#who murders an assassin in broad day light like that

[smilemuse]

really really torn on either making the reason for yoshida not experiencing drawbacks when using the octopus devil is him giving up his emotions ( but i think more positive emotions like happiness rather than negative. he does seem to exhibit surprise, being stunned, excitement, and etc. but his smile is so fake, so maybe he doesn't really know what happiness feels like ) or the simple fact that the devil he's in a contact with is in love with him, so he can use it to his disposal without any drawbacks.

[laufeyamp]

“S”

SUMMARY. ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- how could two distinct worlds ever collide to one for two utterly different people to really embrace each other?

RELATED DRABBLES. ༊*·˚ Steven Grant, Solely Yours, Hazel and Gus, "S".

PAIRING. steven grant x assasin!gender neutral reader/marc spector x assasin!gender neutral reader (platonic) WORD COUNT. 1.244k TAGLIST. @lovers-liability​

THIS WORK CONTAINS angst, fluff, mentions of murder/mass murder (nothing explicit)

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“I don’t think we stand a chance,” you confessed your silenced thoughts with the faintest beam of bitterness and fatigue after much deliberation, enunciating a truth you’ve made futile attempts in rewriting. The ex-mercenary stared at your mentally and physically drained figure which leaned against one of the poles on the felucca boat you’ve taken, bedecked with spirals of golden light strings. You were his prey demanded by Khonshu, the only one he'd failed to slaughter with your adept assassination skills and flexible body. It was immensely shocking the night he learnt that you were his alter’s significant other among billions of people in this world, to learn this wholly new behaviour you’ve developed willingly for his nerdy alter out of love. The best out of the best was what they named you in the world of criminals for your infamous kill count, the catastrophic destruction and grievous anguish you’ve brought to thousands. Merciless, belligerent, remorseless, heartless, immoral, you were regarded as every horrible adjective in existence. There are minutes when he’d ponder how could someone like you possibly melt in the hands of a bookworm this effortlessly. 

”Steven, he’s-” you didn’t know where to begin for a split second, the flare of this splendid and peculiar sentiment shimmering on your darkness at the mere sight of his ingenuous twinkle. “He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve had after the years I’ve spent having my vicious carnage for a stash of money. He’s a stark contrast to me, an embodiment brimmed with each quality I’m nothing of.” And Marc relates to this. It’s the similarities that you share that fortuitously build a bond between you such as your desperation to completely rinse off the crimson blood staining your pair of hands, the threats faced and the sacrifices you must make for the sake of your loved ones. Perhaps it’s erroneous of him, but he understands your suffering like no other and he tends to show you empathy and sympathy, just as how you do for him. Looking at you felt like looking at a mirror that reflected him himself, instead of his distinct alter. The only dissimilarity separating your identities was the roles you both portrayed in this world, either as a protagonist or antagonist of this story. Nevertheless, you were both entangled in a contract or deal you’ve made with the devils, transforming yourselves into puppets with strings you could never cut off for eternity. It’s the same question you’d ask yourselves afore shutting your eyelids and allowing your mind to obtain rest: when? When is this seemingly perpetual profession and burdening responsibilities ever going to cease, returning you your respective freedom which you both deserve?

”He showed me what it’s like to be loved and appreciated, how it���s like to wander under broad daylight without any sense of guilt, to pass my days in tranquil without being haunted by this feeling of-” “-worthlessness,” he finished your sentence for you, seeing that you couldn’t find the precise phrase for it through your puckered brows. It’s this weariness of being forced to follow this path you wished to quit and the unerasable shame that swallows you like a black abyss. And no one would truly understand your side of the story, how you had been left without an alternative option after all of the bloodbaths you’ve engaged in.

”Yeah,” you agreed, your gaze averted to the American who shares a shell with the love of your life, studying his slightest nods of comprehending your unwanted plight. It's never crossed your mind that a man who had once made a laborious effort in depriving you of your life is an alter of your sweet lover, the only person who’s capable of reading you and providing you support in the most appropriate way. The brick walls you’ve both built due to your fear of emotional attachment just collapse miraculously when it comes to each other as if you’d known for a lifetime. No words of elucidation were required, nothing. And it was more than great, not having to put the affliction into letters you're about to vocalise or receive any form of ignorance and judgement towards it. “It’s time for me to wake up from this 'all-too-well’ dream now, isn’t it? Nothing beautiful lasts.”

It prickles his heart to learn your frank request for a break up with his alter whom he treated as his brother. Marc was reminded of the same choice he’d made to shield his wife by vanishing from her life, eradicating each hint that proves the memories they’ve created real. It’s an option you’ve attempted to realise but failed miserably, truth be told. The empathy and adoration you had towards him restrained your intention in abandoning him when he was living at a point of perplexity and despair, utterly aimless in the crowd of people marching towards their goals. Marc Spector on the other hand has always been positive about it being an entirely risk-free and the best choice for both parties until now, when he’s given the opportunity to witness your relationship nearing its end. The snivels of intense sorrow simply above the level of inaudible from his alter echoed in his head, leading him to wonder if Layla had wept for him the moment he disappeared without a word, to doubt if it really was the right decision he’d made.

“He does this all the time���” Marc reached out to take ahold of one of your hands resting on your lap delicately, in hope of showing you something he’d perceive whilst Steven was fronting. He may not have an accurate solution or advice with his relationship being a downright failure, but he knows that he has no desire for you to repeat his mistake, devastating one another regardless of the endearing link shared. He wished you’ll have it differently, that you’ll honour your pledge and stay alongside Steven. You lifted your weight from the pole in instant, hunching over with your elbows pressed against the flesh of your thighs without any sign of protest or discomfort. He extended your loose fist, revealing your palm under the magenta lightning with his rough one cupping the back of it underneath. Perhaps it’s muscle memory, the way he moved the pad of his thumb deftly against the skin of your palm felt like your lover himself. Marc traced his first letter crookedly which was an ‘S’ at a laggard pace and it managed to send you on a visit down memory lane, reminiscing how much Steven admired your calloused hands. He loved comparing hand sizes, frequently playing with your fingers, and asking you to guess the invisible letters or shapes he traces on your palm. It’s an affectionate habit of his that’s somehow soothing and favourable. His thumb carried on with drawing an outline of a V-shaped heart in one go, one that was particularly thinner and smaller. And that’s another distinguishable intricacy of both alters you’ve discerned as Steven’s heart shape was rather disparate. His was rounder drawn with obviously unparallel curves that were typically done twice. It didn’t take you another minute to recognise where this was directed to and which one of Steven’s gestures he was mimicking.

“… and I think it’s more than enough to show that he loves and needs you,” Marc interpreted, all the while ending his imitation with a gentle trace of your initial across your palm lines. ‘S’ hearts ‘y/i’, how could you ever forget that?

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SYD .ೃ࿐ Reblogs and interactions are greatly appreciated, thank you for reading.

[phoenixyfriend]

Rey Gives No F*cks About the Grandfather Paradox

Okay so since nobody’s suggested a fic under these terms, I ended up expanding on this post on discord and things snowballed. We kept to the basics of the entire plot revolving around Rey really hating her grandad and leveraging her blood relation to not be unalived about it.

With contributions by @atagotiak​, @dracothulhu​, @thepallaspalace​, and several others. The title comes from @gelpenss​.

The basic thing I absolutely need is this: Rey gets thrown back to the middle of the clone wars, and the subsequent plot leans in really heavily on her being, genetically-via-clone-dad, the daughter of the guy running the entire galaxy.

Nobody knows what to do with her.

The timing is mid-TCW for the past (because I want Ahsoka there) and vaguely between Episodes 8 and 9 because I... never watched E9 and don’t want to worry about the timeline. The only things that matter is that Luke is dead (he can die as he did in canon) and that Rey knows she’s Palp’s granddaughter (not the way she does in canon).

We'll say Luke found out from Anakin's panicked force-ghost and just went "well, fuck, okay, I should tell her this before she ends up in a situation like mine and finds out mid-battle or something."

Luke, prior to time-travel: Okay, so, now that I'm dead I know some things I didn't before. Like who your parents were. In the interest of full disclosure because I was in a very similar situation and I don't want you learning the way I did, I'm just going to come right out and say that your father was a clone was Sheev Palpatine. Rey: ... Luke: Are you okay? Rey: I don't know who that is.

(She grew up on Jakku, the history education was a little subpar.)

Setting The Scene

Imagine Rey showing up during or immediately before the clone wars. There’s this phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater who tells you that if you ran a paternity test, it would probably pop up the Chancellor. She may or may not bring up cloning. She accuses said Chancellor of being a Sith Lord.

Your other phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater, who may not be a teenager anymore but only barely, is very offended by this because Palpatine’s a Very Nice Old Grandfather Figure, but also he’s a little full of side-eye because if the blood test comes back as proof, then Palpatine had a kid and didn’t even know about them, or lied to Anakin, and that’s! Bad! Family’s important!!!

Palpatine hears about this daughter he apparently? Has? And is very confused because the timing doesn’t match up with ANYTHING he was doing, so the kid isn’t natural, and he says as much. (There is an explanation! It’s not a correct explanation, but he does come up with one.)

Finn and Poe and BB-8 all get dragged along because why not have the gang there? Nobody that’s already born, because [handwave] conservation of souls or something, IDK, point is the only person dragged along that’s even remotely close to already existing is Luke’s Force Ghost, who mostly hangs around begging Rey to be less impulsive. Finn is good because he is a nice polite boy, but for actual useful information they need Poe. The unfortunate situation is that the three do not land together. They land at the same time, in completely different corners of the galaxy. This means that nobody is there to curb Rey being her most impulsive self.

Time travel Rey knows two things. Luke’s dad ends up evil. Palpatine has always been evil.

She can solve one of these problems by killing the other, yes?

Rey: Ready to Rumble

See, the initial idea was this: Rey tried to break into the senate to kill Palpatine, got arrested, and then used the "he's biologically my father" card to get out of jail free. (Force Ghost Luke follows her like “please take five seconds to think this through.”)

But.

But.

It would be very, very, very funny if The Force just dumps her in a flash of light in the senate building and she just attacks Gramps on sight. Just a shouted "YOU!" and no-hesitation attempted murder.

Palpatine has no idea what's going on.

Rey took maybe two seconds to get identity confirmation and then started swinging.

[Image Description: An individual in a green metal helmet with an eye slit, holding a pistol. In the upper left, upper right, and lower middle are the phrases “I do not know who I am...” “I don’t know why I’m here” and “All I know is that I must kill.” End description.]

Of course, she gets arrested. There are Master Jedi in the Senate. There are Clone Troopers. Palpatine isn’t the weak old man he pretends to be. Of course she’s stopped.

But she isn’t executed in time for Palpatine to stop her from ruining his entire reputation.

Immediately after Rey fails to kill her Shitty Granddad, Luke's ghost shows up and begs her to not talk about the Sith thing because it will completely undermine everything she's trying to do. Pass off the attempted murder as something else!

Rey, panicking: "that fucker left me on a desert planet for 10 years!" "You owe me 19 years of child support you son of a Hutt!"

The Jedi have to do the investigation, because the girl showed up with a laser sword, and the conversation is, uh... interesting. (“Where did you get that lightsaber?” “I got it from a mysterious old pirate lady I never met before. I don't know, I was being shown around by a smuggler and a Wookie.”)

Interviewer: Why did you try to assassinate the Chancellor? Luke: Say it wasn't assassination. Rey: It wasn't assassination. Int: You weren't trying to kill him? Luke: Assassination has to be politically motivated. Rey: This was, um... not political. Assassination is political, right? Int: You mean this was personally motivated? Rey: Yes. Int: I see. What personal motivation? Luke: Jakku! Rey: He's my grandfather. Int: ... Rey: Possibly father. Nobody was very clear on that. Int: ... Luke: Tell them to run a paternity test. Rey: Oh hey, a blood test would tell us which, right? Int: ............ Rey: I spent ten years as an orphaned scrapdealer on Jakku. He's my father. I'm kind of a little angry. Int: ........... Luke: Good job, kid. You bought yourself some time. Int: I'm going to get a medic to see about that parternity test.

Obviously, it comes back positive. Congratulations, Sheev, you’re the father.

Rey comes with a ready-made built-in excuse for hating Palpatine that nobody can question or fault her for!

Rey, pouring Truth into the Force: I didn't even know I was related to the Chancellor until a few months ago, but it's his fault I grew up the way I did, and he should take some responsibility!

The entire thing is mostly kept hush hush but someone leaks it to the press and Palpatine's ratings tank.

"Chancellor, I think we'll need to waive family visitation until she wants you a little less dead." "I would like to find out why she wants me dead, and indeed, where she came from." "...sir, for your own safety--"

Who would win? A master plan years in the making spanning decades of manipulating and work? or One (1) paternity test

"Okay, so, Rey Palpat--" "Ew, no, I don't want his name." "You--okay. Sure, we can understand that. Is there a name you would prefer to put on the paperwork?" Rey, who would have gone by Skywalker in honor of Luke but can't do that when Anakin is right there and all: "Can I think about it?"

Rey: I don't know what I want my last name to be but I know I don't want his, and most of the people I’d want a name from have famous families like you... Luke's ghost, pointing out the Literal Nobody that she cares about a lot: How about Solo? Rey: ...Solo, then.

(A few months later she runs into Poe again and he offers for Finn and Rey to both take his name because honestly they need SOMETHING but at that point she’s already decided on Smuggler Dad.)

Backtrack a bit. We’ve got a bigger cast.

They all arrive separately. Poe, for one, does better than Rey, who is aiming for a murder, but not quite as well as Finn, who is currently being adopted and hidden like a secret cat by a bunch of Alpha Clones on Kamino. He vibes with the names-or-numbers thing. He doesn’t necessarily tell them where and when he’s from, but he’s very sweet and a great liar and they adopt him wholesale anyway.

The Finn situation is just... "Buir Ti, we need you to hide this man, we've decided he's our little brother but if Nala Se finds out she'll make him leave."

Of course, this leads into Shaak Ti teaching Finn how to Jedi.

Maybe consider Finn needing to almost be tricked into learning Jedi things because he willfully forgets it could apply to him. Finn does not like to think of himself as special, which is super valid, but frustrating for Shaak Ti when it comes to, you know, getting him to acquire knowledge. Finn's training at some point is "here, levitate objects with the Force to entertain the tubies." It’s a lot easier to convince him to practice when it involves the babies.

(Everyone on Kamino looked at Finn and went “oh I love him I’m keeping him and teaching him things.”)

(He’s just very lovable.)

Poe, meanwhile, buys the trust of Anakin Skywalker via R2D2 declaring BB-8 the absolute most baby of droids. R2D2 met BB-8 three hours ago but.

"Hey Obi-Wan this is Poe I met him like five days ago but R2D2 says he checks out because his droid is a baby." "That's nice, Anakin, did you know the Chancellor has a daughter who tried to assassinate him in broad daylight yesterday? Because guess who had to stop the Chancellor from getting assassinated by his daughter in broad daylight yesterday."

A summary so far:

Finn, on Kamino: Hey, um, I don't know where this is, but it's not where I was a few minutes ago. Do you think you could get me a comm? What's your name? Poe, on [dice roll] Denon: Oh, hey, you're General Skywalker? Nice to meet you, I'm so sorry about my droid, she's a little excitable and thought your R2 unit looked like a friend of hers-- Rey, on Coruscant: DIE, GRANDFATHER

Finn: [Peacefully vibing on Kamino, unaware of the chaos and bonding with the clones] Poe: [Trying to explain how he knows someone who tried to kill the chancellor and defend Rey] Rey: [Arrested for trying to kill the chancellor]

Just... just...

Anakin: Some guy ended up lost on base yesterday with his droid, how’s your day going? Obi-Wan: I had to stop someone who claims to be the chancellors daughter from murdering the chancellor after she seemingly blinked into existence in the Senate building. Poe: 😐

(Poe: Oh, so that's where Chaos^2 went.)

Poe: In her defense, she is his... well we don't know if she's his daughter or granddaughter, but she's definitely related to him, and she definitely grew up in a shitty situation that was his fault, so...

(Poe is trying very hard to explain this and not get arrested on the military base.)

As you’ve probably guessed, what's especially funny about all of this for me is the fact that Palpatine is fully aware that this girl shouldn't exist, but can't find a single piece of evidence about where she came from. He didn't start any experiments that could result in a female child, and he didn't have sex in that period of time, so where the hell--

Rey spends so much time in jail... BUT they do eventually assign her a Jedi Master. Possibly before she actually proves her evil grandfather is in fact evil. Most votes went to either Plo Koon or Obi-Wan. Plo, because he’s dad-shaped, and Obi...

"Obi-Wan, you already raised one feral desert child with implausible amounts of power, you handle this." Rey in return is very "Sweet, you vaguely remind me of Master Luke," and nobody knows who the hell she's talking about. Obi-Wan is NOT on board with this plan, she'd really be better off with Plo or like........ Mace.

Reunion Tour

What I need out of this is the eventual Finn and Rey reunion scene that is just excited screaming while someone in the background explains to Shaak Ti that yes this is apparently Palpatine's terrifyingly force-sensitive daughter who hates him.

(Finn senses Rey’s approach and just. Gathers the everyone to wait. He’s just :D REY MY FRIEND REY GUYS MY FRIEND REY IS COMING.)

Anakin shows up with Poe--just a guy who signed on to the military, no big deal--and then Poe and Rey are EXCITED and everyone's just like "Cool, how do you know this literal terrorist child?" And Poe has to scramble and "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh she saved my droid from a scrapheap once and BB-8 is basically my child so I owe her one."

Rey knows that Anakin ends up evil so she’s maybe not actively hostile but definitely very “I’m watching you.” That said, she vibes with him on a lot of things that he maybe doesn’t actively notice.

Rey picks up a snake, snaps off the head for venom avoidance, and starts biting off chunks. Obi-Wan's reaction: [undisguised horror] Anakin and Ahsoka: Ooh, where'd you find that? (Obi-Wan: And now I’m up to three feral children.)

What Does Palpatine Even Do?

OBVIOUSLY at a certain point, Palpatine is just phoning up every ally he has to figure out who broke protocol to synthesize a daughter for him.

So of course, Palpatine blame Plagueis.

She'd have been born five or so years before Naboo, just a few years younger than Anakin. It's such an EASY theory to build a conspiracy around. It is ENTIRELY WRONG, but it’s plausible! And anyone who might have been involved to say otherwise is probably dead!

A random bio-kid shows up you can’t possibly have contributed genes to? Maybe it’s the evil bio spark that did it.

Palpatine tries to placate her with the ‘my genes were stolen for an experiment and I didn’t know’ thing. It doesn’t work because her actual main complaint is he’s evil in her future but he tries.

It'd be a struggle to even get access to her, because of the aforementioned “maybe don’t try to talk to the daughter(?) that hates you�� thing, but you know who Palpatine does have access to? The Chosen One.

Rey kind of decides on her favorites early on (she gravitates to Dad Energy and Sad Old Men so Plo and Obi-Wan are on her list, and that means decent time around Anakin and Ahsoka). It's really easy to talk Anakin into helping to some degree because "he'd like to connect to a daughter he never knew" and "a child of her power on a planet like that, you'd know her struggle, my dear boy" and so on. Anakin tries to connect! He tries to play up Sheev’s kind political work and how it can’t have really been his fault! It doesn’t work. Rey does not believe a word of it. Mostly she doesn’t even seem to hear him.

Rey's just like "...oh right, you're the melted mask that Kylo Ren was always ranting about," which means absolutely NOTHING to Anakin, but he mentions it to Palps, who loses his goddamn mind trying to figure out what she's talking about, because it also means absolutely nothing to him.

Here’s the thing: Rey’s already decided that Obi-Wan is cool, because Luke said so, and Plo Koon is dad-shaped, and she also gravitates towards earnest kindness in general, like she made friends with Finn real quick, so Ahsoka? Already getting along great.

