#the first image looks like his hands were bound to the ceiling and hes being tortured by invisible beings or is going to be tortured

[diabolimeservavit666]

Is it just me or is there something about these images that look very wrong?

[doodle-pops]

Love in the Moonlight

Finrod x reader

Kinktober 2023: Mirror Kink

Warnings: fem!reader, mirror kink, some worshipping elements, soft! Finrod, soft sex

Words: 1.9k

Synopsis: “For some who possess the capability to distinguish the differences between light and darkness when painting,” he began, dragging his fingers tantalisingly down the centre of your spine until he cupped your waist, “and manipulate them into bewitching artworks, I find it insulting when you cannot recognise the same with your beauty.”

List of Requests

“For some who possess the capability to distinguish the differences between light and darkness when painting,” he began, dragging his fingers tantalisingly down the centre of your spine until he cupped your waist, “and manipulate them into bewitching artworks, I find it insulting when you cannot recognise the same with your beauty.”

There it was, the look of astonishment on your face, the light in your eyes which reflected the inner beauty you fought to keep hidden, ashamed that he would be dishonoured by it. How wicked was your recent husband since the start of your turmoil tonight? The ridiculous mirror he positioned at the far corner of the room, ostentatiously mocking you from the day you first saw it, now reflected his admired image. You could see the sweat running down his temple, clinging to his lightly golden tresses and turning them into a dark sunflower shade as he turned his focus on the panting and wide–eyed version of yourself.

Being forced to admire your beauty with the same compassion you treat your art pieces was foul; art was art, and you were nothing close to the magnificent masterpieces you produced. How difficult was it for him to understand such?

“Yes, I fell in love with your outstanding personality, however, it was your beauty that enamoured me at first,” explained Finrod. His lips were covering the shell of your ear, trembling as he restrained himself from indulging in the perfection your heat had to offer. Being newlyweds had its perks and frolicking in the bliss of intimacy was his number one enjoyment. He could not contain himself from revelling in the sweet embrace you held him in upon every entry; like you were always expecting him.

Finding the urge to scoff was impossible with the unorthodox position you rested in, most of your upper weight was resting on your shoulders as you lay face down on the carpet. Not the preferred position Finrod enjoyed whenever he was making love, but it was necessary, otherwise, it was persuading you to hang the mirror on the ceiling. It was one unwanted conversation to have in such perilous times.

“Where are your thoughts, my love?” he asked and gave a gentle sigh, eliciting a sharp intake of breath at the sudden movement of his cock rubbing along your walls. For most of the night, he took his time arousing you and cockwarming while mapping out your body like a canvas—him and his newly discovered self–control ability.

There was a moment of silence as your thoughts scattered across your brain and left you paralysed. Of all times to go brainless, now wasn’t the rightest. So, without further ado, you managed to reply through your teeth, seething. “They’re right here, meleth.”

Tongue in cheek, he pouted like a kicked puppy; not the response he sought. Disappointment surged through his veins at the route he had to take in order to prove his point. With hasty movements, he pried you into his arm and soon your back was pressed against his chest, kneeling before the mirror and exposing your entire body. The abruptness of his suddenness left the weight of his cock pressing salaciously against your sweet spot, eliciting a loud cry of his name and your fingers gripping his forearms.

The cry of his name never failed to amaze him; such beauty behind your tone and pitch as you produced a song only he would be able to create using your body as his instrument.

A hand bound around your waist and the other gripping your chin to face the mirror, he resumed the rolling of his hips, building a tempo and gradually increasing.

“Open those pretty eyes for me, nin lóth,” he desired as his lips remained fixated near your ear, panting as the pleasure was driving him wild. There was a fine line between him wanting to ravish you but also wanting to show you your worth and magnificence. “Look at how spectacular you appear as you come undone.”

There was no power in this world capable of defying the tongue of Finrod, not even you who played hard to get in the beginning. A sweet tongue, rich in honey and sharp as silver, became your reason for madness. Hence your inability to deny his command, you opened your eyes and met his gazing at your form with adoration. All the honey and nectar in this world were placed in his eyes as he marvelled at your ethereal presence in his arms; the reason for driving him insane with want and devotion. The only woman he would get down on his knees and worship the very ground you walked.

If only you could stop doubting what he saw.

“Accept it,” softly he chanted and placed a kiss upon the tip of your ear, loving the shudder. “There is beauty in everything…but you hold the most. Look at how easily you make me come undone. No other holds a candle to your flame…only you could make me...”

His voice lingered with the aftermath of his vocalisation in the background as he seductively tossed his head back, revealing his swan–like neck. There was no denying that your eyes could not be removed from his holy trance. You had never noticed how much he became lost in the act of making love. This was all you; your body and hidden goddess abilities made him fold and combust, lose all restraints. No other ever genuinely made you feel so powerful as he did; you could spend eternity watching as he took you and lost himself in pleasure.

And you were fortunate that his unawareness, despite the urge to shut your eyes and allow them to roll into your skull from the out–of–body thrusts he was delivering, granted you a showstopping performance.

The soft tapping of his balls hitting your cunt followed by the repetitive sliding of his cock through your walls all led to his obviousness and your pot of gold. With each glide, your body surged forward, only held back by his arm bound to your body. The sensation of his sweaty chest against yours, feeling the ripple of his muscles from all his days of battle and faint scars aided the growing bliss. What started off as a repulsive act became glorious for you both. Your eyes couldn’t leave his face, falling in love all over with the parting of his lips and the moonlit image of where you connected. Gloriously did the moonlight shine through the sheer curtains he hung earlier; now you understood his purpose.

Love in the moonlight. An act of making love he recently came to enjoy after your first night together, claiming that no other light highlighted your spellbinding beauty like the moon.

Reaching a hand upwards and struggling to entangle in his hair, once you managed and leaned your back against his chest for his head to rest against yours, you called out to him. “F–Finrod, you look so fucking beautiful,” you hiccupped as the drove into your cunt faster at the sudden praise.

An echo of laughter erupted, and his hands gripped your chin to tilt your head upwards, bringing about an arch in your spine. It was perfect to witness the little flickers of stars in your glossy eyes—something he rather stare into compared to Lady Varda’s creation. You surpassed and outdid her creations, you were a painter after all. Everything designed and of you was perfection.

“Do you accept, ah—” he hissed, being cut off by the sudden heat pooling in his stomach as the pressure rose for him. “D–Do you accept that it is your b–beauty which becomes me?” he pants.

Unable to reply and only gaze frantically into his eyes as your orgasm was approaching in sync with his, you grunted and whined. In response, he leaned over you to bestow a sloppy kiss, stealing the very air you breathed from your lungs like the thief he was. His tongue pried your lips open the same way his cock rolled and nudged your sweet spot, gentle knocking for permission to offer devilry. A common trait you understood all males of the house possessed. Wickedness was all his kiss delivered. His tongue commanded yours like his cock did to your body and urged your orgasm to meet his, wanting to include a touch of romance in this insidious action.

Rolling and flicking his tongue against yours, he displayed his mastery with his favourite instrument, or rather yours, increasing the sensation throughout your body and driving your pulse into erraticism. Everything made perfect sense as the series of events played out, and it was due to the unmistakable charm of your husband. Some natural inhumane gift only he alone was gifted. What was it that made simple actions appear and feel different?

The unconditional devotedness he held for you.

Regardless, it wasn’t impossible to recognise it as you felt the waves of pleasure surmount its usual levels and meet his in a tumultuous dance before all became clear, warm and fuzzy. His kiss softened, and now light pecks scattered while those hands released their hold and felt your erratic pulse and vibration. It was as though he was the master painter and no longer you.

Collapsed on the floor in a mess of legs and sweaty bodies, he still hovered over you, resting on his forearms. His eyes held a softer glow, the hue returning to their sparkle of blue while a rosy blush covered his cheeks, melting them under the magical moonlight. Trailing his fingers across your face to your chest, drawing lazy intricate patterns upon your skin, there were unspoken words and things unclear. Yet, there was also peace of mind and bliss with belief and satisfaction.

“Are you—” he paused to gather intel on the right choice of words. “Do you see what I wish you would?” His fingers halted above your heart and gave two taps, matching your heartbeat.

Your hazy eyes slithered from his hand’s position and met his affectionate ones. “I saw more than your desires,” you answered with a hint of greed, impatient to have more. “I saw magnificence I desire to witness again, even if I must conform to yours, I desire it also.”

Rising from your position and causing him to retract, your hand pressed against his chest to push him onto the floor. Flat on his back, he stared at your figure mounting him like a prized stallion with eagerness dripping from your eyes. In one fluid motion, his cock returned to where it originally was and should be, you gave a teasing shift of your hips and moved up and down. The weight of his length nestled artfully against your walls snuggled and comforted. Immediately, his skilful hands reached out to grip your hips, steadying you as though you were not excellent in the art of riding and taming a stallion.

With a glint in your eyes, highlighted under the beauty of the natural light and reflecting off the mirror, you leaned down to meet his face twisted under pleasure. “I want to see you come undone while I watch how I drive you insane,” you seduced and kissed his lips before giving your hips a rise and fall, loving the image of his head tossed against the floor and hair messily scattered. “Let me enjoy your image, the artwork of my desires.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @lilmelily @koyunsoncizeri @ranhanabi777 @aconstructofamind @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @singleteapot @wandererindreams @bunson-burner @silverose365 @ilu-stripes @justjane @justellie17 @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou

[bubble-tea-blossom]

Professional Horse Trainer, Joel Miller

Ok hear me out...

Modern times, and Joel Miller is a pro horse trainer, you’re his assistant trainer.  You, along with his nephew and his friend work under Joel, running the stables while Joel takes clients, and help train long term stayers. 

You worked mostly alone at the start, only occasionally working one on one with Joel. But as the years went by Joel saw your value and skill surpass even his nephew’s along with your clearly surpassing common sense development, Joel started having you accompany him on his trips to different states to do conferences or see private clients willing to pay to have him come to them. 

It’s been a while now that you’re now his always go-to for trips. Sometimes you wonder if his nephew is jealous. But you kinda don't really care.

Because honestly, long car trips across the flat open plains, sometimes venturing into the mountains just the two of you, getting every meal with each other, sleeping in the rooms next to each other, seeing the other sleepy eyed in the morning while you eat shitty motel breakfast across from each other at the much too small table; being in such close quarters with Joel for days, sometimes even weeks, is the most painful blessing.

Yeah, your little crush on him you had when you first started has only kindled into a full on forest fire. 

The first thing that kept your gaze lingered on him for a moment too long was his way with the horses. The way he is with them is gentle, firm but never mean, never cruel. When there’s even a small minor improvement he speaks to them with real pride in his praise as he coos at them, low and soft.  You find yourself sometimes shifting your feet when you listen to him praise the mares. You feel a little guilty about the reaction you can’t help but feel when he gives caressing praises like,

Good girl.

Atta girl, there ya go. 

The occasional Good job, pretty girl. 

His whispered praises haunt you in the dark of night while you stare up at the ceiling trying to sleep. Trying to ignore the pulse in between your legs. Pretend you don’t want to widen your knees, reach your hand down the length of your body, and touch where you so desperately want your boss to touch. But you can’t admit that to yourself. You’ve often rely on just pretending there’s nothing wrong, and it’s seen you thru many situations. 

So here you are, lying in bed in the Green Lounge Motel in north Arizona, trying not to think about Joel on the other side of the wall above your head as you lie there. You wonder what he’s wearing to bed. He seems like a underwear sleeper. Your traitorous brain supplies the image of Joel first lying in bed in his underwear (which you have seen him in real life, traveling together for so long means its bound to happen, you're just glad there hasn't been an awkward moment where he catches you in that state...yet.) Then your mind provides the image of Joel lying in bed in his underwear..."releasing steam."

You wonder what he looks like as he takes himself in hand, head against the wall, eyes closed as he groans, fist pumping up and down. You wonder what he thinks about, or if he watches porn on his phone or something. You can't help but to hope wonder if he ever thinks about you. 

You have limited info you gained when you were 15 talking to 15 year old boys, that said its more likely a guy you know has jerked off to you even if he’s not really interested in you, than not. But you don’t like that scenario. Joel’s nothing like those 15 year old boys. Joel’s a man. 

You used to not get it, the difference of boys and men. Joel’s nephew for example, you could describe him as both a man and a boy. But Joel’s no boy. He’s quite a bit older than you, shown through the crow’s feet by his eyes, and the gray hair on his chin and by his temple. Year by year the silver strands creep further and further. It also shows through his hands, often dry and cracked, callouses on his palm and finger tips both from work and from guitar. 

You think about his hands now, squeezing your eyes shut harder, legs clenched tight as if you can block out the ache.

You think about how thick his fingers are compared to yours. About how his fingers would feel sinking inside the wet pull of your pussy. He’d need to start with one, and work his way up to two. The rough pad of his thumb rubbing the pearl of your clit, his fingers inside rubbing at that spot that gives you shudders. He laps at your neck, giving the soft skin under your jaw wet kisses, breathing praise into your skin. 

Good girl, taking my fingers so well. 

You soaking my hand, pretty girl, does this feel good? 

You nod and whimper your approval. Back arching when Joel dips his head to take your nipple into his mouth. His tongue dances over the nub of sensitive nerves and sends a buzz to your toes. Your hand goes to his hair to try and ground yourself at the sensations he's sending through your body.  

You’re so wet now that you can hear him fingering you. Fuck, just the thought, Joel Miller fingering you, makes you clench down on him.

“You want me to keep fucking you with my fingers or do you want my cock sweetheart.” Joel asks you, watching you as you reply. 

“I want your cock, please Joel.” You’ve been aching for it for so long. 

“Ok, but I gotta stretch you a little more, sweetheart.” He husks, pulling his fingers out to replace with his tongue, making you gasp as his takes your pussy in his mouth. He tongue fucks you for a bit before replacing with his fingers, this time sinking a third finger in. 

You suck in a sharp inhale as you half sit up, the stretch smarting too sharply. 

“I’m sorry darling.” Joel coos, retracting his fingers carefully. Instead he rubs the sting away at the opening in your slit. Circling the muscle and tissue there, as he slowly adds more pressure. Then, ever so slowly, sinks all three fingertips inside your cunt. He knows he's taken his time properly when the walls of of your cunt almost suck him deeper. It makes him smile, your body's eagerness to accept him and take him inside. Joel takes his time until finally he's three fingers, knuckle deep. He picks up his pace, fucking you open. Getting you ready. 

Your older cousin once told you, that you have a good guess what a man’s dick is like based on his hands. And Joel has broad, thick and long fingers.

You feel your stomach muscles clench down as your back arches from the beams of pleasure you feel rushing through you. You've grown so wet you can hear the fingers as they stroke around and inside you. Your jaw drops open as you get closer and closer, eyes squeezed shut, practically an inch from release.

Your hear nearly stops when a loud bang from the room next to yours. You freeze in place, heart racing from being so close, you listen for any other sounds. Ears strained you can hear Joel's footsteps walk back and forth. You're guessing something fell, something kinda big from the sound of it. But after that you hear no more.

You look over at the motel's alarm clock besides you. It's 2:11 in the morning, when you thought the lateness would gain you added privacy. Apparently not and now you're desperately trying to remember how loud you were being. You hadn't been focusing as much on staying absolutely quiet when your imagination was running around like that.

You'd come back to yourself with your mouth partially open, to which you close it, feeling dread that you might have slipped up.

Oh god, what if you had said Joel's name out loud or something, you couldn't imagine a worse, worse case scenario than your boss finding out about your little crush by overhearing you frigging yourself.

Your knees clap together as you roll over your side, face in your hands as embarrassment flows over you.

What were you doing? Touching yourself imaging your boss fucking you, a thing that most people would agree isn't exactly grade A morals. You let your orgasm fade out and feel the last unsure thumps in your pelvic floor ebb away, wishing it was getting caved in by a certain someone.

See? It's thoughts exactly like that cross the line.

You slap your sweaty palm to your forehead, trying to knock some sense back into you. You settle on your side, curled in the fetal position, knees pressed tightly together. Eyes shut, you will yourself to sleep. You have to be up early to get on the road to start your journey back to Wyoming. You really hope the next 10 hours of being stuck in a car with Joel won't involve you being extra squirmy, being pent up. You can feel how mad your pussy is, being that close to what had been an impeding incredible finish.

After a much too long of a time, you do fall asleep. Your last thoughts after an overwhelming race of them, was of course the one you spent the whole time trying not to think about.

What had Joel been doing up so late.

[cagcd]

     He can't quite get used to these sudden visits,   though the concept of an evening being spent with a friend was wholly welcomed by him,   it is the manner with which the man - spider chooses to announce himself that made him regret keeping his door,   or rather,   window,   open for him.   Stuck to the ceiling like a bug,   waiting to be noticed as if a predator was waiting to pounce on his prey.   Deny it as he might,   Miguel enjoyed watching Johnny nearly jump out of his skin every time he caught him,   if fright had been his food of choice he's certainly feasting tonight.   It's no wonder that the actor was strangely   &.   foolishly fearless when it came to outer world horrors,   non that he encountered during his participation in mortal kombat tournaments managed to spark the desired fear his opponents had anticipated.   Yet,   it's those damn eyes glowing like a feral cat in the darkness that caught him off guard,   betrayed out of his lonesome comfort he's supposed to find in his home.   He's sure to have grey hairs if this ought to continue,   it's bad for his image,   Miguel is responsible for compensation and hair salon apportionments at this rate.

  A low grumble sounded from the actor,   as he made the brief trip towards the kitchen,   he's no stranger to rude guests and no sense of privacy thanks to paparazzi always on his tail                 he simply thought he had the night to himself to allow himself to drink away a misery by his own design.   It didn't strike him until now how rare it had been for people to visit just for the sake of spending time with him,   there was always an underlying motive with his so called   '   friends   ',   everything posted on social media,   trying to pitch a shitty script,   or be wasted on his expense,   nothing genuine,   ideal by appearance.   [   To think the most superficial looking man would seek a sense of realism in this world was an irony he's most painfully aware of.  ]   A sense of gratitude sprang in his chest as the initial annoyance of the encounter faded away,   to be thought of in some way as something relative to a friend in a time of need was a complement like no other to a man who had very little experience with such things.   There is no telling what is it that had the other look so equally miserable,   perhaps it was just the state of things with them,   a flood of inward troubles at times of silence with nowhere to place   ...   he doesn't judge,   only offers a sense of companionship when needed.   The promised leftover pizza was secured in his hands by the time he received a reply,   Johnny pauses for a second,   now realizing it might not be enough to subdue the spider's hunger   &.   began piling up whatever he found within his fridge to end up with a mountain of choices instead,   this should be enough,   he hopes.

       ❛❛   Obviously,   Johnny cage doesn't settle for less than legendary.   ❜❜        he answers from across the room in a beat,   always quick to regain himself into his known bravado when desired,   however it's bound to falter slightly as he added.        ❛❛   Except my earliest work,   those were uh   ...   ❜❜        the grimace and noise he made afterwards were self-explanatory,   he was young,   hardly an actor,   hadn't even considered this shift in career until talent agents came with high demand.   Snatching a glass and a bottle for himself he made his way back to the living room and laid out all his findings for Miguel to have,   noting the uno deck in his hands,   good,   Cindy hated this one.        ❛❛   Oh hell yeah,   first ever copies with unedited extra footage,   I even managed to secure some of those cinema rolls here and there.   ❜❜        he goes to retrieve from a box on one of the shelves the first ever copy he had of his first movie and showed it to Miguel with childlike pride.        ❛❛   I don't think I have it in me to sell them,   they're like mini achievements I wanna remember.   ❜❜         though this one in particular wasn't his pride and joy,   he remembers how excited he was to see himself on the big screen.        ❛❛   Have at it,   I got what I need.   ❜❜        a dismissive wave of the hand is given to assure he wasn't in any way interested in eating at the moment before he goes to turn the t.v. on.        ❛❛   Anyway,   I hope you like low budget horror,   oh,   you're in for a ride.   ❜❜

as directed, miguel pivots on his heel, beelining for the shelf. spies it almost right away, and begins rummaging. classic games, he notices. didn't take johnny for such a fanatic ( rich people have weird hobbies. miguel would know. his, these days, are really summed up to : hunt bad guys by night. don't get caught and imprisoned as a lab rat ). connect four, risk, monopoly, the game of life. cute. there's even a deck of uno cards tucked away in here amongst the larger, blockier containers. none of them really catch his eye, but he snatches those uno cards up anyway ...

🙶 i'm always hungry, 🙷 he answers dully, under his breath. the bold faced truth : miguel needs to consume about octuple the amount of calories any normal, human male requires ... but he doesn't. verges on starvation most days. doesn't make a big deal out of it, but if johnny's putting it out there, might as well take him up on the offer. most spiders are opportunistic eaters, after all. miguel wanders a little more, out of boredom, a need for distraction, curiosity, maybe—— but doesn't go too far, understanding that he wouldn't like it much if johnny were continuously poking around his condo unsupervised. a much smaller space than this empty ass mansion, but the point still stands.

🙶 let's watch your oldest movie. the very first one johnny cage ever cameo'd in. i know you have it. you artists are always your own worst critics. 🙷 one could argue that miguel is an artist himself, but in the manner of manipulating genetics. a victor frankenstein of his own design, both the creator and the monster. the spider sure is his own worst fucking critic, but conveniently leaves that unspoken. 🙶 or are you the type with no mistakes? remind me. has everything johnny ever starred in been a masterpiece? 🙷 this line of questioning could very easily be perceived as hostile, but the airy tone about him suggests he's just ... making conversation, more or less. turning the topic away from himself quite tactfully.

🙶 do they give you hard copies of your films for free? disks are so rare these days. you could sell them all and make a fortune. i'm sure you have fans willing to pay the price. 🙷 uno cards in talons, miguel plops himself onto a chair, waiting to be waited on ( as any good host would ), but ultimately with no other agenda. 🙶 i'll eat all of the pizza, by the way ... if you don't want it. 🙷

[raggaraddy]

hello if you want you can ignore this of course but I was wondering what would vampire Hoseok do if he found out someone turned oc? Your fics are amazing by the way!

Bitten to death

A/N: Thank you for your request :) It was fun to write. However I took it less as a reaction, and more of a story prompt. So it's not exactly a conclusive answer to your question. I hope you still like it, though ^-^ 💜💜💜

Summary: You thought you knew everything about Vampires but when you wake up one you learn there are some important things you did not know. And it's only going to let worse once you learn why you were turned.

Trigger Warnings: Blood, death, maiming, choking, violence, mind control, abduction, yandere themes.

Vampire! Hoseok

It was like a horror story within your already horrific story. Some man you've never met before broke into Hoseok's house when only you were there. While you screamed and fought and instinctively called for Hoseok, he covered you in bites unlike any other you had felt before. Ones that made you suffer as if fire was coursing through your veins. You wish that you could say you were strong enough that your fight had some kind of impact. But in truth, it was over after only a few seconds. And it was in those few seconds that you felt your chest burning and your breath fill your lungs for the last time.

