Targaryen Takeover •Ivar The Boneless•

(Eamon Farren via Instagram Story | 08.02.2021)

Angela Tellier, Willie’s Adventure.

hello dark mode users :)

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🔭

Who do I need to go to to request a little mermaid AU with Andrea Marowski? I saw a Moodboard for it a while ago and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. There’s so many talented writers, please can you or someone else write this 🥺🥺

omg yeah i would read that but I don't like mermaids enough to write it myself, somebody do this! it would make so much sense

the empress (II)

MY MASTERLIST | PART ONE

This fic is inspired by the Empress card of the Major Arcana of the Tarot

pairing(s): helmut zemo x reader

summary: So You're Babysitting Your Ex's Pet Villain: How to Demoralize Yourself in 8 Easy Steps

words: 5,666

warnings: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI), smut, this part has all the good shit, dom!reader, sub!zemo, unprotected sex (no stated use of contraception), oral sex, cunnilingus, praise kink, degradation kink, roleplay, mistress & servant type thing, exhibitionism, riding, the reader makes zemo her bitch

additional notes: this is the second part of my 12k+ word fic that needed to be broken into two separate posts because it exceeded the word limit by A Lot. It is posted on AO3 in its original format, as a single chapter fic.

taglist blog: @rosemareblogs

.VII.

You don’t sleep that night.

You could blame the alcohol. Or, you could blame the screaming fire in your core, trying to pull you off your bed, out the door and down the hall to where you know the Baron lies in his own bedroom, probably half naked and wonderfully upright.

You slip in and out of consciousness, but never truly give in to the other side of sleep. It’s too hot beneath the sheets. You can hear Bruno’s asthmatic wheezing at the foot of the bed, and it seems like it’s booming throughout the cavern of the master bedroom.

When you rouse early in the morning to let the dog limp out of the room and down the hall, the alcohol hasn’t entirely worked its way out of your system, and has left you with the disorientation of a mild hangover. You’re not stumbling, but you’re parched, and so ravenous that the emptiness of your stomach lends itself to nausea.

Your movements are jerky and a little bit too slow as you move through the kitchen. By the time you rip open a fresh package of bacon, the pain in your stomach is so strong you think you might kill someone.

And that’s precisely when Artemis comes trundling into the kitchen, howling like she’s being tortured.

She hops onto the counter to investigate what you’re doing as you begin slicing the cuts of bacon, a frying pan already heating on the stove. She butts at your hand to try and get at the fragrant meat, giving you an indignant, “MRROW.”

You affect an unamused glare. “What, you think you’re the only horny one in this house?”

“May I offer some assistance?” comes the Baron’s voice.

Your ears start to ring with the rush of blood to your head as you turn to find Zemo standing two feet from you with a coy smirk on his face, holding a glass of water. When you blink at him, he opens his palm and gestures for you to give him the knife in exchange for the water.

You take the glass, and press the flat of the blade into his outstretched palm. He wordlessly nudges you to the side and begins to slice the bacon with such quick, careful precision that the fluid motion mesmerizes you for a second.

As you sip the water, your eyes follow the line of his hand up to his strong forearm, bared to you by his rolled sleeves, and further up until your eyes settle on his face. The scratches on his cheekbone are still bright red, but seem to have sealed up in the night.

The flapping of wings at the window heralds Dodie’s arrival, and you snatch up a piece of the raw bacon before Zemo can manage to cut it. The raven titters at you as you hold the scrap out to it, and you nudge your knuckle affectionately against its plumage. “Good morning, my love.”

You hear Zemo’s meditative hum from behind you. “So that’s who you presume to be meant for love.”

“Please, Baron. Animals are innocent souls,” you tell him easily as you stroke the raven’s beak. “They’re all worthy of love.”

“Whatever happened to ‘Helmut?’”

You pause as Dodie takes flight, feeling your blood humming through your veins with such a fever you think you may be turning red. His voice is quiet, much like it had been when he first spotted Nerissa, like he might not have meant for you to hear him say it.

But you turn to him, and he’s not looking at the stove or the knife, or anything else. He’s looking at you.

“Do you want me to call you ‘Helmut?’”

He considers you for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning you with growing warmth, like you can see a fire being lit within his irises. But then they go cold, and they drop to the stove without warning.

“What I want makes no difference,” he states with clinical detachment. “Perhaps it is best that you call me ‘Baron.’”

“Why is that?”

“Because, I made a promise to James,” he explains, and his voice has garnered a rough edge. “A promise that he told me to remember.”

Bucky’s parting snarl rings through your mind. ‘You remember what I told you, right?’

“What was that promise?”

“That I would remain a stranger to you.” He continues to conduct himself about the stove, tossing the bacon as if the conversation is of little importance to him. “And that if I don’t, it is with the understanding that he will, and I quote, ‘cut off my balls and use them as a hacky sack.’”

A litany of emotions bombard you at once, freezing you in space without any way to reply. First comes flattery, at the fact that Bucky still feels protective of you in some regard. Second, anger, because it’s not his place to be protective of you when he didn’t want to remain with you.

And third, frustration. Because now that he’s successfully gotten under your skin, Zemo’s doing the fucking right thing.

“And you intend to honor that?” It seems ridiculous that he would, considering Bucky’s “warning” sounds more like a schoolyard taunt and less like an actual threat.

But Zemo looks at you, and smiles warmly. “Yes, dragă, I do.”

You nod slowly, eyes falling to the floor, chewing on your lip because you can feel your frustration rising to the surface. “Are you trying to be a good man, Baron?”

He barks a laugh, and turns to look at you.

“In my life, I have been many things. A good man is not one of them.” Though he keeps his face evenly measured, you can see something pained within his gaze. “However, I shall make a valiant effort.”

