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congratsyoureanidiot · 6 months

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(this gif is absolute shit my apologies. i had to get it from a youtube video😫 i will repost a more clear version of this)

chronically in love with you

emily sonnett x reader

this fic is loosely based off of my experience with pots and hyper mobile eds as an athlete. i hope anyone who reads this enjoys it😌

reader’s pov

It was nearing the 48th minute when you felt it hit, you were having a flare up right in the middle of the semifinal. Sure, you’ve had plenty of flare ups during games and you’ve played through bad days, but this was your first time having it happen in such a critical game. You groan slightly as you start to feel lightheaded and dizzy, your heart rate starting to increase.

“Fuck”, you mutter to yourself. You know you kind of need a minute to adjust to what’s happening to your body and to breathe. You don’t want to go off, however, or feel the need to quite frankly. Every other time this has happened your team gladly adapts to the situation, wanting to help in anyway they can. Sometimes you would have to go off for a second, while other times you’d stay on and just take it easy for a bit, your teammates only passing to you when necessary until you were okay to continue again. They’ve always told you that they’d have your back, all you had to do was say what you needed and they’d act accordingly. You look over your left shoulder as you’re getting back into position and see the one person that you feel most comfortable and confident that will help you in this situation. The one person that specifically promised to you that she’d look after you.

“Sonny”, you find yourself murmuring, doubting that she heard you over the ambience of the game.

sonny’s pov

The two of you had been dating for just a few weeks, Sonnett finally having the courage to ask you out. She already knew about your health problems because you had openly told the team, but she didn’t really know the exact details until she started talking romantically with you. Even before then she had always kept a watchful eye out for you, not being able to help herself due to her ever growing feelings. She had always asked how you were feeling and if you needed anything and would always be the first to notice when something was even slightly off. She would ask about your health and wanted to learn about everything that you had, no matter how complex the condition or the name was. Anytime you’d be feeling slightly more symptomatic than usual, she’d be the first to talk to you about it. If she noticed any discomfort on your part, she’d be the first to put a comforting hand on you. If you started to feel faint, she’d be the first to put her arms around you to steady you and keep you from falling. She was just always there when you needed her, and this only got stronger when the two of you got together. She seemed to know when you were feeling poorly even before you did, she’d recognize your tells even before you had time to register what was happening within your body. She’d ask if you took your medication and would give it to you if you ever forgot. If you fainted she’d be the first one to rush to your side and hold you until you were conscious and able to get up again. If you dislocated your joints she’d always comfort you as you got them put back in. She was always just there and ready to do whatever you asked of her. That’s why when you called out to her, ask weak as it was, she heard you.

“Sonny”, she just barely heard you say. She knew by the sound of your voice that something wasn’t right. She snapped her head towards you, concern evident in her features.

reader’s pov

Your eyes widen in disbelief when you realize that she heard you. In fact, you’d be a grinning mess if you didn’t feel so badly.

“I don’t feel good”, you manage to say a bit louder than you had said her name. You take a deep breath and move your legs around as you see her make eye contact with you, trying to calm your heart rate and keep your blood from pooling in your legs.

sonny’s pov

Her heart drops a bit as she looks at you and sees weak eyes looking back, worry starting to course through her body. She nods at you slightly, fully processing what you’ve said.

“Okay”, she says gently, her nods getting bigger as she turns to get into position. She tries her best to be as nonchalant as possible as she gestures to the rest of the team to cover for you. She doesn’t want to get herself too worked up about the situation and cause herself to make mistakes due to being worried about you. She does her best to keep an eye out for you while continuing to do what she needs to do for the team. She finds herself going extra hard for the next few minutes, wanting to do everything in her power to do a good job covering for you and allowing you time to take a minute to manage your health. She’ll be damned if she fucks anything up when it comes to you. She ends up being able to walk next to you as the team resets for a goal kick.

“Are you okay baby?”, she asks as she puts a hand on your lower back. She takes a look at you, searching for any signs of discomfort from you.

“Yeah”, she hears you respond.

“You sure? It’s alright if you’re not babe…I want you to take care of yourself”, she finds herself rubbing your back ever so slightly.

“I’m okay now Em, I’ll let you know if it changes.”, you respond honestly to her.

“Okay baby. I’ll be watching out for you”, she pats you on the back gently before going to the spot she needs to be in.

The rest of the game she keeps an eye out for you just like she promised, constantly looking to you and nodding to you to wordlessly ask if you’re okay. She takes pride in watching you recover and play your heart out for the rest of the game, cheering you on and giving you encouragement when she can. Once the game is over she makes a beeline to you and gives you a hug.

“I’m so proud of you baby. I know this isn’t the first time you’ve felt off during a game, but just getting to watch you work through it and all…and it’s such an important game and…I’m sure you felt a lot of pressure and…it-it was just so badass to me…I don’t know. I’m just…I’m proud to call you mine…”, she kind of chuckles.

“Don’t…don’t listen to me…uh…I’m sure you still feel like crap, huh?”, she shakes her head at her rambling and pulls from the hug to look at you.

“Yeah, it’s not as bad as it got during the game, but yeah i feel like some shit”, you tell her honesty.

“What can I do for you? When we get back do you want me to hold you or give you a massage or something? I’ll do whatever you need baby, just tell me.”, her eyes widen a bit out of curiosity as she sees a smile forming on your face.

“What?”, she feels a smile creeping onto her face, just not being able to help herself. She watches as you shake your head and start to walk towards the locker room, still smiling.

“What?!”, she says now laughing as she watches you walk away.