She doesn’t dislike Anakin, really, he isn’t evil yet, he’s just... meh. She’s a little suspicious and she likes him less than the others but... Anakin.

Rey, to Anakin: You are my least favorite. Anakin, to Palpatine: YOUR DAUGHTER HATES ME???

And he goes from “she’s a lil standoffish” to “she doesn’t like me” to “she hates me” as is normal for Anakin.

It’s just an escalation of this one time Palpatine wants Anakin to not have rifts and trust issues with a person, at least not until later, because he needs information.

Meanwhile, that very moment, Rey is just like "huh, nobody here is listening to me about how make a sixth-hand carburetor work, where's Luke's dad?"

Anakin is venting to Palpatine about how hard it is to talk to Rey, and she's over in the Temple just like "Hey, that guy was useful last time, I should ask him," but also she only ever thinks of him as Luke's Dad.

(At one point, Obi-Wan is having a bit of a break down, and then Anakin starts having a breakdown about that, meanwhile the clones are (badly) trying to hide Finn behind their backs, Rey is watching Ahsoka practice and being like "I want two lightsabers," and Poe is trying to keep R2 from stealing BB-8 and Force Ghost Luke is just face palming in the background.)

(Rey deserved a saber staff, maybe one that can detach and turn into a jar’kai set. Possibly a pike. Mostly I just wish she got more chances to whack things with a big stick.)

[raggaraddy]

First Meeting

OT7 Reaction: First time meeting Yandere BTS

Trigger warnings: Yandere. Smut. Non-con. Violence. Abuse. Murder.

Alpha! Namjoon

For him, it was like a jolt of lighting. He heard your beautiful voice, which shot through him before you ever came into his eye line. But once he saw you, that was it. He knew he would do anything in order to own you. To have you be all his.

For you, it was a very different story. You had met for only a few minutes, and while your initial impression was how tall, broad, and handsome he was, you were put off by his intensity. It was only due to his persistence that had you give in and allow him to take you to dinner. Over the following months, your life changed rapidly.

Everything seemed to fall apart like you were cursed. Your landlord sold your building and the new owners increased the rental cost on your contract by 120%. You struggled greatly to find another place and when you finally did, two weeks later a faulty electrical circuit led to a fire that annihilated everything you own. A fault in your insurance application meant your personal belongings were uninsured and you lost everything with no reimbursement. At the same time as this was happening your company started to reorganize their employment structure and your job was sent overseas. No matter how you tried, you received very little interest as you applied for new jobs. And even when you received a response, their interest would cool quickly, leaving you staggering and insecure, and wondering how you suddenly could become such an unappealing hiring prospect.

Through all of this, you had only one reliant constant. Namjoon.  When you received the new rental contract, he was angry for you and even had lawyers look over it to assess its legality. He spent hours with you searching for and visiting apartment listings and helped you move at his own expense. When your apartment caught fire he was your shoulder to cry on. And after your 30th rejection letter, he opened a position for you within his warehouse as a receptionist. Also, even though you had only been dating for 3 months, he let you move in with him. Both, of course, were just until you were back on your feet. And he assured you that he was certain that would be soon.

But as you had no family in this country to rely on for support, Namjoon really became your Knight in shining armour. And with every new disaster and each passing day, you became more and more thankful that you had him in your life. You had no idea what you might have done without him.

It would take years for you to learn that it was him that orchestrated all of this tragedy.

King! Seokjin

You had worked in the palace for half a year before you had even come face to face with Jin. Until the first time you had spoken, you had been in awe of him. With only fleeting glances and second-hand information, you had built your own figment of how you imagined him to be. It was common for you to drift into daydreams while mechanically cleaning, thinking of how your first interaction might occur. Surely the handsome prince would take notice of you and wisk you from your mundane life into one of regality and luxury.

So as you knelt before him cleaning the remnants of smashed porcelain, you were completely oblivious of the way the other staff seemed to tremble in his presence. Instead, you were swept up in the small satisfied smile he had and the chocolate brown of his eyes as you could see them looking over you.

It wasn't until he spoke his first words to you the very next day, demanding you remove your clothes in the parlour, that your fantasy of him cracked. He has been so kind and romantic in your dreams. But standing here now, body filled with a tremor as the attendants and guards helplessly look on, you quickly have your image of the King replaced.

A fantasy that he would shatter a little more every day.

Assassin! Yoongi

It was a terrible case of a bad coincidence for you. You had been asked by your boss to fill in for your ill colleague, who was meant to make a presentation to the board of directors. He would have done it but he had a previous family engagement and you had had input on the new digital marketing platform, so you were as good a person as any.

All you had to do was read through the notes and explain your colleague's thoughts to the board while they were on a directors retreat.  If you weren't terrified of public speaking this might have been exciting. A chance to impress your boss's boss and hey, a free night's stay at a resort.

On the day you were unendingly anxious but well prepared.  With two minutes till you were to be shown into meeting room 3,  you were unsure if the tingling in your stomach was due to butterflies or needing to pee. You hoped it was the former because there was no time to go now.  You introduced yourself, opening the computer presentation, only to be interrupted by a waiter who barged in with a drink trolley. As you stuttered and picked up your place, he continued to go around the room, serving the 3 men and 2 women a drink.  Circling the table and making a B-line for the head of it, he disrupts you once again, offering you a glass of water.

Half annoyed, half becoming aware of the dryness of your mouth, you accept the glass. Bringing it to your lips, you stop short of taking a sip, with the pressure in your bladder it would only be heaping wood on the fire.

30 minutes in, you were nearing the summary as simultaneously your audience's eyes began to dimmer.  You felt that you were the cause until one by one, panic overtook their breathing.  You stood in horror watching as all 5 members began to wheeze and clutch their throats, dropping over the table, back in their chair, or onto the floor within seconds. It was only as a barren silence filled the room that you came back to your senses enough to move.  Your scream for help cut off, by the waiter on the other side of the door, sealing your mouth and throwing you back inside the meeting room.

You'd lost your voice completely, watching him from the floor as his expressionless face seemed to examine what to do with you. You were expecting to die then and there, but little did you know that Yoongi had been having a period of self-reevaluation. He had realized that maybe so much isolation was not good for him. And seeing as you were an attractive woman who needed to disappear anyway, he decided he might as well just keep you.

Vampire! Hosoek

There had been a lot of people around only 5 minutes ago, but now the street was empty.  You had only run back inside the club to use the bathroom and then were ushered out by the bouncer who seemed overly excited that it was closing time.  Even your friends vanished. You know where they've gone. The club 2 blocks away that you are always too drunk to remember the name of, is open until 5. They've all deserted you so they can drink again sooner. Bet.

You follow your instinct stumbling in the direction you are sure the club is. Only you make a wrong turn and end up at the city park after a few minutes of walking.  It's not your fault though, you've never had to get yourself there before, you're always being pulled there by one of your friends or a guy that you've met earlier in the night.

As you drunkenly try to correct yourself with Google maps, you're greeted by a bright smile from a stranger offering you help.  Your memory gets a bit hazy and like a jump cut you go from his friendly face to a pain shooting down your neck and chest, fingers digging into you and his hard body keeping you trapped.

You're too disorientated to register what is going on. But he lets up for a moment to mock you, laughing at how fucking wasted you are, before clinging his mouth back into your neck. The pain returns and in your state, you're too weak to fight him off.

It takes a few hours but you finally wake with a killer hangover, smack bang in the middle of a nightmare filled with chains and fangs, that you just can't seem to break from.

Playboy! Jimin

He was the hottest guy in the club and he was talking to you! Sure you had seen him talking to half a dozen girls already tonight and sure there were a few times he seemed to be getting inappropriately close with them, but that doesn't matter, because now he was talking to you.

And it wasn't just that he was hot, but he was smooth and flirty and in a way that seemed too sweet and shy for the dirty things he kept whispering in your ear. You were certain the fact you were on drink number 5 in less than 2 hours was making you more receptive to his advances. But with one quick look at how his tongue ran over his bottom lip, you couldn't have cared less about any of the warning signs.  You wanted to keep his attention for as long as you could. For as long as he would let you.

So you returned his flirty compliments. Your tipsy mind not filtering your thoughts and letting each of your overtly sexualized observations pour out of you.  The more you verbally admired him, the more bashful he seemed to get. And you enjoyed how his cheeks became flushed and his eyes became slimmer as he smiled, seeming to love the way you fawned over him and kept yourself close to him.

When he pounded the last of his drink, it was your turn to become embarrassed. His lips brushed against your ear and his voice got deeper, he all moaned how he would love to see you on your knees in his bedroom.  You swear you would have dropped onto them right then and there if he was not holding you up by your waist.

With his hand interlaced with yours, he led you through the dance floor, and outside where you could finally hear each other uninterrupted for the first time and where you finally learned his name. Jimin.  And it's a good thing he told you it because he would have you screaming it a few hours later.

Dom! Taehyung

You were certain you were at the start of a serial killer special and all you could think about is that you hope someone clears your browser history before the police examine your laptop.

You had met Taehyung online and had both just clicked instantly. Your ideas of what you wanted from this relationship, your views on the Dominant/submissive lifestyle, and your personalities were so, so compatible. On paper he was perfect. But he had no profile picture, no personal information, and even after 1 and a half months of talking nearly every day, he still hadn't revealed anything overly personal about himself. Part of you is expecting to be stood up, part is expecting to have been catfished, and part of you is expecting to be on milk cartons in a week from now.

Sitting in the cafe, you had no choice but to wait for him. He knew what you looked like from your pictures on your profile, but for you, as any man- hell as any woman came in, you couldn't help but wonder if this is the person you had been slowly falling for.

It was exactly 18:30 and the cafe door opened again.  You couldn't even dare to let yourself think that this person might be him.  Life isn't that kind.  But as you looked back down to your coffee, out of the corner of your eye you could see him walk past the counter, straight to the back tables where you sat. His deep voice calling your name, pulling your attention to him. For a few seconds, you forgot how to breathe, staring up at this flawless man holding his hand out to greet you. When it finally returned you could only hiccup out a timid chuckle.

Taehyung didn't mind that on your first 'date' you were discomposed and nervous. He thought it was cute.  And he had already seen your potential and knew that it wouldn't be long until he had you well trained to obey his every command and reacting out of instinct to please him.

Mafia! Jungkook

You were in your first month at this new restaurant. You still felt so out of place.  It was far fancier and higher class than anywhere you had previously worked.  For crying out loud, the last place you worked was a dinner off the freeway. These really were stark opposites. But despite the fact that the uniform is stuffy and the head waiter will not stop telling you off for smiling too much,  the pay is tonnes better and the tips are phenomenal.  You only have 2 years left of college, you're certain you can survive 3 shifts a week for that time.

1 hour and 45 minutes into your night, you get another new table. A group of 4 men, all dressed in money from head to toe.  If it wasn't that 1 of them was dangerously attractive, you wouldn't have distinguished them from the other people in the restaurant.

After another overly bubbly and friendly service, you take down their drink orders and are again scolded by the head waiter. You have no idea what to do. Customer service and being friendly are one and the same to you. You're not sure how to be formal and stiff without seeming bitchy.

During the next round of ordering, you take down the dinner orders, forcing yourself to be as professional and composed as possible. The abrupt change not going unnoticed by the men, one of whom comments on it snarkily to the others while you are stood there. While his rudeness has caught you off guard, it seems to have enraged one of the other men at the table. The younger, handsome man, with long black hair hanging around his eyes, scolds the other with only two words. The prickly tone with which he says 'enough' and 'apologize' even have you feeling intimidated by the quick manner in which they all seem to silence and comply.

Returning again with the final plate of food, the younger man compliments your service and encourages your enthusiastic presentation over the reserved one. Little by little on each return, he continues to say more and more to you. And by the time you bring them the bill, he has you laughing and joking with him, his bright smile giving you butterflies.  His friendliness being contrasted by the tepid silence of the men around him.

When they leave, you're left with a 40% tip and a little note that says 'let me get you a drink next time' with a number and a name. You have to admit, their dynamic had you a bit concerned, but more than that, when he smiled, you didn't seem to care.

You were not sure if it would be a good or a bad decision, but you knew you would have to call Jungkook. If only to see that smile again.

[shxrp-teeth-after-dark]

( Astrid ; closed starter )

      𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥. The home was no different from other countryside estate’s Astrid’s has witnessed, filled with similar servants, a grumpy and arrogant owner that lived past his prime and had enough riches to build another home from the ground up if he wished to, if he was bored enough to finally use his brain for something. But it was not the man of the home that Astrid sharpened her blade for, no, it was rather the British soldier occupying it. The man who likely believed he was the head of any household he forced himself into by British law as a member of the King’s army. Loyalist, Patriot, American, British, indifference and the religious, all of them wet her blade the same.

      As any good assassin, she kept watch over her prey. Astrid wouldn’t be a free woman, unconnected to all to her murders (because what women would enact such horrors), if she didn’t keep track of her victim’s patterns. Each plan of hers went differently, the methods, the way she got into the home, where the murder took place. It was all calculated but originated from what her urge was that day. Poison? Too boring. A murder in broad daylight? Too suspicious. She opted for the typical robbery scheme, except she wasn’t in search of any expensive items to fill her pockets. Though, the house had plently to choose from. She’d have to notify her thieving friends. 

      Astrid noticed earlier in the day as she watched the home that one window was always left ajar and a tree was beside it. The perfect combination. She hardly had to try. She climbed up the tree, having to hold tight to the bark at one moment when she rested her foot against a weak branch, hearing it crack and split under her foot, and pulled herself up over to the opened window. It was a tight squeeze, she had to slow her movements when entering to not loosen the piece of wood wedged under the window. When she entered, it looked as if she was in the library. In the dead of night, she snuck into the hallway and walked down the long hallways. The hallways weren’t white or any bright shade for that matter, but brown instead. It seemed rather unfortunate due to the home's name. 

      Finally, she reached the door and twisted the knob. Thankfully, the man who requested this let her know which room her victim stayed in, ridding her the tedious activity of going through every room. The door opened and moonlight shined on the flooring, giving her some semblance of light. As quickly and softly as she opened it, the door closed behind her. The breaths of the heavy sleeper was what she heard now, the ticking of the clock and the scratching of the tree branch against a window was muffled by the wall. She unsheathed her weapon and in slow, cautious breaths, she approached the man. In a move more reckless than her previous ones, she climbed onto the bed, pinning the man onto his stomach as she pressed down harshly on the blankets on either side of his body to try to restrict any movement. He awoke then, but Astrid was quick on her feet. Her blade glistened in the moonlight as she pressed it against the side of his neck. He had the advantage of being bigger than her, so an element of surprise allowed her to turn into the bigger enemy.

       ❝ Don’t move, ❞ she whispered harshly against the cloth covering the lower half of her face to conceal her identity as a cloak hung over her clothing, the hood pulled up over her blonde hair. She pressed the knife deeper into his skin and a skinny, single lined droplet of blood started to run.

@retrograderesemblance​

[littlefreya]

The Way To Hell - Final Chapter

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man on earth. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped while a trained assassin is sent to bring him down. 

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k (including epilogue) 

Warnings: 18+, smut, boomer Walker, some fluff, sexual intercourse, cock-warming, mentions of torture, implied insanity, slight mentions of gore, violence, murder, mass-shooting and death. Please proceed with caution  

A/N: The ending is here and I hope I did it justice, I hope I did right by you. I will reblog my kudos, but first I must thank @agniavateira for being my beta and a source of inspiration and @raspberrydreamclouds for the cover art. 

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*

Now allow me to die out of stress and anxiety.

Title: See You in Hell

Down by the valley, there is a serenity that exists only in fairy tales. Damp grass caresses her naked back, the pointy little tips ticking the base of her spine, leaving a fresh trail of dew. Pure mountain mist breathes life through blue hills caked with ice; white fog vales over the forest’s lush greenery and looms above the lake’s water like a lost-love phantom.

Lying with her eyes shut, she listens to the harmony of life surrounding her: the little fish bouncing in the river, the butterflies procreating mid-air and the hummingbird chirping with bliss. Yet the most beautiful sound is the low, melodic baritone humming and reverberating against her inner thighs. 

”Angel, With those angel eyes Come and take this earth boy Up to paradise.”

”Boomer Walker…” she teases, “Is that a song from your time?” 

Ascending a trail of kisses up her pelvis, he scoffs and shakes his head. “I’m starting to suspect that you have a kink for older men,” he answers with a throaty growl, shifting his weight further over her abdomen. The soft fur of his torso grazes between her thighs, and she sighs with pleasure. 

”Do you want daddy to fuck you?” 

”That’s gross!” she curls her nose and tries to hit his head playfully, but August snaps at her wrists with perfect instinct, pinning her hands against the wet meadow. His tongue flicks over the slant of her neck while he aligns his cock at the little piece of heaven between her legs.

Sensual yet rough, his massive girth splits her walls while his lips shower her with honeyed kisses. Ingvild throws her head back, lacing her fingers with his and coils herself beneath his large body. 

“August...” she pants, feeling the air gradually diminishing from her lungs with every thrust, “I think I’m dying...”

Never halting or slowing his rhythm, August lowers his head to peer into her eyes. Fingers drenched with blood snap at her jaw.

“Stay with me, Ingvild.” He demands, letting out a husky groan, though his voice is but an echo.

A grey, thick mist wafts around the darkening forest, covering her with a bone-chilling breeze; his calling carries on the distance.  

“Stay, princess...”

“Don’t leave...”

“Stay. We’ve only just begun.”

Ice bites its sharp fangs into the little creases between her cracked bones as another bucket filled with frosty water showers her trembling body. The stabbing pain lasts for a lingering moment, reminding her that she’s still very much alive.

It must be the 10th bucket, or maybe 12th? She lost count at some point. Day and night melt into one another in this place, and the hours don’t make much sense.

Muffled complaints vibrate in her ears. Vaguely her sight picks on two silhouettes arguing when the world abruptly flashes white, and her jaw soaks a terrible blow. Fully crashing onto the hard marble, she tries to recover, but a sudden kick rips through her abdomen.

“Your methods are too slow, Issac!” A grey-haired agent chides, standing over the girl with his foot still drawn, “Walker could be setting his bomb somewhere across the globe any minute now, and you’re taking your sweet time with her as if she’s an art project.”

The scrawny torturer frowns and turns his back at him. Walking toward the metal desk, he browses through different equipment. “My methods always work, the pretty little girl was taught to endure pain,” he grunts in exasperation and gestures at the bloodstained bandage around her hand, “she did this to herself.”

Sighing with a mixture of frustration and disgust, the CIA agent takes another swing at Ingvild’s torso, the pointy edge of his shoe colliding with the scar at her gut.

Bloodshot eyes rise with wrath, violent tides of aftershock course at her viscera. She peers at the men through the haze of pain when a third figure appears in the room, standing calmly whilst Issac and the agent argue among them. 

Tall, broad, and charismatic, the handsome man strides toward her. His tailored steel-coloured suit envelops his statuesque body as if he is made of iron.  

“You’re taking it so well, princess,” he praises in his deep, melodic baritone while crouching down to take a closer look. Ingvild lifts her head, slowly breaking into a weak grin. Onyx orbs replace the storm-touched eyes, but that chiselled face still belongs to her beautiful monster.

“Did you tell them anything about where I am headed?” he asks and gives her a pout, reaching his index finger and thumb to squeeze her bruised cheek affectionately. 

Swallowing the aching dryness in her throat, she manages to shake her head meekly. “No… I said nothing,” her voice cracking as she whispers. Her chapped lips stretch into a pale, awkward grin. 

Tiny lines form at the corner of his void-like eyes as he smiles back, radiating with dangerous delight.

“That’s my good girl.”

The grey-haired agent throws a glance over his shoulder, scrutinising Ingvild while he stands next to Issac, who is twirling a scalpel back and forth between his boney fingers.

“Who is she talking to?”

“Not very sane this one,” Issac explains as he examines the silver blade against the light, “multiple mental disorders, dissociative personality, psychotic.”

