#narrowed further down into the only one left to proceed? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

at-wicks-end · 1 month

Text

a soul of determination | two

john wick x reader undertale au ; idiots to lovers <3 bored out of your mind, you drag your best friend, john, to go on a hike with you on mount ebott. who cares that it's a supposedly haunted mountain! those instagram pictures won't take themselves. until, of course, you fall through a hole, dragging him with you. ...whoops?

chapter notes: after a weird encounter with a flower, toriel leads you and john into the ruins. john finds toriel sus and does some self-reflection?? this is unedited.

< prev | next >

ii. ruins

This is a strange day, John thinks to himself as he follows you and a goat… monster further into the Ruins. While there have been more dangerous, stressful days in his life, such as the day of his first mission, or the first time he had met with Gianna D’Antonio for a bodyguard stint, he’s not sure he has ever been in such a strange situation. If it weren’t for the slight ache in his left knee (damn thing never healed quite right after a tumble down some stairs), he’d be inclined to believe that he was either dead or in a comatose state and this was just some strange dream his mind had cooked up.

Walking through the doorway leads the three of you to a foyer, with twin staircases leading up to another doorway, this one with creeping vines surrounding it. Everything seems to be covered by deep purple bricks, which while appearing to be maintained somewhat, reveal the passage of time with every crack that has appeared. Toriel walks up ahead, her dress rustling with every step.

There’s a pile of red leaves in between staircases and something glowing. John narrows his eyes. Is that a star?

You appear to be staring intently at it too, your eyebrows furrowed. “Huh.”

“Any idea what that is?” He says quietly. Toriel had no reaction to it at all when she walked past it.

“Nope,” you murmur, seemingly mesmerized. As if in a daze, you step closer to it, reaching out to touch it. John waits with bated breath for something to happen, but you only turn back to him with a disappointed expression.

“Nothing happened.” You frown, walking back to him. “You try it.”

Never one to say no to you, John steps forward to touch the star. He waits for his hand to make contact with something solid, but instead he feels a wave of warmth wash through him. The ache in his left knee disappears and he feels strangely determined. Determined to do what, he doesn’t quite know. In any case, he reports his findings to you as you both head up to the doorway where Toriel waits.

“I didn’t feel anything warm.” You muse. “My hand just went right through.”

Toriel smiles warmly as the two of you walk up the staircase. “Come, young ones. Allow me to educate you both on how the Ruins operates.”

The three of you walk into a smaller room (still aggressively purple), with six white tiles laid in a pattern on the side. There is a line of lighter purple right in the middle of them, passing two tiles. Before John can even ask what they’re for, Toriel walks over the tiles not touched by the line and pulls a lever. The door on the other end of the room opens with a soft groan.

“The Ruins are filled with puzzles,” Toriel explains. “Ancient fusions between diversions and doorkeys. One must solve them to move from room to room. It would be best to familiarize yourselves with them.”

“I see,” John replies, trying not to let his confusion show. You, on the other hand, turn to John with an expression of what the fuck?

“Head into the next room with me and I will show you more of these puzzles.” Toriel smiles before walking through the door, leaving you and John to follow her. Upon noticing a worn signage by the doorway, John halts to read it.

“Only the fearless may proceed,” John reads. “Brave ones, foolish ones—both walk not the middle road.”

“Well that’s ominous,” you remark. “Must be a hint for the puzzle.”

John turns back to the tile puzzle Toriel had solved earlier. The tiles in the middle, the ones right on the lighter purple remain unpressed. “Guess so.”

For the next few puzzles, Toriel leads the way, solving most of them for the two of you. She only steps back for what she deems “safer” puzzles, which can be solved by just pressing switches. The deeper Toriel leads you into the Ruins, the more confused he is. The Ruins are no doubt old, but it appears to be taken care of. However, other than Toriel and Flowey earlier, there appears to be no one else in the area.

He’s content to let you take the lead in puzzle solving, stepping back and watching as you step on tiles or pull levers with Toriel’s guidance. He is not, however, oblivious to the way Toriel’s smile seems to falter whenever she looks at him for too long. It doesn’t take a genius to see she doesn’t trust him.

John doesn’t particularly mind. He doesn’t trust her or this place either.

It isn’t until Toriel introduces the two of you to a training dummy that John bothers joining in the conversation.

“As a human living in the Underground, monsters may attack you,” Toriel says seriously. “You will need to be prepared for such situations.”

The training dummy looks different from anything John has seen in his life. It doesn’t look anywhere near human. In fact it looks a bit like a character you’d shown him before. Snoopy? Except this has no face and no ears or limbs. It’s worn out and stitched in certain areas.

“Would one of you like to step forward?” Toriel says, looking at you directly. John doesn’t like that one bit.

“I’ll do it,” he says firmly. Lord knows he’s done more than fight a dummy.

“Ah! Very well then, young one.” Toriel beckons him to step closer. “When you encounter a monster, you will enter a fight.”

John stands just before the dummy, staring at it intensely.

Toriel continues. “Your soul will be exposed, and you and the monster will enter a different plane temporarily. There, you will have to fight.”

“A fight?” You repeat worriedly, looking at John. “A bit dangerous, isn’t it?”

“Worry not.” Toriel smiles. “When you are in a fight, strike up a friendly conversation. Stall for time; I shall come to resolve the conflict for you.”

“That’s unwise,” John replies, a hint of annoyance.

“It’s kind,” Toriel corrects. “Violence is unnecessary in the Underground, and monsters are not as strong as humans. The right thing to do is to spare your enemy when you get the chance.”

John wants to argue back but decides against it. Fine. He’ll play by the rules.

Stepping closer to the training dummy, he instinctively brings his fists up. Should he punch it? That what he would normally do, but in a heartbeat, he finds himself in a black void again. A maroon heart glows in his chest, and the training dummy is stark white before him.

Right. Toriel said to strike up a conversation.

“Hello?” John says hesitantly. The training dummy merely stares back at him, and the world flickers back into existence.

You’re staring at him with wide eyes and he raises an eyebrow. Toriel, on the other hand, looks pleased.

“Well done, John.” She smiles. “Now, I think you are both ready for the rest of the Ruins.”

“Thank you,” you reply, moving towards John. Your palm rests just on the small of his back, offering him a tidbit of comfort. John leans towards you ever so slightly.

“For now, I must attend to some errands,” Toriel continues. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out an ancient looking brick phone, one that has certainly lived past its prime a long time ago. “Here. Use this phone to contact me if you need anything, alright?”

You accept the phone, staring at it bewilderedly. “Damn. How old is this phone,” you mumble to yourself.

“I would like to discourage you from leaving this room, given that it is quite dangerous to wander around. There are many puzzles I have not been able to maintain as nicely as I would like them to be…” Toriel trails off before continuing. “However, I cannot stop you. If you truly feel that you must leave, I only ask that you keep in mind what I have taught you.”

“Alright,” John says quietly. Toriel looks at him pointedly, before sighing deeply.

“Very well,” she says reluctantly. “I will leave for now. Try not to leave this room.”

With that, Toriel rounds the corner and disappears from view. You immediately turn to John, waggling your eyebrows. “We’re totally not staying here, are we?”

The corners of John’s mouth quirk up. “I suppose not, if you have something to say about it.”

“Alright.” You chuckle. “Let’s give it a few minutes before we leave though. Just to make sure the coast is clear.”

The two of you head to a corner in the room before sitting down, your knees just touching each other. Not for the first time today, John found himself at a loss for words. There were a lot of things not adding up in his mind, but he couldn’t piece them together quite yet. One thing was for sure, however; he didn’t trust Toriel.

He is used to getting certain looks from other assassins. Majority of them looked at him with fear, envy, or respect. Some looked up at him, and some looked down on him. In any case, John could at least hazard a guess as to why they reacted to him in that way. His reputation of being the boogeyman, an emissary of death, or lo spettro often meant that others had preconceived notions about him. It never affected his work negatively, and so he paid no mind to the whispers surrounding his name.

Toriel, however, is a different story. A mere two hours ago, John had no idea that she even existed, and she had no idea who he was either. So why did she look at him with such wariness?

John glances at you briefly. You’re still leaning back against the wall, your eyes closed as you breathe in deeply. Toriel looked at you with a smile at all times, her expression sometimes bordering on affection. Meanwhile, Toriel looked at him with barely concealed suspicion.

“I don’t trust Toriel,” he mutters.

You blink. “Huh?”

“I don’t trust Toriel,” he repeats. “Something’s strange.”

“Is it the fight thing?” You lean towards him. “I thought that was a bit weird too… she can’t honestly be expecting us to wait for her to resolve things right?”

John nods. “I find it hard to believe that violence is unnecessary in fights.”

You hum in response, fidgeting with your fingers. “She seems nice enough, but the flower from earlier was…”

“Insane?” John suggests.

“Sure,” you snort. “I was gonna go for not as nice, but that works too. Just makes me wonder how the other monsters would be, if there are any.”

Another silence falls on the two of you. John stretches his legs out, subconsciously rubbing his left knee. The ache has slowly begun to make its return after walking for so long.

“There’s gotta be an exit somewhere, right?” You say hopefully. “I know there are a lot of caves in Mount Ebott. We’re bound to find our way out eventually.”

“I hope so,” John replies. “We still have food and water in—”

Right. The bags had been left behind on the foot of a tree right before both of you fell.

Your enthusiasm wilts slightly. “Fuck, I forgot about that. Guess we should go look for that, then.”

He breathes in deeply, nodding. “Yeah. We should get going.”

The two of you get up, much to the complaints of John’s aching joints (was thirty five already old? Winston always said he was still in his prime, but right now his back begged to differ.) As the two of you dust off your clothes, neither of you notice a golden yellow flower observing both of you from a distance.

“Interesting.” Flowey smiles sinisterly. “This is going to be very interesting.”

author's note: the fanfic author curse has hit me, i fear... after the wisdom tooth fiasco, uni starts this week for me which means i'll be busier. don't worry, i'll still do my best to update every one or two weeks! reblogs and comments are much appreciated <333

#john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick #keanu reeves #undertale #john wick fluff #man... i should really get around to making a masterlist for this huh #and for my works in general

23 notes · View notes

imagine-darksiders · 1 year

Text

Eden's Heir, chapter 3.

A Way Out

Words: 6219

Summary: You're not on Earth, and that truth is as devastating as it is implausible. You have to get out of this Void. But there's only one demon who can offer an exit. Unfortunately for you, there's also a certain Horseman who' deems it necessary to keep you close, for curiosity's sake.

----

There is very little dignity in fear.

When allowed to fester, even the tiniest pinch of it will start to bulge and swell inside you until it’s too large to be contained by the churning walls of your stomach. So, instead, it spreads through your bloodstream, eating up the space inside you like an infection as it strips away reason, humanity, and even hope.

Especially hope.

You’re not proud that the unexpected knowledge of your true whereabouts sends you into an immediate downward spiral of terror, but in the absence of any better ideas, you think it’s at least a little justified that you promptly stagger away from the otherworldly beings, drop to your backside on the cold, hard ground, gather your knees to your chest and proceed to come apart right there in front of an honest-to-goodness demon, and two Horsemen of the Apocalypse…

You’d always heard that wedding days are enormously stressful, but this is just ridiculous.

You’ve retreated to the precarious edge of Vulgrim’s plateau, not close enough that you’re worried about accidentally toppling over into the misty void, but at least far enough from War, Strife and the leery merchant that at least a diminutive fraction of your unease is lifted.

The blood on your arm has already dried to dark, crackling flakes, and it’s through unseeing, bulging eyes that you stare at the raised line of flesh wrapped in an arc over your forearm.

There’s one startling realisation plaguing your mind more emphatically than any other.

This isn’t Earth. This isn’t Earth.

A whirling onslaught of fresh, new terrors start to haunt you, terrors you’ve never even had to think about until now. You can’t find a voice for all the questions that clutter your mind. And you don’t pay much attention to the set of watchful, amber eyes that have remained glued to you ever since you stumbled dazedly over to the fringe of the floating platform.

Strife is abuzz with questions of his own, questions he’d readily bombard you with were it not for the vacant stare you’re currently aiming at the wound his brother left across your delicate flesh.

Grimacing, the older Nephilim twists himself sideways, keeping one eye on you and the other on War and the demon, both of whom seem more eager than Strife to turn the conversation back to other matters. Namely, business.

“Now then,” Vulgrim announces, clicking the tips of his long, curved claws together in eager anticipation, “I think it’s safe to assume you boys haven’t come here just to have me confirm the identity of this lost, little human…”

War’s lip curls unpleasantly, as if the mere act of even speaking to the merchant turns his stomach. Vehement, he growls, “Our work doesn’t concern you, demon.”

But Vulgrim, ever discerning, simply draws his mouth upwards to reveal the gleaming maw of fangs that sit crookedly behind his lips – a mocking reflection of War’s sneer.

“Oh, but it must,” the demon drawls knowingly, “Why else would you be here?”

War’s expression further twists as if he’s tasting poison on his tongue, and Strife has to stifle a smirk.

Drawing himself up a little closer to the demon’s height, War bites out, “Samael sent us here…” Trailing off to look Vulgrim up and down, he narrows his eyes and adds, “Maybe it was to collect your head.”

Far from threatened however, the conniving demon merely raises a single, slender finger and wags it back and forth in a manner that sets War’s teeth on edge.

“Ah ah ah~” he admonishes, “Careful, Horseman… Show the right temperament and I can be of… service to you. But first, you must be of service to me.”

Strife has to resist the urge to throw his head back and groan. He probably ought to have seen this coming a mile off.

Can’t spend five minutes in the presence of a demon without them angling for a favour…

War, it seems, has also cottoned on to the merchant’s less than subtle hint.

The Horseman’s armoured shoulders almost double in size as he bristles angrily, spitting, “The Council does not negotiate with demons. If you try to take advantage of them-“

“-And by extension, us-!” Strife chimes in.

“-Then there will be consequences.”

His latest threat complete, War narrows his ice-blue glare up at the hovering demon, who, to his dismay, only barks out a dark, mocking laugh and spreads his gangling arms out wide, as if to invite the Horseman to carry out the Council’s apparent ‘consequences.’

“Your Council has no power here,” Vulgrim drones, eyes as sharp as a whetted blade, “This realm is mine, and therefore subject to my rules. If anything were to happen to me, it would certainly prove tragic for you. You’d be trapped here in the void. For all of eternity.”

Strife’s trigger finger twitches of its own accord. He loathes that the demon has a point.

Just then, from the corner of his gaze, the eagle-eyed Horseman catches the rapid movement of your head snapping upright.

Curious as to what’s drawn you from your catatonic state, Strife swivels his helm in your direction, perking up when he sees you clambering awkwardly to your feet, struggling to move your puffy skirts aside.

He’d welcome you back to the present, but your stare is fixed with disconcerting precision on the demon floating behind him.

“Wait, wait a second,” you fumble out in a rush, taking a single, daring step closer, your cheeks still glistening with tears, “What did you say? Y-You’re the only one who can get me out of here?”

The mention of an exit… The hint of an escape…

A tiny flutter of hope drifts free of your soul and you latch onto it with greedy hands, like a child snatching at a butterfly, desperate.

It’s the only force in the world that could lure you closer to the titanic Horseman and their implausible acquaintance. That first, tentative step turns into several more, though you’re quick to freeze in place when three pairs of eyes flick in your direction, sending a rush of adrenaline racing up your spine.

You’ve never felt more like prey in your life.

The demon’s stare especially unnerves you. It seems to eat right into you like acid, hungry and all-consuming. His mouthful of teeth holds your focus as he lifts blackened lips into what you can only assume is a terrible grin.

“Now do I have your attention?” he asks smugly, tossing his gaze back over to the Horsemen, neither of whom give you the impression that they’re as hopeful about the latest revelation as you are.

After a moment, War bunches his hands into fists and tears his eyes from you, turning to glare down the merchant instead. Strife’s attention, however, remains locked on you for a further second before he too throws a dark look up at the grinning Vulgrim.

A shaky breath gushes past your lips once you’re no longer in their sights. It feels as though you’ve just been released from a cast of stone. For just a moment, you spare an absent thought to those Greeks of ancient myth who stared down the legendary gorgon, Medusa. You think you might finally understand, at least a little, what such a fate must have been like. The power of a predator’s gaze is not to be underestimated; it seems.

Vulgrim is still leering right back at the Horsemen with an awfully superior smirk plastered across his cragged jaws, a look that has Strife’s jaw clenching.

“Patience ain’t my brother’s thing,” he growls, “Or mine, now that I think about it… So, whatever point you’re trying to make, make it.”

The demon’s smirk shrinks at the curt tone, but nonetheless, he inclines his head and begins to explain. “Fine. The Lords of Hell are forever in conflict,” he says, “They seek power. Control… Lucifer and Samael most of all…”

You can’t help yourself from jumping in with an embarrassing squeak of alarm. “Lucifer!?” you parrot, once again earning their attention, “A-As in, like, the Devil? Satan!?”

In the span of a second, Strife’s irritation at Vulgrim lifts to make way for amusement at your interruption. “You know another Lucifer?” he quips, grinning down at you from behind his visor, “Big guy won’t be happy someone’s tryin’ to steal his thunder.”

A wave of anxious heat surges up the back of your neck and you throw a hand up to curl trembling fingers around a fistful of hair. “Oh my god!” you blurt, chest heaving, “Is this Hell!? Am I in Hell right now!?”

In response, Strife lets out a rough snort whilst Vulgrim merely offers you a shake of his great, ghastly head. “I’m afraid not,” the demon laments, casting a morose glance at the void surrounding his lonely plateau, “Sadly, Hell is several planes south of this one.”

For several, arduous seconds, you can do nothing but stare up at him in incredulous silence as your brain chugs along slowly, attempting to wrestle with the bombshell that not only does the Devil purportedly exist, but so too does Hell itself. You’re looking right at a demon, after all. It would stand to reason that a place of perdition exists too.

In contrast to the magnitude of the knowledge you’ve just been made privy to, a thin, rasping, “What?” is all that creaks out of your throat.

The question is answered by a low huff from War, who fixes you in his stern glower and rumbles, “This does not concern you, human.”

Gulping, you retreat a step back, almost tripping over your dress in the process as your eyes flit up to the broadsword strapped across the behemoth’s back. Your mouth dries at the very fresh memory of what he’d done to you the last time he paid you any attention.

Unbeknownst to you, Strife’s ears twitch at the click of your heeled shoes on the stone, and the catch in your breath.

Folding a pair of heavily armoured arms across his sizeable chest, he too takes a step away from War before ambling sideways, parking himself stubbornly between you and his brother like a living, breathing blockade. “Hey, come on. Lay off,” he retorts, jutting the chin of his helm out at War, “She’s just as lost here as we are.”

Just like that, the younger Nephilim’s expression shifts, his hardened expression lifting to a quizzical look that he aims at his brother, as if even he hadn’t expected Strife to come to your defence.

Still, despite his surprise, he’s quick to recover his wits.

You, in the meantime, can only stare agape at the armoured expanse of a back suddenly standing in your way.

“We are not lost,” War insists, furrowing his brow, “We’ve just been waylaid.”

“On the contrary, Horseman…” Vulgrim’s slimy tone encourages War’s expression to darken even further. Raising a slender finger into the air, the demon continues, “You are both precisely where you need to be.”

With a quiet scoff, Strife shifts his weight onto the opposite leg, throwing Vulgrim a nasty glare. “Figures you’d know more than you’ve been letting on…”

You almost jump a mile when War gnashes his teeth at the merchant and booms, “Out with it! You know why we were sent here. I demand that you tell us!”

“Demand…” Vulgrim clicks his tongue derisively, but after a moment, he concedes to heave his shoulders into a shrug and rolls his green eyes towards the foggy void above him. “Oh, very well,” he sighs, “Samael sent you here because he has learned that Lucifer is attempting something… unexpected.”

The mention of the latter’s name nearly sends you scampering back to whimper at the edge of the abyss.

Plainly oblivious to the nausea churning in your guts, Vulgrim continues, “He is extending a hand to his enemies, Horsemen. Offering something very desirable in exchange for their…. cooperation.”

“And Moloch is one of those enemies,” Strife hedges, though his tone indicates that it’s far from a question.

Suddenly, Vuglrim drifts backwards, a move that has you ducking into the shadow of the metal titan standing with his back to you, but the demon pays your flinch no mind, simply folding his lanky arms across his chest and cocking a sly grin down at Strife.

“Ah, nothing in the world is without cost,” he tells the Horseman, voice dripping with pompous bile, “If you wish to know more, we must enter into an agreement. You recall that I asked you for a favour?”

Now, up until today, you’d been of the entirely sane opinion that demons only existed in the pages of story books, or behind the screens of televisions and computers. But if there’s one thing you’ve learned from pop culture that could apply here, it’s that striking a deal with a demon would be about as sensible as sticking your head into the jaws of a starving bear.

The Horsemen, it appears, share the very same sentiment.

Strife tilts his helm to send a hostile glare up at Vulgrim, and you could swear you hear something that sounds so much like thunder rumbling away inside his chest.

Even still, War’s objection is far louder than his brother’s.

Peeking around Strife’s side, you observe as the larger Horseman’s entire body goes taut and rigid with sudden animosity, and he begins peeling his lips apart to bare a set of gleaming, white teeth. The animosity, though it isn’t directed at you, still draws the blood away from the surface of your skin, leaving you several shades paler than your typical complexion.

Vulgrim, in contrast, either doesn’t notice the dramatic shift in their demeanour, or he simply doesn’t care.

Bold as brass, he presses on. “A precious artifact has been stolen from me,” he laments with a roll of his wrist, “I sought Samael’s assistance in the matter, but…” Trailing off, he regards the pair of bristling behemoths with a glint in his sharp, green eyes. “Perhaps,” he adds thoughtfully, “You could recover it.”

Dead silence pervades the void for a long, awfully uncomfortable length of time whilst you send fleeting glances between each of the Horsemen, up to the horned demon, and back again.

“Know what?” Strife pipes up without warning, dropping a hand to rest casually on the barrel of a pistol, “At this point, I’m more interested in killing you than helping you…”

Such a nonplussed hint at murder throws your heart up into your throat, and you blanch, gaping incredulously at the spiked, black hair jutting from the Horseman’s helm.

You’re starting to deduce that Vulgrim must be used to such threats. How else could he stare down a man with a gun that size without flinching?

“That would profit neither of us,” he deadpans. Then, raising his voice to an enticing lilt, he adds, “It’ll be worth your while~!”

Strife’s shoulders jump with a sceptical grunt.

“It’s true!” Vulgrim retorts, “I give you my word.”

“Oh! Your word?” Strife echoes sarcastically, “Well, why didn’t you say so! We’ll do it!”

Blinking, the demon quirks a brow ridge. “Really?”

“Sure!”

Everyone, yourself included, stares at Strife in silence for a time, each of you expecting him to throw his head back with a laugh and tell Vulgrim that he’s joking. But as the seconds tick by in which Strife merely peers up at the demon without a word, you start to get the impression that he is not, in fact, joking.

After it becomes clear that his brother isn’t about to rescind his offer to actually help the merchant, War bodily whirls about to face him and scoffs, “You can’t be serious?”

Strife’s metal shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “Look at where we are, War,” he mutters, swinging his mask in an arc to take in the void around you, “If you have a better idea, I’m all ears.”

Cowering behind him, you nervously cast a glance around his elbow again to see War’s face screw up beneath his crimson hood, ice-blue gaze flitting sideways to throw a look out at the darkness beyond the platform. With each passing second, you see his eyebrows knit closer and closer together, forming a solid line of white hair upon his strong forehead.

Though he’s loathe to admit it, War can see the sense in his brother’s words.

If they are to leave this place and continue their mission for the Charred Council, they’ll need the help of a demon to do it.

Spitting a Nephilim curse that would have Death reprimanding him with a smack around the head, War snatches his glare to the opposite side of the plateau, steadfastly refusing to meet Strife’s eye.

Sensing the Horseman’s acquiescence, Vulgrim’s toothy maw stretches into a too-wide smile, showing off fangs that glint like knives when they catch the murky light.

“Hah,” he declares triumphantly, “I will provide a serpent hold for travel.”

“A serpent hole?” you whisper under your breath.

You’ve heard of worm holes before, but serpent holes?

Frankly, you find it hard to conjure up the effort to actually care what kind of holes he’ll be providing.

If this ‘serpent hole’ means a way out of this place and back to that drab, terrifying church, you’ll take it.

“Well, all right.” Strife declares suddenly, and before you can move, the massive, metal man steps to one side, revealing you in full to the eyes of his brother and the demon. “Vague mission. Unknown dangers. Undetermined reward… What’s not to love?”

In response, War grunts, and then, to your dismay, his gaze lands on you, and you’re once again rendered stuck, pinned beneath the heavy weight of his preternatural glare.

Even with a demon hovering close by, it’s War’s attention that leaves you feeling the most exposed. The fresh, pink scar on your arm begins to itch.

