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azureashes · 2 years

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A Goddess for the King of Curses

ISTG MINORS DNI FFS PLS

TW: Noncon, double penetration, size kink, corruption kink, group noncon, gaslighting, mindbreaking, torture, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

And without further ado, enjoy... if you’re the same kind of crazy as me.

Part two: here.

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There are syrupy rose petals spreading their sweetness on your tongue as your feet soak in wild honey. White silk is draped loosely over your frame. Baby’s breath is braided into your hair along with golden threads. Looking out from your raised velvet dais, you see rows and rows of villagers, paying obeisance to you.

One by one, the villagers step forward and dip small pieces of bread into the clay pot of honey at your feet. They believe the honey has gained healing properties and your mouth is too full of syrup and roses to tell them otherwise. And who knows, maybe it did have healing properties. Otherwise, what were they bowing and thanking you for? You watch them scoop up the amber liquid and listen to their supplications as they go.

“Please, my Lady,” a tearful old woman begged, her voice raspy with – what? Age, sickness, thirst? You had read of these terms in books but did not quite know what they meant, what they felt like. “My daughter, please let her be healthy again.”

You nod, because speech is reserved only for the most momentous occasions, and hope it’s enough for her. The monthly assembly was nearing its end and only a few stragglers remained. The day was nearly done with, and you were inclined to return to your chambers as soon as possible.

Your gaze had already slipped towards the next supplicant approaching when it happened. The woman reached out and touched the pale skin of your feet. An entreaty that transgressed sacred bounds. “Please, my lady!” the woman wept.

Before you could so much as respond, guards had already dragged the woman away from you. You didn’t know what she was thinking. She had to know that touching you was strictly forbidden, that it would mar your purity, ultimately affecting your ability to protect all of them with your sanctity as Priestess of the Goddess Terra.

The uniformed men showed no mercy, they raised their weapons and beat down on the old woman mercilessly. Your heart twinged with pain. You could understand their concern that the woman’s actions might have endangered the sacred temple and all who resided in its protection. But what was done was done and you abhorred violence.

“Enough!” the word was out of your mouth before you knew it and you were on your feet. Your fiery gaze narrowed at the men, and they hesitated nervously, realizing they had displeased you. Most of the residents of the temple had never even heard you speak and so, when your clear, commanding voice rang out throughout the temple hall everything ground to a halt. Time seemed to stand still.

“Tut, tut,” a sickly sweet voice rang out from behind you. The thick, velvet curtains parted, and the High Chamberlain stepped into view. He wore a tall, cylindrical hat that was inlaid with diamonds, and fashioned out of rich, mulberry velvet brocade. His spindly fingers were adorned with so many golden rings it was a wonder he could lift them at all. In fact, the platinum-haired man with the aquiline nose was so heavily weighed down by gold from head to toe it was a wonder he didn’t melt into a yellow puddle when passing by the kitchens. Only the ornate medallion on his chest, the mark of one anointed by the temple, was of burnished silver.

“You have displeased the Goddess.” His voice was deceptively soft, as was the usual manner for men who knew that they bore the kind of power that did not require them to raise their voices.

The men stood back at once, abashed. They brought their hands stiffly to their sides and bowed their heads in silent apology. The High Chamberlain stepped down the marble stairs with slow, measured steps. He approached them with disdain and gently helped the old woman to her feet.

“The goddess does not condone violence!” the chamberlain called out to the people at large, before turning to the two soldiers. “Do you intend to disgrace the temple by angering the goddess?” His voice was sharp and weighted with cold fury.

“Go. Take your families and leave this place. You are dismissed from your posts.” He turned away from them with a scowl, “Lest you bring damnation upon us all.”

He turned to the assembly with outstretched hands next. “Worshippers, please leave the temple now! The goddess must take her rest after the trying ordeal she has witnessed.” The men and women shouted praises to the goddess who had chosen to defend the common people over her own temple guards as four handsome young eunuchs approached with a palanquin. You were helped to your feet by your handmaidens, young girls who were sworn into your service from an early age and swore never to marry. As they carried you off, you could not help but glance at the two ashen-faced soldiers who looked like they had been sentenced to death. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. You weren’t sure whether justice had been served. But the High Chamberlain had spoken, and what did you know about the affairs of the people?

“I’m not a goddess.”

The words were out almost as soon as you had reentered your chambers. You meant to sound indignant, but it came out petulant – childish, almost.

The High Chamberlain turned to you with a gentle smile. “I’m a priestess, Sig,” you insisted, “I worship the Goddess."

“Ah, and so you do.” He folded his hands over his staff, gold rings clinking as he did so. “I chose you myself so many years ago, because I saw the light of the goddess within you and knew you to be the next priestess.”

You frowned. You couldn’t help but feel that he was skirting the topic somehow, but you weren’t sure where he was leading. You settled deeper into your cushions and pulled the many silks around you closer. Your chambers were your favorite place in the temple, here you could be at ease, away from watchful eyes. Golden flowerpots littered the floors and tables, each with all sorts of fresh flowers picked from the gardens this morning. You liked to lie back on your silks, close your eyes, and pretend you were among them, on the grass, in the sunshine. Their bouquet’s sweet fragrance washed over you and you could almost believe it to be true.

“But through your worship, dear one, you have entered unto the goddess,” he smiled softly, and lowered his voice as if they were sharing a secret. “And the goddess has entered unto you.”

You pressed a palm to your chest where your heart thumped against your ribcage. Was it true?

“I strongly believe that you are the Chosen Priestess, who will save us all when the Great Evil arises.”

You frowned, unconvinced, “I’m sure you said that to my predecessor as well. And you’ll say it to my successor, too.”

Siegfried burst into amused laughter that ended in a cough. “You never cease to surprise me,” he shook his head. The two of you fell silent for a moment before he continued, “Do you know that your parents did not want to give you into the service of the temple?”

Wide-eyed, you turned to him now, perplexed, “why?”

The old priest shrugged, “Who knows? In their limited knowledge, they didn’t realize what a great honor the Calling that you had received was.”

He rose to his feet and made to leave, “Sometimes we cannot foresee the great glory that fate has yet to bestow upon us.” He winked at you, as if there was some riddle in his words for you to solve. You mulled over his meaning as he headed towards the door. You bit your lip when something puzzled you.

“Master Sig,” you called after him, causing him to stop in the doorway and turn towards you. “How did you change their minds? My parents, I mean?”

“Come now,” the High Chamberlain dismissed with a smile, “that is quite enough of the past.” He nodded at you and was gone.

The Great Evil was coming.

You knew it. You could feel it in your bones.

You spent day and night at the sacred tree begging the goddess for protection. You supplicated unto the pearled staff that only the priestess of the age was ever allowed access to. You told the chamberlain about your worries whenever you had a chance, but he was far more concerned with running the temple than with taking your premonitions seriously. When nearby cities and kingdoms fell, when the sorcerers who were meant to stop the evil were crushed under its feet, when the monsters were only days away, all hell broke loose.

The temples treasures were packed up, the servants and monks rushed to and fro, the chamberlain himself was seen running from place to place, barking orders, his hat askew. Among all the chaos, you merely stood there, lost and confused.

It was as if they had forgotten all about you.

“Sig!” you called out to the chamberlain’s retreating back. He almost stumbled at the sound of your voice and whirled around with a glare in his eyes. It was almost as if he were angry with you, but that wasn’t possible… was it?

“Wh- what am I to do?” your voice came out smaller than intended. You had been preparing for this moment your whole life – you, and generations of priestesses before you. Now that it had come, were they all going to run away?

Siegfried sighed and the anger evaporated from his face, he cooed your name and walked towards you, righting his hat as he did so. “Listen to me carefully now,” he said sternly, and you could almost hear the old, collected Chamberlain in his voice. “You are the chosen priestess. You will face this evil, and you will defeat it by your virtue. The goddess is within you – no, you ARE the goddess. You must take the Sacred Staff and protect this country.” His gaze bore into you, compelling you to understand. He was the closest thing you had to a parent, he had raised you all your life. He was the only one you were given leave to speak to. And he was entrusting you with all of their fates.

You blinked, your eyes welling up with tears at the enormity of your task, but you nodded solemnly. This was your due. For all the years of worship that the countrymen had paid to you and your ancestors. It was time to fight the evil with the collected power of those prayers.

“I – “ he was already stumbling away again, now that he had placated you, “I will take the people away – somewhere safe!” He opened and closed his mouth a few times as sweat rolled down his temples. “I’d much rather be by your side to see your glorious victory, but - but the people need to be evacuated.” He nodded firmly to himself. “I will bring them back when you have vanquished the Great Evil.”

You watched his retreating back as he turned slowly away from you and then bolted for the temple’s exit. You took a soft, deep breath and looked around.

The temple was abandoned. It seemed all the others had fled while you were talking to Sig.

No matter, you shook your head. It was time.

You dressed in the white silks that had been prepared for the month’s assembly, they were of better use for the upcoming battle. Seven gold belts you clasped around your waist, each with a divine significance. Power, Wisdom, Eloquence, Generosity, Chastity, Divinity, and Judgment.

You knelt at the sacred tree a final time and bade the goddess Terra watch over you, before rising to your feet and turning to a side room. Here, was the Wreath of the Goddess and the Staff of Sanctity. The two tools you would use to vanquish the approaching evil. The Staff was a pearly white, and the Wreath was made of delicate golden flowers and leaves that were as soft to the touch as real flowers. You placed the wreath atop your head and lifted the staff gingerly in your hands.

The uppermost floor of the tower was your destination. Here, you would face the oncoming horde of evil. Here, you would take your stand and protect the people of this land who had worshipped you all your life.

You saw them approaching from afar. A mass of growling, burly demonic incarnations approaching like a thick plague. The very stench of their evil made your skin crawl, but you set your teeth and stood firm. The closer they drew, the weaker you felt, their demonic aura infringing upon your divine power. You closed your eyes and whispered a prayer for strength, replenishing the shield of divinity.

When the horde of demons drew within earshot, you breathed deep and called out, “Halt, accursed spirits! I am the Priestess of the Goddess Terra, and I forbid you entry within our borders! Heed my words, lest I sentence you to your deaths!”

The monsters turned towards one another, muttering to themselves before bursting into raucous laughter. Their jeers made your stomach turn. As if you had not spoken at all, they lurched back into action and continued approaching the temple walls. With a quiet incantation, you lifted the sacred staff and struck the ground with it. Immediately, a luminous, incandescent wall sprung to life between the temple and the evil beasts. They snarled at you and the first of them lifted a mace before bolting towards the barrier – only to disintegrate into nothingness as soon as he touched it.

You smirked to yourself, you were the chosen priestess, and you would protect your countrymen. A furious roar lifted from the monsters as they shuffled back and forth, wondering what to do. You watched them, hoping they would retreat peacefully, putting an end to the chaos when a pair of crimson eyes caught yours. Your breath caught in your throat, because there, among the disgruntled goblins was a man standing well over them, he had black markings on his face and four muscular arms, two of which were folded across his broad chest, but most shocking of all was the fact that he was looking straight at you with a wide, unhinged smirk, fangs gleaming in the sunlight.

Before you could blink, he had launched himself up through the air towards you, and as he approached the divine barrier, the last shield between you and the evil beyond - it shattered into a million pieces like the thinnest of glass. He squatted on the balcony’s railing, his nose millimeters from yours, his scarlet eyes flecked with gold and glowing with bloodlust.

“Boo,” he taunted, his smirk unfaltering. You could hear the cheers of victory behind and far below him as the demons breached the temple walls, but you could not tear your eyes from the murderous smile of the man before you. Instantly, you knew without a shadow of a doubt, that this man was the Great Evil you had been taught about all your life.

“I am the Priestess of Terra,” you murmured quietly, your breath ghosting over his lips. You furrowed your brows, trying your best to look imposing, trying your best to stand your ground, “and I will vanquish you.”

His nose twitched and his eyes gleamed, there was something of genuine delight in his response and you fought the shiver that went down your spine.

“Oh, yeah?” he sneered, stepping forward off the balcony railing. His sheer size forced you to take a step back. “Says who?”

“The goddess Terra has ordained me to –“ you begin, glancing backwards so you don’t fall to the floor.

“Goddess, shmoddess,” Sukuna dismissed with a cruel laugh. Like a strike of lightning his hand shot out, and closed around your face, his fingers reached to the tips of your ears and his palms smelled of blood and sweat.

He was touching you - touching you. And his touch was warm and foreign and – and bruising. Your head spun with fear. When the demon applied pressure, you could hear the bones of your jaw creaking in protest as he lifted you off of the ground. He swung you left and right like a ragdoll, “I’m asking you, who left you here to stand against me on your own?”

“Th- The people of Terrania, I –“ your voice was muffled against his palm and you could scarcely breathe. “I will protect them!” you choked out, before striking out with your staff, hoping the mere touch of such a divine instrument would be enough to take him down.

You held the point of the staff against his chest, and Sukuna glanced down at it, taken aback briefly. He blinked, then broke into a chuckle, as the pearly white spear took on a gray, and then an inky black hue spilling down from the point of contact with Sukuna’s chest towards the handle in your hand. You gasped in horror, watching the ominous display through the gaps in Sukuna’s fingers.

“That’s all well and good, brat…” he chuckled sinisterly, “but who is going to protect you?”

And in that moment, you lost all hope that anyone would.

“Sukuna-sama,” a voice called from beyond your vision. “The place is abandoned, there’s no one else here. The townspeople, too,” the gruff voice continued. “All gone.”

“Well, well, well…” Sukuna sneered. “Looks like it’s just you and me then, priestess.”

He released his hold on you and you crumpled to the ground like a used towel, coughing for breath. You glanced up at the mountain of a man and began to realize, for the very first time, that you were entirely out of your depth. You stumbled to your feet gingerly, unwilling to give up despite the overwhelming odds. “I am the incarnation of the Goddess Terra,” you rasped, “and I will bring you to your knees.”

“Ho?” Sukuna sneered, almost delighted by your stupidity. “My knees, huh?”

He stepped closer and grabbed you by your hair, sending the Wreath of the Goddess tumbling to the ground, you yelped in pain, but squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to let him see your fear.

“Oi,” Sukuna snapped gruffly, “eyes up here.”

You glared at him through the tears in your eyes. He tugged on your hair some more. “Does this hurt?” He grinned in mock-concern, “I’m only getting started. I thought you were gonna bring me down, you’ll have to do better than that.”

Your scalp burned with pain. You thought of roses in syrup, of clay pots of honey, of cool silks and soft velvets. Anything but the present moment.

“Don’t you hate them?” Sukuna jerked you closer towards himself, “The assholes who left a nobody like you alone with me?”

You bit back tears. “I will protect my worshippers,” you whispered thickly, muted by sobs stuck in your throat.

“You think they didn’t know what was going to happen to you?” Sukuna barked a laugh, “You really don’t see what’s happening here?”

With his free hand he grabbed your face again, squeezing your cheeks in until they hurt. “Don’t tell me you actually believe all that crap about being a goddess?!” A disbelieving laugh echoed against the abandoned temple walls.

“I was going to kill you,” Sukuna mused piercing your cheek with a sharp, black fingernail. You whimpered despite yourself as blood trickled towards your chin. “Impale you and use you as a flag, you know?” He snorted in amusement, as if the idea was a clever joke.

“But I think I have a better idea…”

You yelped in alarm as you felt yet another hand at your waist, you tried to jerk away from him, trembling at his touch – as foreign to you as the pain you were feeling for the first time in your life. You tried to swat his hands away, but he was quick to catch your hands in one of his own, and then twisting them until they hurt.

“Now don’t be such a prude,” Sukuna taunted as his other hands sliced through the seven golden belts one at a time. “Let’s see what’s under here, shall we?”

“Stop, please…” you whimpered, eyes brimming with tears.

“You’re not a goddess,” Sukuna tutted, throwing two belts to the ground.

Power. Wisdom.

“Not a priestess,”

Judgment. Eloquence. Generosity.

“Not the savior of these stinking humans,”

Divinity.

The last of the golden belts clattered to the floor and his hands reached between the folds of silk and cupped the mound between your legs. A shuddering sob escaped your throat.

“You’re just a woman.”

Chastity.

He rubbed at your clothed sex, observing the conflicting emotions of horror, pleasure and fear splayed openly across your face. “Looks like the goddess likes it,” Sukuna sneered.

The tears you held at bay came bubbling over. The sounds of the temple - your childhood home, your only home - being ransacked by the many cursed spirits that had stormed in echoed through the halls and instead of protecting your shrine, here you were being touched, touched, by the great evil himself in ways you didn’t understand.

“They steal little girls like you from their parents,” Sukuna continued gruffly, adjusting his grip so that two hands held you up by your thighs, pressing your legs apart and pinning you against a large, marble pillar, while the other two ventured up your abdomen and over your breasts each inch that his hands wandered over you caused cold dread to creep up your spine, when suddenly – without warning – his sharp nails came down, tearing your silk robes to shreds.

You gasped in horror and sheer humiliation. You had never been exposed to anyone, not even your handmaidens, and here you were spread open like a gutted pig. And beyond that, the eyes of the great evil were feasting on you as if you were no more than a morsel for him to devour.

You winced when he reached out towards you. You had spent your life untouched, and when Sukuna’s hands closed in on you, his touch was never less than punishing. He squeezed, he pinched, he scraped your flesh, as if he could only feel you when you were in pain. He grabbed your breasts and squeezed mercilessly, his sharp black nails digging into your skin. For reasons, you could not comprehend, you moaned through your hiccupping sobs.

This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t happening.

“They look for the most gullible ones, unsuspecting idiots like you,” he twisted your nipple cruelly as he went on. “And use you to fill their own koffers, to bring in the fools who are willing to part with their gold. And you know what the best part is?” He lowered his head towards your ear to reveal it, but broke off laughing. The idea was so ridiculous to him, it didn’t look like he could help but laugh. He leaned against you, crushing you into the pillar as he continued laughing hysterically. You watched him helplessly, suspended against the pillar spread-eagle with your most intimate area pressed up against him, your eyebrows knitted in confusion, your cheeks damp with tears.

When the roar of laughter abated, Sukuna wiped at his eyes and brought his lips to your ears, “When those bastards left you here, do you really think they thought you would fight me?” He waited a beat for you to think it over. You hesitated, hadn’t Sig expected her to fight? “They must have thought you’d have the good sense to run away.” Sukuna burst out laughing again and pressed one hand to his stomach as if it hurt from laughter.

“You see? You see what an absolute fool you are?”

You could not respond and simply stared at him blankly. “Th-that’s not true…”

But you weren’t sure. You thought about how Sig had fled without another glance backwards. How the monks and handmaidens had run from the temple without once asking after you. How they had left you behind as if you were no more human than the temple’s paintings or statues.

“Everyone knew it was a lie,” Sukuna hissed sadistically into your ear, as he tore the simple, remaining scrap of fabric from between your legs.

“Everyone but you.”

And then his fingers were inside of you.

You cried out in shock. “No, no, no…” You fought against him with what little strength you had. You didn’t know what this was, but it was wrong, it was so, so wrong. “Stop!” You pounded against his chest hoping to catch him off guard so he would release you, but those long, thick fingers only kept exploring the hole between your legs.

“Stop it! Please! I’ll do whatever you want!”

“Oh yes, you will,” Sukuna smirked. Catching both of your wrists in one of his hands he pinned them above your head, leaving you utterly defenseless. You looked on in horror as he reached for the sacred staff and held it in his bare hand. The Sacred Staff. The divine gift that no one but the priestesses had touched for over a hundred years. In the hands of the Great Evil. And whose fault was that? No one’s but yours. The onyx marble glistened in the sunlight and a salacious sneer spread across the monster’s lips.

“Be honest with yourself, goddess,” he teased, bringing the staff between your legs. He pressed the cold marble against your womanhood and slid it slowly up and down, enjoying your look of despair at his manhandling your divine weapon. The cool marble slipped between your folds and touched something between your legs that caused you to jerk in response.

“Stop it,” you whimpered, letting your head hang in shame, even as your legs trembled against his hold with the strange, unfamiliar sensation. You could feel something coiling within your stomach, something you had first attributed to fear, but now you weren’t so sure anymore.

“What? You don’t like it?” Sukuna hummed with sadistic pleasure, “Don’t lie, brat.”

“I don’t!” you denied vehemently, even as your cheeks burned. But what could you do? With your legs pressed open and your hands pinned over your head, struggle as you might, there was no overpowering the great demon before you. Your eyes burned with guilt at what you had allowed to become of the sacred staff. If only a more powerful priestess had been in your place.

The thought was cut short by another entirely. Sukuna had said the temple kidnapped young, naïve girls. And what was it that Siegfried had said? That your parents had been unwilling to give you up? Maybe there were no priestesses more powerful. Maybe there was only a string of ignorant young women preyed upon by powerful men who made their fortunes off of them.

No, the idea was blasphemous!

Your thoughts were cut short as something cool and round demanded entrance and you shivered despite yourself. “Wh- what are you doing?”

“Think it’ll fit?” Sukuna mused, pressing the bulbous head of the staff against your opening. He prodded the hole carelessly once, twice, and each time a jolt passed through your body. “Stop!” you demanded, anxious sweat beading on your forehead, you opened your mouth to say more but nothing came out as a searing pain tore through you like fire.

A scream erupted from your throat as your untouched inner walls were forced to give way to the cold stone. Distantly, as if a world away, you could hear Sukuna laughing, enjoying your pain. Before your scream had even abated, he began shoving the staff deeper. Your cries broke off into sobs of pain, but the more you suffered, the more he seemed to be enjoying himself.

He pulled the staff out, only to ram it back into you, and smirked each time you jolted at the intrusion. You sobbed messily, tears and snot streaming down your face. Sukuna showed no signs of stopping, or even slowing, his punishing pace continued mercilessly until blood streamed between your legs.

“Pl- please…” you sniffled.

“Please what?” Sukuna asked, but rammed the ancient relic back into you as you opened your mouth to reply. “Come now, goddess, full sentences, please.”

Something awful was building and you didn’t know what it was - you hoped it was a swift death - but your breath shortened, and your body felt wound like a spring, and just as a dozen cursed spirits streamed into the room to give their report to Sukuna, you cried out in confusion as your body spasmed, your nerve ends tingling like grains of sand.

Sukuna pulled your staff from between your legs, and it hurt as if your insides themselves were clenching onto the stone instrument. You fell forward like a dead weight, hanging limply from where Sukuna held your wrists.

“Step forward men,” Sukuna all but purred, gesturing towards you magnanimously, “meet your goddess.”

Your face burned with shame and tears dripped down from your lashes onto the temple floor where they mingled with your blood. You trembled still with the force of whatever it was that had happened to you and closed your eyes from the humiliating experience.

“Oi,” Sukuna gripped your chin and raised your face towards him. “Don’t be a bore, goddess. Look at them.” He turned your face towards the creatures that had entered. A few bore a resemblance to men, others were half-beast, and others still were what could only be described as monsters with tentacles, fangs, and all manner of bodily deformities.

“See that look in their eyes?” Sukuna murmured into your ear, his fangs brushing your earlobe. “They want a turn, too. What do you say, should I hand you over?”

You turned your head towards him in horror, your eyes imploring him not to, as a cheer broke out among the cursed spirits.

You shook your head desperately as Sukuna finally released you, giving you a shove towards the gathering. They caught hold of you before you had even caught your footing, dragging you into the center of their circle. Their eyes were almost worse than their hands, the hunger with which those fearsome eyes raked over you was nauseating. You cried and screamed and begged them to stop, but your voice was drowned out by theirs. Nothing could stop them fighting over every inch of your flesh. You were groped and prodded at, licked in more places than you could count at once. It was as if you were drowning in hands and tongues.

But as bad as it was when they fought over you, it was worse still when they cooperated with one another. Bruising hands pinned you down while the others explored your body freely, taking turns mouthing your breasts and fondling you. There were so many voices, so much warm breath on your skin, so many faces, you shut your eyes and sobbed miserably.

You prayed that Sig would pull you away. That your guards would beat them down. That the goddess Terra would come to save you, but you knew it was all in vain. Deep down, you were beginning to realize. You were nothing more than a girl who had been stolen from her parents. After all, a true goddess could never find herself in such a situation, could she? Being raped to death in her own temple?

It was when an overeager cursed spirit positioned his member between your legs that you realized with startling clarity, that there was one person who could save you.

“Sukuna-sama!” you screamed, pulling your face away from another spirit seeking entrance at your mouth. They hesitated, confirming your suspicions. There was one person who could call them off, who might call them off still. “Sukuna…” you called again, but your voice was weaker this time. You squeezed your eyes shut and gave yourself up to the only true power you had yet to witness.

“Please, I’ll do anything! Please!”

When you opened your eyes again, Sukuna was standing beside you staring down at where you were held spread-eagle on the floor.

The mirth was gone from his face. He was regarding you seriously. A cocked brow, a challenge. “Anything?”

You nodded, tears still flowing from your eyes. He jerked his chin at the spirits, signaling for them to leave off and they scrambled backwards, not daring to challenge him. You rose to sit before him, your legs tucked beneath you as you used to sit in the temple library. Your shoulders shook still, and you wiped your face with the back of your arm, trying to regain a sense of decorum even as you could not stop yourself from trembling. You glanced down at your blood-stained legs and your tear-streaked arms, waiting for Sukuna’s verdict.

“You could be my mascot, like I said. I could string you up nicely,” Sukuna mused, leaning back against a pillar as he rested one booted foot on your shoulder. “What else could you possibly be good for? Apart from your leather, maybe.”

What were you good for? Nothing, clearly. You didn’t even know a single thing about yourself. But… you knew everything about the goddess.

“Do you want me to die a martyr?” you asked, meeting his eyes clearly, the faintest spark of hope coming to life within you. “Or do you want them to see that I’ve recognized the power of a true god?” It might work, appeal to his ego, he was the type, wasn’t he?

Sukuna’s lips split into a broad smile. “Clever little thing, aren’t you?” He pushed at your shoulder with his booted foot, sending you sprawling onto your back on the tiled floor. He then took hold of your wrist and lifted you up from the floor until you were eye level. You swallowed thickly and did your best to meet his gaze, there was a dangerous spark in those glowing red irises. “But I don’t like the look in your eyes,” he decided. “Should I take them out?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Did he mean that?

“Break in the goddess, huh?” He smirked, “Well, let’s get started, then.” As he pulls you towards the balcony you begin to understand what he has in store for you.

“I’ll be obedient!” You cry, realizing you’re in for more pain as you struggle to keep up with his steps. “I’ll do everything you say! Please, no more!”

“And how on earth are you going to be obedient?” He sneered, “When you’re arguing with me already?”

He throws you towards a wooden table.

The monks used to eat dinner here, you remember. They would thank you for the meal and eat humbly with gentle smiles. Your back slams against the surface of the wooden table and the candlesticks clatter across the temple floor. You scamper backwards, as if seeking to escape over the table, but Sukuna takes hold of your shoulder and flips you onto your chest, the rough wood scraping at your skin. In one fluid movement, Sukuna catches your wrists in his hand and slams your staff against the nearest wall, sending the marble bulb sailing through the air for him to catch in a third hand. He stabs the jagged edge of your now-broken staff through the backs of your hands, held one over the other, and clear through the wooden table.

You don’t even realize you are screaming until the pain in your throat becomes unbearable. You sob against the unfinished wood and Sukuna shakes his head behind you. “Tsk, tsk, tsk… What was that about being obedient?”

