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renegadeontherunn · 3 years

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hello fiona my love, hope you are doing amazing - i am so excited you are doing prompts!!! AAAAHHHH could you do 29. "you're a really bad liar." with obi & soka?? or really whoever you want!!! ily queen

SAM MY LOVE!!!!! AHHHH THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK AND FOR YOUR KIND WORDS I HOPE YOU'RE DOING WONDERFULLY TOO ILY!!!!!! and thank you for being my first EVER prompt fill!!!!!

29. “you’re a really bad liar.” // from these prompts! // read it on ao3!

Ahsoka doesn’t look at the Temple.

She can still feel it—that gentle warmth and familiar glow—wherever she goes, but she doesn’t look at it. And it’s fine. She doesn’t need to see it to still feel the gaping hole where the Jedi used to reside and she shoves the Force away at every opportunity.

Ahsoka pulls her cloak tighter. The nights have been getting colder and colder and she finds herself missing the Temple (and its inhabitants) more and more.

She looks over her shoulder again on instinct, half expecting to see Anakin or Master Yoda, or even Rex. But there’s just the usual blank, dark faces of the Coruscant nightlife and Ahsoka breathes a sigh of sad relief. If she can just get off Coruscant, get to a new planet, maybe somewhere Mid-Rim, then she can actually relax. Then she’ll be free. Ahsoka shakes her head, arms wrapping around herself.

She shouldn’t have to worry about being free.

The diner she steps in is nicer than most of the ones she’s frequented in the weeks she’s been exiled, and it’s late enough to not be crawling with too many sketchy figures. The Force simmers as the little bell dings to announce her entrance, and so Ahsoka keeps her senses sharp. A quick reaction can be the difference between life and death. She’s learned that enough times.

“Ahsoka.”

There. Ahsoka’s shoulders tense up immediately, her whole body freezing, and she squeezes her eyes shut. Of course. Of course. Ahsoka thought she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see anyone—each check behind herself was bittersweet, would it be better to reconnect or is complete isolation the safest option?—but as soon as the quiet, surprised word drifts into the air, an anvil slams down on Ahsoka’s chest and she wishes she was anywhere else.

She could leave. She could just turn around and walk—run—away, hide back in her seedy apartment with the moldy ceiling and rusty door. But something, be it obligation or pride or just plain shock, forces Ahsoka’s head to her left and she locks eyes with Master Kenobi.

He’s dressed exactly as she remembers: a few thousand layers of robes with no doubt the hundredth brown cloak wrapped loosely around his shoulders. There’s a full cup of what looks like cold caf nestled between his hands. Ahsoka tries not to walk too woodenly over to him, screaming against her own body for betraying her.

Not now, not him, not this.

His face is paler, a bit more sunken than it used to be, or so Ahsoka thinks, but his face is all pleasant surprise and familiar, if a bit hesitant, warmth.

“Please, sit down.” He gestures to the seat across from him.

Ahsoka’s heart lurches. “I’m good.”

A beat of silence. She sits.

His eyes scan her face. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she answers automatically. Oh, this is not going to go well.

Obi-Wan doesn’t seem fazed. He nods. “That’s great.”

More silence. Ahsoka tries not to fidget, fails; tries not to stare, fails at that too. And her flailing attempts to squash the surging anger inside herself—well, you can probably guess.

“What brings you to a place like this at such an hour?”

Ahsoka nearly huffs. He hasn’t changed a bit. She can’t decide if that’s comforting or . . . disappointing. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Obi-Wan nods again. “You could.”

She doesn’t.

“Would you like something to eat?”

Ahsoka’s mind goes on the defensive immediately, though she knows that’s completely off the mark. Does she not look like she can support herself? She doesn’t want—or need—his help, his charity. Ahsoka is perfectly fine on her own, thanks (for nothing), and has no desire for unsolicited aid.

“No.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t flinch, but Ahsoka feels like he wants to. Like this conversation is somehow pricking his chest with bitter pain. Well, that makes two of them.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

Ahsoka bites her tongue hard, fangs digging in deep enough to make her head pound.

Obi-Wan’s brow twitches, lips pulling down into a pretty good impression of concern. “Ahsoka?”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He blinks at her. “I’m sorry?”

Ahsoka’s eyes widen and she huffs in near-incredulous mocking. “Are you?”

His face darkens a touch. “Ahsoka—”

“Stop.” Force, why hadn’t she just walked out? “Whatever you’re about to say—don’t.”

But Obi-Wan has always loved talking, and Ahsoka should know that. “Ahsoka, please. I understand your feelings toward—”

“No you don’t.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw clicks shut.

Ahsoka’s face grows warm. “You can’t possibly imagine what I’m feeling, what I went through, other than your own part in it.”

“You’re right.” Obi-Wan’s hand is out and Ahsoka can’t remember if it always used to shake like that. “I misspoke. But I do know that you’re hurt and you have every right to be. I am so sorry.”

If this conversation doesn’t end soon, Ahsoka is either going to start throwing punches or sobbing and neither is a great look for her. “Okay.”

“If I could go back—”

“Well you can’t. And neither can I, but I guess that’s life.”

She’s purposely trying to goad him; fighting has always been easier than talking and maybe if they’re both angry, then Ahsoka won’t have to deal with the regret and guilt and fear and homesickness. But Obi-Wan is not so easily led.

“I only wish to explain, though I know it can never fully alleviate the pain of what happened. May I?”

Ahsoka can’t think of anything she wants less than to hear what he has to say. She wants—she wants Obi-Wan to stop talking, wants him to feel her devastation, she wants him to see how she is crumbling beneath the weight of what his Council has done to her.

“You all expelled me. You lost faith in me the second you got the chance to jump ship.” She chokes back tears. “The Jedi were supposed to be there for me—you were supposed to be there for me. Like family, right?”

Obi-Wan looks half on the verge of tears too.

“Ahsoka, I never lost faith in you, you must believe me.” He reaches for her. “I promise you, I tried everything in my power to speak for you in the Council, to try to prove your innocence.”

Ahsoka scoffs, feeling more bitter by the moment. “Fantastic job. Do you want applause?” She’s not sure where all this pent-up rage is coming from; she’s spent enough time meditating, considering the situation, her decision, trying to look at every angle. It’s been months. She thought she was past it. Or, at least, mostly past it.

“I understand your anger at me, I feel it myself. I completely failed you in your trial, Ahsoka, don’t think I’m unaware of that.” Ahsoka’s nails cut crescents in her palms. “I wish I could’ve done more—I should’ve done more.”

“You know what? Yeah, you should’ve. But this isn’t about you, Obi-Wan.” The name is sour on her tongue. “If forcing all this guilt on yourself somehow makes you feel better, be my guest, but you don’t have to burden me with the guilt of not absolving you from it.”

Because Ahsoka does feel guilty. She wants to forgive him and have everything go right back to the way it was, she a Jedi, he her partial Master, the three of them more like family than anything else. Her own stinging words churn in her stomach, half her brain raging against the other half: accept what’s probably your last chance at that old happiness or fuel the retribution you’re convinced you deserve. And she doesn’t know if she actually deserves it. And more importantly, she’s not sure Obi-Wan deserves this.

Haven’t they all been through enough?

But Ahsoka has never been good at thinking before speaking. And it’s a hell of a lot easier to feed the wolf craving vengeance than to scale the high road.

“Ahsoka, I am so sorry—”

Tears stinging her eyes, Ahsoka grabs her cloak, nearly knocking her chair over, her eyes never leaving Obi-Wan’s. “You’re a really bad liar.”

Obi-Wan flinches like he’s been struck.

Ahsoka lets the festering rage in her chest slither up to her tongue, lashing out in the empty air. “You’d think you’ve had enough practice.” Her voice is rough, harsh with stifled tears, words ripping holes where affection and warmth used to rest. All Ahsoka feels now, though, is scraped raw, and frustrated, angry confusion, and . . . and something else she doesn’t have time for. The door handle is cold on her blazing skin.

“Ahsoka!” Obi-Wan grabs her arm. She tries to shake him off, but his grip is too strong in its desperation. “Please, listen.”

Tears are dotting the greasy floor now and Ahsoka doesn’t know if they’re hers or Obi-Wan’s. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, I—” She’s still pulling away. The bell on the door is ringing.

“Ahsoka—”

“Just let go!”

The Coruscant air is freezing on Ahsoka’s face and she wrenches her arm away as they burst out of the diner.

They turn to face each other, blue eyes to blue eyes, two strangers with far too many memories.

“Ahsoka.”

And his voice is home and friendship and comfort and Anakin and the past.

“I’m sorry.”

The air is too stuffy, her chest too tight. There’s no room for the past in the scathing pieces of her heart.

She bolts off into the darkness.

“Ahsoka!”

#fiona speaks #AHHHHHHHHHHHH #AM I WRITING/POSTING FIC LITERALLY FIVE MINUTES BEFORE I LEAVE FOR COLLEGE? MA Y B E #anyway!#thank you so much for this ask sam!!!!#oh MAN this prompt was so fun to write #i've been feeling the angst the past few days so this is what you get akljsdkljask #or should i say mwahahahaha #i hope you like it!!!!#AHHHHH #answered #my writing #sam tag!#star wars #obi k & soka #yikes...YIKES #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

The Way to Hell - Part 13

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escaped Ethan Hunt with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. Brooding as he is, August is unwilling to back down on his murderous agenda he plots to continue where he was stopped.

Series Completed: Previous Chapter | | Chapters Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual encounters, child neglect, betrayal, hinted physical abuse, foul language and lots of angst.

A/N: I thought chapter 13 will be the last one, but I didn’t want to rush the ending or have a chapter too long. So for those of you still waiting, hang in tight! Many thanks to @agniavateira who’s my muse and my editor, to @raspberrydreamclouds for this amazing cover and to those who’s been asking me about the chapter, means a lot to me. I am going into my usual Way to Hell posting panic attack. So bye for now.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Please comment, review and reblog. 💖

Title: Paradise lost

There cannot be peace before first a great suffering. There cannot be love without first a great tragedy.

~*~

Opaline droplets of sweat form on his forehead. In his ears, a constant buzzing rings wretchedly as if an angry hornet is caged inside his skull. What was long buried abruptly awakens, stabbing at the back of his head. Red flashes sear through his eyes while images of Ingvild dissolving to ashes play in his mind, her bloodsoaked feathers crumbling to the ground.

“Why did you go?” August mutters under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He crumples the little yellow note with sheer frustration before throwing it on the bed.

‘I told her not to go, I commanded her!’

The air in the room grows thick like the pit of a stygian forest. Tentacle-like branches appear behind his eyes creeping closer, clutching his limbs. Even though lost and abandoned in the thicket of his mind, her angelic scent still lingers on his skin, impossible to wash off. Sniffing at his biceps, he inhales the mixture of their union on his flesh; what begins as euphoric mirth quickly meets the sharp edge of rage and hatred.

She’s gone and it gnaws at the dark matter of his brain.

He hates it.

Hates her for being absent.

Frowning deeply, August reaches a rigid hand for his clothes, forcing himself to get dressed. The very first memory of her hinges on his mind: An icy woman with silver-moon eyes who refused his pursuit.

‘Did you think the two of you are going to ride toward the sunset together? That’s not you.’

Letting out heavy gasps, he shakes his head. “She’ll be fine,” he whispers dismissively, pulling on his trousers and hastily buckling his belt.

The new world order awaits, so close he can feel the fresh sun sitting on his open palm. It is his vision, his legacy: bigger than whatever it is Ingvild and him have together.

There was no her in his plan, to begin with.

The Devil never had a queen.

‘You know what they’ll do to her…’

Another ray of daytime terror cuts through his thoughts: her wings plucked from her back, threads of flesh tearing from her naked body. Her screams die in silence.

“She chose to leave, I asked her not to!” August yells into the empty room, frowning at no one but himself as he grabs the used shirt which hangs from the tall mirror. Turning to his reflection, he tenses at the sight of his body. Crimson valleys lead down his back, courtesy of her claws branding deep into soft tissue and toned muscles.

‘Do you know what is the probability of finding someone like her? A woman who wants to see the world burn with you? Who believes in your cause of building a new one?’

August swallows hard and combs his fingers through his hair with haste, attempting to act normal through the intensifying drumming in his ears. Being completely methodical, he pulls his long trench coat over his shoulders and collects his belongings into his black duffle bag on the bed. With a heavy painful breath, he forces his thoughts away, zipping the bag with urgency and reciting in his mind everything necessary for his trip. Time is scarce, the end and the new beginning are nigh; the smart thing to do is to forget her, erase her existence from the chambers of his heart.

He doesn’t have one anyway.

His hand secures the gun in its holster and harsh fingers lace around the black straps of his bag as he stretches himself straight, ready to leave this bedroom. That’s when his eyes fall again to the crumpled yellow note.

‘You’ll never see her in Kashmir, you’ll never see her again.’

~*~

‘Amazing,’ the silver-haired wolf muses while scratching his bristly jaw. For 13 years the evil spawn’s eyes remained exactly as they were the day he picked her from the orphanage. Grey crystal orbs so naive, clueless, and oh so hungry for validation. A child desperate to prove herself worthy to someone, anyone.

It was her single flaw and his greatest advantage.

Even now in the bloom of adulthood, the pale, scrawny thing standing before him is nothing but a lost little girl who wants someone to hold her bony hand.

‘How can someone be so smart yet at the same time so blind?’

The cheap motel room smells like mildew and rotten wood. Speckles of dust float between the handler and his prodigy, cascading over his glance that seems rather alien and naked as glass. It pierces through her muscles - this sudden sense of peculiarity and estrangement.

She chews the inside of her cheeks and sways slightly on her spot, arms hanging loose at her side. Ingvild lifts her chin to look at Liam, her eyes round with what can only be guilt. It makes her look like a child who broke an antique vase.

“Thank you for answering my call,” she begins, wrapping her fist around a disposable phone before throwing it on the tidy bed.

Liam scoffs and shakes his head, ridicule spreading on his face. “You’ve gotten yourself into trouble over a boy, child?” He stares up and down the young woman, noticing the obvious change in her posture.

‘So, she truly is a woman now; how did I not see this one coming with her constant chatter about how handsome he is when I handed her the dossier?’

“Please don’t tell me you need money to get an abortion.”

Ingvild frowns with disgust and shakes her head right away. “Never. No, it’s not what I’m here for.”

Displeased as always, Liam emits his usual grunt. He slowly shakes his head at his asset while running his fingers through his lanky grey hair. This is not how he imagined this mission to end. Her lack of emotions was a key element; Ingvild could have had a few good years running several missions for him, but what tipped the scale was for her to run into the wrong psychopath.

“Then tell me Ingvild, why should I listen to a failed assassin such as yourself? You’ve been weird about this mission since day one. Acting discreet, irresponsible, and reckless,” the old man’s Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat as he speaks. Taking a small stride, he moves closer to get a better look of her diamond irises. So sharp and so strange, they’ve always irked him. As a child she downright looked like something out of a horror movie.

“You’ve had 445 successful missions, not even 30 years old. Yet here you are a failure, and for what? For a boy?”

Shame traps her tongue and her glance drops to the floor. Failure stings like a rod of hot iron piercing her beating heart. Yet her mind races to the night at the pit where August finally claimed her, the memory of his lips sets glowing embers through her veins. On her skin remains the evidence of his embrace. Microscopic cells, tinted by his DNA.

She doesn’t want this feeling to go away.

Liam clears his throat, tearing her away from memories that turn from tar to honey the longer she dwells on them.

“You know why your mother gave you away, Ingi?” Liam asks, giving her a ghastly sardonic smile while cocking one eyebrow.

‘Liam never smiles.’

A small frown sets creases above her freckled nose. “I asked you many times before and you always said you don’t know.”

The Dane scoffs at her, his smile widening, exposing cigarette-and-coffee-stained teeth. The rot around his gums makes her curl her nose slightly and flinch as he leans closer.

“You were a rape baby.”

The words send a pang through her muscles, like stepping on glass. She shakes her head with protest and steps back, yet Liam nods knowingly, standing in front of her.

“You’re lying.”

His small hazel eyes burn holes through her skull, his smile sinister and impish. “Your father was a savage, a rapist. He left your poor mother half-dead and impregnated in the forest you love so much. Who knows, maybe that’s why you kept going there as a child, reconnecting with your true nature.”

Refusing to listen, she shies from his piercing glare. Liam reaches a coarse hand to cup her jaw, forcing her face back to his. “Your mother hated you. Your very existence reminds her of the most terrible thing that ever happened to her.”

For a child with such a limited emotional range, Liam finds that the muscles of her face are capable of stretching thoughtfully with spite. Pent up hatred creases her brow, her silver eyes turning to hot, molten gold. She bites on her tongue, keeping a vow of silence but he can read her face just the way an assassin would.

“Nothing but a mistake, disowned by your own mother. So why would this man, this... mass murdering psychopath love you?” Liam shifts her head from side to side, inspecting the healing cuts and bruises that decorates her pale skin. “He saw an opportunity and seized it, used you…”

He pauses, moving away from a stare colder than icy lake water, “just like they will.”

Ingvild parts her lips with wonder, glaring at the person she knew all her life with disbelief. In the glossy reflection of Liam’s honey-brown eyes, she sees several black, long rifles pointed at her head.

Liam curls his thin lips with an utter lack of remorse and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s yours.”

*~*~

If colours had sound then the pale blinding white would be a continuous high-frequency hum. The tunes and shades of death. Like angry flies feasting on a corpse.

‘Is this Valhalla?’

A small groan escapes her mouth, her eyes hurting from the sickly radiance of the narrow fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists feel numb as they’re pulled behind her back in restraints.

“No,” she opens her mouth to speak, her throat burning, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Definitely not Valhalla...”

‘You need to be a hero to enter Valhalla, stupid girl.’

Stupid didn’t even begin to describe it. August would never let her hear the end of it.

Loud, angry steps tap on the white marble floor, growing louder as the person approaching enters the room. Ingvild blinks, peering at the silhouette when a smile of comfort paints her drowsy face. Like a god, her lover strides toward her with his usual confidence. His ocean-blue eyes beam at her sight, his palm spread open to embrace his tiny Valkyrie. She chuckles at the mischievous, charming grin on his face as it reminds her the day they first met.

Oh, she wishes to nibble his stupid chin right now and brush her fingers along his thick moustache.

But as she blinks again, large brown almond-shaped eyes replace the ocean-blue. A panther of a woman stands before her: confident, strong, and impossibly beautiful. Her dark, succulent lips are pressed together and concern shines through as she observes the small woman who has her arms cuffed behind her back and her feet shackled to the metal legs of the chair.

With her head still heavy, the assassin turns her face from side to side. She quickly observes the armed guards at the entrance, the tall, greying agent standing nonchalantly against the wall awaiting orders, and lastly the sickly-looking, lean man who is positioned at the fore of a metal desk with his fingers laced together. Anticipation is written all over his line-riddled face.

“Erica Sloane,” Ingvild calls knowingly, the ghost of a wicked smile dancing on her chapped lips as she turns her head to face the CIA director. Dressed in a black power suit and crimson pumps, the director is drenched with big dick energy.

“August told me so much about you, but he didn’t mention how fuckable you are.” Ingvild drawls, fluttering her lashes as she scans her from head to toe.

Tilting her head, Erica grabs a white plastic chair and places it in front of Ingvild. She then takes a seat, crossing her long smooth legs together. Kindness and motherly concern pours from her dark eyes, expressions Ingvild never received from anyone in her life.

“Poor child, I imagine August Walker filled your head with many stories.”

“No…” Ingvild swallows, trying to dampen her sore throat. Noticing her struggle, Erica snaps her fingers and the greying agent rushes to bring her a plastic cup of water like a loyal dog. Focusing on the translucent beads around the cup, Ingvild flicks her tongue over her lips. “August was too busy filling other parts of me.”

The intrepid woman begins to laugh at her own joke, her voice dragging groggily while Erica rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“I imagine so.” She answers and then carefully tilts the cup to Ingvild’s lips, offering the drink to the girl who sips with desperation as if she walked the desert. “August was my best agent,” she explains, watching the stream of water that rolls down Ingvild’s chin as she gulps with an incredible thirst, “a really proficient assassin, ranked high in every mission I sent him to. My golden boy. Even though that shit-eating attitude of him was something else...”

Withdrawing the cup, she looks into Ingvild’s cold silvery stare. “Those snarky, arrogant remarks and him going through the whole department like a fox in a hen coop I could overlook. But that fucker had us all fooled, Ingvild, as he fooled you.”

