats.”

“I… I guess?” Nina replied hesitantly after giving it some thought. It wasn't like she had a lot of choice here. Worst case, at least she'd be alive, she could always run off at the next island. These men were clearly pirates, she'd seen their ship and their jollyroger, they wouldn't stay settled on this island for long. In the meantime maybe she'd at least have a secure source of food and shelter.

“Good choice,” Kid barked, “Kil, get ‘er cleaned up and set. Welcome to the Kid Pirates, pipsqueak.”

Nina stayed in the shower longer than she probably should have, but the hot water felt good against her irritated skin after so long at sea without access to proper bathing. She let the water wash over her as she stood deep in thought, trying to understand what the fuck had happened. The first mate had brought her to this bathroom, a communal space but he'd promised her privacy as he stood guard outside - whether for her protection or the protection of the crew she wasn't quite sure. It wasn't like she had any weapons on her, Killer had made sure of that before leaving her on her own to shower. She'd told him where to find her boat, and he promised her things would be brought ashore for her. She didn't understand why they were bothering, this all felt like some elaborate trick to get her comfortable before they kill her, maybe to make her death more cruel, or to make her more pliable to their demands.

Killer knocking on the door startled her from her reverie, making her jolt. “Hurry it up, I've got shit to do, new girl,” Killer called from the other side of the door. She quickly shut off the water and dried herself, redressing in the clean clothes Killer had grabbed for her. The last thing she wanted to do was anger anyone and make them change their mind about keeping her alive. The clothes weren't a lot, just a blue men's shirt that was far too large for her, some briefs - also too large but she made do by tying a knot on at the waistband - and a set of fluffy socks. It was certainly better than the torn, dirty clothes she'd been wearing though, which she tossed in a waste bin, there was no point trying to save them.

“You decent?” Killer called again. Nina checked her appearance in the mirror quickly, making sure everything was covered. She scowled at her sunken eyes with their heavy bags, her overgrown hair that was stuck to her scalp from the water, the numerous cuts and scrapes and bruises that littered her body, more visible now that the grime that hid most of them away was gone. Some of them seemed infected, and she winced as she prodded at one particularly inflamed looking cut. With a sigh she called out to Killer that he could come in, and he did so immediately. Moving to a nearby cabinet he pulled out a first aid box, gesturing for her to sit on one of the dressing benches that ran down the center of the bathroom.

He knelt in front of her, the height difference between them meaning they would have been eye to eye if not for the mask, as he sat the first aid kit on the bench and opened it, pulling out several things. “Can I touch you?” He asked, “just to tend to your injuries.”

Nina blinked in confusion, she couldn't even remember the last time someone asked her for consent, let alone cared for her physical wellbeing. “Y-yeah,” she replied in a small voice.

Killer was quiet as he tended to her wounds, carefully cleaning and disinfecting each one before laying a sterlile dressing over them. He applied a soothing ointment over her bruises, and added paper stitches to a few particularly nasty cuts. She sat frozen the whole time, but couldn't help but feel that his light touches against her skin felt nice. It'd been a long time since anyone had been gentle with her. Slowly she let herself relax, closing her eyes and just focusing on the soft touch of his warm fingertips against her skin. She stifled a sigh as his fingers smoothed out the dressing on her nose, momentarily running over the tops of her cheeks before his hands moved on to the next injury. By the time he was done she was covered in small dressings, a few larger palm sized ones here and there.

After discarding the small pile of trash he'd accumulated in the process, he gestured for her to follow him. They met Wire again, who carried a bag with him. Nina recognized it as hers, as the tall man handed it to Killer. “This her stuff?” the first mate asked.

“Yeah, boat was right where she said it would be,” Wire replied, eyes shifting to Nina for a moment as he inspected how many dressings Killer had needed to give her. She was in a worse shape than Wire had initially thought. “Heat put the cat in the room next to Quince. Kid's dealing with the henchie that was on watch.”

“Okay,” Killer replied. Wire nodded and turned to leave, and Killer turned back to Nina. He held the bag out for her to take, and she looked at him befuddled. The chainsaw sticking out of the bag was obvious, and the way the bag was packed looked like nobody had even looked inside. Were they stupid, or were they really giving her a weapon? “You want your shit or not?” Killer asked, jostling the bag a little, and Nina quickly grabbed it back. She slung the bag over her shoulder, and quickly scurried to follow him again, as he'd already begun walking once more.

He opened the door to a spacious room, where her cat, Zap, quickly hobbled over to greet her, rubbing against her leg. She picked him up and gave him a small affectionate squeeze, before looking properly at the room. It was… nice. Really nice, actually. She'd sort of expected an old crusty mattress on the floor and a lock on the outside of her door, but this seemed like an ordinary, nice, bedroom. There was a large bed made up with clean bedding, a big round mirror, dressers and shelves for her things, a big round light hanging from the ceiling that someone had turned on already for Zap - Heat, assumedly. There were even a few bowls on the floor near the dresser - one filled with fresh water, the other dirty with the remnants of whatever meat Zap had been given while Nina was showering.

Looking at the room, Nina suddenly realised that maybe this wasn't a trick. These pirates were being nothing but kind to her and Zap. She'd never even stayed in a room this nice before, not a single piece of furniture looked dirty or broken or worn. It was a safe, welcoming space, and it was all for her. She could fight back, she had her weapon now, but they didn't expect her to, because there was no need. She was safe here, with this crew. Maybe it was fate that her small rickety boat had brought her to this island.

She turned to Killer with a wide smile, the first smile she'd had in months, maybe even years. “Thank you,” she said softly. His heart fluttered a little and he blushed under his mask at her pretty grin, the corners of her eyes creased from it, making the little heart tattoo under her eye dance with the shift of skin.

“Yeah, no problem,” he replied, trying to hide the fluster in his voice. “Uh, get settled in, I'll come grab you close to dinner to show you the dining hall in a few hours.”

He turned and left quickly, leaving the door open, showing her she was not a prisoner here. The second he was gone she put Zap down on the floor, leaned her bag against the dresser, and flopped onto the bed with a giggle. It was soft, and she buried her face in the blankets, which smelled freshly laundered and pleasant. She inhaled the scent, letting out a relieved exhale as she rolled onto her back and relaxed against the blankets. Zap made his best attempt at a jump but fell short, so Nina had to pick him up to put him on the bed, at which point he trilled happily and curled up next to her to sleep. Petting his head gently, she idly stared at the ceiling, noticeably mold and rot free, and let out a contented sigh. For the first time in a long while, Nina felt safe, and like things were finally looking up for her.

Weeks passed, and Nina seemed like she was settling in well. As well as she could anyway, given everything she'd been through. It was clear to the commanders that she'd been lost, feeling like her life had no use, just wandering endlessly trying to find a reason to keep going. Kid and Killer sympathized, they'd felt the same way after Victoria died. They did what they could to give Nina purpose, assigning her as the new ship doctor after learning about her previous work with Dr. Hogback. She wasn't used to working with the living, but she was doing her best to adapt. It gave her a reason to get up every day, knowing these pirates had use for her, especially when they took back to the sea and the rate of injuries increased with the uptick in battles.

Several months passed, seemingly calmly, but Heat was growing suspicious of the new addition. When Nina had turned up on the island it was clear she was under the influence of something strong. Heat had expected more resistance from her as she sobered, but the telltale symptoms of clearing drugs from the veins had never come. Heat was well educated when it came to the hard stuff, he'd been there, he knew the damage it could do. Kid had a strict policy about drugs on the ship because of what they'd all seen from their home island, weed was the hardest thing the crew was allowed. Heat had made it clear to Nina that he grew plenty of cannabis to go around, all she had to do was ask, but she never did. And yet, she still showed the signs of being high - the blown pupils, the jitteriness, the short fuse. Though that last one may have just been her, it was hard to tell.

He had sympathy for her as well though, he didn't want Kid just straight kicking her off the ship when he knew she had nowhere to go, so instead he took his concerns to Killer. The first mate understood the fragility of the situation, and Heat's reservations about bringing it to Kid, so he decided to take care of it himself. Back on the island there were plenty of places one might go to do drugs in secret, especially when she had her own room, but here on the ship, sharing a room with three other crewmates, there were limited places one could hide.

He started covertly watching her, using his haki to follow her movements through the ship. The drugs and her trauma made her paranoid, making the surveillance harder, but Killer was silent on his feet and knew this ship far better than she did. He knew where every creaky floorboard was, every blind spot where he could avoid her gaze, and used them to his advantage. It didn't take long to catch her out, following her to the deck above the stern castle, where crew rarely went. It was after dark, but the full moon gave enough light to navigate by.

He emerged from the ladder leading to the deck as she was tightening a tourniquet around her arm, a syringe held in her mouth ready to inject. She stared at him like a deer in headlights, too slow to react as he rushed at her, grabbing everything he could and throwing it as far away as his muscles would allow. There was a fight for the syringe, her nails clawing at him as she shrieked, but inevitably that was thrown too. She ran to the railing and let out a deafening scream as she watched her drugs disappear under the surface of the water, lost to the ocean, the moonlight glittering against the metal of the syringe needle before it was gone for good. In her anger and drug-craving haze she tried to jump after it, but tight arms around her waist pulled her away from the edge of the deck.

“LET GO OF ME!” she screamed, flailing her legs and scratching his arms as he stepped backwards away from the long fall at the back of the ship that plunged straight to freezing open seas. “YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE!”

“I know exactly what I've done,” Killer growled back, “you know the rules, Kid would have kicked you off for that shit. You want to go back to scavenging for your next meal?”

“You don't understand!” She cried. Her fighting stopped, but she still gripped his arms hard. “I need them, I need them!”

“You don't,” he replied firmly, shifting his hold on her to be more of a hug, letting her feet rest back against the deck. She slumped in his arms, only kept up by him as tears streamed down her face. She didn't know how to be sober anymore, that reality was too hard to even think about. “You don't need that shit, it's poison, I've seen people destroyed by it. It would have killed you.”

“So?” Nina spat indignantly, “who the fuck cares.”

“Don't say that,” Killer sighed, squeezing her a little tighter and pressing his mask against her shoulder. She shivered a little at the brisk night air, but his warm front against her back was a comfort against the cold. “I know you've not been here long, but you have friends. We care about you, we're here for you. You found us for a reason, you belong here with us.”

“I don't- I can't-” she started, feeling helpless.

“I'll help you,” Killer replied, “I'll help you get clean, okay?”

“Okay,” Nina replied in a small voice, not having much choice. Killer held her for a while longer, letting her get out her tears, before walking her back to her room.

“She can't stay with us like this,” Quincy huffed, “she's up all night, tossing and turning, screaming in her sleep! We want her to get clean, we do, but she needs to do it somewhere else! We need sleep!”

Killer slumped down in his chair and let his head loll back, his mask making a ‘clunk’ against the back of the chair as he let out a heavy sigh. He had a feeling this would happen with making Nina go cold turkey, but there was no good solution. He'd considered converting a storage room for her while she sobered, but recent raids had all the rooms full with treasure and weapons, there was no space to even hang a hammock. Quincy was right though, it wasn't fair for the three girls who shared a room with Nina to have to deal with the effects of her sobering up, especially when the worst was still to come.

“I'll sort it,” Killer grunted. There was really only one solution he could see here, and he hated it, but it wouldn't be forever. He stood and marched past Quincy, making his way to where he knew Nina would be. He found her exactly as expected, and he knelt next to her bed, pulling back the blankets that she'd pulled over her head.

“Fuck off,” Nina growled, not even turning to look at him. She was shivering like she was freezing, her skin clammy with sweat.

“Pack your shit,” Killer tried his best to reply in a gentle manner, “you're moving room.”

Nina took some convincing to get out of bed, while in the meantime Killer gathered her things. Zap squeaked as Killer picked him up, Nina's duffle in his other hand; the cat hardly left her side, especially while she'd been essentially bedridden. Nina unwillingly followed him bare foot in her pajamas across the deck and up the stairs, pausing as she realised she was being led into the stern castle where the commanders all resided. “I'm… staying here?” She asked hesitantly, raising her hand to block the sunlight that was hurting her eyes.

“You're taking my room, while you get sober,” Killer explained, giving her a small push on her lower back to get her moving again, “I'll stay with Kid in the meantime.”

“You don't have to do that,” she said in a small voice as he opened the door to his room and dumped her stuff on the floor, placing Zap on the bed. He didn't like knowing there was going to be cat chair all over his usually spotless room, but there wasn't much that could be done without upsetting Nina by seperating her from the only thing that seemed to give her comfort right now.

“I do, actually,” Killer sighed, “the girls can't sleep with your current condition and it's only going to get worse. It's not forever, just until you're clean. Just… don't fuck my room up, okay? I'll be across the hall if you need anything, I cleared the top drawers for your stuff, bathroom is through that door.”

Nina was already climbing under his blankets as he explained everything, more than exhausted from the short walk and wanting to go back to sleep, where her head didn't feel like it was going to split open. Killer took the time to fill a bowl with water for Zap, Quincy had been essentially caring for the cat while Nina was sick anyway, so he guessed that was his job now. He made a mental note to go grab the litter box and food bowl, before sighing to himself and leaving Nina to brood.

Killer quickly understood why the girls had needed their space from Nina. The crew quarters were far from the stern castle, so he couldn't hear her before, but now that she was across the hall her screaming was loud and clear. “Shut her up,” Kid growled as he rolled over, covering his head with a pillow. Against his will, Killer climbed out of bed and slipped on his mask, sleepily making his way across the hall, barefooted in his blue gingham pajama pants. Wire opened his door down the hall and gave Killer a look as though to ask if he needed help, but Killer waved him off before reaching for the handle to what was usually his bedroom door.

Inside the room, chaos had ensued. He noted Zap hiding under the dresser as Nina threw things around, narrowly missing Killer with a lamp. She let out a blood curdling scream at him, and he wondered if she was even seeing him, or something monstrous in his place. It was a likely scenario that she was fighting some invisible demon, hallucinations brought on by her withdrawal. He grabbed her before he could hurt him or herself, pinning her arms to her front as he held her from behind. “Shh, I got you,” Killer soothed, “it's Kil, there's only the two of us here, you're safe on the Victoria Punk, nobody is going to hurt you.”

Nina was panting hard, drenched with sweat and shaking, but she at least stopped screaming, and stopped fighting him. “There you go, you're okay,” he said softly, loosening his hold a little, “I've got you. Just breathe.”

“Killer,” she whimpered, like she was remembering herself, “I'm so scared. And it hurts, so much.”

“I know, I know,” Killer shushed, pulling her to the bed and into his lap as he sat. He rocked her gently as she continued to make small sad whimpers. “We're gonna get through this.”

“Will you stay with me?” She mumbled against his chest. She was struggling to discern what was real and what wasn't, and she felt like she couldn't defend herself against that. She needed someone with her, who could help her see that the awful things she were seeing were all in her head. Killer considered it for a moment. He would be uncomfortable, unable to take his mask off to sleep, but right now it was clear Nina needed a friend, or she might not make it through this.

“I'll stay,” Killer replied. Nina breathed a shaky sigh of relief and nestled into him, letting him hold her like a scared child as she tried to ground herself. Eventually he convinced her to lay back down to sleep, but he never let go of her, letting her use him like an anchor as the hallucinations threatened to steal her sanity away and her body ached from exhaustion.

Killer woke with a startle, feeling his pants being tugged at, putting him into fight or flight. He threw the covers off to find Nina weakly and desperately trying to get his pants further down, her small hand wrapped around Killer's semi-erect cock. He quickly grabbed her hand and tried to pull her away, but she rushed back towards him. He jumped off the bed as he pulled his pants back up, and she scrambled after him like a woman possessed, kneeling at his feet and tugging at his pants again while he gripped them hard to keep them up.

“NINA, WHAT THE FUCK?” he growled, trying to get away from her as she crawled after him, a crazed look in her eyes.