“I’ll be good, I promise…” you mutter nonsensically, your words slurred with pain. “You can trust me.”

“I’ll trust you when I break you,” Sukuna answers automatically. His attention caught by the marble, stone ball in his hand, still covered with your blood and your juices.

“Say ahh~” he grins, holding the orb of your broken staff to your lips. You’re about to protest, when your gaze catches on the cursed spirits still watching, waiting only a few feet away for you to screw up and be thrown back into their midst.

If you were going to be violated, wouldn’t it be better for Sukuna to be the one? He was just one demon, he had to wear out eventually, right? You opened your mouth, and Sukuna shoved the ball inside, scraping past your teeth. It was too big. It hurt. You couldn’t swallow. You could already feel saliva pooling in your mouth.

“Good girl,” Sukuna purred, “how’s that?” You couldn’t answer but you tried anyway, hoping the garbled sound would somehow please him. It seemed to do the job, because he asked no further questions as he moved back behind you.

It was awful. Your hands were burning, you almost wished he would have just cut them off instead. Every ever so tiny movement only widened your wounds, worsening your pain. The discomfort of the rough, wooden table almost didn’t register in comparison, but the burning embarrassment of your exposed backside hurt almost more than your hands. You tried to blend it all out, to disappear into some safe space in your mind as Sukuna slowly marched towards the end of the table trailing a sharp, black fingernail along your spine as he did so.

Sukuna didn’t like to give you any sort of pleasure without also giving you pain, you were starting to realize, and you grit your teeth for what you knew would be a humiliating experience, even more so with the other spirits looking on.

What you didn’t expect was for the palm of his hand to strike your backside with such force that the table splintered beneath you. Your hoarse throat cried out in pain. You could feel the bits of wood digging into your thighs, but could do nothing at all as he repeated the motion, again, and again, and again. Each strike seemed to travel up through your whole body, each strike seemed like it would split your skin. It was an endless, raw pain. You had no idea how long it went on for, but it continued until you gave up screaming, and your face lay limp in a puddle of your own drool.

When your body went slack and you were teetering on the edge of consciousness, and he could no longer provoke a reaction out of you, he finally stilled his hand. He pulled your face up by your hair, and your eyes rolled weakly up towards him, a string of spittle stretching from your chin to the table.

“You’re not finished already, are you?” he taunted, bright-eyed and sadistic. He rubbed gently at your backside now, almost as if easing away the pain and you blinked in weak confusion. What… what was he doing?

“That’s just the thing, goddess,” he slipped his hand between your cheeks, sliding up and down, spreading a strange slick liquid between your legs. “Don’t pass out on me now, if I wanted to fuck a corpse, I would have just killed you in the first place.” You moaned weakly. You had no idea what was going on, but it felt good, and you were so desperate to feel good. When his fingers slipped inside of you this time, there was nothing awful about it, you sighed against the table and closed your eyes in relief. Sure, there were still chips of wood in your thighs and the blood on your hands had crusted around your staff, and your jaw ached so terribly you did not believe there was a way to remove the ball of marble from your mouth. You were starting to hate the staff, and the wreath, and the temple, and everything about this place.

You relaxed into his touch, hoping that the more pliant you were, the less inclined he would be to cause you more pain. You felt thick, hard flesh prodding at your entrance, sliding up and down, just as his hand had a minute ago, to part your folds and slip inside. But something was wrong, whatever it was he wanted to violate you with now, it was too big, it would never fit. You glanced over your shoulder, trying to make sense of what was happening to you and your eyes widened in alarm as you saw not one, but two, erect members protruding from between his legs, each of them bigger than a man’s fist. He was going to literally tear you apart. He had no intention of letting you live.

All lethargy forgotten, you whimpered in fear and struggled to pull away from him, but two firm hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you in place. “Now, now… don’t be that way,” he scolded with a cruel smirk. “Open wide.”

He forced himself inside of you with a thrust that should have split you clean in two. The sound that escaped from your mouth was something between a groan and a scream. You gasped, panting against the obstruction in your mouth as your inner walls burned with pain. You squeezed your eyes shut and whimpered against the table trying to spread your feet further apart, anything to ease the agonizing stretch.

But Sukuna cared little for your comfort. He continued ramming into you, aiming to push deeper and deeper inside of you, not having nearly had his fill. Each thrust makes you dizzy, each time he shoves further inside of you, you’re sure he’ll tear you apart.

It’s all together too much. Another orgasm crashes over you, despite the pain, causing your walls to squeeze down on him. You shiver uncontrollably against the table, wondering – hoping – if you could just black out until he’s done.

You feel the flat of his palm against your bare back and your eyes fall to half-mast as he shoves into you – again – again – again. You loll forward with each thrust, widening the wounds on your hands. When Sukuna finally gives pause with a groan, one hand on each side of you, leaning over you on the table, you turn your head weakly to look up at him.

It’s strange, to meet his eyes this way. It’s almost intimate. Being shadowed by him this way, covered by him. It’s strange how in the course of just a few hours, his touch had gone from horrid and strange to familiar. Strange. Perhaps it was simply her addled, exhausted mind.

You could not look away from him, and he did not seem to be inclined to do so either. He began rocking into you, eating up your expressions, each wince of pain, each moan of pleasure, each jolt of overstimulation. Did it make him feel powerful, you wondered, to be able to give you agony or ecstasy at his leisure, to switch them up at a whim, always leaving you guessing?

Just when you thought you had reached the point of no return, you felt him position his second member behind you. But what did he intend to do? You were stretched to your limit, there was no way he could fit another where he had forced the first – but the question answered itself almost as soon as it crossed your mind.

You turned wide eyes towards Sukuna, who smirked, feasting off your fear. You tried to say something, some protest about how wrong that was, but all that reached his ears around the ball in your mouth was helpless, desperate whines.

“Look at you,” Sukuna chided, lifting your chin from the table where you had made a mess, the wood softening from your pooled saliva. “Disgusting.” Your stomach did some odd flip at the word. It was an insult. So, why did it feel…

All thoughts were banished from your mind as his second member began squeezing into your narrow entrance. It hurt. It hurt so, so, so much. It hurt more than your jaw and more than your hands and more than losing your maidenhood to your own staff had. You sobbed against the table, your tears mixing with your saliva, and still Sukuna pushed on.

You didn’t know when the pain faded. Maybe it hadn’t faded at all, but it was now accompanied by another sensation. Something filthy, something animalistic, something intoxicating.

There was a type of urgency to his movements now, and you could hear the wooden table legs skidding over the stone floor with each thrust quickening in pace. Your breaths were starting to come fast and short again, and to your immense surprise, so did his. There was that coil tightening in your belly again, the tension throughout your body that you realized would be released shortly, and then it hit you – he was feeling the same thing.

The feeling of fullness drove you nearly out of your mind. Each thrust seemed to kill off a little of your sanity. Did it hurt? Was it torture? Or was it divine? Did you wish he would leave you alone or did you wish he would never stop? You didn’t rightly know.

Feeling both members slick in and out of you at the same time, perfectly in sync, filling you so perfectly you thought you could almost feel him in your throat. Your eyes crossed over as you gave yourself up to him. It was okay. It had to be. Everyone was gone. They had left you with him. It had to be okay to let him have you. To let him ravage you however he liked. It had to be okay if it felt this good.

He was also this close to reaching that strange, indescribable height that you knew you ought not to feel, being bared and violated in your own temple like this. But it was all a lie anyway, wasn’t it? And as opposed to always sitting still, and being silent, you felt more alive like this, on the precipice of agony and pleasure at the same time, waiting for someone as awful as Sukuna to push you over.

It tore out of you with a scream of pleasure, you all but convulsed against the table with the sheer impact of the climax that washed over you. Sukuna came shortly after, his pace stuttering, and then you could feel something warm and pleasant gushing into you. What could that be? Copious amounts of it, it felt like, pumping into you and flowing back out, dripping onto the floor between your legs. Sukuna lowered himself for a fraction of a moment, his chest almost grazing your back.

Panting, losing consciousness, your eyes met his. He made a sound that was something between a scoff and a chuckle, “That’s the thing sweetheart, you can’t pretend to be broken.”

“Mmm..” you answered, your eyes fluttering closed. Darkness was closing in. Were you dying? Or falling asleep? You had no idea. Sukuna had spoken so softly his minions couldn’t possibly have heard him. But as you drifted off, you held onto a single word… sweetheart.

Days and nights passed. Some with torture, some with starvation, some with agonizing ecstasy to drive you out of your mind. Some days he left you alone in a dark room until there was no way to know whether or not he had left you to your death. Others he whispered sweet, meaningless nothings into your ear just to see how it made you shiver. Some days he called you disgusting trash not worth his time. Others he called you goddess.

Both were starting to feel the same.

It was exhilarating just to have his attention. Just to have him look at you. Just to not be alone. It felt good to be struck by him. Almost as good as it felt to have him jerk your head back by your hair so he could fuck you harder. And when all was said and done, you were broken in every sense of the word, but that was okay, because you had never felt so whole.

When he marched on your townspeople it was with you on his shoulder, draped in skimpy, barely-there red silks and gold chains. You wore the Wreath of the Goddess around your neck like a collar, and your arms were wrapped around Sukuna’s neck. He didn’t even need to put you down to kill the few rebels that took up arms. And when the rest of them surrendered to his might, you felt giddy watching Sig and the others kneel before Master Sukuna. The burning villages, the ruined fields, didn’t it serve them right?

And just to prove a point, he’d dragged you onto his lap and fucked his goddess in front of the entire assembly. Bouncing you up and down until your eyes crossed in delirious pleasure. With the townspeople looking on in equal measures of shock and concern, with Sukuna’s big, warm hands on your hips, guiding you -

You’d never felt so pure.

#Sukuna #tw noncon #sukuna reader #writing #dark #dead dove do not eat

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letstalktea · 8 months

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Content: Vampire Lord!Astarion (mentioned) x Evil!Dark Urge, late game spoilers (Act 3), unhealthy relationships, torture, post game, established relationship, no smut

Word Count: 600

"I don't know if your spawn are brave or foolish." You skillfully glided the paper thin blade under the topmost layer of skin before peeling it back, flaying the person (ex-person? person adjacent?) in front of you. "Or maybe you're brazen."

The screams that filled your room of blood and viscera were like a sermon devoted to your most estimated father. The walls of your chamber had gone dry in the time you were away and the acolytes had forgotten the art of beautiful suffering under Orin's tutelage, so there was a lot of work for you to do. So many worshipers to convert among those left destitute in the ruins of the city and so little time before someone with dreams of grandeur attempted to usurp your position as father's favorite once again.

Sadly, Astarion sending his barely capable spawn was only taking up your limited time. They weren't charming the way he was nor did they have his flair for refined brutality. Every time his spawn darkened your hallowed halls, it was simply one more distraction.

But, at the same time, it was charming. Every lesser creature he sent to try and drag you from your father's warm, dripping temple and into the cold, stagnant darkness of his palace was an expression of the love he'd declared for you so eagerly not long ago. You couldn't enter his domain lest he see you collared and chained to his throne like a decoration to prove his power, and he wouldn't enter yours because he knew he would be the next victim on your butchering table so you could help him revere your beloved god and father. It was a careful song you two danced to.

The screams of the spawn in front of you were beginning to subside far too early, so you moved onto the next slice and smiled as their cries began anew.

"You're sweet to send Father an offering." Or, you would call it an offering because that's what it had become after you found it skulking around. "Shall we meet in the crossing? You can look for a better spawn and I can find a new acolyte." And, left unspoken, you could both pass by one another with cold, calculating smiles on your faces as you planned how to drive the other into the ground beneath your foot.

Again, you folded back the layer of flesh you'd just cut so it pressed against the others you'd already worked through. The thin layers looked like the petals of a flower and you wondered if Astarion would appreciate your skills with a blade when it was pointed at him.

"If decide to finally stop playing at being a lord, you're always welcome to join me in Father's embrace," because the army of Bhaal would never bow to him to further his ambitions. You would never bow to him. But that certainly wouldn't stop you both from trying to prove the other wrong, by wit, by force, or by honeyed words as needed.

As the sound of scurrying echoed from behind a nearby rock, you sighed. You hoped that fearful spawn would at least be able to pass on your message properly without summarizing or butchering it. The last one you'd entrusted with such a mission had wound up as a bloodless husk at the temple doors; less an offering and more of a threat meant to convey that Astarion hadn't cared for what you'd had to say. He was quite the romantic – or, at the very least, he pretended to be.

#h2ho #a cool drink of water #balders gate 3 #tw torture #tw unhealthy relationship

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maniacpixiedreamgirl · 3 years

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the gravitational pull of destruction but also creation that love results in... you will destroy ur whole life for it and yet everyone around it will envy the feeling and bring it on themselves

#rip #i am watching thobm and thinking about this #love that consumes you and spreads #the unhealthy home of love bly manor was #which birthed years of destruction #but that was all rooted in love #sometimes good love sometimes bad love #ppl fall for the houses gravite and fall in love #and others observe it and fall in the same trap #like hannah says a glue trap #but maybe honey because it is not a torture chamber #its the sort of trap you enjoy out of ignorance #bc u cant see how everything around is falling apart

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mandoalorian · 3 years

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Sinner [Dark!Din Djarin x F!Reader] *SMUT*

Summary: The Mandalorian has been attending confession for weeks now, with the sole intensive purpose to see you.

Rating: 18+ smut

Warnings: Dark!Din, implied age difference, religion kink (don’t come for me...), sex in a place of worship, smut: loss of virginity, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, degradation, unprotected p in v, cunningless, death mention, alcohol mention, brothel mention.

Word Count: 4000+

Masterlist

REBLOGS APPRECIATED!<3

He’d been coming to confess for about a year now. He’d gone off the rails when he lost the kid. You’d heard rumours about the Mandalorian — strong, fierce, brave... a warrior. You certainly wouldn’t have pinned him for a man of faith. You’d seen him a few times when you were shadowing your father in church. He was tall, broad shouldered, and only came during the dead of night, when the abbey was completely isolated.

“Hello,” you greeted him, your soft voice echoing throughout the chambers. Your crimson red heels clicked against the marble floor beneath you as you approached the masked figure. Curtseying politely and removing your hood, you couldn’t help but bat your eyelashes in the direction the Mandalorian. “It’s quite late. I was just closing for the night.” you admitted, biting down on your lower lip in hope that he’d understand.

“I thought places of worship aren’t supposed to close?” He countered quizzically, an air of amusement in his voice.

“You’re right, technically,” you hummed, picking at your nails as a wash of nerves flooded over you. “But my father is out of town and... I need to sleep.”

That’s where he recognised you from— you were the daughter of the Grand Bishop. He’d seen you before, doting around the abbey in your signature black gown and red robes. You were hard to miss, your beauty being beyond standards of measure. Yes, he knew you. He had noticed you watching him from the pillars above, when you thought nobody was looking. He noticed the way you’d deliberately brush past his body... desperate for just the slightest touch. He recognised your scent too; it was sweet like honey. And your ruby coloured lips. He’d dreamt of them plenty of times. It was really you.

“Where is he?” The Mandalorian asked after a beat of prolonged silence.

“He was requested by Senator Berenko to present evening mass on Naboo, for the Festival of Lights.” you explained, probably offering a little too much information.

“When will he be back?”

“Next week.”

“Well, I’ll be back then.”

No, you couldn’t just let him leave. You couldn’t just let him walk away from you. This was your chance. In a fluster, you extended your arm and pawed at his bicep. He froze under your touch, and you hoped that you hadn’t overstepped.

“Are— you’re here to confess. Aren’t you?” you asked him with a nervous gulp. Maker, why were you so nervous? The Mandalorian didn’t say anything, so you heeded to continue. “I’ve seen you come by before. I know you speak to my father usually but— I can do it. The confession, I mean. I’ve been shadowing my father for the past few months— training with him. I can do it. If... if you’d like me to.”

The Mandalorian took a moment to process your words. Maker; you were a sight to behold. Your eyes were starry and reflective of the galaxy he’d spent so long venturing. Your skin was soft and delicate. You were pure— untouched— holy. He was afraid the discussion of his sins might be a bit too much for you to handle.

Or maybe there was something more.

Maybe he was afraid that once he’d start opening up to you, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He wouldn’t be able to resist you.

“Aren’t you a little young?” The Mandalorian scoffed incredulously, bringing his leather gloved hand to his helmet, his thumb grazing the cloth between his chin and his neck. His rude manner didn’t surprise you at all, but yet, you kept a strong posture and held your head high.

“I’m old enough.” you declared, not ripping your gaze from him once. Even through the dark tinted visor of his helmet, it felt like you were looking into his eyes, staring deep into his soul.

So, he agreed. You told him to wait in the confession box by the altar. “I won’t be long, I just have to lock up and turn out the lights.”

As you walked down the aisle, you lit a match and ignited some candles. They were tall and made from beeswax, and the flicking amber flames provided barely enough light. But it had to be enough. It had to do. The wax dripped down the sculptures and chambersticks, pooling into swirls of hardening ivory.

The Mandalorian waited for you in the confession box, having already discarded the plates of his beskar armour. It was hard to wear, and heavy on his back, but he felt safe… here, with you. He had no reason to be still wearing it. No more fighting tonight, he hoped.

The image of you couldn’t escape his mind, no matter how hard he tried. Dirty thoughts — it was wrong of him. You were the Grand Bishop’s daughter for Heaven’s sake.

When you entered your side of the confession box, your full intention was to follow the ordinary strict protocol. There was no reason for distraction.

“State your name for the records,” you requested, shuffling around as you worked on getting comfortable in your chair.

“Din Djarin.”

Din Djarin. It was a beautiful name. Your mind immediately went to pairing his last name with your first name, and then you cursed yourself for the inappropriate thought.

“Din,” his name left your lips like the sweetest tasting honey. “Why are you here today? What would you like to confess?”

“I went to Corellia over the weekend,” he announced, his voice cold through the modulator. “The bad part— well, it’s all bad over there,” he corrected himself before continuing. “Got into some trouble gambling at Lady Proxima’s casino and a bunch of white worms surrounded me. So I killed them, all of them. I didn’t have to. But I did. I murdered them in cold blood.”

It was in that moment you learned how dangerous of a man The Mandalorian was. His beskar armour was just as cold as his heart.

“Wh— why did you kill them?” you asked timidly, almost afraid to know the answer.

“For the release. The adrenaline. The feeling of power. I can’t escape it. Have you ever killed?”

“N—no.”

Din scoffed incredulously. “Of course you haven’t.”

“What do you do after you kill?” you inquired, hoping to change the subject.

“Corellia has the best brothels… cheap too. I sought them out and look for a quick fuck.”

“Out of wedlock?” you pondered with a queasy frown.

Din laughed. “You’re asking if I’m married?”

He was right, it was a foolish question.

“Do you enjoy your time at the brothel? Or do you regret it soon after?” you wondered.

Another laugh— and Maker, he made you feel terrible. Were you really that bad at this?

“Yes, I enjoy myself. The girls there are pretty little things. Needy. Desperate. But— it’s not special, you know? It’s not… not exactly what I crave.”

“What do you crave?”

“To touch someone untouched. Pure. Holy…” the Mandalorian trailed off. “So, when I fuck the girls at the brothel, I tend to think of the Grand Bishop’s daughter.” He revealed, feeling his cock harden in the confines of his pants at the memory. You swallowed, a wave of heat immediately washing over you. You. He was thinking about you.

This was ridiculous. Was he messing with you? He had to have been messing with you. Sure, he’d seen you around before but neither of you had even held a conversation, prior to today. And he’d been thinking about you while he was sleeping with other women? You had to suck it up and remain professional, no matter how much it irked you. He was here to confess and you couldn’t let this become personal.

But it was so hard. Maker, why was it this hard? Was it because you’d thought about him too? Because you’d imagined his cock in place of your fingers, at night when everyone else is sleeping? You yearned to know more. You ached to know the details. Surely that was fair. He was speaking about you, after all.

You could already feel your panties begin to dampen with arousal. How could one man have such an effect on you? In your place of worship too. You wanted to punch him, kick him, take out all your anger on him. But most importantly, you wanted him. His touch. His hands on your body and his cock splitting you open. That’s what you wanted the most.

“What did— what did you think of?” You swallowed, anticipating the details. You were glad he couldn’t see how flustered and hot you were right now. It certainly wasn’t in the code for you to ask about details such as this but… surely one question would do no harm.

You could just about hear Din chuckle, from the other side of the wall, and it made your slick wet cunt clench around absolutely nothing. He was driving you feral. “I’d think about her ruby red lips and how they’d look wrapped around my cock. I’d imagine fucking her mouth, making her gag— wanting her to cry. I’d want to see the tears stream down her cheeks as I give her my all. And finally, I’d imagine her letting me cum down her throat.”

There was something about him talking about you, to you, in third person. Like you weren’t supposed to be there, listening. Like this information was not made for your ears.

Your panties were soaked at the thought. You couldn’t believe it. All this time, all these sessions of confession with your father, and it had only stirred him on more. He’d been going to confess, only to see you.

“Tell me, princess. How does that make you feel?”

Shit. He could not be serious right now. You placed your palm flat against the wall and took a deep breath. “Mando, you’re here to confess. Not me.”

You tried to shut out his words, but your body ached for him. Ached to feel him… touch him. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you — but it would be wrong. It would be so wrong.

Another chuckle. You hated when he did that. As if all of this was some kind of joke to him. Did he even know what he was doing to you? It was like torture.

“See, the Grand Bishop’s daughter… oh wow. She’s a vision. She dotes crimson red lips and she walks around as if she owns the place, her stiletto heels clicking against the floor. She’s bad, like the devil in disguise, and yet, I know her. She’s young and untouched. Her father will probably marry her off to some other minister in the outer-rim, ship her away for good. And she’ll be forced to deal with very mediocre sex for the rest of her life. Which is a shame, really, because she deserves better. You deserve better.”

“You have no idea who I am.” you spat out, feeling your cheeks burn with rage. How dare he make these assumptions about you and your family. This crude, older man with a tongue that could kill. How dare he.

You wanted to be mad at him so bad. He couldn’t possibly get away with this. But he was going to. Because what exactly could you do?

“She’ll never know how it feels to be stretched open by a real cock,” Din gritted out, dismissing your comment completely. “F—fuck.”

Din was palming himself through his pants, desperate for some kind of release. His sleuth, dirty words set a fire blazing in your core. You wanted it too. You wanted it so bad. You contemplated all the things you could do, all the actions and their consequences. You and the Mandalorian, both in the confession box. You couldn’t even see one another… the prolonged silence on your end prompted Din to get up and leave when he heard your honey velvet voice speak once more.

You had to say something.

“When the lights are out and everyone is asleep, I think about you,” you confessed, hating the way the croaky admission left your lips. You’d done it now. Din’s head snapped upwards to face the wall and oh how he wished he could see you right now. You were squirming around in your chair and when you heard the zipper of his pants become undone, you knew it was your queue to continue. “I touch myself. It’s hard to keep quiet… thinking about you. I imagine you touching me… running your gloved hands all over my body,” you bring your hand to your breast and give it a little squeeze. “I figure.. maybe you don’t take the gloves off. You praise me when you feel how wet I am, and I tell you that it’s all for you. I’m all yours. To use however you like. I want you to ruin me. Spoil me for any other man. Fuck me until I cant walk. Bite me, give me marks I have to hide during tomorrow’s mass.”

Din made a fist around his cock and began to pump as he listened to the dirty words that left your holy lips. His grunts and groans echoed throughout the box and went straight to your core. Oh how you wished you could see him right now. Peeling up the hem of your robe, you slid your fingers under the waistband of your panties and began to rub tight circles into your clit.

“You’re a virgin?” he asked, although it came out more so like a statement. Like he already knew the answer.

“Ye-yeah,” you whimpered, quickening your pace.

He was achingly stiff now, beads of milky white precum already dripping down his shaft.

“You want this?” He quizzed. “You want my cock right now? Think you deserve it?”

And in that moment, you made your decision.

Maybe this life that your father had given you, just wasn’t for you.

“Y-yes, oh God yes. I deserve it.”

A low and dark chuckle left Din’s lips. “You’ve been a child of God your whole life. But you want this, yes? You’ve been waiting for this?”

He was right. You had been waiting for this.

“P-please Din, please. Wreck me. Ruin me.”

“In the chapel too?” he laughed, rising to his feet. “You really are desperate. C’mon then.”

In a fluster, you practically fell out of your side of the confession box.

The Mandalorian stalked towards you with his cock in his hand, jerking himself off as he got nearer and nearer. His eyes didn’t leave you once and although you couldn’t see his face, you could only imagine the predatory glint in his eye. Maker he was huge, and thick, and you wondered how you’d ever be able to take him.

You weren’t used to this— Maker, you’d never done anything like this before. There was no way your fingers would ever be able to compare to the size of the Mandalorian.

“Are you sure you want this?” he grunted, releasing his cock and grabbing your throat, giving it an experimental squeeze. You nodded your head desperately and subconsciously licked your lower lip. “I must know. If I start, I won’t be able to stop. Do you want me to claim you?”

Just like Hades claimed Persephone? You shut the absent thought out of your mind and agreed to his proposition.

“I do.”

If it was so wrong, why did it feel so right? You had dreamt of this moment. How could you ever deny him?

He pinned you against the altar and tapped at your thigh, gesturing for you to open your legs up. His eyes dropped straight to your dripping core and he had to hold back a guttural moan.

Din wasted no time and rubbed his cock along your slick wet folds. For a second you were afraid he’d knock over the many burning candles that you had lit earlier in the evening, before your little confession session had begun. But, to no surprise of your own, the Mandalorian had extremely good coordination.

“Oh f-fuck, such a pretty little thing. So warm, bet— bet you feel so fucking good.” Din mumbled utterances of praise, his grip tightening around your wrists as he propped you up.

Every now and again the bulbous tip of his cock rubbed over your clit and the sensation practically sent you into orbit. You were touch starved, having never experienced intimacy like this with anyone before. “Do you want me to fuck you now, huh? Want me to fuck that pretty little cunt of yours?”

You whimpered a small ‘yes’ and Din chuckled darkly, tapping his cock against your cunt before sliding into you with one swift movement.

You let out a squeal, your fingernails digging into the muscles of his back as he seated deep inside you. Underneath his helmet, his perfect lips were parted into an ‘O’ shape as your fluttering walls clenched around him and made him feel like he was home.

“Fuck— so tight, so fucking tight. Just like I’d imagined.” He murmured, feeling like he was already seeing stars.

Din thrust upwards into you, the curve of his cock stretching you open and pulsating inside of you. His movements were rough and bruising, as his fingers dug into the soft flesh at your hips as he held onto you for support. Just like you’d requested, he was completely and utterly using you.

“How’s that?” his gasp rolled into an achingly long groan as his balls slapped against your cunt, creating the most obscene wet sounds.

It was uncomfortable at first. He wasn’t soft or gentle by any means, but you’d anticipated that. After just a few thrusts, the intrusive pain turned into bolts of pleasure that coursed through your veins. It clouded your vision like white noise— like what the red berry wine you’d drink during Sunday mass would do to your mind. Din grabbed at the thin cloth that covered your chest, and ripped it off, exposing your bare breasts to him. A sheen of glistening sweat glazed your skin like the most beautiful honey dew. The Mandalorian was tall and broad, and as he towered over you, he coated you in his dark shadow.

