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whohasthecards · 1 year ago

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Top Gun "Cafe" AU (part 2)

part 1/part 2

"Thanks for letting me work here even though I know I suck at baking," Jake said evenly as he walked in the room.

Instead of wearing his usual attire of flannel and jeans, he was wearing a sleek black suit, tie perfectly knotted, everything fitting perfectly. From the tailored jacket to the shiny military grade combat boots.

Jake went to the other side of the room and opened up a briefcase, he briefly scanned the contents before giving a nod to Coyote in approval. He started assembling his guns and loading them.

"I'll deal with the mess that just happened, don't worry, it was my fault anyways they went after you, I did not tie up enough loose ends," Jake said muttering darkly as he harshly put his guns in their holsters.

"It wasn't your fault, Hangman, they would have made their move either way." Coyote said standing beside the man and handing him a folder.

"Nevertheless, they have been making their moves too hastily, the underground is restless, their moves are going to start an all out war, and although I do not mind a little mess, this would be getting too out of hand," Hangman said opening the file and scanning the contents before handing it back to Coyote.

He turned towards the stunned staff of the Top Gun Cafe. Bob's face was pinched, mouth opening and closing as if he did not know what to say. Phoenix's face was blank, brows furrowed. Mav's usually happy demeanor was gone, replaced by a frown, and a cold, calculating, glint in his eyes reminiscent of his husband's.

"I would say I was sorry for not telling you guys shit about me, but it's not like I knew about you either," Hangman said putting on his gloves.

Mav's eyebrow shot up, "You didn't know? You? The alleged, Hangman?"

Hangman shrugged, "What can I say Maverick? I was fully prepared for retirement, I was trying hard not to look. Also, I did not expect you guys to underestimate your own skills."

"We didn't expect the Hangman to be a blind idiot," Phoenix sharply cut through.

Hangman looked at her for a couple of seconds, eyes troubled as he seemed to be debating with himself whether or not to say what he wants to say before sighing and shaking his head.

"Well, that blind idiot won't be seen anymore," Hangman said walking away. "I'll keep you in the loop when I deal with them, I'll also send money for the damages. Have a great life, you guys," Hangman said flashing back a smirk as he gave one last jaunty wave, Coyote following half a step behind him.

---

It's been dealt with.

This was the message left behind on the cafe's counter one early morning, written on a receipt with an order for a hot chocolate with whip cream and rainbow sprinkles.

A couple hours after, news of the head of the organization's decapitation was buzzing around the underworld. The head was hanged up in the rafters of the organization's old hideout, body no where to be found. Whispers have been heard all around as everyone have been speculating on this style of assassination.

Hangman is back after a 8 month hiatus.

He wasn't dead, and he was back leading the game.

With vengeance.

---

Life was different at Top Flight Cafe. They weren't betrayed, per se, Jake didn't come in with any ulterior motive, heck, based on the evidence, he didn't even know they were part of the underground (even if it tickled the back of their mind that they should have told him, he managed to pull himself in the inner circle after all).

It made them uneasy that they unintentionally pulled Jake back to the life he decided to leave behind. No matter what he said that it was partly his faulty those armed group came, they didn't believe it.

The day after Jake left, Bob went inside the employee locker rooms, and he couldn't help but stop in his tracks when he saw Jake's cubby, open and empty, apron neatly folded, left behind.

He pointedly ignored it, as he stalked towards his locker right beside Jake's. He fiddled with the lock, and once he opened it, a piece of scotch-tape laminated paper fell out.

Jake

It had tiny planes decorated around it.

Bob couldn't help but smile as he kneeled down to take it, it was the locker name tag Bob made and decorated for him months ago.

He remembered the empty locker and he sighed as he stood up. He supposed Jake won't have a use for it now. He paused when he saw a familiar scrawl on the back of the paper.

Thanks, stay safe, Bobert.

Bob felt his throat clench as he involuntary crinkled the paper in his fist before taking a deep breathe and smoothening out.

He wondered if he acted better when the armed group came, would Jake have stayed?

He might never know, and all he could do was tape the piece of paper on the inside of his locker. The last piece he had of someone he would still call a friend.

---

A week after Jake left, Natasha burst inside the employee break room, ranting about how a customer kept on rudely changing their order, and how the ratio of chocolate sprinkles to whipped cream was wrong, or the temperature was apparently not perfect.

She turned her head to see what Jake thought, wanting to trade sarcastic remarks, when she met, empty air.

Her rant died on her lips when she realized that all that was left of Jake was an old computer chair he dragged from somewhere to sit in the corner of the room.

She pursed her lips. She didn't realize that ranting or talking to Jake during their breaks became such a habit that she didn't even bother scanning the room before she started going off.

It was quite a routine.

People in their business should be able to change their routine whenever they have to. Or else they die.

Phoenix stalked back out of the room, intending to simply have lunch out for once.

---

Bradley leaves the door to his office unlocked to make sure the other employees were always free to come in about anything and everything. Whether that means bothering him for markers, talking about business (or business), or even just to talk or hang out. It was a Saturday, one of the busier days due to everyone coming out for some sun. It wasn't all that busy for Bradley, all things considered, he was mostly holed up the whole day in his office dealing with beauracracy. He couldn't help but feel uneasy, though. The hair in the back of his neck was standing in anticipation, he couldn't help but keep looking up at the door. He shook his head as he kept on doing his paperwork, checking the clock every so often. (9:58, 11:25, 12:01, 13:17, 14:34, 16:00, 16:45, 17:59, 18:30, 19:00, 20:00) He probably refreshed his google calendar 100 times before confirming, that no, he did not have any meetings today.

The tightness he felt on his shoulders continued.

21:40, a knock on his door and Mav peeks in, "Hey kid, have you had dinner, yet?"

Oh.

He hasn't eaten all day.

"Not yet," Bradley said, voice slightly raspy from misuse.

He hasn't talked to anyone all day.

"Figured, Ice and I are ordering pizza, want to join us?"

"Sure, Mav," Rooster said, voice even, sighing when Mav left the room.

Jake was gone, and so were the random interuptions throughout the day, the breaks he didn't know he needed through interacting with the younger man, the breaks his stomach needed whenever the blonde would barge in and force Bradley (and everyone else) to try the new recipe Ice taught him how to make.

Rooster forced himself to believe that the hollow feeling in his chest was simply hunger from forgetting to eat.

---

Mav let the chocolate milk settle on the stove as he started making the team their drinks. Or at least, what he would assume would be their preferred drinks for the day.

Ice loved a good espresso, and so Mav took care of that first. Smirking as he made sure to use the man's favorite cup (Black, with the words '#1 Baker' on it that Mav gave him when they opened the shop). He'd need the caffeine with all the orders he would have to bake.

Bradley likes to take his time sipping on his coffee. Mav made him a standard Americano with condensed milk in it, making sure the milk was all the way stirred. His son had a sweet tooth.

Bob didn't consume as much caffeine as the other kids, preferring less or no caffeine unless necessary (he once saw the boy chug 3 Red Bulls during a particularly stressful situation--). He started on the batch of chai that he serves to the customers. He opened a new bag of Assam tea, and threw in some fresh spices. He was trying a new blend, it would be the special drink of the day. If it goes well. Bob would taste test.

Nat he made a standard Americano for. She likes putting all the fun stuff herself. Well, if she wanted too that day.

Mav poured the cooled down chocolate milk into two cups, adding a 2 shots of espresso in one of them. Adding whipped cream to both of them. He grinned as he grabbed the airplane-shaped-sprinkles from the shelf. They came yesterday, and Jake would lov-

Oh.

Right.

Mav's lips tugged down to a frown, as he looked down at the sprinkles.

Jake betrayed them, yet for some reason...

It wasn't really betrayal, was it?

Hangman wasn't in the business anymore, so he didn't have a reason to tell them. If it was anyone, it would be the cafe who betrayed Jake, they should have told him. Them not telling him made Jake an unknowing accomplice to their crimes. Them not telling Jake, was potentially the reason Hangman was back in the world he left behind.

Mav sighed as he looked upwards. He sprinkled the sprinkles on both drinks. Leaving the other drinks in the break room for the others to get them when they arrive. He grabbed both hot chocolates as he went for a walk to the nearby park. It was still early.

He sipped on his drink as he walked, a contemplative look on his face.

He stopped by the table with the embedded chess board he and Jake used to play in. Kid was a good opponent. He smiled when he remembered the boy rejoicing when he beat him the first time, pumping his fists in the air grinning wildly. When they went back to the cafe, he was bragging about it to everyone, hair wild with the wind, as he crowed about his victory.

That same kid was Hangman.

Hangman who singlehandedly eliminated problematic groups from the underworld.

Who was said to be skilled in every weapon.

Who started and led his own group a couple years back, cementing themselves as a prominent group in America. Jesus-- How old was the kid when he started in the underworld?

He sighs as he put down Jake's drink on the table, it was probably lukewarm by now, exactly how Jake would have liked it.

He left it there as he went back to the cafe.

---

Iceman felt nothing from the events that happened. He wasn't even there when it happened.

He just came back from his trip to find the whole team in his office, a hard expression on their faces.

Jake was nowhere in sight,

Another man gone. They analyze the situation. No problem. They move on.

Hangman would not be a problem. Iceman had more experience and connections than him.

They move on.

When Ice clears the counters to bake, he unintentionally preps the table for two bakers instead of one. Even on the days where he knows he's supposed to bake alone, now.

He saves an overly-sweet pastry recipe he found on that TikTok application from his phone. It would be a sweet treat and decent breakfast, he could even put some protein powder to make it more nutritious.

He takes the trays of pastries, a name dying on his lips. He used to always ask Jake to take the pastries to the front, also so that the boy would be able to have a quick snack. He sighed, before bringing the tray to the front himself.

He clenched his jaw. Another man he wasn't able to say goodbye too. He was just gone.

---

Hangman sighed as he holstered his guns and leaned back on the wall, tilting his head upwards to the glass ceiling. The moon shining a bright yellow in the dark sky.

Another mission accomplished.

It was a simple takedown mission, one he chose to do alone to blow off some steam. Targets are all eliminated. Data already retrieved. Nothing left in the building but him and the ghosts he just made.

He close his eyes, listening to the dripping of the pipes, when he heard steady footsteps.

His eyes shot open as he whipped out his gun and dashed behind a pillar. Lightly peering behind it as a familiar man stepped out.

He knew Ice, but this was the Iceman.

In a crisp light grey suit, dress shoes, and a blue tie, instead of sweater, jeans, and an apron.

"Quite a mess you've made, Hangman," Iceman's voice rasped out.

Jake decided to stand before the man. He found it amusing that they both had a penchant for wearing suits while doing this job, his was just black.

"Well, you didn't really give me some time to clean it up before ya came," Hangman drawled. "Gotta say, though, impressive outfit, never met this one before."

Iceman rolled his eyes, "Cut the shit, Jake, just because we currently do different jobs doesn't mean we completely change personalities."

"Yeah, you're still a hard-ass no matter what job you do," Hangman said, switching off his gun's safety. "Whattya doing here, pops?" Hangman asked, internally wincing at the way too familiar address.

"Nothing, just checking in," Iceman said shrugging as he nudged a dead body out of the way to pull a chair out and sit down. "So, how are you, Jacob?"

Jake blinked, once, twice, "That's all you have to say? We haven't seen each other since you left for you trip, you come here in mob-boss style clothes, and that's--"

"Well, I was also going to ask if you still want to learn how to make bialys, I did say we would make it once I came back," Ice shrugged.

Jake paused.

Well, he was hungry.

"That's it? No motive? You come here, and that's it-?" Jake asked bewildered.

"Well, I was here to take down this group as well, but you seem to have it handled," Ice said before meeting Jake's eyes with an intense stare. "You came into my shop and worked hard with no ulterior motive, what happened with the armed group was not your fault. You are always welcome there, son."

Jake let his gun hang limply to the side.

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"Because I won't hide the truth from now on, I don't need too. Hangman doesn't have to be part of Top Gun, Jake, but you? You're always welcome to the cafe. They won't admit it, but the team misses you." Ice said, groaning as he stood up.

"But you decided to talk to me, not them, don't bullshit me, Ice, you knew I was going to be here," Jake's face broke out into a shit-eating grin, "You do miss me."

Ice snorted as he walked towards the younger man, "Yeah, I did, kid, now come on, the dough won't rise by themselves." Ice said slinging an arm around the boy and pulled him in to a side hug.

Jake relaxed in the older man's hold, letting his head rest under the man's chin.

Maybe he hasn't lost everything after all.

"Although, we have to get those cuts, treated, son, you were sloppy today, and I do not want blood on my dough," Ice said thumbing away some blood off his cheek.

Jake shrugged, "Was a bit distracted."

Ice hummed, "Let's get Mav to make us some coffee before we start then," Ice said leading the boy outside.

#fanfic #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin #pete maverick mitchell #top gun fandom #top gun #mavdad #tom iceman kazansky #bradley rooster bradshaw #ice pops #dadmiral #mavdad is the best dad #javy coyote machado #natasha phoenix trace #bradley bradshaw #bob floyd #idontknowwhatiwroteijustwantedto

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dxckgrxsonx · 3 years ago

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MasterList

18+ only = *

One Shots

Your Love is a Riptide -

He’s always been clever, smart mouth and an even smarter mind. That quick, blinding spark inside his chest making everything dim in comparison. He’s almost electric, a raw flash of lightning in your hands. All blue and bright and powerful.

Asks/Drabbles -

Being a brat w/Dick Grayson *

Thoughts of Dick in an all black suit *

Elaboration on NSFW text post *

Verbally teasing Dick Grayson *

(F) Receiving Oral w/Dick Grayson *

Choking w/Dick Grayson*

One Shots

We are Horrible *- (Arkham Knight X RedRoom!Reader)

You’ve heard the stories from those who laid witness to his calculated rage, you don’t ever want to be on the receiving end of that endless wrath.

There’s something uneasy kicking awake in your stomach.

The Arkham Knight is downright terrifying.

Half My Soul *- (Jason Todd X Reader)

His eyes are greedy and he takes you in with measured appreciation, blood thrumming hot through his veins.

You’re in your underwear, wearing one of his worn shirts–the black one with the hole in the side.

With a pair of his holsters strapped around your bare thighs.

Distracted *- (Jason Todd X Reader)

Nimble fingers hook into the elastic waistband of his grey sweatpants and Jason quickly stops playing with your hair.

“What are you up to, baby?” He asks, there’s an accusatory note lacing his words and you fight to keep the self satisfied smirk from your face, even though you know he can’t see it.

“Shh, go back to reading your book, Jay.” You answer, voice thick, heated. “I jus’ want to take care of you, that’s all.”

Tell me a Secret - (Jason Todd X Reader)

Your body sways to the left, unbalanced, landing somewhere between drunk and weightless. Gravity doesn’t apply and if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine you’re floating, spiralling too close to the sun.

If you reach out, you’ll burn the prints right from your fingers.

“Tell me a secret.” Jason breathes, warm fingers sliding from the inside of your wrist to your elbow. His touch almost burns, makes your skin prickle in the same way it does when there’s a storm outside, when the lightning strikes above your head and rains down nothing but static. “Something no one else knows.”

I’ll Prove It *- (Jason Todd X Reader)

It feels disloyal, maybe even dirty that you want to ask, want to put the words out into the judgemental face of the world. Part of you is prepared to weld your mouth shut, prepared to twist the question into something less revealing, less shameful.

But you need to know.

If you don’t ask now, you worry that you’ll never gain the courage to do it again.

“Jay.” You say, and try to ignore the heat rushing up your neck. “Would you enjoy giving your partner oral?”

Asks/Drabbles -

Cockwarming with AK!Jason *

Breeding Kink w/Jason Todd *

Friends with Benefits w/Jason Todd thoughts *

Thigh Riding w/Jason Todd *

On-Going -

Quiet Realisations (Jason Todd X Reader // Friends to Lovers)

Not for the first time you wish he knew, wish you could open your mouth and let the truth come out. Doesn’t he know? You want to cry. Doesn’t he know that this thing in your chest is forever? That it’s eternal?

That it’s his?

Part One Part Two

On-Going -

Dickpic!Jason x Reader * (Jason Todd X Reader // Idiot Best Friends to Lovers)

Sent an unsolicited dick pic from a man you went on a date with a few days ago, Jason Todd takes it upon himself to send one back. Unknowingly kickstarting the realisation that even though he’s your best friend, you can’t stop thinking about how big he is and how much your feelings have progressed since you first met.

Series MasterList

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x reader smut #dick grayson smut drabble #dick grayson smut #nightwing x reader #nightwing x reader smut #nightwing smut drabble #nightwing smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd smut drabble #jason todd smut #red hood x reader #red hood x reader smut #red hood smut drabble #red hood smut #dxckgrxsonx masterlist #ella writes

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too-gay-for-marvel · 3 years ago

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love lingers on the sea pt.4

a/n: i’m not dead! the next chapter will still be slow to post, but i’m getting just a teensy bit more time to write during my days so hopefully it won’t take too long!

Word Count: 3,270

Warnings: smut (vaginal fingering, oral sex), language

Pairing: Natasha x Reader

(that’s us)

(pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5)

Something about the day was giving Natasha a bad vibe. She didn’t know if it was just the fact that Yelena had been on a mission for a few months or if it was something else, but it was making her anxious. On top of that, nothing seemed to be easing that anxiety; not working out, not going over files, nothing.

Maybe if she just went to her room and tried to rest. Fury told her more often than not that she needed to take a day to herself to relax. Did she agree? No, but she would at least attempt to listen to him. It was the least she could do for him, right?

She was on her way to the elevator when she passed by the man himself.

“Belova is back,” Fury said simply, hands behind his back as usual.

“Up at the landing?” Natasha asked.

“I’m heading there now, wanna join me?” He asked, finally turning to look at her with a shit-eating grin.

“Lead the way,” Natasha said with her own smile.

They both stepped into the elevator, and Natasha already felt better. Maybe I was just missing Yelena, she thought to herself as the elevator raced up to the landing pad. She just needed to see Yelena, make sure she was safe, and then she could go about her day again.

The elevator door opened, and though Natasha tried not to rush out, she was eager to see Yelena. She would never admit it out loud for fear of giving Yelena a big head, but she loved her and didn’t like her going on missions alone. It was the big sister in her, what could she say.

A whistle echoed through the air, high pitched and then low. Yelena, Natasha thought. She returned the call, eyes peeled for that damn vest. As soon as it flashed in her vision, Natasha was moving forward with arms open, her heart at ease when Yelena crashed into her.

“Successful?” Natasha asked.

“Extremely,” Yelena nodded, pulling back and turning her head. “My partner was a big help.”

“Partner?” Natasha asked. “I thought it was a solo-”

“-Over here!” Yelena called out in the direction of the quinjet.

Three sets of eyes locked onto the quinjet as you walked off the ramp, a duffel bag slung over your shoulder and weapon holstered on your thigh. Lacerations covered your face and you had a slight limp, but Natasha couldn’t take her eyes off of you nonetheless.

“Need something?” You asked when you got closer, your voice sending a shiver down Natasha’s spine.

A tantalising voice with eyes to match, eyes that made Natasha think of a slow, warm day on the beach with a drink in one hand and a good book in the other. Those eyes that were framed by hair that was reminiscent of Thor’s, though a different colour entirely. While Natasha knew it wasn’t green, it gave her a sense of… seaweed?

“I wanted you to meet my sister,” Yelena said with a proud grin. Kiss ass.

“Natasha, right?” You asked with an outstretched hand and a smile that made Natasha’s knees weak. “Yelena has told me a lot about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” Natasha said cordially as she shook your hand in return. It was… slimy? “Unfortunately I can’t say the same.”

“It’s alright,” you continued. “I’m Y/N.”

“Debrief is in the morning,” Fury said. You looked at him, but Natasha was still looking at you. “I think you both deserve a hot shower and a soft bed.”

“You’re a real one,” you said with a smile; your canines were far longer than a normal human’s, but the sight put Natasha slightly at ease. Curious.

"Don’t forget we’re hanging out tonight!” Yelena called as you started to walk off.

You didn’t answer, instead just throwing your hand up in a lazy wave while you continued to head toward the elevator. The bag over your shoulder bounced lightly as you shuffled away, and Natasha tried to ignore the way she was staring at your fingers-

“-You’re coming too,” Yelena’s voice interrupted her thought process.

“To what?” Natasha asked.

“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” Fury said before he too walked away, catching the elevator right before you shut the doors.

“The hang out tonight,” Yelena continued. Natasha followed her to the supply room while they talked.

“I’m not going to interrupt your date,” Natasha teased as she leaned against one of the tables.

“It’s not a date,” Yelena huffed before slamming her own bag on the opposite table. “It’s just hanging out.”

“You sure?” Natasha continued with a smile. “I saw you staring.”

“We’re just friends,” Yelena said again, holding her gun for emphasis. “If it was a date, I wouldn’t have invited you.”

“You would have if you didn’t want me to know it was a date,” Natasha shrugged even though her lingering smile gave her away.

“You’re such a pain,” Yelena groaned as she rolled her eyes. “Just come to my room around 7 if you’re going to join.”

“We’ll see,” Natasha said. She pushed herself away from the table and started walking out of the supply room. “I’d hate to cockblock your date.”

She managed to close the door behind her right as Yelena threw the knife, and she chuckled to herself before starting the trip down to her room.

———

Natasha could already hear the pandemonium before she opened Yelena’s door. The deep thud of a bass, the laughter, the clink of glass against glass. She stepped inside and realised she was right; you and Yelena were throwing a shot back while a music station blared through the TV.

“You made it!” Yelena screamed out before running to the door and slamming into Natasha with a bone-crushing hug.

“Don’t make me regret it,” Natasha groaned, but Yelena let go anyway.

“Just grab a drink and try to relax,” Yelena huffed, but there was a tone behind her voice that made the corner of Natasha’s mouth twitch.

Nonetheless, Natasha did as demanded, and the three of you quickly downed some shots and got to the party that Yelena had so clearly wanted. Shots, a few rounds of beer pong, more shots, Yelena challenging her to a knife throwing contest with you as the target.

“Don’t hit me where it hurts,” you said as you willingly stood against the wall, ridiculously long arms outstretched and a lazy grin on your face.

“It’s not like you have anything to cut off,” Yelena shot back before throwing the first knife, hitting the spot right in between your thighs.

“That’s just rude,” you challenged, but Yelena faked a laugh and stepped aside for Natasha’s turn. “Same rules apply, Romanoff.”

“Have a reputation to keep?” Natasha asked, quickly throwing the knife until it stuck within an inch of your eye. You didn’t even flinch.

“A very important one,” you replied back.

This went on for far too long, with the knives sticking into the wall increasingly close to your skin. As soon as one of the blades knicked one of your fingers, and Yelena quickly called it quits (while blaming Natasha for the incident, even though it hadn’t even been her throw). Only after Yelena put an Avengers bandaid on your finger did you all sit down on the couch.

And Yelena quickly proceeded to fall asleep in your lap.

“I rarely see her this comfortable,” Natasha said, not even caring to stay quiet. She knew Yelena wouldn’t wake up. “You should feel honoured.”

“I’d feel more honoured if my leg wasn’t falling asleep,” you said as you tried to shift but still did your best not to wake Yelena.

“Be glad,” Natasha took another sip of her beer, “she’s a menace when she’s not comfortable.”

“And she’s not a menace now?” You asked, your eyes now glued to Natasha’s face.

And those eyes.

Oh no.

“She’s been worse,” Natasha said softly.

The two of you got started on telling stories about Yelena, about all the dangerous and reckless things she had done in the past. You had quite a few that Natasha hadn’t heard before, and she wondered just how long you had known her little sister. And what kind of relationship the two of you had.

“You two seem to have a lot of stories,” Natasha said after yet another unheard tale.

“Basically two peas in a pod,” you said with a cheeky grin.

“How long have you two,” Natasha trailed off.

“Have we what?” You asked.

“You know,” Natasha shrugged. “Been together.”

“You don’t strike me as someone to get jealous,” you shot back.

“It’s a simple question,” she defended, but the smile on your lips told her the truth.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, my dear,” you said softly with a predatory smile that sent a chill down Natasha’s spine. “But we’re not together.”

Natasha thought the weight in her chest would go away at your words, but it didn’t. No, it just sunk lower until she was shifting in her seat. Why would that make her feel this kind of way? What about that piece of information gave her that feeling that both excited and shamed her?

Because you won’t hurt Yelena.

“Why do you ask?” You asked, your eyes slowly, painfully raking down her body before going back up to her eyes.

“I wanted to check before insinuating anything,” Natasha said with a shrug. She turned her head quickly so she wouldn’t see you undressing her with your eyes.

“Insinuate all you want,” you replied with what sounded to Natasha like a chuckle. “I might even say yes.”

———

Never again, Natasha thought to herself as she dragged her feet off the quinjet. I will never go on another mission ever again.

It wasn’t that the mission had gone terribly wrong; it hadn’t. They had completed it successfully and Tony had even managed to come home unscathed this time. But the amount of incessant talking and endless rain and Tony. She loved him, of course, but she had spent too much time with him.

She needed a break. A long break. A stress-erasing break.

Stress erasing…

“I’ll debrief,” Tony said as he patted Natasha on the back. “You look like you need a drink.”

“I could use two,” Natasha answered with a smile before making her way to the elevator, leaving Tony to fill Fury in on the mission.

The elevator slid to a stop on the common room floor, and before Natasha could tell the person to wait for the next one, you stepped in. You folded your hands neatly behind your back and stood in silence. Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha noticed the way something behind your ear moved with each breath.

“Long trip?” You asked, eyes glued to the floor number.

“Very,” Natasha answered. She did her best to keep from eying the things behind your ears, but she couldn’t help it; they were mesmerising.

“You look like you should get some sleep,” you continued. The elevator continued to go down.

Will it work?

“I’d much rather have a distraction,” Natasha said. Her eyes flitted to your face, hope rising and falling in her chest when your face stayed stoic.

“A distraction, huh?” You mused to yourself. “Sounds like fun.”

You didn’t look at her, never even turned to face her, but your hand stretched forward to hold the button for the floor you had pressed. The light behind your floor quickly vanished and the only stop left was Natasha’s floor. The floor that she had all to herself. The floor that no one else could get onto without her permission.

The floor that you were now going to with her.

As the numbers ticked faster, so did Natasha’s pulse. You stood with your hands behind your back, feet shoulder width apart, and eyes glued to the flashing numbers. But Natasha knew something had to be going on in that head of yours. After all, you were going to her floor with her after she had mentioned needing a distraction.

What were you thinking she meant? Were your thoughts more pure than Natasha had intended? Was your goal to give her a distraction along the lines of just some company, a few hours of fun, a game, a drink? Or were you on the same wavelength as her and knew exactly what she had meant, what she wanted, what she needed?

The elevator slowed until a full stop, and the doors opened to reveal the floor that Natasha called home. She didn’t wait for you to go first, instead she just stepped out and walked forward until she was standing in the living room. Your footsteps echoed silently behind her, muffled thumps that matched her heartbeat.

“Want a drink?” Natasha asked even though her feet were glued to the floor.

“I’m not here for a drink,” you said, and the surprise of your voice so close to her ear sent a shiver down to her toes.

“Then what are you here for?” Natasha asked. The uncertainty in her voice betrayed her.

“Consent to be a distraction,” you murmured, your breath tickling the hair on the back of her neck.

This was it. This was what she had been thinking about since that night of the small party with Yelena. To feel your fingers on her skin, your breath on her neck, your lips on hers. She could tell you yes right now and she could finally get what she had been dreaming of since that night.

There was just one thing she had to make sure of.

“No feelings,” Natasha told you. Your breath hit the back of her neck in a quick puff. “No sweet talking.”

“No feelings,” you repeated, humour in your voice. “And no sweet talking.”

