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poll-ventures · 1 year

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Perdition 1.4

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I hung up. I stared at the phone in my hand, its screen showing an old rotary telephone slamming into its receiver.

Numbly, I watched it repeat several times before it faded away into the black of the dead screen. Why had I done that?

What am I doing?

I broke into a sprint down the road, running as fast as I could to the woods.

*****

The woods of Old Hill were untouched. Serene, tranquil, and still easing itself awake from the dusty silence of early morning. I tore through the trees at a sprint, thin vines and branches tearing at my coat as I sped over the cold packed dirt and gnarled forest roots.

I was following a creek, and I was relatively sure it was the same one that Noel meant. I’d seen the maps of the land in the museums, but those had never held much truth when it came to small details like a small creek in the heavy western woods. Noel's parent's mansion had been built only a few decades ago, so I was guessing at a ghost.

I slowed as I approached a large fallen basswood tree, leaning on it as I caught my breath. I really wasn’t made for running, and my lungs screamed with the icy air pulling and pushing out of them. As I sat on the cool bark, I faced the way I’d come, and recognized it.

I’d been here before, with Noel, when she needed a break from her homework, or life in general. This was near the right spot.

“Noel!” I shouted, turning around on the tree to search for her. The quiet, yet alive chatter of the woods slowed as my voice rung out, then returned as it died.

A woodpecker stabbed a rhythm into a far away tree, and the forest all together went on uncaring. I swore under my breath, and moved my legs to straddle the cold dead tree like a horse.

The felled basswood spanned the creek, and I stared down its length as I caught my breath. Moving my gloved hand down the trunk, I found my glove was sticking to something.

It was a carved heart. The injured wood was green and fresh, sap building up and out at the edges of the cut.

The letters in the heart read N + J, then a date. 2-3-23. Very fresh. I stared at the ‘N’, brushing the older sap aside with my thick gloved digits.

Natalie.

The name still burned painfully in my heart, incorrect and shameful in the memories it wrought. One word from a well meaning stranger, one reminder of the date of the accident, that’s all it took.

February 15th, 2020. The night was alive in my mind again, without my asking. I turned my head up, to face the woods.

The woods, as many dark and cold nights on the road had taught me, could be very dangerous. Refusing to drive or even be driven after the accident, I had backpacked my way down from New York.

I’d thought the trip would be quick; Google Maps said ten days, and I thought I'd be in Old Hill in nine, maybe eight days, easy.

After the money for inns and motels had run out, I had realized that walking worked on the same kind of time that hospitals and classes right before lunch did: Slow time.

Time that stretches on until you're sunburnt and dehydrated, until you want to turn back, but that would make things even worse, and everyone back home doesn’t want you there anyway, so just keep on heading down I-81 counting the mile markers.

Slow time traps you in this until your eyes roll into the back of your skull, and you’re willing to sleep on a pile of rusty nails because at least they don’t fucking honk at you for having the gall to walk on the shoulder instead of in the gluttonous mud trench that sucks your falling-apart-shoes down its shit-coated-throat.

So, after a long day of trudging, the sun would go down, sometimes obligingly slow, sometimes slipping right out of slow time and into blink-and-you’ll-miss-it time, diving below the horizon and leaving you soaking wet, struggling with two damp sticks to make a fire.

This, however, was preferable to the perils of the interstate’s shoulder and its many bored, cloying cops and just-like-me vagrants.

If I had to choose, though, it’d be the vagrants. I’d shared a few kind fires with a number of them, sometimes learning their names and their stories, sometimes sitting in uneasy silence until we wandered off to sleep in private.

As the weeks wore on, I had been moving into a cold front, and not sleeping in front of the fire had become impossible.

More often than not, I’d made camp in a thin layer of trees that lined a highway-side property. Sometimes you’d need to hop a fence, which started out hard, but by the second week was routine.

This was technically and legally trespassing, but a camo sleeping bag and a good spot usually got you through the night without disturbance. Usually.

More than once, I’d been woken by something rummaging through my belongings, sometimes even the coat I’d been sleeping in. Sometimes it’d be curious and annoyed animals, but most times it had been people. The cops had always been the worst.

“What you’re doing is illegal,” they’d say, then look at me confused and finish either with “Sir,” or, more often, “Ma’am.” Always with disapproval in their voice and always using more force than needed.

Sometimes they’d let me move on, or I’d get a ride to their office, where they called my father, confirmed he knew where I was, then bewilderedly let me go, usually with a stern warning.

Most cops, when they understood, had offered food and drink for my trip. Some had even offered rides, which I graciously denied. Some offered neither, and just let me go.

One, the worst, had left me locked up in the little town’s singular cell for three days and three nights. It was just outside of West Virginia, right after I’d crossed the Kentucky border.

Jessup, as the nothing little two-road town was called, apparently had trouble keeping folk around. Or so I was told by Jessup’s top boozer, who said his name was Jesse. He’d already been in the cell when I was thrown in.

The officer who’d found me on the side of the road, a mean mugging ugly woman, had given Jesse her meanest mug as she walked away with a clipboard securely tucked beneath one arm.

Jesse of Jessup played harmonica, and drank like a fish. In the morning he was always set free, but at night, he was brought to the cell, what he lovingly and drunkenly called ‘Jesse’s Little Corner of Jessup’.

On my last night in his town, he’d snuck in a small bottle of Fireball, a deck of cards, and his dirty harmonica, still wet from its play in the bar. After the mean-mugger had left for the night, Jesse showed me how to play Hearts, Bullshit, Garbage, and the 'ca.

He was good, and I told him as much. In his jovial way, he corrected me: “I’m not good,” I remembered him slurring, “I’m mean. ‘Jesse,’ you should say. ‘You play a meaaaaan har-moan-i-cah,’ you should be saying.”

So I did, and he cheered. We shared no campfire, but did huddle and did dance around the rattling radiator, him blowing sharply into the ‘cah and me stomping my boots and clapping my hands.

He’d thanked me for my company, and kissed me gently on the cheek. He’d reeked of alcohol and worse, but I thanked him for his good humor, and let him sleep.

After the mean-mugger had exhausted all of her attempts to find me guilty of various crimes, she’d let me go. She had demanded I shower first, staring me down with a disappointed grandmotherly glare. So, thanks to her, I walked out of Jessup and up the highway on-ramp cleaner than I’d been in weeks.

The memory of the mean-faced officer set a worry ablaze in my stomach as I stared down the creek. Again, the stab of the woodpecker cut through the wood’s idle chatter. Why was I out here?

Why in the world had I ignored direct orders from an officer of the law, when they knew my name and phone number? It gnawed at me. I’d never done anything like this.

I finally crossed the log, and stepped off of it onto the other side of the creek. “Noel!” I shouted out again, this time more of a bark. A quick check of the woods revealed nothing but the quiet apathy that suffused the trees. Wasting my time, when she could be in danger. What the fuck am I do-

“Hands up,” a thin, scared voice said from behind me. I recognized the slight southern accent.

“Noel,” I said, half turning my head. “I-”

“I said hands up!” She was shouting now, and I turned to face her with my hands up.

Noel, almost thirteen and dressed in stained Hello Kitty pijamas, held a rifle aimed at my chest. The lever action rifle was almost comically large in her arms, and I laughed nervously, falling, then stepping backwards as she approached me slowly, gun held level against her shoulder. She was trying not to cry.

“Where is my father,” she asked in a broken voice, screwing up her face in a grimace.

“I-I don’t know, Noel, what are you doing? I came here to help you,” I blurted out, still holding my hands in the air carefully. “Please, put the gun down.”

She shook her head. “Answer me,” she said, waving it in the air. She stood on the basswood I had crossed the creek on, and faced me, searching my face for a clue.

“I don’t know,” I repeated, feeling the cold press of a tree against my back. The creek babbled quietly next to us, and I stared at her. We both stood, unmoving.

Carefully, she stared at me, then raised the gun to point at my head. “Stop fucking lying!” she barked at me. I flinched, closing my eyes.

“I’m not! The cops said you were missing, nothing about your dad! I don’t know what the hell is going on, I just want you to stop pointing that thing at me,” I said, breathing heavily.

“Bullshit,” she spat, the curse sounding foreign in her light voice. “Don’t move,” she said, and braced the rifle against her with one arm as she dug in her pocket for something. Then she threw it at me, and adjusted her grip on the gun.

Her phone landed next to me in the leaves, the screen lighting up to show a picture of Noel and her mother, smiling happily in a selfie. I looked up at her, facing the glare of the rifle’s blackened metal barrel. She stared at me, raw anger in her eyes.

“You know the passcode,” she growled. “Open it. Watch the video.” I blinked, then nodded, crouching slowly and taking my right hand down to put in the numbers. 9-2-1-2. Her birthday.

The phone opened, showing a paused recording of a computer monitor. The woodpecker stabbed his staccato into a nearby tree. I tapped on the screen, then pressed play.

The video was a recording of the security system in the house I’d lived in until yesterday, portrayed in black and white. It was a view from the top of the grand staircase, watching the front door and most of the upstairs balcony, and the time in the bottom left corner read 2:03 A.M..

Noel, holding the camera in the video, was quietly and carefully breathing, the view slowly moving with her breath. The time in security footage flipped to 2:04 A.M.. The real Noel’s breathing suddenly broke out in a gentle shaking wheeze, I wasn’t sure if she was sobbing, or laughing. “Keep watching,” she choked, seeing I was looking up at her.

Car headlights streamed through the front door’s windows, casting shadows on the wall of the balcony floor. The balustrade’s shadows fled quickly across the wall, then slowly melted away as the headlights died. A moment passed, and then the door opened. Noel’s father walked in.

Kyle Montgomery was a tall man, ambiguously young but mature and well kept. Grey was seeping in at the top of his scalp, peppering his blond, jaw length hair. Carefully hanging his keys on a hook near the door, he stared at himself in the full length mirror next to the door, straightening out his thin mustache and checking his jawline.

He mussed up his hair, then turned his head back and forth to check if it was correctly incorrect. Nodding in approval, he shrugged off his heavy business coat, and let it drop to the floor as he walked up the stairs. He shed his suit and loosened his tie, leaving him with just a tailored pinstripe button up tucked into perfect black slacks.

As he rose to the top of the stairs, he stopped and carefully undid the highest button of his shirt, the tie hanging loosely about his chest like an ascot.

Then, he paused, staring down at the mess of his coat on the ground, the stairs, then the hall the opposite way, where his wife and child were asleep. He looked small in the video, and suddenly very tired. Still facing his bedroom, he raised his hand gently to his mouth, and bit down softly on it.

He turned to face my bedroom, biting down on his own flesh hard enough to draw a bead of blood. He walked to my door, then knocked on it, drawing his wounded hand to his side, near his hip. He looked as if he were going to draw a sword, though nothing was there, just his right hand hovering a few inches away from his left hip.

The door opened, and I was standing in the crack. I was dressed in pijamas, and looked at him confused. He said something, the recording silent. In the past, I nodded, widening the door.

My brain felt like it was dropped in a bath of ice water, pure confusion washing over me. “What the fuck?” I said aloud, watching myself open the door further, letting him step in. I walked away, disappearing into the room as he slipped through the doorway, then closed it.

I stared at my door in the video, nauseated. “Noel,” I said, staring up at her from the floor of the forest. “I don’t remember this.” My voice was cracking, confusion and fear seeping into my words from my core.

“Bullshit,” she croaked. She readjusted the grip on the rifle. “I’ve literally seen you do it. I watched you open that door for him! I don’t know what you’re doing in there, but it’s got to be why he’s gone. Where is he?”

“Noel,” I pleaded, “That’s not me. There’s no way, I’m not lying. I wouldn’t do that to you, or your mom,” I said. “Beli-”

“I don’t believe you,” she shouted, almost sobbing now. “You’re a liar. You stole my dad, or killed him, or something, ‘cause you knew it wasn’t right. Almost every night at two A.M., since you got here. Look!” She gestured towards her phone with the rifle.

I looked down carefully, cringing away from the gun as it came back up to point at me. Noel in the video was shaking, watching as her father left my room, five minutes after he had entered it.

He looked the same as when he’d entered, save for the blood and bite mark on his hand. They were gone. He walked calmly down the stairs, grabbed his coat, and left the house. The car’s headlights cast the familliar shadows in reverse.

The camera spun, and the mouse on the desktop shakily moved to a new folder, reading 2/13/23. Two days ago. The mouse maneuvered to the video file labeled 200, the second file in the folder, and opened it.

Almost on the dot at 2:03 A.M., Mr. Montgomery stepped into the foyer, shrugged his coat onto the floor, then climbed the stairs.

This time, he didn’t pause on the way to my door to bite his hand, stopping only to knock, clearly hover his hand over his empty hip, then enter my room.

I hadn’t even looked up at him. I’d just let him in.

“What the fuck,” I whispered hoarsely.

The mouse skimmed the video to five minutes later, when Kyle exited punctually, closing the door after him carefully, then taking the stairs two at a time to leave the mansion.

The video then clicked through random nights at two A.M., watching the same process occur many times over, sped up.

Sometimes he bit his hand, sometimes he just knocked. Always, his hand reached for the empty space at his left hip. I watched, silently, until the video ended suddenly in the middle of a night.

Noel had been staring at me the entire time, burning with silent rage. “Just tell me.”

I took a deep breath, and sat on the cold, packed dirt. “I don’t know, Noel. That’s not me. There’s no way…”

I wasn’t one to repress memories. My worst traumatic memories, I could remember in painful detail, burned into the fabric of my being. It could be an actor, but no, I’d been there at two A.M., almost every weeknight for a year. I could very distinctly remember my nights, they were usually taken up with studying and listening to music.

A coldly horrible idea formed in my head. He could have been drugging me to make me forget. Something in a drink, or something in food. He hadn’t been carrying anything in with him…

But it could’ve been in his pocket. I writhed in disgust, and I drew my knees up to my chest, feeling my breath hitch inside me as I stared emptily at the phone.

“What the fuck was he doing to me,” I said, hollow, not really there, not really meaning to. What had he done to me? Why couldn’t I remember? If he was drugging me inside of my room, how had I let him in? Would I let that man in my room if he knocked? No. Definitely no. “What the fuck,” I whispered, rocking slightly.

“Parker?” Noel asked softly.

“No,” I stated, almost to myself. “It’s a fake, a fake video or a fake set that he made to set me up. It’s just an actor, just…” Noel was staring at me, shaking her head.

“What do you mean?” She asked, lowering the rifle a little, stepping towards me.

“He was never home, he could’ve been, I don’t know, setting this up? There’s no way I’d let him into my room. I don’t even like your father as a person, let alone,” I stopped, feeling bile rise in my chest. “No. This isn’t real.” I stated firmly, and felt like I was coming back to myself, at least a little.

“No, Parker,” she said, stepping back again and raising the rifle. “I watched you do it. After I recorded this, I stayed up to watch you. He knocked, you let him in.”

“No,” I pleaded.

“Please, don’t lie,” Noel whispered.

“Stop calling me a fucking liar! I don’t remember any of this!” I was shouting now, on my knees in front of her.

"Just tell me the truth!" She cried, matching my intensity.

"I am!" I screamed I picked up the phone, throwing it back to her harder than I needed to. She staggered backward, shocked.

"Liar." Noel almost growled the word, dripping with resentment.

She bent to pick up her phone, momentarily hugging the rifle against her chest, hand still on the trigger guard. It was pointed at me. My eyes darted up to Noel's. She wasn’t looking at me.

What do you do?

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#Perdition 1.4 #Perdition #tw deadnaming #tw gun mention #tw implied abuse #tw offscreen abuse #tw cops #interactive game #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive writing #choose your own adventure #cyoa #poll #polls #adventure prep #tw alcohol #tw unsanitary #tw gaslighting

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theink-stainedfolk · 1 month

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Bibliophiles pt.1

"Would you like to read?!" I shouted to the crowd of people walking past my stall."Would you like a book?!" I felt my throat getting sore from shouting. Eventually, I sat on a bench near my hawker. I realized no one would buy some books. "I fear the future, since I see no humans being interested in the world within the pages of good books." My mother would say. Her words came true, unfortunately. I lost the count of how many times I sighed.