His large hands palmed at your breasts and you moaned at the sudden, unexpected contact. He continued thrusting, fucking you mercilessly. With every movement, he hit that sweet spot inside of you, and you knew he’d been doing this for a long time. He was definitely experienced.

He dropped his hand for your chest and lowered it to your clit, expertly moving his two fingers across your bundle of nerves. That feeling, combined with his thick cock, was enough to send you over the edge.

“Oh yes, yes, yes,” you chanted his name like it was a prayer— and he felt powerful.

The Mandalorian grinned wolfishly under his helmet as he increased his speed. You were seeing stars and it felt like your whole body was trapped under a spell. His spell.

“I ca- oh I can’t, I’m close, I’m close,” you cried as he continued to rock his hips into yours.

You hugged his body into yours, wishing the pleasure would never end. With every twitch of his cock he watched you intently. He watched the way your body reacted to him, revelling in the way your face screwed up in heated pleasure. Din adored the way your brow knitted together and your mouth parted as the most angelic noises omitted from your plush lips.

“Have you ever felt so alive than you do right now, with me inside of you?” Din queried with a grunt.

“No,” you answered, shaking your head profusely. “Please don’t stop.”

Your orgasm ripped through you like a tornado and without warning, The Mandalorian split his seed deep inside of you, his salty cum roping your perfect walls as they gripped down around his cock. Now he had marked you for life.

Din returned to confession a week later when your father had returned from the Festival of Lights. There was no reason for you to see The Mandalorian anymore.

“Forgive me, Grand Bishop, for I have sinned yet again.” Din announced, his voice clear as daylight after discarding his beskar helmet. He ran a gloved hand over his face.

“Another kill?” your father inquired, but from the other side of the wall, Din could only smirk.

“I’ve met a woman. A holy woman. And she has consumed my every thought. When I think about her I feel more inclined to sin, over and over again.”

It was true. Your ruby red lips, high heels, thin robes… Din had become completely enraptured with you.

Your father spent a moment contemplating the Mandalorian’s words, finding that he was speaking a lot differently than ever before. Not as ruthless or dangerous— but almost genuine.

“Would you give your body to this holy woman, if she requested you do so?” The Grand Bishop asked, not realising he was speaking about you, his own daughter.

“I already have,” Din confessed, subconsciously licking a stripe over his lower lip, at the memory of your taste. “And I would do it again.”

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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matchamorphosis · 3 years

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 | ღ | 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || what seems to be a normal rich summer morning with the women who lives across the honeysuckle boulevard from his cottage lies something else. a buttery rich feeling that spreads deep within Bucky’s heart as he takes his neighbor, alongside Alpine to the farmers market for coffee.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 || fluffy fluff! ➳ part one

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 || retired!bucky barnes × neighbor![black//woc]reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 3K ➳ 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 || @firefly-graphics

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || if you think long walks with bucky and alpine in the sunny countryside are warnings then so be it but there is lots of food mentioned. ღ also reader owns a flower shop, not a warning thought just some info!

𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 || this version of cherry wine by hozier ღ this version of mystery of love by sufjan stevens ღ

𝐰. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 || eeeeep!!! so this is my first bucky with alpine fluff and i’m very glad to have it be the first for my fluffy mini series that i’m doing for this month! ღ I don’t describe reader too much throughout the story but what is clear is that I don’t specify on skin tone but yes the person in the moodboard is a woc! ღ anyways I hope you cherubs enjoy reading! ღ

+ p.s || do not repost, republish or plagiarize my work on any other fanfic platform such as: wattpad, ao3, tumblr, etc or steal my work all together. do so and i will rip your spine from your scumy asshole and shove it down your talentless throat. ♡♡♡

it was a lavish affair when Bucky found himself tangled with you in the bed of a million perennial petals.

clothing falling and bodies twisting themselves against each other in not lust but emotional apprehension. the soft petals of rose, carnation and violet keep pouring like blissful rain, entangling in his hair and in the crooks of your body.

enough to suffocate but enough to make him feel enveloped in the fantasy- the divination of you you you and only you.

for you are butterscotch benevolence that he will let pool like ambrosial nectar in the cavernous hollows of his collarbones. your tears of seventh heaven euphoria trickling onto his skin forming constellations- like the paint speckles on the forlonged artists canvas of his naked soul.

you are honey sunlight oozing from the basin of the candy floss sky, lacing with the shedding petals that continue to powder in their divine scent and morality. his fine pink sheets soft and silky as the rose petals of Heliogabalus, he’d sigh in heavenly pleasure to be buried alive in petals if she was drunk of the love he has for her.

he sees her playing, singing, dancing and bringing her virtuous spring song deep within the glossy shine of her honey hive eyes. love seeping in the melancholy streams leaking through the old creeky floorboards of his home and straight into the chambers of his heart.

so promising yet so grandeur as he feels his chest warm with her very touch, the ivory bow encased in the virtuous flowers of her emblem garden in his hands- he’d think that he was Cupid but oh how he’s been struck by his own arrow in great surprise. straight into the once extravagant chamber of his heart.

the spiraling golden arrow destined to pierce and rip through the tender muscle of breast to the beating vessel that writes a tragic tale of eternal ravishment in the movements of lyrical beats. muttering with languor-glazed lips, he’d keep her love like a an old locket against his chest for it’s what reminds him of home whenever he feels the cold element on his skin.

there are pieces of you scattered in the wonderous arteries of his heart.

nestled in the folds of the beating muscle, take heed.

for that is his home.

y/n is his perennial feelings left unsaid, exquisite pain yet ethereal serenity. his soft bed of roses and his deadly golden arrow, all meant to give his heart hope.

that he was- however it seems the bed of roses and all the lovely elements it holds have come to a staggering pause.

now as the sun hits the past super soldiers eyelids that dream of flower petals and the heavenly vision of you disappear. they flutter open to meet the single stream of sunlight that has slipped past the slit of the sheer bedroom curtains. brightening up the somewhat clustered space of the room with its single golden string.

Bucky sighs in defeat, this is the fifth dream he’s had of you in a month and he was barely pushing past the second week of May. before he didn’t mind the dreams, they calmed his mind while he layed in slumber during the thunderstorms of April but now they were resilient. it wasn’t no regular thing to dream about the women across the boulevard in the haven of flower fields and maple trees.

Bucky knew this but he couldn’t help but not treat these dreams sweetly. they were the definition of sweet torture, you never hurt him in those dreams as he did to himself but it was a pain to know that you probably don’t think of him the same way. for goodness sake ever since he and Alpine moved the only interactions he had with the maiden were just acknowledgments as they passed each other on their daily errands.

he shouldn't be this infatuated with someone who he's only met.

the soft hum of a purr finally awakens Bucky, his cats paw brushing against the half covered skin of his fleshed bicep. it takes a pat or two to make Bucky open his eyes to find Alpines blue hues staring back at his and he gives his furry friend a crooked smile. a chorus of meows welcoming him to another sunny morning in the peaceful and harmonious countryside.

“morning pal, ya slept well?” Bucky smiles as he lazily lifts his hand to scratch the right spot behind Alpines ear.

stretching out of bed till his feet touch the cool wood flooring, following the simple path from the bedroom to the kitchen he pours Alpine his dish of cream and gets started on his own breakfast. whisking hen eggs his neighbors from afar gifted him the day before and toasting the freshly baked loaves of bread he bought specially from the market yesterday.

Bucky normally didn’t take any gifts from anyone, he wasn’t that type of person to feel comfortable with those sort of things but as the days gone by the cheerfulness of the communities welcoming energy towards him has soften his doubt.

eating his simple breakfast paired with coffee, Bucky bites into his buttery egg toast whilst quickly scribbling down his to-do list for the day. of course there isn’t any tasks that the hundred and ten year old man has to get done but there were things that Bucky did look forward to ever since he settled in a month ago. the country was a lovely peacefulness he had forgotten about ever since he was a boy.

traveling to his grandparents farm away from the city for memorable childhood summers in the sun and fields. turning his head to meet the white linen sheets that draped over the kitchen panels, Bucky can see the herd of brown and black spotted cows from the distance. tapping the pencil against the shiny polish of the kitchen table he bites his lip on what else to add on.

his head lifts up to see through the other window that casts its lovely light against his paper. blue eyes meeting the toffee cobblestone path that led to her cottage, hidden amongst the shrubbery of acorn trees and flower budded bushes. hearing from lots of locals in the cobblestone village near the sparkling sea that she owns a little orchard of peach and cherry trees, a few strawberry patches amongst the vegetation.

it made sense why he sometimes finds a large wooden basket of those ruby fruits at his doorstep from time to time. a card inviting him over for some tea that he would agree to yet he would always call you the next day a stuttering mess canceling it over some important errands. nonetheless it made Bucky's heart swell how understanding you were, sweet just like the ripe fruits you pluck for him on Sundays.

Bucky would make copplers and sometimes pies out of them and if he wasn't so scared of the possibility of being too attracted to you he'd head over to your place so he and him would eat them in your gazebo. but of course he can't do everything his heart implores him to do. was it bad to want to get to know you and imagine what it would be like to befriend you?

maybe do lots more than just befriend you...

sometimes he would find a glimpse of your form in the distance as he headed for the lake neat the lavender fields up north to fish something for dinner. humming while you cared for your flowers, singing to them as you danced along the vintage radio. Bucky could see himself singing and dancing alongside you. caring for your precious tulips, primroses and other beautiful flowers that you sold.

those pretty flowers sweet and divine just as her lips and voice when the two first met, when he arrived in the too expensive car that stood out amongst the scenery. arms occupied with bouquets upon bouquets of trimmed flowers that practically shielded her face, his body ran straight into yours when he got out of his car. flower petals falling with the impact and him apologizing one thing led to another and he helped her with her bouquets all while being stricken when he got a clear look at her.

a clear look at you.

lovely in your sundress that flowed beautifully against your bodies soft planes, there was something about the sparkle in your eyes that made him start to stutter. something about you that made his heart bloom in a recherché flower he still can’t understand because he can still hear the velvety tone of your voice speaking your own name when giving each other’s your introduction.

from there on out a glowing ember of clustered stars burned in the pit of his belly when you spoke his name and he spoke yours. it was soft and innocent as the flowers in your arms but the introduction was cut off far too short for Bucky's liking but he promised you a coffee when he was completely settled in. having to do something so he could see you again cause oh how he wishes to hear you speak his name again and again and again till the flowers sprout, bloom and decay with each coming season.

maybe he should pay you a visit and bring up that coffee...

the music from the radio filling the bright cottage kitchen sweetly alongside the birds singing their song outside. Alpine takes his seat across from him, yawning over the new day that brings nothing but lazy laps and baked fish treats. forking a few honey drizzled raspberries in his mouth, Bucky walks to the front door and just in time the daily paper plops down on his feet from the passing paper boy whipping through the grassy roads on the shiny steel of a ringing bicycle.

bending down to retrieve the newspaper, he passes through the sidewalk of petunias and violets till he reaches his mailbox. the wood creaky and the metal rusty but the daisies that sprinted around the opening was a pretty site to see before Bucky grimaced at people from the outside world wanting to invade his privacy. grabbing the letters before smelling the sweet daisies, Bucky looks through the letters one by one. ripping some that had no use for to be used as fire food for his fireplace, grunting that even though he’s away from the tabloids and cameras there are still people eager enough to want something from him.

a soft voice from the distance pulls him out of his annoyance, it makes his eyes lift from his dreaded mail to the women a mile away singing her song as she reaches her mailbox. Bucky can’t help but look at her from afar; and maybe Alpine knows this to as he watch his lovesick owner admire the maiden from the kitchen windowsill.

with some obscene fortune he notices you checking your mailbox as well. heart pacing in his chest, he wishes he didn’t go outside before showering and at least brushing his hair for your waving to him from the distance.

“hello hello Bucky!” your sweet voice exclaims and it just adds onto the heaven that is the morning it makes his cheek hurt from how much he’s smiling.

“hello hello to you y/n. how is the shop coming along?” Bucky shouts and his heart sinks when you wave him over to you.

despite his mind telling him to not pursue closer his heart makes him walk his way to you standing next to your Valentine shaped mailbox. his worries slipping away when there's a underlying comfort in your posture and aura, alluring like the bees are to the flowers. welcoming and warm and he can't help but feel that way every time he's near you.

speaking of you, its reassuring to also know he wasn't the only one to wear pajama's out since your still in your blue silk nightgown. matching silk slippers adorning your feet, you sip from your tea cup as you read what he believes to be a Cosmopolitan.

“it’s coming along great, thank you! a bit slow the first week but that’s how any business starts but I just received my tenth loyal customer and i’m more than certain i’ll be selling lots of flowers today.” you spoke as you smiled to yourself then up at him.

checking your mail, Bucky’s surprised that you have quite a handful of letters and boxes. all written in lovely cursive and packaged nicely, almost like love letters and gifts. it makes Bucky’s heat sink, knowing that he might not be the only one who’s fallen head over heels for you. by all means you probably have the whole village under a spell with just the way you smile alone but he wants to see that smile the most.

he wants to be the reason for that smile.

“that’s sounds wonderful y/n, maybe I could stop by and pick a pretty bouquet or two," you only smile wider upon those words and much to his excitement you even brush your hand against his.

"oh really? have a special someone in your life who needs some loving?" you perk as you open an envelop but the question makes Bucky's throat dry on how he should answer.

you seem like the type of maiden who loves an honest man- yes, he should be honest.

"well... there is this one special lady." Bucky lingers and that makes you snap your attention away from the letters in your hands. voice dying in your throat at those words and heart beat hitting pause.

"I always thought Alpine was gonna be the only one to get to my soft spot- we sleep in the same bed together," he stops to laugh a bit, rubbing the back of neck with his metal arm and you laugh along with him.

"how is Alpine? i'm noticing he's getting into a routine with sleeping in my chamomile beds in the afternoon," you smile and bring your tiny tea cup to your lips. "would you care for a cup Bucky? this just so happens to be chamomile,"

"Alpine is doing good and thank you for bringing that up I was beginning to wonder where that rascal has been leaving for. will have an important talk to him once I get home and- I was going to ask you something," Bucky speaks while admiring how your thick lashes curtain your honey hive hues as you sip the steaming golden liquid.

no one should look that beautiful just drinking tea yet here he is, breathless on the simple action. if he truly wanted a cup he'd wish to drink from your tiny cup, to press his lips upon the porcelain rim where yours once brushed against. drink the sweet sunshine to experience the closest thing to your honey kiss...

"don't worry it's alright! I love looking over at him when I have tea at the back patio, he's quite a lovely guest. very well mannered, and yes Bucky is there anything I can help you with?" you cannot deny that your heart is practically skipping beats in your chest, fast and lively like the flutter of a butterfly wing.

Bucky runs his fingers through his hair, for someone who has done the simple thing of asking someone out for couple hundreds of times a hundred years ago from now it’s a disappointment that he’s lost his touch. however you don’t seem to notice or care but that doesn't mean he should give up. not when you're right here glowing in your morning dew radiance, anticipating the next words to slip past those lips.

it's now or never.

"h-how do you feel about that coffee I promised? today? I have a few errands to run in town and I was wondering if you would accompany me- on my errands... if that doesn't bother you,” Bucky rambles to a stop and he's thankful you're still smiling that closed lip grin against the porcelain of the cup.

"yes Bucky I would love that! there's a coffee cart near the shop I work at but what about your lady? she wouldn't mind us going out for coffee, would she?" you speak as you gather your letters in your arms. glancing up at Bucky to receive some conformation and Bucky bites his lips.

"I don't think she'll mind. in fact... I think she would love me to go out once in a while. I have a habit of only going out when necessary, coffee with you wouldn't hurt,"

"that's perfect, i'll see you at twelve then Bucky. you can help me open shop to," you smiled and Bucky returned an even warmer one back.

filling your heart with a rush of liason, like a tea cup filling with tea. something meant to be full and warm, embraced with someone's touch and lips as they drank each fluttering honey glazed sensation they have for one other.

something that seems to be happening right now before they break their strong eye contact, wiry- crooked smiles still embellishing their sun-freckled faces.

you wish you could kisses each one off his clean shaven cheeks right now, slightly rosy but oh how it would feel like peach skin against your lips.

Bucky wishes to kiss yours, the shine of your lips the form of heart shaped clouds and he just can't seem to get his head out of the amorous blue you cast him into.

"i'll be seeing you in an hour Bucky," you draw before walking away with a cheeky wink, your eyes still locking with his before you get to the rosy sunflower porch.

"and i'll be waiting for you doll,"

♡♡♡ thank you for reading part one! ♡♡♡ pretty please like, reblog and/or comment what you think and if you enjoy this join my taglist to be notified of my future works! ♡♡♡

𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || @cloudystevie ღ @steebsbabygirl ღ @honeychicana ღ @afriendlyblackhottie ღ @chrissquares ღ @denisemarieangelina ღ @hevans-angel ღ @drewsbuzz ღ @assoftheamericana ღ @gracechristo ღ @little-baby-vixen ღ @sohoseb ღ @quxxnxfhxll ღ @peachesofcolour ღ @abschaffer1 ღ @sea040561 ღ @afriicanhoe ღ ღ ღ

𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || @burninmatches ღ @lovesguiltypleasuress ღღღ

#brattycherubwrites #♡ bucky barnes ♡#bucky barnes × black!reader #bucky barnes × woc!reader #bucky barnes × reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine

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moonlightflower21 · 3 years

Text

ease my mind

a/n: angst. mentions of death. stabbings. all that good stuff. also includes mafia turtles. might not make sense but people wanted to read it so 🤷‍♀️😂

but anyway, as calm and collected and stoic leo can be, he has his weak points. he isn't immune to panic attacks or bad thoughts. enjoy!

How could this have happened? His world felt like it had crumbled to the very ground, turned into dust and flown mockingly into the air. Reminding how useless he truly was.

Leonardo watched his brothers follow inside the living room, Raph grabbing an ice pack to cool the knife cut bleeding out on his bicep. Mikey winced as he got rid of his waistcoat, untying his tie and letting it hang limply. His shirt was stained more in red than white, indicating his wound was deeper than he originally thought. Yet none of them spoke a word, barely even glancing in the leaders direction.

Leonardo looked at his team, most specifically Raphael. He had been quiet which had certainly been unlike him. Raph was never one to show how angry he was, always giving his opinion regardless of the topic so the silence coming from him was deafening.

"You good?" Leo's voice was slightly shaky not used to his hot headed brother being so silent about the obvious fail they just encountered.

Dark amber eyes connected with his and Leo didn't need to be a genius to know there was fury brewing behind those honeyed irises. Taking a breath in, he opened his mouth to say something but he noticed something else swirling into those eyes. Defeat.

"I'm sorry about.... You know I had-" "Fuck ya. That's.... all I gotta say ta ya. Yer really got some nerve ta put this on someone else. Get one thing straight, we're not indestructible. Not me or ya or Don or Mikey. But why am I wastin my breath on ya? Whatever I tell ya, yer just gonna go ahead and do the opposite. Like yer always do. And I'm gonna be the one ta help ya when yer run in ta issues. Like I always do" Raphael sneered, his hands in tight fists to control his temper. His tone was accusing, malicious towards Leo. And no one cane blame him.

"I'm not gonna bother waiting my time or energy bein' here. I can't do this no more" His harsh voice dropped to a whisper at the last sentence and he's not sure whether it's directed to his brother or to himself. He wanted to say something but nothing would be able to console how he's feeling tonight. Raph clenched his arm tightly, placing pressure in the damaged skin before pushing past his brother and to his own private room.

"Wait!" But the terrapin had left. Turning back to the rest of his team, Leo hoped he could explain what had happened. But their looks were cold and heartless.

Mikey stood tall, his stare in a hardened frown. He let out a small grunt, plastron burning with pain on his ride side.

"Look I'm-" "I've always stood by your decisions, always respected your commands and orders. But tonight was a fucking shit show and had you not lost focus, those innocent lives wouldn't have been taken. Some leader you are" Mikey scoffed, hands tingling with urges to beat the living shit out of someone. Leonardo stood, his brain unable to form comprehensible sentences to his answer. Was that how he truly felt?

"Mikey..." "Don't 'Mikey' me Leonardo. You were right after all. We may be brothers but we are not a team. Thank you for opening my eyes to that tonight" He snarled, a shaky breath as he applied too much pressure to his plastron. He swallowed hard, mind overflowing with poisonous thoughts suffocating his mind. Begging to be in a safe place but he couldn't find any. He didn't think he could ever feel safe anywhere. Not with his brothers or his family.

"Leave me alone. I have nothing to speak to you about, nor do I want to see your face tonight" Mikey uttered sharply, refusing to show any pain despite actively bleeding. He left in the other direction, retiring to his own personal chambers for the night. Leonardo gritted his teeth, trying to hold himself together. Trying to hold his composture together but it was dangerously close to crashing down. Maybe Donatello would listen. He was always good at reading people. Hopefully he could lend an ear before Leo's thoughts drive him insane.

"Don-" "I don't know what you wish to hear Leonardo. Me to say that it went good? That everything went well?? Raph nearly lost an arm, Mikey only has a new painful scar to his collection. You know how bad his plastron is damaged?? There's only so much that can be done to help it. And as for myself... well I'll let it speak for itself" Donnie lifted the side of his shirt, emitting a soft gasp from the eldest in absolute horror.

The wound was weeping, blood trickling down his abdomen soaking the rim of his pants. Leo's heart fell to the ground, his teeth sinking in his bottom lip to stop any vulnerability coming to light. Only know has it registered how much danger he had selfishly placed all his brothers in.

"But none of this matters to you does it? We're just soldiers to command, to help-" "That's not true Donatello!" Leo's voice came as a hoarse whisper, clenching his fingers tightly. Had his brother looked close enough, he would have seen Leonardo teetering off the edge of his sanity. The tremble in his body, the shaking of his arms despite how strong he stood, his eyes turning a deep blue emotionally overwhelmed.

"Isn't it?? Because the way I see it, you seem to have completely placed us at the sidelines. What happened to family? What happened to looking out for each other? What happened to your honour Leonardo?? These words you held with great pride are nothing but a jumbled mess of letters at your feet. If you cannot practise what you preach then I highly recommend you stop pretending otherwise. Excuse me, some of us have to help his family" Donatello frowned, walking past the blue cladded turtle to help his injured family members.

Leonardo's breath hitched, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes and spilling down quietly his cheeks. Honour, justice, family.... these words were for heros. Words for people that helped their country, he didn't do any of those things. He was a villain, killing himself slowly with his actions.

Moments like these reminded of his haunted childhood, how Splinter berating him for being worthless, how he would never accumulate to anything. Tonight those very words repeated like a record in his brain, unable to pause or freeze and he sat there listening to it all. Because it was true. He wasn't some warrior or a soldier, he was a mistake. And those horrible words ring in his head like an alarm, he didn't deserve to live.

Leo made questionable decisions tonight but his brothers didn't know how much burden he carried on his shoulders. He wouldn't forget those who passed tonight nor did he forget the injuries inflicted on his brother because of him. Was this how he wanted his life to be? Was this worth the pain and failures? And no matter how much those humans had wronged him, he swore to never turn like Splinter had done. Though now he could see himself follow in those very footsteps, heart twisted with evil and brutal thoughts.

They all lay heavy on his mind, constantly mocking and torturing of him of the leadership he once held with great importance and dedication. But now it started to disintegrate, proving his worst fear true that he was simply unable to protect his loved ones. That he couldn't even help himself. He could feel himself spiralling out of control and its times like these, he wished someone would hold him tight Ground him to reality, pushing those thoughts out of his body instead of laying low waiting to strike at his most weakest.

There he sat, sinking further and further into the pit of depair and self-hatred wondering if anyone could ever rescue him from this prison.

Wondering if he ever deserved to feel any happiness.

Wondering if he was better off being alone.

#tmnt mafia!leonardo x reader #tmnt mafia!leonardo #tmnt mafia!leo

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radioactivepeasant · 4 years

Text

Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

(Part 2 of yesterday's snippet!)

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

Luke had been so sure of himself when he'd entered the chamber. He knew what he had to do, and he knew there was always a chance that he would die in the attempt. But his friends -- no, his family -- were trapped in this facility, and Luke would not let them die.

Yoda didn't understand. He claimed to have watched over Luke all his life. He criticized Luke for looking to the future and not the present.

If the present is so important, Master, if you can see so far, why didn't you see that Leia's been tortured by Vader before? How can you be willing to let her fall into his hands again?

No. Luke would never let that happen. His friend was more important than his training: he would never choose to let someone die for his own benefit.

That's not the kind of Jedi I'm going to be.

And so he had chosen to fight.

But there was a problem.

Darth Vader had chosen not to fight.

The man's presence filled the room like smoke, billowing and curling around them both as though it could cut off every escape route. Maybe it could. Luke was not foolish enough to believe that Vader was vulnerable, just because he refused to draw his sword. The Force was with him, after all. Corrupted, used for selfish purposes, but nevertheless a powerful ally.

But Vader did not attack.

Again and again he admonished Luke for his aggression. A hint of scolding. A hint of fond exasperation. As if he were a teacher correcting a favored pupil.

Or a fa-

Luke cut off the thoughts in fury. His enemy was underestimating him. Patronizing the would-be Jedi, so sure of his own superiority.

This was not a Darth Vader he had seen before. Where was the cold pragmatism? The apathy towards others? Clearly it had been in play when he had harmed Han and Leia and Chewie.

"I have no specific grievance against those you keep company with."

And that was worse. Infinitely worse. Everything he had done to his friends -- to Leia! -- and he didn't even have any particular issues with them?! If he could torture someone he didn't hate, what would he do to someone he did have a grudge against?

What will he do to me?

Now he walked down the stairs, ignoring Luke's lightsaber, speaking calmly as though he could pretend he hadn't just used sentient beings as bait to draw him here. It didn't work like that! He couldn't just make Luke drop his guard with honeyed words. Every child raised on Tatooine knew the danger of those who spoke sweetly and held a transmitter behind their backs. Luke wasn't going to fall for it and he wasn't shy about saying so.

"The jakreb learns to listen before he runs," his enemy quoted suddenly. He sounded amused.

That was an old saying on Tatooine. A proverb to teach children to watch carefully for signs of danger before making a move. There should have been no reason for Vader to know it.

None whatsoever.

I don't like this. Something is wrong.

Something plucked at his memories. A tickle at the back of his mind, like a spider crawling across his skin. Nothing concrete, but a nameless, formless, something.

"The dragon who moves too soon is a dragon who starves," Luke shot back, a little rashly.

Another old proverb. Less about wariness and caution and more about patience.

I know what you're doing, old man. You're the dragon. I'm the jakreb. So which one of us is going to move first?

But Vader kept walking. After all this, after the horrible things he'd done just to get Luke here, he was just...just leaving?! But that didn't make any sense!

“You want me to drop my guard, so you can kill me. Just like you did to Ben!” he accused.

He turned his blade to a more horizontal guard and stepped up to the high ground.

If Vader was trying to lure him in close enough to run him through, he was going to be disappointed.

“Luke.” Vader shook his head and continued to descend the staircase. Again his voice was sickeningly compassionate. “Obi-wan allowed himself to be killed. What his motives could have been, I do not know. He told himself and everyone around him such pretty lies that I am no longer certain that even he knew what his motivations were. But I assure you that whatever he did, he did so deliberately.”

The bottom seemed to drop out of Luke's stomach. There was so much anger hiding in those words. Maybe Vader didn't have a vendetta against Luke's friends, but it was very clear that he'd hated Obi-wan. But why?