“Then you have consent,” Natasha said softly, a sigh escaping her lips as your hand brushed the hair away from her ear.

“You make it sound like a business transaction,” you chuckled before she felt your lips on the back of her neck.

In contrast to your slick and slimy skin, your lips were dry and chapped. They scraped against her the skin of her neck so slightly that it almost tickled. But then she felt your tongue soothe the skin you had just kissed, and it was no longer a laugh that was stuck in the back of her throat. But you were moving too fucking slow-

“-You seem impatient,” you mumbled against her skin. She could practically feel the smile on your lips.

“Stop talking,” Natasha huffed, “and just fuck me.”

The air in the room shifted instantly; where there had been a nervous static, now it was so thick that Natasha felt suffocated. But then she felt you grab her wrist and spin her around and she felt dizzy at the speed of which you pushed her onto the couch.

“You’re so demanding,” you said with a tilt of your head, but Natasha didn’t have time to argue with you.

No, she was mesmerised by the way you sunk to your knees and got to work unbuckling the holsters on her thighs. There was a power behind your fingers that she should have expected, but it didn’t make her any less turned on when they pressed into her skin under the straps. Then the way those slim, slick fingers slid down her legs as you pulled her pants off? It was enough to make her moan.

She didn’t know where you tossed her pants, but she didn’t care. Hell, she didn’t even pay attention because her eyes were now glued to your hands on her inner thighs, pulling her legs apart in a way that would make anyone squirm. Her skin felt cold after you stopped touching her, almost like a breeze when you step out of the ocean.

You moved forward until she could feel your breath on her bare skin, warm puffs of air that brought goosebumps to her arms and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. But you didn’t move forward, you didn’t ravage her the way she wanted you to. You just stayed still and looked up at her, one finger tapping incessantly on her hip bone.

“Yes,” Natasha whispered. “Please.”

A glint flashed in your eyes for only a second before you leaned forward so quickly that Natasha didn’t even have time to prepare herself before your tongue swiped against her clit. Her hips bucked instinctively and she inhaled harshly in frustration. Warm air hit her skin as you chuckled quietly before licking again as you held her hips down.

Her hands flew to your head when your lips wrapped around her clit, and ungodly moans fell from her lips. You continued at an inhuman pace when you removed one hand from her hip. She didn’t even have time to beg you for it before your finger slid into her so easily that her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

Once you slipped a second finger in without breaking your rhythm, she was done for.

“Harder,” Natasha gasped out.

“Bossy,” you said, but did as she begged anyway.

Natasha saw stars behind her eyelids as you went harder, tears starting to well up in the corners of her eyes. Your fingers were so long and slim and wet and it was perfect. Your cold tongue on her clit, your fingers filling her up, your other hand pressing down on her lower abdomen and-

-she came without warning, moans and curses falling from the lips she had worn down with her teeth. The tears in her eyes finally fell, leaving wet tracks down her cheeks. Yet you didn’t stop; you didn’t let up, didn’t give her a break, just kept going. She let out a desperate sob as you forced another orgasm out of her, her whole body shaking as you restrained her hips.

“You did need a distraction,” you teased after Natasha’s breath had evened out ever so slightly.

“Shut up,” Natasha said through clenched teeth. Your fingers were still buried deep inside of her and the longer they stayed there, the more her arousal grew.

“I’m just saying,” you shot back.

“I didn’t think there would be this much talk afterward,” Natasha said, ignoring your train of thought.

“Want a quiet fuck next time?” You asked.

“That would be preferable,” Natasha said with a nod. “You’re killing the high.”

“Oh am I?” You asked. No, Natasha thought, please keep talking.

“Yes,” Natasha answered. “And I think you should leave.”

You let out a huff but then started to slide your fingers out of her. She gasped when they were out and she suddenly felt horribly empty. Her eyes pried themselves open in time to see you lick your fingers clean before walking over to a spot on the floor. You tossed her pants back at her, and her orgasm-dazed mind didn’t react before they landed unceremoniously in her lap.

“Let me know when you need another distraction,” you shouted to her as you stepped into the elevator. “I’ll come better prepared.”

That lazy, fang-filled smile of yours and a wink was the last thing Natasha saw of you before the elevator doors closed and she was left to sit in a pool of her own arousal. She let out a deep, dejected sigh as her body finally started to relax. One of her hands brushed against her hip and she lifted her hand quickly at the feel of something wet and-

-is that slime?

“That’s so gross,” Natasha grumbled as her head fell back against the couch.

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #marvel

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ikeromantic · 3 years ago

Note

Hiiii!! Congratulations with your milestoneee ^^

Im actually fairly new heree but if it’s alrightt, I’d like to request

Fenrir Godspeed with Time + Willow + Euterpe

That’s all thank youu!! ^^

Awww well, welcome to my ikemen blog ^_^ And thank you for the request! I love Fenrir. His route was so sweet! Approx. 570 word on themes of Time, Willow - safety, and Euterpe - bringer of delight.

Fenrir circled around the back of the building while Seth and his team went to the front. He glanced over his shoulder and gave his partner a wide smile. “We gotta be ready. You feelin’ ok, Alice?”

She grinned and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I’m good to go. Do you really think those bandits will come this way?”

“If Seth doesn’t get to them fast enough, they will. And they might have magic crystals.”

“Well, if they do, it’s not going to help them much.” She gave him a thumbs up.

Fenrir laughed. “That’s what I like to hear. Kiss for luck?”

Alice tilted her head to be kissed and nearly squealed as he lifted her off her feet to give her a proper kiss. Deep and sweet. When he set her down she gave him a wide smile. “I’m feeling pretty lucky now.”

He winked. “Just wait til we get back to headquarters. I’ll show ya how lucky you are.”

The two of them settled down to wait, Fenrir with his revolvers out, and Alice further back, watching the doors through a set of magically enhanced spectacles. It didn’t take long for the back door to slam open.

Two figures ran out a heartbeat later. One clutched a sword and the other gripped a magic crystal.

Fenrir pointed his revolvers at them. “You guys better stop right now. Keep moving and I’ll get to try out my new bullets on you.”

The one with the sword laughed. “It’s just one guy. Hit him and let’s go.”

“On it.” The one with the crystal pointed toward Fenrir.

Alice saw the flare of wan blue light arc toward her love. “Nope,” she grinned, her smile feral and her eyes bright. The spell hissed against her shield, sputtering harmlessly into nothing.

“Pffft. Do you even know how to use that thing,” the one with the sword asked his friend. “I’m going to have to do this myself.” They lunged toward Fenrir.

“Yes! I was hoping you’d give me a chance to try these babies out.” Fenrir laughed and shot the two figures. The bullets flashed as they hit the bandits, flaring red on impact.

Both of them fell down, writhing on the ground and howling with laughter.

“What did you do?” Alice moved forward cautiously.

“Eh, Oliver said these were laugh attack shots but honestly, they look a lot like the last batch of giggle-fits.” Fenrir holstered his guns. “Seems to work pretty well though, eh?”

“Yep.” Alice grinned.

Seth’s soldiers came out a moment later to round up the last bandits and carry them off to jail.

“Great job, partner. I knew you had my back.” Fenrir pulled Alice into a hug.

“I wasn’t gonna let some bandit light my boyfriend on fire.” She grinned mischeviously. “I’m the only one that can do that.”

“Whaddya mean?”

She put her arms around his shoulders and held on as she wrapped her legs around his hips, first one and then the other.

Bemused, Fenrir supported her. “So this -”

Alice kissed him fiercely, passionate and playful. When she finally pulled back for a breath, he wore a slightly stunned expression. “Feeling a little hot now,” she asked.

“Heh. Like a bonfire.” He started to walk, still carrying her.

“Fen, where are we going?”

He grinned and squeezed her tighter. “To the inn. Turns out we don’t have time to get back to headquarters.”

#ikemen revolution #ikerev fenrir #fenrir godspeed #ace of spades #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #fluff

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waatermelon-sugaar · 4 years ago

Text

Bliss

Pairing = FO! Poe x reader

Words = 6k (don’t look at me)

Summary = You watch your husband throw a knife, sparking 18+ thots

Warnings = SMUT (18+ only!) KNIFE PLAY, reader masturbation, fingering (f receiving), violence, like one non-graphic sentence of imaginary blood, but no actual blood (PLEASE message me if you wanna know more before reading and I’ll answer any questions you might have :) )

A/N 1 = This is basically pure smut and I’m sorry, it’s all from that training video

A/N 2 = You and Poe are married in the fic, and love each other. There is also discussion of the scene involving the knife. In real life, this discussion should be much longer, and less one-sided, going through details with much more depth. If you ever try knife play in real life, please never use the knife during actual sex in case of injury. You should also always have a first aid kit, and certain places of the body (the neck, inner wrists, groin area) should never come into contact with a sharp knife because of the high risk of lethal injury. In this fic they do it because it’s fiction. Please always do your research and make sure your partner does too, make sure you keep communicating and also that you trust the person you’re with.

If you have any questions about the content of this fic before you read, send me a message, if you have questions about knife play, send me a message, I’ll be more than happy to talk about it!! (Actually I’ll talk about anything to anyone if you ever want to chat! ☺️)

Also PLEASE let me know if I missed any warnings!!

Posted to AO3

Masterlist

***

“What do you think … Captain?”

You pause for effect before pulling out Poe’s rank. It’s a little too tough and impersonal for your tastes, usually preferring the purr, the rough and ready of ‘Sir’, but you know that Poe enjoys the rare occasion when you do use it, and if it means you get what you want, you’ll call him every name under the sun. Your husband’s brown eyes darken as you pout, giving him your best puppy dog eyes.

You’re sat on his desk, far enough back that you can swing your legs a little, hands tucked under your thighs, while Poe relaxes in his seat, looking like work, all sharp angles and dark looks. He trimmed his beard in the refresher this morning, emphasising his jaw, and that perfect, pink mouth. You can’t wait to get him home so he can relax properly. He works far too hard for a thankless job in your opinion.

Anyway, in your defense, it was Poe who planted the seed of the idea in your head in the first place.

You knew Poe was proficient at fighting, and weaponry, and that his skill in a TIE fighter was unparalleled in the First Order, but you’d thought that his particular area of expertise was constrained to blasters and other long-distance weapons.

Not knives.

You were supposed to be the best at knives. After all, Poe had recruited you to work for the First Order after watching you take down some disrespectful asshole who had been twice your size in close quarters, a small hidden knife strapped in your boot being the deciding factor in your victory. All over a dispute of cheating.

It was a shame, really.

All that loss of life … for nothing. All that chaos, just breeding more chaos, and who was the real winner?

Poe had shown you how nice it felt to bring order. He’d shown you how nice a lot of things felt.

So you’d just assumed that Poe wasn’t as good with knives, and therefore wasn’t as disposed to use them. You’d never asked, merely enjoying the way his eyes lingered on you when you practiced your skills in training, and really enjoying the sex afterwards. And even after a year of marriage, it had never come up.

But last week, you and Poe had been among a larger group of officers fighting your way out of a Resistance base after blowing their central intelligence systems. You’d shot once, twice and then a third time at a particularly stubborn oncoming Rebel, finally hitting them in the stomach, causing them to double over in pain.

Stars, your new job had made you rusty. You’d have to practice using your blaster more.

You’d stood over the rebel to deliver a final shot to their face, taking them out of their misery and turned just in time to see Poe throwing his blaster to one side, smoke issuing from it, and pulling a small knife from a holster on his thigh. Your mouth dry, you’d continued to watch as, almost in slow motion, Poe had thrown the knife with deadly accuracy, the small silver flash burying itself into the Rebel’s exposed neck.

Fuck that was hot.

Why was that so hot?

The rebel had stood there with an expression of surprise, cocky bastard, blood already dribbling, a bright red stream running down their throat, but you just had eyes for Poe. You’d ignored the way the Rebel’s body slumped to the ground with a heavy finality, and moved forwards, suddenly desperate to feel Poe’s lips on yours.

Damn the Resistance, and damn the rebels.

You would kiss your husband, and you would kiss him right now.

Poe had turned, his eyes automatically sweeping for you, surprise in his eyes at first at how close you already were, but he’d allowed you to push him into the dusty wall, one of your hands looking for his and twinning your fingers together.

Your deadly hands, spun together for eternity.

Your other hand is automatically reaching for Poe’s neck, fingers grasping at his hair, pulling his lips towards yours. You can smell his sweat, the familiar scent pooling under his cologne, filling you with a sense of safety, even amongst the very-real danger the two of you are currently facing. His free hand is already gripping your hip, pulling your body towards him as if you weren’t as close as you could possibly be.

It’s moments like these that you think the two of you are made for each other. You couldn’t imagine needing to kiss anyone else in the middle of a mission, couldn’t imagine anyone else letting you do such a thing, couldn’t imagine anyone else wanting you the way Poe wants you. The way you want - no, need - him.

The way he needs you.

Even though your eyes are closed, you can still see how Poe’s fingers moved, causing the knife to fly out of his hands, even as they grip your hips, one of his legs pushing nicely between yours, canting upwards slightly towards the ache you’re already feeling.

The movement is replaying over and over again behind your eyelids, and you never want to forget it.

Poe’s mouth slots perfectly over yours, and he gasps into you when you pull on his hair slightly. He’d had it cut recently, and it’s still a touch too short for your liking, unable to properly tug unless you hold the curls on top of his head.

You take the opportunity to taste him, dipping your tongue into his mouth, and he lets you, lets you bite his tongue, as his beard tickles your skin, scratching deliciously. And then you bite his lip as you pull away, and he groans deep, hitting your body lower, warming you up.

But you don’t let yourself move against his thigh. Not now. Not yet. Not even as you move your mouth to his throat, where his salt and pepper beard gives way to tan skin, kissing him desperately. You don’t stop, even as your hands untangle, and Poe reaches for your holster, raising your blaster and letting off a shot in your ear. You keep kissing him, following the line of his beard up to his ear, nipping lightly at his lobe, ignoring the sounds of a body falling behind you.

And now he’s plastering kisses to your skin, wherever he can get his mouth, on your forehead, down your cheek, along your arm, only separating from you as he delicately kisses each of your fingers. There’s further swooping low in your belly as you look at him, kiss swollen lips, hooded eyelids, dark eyes.

And then your gaze is broken, other members of the First Order catching up to you, whooping and hollering in success. Their shouts are enough to make Poe reach for your hand again, holding it as he pulls the two of you back to his TIE fighter, back to safety and freedom.

But the image of Poe throwing a knife didn’t leave you, even after the mission, taking up most of your brain during the debrief, and even popping into your mind later that evening, before Poe joined you in bed, where you found your hands trailing fire over your body, pinching your nipples, as you imagine Poe pressing a cold knife into and around the flesh of your breasts.

You’re naked, and the room is cool, goosebumps prickling along your flesh despite that familiar heat spreading through your veins, slowly burning you up from the inside. You can feel sweat gathering despite the chill, along your hairline, your upper arms, your stomach.

Once you’d started you couldn’t stop, pressing your thighs together as you worked yourself up, fingers teasing your skin as you imagined Poe walking in, still in his uniform. He’d stop at the end of the bed and just watch you.

And then he’d lean over you, still watching you with those dark eyes, and take out that knife, just tracing it up your leg, gently pressing it into the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to your pussy, and you pause, with your head tipped back on your pillow, mouth open, eyes closed, imagining the feeling.

Letting out a small whimper, you’d lowered your hand, dipping your fingers between your folds, and delicately traced around your clit, spreading the wetness that had gathered throughout the day around.

You’d settled into your familiar rhythm, slowly building the speed and pressure of your fingers on your clit, letting out little gasps when you hit the spot just right. And then your fantasy Poe opened his mouth, and you imagined him playing carelessly with the knife. “Put a finger inside yourself.”

You remember letting out a noise of agreement, not quite a word, inching your fingers further down, when your imaginary Poe clarified. “Just one, baby.”

You’d immediately lifted your head in protest, even though he wasn’t actually there, and you could have done what you had wanted to, but you’d obeyed. It’s part of the fun. You’d slid your middle finger in with little resistance, and closed your eyes in pleasure, your head falling back to your pillow.

You’d bitten your lip, muffled any quiet sounds that escaped you, imagining again and again and again how Poe would look holding that knife, ready to use it on you, carve the cold metal into your skin, not hard enough to hurt you, but enough that you can feel cool trails over hot skin.

Your single finger was slowly pumping in and out of you, and you were so wet you could hear it in the silence of your bedroom, your small gasps gradually increasing in volume. When you thought you couldn’t bear it anymore, you’d imagined Poe telling you to “Insert another one baby.”

So you had, letting out a small moan as a second finger joined the first, and gasped out Poe’s name. It was easier than when Poe did it, your fingers being smaller than his, but you could still feel a slight stretch.

You’d kept moving your fingers, gradually circled faster, ground your hips down so your clit caught on your palm, curved your fingers inside yourself. Your breaths were coming faster now, shuddering through your chest as you imagined Poe trailing the ice-cold knife up your legs, getting closer and closer to the juncture of your thighs.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, you imagined locking eyes with Poe, and he opened his mouth. “Cum for me, baby.” His voice was velvet, soft, but commanding and familiar as your toes started to curl. You couldn’t hear the noises coming from your mouth anymore, only dimly aware that you were moaning, the sound drowning out the squelch between your legs.

Your orgasm was a slow builder, and you remembered the last time Poe brought you to orgasm, how he whispered filthy praises in your ear as his cock dragged slowly in and out of you, coaxing you through it then as his imaginary doppelganger does now, watching you gush and spasm over your fingers, legs shaking in pleasure.

After you’d come, you’d lain there, panting on your bed, sweat cooling your skin. Languidly, you’d raised your fingers, cleaning them off with kitten licks, the tangy taste coating your tongue and wishing Poe would come to bed, he always enjoyed watching you clean up.

Your fantasy confirming just how into the idea of playing with a knife you were, you’d stewed over the idea a little further for a couple of days, imagining how it would actually feel, sure that in real life it would be different. You’d curiously pressed the blunt side of a knife on your inner forearm one day when you were alone in the kitchen, sending furtive glances towards the partially closed door. Technically it was nothing special, technically nothing exciting, not in that way, and it was the blunt side, but it had still sent a delicious shiver through you. You could feel your heart rate increasing as you trailed the cold metal up your arm, biting your lip as heat pooled low in your belly.

You even went so far to press the sharp point into your skin, stopping short of making yourself bleed, but enough you could see a small indentation in your skin. Your little ‘exercise’ cemented the idea further into your brain, the idea of something so dangerous being used in such a vulnerable position was intoxicating.

You’d taken your time, thinking over the idea, and carefully considering. You wanted to be sure of yourself before bringing the idea to Poe. He wouldn’t judge you for changing your mind, but still, it would be a little embarrassing to change your mind. Poe was careful with your boundaries, always checking in when the two of you went a little further than normal, and you knew that this would be no different.

All this had led to you coming to Poe’s office on your break and asking what he thought. He was considering it, as you knew he would, leaning back in his chair. His eyes are raking over you already, but you give him time, even though your palms are sweating and you’re sure your heart rate is through the roof.

It’s only when he moves, fingers twitching in their grasp of the chair that you react, leaning forwards, your feet swinging slightly at the motion.

“Ok,” he nods, and before you can fling yourself at him, he holds a hand up. “But. We have to establish some rules, like what kind of knife are we going to use?”

You nod, already pulling up the bag that had been resting on the floor, slumped over and forgotten in your excitement. You rummage around for a second, trying to find-

“Here!” You hold the knife out for Poe to take, grinning at the amusement in his eyes. “It’s blunt on both sides, you’d have to apply some pretty serious pressure if you wanted to do any damage.”

The knife is - and there’s really no other word for it - pretty, with a black blade, and decorated handle. It’s small, about 15 cm long, but the metal is heavy, and one that will stay cold for a long time. It had raised a few eyebrows when you’d asked for a pretty knife with two blunt edges, but you were a Dameron, and had some sway of your own. If you told those lower than you to obtain a specific knife discreetly and with no questions asked, so it happened.

Poe takes his time examining it, admiring it from all angles, shooting you another look, this time filled with pride.

“I did my research.” You flip your hair as if it was nothing, omitting how expensive the final bill had been, and how you’d charged it to your work account.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, still looking the knife over. Then he rests it in his lap, so he can roll up one of his sleeves, talking all the while. “Now tell me what you want me to do to you.”

So you do, explaining you’d quite like to be blindfolded but not restrained, to keep your colour system as the safeword, all while Poe is pressing the blade at different angles into his forearm, testing out different pressures.

When you pause, watching him, Poe glances up at you. “Go on.” Is all he says, and you nod, swallowing.

“I’d quite like it if you pulled the knife along my legs.” Your voice is quiet, but sure. “And maybe the same with my arms.” You pause, feeling nerves rising inside you and reminding yourself that this is your husband.

“I think… pressing the blade around my breasts would be sexy.” Poe pauses as he presses the flat edge of the blade into his forearm. “Just tracing around,” you continue, slightly braver now you have piqued Poe’s interest. “Maybe you could hold it against my throat? I don’t… I don’t know when, exactly, but I think it would be hot.”

You take a second, breathing deeper and you raise your chin to meet Poe’s gaze, feeling more confident as you continue. “Maybe you could hold it against my throat when you fuck me.” Poe’s gaze is fire, burning through you as he loosely holds your knife in his hands. “Maybe you could blindfold me and tell me that you wish the knife had a sharp end so you could carve your initials into my skin, showing that I belong to you.”

“And,” you start to move now, hopping off the desk so you can straddle Poe, easily plucking the knife from his hand, and looking down at it. “Maybe one day I can use it on you, and I can tell you how much I want to carve my initials into your skin.”

“Because we belong to each other,” Poe murmurs, his voice low. You nod in agreement, mouthing at his pulse point, and trailing sloppy kisses above the cut of his uniform. “I’d love that, sweetness.” His hands are running up and down your sides. “I love you.”

You just hum happily, content to be breathing in Poe’s scent, to feel surrounded by him. You’re interrupted by a knock on the door, and you just sag into Poe, the knife pressing slightly into your stomachs as you nose at his throat, unwilling to face the inevitable departure.

“What is it?” Poe’s voice is once again hard and forceful, impatient with whoever dared to interrupt.

“Sir?” The voice is young and you turn slightly, just enough to spy a young recruit in your peripheral view, not quite brave enough to enter the room, instead choosing to dither in the doorway, holding a number of files. “I’ve got these for you to sign.”

Poe just huffs, not bothering to address the recruit. You know what’s about to happen so you untangle yourself, before leaning over to grab one last kiss from Poe before the evening. It starts off innocently enough, a small peck on your husband’s lips as a goodbye, but then you back for another. This time his mouth is open as it meets yours, and you happily deepen it, despite the awkward angle that you have to hold yourself at. Your earlier conversation has fuelled your desire, revving you up, and the idea of waiting is hellish.

You taste all of Poe, moving one hand to his face, moving to feel the slight scratch of his beard underneath the pads of your fingers. His hand moves to cup your jaw, and you forget about the recruit standing in the doorway until there’s a slightly awkward shuffling in the corner.

So you break away, slowly, unwillingly, Poe’s mouth following even as you stand to your full height. “See you later,” you murmur, leaving your blunt knife in his lap, and pressing one more quick kiss to his cheek.

His hand catches yours as you leave, and he lowers his lips to your knuckles, soft lips juxtaposing with the harsh strands of his beard. “I love you.” They’re commonly said words between you, but they never lose their power, especially not when Poe says them, like you’re a goddess on a pedestal and he’s an unworthy sinner who wants nothing more than to worship at your feet. Said reverently, like it’s a privilege to love you.

The recruit is forgotten again as you look back down at Poe, still unable (or maybe unwilling, you’re not entirely sure) to tear yourself away. This time it’s a small, almost involuntary clearing of the throat that makes you duck down again for a kiss on the other cheek. “I love you too.”

Poe flashes you a quick smile, before all softness leaves his face and he turns to the files the recruit is holding out for him. You admire him for a second by the door, proud of the terror that Poe can instil in those below him so easily.

***

You’re lying on your bed when Poe enters the room. He’s already taken off his shirt in the refresher, exposing his chest, the warm glow of small lamps around the room making his chest look more golden than usual, as though he’d been touched by Midas. The belt holding his trousers up is slung low around his hips, and you can just see where his snail trail mixes into a darker bush, just peeking over the top of the fabric.

You’re wearing some of your favourite lingerie, bra matching your panties, straps criss-crossing your hips, and outlining your breasts. It’s soft against your skin, the satin material outlining your curves, allowing your nipples to poke through the flimsy fabric. Part of the reason that it’s your favourite is because Poe loves it so much.

You’d heard him enter your rooms, so the book in your hands is just for decoration, more concerned with the way you look resting among the pillows, upper body raised artfully against the headboard as you wait for your husband.

It still gives you a rush to call him that, and you idly wonder if it’ll ever fade.

He’s put his holster on, the one he wore on that mission, the strap doing nothing but emphasising his thigh. You recognise the handle peeking out of the shaft, and your mouth goes dry with excitement.

And Poe’s only looked at you, silent as he takes you in. Just his presence can have such an effect on you. When he does speak, his voice is hoarse, and your eyes flick down, admiring the already large bulge in his trousers. “Fuck baby.”

You swallow, your breath already coming faster, you look at Poe like it’s the first time, tracing the outline of his shoulders as if you don’t already know them by heart. He’s wearing his necklace, a familiar sight, the only change being that the ring that used to hang on his breast bone is now on your left hand, but Poe still never takes it off.

You plan on moving to Poe, plan to blow his mind before he can blow yours but before you can he’s already crawling on top of you, holding his weight on his forearms either side of you, dipping his head down to kiss you.

This kiss isn’t like the one in the office, more hungry, more urgent. There’s none of the calmness simmering between the surface, Poe’s let go of his control.

You automatically hook your legs around his waist, already canting your hips upwards as you grind on the seam of Poe’s trousers.

You separate your lips from Poe’s, moving down his throat, kissing, and biting as you go, beard scratching the skin on your face, pleasurable little bites of pain. When you can, you grab hold of his chain between your teeth, tugging on it slightly.

You move your hands up to bury your hands in the neat curls on top of Poe’s head, pulling in tandem with the chain.

And just like that, with a flash of fluid movement, the knife is pressed dangerously against the column of your throat, pushing your head back onto the pillows, forcing you to release the chain. It’s cold, and feels sharp, and Poe’s using it to force your chin back and up, pressing into your skin.

“Are you going to behave?” His voice is a growl.

You just grin at him, ignoring the thrills shooting up your spine, and the way your legs are tingling with excitement.

“Maybe you should use that knife and find out.”

Poe just rolls his eyes in response, fishing into his pocket as he leans back. “Put that on, sweetheart,” he instructs, tossing you a small square of black silk, your blindfold. “And lie back.” You do as you’re told, putting the blindfold on carefully, adjusting it around your hair for comfort, before scooting down the bed and lying back.

You close your eyes behind the blindfold, never enjoying the sensation of seeing darkness, and instead feeling like you’re floating as you wait for Poe to do something.

“Colour?”

Stars you can’t tell where he is.

“Green!” Your voice is embarrassingly desperate but you want to start and what is taking Poe so long? Why isn’t he touching you yet? You can hear him moving around the bed, feel the slight disturbances in the air, but you’re still not entirely sure where he is.

The first thing Poe does is pull at the waistband of your underwear. You lift your hips, helping him pull them off, and then you wait. You can hear Poe breathing, but he doesn’t do anything for a moment and you’re free to let your imagination run.

Has he discarded them, and he’s just watching you? Admiring you? Or is he holding them up to his face, still in awe of how wet you get for him, smelling you, tasting you, without you even knowing? You’re wet, you can feel the heat gathering between your legs, but has it been enough to leak onto your panties?

And then the foot of the bed dips, Poe travelling up to straddle you, coming to a rest on your thighs. He sits there for a moment, not moving, and you keen for him, desperate for him to start doing anything.