Waking you're met by the stranger hovering above you. Your head aching and your body throbbing in ways you had never experienced before. With a quick glance, you can see everything around you, and that does mean everything. Every single little detail. And the information is overwhelming.

Your mind feels as if it's breaking from everything you're taking in. For as far as you can see there are pallets and long isles of shelves lined up, the contents on every rack crystal clear. You can hear the sound of his shoes on the concrete and the dirt gritting underneath, and how each peak of sound travels and bounces off the farthest point in the warehouse. Even the smells, there are hundreds of them all hitting you at once. A few you know like the fragrance of the treated wood or the oils stain, but others you couldn't guess at. It's as if all of your senses are on high and you have no way to focus them.

Despite your panic, no matter how much you want to run, you can't. Laying on your back with your arms spread out to either side of you and your legs held together, you're being bound by the thinnest most delicate length of silver chain. Though, it's not tied. It's only draped over you, but still holding you as if it were stronger than any steel. Burning you as if it were touched by the sun.

You may have only seen a few newly made vampires before, but you have still been around them enough and know enough about their existence to recognize how and why your body feels wrong. And absurdly you can't help but feel betrayed. This was not supposed to happen to you. It was the only safety you got from belonging to someone who was called The Immortal King, and The Origin of Cruelty. No one was supposed to be foolish enough to steal from him, and most importantly, no one was supposed to be able to hurt you. But now because Hobi didn't keep you safe, he's now lost his blood supply and you've lost your humanity.

The stranger snaps his fingers, the sound bursting in your eardrums making you groan and wince as he repeats it. "Focus your attention on just this one sound. On just the sight of my hand. Feel the air around it." He coaxes you, snapping again. The noise echos dozens of times, ricocheting off every wall. The dull thud of his fingertips hitting his palm only sounding the once though.

Opening your eyes your concentration goes to the hand held above your face as he said, the space around it blurring. On the back of his pointer finger on an otherwise porcelain complexion, you notice a small patch of dry skin just below his knuckle. Clear blue-black defined veins wrapping the back of his palm. He clicks his fingers again and you catch the sound of friction from the way his finger rubs down his thumb, feeling the most minuscule shift in the air created by his motion.

The pinpointed attention helps for a moment, but then you shift your eyes to his face and the explosion of information overpowers you again. His hold comes around your neck keeping your head from turning. The tight pressure on your throat while stifling your movement, nearly makes you smile. There's no airflow to restrict. Your chest isn't heating, your body isn't convulsing trying to breathe. Even in this tense moment, you can't help but find it humorous, thinking how many times over the years had you wished for this exact thing when Hobi had squeezed the air from you.

"Watch my eyes," on his words your vision becomes immersed in them. They're piercing blue. Made up of streaks of white interlacing with a clear sapphire shade, like thousands of threads made out of the purest tropical ocean. A transparent irregular line encircling his pupil, and beyond that every distinct strand blurs together with the others until it reaches the shadowed grey edge that holds the circular shape. Slowly his jet black pupils dilate, stretching and filling his entire iris till every trace of colour is removed. As if transfixed, you're unable to close your own eyes, a flooding of bright light filling your field of view. The strength of it is so intense that the tendons in your sockets ache and your eyes begin to water. Tears rolling down the sides of your face, cresting in your ears.

"Apologies, you are only my second." He confuses you with a vague explanation you did not ask for. The black finally receding into its natural size. Your own eyes scrunching as you try to blink away the soreness. The bizarre occurrence leaving you feeling drained of strength, filling you with anxiety caused by the uncertainty, which is only worsened by the glimmer of triumph in his gaze.

Searching past him to the ceiling your brain is again processing the whole image instead of the sum of its parts. The strain in your head slowly fading, your tight held muscles releasing as everything begins to normalize. You don't know what he did, but it seemed to help.

He doesn't back away, continuing to invade your personal space. Although, the way his fingers are trailing along your skin while you're restrained on the floor is still not the worst thing he has done to you. Seeing as he killed you.

"I had almost given up hope that Jung Hoseok would love." His hand daintily caresses along your neck and up your jaw. Your eyes shutting as his fingertips run over your lips. "I began to fear it might not be something possible for him." He divulges, his touch still aimlessly wandering.

The way he speaks you can feel his vailed anger. Despite his soft words, this is not someone who cares about Hoseok's wellbeing, this is someone who hates him deeply.

"However, you restored my lost faith. And for that, I would like to thank you, Inamorata."

He thinks Hoseok loves you? Is he crazy?. He's possessive of you, that is all. Even in moments of deception or weakness when you had told him that you loved him, he's never said it back with any sincerity. And he has never said it of his own accord.

"Sir," your eyes reopen. "I think you've misunderstood. These," you weakly gesture to the silver, each slight movement searing the links deeper into your flesh. "aren't necessary. We are on the same side. I hate Hobi, more than anyone."

"Truly?" He asks tilting his head to the side. His white hair messily hanging across his forehead.

"Yes," you nod trying to insist your point. "He's kept me locked up for years." you chuckle dryly. Finding it nearly risible that all of this is because this man believes in a fantasy.

"Well then, you are free to rise," he nods resolutely. Plucking the chains out of your melted skin as you grit your teeth. The sound of the sizzle on his own skin baffling you as to how he can even lift them.

Sitting up you gently pull your limbs in, inspecting the blistered and bloody marks. The skin on your wrists already starting to intricately knit itself back together.

"Come here." The stranger calls from a rested place on one of the pallets to your right.

Standing, it is a bit hard to walk with your ankles still cut up but you make it to him decently. Looking around you, you can see the sun streaming in from the high windows that line the whole length of the warehouse. It's enough to light up the otherwise dark space, but with the sheer size of this place, the beams of sunlight do not get close to the two of you in the centre. Still in the middle of the day, it means Hobi can't get to you. Not easily at least. So you're on your own for now.

"Kneel." He instructs plainly. And you follow, lowering onto your knees in front of him. Your only thoughts are of escape. You may be in your first minutes as a vampire, but it should be simple to move quickly. It always seemed like something that came easily to them. "Inamorata, you will call me Master." he declares abruptly.

"Yes, Master." You smile confusedly. Inamorata? Why does he keep calling you that? You're unsure if it's a name or a title, but it's weirding you out.

Your face drops, your heart thumping, realizing what you said. The words you just spoke replaying in your head. You hadn't meant to say that.

Why did you say that?

In fact, why had you knelt? Why were you doing what he said at all?

With a gaped mouth you climb back to your feet. "Look, I think-um." You start not knowing what you want to say.

"Kneel." He orders again more forcefully yet with a knowing, jovial smirk. You shake your head hard, staying upright. You're not going to let him order you around. He has to be kidding.

Your brows furrow, your mouth drops open, and your forehead tightens as your knees bend against your wishes. You drop back into your knelt position. Grunting as your jaw clenches, your fingers digging into your legs, doing your best to resist without success.

Your eyes go wide in shock.

"Good. Now stay there," his voice makes your stomach drop. But your muscles relax, your shoulders dropping and your bottom lowering on your calves. Your body resting in this position.

This is nothing you have ever seen before. It's nothing that you knew was possible. It shouldn't be possible. On top of all the horrible advantages they already have, you're sure you would have known if mind control was one of them!

"How?" You gape, shaking your head in disbelief. "Why?"

"Why?" a smile fills his face, "What you have told me is far different than what I had heard." He stands and turns, tapping his foot against the top pallet sending it and its boxed contents flying. He grabs at the bottom slats of wood underneath and drags them closer to you with a horrid screeching on the concrete. Sitting back down he is now much lower and much nearer to you. So much so that his legs spread straight out on either side of you. "See, I had heard stories of the self-proclaimed King of Vampires, who had fallen in love with his human pet. That he kept her close, kept her safe, and drank from her exclusively."

"That's not love." you interrupt with a scoff, "That's imprisonment."

"Well, let us see what the truth is. Tell me honestly, Jung Hoseok's little Inamorata, do you love him?"

"Yes." You're mouth answers before your mind has time to think. "No!" you instantly correct.

The smile grows larger on his face "And what do you feel about him?"

"I'm scared of him. But I care for him." The words are pouring out of you uncontrollably, your face placifying as you speak. "and I miss him when he isn't home."

"And does he love you?"

"I think so, yes." You wish you could make yourself shut up! Your calm tone drops and you bite your jaw trying to take back your own body, growling as you do. "No! He doesn't." you snarl in a rapid shift.

"You think so? Then my last question; Do you want him to love you?" He asks satirically.

"Yes," The word slips out. Being accepted joyously from him. "You can't just make me say anything you want!" you shout. Your body is rigid and stiff as you think to stand with nothing happening.

"I did not," he chuckles, "I made you say what you believe is true."

"No, you didn't! Tha-" his finger raises to his lips shushing you, cutting you off like your voice had disappeared.

That is not how you feel! Hobi may have gotten better as time has gone on, but he is still cruel and malicious and heartless. The only thing this man is doing is speaking to your primal brain. The part of you that gave into its survival instinct and it's the part that you fight every day to repress so that you stay in control. You can't love him, it's not possible.

"Ha, you are far more amenable than my last. I can hardly feel any resistance." He mocks, tapping his temple. "And I recall Jung Hoseok trying to move heaven and earth to break free. Even Mansueto struggled to contain him. But you," he reaches down holding out his hand and you follow his gesture, your body moving independently to accept it. "You are a broken little thing."

You don't understand his ridicule. You're not moving consciously. Your own mind isn't connected to your actions. So you can't fathom how your body is even reacting, let alone how you should be able to fight it.

"Stop." You complain, your voice coming out with far less strength than you had intended. "Look, Hoseok doesn't have my blood anymore, okay. So just leave me out of whatever fucked up feud you have you have going with him."

"No, that is not enough." his tone becomes suddenly harsh. He lifts his hand and you stand as he raises it. "He stole someone precious to me and he must feel the same agony of loss."

"You're wrong." you swallow, working to overcome your nerves, "I'm sorry, but you just are. He doesn't love me. I'm not precious." You try to reason, seeing your pleas falling on an unreceptive man.

"We will see."

The sun has barely set before you hear commotion beyond the metal walls.

You had tried over and over to pry information from this man, to convince him to let you leave. But you were unable to gather so much as a name from him, and clearly, you failed to be let go. After a certain point of ignoring you, he stopped you from speaking altogether. Not allowing you to say a word until he permits it. More than that though, he filled your head with many instructions. Telling you how to behave in anticipation of Hoseok's arrival.

100 meters in front of you the locked doors are ripped off their hinges, a dozen men and women pouring into the warehouse with inhuman speed. But as if time slows down your eyes adjust and you can see them, see their movements with full clarity. Hoseok comes in last and straight down the middle into the open square that you all occupy. And you must admit, you are genuinely happy to see him. Now you just want him to hurry up and get you out of here.

The man steps forward to meet them while you are sat on the stack of pallets behind him. Your only instruction at this time is to sit quietly and wait for him to call you. Hating the feeling of being restrained by your own body.

Watching them all lineup versus a single man, you find it comical how outmatched he is.

Hobi always said that when he got tired of playing with your human body, he was going to turn you. And he was furious if anyone robbed him of even your smallest reactions, so clearly, he was going to be beyond pissed that someone sped up his plan, and took your death away from him.

"That's mine," Hoseok puffs up his chest, looking past the man's shoulder to you. 

The only thing that's confusing you, though, is if this man knows who The Vampire King is, why he didn't expect to be met with hell on earth, and why he didn't prepare better.

"Jung Hoseok, always so impolite. Do you not think you should greet an old friend after so many years?"

"We can talk all you like, Kol," Hoseok snarls, finally giving a name to your killer. "Once I get my property back."

"I think you'll find this is my belonging now." he chuckles in a brief pause. Hoseok's expression darkens, his eyes becoming murderous. The fury around him actually making you shiver. "Do you like the modifications I made? She is much more durable now."

Supposedly, Hobi's already noticed your change, because he doesn't look at you again. Instead, the two men have an intense staredown. All of the vampires on his side looking ready to kill on a word.

"And far more obedient. Come here," Kol calls you, holding his hand out at shoulder height for you to take. Moving automatically, you jump down from the stack of wooden pallets placing your fingers on his palm.

Unable to stand the rage on Hoseok's face you look down, just missing the exact moment he charges. But you see an instant later as he is thrown back like a paper doll into four stories of shelves, his weight bringing the metal, the shelves, and the products down on top of him as the whole structure collapses. His men looking as startled as you to see Hoseok so easily discarded.

Before the toppling construction settles, Kol breaks from your side and an incredible, horrible scene breaks out. His speed is something you can't follow, even now. You only see the trail of destruction when he stops. One after the other, he made his way through half of the vampires, ripping them apart. Literally tearing some in two halves. Decorating the square with blood and innards.

The others are as belated and overwhelmed as you, only just having the sense to react as his blurred image stops. When he advances again, this time he doesn't use his quickness for an advantage and simply ploughs through them. They attack all at once, and still as they grab and strike at him, their forces barely move him. And his response is terrifying.

You can only bear to watch the first one. Kol's fist driving through a woman's chest, the horrid cracking of her ribs as he tears it back out making you want to scream. But his orders have you completely silent. Instead, you close your eyes, sealing your hands over your ears. Trying to block out the violent sickening sounds of his destructive rampage.

There's a last thud before it falls quiet again. Your eyes springing open to see as horrific of a sight as you had imagined. He's dripping in blood. Drenched in it. And Hoseok's people are strewn in every which way. Not a single one having survived.

Sauntering through the sea of dead bodies, he makes his way to the side where Hoseok is unmoved, tossing away the beams and panels as if they were nothing. Grabbing him by the ankle, he drags him from the rubble into the clear space in front of you. The man you once thought of as the most powerful in existence, and his troupe of vampires, was completely demolished in mere seconds of work. And you can only watch on with your body shaking. Your hopes of rescue decimated. Your chest aching with worry, even for Hobi's sake.

"Now that it's a more intimate number of us, should we talk?" Kol releases him, brushing past you as he sits where you had before. His action triggering an instruction he provided earlier, forcing you to follow him and kneel at his feet.

Sitting up, Hoseok rubs the back of his hand against a large gash under his eye. The ferocity not having left his mannerisms. "You disappear for 90 years, and you show up to what, gimmie a blood bath." His laugh falls into a grimace as he stands himself back up.

"I was created in the 13th century and you brought infants to a fight with me. What did you think would happen?" Kol asks scornfully.

"I was hoping they would do a little better," He smirks, shrugging off their deaths. "Okay, that's my bad. But still, that doesn't tell me what you want. Or did you just want to remind me that you're still alive?" He taunts, his sardonic nature returning, "Remind me that you're still pissed and you can kick my ass. Good job. You put on quite a show." he smiles, his tongue running over his fangs as he gestures around at the gruesome display. "But she," he points to you with two fingers, bitterness lacing his next words, "is worth nothing to you."

"Oh, she is worth everything to me," Kol slides forward, his hand brushing down the back of your neck, "because she is worth everything to you."

On those words, you get the most heart-wrenching sight. A pang of insecurity shows up in Hoseok's eyes. Uncertainty and something so close to fear. The smile fading as he looks him up and down.

"I am curious, though, Vampire King, do you think she will detest the Sire bond as greatly as you did?" he punctuates the question, tugging your head back by your hair. "If I treat her as Mansueto treated you, how long do think until she breaks?"

With immense speed, Hoseok splinters one of the wooden crates near him, lunging at Kol, aiming to drive the shard into his heart with a roar. But he's caught before his hand ever plunges forward. Instead, Kol takes the sharp wood and spikes it into Hoseok's stomach. Continuing to dominate him with a solid blow, knocking him off his feet, smacking him into the concrete in front of you. Stepping down, he swings his foot punting Hoseok in the chest hurling him back among the remains of his fallen creations.

You had thought if you ever saw Hobi being handled as roughly as he treated you, that you would enjoy the Karma of it. But seeing him so easily immobilized is making you sick with fear and mostly sadness.

With Kol having stood, you're no longer bound on your knees and you scramble to your feet. You want to run to Hoseok's side but before you have the chance Kol drags you into him, his hand wrapped around your waist, his other crudely brushing the hair from off the side of your face.

"Call out to him. Tell him your every feeling." He hushes the order in your ear.

"Hobi!" you yell, not sure you would have even needed to be compelled to want to shout for him. "Get up, please. I'm scared. I wanna go home!"

"Go to him," Kol releases you and you sprint to his side, hardly able to slow your sudden frantic speed.

Doubled over Hoseok is bleeding profusely. He needs your blood- but you can't do that anymore. And you have no idea what to do. You don't know how to help him or how to get out of here. He's the one that is supposed to keep you safe.

Coming from behind you, Kol bends down shoving you out of the way to lift Hoseok by the throat. "Stop!" you follow their movement, hanging on Kol's arm. "Stop! Please." But you have no effect. Instead, he jerks the wood dagger out making Hobi yell in pain.

"Do you recall what you said as you killed our Sire?" Kol whispers maliciously. "You told me that 'I will get over it'." Releasing him, he lets Hoseok plummet to the floor and you drop with him trying to catch his weight. "In 100 years from now, I'll let you see her again and you can tell me if you were able to take your own advice." he smiles spitefully.

"Hobi," you whine lowly. Brushing his hair from his sweat and blood wet forehead. "I don't want to go with him. Rather the devil you know, right," you softly chuckle, trying to pull his energy back.

Even though you know the both of you have no chance at the moment, you guess you're just looking for an affirmation that he isn't going to let you go and let this other man keep you for the next century.

"Please," you whisper, your waterline filling with tears.

Reaching towards you, Hoseok's hand constricts around your throat, pulling you into him like he has countless times before.

"You're mine," he growls through pained grunts. His anger lessened, distress replacing it. But he gives you the answer he could see you searching for.

"Yes," you nod subtly. Closing your eyes as you lean further into his hold.

"Get up," Kol orders, interrupting you.

Despite his tightening grip, you pull away from Hobi, standing as you were told. The elder vampire taking your arm leads you away through the bodies to the open doorway.

"Say goodbye Jung Hoseok," Kol calls back, leaving him injured and alone, making you wish more than ever that you could pull back. "And do not worry, I'll take very good care of her for you."

[writella]

Touch

Pairing: Luke Patterson x reader

Summary: Luke’s spirit is brought down by the pain he has caused his parents as well as the hardships that come from adoring you, a lifer. He craves your touch but his ghostly form keeps him from getting the thing he most desires to recieve.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: First fic! Sorry that it's kind of long. I don’t know if this would be considered “angsty” but it is kind of sad in the beginning but trust me it becomes really sweet at the end!

Julie and the Phantoms was such a good show. I loved how the writers and Charlie showed that despite how positive Luke was, he was harboring a lot of pain inside when it came to how he left him mom that he didn’t show anyone. This piece touches on that point a little bit more. If you would like to leave a review, that would be super appreciated. I’m sure there are a bunch of grammar errors anyway.

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Luke came to you after he left Julie at his parents house. He told you about the song to his mom, about how his parents still celebrated his birthday after all these years. He told you about the grief he felt and how he felt like he had no one. You told him that he had you, and Julie, and the guys most importantly, that you were sure they missed their family members too. He admitted to you though, that both Alex and Reggie avoided talking about their family, it was one of the only things that they weren’t being honest about with each other. He said he couldn’t be the one to bring it up.

“I’m the strong one!” He explained. “If I don’t push them forward, they’ll fall apart. I have to be happy, I have to be okay so they-“

“It’s okay not to be okay all the time, Luke,” You interrupt him, then you send him a sympathetic smile as you come to a realization: “I didn’t know you put all this pressure on yourself... I’m sorry. Come here,” without thinking you motion him forward, arms reaching to grasp his back, only catching handfuls of air.

Luke gives you an exasperated laugh, in the heat of it all, he almost forgot for a second himself.

“Well, this is a strange little relationship we have, isn’t it?” Tears swipe down his cheek.

“Luke...” you didn’t know how to respond, you cursed yourself for making the situation worse.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Or whenever. Alright?” His words were short as he forced a smile and disappeared from your sight.

You woke up from your haze and caught your eyes staring out the window, looking at the boy you were just thinking about. He sat on an old brown chair right next to the garage door. Julie took some down that hung from the garage ceiling a few nights ago for him. She said she got tired of seeing Luke crouching down on the concrete like a sad lost puppy.

“Why don’t you just stop avoiding him and finally go down there?” Julie sighs. “Maybe you’ll have better luck than me.”

“Than all of us.” Alex chimed in.

You were hesitant but as Julie pushed you to the door it seemed as if you had no choice.

“You’re our only hope.” Reggie said with a sad smile, echoing a quote from his favorite franchise.

As you walked toward Luke, his gaze on the night sky never faltered.

“You don’t have to say anything... Just want to be with you. Alright?” You said softly as you sat down on the chair next to him. You decided you were only going to keep him company, not dwell on what happened. You remembered what he said about always having to be the strong one, you guessed that’s what you were trying to do now.

He only slightly nodded, not wanting to look you in the eye. He was surprised you’d finally come. Everyone, Reggie, Alex, and Julie had come to sit with him from time to time, getting nothing out of him. He sort of wished you finally would show up but now that you’re here, he couldn’t say anything despite how much he wanted to. He tried to urge the words to his tongue but his apprehension kept them stuck inside his brain. He bounced his knee, his frustration as well as your closeness was getting to him.

He knew he shouldn’t have been ignoring you, you must’ve felt as bad as he did but he needed some time to think. Maybe just a day, he reasoned, just to go through the motions by himself and then wake up going back to his easy going self again the next morning. This is what he told himself, yes, but then a day became another, and then another.

It surprised him, how out of it he was. Usually, it was so easy for him to find the courage to remain optimistic but right now he just felt like a disappointment. He was usually able to thrive upon this fact, a 90s misfit, nowhere to go but up. He loved the idea that one day his band’s talent would shine so brightly everyone would have no choice but to see their beauty. And it didn’t come from anger, Luke was never a resentful person, it came from a place of purity. He wanted his music to make people feel connected; understood, just like it had for him. Or like it has for him up until now. He hadn't been able to play in days.

The bittersweet melody of Unsaid Emily became the mantra that invaded his brain this past week. Every time the song came to an end, his mind replayed the lyrics again, and again; an endless loop. And with that came the images of his parents, blowing out a birthday candle with misty tears in their eyes, thinking of their boy they believed they lost forever. And then there was you, of course. The prettiest girl he’d ever seen, who laughed at his confusing metaphors, and built him up when he was feeling down which was something he usually had to do for others. Ever since he met you, you were there for him in a way no one else had been. The thought almost relieved his pain. Could this truly be love? He had dated around before but never had he been in a real relationship. After finding the guys, the band was all he thought about, the only connection he felt he needed. Plus, he just had to prove to his mom that he could make it, and that took all of his attention. Another mistake, he thought.