Later on back at the hotel she does just as she promised and tends to you and your needs. She holds you and asks what was bothering you during the game and how you managed to work through it, wanting to know in case she needs to help you or give encouragement to you while you recover. She talks with you and comforts you until it lulls you to sleep. She just watches you sleep for a long while, not believing she gets you call you hers. She feels her heart swell at the thought of spending all of her days with you and building a future with you. Even though it’s only been a few weeks since the two of you started dating, she feels like everything has just fallen into place and couldn’t imagine her life without you by her side.

“I love you baby”, she whispers into your ear, hoping that her words make their way into your dreams. She kisses you on the head and turns out the light, holding you even tighter with a smile on her face as she drifts off to sleep.

#emily sonnett x reader #harvey jade’s writing things #sonny x reader #emily sonnett

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keicordelle · 10 months

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Of Nightmares and Longings

Fandom: FFXIV Rating: E Pairing: Estimeric Word Count: 3.3k Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Tags: Established Relationship, Nightmares, Aftermath of Torture, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Family Fluff, Kissing, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Consent, Mutual Masturbation, Comfort Sex, POV First Person, POV Aymeric de Borel

Summary: In the moons since his own father condemned him to torture at the hands of Charibert and Grinnaux for daring to confront him about the truth of Ishgard's founding, Aymeric has had little enough time to face the lingering effects of that trauma. Though his body has long since healed, nightmares of his time spent in their clutches plague him still.

Fortunately, he need not face them alone. Estinien has faced more than his share of hardships himself, and knows just how to offer comfort to his lover when needed, be it through stories of his family or the brush of his lips. So long as he is around, Aymeric need not fear the ghosts of his own past.

The crack of the whip resounded off the stone walls of the dungeon, the sound of its impact with my flesh hitting my ears a bare instant before the pain registered, another stripe added to the river of agony that my back had become. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, jerking at the chains that bound me at wrist and ankle. The rough stone chafed against the burns on my chest, grinding loose bits of gravel into the open wounds. The taste of blood filled my mouth, had coated my tongue for so long now I could hardly remember being free of it.

"I'm so glad we have this chance to get to know each other, Lord Commander," Charibert hissed in my ear, glee and scorn permeating his low voice in equal measure. The haze of pain ought to have made the words distant, but they rang through my ears with a horrifying clarity. "I have waited a long time to get my hands on you." He dragged one of those hands down my side in a touch that would have been intimate if not for the arcane fire that wreathed his palm, scorching down my flank. "Again," he commanded, stepping back, and the whip struck again, the flechettes at the end lancing across the fresh burn to make me hiss out in pain. I tugged futilely at the chains again, the scream of my dislocated shoulder almost enough to drown out the searing agony of my side.

Charibert sighed, a sound of utter disappointment. "You're making this so difficult for yourself, Aymeric. Perhaps you need a more permanent reminder of your place. Grinnaux, see to it that he can never again take up arms against us."

"Nothing would please me more," Grinnaux said from behind me. Hands came down upon my sword arm, jerking my shoulder maliciously as he undid the manacle around my right wrist. My gut clenched to know what was coming, how he would grab hold of my forearm and bicep and bend the joint back well past its limits, and how I would finally scream as he snapped my elbow in twain. How he would then take a mallet to it, to ensure it would not heal properly without attention that I was sure not to receive. I braced myself, the first tear slipping free before he had even taken me in hand, Charibert's laugh bouncing off the marbled walls of the chamber.

I woke with the sound of my arm shattering still in my ears and my face wet with tears. Hands gripped my shoulders and I panicked, struggling against them with all the strength I could muster.

"Aymeric. Aymeric. Aymeric!"

Read the rest on Ao3!

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#ffxiv #estimeric #ffxiv smut #estinien wyrmblood #aymeric de borel #cw violence #graphic depictions of violence #ffxiv fanfiction #cw injury #will I ever tire of writing nightmares?#nope probably not #my writing #steel and crystal #my boy aymeric needs to actually work through his trauma #and I shall take it upon myself to help him #~K

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tarithenurse · 5 years

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All is fair in Love & War - 18

Pairing: Loki x reader Content: Here be pining, fluff, angsting, relief, worry, the feeling of finally understanding something really obvious, and more relief. A/N: This is getting close to the end, depending on edits of the next part, then there will only be one or two chapters more. I’m very grateful for the support and love this story has gotten. Thank you! Oh, speaking of edits...proof reading while hungover might have been a bad move on my behalf, so pardon any errors still left.

18. Among wolves

The dull headache is one thing, but Loki’s limbs area heavy and unwilling to respond as he attempts to turn around in his bed. Or maybe the covers have gotten twisted, effectively restraining him? Some…thought…or maybe a memory is starting to squirm at the back of his mind, but it will have to wait. Groaning, he blinks to clear his eyes and investigate the situation.

“Brother?” There is a distance to Thor’s voice which throws the Jotun for a spin. “Loki, remain calm…alright brother?”

Calm? I am calm. The cerebral brain remains the same, but the vision clears which seems to fuel the insistent thought that urges him to move, to hurry. Why should I not be calm? He lost something, did he not? Getting his bearings, it occurs to Loki that this is not his own bed. There are no furs or silken sheets nestled within a wooden structure, but crisp white linen and a golden frame. Over the covers stretches thick, leather bands emblazoned with runes to imbue them with magic…magic meant to hold him in place if the physical bindings should fail.

There is no reason to struggle as it would only be in vain. “Thor…what is the meaning of this?”

“I am sorry,” the brother apologizes sheepishly from the other side of a magical barrier, “we did not know what else to do.”

Seconds pass silently while the brothers study each other. Why? Wreaking his memories, Loki can only recall walking from the stables with a plan in mind. What was I plotting? When the memory hits in the shape of the elusive thought, it takes away his breath along with any coherent thoughts…and still he cannot move. I have to get to Sjöblik in time to stop [Y/N].