Ingvild flutters her dark lashes and tips her chin up. Her defined cheekbones sharpen even more as a snake-like arrogance poisons her face. “August told me what you did,” she utters sincerely, while Erica commands the agent to refill the plastic cup. Loathing melts her beautiful sullen glaciers as she focuses on Erica.

The CIA director narrows her eyes at her in return, and curls her lips downward as disdain fills her mouth. “I am not the one who made Walker murder Agent Hartmann, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You deceived him,” Ingvild retorts calmly and sucks in her bottom lip, collecting the remaining droplets of water onto her tongue. “That’s what you and your little agencies do to people like us. Set up traps for predators and pretend to act surprised as they eat the bait.”

Holding the cup, Erica stares at the young woman thoughtfully, the burning hatred in her eyes reminding her so much of Agent Walker: An entitled spoiled brat, thinking he can wind the world to the direction only he sought to be right.

“You can’t blame a predator for following its nature, and you can’t expect him to behave otherwise.”

“Is that how you see yourself?” Erica asks, moving the cup away, though she can see the thirst on Ingvild’s gaping bottom lip. “August poisoned your mind but I assure you, you are not the monster he is. You never had the choice that he did.”

Erica’s voice suddenly becomes soft, and her big brown eyes become round with care that only a parent can express. But the only form of parent Ingvild ever had was Liam, and he was never much of a father, was he? It took less than a few hours for him to give her away.

She wonders how long it took for her real mother.

Her gaze drops, peering at Erica’s shiny crimson shoes as they counter the lifelessness of the floor like blood in the snow. Memories whisk her away again, a man in pursuit of a woman deep in an icy forest. She should have died that night and yet here she is, shackled to a chair. The voice of the man who saved her echoes through her head with a fair warning: ‘Liam never gave a flying fuck about you.’

Sharp as a needle, it pricks her heart.

“I know what Icarus did. Moulding you into the perfect assassin, depriving you of the childhood and the life you deserved.” Erica’s voice cuts into her trail of thoughts, making her raise her gaze back to the beautiful woman. “Now, I don’t know what twisted fantasies August may have offered but I can assure you, they are empty just like him. You read his file, you know what he’s capable of. Looking at your scars and bruises I assume he hurts you for his own sick pleasure, taking advantage of a woman who only wants to be loved.”

‘She doesn’t know him like I do, the way he drank my lips and called me his angel, the way his fingertips beat the warm blood in my arteries.’ Ingvild shuts her eyes, soaking in the remnants of his touch as it still ghosts across her body.

Erica’s kind, tepid hand wraps around the young woman’s jaw, lifting her pale face with the cautiousness of a human tending a wild creature. Grey and dark-brown collide at the seams as they share a silent stare.

“If you’ll give us his location, we can arrange for your freedom and protection.”

Ingvild breaks away from Erica’s grip, pushing herself back in the chair as much as she can. The screech of metal against marble makes the guards cringe. Slow and cold, a sardonic chuckle begins to burst from Ingvild’s lungs. The laughter echoes off the walls while she shakes her head with disbelief.

“Do I look like a dumb bitch to you? Even if this was true, do you think I’m willing to be a slave to another government? Kept ignorant and tabbed? I’d rather rot in this cell while my beautiful monster dismantles your old world order.”

Drops of water splash at her face as Erica squashes the plastic cup in front of her, sulking with fury. Her eyebrows knit together and she purses her lips as if this young woman is something sour on her tongue.

Evidently, Liam was right; the girl is far too gone, living in the little fantasy world August built for her.

“If you think he ever cared about you for a split second, then you are a dumb bitch. No matter how this plays out, you and August are never going to end up happily ever after.” Erica spits, holding her finger at Ingvild’s childlike frown. “He’s never going to come for you. You were nothing but a toy, a plaything for him to pass the time.”

Ingvild scoffs and rolls her eyes, refusing to let these words cut into the beating muscle in her chest.

`Stick and stones may break my bones...’

Solid, slender fingers wrap around her jaw, squeezing around her cheeks like a big spider. She is met with Erica’s long lashes, while those deep brown eyes slice into her soul.

“You might think you know him, but I’ve worked with August long enough to know that he never loved anything other than his precious ego. So I would consider this as your final chance little girl, because if you don’t talk right now - this nice fellow here...” Erica pauses and gestures her head to the scrawny man who begins to hum a blissful tune while cracking his knuckles. Twisted excitement shines through his beady eyes as he glances at the set of sharp surgical tools lying on the desk.

“He’s going to make you sing like the precious bird you are.”

Fear shies from Ingvild’s stoic, icy face. The well-lubricated gears in the labyrinth of her head begin to work, observing the possible escape options and scanning every cavity, crease, and man in Erica’s lovely torture chamber.

The door suddenly bursts open. A man in his mid thirties with bright red hair and a freckle-covered face rushes in, huffing heavily. His pink skin glistens with sweat, the strands of his fiery hair sticking on his large forehead while his hand holds onto his chest with distress.

“Sloane, there is something you need to see…” he opens his mouth breathlessly.

“Not now!” Sloane snaps at him, looking at Ingvild with contempt. There is nothing she wishes more than to avoid torturing a young woman, especially someone as misguided as this poor porcelain doll. All she needs is to make her see the truth, that August never cared for her, that she was just another pawn in his grand scheme.

“Director, I am sorry, but you really need to come and see this.”

Agitated, Erica snaps in her chair to look at him. “What is it, Agent Louis?”

“It’s John Lark’s manifesto, ma’am…” he sighs, shoulders slumping, “it’s… it’s everywhere.”

A shivering hiss escapes her mouth. The shiver that graces the rail of her spine is like a shower of icy water, making her slowly rise from her chair. August’s harmful “poetry” is released into the air like toxic gas, contaminating every fragile little mind in an already unstable world.

“Do you like my little surprise?” Ingvild asks, making the baffled woman turn to gaze at her. There’s a malicious little smile dancing across her eyes, her brows lifting with an arrogance that strongly resembles Agent Walker.

Swallowing hard, the CIA woman takes a step back, tugging her jacket straight and looking at the torturer who lifts a small hammer between his pliable fingers.

“Break her, until she talks.”

The harsh tapping of her heels dies down and her silhouette becomes smaller until it disappears behind the shutting door.

“Pretty girl...” The man’s voice is brittle and thin as he is, every word ending with a slight snake-like hiss. He moves to scrutinise her from head to toe, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip with a prying nature.

“You know August used to mock me…”

“I can see why,” she spits out, looking back at him with both fearlessness and utter disrespect. She killed men bigger than him, hell, August’s kneaded her to submission and his torture was nothing but sweet.

She can take him on, she can take all of them on.

The lean man beams at her, holding up the small shiny hammer and running his finger over the rim pervertedly. The dead skin around his nails rouses disgust in her gut, yet she rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn.

He chuckles at her theatrics and kneels in front of her with one unstable hand pressing onto her thigh. His revolting fingers scratch gently at her denim, making her shiver. If August knew another man was laying his finger on her…

But August is not here.

“Well… shall we begin, little bird?”

***

‘When this world ends and the new one begins, what will be of your little Valkyrie? Merely bones and rotting flesh laid in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere and mourned by no one. Won’t you be jealous of the insects feasting on her narcotic tissue?’

Cold air seeps through his nose as sharp bullets of hail hit the ground with the fury of angry gods, shattering onto the ruins of an old bridge with a loud, clattering noise. Sheltered from the rage of the heavens, August stands beneath the wreckage, facing the men who came to make the final exchange.

Blue and green ferns have grown over the decaying surroundings, climbing over rusted metal. Nature reclaiming its place over man’s occupied space. Justice and beauty in decadence and rot.

‘Memento mori.’

“The plutonium,” August demands, his thick brows shadowing his eyes in a battle to remain composed. Those same parasitic visions of sheer terror burden him like a daytime nightmare: pale as porcelain, she sinks to the bottom of a lake thick with blood. His hand reaches out for her, fingers trying to grasp whatever he can but she slips away.

‘How far do you think Erica will go this time?’

A rogue droplet of sweat glides languidly down his temple, crossing over a bulging tendon. Unfortunately quite apparent to the three men who scrutinise him with wonder: two well-paid bodyguards and a slimy-looking slug, wearing a dark business suit that does nothing but emphasize his fragile masculinity.

“The money first!” The businessman whines, attempting to make a tough face.

‘A cock and two balls.’ August jests and does his best to remain indifferent while anxiety threatens to claw its ugly talons in his throat. The seller’s receding hairline is thick with dandruff, his dull green eyes attempt to mimic confidence, as a beta male would do when facing a pure alpha, trying to compensate for lost dignity.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ August huffs, his chest puffing and the immense shoulders stretching even wider, exhuming his natural overpowering dominance. His patience runs brittle as a dry twig. A restless throb thunders between his ears like a scab, latched inside his brain.

The slug pries his mouth open to speak, yet his voice becomes dull as if the world just went underwater.

‘Do you think she’ll go as far as to let her men touch her? You know, not just the usual torture they put interrogated suspects through, but the type of touch only you are allowed to.’

‘She doesn’t have the balls, she won’t do that to another woman.’

‘Won’t she? It’s personal this time. Erica knows what you are capable of. And your Ingvild, she’s an apostle too now, an enemy of the world…’

Fever burns at his sweaty forehead and his lungs gradually collapse. Visions he can’t even bring himself to imagine attempt force their way into his mind. The yapping of the man who stands in front of him goes on and on; while August can feel himself speak in response, the words spouting from his lips are on autopilot.

All he can think of is her, stripped naked, torn to shreds by dark shadows.

‘She holds back a lot, but when she slips, aren’t her screams so beautiful? Her pleasant little voice, stretching so melodically, like skin over bone, thin and light.’

“Shut up!”

All eyes lift to August in silent bewilderment. His fists tighten, nails digging into his coarse palms as the will to rip someone to shreds beats through his blood. These men will be no more than a casualty.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks in a deep, menacing tone, his hand but a second from reaching his holster. By measured calculation, he already anticipates how quickly he would shoot them one by one without so much of a scratch on his cheek.

“I’m John, fucking, Lark. My apostles are awaiting orders this very instance,” he reaches for his phone, ignoring the flinch in their posture as he draws it from his pocket and shakes it in his hand on display, “and you want to stand here in this shit weather and measure dicks? Spoiler alert,” he takes a stride in front of the little man, careless of his bodyguards who reach for their weapons, “mine is far bigger.”

The seller peers at him silently, noticing the icy crust of rage in August’s glare. His pale eyes cut like diamonds while the shadow of his brooding figure falls upon the small man’s face.

“You will get your money once I get to see the plutonium and confirm it’s authenticity,” August calls out assertively, each word distinguished, each syllable emphasised and sharp as a blade. Death is no longer an enemy to August Walker but an old friend, and those trolls under the bridge are a mere joke to the inferno he’s been basking at his entire life.

‘Limb by limb, feather by feather, while you waste your time...’

‘She wanted me here, she wanted me to secure the plutonium. If I don’t do this, it will all be for nothing.’

‘So now you are doing this for her?’

Not saying another word, the seller nods and snaps his fingers. Agitation is evident on his face yet the violence emanating from August forces him to bite down his pride. One of his henchmen approaches with a suitcase and opens it up to show August the orbs.

Thunder rips through the sky and the hail turns into a symphony of wrath. Icicles break across the construction site above, splashing water everywhere around them. Staring at the platinum spheres, August sees his own reflection dulled by the dirty silver curve.

A dormant thing. But when set into motion, ever so deadly.

He presses the beryllium rod to test the authenticity of the material and a sigh of relief pipes itself through his nose at the sound of the radioactive note on his testing device. Celebration blooms in his weary heart but the festivity is deemed achingly empty and dies out right away.

‘Stop thinking about her, she’s gone. Focus on the cause, you’re almost there, just keep pushing through the doors.’

~*~

The blizzard melted into shy rain. The soft little drops dampen his hair, perming his large curls with the assistance of the cool winter breeze. Standing with the suitcase on the side of the rural road, August awaits his ride taking him to the helipad to proceed to Kashmir. It has been so long since he last met his true colleagues, since his departure from Lane in Norway. Avoiding any risks, contact was kept only necessary for the last stages of their tasks.

Doom’s day.

Securing the plutonium should have brought him relief, yet his chest continues to sink into his spine as if it’s being filled with coals. August Walker threaded through life alone, yet this sudden solitude is suddenly harrowing, making him feel like a gutted fish. Looking to his empty side he the ghost of her appears, giving him a bratty smirk.

“Go away,” he chides, refusing to think of her. Of that stupid mouth talking back, tormenting him with sweet saccharine and cinnamon-like kisses. In his reminiscences, the softness of her lips still hinges. Tenderness meeting the bristle of his neck as she lay gentle wet markings up his coarse jaw.

His fingers press to his mouth trying to harness the memory.

A large car drives into the side of the road, speeding up and braking right next to his legs, missing August’s foot by an inch. Frowning at the careless driver, he grunts and brushes his hair before opening the passenger door.

“Took you awhile,” he grunts as he slips into the seat and peers at the driver. A bulky man in his early 40s with dark short cropped curls and thin lips. He shoots August a glance and turns back to the steering wheel.

“Not my bad, you made a fucking mess, Lark.” The man answers and begins driving right away, careless of the fact that August didn’t put his seatbelt on and that he is holding radioactive material.

Throwing the seatbelt over himself and fastening it, August growls and carefully secures the case on the side of the driver seat, his index finger remaining on the brim. He gently caresses the hard black leather. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The driver peers at him oddly before looking down the road, driving fast and passing a large log truck. “Releasing the manifesto. MI6 and the CIA are all over the place,” he says and turns the radio on, letting August hear the news on his own. “I get why you did it now, it’s brilliant to cause another distraction but you’ve made shit a bit harder with those cunts running around. They tracked it back from London and have been surveying the entire area.”

“I didn’t release the... “

August stills, his muscles shriveling up as realisation quickly hits him.

‘Oh angel, what have you done?’

Drawing out his mobile phone, August immediately begins to search the newsite, his eyes an ocean of panic, fluttering back and forth. It’s everywhere, news about an anarchist manifesto, spreading like a virus through every social media outlet, leaked by codename “Jane Lark”.

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading his own written word as he goes through an article posted on the BBC’s newsite. But she changed the last verse, added a little piece of her own:

“Valkyries mounted onto beasts, We will ride eternal to the sun. The blazes will sear us but we will not back down, United by our cause of just war, Unflinching we will scour the earth, Until humanity comes together in tranquil and harmony.”

‘She loves you, you see? The way she lets you bleed her, use her, spill all your pain inside her. The way she held onto you just a night ago, your name falling from her lips, her body pressing into yours to take all of you. She’s the only one. The only woman who did and ever will.

And you left her to die.’

________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

#henry cavill #august walker #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker fanfiction #littlefreya’s fiction #mission impossible fallout fanfiction #august walker x ofc #mission impossible fallout

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ravensbug · 4 years

Note

hi! could you write something kind of au where the reader is the avatar, and during the battle of zaofu she and kuvira are flirting with/teasing each other to the point they’re not even fighting by the end anymore?

Tease

Fandom: Legend of Korra

Ship: Kuvira x Avatar!Reader

Request: YES

Prompt: ^^^^

A/N: Thank you for being the first request. You have no idea how excited this makes me. You will forever hold a spot in my writing heart. I hope this is some of what you were looking for. I got excited and didn’t want to wait for my brain to be fully functioning with ideas.

Summary: You confront Kuvira after Suyin tries to assassinate her. She challenges you to battle for Zaofu. Being as stubborn as you are, you accept, knowing full well you’re still recovering from Zaheer. You two are evenly matched for a while until you hear her make a snarky remark. You two begin teasing back and forth as you fight.

“Avatar Y/N, you are interfering with internal Earth Empire business, and letting your personal feelings get in the way of reason. Zaofu cannot continue to rule itself. They have been hoarding their riches and technology too long. I'm here to distribute those resources fairly throughout the nation. This is about equality.” Kuvira calls out as you stand across from her. Her army is behind her, ready to attack if need be.

“You don't care about equality! This is about control!” Opal yells from her spot beside you. You both turn to each other and she speaks again. “Just take her down! You know it's the right thing to do! You have to stop this!”

“The only way you're going to keep me from marching into Zaofu is if you physically stop me. Now what are you going to do?” There is a hint of arrogance in her tone. This Kuvira was different from the one you met in Zaofu three years ago. That Kuvira was the captain of the guard and had to follow Su’s orders. Now she was free, although you knew she was taking things too far.

“It looks like you're not giving me a choice.” You step forward, separating yourself from Opal and Jinora.

“Fine.” Kuvira turns to address her troops. “I want you all to know that I would never ask any of you to do something that I'm not willing to do myself. So, rather than risk your lives, I will fight the Avatar one-on-one.” She turns to face you again. “Y/N, if you win, then you can do whatever you want with Zaofu. But after I beat you, I want you out of my business for good. I'm the one who brought peace to the Earth Empire, not you. You're not relevant here anymore.”

“Fine. You wanna fight the Avatar? Then let's finish this, right here, right now.” You roll your shoulders. Now you sounded like the arrogant one.

“Are you really ready to fight her?” Jinora asks you.

“Just stay back and let me handle this. It's been a while, but I got a lot of pent-up rage.” Yes, you were very arrogant. You also had a lot of steam to let out.

“Don't mess around! Kuvira is too good! Just go into the Avatar State and get it over with!” Opal’s resentment towards Kuvira was clearly evident.

“No, I'm only going to use that as a last resort,” you told her. You wanted to win this fight fair and square. To show Kuvira you could still stand up for yourself and the world.

“Use whatever you want: all the elements; the Avatar State; anything you need,” she smirks as she takes up her own battle stance. “I know you're a little rusty.”

“Enough talk!” You yell at her. There would be plenty more talk.

You send two boulders at her first, using them as cover to come at her from above. She anticipated this and moved to the side, rather than backward as you wanted. She took a shot at your exposed side with her own boulder. It hits you in the gut and changes your path to the ground. You barely land and have to catch your breath.

“Looks like the Avatar’s a little off her game!” You hear her chuckle and spirits it had been a long time since you heard anyone laugh. This still makes you frustrated that she thinks it’s so easy.

You send another boulder her way, which is easily dodged. Now that you are upright you send two blasts of air at her. You get closer with each attack, having Kuvira on the defensive with how fast you were going.

You swipe the earth under her feet, standing only a few feet in front of her. Now it was your turn to laugh. You weren’t as rusty as you or she thought. Maybe you did have a chance at winning.

“Now look who’s off their game,” you sneered at her. Kuvira did not like you teasing her with her own words.

She sends two metal strips on your wrists as an answer, forcing you to fall with your arms behind your back. This allows her to get up and dust her uniform off.

You send a large gust of wind at her using your feet. This knocks her back again and releases your wrists from the metal. You rub your wrists from the familiar feeling, holding back the remaining flashbacks from Zaheer’s torture.

“Don’t like being restrained?” Kuvira asks jokingly as she gets up again. Her hair is starting to become undone. She doesn’t pay too much attention to the loose strands.

“I’d like to see you try it some time,” you called back at her. Your remark was mostly meant to help your bruised ego, but when you saw Kuvira’s face go red you knew you hit a nerve.

She snaps out of whatever thoughts grip her mind and send more metal strips at you. They aren’t as precise as the other two, but they’re still on target. You still have to either dodge or deflect them to avoid being restrained again. These little discrepancies would go unnoticed by anyone else, but you knew that Kuvira aimed for perfection. Clearly, something was distracting her.

You two traded blows for a long time, her with her metal or earth and you with mostly air and fire. You figured out earth bending wouldn’t be much use against someone as skilled as her. These blows you each traded were either dodged or deflected. The fight was about evenly matched now.

“Are you holding back? Or are you just too scared to use the Avatar state?” Kuvira took a low blow at your ego and trauma. She knew what Zaheer had done to you, that you had been struggling since then. That was her point though. Get you riled up so you make a mistake.

And you made a mistake.

You often used earth as your anger element. Most people would have assumed fire, but earth was much more willing to cooperate with your anger. And so it did that very well.

In your rage, if you would call it that, you created a fissure in the ground, going from where you stood to where Kuvira stood. The earth was great at conveying your emotions. Your reaction caught Kuvira off guard, again. She did not expect such anger, or this amount of power to come from it.

The fissure cracking caused Kuvira to stumble and you sent a boulder in her side, knocking her down to the ground. She was dazed. Trying to get up was much harder than before.

The gasps from everyone were heard. Kuvira’s soldiers were shocked at how much power you showed without the Avatar state. Jinora and Opal were surprised at how many times you had knocked Kuvira down at this point.