You can’t see the look on his face, can only imagine his expression, and it’s driving you wild.

When the knife first touches your skin, it’s a shock, cold thrills shooting up your arm from where the knife is resting lightly on the inside of your wrist. You giggle, releasing some of the tension building in the room, causing Poe to lift the knife from where it’s resting, instead leaning over to bite the skin under your ear, his chest brushing yours. “Concentrate,” he admonishes you, but you can feel him smiling against your skin at you, that softness that comes easy to him when it’s just the two of you.

You arch your back towards him as he stays there, enjoying the feeling of his chest against yours, the way his warmth spreads through you. You can feel his chain trapped between your bodies too, a warm, comforting presence, at such odds to the knife in Po’e hand.

You giggle again, his beard tickling your neck when he drops a kiss, when you feel the knife turn on your skin and curve up your arm. It’s cold, and sharp, and if you didn’t know it was blunt, you’d be worried about the amount of blood running into the bedsheets. The sensation is enough to stop your laughing, and you take in a breath, short and barely audible.

Poe’s sat up now, away from you, and you arch your back towards where he must be, desperate for contact as he travels the knife slowly up your arm and across the front of your shoulder.

You struggle to press your legs together, already attempting to relieve some of the pressure building. Poe doesn’t miss your subtle squirming, kissing the soft underside of your jaw, before talking. “That feel good?”

You nod, whining out a “Yes Poe, it-it feels so good, don’t stop, don’t stop, stars.” Poe adjusts himself, bringing one leg over your thigh so he can fit a knee at the junction of your legs. One of your hands flies down to grab Poe’s thigh, clumsy fingers looking for him before spreading across his warm skin. Your other hand is already fisting into the sheets at your side.

“Poe.”

It’s a whine, high-pitched and a bit pathetic, even as you shift your hips down, feeling the delicious grind of Poe’s uniform catching on your bare pussy, imagining the mess you’re leaving on his uniform not for the first time, feeling oh so good when you angle your hips in a certain way to press your clit. You’re soaked, you can already feel it slightly on your inner thighs and you dimly remember a time when you were embarrassed at how easily Poe aroused you.

He uses the knife to push the straps of your bra down your shoulders, cold and slow and achingly painful, but Poe doesn’t slide them all the way down your arms, even as he allows you to keep grinding your hips down against his leg.

He lowers his mouth to your breasts, mouthing at your nipples through the thin fabric, a wet heat pooling and you mewl in protest, impatient and wanting more. Always more.

More, more, more.

You don’t think you could ever get enough of your husband.

And his beard. The skin on your breasts is soft, sensitive, and you can feel the burn already, even through your bra. Each scratch sends a thrill up your chest, settling in your throat as you let out small noises of enjoyment for your husband.

Poe moves under your breasts, kissing and nipping at your exposed skin, and you move your hands to his head, fumbling a little at first, your knuckles accidentally knocking into the side of his face when you misjudge the distance, until you find his thick curls.

They’re soft under your fingertips, and you tangle your fingers in, tugging every now and then. Poe’s moving at an excruciating pace, and you want more now. Your arms are caught slightly in your bra straps and you impatiently push them down, not liking the restraint.

“Please, Poe.” You struggle to find his head again, before giving him another, harder, tug, and now it’s Poe’s turn to moan against your skin.

“Baby,” He sounds just as broken as you feel, even as he keeps his hands on your shoulder, the knife resting gently against the column of your throat.

Poe peels your now-wet bra from your breasts, undoing the centre clasp and allowing it to fall to the bed at your side. He kisses somewhere on your stomach, moving his free hand down, slipping through your folds easily, and dipping in his fingers, spreading the slick that’s gathered there, and you widen your legs further in an automatic attempt to make it easier for him.

You can’t help it, lifting your hips when he slides in one finger, gasping in pleasure. Poe gives you a second to adjust, before stretching you with a second finger, and you can feel his smirk as he kisses your stomach, crooking his fingers towards your sweet spot a couple of inches inside you, moving slowly as he teases you.

His chain just touches your skin when he kisses you, each movement jostling it a little, and you giggle, pulling at it in a futile attempt to control Poe’s movements.

Warmth is spreading all over your body despite the cool knife, and you can feel droplets of sweat beading, on your face, your neck. You’re sure there’s sweat on your breasts and stomach and legs too, but you don’t care.

Poe moves the knife from your neck, and you’ve lost your concentration, unable to figure out how he’s lying, lost in the sensations of the cold glide of the knife over your sweaty body as you moan, Poe working magic with his fingers. You can feel his weight on top of you and you allow yourself to float further, willingly losing yourself in the sensations.

“Colour?”

Poe’s voice is hoarse, even as he keeps moving his fingers inside you, building you up and up, the knife hesitantly pressed on the underside of your breast.

Your arch your back towards him enthusiastically, gasping out, “Green! Poe, it feels so good!”

The knife starts to circle the flesh of your breasts, pushing in the side of one, before Poe moves it to the other, and you’re sure your nipples are hard. You’re trying to push your body up, Poe making you feel light and airy and like he’ll raise you above such mundane things as lying in a bed.

His fingers are moving in and out of you now, and this is so close to your fantasy from the other day that you come close to your peak embarrassingly fast.

“You really like this, don’t you?” Poe’s purring in your ear, and you tip your head towards him, mouth falling open in response. You do. You do really like this.

The only sound you can make is a strangled moan, and you hope Poe knows what you mean, his fingers speeding up with your confirmation. He keeps talking, as though you’re going to be able to answer, his voice only spurring you on. “I bet you can’t wait to do this to me, my filthy little thing.”

“Do you want my cock? I can’t wait to get you bouncing on my dick again.”

“You’re so wet for me, you’re dripping around my fingers.”

And stars, you are wet, Poe’s fingers sliding in and out with a practiced movement, his thumb flicking at your clit, and you can hear the squelching of Poe’s fingers in your pussy, even as blood starts to roar through your ears.

“Fuck,” you swear, panting, your body hot. “Fuck, Poe. Poe.”

It’s like his name is the only word you can remember, the only word allowed to pass your lips, a prayer, a chant, repeated over and over again as he lifts you higher.

And then the tip of the blade is on your nipple and you’re going to come, you can feel it, your legs tensing even as your hips writhe on the sheets below you, keening for Poe, still desperate for more.

You cum with a breathless gasp of Poe’s name, hips bucking upwards into Poe, your pussy clenching around his fingers which don’t stop moving as he works you through it. He moves to kiss you, noses bumping as he adjusts his position, slowing the movements of his fingers as you continue to spasm helplessly below him.

And this is better, because as you come down from your high, your heart beating like a drum in your chest, you can feel Poe’s chest against yours, his heart beating nearly as fast as yours as your lips move slowly against each other.

Your hands come up, pushing the blindfold onto your forehead, preventing any sweat from dripping into your eyes and you take in the sight before you. You’re unintentionally giving Poe your bedroom eyes, you know, unable to open them fully, still giddy from pleasure. There’s a lazy smile on your lips as you drink Poe in.

His hair has become disheveled from your hands, errant black curls flopping everywhere, including his own forehead, which is gleaming from a thin sheen of sweat. His eyes are dark, that lovely brown colour almost swallowed whole by his pupils and his lips are pinker than usual, swollen.

He’s straddling your thighs, one hand resting on your hip with glistening fingers, the wet catching on your sticky skin while his thumb idly draws patterns into your skin. Poe’s other hand is holding onto the knife, and you let your eyelids dip, unable to keep them open for much longer.

Poe gives you a minute of rest, allowing you to catch your breath, before he moves. You don’t think anything of it, until you feel the knife on the inside of your thigh, scraping up your leg like an old-fashioned razor.

You slowly lift your head, opening lazy eyes and watch as Poe slowly moves the knife up. There’s slick liquid on your legs, proof of your release, proof of how much you enjoyed Poe, how much you enjoyed the knife, now collecting on the edge, white and shiny on the blade.

Your mouth’s dry and you can’t tear your eyes away, you and Poe concentrating on the same spot.

And then, oh maker, Poe closes his eyes, and fuck, he lifts the knife up to his mouth. There’s a flash of white teeth, pearly and sharp, then a swipe of his pink tongue, and your cum is gone, Poe swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Stars, he’s going to kill you.

There’s a drop stuck to his beard, but you can’t move, frozen as arousal courses again through your body.

Your heart is hammering in your chest as though it’s trying to escape. This time it’s your turn to move, pushing Poe down and straddling him, settling into his lap.

This isn’t the end.

***

Taglist: @darthdameron

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments mean the world to me 🥰🥰🥰

#first order poe dameron #FO! poe dameron #FO! poe dameron x reader #fo! poe x reader #knife play

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wheresmybuckyhoes · 4 years ago

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Spiked

Summary: You are forced to go on a mission with Bucky, someone you don’t really get along with. What happens when hydra men get their hands on you?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, blood, violence, drinking, mentions of drugging, references to rape, angst

Well this was longer than I intended. I maaaay write a smutty part 2 if enough people like this, but I hope you firstly just enjoy this little thing I thought of. Love you x

‘You have got to be fucking kidding me’ you groan as you open the suit door to reveal a beautiful room of crimson and black, the intoxicatingly sweet scent of roses wafting through the air. You narrow your eyes, taking in the black marble bathtub, the double shower heads, the ornate fireplace and finally - the source of your anger - the king sized double bed, a bed frame delicately covered in carvings of flowers, dusted in a fading gold.

‘I’m calling Tony’ you seethed, a bratty undertone to your voice as you direct it at the man stood at the doorway, noticing a subtle eye roll adorn his face. The phone rings as you pace around the room, heavy footsteps cushioned by the soft carpet beneath you. Meanwhile Bucky moved to place your bags down on the dresser beneath the window, getting one of the straps caught between the plates on his arm, cursing under his breath as he begins to aggressively pull and twist.

Unsurprisingly, the phone continues to ring until you hear a voice from the other end say ‘Tony Stark is unavailable right now, please leave a message after the bee...’, before angrily pressing the red button on your phone to hang up. ‘Fuck. I am not sharing a bed with you, Barnes. I already hate you enough, no need to make it worse’ you warn him as you toss your phone onto the bed and run your fingers through your hair, a small action which you tend to do when stressed.

‘Obviously not doll’ Bucky breathed as he finally freed the bag from between the plates of his vibranium arm, trying to play it off so you wouldn’t laugh at him. You sighed in relief, a hand on your chest as you turn to look at him.‘Oh thank the gods. I’m sure you’ll be fine on the floor so...’ you started before Bucky held up a hand to shut you up. ‘We won’t be sharing a bed because you’ he explained, poking his metal finger lightly in your chest as he smiled down on you, ‘...will be sleeping on the floor’.

Your mouth fell slightly open, not from surprise though. You knew going on this mission was going to take a lot out of you. You and Bucky were sent on this mission by Tony and Bruce to attend one of those fancy rich people auctions as a fake couple. Your task was to intercept a small branch of hydra trying to sell illegal weapons on the black market. Natasha sniffed them out weeks ago, but she had to go help mother fucking Clint with some shit. I don’t know, or care. It’s Clint. Anyway, Tony promised he would book you a room with 2 separate beds, as you had specifically requested, but looks like the literal billionaire couldn’t even sort that one out.

‘You must be joking’ you snapped back in annoyance, glaring into his crystalline blue eyes which sparkled not so innocently with mischief. ‘Do I look like it?’ he replied, a smirk playing on his annoyingly perfect lips. ‘Do you really think I’m going to sleep on the floor?’ you questioned furiously, gazing upon Bucky with hatred by now. ‘I’d rather you not sleep here at all. That way I wouldn’t even have to look at your face’ he answers carelessly, shooting you a sarcastic smile. You rolled your eyes with an exaggerated flare, glaring at him before shoving past him to grab your bag. ‘Fine. You win this time Bucky. See you at the auction at 9’ you spoke calmly, making sure to bump into him roughly as you made your way over to the door. ‘Wait y/n I didn’t mean...’ you heard his deep voice grumble as you slammed the door as hard as you could. Now, how to get a new room?

——————————(<>)———————————

Pushing the door to your new room open, you were faced with a small single bed, a cramped bathroom and an old desk. It was still quite fancy compared to the hotels you stayed in as a child, but it was nothing compared to the room Bucky had forced you out of. Not really worth flashing that worker in the lobby for, but at least you got the room for free.

It was already 7:50 in the afternoon, and you had little over an hour before you had to be there. You flicked on the lights, and unzipped your bag. You were to wear a silky black dress with a low cut V, a slit down the side to reveal one of your legs and a skirt that fell elegantly to the floor, more than long enough to cover up the knife which will be strapped to your thigh. You spent almost all your time on making your hair and makeup look perfect, giving yourself just under 10 minutes to pull on the dress and a pair of strappy black heels. You lost your shit trying to reach the zipper at the back of the dress, furiously pulling up your thigh holster and sliding in your sharpest knife. You stormed out of the room, racing up the stairs in those heels like a queen to bitch boy’s room. You pounded on it with a clenched fist.

‘Open up’ you yelled through the door. It opened up fast enough, to reveal Bucky standing there in a black suit, in the process of doing up his tie, filling it out perfectly with his bulging muscles, smelling like heaven. Not that he looked good or anything. Definitely not hot. Nope. Bucky sort of stumbled over himself as you brushed past him, gesturing for him to shut the door with your manicured hand. As he spun back around after shutting the door, you caught his eyes trailing over your figure, subtly wide in surprise. ‘Eyes up here boy, I thought you didn’t want to have to look at me’ you whistled, pointing with your fingers. ‘Zip me up. Quickly’ you demanded, turning around.

There was a short pause before you felt Bucky’s warm breath tickle the back of your neck as his cold metal fingers gently brushed against your lower back. He zipped you up carefully, taking your hair in his flesh hand and pulling it gently to the side, sending shivers up and down your spine. God his touch made your skin burn. Before he could say anything else, you reached over to grab his knife, tossing it swiftly so it missed his head by an inch, tip landing firmly in the wooden doorframe. ‘Let’s go’ you motioned with your head, leaving Bucky with his mouth open, eyes burning into your back as he watched you leave, speechless.

You arrived at the auction just in time, showing your passes to the security guards positioned either side of the grand entrance. The knife was digging into your leg, but there was nothing you could currently do about it. You and Bucky swiftly entered, observing and mapping out the area in your heads in case a quick getaway was needed. There was the main stage, with strange looking items laid out across it, including what looked like the stolen tech Nat had described to you. There was the bar, with important looking business men sat beside it ordering drinks and talking about money and sex. There were relatively few women, but those who were present were dressed to the nines. Pearls, diamonds and emeralds sparkled tauntingly from their necks and ears, with dresses that cost more than your entire wardrobe.

You pushed down the tang of jealousy you felt as you thought about how easy these people had it. They can buy anything they want, do anything they want, and be anyone they want. Pulling your thoughts back down to earth, you gently reached out a hand to Bucky’s firm shoulder, pushing slightly so he would lean down to your height. He was pretty fucking tall, after all. ‘I’ll take the bar, that prick gives me hydra vibes. You go do what your good at and be a fuckboy, and try to get something useful out of the ladies. Double tap your earpiece if you’re in danger’ you whispered into his ear, plastering on a fake ass smile to make it seem to anyone watching like you’re just sharing something wonderful with your husband. Being so close to him made you feel all warm and tingly, and it made you slightly nervous. Little did you know, as much as Bucky had an affect on you, he was affected by you just as much if not even more.

You both went in opposite directions. Rubbing your hand up the suspicious looking man’s arm, you turned on your flirty charm and began working. ‘What’s a handsome man like you doing without a girl on your arm’ you drawled, noticing the man gesture quickly with a nod of his head for the man beside him to kindly fuck off. You sat down on the barstool, moving your hand to play with your hair. Men fell for that shit every time. ‘Waiting for someone like you’ the man flirted back, leaning in slightly making you want to cringe. ‘Oh please, I bet every women in here has gone up to you already, Mr...’ you trailed off, trying the most basic trick to getting a name. ‘Please darling, call me Eric’ he replied quickly, eagerly. ‘Let me buy you a drink. A body like yours should be treated with the upmost respect’ he spoke, as more off a demand than a question. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat at the mention of your body, internally screaming at how little respect he seemed to have for women.

As the man turned to the bartender, you quickly spun your head around to try and look for Bucky. Mother fucker had 3 girls all over him. What do you care though, your not actually married and he can do whatever he wants. If the bitch boy wants to fuck them, who cares? Not you, that’s for sure. You keep telling yourself that. You shook your head, turning your attention to the man who was now holding 2 glasses of rosé. You actually really loved rosé, so at least the drink might be nice. As he tapped his glass against yours to produce a satisfying clink, you brought the thin glass to your painted lips. The rosé was delicious and you hummed contently, but there was a slightly salty taste to it. Must be an older brand. You drank and talked with the man for a few more minutes, asking him about his job and his family. You thought you were getting somewhere valuable when you suddenly felt your head start to spin. What the fuck. You knew you were a lightweight, but not like this. You felt your mouth go dry as you looked up at the man. The bitch was smiling.

‘W...what did you do to me?’ you slurred, feeling your mind cloud and your muscles weaken with every passing second. ‘It’s ok gorgeous, it will wear of when I’m done with you. Let’s take you somewhere more private, hm? the man’s voice echoed in your ear as he gripped you roughly by the waist and started moving with you by his side to the door. That’s going to bruise. You tried to move your arm to press your earpiece signalling Bucky for help, but your arm felt weird and tired, and you couldn’t bring yourself to lift it up that high. Instead, you opted for trying to reach for your knife but the man who was sat beside the other previously caught your wrist aggressively and smirked, the 2 men sharing a god awful look. It made you want to crawl inside your skin and die. It was at that moment that it dawned upon you what exactly they wanted to do with you, with your body. You had to escape, except you couldn’t. It was too late. You were outnumbered and could feel your consciousness slipping. You don’t remember much beyond that point. A gun branded with the hydra symbol. An explosion. The taste of blood in your mouth. Cold metal on your shoulder. Shouting, screaming, crying. Black.

———————————(<>)——————————

Your eyes shot open, a head splitting migraine crushing your skull. What the fuck happened, and where the fuck were you? You felt something warm behind you, holding you close and breathing slowly. It smelt heavenly. You took a moment, taking a few slow, deep breaths as you tried to calm yourself down. You pulled the blanket off of your body to reveal a human arm curled securely around your waist, your dress still hugging your body, but the knife was gone. Your mind was still foggy, and you were confused as to why a man’s arm was grasping you. Something snapped in you as some memory of what those men tried to do came back to you, and you felt tears blur your already clouded vision.

Pulling the arm off, you pushed yourself up slowly, turning to look at what was beside you. Your eyes softened when you saw who it was. Bucky was lying beside you in the bed in the original suit, still wearing his suit and loosened tie. He looked so beautiful and peaceful like this. Your look quickly turned to one of concern as you noticed his suit was covered in fresh blood, a few cuts and grazes sprinkled across his handsome face. Your gut twisted and you felt sick as you felt the pain which Bucky must have felt receiving those. Fucking empathy. You reached out mindlessly to run your finger over one of the deeper cuts, but a metal arm flew to catch your wrist in an instant, his eyes shooting open.

‘Oh my god you’re up, you scared me y/n’ he said as his face instantly relaxed and he moved his arm from your wrist to your cheek, brushing away a tear you hadn’t noticed had fallen. ‘What the fuck happened Bucky?’ you asked, hand moving to your head in pain. ‘Shit does it hurt? Are you ok? How do you feel?’ he tried to ask but you wanted answers. Why was he being so nice? You softly batted away his arm and turned to face him in the bed. He sat up. ‘What happened, Bucky’ you asked, sternly this time.

‘Those hydra fuckers must have drugged you or something. I saw them trying to touch you, carrying you out of the room, you looked like you were dead, y/n. I set of a small explosion, nothing dangerous, just enough to get all the civilians shitting their pants and running out, but the building started to collapse. When I got to you they tried to shoot me, the gunshots went of right by your ear. Might explain the headache. I got you out though, thank the gods’ he explained, genuine concern in his eyes.

‘Where are they now?’ you asked trying to get out of bed but feeling another wave of dizziness hit you like a truck. You sat down. Bucky looked down and twiddled your knife between his fingers. ‘Dead’ he replied softly. ‘I killed most of them. I couldn’t get the one who spiked your drink. The blood isn’t mine’. Your hand flew to your mouth automatically. Obviously you had killed before, it wasn’t the death that shocked you. It was the fact he had risked his life like that just to save someone he claimed to hate so much.

‘Why?’ you blurted out, reaching out a hand to tilt his head up gently to look at you. Your heart was skipping every other beat. ‘I don’t know what I would have done if something would have happened to you, y/n’ he replied simply, eyes lingering on your lips as yours lingered on his. ‘They were going to...’ you whispered, before Bucky reached a flesh hand out to cup the side of your face, quickly whispering back ‘I know doll, I know. I was never going to let them do that to you’. ‘But I thought you hated me?’ you sighed, watching conflicting emotions dance in his eyes. You didn’t notice how you held your breath, or how dry your throat was, or how your headache seemingly disappears as your lips finally brushed against the winter soldier’s when he pulled you in, answering your question.

It was so gently, his metal hand sliding down to your waist and pulling you closer to him. You wrapped your hands around his neck as you moved to straddle his lap, feeling his tongue swipe your bottom lip. You opened your mouth to let him in, moaning gently at the feeling of your tongue brushing against his. You kissed him with passion, and he kissed you with longing, both emotions mixing together and causing a comforting warmth to spread all over your body. He pulled away. You frowned. ‘Why’d you stop?’ Bucky laughed lightly and you felt the vibrations from his voice travel through you pleasantly. ‘We still have work to do’ he replied simply, pulling that dazzling smile of his you so rarely saw. ‘I still hate you Bucky’ you mumbled in annoyance.

He lifted you of him with ease, holding you up kindly and making sure you could stand on your own. You wobbled a bit on those 4 inch fucking heels he hadn’t bothered to remove from your feet, but gained your balance and reached for your knife that lay dangerously on the bed. Bucky began to walk to the door. ‘Wait...we aren’t gonna talk about...’ you didn’t finish your sentence, as Bucky had turned around and interrupted smugly ‘about you wanting to fuck me? Later doll, we have shit to do now’. It was his turn to leave, and your turn to watch him walk out. ‘Fucking wanker’ you muttered under your breath as you followed. ‘I heard that’ he shouted from outside the room. It was time to kill the fucker who dared to drug you.

#bucky barnes #fanfic #bucky #bucky barnes imagine #smut #bucky x reader #avengers fanfiction #hydra #captain america #the winter soldier #marvel angst #black widow #tony stark

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years ago

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Attack Of The Winter Wolf: It Can Be Fixed

Summary- 8.9k Alpha Steve x Little One Reader. Packs are being destroyed and Alphas taken. The danger is hovering closer, its just a matter of time till it falls on Steve’s doorstep. For now he is enjoying his life as a Bonded Alpha, making the most out what peace he has found with his Little One. Divider made by @firefly-graphics

Warnings- Weapons, mass murder, language, m/f sex.

A/N- Hey everyone, thank you for sticking with me through this and THANK YOU for all the support shown. I hope you all enjoy this next section in the Alpha’s life. Happy Howling 🐺💙

Prologue / Masterlist

“You know what you need to do.” The Hydra Agent now known as Soldat snarled at the smaller woman next to him. Her eyes flashed red while never moving off the target in the bar, her fingers swirling beside her, wisps of red energy dancing between her fingers. She pursued her dark red lips, as she focused on the man slouching against the bar.

Her target. This would be easy, she might not even have to put a compulsion on him to trust her. She thought to herself studying him. A weak wolf drowning his meaningless misery, seducing him wouldn't be an issue.

“Attract the target, have him bring all of us onto his pack lands without the Alpha being alarmed. I have my orders.”

Soldat growled in response, turning away to go back to the truck to wait for the woman known as Wanda to carry out her mission. Now she was nothing more than a mindless Hydra Agent to be told her orders, Wanda nothing more than a memory for the woman now.

On her neck, she adorned a thin chain, tight against her throat. All of them did, someone would have to really look to even notice the restraints. Those chains were powerful, controlled magic from Hydra. Touched with a power no Wolf should possess. Inside they were trapped, Wolf and Person, unable to break loose from the mind control forced on them. Wanda lifted her fingers to trace the collar, the vibrations coming from it barely felt, but reassuring to the controlled hostage. Hydra had full control.

Wanda readjusted her low cut blouse, smoothing her hands over her leather skirt, and entered the bar. Her boots clicked on the old hardwood floor of the building, the air was filled with stale nicotine, made her over sensitive nose curl in distaste, and a jukebox wailed some rendition of Ac/Dc Back in Black. When she passed, men looked her way, momentarily distracted by the vision they saw, something personal for each, the woman of their dreams.

But the Scarlet Witch ignored them, there was only one man she was focused on, one Wolf she needed to ensnare. And luckily for her, he happened to catch sight of her just then, half sputtering in his bottle.

The Wolf she was now had growled deeply in satisfaction, streamlined as the beast crouched in her mind, hunting him just as much as Wanda was right now. The Witch ignored her corrupted beast aching to kill. Instead she sidled up to him, taking his bottle and pressing it to her lips all while watching him as she drank his last few swallows.

His nostrils flared to scent her, trying to figure her out. He was swarmed with the heavy scent of arousal, a female in heat and it made the Wolf in him lick his muzzle in interest. She shook her head lightly to let her hair fall away from her shoulder, the length of her neck flashing so he could really have his senses assaulted. He would smell everything he desired, in this case his Wolf started howling for the scent of hot sex and whiskey. Another deep inhale and his eyes snapped open, simmering a yellow as his beast reared its head for control. Wanda smirked as she set the bottle down.

“Looks like I owe you a drink.” She said with such an innocence, and he smirked, clearly ready to play the game.

“That you do Babe, but what kind of man would I be if I made the woman pay?” He dug out his wallet and put some cash down. “Another two beers please. What's your name? Mine is Tommy.”

Wanda let her hands wander to his arm resting on the bar, her nails softly trailing down the top of his arm to his wrist and back up. “Wanda.”

Once they were alone, he turned his stool to face her, giving his full attention to Wanda, looking her up and down once while rubbing his hands against his spread jean clad thighs. “So Wanda, what brings you in a place like this?”

“Just going through town.” Wanda stepped in closer, between his thighs, and slid her hand up behind his neck, letting her fingers dance in a sensual way, planting images of their bodies colliding, grinding, him laying a claim on her. “A few friends and I were looking for a place to stay. I came in, hoping someone would have a suggestion.”

He shook his head a bit, reaching for the bottle just dropped off and took a drag off it, hoping it would calm him down, cool the eager snapping Wolf in his mind and the semi hard on in his jeans.

“There ain't much as far as motels in town, but how many people you got that need a place to stay sweetheart?” Now Tommy’s hand drifted to Wanda's waist, letting himself get familiar with how she felt, the images still sweltering in his mind of mindless sex. Wanda let her hand curl onto his shoulder, biting her lip while whispering just before his lips. “Not many, three men.”

“Three men?” He pulled back a bit, a look of uncertainty at bringing competition for him onto pack lands. “I really only have space for you Sweetheart.”

Wanda let her lips press against his, drawing him to lean into her a bit before pulling back, whimpering just soft enough for his Wolf to want to change his answer, pushing for the man to give in.

The Alpha will be pissed if I bring four Wolves onto our lands.

“Well, okay. I will tell my brother and friend’s that we will have to go to the next town.” She went to pull away when his hand shot out, grasping Wanda's wrist.

<She’s ours, she wants us. Wants to be our mate, you can’t let her go. Besides, one of those males is her brother.> The Wolf snarled and Tommy’s fingers flexed around her slender wrist.