“What are we to do with this human?” he mutters to Strife, who plants his hands on his hips and tilts his helm at you, not unlike how an inquisitive bird peers at something shiny.

“Just a suggestion,” Vulgrim cuts in eagerly, “You could leave her here.”

Letting out a fierce gasp at his words, you recoil from the salivating demon as if you expect him to pounce at any moment.

“Yeah, no,” Strife retorts for you, “Nice try. But that ain’t happening.”

Somehow, War’s perpetual frown manages to grow even more severe as he snaps, “You’re not suggesting we take her with us?”

You have to admit, you concur with the hooded giant. You’re not a fan of Strife’s idea either, even if it does mean getting out of this god-forsaken ‘void.’

Exhaling roughly through his nose, Strife hunches his massive shoulders and replies, “Why not?”

“Because this human is none of our concern!”

“So… what? You’d rather just leave her to be eaten by tall, dark and gruesome over here?”

Vulgrim hums a note of disdain as Strife jerks his chin in his direction.

Staring at his brother, War’s expression turns calculating, reminiscent of the way he looks over battleplans and strategies before a fight. “You’re being awfully insistent about this.”

“Oh, come on, War!“ Strife groans, slumping his shoulders and throwing his head back dramatically, "You’re not even a little curious? Don’t you wanna know what we were fighting for? This human is one of the reasons the Charred Council ordered us to murder our-!”

“-Do not dwell on the past, brother,” the enormous Horseman suddenly cuts him off, his nostrils flaring wide as he scowls down at his sibling, a warning hidden just beyond bared teeth, “The Charred Council gave us new orders. They are all you should be concerned about.” Throwing you a suspicious glare, he adds, “This… human is a distraction we cannot afford.”

“Hmph.” Eyes narrowed to razor-thin slits, Strife folds his arms petulantly across his silver chest and mutters, “Sounds like a distraction is exactly what you’re lookin’ for.”

Leather bracers strain with an ominous creak as War’s fists clench slowly at his sides. “What was that?” he challenges.

Giving his shoulders a nonchalant shrug, Strife just flaps a hand at his brother, as if to casually waft away the larger Horseman’s aggression, “Nothin’. Nothin’…”

Growling, War snaps his head towards Vulgrim, who has done little else but hover nearby with his eyes trained eagerly on the brothers and their quarrel, looking thoroughly entertained by the whole situation.

“Are you waiting for an invitation, demon!?” he snaps, “Summon a portal.”

Blowing out a hefty sigh, Vulgrim throws his hands up compliantly and swivels around in midair until he’s facing the centre of his raised dais, grumbling incomprehensibly under his breath as his wings give an agitated little flutter.

Impatient, War simply huffs, growing still when the back of his neck begins to prickle. There are eyes upon him that aren’t his brother’s.

With a sudden shift, the Horseman twists his head sideways and anchors it in your direction, subjecting you to an undeserved glare from beneath the lip of his hood.

Choking on a gasp, you drop your eyes to the floor near your feet quick as a flash. You’re so focused on not meeting the gaze of the crimson-clad giant that you fail to notice his brother boring a hole into the side of your head, regarding you with a pensive expression.

Obviously, leaving you here isn’t an option. Not least because frankly, he has way too many questions.

But he needs War on his side.

So, breathing a sigh, he raises his head to meet his brother’s eye and tries a different approach. “What about the Balance?”

And just like that, War’s body goes tense at his brother’s soft question. The haunting, blue stare you’ve found yourself caught up in starts to falter, drifting away from the pink scar running over your arm and moving towards the older Horseman. “Strife…” he begins tiredly.

There are very few beings in the Universe who could claim to know War as well as his brother. But one doesn’t have to know War deeper than surface level to see that honour and duty are among the youngest Horseman’s chief principals.

“The Council said Lucifer’s plotting humanity’s downfall as we speak…” Strife continues, unhurried.

Blinking rapidly, you forget your terror of War for a second and throw your head up again to blurt, “I- He- He’s what?”

“And these little guys-“ Strife jerks the chin of his helm at you, staring hard at the younger Nephilim. “-Are integral to the Balance.”

He doesn’t miss how War’s lips tighten into a thin, displeased line.

‘Gotcha.’

Though he knows his brother would have no way of seeing it behind his helm, Strife holds back the triumphant little smirk that tries to angle across his mouth. Just to be safe.

“You’d protect humanity,” he presses, knowing full-well that something is about to go ‘clunk’ in his brother’s mind, “But not a human?”

Lo and behold, no sooner has he asked the question than War’s steely countenance drops by a fraction – A fraction so negligible that only the sharpest eyes would be able to spot it.

It just so happens that Strife has the sharpest eyes in the Universe.

By his own claim, sure. But still.

“I don’t know what’s more concerning,” War grunts, shaking his hooded head, “The fact that you listened to what the Council said. Or the fact that you actually have a point.”

Strife stares hard at his brother for a long moment whilst you give them both a look of abject horror, pulse jumping in your temple.

“Woah,” the older Nephilim utters at last, “Did you just admit that I have a point…? Can I get that in writing?”

Slipping his eyes shut, the largest Horseman inhales deeply through his nose and exhales a breath in a noisy rush through his gritted teeth. “We’ll take her,” he concedes at last.

Straightening his back, Strife innocently asks, “What?”

“We’ll take her.”

You’d probably throw up at the declaration if you weren’t so irrationally concerned about staining the wedding dress.

Eyes as cold as tundra frost turn their attention onto you.

Fittingly, you feel the blood in your veins turn to ice.

“Human,” he growls, “You’re coming with us.”

“I-I don’t… want to…?” you croak weakly.

Slinging his chin sideways, Strife asks, “You’d rather stay here with this guy?”

With an audible gulp, you throw a glance at Vulgrim, only to find his gleaming, green eyes peering down at you hungrily.

Recoiling, you pull a face and send a beseeching, watery plea to the Horseman. “I-I just want to get out of here.”

“There, see?” Strife exclaims, jabbing a thumb down at you and grinning up at his brother, “She wants to come with us.”

Aghast, you immediately start to sputter, “That is absolutely not what I meant!” The courage it takes for you to return your gaze to the looming demon is astronomical. Raising a trembling hand, you gesture floppily at him and add, “He said he can make a -a snake hole for you guys! Can’t he make one for me as well?”

“It’s serpent hole,” Vulgrim corrects with a tut, still turned towards the centre of his platform, yet he spares you a glance over his sinewy shoulder, ebony horns shimmering in the sickly light.

“Whatever!” you screech, panicked at the mere fact that he’s addressing you, “Just pick a hole, open it, and let me go home! Please!”

“Ha!” Strife barks.

Struck by the sudden urge to scold his brother - though not quite understanding why - War shoots a scathing glare at Strife before returning his attention to you again. “The only ones with the power to send you to Earth are the Charred Council,” he explains.

“Then take me to them!” you try to demand, but the squeak of your voice is frustratingly prevalent. You imagine you’re no more intimidating to these beings than a mouse is to a lion.

“Listen.”

You leap out of your skin, literally clutching your pearl necklace as Strife speaks and shifts about on his feet to face you.

“Let me tell you something right now,” he says, “There are exactly two ways to get a summoning from the Charred Council.”

Taking a heavy step towards you, he raises the first two fingers of his right hand, counting them off as he starts to explain, “The first, is if they have a new mission for us.” He drops his middle finger, wagging his remaining digit at you. “And the second, is if we finish a current mission. And seeing as we’ve just started this one…” Trailing off, he tips his chin down, peering at you expectantly, observing in silence as your expression slowly begins to crumple.

‘Shit… Can all humans pull that face?’ he grimaces to himself, ‘Might be more powerful than they look.’

In the end, War puts words to what you’ve just realised.

“We will not be summoned to the Council until our mission here is complete,” he grunts.

The weight of his words drops into your stomach, sending the whole organ plummeting down into your shoes. Wringing your hands, your thumb brushes over an abnormal band of metal resting at the base of your third finger.

Wetting your lips, you lower your eyes to the sizeable diamond engagement ring sitting prettily on your left hand. Ever so briefly, you’re struck by a memory, of the first time you showed your father the ring that Cain had given you. You almost had to call the nurse into his hospital room because he laughed so damn hard and nearly tore out his drip.

‘He trying to marry you or buy you?’ he’d wheezed after a raucous guffaw, clutching your hand with skeletal fingers, his knuckles so swollen and arthritic, the only thing you could bear to do was look away. The guilt of averting your eyes haunted you until you fell asleep that same night.

You have to clench your eyes shut with vicious force to banish the memory. You can’t think of him right now, laying there, all alone with a tube in his arm and the grimmest of prospects waiting just a few weeks down the line.

“H-how long will it take to finish your mission?” you bleat, feeling the suffocating fist of helplessness closing around your heart.

You have to get back…

“Dunno,” Strife shrugs, “Depends how much more demon bullshit we gotta take care of… Though considering recent events… I’m not hopeful for a quick resolution.”

“But I need to go home!” you bleat, twisting your fingers around a handful of your dress’s tulle, “You don’t understand – Dad’s last chemo appointment is tomorrow, a-and I’m supposed to be getting married, like… like right now!”

“I have no idea what you just said, but it all sounds very important. Which is all the more reason to get this show on the road.” Turning to face the demon behind him, Strife claps his palms together twice and barks, “Hey, Vulgrim. Serpent hole. C’mon, look lively!”

The merchant sneers, grumbling as faces the centre of his platform once more, spreading out his palms.

You give a start when a pulse of… something sours the taste of the air around you, turning dry, musty breaths into thick and acrid gulps that seem to slide across your tongue with each inhale. Instinctively, you cover your mouth.

Wind whips your veil up into a flurry of white fabric. With a graceful whirl, it blows forwards and you have to throw a hand up to catch it, sweeping it back away from your face as you stare agog at the spectacle forming in front of you.

In a word… it’s… beautiful.

In a lot of words, it’s also incredibly bright and shit-inducingly scary. It isn’t natural to see magic, not outside of a children’s birthday party or a heavily edited video online. Your eyes take it all in – the circle of azure light that swirls to life in the ground before you. Where there was once a patch of dull, grey stone, now there’s a pool – not of water, but of something that moves and flows just like it.

Your mouth hangs open as Vulgrim lowers his arms and drifts back with a beat of his vestigial wings, away from the serpent hole.

“It’s all yours, Horsemen,” he declares, bowing with a grandiose sweep of his hand, “Oh, but before you go – Do be careful. The keeper of my artefact will be, ah… less than pleased to see you.”

“No one is ever pleased to see us,” Strife grumbles, wincing at the bitter undertone that shines through just a little too brightly for his liking. Clearing his throat, he gruffly adds, “That’s kind of the idea.”

They’re Horsemen now. Dreaded enforcers of the Charred Council… Hated. Despised.

“War?” Strife brusquely addresses the larger Horseman, gesturing towards you with a jerk of his head.

Throwing his brother a heated glare, War takes a begrudging, booming step in your direction, quaking the ground beneath your feet.

You’re nearly sent toppling ass over teakettle in your haste to back-peddle away from the armoured behemoth, launching your hands out in front of you and blurting, “Woah, woah, woah! Hang on a moment!”

You very nearly faint on the spot when, against all odds, the Horseman actually pauses midstride, a single, ivory brow quirking to peer at you expectantly. You’d have thought that nothing short of a tank could make someone his size hesitate.

Sliding his gaze smoothly between the two of you, Strife has the gall to tip his helm to one side and ask, “What’s the matter, Princess?”

‘Princess’ indeed. If he wasn’t the size of a skyscraper, you’d have half a mind to smack him with your bag. As it is, you doubt the satisfaction of striking him would be worth the painful death that’d surely follow such an insult.

“I’m… I’m not going anywhere with him.” You point accusingly at War instead, though you swiftly drop your finger after he gives it a look that suggests he’d like to cut it off.

“Oh, come on, he’s not as bad as he looks,” Strife prods encouragingly, “Is this about your arm?”

Incredulous, you gape up at the Horseman for a moment before pursing your lips with a shrug, as if to compose yourself. “No, actually, I just don’t particularly like his attitude- YES OF COURSE IT’S ABOUT MY FUCKING ARM!”

“He healed it up afterwards!” Strife replies brightly, as though you’re both having a friendly debate about the weather. If anything, judging by the upward curve of his luminous eyes and his jocular tone of voice, you’d almost wager that he’s actually enjoying your little back and forth.

One of your eyelids twitches, and you have to take a moment to think of something coherent to say, but when you open your mouth, the only word that leaps out is an incredulous, “What!?”

“And besides,” Strife breezes over you as if you’d never spoken, “I’m sure he’s very sorry. Right, big man?”

Pressing your lips together dubiously, you follow Strife’s pointed gaze up to his brother, who leers back at you with his stony face set like a dark thundercloud, his chest quaking around a resonant rumble.

You can’t imagine this beast has ever apologised for anything in his life - if he’s even had the inclination to.

Trying to swallow past a lump of nerves, you glower mistrustfully at the handle of the broadsword jutting over War’s shoulder, and declare, “He can be as sorry as he likes, but he is not putting me on his shoulder!”

Pursing his lips, Strife blows out a whistle, lifting a hand to scratch idly at his jagged, ebony hair. “Well,” he shrugs, “You’re comin’ with us either way. So… You wanna step through the portal yourself, or what?”

“… Hard. Pass.”

“Oh…” His gaze darts to the ground before he flicks it up to you again, one eye squinted halfway shut. “You sure?”

“Am I sure I don’t want to be carried through a mystical worm hole by the same brute who nearly cut my arm off not five minutes ago?” you clarify, subconsciously cradling the aforementioned appendage in your opposite palm, “Yes. I’m sure.”

Something of a standoff ensues between you and Strife, the latter of whom squints down at you for several, perturbing seconds, his hand still clasping the back of his neck. Another few beats pass, measured by the steady ‘thump,’ ‘thump,’ ‘thump,’ of your heart pounding in your ears.

Sadly, the relative peace only lasts another second when Strife allows his hand flop back to his side, raising one, silver shoulder into a shrug and announcing, “All right, suit yourself!”

“Suit my-wah!?”

Without warning, the Horseman takes a sudden, lurching step towards you, and before you can back-peddle clumsily out of range, two enormous, metal hands launch out to catch you around the waist, fingers spread widely enough to envelop your heaving ribs.

Struck by a sense of déjà vu, you waste no time in bunching your hands into fists and slamming them furiously down on top of Strife’s gauntlets, succeeding at nothing beyond hurting the heels of your palms. All the same, you dig right down into the bottom of your own, personal well and manage to scoop out enough drops of courage to holler, “Don’t you dare!”

With the same effort you’d use to lift a porcelain doll, Strife simply hoists you up into the air – still kicking and flailing – and slings you over his armoured shoulder. You land with a hard jolt of pain, followed by a yelp when something sharp jabs into your stomach.

“Should’a gone with War if you wanted a comfier ride.” The Horseman curls a cumbersome arm across the seat of your dress, pressing down the layered tulle and securing you in place much like his brother had not too long ago.

“You can’t do this!” you shout, “This is-! I mean, i-it’s kidnapping!”

Strife barks out a sharp laugh as he steps up beside his brother, and together, they peer down into the blue, swirling vortex that roars with dark and ancient energies, beckoning them in.

“Kidnapping?” he parrots, deliberately jostling you on his shoulder to get a squeak out of you, “Nah, nah, nah. If anything, this is a rescue. You don’t wanna know what Vulgrim’d do to your soul if we left you here.”

Half draped over the titan’s spine, you twist your neck to the side and meet the eerie merchant’s emerald gaze. Perturbingly, you can’t quite tell if he’s grinning at you, or if he’s displaying his thrawn fangs in threat.

You shudder, and that terrible, insincere smile stretches wider.

“Ironically, she may be in less danger here than she will be in whatever demon-infested pit he’s sending us to…” War points out.

“Eh, probably.” Raising a boot into the air, Strife takes one, long stride forwards into the portal, feeling the ground fall away below his feet as his matter begins slipping towards another plane of existence. Before he disappears entirely however, he twists his helm over a shoulder to catch your wild-eyed stare, throwing you a lopsided wink once he meets it.

“But comin’ with us is gonna be way more fun.”

#Darksiders #War x reader x Strife #Darksiders genesis #Vulgrim #fear #angst #innuendos #suggestive

114 notes · View notes

phoenix-flamed · 10 months

Note

Their last argument still left her mostly irritated with her husband, and she glared at him from across their shared bedroom, how he sat at the table and leaning over the maps -- as if his plan would become any less absurd if he only stared at the map hard enough.

Anabella crossed her arms in front of her chest and hissed under her breath.

There was something that aggravated her more than their argument and his presence in their room: The raising heat in her veins. A familiar twitch. She pressed her lips into a fine line.

Curse this body.

"Kiss me, Elwin," Anabella demanded. Of course, it would be more than just a kiss, but she would not tell him. Surely he already knew.

Disagreements were par the course in any relationship, or so Elwin had always assumed. Their arguments never went further than heated words and angry gestures, and to him, that was far more telling of their union in terms of stability than the presence of the arguments was. Besides -- their situation was... unique, to put it simplest.

He and Anabella were, after all, the current rulers of the duchy. Of course their responsibilities, the shared weight upon their shoulders, added more layers of stress to their marriage. Their differences in opinion on matters pertaining to the nation and its people weren't surprising, either; though they ruled together, they were still two individuals, with their own sets of views, experiences, feelings... Everything that any other human possessed as, well, a person.

All of that was to say that Elwin paid little outward attention to his wife's less than subtle ire, which was pelting him in the head repeatedly in the form of her unwavering glare. And yes, he could, like always, feel her eyes on him, by this point having memorized their look. The sharpness to them, the way her eyelids scrunched ever so slightly closed to narrow her gaze, and the dark shadow that cast across the beautiful coloration of her irises, from an excess of displeased emotions welled up within her.

In the end, it was her command -- an equally as familiar one in these situations -- that gave him pause and finally had him raising his head to peer across the room at her. This, too, was expected, and it was always something that he counted on happening, like clockwork between them. It didn't mean that all was forgiven -- but it did mean that it was a start, a step in that direction. They would argue, go their separate ways, then come back together and exhaust their frustrations in other, more intimate methods, and in doing so -- at least on his end, rekindle their bond enough that they could afterwards proceed to the apologies and thorough discussions to gain better understandings of their respective stances. From there, they would either find new perspectives or compromise, or agree to disagree.

The smile that graced his lips, permeating every bit of his features, was one of quiet warmth and the faintest hint of amusement at their routine. His stolas quill was placed aside, the notes he had been taking down regarding alternate routes for mobilizing their soldiers set aside along with it. The Archduke rose from his chair without a word, and, maintaining that silence, crossed the space between them to slip his arms around her waist, holding her and bringing her in close against his body.

First, lips pressed fondly against her forehead. They trailed downward to her own pair, pressing against them, in contrast, with more fervor. Elwin didn't need to speak -- they both knew how the other felt, and what the other wanted, and he was more than happy to oblige.

#Audiences #Verse: Bastion of Tradition #creatrix-mea #Elwin vc: we can make up by holding hands :)#also oh my god I am so sorry this reply got so oddly longer than intended

1 note · View note

that-dinopunk-guy · 1 year

Text

The Isani District

I wrote this story mainly because A, I wanted to do something with the area in which it's set, and B, because even though I'd decided before writing this that the character Gina Herodias was pansexual (in our terminology, she probably doesn't identify as that due to cultural reasons) I hadn't really done anything to illustrate that in-story so I just said fuck it and gave her a girlfriend.

This story is also noteworthy in that it makes weebs canon in this setting.

From the diary of Cameron Runnels

Kulig’s Isani District reminds me of my visit to Siinao three years ago, only bigger, brighter, more crowded, and much friendlier. Which, I suppose, makes them not very similar at all. The vibrantly dressed and decorated people, the clashing smells of various Isinic foods, and the jangling din of music make for an experience that almost borders on sensory overload at times. The narrow streets and cramped alleyways twist and turn almost at random before opening onto wide open avenues and courtyards, every one of them a surprise. I’m glad I have Gina here to guide me, because I don’t think I could find my way out of this place on my own; in the newer, more modern parts of Kulig things are usually laid out in neat grids, but the city’s older sections are more random and organic as though someone had simply dumped them out of a giant bucket and left them where they landed.

I’m surprised by how much shade there is here; the local architectural style utilizes so many eaves, overhangs, and raised walkways between buildings that I often find us walking in darkness, even this close to midday. This effect is further magnified by all the plant life the district’s residents have brought with them. Trees line the courtyards and the wider streets, potted plants hang from the sides of buildings, vines and ivy grow thick on almost every available surface, and green even bursts up from the ground where the old streets have cracked and crumbled enough for opportunistic seeds to take root. All this greenery provides ample nesting sites for birds and dactyls, and everywhere I turn I see them flitting through the air or foraging on the ground. Leave it to the Isani, I think, to bring the jungle they love so much with them into the middle of a city on the prairie.

On the way down here Gina had filled me in on the history of this neighborhood and others like it. Over the last century many of Kulig’s residents began to abandon the oldest parts of the city for the more modern areas, leaving the largely vacated old districts to become enclaves for immigrant populations. Since then they’ve become home to Garacani, to Saum Geronese, to Hamur, to Hahn Gar, Iasou, Kranomians, Su-Latene, and any other ethnic group not able or inclined to assimilate into the general populace. Nearly a hundred years ago the Isani had established themselves in this particular section, and as more and more began to trickle in from the jungle it almost became a city unto itself.

Most of the streets here are so narrow here that cars are not allowed, forcing us to leave Gina’s jeep on one of the public lots outside and proceed on foot. While this does give me the opportunity to take in more of the sights at a slower pace, it also comes with its own hazards. More than once I need to step lively to avoid the big black, red-faced hornbills that patrol the streets here, preying on insects, lizards, and handouts from their human neighbors. The locals keep them around for good luck, Gina tells me; a habit picked up from the Samara tribes. I didn’t ask for this information, though I do find it interesting.

As we walk, I’m pleased to see none of the intertribal conflict here that made my visit to the Cassowary Valley so eventful in the worst way. All around us I see Isani with wildly differing tribal markers and tattoo styles talking, trading, laughing, playing, and generally peacefully interacting. I mention this to Gina, and she nods and smiles. She says her people are more adaptable than many, often including themselves, give them credit for. Clinging to age-old grudges in a place like this, where neither side could avoid each other and both were subject to laws that tended to frown upon their traditional method of conflict resolution, had been abandoned long ago in favor of amicable coexistence. Though, she does concede a few steps later, the ease with which the district’s Isani population adopted a more open-minded attitude may have had something to do with the simple fact that anyone willing to leave their jungle in the first place would probably have been more inclined towards going against the grain of mainstream Isinic society anyway.

“Why don’t you live here?” I ask as we cross a courtyard where children are tossing food to stray dimorphodonts. “This place seems perfect for you.”

Gina laughs and shakes her head. “I was tempted at one point, believe me,” she says. “But crowded places like this aren’t for me. Me, I need wide open space, I need a horizon. I stay here too long, I’m liable to have an anxiety attack.”

The four-story building that we eventually come to is largely indistinguishable from those around it, built in the same thick, blocky style as the others with its embellished façade obscured by erosion and vines. An outer stairway leads to a verandah running around the building’s second floor, where we arrive at our destination. The door opens at Gina’s knock, and I’m surprised to see that the woman who answers is not Isani but Hamur. She looks to be about Gina’s age, with a round face, dark almond-shaped eyes, and bronze-colored skin. Like other Hamur women, she wears a traditional cloth-and-bamboo headdress covered in silver metal disks, glass beads, and colored tassels. I know the trapezoidal piece at the back of the headdress signifies what subtribe she belongs to, but I don’t know enough about the Hamur to say with any certainty which one that is. Her bare arms are covered in tattoos, but unlike the stark monochromatic patterns of the Isani hers are quite colorful, with bright flowers and koi fish on a dark green background. I recognize the style as that of Dio, and wonder if she has any Diojin ancestry or if, like many back home in Pika, she just enjoys certain aesthetic aspects of their culture.

The woman smiles and bids us to enter, and as Gina steps inside she puts her arms around her and they kiss. Sure enough, Gina introduces the woman as her girlfriend, Shaiyo Oka. I’m a little ashamed to admit that it does take me somewhat by surprise to see that Gina is dating a woman, but I remind myself that’s just my Pikan upbringing; as open-minded as we like to consider ourselves today, until a few short decades ago same-sex relationships were outlawed in Pika and we still have a long way to go before that stigma is washed away for good. The Isani, on the other hand, don’t seem to have ever particularly cared about the gender of one’s romantic partner.

“So, the legendary Cameron Runnels,” Oka says as we move to the apartment’s main living area. “I finally get to meet the woman I’ve heard so much about.” My grasp of Tenrec is still pretty basic, but I can still detect the teasing edge in her tone.

“Should I be denying anything?” I ask, with a glance in Gina’s direction. She shrugs, and Oka shakes her head.