You sprinted over to her before she got up, grabbing her by her collar in her dazed state. Turning her head to face you, you saw your own face with eyes glowing rather than Kuvira’s face. You threw her back as a reaction, terrified that she would trample all over you at this point.

Kuvira had expected another smart ass response from you and when she didn’t get one she knew something was different. The way you looked at her with fear and emptiness made her wonder what you saw. She could guess it had something to do with Zaheer, but there were so many faces you could have seen.

“So you are scared?” she chuckled as she got up.

“The Avatar, afraid of her own shadow!” Kuvira yelled for all to hear. Her soldiers cheered and laughed. Opal and Jinora glared at Kuvira.

“Don’t make me put you in your place, Kuvira!” You yelled back, trying to push the growing fear and doubt in your mind.

“I’d like to see you try,” She smirked. She began her onslaught of metal and earth again, immediately putting you on defense.

As she continued to attack, you continued to back up. There was no other way for you to go. If you moved to the side you would get a boulder thrown at you to keep you in line. Kuvira was practically ordering you to keep going backward. Her attacks were precise once again, which allowed her a wider range of movement.

You had heard the boulders you manage to dodge hit the large group of rocks behind you. You didn’t expect to be pushed against them so soon. But you were and shortly after that four metal strips restrained you to said rock. You were in a vulnerable position and under Kuvira’s will.

She stared you straight in the eyes, holding a strip of metal next to her head. You knew what she was going to do with it, so you waited. But Kuvira hesitated.

“Oh don’t get all attached to me now, Vira,” you tried to hold a smile. You really were still terrified, but what was one more tease going to do?

She grabs you by the collar and leans in to whisper in your ear. “I don’t know, Avatar. I’m not so sure I’m the only one getting attached.” A chill was sent down your spine.

“Surrender Avatar!” Kuvira backs up, ignoring what just happened between the two of you. You knew what she would do if you said no. But it was your job to stop her from taking Zaofu.

“N-” You were cut off when Kuvira was sent flying. Once she was out of your way you saw that Opal was the one to move her.

“Opal!” you yelled. You still pull yourself from your restraints and look over at Kuvira. She was lying on the ground unconscious and bleeding.

“Shit!” you cursed. You wouldn’t have put it past Opal to have done this on purpose.

You ran over to her body and looked for where the blood was coming from. There was a gash above her right eye that would surely leave a scar if not healed by water. Sadly you had no water.

“Get a medic over here!” you yelled out. Opal and Jinora hadn’t come over to help you. Why would they? Kuvira’s the bad guy.

You saw a soldier and, who you assumed to be, the medic run over. The medic was carrying a bag in his hand. You adjusted Kuvira so she was laying on you, allowing the medic to work on the wound.

“I need to take her back to our camp, Avatar,” the medic told you. Under normal circumstances, like Kuvira losing the fight fairly you would have said no.

“Take her.” You moved so the shoulder could take her from you.

You stood up and walked away, not looking at Opal or Jinora. Zaofu would be free for a little while longer. If only Kuvira hadn’t been such a tease things would have been different.

#kuvira x reader #kuvira/reader #kuvira #kuvira legend of korra

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

2 Become 1. Trish x F Reader [Smut]

a/n: uhh. i love women. ahaaaaaaaaa.... i’ve never really written smut before so here’s to hoping this is Coherent . i imagine this taking place a few years down the line from the anime, when trish is an established singer and you’re her adoring gf!! thank you @vani-ya for editing my first attempt at smut <33 word count: 2.2k. warnings: light suffocation, verbal degradation, some possessiveness.

“You always let them look at you like that,” Trish huffs, kicking her pearl colored taormina pumps off onto the floor without a care. Her typically meticulously styled hair has been reduced to a shadow of itself, loose strands of pink locks framing her face. She looks unhinged, the cocktail dress wrapped around her chest moving in time with her heaving breaths. “I can’t stand it.”

Your weight shifts from leg to leg, uncertain of how to best resolve this situation. Tonight was meant to be a monumental one for your lover, the release of her second full album. Accompanying the event was an exclusive party, high society socialites coming in droves to support and swarm about. Big name celebrities that maintain friendships with Trish weren’t a rare occurrence, as much as she bemoans having to stay on good terms with people she could care less for.

It was all going just fine until one of them started flirting with you.

She’s given you the cold shoulder ever since. You thought she’d be more understanding of your situation, not wanting to place her in an unwanted position by chasing off the suitor. Choosing your words felt almost like a death sentence, destined to upset someone no matter what you do. Unluckily for you, it’s Trish who’s exacting her pointed wrath upon you. All feeble attempts at explanations went unheard in favor of berating your supposedly “lascivious” behavior.

“What? Fantasizing about him now or something? Stop zoning out and listen to me.” Her voice is laced with sweet poison, like a deadly melody to your ears. She scrunches her nose up -- as you’ve noticed she does when displeased -- glossy lips down turned. All of her mannerisms are memorized like the back of your hand, a treasure map you’ve long grown familiar with. This emotion of unbridled rage is a new one, and despite yourself, you feel a growing heat in between your legs at how she’s speaking down towards you.

“I’m not zoning out,” you reaffirm, applying a quick bandaid to a worsening situation. “Please, just let me explain--”

“Explain what? That you wanted someone other than me to fuck you?”

The vulgar words fall from her tongue with ease, striking a chord within you. You’ve always known her to be the possessive type, coming from nothing and making her own way in the world. You were the only person she’s ever confided in, a reality that makes your heart swell with pride. She cherishes you, as you do her.

“That’s not it at all.”

This time, she opts to ignore you, struggling with the zipper on the back of her dress. Trish blows a strand of hair out of her face, growing more frustrated by the second. Your brain is still trying to work this out, thinking of all the best possible things to say to calm her down. When she gets like this, indignant and turning her nose to you, there’s not much to say. The pent up frustration needs a release somehow, and you have a few ideas on how to help her.

“Cara,” your voice is a low hush, just loud enough to reach her ears. You walk towards her, slowly, accenting the sway of your hips with every step. This dress hugs your figure perfectly, a gift given by your girlfriend. She’s still refusing to look at you, caught up in her mental battle of angst. The goosebumps dotting her skin don’t go unnoticed by you, familiar with how much she adores being called pet names by you. “Let me make it up to you.”

Your shared King size bed creaks underneath the addition of your weight. From the rush of getting ready for tonight, clothes and shoes line the floor of your penthouse suite. Being so close to her gives a chance to inhale her signature perfume, rich with jasmine and hints of blackberry. Lips hover just above the pulse of her neck, tongue swiping out to lick a spot that sends her shivering.

“Y-you can’t,” she inhales, rubbing her thighs together, “seduce me out of this one. I’m serious, you know.”

Humming against her soft skin in confirmation, your lips turn into a smile. She’s under your divine spell, her quickening pulse betraying the indifference of her words. Sucking lightly against the spot, you earn a sharp inhale when teeth meet flesh in a loving bite. Trish’s entire body is tense, muscles refusing to relax. Moving away from the spot on her neck, one of her most sensitive ones, you take in Trish’s appearance. Thick mascara-covered eyelashes cover her emerald eyes, roseate lips parting to either admonish you or encourage you further.

Placing a hand on the soft skin of her thigh, you give a tentative squeeze.

“Can’t seduce you out of this one, huh?” You can’t help but repeat her words back with a knowing smile, earning another sour expression. She tuts, peeling your groping hand off of her. Instead of pushing you away, she takes ahold of your shoulders, shoving you recklessly against the bed and climbing on top of you, straddling your hips.

It’s her turn to tease you now, rubbing achingly slow just above your heat. You can feel her panties growing more soaked with each gyration, curses slipping from her lips. The stain this’ll undoubtedly leave against your dress is of little concern to you, too preoccupied with watching your girlfriend fuck herself against your exposed thighs to care. She leans her head back, movements growing more frantic, and in turn making your own heat desire stimulation. Before she can go further with her movements, she stops, as if remembering you’re there with her. Cheeks flushing, she motions to the zipper on the back of her dress. Understanding the silent message, you peel the fabric off of her skin, revealing her soft chest. Unable to help yourself, you dip down, latching your mouth against her sensitive nipple and suckling it softly.

“S-such a whore, aren’t you?” She manages to get out in between shaky sighs. You let your actions speak on your behalf, occupying yourself with pleasuring her pert nipple. With your free hand, you knead her chest, thumb rubbing sensual circles into her. Moving back, you take the chance to flick your tongue over her nipple, drinking in the unabashed moans that drip from her lips like honey. She cants her chest into you, not so subtly grinding her clothed heat against you once more.

Moving back with an audible pop, you look up to her. “I could say the same for you.”

Needing some friction of your own, your fingers dip into your panties to rub against your slick folds. Trish watches with interest as you pleasure yourself, subconsciously biting her lip at the sight. With how worked up the two of you are getting, it wouldn’t take long to climax, but where’s the fun in that? Her hand snaps to yours, wrapping around your wrist and pulling it away.

“Did I say you could do that?” The edge one would expect to accompany the words is gone, replaced with a deep longing. She can never stay upset with you for long. You’re both her weakness and strength, the sun that illuminates her life. You giggle at her impatience, lithe fingers tugging up your dress without wasting anymore time. She raises an eyebrow at your lacy black panties. Seeing how the skimpy fabric hugs the curves of your hips, accenting your ass, has her chewing the inside of her mouth. Had you not pissed her off earlier, she might have complimented your stupidly attractive body.

Pushing the thought away for later, she pulls down your panties. Your cunt is on full display, flushed and begging to be touched. The way she stares at you, like a predator wanting to devour a meal, sends shivers down your spine. Kicking off her own panties, she throws them onto the floor without a care. Trish sweeps down, placing kisses against your clavicle, her soft hair brushing against your exposed skin.

Not wanting to waste any more time, having hours of pent up frustration to take out on you, she presses you further into the bed. You spread your legs, already anticipating her next movements. Trish moves her pussy against yours, the both of you letting out a low noise. She inhales shakily, steadying her arms on either side of you. Treating you like nothing other than a tool for her own pleasure, she fucks herself against you, moans growing louder with every movement of her hips. Any teasing for her zeal in pleasing herself dies out on your tongue, too occupied with the delicious friction of your cunts rubbing together. You move your hips up to meet her halfway, head thrown back at how amazing she makes you feel.

Trish pants, increasing her pace, but growing more erratic in the process. “You… you make me so angry…”

You whimper pitifully at her admonishing, Trish takes the opportunity to pinch your nipples in a borderline painful fashion. It sends a wave of pleasure over you, moan after moan leaving your lips as she continues to abuse your pussy with her own. You can feel your release building up, growing stronger with each passing second. Trish, your ever-attentive girlfriend, senses how your thighs start to tense up.

“That’s, hah, that’s right,” she takes in a deep breath, flicking your nipple once again. “Ngh… come, just because of me… no one else, only me…!”

You let out a strangled moan at her encouragement, orgasm sending waves of satisfaction throughout your entire body. She continues her movements, fucking you to the fullest, wanting the scent of her perfume to seep into your skin. To have you all to herself, claiming you as her personal slut. Knowing that if anyone wanted a taste of you, it’d be Trish’s cum mixed in with your own. When your body relaxes against the bed, sweat covered chest trying desperately to take in air, she moves off your exhausted body.

Still overcoming your own haze, you manage to weakly ask what she’s doing, knowing she has yet to come. But she shushes you, crawling over to your spot on the bed. Before you get the chance to ask what she’s doing, she lifts herself up, her own wet folds hovering just inches above your face. You flush a bright red at the sight, able to interpret what it is she wants, but still surprised by the boldness of her actions.

“Act like a whore, get treated like a whore. Make some use of that stupid tongue for once.”

Trish lowers herself against your mouth without another word. Out of instinct, your hands reach to grope the plump curve of her ass, keeping her from suffocating you entirely. She moans when your fingertips dig into the soft skin, unable to stop herself from humping your face. Swallowing, your tongue peaks out, flattening against her hot cunt. In a slow, teasing motion, you take your time tasting her. Tongue pressed harshly against her folds, starting at the bottom and licking to the top. You stop just shy of her clit, holding back a laugh at the whine she emits.

Feeling a new sense of vigor at the taste of your girlfriend’s cum leaking out, you lap at her pussy, knowing testing her patience any further will land you in hot water. Trish’s fingers curl up, hips gyrating in time with your tongue’s movements. She’s getting closer herself, body growing tenser as you eat her pussy out. Her hands reach out to the bedpost, steadying her trembling thighs. With the newfound support, she fucks your face, frantically chasing her own release. Her moans increase in volume, a string of curses leaving her as she stills against your tongue, which alternates between sucking and licking her heat.

There’s no speaking at first, only Trish climbing off of you. She swings her legs over the side of the bed, not wanting you to see how flushed her face is. The opportunity to take in much needed oxygen is taken advantage of, panting until your heart rate settles just a bit. When she doesn’t initiate a conversation, you crawl over to her bare back, placing kisses on it. Wrapping your arms around her midsection, your lips press against the shell of her ear, blowing.

“Are you still mad at me, il mio angelo musicale?”

You nibble on her ear as she tenses, all too familiar with how much she loves your little nickname for her. Trish doesn’t swat you away, instead leaning against your bare chest, sighing at the sensation. She wants to berate you further, but a void in her heart stops the words from leaving. All along, she knew on some level that you weren’t doing anything malicious. Just the thought of some man coming along and picking your unfairly cute self up was upsetting enough. She’s lost too much, too many people.

If she lost you, her world would be meaningless.

Instead of voicing any of these sentimental thoughts, she clicks her tongue. There’s no spite in her words, not anymore, instead replaced with thinly veiled adoration for you. “Maybe. I’ll have to think about it some more.”

“If you need to ride my face again just to find out, let me know. You’ll have to pay for my neck surgery, should it be necessary.”

“S-shut up! God you’re so stupid…”

#trish x reader #trish una x reader #trish una #not sfw #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #JJBA #jjba part 5 #jjba x reader #my stuff #jojo's bizarre adventures imagines #vento aureo #vento aureo x reader

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cozymoko · 4 years

Note

What if yandere Sasuke's s/o escapes him and he finds them years later with a kid that turns out to be his. They escaped him because they didn't want to raise a kid with him.

🍙 Sasuke was seventeen when you ran away. And I can honestly say he wasn't sad...he was pissed! Heh, who knows he might just go on a massacre, much like his older brother, that was the rage that fueled him. How did you get away? He'd ask himself, but 'oh wait, I left the team in charge.' I'd hate to be them, their ass is grass.

——"How the hell did you let her get away? You had one job and you failed." The stability in his voice was quite frightening.

🍙 Sasuke took off, to search for you, not only because he adores you but because he doesn't want to see you happy with somebody else. The Uchiha wanted you for a reason, and he won't settle for anyone else. You were all he had and all he could ever want.

🍙 He would continue his search for you, all the way through the great ninja war. His heart was heavy, his body seemingly stripped of all emotions. The little hope he had started to fade, at that point, he felt as though he had truly lost you, and the only thing that kept him going is the promise Naruto brought to him.

——"Sasuke, join us and I swear I'll get {Name} back to you!"

🍙 Much to your displeasure, Naruto kept his promise. He found you and organized a meeting with this "secret person," Who could perhaps be your new love interest, to aid you with the baby. Times were tough and you just started to get back into dating. So you accepted, but you didn't like the outcome.

🍙 Sasuke was stunned that Naruto kept his word as he'd watched at you violently lovingly. His eyes would dart to the baby in your arms. The man's expression was hard to read but you could tell he was contemplating his next words. Sasuke would open his mouth, his tone coming off a bit harsher than anticipated.

——"Whose baby is that {Name}?"

🍙 He would become more civil as he has aged but that still didn't take away the rage and disappointment he had bottled up. The fact that you held a baby in your arms only fueled his irritation. The thought of you being with another man tore him to pieces. How could you possibly do something so vile, he was the only one worthy of you.

🍙 Once you told him about the baby being his Sasuke is excited. But still upset at that being the reason you ran away, not wanting to take care of the child with him, it was his after all. He'd never get physical with you, Sasuke would show his displeasure with your choices in other ways.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀»»——◖🍙◗——««

The Uchiha eyed you, expression soft yet holding an unreadable emotion in them. He looked at the toddler huddling into your neck. His onyx eyes staring back into Sasuke's identical ones. He watched the baby reach for him with grabby hands, an adorable smile grazing his lips.

"He's mine right?" Sasuke asked, taking the infant's tiny hands in his.

"Of course," You sneered. "I told you this already."

Sasuke grunted, taking the baby into his arms. The Uchiha gazed into the boy's eyes, rocking him in his arms, to which the baby giggled. How could she keep something so precious away from me? The black-haired male thought, setting the baby back in his stroller.

You glared at the man although your body tensed at any movement from him. Sasuke watched you, tempted to take you in his arms and show you who you belong to. To take out all his pent-up love and frustration on you. To feel you after not being able to even look at you in years.

"{Name}," Sasuke said.

"What do you want?" You asked, moving closer to your baby.

"Listen," He started, pulling your arm in a loose hold. "I may have let you get away years ago. But now that we have a child and I've found you." Sasuke jerked you in his arms, holding you up as your legs went weak. "I don't intend on letting you go again."

#yandere x reader #yandere sasuke #yandere headcanons #yandere naruto #naruto headcanons #sasuke uchiha #naruto imagines #pregnant s/o #anime headcanons #yandere+sasuke+x+reader #naruto shippuden imagines #naruto shippuden headcanons

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marcsundar · 3 years

Text

Black Cat Husband

On a day when all was well in the world, John Harris moved his right arm on the breakfast table to fetch the honey when he accidentally elbowed the bottle of milk which fell from the table and on to the floor. This was where it all came down and John snapped.

Previously in John's life he was working a job - a job where he was not moving fast enough. Since university he had worked 10 years but quite blatantly fucked around for about 7 of them. He started off in a junior position and then got the right promotion which would have seen him fast track to the big time in management consultancy. However, he was young and realised that there was more to life than money. So he quit, got a part time job behind the counter in a bookies, lived with his mum and simply took it easy for the next six years.

He tried various hobbies like building his own computer from components bought from online retailers and computer fayres. John built up a large DVD collection and had a decent home cinema set up in his room. Sometimes he spent so much time there his mother got frustrated. But she was glad he was around.

He spent weekends going out with mates; drinking a lot, pulling (he’d call) ‘loose’ women and then recovering the following day. At work he had no intention of moving up the corporate ladder from sales advisor to one day a manager. He just worked to get some money to fuck around with. Money spent on DVDs, beer and occasional hotel rooms.

Then he met Millie. At a club no less but she was zestful and enjoyed herself. She was different to the other women he met in clubs and bars - they were all made up and simply wanted to fuck their lives away like John did. Millie on the other hand seemed to respect herself - she laughed vociferously and smiled a freckled smile which made John reconsider where he was.

They got together and went out a bit. They went for walks in Gunnersbury park - a park behind the office where Millie worked as a personal assistant for a corporate CEO. They became intimate with each other at a Travelodge hotel near Holborn in the London Euston area. They continued to see each other for about a year before John proposed. It was a spare of the moment proposal - there was no ring. The two were walking in Richmond park when they got to the brow of a hill which overlooked London. A magnificent setting for a grand gesture.

Millie wasn't the kind of girl who wanted a big wedding, so three months later they were wed in a civil ceremony at Bracknell town hall. They had an evening reception where everyone was invited but the ceremony was for close friends and family.

No sooner were they married, John started to look for positions in management consultancy, he tried to pick up where he left off, however, none of the big companies wanted to give him that opportunity - even his previous employer. So he started out, back at the bottom for another firm. He was managed by people younger than himself, he was doing the projects he had invested himself, mind and body energy almost ten years previous. The frustration grew.

A few months into his new determination to be a providing husband, his mother passed away. John was left cold and shunted. The death of a primary caregiver is at least up there in the top 3 things that will fuck up one's mind. John felt, at the time that he could not afford to let the emotional spill get in the way of being the amazing husband he perceived he was and knew that he would never give up on being better at it. He bottled away the grief to carry on driving his career.

From where this tale started off, yesterday, John received some news which put him back. Two others who started with him were promoted to the level John achieved at the beginning of his career. John did not receive this promotion. His abilities were best laid in another path and if he wanted the same progress he would have to wait another year, continue growth doing the same things for another year. John calculated that he missed a crucial module of his career development attending to his mothers' funeral and minor estate arrears. He had already completed the module almost ten years ago but that didn't count. He was on the brink of self destruction.