“Now hold on Sweetheart, maybe… maybe we can figure something out.” He pulled her back to him, and let his hold lay claim on her ass, arching her into him.

“Come home with me, and your friends, they can stay in my camper out back. There's plenty of space for them in there, I got it hooked up so they can do what they need to.”

Wanda gave a quirk of a grin and lapped her tongue over his lips as his reward. “Deal, lead the way? We will follow.” Without another thought, her victim yanked out some crumbled bills from his wallet, and led them out the door. Sealing his fate.

Bouncing down a dirt road, Soldat was going through his gear, handing stuff off to Wanda and Pietro. Clint followed the tail lights closely, making the turns when necessary.

“Pietro, as soon as we're in the clear of any alarm, shift and start flushing people out of their homes.” Soldat picked up a wickedly lethal blade and fitted it into the holster. “Wanda, you mind fuck as many as you can. And NO ONE FUCKING TOUCH THE ALPHA. They want the Alpha back all intact. Clint, see if you can't secure another means of transportation.” Grabbing a face mask, he fitted it over his face, and went silent, turning to watch out the windshield as they approached, done giving orders. Tommy waved the van through and directed them up to a house nearby, jumping out.

“So uh, Wanda, I will show you where you will be staying.” He said, as she slipped out, and the back of the van opened to let out Pietro and Soldat, suddenly he started to look worried. “These are your friends and brother?”

“Oh only one of them is my brother.” Wanda said with a smile as Soldat reached for his blade and flung it to land in the unsuspecting wolfs chest. “And it's not him.” Clint got out to, scanning up in the trees.

“Get up high Clint. Any stragglers break for the trees, end them.” With a nod, the archer broke away and went into the trees. “Pietro, start flushing people out.” Soldat started instructing as he reached to grab his blade from the man's chest and wiped it on his shirt till it gleamed again.

Pietro nodded, as he shed his clothes, dropping quickly into a sleek silver wolf, his speed almost making him a blur in the dark as he raced forward, starting his howls. They were sharp and dangerous, warning the pack. Several members stepped out of their homes, clearly having been asleep in the state of their dress when Soldat held up his sniper rifle and started to pick people off, Wanda following along, slamming demands in each of their minds thanks to her powers.

GIVE US THE ALPHA.

Her warnings started crippling families in agony, screaming as the pressed hands against their heads at her mental onslaught. Wanda twisted her hands in the air, snapping open fingers into fists, and people started shifting, their wolves released to scream their pain she inflicted on them instead. Soon the night was filled with horror. Those that managed to escape the trio working through their homes were met with piercing cool blades flying from somewhere in the trees.

Soldat was almost lazy walking along this pack's compound, some memory started to stir in his mind, reminding him of another compound, sunlight shifting through the trees to dapple along a dirt road, a man’s laughter behind him from someone. “Buck, wait up!” Ahead was a sparkling lake and he glanced over his shoulder to see someone running towards him from a distance. He shook his head to dispel these memories.

The White Wolf paced the edges of his consciousness. <Follow your orders Soldat.>

The memory was hazy, and it slipped away from him once more. He snapped his head again to focus on the task at hand.

Back to the present, moonlight was shining bright and highlighting bodies scattered around. Except for one, a woman bolting out of hiding trying to get away from him. Lazily he swung his rifle up and sighted her in, his finger slowly easing against the trigger. For him it was all slow motion, the woman pitched forward with a cry as she fell forward in his path, and he stepped over her as she bled out. Soldat growled in irritation as the Alpha still hadn’t made themselves known.

“Alpha, are you okay with sacrificing your people?” Wanda came up beside him, panting slightly with exertion of the use of her powers, listening. A pained howl came from a nearby home, Pietro pacing around it waiting for the occupants to come out. The door creaked open, and out stumbled a woman, a flare of Soldat’s nose told him exactly what he wanted to know, the Winter Wolf growling in a menacing way at the approaching victim. Finally the packs Alpha was surrendering. She was flanked by a nipping Pietro to speed her jog up, blood streaming down the back of her calves from where she didn’t move fast enough.

“Stop, what do you people want? We have done nothing wrong to the council to warrant a removal like this.” Her eyes were wild as she looked at her packmates, the smell of blood and death so heavy, she heaved a gag.

Wanda looked her up and down, arching a brow. “She's an Alpha? Doesn’t look much like one.”

Soldat’s hand wrapped around the woman's neck, dragging her forward, and inhaling along her face, the tip of his nose dragging up from her chin to her temple, sorting her scent to be sure. A shuddering gasp fell from her, laced with fear. It made Soldat smirk behind the mask. The acrid scent of fear was something he was accustomed to. Beyond the fear though, she was the prime scent of health. This Alpha did not lead her pack on force and strength, but respect and knowledge. He could imagine the battle she was going through with her wolf right now, the conflict to shift showing in her eyes, fear sweat rolling down her temple.

“Where's your mate?” Soldat growled and gave her a slight shake when she sobbed.

“G-gone! She's gone. Visiting her old pack across the country. She won't be back for another month.”

Inhaling again, Soldat sneered, his voice laced with it. “You lie girl. Your efforts to keep her safe, pointless. I can smell her all over you, fresh.” He hissed in her ear and turned to the twins. “Find her. She won’t be far.” They nodded, wolf and sister splitting off towards the Alphas house and she tensed in Soldats grip, starting to fight to break out of his hold.

“What do you want?! Who are you?” she was gulping in air, possibly scenting him, trying to figure out where he came from. Soldats hard eyes went over her once, and did not find her worth answering. Instead his grip tightened around her neck and he whipped her around, her back slamming into his chest and making her gasp in loss of air.

“They are close.” he reached up, taking off the mask and stuffing it away. Her whimpers made his teeth snap at her neck, she might be Alpha of this pack, but she had nothing on him. The Winter Wolf paced, fur bristling as Soldat eyed her steady pulse, resisting the urge to rip at the throbbing vein, killing the Alpha. But he didn't, he had orders. “Can you smell your mates' fear from here? Cause I can.” Instead his tongue lapped up her neck before he tilted his head. “Or maybe that is yours?”

A cry from the woods along with snarling made Soldat straighten and the Alpha tense in his hold, soft “no no no no…” uttered from her and a sob in which Soldat snapped his fingers tighter around her neck to shut her up. Her mate stumbled from the woods, continuously trying to break away, but between Wanda and Pietro, they kept her moving forward. Soldat dropped his hold on the Alpha, letting her spring away to run towards her mate, and drag her into her arms, sobbing into her hair. “I told you to run Alicia, I told you to get away from here.”

“We couldn't, we couldn't just leave you to them Alpha.” Alicia responded, all three of them watching as the Alpha regained her composure a bit, wiping at her face and turned to face Soldat.

“Anything, whatever you want, it's yours. Just let my mate and the rest of the pack leave unharmed. They won't try anything.” Soldat arched a brow, and reached into a pocket on his tactile vest.

“Then you will put this on without any trouble.”

He let a thick silver collar and muzzle fall from his grasp, and the Alpha swallowed hard seeing it. She gave a nod in acceptance and a plea from her mate made the Alpha’s eyes well up with tears, but rounded on her growling at Alicia. “Be quiet, listen to your Mate and Alpha.” Alicia’s begging quieted with a nod, her head bent in submission to her partner. The Alphas hand came up to cup her face in praise, and gave her a soft kiss on her forehead and dipped to her ear, whispering to her for a moment while Alicia’s eyes welled up again and closed as if she was trying to remember the words. Soldat waited patiently, watching this moment between bonded mates without any feelings. All it showed him was a weakness in the Wolves. Their devotion to their mates could always be a weapon he could exploit.

Soon enough the Alpha turned back to Soldat to strip out of her nightgown, quick to shift into her Wolf. Padding over to him, she sat in front of him and lifted her head to fit the collar and muzzle on. It was all so final with the click, binding the muzzle to the collar, completely in Soldats control now as he hooked a chain to her like a lead, wrapping it around his hand and shortening it.

“Kill the rest.” Soldat said and the Alpha at the end of a leash started thrashing as much as allowed, growling in fear and rage, her head straining to look over her shoulder while Soldat dragged her away. Helpless while having to watch Wanda and Pietro round on Alicia, her screams for her Alpha dying out and the smell of her death hit the Alpha. Blood and the sting of fear struck her, and she sank to the ground, losing her trapped mind. Soldat never even noticed her body going limp behind him, and that he was dragging her across the ground while she howled in pain at the severed bond of her now dead mate.

You were sitting behind the wheel of the pickup, Steve on the other side of the hood poking his head around. “Okay, start her up Little One.” he ordered, and you went to flick the key, listening to the whir whir sound of the engine before it sputtered, choked, and gave a mighty shutter, dying down. Turning the key back to off, you leaned yourself out the window.

“Steve… You might have to call it. I don't think there's any saving this one.” Opening the door, you slipped out, landing lightly on your toes, and closing the door shut with a squeak. You could see your mate standing at the front, wiping his hands on a rag, staring down at the engine. Not yet in defeat though. If there was anything you knew about the Mountain Packs Alpha, it was that Steve Rogers did not stop till every last thing had been tried. That meant one thing. He was going to take this engine apart piece by piece if he had to.

You leaned against the side of the truck, looking down in the mess of engine parts, and then back to Steve who spared a glance upwards at you and giving a sigh. “Leave no man behind, or woman in this case. This trucks a girl.” His hand slapped against the side of it affectionately and you snorted, folding your arms over your chest.

“First of all, it's a truck Alpha…” you started.

Steve reached up and slammed the hood down, scoffing. “It's her, and her name is Lenore, and she's not just a truck. I have had her since I was 15.”

“Safe to say this is your first girlfriend then?” You giggled as you tapped your fingers teasing along his arm and skimmed your fingers along the back of his neck, while he wiped his rag lovingly against the hood. Little did he know he had a scuff of dirt on the back of his neck, and it was distracting you now.

Fuck…

The Little Wolf snickered at your reaction. <See something you like?>

Sure as hell do, our Alpha looks fucking good like this.

She yipped in agreement and spun around with excitement.

You pressed your nose in against his shoulder, inhaling deeply while gently sinking your teeth in against his shoulder. Steve growled softly feeling you press against him and looked over his shoulder with an arched brow. “Nah, but she was around with the first girlfriend, and watch me get her fixed to keep her around with my mate.” He pulled you around, his hands circling your hips and easily lifting you to perch on the edge of the truck's hood, making you giggle, and grasp the front of his shirt to pull him in closer. Steves fingers dug into the curves of your hips and pulled you to the edge of the hood.

“Your awful confident Alpha.” you wiggled your brows and leaned forward to nip at his lips. “What makes you think you're that good of a mechanic?”

Steve hummed, his hands slipping under your shirt to dig his fingers into your waist as you wrapped your legs loosely around his hips. “Think you can do better Little One?” he teased back while the tip of your tongue dragged along his bottom lip and he rumbled slightly as you sucked on his bottom lip before pulling back.

“Give me a wrench, I get Lenore running like brand new.” You exclaimed with a wriggle of your brows, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning into Steve’s chest. The Alpha laughed, dropping his head to your neck, and rubbing his beard against the column of your neck and kissing over the bonding mark deeply, his tongue tracing the slight scar he had left there that night and letting his teeth sink in enough to make you whimper in a happy way. He tilted back to look at you.

“Little One, I give you a wrench and she will be like new, back before they even put her all together on the manufactures line.”

You scowled at him, and playfully pushed him away from you, which resulted in him backing up and stepping back into you, kissing on your neck as you tipped your head back for him so that his lips could skim the column of your neck, his inhales making you drag your teeth along your bottom lip with a whimper. “I'm a little insulted that you think I would tear Lenore apart.”

Steve lifted his head, and arched his brow at you. “You wouldn’t?”

“Hell no Alpha, Sams have been teaching me the way around an engine. He said I got the magic touch, and can make them purr.” You stated proudly, and you saw his pupils flare suddenly. You scooted closer and leaned in close to whisper against his lips, your forehead leaning against his. “Is that true Steve, Do I… have the magic touch?”

Your Little Wolf connected on the Alphas bond, the two wolves teased each other back and forth in your minds. You and Steve started nipping at each other's lips, growling as he had you open your mouth to him, and your hands fisted into his hair at the back of his head, rubbing your chest in against him. Steve inhaled your taste and scent, the way you softened under his touch, allowing him to touch you however, and wherever. Fingers flexed, smudging motor grease against your skin and your hands twisted in his dirty shirt to start tugging it off him, pulling away to drag it over his head. Your hips rolled into meeting his groin and he hissed feeling your core rub against his erection “Yes Little One, You certainly do have the magic touch.”

His hand snaked up your top and palmed your breast through your bra till you also lost your shirt, the heavy scent of your arousal drenching your panties along with the stinging mechanics grease tainting his senses. It smelled dirty, and Steve was fucking raging from it.

Wanting to bury his cock in your heat, he pulled back from your embrace and jerked you off the truck's hood twisting you around. Your hands slamming against the hood and Steve grasping the back of your neck to press you against the hood. His thumb feathered back and forth over his mark, your neck arching under his touch. You could feel his hips slotted against yours, and your ass pressed back to grind into his erection. Your ass, firm and soft in those jeans pressing into him made him growl and bite against your shoulder, arching his hips forward to pin you against the grill of the truck.

You groaned when you felt the sting of Steve’s bite against your shoulder and his weight keeping you in place. Steve lifted his head suddenly hearing you, easing back slightly. “Is this okay? Too much?” You could still feel how hard he was behind you, but his voice was laced with gentleness and concern. You arched your head back and took a deep breath.

“Steve Rogers, you have me pinned against Lenore, you better fuck me or else.”

Steve’s concerned look melted with a devious smirk before he moved to suck a spot just behind your ear, his hands slipping to the front of your jeans to snap your button open and wriggle the zipper down.

“Or else… Fuck Little One, that sounds like a promising threat.” Steve growled against your ear, and he tugged your jeans and panties down around your knees, you lifted a leg to kick your pants off, shifting to the other to get rid of your clothing. His hand flexed against your neck before pulling it away.

“Might be in your favor Alpha.” You shifted your legs back and forth to spread them, Steve running a finger through your slick and spreading your folds to stroke you a moment, feeling just how ready you were for him. Licking his lips he could almost taste you as he knew intimately just how good you were.

You panted while your cheek pressed against the truck's cool hood, a contrast to your mate behind you all hot and bothered. “Steve, Fuck. Me.” your voice went muffled as his fingers filled you and you tried to arch in his hold, but he flexed fingers against the back of your neck once more, keeping you still while he took you apart with his fingers. Your velvet walls fluttered around his fingers, and you moaned in pleasure.

“Is that what you wanted Little One?” His chest pressed against your back, making your breathing shallower, your whines sharper with need. “Your soaking me Omega Girl. I gotta be inside you. Cum for me first.” His hips rutted against you and you shuddered underneath him, slamming your hand sharply against the hood of the car while nodding that you heard him. Your cunt made squelching noises and his fingers scissored you open, he kept uttering for you to let go when you finally did, an explosion of pleasure humming through you while you cried out his name, falling apart around his fingers.

Steve raised you off the hood and pulled you up against his chest, kissing on your neck hungrily while your orgasm made you whimper, trying to squeeze your thighs closed around his hand. “Good girl Little One, you are so good to me.” He growled against your ear softly before dragging his tongue to mark his scent on you, he let you lower back to the hood of the truck.

Pulling his hand away from you, he undid his belt and worked his pants open enough to pull out his cock, using his slick covered hand to rub himself. “Hey Little One, are you still with me?”

You nodded as he wrapped his hands around your hips and shifted your ass to where he wanted it while sliding his cock through your slick folds sure to press against your clit before sliding back closer to filling you.

“Fuck Steve…” You exhale and he thrust into you, one fluid motion had your cunt swallowing him, pulling him in to feel you gripping him tightly in a way that made the Alpha growl possessively over your form underneath him, his fingers digging in your hips in a bruising way. Your body shook with the effort and his hand smoothed along your side when he arched his hips to grind into you. “Your so fucking good Little One, I can just stay buried in this sweet pussy all day.”

Pulling back and thrusting to split you open, your chest crushed against the truck's hood, and you wouldn't want to have it any other way while Steve started to rut into you faster, the only thing keeping you in place was Steve's unforgiving hold on your hips and the truck's hard surface. The metal underneath just proved to help Steve punch the air from your lungs. One of his hands slid up your back and moved to grasp your shoulder and pull you back harder, taking angled strokes to make you fall apart around him.

So pretty you were, sprawled against the hood of his truck, doing your best not to scratch at the paint. You were balancing on your tip toes and starting to plead in a muffled tone “Steve- fuck-oh oh- I need to- ah right there.”

Steve pulled back on your shoulder, bringing you up to brace against his back, and wrapping his arm across your midriff. Reaching up to cup and squeeze a breast in his palm while biting your shoulder with a growl made you arch in his hold. You were still raised to your tiptoes, and could feel yourself fluttering around his cock, clenching and aching to find that release.

Aiming for that sweet spot he knew would push you over the edge, his hand covered the front of your mound and rubbed his fingertip in a vigorous circle, making you squirm in his hold. “Don't fight it Little One, you're almost there. Just a little more. You're being so good for your Alpha, taking my cock so good.” He praised and your head fell back against his shoulder, letting him move you now.

“It feels so good, it hurts.” You whined out while reaching down to where his fingers were rubbing at your clit, you explored further down in your heat, until your fingers found the tender spot where his cock pushed into you, feeling him slide in and out made your belly clench at the sensation.

“Do you feel how you made just for me Little One?” Steve grunted while kissing the corner of your mouth till you rolled your head to meet him, both of you biting at each other's lips and easing into a deep hungry kiss.

“Steve, I’m-” You sobbed into his mouth as you fell, and intense pleasure fluttered from your core and spread through your body while your hearing buzzed, and your vision exploded in sparks. He groaned as he rutted into your breaking body, his arms locking around you and his teeth sank into your mark, just making your orgasm explode all over again, tilting your head and crying out in a howl while he filled you with his seed, spreading it through you till he knotted. When he finally stilled with his forehead against your shoulder, you let your head roll forward and took a deep breath to refill your lungs. Your hands dropped to his hands still holding you with a tight grip and let your hands rest over his. Feeling your touch he eased slightly and lifted his head, breathing in against your neck, the expand of his chest with each breath scratched lightly against your back.

Your eyes lifted and you could see the sweaty imprint on the hood of his truck, and then looked down to see grease and dirt smudged all over your skin and your bra, making you chuckle. Steve lifted his head up, careful how he moved behind you while straightening. “Care to share Little One whats got you laughing?”

You tilted your head over your shoulder to look back at him while he loosened his hold. “You got me dirty, and then you got me really dirty.” You emphasized, and he looked over your shoulder to see the streaks against your skin. “We also got Lenore dirty.” You nodded towards your imprint against the hood, and then he finally laughed, his shoulders shaking amused.

“I've never seen Lenore look better Little One.” He muttered while kissing your neck deeply, flexing his hold around you again and you bit your lip giggling while dipping your head back to his shoulder. You two waited till he went soft again and was able to pull out from you. You bent down and picked up scattered clothes to pull them back on while Steve zipped up his jeans and buckled his belt, you grabbed his discarded tee and tossed it to him. While he was picking up the garage with the tools he was using, you happened to check your phone, and noticed a text from Caine.

“Hey how do you feel about going to see Caine and the rest tomorrow morning? If we leave tonight, we don't have any plans, do we?” You ask after reading Caine’s message asking them if they would come visit. Being a fairly new Alpha, learning how to properly set up a pack was a daunting task, especially to that group and he was leaning heavily on Steve’s guidance in that case here and there. Steve wanting to see the young wolf succeed had allowed the bond to form, which was unusual but not unheard of, especially now that the Wolves were depending so much more on pack relationships. He hesitated a moment, but it had been quiet for months since the last attacks from winter.

“Let me get cleaned up Little One and we can head out, haven't been over that way in ages, and would love to see the changes he has made to that place.” Steve came over, reading the text while you held your phone up for him to see, and he nuzzled against his mark, nipping the scar on your neck gently.

You turned in his hold, wrapping your arms around his waist and looking up at him. “Thank you, for making it work Steve.” You said softly to him, hugging him a bit in the process. “They are no longer my pack, but I still have a connection with them.”

You were the other reason Steve kept himself available to the new pack, he knew that you had survived with these wolves, had faced things no wolf should have to, and it in some way reminded him of his time with the howling commandos. No longer were they “family” but in a way they always would just be that. If any of them contacted him still to this day, he would be there for them, that was what happened when you went into a war with someone. And that is partially how he saw your whole ordeal, it was a fight for your life. As important as you were to him and his wolf, his better half, his partner, there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for you. His hand smoothed along your back and he kissed your forehead. “Always Little One, come on, lets go get ready.”

Once it was established that Sam and Sara would take over while you two were gone, Steve filled up the pickup while you packed a bag for the two of you and were on the road soon enough. Steve easily drove through the night while you either kept him company talking, once in a while falling asleep with your head on his shoulder, snuggling against his side while he would hug you in closer whenever he felt a slight chill run through you. Your wolves remained twined around each other with the bond you now shared, and Steve loved feeling traces of your wolf in his mind.

He thought of a time before you, when the sensation made him cringe. Your wolf fit there, was a warmth that his own Alpha settled into easily, no longer a pacing beast in his mind. Alanna’s wolf was so much more different, the hair on the back of his neck would raise, and the Alphas' own hackles would bristle. The bond they shared was sick from the start, the she wolf would be looking for a fight with the Alpha, who was more then willing to return the favor. There were no playful teasing or quiet grooming moments that the Alpha shared with the Little One.

Steve did back then what he thought was right, trying to make it work when he had impulsively bitten Alanna, but now he could see how wrong it was. What people like Bucky and Natasha had tried pointing out to him for the years he forced it to work. That it could be better. How it could be what he had now. You softly sighing against his shoulder while you two went to help another pack, not fight against them.

As the sun started to rise, Steve couldn't help compare it to his new chapter in his life, stepping from the darkness of his past into the bright promising start of a new one. One he looked forward to.

<It will one day be even better Steve.> The Alpha commented as he groomed the sleeping Little Wolf, nibbling along her neck and shoulders before his pink tongue ran over her fur till it was soft and fluffy.

I don’t know how it can get better, our life is finally calmed down, my mate is settled and happy in her life, and our Pack is strong.

The Alpha just continued his gentle grooming for a few moments before he moved up to stretch, his tail giving a slight wag at the next words he said.

If it happens, it happens.

The Alpha wasn't wrong, Steve did always want a family. Some part was the connection that Wolves always had, packs were nothing more then large family units surviving. But there was more, Steve wanted to give that love to another, and he could see you already, fiercely protective over any children.

The idea of you pregnant stirred some primal things in him, more primal then even the Wolf itself. It was a part of him that wanted it more than anything. But the time would come, where you two would really sit down and discuss it. Feeling you stir under his arm, he was pulled from his thoughts and glanced down. “Morning Little One.” he chuckled watching as you groaned while pushing to sit up more, rubbing at your eyes.

“Ooh, sorry I fell asleep, what time it is Steve, are we almost there?” Your hands rubbed against your face, and you blinked rapidly against the bright light of the new morning sun.

“7 AM, and we're a few miles out still. You want to stop for some breakfast first? I know we will be passing a diner here shortly.” He offered and you perked immediately hearing that.

“God that sounds amazing.” You hummed just as your stomach made the loudest grumble noise, making you both bust out laughing, and Steve stepped on the gas a bit more to make the truck pick up speed.

The diner was one of those little country diners you see in small towns. Along the wall were booths with the little quarter jukeboxes, and in the middle was a long counter scattered with displays of pies and pastries every few stools. When you and Steve first entered, you were first hit with the smell of diner coffee, which you tilted your nose up appreciatively to inhale the aroma, while Steve wrapped an arm around your waist to lead you to a nearby booth. You slipped in first, and Steve just sat next to you, leaving the other side unoccupied.

“Alright kids, what'll it be.” The waitress came around, an older woman with a tall grey beehive style hair-do, a pencil tucked behind her ear which she plucked her fingers against to use, as well as dug for a pad of paper from her apron. You couldn't help smiling at her, as she was just a sight to see, and Steve himself hid a laugh while he filled in with what he wanted. “Eggs, sunny side up, with toast, bacon and sausage. Coffee, black and a side of orange juice.” She was quick to jot it all down, and paused her rapid writing. “And for you sweetheart?” her accent took on a sweet tone, and you filled in with what you wanted.

“Short stack blueberry pancakes, some sausage links, and a glass of milk, and coffee?”

“Sure thing” the waitress was sure to jot it down and leave the two of you alone, Steve’s hand reached under the table and took yours to weave his fingers through yours, giving a light squeeze. It was just a few moments when their waitress came back around with there beverages.

“Cook will be just a few minutes with your food. But here, we made some extras.” She winked as she left a small basket with piping hot donut holes at your table, leaving you two alone again after thanking her. Steve picked up a cinnamon sugared one to pop in his mouth. Lifting the mug to your lips, you blow on the steaming mug and sip on it while your eyes dart out the window to watch other patrons start to arrive.

“I've lived here my whole adult life, and never knew what it looked like outside of the pack boundaries. Pierce hardly let us leave.” You mused and Steve slid a hand along your thigh, squeezing reassuringly before you turned towards him with a warm smile on your face. “I'm glad we came, it will be good to see Caine and everyone else again.”

“He has good makings to be a strong Alpha once he washed the taint Pierce left in this area.” Steve agreed as his arm moved from your thigh to wrap around your shoulder, dipping his head to place a light nuzzle to your temple as you leaned into him. It wasn't long till the waitress was back to drop off the hot plates of breakfast.

Bites were shared between the two of you, you nipped off the tip of Steve's bacon and you offered an extra syrup drenched bite of pancake, where droplets of sweet syrup caught in his beard which he wiped away with his napkin. Before long plates were being pushed away with groans of being too full, Steve dug for his wallet to leave a nice tip to their waitress as well as the bill and headed out of the little diner.

Soon you two were pulling off the highway and along a familiar bumpy road leading deep into the forest, away from the town. You cranked down the window the closer you got, the warm spring air was alive with fresh growth, along with the familiar scents of the pack. Steve started to slow down when the road grew rougher, the truck bouncing on its struts as remnants of mud and snow bogged the road down. You were quick to grasp the ‘oh shit’ handle, noticing streaks of shadows running alongside the road, and howls started announcing their arrival.

It was getting familiar and Steve reached over, sliding his hand with yours to weave his fingers through yours and pull your hand into his lap, his thumb sliding over your knuckle. “You okay Little One?” His gaze tilted towards you, and you smiled at him with a nod.

Your Little Wolf stirred and moved over to her Alpha, brushing up against him once the other packs scent grew stronger the closer they got, reaffirming that she belonged to him now. He curled around her, pressing his muzzle against her while thumping his tail loudly in approval.

<It doesn’t even feel like ‘home’ anymore.> The Little Wolf said softly and you hid a smile hearing her, squeezing Steve’s hand back.

It hasn't been in a while now. It was hard to think it was just about a year, another month and it would have been the first time you met Steve. Bucky allowing you to cross from No Man's Land into the pack boundaries. You could still remember that first time, how Steve went to your level and offered you sanctuary before even actually hearing why you were on the run. And you knew he would do it again with another if the time came. Soon the road curved and you two came up on the all to familiar grey building that had the underground expansion where you were kept. You could hear the Alpha growling softly seeing it, and Steve’s features hardened as he picked up speed driving past it till you two started to come more towards the homes that spread through the grounds. Neither one of you wanted to step foot in there, and did not plan to ever again.

Caine came trotting out to greet them, and you hopped out to rush around the truck, springing at your former packmate in a hug. Steve took his time, although the Wolf didn't much like it, he waited to give you two a moment before intruding. You weaved yourself back into Steve’s hold, grinning happily.