Suddenly a group of people passed by chattering. One pretty lady from the group caught my eye, so I stood up. "W-would you like a book?" She was extremely pretty, cladded in a cream turtleneck and a black trench coat with blue jeans with knee length boots. I smiled in hopes that a person like her might take an interest in books. But to my surprise, her expression was switched to— what I believe—disgust. "Tsk. Who needs books these days? Especially from a hawker?" I hoped what I heard was a lie and she'd smile and say it was all a joke, but it wasn't.

"Lydia, stop being rude." One of the guys nudged her. She pushed his hand and walked away. I couldn't even recover from my shock and I realized that everyone from the group has left. I didn't even realize the tears staining my cheeks. I wiped them with the sleeves of my frock. The frock had gone dirty due to moving constantly.

"Allow me to apologize in her stead." I heard a silvery and smoky voice. I looked up to see a man from the group. I looked away. "No, it's fine. She wasn't wrong, was she?"

"No, she was." He argued. "I am not shameless enough to make excuses for her about her having a rough day or whatever. She was wrong. And I am here to apologize because your feelings were hurt, and because I couldn't do anything." I looked up to see him. His eyes were showing genuine worry. The warm brown color somehow comforts me.

"Would you mind if I buy a book? Not because of what happened. I am genuinely interested in books."

"Of course!" He smiled, he looked so alluring. "Please have a look."

"Thank you, miss, pleased to meet you."

I blushed and turned away. "L-likewise."

He keenly observed the books and picked the one I hadn't expected him to.

"Th-that-"

"I'd like this, Tower To The Stars please." He said.

"Are you sure?" I asked nervously.

"Of course!"

"Alright. It's 12 Solars."

He looked offended. "Come on now, you won't just sell off a Writer's hard work for such a price. Take this." He said and offered me 80 Solars.

"This! This is too much, please take it back!" Flustered, I pushed back his hand too hard.

"No. Please accept it. Take as my appreciation towards the author. Then I'll see you tomorrow." He left in a hurry, while I was left speechless. For the first time, I hoped to see someone again.

#writeblr #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writing #my writing #writers #writers and poets #writerscommunity #writers of tumblr #writblr

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m0rb1dch1ld · 2 years

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@v-hub-v ((enjooooy~))

Tsu had not slept well in what felt like a good week. Agitation and irritation were slowly eating at her. She could feel her skin slowly droop from the bottom of her eyes. There has even been a couple instances of her passing out on the devil’s nest’s couch. For the past week she had been hearing constant running, giggling, and chatter going on within the comforts of her room. However when she woke up to check? No one would be there. If that wasn’t bad enough she would wake up to something kicking the bed from underneath. Everytime she’d check, it always seemed to come up uneventful. What’s worse? Her things were now going missing. Her books, a crystal ball, and a few items she had gathered on her adventures. The books she initially dismissed, chalking it up to being one of the gang members to have wanted a book to read. Then it became less innocent as the bookshelves started to become more and more empty.

What the bloody hell is going on? She pondered.

That night, she laid in bed and could feel sleep about to overtake her when she could hear the faintest of giggling underneath her. A disturbed, angry look bloomed on her face as reality hit her.

“Shhhhhh, you’re going to wake her up!”

“No I’m not!”

“Shut up!”

“Make me !!”

“She’s so easy to pick on!”

“you go out there and get it!”

Tsu slowly turned to her side, careful as to not make any creaks from the bed. She covered her mouth the moment she saw a little arm slowly dip from underneath her bed. It was shadowy in appearance but she could tell they were wearing a long sleeved shirt with a bones painted on it.

She quickly grabbed his arm, almost death gripping it. “Gotcha.” She hissed in anger.

“Let me go!!! She’s got me!!!” Barrel screeched.

The other goons immediately came out of the bed and it wasn’t long before they started yelling at her to drop him. Tsu glared at them and with a flick of her other wrist, she summoned her keyblade. The room immediately went silent minus the muffled bar chatter from downstairs.

“See this?”

“Mhm.” Lock said.

“You don’t want me to use this and quite frankly, I have many more ways to get you 3 to talk… all I have to do is scream.” She threatened, using the dark voice her the gang taught her. “So you three better sit the hell down and cooperate with everything I have to say or else I’m going to have to get my friends to deal with you.”

“And what are they gonna do?” Barrel sneered.

“Oh would you like me to demonstrate?” She darkly chuckled. “I remember last week, one guy came in quite scared. One of the biggest gentlemen downstairs—lovely man— told me not to go down into the basement. I never saw him leave—“

“OKAY OKAY WE PROMISE!” Shock shouted and tsu slowly let barrel go, still pointing her keyblade at them.

“Good. Now sit down and tell me: are you guys the one who stole my stuff?” She began.

“Y-yea! That was us! But we can make it up to you!!!” Lock added, “there’s a land of sweets and candy!”

A land of sweets and candy?? It peaked her interest. Logic was slowly slipping from the fatigue. “..and why should I believe you?” She tilted her head.

“We…we live there!” Barrel added. “We can take you there!”