Today, he spilt some milk. This led him over the edge. All the raw pent up frustration. All the bottled up grief. All the regrets of not having continued whilst young - wasting his youth and time. All the memories of his mother; the one person, who when he was fucking up; never turned her back on him; providing him with shelter to do his own thing, to help him see that he was fucking up, but not in a bad way, letting him realise that he needed to grow up. The woman who was happiest of all when he impromptu, married the woman of his dreams.

It all got so manifested within him in a cosmic-emotional response to the milk bottle smashing on the floor that he changed. All of a sudden. Pow! Just like that - phantoosh and finished. Cloud of smoke and all… in the split second he heard and looked to the milk crash… he became what he associated with the moment. Feline. Yes reader; he turned into a cat.

What can I say? I'm not making this up! John turned into a cat at the point where his mind could not cope with his body. When I say turned into, perhaps it is more projection in an astral way. His mind, spirit or soul, what have you, leapt from his body and found the last association in his brain. Cats drink milk, they knock over bottles.

So John found himself on the street in the body of a cat. Once he realised what was happening, he was in time to witness a very familiar car rattle passed at a fair speed. It was his car. His joint owned car with Millie. Millie was on her way to work.

John felt the rage. He felt the disgrace of life. He saw what he needed to do. End it. If he was finished, Millie could get on with everything. Find less of a loser and less of a bottler of emotions. A real man… not a cat.

John the cat darted a pedestrian short cut he knew of the area to get to the road which Millie would likely drive down in the Fiat Punto. He knew which car to hide under. He found a perfect view of the road approach and where Millie would come in from. He saw her drive down and waited, he was far too pent up to deliver correct timing but knew it was likely she would squash him flat! He ran out and stopped in front of her left front wheel. He looked into her eyes. He saw passed the panic. He saw passed the edging guilt. He saw passed the fright. He saw passed the logical reaction systems being put into use by Millie slamming the breaks.

He saw passed it all and saw love. He saw the love. He saw that through all the troubles he was having, he forgot that Millie loved him. He had forgotten who helped him when he couldn’t help himself when his mother died. He forgot who had got him to quit the idiocy of the life he was living to regain the right path. He had forgotten who he was doing it all for. He had forgotten one emotion which balanced the grief, loss, frustration, anger and depression. Love.

In that moment he was back. Back slouched on the kitchen table, hazy and with some spilt milk to clean up. Not to mention shards of glass. His mobile phone rattled the table. He received a text message from his wife…

Nooooo! Nearly ran over a black cat :(

#short story

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xxrainbow-princessxx · 4 years

Text

It’s the little things (Leo x Isabella)

When you love someone, you know their deepest secrets, how they stand, their expressions. Sometimes you just need someone to notice to help ease the storm. TW: Panic/Anxiety attacks, Violence, Threats of Violence, Swearing ❤️

@cora-nova @choicesbyjade @drakewalkerfantasy @lorircreates @debramcg1106 @desiree-0816 @the-everlasting-dream

Leo’s jaw was taut, teeth clenched as he, Liam, Drake and Bertrand entered the Laurentian Palace. He no more wanted to be there, even less than Drake. Standing in line with the other dignitaries, Leo’s anger couldn’t be quelled growling under his breath, “What the fuck am I doing here?” Constantine sent the boys in his place to the charity evening in his place hoping that Leo would start to get over the Princess if he saw her with someone else. He also had hoped that this would push Leo into making the final few months of his Social Season a lot more straightforward. Isabella greeted the guests one by one with her betrothed husband to be Max by her side.

Liam watched carefully as Leo’s nostrils began to flare, the pent up anger he felt began to bubble closer to the surface. “Woahhh big guy...” Liam leaned into his brothers ear, “She’s only doing her duty... just you have to...” Liam patted his brother’s shoulder in solidarity. Leo turned to face his brother angrily as he spat, “I’m getting on with it aren’t I?!” Leo’s face turned pink and the vein at the side of his neck bulged, “As soon as this is over, I’m out of here!” Within a few more paces forward, Leo and Isabella finally came face to face after weeks of separation. They split up knowing that neither of them could change their situation and Isabella had enough of Leo’s hedonistic lifestyle; one of them had to grow up and take the bullet.

Leo’s sea green eyes narrowed with a look of disgust towards Max before he could even look at Isabella. He gave into his stubbornness, refusing to shake Señor Rodríguez’s hand - more to the point ignoring him fully as if he wasn’t there. Until his gaze was fixated on her. All he desperately wanted to do was reach out and hug her but he knew he couldn’t and quietly he bowed without saying much more than a word to her. Isabella’s bambi like brown eyes followed him, glistening like glass as she tried desperately to blink away tears. In the last few weeks, Isabella didn’t think that Leo could have hurt her more than he had just done. Max noticed her staring and leaned against her ear whispering, “What are you pining for? He never loved you... he only loved the thought of you Princess. We will be married soon and all that nonsense will be over...” reminding her that she belonged to him.

Leo’s grip tightened around the crystal whiskey tumbler he held until his knuckles began to turn white. Turning to Liam as they sat in the VIP section, Leo’s nostrils flared with jealous rage, “This is ridiculous... he’s a fucking slimeball!” Liam began to wince as Leo’s anger grew more and more to the surface as he had to watch Isabella stand with her betrothed husband to be Max greeting those in the crowd. “Look at him...” he spat, gesturing towards the pair “... playing happy families and for fucking what?! Huh?!” Liam’s concern grew as he diplomatically tried to settle the situation. Whispering under his breath, Liam remained poised and relaxed, “Leo, this is a charity night...you need to...” and immediately without skipping a beat, Leo turned to his brother. His sea green eyes glared towards Liam as he hissed, “I am fucking calm!” With gritted teeth, Leo crossed his right leg over his left, resting his right elbow on the chair and his forefinger was pressed against his temple whilst Drake and Bertrand could only look on in awkwardness. No woman ever got under Leo’s skin as much as Isabella did.

Max and Leo had a hate/hate relationship. Both of them vying for the same woman’s attention but Max knew deep down that as soon as Leo would click his fingers - Isabella’s stiletto heels would be clicking behind him and for Max he had everything to lose and knew he had to keep them apart. He was from a well established noble family but not a Royal. A man several years Isabella’s senior and with this marriage agreement, his future would be cemented in Laurentian history. He was great with King Felipe, helping and assisting him with various duties which meant that he could also manipulate her father into ensuring that they would be together at events like this - but with Leo in the way, he put Max’s future plans at risk. It sickened him that she would have to be in his company let alone 10ft in the same vicinity.

As Isabella made her way through the crowd, Leo couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Her usually dark chocolate hair was no longer in a curl, but straightened. Loose tendrils framed her face as her hair cascaded over one of her shoulders. Her curves were poured into a black velvet gown with a split on the left side emphasising her olive sun kissed skin. His eyes followed her as of an animal was stalking its prey as she stood on the purpose built stage. Leo’s brow furrowed as she nervously shuffled, tucking her hair behind her left ear Isabella began to address those in attendance in various languages. To those on the outside, she was a vision of confidence but Leo knew deep down something was wrong. He watched as she dug her forefinger nail into the side of her thumb dragging it along so the pain of her sharp nails would keep her in the present. He couldn’t help himself, “Excuse me...” Leo got up from his seat, as Liam stopped him, gripping his bulging bicep under his dinner jacket, “Where are you...?” Leo pulled his arm back growling, “This doesn’t concern you...”

Leo knew the Laurentian Palace like the back of his hand, weaving through the crowd towards the back of the purpose built stage knowing that’s where she would have to walk down from. As Isabella finished her speech, her pace quickened - she needed to get away. She felt like she’d just been hit in the chest as Isabella struggled to catch her breath. Her hand began to shake as she delicately placed it onto the handrail, running out the side door before Leo could get to her. Leo started to become more frustrated as the crowds grew larger and he needed to get out until he saw Javier from the side of his eye guarding the door to the atrium. “Javier... I need out there now...” Javier moves his broad frame across the door, “I’m sorry your Royal Highness... but under the King and Queen’s command - I cannot let you...”

Leo seethed as she shoved the guard out of the way, “I don’t have fucking time for this!” before he ran down the long corridor knowing there were only a few places Isabella could have gotten to. The corridors were quiet and each step he made echoed loudly. Leo opened a few doors, becoming more agitated, “Where is she?!” Until he made it to the end of the east wing and there she was, stopping him in his tracks. Isabella was sat on the floor, her knees brought forward to her chest as she shook in fear. Leo took a deep breath, swallowing hard as the sight broke his heart before he made his way slowly to approach Isabella. Leo carefully lowered himself onto the floor in front of her as she was hyperventilating. Isabella’s breathing became erratic as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Leo reached out, cupping her heart shaped face gently into his hands tilting her head upwards towards him, “Come on Bella...” he spoke quietly his gaze never leaving her, “...just follow my breathing... in... out...” he began to smile as she followed suit, “that’s it...kitten... you’re doing amazing...” It wasn’t the first time he had to help her through an attack like this. Leo moved himself to sit beside her, taking the Laurentian Princess into his arms, holding her tight. He took a deep breath, smelling her jasmine perfume that she always sprayed into her hair, “it’s ok...” he began to whisper... “I got you sweetheart...” before he placed a gentle kiss onto the top of her head. As the guards finally caught up with him, he didn’t care of the consequence. Resting Isabella against his chest, Leo stroked her hair as his sea green eyes narrowed angrily at the guards currently pointing guns towards him but his attention to the Princess never wavered, “I’m not going anywhere ok?” It killed him as over the last few weeks all he wanted to do was hold her, but not like this.

Isabella felt completely lost. She didn’t feel safe without Leo. Her heart raced as her mind screamed louder than those around her drowning out all sound. “He didn’t love you... you’re not good enough ... Don’t be an embarrassment... Just get over it and do as you’re told!...’ Isabella’s long manicured nails dug into the inner sides of her arms, scratching the surface leaving red marks. It was a form of relief for the Laurentian brunette, helping her feel like she was in the now. As Leo held her closely, the smell of his cologne soothed her; It was familiar, it was safe - she finally was coming around from the peak of her panic attack. Leo looked up to the ceiling blinking back tears as he spoke in a soft hushed tone so only Isabella would hear, “You are my moon... my stars and everything else in between. When I look into your eyes, I see shooting stars and each time I wish that I can hold onto you just a little longer...” Javier caught up with the guards alongside King Felipe and Queen Gisele.

King Felipe scowled at his guard, “What is wrong with you all?!” signalling for them to lower their weapons, “Go! Leave us immediately!” The King and Queen moved towards the Cordonian Crown Prince holding their daughter tightly. Isabella’s mother moved Isabella’s hair from her face as she cooed, “My beautiful darling, mama is here...” wiping the tears from her daughters face as her father looked on pitifully. It was a well hidden secret of the Princess’ panic and anxiety attacks and he was impressed that the boy knew what to do without hesitation. As Isabella’s mother helped her from the floor, Leo slowly stood up; his heart breaking watching the Queen and Princess walk away. He pulled on the sleeves of his jacket and on the lapels to straighten the material, dusting himself off before the King cleared his throat, “Leo...”

Leo rolled his eyes to the left surveying where the King stood not expecting much. “Yes?” Isabella’s father was always hard on him. “Thank you...” Felipe began to smile, “...thank you for helping my Bella through this...” Leo raised his brow as the King continued, “Is there anything I can do to repay you?” Leo shoved his hands into his pockets as he cleared his throat, “You can reconsider my offer...” Felipe’s smile dropped and his expression became sullen, “My boy... you know I can’t...” Taking a deep breath, Leo pursed his lips, “You can’t... or you won’t?” Leo allowed his emotions to get the better of him, “You do realise the more you push this shambles of a betrothal, the more Isabella will feel the burden... I cannot stand by any longer and...”

“Leo...” her father commanded, “My daughter will be married to whom I see fit!” Leo gritted his teeth as he listened to the King chastised him, “You will know your place in my house!” Leo walked forward towards King Felipe, his jaw tense, his broad shoulders squared, “If you want to repay me, then listen to what your daughter wants for once...” Leo brushed past the King back towards the ballroom until he heard Max sneering in the atrium to one of the guards, “Oh not another episode...” rolling his eyes. “It’s simply getting embarra....” Leo was enraged and didn’t care who saw.

He grabbed Max by his shirt and punched him to the ground, “You’re the fucking embarrassment!” before he landed a kick to Max’s stomach, blood pouring from his mouth and nose. “You say another word about her again and I promise you... no one will never find you!” The Cordonian Crown Prince walked back into the ballroom as if nothing ever happened. Leo poured himself a glass of brandy, downing it immediately as the three men stared, noticing the specs of blood on his knuckles, “Time to go boys...” Leo quipped with a grin on his face before he chuckled, “Let’s go before Bertrand’s uncle wants to kill me more than he does on a usual day...”

#TheRoyalRomance #leo x isabella #choices the royal romance #choices the royal heir #prince liam #the royal romance fic #royal romance au #Choices #playchoices #playchoices fic #playchoices fanfiction #playchoices fanfic

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whiskeyworen · 4 years

Text

Stormy Thoughts

The storm was raging outside. Two days ago, they had seen the rising, roiling clouds coming off the Sea of Sorrow, and decided to break port. The Forsaken Aspect's cloak and Illusion generators were powerful... but they would not be able to hide her physical shape against the rain. It wouldn't do for some dockworker to look out over the bay and see a Pact airship that somehow was shielded from the rain by something much bigger-- and cloaked -- to boot.

So rather than avoiding it, a course was set for the middle of nowhere out on the sea. There, the ship dropped its anchors; heavy Asuran geomagnetic anchors tethered to the ship by self-repairing Sylvari-tech vine chains. It wasn't a new design, but it was something being used in a novel fashion; the vines were a modification of the barrier vines the Pact used back in Fort Trinity, only on a far larger scale. Even if the anchors didn't physically hit bottom, their field projectors latched onto the ores in the sea bottom with their powerful magnets, becoming almost immobile in the water.

Thus docked, the crew decided to wait out the storm. It was almost a... vacation of sorts. They couldn't even jump the ship through a Mist portal because of the distortion the hurricane was creating not just in the atmosphere, but in the local magical fields.

It was somewhere on the second night, when things started to happen.

***

Moryggan started awake for the fifth time, shooting up in bed in terror, before groaning in frustration. Outside the lightning flashed yet again, and the rumble rolled through the ship. She glared at the large picture window that ran the length of her quarters; it was her fault really, for choosing THIS particular room as hers. She'd wanted to see the sea and sky passing by, and the big window seemed perfect for that.

The problem was, it put her on the edge of the ship on the upper decks somewhere below the bridge; though the hull was thick around there, it wasn't soundproof. So the lightning flashed angrily, and the thunder rolled menacingly, and once again, she was denied sleep.

"Pale Tree damn it." She muttered, tossing the covers off in irritation. Moryggan climbed out of bed, grumpily sliding a pair of deck shoes on and a housecoat over her night slip. "...never going to get any sleep in this room."

As if to taunt her, the lightning arced outside, striking the ship's energy barrier, dispersing with a noisy bang and an electric squeal from the shield. Moryggan's eyes narrowed and she ground her teeth, a sound of frustration hissing from her as she headed for the door. She'd have to find sleep elsewhere.

***

On the other side of the ship, in quarters that mirrored Moryggan's, the storm was having a negative effect on someone else as well. Though for a significantly different reason.

Tenna whimpered quietly in her sleep. The lightning didn't bother her...but the thunder did. And the rain. She'd fallen asleep alright earlier in the night, but as the storm worsened, the sound of the rain and the thunder woke ugly memories that then infiltrated her dreams.

The roar of the Jungle Dragon. The gunshot. The explosions rocking the fleet.

The hot dampness she felt when she woke, that burning inside and the fetid air of the gullet of the Stonehead.

"Submit and die!" Mordremoth's stone-grating voice grumbled out of the darkness, carried on the voice of thunder from the real world. "You will never escape me!"

She could see the great prow of an airship coming down at her as she fell, the gleam of the razor-sharp metal as it plunged towards her chest...

Tenna woke with a start as another thundercrack rolled over the hull, clutching her kingfisher griffon plush tightly. Her eyes darted around, thinking that somehow the horrors of her dream had followed her into waking, before she let out a pent up breath explosively.

"....I hate these dreams." She muttered, and flopped out of bed, pulling the plushie with her as she wobbled towards the door. Her oversized Disintegrating Gourds T-shirt hung almost to her ankles; she'd deliberately bought a human-sized version specifically for the size, and because the image printed on it was bigger.

Not that any of that mattered to her as she sleepily scratched at it as she trudged out into the hall. There was only one thing on her mind; the one place she'd be able to get some rest.

***

Cyrus lay awake, staring up at the skylight. Compared to other cabins on the same deck, he actually had the most window space of them all. He just didn't like having the shutters open at all times. So instead of the long, curved wall of portholes that would have been the side of his cabin, he had the sliding armor shutters closed, leaving only a relatively small skylight near the top exposed.

His cabin actually extended out onto the forward, upper hull slightly, so instead of having a vertical wall and porthole, his was a curved, half-egg shaped window lattice. On good days, with the shutters up, he could almost look up and see the bubble of the bridge's viewport from his room.

For now though, with the storm raging outside and the ship's shields up, it was just easier to have the shutters closed. He could still hear the rain pummelling the shutters and the roof, and see a little bit of the storm through the skylight, so that was nice. But he didn't want to be blinded by lightning flashes either, or woken by the squeal of the shield as it took electrical hits.

Cyrus just couldn't seem to drift off though. Not for any particular reason, but sometimes he just...couldn't relax enough to sleep. He'd always had an issue with internalized tension, and sometimes it caused him insomnia.

Just looked to be one of those nights.

"....tomorrow is going to suck if I can't get any sleep." He muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He sighed. "Maybe I should see if there's a sedative in the infirmary I can take."

But that would require getting out of bed. He was comfy, as it was. Getting up would mean pulling on some pants, maybe boots, and heading below decks. So much trouble just to sleep.

He was about to lever himself out of bed when there was a knock on his door. Who could it be at this hour? Cyrus took a moment to check if he was decent (he was), before calling out. "Who is it?" "Moryggan." Came the reply.

Moryggan was up too? "Come on in. Don't worry, I'm decent." She opened the door and stepped in, closing it behind her. To his surprise, she seemed kinda reluctant, but it might be the fact she was just wearing a simple nightgown and robe.

In his quarters.

While he was in his own night clothes.

Some part of him entertained the idea that maybe, just maybe, that was a hint of a little green blushing glow on her face that she was trying to surpress.

"Sorry for bothering you so late, Cyrus. I was... having trouble sleeping."

He nodded, sitting up completely. "That's alright... I was kind of awake anyway. Was there something you wanted?"

She nodded, approaching the bed. Sitting on the edge she awkwardly rubbed her arm with a hand, before reaching up to gingerly touch the scar on her forehead, her eyes going distant for a moment. Before he could ask, she shook herself back to reality, and looked at him.

"I was wondering... hoping you'd let me rest here for the night." She glanced up at the skylight, wincing as lightning flashed, but thankful the thunder was muted by plate armor thicker than that around her own cabin. The flash too, had been dimmer because of the small size of the window. "...The storm. It's, uh... it's brought up a lot of bad memories, and I kind of don't want to be alone."

Cyrus blinked dumbly for a moment, and then shimmied aside, offering her more of the bed. "Uh, yeah. Sure. If that's what you want. Do you want a separate blanket or anything?"

Moryggan shook her head and shed the robe, turning and flopping onto her side, facing away from him. "No...thank you."

After a moment, she shifted and pulled some of the blanket over herself. Cyrus just lay back down, and rolled onto his side -- facing away from her of course. It felt awkward to him; the idea of laying on his back next to his teammate and friend like this. At least facing away was acceptable. It wasn't like they hadn't shared close quarters before; in their travels they'd had to share tents and inn rooms before.

It was just the fact that normally he'd be wearing more than he was. Even those stays at the inns, he usually had a long-sleeved tunic on, along with loose leggings. The concept of accidental contact, let alone accidental skin-contact just wasn't a thing when he dressed like that for bed. Thinking about it, he was pretty sure that Moryggan too, had worn more to bed. He just couldn't for the life of him remember what.

Moryggan on the other hand -- while Cyrus' mind went down a rabbit hole -- stared out across the room to where his desk was installed along the wall. She found her gaze caught by the rack of small paint bottles, and the badly stained ceramic cup resting near the lamp. Did he have a hobby? She wondered, frowning a bit and looking around without moving. She'd never thought of it before, but in the last few years travelling with him, she'd never paid attention to things like that. Did he have a hobby? The few times they stopped by his place in Divinity's Reach, there'd been times he'd retreated to his room for hours while she wandered the city.