Pushing the agent aside with his free hand, Issac steps forward. He leers at Ingvild, who stares at nothing for a long second before averting her eyes back at them. 

“We just need to dig a little deeper and the little bird will sing,” he exclaims and moves closer before dropping to his knees. One of his icy hands lands on her shoulder, forcing her flat on her back. Shuddering at his frozen touch, she closes her eyes; in the bleak nothingness, she recalls the night in the lake where August let her die.

“Pretty little Ingvild, have you heard of vivisection?” Her torturer asks as he lines his twig-like finger over the spine of the scalpel. Sensing his digits sneaking beneath the hem of her shirt, she shoots her eyes open yet remains still and intrepid. 

The tiny black marbles beneath Issac’s brows glint with twisted joy, appeased at the sight of the scar as he exposes her torso. Ingvild expects the pain of the blade when something tepid and unpleasantly wet slithers across her gut like a little pink slug. 

“Umm… Issac…?” The agent interrupts, furrowing his brow with confusion and disgust as he stares at his colleague licking the girl’s torso.

“What?!” Issac snaps at him, his eyes narrowing with spite, “you wanted me to go harder on her!”

“Yes, but…”

“But shut up and let me do my job!” He yells and returns his glare to Ingvild who blinks at the ceiling silently. Disrupted by his touch, she bites her tongue, fighting to hold back the acrid substance that threatens to emerge from her gut.

“You fight very hard to protect a man who doesn’t give a fuck about you, little bird,” his snake-like voice hisses as he leans down to half-whisper in her ear, “just tell me where he is and I won’t cut you open.”

Ingvild sucks the air in through gritted teeth and turns her head to look away from the obnoxious little man. She seeks for her beautiful monster, finding him leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. August’s empty glance wears a calm grin.

“He is in this room,” Ingvild jests faintly, her sardonic laughter stretching thin, her chest heaving, exhausting whatever strength is left in her muscles. August’s smirk widens with hers, large dimples are slicing into his cheeks.

Ticking his tongue, Issac allows the sharp edge of the scalpel cut a skin-deep line into her flesh. Ingvild stares at him stoically, not moving a muscle as shy drops of blood begin trickling down her navel. 

“Are you sure about your response?” he asks, ghosting the scalpel over her abdomen while crooking an eyebrow.

Ingvild bites her lip, pretending to think about her answer for a few seconds. Lifting her head up, she inches her lips toward Issac’s ear. The scrawny man listens intently. 

“August Walker is the devil, and the devil is everywhere.”

A peal of sinister chuckles spills from her lips as she throws her head back onto the ground, staring at Issac’s disapproving glare. 

But her laughter soon dies. 

Taut pressure pierces into her flesh, the blade penetrating deep, cutting through tissue and muscle as if it was soft cheese. Ingvild clenches her jaw, her mind flooded by charring white light that dismantles every thought while the blade continues to swerve.

For a brief moment, she finds herself in Bergen, hands covered with thick blood, holding the gushing wound in her stomach with shock. August stands above her, toying with his favourite knife and staring at the red taint. 

“Time to fall, angel.” 

Scattered musings run behind her eyes: Liam, the nuns at the orphanage, August, and even Erica. She’s reminded of every hit she was forced to take, every country she visited, all blending into a bizarre parade of death. 

“C’mon girl, just tell us where he is!” She hears the other man shout as he steps closer with an urgent expression. “Just give us something, a country, a region, anything to make this stop, you can still do the right thing.” 

The heavy stench of iron fills her nose; the warm, thick liquid trickles down her bare skin, spilling in a cross on the map of her torso. The pain now is undeniable, making her lips heavier as she makes an attempt to answer.

“I don’t…. know… any August.”

The CIA agent scoffs violently and balls his fists. “Deeper!” He orders Issac, who like a composer, trails the blade further through her gut, cutting into sinew and brittle tendons. Ingvild trembles, feeling her body grow weaker. 

In her mind, she can hear caged screams.

“You will die for a man who doesn’t even care if you bleed!” The agent rasps, spit coming out of his mouth as he rages above her.

‘Stop!’

“He won’t even remember you once you die!”

‘Resist, don’t show pain. You’ve been through this before, you already died.’ 

“No one will.”

Swallowing every ounce of pain, she fights to remember her training, her past. Her mind scrambles for Fjellstrekninger forest, for the green pines and their stringy needles, for the scent of beech and the damp ground. She tries to imagine the silver-blue mountains of Bergen, that last time she hiked there before going to meet Liam at the gas station. 

How strange that at the very same day she encountered the most wanted man on earth, not knowing she was destined to be his. 

But none of these images appear before her.

‘You can’t escape this.’

Her screams shudder through the entire floor. 

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” 

August flicks his tongue over his bottom lip, glowering at the driver who gawks at him with disbelief and shakes his head. Pushing the phone against his chin, he stares forward at the rainy road, reciting in his mind the words of the MI6 and CIA apostles.

‘Erica captured a woman in her late 20s, having her tortured for information for a couple of days now. Can’t promise you she’s alive. No one goes in there.’

“I wasn’t asking,” August answers, throwing him an icy glare, “we’re taking the chopper to the Mi6 fortress in London. I don’t need to tell you what happens if you question my decisions.” 

The driver tenses his fingers around the steering wheel and shakes his head once again. He means to say something, but the scowl on August’s face shuts him up right away.

“Who is she? What is she to you?”

August huffs and lowers his gaze, eyes dropping to the plutonium case and then forward through the windshield, watching the heavy rain clouds that stretch before the sky. As he blinks his eyes shut, his mind plays a vision of an inferno; cracked ground and scorched skies. He sits on a throne made of bones and drinks wine from a chalice made of human skull. 

His angel sits on his knee, naked and pure, her iridescent wings tucked against her back. She stares at him with a smile full of admiration, her fingers brushing over his moustache. 

‘Your angel of destruction.’

“She’s just an asset.”

‘Hell lives inside you August, it always has. Rotting you from the inside as it begs to be let out. And you will unleash it, won’t you? Your suffering must be shared.’

Vast shadows gather outside the double-pane windows of the main hall. The thick storm clouds paint the sky pitch black, swallowing the stars alive one by one. Light wanes just in time for the harbinger of chaos to march into the well-secured lobby of the sizable Mi6 fortress.

If fairytales were to be true, the devil would arrive riding a monstrous mare with hooves made of flames. But if anything, he is but a man in a tailored suit and a long trench-coat. The leather soles of his midnight-black shoes squeak as he marches on, leaving a trail of mud on the cream-coloured marble.

“Evening sir,” the security guard greets and gestures August to pass through the large weapon detector with nothing but a quick exchange of knowing looks. 

The corners of August’s lips curl into a small smile beneath his moustache while he scrutinises the surroundings. Gold and pearly pillars spread across the vast hall, a false facade hiding a decaying world and the self-indulgent ghosts that harbour it. So lost in their own little lie, it takes them more than a few minutes to notice the hellhound who stepped into their haven.

It begins as a small rumble, like a seismic wave. The first tremor vibrates through the ground and the walls follow with a convulsing shudder. Gasps, chatter, and widened eyes stab at him with shock, yet they all seem to suffer from the same affliction. 

Standing paralysed, they ogle at the most wanted man on earth as he combs his fingers through his hair and walks toward the elevators located at the end of a narrow, red corridor. Unapologetically confident and ever so relaxed and condescending, he ignores them. 

A true king among peasants.  

“Is that?...”

“What the fuck?!”

“How the fuck did he pass security???”

His confidence is nothing but theatrics, as his blue eyes carry toward the large elevators with a glossy sparkle breaking on his corneas. He tries so hard to envision her beautiful face yet all he sees is a pile of dry bones.

“Stop! Hands in the fucking air, Walker!”

‘Ah, took them long enough.’

Standing between the carpeted walls of the narrow corridor, only mere inches from the silver doors, August slowly spreads his long fingers and lifts his hands in the air. His keen ear catches at least three firearms as the guards cock their guns at his direction, panting with fright. 

“Turn around so we can see you, piece of shit!!!” A presumingly young hero barks behind him. 

“Someone call Director Sloane down here right now, she’s not going to believe it!!!”

The soft rumbling in the lobby grows into impending thunder. A flash of pale purple lightning floods the lit vicinity for a split second, echoing the small grin that spreads across August’s beaming face.  

“Oh, I don’t think so, son,” he speaks serenely, almost like a tender fatherly coo. Not bothering to turn, he tilts his head up and inhales sharply.

“Go.”

Sharp gasps of shock and terror reverberate between the walls of the fortress as sudden darkness veils the main hall. The smell of their fear is almost as delightful as the strong smoky scent of gunpowder. Like shooting stars, the rapid gunfire pierces through the night. Cries, incoherent screams, and panicked gasps make for a beautiful concert, so much that he wishes he could stay, but he has a girl to rescue.  

‘If she’s still alive…’

Swallowing the bitter bile, he enters an elevator and presses the button for the basement level. He watches the flickering beams of light as his men continue to execute the remaining agents before the doors shut in. 

Drawing out his handgun and relieving the safety, he leans against the shuddering metal and stares at the neon red number while reminiscing on the day he met a pretty girl with an unpleasant smile.

“Too bad, I would have loved to see you again.”

“Well then, if our destinies were meant to be entwined, you will.”

The basement level seems completely abandoned and eerily silent. No wails nor cries carry on the chilly air. 

His Ingvild is forbearing, she would never show her suffering. Would she? 

Inching toward the interrogation cell, his hand runs across the naked concrete walls, sensing the coarse texture against the pads of his fingers. Opaline droplets of sweat bead his forehead and his lungs sink with the effort.

Muffled voices perk his ears the closer he gets: two men, no woman. No sounds of violence, no signs of her in there whatsoever. 

‘Angel, are you being brave for me?’

Arriving at the door, he takes a deep breath and gingerly pushes the handle. The pungent scent of salt and iron pervades his nostrils as he steps a foot into the shower of blinding white light. The brightness hurts and for a moment it feels as everything before him fades. 

Until his sight sharpens and he notices the two shadowy figures standing with their backs facing him. They look like vultures preying upon a corpse.

Her corpse.

‘No! Change this! Make this right!’

Wings of cherry-dark blood spread from her snow-pale body. Motionless, his girl lies with her top huddled around her chest to expose her bleeding gut. 

‘You are too late…’

Pure, undistilled rage burns within August’s throat, so ferocious it stings in his eyes, making his entire body tremble. He lifts his hand and fires the gun hastily, shooting both men in the back of their heads before they even get the chance to turn and look at the man who executed them. 

“Ingvild!” August pants, rushing and falling to his knees before her. 

“Angel?” He presses one hand to her gut, trying to pressure her gushing wounds while his fingers etch around her nape to pull her closer to his face. Blood, still sticky and warm, tarnishes his clean outfit while he cradles her in his arms.

“Please don’t do this to me…” He whispers, shifting his hand to caress her bruised face, recalling the last time she was dead in his arms. 

The world kept spinning on its axis when she died back at the lake. So why does it feel like right now it stopped in its place?

Pressing her to his chest, August shuts his eyes and shudders with fury. All emotions come to life, and every one of them hurt.

“You are not here…” 

A deep quivering sigh of relief soars from his throat, mouth cracking into a smile at the sounds of her hoarse whisper and delicate moans. Blinking faintly, Ingvild half-opens her eyes and stares at him through heavy lids. 

“I am here,” he whispers, brushing away the sticky strands of hair from her face and squeezes her cheek beneath his thumb, “I came to take you, we have to go.”

Shifting his arms, he tries to lift her up, but his petite woman is suddenly made of the heaviest rocks; her stiff muscles protest in his grip, making it impossible for him to manoeuvre her out of fear she will bleed to death. 

“We were both at the garden,” she mumbles drowsily, licking her bloodied teeth before breaking into a maddened smile that quickly dies as she depletes her remaining strength. “I’m tired, I want to stay here and dream.” 

“Ingvild, we don’t have time for this,” August warns with concern, noticing how her eyes roll back and her lashes flutter shut, “there’s a helicopter waiting for us on the roof. You have to get up, you have to survive this, you have to come with me! Please!”

Fat, oily tears roll down her temples, mingling with the blood and tangy sweat on her face. Opening her eyes again, she peers at her beautiful monster, recognising the familiar ocean and its eternal unrest. 

Did he come here for her, or is it just a dream?

“Why?” 

‘Tell her.’

Brow lifting and face softening, his hands clutch her tightly. He rocks her from side to side, holding her protectively. Ingvild senses the wrath that pours from his heart, the thundering beat throwing its fists against his ribcage as their bodies collide.

“You know why,” August suggests huskily, nearly begging, bargaining not to admit, not to say the words he was always so afraid of. But naively, her gaze pleas in return, the child-like innocence piercing a hole through his chest. 

“Tell me,” she begs him.

‘She needs you to say it.’

“Because I need you.”

The words nearly crack on his tongue, his throat suddenly so dry it sears. He glances down at the fallen angel, sensing the most excruciating thirst, where the only way to stop it is by stealing several deep kisses from her lips. 

“I need you by my side,” he murmurs above her lips between desperate, helpless kisses, hoping to breathe life into his weakened valkyrie, “stay with me, angel.”  

An awkward stretch tugs at her cheeks, hurting as if someone slices them with a blade from side to side. For the first time in her life, true laughter crisps her face, followed by crystal-like tears that run down her sullen eyes.

“I love you, August.” 

Every nerve in his body tingles with tendrils of light, reaching out deep within his gut and spreading throughout his tendons. For a moment, he feels divine, sanctified by the words of his angel, his woman, his by free will. 

Offering her a brief smile, he captured her lips for one last stolen kiss. His thick moustache scratches at her tender flesh while a little hum plays on his tongue. 

She tastes like blood and honey - the tarty flavour of victory.

“We have to go now, princess, I have to finish this.” 

Gingerly rising to his feet, he hooks a hand below her knees and places the other against her bruised spine. Bloody footprints trail behind him as he carries her outside the white room, trying to make for their freedom.

Locked down in her office, Director Erica Sloane inhales and exhales by practice, brushing a hand through her sweat-slick hair while trying to call every backup unit. Bullets still rip through the air in every story; the sirens howl while red lights flicker from outside. She puts her hands around her ears, trying to shut the noises out, uncertain if the screams she is hearing are her people still being slaughtered, or her mind playing tricks.

Walker is many things: an idealist, a manipulative snake, a monster. But this is a side of him she never anticipated. There is no need to question his motives this time. She is smart enough to figure it out. 

To risk so much, a man must feel deeply for a woman.

Her anxiety spikes as guilt seeps in when her phone suddenly rings.

“Director Sloane,” she pants against the receiver. Somehow, as she hears the deep, measured breath, she knows.

‘Walker.’

“Hello, Erica, did you miss me?”

Erica clenches her jaw and stares spitefully into nothing, “Hardly.”

She hears him scoff from the other line, her mind piecing together that horrible, pretentious grin of his. The bile climbs up her throat just from the vision. 

“We don’t have much time, but I just wanted to thank you.” August pauses, sighing with the bliss of a madman at her ear, “You see, if not for Lacey, if not for you kicking me to the curb the way you did - I would have never become what I was meant to be. And you sent me an angel to light my way…”

“You’ve manipulated her.”

“No, you did,” August interrupts calmly, “I set her free. I will set them all free and unite them.”

The anger simmers in her gut to the point of nausea. She holds her breath, counts to ten and tries to gather her thoughts. ‘August wants a bargain,’ she thinks, but for a reason, it feels like he already won.

“Can you come and look out of the window for me, please?” He asks politely. 

Turning her head at the window, she narrows her eyes and bites her plump lips with hesitation.

“If I had a sniper on you, you’d be dead 5 minutes ago,” he assures her. 

She gets up from her office chair slowly, her fingers reaching to uncover the blinds. The storm weakened, yet heavy clouds still loom from above like a noxious mist. She seeks for August on the horizon, listening carefully to the sounds on the line. She realises they are coming from above. Her sharp eyes detect the helicopter: far, yet close enough to see his shit-eating grin and that hand that waves at her. 

He has the girl with him. Who knew a monster could care.

“You know, you are the only woman in the CIA I haven’t fucked.” He provokes and then hangs up suddenly.

Erica watches as the helicopter takes off, her eyes widening with fear as the notion of her own demise resonates like a stinging slap.

The blast takes her along with the entire building within a split second.

Standing on the cliff by the edge of the valley, August stares down at the tranquil scar that swerves amidst lush, fertile mountains. The crystalline Indus river lies before his eyes, its sweet water so clear that the sky mirrors upon the brim.   

It’s not every day when a simple man becomes a god. 

The melancholic beauty of nature makes his fingers tighten around the detonator, thumb ghosting over the button as he allows himself a couple of last seconds to inhale the air of the old world. 

Oh, how many will die for this god to receive his halo.

‘I wish you were here, my Ingvild…’ August muses with anguish, feeling an awkward jab at the spot where his heart should have been.  

A sudden rumbling noise of a helicopter makes his gut weave. 

‘That better not be Ethan fucking Hunt! I should have thrown him off the cliff in Norway!’ 

Alarmed yet stoic as ever, he draws his gun, aiming it at the aircraft inching its way to land on the other side of the flat terrain. The last thing he needs right now is someone meddling with his affairs, but it quickly becomes clear to him that if someone wanted a monster like him dead, they would have sniped him from the air before he could even see them coming. 

‘Did you forget the woman is nothing but a valkyrie?’

“What are you doing here?” He calls out at Ingvild and frowns at the pilot, abruptly struck with anger. “I specifically asked to make sure she stays rested!”

The pilot shrugs while Ingvild makes her way toward August with mild effort. Dark circles rest beneath her eyes, yet she is still so very beautiful to him, especially when she frowns. 

“She was very persuasive and horrendously stubborn,” the pilot retorts. 

“Yeah, tell me about it,” August mutters to himself and watches the little battered woman making every attempt to remain stoic as she steps closer. A shadow of a malicious grin creeps on her frosty eyes. 

Once upon a time, she promised him she will always find him. She has no intention of breaking that promise.

“Did you think I’ll let you do this without me, August Walker?” She sulks at him as she finally moves to stand in front of him. Every nerve in her body is inflamed with pain, yet the thought of not being here at the birth of the new world brings greater agony than imagined. 

Something she compares to missing out on the birth of a child.

“We are in this together now, this is our cause, our better world. You don’t get to leave me behind.”

Her hand reaches for his wrist, thumb pressing to feel his quickening pulse. Wonder paints his eyes and his lips gape softly. He promised himself Lacey will never cross his thoughts again; yet he can’t help but think about that night in his study and the pain of betrayal.  

‘How is she even real?’   

Gently peeling her fingers off his wrist, he looks at the detonator. He then takes her hand in his, placing the device in her slender grasp. 

“Forgive me, my darling. You’re right,” he apologises and turns her over to view the horizon. A shiver surges through her as she senses the weight in her palm when August moves to stand behind her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“We do this together.”

Pesky little honeysuckles flutter within her chest as his arms wrap around her carefully. One of his hands holds hers, raising it up slightly to position the device in front of her chest.

“Do it angel, set them free.”

Taking a deep breath, Ingvild slides her fingertip over the red button. Scattered images of her life briefly flash through her mind, ending with the single moment where their gazes first met that day in Bergen.

Bright heavenly light cleanses the sky and loud thunder rips through the earth. Standing on the trembling ground, August and Ingvild stare into the distance while slowly turning to face each other. They hold their hands together, both gaping with awe as rich golden hues pour into the sky. 

Enamoured, and lost within one another’s beauty, they share a long, lingering kiss. 

Epilogue. 

Sharp and heavy, the blade split the wood in half as if it was made out of soft butter. Resting the blunt side of the leaden axe over his shoulder, he pauses and observes the pile of firewood on the ground. His lips move in silence as he counts before crouching down to pick up another log and place it on the stump. 