“You have to release me,” he forces himself to talk evenly, “I need to get to her.”

“I cannot release you.”

Snarling, Loki is close to screaming at his brother. “Then get me someone who CAN!”

The broad bindings glow angrily until the captive relents with a sigh and relaxes into the soft mattress. Gaze fixed on the ceiling, he can hear the heavy footsteps of Thor recede followed by the distant clank of a door.

…

By the time Loki hears the door again, he has counted everything there is to count, read the runes about a dozen times, and designed his vengeance down to the smallest detail. They will regret holding me back like this. It is true that he had allowed himself to be talked into staying in Utgard from fear that any rash action would cause more damage. But preventing him from executing a carefully laid plan? Unforgivable. How did Thor even know?

Several people move in his periphery, safely on the other side of the magical wall, tempting him to turn his head. Thor, the lumbering oaf, has brought their parents. In a way it makes sense because Odin would have implemented strict rules to keep the embarrassing situation from the public, but seeing Frigga standing there with worry on her face and her hands clasped so tight before her chest that the knuckles are white…I am sorry, mother.

“Loki, I am sorry you had to regain consciousness to this…we did not know what else to do.”

The strain in Odin’s voice surprises his adoptive son, but he maintains a cool detachment. “May I suggest you begin with explaining why I was unconscious in the first place?”

“Your servants and I found you like that,” Thor’s begins, “we heard a…well I truly have no words to describe it! It was like a mixture of an explosion and a thousand people screaming. It came from the courtyard and when we arrived…I admit I was not the first, but…oh, brother! Everything was covered in ice. Dark, frozen spikes and-and shockwaves centered upon you as if…as if some force had hit you with the cold of a million winters, freezing anything in a circle around you!” The breath inhaled into the Thunder god’s lungs shakes with emotion. “No one could tell me what to do, so I called upon Heimdal…to take us here.”

My idiot brother is incapable of lying. Eliminating the most convoluted options, Loki is left with the assumption that the story is true. “So why subdue me like this?”

Frigga places a soft hand on the wall, causing the barrier to disintegrate and allowing her to step through to the weak protests of the men beside her. “My dear. We first feared you had been the victim of some form of attack, but as we searched for injuries you might have sustained, we found none.” Finally by the bed, she takes a seat on the edge, running the back of a few warm finger over Loki’s cheek. “You began to stir in your unconsciousness, showed distress…the infirmary became covered in ice too…”

“I caused it to happen…”

Turning his attention inwards, the god focuses on the part of his soul that is connected to the old powers of the Jötun, finding the Living Cold to be nearly depleted – something that only can happen by rapidly unleashing magic of enormous proportions. Already, it is replenishing, but there is no doubt it will take weeks before the powers will be restored.

“But why?” Soft grey eyes meet his blood-red with all the comfort and wisdom of a mother. “I…did something…? I felt…” Oh. “It felt as though my heart was torn from my body. Then I fell into darkness…”

“Loki, my dear.” Frigga sighs, looking to her husband and Thor for something. “Your bond with the mortal may be stronger than you think.”

… READER’s PoV …

If this is death…then why am I in pain? What first coherent thoughts go, it is not the worst, actually. It feels as though your shoulder is burning and moving your arm is like having white-hot pokers boring through. Deciding to stay as still as possible, you look around in the grey light of dawn, surprised to find yourself nowhere near the castle in Sjöblik…or for that matter near the city itself, it seems.

Dense firs and pines are standing so close that the needle-covered ground is almost completely dry beneath you, and it would not be a lie to say that at least one side of your body is being warmed considerably. Turning your head carefully to avoid upsetting the shoulder, the change of perspective brings a wall of mottled-grey fur into focus. Fur that moves as if it is still in use by its original owner. Breathing in sharply in fear fills your nose with the scent of dirt, dried and fresh needles…and a dog-like smell. Sweeping the gaze against the hairs, it passes the shoulders of a canine before coming to rest on the face of a wolf. Dark, amber eyes are watching every move you make.

You can feel your mind blank out, loosing touch with logic and abandoning any predetermined reactions that normal people might have in such a situation (though it probably is very few who haven woken up next to a wolf). Wolf. So far, not a wrong conclusion by your brain. Big. Also correct. Very, very big. Again, correct…but not helpful as such. Is Röskva and the other Vanir alright? See, that is where your brain fails to grasp the concept of prioritizing.

A quiet huff from the side that should not have a wolf assigned, makes you suspect that there is, in fact, another huge predator as if one would not have been bad enough. I survive falling several stories into a moat in the dead of winter…only to be rescued by the biggest wolves in creation?

“By the gods…this is just great.”

Talking out loud in this situation is another piece of evidence that your head must be damage somehow. Still, neither creature appears startled or upset about your comment, and you decide to risk a bit movement. Inch by inch, the good arm and hand begins a journey across the body until the fingertips can prod the injured shoulder, soliciting a hiss of discomfort. It also results in a soft whine from the wolf lying by your side, and an exploratory sniff by the newcomer (a wolf so dark brown it might have been black) which has taken a seat by your head. If I get to survive sitting up, then I need a way to fixate that arm or pop the joint back in place. Neither option is going to be easy, but at least you have a belt.

Repositioning the good arm, you brace yourself. Can’t lie here forever. With a grunt and a half-choked curse, it is possible to sit up although black dots are dancing before your eyes and it feels as though your arm has been torn off. The swaying motion steadies, making it possible to breathe a bit deeper. Then a gently yet very firm form presses against your back, nudging you to keep going. To stand. Afraid to piss off a wolf by refusing to do as it wants, you tug a leg under you the best you can, pulling the knee on the other to your chest. All the movement is making your entire body ache, but it is nothing compared to the agony of the dislocated shoulder.