“Oh, it’s been nothing but praise,” she assures me, before asking us if we’d like anything to drink. We both answer in the affirmative as we sit down, and when she disappears into the kitchen, I take the opportunity to look around the apartment. While the building was clearly built before the days of electricity and indoor running water, at some point such necessary modern amenities had been installed. The combination of centuries-old architecture and modern technology lends the place a quaintly anachronistic charm, which goes well with Oka’s apparent preference for antique furniture.

I briefly catch myself wondering how much it must cost to live here, before reminding myself of where I am. An old place like this surely qualifies as basic housing, and as such all costs would be covered by the Samaraland government. While they still have to pay for things like food and furniture, anyone living in basic housing not only doesn’t need to pay rent but also doesn’t need to pay for their water or electricity, those services being paid for by taxes. Though the political pundits back home rail against such systems, saying they simply breed lazy citizens who don’t want to work, I haven’t noticed any particular trend towards indolence among the people here. If I’ve noticed anything in my time here so far it’s that Samaralanders generally seem pretty happy and relaxed, which I suppose is understandable knowing that whatever happens they don’t need to worry about being homeless or without power and water.

“Let me guess,” Oka said as she comes back with two bottles of cheap local beer and a can of soda and sits down beside Gina on the couch, “she hasn’t told you much about me.”

“Not really,” I say apologetically as I accept the beer. “I think she mentioned something about seeing someone, but that’s about it.”

Oka laughs at glances sideways at Gina. “Yeah, I’m not surprised, I feel like I’m her dirty little secret sometimes.”

Gina just rolls her eyes as she cracks open her soda. “Excuse me if I don’t broadcast every detail of my love life,” she says, and Oka grins and elbows her to show she’s just teasing.

“Well no getting out of it now,” I tell her. “How’d you two meet?”

“Through Arenaria,” Oka says, before Gina can answer. “Well, she didn’t really introduce us, she just happened have Gina with her when she came to buy some kanab from me.”

“You sell kanab?” I ask, and I guess I don’t hide my nervousness very well because Gina laughs.

“You can relax, it’s legal here,” she says, while Oka looks between the two of us like she’s missing an inside joke.

“Kanab is illegal in Pika,” Gina explains, and Oka nods in understanding.

“Oh yeah, it’s perfectly legal here, it’s fine,” she says, before continuing her story. “Anyway, Arenaria comes over, with this…stunning specimen in tow,” she says, taking Gina’s hand in her own, “and I just had to know more about her.”

Gina stares at the floor as her face turns red, and Oka laughs.

“So of course I started stalking her,” Oka says, and Gina nods.

“Yeah, didn’t I catch you digging through my trash a few times?” Gina says.

“Oh, I did more than dig through your trash,” Oka says, and it’s clear she’s gotten off the story and is now just bullshitting.

Before this exchange can go any further Gina turns to me. “Anyway, yeah, we ran into each other a couple more times, and then she asked me out.”

I nod, thinking back to how awkward Gina had first seemed back when I’d first met her, before she began to warm up to me. For as confident as she can be, Gina doesn’t really strike me as the type to make the first move. “Yeah,” I say, “that sounds about right. How is Arenaria, by the way?” I ask. I haven’t been in touch with her as much as I have with Gina, though last I heard her band was gearing up for another tour.

“She’s good,” Gina says, nodding. “She’s been busy, but she’s gonna try to make it over here later.”

“Oh, great,” I say, smiling. “I’d hate to come all the way up here and not see her too.”

“Fat chance,” Gina says with a laugh, “when I told her you were coming to visit she just about lost her shit.”

Considering Arenaria’s aggressively enthusiastic attitude that doesn’t surprise me, though to hear that she’s that excited to see me again does warm my heart.

Later on, when the relentless midday heat has lessened, we move up to the roof of the apartment building. Like many roofs in the Isani district a greenhouse has been erected up here, and Oka informs me that this is where she grows her kanab for sale among the local populace. Despite knowing it’s perfectly legal in Samaraland, I still feel a rush when I see it, like I’m doing something I shouldn’t just by being near it.

There’s also a charcoal grill set up on the roof, and I’m told that when Arenaria arrives we’ll be having a cookout up here. Until then, we sit down in folding camp chairs with our feet propped up on the raised edge of the roof, continuing our conversation and taking in the view across the city.

“So what do you think of Kulig so far?” Oka asks me.

“I like it,” I say. “It’s hot as hell, but I like it.”

She scoffs. “If you think this is hot, come back in a couple months when the Dry sets in,” she says.

“Ah, you know what, I think I’m good” I say, and Oka nods.

“Smart,” she says.

“I like the Dry,” Gina says with a shrug, and Oka reaches over and squeezes her hand indulgently.

“And I’m not holding that against you, babe,” she says condescendingly, and Gina gives her a withering glare.

I’m just starting to ask Oka how she came to live in the Isani district when Arenaria Shokrit comes stomping up the stairs to the roof and loudly demands to know “where the bitches at.” I stand to greet her and she grabs me up in her arms, lifting off my feet and spinning me around in a crushing embrace; though she’s lost some muscle tone in the three years since she left her tribe’s militia, she’s still as strong as I remember. She enthusiastically demands to know how I’m doing, how long I’ll be staying, what I’ve been up to, and who knows how many other questions as Gina rearranges our chairs and sets up the grill and Oka heads down to get the meat we’ll be cooking.

Arenaria really seems to have settled into the rockstar lifestyle, at least in terms of her appearance. Her black hair has been cut to about shoulder length and then styled into thin spikes that stick out at all angles from her head, making her look a bit like a walking morning star. I can’t help thinking it looks a bit ridiculous, though knowing Arenaria that may be the point. When I’ve answered all of her questions to her satisfaction, she gives me an update on her own life. “World tour, baby!” she shouts, throwing up her arms. “Well, sort of, we’ll be doing shows in Kranam, Mene, Amsant, Pika,” she elbows me when she says this, “Dio, Garacania, and Saum Geron.” She exhales loudly, as if listing all those countries was an immense physical undertaking. “I think anyway, I might be forgetting a place or two. And not necessarily in that order. Anyway, we leave in a couple weeks and I am excited.”

“Well congratulations,” I say, “I’m really happy for you. It looks like your dream really took off.”

“Like there was any doubt” Arenaria says smugly, and I see Gina roll her eyes behind her. “You live in Ninevut, right?”

“Right,” I say.

Arenaria nods. “You should come to our show! I could probably get you in, you can come backstage and hang out with us.”

“Tired of your bandmates hogging all the groupies?” Oka asks teasingly, to which Arenaria replies with a blunt yes.

I nod and say I’ll think about it. To be honest, I’m not exactly in love with the idea; I love Arenaria to death, but I’m not a huge fan of progressive metal. Or any variety of metal music, really. Still, it’s not every day one gets to go backstage at a concert, and I’ve been curious to meet the other members of her band. I’m not gonna be a groupie though, I say, and Arenaria lets out a disappointed groan.

As we eat, we watch a dark line of thunderclouds advance on the horizon. Even from this distance, we can see lightning flashing within and arcing between the clouds, and Gina and Arenaria are smiling in anticipation of the coming storm. “That looks like it’s gonna be a good one,” Gina says around a mouthful of ground hopper. “Hopefully it’ll last a while.”

“That last one was such bullshit,” Arenaria grouses, “everybody was talking about how this nasty storm was coming in, the sky got all yellow and creepy, and then it barely rained for like five minutes ‘cause most of it passed right by us.”

“Well, it looks like this one won’t miss us,” Oka says, turning to Gina and me. “You guys might wanna get going, if you don’t want to get caught in it.”

Gina looks at her girlfriend, then at the approaching storm. She sticks her jaw forward in a gesture that I’ve already learned means she’s thinking something over, and then she shrugs. “I think we’ve still got some time,” she says finally. “Better safe than sorry though, I guess. I don’t mind getting caught in the rain, but I don’t know about you,” she says to me.

“I don’t mind it, but I’d still like to avoid it if I can,” I say.

At the implication that we might be leaving soon, Arenaria makes a loud disappointed sound and leans into me. I try to say something to comfort her, but my words dissolve into laughter as she presses in so far that she threatens to knock me out of my chair.

“She’ll be staying at my place for another week,” Gina tells her, “you can just come over sometime if you want.”

Arenaria nods, her face partially buried in my shoulder, but I think she’s made herself fall over onto me so far that she’s having trouble getting back up without making things very awkward.

Once we manage to get Arenaria righted, and her hair fixed, we bid our fond farewells. I tell Oka it’s nice to have met her and she tells me likewise, and Arenaria picks me up in another hug and deliberately swings me around so my legs smack into Gina’s side. The wind is starting to pick up as we reach the street, and the air is noticeably cooler with a slight touch of dampness. The sky has darkened considerably by the time we arrive back at Gina’s house, and when I step out of her jeep onto the driveway the air feels heavy, almost electric. Thunder rumbles as we cross the yard to her front door, and soon after stepping inside I can hear the first raindrops pattering outside.

Gina slides open the back door and steps out onto her patio, and I join her. We stand there under the awning and watch the rain, looking out across the back yard to the shelter belt beyond. Without a word she sits down in one of the plastic lawn chairs she keeps back here, and I take the other. The storm increases its intensity, the air thick and cool and damp, and I think to myself that this has been a good day.

#dinopunk #writing #my writing #fantasy writing #fiction #short fiction #short stories

2 notes · View notes

homeimprovementway · 9 months

Text

How to Perfectly Fold a Flag for a Striking Shadow Box Display

Fold a flag for a shadow box by following these steps: Start by laying the flag flat on a table, then fold it in half horizontally so that the stars are facing down. Fold the bottom striped edge up to meet the top edge, creating a rectangle with the stars in the upper left corner. Fold the striped triangle (created by the previous step) diagonally, tucking it neatly under the stars. Continue to fold the flag in this triangular manner until it is fully folded into a tight triangle. Place the folded flag in a shadow box for display. Displaying a flag in a shadow box is a powerful way to honor a loved one's service or show patriotism. Whether it's a flag that has been flown during a special event or one that holds sentimental value, taking the time to fold it properly is essential. In this guide, we will outline the step-by-step process of folding a flag for a shadow box, ensuring that it is neatly tucked away in a perfect triangular shape. By following these instructions, you can proudly showcase your flag in a shadow box and preserve its significance for years to come.

Step-by-step Instructions

Learn how to fold a flag for a shadow box with step-by-step instructions. This guide provides a clear and concise method to properly fold a flag, ensuring it fits perfectly in your shadow box display. Preparing The Flag For Folding To begin folding a flag for a shadow box, it is important to ensure that the flag is clean and free from any dirt or debris. Start by finding a clean and spacious area to perform the folding process. Also, make sure you have an appropriate size shadow box to accommodate the folded flag. Here are the step-by-step instructions for preparing the flag for folding: - Place the flag on a flat surface, making sure it is spread out completely. - Inspect the flag for any loose threads, tears, or damages. If you come across any, gently repair them with a needle and thread to prevent further damage. - If the flag is wrinkled or creased, you can iron it using a low heat setting. Be cautious not to iron over any embroidered or printed areas on the flag. - Once the flag is clean, free of damages, and properly ironed, you are ready to proceed with the folding process.

Folding The Flag Folding the flag correctly is essential to ensure it fits neatly into the shadow box. Follow these step-by-step instructions to fold the flag with precision: - Hold the flag lengthwise so that it is stretched out horizontally in front of you. - Starting from the striped end of the flag, fold the lower half of the flag lengthwise over the union (blue field) of the flag. Ensure that the stripes are evenly aligned during this fold. - Continue folding the flag lengthwise in the same manner until the whole flag is folded into a long, narrow strip. Make sure the folds are tight and crisp. - Now, fold the striped corner of the flag (from the opposite end of the stars) to meet the open edge of the flag. This will create a triangular shape. - Continue folding the flag in a triangular manner, alternating folds between the length and width of the flag until only a small triangular portion of the blue field remains visible. - Tuck any remaining loose ends into the final triangular fold to secure the shape. Arranging The Flag In The Shadow Box Once the flag is neatly folded, it's time to arrange it inside the shadow box for display. Follow these guidelines to ensure a visually appealing presentation: - Open the shadow box and remove the backing if necessary. Ensure that the interior of the shadow box is clean and dust-free. - Carefully insert the folded flag into the shadow box, ensuring that it is centered and aligned properly. - If desired, you can use small pins or adhesive putty to secure the flag in place, especially if it tends to shift within the shadow box. - After arranging the flag, replace the backing of the shadow box and secure it properly. Ensure that the flag is not wrinkled or distorted during this process. - Once the flag is securely displayed in the shadow box, gently close the box and ensure that it is properly sealed. - Find an appropriate location to display your shadow box, keeping in mind factors such as lighting and temperature to protect the flag from damage or fading. Folding a flag for a shadow box requires patience and attention to detail. By following these step-by-step instructions, you can ensure a respectful and visually pleasing display of your cherished flag.

Tips And Techniques

Folding a flag for a shadow box is not just about preserving the flag, but also about creating a meaningful and professional-looking display. In this section, we will dive into some tips and techniques that will help you achieve the perfect fold, handle and care for the flag properly, and create a display that honors its significance. Using An Iron For Smoother Folds When it comes to folding a flag for a shadow box, achieving smooth and crisp folds is essential for creating a visually appealing display. One technique that can help you achieve this is using an iron. Here's how: - Start by laying your flag flat on the ironing board, making sure it is free from any wrinkles. - Gently iron the flag on low heat, using a pressing cloth or a thin piece of fabric to protect the flag from direct heat. - As you iron, pay attention to the edges and corners, making sure they are neatly folded and aligned. - Once you have finished ironing, allow the flag to cool down completely before proceeding with the folding process. By using an iron, you can achieve smoother folds, giving your flag a polished and professional appearance. Handling And Care Of The Flag Proper handling and care of the flag are crucial for preserving its integrity and ensuring its longevity. Here are some tips to help you handle and care for your flag: - Always handle the flag with clean and dry hands to prevent oils and dirt from transferring onto the fabric. - Avoid dragging or pulling the flag, as it can cause damage to the stitching or the fabric itself. - When not displaying the flag, store it in a clean and dry place to protect it from dust, moisture, and sunlight. - Regularly inspect the flag for any signs of wear or damage. If you notice any tears or fraying, consider seeking professional restoration or retiring the flag properly. By handling and caring for your flag with diligence, you can ensure it stays in pristine condition for years to come. Creating A Professional-looking Display Once you have folded and preserved your flag, it's time to create a display that does justice to its significance. Here are some techniques to achieve a professional-looking display: - Choose a shadow box or a display case that is of appropriate size and complements the flag's dimensions. - Consider adding additional elements to your display, such as medals, badges, or certificates, to create a more personalized and meaningful tribute. - Arrange the folded flag neatly at the center of the display, ensuring it is not overcrowded and retains its shape. - Use a mount or fabric backdrop to enhance the visual appeal and create depth within the display. By following these techniques, you can create a stunning and professional-looking display that showcases the flag's significance and honors the memories associated with it.

Frequently Asked Questions On How To Fold A Flag For A Shadow Box

How Do You Properly Fold A Flag For A Shadow Box? To properly fold a flag for a shadow box, start by folding it in half lengthwise, then fold it again diagonally to form a triangle. Fold the lower striped section of the triangle over the field of stars, and continue this triangular folding until only the end of the flag is exposed. Finally, tuck the remaining end into the folds to secure it. What Is The Purpose Of Folding A Flag For A Shadow Box? Folding a flag for a shadow box serves as a respectful way to display and preserve the flag. The meticulous folding process symbolizes the honor and tribute paid to the flag and the sacrifices it represents. It also allows the flag to be displayed in a compact and visually appealing manner within the shadow box. Can I Use Any Type Of Flag In A Shadow Box? While any flag can technically be displayed in a shadow box, it's recommended to use a flag that holds special significance. This could be a flag that has been used in a significant event, such as a military deployment or national ceremony. Using a flag with personal or historical meaning adds an extra layer of significance to the display.

Conclusion

Learning how to fold a flag for a shadow box is an essential skill for patriotic individuals wishing to preserve and display their flag. By following the step-by-step instructions provided in this blog post, you can ensure that your flag is neatly folded and ready for exhibition. Remember, proper flag folding honors the symbolism and significance of the flag, while also allowing you to proudly showcase it in a shadow box. Start practicing and enjoy the process of folding your flag with care and precision. Read the full article

0 notes

sparkbeast20 · 3 years

Text

Missing Hellhound and Human! (MC and Cerberus)

This is part 2 of A human's best friend is a Hellhound

This take place at the end of the Angelic event. and Inspired by the Ao3 fanfic Angelic Desecration by Scarlet_Streak

Summary: After changing back to their normal selves, The brothers come home, only to find out that Henry is the only living thing it the house.

Warning: Swearing, Confuse feeling and emotions, Doubts and Cerbie being a good boy

At the House of Lamentation, the door slam open to reveal a tired Mammon, Levi hide his face who speed walks pass him and head straight to his room.

While the rest of the brothers walk in the house, with Lucifer being the last one and close the door behind him. He leans on the door, then let out a long and drag out sigh, as he unbutton two and slide his hair back.

All of them just want to forget this event all together.

Oddly enough Lucifer saw Belphie not headed to the common room to flop on the couch, but instead head to the direction of your room. It seem that he's determine makeup for lost time while their were angels.

Maybe he should check up you too.

As Lucifer was about to head to your room too, he saw the door to the tomb. And remember how Cerberus acted around him while he was an angel.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

"Cerberus!" Lucifer calls he's hound, but met with a stare from the beast before snarling at Lucifer.

"Apologies Cerberus. Did I upset you in anyway somehow?" but Cerberus middle and left head start barking, with the right head whimpering.

Lucifer wants to comfort the right head, so he try to reach out and pet him, however the right head saw his hand getting. Then he start crying and back his head away from Lucifer's hand.

Lucifer draw his hand back and took a couple step back.

The middle head nuzzle the right head, while the left head looks at Lucifer with narrow eyes and fang showing as he growls.

Then Cerberus turn his back on Lucifer and walk further into the tomb. Leaving Lucifer confuse.

As the week goes by, Cerberus seem start acting aggressive towards Lucifer.

The two head barks at him while right didn't even look at him.

Even offering food, Cerberus just kick it back to Lucifer, and turn his back on master.

Lucifer decided to give Cerberus some space.

Before he leaves, he look back to Cerberus who is laying down

The Middle head just look at him with a stir look, the Left head snarl wanting him out of his territory. But what made Lucifer's heart ache is the Right head who has his eyes close, ears down as he whimpers like we was abandon by his owner and left alone.

Lucifer let out a sigh, and proceed to walk back up the stairs.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

Now that Lucifer is thinking clearly and not worried about the bangle. He just realize something.

Cerberus is just being stubborn, why is he scare of upsetting his own hellhound and acting towards his master!

Just thinking about the why Cerberus turns his back on Lucifer, ignoring his call and refusing the food he given to him. Stir up Lucifer.

So he decided to remind his hound, who is in-charge in the house.

He march over to the door of the tomb and head straight down.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

Levi curl up in his tub with a blank wrap around him, as he begins to cry his pain away.

He just want to just disappear.

Then he looks up to see, only to see the once great room of Leviathan with shelves filled figuring, manga, and games are now empty.

All the years of collecting them, waiting in line, spading all-nighters and hours grinning through the internet.

All gone in one week.

Levi can't even look any longer, before he start crying.

"Henry! I'm living a nightmare!! why! WHY!!!!"

*Knock* *knock*

"Fuck off Mammon!! I am not in the mood to even talk to you!!!"

"Levi it's me"

"Belphie?" He quickly jump out of the tub and head for the door, open it to see a worried Belphie. Before Levi could say anything. Belphie walks in and start looking around.

"Their not here!"

"Who are you looking-"

"MC! I went to their room for much needed sleep. But when I got there, the room was empty and the same as the last time I saw it."

"Wait, that was before the party at the castle, like three hours ago."

Belphie nodded "I check everywhere, expect our rooms."

"Maybe Asmo or Mammon has them. You know how clingy those two are."

"Levi.... Do you honestly think MC would go to them or those two would go and take them. After knowing how MC is feeling as of late! They doesn't want to do with any of us for the entire week." Belphie was the last one you talk to before going home. Just remember how you sounded, and the way you are visibly uncomfortable during the party.

He won't blame you for calling it for the night.

However he was expect you to be in bed and asleep. Now that he can't find you anywhere in the house. He start to worry.

But then.

"OI! MC where are ya! I need yer help getting back all my stuff back!" As always Mammon just walks in screaming at the top of his lungs. "Hey losers, have any of ya seen MC. I'm been looking for them. Asmo, Beel, and Satan haven't seen them"

Before Levi could say anything, all their D.D.D bing.

Mammon was the first one to pull out his phone, and saw it a group chat from Lucifer.

The Demon Brothers (New) (7)

Lucifer: WHICH OF YOU, WAS THE LAST ONE WHO FED CERBERUS!!

Beelzebub: It was me

Asmodeus: Wow why with the angry text?

Lucifer: Cerberus is gone! He's not in the tomb

Asmodeus: *Shock demon emoji*

Beelzebub: *Shock demon emoji*

Satan: *Shock demon emoji*

Mammon: *Shock demon emoji*

Mammon: Hells no! that thing is lose!

Beelzebub: Lucifer. I only fed him! I didn't even open the back door!

Then Belphie swipe Mammon's phone out of his hand, Mammon protest but Belphie type out a text.

Mammon: Wait, is MC with you Lucifer?

Lucifer: No, I thought their sleeping in their room with Belphie.

Mammon: This is Belphie. I went and saw that they're not in their room.

Mammon: Mammon and I check the house, and there is no sign of them.

Satan: Wait! Levi, is Henry in his tank!

Asmodeus: Why ask that!!!

Leviathan: Yeah, his in the tank.

Satan: Well at least we can rule out hexes or curse that kills or made anything living inside the house

Beelzebub: Maybe Cerberus and MC when out?

Mammon: Impossible! MC knows better to avoid Cerberus at all cost, the beast will tear them to bits.

Mammon: Besides, Cerberus is only listen to Lucifer...

Reading the text stir up mix emotion to Lucifer, he wants to tell them about, how Cerberus is be acting aggressive towards him but it would mean that he lose his hound's loyalty, and he knows that his pride would let him say that.

However if you did take Cerberus out with you, then he wants to know how did you manage to tame Cerberus, while he couldn't.

Lucifer decided send them a text to come to the tomb, so they can think of a plan to find you and Cerberus. And hope that you are safe.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

"Crap! the stress are busy tonight" You mutter as you and Cerberus look down the path and saw the busy stress of town.

You didn't think clearly enough to realize that Cerberus might draw attention, with him being as big as a house.

At first, you thought of making him stay and wait for you here in the woods, so you can buy some snacks. But you thought it won't be fair for him to stay while you are in town.

And lets not forget that you are a human, and going to a street fill with demons that can eat you might not be a good idea.

You groan in frustration and bury your face on Cerberus soft fur. Not able to think of a solution to your dilemma.

But then you hear a familiar voice calling to you.

You look down and saw Little D 2 and 3 waving at you.

"Hey you two! what brings you guys out here?"

"It's our day off! we we're about to head back to the castle, when we saw Cerberus running about and thought that he might've gotten out on his own, then we saw you, and well here we are" no.2 dramatic post while no.3 face palm himself.

You could help but to chuckle at their antics.

"Anyway. What brings you two out and about. I thought you we're enjoying the party with the brothers at the castle" no.2 asks, but you just shook your head.

You really don't want them to know that you're just trying to avoid the brothers as much as possible.

"I left early. I wasn't feeling in a party mood. So I decided to take Cerberus out for the day, to calm both of ourselves." As you say that you start petting each head, with Cer yep at your action.

"Then why stand in the edge of town?"

"Well... I was suppose to buy some food for Cerberus. But I can't go to town with him without grabbing other demon's attention. And I can leave him here and wait for me. It would be unfair for him not to go to town after I promise him that he could come with me"

You can hear Cer little whimper, so you pat his head.

"Hm? why not use a transformation spell on Cerberus. that way he can enter town. without drawing attention"

You blink a couple of times, before beaming at the to tiny demons.

"Right! why I haven't thought of that" when you try to get down, Bee lower his head for you to get down easily. "Thanks Bee."

As you got to your feet you look down to the tiny demons. "So what kinda spell that can work on a hellhound?"

"Oh! a familiar spell! witches and sorcerers use them to disguise their magical pets by turning them into human world pets." just hearing what the spell can do got you all excited, and Cerberus can sense it.

"Okay, can you teach me the spell"

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

"Hi! this is MC, I can't answer the phone for the moment. Please leave a message after the beep. And if this Mammon or Asmo don't go to my room!"

Lucifer groan once he heard the beep from the voice mail. all the while the other brothers are trying reach you with their phones and Mammon is pacing around in the tomb.