You suck on your tongue as you watch him turn the stove off and plate the horrendous amount of bacon you’d decided to make in your stupor.

“I’m disappointed,” you say, just as he sets the plate beside you on the counter. He’s not a foot away from you now, and as you stare challengingly up into his eyes, you can see every little deviation his face makes.

“Are you, indeed?” He tilts his head slightly, and his lips turn up at the corners.

“Yes.” Taking the plate from him, you let your fingertips brush his, where they linger on the porcelain. “Here I thought I was supposed to be keeping a dangerous villain in line.”

You watch his pupils dilate dramatically, and a smile breaks across your face. That’s what you were looking for. Last night his eyes weren’t blown completely black because he was frightened of your pet snake. He liked that you were in control.

The low timbre of his voice vibrates through the air around you. “Didn’t you say that I do well when I listen?”

You hum, and slide around him with newfound purpose, allowing your fingers to trail innocently along the line of his belt. “Come to me when you decide who it is you want to listen to, Baron.”

You smile to feel his eyes scorching your back as you exit the kitchen.

.VIII.

The Baron is already out of breath.

You can’t imagine the inner dialogue he’s been through to get to this point, but the look on his face is earnest, like he’s two seconds from begging you on his knees. You allow yourself to smile at the thought.

You haven’t done anything to him. Not yet, anyways, but you can tell by the way he stands at the threshold of the conservatory with his fists clenched at his sides, his chest heaving and his eyes trained solidly on you, that it won’t be long before you do. Because he’s just played right into your hand, as you knew he would.

Bucky knew he would, too. Because the same thing happened with him, and history tends to repeat itself.

“Have you given up your valiant effort so soon?” You recline in your high backed chair, not unlike a queen upon her throne.

“It seems my villainy knows no bounds.”

Nerissa is asleep, coiled into a pile on the shelf of culinary herbs, but you don’t think he cares by the way he threw open the doors with barely contained desperation.

He steps into the room.

“Did I give you permission to enter?”

The Baron halts, hands flexing at his sides. “No, dragă.”

“Dragă?”

Behind you, rain dashes against the darkened conservatory windows, rippling down the glass like a waterfall. In the silence that hangs throughout the room, thunder can be heard echoing from the valley. You wonder how long it will take him to address you correctly, or if you’ll have to guide him there.

“No…  Empress.”

You incline your head toward the Baron’s rigid form. “Very good. You are a smart boy. Now,” you cross your legs to tease him with the fact that you’re wearing nothing beneath your robe, “have you decided what you want me to call you? Baron, or Helmut?”

“Helmut,” he says almost too quickly. He’s all too eager, likely from a culmination of years locked in a prison cell without any contact, combined with whatever internal crisis he’s been having all day to break his resolve so quickly.

For that fact, you’re just as tightly wound as he is, the pulsing in your core echoing the way his trousers are nicely tented below his belt. But you’re not going to rush things along. He strikes you as a patient man.

You’d like to test that theory.

“So, you don’t want to remain strangers.” You run the tip of your finger along your lip, mostly to stop yourself from nervously tapping it against the arm of the chair. In testing his patience, you’re also testing your own. “You seem to have an issue following orders.”

“That depends on who’s giving them.”

You raise your eyebrows. Normally you would bark at him for speaking without being spoken to, but you do love to hear his rasping voice. “Do you think you’ll be able to follow my orders, Helmut?”

His eyes glow gold in the dim light. “Yes, Empress.”

“Then you may come closer.”

It’s a dance, trying to hide your own need while also feeding off of his. He crosses the room slowly, trying to conceal how his hands twitch to reach out to you. He stops just short of your crossed legs.

“Tell me, Helmut,” you say, revelling in the way his eyes flutter at the sound of his name, “were I truly a queen, how would you approach me to ask for something?”

His face is darkened with lust, his breath coming in swift bursts. “On my knees.”

“Show me, then.”

Zemo falls to his knees before you, his gaze remaining trained on your face. You keep your expression level as you move your leg with aching slowness and precision, ensuring that it brushes teasingly across the Baron’s growing bulge. He hisses through his teeth, and his hand catches your ankle to hold it there.

You tut at him condescendingly. “Did I give you permission to put your hands on me?”

His nostrils flare with the impatient breath he huffs out as he releases your ankle. “No, Empress.”

“That’s right.” You continue to rub the length of your calf just barely against his hardness, smirking at the strained grunt he gives you. “Remove your shirt.”

His fingers hasten to unbutton his blouse, but once they fumble a few too many times in response to your gentle caress against his trousers, he roughly yanks the closure apart with a growl, buttons flying as the fabric falls from his shoulders and exposes the lean expanse of his chest.

You make no attempt to hide the impish smile that stretches across your face. “Are we in a rush?”

When Zemo remains silent, dark eyes glaring up at you defiantly, angrily, you stop the movement of your leg against him.

“No,” he chokes out weakly, leaning into you to find that friction again.

“I thought so.” Graciously, you resume your gentle teasing against his trousers, and he visibly melts into you. “Tell me what you want, Helmut.”

He hesitates. He seems to contemplate his words before finally saying, “I want to taste and touch every part of you. I want to feel you come apart around me.”

“My god. A poet.” You smirk, dragging your calf a little harder against his bulge. “Run that by me again, and say what you mean this time.”

He sucks a breath through his teeth at the added pressure against his hardness, his voice tinged with a new kind of hunger. “I want to fuck you until you can’t speak. I want to feel you cum on my cock so hard that you beg me to stop. I want to mark you as mine, dragă. And I want the Winter Soldier to know it when I do.”

Your leg halts of its own accord, because his lewd admission has you clenching pathetically on air, the heat of your slick dampening the satin of your robe where it’s seeped from your cunt. You could make him wait longer, simply because he dared to use his own pet name for you instead of the one you’d given him. But you don’t want to.