Strong shades of pink and orange spread between the clouds, kissed by the drowsy sun as it makes its way to slumber beneath the earth. It’s been 8 months since the coming of their new world. Even though there is still work to be done, August decided a hideout was necessary to let her mend her wings. 

“Loki!” 

Ingvild rushes into the green field with a wide, toothy smile. Feral rivers of chestnut-brown reach the small of her back, floating behind her as she runs around giggling.

‘That smile, like honey. So pure, so real.’

Playful barks answer her call, and a German Shepherd puppy appears from across the green hill, jumping over one of the logs ecstatically and wags its tail.

“Careful or I’ll cook him for dinner,” August mutters and points the axe at Loki’s direction. The pup tilts its head at him and barks with playful rage, growling and baring its needle-like teeth.

Ingvild pauses and gives August an icy stare before grabbing the large puppy and holding him to her chest, “You’re a shitty liar August Walker, you love him. Always sneaking him bacon when you think I'm not looking and snuggling him in your sleep.”

August shrugs, brushing away her comment before sticking the axe into the tree stump. “Get inside, time for dinner.” A small grin stretches on his lips as he sees her walking away, kissing the puppy on his wet little nose. 

The scent of cedarwood burning at the mantle and brewed coffee welcomes her home as she enters the cabin, immediately filling her chest with mellowness. She allows Loki down on the ground before walking into their cosy bedroom where she removes her trousers and remains in an oversized sweater and black thigh-high stockings that August gifted her after they left Kashmir. 

When she returns to the living room, August is sitting at the study with his laptop open. A small wrinkle lines his forehead while he runs two fingers over his moustache. A map and coordinates are visible on the screen, along with a messaging platform which she only assumes is a conversation with one of the apostles. 

Loki lies guarding at his feet.

“Come here, princess,” August calls, reaching out his arm toward her. “I have something to show you.”

Sneaking toward him like a large feline, Ingvild takes his hand and lets him guide her to his lap. Her legs fall to each side of his thighs, and August rests his chin at the small crook of her neck where it always belonged.

“What are you looking for?” She asks, casually pulling the sleeve over her wrist to scratch at a peeling hammer tattoo gracing her skin.

“Don’t touch it, let it heal.” August answers and takes her hand in his, entwining their fingers together tightly. An illustration of an angel wing decorates the same spot on his arm. As she glances at the way the black ink is embedded into his flesh, she can’t help but smile and ever so slightly grind herself on the semi-rigid bulge beneath her ass.

August growls against her neck, grazing his stubbles over her supple skin before reaching a hand to unzip his tracking trousers and pull out his swelling manhood. After a soft scuffle of her panties, he lifts her hips and slides himself fully within her wet, angelic cove. 

“August…” She sighs, fluttering her eyes shut for a split second, embracing both pain and pleasure. When August fills her, she is ethereal, as if a piece that was missing all her life has finally made it back home.

“You always look so beautiful with me inside you,” he murmurs against her neck, planting bristly kisses down her jawline before returning his glare forward. Ingvild only moves slightly above him, swaying slow and smooth on his thick, throbbing girth and squeezing him tight between her walls to relish in their bond.  

“I have a present for you.” He opens a tab on his browser while his fingers toy with her clit with surprising tenderness.

“What is it?” She moans as he presses down on her sensitive pearl.

“I found Liam,” he explains, a twinge of pride and a spit of revenge hanging on his baritone. He growls slightly as her cunt clenches around him by his words. “He’s hiding out in Sao Paulo. I plan to bring you his head.”

Sucking on her bottom lip, she grinds a little harder, feeling August deep in her gut. The temptation to ride him hard and rough is too great, but this sweet slow torture always brings her to a higher ground of ecstasy when they finally fuck. 

“Can it wait, my beautiful monster?” She asks sweetly, reaching her talons to clutch his thigh as he pushes further in and bottoms out inside her with a grunt. “I’d like to stay here for a while and be your angel for a little bit longer.”

August lifts his cerulean gaze back to Ingvild, the clear sky in his deep irises slightly darken as he observes the serene look on her face. His hand rises to cup her chin and turn her head to the side to meet his possessive lips. He cages her mouth with his, devouring her with the lust of a hungry man.

“You will always be mine and mine alone Ingvild,” he promises as he ends the kiss with a nibble on her chin. Ingvild licks his saliva off her mouth and stares back at him with the oxymoronic union of innocence and sinister urge before she leans back and continues to look at his plans.

‘Who is she to you?’

‘She is my queen, and I am the king of hell.’

_______________________________

Additional Notes: Song lyrics by Elvis Presely - Angel. Additional Inspiration by Nine Inchs Nails - We’re in this together. 

Disclaimer: I own no rights to Mission Impossible’s franchise or August Walker.

[gum-gum-time]

La Squadra urbex headcanons

I had a dream about this a while back and I KNEW that I had to write something

Risotto Nero:

Good in theory, a disaster in practice. As much as Risotto likes the idea of it, he’ll most likely won’t participate because of how tall and broad he is.

Also, his love for long and flowy clothes will make it difficult for him to move around, he’ll either get caught on something or get a concussion from hitting his head on low doorways and ceilings or get a face full of cobwebs for his troubles.

To make up for his inability to go out and explore himself, he watches an absurd amount of urbex videos in his spare time.

Prosciutto: Nope! No way. Don’t even think that he’ll willingly step a foot into an old, abandoned, dusty building if it isn't a mission and he isn't getting paid for it, he definitely doesn’t get the appeal or understand what he’s supposed to do.

Not to mention his wardrobe, he wears expensive designer suits, and God forbid he ruins them.

But he does encourage his teammates (especially Pesci) to go out and explore, saying that it’s good for training, but in reality, he’s just old and doesn’t see the fun in it.

Pesci: Surprisingly, he enjoys urbex very much.

His favorite places to explore are usually large and open, for example, sports arenas or theme parks. He also takes lots of amateurish pictures to show his Aniki and Risotto, since they usually don’t want to come with him. 

He's very respectful and usually sticks to the group he’s exploring with. Overall, he’s just there to have fun and take pretty pictures.

Formaggio: Occasionally goes with the gang when he has nothing better to do. He likes exploring old houses or anything with lots of clutter, mostly because he pockets some of the cool-looking things even though you’re not supposed to do that. 

He's the best at finding abandoned spots around town since he knows most of the locals around town. His stand is also very useful when it comes to getting past fences or barred doors and windows. 

He will make fun of the edgy graffiti on the walls.

Illuso: He isn’t a fan of urbex, much like Prosciutto he doesn’t like wandering around dusty and decrepit places he can be bribed into doing it easily enough. 

Likes helping Pesci out with his photography, he's a master when it comes to finding and arranging props or finding the right light and camera angle. 

His stand is also useful for getting into fenced or boarded-up areas.

Ghiaccio: He loves urbex! Though he often strays from the group, he still has fun exploring abandoned places. His favorite spots are large stadiums and construction sites where he can exercise, parkour, and show off his techwear. 

Has an affinity for tall buildings and vantage points as well, he feels like he’s on top of the world when he can literally look down on his group from some scaffolding and challenge someone to race him across the building.

Keeps a journal with all of the places he’s been to, what he liked and disliked about it and what to look out for.

Melone: He likes it enough to tag along with the group most of the time, especially if Formagio is there. He’ll goof off with him and Pesci for the most part. 

Although he’ll be a bit well behaved if they're in a hospital since he wants to go through the various documents and bottles, spouting out medical and biological facts that scar anyone unfortunate enough to be near him. 

He is the only one aware that black mold exists and usually grabs a few respirators for the gang before going out.

Gelato: Yet another person who does it to hang out with some of his fellow assassins, although his idea of hanging out may end up giving someone a heart attack one day. 

Sometimes he’ll go off on his own for a few minutes to “check something out” and scare everyone else shitless when he decides to run at the group screaming bloody murder. Often takes creepy pictures of the building, though most of the pictures he brings back are of the mortified faces of his teammates. 

He mellows out after some time and hangs out with Ghiaccio or graffities some of the walls and floors. Sorbet: He’s another old man who prefers to stay back. He'll laugh at the pictures Gelato brings back and listens to the guys talk about what other fun things happened. 

His crippling fear of bugs also keeps him from going anywhere near any abandoned house. 

Keeps albums of the best pictures Gelato has taken. He also comes up with some creative concepts and sketches for Gelato to use when he tags buildings.

[irondadfics]

I’m looking for fanfics where Peter is Tony’s biological child and he goes missing/gets kidnapped as a young child. He is raised by someone else and doesn’t know he’s Tony’s son. I’ve already read Lost Boy and Things I Almost Remember on archive of our own and I wanted to find stories with a similar plot.

WHEW! It’s kind of a long list, but we did our best finding several fics that feature both BioDad!Tony and Peter being kidnapped at a very young age. ENJOY!!

PETER IS TONY’S SON BUT THEY WERE SEPARATED WHEN PETER WAS A CHILD REC LIST

Lost Boy by winterda

Isaac Stark disappeared from a crowded park a few months shy of his third birthday. There were never any signs of him, and no arrest were ever made in connection to the case. It was as if the toddler had simply vanished off the face of the earth. Twelve years later, Peter Parker has a really bad day, which only get worse when his prints are put through the system.

Things I Almost Remember by IcedAquarius @icedaquarius31​

Peter's past is not as it appears. It all starts one day with a genetics project and slowly spirals into something Peter never could have imagined.

hydra's not a home by tempestaurora @tempestaurora​

At 6 years old, the son of Tony and Pepper Stark, Peter, is kidnapped, never to be seen again. Or, so they thought. Ten years later, while raiding a HYDRA base, the Avengers come across a new, enhanced individual, working for the enemy: in black spandex, with a tendency to stick to walls and shoot webs from his wrists, the Black Spider is a pain in the ass in more ways than one.

If They Knew All About You by MsHermia

Tony Stark had lost his son when he was only 2 years old, stolen away in broad daylight with nobody the wiser of what exactly happened. Years later, Tony has just made it through the disaster with Ultron. He is trying to keep himself and the team together but relationships are strained and tempers are running high. Then a random turn of events leads to his path crossing with that of a particular vigilante. They are strangers to each other, or so they think.

Peter Parker is on top of the world. After a few shitty years, losing his parents and then losing his Uncle, things are finally looking up. Sure he lives in a crappy little apartment with his Aunt but he might have just found his mission in life.

------

This is an AU story obvious by some of the tags. I'm starting out a few weeks after Age of Ultron took place. Civil War will be a thing. Other than that I'm not too concerned about sticking to every canon detail and storyline.

Finding Their Way Home by ElliahRose

Peter Benjamin-Edward Stark went missing on a Tuesday. For months the entirety of the New York police department, as well as anyone else the Starks could convince to join, searched for the tot. He was only three when he was taken and for four months, two weeks, and four days, Tony Stark and Pepper Stark (nee Potts) worried and fretted over their beloved child.

Peter Benjamin-Edward Stark was murdered on a Friday. A ransom call gone wrong spelt the end of the child’s life. The world grieved as the kidnappers gleefully told the devastated parents they’d find his body in the morning.

They never did.

Twelve years passed and the family was still grieving, and Tony Stark worked tirelessly to find his only child’s killer and gain justice for his son.

Meanwhile Peter Parker was having literally the worst day ever. He just wanted to help make the world a better place, but instead he got stabbed. That's just his luck, isn't it?

missing, presumed dead by hailingstars @hailing-stars

They hadn’t had a funeral for Peter.

There hadn’t been a casket or a service inside a church.

There had been, before Tony decided in his heart that Peter was gone, candlelight vigils and pleas on the media for whoever had taken him to bring him home. Neither of those did any good. Neither of those brought Peter home.

OR

Tony Stark's son gets kidnapped when he's two. Twelve years later he comes back.

I told you to be better (and you became the best) by HaruK

Tony was blessed with a healthy baby boy, and for once in his life, was actually happy. Until everything derailed and he had to send his son away to keep him safe, because those related to the Stark family, one of the worlds biggest and most targeted families in the black market, always end up hurt. With a new name and identity that Tony himself doesn't know, the young baby was wiped off the map, his existence erased, never to be heard of again. . Years later, Anti-hero Iron Man meets a local superhero vigilante and Tony becomes surprisingly close with young Peter Parker.

The Curly-Haired Boy In The Paper by Svn_f1ower @svn-f1ower​

When Tony sees the blurry, grey scale photograph of someone he thought he had lost years ago, he follows the trail to a newspaper company, to a hospital, to an adoption agency, to the police station and finally to May Parker's house.

hold him tight & don’t let go by jessicagoddamnjones @farremoved

Peter Stark went missing when he was four years old.

Eleven years later, he’s found.

Only now he’s Peter Parker by day, Spider-Man by night, and he doesn’t like the idea that his entire life is a lie.

Rise from the Ashes; Just to See You Again by Mintstream @iwritedumbshit​

Tony Stark didn't expect Mary Fitzpatrick, or the news she delivered. He didn't expect that he would become a father, or that he would actually enjoy it. He didn't expect Penny to love him just as fiercely as he did her.

He didn't expect to lose her so soon.

In the wake of the loss of his daughter he tried--tried to do right by her. He became Iron Man, he was an Avenger, he protected his world because he couldn't protect his daughter, but through it all, he hoped to be reunited with his daughter.

He didn't expect to be alive when he was.

AKA the biological daughter kidnapping AU no one asked for. Hope you read, and hope you enjoy.

Updates on Saturdays.

Coming Home by inkinmyheartandonthepage

AU – Peter Stark was kidnapped when he was just three years old. Tony and Pepper never stopped looking for their boy. Years later, Peter finds his way back home.

A Change In What We Knew by Imissyoutoo @imissyoutoo

Tony scoured the floor behind Steve as though his one-year-old son had somehow crawled to him, before finally, he looked up. The realisation dawned on him like an eclipse; the decaying darkness hiding the sun. Hiding his son. Because his boy wasn't there.

”Where is he? Steve? Where's my son Rogers?!” At only a year old, Tony Stark’s son is taken, leaving him shattered. Little does he know, his journey to find what is lost only begins twelve years later. In the most unlikely of places, and all because of two words.

”Hey kid.”

I Found You by honestchick

Tony had a son; he raised him for two years until someone kidnapped him. Tony was devastated and heartbroken. And who would have thought in Starks Expo, he’d be able to see his son once again?

move back home forever by chasingflower @evahmohns

The results say he’s not actually Peter Parker.

They say he’s Peter Stark. You know, the one who’s been missing for 10 years.

Yeah. He knows.

Soon You'll Get Better by lostinmorewaysthan1

Peter Stark was kidnapped. That was all anyone knew. He vanished into thin air, no traces left behind, when he was eight years old.

Six years later, on one of the final raids on the HYDRA bases, they find an enhanced assassin, with super strength and the ability to climb walls. No one imagined that it would be Peter. Least of all Tony.

With no memory and brainwashed by HYDRA, Peter Stark goes home and tries to recover.

Let This Road Be Mine by CommunicationFlail

Ten years ago, five year old Peter Stark disappeared. When the trail went cold, the case was closed. Now new evidence has been brought to light and Tony will stop at nothing to get his son back. No matter how many fakes he has to meet. His son is out there, and he will find him.

Return to me, the one I love so endlessly by SuperHeroTiger @superherotiger

James Edwin Stark was born on the 10th of August 2001, and for the first time in his life, Tony Stark cried tears of joy.

All the fears, all the dread that had once consumed his soul washed away with a single look at the baby’s gentle features, so familiar and yet so distinctly unique at the same time. Tony made many promises that day. Promises to love his son, to protect him, to always be there for him.

On the 10th of August 2002, James Edwin Stark was stolen in the middle of the night, and his father’s world came crashing down. Shattered and alone, Tony whispered the same promise he’d made to his son the day that he was born.

‘…My love for you is endless…’

Fourteen years later, hidden away from the world in a forest of pine, Peter Beck would dream of a day he might get to see the towering city of New York. And when a wounded stranger stumbles onto their property a week out from his birthday claiming to be a famous billionaire from New York, his dream might just come true.

Once Lost Now Found by FreckledAvenger11

Peter Parker was just trying to get used to life without his uncle. He wasn't expecting to find a familiar face in an article about Tony Stark's missing son. Follow Peter on his journey to discover just who he is. Is he Peter Parker? Is he Spider-Man? Or is he someone else entirely? Just who is he and what secrets died along with his parents in that plane crash?

So He Walks The World Alone by Miola014

This is a story 'bout a broken boy With his headphones in just to block out the noise Of everyone around him telling him the way to go So he walks the world alone Wondering if it gets better Or if he's always gonna feel empty forever So he gets lost tryna find another way back home As he walks the world alone

Or

The Kidnapped Peter Stark AU that I promised y'all!

[kyber-crystal]

➳ good enough || s.r.

summary: after a long week you’re left completely exhausted. steve comforts you and helps you unwind. 

words: ~1.6k 

warnings: slight mentions of violence, angst, angst-to-fluff, a lil friends-to-lovers (i’m SORRY literally all of my oneshots are some variation of this but i just can’t resist), minor age gap? (if you call 5 years a lot). also civil war happened but they resolved it so 2017 au teeheeeeee

a/n: this sucked omg. why is my writing going downhill. also this is a red-room-turned-agent-reader who helped steve adjust when he came out of the ice bc i love cliche love backstories hehe...i tried to be very descriptive here but that failed oops. this is prolly one of my worst fics ever (it’s unedited) but my other one got deleted so i’m uploading this in its place!

Steve knew something was wrong the minute you came back from your mission. You always acted a bit off the first few days following your return, but for some reason, today seemed different. For the past week you'd been blatantly avoiding his gaze, refusing to meet his eye unless forced to. 

You don’t even return Sam and Bucky’s sarcastic one-liners - and you always make sure to send a cheesy joke right back at them. It’s not typical for you to be so quiet and reserved like this; frankly, it scared him. 

He knows that as a former Red Room assassin, you never had it easy. As the youngest of the twenty-eight dancer-disguised warriors, you were merely eight years old when you were admitted (Natasha was thirteen). At eight, there was much you didn’t know. You were naive, easily shaped to conform to the strict rules they’d set out for you. 

But despite all the hell you’d gone through in the past, you managed to find it in your heart to forgive and create a compassionate nature towards others. Especially him. He always wondered what he deserved to get someone like you-- he felt more than lucky to have you in his life.

It was 4 a.m, and his insomnia was at its worst. It had peaked ever since he’d come out of the ice - he was 27, had so much of his life before him before it was abruptly put to a stop. But then he met you, with your warm eyes and kind smile that was such a sharp contrast to the girl you used to be. 

The sound of muffled shouts coming from across the compound makes him look up - he sets down his mug of coffee and immediately heads down the hall to see what’s going on. 

Steve carefully pushed open the glass doors to the training facility, seeing you standing in front of a punching bag and attacking the hell out of it with an almost murderous look in your eyes - one he’d never seen before. The tape around your knuckles were splattered with your crimson blood. Despite the dim lighting, he could see the outlines of fresh bruises all over your arms and shoulders. The sight made bile rise up in his throat. He felt his heart break.

Every heavy blow of your fists was accompanied by a ground-shaking boom that echoed across the gym, unleashing the monster trapped inside. You pick up the pace and increase your speed, channelling all your pent-up anger and frustration and guilt into what you were doing. 

It hurts. You would give anything to get rid of the pain. It hurts like hell, but you would trade living a regret-ridden life for a guilt-free one in a heartbeat if that’s what it takes. Besides, you’ve experienced far worse before-- six-inch knife wounds, bullets to the abdomen and upper arms, broken ribs and noses. This should be a walk in the park.

The concerned super-soldier stood several feet away and observed you, silently watching you murdering the poor punching bag that’s barely withholding all the fury you’ve poured into pummeling it; it was about to burst at the seams.

“Y/N.” You didn’t hear him and kept going, so he repeated himself again. “Y/N.”

“What?” you snapped, keeping your gaze trained in front of you. “What the hell do you want?”