“Driving all night I’m guessing?” Caine asked and you shrugged, jerking a thumb at Steve. “He was, I was the co-pilot. In charge of the radio.”

Steve winked. “And did a good job of it to Little One, you only passed out on me for a couple hours.” He teased while you poked his side a bit for ratting you out and Caine laughed heartily.

“What I figured, since I messaged you last night. The house at the end is vacant for now if you two wanna rest a bit to settle in.” Caine offered, and Steve was thankful for the offer after the long drive. Steve pulled up the truck to the house while you and Caine strolled to the quaint house, talking about how each respective pack were doing. You noticed his eyes lifted to your neck when you lifted your hair off your neck, and his brows arched.

“Is that what I think it is Y/N?” the young Alpha asked and your hand pressed against Steve’s mark, nodding.

“Yes, Steve and I bonded, made it official. It was time to put Pierce and all that behind. It wasn’t natural trying to force us to bond with anyone willing to pay for us.” You stalled a bit, slowing down while watching Steve grab the duffel you had packed from the back of the truck and brought it inside. Caine hummed in agreement, having faced the same ordeal you had. Your Little Wolf stirred in her nearby Alphas' care, feeling your emotions rolling and soon felt her brush along your mind, a calming presence that brought you back to the present. Caine smiled at you, brushing his hand along your back and giving a half hold hug around your shoulder.

“I’m happy for you Y/N, that you found Steve. I mean… well for us to. If you hadn’t gotten away from Pierce, who knows where we would be now.” Caines gaze flashed to the grey building for a second, the heavy chain strapped against the door to keep it shut.

“What are you using that for now?” You asked, noticing where his gaze went. Caine continued the two of you forward.

“Storage, once we cleaned it out. Stark took any of the medical equipment besides the basics we could use for emergencies. All the shit they used on us. After that office was cleaned out, the computers taken, I locked up the underground floors, and we have been using the top as storage for gear and such. Might just seal off that underground and tear that top part down. I don't know honestly. It's like a sickness here still, seeing it. But one day if anything was to happen, it could be useful.”

It was easy to tell that Caine was unsure of what to do with it, and you nudged him lightly to lighten his heaviness. “You will figure it out.” Glancing up, you could see Steve gathering the last of the overnight stuff from the truck, the door snapping shut. “We will see you later, I'm gonna go get some proper shut eye.” Splitting from Caine, you went inside first and Steve chatted a few moments with Caine before excusing himself.

Going inside, it wasn’t home, but it wasn't bad. Sparsely furnished with the minimal comforts, he tilted his nose to inhale, searching you out. You had gone through the downstairs while he was outside from what Steve could sense, but he heard your soft footfalls above him, turning him to go up the old stairs to the tiny upstairs. A single bedroom with a double bed and a bathroom graced the upstairs. Dropping the bag on the end of the bed, he glanced over to you unpacking on the other side.

“Not quite like home.” You observed, while looking around. The bed just about took up the whole bedroom. “But cozy.”

Steve chuckled as he moved around the bed, wrapping his arms around your hips and pressing his face in against your neck, nibbling while his hips pressed against your curves and his chest to your back. You sunk back into him while refolding one of his shirts, tilting your head to feel his affections with a close of your eyes and a satisfied hum flowing through you. “Yes cozy, you are gonna have to sleep on top of me in this bed.” You chuckled hearing his teasing, the two of you swaying in the early morning light streaming through the window at the head of the bed.

“That's never been a problem before.” You smirk while feeling Steve laugh softly behind you and you twist to nudge at him. “You're tired, I can feel it. I'm gonna go take a shower, why don't you lay down. We can meet up with Caine this afternoon.” You removed the bag off the bed, and Steve rumbled slightly.

“Shower? I could join you Little One.” His hands moved to lightly grasp your hips, fingers flexing. You shake your head and turn to face Steve, your hands cupping his face and tilt up to place a kiss on his lips, keeping it simple and affectionate.

“You were up early yesterday, because I remember your little wake up.” You smirked at his lopsided grin, all proud of himself for his methods. “And up all night bringing us here.” Your hands pressed against his chest, gently pushing him down on the bed and reaching for your shower bag. “So sleep Alpha, we can mess around later.” You nipped his lips and pulled away, while he groaned, tilting his head back to the mattress while you left the room to go down the short hallway to the bathroom at the end.

“That's teasing Little One.” He growled out as he pushed back to a sit, undoing his belt on his jeans while you called back.

“Make me pay for it later Alpha, learn to take a command once in a while.” You firmly shut the bathroom door on him and the Wolf laughed hard at Steve’s predicament.

You were sidelined too. Steve growled out softly although he knew you were right, his body was tired. The heaviness started to make his eyes ache to close.

<Mmmh, actually no. I can go to my Little Wolf whenever.> The Wolf shook out his fur and padded away from Steve's consciousness, in which the Alpha rolled his eyes at his inner beast and proceeded to strip down to stretch above the comforter.

It wasn't long till Steve felt the bed dip at the end and you crawled over him, settling down to lay your head on his chest, and his hand smoothed against your back to rest against the dip in your lower back. Your face rubbed against one of his pecs and he half turned to give you some more room on the mattress, your legs tangling with his and the rest of the morning was spent in lazy half sleep snores and readjusting in the smaller bed to get comfortable.

Finally the afternoon sun was just too bright shining down on the two of you, spring softness had picked up more heat and was starting to feel hot in the small bedroom. You groaned and pushed off Steve, who growled feeling you move away while waking up further, his arm slinging over his eyes to block out the light. You quietly get dressed and descend down the stairs to let him wake up in his own time. Going through the kitchen, you grab a glass to fill with water to inhale quickly and parch your thirst. Above you, you can hear the bed creak under Steve’s weight, then the slap of his feet against the hardwood boards above you. You start to go through the house and pry open windows, and the front door you opened wide to let the fresh air in.

“Mmh, how late is it?” Steve rubbed at his face and you pulled your phone out.

“3:30, we're gonna be up all night.” You chuckled while checking a message from Sara, complaining that she should have gone with you and Steve, Sam was driving her crazy making you chuckle while answering back. “Sara checked in, said everything is going good at home.”

Steve as well sought out some water, draining the glass with deep gulps, he wiped at his mouth with the back of his arm and nodded. “I’m sure we can find something to do tonight.” He winked in a tease. “Good, how about we go see the rest of the pack?” His hand went through his hair, pushing the longer dark blonde locks back from his face, looking every bit of Alpha that he was. You could have whimpered right then, sure he wasn't even aware of how it made your stomach clench. You were just grateful that the Little Wolf was preoccupied with her mate to be paying attention to your reactions.

“We better, I’m sure he's forgotten were here.” You move to step out the door, blinking in the bright afternoon sunshine, bouncing off the steps with Steve right behind you.

“Unlikely, his wolf won't be letting him forget I’m here.”

#attack of the winter wolf #winter soldier #winter wolf #alpha steve #amber writes #sweater writes #steve rogers au #bucky barnes au #steve rogers #bucky barnes #shifter steve rogers #shifter bucky barnes #marvel fanfic #marvel au #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you

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inkformyblood · 3 years ago

Text

darkness for sighing (daylight for song)

Summary: Obi-Wan should have known better than to think his mission would be a straightforward one. But he couldn't have suspected the man he would run into, or the mystery he would start to uncover. [Fantasy AU] Pairing: Codywan

“What are you doing?”

It isn’t the tone of the voice, which is warm despite the late hour and the biting chill in the air and strangely compelling, that makes Obi-Wan pause; it’s that there is a voice at all.

This section of the expansive gardens was meant to be abandoned, a momentary oversight during a temporary guard rotation change, and yet…

“Regular maintenance,” Obi-Wan answers, his attention torn between the enchanted lock-picks humming in his grip and the slow methodical beat of footsteps behind him, drawing closer. He fights to keep his breathing regular as he can feel the man’s gaze burn into the back of his neck, bereft of his usual shield of loosely tied hair which was pulled into a tight braid while he was working. His mask hangs around his neck and Obi-Wan tilts his chin, catching the edge of the fabric in readiness.

“Tell me.” Another step, but he can hear the edge of laughter in the man’s words, breathless and disbelieving, and, for a moment, Obi-Wan wants to see if he can coax another laugh from the man. “Does that line ever work for you, thief?”

“More often than you’d think.”

The man strikes, his halberd piercing the space where Obi-Wan had been only moments before. The blade sings beneath his boots before the melody is cut off as it strikes the door and Obi-Wan continues his twist upwards, one arm bracing against the frame before he kicks off of the opposing wall, landing with a grunt and pulling his mask over his face.

He looks up into dark eyes, barely visible through the visor of the helmet, and sees a spark he hadn’t expected.

“Oh.” The corners of the man’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “You’re one of those thieves.”

“My dear, I can promise you, you have never fought anyone like me.” It is an easy rhythm to fall back into, honeyed words designed to throw his opponents off balance as they fought, but he couldn’t help but notice the thread of regret twisting through his chest. In another life, they could have met very differently.

The man’s grip adjusts on the halberd, his fingers curling around the handle, but Obi-Wan doesn’t step away, keeping his gaze locked with the other man’s.

“And you’ve never fought anyone like me.”

In a flicker of movement, almost too fast to see, the man slams his head forward, aiming for the centre of Obi-Wan’s face, pulling the halberd free with deceptive ease. Obi-Wan steps backwards, his feet soundless as the grey stone of the walkway makes way to the damp press of grass. The man adjusts in an instant, the blade swinging through the air, skimming over the floor as sparks fly as he rolls it across his shoulder only to catch it, ready to strike again.

It was beautiful. He was dangerous.

Obi-Wan grins, excitement burning low in his chest, sharpening his thoughts. Any information he could gather was priceless for his organisation, provided he could keep his scattered mind from focusing on the ease with which the man moves, all feline grace and confidence.

“Showing off for me? You tease.” The damp grass clings to his boots as he steps away, tucking the picks back into his belt. If he had just had a little more time…

The moon peers through a gap in the thick clouds overhead, illuminating the guard. Silver light clings to the curve of his broad shoulders and the sway of his hips as he steps closer. His face was hidden beneath his helmet, but Obi-Wan knew his dark eyes, intense and curious, were fixed on him. Except for the single sunburst that lay over his heart — a bright flash of orange amongst featureless grey — his armour was blank, only carrying the expected fixed scuffs and dents.

The man spins the halberd around, passing it to his other hand and back again with no pause to his step and no hesitation to his grip as the metal tip flashes in a warning.

“I’m good at my job.” There was no hint of arrogance or pride in his words, just a careful deliverance of the truth. Something familiar pulled at the edge of Obi-Wan’s mind, a certain sway to his movement as he struck forwards, but Obi-Wan was already moving, circling him, only to be blocked by grey steel.

“I can see that. Competency is very attractive, you know.” Obi-Wan steps back, chancing a glance at the gardens that surrounded them, trying to re-orientate himself in the wash of moonlight.

In the day, the garden was secluded and overgrown from years of neglect. Brambles stretched out their grasping hands from their kingdom of the broken gazebo and weeds ran amok, pressing up through the shattered paving stones that snaked through the graveyard of planet beds and grass. In the darkness, silver bleeding through the cracks in the clouds, it was a battlefield. Obi-Wan could see the ghost of his passage from the high walls to the door and knew he wouldn’t be able to return here if he fled.

“Thank you.” The guard spins the halberd over his shoulder once more, ostensibly to adjust its positioning, but there was something else there. “My main goal in life is to win the approval of every thief who tries to break in.”

“You’ve been seeing other thieves?” Obi-Wan steps, trying to slip past the guard again, but is blocked by another hissing swing, his footsteps softer as he steps onto the grass, pressing Obi-Wan backwards.

A grin burns through the guard’s words, and Obi-Wan, for one thoughtless ecstatic moment, wants to let it wash over him and settle in the soft places between his ribs. “Love, I would never. You’re the only thief for me.”

Obi-Wan waits for the next strike and sees the slight shift as the guard centres himself, the power behind the movement apparent, and draws in a deep breath, letting it go before he moves. It is a technique he has performed countless times before: one sweep to press the weapon levelled at his chest aside, and a strike at his opponent’s side to send them stumbling away.

Obi-Wan prefers defence, keeping his opponent off-balance and exhausted before he strikes, but he is adaptable, and he is running out of time.

He can sense the rumble of laughter rather than hear it and sees the guard adjust seconds before the halberd is swung in a wide circle, slipping from Obi-Wan’s hold, as the guard spins. There’s distance between them now, and Obi-Wan bites back a curse as the cool cling of grass gives way to the rough stone of the path.

The guard is trained, more than Obi-Wan would have expected, given the lavish parties that the Emperor threw and the broken down sections of the city he ruled over.

“Why not let me pass?” Obi-Wan steps, moving along the path and the guard follows, slower. He would let Obi-Wan run from him. The knowledge settles into his mind like one of the flowers that clung to the ruined walls, their scent lying thick and heavy in the air. Every strike, every step, every move had been careful and coordinated. “You’ve seen what the Emperor has done to our people. Help me, and let me pass.”

There’s hesitation in the guard’s step, his fingers tapping against the wood of the handle like a drumbeat, but his advance doesn’t slow. Obi-Wan moves to strike again but his blow is blocked — the halberd clutched in the guard’s hand and lying flat against his forearm — and the guard steps closer, catching Obi-Wan’s second strike without glancing down.

He can feel the faint tremor through the man’s hold on his wrist and see the shifts of his shoulders as he breathes, but Obi-Wan’s attention is locked onto his eyes. They’re still dark and burning into him, but he doesn’t pull away as Obi-Wan leans forward, pressing his forehead to the cool metal of the helmet. His breath fogs the surface, but neither moves.

For a moment, they are still.

“I can’t.” The whisper trembles out of the guard, barely audible despite the gentle night breeze that presses against them. There’s a catch in his words, a moment of hesitation that hadn’t been present in any of his previous actions, and Obi-Wan frowns, leaning impossibly closer.

“Why?”

He watches as the flicker of a snarl curls across what he can see of the guard’s face, his eyes narrowing and his brow furrows. “I can’t.”

It is easy for the guard to transform the press into a head-butt, the motion rumbling through him like a quake and Obi-Wan steps back, breaking the contact between them before the blow lands.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s your job, my dear. I can’t fault you for that.”

“No, it’s—“ The guard stops, shaking his head and Obi-Wan moves to strike him, his blades raised.

It seems to happen slowly and yet too fast all at once.

Obi-Wan watches the man swing the halberd behind him, lending additional power to his strike, and moves to one side, seeking to circle him. The man turns away from him, his head turning to follow Obi-Wan’s movement. A single thought rises to the clouded surface of Obi-Wan’s mind, a burning curiosity that threatens to overwhelm him, as the man kicks out, putting his whole weight behind it.

Obi-Wan doesn’t see the blade until it’s too late.

A white-hot strike of pain radiates through his side and Obi-Wan is twisting away, fear freezing in his veins. The blade retracts into the concealed holster with a hiss as the guard steps away. One hand is half-stretched towards him, the fingers curled in regretful concern but Obi-Wan is too far for him to reach.

The damp morning dew sinks into his boots, every step clinging and clutching and Obi-Wan forces his mind to focus on that rather than on the burning trickle of blood through his fingers.

“You’re very good with your weapons,” Obi-Wan calls, seeking familiar territory. His heart races in his chest, rabbit-fast and his head spins, sending the world spiralling into a web of cold disinterested stars and clawing grasping ground. The rope is light against his frantic hand, whispering around his wrist and hooking around his waist like a caress as he prepares himself to run. “I wonder what else you’re very good with.”

It’s an apology and forgiveness curled together, sweetened with a return to the familiar, and Obi-Wan watches as his words land, the guard’s prowl slowing. His armour gleams in the fading moonlight, half caught between the memory of the night and the triumphant declaration of the morning, all brilliant oranges and purples cascading over the metal. The sun catches the etching over his chest, burnishing it to gold.

“You could always try again and find out?” There’s a flicker of hesitation in the guard’s reply, his free hand ghosting over his side, mirroring the desperate clutch of Obi-Wan’s hand. “If you can find me again, that is.”

He’s already turning away before Obi-Wan can bring himself to answer, tasting the man’s bitterness in the back of his throat as if it was his own. “I’ll see you soon, my dear. Sleep well.”

A stumble, a crack in the man’s impenetrable armour revealed by a single instance of kindness. The rope, enchanted and as impatient as its maker, draws Obi-Wan upwards as silently as he arrived, and he watches the man brush his fingers over his side once more before he straightens his back and walks away.

#codywan #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #star wars #my writing #fanfic

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itszemo · 4 years ago

Text

( * & . --- RESCUE ME .

* helmut zemo x gn!reader . warnings for heavy angst, referenced rape ( not by zemo ), aftermath of torture, suicidal ideation & suicide attempt . — ‘ 1812 words ’

( BLOOD ) IT'S THE SMELL of blood that makes Zemo gag. Not the sight of the wounds themselves, or the knowledge of what your captors must have done to you: it’s the thick and heady scent of copper in the air that shoves its way down his throat and almost makes him sick.

Almost. His hands are steady — slick with sweat and clammy from adrenaline, but perfectly capable of aiming his gun. He takes out the jailer in your cell. He takes out the men who rush to his aid. He stuns the agents running toward him down the hall.

He doesn’t touch you. The smell of burned armor and burnt skin replaces the scent of blood. He turns, and through the smoke he sees little flashes that will stay with him forever: hair matted with blood, skin bruised so dark that for one brief moment Zemo thinks it’s rotting.

Open wounds, circular burn marks from where someone pressed a hot weapon against your stomach and thighs. Dried blood, the crust of cum on your legs, your back, your chest, your face. The deep lines worn into your wrists from where your captors used wire instead of handcuffs, favoring pain over efficiency, confident that they’d broken you so badly you couldn’t escape.

You are his target. You are nude and barely breathing. You are the person who helped Wanda and Pietro which resulted in the destruction of his country. You are lying in your own urine on the floor, unable to stand.

You are one of Hydra's super powered experiment, and you've been raped by men who once called themselves SHIELD agents.

Zemo takes a deep breath and cuts the ties around your wrists.

( THE SERUM ) “That’s all I can do.” Zemo says, standing from a crouch. He tosses his hands up, a muted gesture of helplessness. Your eyes follow his hands like you're expecting a blow, but your expression is weary, not cautious; if Zemo were to hit you, he doubts you would even flinch.

The serum running through your body has taken care of the deep wounds around your wrists, and it’s eradicated the infected cuts on your back and thighs. Perhaps it will dull the pain of your burn wounds; perhaps not. There was little that could be done by the time Zemo got to them. He stands over you, who sit half-dressed on a sofa in Zemo's hotel room, wrists crossed loosely over your knee.

Head bowed. If not for the strain and exhaustion in your posture, you might look natural. Even if you did look natural, the antiseptic smell hanging around you would give you away.

“You want to talk about it?” Zemo asks. He can see you staring at his worn leather boots; your own feet are bare, your bruised and bloody toes peeking out from behind bandages. Your toenails are gone, your soles flogged raw.

“What information do you need?” You ask, tone placid, conversational.

It takes Zemo a moment to realize you’re having different conversations. He wants to know how badly you were hurt; you think this is an interrogation. He hesitates, sits beside you on the sofa.

“They raped you.” He says.

You don’t meet his gaze. You lift your chin, stare at the tv opposite you with cool eyes and a tight jaw.

“I am their soldier.” You say with neither pride nor shame, just stating a fact. “I have been tortured before, Colonel. Haven’t you?”

Zemo’s lips lift in a half-smile, no real amusement. He says nothing.

After a moment, so subtly it could be classified as an accident, you shift in your seat, your arm brushing against his. A light touch, barely there. Zemo sneaks a glance at your face, sees a glaze of confusion in your eyes, a hint of fear. He understands the touch for what it is: not comfort, exactly, but grounding.

There are a million things Zemo could be doing, plotting his revenge plan against the avengers chief among them, but for now, he doesn’t move.

( BRUISES ) They won’t fade for weeks. They limit your movements in the shower. Zemo offers help, and you snap out a refusal so harsh that it makes you both freeze, Zemo flushing, you pale. You struggle on your own beneath the water spray, can barely move your arms or bend your legs.

You won’t be clean — truly clean — for quite some time. Won’t be able to rid yourself of the smell of humiliation which lingers on your skin. You wear one of Zemo's old shirts, but beneath the fresh scent of the clean shirt, you swear you catch whiffs of semen and piss. It doesn’t matter that it’s been days since you were rescued; the smell of blood is gone, but those two scents remain.

You stand before the mirror afterward, examine your face. The hum of the shower offers flawless soundproofing, allows you to do whatever you want in here without Zemo finding out. There are a thousand options.

What you do is line your knuckles up with your cheekbone, pull your fist back, and punch yourself in the face.

The first blow is soft, less painful than you want it to be. Your self-preservations instincts have kicked in, making you pull the punch. You don’t let that happen again. You pull back, strike yourself again and again in the same place, until every blow jars you, makes your bones shake in your head, leaves your skin heated and fragile to the touch.

You press your fingers to your cheekbone. You can almost feel the broken blood vessels stinging beneath your skin.

When you sit next to Zemo on the sofa that night, his eyes track up and linger on your new bruise.

He doesn’t say a word.

( BED ) At night, you lie stiff in your bed, unable to find comfort. Your body screams at you no matter how you sleep, but this is best: on your back, arms crossed as much as you can manage over your stomach, legs straight and slightly spread. You stare up at the ceiling, Zemo’s bed next to yours. You listen to the former soldier toss and turn in his sleep.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest. You tell yourself the sounds mean nothing; your nervous system tells you otherwise, insists that Zemo is waking, getting out of bed, coming your way. A trickle of heat burns through your chest, into your stomach and bladder, leaves you struggling to breathe as your muscles go limp. You can think of nothing but keeping yourself in control, not letting fight-or-flight get the best of you. You focus so hard on this that you can’t stop your breath from whistling through your teeth, nor can you stifle the frightened groan that escapes your lips, completely involuntary.

In the bed next to you, Zemo goes still. His voice is thick and rough from sleep.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

You clench your fist, drive your knuckles into a bruise on your ribs, let the pain bring you back. Your captor is asking you if you’re alright. When you say nothing, Zemo looks to his side and peeks at you, his face impossible to read.

“Don’t worry.” He says. “I won't harm you.”

He won't harm you. How the hell are you supposed to answer to that?

( GUN ) Zemo notices it’s missing from his holster at the worst time: when he’s fighting two HYDRA agents that came looking for you. He manages to fight them off, kills them and stands, nerves jangling, crossing to the cramped hotel room space that he and you have made into a temporary home.

He finds you sitting on the edge of your bed. Your shirt is lifted, revealing the blood-stained bandages beneath; they need changing, but there’s nothing left to change them with. Clasped loosely in your hand, which rests at your side, is Zemo's gun.

Zemo swallows. His throat is dry.

“Hey.” He says, his voice a rasp.

Your eyes meet his. You lift the gun a little, point it not at Zemo but at yourself. There’s no expression on your face, no emotion in your eyes, as you raise it and press the barrel beneath your chin.

You don’t speak as Zemo approaches. Your grip on the gun stays loose; you make no attempt to pull the trigger. When Zemo takes the gun away, sets it aside, you put up only the briefest of fights: your grip on the handle tightens, your hand spasms, you let it go.

You don’t react when Zemo's hands land on your shoulders, squeezing gently, turning you to face him. Your gaze is haughty, exasperated, dignified and unashamed; you're ready to argue that you have a right to kill yourself, that you won’t reveal any new secrets about your powers in another round of torture, that you don’t trust him and there’s nothing Zemo can do to convince you. Zemo can see the arguments boiling in your eyes.

But when he pulls you forward, you crumble into his arms.

( BREATHE ) The air in Sokovia is cold and misty in the morning, the kind of air that can coat your lungs in frost. But it will warm up soon, when the sun is high. For now, Zemo drapes his coat over your shoulders, places one hand flat between your shoulder blades for support.

You stand on the stairs of Zemo’s private plane, looking down at the rubble that remains of Sokovia. A few curious looks are thrown your way. Nobody rushes to put you in cuffs; few people seem to recognize you from the battle, and those who do only look at Zemo in surprise, then scowl and move along.

“I told you nobody would pay you too much attention.” Zemo says softly.

You say nothing. Your teeth are clenched, your face blank. You blink rapidly and wait for the mist to crash to the ground, for the image before you to fracture into nothing. For the space in front of you to glitch and turn into your cell walls, the scent of blood.

You blink. You blink again, the bruise on your cheekbone stinging in the cool air. Zemo's hand on your back is warm and broad and magnetic, keeping you upright, keeping you still. You swallow past a tight throat and watch the sky blur.

Now. Now it will dissolve, reveal itself for a hallucination. Now it will become your cell again.

But you blink and the blurriness intensifies then fades, a tear blazing down your cheek, over your self-inflicted bruise, too hot and immediate to ignore or classify as a delusion. You feel Zemo’s hand flex on your back, reminding you that he’s there.

“Breathe.” Zemo says. “And we can go down when you’re ready.”

You breathe.

‘ @noavengers ’ — comment to be added to my taglist .

#* • HELMUT ZEMO x READER ; ———————— ONESHOT.#zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader

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abluescarfonwaston · 4 years ago

Note

Fun fanfiction idea:

Miles crossdresses to avoid being seen in public, and knowing him, it's very convincing. Except for the fact that he's still wearing the exact same shade of red and his hair extensions are the same color.

Maya immediately recognizes him, but Phoenix, being his dense self, takes longer.

Alright which one of you bastards just put me on freaking read? How dare you read me like a freaking children's novel. YOU KNEW I COULDN’T RESIST THIS. Featuring Gender non conforming Miles Edgeworth. Also on AO3

“Earth to Nick.” A cold plastic bag was dropped on his head.

“Ack!” He turned around on the park bench to glare at her. “What was that for?”

“You’ve been totally checked out for like the last ten minutes!”

“I was not! I was completely focused!”

“On what?!” Maya demanded pulling out the ice cream from the bag she’d hit him with and flopping down on the bench next to him. Tearing one open.

“Uhhhh…” His cheeks heated as he glanced back to the focus of his attention. Grabbed the other ice cream to try and cover it. “Nothing.”

It was just… She was beautiful. Silver starlight hair that framed her face and flowed down the curve of her spine. The way her dress hugged the wide expanse of her chest. Pinched down to her narrow hips. The magenta billow of the tail of her dress that still allowed him to see the garters around her muscular calves and thighs when she turned.

She was breathtaking. Just objectively. The kind of women Mia would ask him what kind of conclusive proof he was wearing around his neck to get her to even consider dating him.

She took a step forward in those two inch heels and he swallowed. She was probably at least his height if not taller. Would he have to bounce up on the balls of his feet to kiss her? She’d turn her face up with a teasing smirk and deny him. Did you want something Phoenix?

You know what I want!

Do I?

A kiss! Please!

And that teasing smile would grow just a little bigger and the crinkle under her bespectacled eyes a little softer. Oh I suppose I can do that. She’d angle herself a little lower and kiss him and-

So he might have been a little romantically horny.

Her dog, a big fluffy creature dropped the neon tennis ball at her feet. Play lunging. Tail raised and wagging in anticipation.

She scooped up the ball in her tennis ball throwing… stick. Whatever those were called. Smile widening. His chest twisted. She said something to the dog.

You wanna go? You ready? Is my sweet girl ready?

The dog wiggled. Excitement growing.

She threw back her arm. Go get it! Flung the ball across the park.

Her fluffy beast hurtled after.

“Oh my God Nick.”

Cold ice cream dripped onto his hand jolting him back to his body. He hastily licked it up. Face hot. “Shut up.” I’m allowed to look! I was an art major! I can appreciate beauty while realizing that I’m not allowed to touch!

Or interact in any way with someone so far out of my league.

Gods. She’s pretty.

“Nick is that Edgeworth?”