A new nudge.

“Yes, yes…just give me a moment, huh? This isn’t as easy as it looks.” Hot breath fans your cheek, starting a shiver that run the length of your spine before it is stopped by a wet lick ending with a lot of wolf-drool in your ear. “Ah great, that’s really gonna help.”

As if understanding your words, the grey wolf wiggles itself underneath the good arm and then looks at you. Carefully you dig your shaking fingers through the course layer of the fur until you reach the soft undercoat. I’m being helped by wolves…yes…completely normal. But you nod to the creature, feeling it enhance your efforts to stand by pulling you forward before staying stock still as a means of maintaining balance.

“Well, uhm…thank you.”

…

Your first priority after strapping the arm to your chest had been to find water to clench an aching thirst but the wolves had other plans. Deciding it was better not to object to the wishes of creatures as big as ponies, you let them lead you away. North, judging by the mosses and lichen growing on any available surface.

A swarm of thoughts is milling in your mind, each concern fighting for attention with no regard for progress on the previous’ behalf. By now, the murder of king Gorm and the queen must have been discovered which means that when the guards or court realizes that you are missing, they will blame it on you and subsequently the Vanir – people you have come to consider as friends and who now may be arrested and convicted for your actions. That was a risk all along. Knowing that does not make it easier. If only you had had time to warn them, to send them away.

Stumbling over a root, you reflexively reach for the nearest support. Fingers dig into rough fur, causing both you and the dark wolf to freeze. Don’t eat me. The air starts to hurt in your chest as you wait for something to happen while amber eyes roam your shape with an intelligence unmatched by most beasts. There is even something familiar about it…but what? The new ruminations are interrupted as the greyer of the giant creatures lays down before you, presenting its exposed back. Huh? As you try to sidestep, a deep rumbling erupts, causing every hair on your body to stand and silencing the few birds in the area.

“What do you want?”

It was not meant to sound as whiney as it came out, but you are still tired and hurting, and things generally stink which makes it hard to deal with the whims of abducting predators. Probably for that very reason, it takes several nudges and renewed growls before the trip can continue…with you on the back of one of them.

… LOKI’s PoV …

Left in solitude for a while, the king of Jotunheim is no further from desperation than before although everything has been explained to him. She fell. The nauseating sensation he felt while crossing Utgard’s courtyard must have been related to this, but Frigga cannot give any satisfying explanation why it is happening. To find out, [Y/N] must be present too.

That leads Loki’s thought to the next issue. Having had to retreat as a child to save his own hide, the trickster knows that speed is vital unless the blame can be shifted to someone else. The Vanir are making haste on horseback heading southward to prevent getting caught, which is a sensible solution all things considered, whereas the mortal guilty of the crime committed is on food, has no rations, carries no weapons, and only has support from Odin’s two wolves.

Geri and Freki. Perhaps it should be a consolation that they are with her as the beasts are more than capable of defending their charge from any dangers…but it is not enough. The animals had pulled her from the river that has been split to create the moat surrounding the castle in Sjöblik. Once safe on land, each wolf is most likely taken turn to warm and dry [Y/N] with their own body heat until she is able to leave the forest at its northern borders. But when? The old forests cover vast areas and are too dense for Heimdal to land the Bifrost safely. That is why they must wait for the odd trio to emerge from the woods.

No, the arrangements that have been made are the best possible under these circumstances, and Loki’s frustrations stem from the uselessness he feels. Waiting will be a challenge although it is something he always has excelled at.

… READER’s PoV …

“Crrrrrooooooaaaarrrr.”

The unexpected familiarity of the sound is enough to pull you from the edges of sleep and back to the moment at hand. Jerking upright sends a new flare of pain through your shoulder but also grants you the view of the dark wolf and an even darker creature now perched on its back. To make matters worse (or odder) the raven is holding on to something shiny with its claws. The tri-hook. Only a foot of the rope is still attached, torn and frayed at the end.

“Still not dead, sorry,” you manage to whisper through dried lips.

That doesn’t rule out that I’m going crazy. A bird has flown miles to bring a tool you had hated leaving behind, and you are riding on a wolf as big as the one in Odin’s cou–

Blinking at the mottled-grey creature, you finally recognize it and its brother for what they are. Loki had told you their names and how they, together with two ravens are the eyes and ears of the All-Father as he sends them out into the realms…or apparently to watch over stupid mortals as they take on risky missions. Your cheeks are hot with guilt as they stretch in a tired smile.

What are their names again? “Thank you. All of you.”

Relief is coursing through your tired and beaten body, making your head swim so you discover belatedly that the odd company has stopped. Looking around, you notice the forest itself is behind you. Before the wolves’ paws begins the open the plains of rolling hills and the occasional village of farmer-families. You even have time to admire the view of the first blue patches of sky in weeks before a torrent of light engulfs you.

… LOKI’s PoV …

They have let him out and Loki knows just from the smiles on Thor’s and Frigga’s faces what it means which is why he is wasting no time as he hurries along familiar halls with them in sharp pursuit.

Each minute feels like a year. Each step has been reduced to a thumb’s length.

But finally, he skids through the circular opening of Heimdal’s observatory in time to see an odd group of figures materialize before the Keeper and Odin.

The mortal woman is dirty and battered with an arm strapped awkwardly across the chest, each injury echoing through Loki’s limbs, but in this moment, she is an enchanting being taken directly from the sweetest dreams he has ever had. How perfectly she fits in his arm as he lifts her off her tired feet and cradles her in his lap without a care in the world that he has somehow sunk to the floor before the eyes of his family, Heimdal, and a few other guards. None of it matters. None of it matters because [Y/N] is near him again.