“On the condition of I want my stuff back and for you three to leave me alone.”

~~~~

She looked down into the trench that surrounded their tree house. The amount of confusion she felt as her gaze went from the trench to the tree. “…I uh…am quite confused. Is this the land of candy you all speak about? Not to be rude…but it looks quite…ugly.” She asked.

Shock answered, “it’s down there trust me! We can get you in there!”

“All the sweets and candy you can possibly dream of!” Lock chimed in, “who wouldn’t want that?”

“I don’t know…” she huffed.

#((tsu is back and I miss her so much))#tsu phantom hive #daughter of greed #devils nests girl #rp #v-hub-v

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heartfairy · 2 years

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Snowy Play Fight

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: vi (arcane) x fem!reader

❥ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: “Vi and you decide to have a lovely and fun afternoon in the fresh snow.”

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: fluff

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 4,2k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: established relationship, playfulness, playfight in the snow, throwing snowballs at each other, toothrotting fluff, lord of playful banter, reader gets a cold, Vi doting on her girlfriend, lots and lots of kisses, lots of cuddles.

⟶ A/N: a fluffy fic with no smut for once! I can’t believe… who am I???? anyways you remember when I said that the previous fic was a filler fic??? WELL as I was talking to @piltoversapphics we kinda started rambling about how we need more soft fluffy Vi fics in the snow… so this is also???? soft fic before the OVERFLOWING tooth rotting fluffy smut part you’ll get afterwards. I want to also thank @ma3mae for brainstorming and fantasising with me as well! and as always @syddsatyrn and @saenaoin 💘 I hope you enjoy this uwu

⟶ previous post • masterlist • next post

“God, it’s so cold… thank god I’m wearing a warm jacket and my gloves…” you say as you try to keep your teeth from chattering, pulling your black fluffy beanie over your ears.

You’re both outside your apartment building, the streets and the roofs are covered in snow. When you opened the curtains of your bedroom this morning you squealed, so happy to see it's snowing. You always loved snow, it makes you feel like a little kid all over again. But as you step out in the streets you forgot to remember that you only like snow when you’re looking outside your window.

“And thank god for your fluffy beanie and scarf!” Vi adds while she smiles down at you.

She’s also wearing a beanie over her head, some of her side swept bangs sticking out of her grey beanie. A thick dark pink scarf is hanging around her neck, which almost matches her hair, the one you once gifted her on christmas. The rest of the clothes she’s wearing are a light grey hoodie underneath her signature jacket, dark blue jeans, her signature boots and last but not least, some fluffy gloves. She looks so cute it makes your cheeks blush.

You see her observe your form for a moment before holding out her hand for you to take.

You’re wearing a black beanie, some dark brown gloves and a scarf to match, a beige cable knit sweater, some brown jeans and your favourite pair of docs. On top of your outfit you’re wearing a long khaki green trench coat with some wool stitched inside.

You quickly take her hand and you lean your head against her upper arm as you walk through the snowy streets.

There’s children and young couples playing in the snow, and you can hear laughter all around the streets. Some of the children are even trying to make a small snowman. The atmosphere is very light and playful.

The cold wind is brushing against your face, a tingling feeling awakening, your cheeks and nose are becoming rosy from the cold. You look up at the grey clouded sky as snowflakes fall from the sky. You enjoy the warmth of Vi’s body temperature radiating off on you, and you nuzzle your face against her shoulder as you sigh happily.

“What’s up cupcake?” She says as she presses a soft kiss against your temple that’s covered by your beanie. You smile at the gesture, looking up at her.

“I love spending time with you, that’s all.” You say shyly and you feel her lean down to place a sweet kiss on your cheek making you blush instantly at the feeling.

“I do too,” She nibbles on your cheek, making you giggle and squirm away from her, both of her hands keeping your body close to hers as she continues to kiss you all over your face. Eventually she pulls away as her eyes glint playfully while she smiles down at you. “You have the most beautiful smile ever.”

“Aw Vi baby, thank—” you’re suddenly cut off by a loud excited scream.

“VIIIIIII!!! Y/N!!!” You don’t even have to turn around because you already recognise the voice and you’re met with Jinx running towards you both. You could see Ekko a bit further away shaking his head in amusement.

Jinx engulfs you both in a hug and you laugh softly as you both hug her back. She doesn’t let go for a while and then when she does you notice Ekko standing next to Jinx.

“I’m glad you finally got out of your apartment even if it’s probably just for one day!” She says teasingly. Your cheeks heat up at her comment.

“Now, Jinx—” You’re about to correct her when you hear Vi laugh.

“Powder, you know that’s not true.” She says as she ruffles the hair of her sister.

“Okay, okay whatever you say sis!” Jinx rolls her eyes playfully with a big smile on her face. You shake your head as a smile plays on your face before Vi and you greet Ekko. You’re both catching up, talking for a while before Ekko looks at you with a small grin on his face.

“So… are you guys here to play in the snow as well?” He questions with a teasing smile.

“Uh? I mean… We can if you want?” You say smiling back at him.

“You know,” Ekko says before walking backwards with his hands on his back. Jinx quickly catches on to what Ekko is doing and a mischievous smile spreads on her face. “I love that you said that, because… Now I can do this!” He says the last part a lot louder before he throws one snowball into your direction. Your eyes widen and you shriek trying to dodge the snowball coming into your direction but it still lands on the top of your head. Ekko yells triumphantly because he was able to hit you with his snowball and Jinx slaps her hands against her knees, laughing.

Your mouth hangs open shocked and you hear your pink haired girlfriend giggling next to you. You turn your head slowly into her direction while playfully narrowing your eyes at her. “What’s so funny?” You say as you cross your arms against your chest and give her a playful but serious look.

“Oh just that you got hit with a snow—” She can’t finish her sentence before she’s hit with a snowball herself, against her head. You cover your face trying to hide your silent giggles.

Vi moves her head quickly to see Ekko smirk while Jinx continues to laugh. “Alright, this is war!” Vi screams as she grabs your hand, running in the crunchy snow. The other two misfits’ eyes widen and they run away. All of you are laughing as you and Vi are trying to catch up to them.

The four of you play in the snow for a while, Ekko and Jinx making one team while Vi and you make the other team. You’re all on a large open field now, in some park, where other kids and young adults are also playing in the snow. Both teams tried to make a small snow fort, to protect yourselves from the opposite team.

Both of your heads peek above your fort, finding Jinx and Ekko’s heads also popping out of the fort. You aim and throw a snowball, ducking your head back behind your fort. You could hear Jinx giggles turn into a gasp, Vi’s eyes are still peeking out of your fort and turns to you giving you thumbs up before she’s also hit with a snowball. This goes on for a while until you feel like teasing Vi.

You’re gathering some snow in your hands, creating a small snowball, making it nice and round. You look up at Vi focusing on the other team not having a single clue of your little plan. You throw one at her face, it lands against her cheek and Violet gasps. “Hey!!” She yells and then looks in your direction.

You try to look away as you whistle playfully, then your eyes catch her mischievous ones. “What?” You question innocently, “What’s wrong?”

Vi shakes her head in amusement at your little act, “You sure you wanna challenge me?” She says her voice is full of playfulness.

“Yeah, Did you really expect me to not tease you? There’s plenty of snow for the team and you.” You taunt.

Before you know it, Vi is hovering over your body, her arms on either side of your head, trapping you underneath her. Vi’s face leans down, her lips close to yours, hovering over yours. Your eyes slide shut as you expect her to kiss you but after a while nothing happens and you reopen your eyes. She smiles cheekily down at you when you try to lift your face to kiss her and she keeps moving her face away from yours, making you whine. “That’s what you get for challenging me.”

“Come on… Vi—” You’re cut off as her lips kiss you by surprise, your body freezing. Your body eventually reacts and you kiss her back with so much passion. You feel her tongue tracing your lips slowly. Knowing what she wants you open your mouth slightly for her. She slips her tongue past your parted lips and swirls it around yours. You’re both kissing like this for a while until you hear Jinx and Ekko yell for you two.

“Are y’all going at it again? In the snow?” Ekko says playfully, loud enough for you guys to hear.

You both sit up and Vi peeks her head out to yell back at them. “No, We aren’t!”

The four of you get back to playing in the snow, as laughter and giggles could be heard across the whole field.

——

“Oh my god, I’m glad we’re back home. It’s literally freezing outside.” You say as you enter the apartment.

“Strange right? How could there be snow, or how could it be freezing during winter?” Vi says, her voice laced with sarcasm.

“Ha , Ha , HA!” You reply teasingly while you’re removing your scarf and gloves. She chuckles before she takes off her beanie, shaking her head so that her hair is out of her eyes.

Once you’re out of your jacket you hang it on the peg, quickly unlacing the laces of your boots, removing them and placing them on a little shelf with some other shoes from Vi and you. Let’s be honest, most of the shoes are yours because Vi tends to always wear the same two pairs.

You drag yourself to the small laundry room, pulling your wet clothes off your body. Vi joins you and she leans down to press a soft kiss against your temple making you smile up at her while she winks at you as she removes her jeans.

You both get into the shower, taking a quick warm shower. Once you’re both dried off you both pull on your pyjamas.

You flop yourself on the couch, moaning at the feel of yourself sinking in the many pillows of the couch. “God, am I happy to sit down…” you sigh happily as you feel Violet sit close next to you. You lean your head against her shoulder and you lace your fingers with her hand that’s closest to yours.

Vi leans down to kiss your forehead, as you nuzzle against her. Your body is still shivering, because you can’t seem to get much warmer.

“I’m still cold,” you whisper as you try to not chatter your teeth too much.

Violet hums and she leans down to press a soft kiss to your neck. “I have some ways to warm you up.” She says mischievously against your neck.

You snort and give her a playful shove before you sneeze.

“Did someone catch a cold?” Vi smiles playfully.

“It’s just a sneeze I’m sure I’m fiiiiii—” you’re cut off by another sneeze and you quickly take a tissue out of the tissue box on the living room table in front of you. You blow into the tissue quickly and you groan because you know she’s most likely right.

You pout as you look up at her and Vi smiles down at you. “Guess I was right…” She says teasingly and you whine as she takes a large blanket and then wraps her arms around you while shuffling you both around the sofa. She lays down horizontally and pulls you down against her, your body easily slotting between her legs, your head on her chest. She places the fluffy beige blanket on top of you two as you snuggle against her.

Her fingers run through your hair, slowly and gentle. You nuzzle against her chest enjoying her touch. While the other hand is playing with your hair, her other arm is wrapped around your body, holding you close to her, cuddling with you. You feel your body slowly get warmer because of her body temperature and soft thick blanket.

You both cuddle each other in comfortable silence. You feel yourself slowly get lost in her embrace, slowly getting sleepy. Your eyes slowly slide shut as you feel her caress your head constantly. As you feel yourself slowly drift to sleep your nose starts to tickle and before you know it you bring your elbow to your face sneezing against it repeatedly. Groaning, you close your eyes again and lay your head back on her chest.

“Maybe we should get you to bed,” Vi says mostly to herself, and before you can protest you feel her swoop your body in her arms, carrying you to your shared bedroom. She tucks you in on your side of your bed, the covers all the way up to your chin. One of her hands reaches up to your forehead, caressing it softly as she smiles. You whine when she pulls her hand away from you. “I’ll be back in a second, okay?”

You bite your bottom lip and nod before she walks away from you, closing your eyes for a while as your head sinks in your pillow. A moment later you feel the bed dip and you open one of your eyes at the same time you hear a tiny meow. Your black kitten, Kiki, crawls all the way to you, stopping herself for a moment to stretch her limbs, then situates her little body next to yours.

You slip your arm out from under your covers to pet her small head, and she purrs immediately at your touch. Smiling as you caress her you hear Vi enter the bedroom. She sets down your favourite galaxy mug on your bedside table, suspecting it to be your favourite calming tea, before she leans down to press a soft kiss against your temple. Pulling away, she then makes her way to the other side of the bed sliding into bed with you. She moves up closer to your body, careful not to crush the tiny little furry ball between your bodies.

You move your body onto your side as you stare sleepily up at your gorgeous and sweet girlfriend. “Thank you…” you whisper as her hand comes up to cup your cheek, you lean against her touch as she caresses your skin.

“You know you don’t need to thank me baby, I’ll always take care of you. Just like you always take care of me.” She says softly and you could hear Kiki meow between your bodies. Vi’s hands move down to pick the black kitten and place her tiny body at the end of the bed. “That’s better.” She whispers petting the little kitten before bringing her body closer to yours, wrapping her arms instantly around you.

You nuzzle your head in her neck as she traces small circles with her hands down your spine. You feel yourself melt in her embrace, snuggling yourself closer to her. You always feel so at home and safe with her. “I love you so much Vi,” you whisper softly before you feel yourself slowly drift off to sleep.

“I love you too, angel.” She whispers as she presses a feathery kiss against the crown of your head as she keeps caressing your body. Vi is home to you.

——

A while later, you stir from your sleep, you sit up slowly as you stretch out your arms above your head and shake your arms dramatically while yawning. As your eyes adjust to the light of the room, or lack of since it seems like it’s already the evening, you notice that Vi isn’t lying next to you anymore. Confused, you wonder where she could be. Once you’re out of bed you notice a nice smell of soup or sauce wafting from the kitchen.

Grabbing a blanket from the end of your bed you wrap it around you, then you realise you haven’t drank the tea that she made for you earlier yet, so you pick up your mug and drink the cold tea.

You smile as you make your way to the kitchen, holding your mug close to you. The apartment smells so nice, you’re curious what Vi is cooking for the both of you. Once you reach the kitchen you see that Vi has her back to you as she’s stirring what you suspect is some soup. Your eyes take in her back, admiring her tattoos, her arms and just the back of her body in general.

You feel your nose tickle, signaling that you’re about to sneeze. Vi turns around as she hears you sneezing, crossing her arms against her chest as she looks at you with amusement.

“I can’t believe you’re out of your bed already,” she says as she shakes her head disapprovingly.

“What? I wanted to help…” you whisper as you look down at your feet.

“You know I don’t need help, please let me do this for you.” She says before she strides towards you, her hands cupping your cheeks instantly and tilting your head towards her.

“But—” you pout.

“No buts! If you want you can sit on the couch but you need your rest.” She says seriously but her voice is still gentle. Her hands caress your cheeks before she leans down to press a soft kiss on your cheek, the right side of your face. Then she takes the mug out of your hands while smiling down at you.

“Okay…” you grumble as you drag yourself to the living room.

“Good, that’s what I love to hear!”

There’s no point in arguing with your girlfriend, you’re both too stubborn and you know deep down that she’s right. She just wants what’s best for you, and you know you’d say the same things to her. Once you reach the couch, you let yourself slump against the pillows horizontally, all wrapped in your blanket, looking like a little cocoon.

In one of the corners of the room, close to the couch, you see Kiki sleeping on one of the flowers of the pink flower cat tree. You smile as you observe her as she’s lying on her back all stretched out.

You hear a buzzing noise coming from the kitchen and you notice as you look in her direction, that Vi is mixing the soup. You smile knowing that she always remembers that you have some food aversions.

As you close your eyes for a while, your thoughts drift away to an even more domestic life with Vi. You can’t help but think about what the future might hold for the two of you. Thinking about how you could call her your wife someday…

“Baby?” You hear her voice softly.

You open your eyes and move your head to the side, seeing her sitting on the living room table while holding two bowls of soup. You smile as you sit up, still horizontally, as you take your cup of soup from her.

“Be careful baby, it’s probably still hot,” she says before you wanna take a sip.

“Okay… I’ll wait,” you say as she reveals a spoon to you with a wink and you take it happily, gingerly stirring your soup with your spoon.

She stands up and you bring your legs towards your chest as she sits down on the other end of the sofa also sitting down horizontally stretching her legs, and gestures for you to lay down your legs on hers. You slide your legs as you fit one of your legs between hers.

As you’re lifting the spoon from your soup, and bringing it to your mouth Vi speaks up. “You really have tiny feet…” She says playfully as she stares at your feet making you snort and almost spill the soup on your pyjamas.

“Come on Vi, don’t make me laugh when I’m about to try your delicious soup.” You say as you shake your head disapprovingly, but in a playful way.

“Sorry, it’s not my fault I’m funny…”

“Right…” you say, your voice laced with sarcasm.

“Hey! I can’t believe that you’re still a little brat when you’re sick!” She says as she puts down the soup on the table and she gives you the most mischievous look you’ve ever seen.

“Vi… NO!” You giggle as she brings her hands down to tickle your feet slightly. “I can’t believe that you only remember me teasing you while I said your soup is probably very delicious!”

“Alright, I’ll stop. Only because you’re ill though,” she says, adding the last part quickly.

“Damn, now let me eat in peace.” You say before bringing the spoon back to your face, before you put it in your mouth you give her a playful pointed look and when she chuckles you narrow your eyes at her.

“I’m not doing anything,” she laughs as she lifts her arms in surrender.

“No funny business? Strange…” you act like you’re deep in thought for a moment before you hear your girlfriend snort, but say nothing.

You taste her soup and moan at the taste, “Hold on, how did you find any pumpkins? It’s not the season at all!” You’re surprised that Vi was able to make pumpkin soup since it’s winter.

“I have my ways…” she says mysteriously as she sips on her soup.

You roll your eyes playfully at her but continue to eat your soup in silence. Occasionally you sneeze, groaning in frustration because of it. You hate being ill, but who doesn’t. Once you’re done eating your soup, you place the spoon in the bowl, as you’re trying to reach the living room table to place the bowl on the table you feel Vi’s hand taking the bowl from your hand.

She places both of your bowls on the table, she lays back down and as she does so you notice her stare at you for a while before she chuckles.

“What?” You say nervously.

“Hold on,” she says as she crawls over the sofa all the way to you, hovering over your body as her hand comes to reach for your face. Her thumb swipes over the skin above your upper lip, and she brings her thumb slowly to her mouth as she looks down at you while smiling cheekily. Sucking the soup from her thumb into her mouth as you feel your heartbeat pick up and blush at the action.