His head snapped to her then. She wasn’t staring at him laughing at his plight. She was looking at someone in the park.

“What?! Where?!” He tried to follow her gaze to the prosecutor in question. It would be strange to see him out an about. Was he dressed like a normal human being? Was that why she was so surprised? Was he ordering a hot dog from a stand in full Edgeworth Regalia? Gods was he on a run in shorts and a too tight tee, sweaty and slightly disheveled from the exercise?!

He scanned the park as Maya gaped. Jaw working but infuriatingly silent. “Where Maya? I don’t see him.”

If I miss seeing Edgeworth in running shoes and shorts you’re buying your own dinner!

She weakly raised her hand and pointed. Finger shaking.

To… The woman in pink?

He laughed. “What are you talking about Maya?” Just because they’re both gorgeous silver hair people with a preference for light red- bordering on pink-

She cupped her mouth. “Miles Edgeworth!”

He grabbed her. “What do you think you’re doing?!” He glanced at the woman. “See she didn’t even respond!”

“She- he – FLINCHED NICK. It’s TOTALLY HIM! Oh my god!!!” She started to stand. He tried to force her back onto the bench before she humiliated him in front of one of the most stunning people he’d seen in months.

She wiggled free and dashed out towards her.

His life was over. For a moment it flashed in front of his eyes.

… Less of it should have been spent buying food for the woman who was about to be listed as his cause of death!

He scrambled after her. “Maya no!”

“Oh my god! You look so good! Your makeup is on Point!”

“Uh.” She raised the tennis ball stick between her and Maya hiding behind it like a tiny ineffective shield. Face blossoming red. “T-Thank you?” She squeaked out. Her eyes flickered nervously.

Silver. Even her eyes where silver starlight.

He shoved Maya’s head down in an apology bow. “I am SO sorry about her.”

Straighten.

She was taller than him in those heels. Just an inch or three.

His little bi heart was going to give out.

“I-it’s fine.” She laughed airily. Hand grasping at the crook of her elbow as she stared pointedly away.

That felt… Familiar.

“I’m jealous how well you pull that outfit off!”

Her dog trotted right up between them and sat down firmly in front of her. Leaning into her legs and thighs.

Her hand released and buried itself in the thick fur of their fluffy mane.

“We… We should be going.” She fumbled for the leash holstered like Franziska’s whip at her hip.

“Miles?”

She- he – They? Flinched.

Oh. Oh fuck.

“What?! You don’t have to!”

“Don’t run!” He begged hands splayed out wide. Miles looked very much like they wanted to run. “Fuck I’m sorry we won’t tell anyone!”

The hand twitched. Almost to the leash. The dog whined.

Both hands were buried in their mane.

“Did you just curse?” Maya stared at him wide eyed like she’d just found an even better target. Deflated slightly at his and Miles face. Forcibly brightened and clapped her hands together. “What’s your dogs name?”

“… Pess.”

“Aren’t you the handsomest little man Pess? What a sweet puppy!”

“Pess is a lady.”

“The prettiest lady!” Maya immediately began to coo.

He rubbed the back of his neck staring off at the tree line. “Like… You?” He tried to ask.

“Ngh… Not… Not as such no.”

“Oh. O-okay. I mean- it’d be fine if you were! You really do make a pretty lady!”

Fuck.

“Yeah Nick couldn’t stop staring at you!”

MAYA.

“Is… that right?”

He chuckled nervously. “Haha. Maybe? Uh would we… Talk?”

“I… suppose.”

“Can I throw the ball for your dog then?”

“Ah.” He looked at the stick. Handed it to her. “Sure.”

They sat on the bench. Miles tucked the tail of the dress under them. Long fingers splayed on their thighs.

“Sooo… Um.”

“If you’re going to laugh just do it already. Go on. Laugh!”

“…”Miles turned their face away as they spit out the demand. His chest clenched for entirely different reason. “My pronouns are he him?” He tried. The fingers eased slightly as Miles turned and peered at him through those silver bangs. “What are yours?”

There was a long pause as Miles studied him. Face dropped back to their thighs. “He him is fine. Although I do not object to they them in private.”

“Does now count as private?”

“Well I certainly don’t want you using he him right now.”

“Got it.” He threw an arm over the bench and stared at them. Even more breathtaking up close. It was unfair Miles got to be hot in all the genders. He could barely manage the one. “So is this like. A hobby?”

“No not. I enjoy dresses and skirts in a gender defying way not. As crossdressing.” They stared down at their manicured fingers. “The extent of this presentation is…”

He waited for Miles to continue. Pressed when they didn’t. “Is?”

Miles raised their chin. “Someone in my position can’t be seen wearing these sorts of things. I don’t appreciate the attention I receive from merely being openly gay. Much less gender non-conforming.”

“Yeah no I totally get that- I mean you’re a private guy- person? – to begin with. Totally fine!”

There was a weak smile. They tugged on their sleeve. “There is another benefit…”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’m not a high ranked prosecutor like this. There are no eyes watching me.” Yeah I don’t think that’s true in the slightest. “No tabloids itching to catch the demon prosecutor doing something distasteful or vengeful people hoping for a moment to come yell at me. I’m not ‘Prosecutor Edgeworth’ so… I can relax.”

“Oh.” He blinked. Squished his face further into the crook of his arm. “Guess that makes sense.” They stared out at the park. Watching Maya pretend to throw the ball for Pess. Shoulders loose and relaxed. Screw it. “Miles.” He tacked on just half a second too late.

The shoulders pulled up and that red tint returned. Red really was their color. “W-What are you?”

“You’re not Prosecutor Edgeworth right now right? So you’re Miles. Isn’t that right?”

The blush climbed their cheeks up to their ears. “No, you’re Wright.”

“Not right now I’m not. Right now I’m Phoenix.” He stared up through the lashes of his eyes at his childhood best friend. All red and silver starlight. “And I’m sitting on the bench with the prettiest person I’ve ever seen.”

Holy shit! That was almost smooth! That’ll never happen again! It’s so good were sitting down or else I’d have tripped on my shoes and face planted as universal karma for that!

Miles twisted away. Hand coming up to cover their face. He could still see their ears burning red.

“Me too.” Miles mumbled.

“Huh?” He lifted his head slightly. Cocked it.

“The bench. That’s true for me too.”

“Uh. Wha?” The bench?

I’m sitting on the bench with the prettiest person I’ve ever seen.

He fell to the ground. All the blood collecting in his face. “Wha- You- You can’t just!”

Miles turned. A teasing smirk pulling at his face. “Oh haven’t you heard Phoenix?” Fuck. “Turnabout’s fair play.”

Bastard. He grinned. Bastard.

Turnabouts fair play.

#miles edgeworth #phoenix wright #narumistu #wrightworth #pess is the bestest girl #and also miles edgeworth he/him they/them solidarity #i too wish to be masculine but in a distinctly queer way

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omniscientwreck · 4 years ago

Text

With Every Single Thing I Have

Beginning note: ***MAJOR SPOILERS FOR C2 E141***

CW: Character Death, Talk of Death

This is my interpretation of the canon description of Essek and Caleb’s days with some good angst thrown right in there. I have no knowledge of what is or isn’t cannon about the afterlife in Critical Role so this may be canon divergent but I needed it to cope. I hope you enjoy! Title Is Taken From The Song Two by Sleeping At Last

Caleb Widogast is dying.

He’s old, nearly 90 years of age. His body aches with every rain, stairs become more difficult, but his casting never fades. His mind is sharp and he reads, learns, and teaches until the end comes for him. Up in his tower, exhausted and bed-ridden he hears shuffling outside the door before it opens without so much as a touch and a tray of food is brought in. Essek Thelyss glides gently into the room, “Oh good, you’re awake. I prepared a light lunch for you, would you eat?”

Nodding back at the drow, the bittersweet smile that’s become a companion to him in Essek’s presence settling again into his wrinkled features. Essek sits on the bed beside him, book in hand as he often does and the memories written all over Caleb’s face come flooding back.

They had gone back to Aeor after the business in Rexxentrum concluded. Jester had helped Caleb locate Essek and when he found out he wasn’t too late, he was still at the outpost, he’d gone almost immediately. The winter clothes they’d bought all those months ago to chase their lost friend still fit and they carried many memories in them with the promise of more to come.

Their time together in Aeor was long. They took many months scouring the ruins for every book they could find. Between his Vault of Amber and Essek’s Wristpocket as well as a borrowed bag of holding they were able to collect the knowledge of Aeor. They found every device, every tiny dunamantic stone. They went back to the machine, the one that promised Caleb his dreams, closure, a chance to atone. The one that could change Essek’s past, that would give him his freedom.

Essek gazed upon the machine and he decided to remain in hiding. He looked directly at Caleb, made the decision to live forever with the consequences of his actions, because without them they wouldn’t have this. This moment, this trip, these memories.

It is Caleb’s turn now to gaze upon his destiny. He looks into the lavender eyes boring into him with the question Will you do it? His plan is perfect, the only thing that changes is that his parents are not dead and one day maybe he can reunite with them. He can see them grown old, he can tell them everything he’s done. They can be proud of him.

His mind shifts to the Nein, to Veth, Jester. To Astrid and Eodwulf. Back to Essek. It’s impossible to know what would happen if he did this. If he’d be able to come back. Is it really worth giving up everything he knows? Potentially giving up the Mighty Nein not only for himself but for them too?

He reaches into his components bag, smears dust across his forearm and with a green ray he carves away the experiment. He destroys, permanently, any hope of ever going back, in favour of hope for the future. Essek helps him burn everything and when they’re done he can only stare at the drow. The man who’s come so far, allowed himself to be so changed by the love of friends (Caleb’s love) that he went from enemy to beloved companion. He stares and divergent futures flash before his eyes as if he’s staring deep into the Luxon. They all end the same, he dies and Essek lives on without him for many years. The change is in the times in between now and then.

He knows which one he want and if the last two months were any indication Essek had his own hopes.

A week or so later, they ate in the tower. When the Nein first separated the tower had felt empty, he usually elected to sleep in a hotel room or in the dome under the stars. With Essek it’s easier to be there. They’ve fallen into a comfortable routine while researching that involves them spending the day immersed in ancient secrets forgotten to time. They would spend hours in complete silence, reading in tandem or copying runes and arcane patterns and then one of them would find something truly tantalizing and the silence would be broken as they began theorizing. When Essek gets excited his lavender eyes brighten and his whole face lifts and it’s no secret to Caleb that his heart races and his face melts into a soft, tender expression that Essek catches and matches.

After, they’ll go into the tower and eat, served warm soups and breads by little fey cats and then they read in the study in companionable silence until they retire to separate rooms. This night, a week before their time was up, Caleb’s keen mind caught up with him. Suddenly he became very aware of the passage of time, the potential futures slipping away and he rests his spoon on the table, overwhelmed by the shrinking timeline ahead.

They talk that night, instead of reading. They sit in two armchairs in a quiet carpeted room lit by purple globules of light, gently bobbing around their heads and they talk. They talk for hours. Essek tells Caleb his sins and Caleb elaborates on his own. They talk plainly and it’s hard to do, but at some point the chairs moved closer, and then their hands touched, eventually Essek’s hands were folded into Caleb’s.

He felt closer to Essek after that. For the rest of the week it was easier to reach out and grasp his hand, to pull him into a hug. Two weeks later, they talked again and after that they kissed. Their kisses weren’t frequent but they were familiar, a warm comfort over those last weeks in Aeor.

Theirs was not a whirlwind romance. It was something more precious and much more difficult to describe. It burned slow and and steadily rose until something had to be done. They kept in close contact after Aeor, it is those letters that begin the new collection that fills Caleb’s left holster.

They visit occasionally until the burn of the eyes of the Dynasty on Essek’s back became too hot. Caleb has taken to staying in Nicodranas when he and Beauregard are taking a break from dismantling centuries old systems to weed out the rot so he asks Essek to come stay with him. Quietly, out of the eyes of the empire and most of their friends, they begin to build a life. They construct with care, laying a sturdy foundation because though they both know this arrangement is temporary they promise to always be together in one way or another; because though gravity can be altered, it always rights itself and the pull Caleb feels towards Essek, has felt for some time, is a law of his nature.

They allow themselves as long as the other will have them and they spend years together. The kisses become more frequent as they gradually abandon inhibitions. Caleb’s life is a blink compared to Essek and he becomes more aware each year of the limited time he has. He and Essek stay together in varying locations for as long as he can bear it, he realizes now that they have earned this happiness, however fleeting. It will always be a larger portion of his life than it will be of Essek’s so he holds out as long as he can. He begins to teach in this time and though Essek cannot really be free he still has his work studying their findings and occasionally he travels.

Caleb watches him advance so much in their decade together and he gets bleary eyed imagining all Essek will do when he’s gone. They learn together, share every meal, he learns Undercommon and teaches Zemnian, and they spend every possible night together in every possible way. They share a sweet and intense passion and Caleb’s love sinks deeper and deeper into his heart.

When his forehead wrinkles and his hair is greying he realizes his time is up. He has goals, he needs to teach, he needs to fully commit to being in the Empire and his short life must be spent doing as he promised all those years ago, making each place better than he found it. That is the hardest conversation he’s ever had. “I wish it were not this way. That it didn’t have to be, but I do not have as much time as you so I must burn brightly to make my impact. I will always love you Essek Thelyss.”

“And I you Caleb Widogast. When you stumbled into my life all those years ago, Empire infiltrator holding my greatest crime in your hand I had no idea what would happen. You were a variable I did not account for, could never have foreseen. Of all the possible futures in store for me this one, where I am here with you, where I have been here with you for ten years and where I will continue to be by your side thought it is not the same is the best one I could have never predicted.”

They give themselves one last year. They don’t travel, Caleb takes the year off and they spend 328 days exactly together, in bliss. They do their best not to allow the apprehension of good-bye to creep in. Caleb knows it’s not good-bye, not truly and not forever. But when the day comes though he tries to hold it back he cries bitter tears and holds Essek tight and the smaller man shakes with his own sobs. But they loved each other for eleven years, and they manage to continue loving each other for another fourty or so.

Essek leaves and travels for a while to do his own work. This is frequent in the latter half of Caleb’s life but every time he comes back and his friend brings him stories and listens to all of his own. They help each other research, Caleb still tells him everything and relishes every moment they spend together. They no longer kiss but they are still partners.

Caleb’s life has been better, more fulfilling than he could ever have hoped stumbling out of that wretched prison at the beginning of his second life. He learned peace through the Nein and later through Essek and now that he’s at the end of his time he knows he could not have lived a better life.

Caleb Widogast is old, older than he ever thought he’d be and while his bones and muscles give out and he goes to the Blooming Grove where Caduceus has always said he will end up, to spend his final months, Essek follows.

He cooks the soups the cats used to, they remember everything together, Caleb’s mind keen but Essek has kept up well. At just the right time, Caleb knows. Essek is sat beside him in the bed, the wizards reading in tandem as they’ve done before and fallen into again in this late stage. They have been kissing again, Caleb allowing this last indulgence, one last selfish act. Essek needs it too.

“Essek Thelyss, thank you for everything you’ve done for me. My constant companion, the center of my gravity. You who bent time and space for me and taught me so many things from magic to forgiveness. I have loved you all my life from the moment I could and I would never dream to change a single thing.”

“Caleb Widogast. I have treasured every moment we have spent together, you changed my life, saved a man who knew not that he was dying. I have been happy because I know you and I will continue to be happy because you will never be far from my heart.”

“Please promise to me that you will take care of the others. Allow them to care for you. Find new people and care for them and allow yourself to be cared for in return, live your life as fully as you are able, and when you are done I will see you again just as I am about to see my family.”

“I will. You have loved me all of your life and I will love you for all of mine. I will never know someone like you again. Thank you for allowing me the privilege of your companionship. It is an honor to love you and it always will be.”

The quiet conversation fades and they share one final kiss and Essek sits as Caleb drifts to sleep, gently running his fingers through his hair. Then he goes to get Caduceus. Caleb Widogast is dead.

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

Essek Thelyss is dying.

He is nearly 740 years old and he is in decline. He, like his friends before him, retires to the Blooming Grove to live out his remaining days, however many they might be. Caduceus’ kin are caring and when he shows up on their doorstep they expect him. “He told us you would arrive one day. Welcome home and thank you for being here.”

Essek’s life has been a thing of remarkable chance, nearly improbable. He has learned to manipulate as much as he can but even he could not have foreseen the path he ended up taking. He has lived so long, and his life has been full but he is tired.

Fjord had been the first of the Nein to pass. After him Caleb. After Caleb the group coalesced around him. They had never shared many details, but they seemed to know. Keeping his promise to Caleb he allowed them to care for him. To bring him food, to message him to make sure he was okay. They invited him on adventures when they needed and he never turned them down.

They continued asking him to teleport them and every single time he did. Kingsley goes next and then Beauregard. Those years are full of so much loss condensed into such a tiny portion of his existence. He isn’t used to things happening so quickly and he begins to reach out. New connections. He finds people to care for, to mentor and to bolster. He dedicates his life to using aliases to research and study and publish materials to help the mages after him and Caleb. He finds himself beseeched by parties of assholes for assistance and while he never fights alongside another group he makes himself useful in any other way in his ability.

He always imparts the lesson to leave the world better than they found it, and if they listen, if they are the same as his friends, the best people he’s ever known, the world will survive yet. There is a pause between good-byes for a number of years. Then he loses Yasha and Jester. Jester is one of the hardest, the friendly little blue tiefling with a heart for adventure who hugged him when touch had still burned. After her goes Veth and after Veth, finally Caduceus goes back to the earth.

He promised Caleb to live a full life, but every year, the anniversary of the day they met several lifetimes ago, he visits the Blooming Grove. He walks the grounds, he sits with Caleb and he tells him of his research, he reminisces and he whispers love to the flowers that grow. They are fiery orange and yellow with some deep purple and blue spattered among them. Caduceus says on his first visit that the blue ones are called forget-me-nots. Essek picks one every year and presses it into a book, like Yasha showed him once upon a time.

Caduceus and Essek drink the tea from the flowers Caleb gave them. For centuries they sat together, telling stories, having extended conversation year after year. Some years Caduceus travelled so Essek made his vigil alone, but he never forgot Caleb and he never forgot the Mighty Nein. They lived as long as he did for they were in his heart always.

The last time he visits Caleb they talk for hours. “Every good thing I have done, every positive emotion and happiness I have known in these centuries has been because of you. You allowed me to feel again and the best decision I could have ever made was letting my plan go to allow myself to grow close to you.”

He is lying beside the grave twirling a delicate blue flower between wrinkled, aching fingers. “Caleb Widowgast you have lived with me for a long while and I thank you again for the gifts you gave me while you were here. I hope you are proud of me. I love you to the end of my days my friend.”

He falls asleep then, in the night of the Blooming Grove, fireflies and an infinite expanse of stars casting gentle light across his stilling form.

As Essek Thelyss fades he finds himself again in a garden. It is brightly coloured and lush, well cared for. There is a small cottage there and as he glides to the door, drawn to it as if by gravity, it opens and he sees copper hair, vibrant blue eyes, and the widest smile he’s missed the most, “I told you my friend, we would meet again.”

“I never doubted you Caleb Widogast.”

#shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role #the mighty nein #fan fiction #my writing #wreckwrites #critfic #cr spoilers #critical role spoilers

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yoditorian · 4 years ago

Text

lacuna- part 1

din/reader

she’s here!!!!! she’s here!!!!! i decided to split it up into parts to give me more time to write and put u all (ellie) out of your misery. thank you for being patient, and thank you to everyone who was so kind about the teaser!!

set waaaaaay before the series, this is Target Practice Din

MASTERLIST

word count: just shy of 2.5k

warnings: some swears bc it’s me, overuse of italics, probably some spelling mistakes, non graphic smut but it is Highly Implied, so for that reason 18+ only pls no babies.

“Have you ever removed your helmet?”

“No.” He grits out.

“Has it ever been removed by others?”

“Never.”

He’s lying.

___________________

You practically fly down from the cockpit the second you touch down, shoving Ran between the shoulder blades. He stumbles down the last few feet of the ramp, and skids across the ground on his ass. In any other situation, you might have laughed. But in any other situation, you probably wouldn’t have pushed him.

“What the fuck was that?”

He only sputters out a half baked excuse about the mission, it’s enough to have you drawing your blaster. Only it's not in the holster you keep strapped to your thigh.

Your gaze is cold as ice as you turn to see your gun dangling from Mando’s index finger. He stands above you on the ramp, apparently unaffected by your outrage even though Ran’s actions could have ended very differently for all four of you. Xi’an laughs haughtily from a crate inside the ship, she’s lucky you’re unarmed.

“He almost got us killed.” You reason, not even sparing a glance at the man still cowering from you on the floor. Mando shrugs. Like it's nothing.

“And yet, we made it.” He says, dropping the blaster back into your holster as he descends the ramp.

You’re all only alive because you were quick enough on your feet to take over, because you were on the guns, because you made the lightspeed calculations mid-dogfight to get the fuck out of there. Something everyone else seems to have conveniently not noticed. Ran’s on his feet, dusting himself off, Mando has already stalked off into the hangar, and Xi’an’s hot on his heels. You heave an annoyed sigh, adrenaline leaching the energy from your bones, and scuff your boots the rest of the way down the ramp. Ran catches your arm when you pass him, grip just a little too tight to be friendly.

“Empire’s always looking for pilots, I could just put you back where I found you.” He says lowly as you rip your arm from him. It’s not an empty threat. He knows there’s nothing left for you on Corellia besides an arrest warrant and a swift execution. There’ll be bruises in the shape of his fingertips by morning, you can feel them already. It’s not the first time and, if you’re being honest, you know it won’t be the last. The pouch of credits Qin hands you for a job well done makes that particular pill a little easier to choke down, at least.

Your room at Ran’s space station isn’t much, but you’ve done what you can. There’s only a bed and a desk, the matching chair missing long before you moved in, a shelving unit and a viewport. An old blanket, loosely crocheted and full of holes, lies crumpled atop the sheets. It was white once, used to swaddle you as a baby, but that was before the sweat and the ash and the bloodstains. It’s the only thing you’d brought with you when you had to run, wrapped around your shoulders to shield you from the night’s chill at the last minute. You hadn’t even had time to put shoes on. The viewport window is another comfort, barely bigger than the datapad that lies forgotten on your pillow, but you pay the boss dearly for your view. Lights blinking on the ceiling reflect in the scratched glass, and the mismatched floor panels creak under your weight as they always do. It’s home, even if the space station itself feels like the loneliest place in the universe sometimes. With one last glance at the swirling stars as the station slowly turns, you’re practically asleep before your head hits the pillow.

You have to pee.

One look out into the corridor presents you with closed doors and lowered lights. Sleep hours, then. It’s hard to keep track of time when it’s always night outside, although living off-planet isn’t so bad once you get used to it. Rest here comes when you can get it, as opposed to the fancy artificial sunrise/sunset lighting cycles you’ve heard about on inner rim stations. It doesn’t sound like anyone’s awake to judge you for shuffling to the bathroom in your socks anyway.

The light is too bright in comparison to the dim hall, and you almost jump back from your reflection in the small mirror. Bloodshot eyes, rumpled shirt, you really should have done something with your hair before you passed out. You’re sure you’ve never looked more exhausted. Sleep hasn’t come easy in the few years you’ve spent on the station, dreams plagued by flashes of the reason you came here in the first place. Running, choking on the smoke in your lungs, an old friend’s blood splattering across your cheek. The only rest you really get is when you work yourself down to the bone, until you can’t keep your eyes open anymore, but you know you’re not the only one.

The door across from yours is open when you go back to your room, Mando standing in the frame, backlit by a lamp like he’s the hero from one of those propaganda movies you snuck into as a kid. You pause in your own doorway, it’s probably a bad idea to call him out on it. It’d probably only start an argument and then you’d have to deal with the only person you could count on to watch your six being mad at you.

“You should have backed me up earlier.” Your mouth takes the decision away from you. He waits for a moment, silently, like he’s expecting you to say more. But you leave it there.

“I did.”

You’re turning to shut the door when he finally answers, and it takes everything in you not to shout at him in the middle of the hall.

“If that’s what backing someone up looks like to Mandalorians, then I think I’d rather you didn’t at all.” You hiss, exhaustion feeding into your anger. It’s not the way you should be speaking to him, or anyone, but you’re just too tired to care.

Mando’s spine goes rigid and you almost regret the dig, not that you have time to think about it before he’s walking right towards you and backing you into the darkness of your room. You can just about see the ceiling panel lights blink in the reflection of his visor. It’s only as he moves that you spot the bag slung over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” You ask, barely a whisper. You’ve never been this close to him before, chest to chest, alone. The warmth you can feel even from under the armour threatens to make your head spin.

“Home.” He leaves it at that. Never one to use more words than he needs to. You didn’t even know he had a home to go back to. There’s a lot you don’t know about the man in front of you, but he’s loyal to the bone. That much is plain to see.

“Don’t you ever think about going home?”

“My home is here.” Your answer is final, although you can feel the raised eyebrow through his helmet. You’re no more attached to the space station than you are any of the planets you’ve yet to visit. It’s not home, nowhere is. But you’ve been here since you were sixteen, years before the rest of your team, it’s as close as you’ll get to belonging somewhere. Mando doesn’t respond, doesn’t ask any questions, only stands with you for a long moment. Breathing. He’s good like that. You’ve never felt the pressure to fill any silence with him, he seems to exist so comfortably in it. It’s easier that way, probably for you both. You don’t know much about Mandalorians, the only stories you’ve heard are the ones Qin told you drunk in a seedy cantina when Mando first joined. Horror stories. If his past is anything similar to yours, he’s grateful for the absence of questions too.

“So it’s goodbye, then?” You’re yet to break his stare.

“Yes.”

Is he closer, somehow?

“Would you have said goodbye if I wasn’t already awake?”

He’s definitely closer.

Mando reaches behind him to tap the control panel on the wall, sliding the door shut and leaving you in the darkness. He lets his bag slip off his shoulder, lowering it to the floor suspiciously silently for one you know is crammed with weaponry, and walks you further into the room. You can’t really see much at all, only the steady blinking of the little red lights in the ceiling.

“You trust me?” It’s so quiet, you wonder if you imagined the words.

He’s never given you a reason not to.

“Keep your eyes closed?”

“I promise.”

It takes a moment before he lifts the lip of the helmet high enough, and another long few seconds of just being without barriers for him to kiss you. And kiss you he does.

The breath you get in before your lips touch is all him, turning your insides to liquid gold. Everywhere he touches you sets a fire. For a man so rough, he is so careful, he handles you as though you’ll break at the slightest breeze. As though he is wholly undeserving of such sweetness. Part of you thinks he’s convinced he is. It’s a first and a last kiss, a hello and a goodbye kiss, the way he tries to suffocate himself in you is evidence enough that you won’t be here again. You won’t get to have him like this again. He stays close when you finally break apart, taking his helmet off completely and placing it down on your desk with a decisive thunk.

“Mando-”

“Din. My name is Din.” He shouldn’t tell you. He shouldn’t have taken his helmet off, he shouldn’t have even thought about it. Although his fear of losing everything he has is almost overwhelming, it’s nothing compared to this. The fear that you would never know him as he is, as he has always been. The relief that brings tears to his eyes when you don’t shy away, when you lean into him. Like you want him too. You shouldn’t hold his creed in your hands but he gives it willingly. Of course he does. He’s never really been able to deny you anything.

“Din.”

The smile is so clear in your voice as you whisper it back to him. The way you say his name sounds like a song. A prayer. Hushed and reverent like it’s something sacred, something holy. He knows it’s safe on your tongue. Din lays you back on the bed, gently, wool of the ratty blanket soft against your skin.