You uncross your legs before him, then lean forward to grip his chin in a similar fashion as you did to wipe the blood from his face. “You’ll be content with what I give you for now, yes?”

He nods obediently, swallowing hard against your hand before vocalizing, “Yes.”

“And then, if you behave yourself, I’ll allow you the privilege of feeling me cum on your cock.”

You restrain yourself only for a moment, but the sound of the Baron’s stuttering breath prompts you to lean forward and pull his lips against yours. He stays there, allowing you to drink in the small moan he makes into your mouth as his tongue dances between your lips. He tastes sweet, like bourbon mixed with ripe summer fruit, meeting your lips with a fervor you haven’t known in years.

Your own desperation seeps into your voice when you whisper, “Touch me, Helmut.”

He obliges without a second thought. His hands slide up each of your calves, running along the length of your thighs and back down again, as though testing the waters. You kiss him feverishly, drawing him closer to you, his torso slotting between your knees to press against the edge of the chair.

His thumb slides up your inner thigh to brush along your slit, and you nearly let out a noisy whine.

“You are eager, aren’t you?” you force through gritted teeth, tightening your hands on his shoulder and jaw. His mouth breaks from you with a gasp, forehead pressed to yours for a modicum of stability.

“Yes.”

“Such a smart mouth, and all you can say is, ‘Yes?’” The sound of his desperate groan at your words only serves to spur you on, your hips jolting forward on your seat. “Why don’t you show me what that mouth can really do, Helmut?”

He affords two wet kisses along your jaw before he forgoes all propriety, and pushes your robe up to expose you from the waist down, pulling you forward until your hips meet the edge of your seat. Then his hands rake down your thighs as he dips his head between them, and his tongue slides between the lips of your cunt.

You suck in a gasp unexpectedly, grinding against his mouth as your fingers weave into his hair like they’re made to be there. He takes to you like a man starved, his tongue spreading you open and his lips devouring, and a swift flex of your fingers in his hair draws a moan from his throat.

“Such a lovely tongue. It always gets you what you want, doesn’t it?” You release your grip on his roots and stroke gently through his hair, like butter against your fingers.

Zemo hums a response, his lips closing around your clit to suck hard against it. Your back arches, a loud moan finally falling from your mouth, and he chuckles against you just before flicking his tongue across the swollen bud.

“You fucking bastard,” you choke out, nails digging against his scalp as you desperately rut against his mouth. “You like to hear how good you are, don’t you? How much you make me fucking want you?”

Your head tilts up seemingly on its own, pulling you to look at him. He’s watching you from beneath his lashes, looking like an absolute devil as his tongue drags through your folds and pauses just shy of your clit.

You can’t help the way your mouth falls open in a needy gasp, your fingers tugging on his hair once again. “Don’t you dare stop, Helmut.”

He obliges you by sucking your clit between his lips with spiteful force. You’re all too aware that his eyes are still on you, watching your head drop back as the muscles of your core tighten, your legs shaking where they rest on his shoulders.

Your orgasm is ravaging. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since you’ve had a partner to bring you there, but the pulses seem to constrict every part of your body, hoarse cries stealing from your throat to mingle with the sharp sound of rain striking the windows. Your skin sings, breath shaking when the Baron draws away from you to rest his chin on your thigh.

Then, the fucker has the audacity to say, “Take your time.”

You don’t even lift your head up in order to watch how Zemo flies backward when you use the ball of your foot to shove him by his collarbone, hearing his soft grunt as he lands on his back against the floor.

“You think I’m not taking my time with you, you entitled little shit?” you hiss as you straighten yourself, your hands falling to the tie of your robe. He raises himself on his elbows, watching you with hungry eyes as you stand, shrugging the satin negligée from your shoulders and towering over his sprawling form. “No. If I wasn’t taking my time with you, you’d already be blissed out of your fucking skull. I want to hear you beg for it.”

The look on the Baron’s face is excitable, fearful, his sharp features looking younger and more boyish now as you bend at the knee and begin to crawl tantalizingly between his parted legs, running your palms along the inside of his thighs toward where he strains against his fly.

“Poor thing,” you coo, hooking your finger beneath the buckle of his belt to tug lightly against it, and watch him buck his hips along with it. “You really need me so badly?” You undo the buckle to slip the belt from his trousers, and use two fingers to release the button of his fly before sliding your hand across his bulge as you drag the zipper down. And then, the Baron surprises you.

He whimpers.

It’s not a sound you ever expected to come from him. Zemo is normally so regally composed, stoic and even-tempered with just a hint of malice below the surface. You expect growls and groans, deep, guttural noises with primal connotations. But not this. A pathetic little whimper high in his throat, so soft it’s almost like a sob.

You can’t contain your self-aggrandizing grin as you reach into his trousers to finally relieve him of his restraints, his cock swollen and hard and leaking against your fingers.

His hand comes up to grasp your shoulder at the contact, but you’re not about to let him guide you. You grab him by the wrist and pin his hand against the floor, watching him strain to hold back a moan as you stroke him. You can hear his nails scratch roughly against the floor when his elbows give and he falls back, bucking his hips into your hand.

“Oh, you like that.” You give him a languid stroke, feeling him rigid and pulsing against your hand. Beneath the pleasure of watching Zemo squirm against your touch is the undercurrent of, ‘I want to taste it,’ as your thumb drags the bead of precum down his shaft, and your mouth waters. And who are you to deny yourself the pleasure?

You lick him from base to tip, and feel him shudder against you. You know you’ve wound him up enough that he won’t last if you go at him like this for too long, but still, you close your mouth around his tip and take him in as far as you can, his hitching breath like music to your ears and his salty taste like heaven on your tongue. And then, you draw back slowly, giving him one long, hard suck between your cheeks before your mouth pops off of him, and he very nearly screams.