She removes her thumb from between her lips with a pop and she smiles before leaning her head down to press a soft kiss on your lips.

“Vi, I’m sick… I don’t want you to get sick because of me.” You pout as you push her away from you.

“I don’t care if I get sick, I want you close to me and I know you,” she says as she points her finger at you “are a needy clingy baby, and need all the cuddles and kisses in the world.”

You huff because she’s right, you need all the affection in the world. Only from her though.

“I know you don’t want anything too complicated and just want your comfort food. So I’m gonna go make us some pasta, how does that sound?” She says with a genuine smile as her hand cups your cheek. You nod as you mirror her smile.

“That’s perfect, thank you.”

“Because you’re so sweet you get to chose the sauce I’m making as well,”

You think for a second. This is hard, you want some Mac and Cheese but you also want a pesto sauce. Decisions , decisions.

“Do you remember that delicious pesto sauce you’ve once made? I would really like that one since it’s been a while.” You say as you bite your lip.

“Alright, pesto sauce it is!”

Vi leans down to press a quick peck on your lips before she stands up from the couch and picks up both of your bowls, making her way to the kitchen.

As you’re about to close your eyes you feel little paws walking on top of you. You open your eyes to be met with Kiki’s head, she meows at you as soon as you smile. She comes all the way to your face, rubbing her tiny face against yours, begging for attention. “Okay Kiki, I’ll give you some love,” you giggle before you caress her head, giving her neck and her chin some occasional scratches, making her purr against you.

Eventually Kiki crawls lower down your body, turning her body in a little ball on your stomach, making you smile.

You can’t help but be happy, your amazing girlfriend is taking care of you, making you soup, pasta and tea. You can’t believe that you got this lucky. Vi makes you so happy and she gives you so much love too. She’s truly the best person ever. You hope you get to love her as long as she wants you. You really hope to share your whole life with her.

You sigh happily as you continue to think about her. A while later you hear Vi call out for you, her voice pulling you out of your daydreams, telling you that dinner is ready and you make your way to her.

The evening is calm, so filled with love, lots of cuddles and forehead kisses.

You’re truly grateful that Vi exists.

347 notes · View notes

poursomesunaonme · 2 years

Text

out under the stars

pairing: fushiguro toji x f!reader

summary: insomnia torments you during a camping trip with your friends, so what’s the harm in passing the time with your friend’s dad?

wc: 6k

author’s note: i am deep in the trenches of toji brainrot yall its not even funny. put the man in a flannel and the lumberjack fantasies go brrrrrr anyways this was one of my more recent ideas that a wheel told me to write so if that’s any indication as to how my writing is going, i don’t wanna hear it HAHAH. so please enjoy friends, i love u all v much

as always, likes/comments/reblogs/etc are always welcome and appreciated<3

but most importantly, this is part of @fairyfuyu across the universe collab! s/o my dear honey for hosting such a wonderful event (mwah!) <333

cw: nsfw, minors dni, age gap (characters aged up to college age) brief mentions of female masturbation, size kink (how can you not with this man), corruption kink if you squint, dry humping, praise, a little degradation if u squint, use of daddy, lots of pet names (darling, good girl, little girl), fingering, pussyjob, cervix kissing, panty stuffing, creampie, unprotected sex

you couldn’t help that sleep failed to drown you in its bliss. you’d always struggled to sleep in new places, and camping certainly exacerbated the insomnia that plagued you. the crickets chirped loudly, the occasional owl’s hoot sounded throughout the clearing that you had set up camp in. but, most of all, it was the snores of yuuji, nobara, and megumi that kept you wide awake.

you couldn’t help that it was goddamn freezing, that an unexpected cold front had moved through the country on the exact weekend that you chose to go camping. but your friends had insisted on keeping the plans, saying that there wouldn’t be any other time during the year to go, with their demanding class schedules. so that left you, despite all the extra layers that adorned your body, shivering uncontrollably in your sleeping bag.

and you poor, poor thing, you just couldn’t help that regardless of any movement that you enacted between your folds, the orgasm refused to come - or even get any closer. you tried everything that usually got you off, massaging slow circles upon your clit, filling yourself up with one, two, and even trying three fingers. but none of your efforts yielded any semblance of fruition as you tried your hardest to avoid making any friction against your covers that would awaken your friends. it was the only hope you had of having a good night’s sleep.

and so, this left you awake, cold, and frustrated. the perfect trinity to end the uneventful day of camping. the chilly night air nipped at your nose as you fought back tears, feeling like a baby crying over the most minor inconvenience. with a huffing sigh, you untangled yourself from your extra blankets and crept out of your sleeping bag, tip-toeing out of the cramped tent to avoid waking your blissfully snoozing friends.

the air was even colder outside of your shelter, devoid of the warm breath that left your friends’ mouths. wrapping your arms around yourself, shivering, you jogged over to the restroom that was conveniently placed near the campground. after you had relieved yourself, ignoring your haggard face in the mirror, you were making your way back to your tent when a figure surprised you sitting by the embers of the fire.

“what’re ya doin’ up, y/n?” toji asked nonchalantly. you nearly jumped at the sound, but quickly composed yourself, clutching yourself tighter.

“cold, couldn’t sleep,” you mumbled, teeth beginning to chatter. toji clicked his tongue, beckoning for you to sit on the bench next to him. you obliged, settling yourself on the freezing wood. heat radiated from the behemoth of a man next to you.

“ah, three roommates too much for ya?” he joked, stoking the embers with a stick. the two of you watched as sparks flew from the glowing bed, floating up into the night sky and fading from view. unashamedly, you scooted closer to toji until your thighs were touching. a relieved sigh escaped from your mouth as the heat that he emitted spread across your skin at the point of contact.

“you could say that, i suppose,” you sighed, doubling over to insulate the warmth as much as possible. a wave of thanksgiving washed over you as you thanked the stars above that toji had offered to chaperone you and your friends on the trip - otherwise, you’d be cold and bored to tears as your friends slept blissfully beside you.

“that’s too bad darlin’, loud snorers, cold front and all, what’re ya gonna do?” the tone of his voice was teasing, but sweet. it was almost as if he was dangling a treat in front of a puppy who was begging for it.

“i dunno,” you shrugged, “go back and try to sleep, i guess.”

“i don’t think you’ll have any luck with that,” he scoffed, prodding the embers once again. they crackled angrily as they flashed and crackled through the air.

“you’re probably right.”

the two of you were quiet for a moment, as if the both of you were holding your breath, waiting for the other to plunge a foot through the sheet of ice that had formed over the conversation. toji continued his idly fiddling with the fire, and you stole a glance at his face. his sharp features were enhanced in the dim light, shadows dancing across his pale skin. despite being surrounded by trees, the smell of pine stuck potently to his flannel. his eyes flitted over in your direction, and in response, you quickly tore your gaze away from him, gluing your eyes back on the fire.

“well,” he cleared his throat tentatively, “if you’re alright with it, you could sleep in my tent.”

your heart leapt into your throat at his proposal. “really?”

“it’s a lot less crowded and i’ve been told i radiate the warmth of a space heater,” he laughed. you joined in nervously, hesitant at accepting his invitation. while it wasn’t the best idea in the world, a good night’s sleep wasn’t going to come easily in a tent next to your three loud friends.

“that actually sounds really nice… mr. fushiguro.” you tacked on his name as a nicety, knowing that he hated when anyone called him that. but you just couldn’t help your manners at his generosity.

“please, y/n, i’ve told you a million times already, call me toji.” it was a knee jerk reaction that tumbled from his lips as he stood up, towering over your shivering frame. he offered a hand to you.

“thank you, toji,” you obliged in his request by using his name, taking his hand. the rough pad of his palm rubbed against yours, sending a warmth down your spine and straight between your legs. fighting the urge to tear your hand away from his, you let his fingers close around it and lead you to his tent.

“something else on your mind?” he asked, giving your hand a soft squeeze. heat rushed to your face as you remembered how desperately you were trying to work your way to an orgasm earlier, how nothing you attempted pushed you over the edge and left you sniveling, cold, and unsatisfied.

“it’s nothing,” you deflected, not wanting to tell your friend’s dad about how sexually frustrated you were. that was one way to make a friendship awkward indefinitely, and you certainly didn’t want that to happen with your good friend megumi.

“aw, no, don’t give me that, darlin’,” toji pried. he opened up the tent flap for you, allowing you to step into the dark space. “any boys giving you trouble? is it my son?”

a laugh fell from your lips at his mention of megumi. “no, no boys…” you trailed off, trying to come up with another lie to satisfy the man’s nosiness. “i just, um…”

“c’mon don’t be shy,” toji teased, zipping the tent flap shut behind him. suddenly, the space felt infinitely smaller. he was right - he really did radiate heat like nobody’s business. as he towered over you, stooped over to avoid hitting his head on the top of the tent, you felt yourself get warmer and warmer, acutely aware of how close he was to you.

“i couldn’t… uh…” you gulped past a lump in your throat. it was an extremely personal admission, one that you wouldn’t share with just anybody. but toji was so attentive, eyes sparkling so kindly, that the words left your mouth almost involuntarily. “…finish myself… in the tent.”

your eyes glued to the ground, not wanting to watch toji’s scar ripple as the corners of his lips turned into a wicked smile. you didn’t want to watch as lewd scenes of the two of you played out in the reflection of his green eyes. but most of all, what you didn’t want to see was how his dick got hard in his jeans at the mention of your frustration.

“oh ho, you dirty little girl,” toji purred, taking a step closer to you. your forehead was nearly touching his chest when you finally lifted your head to meet his gaze once again. “well, i guess i have a trick for that too, if you’re up for it.”

with the closing proximity of your bodies, it all began to click with you. if toji could give you what you wanted, then you could sleep well. it would only be a one time thing, it was just a little favor. throwing all caution to the wind, you nodded.

“yeah, toji,” you agreed. without hesitating, his hands settled on your waist, quickly wrapping around your frame to pull you closer to him. with a steadying hand on the small of your back and the other cupping your chin, he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

the man pulled back, his breath was soft and warm as it fanned across your cheeks. the depths of his emerald eyes shone into yours, sparks glinting within them as he closed the distance between your faces once again. he kissed you harder this time, the hand on your chin leaving its station to secure a position on your waist instead.

tentatively, you allowed your hands to wander up his body. the grooves of his abs met your fingertips under his t-shirt as he exhaled slowly, melting into your caresses. feeling encouraged, you felt up the muscles on his arms, admiring the way they flexed in response to your rapturous touch.

there wasn’t any space between your bodies in the slightest, not even an inch despite how toji’s erection poked into your lower belly. even through his pants, you could tell that he was huge. the man nibbled softly on your lower lip, eliciting a gasp from you. taking advantage of how beautifully your mouth parted, the slick muscle of his tongue explored your mouth.

halfway surprised at the sensation, you pulled back, cheeks in flames. as much as you wanted it to feel wrong, it didn’t. in fact, the way your body responded betrayed any sense of integrity; you felt yourself pool between your legs, the magnetism of the man pulling you in. toji’s brows furrowed together as he stroked your hair gently, leaning down to study your face.

“hey, baby, you alright?”

you bit your lip, hesitantly raising your gaze to meet those emerald eyes. his hands moved to cup your face, holding you so gently as if you were fragile porcelain. you opened your mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. your gaze fixated upon the ground again as toji tsked, stroking your cheek with a thumb.

“oh, darlin’, you’re not a virgin, are you?”

the statement wasn’t meant to be condescending, nor did you feel that it was. and you weren’t, either. it’s just that you’d only had sex a handful of times, all of them being painful and unenjoyable. you just had no idea how to convey that with the monster of a man who towered over you. he didn’t exactly give off an aura of tenderness that you so desperately needed.

“i’m… just a bit nervous, that’s all.”

a wide smile broke across toji’s face. he leaned down, touching his forehead to yours in a reassuring gesture. planting a tiny kiss on your nose, he pulled back, taking your hands in his to press kisses into your knuckles.

“oh, now, pretty, i’ll be gentle with ya. come see.”

you obliged, watching as he knelt down to unzip his sleeping bag, unfolding it so that the both of you could nest on it. he sat down first, leaning against a few of his bags, legs criss-crossed in front of him. you stayed where you were, arms wrapped around your frame until he beckoned you with his finger.

“come sit on my lap, baby.”

the command sent a heat igniting between your legs as you padded hesitantly over to him. his teeth flashed in a smile as he helped you settle onto him, the powerful muscles coursing in his thighs flexing underneath your weight. as you straddled him, your clit landed perfectly on his erection. you let out a gasp at the stimulation, to which he grinned.

“feels good baby? even over the clothes?”

“yeah, ‘s good, toji.” embarrassment sent heat to your cheeks. it didn’t have to feel this divine, messing with your best friend’s dad, so why did it? why was he everything that you needed at the moment?

“let’s get you ready for me then, darlin’,” toji purred, cupping your face again. “grind that pretty pussy on my cock, ‘kay?”

“‘mkay,” you squeaked, indulging in his wishes. the rasping of the fabric met your ears as you started to slowly shift against him.

“ah, so good, so obedient,” toji grumbled, hands coming to rest on your hips as you rolled them experimentally, “you gonna keep bein’ a good girl for me, eh?”

you nodded, tentatively setting your hands on his shoulders to find balance. he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, a smirk toying with his lips.

“there we go, baby. how ‘bout you call me daddy, pretty. you like that?”

“yes… d-daddy.” the word felt absolutely filthy rolling off your tongue so naturally. his eyes nearly blew out of his skull at the tone your voice took on, cock twitching underneath your tempting warmth. a cheeky smile toyed with your lips as toji’s pupils blew out, the emerald depths swallowed up by lust.

“shit, you make it sound so pretty,” he growled, lips crashing into yours. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in deeper to the kiss. the man’s self control unraveled into that of an animal’s, teeth bumping against yours as he threatened to swallow you whole.

his hands reached to cup your ass, the span of them nearly covering your entire behind. grasping at the soft flesh over your clothes, he manhandled you into grinding on his cock through the restrictive fabric of your pants. the way that the tip of his dick caught your clit perfectly with each drag that the man imposed on you had you falling apart on top of him, moaning into his mouth.

and toji, even he would let out a groan every now and again. but as the time went on, and he got harder and harder, they became more frequent. you felt a sense of pride well up within you, that you, megumi’s friend, had his dad reduced to a moaning mess. you could admit that it was a bit of a stretch to call him that, but seeing his face squench up every time you opened your eyes to catch a glimpse of him fueled your ego.

“let’s get these clothes off, shall we?”

you were panting and acutely aware of the damp spot that had formed in your panties by the time your lips disconnected, spit still beading from them. at toji’s suggestion, you shivered, the cold making itself known to you as wind rustled the trees, setting ripples across the walls of the tent.

“but toji, it’s so cold,” you whined, pressing closer into him. your hands wound through his silky black hair, scratching his scalp through his tangled tresses.

“i’ll keep ya warm, pretty baby,” he smiled, toying with the zipper of your jacket. begrudgingly, you allowed him to undress you. he took his time with his tasks, pushing your jacket over your shoulders and watching your tits bounce in his face as you shrugged it off. you cursed yourself for the amount of layers that you had to wear in order to combat the cold, at the amount of time you had to spend away from his lips.

once toji had removed your thick sweatshirt, he could see how your nipples poked through your t-shirt, hardened in response to both the chilly weather and your arousal. he pulled the last layers of clothes off in a heartbeat, jaw dropping at the sight of your breasts.

“you have such pretty tits, darlin’,” he marveled before indulging in just a few moments of appreciating your breasts. his lips latched onto one of your nipples, tongue swirling around the perky bud. both of his hands cupped your tits, kneading the warm flesh like massage balls. he released your nipple before moving to the next one, and you swore that his spit would’ve frozen on your breast unless he hadn’t moved his hand to tweak the sensitive nub.

your body went into overdrive at the stimulation of the pertinent erogenous zones. the progression of your posture was embarrassingly quick; originally, your nails had sunk into his shoulders, then your arms wound around his neck; and finally, you were grinding on his cock like a bitch in heat, nearly crushing his skull in your embrace as you pulled him closer to you.

“alright, alright, that’s enough, little girl,” he laughed, pinching at your side lightly to signal you to release him. you obliged, shivering as you pulled away, the chilly air assaulting your bare skin. toji winked at you before pulling his shirt off, revealing his chiseled and scarred chest.

you had reached to touch the warm skin when toji swatted your hand away, moving undo his jeans instead. you sat back on your haunches, watching as his cock sprung free once his waistband was removed. he shimmed the jeans down over his ass as you shifted, allowing him to remove his pants completely. your eyes nearly blew out of your skull at the sight of how big, how pretty his dick was.

the pinkening tip was glistening with pre, aching for any kind of stimulation as you marveled at it. toji only let out a laugh at the hearts throbbing in your eyes, his arm reaching to hook around your waist and turn you around.

“let me get a feel for that cunt of yours, darlin’. come sit.”

you obeyed, settling against toji’s chest, the head of his cock digging into your lower back. shifting slightly against his member, you grinned as a shaking exhale from the man behind you told of how he ached to be inside of you. however, his lapse in control didn’t last long. he pulled a blanket over the two of you, making sure that no part of your bare skin was uncovered. the heat that radiated from his body quickly warmed the inside of the blanket, soothing your pertinent goosebumps.

his hand trailed down your leg, skimming over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, laughing softly as you twitched under his touch. you let out a tremulous moan when he reached your clit, teasing you by flicking a few brief strokes upon the tender flesh. you melted into him, back arching as he began to rub circles on the throbbing bundle of nerves.

“you poor thing,” toji cooed into your ear, nibbling on the lobe, “poor little girl couldn’t cum, eh? poor, poor baby; let daddy finish you, ‘mkay?”

you only nodded in response as your brows knit together, his movements becoming more potent. toji’s lips trailed kisses from behind your ear, descending down your neck, across your shoulders. his lips latched onto you, marking the skin with purple love bites. teeth sunk into the flesh as he bit down on the sensitive flesh, drawing cries from your lips.