All of them are worried to about where you are right now.

"Lucifer is no uses! I already send them 20 text, and they haven't seen any of them!" Levi panics as he start to sweat with worry.

"Then keep trying!"

"Mammon maybe stop bossing us around and actually help us!" Asmo snap back.

"Would you two shut up" Belphie is getting frustrated with the yelling. "Don't you see that MC is trying to stay as far away from us!"

"What are you tryin' to say that this is our fault!"

"I didn't blame you! I'm just saying why MC is not at the house. They hate us" Belphie look away and clenches his pillow.

But before the two brothers can say anything, Satan shush them.

"Shh! quiet!" he looks at Asmo and Mammon, and quickly return to his call. "Sorry about. Can you repeat what you just said." Satan immediately put his D.D.D on speaker.

"Satan would you mind tell your brother to get his hellhound and your human! I heard from some of my workers that they saw them at the park. Their just scare if the human can't handle that beast and accidentally let that thing lose!"

"Of course. I'll tell him right away" Satan ends the call and looks at his brothers, who are both in shock and fear.

"Did he just say that MC is with Cerberus.... AT THE PARK!"

"Are they insane! they can't handle him! He'll maul them to death!" Asmo falls back into Beels arms.

Suddenly a strong surge of demonic aura resonated from Lucifer.

"That human is in a world of punishment once I get my hands on them" Lucifer quickly grab his coat and drape it over his shoulder and march out of the tomb, with the brothers not far behind him.

They all hope that you have a good reason to leave the house with Cerberus.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

You call out to Cerberus and try to see through the cloud of smoke from the spell.

Then you heard barking, but it wasn't as loud or as deep as Cerberus's regular barks.

As the smoke clears, and saw three dog figure emerge from the smoke.

Your eyes widen and you let out a surprise gasp, as soon you saw Cerberus change or rather spit into three dogs.

One is a Pitbull, the other is a Rottweiler and the last one a Doberman.

Then you look down to the the little D's with a shock look on your face.

"Ooh! the spell works!"

You couldn't answer no.3. You're still stunned that you made Cerberus into three dogs.

Then you remember the day that Luke and you took care of Cerberus while he was under a curse, all the while you two though that you we're just looking over three regular dogs.

Suddenly the Pitbull jump on you, causing you to fall your butt. Then he start licking your face, making you laugh.

Then the Rottweiler run up and circle around you, with the Doberman walk up and sat in front of you.

As the Pitbull settle down, and run to the right side of the Doberman, and the Rottweiler sat on the left.

Once you clear your face from the puppy kisses, you compose yourself and look in front of you.

"Cer?" the Pitbull barks, stand and ran a quick circle before seating back down "Rus?" The Rottweiler barks, then you look at the Doberman "Bee?" and he just bow to you and immediately sat back up.

You brought your hands to your mouth and awe at your spell, you felt so happy and proud about this, in fact that you are so proud that you you open your arms and call them to you.

they all perk up and rushes toward you and start cuddle and nuzzling to you then you quickly wrap your arms around them and gave them a big hug squeeze them tightly.

"You three are so cute! You three look so great, you can't even tell that you were one big hellhound" Cer and Rus barks in responds while Bee nuzzle his shout on your cheek.

"Well I guess that you can take them in town, and have no one suspect a thing." You look over the three dogs to see no.2 and no.3 smile at you.

"Yeah, and it all thanks to you two"

"Is our pleasure! whelp we're heading back to the castle. Hope we get to see each other again in the castle, MC" The two little D's wave, and you wave back. "Oh! remember the reverse spell we thought ya!" You gave them a thumbs up to sure that you got it. And with that the Little D's head back leaving you with three lovable dogs.

"Okay guys, just let me use a spell to make sure no one recognize me when we head into town." You close your eyes and begin to chant a transformation spell.

While that goes along, your D.D.D starts ringing with Mammon contact on the screen. But again you choice to ignore it. As soon as the spell is complete you and the three dogs can finally head down to town without worry about getting notice by any demons.

Tagging: @hobin-gnoblin

Note:

If there's grammar or spelling error, please let me know.

And yes! the reason I choice does three breed of dogs for Cerberus's disguise is because they are the most misunderstood breed of dogs. (and I love those breeds) I was going to make Bee a Pomeranian, because it would be funny for the alpha to be a small breed. But decided to the scary but loving doggos instead.

And the reason I choice Pitbull for Cer is because it kinda nod to the Pixar short Kitbull

#obey me #omswd #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me cerberus #obey me little d #obey me reader x the brothers #obey me angst/fluff

702 notes · View notes

zuluc · 4 years

Text

summary: how the genshin boys give hugs

characters: childe, diluc, kaeya, razor, venti, xiao, xingqiu, zhongli

style & genre: bulleted & written; fluff

warnings: none

notes: a self-indulgent fic for my birthday yay, i hope you guys enjoy this I just really want a hug but it’s hard to see friends right now 🤧🤧

Childe

sometimes a side hug or quick embrace; sometimes not because there are days he never wants to let you go

his outward persona is lost because he trusts you

once his arms come around you, you feel like the life is being squeezed out of you, in a good way of course

there are still traces of his past he has yet to share but he wants you to know how much you mean to him

Paimon had stayed behind to finish that chop suey Su Er'niang offered you both. You finished your share, giving some to your companion, and you left to sight-see around Liyue.

It’s different from Mondstadt and there were quite a bit of things to get done here for your journey. Your feet take you to the stairs leading up to the Wanwen Bookstore and you hope no one has bought out the book you wanted to finish.

Before you could take a step upwards, someone grabs your wrist and pulls you into a small alley. You hand comes up to summon your sword but then your vision is obscured by a head of copper hair. You gasp when his arms tighten around your torso while he heaves a sigh beside your ear. He lets go after a few seconds and you can see the smile on his face.

“Just a recharge,” Childe winks and turns around to get back to what he was doing.

Diluc

he gives the type of hugs that hold so much emotion that he hides from the public

his body runs warm and appreciates when you snuggle further into him when he has you

his hugs are never quick and he likes to take his time, his hold tight enough to make you feel safe but loose enough to allow you to leave if you so wish

rarely initiates them but will take full control when you’re in private

You could tell when the work he had was becoming too much for the night. The annoyance tainted his handsome features and you just wanted to take it all away. Diluc worked hard, everyone knew that, but he was only human.

You give him the letter Jean wrote out and proceed towards the door to get back to your own duties. Your name rolls off his lips and when you turn around to look at him he’s gesturing for you to get closer. When you’re mere inches from his desk he stands up and places one hand on your back and the other on the back of your head, burying his face into your neck.

The temperature outside was chilly and his naturally warm body contrasts to how you felt prior. You can feel him frown against you when he feels how cold your skin is.

“Will you be coming back tonight?”

Kaeya

he gives you many hugs, anywhere and at anytime

there isn’t a day where you never receive one and if that every happens, the next day will include even more

will almost always lift you off your feet and/or catch you off guard; he likes to keep you on your toes

even when you’re just standing around waiting for another mission or watching the sun set he’ll hold you close against his side

He’s late. Again.

You finished off the last of the slimes around Starfell Lake with little to no damage to yourself, luckily, but someone was supposed to assist you to get the job done faster. You look around for any more enemies before kneeling down and dipping your hand into the water. It was cool against your skin, relaxing you after the day’s work. But it might have been just a bit too peaceful.

A force pushes you forward and you close your eyes to brace for the inevitable impact into the water. You wait a few seconds before realizing that you are still very much dry, but there’s something blocking you from lifting your arms. Kaeya chuckles behind you as you lightly hit his arm, hugging you tight.

“I got you,” he says with a smile.

Razor

he’s an awkward hugger, mostly because he doesn’t know how these things work as well as that he doesn’t want to hurt you

he doesn’t know where to put his hands and they usually end up against his sides before he realizes that he makes you think he doesn’t like them

when he gets more comfortable, his hugs are gentle and soft

he grew up with the wolves and these types of things just didn’t happen, but you make his heart soar

He’s taking a casual walk in Wolvendom to reflect on what Lupus Boreas had told him only days ago. He wasn’t a wolf, he was human, but he couldn’t accept it so quickly. His mind wanders and he doesn’t hear the steps, or rather running, behind him. It’s only until you jump on his back that he realizes.

You knew that he was thinking about what happened and you wanted to return as fast as you could to check on him. You slide off his back and he gives you a forced grin. Razor avoids your gaze but you place your hands on his shoulders to square them towards you.

He appreciates your presence and he wants nothing more than comfort, hands twitching at his sides. You’re aware of his little signals and smile when you hug him tightly. He closes his eyes and breaths in your calming scent while hugging you back with care.

“Thank you.”

Venti

there’s a sense of happiness once he hugs you because it just makes you feel lighter and free

there seems to always be a slight breeze about him and you can feel it brush your face when you rest your head on his shoulder

he comes and goes but never forgets to hug you before and after he returns to see you

his hold can range from very loose to holding on just a bit tighter

Venti left a month ago and you knew that’s just how his way of life was. He was never one to stay place for too long, much like the wind you would say. You yourself were someone who likes to travel around, but everything always brought you back to Mondstadt.

You stand overlooking the city at “your usual place,” as he liked to call it, for some peace of mind. You sit on the edge of the statue’s outstretched hands and lean back on your hands to take in the view. A soft breeze passes by you and your ears pick up a quiet sound behind you. You smile and stand up, immediately wrapping your arms around him.

His own naturally fall in place behind your back and a light laugh escapes his lips. It was nice to see you again, as always.

“Missed me?”

Xiao

he used to be so stiff when he first started hugging you as he never had physical contact with anyone

being you, he warms up and learns how to properly hug someone

will have a hand behind your head because he wants to make sure that every part you of is against him

he’s very protective of you in general and it gives him a peace of mind knowing he can keep an eye on you in this way

You’re sleeping, sitting in his lap with your head resting against his chest as he sits on the balcony of Wangshu Inn. You came to him only a few moments ago and it was clear that you took the time to clear out nearby hilichurl camps due to the small scratches and bruises you had on you.

Xiao narrows his eyes at more of the culprits across the water on the little islands, making a note to do something with them later. You mumble in your sleep and he looks down to see your brows furrowed. He cups your face gently and smooths his thumb over your cheek which causes your face to return to it’s peaceful state and you move closer to him.

It was surprising that he fell for someone. You made your way into his life so unexpectedly and now he just wanted to take care of you. And he wouldn’t change a thing.

“Rest well.”

Xingqiu

very proper hugs because they are reciprocated in with the same energy, or even more, than the ones you may give him

he has no problem in giving you hugs away from prying eyes

he would usually whisk you away onto adventures with him with a promise of them

will get flustered when you hug him while saying just how much you appreciate him

You’re amused at the way he presents himself to others and talks to them as expected of him. Xingqiu was known to be mild- and well-mannered as his mischievous side was hidden from those not so close to him.

You both manage to escape the party, standing beside each other as you look up into the night sky. He feels less restricted with you and he takes this opportunity to lace his fingers through yours. You give him a fond smile and return to staring at the stars.

An idea pops into your head and you let go of his hand, him giving you a questioning look before he is brought into a hug. Xingqiu blushes at the suddenness of your actions but returns it nonetheless. His eyes keep diverting to the house so you have to reassure him that no one can see the both of you.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Zhongli

he enjoys hugging, contrary to what most might think

he likes the intimate feeling and being close to someone he loves in such a sweet way that can be done anywhere

he will never deny you of the affection and if you initiate it he will go through with it no matter what

he’s always looking at you paired with a soft smile on his face whenever he has you in his arms

Zhongli’s voice pierces the quiet as you both take a stroll outside of Liyue. He’s telling you of its history and old traditions that have disappeared throughout the years, but you’re becoming tired due to the sound of his voice.

When you’re out of sight from the guards at the front gates you give a slight tug to the end of his coat sleeve. He stops in the middle of his story and sees that your eyes are growing weary. You keep your hold on his sleeve until you pull yourself to rest your head on his chest, closing your eyes and content with the sound of the night as you’re against him.

He holds you close, making sure that you’re not actually asleep as it would make for a very interesting walk back. You tell him that you’re just resting your eyes for a few moments and that he can keep talking. That you love the sound of his voice. Zhongli places a kiss to your forehead as he continues, adoration for you clear in his eyes.

“Now, where was I...”

8K notes · View notes

kaihavoc · 3 years

Text

Cloud 29

a/n: inspired by my new two favorite videos: this and this one

Lingering just outside the Chelsea locker room, I wait until I see the last person leave. Well, second to last. Christian passes me by with a toothy grin, telling me to “take good care” of my boyfriend tonight because he earned it. Laughing nervously, I just give him a polite wave, acting like he didn’t just give me that advice, and sneak inside the locker room. There’s only one person who hasn’t burst through the doors and come out to join the festivities. The superstar––the hero––of today’s match. Kai Havertz.

I know Kai; he’s got to be swirling with composed excitement, taking his time to revel in this momentous occasion without the chaos of overexcited screams and cheers. I can just imagine his humble smile, those crinkles rippling across his cheeks, that endearing overbite he’s always been so insecure about. The mere thought of him puts a smile on my face.

I only need to take a few steps when I see him. Considering he’s the only person left in the locker room, he wasn’t that hard to find. I pause in my tracks, absorbing the sight of him: sweaty, shirtless, head down with his back against the metal locker. I make no noise, but he must sense a presence because his head snaps up. Our eyes meet, and his face lights up as he bounds over to me, tackling me in a hug. He towers over me, but that doesn’t stop him from practically leaping into my arms. Yeah, as if I have the upper body strength to carry him. Sometimes I think he forgets I’m not as physically fit as his teammates.

I open my mouth, about to congratulate him, but the dullness in his blue eyes stops me. Something’s off. He’s happy to see me, that’s clear, but, otherwise, he’s not as ecstatic as I thought he would be. Why isn’t he? Not only did his team win the Champions League, but he scored the winning goal. His first goal of the Champions League, no less––he went out with a bang. He should be over the moon.

“You look festive,” Kai comments, playfully tugging on one of my pigtails. I wanted to try something new, so I had tied my long hair into pigtails with two royal blue ribbons. Aside from that, I’m just in my typical outfit I wear whenever he plays a game: one of his old jerseys that he gave me when we first started dating and black leggings. I had considered spicing things up by painting Kai’s initials on my cheeks with blue face paint, but when I brought the idea up to him over dinner last week, he just said he knew a better method to brand me as his. I left it at that without inquiring further, even though I was curious by what, exactly, he had in mind.

“You look… hot,” I gulp, my eyes traveling down his long, toned torso. No matter how many times I’ve seen him shirtless after a practice or a game, or in only a towel after a shower, I’ll never get tired of seeing him half-naked. Or fully naked, at that.

“You look hot, too,” he murmurs into my hair, still embracing me tightly. “I just didn’t want to say that because I was trying to be gentlemanly.” Cupping my face with his large hands, he proceeds to kiss me, feverish and rough. He nips at my bottom lip and doesn’t even wait for me to open my mouth before invading it, battling my tongue with his. His ferocity gets my blood pumping and the pit of my stomach tingling, but it’s all wrong. I’m necessarily complaining, but this isn’t how he usually greets me. He typically welcomes me with a soft, delicate kiss before anything else. Is this because I haven’t congratulated him on his win yet?

“I’m so proud of you, Kai. You and the guys really deserve this,” I say sincerely, but he pretends like he doesn’t hear me, going in for another attack on my mouth. To that, I shrink a little and he catches on, sighing as he takes a step back, his thick eyebrows furrowed together. I notice that the ribbons in my hair are loose, so I quickly readjust them as I try to read Kai’s expression. He still looks… dissatisfied. Maybe some ego boosting would do the trick?

“Everyone’s raving about how you’re a tactical genius. How your skill and precision are unparalleled. How you’re on top and you haven’t even reached your peak yet,” I ramble, trying to recall every headline I’ve ever read in the news this past week. Oh, and also, you’ve got the cutest bum out of any football player in the history of football.

“Not everyone,” he growls in a dark voice, messing up his curly brown locks by snatching them with his hand. His face twists with irritation. “Right after the game, a reporter came up to me and asked me if I thought I finally paid back my hefty price tag.”

“And how did you respond?” I ask, curious. Usually he doesn’t get so riled up over post-game interviews, but perhaps his transfer fee is a touchy subject for him and he just never told me. In an attempt to calm him down a bit, I take his hand into mine and lead him to a section of the bench lined along the lockers. We sit so that we’re facing each other, and I weave my legs around his torso, nearly straddling him. But not quite.

“I think I said… ‘I don’t give a fuck of that. We just won the fucking Champions League’,” he says slowly, his nose scrunched up in concentration as he recalls his response.

I stifle a laugh. His cussing is not a regular occurrence, it’s not entirely uncommon either, but whenever he does curse, it catches me off guard. Maybe it has something to do with that pretty face of his, as if foul language shouldn’t be coming from it. “You’re right; you did just win the Champions League, so you shouldn’t be hard on yourself,” I say, lightly poking him in the bicep. He doesn’t seem to appreciate my stab at lighthearted reassurance, so I go for a different approach. Tough love. “Okay, fine. Chelsea may have paid a lot of money for you, but that’s because you’re worth it, Kai. You don’t have to prove your abilities to anyone––even though you already proved them tonight plus your whole career thus far. People are always going to have something negative to say, but you put in the work and it shows in every game. Don’t let anyone get to you, especially not a reporter; they’re just trying to get some dirt.” I’m not used to giving pep talks, so I’m not sure if I did it right.

I must’ve done something right because his frown is replaced with a slight smile. “Thank you, baby,” he says, pecking me on the cheek. One Kai’s best qualities is that not much gets to him; and if it does, it doesn’t take him long to get over it. Annoying interview question long forgotten, he traces patterns on my thigh and tells me, “The boys are going to a nightclub tonight to celebrate our win. Come with me.” To aid in his plea, he grabs both of my hands, squeezing them, his pale blue eyes gleaming with hope.

“A nightclub?” I repeat, making a sour face. “You know better than anyone that I don’t belong at a nightclub.” I want to suggest just a cozy night in, watching his favorite film of the Harry Potter series, Goblet of Fire, and cuddling, but I don’t want to take this celebratory night with his friends away from him.

“You belong with me, and it just so happens that tonight I’m being dragged to a nightclub,” he says. I don’t say anything, and his face falls, presumably because he recognizes his bid to get me to go is a lost cause.

“You go,” I encourage, trying to sound upbeat as I pat his thigh. “Have your fun.”

“Really?” he asks. “Are you sure?” He gives me a dubious look, one eyebrow severely cocked.

I squint at him quizzically. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He looks me dead in the eyes. “Babe. Let’s not forget what happened the last time I went out for drinks with the team for Timo’s birthday. I came back home with a ripped shirt because a bunch of girls pounced on us, and you wouldn’t talk to me for a whole week. You didn’t believe me.”

“That’s because it’s an unbelievable story,” I mumble.

“You accused me of hooking up with another girl,” he reminds me, his mesmerizing eyes narrowing at me, causing my cheeks to heat up and my skin to crawl with guilt. Now that he’s mentioned it, I do remember that incident. Vividly. It happened around the beginning of our relationship, when I still didn’t know how serious Kai was about me, about us. Regardless, I should’ve known that Kai would never be unfaithful to me. That’s simply not who he is. He has never once given me an inkling of a doubt of his loyalty. I blame my foolish allegation on my insecurity over our blossoming relationship, but I’m long past that…

“You’re too friendly, Kai,” I sigh, ruffling his hair to make it seem more like a concern and less like an accusation. “It makes girls think they can have a chance with you.”

“Girls?” Kai scoffs, shaking his head in pure denial. How can someone so intelligent be such a dumb boy sometimes? “What girls? That happened one time, and it wasn’t only me who got jumped. The whole team did.” Like that makes the situation any better, Kai.

“I’m not dating the whole team! I’m dating you, and you’re only going to get bigger and I… I just want you all to myself,” I admit. My head falls, weighted by a vicious mix of embarrassment and shame.

“Well, I know something that’s big that you can have all to yourself,” he says coyly, with a self-righteous smirk.

“I’m serious, Kai,” I say, frowning at him in return. “You’re young, talented, attractive. Girls are going to be lining up for you, and soon I’ll just be chopped liver.”

“Chopped liver?” he hoots, obviously unfamiliar with the expression.

My frown deepens as I huff, “You’re going to forget all about me.”

“I think if anyone’s guilty of forgetting anything, it’s you. You’re already forgetting that I’m in love with you,” he coos, sliding closer to me, dusting my neck and collarbones with soft-lipped kisses.

“Get away from me. You’re all sweaty,” I complain––mostly so as to not give into his seduction techniques too easily––but it’s half-hearted.

“You’re about to be, too,” he growls, lifting me and dropping me on his lap. I can feel him harden underneath me, and I respond by rocking my body against his, inciting staggered, tense moans from the both of us at the same time. The sounds that come out of his mouth are music to my ears. With a hunger to hear more, I reach in between us, stroking his length through his thin shorts, loving how fully aroused he gets at my slight touch. His breathing quickens, but when I don’t hear anything from him, I look at him, witnessing his bottom lip in between his teeth, suppressing those sweet moans I so desperately want to hear him make.

Suddenly, he’s tugging at my leggings; he’s so aggressive that I’m afraid he’s going to rip them. After he shimmies them off, I kick them to the side, and Kai’s eyes ravage the bottom half of my body. I’m thankful I had the good foresight to wear lace panties instead of my go-to granny panties, but at this point they’re drenched. They have been ever since I walked in and saw Kai; just one look at him does unspeakable things to me. His ability to reduce me to a mere puddle with just his eyes is unnerving.

He removes my shirt and purses his lips when he sees that I’m not wearing a bra. My chest is ample-sized, but I can comfortably go without a bra––often doing just that––and it drives him mad. He says I shouldn’t go prancing around braless because I’ll be practically naked when ogling guys undress me with their eyes. I say that doesn’t make sense.

He yanks his shorts and boxers down in one swoop, and the heat between my legs intensifies. If his massive hands and long fingers were any indication of what he has to offer, the blanks fill themselves out––he’s glorious. I can’t help but gawk and admire him; Kai is perfect in every singular way. If I had no self-control, I’d lick every inch of his pale skin. I lower myself onto him and gasp with pleasure when just the tip enters me. Slowly, I bounce up and down on him, each time driving him deeper inside me until he fills me completely. My head rolls back as I continue the rhythmic movement, and I moan when he licks a stripe in the valley between my breasts. My fingers tangle themselves in his curly locks as he takes one of my nipples into his mouth, sucking on it while tinkering with the other between his fingertips.

“Oh, Kai,” I whine, feeling the intolerable pressure building up in my stomach.

“That’s it, baby,” Kai purrs against my chest as I tighten around him. “Say my name. Just like that.”

“K-Kai––” I cry, quivering against his body; my vision is blurry and I’ve lost function in my legs. Kai’s taken over, his fingers digging into my hips, thrusting into me, hitting my most sensitive spot time after time. I’m on the verge of seeing stars when it all stops. Before my brain can process what’s happening, I’m balancing on all fours on the bench as Kai positions himself behind me, his erection rubbing against me. With one thrust, he buries himself inside me, reaching around to rub my clit in a slow circular motion. I was not prepared for that. The combination of sensations is enough to drive me over the edge, but what drives me even crazier is the heat as he presses his firm chest up against my back.

“Who do you belong to?” he demands in my ear, humming. I tune him out, focusing on getting my fix and nothing more. I can barely get his name out, what makes him think I can have a coherent conversation? “I don’t like being ignored,” he warns sharply.

My arms and legs are shaky, and the only thing keeping me from crumbling to the floor are his hands, holding me steady as he rolls his hips. “You,” I finally breathe.

“Dunno who that is,” he drawls, and I could swear he’s purposely applying more pressure to his accent just to mock me.

“You. Kai,” I hiss and close my eyes to try to block him out, but that only heightens my senses to everything he’s doing to me.

“Kai who? There are many Kais,” he says matter-of-factly. His fingers slow down around my sensitive area, and I’m afraid he’s going to withhold euphoria from me.

“Kai––fucking––Havertz,” I half moan, half gasp as his fingers pick up their pace and he slams into me, the final push that sends me soaring into bliss. I never cuss unless I have a really good reason for it and lashing my frustration out on the infuriating tease that is Kai Havertz is a good enough reason for me. However, he makes up for his devilish nature by understanding every nook and cranny of my body. On cloud nine, I ride out the high to the fullest extent before my body goes fully limp. I suck in a breath when he pulls out, only to feel the warm liquid on my back coming in spurts.

“Fuck,” he moans, and I just wish I could watch him as he comes undone. I think it’s hot when he releases his load on me––I like it best when he does it on my chest. So I can marvel at him with his sweat-matted hair, throbbing Adam’s apple, and fluttering eyelids. He wipes my back with his/my jersey and pulls me into his lap.

“The way you moan my name, I’ll never be able to forget you,” he sighs, nibbling on my neck.