Ben said that Vader betrayed and murdered his father. He said nothing about Vader betraying him. And he'd given no hint that there might be particularly bad blood between them. Did he just think it wasn't Luke's business?

But Luke knew that Vader was right about one thing: Ben had chosen to die at that particular moment. “To give us time to escape," he said defiantly. Lightsaber at the ready, he cautiously began to descend the stairs after Vader. "So we could destroy your Death Star! Worked out pretty well, Vader.”

“Indeed?”

Vader glanced back over his shoulder at Luke, then stepped off the edge of the platform.

What the kriff?!

He was leaving! Why? Was this room a trap? Would he activate one of those machines as soon as he was out?

Oh no way. Not a chance. You don't get to walk away from me, Sithspawn.

Luke scrambled to the edge of the platform in time to see Vader stepping into one of the maintenance tunnels.

“That is a topic for speculation, I believe," the rumbling voice echoed back. Luke definitely caught some sarcasm in his tone. "But for all the times your “Ben” betrayed me, it is fitting that in his final moments he unwittingly revealed you to me. Returning what he stole all those years ago.”

What.

The reverberating breaths faded out, and Luke stood at the edge of the platform. He tried to piece together what he'd just heard logically.

Had Ben stolen something from Vader? If the Sith wanted it, it was probably a good thing Obi-wan had taken it. Whatever it was. Maybe a weapon?

Luke's heart sank as he looked down at the brilliant blue glow of his saber.

Vader killed his father. He might have felt that Anakin's lightsaber rightfully belonged to him.

What do I do?! This is my lightsaber! My inheritance. It's all I have of my father and I will not let him take that away.

Luke's emotions twisted around each other, bending back over themselves in a discordant jangle of mismatched rhythms as he tried to understand what was happening. The grip of the saber was slick in his hands.

I'm…

No, no, I can do this.

I'm scared

I can do this!

He was being torn in two different directions. Every fiber of his being begged him to flee. To not walk into what could very well be a trap. But at the same time, something down that tunnel was calling him. Like a cord wrapped around his heart, steadily pulling him to an unknown destination, he felt the whispers more than he heard them.

I'm scared.

It's alright to be scared. I'm here.

They weren't words so much as sensations. Faintly brushing against his memory like a butterfly's wing, the whispers seemed to promise that everything would be alright, he just couldn't look back.

Frightened, but determined, Luke clipped his saber to his belt and eased over the edge of the platform.

It's okay. I can do this.

I can win.

Just don't look back.

The instant Luke stepped into the tunnel, the lights snapped on. He had a feeling that he was walking into a trap. But then, the place he had just left felt like a trap, too.

Kriff kriff kriff.

Stupid jakreb hopped right into the snare.

There was a control room at the end of the tunnel.

There was a Sith Lord at the end of the tunnel.

Luke had his lightsaber out almost before he had time to think.

A grate slid shut over the tunnel mouth behind him, cutting off his retreat.

Well.

At least he could see in this room.

"Put down your weapon, young one," Vader said again. He did not even turn away from the holographic map to face Luke.

"Not. Happening." Luke bared his teeth and forced himself to take two steps forward. "You have to answer for what you did, Vader. To my friends, and the galaxy, and the Jedi...and my father."

Quite suddenly, Vader's shoulders fell. He leaned against the projector as if he were bone-weary.

"Child, I have done nothing to your father."

He still did not turn.

"He is a contemptible, pitiable wretch, too quick to give his loyalty to those who do not deserve it. But he is a powerful wretch. Powerful enough to conceal your existence from the emperor for the last three years."

Luke stumbled back. His father's lightsaber hung by his side uselessly.

Present tense.

Darth Vader was speaking about his father in the present tense.

Anakin Skywalker.

Present tense.

"You...you're lying."

No please, please don't be lying-

I can't…

Don't toy with me you sleemo

Don't you dare use my father's memory as a ploy-

At last, Vader turned to face him. "I have done what I can, Luke," he said simply. "But now we are out of time."

"I have done what I can"

Something cold and clammy slithered in Luke's gut. It knotted in coils around his spine to sink its teeth into his heart. Against his will, tears sprang to his eyes.

He knew Darth Vader was evil, but this was a cruelty he had not expected. The carefully laid trap, baited with words, and the insinuations eased between sentences, struck deeper than any lightsaber's blow. He played on the memory of Luke's father -- of his loneliness, his lifelong yearning for his father -- and twisted it. Perverted it into an attempt at manipulation so blatant it could hardly be believed.

Did he believe it was an attempt at manipulation?

What if it was worse? What if Vader actually believed what he seemed to be implying? Pointing out how illogical it was could quickly become dangerous. But Luke was past the point of caring.

"You...you aren't half the man my father was!" he hissed.

Something bitter and almost amused dripped from the Sith to puddle around Luke's fear.

"An ironic statement."

"You don't know me!" Luke continued gamely on as if he had not been interrupted. "You think you're the first person to play mind games with my memories? Huh? Kriff you!"

He swung the blade up in a ready position.

Darth Vader tilted his head to one side, considering.

"This is not going to go the way you think."

The spiders were back, creeping across his brain. Luke blinked and shook his head to clear it. Losing his focus here would be fatal.

"Don't fight it."

Vader raised a hand towards him, almost reaching out.

"You have been running for a long time. It is alright to rest, now."

Was the Sith doing something to his mind?!

But Ben said mind tricks only worked on the weak-willed! And Yoda was always complaining about how stubborn he was!

"Get out of my head!" Luke shouted. Don't panic, don't panic-

"It is not me."

Oh, gentleness did not sound right coming out of that voice.

"You have forgotten who you are, and yet from our first encounter your memories have tried to reestablish themselves. Stop fighting them, Luke. Let them flow."

Luke stopped pretending he wasn't afraid. He was terrified. He was alone in an isolated place, too far away to call for help, and trapped with a deadly enemy who meant to prey upon his very sense of self.

His hands were shaking too badly to hold up his father's blade. This was so stupid, he was so stupid, he never should have come here! He had to get out, there had to be a way out!

Luke scanned the room frantically for an exit. He backed away from Vader and edged towards what looked like a corridor.

"Luke."

"No!"

Luke stumbled over a bundle of cables on the floor and nearly fell. He managed a graceful recovery despite his terror and kept moving.

"Stay away from me!"

Vader did not. He began to move at last, slow and purposeful and relentless.

The Force moved around them like a frigid tide, pulling machinery from the walls to land behind Luke. He was cutting off his escape. The trap had been sprung.

"Stop running, Luke."

"Leave me alone!"

He was pleading now.

All sense of bravado, of dignity, had fled.

Obi-wan was right. I'm not ready. I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die-

If Leia lives, it's worth it

But I don't-

I don't want to die

And then at last, he could go no further. His calves caught on some discarded hunk of metal, and toppled him. Sharp, broken pieces dug into his back as he landed. The pain felt distant, like something that was happening to someone else. Luke's increasing disorientation muffled everything but his fear.

This was the end. Luke, on the ground at Darth Vader's feet. If the encounter didn't end in immediate death, his interrogation was likely imminent.

But Vader

Knelt.

He kneeled down beside Luke and rested his gloved hand on Luke's cheek. Luke was very sure that his heart was going to stop.

Oh. He's going to snap my neck. At least it'll be quick.

"Enough, child." A deep bass growl vibrated through the words. He sounded as though he was finally angry. "I am not going to kill you!"

Before Luke had time to process that, he added, "I am trying to save you."

Save me?! From what?!

Luke swung out with one arm, trying to push the dark lord away. Vader caught his wrist easily and squeezed it.

"You know me." Each syllable dripped with an unexpected urgency. "Search your feelings: you will know it to be true. Remember, Luke. You must remember."

"No!" Luke tried in vain to pull away. "S-stop!"

He was pulled, gently, but firmly, up into a sitting position.

He was pulled, less gently, by the thread around his soul. It reached out, straining for something it had once known. A sense of something missing.

A sense that was being answered in kind.

And he felt something. Something he had felt before.

Or rather

Someone.

Luke knew the answer to the question his soul was asking.

He didn't want to know.

He didn't want to face it.

No, no please-!

"You have forgotten what you once knew," Vader murmured. "You have forgotten me. And I- I believed you had died."

Seething shadows coiled around them both.

"The Emperor will suffer no Skywalker to be free. If he is not entirely beneath the emperor's thumb, then he must die. If you lived, his hold on me was jeopardized. Luke, he told me you were dead. But here you are, alive again!"

Skywalker.

Vader was referring to himself as Skywalker.

The Force resonated. A great bell seemed to have tolled, and with each reverberation the jagged pieces were forced together.

Darkness and Light.

Hunter and quarry.

Lost and found.

Father and son.

Luke could not see through his tears. He didn't need to. He could feel.

The Force was no longer a counterpoint around them. It was a harmony. And that was the hardest truth of all.

Shhh, you are safe. I'm here, I'm here.

The same soundless lullaby that had soothed his childhood nightmares. The thing he had forgotten.

His father's voice.

I know you.

"Oh." Darth Vader lifted him free of the machinery as easily as if he were still a little child.

He pulled Luke into his arms. Luke did not have the strength to resist.

“There you are.”

#Free Day Thursday #star wars wednesday #star wars au #bespin au #esb au #darth vader #luke skywalker #fic prompts #writing prompts #Luke is Not having a good time but hey he doesn't lose a hand #sneaky Mufasa references Because I Can #look if a human baby can know and recognize their parents' voices before birth and you add Force Weirdness to that #then not only do you get a plausible explanation for Leia having memories of her mother #you also have the possibility of Luke recognizing his dad's Force signature

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chironshorseass · 3 years

Text

magnificently cursed

Annabeth kisses Percy Jackson at the winter solstice; because of this, things may turn out for the better—or is it the other way around? The only thing she knows for certain is that she has a special loathing for fatal flaws and prophecies.

or,

A canon divergent au in which many things happen at once.

read on ao3

Dum spiro, spero

(While I breathe, I hope.)

That was one of the first Latin phrases Chiron had taught her, all those years ago. It was what she hung on to when life carried on by a thread.

And when she’d been left, alone, to die, that was what she remembered. And also rocks, and blood, piling up on her. She’d begun to think that that was the only way of life. Rocks and blood.

Or maybe it wasn’t blood, maybe her vision had been drowned in scarlet. And maybe those weren’t rocks.

No, it was a fact that those weren’t rocks.

In her feeble brain, she knew. This was the sky.

This was the world.

But she couldn’t give up, because then everything would come crashing down. She’d die anyway, but the rest of humanity, Luke...they still had a chance.

Percy still had a chance.

But it was a ravenous pain, holding the world. One that gathered on her shoulders like burning steel and flowed through the rest of her body in a river of magma.

Dum spiro, spero.

While I breathe, I hope.

But she could barely breathe.

The weight of the world had been shoved onto her shoulders, all for betrayal. She was dimly aware of Luke (a friend or foe) and Atlas (a foe) , and someone else, standing there, watching. She wasn’t sure. It was hard to see anything when her mind delayed any comings and goings for just a few seconds.

Sweat had meddled in her eyes. She couldn’t clear it away.

Ringing echoed in her ears. She couldn’t scream for it to stop.

But every cell in her body screamed, and it wouldn’t stop. Everything screeched and cried and hollered, but she was sure that she made no sound.

All she wanted was for someone to take this agony, this torture, away from her. To burn it just like it was burning her.

More rocks fell.

Blurs from the outside of her hellish sphere discussed things.

Laughter.

Crying.

Ichor.

It trailed from someone’s legs like fresh honey. An immortal. She couldn’t hold her chin up to see who it was, however.

But that person made themselves known.

Artemis. She’d kneeled down next to Annabeth. Her face was streaked with gold. More ichor. Then she turned to say something, maybe to Luke. The goddess seemed distressed, angered.

Luke. Traitor. Friend.

Traitor.

A clang followed, and she had just enough energy to lift her eyes and see the chains that now littered Artemis’ feet. She’d somehow been trapped, like her, and—

More pressing weight from the sky. More backstabbing pain.

I am going to die.

And if she was going to die, she wouldn’t be able to breathe, and if she wasn’t going to breathe, she wouldn’t hope.

Better to die than hope, then.

Artemis’ flashing eyes appeared from the depths of her darkened vision.

Annabeth understood too late what was about to happen.

Chains free. Distressed goddess. Ichor. Laughter.

This was a trick played beautifully by Atlas—and Luke. They wanted to see Artemis trapped, just like her. They also wanted Annabeth free.

She let out a groan, a sound of protest. It was no use.

Artemis had already taken her place, holding what had nearly toppled over. Annabeth’s shoulders had never felt so light.

The last thing she saw was Percy’s face. His dimpled smile and his eyes the color of the sea on a clear day and his curly hair.

“Sleep tight, Annabeth,” he said.

Then he faded away, and she saw nothing at all.

While I breathe, I hope.

Percy had rescued her before. It went both ways, really, but this felt familiar. Riding some kind of horse—this time on Blackjack—with him tucked behind her, flying to safety. Well, she wasn’t sure if meeting the gods at the winter solstice could count as “safety,” but it was close enough.

He came for me.

Thalia flew closeby, on a pegasus with Grover. She remembered the knowing smile the daughter of Zeus had given her, right after Grover had crushed her into a hug.

“He didn’t come for Artemis,” she’d said, talking about Percy. It was hard not to blush.

Afterwards, They’d taken to the sky, dark comets streaking through the stars, through Zoë.

The guilt of what had happened would come to grasp her with greedy fingers, but it was smothered by Percy’s arms around her. Just like in Siren Bay. Just like after leaving Polyphemus’ island, injured and barely conscious.

And as New York’s city lights replaced the stars in the sky, that feeling of warmth also overcame the dread of what was to come.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”

The wind tickled her words, just like it did her face, but Percy still heard.

Her neck was barely craned to him, and yet, she could see how close they were now. It made her grip onto Blackjack’s neck tighter.

He gave her one of those rare smiles, as though he’d been caught in the moment.“You don’t have to thank me for anything.”

She thought about Luke, for a second. He would always love her; that’s what he’d promised. They were family. And then again, Percy was always with her when she needed it the most. Ironic, maybe. But she couldn’t dwell on it.

Instead she said, “You did kind of save me, though.”

“Yeah, but you already thanked me, like, a bazillion times.” He tilted his head sideways. “Besides. You would’ve done the same for me.”

Percy meant to tell her. But the words were tangled up in his throat, just like they had been when the Olympian council debated on killing him.

Destroyer, they’d proclaimed.

Perseus. Destroyer.

In the end, Artemis hadn’t chosen Annabeth as a member of the hunt. But rather, Thalia.

Annabeth was alive and she wasn’t a hunter and from then on, he could breathe properly.

Staring at that lock of grey hair, she recalled the events that led them here. A pain that they both shared now.

She touched the streak gently, and they stayed there, swaying to their secretive music. It was the kind of song that stitched them together, two souls molded into one horrible moment.

But it was more than just the horror that connected them. In the vibrancy of Olympus, it felt like they were creating the beautiful moments, too. They’d become a luster that outshined the rust in their thread of life.

“So,” she said, swaying to the music. “What were you going to say to me earlier?”

“Athena doesn’t approve,” he mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

“What?”

“I just...I wanted to say that…” He grabbed her wrists that were currently locked around his neck, taking her hands in his. This time, his gaze landed on her, only her. “You mean so much to me. I never want to see you go.”

Annabeth shook her head; she still didn’t understand where this was going. “You won’t. I changed my mind—about the hunters.”

Percy breathed out a laugh. “I didn’t think I could feel so relieved in my life.”

“Me neither,” she smiled. “I don’t think that kind of life was for me, anyway. But…what does my mom have to do with this?”

He regarded her for a few seconds, until he finally relented. But not before checking both ways in case Athena was around.

“She knows what I want to tell you, but she doesn’t approve.”

“And that is…”

Maybe she had some idea as to what was going on. But she wanted to hear it from him.

It was exhilarating and frightening all at the same time.

He took a deep breath; when he spoke, the words tumbled out of his mouth like burnt offerings.

“I want to be with you—but not if you don’t want me to. As more than friends. It’s cool if you think it’s too fast, though, or...I just—I thought you’d leave me, and that scared me so much. And—I realized that I really like you. But only, only if you want to, obviously.” He pursed his lips. “I’ll just shut up, now.”

As more than friends.

I really like you.

She didn’t think she was prepared to hear this. It sent her reeling, tumbling into echoing chambers where it was only her and Percy’s words. Over and over.

“Annabeth? Are...you okay?” he asked.

She blinked, and she saw everything clearer. The softness of his voice, his eyes, concerned. The sensation of her hand in his. The plumpness to his lips. She wanted to kiss him, and badly.

“Mom doesn’t approve?”

He shrugged. “I mean, I guess.”

“I want to, though.”

Annabeth felt her cheeks flush at that, but she didn’t care.

“You’re...sure?”

“Yeah, Seaweed Brain. If you haven’t noticed: I really like you, too.”

“Really?” His eyes were wide, filled with wonder. But then he cleared his throat. “I mean, cool. That’s...cool.”

She snorted. “Okay, now—come here.”

And that’s when she kissed him. And everything felt perfect.

Though there was something that she’d forgotten. Something that had lured her into wanting to join The Hunters in the first place.

The hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap.

She squashed it down. Prophecies have double meanings, anyway.

“I do not approve of your friendship with my daughter.”

Athena had told Percy this. She’d told him many things. Like how his fatal flaw was personal loyalty, but she herself didn’t seem so sure.

But Athena was right, she was always right.

Except when it came to Annabeth. He didn’t care if she didn’t approve.

(Maybe that was his mistake.)

Annabeth thought that they could manage long distance—and they could—they’d been successful in calling daily and sending emails.

It was fine; she was finally happy.

Something in her had clicked at getting to see Percy smile at her when she’d call him her boyfriend, all sweet and loving, or just whenever he appeared on the IM. Her stomach filled with butterflies whenever he laughed at her jokes and whispered “goodnight” like a soft melody. Even though she never dared say, “I love you.”

It was all fine and good.

Until Luke appeared.

He’d knocked on her door, and her stepmother had answered.

She’d expected someone from camp, when Helen had called to her. There was a small flicker of hope there, that it was Percy.

But when she opened the door and stepped outside, her heart stopped. Her breath hitched.

“You,” she said through clenched teeth. Before he could react, she’d pointed her knife at him, slick and quiet as a panther.

His gaze flicked to that old knife, and he had the nerve to smile.

“You still use my knife.”

She ignored him, moving closer, pointing the blade directly at him. “You here to finally finish me off?”

He patted his pants and shirt, then carefully raised his arms.

“I’m unarmed, see? Just wanted to have a talk, that’s all.”

“Like you wanted to have a talk back on Mt.Othrys? When you left me there, to die?” Her voice shook, but she held her ground.

Luke winced. “Five minutes, Annabeth. That’s all I’m asking.”

He looked terrible, like he’d aged twenty years. Every word he muttered out seemed to steal a part of him, leaving him there to rot. His skin stuck to his face, pale and hollow.

“Consider this as a truce,” he said. “I don’t plan to hurt you. I swear on the Styx.”

Thunder boomed. Reluctantly, she lowered her knife. But she wasn’t stupid, that knife wouldn’t go anywhere.

“And what do you want to talk to me about?”

“I need your help.”

She shook her head. “Luke, you know I can’t—”

“Kronos,” he breathed. “This is about Kronos.”

Her hand tightened against the pommel of her blade. She waited for him to elaborate.

“He...wants to use me as a stepping stone. He’s gonna take over the world, if I let him.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“You don’t understand, Beth.”

At the mention of that nickname—that so few people ever used—she had no choice but to meet his eyes. They’d once been a bright blue. Now, they were shattered discs. Like his mother’s.

“I…” He moved his jaw from side to side, a nervous tick that had plagued him ever since coming to camp. “I can’t possibly do it. He’s gone too far, and I have no choice but—”

“ Why are you telling me this, Luke?”

“Because—”

“You know what? Whatever it is, I can’t help you.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she spoke before that could happen.

“You nearly killed me, Luke. You get that? You nearly killed me. Do you know how messed up that is? How, how could you do that? We were family once!” She was screeching now, her voice reverberating across the cobbled San Francisco streets.

She felt the sharp sting of tears, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting them fall.

Maybe by now, everyone in the neighborhood was listening in, but she didn’t care. She wanted to scream. She wanted to hurt him like he had to her.

A shadow crossed his face. Guilt. He felt guilty.

Traitor. Friend.

“Look, I...I know this won’t mean anything to you, but I’m sorry.” Her eyes fixed themselves on anything but him. “I just—he’s using me, Annabeth. In everything.”

“And what am I supposed to say to that? Too bad? I’m sorry? This was your choice!”

“No, you don’t understand.” His entire body shook. Annabeth had never seen him so terrified, so unstable. He’d changed, she realized, from that confident hero she’d once looked up to. “I want to run, ‘Beth. Fuck everything. I can’t take it anymore. I want to—to go with you.”

He’d left her utterly disarmed, her armour melting away. Was Luke...actually switching sides?

“Go...with me?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” he gasped. “Gods, yes.”

“So you’re...having second thoughts? You want to go to camp?”

Hope blossomed in her heart, no longer the shriveled flower that it had once been.

Luke sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, through that grey streak. It was a symbol now, representing the two people she’d bled for the most.

“No,” he said, and that hope began to wilt once more. “You still don’t get it. I want to run, like the old days. Get away from all of this crap. From the Titans and the gods—everything. Just me and you, and we can finally be free.”

She laughed, water leaving her hope alone and escaping, running down her cheeks instead. “More like you don’t get it.”

“As if you knew even the slightest bit about what’s going on.”

“Wake up, Luke! This isn’t a fucking fantasy! People are counting on you—on me! And the old days are over! They’re over...because of you!”

“No, they’re over,” he insisted, “because of Thalia.”

“Please, Thalia made her choice—”

“Just as you’re doing now and just as I did before! Run with me, Annabeth, or let me die in the hands of Kronos. There is no in between. I wouldn’t leave you like Thalia did. You know Kronos controls me, you know the only way for me to escape him is to hide.”

She still shook her head. “No, no we have to stop him. We can’t just run like cowards, that’s not how it works! And I can’t leave Percy—”

“Ah.” His eyes blazed with a strange light, as though he’d found a missing puzzle piece. “So that’s what this is about. Percy .” He chuckled to himself. “He’s going to leave you in the end, you know that, right?”

Despite the dryness to his tone, Annabeth felt like his words were drowning her in an eternal pool of memories.

Worthless.

Freak.

Your mother didn't want you. Your father didn't, either.

And then…

A single choice shall end his days.

“You don’t know anything about Percy and me,” Annabeth seethed.

He sneered. “Oh, but I do. A little bird told me that you’re finally dating him. That he’s controlled every single thing about you since day one, leading you right to his trap.” His lips widened to a grin, watching her face. “Yes, I have spies. I’m sure you knew that already, though.”

A voice screamed in her head, that all he did was lie; that he was the one controlling her. But right now, nothing seemed logical, only that grin of his and the way it was crushing her garden of hope.

“You need me, Annabeth. More than you will ever know.”

Tears fell down her chin, swam in her eyes, distorting Luke. He stood there, silent, waiting for her to fall like prey to the arrow.

Yes. Go with him, rid yourself of responsibility.

No. Percy saved you from Luke. You love him, even if he might die.

Yes.

No.

Yes—

“There’s no way, Luke. After everything you’ve done...and now you’re asking me to leave the people I love? And no, Percy has never controlled me. Like Thalia did, hell, like you did— I made my choice. To stick up to him even when I know he might leave. Because I care for him, and he cares for me! Unlike you!”

He scoffed, moving closer to her. He could probably hear her thumping heart.

“Those are his words, not yours. Honestly, I thought you’d be better than this, Annabeth. Better than being with that bastard. Listening to him instead of me. We’ve been through so much together, have experienced more things than you and him will ever share. He wants me dead. He wants me to destroy our world by letting Kronos take over me.”

“You can still choose to side with us, Luke,” she begged, voice cracking. “It doesn't have to be this way!”

“Ah, choosing, choosing, ” he laughed, stooping to her eye level. She couldn’t escape, back against the door. “You see, Annabeth, with choices...sometimes...you don’t have one.”

She still held her knife; he was close enough for her to easily stab him with it. As though reading her thoughts, he stepped away from her, only for him to extend his arms. An invitation.

“Go on, do it. Fight me. Your beloved mother would approve, you know. Wise thing to do and all that. After all, this is the last chance you’ll get.”

She was silent, mouth parched, while her eyes rained down more and more tears. It was strange, the way he talked like he wouldn’t exist anymore. The way he implied that Kronos would do something to him.

Staring at him, openly waiting for her killing blow—she couldn’t do it, no matter how much she wanted to.

You loved him once, like he loved you. Or does he still love you?

No matter how hard she tried, her heart still held a part of him. Her knife slipped from her hand.

“I see,” he said. “You’re still that small, seven year-old girl. Weak and helpless.”

“Get out.”

He let out a breath. “For the record, you’ve just helped his plans stay in motion. When the world ends and crumbles at your feet, remember that you had your chance, and you didn’t take it.” He closed the distance between them again, only for her to shove him off.

“Get out, and don’t even dare touch me.”

He did listen to her, lowering one foot to the bottom step of the porch, but not before turning around, regarding her. Something like disgust brimmed in his eyes.

“This will all be your fault. You and siding with Percy Jackson. One day, he’ll be your undoing.”

“I said, GET OUT!”

“Annabeth? What happened?”

“Nothing, just...had a disagreement.”

“Was it someone from camp?” her stepmother asked.

Annabeth knew that Helen tried to make an effort with her nowadays, but she still didn’t feel like sharing anything. With anyone. Least of all her.

“Something like that,” she managed to mutter out, before she turned and dashed for the stairs.

She crashed in her bed, feeling the sobs already.

Stepping stone. What had he meant by that? Was Kronos going to kill him?

Suddenly her room seemed much too small for her. Shortness of breath. That’s what she felt.

The world might end and it will be your fault.

You could’ve killed Luke, once and for all, and saved Percy.

You could’ve—

She screamed into her pillow, deafening the sound. Deafening her cries, brutal and untamed. To her, it was never clear when she fell asleep that day. Only that, eventually, she did.

At first, she dreamed of the ocean. She’d always admired it from afar; it was the perfect work of art. Swirling colors that changed hues with the light. The ocean was the mirror of the sky, only more powerful. She knew this because she knew its offspring. She knew Percy.

He was there, standing atop dark, jagged rocks. They were black, a stark contrast to the blues and greens. His hair whipped around in the wind, though that was the only thing moving about him. His hair and nothing else. Then she realized that the sea wasn’t moving either. It didn’t take long for the wind to stop its whistling, as well.

She longed to run to him, to kiss him, to hug him...but she was a third-party spectator, drifting off into the sky as if her soul was unanchored to her body.

Meanwhile, the world held its breath.

Control, a voice whispered.

She tried to speak, but her lips wouldn’t move.

Control, it whispered again. That’s all he wants.

Percy chose that moment to look up. His eyes were dark, she could tell, even from her distance. Dark and green. Before she could so much as attempt to call his name, he dove into the mass of water, away from the rocks, and disappeared into the safety of the sea.

It is fatal. But it is his.