before long, he gathered up the juices that flowed like a river from your cunt, using it as lube to insert his middle finger into your tight hole. you gasped, biting down on your lower lip as your walls stretched arduously just for one digit. he kissed your shoulder tenderly as he gave a few slow pumps in and out of you, allowing you to accommodate the size.

your cunt gushed in response to how his finger pressed perfectly into just the right spot hidden in the plushness of your walls. the corners of his lips curved up into a luminous smile against your skin, breath fanning down across your collarbone. and when he judged you ready, he slipped in another finger, using his thumb to rub against your clit.

the feeling was simply heavenly as you clamped your mouth shut to hold in the moans that would have otherwise echoed into the dark night. with his other hand, he cupped and massaged your breasts, tweaking your nipples teasingly, basking in how you twitched and arched against him.

the sensations were overwhelming, how he was hitting each sensitive inch of your body perfectly. your limbs jerked sporadically, legs threatening to snap shut and prevent toji from pleasuring you. the man was opposed to this happening, seeing as he was peeking at his slick fingers as they pumped in and out of you from under the blanket.

“uh-uh, little girl,” toji scolded, lifting his legs one at a time to pin yours down. “can’t let you run away, now.” you were completely caged within his body, with his warm limbs surrounding you wholly. the heat was blissful, the pleasure augmented exponentially.

before you knew it, you were on the precipice of an orgasm. your eyes rolled back into your head simply at the thought of it, how the feeling had been so far out of your reach, yet here it was, cupped gently in the hands of a man who was your best friend’s father. throwing caution to the wind, you grinded your hips on his fingers, pushing yourself over the edge.

“what a greedy little girl,” toji commented, nipping at your neck. “you cummin’?”

“yes, daddy,” you gasped as stars exploded behind your eyes. “th-thank you, daddy.”

“what nice manners you have, baby.”

toji picked up the pace of his ministrations as you rode out your high. the air in the tent was drenched in warmth and the scent of your arousal as you lost yourself on his fingertips, your bodies melding together in lewdness as you came all over his hand. his body pressed further into yours, chest heaving against your back in an attempt to steady himself, preventing the urge to flip you over and fuck you relentlessly into the ground.

“shit, i wanna feel you cum on my cock, darlin’.” his voice was impossibly deep, drenched with lust, rumbling across your sensitive skin. “so fuckin’ tight.”

broken whimpers escaped through the small space between your lips as you attempted to control your volume, acutely aware of your friends just a few feet away. orbs of light still danced across your vision as your high began to ebb away, the aftershocks shooting through you even countless seconds after the climax.

you were panting towards the end of your high as toji slipped his fingers out of you, arms wrapping around you to pull you in close for an intimate embrace. the small of your back was soaked in pre as toji’s cock twitched needily, aroused by how perfectly you had grinded upon it. his lips met the back of your neck in a tender kiss.

“come ride me, baby.”

the suggestion was embarrassing enough by itself, especially with the smile that was behind it, but you had lost yourself long ago, ever since you sat down beside your best friend’s father. without waiting for an answer, he lifted you up, extending his long legs in front of him as he turned you around to face him. a deep blush adorned his cheeks, blood spurred to circulate wildly at how fucking gorgeous you had been when you came on his fingers.

as you mounted him, the blanket fell from your frame, cold air attacking your bare skin. you were acutely aware of how your hips stretched to straddle his size as your knees hit the ground next to his waist.

toji, being particularly merciful that night, reached beside him to grab a soft fleece blanket to drape it around your shoulders. you shifted to get comfortable, settling your hands on his chiseled abdomen. the muscles flexed in response to your soft hands, breath seething from between his teeth at your touch.

while you rearranged yourself, his erection dragged against your clit before slapping against his stomach. your mouth nearly watered at the sigh, how the pre that dripped from his tip splattered across his abs, glittering in the dim light as it beaded along the sharp peaks.

toji didn’t make a move to fuck you; in fact, he folded his arms behind his head, resting on the makeshift pillow with a lazy smile. heart skipping a beat, you pressed your pussy onto his cock. a soft gasp emanated from your mouth at the delicious warmth, how he fit so nicely between your folds. his face contorted at the contact, a low moan pouring from his lips as he relished in the warmth that seeped from your cunt.

from underneath lidded eyes, he watched as you began to set a slow pace upon his cock, grinding your hips back and forth along the length of his shaft. in need of a better base for your movements, your hands slid up his body to rest on his chest, gazing at the defined muscles as they rippled underneath your touch.

toji clutched the corners of the blanket, making sure that they wouldn’t fall off your shivering frame as you bucked your hips shamelessly on his pulsing dick. the warm rugged veins of his cock pulsed tantalizingly against your clit, the entire length coated in your juices after just a few moments of your frenzied ministrations.

your eyes met his, both of you ignoring the sounds that tumbled from your lips. all that you could focus on was the way his brows knit together in pleasure, how his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, egging you on to bring him to the crest of bliss that you dangled in front of him with your movements.

“god, you’re driving me crazy, darlin’,” toji groaned, pushing your hips back and forth across his length. he twitched against you, telling of a feral desire to push into your plush walls, to feel you contract around his aching cock. and you needed it at that very moment.

“i… hah… i think i can take it now,” you panted, reaching down to spread the pre that leaked from his slit around the reddening tip. he nodded enthusiastically, watching as you stilled your hips, lifting yourself from the warmth of his cock while pressing your hands into his abdomen to provide a steady stance for when he put it in.

“okay, lets see you take my cock, baby,” he murmured, using a hand to line up his length with your entrance. with a meek nod, you shifted your hips downward to take his length. the head slipped into your tight hole as your mouth took on the rounded shape of an o, wincing with how your walls were already expanding to take him in. his fingers hadn’t stretched you out nearly enough to accommodate the enormous length that he had been packing.

“oh fuck… ‘s big, so big,” you whimpered as you started to sink down upon him. your walls screamed with the excessive span that you had to endure as his dick made its home in your aching cunt.

“i know, you can do it, baby,” he choked out as he held his cock steady while you enveloped it. tears beaded along your waterline at the pain that came with him splitting you apart, at how good it felt, but how it seemed that you were completely being torn from the inside out - and it would be the most pleasurable thing you’d ever experienced. inch by inch you took him, until you felt the contact of his base against your clit.

your eyes nearly popped out of your skull when he finally bottomed out, the tip of his dick kissing your cervix. nails dug into the flesh of his stomach as you gave your hips a tentative swivel to gauge how you should proceed, your clit catching friction on the base of his cock.

“‘s so big, daddy,” you whined, beginning to grind feverishly on him. the hands that held your hips barely did any work as he watched you with lidded eyes.

“you can take it, pretty baby,” the man encouraged as his hands roamed up the length of your body to find purchase on your breasts. taking a nipple between his pointer finger and thumb, he grinned watching you jump at how he pinched the bud. his other hand gently massaged your tit, palm covering the entire area.

you couldn’t contain your moans, letting the sound travel across your ears and toji’s. the sound nearly made him jump; and as much as he loved the noises that tumbled from your lips, he knew that his son and his friends couldn’t hear the lewd commotion. his hand fumbled around the surrounding area, finding the simple pink panties that you had been wearing.

“sh, sh, now darlin’,” toji murmured, squeezing the flesh of your hips with his free hand, “you need to be quiet. can’t wake up your friends.”

“i… ngh… i know,” you mewled, “‘s just so good, daddy. i can’t stop.”

but toji made you stop, shoving your panties into your mouth, effectively muffling the sweet sounds that echoed from your lungs. the scent of your arousal flooded your senses as you picked up the pace of your movements. your cunt had successfully assimilated to the mass that impaled you, now beginning to leak with the approach of your orgasm.

“fuck,” he growled, removing a hand that guided the movements from your hips to stimulate your clit. his thumb moved in deft circles to rub against the sensitive nub, effectively transforming you into a moaning, crumbling mess.

“toji, mmm,” you attempted to cry through the fabric of your panties, but the only sound that made it through was your pitiful moan. the way in which he was so big that even the tiniest of movements brushed against your sweet spot, launching you into a pool of unadulterated bliss, spurred by the nimble movements of his thumb against your clit.

the tells of your approaching orgasm hit you; how the warmth spread through your body, how your extremities threatened to go numb. it was the latter that seized you, rendering you to a immobile mess as you collapsed upon him. toji took over without hesitation, determined to push you over the precipice of your climax.

he elevated your hips, planting his feet firmly upon the ground as he used the leverage to thrust into you. his hips slammed into yours mercilessly, splitting you open without a second thought. your fingernails dug into the skin of his shoulders as you hung over him limply, barely able to hold yourself up. your breasts pressed against his chest, sliding with the presence of sweat that had begun to bead due to the heat your bodies created.

with your moans stifled against your damp panties, toji didn’t hesitate to toy with you more. he sat up slightly, his lips latching onto your tits, suckling on the sensitive buds. the stimulation was almost too much, from his dick kissing perfectly upon your g-spot as you dragged your hips back and forth on him, how your clit caught traction upon his lower abdomen, how tongue swirled around your nipple. but his thrusts, the relentless pounding into your dripping cunt, that was what drove you wild.

“harder, harder, daddy!” you screamed into the fabric. despite the barrier, toji understood your ministrations, his hips picking up speed as his heavy balls slapped against your ass. with the overwhelming sensations that surrounded you like a warm, hazy embrace, you were on the edge of an orgasm in no time.

“daddy,” you whimpered through your panties. toji’s eyes shot up to your face, desperately searching yours as he jerked his head up to tear the panties from your mouth with his teeth. “i’m cumming!”

your statement echoed throughout the tent, throughout the clearing, no doubt hurtling into the ears of your friends as your back arched involuntarily, pressing against his knees. the blanket flew off of your frame, but it was no matter; the familiar warmth of an orgasm enveloped you for the second time that night, coming apart on the man’s cock.

walls convulsed sporadically upon his length, drawing animalistic groans from his mouth as he lifted you up forcefully, scrambling to flip you over and fuck into you from above. his mouth crashed into yours, kissing you hungrily once again before pulling back to drink in your dazed expression.

“god, fuck, you’re milking my cock, darlin’,” he groaned against you as his balls slapped against your ass. he hooked his hands into the crook of your knees, folding your legs against your chest. “want me to cum in you, babe?”

you couldn’t answer, not when the heat that exploded between you was spreading through every inch of your body, not when his cock was filling you so perfectly, not when you were completely unraveling, feeling every inch of his body upon yours.

“so fuckin’ tight,” he growled, tearing through your pulsating walls as he pounded his hips into yours. “you’re so perfect, y/n.”

“‘m yours,” you managed to moan, “c-cum in me, daddy.”

“that’s my girl,” he growled, spilling into you instantly at the permission that you gave him. the warmth that filled you while the ropes of cum pumped into you was so divine, so marvelous as his arms wrapped around you to pull you impossibly closer. together, the two of you rode out your highs, vocalizing without shame your pleasure, without a second thought of your friends right next to you.

“holy fuck,” was all that toji could utter as he shot one last rope of cum into you. you gave one last whimper before going limp with exhaustion in his arms. his enormous girth remained in you, however, your frame impaled by the man’s length. he hugged you tighter, enveloping you into the heavenly warmth of his body heat - the very thing that drew you in in the first place.

“say, you wouldn’t mind being megumi’s stepmom, right?” he joked after a few moments, straightening up to arrange the pallet. cum spilled out of your entrance at his cock pulling out of your cunt. you winced at the empty feeling. toji quickly grabbed a discarded t-shirt to wipe up the mess, tossing it carelessly to the side.

you laughed at the prospect, rolling onto your side. “yeah, i would actually,” you shot back, sitting up as he folded the sleeping bag into its prescribed position, “that’s just weird, toji.”

“well, just a thought.” he pressed a kiss to your temple, settling in next to you before zipping the gigantic bedroll shut. he enveloped you in his arms, warmth covering you once again.

“thanks, toji,” you murmured, pressing your back into his chest reluctantly. he took the contact generously, relishing in the opportunity to wrap you further in his arms, the heat of his body reaching every inch of your chilled bones. your shivering stopped the moment his body fit against yours like a puzzle piece.

“gotta think of an excuse to tell your friends,” he reminded you after a few more moments of silence, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. you laughed at his sentiment, knowing that it was an important one to ponder.

“think it’s something we can easily come up with,” you said, nudging his chest with your elbow. “after all, i did have a lot of reasons for not being able to sleep tonight.”

“i guess you’re right,” he muttered, fingers trailing idly down your arm. “sleep well, baby.”

he reached his arm around your frame, a hand cupping your chin, exposing the rough skin of his palm to you. you kissed the scars, each puckered inch brushing against your lips. “goodnight toji… i mean daddy.”

the laugh against your skin was barely palpable, but it still ghosted against you as sleep began to claim you. your body gave in easily, now warm, content, and satisfied. together, the forbidden couple that you made tumbled into the dreamland of sleep, out under the stars.

jjk & toji taglist: @the-princess-button @ob-levi-on

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wheninitalyy · 3 years

Text

Jealous Benny Watts imagine

A/N - hiii ! I have been having a writer’s block with ,,France is no escape” so here’s a simple imagine. I got a (anonymous) request for a jealous Benny Watts story so I said, screw it even if I wasn't going to do requests, because this actually was refreshing to write. I’m not very satisfied with how this turned out because I felt like I couldn't get enough detail in- but I didn't want it to be too long.

A bit of context : the reader has known Benny for around a year and they have been rather close friends, there has never been any romance in their relationship. You can view this as either platonic or romantic.

(also this is gender neutral again because they didn't specify if they wanted the reader with any specific gender or pronouns)

Pairing : Benny Watts x reader

Word count : 2260

Warnings : swearing, that’s basically it :]

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

I pulled my shirt over my head as I sat down in front of my vanity.

I’ve had a miserable morning.

My morning started off with the ringing sound of my smoke detector—which was wrongfully going off—so I had to stumble out of bed to run and turn it off.

After a bit of fidgeting and bothering the stupid ringing machine on my wall, I decided to try and cheer my morning up with some breakfast.

I hit my hip harshly against the corner of the counter while I was making myself eggs and then burnt my eggs on the stove.

No wonder I don’t wake up early.

The frown stuck on my face no matter what I looked at.

I pulled myself out of my chair, hissing from the pain that has seemed to spread farther than just my hip.

I walked over to the window and peeked through the curtains; it was barely light outside.

The scent of damp concrete from the New York rain was paired with the wet autumn leaves that scattered my little corner of this large city.

I was rudely awakened before sunrise with no reasoning to be up.

I am recently unemployed and can’t seem to find a job that uses my skills, I had the money to keep up my rent and bills for a couple months but after that I may as well be asking my parents for money... again.

I jumped at the sound of the phone, “Jesus Christ,” I mumbled as I put a hand on my chest stopping my ghost from jumping out of my body.

I grabbed the phone that sat on my withering nightstand, I cleared my throat and spoke.

“Hello?” I answered,

“You’re up early,” the man laughed,

“Yes, yes I am. What do you need Benny?” I asked him, I wasn’t exactly the friendliest this morning, but this was not new treatment for Benny.

“Fancy a morning walk?”

“Now?” I looked at the vanity mirror behind me, an irritated half-dressed zombie looked back at me.

“It is morning, isn’t it? Anyway, be ready in ten- I’m on my way out,” he hung up abruptly.

I pulled the phone away from my ear, “Fuckin’ Benny,” I growled dropping the phone back onto the stand.

A knocking came from the front door as I fumbled shoving my last-minute toast in my mouth and grabbing my coat.

I rushed to the door and unlocked it; Benny stood on the other side playing with his house keys.

The tall man in front of me looked up and smiled, Benny dressed himself in his multiple shades and fabrics of dark clothing. His leather hat sat on his dirty-blonde waves of hair; his trench coat ended at his knees.

“Woah... you look terrible,” he joked and slipped his keys into his pocket,

I mumbled an inaudible insult through the toast I was holding in my mouth, he sighed and pulled me outside.

Benny, slim yet strong, barely let me lock the door behind me before he tugged me down the stairs outside of my small apartment.

“You’re so pushy,” I told him and let out my first laugh of today.

He held my hand as he guided me down the stairs and down the sidewalk.

Benny always held my hand when we were together- when we were with friends, when we walked together, when he introduced me to chess reporters and interviewers.

His hands were always cold, always boney, and the metal of his rings always rubbed rather uncomfortably against my fingers, but I didn’t mind it so much anymore.

“So- you know how I was going to do that interview with Chess Review?” he asked me, glancing over. I let out a quiet ‘mhm’ and sped up my pace to keep up with his large steps, my hip was in pain, but I kept quiet and just tried to keep up.

“Well, we are going to the interview right now,” my eyes widened,

“We are what?”

It didn’t matter how much I protested Benny having me tag along to his interviews, because here I sat in a diner at 6:45 AM with Benny and an author for one of the most read Chess magazines.

I pulled my mind away from their conversation after a while of hearing the same average interviewing questions-

How are you feeling about this up-and-coming tournament?

Is there anyone you are nervous about playing?

Any new love interests in your life?

I watched the traffic out the diner’s window, the people walking past, the leaves and city trash carried by the weak wind.

“I think that’s all I’ll need for today… oh sorry, who’s this?” the reporter asked Benny.

I glanced over to Benny and then to the reporter.

“Uh, yeah- this is Y/N,” Benny introduced me, I felt weak, so I simply smiled.

“Not very talkative, huh?” the reporter joked, I looked the man dead in the eyes almost amused by his behavior.