“How romantic,” I tease. But really, I’d be content calling out only his name for the rest of my life. Kai fucking Havertz.

“C’mon, baby, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, rising to his feet cheerfully. His fingers lace in mine as he starts for the shower stalls. My heart thumps wildly in my chest as my feet pad excitedly across the tile floor alongside him. Another great quality about Kai: his stamina is unmatched, on and off the football field.

*a/n: if you do by chance read this, I’d love to know what you think of it!

#kai havertz #kai havertz imagine #kai havertz one shot #kai havertz fanfic #football fanfiction #kai havertz fanfiction #footballer imagine #footballer blurb #chelsea fc #football fanfic #football blurb #Kai havertz smut #smut #fanfic #fanfiction #one shot #imagine #drabble

257 notes · View notes

360iris · 4 years

Text

The Invitation (Young!Lucius Malfoy x Reader)

Warnings: Smut, smut, smut! Alcohol comsumption. Finger fucking, overstimulation. Vaginal penatration. Daddy kink, subspace mention. Oral giving and receiving. Pure filth.

Word count: 3,469

Summary: Gryffindor!Reader gets invited to the Slytherin party of the year by her nemesis, Lucius Malfoy. Fun times follow.

A/N: @thotbutpurple mentioned my first piece not having enough smut. I hope I delivered! Quite proud of this one, worked on it for nearly a week.

Admittedly, Lucius had caught you under the perfect circumstances. Equal parts tipsy, horny and momentarily separated from your friends.

Slytherin house had decided to throw another one of their infamous party’s brimming with free booze and food catered by the school’s house elves.

Over the years, you, like countless other students, had heard the tales of their untamed nights. Admittance being through invite only; of which were handed out secretly and strategically.

Up until yesterday’s events, you had resigned yourself to the fate of never experiencing the grandeur of the self-proclaimed Slytherin Elite.

Friday, February 10th, 1978

Cutting off poor Frank Longbottom who was usually your lab partner in Potions, Lucius Malfoy, slips into the seat to your left with a low and harsh, “Find another station, you gormless Muppet.”

At this point, it was your natural reaction from hearing his voice, to let out a disgruntled sigh paired with an annoyed eye roll.

“What do I owe the displeasure of being in your cologne drenched presence today, Malfoy?” You jabbed, in a soft but clearly inconvenienced tone.

His gray irises narrowed as his thin lips quirked up to the side in a laidback smirk.

He enjoyed your pointed jabs. So much so that he would go out of his way, on the daily, to verbally prod you until you couldn’t take being in the same vicinity as him anymore. Your unpleasant interactions with the older boy usually ended with you storming off enraged to go rant to your friends about how much of an absolute cunt he was.

“I come bearing gifts, Y/N. One of which I firmly believe you won’t be able to resist accepting.” He drawled.

Inwardly, you had to admit, this piqued your curiosity however, you decided to mask it by turning away from his irritatingly, attractive visage and towards a piece of parchment Professor Slughorn distributes to the class.

“And this so-called gift is what exactly?” You questioned, careful to keep your eyes trained off of him. A task that was quickly shoved aside when a pale hand slid a single, silver metallic stamp into view. It was no bigger than a galleon. Finely embellished with the words: Salazar Slytherin’s Spectacular Soirée.

Your eyes bulged and mouth gaped as you couldn’t help but snap your head to look at his face once more. “Lucius!” You whispered in absolute surprise.

“That can’t be what I think it is.” You continue after a sharp inhale.

He tilts his head as he takes in your clearly enthralled reaction, not replying to your statement.

You take a moment to compose yourself. Drawing your hands into small fists on the desk and letting out a silent but deep exhale.

You didn’t need to ask why he would gift this to you of all people. Lucius’ verbal prodding had been getting progressively more consistent once you’d entered your seventh year this semester.

Like most girls turning 18, your inherently childish ways had vanished; awkward appearances for the most part altered and morphed during the summer spent away from Hogwarts. Hips slowly filling out and breasts becoming distinguished. Meanwhile, your library of insults to throw at him became more deadly and varied.

You could play his game better than he expected you to now.

You crossed your legs underneath your skirt, steeling your expression. You leaned forward to lay your chin against your right palm and turned your gaze towards him. Making a show of looking him up and down before quietly whispering:

“All this just to fuck me huh, Malfoy?” His face stills and demeanor changes. Tongue-tied by your change of tone.

You proceed with a nonchalant, “Your mind must be plagued with questions of just how pretty and pink my pussy is. I’m right aren’t I, sweetheart?”

You observe his jaw lock in place.

“Do you want to brag to your spineless lackeys about how you were the first one to fuck that cocky, Gryffindor halfblood? I bet you wouldn’t wait to boost over how all you had to do was touch her once, call her a filthy, little mudblood and she’d come like a bitch without a pedigree.”

His eyes darken and fists clench so tightly that they turn whiter than you thought possible for him; as you inwardly muse over if he was becoming horny or infuriated. Maybe it was both, but you wouldn’t stick around to see the outcome. He was a deadly bomb waiting to go off.

Pursing your lips, looking him over once more, you decide to leave him with, “Nice chat. I’ll see you around then, Lucius.”

Agilely, you gather your things. Sauntering over to Professor Slughorn and quietly feeding him a contrived lie about how it’s that time of the month and you didn’t think you’ll be able to sit through today’s lecture; effectively earning yourself leave from the classroom.

As Lucius sits, daftly staring at your back as you make your escape. If he wasn’t previously furious from listening to your small beratement, he most definitely is when he glances down to see the silver stamp invite missing from where he had placed it on the table.

“That bloody minx.” He seethes under his breath.

Having made your speedy getaway and in the clear for the moment, you decide to make a beeline to the Gryffindor common room where you know your friends are spending their free period.

Remus, who is the first to notice you entering the warm lounging area, stands up at your arrival and walks to meet you halfway.

“Y/n, aren’t you supposed to be in Potions right now? Did something happen?” He questions, his brows beginning to furrow. Sirius and James who are seated next one another mid-laugh immediately turn their heads in your direction.

Not stopping your power walk, you reach out and grasp one of his hands and pull him with you towards the boy’s dormitory entrance. “Padfoot, Prongs! Up, up!” You urgently whisper in their vicinity.

Once the door is securely locked behind the four of you, Sirius questions you, “Alright, spit it out. What’s got your panties in a twist this time, Y/L/N?”

You ignore him, haphazardly tossing your book-bag on the floor next to James’ bed; of which you proceed to throw yourself onto the edge of, letting out a cheerful giggle.

“Boys. I’ve just been bestowed one the greatest gifts a Hogwarts senior could ask for. One of which, you lot would have never been able to get your hands on. So you must now bask in my glory!” You jokingly proclaim, yanking off your school shoes before pulling your legs into criss cross-applesauce. Incapable of caring that your underwear is now in the boy’s lines of sight.

“And what is this gift exactly, oh great benefactor?” James questions, sitting on the floor in front you, folding his arms atop your lap and leaning his head forward on them with a fond smile.

Your fingers absentmindedly glide and fiddle through his chaotic curls. “I don’t know, you might not be able to handle the excitement. I fear you might faint from the shock of the reveal!” You continue to jest.

“I best take a seat before you continue then.” Remus grins, plopping down next you on the bed, giving you his undivided attention. This of which, causes Sirius to scoff.

“Dish it already, woman. At the pace you’re going, I’ll be a skeleton by time you finally tell us what the big deal is.” He sarcastically jabs folding his arms briskly. Instead of moving away from the door, he leans his back against it and crosses one leg over the other. His gaze lazily quizzical as you roll your eyes at his apprehension.

“Sirius, you’re no fun sometimes, but if you’re in such a hurry to cum your pants then here it is.” You reply, reaching the hand that’s not currently tangled in James’ hair, to triumphantly pull out a small, silver stamp from the inside of your bra and present it for the group to see.

There are mixed reactions to the reveal.

James scrunches his nose up in mock disgust, Sirius freezes and Remus placing one hand on your shoulder, leaning forward to get a better look. And then the questions begin.

“What is it?”

“Oh, it just happens to be a pass into one of Slytherin house’s craziest parties of the year, James dear.”

“How’d you even manage to get your hands on one of these?”

“Like I said, it was a gift, Remus.”

“Be honest, Y/n. What poor sod did you steal it from?”

“For your information I didn’t have to steal it. Lucius Malfoy just handed it to me for nothing.” You say matter-of-factly at which he first gapes before proceeding to fume.

The conversation that continued from then on took a tiny bit of convincing on your end, but all three boys agreed in the end to come with you. No one in their right mind would let a chance like this go by.

Saturday, February 11th, 1978

“If you think you could pull the stunt you did yesterday and waltz in here today without having to answer to me, you’re gravely mistaken, lionet.” Lucius whispers into your ear and you just happen to be in the mood to challenge him further.

“I don’t think I’ve made even one mistake though, Daddy.” You coo back to him. Batting your eyelashes up at him and with a quick smirk you bring your cup of fire whiskey back to your lips for a sip.

With one hand he grabs your hips and pushes your back flush with the wall behind you. The other reaching under the skirt you’re wearing and pausing right at the hem.

“Prod me one more time, doll. I guarantee I’ll have you crying your pretty little eyes out.” He growls into your neck and this time you openly giggle up at him.

“I thought you knew that’s what I wanted, baby?” was the last thing you drawled out before the next thing you know, he’s dragging you further away from the main party, into a small reading room.

Closing the door behind you two, he leads you to sit down on one of the ottomans in the middle of the room.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Y/N. A small part of your observation from yesterday was correct.” He says undoing the tie around his neck and bunching it up. Before you could question him further, he gingerly stuffs it in-between your mouth.

“Can't risk having anyone hearing the cute little moans you'll be letting out for me. I want all the time I can get from you tonight, lionet.” Is all he offers as an explanation.

Rubbing your thighs together to aid in soothing your gradually aching cunt, you watch as he gets on his knees in front of you.

“I’ve spent countless months thinking of this stupid, fucking pussy of yours and tonight I’m determined to have it creaming all over my cock.” He's gazing at you intensely while his hands are reaching to pull off your undies.

Not being able to actually respond around your makeshift gag, you settle for lifting your hips so he can get to pleasing you quicker.

As the minutes pass, the soberer you become but Lucius’ arousing words continue to sway you into a pliant and silent submission.

Never in a million years did you think you would willing want Lucius Malfoy to fuck you senseless but the closer you get to having him, the more sure you are of it. You pray to Morgana that he leaves your cunt an absolute mess.

Once you’re free from your undergarment, he pulls you by your thighs until your ass is flush against the edge of the couch.

He pushes your knees back against your chest to get full access to your core, “Daddy wants you to keep your thighs nice and wide for him so he can wreck your little pussy, okay?” He questions and you let out a muffled sob of your confirmed understanding.

“Good girl” is all he replies before he gets to work. Spreading the lips with two fingers, he examines just how pink you are down there, seemingly pleased because immediately after, he springs into action.

His mouth cups around your clit, starting off slow and light to ease you into the pleasure before increasing the intensity.

He begins alternating between sucking and lapping at your bud while a single finger makes its way to your slit. Leisurely dragging the pad in your wetness before sliding it inside you, centimeter by centimeter, until it’s gone as far it can go.

Thrusting the one finger in and out until he feels your insides are soaked and loose enough for the next.

By the time you’re comfortablely taking four fingers fucking into you, your arousal is dripping down his wrist and you’re nearing your first orgasm.

“Lu- Lucius!” You manage to drool out through the thickness of his tie, catching his attention.

“Luci- I’m close!” You try to sob out and he responds by sucking and lapping at your clitorus intenser than before. His tongue rubbing just the right angle and you can’t help but let out a small squeal as your body is raked over with a white flash of euphoria.

He eases you through it with softer and softer laps as you squeeze your thighs to your chest with a vice grip. He licks up the remainder of your cum before coming up to remove the tie from your mouth and pull you into an enticing kiss.

As your breathing relaxes, he pulls his lips away. “How was that, sweetheart? Did Daddy make your little cunt feel good like he promised?” He coos, caressing your shoulders to soothe you further.

Fighting to get your words back you mewl, “Mmhmm, thank you Daddy. Felt really good, just like you promised. Do you think I’ve been good enough to have your cock though?” you ask looking up at him through wet lashes. His immediate response is a moan.

How is it that you know just what to say to rile him up? He wonders.

Picking you up, he takes your place on the couch. Pulling off his trousers and underwear, finally freeing his cock, it swings upright against his tummy. Scooting to leisurely lean back, he places you in his lap as you take a minute to admire his member. It’s thick and hard with a raging reddish-pink tip, leaking a small amount pre-cum.

Your core throbs and there’s no way you’re not gonna suck him off before getting him inside of you. Before you can scuttle off his lap however, his hands are gripping your hips. “Where are you going, love? I thought you wanted my cock?” He questions with a smirk.

Of course Lucius would make you beg to suck him off, you think, responding with a desperate moan. You try to lean in for a kiss but a hand flies up to hold your jaw in place. Squishing your cheeks and mouth together.

“Ah ah.” He tuts. “You know what to do, baby.”

You let out a defiant whine and the hand around your cheeks grip tightens.

“Daddy just told you to beg, you fucking whore.” He growled, giving your head a slight jerk back and you melt against him.

Grasping at his shoulders and trying to keep yourself from swooning, you respond with, “Wanna suck your cock, Daddy. Can I make you feel good please? You can even fuck my throat. Let me be a good girl for you.” you whimper through his grip and he just smiles at you before pulling you in for the kiss you wanted.

“That’s all you had to say, little lionet. Come on, let Daddy slide down your throat.” He grins and you practically fly down from his lap to get his penis in your mouth.

Moaning when his pre-cum hits your tongue, you immediately lick up and down his length. Getting as much spit around him as possible before beginning to use your hands to jerk him off. Lapping at his tip all the way to sucking his balls between your lips.

All he can do is whisper softly “Fuck fuck fuck, yes- ah that’s a good girl. My little girl is such a good slut for me.” before you come up to start deepthroating him and then his head is lolled back against the couch, gently holding both sides of your face as his tip hits the back of your throat.

Pulling you off of him by the hair at the nape of your neck, he has to take deep inhales and exhales “I wanna come in you, sweetheart.” He groans, caressing your hair.

Once he’s recovered enough, he lifts you to sit back on his lap, this time facing away from him.

You lean forward grasping his knees while he fingers you to make sure you’re ready to take him. “Alright, Angel.” He groans, licking his newly wet fingers to taste your arousal once more before reaching around to rub slow circles against your clit.

As you slide onto him, leaning your back against his chest, the room fills with your collective sighs and moans of pleasure.

He begins to set the pace, starting with slow pulls out of your heat before using your weight to pull you back down onto him firmly. Experiencing such euphoria that coherent speech begins to elude you. The both of you too lost in the pleasure to say anything other than “Yes, yes, yes! Right there, fuck me!” mixed with slurred moans and sighs.

His fingers rubbing your clit in circles, fastens in pace and soon your second orgasm knocks into you so hard that all you can do is grip his wrist and thigh, convulsing helplessly around him.

As you’re climaxing, Lucius fuzzily notices that you’re squirting. All that can be heard from your lips is a fucked out wail and he’s sure he’s in love.

He’s fucked you through your orgasm and the pleasure is gradually escalating into overstimulation. Your body locking in place as he maintains the same pace, rocking into you.

“Luci- fuck! Lucius!” You’re crying now, thrown deep into subspace.

“Come on Angel, let me give you one more. Think you can manage one more orgasm, hm?” He asks desperately fucking into you like he’s starved of pleasure.

“Can you handle it, babygirl?”

“O- Okay!” Literally sobbing now from the buildup. He’s fucking you like you’ve never experienced before.

“It hurts so good, Luci- you’re fucking me so good!” You cry out, both of you racing towards the end.

One last thrust does it and he grabs you by the waist to bring you down on him. You let a blissed out scream and he’s resting his forehead against your back breathing heavily. Warmth spreading in your stomach as he releases into you. He gives a few thrusts before pulling out.

You’re feeling fuzzy as he cleans your inner thighs and face off. He sprinkles kisses from your legs to your lips, praises peppering your ego.

“You were such a good girl for me.”

“Look at you baby. So pretty.”

“Good job, love.”

“You were wonderful, little lionet.”

Pulling your panties back on for you, he’s pleased knowing his come is still inside you. “Something to remember me by.” He says before pulling you into one last kiss for the night. It’s slow and soft and as your coherent mind is making its way back into your body, you register how tender he’s being.

Pulling back from his lips, you stare into his eyes. “I hope you’re aware that you can’t fuck me that good and expect it to be a one time fling.” You state smiling, fingers grasping at his sides and he laughs.

“I was never planning for it to be, doll.” He replies, slipping a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now run along back to your miscreant friends. I’ll finish cleaning up here.” He pats your butt, pushing you towards the door and with a roll of your eyes, you head out.

After turning a few corners you immediately bump into Sirius who looks over you with a raised brow.

“What?” You ask, pulling back.

“Nothing, you just look like you got fucked into next year though.” He barks out. Laughing his head off, pointing out your makeup that’s missing in action and hair completely unstyled. You elbow him in the stomach feeling suddenly sheepish.

“Shut up and help me find the others. I’m in desperate need of a shower.” And you can’t help but chuckle with him, his laugh being undeniably contagious.

“Whatever you say. I think I saw James challenging some random sod to an arm wrestling match.”

#lucius malfoy #lucius malfoy x reader #harry potter imagine #lucius malfoy smut #lucius malfoy fluff #young lucius malfoy #marauders #marauders era #marauders x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black x reader #harry pottr imagines #fluff #smut

1K notes · View notes

zemosreader · 3 years

Text

make believe ⎛ oneshot ⎠

MAIN PAIRING: Zemo x reader.

summary: in a fit of madness, you ask Zemo to be your date to Tony's wedding.

warnings: fake!dating, mentions of past Tony Stark x reader (implied).

word count: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

You bounced on the balls of your feet as you went over the argument in your head once more. It was probably the fifth or sixth time you had done so, just this morning, but the invitation to Tony’s wedding was burning a hole in your countertop in your flat and you had to have a response for the RSVP by the end of the week. Better to get this over with now, and then you could move on to someone who might actually say yes to being your date to your ex’s wedding.

It was stupid, it’s not like you had to ask him, but once the thought had occurred to you… you couldn’t get it out of your head. Now it felt imperative. You had to know what he would say. Shaking your head, you laughed softly to yourself, you already knew what he was going to say. It was a fool’s errand to ask him, but here you were, hovering outside of his office, early on a Wednesday morning.

His secretary was giving you the side-eye, but you were here so often, that she didn’t make you leave. That, at least, was a relief. You weren't sure you could stand the embarrassment of being escorted out of his office before you had inappropriately propositioned him. At least if it happened afterward, it would possibly be justified.

“Good morning, Baron Zemo,” his secretary chirped as the whoosh of the lift doors sounded from behind you. You turned and tried to smile at him, but you were sure it came out as a grimace. Especially when he sighed heavily at seeing you.

He nodded at his secretary, but only had eyes for you. “What can I do for you so early this morning?” He didn’t sound pleased to see you at all, and your anxiety ratcheted up.

“Can we speak in your office?” you asked, giving him a tight-lipped smile. His eyes narrowed as he swept them over you so quickly you weren't even sure it had happened. He held out his hand, indicating you should proceed before him into the office and you did so. You weren't sure, but it felt like his eyes may have strayed to your arse. You hoped so. You were wearing your tightest dress today in hopes that it would give you the confidence boost you needed. Or, maybe persuade him. Either way, it wouldn’t hurt, you had decided that morning as you put it on.

The door shut with a soft click and he passed by you so closely, you could feel the breeze of his body. He settled into his seat behind his desk, propping his arm up against the solid, oak desk and indicating you should sit in one of the visitor’s chairs.

You did so, but sat right at the very edge, ready to spring to your feet the moment he said no.

“Well?”

“I… um…” you swallowed hard and looked down at your hands, trying to remember the speech you had prepared.

“Spit it out, dear. I haven’t all day,” Helmut Zemo said sharply.

“WillyougowithmetoTony’swedding,” you said so quickly to your hands wringing in your lap.

“Pardon?”

You took a deep breath and looked up at a spot just over his left shoulder. “I need a date for Tony’s wedding. And it’s stupid and you’ll say no, but will you just pretend to be my date?”

Your entire body braced for his rejection, you were poised to stand, but no rejection came. Instead, he asked when the wedding was.

As if on autopilot, you gave him the relevant details.

Zemo hummed thoughtfully, his eyes sweeping over you again. “I’m not sure I know how to pretend to be someone’s date,” he said finally.

That statement startled you enough to actually look at him. You could detect amusement in his eyes, but also interest. You opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out and you closed it again.

“However, if you would like me to actually be your date, I think I could fit it into my schedule,” he added magnanimously. One corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Are you joking?” you asked, completely unable to tell.

Zemo frowned. “No,” he said slowly, “are you? Is there really no wedding?”

You shook your head. “Yes, of course, there’s a wedding… but why would you agree to go with me?”

His face became carefully blank. “Why would you ask me?”

“Because I thought you would say no,” you said in a rush. “I never thought you would agree. I…”

He leaned further back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning deeply at you. “Is this some sort of prank?”

“I…” you shook your head, trying to come up with an answer. “Sorry, no it’s not a prank. I got the idea in my head to ask you and then I couldn’t not ask you, but I was convinced you would say no. Why did you agree?” you peered up at his blank face, searching for an answer.

“I’m free on that date,” he replied with a shrug. “It seemed as if you wanted some sort of moral support for your friend’s wedding. Besides, it would upset The Winter Soldier.”

You frowned. You hadn’t thought about how it would make Bucky and Sam feel if you showed up with Zemo. “I— thank you for agreeing, but you’re right, it would anger Bucky. I don’t want to do that. I’m afraid—”

“Ah, you can’t take it back now, my dear,” Helmut said with a smirk. “You’ve asked, and I’ve agreed. It appears I will be your date for Tony Stark’s wedding. Who is he marrying again?”

“Pepper Potts,” you replied, wrinkling your nose. You couldn’t seem to stop yourself from doing it, even though you tried. It was ridiculous, feeling upset that Tony was marrying Pepper, but there it was. And that was the crux of the reason you had decided to ask Zemo.

“The CEO of his company?” Zemo asked with a slight pucker between his brows.

You nodded. “Yes, the very same. But you’re right abou—”

“Well then, I shall have to accompany you,” Helmut said as if the matter was completely settled.

“What? No, you—”

“Are you really going to rescind my invitation? How rude,” Helmut said, lifting his nose into the air and glaring down at you.

You bit your lip. He was right. It would be the height of rudeness to ask him and then uninvite him, but he was also right that it would rile up Bucky. And Tony, your brain helpfully supplied. That was the crux of it. You wanted to rile Tony up. You hoped he choked when he saw who you were with.

“Fine,” you said ungraciously. “The wedding is at two in the afternoon and my invitation allows a plus one. Shall we meet at my apartment?”

He nodded and waved his fingers in dismissal as he began sorting through the correspondence on his massive desk. You frowned at him while standing stiffly and marching from the room. You weren't sure why you asked him beyond knowing that it would annoy Tony. You firmly refused to think about how good he looked last month in that coat of his. Nope, that was definitely not why you asked him.

––––

Six Weeks Later

You couldn’t quite believe that you were actually going through with this. You had barely seen Zemo since you stormed into his office and asked him to be your date all those weeks ago. You had almost hoped he had forgotten all about it, but just yesterday he had sent you a text confirming the time he was to meet you at your flat. Now you were all dressed up and rocking in your heels as you tried to calm your anxiety.

How in the world were you going to explain this to anyone?

How had that thought just occurred to you? Horror filled you as you realized you were going to have to explain this to Bucky and Tony and the rest of the Avengers at some point. What on earth were you going to say? That you and Zemo were dating? Bile rose up just as a knock sounded on your door. You hurried to answer it, your fear and apprehension heavy on your face.

He looked amazing, just as you expected him to and you waved him inside your apartment. It seemed even smaller when he was standing in your living room. You turned away from him and took a few deep breaths. What on earth had you been thinking? Inviting Helmut Zemo to your ex’s wedding had to be the most self-destructive thing you could have done.

“Are you alright?” Zemo asked. You could feel him behind you, your living room suddenly feeling smaller as the tension between the two of you grew.

“I fear I’ve made a mistake,” you said in a small voice. You took a big breath and turned to face him. “I can hardly show up with you on my arm,” you said, refusing to meet his eye. “How on earth would I ever explain it?”

“Explain what?” Zemo asked, taking a step closer to you.

You felt your cheeks warm, he was really going to make you say it, wasn’t he?

“Explain you,” you said. “Explain to my friends and family how I ended up on the arm of Helmut Zemo. The Baron Helmut Zemo. The one who hated the Avengers so much he did everything to destroy them.”

“Perhaps,” Zemo said slowly, “it was less about destroying the Avengers and more about getting even.”