“Please, I need one more hit, just one more,” Nina pleaded, “let me trade for it, please, please. I'll suck your dick, I'll make you feel so good, please I just want one more hit then I'll get sober, I promise. Please I can make it worth it for you, I'm really good, please!”

“Not fucking happening,” Killer snapped, “Nina stop, I'm not giving you more drugs.”

“Please, please,” she pleaded. She collapsed at his feet, tears falling to the floor as she clawed at his pants. “I can't do this, what's the point? Why am I even trying?”

Killer fell to his feet in front of her, taking her face in his hands. “Nina, look at me,” he growled, “look at me.”

“How can I fucking look at you?!” She cried, “I can't even see your face! I don't even know what fucking colour your eyes are!”

Killer sighed and gathered all his mental fortitude. He should have seen that coming, it was only fair. “You want a trade? I'll make you a trade,” he replied in a low voice. Nina perked up, hopeful that he was caving. She was desperate for another rush, she felt miserable and alone and everything hurt, just one more hit and everything would feel okay, she just knew it. He saw the hope in her eyes and hated to snuff it out, but it was a necessary evil. “I'm not getting you more meth,” Killer sighed, “I can get you weed, but nothing more. But I'll make you a deal. You get sober, and I'll show you my face.”

Nina blinked at him, disappointed and confused. “The thing is, only Kid, Heat and Wire ever see my face,” Killer sighed, “I get that you don't feel like you can trust me, when I'm not even letting you see all of me. But I don't like my face, I don't like my smile. I don't let anyone see it, except the people I trust the most. Showing my face is the hardest thing I can do, but I know right now you're going through something really fucking hard too. So I'll make you a deal. You be brave, and I'll be brave too. I know right now it hurts, and everything is terrifying and you feel like the whole world is against you, but it's not. I'm right here, you don't have to do this alone.”

“Kil..” Nina sobbed, falling forward and letting him wrap his arms around her.

Things had to get worse before they got better, and get worse they did. Nina was reduced to a screaming, writhing mess, consumed by hallucinations and crying out for someone to either kill her, or let her have one more hit. She started refusing meals, until she became too weak to refuse and gave in, letting Killer hold her while he carefully spoon fed her. He became her full time carer, helping her to the bathroom and bathing her when it couldn't be avoided any longer. She practically lived in his shirts now, oversized on her but his familiar scent gave her comfort whenever he had to leave her to attend to his first mate duties. She never left the room, never left the bed without his assistance, she just tossed and turned and screamed all day, except when he was holding her. With him there, things were easier. He grounded her, made it easier to tell what was real and what wasn't. After several nights of running to her room at well past midnight, he'd given in to her pleas to stay with her, despite how uncomfortable he was sleeping with his mask on. She curled around his body every night like a koala clinging to a tree, whimpering in her sleep, but at least having him there was a balm for the screaming.

Killer got used to waking up with her limbs tangled with his, so when he woke up to find her not there, panic set in immediately. “Nina?” He called in fear, worried that she'd done something stupid, “Nina, you in the bathroom?”

When no reply came he jumped out of bed, flinging open the bathroom door to find the room empty. Scared for her safety, he ran out of the bedroom, opening his haki to search for her. He felt her on the opposite side of the ship, in the deck held between the jaws of the skull that decorated the front of the ship. He ran full speed to her, jumping to skip the sets of stairs that led to the stern castle, his heart racing faster than he thought it could. Only once before had his heart beat so hard, when Kid had laid lifeless on the battlefield after losing his arm, Killer not knowing if he was alive or dead.

He came to a sudden stop as he finally reached her, calling for her between heavy breaths. She turned, startled, brows raised in surprise. “Kil?” She asked, “everything okay?”

“You, you weren't in bed,” he huffed between breaths, “I thought- I thought something was wrong.”

Nina lowered the mug she was holding in both hands, using the heat from the drink inside to warm her hands against the cold morning breeze. It was early, the sun barely risen over the horizon, the sky tinted with greens and deep blues. A blanket was wrapped loosely around her shoulders, hanging over her stolen shirt that hung loosely from her frame, property of Killer, and old sweatpants from when he was thinner, though she still had to tie them as tight as they could go. “I was watching the sunrise,” Nina explained, confused as to why he was so flustered, his chest heaving still, “sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”

“You're… feeling okay?” Killer asked, eyeing the drink in her hands, wondering if there was some trick to this. She noticed the subtle tilt of his mask and followed his line of sight.

“It's just tea,” Nina explained, “I don't think I made it right though, there's so many bits in it. My head was feeling clear, so I thought I'd get some fresh air before everyone woke up. Still have a headache a little, but I think I'm okay.”

“Bits?” Killer mumbled. He didn't think they had loose leaf tea on the ship. Unless…”Nina, did you open the tea bag?”

“Yes?” She replied, furrowing her brows. Killer snorted, grabbing the railing for support as he accidentally let out a genuine, unsupressed laugh. “What? Are you laughing at me? I didn't even know you laughed.”

“I don't,” Killer wheezed, “but that's, fuck, you said you were bad at cooking but who the fuck can't manage tea?”

Nina lightened up at Killer's laughter and let herself giggle, pouring the tea out over the railing next to where Killer was trying to rein himself in. With one last deep inhale he contained himself, standing straight and looking at her next to him. She was smiling back up at him, and he realised suddenly that there was no mockery in her expression. She'd heard his real laugh, and hadn't given any inclination that she disliked it. He turned to her, standing tall, before reaching back to the latch on his mask and releasing it. She made a soft gasp as he pulled it off his head, his bangs falling into place over his icy blue eyes, his lips stained with the remnants of purple lipstick, his cheekbones sharp and defined. She barely had time to take him in before he pulled her by her nape and cover her lips with his.

She made a confused whine, before closing her eyes and pressing back against him, letting the blanket on her shoulders fall to the deck as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and wove her hand through his long hair. He only kissed her for a moment before realising how crazy this was and pulling away. “Fuck, sorry,” he said bashfully as he stepped back. Nina's arms followed him, falling to rest against his chest. He looked out at the ocean, feeling self conscious and embarrassed for letting himself be so undisciplined.

“Don't be,” she replied softly, running a hand up his neck to cup his face. He hesitated to look at her, until her thumb ran over his lips. “So pretty,” she whispered, mostly to herself. He looked at her then, saw how her eyes glittered with genuine awe and affection, and he felt his heart swell. A breeze ran through the ship and she shivered, distracted for a moment from absorbing every facet of his face.

“You're cold,” he stated, rubbing her bare arm with his free hand to try and give her some warmth. She murmured in agreement but never looked away from him. “Come on,” he said as he put his mask back on, “let's go back to bed and get you warmed up.”

She let him take her hand and lead her, the two of them moving silently save for their footsteps, an unexpected electricity running through them where their fingers threaded together. Both of their hearts were racing at the unspoken promise of what waited for them back in the bedroom. Nina was nervous though, she'd never slept with a man in a intimate way, she'd only ever done it for money when things were desperate. None of those experiences had been pleasant for her, and she didn't know if she even wanted this. She wanted him though, that much she knew for certain, so maybe it would be different this time.

The door shut behind her and latched, and she felt herself starting to panic. Killer approached her from behind, letting his mask fall to the floor, but paused as he heard her quickening breath. “You okay?” He asked softly, “we don't have to do anything, you know. We can just lay under the blankets, get warm, talk if you want to.”

“Sorry, I'm fine,” Nina lied.

“You're not,” Killer sighed, seeing right through her facade, “It's okay, I know my laugh, my smile, they're not pleasant. You don't have to force yourself.”

Nina's breath hitched and she spun to face him, taking his face in her hands, her own discomfort forgotten for his. “It's not you, Kil, I promise, okay?” She soothed, running her thumbs over his cheeks. She took a deep breath and tried to be brave, not wanting Killer to be hurt by her own insecurities, “It's just. I've only ever slept with men for money.”

“Oh,” Killer replied quietly. He covered her hands with her own, closing his eyes for a moment as he pressed harder against her soft palms, “We don't have to do anything. We can take our time. It'd be different though, I'd be gentle with you. I want to be gentle with you.”

“I want that too,” Nina replied timidly, “I want you, Kil.”

“You have me,” he replied before pressing his lips to hers again, “all of me, if that's what you want.”

Nina kissed him hard, giving him her answer, and he replied in equal fervour. He walked her backwards to the bed as their hands tangled in each other's hair. He groaned as she gave his hair a tug, and she took the opportunity to plunge her tongue into his mouth. Kissing him felt good, and she found herself pressing hard against his body, whining as his erection pressed against her stomach. She let herself fall backwards, pulling him with her, their mouths still connected.

Nina tugged on his shirt, and they broke the kiss so she could pull it over his head, quickly followed by him removing her shirt. She giggled in anticipation before his lips captured hers again, the giggle turning to a moan as he kissed along her jaw and down her neck, taking handfuls of her small breasts and rolling her nipples between his thumbs and pointer fingers as his mouth made a trail down her front to them. Her whole body felt sensitive as he took a tit in his mouth, laving it with his tongue and flicking the pert bud with the tip. Her back arched off the bed as he kissed further down, his knees falling to rest on the floor as his lips worshipped her belly.

He looked up at her with puppy dog eyes, seeking wordless permission as his fingers tugged at the waistband to her borrowed pants. Nina bit her lip and nodded. She'd never even had a man go down on her and was eager to feel his mouth on her cunt. She raised her ass for him and he removed her pants and underwear, returning his mouth to her tummy and continuing his journey downwards. He nosed at her pink pubes as she spread her legs for him, and he pulled her thighs to rest on his shoulders, kissing each inner thigh before pressing his nose to her core and inhaling her scent. He groaned before finally bringing his tongue out to meet her, making her let out a long deep moan as he ran the wet muscle between her folds.

It wasn't often Killer got to eat pussy, in fact he couldn't remember the last time he'd done it with a woman watching him. Her eyes were squarely focused on him as he began to eat her out, his eyes locked with hers as he rolled his tongue over her clit with practiced precision. She gave in and let herself fall back against the bed, weaving a hand through his hair and letting herself relax as he worked, melting into the mattress at the feeling of his mouth on her pussy. She'd never let herself feel her pleasure with a man, it'd always been so strictly transactional, no man had ever even considered her pleasure, but Killer was drunk on it. He made satisfied groans as he ate her out, squeezing her thighs to hold her in place as she bucked and moaned, the vibrations of his pleased sounds adding to her pleasure. He released one thigh to bring one hand up under his chin, running the tip of his index finger around her entrance before sinking it into her pussy.

“Oh fuck~” Nina groaned, legs shaking as she came suddenly at the intrusion, “Kil~”

Killer grinned and kissed her pussy tenderly before climbing up her body. She shuffled backwards to make space and he straddled over her, watching her face intently as he sunk two fingers inside her. She whined and gripped the arm that was keeping him supported hovering above her. Her other hand ran over his chest, enjoying the tight muscles and curves, before it ran further down and under the waistband of his pants. He grunted as she wrapped her hand around his cock and began to pump him, matching the pace he was using on her. He added a third finger to her and the two of them made sloppy, desperate kisses as they jerked each other off.

“Kil,” Nina panted, “want you, please.”

Killer groaned and was quick to comply. As much as he hated to admit it, his dreams had been haunted by Nina ever since she'd woken him up that morning. With the added unexpected emotions on top, he was desperate to sink inside her, but he didn't want to pressure her. Hearing her beg for him had him ready to cum right there and then. “You sure?” He queried.

“I'm sure,” she confirmed huskily. He stripped his pants quickly and settled himself between her legs, taking himself in his hand. “Wait,” she pressed a hand to his chest, “can I… can I do it?”

Killer understood that she was nervous for a good reason, this position no doubt reminded her of some unsavory memories. He grabbed her hips and rolled both of them so she was on top, straddling him. She made a surprised gasp as they rolled, sitting up to sit over his cock as they stilled. She gave an experimental roll, grinding her cunt against his shaft, making them both whine at the friction. She reached between her legs and stroked him a few times before lining him up with her entrance. He was big, and she worried he wouldn't even fit, so she sank down slowly. Her body was more than willing though, more aroused than she'd ever been with a man and well prepared by him, so she was able to take all of him, whimpering as her thighs met his pelvis. She stayed still there for a moment, eyes closed in concentration as she took in how full she was and how good it felt.

Killer was meanwhile using all his willpower to not immediately thrust up into her, overwhelmed by how hot and wet she was sitting atop him, his cock entirely disappeared inside her. He gripped her thighs and groaned impatiently, desperate for her to move before his resolve could snap. Finally she opened her eyes again, suddenly feeling powerful as she looked down at the strong man underneath her. She rolled her hips with purpose, mouth falling open and moans spilling from her lips as she rode him, experimenting with a few different motions and hip angles before she found the one that felt the best for her.

“There you go,” Killer praised as his fingertips sunk into her thighs, “just like that, princess.”

Her moans synchronized with his grunts as she rolled her hips, Killer immensely turned on as he watched the way Nina took back her power and used him for her pleasure. Her hands ran over his chest, playing with his nipples and groping his pecks, before she leaned down and kissed him hard. “Kil,” she groaned, her energy fading, “fuck me, please.”

Killer planted his feet and thrust up into her, making her scream and bury her face against his shoulder. He gripped her ass and held her steady above him as he fucked up into her, her pussy making wet squelches as she whined against his neck, hot breath making his skin damp. She tangled her hands through his hair and pulled hard for support as her body was jostled, moaning directly in his ear, making it hard for Killer to not immediately cum. “Kil,” she huffed, “feels good, so close~”

“Cum for me, princess,” Killer groaned, “fuck, cum on my cock, please, I need it.”

“Ah, ah, cumming~” Nina cried, her cunt clamping down around Killer. He whined as he kept pumping her, trying to work her entirely through it, before pulling out and jerking himself off over his own stomach.

“Fuck,” he grunted as Nina collapsed against him, the two of them a panting mess as cum and sweat transferred between their bodies, Nina still twitching occasionally in her afterglow. She kissed his cheek tenderly as she came back to earth before he turned his face to meet her, the two of them sharing a intimate, gentle kiss, his hand running through her overgrown hair that was usually shaved short.

“Thank you,” she said softly as she nuzzled in to the crook of his neck, “for taking care of me, for being there. For trusting me with with your face.”

“Thank you for trusting me as well,” Killer kissed the side of her head, holding her tight to him, “the hard part is over, you're gonna be okay now.”

“Yeah, I think I am,” she agreed sleepily.

Like my stuff? Consider buying me a ko-fi

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#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #one piece x reader #kid pirates #kid pirates x reader #killer one piece #massacre soldier killer #killer x reader #one piece oc #op oc #commission #fic commission #friend oc: nina #bad bitch polycule

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jumpywhumpywriter · 4 months ago

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Vampire Captures Vampire Hunter to Use as Bloodbag part 1

Warnings: death, blood, vampire night club, kidnapping, human occasionally referred to as 'it'

A vampire hunter ambushes a vampire club with his crew -- but little does he know, the tables are about to turn, and not in the human's favor.

It was a day like any other, a group of friends hanging out at a top-notch club -- only this was a vampire club, exclusive to bloodsuckers alone. But somehow, news must have gotten out about it, because everything took a tragic turn. Vampire hunters came storming in right as the night was coming to a close. Those blasted party-crashers.

Alex assumed they must have been newer and more inexperienced hunters though, because no sane human would charge right into the middle of a group of predators. Because even with backup, and even armed to the teeth with silver and stakes, the hunters never really stood a chance.

A few unlucky vampires were killed during the initial attack, before the surprise wore off and the vampires retaliated. It was a bloodbath.

Human bodies littered the club floor by the end of it, and some of the vampires decided to take advantage of the opportunity for fresh blood. Others were still dispatching the last few surviving hunters, taking their sweet time. And Alex was one of them.