She turned. And there it was, that voice. She gasped when she saw the figure from which it was coming from. Luke. He was levitating just like her, in the middle of the ocean and sky. Only his eyes didn’t match the background. They were golden . Everything about him glowed, from his skin to that facial scar. His voice wasn’t his, not really. It sounded like rocks grinding, like rotten apples, like —

Luke … that face, stared down on her. Then the voice came, that horrible, rasping voice. His lips split into a smirk. “They don’t call flaws ‘fatal’ for nothing.”

She screamed, and everything disappeared

This time, her dream shifted to camp. She was sitting by the lake, her hair dripping wet. Luke was there, too. Normal Luke. The one who used to smile and ruffle her curls whenever she talked about architecture, the one who wore orange t-shirts and sandals and was looked up to as camp counselor. Next to him, she seemed much smaller, helpless. But it dawned on her that she felt this way because she was, in fact, much smaller than him.

This was a memory—when she was around nine, maybe.

“You know we can try again, right?” Luke was saying.

He was gentle when he dragged her into his arms and he was gentle when he held her there, keeping her warm.

“The naiads tried to drown me,” she said, sniffling. “I’m not swimming again. Not in a million years.”

“I thought you wanted to be the best swimmer at camp?”

His eyes were blue, she noted; they matched the calm waters of the lake. Normal blue and normal Luke. Just as it always should’ve been.

She looked away, arms crossed.

“Irene was right. Athena doesn’t belong in the water.”

“Hmm. Maybe Athena doesn’t. But you aren’t Athena. You’re Annabeth, and you can do anything.”

“Tell that to the naiads,” she grumbled.

He smiled, making his eyes crinkle. “I did. And they agreed to let you be. I do have some charm, you know.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “The ladies can’t resist.”

She shoved him, grimacing. “Yuck!”

“Hey, girls love it! Now, come on.” He stood, and in he went to the canoe lake, disrupting the peace of the smooth water and splashing her everywhere. Holding his arms up, he signaled for her to jump as well.

She shook her head at him.

“Aw, come on! Don’t be scared, ‘Beth! I won’t let go of you. I won’t let you drown.”

“…Promise?”

“Promise.”

She didn’t need to hesitate anymore; all she did was jump into his waiting arms.

I won’t let go of you.

I won’t let you drown.

But he did. Time was cruel; no wonder Kronos wished for a war, for revenge. Time brought change and destruction. Birth and death. It shriveled things and turned them to dust. Luke may have loved her once, but Time broke them both apart into tiny shards of glass.

School was on the farthest corner of her mind the next day. She woke to the feverish sun sneaking through her pale curtains. Immediately, she wanted nothing but to curl under the covers. To melt into them like candle wax until no one remembered her. Or better yet, so that everyone would grieve. So that they would look for her in every corner of the world but never find a single trace. She’d be a legend, a strange happenstance from that past.

“Ah, yes. Annabeth Chase. The girl who vanished and shook the world with her mystery.”

Nothing like that happened. Though she did stumble into the bathroom from the nausea, only for her stomach to find nothing but water. She dry heaved and cried, tremors running up and down her body. She must’ve collapsed—lost her balance—because for a while, she laid there, on the cool bathroom tiles and staring at the wooden ceiling like some discarded doll.

Her father found her in that state. He rushed to her, wrapping her in his arms like she was five years old all over again and tucking her in bed.

Her eyes fluttered open a few times, catching Frederick’s wrinkled forehead and wrinkled eyes. He was worried. Concerned. She wasn’t going to lie: that was a nice change.

“—A fever,” he said. She didn’t hear the rest.

Helen said something in response. Annabeth couldn’t focus on that, either.

“I’ll stay by her bedside until she wakes up. Maybe that’ll help,” her father said.

I should be sick more often, she thought, then drifted off to sleep.

Hellish nightmares followed her there. Some were of Percy, burning alive. Others were of Luke, his eyes golden. Once in a while, she’d wake up, only to feel her eyes weigh down on her face. All those times, she’d have no choice but to welcome her nightmares again.

Hours or years or days passed before she could manage to be awake fully. The sound of a typing computer lulled her brain, but she had a mission; she wouldn’t let her mind slip away. She craned her neck to where the clicks and clacks echoed from, blinking a few times in the process.

There sat her dad, on her desk chair.

“Dad?” she croaked.

He turned, then beamed once he saw her fully awake.

“Hey, sweetheart. How’re you feeling?”

“Mm. Better.” She yawned, sitting up fully. “How long was I out?”

Frederick wheeled his chair toward her, arms resting on his thighs and brows furrowed. “Since yesterday morning.” He held his palm out and touched her forehead, murmuring, “Fever’s gone, at least. We should take you to a doctor, though, now that you’re awake.”

“No, wait. Dad. I’m not—”

“You’re not sick?” he finished for her, eyebrows raised. “The evidence presented in front of me says otherwise.”

“Yeah, I know, but…I was fine before, and this happened after I saw…”

“Your friend?”

“I mean, he’s not—” But she stopped herself before she could say, ‘ he’s not my friend.’ Instead she nodded and said softly, “Luke, yeah.”

Frederick handed her a glass of water, and she drank, slowly and carefully.

“I don’t pretend to understand everything going on with this…second titanomachy,” her dad said. “But I…I’m worried, Annabeth.”

Why did his visit make you sick? What is going on?

She knew that’s what he meant to ask. But the comment was left unsaid, a strange buzzing filling into the after-pause.

She shrugged. “Probably the nightmares. Sometimes that can happen, just never…to this extent, I guess.”

She watched him purse his lips. He knew almost nothing about her, even if, these days, he tried. He tried, but she still had half of a goddess. It was a part of her that he would never fully see, hidden away from his eyes in case it ever became a nuisance, a disturbance.

Recovery came quickly. Nevertheless, she missed half a week of school. She made sure to study and email her teachers—finish everything she had to finish—but really, that was just an excuse to not think about anything else.

Like Percy, for one.

What Luke had told her stayed in the shadows of her days. Her dreams, too—as well as her strange illness. Or at least the memory of it. She hadn’t lied to her dad when she’d said that dreams affected her in more ways than one, but this was a new record.

A god was trying to warn her of something. Perhaps it was Kronos’ doing, even. In any case, the dreams had taken a toll on her.

Percy and Luke and everything had taken a toll on her.

How much truth had been shown in her dreams?

Were they prophetic? What would happen to Luke with those unnerving, glowing eyes?

He’d talked in a voice that wasn’t his—an ancient voice—warning about Percy and control.

They don’t call flaws ‘fatal’ for nothing.

The last time she and Percy talked about fatal flaws, neither of them knew what his flaw was. Yours is hubris. Carrying the world on your shoulders feels easy, doesn’t it?

But what was Percy’s? Could it really be…

There was this terrible feeling, a tightening in her chest.

Suddenly, she was aware of an incoming IM. The air in front of her shimmered like water. Percy. Fuck. Without thinking, she swatted at the mist with her hands, clearing it away before it could form into the image of her boyfriend.

That’s when she realized: Percy couldn’t see her like this. He knew her too well; he would ask questions and she’d have no choice but to answer. For some reason, she couldn’t trust herself to bring up Luke in front of him. To bring up her dreams.

In came another call. With a swish of her arm, it disappeared again.

She could imagine Percy’s confused expression as he sat on his bed, wondering why his girlfriend had deliberately decided not to answer. So she stumbled over to her desk and opened her laptop. She unlocked her email and typed:

I’m sorry Perce. I was going to tell you that I can’t answer because my cousin Magnus is in town. He’s with me in my room at the moment. Didn’t want to freak him out lol. Also he’ll stay here for a bit. Probably until June. I hope it doesn’t bother you so much but I think that we should communicate via mail. Less risky and all that haha. So yeah I hope you’re well and say hi to Sally for me <3

Your gf,

Annabeth :)

She clicked send.

Gods, she hated herself sometimes.

Coward, Luke’s voice taunted, in her mind.

“Shut up,” she muttered.

But it was the truth. She couldn’t even face her boyfriend. Couldn’t even tell him about what was on her mind.

You think that he might leave, once he sees how weak you are. You couldn’t even see your oldest friend without it taking a physical toll.

She swatted those thoughts away like she did with Percy’s Iris Messages, but it was no use. They were here to stay, drawn with permanent markers in her brain.

Percy replied right away. He told her that it was fine—that not to worry. It would only be a month until they saw each other in person, anyway.

See Percy. After all this time.

They’d planned that, too. Annabeth would take a detour to New York City before arriving at camp, and they’d spend the afternoon at the movies like a normal teenage couple before they had to act the complete opposite of that.

A small, horrible part of her was glad that she’d lied to him. That she could fall on the excuse of her cousin Magnus—never mind that she saw him last when she was seven and had no news of him since then.

She had to, though, she had to lie to protect him from herself. So she curled up in her bed and waited for June.

#pjo fic #percy jackson fanfiction #percabeth fic #percabeth #blood tw #look mom i can write #there lol

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bailey-whalieee · 4 years

Text

Till the End of the Line

Nothing could cure the problem she had inside her head, except maybe two super soldiers.

Request: stucky x reader where the reader is under the weather but tries to hide it from them w loads of mind numbing fluff :) @colourforanamee

Pairing: Steve x Reader x Bucky

Words: 3562

Warnings: PTSD, drowning, torture, panic attacks, angst, & fluff.

✮

It’s been six weeks since the avengers lost one of their best teammates. It’s been six weeks of Steve and Bucky being on constant edge because they miss their girlfriend. It’s been six long weeks of them missing her laughter and jokes.

Y/n had been taken by hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. had no information on it. So, of course, what did the avengers do? They all worked day and night to try and find out where the hell they had taken her.

Six weeks ago they had nothing and now they were twenty-five minutes away from the bunker where she was being held. Anxiousness filled them to the brim. None of them had any idea what they were going to walk into. It only furthered Bucky and Steve’s worry.

What did they do to their girl?

Was she going to be okay?

Would she still be herself?

“ETA about seven minutes now. We’re landing about five miles away from the facility,” Tony announced, “let’s get our little ray of sunshine back!”

Bucky peered up to Steve, a worried glint covering his eyes. Steve grabbed his hand in reassurance before saying, “it’ll be okay, Buck. Let’s go get our girl back.”

✮

She screamed until her throat became raw.

Y/n’s throat bled for weeks after that. The first week was absolute hell and no matter how hard she tried to withhold the screams they always escaped.

Now, nothing even came out if she opened her mouth to shout or scream. They really enjoyed hearing her beg and plead. It was sickening how much blood she watched drip onto the floor.

They broke her. Scarred her.

Y/n didn’t even want to look at Volkov. He was the master-mind behind the whole project. He captured her, tortured her, watched her scream, writhe, beg, plead.. And not once did he even flinch.

He wore this noxious smirk that made her cringe every time she glanced towards him. Volkov was an evil man.

At first, Y/n put up her front and refused to be scared of the man for the sake of her team. Then it took an absolute turn for the worst. The methods of torture he practiced on her were from hell itself.

But, Volkov’s favorite was the water chamber. It consisted of drowning and suffocation. The iciness of the water would force her breaths to be short and slowly the tank would fill up until full and then the real fun would begin. Y/n’s first time in the chamber traumatized her.

She punched at the glass and struggled in the restraints. Y/n learned to fear water after the recurrence of the chamber.

Her arms were strung together by a rusty chain. She hung loosely in the air of the hydra building. Y/n was used to the constant aching her body forced her through. It became the norm for random parts of her body to shake and shudder from the pain.

After the second week, Y/n’s hope began to dim and fear overthrew her mind. She was just a scared little girl who wanted nothing more than to go home.

“Hmm.. My little pet, they seem to be trying to steal you back from me. We can’t have that can we?” Volkov growled, throwing out commands left and right at the hydra soldiers.

Y/n’s head cocked to the side and a smirk found its way on her war battered face. “They will always come after me. You’ll lose. Dogs like you always lose,” she croaked out, letting out a broken laugh.

An angry snarl drew from the hydra officer’s mouth and he began to shout, “kill them! Fucking murder them all! I want to see his brains splattered on the ground! Do it!”

The soldiers were dropping like flies. The avengers were out for blood and it was blood they were going to get. They wanted her back and no matter what it took, she was leaving that hydra facility, even if it meant murdering every single son-of-a-bitch in the building.

Volkov’s realization tumbled down on him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

“You know.. Y/n.. My little pet, you do know what this means, right?” he cocked his eyebrow making eye contact with the frail woman, “I always get what I want and Y/n, I want them to see life leave your eyes as those worthless avengers struggle to save you. If I can’t have you, no one can, little pet. I mean that.”

Her face fell. The sudden awareness hit her square in the face.

“No, no, no, no..” feebly flew from her mouth as a chamber was lowered below her feet.

His cackle suddenly filled the room, “and you know what’s going to be the best part? They are going to watch you suffer and drown, while I escape forever haunting you.” Her feet sank into the cold glass encased prison.

“Please don’t do this. You don’t have to do this,” she pleaded, her hand banging against the glass, “don’t do this- You’re better than this! Please- I’m begging you, don’t do this!”

The intensely chilled water slowly added up in the bottom of the chamber. She cringed and harsh breaths escaped her lips.

He rolled his eyes, “no I’m not. I’ll never be better than this. I quite like being like this. Goodbye, my little pet. Lock the perimeter, and get me the hell out of here.”

A nauseating feeling settled deeply in her stomach. What if, this time is the last time?

The water was now knee height and panic set in. Volkov had fled. The team was probably right outside the barricaded perimeter. And Y/n was going to die, alone.

“NO! Dammit! Not like this! No! NO!” she pounded on the glass, screaming once more. Tears flew down her flushed cheeks. The water only continued to fill the encasement and further her screaming. “Please, no..”

The door flew off the hinges and the avengers filed in. One by one, they each came running in. Relief flooded Y/n’s being until she saw the horrified expression on each of their faces. The water was barely past her chin and the exhaustion of trying to stay above the water began to set in.

Her small fists striked the chamber, trying to break the glass. “Y/n! Honey, I need you to stay calm! We are going to get you out of here, okay sunshine?” Tony gave her a small smile.

Tears welled up in the woman’s eyes. She tilted her head towards the tops of the chamber trying to gulp down the last bits of oxygen she had before the water completely filled the tank.

“Please, help me. I can’t do this aga-” and the water finally filled the tank to the brim. Fear overran logic at this point.

Everything blurred and she could hear their panicked voices and see their crazed movements. She tried to remain calm for their sake, but all she could feel was ice cold the water was. She let out a scream through the water and thrashed against the restraints.

Y/n wanted out.

She wanted to breathe.

Then a familiar metal fist came crashing through the chamber and the water flooded out. Gasps forced themselves out of her mouth as oxygen finally refilled the tank. She fell limply into Bucky’s arms, as he pulled her from the overflowing chamber.

“You’re okay, dollface. You’re okay, baby. You’re safe now,” he shushed, patting the small of her back.

She heaved the water that forced itself down her throat. The group let out a breath they didn’t even know they were all holding in.

Steve and Bucky crouched down comforting the gasping woman. A strangled cry escaped her as she leaned into their embrace. They didn’t even care that she was soaking wet, Steve and Buck just wanted to hold her.

They took in her appearance. Her clothing had been ripped in different places and there had been a sudden change in her weight. She was small and her skin clinged to her bones like she was a skeleton. Her eyes were dull and no longer holding life. She looked half dead..

“Oh thank the gods,” Steve muttered holding onto the shivering girl, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Y/n basked in his hold. She wasn’t okay, but right now, Y/n felt like she had nothing to fear.

“Where’s the son-of-a-bitch?” Tony growled, looking around the emptied facility.

“H-he escaped,” she rasped out, everyone wincing at how painful her voice sounded.

Steve shook his head, “he will pay for what he did, honey. Right now, we need to get you back to the quinjet before you get hypothermia.”

Bucky shrugged off his M-65 field jacket and placed it on Y/n’s shoulders. The jacket practically swallowed her. She opened her mouth to protest, but he immediately cut her off, “shush. We got you back, I’m not losing you to hypothermia, Y/n.”

Y/n was squished against Steve’s chest with Bucky following closely beside him. She just wanted to go home.

✮

When they arrived back to the jet, Steve and Bucky wanted an immediate evaluation from JARVIS. Y/n was given new clothes and a warm blanket from Natasha, who gave her a soft smile.

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N is suffering from malnutrition and a condition called hypoxia, which can be dangerous if not treated. She needs oxygen as soon as possible, her oxygen is too low for her body,” the AI system paused, “unfortunately, Ms. Y/L/N is also suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

She refused to look at anyone in the room after the diagnosis. Y/n kept her eyes trained on her hands. The silence was deafening to her, she had driven herself mad in the dungeon where Volkov kept her.

“What’s the fastest you can get up back to the tower?” Steve asked, his forehead creasing with worry.

“Forty-seven minutes, Captain.”

PTSD. A monster that both Steve and Bucky knew very well. “Dammit,” Bucky muttered to himself, settling next to Y/n.

Y/n’s eyes were getting increasingly heavier and the waves of tiredness came stronger each time. She didn’t want to fall into sleep though. Steve was taking note of the action seeing as she would refuse to shut her eyes and fall asleep.

He took a seat next to Y/n laying a soft hand on her back. She flinched at the touch, but calmed when she realized it was just Steve.

“You can fall into sleep, sweetheart. We’ll always be right here to catch you,” he reminded her, running his hand up and down her spine.

She nodded, “just scared.”

“I know baby, but we’ll be right here. Don’t you worry about a thing because we gotcha’,” Bucky smiled, kissing her forehead, “now lay down on Stevie’s lap and rest.”

Her face held hesitance and she looked towards the captain for affirmation. He rolled his eyes and opened his arms wide, “come’ere.”

Y/n’s head fell softly into his lap and Bucky situated the blanket around her, making sure she was comfortable. Steve’s hand weaved itself in her hair, running through the mess trying to calm the apprehensive women in his lap. Bucky was tracing patterns on her exposed calf that had been battered and bruised.

The team counted their lucky stars. Y/n was safe and back with the men who loved her most. This is where she belonged. This was her family.

Soft snores erupted from the girl who was snuggled in the captain and sergeant’s lap.

“We got our sunshine back and they got their whole world back,” Natasha whispered to Tony, admiring the sleeping trio.

A soft grin fell upon the billionaires lips, “you bet your ass we did and I’d do it all over again for our sunshine. Always.”

✮

It had been months of mental and physical rehabilitation. Months of sudden panic attacks because of random loud noises and flashbacks. But, Y/n put every effort forth to get better and to become her old self.

Some days were harder than others, but she learned to live with the difficulty. The triggers were becoming easier for the team to recognize and help prevent. Y/n’s life had just started to become normal, she was able to join missions and kick ass once again.

Steve and Bucky had never been so proud of their girl. Even through the hell she suffered, Y/n continued to persevere and put effort forth to get better.

Y/n first solo mission had gone great until a familiar ugly face popped back up. The mission itself was simple, get the vile, and get the hell out. Simple. Easy.

That was until Y/n found Volkov’s little hiding place and she saw him. She finished the mission, but the woman was on edge. Her core had been shook and when Y/n entered the jet, she lost it.

The memories, the cold, the chamber, it all came flooding back and all the repair she did to withhold the torture, burst. Like an ugly hurricane it came back and it flooded her mind.

She kept herself in check once she left the jet and finally arrived home where the team awaited eagerly.

“Sunshine!”

“You’re back! How was it?”

“Did ya miss the thrill?”

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Steve could read her like a book and Bucky could too. They read her every emotion as soon as she stepped off the jet and onto the hangar. The anxiousness radiated off of her and it fogged her mind.

“I’m fine. It went fine. Here’s the vile,” she muttered, tossing Bruce the vile, “I need to take a shower.”

She pushed through the group of eager super humans and headed towards the bedroom she shared with Steve and Bucky. Her body was on fire and the stealth suit kept sucking the oxygen out of her.

Y/n eventually peeled the suit off and headed towards the shower. Steve and Bucky had reached their bedroom and could hear the water running. It calmed them slightly.

“Maybe she just had a rough mission back?” Buck muttered, running a hand down Steve’s spine.

Steve sighed, shaking his head, “I hope so..”

Y/n stared at the water. It taunted her. She had yet to actually step into the shower, but she continued to have an internal battle with it. “C’mon Y/n, don’t be a sissy. It’s just water. It’s just water.”

Finally gaining the courage, Y/n felt the water’s temperature and shockingly it was warm. Her hands gripped onto the railing and steaming hot water washed over her aching body. The first month of rehabilitation, Steve and Bucky would coax her into the water keeping her at bay because of the PTSD and anxiety.

It was sweet and both of them had no complaints, only love and compassion for her.

The water trickled down her face and body, numbing the memories forever stamped into her brain. Y/n wished she could forget. She wanted to forget all the screaming and begging, but she would never forget.

Steve and Bucky sat on their bed, hand in hand, soft smiles on their faces. Bucky pressed a soft kiss to Steve’s gruff cheek.

“Told ya it was just a tough first mission back,” Buck smirked, ruffling the Captain’s hair to which he rolled his eyes.

“For once, I’m actually glad you were right,” Steve grinned, a light pink hue appearing on his cheeks from the affection. Bucky snickered, laying his head on his shoulder enjoying the warmth the blonde was giving off.

Y/n got so lost in her thoughts that the water had grown cold. A ripple of goosebumps erupted spreading all over her body. Air caught itself in the back of her throat as the water grew colder and further reminded her of the lonely hell she once lived in.

And suddenly, Y/n lost the ability to even hold herself up. She crashed down onto the tub-floor in a heap of sobs and gasps. Her mind was thrown into the chamber and she was no longer with Steve or Bucky. Water poured over her shaking body.

“STOP IT! NO! STOP!” she shouted, her fists bangining against her skull.

The shouts could be heard from outside the door, clearly. It made Steve and Bucky immediately run and practically break down the bathroom door. They found her clutching her knees to her chest, tears running rampant down her cheeks, and begging to be spared from whatever the hell was going through her mind.

Bucky grabbed her drenched body out of the shower and wrapped her in a towel, hoping to calm her. She thrashed in the towel and his arms.

“No, no, no, no.. No more! I don’t want it! I don’t want it! Stop!” she pleaded, sobbing.

“Y/n, baby! Hey-hey-hey! Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself! What’s going on, doll?” Steve grabbed her wrists to prevent her from hitting her head.

Her breaths came out ragged and harsh. Bucky pulled back the sopping wet hair that stuck to her face so they could look at her properly.

“Sweetheart, you gotta calm down. I know you’re scared, but honey, Stevie and I need you to breathe,” Bucky shushed, holding her close to him.

She trembled and tried to focus, but failed.

“I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t,” she repeated, gasping on the oxygen. Her face began to pale and tears welled up in her eyes. “I saw him- He was there. I just- What if he saw me??” she sputtered, fear coursing through her veins, “oh my god! He saw me- I don’t wanna go back, please- Bucky, Stevie don’t send me back!”

“Doll, Stevie and I aren’t going to let anyone take you away from us ever again. You know that? Darling, I can promise that you are safe here. I need you to focus, Y/n. Focus on breathing,” Bucky coaxed, cupping her cheeks in his hands.

Her shaky hands found themselves on Bucky and Steve’s chest, focusing on their breathing. She calmed the war in her mind and finally began to breathe normally again. Tears continued to leak down her cheeks, but Y/n gained control of her breathing.

“It was the water.. The water was super cold and then I saw him today and it all came rushing back,” she whispered looking at the two men.

Steve engulfed her in a warm hug not caring about how damp she still was before peppering her head with kisses. “You are so strong and both of us are so proud of you. You are the strongest woman we know and despite it all, you remained the sunshine in the darkness. Doll, we love you and your progress is getting much better!” he praised, kissing her once more, “and listen to me, no matter what we are always going to find you and we will always love you, even if it means going to hell and back to find you.”

A broken smile appeared on her lips and her eyes got continually watery. “You really mean that?”

Bucky chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist, “of course we do, doll. You’re absolutely extraordinary and beautiful and strong and gorgeous. No one deserves to go through what you went through, but you did not once give up. You have no idea how proud of you we are.”

Y/n leaped into both of the men’s lap wrapping her arms around them. They immediately savored the closeness and love.

“C’mon sunshine, let’s get you in a shirt and then we can cuddle and watch that movie with the little yellow bear in it!” Steve smiled before securing the towel and throwing the women over his shoulder, making sure to carefully do it.

“You mean, Winnie the Pooh?” she scrunched her nose at the captain.

A load of giggle fell from her lips as Bucky made a series of funny faces towards her. Y/n began to forget about the horrors and focus on the two wonders before her. Steve and Bucky. The two men who would sacrifice anything to make her happy.

“Lift up your arms, dollface,” Bucky instructed softly. He tugged the red henley over her head, where it flowed down to about mid-thigh. “Look at how adorable she is, Stevie? What an adorable little doll,” he gushed, his fingers running along her jawline.

“Oh I know, Buck. She is just stunning,” Steve admired.

Bucky hoisted her in between the two of them. Y/n was squished against the two soldiers, but she didn’t mind it one bit. They were both radiators and put off so much heat, she thoroughly enjoyed the heat.

“Stevie, Buck,” she whispered, grasping each of their hands.

Steve paused his search for the movie and gave her his full attention, Bucky doing the same.

“I love you guys. Till the end of the line.”

#steve x reader #steve x you #Steve Rogers #stucky x reader #stucky #stucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #Bucky #avengers x reader #avenger oneshots #thor x reader

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laurore-stormwitch · 3 years

Text

I honestly live for Genya and Nikolai’s friendship. Second part following from the fight in the war room between Nikolai and his general. Here he and Genya share a drink and some sincere words. (it’s awfully long but i love them)

we will fight for you -AO3

_____________________________________________________

He took another long sip of brandy from the glass he was holding. He didn’t remember how many drinks he had. He just wanted it all to fade to nothing, to be able to finally rest. And yet here he was, in front of the fireplace, revisiting everything that happened in the last two days. Somehow, after the disastrous meeting, he got through the rest of the day and the day after that. Zoya made a brief appearance in the war room that morning, swallowing her pride. His heart skipped a couple of beats when she appeared: she made a quick nod of her chin at him avoiding his eyes, playing the part of the respectful general, and stayed in the room for a brief time. It was worse than not seeing her at all. She picked up her files, gave a couple of instructions to Genya and left as swiftly as she came, leaving him with scrambled thoughts for the rest of the day. Tonight, he had dinner in silence with Ehri, barely keeping up the appearance of the lovely soon-to-be-wed couple they were not. Ehri was stubborn, but smart and observant. It took her ten minutes to unravel what she was seeing in front of her.

“Still brooding over the fight with your General, my King?” She asked sweetly, with a pretence of innocence.

“I see words travel fast in the palace.” Was all he said, picking his herring apart. He didn’t feel like eating. He felt Ehri’s eyes studying him. She fell silent for a while, then managed to say something that caught him off guard.

“You should tell her you’re in love with her before it’s too late.”

A small smile curled her lips at his shocked reaction. She was having fun. He stopped picking at his food, looking at her. Frankly, he didn’t have the strength to fight this, or deny it for all that mattered. There was nobody else in the room. He was at a loss of words. He felt the pain of their confrontation coming back in waves. He was deeply ashamed, hurt and lost. Ehri got up from her seat, directed to her chambers. She stopped at his side, casting him a pensive look.

“You don’t know me and I don’t know you. But I do know what it’s like to love someone, and I do remember how it felt when I lost her. I think if you stop putting your energies into denying your feelings, and direct them into finding another solution for this situation, we would all be better off. Don’t let this go so easily. Love is the only thing worth waging a war for.”