“Shouldn’t you be in bed? It’s late. What’s keeping you up at this hour?”

“Nothing,” you replied plainly, but he caught the brief flash of a grief-stricken look cross over your expression and your eyes glaze over, “I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

“You clearly aren’t. Y/N, talk to me. Please.”

“I told you, I’m,” you increased the force of your fists with each word you spoke, as you felt your eyes stinging, “just, fine!”

“Y/N...” he whispered, so softly, as if he was afraid he’d break you with a single sentence. 

That was the last straw. The tears spilled over. Your vision began to blur as you didn’t even bother to wipe them away. The broad-shouldered super-soldier, your fists, and the punching bag and everything insight are turned into blurry, shapeless blobs. You try blinking them away but it was no use; but you keep going. 

“Please tell me what’s going on. Tell me what’s wrong...please don’t shut me out. I only want to help.”

“Leave me alone,” you repeated with a growl, arms now aching with the pain of a thousand tiny needles. But he doesn’t, and he stays firmly rooted in his place. You hastily wiped at your nose with your hands. “For gods’ sake, Rogers, leave,” smack “me,” smack “alone.”

Your last punch was so hard the walls shook and caused Steve to take a step back in alarm. But after that, all the fight is gone from you. Your knees buckle from underneath you and your shoulders slump in defeat and you crumble to the floor. A sound so raw and hoarse escapes your lips and it sounds nothing near human. 

The metallic scent of blood mixed with your salty tears and sweat overwhelms your senses and makes your head spin. Suddenly the act of taking in a single breath seems impossible and your chest tightens, preventing you from being able to breathe properly. 

The ever-so-fragile wall that had been struggling to hold your tears at bay finally broke. 

Heaving, wrenching sobs clawed their way up your throat and tore through your already weary heart - escaping in broken, agonized cries and heart-wrenching howls that make Steve feel like his heart is deliberately shattering into a million, tiny fragments of glass. He doesn’t know what to do because for the first time in his life, the woman he’s always seen with her head held high and an unmatched confidence that could almost put the President to shame was vulnerable, letting it all out at once. 

Steve doesn’t ask any questions nor does he push to to speak up, but silently comes over to you and wraps you into a tight hug, cradling you against his chest. Your arms find their way around his torso, pressing your forehead against the soft cotton of his T-shirt as his free hand makes a gentle trek up and down your back. 

As if you were a delicate flower, he carefully brought your head closer and pressed a kiss to your temple, letting his lips linger for a second longer than normal to reassure you. To reassure you that everything would in fact, be okay. Because he was there.

“Don’t leave me...please don’t leave me,” you choked out as he tightened his hold on you. “Please don’t leave.”

“I won’t, darling, I promise,” he cooed, lips brushing against your forehead, “it’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay, we’re okay. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

Then, the suffocating pressure is eased off your chest, little by little. You began sinking into the comfort of his warm arms and soothing words. And with his reminder that you didn’t have to go through hell and back alone, because he’d be there, you began to heal. 

...

ONE YEAR LATER

“...Joining the Avengers has been one hell of a ride. I went through hell and back, had my fair share of ups and downs and fought in countless wars. But along the way I’ve been blessed with the privilege of getting a built-in second family and making some of the best friends I’ve had in my life. I met my soulmate.” Steve gazed down at you warmly as you spoke, “I honestly had no idea things would ever work out like this but now, I can’t imagine a life without knowing who all these amazing people are.

“It’s been 15 months since the day he saved me.” Everyone immediately fell silent. "I had hit a very, very low point in my life and I was just about ready to give up. It was like I was screaming into a void and nobody was there to catch me when I fell. I felt so helpless and lost. Stuck. If Steve hadn’t come along at the time he did...I don’t know what would’ve have happened instead. So, Steve...I want to thank you...for everything. I can’t even begin to list all the things you’ve sacrificed or done for my sake and I owe you. From this point forward I promise to always stick by your side no matter how rough things get. I promise to love you at your best and your worst; whenever you need me I’ll always be here. No amount of anything I do will ever match what you’ve done, but I can promise you this: I’ll love you until the day I die, ‘til death do us part.

“’Till death do us part,” Steve repeated, smiling through the tears in his eyes. “God, I love you.”

You broke into a gorgeous grin that had him weak at the knees.  “I love you too.”

“The rings, please,” Fury nodded over in Peter’s direction, and the teenager handed them over to the two of you. “Agent Y/N Y/L/N, do you take Captain Steven Grant Rogers to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you said softly, as you put on Steve’s ring.

He turned to the super-soldier. “And Captain Steven Grant Rogers, do you take Agent Y/N Y/L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Steve took your hand in his and slid the diamond ring over your finger, “I do.”

“Very well, then,” Fury smiled widely, a rare sight. “You may now kiss your bride.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Steve rushed forward and pulled you close, dipping you down low before bringing you back up and kissing you passionately. 

His warm lips serving as a reminder of all that you still had left to live for, that you had so much of your life ahead of you. A life with him.

...

general tags(this is from my old taglist spreadsheet, including mutuals who might be interested): @rynhaswritersblock @purpleskiesstorm @pies-writes-and-more @wxstedhexrt @captainchrisstan @sandystoriess @naomiiiiiiiiiii04 @patzammit @capcapcapsicle @wheresmyjae @thinkingofbuckybarnes @carryonmywaywardbucky @musicalkeys @buckybarnesthehotshot @tombob2005 @zaddychris @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @sylvie-writes @sis-it-dont-add-up @tonystankschild​ @sunstalgia​

steve rogers/chris evans tags: @speechlessxx @angrybirdcr @stainedsouvenir @marvelfanatic16

permanent tags<3: @poesflygirl @sandwitch-god

[moral-turpitudes]

Deal with the Devil: Ch. 1

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Mentions/Heavy Descriptions of Death, Murder, Gore, Blood, Guns, Knives, Fires, PTSD, Angst. All Explicit/18+ Content is indicated by (**).

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Isla Maxwell (OC)

Word Count: 2,142

Plot Summary: With nowhere to turn after the failed assassination of Oswald Mosely, Thomas Shelby accepts the help of a covert assassin with a knack for nabbing fascists.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | *7* | 8 | 9 | 10

“Authorities Puzzled as Third Man Goes Missing” read the headline of the local newspaper.

“In the span of one month, three men have gone missing from Birmingham and surrounding areas. They were last seen entering the a meeting for the fascist party. No suspects have been brought in, nor have any witnesses reported seeing suspicious activity around the building. Please use caution when going out, and report anything of concern.” The column read. The paper was wrinkled at the ends, the ink fading in spots where rain had fallen too hard. The pictures of the three missing men posted under it with stoic expressions on their faces.

Not many people cared as to why they were missing it seemed. The police’s lack of involvement and general chatter around town made clear of that. But the one thing everyone wanted to know was who caused their disappearance? considering they had the guts to take three men in broad daylight from a highly publicized event.

The news made Isla chuckle as she flipped through the paper, her eyes gazing lazily at the scene before her. Not many people knew her name, but the ones she caught were sometimes lucky enough to hear it before taking their final breath.

The three men from the photos sat before her tied to chairs, stripped from head to toe of all clothing. Weary looks graced their faces as their jaws slacked from the exhaustion of holding their ties in their mouths.

Isla’s heels clicked on the ground as she reluctantly got up from her desk. Looking at each of the men as their tired gazes followed her.

“So....You lot thought you could take me down aye?” She asked, lighting a cigarette as she leant against her desk. They hesitated before shaking their heads, fear evident in their eyes as she stalked closer.

“A little birdie told me you all were going to. All for your beloved Fascist party right?” She remarked, stomping her cigarette out on the groin of one of the men. His groans erupting from clenched teeth as she reached under her dress, the men watching nervously with their hands tied. She felt the cool handle of her knife hidden against her thigh as she lifted her foot off him.

“You should know better than to follow someone blindly, gentlemen. The sheep are often led to the slaughter.” She said, retrieving it and slitting the men’s throats with an easy flick of her wrist. A small smirk playing at her lips as their blood sprayed about. Their eyes fixed in a permanent state of shock as they fell limp before her.

Un-phased, she quickly wiped her hands of the blood and silently walked back to her desk to finish the letter she’d been writing only mere hours ago. The three faces on the newspaper staring at her as she swiftly moved her pen to sign one initial: “I.”

She kept most of her business to herself and her closest informants, only using the initial as her signature, along with the bloody thumbprints of her victims. Thinking it would give them a more “personal” touch.

As she pressed the third mans bloody thumb onto the bottom of the letter, she sighed, knowing she’d have to clean up her mess after sending it out.

The dimly lit room made her silhouette dance along the walls of her office. The flames from the candles flickering brightly as she counted down the minutes on the clock, waiting for her informant to arrive at midnight. It was always evident that she had a method to her madness, that was for sure. The people she employed knew that their fate was not only in her hands but in her wallet. They knew that if they failed, she failed. And if she failed...they might as well offer her their necks.

As the clock struck midnight, she heard the distinct knock on the door. The numerical tapping signaled that it was her informant, Jay, with cash from her latest job in tow. He quickly handed her the cash and she gave him a small smile before handing him the letter wrapped in a black envelope.

“Thank you. You know where to send this. Have it out by tomorrow morning.” She said, closing and locking the door behind her.

Jay swiftly headed down the dark hallway and out the door, the rain finally letting up as he made his way to his car. The destination was written on the envelope with gold ink, shining brightly as the street lights illuminated her thin handwriting.

As he headed to his destination, she began cleaning up the mess. The clothing the men wore hours ago reduced to ash in the fireplace.

With a loud huff, she stuffed their bodies into large flour sacks she’d taken from a certain “bakery” around town, known for its bread, pastries, and illegal business ventures.

Along with her interesting choice of connections, Isla always did her dirty work at night. Making it easier for her to evade capture. But one of the grimmest parts were disposing of the bodies, so she called in her other two informants to help with the task. Therefore, many nights were spent in her car under the guidance of the moon. Not many women drove around at night - let alone with men’s bodies in the backs of their cars - but she figured someone had to do it. And given the life she chose, it had to be done one way or another. After all, it was her best chance at keeping people off her trail.

As the tires skimmed along the damp roads, she saw the cemetery in the distance. Knowing this was the last stop for the month-long job.

Despite her small circle of connections, she had one outside person she could trust: the mortician. Along with his weekly salary, she paid him hush-money from her hits to incinerate the bodies of the men who crossed her. It was the easiest way for her to get rid of the evidence in her case, knowing authorities would have to spend days upon days trying to find any clues, especially in the ashes.

“Thank you again. I’ll let you know when I’ll be back.” She said, watching him throw the bodies into the flames with ease.

“And thank you for the money miss. It’s really helped me out.” The mortician said, fidgeting with his glasses.

“I’m glad. Keep up the good work.” She said, tipping her hat and walking quickly to her car.

When she arrived back home, the two other informants were finishing up scrubbing the floor. Making her finally realize that she too had blood on her. It was trapped in her hair, and splattered on her face in a morbid constellation. It was often on big hits like tonight, that she’d forget she was covered, becoming accustomed to the metallic smell and sticky feeling of it on her skin.

“We’ve finished boss. What’s the pay?” One of them asked, wiping their hands on a bloody towel before throwing it into the fireplace.

“No one gets paid until this job is completely done. Tomorrow morning Jay will be back, but until then you’ll have to wait.” She said sternly. They too only went by short, fake nicknames. Her head informant and messenger was Jay, while the other two went by Nick and John. This was done so that if they were captured and interrogated, none of them would know each others real names, making the trail leading to Isla herself all the more complicated.

As the months passed since she’d begun her work, families grew fond of her skills, and that was especially so for the wealthier ones in the community. They resorted to hiring her for protection from the men like the ones she killed, and she used that money to pay herself and her informants as they took on new jobs.

These men she targeted weren’t just any average trouble makers though. They had close ties to the emerging fascist party. A party that turned against some people and turned towards others. A party who brainwashed their followers with money and empty promises. And for her, it was a party that killed her family.

As she excused Nick and John, she locked the door behind her once again, heading off to her bedroom that was adjacent to her office. She was never one for extremely lavish houses. Preferring less stuff around just in case she had to leave town abruptly. Despite this, amongst her tough outer shell, she was still wounded on the inside as the memories of her family plagued her mind.

An old picture hung on the corner of her bedroom mirror. It was a family picture of her mother, father, little brother, and her all sitting by the big oak tree a few miles out. It was the one thing she was able to save before the flames spread around her. The old rafters of her house coming down as she lay there in fear. Her mother’s screams echoing in her ears as she tried to protect her son from the flames. Her father somehow running through the fire and picking her up, ushering her out the door before collapsing from the smoke. The flames engulfing the small wooden house in minutes.

She remembered hearing her neighbors rushing out from nearby to help as she grabbed her arm without registering the pain. She had been in shock for most of the ordeal, knowing that even the physical pain she was in couldn’t top the pain she felt seeing her family perish before her eyes. She was only 20 at the time, and she had no family to go back to.

Fortunately, she worked her way up after her recovery. Living in abandoned houses and singing in the streets for money. She even ran into a friend of her fathers by mere luck, who took her in and told her the truth. He’d said that her father had gotten in the way of a deal between some of the early fascist party members, trying to stop them from antagonizing some of the families in the area, which they didn’t appreciate. In turn, they punished him by punishing his whole family, not knowing they’d left her behind.

As Isla stared at her now 30 year old reflection in the mirror, she let a tear slip as she brushed her hand over the scar on her arm. Hearing her mother’s voice telling her, “You have to take what you want in life my love, because the only thing we’re guaranteed to get in this life is death.”

She shivered at the memory every day, but heeded her mother’s advice nonetheless. She gathered information and took lives, but it wasn’t easy.

Over the years since the fire, she learned to fight from her dads friend, and learned to shoot as well. Eventually earning some good money from hunting for families near them. When she got tired of shooting birds though, she upgraded to humans, often joining hit men on their travels to gain experience and information. Seduction was also a facet of her plan, but she eventually made enough to end that part. Earning enough to buy the quaint apartment that she stood in now, alone with tear filled eyes as the water in the sink ran red from the blood being washed away.

Though through all the pain and training, she managed to gather a plethora of information over time. Leading her to finding the whereabouts of some of the fascist party members. For the last two years she’d been scoping out their meetings, taking note of the problematic ones and bribing vulnerable party followers with hush-money for more information. Slowly taking their power away from them one by one as she built up her empire.

But when news of the recent rallies came to light, she knew she had to lay low and act fast. Knowing other powerful people had an eye on her throne while the party gained traction at an alarming rate. It was during this time that Jay snuck into one of the rallies, overhearing the three men they’d captured, talking about the big meeting to come with a certain Oswald Mosley. And since his life depended on it, he reported it to her. Knowing he’d be paid a decent amount for the information.

Mosley’s life was the one thing that she genuinely wanted to take, given what happened to her family. And by taking out the leader, she hoped to take down the whole system before they hurt more people. She promised herself that she’d stop at nothing to take down the man who started the fire. But she’d have to make a deal with the devil himself in order to do so, and that devil was a man named Thomas Shelby.

[angst-fairygodmother]

Hello there! Idk if you’re still taking requests, so if you aren’t, ignore this! But I was wondering if you could write Diego x reader, where she meets his siblings for the first time, and at first it’s kinda awkward, but then they get more comfortable and maybe just like fluff after when they get back home? It might be totally stupid but idk. I love your writing!💕💕

A/N: Babe, it’s totally not stupid at all. Meeting the family shenanigans is basically the perfect trope for this show.  Sort of accidentally ended up a sequel to this fic, so I ran with it.  Word Count: 1678 Content Warnings: Season 2 spoilers

“Are you sure you want to do this, Y/N?” Diego asked, gripping your hand tightly as the two of you walked toward the restaurant. “It’s not too late for us to just leave.”

“Diego Hargreeves, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you didn’t want me to meet your family,” you teased, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s one dinner, it’ll be okay.”

“You say that now,” he muttered and you rolled your eyes affectionately in response before pulling open the door and walking inside.

When you gave your names to the hostess, she smiled brightly and told you that the rest of your party was already waiting for you, before leading you to a large table in a private room off the main dining area. Four pairs of eyes turned to you appraisingly. You swallowed nervously and put on a smile of you own.

“Hi everyone, sorry we’re late,” you said, taking one of the two empty seats, somewhat awkwardly as Diego still refused to let go of your hand. “Someone didn’t believe me that traffic was going to be a nightmare on a Friday night.”

One of the women at the table, who you vaguely recognized from a cheesy romance playing on late-night cable and therefore deduced was Allison smiled in a way that felt indulgent and false; it didn’t quite reach her eyes; it was rehearsed.

“Oh he never listens to anybody, don’t take it personally, Y/N,” the smaller of the two men said, stretching across the table and offering you a broad grin and a hand with the word hello tattooed on it. “I’m Klaus, and you’re the gorgeous creature my brother’s decided to shack up with, huh?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his greeting, shaking his hand politely while Diego glared. “Nice to meet you Klaus,” you said with a smile.

“You know, I already like you better than his last two girlfriends. You haven’t tried to arrest or kill me!”

“Sorry what? Is that a joke?” you frowned in confusion as you let go of his hand and leaned back, glancing over at Diego to see his tight jaw and stony face, clear indications that he was upset.

You hand sought his under the table and you gave it a gentle squeeze, drawing his gaze to you and smiling at him.

‘It’s all good, relax,’ you mouthed.

“No I’m deadly serious,” Klaus continued. “For a while he was with this lady cop on-again/off-again style and she’d arrest me for drugs when she caught me around. Until she was tragically murdered by time-travelling assassins who kidnapped me looking for Five. Then while we were in the 60s, he fell for this girl from the nuthouse who turned out to be a plant and totally tried to kill us!” He gave a pained little chuckle, as if to say, ‘can you believe that?’

You stared at him, open-mouthed and aghast.

“Ignore Klaus, he’s never known when to shut up a day in his life,” the woman you had first noticed said. “I’m Allison.”

Klaus shot her a look that somehow combined a pout and a glare, but fell silent. You felt some of the tension sink out of Diego beside you, though he still didn’t seem comfortable. You smiled at her.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” you said, still trying to shake off the information Klaus had given (which seemed to line up with what the small, angry brother who was oddly not at dinner had said, and was far too much to actually process at the moment).

You turned to the two who hadn’t yet spoken. “So you must be Luther and Vanya?”

The man nodded, shifting in his seat and giving you an awkward little wave. The other woman glowered at you and said nothing. You frowned, wondering what you had done to earn her ire already.

Allison cleared her throat. “We ordered some bruschetta and sangria for the table before you arrived.”

The rest of dinner passed in much the same way as those first moments: Luther was mostly silent and clearly uncomfortable (whether with your presence or very fact of being out in public seemed unclear) but he started to relax and warm up as the evening went on, even once or twice sharing a stiff joke; Vanya was cold, barely responsive to your attempts to engage with her; Allison tried to play the hostess and keep topics light and small-talk-esque, breaking long silences with new conversations, obviously trying her best but ultimately resulting in a stilted performance; Klaus blurted out evidently whatever thoughts passed through his mind, usually bizarre and outlandish, sometimes profound and deeply sad. It was like none of them knew how to be normal people or have dinner with their sibling’s significant other, or an average conversation and you couldn’t help but feel oddly warmed by that, but the fact that they were so…human.

You did your best to keep up with all of them, appreciating Allison’s best efforts, laughing at some of Klaus’s jokes or countering his philosophical points, trying not to call too much attention to Luther or make him feel put on the spot. Diego felt his heart swell with pride at how well you did, and how you took everything in stride, even as the minutes seemed to drag on and he started to fear that dinner would never end.

The only thing that kept rankling at you was Vanya’s attitude, so when she got up to go to the bathroom, you excused yourself as well, cornering her in the hall of the restaurant.

“Hey, no offense, but what the hell is your problem with me?” you asked, tilting your head to one side, more curiosity than animosity in your tone.