You gaped up at him and half-laughed when you saw the smirk on his face. You couldn’t believe he had just made a joke at his own expense.

“There’s nothing to explain. Two consenting adults are dating. What’s to explain?” He shrugged so nonchalantly, you almost believed him.

“Dating? Now we’re dating?” you asked, your eyes widening. You shook your head. “I’m not sure I can pull off fake dating now too.”

You looked down at your hands, realizing you were wringing them, as you always did when you fretted like this.

Zemo cleared his throat and you forced your gaze back up to his. He had a very calculating look on his face. “Of course you can. You wouldn’t have suggested I ‘pretend’ to be your date if you didn’t think you could pull it off. We can tell them it was a whirlwind over the last few weeks.”

“That was madness,” you shook your head, “asking you like that.”

“So why did you?” he peered down at you and your heart fluttered wildly in your chest. You knew exactly why you had asked him. Your tongue darted out to lick your bottom lip and you pulled it into your mouth, biting down on it gently.

“Why does anyone ask one out?” you whispered, your gaze darting from his, unable to watch whatever emotions would flit across his face at that admission.

“Indeed,” he replied, sounding amused. “Shall we?”

Within half an hour you were across the town, Zemo slid an arm around your waist, holding you close as the two of you entered the wedding hall.

“Steady, there,” Zemo whispered into your hair just as you entered and a group of wedding attendees turned to see who had just arrived. Even from this distance, you could see eyes widening and tongues wagging.

You lifted your chin and Helmut left his palm on the small of your back as you took that first, scary step forward and greeted the guests.

The wedding was mostly fine. You received some looks from the rest of the Avengers but decided that ignoring them was your best bet. It wasn’t the ceremony you were worried about anyway. Nobody was going to track you down and corner you, expressing concern about your choices while Tony and Pepper were saying their ‘I do’s.’

You weren't ambushed until almost an hour after dinner, which you thought showed remarkable restraint on the part of your friends. You weren't even all that surprised by who did the ambushing. Zemo had stepped outside for a minute and promised to return with drinks and you found not just Bucky, but Sharon as well. Oh, well, they must be concerned if Sharon was getting involved.

“So glad you could come,” Sharon said, pulling you into a hug. You may not have ended up both working for Shield, but Sharon always felt like your sister. Bucky reached in to give you a side hug as well.

They dispensed with the pleasantries quickly. “So, Zemo?” Sharon asked, her eyebrows rising high on her head. “He’s a bit old for you, isn’t he?”

You bit your lips to keep from laughing. “Would that be your only objection to him?”

“Ah, well, not that it’s our place,” Sharon stuttered.

“We just want to make sure you’re taken care of,” Bucky said emphatically. You were wringing your hands, almost unconsciously, and gave both of them a tight smile.

“Of course, he has been wonderful,” you replied. Your brain was working overtime trying to figure a way out of this conversation.

A moment later, Zemo slid his hands between your, threading your fingers together and the tightness in your chest eased as your palms pressed together.

“James, Ms.Carter,” he rumbled, with a dip of his head in their direction.

“Zemo,” Bucky replied looking as though he were trying not to sneer, you thought it just looked like he was constipated. “So kind of you to make it to Tony's wedding.”

“Well, how could I say no when my dear asked?” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You beamed up at him, completely unaware of what this looked like from the outside. Perhaps asking Zemo to be your pretend date wouldn’t be the disaster you had been dreading all these weeks.

After the ambush by Bucky and Sharon, the rest of your friends had to make their voices heard. Some were more subtle about it than others. Tony, for instance, yanked you away from Zemo to have a heated debate behind the bar that you were sure everyone could hear. That was confirmed once you'd finally pulled yourself away from him and returned to find people studiously ignoring you.

Steve, at least, was better about it, just asking if everything was alright. Sam wondered, in front of Zemo, no less, if someone had put something in your drink. Strongly hinting that ‘someone’ was Zemo and that ‘something’ was a type of drug.

Zemo was a courteous guest and danced with you just the right amount. When things finally began winding down, the moon was up and it had been dark for at least three full hours.

“How do you feel about leaving?” Zemo asked, his hand straying to the small of your back. You leaned into him, loving the way it felt to do so. Somehow, despite his age, his body felt firm beneath his dress suit.

“I’m ready. Irish goodbye?” you asked, looking up at him.

He smirked down at you. “The best kind, really.”

You slipped out of the hall, hopefully unseen, and Zemo drove you to your apartment. You were glad to kick off your heels and poured a nightcap for both of you. You settled onto the sofa.

“Cheers to making our way through that unscathed,” You said, clinking your glasses together.

“I hope I wasn’t too terrible of a ‘pretend’ date,” Zemo murmured, looking at you over the top of his glass.

“I thought you didn’t know how to be a pretend date?” you asked, tipping your head to the side and trying desperately to hide a smile.

Zemo hummed. “Perhaps not. Shall we go for round two? Perhaps lunch at that new restaurant near my place?”

“Oh, yes, I would love that,” you said with a grin. Zemo put his glass down and lifted your hand, kissing the back of it.

“It’s a date then,” he said a sly smile on his face. Then he stood and was out your door with a, “See you at noon,” tossed over his shoulder.

You leaned back against your sofa, drinking the rest of your brandy and smiling absently at your door. Asking Zemo to be your pretend wedding date was looking like the best idea you'd had in ages.

#baron zemo #baron zemo x reader #tfatws #zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo #helmut zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo #baron helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x you #baron zemo x y/n #zemo x you #zemo x y/n #helmut zemo x you #helmut zemo x y/n #baron helmut zemo x you #baron helmut zemo x y/n

289 notes · View notes

pandora15 · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021 Day 5 Prompt: Betrayal

It started off the same as any other mission. Anakin and Obi-Wan were sent out to the Outer Rim with the 501st and the 212th. It was only a few weeks after Ahsoka had left the Order, and Anakin hadn’t completely recovered from her departure.

Obi-Wan understood it, really. He could hardly believe it himself — except he understood why Ahsoka had to leave.

He only wished that he had the chance to make things right with his former grandpadawan — because he hadn’t known what to say when it mattered most, and it had cost him nearly everything.

And now, Anakin barely spoke to him, and Obi-Wan couldn’t blame him for that.

Regardless, the plan for the mission was simple: Anakin and the 501st would take to the battle in the skies around Ryloth, while Obi-Wan and the 212th would venture onto the planet’s surface to free the central city from Separatist control.

It was simple — straightforward, until the minutes before they were supposed to come out of hyperspace.

A message came through the Resolute’s secure comm-system: a cry for help from a signal a few parsecs away from Ryloth. Not too terribly far, from what Obi-Wan could tell of the coordinates, but enough to cause a stir in the ship.

It wasn’t really because of the message itself, but its sender — Padmé Amidala.

“She’s in trouble, Obi-Wan,” Anakin insisted. His eyes gleamed in the dim blue light of the holotransmitter just below him. There was a familiar coldness in his voice, allowing for no argument at all.

“We have a mission, Anakin,” Obi-Wan replied. “I understand your concern, and I’ll see to it that the Council send someone to assist the Senator, but we simply do not have the resources to spare anyone away from this mission. The people of Ryloth need our help.”

Anakin’s lips curled in disdain.

“And Padmé needs my help,” he snapped. “You’ve proven more than enough times that you don’t need me, Obi-Wan. And I certainly don’t need you. So I’m gonna take the Twilight and save her myself, because unlike you, I make sure to do what I can to help the people I care about.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth went dry. Feebly, he opened his mouth to respond, to say something, but Anakin was already walking away.

And he couldn’t stop him — couldn’t bring the words to make Anakin stop, because what was he supposed to say? That he was right? That he didn’t do enough for Ahsoka — for Anakin?

As difficult as it was to hear Anakin say those words, they were true.

And Obi-Wan knew it.

“General Kenobi.”

Cody’s voice brought him out of his stupor. Obi-Wan blinked, pulling his gaze away from the holomap in front of him to his commander, who stood across from him, head tilted slightly.

Obi-Wan let out a sigh, shoulders slumping.

“Now I inform the Council that we’ll need a replacement for Anakin,” he replied. “But it doesn’t really matter. No one is close enough to get here in time, and Ryloth needs us now.”

Cody’s lips thinned. “Then we proceed as planned, Sir?”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “We have little choice.”

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

Without the support in the skies — without Anakin — the campaign was hopeless.

Obi-Wan knew it from the start, that he was leading his men into a death trap. For one thing, the Separatists were well-prepared for their arrival. It was almost as though they were waiting right where Anakin and Obi-Wan had planned where the 212th was going to land, hours ago.

And their numbers far surpassed anything Obi-Wan had seen yet in this war.

Instead of moving forward to central city, the 212th were forced to retreat. Too many had already fallen or were injured in the battle, and with the defenses surrounding the capital, Obi-Wan did not see a way in.

Every single thing that he thought of was countered almost immediately, as though whoever it was that lead the Separatists knew him all too well.

This was a losing battle.

“What do we do, Sir?” Cody asked.

They were crouched behind a large outcropping of rock, with Cody using binoculars to examine the city from far away.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. The Force was distant here, difficult to understand. He could barely make sense of it, and there was little indication that help was going to arrive any time soon.

And this was Ryloth’s most desperate hour.

“I’m afraid I have little choice,” he murmured. “You and your brothers don’t have to come along, Cody. I can’t — I can’t ask you to lay down your lives for this, because this is a death-trap, and you deserve better. You all do.”

Silence, then Cody turned to face him, binoculars pulled away from his face. His eyes were bright and earnest, with the slightest glimmer of hope.

“We’re with you, Sir,” he said. “Until the end.”

“Until the end,” Obi-Wan echoed.

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

In the end, Ryloth was a bloodbath.

Obi-Wan barely escaped with his life — and most of his men were not even that lucky.

He spent the days that followed in a bacta tank while being transported back to Coruscant. Obi-Wan was unconscious for all of it, which was probably a blessing in disguise because he couldn’t bear to see Master Windu’s reaction to all of this upon arriving on Ryloth.

It was a failure — his failure.

But more than that, it was Anakin.

So when Obi-Wan was finally discharged from the Halls of Healing upon arriving on Coruscant, he knew where he had to go.

Anakin’s presence was a blazing supernova in his mind, emanating from one of the training rooms near the residential wing in the Temple. It was all too easy for Obi-Wan to find him, because these days, that was where he always was if he was in-Temple.

When he walked in, Anakin was slashing furiously at a training droid, eyebrows pulled into a deep frown. His movements were heavy and offensive, a far cry from Obi-Wan’s own form.

“Anakin.”

Anakin froze and turned around. His eyebrows narrowed further.

“What do you want?” Anakin asked. “I’m busy.”

Obi-Wan didn’t reply. He only looked at Anakin closely, taking in the shadows under his reddened eyes, the pallor, tight set of his jaw, and the anger coursing through his frame — even now.

“We lost,” Obi-Wan murmured. His throat was sore from disuse, and it was still difficult to speak without his still-healing ribs and lungs protesting. “We lost, and you weren’t there.”

“I did what was right,” Anakin replied.

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I failed you, Anakin,” he whispered, voice cracking. He took a step back. “I have failed you.”

Anakin opened his mouth to reply, but Obi-Wan was already walking away.

(Pandora’s Whumptober 2021 Masterlist)

#whumptober2021 #no. 5 #betrayal #star wars #fic #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #commander cody #cody #this one's very long and sad #idk when i started writing this i wanted it to end like a dramatic epic betrayal thing #but then i got to the last scene and thought ''what if we do sad and quiet instead?''#and here we are #a sad and quiet ending

72 notes · View notes

whisperofsong · 3 years

Text

Among The Stars

Chapter Eight

Pairing: Riff x Latina! Reader

Summary: Riff and Olivia must confront the aftermath of her recent confrontation with the Jets.

*Disclaimer: I couldn’t leave everyone in suspense for too long after the recent chapter’s emotional events. I know several of you expressed much anticipation for what’s to come, so I hope you find this next chapter to be satisfying. Thank you for supporting my writing and me:)

____________________________________________

Riff’s POV

I’m seething and it only seems to be heightening by the minute. I’m squeezing my hands at my sides, the adrenaline surging through my rigid body. Olivia’s words replay torturously in my mind, making me wince and enraging me further.

It’s midnight now, which narrows down the places the Jets can be. My first instinct is to check the basketball court, our preferred hangout considering it’s public property.

As I get closer to my destination, I see most of the guys leaning against the mural that had been defaced about a month ago, accompanied by clouds of smoke and raucous laughter. At the center of the group is Ice, a smug grin plastered on his face. To be fair, he always looks smug, which is one of the chief reasons he fell into being a Jet so easily. However, after recent events, that smugness sends heat through me and all I can think about is pummeling him.

The Jets eye me cautiously in the darkness, but their bodies loosen upon recognition of me. Usually, I’d greet them with an amicable smile and a rousing call, but not tonight.

“There he is,” A-Rab remarks enthusiastically. Ice leans off against the wall, but his new stance doesn’t last long as I harshly shove him against the mural.

“Shit,” a couple of the Jets mutter upon witnessing my aggression.

“Woah, what-“, but before Ice can proceed, I interrupt.

“You think you own this place? You think you can do whatever the hell you please?!” My voice is getting louder and louder, piercing the otherwise quiet night air. “I know what you did to Olivia.” I yank him roughly by his collar, waiting for him to respond.

Ice chortles and momentarily peers at the ground before making eye contact with me. “Oh, that. Pissed you couldn’t get in on the action?”

I push him against the concrete mural even harder, emitting a grunt from him. “We might pull a lot of shit in the West Side, but assaulting innocent people ain’t one of ‘em.”

“If I didn’t know better, Boss, I’d say ya got a thing for the Puerto Rican.”

I dismiss Ice’s comment. “Just because I don’t support assault doesn’t mean I got a thing for her,” I say through my teeth, losing any ounce of composure left within me.

Ice squints and licks his lips, looking at me challengingly. “Really? Well, that’s good to know. I mean, I’m not normally into Puerto Rican girls myself, but even I can’t deny she’s pretty cute. And her skin is so soft…I’d love to touch her other places, too. But I bet you already have, haven’t you, Riff?”

My fist collides with his jaw and I hold him down, punching him repeatedly.

“Riff!” yells Diesel.

“He’s had enough, Boss!” Big Deal shouts.

Although they’re right beside me, their voices sound distant because all I can focus on is my rage. Olivia’s helpless, innocent, sweet face at the forefront of my mind.

When I look down at Ice, his nose is bleeding profusely and his lip is already swollen. I’m breathing heavily and Ice is staring at me, wide-eyed and, for the first time ever, frightened. When I glance around, all the Jets are watching me in horror. I release Ice from my grip and stand up.

“If any of you ever harm her in any way, so help me God, I’ll put you in the hospital. Womb to tomb be damned. Got that?” They nod like a bunch of bobble heads, clearly understanding I’m not to be questioned.

“And as for you two,” I say, referring to Diesel and Balkan, “I’d think carefully about who you follow in the future. Unless you want me to give you both a makeover next time,” I state coldly. They look down guiltily. Not so tough now, are they?

With those final words permeating the tense atmosphere, I saunter off, heading home. As soon as I’m home, I inspect my hand, which is bruised and raw from punching Ice. I contemplate ways to hide the evidence because if Olivia sees my busted hand, she’ll be able to put the pieces together. The last thing I need is for her to think the guy she likes is some wild animal. Then again, how could I not do something like that after what they did to her? I had to defend her, my beautiful, sensitive, gentle girl…the biggest piece of my heart.

The walk back to my apartment has given me time to think and I decide to lay low for a couple days. At least I’m working tomorrow and Sunday, so I can easily use that as my excuse. In the meantime, I need to clean myself up without waking Tony.

____________________________________________

I stir at the sound of clattering utensils coming from our kitchen. I roll over and check my phone. It’s 7:26 a.m., although it feels like it should be earlier. I slept like a baby last night as a result of the emotional conversation with Olivia as well as the altercation with Ice; I was wiped out.

I groan as I leave my bed behind, figuring I might as well start my day now that I’m awake. I throw on a t-shirt before emerging from my bedroom and heading to the kitchen where Tony is preparing breakfast before he leaves for work.

“Hey, buddy boy,” Tony says in a much too chipper voice. He’s always been a morning person while I’m the night owl.

“Mornin’,” I reply plainly, not quite ready to interact. Tony sits down at the table and dives into his breakfast while I search for the milk. When I see it’s beside Tony on the table, I reach across him to grab it.

“Woah. What happened to you?” Tony asks upon noticing my bruised hand.

“I had to take care of somethin. It’s done,” I shrug carelessly, which is ironic, considering I committed the act as a result of how much I care for Olivia.

“Care to elaborate?” Tony asks playfully, releasing a lighthearted chuckle. I can tell he’s trying to ease any tension that may surface, but I’m not interested in disclosing the backstory behind my bruised knuckles.

“Maybe later.” I pour the milk into my bowl of Frosted Flakes, my favorite cereal since I was a kid, and shove a spoonful of it into my mouth, thereby giving me a valid excuse for discontinuing the conversation.

Tony groans. “Riff, I’m worried about ya. I know you’re not one to talk things out, but bottlin’ up your feelings? It isn’t healthy.”

“And you think you’re fit to give me a lecture? Because you’re somehow reformed after spending a year in the slammer? So you’re no longer part of the Jets. Whatever. But what you did? Almost killing someone? The actual blood may be off your hands, but truthfully? You’ll always be tainted, buddy boy.” I ensure my emphasis on buddy boy is dripping with hostility.

Despite my harsh words, Tony’s eyes remain soft. “You know, Riff, you can pretend not to care, but I know you do. I know you haven’t fully come to terms with my decision to leave the Jets and maybe you never will, but I’m still your friend. Maybe you could act like one in return.”

With these words, Tony wordlessly places his dishes in the sink and walks out the door, on his way to Doc’s for his Saturday shift. His words irk me, but I decide to table my annoyance until we can revisit this conversation.

After I finish the remnants of my now soggy cereal, I go to take a shower until my phone pings. A text from Olivia reads: “Morning:) I hope whatever you had to take care of last night went alright.” I shake my head, a slight smile creeping onto my face. Olivia surpasses me in numerous ways, but when it comes to being sly? Not so much.

I ignore her message, deciding the less communicative I am right now, the better. I toss my phone onto my bed and don’t give it a second thought.

____________________________________________

Olivia’s POV

I drum my fingers impatiently against my dresser as I stare at my phone, waiting for a reply. Granted, it’s only been six minutes since I’ve sent Riff a message, but he’s typically swift to respond. The uneasy feeling roiling in my stomach only worsens as each second goes by without a message from him.

I roll my eyes and continue getting ready for work, hoping the bustling diner will serve as a distraction. Unfortunately, customers are scarce today, which is ironic, considering this is one of the few times I yearn to be busy.

While I clear off one of the tables, Theresa notices my sullen expression because she asks, “What’s wrong?” When I meet her eyes, concern floods her face.

“Just tired is all.”

“Really? You look melancholy.”

“Why would I be melancholy?” I shoot back, slight aggravation marking my words.

“You tell me,” she retorts.

“I’m fine.”

“Uh huh.” Theresa throws me a knowing glance and returns to her usual spot behind the counter, placing money in the register.

I make my way over to her, taking note of her flippant attitude. “What’s gotten into you?” I ask.

“Me? I should be asking you! You’ve been acting strange for days and although you deny it, something is definitely wrong. We’ve been best friends for years, Olivia. I can sense when you’re not yourself.” She looks up at me while fiddling with buttons on the register.

“I already told you. I’m tired. That’s all. I have finals looming over me and there’s a lot of material that’ll be covered on the exams. I’m stressed.”

Theresa pauses her current task to meet my eyes. Her features harden as disappointment becomes prominent within them. “I’ve given you every chance, Olivia. How could you?” she prompts softly.

I give her a puzzled look because I’m not understanding what’s instigating this emotion. “What are you talking about?”

She yanks me by the hand and leads me just outside the diner by the side of the entrance before speaking again. “I was on my way to pick up my mom’s dry cleaning this morning and ran into your dad. He said it’s nice we’ve been spending so much time together and appreciatesme letting you sleepover the last couple nights.”

My heart begins to hammer in my chest and I suddenly feel nauseous. “Did…did you tell him the truth?” I ask hesitantly, bracing myself for the answer.

“No, I didn’t. I covered for you because I’m a true friend.” She crosses her arms and although she attempts to appear angry, hurt is displayed most on her face. The nausea I was experiencing earlier worsens because knowing I hurt my best friend is one of the most awful feelings in the world.

Theresa’s eyes begin to water and I touch her hand with my own, yearning to make this right. “I’m sorry, Theresa. I’ve been a poor friend to you. You deserve the truth and it’s time I finally share it with you.”

“Long overdue, don’t you think?”

I bristle at her harsh tone. It’s evident I’ve made a colossal mistake because Theresa is consistently understanding, although I’ve never placed her in such a crummy situation.

momentarily close my eyes and release a deep breath. “Remember when you asked me about…” I’m reluctant to continue because her approval means something to me and I’m not naive enough to believe I’ll receive approval now.

This time, my question leaves my mouth in a rushed manner. “Remember when you asked me about Riff? Whether there was anything happening between us?”

Theresa nods slowly, apprehension consuming her features.

“We’ve been…seeing each other. A lot.”

Theresa gasps and takes a step back following this revelation, throwing her hands over her mouth.

“Oh my gosh, Olivia! Why? When did this even start? Oh my gosh…” Theresa is rubbing her temples as if this will aid her in processing the alarming information.

“He came into the diner a couple weeks ago with the Jets and at first, I viewed him as nothing more than a nuisance. But then I uncovered more about him and by the time we were at the dance…”

Her eyes widen. “I knew something happened at the dance, I knew it!” She practically yells in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Shh, please! I’m not ready to announce it to the entire West Side,” I chide her.

“What exactly happened at the dance?”

“He was intent on dancing with me, so I agreed and he was really sweet in teaching me different moves.” I grin while reminiscing about this particular memory. “I was completely relaxed in his company and my feelings took hold of me. Before I could give it another thought…I kissed him. And then I ran away in sheer panic.”

Theresa is gawking at me, stunned.

“He followed me all the way home, running behind me, and then…we were kissing. I’ve been seeing him ever since. He makes me laugh, he’s considerate, he’s sensitive, and…” I trail off, approaching my next sentence with extreme caution. “While I recognize he has a lot to work on, I can’t part ways with him. I’m falling for Riff, Theresa.”

Theresa blinks rapidly and grimaces. “Riff? The leader of the Jets? The guy who recently led his boys in defacing the Puerto Rican mural? The one who steals with indifference, looks down upon people in your community, hurts people in your community…all because they don’t resemble him?”

“It’s a complex relationship.”

“No, it’s not complex at all. He’s working whatever charm he has and using it to deceive you, Olivia! You can’t actually think he cares about you. It’s a game to him and it’s cruel. The outcome will be even crueler.” Although she’s resolute in her beliefs, I’m equally resolute in mine.

“You’re wrong. What we share is authentic and you can mock me, criticize me, and shame me all you want, but Riff is important to me and I know he reciprocates these feelings.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this with a straight face. What has gotten into you? You’re an intelligent woman, a tactful one. Of all the times to be careless, you’re choosing to be careless when it comes to Riff?”

“I’ve been unhappy for a long time. A very long time. Not with you nor my parents,” I assure her. “But…with the monotony of it all. I’ve finally got something that enlivens me, that sets my heart ablaze. I can’t discard something like that.” I shake my head emphatically.

I’m expecting a barrage of additional insults, but to my surprise, I’m not met with any. Theresa is quiet, mulling over my words. I search her face in an attempt to determine what’s she thinking. I extend my hand and grasp hers. To my relief, she accepts this gesture.

“I was wrong to lie to you. I didn’t know how to explain it to you because I knew you’d respond in this way and understandably so, considering everything. I understand if you don’t want to see me for a while, but please…don’t say anything to my parents until I’ve decided what I’m going to do.”

She looks at the ground and steps closer to me, her hand still encased in mine. “I’m not going to pretend I understand this, but based on what you just shared, there must be something there if you, the most pragmatic, prudent, and cautious person I know, is captivated by him.”

I smile and pull her into my arms, thrilled to receive these words from my beloved best friend. As she’s holding me, she continues. “If you need to use me as a cover, at least for a little while longer until you figure things out, you can; I mean it.”

I squeeze her and pull back to look at her. “Really? Oh, thank you, Theresa. Thank you,” I breathe.

She nods and pulls me in for one final hug before we return to the diner.

____________________________________________

Once I’m home from the diner that evening, I race to the bathroom to take a shower, feeling grimy after my walk back with Bernardo. Despite it being the evening, the heat was sweltering, so much so that some of my hair is plastered to my nape and my back. As I’m lathering my hair in shampoo, my thoughts are racing. I still haven’t heard from Riff, not even a measly emoji. That’s the least he can do.