Ehri stepped away from him, opening the door. She turned to him one last time before disappearing to her chambers, saying something that ignited a feeble spark of hope in his heart.

“If you want to discuss other plans, I’m up for it. I want my throne back, Your Highness. You need an alliance and the liberty to go after the girl you want. Maybe we can find a way to work together and get our happy endings, after all.”

“Your Highness, may I come in?”

Her words were torturing him. He didn’t reply to her at dinner, letting her leave in silence. And he knew she was just jumping at the tiniest chance to get free from this wedding. But the things she said were stuck like a worm in his brain, which was now working frantically. He didn’t think, until now, that there was another way. But maybe, just maybe…he couldn’t let go of the foolish idea that he wanted someone he loved beside him. As a wife, as a ruler, as a queen. Marrying Ehri was a pragmatic choice, securing the alliance with the Shu. But what if they could work something else out? He could help Ehri get back the throne, get his alliance, and leave his heart free to pursue whoever he truly loved. The idea of having the chance not to lose Zoya was too strong to be ignored.

Someone knocked at the door in that instant, interrupting his train of thoughts. He heard Genya’s voice gently calling him.

He took a long breath in, trying to blink away some of the brandy. He opened the door for her, welcoming her in. “Please Genya, do sit with me for a while.”

He tried a smile in her direction as she walked in the room, gesturing to the empty chair beside the one he sat in. Genya’s visit was a welcome distraction: he’d come to really appreciate her in the times they’ve worked together. She was a good friend, a glowing presence, with her sweet and soothing ways. And beneath her honey demeanour she hid the spine of a fiery warrior, always looking after the people she loved. While she graciously sat down, he pondered why she was here, having a displeasing hunch about it. The suspicion came that this was not going to be an easy conversation. His instincts were only confirmed by her behaviour: she was shifting her gaze uncomfortably from the fire to Nikolai, clearly trying to assess the best way to give voice to her thoughts. He waited without rushing her until she spoke, carefully looking at him.

“Can I talk to you as a friend, Nikolai?” There she goes, he thought, his mood already souring even more if it was possible.

“Not only you can, dear Genya, I ask that you do.” He gestured to go on, encouraging her to speak. She cleared her throat, never leaving his face, a firm look in her amber eye.

"I wanted to talk to you about what happened yesterday in the war room." She sighed, taking the glass Nikolai offered her, slowly choosing the next words. Nikolai grew only more worried.

“You can’t look at your General like that, Nikolai.”

The King let out a tired breath. He didn’t need to ask who they were talking about. Even so, it was startled by how direct Genya was being and shook by the seriousness in her gaze. Not that he didn’t think the others suspected something, and if there was someone who could smell romance miles away that was Genya, but still…How did he look at her? Genya didn’t wait for him to reply, catching the question hidden in his eyes.

“You do it every time she enters a room. You look at her like she’s your saviour. Like she’s everything good and right in the world, like you just started breathing again after risking drowning. Like she’s the storm, and the first ray of light after that. I know what that feels, believe me. But still, you can’t look at her in public like that.”

He stayed silent for a bit, turning his gaze away from Genya. Like before, with Ehri, he felt there was no point in denying it. No point in having a discussion, in being bold, arrogant, and flirtatious as ever. He wasn’t even fooling himself; he clearly hadn’t fooled Ehri. He didn’t stand a single chance in fooling Genya. And yet, somehow her honest words comforted him. He let go of every pretence, feeling the weight of the world on his chest becoming slightly lighter. He chuckled, contemplating the irony of the situation, and then let out the first true laugh in what felt like an eternity.

“Am I that obvious?” Genya seemed to relax at his reaction, sliding back on her chair, with a true affection in her look. A little laugh escaped her mouth too. She shook her head.

“To anyone who’s a little observant? Yes. To anyone with a good pair of eyes? Still pretty obvious.”

He laughed again. He really was hopeless.

“I had the suspicion that the two of you were going to be the last ones to realize these feelings.” She scolded him, crossing her arms.

“I’m pretty sure the only feeling Zoya has towards me right now is homicide, Genya.”

Saying her name felt strange on his tongue; the sound of her was still accompanied by a sharp pain. He had some problems acknowledging his own feelings, talking about them felt...weird. It made them real. It forced him to face them. He sensed Genya make a face beside him, with a disbelieving click of her tongue.

“You can’t be that oblivious, Nikolai. I fully expect it from Zoya, as I expect her to get violent with me if I try to talk to her about this, which is the reason why I’m here with you. But you can’t be clueless. You’re usually quite clever.”

He turned to her, looking as if he was just struck by lightning. “Usually”, was all he managed to say. Genya let out another irritated noise, leaning towards him.

“Do you really not feel the way she looks at you? It’s the same you do with her. And you’re both pretty obvious.”

“She hasn’t so much as cast a glare at me in two weeks.” He tried to protest. She snorted.

“Just because she’s trying to be a little more subtle than you. The fact that she does it when you’re not noticing doesn’t mean that other people don’t notice.”

He really wanted to believe her; he felt the hope lying in his heart flicker. Maybe he really wasn’t alone in this. Maybe it made sense to try and find some other way. He had felt it in the Fold, as much as he tried to deny it. She is already a queen, a little voice in his head reminded him.

“Which is why you can’t be like that in public. It’s one thing if the whole palace thinks you’ve taken a mistress. It’s another if we have a full star-crossed lovers situation going on. You don't watch her with lust; you watch her with love. Ehri has enough reasons already to stop this wedding, I’m not sure you want to give her another excuse and risk the alliance.”

Genya’s tone was sweet, tender as the look in her eye. She had a sad smile on her scarred face, and she put a hand on his arm while speaking the words. She knew how hard the reality of the situation was. She knew she had to tell him, and she knew it would hurt him. He understood that she was just trying to protect them, especially Zoya, from being in more pain than they were already.

“And the fight you had didn’t help. She’s hurting, Nikolai, I can see that under her armour. I don’t know what happened between the two of you in the Fold, and I’m not going to ask. But you need to work this out. You can’t go on like that.”

The idea of hurting Zoya sent another wave of shame against him and he had to catch his breath. He knew his reaction was wrong, and that he said the worst words he could have said to her. He knew he had to make this right. And sadly, he also knew Genya was perfectly right, as much as he didn’t care what other people thought of them. Though that may not matter anymore. He took another sip of brandy and waved a hand in front of him in a dismissive way.

“I’m afraid you’re too late with that problem. Ehri already knows. She told me at dinner, and as you predicted she also offered her help in concocting a plan to avoid marrying me and getting her throne back to secure the alliance.”

Genya’s eyes widened in surprise. She crossed her arms again with an amused chuckle.

“I knew she was smart. Well, you and Zoya haven’t been, to be fair. But she still is pretty smart.”

They stayed silent for a while. For the first time in days, Nikolai felt a little better. He didn’t know if it was the brandy or Genya soothing ways but keeping this secret hidden had been tiring. He could share the burden now. Genya turned serious again, a resolute look in her eye.

“If that’s the case, then I’m afraid you have a choice to make, Your Highness.”

“I do?”

She mustered the courage to speak, carefully pondering every word. “I don’t believe Ravka needs a queen that doesn’t love this country, as sweet as Ehri can be. This is a broken place. It needs mending. It needs someone caring, ready to give this wretched place everything to see it flourish. It needs someone strong, ruthless, and brave. Someone who could lead it to be whole again.”

Nikolai looked at her, feeling the pride reverberate through her words. “All my life, all I’ve wanted was to feel protected. To feel safe. Can you imagine what a Grisha ruler can mean for this country? I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, or that it’s the perfect choice. But can you see it? Grisha from everywhere in the world are going to know this is home. We can rebuild the Second Army, unite it with the First. We can bring this divided country together.”

She took a long breath in. “And we both know that for all her pettiness, her rude ways, and icy words, Zoya is already the queen our home needs. She would fend for Ravka until her dying breath.”

He took every word in, waves of feelings towering over him. He thought of the Fold, of the letter he gave Zoya naming her the protector of Ravka. Of the first time he envisioned her as a Queen. As his Queen. He thought of following his heart, of things he usually didn’t let himself linger on: Zoya in his arms, Zoya in his rumpled sheets in the morning, on his lips, his hand in her hair, the smell of wildflowers around them. Zoya holding his hand. Zoya bleeding in the snow, protecting the cubs. Zoya with a silver crown at his side. He felt his heart full of yearning for these visions, full of warmth and desire. He thought of losing her, the pain like a sword through his chest, like a mountain on his shoulders.

“And I want to see her happy, Nikolai. She deserves happiness.” She touched his hand kindly. “You deserve happiness. You deserve someone who loves you as fiercely as she does. She deserves your kindness; you deserve her proud heart. We would want nothing more than to see you build a life together. Build the future together."

He didn’t miss it. He emerged from his thoughts, trying to steady his breathing at the ferocity of the truth that lay behind his friend’s speech. “We?” She curled her lips in a devious smile.

“As I told you, we all expected you two to be the last to acknowledge this. You’re both pretty funny to gossip about. If you can believe it, Tolya was the first to notice. Months ago. I had to explain it to David of course, but the others were all pretty quick to catch up.”

The thought of their friends whispering about them sent affection and amusement through him. He still couldn’t quite believe he managed to surround himself with this little strange family. He smiled back. Genya caught his hand, tightening her grip.

“We will fight for you. If you decide this is the course you want to take, we will fight for the both of you. We will stand at your side, defending Ravka and your right at happiness and peace. Just think about it.”

He nodded, staying silent at the enormity of this revelation, deeply moved by Genya's sincere words. He felt a warmth he didn't remember was possible to feel, the chance of a joy so intense it caught him off guard. It still seemed like a fragile hope; but it was a spark he was going to protect at all cost. His confidence was building up again. A decision: that’s something he was good at. He could already see the roads taking form, he could see where they led, what he would have to do. He could do this. His brain was already working around a plan. He would need to talk to Ehri and see what she had in mind. Maybe they really could save themselves from this. But there was something else he needed to do first, something that’s still scared him a little, and it most certainly was going involve an unpleasant and hard confrontation with a raven haired harpy who was likely to burn him on the spot.

"Why do you think she's so mad at me? Avoiding me and everything? I’m sure you’ve noticed that too."

Genya waved a sarcastic glare in his direction, furrowing her brows at him and lightening the mood a little.

"I'm going to take a wild guess here, but maybe the fact you announced your marriage right after whatever happened between the two of you? Maybe?"

"Very funny." He huffed, throwing his arm in the air. “Nothing happened, by the way. Nothing...explicit.” Unfortunately, he thought grimly, images of Zoya clouding his mind again. He shook them away, trying to regain his focus. "What am I supposed to do?"

"All Saints Nikolai, I didn't think you were such an idiot when it came to relationships. You tend to be so charming."

"Not helping."

She laughed. Saints, she was enjoying this. "Maybe talk to her? That would be a nice first step."

Great, like it's easy. He groaned, pressing his hands on his eyes. Genya was totally right: what was happening to him? He was indeed charming. He was used to charm his way out of every situation. Unfortunately, the one person who always seemed to be immune to his ways was the one he desperately needed forgiveness from. Honesty might have been the only plausible course of action.

“Talk to her about what? My feelings?”

Genya burst out laughing again. His pride hurt a little bit. Maybe Zoya wasn’t easy, but it was not like he was a boy anymore.

“Sure, if you want her to punch you in the face and run away as fast as she can. Do you know Zoya, Nikolai?”

Never mind, I am a fool. His friend was of course right, again. What he thought he would do, show up and ask her to marry him after everything that happened? Run to Zoya and tell her you love her after you insulted her, great way to gain a quick death, Nikolai. He sighed at the redhead in front of him.

“I’m hopeless, fine, would you please help me my dear friend?”

She huffed her hair theatrically. “Ease her in a little bit before the whole feelings talk. Say you're sorry. Show you care. Mend the rift in your relationship, draw her close again. Make her believe that she wasn't wrong in trusting you and open her heart to you. Just a couple of suggestions. Start with this, and see where it goes.”

Okay, he could try this. See where it went from there. He brought up the glass of brandy, looking at the liquid inside. On second thought, he put it on the table again; he needed a clear mind for this. He took a deep breath, feeling some sort of calm wash over him. He was tired. But he felt good, he felt in control again.

The heart is an arrow. It demands aim to lend true.

His heart found its aim. He had lost himself, but he found purpose again. He saw a way, some twisted hard way to give his eager country what it needed and not lose the most important person in his life in the process. He looked at the girl still sitting patiently beside him: he owed her a lot. Hadn’t she come to talk to him, hadn’t she been brave enough to speak these words...he didn’t want to think how much more time it would’ve taken him to see the truth, o how much he could have lost. The gratitude he felt in this instant was immense. He held her hand pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Genya.”

“Thank me by not being an ass anymore, Nikolai." She hadn't lost the light tone, but he could see she was only half-joking. "And come ask me for whatever help you need, all right? It can’t have been easy to keep everything for yourself.”

No, it hadn’t been. Gentle as always, she got up with a fond smile.

“And please let me tailor those dark circles under your eyes. We need you at your best.” She winked at him, moving towards the doorway.

“You are a good friend, you know. Not just to me. To Zoya, also. We’re lucky to have you.”

“I’m also great at concocting plans and I thrive around secrets at court, remember that. I’ll be glad to be of use. With your terrible relationship skills, also.”

“I’m far from terrible, my dear friend. Just a little rusty.”

“Sure, whatever you say. And Nikolai, not that I want to rush you, but don’t lose too much time on your decision. We still need to move quickly."

This time, he was the one shooting a sarcastic glare.

“Like you didn’t know the second you walked through that door what choice I was going to take.”

Another wicked smile flashed through her features.

“You know, I’ll even avoid killing you for all the time I spent on organizing the wedding. Mainly because there’s still time to change the bride and have it anyway.”

He chuckled. “She still has to forgive me, first. Then there’s the matter of talking about feelings. And from that to accepting a proposal...well, I’m afraid we’re a long way from a royal wedding.”

Genya seemed unfazed by all of these trivial matters. She shook her shoulders.

“Never say never. Zoya often has a way of surprising people.” That much is true, he thought.

“Do tell me how it goes. In the meanwhile, goodnight, Your Highness.” Genya nodded in his direction, taking a step out and leaving his chambers.

“Goodnight, Genya.”

He stood up, walking around his room for a while. As exhausted as he was, he was also too lost in thought to actually sleep. He opened the window, resting his elbows on the balcony, leaning towards the dark night sky lit up by stars. It was too late to go to her, and yet she was everything he could think of. The desire burning in him was almost unbearable. He couldn’t stand the thought of her angry at him, alone in her room. Or worse, not alone in her room. He shook his head, inhaling the cold breeze, trying to ignore the useless jealous thought. She really was driving him insane. He needed to think, to set a plan and get things in motion. She could sulk in the idea of killing him for one more night; just another thing he would need to ask forgiveness for. He wouldn’t give up, this time. If he was going to do this, he was going do this right. No matter how hard it was going to be to convince her, or how many times she was going push him away. He wouldn’t give up on her. Let’s see who was more stubborn.

I’m gonna find a way to do this. He gazed at the Little Palace, its roof shining dimly under the moonlight. I promise you I’m gonna find a way. I’m not gonna lose you. I’ll keep fighting for you.

Sleep finally caught up to him after a few hours. That night, like so many others, he dreamed of her. But she wasn’t far and untouchable like in the other dreams. She was next to him. She was brushing her fingers on his cheek, waving a hand through his golden curls, her blue eyes full of light. She was smiling softly, calling his name, holding him close.

In the morning, for the first time, he awoke with the slight and impalpable sense that these dreams may had a chance of coming true.

#zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #zoya and nikolai #zoyalai #genya safin #ehri kir taban #friendship #rule of wolves #king of scars #nikolai duology #fan fiction #my writing

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rpmemesbyarat · 3 years

Conversation

RP Meme Lines from "AHS: Coven" Episode 12: "Go To Hell"

Your highest honor comes at the greatest price.

Death is not uncommon. And danger inescapable.

I don't even need to read your mind to know what you're doing.

Poor, sweet, dumb, paranoid girl.

The awful truth is I am tired.

I want to know what happened.

She's probably off in some unholy nether realm.

He's a deity. Show some respect.

Respect is something that is definitely lacking around here.

You will show me respect!

You look like shit.

I can't believe you did that to yourself.

Whoa! That was cool!

I did transmutation.

I didn't even have to think about it. It just happened.

Our powers always spike in times of crisis. This is one of those times.

You into girls now?

What are you afraid I might see?

Nothing stays a secret for very long in this house

It will come to light whether you want it to or not.

I don't have any secrets.

I'm the queen-- I will rise again!

My people gonna come for you. Rip you apart.

Give me the box of chicken. Today, please.

I'm going on break, okay?

This was the worst time of your life. Waiting on people who treated you like the piece of trash you thought you were. No power. No respect. And no future that you could see.

Your hell's on Earth.

Don't make me put you in the fryer.

Everybody got to pay in the end.

Wait! I'm not done with you!

Unless you want to stay here forever, you better hurry and get back.

Time moves differently in here.

I'm talking to you, bitch!

You made it back. I'm impressed.

Now that I've proven my power, you're gonna give me some answers.

You remember how you told me you were gonna cut me up in little pieces and plant me all over the place? I thought that was a honey of an idea.

There's got to be a way to kill her.

More marshmallows.

Well, she's not gonna be doing anything while she's chopped into 50 pieces and those pieces are scattered all over the city.

You are one crafty witch.

When do we get to see the attic torture chamber?

These wild tales of barbarity you've heard are nothing more than lies invented by her many enemies.

What a total rip-off.

How did you find me?

A dog returns to its vomit.

I see you finally got that makeover.

I'm here to set the record straight.

She even looks like a monster.

Many times while there were extravagant parties going on just below, the sounds of music and revelry drowning out the cries of torment.

You don't believe it?

It beggars all belief.

The information you've been feeding these people? It's inaccurate.

I want my money back.

Do not touch the display items!

You will never be able to pay for your crimes.

It's your only chance for redemption.

Agree to be publicly humiliated-- all is forgiven.

All anybody has to do nowadays is shed some tears, say some words

It's called repentance.

Oh, repentance my ass.

You think a man jack among them was well and truly sorry? Not a one. Sorry they got caught is all.

Y'all nothing but a pack of sniveling hypocrites, as far as I can see.

I won't profess to be sorry, 'cause I'm not.

I was getting to you before. I know it.

You made me weep.

I wept for the state of this world.

A world of lies. A world that makes promise it cannot keep.

I don't want to die.

I want my portrait hung just there.

What are you doing back there?

Do you need a break?

I probably have two weeks left on Earth.

Maybe we could be kind to one another for a change, huh?

Did you really think self-mutilation would restore your power?

You cannot lose your power. You never will. It's inside of you.

As much as I'd like to, I cannot take credit for that. It's all you.

You're saying good-bye?

A man shouldn't be disturbed when he's playing with his instrument.

You don't have your mother's features.

Oh, you know who I am?

We spent quite an evening together.

She can't love anyone but herself.

I saw everything. Everything.

Unzip me.

Whatever fantasy you have about who she is and what you are to her, it's all bullshit.

She used you. All she does is use people.

I don't suspect you have a passport ready.

You feel that? That empty heartbroken feeling?

When the rest of the world sees a wall, we see a window.

Is she alive?

She's not breathing.

That's deadly nightshade you're about to ingest through your nostrils. I wouldn't sniff around unless you're looking for a bout of delirium.

Where is everybody?

Who would have been cruel enough to commit such an atrocity?

I heard people die after three days without water.

Please tell me this is a hallucination driven by my bouquet of Atropa belladonna.

You were supposed to spend your days in romantic splendor with your true love.

You're just like Halston when he sold his brand to J.C. Penney. You've forsaken your destiny.

You bit it off.

Hey, you're in my spot!

I want to sleep!

We're leaving.

You, don't talk to me!

Is that why you came back, because you can't handle him?

You bitch.

You thought I was some dumb swamp rat you could leave behind to die?

Stop these vulgar fisticuffs at once.

It's beneath us.

I don't want to waste my magic on you.

You hit like a girl!

This is awesome!

You! You must pay for what you've done!

Wow, did you walk into the wrong house.

Who the hell is this guy?

I thought you banished his soul to the appropriate nether realms?

I'll kill all of you!

Is that blood?

How could you do this to me?

I don't remember the last time I was here when there wasn't music playing.

You pack your wader boots?

I don't like catfish. I loathe all bottom-feeders.

She's pretty, but she doesn't have your cheekbones.

I imagine she wanted me to do her dirty work for her.

We had a deal. It wasn't on paper, it wasn't stamped by a notary, but we had a deal!

You have been the most delightful distraction. A life preserver. But I'm gonna be on dry land soon.

Can't you at least pretend? Just, just humor me for a while?

I guess I loved you.

Although I really don't know anything about love, if I'm gonna be honest. But you were the sweetest of lovers. The best I've ever had. And I'll miss that.

Let go of me!

I know you love me!

Christ, I was sick!

I just needed to feel something.

I made you die those little deaths for the first time in your sorry life. I made you sing when you had no tunes left in you.

What you're doing is a crime against humanity.

Well, I've never been one for love, true or otherwise.

Does anyone feel any different?

Where's the body?

Somebody's got to kill this creep.

Is that really necessary?

I'll kill him.

We really don't need a man to protect us.

I know I mistreated you in the past but there's no greater pain than being this close and not, not being able to reach you. And to comfort you.

Oh, I'm consumed with regret.

Why are they doing this to us?

Please, I'm so thirsty.

Please have mercy.

Are you hungry, too?

I'll slice off one of your mama's fingers and feed it to you!

Yes, I have sinned.

I gave no quarter.

Have mercy on my soul!

I don't want to do this!

You will do as you are tasked.

Who is this man?

What is this place?

You have been granted your sweet release from the world of the mortal.

Welcome to hell.

I can't die!

We have a contract!

No one gets away with sin.

Everybody suffers.

#rp meme #rp memes #rp starters #roleplay memes #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #ahs #ahs coven

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killiansprincss · 3 years

Text

Never Forget You ch.16

Season 6A Canon Divergence.

Emma is happy. Finally happy with her parents, son and boyfriend. But this happiness is taken away from her when the Evil Queen curses her and turns her into a toddler.

Heartbroken and angry, Killian and Henry run away to Neverland to wait for Emma to break her curse. But when she does break it and comes looking for them 25 years later, she soon realises this Neverland is very different now it is no longer under Pans rule.

Will she be able to save Henry and Killian in time, or will this new ruler of Neverland keep them hostage forever?

Just a huge thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed this fic, it means the world and I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

PSA this chapter is heavily anti Neal and anti Regina, so if that’s not your thing please read on and don’t give me hate

AO3 Link

“Are you sure you’re okay honey?” Snow asks, concerned about her daughter's current state. She’s barely said anything the past day after hearing what the fairy told her about Hook.

“I’m fine. Mom. Really. I don’t know why everyone thinks something is wrong, when everything is just fine.” Emma exploded back. It was a lot harsher than she had intended, but she was so sick of her family constantly asking how she was when she just needed to be left alone with her thoughts.

Hook had slept with Cecelia.

And he had the audacity to lie about it.

He didn’t deny that he’d slept with her, but claimed he hadn’t slept with her since she was cursed. Bullshit.

She couldn’t trust him. He told them all that he knew how to defeat Cecelia, but was this a plan to double cross them and make sure he can stay on the Island forever?

“Emma, I know I keep asking, but are you sure Hook was lying about Cecelia?” Her mother asks again, “After everything you’ve been through, he is your True Love. I can’t imagine David ever doing something like that, I can feel that he wouldn’t.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “That’s the difference mom, Hook and I are not you and Dad.”

Snow nods. “You're right I’m sorry, bad analogy. But he loves you, you love him. I saw how it tortured him when you were cursed, he wouldn’t take no for an answer about bringing you back. I wish I could show you the look on his face when he realised there was no way of bringing you back.”

Emma wants it to be true that he didn’t sleep with her. More than anything, she wants to believe he is innocent, she wasn’t really listening to her superpower much so she can’t remember if it was going crazy or not.

“We should go get Henry, see what he knows about Cecelia and if he knows any way to stop her.” Emma changed the subject, she can’t think about Killian too much or she will go insane and she just wants to get Henry and escape Never fucking Land.

She knows her dad went to find Hook. Her mother tells her he went to get water and food, but she’s a terrible liar. Her father surprisingly loves Hook, and wants the best for them. She just needs Henry and then she can think about Killian again.

_____

The three Charmings make their way to Henry’s and it’s surprisingly quiet. Maybe he’s in his concentrating author mode Emma thinks.

“Henry? Are you here?” She calls out as she knocks on the door at the top of the stairs and gets no response.

She looks at her mom and brother worried and opens the latch into his treehouse. He’s not there. Henry isn’t there.

“Well he can’t have gone far. You said yourself he’s a smart kid,” Neal says as they look around trying to search for clues as to where he is.

Their mother nods in agreement. “Neals right, he’s a smart kid he wouldn’t run off this Island is as awful as it was for Killian. He could be with Killian, it’s the only place he would willingly go to if not us.”

“Wait, what's this?” Neal hands a note to his sister, it’s different from the paper filled with Henry’s author.

“To get your boy home

A secret you must loan

The darker the better

And he will be released from his chamber “

“A secret you must loan?” The three charmings read the riddle over and over until Emma comes to the dark realisation.

“She’s taken him to the Echo Caves.”

“The what?” Whatever the echo caves were, Neal did not like the sound of it.

The colour from Snow's already pale face quickly fades. “The Echo Caves. We faced it the last time we were here. You need to reveal your darkest secret, something you would never admit out loud, or to yourself even.”

Neal didn’t seem to quite understand the severity, or how dark the secret truly had to be until he stepped inside the Echo Caves that were all too familiar for his mother and sister. It was dark, and Neal felt like any bit of happiness left inside him was gone.

Snow did not take comfort in the fact that the last time she was here, she confessed to wanting another baby, and while that wish turned into having Neal, it happened to be where David admitted to having been poisoned by dreamshade and couldn’t leave the Island. It was not an experience that she wanted to repeat.

Emma sees Henry in a cage at the far end of the cave. No way to get there other than revealing a secret. Her heart is beating like crazy and she feels like she could throw up at any second. The last time she was here, Hook revealed to everyone that he could finally see a future with her, his first declaration of love. She'd been too stubborn at that point to admit she had feelings for him too at that point.

The Echo Caves was also where she told Neal she wished he were dead. Looking back, she thought she loved him, but she understands now that wasn’t love. If he truly loved her, he wouldn’t have left her in jail and wouldn’t have run off. Killian showed her what love was, they went to the ends of the earth for one another and nothing would stop them from being together. That was love. Or at least it was, once upon a time. She wished Killian were here to reveal a secret, she needed to know what was really true about Cecelia.

“So now does this work?” Neal asks, seeing his nephew trapped in a cage 100 feet in front of him.

“It’s simple really.” Snow takes a deep breath. “You reveal your innermost secret. Something that is painful to admit, something so dark you feel wrong for admitting it out loud. I’ll go first, I wish Emma had never broken her curse.”

“What?” Emma looks at her mother who has tears already rolling down her face.