Din. He’s nothing but gentle with you. Hands barely there as they pull layers of clothing from the both of you, stripping himself of his armour, of The Mandalorian. Until there’s just him. Just a man, no more and no less than anybody else. A man who wishes he hadn’t been so stubborn and dismissive of his own desires; wishes he’d given in to this, to you, sooner. His mouth doesn’t leave your skin for a second, like he could digest you one kiss at a time if he tried hard enough. Part of him doesn’t want to leave, he wants to stay in this bed with you in the dark and just exist. Your body in his hands and your moans in his mouth and absolutely nothing else. He needs you in between his teeth, on his tongue. He’s never needed anything else quite so badly.

The emotion isn’t lost on you, it’s the first and last time you’ll ever be with him. He’ll go after this, you don’t pretend otherwise. You won’t get to have him, in any way you want to, after this. So you lose yourself in him, in everything he gives and takes on those threadbare blankets in your room. The taste of him gets committed to memory and you swear you’ll never eat again if it means his sweat stays on your tongue. You dig your nails hard into his shoulders, you hope he’ll look at them before they fade. Hope he’ll see the marks you gave him and know that he is wanted. He is so desperately wanted and he has no idea. You kiss him with reckless abandon, cards on the table in all but words. So he can know, so he can come back. If that’s what he wants.

You stay tangled with him for a long time. Spit cooled and sweat dried. You’ve never stayed this long with anybody, but you’re not speeding to the ‘fresher. You want to drench yourself in everything he is until you never feel without him again.

“Take the Razor Crest. She’s old but virtually untraceable, and faster than anything else in that hangar. I think you can handle her.” You laugh lightly, tracing a finger over the ridge of his wrist where his arm is curled tight around your chest. Din wishes he could drown in the sound.

He takes your advice, once you’re asleep. Once he’s convinced himself to pull away from your warmth and go back to the life he knows. The one without you. The Razor Crest looms over him in the empty hangar, but something about its presence is comforting when he knows you were the one to put her together.

“He took the fucking Crest!”

The shout from the corridor jolts you awake, significantly warmer than you should be, and you find your old shirt and sweatpants pulled back on your body. Din. The thought of him so carefully redressing you, touch gentle enough not to wake you, makes your heart swell. It shouldn’t, but you can’t help it. With a heavy sigh, you flick the lights on from the panel by your bed and pull yourself to your feet. The door slides open with a wave of your hand by the door panel and you’re met with a very angry, very red-faced, Ran.

“You wouldn’t know anything about this would you, sweetheart?” He grounds out, eyes zeroing in on the mark you know Din sucked into your shoulder only hours ago. You pull the neckline of your top back up to where it should be and shake your head tiredly. Even if you hadn’t been thoroughly rammed into your mattress the night before, it’s far too early for anyone to be shouting up a storm. The rest of the crew come filtering out, rubbing eyes and calling out accusations at each other. It’s enough to give you a headache.

Maybe a space station in the middle of nowhere isn’t a forever home after all. Maybe there’s somewhere else out there for you. Maybe it just took somebody else taking the leap to make up your mind.

You don’t know where you’ll end up, but you have a pretty good idea of where to start.

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TAGLIST (people who showed interest pls lmk if u want to be removed)

@remmysbounty @aq-vetina @brothersdrxke

#everybody pray my tags work or i think i will actually cry #lacuna #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #star wars #fic #liz does words #smut

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yee-fxcking-haw · 4 years ago

Text

•The Grey Area•

Part One: •Fallen Angel•

Summary: You're Enji Todoroki's prized possession, his Angel. Given this name because of your pure, white wings. Your quirk is truly unique, until you come face to face with Enji's new friend and hit man, Hawks. His presence shakes you, his abilities intimidate you. The roll he plays in your life? That's up in the air.

Pairing: Keigo Takami x FemReader, Endeavor x FemReader

Warnings: Violence, mentions of death, descriptions of death, sexual themes and implications, mentions of harassment, (Eventual smut, as well as other warnings- they will be at the beginning of each chapter.)

Word Count: 4,471

A/N: I'm gonna write this shit til I get sick of writing it. Not to suck my own dick but I am in love with this story idea so we're just gonna keep rolling til it feels right to end it lmao.

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Silk may be the worst material ever invented. It slips and slides and hides absolutely nothing. Your lungs deflate as you slide your hands down the front of the horrid thing you've been asked to wear. It was laid out on your bed for you, with a small note that said, "Get dolled up for me." It isn't signed, it doesn't need to be.

It's a note from the man that more or less owns you. He likes to say he takes care of you, you like to say he holds your leash. At the end of the day, coming to him was what you needed to do to survive, so you did it. You shake the thoughts of how you came to be here from your head, ignoring the dreadful remnants of a time when you were desperate enough to turn to him for protection.

Enji Todoroki lives one of the most complex double lives in existence. He’s a magnificent hero, topping the charts and staying there. He saves lives, lets his flames shine bright, he's a beacon of hope.

He’s also an incredibly feared underground crime lord. When the flames are off, he's no longer heroic, he's no longer honorable. He's bloodthirsty, his friends are few and his enemies are many.

Keeping these two realms separate is quite the task, but he pulls it off with his vast wealth and by calling in the seemingly limitless favors from those he’s helped out of sticky situations.

The supposedly heroic faces you’ve seen slinking around his estate were jarring at first. The mighty do indeed fall, and they tumble right into his lap. They’re always after something, a loan, various narcotics, maybe some illegal steroids to increase their performances.

Enji loves a bargain, he loves to string those poor saps along until they’re too confused to agree to anything that’s reasonable. It’s horribly entertaining, as backwards as it all is, you’ve grown fond of the way he befuddles every hopeless individual that finds themselves desperate enough to seek out his help.

Usually, you’re there by his side. You block out the conversation as you serve drinks, laugh at the bad jokes, and most of all, look pretty. Your job is to be his greatest manipulation tactic. Give the suckers something to drool at, get them drunk, stay out of the way so Enji can lock in whatever deal he’s making.

You ruffle your hair, straighten your dress, and take one final glance in your mirror.

There’s a familiar tightness in your chest when you acknowledge the real reason you’re used as something to gawk at.

Your wings.

Two broad, unruly, attention grabbing, white wings emerging from your shoulder blades. Little speckles of brown and black exist among the sea of white feathers that fall all the way to the floor. The feathers at the tips always look pitiful, since their entire existence is spent dragging the floor.

They’re useless things, heavy and cumbersome and completely nonfunctional. You could probably fly if you wanted to, if somebody would teach you. You never stood a chance at that though, your parents couldn’t even begin to do so, and Enji certainly won’t waste energy on it. No, he likes having you on the ground. Safe and sound, much more convenient to keep you without a cage.

The bones of them often ache, obviously needing to be used, desperate to do their job. They most resemble the wings of a Barn Owl. Along with the wings, your quirk provides you with exceptional vision and hearing. Sometimes it feels like a sixth sense, like you can tell when things are going to happen before they actually do.

This, of course, makes you invaluable to Enji during his meetings. You’re able to pick up on nervous ticks, listen to the whispers, and tip him off. He does love keeping you around for that, you’ve assisted him innumerable times, and he always rewards so generously. He keeps you comfortable, spoiled even, anything for his Angel.

Enji’s Angel.

It was never very official, he just started calling you by it, and you started answering to it. In your younger years it was almost affectionate, slightly comforting. Now, it’s a scarlet letter, a stage name, belonging to somebody who doesn’t quite exist.

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The meeting is absolute torture. Some schmuck is sitting across from you and Enji, blubbering his way through some bullshit about how he’ll have the money next week. You’re perched on Enji’s lap, reclining against his chest with your chin up high.

You’re all sitting around a large oak coffee table in Enji’s office, drinks in hands, guns in holsters.

“I swear, the guy I know, he owes me, he says he’ll have the money by this weekend, maybe even sooner!” The sniffling client begs. He’s a pitiful little man, all short and greasy looking, with bulbous eyes that sit above a large aquiline nose.

“Oh, how reassuring, my money is in the hands of a friend of a liar,” Enji sneers, voice low and menacing, “Doesn’t that put you at ease, Angel?” His hand snakes around your waist, making his claim on you evident to everyone in the room.

The client brought two goons with him, both sit on the lavish loveseat, watching with putrid envy as Enji’s hands roam across your middle.

You run your hand up his massive chest, making a show of adjusting your hips in his lap. You flash your eyes up to his and roll your shoulders, wings rippling as you do. The room is taken over by a heavy, consuming silence.

You survey Enji’s face, void of flames for such a serious event. You hear hearts beat faster, breathing quicken, idiots, every one of them.

“No, I don’t think it does, sir.” You purr, hand playing with the collar of his grey dress shirt.

This whole charade used to make your skin crawl, feeling eyes burn into your flesh, knowing that if Enji weren’t here you’d be laid out on the table while the pigs around you took turns.

You expressed this once, crying and shaking as you begged Enji to stop bringing you into them. His only response was to demand that you tell him whenever somebody was making you uncomfortable, and he would gladly take care of it.

It only took one client, one dense motherfucker who put his hand on your thigh. The second his hand was on you, Enji put a bullet in his head. You watched the blood splatter, and the body hit the floor, but ripped your eyes away after that. You turned into Enji’s chest, clutching him as you realised it was all your doing, Enji had killed for you.

Since then, you vowed to maintain a facade of confidence in these meetings. If Enji were to kill, it would be because of his own corrupted motives, not for you, never again.

You no longer let the bile rise in your throat, you don’t look away from any perverse gaze. You keep your nerves steady, and you stare the bastards down.

One of the goons shifts in their seat, making Enji shoot him a warning glance as you continue to fiddle with his shirt.

“I don’t think it’s wise to leave so much money up to ‘maybe’ and ‘this guy’.” You sigh as you slide off Enji’s lap, keeping your hand on his chest as you slink around to stand behind him. He gives you a knowing look, full of admiration and pride, he does love watching you perform.

Show time.

You flutter your wings out to the sides, stretching them, making a spectacle of them. All three of the men watch with comically amazed expressions. Their jaws may as well be on the floor, you slide your hands onto Enji’s broad shoulders so you can rub small circles into his muscles.

“I agree, I don’t like all this ‘maybe’ bullshit.” the energy in the room thickens as he speaks, falling into heavy silence in reverence of the power his voice exudes.

"Angel, will you grab us some more drinks?" You draw yourself up tall, ignoring the eyes that gorge on your decolletage.

"Yes Sir." You lean down to place a sweet kiss on Enji's cheek, flashing a little too much skin for his guests.

"Isn't she lovely, gentlemen?" He wonders out loud, looking up at you fondly.

No, not fondly, possessively, greedily. There's no loving tenderness that comes with fondness.

The men nod quietly, all afraid to cross a line, none willing to speak out of turn.

"Do a spin for them, sweetheart." He grabs your wrist and pulls you around to his side.

Your cheeks and ears run hot as he lifts your arm for you to spin, leaving space for your wings. You give a smooth twirl, feathers and dress flowing around you with a subtle woosh.

"Men would kill for her, don't you think?" Another round of silent nods, another wave of tense energy.

"I have." It's a warning, loud and clear.

He waves his hand in your direction, dismissive and bored.

"Go on, Angel. I have to have a private word with our guests." You glide out of the room gracefully, walking slowly enough so they can all watch you leave.

You swallow the terrible feelings rising in your gut, knowing damn well how rarely people leave that room alive after a "private word". You find your way to the kitchen easily, a tray of drinks already prepared on the fine granite countertop.

Enji's estate is nothing short of magnificent, all expensive foreign materials, gold fixtures and crystal chandeliers. All supplied by his mass of illegally acquired wealth.

One of the sweet little maids nods at you, gawking at your wings as always. You have a strange relationship with the staff at the house, they always treat you like some skittish animal. Afraid that you're unpredictable, even dangerous.

It's always seemed odd to you, but you've grown to understand it. None of them know where you came from, nor how you ended up in Enji's good graces, let alone a cherished prize to him.

On your way back down the hall, you hear the shouting of men, not an usual occurrence, but this time it makes your blood run cold. It sounds much more… painful, then usual. Cries for help mixed with curses and strangled yells. You freeze when the door rattles with such force, the only explanation can be that a body was thrown against it.

Then, there's silence. Silence, followed by sick laughter. You know Enji's voice too well, his rich tone fills your ears, but there's one other. Did he have an accomplice? It's not uncommon for Enji to have all his bases covered, so it's possible one of the goons was a double agent.

Your feet find their function again and you pad quietly towards the door. You take a second to breathe deeply, preparing yourself for the inevitable bloodshed you're about to witness.

You rap your knuckles on the door very quietly, wouldn't want to disturb the dead.

"Angel? Is that you?" Enji's voice calls as his laughter settles, the other man went silent as soon as your hand met the wood of the door.

"Yes sir." You say, trying to keep your voice soft but still wanting to be heard.

"Oh shit, get this out of the way."

A body.

You hear something slide then drop, and your chest squeezes with guilt. One day you won't have these feelings, one day seeing someone drop dead will evoke no more feeling than watching dead hair fall to the ground after it's trimmed. At least, that's what Enji tells you.

The door cracks open, a wall of a human standing on the other side of it. Enji beams down at you, the smallest amount of blood decorates his gray collar.

"Why do you always get so messy when I leave?" You tease, despite the sick feeling in your gut.

"It's a messy business." He counters, holding the door for you to step into the room. You expect the slit throats, the smell of blood, and the horrid joy in Enji's face. What you don't expect, is the creature poised in the corner of the room.

A creature with wings. No, not a creature, a man. With menacing, vibrant, crimson wings. His face is nothing but sharp serious lines, highlights of gold with intense shadows. He's covered in slim fitting black clothing, giving him a tactical and militant look.

He looks so powerful, and so beautiful. The only thing you can think to compare him to is a fallen angel, heavenly, but haunting.

In his hands, he holds a… sword? Then he steps further into view, and you see the blade shift. A feather. With a smooth, deadly twitch of his wrist, he flicks the rigid feather. It sends blood splattering across the floor where he stands.

His glowing eyes watch you, waiting for you to react, maybe waiting for you to scream, run away and hide. You can't, though, you're entranced. He has wings. Your own twitch behind your back, suddenly feeling even more cumbersome and useless after seeing how athletic and beautiful his own are.

As gruesome as the scene is, he's magnificent, stunning in such an overwhelming way. His eyes rake over your body, but it doesn't feel perverse, it feels like he's sizing you up, estimating your abilities.

Because he is.

"Angel, this is Hawks, he's a very good friend of mine." Enji explains, relaxing back into his chair as you and Hawks continue to watch each other.

You would never know it, but his breath hitched the second he saw you. Enji had told him about his Angel, but his description did you no justice. To Hawks, at least, you look capable, intimidating even. Your wings are equal in size to his, but compared to your smaller frame they look so fierce.

Neither of you has seen or heard of someone with a quirk like yours, or even remotely similar. So you stand there, amazed, in fear, sizing each other up.

"Isn't she something?" Enji's voice pulls you out of your trance, your eyes finally breaking from his friend's.

Hawks just hums, eyes still locked on your form as you set the tray of drinks down in front of Enji. He pours one for himself, then one for you, and one for Hawks. You take a glance around at the gore surrounding you, and shake your head at the drink.

"Not tonight, I'm tired." You try to sell it as best you can, but Enji sees right through you.

"Her stomach isn't very strong yet, sensitive little thing." He says to Hawks.

When you glance over to him, his reaction unsettles you. He grins, a broad, breathtaking thing. He's amused, embarrassed for you. How silly of you to be so bothered by a fucking murder scene.

Aside from the dead bodies, you can't stand another second under the predatory gaze of Enji's new friend. The whole scene makes you more uncomfortable than anything has in a long while. It's very apparent by Enji's lack of weapons, and by Hawks' feral appearance, that Hawks is some kind of hit man.

"Get some rest, then." Enji says dismissively.

You kiss him on the cheek, earning a rare smile from his usual straight lips. There's no affection behind your kiss, but there is loyalty, and he knows that.

Doing your best not to seem like you're in a rush, you keep your head down and walk steadily towards the door.

"Nice to meet you, Angel." His voice is like caramel syrup, dripping over you and heating you up.

You hate it.

You give him nothing but a turse nod then duck out the door, trying to keep your heart in it's cage, trying to keep your hands from shaking. What the hell was that?

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You spend some time in the library before heading to bed. The fireplace crackles and pops, casting beautiful, dancing lights on the dark oak bookshelves. It's not a massive library, but it's decent. Full of books that have been collected by Enji, but not read. You do the reading, he does the acquiring.

Not tonight, though. Tonight you just sit, you sit and overthink. You can't seem to shake the uneasy feeling this "Hawks" character gave you. He was so primal looking, so unhinged, so… beastly.

The contrast of his beauty is what keeps punching you in the gut. He was nothing short of stunning, like a marble statue brought to life by an enchantress. That's even without his wings. God, his wings. He must look spectacular in the air, so majestic.

You stuff the thought down, deep down. The longing in your chest is enough to make your eyes sting with tears. Flying. A feeling you've never known, but the instinct burns beneath your skin. You wonder if even knows how lucky he is…

You grab onto those thoughts before they run away, standing to your feet with a stretch and a ruffle of your own wings.

You just need sleep, you need to shake this off. Enji has plenty of "friends", plenty of lowlifes and murderers that he keeps close. Hawks is no different, he'll linger for a bit, then disappear under mysterious circumstances, and you'll never hear his name again.

The thought should bring your comfort as you travel to your bedroom, but as you wander through the halls, your chest aches. Somehow, the idea of not knowing all you can about this stranger makes you itch. Which in turn, makes you detest his presence even more. There's no reason for such a fascination… aside from your resemblance to him.

The sound of your bedroom door latching behind you does bring you some piece, lifting some of the weight off of your lungs. Until you hear the slightest ruffle echo from the direction of your window.

The hair on your neck stands on end as you draw your wings up to their full size. Your shoulders are rigid, fists clenched as you whip your head around to identify the sound.

"Do you always sleep with the door unlocked?" That sugary voice falls on your ears once again, raising goosebumps all over your body.

You don't answer, you only watch, inching backwards towards the door. There could be only one reason one of Enji's friends would corner you like this, the thought makes your heart beat to the point of nearly breaking through your chest.

He's perched on your windowsill, feet dangling into the room, wings relaxed behind him as the wind catches his scarlet feathers. The curtains away around him as they catch the cool breeze, the whole scene gives him an almost ghostly look, especially with the pale light of the moon as the only illumination in your bedroom.

"Easy, kid." He slides off lazily, arms crossed as he saunters towards you, "I just wanted to talk."

His lips quirk up into an easy smirk, something that makes your insides stir.

"Talk quick, then get out." You snap, pressing your back against the door, drawing your wings in around yourself protectively as your arms wrap around your chest. He stops nearly a foot from you, his own wings spread wide, almost like he's showing off.

The energy is thick, pressing on your lungs as you watch his face. He looks down his nose at you, not judging, but observing. His eyes are lit with a patient look, something soft but relatively unreadable. His proximity overwhelms you, even up close, you're hard pressed to find a single flaw.

There you stand, shrouded in scarlet, him in white. Both waiting for the other to speak, or move, or even breathe. Desperate for some evidence that you were both real and not some apparition sent to mock your poor mortal brain with an image of unparalleled perfection.

Wild, dazzling, gilded eyes search your face. Predatory pupils slit as he takes in every detail he can. His chest rises, and he speaks. He utters a simple, "They're beautiful." and everything shatters.

A cadence of feelings builds within your chest, tuning up like an orchestra. All unorganized noise, arching and mixing, impossible to focus on anything in particular.

Then the most beautiful part, the settling of the chaos. All of the instruments find their notes as they fade out. The anticipatory silence settles within you, preparing you for the moment when they all roll into the first cord of their symphony.

You don't feel right taking the name Angel, not after this, not after you've seen one. Your reverence for his beauty is short lived, though. As soon as you remember the way his eyes were wild with bloodlust, the way he had taken lives with his own feathers.

Admiration is replaced with apprehension. However, the strongest feeling is curiosity, morbid, forbidden curiosity.

You shove the compliment to the far corners of your brain, ignoring the fire it stokes in your heart.

"Talk or leave." You say shortly.

"Not a fan of flattery?" He asks, quirking a thick eyebrow.

"Not a fan of coercion." You reply, arms drawing tighter around your chest.

Hawks pauses for a moment, considering your answer.

"What are you a fan of?" His smile grows a bit more as he turns away from you on his heels, looking almost bored. You stay glued to your door, wrapped around yourself, completely frozen.

"Well, I'm usually a fan of not having my room invaded by murderers." You sneer, attempting to ignore the way his body moves so elegantly as he investigates your room with fabricated intrigue.

He scoffs a bit at your feisty retort, looking over his shoulder to give you quick up and down with his eyes. He wanders back to the window, back to you as he takes a look out.

"A murderer. That's a bold accusation, sweetheart." He turns around again, backlit by the moonlight.

"Can you use em'?" He asks, nodding behind you.

The question bites at your insides, it twists your guts up onto angry knots.

You shake your head, you can't say it out loud, you can't admit it.

His face falls the slightest bit, less amused, more aware. Perhaps he feels sympathy, imagining a life without the freedom of flight.

"I see." He says quietly, "A dove?" He wonders out loud.

His prying starts to eat at your patience, you already feel intruded upon by him sneaking into your bedroom, and now he wants to dissect your anatomy? Yet, you still find yourself drawn to the conversation, hanging on his words, hoping to gain information about him in exchange for information about yourself.

"Owl." You say simply, easing off the door a little so you can spread your wings some, "The markings give it away."

He nods, taking in the messy brown and black speckles at the tips.

"How did you do that with your feather?" You ask, works spilling out a little too fast.

Both of his eyebrows shoot up, surprised by your sudden engagement in the conversation.

His only reply is by drawing himself up by his shoulders. Then, miraculously, one of his feathers flies from his wing, darting straight for you until it pauses in front of your face. You flinch slightly before it pauses, then you stand transfixed, watching the small crimson blade levitate before you.

You want to reach out and grab it, find the string that's holding it up, find the answer to this magic trick.

"Pretty cool, huh?" He says, full of confidence as he sways back over to you, "You can touch it." He says gently.

So you do, you take it into your hand gently. The texture is shocking, it's soft and silky, much more pleasant than your coarse and textured feathers.

"How?" You ask, amazed by his abilities.

He shrugs and turns around again, pacing back to the window. You take a mental note of his inability to stand still for longer than a few seconds.

"I just… can." He says it so matter of fact, like it's the obvious answer.

Now that he's more relaxed, not holding a feather dripping with blood, he seems almost... Friendly? He certainly seems less frightening, less aggressive and formidable.

You hold the feather in your palms, waiting for the next trick.

"Keep it." He says as he settles back down onto the windowsill, sitting like he was when you first found him.

He stretches an arm around to brace on the outside of the window frame, leaning back into the open air of the night. For a brief moment you panic, knowing you're on the third floor, but then you just feel stupid for being concerned for a person with functioning wings.

"Why?" You ask, closing in your hands as you look up at him.

His smile is devilish, he rolls his shoulders back and lifts himself up to his feet. He crowds the large window, filling it with his lean body and those powerful wings.

"In case you need me." He winks and gives you a lazy, two finger salute before letting himself fall away into the sky.

Your chest lurches as you dart to the window, desperate to see him in action, desperate to see someone fly.

By the time you reach the window, though, he's nowhere to be seen. Evaporated into the stars, not even the sound of beating wings left as evidence.

You glance down at the feather in your hands, and notice it twitch to life before it floats up to hover in front of your face again. Your chest fills with an absolute mess of unorganized, chaotic feelings that you can't even begin to pull apart and make sense of.

The feather flicks under your chin, tickling the skin there with its pointed tip. You snatch it roughly, irritated with the teasing, perturbed by his nonchalance. You slam the window shut before huffing over to your dresser, you rip a drawer open and shove the feather between your clothes.

You slam it shut as the raging sea of emotions beats against your chest, drowning your lungs as well as any cognitive brain function.

You can't make sense of any of this shit, you can't imagine how anyone could have ever made it up to your room without Enji's knowledge. Unless… he was let up… but that doesn't make any sense. None of it does. It's all so cloudy, you feel thousands of questions swarm your brain, and you don't possess a single answer.

The only thing you know for sure, is that you have to find out more about this fallen angel, you have to find out more about Hawks.

#takami keigo #my hero academia #hawks #hawks au #my hero au #my hero smut #hawks angst #mha hawks #my hero hawks #keigo takami #Keigo #keigo x you #hawks x you #hawks series #keigo takami smut #hawks smut

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rodeoxqueen · 4 years ago

Note

What if the boys had an FBI Agent s/o tho?

Howdy Anonymous Darling,

Yes, what if they had an FBI agent s/o though?

This local cowboy has no knowledge of the FBI nor CIA beyond all the dramas she watched as a child. The aforementioned s/o is based on Booth from Bones with other crime show inspirations. Bones is an excellent and gory show about forensic anthropology and crime-solving with both heart and tooth. Rodeo recommends watching it.

-Rodeo

Dante

“That’s hot.”

Dante loves that you work for the FBI, he thinks you’re so badass.

While he’s fighting to stop demons from terrorizing humans, you fight against humans from hurting other humans. Either way, you’re protectors of your own kind from your own kind.

He’s no sleuth, but he loves to watch you at work.

Reckon this: you have one of those walls where you string up photos and clues for cases no one else is competent enough to crack. You have mugs everywhere, and you’re going through files in the yellowed light of a lamp. Dante sits at a spare chair, feet kicked up on the table while you pace about describing the case to him. He doesn’t really help with the case, but he loves to hear you talk about it.

However, Dante is very good at telling who’s lying. If you have interrogation footage, Dante can tell if the perp is lying or not. You’re quite sure you’re not allowed to do that.

Wear the collared shirt and gun holster with suspenders around him, he will get hot under his own collar.

He always enters every room you’re in with “FBI! Open Up!” before kicking the door. He really doesn’t need to.

If you have a partner, he will scare the hell out of them if he ever meets them.

“If anything happens to them on your watch, I’ll get you.”

He also likes to watch those cheesy FBI shows and see you rant about how wrong they depicted your job.

When you’re knocked out after a tough court case or a siege, he puts his leather coat over you and takes you to bed. His little ass-kicker.

He gets worried about you. Although you’re trained and armed, he’s always terrified something can still happen to you. After a long trip away from Redgrave, he will be waiting at the door like a clingy dog. Once you return, he likes to hold you for a really long time as soon as you get home to him.

If anything does happen to you, like a stray bullet or a pipe to the head, he will be at your hospital bed from the time you get there to the moment you can leave.

Vergil

He’s actually quite a good detective. He can lay down a pretty good mental imagery about a crime scene. He reads through your old case files like a good poetry book. True crime is a contender of things he’s grown interested in since courting you, his darling agent.

If you’re allowed, you discuss how you cracked down old cases and how you handle different situations.

He loves to see you dressed in your tactical gear and giving out orders to the other agents. The way you can wield weapons with this deadly military accuracy and stand up in court with full authoritative power, well it really makes him puff his chest out in pride of his mate.

He thinks you look wonderful in a suit, flashing your ID out with this purpose and will to bring justice.

Spar with him, it’s a date. He is not one for guns although he loves to see you at the gun range, firing down targets like its clockwork. You’re of separate disciplines but equal caliber.

Like his brother, he’s rather protective of you if you have a partner. You trust your life with Vergil and the person you work with. He’d much rather have it that he is there, but that’s not how it works.

When you have to go out for a long period of time, he tells himself you will be fine. He spends all day looking out the window, waiting while tracing one of your old badges.

Once you return, unharmed, he will do his best to make sure you are comfortable. Although you assure him you’re fine, he will still check you for injuries.

If he gets a call that you have been injured, his protective self will cut a portal straight into the hospital while you are being operated on. He will be dragged away kicking and screaming for his beloved.