“No, no, darling, you’re not going to finish like this. Not before I give you what you asked for.” His chest heaves as you dip your head down and slide your tongue up the hollow of his stomach and the line of his ribs, pulling back just at the burst of hair on his sternum. “Do you think you deserve to be given what you want, Helmut?”

His hands land on your waist as you hover over him, staring down into his glassy, dark eyes and carding your fingers delicately through his dishevelled hair. He’s shaking, his skin is burning.

“Yes.” His voice is broken, like it’s been stolen from him and wrung so tightly that he can barely use it anymore. “Please.”

A smirk twitches on your lips. “What was that?”

“Please.” His eyes are searching, desperate, a look you’ve been familiar with before. He’s not above begging, at least not now. His hand brushes your cheek, stroking a finger along the side of your face with tender reverence. “Please, dragă.”

You take his hand, and press a kiss to his palm. “Since you asked so nicely.”

You skim your hands down the length of his body as you rid him of his shoes and trousers, not really trying to conceal your own haste anymore. Your need is already evident in the way your slick seeps down your inner thighs, wet against your skin as you move up his legs.

Zemo is sitting now, his arms outstretched and grabbing for you like he can’t be without you, pulling you against his chest because he said he wanted to touch all of you, not just your cunt, not just your mouth. He’s peppering kisses along your jaw and down your neck, sucking and biting, nails scratching, marking. He holds you so close it’s like he wants to intertwine himself with you entirely.

His hands find your hips. You make no move to guide them away. You run your palm up his chest as you rub against him, raising your hips to align him with your entrance.

When you sink down onto him, your name breaks in his throat like a swan song.

You, on the other hand, are so overwhelmed with the feeling of finally being filled, you’re clinging to him like he might float away from you, moaning against his neck as your walls tighten around his intrusion.

When was the last time you felt so complete?

Zemo’s hand strokes down your spine, raising the hairs on the back of your neck with the gentle caress, and his whisper is soft as velvet. “You’re divine.”

Your eyes flutter before you finally collect yourself, and you bite down on his shoulder as you rock your hips into his. He groans loudly into your ear, his chest vibrating against yours as you lift yourself up on your knees to pull back again.

And you push him flat down onto the floor once again before you drive yourself back down onto him with excessive force, biting your lip as he strikes deeper within you.

He gasps as you rake your fingernails through his chest hair, scratching deep red welts into his skin that mimic the ones on his face. He’s surprised, and delighted, and one particular swirl of your hips makes his face scrunch so preciously you’d dare to call it cute, if that’s a word that could be used to describe the Baron.

Zemo’s hands grip your hips, moving in tandem with them as you roll down onto him, a strangled whine leaving your lips. It’s been a long time since you’ve done this, and yet, you find that the movement and feeling is not something one easily forgets.

His hips erratically buck to meet yours, a tense sort of culmination building between you as you bend forward over him, your hand coming to rest on the floor beside his head.

“Is this what you wanted, Helmut?” The words fall from your mouth before you’re even able to process them. “For my cunt to be yours for the taking?”

His pants interrupt his words as he speaks. “I hardly think I’ve taken it.”

Your free hand closes around his jaw, a scoff issuing from your mouth. “That’s right. Remember that I gave you this.”

You’re so enrapt in his mouth as you kiss him, it takes a moment for you to register that the ringing in your ears is not, in fact, from your own sensory overload, but that it’s from your cell phone, which sits two feet away on a little antique footrest. You break away from the Baron with a frustrated growl, refusing to stop the rolling of your hips even as you knock over the footrest in your haste to shut the fucking thing up.

And then you see the caller ID.

“Well, well,” you laugh as you grind your hips into the Baron’s, your eyes flickering to his confused visage, “It looks like you really do get whatever you want.”

You push the phone into Zemo’s palm, as Bucky’s call continues to vibrate in his hand.

“Answer it,” you order, your eyes blazing into his as you straighten yourself, trailing a finger down his torso.

Zemo swallows, a hint of terror washing across his face before he clears his throat, eyes steeling and growing sharp. It takes you a moment to realize that you’ve just watched him put on the mask that he wears in daily life; he’s no longer Helmut, he’s Baron Zemo.

Nevertheless, his voice cracks when he answers the phone. “Hello, James.”

You can hear a vague chattering coming from the phone against his ear, his eyes staring up into yours with unadulterated lust as you continue to roll yourself down onto his cock.

“The phone was simply nearest to me.” Zemo speaks clearly now, but his voice is deeper than normal. “Is there something you wish to tell me, zimniy soldat?”

If you listen hard enough, you can hear the cadence of Bucky’s voice over the sounds of your own erotic gasps, watching the Baron’s jaw tighten when he drives his hips up particularly hard into you, like he’s trying his hand at warning you to shut up.

“Is that so?” he nearly growls through gritted teeth. “That didn’t take long at all. I expect you’ll be chaperoning me, then?”

Ah. So Bucky called to tell you that he’s coming to collect Zemo for whatever job he needed the Baron’s help with. It makes sense for that to be the reason he called, but similar to what Zemo’s apologetic expression attests to, you thought you’d have more time.

Might as well go out with a bang.

“Actually, she is right here,” Zemo says, his words coming out thick with anger and desperation. “Perhaps you’d like to tell her yourself?”

He quirks his brows at you, like he’s asking if you want to talk to Bucky. The little inquiry for your consent is almost heartwarming; as you reach to take the phone from his hand, you bend forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

And then you pick up your hips and slam down onto him as hard as you can, making him give out a moan that he strangles to a quiet grunt in his throat before it can be heard over the phone.