Loki refuses to let go of the frail human, insisting instead to carry her to the Healers’ Ward where Idunn tends to the injuries with skill. Only when the Asgardian goddess of longevity and health orders him to leave, to grant the mortal rest, does he do so…though with the promise of returning soon.

Outside the door, Frigga is waiting on a carved stone bench with a book in one hand. “I assume you have been told to give your love some peace to sleep?” she asks with a gentle smile.

“Yes.”

“My son…you always consider each action carefully…” Gone is the smile, replaced by the tender worry of a mother. “You know you will outlive her. Does she?”

“There is one way…but how can I ask her to abandon everything? She has a chance to return to Midgard and build a normal life. A safe life.”

The soft hand that takes Loki’s says more than any words can, and he enjoys the silent that lowers itself over them. This hallway is favoured with soft, warm colours enhancing the healing qualities of the sun streaming through the windows. A multitude of plants adds to the impression that it is indeed the Healing Ward which is housed here. Blindly staring at the rose and creamy yellows of the marble, Loki wishes it was this life he could grant [Y/N] rather than that of a cold keep and Jötun clans still opposing his rule.

“If you truly want her to chose, then you cannot hide anything from her, dear Loki.”

Reclaiming her hand, Frigga places a wooden box in her son’s lap. It is carefully decorated with various coloured stones, creating the liking of a fruit tree. Even the gold filigree clasp carries the same theme of leaves and apple blossoms.

The queen cups his cheek to make sure Loki listens carefully. “Whatever she chooses…respect it.”

...

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monstermultimuse · 5 years

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alt pov version of this beautiful piece of angst by @chcmpiions

warnings for torture, gore, manipulation, etc so be careful folks!

“Samael, nobody wants to make this hard on you. You made it hard on yourself.��

Gabriel flipped through the fellow archangel’s file, an exaggerated look of disappointment on his face at Sam’s silence. He sighed, setting the file down with a flick of the wrist and it slid across the table, jostling the contents enough Sam could see a picture peeking out. He was smiling in the picture. They all were, though Tirza and Crowley’s were closer to annoyed smirks. He felt his stomach drop. What if he never got to see them again?

“I’m sure you’re well aware of what methods we tend to employ when someone like yourself steps out of line.”

He didn’t have to know to be afraid, his imagination did that well enough for him. Branded and burned with Hellfire, being trapped in a Black Box as it sapped your energy away, having your wings clipped, being separated from your halo for cruel lengths of time as you blurred into nearly nothing, reeducation. They made his blood run cold.

“Don’t worry. I decided to plan something special for you. A way for you to prove yourself a worthy angel again.”

“Anything!” he breathed the word more than said it, instantly regretting how eager it had sounded.

Anything. Please... Take me, not them.

- - -

No. No. No. Anything but this. It should’ve been him. He wanted to vomit. The look on Tirza’s face burned its way into his mind as Gabriel ushered him across the room. He barely registered his company speaking, prodded into movement only by the glare Gabriel shoots him. He wishes he could miracle his hands still, but they shake with every held breath. He isn’t quite sure which one of them the words he manages to murmur are for.

“I’m so sorry. Try and hold still.”

He hates it. Hates the way the feathers resist against skin. Hates the way he can feel Tirza tense under his hands. Hates the way the blood warms his fingertips and stains his nails. Hates the way it all starts to blur together. Becomes a horrid routine. Even as he hears the a joint somewhere pop. He feels the dislocated joint before he sees it and considers hurrying. But the rush will leave harsher wounds. Will just get them off this table and unto some other gruesome chopping block.

“S-stop! Stop, make it stop!”

“Good work, Samael,”

The words, the screams, Gabriel’s smile. They felt like hands around Samael’s throat and he freezes. He can feel the tears in his eyes and he blinks hard, trying to push past them to see, to keep moving, to get out of here. His own wings press themselves tighter against his spine as he plucks the final feathers on the right wing in a panic.

The pop of another joint snaps him back to reality and he has to clasp a hand over his mouth to keep from screaming alongside his sister, bloody palm marking his face. He tries to look to Gabriel, hoping vainly for some kind of mercy but the other angel doesn’t meet his gaze, only motioning for him to finish.

He finds himself praying selfishly; silently urging Tirza to say something, anything.

You don’t have to do this. Crowley and Azirphale can handle it. Say it was me. Say it’s my fault. I’m the Angel of Death, I can take it. Say it’s my fault!

The silverwing had remained silent and the resulting outburst from Gabriel was signal enough to get Samael’s hands working again. With every feather he tugged free he felt more hopeless. The blood along his cheeks had dried, an uncomfortable reminder on his skin that this had been going on for far too long even as new crimson soaked his fingers. Though his hands can’t stray, his mind runs miles away from him. He doesn’t realize how much he’s already done when the door flies open. He doesn’t realize how red his eyes are or how his knees nearly give out under him when he realizes it’s over. Crowley’s hands are steady as he frees Tirza.

Everything seemed fuzzy around the edges. Warped by harsh lighting and a bitter taste in his mouth. He slips out into the hall in the midst of the commotion, sliding onto the floor in a vaguely human approximation of a paper ball. The shining polished floor is marred with the blood Crowley had tracked in and that he himself had tracked out. He leaned his forehead against his knees, eyes slipping closed.

“Samael,”

Aziraphale’s soft voice called him back to enough for him to realize he was practically choking himself on his tears, letting out a pathetic strangled sob as the Principality gently scrubbed the blood from his cheeks with a handkerchief.