Moryggan never asked what he'd done in there; just assumed he was plotting out more of his Plan. The one that led to the revival of the Home Base, and the creation of the Forsaken Aspect. Even after the ship launched, there'd be days when he'd disappear to his quarters for hours, sometimes days, without talking to anyone except the Aspect.

"Cyrus?" She asked quietly.

"Mm?"

"Do you..." Moryggan paused, unsure how to proceed. It was the middle of the night. Maybe it wasn't the best time to probe. "Ah, nevermind..."

"....Okay."

An awkward silence filled the room as they both tried to fall asleep. Every time the lightning flashed above, though, Moryggan flinched a bit, a sensation that Cyrus could feel through the bed every time she did it.

"Mory?" He eventually asked, not rolling over. Instead he stared at the far wall, where the armor plate shutters covered his grand window. He felt her grow still, where she had been fidgetting slightly inbetween flinches.

"Yes?"

"...Are you okay over there? It kind of feels like you're on edge."

"Yes... I mean no. I'm not. Okay, I mean." She replied, mixing up her response by accident. She sighed. "It's the storm. Lightning makes me...edgy, I suppose you could call it."

"Is it the sight, or the sound?" Cyrus asked carefully. He didn't like pushing into people's personal space. Not unless he had to.

"Sight. I don't really have an issue with thunder. But the lightning flashes..." She flinched as another bolt lit up the skylight above. A hiss of frustration left her and she drew the blankets up closer to her head. "...I don't like the flash. For reasons."

Cyrus thought for a moment, before sitting up and reaching over to a shelf built into the wall near the bed on his side. From inside, he pulled a length of dark cloth, carefully folded. Item retrieved, he lay back down, but he reached back to dangle the cloth before her, on her side. "... If you want you can try this. I'm a bit of an insomniac, and can be light-sensitive sometimes, so I bought a few blindfolds to use for sleep."

Moryggan blinked at the length of material as it slid from his fingers, exposing the entire length of it. It was only a few inches across, but it was more than two feet long; plenty of material to make an adequate blindfold. She carefully took it from his fingers, and let hers play over the material; to her surprise, it was high-quality silk. Holding it against her eyes, she couldn't see even a bit of light come through; the weave was quite intricate, and the silk itself was multiple layers thick. It was thick, but it was also unbelievably light and soft.

"Thank you." She said softly, considering it, before a thought came to her and a smile quirked her face. "...Never knew you were into that, Cyrus. Sometimes you learn the most interesting things about people."

His response was an exasperated sigh, and she giggled a bit, before sitting up and tying the blindfold on and laying back down.

She waited to see if it'd work, only to smile again when the sound of thunder reached her ears...but the flash had not. "It works. Thank you."

"Not a problem. Just let me know if you need anything else." He sighed tiredly, and closed his eyes, once again trying to sleep.

It wasn't long at all before he felt her shift in the bed again. To his surprise, she shifted backward until her back touched his. It was only the lightest of touches, but he couldn't hold back from moving. It was really more like a spasm, honestly; he hadn't expected skin contact and it surprised the hell out of him. "Uh?..."

"If it's okay..." He heard her say slowly. "Could I ask you to... rub my back, until I fall asleep?"

"Rub. Your back?" Cyrus repeated quietly. "Would that... would that actually help?"

Without looking, he could hear her head shift on the pillow, apparently nodding. "I've always thought about it as reassuring. But I never had anyone who'd do it for me, so..." "Well, if it'll help." He turned over in place, reaching out with one hand. Cyrus paused for a moment, staring at her bare back and neck. He knew on a strictly medical, clinical level that sylvari were essentially plants, but ones that fluoresced in the dark. It was common knowledge, as well as the fact that their skin patterning tended to reflect those of plants as well. It just never occured to him directly, because he'd never been in this situation before. He only stared for a few seconds, but it was enough to set his mind rolling with thought. Moryggan's skin was still the familiar magenta hue, but now he could see that, at least across her back, she had darker, spot-like patterns of deep green, like that of her hair. Or the fact that the sylvari bioluminscence (in her case a gentle mint green) didn't illuminate those spots, instead following pathways both on the surface of her skin, and beneath. Dang. He thought, as he watched her glow pulse slowly in the darkness. That's actually really pretty. Kinda reminds me of some pitcher plants, or something. Or some flowers. His fingers finally touched her back, between her shoulder blades, and to his surprise she shivered a bit, and her glow sped up for a moment. "Ah, sorry. Did I touch the wrong spot?"

"No." Moryggan replied, and shook her head. "No, you just caught me a little off guard, even though I was trying to be prepared for it. Your fingers are a little cool."

"Oh." Cyrus chuckled and then rubbed his fingers, getting them warm, before putting them back on her spine and gently brushing from between her shoulder blades up to the base of her neck. ".... Is that good?"

Moryggan's only response was a quiet, non-verbal mumble of assent, almost a sigh. That made him smirk, as he continued the stroking.

"....back of the neck too..." She eventually murmured, clearly starting to drowse. " 'S'feels nice..." "Glad you're enjoying it." He told her softly.

Over the next few minutes, he continued stroking her back, softly running his fingers up and down, her spine, her neck. At her nonverbal suggestion, he also added a bit of a shoulder rub to what he was doing, eliciting a few more pleasant sighs and murmurs from her. She's almost asleep... He thought, smiling a bit. Maybe when she does I can roll over and get some sleep mys-

That's when the door to his quarters banged open loudly, startling them both. Cyrus snapped up in bed, one hand already reaching for the axe he kept by the bedside in its mount, while Moryggan scrambled to pull the blindfold off, spectral butterflies already floating around her as she prepared to teleport away.

The room was dark, and the doorway was even darker, but it was clear that a small figure was standing in it, foot outstretched in a flat kick. Sleepy, semi-luminscent orange-gold eyes blinked tiredly in the darkness of the doorframe, before a lightning flash cast just enough illumination to reveal the bedraggled asura.

"...Tenna?!" Cyrus was confused. "What the hell?"

Tenna stumbled into the room, scratching at her shirt and blinking dully. She looked around a bit, eyes casting over Moryggan but only lingering for a second or two, before coming back to him.

"....Dreams." She muttered, and shuffled her way to the bed, on the side opposite of where the sylvari lay. The plushie kingfisher griffon in her hand was hooked onto the blanket before she pulled herself onto the bed beside an increasingly confused Cyrus and an alarmed Mory. "Can't sleep...Bad Dreams."

Cyrus's confusion was swept away in an instant, and he scooted away from the edge, giving her room. Immediately he understood, and felt a flash of pity for the little Asura, who proceeded to dig herself under the blankets and wrap both arms around his forearm, burying her face in his upper arm. "Oh.... Right. The dreams."

"Cyrus?" There was a note of irritation in Moryggan's voice, though she tried to hide it. Alarm, confusion, and possibly jealousy warred in her expression as she looked between him and the small being clinging to his arm. "Care to explain this?"

He sighed as he laid back down, propping a pillow under his head as he got comfortable, and gestured for her to do the same. When she'd settled in, turned so she was facing him, that expression still on her face, he shrugged. "Kind of the same story as you...but from a different angle."

"Oh?"

Cyrus reached over to give Tenna's hair a stroke while she continued to bury her face in his arm. "She gets bad dreams. Has had them ever since our days in the Priory. I only found out about them when we ended up on a research mission together and she approached me about it."

Moryggan's expression softened a little. Quietly she asked "Dreams?..."

He nodded, looking up at the skylight as he thought back to the first day an exhausted Tenna finally told him about her problems. "She gets Night Terrors. I won't speak for her about them, but they're for pretty legitimate reasons." His eyes clouded a little as he thought. "Given what the world's gone through in the last few years, it's surprising we don't all suffer from Night Terrors and PTSD." That got a chuckle from Moryggan, where she was resting her cheek on his shoulder. "Well, from the sounds of it, everyone in here right now is suffering from some kind of night ailment."

"Night Terrors, astrapophobia, PTSD, insomnia..." Tenna recited tiredly, eyes closed. "...All'v'us need ther'py."

"So we all end up clinging to each other like wreckage in a storm." Moryggan giggled a bit, and then eyed the plushie Tenna had brought in. "...much like you cling to that cute little toy. It's very cute."

One of Tenna's eyes opened, and she squinted at the sylvari across the bed. "... You makin' fun of me?"

"Not at all! It's adorable." Moryggan's stage smile was clear. "For a moment I forgot you were an adult!"

"...You realize I'm older than you, right?" Tenna riposted. "As the eight-year-old in the room, by all rights you should be the one with the stuffed toy. Right?...Miss 'Single-Digit-Year-Old'?"

Cyrus winced, not just at the friction between the two, but because both of them were now digging their nails into his arms unconsciously. "Alright, enough of that...Come on you two; just cool down and try and get some sleep."

"Right..."

"Sorry..."

There was some shuffling in the dark as everyone got comfortable. The blindfold went back on Moryggan's face, Cyrus propped up more pillow for himself, and Tenna proceeded to make herself more of an attachment to his arm by tightening her grip.

Because of the change of position, he realized he couldn't stroke Mory's back anymore. At least, that's what he thought until she worked her way under his arm to snuggle against him.

"....Sorry, but I still want that back rub." She admitted, her cheeks luminescing in the dark a little. "This is the only way I could think of that'd free your arm up."

"Uh, that's okay." Cyrus replied, wrong-footed. He hadn't expected her to get in that close at all. I can smell her fragrance. He thought. She smells like...jasmine flowers. "I don't mind."

She smiled, and rest her head against his shoulder while he resumed stroking her back.

"I bet you don't." Came a teasing response from Tenna. "Y'got two ladies all snuggled up to ya. You're as happy as a skritt in a treasure trove."

Cyrus had no answer for that at all, and could only stammer a bit, which made both women laugh quietly.

They were all left to their own thoughts after that.

Moryggan still puzzled over what Cyrus might do for a hobby...or what kind of nightmares Tenna actually had. Come to think of it, just how many times over the last few years had Tenna visited him like this? How often has she been here? She wondered, a tinge of jealousy working its way into her thoughts. For some reason, the thought of those two sharing a bed -- even if it was for clinical, theraputic reasons, and entirely non-romantic -- aggravated her.

What hold did Tenna hold over him, that he would unquestioningly let her in like that? She barely said two words, and he moved over to make room for her!

And why was it making her jealous? It's not like she and Cyrus had any kind of relationship. Well... except for that one time, right after the end of Kralkatorrik... and before that, the time when Mordremoth had tried to use her as a puppet... Come to think of it, do we have any kind of relationship? Her thoughts froze as she tried to puzzle out her feelings.

On the other side of the bed, Tenna just groused internally. She'd all but made herself a permanent attachement to Cyrus, feeling the warmth of his arm, her face buried into it as she tried to drift off. She could even smell him; if anything, thanks to her 'adjustment', her sense of smell was pretty darned powerful these days. It felt like bragging, but she privately bet herself she could identify the soap he'd used, and how long it'd been since his last meal or shower.

Still. Sleep. She was so tired, but it was just not coming.

Stupid nightmares. Stupid Dragon. Stupid anxiety. Stupid sylvari already being here. She grumbled harshly, before sighing. No. Not stupid sylvari. Got no right to say that. Mory is a good sylvari. Shouldn't be mad she's here. And Cyrus is nice and warm...

Stop thinking. Just blank the mind and go to sleep. That's what she needed to do.

Stuck right in the middle, Cyrus really was not going to be able to fall asleep. On the one hand, it felt really nice to have them snuggled up against him like this. Tenna hadn't been far off in her statement -- He WAS happy, in a way. But... he was so very, very anxious. He hadn't remotely prepared for a situation like this, or planned for it, because it... it simply wasn't something that ever happened! How do you prepare for two of your companions, both women, both immensely powerful and deadly, cuddling up to you like you're a teddy bear?!

At the same time he was thinking that, his mind was also whirling with every little thing it could see, smell, feel -- all of it. He was keenly aware of Moryggan against him, of the feel of her skin under his still-stroking hand. Cyrus was very much aware of her luminescence, and how it was waxing and waning. The scent of jasmine flowers -- her scent -- was all he could smell.

On the other side, he was also aware of just how much of his arm Tenna was immobilizing, where his hand and fingers were, and for the Gods' sake, not to even attempt to move any of it at all. From wrist to shoulder on that side, he was effectively pinned down by a warm, grumbly asuran engineer.

Yep. He was not going to be able to sleep tonight. Could tonight get any more absurd? He wondered bleakly.

There was a double-knock on his door frame, right before Verula leaned into view. She wasn't looking into the room as she entered; instead consulting a dataslate as she wedged herself into the door frame.

"Hey Cyrus, I saw your door open, so I figured you got insomnia again. I was wondering if I could talk to you about..." That was when she looked into the room, and blinked in surprise. "...about...?....Uh?"

Of course. Cyrus muttered in his own head, even as Tenna grumbled and buried her head more into his shoulder. Moryggan just raised the blindfold with one hand, before sighing and pulling it back down, resuming her sleep spot.

"Hey Verula." He said tiredly.

"Uh. Yeah. Hey." The charr put the slate away, and leaned in looking closer at the scene. There was a supremely perplexed look on her face. "Am... I interrupting something here? Exactly what's going on?"

Cyrus just shook his head and smiled weakly. "Tonight seems to be a bad night for everyone. And for some reason... we're all gravitating here, I suppose."

"....Seriously?"

He nodded. "I did have insomnia."

Moryggan raised her hand loosely, before letting it drop back to the bed. "Lightning wasn't letting me sleep in my own quarters."

"Bad DREAMS." Tenna offered tersely, not even raising her head. "Tryin'a sleep skritt-dammit!"

Cyrus just shrugged a little. "...So yeah. It kinda turned into a therapy-session-slash-sleepover somehow."

Verula just looked at all of them, staring at them oddly, before stepping backward, slowly, out of the doorframe. "Right.... okay. Tell you what... I'll be right back."

They listened to her tromp off in her heavy plate, before it faded from earshot. A few minutes later, they could hear her coming back, but at a far faster rate. And the sound of heavy armor was missing entirely. "Oh no. What is she...?" Cyrus began, before the charr dam burst into the room, arms filled with extra blankets and pillows. She peeked over the top of the pile, grinning. "You should have invited me! I haven't been to a sleepover since I was a cub in the fahrar!"

"Verula?!"

But it was too late. While chattering about her time at the fahrar and how one of her best memories was a group-sleep during basic training, where the cubs all cuddled together for warmth, she laid out some oversized pillows on either side of the head of the bed. On the side Moryggan was on, she grabbed Cyrus' desk chair and used it to prop some of the pillows up, while on Tenna's side, she just left them piled on the floor until they reached the height of the mattress.

"Okay! Now, everyone sit up!" Verula waved her clawed hands at them. "Come on! Make some room! Scoot forward if you have to! You can lay back down in a moment!"

It was only when they did so that they realized she no longer had her armour on; Verula had a simple black-grey tunic on, exposing her rarely seen pale fur. She clambered onto the bed behind their heads, laying down with her head on the chair-supported pillows. With one hand she pulled one of the blankets she brought over her, while with the other she propped up their pillows against her body. "There we go! You can all lay back now!" She grinned, stretching out.

"O-okay..." They all laid back carefully, gingerly resting their heads on their pillows. To be truthful, it was only Cyrus that had the pillows; Moryggan was using his shoulder as her pillow, and Tenna his other arm. "Are you sure you're okay with this, Verula?"

"Absolutely." She nodded sharply, closing her eyes. "Nothing builds camaraderie like being close together. I would have suggested it a long time ago, but I honestly didn't know how you all would react."

"Well, charr aren't usually this...close to people." Moryggan pointed out, fidgetting to get comfortable. "I mean, I can understand the fahrar, but afterwards, all of you seem to be rather solo."

"Yeah... We are." Verula sounded wistful. "I'll admit that it's something that never stopped bugging me in the Legions. I looked around at all the other races -- all of you -- and saw all these weird, close-knit units. Living together, sleeping together, fraternizing... the whole thing." She shrugged a bit, putting her hands behind her head and staring at the ceiling. "I always wanted to find out what it was like, but being charr... opportunity just wasn't there."

She chuckled, and curled her tail around to tickle Tenna's ear. "At least, not until now I suppose."

Moryggan craned her neck back to 'look' at Verula, despite the blindfold. "I never expected something like that from you, Verula...no offense."

"None taken."

"To think that the big, tough, resolute, serious charr in our midst has a soft side is... Well, it's surprising, but in a pleasant way."

The charr reached down to give her a matronly pat on the head... before reaching over to ruffle Cyrus's hair a bit more roughly. "I'm glad to hear that. But keep it to yourselves, alright? There's reasons I never ever mentioned it among my own kind."

"Duly noted." Cyrus grumbled, unable to reach up and fix his hair. He sighed in resignation. "It's not hard to see why you'd keep that a secret. Anyone that knows anything about Legion charr would get it."

"That said, the next time you all decide to be all collective like this..." Verula yawned and smirked as Tenna grabbed at her tail, pinning it along with Cyrus's arm in her vice-like embrace. "...We'll have to arrange it for in my quarters. No offense, Cy, but your bed is way too small. And since we have no Norn in crew, mine is the biggest bed by far."

"Agreed!" Moryggan nodded primly, snuggling in a bit closer and adjusting the blankets.

"'Nuff talk!" Tenna hissed. She opened one golden eye to glare at the others. "'Nuff talk, more sleepy. Skritting gabby-gums..."

The others chuckled, but the talking finally began to cease.

As they slowly dropped off to sleep, one by one, Cyrus lay there, staring at the skylight, listening to the thunder. The storm was already passing; the thunder was farther off now. In a few hours, it'd be over the mainland.

He listened to the soft sigh of the sylvari next to him. To the tight-lipped murmurs of the asura, that he could feel her lips moving where she pressed her face against his arm. He could feel the rise and fall of Verula's breathing somewhere behind his head, though his pillow was basically on her stomach.

This still feels like some kind of silly joke. He told himself as he started to drift off. A joke of the Gods on me. What are the chances everyone just happened to be here tonight? That we're all okay with this situation?

A small smile made its way to his lips, as he finally felt sleep come upon him. He could live with that, he supposed. It wasn't bad at all. What dreams would this create, though?

#gw2 fanfiction #silly #All In One Bed trope #My characters #Cyrus Sigismund #Moryggan Deraleth #Tenna Danae #Verula Faithbreaker #Forsaken Aspect #Storm #Shelter from the storm #misery loves company #tyriaslibrary #I now realize I need another male or two in this crew #Asura #Charr #Human #Sylvari

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kiki-wiccan · 4 years

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Stanislav began to rub his temples, every vein in his body feeling the pent up guilt, frustration, and misery Kiki felt at the very moment. He found it hard to continue speaking, for it seemed the wiccan would chime in, and he simply resorted to utter silence as he looked towards his lover, allowing her to simply vent. It seemed she had taken this situation to heart, and though Stanislav couldn’t bring himself to be mad at her--however, he found her current behaviour to be acting out of line.

While he would do anything to make Kiki happy, he felt as if she were speaking out of turn when it came to his status; and he would very much make this clear. By the time she had finished speaking, Stanislav noted to the tears in her eyes, to which he let out a quiet exhale; reaching out to brush them away with his cold thumb.

“I understand how you feel, Kiki. Within my body, your emotions are pulsating through me--but you are speaking out of turn. While I can commend the care you’ve placed in Mister Romanescu, you do not understand the world, the community in which I live. 20 years means nothing to me. It is barely even a nick within my lifespan.”

He paused, tucking some loose strands of dark hair behind his human’s ear. Despite her rage, he still maintained his delicate touch.

“I cannot afford to call Mister Romanescu a friend, and he neither is he one in the first place. The actions of one, feeble-minded vampire putting himself in harm’s way due to his own incredibility is not my fault and does not reflect on my actions as a king. The entire state of Louisiana is under my control--just how many vampires am I responsible for, Kiki? If Mister Romanescu were hurting the community as a whole, only then would I act. But he has only hurt himself--he has hardly managed to integrate into his own community within the ten years he’s lived in Tabula.” Noting Kiki’s expression, he continued. Even as he spoke, he could feel every ebb and pulse of her emotions--but was able to distance them from his own.