At the moment he had a young man pinned against the wall by the throat, but he didn't kill him quite yet. He merely watched the human struggle uselessly in his grip, clawing at his arms and snarling with teeth bared -- like a feral animal. He found it rather entertaining, how he still fought back even with no hope of winning.

"Alex! You gonna eat that one?" Alex craned his head to the side and flashed a fang-filled grin at Jack, his closest vampire friend, as he came up next to him.

"I'm certainly considering it," he chuckled, attention shifting back to the hunter in his claws. He saw a flicker of genuine fear in the human's eyes, so delicious and exciting as its wide eyes flicked between the two predators.

"Tonight turned out to be a disaster," Jack mused, running a hand through his hair. "I wonder who ratted us out to the humans. How did they get our location?"

"It could also merely be people sticking their noses where they shouldn't," Alex pointed out. "Only vampires are allowed access here. Why would a vampire rat out other vampires?"

"What if they caught one of us and tortured them into giving us away?"

Alex gave the hunter in his hold a rough shake. "Is that true? Did you interrogate one of us to find this place?"

The human just glowered venomously at him, a permanent glare etched into his features. Alex couldn't help but laugh at the petty show of defiance. It was cute, like a kitten spitting fire at a lion.

"...I think I actually have an idea for this one," he suddenly rumbled.

"What's that?" Jack asked.

"I think I might prefer to keep this one alive for now. Maybe turn him into a house pet or something."

Jack howled with laughter. "Keeping a hunter as your toy? That's pretty dangerous, my friend. They know how to kill us. It could turn on you at any second."

"I know. But I think it would make for a great challenge to break him in," Alex answered. "And it would prove beneficial to me as well. I'd have a constant food source at my disposal, so I wouldn't have to go to the trouble of catching fresh prey."

"I'm not going to be your pet," the hunter finally snarled, breaking his silence.

"Oooh--hoo! It's a feisty one, too!" Jack whistled. "Good luck trying to tame that spitfire!"

The human's face twisted with rage, and he suddenly kicked a leg out at Alex, aiming for his stomach to kick him away, but Alex snatched his ankle lightning-fast with his free hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"Bad idea, young one," he scolded mockingly, and tightened his grip around the hunter's throat, reveling in the panic that flashed in his prey's light brown eyes.

"The only advice I can give to you is to be careful, Alex. Who knows what this little beast is capable of." Jack giggled and ruffled the human's hair just to show he could, humiliating the creature further before he wandered off to talk to some other vampires.

Alex's sharp gaze swept over his catch, slow and appreciating. If he had to make a guess, he'd say the man was in his early twenties, a bold and impulsive individual from the looks of it. Didn't think things through before acting.

"I think we'll have a lot of fun together, don't you?" Alex cooed, and let go of the human's ankle to trail his fingers down the side of his soft neck, lingering over his skittering pulse. So fragile, so delicate a creature, so easily broken if he wasn't careful. He'd have to make sure to be gentle if he wanted the human to last. "What's your name, runt?"

"Curse you," the human spat viciously.

Alex cocked his head to the side, an amused smile playing across his lips. "Well, mister 'Curse You', what do you think about going on a little car ride?" he said smugly.

Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

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@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222

@why-not-ask-me-a-better-question (Saw your post about wanting to be tagged in new writing, so thought I'd share mine! Hope it makes your day!)

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see-arcane · 2 years ago

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“You know,” Dracula hums by the fireplace, the flames a shade dimmer than his own eyes. “I do believe I am becoming paranoid in my old age. Yet I keep my things in such precarious order, all things where they must be.” A log pops. His eyes flash. “Where they should be. And so I have noticed that my own bedroom was disturbed during the day.”

“Oh?” Voice level, Jonathan. Voice steady, Jonathan. Surprise. Concern. “How so? I was under the impression the door was locked.”

“So it was. And yet, I can tell something was...” His nails drum on the mantel, the click of claws, “...different. Meddled with somehow.”

Something between foolishness, sleeplessness, and a smoldering kernel of ire sparks in Jonathan’s chest. Its embers travel up to his tongue.

“Nothing was stolen, I hope. I admit I had a mild scare some time ago, when I realized I couldn’t find certain things in my luggage. Only it occurred to me that your servants must have already taken them away to clean and hold aside for my departure.” A smile so easy it borders on suicidal curls on his face. It feels like a rictus. Maybe it will see him dead right then. “The people here are the most discreet I’ve ever encountered.”

Dracula raises a snowy brow.

“That they are. As discreet as spiders minding their web.” Then, a sudden swerve out of the growing cloud. He oozes mirth. “Have you seen any here, my friend? Spiders?”

“None.” He hadn’t. Dust, motheaten holes, but no spiders.

“That is because of my people as well. More, it is the work of local aid.” His grin has too many teeth. “The bats quite love them. Whenever I or my servants come across a spider indoors, we save it for them. All those that would dare to come crawling along the outer walls?” He snaps his fingers. “They are eaten before they can spin their first thread. It is a most lucrative exchange.”

Jonathan fights not to swallow, not to acknowledge the cold twisting in his stomach.

“I’m certain.”

“A hypothetical question for you. Which would you rather be, my friend? Of the two, I mean.” Dracula’s hand is on him again, itself a titanic white spider. Cold and immovable from his shoulder. It squeezes just short of bruising. “A spider or a bat?”

“I wouldn’t know, Count. Neither is the best choice."

“No?”

The hand is tighter.

“No.” Under the table, Jonathan crosses his fingers. “The best choice is a cat.”

The grip lightens and amusement sketches a change in the Count’s expression.

“Why a cat?”

“They can get away with much more,” Jonathan’s traitor tongue flies. He bites it. “If only for the fact of their comparative harmlessness as they serve their masters as they entertain and accompany. This, while it provides a more handy service in hunting pests of all sorts, be it spider and bat or beetle and rat. In exchange for doing the dual work of tending to the home and being pleasant and defenseless, the more powerful keeper ensures they’re housed and,” he gulps down glass, hot coals, acid, “and loved. A cat can only do so much, but it does just enough.”

Dracula shakes his head.

“Enough to get themselves in trouble, perhaps. No, my friend, if we must leave the smaller creatures behind, I must say a wolf is the better choice. He eats all in his path and has no master at all.” The cold hand gives another squeeze, the nails dimpling cloth and skin...then relaxes. Strokes. “But cats have their place as well. If kept in their proper place...”

The night goes on in this way for endless hours. And still Jonathan’s fingers are crossed out of sight. He has a fondness for cats. Even for spiders. He appreciates all creatures who take it upon themselves to hunt and cull those things that infest or take lives by little bites. But more than either, he has always had a fondness and fealty to dogs.

As the moon drags itself slowly across the sky, he imagines he hears their barking and baying meeting the wild cry of the wolves, and shepherd teeth sinking deep into bloodthirsty throats.

#in which there are animal motifs #jonathan harker #dracula #re: dracula #dracula daily #my writing

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hazbinshusk · 6 months ago

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This is wild but, Number Sixteen for Huskie? Totally not due to the Southern saying "the Devil is kissing his wife" when the sun is out while it is raining. Which is a better saying than its counterpart. Does it even rain in hell-?

prompt #16: a kiss in the rain

Husk curses, a hiss sounding in the back of his throat and his teeth bared in irritation as rain soaks his fur, leaving the usually fluffy hair hanging down in dripping clumps. He flaps his wings in an attempt to shake away the rain, growling as it proves ineffective.

You suppress a laugh, hiding your smile behind your hand. “We’re almost home, honey. Just gotta hold out a few more—”

“Fuckin’, Christ!” he yowls in frustration, pushing wet fur away from his eyes. “What’s the fuckin’ point of rain in motherfuckin’ hell to begin with?”

You pout sympathetically, grabbing his hand and urging him further up the hill towards the hotel. Rain has soaked through your clothes to set an uncomfortable chill into your skin, but you know it’s nothing compared to what he’s dealing with. “Tell you what, we get home, I’ll beat the answer out of Lucifer myself.”

He gives you a look torn halfway between amusement and annoyance. There’d been no warning before the downpour, and his relatively light mood had soured as soon as water had met his fur. “Fuckin’ hate this stupid cat—”

“Hey, none of that,” you tell him, grabbing hold of his suspenders and tugging him towards you. You press your lips to his, tasting the rain on his mouth, and he relaxes reluctantly into the embrace, his wings rising slightly in an attempt to shield the both of you from the worst of the wind-carried rain.

He grumbles even as you pepper kisses over his face, pressing your lips to his cheeks, the hearts above his eyes, the heart of his nose before kissing him again. You ignore the way his wet fur tries to cling to your hands, continuing to kiss him until you feel him sigh softly, his body relaxing further.

“No getting in your head with the self-hatred.” you remind him sternly, wrapping your hand around his paw. He squeezes it back, but when he opens his mouth to complain again, you kiss him again. “Nope. I love you even when you’re drenched, sour and looking like a very annoyed drowned rat.”

He grumbles, but there’s a wry smile touching his lips.

“Once we’re inside we’ll curl up by the fire with my hair dryer and some towels and I will personally kick Angel’s ass if he even thinks about making a comment.” you promise, smoothing fur back between his ears as the two of you finally make it under the awning at the front of the hotel. “Alastor’s too. Sound good?”

He huffs a reluctant chuckle, pressing his forehead against yours. You giggle as his fur drips down onto your nose. “Christ, you’re cute.”

“So are you,” you reply sincerely. “But what do we say we get you inside? I’d prefer to cuddle up to a sexy and very dry bartender.”

“Fuckin’ God, yes.”

send me a prompt and either husk or blitzø

#look I wanted to do something romantic like I did for blitz #but husk would fucking HATE the rain lol #husk #jazziesanura #husk fic #husk x reader #husk fanfiction #hazbin hotel #husk posting #my fic #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel x reader #husk fanfic #hazbin husk x reader #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin husk

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soft-girl-musings · 1 year ago

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Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 1 (Strangers In The Night)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N

wc: 2,222

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

A/N: can't believe this is the product of covid-induced hcs and thots between me and @mrs-lockley, thank you so much for encouraging this buddy (also @lunar-ghoulie if i had a nickel for each time you've sent an ask/dm about a WIP and it ended up being where i put all my energy, i'd have two nickels. which isn't a lot but it's hilarious that it's happened twice).

----------

On nights like tonight, Jake Lockley regrets his choice of profession.

It’s a dreary November evening, darkening by the second as the New York streets grow damp and cold. The wise had decided not to venture out; the blindsided rush across slick pavement to whatever shelter they can find. The desperate stay on the clock and curse their luck.

He should know by now that when a client says they’ll be “just a minute,” it’s a boldfaced lie: even if they have every intention of being efficient, he’s been stranded on the curb more times than he can count.

So he keeps the meter running. He’s seen the duds his regular client has on each week; the man could afford to fork over a few extra bucks. Might even build character.

The steady rhythm of the rain had been fine at first, but after half an hour parked beneath the neon sign of The Paper Moon– hat, coat and gloves doing nothing to ward off the chill creeping into his cab– every raindrop taunts him in his isolation.

To hell with this.

He shuts off the engine, pops his collar, and braces himself before stepping out onto the street. The rain falls fast and hard, so he rushes toward the brick exterior of The Paper Moon. He’s never been inside, but the glowing crescent of the sign had piqued his interest the first time he’d dropped his client here. He may as well see what all the fuss is about.

The doorman– a tall, dapperly dressed unit with a neutral grimace– casts a wary look his way. Jake ducks into the alley beside the building. Guess it’s exclusive.

Through the rain he spots a side door with a meagerly covered stoop, upon which is hunched a smaller, yet equally well-dressed figure. The young man’s tawny complexion pops against the emerald green of his just-too-big blazer, mist gathering in the dark brown waves slicked back from his creased brow. He grips a cigarette between clenched teeth, stuttering curses around it as he strikes a flimsy matchbook to no avail.

“¿Necesitas un fuego?”

At his offer, Jake is met by startled, impossibly wide brown eyes. The shock turns to glee as his face breaks into a toothy smile.

“Sí– sí sería genial, señor.” He makes room on the stoop, his dimpled cheeks betraying his youth. Jake pulls out a lighter and deftly lights the end of his cigarette, earning another dimpled grin after a few christening puffs. “Muchísimas gracias.”

“No hay problema.”

He lights one of his own, the smoke mixing with the fog of his breath as he holds out his free hand. “Jake.”

“Mauricio.” His newfound companion grips his hand and shakes vigorously.

They sit in silence for a few moments, their subtle exhalations and the slowing rain the only sounds between them.

The mood is disrupted by shouting from the other side of the door, followed by clattering and the unmistakable sound of someone falling. The door behind them flies open and a lanky, dark skinned man in a matching green blazer pokes his head outside.

“You’d better get your tail in here, Maurie. She’s in one of her moods tonight.”

“Rats, alright,” he groans, taking one last drag of his cigarette before stamping it out with his heel. Mauricio straightens his blazer and pushes a hand through his hair. He pauses at the door and looks back at Jake.

“Do you wanna come inside, dry off for a spell? We put on a mean show,” he swears. The kid's face isn't one Jake imagines people say “no” to very often.

“...Yeah, alright. Thanks.”

“Great! There’s a couple of tables toward the back that should still be free, you can sneak in there no problem.” Mauricio holds the door open a bit wider for Jake to step through. “If anyone gives you any trouble, just tell ‘em you’re with me.” With a wink and another winning smile, he darts off to follow the other blazer.

Jake finds his spot easily enough, taking in the atmosphere as he weaves between tables and patrons. So this is The Paper Moon.

The building’s drab exterior is deceptive: inside is a small lounge, bustling with activity and humming with life. Richly draped walls envelop the space, with ornate lamps and soft candlelight radiating from every table. The room looks as warm as it feels, a welcome relief from Jake’s prior solitude.

He takes off his soaked coat and loosens his tie. Across the room Jake sees his client– a cold, calculating Mr. Wesley– who gives a curt nod, as if granting his permission to take a load off (for now).

He orders a drink from a slightly bewildered waiter and continues to survey the space. People of all shapes and sizes occupy tables and barstools, with the chatter of at least three languages creating a dizzying buzz around him. The crowd dies down when stage lights flash on at the far end of the room.

Out marches the band: the guy who'd clambered to the back door sits at the piano, cracking his knuckles before playing a few notes on the keys; an older man with a similar complexion props an upright bass in position, riffing along with the scattered piano melody; an impressively mustachioed fellow polishes the mouthpiece of his trumpet; Mauricio settles in behind a set of drums, waving a stick in the air when he spots Jake.

As warm as he's gotten after coming inside, the temperature seems to skyrocket as the click of heels and the shimmer of the last band member crossing the stage sends his heartbeat right into his throat. In walks– no, floats – a vision, evening gown the same color as the richly painted lips that curl into a smile as easily as breathing. Something Jake seems to have forgotten how to do.

He can’t take his eyes off you.

----------

There’s something in the air tonight.

Maybe it’s the smoke lingering on Mauricio’s jacket (you’ve told him time and time again how smoking before a show irritates you; he must have snuck a pack backstage), or maybe the weather has you out of sorts. Whatever it is, you’re one false step away from losing your cool. Which, of course, cannot happen. Not onstage.

As the band warms up, you take one last look in your compact mirror, blot your lipstick, and take a deep breath. It’s showtime.

The moment you step onstage, you turn on the charm. Nothing can touch you up here. Not when there’s music to play, a band to lead. A night to make unforgettable.

You approach the microphone and smile. “Hello again, darlings. Did you miss us while we were away?”

Applause and cheers echo back to you from the audience. There’s a distinct two-toned whistle that rises above the noise, but you don’t think anything of it.

Not until you scan the crowd and see something– someone – that doesn’t belong.

Lounging at the previously unoccupied back table is a man you’ve never seen before. Which wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t know the face and name of everyone who enters your club.