“You want to talk? How about you ask better questions while you have a US Chess Champion in front of you?” I straightened out, “Like what’s your thoughts on what high school chess players are being taught? And do you plan to play in France next year against Borgov?” I turned to the man—who was dressed in a dull colored suit—and smiled, a bit proud of myself.

Benny held back a laugh as the reporter sat speechless for a moment… he reporter smiled and then burst into a laughter that caught the whole diner’s attention.

Unlike most interviews, we planned to meet for dinner with the reporter—who’s name I learned was Henry—due to what I said.

Benny agreed only because he got to choose the place and he seemed to be interested by the reporter and his ability to feel less like an obsessed interviewer and more of a ‘friend’ which I believe he took back those words later in the night.

“You ready?” Benny asked me, I had spent the rest of the morning and afternoon with him in his apartment.

I straightened my dress-shirt and sighed, I turned around and checked my back in the mirror for any imperfections in my outfit.

After we left the diner, Benny had me grab a new pair of clothes for the dinner on our way to his apartment. And thank goodness I grabbed new clothes since my jeans had been rubbing against my hip just a bit too roughly.

Benny opened the door to his room, where he offered me to get dressed in instead of his small bathroom.

“You look nice,” he complimented me, I whipped my head in his direction and smiled.

“You too, is that a new hat?” I teased him. He never changes, and I’ve never even seen him dress to impress once.

He snorted and walked up beside me, “This might be weird,” I paused and turned to face him. “Do you think I could get an editor position at Chess Review if I… charmed Henry?” I asked him.

He stared at me, he never seemed to be afraid of eye-contact.

“Charmed?” he questioned,

“Not like that- I mean,” I sighed as he smiled, “You’re the worst,” I straightened his coat as he stood in front of me.

“Let’s get going before Henry writes me out to be known to ditch dinners,” Benny joked and pulled me to the door.

Henry greeted us both with a hug when we arrived at the restaurant.

Benny picked a downtown restaurant, not too well-known, not too sketchy.

The place was lit up in strings of lights of all colors giving the place almost a festive feel, the place was Italian as far as I could tell.

60s pop music played quietly behind the laughter and chatter of the guests, everyone wore their coats indoors because of the random breezes that came from the open windows and doors.

I pushed a couple strands of hair behind my ear as I listened to Henry enthuse about some writing class he went to; he was quite the writer as well as a decent reporter.

“So, what does it take to get an editing job there?” I asked Henry,

“Oh? Looking, are we?” he laughed quietly, “You might be in luck, one of our editors is moving to our branch in California. Need a reference from a trusted, handsome, reporter?” he smiled and leaned back in his chair.

“I might,” I took a sip of my drink,

“Let’s say I get you an interview- could I ask you to dinner some time?” he flirted, I almost choked on my drink.

I whipped my mouth with my napkin and smiled nervously, I looked at Benny who rested his head on his hand. Benny was staring at me, his eyes told me to decline but if I declined, I wouldn’t be sure I would get this interview.

“Ask me when you get that interview,” I told Henry looking away from Benny’s judging gaze.

He chuckled, “That’s fair, you have your priorities,” he didn’t seem to take it as a no, but he didn’t flirt again.

I thought the night ended nicely, Henry said he would work on getting me an interview with Chess Review and he asked Benny a lot of more relevant questions that he should’ve asked this morning.

Benny took his chance to offer to walk me home before Henry could, Benny seemed tense and a bit upset after Henry flirted with me, but I wasn’t going to turn down a job to make him happy.

I shoved my hands in the pockets of my coat as I walked home, I glanced beside me at Benny who refused to let me walk home by myself at this hour even if it was a couple blocks away by now.

“Really, you can go home. I’m fine,” I told Benny, he scoffed and stopped.

“You shoulda’ turned him down, told him you weren’t interested,” Benny told me bluntly,

“Are you seriously upset about this?” I turned to him,

“Yes, yes I’m fuckin’ upset that a man tried to make a move on you while we were all at dinner,” he spat, he pulled his hat off and ran a hand through is hair.

“Benny! I turned him down!” I walked over to the stairs up to someone’s apartment, I went to sit down on the stairs and hissed in pain.

Benny’s eyes darted to me, “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“It’s nothing! I just hit my hip against the counter this morning, it’s just bruised,” I said, stress tangled in my voice.

Benny sighed and crouched down by me, he lifted my coat and pulled my shirt out from tucked in my pants. I held my coat and shirt out of his way, and he moved my pants to look at my hip,

“What were you doin’? Dancing around and shit?” he almost laughed as he ran his thumb over my bruise,

“Could you not do that?” I held back a squeal from the feeling of his cold fingers against my hip.

He exhaled heavily due to the cold weather and helped me pull my clothes back down, he pulled me up off the stairs.

“C’mon,” his fingers found their way in between mine—which he hadn’t done on our walk back previously—as he walked me back home.

Once we got to my door, Benny grabbed my keys from me and unlocked my door. He walked in, pulling me in after him.

Benny made himself at home as per usual as he took off his hat and coat on his way to my small kitchen.

I sat down on a stool in my kitchen as I watched him open my freezer and grab my ice-tray, he wrapped some ice in a cloth and put the tray back.

“Really?” I groaned as he handed me the cloth with ice, he nodded and gave me a look that said I didn’t want to test him.

“Fine,” I sighed.

I unzipped my coat and threw it on the counter behind me, I pulled my shirt up on the side just a bit and made my bruise visible. I hadn’t really looked at the bruise since I got it, it was all kinds of shades of purple and blue and it even looked like it hurt.

Benny suddenly pressed the cold rag against the side of my hip, “Ah!” I yelped.

Benny snickered and held the cloth against my hip as he leaned his side against the counter and faced me.

Silence filled my apartment quickly and all you could hear was distant cars and wind from outside.

“Thank you,” I filled the silence, Benny looked away from the window to me.

“You wouldn’t go to dinner with some self-absorbed asshole reporter, right?” he asked for reassurance of some kind,

“Not Henry… maybe one who wore a hat,” I paused, Benny raised an eyebrow. “He of course has to be blonde, and a trench coat would be a nice addition,” it took only seconds to see Benny realize what I was doing.

Benny pressed the ice against my hip harshly, “Ah! Okay! I’m sorry!” I laughed.

In all the time I’ve known Benny, this was one of the first times he had actually been openly jealous. Of course, it’s not every day I get asked for dinner while he is around, but it was strange. It was strange because it felt nice, I liked thinking he didn’t want me dating others, maybe it proved my suspicions.

#benny watts #benny watts x reader #benny watts imagines #The Queens Gambit #the queens gambit imagines

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itsagrimm · 3 years

Text

Imperial!Tech 3

Summary: Tech's chip activated instead of Crosshairs so Tech is now an imperial commander tasked to serve the Empire at any cost. But is he willing to do so? And are you, dear Y/N as member of the experimental Elite Squad, willing to follow any order your commander Tech gives?

CN: self-harm, talk of death murder and war crimes, stalker behaviour, soldier life in a fascist state, power imbalance, overreaching behaviour, structural violence, sexually predatory behaviour and the likes, sensual overload, insomnia, references of drug abuse, depression and mental health issues, trauma

Imperial!tech X they*them Y/N reader, afab

Thanks a lot to @eyecandyeoz for your insight, feedback and thoughts. Check out their lovely blog!

I am sorry it took me so long. next part will be faster. I already started writing it.

And feel free to criticise especially concerning my use of CN and if the reader perspective is inclusive for you.

2800 words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Tech collapsed into the chair as soon as Y/N had left the room. He was tired, so tired. He leaned back and put on his glasses. Him taking off his visual aids around Y/N was a degree of trust Tech rarely allowed. He was nearly blind without his glasses and the Kaminoans had considered terminating him for that. Tech was sure Y/N did not even know how much he had surrendered himself to Y/N and their touch. Their oh so soft touch. The memory of it was still fresh on his skin. It raced through is mind which for once was craving to match his body with the need to slow down and take a rest.

But it didn’t.

Y/N was pleasant to be around. Their touch was careful and considered. Only his brothers used to treat him like his. – His brothers, the former clone force 99, had left him behind after they refused to comply with order 66. Due to their divergence the inhibitor chip had not worked while he, Tech, had tried to kill the Jedi. – He had tried to kill a child. – The effect of the inhibitor chip was decreasing. His wound received on Bracca had an 84,743 % chance of damaging the inhibitor chip. But he should investigate further and get the chip out to stop any possible interference with his superior thought process. - Y/N was not aware of the inhibitor chips. He felt the need to tell them. Why? – The Havoc Marauder had not been mentioned on the imperial comm chatter for a while. – Echo was likely to take care of the ship now. – He should get some sustenance. He felt hunger. – Y/N – The Empire expected a degree of loyalty, uniformity, and compliance he was unsure he could deliver for long considering his diverging mind. – what would Hunter do? – the kaminoan proverb “yn’ja tha vaí m°O” was untranslatable into Basic but could be understood in Sit Bisti as “it needs tö be döne för the betterment öf äll”- The Empire was unlikely to grant him the freedom to find his brothers or in fact any freedom. – The canteen might serve Tiingilar tonight – He was a child slave destined to die in approximately 34,6 standard yearly rotations from old age if not sooner. – maybe the canteen will serve uj’alayi too. – Does Y/N speak Mando’an? He should enquire. – Of course, there will be no uj’alayi today. The Kaminoans did not allow sweet foods. – Y/N – How did the atmospheric controls work that ensured breathable air even for the highest floors of coruscanti buildings? - He knew why his brothers left him behind, but why did it feel so painful. – The empire was likely to kill him if he out served his usefulness for them. - He had tried to kill a child. He had killed several children on Onderon. How could he live with that? How could-

Tech forced his thoughts to stop by digging his fingers into his bloody scar.

The sharp pain felt soothing.

“Let’s consider making a list of the most pressing tasks for now.”

He starred at the ceiling.

“The Empire. It is the closest threat to my demise, but it can be my salvation if I am useful. Am I willing and capable to do that?”

His head started spinning again just at the thought of killing another child for the Empire. And yet serving the Empire gave him purpose he wasn’t sure he could muster on his own.

“Where are my brothers? How are they? How do I feel about them?”

Another unpleasant wave of thoughts and feelings washed over Tech before he continued.

“What is with the inhibitor chip inside my head?”

He nodded to himself. That was a rational and containable problem with fixed variables and clear answers. He felt comfortable with that question, pushing aside all the things he might have done due to being under the chips influence.

Only one question was left now.

“Why do I enjoy Y/N presence?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ryloth had a warm and dusty climate during daytime. Y/N felt sweat dripping under the dark armour. The elite squad, including a new ES-03, was ordered to stand close by to Admiral Rampart, the highest imperial officer on Ryloth. And so, they had spent the last rotations following the Admiral around, doing tedious security work and presenting themselves like the Admirals favourite guard dogs to a public very much disliking their military presence. For once, even commander Tech looked annoyed about their not spec-ops appropriate services.

Today they were on the outlook. The Admiral wanted them scanning a large crowd for troublemakers and resistance fighters during a public announcement. Y/N couldn’t blame them. The Twi’lek of Ryloth had spent years fighting for their independence and spilled an ocean of blood on the dusty planet’s surface only to face an Empire now. Half a life ago Y/N would have hated themselves for being a soldier in service of a suppressing ruler. But now it was paid work.

“ES-01?”, Commander Tech brought Y/N back from their thoughts

“I am in position before the crowd.”

“ES-02?”

“Yes sir, I am on the building as you ordered.”

“ES-03?”

“Any nonimperial transmissions are being blocked now.”

“ES-04?”

“The war hawk is ready for take-off in case we need it.”

“Good. Do you register any noteworthy activity?

Y/N gazed through the crowd. They were mostly Twi’lek, waiting to hear from their leaders. All of them were in civilian clothing, none came with visible weapons.

“I can’t spot anything, sir.”

Tech said nothing. But Y/N could hear him type something.

“Analysing previous rebel fighter behaviour and strategies in similar situations they are likely to appear at these coordinates within the crowd today. I am sending you a list for you to especially pay attention to, ONCE.”, he finally said using the moniker the elite squad had given Y/N.

“Yes sir.”

Y/N looked at their holopad and started checking the coordinates commander Tech had calculated. At entry four they spotted their targets.

“Commander. I have a visual about 40 meters from my position, 10 o’clock. There are two fighters. Twi’lek. One female and one male passing. Shade of blue and orange.”

A moment everyone was silent.

“Confirmed.”, ES-02 stated.

Another moment passed.

“Observe them for now. Stay alert.”, Tech ordered before ending the transmission.

High above the Twi’lek senator started to talk. Y/N could not remember his name and paid little attention to his words. Unlike the Twi’lek.

“They are not happy.”, ES-02 stated flatly.

“Yeah thanks, I would not have noticed without you.”

“Always a pleasure to help out, ONCE.”

ES-02 was right. The crowd was angry. The imperial presence, the empty words of some disaffected politician, the fresh memories of the clone war. It was no surprise that the Twi’lek called out for their resistance leaders to speak.

“We want Syndulla! We want Syndulla!”, the crowd chanted.

A different voice from above started speaking. The crowd calmed down, not entirely happy but at least not a raging mob.

“At least we will not have to gun them down, now.”, ES-02 mumbled with a bitter voice.

“Would you really do that, two?”

“You know what they say, good soldiers follow orders, ONCE. And I intend to be one. Especially when I’m getting paid for it.”

XXXXXXXXXXX

Rampart was an asshole. He was a smug little administrator, willing to lie, back-stab and sacrifice whatever needed to achieve his goals. Rampart was the perfect general to handle a loaded situation like the one on Ryloth. And he was no fool.

Y/N hat noticed that he had kept both commander Tech and Howzer, the commanding clone trooper in charge of the regular clone troopers on Ryloth, close. A strategic move. Spec-ops commandos like the elite squad and regular commandos were in constant competition and mistrust to each other. Should one commander not deliver or even consider treason the other would interfere. And Rampart would always end up on the winning side of their clone infighting.

Y/N could here their arguing inside the office.

Commander Tech had ordered for Y/N to wait outside the office for new orders.

More arguing from the office was audible until finally Ramparts voice cut their bickering short.

The door opened and Howzer left. His expression was that of a practised reserved solider hiding his worries.

The door opened again, and commander Tech stepped outside of Ramparts office.

He looked tense.

Instead of a greeting or an order he just started walking. They followed him.

“Clone force 99 is here. But we are kept on a short leash. As always.”, Tech stated, “It is implausible to not use the best tools possible when confronted with a problem. Howzers troopers will not be able to beat them if necessary. Just like they won’t be able or unwilling to beat the Twi’lek should the need arise.”

Since Kamino the commander had started to share more of his thoughts with Y/N. All they had left to do was to listen and ask the right questions.

“Sir, you think Howzer will commit subordination?”

“There is a possibility of him and his men disagreeing with the new imperial leadership and it’s methods. Howzers unit has fought alongside the Twi’leks the past years. Bounds forged in the trenches can be stronger than loyalty to an administrator from Coruscant. But I require further data to assess the likelihood of treason.”

“What about clone force 99?”

“Their abilities and erratic strategies will be a challenge should we … no, should I have to face them.”

“So, we did not get the order to hunt them down?”

“No. Not yet.”

“And yet you already imply them as of importance.”

“It would be a grave strategic mistake to dismiss their presence.”

“So, what is the elite squad going to do about them? What are your orders, sir?”

Tech paused and adjusted his glasses.

“We are going to do nothing.”

“Sir!?”

“Don’t.” There was a warning in his voice. A signal to Y/N not to cross a line, invisible yet perceptible. He was after all a commander and Y/N just a soldier.

“I am sorry. I overstepped. You are in charge.”

He turned, stepped away and looked at Y/N. His eyes scrutinized them like a scientist inspecting a rare specimen of remarkable value.

They shivered.

His gaze was intriguing. It was painful to feel on display like that. And yet it was nearly intimate to be studied by Tech. Unsure if he would finally hit Y/N for their countless discretions or if he just contemplated their objections.

Finally, Tech nodded appeased and continued his walking without any further talk.

“What do you want us to do now, sir?”

Tech stopped.

“What do I want you to do now?”, Tech repeated as if the question had a different meaning to him than it had to Y/N.

He took out his holopad only to put it away again. He cleared his throat.

“I need you to stay alert. The situation is complicated. For now, get some sleep. The chances are below 4,65 % that there will be a significant development within the next two hours. After that I except the elite squad to be combat ready.”

“Yes sir.”

XXXXXXXXX

The Refresher room was empty. Most clones avoided the elite squad, and all the other members of their unit were taking a nap before the night shift which left Y/N to have the large washroom for themselves.

They signed.

Taking a shower and having some alone time to think and feel before finally taking a rest was what they needed.

Y/N started to strip out of the armour.

First, they took of the helmet, then the vambraces and shin guards before getting the shoulder pieces and lifting the heavy breast armour off before finally getting out of the abdomen armour. The black katarn fell to the floor, making loud echoing noises.

Y/N didn’t care. No one was to correct them on their improper handling of equipment here.

And as much as the armour was a useful necessity, it was a heavy burden in more than one way.

Their blacks followed and soon Y/N was standing under the refresher, naked and alone.

The water was hot and painful.

It was a welcome distraction to all the feelings of … well what exactly?

Y/N felt tears running down their face.

No, no, no. It’s just the refresher.

An uptight sob escaped Y/Ns throat. It was all so different from what they imagined. They had entered imperial service for the payment during a desperate time. And ended up witnessing murder after murder, committing murder.

Today they could have become accomplices to killing a crowd of innocent Twi’leks. And Y/N knew that they would have complied with the order to open fire on the civilians if given. How could they not? Surrounded by troopers like them, ordered around by heartless and calculating commanders.

Would Tech give a killing order like this?

Was he that heartless?

He had done so before.

He had killed so many times before their eyes and yet a piece of Y/N refused to see him as a murderer. In fact, they felt shameful about feeling and thinking about Tech – about their commanding officer – at all.

Y/N stopped fighting the tears and cried out loud.

Nobody would know about this.

Nobody would know about their doubt and vulnerability.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As always sleep had been an unwilling friend to visit Tech. With a sigh he gave up and got up from the cot. As always, his mind was racing. He had tried the breathing techniques Crosshair taught him after a particular long stretch of insomnia, but it didn’t work.