“And do you possibly realize I do not have the time to act as Mister Romanescu’s keeper? Not only must I watch over this entire state’s community, but there is also precisely that--the creature in the woods. That problem is far more important than an emotionally inept vampire’s ability to remain obedient. Should I feel pity for a man who puts himself in harm’s way over a beckoning call? Absolutely not.” By the time he had finished speaking, Stanislav became aware of how tense he had felt with this problem being shoved in his face.

Letting go of Kiki’s face, he circled his desk again and reached into a drawer, pulling out his stashed carton of cigarettes. While he had never smoked infront of anyone before--an expression of his anxiety--despite the tense aura radiating in the air, the vampire king felt comfortable enough to express how he truly felt before Kiki.

After lighting his cigarette, Stanislav took a drag and took a seat in his office chair; awaiting the wiccan’s next words.

After she finally got everything off of her chest she broke her gaze away from Stans. As he reached out she whimpered and flinched back a bit on instinct as her body was suddenly shocked with fear. Though she soon realized he wasn’t raising his hand at her and allowed him to wipe away at her tears. Part of her hating how her mind and body still reacted badly to simple arguments. She’d become so used to reactions of anger and hate. Everything triggering back to her hometown, the people, the professor. It seemed even after running away, she couldn’t completely escape what had been engraved in her soul.

Staying silent now, she gave the king his turn to speak. He wasn’t wrong to her twenty years was almost her entire life but to him it wasn’t much. It was also true that she had no clue about the world he lived in. Being raised in a place that was so against supernaturals she could only find information through her caregivers and the internet. She was new to the world of supernaturals and all of their rules and ways. As calm as he was she couldn’t help but tense at every movement he made. Her heart banging against her chest, deep down she feared things would take a turn for the worst. She knew he could feel her fear which made her feel even more on edge at that moment. Stan wouldn’t hurt her, this she knew. But at that moment fear and familiarity seemed to be upfront.

As much as she wanted Stan to agree with her and show some ounce of care for someone she held so dearly, it was time to face reality. Stan was a busy man and had a lot of other things on his plate. He felt indifferent towards Garridan and no matter how much Kiki adored him she couldn’t make her see the vampire the way she did. If Stan couldn’t help her keep Garridan safe maybe Kasumi could? With how close the three of them were the angel was sure to agree. She didn’t believe that Garridan willingly put himself in danger if he was being pulled and drawn towards something it only made sense he’d follow. How long would she be forced to keep this dirty little secret that seemed to be nagging the corners of her brain? It hurt to see her best friend seemingly crumble around her when she knew how to fix it. But she couldn’t she had to be good and keep her mouth shut. Her anger had slowly melted into hurt and exhaustion, she didn’t like being upset it took a lot out of her.

Watching as her vampire pulled away and walked over to his desk. The air was still tense and heavy around them. She was surprised when he pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. Something new that she didn’t know about her lover, he smoked. It was a bad habit of course. But Stan was literally undead and she knew it wouldn’t effect his health, so she couldn’t say it bothered her. “I understand.... I’ll just try to protect him myself maybe Kasumi can help....but remember that despite how you see Garridan he is extremely special to me and if anything does happen to him I’d be devestated.”

#kikiwiccan #trc:kiki #trch:stan #shiftyeyes #thefeels

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lilulo-12fanfiction · 4 years

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In My Time of Dying-4

Here is the next chapter! From here I will deviate more from Cannon now that there is a foundation built. As always your re-blogs, comments and likes are SO appreciated. Please let me know if you’d like to be added to this or any of my other tag lists.

IMTOD Masterlist and Horrible Summary can be found here

SPN Tag List: @deans-baby-momma @fandom-princess-forevermore @magssteenkamp @blancastans @jn-wolf

SPN Masterlist

Ali had herself locked up in the room she claimed as hers at Bobby’s house. She had intended to stay outside the door and stay with Sam, but she couldn’t. The hateful things he said to her, his hallucinations. his fighting with Dean. She just wanted her brother back. She never regretted recruiting Sam to help her and Dean find John Winchester until now. Maybe if they had left him alone he’d be married and happy.

“You’ve been awfully quiet up here.” Bobby’s voice cut through her thoughts. ”Not like you to not have an opinion. I’ve heard you give your brothers hell over much less.” Ali shrugged. ”C’mon downstairs girl. Your brother has done something epically stupid.” Ali let Bobby lead her downstairs.

After 20 minutes of arguing, Ali and Dean were on the road to find Sam. Ali had a migraine between the stress and irritation. They were on their way to Cold Springs

“We gonna talk about it?” Dean’s voice cut through the tense silence.

“About what Dean? We all agree that we need to get Sam back. And don’t even start about me not being involved. I’m just as much a part of this as you and Sam. I’m not inept. You used to trust me on hunts.”

“No Al, that’s not what I meant. Are we going to talk about whatever was going on with you and Cas?” Ali snapped her head to the side and stared at Dean.

“There was nothing going on between me and Cas.” Dean exaggeratedly rolled his eyes at his sister.

“I’m not oblivious. I saw how you looked at him and how he looked at you. I just don’t think he understood that he was looking at you like that. He showed up in your dream, I mean he stalked your dreams. You were blindly faithful in whatever he said. You let him in. You haven’t let anyone close to you in a long time.”

“Yeah and that was a mistake. He can’t be trusted. I really don’t want to talk about this.” Dean signed, visibly frustrated.

“You’re supposed to be the one that is good with their emotions. But I get it and I know this thing with Sammy is killing you. But you can talk to me, about anything. Even if it pisses me off, I got you. You’re my baby sister and you’ve had my back longer than anyone. I got yours.” Ali blinked back tears, resolute in that she was done letting the situation at hand overwhelm her.

“I know. I just can’t let myself feel this right now. I might not be able to bounce back. I need to keep my shit together. Especially since you gave yourself over to Zachariah.”

“Al, it’s going to be okay and for the record, I still trust you. You’re a freaking bad ass. I’m just scared that I’m going to lose you and Sammy. And he’s off the rails. I can still keep you safe. I’m sorry if I made you feel differently.”

“Thanks Dean.” Ali looked at her brother and gave him a genuine smile. Whatever happened, they’d get Sam back and stop Lucifer rising. Ali snuck into the Honeymoon Suit after Sam exited the room. Ruby was sitting on the bed. Ali gripped the Angel blade she had gotten from Cas after Uriel died. He didn’t want her unprotected. Then he turned back into a mindless douche. Ali was looking forward to taking her pent up aggression out on Ruby.

“They sent in the B team?” Ruby laughed when she saw Ali standing in front of her.

“Funny. But I think you forget that while Sam was living the life at Stanford I was honing my skills with my brother. Dean is the best hunter I’ve ever seen. Better than my father, that’s saying something. He taught me everything I know.” Ruby’s eyes widened when she saw the Angel blade in Ali’s hand.

“Did you whore yourself out to Castiel to get that?”

“I think we both know the only whore here is you. You somehow got your hooks into my brother. I’m removing them, tonight.” With that, Ali connected her right fist with Ruby’s face, and it felt good. Before Ruby could retaliate, Dean was in the room. The plan had been for him to watch for Sam and for her to take out Ruby, but Dean couldn’t hold himself back. He couldn’t take the chance of Ruby harming his baby sister. He shoved Ali out of the way before going after Ruby. Ali stifled her irritation, knowing Dean meant well. Ali grabbed Ruby from behind to give Dean the advantage; before Dean could take Ruby out once and for all, Sam was back and throwing Dean off of Ruby.

“Well, it must've been some party you two had going, considering how hard you tried to keep us from crashing it. Well, solid try, but here I am.” Watching Dean and Sam on opposite sides was something Ali never thought she would see, sure they had their fair share of disagreements, but nothing like this.

“Dean, I'm glad you're here. Look. Let's just talk about this.”

Dean crossed his arms in defiance. ”Soon as she's dead, we can talk all you want.”

“Ruby, get out of here.” Sam was attempting to hold off Dean. As Ali moved to stop Ruby, she flung her across the room and her skull made a sickening crack as Ruby rushed out of the room. Sam made no attempt to reprimand Ruby for hurting his twin.

Dean was raging. “I can’t believe you just let that happen. She's poison, Sam.” Dean rushes over to Ali to see if she was okay. Breathing but unconscious, Dean decided to wait to move her, hoping to get through to his brother first.

”Look what she did to you. I mean, she up and vanishes weeks at a time, leaves you cracking out for another hit”

Sam looked over at Ali with a trace of regret before responding to Dean. “She was looking for Lilith.“

Dean scoffed at his brother for what seemed to be the millionth time since he’d returned from Hell. “That is French for manipulating your ass ten ways from Sunday.“

“You're wrong, Dean.”

“Sam, you're lying to yourself. I just want you to be okay. You would do the Same for me. You know you would.”

Sam was hoping to appeal to Dean. “Just listen for a second. We got a lead on a demon close to Lilith. Come with us, Dean. We'll do this together.“

“That sounds great. As long as it's you, Ali and me. Demon bitch is a deal breaker. You kiss her goodbye, we can go right now.”

“I can't. Dean, I need her to help me kill Lilith. I know you can't wrap your head around it, but maybe one day you'll understand. I'm the only one who can do this. And Ali is a liability. She’s not up for this.”

Dean felt his rage building again. “Ali isn’t a liability. It’s her loyalty to you that is throwing her game off. She’s so afraid of loosing you again” But no, you're not the one who's gonna do this.”

“No, Ali is loyal to you. She hasn’t given a damn about me since she chose to keep hunting. and that's right, I forgot. The angels think it's you.”

“You don't think I can?” It was Sam’s turn to scoff.

“No. You can't. You're not strong enough. I'm being practical here. I'm doing what needs to be done.”

“Yeah? You're not gonna do a single damn thing.”

“Stop bossing me around, Dean. Look. My whole life, you take the wheel, you call the shots, and I trust you because you are my brother. Now I'm asking you, for once, trust me.”

“No. You don't know what you're doing, Sam.”

“Yes, I do. Dean.”

“Then that's worse. Sam”

“Why?”

“Because Sam.it's not something that you're doing, it's what you are! It means-“ Ali groaned and opened her eyes. Dean and Sam were so focused on each other they didn’t notice she was coming to. She honestly wished she hadn’t woken up for what Dean was about to say. “It means you're a monster.” It was a rare thing to see Dean cry. He didn’t even try to hide the tear that fell down his face. Ali cried out when Sam punched Dean in the face. She tried to stand up and stop them from fighting but a wave of nausea kept her where she was when Ruby knocked her out.

“Sammy STOP“ Ali screamed as Sam pinned Dean down and choked him. Sam seemed slightly startled at the desperation and fear in Ali’s voice. He quickly turned his attention back to Dean, his words dripping with venom.

“You don't know me. You never did. And you never will.” Ali was on her feet, albeit wobbly. She grabbed Sam’s hand as he tried to walk out. Dean spoke before Ali could.

“You walk out that door, don't you ever come back.” Sam turned from Dean and looked his sister in her pleading eyes.

“Sam...Sammy please. Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry Ali.” Sam slowly pulled his hand from hers and walked out the door. Dean had moved to stand next to her to help keep her up right. She let out an anguished filled wail at the abandonment by her twin. Dean wrapped his arms around her and held her as she fell apart. His hand cupped the back of her head, It was the way her John had always hugged her, making her feel safe and protected. She felt anything but. <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<< Ali had barely said two words on the drive back to Bobby’s. Dean was checking over the back of her head. She had a fierce headache from Ruby tossing her head first into a wall. Bobby was getting increasingly fed up with the pair of siblings.

“Dean? Dean! You listen to a word I said?”

“Yeah, I heard you. I'm not calling him. And Ali sure as hell isn’t calling him. We’re lucky she didn’t crack her head open. He stood there and let Ruby hurt her.” Ali sniffed. “Don't make me get my gun, boy.”

“Bobby...you didn’t see him. You didn’t see how he put his hands on Dean. I’m done.” Ali wrapped her arms around herself and stood to look out the window, ignoring the arguing between Dean and Bobby. If Bobby wanted to get Sam back so badly, he could go after him. She had been so hopeful when she and Dean had picked Sam up when they went looking for John. But they had just fallen further apart. Ali’s ears piqued when she heard Bobby start screaming.

”You stupid, stupid son of a bitch! Well, boo hoo, I am so sorry your feelings are hurt, princess! Are you under the impression that family's supposed to make you feel good?! Make you an apple pie, maybe? They're supposed to make you miserable! That's why they're family!”

”I told him, "you walk out that door, don't come back" and he walked out anyway! That was his choice!”

”You sound like a whiny brat. No, you sound like your dad. Well, let me tell you something. Your dad was a coward. He’d rather push Sam away than reach out to him. Well, that don't strike me as brave. You are a better man than your daddy ever was. So you do both of us a favor. Don't be him.”

Before she knew what hit her, she was in a different room. The walls were painted white with gold trim and accents, and a marble table stood in the center. Dean and Bobby were gone, but she wasn't alone. There stood an older man, balding and smug looking.

”Its nice to finally meet you. I must say, Castiel tried his damndest to keep us apart.”

“So you’re Zachariah.” Ali eyed the angel. “Well, I expected more” He walked over to Ali, smiling like a snake.

“So this is the infamous Ali. I guess we’re both disappointed, I expected much more from the one we chose to protect than an attitude problem.”

”I’m a Winchester. An attitude problem auto downloads at birth. You chose to protect me to make sure the demons didn't get what they wanted, not because you wanted to save me. Why am I here? Where is Dean?”

“You are a variable we can’t control. You’re much more powerful than you know. All the seals have fallen. Except one. Lilith has to break it. She's the only one who can. Tomorrow night -- midnight. Then your brother can begin his work. Your ensured safety will guarantee his cooperation. You’ll see him soon enough.”

“Wait- his work starts AFTER Lilith breaks the final seal? Why would you? Oh my God, you want her to break the seal. You want the apocalypse...just like Uriel. You’re going to serve my brother l, my brothers up to Lucifer?!”

“Relax Alianna. Dean will end the apocalypse and end Lucifer.” Before Ali could ask him anything else he was gone and she was trapped. It didn’t go unnoticed that he didn’t mention Sam’s survival. She frantically looked around the room desperate for an escape route to save her brothers so she did the only thing she could think of, she cried out for Castiel. It wasn’t long before he appeared.

“Cas please. Please take me to Sam. I have to stop him. He’s going to die. Please.” Cas blinked.

“I can’t. Ali...this has been foretold.” She shoved him hard.

“No, don’t you dare give me that. There’s more to you than doing what you’re told. Than towing the company line. You know this is wrong. Sam isn’t the only one that will die. Innocent people will die, who knows how many. Cas I know you were having doubts before. Would God want this? What he created to die if it doesn’t need to? Cas look at me.” He didn’t want to. He could feel his resolve waning, but he had to look in her eyes. He was met with not only anguish for her brother, but for the idea of anyone that would be hurt. She took his hands, lacing her fingers with his. As he looked into her eyes he knew he couldn't deny her. She and Dean were his Achilles heel, he knew he felt something deeply for them both, but it was Ali’s tearful, yet hopeful eyes that got him. Despite everything he had said and done she still believed in him. In that moment despite it all he still has her trust and loyalty.

“Cas you wanted to protect me from this. But help me protect everyone else. I don’t know why I am so special. But I cannot stay in this room while innocent people are dying. While my brother is dying.” Cas tilted his head slightly to the side as he placed his hand on the side of Ali’s face.

“I promise when this is over to tell you everything” She closed her eyes as she felt goosebumps cover her skin. Her eyes snapped open and she saw Dean staring in confusion.

“Oh thank God you’re okay.” Ali pulled away from Cas and ran to hug her brother.

“We have to be quick...Zachariah will be back soon” Ali watched as Cas started drawing the sigil. He was almost done when Ali felt the hair on the back of her neck stand.

“Castiel! Would you mind explaining just what the hell you're doing?” Before Zachariah could blink, Castiel finishes drawing and slammed his hand in the center of the sigil. In a violent flash of white light, Zachariah vanished.

“He won't be gone long. We have to find Sam now.” Cas looked to Dean and Ali. Dean looked down at his sister where he kept a protective arm around her “Where is he?”

“I don't know. But I know who does. We have to stop him, Dean, from killing Lilith.”

“But Lilith's gonna break the final seal.” Ali looked at Castiel as she put the final puzzle piece together in her head.

“Lilith IS the final seal. She dies, the end begins.”

Before they could think, Cas had transported them to Chuck Shurley’s living room. They had rightfully startled him as he was on the phone.

“Wait. T-t-this isn't supposed to happen...No, lady, this is definitely supposed to happen, but I just got to call you back. What are you doing here?!” Chuck looked at the three of them, and then his eyes zeroed in on Ali. She didn't understand why he felt the need to stare the way she did. It made her uncomfortable. Apparently he found something about her interesting.

"Chuck...we need your help. We need to get to Sam. Where is he? Please" Without breaking any eye contact with Ali Chuck sighed. Dean looked over at his sister. She has gotten through to Cas and be was certain Chuck would do as she asked. Dean could understand. He found it near impossible to deny his sister anything.

"He's at St. Mary's" Dean scrunched his face up.

"St. Mary's? What is that, a convent?"

"Yeah, but you guys aren't supposed to be there. You're not in this story" Castiel stepped in between Dean and Ali. "Yeah, well...We're making it up as we go." Ali jumped as Chuck's computer screen began to flicker and a rumbling noise began to roll through. Dean was shielding his eyes from the blinding white light. But Ali, for the first time, kept her eyes open, remembering that she could look at the angels without damage. The light was beautiful. It danced across the room. She felt herself getting lost in it, but Chuck’s voice pulled her from herself.

“Aw, man! Not again! No!” Castiel put his hand on the side of Ali’s face. The endearing look in his eyes ran a chill down her spine. The last thing Ali heard was Cas telling her and Dean to stop Sam before the two of them were zapped to the convent.

“I will never get used to that.” Dean shook off the weirdness he felt. “C’mon Al, we gotta find Sammy.”

Ali followed Dean through the corridors listening for Sam. When they came upon a set of shut doors, they could hear the commotion behind it. Everything seemed to be happening in flashes. Dean yelling for Sam. Sam yelling for Dean. After what seemed like forever, the door finally opened. Ali froze as she saw the strange shape Lilith’s blood had taken. She looked over at her twin in horror realizing that he had killed her. The sound around her was muted as she felt a pulsating pain in her skull. She watched as Sam held Ruby so Dean could kill her with the demon knife, which told Ali that Ruby knew Lilith would lead to Lucifer’s release, though the regret in Sam’s eyes when they walked in told her the same. Sam was repeating how sorry he was as he stumbled over to Ali. The 3 siblings tried to shield their eyes from the bright light shooting from the center of Lilith’s blood. Ali held onto Sam as the convent began to shake.

“He’s coming.” Ali’s voice came out in a cry. Whatever was running through her veins was telling her to get out of there.

“We have to get out of here.” Dean was trying to pull his siblings out of the convent as they were snapped from the building.

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guesswho-mp3 · 4 years

Text

[ Lady Luck ]

Au: twoface!baekhyun | Pairing: character x reader | Warning: language, death, gore/body horror, sexual references | Rating: 16+ | Word Count: 1.6k

This is: Visage One | Visage Two

“Rough day?” A light voice questioned. Baekhyun could feel the pent up tension in his body ease, his shoulders slightly slumping as he turned around while loosening his tie. The last of his worries left him, like waves flowing from shore, ebbing away at the sight of her leaning against the hallway.

“The worst,” he mumbled, hands circling her waist, nuzzling against her neck to inhale her scent. “There’s enough as it is, trying to clean up the G.C.P.D with the corruption scandals pouring in and Moon isn’t complying. The Gazette is more interested in my dating life than my plans for the future and I just have to smile and wave like an idiot. Did you know that they started calling me Two Face down at the precinct?”

“Oh my poor baby,” she dramatically sighed, laughing in admiration when he raised his head to reveal a pout. She thumbed at his bottom lip and his hand fell to her ass, giving it a light squeeze. Arcing her eyebrow at him he just hummed, taking her thumb into his mouth, wet tongue lapping at the digit. She grasped his tie and started pulling him towards their shared bedroom.

“Come on then, Mr. Hahm. Let me see what I can do to make it better.”

When he came to the world was blurry, the only clear sensation he could feel was a splitting pain on the left side of his head. His right hand crept up to pick at the bandages on his face, starting to peel the edges back.

“Uh uh uh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you boy-o.” Baekhyun’s neck snapped in the direction of the voice, neck straining to the far left in order to be able to look out of his right eye.