“There, there, let’s get you cleaned up and home. No more of this horrid business.”

---

He curls up in one of the overstuffed chairs in the bookstore that night, wings out and tucked uncomfortably around him, pinned between body and upholstery. His fingers feel numb from all the scrubbing and he swears he can still taste blood under his fingernails as he gnaws at his thumb, free hand picking at his semiplumes. Crowley somehow manages to slip a package of Liquorice Allsorts into his hand to distract him for a few minutes.

“Should have at least somethin’ to eat, else Aziraphale’ll throw a fit.”

He’s trying to be casual, lounging on the sofa across from Samael, but he isn’t wearing his glasses and his red-rimmed eyes are on full display.

“I... It’s... I...” Sam lowers his eyes to the piece of candy he’s rolling between his fingers. “Is Tirza going to be okay?”

“They’re tough. Made of steel, that one.”

“You didn’t answer the question.” he counters, setting aside the sweets. He’s not hungry anyway.

“...We’ll see, nightshade, we’ll see.”

“I’m sorry...”

“Samael, it’s-”

He practically leaps from the chair, teeth bared and hands gesturing wildly. “Don’t say it’s not my fault! You keep saying that but I can see it! Even if you don’t want to, you all keep looking at me like, like I’m some kind of- Like I’m- I’m-”

Me. Like I’m Death.

Crowley’s arms are around him before he can collapse from the realization.

“I told Gabriel I’d do anything...” he hiccups. “I... I didn’t think... It should’ve been me, Crowley. Tirza didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t mean to... I didn’t want to...”

“Ssshhh, shhh, it’s alright.”

But it isn’t. Crowley brushes the hair off Samael’s forehead and as he sinks into a miracled calm, the feeling sinks into his chest, words weighing heavy in his heart. It isn’t alright.

#c: samael #tw #cw #blood #torture #gore #manipulation #ineffable family #birds of a feather #non rp writing

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cassiopeiassky · 7 years

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I Don’t Want the World to See Me (Cause I Don’t Think that They’d Understand) #11

Write a companion piece, I said. It’ll be fun, I said. It’s just drabbles, it won’t take too long.

I’m still lying to myself as I post this 3k+ ‘drabble.’

This is a companion piece for When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) from Bucky’s POV - if you haven’t yet read WEMtbB, this won’t make much sense.

#11 takes place during part 41

***If this is your first time reading through, and you HAVEN’T yet read through part 45 of WEMtbB, this will contain major spoilers***

Word count: 3251 *slams head into desk*

Warnings:

For the entire work: Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst. This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut. If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: thinly veiled threats, injury, violence, threats/mentions of death, panic, anxiety If I need to add anything else, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. If you don’t want me to publish the ask, I won’t, or you can feel free to do it as a Nonnie. I will not take offense to any trigger warning requests. Your well-being is important to me and I do NOT want to trigger anyone.

He shouldn’t have let his guard down; he shouldn’t have fallen asleep.

Not that it would have mattered. The outcome would have been the same.

Bucky wakes when the door slams open and the lights come on, but there’s nothing he can do. When she’s torn out of bed and he can’t hide it – he knows in that split second that his face has betrayed his emotions - he can only hope that the men mistake it for being startled.

Get your shit together, or you’re gonna have to explain to Artie and Jimmy why you couldn’t save their mom.

Or rather the team will, because Bucky has no intention of leaving here alive without her.

He allows the Soldier to take over as he’s pulled out of the bed by his hair. It doesn’t exactly tickle, but compared to what he’s been through it’s easy to ignore. He relaxes his body to minimize potential damage as he lands roughly on his knees, and then sways with Anatoliy’s hit.

“Just kill him, Kapitan, his skillset is not worth the lives of our men.” Grigory speaks from behind her; Bucky can see her visceral reaction to the man’s hands on her, but is distracted a moment later when he’s kicked in the stomach.

Once again the Soldier ignores the pain; the cold metal of Anatoliy’s gun against his temple has his full attention.

Oh shit. Oh shit. This is real; Bucky can read Anatoliy quite clearly, and right now Anatoliy isn’t bluffing. This isn’t supposed to happen – he made damn sure those deaths weren’t traceable to him.

Panic washes over him as he realizes he overplayed his hand. He’d assumed that after all the trouble they’d taken to get him that they wouldn’t kill him recklessly – that they’d need a compelling reason that was backed up with some sort of proof. Proof he knows they don’t have, and they’re willing to kill him anyway.

He’s never made a tactical mistake like this before. Never.

If they kill him, she’s gonna end up paying the price for his error.

Bucky weighs his options. Unfortunately, there isn’t much to choose from. There are eleven men in the room; under different circumstances he would like these odds, but she’s being held by Grigory and the bastard might snap her neck before Bucky could get to her. Even if he could manage to take Grigory out first and get her behind him so he can protect her, he’d still have to get through the other ten men before someone sounded an alarm. Getting her out of this room alive doesn’t mean shit with that collar around her neck; they can still kill her with the press of a button. Then again, she’d probably prefer that over the alternative.

His other option is to do nothing.

He has to try; he can’t allow them to kill him when he knows what they’ll do to her once he’s dead. He can’t leave her like this, thinking he did nothing to save her.

His mind made up, Bucky readies himself to move – then stops as Nicolai walks into the room.

“That would be a bit merciful, yes? He still has some suffering to endure, I think.”

The statement is meant to intimidate, but it’s all Bucky can do not to exhale in relief. He’s not worried about whatever pain Nicolai plans to inflict, he’s more focused on the time he’s been given. He just needs a few minutes to think. If he can figure out how to take out Nicolai, Anatoliy, and Grigory all at once, that might give him enough of an advantage...

