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therealdisneyfan2319 · 2 years

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Can’t Help Falling In Love Chapter 3: 1839

Synopsis: On his first day in the Avengers’ Compound, Y/N finds himself making an unexpected connection.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Y/N

Characters: Y/N, Wanda Maximoff, Tony Stark

Word Count: 3.4K

Part 2 | Part 1 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist

One thousand, eight hundred, and thirty-nine days earlier...

There was a knock at the door.

"Yo!" yelled Tony, who was spinning in a chair situated behind his desk. He was tossing a ball to himself, deep in thought.

Y/N opened the door. He stood there in a smartly creased pair of Navy dress blues clutching a white dixie cup hat in front of him. He carried an olive green sea bag on his back and a duffle bag sat on the floor by his side.

"Mr. Stark? I'm-"

"Oh, yeah...Popeye the sailor man. Right, you're starting today. I think Cap mentioned that at our last meeting," he shrugged. "I don't know, his speeches generally have me glazed over within seconds."

Y/N had set his sea bag down and was rummaging through his duffle bag. He pulled out a manilla envelope and stood back up. "I've got my orders here, Mr. Stark, if you'd like." He walked over to Tony's desk, arm outstretched. Tony recoiled at the gesture.

"Two things there, Popeye. First: don't call me Mr. Stark, it makes me feel like my old man. Second: I don't like being handed things."

Y/N paused, looked at Tony and then at the envelope in his outstretched hand, and slowly yet awkwardly placed the envelope on the edge of the desk. Leaning out of his chair, Tony slid the envelope toward himself slowly, not breaking eye contact with Y/N.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.?"

"Yes, boss?"

"You got any info on where Y/N is staying?"

"Yes. You put him in 4B, right next to Pietro Maximoff and right across from Wanda Maximoff."

"Did I do that?" he mused. He had opened Y/N's envelope and was shuffling through the various papers: service records, discharge papers, official orders, letters of recommendation from his superiors, records detailing various awards he'd received, copies of battle reports, and other various documents.

"Yes boss," replied F.R.I.D.A.Y. "And you put his key in your paperclip holder."

He fished around his paperclip holder, which sat over near the three computer monitors on the left side of his desk. "Well what do you know? Here they are!" He handed the key ring to Y/N. "Apartment 4B. Turn right when you leave, take the elevator to the fourth floor, take a left out of the elevator, go down the hall, two rights, and it's there somewhere."

"Thank you," said Y/N. "Anything else?"

"Nope. Someone will let you know what's going on." Tony had refocused his attention to the ball.

"Thanks," said Y/N as he shouldered his seabag and picked up his duffle bag. He started down the hallway when he heard Tony's voice emanating from the office.

"Hey shut the door on your way out!"

Y/N turned his head when he heard Tony shout. He turned the rest of his body and headed back to the door where he shut it rather aggressively. His first impression of Tony was that he was arrogant and rather dismissive. He reminded him of a Chief he'd known during his first enlistment. Arrogant and a pain in his ass, Y/N found him to be insufferable but a half-decent leader. He tried to recall the rather confusing directions Tony had just given to him.

Take the elevator to the fourth floor, he remembered, and then a right and two lefts...or was it a left and a right...no, it was definitely two lefts and a right. Either way he'd find it soon enough.

He made his way down the hallway, taking in his new surroundings. The building was modern but it wasn't cold. He noted the huge glass wall that gave way to the lawn that was surrounded by the woods, a parking lot, and an extensive obstacle course. He observed the different offices and conference rooms that stretched down the hall. He got to the end of the hall where the elevators were located and pressed the up button. He dropped his duffle bag to the ground with a loud thud. He groaned and flexed his hand, which was fatigued from carrying everything he owned. He kicked it into the elevator once its doors opened. Pushing the '4' button, he leaned against the cool steel railing in an effort to take the pressure off his shoulders.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Y/N picked up his bag and did a little jump to reposition his sea bag and exited. But this presented a new challenge: where was his apartment? He looked both ways, shrugged, and decided to go left. As he walked down the hallway he noticed the numbers on the door weren't the 4B he was looking for. So when he came to another corridor he decided to turn right. But down that way were a series of storage rooms.

"Well shit," he said, dropping his bags. Y/N had no idea where the hell he was. It had been a long day and all he wanted to do was strip off his blues and lie in bed. But he had no idea how to get there. He had Tony's phone number. He'd been given that at his final meeting with Nick Fury a couple days ago. Yet he felt embarrassed at the thought of having to call him to ask for directions to his room. So he sat down on his sea bag, ran his hand through his recently cropped hair, and started digging through his duffel bag for the piece of paper that contained Tony Stark's phone number.

"Can I help you?" an unfamiliar voice asked. Y/N looked up and immediately locked eyes with the greenest pair of eyes he'd ever seen. They were absolutely mesmerizing. So was her voice. Breaking away from her eyes he began to take notice of her. She had fiery red hair, she was young (about his age), she wore a grey t-shirt and jeans and had rings on almost every finger, and she had this aura around her. Y/N didn't know what it was but he knew something was different about her. She was beautiful, absolutely radiant. He felt his mouth go dry as he tried to speak.

"Uhh, yeah, I mean, I'm trying to find my room but I seem to have gotten mixed up and I have no idea where I am." He felt sheepish at this admission.

"Oh, you must be the new guy Steve was talking about," the redhead smirked. "Tony's been calling you Popeye ever since he learned you're a sailor." She glanced him up and down, eyeing his uniform with a keen sense of curiosity.

"Yeah, yeah, he told me," Y/N responded.

"Where are you staying?" she asked, now admiring the rack of ribbons proudly displayed on his chest.

"4B."

"Well you're on the complete opposite side of the building," she chuckled. "Come on, I'll take you over there. I live in 4A. My brother lives in 4D." She started down the hall he had just come from. He jumped up and threw his sea bag over his shoulder. He moved quickly, not wanting to lose sight of his guide. But the weight of his bag was awkward, causing him to stumble momentarily. The redhead turned around.

"You good back there, Popeye?" she asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Something about this scene amused her.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good," he replied after regaining his balance. He jogged to catch up with her.

"So is that we get to call you now? Popeye?"

"My name is Y/N. Y/N L/N."

"I'm Wanda. Wanda Maximoff."

"Pleasure to meet you, Wanda."

"Likewise." An awkward silence permeated the air. "So you're joining the team, right?"

"Uh huh."

"So what's your thing?"

"My what?"

"Well we've all got something. Tony's Iron Man, my brother Pietro has super speed, Nat was a Black Widow assassin, Steve's Captain America, and I can move things with my mind. So what's yours?" There was another awkward pause.

"Bombs."

"Excuse me?" Wanda asked incredulously.

"Bombs. I can make 'em, diffuse 'em, disarm 'em. That's my thing. I did EOD for the Navy for eight years before Nick Fury recruited me into the Avengers. I guess Tony Stark doesn't want to blow things up the way he used to for some stupid reason," he chuckled.

"And with good reason," Wanda's eyes snapped front and her tone was noticeably cooler towards him.

The two walked in silence for what seemed like hours. But soon enough they reached an area of the building with numbers that were closer to the one Y/n was looking for.

"Your room is down there on the right. Kitchen and laundry are on the third floor, gym is on the second. I've got to go," said Wanda. She turned and headed back down the hall.

"Hey thanks!" Y/N yelled towards her.

"Don't mention it," she replied in her harsh accent, not even turning to look back at him.

Y/N found her behavior odd yet he didn't dwell on it. He grabbed the keys from his pocket, unlocked the door, and practically threw his bags into the room. The apartment was spacious, much bigger than any of the barracks he had stayed in. It had a queen sized bed, a large desk with office chair, a closet, a larger set of dressers, a wall mounted TV, a matching chair and ottoman set, end tables on either side of the bed, one huge window affixed with blinds, and a bathroom complete with a large walk-in shower, spacious vanity, and illuminated mirror. While it was extremely nice, Y/n couldn't help but feel that his lack of personal possessions made it feel cold. Everything he owned fit into these two bags. Most of it was his old naval uniforms but he did have a few pairs of civilian clothing, a couple of books, his toiletries, and his laptop. Nearly a decade in the service taught him to pack light.

Y/N sighed, looked around the room, and opened his sea bag, emptying its contents onto the bed. He figured he'd spend the rest of the day unpacking and exploring his new home. The compound itself was expansive. The sooner he could figure it out the better. He stripped out of his wool jumper and threw it on the bed unceremoniously. He was no longer in the Navy so he had no real use for it.

After unpacking both bags and finding new homes for his possessions, he changed into a pair of grey sweatpants and, while fully intending on spending the afternoon exploring, promptly passed out on the mattress. He came to a few hours later. It was dark by theme. Soft orange lights illuminated the walkways outside the compound. Stars were visible in the clear sky as were the twinkling lights of fireflies.

I guess I can still explore for a bit, he thought.

He wouldn't be tired for a while. So he slipped on his sneakers, grabbed his keys, and headed out to explore. He remembered Wanda told him the kitchen and laundry room were on the third floor and the gym was on the second. These were definitely important locations. Looking to his right he saw an illuminated exit sign. He figured that would be the quickest way to the third floor. He tiptoed his way down the hallway, taking extra care not to wake anybody. He jogged down the stairs to the third floor, still making sure to be relatively quiet. He opened the door and saw the illuminated laundry room across the hall. It reminded him of the ones in the barracks: machines were stacked on both sides of the room while a couple of rolling baskets were strewn about. Turning to the left he headed down the hall. Halfway down it was the kitchen. The lights were off but he decided to venture in anyways. Unlike the laundry room, the kitchen was huge. Modern stainless steel appliances were showcased between the sleek marble countertops. Two huge double door refrigerators sat flush against the wall. An island with bar stools sat in the middle of the room while another table sat off to the side. He hadn't brought any food with him. He'd have to fix that in the morning.

"Don't even think about going after my ice cream." someone threatened as the lights snapped on. Y/N whipped around only to see Wanda standing by the door. He must've still been half-asleep because for a second he could've sworn her eyes were glowing red.

"What? No, I wasn't going to take anything. I was just checking the kitchen out. I, uhh, I wouldn't steal anything."

She eyed him suspiciously. Ignoring him she headed to one of the refrigerators. Y/N couldn't help but watch her. Something about her still intrigued him. He wanted to talk to her but felt all tongue-tied.

"So how long have you and your brother lived here?" he asked, trying to make conversation with her.

"About two years."

"Is that when you joined the Avengers?"

"Yes," she responded as she grabbed a carton of rocky road ice cream from the freezer.

"Did Nick Fury recruit you, too?"

"No."

"Oh." It was becoming obvious that Wanda had no interest in engaging in conversation. Thinking it was a lost cause, he turned and headed for the door.

"We were with HYDRA." Y/N heard a drawer open as Wanda grabbed a spoon.

"What?" he'd turned around to see her sitting on the counter, scooping the spoon into the container.

"Pietro and I," she explained. "We volunteered with HYDRA. The Avengers were taking them down and offered us a way out, so we took it."

Y/N walked over to the island across from Wanda and jumped to sit on it. "You're not from here, are you?" he asked.

Wanda shook her head, her mouth full of ice cream. "Mmmm-mmm. We're Sokovian." She continued digging into her ice cream.

"So why'd you join HYDRA?" It was an honest question.

Wanda paused. She placed the spoon back into the ice cream and looked at Y/N. "Because one of Tony Stark's bombs killed our parents and I wanted him dead."

Suddenly it all made sense. Why she had suddenly shifted her attitude towards him. He immediately felt embarrassed. "Oh shit, shit I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made that joke." She didn't say anything. "Damn it. Look, I'm sorry. I have a bad habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. I didn't mean to upset you." She kept looking at him but still said nothing. "Okay, umm, I'll just go then." He hopped off the counter and headed out of the room.

"Do you like stars?" she blurted out just before he reached the door.

"Wha-?" he was confused by her question.

"Stars. Do you like looking at the stars?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Come on," she said as she hopped off the counter, placing the empty carton next to where she sat. Y/N was confused but decided to follow her anyway. He followed her down three flights of stairs, out the back door, across the lawn, and down through a trail in the woods toward the river. There was a small beach of pebbles at the bank of the Hudson. Wanda walked to it and sat, hugging her knees to her chest. Y/N watched her as she looked up at the night sky, its quiet beauty emanating all around them. He walked to the spot where Wanda sat, taking his place on the ground next to her. He too looked up at the stars, drinking in the beauty of the Big Dipper and other constellations.

"When I was a little girl, Papa used to take Pietro and I out to this park near our village. It wasn't very big, but we'd bring a blanket and spread it on the ground. We'd sit there for hours once it got dark. He'd point out all the constellations to us and tell us stories about them," she explained. "I always liked the one about the hunter." Y/N smiled. "It was too bright where I grew up to see stars. I didn't really experience what a dark night sky was until I was in the Navy. My first deployment to Afghanistan I remember being in the field one night and looking up and being just amazed at how bright they were. And how many of them there are. It was...it was so incredible," he reminisced.

"How long were you in the Navy?" she asked.

"Eight years. Went in at eighteen, served two tours in Afghanistan, one in Iraq, deployed for a few months on a couple of ships." He began fidgeting with some pebbles next to him. Talking about deployments always made him uncomfortable.

"Your parents must be proud," she said. While he hadn't said anything, Wanda started to sense some pain behind his words.

"My parents," he began, still fidgeting with a pebble, "were killed when I was eighteen. Four months before I graduated high school. They went out to a party one night and never came home. Drunk driver. They died instantly." He threw the pebble into the river. "I was legally an adult at that point, so I couldn't go into foster care. I moved in with one of my friends and slept in his basement until graduation. I got a job washing dishes so I could make money, but I couldn't afford to go to college without my parents. So I declined my acceptance letter and decided to join the Navy. Free housing, free medical care, the GI bill, a chance to see the world...it sounded like a good deal, you know? I didn't have anything or anyone left. So I did eight years. Then somehow my name got put in for the Avengers and Nick Fury hired me. So, you know, I'm just starting over again." He looked out at the river.

"I'm sorry about your parents," said Wanda, her voice tinged with sadness. Y/n didn't say anything. "What did you want to study in college?" she asked, not wanting him to stop talking.

He chuckled nervously. "Promise you won't laugh? It's embarrassing."

"Maybe..." she replied, a sly smile crossing her lips.

"I wanted to study English literature. I wanted to be a writer," he admitted.

"That's not embarrassing!" she exclaimed. "I think it's wonderful! I wish I could write well."

"Reading a lot helps. I like a lot of different authors...Charles Dickens, Rick Riordan, Margaret Atwood, James MacPherson, A.A. Milne, Ernest Hemingway, William Shakes-"

"Hemingway is a much better nickname for you than Popeye," she interrupted. "I'll have to talk to Tony about that."

"Oh great, another nickname. Just what I need," he groaned. She laughed at him.

"I like it!" said Wanda. "It's like you: dignified, playful, cute..." she trailed off. His ears perked up at this last admission.

"Wait, what was that?!"

"Nothing." "Right," he smirked.

Wanda promptly looked down at the ground, hands clasped in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that," she blurted.

"No, no, it's okay! I mean I think, well, what I mean is, yeah, I think you're cute, too," he blurted. Great, he thought, real smooth. He flopped back onto the ground, rubbing his temples as he did so. He looked up and saw Wanda looking down over him.

"You think so?" she asked, one eyebrow cocked.

"I know so," he responded.

"So you won't mind if I do this then?" She laid down on her side, snuggling her head on Y/N's chest and wrapping her arm around his waist. He brought one arm behind his head to act as a pillow and wrapped his other arm around her.

"No. I could actually get used to this, I think," he said looking down at her. Wanda giggled as she looked up at him before laying her head back on his chest. It was the first time he'd ever felt so comfortable with a girl. He didn't know where this would lead, but Y/N had a peculiar feeling that he would remember this starry night as the night he started falling in love with Wanda Maximoff.

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mycenaae · 1 month

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oliver stark watching black sails and wanting to act in that universe and then campaigning for his character to be queer and then finally getting a bisexuality reveal with a love interest named (presumably) thomas. thank you james flint for your service

#nat.txt #everything on this website really does come back around to either black sails or supernatural. or - worst case scenario - both #just remembered also that the old gay man who died happily alongside his husband and changed buck's life was also called thomas #hysterical coincidences happening here today

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you-heard-what-i-meant · 1 year

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All Fall Down - Moon Knight

Summary: Marc and Steven are free from Khonshu and no longer have the suit. This is one time they really needed it.

Warnings: graphic descriptions of injury, blood, description of dying, major character death. Happy ending, I promise.

Note: not beta’d. Probably [definitely] inaccurate descriptions of Dissociative Identity Disorder and injury / death. I apologise in advance for any offense caused!

Posted on AO3 HERE!

Do not edit or repost my fics to other sites / apps, or claim as your own! Thank you!

Initially the pain is only the tip of the blade as it pierces his stomach. After that, the sensation is more… obstructive. The steel blade pushed in where it shouldn’t be, getting in the way of his organs, like having a band-aid on a joint makes you feel like there’s something stopping it from moving properly. The pain really hits when his assailant rips the blade free - slicing at a wide angle across his body, tearing its way through his abdomen from hip-to-hip as it leaves.

Marc staggers backwards, his hands automatically flying to the gaping wound in his middle. The man is leering at him, bloodstained linen shirt and pale, loose jeans almost flapping in the wind. Marc has a moment to register the man’s discoloured, rotting smile before it’s gone - replaced by a look of shock that remains frozen there as he hits the ground face first. The blade in his back is removed by an angel with golden wings and glowing brown skin. Her abundant ebony curls bounce as she rights herself, the blade disappearing somewhere in the elaborate armour that encases her athletic form. Her satisfied look vanishes instantly as she gets her first real look at him.

“Marc!” his name shouldn’t sound like that when it comes from his angel’s lips - choked, horrified. He realises he can no longer feel his legs, that the pain has become a raging inferno throughout his torso, and the ground rushes up to meet him.

His descent is halted by strong arms, which manoeuvre him onto his back and cradle him against the golden breastplate. Her small features are pinched in terror and fear as she gazes down upon him, her face already beginning to blur. He’s starting to feel hollow, his heart squeezing and thudding erratically. His lungs have become too full to breathe, as counterintuitive as that seems, but he understands why when the bubbling, gurgling sensation starts deep in his chest and hot, metallic wetness flows out onto his lips with the gasp of her name.

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

Layla POV

She knows when she sees the wound. But somehow her mind still screams a denial… until he chokes out her name. His impossibly dark eyes are dominated by fear and pain as they lock onto her face, the bright crimson bubbling and spurting out onto his lips a stark contrast to his dark olive-toned skin. Her hand flies to his face, resting flat against his cheek as she tries desperately to bring some comfort to her husband.

“Marc, Marc, it’s okay, you’re going to be okay. Tawaret! We need help, now!”

Her panicked call is answered swiftly. The enormous Hippo Goddess materialises beside them, towering over their prone forms.

“Oh my goodness, oh no!” Her hands flap anxiously as she kneels beside them.

“Tawaret, help him, please, heal him!” Layla begs. She knows it sounds more like a command than a request, and any other Deity would have torn her apart for it. Tawaret’s face falls, and Layla already knows what she’s going to hear before the Goddess speaks.

“He’s no longer in the service of Khonshu, he can’t use the healing powers of the suit anymore. And I - I don’t have the power to heal him. It’s not something I can access. I’m so sorry, Layla, I really am.”

Layla can see that she means it. The Hippo Goddess is on the verge of tears as she lays a gentle hand on Marc’s head. “May your journey be swift and the field of reeds greet you like the war-hero you are.” Then she’s gone. Layla’s blood runs cold.

Marc’s body is quaking now. The pool of blood surrounding them has spread so far that Layla can no longer see its edge in her peripheral vision. The shallow, rattling breaths are becoming quieter. A shudder runs through him - then it’s no longer Marc she’s holding.

“Lay-la-” Steven chokes out, and it’s suddenly much harder to hold in her tears at the sight of his innocent face contorted in terror and agony. She desperately tries to soothe him.

“Hey, hey Steven. It’s okay-”

“-m - ‘m s-scared-”

Her heart shatters. His dark eyes are wide and bloodshot.

“Shhh - shhh Steven, it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay -” She sees him acknowledge the lie, fear wiping out the last dregs of hope in his eyes. He tries to speak again - only short, helpless noises escape.

“Shhh - I’m sorry, Steven, I’m so sorry -” Her tears finally break free, and she holds him tighter. In that moment he locks his gaze with hers, his face spasming as he fights for breath, as the terror overwhelms him-

Then his face goes blank, his whole form falling still.

The sob that punches out of her jolts the still body in her arms. Gone. The realisation that Steven died in her arms hits her like a truck, and she feels a belt tighten around her chest.

She barely has time to feel the shock and grief start to set in when the body jolts again, the eyelids spasming over glassy eyes. She can’t fight the flare of hope that sparks to life inside her. It gutters out instantly.

Marc struggles to speak. The weak, choking noises he manages to make eventually form a word “Ste.. Ste-ven-” and his face portrays his crushing grief through his pain “-Can’t-”.

Layla fights down a sob. Her head bobs in an approximation of a nod, her own grief contorting her face. “I’m so sorry Marc - He - I was with him when - when he-” Marc’s eyes bore into hers, he tries to speak again, but now no words escape at all. A strange rattling whine emits from his throat, and Layla feels the panic grip her again - she knows that sound.

She rushes to speak while he can still hear her.

“- I love you! It’s okay, baby, I love - “

She’s still chanting her mantra as with a sigh he has no control over, Marc sinks into her arms, his eyes glazing over and his face going slack. He’s suddenly heavy, his weight no longer being held at all. His chest’s shuddering, desperate movements cease.

This time is somehow different - before, it had been like his face had paused, awaiting his return from the headspace. Now it didn’t even look like him. Nor like Steven. The features are just… empty.

Layla’s world freezes. It’s only when her chest starts to burn and her heart screams in her ears that she realises her breath stopped with her husband’s. Her whole body is numb, yet tingling painfully. It’s like she’s holding this moment in the palm of her hand, an inanimate object of a thing that she’s detached from.

With a roar, reality crashes back in and she’s aware of the screaming sobs wrenching themselves from her throat. She curls herself tightly around the body in her arms, fighting her mind’s desperate attempts to look for signs of life, anything to deny reality and divert the truth. She wonders if it’s possible to tear muscles or fracture bones with the force of her sobs, the quakes of her body, as she shudders through the shock and grief.

Then the coldness sets in.

Her shudders and sobs halt. She takes one, two, three breaths. Then she sits back on her heels to drink in the sight of her soulmate’s face one last time. She could swear there’s something behind his glassy eyes, a strange vibration running through his body like an electric current. She smiles for him, one last sight for his eyes to see before she gently smooths her fingers over them, closing the lids and putting him at peace. She begins to utter a prayer, to ask the Gods to take his and Steven’s souls to the glorious afterlife where they can live in peace and joy for eternity. Where they’ll wait for her.

As she recites her prayers, she watches the throes of a body’s settling process after death with an almost detached gaze - or maybe it’s her grief stricken mind giving one last ditch attempt to deny reality.

There’s the tiniest twitch under the golden-brown eyelids she’s just closed. Then the almost imperceptible spasm of the muscles on the right side of Marc’s greying lips.

She only just registers the weak shudder that runs through her husband’s entire form before an undeniable convulsion hits.

Marc’s chest jolts upward, his limbs tensing as his mouth opens in a silent gasp. Rigour Mortis she tells herself - the nerves dissipating their last impulses-

She doesn’t finish the thought.

An explosion of white engulfs Marc’s body. Pale bindings wrap themselves onto his upper torso and shoulders, a hood forming around a mask of dark strips of fabric - the same fabric that wraps itself snugly around each arm and leg. A bundle of white cloak pools around him, piling up on her lap and trailing into the crimson pool surrounding them.

Layla barely has time to acknowledge her terrified thoughts - Oh God, has something evil taken over his body?- when an audible, desperate choking sound accompanies a sudden, jolting rise of his chest. He twists in her arms, and she sees barely a flash of his skin as the mask pulls away and he turns his face to the ground. With deep, guttural coughing, watery crimson sprays and drips into the existing pool of red as his lungs work to clear themselves.

Time seems to stretch eternally until his coughing finally eases. As she helps him to lay back in the safety of her arms, she just catches the last slither of his cheekbone as his face vanishes beneath the dark mask again.

Every muscle in his body is pulled so tight he’s practically suspended, arched in her arms. A violent shudder runs through him, before he begins to relax incrementally, a tiny amount at a time, until he’s resting in her arms again.

Under the black mask she can hear the great chugs of air he’s pulling in, matching the deep, sharp expansion and deflation of his ribcage. She’s frozen in shock, adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream as she struggles to process - what just happened? What’s happening? What do I do?

Layla can’t tell if he’s staring at her, or just staring. The glowing white eyes give zero indication of the actual focus of his gaze, or the intention behind it. “-Marc?” she finally ventures. After a second’s pause, he gives a tiny shake of his head. “Steven?” He doesn’t reply.

She’s still trying to decide if she should speak to him again, or whether the head shake was meant to communicate that he couldn’t answer her, when the mask and hood recede to leave his head exposed. He looks… different. Well he was dead a few seconds ago. But something doesn’t sit right.

“I - I thought you didn’t have the suit any more?” Her voice quakes in the cold of her body.

Dark eyes lock onto hers. His mouth works for a few seconds, his throat bobbing with an audible clicking sound as he clears the residual blood clogging it.

“They don’t.”

His statement and voice unnerve her. Her adrenaline spikes again, ready to defend herself if she needs to, when something begins to form at the back of her mind. A vague memory, a suspicion. That night in Cairo - Harrow - Marc savagely beaten into the ground - and then -

“Who are you?” She doesn’t mean it to sound as abrupt as it does.

He blinks at her, his expression wary. He’s still fighting for breath.

“Jake.” He finally huffs out.

She nods her head jerkily. They thought there was a third… “Where -?” She doesn’t need to finish her question. Jake knows.

“I've got them.” His voice has a gravelly quality that she suspects isn’t all from taking his last breath a few minutes before.

“-You’ve ‘got them’?” Hope and fear war in Layla’s chest. She searches the oh-so-familiar eyes, finding fear, pain, and a hint of relief in their dark depths.

“Yeah. They’re safe. They’re still… ‘unconscious’, they took the brunt of the - of it.” The effort of speaking seems to wear Jake out, he’s still breathless, but Layla can’t help herself.

They’re safe. “-They’re ‘safe’? Safe where? Are they okay?” Layla is err-ing on the side of caution with this stranger.

To his credit, the look of impatience and irritation passes as fast as it appears. Something unreadable but somehow soft replaces it.

“- Yeah, they’re safe. In here -” he weakly gestures to his head “- like I said, they took the worst of it… I couldn’t break through their shock to take control.” he pauses for a moment, and she recognises the look that both Marc and Steven get when they’re looking inside or communicating in their headspace. “They’re gonna be fine. They need time to heal.” He finishes softly, almost affectionately.

Relief floods her system. They’re going to be alright. And he clearly cares about them.

But the reprieve is short lived - they have to move.

“Ok Jake, we need to get out of here. Tell me as soon as you can walk and I’ll help you as much as I can.”

He nods. “Just need a minute… Let the suit give me enough juice to get moving.”

She nods in response, her eyes scanning their surroundings before settling back on this semi-stranger’s face.

“So… I don’t think we’ve really met before.” She ventures.

The man wearing her husband’s face blinks at her, then a slow smile spreads across his features. It’s both slightly unnerving and sweet at the same time.

“Oh, we’ve met. I’m the one that saves our asses.”

#moon knight #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fan fic #moon knight fan fiction #marc spector #steven grant #layla el faouly #jake lockley #marc spector angst #steven grant angst #jake lockley angst #layla el faouly angst #marc spector whump #steven grant whump #jake lockley whump #layla el faouly whump #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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weewoo911 · 2 months

Text

There are some really good performances on the show, but personally I would watch an entire TED talk of Oliver Stark explaining his choices and deconstructing every one of Buck’s micro expressions

#911 abc #evan buckley #oliver stark #thank you for your service oliver stark #every time he talks about Buck I’m like go on king say more 😳✨

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oatflatwhite · 3 years

Note

okay well now we need your intellectual ranking of buck’s looks over the seasons. a top 5. academic analysis included

OK YOU ASKED FOR IT *cracks knuckles*

so if we're doing an "intellectual ranking" we'll need categories right? i propose sorting buck's looks by:

hotness

softness

how much each specific scene makes me want to eat glass (because as hot or soft as he might be for me, personally, it truly comes down to context)

each rated out of five. and introducing a fourth bonus category called "is he wet y/n" (water/sweat/blood included!)

based on this infallible system i present to you: an intellectual ranking of buck’s looks over the seasons (my top five + honourable mentions)

5. texas buck (ls 2.03 hold the line)

i know we all talk about crossover eddie but can we discuss crossover buck? please? it is a known fact oliver stark looks good in orange/yellow and boy does he prove it here. the lafd bomber jacket is also a look. the 118 ATE in texas and cherry on top is buck’s confused puppy face when tk assumes he’s hitting on him.

hotness 5/5, softness 4/5, do i want to eat glass 2/5, is he wet y/n = 11

4. pilot buck (1.01 pilot)

when i say pilot buck i am talking about this specific scene. also the shirtless scene on the rooftop but mostly this scene. am i a lesbian? well, yeah, i’m pretty sure. am i barking directly at it? well, yeah, i’m pretty sure!

hotness 5/5, softness 4/5, do i want to eat glass 3/5, is he wet y/n = 12

3. gurney buck (4.06 jinx)

how oliver stark manages to look both sexy and endearing in a face mask is beyond me but here we are. the attraction in this look lies not only in the look itself but the idea of the look: buck, the tallest member of the 118 by quite a margin, laid out gazelle-limbs on the gurney. you can’t make this shit up. unless you’re the writer/director for jinx in which case i guess you did make this shit up. thank you for your service.

hotness 5/5, softness 5/5, do i want to eat glass 3/5, is he wet y/n = 13

2. "hey” buck (survivors 4.14)

this whole episode? a work of art. this specific scene? do i need to go on? no but i will: running through the hospital like heathcliff searching for kathy on the moors. the slow zoom on eddie (ana? quie literally moving out of the frame if i think about this too hard i become unhinged) then buck. the softness of the “hey”. the cosy jumper. the curls! THE CURLS! work of art etc. etc.

hotness 5/5, softness 5/5, do i want to eat glass 5/5, is he wet y/n = 15

and before we get to my #1, some honourable mentions:

sharknado buck (2.11 new beginnings)

is this ensemble groundbreaking? not really. do i prefer his hair messy and curly? yeah of course have you looked at my blog. does any of this even matter when he’s smiling so big and wide like this it breaks my heart open in two like i’ve cracked an egg???

balcony buck (5.04 home and away)

and a recent contender enters the ring! *hits bell* there is just something so erotic about staring at your best friend with a black eye you’re icing with an ice pack he probably made up for you while wearing your comfiest trackpants and hoodie and he tells you exactly what you need to hear because he knows you better than the back of his hand <3 once again context is everything but also i like to see my favourite boy a little squished. a little dented. all the better to love you my dear <3

fire marshal buck (3.04 triggers)

the shirt so snug over his biceps it’s almost ripping. the tie pin. the clipboard. oh yeah it’s all coming together.

backwards cap buck (4.06 jinx)

the frat boyism. the unparalleled dumbassery. no thoughts head empty. and like i know i KNOW the cap is simply a costume device to make him look younger with minimal effort but also if i close my eyes i do not see <3

bulletproof vest buck (2.01 under pressure / 4.14 survivors)

couldn’t find the gif for survivors but this is hot too. i know something else i’d like to see him strap on

AND FINALLY...

DRUMROLL...

1. “that’s what buck means to me” buck (4.05 buck begins)

(gif credit @mediagifs because i couldn’t find it in gif search and needed this specific moment)

where do i even start. the curls. the soot. the wry smile. the emotional turmoil of the episode ripping me open like i’m a can of tuna and it’s a can opener. objectively there is nothing special about this outfit it is literally just his turnout gear but there is a... how do you say... je ne sais quoi. yes he is my mentally unhealthy six foot two fictional best friend/boyfriend/son <3 keep walking <3

hotness 5/5, softness 5/5, do i want to eat glass 5/5,is he wet y/n = 15 + bonus 💦

thus concludes my academic analysis of buck’s best looks. please note these are subject to change at any given moment on any whim i please. also i now realise i said before s4 is not my favourite hair era yet most of these are s4 what can i say i’m untrustworthy <3

#answered #anon #thanks for fueling my derangement anon much obliged #buck #evan buckley #911 #911 on fox #best looks™

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linzeyzarcone · 3 years

Text

Till the End of the Line: Chapter 2: I Have No Strings

A/N: Hey guys, I just wanted to say quickly before the chapter started how much I appreciate the love that I got back on the first chapter!! It made me so happy to see so many of you enjoying it! So on to chapter two! As always I hope you guys enjoy it and a big thank you to my editor who has been friends with me for forever and still agrees to edit all my work. I hope you guys enjoy!

Matilda woke the next morning to the sun shining in through her windows. She grabbed her phone off of the night stand and checked the time. She saw that there was one missed text from Tony. She swiped up to unlock her phone and read the message.

When you wake up around noon, go check the kitchen. I left you a little something. See you in two days. -T

She looked at the clock in the upper right-hand corner and saw that it was 10AM. She groaned and threw her phone down on her bed. She was mad at herself for not being up when everyone left, and mad at Tony that he didn’t wake her up to say goodbye. She picked her phone back up and re-read the message.

“Left me something?” she mumbled to herself.

She sighed and threw the covers off and padded into her bathroom. She splashed some cool water onto her face and looked at herself in the mirror. Her olive complexion was so plain to her. Reddish brown waves framed her face, her chocolate brown eyes the only feature she tolerated. She took a brush to her hair and tried to get out some of the knots that had formed over the course of the night. She grabbed a scrunchy from the messy counter and threw her hair up into a bun. She stepped out of the bathroom in search of her slippers. She found them hidden under the small desk in her room. Once she had them on, she headed to the kitchen to see just what exactly Tony had left her.

When she arrived at the kitchen, the last of the morning crew were leaving. She sprinted over to the espresso machine to make herself a cup of coffee. The remaining chefs chuckled at her actions.

“Morning, Matilda. Late night?” A chef named Cher asked her as she was finishing packing in the coffee grounds.

“Didn’t sleep well. Everyone left for a mission this morning, and I was worrying.”

“I’m sure they will be fine like always. Mr. Stark is a very smart man; he knows what he’s doing.”

“I guess so.”

Matilda pulled her cup out from under the espresso machine and took a sip. She closed her eyes as that first sip of coffee washed over her, its warmth spreading and the caffeine making her head tingle.

“Well, I got to run. I managed to save you one of those blueberry scones that you like from service this morning, and I think there's something for you in the office.” Cher headed towards the kitchen doors and threw a hand up to wave at Matilda. “Bye, Till!”

“See ya, Cher.”

She went to check the desert cart for the scone that Cher promised and upon finding it, headed towards the small office. Once there she could see a small rectangle gift wrapped in red and gold colors, Iron Man colors, sitting on the desk. She smiled to herself and pulled out the chair to sit down. She placed her coffee and scone down and lifted up the package to examine it. There was a small card attached that read:

For when you start to worry, write your cares away.

Matilda smiled and ripped open the red paper. Inside was a beautiful, dark green, leather journal. She ran her fingers over the intricate design on the cover and smiled. She had always loved to write, and could remember having a diary or journal since she was a little girl. But when her father died, she had lost all interest in the hobby. Seeing the book now, made that fire re-ignite. She took another sip of her coffee and a bit of scone and looked for a pen on the cluttered desk. Once she found one, she pried the cover open to the first blank page and started to write.

***

May 1st, 2015

Tony and everyone returned safely today. I can't exactly say in one piece because Clint went and got himself hurt. Luckily Dr. Cho and Agent Hill arrived shortly before the quin jet got here, and she was able to mend his wounds. I was able to talk to Tony before he pulled Bruce into his lab and closed the door. He said that the mission went well. Striker was in custody and they had the scepter back safe and sound. He didn’t say much else. I think I’ll go see if Steve can tell me anything. Tony seems distracted, worse so then usual. I’m worried he might be up to something.

May 2nd, 2015

Why does there always have to be some new baddy that is out to hurt us? I went and asked Steve for more details about the mission. He relayed almost all the same information as Tony had, but he mentioned that there were two new supers that they encountered. Steve called them “the enhanced.” Humans with special abilities that have never been seen before. That was how Clint was hurt. One of the enhanced caught him off guard and one of his arrows exploded. Why can’t we just go back to the old days when villains were just your average person with no powers? I’m just glad that Clint is doing better. The party is tomorrow, and the atmosphere at Stark tower is less than party-esque. Tony and Bruce haven’t left the lab since they returned and everyone keeps screaming language at Steve and laughing. I have no idea what is going on around here anymore. Maybe I’ll just ask Steve again.

***

Guests started to arrive promptly at eight o’clock. By ten, the party was in full swing. Avengers and guests were all mingling about, but Matilda watched it all from the balcony. She preferred to stay hidden on the side lines. She could see more that way, be able to tell where everyone was at any given time. She sipped on the glass of champagne that she had snuck from one of the waiters passing by. She heard the balcony door open, and saw Tony walking towards her.

“Hey kid, what are you doing out here?”

“Observing.” She took her pointer and middle fingers pointed them to her eyes then to the guests in the room, smiling at the childish motion.

Tony smirked at her as he came closer to her, putting his arm around her shoulder. “You know you remind me so much of your father. It makes me miss him even more.”

The grin on her face faded. They never spoke of her father much, and when they did it was on special occasions. Tony had always hidden his feelings well, and avoided talking about death and grief.

“I miss him too.”

He smiled a small smile, but only for a second before it was gone. He pulled her into his side more, giving her a half hug. She could feel him kiss the top of her head. A sickening feeling washed over her. Tony was never overly affectionate towards her, towards anyone for that matter [ and with all of her worry over the past few days since they got back, this started to make her gift go crazy.] His behavior only confirmed what her gift and worry had been telling her since they got back. Something wasn’t right with Tony.

“Tony, are you going to tell me what happened in Sokovia?”

“I already told you.”

“I’m not so sure it was the whole truth. Steve said that you just disappeared for a while and then you came back and were…” she paused looking for the right word to use, “different. Like something happened when you were in that lab.”

“Nothing happened, and Rodgers needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.” His voice started to rise as he got more angry, more defensive.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll trust you. But I just want you to know that I’m here if you want to tell me. You know I worry about you.” The sincerity in her voice brought tears to Tony's eyes.

He wouldn’t tell her about the vision, about everyone being dead because of him. Cap, Barton, Banner, and worse of all Matilda. He pulled her closer yet again and discreetly wiped the tears from his eyes.

“I know you do, Till. Don’t worry, everything will be alright. Now!” He said, pulling away from Matilda and clapping his hands together. “Why don’t you come back to the party, go mingle, go beat Cap at a game of pool, and I will take this champagne.!” He pulled the flute from her hand and quickly downed the bubbly liquid.

Matilda laughed at him. “Really, Tony? There's servers everywhere with champagne, and you take mine?”

“Yeah, because yours was more convenient! Now, party.” He pointed to the door, and watched as she walked past him.

Just as she was about to leave the balcony, he called her. “Matilda?”

She froze suddenly by the use of her full name. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

She smiled, cheeks turning pink. “Love you too.”

Steve had always been good at pool, despite what he told Matilda the first few times they had played together. She remembered how he hustled her out of her allowance money. After she had caught on, she had begged him to teach her how to play. Many, many games later, she had managed to gain the upper hand on him, and win back all of her old allowance money, plus some. She decided a game would be just the thing to get her mind off of things.

“Upper right pocket, ten-ball.”

She watched as he lined up the shot, his cue stick moving back and forth against the table as he aimed.

As the cue ball was struck, it rolled against the green, heading towards the ball he was aiming for. They both watched intently as it hit its target, sending four balls rolling in different directions. The ten-ball bounced off the side of the table, missing its target by a hair. Matilda made a fist in the air in celebration. She gloated as he hung his head and sighed.

“My turn,” she sang, as she brought her stick up. “Five ball, lower bottom pocket.” She crouched down over the side of the table, stick in hand, focused.

She took her time aiming, pulling the stick back and forth again. When she was ready, she took a breath and shot. The cue ball went speeding towards her ball. She didn’t breathe as she watched as white hit orange, propelling it into its designated spot.

“YES!!” she shouted, throwing her arms up in the air.

She danced around Steve as he just smirked at her. “Curse the day I caved and taught you how to play this ridiculous game.”

She was too busy celebrating her shot to notice the person flagging down Steve. As she turned back around, ready to taunt Steve more before taking her next shot, she saw him walking away from her.

“Steve, where are you going? I’m not done kicking your ass yet!!”

He raised his hand and told her to give him a second as he continued towards the upper floor of the room. As he climbed the stairs, he greeted someone she didn’t recognize before. He was tall and slender, the red shirt he was wearing was gripping onto his arm muscles. His chestnut face lit up as Steve pulled him in for a hug. Curiosity was killing her, she knew almost everyone Steve talked to, so who was this mystery man? She decided to go find out for herself. She placed her stick carefully on the table in hopes not to disrupt their game, and headed towards the stairs. As she approached, she could hear a little of what they were saying.

“He has to be out there somewhere; he couldn’t have just disappeared.”

“Are you sure you even want to find him? I mean, he did try to kill you.”

“His mind is not his own, he doesn’t know any better. Besides, he pulled me out of the water. He has to know who I am, or else why would he do that?”

“Who are we talking about?” Matilda interjected, coming up besides Steve.

“Uhh, who is this?” The mystery man said, in a flirtatious tone.

Steve sighed. “Sam, Matilda. Matilda, this is Sam.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” She held out her hand and Sam took it, bringing it up to kiss her knuckles.

“You too. I didn’t know Steve had such a handsome friend.” She batted her eyelashes at him and gave her best smile.

“Careful Sam, she’s Tony's daughter.” Steve sounded annoyed.

“I didn’t know Tony had any kids?”

“Adoptive...daughter.” she chimed in to correct Steve.

“Doesn’t matter, he would still get mad regardless. You know we were having a conversation before you rudely interrupted.”

“So, I heard. Who were you talking about?” She tried to defuse his growing anger with her by holding her arms behind her back and swaying from side to side.

“None of your business. Now will you please excuse us.” He turned his back to her and grabbed Sam’s arm, leading him over to an empty corner.

Her body prickled, the hairs on her arms stood on edge and her stomach burned. Something was wrong. Steve never got mad at her. On very rare occasions that it did happen, it was because something was bothering him. She would be damned if she didn't find out whoever this person upsetting Steve was. She followed after them, running up the rest of the stairs two at a time. When she finally reached them, she pulled Steve back by the shoulder.

“I don’t care if it’s any of my business or not, I know something is up and you’re going to tell me.” Her arms crossed over her chest and she stared up at Steve sternly, her lips pouting at him ever so slightly. Steve could see the sternness in her eyes and he knew how stubborn she was. She wasn’t going to let this go.

“Oh, I like her!” Sam laughed, copying Matilda and crossing his arms.

Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You are impossible, you know that?”

She said nothing to his response. She raised an eyebrow, prompting him to go on and to give her the answer she was looking for.

Steve sighed. “His name is James Barnes. He’s better known as the Winter Soldier. He was the Hydra assassin that attacked Natasha and I on our last mission together.”

“Okay, and why are you trying to find a Hydra assassin?” She could see Steve was struggling with this. His gaze was always to the floor and he kept shifting from foot to foot.

Steve sighed again and looked to Sam for help. Sam gave him a nod of assurance to continue on. “I used to know him before the war. He was Bucky to me back then. Long story short, I thought he had died on a mission we were sent on before I went into the ice. Well...he turned out to be Hydra's big weapon. When the S.H.I.E.L.D building fell, he was the one who pulled me from the water. Even though he denies it, I know he knows who I am. I need to find him.”

“Why doesn’t anyone know about this?”

Steve gave her a look of annoyance. “He’s the most wanted criminal in the world, why do you think no one knows about this? Everyone in the world is looking for him, that's why we have to find him first.”

“Then why does Sam know?” She pointed to Sam who gave her a smile.

Steve rolled his eyes at her and sighed. “Sam offered to help me find him, and Natasha guessed. Other than those two people, and now you, no one knows, and no one can know about this, understand? He’s not himself. He was taken and tortured by Hydra for years and he doesn’t have control over his own mind, which is why we have to find him first to help him. He needs help.”

Matilda felt her heart break. She knew who Bucky was vaguely from the museum in DC that Tony had taken her too a few years ago. He had fallen from a train in Austria while on a mission to stop Hydra. After everything Steve has been through over the years, she wanted to help.

“Okay, when do we start?”

Steve's eyes bugged with shock. “We?”

“Well, I’m obviously going to help you look.”

“No, you’re not! You’re going to go back to the party and forget this conversation ever happened.”

Matilda let out a snort. “Yeah okay, because that has always worked with me before.”

Steve groaned in defeat. “Fine, you impossible woman. We’ll fill you in.”

After being filled in by Steve and Sam on where they were in their search, they dispersed and went their separate ways. Sam left soon after, and Steve and Matilda rejoined the party. She found herself with Thor and Steve talking to a few war veterans. They were sharing old war stories; Steve could relate to the old men in their war experiences. All of them were in awe over the stories that Thor was telling. From the battles with alien life forms to the feasts that followed. The topic trailed into food and drink, and soon stories of where the best liquor was sold in the olden days, and who had the strongest were being shared. Thor let out a deep laugh at all the stories and went to a pocket on the inside of his jacket, and pulled out a silver metal flask.

“What’s in there?” Matilda asked, leaning over Thor to try and get a better look

at what was in the small circular container.

“Asgardian whiskey.” Thor turned around to grab two glasses, one for Steve and one for himself.

“I’ve got to have some of that.” one of the older veterans said, holding out their glass to the god.

“Oh no no no. See this, this was aged for thousands of years.” He poured some into one of the glasses and handed it to Steve.

Steve took it, and glanced into the cup, bringing it up to his nose to smell it. Matilda could see a cross between hesitation and curiosity on his face.

“The barrels built from the wreck of Broncos fleet. This is not meant for mortal men.” Thor poured some into his own glass.

He was about to take a drink when one of the World War II veterans cut him off. He was a cute old man. His World War II blue veterans hat matched his sweater, and he was wearing a pair of dark sunglasses. Matilda smiled to herself at how adorable he looked. He reminded her of one of her favorite comic authors.

“Neither was Omaha Beach blondie, stop trying to scare us. Come on.” He waved his hand in Thor's direction, asking for the god to hand over the flask.

Thor looked to Steve for advice, and all Steve could do was shrug and raise his eyebrows in agreement. Thor shrugged and poured some into the man's shot glass.

“Do I get some too?” Matilda asked hopeful.

“Absolutely not.”

“No.” Both men said at the same time, sending Matilda back into her seat pouting.

By one in the morning, all guests were gone. Everyone was gathered in the small living room, drinking and talking to one another. Matilda was seated on the far end of the bigger couch next to Steve and Thor. Maria was next to her on the floor discussing something with Clint. Matilda was half asleep, curled up on the arm of the couch when she heard Thor laugh and then Clint speaks.

“But it’s a trick.” He was twirling a drumstick in his hand, and Matilda wondered where he had gotten it from.

“No, no, it’s much more than that.” The look on Thor's face was nothing but boastful. She could see the pride radiating off of him as he egged on the other men to attempt something that only he could do.

“Ah, whosoever be he worthy, shall haveth the power of Thor.” Clint threw his hands out in front of him, exaggerating on the words that the god had said so many times before. “Whatever man, it’s a trick.” Thor chuckled, and handed Steve the small flask from earlier.

“Well please, be my guest.” He sat back on the couch and gestured towards Mjolnir.

The room fell silent as everyone just looked between each other.

“Come on.” Tony encouraged Clint, breaking the silence.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Clint nodded and got up from the place he was sitting. He strode over to the side of the table where Thor's hammer was placed.

“Oh, this is going to be beautiful.” Rhodey chimed in, rubbing his hands together as he waited in anticipation to see Barton fail.

“Clint, you’ve had a tough week. We won't hold it against you if you can’t get it up.” Tony jabbed.

Matilda laughed silently to herself at the joke that Tony made, holding back a “that's what she said” comment. She watched as Clint eyed the hammer, contemplating what angle to grab it from.

“You know I’ve seen this before, right?” Clint eyed Thor as he nodded his head at him to proceed.

Clint grabbed the handle with his left hand and pulled upward. He struggled, and started to grunt at the maximum effort he was putting into it. After his second attempt he gave up in defeat.

“I still don’t know how you do it.” He looks at Thor again, whose head seemed to have grown a few inches bigger than normal.

“Smell the silent judgment,” Tony said sarcastically.

“Please, Stark, by all means.” Clint stepped away slightly and invited Tony over to try it for himself.

“Never one to shrink from an honest challenge.” Tony said, getting up from his seat on the couch, joining Clint.

The room erupted into laughter. Matilda straightened herself up, all traces of sleep gone. This was going to be interesting.

“Get after it.” Barton stepped aside letting Tony have full access to the hammer.

“It’s physics.” Tony looped his hand around the strap at the end of the hammer and took a firm grip of it.

“Physics,” Bruce mocked as he brought his glass to his lips to take a sip of his drink.

“Right, so, if I lift it, I then rule Asgard?”

“Yes of course.” Thor was watching Tony intently, anticipating his impending failure.

“I will be reinstituting prima nocta.”

Matilda, unsure what Tony meant by that, leaned over to a very attentive Steve who had a smirk on his face watching Tony. “What is prima nocta?”

“Shhh, I’ll tell you later.” Steve's eyes never left where Tony was standing, just waved his hand in her direction.

Tony put a foot on the coffee table and braced himself. He pulled hard on the hammer and nothing happened. Not willing to swallow his pride yet and admit defeat he excused himself and left the room.

“Where is he going?” Matilda asking, trying to suppress a giggle.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Maria answered, taking a swig from the bottle of beer she was drinking.

When Tony returned, he had one of the hands on his Iron Man suit. He put on the glove and took hold of the hammer again. He pulled again and still nothing. Panic spread across his face and he activated the jets on the glove, hoping that the extra power would help pull the hammer off of the table. He pointed to Rhodey.

“Suit, now. Come help me.”

Rhodey looked around the room and reluctantly got up from the couch. He went to go get his suit glove as well and strapped it on and grabbed the top of the hammer. Both men started to pull as hard as they could, jets in both gloves activated as a booster to help them.

“Are you even pulling?” Rhodey said, chest heaving from the effort he was putting into the task at hand.

Tony gave him a death stare. “Are you on my team?”

“Just represent. Pull.”

“Alright, let's go.” Both men started pulling again.

After a few more minutes of endless struggling both men gave in. Rhodey patted Tony on the back as both men went to sit back down. Tony avoided eye contact with the rest of the team as he tried to mend his broken pride. Matilda leaned over and patted Tony on the knee in reassurance. Tony just gave her a teasing smile and pulled his knee away. Matilda felt the couch beside her move and she brought her attention to Steve getting up to go try for himself. She heard Tony snicker.

“Go ahead, Steve. No pressure.”

Steve looked confident, as he rolled up the sleeves to his dark blue button up. He eyed the hammer like it was a problem waiting to be solved. He leaned him slowly, taking the hilt into both of his hands.

“Come on, Cap.” Clint encouraged.

Steve pulled, his biceps bulging at the exertion. Matilda could have sworn that she saw the hammer move slightly upward as he pulled. She sat up in her seat at the shock of the motion. She looked at Thor, whose face dropped slightly, but he was quick to cover up his reaction by taking a drink from his glass. When Steve couldn’t lift the hammer any more, everyone seemed to forget the slight movement. After the second time, Steve tried to lift it, Thor let out a laugh as Steve threw up his hands in defeat.

“Nothing,” Thor concluded, trying to cover up the small motion that he saw.

As Steve sat back down, Matilda scooched over closer to him. She intertwined her arm with his and leaned in a bit so that no one else could hear what she was saying.

“Well…” She trailed off looking up at Steve.

“Well?” He repeated, taking a sip of the beer he was drinking.

“We both know that that hammer moved.”

Steve smiled. “Do we now? I’m not sure if you were paying attention, because I didn’t lift it.”

“No, but you moved it! That’s more than any of the other guys here can say.” She playfully hit his chest with her other hand, her face beaming with excitement.

He grabbed her hand quickly before she had a chance to move it away. Her heart leapt in her chest at the feeling. She gazed down at their hands entwined, the excitement on her face fading into surprise.

“And for hypothetical reasons, let's say I did move it. It still didn’t think I was worthy enough to wield it.” She could tell his mind was racing with scenarios of the past, of things he could have done better.

“Well, I think you’re worthy,” she said timidly.

His eyes searched her face, looking for something, but she wasn’t sure what. She didn’t know what was happening. The feeling in her stomach started to grow. It was like a burning, fluttering kind of feeling. One she hadn't felt before. She saw his eyes dart to her mouth, then back up to her eyes.

Steve was her best friend, the one she relied on the most for everything, and now he was trying to kiss her. She knew Tony was close and the fear of him seeing what was going on only made her anxiety worse. Her inner voice screamed at her to stop. What did she think he was doing? Was he really trying to kiss her or was she over reading it? Did she have feelings for Steve? Did he have feelings for her? Did she really want to kiss him? Her tongue dashed across her lips, and she thought she heard him take a deep breath.

“Steve, he said a bad language word.” Maria called out, sending both of them hurdling out of the daze they were both in, and back into the crowded room.

Matilda pulled herself away quickly and got up to head over to the bar to grab a bottle of water out of the cooler.

“Did you tell everyone about that?” Steve replied coolly to Maria.

Matilda was surprised at Steve's tone. She felt a pang in her chest as he blew off what just happened between them didn’t just happen.

“The handle’s imprinted, right? Like a security code?” Tony asked, still trying to figure out the secret behind the hammer,

Matilda was growing bored over the obsession of Thor's hammer. Who cares if you were worthy enough or not? She leaned over the bar and watched as Tony handed Maria and Rhodey another beer. Her eyes traveled over to Steve who was still acting like nothing ever happened.

“Maybe it’s just the alcohol? He did drink quite a bit of Thor's ancient whisky. Maybe I’m just reading too much into this. I can’t possibly have feelings towards Steve! He’s my best friend! I can’t lose that over some alcohol induced mistake. I’ll just let it go, and tomorrow it will be like nothing ever happened.”

Her mind was still racing, but the burning feeling was growing in her stomach. She shook her head to try and regain her composure. The feeling probably had to do with what just happened with Steve. She smiled to herself.

“Even my own gift is telling me this is wrong.” she thought to herself as she went to rejoin the others.

“Yes, it’s a very, very interesting theory, but I have a simpler one.” Thor said, standing up from the couch, putting his drink down on the table, and picking up Mjolnir with ease. Thor threw Mjolnir up in the air, and it spun once before Thor caught it. “You’re all not worthy.”

There was a short silence in the room before everyone groaned at Thor's response. Matilda laughed at the reaction. There came a high-pitched sound that caused everyone to flinch. It lasted for a few seconds and Matilda saw Tony take his command board out of his pocket and look at it worryingly. The burning in Matilda's stomach grew as a grinding like voice came from the elevators behind them. Everyone turned to see what the source of the noise was, and upon seeing it, Matilda gasped. In the shadows, stood one of Tony's Iron Legion suits, destroyed and dripping oil all over the floor.

“Unworthy. How could you be worthy? You’re all killers.” The thing was coming closer, one small step at a time.

Steve stepped in front of Matilda and pulled her behind him, blocking her from any harm that might come from the situation. “Stark,” he said sternly.

“Jarvis,” Tony said in response, the worry evident on his face.

“I’m sorry, I was asleep,” the suit said, looking at its arm, then to the right of it. “Or I was a dream.”

Tony brought up his control board again and started hitting buttons. “Reboot Legionnaire OS. We got a buggy suit.”

“There was a terrible noise. And I was tangled in... in... strings. I had to kill the other guy. He was a good guy.” It staggered, trying to find a balance that it was lacking.

“You killed someone?” Steve asked, throwing his arm behind him to make sure Matilda was still there.

“Wouldn’t have been my first call. But, down in the real world, we’re faced with ugly choices.”

“Who sent you?” Thor was on his toes, hand inches away from Mjolnir.

The thing started to play an audio clip. Matilda strained her ears to listen. Tony's voice echoed in the vast room. “I see a suit of armor around the world.”

Tony’s face goes sheet white as he hears his voice on the recording.

“Ultron.” Bruce answers, turning his gaze to Tony.

“In the flesh. Or, no, not yet. Not this chrysalis, but I’m ready.”

Matilda felt Steve’s strong grip on her waist, as Thor grabbed Mjolnir tighter, and Maia stood up, taking the safety off of her hand gun.

“I’m on a mission.”

“What mission?” Natasha asked.

“Peace in our time.”

Matilda was thrown back as Steve pushed her out of the way. He slammed his foot down on the coffee table, making it fly up and act as a shield as two rouge suits came flying out of the wall and straight towards them. One of the suits hit the table head on, and Steve went flying back over the couch and tumbling towards the balconies.

“Steve!” she screamed, crouching down behind the beige couch avoiding the line of fire.

She started to crawl towards him, but stopped as he held up a hand to her. “I’m fine. Go find somewhere to hide and stay low!”

He got up and ran to rejoin the fight. She looked over and saw Doctor Cho hiding behind the grand piano. Matilda, as quickly as she could, ran over to her and crouched down beside her. They shared a small smile, and turned their eyes back to the fight. They watched as Steve was slammed into a wall and fell to the floor with a thud. Matilda saw Natasha and Bruce running to the stairs to the second floor, Natasha firing her weapon. Doctor Cho screamed, before a loud bang brought half of one of the suits right in front of them. Cho screamed again as it lifted its hand to them, a bright light illuminating in its palm. They both inched towards the glass wall of the balcony, hoping for an escape. Matilda screwed her eyes shut and turned her head, waiting for the blast to come, but it never did.

She opened her eyes and saw Steve lifting the bot by its shoulders and hurling it towards Thor, who smashed it into the ground with his hammer.

“Cap!” Barton called from across the room, throwing Steve's shield.

Steve caught the disc with ease and threw it at the last of the suits, cutting it in half, causing it to crash to the ground. An eerie silence fell over the room, as everyone took in the destruction around them.

“That was dramatic,” Ultron said, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry, I know you mean well. You just didn’t think it through. You want to protect the world, but you don't want it to change. How is humanity saved if it's not allowed to evolve?”

Matilda stood from her spot by the door and started to inch forward. Cho reached out and grabbed her arm and shook her head at her not to continue what she was doing.

“With these? These puppets.” Ultron picked up the upper half of the suit that Steve destroyed, and crushed its head, dropping it to the ground again.

“There’s only one path to peace. The Avengers extinction.” Ultron looked at each and every one of them in the room, and Matilda swore that if he wasn’t a machine, he would be smiling at the thought.

Thor, in anger, threw Mjolnir straight at Ultron and sent his scattering into a million pieces.

“I had strings, but now I’m free,” Ultron gurgled before finally dying

#bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes #buckybarns #steve rogers #mcu #tony stark #black widow #fanfic #fanfiction #winter solider #winter solider fanfiction #i'm with you till the end of the line

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cal-puddies · 4 years

Text

it was only a kiss || poly!lashton

big shouts to @kindahoping4forever for helping me power through this arc, ready for the next one?

Poly! Lashton: the blow job || daddy’s home || cream pie || take the pleasure, take it with the pain || all at once this is enough || caught in between || take my heart, hit the back || daddy issues || needy || only you know the way that I break || picked all my weeds but kept the flowers || people are people and sometimes we change our minds

Luke sighs as he walks out of the hotel room. He figures some time at the pool won’t hurt, it’ll give you a chance to recover from the nights activities, and allow Ash to worry you and only you.

He scoped out a chair before going to grab a towel, he checks his phone as he goes to toss it on the chair he wanted, but a second towel lands right next to his and he looks up.

The guy grins at Luke and Luke finds him attractive, so opposite of the things he loves about Ashton, his hair is dark, a stark contrast to Ash’s blonde. He has deep brown eyes and a contagious smile. He bites his lip as he grins at the man.

“You can have it.” Luke offers, reaching for his towel to plop it in the next chair over.

“I just liked this one because it was so far away from everyone else.” The man admits.

Luke lets out a laugh, “me too actually. Give me some peace and quiet.”

“Well, there’s two chairs and I promise to be quiet if you don’t mind if I stay.” The man offers. He holds his hand out to Luke, “I’m Oliver, by the way.”

“Luke.” He shakes his hand, “I don’t mind, you can stay.” He nods.

They sit quietly for a while, Luke can feel Oliver eying him but he ignores it. “You here alone Luke?” Oliver finally asks.

“No… I’m here with my partner.” He drops the ‘s’ to make it less confusing, but he’s not sure whether he’d bring up you or Ash if asked. “What about you?”

“Just some friends, needed a break from reality.” Oliver explains.

“Yeah, us too. A lot going on in our lives right now.” Luke nods.

“So, where is your partner?” He asks, with a charming, but leading lilt in his voice.

“He’s upstairs, wanted to relax in the room a little more.” Luke shrugs, not trying to dole out his whole personal life.

“You guys been together long?”

Luke thinks for a minute, “7 years…? Holy shit, yeah, 7 years.”

“And you said ‘he’?”

“Yeah, Ashton. He’s fucking amazing. I still don’t know how I got him.” Luke chuckles.

“Well he’d be stupid not to be into you, honestly.” Oliver gently touches Luke’s arm.

And Luke doesn’t think anything more of it, the two of them spend the entire day chatting and hanging out by the pool, until Ollie’s friends come to find him for their dinner plans. They exchange numbers and Luke heads back to the room.

He finds you asleep with your head in Ashton’s lap, he was gently running his fingers through your hair.

Luke leans in to peck Ash on the lips, “is she ok?”

“She cried a lot today and compounded with the fact that she was super sore from last night, just been a tough day.” Ash smiles sadly at him.

Luke rubs his hand very gently on your lower back, “did you guys eat dinner?”

“No, not yet, why don’t you go shower? And I’ll get her up and moving.” Ash leans up to kiss him again.

When Luke wakes up the next morning, he’s barely thinking about the two in his bed, he had such a good time with Ollie, he was excited to spend another day with him. They were heading to the beach just beyond the pool today.

You and Ash had been undecided on what to do today, so he was happy to already have a plan.

And then Luke really only sees you briefly before bed or as he’s getting ready and you are typically still in bed and Ash is up reading the news and getting in the first cup of coffee sludge in.

“Where are you off to so early?” Ash asks after a week of early days.

“Uh… I made a friend. He invited me to go with his friends to go snorkeling. What are you guys up to?” Luke asks, pulling a backpack over his shoulders.

“Not sure yet… wanna get dinner with us?”

“I’ll try and be back early enough for that.” Luke nods, leaning in to kiss Ash.

Luke grins at Oliver as he hands him a beer. They’d been out on the boat all day, in and out of the water.

“So tell me more about Ash.” Ollie prompts.

“He’s great… so handsome, takes really good care of me, has a dominant streak that I love. But, It’s a little more complicated.” Luke shrugs, feeling his buzz.

“Complicated? How is anything complicated with someone as great as you?” Ollie asks, nonchalantly.

“We… have a girlfriend.” He shrugs.

“You share a girlfriend with your boyfriend?” He clarifies. “Of course, a catch like you couldn’t have just one partner.” Ollie smirks.

“Something like that. We don’t really talk about it… but we’re here because she just had a really traumatic life event and this is how Ash helps us collect ourselves. To regroup.” Luke finishes his beer and gets up for another. “Sex is incredible though, with both of them.”

“Can’t do a lot of regrouping if you aren’t with them,” Ollie says, raising an eyebrow when Luke looks at him.

“Well… like I said, she needs him right now.” Luke shrugs.

“But she doesn’t need you?”

“I’m sure she does, but she’ll come to me in her time. We just have a very… natural flow between the three of us. She’ll tell me when she needs me close.” He nods, “oh shit… what time is it? I told

them I’d be back for dinner.” Luke reaches for his phone, but it’s definitely dead from being in the middle of the ocean all day.

“Well, we're gonna have to be heading back soon, maybe you can ask them to wait.” Ollie shrugs.

“Nope. No service out here and my phone is dead anyway.” He sighs, “shit.”

“They’ll understand, especially if they’re as great as you say they are.”

“No, they are… they are. Ash just specifically asked me to come to dinner tonight. Shit.” He groans. But it doesn’t stop him from drinking two more beers as they head back in.

Luke makes his way up to the room, it’s dark outside so he knows he likely missed dinner.

“Hey guys!” He greets, walking in the room.

“Luke!” You smile at him, and you look so excited. “Guess what we did today!”

He plops next to you on the couch and leans in for a quick kiss, “what’s that baby girl?” He smiles, cupping your cheek.

“We went to the dole plantation!! It was really Cool, we got some pineapples, I ate alll the dole whip I could.”

“Which was a lot.” Ash laughs, coming back in. Luke gets pouty. “And you missed dinner.”

“I know I tried to get back here in time. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to the dole plantation today? I wanted to go.”

“We decided last minute. We tried to call and text but we didn’t get a response.” Ash shrugs.

“You knew I was going snorkeling with friends today, I told you this morning.” Luke argues, getting exasperated.

“Don’t get mad at me. You made your choice. Just wanted to take this one to do something fun.” Ash says, kissing the top of your head.

“Sorry Peachy, didn’t know you’d want to go.” You frown at him.

“It’s ok baby girl.” Luke kisses your nose and pushes up off the couch.

“You should try this though.” You say, offering him a piece of the pineapple from the plate you’re holding. He leans over and lets you stick it in his mouth.

“It’s delicious. Thank you for sharing.” He makes his way to the bathroom for a shower.

He’s annoyed with Ashton though, he knows he told him what he was doing today, and he should have known he’d be unreachable. And why wouldn’t Luke want to also experience the Dole plantation. He’s not happy about how this went down. But when he’s done with his shower, he sees that Ollie has texted and asked about dinner. Luke admits that he missed it, so Ollie invites him down to the bar for drinks and some food and he agrees, he’s starving all of a sudden.

“Where ya goin?” You ask as Luke opens the door.

“I’m just gonna go get some food, pretty girl. I’ll be back.” He assures you.

“Ok… miss you Peachy.”

“I won’t be too long.” He promises.

But after a couple drinks, lots of laughs and some food, Luke and Oliver decide to go to the beach.

“It’s dark… isn’t it dangerous?” Oliver laughs.

“No Ollie! We’re not getting in, let’s just go sit, under the stars.” Luke grabs his hand and drags him out to the beach. “Beautiful night!” Luke declares, plopping In the sand, waving his hand toward the sky. He giggles, pulling Ollie down with him. “Now, I’ve told you about me, what about you?” Luke grins.

“What about me?” Ollie asks, finally settling in next to Luke. He moves a little closer so they are shoulder to shoulder.

“Are you seeing anyone? Special someone back home?”

“Ah… no my ex and I broke up like… 4 months ago. He was cheating on me, so I just…” he shrugs.

“Good riddance. You deserve better than that anyway.” Luke nods.

If he was sober, he would notice the way Ollie keeps looking at him, the way he keeps finding ways to touch him, and he’s just staring at Luke’s lips.

But he’s not sober and he seems to be encouraging it, touching him back, constantly turning to smile at him, doing anything he can to make him laugh.

Luke lays back in the sand, “what are you doing tomorrow? I’ve heard there are amazing waterfalls around here.” He asks. “Maybe we can go for a hike.”

“Sounds good to me.” Ollie shrugs, laying back.

Luke hums, “we're gonna have to get a late start, I’m drunk.” He grins. “I’ll need to sleep in… speaking of… what time is it? I told my girl I’d be back.”

“And yet… here you are…” Ollie whispers, “it’s 1:30.”

“Nope. I gotta go. She shared her pineapple.” Luke murmurs, jumping up. “I’ll text you when I get up.” He takes off back to the hotel without even waiting for Ollie to get up.

Ashton is in bed, you’re on the couch when he gets back. “Hey peachy.” You greet, giving him a sad smile, “thought you were coming right back?” You mention.

“I know, I’m sorry baby girl.” He sighs, leaning over to kiss your cheek, “I got caught up.”

“I just wanted to make sure you made it back.” You whisper, getting up to head to bed.

“Baby girl.” He whispers, “I love you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s your vacation too.” You shrug, “love you.”

Ash tries to wake him up in the morning, but Luke batted him away and mentions he has plans.

“Ok… well don’t get mad at me if we do something you wanted to do.” Ash huffs.

Luke’s sweating as they hike, and he kinda feels like shit from being hungover, but he’s doing his best. “So what do you do?” He asks Oliver.

“I teach music, at a high school… choir, music appreciation, music history, and I help with marching band.” He shrugs.

“Oh, that’s really cool.” Luke exclaims.

“What about you?” Oliver stops short in front of Luke.

“Oh… uh… I guess you’d say I’m more of a kept man.”

“Oh? You don’t work? At all?” He asks, now following Luke.

“I mean I have responsibilities, but Ash takes care of us. Gets us what we need and want. Like… like I said the sex is spectacular, I do chores around the house and help with whatever Ash needs help with.”

“Ok… so you are a kept man. What did you want to do?”

“I never really had a chance to decide. I was fresh out of college when Ash and I got together, got my degree in business. I was just working at a clothing store and eventually Ash was just like you hate it so much so just quit and be here and that was that. I didn’t argue because I did hate it that much, and he never asked me to pay any bills and wouldn’t take money when I offered.” Luke shrugs.

Ollie nods, “and your girl?”

“Also kept… she gets a little more control than I do typically but I like it that way.” Luke stops and looks at the waterfall they’ve come upon. “Shit, this is gorgeous,” he murmurs. And he wishes you were there, because you’d love this, and for a second, he feels like he’s doing this with the wrong person, he should be with his people.

Oliver is taking his shirt off and jumping in the water. Luke definitely notices his toned body, and he takes his shirt off to jump in too. He notices as Oliver stays close and touches him, thinks it must be an accident when Oliver’s hand grazes the front of his swimmers multiple times.

“So… based on all the info you’ve given me, you must be in some sort of dom/sub situation?” Ollie boldly asks.

“Yeah… something like that. That would definitely be how I’d describe my bedroom experiences.” He laughs, “but not so much the rest of our lives. We’re just there for each other I guess… I don’t know how to describe it. Making them smile and happy is the best thing I do.”

He notices Ollie’s gotten close and he thinks maybe it’s too close, so he backs up a little, and then heads back to where they dropped their shirts and bags.

“We should head back. It’s gonna be late anyway.” He mentions, quickly drying his chest and putting his shirt on.

They keep up their normal banter all the way back to the hotel, and Luke waves him off as he heads to the room.

Luke sees you pressed to Ash when he comes in, you say hi and he heads off for a shower and collapses on the bed, checking his phone.

He has dinner with you, where you let slip Ash doesn’t know how to talk to him about him; and it keeps him up all night. What could Ash want to talk about? Luke’s done his best to stay out of the way. Is Ash jealous?

He adores it when you come out in the morning and straddle him. Even if things are weird with Ash, at least you don’t seem to be upset with him. And then he agrees to spend time with you guys.

But Ollie is texting a bunch, and he figures it couldn’t hurt to have him join you guys for lunch. Maybe Ash would feel better if he met him.

But he can tell pretty quickly it’s not going well. He watches you shut down first, as Ollie makes pass after pass at you. You cross your arms over your chest and your face says your fuming. He tries to distract him from that point forward.

Luke frowns as you and Ash take off, he did not expect things to go so poorly. “What the fuck was that? They’re not usually like this.” He promises Ollie. “I can’t believe they acted like that.” He hums, still staring after his partners.

“You wanna come hang in my room for a bit? Let them cool down. We can talk about it?”

Luke feels awkward the second he steps in Ollie’s room, but he ignores it.

“Luke.” Ollie says, and Luke turns to face him, Ollie presses his lips to Luke’s.

And for a few seconds, Luke lets it happen before snapping out of it. He gently pushes Ollie away. “What are you doing? You just met my partners.”

“Luke… you’ve spent all this time talking about how great they are, but you've basically spent this entire trip with me. we’ve been having a good time, we’ve got a good vibe. I thought you were feeling this too.”

“I’ve never said I was open to anything. I’ve got the two people I need, it was just nice to have a friend.”

“Keep telling yourself that Luke. There’s obviously something deeper there.”

“I have to go, lose my number.” He brushes past Ollie, out of the room, and hurries toward the elevators. He can feel the tears in his eyes as he steps off and heads back to the room.

“Ash… we need to talk.”

wanna be tagged? go here

Cass’s tag list: @cocktail-calum @1dthewantedlove @youngblood199456 @lustingforwunder @calumsphile @neso-k @rosecoloredash @radmcqueen @justayoungandwisefangirl @itsnotmyblood @lietoash @pushthetide21 @5sosfanficrec @therealmrshale @fallfrxmgrace @lukashemmos @justarandomgirlthatyoudontknow @5sos-microwave @madbomb @sweetheartmendes1000-blog @literally-anythin @lfwallscouldtalk @clemmingstylins0n @ccnicole02 @lustingfor5sos @buteverythingiscopacetic @rosesfromcth @bodaciousbonzi1996 @ashtontotheirwin @captainam-erika-trash @jazzyangel242 @bluebabycal @rhiannonmichellee @iovehemmings @glitterycalum1205 @katcontreras @cashtonasfuck @ificanthaveu @canterburyfiction @opheliaaurora @queer-5sos @gigglyirwin @glitterycalum1205 @rebelwith0utacause @myloverboyash @sadistmichael @sexgodashton @kindahoping4forever @babyoria @notinthesameguey @angel-cal @pilunb @the1weliveinnow @smilexcaptainx @everyscarisahealingplace @wiildflower-xxx @viiirgo @ashtondaddy90 @petunias-pet @youngbloodchild @myfavfanficsever @addietagglikesbands @zhangyixingxing1 @findingliam-o @zackoid @calmsweetcreature @strawberriesonsummer @loveroflrh @another-lonely-heart @burstintocolor @seanna313 @metalandboybands @castaway-cashton @calumftduke @stardust-galaxies @talkfastromance4 @justhereforcalum @redeserts @addietagglikesbands @myescapefromthislife @xsongxbirdx

#daddys home #lukes side of things #it was only a kiss #poly!lashton #luke hemmings #ashton irwin #cass+crystal #the dream team 🦦🦦#yall #dont be mad

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sondepoch · 4 years

Text

Part 1/2

Have Strength, My Lady (Barbatos x Reader)

Where there is the jewel of the heavens, there is the pearl of the abyss—a title that you have the misfortune of bearing. It’s only natural that Lord Diavolo wants to add you to his collection of treasures, you’re not surprised to find yourself engaged, despite feeling entirely unprepared for it. Thus far, you’ve done a good job of hiding your fear with a smile, of hiding your emotions away so that no one but you knows how you feel. But on the way to the palace, a certain demon butler sees through your facade. And when his involvement in your life increases, you can’t help that you’re falling in love with the wrong man.

Part 1 | Part 2 | ✔

MASTERLIST

It's been centuries since you last wore this many pearls.

Your maids always make sure the balls of light are somewhere on your body, be it a single one centered on a collar, or two delicate studs in your ears, or a subtle bracelet that peeks out when you raise your arm—but today, they've dressed you from head to toe in the gemstone of your namesake. No matter how you turn your head and body, the shimmer of the pearls never fails to catch the light.

"Isn't it lovely, m'lady?" One of your dressing maids asks, smiling fondly as she gazes upon your figure. "Your father said he wanted you to wear this. Fitting, for the pearl of the abyss, wouldn't you agree?"

You nod your head, casting the maid who's been serving you for the past four millennia a soft smile.

The woman has the truth of it: if your natural beauty doesn't shout pearl of the abyss, then the dress does. The fabric alone is mesmerizing: a silky satin, blacker than the midnight sky. The color is a stark contrast to the pearls that decorate it, perfect spheres of white that trail delicate patterns around your dress. They dip low and high, at the base of the gown where it ghosts over the floor and around your the V-neck where they trail deliciously around the hints of exposed skin.

You twist your body, hypnotized by its beauty.

The way the dress ripples as you move makes it look like ebony water, little pearls floating on top to bless it with their brilliance, and of course wherever there's a chance for an accessory your maids have taken it—pearls decorating your ears, neck, wrist, and hair like snowflakes eternally bound.

"It's at times like this when I see you that I can't help but think you must be even more beautiful than Asmodeus himself, m'lady." Your maid wipes a tear from her eye, knowing all too well that this is the last time she'll be dressing you.

You nod, holding your tongue.

You've always disliked being compared to Asmodeus—it makes you feel guilty. He was the original, the jewel of the heavens whose beauty was unrivaled in all of the Celestial sky. Your birth was exclusively to maintain the balance between the Celestial Realm and the Devildom, to give Hell its own gem to be proud of. If not for Asmodeus, no one would have needed a pearl of the abyss; it never would have been created. You would never have been created.

"M'lady?"

You blink, realizing that your maid had been calling your name.

"Sorry," You murmur, forcing another smile to your face. It's all fake, a mask you wear to hide the sheer terror within, but you maintain the facade. "Father said that I'm to leave now, right? I shouldn't waste any more time."

Your maid smiles gently, kissing your cheeks. "Tis been an honor serving you. May you find eternal peace with Lord Diavolo, m' lady."

You return the smile, curtseying lightly as your teachers have taught you. Your words are scripted, memorized long ago with all the other manners you've been taught: "Thank you. I will never forget your service."

Your goodbyes with the rest of your family are even briefer, each one of them eager to see you off. It comes from a good place in their hearts, you know. They simply wish to see you wed and happy—and who better to give you eternal happiness than the prince of the Devildom himself? But still, the laughter you force past your lips comes out choked, and you're holding back tears the entire time as you bid your family farewell, not a single one of them realizing just how desperately you don't want to leave.

Your act is convincing.

You're sure of that much, at the very least. For the past month, ever since you learned the details of this arranged marriage, you've been practicing your facial expressions in the mirror: how to hide your fear with a smile, how to mask your quivering lips with a sigh, how to stop yourself from crying with a laugh.

It works well for you.

The beaming grins of your parents and siblings are a testament to that, none of them the wiser to your true feelings.

But the moment you enter the carriage sent to deliver you to Lord Diavolo's palace, the mask begins to crumble. You've been maintaining it for barely two minutes, and you're already so drained.

In front of you, the butler who came to fetch you from your home lets out a light laugh. "You look exhausted, my lady."

You glance upward into a pair of olive eyes, calculating as they stare into your own. Instantly, you avert your gaze. "I am a little tired, good sir. That is all."

He stays quiet as he continues to study you, and you're grateful for it. This is perhaps the first time someone has gazed upon you and not instantly made a comment about your ethereal beauty. Indeed, being created to be the most beautiful woman in the world has its merits, but there are more downsides than one would think.

"I might suggest a remedy for the fatigue, if my lady wishes to hear it."

"Go on," You say, trying to be polite. The way to Lord Diavolo's palace is nearly two hours from here, and you'd rather the carriage ride there be as pleasant as you can make it in the company of this strange man.

"Anger." The butler flashes a cryptic smile your way, one that makes you suspect he's masking his emotions just as much as you are. "Find a person to blame for this situation you fear so, and the flames of your fury will burn too brightly for any lassitude to slip through."

"Your words are noted, but I'm afraid you are mistaken. I do not fear this situation at all." You flash him the same graceful smile you've been practicing in the mirror, repeating the words you've said half a hundred times: "It is an honor to have been chosen to be the bride of Lord Diavolo."

Once more, the butler chuckles.

"Very well," He says, though you're certain he doesn't believe you. "Though might I offer a piece of advice?" At your nod, the demon continues speaking. "You hide your fear from your face well, but it shows in your hands. Flatten your palms, my lady, and I might not notice next time."

A blush creeps onto your face, suddenly realizing that you had absentmindedly been clutching the satin fabric in an attempt to quell the sick feeling in your stomach. Taking his words to heart, you smooth your dress out and lay your palms flat on top, sitting up straight as you avoid the demon's gaze.

You can't be sure whether he hears your quiet "Thank you" before the sound of hellhorse hooves beating against the ground takes over, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence. If you strain your ears to listen, you can hear a soft gasp every now and then as people gaze upon the royal carriage you're in—undeniably aware that it's you, the pearl of the abyss, sitting inside.

It's not surprising, though. Lord Diavolo's engagement has hardly been a private matter.

The moment your father accepted his written proposal on your behalf, the entire realm seemed to enter a period of celebration. It's barely been a month since the headline hit the newspapers, and over that short period of time, every demon in the land has come to know of the engagement. It's common knowledge that you're set to arrive in Lord Diavolo's palace today, and the gaudiness of his royal carriage leaves little to the imagination. Doubtless, every single passenger who crosses your escort knows that it's you sitting inside.

A soft smile pulls at your lips when you hear a child call your name in the distance, begging to see your face.

The butler in front of you hears the request, too, eyes instantly flitting to yours.

"Can we?" You ask, heart softening at the child's continued cries to catch just a single glimpse of your perfection.

"As you wish, my lady." The demon snaps his fingers, and the hellhorses halt in an instance, and you can hear the sound of a child racing to catch up with the carriage. The butler opens the transport, offering his hand to you as you step out, eyes watching carefully as the child exclaims in joy when he realizes that his wish has been heard.

"You're... you're so pretty!" The little boy exclaims, mouth wide open as he stares at you in disbelief. You can't help but chuckle at his inability to glance away, knowing that it's the youngest of children who are most swayed by your beauty. And, of course, they're also the ones who have yet to develop the sense not to stare—but you don't mind.

"Thank you," You bemd down to the child's level. You wish you could give him something, a token to remember you by, but all you have are the pearls on your dress, and you doubt the butler behind you would approve of you tearing one off and giving it away.

"C-can I touch?" The boy asks, eyes round. You give him a small nod, watching as he lifts a finger to your cheek and gasps. "It's so soft!"

A smile blooms on your face, the most genuine smile you've worn since learning about your arranged marriage. "You're a very kind boy," You tell him. Deciding that you can't give him a souvenir of this exchange, you settle for kissing his cheek. "Thank you."

Standing back up to your full height, you watch as the boy waves you goodbye while the butler helps you back into the carriage, the hellhorses moving forward once more with another snap of his fingers.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," He says, studying you with a perplexed expression. "There was nothing to gain in showing your face to that boy."o

"Why not?" You respond, still smiling softly at the memory of the child's eyes round in wonder. "It made him happy, even if only briefly."

"You would go out of your way for the happiness of a mere child?"

"Of course," You respond. "You wouldn't?"

The demon shakes his head, an amused smile appearing on his face once more as he pulls out a handkerchief. He offers it to you, and you glance at the lettering. Barbatos, it reads in cursive embroidery.

"What is this for?" You take the square of fabric from the demon's hand, staring at it in confusion.

"When the boy touched you, he left a smudge of dirt on your face." The demon, who's name you reason must be Barbatos, points to his own cheek. "I assumed you would want to wipe it off."

You nod your head, grateful that he told you. Suddenly thankful that you have no need of makeup, you rub the left side of your cheek harshly, hoping that you got the dirt off.

In front of you, Barbatos grimaces.

"You made it worse, my lady."

"Oh," You mumble, flustered once more. You stay seated with the handkerchief in your hand, not quite sure what to do, when the demon in front of you sighs. He holds his hand out.

"Give it here. Let me assist you, my lady."

You return the dark green square to its owner, shifting forward as Barbatos folds it and begins swiping at your cheek, lifting a gloved finger under your chin to turn your cheek into the light, angling your jaw up and then to the right until he's confident that all traces of the child are gone. It takes all your effort to fight back a blush, ignoring the fact that your family never allowed any boy to get this close to you, much less touch you so comfortably.

"Thank you..." You begin, once the demon is done. "...Barbatos?"

Your words sound like a question, hesitant and unsure whether you got the demon's name right. To your relief, he nods. "Correct." He folds his hands in his lap.

"Barbatos, as in the duke of hell?" You say, eyebrows raised.

"Duke of hell, butler, what's the difference?" He wears a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye, and you can't be certain if he's joking or not. Though it's obvious that he finds humor in your confusion. "I serve both Lord Diavolo and the realm, however unorthodox my methods may be."

"Ah," You finally say, still not quite understanding. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Barbatos."

"And you, my lady." The edges of his lips curve upward as he glances down at your dress. "I suppose you might be even more beautiful than the rumors say. A good deal more foolish, as well, but that matters not."

"Excuse me!" You exclaim, crossing your arms. "I have done nothing that warrants being called foolish!"

"Nothing?" Barbatos asks incredulously, shaking his head. "My lady, you are to be a queen soon. Danger lurks where you will least expect it, and letting little children close enough to touch you will only cause problems in the long run."

"But didn't you see how happy the boy was?" You ask, eyes softening at the memory. Your voice is hopeful, recalling the moment with bliss. "His eyes lit up like a thousand suns."

Barbatos sighs, deciding not to make any further comment. You're certain he disagrees, that he believes a child's smile is not worth risking your own safety for, but he stays quiet for the rest of the ride, staring at the landscape as it passes by.

You keep track of the time by the location of the sun: it was perfectly overhead when you departed from your home, and it had slowly crept lower and lower as the carriage ride progressed. It was ghosting over the treetops when you stopped to meet that little boy, and by now, it's dipped low enough to be considered sunset.

You swallow, realizing that it's been long enough that you should be at Diavolo's palace any moment now. You pull your gaze from the sun, opting to study the buildings around you.

It's no longer an empty plain you're traveling through—rather, the land you're passing through has been settled, lived upon. It looks almost like a city with how modern the buildings are, though you're not riding on the formal roads you see in the distance. After another long minute of staring, you slowly begin to realize that you're in the heart of the Devildom: the campus for the Royal Academy of Diavolo.

A sick feeling roots itself in your stomach as you glance at the buildings, realizing that they are indeed classrooms and dormitories. Just two months ago, your family had been waiting for your five thousandth birthday so that you could apply to the RAD and attend the most prestigious academy in the entire Devildom, though it seemed that they had dropped all those plans when Lord Diavolo requested your hand in marriage.

You blink back tears, trying not to think about the life you could have had, if only you weren't summoned to be Lord Diavolo's bride. If only you weren't so beautiful. If only you weren't the pearl of the abyss.

"Palms, my lady."

You turn to Barbatos, eyebrows raised. What is the demon on about?

He gestures to his own hands, making a motion of flattening them before you catch his meaning. Your gaze flits down to your own hands, and you're embarrassed to find that they're clenched into tight fists once more, almost turning white with how hard you're squeezing them.

"Not afraid, you said earlier?" For the second time today, his smile seems to laugh at your flustered state, catching you in another uncomfortable situation. "Do not worry; I will not run to Diavolo and tell him his bride is afraid of this marriage."

You hold your tongue, not sure how to respond. Is Barbatos doing you a kindness? Or is repeatedly calling you out a cruelty?

The opportunity to find out never comes, and the sound of hellhorse hooves, which has actually grown somewhat comforting over the course of these past few hours, comes to a stop.

"We're here?" You ask Barbatos, remembering to wear a pleasant smile before your true emotions can surface to your face.

"Quite so. Welcome to the royal palace of Diavolo," He responds, exiting the carriage and offering his hand to you. "The grounds of your future."

Lord Diavolo's palace is in the middle of the RAD campus, and students are still walking around on the grounds, all of them stopping to study your figure as you exit the carriage.

"Do not look at them," Barbatos says quickly, stepping in front of you when one of them attempts to take a picture. "Come, my lady. My lord awaits you within."

You follow the butler's fast pace as he walks forward, suddenly thankful that the heels your maid had dressed you in aren't especially high. The walk through Lord Diavolo's palace is long, almost long enough for another bout of anxiety to root itself in your stomach, but Barbatos finally stops in front of an unusually large door.

You don't need him to say a word to know that Lord Diavolo is inside.

The demon halts, hand raised to open the door before he abruptly turns around, studying you from head to toe. "You're terrified to the core," He comments, not an ounce of hesitance in his voice. "But no one will be able to tell."

A small smile appears on his face when he glances at your hands. To your merit, they're hanging loosely at your side, not even quivering. You let them dangle delicately, acting as though it doesn't take all your effort to ensure as much.

"I'm ready," You say, a confident smile appearing on your lips. Barbatos can see past it, you know. He can tell that you're trembling inside, that you the only reason you haven't thrown up in terror is because you've yet to eat, that your heart only beats the thumping rhythm of fear as you prepare to meet the man who has already changed the course of your life.

"You are not," He answers smoothly, turning around. "But, by now, the students at RAD will have raised enough of a fuss on Devilgram over your arrival, so Diavolo most likely already knows that you've arrived."

Barbatos sighs at your silence, probably feeling bad for you. He places his hand flat against the door, readying himself to open it, when he pauses.

"Have strength, my lady," He whispers enigmatically, before turning away.

And then the doors have opened.

The words stay with you as you follow Barbatos into what appears to be the dining hall, drawing closer and closer to not just Lord Diavolo, but the infamous Lucifer himself—another demon you've grown up learning about, never imagining that you would actually be in the same room as him.

Have strength, you tell yourself, pushing your shoulders back as a delicate smile comes to your face, the same smile you've spent a month practicing in the mirror. Confidence is easy to fake as you continue walking, only further advanced by the way both Lord Diavolo's and Lucifer's eyes widen as they take in the sight of you. You're certain it's the first time either of them has witnessed such beauty.

As soon as you're an appropriate distance from Lord Diavolo, Barbatos pauses. You follow suit, curtseying gracefully as you lift your dress. The words that roll off your lips are automatic: "It is an honor to meet you, Lord Diavolo."

As soon as your voice breaks the silence, the two demons in front of you seem to be snapped back to reality, freeing themselves of the natural stupor that your charm induces. Lord Diavolo speaks up, his princely voice filling the room, "The pleasure is all mine, young MC. You are even more beautiful than all the rumors say."

The prince approaches, and for a moment, you can't help but marvel at the sheer size of the man, already looking like a king. He's standing proudly in his demon form, showing how he's made of nothing but muscle and more muscle. He gently takes your hand and bends low onto one knee, laying a kiss over your knuckles as he stares up at you, eyes still slightly round in wonder. "The pearl of the abyss is even more enchanting than the jewel of the heavens, I dare say." Lord Diavolo rises, letting your hand fall to your side. "Wouldn't you agree, Lucifer?"

The ebony-haired demon glances away, seemingly uncomfortable with the question. "Her beauty is unrivaled," He mutters softly, the light pink dusting on his cheeks enough for you to know that he is telling the truth.

You maintain your smile, fake as it is lovely.

Lifting your eyes for a moment, you can't help but marvel at Lord Diavolo's fiery red hair and amber eyes. Indeed, he's what every little demongirl dreams of marrying one day—a literal prince—but you suddenly wish that Barbatos had taken longer while walking you here. You feel nauseous. Nauseous, hesitant, and afraid, standing here in front of this man whom you've been engaged to for a month, despite having only just met him.

"Come, my love," Lord Diavolo says, walking over to the table. He pulls a chair out for you, the seat closest to his own at the end of the table, while Lucifer sits across from you. It feels strange, and somewhat unnatural, for you to be sitting next to not only the prince of hell but the fallen Morningstar himself, before you realize that you, yourself, must be just as foreign to them: the pearl of the abyss, MC of hellfire.

"Tell me," Diavolo begins, eyes still drinking in the sight of you, "Is it true that you were shaped to perfection by the very same flames that nurtured Cerberus?"

You laugh, smiling sweetly at the man. "A woman must keep some secrets, no?"

A quiet laughter bounces around the table, the two demons seemingly comforted by your false sense of normalcy. It's easy for you to pretend to be fascinated by Diavolo, to act as if you understand what Lucifer is saying. Where other girls had learned needlework and laundry from a young age, your father sent you to teachers who helped you master the art of being a woman. Learning how to charm men was a natural part of that.

"How are you feeling?" Diavolo asks after a brief silence. "Your father mentioned to me in a letter that you haven't been looking well as of late. Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, Lord Diavolo." Your response is mechanical, though the word you'd use to describe yourself right certainly wouldn't be 'better.'

"Just call me Diavolo!" He exclaims, grinning widely. "Or you can call me 'honey,' or 'dear,' or whatever else you'd like!"

You can't help but laugh at that, your smile becoming a little more genuine. "Alright, Diavolo. It is a pleasure."

The demon smiles at you, and continues to make polite conversation. It feels almost normal, with the redhead eagerly talking on and on at both you and Lucifer, while both you and the fallen Morningstar exchange glances of amusement every now and then at your prince's words. Indeed, it feels like something you could grow used to, and by the end of the hour, you've almost forgotten your fear at marrying the man.

But it's at this end of this hour, when the sun has finally dipped beneath the horizon, that Diavolo's expression turns serious.

"My love," He says, voice no longer merry. "There is one thing we need to address."

You fold your hands in your lap, gazing at Diavolo expectantly. Eyebrows raised just the slightest, you try to maintain your mask of delicate tranquility. "Go on?"

"I'm afraid our marriage will be rather unorthodox. Specifically...the timing may be shorter than what you are accustomed to."

You nod your head, following along. A typical demon engagement will last for a few centuries, or whatever the age difference is between the bride and the groom. It is not rare for royal engagements to be shorter, as princes and princesses attempt to come into power, but even so, you should have a few decades at the minimum.

"My personal goal is to bring the Devildom closer to the Celestial Realm and human world. Over the years, our realms have grown apart, and I wish to reunite them."

You hold your smile like a mask, still not understanding what the 'unorthodox' part is.

"My current plan spans over eight thousand years in the future, ending with all three realms reunited and in balance once more, but when you account for a margin or error with diplomatic relations and all the trouble that traditionally accompanies revolutionary changes like this, it grows even longer, and..." Diavolo sighs, folding his hands and turning to you. "It is imperative that I am crowned as soon as possible, so that I can execute my plan in a time-efficient manner. As such, it is critical that we shorten the traditional engagement period as much as possible."

You nod, the sick feeling you had before entering this room suddenly returned, and twice as strong. You can't help but remember Barbatos's words when you told him you were ready.

You are not.

Had he known?

You force a smile to your face, trying to look as encouraging as possible while Diavolo hesitates. The prince glances into your eyes, searching for something that you're not sure he finds.

"My love, we are to marry in one month."

And with those words, the sick feeling in your stomach spreads to every inch of your body except your face—which you keep painfully frozen. Your eyes are locked onto a figure in the distance, locked onto a set of eyes that are staring straight at you.

Barbatos, you think, as he continues to smile cryptically. You search his face for answers, for advice, for something that can help you figure out how in hell you should handle this situation, but then you recall his words to you from earlier, a quiet whisper that you weren't even sure you were supposed to hear.

Have strength, my lady.

Barbatos's smile seems to turn genuine as you remember his earlier whisper, and within moments, you've turned away, looking into the amber eyes of Diavolo.

"I understand." You smile. The fear that had previously settled in your stomach has bloomed into a gigantic tree of terror, only further nurtured by the prospect of sealing your hand away in marriage so soon, but you ignore it. "I'll do my best to learn the ways of this household so that I may serve you as a worthy queen."

***

When you next wake, you're in an unfamiliar room. It takes a moment for your memory to return, vaguely recalling being escorted here by Barbatos after an uncomfortable dinner with Diavolo. Looking down, it seems that you passed out on the bed without even changing your clothes.

What a wonderful way to start the morning, you can't help but think. The thought weighs heavily on your mind as you drag yourself from bed, memories from last night continuing to flood through your mind. Diavolo had apologized profusely over dinner about the shortened engagement period, but you could only smile and tell him it was alright. Your facade threatened to collapse when he revealed that your training would begin today, giving you literally no chance of a break, but you had managed to accept his words with a tight smile.

Training.

You groan.

It's customary for the bride in any wedding to be trained in the ways of the household so that she may seamlessly transition into her new role after the wedding, but your training will be on another level entirely. You're literally going to have to learn the ways of being a queen, not to mention all the extra nuances that accompany the title. Just the thought makes you groan.

A knock pulls you from your thoughts, likely a repetition of the very thing that had woken you in the first place.

"Coming," You call drowsily, not even bothering to straighten your appearance before opening the door. You blink the sleep from your eyes, expecting to see a maid here to help you dress, but it's none other than Barbatos who stands on the other side, his expression amused as ever when his eyes take in your still-sleepy form. "You!" You exclaim, it still being too early for you to remember your manners.

"Yes, it's me. I do all the bidding of Diavolo at this castle, so you can expect to be seeing me quite often." Barbatos glances down at you, the disheveled dress that you were wearing yesterday. He looks unimpressed. "May I come in?"

You immediately step back, allowing the butler into your room. He does all the bidding of Lord Diavolo, you think. All the bidding. All.

"A-are you here to dress me for the day?" You ask, fingers fidgeting.

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," You say smoothly, sighing to yourself. You've only been dressed by women before, young maidens you've known all your life; but you suppose that this will be just the beginning of the many changes about to overtake your life, so there's no point in fighting it. Suddenly registering that the only people you've seen in Diavolo's castle have been the prince himself, Lucifer, and Barbatos, another realization dawns upon you. "I assume you're also the one who'll be training me this month?"

Barbatos nods.

You sigh as he opens a drawer and hands you a stack of smallclothes, guiding you to the bathroom and instructing you to prepare for the day. The process ends up being simple enough; you don't want to question how the drawers are equipped with the very same face wash and cleansers that you used at home, or how the underwear fits you perfectly, or how even the toothpaste is the same flavor that you've been using for the past two thousand years. You simply go with the flow, laughing to yourself when you see that the circular laundry basket is also familiar, the same model as the one that used to be in your room.

It's rather uncomfortable to exit the bathroom in nothing but underwear, but Barbatos barely looks at you, pulling your body to a mirror where he lifts your arms into a T-pose and begins dressing you.

"Starting tomorrow, Diavolo wants to have breakfast with you," He says as he works, tightening a corset behind your back. "You'll be at his side for all parties and important events, and perhaps for a few RAD student council meetings. The rest of the time, you'll be with me," Barbatos tugs sharply on the strings of your corset, and you have to bite back a gasp. "Learning how to best serve Diavolo as his future queen."

You flinch as Barbatos's fingers tug on your corset once more, the man prioritizing efficiency over gentleness. His gloved hands are cold against your skin, and you're not used to the roughness with which he handles you. "Too much?" He asks, noticing your grimace.

"I'm fine," You lie, but you can tell he doesn't believe you because when he resumes working, his pace is slower. It's not quite gentle, but certainly less painful. "Tell me more. You said I am to have breakfast with Diavolo from now on. Does he not eat the other two meals?"

Barbatos laughs. It's a short, abrasive sound, but it's charming in its own right. "I also told you that you would be with me for the rest of the day, my lady." He pauses, stepping back to study your figure before lifting a deep blue gown from your drawer. He raises it to your chest, wrapping it around you before beginning to lace up the back. "I assure you, you will be too exhausted to give Diavolo proper companionship under my training."

"Is there a reason he does he not wish to dine with me this morning?" You ask, somewhat concerned. You thought you had done a good job yesterday acting like a lovestruck girl, but could Diavolo have recognized your apprehension over the marriage?

You glance at Barbatos uneasily in the mirror, silently recalling all the instances where he had called you out on your fear. Could he have said something to Diavolo?

"Do not fret, my lady. As president of the RAD student council, he had to attend their meeting today. There is no other reason."

You nod your head at the butler's words, letting your mind drift as he continues to work.

What will this month be like? You have nearly an eternity of being a queen laid out in front of you—it seems impossible to learn everything you'll need to know in a short thirty days. Then again, if Barbatos approaches teaching the way he approaches the process of dressing you, it'll go by quicker than you're used to, and will be twice as efficient in the process.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, mouth slightly agape, when you realize that the demon has successfully dressed you in barely five minutes.

"I'm sure it's less extravagant than you're used to," Barbatos says, gesturing to the blue dress he's put you in. "But you'll find that it's much more practical, this way."

You can certainly see where he gets that idea from. The dress you're wearing is pretty, no doubt, but it's far from beautiful. Still, you can't help but savor the blissful freedom you have in this specific gown. It has three-quarters length sleeves and hangs just above your knees, tight in all the right spots but equally loose where you desire—and it allows the perfect mix of comfort and movement. You can't deny that you find the velvet fabric preferable to the stunning satin gown you'd donned yesterday.

"So, where do we go from here, Barbatos?" You ask, turning around. You notice the demon's eyes widen just the slightest as he takes in the sight of your body first hand, vision unobstructed by the mirror, but he masks his momentary awe soon enough.

"Breakfast, my lady." He gestures for you to follow him as he leads you down to the dining hall. "And then your training will begin."

***

Breakfast with Barbatos may very well be the most uncomfortable thing you've ever endured. The demon stands in front of you as you eat, studying your posture and your dining manners with calculating eyes as you try to ignore him.

"I thought you said training would begin after breakfast," You protest, almost laughing, after his staring gets to be too much. "Stop gawking at me like that!"

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" He asks, an amused smile on his face. The butler leans in close to you, temporarily halting your breath as he smirks. "You are going to be queen, my lady. Not only that, but you are the pearl of the abyss. At all hours of the day, men will be staring at you, be it because they are enchanted by your beauty or because they are waiting for you to make a mistake. Get used to it."

You flinch as the demon abruptly pulls back, taking your plate of breakfast with him.

"I-I'm not done!" You protest, staring open-mouthed at the butler's retreating form.

"Close your mouth!" Is all he responds, chuckling as he dumps the dish in the kitchen.

It's a moment before he returns, but when he does, he's gesturing for you to follow him once more as he continues to lead you around the castle. You almost think he's wandering around aimlessly until he finally brings you to a large hall, a single throne in the center.

"Come, my lady. This is your first lesson: I want you to sit on this throne."

You raise your eyebrows, walking forward without a hint of hesitance. "My first lesson is in sitting?" You ask, tone reflecting how ridiculous the prospect is. You take your seat with ease. "I'm afraid I learned proper posture early on, Barbatos."

The demon chuckles at your confidence, eyes gazing over your form with satisfaction. No doubt, he recognizes that your posture is impeccable. "You can sit properly, yes. But for how long?" The demon raps his knuckles on the back of the throne, walking around you. "As queen, you'll be sitting on this throne for four hours straight, twice a day, six days a week. Let's see if you can last a single hour."

Your mouth instinctively curls into a smile—a real smile. You like the challenge in Barbatos's voice.

You should have the upper hand in this, you know. As a child, your education had never been centered around the sciences or the arts, but on learning how to be a lady: prim, proper, and perfect. Not only was posture taught, but also the ability to stay still for hours on end without fidgeting. This lesson should be easy for you.

But five minutes in, your confidence begins to waver.

"Starting to understand the purpose of this exercise, are we?" Barbatos is amused, noting the way your throat bobs as you swallow and shift uncomfortably in the chair. The bottom of your butt is tender, only used to cushions and luxury. Even the carriage that had driven you here was rather uncomfortable. But it's not just the thin padding that makes this throne uncomfortable. The metal underneath seeps through, chilling your thighs with an intensity that makes you think your rear will be ice by the time you're done. Another five minutes, if not an hour, will be torture.

"Distract me," You mutter, frowning. "I might be on this throne for hours on end, but the queen of the Devildom hears the requests of her people. I will never be on this throne aimlessly, with nothing to think about but the uncomfortableness of this seat."

"Very well," Barbatos says, nodding. He looks somewhat impressed with your request, as if he hadn't expected you to be so assertive. You're thankful that the pleading inflection of your voice went over his head. "Let me give you a scenario, then. A thief has been caught stealing a handful of jewels from a local store. He insists that he stole them not for his own gain, but so that he could sell them and feed his family. What do you do?"

You bite your lip, thinking deeply. The Queen's Justice is law in the Devildom, and your wish is everyone's command—but for that same reason, it's critical that your rulings are sound. You hesitate for a moment before coming to a decision. "I ask him how he stole the jewels, and using that information, I help the jeweler protect themself from future attempts at thievery."

"And then?" Barbatos asks, eyebrows furrowed. Whatever he expected to hear from you, that clearly wasn't it.

"I return the jewels he stole to the jeweler and give him and his family food so that he won't need to steal again?" You say, though it's more a question than a statement. You won't pretend to be confident—you know your solution is poor.

Barbatos shakes his head, sighing. "Your idea is bad, but not as bad as I would have expected for one who has never been educated in this field."

Is that a compliment?

Barbatos doesn't give you a chance to dwell on it, moving on immediately.

"There are various methods of dealing with thieves. You are aware of the fact that the Queen's Justice is the only justice in the Devildom; even Diavolo will honor your rulings. But for that reason, you must decide how you wish to deal with these issues. There is a gradient of strictness, and you will traditionally want to fall in the center. Some queens might cut off the thief's hand, while others may let him go with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Your idea of finding out his methods and revealing them to the jeweler was intelligent, but it is incomplete if it stands on its own."

"Fine, then. What would you do, Barbatos?" You can't help but ask as you stare at the demon in front of you.

The butler raises his eyebrows, amused. "Do you truly wish to know?"

You nod, somewhat interested in finding out.

"I'd flip a coin," He says, smiling. "Heads—and the perpetrator becomes Cerberus's next meal. Tails—he goes home free."

"That's awful!" You exclaim, eyes wide with horror. Stealing jewels doesn't warrant death, nor should it go entirely unpunished. Both alternatives to Barbatos's punishment are equally awful, making the solution as a whole entirely ineffective. You stare at his unnerving smile, quietly hoping that this is just a joke. "You don't truly mean that, do you?"

Barbatos lets out a light laugh, circling behind your throne once more. "I might not, but that doesn't change the fact that whatever punishment I'd deal would be infinitely crueler than anything you could. Justice is meant to appeal to reason, which is why we call it the Queen's Justice, and not the king's. A king can rule however he likes, but queens are always selected for their good sense."

You raise your eyebrows. Now it's your turn to appear amused. "Do you take me for that much of a fool? I was chosen for my looks, Barbatos." A light laugh spills from your lips, a soft sound you haven't heard in a long time. "I could have been crazy, for all Diavolo knew."

"Perhaps, but my training would have remedied that." Barbatos smiles, turning to you. "So tell me, my lady. How will you rule as a queen? What will be your justice?"

You lean back in your throne, understanding the weight of Barbatos's question. He is here to train you, to develop your skills and turn you into the woman who will serve the realm for thousands upon thousands of years. Your decision here will mark how he educates you, what he teaches you, and where he guides you.

"A queen who makes her people happy," You say, more to yourself than him.

"Pardon?" The butler seems entirely shocked by your response, his eyebrows furrowing together almost cutely. "You're choosing to prioritize happiness?"

"What else?" You ask, lowering your eyes. "We are blessed to live in a time of prosperity. Does it not make sense that those in power should do everything they can to make sure that those in the lower rings of society can share in our happiness? They deserve joy just as much as we."

Barbatos is silent, letting your explanation wash over him.

No doubt, he's recalling all the previous times your actions have said the same thing: when you stopped the carriage to speak with that little boy, when you protested Barbatos's apathy afterward, and a certain other detail that you pray goes over his head.

It's a long time before he speaks, and when he does, he's looking straight into your eyes for the first time since you entered this room.

"My lady, why did you agree to this marriage?"

He noticed.

You try to look away, try to avert your eyes from Barbatos so that you can attempt to come up with an excuse, some more innocent justification for your words. You forgot your place when you were speaking, you forgot that this is Diavolo's butler you're speaking to and in equal parts someone you should be fearing, not man you can trust the emotions you're keeping hidden. But before you can turn your face, Barbatos's finger somehow ends up under your chin, and you're forced to continue staring into those impossibly green eyes, never faltering.

"It makes the realm so happy," You whisper after the longest time. "The night my father accepted on my behalf, I couldn't sleep through the cheers. For the past month, they've lit fireworks every night, the festivals in honor of our marriage have already begun, and even the youngest of children are excited at the prospect of getting to watch our love."

"So what is it that you are so afraid of?"

You smile softly, hearing the question you were hoping so desperately he would ask. You're certain Barbatos is recalling your fear-stricken expression from yesterday, your body's instinctive response whenever the subject of your marriage came up. Still, you keep quiet. He studies your expression, but his question is one you cannot answer—one you refuse to answer, as long as you are in this palace.

Barbatos sighs, lowering his finger from your chin. It still feels like you're locked in by some invisible force, keeping your gaze fastened to the demon as he turns away, hiding his expression.

"Very well then, my lady." His tone is cold, far away once more. "A queen who makes her people happy you shall be."

He continues walking, leaving the prior moment behind in favor of continuing his lesson. "Now tell me, how does such a queen handle thieves?"

You swallow, realizing that Barbatos's tutelage will consist more of him guiding you to answers rather than giving them to you outright, and you strain your brain to think. It's a while before you respond, but you eventually find the words: "The same way she handles all crime, right? To ensure happiness, she will have to get to the root of the issue. She'll need to understand it's source, and work from there."

"Indeed. But the thief has already told you: the reason he committed his crime was because he needed to feed his family."

"But surely there must be a reason why he was so poor in the first place! For him to resort to thievery while knowing the risk means that he has tried other things. What if the underlying cause is that the district he comes from doesn't have enough jobs, or that a drought is approaching and food is growing too expensive to afford?"

Barbatos nods encouragingly, forcing a smile to his face. "Very good, my lady. Those would be true underlying causes, but should you wish to eliminate them, you would need a means of doing so. Let us say, in this specific example, that the reason the thief was unable to afford food was because he could not get a job. In his district, he is among many others who are out of work, and this issue is spreading. What do you do?"

You pause, turning the butler's question over in your mind. What would you do? The answer that comes to you is hesitant, but it's the best you can think of: "I would ask Diavolo to start a project that requires workers. Perhaps a construction project? Something located near the district in question, so that it can employ those without jobs as construction workers, but also something that can continue to create jobs for them when the project is complete."

"Can you think of any specific examples of what might serve as a useful building to be built?" Barbatos asks, eyebrows raised. Even when you shake your head and tell him no, the somewhat impressed look never fades from his face. "Regardless. That plan wasn't entirely awful, my lady."

He chuckles, and you have to physically stop yourself from pouting at his words. You're certain he saw the millisecond where your lower lip jutted out, because when he next turns to you, his eyes are filled with mirth. The demon grins. "You may be more ready to be a queen than I thought."

The remainder of the hour passes by quickly. Barbatos continues to provide you morally questionable scenarios and you try your hardest to distinguish right from wrong, the two of you working together to brainstorm creative alternatives to conventional punishments.

By the time the demon is telling you to rise from your throne, you've almost forgotten the initial purpose of the exercise—but your attempt to stand brings the crushing realization crashing back to you.

"I cannot."

Barbatos blinks, raising his eyebrows. "Pardon, my lady?"

"I cannot," You repeat, a blush creeping onto your cheeks as you glance away. "Rise, I mean. From the throne. I cannot."

Barbatos stares at you in puzzlement, evidently not having expected this of all things. "My lady..." He begins, his words coming out slowly. "Do you mean to tell me that you actually allowed your legs to go numb while sitting on this throne?"

A meek nod.

"Goodness," Barbatos mutters, closing his eyes in exasperation. "I take back all my compliments for the day. You are a bigger fool than I had ever imagined."

You stare at your feet, trying not to wonder how you hadn't realized earlier that there's no feeling in anything lower than your back. It's a moment before you break the silence. "So...what now?"

"What do you think, my lady?" Barbatos walks over to you, scowling profusely as he offers his hand. "Hold on to me," He mutters.

Hesitantly, you palm your hand into his—and then his other hand has snaked around your body, lifting to your feet as you awkwardly stumble on your legs. "Relax," He says quietly when your first flailing attempts to find your footing fail. "I will not let go, my lady."

His words have a calming effect, and he grips your upper body tight enough for you to stabilize your legs, hissing as the feeling begins to creep back into your body.

"Help!" You exclaim when you lose your balance, and instantly Barbatos is bending his knees with you, wrapping a hand around your waist as he steadies you once more. Against your will, you begin to hear the familiar thump of your heart as it beats faster and faster when he quietly tells you to calm down, to take your time in regaining stability on your feet.

You're hesitant, unsure of what to do other than cling to Barbatos as he supports you. This is entirely uncharted territory for you, unfamiliar in every regard! You've never been allowed to get this close to a man. Your parents had explicitly forbidden it! Yet still, there's nothing you can do to tame the fast beating of your heart or the blush that spreads across your cheeks like wildfire, your only mercy being the fact that Barbatos is looking away from you as he continues to hold you.

"Barbatos?" You ask, once you're confident that your voice will not betray you.

"What?" He responds swiftly, and you're certain that he means for the word to come across as irritated, but his voice is soft. It's strange, you can't help but think. For the first time today, his grip is gentle as he holds you in place—a stark contrast to the rough pace at which he had worked when dressing you this morning.

"Thank you," You murmur.

And as he whispers a quiet "You're welcome," you don't need to look up to know that there's a shyness in his expression, both of you suddenly pink with embarrassment at the undeniable intimacy of the moment.

It's quite lovely, you can't help but think.

For the third time since meeting him, a genuine smile forms upon your lips as you stare at the ground. You are unfamiliar in the language of affection, always kept far from anyone who might taint your pearly innocence—but there is no denying the strange feeling in your heart.

Thump thump, it beats, but not with fear as it had yesterday.

The rhythm is slower, steadier, gentler.

You smile, exhaling lightly as you bring the hand clutching Barbatos's shoulder down to his chest. Indeed, it's not just you: under your touch, his heart accelerates as well.

Thump thump, you feel in his chest, and you hear the same sound your ears.

You gasp lightly, eyes round in wonder as you strain your ears and feel your hand tremble, listening and feeling the sound of your hearts.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

They beat in unison.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 8.7k

Part 1 | Part 2 | ✔

Notes: The sheer amount of times I had to rewrite this is insane >.> i have three other drafts all over 5k because i could not decide how to characterize our favorite butler T^T Also part 2 is going to be hella angsty, just a heads up ;)

Comment & Like

Next Update: 5/31/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

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herradhighpriestess · 3 years

Text

Deliberate Exchange

Summary: Elka Green is at work the morning the Exchange. She is one of the hostages pulled onto the motorcycles and not released. Elka is married to a conservative judge, in a loveless marriage, there's all sorts of drugs, sex and violence and political references/quotes that could offend, I hope you enjoy, xoxo I don't own any of these characters etc.