She rolled her eyes, trying to push past you, but you resolutely blocked her path.

“I know I’m dating Diego and there’s like a whole weird history there or whatever, but don’t I at least deserve a chance before you decide to treat me like the devil?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”                                        

“You seem nice, and you’re…normal. Our family doesn’t do well with that,” she explained, folding her arms over her chest. “I don’t want to do the whole friendly, welcome to the family or whatever bullshit. Cus you’re either going to turn out not actually normal and screw us over, or you’re going to turn out actually normal and get hurt or bail before you do.”

You stared at her for a long, silent moment.

“I’m not going anywhere. I love Diego, and I think for all that they’re weird, I like your family a lot.”

“You say that for now, but we’ll see.”

“If there’s really no way for me to change your mind, fine, but maybe the reason people leave is just because you shove them away.”

You turned and returned to the table with that, not giving her a chance to respond. You still weren’t thrilled, but at least you felt like you understood her better now, and she seemed to soften toward you at least a little for the rest of the evening.

By the time the check came (a check you noticed that Allison picked up without even glancing at the numbers) you felt like you had really gotten to know Diego’s siblings, and seen a different side of him as he slowly loosened up around them.

As you all got up to leave, it became a chain of “it was nice to meet you”s and “we should do this again”s. Allison moved in for a hug and you returned it happily enough. Luther patted you on the shoulder awkwardly, his big hand enveloping it as if you were a child, surprising you with his size more close up than the other end of the table. Klaus moved as if to follow you home, and then pouted much like a stray puppy when Diego gave him a stern look that communicated without words that he was not allowed to do so. Then he turned to you and hugged you. But where Allison’s was polite and somewhat formal, Klaus’s was anything but, his long limbs folding around you and his chin resting on your shoulder.

“It was sooo good to meet you,” he purred in your ear. “And I’m glad Diego found you.” He pulled back to look you in the eye, his hands still resting on your upper arms. “I mean it. You’re good for him. Take care of him.”

“I will,” you said with a smile. “And you take care of yourself.”

Vanya offered you a polite nod, and you took what you could get.

~

“Y/N, I’m so sorry about tonight,” Diego sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he sank down onto the couch.

“What are you talking about D? It was fine.” You hung your coat on one of the pegs near the door and then, with a roll of your eyes, picked up his from where he’d tossed it on the floor and hung it as well.

“It was torture. In fact I think I’d rather be tortured.”

“I mean sure it was awkward, and your family’s a little weird, but I knew going in not to expect anything else.”

“It didn’t make you regret the day you ever met me?”

You dropped onto the couch next to him, leaning into his side and tilting your head to kiss him, smiling against his mouth.

“I could never regret that babe.”

His arm circled your shoulders, drawing you closer as he returned your kiss fervently. He groaned as you pressed against him and ran your tongue over his lower lip, opening up to invite you in. It wasn’t often that he let you take the lead, so you took full advantage while you could, pressing him back against the cushions and straddling his lap, running your hands through his hair.

“Besides,” you said, pulling back to smile teasingly. “Now I won’t feel so bad when you meet my family.”

[duhragonball]

So the only two Terminator movies I hadn’t seen were Salvation and Dark Fate, which was why I bought this box set.  I was looking forward to T4, but wasn’t very impressed with it.   T6, on the other hand, yeah it’s pretty damn good.  But, like T4 and T5, this was also meant to be the first part of a reboot trilogy, and just like T4 and T5, it didn’t perform well enough at the box office to make that plan a reality.  

I don’t know what the future for this series holds.  The Wikipedia article for Dark Fate talks about plans to make a Terminator anime on Netflix, which sounds pretty stupid to me, but I thought that Sarah Connor Chronicles show was a bad idea, and I seem to recall it did okay.  People seem to think there’s money to be made off this franchise, but it feels like each new attempt ends in failure, sort of like how Skynet keeps trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. 

Just to recap...

T1: Kyle Reese travels back in time to protect Sarah Connor from a Terminator, so that her yet-to-be-born son can lead humanity to victory in the Future War.  Ironically, Kyle turns out to be the father of Sarah’s baby.  

T2: Skynet sends another Terminator to kill John Connor, but the Future John sends a reprogrammed Terminator to protect him.   Meanwhile, Sarah Connor is determined to prevent Skynet’s creation.

T3: John Connor thinks the Future War has been prevented, but he can’t quite believe it.   After surviving another Terminator attack, John realizes that Skynet’s rise to power is inevitable, and he reluctantly accepts his fate as the leader of the human resistance.

T4: Fifteen years after Judgment Day, John Connor has to save Kyle Reese from a Skynet plot to wipe out the Resistance.  

T5: Repeated time trips and assassination attempts have left the timeline from 1984 to 2029 unrecognizable.    Skynet captures John Connor in the future and converts him into a T-3000.   This new John is tasked with facilitating the rise of Skynet in 2017, but he is defeated by Sarah Connor, Kyle Reese, and a T-800 sent from the future by an unknown benefactor.

There’s a lot of details that prevent these movies from fitting together into a single storyline, but the broad themes still make for a good meta-narrative.  The first movie introduces Sarah and the central conflict, the second movie introduces John and provides an origin for Skynet.   The third movie depicts the worldwide nuclear strike that marks the beginning of the Future War.   The fourth movie shows us the middle of the Future War.   Finally, the fifth movie depicts the end of the war and the part where Kyle goes back in time to start the cycle again.   Circumstances change from one movie to the next, but you can chalk these up as the result of all the various time travelers.    I mean, a lot of people get killed in these movies, and they sort of act like it doesn’t matter much in the long run, but it could add up in a hurry.  

Knowing all of this about the first five movies, I was really curious to see what the sixth one would even be about, especially with Linda Hamilton returning as an older Sarah Connor.  She was dead in T3 and 4, and T5 recast the role and overhauled the character.  Of course, T6 just sort of pretends those three movies never happened, but even so, what else is there to do with Sarah?

Well, Dark Fate opens with John Connor getting shot in 1998.   In this movie, the effort to prevent Judgment Day in T2 was successful, but Skynet had sent multiple Terminators throughout the 1990s to hunt down John, and they kept looking for him even after Skynet itself ceased to exist.  

It’s a ballsy move, but it’s almost inevitable.   They literally did every other thing there was to do with this story.   It’s not even the first time John has died to a Terminator.   The T-850 in T3 did the honors in 2032, albeit off-screen.   In T5, Skynet decided that it had to team up with John in order to win, so it turned him into a Terminator.   I’m not sure if he was killed in that movie or not, but it might as well have been his death.    But those were future versions of John, and Skynet’s goal was always to kill him before he could defeat it, not after.   And so, T6 decided the only road left was to let the coyote catch the road runner.

So John’s dead and Skynet’s gone, so now what?   Well it turns out there’s another dark future down the road, and this whole formula plays out again.  This time, the bad guy is a “Rev-9″ Terminator, sent to kill Dani Ramos.   But the Rev-9 isn’t working for Skynet, it’s working for Legion, which is just another AI that became self-aware, took control of the world’s defenses, etc.  

Ramos’ protector from the future is a human “augment” named Grace Harper.   She looks cool and kicks ass but she’ll run out of gas if she doesn’t take her augment medicine.   Also, she isn’t powerful enough to beat the Rev-9.   Luckily, Sarah Connor steps in and offers to help, because she’s been hunting Terminators ever since John’s death, and because she knows what it’s like to be in Dani’s shoes. 

Over the years, Sarah’s been getting tips on where new Terminators will show up from a secret informant, and Grace’s orders are to proceed to a particular location if things go poorly, and it turns out that’s the same place where Sarah’s been getting her tips from.  They go there and find an old T-800 named Carl.   Carl’s the one who killed John in 1998, and afterward he had no purpose and no further instructions to follow.  He eventually studied human behavior and developed the AI equivalent of a conscience, then married a human wife and helped her raise her young son.  

Sarah still holds a grudge, but they need Carl’s help to survive, so they all join forces to have a big showdown with the Rev-9.   Grace and Carl sacrifice themselves to help Dani win, and the movie ends with Sarah promising to help Dani prepare for the future that’s to come.  

At first, Sarah assumed that Dani would be the mother of the eventual leader of the resistance against Legion, just as John was fated to lead the resistance against Skynet.  But eventually it comes to light that Dani herself will be the leader who saves the world, and Sarah realizes that she’s the new John.   I guess that’s Sarah’s character arc for this movie.   She loses her own son, spends the next 22 years without a purpose, and then she discovers a new purpose.   It also allows Carl to redeem himself for John’s murder.  Now that he’s grown a soul, he can choose to die for Dani instead of killing for a Skynet that no longer exists.   Grace’s arc is probably weaker than the others, but she initially saw the Rev-9 as a threat that could only be avoided and not defeated, but in the end she stood and fought, so I guess that’s good enough. 

More importantly to me, though, is that T6 serves as an answer to the previous film.   Skynet was obsessed with John Connor, like he was the only thing that allowed humanity to defeat it.    So in T5, Skynet decided that if it could just convert John to its side, it would be unbeatable.    That always struck me as silly, because without John Connor, someone else would have stepped in to fill the void.  And T6 demonstrates this by introducing Dani.   Legion and Skynet might as well be the same idea, but even without John Connor, there’s another human leader who can rise to the occasion.   And if something happened to Dani, someone else would step up, and so on.   

Skynet thought it could win the war by defeating John, but it’s reasoning was flawed: it had to defeat what John represents, and there isn’t a Terminator powerful enough to do that.   As long as it kept pursuing the man, it would never succeed.  It would have to kill every human to achieve the victory it craves, but it couldn’t seem to make that work either.

So with that conclusion reached, I really don’t see where else this franchise can go.    They could do a movie about Sarah and Dani fighting more Terminators, but that would just be a retread of the previous movies.  And the outcome is already understood to be pointless.  Either Dani will prevent Legion’s creation in the present-day, or she’ll tough it out and win the Future War in the 2040′s.  We know that’s inevitable, or Legion wouldn’t have sent a Terminator back in time in the first place. 

This reminds me a lot of my initial thoughts after seeing Genisys in 2015.   It seemed like Skynet was getting increasingly desperate to find away to avoid losing the war.   It couldn’t beat the humans on the ground, and time travel never seemed to help, and hijacking John Connor didn’t help either.    Now we see that killing John would make no difference either.  So it seems like the only option left would be for “The Machines” to sue for peace, or accept defeat.    I’m not sure that would make for a very good movie.  

That might be the only major flaw I see in T6.   The action’s great, and I never got bored watching it, and the story is compelling, and it’s a great sendoff for Arnold Schwarzenegger if he ever stops coming back for more of these movies.   But it’s also kind of redundant.   This movie just reinforces lessons already learned in previous movies.  

I really hope this is the last one.  I suspect that a lot of the themes that made T1 and T2 so successful have been superseded by other franchises.  You can get a lot of the same gonzo action sequences out of an Iron Man or Captain America movie, and the threat of “technology gone too far” isn’t exactly novel anymore.  There was a scene in T6 where Dani’s brother lost his job to a robot, and that seemed downright quaint.    They were doing stories about that in the 80s.   T6 does some thought-provoking stuff with the Border Patrol and their detention facilities, but I’m not sure we need a Terminator movie to cover that ground.   I’m not saying the Terminator movies aren’t allowed to get into social justice topics.   It’s been doing that for decades.   But it’s hardly unique in that respect.   By now, the question James Cameron and the others need to be asking is “What problem would a new Terminator movie solve?”  It’s not going to be a financial success, and critics probably won’t like it.   So what are we going for here?  I’m not sure there’s been a good answer in a long time.

[legobiwan]

What we need is an AU in which Obes giving illegal aid to Mandalore in The Lawless was uncovered and he is put on trial with Ahsoka during The Temple Bombing arc.

I was feeling prompt-y so here’s a ficlet as answer. I…uh…don’t know how I got from a trial to the ending of this, but perhaps I’m channeling my Broken Ashes energies…. :o

—–

“…and with these brazen acts of treason - to the Senate, to the Republic, and the Jedi Order - “ Mas Amedda paused, lifting his broad face to survey the packed hall, as if he were meeting the gaze of every sentient in the room. 

Every unscrupulous holojournalist hanging on tenterhooks, salivating over their next big byline, Anakin raged internally, his mechanical arm groaning as he gripped the armrests of his chair. Vultures. Every last being in this room circling above the remains of what had been Ahsoka’s glowing potential, her skill and intelligence wasting away under the bright lights of the Senate’s courthouse.

Anakin grit his teeth, pulling at the chair, which whined with the strain. The small noise earned him a fleeting glance of concern from Padmé, who was situated across from Anakin, the two of them holed up in the pod reserved for the accused’s defense team. A blatant show of bias on Anakin’s part, something the Council had vociferously warned him against lest they appear to be “in conflict with the rule of the Republic.”

He didn’t give a bantha’s ass about the Council right now. Especially when Obi-wan was nowhere to be seen. 

Coward, Anakin seethed. 

Mas Amedda unfurled an antiquated-looking flimsi, his eyebrows rising as he scanned the document. Something a little too close to satisfaction seeped through the Force, not only from him, but hundreds of other gleaming-eyed politicians who seemed a bit too enthusiastic about the possible execution of a Jedi. 

Of a child.

“ - the court finds the former Jedi Padawan Ahsoka Tano guilty on all counts, including premeditated murder, attempted murder, sedition against the Republic, and multiple acts of terrorism against the Republic. Sentencing will be held tomorrow at 0800 hours,” the long-horned Chagrian intoned.

Ahsoka’s shoulders hunched at the verdict, her gaze dropping to the floor as she allowed herself to be escorted away by two Republic guards, a steady hand on each of her upper arms, her wrists bound in Force-suppressing cuffs.

And that was it. No last-minute heroics, no rushing into battle just when things seemed lost, lightsabers blazing. Unlike the front, this had been an invisible war, one that had Anakin swiping at phantoms for hours in the dingy Coruscant underworld, to no avail. 

It was the Council’s fault, Anakin grit inwardly. It was Obi-wan’s fault, for letting - 

“And now we turn to the last trial of the day,” Mas Amedda spoke again, his expression having curled in confusion as he narrowed his eyes at the datapad in his hand. Anakin only then noticed that the Council hadn’t moved from their spots in the observatory area reserved for Jedi and another visiting dignitaries. that if anything, they had gone even more rigid.. 

Something twinged in the Force, Anakin’s precognition hiccuping over the unexpected bump, his ire at the Council temporarily forgotten. What in the Nine Corellian Hells was going on -

Mas Amedda gestured at the stenographer droid, who pushed a button on its chest. “Trial number oh-eight-seven-four,” it buzzed in the same bored monotony of every civil servant Anakin had ever had to deal with on Coruscant. “The Galactic Republic and the Grand Army of the Republic versus Obi-wan Kenobi.”

An electric jolt surged through Anakin’s body and in half-a-second, he was on his feet, hands clasped on the balcony railing, his torso bent over the side of the pod as Obi-wan - Obi-wan, Anakin gaped, trying to wrap brain around this new reality - was marched to the same defense pedestal Ahsoka had occupied only moments before. Unlike Ahsoka, Obi-wan radiated his usual unperturbed calm, his posture perfectly erect, features settled into polite anticipation - the same look he had on any number of diplomatic encounters, the same infuriating equilibrium he exhibited whenever Anakin directed his not-so-rare anger in his direction.

Anakin’s mind whirred like an out-of-control astromech motor. 

“What the kriff, Padmé?” he hissed at his wife.

Padmé turned to him in wide-eyed horror. “I…I don’t know, Ani. This wasn’t announced on the Senate schedule,” she whispered back, unable to take peel her gaze from the incongruous image of Obi-wan - Jedi Council member, High General of the Republic - on trial like a common criminal.

As with Ahsoka, Admiral Tarkin stepped forward to represent the prosecution. 

“General,” the Admiral sneered, making no attempt to hide his contempt for the Jedi Master. “Or should I say, former General Kenobi. You are brought here today to answer to charges of rendering illegal aid to the planet Mandalore, a unilateral action not approved by the Jedi Council, Grand Army of the Republic, or the Senate, as dictated by military, civilian, and Jedi law. Furthermore, you stand accused of inciting war on said neutral planet as an agent of the Republic, subverting longstanding Republic law and intergovernmental treaties, an abuse of your office as both a High General and Jedi Council member, all charges that can and will be classified as treason against the Republic. Do you understand these charges?”

“Perfectly,” Obi-wan answered, his familiar tenor resonating throughout every corner of the courtroom, which buzzed with the revelation of this new information. Out of the corner of his eye, Anakin watched the press box explode into a flurry of activity. Apparently, they hadn’t known about this, either.

Mandalore. Anakin raced to connect any of the events of the past few weeks. It all seemed so long ago, with the bombing of the Temple, Ahsoka’s arrest and escape, and finally, her expulsion from the Order, the horrible chain of disasters taking precedence in his mind, an immoveable monolith of anger and fear that clouded his memory of almost anything else that had occurred in the past few months, forget the past few weeks.

And yet…Anakin squeezed his eyes shut, reaching to the Force, concentrating. Obi-wan had asked to borrow the Twilight, as a personal favor. Anakin had thought the request odd at the time - Obi-wan’s dislike of flying was only outstripped by his blatant disapproval of a vessel he had once called “a durasteel coffin with wings.” And Obi-wan himself had been…on edge, when he made the request, his Force presence a sharp blade, his thoughts uncharacteristically drifting from the conversation he was having with his former Padawan. At the time, Anakin had attributed it to stress - the war was, after all, taking a large piece out of all of them and Anakin had learned long ago that asking about it would only be met with all the aggravating, fluid evasion that had earned Obi-wan the moniker of “The Negotiator.” 

Anakin hadn’t thought much else about it. After all, he had a rare multiday furlough on Coruscant, a break which somehow managed to coincide with Padmé’s increasing travel schedule, and one he intended to put to very good use. Even Obi-wan’s strange return to the Temple - in civilian clothes, bulky canvas bag hung over his shoulder, eyes shadowed with fatigue - hadn’t done much to darken Anakin’s good mood. In fact, he had almost forgotten he had lent Obi-wan the ship until he found an envelope of credits and a terse apology in Obi-wan’s slanted, neat handwriting waiting on the seat of his Jedi starcraft. 

Why Obi-wan hadn’t left the envelope in Anakin’s quarters was not a question he had wanted to ponder at the time. 

Could that have been it? He had heard the reports of civil unrest on Mandalore, of a military coup by dark agents of multiple criminal organizations. Had heard the whispers of the assassination of the Duchess, a topic Anakin had no intention of raising with Obi-wan unless the other man did so first. 

It all seemed too strange to be real. 

“And former General Kenobi,” Tarkin’s posh, nasal voice wrenched Anakin back to reality. “Do you deny that two weeks’ previous, you took the Republic-registered shuttle Twilight and traveled to Mandalore system after receiving a transmission from the Duchess Satine Kryze?”

“I do not,” Obi-wan answered evenly.

Anakin’s eyebrows shot upwards. That explained where the Twilight went.

“And do you deny,” Tarkin continued, a hard, greedy glint in his eye,”that you traveled to Mandalore with the sole purpose of rendering aid to a neutral government, without the approval of the Senate, the Jedi Council, or the Grand Army of the Republic, that your actions - or lack thereof - spurred a civil conflict leading to the death of the Duchess Kyrze under mysterious circumstances, and that you willingly undermined Republic law in order to further your own agenda and possibly the agenda of the Jedi Council?”

Obi-wan was silent for a moment, his Force presence nearly invisible to Anakin, as if it had been swallowed by a black hole. When he spoke again, his voice exhibited the slightest amount of strain. 

“As to the first accusations - no, those events occurred more or less as outlined. I received a transmission from the Duchess Kryze requesting my help as the city of Sundari was under attack. Knowing the Senate would not approve such interference by the GAR, I traveled to Mandalore on my own to attempt to diffuse the situation.” Obi-wan paused, his eyebrows furrowing. “There were…circumstances I was not prepared for when I arrived. You are correct that the Duchess was killed and a civil war now rages on-planet.”