“Hold out your right arm, Soldat.”

Well shit. This is going to be incredibly inconvenient.

Bucky lifts his arm and does his best to relax his joints. It won’t be the first time his shoulder has been dislocated, but that doesn’t mean it will be fun.

Nicolai takes his arm and forcefully twists; Bucky feels the bone leave the socket.

Yep, that stings a little.

He doesn’t feel the burn of torn tendons, so it’s not as bad as it could be, all things considered.

Everyone looks up at the sound of running footsteps in the hall – Bucky wouldn’t have expected salvation to come from one of Nicolai’s men, but it does.

“I reviewed the camera feed as you asked,” the man gasps, “It was not him.”

Well glory fucking hallelujah.

As he watches the conversation, he sees how he moves once again from liability to Asset in the eyes of his captors. He’s relatively safe now, and by default, so is she. It’s enough for now.

His name essentially cleared and their minds now occupied by an unknown threat, Bucky allows himself the tiniest breath of relief when he sees that the chaos he’d sown finally begins to take root and spread. This had been his intention – the fear and unease of an invisible enemy within their own defenses has visibly set them on edge. Good.

Still, he’s going to have to be more careful; he can’t make a mistake like this again.

***

Bucky sits in Yakov’s hidden room and rubs his tired eyes as he waits for Steve and Nat to show up. His reset shoulder aches, but it’s nothing more than a minor annoyance.

He’s got more important things on his mind, like getting her the fuck out of that hellhole.

Bucky has already spoken with Stark, who left immediately after to arrange the coverup for the next round of executions – he was visibly disappointed that Bucky wasn’t able to provide any new information on those goddamn collars.

Well, Bucky’s disappointed, too. At least she’s relatively safe; he’d listened carefully to make sure that prick Grigory really did just escort her to her room and didn’t try anything, and now that he’s at Yakov’s shop he’s able to monitor her through one of the tablets Stark has piggybacking on their security system. He tries not to do it too often, though, because she doesn’t know it’s him and he feels like he’s invading her privacy. It’s…difficult, to say the least, when all he wants to do is see her and take comfort in knowing she’s okay.

His thoughts are interrupted when Steve and Nat enter the room; they prop the door open since they don’t have anyone standing watch as everyone else is working with the targets of Bucky’s current mission.

“Alright Buck,” Steve unrolls large sheets of paper and places them on the table. “We were able to find the building permits and blueprints for the Krakken manor. This should help with logistical planning, so why don’t you give us a tour.”

Bucky nods as he stands to get a better view of the plan. “They keep her here,” he points to a room on the second floor in the eastern wing. “This area has mostly guest rooms, but their non-militant staff, the few that primarily do housekeeping and the like, are housed here as well. Most of the common areas are on this floor, like the kitchen and dining hall, but there are some recreational rooms on the first floor and a gym in the basement. Krakken’s men are quartered in the west wing; the higher the rank the higher the floor. The first floor is more like a barracks than anything else, and the third floor is where their most trusted people have suites. Nicolai and Anatoliy have full apartments on the third floor of the east wing; Metzger’s lab is in the center.” He chews on his bottom lip as he considers the prints, “The armory is on the first floor in the eastern wing along with their security equipment, which is probably why this side of the building is more heavily fortified.”

Steve lets out a noisy breath. “Well, they certainly didn’t do us any favors, did they.”

“The eastern side is surrounded by the wooded area, right?” Nat questions with her brows furrowed.

“Well, the entire area is wooded, but it’s thickest there, yes,” Bucky mutters as he turns to study a map.

“That might be your best place to escape, then. Even if it’s got higher security, the woods give you a greater advantage over the driveway or the sparser areas.”

“I think you’re right, Nat. I hid my motorcycle over here and walked up when I first arrived,” Bucky points to a spot in the woods roughly 4 miles from the manor, “but if I can move it closer and part it here, then we’ll have a vehicle. It’s not ideal if the weather stays so damn cold, but a bike is a lot easier to hide then a car.”

“Easier to maneuver through the woods, too, if they give chase. They’ll have to follow on foot or slow down considerably to get a car through there,” Steve murmurs. When his comrades nod their agreement, he continues, “I’ll find a way to get your bike closer. Maybe Stark has something that-”

Bucky tenses when he hears footsteps coming quickly down the stairs, but Steve is quick to assure him that it’s just Yakov. “He wants to help, he just had a customer he had to take care of.”

Choosing to trust his friend over his own unease, Bucky again turns his focus to the plans in front of him.

A door slams, and another set of footsteps is heard barreling down the steps as an unfamiliar voice begins to speak from the doorway.

“You…You are not really the Soldier…”

Bucky clenches his jaw as he reaches for the firearm at his back; he can see Nat and Steve doing the same in his peripheral.

“You have been pretending.” The blonde stranger stares at Bucky from behind two black eyes.

“No!” Yakov’s panicked voice echoes down the stairs along with his hasty footsteps, “Do not hurt him, please!” He gets to the door and pushes the other man aside. “Are you trying to get yourself killed, bratishka??”

|bratishka – little brother

“I need to talk to them!”

“You need to go back upstairs!” Yakov says forcefully, but he’s unable to completely mask the fear in his voice.

“He’s not going anywhere, Yakov,” Nat says calmly, but doesn’t lower her gun. “Bring him in here.”

Yakov goes white as he stands frozen.

“You heard her, Yakov. Bring him in,” Steve’s tone leaves no room for argument.

Yakov still doesn’t move as the other man pushes past him to enter the room. “Please, he is practically family…”

Bucky stares for a moment before lowering his firearm. He’s seen this man before. “Mikhail?”

“You know him?” Nat keeps her focus and her gun aimed on the stranger.