And Tech wasn’t in the mood to experiment with the vast collection of sedatives to force his body to sleep right before possibly facing his brothers and definitely meeting admiral Rampart soon.

Work it was then.

His holopad listed only unchallenging administrative tasks.

The new Shuttle was in top shape.

His weapons were cleaned.

Tech had nothing to keep is overthinking brain in check.

Kriff, his life really was miserable. A never-ending effort to bringing his spiralling mind some peace.

A notification came in.

What a blessing.

Tech looked at the holopad again. It was just a reminder to check on his subordinates, to listen in on their private talks and vital signs.

The order from Imperial Command was an uncomfortable task but it was the best he had to do right now. And listing in on some snoring was better than listening to the elite squads talk like last time. At least it felt less overreaching.

He started with ES-04 and workout down from there. Four was in deep slumber, nothing of interest to note. ES-03 was still new and his sleep was restless, a few murmurs about his home planet and family escaped his lips. ES-02 was dreaming. His heartrate was accelerated. Tech turned his observation of, not interested in the rutting sounds of ES-02.

ES-01 was left. ONCE. Y/N. The thought of peeping into their private life was not only uncomfortable, but it also felt violent to strip Y/N of their peace and privacy.

And yet, Y/N was the only one Tech WANTED to know more about. He felt his desire to learn more about Y/N like a physical need, an addicting obsession Tech knew he needed to be careful with not to indulge.

Was their slumber peaceful and sweet?

Did they have dreams about home?

Or did they fight their nightmares in sleep just like they did awake?

He swallowed.

He was just following an order.

He will do nothing more.

He was just a good soldier.

Y/N wasn’t asleep. Their bucket was off and there were no vital signs coming of them. But the acoustic signal was working.

Y/N was somewhere with a lot of echoes and running water.

Tech felt himself blushing and getting hot.

They were in the shower.

It felt so right to listen in on Y/N. Tech felt bad about it.

The thought of water running down their bare and naked body made Techs mind slow like nothing ever before. The pleasure of a calm mind made him groan.

He hesitated. This was not okay. He shouldn’t listen. He shouldn’t imagine a subordinate like that. He hated that he had to. He hated that the Empire gave him order to do so. But more than that he hated himself for following that order so willingly.

He reached for the off button on his holopad.

A sob.

Was that Y/N? Were they crying?

Tech’s mind went from zero into overdrive. He needed to know who or whatever made you feel like crying. He would find out. And he would remove whatever it was from your life.

Part 4

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yostressmininggirl · 3 years

Text

Exhibit C:

First Meeting

Chapter 2 of Reel Footprints; Ranboo x Reader

When the victims first made contact in the abandoned property.

If this guy had actual asthma, he would have died by now. With the way he clutched the front of his shirt as he heaved for oxygen from the prior jumpscare. You would have found this amusing, hilarious even, if not for the fact that you’re cradling your ringing ears from the reverb of his scream.

Really loud scream plus spacious area with barely any furniture to take the echo of it? Really bad, it even overpowered the storm raging outside the abandoned building.

Speaking of, you made your way over to the entrance to close the creaky double doors he came from. “Geez, if I had known better, I’d say you’re alerting the authorities of our trespassing.” But upon looking over your shoulder, your new companion seemed more panicked than before, which is a feat considering that his whole face is obscured by... many things.

“Oh god, I’m gonna die, aren’t I? The first ghost I see and I’m already doomed.”

“I am NOT a ghost.” Is that why he was so scared of you?!

Despite the dimmer lighting coming from the lamp post near the street and the occasional lightning, you can see how he’d visibly gulped, gears turning in his mind. “Usually it’s at this moment that you say the exact opposite of that actually.”

Your efforts to glare at him must have failed with the way he suddenly burst out laughing, the edges of your lips that tried to sink down to a frown had to fight against your own urge to laugh at this person’s ridiculousness.

“You’re ridiculous.”

By the third coughing fit he had from high emotions, your conscience finally worked as you moved to pat and rub this stranger’s back. It took a while for him to recover and a lil bit more for him to stop laughing about it every five seconds.

“I’m sorry about that uhm horrible first impression. It’s just that you look -” Ranboo, a nickname he said, stopped himself before he could make an even bigger fuck up. But it was enough for you to understand where he was going. “Actually, here. I think you need it.”

From his oversized backpack he pulled out a white towel to hand to you.

The damp hair strands sticking to your face and the moist clothes hanging on your figure are the things that you were finally aware of. His statement - first impression just made a lot more sense, you probably looked something akin to the ghost in that one movie with the well.

Taking off the wet trench coat you stole from your mother, you worked on drying your hair with the towel he lent.

“So, you’re here to hunt ghosts?” You started idle chatter, not fine with the silence as you worked with drying yourself off.

Ranboo hummed. “You can say that.” A partial lie.

You nod. “Me too.” A blatant lie.

His gaze sweeps over the area that you two met in. A spacious area with a staircase to a second level, and a lot of doors that leads to several liminal spaces. The desk he’s leaning on seemed to be for reception, but specifically for what, he’s unsure.

Perhaps his sunglasses aren’t really much help on his perception, definitely. Opening his big bag of equipment - clearly very prepared - he takes out a flashlight.

“Here, thank you.” He’s weirdly jumpy today, that’s what he thought as his head turns sharply back to you, having to turn his flashlight off after flashing your retinas with direct light.

This first meeting isn’t really going well.

The anxious thoughts rang through his head as you two ventured deeper into the building, hallways filled with locked doors or rusted ones that make too much noise for comfort. As much as they want to get going, alerting the presence of everything in the area doesn’t sound like a good idea for their first day.

You’re not well-equipped for that, Ranboo noticed as you hang closer in your patrols. A lack of flashlight very apparent. He stared back straight ahead from his side glance; perhaps he should bring over his other flashlight next time.

If there’s a next time.

Who’s to say this isn’t a one time thing? Why is he suddenly assuming these things.

“Do you live near the area? Perhaps you have if you heard about the rumors.” Ranboo started as the second unassuming hallway started.

“Yeah, just down the block.” A partial lie. “You?”

“Not that close, really.” A full lie.

The conversation to somehow get closer ended in silence, unsure if it was comfortable or not.

For Ranboo, he’s not sure what to make of this ordeal. The alarm and hostility had faded due to the comforting knowledge that by size alone he can do something against them if they turn out to be a mugger of some sort. In his handy backpack there could be something that he can use to fend off.

But he feels a bit mean thinking of you like that.

Unbeknownst to him you also had the same thought running through your head.

“Log number 1; date and time. Made first contact with the target area to scope, no recorded paranormal disturbance, yet. That’s a good thing tho,” hidden gray eyes hovered over to the once stranger - (Y/N) (a name that sometimes brings him an odd sense of vertigo) - who he’s hoping he could have as a partner for his expedition. “I’ve met someone too, (Y/N). I think they’ll be good company. That should be it for now, I’ll update when something happens again.”

Hopefully I’m alive to record whatever happens next.

The tape recorder’s stop button felt a bit harder to press than the other keys, having to put a little more pressure on his thumb.

“The way is blocked,” were your first words as you heard Ranboo approach after lagging behind to record something, like a diary of his day to officialize this trip of his. You went ahead to give him privacy but ended up stuck anyways.

The open archway to another area seems to have caved in from the second flooring, but it should be sturdy enough to climb over. Ranboo voiced a similar observation, looking around now for any stepping block that he may use for leverage.

A few brittle hollow blocks here and there, but it should be good enough to help him up a lil bit to accommodate the last stretch with his height. With his gloved hands he started stacking the blocks that wouldn’t crumble immediately after picking it up.

And when he stepped over it with his full weight, there was relief when it holds.

“Alright, this should do it.”

“Hey!” He looks up to the top of the mess of concrete, wood and steel to see your head peaking out. Ranboo managed to send an incredulous look over your way despite his camouflage. You snort, “I’m not a ghost, there was a ladder somewhere off the side.”

And here he was already grappling the mess with his hands and foot.

“All of this for nothing.”

Your laugh reached him this time. “No, no, your effort shouldn’t be wasted. Here, take my hand.”

With nothing left to lose, Ranboo gladly took hold of your outstretched hand, aiding you in the grueling task of pulling him up.

Despite everything, you managed to get him to safety with a little bit of sweat.

To him it felt more than that.

Ranboo decides he’s too stupid to think too far ahead and went to trust this stranger fully with his life.

©Reel footprints is a story that will be loosely based on Ranboo's Generation Loss universe, but is generally a Ghost Hunting AU; the contents is not accurate to the canon universe, proceed with caution.

#ranboo x reader #dream smp x reader #dsmp x reader #mcyt x reader #reel footprints #mcyt fanfiction #ghost hunting au

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the-lonelybarricade · 3 years

Text

A Court of Faded Dreams: Chapter 16

Chapter title: A Sound of Thunder

Fic Summary: In her grief after Rhys sacrifices himself to restore the Cauldron, Feyre accidentally sends herself back in time. Back in her human body, in her early days in the Spring Court, Feyre must be careful how she alters the timeline as she tries to save Rhys and Prythian from Under the Mountain.

Read on AO3 ⟡ Masterlist

The sounds of the teeming crowd were thunderous against the passageway.

Equipped with her fighting leathers, her head held high, Feyre couldn’t help but feeling she truly was a champion, striding toward the glory of battle. She let her mantra of names drive her forward, her steps unfaltering. She was High Lady of the Night Court, Feyre Cursebreaker, and she would show this infernal court that she would prevail.

Rhysand, Mor, Cassian, Azriel, Amren, Elain, Nesta, Lucien—my friends, my family, the dreamers of the world. For them I will endure. For them I will not be afraid. I am Feyre Cursebreaker and I will not falter. I will not break.

The dissonance of laughter, shouting, and unearthly howls worsened when they stepped into the massive arena.

Cursebreaker, High Lady, mate, salvation—I could call you many things, Feyre, but none of them quite do you justice, Rhys’s voice purred. He must have overheard her mantra while she’d been walking through the hall. Historians will need to paint this image before me, for no words could accurately describe your tenacious spirit. You look as if you could face the Gods and win.

It may have been enough to bring her to her knees had the guards not been holding her up. After two days of silence, hearing his voice was like snaring a rabbit after days without food—a sweet, guilty relief.

Romantic analogy, he teased, but there was an unspoken apology in his voice, in the loving caress against her mind. Yet, now was not the time to speak about their disagreement, not when they were both too keyed up about the trial.

Remind me to write you more poetry when we leave this Hellhole, Rhys continued. I suspect having a huntress as a muse could produce some rather inspiring works.

Feyre tried not to smile, stepping carefully on the slick, muddy floor as she was led before the crowd.

Your lips are red as the blood of a freshly skinned doe. Your eyes as blue as a bird shot down with an arrow—

Your prose is truly stimulating, Rhys, but shouldn’t we be focusing on my impending doom? She cut in.

Brilliant, Feyre. I was about to work in a comparison to disembowelment, but your travails against the Middenguard Wyrm might prove more inspirational. What rhymes with Wyrm, by chance?

Feyre was hauled towards a wooden platform erected above the riotous crowd. Atop it sat Amarana and Tamlin and before them was an exposed labyrinth of tunnels and trenches—her fighting arena. She was thrown to her knees before the platform, the half-frozen mud splattering from the impact.

Rhys was still chattering in her mind. Firm, term, squirm, discern…

Feyre rose back to her feet. She knew Rhys was trying to keep her nerves at bay, knowing this trial could still very well kill her. For all the lightheartedness of his words, she could sense his apprehension.

Around the platform stood a group of six males, secluded from the main crowd. Feyre tracked her eyes over their cold, beautiful faces, smoothing the recognition in her eyes—Helion, Kalias, Tarquin, Beron, Thesan, and Rhys, who bore a feline smile through his corona of darkness. But anyone who knew him well could see how the facade of amused indifference didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Choosing to rhyme ‘Wyrm’ seems like the work of a lesser poet, Feyre hummed to him, because maybe he needed the distraction too. It would be much more impressive for you to rhyme ‘Middenguard’.

Amarantha raised a hand and the roaring crowd silenced. “Well, Feyre,” the Faerie Queen said, resting a hand on Tamlin’s knee. “Your first task is here. Let us see how deep that human affection of yours runs.”

And what if I do? Rhys purred, continuing this dance of not quite acknowledging their anxieties. It was a routine they both performed well. If I come back to you with a brilliant poem rhyming ‘Middenguard’, what will you give me? A Champion’s kiss?

Defeating a Middenguard Wyrm is certainly much easier than writing verse about one. It would be a shame for that to go unrewarded.

I’m pleased you recognize my plight, Feyre darling.

“I took the liberty of learning a few things about you,” Amarantha drawled. “It was only fair, you know.”

Feyre braced herself, knowing any moment she’d be pushed into those trenches. If she was ready, perhaps she could land on her feet and take off before the Wrym gave chase.

“I think you’ll like this task,” Amarantha went on. She waved a hand and the Attor stepped forward to part the crowd, clearing the way to the lip of a trench. “Go ahead. Look.”

Feyre stalked towards the trenches and tentatively peered down the twenty foot drop, pretending she didn’t know full well it was a trap. Still, she took the moment to study the path she should take starting directly below. Feyre tracked the route that would put the most distance between herself and the Wyrm initially, to give her enough time to disguise her scent.

Hands slammed into her back, and Feyre watched the floor of the trench rush towards her before she was jerked up by the bone-hard grip of the Attor, its wings beating powerfully against the drag of her weight. Laughter echoed across the chamber as she dangled from the Attor’s claws, but Feyre didn’t let it deter her. She had a better vantage point, now, and she could see to the pit of bones where she’d laid her trap—there. She studied the necessary turns at each junction, trying to commit it to memory—left, left, left, right, right, left, right…

The Attor swooped down into the trench and dropped Feyre on her feet. She landed gracefully, a lioness poised to pounce. And before Amarantha could begin rattling on uselessly with her taunts, Feyre lept into a sprint, flying through the muddy passageway.

After a moment’s surprise, Amarantha tipped her head back and cackled. The crowd began howling in laughter at her lead. “Humans are such cowards. Why do you run, Feyre, when you’ve yet to learn what you’re facing? Such disappointing behavior from a supposed huntress. You were meant to catch my prey, not run with your tail between your legs.”

Feyre was hardly listening as she skidded around the first left where the passageway split into two, nearly careening into the wall of the trench. She took only a moment to regain her footing, scooping a handful of mud from the wall as she did so. Feyre began spreading the foul sludge along her arms as she took off once more.

“Release it,” Amarantha hissed, seemingly provoked by Feyre’s lack of acknowledgement and unfaltering maneuvers. She certainly hadn’t expected her little toy to be dropped into the arena with a plan.

Behind her, Feyre heard a grate groan open, then a slithering, swift-moving noise. She increased her pace, throwing herself through the next diverging left path. The crowd had quieted to a murmur, silent enough for Feyre to hear the guttural rumble of the worm. It wasn’t yet close enough for her to feel the vibrations in the ground and Feyre took that as an encouraging sign. She tore at the wall as she ran, rubbing more mud onto her fighting leathers, along her torso. Feyre veered left again at the next fork.

Three lefts then two rights then another left… Feyre reminded herself as she heaved a handful of mud onto her head mid-stride, ignoring as the slop dripped down her face.

“What’s it doing?” a faerie from the crowd sneered above.

Feyre could feel the vibrations of the Wrym as it gained on her, though she couldn’t yet smell the stench of its breath and that was promising. She was running through a long, straight section of the trench and she hoped she’d put enough distance between them to make it across.

Feyre soared past the opening she’d wasted precious time forcing herself through last time she’d been in these trenches. She came to the end of the passageway and took the path to the right, pausing only long enough to rub her another glob of mud over her neck and clothes. Feyre heard what sounded like the Wrym entering the long stretch of passageway she’d just hurled out of. Hoping she’d disguised herself enough, she bolted towards the next fork and promptly skidded to the right.

“She’s become invisible to the Wrym,” Rhysand observed in the elegant timbre as the vibrations rattling through the trench diminished.

Feyre realized he was giving her a subtle hint while answering the male’s question—the Wrym must have taken the left passageway.

Good, she’d bought herself more time. Left then right—then she’d be at the entrance to the pit. She launched further into the labyrinth, following the long and weaving path. Feyre ventured a glance at the crowd long enough to ascertain the Wrym was off her trail, their eyes turned far in the opposite direction.

She weaved left at the next branch, pausing long enough to rub more mud onto herself for good measure. Then she was hurtling towards the last turn and vaulting gracefully into the pit, where she plunged into ankle-deep mud. Feyre might be invisible, but there was still a chance for the Wrym to circle around and happen upon her through the dark tunnel.

The Wyrm is on the other side of the trenches, Rhys informed her from his vantage above. You have time, Feyre. I’ll let you know if it starts heading towards you.

She wouldn’t let the relief show on her face. She had to act ignorant to the Wyrm’s movements, which meant she needed to maintain a hurried pace.

Faeries were peering into the gaping mouth of the pit above her, their faces dark and leering. Feyre paid no mind to them as she quickly scanned her surroundings. She let a sly, predator's smile break over her face.

There was a dark chuckle in her mind. You look absolutely terrifying right now, Feyre darling.

She could only imagine—her white teeth probably stark against the dark mud caked to her face. That only encouraged her smile to broaden.

Quickly, Feyre picked through the mud, scavenging for the largest bones she could find. She promptly snapped them in half against her thigh, ignoring the sting from the impact, and tossed them into a pile. More and more bones, venturing into the darkness of the tunnel to find some of them, until they formed an impressive heap of ivory in the center of the pit. Her legs were sore and burning from where she’d heaved the bones upon them, but she gritted her teeth against the pain.

Feyre swiftly got to work in building her trap. She selected four of the larger bones from the top of the pile and slid them into the loops of her fighting leathers for later use. She took first to building the beginnings of her ladder, driving the sharp end of the bones into the wall as far as she could reach, double checking they were pushed in far enough to be sturdy.

“What’s it doing? What’s it planning?” one of the faeries hissed.