His eyes stay trained on you as you nod to the band to begin. One outlier a bad night will not make– you’ll deal with him later. For now, you let the caress of the opening notes ease the new tension in your body, and you start to sing.

With six shows a week, one would think the routine would become tedious. Quite the opposite: any night you play the same standards with the band is bound to be a good night. The chemistry between you and your boys is perfect– even on an off night like tonight, you still manage to follow each other and make the same hour of music sound brand new.

You lead one song, then another, completely in your own world. Of course, the constant cheers and occasional audience participation don’t hurt. But just when you hit your stride and forget your troubles, that whistle rings out above the noise.

The stranger's on the edge of his seat, rapt attention never leaving the stage. Seems innocent enough, but you’re still on high alert.

The set comes to a close, ending with a vibrant flourish. The band improvises a steady beat as you take a sip of water, then smile once more into the microphone.

“Oh, stop. Really…. well, alright, you can keep going,” you croon at the crowd as they cheer louder.

You gesture to the band. “Let’s give a big round of applause to The Jays, what do you say?”

“On piano we have the dazzling Jackie Thomas,” you call out as he trills a fancy melody a little louder than the rest. “Followed by this absolute Adonis on the bass, Benny Hayes,” you add as the smooth licks of his instrument sound out a reply.

“Let’s hear it for Leo Castellón and his magnificent mustache on the trumpet,” you tease as he blasts out a tune. “And our baby bird on drums, Mauricio Farrés!” You raise your voice as the youth bangs out a closing rhythm.

“And as always, I’m Ms. Songbird. We hope you’ll join us again soon, my doves. Goodnight!”

The band plays themselves out as you descend downstage to the front of the room. Time for the next act.

You know how to work a crowd both on and offstage; hospitality is as much a part of the gig as the music. Tonight’s a full house, but you take your time gliding past each table, front to back. Does everyone have their preferred drink? How’s the food? Was the music to their liking? All questions you ask with genuine interest, but you know the answer: everything is perfect.

"Hey, little songbird," a voice calls above the noise.

Everything except him.

You've been avoiding the back table for a while, trying to collect your thoughts before confronting him. No time like the present, I suppose.

You turn to see the outlier standing by the table he’d commandeered, a shimmering bundle of rhinestones dangling from his hand. The glint of a grin catches the low light the same way your traitorous earring does.

You touch your ear and your face grows hot. “Where did you–”

“Fell off as you floated by the last few tables, angel.”

Your heels tap out a warning as you approach. Toe-to-toe, with the added height of your shoes, you practically tower over him. Your brow furrows as you size him up: too forward to have something to hide, too laissez-faire to be up to any obvious trouble. All the same, you don't trust him.

You look him up and down; he does the same. "You're not very tall, are you?" More of a challenge than a question as you reach for the rhinestones in his hand.

Leaning back against the table, jewelry dangling just out of reach, his sly smile grows. "Well, miss, I tried to be."

"Right." You snatch the earring back before he says anything else. "I see you also tried to be discreet, and that didn't go so well for you, did it Chuck?"

"Actually, it's–"

“–club policy to check your coat at the door. Something our hostess would have insisted upon, meaning you– ” you emphasize as you lean in, fingertips pressed to the tabletop by his side, "–slipped in under the wire." You search his face for anything to betray his intentions. "Now how did you manage that?”

The stranger lowers himself into his seat, hands raised in surrender. "A little backstage access, courtesy of your drummer there." He nods toward the stage: you catch a glimpse of Mauricio clumsily ducking back behind the curtain. You'll scold him later.

His gaze shifts across the room. “See that fella over there– the one who looks like it'd kill him to smile? I’m just waiting to drive him home, like I do every week.” He grins again, that same look in his eyes. A look that sets you on edge. “Just a humble cab driver, miss– nothing up my sleeves.”

“Didn't know cabbies could be so exclusive,” you say, still eyeing him. James Wesley has been a regular for a few weeks, but you've never met his driver.

“With what he tips? Doll, I'd do damn near anything he asked.” The stranger chuckles, sipping his drink.

You know what he means: the wait staff has noted a major uptick in gratuities since Mr. Wesley has started frequenting the lounge.

“Very well,” you offer stiffly. It all checks out, but you get the feeling there's something he's not telling you. “I hope everything is to your liking.”

You turn to leave, but he takes your hand before you can go far.

“Oh believe me, it is… Ms. Songbird. ” A wink and a smile play on his lips as he swiftly presses them to your knuckles, letting go just as fast. You storm away before giving the satisfaction of showing how flustered you are.

“Mr. Manalo,” you beckon a waiter as he passes. He stands at attention. You gesture to the table you’d just left, not bothering to look and see if his eyes are still on you.

“Watch out for this one, will you? I get the feeling he isn’t just here for the music.”

----------

A/N: !!!! every story i write becomes my new favorite, but Noir!Jake has carved a pretty special spot in my heart this autumn. so excited to share more of him with y'all!

as always, thank you for reading :)

addtl tag list: @fandxmslxt69 @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

#my works #moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight au #jake lockley #jake lockley fanfiction #noir!jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x woc!reader #jake lockley x poc!reader #jake lockley/reader #jake lockley/fem!reader #jake lockley/woc! reader #jake lockley/poc!reader

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le-fruit-de-la-passion · 3 months ago

Text

Shigaraki Kinktober - Day 4 - Hate Sex and Bondage

Shigaraki has very few memories of spending time with animals.

Sensei never kept any around the house; he always said they were too much work to train, with little to no reward. The few times he was forced to leave his room as a teenager and venture into the streets to get groceries, he might have seen a dog, or two, maybe some squirrels. Nothing more.

But he has this distinct image in his mind of an afternoon spent at Garaki's lab, looking over with boredom at vials of bizarre substances while the doctor talked to Sensei about things that didn’t interest him at all back then. He's maybe nine in the memory, tall enough to see over the counter, but not enough to reach anything with his scrawny arms and still decidedly unpredictable hands.

But the one thing that did catch his eye in the lab was a cage. It was small, smaller than a shoe box, or a box of cookies. Inside, there was a small rat looking rather in bad shape: its fur was dull, patchy, with bloodied marks over its small body. Its beady eyes stared right back at Shigaraki, pleading so desperately to be let free, yet filled with unforgiving anger he recognized well.

“What did the rat do to be held like that?” he asked.

The two men paused their conversation, and the doctor laughed, an unpleasent, gurgling noise, while Sensei only smiled.

“Oh, Tomura, the poor rat didn't do anything,” Garaki had explained with a chuckle, walking over to the cage. He poked a fat finger between the metal bars, just enough for the rat to smell him but not close enough to bite him. It had felt oddly cruel. “It was just unfortunate enough to be exactly what I needed for my experiments. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The memory is coming back to him so vividly, he thinks, because you look exactly like that rat in its cage.

“Did you decide to start talking yet?” he asks you once again.

“Fuck you,” you scowl at him, your eyes so dark he has to wonder if anyone had ever looked like him with such hatred and lived to tell the tale. “I'll never tell you anything.”

You spit at him from the chair you're bound to, narrowly missing his shoe by a few inches. He tsks in disappointment, bending down to collect the liquid off the dirty floor with his index. It shines under the flickering neon light, and he smiles at the look of utter disgust on your face.

“It's not a good idea to waste your saliva like that. Who knows when’s the next time I'll feel like giving you water…”

He gets closer to you, wagging the wet finger close to your plump lips. You're almost snarling at him.

“Wanna take it back?” he coos mockingly. He toys with your bottom lip, forcing his digit into your warm mouth. Not a second passes before you bite down on it, hard, and he curses as he pulls his hand back to safety. The wound is shallow, but he's got a perfect print of your teeth on his skin, now glowing with a mixture of saliva and blood. You look at him triumphantly, but you lose your bravado the second he starts chuckling. Soon, he's openly laughing, holding onto the finger in absolute delight at your reaction.

“C'mon, is that all you got?” he manages to snicker in between breathless laughter. “You can't even bite like a real sewer rat! No wonder hero society is collapsing.”

You shake your chair angrily, trying to get out of your restraints. It's no use, and you both know it: the cold metal chain binds your hands, legs, and neck firmly in place, making it impossible for you to use your quirk. Attached like this, still all dressed up in your hero outfit, you look like a children's doll still in her box, bound with tie wrap until its owner decides to free it.

“I got an idea,” you snap at him. “How about you uncuff me and I can show you just how much I can bite?”

“Tempting,” he admits with a crooked grin, “but I have a better idea, hero.”

He pets your hair with his bloodied hand like a twisted parody of affection, and you recoil from the touch. But the chain doesn't let you get far, and you grit your teeth as he keeps caressing your hair with false compassion.

“How about you stay like that, all tied up like a nice little present for me, and I have fun with you until you tell me what I want to know?”

You scoff, throwing him a defiant smile that makes his pants feel tighter. He loves it when they have some fight in them.

“You're even more pathetic than the UA reports said,” you taunt him, looking straight into his eyes; a cornered animal trying to act like it's the predator. “Is this the only way you can get anyone to fuck you?”

He doesn't take the bait; he knows he's still in control. Slowly, he gets on his knees, and rests his head against your thighs, looking at you from under his eyelashes with a smirk. The restraints are too tight for you to hit him with the force of your knee, and you seem to have realized it, so you stay nice and put, looking down at him with fiery loathing. Good.

“How about we make it a game,” he suggests, raspy voice syrupy sweet, “so we both get something we want out of it. If I can't make you cum, you're free to go. I'll even drive you back to UA myself. Isn't that nice of me?”

He's broken that bold protective shell you’ve put around yourself, he can tell: even though your eyebrows are still furrowed and your eyes are still throwing him daggers, there's a glimmer of something else there. You're considering it.

“But if you do cum, and I win,” he continues, feeling high off his own words, “then I'm not letting you go until I want to let you go. Even if you talk. And that might be a long, long time…”

He lets the sentence trail on, one hand making its way to your thighs and caressing the skin. So, so smooth. Nothing like his own. Maybe that's why he wants to touch you so badly.

“How do I know you'll keep your word?” you ask distrustfully.

“You don't,” he answers plainly, lazy smile still on his face as he plays with the hem of your costume, so close to what he really wants to touch. “That's what makes it a game.”

You stay silent for a few seconds, weighing your options. He knows what you'll say before you even open your mouth.

“Deal,” you accept, lips straightned in a thin line. Your serious game face. The excitement is coursing through his veins like adrenaline; he's got you.

He doesn't give you a warning when he rips the bottom of your costume, revealing your tantalizingly pretty pussy.

“Hey!” you hiss, obviously displeased he's ruined your costume.

“No panties underneath,” he comments, ignoring your protest. “I really have to wonder what kind of hero you are…”

A first proding finger starts tracing your warmth, not quite pushing into your hole.

“The kind of hero that going to win against a villain,” you throw back at him, glare still defiant. He makes a point of slightly digging a nail into the sensitive flesh, and you suck in your breath to stay silent.

“Doesn't look like I’m doing too bad,” he snickers, “but maybe I should keep going, to make sure.”

You glare at him, challenging: “D-do your worst.”

“If you insist.”

Soon, one finger becomes two, and two fingers become three. You're so wet there's almost no resistance every time he trusts his digits into you. He thinks of mocking you for it, but you're already trying so hard to stay silent, heavy breaths echoing in the empty storage room. He's palming himself with his free hand, getting off how badly you're trying to maintain your hero dignity.

He wants to break you.

He pumps his fingers in faster, rougher, and you can't help but gasp. You close your eyes, in what he can only assume is a mixture of pleasure and utter embarrassment.

“Its not polite to look away from the man making you cum on his fingers. Didnt't they teach you that at UA ?” he reprimands with a sick grin. He's winning, and you know it just as well as he does. It's not your fault, really: Shigaraki never loses a game.

“Y-you…” you start, interrupting your sentence to take a shaky breath, “you haven't m-made me cum y-yet-”

“That's right, he concedes, not slowing down the ruthless pace into your pussy. “We should get to the finishing moves, shouldn't we?”

As his fingers bottom out inside you, he curves them sharply, feeling for the spot he knows is hiding just nearby. When you cry out, your metal chains rattling, he knows he's found it.

It's amusing how badly your body tries to spread your thighs further apart for him, when your mind must be well aware the restraints won't budge any more. You're shaking as he abuses that spot over and over again, face contorted in pleasure, biting your tongue to stay silent. But it's a lost battle, and it only takes a few more seconds for you to let out a deep, exhausted moan as you cum all over his fingers.

His smile can't get any wider as he admires the clear juices coating his scarred hand. You're having trouble catching your breath above him, panting like an animal.

“Still think you can take me, hero?”

He makes a point of whispering the word as a last cruel jab, reminding you of how low you've fallen.

But then, you surprise him.

You smile.

“Round 2,” you spit out, parting your still trembling thighs apart again. And oh, for a little caged rat, the anger burning in your eyes is such a delight that Shigaraki thinks he might keep you locked up forever.

#day 4 whoop #a lil late but thats on brand for me #bnha shigaraki #mha shigaraki #mha kinktober #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura smut #slight warning for a hurt animal (rat) but it goes by very quickly #i also cannot read/see/listen to anything with a hurt animal so its very minor #anywayyyyy #rant #psa: shigaraki fingerf*cks like hes playing on a controller sorry i dont make the rules

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mwolf0epsilon · 1 year ago

Text

The 501st Gang Meet their 105th Counterparts

A prequel to my last post

Rex, staring uneasily at the fully kitted captain Carno who is just silently staring at him: ...Uh, welcome aboard. I'm sure you'll feel right at home with the 501st and, should you need anything, we're more than willing to accomodate. Carno, continuing to stare menacingly before finally speaking up in a raspy and very hushed tone: I don't like your face. Rex: Wh-- Carno, shoving past him rudely: Stay out of my way, Blondie. I don't need some flashy Jedi's pet putting a spotlight on me. Rex, starting to think this might not be as easy as the briefing made it sound: Oh boy...

James, looking Jesse up and down while playing with his braid: So, is like, the tat supposed to be some kinda statement, or are you just really into licking boots? Jesse, pausing: I... Excuse me?! -staring at James wide-eyed- James: Oooh, it's a statement isn't it? Dang boy, they should slap you on a poster. Every battalion needs a show fathier, I guess! Jesse, glaring: I don't like you. James: Feeling's mutual. This ship ain't big enough for two token pretty boys. Jesse: No, no it isn't.

Hardcase, excitedly showing Clearcut around while talking like a ship running a click per second: Clearcut, allowing Hardcase to drag him around while sort of tuning him out and only picking up on vital pieces of information like emergency hallways, weapons storage and other such things: Hardcase: You don't talk much do ya? That's fine I'll talk for the both of us! Clearcut: By all means, carry on. Hardcase, happily carrying on: I can tell we're both gonna get along really well. Clearcut: I agree.

Kix, staring at Bon who's been shaking and on the verge of tears since arriving: Bon, staring back at Kix with very wet eyes while holding a fully stocked medkit in hand: I get to use this on anyone who comes in here? Kix, blinking: ... Yes. This is the medbay after all. Bon: And I'm allowed to treat them? I'm allowed? Kix, feeling a little uneasy: Yes...? Bon, openly crying now: This is the happiest day of my life... Kix, incredibly uncomfortable: Ah...