Once again he revisits the memory of your arms going through him. Not only could he never apologize to his parents but he couldn’t even love one of the only people on Earth who could actually see him the way he wanted to. Never had he felt so completely helpless. He wanted you to know that he didn’t want to give up. He needed you to know that you were enough, but he was fearful to try anything despite how desperately he wanted touch. He even counted the ways he could do it in his head: perhaps he’d lightly stroke your knee, softly rub his thumb on your intertwined hands, maybe brush your hair behind your ear with his fingers lingering till he felt the last strand of hair slip away. Or maybe, just maybe, he’d even give you the softest kiss. One so pure and light, because while he was a ghost, he thought of you as an angel and he believed an angel deserved a touch just as delicate, but he couldn’t. He was dead.

It had been an hour of you two sitting in silence. You stared at him and sighed. You thought he was beautiful. You could go on endlessly about the physicality of that beauty but what really tugged on your heart was what was inside. His mind, his body, his soul, that was bound in optimism. You’d never seen anything like it. Right from when Julie met him, she told you, he put the realization of being dead, of being a ghost, behind him just to help her become a part of the music program again, giving her the words of encouragement, it’s a closed door, but you’ve gotta bust it open!

You felt terrible that you were a part of the reason why his spirit was currently crushed. You desperately wanted touch. You wanted him to know you were there for him but you knew words weren’t enough.

Screw it, you thought. You were going to try again and even if it didn’t work you were ready to tell him that you didn’t care, that seeing was all you needed to be with him. You wanted him to know that you weren’t giving up. You needed him to know that he was enough, fear wasn’t going to stop you.

You reached for his knee. Trying to touch the tips of his hand that laid there with yours, ready for the sensation of air to swoosh between your fingertips but then, just then, you... felt. First it was the tips of nails, then fingers, and as he turned his hand, eyes bulging wide, you felt his palm. You held it there for a second, soon sliding your palms together, you intertwined your fingers with his. You were actually holding hands.

Luke’s mouth went agape and you met his eyes, sharing the same look of disbelief. Seeing a tear roll down the right side of his face you realized your emotions mirrored his as one dripped down on the left side of yours. He wiped it away with his thumb, gripping your face a little more roughly than he intended to, the excitement apparent in his shaky hands.

He soon loosened his grip, now caressing your cheek, creating friction as he rubbed back and forth, replacing the chill of the night air on your skin with warmth. His fingers, then moved to your chin, then he poked your nose, brushed his fingertips against your eyelashes, till he finally rolled them against your lips, slowly. He couldn’t believe he felt you. The feeling was something even a dream couldn’t conjure up, something that even he couldn’t describe in a lovely song lyric; this was perfection; this was, indeed, love.

This revelation brought with it courage and with that he finally willed himself up off that chair and yanked your arm that was connected to your still intertwined hands with it and at once you became one with a hug. One so fierce and tight you couldn’t breath, his arms crushing your shoulders, his hands caressing your head, his fingers falling on the strands of your hair.

With one arm still around you, he moved one of his hands against your cheek once more, connecting his forehead to yours. You both relished in the closeness, breathing each other in.

“If I ever cross over, I bet this is what heaven feels like,” he said in a soft whisper, finally breaking the silence, but only adding to the moment’s loveliness. “I think you’re connected to my soul.”

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Thank you for reading!

[lovelybucky1]

please please can we get some Wanda x Agatha content? I know that you said that you were taking blurb requests so pretty please!!

Retribution

DARK FIC, READ WARNINGS

warnings: slight dubcon, dom!wanda, sub!agatha, use of magic, bondage magic, angry sex, face slapping, hair pulling, spit kink, manipulation, mentions of (non sexual) violence,

“You ruined everything!” Wanda yells, sending furniture sliding across the floor and slamming into the opposite wall.

“Calm down, Wanda, it’s just me,” Agatha says in a sickly sweet voice that fills Wanda with boiling rage.

“Everything I built, you ruined! I had a life, a family, and you took it all away!”

Wanda crosses the room in long steps and as she gets closer, Agatha takes a step back. She hits the wall behind her and she puts her hand out to stop Wanda, but she bats it away.

“You’re going to pay for this,” she hisses.

“You know,” Agatha clears her throat, “your accent gets thicker when you’re mad.”

Agatha immediately regretted the teasing remark when Wanda brought her hand up and slapped her across the face. She chokes on a surprised gasp and works her jaw to alleviate the sting.

“You’re quite the little firecracker, aren’t you, red?” she laughs humorlessly.

Wanda, having enough of Agatha’s jibes, covers her mouth with her hand and gives her a threatening glare.

“Speak again and it’ll be the last time.”

Agatha didn’t believe she would go through with the threat, but she doesn’t push any further and only nods.

Wanda releases the other woman’s mouth, then grabs both of her wrists and holds them over her head. Agatha feels a warm tingle, and when she looks up, she sees glowing red chains wrapped around her wrists.

“Come,” Wanda orders bluntly as she walks to the center of the room. Agatha only hesitates for a moment, but it is apparently too long for Wanda. She uses her magic to pull her forward and stops her only inches in front of her face.

Wanda attaches the bonds to the ceiling and starts to pace around Agatha’s suspended body. She admires her former neighbor’s figure; she may hate the woman but she isn’t blind. Wanda reaches out to place a hand on the center of her back, and Agatha jumps, making the chains jingle.

“What are you so afraid of?” Wanda asks, walking back in front of her. Agatha looks down at her with a pleading expression, and Wanda almost feels bad for her. Almost.

“Please let me go,” Agatha begs.

“What did I say about talking?”

Agatha squeezes her eyes shut and forces tears to spring to her eyes. Wanda is mad now, but she’s not an evil person. Her compassion is her weakness, and Agatha knows how to play into it perfectly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just... I didn’t want to do this. He made me,” she says, throwing in a few voice cracks for good measure.

“Who made you?”

Agatha opens her glassy eyes and gently shakes her head, like it would hurt her too much to tell Wanda the truth.

“Who made you?” Wanda asks again, firmer this time.

“Tony Stark,” Agatha breathes out.

Wanda’s stomach drops at the name. In the world she created, Tony Stark didn’t exist. Steve Rogers was a household name, the heroic Captain America who saves the day and is the image of goodness. Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff, or Uncle Clint and Aunt Nat as her kids called them, lived far away on a nice, quaint little farm with Clint’s wife and his family. All of the Avengers existed in her world somehow, except Tony Stark.

“He blamed you for breaking up the team,” Agatha explains. “It was his last wish to make sure you end up in prison, away from your family just like you took away his.”

The anger fades from Wanda’s face, but nothing replaces it. She stares blankly at the floor as she processes what she’s heard. Tony Stark, the man who’s weapons killed her parents, the man who destroyed her home, and the man who tore apart her found family, blamed her?

“I’m so sorry, Wanda. I didn’t have another choice... he had a team of people come after my family.”

Wanda’s mind raced, thinking of reasons as to why Tony would do this. It wasn’t her fault, she didn’t deserve any of this. Maybe she just didn’t want to believe, but she was convinced this was wrong.

“You’re lying,” Wanda says, finally looking up from the floor.

“I wish I was, I really do,” Agatha sobs.

“He wouldn’t have done this.”

“I’m so sorry, Wanda.”

“Stop lying to me!” Wanda screams, the sound echoing throughout the room, making the furniture rattle. “You’ve done nothing but lie!”

Wanda’s hands ball into tight fists at her side and red energy swirls around her. Her eyes begin to glow and for the first time, Agatha feels genuine fear at what Wanda may do. Wanda grabs Agatha’s thigh and sends a hot wave of energy through her body.

It burns her everywhere, making her feel like she’s boiling from the inside. She opens her mouth to scream, but no sound comes out; only a red light emanating from her throat.

Agatha thrashes about against the chains, but it’s no use. She can’t escape the pain and Wanda is too furious to show her mercy now.

When Wanda finally lets go, the burning sensation stops and Agatha goes limp, hanging from her wrists as she tries to catch her breath.

“You’re a witch,” Wanda says, making Agatha look at her again. “Tony Stark didn’t send you, you came after my power.”

“Don’t be-”

“Don’t try to lie again, I know the truth. I looked inside your head, I saw the destruction you wish to bring.”

Wanda steps forward and places her hand on Agatha’s thigh again and she flinches, expecting it to burn. When it doesn’t she opens her eyes to find Wanda smirking.

“I’ll make you a deal. You can tell me what I want to know, or I’ll find out myself. One of those will be far less comfortable for you than the other.”

Wanda’s voice is low, almost seductive in a way. Agatha shakes slightly as Wanda looks at her intensely, her gaze unwavering even slightly.

“I’ll tell you,” Agatha says weakly, making Wanda smile.

“Wonderful,” Wanda chirps.

Just as Agatha was about to speak, Wanda trials her hand up her stomach, stopping just between her breasts. Agatha chokes, surprised at the other woman’s actions.

“Don’t mind me,” Wanda says nonchalantly as she lifts the hem of Agatha’s shirt and pushes her hand up, feeling her soft stomach.

Wanda grabs ahold of Agatha’s bra and rips it clean off like it was nothing. She gasps when Wanda pinches at her nipple with cold fingers, instinctively pushing her chest out for more. Wanda raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment. Instead, she pulls her hand out of Agatha’s shirt and snaps her fingers, and in a flash, all of her clothes disappear.

She yelps when the cool air of the room hits her body all at once, and she squirms to try to cover herself, but there is so use. Wanda grabs Agatha by the hair to keep her in place, shooting her a glare that says stay still.

“Start talking before I do something you won’t enjoy,” Wanda threatens.

“What do you want to know?” Agatha breathes out.

“Tell me everything. Who you are, what you want from me.”

Agatha nods quickly and begins to explain. She tells Wanda she is a witch and has been for four-hundred years. She tells of how she’s been searching for a more powerful being to teach her, to make her stronger, and that Wanda is the most powerful beacon of energy in the entire multiverse.

Wanda listens intently and begins to notice the story does not entirely add up. She decides to give Agatha a little more encouragement to keep telling the truth.

She kneads Agatha’s breast roughly in on hand, and with the other, she slides it between her legs to cup her pussy. Agatha squeezes her legs shut in surprise, which only adds to the minimal friction Wanda is providing. She moans quietly, an involuntary little noise that escapes her throat and makes her chest flush in embarrassment.

“Do you like that?” Wanda asks rhetorically as she slips her fingers between Agatha’s lips to press directly against her clit.

Agatha struggles with her answer. It feels good and she desperately wants more, but she’s also being held captive and interrogated. Squeezing her eyes shut, she nods quickly. Wanda smirks and rubs her fingers over Agatha’s clit. She laughs to herself when Agatha starts to roll her hips, matching her pace.

“If you wanted to learn, why did you come here to destroy me?” Wanda asks as she dips her fingertip inside of the other woman.

“I wanted it for myself,” Agatha confesses, “I knew I couldn’t make this myself, but I could get rid of you and take it for myself.”

Wanda is surprised at the other witch’s honesty. She already knew her intentions, but she wasn’t expecting Agatha to confess so bluntly.

“Was that so hard?” Wanda coos as she curls her fingers inside Agatha, rubbing her wall.

“No, no it wasn’t, I’m so sorry,” she babbles.

Wanda reaches up to brush a lock of hair out of Agatha’s face, a gentle contrast to the rest of this encounter.

“You’re a good girl, aren’t you, Agatha?”

“Yes,” she whines.

“You’d make such a good pet, darling. So obedient and pretty.”

Wanda’s fingers fuck into Agatha’s pussy faster, hitting her sweet spot with each stroke. Agatha’s face is twisted is pleasure and her chest heaves with exertion.

“I think I’ll keep you,” Wanda says darkly. “It will be your punishment for trying to take this from me.”

Agatha can’t hear Wanda anymore, too focused on her own pleasure to notice. She throws her head back and opens her mouth in a silent scream as her orgasm washes over her. It feels like it lasts forever; heat bubbles inside of her and her body jerks with each new wave. Her eyes roll back in her head and she sees a faint image of Wanda standing over her with glowing red eyes, but for some reason, she doesn’t feel afraid.

“This is where you belong,” Wanda says in a booming voice that echoes throughout the vast space in Agatha’s mind. “Helpless and bound at my mercy.”

Agatha doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to fight. She just nods, accepting her role as Wanda’s toy. Maybe one day she’ll be able to overthrow her, but for now, she is too weak to even dream of it.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Tell Me A Story

Loki x f(magic reader)

Summary: Stuck in an Asgardian cell for your crimes, you meet an intriguing fellow prisoner who you can’t help but start to feel something for.

Warning: angst, fluff (you’re not leaving sad on my watch)

Masterlist

The ground feels hard. And your head feels incredibly fuzzy, like waking up from a deep slumber by some rude acquaintance who can’t mind their own damn business. Not to mention the throbbing sensation emitting from the left side of your cheek like two annoying disturbances. Were you smacked twice?

What in the bloody shitsticks?

The light in this place is so bright too, you have to squint when opening your irises for the first time to really get a good look at your surroundings. With the light in this awful place too much to bear, you cover your eyes with your fingers to lessen the harshness from above. Soon your gaze trails up witnessed a clean ceiling of pure marble white.

Wait. Are you dead?

Adjusting to the brightness, you slowly bring yourself into a seated position on the equally as shiny clean floor. To your left is a bed and a small nightstand while your right is a see through golden tinged barrier showing the other cells and a single guard walking down the hallway. Cells? Cells!

A prison? You’re in a fucking prison. Shit.

Letting out a dramatic sigh, head in your hands, you suddenly hear a knock on the white section of the confinement hold that turns into loud pounding. Thud! Thud! Thud! And a second later the white disappears, in place shows the same see through golden tinge. A guard on the other side.

“You’re awake.” He says, voice casual as an old friend.

You give him a puzzled look before feeling your face, “I think so.”

He takes a step into your prison where a sword is held in your face, maybe not so much an old friend after all, “As protocol, I must ask you three questions.” Delves the guard, stance never changing.

“Go for it tough guy.”

He remains unfazed, “Do you know your name?” Easy.

“Y/N.”

“Do you know why you’re here?” Uh.

“Well it wasn’t for stealing a child’s favorite toy.” You muse before quickly changing your façade, “But yes.”

He scoffs unamused, “Do you know where you are?”

Now this question you don’t have an answer for so instead do you give him your sweetest most innocent face possible, “uh, maybe you could enlighten me?”

The armored man rolls his dark eyes, “You’re in the royal dungeons of Asgard, placed here by King Odin for crimes against our realm. For that. You will remain until otherwise noted by the King.” Barks the guard, you stare up at him with wide eyes. Shocked and bewildered that you’re stuck in Asgard of all places.

“I didn’t even have a fare trial!” You protest.

“You didn’t deserve one, filth.” He counters before sheathing his sword back into its scabbard and off he goes into the golden tinged door. Out of sight in an instant. Rude.

Leaving yourself very puzzled and irritated at the whole ordeal, you never even got a trial to speak your side of the story. Nothing. Now you’re stuck in this dumb shit of a cell with literally nothing to do and no one around to bother, oh wait who’s that across the room?

Jumping to your feet, you swiftly walk over to the glass; there stands a man in green and black attire, leather bound book in hand as his slender face focuses onto the pages. He’s rather handsome in all honesty, with that dark shoulder length hair of his and the thoughtful expression across his face. You’re now fully intrigued.

Then your mind swirls with a thought, you’re in Asgard. So, this must be prince Loki, the one who failed to conquer Midgard. Soon a devilish smirk crosses your features, “What are you doing down here? I thought princes were the ones to put delinquents behind bars?”

Loki’s face shifts from surprise to amusement as he keeps his eyes onto the pages, “Kings.” Corrects the Asgardian prince.

You smile, “Well this king can eat shit!”

He lets out a breathy snort before finally drawing his gaze up to you, his expression quickly diminishes from amusement into star struck fascination when those beautiful blues land upon your beaming mischievous face. Loki has never seen someone so magnificently enticing in his whole entire life. But here you are, whoever you happen to be.

The raven haired man sets the book onto his nightstand before sauntering over to the glass wall, “And who do I presume you are? My new source of entertainment.”

Waving him off like a blushing maiden, you pretend to get all hot and bothered by his sly comment, “Oh wouldn’t you like to know.”

Loki smirks, “I would indeed.”

You curl a piece of hair around your finger, gifting him a shy smile as you avoid his steely gaze. “Sorry.” You mutter, “I only tell men who can take over whole planets in under three days.”

He immediately loses his humored aurora, replacing it with a slightly taken aback yet somewhat pissed off one. “Ouch. But I can’t image you’re any clever if you happen to be stuck down here with me.”

You point up a finger, “On the contraire, my faults are less hefty then your own. So who really lost here?”

“From the looks of it. Both of us.”

You nod, “That is a truthful observation, but what has gifted us a sentence in exile are two entirely different sides to the relatively same coin.”

“Mine being, failure to conquer and rule Midgard. And yours being?”

“Fine. I’ll satiate your appetite.” He raises a brow as you trail your hand down the buzzing glass, “I may have tried to steal some pretty gems downstairs. Blah blah and I got caught by some lady named Frigga who’s a lot more skilled with magic then I had first realized and now I’m here. Granted I don’t remember getting to said “here” but alas my body remains.”

Loki smirks, “My deer mother got the best of you. How is she up in the real world these days?”

“Oh you know, told me she loves reading, doing the usual witchy stuff, and she hates you so go burn in hell for eternity you shit head little boy.”

Loki could have choked on his own spit, “Pardon me?”

“You heard me, she said she loves you. Is that not what you heard? I really thought I was being pretty clear.”

The Asgardian prince shakes his head, “Forget I asked.” Turning around once again to find his way onto the comfortable looking mattress, new book in hand.

You pout at the lack of attention, what did you say to annoy him? Was it the little shit head boy? Maybe he’s just having a bad day.

——

There he is. That incredibly attractive Asgardian prince of Mischief, just standing there. Reading yet another book in his beautiful greens and blacks and golds as he chooses to ignore you. The insanely gorgeous but deeply irritating woman across the cell from him.

You’ve been in here for about four weeks now and Loki has not cracked once. You’re really trying too! All he’s done is gift you with some telling facial expressions or the wonderful side comment to address your theatrics or harmless shenanigans.

All you want to do is get to know him better. And maybe along the way get the fuck out of here with a little help, and then preferably take the prince along for the ride. If it was only that easy.

Levitating in your cell just because you’re tired of standing all the time, you keep your usual unabashed stare-down with the prince when a random guard marches by. He looks from right to left and forward again before doing a double take over to you.

“Hey! Stop that!” He shouts, lance raised at your smirking face while you continue to float, “You can’t do that here!”

You simply roll your eyes, “Who has made this new rule law?”

The guard pauses for a moment, clearly indicating that he just doesn’t want you floating because he’s a party pooper. He swallows, “By king Odin.”

“By king Odin? Doesn’t his son fly?”

“Huh?” He glances over to Loki who’s not paying attention to you two in the slightest.

“Not that one.”

The guard makes a frustrated grunt before removing his lance away from your face, no matter the safety of the glass, “You can remain afloat but only under my authority.” And with that does he stomp off down the corridor.

Idiot.

You beam a victorious grin as he leaves your sight when a sudden slow clapping can be heard from across the hallway. Immediately do you snap your attention up to the prince who’s already sharing one of his infamous smirks, “Congratulations. You’ll now have an enemy down here. And it only took you a few weeks.”

You scoff, moving yourself to float casually on your back, “It’s about time too. Things were starting to get unbearably dull around here.”

Loki hums, “Ever try reading?”

You snort, “No, no I haven’t. Hmm, but I’d love it if you could read to me, since I don’t happen to have any books within reach. It’s only fair.”

Loki raises a brow, “Only fair?”

“Yes. I have the guards annoyed with me, so, they won’t care much about you. And. You get to read, but also to me as well.”

“That’s a possibly compelling suggestion.” Says the prince, mulling over your words.

“I thought so.”

You close your eyes as a couple moments pass before he speaks again, “But I must decline.”

“What!” You shout in bewilderment as he lowly chuckles, “I might just about die of boredom, you want me on your conscience when I pass into oblivion from lack of entertainment!”

Loki smiles at your adorable face, “Make your own fun.” He teases, though you don’t realize this.

Moving yourself into a standing position, yet still without touching the ground, you press your hands against the golden tinged glass, “Loki! You are a beautifully great annoyance and if I wasn’t stuck in here I would throw all your books about! And then….then I’d knock down your nightstand!”

He smirks, “Charming.”

You pout while your fists clench in irritation, “Fine! I didn’t want to listen to your loathsome voice anyways!” He gifts you with a proud half grin as you turn from him to magically throw your wooden nightstand across the room.

You land, reaching a hand out to launch the nightstand back across the room once more before repeating this action again and again until the whole flimsy thing combusts when it crashes violently into the closest wall.

Breathing heavily, you slowly turn to face the irritation watching you do all of this, “Feel better Y/N.”

Pursing your lips together, you release your tight fists, “Yes.”

He nods, “What would you like me to read?”

“Something joyful…….please.”

Loki shares a handsome grin before giving you a respectfully small bow, “As the lady wishes.” Loki shares a small glance with your curious face before turning to search for a book. He kneels down and soon picks out a book colored in a deep blue, something foreign written in golden cursive on the front.

You slowly return to the ground, this time seated criss crossed as you lean half of yourself upon the glass as you try and get as close to Loki as physically possible. Which is difficult considering the hallway’s short distance keeping your cells apart, but you try anyways. He opens up the book and quickly looks up to catch your gaze before smiling and looking down at the first page.

Loki reveals the smallest blush before clearing his throat, “The Fox and the Raven.” You smirk at his adorable face, how focused and deep in thoughtful concentration he becomes as the words flow off of his sly tongue like molten gold. You could listen to him all day.

“Once there were two beings, equal in skill and game. Best friends since childhood even, but there was one thing that drove a wedge in their long relationship. Another. This beautiful being was beyond compare to that of any god or goddess alike. And the two friends where undoubtedly in love with them.

It began one windy day by the river, the beauty stood, washing their hair by the waters edge with not a mind to mess with anyone in their head. The two friends saw them and smiled. “I shall win their affections.” Claimed the dark haired admirer, Tala. “Not you silly fox, I shall be the one to draw their heart to mine.” Spoke Essek with great confidence, his bestfriend in the whole entire realm.

They looked to each other with clear frustration sculpted into their faces, so, the friends came to an agreement. Whoever failed to win over the water nymphs heart, that friend must stay in their animal form forever while the victorious one could live on as they always have. Maybe it was cruel. Maybe not at first.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months as the two friends would speak with the water nymph as often as they could. Tala in raven form and Essek as a dashing fox. All was going well as they played their little game of love until the water nymph began to grow quit fond of the raven for his talents in the sky and witty personality.