“A part of me wishes you had never broken your curse. It’s not that I do not love the woman you became despite us not raising you, because I do love you-did love you back then. Despite all the hurt and heartbreak you experienced, despite that all you came out strong, you had walls that were so hard to break and I get that I know why you had those walls, but these past 25 years getting to raise you the way we always wanted was amazing. I was there when you got sick and fed you soup and kissed your grazed knees when you fell off your bike. I talked to your father about not telling you on your birthday. He told me it was selfish, and I agree that would be selfish, but I look at the woman you’ve become and what you’ve accomplished, the relationships you built because you didn't have all these walls . I’m sorry but you being cursed was the best thing that's happened to me. I got what I always wanted, raising 2 kids with my husband in a world without someone trying to kill us.”

The ground starts to rumble and rocks start to form part of the pathway leading to Henry.

Emma doesn’t say a thing.

“I’ll go next I guess.” Neal says stepping forward, he doesn’t really know how this works but he hopes his secret is big enough. “I love Thalia and I’m gonna marry her.”

“That’s not a secret little bro, you’ve been together for almost 10 years.” Emma says, rolling her eyes.

Neal looks at his sister, “I know. The secret part is that we were thinking of eloping and running away to the Enchanted Forest.”

“Excuse me.”

“I’m sorry what?”

Snow and Emma do not take well to this sudden revelation.

He turns around to look at them. “I have grown up on stories of you and dad meeting in the Enchanted Forest and going on crazy adventures to find one another because things kept getting in your way. I got As on all my History of the Enchanted Forest lessons because I was so interested in it, about the land and how different it is to Storybrooke. I’m a Charming and I feel like I have this legacy, everyone always talked to me at school about how cool it is to have Prince Charming and Snow White as my parents and I always felt like I could never live up to the two of you, no matter how many sword fighting lessons I took. I love you guys, but I also love Thalia and we talked about eloping and leaving Storybrooke to get away from her dad, and then we talked about getting a magic bean and going to the Enchanted Forest and having an adventure of our own for once. And now, now I know you continued to have those adventures after you were cursed, with Emma too, it only made me want it more. Now, I'm not so sure because I’m afraid of the future, I just don’t want to live a boring life.”

The ground shakes once again and the stone path that grew from his mother’s secret grows again, and almost leads to Henry. It’s just Emma left now.

Emma runs over to the path that's formed, but it doesn’t quite reach Henry. She considers jumping, but she knows the only way she will get to him is by revealing a dark secret.

“My secret.” Emma doesn’t want to reveal it, especially in front of Henry, but she has to. “My secret is that. I don’t regret being cursed, I quite enjoyed it.” Tears begin to form as she reveals her darkest secret. “Until a week ago I was Emma Nolan, raised in Storybrooke who was loved by her parents and had amazing friends. Waking up on my birthday, realising I also lived a life as an orphan and with a life filled with abandonment, that hurt. It made me wish I had never woken up. I thought I was happy before when I had found my family, but I was lonely. Of course I had Henry and my family but my parents were the same age as me and that was hard to process, especially when my mother turned out to be my roommate who I considered to be the first friend I had in a very long time.”

She doesn’t quite know who she’s telling this to, the echo caves she guesses, she’s not facing or looking at anyone in the eyes directly.

“I was missing friends, Regina was not my friend even though I thought for a long time that she was. I know she was your other mom Henry but she was a horrible person, she made me doubt my magic and my actions and seemed to blame me for all of her problems. The first friend I made after I broke the curse was Elsa, she understood me and I finally felt like I had someone I could talk to about my relationships and my powers. Then she left and I didn’t get to see her again. When I was cursed, I grew up surrounded by friends, Alex was my best friend-who I always was told was my friend since birth but now I know otherwise-she was there for me and we shared secrets and did everything a best friend should do, I missed her when either one of us was grounded and that girl stuck by me. The same with Phillip, the three of us were inseparable growing up at school; they were never afraid of my magic. I think what I'm trying to say is, being cursed gave me what I had longed for my entire life.”

For the third time the ground shakes and rumbles as the bridge extends once more and Emma is able to get to Henry in his cage.

“Mom!” Henry says as she reaches his cage with tears in both their eyes.

Emma tries to break open the cage, but its no use. Everyone has told a secret, except the one trapped.

“I need to tell a secret don't I?” Henry asks, fearing his confession.

Emma just nods, not wanting to cry anymore than she already has.

He grabs his mother’s hands through the small gap the cage allows. “I don’t want to go home if we aren’t going home without Killian.”

“I think you need to say more than that kid.” Emma half laughs, not wanting to cry anymore than she has.

“I thought coming to Neverland would make me learn more about my dad, and I did learn a few things like where he lived. But the longer I stayed here, the more I realised he wasn’t ever my dad. I know he’s my biological dad and all, but he was my dad for like 2 weeks and then we were cursed and I lost all my memories of him. I wanted to know who my dad was so badly, what he was like and if I was like him but I’ve realised I don’t really care. Killian has been more of a father to me than Neal. He taught me sword fighting, with a real sword! He took me away to Neverland so I wouldn’t have to watch you grow up not knowing who I was, he stayed with me when the Island tried to drain me of my blood. And yeah he tried to keep me away from the Jolly, but it’s because he was scared and afraid, not because he stopped caring. He would look out for me, when I was shook up over a lost boy, Killian was there for me. I came to Neverland, thinking I’d find out more about my father, but I ended up finding a father in Killian, and I don’t know if he feels the same about me, but all I know is I’m not leaving here without him.”

Tears were flowing from Emma’s eyes, she had no idea Henry felt so strongly about Killian. Killian had always been wary with him, not trying to impose or replace Neal. But Henry never thought that, he saw Killian as a part of their family. The family they had a long time ago.

The bars that were keeping mother and son apart come away and Emma is able to hug her son.

“Henry. I didn’t know you felt so strongly about Killian.”

Henry gives his mother a coy smile, and his cheeks flash red. “I was embarrassed to say. I didn’t want you to think I was disrespecting my dad.”

Emma shakes her head. “Don’t ever be embarrassed about how you feel. And it’s like you said kid, he was your dad for a few weeks, Killian has clearly cared for you the way a father should.”

One day, when he’s ready, Emma will tell him why she never contacted Neal when she got out, even if she didn’t keep Henry. He deserved to know the truth; his dad was not the hero he died as.

#Never Forget You #Captain Swan #Emma swan #killian jones #my writing #cs fanfic #cs fic rec #cs ff #neverland au #ouat ff

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littlemisswolfie · 3 years

Text

Hope That You Fall In Love (And It Hurts So Bad)

Part II>

Somehow I never posted this here oops--

I’ve always loved @umisabaku ‘s Designation: Miracle fic series on Ao3, and I love to see a half-Canadian protagonist in anime because no one ever thinks being half-Canadian is cool, so I love Sk8: The Infinity, and I figured, hey! Why not combine them! And this happened.

TW for mentions of child experimentation and torture, a scene where it is heavily implied Nanako trades sexual favors in exchange for custody of Langa, a few scenes where Langa has nightmares, a brief moment of Langa having a panic attack, non-graphic descriptions of Oliver developing liver cancer, discussions of death and funeral arrangements, a non-graphic scene of Oliver dying, and the beginnings of Langa's depression.

Ao3

Hasegawa Nanako didn’t quite know what she was getting into when she got contracted by a private company straight out of nursing school. She was young and trusting and desperate for money after her parents died and left her with their debts, and the recruiter from Teiko Industries handed her a quote that was three times the average pay for nurses, so she took the job. She signed the stacks of NDAs, went through with the extensive background checks and drug tests, and underwent a psych evaluation before she even stepped foot into the lab that would change her entire life.

She wants to quit as soon as she figures out what was really going on. Human experimentation, torture, training children to be assassins… the whole thing makes her skin crawl. But, again, she really needs the money. No other job she could get right out of school would pay enough to chip away at her parents’ debt and pay for her apartment and car and food. So, with a heavy heart, she shows up for her shift five nights a week, and she’s assigned to the hospital ward that cared for Generation Infinity.

They’re the youngest generation so far. Eight years younger than Generation Miracle, which, Nanako learns from a particularly chatty coworker, was the most successful Generation by far. “They’re almost all Successes,” the other nurse says, cheery, like they’re talking about some sports game or a litter of kittens instead of living, breathing children. “They just had to scrap O394, but the others are all still promising. Well, maybe not B452, but still. That’s six out of fourteen! Imagine that.”

Nanako doesn’t want to imagine that. The thought makes her stomach churn. The casual talk of killing children…

“Maybe Infinity will be even better!” the coworker chatters on. “If our Orange Three can actually fly… think they’d give us a raise?”

The Project she sees most often during her shift is GI-B423.

Nanako knows there isn’t much hope for him. He’s only two years old, but he’s barely developed even the slightest invisibility. He doesn’t even display any Latent Overflow, which was supposed to be inherent in every Project. The scientists still make him wear the shock bracelets (horrible things, Nanako wanted to rip them off of him with her bare hands) and still send him to that torture chamber they stole from Orwell, but he’s already a Failure in their eyes.

To Nanako, he’s a baby. He’s tall for his age, with curious eyes and an unfillable stomach and a wonderful smile when she could wrench one out of him. He winds up in the hospital ward so often because of his reckless behavior. He tries to copy everything the other Projects do, particularly GI-O376’s jumping and GI-B531’s speed, and even when he doesn’t hurt himself trying something stupid, his heart rate elevates and he gets shocked.

“You should be more careful,” she says to him one night as she patches up a scratch he got when he scraped his arm on the wall of his cell trying to touch the ceiling. “I’d hate to see them hurt you for being reckless.”

Those eyes, too smart for a toddler, stare into her soul. “You’re worried about me?”

“Yes.” There’s no use denying it. Even if she didn’t care too much about this child who will probably be killed by the time he’s ten years old, it would be cruel to deny caring for a boy this young. And maybe she’s selfish, for feeling like this about GI-B423 and not the other children, but the scientists care about them plenty. They are Successes.

GI-B423 will never be a Success. So she has to care about him, because no one else will.

Nanako quickly comes to realize she’s one of the only people in Teiko that thinks of the Projects as human. This lets her see things no one else does.

So, a few years after she starts working, she notices GM-B425 is planning something.

She’s sure he’s fooling the others. The scientists and doctors and contractors think of these children as weapons, unfeeling, unthinking save for their direct orders. The Miracle Projects are generally allowed free reign of the facility as long as they stay out of the private offices and labs, so Nanako will take her time at the vending machines to watch them, and she notices the way GM-B452 watches everyone else. He’s the closest thing to a Success a Black will ever be, Nanako has heard, but he’s still going to be scrapped soon.

Nanako knows what desperation looks like.

She makes a choice.

“Let me get this straight,” says Honda-san, the director of Generation Infinity. He’s an older man, probably pushing sixty, with graying black hair and dark, mean eyes. He’s watched her with a predatory gaze from the first time they met when she first started. Nanako’s always known she’s a pretty woman, one of the few things her mother gave her, so it wasn’t like she was unused to attention from old, greasy men. “You want to resign, and instead of a severance package, you want to take GI-B423 with you?”

“Yes, sir.” Nanako’s wearing her best dress (and if it’s cut just low enough to be flattering, well, that’s just a bonus) and she did her make-up and she is being as polite as she can possibly be. “I’ve made more than enough money here to pay off my parents’ debts, and I was never cut out for work like this in the first place, so I see no reason to continue in my current position when you could hire someone more suited for the role.” She’s been saving since the day she started working. She never eats out, she doesn’t go out drinking, and she takes five minute showers. She’s debt-free, with savings to spare.

“And GI-B423?” Honda-san leans forward on his hands, his wrinkled brow furrowing further. “What use could he have to you?”

Nanako inhales and brings a hand to her stomach. “I’ll never be able to have children,” she says, the truth burning her throat. “I had to get a hysterectomy due to my endometriosis. I’ve come to care for GI-B423 as my own child, and you know as well as I do that he’ll never be a Success. If anything, he’s more noticeable than the other members of his Generation. Why spend the resources continuing to believe he’ll develop the abilities you would need him to? Why dissect him as if anything about him could better future Projects?” The words sting, tasting sour in her mouth. She hates saying these things about GI-B423, but it’s what she needs to do. “If you can get him on my family register, that’s all I ask. We’ll leave the country, and you’ll never hear from us again.”

Honda-san makes a considering noise, and, after a moment, he places his hand on her bare knee. His wedding band glints in the overhead light. “I might be persuaded.”

Nanako tries to smile.

Later that night, as Nanako is slipping her dress back up over her shoulders in the room of the love hotel Honda-san rented for the evening, Honda-san says, “What name did you want for him?”

“Langa,” Nanako says. “His name is Hasegawa Langa.”

Langa is confused, at first. “Where are we going?” he asks Nanako when she loads him and his meager belongings into her car. He’s never been out on a mission, so this is probably the first time he’s ever seen a car. “Does R0132 know where I am? He’ll get mad if I’m not at training.” He rubs at his wrists, finally free of those awful shock bracelets, like he can’t believe they’re gone.

“I don’t work here anymore,” she tells him. “I quit. Do you know what adoption means? It means I’m going to take care of you from now on.”

“So… I don’t live here?”

“No. And you’ll never have to do training again, or wear your shock bracelets, or go to Room 101. You can eat as much as you want. And you have a name.”

“A name?”

“Yes. Your name is Hasegawa Langa. You’re my son, now, and I’m your mother, and that means I’ll love you and take care of you for the rest of your life.”

Langa blinks. Then, he says, “Okay,” and he lets her buckle him in.

Two days later, they’re on a plane to Canada.

A month after that, nestled in their new apartment in Squamish, Nanako holds Langa in her lap and they watch, together, as Generation Miracle escapes from Teiko.

“Will they come for us, Mom?” Langa asks.

She squeezes him around the middle, perhaps a little too tight. “No, honey. As long as we keep our secret a secret, we’ll be fine.”

Nanako hopes she’s right.

The military never ends up knocking on their door, and Nanako thanks God for small mercies. She and Langa are doing everything they can to blend in, like normal immigrants. Nanako’s working at a nursing home, and Langa is enrolled at the local Catholic school, and they both attend Mass on Sundays and Wednesdays. Nanako makes friends with the other women in the apartment building and she tells them all that Langa’s father got her pregnant and walked out on her, so that’s why he’s not in the picture, and Langa dutifully goes along with the sentiment when asked. Langa isn’t making a lot of friends, and that would worry Nanako, but mostly she’s glad that it means there’s no danger of Langa accidentally telling a kindergartener with no filter about his time at Teiko.

He still gets nightmares, sometimes. Nanako never saw the inside of Room 101, and she wishes Langa never had, either. She never let him see the press images of how the JSDF found Teiko when they went hunting for the scientists, because that would only make the fear worse. Hell, she woke up in the middle of the night sometimes, catapulted out of a dream of fire and screaming, bloody children, guilty that she couldn’t save the rest of them, guilty that she only loved Langa and not the others, and she’ll never make Langa feel that, too. He has enough on his shoulders as it is.

Then, for Langa’s first Christmas outside of Teiko’s walls, Nanako uses up all the PTO she’s saved and they take a trip to a ski lodge, and there they meet Oliver Campbell.

Oliver, as it turns out, also lives in Squamish, as he tells Nanako one night over boozy hot chocolate after Langa has been put to bed. “I’m a firefighter,” he says, “though, when I was younger, I wanted to be a pro snowboarder.”

“I could never,” Nanako laughs. “That’s a little too dangerous for me.” Then, because the alcohol makes speaking secrets easier, she says, “Langa would probably love it, though. He’s always been an adrenaline junkie.”

Oliver looks surprised. “He seems like such a quiet kid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him when he was—when we still lived in Japan. Scrapes and broken bones everywhere.”

“Well, then, he’s lucky he had such an amazing mother to patch him up.”

Heat floods Nanako’s cheeks. “What good would my nursing license do if I couldn’t even take care of my own kid?”

“And… Langa’s father?”

“Not in the picture. It’s just the two of us.” Please don’t ask anymore, she begs. There’s something about Oliver that makes her want to be completely honest, and that could end very, very poorly.

“Ah,” he says, instead, “I’m sorry about that. Wherever he is, he’s really missing out.”

Nanako thinks of Honda-san, of his leer and his sweaty hands and his potbelly dragging against her back, and says, “We’re better off without him, trust me.”

The next day, Oliver starts teaching Langa how to snowboard. Just like Nanako thought, he takes to it like a fish to water, and even when he falls, the snow cushions his landing, so he just laughs and jumps right back up to try again. She watches from the sidelines and smiles, feeling warm, because this is what Langa deserves. He deserves to be a normal kid.

“When are you guys going home?” Oliver asks over dinner one night, a few days into their stay at the ski lodge. They’re having breakfast for dinner, a phenomenon Langa was very pleased to learn about, and Nanako ordered him three helpings of Eggs Benedict.

Langa is too busy shovelling peameal bacon into his mouth like he’s never eaten in his life to answer, so Nanako says, “Boxing Day. We don’t have any family in the area, so we’re just doing Christmas here.”

Oliver leans back in his chair. “That reminds me! Why did you guys move here, anyway? If you don’t have family here, I mean.”

Langa only barely doesn’t tense up, and Nanako promises to give him extra dessert for his restraint. “We needed a fresh start,” Nanako says. “I got pregnant with him while I was still in nursing school, and by the time I graduated, my parents had both died, and I got saddled with their debts. We stayed in Japan long enough to pay the debts off and save enough money to move, and we just… left. Where we went didn’t matter much, honestly, as long as it wasn’t Japan.”

“Your English is pretty good,” Oliver notes. He genuinely just sounds curious. “Both of you, actually. If I didn’t know you were immigrants, I would think English was Langa’s first language.”

Langa swallows a huge mouthful of English muffin and egg and says, “I know French, too! And some other languages.”

Nanako takes back her internal promise of extra dessert as Oliver’s eyebrows migrate up towards his hairline. “That’s very impressive,” he says. “Where’d you learn all those?”

Langa shrugs. “Around.”

“We learn English all throughout school, in Japan,” Nanako cuts in. “When I knew we were going to move abroad, I taught Langa, too. And he started teaching himself French when we decided on Canada. He’s a quick study when it comes to languages.” Oliver still looks a little unsure, so she rushes to change the subject. “When are you leaving the lodge, Oliver?”

“I’m checking out of my room on Christmas Eve. My parents always throw a big Christmas party at their cabin in Princeton every year, with all the aunts and uncles and cousins. It’s a riot, especially when we play Pass the Ace.”

“Pass the Ace?” Langa asks. “What’s that?”

A playful glint enters Oliver’s eye. “Oh, Langa, my boy, do you have any loonies on you?”

The three of them spend the next few days together. Langa wakes Nanako up as soon as the sun rises and they go downstairs to meet up with Oliver, who spends the rest of the morning teaching Langa how to snowboard. Then they go to the bunny slopes to toboggan, and at night, they eat dinner together, and Oliver and Nanako stay up long after Langa goes to bed to drink and talk.

Nanako’s surprised at how easy it feels to be around Oliver. Even before she started working at Teiko, her dating life wasn’t exactly active. Sure, she’d hooked up with a few guys in college, and she had a boyfriend in high school, but there was never a connection, not like this.

“Here,” he says, the night of the 23rd, “let me give you my number.”

“Really?” Nanako asks, even though she’s already pulling her phone out of her pocket.

Oliver gives her a confused look. “Yeah? I mean, unless you didn’t want to meet up back in Squamish—”

“No, I do!” Nanako rushes to correct. “I do. It’s just… I mean, with Langa…”

“Hey.” Oliver reaches across the table to take one of her hands. “Langa’s a great kid. Any guy who got scared away by him isn’t worth the time of day. I like you, and I like Langa, and I would love nothing more than to get to know the both of you better, if you would allow it.”

Nanako flushes again. She likes this feeling, like someone is looking at her and seeing her and still liking it. She knows she shouldn’t, that Langa’s secret could be in jeopardy if she gets too close to the wrong guy, but she can’t help it. “I think I will,” she says. “Langa would probably never forgive me if I took his snowboarding teacher from him.”

And Oliver laughs, and it’s one of the most beautiful sounds she’s ever heard, right under Langa calling her “Mom.”

She and Oliver start officially dating not too long after Christmas. He’ll come to the nursing home with Tim Hortons when she’s working twelves, and he picks Langa up from school and helps him with his homework, and he invites the two of them over for dinner at least twice a week because he knows Nanako is often too busy to cook. When it comes time to celebrate Langa’s birthday, Oliver buys him a brand new snowboard, and Langa throws his arms around his neck and chants “thank you”s into his hair.

He brings them to his parents’ cabin for Victoria Day, and his family is just as kind as him. His nieces and nephews do their best to include Langa in their games, but they don’t push when she shies away and hangs out by the buffet table instead, and his mother, Barbara, hugs Nanako like she’s an old friend rather than a stranger.

“Hey, Langa, wanna swim?” Oliver’s dad, Ray, asks, gesturing to the small pond nearby. Some of the other kids are already splashing around in it, and it is getting warm, so it’s no wonder he’s suggesting it.

Nanako tenses, but Langa just shakes his head. “I don’t swim very often,” he says in that serious way of his, and she releases the breath she was holding. She’s never taken him swimming since she adopted him, because she can’t be certain no one will see the GI-B423 brand on his upper thigh. He doesn’t have many scars, other than the faint ones around his wrists he usually wears long-sleeved shirts to bulky bracelets to cover up, but that one in particular would be very hard to explain away.

Oliver gives her a curious look, but she just shrugs like she’s seen other parents do when their kids are acting weird, and he gives her that lopsided smile and everything is okay again.

A month later, Nanako terminates the lease on her and Langa’s apartment, and they move their things into the small house Oliver owns. Langa’s a little confused about why Nanako says he can’t sleep with her as often as he used to now that they’re living with Oliver, but he doesn’t complain. After her, Oliver is his favorite person in the whole world.

They go to the ski lodge again for Christmas, and Langa barely stays off the slopes the whole time. He’s only seven now, but he snowboards better than people three times his age and with a decade more experience.

“He’s a prodigy,” Oliver says, watching him jump a worryingly high way into the air. “He could go pro.”

Nanako hopes he doesn’t. She doesn’t want him to attract too much attention to himself. “Maybe,” she says. “But he’s a little too spacey for that, I think.” Oliver laughs and puts an arm around her waist, letting her melt into his side. “Maybe.”

That Christmas, surrounded by the Campbell clan, Oliver gets down on one knee and asks Nanako to be his wife. Nanako can see Langa over Oliver’s shoulder, bobbing his head up and down like a bobblehead, and she lets out a wet laugh and says “yes.”

It’s a quiet wedding, at the cabin in Princeton, with just Oliver’s family and some of Nanako’s friends from work. They include Langa in all of their wedding photos, and he hugs Oliver and calls him “Dad” and Oliver almost cries.

This is it, Nanako decides. This is all she needs. Her husband and their son and the life they’ve made for themselves.

As long as no one finds out about Teiko.

Langa’s been very good about keeping it all a secret. He never talks about Teiko, or his Generation, or the powers that should have developed but never did. He doesn’t take his bracelets off around anyone, even Oliver, and when he has his nightmares, he quietly wakes Nanako up so she can slip out of bed and comfort him until he falls back to sleep.

Things aren’t perfect, but they work.

Until Generation Miracle is put back into the spotlight.

Nanako studiously never brings up the Miracles. Sometimes people will ask if she has an opinion on them, and she always says no. If a news segment is playing and talking about them, she’ll change the channel or turn the TV off. It’s been harder to ignore all the media attention lately, since Teiko’s more insidious designs are suddenly being brought to light. She’s not sure who is suddenly talking, or why, but she’s more than happy to bury her head in the sand and pretend it doesn’t concern her.

Until one day, when she gets home from work, and sees Oliver and Langa sitting on the couch and watching as a teenage boy with light blue hair and a calm fury Nanako only ever saw in one person says, “All we have ever wanted to do is be free.”

Nanako lunges for the remote to change the channel. Oliver squawks in surprise, but she kneels in front of Langa, who’s sitting rigid, like a stone, and takes his hands and says, “Are you okay, sweetie?”

He nods robotically, and she winces. He’s retreating. That’s not good. “Hey, baby, breathe for me, okay? In for four, hold for five, out for six. Just like we used to.”

Langa sets about his breathing exercises, and Oliver stands up, looking more concerned than she’s ever seen him look. “What’s going on? He got all quiet as soon as that news segment started.”

“Oliver, it’s a long story—”

“If my son is having a—a panic attack, or something, I think I deserve to know why!”

This is what she’s always dreaded. She has to come up with something. If she brushes him off, he’s just going to keep digging, but if she says something too complicated, she won’t remember what she said later and it will bite her in the ass. I shouldn’t have gotten him involved, she thinks, mournfully, already picturing the divorce proceedings and custody battle and Langa missing the only father he’s ever known. I knew it was too risky.

“GI-B423.” Langa gasps, and Nanako whips her head up towards him.

“Langa—” she starts, panic rising in her chest, at the same time Oliver says, “What?”

“My designation,” Langa says, he’s still clearly upset. “GI-B423. The twenty-third Black Four Project in Generation Infinity. Failed experiment. GI-B423…” He continues muttering, clearly back in that awful place, and Nanako throws her arms around him.

“Shh, baby,” she coos, rocking him back and forth, feeling him tremble against her. “That’s not you anymore, remember? You’re Hasegawa Langa. You’re eight years old, you’re in year three, and you live with your mom and dad in Squamish, British Columbia.”

She repeats this mantra a few times, drowning out Langa’s, until he stops trembling so much. His little hands grip her scrub top like she’s a liferaft in the middle of the ocean. She’s no stranger to this feeling; most of his nightmares result in a similar embrace. Her neck is damp from his tears and snot, but she keeps on rocking him, letting him cry himself out until he falls asleep.

Throughout it all, Oliver watches, silent.

Nanako carries Langa to bed and tucks him in for an impromptu nap, and braces herself for the awful conversation she knows she has to have.

Oliver is still sitting on the couch, silent, staring at the wall behind the TV. “Well,” he says, before Nanako has a chance to say anything, “a few things make more sense now.”

“Oliver…”

He looks at her, meeting her worried gaze, and sighs, opening his arms. She falls into his embrace readily, collapsing against his side. In his arms, she feels safe, like nothing can touch her here. “Tell me your story,” he says, playing with her wedding band, and she does.

Nanako won’t say things are perfect after Oliver learns Langa’s secret, but they’re certainly easier.

Now, when Langa has his nightmares, he can crawl into bed in between his parents and not have to worry about revealing anything he shouldn’t. Oliver’s always been better at calming him down, too, so having his help in soothing Langa’s nightmares is a huge deal. Nanako doesn’t have to be on the lookout for evil scientists or government agents all on her own anymore, now that Oliver is also keeping an eye out.

The three of them sit on the couch together to watch the coverage of the Special Diet, and when the Miracles are declared not dangerous, Nanako almost cries.

Maybe they can finally be free.

And so, the years pass.

Things are never perfect. They wouldn’t have been perfect if Langa wasn’t a genetically engineered child designed to be an assassin, but even then, things are a normal amount of imperfection. Langa still has trouble connecting with kids his own age, but not in a weird way, just a kid way. Nanako and Oliver have their odd disagreements, though they never go to bed angry. Oliver goes out drinking with his coworkers from the fire station more often than Nanako would like, but he never drives drunk and never gets angry or abusive, so she doesn’t try to make him stop. They get enough money to buy a larger house just outside of Squamish, and Nanako starts up a garden in the backyard in the spring and summer. In the winter, they spend more and more time on the mountain as Langa falls more in love with snowboarding.