What? Anakin couldn’t help his mouth from dropping. Obi-wan? His Obi-wan? Disobeying the Council and the Republic? A quick glance at the Jedi Council didn’t tell him anything - in face, they looked even more dour now than they had during Ahsoka’s trial.

“As to the second point - “ Obi-wan continued, a bit too cheerfully. “I suppose it could be seen that way, from a certain point of view. I do not deny my guilt in this matter, if that is what you are hoping for, Admiral. In fact, I am far more guilty of treason than Ahsoka Tano, and would gladly exchange my sentence for hers.”

“We are not here to compare the building crimes of the Jedi, Master Kenobi!” Tarkin bit. “We are here to establish your guilt, which you seem to be all too happy to corroborate, so with the permission of the Chancellor, I move to proceed directly to sentencing - “

“My dear Admiral,” Obi-wan interrupted, an unfamiliar, feral grin playing on his features. Anakin’s face furrowed in confusion even as the Force flicked its tail dangerously. What are you doing, Obi-wan? 

“My conviction is all but assured. While the Council has graciously agreed to only suspend my seat and Master title until the outcome of this trial, I imagine my time in the Jedi Order is now reaching its end. Unfortunately for you, I have no desire nor intention to see my supposed crimes paid for, at least not yet.”

Tarkin frowned, his fist clenching. “You act in direct opposition to the Senate, the military law, Master Kenobi. And now you threaten to undermine the very fabric of our judicial system, threaten a coup by the Jedi - “

Obi-wan leveled a glare at Tarkin, the intensity of the stare raw enough to turn Anakin’s stomach. Something was really wrong here, something with Obi-wan had changed and he didn’t know what to do.

“The Jedi have no intention of overthrowing the government, Admiral. Myself, on the other hand - “ Obi-wan shrugged. “Let’s just say I have other plans.”

That did catch the attention of the Council as several members stood, hands straying to their weapons. Even the frenzied activity of the press box came to a halt, flimsis slipping off tall stacks, fluttering to the ground as several jaws dropped in astonishment.

Tarkin chuckled, unfazed by Obi-wan’s bizarre behavior. Perhaps he had expected the Jedi Master to act this way, expected all Council members to secretly harbor these desires. Anakin could only watch in horror as the scene unfolded, Padmé having come to his side, her hand on top of his.

“What’s happening, Ani?” she whispered. 

Anakin could only shake his head.

“You do realize, Master Kenobi, you are in no position to make such threats. And that any plans you have made will be ruthlessly crushed, and by now your own execution is all but guaranteed.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Obi-wan answered, stepping on the railing of the podium with one swift movement, catching Anakin’s eye for the briefest of moments - apology, promise, and something else all flashing across their bond in an instant before Obi-wan stepped of the platform and plummeted into the deep chasm of the courtroom. 

The room exploded in chaos, several delegations of Senators screaming in high-pitched ululations, Tarkin and the other military leaders barking out orders, the Council racing from their podium, Mace Windu and Kit Fisto leaping themselves over the barricade to follow Obi-wan, who was assuredly not dead.

Not dead, Anakin thought, falling into his seat, shock numbing the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. 

Not dead. 

The Jedi Master and General were dead, executed by Tarkin’s words and Obi-wan’s own confession in front of a hundred holocameras. The man remained, however, most likely already beating a path to the Coruscant underworld, perhaps going as far as the next star system, if he planned it right. Which, knowing Obi-wan, he likely did, to the millimeter. Maybe he’ll even pick up Ahsoka on the way, the bright, strange idea streaked across the muddled static of Anakin’s confusion.

Jedi Master Obi-wan Kenobi was dead. 

But who would rise in his place?

[bubbleshowerlalalala]

Knight!Iwaizumi x Reader

Disclaimer: GIF does not belong to me.

Summary: Prince Oikawa knows that Kingsguard Iwaizumi has the fattest crush on the royal tutor, so he tries to get them together. 

Word Count: 1.5K 

Genre: AU, Fluff

“Yesterday Tobio-chan sent me a letter asking for political advice, can you believe the nerve of that brat?” Prince Oikawa scowled. As soon as he saw the Crow emblem on the letter his morning was ruined, and that is why he decided to have a morning walk in the city, disguised of course. Iwaizumi had to come along and endure his petty rant, but it wasn’t really for safety. You see, the Kingdom of Seijoh is a peaceful and thriving land. 

Iwaizumi is the Kingsguard and was appointed to be with Oikawa at all times, personal royal request by the prince himself. “Cut the Crown Prince some slack,” Iwaizumi sighed.

“I didn’t answer, and I won’t! I know he’s trying to rub the fact that he’s crown prince of his country and I’m not!” Oikawa pulled his hood down in frustration. Iwaizumi suggested that Oikawa should wear a cloak, so that the ladies won’t cause an uproar. Last time Oikawa went to the market without covering up, the whole market shut down from the throngs of admirers gathering, and it wasn’t fun for Iwaizumi to clear that up. Oikawa joked about Iwaizumi being jealous after he asked him to put on a cloak, but his death glare shut him up. 

“You’re an embarrassment,” Iwaizumi gave Oikawa a dirty look. 

“Iwa-chan! You’re my knight you’re supposed to be on my side!” 

“Shut the hell up, we’re going back to the castle. It’s time for your lessons anyway.” Iwaizumi had enough of the prince’s shenanigans. But that’s where he messed up, upon mentioning his lessons, a smirk made its way on Oikawa’s face. 

The prince pulled his hood down upon entering the castle gates, “You ended my morning walk just so you could see [Y/N]-chan, right?” He began teasing.

“W-what are you talking about, Shittykawa, your lessons always start now,” Damn. He stuttered. 

Oikawa has always noticed his knight getting nervous around the royal tutor, so he thought it was his mission to get them together. “Now, now, you don’t need to get shy! I know you like her,” Oikawa managed to say before taking off, leaving a blushing Iwaizumi behind. Blushing, but also murderous. 

You put all the parchment necessary for today’s lesson on the table, you’ve been the royal tutor for quite some time now; however your experience trained you, Oikawa always managed to give you a headache. The lessons conducted have always been private between you and the prince, but about a week ago the prince requested that the Kingsguard should be present too. His reason was ‘An assassin might jump from the windows and kill [Y/N]-chan and I!’ 

Not minding the change, Iwaizumi was quiet and respectful. He was always a gentleman to you. Feeling your heart race just as you thought of him, but you snapped out of it. ‘There’s no way he likes me back,’ 

Turning to the giant shelves you tried to reach for the book you need, but a gauntlet clad hand managed to take it before you. “Was it this one?” 

You were surprised to see Iwaizumi alone holding the book to you, “Yes, thank you,” You said after a short pause. “Is the prince not coming?” Hugging the book, you wondered why Iwaizumi happened to be here alone. 

“Uh, he said he needed something from his chambers, but told me to wait for him here,” Iwaizumi rubbed the back of his neck. Little did he know, Oikawa was spying on the two of you from the garden windows. Yep, he sneaked out from the kitchens just to do that. 

“Oh. That’s weird.” you both walked over to the table and sat, “I bet he’s trying to skip his lessons again,” you said with a sigh. 

“That Shittykawa..” Iwaizumi shook his head. You both looked at each other in silence then burst out laughing. 

“Every time you call him that I want to laugh so bad,” you managed to say in between your laughter. Iwaizumi stopped laughing and just stared at your face, your beautiful pretty face that managed to make his heart drop whenever you smiled. “You know, I don’t know how you can be so patient with him,” he smiled at you. 

He just looks so perfect, and you couldn’t believe he was smiling at you. You quickly looked away as you felt your face heating up, “I don’t know how you manage to stay with him at all times, you’re pretty cool,” You told him before you could stop yourself. 

The knight blushed upon you complimenting him, and just wanted to hold you close. His heart raced, but he thinks you like the prince, like all the girls did; his mind continued wandering until Oikawa crashed into the library from leaning too hard on the open window. 

“Your Highness?” His entrance sure did startle you both. 

“I can’t believe you two were talking shit about me!” Oikawa ungracefully stood up and pouted. “Were you spying on us?” Iwaizumi looked ready to kill. 

“N-no! I was just sitting outside-” Oikawa was interrupted by Iwaizumi cracking his knuckles. “Help, [Y/N]-chan!” Running behind you, Oikawa used you as a shield, “Iwa-chan you wouldn’t dare hurt [Y/N]-chan,” He taunted.

“Get away from her, you dumb prince,” Iwaizumi thought about unsheathing his sword. 

“Why? Does it bother you that I’m close to her?” Snaking his arms around your waist, Oikawa pulled you to his chest. “Your Highness, what do you think you’re doing?” You tried to get out of his arms.

Seeing you in his arms like this, the knight wanted to kill him. Iwaizumi was about to unsheathe his sword but stopped at the sight of you elbowing Oikawa in the ribs and pulling on his ear. 

“First you’re late, and now you mess around like this?” Scolding Oikawa, you pulled him by the ear to the table. 

Over the whines of Oikawa, Iwaizumi was falling harder as he watched you chide the prince like that. Shit, I wanna marry her!

After a while, Oikawa decided to continue his plan. “So, [Y/N]-chan, do you like me?” 

Iwaizumi tensed as he wanted to know the truth, he braced himself for your reaction and prepared for his heart to break. You sighed and took Oikawa’s parchment to correct it. “No, I like mature men, your Highness.” 

“Hey! Are you saying I’m immature?” The prince whined and Iwaizumi felt like he was on cloud nine knowing that you didn’t like the prince like he thought you did. 

A few days passed and Oikawa had his second and hopefully final phase into action. He had planned to walk with you in broad day light to put you in danger of being mobbed by his admirers, and that’s where Iwaizumi comes in and saves you. Brilliant.

“What’s this thing you need to show me so urgently, your Highness?” You asked as Oikawa dragged you into the market, he held your hand and walked with you. “Is it okay for you to walk without disguise?” You wondered. 

“Hey, isn’t that the prince?”

“Who is that with him?”

“Is she a princess?”

The people began gathering around you two and asked questions, you couldn’t understand as there were so many and they were all talking over each other. Oikawa pulled you close in fear that Iwaizumi wouldn’t make it in time and you would actually get hurt. He started getting anxious and pulled you behind him as the two of you were getting cornered, but finally your knight in shinning armor arrived on his stallion. 

Iwaizumi’s entrance managed to get the people to move aside, “[Y/N]!” he reached out for your hand and pulled you on the horse. Seated in front of him, his strong arms were wrapped around you and your back was pushed against his chest. “Are you hurt?” His hot breath hit your neck. 

“I’m alright,” you managed to say. “Hold on,” Iwaizumi gently told you as he nudged his horse to turn around. As the horse began moving to head to the castle, Oikawa ran to the side, “Wait! What about me?” 

Turning his head, Iwazumi gave the prince a death glare to silence him before going to the castle with you. 

Reaching the castle, the knight jumped down from his steed. Iwaizumi gently held your waist to help you to the ground and you put your hands on his shoulders. “You really saved me today,” You looked at him, “It’s like you were my knight or something,” Blushing, you looked at his armor. 

“But I am your knight,” Iwazumi said too quickly, “I-I mean if you want me to be,” He added. Looking back at him, his face was red and you couldn’t think anything was cuter. Gently cupping his pretty face, “I’d be crazy to say no, Sir Hajime,”

Iwaizumi brought you closer to his chest by wrapping his arms around you, he looked at your lips and slowly leaned in, as your lips nearly brushed-

“Hey, I get to tell your kids that their parents got together because of me!”

Fucking hell Oikawa, are you a matchmaker or a cockblock 

[sxveme-2]

blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Eleven: The One With the Man on the Roof

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3336

All of her life as a mother, Lily has placed Hunter above herself no matter what. She had a long shift at the hospital but Hunter had the flu? She'd get someone to cover. She had plans to go for dinner with Gen, but Hunter had a project due the next day? She and Gen would eat in and help him. Nothing ever, ever, came between Lily's son and her. He was the center of her universe, and she would drop everything in an instant and come to his rescue. That's what moms did right? Make sure their son is safe and ensure the best in the world for him? That's what Lily did at least. She would go to the ends of the Earth and back for Hunter if she had to. No questions asked.

So whenever he called, especially when he was at Scott's, Lily's anxiety shot through the roof. Not to mention, of all things to say, he asked her to come and pick him up. Now, of course, she would not hesitate to go and get him. It was a no-brainer. The only issue was the fact Lily was half an hour away if there was no traffic, meaning whatever was going on at Scott's would have to continue for a solid thirty minutes minimum.

"What's going on baby why do you need me to come to get you?" Lily asked, green eyes darting over her shoulder to look at the group that was still seemingly having a great time. But she caught Bucky's eye, and they stood there for what felt like an eternity. His diamond blue eyes seemed worried, his eyebrows knitted in concern at the scared look on Lily's face as she spoke to her son on the phone.

"The babysitters asleep on the couch and a man keeps banging on the door asking for Dad," Hunter answered, his voice shaky as he whispered, "I have Leila in bed with me but Mom I'm so scared please come get us."

Her stomach did a flip. It took everything inside of her not to drop the phone and sprint to the car, not wasting any time telling anybody what was happening. Adrenaline pumped through Lily's veins as she covered her mouth. Tears welled up in the tear ducts of the blonde's eyes and she made quick work blinking them away. Her throat went dry and all of the salivae in her mouth seemed to disappear. Her son was in danger. And Scott wasn't home. Of course, he wasn't...Lily wasn't sure what else she expected from him.

"Call 911 right now. I'm on my way. Stay where you are with Leila. Do not get off the phone with police," Lily rambled, stalking back over to the group and grabbing the purse she had brought along with her, "I love you Hunt I'll see you soon."

And with that, the line went dead as her son followed his mother’s instructions. The abrupt actions of Lily had caught the Avenger’s attention as they watched her scurry around to find all of her belongings, muttering curse words and not so meek names towards her ex-husband seemingly. Lily was a kindhearted person, she wouldn't even hurt a fly. Yet the moment, nay, the second, it had been brought to her attention that her son was in danger on her ex's watch because he had decided to go to a party? That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. This would become messy if she didn't lose her temper and kill Scott herself.

"Woah Woah Lil what're you doing?" Rose questioned as she placed a gentle hand on her sister's arm. Immediately, Lily shrugged it off as her head popped up to look at her younger sister with tears rolling down her cheeks. A hush fell over the crowd like a heavily weighted blanket as the lights around the roof lit up the sadness and desperation on Lily's face.

"There's a man at Scott's pounding on the door. That motherfucker went out and left the kids home with a deadbeat babysitter asleep on a couch..." Lily trailed off as the words escaped her lips. Saying it out loud was completely different than hearing her son say it on the phone. It was really happening. Hunter was in danger and his own father wasn't even home.

A part of Lily blamed herself for the events that were unfolding. If she had just listened to Hunter when he asked for her to take full custody over him. To stop sending him to his dad’s where Scott was hardly home. If she had just listened to her heart instead of her head, Hunter would be safe. He wouldn't be in his current predicament. He'd be safe at home, probably asleep in bed with Lily or Joey in his room. She'd be able to keep tabs on him. Make sure he was secure. Healthy. Safe. Out of harm’s way. Whatever you wanted to say. But no, she listened to the doctor inside of her head about the development of children and how a father/son relationship was important. But mostly, she blamed her deadbeat ex that put his children in that situation, to begin with. Not even just Hunter, but Leila. A three-year-old girl who had no business being left alone with a babysitter and her brother. She was a baby, and Scott put his own entertainment ahead of his children.

"That son of a bitch!" Gen exclaimed while jumping to her feet and handing Rose, the only 100% sober one of the trio, the keys to the car, "Thank you for having us but I have a man to murder." The brunette snapped while making a b-line towards the door down from the roof, Rose and Lily following in her tracks.

Rose's hands rested on her older sister's shoulders, rubbing soothing circles. It was something that the two have done for years. Whenever Lily got worked up and her anxiety reached a peak, Rose's soft hands would grip onto her shoulders and run patterns and shapes along the skin. It reminded Lily that she would be okay, that whatever situation that had caused her anxiety to skyrocket, would be over soon and everything would be okay. A reminder that no matter the circumstances, Rose would always be in Lily's corner, rooting for her and cheering her on. And hopefully, this small action would at least help the rapid heartbeat that pounded away in Lily's chest find a steady rhythm. Of course, then the all mighty steve rogers piped up.

"Why don't we give you a ride on the Quinjet? It'll get you there faster." he offered, causing a small tear to roll down Lily's rouged cheeks. Rose, Gen, and her came to a halt and turned back to the group that looked at the mother with worry in her eyes. Before Lily could respond, the Captain spoke once again, "Or at least let one of us come with you...just in case." he finished, nudging his elbow into Bucky's side.

Even when an event like this is going down, steve rogers stays being a little shit.

"Yeah, that may actually be good. We don't know if we'll get there before the police, or if Scott is home," Rose answered, glancing down at her sister, "You know how he is when he drinks, Lil. You can't take him...and much to her dismay, neither can Gen."

Lily's puffy eyes looked up at her best friend who begrudgingly agreed with Rose's statement, prompting the Winter Soldier to jog forward and follow the girls out to the car. Lily took a seat in the back row of the car, holding her arms tightly around her chest as she glanced at her phone, checking the time. Knowing that at any moment, she could get a call telling her the worst. Or worse, getting a call from Scott. Just the idea of his face made anger boil deep within Lily, which resulted in her bundling her hands into fists so tight that the knuckles turned a sickly shade of green. How could he be so irresponsible? They had been divorced for four years. Lily stood up for him. vouched for him to her parents. Convinced her son it's good to visit. To see his dad and spend time with him. But now? God...Lily wished he would just fall off the face of the earth and she would never have to see him again.

-----

Arriving in Brooklyn a solid half an hour later, Lily spotted flashing police lights dancing across brick walls of the apartment complex. The moment that Rose had stopped the car, Lily ran out faster than the flash. She spotted Hunter sitting in the back of an ambulance with Leila and the blonde basically tackled the two children in a tight hug. She held them close, whispering prayers to the good Lord above. Tears streaked her face, causing valleys to open up along her makeup-covered cheek. She didn't want to let go, she wanted to hold her biological child, and one that wasn't even remotely related to her, and keep them out of harm’s way.

"Ma'am is this your apartment building?" a deep voice of a police officer boomed, causing Lily to release the two kids to turn around and see the tall man behind her. His shoulders were broad and his neck seemed to be the same size as Lily's head. Just looking at the stance he held made Lily tense up, her mouth running as dry as the Sahara desert. But it was Hunter’s small hand gripping onto her's, that sent a rush of newfound confidence through her body.

"No, this is my ex-husband’s apartment. I'm this boy’s mother," Lily stated, fumbling through her purse and gripping her wallet. She tugged out her driver’s license for ID purposes, leaning down to kiss the top of Hunter’s head, before returning her worried eyes back to the officer in front of her, "Did you get the person?"

By the tense look on the officer’s face, Lily guessed the answer would be a no. Tears welled up in her green eyes, and Lily dropped down onto the ambulance between the two kids. The mother bear instincts that welled up inside of Lily's stomach were yelling at her to go and find that son of a bitch who scared her little boy. Smack him all the way to next week and make him feel the pain he had caused her and her son. But the rational part of Lily reminded her she would only create more problems if she did that. She would be the one losing custody of her son because they would probably deem her dangerous and arrest her for...you know, assault. For now, she would sit with the two shaken children, and wait for this to blow over and for the police to find the sorry son of a bitch who dared scare Lily Osborne's son. And then take the father of her child to court and receive full custody of Hunter. Because this...this was unacceptable.

But then a small voice perked up. A meek, scared voice of a little girl. shaky. And it came from Lily's left side. Leila. The little girl had spoken, "The roof." This prompted both Lily and the officer's head to shoot to the side, and both spotted a shadowy figure glancing over the edge. Lily gasped and held both children closer to her chest.