The Crown Prince of Crime sat in the cushy hospital chair in the corner of the room, dressed in a white nurse’s uniform. The reaction was immediate, a coarse yell for help escaping his throat as his body jerked back and forth, the burning of his limbs too great to actually get up.

“Scream all you want. I shot the doctor and the police are running around like headless chickens at the Court House. They’re not coming.” The clown’s voice was unemotional, the lackadaisical way in which he said his words even more terrifying.

He kept still even after five minutes of watching Baekhyun struggling to lift himself up, frustrated yells and curses leaving his lips, a cracked image of the sophisticated and put together DA candidate that graced Gotham News. He was thoroughly enjoying this. He knew the Bat wouldn’t, and that thought made him laugh.

The attorney finally quieted seeing as the clown had yet to do anything. He leaned back in the bed, his right eye still furrowed at the figure in the corner.

“Why are you here?” Baekhyun accused, his right nostril flaring. The burn tape that covered half of his face still didn’t stop the wince at the burn of his torn cheek tendon stretching.

“To see you of course. Now I’ve done a lot of bad things to a lot of good people, but I have to admit, I think I really outdid myself on this one.” A proud smile strained his visage, his eyes slightly glazing over.

Baekhyun scoffed. “So what, you’ve come here to mock me?” He could feel an angry tear forming in his waterline, turning his head at the last second so the clown wouldn’t see it, he couldn’t give the madman the satisfaction. But it didn’t go unnoticed as he’d hoped, snake tongue passing over red stained lips at the sight of the liquid pain. If only his Lady Luck were here. Baekhyun didn’t see what happened to her after the attack.

White hot fury engorged Baekhyun’s pupil as he scrutinized the Joker, body trembling. “Wait. Where is she? What did you do to her?.”

Joker abruptly rose from the chair, like a marionette brought to attention, and got up close to Baekhyun, leaning in as if telling him a secret. “Oh, you don’t know?” He chuckled, a humorless, caustic sound.

“She's dead.”

The air was knocked out of Baekhyun’s lungs, the unshed tears forming a hurricane as he wailed and twisted in the hospital bed. The desperation he felt was mutating into something else. It was growing claws and gnashing teeth. His psyche was cracking like concrete, straight down the middle, his heart shattering along with it. He wanted blood. His paralyzed state prevented him from seizing a hold of the clown who just raised his hands up and backed away in mock surrender, his own figure buckling under the crazed cackles that wracked his body. This was going so well.

“I get it you know ehehe, it must be difficult to lose your other half. Especially aha, when it was y-your ahaha,” he wheezed,” prettier one.” Baekhyun felt like he was in hell, the previous screams reduced to a mixture of helpless sobs and infuriated growls, as if his soul were being split in two. Rage, earth-quaking, blind vengeance overcame him.

The Joker wasn’t done though. He had to push him, make him his pawn, his raving mad dog.

“May I ask a question?” He took the severe glare and snarling he received as his sign to continue. “You were squirming in your sleep, like you were having a very pleasant dream.” The grin that appeared on his face was predatory. He came closer from the foot of the bed, fingers skipping along Baekhyun’s left leg.

”Though I wonder, with the acid dripping down your body can your little friend still…” His eyes trailed down the blanket, whistling like a bird while raising his pointer finger up. In a sudden show of strength, Baekhyun grabbed the jester by the collar, pulling him eye level, seething at him, foaming at the mouth.

“Ok ok, aha, touchy subject, though I’m sure nobody is going to touch that anytime soon,” he tittered. “Especially since, oh what’s her face—”

Baekhyun barked out her name, spittle flying from his mouth and onto the corner of the clown’s, who licked up the drop before he continued, “Yes right, especially since she kicked the bucket. But that’s not important. Look, I wanna help you, Hahm.”

“Help us?” He grunted, skeptical at how the madman’s switch. His right eye roved across the clown, voice suddenly hushed, eye wide and desperate, “You want to help me?”

“Yes, help you. Listen, Baek, I may have pulled the trigger, but Batman and the Commisioner loaded the gun,” he said in a comic lilt. “You put your trust in a corrupt order. Am I right? You put your trust in the Bat, of all vermin, and where did that get you? A dead girlfriend and a fucked up face?” The Joker’s hand ghosted over the bandage.

Traitors, a voice spat. We have to make them pay. Punish them.

But they promised. They deserve a fair trial.

Deserve? The pigs deserve a bullet in their heads after what happened. They promised to protect you. But they just screwed us over. They screwed her over. Now we’ve lost everything because of them.

But they really tried—

Tried? Tried?! Give the Bat a gold fucking star than, get on your knees and blow Moon to thank him for the brilliant job he did. After that you can go tell the love of our life to go fuck herself and spit on her grave.

Oh God, please stop, don’t mention her. She didn’t deserve to die. It’s not fair. Baekhyun hit the left side of his head as he sobbed, a wet squelch being released from under the surgical tape with each bout of pressure.

Joker just watched on, transfixed, as Gotham’s White Knight started cracking, one part of him maliciously attacking and the other cowering. Two identities forming, one a tiny show poodle, charming and gentile. The other a rabid rottweiler, eyes rolling and teeth gnashing. The madness was being let loose. That acid must’ve really done a number on him. And boy was he gonna run with it.

“Doesn’t it ever bother you that Batman is always the one that crosses the line but never seems to lose anything?” Baekhyun bristled.

Joker pulled a gun out of the waistband of his nurse uniform, placing it in Baehyun’s hand and wrapping his fingers around it. “With life so merciless, the only thing that will forever remain faithful is chaos. Ok? Chaos is clean. Pure. Chaos doesn’t play favorites. It just kills and spares. Life. Death. Balanced. It’s fair. ”

“Fair?” Baekhyun trembled, weighing the glock in his grip.

“Yes,” the devil falsely soothed, voice grating and sinister. He lightly stroked the bandage on Baekhyun’s head, “Now are you just gonna let them get away with it? After what happened to her?”

The monster was back, rearing its ugly head. “No,” he snarled, fingers grasping the metal hilt, thumbing at the hammer, “we’re not.” He used his other hand to rip off the bandage, hissing as some pieces of skin went with it, flinging specks of blood onto the pillow.

“I’m glad you see it my way. It’s time to turn over a new leaf in this city. After all, like your slogan says,” Joker grabbed a mirror from the bedside table, turning it towards the fallen attorney.

He saw gnarled oozing skin. Part of his cheekbone and mandible were uncovered from stringy red muscle, surrounded by crusted and flaking gray skin. Patches of hair were singed off and one side of his mouth was curled in, revealing pearly white teeth hidden behind cheek tendon. Something flashed in his dead eye, nearly hanging out from the socket, the Joker staring back at his twisted grin in the smoke and tar of his clouded orb. There was a hunger there. Cereberus waiting to be let off the leash with an appetite for anarchy— to watch cities burn and symbols to fall. The Dark Knight to fall.

“The new face of Gotham, is Baekhyun Hahm.”

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klarosims · 5 years

Text

Golden Guardian of the Highlands

KCAUWeek2019 for @klaroline-events

Day One: Mythological Creatures

Summary: With his plans to break the hybrid curse ruined because of Katerina, Klaus Mikaelson had to find a new source of power to defeat his father and protect his family. So when rumors of a powerful creature soaring through the Scottish Highlands had reached his ears, it took no longer than half a day's travel for him to reach Inverness.

His appearance in the garden city wasn't greeted with the least bit of enthusiasm from the locals. From the way they avoided his gaze and placed at least two feet of distance between them and the hybrid, let Klaus know his reputation has reached even such a city.

With his patience growing thin from the lack of reception, he strolls into a quaint pub near the outskirts of the city where no rumors of the dragon dare spread, suspicious to say the least. He hears their hearts skip a beat but none had turned their heads or moved a muscle, immediately prompting Klaus to stand in front of a small waitress. In one swift movement, he turns her around and cranes her neck for everyone in the pub to see the horror-stricken girl, suddenly pleading for her life.

"You have to forgive me," his voice booms in the small space, capturing everyone's attention, "for my patience have grown thin since no one has been able to direct me to what I seek yet I know someone here knows precisely how to assist me." He waits as their hearts still for just a second before he lets out the veins underneath his eyes and for his eyes to glow a murderous red.

"You cannot lose such a thing you do not have," a soft melodic voice answers him. He turns his attention to the bar to find a young woman carrying a crate of beers from the storage room.

Her hair was the lightest blonde he has ever seen in all his travels, complemented by warm blue eyes that held a glint of light on its own. Her dainty fingers let go of the heavy crate on the bar and he wonders how a porcelain thing could hold its own without breaking at the slightest exertion of force and movement.

But it was her voice that truly captured him like a siren luring a sailor to his sweet sweet surrender. "Klaus Mikaelson," she says as if tasting the very sound of his name on her lips.

Without effort, Klaus has let go of the waitress and strides confidently toward the bar, "My reputation continues to precede me," he tells her, to which she crosses her arms but narrows her eyes in boredom. "But it has been an eternal shame that I do not know who you are," he reaches out for one of her hands and finds it intriguing that she doesn't flinch even at his cold touch. He kisses her warm knuckles and finds himself lingering as if wanting another taste.

"It is not my name you are after, Klaus," she says his name with spite and withdraws her hand, bringing it back to her chest. "But the guardian of the sky."

"So it is true then," he smirks, "there is a dragon that roams these highlands."

Her lips purse and her eyes narrow.

"Tell me, love," he shuffles his feet and cranes his neck, trying to feign a man asking for a favor but only successfully presents himself as a mischievous man with malicious intentions. "Where might I find this so-called guardian so that I may be on my way and out of this beautiful city before bodies start piling up."

Her eyes become stormy and Klaus finds himself mesmerized by her quiet contained rage, itching to help her release it and see what beautiful chaos she may inflict upon the world.

"I might as well direct you just to end your life and spare the innocent lives here."

A man sitting by the bar slams his glass and glares at the two of them, "Caroline, are you insane? You can't show this stranger--"

"Rob, it's okay," she interrupts him with the gentlest voice and the smallest smile. Klaus stares at her pink lips and continues to wonder in awe at this human, Caroline. "I can handle this." She turns to Klaus without waiting for Rob's response. She walks pass Klaus and hangs her apron by the door before walking into the cool night air of Inverness.

Caroline feels Klaus gently place his heavy coat around her shoulders. She also feels the lingering touch of his fingers on her skin. "Might catch a cold, love."

She holds the coat close to herself, indulging in his scent, before she starts walking towards the nearest gate of the city. "No need to play nice, Klaus Mikaelson. You'll find that what you wish for is not exactly what you seek."

Klaus matches her stride with ease and keeps his hands behind him. He smirks at her, "Yes, centuries on this Earth and I've found that my expectations either leave me disappointed or in awe."

She steals a glance at the way his eyes roam her face and body and clutches the coat tighter. "Which is it usually?" she asks quietly as they pass the guards.

Klaus waits until they're out in the wilderness to answer her, "I'm sad to say I have been more disappointed than anything else."

Something subtle tugs at her heartstrings and she finds herself slowing down to turn to him. For a split second, she finds hooded sadness in his eyes before they were gone and quickly replaced by mirth as he stares back at her.

She turns away after a while. "What exactly do you expect to find here, Klaus Mikaelson?"

"Call me Klaus, Caroline. There is no need for such formalities." Caroline only hums in response, waiting for him to answer but after their descent of a small hill and he still doesn't answer, she speaks of something she told herself she shouldn't thousand times over.

"I know the curse of the sun and moon is not for those vampires and wolves." Her voice sounds guarded and the subject makes Klaus stiffen. Caroline stops walking, "I know it is a curse only you bear."

In one swift movement, Caroline is lifted off the ground by her neck. She grabs Klaus's hand to help lift herself but she doesn't struggle free from his hold. His eyes are so close, murderous red and surrounded by veins. She can't help stare at his sharps fangs and itches to touch them.

"Who are you?" he growls.

Caroline struggles but she speaks her mind, "I am like you. I wish to break a curse forced upon me for centuries."

Klaus's eyes widen. His hold loosens but only enough for Caroline to take a deep breath.

"If you can--" she releases one harsh cough, "break your curse, I would ask you to help break mine." She stares at him now, holding down another cough, "in return for seeing the guardian."

Klaus narrows his eyes at the girl and lets her go, letting her fall on her hands and knees on the dewy grass of the fast-coming morning. "What makes you think I will return to honor such an outrageous favor?"

As the sun rises above the land behind Klaus, Caroline slowly lifts herself, her hair stealing every ray and heat of the sun, taking it as it owns as each strand glows as an individual string of gold.

Klaus once again finds himself enraptured by her beauty and stares as Caroline straightens herself. The harsh wind plays with hair, pulling it back until it braids loosely at the back. Her porcelain skin sparkles in gold, slowly forming intricate scales wrapping themselves around her elongating body.

Klaus can hear the bones of her back crack and even as her legs give way as they transform into hinds, he is at awe at her quiet rage and pain. He basks in her strength and at the same time wishes to take away her suffering forever.

Caroline, the guardian of the Highland skies, towers over Klaus and roars loudly at his form. He could hear all of her pent up anger, pain, frustration, and exhaustion. He couldn't help himself. He walks forward and caresses her rough cheek.

"Love," he whispers and she snorts in response, "I am officially at awe and you," he takes her with both hands, "are majestic!" He is grinning at her now and her bowed head only convinces him that he can win her over. "Join me and if you so wish it, Caroline, I will do everything in my power to free you from this curse."

#klaroline #kcauweek2019 #caroline forbes #klaus mikaelson #kc #klaroline fanfiction #vampire diaries #the originals

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vegetacide · 5 years

Text

Whump prompt #4 - part II

Veg-notables - As I mentioned before I shouldn’t be allowed to look at prompts. This is a continuation of the snippet found HERE. Only proofed by me so any mistakes are purely my own

Likes, shares and comments are my motivational fuel.

Rating: M for suggestions of torture.

Characters: Scott, Kayo and Virgil (he is around ..somewhere)

Prompt snippet - no title cause I am lazy and haven't thought of one

Enjoy….

oOo

Kayo was - to put it lightly - irate in a scary calm, calculating and head for the hills kind of way. Later when all was said and done, she would look back on the numbness that had overtaken her and analyze it. Letting the doubt and fear along with it finally take root and she would allow herself a private moment, in a locked room to express what was pent up.

She had various bolt holes on the island that only Virgil was privy to and she would go to one and let the emotions past the deadly stillness she was projecting but for now, cool and controlled was the name of the game.

Setting down Shadow on the lea side of the mountain beside the silent, large green craft that so personified its pilot, she allowed herself a moment to breath. Clenching her fists as she noticed the shake in them that belayed the mask she had cemented into place. Her stress levels must be skyrocketing as the physiological effects of it were being broadcasted in her fine motor skills but the panic that she knew she should feel even behind her plastered on facade was curiously absent. Her brow cocked up at the odd blankness of other feelings for the only things coming through the still veil was the raging hellfire that was her anger.

Shaking her head away from the random torrent of her thoughts, she looked up at the blue expanse of the sky. The odd juxtaposition it presented considering their circumstanced irked her. It should be raining down acid not sunny and warm.

As Thunderbird One came into view over a large outcropping dusted with evergreens, Kay cracked the seal on Shadows canopy and jumped down. The dry tufts of grass, crunching beneath the soles of her boots and sending a small, fluffy tailed critter scurrying into the underbrush.

Shielding her eyes from the dust kicked up from One, she made her way across the rough, cut clearing and up the incline to where Two rested amongst the remains of an old miners camp. The rotten and lichen covered outbuildings creating an eerie back drop for the large transport.

As her eyes scanned over the decaying refuse of the condemned colliery, she absently admired the skill in which Virgil had situated the massive craft. In the confined space allocated to the abandoned plot of land, he’d set the craft down without disturbing any of the rusted out machinery or structures. He’d even managed to somehow avoid flattening what looked to be a picnic table that had seen better days. Its brick red paint cracked and flaking, leaving a puzzle like assortment of debris around it in a halo of disuse.

The man was a truly gifted pilot, there was no doubt about that. No one could maneuver the Herculean flying boat around like he could. Turning her face up towards the underside of the silent ‘bird, a hint of something flashed across her expression. The giant seemed lifeless without the skilled operator and it didn’t sit right with her. Like a soul had been snatched away and a carcass left behind, barren and wasting.

Pulling her mind back from her dark musings, she redirected herself back to the task at hand. Her shrewd eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the derelict site. Searching and cataloguing anything and everything that seemed out of place in the otherwise undisturbed landscape.

Virgil had been called out here to rescue a trapped hiker, a standard run for the well trained troop and nothing outside of their regular wheelhouse. It wasn’t the first time that they’d had to sweep in to pluck some backwoods walker from some precariousness or another and it surely wouldn’t be the last.

Virgil had been exceedingly chipper considering the early hour as he left the comms room for his chute that morning. He’d even paused long enough to drop a kiss on her forehead as he passed before disappearing down the long slide to the awaiting craft. It had been a rather quiet week for them, an oddity given that the world seems unable to resist getting into stupid and avoidable danger, and the dark haired man had been eager for some action.

Kayo kept replaying the scene over and over in her mind, but no matter how many times she revisited the call and the frightened voice that John had projected across the comms, she could detect no duplicity. There had been no prickle of caution that would cause her to halt her lover’s plan of action so she’d continued on with sipping at her coffee and tucking her legs up under her, getting comfortable.

In hindsight, she wished she’d paid more attention or perhaps even tagged along for the ride.

At the sound of hurried feet at her six, she held up a hand a non-verbal urging for Scott to cease his approach.

“Kayo?” Came his inquiry over the dedicated comms line. He was some fifty feet away to her left, having landed One down below on what remained of an old loggers road, luckily just wide enough for the lithe craft to make use of. “Did you find anything?”

Kayo backed out from under Two making sure to retrace her steps and took a circuitous route over to where the anxious commander stood, shoulders so tense for his brother that Kayo could make out the fine tremors racking through them as he tried to keep own distraught anger contained.

Drawing near she indicated over to the scene behind her, the humid air stirring and playing with the ends of her long ebony hair. The mugginess that was typical for the Canadian summer causing the ends to curl up and the loose wisps around her face to stick to her tawny skin. “Two’s on emergency lock down just like John said. I did a preliminary scan on approach to the DZ, there’s nothing.” Her report was direct and concise. Her blunt delivery a coping mechanism in itself.

Scott cursed harshly, hands clenched into tight fists at his side with frustration. After a moment; his own eyes sweeping over the area, he took a step towards Two. “Show me.” The order in his voice evident and proof that he’d only just managed to rein himself in.

Kayo took the lead and pointed to a few areas of disturbed ground in various spots up the rise. “Here and here.. There was a struggle.” Kneeling, she touched the rocky ground and brought her gloved hand up for a closer look. Her thumb sliding across the pads of her fingers as she inspected something. Her brows twitched as a brief glimmer of her upset peeking through her control but she quickly stowed it away.

“Blood. Someone went down hard.” The who wasn’t necessary, there was only one option. Scott squatted down on his haunches beside her, gravel crunching under his thick soles and reached out his own gloved fingers to inspected the tacky, dark substance.

“Couple hour tops, with this humidity” He commented, taking in the consistency of what was smeared across his fingers.

Kayo nodded her agreement at his assessment and straightened, eyes once more scanning about. “On foot they couldn’t have gone far, especial with 180lbs of dead weight…” She considered, glancing off towards the tree line some two hundred feet to the West, “ Must have had transport of some kind..”

“I’ll have John scan the area again maybe he can pick something up even with the iron deposits here playing havoc with our sensors..worth a shot though.“

"Anything is better than what we have..” Kayo said as she stepped past him. “I’m going to see if I can find any signs of a transport. If they had one maybe I can pick up a trail or get an idea of what direction they took.”

The urge to reassure Scott that they would find the missing pilot was an unnecessary platitude and a promise she was scared to admit that she wasn’t able to make. With little to no clues as to how, what or why anyone would have taken Virgil the real fear that they might not find him was a thought that right now she couldn’t bare to look at too hard.

The hand that caught her wrist as she slipped by caught her briefly by surprise, the hard blue eyes that was swimming with worry and a glimmer of fear that met her own had her looking away before her own inner doubts could take any further root.

Pulling free with a gentle tug, she refused to meet his gaze. There was no way she was going to allow herself to go down that rabbit hole and she shook her head. “It’s getting dark, I’ll contact the GDF to lock the area down while I check the perimeter.”

Scott returning nod was all the acknowledgement she needed. The worried sound of his voice following her as he reported through to 5 some 22 000 km away. His form becoming obscured in the waning shadow of Two as the distance between them grew with each step she took towards the treeline.