“Hi, Bucky,” you sigh into the phone, putting all your frustration into the two words.

“Hey, I know it’s probably late where you are, but I wanted to catch you before tomorrow. Something came up with the Flagsmashers, I need Zemo as soon as possible.”

“Well, that’s what you left him with me for, right?” Your breathing is coming hard through your nose as you try to choke back your own moans, because now Zemo’s hands are truly guiding your hips, and he’s ensuring that each time you fall down onto him, his cock is hitting that perfect spot within you that wants it most. “You don’t need my permission to come get him.”

“I just figured I’d let you know before showing up unannounced.” Bucky’s voice is tense, like he doesn’t like the prospect of seeing you again. “I’m sorry you’ve had to put up with him even this long. I hope he wasn’t too difficult to deal with.”

“On the contrary,” you gasp out as you sweep your hand up the Baron’s chest, taking in his face as he gazes up at you with what can only be described as adoration, “he’s been a very, very good boy.”

At your words, and a particularly well aimed rut of your hips, Zemo lets out a groan that you’re sure can be heard through the phone.

Bucky is quiet for a moment, before he says in the most disappointed tone you’ve ever heard, “You didn’t.”

This time, you sigh a quiet little moan of your own into the speaker. “Don’t be too hard on him, Bucky. He made such a valiant effort to resist me.”

You feel Zemo twitch within you as you rock down onto him, his fingers tightening on your hips as you toss your head back at the sensation.

Bucky’s voice is enraged now as he growls, “Empress…”

Your head snaps forward, and you stare directly down into the Baron’s dark eyes as you say, “I’m not your Empress anymore, Bucky.”

And you end the call as Zemo jerks his hips up ungodly hard into yours. You squeeze the phone in your hand just before your core tightens, and you launch it across the room and through the open door with a ridiculously loud cry, like everything you’ve been holding back all evening is coming out all at once.

You catch yourself on your hand before you can collapse against him, allowing your release to seize you entirely. You jolt forward into it, feeling your cunt pulse around his cock with your eyes screwed shut, searing heat exploding in your belly and sizzling through your veins.

You hear Zemo’s harsh cry at the same time as you feel his hands tug you further onto him, and then the warm rush of his release, sprung forth with the sensation of you cumming around him.

He hasn’t quite finished his orgasm when his hands slide up your sides to pull you down against his chest, his arm winding around your waist and his hand cradling the back of your head, hugging you to him as he continues to moan out his release. Your head dips into the crook of his neck, lips pressed to his collarbone while you’re lost in the aftershocks of your muscles pulsing against his hardness.

You lay atop him, breathing him in. It’s the only thing you can do. You can’t seem to form words. You suppose he’s managed to get what he wanted in that respect as well; you’re dumbstruck at the intensity of your orgasm, the fact that you’ve thoroughly debauched yourself in the proverbial face of your ex, and that in less than eight hours, the man holding you like a treasure will be whisked away by said ex, likely never to see you again.

You try to burn it into your memory that Helmut’s sweat-damp body tastes of salt, and smells of sandalwood.

You remain like that, with his arm hugging you to his body and his thumb stroking circles against the back of your head, while he slips from you and his breathing slows.

Eventually, you’re able to find your voice again when he croaks out a gentle, "Thank you."

“It isn’t always like that with me, you know,” you mutter, your voice echoing in the dip of his collarbone.

“Is that so?” His voice vibrates against where your mouth is pressed to his skin.

“Yeah. Sometimes, I like to be on the receiving end.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

You raise your head, your nose brushing the stubble on his jaw as you find his eye. “Next time?”

“Yes, dragă.” His thumb continues its gentle caress of your head as his eyes search your face. “There will be a next time, if you desire it.”

“Of course I desire you, Helmut.” His breath audibly stutters when you say his name, his arm tightening around your waist.

“It… relieves me to hear you say that.” His eyes flutter shut when you press a kiss to his jaw.

“But you have to leave in the morning. And Bucky might actually kill you.”

“Don’t worry about that. I believe I can talk down our zimniy soldat.”

“I have no doubt about that,” you say with a small laugh, and rest your head in the crook of his neck again. “But he’s definitely not going to be bringing you back here, that’s for sure.”

“Have no fear, dragă. I know where to find you.” Helmut’s hand strokes down the back of your neck, beginning a gentle descent along your spine. “One trait we villains have in common is that we know a good thing when we see one.”

I fucking love this guy!

(Eamon Farren via Instagram Story | 02.02.2021)

Charles Bronson imagine #1

So this is a new mutants crossover. I couldn't stop thinking about Illyana rasputin meeting Charles and them bonding over their like of violence. This is a friendship imagine. So enjoy.