“Let me see them! That is my lover!” “How the hell did you even get in here?! This is a private military hospital!” *devil trigger noises*

He will carry you back home through a portal. When you return he will hold you and kiss your scars and injuries from the mission. Please tell him you’re going to be fine.

“Although I was thrown out of the window of a second-story building, we got the perp.” “I expect nothing less from my lover.”

Griffon is more than happy to fly around and collect files for you from across the room. Shadow likes to cuddle you while you try to solve a case. She will, like her smaller feline relatives, sit on your desk with all your important paperwork. V tries to stop her but she could care less, she is literally sitting above the law.

He finds your line of work extremely brutal and admires you so much for it. When confronting all the darkness in humanity, you simply reload your gun and kick down the door. Not many have it in themselves to root out societal evil and terrorism, yet you have your morning coffee, kiss him, and leave to do it every day.

V likes to spoon you while you talk about your day.

He’s no good with sparring and he’s also not keen with guns. He’s an avid admirer when you go to spar with others.

“Kick their ass, babe!” Griffon jeers. “Griffon, don’t be crude.” “You were thinking about it, Shakespeare!” “That you are correct.”

When you go away for a long time for an investigation, V is rather anxious waiting for you. Shadow curls up under your desk and waits for you.

“Our lil agent is gonna be fine, V!” “I hope so.” “Well, I know so! So quit moping!”

Once you return, you’re going to be tackled by a very skinny goth poet, his giant bird, and his panther. If you weren’t concussed before, you are now.

If you are injured, he will utilize Griffon and fly to the civilian’s hospital where you are staying. He stays with you while you rest, fingers tracing your wrist.

He kisses all your scars. They are a testament to your strength and your service to humanity.

#v x reader #devil may cry #dmc imagines #vergil x reader #vergil sparda #dante sparda #devil may cry 5 #dmc headcanons #devil may cry imagines #dante imagines #v dmc5 #dante x reader #gender neutral reader

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littlefreya · 4 years ago

Text

The Way to Hell - Part 13

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escaped Ethan Hunt with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. Brooding as he is, August is unwilling to back down on his murderous agenda he plots to continue where he was stopped.

Series Completed: Previous Chapter | | Chapters Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual encounters, child neglect, betrayal, hinted physical abuse, foul language and lots of angst.

A/N: I thought chapter 13 will be the last one, but I didn’t want to rush the ending or have a chapter too long. So for those of you still waiting, hang in tight! Many thanks to @agniavateira who’s my muse and my editor, to @raspberrydreamclouds for this amazing cover and to those who’s been asking me about the chapter, means a lot to me. I am going into my usual Way to Hell posting panic attack. So bye for now.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Please comment, review and reblog. 💖

Title: Paradise lost

There cannot be peace before first a great suffering. There cannot be love without first a great tragedy.

~*~

Opaline droplets of sweat form on his forehead. In his ears, a constant buzzing rings wretchedly as if an angry hornet is caged inside his skull. What was long buried abruptly awakens, stabbing at the back of his head. Red flashes sear through his eyes while images of Ingvild dissolving to ashes play in his mind, her bloodsoaked feathers crumbling to the ground.

“Why did you go?” August mutters under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He crumples the little yellow note with sheer frustration before throwing it on the bed.

‘I told her not to go, I commanded her!’

The air in the room grows thick like the pit of a stygian forest. Tentacle-like branches appear behind his eyes creeping closer, clutching his limbs. Even though lost and abandoned in the thicket of his mind, her angelic scent still lingers on his skin, impossible to wash off. Sniffing at his biceps, he inhales the mixture of their union on his flesh; what begins as euphoric mirth quickly meets the sharp edge of rage and hatred.

She’s gone and it gnaws at the dark matter of his brain.

He hates it.

Hates her for being absent.

Frowning deeply, August reaches a rigid hand for his clothes, forcing himself to get dressed. The very first memory of her hinges on his mind: An icy woman with silver-moon eyes who refused his pursuit.

‘Did you think the two of you are going to ride toward the sunset together? That’s not you.’

Letting out heavy gasps, he shakes his head. “She’ll be fine,” he whispers dismissively, pulling on his trousers and hastily buckling his belt.

The new world order awaits, so close he can feel the fresh sun sitting on his open palm. It is his vision, his legacy: bigger than whatever it is Ingvild and him have together.

There was no her in his plan, to begin with.

The Devil never had a queen.

‘You know what they’ll do to her…’

Another ray of daytime terror cuts through his thoughts: her wings plucked from her back, threads of flesh tearing from her naked body. Her screams die in silence.

“She chose to leave, I asked her not to!” August yells into the empty room, frowning at no one but himself as he grabs the used shirt which hangs from the tall mirror. Turning to his reflection, he tenses at the sight of his body. Crimson valleys lead down his back, courtesy of her claws branding deep into soft tissue and toned muscles.

‘Do you know what is the probability of finding someone like her? A woman who wants to see the world burn with you? Who believes in your cause of building a new one?’

August swallows hard and combs his fingers through his hair with haste, attempting to act normal through the intensifying drumming in his ears. Being completely methodical, he pulls his long trench coat over his shoulders and collects his belongings into his black duffle bag on the bed. With a heavy painful breath, he forces his thoughts away, zipping the bag with urgency and reciting in his mind everything necessary for his trip. Time is scarce, the end and the new beginning are nigh; the smart thing to do is to forget her, erase her existence from the chambers of his heart.

He doesn’t have one anyway.

His hand secures the gun in its holster and harsh fingers lace around the black straps of his bag as he stretches himself straight, ready to leave this bedroom. That’s when his eyes fall again to the crumpled yellow note.

‘You’ll never see her in Kashmir, you’ll never see her again.’

~*~

‘Amazing,’ the silver-haired wolf muses while scratching his bristly jaw. For 13 years the evil spawn’s eyes remained exactly as they were the day he picked her from the orphanage. Grey crystal orbs so naive, clueless, and oh so hungry for validation. A child desperate to prove herself worthy to someone, anyone.

It was her single flaw and his greatest advantage.

Even now in the bloom of adulthood, the pale, scrawny thing standing before him is nothing but a lost little girl who wants someone to hold her bony hand.

‘How can someone be so smart yet at the same time so blind?’

The cheap motel room smells like mildew and rotten wood. Speckles of dust float between the handler and his prodigy, cascading over his glance that seems rather alien and naked as glass. It pierces through her muscles - this sudden sense of peculiarity and estrangement.

She chews the inside of her cheeks and sways slightly on her spot, arms hanging loose at her side. Ingvild lifts her chin to look at Liam, her eyes round with what can only be guilt. It makes her look like a child who broke an antique vase.

“Thank you for answering my call,” she begins, wrapping her fist around a disposable phone before throwing it on the tidy bed.

Liam scoffs and shakes his head, ridicule spreading on his face. “You’ve gotten yourself into trouble over a boy, child?” He stares up and down the young woman, noticing the obvious change in her posture.

‘So, she truly is a woman now; how did I not see this one coming with her constant chatter about how handsome he is when I handed her the dossier?’

“Please don’t tell me you need money to get an abortion.”

Ingvild frowns with disgust and shakes her head right away. “Never. No, it’s not what I’m here for.”

Displeased as always, Liam emits his usual grunt. He slowly shakes his head at his asset while running his fingers through his lanky grey hair. This is not how he imagined this mission to end. Her lack of emotions was a key element; Ingvild could have had a few good years running several missions for him, but what tipped the scale was for her to run into the wrong psychopath.

“Then tell me Ingvild, why should I listen to a failed assassin such as yourself? You’ve been weird about this mission since day one. Acting discreet, irresponsible, and reckless,” the old man’s Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat as he speaks. Taking a small stride, he moves closer to get a better look of her diamond irises. So sharp and so strange, they’ve always irked him. As a child she downright looked like something out of a horror movie.

“You’ve had 445 successful missions, not even 30 years old. Yet here you are a failure, and for what? For a boy?”

Shame traps her tongue and her glance drops to the floor. Failure stings like a rod of hot iron piercing her beating heart. Yet her mind races to the night at the pit where August finally claimed her, the memory of his lips sets glowing embers through her veins. On her skin remains the evidence of his embrace. Microscopic cells, tinted by his DNA.

She doesn’t want this feeling to go away.

Liam clears his throat, tearing her away from memories that turn from tar to honey the longer she dwells on them.

“You know why your mother gave you away, Ingi?” Liam asks, giving her a ghastly sardonic smile while cocking one eyebrow.

‘Liam never smiles.’

A small frown sets creases above her freckled nose. “I asked you many times before and you always said you don’t know.”

The Dane scoffs at her, his smile widening, exposing cigarette-and-coffee-stained teeth. The rot around his gums makes her curl her nose slightly and flinch as he leans closer.

“You were a rape baby.”

The words send a pang through her muscles, like stepping on glass. She shakes her head with protest and steps back, yet Liam nods knowingly, standing in front of her.

“You’re lying.”

His small hazel eyes burn holes through her skull, his smile sinister and impish. “Your father was a savage, a rapist. He left your poor mother half-dead and impregnated in the forest you love so much. Who knows, maybe that’s why you kept going there as a child, reconnecting with your true nature.”

Refusing to listen, she shies from his piercing glare. Liam reaches a coarse hand to cup her jaw, forcing her face back to his. “Your mother hated you. Your very existence reminds her of the most terrible thing that ever happened to her.”

For a child with such a limited emotional range, Liam finds that the muscles of her face are capable of stretching thoughtfully with spite. Pent up hatred creases her brow, her silver eyes turning to hot, molten gold. She bites on her tongue, keeping a vow of silence but he can read her face just the way an assassin would.

“Nothing but a mistake, disowned by your own mother. So why would this man, this... mass murdering psychopath love you?” Liam shifts her head from side to side, inspecting the healing cuts and bruises that decorates her pale skin. “He saw an opportunity and seized it, used you…”

He pauses, moving away from a stare colder than icy lake water, “just like they will.”

Ingvild parts her lips with wonder, glaring at the person she knew all her life with disbelief. In the glossy reflection of Liam’s honey-brown eyes, she sees several black, long rifles pointed at her head.

Liam curls his thin lips with an utter lack of remorse and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s yours.”

*~*~

If colours had sound then the pale blinding white would be a continuous high-frequency hum. The tunes and shades of death. Like angry flies feasting on a corpse.

‘Is this Valhalla?’

A small groan escapes her mouth, her eyes hurting from the sickly radiance of the narrow fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists feel numb as they’re pulled behind her back in restraints.

“No,” she opens her mouth to speak, her throat burning, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Definitely not Valhalla...”

‘You need to be a hero to enter Valhalla, stupid girl.’

Stupid didn’t even begin to describe it. August would never let her hear the end of it.

Loud, angry steps tap on the white marble floor, growing louder as the person approaching enters the room. Ingvild blinks, peering at the silhouette when a smile of comfort paints her drowsy face. Like a god, her lover strides toward her with his usual confidence. His ocean-blue eyes beam at her sight, his palm spread open to embrace his tiny Valkyrie. She chuckles at the mischievous, charming grin on his face as it reminds her the day they first met.

Oh, she wishes to nibble his stupid chin right now and brush her fingers along his thick moustache.

But as she blinks again, large brown almond-shaped eyes replace the ocean-blue. A panther of a woman stands before her: confident, strong, and impossibly beautiful. Her dark, succulent lips are pressed together and concern shines through as she observes the small woman who has her arms cuffed behind her back and her feet shackled to the metal legs of the chair.

With her head still heavy, the assassin turns her face from side to side. She quickly observes the armed guards at the entrance, the tall, greying agent standing nonchalantly against the wall awaiting orders, and lastly the sickly-looking, lean man who is positioned at the fore of a metal desk with his fingers laced together. Anticipation is written all over his line-riddled face.

“Erica Sloane,” Ingvild calls knowingly, the ghost of a wicked smile dancing on her chapped lips as she turns her head to face the CIA director. Dressed in a black power suit and crimson pumps, the director is drenched with big dick energy.

“August told me so much about you, but he didn’t mention how fuckable you are.” Ingvild drawls, fluttering her lashes as she scans her from head to toe.

Tilting her head, Erica grabs a white plastic chair and places it in front of Ingvild. She then takes a seat, crossing her long smooth legs together. Kindness and motherly concern pours from her dark eyes, expressions Ingvild never received from anyone in her life.

“Poor child, I imagine August Walker filled your head with many stories.”

“No…” Ingvild swallows, trying to dampen her sore throat. Noticing her struggle, Erica snaps her fingers and the greying agent rushes to bring her a plastic cup of water like a loyal dog. Focusing on the translucent beads around the cup, Ingvild flicks her tongue over her lips. “August was too busy filling other parts of me.”

The intrepid woman begins to laugh at her own joke, her voice dragging groggily while Erica rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“I imagine so.” She answers and then carefully tilts the cup to Ingvild’s lips, offering the drink to the girl who sips with desperation as if she walked the desert. “August was my best agent,” she explains, watching the stream of water that rolls down Ingvild’s chin as she gulps with an incredible thirst, “a really proficient assassin, ranked high in every mission I sent him to. My golden boy. Even though that shit-eating attitude of him was something else...”

Withdrawing the cup, she looks into Ingvild’s cold silvery stare. “Those snarky, arrogant remarks and him going through the whole department like a fox in a hen coop I could overlook. But that fucker had us all fooled, Ingvild, as he fooled you.”

Ingvild flutters her dark lashes and tips her chin up. Her defined cheekbones sharpen even more as a snake-like arrogance poisons her face. “August told me what you did,” she utters sincerely, while Erica commands the agent to refill the plastic cup. Loathing melts her beautiful sullen glaciers as she focuses on Erica.

The CIA director narrows her eyes at her in return, and curls her lips downward as disdain fills her mouth. “I am not the one who made Walker murder Agent Hartmann, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You deceived him,” Ingvild retorts calmly and sucks in her bottom lip, collecting the remaining droplets of water onto her tongue. “That’s what you and your little agencies do to people like us. Set up traps for predators and pretend to act surprised as they eat the bait.”

Holding the cup, Erica stares at the young woman thoughtfully, the burning hatred in her eyes reminding her so much of Agent Walker: An entitled spoiled brat, thinking he can wind the world to the direction only he sought to be right.

“You can’t blame a predator for following its nature, and you can’t expect him to behave otherwise.”

“Is that how you see yourself?” Erica asks, moving the cup away, though she can see the thirst on Ingvild’s gaping bottom lip. “August poisoned your mind but I assure you, you are not the monster he is. You never had the choice that he did.”

Erica’s voice suddenly becomes soft, and her big brown eyes become round with care that only a parent can express. But the only form of parent Ingvild ever had was Liam, and he was never much of a father, was he? It took less than a few hours for him to give her away.

She wonders how long it took for her real mother.

Her gaze drops, peering at Erica’s shiny crimson shoes as they counter the lifelessness of the floor like blood in the snow. Memories whisk her away again, a man in pursuit of a woman deep in an icy forest. She should have died that night and yet here she is, shackled to a chair. The voice of the man who saved her echoes through her head with a fair warning: ‘Liam never gave a flying fuck about you.’

Sharp as a needle, it pricks her heart.

“I know what Icarus did. Moulding you into the perfect assassin, depriving you of the childhood and the life you deserved.” Erica’s voice cuts into her trail of thoughts, making her raise her gaze back to the beautiful woman. “Now, I don’t know what twisted fantasies August may have offered but I can assure you, they are empty just like him. You read his file, you know what he’s capable of. Looking at your scars and bruises I assume he hurts you for his own sick pleasure, taking advantage of a woman who only wants to be loved.”

‘She doesn’t know him like I do, the way he drank my lips and called me his angel, the way his fingertips beat the warm blood in my arteries.’ Ingvild shuts her eyes, soaking in the remnants of his touch as it still ghosts across her body.

Erica’s kind, tepid hand wraps around the young woman’s jaw, lifting her pale face with the cautiousness of a human tending a wild creature. Grey and dark-brown collide at the seams as they share a silent stare.

“If you’ll give us his location, we can arrange for your freedom and protection.”

Ingvild breaks away from Erica’s grip, pushing herself back in the chair as much as she can. The screech of metal against marble makes the guards cringe. Slow and cold, a sardonic chuckle begins to burst from Ingvild’s lungs. The laughter echoes off the walls while she shakes her head with disbelief.

“Do I look like a dumb bitch to you? Even if this was true, do you think I’m willing to be a slave to another government? Kept ignorant and tabbed? I’d rather rot in this cell while my beautiful monster dismantles your old world order.”

Drops of water splash at her face as Erica squashes the plastic cup in front of her, sulking with fury. Her eyebrows knit together and she purses her lips as if this young woman is something sour on her tongue.

Evidently, Liam was right; the girl is far too gone, living in the little fantasy world August built for her.

“If you think he ever cared about you for a split second, then you are a dumb bitch. No matter how this plays out, you and August are never going to end up happily ever after.” Erica spits, holding her finger at Ingvild’s childlike frown. “He’s never going to come for you. You were nothing but a toy, a plaything for him to pass the time.”

Ingvild scoffs and rolls her eyes, refusing to let these words cut into the beating muscle in her chest.

`Stick and stones may break my bones...’

Solid, slender fingers wrap around her jaw, squeezing around her cheeks like a big spider. She is met with Erica’s long lashes, while those deep brown eyes slice into her soul.

“You might think you know him, but I’ve worked with August long enough to know that he never loved anything other than his precious ego. So I would consider this as your final chance little girl, because if you don’t talk right now - this nice fellow here...” Erica pauses and gestures her head to the scrawny man who begins to hum a blissful tune while cracking his knuckles. Twisted excitement shines through his beady eyes as he glances at the set of sharp surgical tools lying on the desk.

“He’s going to make you sing like the precious bird you are.”

Fear shies from Ingvild’s stoic, icy face. The well-lubricated gears in the labyrinth of her head begin to work, observing the possible escape options and scanning every cavity, crease, and man in Erica’s lovely torture chamber.

The door suddenly bursts open. A man in his mid thirties with bright red hair and a freckle-covered face rushes in, huffing heavily. His pink skin glistens with sweat, the strands of his fiery hair sticking on his large forehead while his hand holds onto his chest with distress.

“Sloane, there is something you need to see…” he opens his mouth breathlessly.

“Not now!” Sloane snaps at him, looking at Ingvild with contempt. There is nothing she wishes more than to avoid torturing a young woman, especially someone as misguided as this poor porcelain doll. All she needs is to make her see the truth, that August never cared for her, that she was just another pawn in his grand scheme.

“Director, I am sorry, but you really need to come and see this.”

Agitated, Erica snaps in her chair to look at him. “What is it, Agent Louis?”

“It’s John Lark’s manifesto, ma’am…” he sighs, shoulders slumping, “it’s… it’s everywhere.”

A shivering hiss escapes her mouth. The shiver that graces the rail of her spine is like a shower of icy water, making her slowly rise from her chair. August’s harmful “poetry” is released into the air like toxic gas, contaminating every fragile little mind in an already unstable world.

“Do you like my little surprise?” Ingvild asks, making the baffled woman turn to gaze at her. There’s a malicious little smile dancing across her eyes, her brows lifting with an arrogance that strongly resembles Agent Walker.

Swallowing hard, the CIA woman takes a step back, tugging her jacket straight and looking at the torturer who lifts a small hammer between his pliable fingers.

“Break her, until she talks.”

The harsh tapping of her heels dies down and her silhouette becomes smaller until it disappears behind the shutting door.

“Pretty girl...” The man’s voice is brittle and thin as he is, every word ending with a slight snake-like hiss. He moves to scrutinise her from head to toe, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip with a prying nature.

“You know August used to mock me…”

“I can see why,” she spits out, looking back at him with both fearlessness and utter disrespect. She killed men bigger than him, hell, August’s kneaded her to submission and his torture was nothing but sweet.

She can take him on, she can take all of them on.

The lean man beams at her, holding up the small shiny hammer and running his finger over the rim pervertedly. The dead skin around his nails rouses disgust in her gut, yet she rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn.

He chuckles at her theatrics and kneels in front of her with one unstable hand pressing onto her thigh. His revolting fingers scratch gently at her denim, making her shiver. If August knew another man was laying his finger on her…

But August is not here.

“Well… shall we begin, little bird?”

***

‘When this world ends and the new one begins, what will be of your little Valkyrie? Merely bones and rotting flesh laid in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere and mourned by no one. Won’t you be jealous of the insects feasting on her narcotic tissue?’

Cold air seeps through his nose as sharp bullets of hail hit the ground with the fury of angry gods, shattering onto the ruins of an old bridge with a loud, clattering noise. Sheltered from the rage of the heavens, August stands beneath the wreckage, facing the men who came to make the final exchange.

Blue and green ferns have grown over the decaying surroundings, climbing over rusted metal. Nature reclaiming its place over man’s occupied space. Justice and beauty in decadence and rot.

‘Memento mori.’

“The plutonium,” August demands, his thick brows shadowing his eyes in a battle to remain composed. Those same parasitic visions of sheer terror burden him like a daytime nightmare: pale as porcelain, she sinks to the bottom of a lake thick with blood. His hand reaches out for her, fingers trying to grasp whatever he can but she slips away.

‘How far do you think Erica will go this time?’

A rogue droplet of sweat glides languidly down his temple, crossing over a bulging tendon. Unfortunately quite apparent to the three men who scrutinise him with wonder: two well-paid bodyguards and a slimy-looking slug, wearing a dark business suit that does nothing but emphasize his fragile masculinity.

“The money first!” The businessman whines, attempting to make a tough face.

‘A cock and two balls.’ August jests and does his best to remain indifferent while anxiety threatens to claw its ugly talons in his throat. The seller’s receding hairline is thick with dandruff, his dull green eyes attempt to mimic confidence, as a beta male would do when facing a pure alpha, trying to compensate for lost dignity.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ August huffs, his chest puffing and the immense shoulders stretching even wider, exhuming his natural overpowering dominance. His patience runs brittle as a dry twig. A restless throb thunders between his ears like a scab, latched inside his brain.

The slug pries his mouth open to speak, yet his voice becomes dull as if the world just went underwater.

‘Do you think she’ll go as far as to let her men touch her? You know, not just the usual torture they put interrogated suspects through, but the type of touch only you are allowed to.’

‘She doesn’t have the balls, she won’t do that to another woman.’

‘Won’t she? It’s personal this time. Erica knows what you are capable of. And your Ingvild, she’s an apostle too now, an enemy of the world…’

Fever burns at his sweaty forehead and his lungs gradually collapse. Visions he can’t even bring himself to imagine attempt force their way into his mind. The yapping of the man who stands in front of him goes on and on; while August can feel himself speak in response, the words spouting from his lips are on autopilot.

All he can think of is her, stripped naked, torn to shreds by dark shadows.

‘She holds back a lot, but when she slips, aren’t her screams so beautiful? Her pleasant little voice, stretching so melodically, like skin over bone, thin and light.’

“Shut up!”

All eyes lift to August in silent bewilderment. His fists tighten, nails digging into his coarse palms as the will to rip someone to shreds beats through his blood. These men will be no more than a casualty.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks in a deep, menacing tone, his hand but a second from reaching his holster. By measured calculation, he already anticipates how quickly he would shoot them one by one without so much of a scratch on his cheek.

“I’m John, fucking, Lark. My apostles are awaiting orders this very instance,” he reaches for his phone, ignoring the flinch in their posture as he draws it from his pocket and shakes it in his hand on display, “and you want to stand here in this shit weather and measure dicks? Spoiler alert,” he takes a stride in front of the little man, careless of his bodyguards who reach for their weapons, “mine is far bigger.”

The seller peers at him silently, noticing the icy crust of rage in August’s glare. His pale eyes cut like diamonds while the shadow of his brooding figure falls upon the small man’s face.

“You will get your money once I get to see the plutonium and confirm it’s authenticity,” August calls out assertively, each word distinguished, each syllable emphasised and sharp as a blade. Death is no longer an enemy to August Walker but an old friend, and those trolls under the bridge are a mere joke to the inferno he’s been basking at his entire life.

‘Limb by limb, feather by feather, while you waste your time...’

‘She wanted me here, she wanted me to secure the plutonium. If I don’t do this, it will all be for nothing.’

‘So now you are doing this for her?’

Not saying another word, the seller nods and snaps his fingers. Agitation is evident on his face yet the violence emanating from August forces him to bite down his pride. One of his henchmen approaches with a suitcase and opens it up to show August the orbs.

Thunder rips through the sky and the hail turns into a symphony of wrath. Icicles break across the construction site above, splashing water everywhere around them. Staring at the platinum spheres, August sees his own reflection dulled by the dirty silver curve.

A dormant thing. But when set into motion, ever so deadly.

He presses the beryllium rod to test the authenticity of the material and a sigh of relief pipes itself through his nose at the sound of the radioactive note on his testing device. Celebration blooms in his weary heart but the festivity is deemed achingly empty and dies out right away.

‘Stop thinking about her, she’s gone. Focus on the cause, you’re almost there, just keep pushing through the doors.’

~*~

The blizzard melted into shy rain. The soft little drops dampen his hair, perming his large curls with the assistance of the cool winter breeze. Standing with the suitcase on the side of the rural road, August awaits his ride taking him to the helipad to proceed to Kashmir. It has been so long since he last met his true colleagues, since his departure from Lane in Norway. Avoiding any risks, contact was kept only necessary for the last stages of their tasks.

Doom’s day.

Securing the plutonium should have brought him relief, yet his chest continues to sink into his spine as if it’s being filled with coals. August Walker threaded through life alone, yet this sudden solitude is suddenly harrowing, making him feel like a gutted fish. Looking to his empty side he the ghost of her appears, giving him a bratty smirk.

“Go away,” he chides, refusing to think of her. Of that stupid mouth talking back, tormenting him with sweet saccharine and cinnamon-like kisses. In his reminiscences, the softness of her lips still hinges. Tenderness meeting the bristle of his neck as she lay gentle wet markings up his coarse jaw.

His fingers press to his mouth trying to harness the memory.

A large car drives into the side of the road, speeding up and braking right next to his legs, missing August’s foot by an inch. Frowning at the careless driver, he grunts and brushes his hair before opening the passenger door.

“Took you awhile,” he grunts as he slips into the seat and peers at the driver. A bulky man in his early 40s with dark short cropped curls and thin lips. He shoots August a glance and turns back to the steering wheel.

“Not my bad, you made a fucking mess, Lark.” The man answers and begins driving right away, careless of the fact that August didn’t put his seatbelt on and that he is holding radioactive material.

Throwing the seatbelt over himself and fastening it, August growls and carefully secures the case on the side of the driver seat, his index finger remaining on the brim. He gently caresses the hard black leather. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The driver peers at him oddly before looking down the road, driving fast and passing a large log truck. “Releasing the manifesto. MI6 and the CIA are all over the place,” he says and turns the radio on, letting August hear the news on his own. “I get why you did it now, it’s brilliant to cause another distraction but you’ve made shit a bit harder with those cunts running around. They tracked it back from London and have been surveying the entire area.”

“I didn’t release the... “

August stills, his muscles shriveling up as realisation quickly hits him.

‘Oh angel, what have you done?’

Drawing out his mobile phone, August immediately begins to search the newsite, his eyes an ocean of panic, fluttering back and forth. It’s everywhere, news about an anarchist manifesto, spreading like a virus through every social media outlet, leaked by codename “Jane Lark”.

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading his own written word as he goes through an article posted on the BBC’s newsite. But she changed the last verse, added a little piece of her own:

“Valkyries mounted onto beasts, We will ride eternal to the sun. The blazes will sear us but we will not back down, United by our cause of just war, Unflinching we will scour the earth, Until humanity comes together in tranquil and harmony.”

‘She loves you, you see? The way she lets you bleed her, use her, spill all your pain inside her. The way she held onto you just a night ago, your name falling from her lips, her body pressing into yours to take all of you. She’s the only one. The only woman who did and ever will.

And you left her to die.’

________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

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