Echo & Fives, having a stare down with Wallflower & Nowt: Wallflower & Nowt, staring back at Fives and Echo with an impassive and a smug look respectively: Fives, opens up his mouth to say something: Nowt: Bitch. Wallflower, turning to slap his brother across the face: Captain said to put a sock in it. Nowt: The captain can suck it! If it wasn't for me he wouldn't know half the kark the others get up to when he's not looking! Wallflower: Karkin' snitch! Fives, closing his mouth and looking at Echo: Echo, nodding at Fives as both of them slowly back away from the now furiously arguing Jenga Twins:

Tup, sitting on the floor wrapped in a thin blanket because he was kicked out of his bunk and had his belongings taken: Can I at least have my brush back? Lobo, tossing him a pair of scissors instead: No amount of brushing will make that rat's nest look any less like osik. Tup, narrowly avoiding getting hit by the scissors and now standing up angrily: I'm gonna knock your teeth out. Lobo, equally angry: I'm gonna make you eat your own hair. Tup & Lobo launch themselves at each other and proceed to start a fight:

Dogma, a little overwhelmed as Caprichoso pulls him along while he's supposed to be the one giving him a tour of the ship: Caprichoso, wide-eyed and extremely excited about everything he's seen so far: Wow! You 501st lot have EVERYTHING! Good eats, tons of new gear up for grabs, full training room setup, clean showers, clean barracks, fully stocked medbay... Your Jedi spoil you so good! You must be the greatest troopers ever! Dogma: I... I wouldn't say they spoil us... That'd be a sign of unfair favoritism and would go against the no fraternization rules. And while the 501st certainly has a degree of great competency among many of the GAR's forces, those things you've listed are all requirements that were put forward to the Republic since the beginning of the army's first year of deployment. An ill-prepared and ill-equipment battalion wouldn't serve properly. Caprichoso: I know what you mean. But our general didn't see it that way. Thought we could push ourselves to be better without extra help... But eh! Who cares? The blighter is dead an' buried while we're here now! Gosh... You think your medic could give me a once over? Or or or, maybe we could hit the mess? Or uh! A shower yeah! I haven't had a shower in two weeks... My armour's getting more rank than I am ehehe! Get it? Dogma, moving slightly away from Caprichoso out of mild disgust: I, yes, a hot shower and a hot meal, then I can continue giving you the to-- Caprichoso: YOU GUYS GET HOT WATER?! I LOVE IT HERE ALREADY! -hugging Dogma tightly- We are gonna be such great friends! Dogma, eyes watering at the intense stench of B.O as well as the bone crushing hug of the rather clingy trooper: Stars have mercy...

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k-marzolf · 1 year ago

Text

Seeds

Canon typical violence, blood, threats, intimidation, past with sexual abuse (both reader and Billy), kissing, dark themes, fem!reader

Rabbit Heart Masterlist.

1,022 words.

“How’d Russo get a sweet piece of ass like you?” asked a balding, short man, leering at you as he approached you in the hallway.

You stopped in your tracks, you’d been on your way to see Billy in his office.

Men made you nervous, and you flinched when he touched your arm. “I want a taste,” he smirked, as your hand jerked and you slapped him. Hard.

His head snapped to the side, and he looked angry, a red handprint on his face. “Bitch,” he spat hand tightening on your arm making you claw at his face with your other hand, as Billy’s office door opened.

You were shaking, and Billy noticed, as his eyes lazily turned to Morty. Like a cat ready to pounce on his prey. “Morty,” he greeted, casually. “What’re you doin’ here? And take your goddamn hands off her.” He asked, hands in his jeans pockets, moving over to you.

“Rawlins wants—“ Morty said, letting go of you, but was cut off immediately.

Billy bared his teeth, “I don’t give a fuck what Rawlins wants. He’s a dog looking for scraps at his master’s table, and you’re just a rat with the courage of a rabbit.” Billy said roughly.

And something about the casual way he handled Morty, had you pressing your thighs together. You’d never seen him working or in action.

“Fuck you, Russo. Maybe I’ll visit your girl tonight—“ Morty didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Billy unsheathed his hidden blade, and struck him in the shoulder, faster than a snake strike, making Morty scream as Billy pushed through bone, unsympathetic, a warning. “You touch my girl, and I go for your eye next. Match your master, huh?” Billy asked, getting his face, blade dripping with blood as he carved a mark under Morty’s eyes, making him grit his teeth.

He pulled back, pulling out a cloth and wiping his blade, “You can tell Rawlins I ain’t interested in what he has to say.”

Morty looked hatefully at Billy, blood dripping down his face, spitting at him, before pushing past, holding his bleeding shoulder, and leaving the country house.

You felt sick from Morty’s touch, he had reminded you of your uncle, rat like and pushy. How he’d watch you in your bedroom while you slept in the chair in the corner, or go through your undergarment drawer, and steal some of your underwear. He’d blackmailed you with that one. “I’ll say, look at what my niece gave me.” He had taunted, making your heart drop. Or the way he’d touch your arm softly, fingers moving along like a spider crawling along your skin.

Billy followed you down the hall, his combat boots squeaking a little bit, as you made your way into the kitchen. It was huge, but sunny looking. Beige colored walls, with light colored wood cabinets, and stainless steel appliances. There was a sliding glass door that led outside, bringing in the sun making it seem warm inside, even the winter.

You wanted something to eat. You’d always eaten when things got tough, especially carbs. You craved those often. It was why your father always said you were fat, that no man was going to want you if you didn’t cut back a little.

Billy didn’t seem to give a fuck about your extra weight, he often pulled you into his lap while he read over paperwork, or his men gave reports. Anvil was a cover for his criminal operations, and you hated when he had to go to the city and make an appearance.

Billy watched you grab some pomegranate seeds, and asked; “Did he touch you, bunny?” His voice was low, seething at the thought, but he didn’t touch you yet, knowing you might be triggered. He understood, the word pretty still made him uncomfortable after all these years. He still gets a pit in his stomach like a stone.

You’re never the same after someone violates you, and takes away your autonomy.

“Just my arm. I slapped him.” You said, biting into the seeds, sighing at how good they tasted.

Billy grinned, “That’s my girl.” He said, kissing your forehead, and you leaned into his touch.

You replayed Billy stabbing Morty, his casual way he handled him, like a cat toying with a mouse, and pressed your thighs together. “You were kind of sexy, the way you handled Morty.” You said, juice dripping down your chin.

You moved to wipe it away, but Billy caught your hand, and leaned in, his mouth lapping up the juices, making you whine softly.

You and Billy had never consummated anything, despite the teasing, and the fooling around. He didn’t want to push you knowing you’d been sexually abused. And he was surprised he was uninterested in other women, despite never having taken you to bed.

He enjoyed the companionship, the soft press of your body to him at night with your fingers in his hair, the sweet things you’d do for him, or reading together with your feet in his lap, and the conversations late at night.

He pulled back, “Sexy, huh?” He asked, lips turning up. You were so goddamn cute.

You bit into another seed, and god it was taking everything in Billy not to have you against the counter, to hear the sweet sounds he knew you’d make just for him.

“Tryin’ to tempt me?” He asked in a low voice, caging you in against the counter, you let the juice drip down, and he caught it with his tongue again, kissing your mouth this time.

You clutched his green sweater, returning his kiss, leaning on your tippy toes to taste the whiskey in his mouth. He gave you soft kisses that left you breathless, and hard kisses too, that had you aching for him, his fingers tangled in your hair, pressed against you. You could feel every inch of him.

You both spent the rest of the afternoon sharing pomegranate seeds, and kissing, both content to let it go no further.

But you realized with an ache between your thighs you were ready to trust Billy with yourself.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader

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tempe-brennans · 6 months ago

Text

i don't have a choice (but i still choose you)

summary: you come back to joel. this time, for good

author's note: the angsty romanticism of vampires got to me. that's it, that's the author's note

Time is a funny thing. Mortals spend their entire lives worried about time.

As if it matters much in the end. As if their efforts will save them from the predetermined expiration date on their lives.

On the other hand, time doesn’t mean much to a vampire–a being with no expiration date. As years pass, it loses meaning in ways one doesn’t even realize it holds to begin with. Days bleed into months bleed into years–at some point, Joel had stopped keeping count of the span of his long life.

No matter how much time had passed, though, the sound of your knock was always the same, the smell of the blood pumping through your veins had never changed.

When he pulls his front door open, his breath catches in his still catches in his throat, just like it always had.

One year or two hundred and one, you could always stop him cold.

“Hello.”

Though he isn’t a fan of a cliché, Joel would say you haven’t changed at all. You haven’t aged, obviously, but, even your eyes are the same–still looking at him with that same soft expression that he’s never deserved.

The look he’s ached for on cold nights spent sitting up alone.

“Hi, Joel.”

He steps aside, let’s you walk into the space he’s claimed as his home in your absence.

He considered himself a strong man, but even he couldn’t bare to stay in the home he’d shared with you alone.

He watches you scan the room, your eyes landing on the animal carcasses carelessly discarded after he had finished with them. Your nose wrinkles in what he knows is disgust.

His ego bristles in response, walls coming up around him just in case you’re here to argue.

Joel plays it safe, speaks with a touch of disdain in his voice when he asks, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You turn to face him. “I wanted to see you.”

“Me?” He quirks a brow. “Why?”

Brushing past his question, instead you say, “Rats? Surely you can find better. Have you lost your touch?”

Joel kicks at the dust covering the floor with the toe of his house shoe. “They suit me fine.”

“Would you like something else?” The slight turn of your head, the way you simply offer your neck to him, even after all this time, sends a thrill down his spine that lands in the middle of his gut.

“No.” He shakes his head.

He can remember when he turned you. Vividly, he can recall the taste of you on his tongue. Often, over the years, the pair of you had repeated the act on each other, the eroticism of it too much to deny yourselves.

What he wouldn’t give to be in one of those moments again, on top of you, underneath you–he wouldn’t care–anything to savor the feeling of you once more.

“Why not?” you ask. “You spent the majority of the 1920s with your teeth in my neck.”

Joel smirks. “A different time.”

“It could be that way again.”

He shakes his head, chuckles softly. There’s condescension in his voice when he says, “Ah, yes. Alas, love has grown cold since those long, lovely nights.”

You shoot him a look. “Can we stop with the childish theatrics, now? You do know it’s me you’re talking to.”

You, who knows all his tricks and defenses. You, who could send them all bouncing back at him with a few choice words.

Joel shrugs, decides on honesty. “You tool the light when you left. I’ve learned how to make the best of that.”

“Joel, I…”

“Listen,” he starts, hoping to cut off your forced apologies. “You really don’t have to do this. Go home to your new love.” He smiles what he hopes is a charming smile. “I’m happy for you. Really. There’s nothing you need to worry abou–”

Annoyance begins to taint your breath when you cut him off, “I could never fight with him!”

“No?”

“No.” You sigh. “He was…kind and sweet and…simple, but…”

“But?” Joel prompts.

“Simple is nice…great, even, sometimes.” You shrug. “But, other times, you just want to come home.”

Joel quirks a brow. “Home.”

“Here.” You nod, pause for a beat. “You.”

He looks away, fixes his eyes on a meaningless spot on the floor. “The last time we spoke you seemed to feel differently.”

In the edge of his vision, he sees you shake your head.

“I was miserable, Joel, and young. I didn’t know anything. Besides,” you sigh, “most of what I said, I only said to hurt you.”

“I see,” he murmurs.

Your voice thick with unshed tears of your own, you say, “I do regret that, you know.”

The fight drains out of him like air from a balloon at the sight of your dejected face.

“I’m trying to apologize to you, Joel,” you say. “I don’t suppose you could make it easy for me.”

“I’d do anything for you, my love. Even still.” Joel answers. “Surely, you know that.”

There’s an affection in your eyes that tells Joel you do.

“I want to come home,” you murmur. “I want to stay. Here. With you.”

“Why?”

“Do you really not know?”

His chest aches, heart twisted up in knots as hope threatens to ruin the perfectly precarious life he has made for himself. Tears gather along his lashes, and he rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, swallows the emotion that wells in his throat.

Maybe he does know, and maybe he doesn’t, but one thing is for certain–he has to hear you say it.

He shakes his head, but fights the urge to meet your eyes.

He can’t see you reject him all over again.

You take two steps closer, inching into his space.

“I love you,” you hum, something like joy in your voice, and he can’t resist any longer. His eyes find yours, jaw going slack with shock.

“I’ve loved you for more than one hundred years now, and…,” you pause, step close enough to touch his chest, “I’d like to love you for hundreds–thousands–more. Up close.”

Gentle fingers find his cheek, run along the line of his face with such care it makes the tears spill over.

“Would that be alright with you?” You whisper the question, but Joel can hear you like you’ve screamed it. It hits him right in his heart.

He nods, a bit frantic.

“Yes,” he murmurs, voice thick with the emotion that comes with knowing–loving–someone for so many years. “Yes, it would. Please.”

You close the distance between you easily, lips finding his like a magnet finds it’s partner.

“I love you, too,” he manages to hum against your mouth. “I have for so long.”

The way you smile against his lips, kiss him harder–like you’re trying to get as close as you possibly can–tells him you know his heart.

Then again, you’ve always known him–better than he ever knew himself.

His arms wrap around you, grateful to have an eternity with you to show you he knows you the same way.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #rebeccawrites

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chiropteracupola · 1 year ago

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it's the time of year again for another original spooky story... and thus we present to you:

"THE RAT PIPER"

“…..Now, all you who’re here, what story would you hear? Shall I tell you the tale of the boy who taught himself to speak to bees? The story of the sailor who won a mermaid’s heart? The story of the old inn and the ghostly hand?” The storyteller looked down at the children surrounding them and watched as they clamored, each cheering for a different old favorite out of all her tales. She smiled, teeth still bright in a worn, warm, age-freckled face.

“Oh, but those are far too often told, I think. I’ve another story, just right for a winter night like this one…”

“A new story?” asked one of the children, his eyes wide with hope.

“In that you have not yet heard it told, it’s new. But I shall begin first off by telling you just how old this story is.” The storyteller nodded to the boy, and began her tale….

——

Listen. There was, and there wasn’t, and there was a girl called Tamsen, and she was a child of only a few more years than you back when your grandfathers were young. She was a piper’s daughter, and went with him when he traveled to play the flute and the fife at betrothals and weddings and dances and sometimes funerals, for some people like that sort of music for a dirge. When her father was not piping away at music that would make trees shake their leaves just as you nod your head and clap your hands, Tamsen played the flutes as well, and even what she piped on an old tin whistle felt like a song that might make a forest lift up its roots and dance.

But Tamsen was a hungry-hearted girl, as many children are, and the space between her father’s notes never seemed enough to please her. So off into the woods she went, when the work of the day was done, and on the battered whistle her father had used as a boy, she played his songs and her own for no one but the forest. Or, so she thought.

The woods have a way of knowing when someone is wanting, and cascading through the branches above and the roots below and in every network of the forest, the song of such a hungry heart traveled far and wide. And something that had been waiting a terribly long time for such a tune to be played heard, and oh, how quickly he came skittering.

In that clearing in the forest where Tamsen went to whistle, a stump of an ancient tree served well enough to stand on. It was cracked across in places, all hollow beneath where its roots once had fed deeply from the earth of those woods. And up from one of the cracks came clambering a man barely the height of Tamsen’s two hands put together. He scrambled to stand a little in front of her on the stump, expression sour as he dusted splinters of wood from his fox-red hair and long blue coat.

Tamsen looked down at him with more curiosity than apprehension at first, cataloguing him as if she could manage to fit him into any notions she’d had before of the sort of creatures that might dwell someplace underneath a tree stump. The little man had a sharp face like a weasel’s and a pointed beard, and bright, clever eyes like a pair of polished silver buttons, which looked back at Tamsen with just as little worry as she’d felt. Tamsen, being a rather over-bold girl at the best of times, reached out and grabbed at the back of his coat, hoisting him up to her eye level.

“What the hell are you?” said Tamsen, holding out the little man in front of her at arms’ length.

“Do you kiss your grandmother with that mouth, tall girl?” said he, smiling like a knife blade.

“My grandmother lives two villages past the edge of the forest, and I only see her when my father is there to pipe at a betrothal or a wedding or a dance or a funeral, for some people like that sort of music for a dirge, and even then, I don’t kiss her at all, with this mouth or any other. What’s more, I don’t see what you mean, talking of grandmothers when I asked a question of you.”

The little man crossed his arms and pouted, kicking his feet in the air as if to emphasize his point.