Nothing interested Charlie Bronson. Not here in the funny factory. He spent his days being troublesome to the guards and other patients to amuse himself. He spent his mornings being tackles and sedated and shoved in an arm chair in the common area until it would wear off in the afternoon where he was good for a couple of hours before repeating the same routine. But one day was different than the others. They caught his eye. 5 new patients being led into the common room with these funny black and bulky collars around their necks with blinking red lights on them. He immediately was intrigued. Most of them seemed to be quiet and melancholy except one. A girl. She was firey and very troublesome for the guards. He laughed amused. And when she finally sat herself down in a corner by herself he moved towards her. "Fuck off." Was the first sentence out of her mouth when he asked her what her name was. He picked up on the Russian accent right away. But her attitude pissed him off. "You, yeah, are a right cunt. All I'm trying to do is be polite, yeah, and ask you what your name is." He growled out. She finally looked up at him with a look of annoyance. "And I said to fuck off. Or are you fucking deaf big man?" She asked angrily. He let out a breath of disbelief at the balls the girl had. "Look little girl, I don't usually hurt women, but there's a first fucking time to everything isn't there you bitch?" She slowly stood. "Yeah? Why don't you try it. I'll sever your hands from their wrists and then shove them up your ass." She said with a deadly serious expression. And now he was truly intrigued. But before he could open his mouth to say something else he was interrupted. "Rasputin! Bronson! Disperse! Now!" The guard demanded, coming forward with his night stick. Knowing how Bronson was with authority. But surprisingly he put his hands up and stepped away. "Alright sunshine. Let's see how long you fucking last in here yeah?" He chuckled and went back to his arm chair as she sat back down and went back to her drawing. But the next day is what really had Bronsons attention. And in that moment he knew he wasn't gonna just leave her alone. Not anymore. Not after what he saw. She was drawing on the floor again, alone. When another person with one of those weird collars stood over her. They seemed to argue. Getting louder and louder until she had the other girl backed against one of the tables. And in an instant blink of an eye, her eyes glowed a bright blue, a clanking was heard as her left arm began to materialize metal armor and soon she was holding a glowing blue sword. It took her two steps forward, and with a war cry she lifted the sword and brought it down in time to hit a red barrier that seemed to be protecting the other girl.



His eyes were wide and the other patients were freaking out. Crying, screaming, or just being loud. But he couldn't take his eyes off the blonde. He had never seen anything like this. He had heard of mutants before. But he had shrugged it off never having seen one in person before. But in this moment he was taken with her. This firey girl that had just shown how powerful she really was. But it was short lived when an a doctor in a white coat entered the room. "Thats enough Illyana!" She yelled and in an instant a syringe was plunged into the girls neck. She fought for a moment before her body went back to normal and she went limp.



His mouth still hanging open he got up before they could take her to solitary. "Oi! She didn't do anything wrong yeah? Just defending herself!" He came closer. A guard stepped forward. "Shut up and sit down Bronson." He said sternly. But he kept approaching. "Nah I don't think i will. You yeah, aren't gonna punish her for fucking defending herself are you. She was the one being harassed by the other cunt yeah." He was getting angrier. He didn't understand this need to protect the girl. "Bronson! Sit the fuck down and mind your business!" The guard said getting angry. This pissed Bronson off and he stepped forward. "You fucking cunt!" Within seconds a brawl had broken out between Bronson and the guards. He had gotten in quite a few punches before he was tackled and injected as well. Looking to his left he met the girls drugged gaze. He gave her a cheeky smile and she lazily gave one back before passing out. But he fought the entire way to solitary. They were carrying him limb by limb and had him starfished. But he kept moving his body and yelling as they moved him down the hallways into solitary. He was a big man and it took a minute for the sedative to kick in for him. But once it did he stopped fighting and was tossed into solitary next to the girl.

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

It was the screaming that woke him. And not the insane screaming from the others not sound of mind stuck in solitary as well. No. The true terrified screams from the girl in the cell next to him. He jolted up immediately and banged on the wall connecting them. "Oi! Is everything alright?" He asked her loudly. But when her screams turned into heavy sobs is when he really started to worry. He pushed the food hatch open and began to yell. "Oi! One you fuckers needs to get down here! I think there's something wrong!" But when he heard nothing he got angry and worried. "HEY YOU CUNTS!" finally he heard boots lazily walking down the hallway to his cell. When they came eye to eye the guard looked throughly annoyed. "What Bronson?" He huffed. "I think there's something wrong with my neighbor, the girl." The guard rolled his eyes. "Course there is. Thats why you're all here innit?" He said and started to walk around. "Now im not fucking around with you yeah. I really think somethings wrong. So if you don't have a look and she turns up dead, how's that gonna look on you when I tell them I told you to check and you didn't aye?" His tone hard. The guard eyed him for a moment before moving to her cell. He pushed the dinner flap open. And stumbled back immediately with a swear. "Jesus fucking christ!" He fumbled for his radio for a moment before calling out. "I need staff to solitary. Cell 23. I repeat staff to solitary. Cell 23. Urgent. Gotta a code 72." He said shakily. "Code 72. What the fucm does that mean?" But the guard was too shaken up to even acknowledge him. "What the fuck is a code 72?!" He yelled again. He could feel the dread pooling in his stomach. But again he was ignored as the rushing of feet and squeaky wheels of a gurney was heard. Within seconds the door was thrown open to the girls cell. And shuffling was heard. He could barely see her body on the gurney but he caught enough. Claw marks marred her pale skin. Blood dripped from them. And he knew she couldn't have done those to herself. They looked like an animal had done it. And he felt absolutely worried when she didn't move or make a sound.