So much so that on the next full moon, the raven revealed himself to his true form before making love to the joyful water nymph on the rivers edge. And so the very next day when the fox arrived to speak with the nymph, he was surprised to find Tala laying underneath a weeping willow with the nymph in his strong arms.

The fox recoiled with jealousy before his heart shattered in two, Tala smiled a triumphant grin as the fox turned away in disappointment before rushing off into the woodland. Never to be seen again.

So that is why you can never trust anyone who is truly dear to you, for love is a fleeting thing and can turn friends into beasts for something as silly and pathetic as a beacon of affection.” Finishes Loki in an almost sour tone as you sit there on the cell floor, feeling a bit off and out of place from that abrupt turn of events.

You frown, “I thought you were going to read me a happy story?”

Loki closes the book, “I did.” Blue eyes on you in an instant.

“No. You really didn’t.”

Loki gives you an almost dumbfounded look, “The raven got to keep his original form and make love to the water nymph what else is there to want?” He questions like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. Not.

“The fox is depressed now. That’s not very happy.”

“It was happy for those two, was it not?”

You roll your eyes, “It was. But a happy story should have a happy ending for everyone involved. That’s the point of a happy tale being told.” You counter as he lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Not everyone gets what they want in the end, Y/N. That’s just life, some are fine and persist while others turn and run with nothing of any significance still clinging to them.”

You sit there a moment in bewilderment, soon rising to float threateningly by the glass, “That’s ridiculous! A happy story should be fucking happy! Love is supposed to be kind and beautiful, not this wedge that turns people against one another and supports a game that shifts into jealousy and disdain for one.”

Loki hums, “Well it is just a story after all. Love does that because it isn’t truthful ever, it’s a fleeting thing without any weight that only causes pain and disappointment.”

Your brows soon furrow at these dark words, “Oh and what do you understand about love?” You hotly challenge, voice accusatory and fierce.

“That it isn’t real.” Mutters the prince with a casual shrug, though his face flashes with uncertainty.

You scoff, “Is it now? You think love is a simple lie? A trick from the universe to keep races existing until their worlds collapse?”

“Yes.” Nods the Asgardian, “That’s what I believe.”

You take a breath, feet slowly touching the cool tiled floor as you speak, “You have no idea what it feels like then. So how can you claim it to be false?”

Loki crosses his arms, “True love isn’t real because that just cannot be realistic in any sense Y/N. Same thing as feeling happy or when you sneeze….the feeling is a feeling like butterflies in your stomach when you get excited. But like every emotion given, it leaves and the feelings are dulled or just dissipate altogether.”

“You’re wrong.” You bitterly mutter, voice low and filled with a somber hurt.

“And how would I be wrong then?” He wonders, truly curious to see how on earth you are able to counter this. He doesn’t wholeheartedly believe in love, though his growing affections for you seem to have him conflicted. He still wants to know.

“It is like magic, to be in love.” You reply, a faint smile ghosting your lips as you press your hands against the glass, “It is bright and brilliant and beautiful. It does not come and go like a fleeting spark from a dying flame. Love, like magic, forms from within when let into someone’s vessel. It is a power that always remains no matter where the person travels, or how old they become. Love, in the end and always through existence will remain. No matter what.”

Loki could have shed a tear at your beautiful explanation, yet his stubbornness persists, “A fairytale. Nothing more.”

“A fairytale? A fucking fairytale!?” You shout, voice rising in fury, “You don’t know anything but the lies you tell yourself you heartless bastard! All I wanted was a happy story that made me smile before I’m executed! And you couldn’t even give me that you selfish prick of a man!”

Loki’s heart grows cold as a winters morning, he blinks, forgetting how to properly breath at your heated declarations. He steps closer to the thin glass, brows furrowed in puzzled apprehension, “You’re being executed?” He asks, tone low and thoughtful.

Face falling into a deep frown, you lower your head in shame, “I have been condemned to die for my crimes above. Guess they’re not so simple as I had first claimed.”

“What do you mean?”

You let out a telling sigh, “I didn’t try and take the queens jewels, I tried to murder her..”

“You what?!” Whispers the Asgardian prince, eyes wide in shock, “What do you mean?”

Your gaze keeps trained onto the floor, “I am…well, I was….an assassin. Who, ultimately could not force myself to murder your mother Frigga, so I let myself be caught and taken. It’s the least I deserve for the life I’ve led. This is just how it goes, and I’m ready.”

Loki’s mind races, he never even suspected such a thing coming from you. Sure you’re indeed a beautiful mystery of a person who enjoys levitating in her cell for the hell of it. But your appearance and pose never revealed someone capable of homicide as their profession, least of all you.

And now, his father is condemning you to death rightly so, but Loki can’t help but think you don’t truly deserve this fate. Maybe, just possibly, he’d feel like he was losing a close friend. Someone who he never had any intentions of developing these strange new feelings for.

“I won’t let him end your life.” Suddenly speaks the prince, “You didn’t kill her, you actively chose not to, so I believe he could sway his final decision.”

You let out a breathy laugh, “Wishful thinking.” Just as three guards dressed in their true Asgardian golds walk to the front of your cell. Loki swallows, they dissipate the golden tinged force field, leaving you with nothing but air to keep you from their clutches.

“Y/N.” Softly calls the dark haired prince, voice small and desperate, he didn’t think they would take you so soon but what does he truly know anymore? Your sad eyes lock onto his as one guard snaps metal cuffs against your wrists, and another around your throat before he ushers you out.

Loki can’t tear his eyes from yours the whole time, and even after you’ve been dragged down the hallway and out of sight. He thinks, maybe you’ll return and it was all a big misunderstanding, a simple nightmare and he’ll wake any second now. But he knows this is foolish thinking, you’re never coming back. And he’s beside himself.

Loki bows his head in silent anguish, fists clenched tight as his heartbeat begins to race when suddenly he releases his grip and a small blast of green magic emits in the aftermath. Just enough power to knock some books onto the floor in protest. He doesn’t pick them up.

In the following days, Loki would pace around his cell like a nervous lion. Reading book after book to help pass the time though he couldn’t stop his racing mind from thinking about you. Where were you now? What had they done to you? Did it hurt?

He didn’t know and what’s worse is the guards only seemed to mock him about it, claiming your life was worth more dead then anything else. It stung like a heated iron spear left too long in the hot coals, he missed you beyond compare. How did you make him feel this way? When did that happen?

He missed your mischievous smile, your alluring eyes of curiosity and concealed chaos. The way you spoke to him like a person and not just a prisoner, or even a prince who’s disappointed his whole kingdom. You didn’t care, sure you lived to tease and pester him relentlessly, but you didn’t truly care about his current status.

You drew the attention out of him without even needing to try, brought a smile upon his face weather he was aware of it or not, and made him feel genuinely excited about waking up the next day. You became everything to him and more, and Loki hadn’t even realized this until it was too late.

But now you’re gone. And he will never see another Y/N for as long as he is to live.

Loki sits with his back against the wall, hair undoubtedly a wild mess closely matching that of the room about him. Books, clothing, furniture, and other personal belongings lay around his cell like the aftermath of a furious hurricane. He didn’t mean for this to happen, but when he got word that his mother was injured in the attack by the dark elves and freed prisoners. He new it was his fault, he led them to freedom after all.

With his mother healing from her non fatal wounds, and the loss of his dear Y/N to the axe. Loki has been doing less then tremendous these past few weeks, clearly. The prince now closes his weary eyes, breathing steadily as a new presence makes itself known across the golden tinged glass. He doesn’t care to look.

“Well don’t you look sad.” Teases a familiar voice, not condescending but just enough to make him laugh if he felt like it.

He opens his eyes to find your smirking face, body safe and sound wrapped in a cloak of white and intricately laced gold. How absolutely beautiful you are. His brows furrow as he mutters, “You’re just an illusion.” Voice horse and filled with doubt.

You raise a brow, “So is this?” You ask in reference to the clean cut illusion Loki is controlling, “I think not. I can see right through it.”

He forgot about the illusion he’s been creating since his breakdown, of course you’d see right through it, “You died. And my mother is hurt.”

“So you lost control within yourself and chose self deprecation? And apparently…chaos.” The trickster god rolls his tired eyes which causes you to chuckle, “I see my passing onto greater things has weakened your ego.”

He scoffs, “Your ghost form does not amuse me.”

Taking a glance down the vacant hallway, you step right through the golden tinged force field like it’s nothing more then air. “Loki Laufeyson, I am not a phantom or a dreary pigment of your imagination you foolish prick. I am Y/N, Goddess of Chaos and Magic. And someone who has missed you deeply.”

Loki frowns, blue eyes focused up at your truthful face as he sighs, “I….I don’t think I understand what is happening.”

You approach his side before kneeling down to reach his level, you two have never been this close before, “My tale was true as the forming of this realm itself. But your mother saw me for who I am, not what I have been enchanted to do with my life. So she gave me another chance to live, and so I did. To protect her and guard her until she deems otherwise, that’s why I’m still alive and that’s why your mother still has a beating heart.”

Loki reaches out for your hand that you gladly let him take, “Those prisoners..”

“I killed them. Every last one of those fuckers and the damn dark elves who attempted to crash their ship into the great hall. Let’s just say, it didn’t go according to their plans.” You explain, pausing for a moment to share a longing look with the Asgardian prince.

The corners of his lips rise into a soft smile, a deeply relieved one while you look down at your laced fingers, “Loki.” You whisper before drawing your head up to properly look at him.

“Yes.”

“I’m still counting on a better story.” You muse as he lets out a breathy laugh.

“Unfortunately none of these books happen to provide a decent tale, my dear.”

You gently squeeze his hand, “In that case I’ll bring you all the books stuffed in that giant library. There’s bound to be a good one, something happy.”

“I’d like that.” Nods the prince.

You smile, “But I have to ask you one thing.”

“Of course.”

“Did you miss me?”

Loki squeezes your hand right back, “More then I’d ever missed anyone.” Reveals the dark haired prince as he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, though his fingers linger on your cheek a moment longer before he slowly pulls them away and into his lap.

You can’t help but snicker which causes his face to scrunch up in puzzled embarrassment. Immediately do you reach up to cup his cheek, “I felt the same way. And I think I might feel a bit more too, quit possibly a lot more. No. Yes definitely a lot more then I first led on from a few weeks ago in fact and all I must admit to you now Loki Laufeyson or Odinson..prince of Asgard I think I’d like to kiss you now if that’s okay with you.”

Loki blinks, did he hear you right? “oh.” He mumbles, clearly unsure of himself or whatever wonderful thing you just said.

You immediately remove your hand from his cheek, “Too soon. Sorry I just thought I read you right maybe I was wrong I can just leav….” You don’t even have a moment to finish your sentence when his lips press pleasantly against yours.

His hands hold your face while your own hands gently grip onto his forearms for support in your awkward positioning, with him sitting and you still crouched. But it matters not when his lips move in time with yours, he feels so lovely, like a hundred roses pressing against your skin.

Giving you that soft velvety feel, you could kiss him all day if he’d let you. Though soon enough the two of you must break for some air, and with that do you pull him to his feet while you float just inches off of the messy ground. Loki never once taking his hand away from yours.

“How can you….how can you do that?” Wonders the prince as he glances from the ground to your face.

You shrug, “How can you move things with your mind?”

He smiles, “I guess, I just can. A terribly lackluster explanation I know, but perhaps I’m not truly certain how either.”

“Well let’s not dwell on the unknown for too long, this moment right now is too sacred for anything else. And though I have to leave, I will return to you…..and next time with more books. Then you will have no choice then to read them all to me.”

Loki hums, “I don’t see a problem there.” Before whispering in your ear, “Maybe bring some wine, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend an evening.”

You share a bright grin, “As the spoiled prince asks, but it will cost you.”

Loki raises an intrigued brow, “Cost what?”

“A kiss. Before and after I do your bidding. Can you settle for those terms?”

Loki’s lips pull into an adorable smile, cheeks almost dusting pink at your new flash of boldness. He’s never met anyone quit like you in all his years alive. “I believe those terms are acceptable.”

You give him a wink, “Good. See you then.” And with that do you crash your lips against his for on more heated embrace before leaving one final kiss to his slender cheek and floating out of the cell you go. Stopping behind the glass to give your new lover one last fleeting look, “Miss me you prick.”

Loki smirks, “Always.”

[justimajin]

Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt. 1

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader 

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut 

↳ (3.7k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread. 

➟ Warnings: This series will involve themes of graphic violence, depictions of blood, major character death and hints of trauma. 18+ rating. Reader discretion is highly advised. 

gif credit. 

➟ Next Update: Tuesday, December 22 

Love is a strange thing. 

It pulls individuals together, sparking fireworks and blissful rays of euphoria within seconds. It renders people affectionate, words dripped with honey and caresses full of tenderness transcending  without a means of stopping. To be frank, it’s majestic through the eyes of the beholder. 

But love is indeed a strange thing. 

It’s history has been plagued with moments of weakness and hesitation, moments that rip away layers to reveal raw, vulnerable selves from every individual. It’s inability to forget and move on clutches onto the minds of those that chose to associate with it, invading their memories and never granting them a single second to run free. Love is a strange thing, but it’s most putrid use has always been the necessity to use it like a tool. 

A deep breath escapes your tinted red lips, cold hands clutching onto the delicate bouquet that’s been thrust into them. The petal pink and lilac purple flowers rest against the chaste white of your dress, the awaited arrival of yours long passed as you raise your head and sneak a peek at the person standing in front of you behind your veil. 

Clad in a special tailored suit for the occasion, his dark brown hair has been brushed back and neatly tucked into the corners of his hair. He stands tall and confident, seemingly captivated by the words the priest mumbles through as he drags on through every dull phase written in his book. As if he can tell your eyes are on him, he suddenly looks in your direction and you return your gaze back to the ground, clutching onto the array of petals in your hands. 

The priest goes on to dutifully declare the responsibilities you must carry, including the very ones that tie you to each other. 

For better, for worse. Rich, poor. Sickness, health. 

Love. Cherish. 

“Until death do you part?” The priest peers up with fatigued eyes, glancing in between you. You suck in a shaky breath, eyes fixating on everything except for the man standing on the opposing side.  

“I-I do.” You hastily mutter, swallowing the lump stuck in your throat. Patiently waiting for his answer, you try not to focus on the collection of eyes gawking at you from the altar. 

“I do.” He states, firm and resolute with his answer. It shakes you to your core, eyes immediately flickering up to meet his warm ones. 

You’re perplexed for a moment, but you’re not given time to dwell any longer once the priest shuts his book, content with your answers. Relief floods you in an instant, yet it’s short-lived and has your stomach churning instead. 

“You may kiss the bride.” The priest steps back as if you needed room for the grandiose gesture, eagerly awaiting the showcase with the rest of the people seated in front of the altar. Nevertheless, your hands begin to quiver despite your best wishes and you remain planted in place. 

Before you even know it, the delicate veil resting against your forehead is being pulled up and tucked away, projecting your dolled up features on full display. You can only fidget when he draws near, preparing for the worse until he pauses. 

Glancing up in surprise, you’re caught off guard from the lines crossing his forehead and the dismay clouding his eyes. For a second, you could have sworn that you were gazing into a mirror, an image of your combined concerns being painted right in front of you. 

You’re caught in between a daze and bewilderment when he advances again, however all you feel is a soft peck against your skin before your veil is placed back into place. Your audience seems to be at loss with the action, but once he turns around to face them in the midst of holding your hand, loud cheers and roars flood the room as congratulatory confetti bursts into the room. 

Unconsciously, your hand drifts over to your cheek with furrowed brows and you steal another glance at the man you will be bound to for eternity. 

***

The L/N Family. 

Tactical and resourceful, known for their skillful strategies and trade explorations, a business they would go on to proudly pronounce in the arms industry. Others would look to them for support and reassurance, and they would in return cohesively make protective deals that would ensure no harm. Yonghwa, their head, would go on to make a legacy out of his family name. 

The Kim Family. 

Discreet and powerful, known for their relentless determination and invokable hunger, characteristics that would eventually seep into their weapon manufacturing business. They know how and with whom to pick their fights, vigorously acquiring a steady position in the industry within a flash before everyone’s eyes. Namjung, their head, carved the Kim name into a status no one would have ever imagined. 

Trade and manufacturing, two able sides of the same coin. They seeked to forge an union that would unite their two sectors, to create a harmonious flow of success within their collective industries. 

But not all deals, go as planned. 

On the fateful day, Yonghwa was found on the ground in a pool of his own blood while Namjung was left visibly shaken. Catastrophe seemed to only follow the event there on after, with both families seeking revenge on the other. Their union seemed to be the last thing on either mind, but after the years passed and stained relations had been fully dragged out, there only seemed to be one solution that could bring peace to the two of them. 

*** 

The wheels of the large suitcase hit the polished ground. 

It’s lavish and grand, crystals littering the high held ceiling and lilies spread over the handles of the spiraling staircase. It ends right at the large chandelier, with more crystals dangling down opposite the shining marble that your slippers find purchase in. 

You remain in place, staring with wide eyes and an agape jaw the scenery before you. 

“Please,” A girl bows before you, dressed in a simple pale blouse and skirt that’s paired with an apron. There’s a small twinkle in her pleasant eyes paired with natural pouting lips; the delicate features drawing out the sheer youth the girl embodies. “Follow me.” 

You snap out of your daze once she advances forward, her hands careful weaving through yours to clutch onto your packed luggage. At first, you’re a bit unsure as to if you should let her carry the heavy load up the stairs, but you’re pleasantly surprised when she manages to hall it all the way up.

She roughly pushes herself against a large wooden door, revealing the grand room behind it. It’s decorated similarly to the main portion of the house, however the sheer size of it has your jaw dropping again, eyebrows furrowed as its appearance. 

Your suspicions are confirmed right away, “This will be your room, Miss Y/N.” 

“I-I…” You can’t help but hesitate, “Are you sure?”

She nods, placing your luggage now. “Of course, Master Kim asked us to prepare it for you.” 

You instinctively flinch at the sudden mention of your husband, but the girl tilts her head to the side, curiosity peeking through her. 

“Don’t they have such rooms in the L/N residence?” Her eyes suddenly widen, and she slaps a hand against her mouth, “Oh no, I-I didn’t mean it that way!” 

A smile curls on the corners of your lips, “What’s your name?” 

She gazes at you with surprise, like she had been expecting a scolding fit for her lifetime. Nonetheless, she hastily answers your question with a bow. 

“I am Eunjoo, one of Master Kim’s most faithful servants.” 

“Little flower.” You decipher, “Sounds like a fitting name.” 

“It could have been summer’s grace.” Eunjoo offers with a shrug, “Though I don’t really like summer, so I’ve tried my best to ignore that meaning.” 

You let out a genuine chuckle from that, something that has Eunjoo instantly beam. The news of her own Master getting married to someone from the L/N family was initially difficult for her to digest, but it appears that she was too early to judge. 

A lopped smile etching onto your features, “And to answer your previous question, unfortunately the L/N’s don’t have such a residence. We’ve lost much of our wealth after‒…” You pause, biting back your words, “...after, you know.” 

You wave your hand away in the air and Eunjoo understandably nods, no need to delve into the long-lived history of your families that is known to all. She hurriedly aids in you in unpacking much to your reassured protests, following and assisting you around like a little fairy. Her company ends up being both interesting and comfortable, especially since the two of you discovered the other wasn’t well in adapting the titles you carry. 

A knock resounds against the door, drawing out your attention. Immediately Eunjoo drops the clothes in her hands, right before she straightens up and takes a graceful bow. 

Her reaction is telling of who's at the door, so with pinched lips and a creased forehead, you turn around. 

He remains glued to the door frame, still adorned in his tailored black suit. Aside from the similarity in his put together appearance though, his shoulders are no longer hiked up in a noble stance, nor is there any remaining amount of warmth spreading through his eyes. Instead, he appears akin to how he was in the split-second before your ultimate union was official, the memory causing the skin of your cheek to slightly burn. 

Swaying from side to side, he hesitates to step into the room. 

“I see you’ve met Eunjoo.” He mentions. On cue, the servant straightens up, a huge smile on her lips. 

“I was just helping Miss Y/N unpack!” 

“Oh that’s nice, perhaps I can assist to‒” He isn’t able to finish his sentence, because the next thing you know you jolt at the sound of a loud crash that echoes through the room. 

“Master Kim!” Eunjoo immediately rushes forward, scurrying to help the fallen man. He instantly rises up to his feet and dusts off his suit jacket, but remains of glass are scattered all over the ground. 

He lets out a groan and Eunjoo sighs, “Master, you know you have to be careful.” She begins to quickly pluck up the shards of the vase, raising one up to eye level with a pout, “I especially picked this one out for your newly wedded wife.” 

At the mention of you, Namjoon instantly glances up, pupils shaking. “I-I can get you a new one soon, it might take around a week but if I put in a request now‒” He scrambles around for a moment, before checking the inner pockets of his jacket for something to write on in a haste. 

Unconsciously, a small smile cracks through the seam of your lips, increasing as he tries to intervene with Eunjoo to pick the shards, and she protests that he shouldn’t get his hands soiled with her errands. He eventually has to sheepishly stand to the side, staring at her defeated like a child that had just gotten scolded for misbehaving. 

Eunjoo eventually collects all the pieces and ushers herself out, reminding you of the pending family dinner you’ll need to attend in the evening. She leaves the room and you decide to resume unpacking, until you come across the realization that you’re not alone. 

“Do you need help?” He peers at your suitcase behind you, “I’m usually more capable with things that aren’t easy to break.” 

The abrupt proximity catches you by surprise, but you merely shake your head at his kind offer, “I should be fine, thank you.” 

He nods and you assume he’ll excuse himself after a moment, but he lingers and that’s when you crane your head over at him. 

Appearing to be in between a deep ponder, he snaps back into reality once your questioning eyes fall onto him. “Uh I‒” A lengthy sigh leaves his lips, “I know this is strange.”

You wonder what he's referring to until you notice him gesturing to the gap between you, “It’s strange for me, and it’s strange for you. We didn’t really have a choice in the matter.” 

He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck, a deep crease forming between his brows. You’re frozen in place, at a complete loss for words. 

He suddenly sucks in a breath, looking up to gaze into your eyes, “But I’d like to get to know you better….a-as my future wife.” 

Your eyes round and his declaration only receives dead silence in its awake. Flabbergasted, he attempts to correct himself amidst your prolonged response. 

“T-That doesn’t mean right away! We can take our time and I’m not expecting anything from you, so you don’t need to worry and‒” 

“I’d like that.” 

He freezes, “Wait, really?” 

You hum, a corner of your mouth lifting, “You’re right, it’s strange. But I’d like to get to know my husband better as well.” 