“If we’re aiming for politeness now, one ought not to shake their acquaintances about like sacks of potatoes!”

“Oh. My name is Tamsen. How do you do?” she asked, and as she made her clumsy, father-taught bow, she made the mistake you must never make if you happen to be a character in a story. She gave her name to a creature of a sort she did not know, and so swung open a door to a place she had never intended to visit.

“Gannet will do for now, if you must call me something,” said the little man. That was not his name, of course — the sort of thing that he was did not have names as we know them to be, but we shall call him that as we tell the story. We are not that sort of thing, and we are fond of names. Now, we shall go on with exactly what he was doing, and the sort of power he liked to offer.

Gannet held up an ivory whistle, as long as he was tall, and Tamsen took it. It was carved all over with animals, long and twisting and tangling tails and legs together in a marvelous woven pattern.

“Now, tall girl, that’s no flute for betrothals and weddings and dances and funerals, even though it can play the right sort of music for a dirge. Play it just right, and you can pipe down a thunderstorm that will rain so long and hard that the mountains themselves will be washed away.”

Tamsen raised the whistle to her lips and blew, a note as sweet as coming inside from the cold, as sharp as an autumn wind all braided with dry leaves.

“Why did you give this to me, just like that? I haven’t got any money, I can’t give you anything in trade for it.”

“The whistle must be played, tall girl! And I cannot do it myself,” said the little man, pointing out his height with a sweeping gesture of one hand. “You’ve got the music to play it properly, so play it you must! Now, a tune, if you would, and we shall see who comes to dance.”

She played again, a song quick and merry as any young person running to visit their lover, and the wind came up and sang along with a voice all its own. The little man shivered within his coat, for the day was cold, and with a rush of wings, a thousand birds slalomed through the trees and spiraled around them. Tamsen gasped, nearly dropping the whistle, and the whirlwind of wings slowed.

“Tall girl, it’s you who’s called them up! Play on, they want their dance!”

Tamsen, you know, had a piper’s soul, and all the cleverness in her little finger that most have in all their body. So up she stepped, and making the same bow and scrape that her father made before he played, whistled up a song for the birds to dance to.

Scarlet and ash, black and white, a swirl of feathers patterned out a dance Tamsen knew. This song was a courting song, the sort played when the young folk just grown-up enough to be thinking of sweethearts would be dancing the night away. Tamsen had often stayed up to see them, and now, found the beating of wings and the fluff of feathers just as marvelous as the tapping of boots and the swish of skirts as the couples joined and turned and parted. For as long as she played, the birds danced for the two watchers in the clearing, and just as the song ended and Tamsen lowered the whistle from her lips, they were gone again in a flurry of color. She stared after them, breathless with awe, the surging pride at what she’d wrought filling her from the soles of her boots to the tip of her nose.

“With a talent like yours, no doubt you’ll find fortune in no time!” said the little man, bright and self-assured. Tamsen considered for a moment. She was the sort to like being petted and praised a good deal, and she got little enough of that as it was.

“How exactly might one go about doing that?”

“Well, say you were to set out on your own, see a little of the world, have a try at finding out just what that whistle there can do. And I’d come along of you, of course, for on one hand I should very much like to see you try your paces and on the other I have rather an interest in finding out some fortune for myself as well.” Now, to Tamsen’s mind, that sounded just the sort of thing she should like to do, and her hungry heart, which had begun rather to gnaw at the inside of her ribcage, bit a little harder in her chest as if to say “yes, yes!” But a bit of her father’s instruction beyond the methods of the music had worn on her, though not enough to keep her home.

“I’ll get my coat, then, for I’m not supposed to go far off without it. And then we shall go a-fortune-seeking!” And off she ran back to the little house where her father the piper dwelt, slamming into the front-room as brisk as the autumn wind. Tamsen took her coat from the hook by the door, put a loaf of bread in its pocket, and laced her boots up tight once more, for one bootlace had come a little loose in running.

“Pa, I’m leaving to seek my fortune!” she called, for her father was beside the hearth in his usual chair, not quite expecting her to be home or to be away.

“You’re doing what now, Tam?”

“Leaving to seek my fortune! Tell Grandma I love her! Bye!” And with that, she stepped out the door and back into the wind.

“What took you so long?” said the little man, who had been waiting at the hollow tree until she returned.

“I was hardly five minutes.”

“Well, everything’s slower when you’re small. Slower to get from place to place, slower to get attention…”

“What if I carried you, then? If we’re traveling together, it would be better if you could keep up.”

The little man paced back and forth, considering.

“Fine, then, but carry me careful. I am more fragile than you think.” Tamsen snatched him up by the collar and set him on her shoulder. “Not so rough, tall girl!” He wavered, wobbling, for a moment, then got a hand around the shoulder seam of her coat and held on tight.

“Onward!” said Tamsen, and off she went, running along the path with the wind at her back and the little man clinging to her shoulder like a rat to a railing. After a few minutes, she paused and turned to him. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Over the edge of the world and back again, even to the deep waters below where Chance and Luck swim like fish in a fishbowl. But you know the stories well, tall girl! Bold knights and brave ladies must quest first before they find where Fortune dwells.”

“That’s all?” said Tamsen, and gave a little hop and skip that made the man squeak with surprise.

“Of course not! We shall meet with adventure and you shall play the whistle for a betrothal and a wedding and a dance and a funeral, and you shall play the whistle for Fortune itself and see what comes of it!” And so they went, and the sun turned about the sky as it spun hand in hand with the moon, and the road passed beneath Tamsen’s feet as easily as the notes of the tune she played as she walked.

But before too long had passed, she came to a fork of the path, and what had been the road that led from the wood now was two, one that led down to the water and the other to the town. Down the road that led to the town, the miller’s daughter and the smith’s daughter were walking arm in arm, the smith’s daughter smart in her blue Sunday coat and fine silk cravat, and the miller’s daughter with her white petticoat all showing where the hems of her faded skirts came short. They saw Tamsen as soon as Tamsen saw them, though Gannet had seen them earlier and yet said nothing.

“Where are you going, little girl?” said the miller’s daughter, looking down the length of her nose at Tamsen.

“I’m not a little girl, I’m a piper!” said Tamsen in return, with a sharpness she regretted.

“She’s the piper’s daughter, that she is,” said the smith’s daughter, “and I’m sure she is as good a piper as ever her father has been. He played at my father’s marriage, you know."

“I’m a better piper than ever my father will be,” said Tamsen, sour and eager to defend herself, and behind her braid, Gannet laughed a little laugh to himself. “I can whistle down the birds from the trees and the rain from the mountains, so I can!” And she spun the ivory whistle between her fingers as her father had taught her, and made it shine so that every carved creature all down the length of it seemed to twist and dance in the last of the sunset’s light.

“Sing me a dress, then, Tamsen?” asked the miller’s daughter, then, with a little hope behind her haughtiness, and smoothed down the faded front of her skirts where water and wear had half washed the print from the calico.

“Well, it may not keep you warm, but I shall see what I can whistle up for you.” Tamsen blew the whistle, and remembered a song that her father had played at a dance, years and years before. It was a rollicking, rambling song, and her fingers flickered up and down the flute and made the tune ring out, just as bright as ever it had been. The wind came up, and whirled a gown of fallen red maple leaves, weaving stems and vines into a trim bodice and a wide skirt.

“Tall girl, don’t dawdle! Fortune’s waiting, come along!” Gannet tugged on one of her braids, and Tamsen turned and put away the whistle.

“Won’t you come with us instead and go dancing?” asked the miller’s daughter, plucking at her crackling-bright hems, her smile shy but just as bright.

“Let her go her own way, my apple,” said the smith’s daughter, and took her by the hand.

“I’m going to find my Fortune,” said Tamsen, “and perhaps I’ll come back some other day when I’ve got it in my hand.”

“You can’t just go around saying such things out loud!” said Gannet, half-offended, into her ear. His breath was very cold, and Tamsen shivered as though the wind had crept in and laid its cold fingers all along the edge of her cap. But she ignored him, and, standing up on her tiptoes, tucked a last bright leaf into the smith’s daughter’s buttonhole.

“There. Now you match, and may be on your way, and we will be on ours.” The smith’s daughter grinned and bowed, and the miller’s daughter curtsied, and Tamsen made her bow in return before they parted ways. Down the road to the river they went, Tamsen with her heart light and Gannet’s fingers clutching at her collar, and the whistle at her mouth all the way. As it had not been a long way from home to the turning of the road, it was not far to go to reach the water, and Tamsen was glad of it, for she had begun to tire of running, for all that the road to the place where Fortune dwelt seemed to be a smooth one indeed.

“This way, tall girl!” said Gannet, all sprightly and sharp, and pointed down the hill and out toward the broad horizon. The water lay out before them both, wide and dark and as smooth as the road had been, but Tamsen could not run down the current of it as she had run down the road, and beneath her coat, a shiver stroked her spine at the sight of it.

“I haven’t money for the ferry,” said Tamsen, in an attempt at practicality, and Gannet scoffed.

“Show them what you can do, and there’ll be reward in it for the both of us!” So down to the docks Tamsen skipped, and halted just before the ferry.

“I can play for my passage,” said Tamsen, drawing herself up as tall as she could. Gannet made a fierce face. The boatman smiled slow, and the boy perched near the prow put out a tar-smudged hand and hauled the two of them over the side.

“Would you whistle us a wind, lass?” asked the boatman, pointing to the whistle in her hand. Tamsen nodded, and played a shanty that spun up the waves to whiteness and sounded like a seagull’s call.

“I know this one!” said the boy, grabbing at Tamsen’s sleeve. “Do you know the words to it, miss?”

“No,” said Tamsen, setting down the whistle as the wind went on. “My father taught me the tune of it, but I’ve never heard it sung. Has it got a story to it?”

“It ends unhappy,” said the boy.

“Lots of songs do,” said Gannet, smiling sharp as ferrets’ teeth.

“Aye, but some don’t. Why don’t you play a happy song, the kind where everyone ends up all right at the end and they have a feast?”

“Feasts are a tricky thing too, lad. Oh, when you’re serving up and it comes time to carve in, you never do know just what’s on your plate. Meat’s messy, and it goes rotten quick as false-told tales. Better dry bones for me, strong and simple just as songs are.” Gannet snapped his teeth and smirked, and the boy shivered away and didn’t speak to them again, although Tamsen could always see him just at the edge of her vision, keeping a fixed look on Gannet out of the corner of his eye.

The boy did not speak to Tamsen or Gannet again, and his father did no more than smile softly as Tamsen played the last sweet chorus of the song, but sang the verse that told of sorrowful shipwreck, and the king’s fair bride dead before she ever was married, and all the captain’s bravery come to nothing. But though the shanty that Tamsen had chosen was no story of a smooth sail, they came to the other side of the water in good time, and the boatman wished them well as they went on their way, but the boy said nothing, and Tamsen clambered down alone.

And now that the further shore of the water lay before them, there was nothing else for Tamsen to do but to walk, and to play the whistle, and to walk again. To another town they came, larger than any one that Tamsen had ever seen, and so it was nervously that she passed the slow-swinging gates and into the empty avenues within.

“Where is everyone?” she wondered, but there seemed to be no one else but Gannet to hear her, and no sound but the padding of her own footsteps. That, and something more. A rustling, a skittering, a scratch-of-nails-on-slate sound, coming from everywhere at once. Tamsen spun, and saw a crooked shutter swing out on its half-rusted hinge, the wind picking at paint gone cracked and peeling with heat and sun and the fingernails of time. Her feet felt unsteady on the cobblestones, and scraps of paper and sackcloth blew about before her.

Tamsen knelt, plucking a bit of paper from the ground, the back of it dark and yellowed where glue had gone long dry. It was a label, but the writing of it was a mystery to her, for the paper seemed to have been chewed half out of existence by a myriad of tiny pointed teeth.

“Gannet, do you—“ she asked, the wind clawing at her coat and rolling dust over the toes of her boots, but before she could finish, Gannet shrieked “Tall girl, here!” and she snapped upright as if tugged by a marionette-string. Now the cobbles were all too solid, though Tamsen wished that they were not, for down through the windows and out through holes in the plasterwork and from every crevice of those long-left houses came a flood of rats, skittering and scuttling so that the streets rang with the sound of their claws all a-scrape against stone. Rustle and scratch and down came rats from roofs of moldering thatch, creak and squeak and clatter and out came rats from the cracks between boarded-over doors. Tails twined together in a wriggling mass of scaled skin, mangy fur showing through the spaces in between.

Tamsen put the whistle to her mouth, the instinct to do so as quick as a lightning-bolt and just as snapping-bright, but her fingers were frozen, and everywhere around them the rats were running. Gannet got a foothold in her braid, and climbed atop her cap, his sharp little fingers digging into her scalp, and Tamsen nearly shouted with the start of it, for his hands were clay-cold in the sun of that town that had been left to the rats.

“I don’t know what song to play!”

“Whistle, tall girl! You’ll know!” And so Tamsen placed her fingers on the whistle and played, and the rats rose like a river. They flowed up out of gutters and drains, poured out of windows and doors, scampered in a tidal wave of skittering feet and piebald fur. Gannet slipped down, but clung to Tamsen’s coat collar, pressing himself up against her neck with all his strength. All around Tamsen’s feet, the rats swirled and spiraled, dancing to her tune. She breathed in, and played faster and louder than before, and stepped up, up onto the backs of the rats, dancing with them light as leaves.

“Tall girl, have you lost your mind?” Gannet grabbed hold of her hair with sharp little fingers, but Tamsen only laughed into the whistle and played on.

“They’ll take us to find Fortune!” And the rats did, cascading along under Tamsen’s feet as she strolled along their backs. Rats can run a long time, if they’re caught up in such a thing as music. And human children can run a good long while, just the same. They’re not so fragile as one might think, both children and rats, though their bones are more brittle and their bodies smaller.

And so the day turned to night, and to day again, and the rats ran on, and Tamsen played the ivory whistle far past the point where she’d have gasped for breath before. But something new and wild had come up like the wind now, in her lungs and in her mouth, and over and over she played that song that told of lost loves and the fading ends of summertimes and bright beauties faded.

At last the rats slowed, for the town was long gone by, and the forest had faded first into chaparral, and then to plain, and then to nothing but sheer white stone, marked with deep and gaping cracks. Just as quick as they had come up from the houses and the holes, the rats scuttled down between the stones, and hardly before she knew it, Tamsen was all but alone again. The last notes of the song rang hollow on the empty air, and she looked to Gannet, questioning.

“What am I to do now?”

“Why, play on, tall girl! What else?”

“And Fortune?”

“The whistle must be played, the year must spin! With summer’s end, the piper calls the harvest in! There are to be dances, and betrothals, and weddings, but in the autumn must the funerals be held.”

“What—“

“You’ve had your betrothal and your wedding and your dance and your funeral, and now it’s time to play your dirge. Party’s over, tall girl.” The man crossed his arms, his face skeletal, his teeth sharp. There was an odd light to his eyes, once which Tamsen had rarely seen before. He clawed his way back to her shoulder, and though she tried to shake him free, he only dug his sharp fingers the more fiercely into her coat-sleeve. As he spoke again, he was right against her ear, shrill and demanding.

“Now, play the whistle, play it well! Pipe me one last tune!”

And Tamsen put the whistle to her lips and played a song her father had played after nearly every funeral. Not mournful, and something you danced to, to be certain, but slower, softer, the song the coffin-bearers might walk in step with as to the grave they went. The last song of all.

The wind came up, and the ground shook beneath her feet. Tamsen nearly lost her balance, and felt Gannet’s sharp hands grab at the back of her neck as he slipped off her shoulder.