After I step out of the shower, my phone pings and I practically glide across the floor to pick it up from the countertop of the sink. Unfortunately, it’s only Theresa, saying she’s here for me. I type back, “Thank you. Love you.” I’ve always appreciated that we’re open with our love for one another and don’t take each other’s friendship for granted.

I don’t sleep well that night, tossing and turning all night long. While the heat doesn’t help my restlessness, that isn’t the primary reason for it. Riff is all I can think of, which is only magnified when I still haven’t received word from him the following morning.

I sit up and stretch and contemplate my next move. This time, I decide to call him. The phone rings and rings, but there’s no answer. I groan in an exasperated manner and slam my phone onto my nightstand.

When I head to the kitchen to make some breakfast, Mama is standing in front of the stove, pancakes and bacon sizzling, their aroma a pleasant greeting.

“Buenos dias, Olivia. How did you sleep?” Mama asks brightly.

“Not too well, actually. The heat made me uncomfortable.”

“Ah. Not even the air conditioning could keep the heat out last night. Then again, it is July after all.” She sighs and flips a couple pancakes over.

I set the table and take a seat, lost in my thoughts. However, Mama’s words break me from my rumination.

“I was thinking, maybe we can go to the shops later this morning. You know they always have the best produce at the beginning of the week. And maybe we can look for some clothes for you. What do you say?”

While I’m not particularly in the mood to shop, Mama’s gesture is thoughtful and we’ve scarcely spent time together as of late. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to have a distraction.

I offer her a smile. “Sure, Mama.”

After breakfast, I hurriedly select my outfit for the day and choose a flowy white headband for my hair followed by placing it in a ponytail. I decide to call Riff one more time, but he doesn’t answer and my annoyance grows. He’s definitely ignoring me…but why? I shake my head, deciding to temporarily shelve the topic so I can be present during my outing with Mama. I tighten my ponytail and follow her out the door.

____________________________________________

“Oh my, look at these tomatoes!” Mama thrusts them into the air, marveling at the sight of them. I glance over my shoulder and throw her a slight nod, unable to express the same level of interest in them.

As she continues to examine the vegetables, I move a little farther down the sidewalk, taking in the scene around me. People are moving aimlessly and purposefully, business owners embracing the prospects of the new day, cars whizzing by. So much is in motion and then there’s me, trapped in stillness.

“Olivia! Ven aqui!” Mama calls. (Come here!) I turn around and my breath catches in my throat. She’s talking to Bernardo. I quickly make my way over to them, but by the looks of it, he hasn’t mentioned a word of the other night as they’re engaged in lighthearted laughter.

“Look who I ran into!” Mama exclaims. Bernardo nods at me and flashes a sympathetic smile.

“How are you feeling, Olivia?” Bernardo asks.

I’m suddenly annoyed, not only at the fact that he asked me this question less than 24 hours ago, but also because he does this in my mother’s presence. Mama looks at me questioningly, but I’m determined to act nonchalant.

“Fine. And you?”

“Alright. How’s your bruise?”

“It’s practically gone now,” I reply, even though that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Bruise?” Mama asks, seeking clarification. Her forehead wrinkles as it often does when she’s confused.

Bernardo returns his gaze to her. “Si. When she was a-“

“I bumped into one of the tables at the diner the other night. Pretty hard actually. I have a bruise to show for it, but it’s not a big deal. I bruise easily.” I shoot Bernardo a warning glare and I’m hoping he can read between the lines. His disapproving frown suggests he understands as he reluctantly goes along with my tale.

“That’s right,” he says slowly.

“We better get going, Mama, if we want to make it to the other shops before they get too busy. Excuse us, Bernardo,” I say hastily, grabbing Mama’s arm.

“Adios, Bernardo. Say hello to Anita for me!” Mama tells him.

____________________________________________

After a semi-successful shopping trip, I collapse onto my bed, my long wavy hair fanning out across my plush comforter. Riff hasn’t returned my calls nor has he sent me any texts. My one day off is supposed to be relaxing and all I can do is stress about what’s keeping him from me.

The next day, I receive word that I’m not needed at the diner until 2:00. Therefore, I decide to take advantage of my newly-granted free time by going to Riff’s apartment. Fortunately, security is nonexistent in his building, so I don’t have to worry about entering a special code or waiting for some other resident to let me in. God knows he wouldn’t answer me right now. As I ascend the stairs, I’m feeling bold. It’s been three days now and I’m determined to put an end to this nonsense.

When I’m face to face with his apartment door, I decide against politely knocking and pound on it several times. For all I know, he may not even be home, but at least I’ve got a shot. About ten seconds pass until I hear heavy footsteps approaching the door. The door opens and Riff looks startled to see me. I brush past him, not waiting for an invite inside.

“I’m glad to see you’re alive and well,” I remark bitterly, intending for him to hear the irritation in my voice.

“What are you doing here?”

“You’ve been ignoring me for three days, Riff, and I don’t understand why.”

“I’ve been busy,” he answers, shrugging.

“Doing what?”

“I didn’t realize I had to report to you,” he replies harshly, causing me to recoil. Riff attempts to walk past me, but I grab his arm.

“Riff, what’s gotten into-“

I stop myself because my eyes widen as they land upon his bruised hand.

Riff pulls his hand away, shoving it in his pocket.

“What happened?” I demand.

Riff’s eyes harden and he looks at the floor, unwilling to look me in the eye.

“I punched Ice…a lot. And before you express how upset you are with me, I need you to know I couldn’t allow him to get away with it. I just couldn’t and I won’t apologize for doing it. I was trying to lay low for a few days in hopes that my hand would heal so you wouldn’t question it, but obviously…” He gestures vaguely and pushes out a deep sigh. “Obviously it didn’t work out.”

“Does it hurt?” I ask, my voice laced with concern.

“Not nearly as much as the thought of what happened to you,” he replies softly.

We stand in the living room in silence for a couple minutes. Suddenly, I find myself giggling and it transforms into boisterous laughter. I can only reason that it’s my way of releasing the stress that has built up inside me over the past several days.

Riff gives me a puzzled and slightly worried look. “I have to admit this wasn’t the reaction I was expectin…” he drawls.

I shake my head and press my palms to my cheeks, regaining my composure. “I guess chivalry isn’t dead,” I state, glancing at him sideways while giving him a subtle smile.

He bows his head at this, chuckling bashfully. “Not when it comes to you,” he declares.

I close the space between us and place my hands atop his shoulders. “Look, I’m not pleased about you beating up someone. However, I am touched you defended my honor.“

Riff slides his hands up and down my arms. “Good to know.”

“So…that’s really the only reason you were avoiding me?” I ask.

He nods solemnly while staring into my eyes.

breathe a sigh of relief. “Well, in that case, I have something I want to discuss with you. On Thursday, I have my final exams and after that, I won’t have class again until early September. So I was thinking we could celebrate on Friday night? There’s this restaurant that also has karaoke and I know it might sound corny, but Theresa and I go there sometimes. It’s one of my favorite spots in the city and I really want to take you there. Plus I’ve already asked to be off so we can go.”

I bite my lip, anticipating his response. He smirks and says, “It’s not exactly my scene, baby, buuuuuut…if it means that much to ya, count me in.”

I squeal giddily and wrap my arms around his neck. “Yes! I can’t wait.” Riff wraps his arms around my waist and lowers his head so that it rests in the crook of my neck, planting a tender kiss on my shoulder.

I push against his chest. “Wait, there’s something else. Theresa knows about us.”

Riff’s eyes widen. “Shit, he breathes.

“No, it’s okay. I explained everything and she’s willing to cover for me for a little while. We’re safe.” I grin reassuringly and he returns an equally satisfied one.

“Oh. Well, thank her for me, would ya?”

“I will.”

He leans forward and pecks my nose, causing me to wrinkle my nose at the slight tickling sensation.

“So I’ll see you Friday?” I ask, verifying our plan.

“Wait…four days until I see you again?”

“We still have to be careful, Riff. We can’t afford to raise any more suspicion.”

He groans dramatically, but relents. “Fine. I’ll miss you, though. A lot.”

“How much?” I ask playfully.

With this, he cups my face and kisses me fervently. When he gradually pulls away, he asks, “Does that answer your question?”

“It most certainly does,” I reply and give him a soft kiss on his cheek, which causes his eyes to momentarily flutter shut and a content smile to appear on his handsome face.

On my walk home, I send Theresa the following text: “Remember that favor you offered the other day? I’d like to cash it in…”

@inkandpen22 @riffheartsgraziella @loverisi @westsidelegendary @sondheim1fan @ilovey0us0 @grxceordxr @dellaspinstales @jillo0315 @drowninginaseaofbooks @theforgottenmcrmy @shitemylife @disguisedbassethound

#west side story 2021 #riff #latina #mike faist #west side story fanfic

52 notes · View notes

littlefreya · 4 years

Text

The Way To Hell - Final Chapter

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man on earth. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped while a trained assassin is sent to bring him down.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k (including epilogue)

Warnings: 18+, smut, boomer Walker, some fluff, sexual intercourse, cock-warming, mentions of torture, implied insanity, slight mentions of gore, violence, murder, mass-shooting and death. Please proceed with caution

A/N: The ending is here and I hope I did it justice, I hope I did right by you. I will reblog my kudos, but first I must thank @agniavateira for being my beta and a source of inspiration and @raspberrydreamclouds for the cover art.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*

Now allow me to die out of stress and anxiety.

Title: See You in Hell

Down by the valley, there is a serenity that exists only in fairy tales. Damp grass caresses her naked back, the pointy little tips ticking the base of her spine, leaving a fresh trail of dew. Pure mountain mist breathes life through blue hills caked with ice; white fog vales over the forest’s lush greenery and looms above the lake’s water like a lost-love phantom.

Lying with her eyes shut, she listens to the harmony of life surrounding her: the little fish bouncing in the river, the butterflies procreating mid-air and the hummingbird chirping with bliss. Yet the most beautiful sound is the low, melodic baritone humming and reverberating against her inner thighs.

”Angel, With those angel eyes Come and take this earth boy Up to paradise.”

”Boomer Walker…” she teases, “Is that a song from your time?”

Ascending a trail of kisses up her pelvis, he scoffs and shakes his head. “I’m starting to suspect that you have a kink for older men,” he answers with a throaty growl, shifting his weight further over her abdomen. The soft fur of his torso grazes between her thighs, and she sighs with pleasure.

”Do you want daddy to fuck you?”

”That’s gross!” she curls her nose and tries to hit his head playfully, but August snaps at her wrists with perfect instinct, pinning her hands against the wet meadow. His tongue flicks over the slant of her neck while he aligns his cock at the little piece of heaven between her legs.

Sensual yet rough, his massive girth splits her walls while his lips shower her with honeyed kisses. Ingvild throws her head back, lacing her fingers with his and coils herself beneath his large body.

“August...” she pants, feeling the air gradually diminishing from her lungs with every thrust, “I think I’m dying...”

Never halting or slowing his rhythm, August lowers his head to peer into her eyes. Fingers drenched with blood snap at her jaw.

“Stay with me, Ingvild.” He demands, letting out a husky groan, though his voice is but an echo.

A grey, thick mist wafts around the darkening forest, covering her with a bone-chilling breeze; his calling carries on the distance.

“Stay, princess...”

“Don’t leave...”

“Stay. We’ve only just begun.”

Ice bites its sharp fangs into the little creases between her cracked bones as another bucket filled with frosty water showers her trembling body. The stabbing pain lasts for a lingering moment, reminding her that she’s still very much alive.

It must be the 10th bucket, or maybe 12th? She lost count at some point. Day and night melt into one another in this place, and the hours don’t make much sense.

Muffled complaints vibrate in her ears. Vaguely her sight picks on two silhouettes arguing when the world abruptly flashes white, and her jaw soaks a terrible blow. Fully crashing onto the hard marble, she tries to recover, but a sudden kick rips through her abdomen.

“Your methods are too slow, Issac!” A grey-haired agent chides, standing over the girl with his foot still drawn, “Walker could be setting his bomb somewhere across the globe any minute now, and you’re taking your sweet time with her as if she’s an art project.”

The scrawny torturer frowns and turns his back at him. Walking toward the metal desk, he browses through different equipment. “My methods always work, the pretty little girl was taught to endure pain,” he grunts in exasperation and gestures at the bloodstained bandage around her hand, “she did this to herself.”

Sighing with a mixture of frustration and disgust, the CIA agent takes another swing at Ingvild’s torso, the pointy edge of his shoe colliding with the scar at her gut.

Bloodshot eyes rise with wrath, violent tides of aftershock course at her viscera. She peers at the men through the haze of pain when a third figure appears in the room, standing calmly whilst Issac and the agent argue among them.

Tall, broad, and charismatic, the handsome man strides toward her. His tailored steel-coloured suit envelops his statuesque body as if he is made of iron.

“You’re taking it so well, princess,” he praises in his deep, melodic baritone while crouching down to take a closer look. Ingvild lifts her head, slowly breaking into a weak grin. Onyx orbs replace the storm-touched eyes, but that chiselled face still belongs to her beautiful monster.

“Did you tell them anything about where I am headed?” he asks and gives her a pout, reaching his index finger and thumb to squeeze her bruised cheek affectionately.

Swallowing the aching dryness in her throat, she manages to shake her head meekly. “No… I said nothing,” her voice cracking as she whispers. Her chapped lips stretch into a pale, awkward grin.

Tiny lines form at the corner of his void-like eyes as he smiles back, radiating with dangerous delight.

“That’s my good girl.”

The grey-haired agent throws a glance over his shoulder, scrutinising Ingvild while he stands next to Issac, who is twirling a scalpel back and forth between his boney fingers.

“Who is she talking to?”

“Not very sane this one,” Issac explains as he examines the silver blade against the light, “multiple mental disorders, dissociative personality, psychotic.”

Pushing the agent aside with his free hand, Issac steps forward. He leers at Ingvild, who stares at nothing for a long second before averting her eyes back at them.

“We just need to dig a little deeper and the little bird will sing,” he exclaims and moves closer before dropping to his knees. One of his icy hands lands on her shoulder, forcing her flat on her back. Shuddering at his frozen touch, she closes her eyes; in the bleak nothingness, she recalls the night in the lake where August let her die.

“Pretty little Ingvild, have you heard of vivisection?” Her torturer asks as he lines his twig-like finger over the spine of the scalpel. Sensing his digits sneaking beneath the hem of her shirt, she shoots her eyes open yet remains still and intrepid.

The tiny black marbles beneath Issac’s brows glint with twisted joy, appeased at the sight of the scar as he exposes her torso. Ingvild expects the pain of the blade when something tepid and unpleasantly wet slithers across her gut like a little pink slug.

“Umm… Issac…?” The agent interrupts, furrowing his brow with confusion and disgust as he stares at his colleague licking the girl’s torso.

“What?!” Issac snaps at him, his eyes narrowing with spite, “you wanted me to go harder on her!”

“Yes, but…”

“But shut up and let me do my job!” He yells and returns his glare to Ingvild who blinks at the ceiling silently. Disrupted by his touch, she bites her tongue, fighting to hold back the acrid substance that threatens to emerge from her gut.

“You fight very hard to protect a man who doesn’t give a fuck about you, little bird,” his snake-like voice hisses as he leans down to half-whisper in her ear, “just tell me where he is and I won’t cut you open.”

Ingvild sucks the air in through gritted teeth and turns her head to look away from the obnoxious little man. She seeks for her beautiful monster, finding him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. August’s empty glance wears a calm grin.

“He is in this room,” Ingvild jests faintly, her sardonic laughter stretching thin, her chest heaving, exhausting whatever strength is left in her muscles. August’s smirk widens with hers, large dimples are slicing into his cheeks.

Ticking his tongue, Issac allows the sharp edge of the scalpel cut a skin-deep line into her flesh. Ingvild stares at him stoically, not moving a muscle as shy drops of blood begin trickling down her navel.

“Are you sure about your response?” he asks, ghosting the scalpel over her abdomen while crooking an eyebrow.

Ingvild bites her lip, pretending to think about her answer for a few seconds. Lifting her head up, she inches her lips toward Issac’s ear. The scrawny man listens intently.

“August Walker is the devil, and the devil is everywhere.”

A peal of sinister chuckles spills from her lips as she throws her head back onto the ground, staring at Issac’s disapproving glare.

But her laughter soon dies.

Taut pressure pierces into her flesh, the blade penetrating deep, cutting through tissue and muscle as if it was soft cheese. Ingvild clenches her jaw, her mind flooded by charring white light that dismantles every thought while the blade continues to swerve.

For a brief moment, she finds herself in Bergen, hands covered with thick blood, holding the gushing wound in her stomach with shock. August stands above her, toying with his favourite knife and staring at the red taint.

“Time to fall, angel.”

Scattered musings run behind her eyes: Liam, the nuns at the orphanage, August, and even Erica. She’s reminded of every hit she was forced to take, every country she visited, all blending into a bizarre parade of death.

“C’mon girl, just tell us where he is!” She hears the other man shout as he steps closer with an urgent expression. “Just give us something, a country, a region, anything to make this stop, you can still do the right thing.”

The heavy stench of iron fills her nose; the warm, thick liquid trickles down her bare skin, spilling in a cross on the map of her torso. The pain now is undeniable, making her lips heavier as she makes an attempt to answer.

“I don’t…. know… any August.”

The CIA agent scoffs violently and balls his fists. “Deeper!” He orders Issac, who like a composer, trails the blade further through her gut, cutting into sinew and brittle tendons. Ingvild trembles, feeling her body grow weaker.

In her mind, she can hear caged screams.

“You will die for a man who doesn’t even care if you bleed!” The agent rasps, spit coming out of his mouth as he rages above her.

‘Stop!’

“He won’t even remember you once you die!”

‘Resist, don’t show pain. You’ve been through this before, you already died.’

“No one will.”

Swallowing every ounce of pain, she fights to remember her training, her past. Her mind scrambles for Fjellstrekninger forest, for the green pines and their stringy needles, for the scent of beech and the damp ground. She tries to imagine the silver-blue mountains of Bergen, that last time she hiked there before going to meet Liam at the gas station.

How strange that at the very same day she encountered the most wanted man on earth, not knowing she was destined to be his.

But none of these images appear before her.

‘You can’t escape this.’

Her screams shudder through the entire floor.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

August flicks his tongue over his bottom lip, glowering at the driver who gawks at him with disbelief and shakes his head. Pushing the phone against his chin, he stares forward at the rainy road, reciting in his mind the words of the MI6 and CIA apostles.

‘Erica captured a woman in her late 20s, having her tortured for information for a couple of days now. Can’t promise you she’s alive. No one goes in there.’

“I wasn’t asking,” August answers, throwing him an icy glare, “we’re taking the chopper to the Mi6 fortress in London. I don’t need to tell you what happens if you question my decisions.”

The driver tenses his fingers around the steering wheel and shakes his head once again. He means to say something, but the scowl on August’s face shuts him up right away.

“Who is she? What is she to you?”

August huffs and lowers his gaze, eyes dropping to the plutonium case and then forward through the windshield, watching the heavy rain clouds that stretch before the sky. As he blinks his eyes shut, his mind plays a vision of an inferno; cracked ground and scorched skies. He sits on a throne made of bones and drinks wine from a chalice made of human skull.

His angel sits on his knee, naked and pure, her iridescent wings tucked against her back. She stares at him with a smile full of admiration, her fingers brushing over his moustache.

‘Your angel of destruction.’

“She’s just an asset.”

‘Hell lives inside you August, it always has. Rotting you from the inside as it begs to be let out. And you will unleash it, won’t you? Your suffering must be shared.’

Vast shadows gather outside the double-pane windows of the main hall. The thick storm clouds paint the sky pitch black, swallowing the stars alive one by one. Light wanes just in time for the harbinger of chaos to march into the well-secured lobby of the sizable Mi6 fortress.

If fairytales were to be true, the devil would arrive riding a monstrous mare with hooves made of flames. But if anything, he is but a man in a tailored suit and a long trench-coat. The leather soles of his midnight-black shoes squeak as he marches on, leaving a trail of mud on the cream-coloured marble.

“Evening sir,” the security guard greets and gestures August to pass through the large weapon detector with nothing but a quick exchange of knowing looks.

The corners of August’s lips curl into a small smile beneath his moustache while he scrutinises the surroundings. Gold and pearly pillars spread across the vast hall, a false facade hiding a decaying world and the self-indulgent ghosts that harbour it. So lost in their own little lie, it takes them more than a few minutes to notice the hellhound who stepped into their haven.

It begins as a small rumble, like a seismic wave. The first tremor vibrates through the ground and the walls follow with a convulsing shudder. Gasps, chatter, and widened eyes stab at him with shock, yet they all seem to suffer from the same affliction.

Standing paralysed, they ogle at the most wanted man on earth as he combs his fingers through his hair and walks toward the elevators located at the end of a narrow, red corridor. Unapologetically confident and ever so relaxed and condescending, he ignores them.

A true king among peasants.

“Is that?...”

“What the fuck?!”

“How the fuck did he pass security???”

His confidence is nothing but theatrics, as his blue eyes carry toward the large elevators with a glossy sparkle breaking on his corneas. He tries so hard to envision her beautiful face yet all he sees is a pile of dry bones.

“Stop! Hands in the fucking air, Walker!”

‘Ah, took them long enough.’

Standing between the carpeted walls of the narrow corridor, only mere inches from the silver doors, August slowly spreads his long fingers and lifts his hands in the air. His keen ear catches at least three firearms as the guards cock their guns at his direction, panting with fright.

“Turn around so we can see you, piece of shit!!!” A presumingly young hero barks behind him.

“Someone call Director Sloane down here right now, she’s not going to believe it!!!”

The soft rumbling in the lobby grows into impending thunder. A flash of pale purple lightning floods the lit vicinity for a split second, echoing the small grin that spreads across August’s beaming face.

“Oh, I don’t think so, son,” he speaks serenely, almost like a tender fatherly coo. Not bothering to turn, he tilts his head up and inhales sharply.

“Go.”

Sharp gasps of shock and terror reverberate between the walls of the fortress as sudden darkness veils the main hall. The smell of their fear is almost as delightful as the strong smoky scent of gunpowder. Like shooting stars, the rapid gunfire pierces through the night. Cries, incoherent screams, and panicked gasps make for a beautiful concert, so much that he wishes he could stay, but he has a girl to rescue.

‘If she’s still alive…’

Swallowing the bitter bile, he enters an elevator and presses the button for the basement level. He watches the flickering beams of light as his men continue to execute the remaining agents before the doors shut in.

Drawing out his handgun and relieving the safety, he leans against the shuddering metal and stares at the neon red number while reminiscing on the day he met a pretty girl with an unpleasant smile.

“Too bad, I would have loved to see you again.”

“Well then, if our destinies were meant to be entwined, you will.”

The basement level seems completely abandoned and eerily silent. No wails nor cries carry on the chilly air.

His Ingvild is forbearing, she would never show her suffering. Would she?

Inching toward the interrogation cell, his hand runs across the naked concrete walls, sensing the coarse texture against the pads of his fingers. Opaline droplets of sweat bead his forehead and his lungs sink with the effort.

Muffled voices perk his ears the closer he gets: two men, no woman. No sounds of violence, no signs of her in there whatsoever.

‘Angel, are you being brave for me?’

Arriving at the door, he takes a deep breath and gingerly pushes the handle. The pungent scent of salt and iron pervades his nostrils as he steps a foot into the shower of blinding white light. The brightness hurts and for a moment it feels as everything before him fades.

Until his sight sharpens and he notices the two shadowy figures standing with their backs facing him. They look like vultures preying upon a corpse.

Her corpse.

‘No! Change this! Make this right!’

Wings of cherry-dark blood spread from her snow-pale body. Motionless, his girl lies with her top huddled around her chest to expose her bleeding gut.

‘You are too late…’

Pure, undistilled rage burns within August’s throat, so ferocious it stings in his eyes, making his entire body tremble. He lifts his hand and fires the gun hastily, shooting both men in the back of their heads before they even get the chance to turn and look at the man who executed them.

“Ingvild!” August pants, rushing and falling to his knees before her.

“Angel?” He presses one hand to her gut, trying to pressure her gushing wounds while his fingers etch around her nape to pull her closer to his face. Blood, still sticky and warm, tarnishes his clean outfit while he cradles her in his arms.

“Please don’t do this to me…” He whispers, shifting his hand to caress her bruised face, recalling the last time she was dead in his arms.

The world kept spinning on its axis when she died back at the lake. So why does it feel like right now it stopped in its place?

Pressing her to his chest, August shuts his eyes and shudders with fury. All emotions come to life, and every one of them hurt.

“You are not here…”

A deep quivering sigh of relief soars from his throat, mouth cracking into a smile at the sounds of her hoarse whisper and delicate moans. Blinking faintly, Ingvild half-opens her eyes and stares at him through heavy lids.