His eyes immediately sparkle, like you’ve said the very words he’s been aching to hear, “That’s great!” A breathtaking smile overtakes his features, “I guess I’ll see you at dinner then?” 

You nod with a smile,  and he departs, the euphoria never once leaving his lips. 

***

Evening draws near and long gone is the dilatory white piece of garment that’s forever confined you to your fate. Instead, it’s replaced with a delicate fabric of rose gold, perhaps to represent the luxury you have of being present in such a place or in the new beginnings that will soon follow you. 

Regardless, you prepare yourself. Although you’re simply arriving to dinner, there’s a family waiting at the table that you don’t know of yet. 

Eunjoo brings you down with her after putting your hair up and presenting a pair of matching heels your way. You’re wary as you walk down the spiraling staircase, barely balancing yourself on the elevated shoes. Luckily, Eunjoo notices and helps you down, but the split moment of relief is met with a jolt of surprise when you notice someone waiting at the bottom.

“I’ll take it from here, Eunjoo.” The women amiably bids. Eunjoo swiftly bows, mumbling something along the lines of Mistress Kim, before heading into the dinner room. 

You immediately whirl around, eyes on alert like a deer in headlights. She mirthfully smiles at you, carrying a warm tone in her eyes that feels familiar. 

“You don’t have to look so worried,” She reprimands, “I’m not going to bite your head off.” 

Your eyes widen even more, “I-I’m sorry?” 

She bursts out into laughter, concealing her ruby red lips with a hand that is glittering in assorted jewels. 

“Nothing, dear. I’m just teasing you.” You nervously laugh at that, and she places a hand against your back, guiding you forward. “Come, I’m eager to know what my son’s wife is like.” 

Politely nodding, you follow behind her and nearly freeze. If you had expected your bedroom to be astonishing, then you weren’t prepared for the enormous buffet that waits for you ahead. 

Pieces of food are scattered all over the decorated table, ranging from freshly cooked to foods you would have never imagined yourself eating. It reminds you of times your family could barely manage to have a decent meal for one night, lost scavenging for food that wouldn’t make your empty pockets hurt. 

You’re so lost in the thought that you don’t feel someone brush by you. There’s suddenly a warm hand planting onto your shoulder, drawing your attention with a smile full of dimples. 

“Do you want to sit down first?” He gestures to the table, where his mother sits next to his father and opposite to his sister. Embarrassed that you’ve been just gawking at the table, you hurriedly take a seat and so does Namjoon. 

Even though you’re only just sitting at the table, it seems like all eyes are on you, burning into your skin and tracing every move. The impending silence eventually does crack though, and it’s done by a person you would have least expected. 

“Is that chicken?” Namjoon’s father blurts out, his eyes following a tray one of the servants brings by. His wife immediately interjects, dismayed by his reaction. 

“Indeed,” She points a demanding finger at him, “But none for you, there’s a reason why your health hasn’t been the greatest as of lately.” 

He pouts at her response, longley staring at the dish once it arrives. The childlike display catches you a bit off guard, eyebrows raised. 

“That’s unreasonable though.” He suddenly looks in your direction, “What do you think, Y/N? Isn’t she being unreasonable?” 

The abrupt inquiry leaves you speechless, no coherent words manifesting at the tip of your tongue. His wife whirls around, cocking up a brow in his direction. 

“Why are you dragging her into this?” She faces you with a smile, “Y/N is the newest addition to our family so we should make her feel welcome, not bring her into such trivial matters.” 

The pleasant response astonishes you, but more so the mention of your inclusion. He lets out a sigh, acknowledging his wife’s sentiments. 

“You’re right.” He turns to you, “Y/N, why don’t you tell us about yourself?” 

His mother hums, “I’d like to hear about where you grew up, Y/N.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing really special,” You grow bashful, “I was raised in the outskirts of the country by my parents.” 

The two of them nod, intently listening to you, “Before coming here, I studied in the imperial academy for a while.” 

“Ah, involved in the industry I see.” He praises, “You must know a lot about how our businesses are conducted, right?” 

“Not quite.” There’s a strained smile on your lips, “I didn’t want to actively participate in it.” 

Although your answer seems to have taken both of them by surprise, his wife hums in approval. “So I’m assuming that was your personal choice?” 

When you nod, a giant smile stretches onto her lips, and she elbows her husband, “A gutsy one, don’t you think?” 

He smiles in retaliation, “Just like you.” 

She blushes at his sudden compliment, but a voice from afar breaks the two out of their daze. 

“Gross - we’re eating here.” 

Appalled at the feminine voice, you notice the young girl seated across from Namjoon, a deep frown etched onto her stern features. 

“Leave them be, Geongmin.” Namjoon coaxes his sister, but she lets out a grunt of disapproval in the midst of eating soup.

The corners of his mother’s lips turn up and his father faces you again, looking as if he had a million questions up his sleeve lined up just for you. 

Much to your surprise, the rest of the evening is spent exchanging pleasantries with them and keeping conversation light. There even comes a moment when both you and Namjoon end up reaching out for the bread basket, only to pull away once you discover your hands had ended up meeting halfway. As you grow bashful, you notice his mother smiling tenderly and his father chuckling at the abrupt affiliation. 

Once the evening begins to come to an end, you excuse yourself through the use of your own fatigue and request to head to bed first. They waste no time in understanding, with Namjoon’s father even wrapping a hand around his son and expressing that he needed to discuss some things with him anyway. 

You leave the room as he heads off with his family, granting you with some much-needed time and space. 

***

Treading back, you pause at the large wooden door that leads into your room. Your eyes briefly skim over the fine carvings on the wood, instead choosing to scrutinize the direction of your right and left side. A shadow casts over your pupils and your hand presses against the door, letting it slowly creak wide open. 

Step by step, you stroll inside and let the light fade out, replacing itself with only darkness. 

The moment the source of luminescence disappears, you move within a flash. The handle is locked, tugged at for a confirmation. There’s a speck of radiance coming from the small lamp you’ve turned on, enough to see the large suitcase you’ve brought get yanked out. 

Zippers are flying and the cover is ripped off. Clothes are frantically thrown astray, dumped into a careless heep without much of a second look. Your hands are weaving through the material and running rampant, eyes flickering with something akin to desire and alloyed with increasing unease. 

Once your hands meet with metal, a twinkle emerges within your orbs. The spindle of ore is unwound; detangling the material in a quickened manner. It looks distinctly similar to what one would use for electrical purposes, set with the intention of providing light in grim areas. 

Right. The intention. 

Unraveled, you cautiously drift over to the large window by the bedside and crank it open. Peering outside, there’s no glimmer or streak of luminescence meeting your eyes, only a dark, simple gray sky. 

Unconsciously a breath of relief leaves your lips and you reach out, reclining your body just enough to reach above and then below the window’s hilt. The instrument effortlessly blends in, appearing like a simple cable that’s been tightly strung around. 

You lean back and rummage through the luggage on the ground, pulling out a small plastic box that doesn’t appear to be much, but more or less, is the sole thing you couldn’t have departed without. With a small hinged click, it connects to the thin barbed string you just unraveled and right when a quiet buzz resonates through, does a smile tugs on the corner of your lips. 

A knock resonates through the box. Followed by another, and then another. It’s succeeded with a prolonged silence on your part, your entire body remaining in a frozen state. 

Static echoes and you let out the air you didn’t realize you were holding from your lungs. 

Within seconds, you are nimbly knocking against the box in repetitive notions. Your actions range from different types of knocks; heavy, light, twice the sound. 

More static echoes and your eyes immediately widen, hands balling up into tighter fists. 

A heavier one. 

“I have….” 

Lighter. 

“...successfully infiltrated….” 

One last firm knock. 

“....the enemy household.”

[keewriting]

Cove x MC - One Shot #3 (request)

[Read on google docs to insert your MC's name]

SPOILER WARNING: Don't read if you haven't finished Step 3!

Your insides bubbled with excitement as the car neared the cabin nestled deeply in the forest. The fresh blanket of snow was nearly blinding in the bright morning sun. You looked over to your driver, Cove, who wore a focused scowl.

Cove: We made it. I can’t believe we made it.

Y/N: Isn’t it gorgeous? There is so much SNOW.

Cove smiled at you with apprehension. This trip was a special one for many reasons. You were both freshly 19, so it was your first holiday together as independent adults. On that note, it was also your first holiday away from your families. You felt more down about that than Cove did. His main gripe was the snow, and it was unmistakable in his expression. Cove parked the car in the designated snowless space. You both stepped out, Cove with a little less enthusiasm than you did.

Cove: Snow, snow, and more snow.

The cabin was glowing and decked out in beautiful Christmas decorations. An intermingling of garland and lights hung across the roof. More garland and Christmas baubles framed the frosted windows. Oversized candy canes lined the pathway up to the porch. The wreath on the front door was massive. It hung proudly with a cute snowman proclaiming “Let it Snow!”

Cove: The owners didn’t hold back out here. It’s impressive.

Mesmerized, you could only nod. The online advertisement described the cabin as a pre-decorated Christmas escape. The images you showed Cove online were spectacular, but they did not do justice to the real thing.

Not wanting to stand outside any longer, Cove moved to the trunk and began unloading the luggage. Cove first extracted a suitcase that he claimed was not filled entirely with gifts for you. Your gift for Cove lived safely in your own suitcase, already wrapped and ready to go. He then removed both of your clothing-packed suitcases. You were proud of your ability to convince Cove to bring winter-appropriate clothing to this trip.

You helped Cove drag the luggage to the front door. The host messaged you the entrance code before your arrival. You punched it into the keypad which stood in place of a normal keyhole. 1-2-2-5. Clever.

You paused for dramatic effect, then slowly opened the door to reveal the inside. It looked like a Christmas bomb went off, in the best way possible. You squealed and bounded inside first, leaving Cove to the luggage.

The cabin was small and cozy. The kitchen and living area were open to each other. There was no bedroom, only a pull-out couch that sat comfortably in front of a fireplace. The only other doors in the cabin were for the bathroom and a storage closet.

The Christmas tree drew in your eyes first. You stepped closer to inspect it and inhale the sweet evergreen scent. The tree skirt was wide and inviting to colorful wrapped boxes. Cranberry and popcorn strands wrapped the tree from bottom to top. An assortment of ornaments littered the branches. You peered into one of the big red baubles and smiled at your distorted reflection. Finally, you tilted your head upwards to take in the tree topper— a stunning golden star.

You spun around excitedly to appreciate the rest of the decorations. There wasn’t a corner or window without winter greenery. Festive cushions sat on either side of the couch. Stockings hung by the chimney with care. A miniature village of joyful folk lived on a console table by the entrance. You turned to face Cove, who had just finished lugging everything inside by himself. He shut the door and smiled at you, happy that you were already having a magical time.

Y/N: I’m sorry, Cove. I got a little carried away with—

You halted your own sentence. Your gaze drew upward to the ceiling above Cove. A mistletoe hung delicately in the doorway. Cove followed your sight, twisting his head for a better view. You strode towards him before he could speak. You stared at him intently and wiggled one of your eyebrows. He met your gaze again, already blushing intensely.

Cove: It’s one of those...

His sentence trailed off as you stepped even closer and hushed him.

Y/N: Just kiss me, you big, beautiful dumbass.

Cove gulped hard. He gently took your face in his cold hands. You hoped the heat from your blushing face would warm them. He bent towards you as you stood on your toes to meet the kiss. Your lips danced together sweetly. You parted after a moment and stared into each other's eyes. Cove’s ocean blue eyes glistened and crinkled with the wide smile that spread across his face. You dove into a hug, wrapping your arms around his tall frame. He returned the hug enthusiastically.

Cove: Let’s get everything unpacked and unwind. I need to get that fireplace lit as soon as possible.

You agreed and helped Cove locate a suitable location for the luggage. He paused with his gift-laden suitcase in hand. Face lost in thought, Cove's grip tightened on the suitcase.

Y/N: Everything okay, Cove?

Cove: Today is Christmas Eve.

Y/N: That it is.

Cove: Presents go under the tree on Christmas Eve.

You chuckled at his observations, but allowed him to continue speaking. He brushed it off casually.

Cove: I want this to be special, Y/N. If I put the gifts under the tree now you’ll see them and start wondering what’s inside.

The concern in his tone was apparent. It was just like Cove to worry so deeply about something most people wouldn’t think about. You pondered for a moment.

Y/N: Wait for me to fall asleep tonight, then sneak them under the tree like the real Santa Claus.

Cove laughed at the implication of a “real” Santa Claus. You were glad to see his mood lighten. He hesitated, then set the suitcase behind the others, careful to conceal it. Perhaps in an attempt to block you from using your x-ray vision to see through the luggage. You thought it was ridiculous, but in the sweetest way. Satisfied with the arrangement, Cove slapped his hands against his legs.

Cove: Well, now what? What Christmas activities does Y/N have planned today?

Y/N: Let me just pull out my Christmas to-do list.

You spoke sarcastically with a twinkle in your eyes. Cove rolled his eyes lightheartedly and wandered to the fireplace. While he fiddled with it you sank heavily into the couch. With an enthused “Aha!” from Cove, the fireplace roared to life. It crackled pleasantly.

Cove turned around to smile at you sweetly. He patted the ground next to him. You got up and settled in next to Cove. He wrapped his arm around you and drew you in closer. You immediately appreciated the warmth from both Cove and the fireplace. You leaned on his shoulder.

You spent the rest of the morning watching Christmas movies and munching on candy canes. For lunch, you and Cove made macaroni and cheese. You both welcomed the gooey warmth of the meal.

Imbued with energy from lunch, you leapt from your seat and proclaimed.

Y/N: We have to go outside and enjoy the snow before the sun goes down.

Cove made a sour face and spoke quietly without looking up from his now empty bowl.

Cove: Enjoy, yeah…

You sighed and clenched your jaw, restraining yourself. You knew Cove would be difficult regarding the snow, but hoped the special occasion would nudge him along.

Y/N: Fine. I’ll go outside myself.

Cove’s head immediately snapped up and he stared at you with wide, pleading eyes. He didn’t expect you to so easily give up on convincing him. You maintained an unimpressed expression while he spoke.

Cove: No, Y/N. I’ll come with you. You know I love spending time with you no matter what.

Your expression cracked with a hint of a smile, but you regained control.

Y/N: You’re going to hate it. Don’t bother.

You weren’t sure why you were being so stubborn with this. Cove was willing to compromise, but you still felt annoyed that his initial reaction put a damper on your mood. You shut your eyes tightly, now irritated by your own childishness.

Cove stood up and firmly gripped your shoulders. He waited for you to look at him. You met his gaze and stuck out your bottom lip in a small pout.

Cove: Let’s go build a snowman. It’ll be like building a sandcastle.

You sighed, but couldn’t resist his comforting voice and adoring eyes.

Y/N: I’m going to have to bundle you in layers. Gloves, a hat, maybe even a scarf.

Cove cringed at each word that escaped your lips. He nodded anyway. You both put on more winter gear in preparation for the snow activities. You held open the door for Cove, who hesitantly stepped outside.

Cove: This is way worse than the ice skating rink.

Y/N: You don’t say?

You loved teasing Cove for his blunt and often obvious statements, but he knew you adored him for it. He scoffed and stuck his tongue out at you.

Y/N: Careful with that, might get stuck on a pole.

Cove retreated his tongue and blushed lightly. You gently poked his tummy then grabbed his hand to lead him into the snow. You chose a wide open space away from the cabin for your snowman’s home. You started shoveling snow into a pile. Cove stood reluctantly nearby. You didn’t want to push him, but hoped he would join in the building.

To your surprise, it was only a moment before Cove dug his gloved hands into the snow. He smiled at you shakily while adding to your growing pile of snow. You went back and forth between adding snow and rounding the pile into a snowman base. Cove’s big hands proved useful in this endeavor. With the base done, you moved onto the head.

Y/N: We have to make the head smaller than the body.

Cove: How small? Do you want to give him a shrunken head?

You cackled at the thought, but shook your head.

Y/N: I think he deserves a normal sized head.

Between the two of you, the snowman’s head slowly grew. You stepped back to assess the size.

Y/N: I think that’s perfect. What do you think, Cove?

Cove stepped back as well and tilted his head. He spoke matter-of-factly.

Cove: Looks like a snowman.

Y/N: Not yet, he needs a face and arms.

You scoured the ground around you for twigs, leaves, and rocks. Cove did the same.

Cove: If only we had seashells. That would bring it all together.

With your findings combined, you got to work on designing the snowman. His face came together in a wide smile made of various pebbles. Leaves stuck to the top of his head represented the hair. Two sticks on either side of his body became the arms. Cove found several small pinecones to pin on his front like an array of buttons. Finally, the nose. You didn’t have a carrot on hand, so you opted for another one of Cove’s pointier pinecones.

Once again, you stepped back with Cove to admire your work. You wrapped your arm around him in a side hug, he returned the gesture with an arm around your shoulder.

Y/N: He’s beautiful.

You pretended to dramatically wipe a tear from your eye.

Cove: We should name him.

You agreed, and began to ponder names that would fit the snowman. After much deliberation, you settled on Sandy, as a memento of the inspiration for his existence.

Y/N: Sandy the Snowman, it really is perfect.

Cove: Next time we’re at the beach we should build a sandman and name him Snowy.

Cove waggled his eyebrows at you, hoping for a reaction to his hilarious joke. You couldn’t contain the grin that emerged from within. You were suddenly overcome by a wave of affection for Cove. His dorky jokes, the way he looked at you, his willingness to put his own comfort aside for your sake. You wanted nothing more than to push him down into the snow and ravage him. Knowing better, you instead decided to grab his hand again and lead him back indoors.

Cove followed with a small gasp at your sudden insistence. Once inside, you leaned Cove against the door and pressed your lips into his. You were desperate for his warmth. He returned the kiss passionately, running his fingers through your hair. You broke away from Cove, satisfied with your second mistle-toe kiss. Cove stood bewildered, disappointed by losing the warmth of your lips. You winked at him, never tiring of teasing your flustered fiancé.

You spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying each other’s company. You played board games, sang Christmas songs, and drank hot chocolate. As the evening emerged, a light snowfall began outside. You gazed out the window, hypnotized by the dancing snowflakes. Your eyes began to droop, and you felt the weight of the day pulling you down. You yawned and turned to Cove, who was already turning the couch into a bed. He must have sensed your weariness.

Cove threw some blankets and pillows into the bed and you dove right into the inviting warmth. He joined you and extended his arm to make his chest available to your sleepy head. You nuzzled in and closed your eyes, ready to drift away…

You stirred awake at the feeling of the mattress shifting. Your eyes fluttered open and tried to adjust to the darkness. Cove was climbing back into bed. It was completely dark outside, you judged it must have been a few hours after you fell asleep. Still half asleep, you muttered quietly to Cove.

Y/N: Santa, baby…

You couldn’t see his expression through the darkness, instead you heard a small chuckle. You held your arms out limply, hoping for a Cove cuddle. He took you in his arms and kissed the top of your head. You continued feebly, in a sleepy sing-song voice.

Y/N: So hurry down the chimney tonight…

Cove chuckled again and stroked your cheek gently.

Cove: I love you so much.

That was the last thing you heard before falling back into a deep slumber. Several hours later, the morning sun woke you. Cove was sleeping peacefully next to you, likely exhausted from playing Santa Claus last night. You turned over and rested your body on his chest. You peppered his face in tiny kisses until he awoke. His eyes eased open, a smile already growing across his face.

Y/N: Merry Christmas, Cove.

Cove: Merry Christmas, Y/N.

Unable to contain your excitement, you leapt out of bed, leaving Cove to fully wake himself up. You ran to your suitcase and recovered the small wrapped gift you got for Cove. You decided to place it beneath the already populated tree. Your jaw dropped seeing how many gifts Cove got you. You placed the gift down carefully and went to check on Cove.

Y/N: Please tell me you’re ready to open gifts.

Cove: I’m ready, but you have to open yours first.

You didn’t argue, you wanted to save your gift to Cove for last anyway. He joined you by the tree and sat cross-legged across from you.

Y/N: Where should I start? Is there any order to this madness?

Cove thought for a moment, then pulled out one of the presents. Shiny reindeer-imprinted paper covered the box. He held it out to you.

Cove: Definitely start with this one.

Impressed that he seemed to remember what was in each box, you took the gift with a smile. You tore open the paper and uncovered the joy within: an adorable stuffed dolphin. Your eyes lit up as you hugged the little guy. You thanked Cove, who immediately bestowed you with another carefully selected box. You giggled and repeated the process. The rest of the boxes contained: a book from your favorite series, tickets to an upcoming play, rare foreign candy, colorful seashells, and a beautiful ocean-themed puzzle.

You felt overwhelmed by the thought that Cove put into each gift. You struggled to find words besides “thank you.” However, Cove wasn’t done. He handed you a final box.

Cove: One more.

You unwrapped this one carefully, a mix of anticipation and nerves stirring within. Inside was a small album titled “Our Life.” You carefully lifted it out of the box and flipped through the pages. Each page was designed to represent a point in your lives together, from childhood all the way to this past summer. There were pictures, funny quotes, tickets from various events, and doodles. Cove even included the piece of paper from your infamous hang-man game.

You were already tearing up before you noticed a smaller box within the original box. With shaking hands and a pounding heart, you opened it.

Inside the box was a simple ring with an engraved wave design. You couldn’t stop the waterfall of tears that erupted from your eyes. Your emotions surged and your mind was spinning. Without speaking, you grabbed the present you put under the tree and offered it to Cove. He was visibly confused, even a bit concerned.

Cove: Y/N, is everything okay?

You spoke through tears.

Y/N: Just open it.

Cove silently complied. His fingers carefully removed the red and white pinstriped paper. He looked at you nervously before looking into the box. His eyes widened and glistened.

Cove: A ring…

You laughed shakily and scooted closer to Cove, still holding your own small box. He looked up at you, tears streaming down his red cheeks.

Y/N: We’re already engaged, but still got rings for each other. And look at how emotional we are about it!

Cove: I thought it would be nice to make it official with a real engagement ring.

You nodded in agreement, pleased that you were both on the same page.

Y/N: Let’s put them on each other.

You exchanged rings with Cove. He held your still shaking hand and carefully slipped the ring onto your finger. You did the same, relieved that the ring was a perfect fit on his finger.

You let out a massive sigh, it felt as if you had been holding your breath for ages. Cove was admiring the ring on his finger, his ocean eyes still glimmering with tears.

Cove: It feels as magical as it did the first time on the poppy hill.

You looked at him adoringly, unable to contain the crashing ocean of love you felt inside.

Y/N: Thank you, Cove. For putting in so much effort for me. All the time. But especially this Christmas. I know holidays aren’t your thing, especially not winter ones…

Rambling nervously, you felt like Cove in that moment. He invited you to sit on his lap with a simple pat. You settled in and waited. He cradled you close and spoke quietly but confidently.