The stones cracked and split, heaving up to reveal deep chasms beneath. Tamsen clambered to perch atop a spar of rock, missing a few notes as she played one-handed. And up out of the earth came the dead, dressed in bones clean and clattering, and danced. First a cascade of birds, somehow still flying despite their wing feathers having long rotted away, then people, of all ages, bones rattling as they stepped from foot to skeletal foot. Tamsen noticed one skeleton missing a leg, others with cracked-in skulls or fractured rib-cages, though it seemed not to impair them as they dipped and turned. Watching the dead in their dance from her place atop the jutting stone, she began to recognize familiar movements, familiar steps, though all danced to the same tune. Some made the box-step of a hornpipe, while others twirled their partners back and forth, skeleton after skeleton rising up to join the swirling rings of dancers.

Then, last of all, a new tide of bones, smaller than the rest, shook from the earth and solidified, scampering underfoot. A hundred million skeletons of rats, their bones bleached and shined, their tiny toe-bones skittering and clicking on the stone.

“You made this place.” The certainty settled on Tamsen’s shoulders like a pall, heavier yet than Gannet’s weight on her shoulder. “You’re not Fortune, are you.”

“Oh, but I am, tall girl! Fortune’s as much me as it is anything else, you see. There’s a fortune that’s your luck, and a fortune that’s your fate, and a fortune last of all, that is your death. The world turns, tall girl, and Fortune turns it, but my hands are small, small! I cannot gnaw through the threads of life all on my lane!”

“And exactly what is it you do, then?” Tamsen’s sharpness served her well, even as Gannet preened and smirked so near to her ear.

“Every year I take one, a clever tall girl or a bright tall laddie, no matter who so long as they can play. And every year they play the flute, and down at Fortune’s hands they go to clay.”

“It’s them, isn’t it?” Tamsen asked, but the certainty of the truth was already on her lips. Gannet only smiled, and she played on. The music came harder and faster and sputtered and crackled in her lungs, and her fingers moved so that she feared they might slip from their sockets entirely. If she did as Gannet asked of her, she’d die here too, and the next year, her skeleton would be among the dancers. But the music had her in its grip, Fortune had its hand wrapped tight around her shoulders and— and she was the piper. She called the dance with her tune, left right left right, hop and step and cross and back with every note. And just as she had begun it, Tamsen could end it.

She took a deep breath. Then Tamsen dropped the whistle from her mouth. The dance went on without her playing, the rattle and clatter of the skeletons keeping time in perfect morbid percussion. Tamsen watched for a moment, ignoring Gannet as he tugged at her hair and shouted at her to keep playing. She got a hold on either end of the whistle, then, and brought it down on her knee. It snapped in two with a crack, and every empty-eyed skull out of all the dancing dead turned to look at her.

The house of Fortune went silent. Not a clatter or a creak of bones, just a thousand empty sockets pointed like eyes, and Tamsen, her face set, staring back. Gannet, still clinging to her coat, shrieked, more shrill and piercing than the whistle had ever been. The world seemed to shiver under the weight of such a sound as that.

Tamsen reached up and caught him by the coat collar, and ripped him from her shoulder. He dangled from her hand, limp, eyes shut tight. Then he opened his eyes, steely-silver, and then, as if he had opened another set of eyes, somewhere else, he was gone, and Tamsen’s hands were empty. She let out a long breath that she hardly realized that she had been holding, and the silence broke, too, as she dropped the shards of the whistle to the ground. A clatter and a crack, and all the twisting and twining of the carved ivory creatures was no more movement than the wind blowing low over the drought-cracked ground.

The wind came up, catching at her coat-sleeves and her braids, and the skeletons turned to one another, looking lost. Tamsen watched them stumble about, then put her hands to her mouth and shouted.

“Go home!” The skeletons turned to face her again. “You found your fortune, all of you, didn’t you? Your families are waiting for you back in the world — go there! I think…” and at that, her confidence slipped a little, her voice half a whisper. “I think they miss you.”

Then, gaining confidence again— “What are you waiting for! Go!” Tamsen stared, standing, panting, and a hundred pairs of empty eye sockets stared back. The foremost of the skeletons cocked its head to one side, as if in confusion, and turned to its fellows, gesturing wordlessly. There were a few sharper cracks amid the general clatter, as of bones being hastily snapped, and when the spokesman turned back to Tamsen, it had in its hand a long leg-bone, all drilled with holes to make a flute.

“Oh,” said Tamsen, all the air knocked from her lungs. “Oh.” She took the flute carefully from the bony hand that held it — bowed over that hand as best she could as she did so. The skeleton, though it always had shown its teeth, seemed to grin at the prospect.

“…I’ll give you a dance for the way home, if you’ll have me.” Tamsen said the words very quietly, but the skeleton appeared to hear her, and curtsied, knee-bones clattering. And so she placed the flute of bone to her lips and blew, and the wind stayed where it was, but Tamsen was a piper down to the hungry heart of her, and all the wind she needed to dance the rest of the way was the breath curling in her lungs.

——

“And what happened to Tamsen afterwards?”

“Well, friends, this story is over, you see. The tale is done, the mouse has run, and whoever catches it shall make themself a fur hat out of it. That is the way of the world. But perhaps, if you are good and quiet, I’ll spin another story and show you the weaving of it.”

#em writes stuff #oc time again hehe #the rat piper #HAPPY HALLOWEEN LADS I'VE BEEN WORKING ON THIS ONE FOR TWO YEARS #and the cover art? well it is from two years ago when I started writing it. but What of It. go! read!

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monsterfloofs · 1 year ago

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Rat (Male demon) x Anonymous Reader (Sfw)

(Welp. The audience voted for more silly beans. 👀✨️ So here yeh go! I hope you enjoy. I love Rat, he made me laugh quite a bit while I was writing skdksksjs)

“Witchling,” Rank breath causes you to wrinkle your nose, turning your head away from the sharp jutting teeth. A large snap trap of a maw and beady sunken in eyes leered down at you.

“Heard there was a new one of yeh creepin’ around downtown.”

“I live here now, thank you very much,” You managed to huff, but sounding airy and unbothered at being boxed into an alleyway was all but a mad bluff. You tried your best to see if you could eyeball a way to escape.

A first day in your new home and trouble was already brewing as soon as you had begun your walk to work.

“Yeh know, witch bones pay good on the black market ‘round here. I think I may just got my ticket to makin' a pretty penny."

You try to grin, but the disgust and horror on your face, pulls your mouth into more of a grimace.

“H-huh you don’t s-say. . .”

You covertly try to sneak your hand into your satchel.

"Now don't make me have to get rough with ya–"

There was a hard thunk that shattered into a million glistening crystal shards of glass over top of the big fellas head. You jolt in surprise at the sudden explosion. Reflexes kicking in enough so that you shield your face with your arms. You watch with horror as the imposing figure that had been looming over you moments before crumple to the concrete in a heap. The brick walls that had been boxing you in shuddered violently. Your eyes look from him lying motionless on the ground to the figure behind the hulking form. With a broken booze bottle in one hand. it steps out from the dark like a newly animated shadow. A dark trench coat tied tightly around a wiry frame. Two broken horns left stumps on either side of their face and bright luminous silvery eyes with pin prick slits. A tail swishing back and forth with a number of kinks in it that you guess are from numerous broken bones. The shadowy demon catches your gaze before a wide smile cracks open on its abyssal face.

It hums a jaunty tune as it stoops to rifle through the downed man's pockets. Silver eyes brightening as it pulls out a worn wallet and flips it open, tugging out a wad of cash.

"Is my Lucky day– Heya doll," That wide mouth grins wickedly up at you. "Wanna drink? He's payin."

Your eyes go round and you shake your head vehemently.

“N-nuh uh.”

“Yeh sure?”

“Ab-so-lutely.”

"Eh, suit yeh-self." The figure stands and pockets the money, tossingthe beat up wallet ontop of the would be accoster.

"Hopefully this palooka will twince about threatenin’ folks eh? Thanks for the dough, joe." He salutes the unconscious body before an arm snakes around you and you are hustled out of the alleyway.

"Hey- hey!" You try to pull away before you are pushed into the bright light of more warmer streets. You stumble forward and wobble to retain your balance.

"Now, scat kiddaroo, youse need to get outta here." He grins and flaps a hand at you, "Ain't nothin' good in these backallies, I promise. No shortcuts worth gettin' shanked."

"I was lost," You grumble hesitantly. "I was looking for the library."

"Library, uh?” They think for a moment before shoving the jagged existing half of the broken bottle into your hands.

"Hold this a sec, will yeh?"

You hold the dripping bottle with the tips of your fingers, the smell of strong alcohol stinging your nose.

“Come on kid, let’s boogey, before that big guy wakes up.”

Your eyebrows raise as the shade pushes a clear pathway through the brickwork of one of the walls. It cracked upon like a set of misaligned teeth, opening wider until you could see a dusty path between the stones.

“Whoa. . . what,”

“No questions, jus’ go!” With clawed hands shoving at you stumble through the cavernous open. “Get a wiggle on!”

You felt relatively harassed, as you are pushed into the tunnel you dig your hand into your bag. Fingers searching around before they close around the sharp edge of a crystal ward, just in case you had landed from the frying pan and straight into the fire.

The brickwork was pushed back into place, yet instead of the light closing up, there seemed to be thin light coming from above. Smuggled into a secret passageway of sorts.

“So,”

You jolt a little as you realize the demon had already moved close, without making a sound. Their hands resting on his cheeks as they propped their elbows on a dusty stack of empty kegs.

“You gotta name, they’m in distress?”

Oof, that was the worst pick up line you think you have ever heard. It took you a moment to even realize it was one.

“Uh. . . uh huh.” And you left it at that.

The demons look unphased. arching their back in a stretch and giving a yawn. In the low light their dark skin had a shimmery purple sheen to it. You could see glimpses of it where lights crossed from above.

"So what brings ya into town? Ain't from around here, that's for certain."

Your eyebrow creases as the large luminous eyes go up and down your frame. You cross your arms around yourself protectively, hunching your shoulders. He didn't seem to pose a threat, but he was especially nosey.

"The library is. . . ?"

He makes a noise. "Not a conversationalist? Awight! I gettcha!"

He breezes past you.

"Come'on cupcake."

"Cupc– Oh no. You are not calling me that." You huff, as you trot after them.

You had to hand it to your strange companion, after the confusing trek through passageways and then feeling like you were dismally lost in the heart of crowded city streets. He did bring you to the library. He had nudged you with his elbow, and pointed out the building to you a few blocks away. The sight of the library gives you a rush relief that if anything, you would be on time. Perhaps just in a more scuffed up state than you would have hoped for. Ah well.

The demon marches towards the double doors, pushing them open.

"Mags!" His throaty voice hollering into the quiet sanctum, "HEY MAGS!!"

A librarian looks up from her work at the large circular desk. She was tall and thin, with a hooked nose and long face. Long dark hard like fringed wings laid around her shoulder. Her lips part as the shade strolls across the threshold, about to say something before her eyes fall upon you. Looking alive if not worse for wear. . . and regrettably carrying a weapon.

They demon puffs themselves up proudly.

“Found this peach hangin around them back allies. Say's they work here. I'm their guardian angel or somethin’ swooped right in an saved em!”

They slung an arm around you once more, a quick hand mussing up your hair on your hair.

“He-heY QUIT!”

Her lips quirk forming an amused smile. “Oh no, certainly nothing like an angel. . . Thank you for helping them get here at least."

Mags eyes the broken bottle in your hands, and you wobble on the spot. She turns her graceful chin back in the demon's direction.

"Actually, I wanted to speak with you about something as well. . . If I find you sleeping in the library again Rat, I shall be forced to put a ward on this building.”

The demon, now dubbed Rat, had perked up, looking very pleased with itself. That is until it was threatened with expulsion. It gawked at her eyes wide.

“It’ssa public place! Yeh can’t do—“

“I can and I will.”

She put her hands on her hips, giving him a cool look.

Rat scrunches his face, slowly untangling himself from you, squinting his bulbous eyes at her. “Witch.”

“Yes, I am quite aware of what I am, thank you, now if that is all Mr. Rathbone. . . ?”

His eyes pop open as he shudders from the tip of his crooked tail up his back.

“I’m goin! I’m goIN! No need to get all hexxy vexxy on me!” He spits with disgust and squares his shoulders. “Dis is what I gets for helpin you uh? I’ll neveh do it again!”

His wide eyes turn to you and his expression becomes more sulky, pouting as he jabs a thumb at himself. “You owe for me dis witchy! I’ll be back!”

And like an indignant black cat, he slinks out of the door. Pausing long enough to stick his tongue out at the both of you from the window, before disappearing.

Mags puts a perfectly manicured hand to her cheek and sighs.

“Such a dramatic creature."

The librarian turns to you, her face softening. “I’m sorry to hear that there was trouble. I will give you protection charms to help keep you safe. I had to also learned that the hard way. Some streets are too dangerous to travel upon, even during the day. I am glad Rathbone found you though, despite his. . . flaws."

Mags snaps her fingers and the shards of glass as well as the broken bottle shimmer away. You flex your fingers in relief and sigh.

“Thanks. . . Sounds like you’ve dealt with him before.”

She raises her eyes to the ceiling, “Oh yes. I haven’t been here long, but we already are well acquainted.”

You were glad she hadn't mentioned the bottle, and you were all too ready to forgot the whole experience.

“. . .I take it then, you’re not from Verdigris either?”

She shakes her head, long earrings jingling. “I’m from Fayeweiss. We recently had our library system spread over to Verdigris, I am overseeing that we become established and connected to our sister libraries.”

“Fayeweiss. Wow, I have heard a lot of good things about Wyrn.” You smile, “Does he really do all his work in his sleep?”

You see the budding of a true smile on her lips, “. . . Just about. He runs his poor secretary quite mad.”

You purse your lips to stifle a laugh. That poor person. . . whoever they were.

“You’re not from around here either, but I don’t know the accent.”

“Oh,” You scuff your foot sheepishly, “Sunmel.”

“I heard the festivals there are lovely.”

You nod, “I was able to attend the last one before moving, I was glad I got to be there one last time.”

She places a warm hand on your shoulder, leading you gently. "Let's take a tour shall we? So you can get acquainted with the library. Would you like to take a small tea break before we start? You have had a hectic afternoon, and I have something to help settle those nerves."

A rough start to a first job ended on a pleasant note. Mags wasn't going to be your boss for the remainder of your position. Once the library was running well enough to stand on its own, she planned on traveling back to Fayeweiss. Which you were sad to hear, she seemed to be a kind individual and would have made a great boss and ally in this topsy turvy town. However she had promised the person who was going to be stepping into her role as a replacement she had trained herself.

You felt at least a little assured, but that assurance was short lived as you stepped outside. You stood outside the library doors, with your shoes facing twists of turns of the city's labyrinth before you. The sky was beginning to darken into twilight, and you felt your stomach clench. Clutching the carved stone Mags had given you until your fingers tingle from the pressure. What was the path you took earlier? Once mirror transportation was situated, work would be a step away. . . but in the meantime traveling on foot through the city was more than a little daunting.

“Witchy!”

The voice makes you jump, holding a hand to your heart. It was the shade you met in the ally. Not exactly comforting but at least they were someone you recognized.

“Yeh dropped ya wallet.”

You glare at Rat, before you pat yourself down. You had a faint glimmer of hope that despite that self-assured goofy grin on his face, you were going to find your pockets full. Alas, you are in fact missing your wallet.

“How did you–?”

“I neveh reveal my secrets.” He grins.

You make an attempt to take the wallet back but he snaps his wrist back.

“Oh no! Not afta you humiliated me. I said ya owe me.”

“Okay. I’ll buy you a new bottle of whatever you were drinking earlier?”

“Temptin,”

You take another swipe for the wallet but he dances out of your way. Waving the wallet playfully under your nose.

“How about a drink wit me?” He bats his large eyes at you, and you get the distinct impression that you have seen a similar looking face. One of an extremely bedraggled cat that dragged itself out of the bathtub.

“I am definitely not going to go drinking with someone who is blackmailing me. You can keep the wallet at that point.”