Feyre faced back toward the center of the pit opening, calculated the distance, and began plunging bones into the ground, sharp-side up. One by one, she stuck them into the muddy floor until the pile of snapped bones had disappeared, the whole area—save for one spot—filled with her homemade caltrops.

Feyre didn’t double check her work as she turned on her heel. She began climbing up the bone ladder, sparing one of the bones looped through her fighting leathers to serve as the final rung. Finally, she heaved herself out of the pit, her trap set. Now to bait her prey.

The Wrym had to be decently far away, for she felt no vibrations and heard none of its rumbling groans. The only indication of its location was from hasty glances toward the faeries crowded above, but they seemed amazed enough at her handiwork that most were staring right back at her. Feyre supposed she’d have to track it herself, then. She spared a moment to ensure that no part of her was left uncovered in the filthy mud, dousing herself one final time. She withdrew one of the bones from her belt, her grip slippery.

“What’s it doing?” that same green-faced faerie whined.

“She’s built a trap,” Rhysand answered again with twinkling eyes. “The Wrym relies on its scent, and Feyre is its invisible huntress.”

Feyre glowered and sent him an obscene gesture, just for old time’s sake. His laughter reverberated through her mind in response and she smiled inwardly at him.

Go hunt, my beautiful, cunning mate.

⟡⟡⟡

Feyre spared two more of the bones on the especially tight corners leading to the pit, driving them into the ground so she could use them to haul herself around the bend. The novelty of her trap having worn off as she stalked back into the labyrinth, Feyre was able to spot a crowd of faeries gathered to taunt the Wyrm. She followed after, slowing to a stalking pace as she flattened her back against a wall as she heard the slithering and grunting of the worm. And crunching.

The faeries watching the Wyrm—ten of them, with frosty blue skin and almond-shaped black eyes—giggled. Feyre could only assume they’d grown bored of her and decided to watch something else die.

Feyre slid around the bend and craned her neck. The crowd murmured overhead. Too covered in its scent to smell her, the Wyrm continued feasting, stretching its bulbous form upward as one of the faeries dangled a hairy arm. The Wyrm gnashed its teeth and the faeries cackled as the arm dropped into its waiting mouth.

Feyre raised her bone-sword as she moved around the bend, away from the Wrym, and prepared herself to run for her life. She couldn’t afford any self doubt as she drew the jagged edge of the bone across her palm, splitting open her flesh.

I am Feyre Cursebreaker, High Lady of the Night Court, the Stars Eternal, and I will endure.

Blood welled, bright and shining. Feyre let it build before clenching her hand into a fist. The worm would smell it soon enough.

Something unexpected had happened last time, Feyre remembered—the Wyrm had become so ravenous it’d broken through the wall rather than come round the bend.

The crowd had gone silent. Feyre tried to back up casually, putting space between herself and the wall but keeping her eyes fixed towards the turn. She couldn’t look as if she knew the Wyrm would move unexpectedly—Amarantha might suspect Rhysand’s intervention.

The blue faeries were grinning at Feyre as she stumbled back, mock confusion growing on her face the longer she waited.

She must have been selling it convincingly enough because shattering the silence like a shooting star, a voice—Lucien’s—bellowed across the chamber. “TO YOUR LEFT!”

Feeling so grateful for her friend, Feyre used his interjection as an excuse to break into a sprint away from the wall. The extra space she’d slyly given herself had been enough to offer an edge as the Wyrm exploded through the mud, a mass of shredding teeth. Feyre was already running, so fast the trenches were a blur of reddish brown. She could hear the Wyrm shuddering through the tunnels, quick on her heels, but not quick enough.

Feyre took a sharp turn, grabbing onto a bone-rail to careen around without breaking her speed. She let the momentum propel her forward to the next turn. Feyre’s breath was a flame ravaging her throat as she hurtled around the next bend.

The worm was a raging, crashing force behind her, but Feyre’s steps were steady as she strode across the mud, flipping through the final turn. The crowd became ravenous as she shot through the straight passageway curving up before the pit. Feyre had earned precious seconds on those turns; now that they were running straight on, the Wyrm was gaining on her quickly. She could feel its breath warming her back as the mouth of the pit loomed, and she lept.

Time seemed to slow as Feyre met open black air. Somehow falling had lost its edge after learning to fly with Azriel. She swung her arms as she tumbled gracefully toward the spot she’d kept clear of sharp bones. Feyre hit the ground hard, rolling with the momentum. She felt something pop, but didn’t give herself time to clock it as she hurried into the darkness of the den.

The Wyrm plummeted into the pit with a wet, crunching noise. And then its body went still.

Feyre ventured toward the beast, seizing one of the bones from the ground as she did, just in case. Her left arm was limp and throbbing—dislocated, she realized belatedly. From the fall.

There were gasps rising indiscriminately from the crowd. Then cheering. Feyre was too busy wondering how she’d climb out of the pit with a dislocated shoulder to bask in the pride of it.

No one made any move to help her. Feyre gritted her teeth. Fine then, she thought. She’d set it herself. It was crude, and she might not do it correctly, but Rhys could rectify any further damage later on. Right now she had to focus on getting out of this Gods’ forsaken pit.

After taking a long, steadying breath, Feyre shoved the left side of her body into the mud wall with enough force to make her gasp. Still, she felt that pop as her shoulder slid back in place. Feyre swallowed past the hot shards of agony as she stalked to the bone ladder.

She couldn’t help the whimper that escaped as she raised her arm to the bone rung, but at least she could move it again. Each step up the ladder was pure torment, but eventually Feyre was able to pull herself back into the labyrinth. She was gasping, mostly in pain, as she silently stumbled back through the labyrinth. Feyre knew she probably had more injuries, disguised by the tingling remains of adrenaline pumping through her veins.

She reached the edge of the trench and beheld Amarantha, sat high on her platform. Feyre still had a long bone clenched in her fists and she knew exactly what she planned to do with it.

“Well,” Amarantha said with a little smirk. “I suppose anyone could have done that.”

Feyre took a few running steps and hurled the bone at Amarantha with all her remaining strength, wincing against the pull at her shoulder.

The bone embedded itself in the mud at Amarantha’s feet, splattering filth onto her white gown.

The faeries gasped again. Amarantha stared at the still wobbling bone before touching the mud on her bodice. She smiled slowly. “Naughty,” she tsked.

But Feyre smiled right back, all teeth. Defiantly, tauntingly. Just enough to demonstrate her assuredness. This was the only task Amarantha had a chance of defeating Feyre in; now she was practically sitting in her own coffin. Feyre wanted to hint it to her, just a little bit, just enough to make her regret underestimating a human.

Careful, Rhys warned, but there was pride shining in his voice.

“I suppose you’ll be happy to learn most of my court lost a good deal of money tonight,” she said, picking up a piece of parchment.

Congrats on your earnings, she purred to Rhys. What’s my cut?

Hmm, we didn’t negotiate anything, but I suppose I owe something to my Champion. How’s a ring sound?

“Let’s see,” Amarantha went on, reading the paper as she toyed with Jurian’s finger at the end of her necklace. “Yes, I’d say almost my entire court bet on you dying within the first minute; some said you’d last five, and—” she turned over the paper—“and just two people said you would win.”

Two people? Feyre frowned, but then her eyes found Lucien in the crowd. Despite the punishment he’d be facing for his outburst, he was grinning at her ferociously, pride gleaming in that russet eye. She was touched.

Don’t tease me. There’s only one ring I have my sights on, and I wish it could be acquired so easily as killing a Wyrm.

Ah, yes. But once you do acquire it, it’s yours.

Feyre tried not to smile at the implication of his words. They’d made everything she’d just endured, twice over, more than worth it.

Amarantha frowned at her list, and she waved a hand. “Take her away. I tire of her mundane face.” She clenched the arms of her throne hard enough that the whites of her knuckles showed. “Rhysand, come here.”

Red hands grabbed Feyre as Rhys started to prowl forward. She couldn’t stay long enough to hear what was said to him, though she longed to. She hoped he wasn’t in too much trouble. It seemed Amarantha had tightened his leash since her arrival.

Stay safe. Please, she begged him as she was hauled away. Say whatever you need to say. Throw me under any current you need if it keeps your head above water.

I’ll come see you soon, was all he said.

Feyre couldn’t even look back as she was dragged, none too gently, back to her cell. Her shoulder throbbed in pain and as the adrenaline wore off, she felt her other injuries slowly waking up. A sharp sting in her right thigh, a biting pulse in her ankle, and plenty of sore, aching muscles.

She collapsed in a heap as soon as she was thrown into her cell, succumbing herself to sleep before the pain won over.

Taglist: @cretaceous-therapod @feybaenc @uniquelyboringmusings @imsecretlyaherondale-blog @rhysandswingspan

#A Court of Faded Dreams #feysand fic #feysand #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #fanfiction #pro feyre #pro rhys #UtM #first trial

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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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missanthropicprinciple · 2 years

Note

WIP: Foxgloves please!

*hugs*

*screams* ok *breathes* haha well

I started writing this when I was about 17. Originally it was an homage to Olivia Manning's Levant Trilogy and a bit also to Frances Hodgson Burnett but it ended up being more Parade's End meets landscape literature. I participated in NaNoWriMo last year, finally completing a novel that's been in the works for nearly 20 years. I've gone through several phases of re-writes for this. In my 20s I beefed up what I had but not by much. It was still very naive and wasn't what I wanted. Something was missing. When I was about 30 I was talking to a friend of mine and I was saying how I couldn't write from the perspective of the little girl anymore and wasn't sure if I ever really could. So I changed it to the perspective of Marcus, the little girl's shell shocked older cousin. It ended up being the best move ever because after that my writing just exploded in the best possible way.

Logline, a thing I am useless at:

Returning from the front lines, Marcus attempts to return to his life of musical performance but finds that shell shock blocks his path; he withdraws to the Dorset landscape and the sea to recapture his life.

Excerpt:

He thanked the man and wrapped his strong gentle hands around the mug of tea and closed his eyes. It was not trench tea, weak, miserable, tasting of other things. It was really almost too much to be real and sweet and a little bit aromatic. He drank so deeply that he would happily bathe in it. Shoulders hunched, savoring every moment, he rested his bottom lip on the cup exhaling a long plume of steam into the cold air before him. A nurse looked at him as he walked past but he didn’t notice. He had reached a point where he could no longer remember how he got from one point to another. He was in the carriage sitting, arms folded or wrapped around himself or resting awkwardly in his lap. Someone passed him a newspaper. He thanked the man and read the columns, or rather read the same paragraph about six times before falling asleep under the pages. He didn’t look at anyone, felt himself shrink, folded the newspaper and set it next to him. Head on the cold glass pane. Hat fell to his feet, someone picked it up and put it on his lap. Dreaming. Mud. Rats. Lice. Tanks. Birds. Crashing. Groggy. Heavy. Talking. Muffled. Blood Sleep Waking Crash Black White Boom Crunch Scream Gas Talking Sleep Dreaming Heavy. Sleep was gigantic black wings, soft, warm and powerful. Cold air ruffled through his hair and he came to. His eyes burned. Shaking himself like a dog he got up and put his hat on. He was standing on the station. All he could feel was the cold air, and the warmth of his trench-coat. Everything was alarmingly clear, every detail defined. Sharp. He could see as far as the ticket booth and everything in it. The ink pad. The pen. A crumbled packet of cigarettes. A man checked his pocket watch a dozen times. A lady wiped her eyes with a man’s handkerchief. A little boy held his mother’s hand. The steam, noise, and somber chatter was muffled as if he was still asleep. There is so much color. No mud. The gray-green monotony was replace by red, blue, black, and purple fabric. People walked around him as if he was there. He felt immovable. He could move but he just stood there, not feeling compelled to walk forward or do anything. Are you alright? Excuse me. Pardon me. Sorry. Look out. Wings in his mind. The platform a solid block. People unreal. 0800. There is some thing he ought to do. Tea. Sleep. Confusion. Death. Tremble. You must go home. You must rest. Go. Stay. Words. Death. There she was on the platform.

My plans now are to 1) get a job so I can earn enough money for a research trip to England, 2) finish footnotes/endnotes and annotated bibliography, 3) make said trip, 4) complete editing and 5) publish

#personal #do not repost #my writing #WIP ask

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lailyn · 3 years

Text

Bird Noises

Written for @kimmycupcreates' Lokius Bingo

Summary: Wounded and trapped deep in the trenches, Loki wonders if he has been abandoned yet again.

"Loki!" Mobius whispered, but there was no sign of the Variant anywhere.

All around him, enchanted and very armed personnel roamed the grounds, their bayonet-mounted rifles glinting in the moonlight, and calling attention to himself would be suicide.

"Loki!" Mobius hissed again, but either Loki was lying about having super hearing or he was ignoring Mobius.

Of all the apocalypses the Loki Variant (the one they were chasing, not the one Mobius was currently missing) chose to hide in, they had to choose the Battle of the Somme, the largest, bloodiest battle of World War I, if not in all of human history.

Mobius should have trusted his instincts, should have said no to doing things Loki's 'way' for once. All it took was one look in those bright green eyes and he turned to putty like some greenhorn.

They should not have separated. Allied soldiers were being gunned down in droves; Loki would probably survive a chest full of bullets, but not Mobius. Definitely not Mobius, and probably not Loki too, realistically speaking.

An exploding artillery shell had flung them apart so maybe they did not separate on purpose...but it still pissed Mobius off. If Loki had not found him by now, he had either

A. Gone and done his own thing, tracking down the ELV (aka Evil Loki Variant) by himself. Never mind the fact that they still had no idea what ELV looked like now, having been on the run for years, a very, very successful run that was making the Time Keepers really, really uncomfortable.

B. Decided to join in the foray.

"Why aren't we doing anything about this?" Loki had asked in a mix of horror and mild fascination just as soon as they stepped out of the Time Door. They were not dressed for the muddy, minging weather, let alone for stepping over dead bodies and shrapnels.

"We can't change the course of history, Mobius reminded him. "The ghastly death toll here today actually provided a stepping stone to victory for The Allies."

"How?"

"It would influence subsequent decisions to take the fight away from the Western Front and onto the seas. Submarine warfare brought United States into the war."

An odd look came over Loki's face then.

"A necessary war." His lips curled in disgust. "How ugly."

Which brought Mobius to the last, but not necessarily the worst scenario:

C. Run off. Loki could shapeshift to look like anybody, speak almost all the world's major lingua francas. He may look and sound like a pompous British aristocrat most of the time, but he could pass off as French, Austrian, German, whatever he wanted. Guy was a fucking chameleon.

A tall, loud chameleon whose head or tail Mobius had not seen for an alarming total amount of twenty minutes. Tme was ticking and Loki did not have a TemPad and if Mobius left a Variant stranded here in 1916…

A true fear gripped his heart and Mobius could feel a scream crawl his way up his throat, frantic and desperate. "Loki!!!"

The deafening boom of a cannon exploding somewhere to his right drowned out his shouts. Mobius waded through the clouds of dust and debris, his vision drastically reduced down to no more than twenty yards, he could barely make out his own feet.

He heard a faint sound, a sound that did not belong here, not in this place, not in this time.

Mobius forced himself to hold his breath, he could hardly hear anything between the buzzimg in his ears from the explosion and his own harsh gasps -

There it was again, a short, quiet but high-pitched sound...the crying call of a songbird.

Mobius' legs began to move.

Keep calling, Loki, he prayed, but with every yard he covered, the call grew weaker.

Mobius hastened his search. He knew he was not running in the wrong direction, for on every tree he passed, there were bloody palm prints of someone fleeing.

Mobius would recognise those hands anywhere, he had just held them last night under the covers.

Warm, safe covers.

An artillery shell dropped out of the sky and landed a few feet away from Mobius' feet.

His heart stopped. He waited.

And waited.

When it did not go off, all breath left his chest in one explosive gust and Mobius sank to his knees, his legs turned to jelly.

"What the hell am I doing here?" He mumbled. "Oh dear god, help me…"

"Mobius?" A voice called out, faint and feathery.

"Loki?" He whirled around. Strength restored like magic, Mobius scrambled to his feet.

"Loki, where are you?" he whispered fiercely.

"I'm here," the voice led Mobius to a trench dug ten feet deep into the earth.

Loki's face was milk white, his dirty front completely soaked in blood.

"What happened?" Mobius demanded.

"She stabbed me," Loki gasped.

"She?"

"The Variant. Enchanted - him - "

Loki nodded at a corpse of a soldier lying face-down on the ground a mere feet away. Hidden so deep in the shadows, Mobius could not be certain who the soldier was or how long he had been trapped in the trench, the only clue being the graffiti carved into the chalk all around him that spoke of a love left behind in Abbey Village.

A moan reeled Mobius in back to reality and he hastily took off his jacket. He bunched it up into a ball and pressed it Loki's stomach. He could feel it squelching under his fingers.

"Can't you heal yourself?" Mobius realised just how stupid the question was the moment it left his mouth. If Loki could, he would have, instead of lying here bleeding to death from a gut wound the size of his fist.

"I tried," Loki panted, shaking his head weakly. "Magic blade."

Mobius' mind raced. "We have to get you out of here. Take you back to the TVA, we can patch you up there."

"Go." Loki swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down erratically with an unbearable thirst. He had lost far too much blood to get very far. "Leave me."

"Never," Mobius said with a fury he very seldom displayed. "I don't leave anyone behind."

"I'm sorry, Mobius." Loki's teeth chattered. "I let her get away."

"Yeah, we can talk about that later. Now shut up, I'm trying to think."

Should he return to the TVA and come back with help? No, there was no guarantee the Time Door would open onto this exact spot and now that he had found Loki, the thought of leaving him alone was unthinkable.

Loki's bloody hand scoured the air and Mobius caught it. "Loki, hold on."

"Shhh." Loki closed his eyes and tried to concentrate; as long as there was in life in him, there was still magic, and as long as there was magic…

A green glow shimmered over the God of Mischief's form, and a few seconds later, Mobius was holding a handsome peregrine falcon in his arms.

He bundled the wounded creature up in his bloodied jacket as warmly as he could,

(Warm, safe covers)

He fumbled with the TemPad and nearly dropped it from his blood-slick hand in his panic.

A bird of few noises, the falcon made a sharp, rasping kack-kack-kack staccato and nuzzled its head into Mobius' chest as if to say, It's okay. You've got this.

The Time Door materialised in front of them.

Mobius threw one last look at poor dead William, and wished he could make a stop in Abbey Village to tell sweet Adaline how much young William had loved her.

Maybe once Loki was well, they would make that trip together.

#lokius #fic #loki #time husbands #frozentime #wowki #loki tv

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