Cove: You are my thing. You’re the best gift I could ask for. You make braving holidays and snow worth it. I can’t imagine how this day could get any better.

Cove was right. The morning was still fresh, and you were already swimming in bliss. You sniffled, feeling lucky to have him and looking forward to living your life with the man you love. Christmas Day would hold a special place in your hearts for the rest of your lives.

[briefinquiries]

Luke Alvez x Reader: Bruises

Request: @whormotional​ asked: “hi i have recently become obsessed with your writing! youre like the best luke writing on this app i swear. could you do one where the female reader gets kidnapped on a case and tortured and just like luke and the team saving her and luke being there for her later that night pls”

Word count: 5.4k

Tagged: @ssaic-jareau​ , @alvezstan​​ , @lcvischmitt​​ , @ogmilkis​​ , @goldenalvez​​ , @ssa-morgan​​ ,  @akimagies​, @zhangyixingxing1​​ , @pinkdiamond1016​​ , @yourwonderbelle​​, @rachelxwayne​ , @sc4rletw1tch​ , @ellvswriting

Warnings: Kidnapping, torture, gun tw, blood mention

A/N: love angsty requests thank youuu. hope youu enjoy!!

You wake up to the taste of blood in your mouth.  Your breath was ragged and shallow as you shook yourself out of a deep sleep. It was the first sense you were able to regain, but before you could force your eyes open, you felt the  pulsing pain coming from the back of your head.  It shot down your neck and around to the front of your forehead, making you wince.  

Images from the dream you had been having were still clear in your mind.  You had dreamt of Luke.  Maybe you dreamt about him because he occupied most of your thoughts, or maybe it was because his face had been the last thing you saw before blacking out.  You remembered seeing his brown eyes- usually warm and inviting, turn wide with worry as they didn’t quite meet your gaze.  It was like he was staring at something behind you. 

You saw him raise his gun and aim it slightly to your left.  You had been just about to ask him what was wrong before he opened his mouth to warn you.  His words were inaudible, though, as the blow that suddenly hit the back of your head had ensnared all of your senses.  The look on his face was what lingered in your mind now.  You tried desperately to memorize all of his features- the lines around his eyes and the way his hairline curved around his face.  You squeezed your eyes shut even harder, thinking of his tan skin and stubble beard. You really didn’t want to open your eyes, because you knew that wherever you were and whatever had happened to you, wasn’t good. 

…

When Luke comes to, he’s propped up against a cold wall and there are voices around him.  A headache was pulsing behind his eyes as he finally cracked his eyelids, eyelashes fluttering on his first few attempts. 

The blurry faces of Emily and Tara slowly start to come into focus as he wakes up.  He sees Tara sigh a breath of relief when her gaze meets his own. 

“Thank God,” she exhales quietly. 

Blood.  There was blood running down his head. And there was a bloodstained brick lying close to him. 

“Luke,” Emily’s voice is louder.  “What happened?”

“He came out of nowhere-” Luke states, he raises his hand to find the spot on his forehead that throbbed.  When Luke pulls away, there’s blood on his fingers.  Suddenly, images of the incident reentered his mind.  “I tried to shoot- but I didn’t want to hit her-”

“Where is Y/N?” Emily asks calmly. 

Just the mere mention of your name makes Luke sit up straighter.  The sudden movement makes his head wobbly, but he ignores it.

“Woah, take it easy,” Emily instructs. She puts her hand out to steady him. 

Luke falls back against the wall.  “She’s not here?” he asks, panic and fear flooding his insides. 

Instead of a yes or a no, Emily states, “We’ll find her.”

...

When you do finally open your eyes, you find that you're sitting in the corner of a dingy room, arms and legs bound to the worn chair.  The room reminded you of a basement, concrete walls with pipes and ducts running along the ceiling between the hanging lightbulbs that were much too bright without covers.  

You blink your eyes a few times, trying to make everything stop blurring together, but it seems impossible. 

You gasp, chest constructing at the sharp pain suddenly shooting up your left side. You breathe through your nose, trying to will down the panic and fear that’s engulfed you.  Each breath pulled in the strong presence of mold and mildew, making you want to gag.    

There’s a man in the corner of the room fiddling with something.  His back was turned to you until he realized you were conscious again.  He begins approaching slowly.  You recognize his wild hair and narrow eyes almost instantly.  

From the information Garcia had gathered online earlier, the man’s name was Greg Atwood. And he was your Unsub.   

You and the rest of the team had been called to Seattle over a week ago- after the third body showed up.  Once Seattle PD made the connection between the victims, it was clear their problem was severe enough for reinforcements.  You had worked the case just like any other- analyzing victimology, creating a geographic profile, combing the crime scenes. It became glaringly obvious that you were dealing with a professional, someone who killed efficiently and knew how to clean up their mess.  And when Emily sent you and Luke to interview the witness who found the latest body, neither one of you had any idea you were about to walk into the arms of the apparent killer himself. But the profile the team had established, fit.  

When Atwood opens his mouth to speak, his evil smile makes you cringe.  “You’re awake,” is all he states.  His voice is filled with venom. 

You jerk, thrashing against the restraints that bind you. The man steps forward, his finger trailing along the barrel of his gun. He smiles confidently, but it’s his eyes that burn into your brain.  

“What do you want from me?” you ask.  You knew all too well how these interactions went, but you were desperate to stall. 

The man looks at you for a long moment before inhaling deeply.  But he doesn’t speak. 

You blink again, trying to rack your brain and remember the profile.  What would buy you some time?

You dig your teeth into the inside of your cheek- a habit Luke had always given you shit for.  You briefly wonder if you’d ever get to hear him lecture you about it again. 

You tug at the restraints again, testing it.  But there’s no give. 

“What do you want?” you try again.  

Atwood takes another step closer, creepy smile still in place.  “I want to know how you found me,” he says simply. 

You bite your lip.  He takes your hesitation as an invitation to talk more.  “You see,” his voice trails. “I was very careful.  I cleaned up my mess, I didn’t leave behind a single trace of DNA.”

“We didn’t find you with DNA, we found you with our profile.” He didn’t need to know you and Luke had originally thought he was a witness. 

His smirk returns.  “Right,” he says, like he doesn’t quite believe it.  He turns his back to you and walks back towards the corner of the room he originally came from.  He hoists something up, you can’t quite tell what it is until he turns around with it in his hands.  It’s a tripod, and attached at the top is a camera. 

Your chest feels tight again- you didn’t like where any of this was going. 

The tripod is placed about six feet in front of you.  Atwood adjusts the angle a bit before pressing a button.  A light flashes red before he turns to look at you again.  His smile has faded. 

“Tell me where she is,” he orders. 

Your eyes widen, but you don’t speak. 

He waits, only a moment, before saying it again.  “Tell me where I can find Emily Prentiss.”

You clench your jaw.  

“I know you know where she is.  She is your Unit Chief after all, isn’t she?”

You ignore his question.  “Is my team seeing this?” you ask, nodding your head towards the camera.  

His silence makes you assume that’s a yes.  “You know- we profiled that you’d be extremely intelligent,” you say.  “But if you think I’d rat out my Chief or anyone on my team, we must’ve gotten that part wrong.”  

Your response gets you backhanded- hard across the face.  Your head whips back, but you try to shake it off quickly. 

You taste copper in your mouth again as you raise your head up.  Your hair has fallen in your face, but you don’t make any effort to move it. 

Atwood is looking at you, expression calculating.  “If you want to get out of here alive,” he says, “you’re going to tell me where she is.  It's up to you how hard you want to make this on yourself.”  When you stay silent, he continues.  “You see, it’s not you I really want.  I don’t want to kill you.  Just like I didn’t want to kill the agent you were with.  You’re collateral damage to me, it means nothing.”

His words make you freeze in place.  

Just like I didn’t want to kill the agent you were with. 

The sentence seeps into your skin like poison. 

Luke. 

Your face is blank and your mind can’t process the entirety of what he’s said, before he proceeds. 

“You see, it’s Prentiss I want.  Tell me where she is and this will all be over.”

“You killed-” your voice is shaky as you try to comprehend the words Atwood has just spoken to you.  “Y-you killed him?”

His smirk brings bile up in your throat. 

He was lying, you say to yourself.  Luke was fine, he was lying.  “No,” you whisper, your eyes burning with unshed tears. “No-”

Atwood sighs, pretending to be sympathetic. “Like I said- I didn’t want to do it. But he got in my way. Just like you’re getting in my way right now.” 

His words are muffled in your own head as your mind races to make sense of it all. Luke- Luke was your purpose and your happiness and your reason.  Luke was everything.  

“Tell me where she is.” Atwood presses. 

If he was telling the truth, and Luke really was dead- then what did it matter if you died too? “Go fuck yourself,” you spit, trying not to show him the brokenness he’d just caused. 

Atwood sighs, “I was hoping we could do this the easy way.” 

He approaches you, rolling up his sleeve as he walks.  You noticed a brass ring on his finger.  

You wonder what the rest of the team was thinking and if they could even see you right now.  You knew that they’d be looking for you, no matter what.  They’d probably even encourage you to give up Emily’s information- even though none of them would.  But it probably didn’t make whatever was about to happen to you easier for them to watch. 

“This doesn’t end until you tell me where she is,” Atwood sneers.  It’s his final warning.  You look straight at the camera and try to broadcast a message to the team.  In case they were watching, you wanted them to know you could handle this.  You offer the slightest smile, one they’d probably only catch if they rewound the tape, you’re reassuring them that you’d be fine.  

…

When the video stream first comes through, it makes Penelope gasp.  She was sleep deprived after being transported to Seattle.  Her job was to comb through the Unsub’s computer, and to hopefully find a hint as to where he might have taken you. 

At first, she’s surprised, and disturbed by the distressed looking girl tied to the chair.  Penelope has seen her fair share of gruesome images and videos in her days with the Bureau, but she never could seem to get used to it. 

But when the girl lifts her head and reveals a face Penelope recognizes immediately, she’s horrified.  Your eyes are tired, and every breath looks ragged. 

“Emily!” she calls out, “Guys!”  

Just then, a man comes into the frame, his voice is muffled and quiet. Before Penelope can turn the volume up to hear what he’s said, he raises his hand and strikes you across the face.

“No!” Penelope cries, squeezing her eyes shut.  Only when she feels a warm hand fall on her shoulder does she dare to open them. 

It’s Emily, and in her trail is JJ and Rossi. 

“What’s going on?” Emily asks, concerned. 

“It’s Y/N-” Garcia has tears running down her face. 

“Oh my God,” JJ breathes, she covers her mouth with her hands. 

“She’s hurt,” Garcia whimpers. 

Emily inhales sharply. 

“Is this live? Can you trace it?” Rossi asks, leaning in. 

Garcia nods, the rapid clicks of her keyboard answering for her. 

“Where’s Luke?” JJ asks, turning her head. “He can’t see this-”

“See what?” Luke’s voice rings through the room, making everyone turn their heads.  He’s standing in the doorframe with an ice pack held firmly to his head.  After being attacked, he’d refused to go to the hospital.  Not until you were home safe, he had said.  No one tried to argue it.  

They stand speechless, unsure of what to say to Luke. 

“See what?” he repeats.  But that’s when he sees the screen. 

“Who is that?” he asks, voice cracking. He leans so that he can see past Garcia. The panic on his face told them that he already knew. 

“We’re going to find her,” Emily says calmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

Suddenly, there’s a man’s voice speaking from the video.  It’s Atwood. 

“All I need is a location,” he says calmly.  “Tell me where I can find Emily Prentiss.”

Everyone in the room inhales sharply. Luke grits his teeth as he sees you pick up your head.  Your face looks scared. “I don’t know,” you say weakly. 

Atwood sighs.  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With that, Garcia cries out again as he sucker punches you in the jaw.  Just as you’re wincing from the first impact, you take another hit, a punch to the gut that leaves you heaving and breathless.  

Luke is wild, gritting his teeth.  “I’m gonna bash this guy’s head in myself,” he roars, turning away.  

Just then, the rest of the team filters in the room.  “What’s going on?” Reid asks.  He’s holding an evidence bag in his gloved hands. 

“The motherfucker’s recording it- he’s live streaming it,” Luke exclaims.  He’s gripping his hair frantically. 

“Anything, Garcia?” Rossi asks. 

Her typing has become more frantic as she desperately tries to secure a location.  

The assault against you continues, hit after hit, mostly centered on your left side.  It’s clear that you were doing your best to zone out.

Luke has started watching again, despite Matt trying to pull him away.  

You keep your mouth shut, even when your side aches so bad you think he’s broken one of your ribs.  When Atwood finally stops hitting you, your face is hot and bruised and bloody.

It makes Luke want to be sick. 

Just then, a pinging noise comes from Garcia’s computer and the room goes dead silent. 

After a moment, she turns to Emily questioningly. “I have an address,” she states. 

“What’s wrong?” Tara asks, picking up on the confusion in her tone. 

“What’re we waiting for?” Luke roars.  “Let’s go-”

“It just feels- wrong,” Garcia says, unable to put her finger on it. “Why would an Unsub as intelligent as him not block his streaming location?”

“Do you think it’s a trap?”

Garcia shakes her head.  “I don’t know-”

“That’s a risk we’re going to have to take,” Emily says.  She turns to the rest of the team.  “Let’s go.”

“Be safe,” Garcia whimpers. 

…

You barely feel alive anymore.  You had your eyes closed, and were resting your head against the back of the chair when you tried to imagine yourself back in your apartment with Luke.  You imagined being snuggled into him on the couch as you watched some cheesy, romantic movie. You had given up struggling- your restraints were too tight, it was no use. You tried to count how much time it had been since you’d been here. But the truth was, you had no idea how long you’d been out for. Hours? Days? 

You were wondering if the team was still looking for you when you hear a distant thump coming from upstairs.  

The thing was- you knew this wasn’t just about Emily’s location.  It wasn’t even about your team’s location.  It was about beating you- the power involved in outsmarting the FBI. 

You kept your eyes closed, taking deep breaths and trying as best as you could to get your body to stop shivering. You were bruised and bloody and dehydrated.

You hadn’t opened your eyes in a while now. And even though you couldn’t sleep, you didn’t want to open them because you didn’t want Atwood to know you were awake.  

You wished your mind would quiet down, but of course it wouldn't.  You had nothing to do here besides think.  You think about the last words you said to Luke, and you think of how meaningless and insignificant they were.  You try to remember when the last time you told him you loved him was.  You think about if you even wanted to get out of here alive if there was no Luke to go home to.  

In the midst of your thoughts, you gasp loudly when the only door leading out of the room blows off the hinges.  Dust fills the air and you flinch at the feeling of your neck suddenly being barred by a strong arm.  

Atwood. 

“Drop it!” Emily’s familiar voice fills the room.  

You sigh a breath of relief, despite knowing there was a gun pressed directly against your temple. 

“You’re not getting out of here,” Rossi’s voice says.  “So you might as well put the gun down now.” When the dust finally settles, you see him filing to the left corner of the room, his gun drawn.  Matt has already situated himself in the right corner. 

Atwood chuckles from behind you, his grip tightening. 

“What makes you think that?” he sneers. 

“Look around you, man-” Matt says.  “We’ve got you cornered.”

Atwood shoves the barrel of the gun harshly against your temple, making your head spin. 

“I like my odds.”

His eyes flicker to the clock on the wall- a motion that Rossi picks up on immediately. 

“What’re you waiting for Greg?” There’s a taunting tone to his voice. “For three o’clock?”

Atwood’s head shoots up. That hit a nerve. 

“We know what your plan was, Greg,” Emily says.  “We found the bomb.”

For a brief moment, you feel the gun being dropped from your temple.  Just as quickly, the sound of a single gunshot makes you flinch.  Atwood drops to the floor behind you, collapsing in a pool of his own blood. 

It was Matt who took the shot- taking advantage of the brief moment of hesitation that Atwood demonstrated.  You turn to him, trying to express your gratitude, but your head is spinning. 

“You’re okay,” Emily states.  It sounds like she’s trying more to convince herself of that fact. 

You nod without even realizing it. 

Matt’s the first one at your side. He’s frantically ripping away the ropes from your wrist.  There’s ligature marks already visible on your skin. 

Cops and EMTs start rushing through the room just as Emily speaks into her mic that it’s clear.  

You try to stand up, but the world around you spins immediately, tilting on its axis.  You almost black out in just about half a second. 

“Woah-” Emily says.  

Matt catches you before you fall to the floor.  

You struggle to look around the room, but everything is too bright and people are moving too fast.  It’s impossible to tell who’s here and who’s not. 

“L-Luke?” You hesitate because you almost don’t want to know. 

Matt gives you a soft smile, pausing when you’re finally free from your restraints. “He’s okay, he’s outside.”

You blink a few times, not sure if you heard him right. “He’s alive?” you lock eyes with Matt. 

Matt nods, his face sincere. 

“But he’s hurt- Atwood said-”

“Hey,” Matt whispers, tightening his grip around your waist.  “He’s okay, I’ll take you to him.”

You let out a sigh of relief, but it could double as a soft sob.  There are tears falling down your cheeks. 

With Matt bearing the majority of your weight, you let him lead you out of the building.  The glaring, afternoon sun makes it hard to see once you get outside, but you trust Matt’s guidance. 

After only a few steps, you hear your name being called. 

It’s so hard to focus, and you can feel your vision blurring in and out- but you’d know that voice anywhere. 

“Luke-” you whisper tentatively, because you still weren’t entirely sure that the voice wasn’t a hallucination. 

But then you hear it again.  This time it’s clearer and closer. 

You blink a few more times, the brightness fading as you strain to see. 

Slowly, Luke’s figure comes into focus.  He’s rushing towards you, and you realize that’s the first time since being taken that you feel like you could breathe again. 

“Oh my God-” Luke stammers.  Once he reaches you, he hesitates, like he’s too afraid to touch you.  You were sure nothing about you looked even remotely beautiful right now.  Between the bruises on your face and your tear-stained cheeks, you can only imagine the type of image Luke was taking in. “Are you okay?” he asks, he grasps your upper arms gently. 

You ignore his question and throw your arms around him, letting your cheek rest against his chest.  He wraps his arms around you, one hand falling on your upper back, while the other cradles the back of your head.  He kisses your hair firmly before pulling away.  He holds you at an arm’s length and scans your body. 

He takes in the sight of you.  There’s bruising along your jawline, red swirled with blues and purples from broken blood vessels.  It makes his stomach lurch to know you’d been hurt like this- that he couldn’t stop you from being hurt like this.  

There’s blood caked into the side of your hair- crusty and turning dark crimson.  Luke runs his thumb along the length of it.  

Suddenly, he sees you frown.  After blinking a few more times, his face has finally come into focus, which allows you to see the cut visible on his forehead. “Your head-” you observe. 

Luke starts protesting immediately.  “I’m fine, I’m okay.” His small cut was nothing compared to the bruises that inevitably littered your body. 

Your head spins again, making you sway in place.  Luke’s quick to wrap an arm around you and you fall into his side with ease, wincing when his hand falls on your bruised side. 

The EMTs are already on the street, ready to throw you into the back of an ambulance. 

You try to protest, assuring Luke and everyone else that you were fine. But Luke insists.  “You need to be checked out.  You’re not fine.”  

It feels like forever before the hospital clears you.  You have a concussion and a couple broken ribs, nothing that won’t heal on its own.  You’re grateful to not be more severely injured.  But you’re also just exhausted and sore and ready to go home. 

Luke barely let’s go of your hand, let alone leaves your side for the next twenty four hours. It’s comforting having him beside you, but you don’t like seeing him so worried. 

Once you’re discharged from the hospital, Luke and you head straight to the jet, where the rest of the team is waiting.  

Everyone wants to know how you’re feeling- how you’re holding up.  But talking about it made you think about it, and you really didn’t want to think about it. 

The plane ride home feels agonizingly long.  Every time the jet jostles or has turbulence, you wince. And every time you wince, everyone rushes to your side to make sure you’re alright. 

“Can I get you anything?” Tara asks.  She had just stood up to refill her own cup of tea.  

You shake your head, offering her your most convincing smile. “No thanks, I’m fine.”

“Blanket?” Reid offers. 

“Ice pack?”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Coffee?”

“Vodka?”

You decline. 

You sprawl out on the couch with your head resting in Luke’s lap and feign sleep just to avoid their fretting.  It makes you feel guilty to know you had them all so worried. 

His hands are in your hair, stroking the strands softly. 

“Luke, m’tired,” you whisper quietly enough so that only he hears. 

“I know,” Luke answers.  “We’re almost home.”

You lose track of the rest of the plane ride to your scattered brain, only picking up on small details: the murmur of Rossi and Emily talking beside you, the roughness of Luke’s jeans against your bruised cheek, the way your legs have to be slightly bent in order to fit on the couch.  Time passes in a disorienting lurch. 

It is an eternity before you land in Virginia.

And it’s an even longer eternity before you’re pulling into the driveway of you and Luke’s shared house. 

He tries to help you walk up to the door but you wave him away.  “I got it, I’m fine.”

You add a small smile when you see the hurt look on his face. 

“Bed or couch?” he asks while rushing to collect his keys out of his pocket. 

“Couch,” you murmur.  Your choice was based solely on the fact that the couch was significantly closer to you than the bed.  It also didn’t involved a flight of stairs. 

Luke drops your bags by the entryway before guiding you to the living room. His hand hovers wearily on your lower back- like he’s afraid you’ll collapse at any moment. 

You exhale choppily when you’re finally able to sit down on the couch.  It’s worn, familiar fabric makes you feel safer. Your eyes are heavy and your head wants to lull forward.  It’s hard to focus. 

Luke pulls the throw blanket down from the back of the couch and lays it gently on top of you.  It’s warmth brings comfort and ease.  

Luke kisses your forehead gently.  

“I’m gonna go grab some water,” he tells you. 

You just mumble incoherently in response. 

You quickly succumb to the exhaustion- letting your eyes fall shut.  But as soon as you let them close, his face appears.  It’s right in front of you, so close that if you reached out you could touch him.  Atwood is flashing his teeth with his signature evil grin, their tint of yellow and crookedness felt way too detailed to be a dream.  You wonder if you’re back in the basement- if you never really left in the first place.  Maybe being rescued was the dream. 

A soft clinking sound makes you shoot up from the couch, alert and panting while you frantically look around the room.  

Luke is setting a glass of water on the coffee table in front of you, but your startled response makes him whip his head towards you. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, face full of worry. 

As soon as you see him, you realize that you’re home and safe. You try to calm yourself down, embarrassed by your reaction.   

You take a deep breath. “Nothing,” you mumble, shaking it off.  “I’m fine.”

You both knew it was a lie. 

But Luke doesn’t argue- he doesn’t push.  He just settled down beside you on the couch, his arm wrapping around your shoulders carefully.  