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

It had been 2 weeks. He had asked everyday and gotten the same answer. "Its none of your business." He was antsy and anxious and he had done nothing but pace back and forth for most of his days not seeing the girl. But one day he came into the common room and saw her sitting in her corner drawing, bandages covering her arms and legs and he let out a sighs of relief, bolting for her immediately. He took a seat infront of her at the table. She barely looked up at him and continued to draw and color. He didn't know to say for the first few minutes so silence passed between them. Then "Illyana." He was taken aback. " 'Cuse me?" He asked. "My name. Its Illyana." She clarified not looking up. He let a goofy smile take over. "Charles Bronson." "Why you here then Charles?" She asked. He chuckled. "Cause I like violence innit. I like to fight authority. So I get bounced around from place to place. Ended up here." He said. He looked at her. "Why you here then Illyana?" He asked lightly. "I killed seven men." He looked taken aback immediately. This little thing took out seven grown men on her own? He showed her power two weeks ago. He knew she wasn't weak. But 7? "Thats a surprise." He muttered. She stopped coloring and looked at him finally. "I killed them one by one. Blade slicing through them like butter." She said, a glint of pride in her eyes. "Well...that's nice innit." She snorted and went back to coloring. He stayed silent for a moment before he leaned forward. "What happened to you in that cell?" He asked quietly. She stopped immediately and tensed up before looking him in the eye. "That girl. Shes in our heads. She knows your worst fears. And she can manifest them. She can make you wish for death." She said. He sat back with a new found intrigue. "And so she set your fear on you then?" He asked. She gave him one nod before going back to coloring. "I wasn't expecting it. I wasn't able to go to limbo to get away." She said he raised a brow. "Limbo?" He asked. He was familiar with going to your happy place. To zone out. But she was speaking as if this was a physical place she could go to. To disappear to. She nodded. "Its a place we made up. We go to it when we are scared." He raised both brows this time. "We?" She nodded again. "Lockheed and I." She said reaching in her back pocket and pulling out the puppet. She held it up to her ear. "Its alright Lockheed. We can trust him." She paused. "Yes I am sure." Another pause. "Thank you." She turned the puppet towards him and spoke in a creepy voice, making its mouth move. "If you tell we'll rip your balls off and shove them down your throat." He was starting to see why she was really here. But he didnt want to be rude. "Lockheed was it?" He cleared his throat. The puppet nodded. "You have nothing to worry about, right, mate." For a moment she held it up still before putting it back in its place in her pocket. "He trusts you." She said. He just nodded. So this was why she was here. She WAS crazy then. As if she could hear his thoughts she stood abruptly. "Im not crazy. Ill prove it." She held out her hand. He took it hesitantly and stood, allowing her to lead him to a blind spot in the room. She checked the guards weren't watching before her eyes turned blue and a portal seemed to appear. He watched in awe as she stepped into it. "Come on." She said and pulled him in after her, he watched it close and looked at his surroundings. There were many platforms that looked to lead to a firey blaze should you step off.



But she moved off it and seemed to step on air. "Well. Come on." She said and led him deeper into her 'limbo' place. She led him pretty far in before she whistled. And in a few seconds a purple dragon like character flew towards them, landing on her shoulder. It looked exactly like her puppet. "So this is Lockheed then?" He asked. He got a nod from her. "Alright then mate?" He asked the small creature. It squawked at him as if greeting him and he took a good look around. None of this seemed real. And if he was anyone else he would've denied it all and pretended it was all in his head. But he wasn't sound in the mind either and this was a mutant. It wasnt that hard to believe for him. "Place is huge and dark innit?" She nodded. "We like it this way." She said. If he was being honest this was what he'd imagine hell to look like but he didnt want to be rude. So he kept that to himself. "And you're able to come here whenever you want?" She nodded. "So then why don't you just never come out?" He asked. She frowned. "Because of the smiling men." She said. He looked at her questioningly. "The men that used me as a child, the men that I killed. They aren't just men. They are monsters. And they lurk here too." She says whilst stroking Lockheed. He frowned. " well if you created this place, can't you just, I dunno, make them nonexistent?" He asked. She shook her head. "No. Because this place was made because of them. They are the enemy of this land. My mind does not allow me to just zap them away." He pretended to understand and she sighed. "We must get back. Before they ring the alarm because we are missing. Come." She took his hand once more and the portal opening appeared again, this time they exited. No appeared to notice anything so they sat back down at their small table. They sat in a comfortable silence until lunch time and this time, Bronson didn't cause a scene, he did what he was told and took his lunch tray and sat down with Illyana once more. This routine would continue until his release. He was sad to go. But he promised to get her out. And after many attempts today was the day. Whoever thought he was trust worthy enough have a patient released into his care when he himself had been a rather violent patient was fucking stupid but he wasn't gonna say a word. He smiled when Illyana walked through the buzzing gate. She smiled back at him and they were off to bigger and better adventures. Two chaotic souls soothing eachothers madness.

A/n: i tried my best for this one. I had a vision and I dont think it came across very well. But I tried. Hope yall like this crossover. I have an affinity for weird ships. And whilst I saw this ship as more of a friendship than a romantic ship I've also been dabbling with a Bane and Illyana ship. So if thats something you'd like to read an imagine for drop a comment.

The Heartbreak •Ivar The Boneless Modern AU•

Warning: ANGST!

She had met him through Sigurd. Sigurd was her producer for her music and was a good friend. She wished she had never agreed to attend a family party with Sigurd. She wished she never met HIM. Then her heart wouldn't be so broken and she wouldn't be so angry and hateful all the time. It truly wouldn't have been so bad an end to their relationship had he not have fucked HER behind her back whilst they were still together. If there was one thing she loathed it was cheaters. But she had been in love with him. And he swore he'd always felt the same until SHE came along. Freydis. Even thinking the name sent a surge of hatred and rage through her that she didn't know how to control. She hadn't thought anything of it when she moved in next to Ivar and Ivar became friendly. Super friendly. And Freydis was only too happy to flirt along with him. But she wasn't insecure and she had faith in her boyfriend not to cross a line he knew he couldn't come back from. What a mistake that was. No. But he started pulling away from her. Cancelling plans, not calling or texting, and she should've seen it as the giant red flag that it was. But she gave him his space. She knew Ivar wasn't good about showing affection or being consistent. It was something he said he was working on. But when Hvitserk posted those Instagram pictures and videos of Ivar and Freydis in the club after Ivar had canceled their date night because 'his legs hurt too bad.' Was when she withdrew. The truth had hit her in the face and she spent that night a sobbing mess in her bathroom with her new best friend smirnoff. She drank until she couldn't even think a coherent thought, and then she kept going. She was a mess the next morning. But she shut down completely when Sigurd showed up that morning with that stone faced look on his face and proceeded to Embrace her and hold her as if she was gonna disappear. That's when she knew something was truly wrong. She asked him what was going on and he simply showed her the screenshot of a text Ivar had sent to Hvitserk who then had sent it to Sigurd. "Freydis is pregnant. I'm gonna be a father." She had pushed Sigurd away from her and suddenly lashed out, throwing anything she could get her hands on and screaming in rage. Sigurd had stood silently and watched her let it all out until she had dissolved into heart wrenching sobs and then he has embraced her again and spent the rest of the night holding her as she silently withdrew into herself. And all the while, Ivar was radio silent.

