Gotta give some praise and an honorable mention to @littlefreya , because I’ve been reading her The Way to Hell-series and it seems Ingvild and August are crawling under my skin. I didn’t directly think of them while writing this, but reading it again, I clearly sense the inspiration. 🖤🥀🖤
Imagine this as an August Walker POV; him speaking these words.
Warnings: This includes mention sex and violence. 18+ under the cut.
Masterlist
---
My girl. We kiss, we hold hands, we touch each other ever so gently.
Other times we bite, we hurt, we nearly strangle… We molest each other with devilish passion.
I watch with intrigue as men hurt you, ravish you. Spoil you.
Make you cum. Make you unravel, loosen up. Give in, give up. So we can give ourselves to each other; a tight embrace.
Closeness. Divinity. Divination in each other's eyes and hearts.
I see you, my love, as deeply as I sense that you see me.
It’s a sensibility I have.
Similar to the sensibility I have for darkness, dark experiences and emotions.
They drive me. They make me strive to become better. Do you better. Do better for you. Pleasure you. Be there for you, if you will have me, in times of need.
I need you. Please.
Walk with me. Talk with me. Talk to me. Hear me. Listen.
The raven sings. It’s singing. It's a love song. A song for you, my life. My love. Do you hear? Do you feel it in your chest?
My heart is pounding. The drumbeat to the raven’s melodies and love-songs. Serenade.
Let’s go back home, drink lemonade.
We can put in some alcohol, if you want. Get drunk. Make love. Compassionate, passionate, devotional love to each other.
My devotion is you, to you, my love. Purely. My love is tainted yet at once pure. It’s only source, the only goal is you, your heart.
If you want it. My love. Mine. You are. My heart. Do you hear? Feel it?
Put your hand on my chest, my love. My life. Feel the beat behind my ribcage.
There is a bird in there; captured, encaged. In rapture, enraged, in love and dazed. Bewildered, seeking forgiveness. Seeking expression. There aren’t enough words to explain, to express. My love, my life. You. My heart.
My raven. It sings, it sings such a beautiful song. If you could only hear. If you would only listen. To my love, my life, my heart.
It’s here for you, my love. My heart’s for you, my life. My raven sings, flutters, as my heart, for you, my dear.
My utmost devotion, all that I have to give. Do you feel it? With your gentle touch?
Hit me, hurt me, as long as you feel me, hear my call, my song, my expression.
Tears run down my face, do you see? Do you see how strong my love is? My heart? My bird?
It’s crashing in my chest, it’s pounding in the cage, bursting through. I can’t hold back.
---
Thanks for reading. Please comment and share if you enjoyed it 🖤 Tags in the reblog.
Summary: She watches as August rips armed men to shreds. Now the question stands, what will he do to her?
Read Part 2
Pairing: August Walker x OFC
Word count: 672
Warnings: Dark, Graphic depiction of violence, hinted obsession, twisted romance.
A/N: Felt like Trying something different this time. Feedback is very welcome. This is based on a kissing prompt requested by @agniavateira who also edits my work FYI!
Prompt: One person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss.
Title: Run
She couldn’t stop the tremor that coursed through her muscles, nor could she hold back the tears that rolled down her cheeks. The large man half-knelt on the gravel, his blue buttoned shirt stained with large patches of blood.
It wasn’t his.
He was circled by a dozen dead men, their bodies mutilated, lying obscured in the moonlight. These were armed military-trained men, and she watched horrified as he killed some of them with his bare hands. Gauging out their eyes as if they were made of marshmallow, his neck stretched up, eyes facing the sky as he let out a blood-chilling shout.
“No,” was all she could utter between quivering lips, staring at the glare he gave her as he slowly began rising to his feet. Mahogany drops licked down his fingertips to the dusty ground.
They wanted her dead, for some odd reason. Perhaps that would have been a better way to go than in the hands of a feral beast like August Walker.
He was going to shred her, maybe even do something worse before killing her. She saw the pure violence he did to these men, she saw him half-hard as he fought.
“August…” she called out his name, her feet stumbling back as he began to inch toward her, his slow measured steps made a crunching noise on the grit of the rooftop.
“Please, I won’t tell…” she began sobbing, bargaining for her life. He said nothing, stretching out his hand in the air for her but she dodged him, turning around and running through the door to the stairway.
She knew she stood no chance, he was part of elite operations and who was she? A pencil-pushing CIA therapist.
She couldn’t even save his soul. How was she going to save her life?
Her foot slipped as she ran down the stairs, holding onto the rail. She yipped as she felt her ankle twist beneath her weight, but she couldn’t stop. In her mind, she knew this was not going to end with her walking out of this alive yet her survival instincts kept her fighting, unyielding to her upcoming demise.
Running through an empty corridor she turned her head and saw him, he had a fierce look in his icy blue eyes, shooting frozen shards at her. His pace wasn’t urgent, he knew there was no escape for her. She ran until her lungs began to burn and her throat seared, a cold sweat covering her forehead. One wrong turn brought her to a dead-end and August was already on her heels.
His hand seized her, grabbing her forcefully by the hair. She struggled, scratching at the air, crying out to no avail. In less than a second, her back was flat against the wall while August’s bloodied hands cradled her skull, holding her in restraint.
“August please, I’m a person… my name..” she tried to remember the psychology tricks she was taught but as she looked into his gaze she couldn’t remember any of them. They didn’t seem to work either, his grip only became firmer, his heavy body pressed against hers.
“Hush,” he answered. His thumbs grazed her defined cheeks, wiping away the salty wetness and smearing blood beneath her eyes instead.
She watched in silence, studying his face. There was something so dark and painful in his eyes, a circus of dead animals, their ghosts dancing in a soundless parade.
“No one is ever going to hurt you again,” he whispered.
Her gaze fell to his beautifully shaped lips, noticing how he uttered words in between them so erotically. One hand descended to the corner of her mouth, his fingertip beginning to trace the shape of her lips, tenderly caressing the little bow at the top.
His touch made her shiver, but it wasn’t just fear. She felt herself break beneath his hands, her body giving in, succumbing to this conquest. Her head fell back as if possessed by whatever powers August had, her chin tilted toward him, accepting his yearning kiss.