You wait for a minute, steadying your breathing, before attempting to close your eyes again.  At first, it’s just the back of your eyelids and their darkness.  You stay focused on that and your breathing.  

As you finally start to relax, you start to feel a strange pressure against your wrists.  You jostle your arms, but for some reason they won’t move.  You’re stuck in place- restrained to the chair again. 

Suddenly, you feel Atwood’s fist against your jaw- his ring tearing open the flesh of your cheek.  His snickering is loud in your ears. 

You snap your eyes open again- you’re met by your dimly lit living room.  

Luke’s thumb is trailing up and down your arm comfortingly.  You were safe- these images you were seeing weren’t real. 

The third time you close your eyes- you see him almost instantly.  This time he’s close enough so that you can feel his hot breath on your neck.  

You shoot up quickly, panting heavily.  Your face collapses in your hands as you try to rub the images from your eyes.

It was real. It was very real, and you had the markings and bruises to prove it. 

This- laying on your own couch, finally getting to sleep- was what you’d been waiting for.  But now that your adrenaline had faded and some of the grogginess from your concussion had subsided, you couldn’t shut your eyes without hearing him, seeing him, feeling him- all over.

Luke sits up too, attentive to your uneasiness. 

“I c-can’t-” your voice is shaky.  “I can’t close my eyes,” you explain. 

Luke’s large hand rubs your back soothingly.

“I can’t close my eyes without seeing him.”

Luke nods, his hand travels from your back to your arm, he grips it securely before leaning in and pressing his lips to your temple.  You lean into his touch, letting him pull you closer to him.  He falls back against the couch, and you fall against his chest, practically on top of him at this point. 

“You're safe now,” he soothes. 

“I’m so tired,” you whisper, exhaustion making you start to tear up.  

“I know,” Luke murmurs.  His fingers trail up and down your arm, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake. 

It doesn’t take long of Luke holding you like that for you to fall asleep.  At first, it’s nothingness- just a deep, peaceful slumber.  Until it isn’t. 

This time you don’t see Atwood.  Instead, you see someone curled up on the ground.  As you step closer, you realize it’s Luke.  You call out to him, but there’s no response. 

When he doesn’t answer, you reach your hand out, fingers grazing his bicep.  His skin feels ice cold.  You shake him lightly- but there’s no response.  Harder this time, you pull his weight towards you, hoping to get his attention.  Instead, Luke’s lifeless body flops onto his back.  His eyes are still open, lifelessly baring into your own. His mouth is parted slightly but there’s no air coming in or out of it.  That’s when you see the blood dripping down his face and pooled beneath his hair. 

You wake up screaming. 

“Hey-” Luke’s spinning and sitting up to position himself in front of you.  He cups your face between his hands. “Hey, hey- you’re okay. You’re safe, I got you.”

But you shake your head.  “It wasn’t me-”

Luke’s brown eyes narrow slightly, like he’s trying to understand. 

“It was you,” you say, voice fading into a sob.  “He t-told me that he k-” you swallow the lump in your throat, but it does little to make you stop crying.  “He told me that he killed you.  He told me you were dead.” 

Just saying it outloud makes you erupt into a puddle of tears.  You’re so distraught that you barely notice Luke pulling you into his lap on the couch. 

He’s murmuring soothing words into your ear, but continues letting you cry into his chest.  The numbness from earlier had completely worn off, and while you were scared and hurt- it felt good to feel something other than exhaustion.  

You’re not sure how long you stay like that- curled into Luke’s chest sobbing into his cotton t-shirt.  At some point, Luke had used his free hand to reach for the remote.  He put your favorite show on the television.  You’d seen every episode several times, but Luke knew it brought you comfort. 

Your eyes were red rimmed and puffy and you sniffled weakly. “I’m sorry I’m keeping you from sleeping,” you whispered, when you were confident you wouldn’t burst into tears again. 

Luke tightened his grip around you. “It’s okay,” he assures you.  “We’re both concussed, and I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to sleep while you’re concussed, anyway.”

You smile. 

Luke linked your hands together, looking down at you and giving you a soft smile. “I love you.” He whispered, lips pressing against the top of your head.

“I love you too.” you replied quietly.

Things were a mess.  And you were sad and scared and it would probably take a lot of sleepless nights and painful sobs for you to get through this.  Luke would be there to dry your tears though, just like he always was. And Luke would probably have to try harder to keep you feeling safe and eventually, you were going to have to talk about what happened.

But right now, wrapped in each other's arms on your shared couch, all you needed was each other.   

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober 2021 - October 1 - Bound

Fandom: Nightwing, Batman - All Media Types

AO3

Warnings: Kidnapping, Panic Attacks, Isolation, mentions of IV/needles

---

It’s been hours since Dick’s woken up… here.

“Here” is hard to describe, yet incredibly easy. He can say for sure that at least within the 180 degrees ahead of him, it’s all white. White walls that, if arranged in a mirrored-image behind him, might make a hexagon. The ceiling above him is bright and unforgiving, LED lights dotting the space above him like freckles on Barbara’s cheeks and shoulders. He can’t see any sign of a door ahead of him, and the gray-speckled white tiles that make the floor aren’t particularly enjoyable to look at.

Yeah, describing what he can see about the room is the easy part. The hard part is that behind him? It’s all guess-work. For all he knew, there could be nothing behind him, or a cliff, or… or something ridiculous. There could be a whole manner of things behind him, but it’s impossible for him to get a look because his head is strapped to the cushioned chair he’s forced to sit on.

He hates this. It’s been hours. The chair, while cushioned, isn’t even that comfortable. The way his arms lay on the armrests and his feet come together near the end of the chair suggests a dentist’s chair and a therapist’s sofa had an evil love-child who was into bondage, considering how many straps were buckled in to keep him trapped down.

He’s going to lose his mind. Did he really just make a bondage joke about a chair?!

Anyway, he’s stuck here, his arms pinned down by the wrists, elbows, and under his armpits. Two heavy straps run over each shoulder and cross in the middle of his chest to connect back to the chair near his hips. And speaking of hips, there’s another strap around them too like an old Volkswagen seat belt. More straps around his thighs, knees, and ankles keep his legs locked together and down. That’s not even mentioning the binds that lock around his neck or the one around his forehead that’s fitted to the headrest that seems designed to not let him even attempt to rotate his chin to the side.

It’s horrible, and awful, and cruel, and unusual, and he’s not even that sure why he’s here. All he can tell is that he has a massive headache, his Nightwing mask is on but his suit is gone—replaced by some sort of nightgown that definitely doesn’t seem friendly, and whenever he tenses his arm he can feel a tug in his wrist.

Must be an IV of some sort? It’s strange though, from what he can see he can’t see any medical equipment hanging around him. But it has to be an IV. With his night job, he’s become familiar with the way his lips go dry and how his fingers tremble when the damn needle gets put in his arm.

But… if it is an IV, it must need changing by now, surely. It’s been hours, and those things don’t last that long.

Hours. Sitting here with the feeling of a needle in his arm, not sure where he is or what he’s doing here, nothing to look at besides those Barbara Gordon freckles on the ceiling and those gray speckles on the tile.

He tugs on the restraints for what must be the thousandth time, and growls when nothing happens, as unsurprising it is. All his attempts to slip out of or break the restraints have left him with nothing but bruising and irritated skin. However, he feels so restless and bored out of his mind that tugging on the belts seems to be the only productive thing his brain can think of to do.

He tugs again, and nothing happens. He sighs. Relaxes back. And… tries to think of how he got into this mess.

It’s just as successful as breaking the straps.

-o-o-o-o-

“Okay, I’ll bite,” he calls out to nothing. His eyes hurt, he’s exhausted, he needs to pee and that’s something he doesn’t want to deal with. “What do you want from me, eh?”

Silence. His hands bunch in angry fists and he pulls against the straps hard enough for him to feel the edge bite into his skin.

“Batman’s identity?” He tries, because it’s always about Batman’s Identity (TM). When there isn’t any answer, he continues. “Police secrets?” Nothing. “Superman’s identity?”

Nothing. He growls and glares at the empty walls ahead of him.

-o-o-o-o-

He’s using the pain in his wrists, focusing on the warmth running down the cuts the straps have finally created, instead of the pressure in his bladder.

It only lasts so long.

Great, so now he’s bored out of his mind, stuck, and the room smells horrible. Or, the room smells horrible until whatever unseen vent takes away the reek and the chair dries, leaving him being the only one who’s smelling.

He hates this. He hates this. He hates this.

He jerks against every restraint and snarls in impatience and restlessness. He can feel the cuts tear more, but he’s close to not caring, he longs to move.

If his snarling eventually fades into howls, then he’s almost positive no one is around to hear it other than himself.

-o-o-o-o-

Bruce’s cape settles around his feet as he lands, launching droplets of questionable sewage water up to his knees. Damian lands beside him, the whites of his domino mask narrowed in fierce determination.

It’s been nothing but a series of long hours since the Riddler kidnapped Dick with the clues to his whereabouts left carved into the pavement with abandoned Wing-Dings. During Bruce’s search, a few things became apparent: Dick was trapped, alone, and Bruce had until Dick died from malnourishment once the crude IV he was apparently attached to ran out. Riddler is already behind bars, has been for several hours, but interrogation wont get him to give up his games, and Bruce may be a vigilante and “above the law”, but he wont stoop so low as to torture.

At least, not until things get desperate and Damian’s not around to see. Dick would never forgive Bruce, and will probably never talk to him even in any kind of afterlife.

But it hasn’t come to that, Tim solved the riddle through emails delivered from wherever he’s located with his Young Justice friends. They’re always changing spots, and even if Tim were to come home and solve the riddles in person, it would probably be too late.

It isn’t too late, he reminds himself as Damian takes off down the sewers. They know Dick’s exact coordinates. Bruce almost kicked himself when Tim revealed them, because of course lead to Gotham’s abandoned sewage system.

The way to Dick’s location is a tough one, one riddled (as Dick would say) with traps. But they’re nothing compared to a worried father and a determined brother. They find the door nudged neatly behind a section of brick, and when Bruce opens it he’s almost blinded by the night vision in his lenses adjusting to the sudden attacks of bright lights.

Bruce sees before he hears. His eyes were always one of his favorite senses, which is probably why Damian—a boy who’s had to hear to save his life many times—ran to the chair in the middle of the hexagon-shaped room before him. White walls, white tile, white LED’s to sit in a white ceiling. The back of a padded chair in the center of the room faces him, revealing nothing of what it contains.

And then Bruce hears the screaming. Weak, clawing screaming that sounds like what sandpaper would feel on dry skin. He knows this scream, the tones to it, and within moments he’s running to the front side of the chair with Damian.

Dick’s there… writhing. Blood stains skin and cloth around almost every strap holding him down from struggling that must have been continuing for hours. As Damian tears an IV—the tube feeding him nutrients disappears within the chair; there must be some sort of mechanism keeping it working within its structure—Dick’s struggles like he doesn’t notice the change. His eyes are squeezed shut, tears drip down his cheeks, and his screams are so so hard to listen to. Does he even know they’re here?

“Dick,” Bruce says, knowing there’s no one to hear him with Riddler behind bars and his goons scattered. Dick doesn’t respond, just continues to yowl like a wounded stray cat. Already, Bruce can see the symptoms of prolonged use of an IV and of exhaustion. Has Dick slept at all since being kidnapped?

Damian begins work on one of the straps around Dick’s jerking wrists. Bruce follows suit, quickly, desperately wanting to get his eldest out of here, but he’s forced to abandon his task when the loosened strap on Damian’s side allows Dick to tug his wrist free and move to hit the boy. Bruce catches his hand before the hit can be met.

“LET ME GO!” Dick screeches.

“Dick, we’re helping you,” Bruce shouts back wearily, but Dick doesn’t listen as he begins to babble all kinds of demands similar to let me go. Bruce gives Damian a look. “He’s exhausted and most likely delusional. Our best course of action would be for me to hold him down, and you undo the rest of the straps. Maybe we can get to him without having to risk drugging him once he’s no longer restrained.”

Damian looks all parts of his age as he takes a second to give a shockingly vulnerable stare Dick’s way. The vulnerability only lasts a moment before Damian’s nodding. “Got it.”

The next several minutes are filled with events that will reveal themselves in bruises with the coming days, even through the kevlar. It’s tough work keeping a Dick Grayson down, especially when it’s a Dick Grayson who absolutely refuses to be kept down in the first place. However, eventually they release the last strap around Dick’s other wrist and soon enough, both Bruce and Damian are jumping back and Dick launches himself out of the chair, stumbling to the floor and then falling to his ass when his knees give out. Dick looks pitiful, trapped between wanting to curl up and cry or stand up and run, yet curling up seems to win out as Dick must have no energy to lift himself back up.

“Dick,” Bruce calls again when Dick’s hoarse breathing calms, and this time, hope flutters into his belly when Dick’s shoulder’s tense in response.

“… B…?” comes a horribly weak response, but a response nonetheless. Bruce rushes around the damned chair to where his eldest still sits, curled up and shaking. He reaches out unconsciously, kneeling down to scoop Dick up in an embrace, but stops when Dick violently flinches away.

“Don’t touch me,” he whimpers, “just- I don’t- I couldn’t move-” he breaks into sobs.

Bruce is almost considering returning to Arkham and breaking a few bones. Instead, he lowers his voice and speaks as calmly as he can.

“I understand. But we have to get you back home. Just your arm around my shoulder, and I’ll support you while you walk. Can you do that?”

It’s proof of just how shaken Dick is when it takes a few moments to get a hesitant nod.

Bruce does his best to ignore Dick’s flinching and twitching while, with permission, Bruce helps Dick up and wraps his arm exactly where Bruce said he would. Damian stands a few paces off, looking torn. Bruce tells him to run ahead and bring the bat-mobile closer to the sewer opening while Dick blinks owlishly and gulps like a fish… doing his best to keep down what must be a pending panic attack. Damian thankfully leaves without much argument, and Bruce is left to help his eldest, hyperactive, always moving, always smiling, always stimming in some way or another son out the blasted room and towards freedom with as much control given over to Dick as possible.

“I scared Dami,” Dick whispers through clenched teeth, halfway through the sewage tunnels.

Bruce hums and resists tightening his grip on Dick’s arm. “It’s not your fault. He will not hold it against you.”

“I scared you.”

“… I was scared for you. But right now the only thing that matters is getting you home. Then everything can return to normal”

Dick nods his head, his voice choking in what must be another sob. “Okay,” he whispers, “okay.”

And Bruce silently vows to punch Riddler a little harder the next time he sees him.

But right now, the only thing he cares about is that Dick’s alive, and Bruce is bringing him home.

[free-pancakes]

here's part 2 to the levihan marvel au drabble! im HOOKED help it's not even funny the brainrot hello

part 1 here

“This feels wrong.”

Hange’s hands reached for another arrow.

“Do I... know these people?”

Voices yelled her name, but she didn’t recognize them. Her own ears couldn’t tell if they were familiar or not.

Hange watched her own arrows pierce the hearts of the people in her path, destruction—her mind told her she was winning, but her heart didn’t agree.

She walked away from the scene, a bad feeling lingering in her hand as she gripped her bow close. Unsure of where she was heading, her mind told her to continue, until she reached an unfamiliar location under the cover of night.

A van drove up, and a man with blonde hair and glasses emerged from it—she felt herself salute immediately.

“Agent Zoe, your next task—eliminate Agent Ackerman,” Zeke announced coldly.

Hange paused. It felt as though her soul was split in two—her mind ordered her to go, hopping into the van. But once again, at the same time, something didn’t feel right.

“Ackerman?”

——

Levi revved his motorcycle as he sped through the streets. He stared up, dusk’s blend of purple and orange reminding him of Hange, happy and bright—he choked back tears.

As he gripped the handlebars tighter, an aching pain tugged at the skin of his knuckles, reminding him of the mess he left Erwin and Moblit in. He had been so kind to gift them both a black eye before Petra and Oluo successfully managed to hold him back. And though he felt bad… he didn’t regret it—it has been 5 days since Hange has been gone. 5 whole days. And he knew it wouldn’t have happened if they were together. They had always been safer together.

But the lingering thought set up shop in his mind—Zeke had a powerful grip on her mind and he had her well-being riding on his shoulders.

News searches, and finding that fellow agents have fallen by Hange’s own arrows had been his only clues to her whereabouts. He wasn’t sure how he was going to find her, but he wouldn’t stop until he did. She saved him, and he’d only do the same for her.

——

Under the cover of night, Levi continued to ride his motorcycle throughout the city around locations Hange was recently seen in, when suddenly a loud backfire sounded from behind him.

“Hange??” He yelled in surprise as she sped in on a motorcycle right on his tail.

He didn’t expect Hange to be the one finding him.

An explosion blasted from his side.

And of course, she was heavily armed.

Levi ripped through the streets as Hange remained close behind him, the smell of burnt rubber lingering through the air every sharp turn he made. Another arrow flew by his head, blasting the road in front of him—luckily he was able to drive away just in time before concrete and asphalt could pummel him. It gave her time to catch up to him, and for a moment, he caught a glimpse of her face.

In her eyes was a dark abyss, blank, unrecognizable. Devoid of all the light he ever knew her to be, no smile, no nothing.

It shook Levi to his core.

Distracted, he missed another arrow of hers shooting right at him, and had to jump off the motorcycle to dodge it safely. Levi fell and skidded onto the concrete, yelling out as his skin slid on the rocks.

He was thrown for a loop seeing Hange—relieved to see her again, but simultaneously pained. But, he shook himself out of it. Luckily it was late and no citizens were out and about, but he didn’t want to risk it. So, he made desperate moves to lead himself and Hange at least a little outside the city limits, and he knew just where to go. He ran swiftly back to his motorcycle, and sped down the road towards the docks. A few tears streamed down his face as he rode—whether it was from the road burn or seeing Hange, he wasn’t sure.

——

He led Hange to an abandoned facility just outside the city limits, hopping out to run inside—it’d prevent her from using the explosive arrows in the tight space.

Levi crept through the metal stairs, memories of one of their previous missions ending here on his mind. He hoped the location would stir some memories for her as well. As he searched for higher ground to gain vision for himself, he should have expected Hange to be this fast. There she was, standing on the other side of the metal grate walkway, hanging several floors above ground.

The silence was deafening—he stared at her dark, blank eyes again as they made eye contact—stirring something desperate in Levi.

“Hange, it’s me,” he stuttered, unsure of how to snap her out of it. She ignored his words and pointed her bow at him. Levi dodged as it flew towards him, sliding to swipe her off her feet with a kick.

But the mind-wiping didn’t erase her muscle memory dodging Levi’s go-to move.

She stepped down on his ankle with perfect timing, but he propelled his torso upwards to grab at her bow. He yanked down to bring her to the floor, the metal walkway they were on beginning to swing wildly. The two of them slid and rocked back and forth, tumbling over each other as each tried to gain the upper hand.

“Hange, it’s me, Levi!” He yelled as they struggled. Hange once again ignored his plea, and finally freed herself. To Levi’s surprise, she did the unexpected. He recognize her pulling an explosive arrow, and she aimed it right past him to blow the end of the walkway’s attachment to the ceiling. At this point Levi knew, Zeke had ordered her to kill him—she was not exactly being careful.

The two fell through the air, but Levi was able to ground himself on a platform, luckily catching Hange by the hand before she could fall and severely injure herself, her bow and bag of arrows falling a few stories below, landing with a crash. He took another hand and lifted her up onto the platform, and they began to fight once again. As always, their hand-to-hand combat was evenly matched, each blow matched with a block, every move countered. And like the first time they had ever fought, Levi found himself smiling, and he swore, he saw her smiling too.

It hit Levi like a ton of bricks—the mind-wiping didn’t erase her muscle memory earlier. The mind-wiping didn’t erase what lay in her heart.

And as though Hange was speaking to him, two words weirdly came to mind: “Cognitive recalibration—“

Levi almost laughed out loud as the phrase came to mind.

“Stupid four-eyes,” Levi let out as he remembered her bright voice telling him what that meant years and years ago:

“It means hitting someone really hard in the head, Levi!”

He blocked another punch from Hange, and swung towards her head, but she dodged too quickly. So Levi did the unexpected, tackling her, and her head hit the railing.

Hange yelled out, her hands reaching up to stabilize her head.

“L-Levi?” She said, making Levi’s gut wrench hearing her say his name once again.

Her eyes were still in a daze, not fully there. So Levi decided the safest move…

“Sorry, Hange,” he whispered as he elbowed her in the head, knocking her out cold.

Levi paused, breathing heavily, exhausted. With his sleeve, he wiped the blood dripping from his nose as he stood. He looked down at Hange, and tears of relief fell down his face. He pushed the hair from her face, and kissed her softly on the forehead. Safe.

Levi picked her up, balancing her on his back, letting her head rest on his shoulder. He let himself smile, and climbed down to collect her bow and arrows. He just hoped that it worked, and that her beautiful mind would return shortly.

——

Hange woke, her mind spinning, like she had been riding a crazy roller coaster for days. Her thoughts were cloudy, and she couldn’t hold her head up properly. She groaned, a prickly headache coming on. When she tried moving, she gradually realized her arms were bound to whatever she was sitting on—the word infirmary lit up at the door nearby her, and she tried to ground herself. But, screams of comrades sounded in her brain, broken images of destruction flashed before her eyes before she could focus.

“Are these memories or dreams?” She thought, but it’s like she knew deep down, she wouldn’t be waking up from a nightmare anytime soon. Tears streamed down her cheeks as memories from the past few days became clearer and clearer in her mind.

“Hange…”

Hange looked up, her eyes still dazed.

“You’re gonna be alright.”

Levi stood up, crouching down to look at into her eyes at her level. He almost smiled—she was coming back.

“How do you know I’ll be okay??” She yelled. “I’m still trying to get Zeke out,” she whispered, sweat hugging both sides of her face. Then, Hange continued to cry: “Levi, how… how many agents did I… did I—” “Hange, don’t.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Don’t do that to yourself, Hange. It was Zeke’s doing, not yours.”

She breathed heavily.

“It’ll take some time to level out, Hange. Rest.”

Still trying to find her mind again, she barked back—“Do you know how it feels to be separated from yourself, have your brain played with, unmade??”

Levi paused—she didn’t even know how strong her heart was, that it almost overcame Zeke’s mind wiping even without his help. She didn’t know how powerful she really was.

“…You know I do.”

Hange muttered regretfully, “Sorry.”

Levi shrugged it off, eliciting an understanding smile from Hange.

“You know where Zeke is now?”

“No. But we’ll find him again, won’t we?” A devious grin appeared on Hange’s face. “I’d love to put an arrow through his stupid looking glasses.”

Levi sat down on the bed next to Hange, hands folded neatly in his lap.

“Now you’re sounding more like you.”

Hange smiled and laid her head on his shoulder.