“I am here,” he whispers, brushing away the sticky strands of hair from her face and squeezes her cheek beneath his thumb, “I came to take you, we have to go.”

Shifting his arms, he tries to lift her up, but his petite woman is suddenly made of the heaviest rocks; her stiff muscles protest in his grip, making it impossible for him to manoeuvre her out of fear she will bleed to death.

“We were both at the garden,” she mumbles drowsily, licking her bloodied teeth before breaking into a maddened smile that quickly dies as she depletes her remaining strength. “I’m tired, I want to stay here and dream.”

“Ingvild, we don’t have time for this,” August warns with concern, noticing how her eyes roll back and her lashes flutter shut, “there’s a helicopter waiting for us on the roof. You have to get up, you have to survive this, you have to come with me! Please!”

Fat, oily tears roll down her temples, mingling with the blood and tangy sweat on her face. Opening her eyes again, she peers at her beautiful monster, recognising the familiar ocean and its eternal unrest.

Did he come here for her, or is it just a dream?

“Why?”

‘Tell her.’

Brow lifting and face softening, his hands clutch her tightly. He rocks her from side to side, holding her protectively. Ingvild senses the wrath that pours from his heart, the thundering beat throwing its fists against his ribcage as their bodies collide.

“You know why,” August suggests huskily, nearly begging, bargaining not to admit, not to say the words he was always so afraid of. But naively, her gaze pleas in return, the child-like innocence piercing a hole through his chest.

“Tell me,” she begs him.

‘She needs you to say it.’

“Because I need you.”

The words nearly crack on his tongue, his throat suddenly so dry it sears. He glances down at the fallen angel, sensing the most excruciating thirst, where the only way to stop it is by stealing several deep kisses from her lips.

“I need you by my side,” he murmurs above her lips between desperate, helpless kisses, hoping to breathe life into his weakened valkyrie, “stay with me, angel.”

An awkward stretch tugs at her cheeks, hurting as if someone slices them with a blade from side to side. For the first time in her life, true laughter crisps her face, followed by crystal-like tears that run down her sullen eyes.

“I love you, August.”

Every nerve in his body tingles with tendrils of light, reaching out deep within his gut and spreading throughout his tendons. For a moment, he feels divine, sanctified by the words of his angel, his woman, his by free will.

Offering her a brief smile, he captured her lips for one last stolen kiss. His thick moustache scratches at her tender flesh while a little hum plays on his tongue.

She tastes like blood and honey - the tarty flavour of victory.

“We have to go now, princess, I have to finish this.”

Gingerly rising to his feet, he hooks a hand below her knees and places the other against her bruised spine. Bloody footprints trail behind him as he carries her outside the white room, trying to make for their freedom.

Locked down in her office, Director Erica Sloane inhales and exhales by practice, brushing a hand through her sweat-slick hair while trying to call every backup unit. Bullets still rip through the air in every story; the sirens howl while red lights flicker from outside. She puts her hands around her ears, trying to shut the noises out, uncertain if the screams she is hearing are her people still being slaughtered, or her mind playing tricks.

Walker is many things: an idealist, a manipulative snake, a monster. But this is a side of him she never anticipated. There is no need to question his motives this time. She is smart enough to figure it out.

To risk so much, a man must feel deeply for a woman.

Her anxiety spikes as guilt seeps in when her phone suddenly rings.

“Director Sloane,” she pants against the receiver. Somehow, as she hears the deep, measured breath, she knows.

‘Walker.’

“Hello, Erica, did you miss me?”

Erica clenches her jaw and stares spitefully into nothing, “Hardly.”

She hears him scoff from the other line, her mind piecing together that horrible, pretentious grin of his. The bile climbs up her throat just from the vision.

“We don’t have much time, but I just wanted to thank you.” August pauses, sighing with the bliss of a madman at her ear, “You see, if not for Lacey, if not for you kicking me to the curb the way you did - I would have never become what I was meant to be. And you sent me an angel to light my way…”

“You’ve manipulated her.”

“No, you did,” August interrupts calmly, “I set her free. I will set them all free and unite them.”

The anger simmers in her gut to the point of nausea. She holds her breath, counts to ten and tries to gather her thoughts. ‘August wants a bargain,’ she thinks, but for a reason, it feels like he already won.

“Can you come and look out of the window for me, please?” He asks politely.

Turning her head at the window, she narrows her eyes and bites her plump lips with hesitation.

“If I had a sniper on you, you’d be dead 5 minutes ago,” he assures her.

She gets up from her office chair slowly, her fingers reaching to uncover the blinds. The storm weakened, yet heavy clouds still loom from above like a noxious mist. She seeks for August on the horizon, listening carefully to the sounds on the line. She realises they are coming from above. Her sharp eyes detect the helicopter: far, yet close enough to see his shit-eating grin and that hand that waves at her.

He has the girl with him. Who knew a monster could care.

“You know, you are the only woman in the CIA I haven’t fucked.” He provokes and then hangs up suddenly.

Erica watches as the helicopter takes off, her eyes widening with fear as the notion of her own demise resonates like a stinging slap.

The blast takes her along with the entire building within a split second.

Standing on the cliff by the edge of the valley, August stares down at the tranquil scar that swerves amidst lush, fertile mountains. The crystalline Indus river lies before his eyes, its sweet water so clear that the sky mirrors upon the brim.

It’s not every day when a simple man becomes a god.

The melancholic beauty of nature makes his fingers tighten around the detonator, thumb ghosting over the button as he allows himself a couple of last seconds to inhale the air of the old world.

Oh, how many will die for this god to receive his halo.

‘I wish you were here, my Ingvild…’ August muses with anguish, feeling an awkward jab at the spot where his heart should have been.

A sudden rumbling noise of a helicopter makes his gut weave.

‘That better not be Ethan fucking Hunt! I should have thrown him off the cliff in Norway!’

Alarmed yet stoic as ever, he draws his gun, aiming it at the aircraft inching its way to land on the other side of the flat terrain. The last thing he needs right now is someone meddling with his affairs, but it quickly becomes clear to him that if someone wanted a monster like him dead, they would have sniped him from the air before he could even see them coming.

‘Did you forget the woman is nothing but a valkyrie?’

“What are you doing here?” He calls out at Ingvild and frowns at the pilot, abruptly struck with anger. “I specifically asked to make sure she stays rested!”

The pilot shrugs while Ingvild makes her way toward August with mild effort. Dark circles rest beneath her eyes, yet she is still so very beautiful to him, especially when she frowns.

“She was very persuasive and horrendously stubborn,” the pilot retorts.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” August mutters to himself and watches the little battered woman making every attempt to remain stoic as she steps closer. A shadow of a malicious grin creeps on her frosty eyes.

Once upon a time, she promised him she will always find him. She has no intention of breaking that promise.

“Did you think I’ll let you do this without me, August Walker?” She sulks at him as she finally moves to stand in front of him. Every nerve in her body is inflamed with pain, yet the thought of not being here at the birth of the new world brings greater agony than imagined.

Something she compares to missing out on the birth of a child.

“We are in this together now, this is our cause, our better world. You don’t get to leave me behind.”

Her hand reaches for his wrist, thumb pressing to feel his quickening pulse. Wonder paints his eyes and his lips gape softly. He promised himself Lacey will never cross his thoughts again; yet he can’t help but think about that night in his study and the pain of betrayal.

‘How is she even real?’

Gently peeling her fingers off his wrist, he looks at the detonator. He then takes her hand in his, placing the device in her slender grasp.

“Forgive me, my darling. You’re right,” he apologises and turns her over to view the horizon. A shiver surges through her as she senses the weight in her palm when August moves to stand behind her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“We do this together.”

Pesky little honeysuckles flutter within her chest as his arms wrap around her carefully. One of his hands holds hers, raising it up slightly to position the device in front of her chest.

“Do it angel, set them free.”

Taking a deep breath, Ingvild slides her fingertip over the red button. Scattered images of her life briefly flash through her mind, ending with the single moment where their gazes first met that day in Bergen.

Bright heavenly light cleanses the sky and loud thunder rips through the earth. Standing on the trembling ground, August and Ingvild stare into the distance while slowly turning to face each other. They hold their hands together, both gaping with awe as rich golden hues pour into the sky.

Enamoured, and lost within one another’s beauty, they share a long, lingering kiss.

Epilogue.

Sharp and heavy, the blade split the wood in half as if it was made out of soft butter. Resting the blunt side of the leaden axe over his shoulder, he pauses and observes the pile of firewood on the ground. His lips move in silence as he counts before crouching down to pick up another log and place it on the stump.

Strong shades of pink and orange spread between the clouds, kissed by the drowsy sun as it makes its way to slumber beneath the earth. It’s been 8 months since the coming of their new world. Even though there is still work to be done, August decided a hideout was necessary to let her mend her wings.

“Loki!”

Ingvild rushes into the green field with a wide, toothy smile. Feral rivers of chestnut-brown reach the small of her back, floating behind her as she runs around giggling.

‘That smile, like honey. So pure, so real.’

Playful barks answer her call, and a German Shepherd puppy appears from across the green hill, jumping over one of the logs ecstatically and wags its tail.

“Careful or I’ll cook him for dinner,” August mutters and points the axe at Loki’s direction. The pup tilts its head at him and barks with playful rage, growling and baring its needle-like teeth.

Ingvild pauses and gives August an icy stare before grabbing the large puppy and holding him to her chest, “You’re a shitty liar August Walker, you love him. Always sneaking him bacon when you think I'm not looking and snuggling him in your sleep.”

August shrugs, brushing away her comment before sticking the axe into the tree stump. “Get inside, time for dinner.” A small grin stretches on his lips as he sees her walking away, kissing the puppy on his wet little nose.

The scent of cedarwood burning at the mantle and brewed coffee welcomes her home as she enters the cabin, immediately filling her chest with mellowness. She allows Loki down on the ground before walking into their cosy bedroom where she removes her trousers and remains in an oversized sweater and black thigh-high stockings that August gifted her after they left Kashmir.

When she returns to the living room, August is sitting at the study with his laptop open. A small wrinkle lines his forehead while he runs two fingers over his moustache. A map and coordinates are visible on the screen, along with a messaging platform which she only assumes is a conversation with one of the apostles.

Loki lies guarding at his feet.

“Come here, princess,” August calls, reaching out his arm toward her. “I have something to show you.”

Sneaking toward him like a large feline, Ingvild takes his hand and lets him guide her to his lap. Her legs fall to each side of his thighs, and August rests his chin at the small crook of her neck where it always belonged.

“What are you looking for?” She asks, casually pulling the sleeve over her wrist to scratch at a peeling hammer tattoo gracing her skin.

“Don’t touch it, let it heal.” August answers and takes her hand in his, entwining their fingers together tightly. An illustration of an angel wing decorates the same spot on his arm. As she glances at the way the black ink is embedded into his flesh, she can’t help but smile and ever so slightly grind herself on the semi-rigid bulge beneath her ass.

August growls against her neck, grazing his stubbles over her supple skin before reaching a hand to unzip his tracking trousers and pull out his swelling manhood. After a soft scuffle of her panties, he lifts her hips and slides himself fully within her wet, angelic cove.

“August…” She sighs, fluttering her eyes shut for a split second, embracing both pain and pleasure. When August fills her, she is ethereal, as if a piece that was missing all her life has finally made it back home.

“You always look so beautiful with me inside you,” he murmurs against her neck, planting bristly kisses down her jawline before returning his glare forward. Ingvild only moves slightly above him, swaying slow and smooth on his thick, throbbing girth and squeezing him tight between her walls to relish in their bond.

“I have a present for you.” He opens a tab on his browser while his fingers toy with her clit with surprising tenderness.

“What is it?” She moans as he presses down on her sensitive pearl.

“I found Liam,” he explains, a twinge of pride and a spit of revenge hanging on his baritone. He growls slightly as her cunt clenches around him by his words. “He’s hiding out in Sao Paulo. I plan to bring you his head.”

Sucking on her bottom lip, she grinds a little harder, feeling August deep in her gut. The temptation to ride him hard and rough is too great, but this sweet slow torture always brings her to a higher ground of ecstasy when they finally fuck.

“Can it wait, my beautiful monster?” She asks sweetly, reaching her talons to clutch his thigh as he pushes further in and bottoms out inside her with a grunt. “I’d like to stay here for a while and be your angel for a little bit longer.”

August lifts his cerulean gaze back to Ingvild, the clear sky in his deep irises slightly darken as he observes the serene look on her face. His hand rises to cup her chin and turn her head to the side to meet his possessive lips. He cages her mouth with his, devouring her with the lust of a hungry man.

“You will always be mine and mine alone Ingvild,” he promises as he ends the kiss with a nibble on her chin. Ingvild licks his saliva off her mouth and stares back at him with the oxymoronic union of innocence and sinister urge before she leans back and continues to look at his plans.

‘Who is she to you?’

‘She is my queen, and I am the king of hell.’

_______________________________

Additional Notes: Song lyrics by Elvis Presely - Angel. Additional Inspiration by Nine Inchs Nails - We’re in this together.

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Mission Impossible’s franchise or August Walker.

#henry cavill #august walker #august walker x ofc #august walker fanfiction #henry cavill fanfiction #the way to hell #henrycavill

605 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Bent, not broken 3

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; violence; injury; blood; fingering, mean Steve

This is a dark!fic and features the winter soldier and Captain Hydra x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: An attack leads to the uncovering of decades old secrets when you are taken by the deadliest assassin in the world

Note: Here’s part 3. Right now I’m bouncing between things but open to suggestion for the upcoming week for ongoing series. (I’ll likely just add onto my Lee fic).

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The days passed like a pendulum, swinging between paranoia and suffocating tension. You felt like an animal caught and caged. Much of your time was spent in that room, abed and alone. Your only contact was when Steve brought you your meals but the soldat did not appear again. You were relieved not to have the silent watchdog around but it also made you uneasy.

The pain dulled. Your shoulder loosened up first and no longer sent a jolt down your arm every time you moved. Your ribs were another issue and even as the agony was less intense and consuming, the echo of the injury remained. You felt brittle as if one wrong move would break you completely.

Then, when the pain was not so strong to distract you, you grew restless. The walls seemed closer together and the meals further apart. Steve’s appearances were brief and mostly wordless. He’d linger to check on your injury or bark at you to eat, but he wasn’t as talkative as your first day in the hideaway.

There was little for you to do. You were left with a copy of War and Peace and the tight font often left your eyes fuzzy and fatigued, your mind as well. There was a booth hidden behind the narrow door and you washed when you felt up to it, the water ice cold. You spent much of your time staring at the ceiling, wishing it would collapse on you.

You weren’t stupid. You knew it was all methodical. The indifferent isolation. You were being conditioned like a dog with a bell and it was working. You longed for any contact, any company, and conversation.

That day, the door opened but you didn’t move. You laid with your head on the pillow, arms crossed, and one leg over the other. Steve placed the metal bowl on the nightstand and sighed as he stood by the bed. You felt him watching you as you ignored him for the pale white above.

“Sit up and eat,” he said.

You glanced at him. The scar through his eye wrinkled as he grimaced and tapped his fingers on the table. You shrugged at him and sighed.

“I’m not hungry,” you said.

“Eat,” he repeated.

“I will,” you relented, “when I feel like it.”

“Now,” he grabbed the bowl and put it over your chest, “come on.”

You rolled your eyes and sat up and took the bowl. His eyes clung to you as you bent your legs and stirred the thick oats. The goopy mixture made a gross noise as you did.

“You don’t like it?” he said.

“Bland,” you took a bite, “doesn’t matter.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” he rebuked, “you better be done by the time I return.”

You looked at him as he turned away and headed for the door abruptly. You choked down the thick porridge and took another bite. You were hungry but the pasty oatmeal went down like rocks.

When he came back, you scooped up the last mouthful and put the bowl aside. He neared and draped a lilac dress by your legs. You stared at it then looked him in the face. His expression was as impenetrable as the mountain compound.

“What is that?” you asked dully.

“Don’t be stupid and put it on,” he put his hand on his hip, “I’d say it’s a bit more fitting than that prison uniform.”

“Is it?” you grumbled as you tentatively reached for the purple fabric.

“Or you can go naked,” he reached out and jabbed your shoulder.

“Fine,” you turned your legs over the bed and watched him expectantly.

He raised a brow and waited. You shied away at his unflinching stare and swiped up the dress. You crawled to the other side and kept your back to him. You took off the shapeless shirt and dropped it behind you. You pulled on the dress and stood, pushing down the baggy bottoms. The dress floated at mid thigh and left you feeling exposed.

“Your ribs are healing,” he remarked, “you should be able to take the bandage off.”

You faced him as he went to the foot of the bed. He waved you over and continued to the door.

“Should get the kinks out,” he said as he set his thumb in the sensor and the metal slid up, “a proper tour is in order.”

You neared as he turned and waited for you to precede him. As you passed, his eyes slipped down your body and he tilted his head. You looked away quickly and carried on into the hallway. There was little point resisting a man who could break you in two with his pinky, especially in your state.

“Looks good,” he said as he followed you out and came up arm to arm with you, “you know, you, me, the soldier, we’re the only ones who know about this place. Not that you know much, huh?”

“I don’t like games,” you retorted, “I’m… tired. Please, don’t--”

“I found this place in 1955,” he led you along the shining halls, “it’s had a facelift since then. A hobby on the side. Used to be Stalin’s hideout, akin to Hitler’s bunker if anything ever went south. When he died, the co-ordinates were lost. They sent me out to find it…”

“They? Hydra? Why--”

“Because the other guys didn’t care,” Steve said, “I saw how they celebrated my death as some patriotic feat. Like I was just a shield. You know, the ‘bad guys’, at least they don’t try to lie about what you are. They use you exactly like they need to and don’t sugar coat it.”

“And your… friend… you like how they use him?”

Steve stopped short and caught your arm, “it’s best for him. He couldn’t handle a clear mind. We keep each other safe, like we always did.”

“Mmm,” you hummed.

“As I was saying,” he nudged you onward, “I gave them a fake map and all they found was a demolished bunker. It kept them happy and me too. I got a place to lay low. Place of my own.”

You turned down the next hall. You were quiet as he led you along, past that room with the bar and around another corner. You lost sense of direction as he took you deeper into the hideaway. You came into a large corridor with a glass wall that overlooked a mountain pass without. You were breathless as you stopped to peer through.

“He’ll hurt you again,” Steve said bluntly, “we both know that.”

“Then why keep me here? You can let me go. I wouldn’t say a word, I wouldn’t even know what to say--”

“And why would I do that?” he asked blithely as he admired the deep drop and jagged offshoots.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“It’s much more fun to keep you,” he chuckled, “and he wanted you so taking you away won’t do shit.”

“I don’t--”

He raised his finger and hushed you. He squinted as he listened but you didn’t hear anything but the winds on the other side of the glass. Steve’s mouth slanted and he stepped past you. You turned to the end of the corridor and heard a soft padding that grew to a tremulous stomp.

“Speak of the devil,” Steve taunted, “sounds like a rough mission.”

When the soldier emerged from the next hall, you gasped. His face was a smear of grit and blood, his locks dangling and slick around his mask. His gear was torn and gashed in places and his metal fist clenched as the plates of his arm bore even more scratches than before.

He stopped and his eyes dilated as he saw you. Steve went to him calmly and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, you’re back,” he said softly, “snap out of it.”

He tapped the mask so the soldat looked at him instead. Their eyes met as the soldier’s chest puffed and slowed. Steve’s other hand went to his chest, just over his heart. The captain leaned in and kissed his temple, issuing a whisper you could not hear.

You were too shocked and confused to do more than watch. Steve gripped Bucky’s jaw and turned his gaze onto you. He smirked as he held him.

“Look at her,” he slithered, “isn’t that what you wanted? A pretty little plaything.”

The soldat didn’t move, just stared.

“She’s all ready for you,” Steve let go and clapped his chest, “isn’t that a nice dress, huh? A nice peek of her legs… don’t you want to know what’s underneath? Don’t you want to touch it?”

You took a step back as goose bumps rose on your skin. Steve released him and snickered. The soldat brought one boot down and then the next, marching slowly towards you.

“Let’s have some fun,” Steve boomed and his eyes narrowed over Bucky’s soldier, “soldat, engage.”

His next step came down quicker and you spun on your heel. Without thinking, you dashed away in a blur of terror. You could hear him behind you, the heavy soles thunderous against the slap of your bare feet. You got around the next corner and your ribs throbbed painfully as your lungs burned.

You peeked over your shoulder. He wasn’t running, he was walking. A mock of a chase as he kept within sight even as you raced on. Your heart pounded in your ears and your legs felt like jelly. It was so long since you did more than pace your room or lay in bed.

You stumbled deep in the maze, all recollection of the path Steve led you on gone. You hit your knees on the hard floor and hissed. You had only a moment to gulp down air before you were seized by the back of your neck. You staggered as you were spun and your back collided with the cold wall.

The soldier’s metal hand was quick to grasp your throat and push your chin up as he held you on tiptoes. You clawed at his fingers as his other hand crept up your thigh. Your eyes watered as it felt like a vice was wrapped around your neck and chest. You quivered as the skirt caught on his hand and slowly rose with his touch.

You squeezed your thighs around his fingers and he poked you so harshly you whimpered. Your legs parted for him and he pushed against your bare cunt. You clung to his wrist as your other hand slapped at his bicep. His blue eyes focused on your skirt as he delved between your folds.

Your feet arched as you tried not to slip and your calves cramped. You whined through your teeth as he turned his hand and pressed the heel of his palm to your clit. He bent his finger into you and drew a pathetic yipe from you. He felt around inside and added another, eliciting another tremulous yelp.

“Pl.. please,” you rasped, “don’t… you don’t want to…” his eyes flicked up and met yours.

He paused as he gazed back at you and you squirmed. He hesitated and for a moment, it felt like he might drop you. Another set of footsteps approached evenly and Steve tutted as he came upon the scene.

“You shouldn’t play with your food,” he said, “go on. You know what you want to do. It’s why you took her.”

You choked as his fingers tightened and he buried himself to his knuckles, his hand firm to your clit. He rocked his hand and your body, every tilt sending a jolt through you. Your walls were scoured by his intrusion and your core thrummed at the distant stirring of instinct.

“Please…” you cried.

“Shhh,” Steve came closer and leaned on the wall next to you, “we don’t want him to break something else.”

“Wh-why--” you coughed.

“Faster,” Steve snarled, “make her feel it.”

The soldier lifted you off your feet with each dip of his fingers. You slapped your hand against the wall and reached for the captain. He swatted your hand away and backed up as he watched you. He rounded Bucky and peered at you from the other side and hummed. He sucked his teeth and came closer, his hand on the soldier’s shoulder.

“More,” he urged.

You closed your eyes and shrieked as his hand sped up, slamming into you over and over as your thighs clamped around him. You gritted your teeth as your pulse raced and you were swept up in a sudden fit of dizziness. You felt fire flickering from his touch, building and building a spark at a time as your body rebelled.

“Look at her,” Steve purred, “so weak, so small. Nothing. She’s not like us, she’s just one of them.”

You groaned as your cunt made slick noises around Bucky’s fingers and his hot breath glossed over you. He leaned in and his hand moved so that his thumb pressed along your jaw painfully. You whined as you felt as if he’d crush the bone.

“She’s almost there,” Steve mused, “faster, yeah, like that.”

You wailed as you came, terrified of the man before you and the way your body bent to him. Your nails grazed down the leather across his chest and your hand dangled limply as you let the tide wash over you. He kept on until you could hardly breathe and dropped you suddenly. Your legs folded and you crashed to the floor.

You kept yourself from keeling over onto your face and pushed your back against the wall. You peeked up as Steve took Bucky’s hand and licked his glistening fingers. You cringed as he let go and his attention turned on you. He knelt and exhaled deeply as he smirked at you.

“You want to know why?” he blinked and his nose scrunched sardonically, “because I didn’t want this. I was happy. Just me and him. Decades and he decides to go out and catch a pet.”

“No, I…” you rubbed your throat as it burned.

“Him, I know, but it doesn’t hurt any less,” Steve scowled, “but we can make it work.” He reached to you and brushed his thumb over your cheek, “I can make use of you. Just the way you took his fingers, that look on your face…” he retracted his hand and leaned his elbow on his leg, “and he could use an outlet. Something to ease the tension.”

“You… and him?” you wondered aloud.

“It’s the twenty-first century, isn’t it?” Steve stood and slapped the soldier’s ass. He got a sharp look in response, “not that it ever really mattered.”

“It’s not… I just didn’t… realise,” you rasped.

“Mhmm,” Steve intoned, “you’re just innocent.”

“I didn’t--”

“Get her up,” he ordered, “take her to our room and get her cleaned up. You too. You smell.”

You flinched as the soldier grabbed your arm and forced you up. Your thighs quaked in the after shock and your core ached. He pulled you away from Steve and you limped beside him. You shivered as the cold air enshrined your hot flesh.

“No touching,” the captain warned, “not until I say so.”

388 notes · View notes