The officer called the others to go to the roof. All pulling their guns from their holsters in preparation, just in case the man was as violent and aggressive as the two children had described. As Lily watched, her hands covering her son and Leila's eyes as police stormed in through the front doors. But she spotted someone, what she had believed to be a police officer, climbing up the fire escape. But then the streetlights reflected a silver arm, sending a glare into Lily's eyes. Bucky. He ran up the fire escape with such anger that Lily could sense the aura all the way from the ambulance at the bottom of the apartment building. Whoever decided to attempt a break-in or try some sort of intimidation at Scott's apartment, most likely, had no intention of ending up face to face with the winter soldier.

"Is that Mr. Barnes on the roof?" Hunter asked, surprising Lily. Glancing down, she saw that she had let her hands drop in shock, resulting in both kids becoming witnesses to the scene. Scoffing, Lily covered their eyes once more, ensuring that whatever violence or trauma that would take place would be hidden by her pale and cold hands.

Lily, however, would become witness to the entire scene unfolding. Watching from afar, she spotted Bucky's metal arm gripping the figure’s neck and holding him above his head. A gasp escaped from Lily's plush lips as she squeezed her own eyes shut. She had heard the stories of the Winter Soldier. The assassinations that HYDRA had forced the man to commit. They had made his brain into putty, moulding it to their will so that they could inflict pain and suffering on whoever they deemed deserved it. But Lily also knew that he had been saved. That the chemicals in his mind had been removed by a brilliant scientist whose name became blank in Lily's mind. But seeing him choking the person on the roof, Lily feared he was not better. That he still had those awful things in his head. That he was dangerous. Especially when her child and her son's half-sister clung to her. As well as her best friend and sister watching the scene from the car.

But when Lily forced her eyes open again, she saw Bucky stand to the side of the roof while the police officers handcuffed whoever it was that had committed this crime. A little breath of relief danced past Lily's lips as she watched Bucky retreat down the fire escape, landing on the solid grown with ease. His thick legs carried that gorgeous frame of his towards Lily, and her shoulders tensed out of habit. But the way his facial expressions changed made her realize...he thought she was scared of him now. That whatever he had done on the roof created a new picture of him in her eyes. Sure it did at first, but he corrected it when he stood to the side afterwards.

"They've got him..." his gruff voice stated, steel blue eyes avoiding any contact with the deep greens of Lily's. He became timid, as though any small teasing comment would destroy any shred of confidence in his body. Lily had no idea the effect she had on him. How what she thought of Bucky was a make or break for him. She herself was so reserved. Distant from people. That they were almost two halves of the same whole. But her view of him...he wanted her to see nothing but goodness in him. And a little bit inside of him continued to scream that she only saw the monster that he was.

"Thank you Bucky," Lily smiled, something small and delicate that had the man become weak in the knees. But then she continued, and a small bit of his heart grew even larger and more fond of the blonde mother, "Upstate is a while away...would you like to um...stay in my spare room? Just for the night so Rose doesn't have to do that drive again."

Whether it was the beer that was singing a sweet song in Lily's mind, or the killer adrenaline rush that she was experiencing, her confidence was through the roof. Her fears seemed to disappear in an instant, creating a new side of Lily. Her son was safe and the asshole that scared him was in cuffs. Alcohol plagued a small place in her mind, and Bucky had just shown a new side to him as well. A protective side. One that he seemed to have gained for the Osborne family at the beginning of this story. Whether it was Lily's infectious smile or the way Hunter looked at him like he was the entire world. He had vowed to be there for them. No matter what it was.

"Oh...I mean if Rose doesn't want to make the drive..." the man stated, his voice cracking halfway through as he glanced over at the other two girls that rushed forward to join in on the conversation, "But isn't she staying with you?"

"Nope. Tonight I'm staying with Gen. Girls night or something. And I don't wanna drive. Hate it. Terrible. You have to stay with Lily it's final." Rose rushed, pushing forward and yanking Hunter into her arms, holding the shaking boy as she kissed the top of his head.

Before Bucky could reply, a car came to a screeching halt at the base of the apartment building’s driveway. A yelling man exploded from the car, along with a crying woman. Scott and Mary. Whatever adrenaline that Lily had leftover, shot through her as she jumped to her feet, standing in front of Hunter and Leila between Scott and them. The taller man was huffing and puffing as his hazel eyes scanned everyone around them.

"Lily, move," he ordered, face beet red as he stared down at the woman he cheated on. The anger inside of her eyes startled him at first. The mother’s instincts she wished to take out on the criminal deflecting on to her son's father. A little body pushed past both as Leila ran into her mother’s arms, and neither Lily nor Scott broke eye contact with each other. All of the pain he had caused her seemed to grow to a head, and everything inside of her kept Lily from reaching up and punching him square in the nose.

"You are a father. Scott. The judge granted you partial custody because I asked her to. Because I believed you would finally step up and care and love Hunter. But instead, you leave a deadbeat babysitter home with two children." Lily began, her voice steady and even as her bottom lip quivered, "A son needs his father. And you have been nothing short of an acquaintance to him. So congratulations. You just fucked yourself over."

Before Scott could even retort the smack-down that Lily just dished out to him, Mary piped up. Her voice shaking and broken, "Scott you told me your mother was watching them. Lily I met him at our friends after work, I hadn't come home." she sobbed, gripping her young daughter tight as she walked forward, an apologetic and terrified look on her face.

Lily nodded slowly and wrapped her arms around Mary, holding her close before letting her go talk to the police with Leila. This left Scott staring down at Lily, who had Gen, Rose, Hunter, and the Winter Soldier standing behind her. it took Scott a moment to process the fact a superhero was now standing with his ex-wife and son. And a pang of jealousy shot through him, or maybe rage. Rage that she had moved on. Gotten over the pain he had caused. Or so he thought.

Instead, the longer she stared at him with a death glare, the more memories rushed back into Lily's minds. The way he would stand over her as though he could hurt her. Then claiming it was fine because he never hit her. or the way he would spit names at her after an argument. The way his fists would ball up. How he would punch holes into the wall that Lily had to fix because he didn't want to pay for them to be fixed. Nor did he want to fix them. The times she would place Hunter back down in his crib and then fall to her knees in tears, remembering how he slammed the door and walked out.

"You are done being a father, Scott. I'm taking full custody."

[fortheloveoffanfic]

The Arrangement

John Wick x Reader (A/n- AU where John isn’t an assassin. Did i mention that there’s Angst in dom!John? I didn’t? Well, there is.)

Warning- SMUT/NSFW, Angst, dom/sub, oral sex, bondage, bodily fluids.

She didn’t know when it happened, or how, but at some point, he had become everything to her; the forefront of her thoughts, some sort of pseudo-king in her mind and the man that literally dominated her body. He was everything, Y/n didn’t think she’d ever feel that way about another, even if she knew it was wrong. John wasn’t interested in anything other than what they had, he had made it clear than his interests laid far from romantic affections.

Sex, that was what he wanted.

And Y/n? She was just a vessel.

They’d met just under a year ago, when John had represented her boss after he was put on trial for his ex-wife’s murder. To that day, Y/n still worked for that C.F.O at a bank in New York, and she didn’t have a clue on whether or not he actually killed his ex or not, but John, John was an excellent attorney and could probably make a serial killer look like an angel. Their exchange had started over the phone in the beginning; after being greeted by Y/n at the bank. After about a month, he’d started letting his assistant put her calls through when information needed to be relayed. Things only escalated from there on, and when the case was won, upon John’s last visit to the bank, he’d asked, or rather informed Y/n, that he’d be taking her to dinner. And in a private lounge at a hotel, he’d made his offer. She’d pondered on it, but after a few days of mulling over everything, Y/n’s attraction to him had surpassed reason and she’d called him, his cell that time, with the answer he’d been waiting for.

That evening, Y/n’s mouth was circled around the generous girth of John’s cock; plump lips staining his shaft red with the lipstick she’d applied just before her arrival. Kneeling between his spread legs, Y/n’s head bobbed eagerly, while one delicate hand worked what she couldn’t take in her mouth. “That’s it baby,” he managed through gritted teeth. Slouching further into the armchair, John’s hold on a fistful of her loose tresses tightening so much that it might have hurt in any other situation. Her other hand massaged his balls, just the way she knew he liked it; frequently switching between rolling her flattened palm and kneading gently, while her tongue occasionally swirled around his shaft. Y/n moaned quietly at the feeling of his bulging veins against her lips and arousal throbbed in her lace panties. Each time she came down, his swollen tip hit the back of her throat, threatening to go further on the occasion where John would eagerly buck his hips. The first time she’d taken John in her mouth, his length had made her gag before she could even take him fully and though months later, Y/n still hadn’t managed take him fully, she now reveled in the feeling, always eager to train herself for more.

“You’re so fucking sexy when you take my cock in that pretty little mouth,” he praised harshly, guiding her pace, his free hand roaming the back of her neck, brushing the collar that he’d put there upon her arrival. It’s purpose aside from the aesthetic was a simple one, so she’d remember her place, and who she belonged to. 

When John drew closer to his high, Y/n could feel it and just then, John yanked her head back harshly. On instinct, she sat back on her calves, the tips of her black stilettos barely scratching her back, “Not tonight,” John breathed, a few dark strands escaped from his usual neatness, falling over his face, his pupils still blown with lust, “Tonight, I want to cum right here,” John brushed a few messy locks away from Y/n’s features, his rough touch subsequently falling to her bare breasts. “Stand up,” he urged, following that up with instructions for her to go lay on the bed, face up. John then pushed out of the armchair where he formerly sat, providing Y/n with a tantalizing view of his nude glory; his was a body that she adored, loved, dare she say.

She didn’t

He was a little over twenty years her senior, but John was in peak shape, his firm biceps and barely defined torso was hardly a testament to how deep his endurance ran. It had surprised her at first, but now, it thrilled her beyond compare. Y/n watched as he went over to one of the drawers in his dark oak dresser, his broad tattooed back on display, the bold ink work standing out against his skin. She’d always wanted to ask what they meant, but Y/n didn’t think that John was the type that wanted to spend an hour explaining why he’d gotten them. Her eyes stayed on him, mesmerized as John shifted some things around in the drawer, eventually producing a familiar set of restraints along with a ball gag. “Sit up,” his instructions were usually like that, brief and gruff, John wasn’t a man of many words and praises like the one she had received earlier were most times infrequent. But still he meant them, he always did. Besides, Y/n didn’t need words to know that John appreciated her, it was in the respect he had for boundaries and how well he cared for her after their sessions were over, it was enough.

At least, it used to be.

Lately, Y/n had started to wish there could be more. She wanted to be more. More than a woman that was bound to him by a contract, more than his dirty little secret and his designated play thing. But she wouldn’t say it, being with him like that was better than losing him entirely. 

When Y/n sat up, John positioned himself behind her, gently pulling her wrists together- he was never rough unless it was during the act itself, restraining them behind her back with a pair of leather cuffs. Next, he fastened the strap of the gag to her face, and just before he moved the hard-plastic ball to her mouth, he asked, “Is this still okay?”

“Yes sir,” she nodded diligently.

“You won’t be able to use your safe word,” he explained firmly, “But you’ll have this instead,” from his nightstand, John got out a little blue ball. It was the kind people bought for small children or dogs, that made a squeaking noise when squeezed tight enough. Y/n was familiar with the contraption, they’d used it whenever John wanted her mouth…..otherwise occupied. “Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” Y/n nodded again.

“Good,” he fit the little ball in one of her palms, “Try it out; squeeze it twice, that’s the signal I want you to use if you need me to stop,” much to John’s satisfaction, Y/n gave the ball a couple squeezes and it made it’s little childish noise. “Good girl,” he praised and Y/n thought it was a little out of turn when he kissed the crown of her head before fitting the gag between her lips and urging her to lay back. Without a moment to waste, he was re-positioned between her spread legs, peeling off her delicate, lace panties just before leaning over on either edge to secure them to hidden handles with another set of cuffs, those with longer chains. 

When Y/n was sprawled out before him, gagged with lust blown eyes, completely wanton and ready for his taking, John barely took a minute to admire his handy work before his hands were on her. His calloused fingers started at her restrained ankles, skimming up her legs. His fingers sent shocks of her spine when they brushed her inner thigh, not staying too long there as he splayed one large palm on her stomach while the other traveled further upwards to cup her left breast. Harshly, John groped and squeezed, smiling slyly when Y/n arched her back as he twirled her hardened nipple between his stocky fingers. 

Y/n’s sounds were muffled, but John enjoyed them nonetheless. He took her right breast in his other hand, playing with them as he shifted his gaze to between her thighs. Easily, he could see the sheen of slick arousal, her legs spread wide enough so he could have a salacious view of her clit too. 

Despite his longing for release, John wanted to savor the moment and test Y/n’s limits. Leaning forward on his knees, he gently blew on her drenched cunt. One hand still toyed with her breast while he momentarily gripped her thigh, opening her up even further, with the other. His lips descended on her cilt and he sucked on the bundle of nerves while moving slip two digits inside her folds. 

Y/n bucked her hips a bit and suddenly annoyed by her enthusiasm, John’s hand left her breast, pressing her down at the stomach, “None of that little one,” he warned, crawling up her body, until he was a hot breath away from her ear, John remained, “You’re my slut and you take what I give you, understand?” Y/n just whined for the loss of contact and John growled, “Do you understand?”

Meeting his dark gaze, Y/n didn’t let him ask a third time, nodded astutely, her ‘yes’ garbled by the ball gag. Wordlessly, John returned to his former task, that time running his flattened tongue running the length of her pussy lapping up her juices. His tongue invaded her core and it had Y/n aching for more, longing to grind on his face but knowing that some consequences weren’t worth it. Despite her gag, she tried to moan his name, desperate and already growing frustrated.

John’s lips found her bud again, alternating between sucking and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves as he re-introduced his fingers. Slowly, he pumped, slightly curling his digits in an expert, successful attempt to hit her G-spot. Y/n moaned around the plastic ball hampering her speech, saliva leaking out the side of her lips. She was so close, and they both knew it, Y/n could tell that the boil in her stomach was near the point of bubbling over and John could feel her walls starting to tighten around his fingers, but he wasn’t done with her yet. 

Again, much to Y/n’s dismay, John stopped his ministrations and when she whined, he chuckled, “You don’t get to cum that easily,” his voice was gravely and his beard was coated with the glisten of her silky, moist arousal. His feather light kisses started at Y/n’s public bone, trailing upwards and temporarily lingering on her stomach before he finally took one of her breasts in her mouth, teasing her sensitive nipple with his teeth. With one elbow sunken into the memory foam, supporting his weight, John palmed her pussy with his other hand, feeling Y/n’s wetness on his palm, occasionally rubbing her mound with his thumb. Y/n’s moans became more frequent and that time, when she arched her back, tossing her head to the side and shutting her eyes, John didn’t reprimand her.

The edging continued for longer than Y/n had registered, though, by the time John kissed his way up the valley of her breasts, only stopping to lick her neck erotically, Y/n was a frustrated mess, unchecked tears escaping her shut lids. She longed to say his name, but her last sensible cell told her it wasn’t welcome there, Y/n knew her place. 

“Open your eyes,” John urged, lining himself up with her longing entrance, “You know I like to see you,” his low, gravelly voice had Y/n’s eyes snapping opening, widening noticeably when John pushed into her, his cock stretching her familiarly. Drinking in the sight below, John let his hardness remain unmoving, nestled in Y/n’s wet haven for a minute. 

Rapt with desire, his gaze locked with hers as he conjured up a rough, almost selfish pace. One calloused grip held her steady at the hip, the other held up his weight, holding him high enough so he could enjoy the way her boobs bounced with each violent movement. She attempted to crook her legs at the knees, but her ankle cuffs vastly limited their movement. Y/n’s heels were buried in the sheets, but John couldn’t have cared less, his housekeeper could deal with that, hell, he could buy new ones.  

The sound of skin slapping skin; his balls assaulting her core joined the filthy symphony that was his throaty grunts intertwined with Y/n’s stifled yelps. John’s jaw was clenched and beads of exertion had started to build up on their skin despite the air conditioning. 

It hurt, but in the best ways possible. His member stretched Y/n wider than anyone else’s ever had and it was difficult for her to keep up with the aggressive rolling of his hips. Time spent with John was usually like that, it was how he got off; the control, his ability to bring pain and pleasure at once, and of course, being able to use her to his liking. 

As he drew closer to his climax, John growled, sliding his hand from Y/n’s side to firmly palm a swollen breast, his mouth descending on her neck, biting and sucking on her pulse point, reveling in her scent. “Cum for me,” he eventually ordered, “I want to feel your cunt squeeze my cock baby.”

Y/n’s head pressed into the black sea of silk, her hair fanned out around her as her eyes rolled back. Her toes curled as her body trembled in ecstasy, her walls clenching around John, stiffening his pace and she came around him, her warmth spilling out; coating her thighs and dripping onto his sheets. John rode out Y/n’s orgasm, half smiling triumphantly as her smaller body quaked; pleasure that he’d brought coursing through her veins, “That’s it,” he praised through gritted teeth. 

Before her body could settle, John pulled out, aiming his cock to the valley of her breasts as Y/n tried to prop herself on her joined elbows. He pumped his length vigorously to keep up momentum, using her juices as lubrication. Within seconds, he was coating her chest with generous spurts of hot, creamy cum. Y/n watched intently, enjoying the moment just as much as he was, loving the feeling of his product dribbling down from her nipples onto her stomach, trying to smile when stray drips caught her neck and face.

When they were finished, John undid the cuffs and gag, pulling on a pair of lounge pants before scooping Y/n’s tired body up his strong arms, holding her against his bare chest as he took her to his large, adjoining bathroom. He drew her a bath, helping Y/n wash herself with a gentle rubs from a loofah and the lather of a fragrant body wash, all from outside the of tub- he rarely got in with her, unless of course, he was in the mood. The after care process was a lengthy one, though John was a patient man, and Y/n liked being taken care of. After her bath, he helped her dry her hair and get dressed in an outfit he’d bought her a while back; a grey-blue, soft, cotton button up dress with capped sleeves and a ‘v’ shaped neckline. Her shoes and coat came next and it was late when John was finally walking Y/n down the stairs, to the front door of his Upper East Side townhouse, his hand stationed low on her back. He went through the motions of unlocking the wrought iron and glass double doors, “I’ll be meeting with a client for dinner on Friday night, you need to make yourself available.”

“Yes John,” outside of scenes, rules were slightly laxed; Y/n was still expected to respect and obey, but there was still room for her to look at him directly and use his first name, “When would you like me to be ready for?”

“Seven thirty,” John’s hand closed around the barn handle, “I want you to buy a new dress,” he explained sternly, signaling that it wasn’t up for debate, though, his orders typically weren’t, “Get something in mauve, I like how that looks on you. Just above your knees. Go to that place on Madison Avenue, the one I usually take you to.”

“Okay,” she nodded quaintly, waiting until he bid her goodnight before walking to her car, parked on the curb. Without as much as a smile, John watched as she got into her cool grey, hatchback Lexus Hybrid, the one he’d bought her, making sure she closed the door and got the engine started before shutting the front door.

 When John was out of sight, Y/n, threw her head back on the leather rest, tossed her bag to the passenger seat and gripped the wheel tightly, with all intentions of pulling off. Though, after a minute of just letting herself sink into her thoughts, her breath caught and Y/n began sobbing quietly. Lately, leaving was a part of their arrangement that she had started to hate; leaving meant that they weren’t really a couple, and though it was a fact she always knew, it had recently started to hurt. 

When did it happen? 

How did it happen?

Y/n didn’t have an answer, but she did know that somewhere along the line, John had stopped being just her ‘dom’, even if he didn't know it, and she had fallen in love with him. And the worst part was, he would never love her back.

*******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana