Summary: You were Susan's best friend who had told you the stories of Narnia from their first visit. Whenever you heard them, you felt a sense of belonging which you'd never felt here. So when you get inducted in with them and meet a charming Prince and buried secrets come out in the open, will you finally feel like you belong?
A/N: repost of my own // will be posted on the dates at 3pm ET hope you like it Xx
A/N: I just finished writing this and it's my first attempt at imagines. It's also not proofread and English is not my first language. please be nice thanks :))
summary: You wake up in nat's room after recovering from your hungover and decide to enjoy the morning.
pairing: Natasha x avenger!reader
warnings: no warnings
You yawned and stretched. Your eyes were still not used to the brightness in your room so you tried to rub the sleepiness away. When your eyes adjusted you took in your surroundings. You were laying in your bed. No, actually that wasn't right. It wasn't yours, it was someone else's.
You looked at the walls and noticed how there were no decorations like in your room. And then it hit you: it was Natasha's room you were in but you couldn't remember how you got there.
Not really thinking about it you got out of bed and changed. You went to the common room to find Natasha standing in the kitchen and picking something from the fridge. Her back was facing you and your thoughts wandered as your eyes took her in. She was wearing a tight black top that showed off her back and grey shorts. Her hair was still a little messy since she might have just woken up like you, you thought. You completely dozed off and you didn't realize that she was talking to you.
"Sorry, what did you say again?" You couldn't see it but she smiled to herself knowing where your mind was.
"I was asking about how you slept and if you wanted coffee." She turned, now facing you.
"Uh, I slept good, I guess and a coffee would be great, thanks." You made your way to the table and sat down while Natasha was preparing your two cups and starting the machine. The coffee started flowing into the cups. As it was finished Natasha took them and joined you.
She sat down next to you and placed your cup before you and began to drink her own.
"How did you sleep, Natasha?" She placed the cup down and chuckled.
"Well, not that much. My couch isn't as comfortable asy bed." You blushed, remembering were you woke up in and realizing you two didn't sleep in one bed. That would've probably killed you. You know you had a crush on her but sleeping in her room was enough for you already.
"If you don't mind me asking, um- how did I end up in your bed?"
"You don't remember? Tony had decided to spontaneously throw a party last night and some stupid guy persuaded you to drink a few glasses with him. You ended up getting a little tipsy and by a little I mean you were completely drunk." She chuckled and looked at you.
"Oh no, did I do something embarrassing?" You asked hiding your face in your hands.
"No, don't worry you actually just clarified a few things and helped me with a problem. So, thank you."
"And what was the problem I unknowingly helped you with?" Looking through your fingers because you got curious.
"Now, that you would want to know, wouldn't you?" She smirked and continued drinking her coffee.
Summary: The Bangtan boys one night encounter a woman that looks exactly like the animation ARMY from "Magic Door" and "Dream ON." What if it's not a coincidence? What if it's actually the female from the animation video? Except she needs their help... she needs to go back into her universe before it falls apart. BTS agree to do anything to help, but what happens if they all start to fall in love with her? What do they do when... when it's time to say goodbye?
“Yah, are you children ready yet?!” Seokjin yelled out with a frown while banging on Hoseok and Jimin’s door, Namjoon was banging on Taehyung’s.
You, Yoongi, and Jungkook were waiting patiently in the living room watching the two older members bang on the door in sync. Soon, Taehyung came out of his room wearing the most Gucci outfit ever making Seokjin slap his forehead.
The fashion king was practically sparkling, definitely an eye-catching outfit that will turn heads. “No, no, no, no, no… go change into a more casual and less sparkly Gucci outfit,” Seokjin scowled, grabbing Taehyung’s hand to drag him to the wardrobe and pick out an outfit for him.
“But… I only have Gucci!” Taehyung whined slightly, not fighting the oldest on the way to their closet.
You couldn’t help but smile at the interaction, getting up to get a water bottle from the fridge. Opening it up once you sat back down next to Yoongi on the couch.
It wasn’t until two figures that finally arrived at the living room before posing did you spit out the water in surprise, having a coughing fit as Yoongi gently patted your back, though even he was slightly shocked at what he was seeing.
All of you couldn’t help it as laughter bubbled out of each one of you, Jimin and Hoseok posing in different styles while doing runway walk.
“What… what the hell are you both wearing?” Namjoon asked through his laughter, clutching his sides, and trying to get oxygen in his lungs.
Jimin and Hoseok were both sporting costumes as if they were going to go trick or treating on a Halloween night. Hoseok was wearing a female wig, lovely dress, flats, makeup, and jewelry. While Jimin sported sunglasses, with a formal outfit, overcoat, and fake mustache.
Oh god… you couldn’t breathe as you laughed right off the couch making the two members smile widen. “I think Y/N likes it!” Jimin shouted out with a cheeky smile.
Not even a second later, a gasp was heard behind them as Seokjin eyes widen before bursting out laughter. Taehyung smiled wide seeing the outfit Jimin and Hoseok was wearing.
“Manager Sejin said we needed to dress in disguise and not flashy, so…” Hoseok said excitedly, spinning in the dress as it flows freely.
Seokjin laughed for a long while before getting serious really quick, ordering the two to change as they whined about going into normal clothes and not their awesome disguise. Eventually, all of you were dressed and ready. Each sporting hats, sunglasses, and non-flashy clothes.
You and the members sneaked around the whole building to avoid people that would recognize them or paparazzi that secretly were hiding. Finally, everyone made it to the cars down in the parking lot.
“Should we all squeeze into one vehicle or go in two separate cars?” Namjoon asked with a frown, studying his members cars.
Seokjin dangled keys in his hand, “We’re going in one car, you will all just need to find a way to squeeze in,” He said while walking to his car as you followed closely behind as the members grumbled to themselves.
The oldest member was driving, so it was up to the rest of you to fight on who’s going to get the front seat. You all had intense expressions, standing in a circle, narrowing your eyes when the members started to raise their clenched fist. It was like the wild west about to have a gun fight.
“Rock, paper, scissors!” You all shouted at the same time.
Few minutes later, you were smiling brightly in triumph as you buckled your seatbelt into the passengers side. Groans could be heard in the backseat making you turn around to see the six members squished together.
Yoongi was seating on Taehyung’s lap, squirming like a cat trying to get away as the fashion king hugged him affectionally. While Jimin sat on Jungkook’s lap, running his fingers through the youngest hair while smiling devilishly making the maknae frown before he pushed Jimin onto Namjoon’s lap and off his own. The leader of the group rolled his eyes when met with a smirking Jimin as he wiggled both eyebrows.
You and Seokjin couldn’t help but laugh at their situation, knowing all the members were glaring at them now.
“We should’ve gone in separate cars…” Namjoon mumbled, seeing Jimin give him a heart with his fingers and giving out a wink before snickering.
The drive to the mall felt long, but in actuality it wasn’t. Your eyes sparkled with curiosity at many beautiful sights and buildings you passed by this city was amazing. When Seokjin found a parking spot, not even seconds later were the members in the back jumping out of the car and stretching their poor limps.
“Great idea, let’s all squeeze into one car, let’s all not take separate cars, and while we’re on the topic—” Yoongi was sarcastically saying, stretching his legs and arms only to be interrupted as you run towards the mall making his eyes widen.
“Hey! Wait!” Yoongi yelled out, shaking his head with a whine before running to chase you down as all the members followed in a hurry to catch up.
It wasn’t until they reached inside did the pant to catch their breath. “Oh man… holy shit. She’s fast!” Jimin mumbled, not even their golden maknae could get to her in time before she ran into the mall.
Every member looked around, not seeing you anywhere making them panic. “Okay… don’t panic… oh god, I’m panicking!!! Split up!!” Hoseok yelled out as Jimin ran with him to one side of the mall. Seokjin taking Taehyung, while Namjoon took Jungkook, and Yoongi ran off on his own to search for you.
Meanwhile, you were standing cheerily on the escalator to go on the second floor, not realizing everyone was running around to look for you.
You walked around each store with a smile on your face, the mood you were in affected everyone around somehow as they smiled and waved at you politely.
Every time you go into one store, the members end up passing by too late. It was like Scooby-doo running away from monsters through doors in a chase, until after an hour it was Yoongi who found you staring at a big piano in the music store.
“There you are! Shit, we have been looking everywhere for you!” Yoongi almost shouted in the store, flicking your forehead gently as you pouted, rubbing the area, and giving an apologetic smile.
He sent a quick group text to the rest of the guys, almost immediately getting replies as they started ask questions. Yoongi just sent them on a location, you both will meet them at before turning towards you to see your eyes sparkle at the instrument.
Your fingers gently tracing the smooth keys, it made him slightly smile seeing your smile widen at something you liked. “Done? We still need to go shopping for you,” Yoongi said, your eyes longing on the instrument before nodding.
However, Yoongi didn’t except for you to grab his hand to hold. His eyes widening in shock as you hummed to yourself innocently, pulling him outside of the store. Shaking off his embarrassment, Yoongi gripped your hand tightly and dragged you towards the location where you both were supposed to meet the members.
When arriving, you didn’t have time to react before you were tackled to the floor by six men. You had let out a yelp, releasing Yoongi’s hand so he didn’t fall with you. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at you all in amusement, continuing their shopping with a shake of their head.
“We were worried sick!” Seokjin scolded, but it didn’t quiet reach his eyes.
“Yeah! You’re pretty fast! What if Yoongi-hyung didn’t find you? We would have lost you,” Jungkook pouted, slight tears forming into his eyes.
“Never run off like that again! What if something happened and we weren’t there to protect you!” Namjoon said with a stern expression.
“I almost had a heart attack, don’t ever do that to me again!” Hoseok whined out while giving you puppy dog eyes.
“You should always have one of us accompany you until your adjusted living here,” Taehyung said with a slight frown.
“Thank goodness, your okay! Still looking lovely! Now… why were you and Yoongi-hyung holding hands, hmm?” Jimin teased you and Yoongi, making the male roll his eyes.
Eventually, you needed to breathe, having their weight on top was suffocating. Your hands pushing against them as each of them got to their feet, Taehyung holding out a hand for you to stand up. They instantly forgave you when you gave out apologetic eyes with a sheepish smile.
“Okay, we should go find a store you like!” Hoseok shouted out excitedly, linking his arms with yours to pull you along.
You didn’t want much, in fact, if you had a choice, it would have been not to get anything at all. Though each member insisted, pushing you into a store that you stared at more than five seconds and having the female employers help you pick out outfits that were your personality.
The seven were surprised when finding out your choice of outfits were casual and each of their style. It was after they found another store did you finally put your foot down, shaking your head with a slight frown and pointing at the exit. You didn’t want them to spend their money on you like this, you were fine with the clothes they got you already.
After some stubborn arguing and furious waving arms on your part, they finally agreed to leave. The members going back to the car and groaning when they remembered the sitting positions before putting all the bags into the trunk of the car.
It was a while, until all of you got back and Manager Sejin was true on his word to send a doctor to check you out from the voice. The doctor was sworn to secrecy about you living with the Bangtan boys, but even she was confused on why you couldn’t speak since your vocal cords were perfectly healthy.
The answer you got made you deflate a little, only to perk back up when she said there was still hope for your voice to come back. Giving some advice before taking her leave with a polity smile at all of you.
Your eyebrows furrowing in thought, if your vocal cords were healthy then… what’s keeping you from speaking?
Hope you enjoyed the sixth chapter of Keys to the Magic Door!
Baji Keisuke probably lines candles outside your house that spelled ‘I’m sorry’ when he fucked up and is trying to apologize. Oh he also lit every one candle he placed down so all candles end up melting unevenly and everything looks ugly. Still a very cute gesture of him though <3
#he had Chifuyu help him #and they’re just so loud #your neighbors probably yelled at them #and baji yelled back #durakenchin | crumbs #baji keisuke x reader #keisuke baji x reader #baji keisuke#keisuke baji
➵ i do both nsfw & sfw (series, oneshots and headcannons)
➵ if you send in a request and i haven’t responded, don’t worry. i most likely have it, i just have other stuff i’m working on. i will reply once i’ve completed your request! (your request will most likely be added here for future pruposes in a few days time)
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captivating | k.a (requested)
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similarities | k.a (requested)
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(kuboyasu finds someone similar to him)
diffidant | k.a (requested)
➵ ➵ coming soon!
(kuboyasu with a shy s/o)
➵ the tumblr divider i’ve used above are from @oldwebrulez
➵ i do both nsfw & sfw (series, oneshots and headcannons)
➵ if you send in a request and i haven’t responded, don’t worry. i most likely have it, i just have other stuff i’m working on. i will reply once i’ve completed your request! (your request will most likely be added here for future pruposes in a few days time)
➵ if you think tumblr ate up your request and are unsure if it went through, you are more than welcome to send your request again. i don’t mind!
➵ like my stuff? consider buying me a coffee jelly, (no pressure, though ^^)
➶ one shots:
sulit | k.s (requested)
➵ ➵ coming soon!
(kaidou/child hood! friend (nsfw))
poor time management skills | k.s (requested)
➵ ➵ coming soon!
(kaidou with a significant other who’s a part of the student council)
➵ the tumblr divider i’ve used above are from @togeside
Hi lovelies, here is part 4. As announced earlier, the story won’t have 4 but 5 parts, so this is not the last part 🖤 Also, I got inspired by a scene of Pride & Prejudice for this part 😏
I hope you enjoy - Love, Kiki 🖤
Pairing: Helmut Zemo x fem!reader (but else there are no descriptions of the reader’s appearance)
Summary: London, 1813. There is new evidence that Hydra - the secret organization that murdered your family - has taken root in Sokovia, under the reign of Baron Helmut Zemo and his court. The ball season has begun, Baron Zemo is visiting London to strengthen diplomatic relationships and gain new allies, and Sokovia is still lacking a Baroness. You, warden of Tony Stark, are the last chance to end Hydra without risking a war and find out if Baron Zemo is really involved in Hydra’s schemes. So, there’s only one thing left for you to do: woo the Baron, gain his hand in marriage, become his Baroness - and bring Hydra and the Sokovian court to its knees.
Word count: 10 k
Warnings: SMUT (so 18+ ONLY!), unprotected sex (this is fiction - please stay safe in real life and use a condom!), angst (but not much, I promise!), mentions of blood
READ PART 1 , PART 2 & PART 3 HERE 🥰
Part 4: A Mouse Among A Court Of Beasts
3rd August, 1813
“Your Majesty”, you greeted, sinking into a deep, reverent curtsy before the Queen commanded, “The letter you wrote me was the reason I summoned you today. Get back up, Baroness. We have a lot to discuss.”
Baroness. The barely contained mock in the Queen’s voice when she called you by your new title didn’t escape your notice. Your fists, buried in the opulent skirts of your gown at your sides, curled tighter.
“So, tell me, little spy”, the Queen crooned with a dangerous glint in her eyes, a smile playing on her rouged face, “Tell me what you found in Sokovia.” It felt as if War personally stood behind her like a puppeteer, pulling her strings with blood-caked hands, making the proud woman with the heavy golden crown dance to its violent whims. “Tell me everything, every last secret the Baron hides behind the walls of his palace.” There was a spark of greed in the dangerous depths of her dark eyes.
You stood a little taller, careful to school your face into the mask of cold complacency you’d become so accustomed to wear, like a pair of shoes you knew would carry you everywhere.
Voice steady and listless, you lowered your eyes and obliged with another small bow. “As you wish, my Queen.”
One day before
A week had passed since you’d crossed the threshold of the gates leading to Stark Manor on Grosvenor Square, still dressed in the dirt-streaked woollen dress you’d thrown over in your haste to leave Zemo’s palace and Sokovia and your heart behind, broken and defeated, with a deep well of grief gaping where radiant happiness had resided only days ago. Since you had told Tony that you knew what he’d done all these years ago. That you would never be able to forgive him for the atrocity he had ordered to be committed, no matter the things he’d done for you. The blood of Zemo’s family could never be washed from his hands. The hurt which had crossed Tony’s face as you’d seethed these words at him had momentarily sent a pang of guilt through you – before it had been replaced with pictures of Zemo in your mind, desperately scouring the ashes of his home to search for the charred remains of his family, and the guilt had evolved into grim satisfaction.
A week since you had sent an urgent letter to the Queen. The official tale you’d told about the return of Sokovia’s Baroness to her former London home was a terrible homesickness to which you’d succumbed, leading you to a spontaneous visit back home. The tale you’d told in the letter you’d written to the Queen was your offering to share valuable information you’d gleaned during your stay in Sokovia at the side of a man you despised. Information which, as you’d alluded to, would tip the scales in an upcoming war to her favour.
Having sent the letter, it had taken less than two days until a messenger had turned up at the doorstep of Stark Manor, requesting your immediate presence at the palace to wait for the Queen, who would soon return from her summer palace in the countryside where she was currently residing. Thus, you’d been escorted to the palace as guest of honour, awaiting the Queen’s arrival and her summoning. The Baroness of Sokovia. The Queen’s pet spy.
Currently, you were pacing the extent of the guest quarters you were residing in – quarters fit for a queen herself with the gold-painted stucco adorning the walls, the heavy velvet drapes framing the wide glass doors leading to your own huge balcony with a view of the palace gardens sprawling beneath and the beautiful painting decorating the width of the high ceiling that spanned over your head. It was a paining of a girl drifting in a pond, her golden hair floating round her like a halo and her eyes trained heavenwards with a dreamy expression while little faerie sat on the white waterlilies afloat all around her. Oh, to be that girl forever floating in this green pond among the faerie and water lilies, brought to life by nothing but brushstrokes of swirling colours. With her heart of paint, she would never have to endure the numbing emptiness of losing the one she loved, the agonizing pain of a shattered heart beating away in the confines of her ribcage as if there were shards of glass lodged in her chest, a pain so physical it made the world around her blur in a veil of tears.
While you paced around these rooms like one of the poor beasts some nobles liked to keep in gilded cages in their gardens, you were clutching the letter so tightly in your fists that you feared the parchment would tear. The letter with the broken seal, the skull-headed octopus of Hydra glaring back at you from the crimson of the dried wax like an omen of death.
Having discovered it on the ship which had brought you back to London, you had read this letter so often in the past few days since your arrival that you’d already internalized the words. The black words had engraved themselves into your mind like burn marks. And still, even with the evidence you’d been searching for finally resting in your trembling grasp, wrinkled with the repeated folding and unfolding by your fingers, it didn’t feel real. When your mind shouted at you that it was true, that the undeniable proof of Helmut Zemo’s involvement with Hydra was in your hands and you could finally take revenge for what they’d done to you and your family, the demons they’d locked into your soul to haunt you in the nights with the memories they conjured, your bruised and broken heart told you otherwise. No matter how this horrible piece of parchment had found its way into his locked desk – Helmut Zemo had nothing to do with Hydra. But the words where right there, on the crinkled parchment, strokes of black ink on yellowed paper which left no room for even the slightest sliver of doubt.
It is with greatest pride that we can announce the success of Project Winter Soldier. The vials will be ready soon, as will be your army. England will drown in a sea of their own blood.
With highest regards, Your loyal servant
W. von Strucker.
Blessed be Hydra.
It was what you’d so desperately searched for. This letter was what had woven your and Zemo’s paths together. It was only fitting that it should be the thing to tear you apart again. Having read these words for the first time, you had folded it, once, twice, and a third time, until it had been small enough for you to stuff it back into the confines of your corset, where it had been resting against your heartbeat ever since. A reminder of everything you’d accomplished, and everything you’d lost.
You’d stopped the pacing and instead come to stand in front of the grand fireplace with the gold-painted flowers carved into its smooth white stone, a small fire cackling happily inside its confines as if the heated summer air didn’t fill the room with its stuffiness already.
For a last time, you traced the nightmarish creature stamped into the wax seal with the tip of your index finger, let your nail scrape against the snaking tentacles. Tomorrow, the Queen would arrive and summon you to spill every last of Zemo’s secrets to her, desperate for the final proof that Sokovia needed to be fought; proof which she could present to her potential allies at the ball she would host in a few days. The letter in your hand was the most valuable evidence the Queen would ever get her hands on. Enough to incite the inferno of war. Enough to let you swing from the gallows should the Queen ever know that you’d once possessed it.
With a mirthless smile, you tossed the letter into the fireplace, watching as the flames claimed it, how their flickering tongues licked at the edges of the parchment. You watched the parchment curl and blacken and crumble in the ravenous flames. You watched the crimson of the wax and the little skull-headed octopus when it begun to melt in the heat of the fire, running like droplets of blood. You watched intently until the hungry flames had left nothing of the damning evidence but a heap of ashes.
Posing as the Queen’s pet spy was the best chance to glean any information to use as leverage against her. There was no way to turn back the cogs of time, to take back the lies you’d told and the hurt you’d caused the man you’d come to love more than anything else in this world. There was no way to rewrite the past – but there was a way to change the future. For now, you pushed back the thoughts of what you’d lost, the cruelty of finding the rarest kind of love, only to lose it again, to mourn your own future ahead of you – a future void of this love and instead filled with loss and grief over what could have been. You would never feel such happiness with another person, you knew. But even if the cost for these few weeks of happiness with Zemo would be to endure a hundred lifetimes of pain, you would gladly pay the price. And no matter where Helmut Zemo went, whether you would ever see him again, your heart would always belong to him.
Yes, all you could do now was to try everything in your power to give Zemo a future that wasn’t tarnished by the crimson fingerprints and screams of war, away from the reaper relentlessly swinging his bloody scythe on a battlefield, and hope the wounds the claws of your betrayal had slashed into his heart would heal with time to scars so faint he would forget they’d ever been there. Hope that he would find someone else to give his heart to. Someone who would protect it like their dearest belonging, instead of crushing it. Someone worthy of it. You would fight for Zemo, for his country, for the future you wished for him, no matter what it would cost you. How many tears could a person spill until the source ran dry? Would it ever? Or was this abyss of pain inside of your chest eternal, the blackness seeping out of it expanding until it wrapped around your soul and consumed you for good? There was nobody to blame but you.
No more tears. When this was over, you could succumb to that dark, empty void which had formed in your chest. For now, though, there was another lie to forge.
When the sun had sunken below the horizon and your maids had helped dress you for the night and left, your glance swept to the heap of ashes in the now cold fireplace. You couldn’t stop thinking about Zemo. About the look in his eyes when you’d ripped out his heart with your silent confession. I cannot lose the person I love most. Not again, he’d told you in your wedding night. It felt like a lifetime ago.
In the silence of your quarters, you could hear the soft pattering of rain against the windowpanes, announcing a thunderstorm had swept in as a short reprieve after all the blazing heat of summer in the last few days. Maybe a walk in the dead hours of night and through the cleansing rain would calm your raging mind enough to sleep for a few hours.
Thunder rumbled in the distance like an angry voice to disturb the silence of the night, and sheet lightning flashed across the sky to the west like a distant firework when you stepped into the warm, rain-filled air of the gardens. None of the guards watching every single way into and out of the palace had stopped you on your way. The rain was pouring from the starless night sky above you as if the skies were weeping, their tears warm and cleansing in the stuffy hot summer air. It was the first rain in weeks, and you were glad to have surrendered to the overwhelming urge to walk through this summer storm. A deep breath filled your lungs with the fresh fragrance of rain and grass and wet earth.
You threw a sideways glance at the marble statue beside you, a woman with flowing hair stepping out of a clam, her eyes unseeing, lips carved into an eternal serene smile. It was a carving of Aphrodite. The rain ran across her cheeks in rivulets like tears. Me too, Aphrodite, you thought bitterly, before you quickly moved along the gravelly path and ventured deeper into the maze of hedges and flowerbeds stretching before you like the Minotaur’s intricate labyrinth. You wouldn’t mind getting lost tonight, and there certainly were no beats lurking out here in the shadows of the night. No, all the monsters were slumbering peacefully in the palace. You needed to contemplate what exactly to tell the Queen when she summoned you tomorrow.
The robe you’d quickly thrown over your nightgown, made from heavy brocade with beautiful embroidery of colourful birds and exotic flowers that seemed to come alive against the dark background they were stitched onto, was already soaked, and your sodden hair was matted against your face when you’d followed the web of gravel paths to the pavilion at the edge of the palace gardens. Ivy and an explosion of pink roses were climbing up the wooden posts holding its arched roof, droplets of rain running over the soft petals to soak the earth beneath.
The pavilion reminded you of a lone guard standing watch over the huge gardens which were sprawling all around it, like a kingdom of its own. It was here that you’d struck your bargain with Zemo all those weeks ago, when the gardens had been transformed into the scene of a fairy tale. Now, with the lanterns and their golden glow gone from where they’d been woven into the branches of the old oak trees to leave only the pale moonlight between the drifting clouds to illuminate the garden, and the music replaced by the steady pitter-patter of the rain, the glittering facade had been washed away like rouge, the magic of this night stripped away to reveal the pale reality. Here, the orchestra had played the beautiful tunes Zemo had twirled you to across the parquet, all eyes trained on the two of you while you had sown the seeds for your revenge. The fairy king and his traitorous queen.
You hadn’t even noticed that your feet had carried you here until you’d taken the two wooden steps to seek refuge under the cover of the pavilion’s arched roof. You didn’t know how long you’d stood there, a soaked figure in the loneliness of the night, breathing in the smells on the warm, rain-cleansed night air when suddenly, a voice rung out from the darkness a few feet behind you and every muscle in your body tensed in response.
It was eerily quiet against the pattering raindrops on the pavilion’s roof, but you even would’ve recognized the warm, honeyed timbre of this voice against the roar of a thousand other voices, like a torchlight against the deepest night. You slowly turned around to face him, and the sight of him knocked the wind from your lungs.
His grey coat, sodden with rainwater, clung to his body; the white fur of the collar was soaked and rested limply against his shoulders. The chocolate colour of his hair had darkened a few shades, and rain was dripping from the wet strands pressed against his forehead to run down his face, the sharp of his cheekbones, in small rivulets that shimmered beneath the pale glow of the moon. He didn’t even seem to notice. His eyes, their hazel colour swallowed by the eerie half-light of the night shrouding the two of you, were trained on yours with an intensity that threatened to burn you down with everything it conveyed. The numb pain which had raked its claws over your heart this past week roared to life with the ferocity of a caged beast, and its force made you gasp.
For a few heartbeats, in the silence spreading between the two of you, all you could do was gape at him, wondering if you were still in your bed, dreaming. If this was a beautiful dream, or the result of a nightmare sitting on your chest to choke you. The thoughts dissipated when Zemo began to walk towards you, crossing the remaining distance with slow, deliberate steps like the most beautiful mirage until there was only one last step parting the two of you. Then, he tilted his head, eyes scanning your shocked face with his familiar watchful curiosity. It was all it took for your stunned trance to subside.
“I’m trying”, you finally whispered, so quietly that you wondered if he could even hear you against the sounds of the downpour. “I’ve been trying to make it right again. The Queen wants war with Sokovia and –“
“I’m not here because of politics”, Zemo interrupted you, and the firmness flashing in his eyes as he said these words seemed to flood through the cracks in your soul, like the first rays of the spring sun melting the sheets of winter’s glittering snow with its gentle warmth, thawing away the cold to resurrect the died and shrivelled garden beneath.
Zemo ascended the last two steps into the pavilion, his boots thudding on the wooden planks. “I’m here because I missed you. Every single day since I’ve let you go, I regretted it. Deeply. And no matter how hard I tried these past few days to rekindle my rage, to hate you for what you’ve done to me, I can’t.”
Your thoughts drifted back to the memory of a night, lonely in the darkness of your room, when you’d jolted out of a dream of hazel eyes and sweet kisses shared in secrecy, only to realize that you had begun falling for the Baron you were meant to betray, and the fall was hard and fast. Falling out of hate is so much easier than falling out of love.
“You’ve crushed my heart into a million pieces. And it’s still yours, every single broken piece of it”, Zemo continued. He was so close now that you could see the droplets of rain that had caught in his long, dark lashes, like dewdrops in a spider’s web, the pattern of little freckles and scars scattered across his beautiful features, every single one memorized by you with the caress of your fingertips and the touch of your lips like a scholar would memorize a map of stars.
“How can you be so sure, Helmut?”, you said quietly, “You’ve never seen me without the spy’s mask. This marriage is built on lies and betrayal. How can you be so sure you love me, not the idea of what could have been?” You sounded desperate.
“Did you lie when you told me you loved me?”
“No. What I feel for you has always been real”, you rasped, “My love for you will forever be imprinted on my soul, even if every single day without you feels like there’s an essential part ripped away from me. And it won’t stop bleeding.” You watched his eyes soften with every tear-choked word tumbling from your lips. This might be the last chance to tell him everything you never had but always intended to, and you would be damned if you would let it pass like a distant shooting star, so when he opened his mouth to say something, you raised your hand in a halting gesture to silence him again. “My whole life was spiralling around the desire for revenge. That was my sole purpose. Until I met you, and you pulled me out of this orbit with your arrogance and your quiet humour and the way your smirk that makes my heart somersault and the stupid head-tilt-thing you do whenever you’re observing something. But how can you still love me after everything I’ve done? I’m a traitor. And a liar.”
“A rather excellent one, I might add, yes”, he agreed, and the traces of his familiar wicked smirk played at the corners of his lips before his expression grew sincere again, “But that is the very definition of love, isn’t it? It means to love the whole painting, not only the beautiful parts. I’ve seen the painting of your soul, every dark shadow and every spot of light. And I still love every single brushstroke with all my heart. So please, come back to me, moye serdtse.”
Zemo reached out to brush away a stray tear which was running down your cheek, the contact of the pad of his thumb on your skin so tender and fleeting like the life of a dragonfly, and you closed your eyes at the tingling, burning sensation it left in its wake, the singeing ache for him it had stoked in your heart. His hazel eyes were brimming with a kaleidoscope of emotions; a silent plea mixing with a raw vulnerability you’d never seen him display before.
“Come home with me.” Zemo was a proud man. Hearing him plead like this, for you, robbed you of your words.
Slowly, he raised his hand, his palm angled to you, and the whisp of a smile flitted across his handsome features when you mirrored the movement so your fingertips were grazing the rain-wet skin of his palm and the lifeline running across it, before you locked your fingers with his.
You didn’t know whether it was you or him who closed the last few inches between the two of you – and it didn’t matter. Zemo’s fingers gently grasped your chin to tilt your head up and meet his lips in a desperate, greedy kiss so fierce and full of everything said and everything unsaid, of heartbreak and grief, of hope and love. The gardens became a blur around you while every single one of your senses came alive, narrowing in on Zemo.
His tongue grazed your lower lip, begging for entrance, and you opened your mouth eagerly for him, and the sweet taste of his kiss mixed with the rain and salt of your tears. Tell me this is real, your lips moving against his seemed to beg, tell me you mean it.
This is real, his sigh against your lips reassured, It’s real and I love you and I need you. In every single way. His fingers threaded through the soaked strands of your hair, pushing them away from your face as his hands gently tilted your head to deepen the kiss, and your back thudded against the wooden pillar of the pavilion when he pressed himself against you. He was already hard against your thigh, beneath the layers of soaked fabric between you, and you could feel your own familiar heat blooming in your belly at his desperate kisses and urgent touches of his hands, roaming across your waist, the peaks of your breasts, over your neck and back into your dripping hair as you did the same, eager to feel every inch of his skin beneath your trembling fingertips, from the firm planes of his abs to the rain-soaked chocolate curls of his hair. Together, the two of you sunk down onto the stairs, Zemo beneath you and you on his lap, with your legs straddling him, and neither of you cared about the rain pelting down on you in ribbons, the hard wood of the pavilion’s steps underneath. Rain and night became your guardians, veiling you from the prying eyes of the rest of the world. His clothed erection rubbed against your own arousal when you leaned in to continue the kiss, sending jolts of pleasure through your body as you slowly rolled your clothed core against him. The heat of his firm body seeped through the fabric separating you from him and into yours, and the ache to feel his bare skin against yours became an overwhelming tide.
“I missed you so much”, Zemo murmured into the kiss, “Don’t leave me again. Please.”
“I won’t. I promise I won’t, my love”, you vowed with a broken voice.
The drenched fabric of your nightgown had ridden op your thigh, and Zemo groaned beneath you when you eagerly rolled your hips and his hardened length pressed into your crotch through the layers of wet clothes between you, sticking to your skin, and the sensation flooded you with pure bliss, a raw need to feel every inch of him inside you.
He loosened the grip from your hair as he noticed what it was you wanted and his rough hand roved down your spine as he continued to nibble on your lower lip, sliding his fingers down the loosened, dripping brocade of your robe and under the lace-rimmed seam of your nightgown to push the fabric up the rest of the way. His thumb brushed against the wetness pooling beneath your thighs which had nothing do with the pouring rain and everything to do with him, and you arched into the feeling of his skilled fingers caressing you, circling the bundle of nerves where you needed him most, and you whispered, “This feels so good.” He growled against your lips, and your words seemed to spur him on.
With each feverish kiss, each lingering caress of his hands, each whispered “I love you. I’ve missed you so much”, was another ray of sun thawing the ice that had settled over your heart and coaxed the dead, wilted garden of your soul back to blooming life, vibrant colours blossoming like a rose garden in early spring. The endless well of emptiness was filled with the radiant glow of your love until the last whisps of shadow disappeared like morning mists under the rising sun.
“Don’t stop”, you gasped, and threw back your head as another current of pleasure rolled over you, and your fingers left his soaked hair to undo the buttons of his pants – a difficult task with everything drenched with rainwater, and he chuckled when you growled in frustration as your hands slipped from the buttons, before you finally managed to undo his fly and pushed the fabric away to free him. Your slick hands wrapped around his length, and when you began to gently stroke him, your name tumbled from his lips like a plea for more, which you gladly heeded. His eyes fell shut and his soft lips parted to let out a low, sensual moan which nearly drove you insane with love and lust.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me”, he whispered into the night, “No idea what I would do for you.” The knowledge that you were the only person in this world he let himself be so vulnerable with, the only person allowed to see the softness and the capability for a love deeper than the deepest ocean and fiercer than the wildest thunderstorm, filled you with a rush of pride and love so overwhelming that you thought you might burst with it.
Zemo’s hands answered your caresses as he let them roam freely along the outside of your thighs, his fingertips painting invisible swirling patterns on your damp skin. A trace of sparks erupted in their wake as his palms travelled up over your hips that slowly moved back and forth against him, soft waves of pleasure rolling through you with each time his tip grazed the slickness between your legs.
“I can’t wait any longer”, he breathed. “I want to feel you and I want you to forget everyone and everything else but me, my love.”
Zemo’s hazel gaze on yours, your breath caught at the intensity of emotions displayed in those depths and both of you moaned in unison when you slowly sunk onto him, sheathing him in your throbbing walls that stretched around him until he filled you completely until you felt as if you could feel the red string of fate that tied his soul to yours. It hadn’t torn, hadn’t been snapped apart and you knew it never would. It would always be there to guide you back into each other’s arms, no matter how dark the night and how lost you’d been on your path. You blinked, never tearing your gaze from Zemo’s – the man who loved you so much that he would cross an ocean to get you back, despite all the pain and heartbreak you had inflicted upon him. And still, he looked at you like this, the warm hazel colour of his eyes brimming with such love and wonder and desire as they took you in, both of you just basking in each other’s closeness, the intimacy of your bodies becoming one just as your souls already had, like stars colliding.
A guttural groan escaped his lips when you began to languidly roll your hips as he began slowly thrusting up to meet you, his pace matching your own perfectly as your hips snapped together and he grazed the sweet spot deep inside of you, sending searing jolts of pleasure spreading through your body in glowing hot currents like the flashes of lighting above, and you clutched the dripping fur of his collar for purchase. The sweet sounds which tumbled from both your lips intertwined with the pattering of the rain to form the most beautiful melody.
You watched every movement of his body against yours, every expression flaring in his eyes before his eyelids fluttered close in the throes of passion. Droplets of rain dribbled out of his hair and ran down his cheeks, glittering like little gemstones beneath the dim moonlight shining through the clouds. You took in the way his hair was slicked back; took in the movement of his lovely mouth as it parted slightly to let the wanton moan escape which the spell of your touches was summoning from his lips.
His wet hands found their way under your soaked nightgown and grazed the sensitive skin of your breasts, cupping them in his palms, letting his thumb graze over the tips to steal a soft whimper from your lips as you continued to gyrate your hips to meet his.
“I love you,” you whispered into Zemo’s ear, over and over again, while he made love to you while he held you with a desperation as if he were afraid that if he let go, he would lose you again, and it broke your heart to know that you’d inflicted this fear in him. You would spend the rest of your life showing him that you meant what you’d promised, that you would never leave him again.
And with very whispered “I love you”, you set the ragged shards of his heart back together, mended the cracks between them and made him come alive with this bliss of your bodies and souls connected. It hadn’t snapped, and you knew it never would. It would always be there to guide you to each other, no matter how dark the night and how lost you’d been on your path.
You let your lips graze his delicately as you continued to roll your hips forward, burying him deeper into your wet heat, bringing him even closer while you plunged deeper into the ocean of pleasure that was flooding your senses with every thrust of him and every graze against the bundle of nerves deep inside of you. He’d never be close enough, though.
Zemo angled his head to nuzzle the side of your neck with his nose, and the caress made your sensitive skin tingle before his teeth gently grazed the spot below your ear and you sunk into the sensation. “You’re mine”, Zemo growled into the crook of your neck. His hand brushed against your hip as he let it travel down to circle the nub between your legs with the rough pad of his index finger, and you cried out at the torrents of pleasure the contact sent through your body, robbing you of all strength left in your muscles. The dark possessiveness of his words paired with the vibration of his raspy voice against the crook of your neck and his fingers playing with the sweet spot between your legs while his thrusts pushed him even deeper into your throbbing heat sent you over the precipice of bliss with another whimper tumbling from your parted lips.
Your first climax was a gentle force, like a warm wave slowly drowning you alongside him, and you wished to never re-emerge. To stay like this forever, soaked with rain and happiness and him. The second one, fuelled by the feeling of Zemo coming undone beneath you, inside of you, with the loveliest moan, cascaded over you like a flood wave, knocking you down and dragging you away with the forceful current in its wake, leaving your lungs ringing for breath and sparks jolting through your vision as you rode it out together.
When you resurfaced again out of this ocean of bliss, Zemo pulled you closer to his soaked chest and your hands flew up to settle above his ribs to feel the wild thumping of his heartbeat against your palms while he righted himself so sit, rather than lie, on the pavilion’s steps with you on his lap.
“Are you cold?”, he asked breathlessly, and despite your panted, “No”, began to pull the embroidered nightgown closer around your form. The rain was warm, a nice, cooling sensation after the summer heat of the last days.
“How did you find me?”, you finally asked.
“Stark told me you’d gone to the palace. Summoned by the Queen.” Zemo’s voice was still rough with desire as he replied. “Will you come back with me, moye serdtse?”
“I can’t”, you whispered, closing your eyes to avoid the sight of the heartbreak on his face, “I have to stay until I –“ you took a deep breath, gathering the strength to tell him everything you’d learned in the past days. There was so much you needed him to know, and so much he needed to tell you in return.
“Helmut, I don’t even know where to start. I found the letter. In your desk.”
“About Tony, I know.”
“No. The other one”, you said and pulled away a few inches to look at him. “The one from Hydra. A man named von Strucker.” The question woven in your carefully chosen words weighed down heavy on you. When his eyes widened with the first traces of horror, you were quick to reassure him, “I don’t think you’re involved with Hydra. I stopped believing this a long time ago. But you know something, and it’s time for you to divulge this secret to me. If I’m still worthy of your trust…and of your heart.”
There was a beat of silence stretching on between the two of you with only the song of the rain around you calming to a slight drizzle. Another silent question in your words – love would never be enough if the trust was gone, and Zemo had every right to never trust you again. It felt like hours before Zemo mustered a reply, and the anxious beast in your belly roared to life anew in the few heartbeats it took him to choose his words.
“You’re worthy of both”, he finally said, and you could feel the sincerity radiating off him to silence the dread in your stomach once and for all.
“Then tell me what you know”, you urged, “And let me stop this madness before the Queen can start it.”
Zemo sighed. “When we travelled to the palace, you asked me to tell you our side of the story of the bloody war with your country. The Sokovian side. When your Queen’s knights hunted down Hydra all these years ago, some of them were able to escape and flee. Your Queen did not care to ask questions first. We were knee-deep in our own Sokovian blood before our spies could make sense of it. They learned what Hydra was, and what they’d achieved with their alchemy and their horrible experiments. And why your Queen wanted them so badly for herself.”
“Wanted them? Achieved? They didn’t achieve anything – they were hunted by the Queen’s knights because they were a cult of murderers and madmen.” The naivete of your own words hit you as soon as you’d voiced them, and you cringed at how you’d never even gave a second thought as to the truth in them. You’d grown up with this story, as a member of the household of Stark. It had been fed to you since you were nothing more but a scared and orphaned child.
Zemo chuckled grimly. “Hydra was an organization founded by the Queen of your country herself – the most brilliant alchemists of the kingdom, united to serve the crown. She wanted an army so strong that nobody would ever be able to stop them. And so, Hydra started to concoct a serum to create soldiers stronger and faster than any human could ever be – and it cost many lives in the process. You know better than anyone else what they were capable of, my love. Though they succeeded, eventually.”
You swallowed, thinking about your own family. The onslaught of your own horrible memories. Zemo placed his hand on the back of your head, in the soaked strands of hair, and gently guided your head to rest against his collarbone while he continued the story, his thumb caressing your cheek in soothing circles.
“When the serum was ready, the leaders of Hydra didn’t want to serve the Queen any longer – they wanted to use these newfound powers to take her throne for themselves. The knights were able to hunt most of them down before they could, but a few escaped. And they took the recipe for this magic serum with them. We didn’t know it, at the time. When my father found out about Hydra, it was too late. Your Queen was desperate, panicking that Hydra would share their secrets – and hers – with us, so she let us bleed. Our armies were too weak to stop her, and so my father was forced to strike a bargain with Hydra. They agreed to provide the serum for our own armies and called it the Winter Soldier Project, and my father used the agreement as a leverage. The Queen was frightened enough of his threat to sign a ceasefire agreement. The war was over and Sokovia lay in ruins. And only days later, Stark gave the order to assassinate my family, covering it with a fire. A convenient accident – probably because our father already knew too much. The Queen couldn’t risk the secret of her own role in the rise of Hydra to spill, and the peace agreement had been signed by my father. His death prepared the way for another war in the future.”
“What happened next?”
“I took the Sokovian throne and used my father’s connections to seek out the remaining members of Hydra. They were executed, every last one of them. None of them saw it coming, this time, and they paid with their lives for the war they’d wreaked at the side of your Queen.”
You shifted on his lap to gape at your husband. “What happened to the notes on the serum?”
He shrugged. “I burned them.”
Your eyes widened.
“You burned the one thing to lend the power of gods to an army?”
“So many innocent lives had been lost for this piece of parchment”, Zemo elaborated with a thoughtful expression. “I didn’t want any of it. Nobody should possess such power. It does not matter if it’s in my hands or in those of the enemy. Hydra doesn’t exist anymore – the letter you found was addressed to my father. Your Queen, though, still wants it. She wants her army of Gods, convinced I’ve hidden the instructions on how to brew the serum somewhere in Sokovia.
“That’s why she’s looking for reasons to start another war”, you concluded, eyes wide with horror at the realization. “So she can raid Sokovia and start searching for it.”
“And I’m certain she will find the reason in the near future”, Zemo added. He looked so tired all of a sudden. Dark shadows painted the skin beneath his watchful eyes, and a frown tugged at the corners of his lips. You raised your hand to lovingly trace your fingertips over his eyebrows and across the small line of worry which had appeared between them, and it smoothed like silk beneath your careful fingertips while Zemo leaned into your touch, still as starved of your caresses as you were of his.
“I took the letter”, you confessed with a calmness you didn’t feel. There was a storm of panic brewing in your ribcage.
“I figured you had.”
“Don’t you want to ask me if I handed it to her?”
“Don’t you want to ask me if I returned not for you but to get it back and elude a war for a little while longer?”
You blinked. “No”, you replied with genuine surprise. “I trust you.”
“As I trust you. I never thought you would hand it over.” Zemo didn’t even ask where Hydra’s letter was now, leaving it to you for safekeeping.
“I burned it”, you finally admitted, and he chuckled.
“Ah, yes. The theatrical aesthetic of witnessing an encumbering secret devoured by flames”, Zemo mused with a snicker, “We truly are kindred spirits, my darling.”
You huffed at his words. “You see why I can’t join you on your journey home”, you said quietly. “I need to save your country.”
“Our country”, Zemo corrected and brushed a soaked strand of hair away from your forehead, a gesture which made your heart stumble with its softness.
“I need to make things right.”
“And the first idea that came to your mind was to infiltrate yet another court?”, he smirked. “You’re certainly the most daring person I’ve ever met, moye serdtse. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
You grinned back at him. “It worked, though. When I arrived at Stark Manor, I wrote a letter to the Queen and told her that I’d infiltrated your court and feigned a visit back home to spill your secrets. I never even needed to request to stay at the palace. She was staying at her summer house for the week, but she immediately sent a messenger to request my attendance at the palace. To stay with the rest of her spies so I was safe from any Sokovian wrath, should my secret not be as secret as I thought. Tomorrow, when she arrives back at the palace, I will meet her.”
“Sokovian wrath. Alluring”, he teased, the seductiveness in his voice affecting you even now, spent in his arms and riddled with anxiety for the future ahead. “What will you tell the Queen?”
“She wants war, there’s no way to persuade her otherwise,” you conceded, and you could see Zemo’s dark eyes already light up with the spark of an idea, the cogs of his beautiful, cunning mind whirring while you went on, “She will host a ball in three days, with every European regent invited. I bet she will try to forge an alliance with them to make sure they will support her in the upcoming war. And to achieve such a thing, she will spill her lies like poison to everyone who listens.”
“Then we have to make them listen to us,” Zemo said and there was a predatory smile playing on his lips. “All we need to do is find something we can use against her, to force her to sign a real peace agreement. Something which would turn her precious allies against her in the blink of an eye.”
“It sounds so easy when you say it”, you quipped.
A sudden sound rang through the rain-filled night air of the gardens, and you stilled, feeling Zemo tense beneath you. Somebody had called out your name.
“Tomorrow at midnight. Meet me here”, Zemo whispered in your ear, before he gently lifted you back on your own feet as he rose from the wooden step and melted back into the shadows just as quickly as he’d stepped out of them. As if night was nothing but another well-fitting coat he could wear.
“Baroness?” You had just righted your nightgown when the timid voice sounded anew, closer to you, and whirled around. It was one of the maids tending to you while you were staying at the palace, and she looked frightened, as if the night itself would shred her to ribbons with its claws any second.
“What are you doing here?”, you inquired, firmly but friendly.
The maid bowed before you, her eyes carefully averting yours.
“I was worried. I heard you leave your quarters, and when you didn’t come back, I was afraid something could have happened to you, Baroness.”
You were enough of a liar yourself to recognize the deceit. But you were Baroness – of course the Queen and her other spies didn’t trust you yet. As long as you were in the palace, there would be eyes watching your every step, ears listening to your every word. Mouths reporting it all back to the Queen herself. You were no guest here, you realized – you were a hostage. You were a leverage, and a good one at that. Because if the Queen had you in her grasp, she would be able to make Zemo dance on her strings. You felt stupid, all of a sudden. You’d run willingly into the lioness’s den, thinking you could trick her. You were nothing but a mouse among a court of prowling beasts.
Tomorrow at midnight. Meet me here.
Never before had a day passed so slowly. After you’d returned from the gardens, at the side of the handmaiden sent to shadow your every step, soaked with rainwater and filled with a radiant happiness, you could feel the weight lift from your shoulders, the shackles of guilt and grief falling away like the petals of a wilting flower. Zemo still loved you, despite everything you’d done. You were still worthy of his heart. You would be together. Now, you just had to find a way to stop the war. Though the task ahead was a heavy burden to bear, that night you slept the peaceful slumber of the dead, wrapped up in Morpheus’ embrace until the maids barged in to rouse you and prepare you for the day – for your meeting with the Queen, who had returned from her summer palace just this morning.
The jittery, anxious feeling returned to flutter in your stomach when the guards led you to the throne room the next day, and it intensified when you sunk into a deep bow before the Queen’s predatory gaze.
“So, tell me, little spy”, the Queen crooned, “what you found in Sokovia. Tell me everything, every last secret the Baron hides behind the walls of his palace.”
Voice steady and listless, you obliged. “As you wish, my Queen. Sokovian secrets are hidden well. In my time at the palace, I never found a single clue as to any plans for war,” you began, weaving your words like a spider its web, careful not to spill any of the knowledge you’d gleaned.
“Then I find myself wondering why you’re wasting my time in the first place.” Her nails clacked as she tapped them against the armrest of her throne.
“I’m Baroness”, you were quick to add, “No matter how closely the Baron guards his secrets, people will believe my testimony.”
The Queen raised a single painted eyebrow. “What are you suggesting, then?”
Your eyes trained on the pattern of black and white marble tiles on the floor which seemed to turn the throne room into a giant chessboard, the irony of it not being lost on you, you spoke, “If you let me know what the rest of your spies could glean over the past years, I would be able to weave a convincing tale for your allies, Your Highness. Of a Sokovian army strong enough to ravage the whole continent if the kingdoms refuse to unite against this force.”
“An interesting thought”, the Queen admitted and stroked her chin while she contemplated your proposal. The gesture reminded you of a villain in a theatre play.
“Why shouldn’t I fabricate a testimony myself?”, she finally wanted to know, inclining her head.
“I have lived at Sokovian court for weeks – longer than any of your spies was able to infiltrate them, Your Highness. This is why my father sent me. This is why I married the Baron. I already sacrificed everything to bring Hydra to their knees. The thought of any more deaths at their hands, families torn apart by their deeds, pains me every day.” You, you seethed in your mind. It has been you all along, watching the things that happened to the families under your protection. To my family. To Helmut’s family. It was difficult to ban the tremble of fury from your voice, but the slight shake would only support your act.
“You’re telling me I should trust you, then?”, the Queen inquired, and you felt that it was a test.
“It’s not my position to tell you anything, Your Majesty,” you replied timidly, “It is my honour and my privilege to be of use in your noble deeds to stop the evil lurking on our doorsteps.”
There was along pause in which the Queen scanned your face, a hawk readying itself to pounce on a poor mouse.
“Guards”, she finally commanded, “Show our guest to the library and gather the rest of our spies.” To you, she added with a flash of her teeth, “Remember, Baroness: as long as you’re of use for me, you will have my protection.” Betray me, and you will face my wrath.
“I am nothing but a loyal servant, my Queen.” To myself, you evil wench, you added in your thoughts.
It was a balancing act, you knew. Walking a tightrope across a glaring abyss ready to swallow you whole. You would need to tread carefully if you wanted to survive.
When you finally returned to the gardens that night and the warm, flower-infused night air wrapped around you like the embrace of an old friend, your heart was nearly leaping up your throat with all the exhilaration which filled you at the thought of seeing Zemo again, with the thrill of the secrecy of your meeting, the longing to talk to him, hear his smooth dark voice seep through the night like honey, the melody of his slight accent, and feel his touches on your skin. There was also dread – the happiness the two of you had found with each other was as fragile as a butterfly’s wings, and with the bloody sword of war hanging over your heads, a deep chasm of horror to lose him had opened up in your chest.
He whispered your name as soon as you’d sprinted the last few steps to the pavilion, like a spell on his lips, when he stepped out of the shadows beside you as if he emerged from the fabric of night itself. This time, he was clad in a black cloak lined with matching black fur at the collar, and his hair was smoothed back from his face. He looked like a dark king stepping out of a fairy tale to whisk his bride away. The glimmer in his eyes was attentive and searing when they came to rest on you, and for a moment you felt like the goddess of spring herself, stealing away to meet her secret lover at the gates of the Underworld.
Before you could say anything, Zemo’s lips were on yours, coaxing your mouth open, threading his fingers through your hair while he pressed his body flush against yours.
“I’ve missed you”, you sighed against him and clutched the fur of his coat’s black collar. His kisses were getting greedier still, and a low growl escaped his lips that made your knees weak and incited the familiar longing in your core – until he pulled away, panting and flustered and smirking, his hands resting on the curve of your waist and you longed to get rid of the fabric of your nightgown so you could feel his rough palms against the bare skin.
“I enjoy the awe-struck look in your stunning eyes whenever you lay them upon me”, he teased.
“Again, you give yourself too much credit, beloved husband”, you deadpanned, “I’m merely fascinated by your continuous choice to wear fur in the blazing breath of summer. You must be sweating as if the fires of hell themselves were licking at your skin.”
The malicious laughter which rumbled through his throat while his tongue flicked out to seductively graze your lower lips was rousing the glowing desire in your lower belly and you barely contained the strained sigh which threatened to escape your lips at the sensation.
“It is not the lick of Hell’s fiery tongues I desire on my skin, my sweet Baroness.”
You parted your lips for his tongue, allowing him to taste you and the moan you’d held back freed itself from your throat to tangle with his own delighted growl. You felt like you could find your climax by merely the sensation of his tongue swirling against yours, the knowledge of what he was capable to do with his mouth alone, and the sounds he was eliciting didn’t help to cool the want flickering in your body. Zemo grabbed a fistful of your hair at the back of your head to tilt your head and deepen his ravenous kisses with his tongue, and just when you contemplated to beg of him to just ravage you then and there, he pulled away. The devilish grin on his lips told you that he knew very well what you’d had hoped for in this meeting. His eyes, darkened with his own arousal, lingered on your lips and told you he’d had very much the same entertainment in mind.
“These clandestine meetings under the veil of night start to feel rather Shakespearian”, he mused with heavy breaths, “And as desperately as I wish to see you unravel so beautifully beneath my Sokovian wrath right now – we have a scheme to forge, my love. And a kingdom to save.”
You couldn’t argue with that. Starved of the feeling of your body underneath his touch, he placed his hands back on your waist and pulled your closer into him. You hummed in response and angled your head to the side to rest your temple against the place above his heartbeat. It was the most beautiful tune, to hear it quicken with your closeness.
“As I told you last night, the Queen has invited the other regents of Europe – there will be a ball in their honour tomorrow night. A masquerade.”
“She’s gathering her potential allies”, Zemo concluded, and you nodded against his chest, a scowl of worry drawn on your features.
“It would be best to confront her with any leverage when the other regents have arrived for the masquerade”, you added, biting your lip.
“It will probably the only chance”, Zemo added with a slight nod, “Because if we threaten her when the other leaders aren’t present, she would have enough time to spin another lie and it will be her word against ours. She already told them Sokovia was allied with Hydra and a threat to them all – she will easily fabricate another lie. It has to be at the masquerade.”
“Which only leaves another day for me to find something to use as an incentive to change her mind.”
“It cannot be very difficult.”
You angled your head to glare at him. “Then you breeze into the palace and scour every single study and every single library for a written document condemning her”, you deadpanned. “Because that’s what I’ll do while you’re sitting in the gardens, lazily tanning yourself in the summer sun and waiting for me to succeed.”
“I’m not a cat”, he snickered with a rather cat-like head tilt. “What I intended to say was that the Queen has a vast number of skeletons in her closet. All we need to do is find one document with her seal and her signature to verify it. She founded Hydra, she allowed for my family to be eradicated. And these are only the crimes we know of.”
You’d reached down to intertwine your hands with his when you’d noticed the slight falter in his voice at the mention of his family.
“Tell me about the audience today”, Zemo said.
“I told her I hadn’t gleaned anything to use against you, but should she provide some of her own information, I would be able to weave a tale for her and give testimony at the ball, in front of her allies.”
Zemo raised his eyebrows. “And she believed you?”
“Of course not. All I learned was that she believed Hydra was on your side, building a secret army of god-like creatures. It’s probably the same lie she told the other regents. What I already knew of Tony’s accounts is that somewhere in the palace, there’s a hidden study where all important documents are kept. Only the Queen’s advisors and closest guards carry a key with them to gain access to it. I went into the meeting in the hopes they would at least show me the hidden room, but it would’ve been too easy.”
“So you have one day left to steal one of these keys and find the hidden study”, Zemo summed up, and you gently shoved his shoulder.
“A minute ago, when you spoke of saving the kingdom, it was we”, you mocked, “Though now that the task at hand is getting more difficult, it’s me.”
He grinned and his teeth flashed in the half-light of the stars which had risen above. “This ball is a masquerade, you say?”
You nodded, and his grin widened. “Then I’ll meet you at the ball and we will confront the Queen together.”
“And if I don’t find the documents?”
His thumb tenderly flicked across the back of your hand in a soothing gesture. “Then we will find another way.”
“How will I recognize you at the masquerade?”, you pressed, and Zemo gave you a smug smirk.
“I’ll be the most beautiful man there, of course”, he teased, and you couldn’t help the small giggle bubbling up your throat, before Zemo’s tone grew serious again.
“They’re watching you, are they?”, he asked, and you bit your lip before you answered with a curt nod.
“You didn’t think they would trust me, right? I’m her leverage against you.”
“Then come away with me tonight”, he said. There was a thread of despair woven into his voice. “I can’t lose you again.”
“As you said, this might be our last chance to stop her”, you said.
“As I said as well, we will find another way.”
“But Sokovia –“
“No”, he interrupted with a forceful whisper. “No. I won’t lose you again, Y/N. You’re not a pawn to be sacrificed on the chessboard of politics. You’re my wife. I can’t lose the other half of my soul, not even to safe my country.”
You blinked back the sting of tears in the corners of your eyes and opened your mouth to muster a reply, but there was a lump forming in your throat which choked your words.
Zemo cupped your cheeks and captured your lips in another feverish kiss that stole the air from your lungs and a sigh from your lips when you sunk into him, leaving you craving for more. But there was no time. You both knew that every minute of this clandestine meeting put you at risk to be caught, so you pulled away.
“I should go back, before they start searching for me again”, you said. “But I will let you know as soon as I found anything to use in our favour.”
“How? You can hardly send a letter.”
“I’m not a fool, you know”, you huffed, rolling your eyes, “I’ll tie a red ribbon around one of the pavilion’s posts”, you told him and pointed to the white wood leaden with the climbing roses. “If there’s no ribbon, we’ll have to improvise when you meet me at the masquerade.”
“It feels wrong,” he finally replied with a hushed voice.
“I love you, lyubov' moyey zhizni. But you need to let me do this”, you whispered, and the affection brimming in his hazel eyes at your words, reflecting under the light of the stars, made your heart soar like a bird. Love of my life.
“You’re as stubborn as a mule”, he retorted, “I love you, too. Bud' ostorozhen malen'kaya moye serdtse.“
Be careful, my heart.
With a last desperate kiss, the two of you parted beneath the silent watch of the moon and the stars. A lonely shooting star darted across the sky as it fell from the heavens, and the streak it left behind made it look as if it had been bleeding. A strange feeling of dread crept into you, coiling in your gut like a venomous snake as you wondered if you would ever see him again. Something was coming for you. You could sense it with every fibre of your being, lacing in the warm night air around you like an invisible rope ready to coil around your neck.
Tomorrow would be the day of the masquerade. Time was running out – if you wated to stop this madness before it started, you would have to do it now. Tonight. You would have to find something incriminating, something that would make the Queen cave in to Sokovian demands without a doubt, without a moment of hesitation.
You reached the edge of the gardens and breezed back into the cool hallways of the palace, ignoring the guards stationed at the entrance as if you had every right to be here, wrapping yourself in an air of cold arrogance when you strode between them. It would be best to start your search for any hidden doors in the palace’s wing which contained all the official studies, as well. One last chance. You would need to make it count.
You never reached the palace’s wing with the official offices. You didn’t even reach the end of the corridor when a pair of hands was pressed over your mouth from behind to muffle your scream, so forceful that the impact drew blood when your teeth sliced open your lower lip.
When the sun rose and the sky blushed faintly with its gentle glow, taking on the hue of the roses climbing up the pavilion’s posts in their blooming glory, Zemo had just arrived, emerging soundlessly out of the dawn-illuminated gardens. He could feel that something was wrong before he even ascended the two wooden steps. Was it something in the air that had changed? Was it a tug at the invisible red thread of fate tying his soul to yours? He would never know – what he knew, though, was that something had happened to you, and a deep sense of dread settled over him when his eyes fell to the thing attached to one of the posts, the colour stark against the white paint of the wood.
A ribbon. Not red, but black, its silky ends fluttering in the gentle morning breeze sweeping through the garden, carrying the heavy scent of flowers and grass, of decay and earth. There was a small, folded note attached to the black ribbon, and his hands trembled when he read it.
Stay away, Baron. Else, it won’t only be your country to bleed.
THIS IS NOT THE LAST PART! This story will have 5 parts, and the last part will be posted somewhere next weekend 🖤
Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist for part 5/the general tag list! 🖤
Tag list for this series: @missingartist96 @obissimp @arctic--ash @angelcvsmic @sapphiredreamer26 @miscreantsnopossoms @apparrio @laura-naruto-fan1998 @lilien-xoxo @stilltoomuchafangirl @trashbin2 @hannahbal-the-fannibal @ayyitskaykay @ithiilween @justfangirlthingies @scuttle-buttle @avemartly @marchingicenotes7 @spookyconsultingcriminal @stars-trash-18 @izzy2319 @unbeatablecurlgirl @emmi-emrys-petrelli @alindeluce@somethingthatsaysbubbles@charistory @iamnotthecatladynextdoor
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The Bad Influence’s Birthday (Spencer Reid x Masc!Reader)
Summary: After hearing some unsavoury rumours about his darling daughter, Spencer decides to do something about it.
AN: Happy Father’s Day tomorrow! This can be read as a continuation of Seahorse (SFW version) (NSFT version) or as a oneshot. The reader uses he/him pronouns.
A wave of rapture swept through the children as Spencer began pulling out the handkerchiefs from behind Savannah’s ear. Savannah gasped dramatically and Hank in her lap flapped his hands to grab at the knotted fabric, managing to touch the last sunny yellow one. His face when Spencer handed it back to him, it was swiftly captured on Penelope’s phone as was Hank stuffing the handkerchief between his gums.
“Thank you for your participation!”
Katia was on her feet and clapping wildly as she trotted over to her dad.
Her arms slipped under his cloak to hug his waist, her cheek creased with a grin pressed into his belly.
“Thank you Daddy! Thank you thank you thank you!” She squealed, trying to bounce whilst keeping her grip tight on Spencer.
More kids swarmed on him to say thanks, but just in time, his husband spoke up:
“Why don’t you kids grab a few more bounces on the castle while we prepare your lunch!”
A sudden stampede of trainers and once crisply ironed party outfits rushed past Y/N. His arms shot up perpendicular to his body, above the children’s rushing heads.
Y/N sauntered over to Spencer, snatching off his pointy wizard hat and tousling his hair. His fingers stayed there a while longer. Just long enough for Y/N to get a grip on it and pull Spencer over for a kiss.
“Nice job, honey.”
Spencer beamed, adjusting his wizard’s cloak, “Glad you thought so.”
The couple sauntered over to their house’s edge, a table set up with jugs of juice for the children adjacent to the open French windows. That didn’t stop Spencer from taking one for himself.
He spared some glances at the other parents around. “Is she here?”
“Hmm?” Y/N raised his eyebrows, his eyes wide with confusion. Then his expression cleared, “Oh, yes. To your right.”
Not so subtle was his look in that direction as he took a sip from a disposable plastic cup. “There’s three of them.”
Y/N pretended to examine the rainbow stars around the rim of Spencer’s drink, “She’s the one in the navy-blue shirt.”
Ah yes. Melinda.
Before Y/N could intervene – or join him – Spencer strode across the lawn, his juice forgotten. He landed next to this woman without a smile.
“Hi, can I get you anything else to drink?”
“No, I’m fine thank you,” She replied, her folded arms constricting around her front. “It’s a wonderful party.”
Spencer’s tone was just as forced as hers, “Thank you. Pulling out the stops, she’s only going to turn seven once.”
His attention followed Melinda’s eyeline to the bouncy castle. Katia wasn’t hard to miss. Her bright turquoise and purple frock blurred as she threw herself herself back and forth between the walls and shrieked with laughter above all the other children.
“And Lukas is enjoying himself too, it seems,” Spencer indicated to Melinda’s child who was following by Katia’s example.
Just then, the man Melinda had arrived with rocked up beside him with a heavy clap on the shoulder. “Katie has quite a hold on our lad!”
Spencer’s shoulder rolled out of his grip, “They are best friends. Katia talks about him a lot; she was so excited when you confirmed yesterday. We’ll have to set up a play date-”
“Oh Lukas! Come off of there, sweetie!” Melinda looked despairingly at Spencer, “Can you get your husband to stop that?”
It was then that Spencer took in what Y/N was doing in the middle of the bouncy castle. Surrounded by children, he seat-dropped right beside them, launching them up into the air only to land on their backs. Cries of “again, again!” demanded to be satisfied and Y/N was working hard to keep them happy. Spencer smiled fondly at them.
“It’s alright, he knows what he’s doing. And we have crash mats.” He pointed to where all the shoes were scattered in haste of adrenaline. “It’s nearly time for the birthday banquet anyway.”
His pointy cap was donned once more as he headed off to attend to his birthday duties.
Y/N whipped off the star sprinkled sheet off the table and the children applauded at the sight of food, scrambling to get a seat near the birthday girl. The seats beside her throne (curtesy of Uncle Dave) were already promised Lucas and her other best friend Dominque.
While the kids were feasting, Spencer saw Derek taking the opportunity to bounce Hank on the very edge of the bouncy castle. The little man’s legs kicked and jerked above the inflated vinyl as he squealed in his dad’s safe grip.
Each plate was filled with only the finest of party foods. Sweets and treats were permitted before the sandwiches in this topsy turvy feast, with carrots dipped in hummus eaten between salted crisps. Katia’s mismatched socks sitting in odd sneakers swung back and forth as she crunched down. A few times, she forgot to swallow her food before shouting across the table to her guests. Ah well. It was her birthday. Spencer was too busy passing bowls to kids who couldn’t reach their favourite foods.
Y/N pinched Katia’s cheek and offered Lukas a napkin before grabbing one of the platters to offer to the parents. Coincidently Melinda declined while her partner took two.
“You were bouncing the kids on the castle deliberately, weren’t you?” Spencer whispered to Y/N as they topped up the drink jugs.
“I have no idea what you’re on about.”
The smirk on their lips said otherwise.
Penelope was the one to bring out the cake, the frosting’s colours matching Katia’s dress – which was actually Penelope’s birthday gift. She leapt into song the second she stepped outside and demanded a reprise for more photos to be taken of her goddaughter blowing out the candles from Spencer’s lap. It took two big puffs and Spencer pretending to smash her face into it before the candles were simply smoking.
“Daddy, do you want some cake?” Katia held up a forkful to his nose.
“Yes please,” and Spencer opened his mouth wide, “Ahhh!”
Somehow, Katia still missed. Crumbs and icing smeared in the corners of his mouth and caught in his stubble. Spencer cringed a little at the mess, but it faded at the uproar of laughter from his baby.
“Thank you, Katia,” He said slowly, accepting the napkin she offered him as an apology.
Katia then shared a dab of icing with Hank, Savannah saying a delighted thank you on her son’s behalf while Hank himself beamed at the sugar rush. It was over this interaction that Spencer caught sight of Melinda and her man. They were acting as though they hadn’t been staring at him and his bad influence. Without a second thought to them, he kissed Katia on the cheek then he caught Y/N on the arm as they were handing out cake. He kissed his cheek too. Katia smeared some cake down Y/N’s sleeve with chocolate blocking out some of the teeth that weren’t already missing.
God only knows how he was going to top Katia’s next birthday party.
Spencer Reid Tag List: @averyhotchner and @spenxerslut
#hawks x reader #hawks x you #hawks x y/n #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami x you #keigo takami x y/n #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo x you #takami keigo x y/n #keigo x reader #keigo x you #keigo x y/n #takami x reader #takami x you #takami x y/n #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #mha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n
Namjoon kicked some rocks as he walked back home. He himself didnt know if he could call it his 'home' it was just an empty mansion with butler's and maids running everywhere making sure no dust of speck was left, because his father was coming today.....
He sighed looking down at his shoes. His already missing them, his family. The people he loves, truly. Jin's scolding, and him sacrificing himself for Jimin who had burnt the kitchen. Jungkook and Taehyung running while Hoseok would chase them for a stupid prank and Yoongi just sitting in the corner hiding his smile, no one could describe how happy ge was and Namjoon knew so he smiled to himself. Just remembering all this made him smile.
He was too caught up when he crashed into running a figure. Scared, afraid and....crying. She stumbled standing up he head snapped right to left then at him. Namjoon utterly in shocked did not say a word.
She was about to run on the road when he held her arm not ready to let go. "Hey! You'll crash on the car!" He pulled her back.
"P-please please l-let g-go! I-I dont w-what to go back!" She tried to break free, she was scared. "Hey..I wont hurt you. Shhh calm down" He tried to assure her. He didn't know why. But he felt the need to stop her. Now.
Her rapid beating came to a stable one and her body relaxed a bit. "What's your name?" He tried, "Y/n..." she spoke out. Almost inaudible but he was too focused to let it slip. "Why are you running? Is someone behind you? Does someone want to hurt you?" He asked, "y-yes p-please hide m-me. I-I dont w-wnt to go-go back!" She panicked yet once more. Wrong move namjoon!
Book title : Princess (BTSot7 x fem!reader) mafia au + emotional stuff + fluff + some smut
Summary: What if when Loki thought he was sending the Dark Elf after Thor and ended up sending him to Frigga, that it was not Frigga the Dark Elf targeted, but Y/N Odinsdaughter? How will Loki react to seeing his sister kidnapped due to him in his file?
Authors Note: I fully acknowledge and support Loki being genderfluid. In this fic, I will be using he/him pronouns for Loki since those were the pronouns they’ve used for Loki in the show so far, indicating that at the time this fic is set, Loki’s genderfluid identity is of a man. Should those pronouns/identity change, so will the pronouns for my fics. I do not intend to be harmful in any way so if this is harmful to the genderfluid community, PLEASE let me know!
Request to be on a Taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)
MCU Masterlist #1 | MCU Masterlist #2 | Main Masterlist
PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.
header c @sithsmcu on twitter
Mobius pauses the film at the moment the Avengers defeats Loki and turns to his companion, a smirk playing at his lips. “Now, after you got conquered, you were supposed to go and live on imprisonment in Asgard, but instead, you created this alternate timeline,” he recounts.
Loki rolls his eyes, bored, and leans back in his chair, mockingly folding his hands together on his lap. “Yes, thanks for stating the obvious,” he quips sarcastically in a monotone voice.
Mobius just scoffs and turns back to the screen. “Now, you’ll get to see what happens in the correct timeline,” he says, paying Loki’s cheek no mind and pressing play.
Loki rolls his eyes again but directs his attention to the screen, eyebrows slightly raised. He watches as he was delivered to Asgard, sent to an imprisonment by his father, and given books by his mother. He expected as much, and yawns out loud, hoping to give Mobius the hint that this wasn’t providing any new information or helping him.
However, something ends up piking his interest.
He had been sitting in his cell when the muffled sounds of screams filled his ears. Loki sits up in the chair and leans forward, eyebrows furrowed. He watched his future self observe as one of the Kurse’s in the cells reveals his status as a Dark Elf and broke out, fighting the Asgardian’s who tried to stop them.
His future self smirks and rushes up to the bars of the cell, gripping them, smirk turning devilish. Loki’s future self is far too happy to let the directions to the exist spill out, wishing to enact one last trick on his father and brother.
“You see, you think you’re messing around with Odin and Thor,” Mobius comments, stepping back to give Loki a better view of the screen.
The scene switches to show a new person, and Loki blinks when he recognizes the person as his younger sister, Y/N Odinsdaughter. Y/N is followed by Jane Foster, his brother’s girl, but being the master of mischief, Loki easily spots that the girl is one of Y/N’s illusions.
Y/N rushes with the illusion into a room and goes to lock the door when it is thrown open. She stumbles back, eyes widening when she sees the dangerous face of Malekith.
Loki doesn’t know what this has to do with him, but he finds himself not caring. He’s preoccupied with the worry for his sister that grows like a beanstalk in his stomach. The nausea brings to crawl through his throat, itching to escape, and he digs his fingers into the table to center himself, clear his brain.
Yet he can’t.
Immediately Y/N’s fingers fall around her sword and she swings it at Malekith without thinking, being forced to stumble back more as he enters in further. They begin in a fierce fight, and Loki feels just the tiniest bit relieves when Y/N’s blows get sharper and she gets quicker, falling into her usual fighting style and training. She’s shaken off that initial surprise and is bringing her all.
For just a moment, a smile crosses Loki’s lips - one Mobius catches - as he is proud of his sister and her valiant moves. She is doing well, sure to beat him, when the unthinkable happens: the Dark Elf that Loki had given the directions to bursts inside and comes up from behind Y/N, grabbing her roughly and pinning her back. In seconds, the fight turned on her, since as she struggles against the Dark Elf’s unmatchable strength, Malekith rips her sword from her hand, pointing her own sword at her.
Loki stills, dread and horror flooding his body. His knuckles turn white as he digs his nails into his fresh, mind racing a million different directions.
Malekith raises her sword, pressing it against the tip of Y/N’s throat. She stares at him and ceases struggling against the Dark Elf, going as still as a stature. Loki watches intently, fear coursing through him for his sister - her life.
Then, Malekith smirks and swiftly lowers the sword, enjoying having installed fear in her. He turns to the illusion of Jane and in quick strides is standing in front of her. He goes to get the aether but then freezes, realizing he’s been tricked.
In a sudden change of mood, he turns back to Y/N. “WHERE IS SHE?” He yells, cheeks heating up and spit flying from his tongue.
Y/N does not say anything. She forms her lips into a tight line, only her eyes holding emotion: defiance, determination, passion. She won’t give in. Loki is proud of his younger sister, but wishes she could spare herself harm.
Malekith’s cheeks return to his normal color and his eyes lose its anger, but he carries fury, reels it into his body instead of at Y/N, and quickly raises his fist, smacking Y/N in the face and knocking her unconscious.
Loki raises from his chair, his force kicking it back, and glares at the screen. He’s too angry to even form words when he sees the Dark Elf carelessly pick his sister up and throw her over her shoulder like she’s nothing - when she’s everything. To him. To Asgard.
“Bring her back to Svartálfheim. I’ll use her as leverage to get the aether,” Malekith orders.
“NO!” Loki screams, raw with emotion as he brings his fists forcefully down on the table, sending the other objects flying. He pants with his entire body, needing to get to his sister, to save her, to stop this.
But Mobius pauses the film and turns to Loki, oddly calm. “What makes you do the evil that you do?” He asks, ignoring what just happened.
Loki turns to Mobius. “WHERE IS SHE? WHAT HAPPENED TO HER?” He screams.
Mobius did not expect such a reaction. He didn’t except for Loki to care so much about his sister. “Loki-” He begins to stay, still calm.
Loki interrupts him with a seething tone. The words leave his lips like they are the most important golds and riches in the world. “You need me. That’s why you kept me from returning to the ‘sacred timeline’. I’ll help you - but only if you help me save my sister first.”
Mobius frowns and steps forward. “That’s not how it works. Once you two return to the sacred timeline and the one where your sister is freed gets reset-” he says. Loki interrupts him again.
“Or you can continue struggling with whatever threatens you until it conquers you. It must be bad if you turn to a criminal for help, and it must be big if you need an Asgardian,” Loki points out.
Silence fills the air for a few beats. A stare contest breaks out. Until Mobius relents. “Fine. Have it your way.”