It was a week later before her ex boyfriend had even attempted to make contact. She ignored all his attempts. 25 missed calls and a few texts asking to talk. The texts were what set her off. She sent him one last text. "Go fuck yourself. Hope she was worth it." And he had called a further 10 more times before he realized she wasn't going to answer and he just stopped altogether. From that day on he never tried to talk to her again and she proceeded to delete him and his family, save Sigurd who hated his guts just as much as she did, from all social media and blocked their numbers as well. She had trusted Ivar despite her hard time with trusting others and he took that trust and spit on it whilst ripping out her closely guarded heart and stomping on it until it was barely beating. Sigurd stayed by her side through her healing and helped her as best he could. But she went through truly dark times before she could even think about healing. She had developed a drinking problem which had resulted in Sigurd forcing her into rehab. And it had helped her immensely to see that she wasn't the problem. She wasn't the one that should be hurting. And so she took the step to attend therapy all the while Sigurd was cheering her on on the sidelines and she began to let out her rage in her music. Which topped the charts and only fueled her more. Her hurt had turned into her success. And whilst she was better now, still angry and hateful deep inside but no longer volatile, it had changed her. She guarded her heart even more, didn't trust anyone, didn't date, wasn't interested in relationships, she was done with love. It had scarred her too many times and Ivar was the last straw. And the media knew something bad had happened. They didn't know what. But they were great detectives. And it wasn't long after the whole ordeal that gossip sites and fans were talking about how her ex boyfriend had fucked another woman behind her back and gotten her pregnant. And she was right back into that depression when photos of the two backstabbers were posted along with the articles. Her shiny new ring and pregant belly were enough to undo the progress she had made. But Sigurd had quickly diverted their attention by announcing her nomination for a VMA at the upcoming award show a few months away, along with the news of a new album and an early release of one of the songs on that album. And that was enough to end the attention Freydis and Ivar were paid. And then they went to work on her again.

By the time the VMAs rolled around she had a solid grip on herself and her feelings and promised herself she would shed no more tears for the man that didn't deserve it. She had won that award and headed to the after party with Sigurd in high spirits. They had been there for a while before she saw him. Sigurd had tried his best to intercept him and Hvitserk before they both split off into the crowd and Ivar disappeared causing Sigurd to lose him. She turned her back to him after they met eyes and politely ordered a water from the bartender who passed her a glass of ice water with a smile as she tipped him. But Ivar hadn't gotten the hint clearly because he stood beside her and ordered a drink before turning his attention to her. "We need to talk." She scoffed as she took a large gulp of her drink. "No. We dont. You had your time to talk. You chose to fuck another woman instead. You've made your choices quite clear." She said and moved to walk away. He gripped her arm. "Please." She put a bright smile on and turned back around, taking him by surprise. "Ok Ivar. Talk. I'll entertain you this once because quite frankly I'm intrigued by what you could possibly say to me to make me want to even give you a bit of space in my brain for even a fleeting thought of you." He winced and opened his mouth. "Freydis is pregnant yes." "Well no shit. If she wasn't I'd be seeing a doctor asap." She rolled her eyes. "Please. She lied. It's not mine." She let out an amused laugh. "Lose them how you catch them eh?" He rubbed a hand down his face. "Lils-" "don't call me that. You lost that privilege. We are not friends. We are nothing. You made sure of that. Had you come to me and said that you no longer loved me rather than cheating on me, we maybe could've been. You have no one to blame but yourself Ivar. No one." She said sternly. She watched him deflate. "I DO love you." He said quietly. "You have a strange way of showing it. Let me make this clear, I feel NOTHING for you. Even my rage has depleted. You knew how hard it was to even give you a chance. You knew how guarded I was. And you not only begged me to give you a chance against my better judgment, you swore you would NEVER hurt me like others did. You swore you weren't that person. And then you did EXACTLY what you swore to me you wouldn't. You tore my heart from my chest after you mended it and you spit on it and stomped on it until it was dead. And the worst part was you didn't even have the balls to tell me what you did yourself. Sigurd did. You waited a WEEK after what you did to even bother to call me. You are nothing to me Ivar. You brought the worst out in me after that. And I have overcome all the demons and darkness that you left me with. So you don't get to come to me now that I'm finally better and moved on and pretend that what you did wasn't the worst thing anyone could do to someone they claimed to love and try and gain my sympathy that your situation didn't work out for you. You don't deserve it. Do not call me. Do not text me. Do not even look at me. Do you understand me? I want nothing to do with you. Go find someone else to fuck over." She said and slammed her glass on the bar beside him before pulling her arm from his grip and storming off towards Sigurd. She felt a weight come off her shoulders. There it was. The closure she needed. She said all she had been wanting to. All that had been bottled up. And it was time to wash her hands of it. "You ok?" Sigurd asked worried. But a dazzling smile overtook his best friends face and he relaxed, returning a small one. "Better than OK. Let get out of here and go get some greasy food from a sketchy place that will end up being the best thing we've ever tasted." He chuckled and offered his arm which she immediately took. "Sold. Let's go." Back at the bar Hvitserk patted a teary eyed Ivar. "You'll always be my brother but you fucked up big time and there's no coming back from it." He said softly. Ivar quickly wiped the falling tears and gave a stiff nod.