“We’ll get him, Hange. Don’t worry.”

She turned upwards to face him from where her head lay—“What did Zeke do to you, Levi? I know you’re here for me, Erwin, Moblit… the rest of our close comrades. I have not doubt about that. But I never thought you’d ever really care to fight our war.”

Levi looked at his hands, bandages over the road burn from their fight, reminding him of the look of Hange’s eyes completely blank and unrecognizable in front of him. He couldn’t let Zeke walk around earth thinking he could get away with that.

Levi looked down at Hange, seeing only light and warmth dancing around her big brown eyes, a shy smile on her face making his heart happy.

“I guess… I’ve been compromised.”

[hargrove-mayfields]

more religious Billy pls

trigger warnings for homophobia, child abuse and religious trauma.

From family, to friends, to neighbors, everyone around Billy always said, people like Billy were never supposed to get their happy endings. You sin, you repent, you get to live it up in paradise. But if you don’t repent, you go to hell. It was simple the way they taught it.

And that’s exactly the problem. Billy never knew exactly how he was supposed to earn forgiveness when his sin was just being himself, simply existing, but he tried, for years he did.

He went to every Sunday service and prayed each night like a good Christian boy was supposed to. He did everything he could to make up for being the way he was, from asking out all the pretty good girls at school to participating in the anti-homosexual pushback at the town hall even if he did go home and cry so hard he threw up after that, but those things were all just a performance, cowardly, futile attempts at pleasing the big man in the sky (and at home) that were getting him nowhere near any closer to the pearly gates.

Eventually he breaks. He starts drinking and smoking and screwing around with as many men as will take him out for the night. He grows his hair out long and pierces his ear, gets a tattoo and wears makeup he stole from the church store to sneak it to a gay bar. But still in the end, he just feels worse.

In the moment it’s like a high, like he’s finally getting to see even just a glimpse of who he, who Billy Hargrove really is and not just he was told he had to be, but Neil makes sure to remind him how wrong he is. He cuts his hair with a knife and beats him bruised and bloody, he makes the family go to church on Wednesdays instead of just Sunday, he puts the Bible on his night stand every night and he prays and prays and prays the gay out of that boy, most nights making Billy do it too through his tears.

And Billy tried, desperately he did to believe that all they said and did to him was wrong, that he could be who he wanted without all these rules just to please some unseen dictator that may or may not even be real, but the things he had been taught were so deeply ingrained into his mind. He knew he wasn’t bound for anything better, and he blamed himself for that.

On the floor of the mall, he doesn’t mean to think about it, what will happen after the fact.

He knows he should be thinking about how Max’s life is going to be once he’s not there to protect her, how everyone’s lives will be plagued with all of the destruction he caused, the grief that would come from the deaths of the people he killed. The irony of the Saint-Christopher pendant around his neck when he’d attempted to carry a child to her death instead of to safety.

As much as he’d like to see a familiar face, between everything he’d done, what he put Max and her friends through, all that had happened this past week, he knows he doesn’t have a place in paradise. Not that any of that even matters. He’d had a special spot in hell reserved just for him since he told his momma he had a crush on a curly headed boy named PJ in the second grade and the poor woman almost fainted.

Billy is terrified to be facing it now, but all his life he’d known this was coming, and he thinks he deserves it all the same.

Except, the next time he opens his eyes, he doesn’t see that he’s surrounded by hellfire and tortured souls, instead he’s staring up at a white tiled ceiling, the sound of the steady-unsteady beeping and whirring of machinery filling his head.

He tries to speak, but he doesn’t think anything comes out. A panicky little redhead leans over him in the bed to press one of the buttons. He looks at her face and he concentrates hard, and thinks he knows her, but he doesn’t know her.

A nurse comes at his sister's signal, and they first make sure he’s fully responsive, which is somewhat hard when he can’t speak, and then they inform him he’s been in an induced coma for months. They tell him that anything he saw on the other side wasn’t real, and he was alive that whole time. It doesn’t do much at all to comfort him though. How can it, when he doesn’t even know who he is?

He learns that his name is William, Billy according to the snappy girl who he knows is his little sister now, but whose name he can never seem to remember. His name feels strange in his throat when he repeats it back like a question, “Billy..?” That doesn’t feel like who he is, not anymore at least.

They have to teach him literally everything all over again. All he knew how to do when he woke up was facial expressions and vague, but very painful as he learned, gestures with his hands. Anything else was fair game.

It takes a whole year in the hospital, things going so slowly because of the pain, but even more so because of the setbacks he faces.

Two days after he woke up, when he still couldn’t speak, Neil had showed up. It wasn’t for a visit or even to see his son was going now that he’s finally awake. Neil is there to first ask him what he saw when he died, and when Billy just stares blankly, his vocabulary still too small to articulate anything, to accuse him of being the devil and deliberately mocking Him by coming back.

Needless to say, Neil isn’t allowed in for many more visits.

But it still resets those two days of progress they’d made, and it was like he’d just woken up that same day. This would keep happening every time anything distressing happened around Billy, and they had to find the perfect balance between having too many nurses and visitors in the room at once that he’d get overwhelmed and distracted, or not enough and get lonely and regress.

But once they’re out of the woods with that, things go mostly smoothly. Eating and drinking and walking, he’s gets that all down pat pretty easily, but his memories just aren’t coming back to him. He remembers a few insignificant childhood memories, but it’s mostly the bad things, things like his mother leaving or his father kicking him out for a week when he was fifteen, and so on. He still has no idea what happened to him though, and Max and her mom and the nurses are all telling him these stories, trying to persuade him into remembering, but something is just not clicking.

That is, at least, until he’s allowed to visit with Steve again.

Doctors worried showing him someone who had so many bad memories associated with him might be confusing to Billy, so they held off on allowing visitation from Steve, or anyone else who wasn’t immediate family, but he was at the hospital a few times dropping Max off when Susan was working, and he wasn’t allowed to see Billy then either.

They planned on keeping it that way until they could either be sure Billy’s identity was more secure, or if they were really desperate to get Billy's gears turning, and unfortunately the latter came first, so seven whole months after Billy woke up, Steve is allowed in his room.

The thought process was that the boys were on the basketball team together, at least until Neil pulled Billy as a punishment just before the season ended, and even if all he remembers is beating Steve up, he’s still a familiar face, and it might help, so once when Steve’s about to turn around and walk out like he always does, Max comes back out, wide eyed and flustered looking, and tells him he’s allowed to come visit with her brother.

Nobody can understand why Steve is so teary eyed, or why he says Billy's name with so much desperation, but his reaction quickly gets ignored when Billy responds with a simple, “Stevie.”

It shocks everyone, Steve was the first person who Billy remembered without months of work, sometimes he still called Max by her mother’s name if he was having a hard day, but with Steve it was like there was nothing even wrong. Like it had only been a couple of days since he’d seen him.

Before, if they asked Billy anything about high school, he couldn’t tell them much other than the bad things. But with Steve, those memories that had once been impossible to touch, the blurry images of a past he wasn’t even sure belonged to him, were unlocked, and with time Billy returns to himself. Remembers everything.

His overall progress goes much quicker after that, to the point where they’re planning on letting him out as soon as his medications are all in order, and still nobody can figure out what is so special about this boy.

That is, until a nurse walks in on them, holding hands and sitting on the bed, foreheads pressed together like they’d just been kissing. She goes a little pale in the face, but she says she’s not going to tell. That doesn’t stop half the ward from knowing in less than a week.

Nurses refuse to care for him. Susan starts standing by the door in case anyone comes in. They are told their love was sinful, but it was exactly that that had saved Billy.

Without Steve and what they had, Billy still would have no idea who he was. This wasn’t something the hospital would ever actually admit to Max or his parents, but after so long, they were sure he was never going to have his sense of self back. Because while physically he was recovering, until he had that extra push, he just wasn’t himself.

That was more of a blessing than any holy figurehead could offer. When he finally, after a year and a half in the hospital, got to come home, into Steve’s care because Susan refused to take her stepson back to Neil, his space with Steve offers Billy more comfort and safety than any isolated house of God or reformation camp ever could.

And most of all, Billy isn’t afraid to be himself anymore.

[aiekerman]

Medicine - Levi Ackerman

Levi x Reader - fluff

AN: I am not usually a Valentine’s person but here we are. Levi can really get anything out of me. Also, I realise my fic titles seem a little random but I’m titling them after songs that make the vibe in my head - not necessarily based off, just vibes you know. So yeah this is Medicine by The 1975.

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: It’s Valentine’s day and you’re in work at a café all day. But Levi is there to at least provide some eye candy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘He’s so pretty I might pass out,’ Hitch leant over the counter, her chin in her hand as she unabashedly stares across the café at the man sipping at his tea.

His posture is perfect, balancing a book in one hand while his other holds the top of the tea cup delicately to his mouth.  He blends into the café atmosphere like he was there upon its creation. The shop is earth toned, plants hanging all over and soft lighting that cast shadows across his bone structure.

He looked pulled straight out of an indie movie.

The air around him was mysterious yet all consuming, You spent the entire shift stealing glances at him every time he was in. Which was most days. However, Sunday’s took the cake, you assumed he didn’t work on Sundays whatever his job was, as he took the luxury of bringing a book in and spending hours planted at the same table. Working through a multitude of tea as he sat in perfect view to act as eye candy for the baristas for the day.

You steal a last glance at him, while restocking the pastry baskets, internally agreeing with Hitch but turning to her and speaking, ‘Is he worth getting yelled at for not doing anything when a manager sees you?’

Hitch gives her an eye roll before standing up as a customer approaches the counter.

In your own head, you silently think that, yes, he absolutely was worth getting yelled at.

Across the café floor, Levi glances from over the top of his cup when he feels a pair of eyes darting in his direction once again. He took a self indulgent moment to look over you as you gently placed the warm croissants in one of the wicker baskets. From your well-loved sneakers that he presumed to be pair reserved for work, up to your head of hair that bounced and swayed along with your steps.

He was a man who found the joy in life through small moments. His first sip of tea in the morning. Running his hand through his hair once it was freshly washed. Spending his Sunday in the café that was an extra few blocks from his apartment so he could steal glances at the beautiful barista. He could never bring himself to properly talk to you though, that would make it the exact opposite of a small moment.

        *           *           *          *            *         *          *           *          *

You enjoyed Valentine’s day. Your day had started with a card arriving from your parents and your friend back home sending a text message thanking her for flowers that you had booked to be delivered.

When you reached the café for the usual Sunday shift you were met by heart shaped bunting criss-crossing around the whole ceiling.

You settled in behind the counter. It was still early, an orange tint hanging on the edges of the sky. And Sunday mornings were quieter than most, people taking their time to get out of bed. You imagined especially on Valentine’s day, couples would spend the early hours wrapped up in their ‘i love you’s and gift giving. Many opting for breakfast in bed rather than a café trip. You sighed at the dreamy thought.

You were single, and happily so. But you were allowed to indulge in the scenario of a coffee and pancakes being brought to you while you awoke slowly.

Were the pancakes accompanied by steel grey eyes and an undercut from time to time? You could neither confirm nor deny.

Still stuck in your daydreams, you hadn’t noticed that exact pair of grey eyes entering the café and approaching the counter.

He took a moment to look you over while it seemed your head was somewhere else. Your hair sat neater than usual, extra makeup seemed to have been applied; your cheeks more rosy than usual. A pink sweater draped around your figure and Levi swore he could smell the fresh laundry scent wafting from it.

His heart deflated slightly. You probably had a Valentine’s date. He scoffed at himself in his own head. Of course you did, one look at you screamed that you were bound to have people flooding your phone. He chose to ignore any time he noticed a customer flirting with you, but it definitely happened.

You leap when Levi lets off a small cough to catch your attention. Your face immediately blaring with heat as you search for words in your head. You often found herself flustered when it came to serving the stoic faced man.

‘Hi.’

‘Hey’

‘What, uh, what can I get you?’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes. Yes! I’m fine thank you for asking. Ignore my last question by the way I know- uh, I know it’s tea.’

You cut yourself off from rambling. Giving a small nod and beginning to tap on the register screen in front of you, putting through his usual pot of black tea.

You stare at the screen with an unnecessary intensity, trying to focus on the words and wipe the image of Levi delivering your breakfast from her mind. An irrational fear that maybe he was secretly a mind reader brewed in the back of your head. It would explain his constant blank slate of a face, he was constantly processing other’s thoughts.

What was actually running through Levi’s head was how pretty you looked in the glow of the morning sun, your face tinted pink in nervousness.

He only slightly fought off a small smile when you beamed up at him with your sweet voice, ‘I’ll bring it over once it’s ready.’

Levi spent the rest of the morning watching you dart around with drinks and dishes. You did most Sunday mornings solo, smiling at usual customers, rhyming off your catalogue of memorised drinks. Levi felt like a dark cloud hanging over the café, dressed in dark colours in the corner and avoiding conversation. While you were a bright ball of sunshine that seemed to honestly just want to make others smile.

The thought of actually talking to you had his tea cup trembling in his hand.

And so he buried his head deeper into his book, settling for hearing your sweet laugh float around the shop.

You sighed, what was originally a five hour shift extended to ten after Hitch called you begging to cover her half of the day, a last minute Valentine date cropping up or something. And who were you to deny the girl some romance?

Your eyes drifted around the shop, it was now three thirty pm, only an hour and half until it was time to shut. The day had mostly been couples wandering through to pick up a takeaway drink in the midst of a romantic stroll. It was hard to resist a wistful look after them as they huddled together in the February chill.

You shook your head from the thought and continued to restock the muffins, even though it would be unlikely that all would be sold before closing came around.

Standing up your head automatically took a turn in Levi’s direction, this was usually the time he would be due a tea top-up. And on cue he set down his empty cup and glanced up at you.

Two pairs of eyes met and you struggled to fight off the heat rising up your neck under his intense stare. His mouth drops open slightly, barely noticeable from the distance between them.

But you notice, the half inch that his shoulders tense up. The miniscule shake of his book. Your throat is suddenly dry, but manages to croak out, ‘more?’

‘Yes, please,’ the words come almost as a sigh. You hold the electric gaze for another second, before scurrying behind the counter, busying your mind with making up the pot of tea.

You drop it to him wordlessly. Keeping your head down, adrenaline still pumping through you from the previous moment.

The last hour and a half of service passes by easily. You avoid any of your usual indulgent looks at the man in the corner of the café, while you begin closing up.

Levi knows he has to go, he’s closed over his book already, one hand on his jacket that’s been draped over his chair all day.

But he can’t just go. His assumption from the morning has proven wrong - at least so far. You don't seem to have a Valentine’s date. And after your...whatever that was, he’s not about to just leave without so much as a hello.

You stood on the small step ladder, fingers nimbly unpinning the heart shaped decorations when his voice pulled you from your thoughts.

‘Um, thanks for your service today.’ Levi cringes. He swears he sounds like a robot.

‘Oh,’ Kasia stares down at him from atop the ladder, ‘thank you.’

Levi swallows. It’s a start.

‘You don’t usually work this late. On a Sunday.’

‘One of the other girls asked if I could cover her. She got a last minute Valentine date.’

You’ve descended the steps now, standing only a metre away from him. You look him over,

His hands are stuffed deep in his pockets, book tucked tightly under his arm. His usual sleek black hair is slightly messed. You didn’t know but he’d spent the last ten minutes tugging at as he tried to find the right conversation starter.

‘You don’t- uh, you don’t have a date?’

You shake your head softly, a small smile beginning to form across your lips.

‘What about you? Don’t you have a girlfriend you should’ve been with all day?’

‘Do you think if I had a girlfriend I’d be here all day every Sunday?’ He lets out a laugh that could be mistaken for a cough.

‘Oh. I just thought…’

‘Thought what?’

‘I don’t know actually. You’re just, uh…’ you stutter, the phrase you’re just so pretty, balancing on the edge of your tongue. ‘What?’ Levi cringes again, his voice coming out harsher than intended, but he freezes up at the quiet words that escape your mouth.

‘Just really pretty.’

They’re barely a whisper, he thinks he could almost be making it up. His subconscious is dreaming up what he wants to hear. But upon looking up at your face, there’s a fear evident in your eyes. As if the words hadn’t meant to escape.

You next words have more energy behind, ‘I am so sorry. That was so inappropriate.’

‘It’s fine, really. You’re, um, also really pretty.’

You swear if your face could get any hotter it’d melt the chocolate in the cookies. Voice immediately fades away again, ‘thank you.’

‘So is it uhh, just you closing up?’

‘Yeah. Just me.’

‘Do you mind if I wait for you? To walk you home? It’ll be too dark to walk alone by the time you’re finished.’

This time you can’t fight the smile as it consumes your whole face, ‘I’d like that.’

His hand reaches out suddenly and a thumb swipes against your cheek.

His eyes go wide upon realising what he did, ‘you had some chocolate. On your cheek.’

You try to respond. But all you can feel is the tingling left over from his touch. And how you wanna feel it again.

[mystic-shadows42]

Challenge

This is for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie baby! Congrats on all your followers love! ❤️

This prompt is for Bluebeard. It’s a folktale and has just enough darkness that’s perfect for Ivar.

Warnings: Violence and some gore (mostly insinuated)

Ivar the boneless had a reputation. The first being that he was very wealthy. The second is that he was extremely handsome that he could charm just about anyone. The third was that he had various wives, but they were never seen or heard from ever again after the marriage.

Due to his mysteriousness, nobody wanted to marry Ivar. Except you. He was rather charming and kind, not at all what people were suggesting with their faulty rumors and gossip.

The one strange thing was that once you were married he gave you specific instruction: you’re free to explore as long as you don’t enter one ‘special’ room. It confused you beyond anything since he gave you the keys to every room in the mansion especially the one he forbid you to go in.

Being cooped up in the enormous house while there was a thunderstorm outside let your mind wander to the one key you hadn’t used. The one you were currently twirling between your fingers. It had a beautiful and intricate design than the others.

Curiosity got the best of you so you went to the basement and stood by the door. You put the key in the lock but thought of Ivar.

You didn’t want to betray his trust, so you sighed and took the key out. Just as you were about to turn and leave you heard a distinctive groan.

Thinking you must’ve imagined it, you brushed it off until you heard it again. You slowly approached the door pressing your ear to it.

“Hello?”

There was distinctive whispering coming within. Concern plagued you, whoever was in there was locked inside. You brought the key up to the lock once more and turned it hearing the distinctive click.

The door creaked open and what greeted you was darkness inside. Immediately, you had to cover your nose from the putrid smell drifting towards you. 

There was one egress basement window that showed very little of the moon’s natural light.

You mustered up some courage to walk inside to see who was making the noise. The noise began to grow into what sounded like someone weeping.

“Where are you?”

The crying got louder and began to grow. It came from all around the room now. Once you stepped further in there was a squelching sound that met your feet. Just at that moment lightning from outside shined through the window in the room and lit the whole room up.

In your moment of shock, you dropped the key into the puddle of blood that filled the room. Hanging from the ceilings and the walls were Ivar’s seven dead wives. Immediately you picked up the key and slammed the door, locking it behind you.

You placed your hand over your heart to slow your breathing. When that didn’t work you went to the bathroom and threw up.

What Ivar did to them was inhumane, unjust.

You quickly looked at yourself in the mirror seeing how incomposed you were. You washed your face then drifted your attention to the bloody key. It looked out of place within the clean powder room.

The longer you stared, the more images of Ivars wives’ deteriorating faces appeared. You could hear their cries of pain and them weeping from the lack of closure, keeping their spirits bound to the very room they were killed in.

Your heart was heavy with all the oncoming emotions. You snatched the key up and scrubbed it, yet the blood would not come off. You tried every trick you were taught. Nothing would make the blood disappear.

As soon as Ivar would find out, he’d dispose of you. That left you no choice but to flee. Every possession you owned wasn’t of the essence of your life. You ran to the front door ready to face the storm head-on but stopped abruptly when Ivar opened it.

His piercing blue eyes held you in place. He locked the door behind him and tilted his head at your disheveled figure.

“Why do you look so startled, darling wife?”

He crossed his hand over the other as he patiently waited for your response.

“I-I’m simply not feeling well. I ought to retire to my room.” You turned your back to him until he asked the dreadful question.

“Where are the keys?”

You faced him and handed the keys over with trembling fingers. He watched your every move with calculating eyes. He looked down at the keys then hummed.

“That’s funny. There appears to be one missing.”

“It’s the same set you gave me before you left.”

He took a step close. His eyes didn’t show the blue you were used to. There were now dark like an incoming storm. Every step Ivar took towards you, you would take two steps back.

“Give. Me. The. Key,” he enunciated gritting his teeth. You had never seen him so angry before.

He must’ve deceived all his wives before you. He looked like an angel but he was evil beneath the skin.

“I don’t have it.”

“You will give me the key or so help me I’ll strip you bare and find it myself. NOW!”

He shouted causing you to jump and a tear fall down your cheek.

Reluctantly, you reached inside the pocket of your dress and handed it to him. He smiled as he saw the blood-stained key.

“You’ve disobeyed me and the one order I gave you. Now I simply have no choice but you to join my other wives.”

“No, Ivar, please. I won’t tell anyone. I swear it.”

“Shhh, it’s okay.” He shushed. He reached behind himself and pulled out a knife.

You took one look at it and ran up the stairs. You could hear the echo of his laugh reverberate off the walls.

Despite Ivar’s laughter startling you, even more, you could hear his dead wives’ voices.

‘Arm yourself with his sword.’

They guided you to his beloved sword.

The one thing they all said in unison was, ‘aim for his legs.’ It was his weakness according to them.

From downstairs, you could hear his slow footsteps ascending. He kept making chittering noises to taunt you.

“So, that’s how you want to play? Hide well my wife for this very night I plan to bathe in your blood.”

It all happened so fast. One moment your hiding, the next you’re grabbed by your hair. You remember swinging the sword at him then Ivar was the one on the floor with the back of his ankles cut and his legs slashed.

You were able to drag him down the stairs and into a wheelchair. He would be in and out of consciousness cursing at you the whole time.

Once you were at his ‘special room’ you unlocked it opening it fully.

“What’re you doing? People are going to come looking for me. I’m somebody!”

“No one will look for you. I’ll make sure of it. There are some people here for you already.”

“What?” He asked, confused as he lulled his head back.

“Your wives, Ivar. They want you.”

You pushed his wheelchair inside watching him roll into the middle of the room. The only light came from the lighting through the window where the dead bodies of Ivar’s wives cracked and moved.

Their reanimated bodies crawled towards Ivar who started to yell, this time in fear. Just as they all reached towards Ivar with their rings still on their fingers, you threw yours inside and locked the door. 

For good this time.

Tagged: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @belovedcherry @lordsexmachine @lol-haha-joke @mariaenchanted @ethereallysimple @bababasti @ir-abelas-telanadas @soleil-dor @youbloodymadgenius​