He pouts. “Yer about as fun as dat other witch.”

You pout back at him. “Whatever!” You scoff and cross your arms. "I don't go on dates with crooks."

"Eh! Dis crook saved yeh skin!"

"And then you stole my wallet?" You spread your arms wide. "Do you see how that isn't really endearing me to you??"

He sniffs before begrudgingly handing it back.

"And the money?"

He puts up his hands. "It's in dere! Sheesh! Talk about a picky customer!"

You shoot him an unimpressed look, because with all things considered, it's still your damn wallet. You flip it open to check the contents. With a cursory glance it looks like it's in there, but honestly you didn't feel like you could trust him.

"I thought you might want company on da way home. Yanno? Someone to show ya a safe path you can take."

You stare at him, watching as he widens his eyes and tries his best to look innocent.

"Imma upstandin' citizen."

He really was trying hard to sell that yarn wasn't he?

"Ah, no, I don't think so." You turn and march away from him.

"Come on!" He yowls. "Come on, come on, come on! You need me!"

You glance over your shoulder. Then take a nervous glance up at the sky. Do you really want this unsavory character knowing where you live? Or do you want to take the risk of running around lost in the big city when it's night time?

It was like that saying you remember hearing.

It's better to pick the devil you know, then pick the devil you don't.

At least with this weirdo you can perform a level of protection against his presence, if anything goes wrong. You suck in a deep breath and turn back around.

"Fine. . . since I am still learning my way around." You grumble.

He grins "Then come on, sweet cheeks! I'll getcha home inna wink!"

"Those nicknames. . . are horrendous. You know that right?"

He cackles and walks with a jaunty swagger in his step. You watch his tail brush past your knee before you sigh and begrudgingly follow behind him.

He slows his speed enough that the two of you end up side by side. He hums cheerfully to himself, lighting a small cigarette with a flick of his thumb and fitting it between his crooked maw.

"How'z the new job? Yeh like it?"

You give him a surprised glance before realizing he must have put two and two together. "It seems nice. . .” You shove your hands in your pockets thinking for a moment. "Oh, I think I remember the slang word they use around here. You're like, some kind of grifter right?"

Rat chokes on his cigarette, and accidentally eats it. He sputters out smoke, a clawed hand thumping his chest.

Oops.

"A WHAT?!" He manages to wheeze out.

"You know, a con man, a pickpocket, a swindler."

He squints at you, tears forming in the corner of his eyes as he gives one last cough of smoke.

You watch the smoke ring float past your head before you smile and cross your arms.

"I'm right aren't I? Why else would you be ducking around dubious alleyways?"

"I ain't that bad!" His ragged voice hisses, and you frown.

"Two wallet's a day isn't bad? You could of fooled me."

"Alright you snarky little," He grumbles the rest of what he was going to say inaudible. But then his face changes, and he gives an evil grin at you. "An. . . how much would you wager on that little assumption?"

"Wager?"

"Mmhm," His throaty voice rumbles and you frown.

"You mean like. . . a bet of sorts?"

His eyes glitter and you raise an eyebrow. Oh boy, demons and debts are like mixing bleach and ammonia.

"I thought you said you were a model citizen."

He sticks his tongue out playfully.

"I am doll! I am!"

Right. Totally model citizen behavior right here.

"I'll overlook losing a bottle of booze, hell I'll even be your escort until ya don't need help around the city. I'll prove that I ain't no grifter."

"And if you can prove that. . . ?"

He holds up a finger.

"One date. With me, afta work."

"Just a date? Are you that desperate?"

He squints at you, and you feel your face grow warm.

Oh yes, yes he is.

—-

You have gotten settled into the library space. Things are going well, you are learning a lot and flourishing in the quiet environment. You thought after so many attempts you thought Rat had finally given up.

But on your lunch break you heard, yowling, howling? Something?

Whatever noise that it was outside, it had you racing to look out one of the arched library windows. And there was your loverboy. Singing in the most god awful tone deaf song. At least, you think it was singing. You could barely make out “The Best is Yet to Come” by Frank Sinatra. Or perhaps you were giving him too much credit.

Perhaps.

Mags comes to join you at the tall paned window. Peering down over her spectacles at the scene below. “. . . I have to admit he is persistent.”

Your brow furrows, throwing up the window. “Rat!” You yell, “What that heck are you doing!”

“Date night!” He hollers back. He holds up a bottle of wine proudly. “I even brought wine! Th’ good stuff!”

“Where did you get the money for it??” You yell back.

You watch his hand fall to his side. Still staring up at you.

“Rat!! Where did you get the money!?"

Without answering his slinks away.

“Oh my gods,”

“There he goes,”

She gives you a look, “You. . . said you would go on a date with him?”

You look at her, “No. I made a bet. But I told him it had to be a clean date. No crookedness. I am guessing I’m going to win this one."

You rest your elbows on the window and you hear Mags trying to keep in laughter.

♡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡｡♡

Enjoy what I write? I have a tip jar!ヽ(*ᵔ▿ᵔ)ﾉ

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#monster x reader #monster x human #demon x reader #demon x human #exophilia #floofyocs

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noturlondonboy · 7 months ago

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No More Excuses //Katelena

Chapter 11: So Let’s Just Talk

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova

Chapter Summary: Kate’s ex continues to cause trouble, but Yelena takes care of him. The girls go back to the apartment for the night, and Kate opens up about some of her past.

A/N: this one is a bit more emotionally loaded??

Chapter Warnings: alcohol, assault, someone getting beat up, men being horrible, depression, trauma, PTSD, abuse, talk of self harm, talk of suicide, talk of S/A

(This chapter is heavy, please remember there are always people somewhere who love you and want to help)

Kate and Yelena consume nearly two bottles of vodka (Yelena drinks the bulk of it) and who-knows-how-many servings of the bacon mac n cheese they serve at the bar before calling it a night, and Kate's legs ache from dancing with her friend. She slings an arm over the assassin's shoulder and leans into her warmth as they push through the doors and out into the chill of the night, barely keeping herself from nuzzling into her hair.

Kate had always been an affectionate drunk, and she's feeling the effects of the liquor in full force as her heart practically begs to cuddle Yelena until neither of them can breathe. Yelena seems to have already picked up on this, as she snakes her own arm around the archer's waist and holds her tight as they walk.

"Thank you, Yelena," Kate mutters happily, laying her cheek on top of her head, still tall enough despite the blonde's heels.

Yelena squeezes her hip in response and gives a non-committal hum, red lips smiling.

They amble along, soaking in the other's warmth, but, of course, as it had gone the entire night, the peace is fleeting. A body slams into the two of them from behind.

Yelena's body kicks into overdrive immediately; she wraps her arms around Kate while simultaneously twisting around so her back hits the pavement and kicks out with her feet, making contact with the attacker. There's no cry of genuine pain from Kate, so she ignores the burn in her spine from tumbling across the cement and shoots up in an instant once the archer is safely out of her arms, leaping to tackle whoever had jumped them.

She's not even surprised to see Connor, the man who had been bothering them just a few short hours ago, and she doesn't hesitate before kicking him in the groin and bringing her knee up to slam against his head when he doubles over with a groan. He drops immediately, and Yelena has his face pressed into the pavement in less than a second, his arms twisted painfully behind his back and legs pinned down under her knees. A dull crack echoed from his shin.

"That was the stupidest shit you could have pulled tonight, ублюдок," Yelena hissed, her grip tightening on his wrists to strain his bones as he cried out. "Men like you never take a hint. You have the law on your ass and you still think you can get away with taking whatever you want from women just because you're a white male."

She grinds his cheek into the asphalt harder, eyes glinting wickedly at the pained noises he lets out, and lowers her mouth to his ear. "You're lucky my Kate Bishop is here, because her presence is saving your worthless carcass from rotting in a dumpster where the rats can feed on you." She leans away and drives her elbow down into his temple, and Connor is unconscious just like that.

Yelena stares down at him, body hot and seething, wishing she had those skates from earlier so she truly could gut him with them. She grits her teeth and sucks in deep breaths, chest heaving. "You prick."

And then she remembers Kate.

"Kate Bishop," she gasps, scrambling over to the archer, who is sitting up and gaping, chest rattling with shallow breaths, cheek smeared with blood from a cut under her eye. Otherwise, she appears relatively unharmed, but Yelena fusses over her, scanning every inch and prodding her limbs to make sure no bones are broken. Kate shakes her head when she asks if there's any pain besides her face, and only once she's completely sure her companion is safe does Yelena release her breath.

She scoops Kate to her feet and pulls her arm over her shoulder, carrying the archer with her in a hurried stride back to the apartment.

————

Yelena is absolutely flabbergasted by how calm Kate is. She has virtually none of the details about the day, but clearly Kate Bishop had been through the ringer. Whatever had her in such a funk this morning seemed like a lifetime ago now, but once they reached the safety of Kate's apartment, Yelena figured the archer would completely crumble. She did no such thing.

"Kate Bishop...?" she said quietly, closing the door behind her as Kate quickly discarded her shoes and flannel and headed for her couch. Lucky barked and jumped around joyously, his tail a golden blur as he hopped up into Kate's lap once she had sat down. Yelena followed suit, putting her platforms and coat into her closet/clothing stash, walking slowly to stand behind the couch. "Kate Bishop," the assassin tried again, dropping the questioning tone.

Kate turned her head to look at her, a smile plastered on her face. "Want to watch something with me?"

Yelena felt something twist deep in her stomach at the haunted shadow in Kate's eyes, and decided she would not press. Maybe Kate would come to her when she was ready. If she could ever trust Yelena like that.

She found herself hoping for such a thing.

"Sure." She grabbed her first-aid kit and sat next to Kate while the archer browsed her streaming services mindlessly, and Yelena unpacked the supplies before reaching hesitantly to touch Kate's chin. She jolted and leaned away, then seemed to realize what Yelena was trying to do and straightened back up.

"Thank you," Kate muttered, tv remote forgotten in her hand, eyes on Yelena as the assassin got to work. She quickly cleaned the blood from her cheek and disinfected the small cut, placing a small butterfly bandage over it. Her fingertips lingered, thumb trailing over her ear and down her cheek to her jaw, Yelena's eyes hooded and scanning over Kate's face for anything else that might need her attention.

Kate stared shamelessly, the shock of the night completely diffusing any shyness she might've normally had. The glow of the tv turned her blue eyes into a flinty silver, and Yelena traced her pinky under the cut gently, heat blazing up through her hand and along Kate's skin.

"What do you want to watch?" Yelena asks softly, slowly dropping her hand away from the other woman's face. Kate's fingers twitch as if she wants to grab it, to keep the skin-on skin contact, but she doesn't move.

Kate swallows thickly and shifts around, grabbing the remote again. "Queen's Gambit is pretty good." She presses play and they watch for a little while, and Yelena feels herself actually getting into the story when Kate suddenly starts talking.

"That was my ex," she whispers, barely audible over the noise of the show. Yelena immediately tunes into her, but she keeps her eyes on the screen, silently willing Kate to keep going. "We were together for about five months. It was a couple years ago, in the middle of the blip. I was 19 and starting my first year of college. Everything was-" Kate stopped, her lips pinched as she took a deep breath. "Everything was... really crazy. My mom dived into her business head first to avoid the grief of the people she lost and I was alone a lot of the time, so I moved out and was dorming with some friends on campus. My meds weren't really working and the only therapists we ever considered were all dusted.

"He and I had calculus together and he asked me out after class one day, and I didn't stop to think about it before I said yes because he was one of the only guys I knew who seemed to care about school."

Kate's voice cut off, her eyes glassy and glued to the screen but clearly unfocused. Yelena dared a glance at her, keeping herself from physically reaching out.

"He was the perfect boyfriend, at first," Kate started again, a husk in her throat. "He got along with my mom, he planned dates, he tried out things I was interested in, he respected my boundaries, he actually listened." A moment. "But halfway through he started getting angry. Really angry, all the time. Both of his parents were in prison before the blip, and they were both dusted, too. He didn't have anybody but me. So when he started to- when he started to yell, and to lie, and to back out on plans we'd had for weeks, I just tried to be there for him. I just tried to love him."

Yelena's hand slipped over to settle on Kate's thigh.

"He started to threaten me about a lot of things. That he would cheat on me if I didn't do certain things, that he would kill himself if I didn't sleep with him. I got scared to leave him alone, so I moved in with him even though that just made it easier for him to take things out on me. I stopped talking to my friends and my grades started to drop and everything was getting really bad." Kate stopped and sucked in a big gulp of air, her hand clasping Yelena's on her thigh. The show played absently.

"One night, I tried to tell him that I was scared I might hurt myself," she whispered, "and he lost it. He started yelling about how crazy I was, that I was insane and selfish, and when I tried to get away, he grabbed my wrists and started dragging me to the roof of his apartment. He said that if I wanted to kill myself, we were both better off just dying together, right then and there."

Kate went silent, her words impossibly heavy in the air. She stared ahead blankly at the tv, but Yelena could only look at her with wide eyes.

"How did you get away from him, Kate Bishop?" Yelena dared to whisper, her thumb rubbing slow circles.

"I fought him. I panicked and bit his arm and flipped him over my shoulder into the wall, and I ran. He chased me to the police station, but the bruises on my wrists matched his hands, so they believed every word I said. And I had money." Kate let out a humorless laugh. "I got lucky."

Yelena Belova had quite literally been through hell and back. She had been stolen away from her life, broken and trained to be a killer. There was so much blood on her hands that when Natasha died, sometimes all she could see at night was red. Her soul was tarnished and blackened and so irrevocably gone that she didn't even dare to consider salvation. But now, she could only stare at this woman across from her with a slack jaw and eyes threatening to spill tears. Kate Bishop sat there with her on that ratty couch and spilled herself out for Yelena, and Yelena had not done a single thing to deserve it.

Yelena was broken, but she looked at Kate and saw someone who needed love. Yelena was unloveable, but she thought maybe she could try to be what Kate Bishop needed.

Should she care about the strange circumstances that had led them here? Probably. But did either of them care? No.

"It was a long time ago," Kate whispered, a muscle in her neck feathering as she grit her teeth and screwed her eyes shut. "Sorry."

"Kate Bishop." Yelena grabbed the tv remote and turned the screen off, plunging the two of them into a numbing, silent darkness. With the quiet ringing in her ears and the shadows pressing against her eyes, Yelena brought her hand up to cup the back of Kate's head. "You just told me something very dark. Something you probably have not told anyone else. I will not stand for an apology." The assassin dared to lean forward, pressing her forehead against Kate's.

"You are brave, Kate Bishop. Strong. Good." Yelena dug her fingers into Kate's skull ever so softly to ground them together, acutely aware of their breathing and proximity.

There was a lull, and then Kate was sobbing, the anger and fear from the day bubbling over in wave after wave of hot tears spilling down her cheeks. She fell forward into Yelena, her muscles shaking as she let herself go weak. The blonde caught her- surely, lovingly, her arms strong and warm. Kate melted against her, hiccups rocking her chest and the scent of dried flowers, smoke, and fresh snow sinking deep into her lungs.

"Will you stay tonight? Here, with me?" Kate choked out, her body still shaking as she clung on.

"Of course Kate Bishop. Of course." Yelena held her close, this woman who was young and immature but so funny and so bright and had a smile that was contagious. "Always."

"Thank you," the archer managed to get out, her nose buried in Yelena's neck.

"That's what friends are for, are they not?" A kiss, pressed to the crown of her head through dark, wavy hair.

Kate's heart glowed at that.

She could use a friend.

Translations:

-ублюдок (Ubludoc): Bastard

Kate Bishop counter: 11

This chapter's meme:

Comments/reblogs/notes make my day :)

#bishova #katelena #kate bishop #kate x yelena #yelena belova #yelena x kate #fanfic #fanfiction #no more excuses #wlw #gxg #gay #queer #lesbian #marvel

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