Chapter One: A Personal Note

Elka Green climbed the steps of the Exchange building, her eighteen hundred-dollar Gucci heels sounded in staccato clicks on the pitted and well traversed steps of the Exchange.

She tossed her hair back and adjusted the silk scarf that was loosely wrapped around her slim neck. Elka’s dark blonde hair fell long past her shoulders.

A sharp breeze blew in her direction, and a single tendril of her macadamia nut oiled hair caught in the loose knot of her scarf. As the wind died down, the single strand of warm blonde hair pulled free of her scalp and settled in the silken valleys of the designer fabric.

Elka paused at the top of the steps when she heard someone call her name.

“Elka, hey Elka!”

She forced her lips into a welcoming smile as Jerry Reynolds jogged over to her.

“Hey Elka, how was your weekend?”

“Good morning Jerry, it was pleasant. Thank you for asking.”

Jerry ran a manicured hand through his seventy-five-dollar haircut. Elka started walking again and kept her matte lipstick smile fixed in place as she headed in the direction of an organic coffee cart.

Jerry kept pace and prattled on about his weekend, completely oblivious to Elka’s disinterest. She struggled to not roll her eyes as Jerry rattled off story after adventure about his wild weekend.

Elka’s smile turned genuine when Albert Phinney pressed a white lid on a recycled paper cup and passed it to her as she walked up. “Good morning Mrs. Green, I hope your weekend was well,” he added as she accepted the hot cup from his hands.

Albert watched her intently as she took a sip of the steaming soy concoction. She smiled warmly when the sweet espresso flooded her mouth and coated her taste buds.

“Today, it’s a soy hazelnut macchiato with a dusting of cinnamon and nutmeg.”

Elka took another sip as Albert whispered that he had added some light agave syrup. Monday through Friday, Albert made Elka a mystery espresso. It was a tradition that had started more than seven years prior and showed no signs of stopping unless one of them ceased to live.

It had been Elka’s first day at the Exchange, she had started on the lowest part of the totem, barely clinging to its wooden splinters. She had been obscenely early for her first day, not many people had been around. Albert had been brewing coffee and unwrapping and arranging sweet pastries and Bavarian cream filled delicacies onto plastic platters.

Elka had straightened the stiff collar of her stark white blouse and pinstriped blazer as she approached Albert’s coffee cart. He had offered her a warm smile and didn’t tell her that he wasn’t quite set up for business yet when he saw her nerves peeking out from behind her statuesque and stoic facade.

Elka stood a little over 5’8 and in her Jimmy’s, she came in just a hair under six feet. Albert’s smile broadened when Elka couldn’t decide on a coffee and held up a wrinkled, liver-spotted hand to pause her indecisive litany.

“Allow me to make you a drink not on the menu,” he had whispered in a low conspiratorial tone and bustled about steaming soy milk and adding an amber colored sweet syrup.

Elka had smiled gratefully and accepted that first drink which started the long-running weekly tradition of Albert creating her morning coffee. She always abstained from one of the tempting and delicious looking buttery pastries. Every great once in a while, Albert would top one of her morning espressos with whipped cream and fat light-brown raw sugar crystals.

Elka put a few dollars in the battered paper tip cup and headed to the large revolving doors of the Exchange with Jerry hot on her highfalutin shiny, leather heels.

Elka breathed a sigh of relief when Jerry said he’d catch up with her later and hopped into an already packed elevator to head to the bustling seventh floor. She casually waved at him and continued in her preferred solitary fashion of the carpeted floor of the Exchange.

She sipped at her macchiato and reveled in the sweet coffee as she readied her mind for the day.

Elka was Mrs. Elka Alsina Green. Married just under four years to Justice Calvin Patrick Green of the Supreme Court.

They had met when Elka had been a key witness in a defense case against a legal firm CEO caught up in a masterful Ponzi Scheme. Judge Green had waited until the verdict had come in and had slammed his gavel down before asking her out for dinner.

In their short marriage, Elka’s bullish behavior and competitive drive led to her being promoted to her current position of an Information Systems Analyst Supervisor. Her intense focus at the Exchange led to people loving or hating her, unfortunately Jerry was head over heels for her, smitten beyond belief, despite Elka’s multiple reminders of her marriage.

She hadn’t wanted to hurt his feelings by adding that she held zero attraction towards him.

Elka swirled the coffee in the dull green paper cup as she stalked through the Exchange and paused to say hello or offer a few passing words to several colleagues. After she finished the coffee, she fished a pack of gum from her burgundy Louis Vuitton bag. Soon the sweet and artificial peppermint coated her tongue and chased away her coffee breath.

Elka adjusted the shiny plastic badge over her heart as a familiar and delightful nervous energy filled her body, leaving a vast tingling in its wake that danced through her limbs as she waited for the opening bell to ring.

As Elka’s heartbeat increased and she snapped her gum faster, Jerry had remained at the Exchange entrance and looked down at the older man running a stiff bristled brush over the tops of his shoes.

Jerry could nearly see his reflection in the buffed surface of his shoes.

“You can’t short the stock because Bruce Wayne goes to a party,” Jerry said loudly to the man sitting next to him. The man whose name Elka couldn’t seem to remember. Dennis.

“Wayne coming back is change. Change is either good or bad. I vote bad.” The man who Jerry was looking down upon in his current sitting position as well as in life was a very loyal man with five grown daughters. Esau pretended to be every part the simple-minded man who was shining the shoes of the pretentious, all in hopes for a few crisp bills and shiny coins to rain down around him.

Esau continued to work the brush over the tops of Jerry’s gleaming shoes, urging a glow to swim to the surface. As Jerry and Dennis continued to discuss Bruce Wayne, Esau let his eyes wander over to his black nondescript backpack which held a loaded automatic weapon.

“On what basis?” Dennis asked.

“I flipped a coin,” Jerry answered casually before adding. “Come on let’s go scalping,” he said as he tossed a fresh five-dollar bill to land next to Esau‘s leg.

Esau watched Jerry adjust and smooth down his royal purple tie that stood out proudly against his bright blue and white striped shirt.

While Elka covered a deep yawn, Scott Carthwright pulled a creased ten dollar bill out of his pocket when the delivery guy from Antonio’s, a stellar delicatessen, walked up with a brown paper bag.

Scott opened the bag and pulled out the parchment wrapped sandwich that was supposed to be a mortadella on wheat with a fat pile of pungent pepperoncini and thick rings of Vidalia onion. He was looking forward to the olive oil and balsamic dressing that would soak the bread and impregnate it with the progeny of sweet, bitter, spicy, and savory. Scott let out a dramatic exasperated sigh and looked at the delivery guy who sported sharp features and a hooked nose. “It says rye, I said no rye man.”

The salt and pepper haired delivery man, Joshua, flicked his eyes over to the clock before his gaze landed on Scott’s plastic badge and ID number, G13689.

While Scott continued to bitch about his sandwich, on the marble landing of the carved staircase, Karl pushed a wooden handled mop along the floor after a pair of traders walked past. His beige monochromatic clothing made him almost disappear in the sea of ostentatious bustling busybodies with their platinum money clips, excessive caffeine consumption and high blood pressure.

Karl glanced down at his sunny yellow mop bucket filled with sudsy water.

Submerged in the soapy water was a matching automatic weapon to Esau’s, which laid in deadly dormancy, waiting to take lives.

Elka glanced up at the large clock and made her way to her glass-walled corner office, which was sprawling and spacious, she smiled at the fresh peonies her secretary Janice had left on the corner of her desk.

No sooner had Elka taken her seat and booted up her computer, when her life changed irreparably by a masked man in a leather jacket.

The metal detectors began to blare their alarms as Bane walked into the lobby of the Exchange, armed guards milled about with their federally issued .40 caliber handguns.

Bane’s broad shoulders were encased in a well-worn and creased leather jacket. DCS Downtown Courier Service, was emblazoned across the back in dull brick red letters.

Bane’s thick and heavily corded muscular neck and body were obscured by the fire engine red helmet that drew the attention of Sandra, a full-time member of the Exchange’s security team.

Sandra approached Bane and began to recite her repetitive litany for newcomers to the Exchange.

Her dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail and she struggled to not roll her eyes in irritation at yet another person not being able to read the sign that clearly stated to remove all headwear, from hat to motorcycle helmet.

“Hey rookie, lose the helmet. We need faces for camera.”

“Come on,” Sandra managed before the red helmet was off Bane’s head and smashing into her face. The bridge of her nose exploded, and she saw bright blue stars before losing consciousness.

She would awake in a narrow emergency room gurney a while later, a plastic IV line in one arm, keeping the pain down to a dull roar.

In a brutal display of startling power, Bane moved to the right and swung the helmet in an arc, catching another guard in his forward momentum. He dodged left and avoided the next man’s reaching arm and gun. Bane slipped around the man’s extended arm and forced him to discharge his weapon before dropping him to the ground.

Bane looked around at the fallen guards, his veins and arteries swelled and became engorged with lethal toxicity. His body moved with the feral grace of felines stalking in the tall brush of the Serengeti.

“This is a stock exchange, there’s no money you can steal,” Jerry said in a tone that still held the repugnant tone of his obnoxious silver-spooned upbringing.

“Really? Then why are you people here?” Bane rebutted quickly and pulled Jerry roughly by the neck to a nearby desk. Bane slammed Jerry’s soft featured face onto the desk’s paper cluttered surface and ripped the plastic access badge from his chest.

Dennis tried to sink into his seat and disappear off of Bane’s radar, his sweating fingers struggled to not drop Bane’s red motorcycle helmet onto the ground. He felt like he was going to piss his pants, sphincter tightening. His stomach threatened to reject his liquid latte breakfast, acidic bile burned at the back of his throat.

While the metal detectors continued to blare their alarms as the masked group of men stormed the lobby. The masked men were all heavily armed and swarmed the offices and took up post by the elevators.

One of the men sprayed a line of bullets in the ceiling and the abrupt gunfire quieted a lot of screams.

Another anonymous man lifted a bullhorn to his masked mouth and began to speak. His voice reverberated through the lobby and reached Elka’s ears as she crawled under her desk and hugged her knees to her chest, through the glass walls, Elka could see that Janice had taken the same position under her own desk.

“Disobedience will be punished by death,” the masked man began and in a brutal display of startling power, grabbed one of the crying interns who was wailing incessantly and pulled her to her feet. He swung the bullhorn in an arc, catching the crying woman in mid-sob and knocking her unconscious to the floor.

“Cooperation and silence are what will allow you to retain your life.” Elka peeked around the corner of her desk as the masked man looked around at the people shaking in fear, the veins and arteries in his muscular neck swelled and became engorged with lethal toxicity. His body moved with the feral grace of felines stalking their unsuspecting prey in the tall brush.

Elka ducked back under her desk as the man’s gaze took to sweeping across the faces of the scared men and women standing in trembling huddles. They were corralled by their own fear, nearly paralyzed with the thought that the next bullet fired was going to kiss them between their shoulder blades.

Elka took a sharp intake of breath and nearly felt the weight of the masked terrorist’s eyes pass over where she was hidden from view. She flinched when she heard his voice grow in volume as he moved down the hallway, his men had spread out and were dragging people from their offices and impromptu hiding spots.

Elka pressed her lips together and inhaled deeply through her nose, she tried to remember all the jargon her yoga instructor spouted about finding a place of calm and being able to breathe away anxiety. She closed her eyes; her heartbeat was pounding in her ears with a dull roar and she couldn’t shake the image of the masked man. A short film on perpetual repeat, danced behind her eyelids of his predatory stalking around the Exchange floor, his eyes found every weakness among the hostage masses, from their red blood cells to their very warm, wet core.

Elka risked another peek around her desk just as the armed man did another visual sweep. His eyes landed on Elka when her face appeared around the mahogany desk. Elka found herself unable to move, trapped under his warm caramel colored eyes.

As the dangerous man approached her with light footfalls despite his heavy boots, he watched her expression fill with fear. He smiled behind his mask as he closed the distance between them, walking towards her with deliberate and painful slowness.

He stopped in front of her, “stand up,” he ordered and pointed to the floor in front of him. He watched her struggle to stand and found he barely had to drop his eyes to return her wide-eyed stare. His eyes fell to her plastic badge indicating her supervisorial capacity.

The next few moments were a blur for Elka, she was startled back to reality by the feel of his massive hand enclose around her bicep.

From the closeness of his proximity, his voice caused her stomach to clench and her mouth went dry.

“How much longer does the program need?” the intricate metal asked man asked Esau, with his eyes completely trained on Elka and the rapid and rise and fall of her chest.

“Eight minutes but they cut the fiber, cells working,” Esau said as he watched the progress of the computer program weave its way into the monetary network.

She flinched when she heard his voice call again to the man that had until not too long ago, shining shoes.

“Time to go mobile,” sounded the masked man’s musically toned voice as he closed a large hand around her upper arm. From the closeness of his proximity, his voice caused her stomach to clench and her mouth went dry.

The next few moments were a blur for Elka, she was startled back to reality by the feel of his massive hand yank her around by her bicep.

Elka heard the shouting of the masked man’s counterparts and fresh gunfire erupted as she was pulled towards the exit doors of the Exchange.

“Everybody up!” a deep male voice shouted and was followed up by a spray of bullets. Some hit yielding flesh with a meaty smack.

“You two, move.”

Bane paused in front of Dennis and pulled at the red helmet that he was clutching like newborn stock options.

“Thank you,” Bane said in a haunting and melodic tone as he pulled the helmet from Dennis’s sweating hands.

Elka seemed to wake up as the physically imposing man pulled her towards a line of waiting motorcycles.

She began a futile attempt to pull free of his grasp.

He didn’t audibly respond to her feeble attempt at resistance, instead he tightened his grip until he forced a hiss of pain from her lips and yanked her towards the closest bike.

Bane didn’t relinquish his stranglehold on Elka’s arm, even as he swung his leg over the bike and settled on the padded seat. He spared a glance at Elka before he pulled her to perch in front of him.

Her fears were renewed when he started the bike’s engine and began to let it idle as the other men with him gathered the remaining hostages at the exit doors and got on the bikes as they gunned the engines to life.

Outside, SWAT and police milled about and argued about the best approach to the terrorists.

Foley and Blake had their firearms leveled at the Exchange as one of the rooftop snipers squinted and called out. “I’ve got something.”

“Steady….” Foley called.

“Steady.”

The hostages started down the steps of the Exchange and the security chief shouted over the growing Gotham Police Department’s adrenaline buzz.

“Hold your fire, they’ve got hostages.”

In the midst of the shouting, Elka tried to slide out of Bane’s grasp, she almost squealed with victory when the toe of her shoe hit the ground. Her joy was fleeting as Bane wrapped a powerful arm around her and pulled her back until she was flush against his chest. She was forced to shift her body until the smooth, metal gas tank was cool against the inside of her trembling thighs.

As Bane and his men tore through the city on their motorcycles, they dropped their hostages one at a time.

The police force erupted in chaos and officers tried left and right for a clean shot at any and all of the terrorists, while trying desperately to avoid the innocents.

Some of the unlucky guys and gals landed poorly and Gotham’s emergency room had a slew of broken wrists and ankles to grit-filled road rash.

The original objective had been to take temporary hostages in order to ensure a safe escape from the Exchange.

As Bane urged the bike’s speedometer higher, Elka squeezed her eyes shut.

Bane kept his grip on her strong and unyielding, through the razor thin vents of his mask, he could detect the sensual aroma of a high-end parfum, sold only in overpriced blue glass bottles.

The fragrance held the sweet and citrus undertones of rosehips and bergamot.

Bane inhaled a lungful of the subtle fragrance as he continued to maneuver the motorcycle through the city.

As he steered them further from the Exchange, Elka began to fall still under her body’s shock response.

“Where are you taking me?”

Bane was genuinely surprised when Elka’s voice sounded above the wind rushing past them. He responded immediately and without delay as soon as her last spoken syllable had tumbled from her lips.

His single word response caused her vocal cords to temporarily cease to function.

“Home.”

#tdkr #The Dark Knight Rises #Bane x OC #Bane #abdu #grey consent #violence #murder #Selina Kyle #blake #gordon #batman #Bruce Wayne #poltical hot topics #smoking #drinking #so much offensive

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