And he does love snowboarding. He’s always pushing himself to go faster, jump higher, do more. Nanako is nervous that he might want to go pro, but he never brings the possibility up. He just wants to snowboard with his dad. He doesn’t care about the money or the glory or anything else. As long as he has his board and the snow and Oliver, he’s happy.

And then Oliver gets his diagnosis.

It starts small. He’s less hungry than he used to be, “But your food is as delicious as it’s always been!” he says with a flirty wink. The fifteen-year-old Langa rolls his eyes.

Then, he starts losing weight. He was always fit, with not a lot of fat on him, so when he starts losing weight, Nanako gets concerned. “You’re not trying to diet or anything, right?” she asks, staring at his narrower chest.

He shakes his head. “I’m probably just getting old, honey. We didn’t get to go on the slopes much this winter. I’ll start jogging to get my muscle mass back up, if that’ll make you happy.”

Langa goes on these runs with him. He’s always been an active kid, since Teiko was training them to be super soldiers, so he always has too much energy. The extra activity is good for him.

Oliver, on the other hand, doesn’t benefit as much from their daily jogs. He keeps losing weight, and every once in a while, he complains of abdominal pain. “No, Nanako, I’m not going to the doctor,” he says when she gives him a worried look. “It’s probably nothing.”

Then, on Canada Day, Nanako is woken up when Oliver bolts out of bed to be violently sick in their ensuite bathroom and notices his skin is jaundiced, and the next day she packs up him and Langa and they all go to the hospital together.

Liver cancer.

Stage 4.

Treatment options.

Life expectancy.

Langa shuts down.

Oliver deteriorates quickly after that.

He’s in the hospital more often than not, and when he’s admitted two weeks before Thanksgiving, everyone knows it’s for the last time. Nanako and Langa are there as often as they can be, sitting with him and holding his hand and desperately trying to pretend he’s not about to leave him forever. The nurses even buy Langa a cake when the three of them all collectively forget his sixteenth birthday.

When Langa is at school or sleeping in the waiting room, Nanako and Oliver go over his will. He’s leaving everything to Nanako, of course, but he says she should let his cousins come and take a look at family photos after she decides what she wants to keep. He also writes a letter for Langa, but doesn’t let Nanako read it. “It’s for him,” he says. “He should be the first one to read it.

“I don’t want a funeral,” he tells her, voice weak. “Don’t spend your money on that. Don’t make Langa go through that. Cremate me and bury me next to my grandparents, and go out to lunch after.”

“Okay,” she says.

“I wish this wasn’t happening.” For the first time since he got his diagnosis, Oliver starts to cry. “I don’t want to leave you and Langa. I want to see him grow up and fall in love. I want to see your hair turn gray.”

“I want that, too,” she says. She grips his hand tightly and lets her own tears roll down her cheeks. “How am I going to do this without you?”

He tries to crack one of his crooked grins. “You’re a smart lady. You’ll figure it out.”

A few nights later, Nanako and Langa are woken in the middle of the night, and they rush to the hospital. They get there in time for each of them to hold one of Oliver’s hands as he takes his last breath.

Like Oliver wanted, he’s cremated and buried in Princeton, next to his grandparents in the Campbell family plot. His parents take them out for lunch at a Swiss Chalet, and Langa barely eats. He has the letter Oliver wrote him clenched in his fist. He hasn’t read it yet; the envelope is still sealed.

Nanako won’t push. He’ll read it when he’s ready.

They go up the mountain that winter.

Langa stands at the top of the slope and stares down it. He does this for twenty minutes, and walks back to the lodge.

“We can’t stay here,” Nanako tells Barbara a few weeks after Christmas. “It’s—it’s killing Langa, being here without Oliver. He’s not eating, he’s barely sleeping…” She chokes back a sob, and melts into the warm embrace her mother-in-law offers her.

“You’ll always be family,” Barbara assures her. “Do what you need to do. We’ll always be here if you need us.”

“I’m thinking we should move back to Japan,” Nanako says to Langa later that night. She doesn’t really want to go back to Japan, but Teiko is gone. For good, now that the Miracles thwarted their attempt to build a new one near Hawaii not long after the Special Diet. There’s no reason not to go there, when that’s where they came from and the country in the world most comfortable with mutant children.

Langa, still blank, says, “Okay,” and then nothing else for the rest of the night.

They sell the house, find an apartment in Okinawa, say goodbye to the Campbells, and get on a plane to the country they fled almost ten years ago.

I hope I’m doing the right thing, Oliver.

#designation:miracle #sk8: the infinity #sk8 #langa hasegawa #nanako hasegawa #oliver hasegawa #ao3fic #my writing #my post #mine

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diaryofabeautyfiend · 3 years

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⛔️ This Chapter is pretty violent. *Torture/Canon Typical Violence/ Big Battle

Small Time Witch (30)

Battle preparations were in full swing. Most of the realms armies were to be positioned on the battlefield as frontline forces. Skrýmir the giant from Utgard would lead his armies along with Aesir forces. You warned them of the dog like creatures that came in hoards. At times they were absolutely overwhelming. For that, Thor and Ororo would flank the battlefield to take out as many as possible. You were able to reach Carol Danvers who will be accompanied by the Skrull. On the back end, the Vanir and your coven would maintain a protection spell that would debilitate some of the more simple minded soldiers in Thanos’ army and to shield from air strikes. The Avengers would be on the field as promised to help with the Black Order. The plan was falling in to place. You had the numbers. The problem was radio silence from Thanos.

You exhausted all avenues in the universe to find out his plan. Even Mobius hadn’t heard so much as a rumble from him. No one had disappeared mysteriously from Vanaheim. Nothing really changed except for one thing. Loki’s memories of his time with you were restored. He was a hybrid version of your Loki. Mobius told you he wasn’t the leak. You wanted to believe him but now you were deeply doubtful. You decided to confront him but you had to be as gentle as possible.

You took dinner in your chambers that night. You were noticeably quiet. “Pet, something on your mind?”

“If I say no will you believe me?” He shot you a look that told you he did not in fact believe you. “I have to ask you something. You’re going to be angry with me. We’ll fight about it.”

“Now I’m nervous.”

You sighed heavily, “You should be. Loki, before I healed you, were you still informing to Thanos?”

He looked away from you ashamed, “Yes. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He cowered at your touch. Did he think you would hurt him? He was afraid of you.

“Loki, look at me. I’m not mad. Loki, look at me.” You could see he was shaking. You stood up from the table and knelt in front of him, “Can he still hear you?” He nodded yes. “Can he hear me?” He nodded no. “Good. I’m going to free you, my love. But first I need you to do something for me. Go get him. Bring him to me.” You kissed his hands and didn’t say anything else. You finished your meal in silence. He could feel how angry you were.

You didn’t believe that Thanos couldn’t hear you or see you when you were in Loki’s presence so you opted not to speak about your plans any longer. Before you went to sleep you rested on his chest and held him tight. He was asleep. You stroked the fine dusting of hair on his belly and said aloud, “I’m going to rip you apart for this.”

——————————————————————

The next morning you were minding your p’s and q’s around Loki. When you had a strategy meeting with the Avengers and X-men you didn’t tell him. When you met with the coven you didn’t say a word. You made Thor promise to watch his mouth and not argue because obviously the man was in pain. You were the general of this army today. Anything that needed to be said to Loki needed to cross your ears first.

Your Avengers meeting was interesting. You knew so much about them and it made you giggle to yourself. Steve was not as soft as when you met him. He mostly looked lost. You wanted to just hug him tight but you knew that would be wildly inappropriate. You decided, to hasten your actual mission, to split up the team. You had a feeling Thanos would split the Black Order to do as much damage as possible. Steve and Nat would join the Warriors, Lady Sif and Heimdall on the Bifrost. Odin would command the rest of his troops from Asgard.

That evening everyone gathered for a feast. One of many feasts before battle. You found your way over to the Avengers table to hang with Thor.

“Princess, have a seat.” Steve pulled out a chair for you and you laughed out loud. You couldn’t tell him why.

“Why thank you, kind sir. I’m sure you’re accommodations are much nicer than an army encampment.”

He laughed, “Oh by far. So you’re from Earth? How did you get involved with and marry a Prince from Asgard?”

“Oh, honey. It is a long story. Another time maybe.”

“Of course. You wear the title well, Princess.”

“Thank you, Captain.” You winked at him and freshened his drink. “Enjoy your evening.”

You made your rounds saying good night. Promising to make good on invitations to visit realms. You finally made it over to the table with Odin, Frigga, your mother and aunts. “I’m going to get Loki prepared.” Frigga looked worried.

“Oh please don’t make that face, Allmother. I feel guilty enough as it is.”

“I just want him to come home safely.” she wiped tears from her cheeks.

“It’s what we all want.” You kissed them all goodnight and asked your mother to sit with Frigga for a while. Odin asked to walk you to your chambers.

“I’m sure I’m quite capable of walking myself, sire.”

“Give an old man the pleasure of seeing his daughter off to bed. Y/N, I’m curious. Has anyone asked why Thanos is trying to destroy the universe?”

You snorted (such a princess), “Does it matter?”

“It’s always good to know what drives an opponent. For instance, love can make people do irrational things. Your meticulous plans are laid before you and something can make any seasoned general snap and the whole thing goes up in flames.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Thanos is known as the Mad Titan not the Kind Titan. I’ll be shocked if Loki comes back alive. Whatever you see, what ever he does to Loki, you mustn’t waiver. You must stay composed and trust your plan. Do you understand? There will be time enough to mourn our losses.”

“I hope I have half the nerve that you do in the face of such evil.”

“I have to tell myself the same speech. He’s my son. I would move mountains to protect him. We have to hold steady. Sleep well.” He kissed you on the cheek and went to rejoin the party.

When you entered your chambers Loki was sitting in front of the fire. “Did you have a nice time?”

“I did. I missed you.”

“And I you. I’m ready to go.”

“Lok, why is he doing this? Why does he want to destroy so many lives?”

He smiled to himself, “For love. His mother and father were Eternals. They were terribly beautiful. When Thanos was born, he was not beautiful like his parents so his mother tried to kill him. She failed but ultimately treated him as though he were a ghost. He tortured her until she perished. He just wanted to be loved and accepted. Sound familiar? And then he fell in love with actual Death. Not Hela. This being is death and one of the creators of the stones. She has rebuked him. Denied his advances. So, this is his love letter to her.”

The parallels were obvious. The two of them understand each other on a very deep level. “But you see, darling, Thanos is jealous of me because I have my goddess. He will see our union destroyed.”

“Not a chance.” You pressed your forehead to his and slipped your bracelet on his wrist. With the tiny golden screwdriver you closed it tight. “For luck.”

He kissed you deeply and deeper than any kiss you’ve ever shared. “I love you.” Before you had a chance to say it back he slipped through the portal you opened.

——————————————————————

Thanos sat on his throne watching his daughters argue when Loki returned.

“Ah Loki. I thought you scurried away to the far reaches of the galaxy like the rat you are. What have you brought me?”

“She is alone on Vanaheim. Waiting for you.”

He laughed and looked at Nebula, “Tell me , daughter, do I look stupid?”

“No, father.”

“Do we believe the god of lies?”

“No, father.”

“Should we kill him?”

“No, father. We should torture him and drop him at his wife’s feet.”

Thanos laughed again as he rose from his throne. He grabbed Loki by the neck and brought him close, “You are lucky my daughter is merciful. Gamora!”

“Yes, father!” Gamora rushed to his side.

“Take the god to the dungeons. You and Nebula play nice.”

She cuffed him and stabbed in the side then dragged him behind her. “Please listen to me. He’s going to wipe out half the universe.” Loki croaked and groaned.

“Shut up! You lie!”

“No, I don’t. I can prove it.”

She dropped him on the ground at her feet, “Can you?”

“Sister, don’t listen to him. He is the god of lies.” Nebula grabbed his bonds to continue to the dungeon.

Gamora knelt down in front of him, “Prove it.”

Loki touched her forehead and shared with her the vision of the reality you escaped. He destroyed everything just like her own planet. She could not let that happen again. She also couldn’t betray her father. “It doesn’t matter. No one will ever beat him.” She grabbed him by the hair and took him to the dungeon where Corvus Glaive was waiting.

Gamora hung him to the wall using his bonds. Corvus pulled out his knife and dragged it up Loki’s chest. He used the blade to cut the straps of his armor. He stuck him between his ribs. Loki’s lung collapsed. He was unable to take deep breaths with his hands above his head. He would pass out soon.

#loki of jotunheim #loki tv #loki of asgard #loki x you #loki smut #loki fanfic #loki odinson #loki x reader angst #marvel witches #marvel #mcu witches #small time witch #witch

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tolkienhorror · 3 years

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In Sauron’s Lab: File #5

Another oneshot about one of Sauron’s torture methods.

Warnings: Abuse, torture, non-con, flaying, public humiliation, cannibalism, medical torture.

Please note: This was created on a tumblr prompt given on my main blog. Prompt: Fingon/Sauron, Audience, Crying, Collaring, Public humiliation

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I asked for a King to replace the one you lost, Lieutenant, and all you bring me is this, Morgoth had told Sauron when the orcs had dragged Findekáno into the throne room of the enemy’s base.

You have a week to break him, the Dark Lord had told his minion, interrupting Sauron’s almost nervous sounding explanations about how very useful the son of the new High King would be in their hands for their cause, black eyes uncaring, greyish skin glowing like the destructive flash of lightning in the shine of the Silmarils wrongly crowning that terrible, hollowed face. You make him kneel for me, or you can go right back to that mountain I pried you and feed another of your bodies to the crows.

Then they’d taken him away, and Findekáno remembered wondering if it would even take him a week at the mercy of someone who’d long given up on all empathy along with his sane mind, only to serve this monster who didn’t even bother caring about him in the presence of a prisoner, before he would wish for death. For a quick end, rather than clinging to the foolish hope that someone would come to find him here.

No one would. No one even knew he was here and they wouldn't for several weeks, not before he was expected home from his journey to Himring to surprise his husband. By the time, they would start to wonder in Hithlum, it would be too late.

Maitimo would probably learn last, and even he would not come. Findekáno had made him promise, made him swear on everything safe for what would have bordered on an oath that neither of them needed another one of. More than that, Maitimo would know, better than anyone, that Findekáno had been lost the moment his escort and he had been overwhelmed with the help of countless black arrows and half a dozen of fiery whips from behind. A year, he had once told Findekáno. If you could hold on to your will to live or your sanity or both for a year of being a prisoner in Angband, you were counted among the lucky ones.

As it turned out, for Findekáno, it was two days before he started to regret that he hadn’t tried to bite through his own wrist arteries in these few minutes that he’d spent alone in a pitch-dark, moldy cell, damned to wait for whatever what was to come. And that was before anyone had even touched him.

Findekáno had no doubt that a lot of them wanted to. Two of the boldest creatures reaching out for him had died already when another of Morgoth's highest ranking Lieutenants had dragged Findekáno from his cell to lead him towards a huge hall at the end of the dungeon wing that had already echoed with the screams of more than one of his people at that point. And dozens orcs more were very clearly waiting for their chance, lurking in the corner of that torture chamber, scarred faces distorted into sneers. The scornful whispers about all that they would love to do to their most precious prisoner given half a chance were only interrupted by the occasional brawl or by the sounds of two or more of those despicable bastards starting one of their perverted, brutal mating rituals, high on watching their master use his songs and evil instruments and cruel skill on yet another elvish prisoner.

But they would not be allowed to approach. And the one person Sauron would not lay hand on, was Findekáno himself. The former maia might long be beyond a sane mind, but if there was one thing he was not, it was stupid. Very well aware of Findekáno's relationship to the prisoner that Findekáno had robbed him of under his very nose not too long ago, not least thanks to everything Sauron had seen in Maitimo's mind in decades of not only physical but also mental torture, Sauron must know that there was very little he could have threatened Findekáno with that he didn't expect. Spending night after night with talking Maitimo through his nightmares and memories had made sure of that. Repeat performances were very obviously not among the maia's twisted preferences. So he chose to confront Findekáno with the only thing he could truly hurt him with: the suffering of his own soldiers. Which would have been bad enough on its own, but it still wasn't the worst.

Findekáno would gladly have borne every pain, every humiliation if he could have saved any of his warriors by that, even if it was only by the blade to their throats. The uncertainty of what would come for exiles like them afterward was better than even an hour under the clawed hands of Morgoth's lapdog. If they'd let him, Findekáno would have taken the place of every single of the elves and she-elves he had to watch scream their lives out and yet not being allowed to die in the first days of his captivity; and that, too, was something Sauron knew, of course. The worst was that being the only choice Findekáno could not make. This was the promise he had given his husband in return. That he would not give in. That he would not trade his soul for a couple of lives that were forfeit anyway, weakening his own mind by letting the cunning spirit of the maia enter it to rip it wide open and put into it whatever Sauron thought suited to bend Findekáno to his will. They could not have him as long as he did not give himself to them, they said, Maitimo said, so he would endure. For he knew, if his mind would no longer be his own, if he would go back to his people in the fashion Morgoth doubtlessly wanted him to, no longer himself but merely a vessel … A vessel like they had had to eliminate so many who had allegedly escaped their thralldom, coming to either his father's or Maitimo's doorstep for assault rather than refuge … Then the first person they would set Findekáno to kill would be his own husband. By refusing to give his enemies this chance, therefore trading the life of the person he loved most for the one of dozens – almost a hundred, in the end – other elves, Findekáno thought, maybe he had actually sold his soul already.

A high-pitched yell, quickly cut off by the choked gurgling of blood blocking the throat it had emerged from, tore him from the useless circle of self-hate that was his mind.

"As I was saying before you so rudely started to disassociate," Sauron sighed in that honey-laced voice of his while throwing the tongue he'd just cut from his victim's mouth in a bowl nearby, "I'm starting to think, that useless husband of yours made the wrong choice, relinquishing his claim to the throne. If all people from your side of your kin are as breakable as your unit, Your Highness, the Noldor might have been better advised living even under those kinslaying, crippled hands of your lover. Or rather, the one you haven't cut off when you were too weak to break a single shackle, that is."

Findekáno still did not give the bastard the satisfaction of an answer. He hadn't addressed the maia a single time since they'd taken him and very carefully avoided even regarding that black-clad, delicate shape with more than a fleeting glance from the corner of his eyes. It was better, not staring into those flaming eyes for too long, Maitimo had used to tell him, for you never knew what might stare back at – into – you. Besides, he was too busy, trying not to throw up when his torturer yanked the head of that elf who was firmly chained to a narrow wooden table, to the side by his red-matted blond hair, catching the streams of blood from the victim's mouth in that same bowl before handing it to one of the orcs without even looking twice, leaving the delightedly screeching creatures to fight over their breakfast. Once more, Findekáno wished he could have told the elf – his captain – that it would be over soon, at least, but judging by the last three scenes of this kind he'd already had to watch, chained to a chair of metal himself in a way that left no inch of a room to try and free himself, that would have been a blatant lie.

Sauron hated being distracted by too much talk when he was working but he very much enjoyed hearing his victims scream, that was all. So this was always how he started. "Let's see if we can get a little more fight out of this one, shall we? It would be a shame if you had to do without the leader of your escort once you'll promise yourself to the Lord of this world."

The Never was on the tip of Findekáno's tongue, but it never came, and maybe not only because he refused to acknowledge the numbing poison that was Sauron's words with anything but a blank stare. It was hard, holding on to resistance when you had to watch your enemy reach for a diamond-sharp knife and put a first clean, deep cut to his newest victim's body, right around the wrist, in front of the broad shackle holding the captain's arm in place, and then start to peel off the first layers of skin inch by inch, finger by finger, more patches of flesh and skin carelessly thrown towards the drooling audience. It was a mercy, one that Findekáno shouldn't be half as thankful for as he was, that the elf's voice was soon too sore from screaming to produce more than a hoarse noises, hardly even able to drown out the mirthful whistling on Sauron's lips that was a most basic healing spell to keep blood loss and infections at bay. And it was an irony that wasn't lost to Findekáno, that he'd spent almost two years, trying to convince his husband that he had no reason to hate himself for what he'd seen and been forced to do during his own captivity, and that he could feel the same blackness of loathing wash over his own soul now; thick acid trying to bury every memory of light and love and friendship especially to these people he had to see suffer right in front of his eyes, maybe never to be revived. It was far easier to believe in innocence when you weren't the one watching silently. That heaviness of shock and any missing rest for days, that had started to take hold of his soul, was spreading, creeping over his skin in droves and leaving it numb, so that he did not realize, there were tears rolling down his cheeks, until Sauron was suddenly standing right in front of his chair and grabbed his cheek to slowly lick the salt off his face with his forked tongue, laying hands on him for the first time. The nausea grew instantly, a gagging sitting in the back of Findekáno's throat that he didn't want to let his enemy hear either, so he just jerked his head away and bit his tongue bloody to keep silent.

"You taste sweeter than your lover, little Princeling," Sauron murmured huskily, blood-covered, spidery hands brushing through Findekáno's messy hair. "You might want to rethink your priorities. You could have a life so much better by my side than being the useless son of a lesser King. The only thing you're doing right now is hurting everyone in this room." Findekáno's ongoing silence seemed to be loud enough, because he backed away with a shrug. Ridiculously gentle for what he'd been doing to every of Findekáno's soldiers for a few days now, he tugged two of the golden ribbons from his braids and went back to his current victim. After handing his minions another bowl full of red to slurp that had been filled by that skinned hand of a barely conscious elf in the last few minutes, he wrapped the ribbon around the mess of twitching, bared muscle and pressed the captain's wrist down against the table with his elbow while reaching for a long nail and a hammer. "Now, now." An admonishing noise came from Sauron's cherry-red lips when Findekáno turned his head away, unable to stand the sight of that nail being pressed right in the middle of that ruined palm, with only the fabric of the ribbon between, the sight of a usually so proud, brave warrior arching up against his chains in fear. "Is that a way to honor your people's sacrifice for you, Your Highness? You won't even look at them while they're suffering for you?"

A sob that he could no longer hold back came from Findekáno's lips but could never make it past the echo of the new, broken scream from one of his oldest friends when the hammer drove the nail through his flesh in a single strike.

It didn't last long, because the elf had finally blacked out which didn't stop Sauron from repeating the same cruel process on the other arm so that his victim came to even more inhuman pain. With the second nail in place, the chains were no longer necessary to hold that marred, infection-weakened, writhing body in place as Morgoth's butcher reached for his knife once more. "Did you know, my precious Prince," he said calmly while he put the blood-smeared tip to the elf's left side, right under the ribcage, "there's at least four organs a Firstborn body can survive without? And a dozen others of which you can take at least half away before you need to sing the rest back together to function? You should know. I've fed a couple of your husband's parts to my wolves. I think they might get some more elvish dinner tonight." The knife started to cut. With a disgusting, meaty sound, a mess of red and yellow was dropped in a bucket below the table.

But this time, it wasn't the captain's scream that filled the room the loudest but a sound Findekáno hadn't known he was about to make before it came, his resolve shattered into pieces.

"What was that?" Now it was Sauron, not even looking up but reaching for needle and thread instead to close the crude cut he'd just made before his victim could bleed out on him. "Anything you want, my precious Princeling? All you have to do is ask, you know."

"Please." This time, the word came quietly, but clear and unmistakable. Apparently, after all this time that Findekáno had thought he would be the rock in their relationship, had to be, because Maitimo didn't have the strength anymore, it was time to admit, that his husband had been the stronger one between them from the start. Perhaps, when it came to it, if Findekáno would only ever leave this fortress again an enemy of his own people, no longer the master of his own mind and thoughts and will, his husband would even be strong enough to kill him before Findekáno could beat him to it. "Stop. If it is me you want, release my people."

"Is that an order, Your Highness?" Wholly unimpressed, Sauron moved to his victim's other side and caressed the quickly, panicked heaving chest with just the tip of his knife, as if trying to make out the best spot to continue his gruesome work. "I do not need more food for my troops and beasts. I need a servant loyal to me and my master. Is that what you want, Prince of the Noldor? To serve the Dark Lord?"

"Yes." It became easier, Findekáno found dully, once you had given in to your fate. He did not even shy away from that triumphing, flickering stare of his enemy any longer. Maybe it would hurt less if he let himself fall for it quickly.

"Yes, what?" His hand wandering lower, Sauron thrust his knife deeply into his victim's loins, spearing a kidney, impatiently wiping blood of his cheek, both from the new horrible wound and from the captain's mangled hand, from its useless, mindless attempt of freeing itself from the nail crucifying it.

"Yes. Master." Findekáno never lowered his head. There was no use, trying to look away now.

"Better. We're getting there." Sauron just left his tool right where it was, impaling his victim's body in a third place, and went to the back of a room to open a silver box with the symbol of his eye on it that had been waiting there from the first hour on. A flash of gold and obsidian shone in the bright candle light as he slowly approached Findekáno, dangling from a lazy finger a broad collar with sharply carved tips at the top and the bottom. In the hand of a fire maia, the horrible adornment quickly started to heat, a dangerous orange glow matching the hair of Findekáno's torturer, pulsating right in front of his eyes when Sauron stopped by his chair and grabbed his chin, forcing him to surrender to that black stare again. "Ask for it, my sweet little pet, then I might think about allowing your incompetent captain over there to die."

The last of tears dried on Findekáno's skin as he left a part of him behind that he knew would not return, no matter how his life would look from now on and for how long. I'm sorry, Russo. "Please, Master, put your collar on me. Let me serve you."

"So easy." With a lazy snap of fingers, the chains holding Findekáno clicked open, allowing his knees to give out under him all by themselves when an ice-cold hand was wrapped around his braids, shoving him off the chair.

He thought, he could fight, for a moment. But he'd also thought that when they had first brought him into this room, and the rest of that day, he'd spent watching fifty orcs raping one of his best friends to death, so that spark died down as quickly as it had come. It had been too late to fight the moment he'd let himself be foolishly raided from behind instead of securing the area well enough.

"Your father should thank me that I'm taking the weakling that calls himself his firstborn from him," his enemy chuckled, a clear hint of arousal mixing into the purr of triumph in his voice as Findekáno winced and gasped for air, in vain, as the collar was closed around his neck. Melted into one by a single hummed tone, the heated metal was scorching his skin, the first exhausted attempts of breathing, of swallowing leaving marks and cuts on him. "This does look a lot prettier on you though than on your lover, my new favorite pet. Why don't you show me how you like to please him?" Under the approving cheers and leering of the orcs, laces were opened without haste. Thick, crooked hardness brushed Findekáno's tight lips, with ridges and barbs adorning the misshaped appendix that he knew he would soon feel somewhere entirely else and be forced to pretend and love it. If nothing else, at least Sauron was predictable.

But Findekáno didn't move, not yet, ignoring that hand in his braids that was grabbing him harsher by the second. His eyes wandered to the table in the middle of the room that was dripping blood on the ground in a slowly growing pool.

The sounds of searing agony from there still hadn't fallen silent.

Sharp fingernails scratched over his cheek, prying his mouth open with ease, the first brutal bump of hardened flesh against the back of his throat cutting off any protest before it could come. "If you worry about him so much, I suggest, you hurry to please your master, pet. It's only up to you how much more your people will have to take before I let them go."

It was another lie, of course, but one, Findekáno thought, he could live with. None of his soldiers would leave this fortress alive. If he could keep Sauron's filthy paws off of them for the rest of what was their ruined life, he would, at least, have done something right in the mess that his life had become. Findekáno had given up.

#Sauron #fingon #sauron's lab #fanfiction #DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

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