TBC - HERE

#thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbird two #thunderbird one #thunderbird shadow #Virgil Tracy #kayo kyrano #virgil/kayo #scott tracy #the prompt made me do it #oops my bad

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Undone, Chapter 8 (Bitney) - Stephanie/Veronica

A/N: Welcome to Chapter 8 of UNDONE, our Bitney lesbian AU. Here’s a link the previous chapters.This is a repost from AO3/RGF - once we’re caught up, new chapters will go up.

Summary: Courtney tries to come to terms with her feelings, while Bianca suffers from the blues.

TW: This story deals with themes of emotional abuse, and since that can be subtle, we’re going to keep a general TW on all of the chapters, even when it seems like it doesn’t apply.

***

“Good morning!” Kim sings, as Courtney walks into the kitchen. “Didja sleep well, sis?”

Courtney grabs the tea kettle from the stove to pour herself a cup.

“Not especially.”

“Sorry, love.” Kim holds out a plate with toast and jam. “And I’m sorry for giving you shit last night. You’re just so much fun to tease.”

Courtney sighs, leaning back against the fridge and taking a slice.

“It’s alright. You were...less off base than I let on.”

“I know,” Kim smirks.

“Cunt,” Courtney laughs, mouth full.

Kim finishes her juice and sets the glass in the sink.

“Runs in the family. Are you sure it’s still cool that I take your car?” Kim asks.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I can uber to work; it’s not far.”

“Awesome. I’ll be back Sunday, then,” Kim says, grabbing the keys, her purse and a small rolling suitcase. “In the meantime, if you feel like inviting any sexy Latina women over, you know…”

“Get out of here!” Courtney exclaims, laughing, shoving her towards the door.

***

Courtney groans in frustration, tossing her phone over onto her heap of clothes in the corner.

“That little twat isn’t bothering you again, is she?” Bianca asks her. “Turn.”

Courtney obeys, answering, “No. I think you scared her away for good. Thank god.”

“Excellent. So what’s the problem?” She unzips Courtney’s dress, taking it over to the sewing machine to make the alterations.

“Well...I’m trying to find some...uh...company, for tonight, and none of my regulars are available, and the idea of prowling around a bar is just not very appealing.”

Bianca opens her mouth to respond but is cut off by Adore opening the door to the trailer, asking, “is Gary still in here?”

“No, he's in makeup,” Bianca says.

“Cool.”

She starts to leave but Courtney calls out, “Wait!”

“Yes?” Adore turns back around as Courtney runs to the door, arms over her bare chest. “Nice panties.”

“Are you still dating that DJ?” Courtney asks Adore quietly. Bianca slows down the sewing, pretending not to listen in.

“No, why?” Adore responds.

Courtney gives her puppy eyes.

“Oh.” Adore grins. “DTF, huh?”

“Yes please.”

“Can we go in your hot tub?” Adore bargains.

“Whatever gets you in the mood, peaches.” Courtney flutters her lashes.

“You know,” Adore laughs, “You're my most generous booty call.”

Courtney sticks her tongue out as Adore lets the screen door fall closed, backing down the steps.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Delano!”

“Later bitch!”

Courtney walks back over to perch on the stool while Bianca keeps sewing.

“Wow,” Bianca says under her breath, turning the dress over to examine the seams.

“What?”

“Just...that was very...uh...direct.”

“Welcome to friends with benefits,” Courtney laughs.

Bianca shakes her head. “You’re out of control.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I just mean...like, you are constantly coming here with stories about all these different girls. You’re definitely pulling more tail than the brosin Jared’s office.”

“Well, sure, I would hope so, because I’m guessing by your tone that that’s quite a low bar to clear.”

Bianca laughs uncomfortably.

“And anyway, I think you have a very warped perspective about what life is like for a single person. You said you’ve been with your husband since you were what, 18?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, you havenoidea what it’s like to have to chase downother human beings to sleep with. It is fucking exhausting. I will bet you anything that you have more than double the amount of sex as me. Maybe triple.”

“Not a chance!”

“Well, why don’t we do the math?”

“Sure...” Bianca agrees.

“Okay, so, how often do you and Jared have sex? Roughly, how many time a week?”

“Uhhh...I dunno, maybe... four? Five?”

“Four or five?!”

“Is that bad?”

“No, it’s...holy shit. Cheers, Jared.” Courtney shakes her head.

Bianca giggles, slightly self-conscious.

“Alright, well, let me break down my wild and crazy single person sex life for you. I go out once or twice a week. I bring someone home with me...maybe 1 in 3 of those times, if I’m lucky. So I’m fucking another human maybe twice a month? Four times, tops. The rest of the time, I take care of my own business, with help from some very top of the line vibrators.”

Bianca closes her eyes.

“Is there anything you don’t feel the need to share?”

“No, why?”

“Nothing, nevermind.”

“Anyway...I assume with your Ivy League education that you’re following the math here.”

“Wow.” Bianca looks at her. “I guess so.”

“Really, four or five?” Courtney shakes her head in amazement.

“Well...we aretrying to have a baby,” Bianca says.

“Okay, but that only explains a few days a month.”

“Right, but Jared’s philosophy is that ovulation days are Game Days, and the rest of the month is like, practice, keeping in good form, so we’re in peak condition for Game Day.” Bianca says all of this matter-of-factly, with a slightly amused tone, clearly not buying it 100%, but pretending to. She removes the dress from the machine, clipping a few loose threads and handing it back over.

“Ahh, I see. What about your period?” Courtney slips the dress over her head and turns around so that Bianca can zip her up.

“Off season.”

Courtney laughs.

“Well, B, this sounds like a winning formula. I wish you guys lots of success for getting those swimmers past the goal line, into the...hoop? I don’t really do sports metaphors, sorry.”

“Thanks anyway,” Bianca says, helping her into her jacket, chuckling.

***

“Holy shit,” Adore pants, sprawled out on her back. “What the fuck got into you?”

“I’m sorry,” Courtney says. “I didn’t mean to get so aggressive.” She rolls over, propping her head up with a pillow.

“I mean, I didn’t realize we were having a competition, but you definitely won. I think I’m gonna have bruises tomorrow, though.

“You’re so dramatic. It wasn’t that bad.”

“Ummm, tell that to my poor battered pussy,” Adore counters.

Courtney rolls her eyes. “Then why didn’t you tell me to stop?”

“Well...I liked it.” Adore flashes an impish grin and Courtney laughs, nudging her affectionately with her foot.

“You’re so stupid.”

“Yeah. So...what’s your problem? Why all the pent-up rage?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Maybe...I guess I kind of got into it with Kimmy last night.” Courtney examines her nails.

“About?”

“She was kind of giving me shit about Bianca. And I got all defensive because, you know, I just...I don’t see it ever happening.”

“I dunno about that,” Adore says, chuckling.

“But Adore, be realistic. I mean, she’s married, and she wants a family, with her husband, and...you know, it is what it is. But god, she’s so hot, I can’t stand it sometimes…”

“I don’t understand you, this is totally your wheelhouse. Just be like,” Adore puts on an exaggerated Australian accent, “Hello Bianca, are ya keen? Care for a root? Cause I’d really like to fuck your brains out, how’s that? Oh these? Just my tits, I thought I’d have them out today. So are we on?”

“Would you please stop, I don’t sound like that. You sound like the crocodile hunter imitating Ja’mie or something.”

“Well, you could learn a lot from Ja’mie. She’s got more balls than you.”

Courtney sighs, closing her eyes and smiling dreamily. “She’s just so beautiful. Have you ever seen anyone that beautiful?”

“Well, yeah, I have a mirror, so…” Adore tongue pops.

Courtney rolls her eyes.

“I’m kidding,” Adore says. “And I guess she’s cute...in that like, grown-up Bratz doll, painted, uber-femme kinda way. She’s definitely got great tits.”

“Grown up Bratz doll,” Courtney repeats, chuckling, then says, “You know who she reminds me of? Remember in The Little Mermaid, that scene when-”

“My favorite movie, go on-”

“When Ursula turns into that like, sexy girl, and tries to steal Eric from Ariel?” Courtney raises her eyebrows.

“Omigod. Vanessa.” Adore begins to laugh.

“Yes! Vanessa! Blue eyes, dark hair, that evil glint in her eye…”

“She is a little bit evil. I’ve noticed that too,” Adore nods.

“No! Not evil, but, like...impish. Mischievous. And those cute dimples. And that body…Ughhhhh!”

“Girl, you need a cold shower.”

“I need a lobotomy.”

“Or that,” Adore agrees. “You know what I wonder...What’s the husband like?”

Courtney shrugs, eyes slightly unfocused.

“I’ve never met him.”

“Well, okay, but I’m sure you stalked her social media. You must know what he looks like…”

“I mean, of course…” She hugs a pillow to her chest.

“...And?”

“And what?”

Adore cups her hands around her mouth and speaks loudly through them.

“What does he look like?”

“I...I dunno. He’s...like, if you went to the husband factory and ordered the Ivy League model with a cheekbone upgrade, he’s what would pop out of the machine. He’s basically a Ken doll.”

“Hmm. So she’s got a type,” Adore muses thoughtfully.

Courtney raises the pillow and smacks Adore in the face, making her shriek with laughter.

***

Bianca looks up from her sewing machine. “So how was your night?”

“Pretty good,” Courtney says, perched on the stool, swinging her legs.

Bianca raises an eyebrow and shakes her head, looking back down.

“What?”

“No, nothing. I’m just bracing myself.”

“Bracing yourself for what?”

“Details about your little rendez-vous.”

Courtney smirks, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “Oh, so you want details, eh? Didn’t realize you were so thirsty for smut-”

“No, I didn’t say I wanteddetails, but that’s never stopped you before,” Bianca replies with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Well...” Courtney begins, then pauses.

Bianca looks up, soft blue eyes meeting Courtney’s green ones. She can feel her heart begin to race, her abdomen tightening.

“Yeah?”

“...I don’t want to torture you,” Courtney continues, “So, I’ll just let you imagine this one.”

Bianca exhales, forcing a scoff.

“Oh...shut up.”

Courtney giggles, twirling on the stool, feeling a slight release of the tension that had been building up over the last few days. She exhales, letting her head fall backwards, enjoying the dizziness that comes over her as she spins, not unlike the feeling of being on a dance floor after your second or third cocktail.

“I do have one question.”

Bianca’s voice brings her back to the moment and she puts a foot down to stop the stool.

“Yes?” she asks, with a coy flutter of her lashes.

“Don’t get excited, it’s not a sex question.”

“Oh.”

“Just like...the whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing.” Bianca pauses, then continues carefully, “I just...always thought that was a thing guys made up so that they didn’t have to commit. What exactly are you getting out of that?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“No. You’re good friends, so you obviously get along. And you sleep together. Why not just date? What am I missing?”

“You can like someone, and enjoy sleeping with them, and still know that they aren’t the right romantic match for you. I love Adore. I mean, you know her, she’s fun, and we totally get along, but…it takes a lot for me to want to be in a relationship. I’d much rather be independent than try to force something with someone that isn’t right for me. And with Adore...there’s not that fire, that...you know?”

Bianca listens, wondering how anyone could be with Courtney and not have fire. She’s nothing butfire.

“I mean it’s always just been too easy. There’s no burning passion, or...or sense of adventure. It’s just...nice. Which is great, but...that’s it...” Courtney trails off, trying to read the ambiguous expression on Bianca’s face.

“I see.” It’s taking all of Bianca’s mental strength not to imagine exactly the kind of “burning passion” it would take to satisfy her. Nails dig in her hands under the sewing table, willing herself to erase the torrid images flashing through her mind. Back arched, toes curled, mouth open in a desperate moan...

“For either of us!” Courtney continues quickly. “Which is why, you know, we don’t hook up too often. Or, we’ll get lazy and stop looking for the real deal. She agrees with me; we’ve talked about it.”

“Wait, you’ve actually talked about this?” Bianca is snapped out of her fantasies by surprise, caught off guard. “So then it’s more than just sex?”

Courtney looks at her for a moment before answering, suddenly conscious of how very deeply curious she’s been. Almost invested. But she shakes that thought and smiles.

“Well, yeah. She’s not just a trick, she’s my friend. And she agrees. But then, she’s kind of lazier than me so sometimes she’s like ‘sure, right, but on the other hand, who needs epic passion when you’ve got Netflix?’”

Bianca laughs.

“She sounds like Jared. We should fix them up.”

“Now, I’ve know never met him, but something tells me that he wouldn’t be her type,” Courtney replies.

“I dunno, he’s kinda pretty,” Bianca says. “A wig and a wonderbra, she might not know.”

“Well…” Courtney taps her chin thoughtfully. “She does like a strap-on.”

Bianca’s eyes bulge as she gapes at Courtney, lips parted in disbelief.

“What, you thought it was the other way around?” Courtney asks sweetly.

“I...I...shut up!” Bianca finally stammers out.

Courtney winks smugly and then bursts out laughing, immensely proud of herself.

***

“Don’t get me wrong...your dogs are super fucking cool, but I just think it’s a little weird that you always have them at the table with us,” Adore says.

“Why?” Bianca responds. “We let you sit at the table.”

Adore laughs, spitting out some of her roast beef.

“Case in point…”

Courtney bites down on a carrot stick, thoughtfully scratching Sammy behind the ears.

“Hey, are you guys doing anything next Saturday?” she asks.

“Why?” Adore asks suspiciously. “Not another lame west side art gallery opening again...because I toldSasha-“

“No, not that. So...I have this friend-”

“Hard to believe, but go on…” Bianca interrupts.

“Ahem. My dear, dear friend Alexis is hosting this like, cabaret-style performance night at the Rockwell and she asked me to do a few numbers. I was wondering if you guys might want to come. No pressure.”

“You sing?” Bianca asks.

“Mostly for a lark, but yeah.” Courtney chews her lip. “It’s really no big deal. Although, if it helps, the other performers are actual professionals. Frankly, I’m not sure what the fuck I’m doing in this line-up except maybe she’s being nice.”

“Maybe she thinks you’ll look good on the posters,” Adore offers.

“Thanks.”

“You’re such a little twat,” Bianca tells her.

“Yeah, well, this is total false modesty. Her voice is fucking awesome. I’ll be there, obviously, and you should come too. Wear something low cut and I’ll buy you a drink.” Adore winks.

“Stop that,” Bianca says. “I’m old enough to be your mother.”

“Oh, you are not. Maybe like, a slutty golddigging stepmom.”

“There’s an image,” Courtney laughs.

“Why slutty? Why can’t I be a classy golddigger?”

“My dad’s lazy, so he goes for very whoreish women. It’s kind of the reason my mom kicked him out.”

“Sounds like a real catch.”

“Hey, you picked him...Mommy.” Adore winks again, licking her lips.

“You’re a sick fuck.” Bianca shakes her head.

“I know, right?” Adore grins charmingly, resting her head on Courtney’s shoulder.

“By the way, I’ve seen her dad...I don’t think he’s your cup of tea,” Courtney adds.

“Good to know. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called a golddigger though.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh yeah. Jared’s mom had it out for me from the beginning. And then, like, we were engaged for almost nine years, and the entire time, she was fighting about this insane pre-nup that she wanted me to sign. Newsflash, Linda: I’m not in this for the beach house on the Cape. I’d actually rather slit my own wrists then spend a summer with your racist garbage friends in Chatham.”

“What a bitch!” Adore exclaims.

“Pretty much,” Bianca shrugs, tapping her French tips on the table. “But, joke’s on her. Because maybe if she wasn’t such an asshole back when we first hooked up, her son wouldn’t have been so gung-ho about marrying me in the first place.” She takes a long sip of her Diet Coke as Adore laughs uproariously.

“You get that Hamptons house, bitch!” Adore cheers, lifting her cup in a toast.

“Cape Cod,” Bianca corrects her.

“Right, whatever...same thing, though, amiright?”

Bianca laughs, nodding.

“Pretty much the same thing.”

“White people suck,” Adore proclaims, then looks at Courtney and adds, “No offense, boo.”

“Full offense, boo,” Bianca says. “This SoulCycle vegan Coachella cunt? She’s so part of the problem.”

“I hate Coachella,” Courtney says simply, staring her down.

“But you love Burning Man,” Adore says, and Bianca bursts out laughing again.

“White people suck,” she concludes. “But joke’s on them. Because even though they hate me, they won’t possibly be able to hate their little brown dimpled grandkids.”

Courtney scrutinizes her carefully, wondering exactly how much pain hides beneath that tough exterior. Bianca looks up and catches her eye, giving her a softer smile than she expects. She returns it happily, waving Sammy’s paw at her with a light giggle.

***

“Hey, so, about Saturday...seriously, no obligation if you’re busy,” Courtney says, sticking her head into Bianca’s trailer after checking out with Jamie.

“Oh. Yeah, no, I’m not busy.”

“Or, like, If you’re not up for it. I know you’ve got other things going on, so-”

“No, that’s…” Bianca waves her hand. “It sounds fun. I’m excited to hear you sing.”

She smiles, flashing her dimples, and Courtney feels a tingle of nervous energy in her belly. It’s been awhile since she’s gotten onstage, and she’s used to that rush of butterflies, but suddenly there’s a whole new level of anxiety. Suddenly, she has this inescapable feeling that no matter how big the crowd is, she’s going to be performing for an audience of one.

***

Bianca follows the waitress into the Rockwell’s performance space, quickly realizing that her reserved seat is with Adore and a bunch of people she’s never seen. And of course, Adore is already looking a little tipsy. Fantastic.

“Heeey Sugar Tits!” Adore slings an arm around her. “You smell good.”

“Wish I could say the same. You do know the drought’s over, right? We can bathe every day now.” Bianca wrinkles her nose.

Shea laughs, flagging the server.

“Okay, New Girl is funny. What’s your name, and what are you drinking?”

“Bianca, and…” she scans the menu quickly. “Uhhh...Ravenswood, I guess?”

“Put it on my tab,” Shea tells the server, then extends her hand to Bianca. “I’m Shea. How do you know our messy little bitch here? Adore, stop groping her, Jesus!”

Adore crosses her arms, pouting.

“Spoilsport.”

“I work with her and Court on Silver Screens,” Bianca laughs, straightening Adore’s hat for her. “And thank you.”

“Ohhh, got it,” Shea says, suddenly realizing who Bianca is. The breeder. She pinches Sasha’s thigh under the table, and her girlfriend turns around, having been fully engrossed in a pretentious conversation with Naomi at the next table about whether the collection at The Broad was still relevant since they opened the previous year.

After a few rounds of drinks and some shared appetizers, Bianca finds herself warming quite a bit to Courtney’s friends, especially Shea. There’s something about the Chicagoan that reminds her of her friends back home - well, the ones smart enough to get out of Gretna, that is.

The easy camaraderie continues as the lights dim and Alexis, the MC for the evening, steps out. She’s obviously good friends with the girls, since they are on their feet screaming for her, and their enthusiasm is infectious. And well founded, Bianca realizes, once she begins to sing a throaty rendition of Cabaretto get the crowd going.

The next performer is wonderful, a Broadway actress with a fabulous range and impressive resume. Courtney wasn’t lying about the line-up. Bianca is on her fourth glass of wine, feeling uncharacteristically relaxed, when Alexis introduces Courtney, giving the audience a kind of warning.

“If you’ve never seen our next performer...it might be hard to focus on her singing, because...well, you’ll see.” Alexis gestures to some tables in the front. “You folks are in the swooning section, I’m afraid.”

Sasha whistles and Alexis continues, “Please show a lot of love to the stunning, talented, and all around extraordinary...Ms. Courtney Hamilton!”

Bianca claps and cheers along with the group as Courtney steps onto the bright lights of the stage, and that’s when it feels like all the air is sucked out of her lungs. She’s used to the blonde being stunning, in a kind of easy, effortless way - the kind of beauty that’s annoying, because she doesn’t have to try, and so she doesn’t try. But tonight…

The woman standing on stage is the most breathtaking bombshell that Bianca has ever seen. Everything about her is sheer perfection, from the crown of her glossy blonde hair to the tip of her stiletto heel. As she steps forward, nodding her head gratefully at the applause, the high slit of her dress falls away and Alexis winks at someone in the front row of the audience.

“Told ya.”

There’s a gentle chuckle and Adore wolf whistles. Bianca gulps, sending up a silent prayer to get through this evening with her wits about her.

#rpdr fanfiction #bianca del rio #courtney act #bitney #adore delano #adorney #shea coulee #oc #lesbian au #slow burn #fluff #angst #undone #stephanie #veronica #tw emotional abuse

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