“He works at the manor, but he’s collared.” Bucky remembers how his girl reacted when Mikhail was beaten; she wouldn’t have acted like that if this man hadn’t treated her with kindness. Besides, Bucky is confident in his ability to read people; this man means no harm. “He’s not a threat.”

Yakov audibly exhales when Bucky holsters his weapon; Steve follows Bucky’s lead immediately, but Nat keeps hers trained on Mikhail.

“You sure about that?” she asks sharply.

Bucky nods. “I trust my girl; from what I saw, she seemed to consider him an ally, maybe a friend.”

“But how do you know? You-“

“I know her, Nat. Yes, I’ve have limited observations, but she’s not afraid of him, in fact, she’s shown concern for him, and on the night I arrived, he was the one that got her out of that goddamn hall.” Bucky places his hand on her gun and lowers it. “I trust my girl, Nat.”

She huffs noisily but holsters her firearm with one last glare at Mikhail, who has been watching the exchange with wide eyes but is seemingly not frightened.

Steve turns his gaze to Yakov. “We’re already working with your family, why didn’t you mention – Mikhail, is it? – why didn’t you mention him?”

“I am not family by blood,” Mikhail takes a step forward as he speaks, “but we grew up together, Yakov and I. He was the older brother to me that my blood brothers were not. Our families were close; close enough that my parents gave their blessing for Yakov to ask for my sister’s hand.”

Nat turns sharply to Yakov. “His sister was the one that was murdered by Anatoliy? The one you were going to marry?”

Mikhail’s jaw clenches as Yakov whispers, “Her name was Izolda.”

Mikhail’s eyes lock on Bucky’s. “We need to get her out of there. I do not know what your plan is, but I want to help. Let me help solnishko as I was not able to help my sister.”

Bucky feels something akin to relief at Mikhail’s words, or maybe it’s the feeling of solidarity that comes with finding a comrade behind enemy lines. Either way, he nods. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”

Nat tilts her head as she thinks, “Don’t they call her lisichka?”

Mikhail scoffs, “Of course they do, it is part of their sick little game; they think they are clever. She understandably does not want to be called that, and I respect her wishes as far as I can. I am not allowed to address her by her actual name, so I gave her a different one.”

Bucky is really starting to like this guy.

“You used to call Izolda by that name,” Yakov murmurs, lost in the memories of a life stolen from him.

Mikhail nods slowly. “It suits her; she has the same kind of soul as Izolda. Besides, there was no reason to make her feel even more degraded than she already does by them; they treat her as though she is a pet, and the name they use emphasizes that. It is a small thing that I can do for her, but at least it is something. I refuse to aid in their attempt to strip her humanity from her.”

Yes, Bucky likes this one.

“So what can I do? I am technically supposed to be running errands for Dr. Metzger, but I can cover for a bit of extra time. How can I help?”

“Is anyone following or tracing your location?” Nat asks before tapping out a text on her phone.

“No, they do not bother. Besides their ability to set off the explosive around my neck, I still have a family. Their way is to control people by using others; in my case, they would use my mother against me since she is the only surviving member of my family whose wellbeing means anything to me.”

Steve is quiet for a moment as he considers Mikhail’s words. “Are you sure you want to do this? We’ll be as careful as possible, but there are no guarantees. You’ll be potentially putting your mom at risk if you help us.”

Mikhail nods decisively. “Yes, I am sure. She would want me to do this, to do what is right. My mother has nothing but disdain for my father and is ashamed of her other sons. She would tell me to make her proud.”

“He is right,” Yakov interjects, “She would want him to do this. I overheard her tell my mother once that her four eldest sons were children of duty, but that Izolda and Mikhail were the children of her heart.” He pauses, gazing at Mikhail as he thinks. “We have not been working with the Davydov family – mostly because there has been no need, but also because they would be difficult to sway to our side as they are loyal and firmly within the Krakkens’ control – but perhaps it would be beneficial to speak with Galina. She plays the part of the dutiful wife when her husband is around, but she is quite powerful in her own right. There are quite a few Pakhan that keep a respectable distance, and more than one have been known to seek her counsel. She works as a nurse at one of the clinics in the southern part of the city; she may have additional resources that we are not aware of.”

“Can you get a letter to my mother?” Mikhail allows the tiniest of smiles, “I haven’t been allowed to contact her.”

“If you’re sure about this, we’ll make sure she gets it,” Steve promises.

“Yes. I am sure.”

“Alright then.” Steve points to the black strip of metal around Mikhail’s neck. “What do you know about that collar?”

“I know only that I cannot get it off, and that it could be set to explode by them at any moment.” He pauses for a moment as he shrugs, “It was terrifying at first, but the novelty of the threat has worn off by now.”

“Do you know where they keep information on them? Or extra collars?”

Mikhail bites his lip as he thinks. “If they have anything, it is likely somewhere on the third floor, perhaps in the doctor’s lab or even Mr. Krakken’s suite.”

‘What are the odds you could get a hold of something?”

Mikhail shakes his head. “None. I do not have clearance to access the third floor without an escort. Mr. Krakken requires all staff to be very thorough and vigilant; I would not be able to look for anything without being caught.”

Bucky bites his bottom as he considers Mikhail’s words. “Do you think you could come back tomorrow so Stark could take a look at it? He said a collar would work – I don’t think he planned for it to actually be on someone, but we can tell him now so he can prepare for it.”

“I can arrange for some of Dr. Metzger’s supplies to be damaged upon arrival. I doubt they will send me back out tomorrow, but perhaps the day after.”

Nat looks up from her phone. “That will have to work – Tony won’t be able to get here before you leave today.”

Bucky swallows back his disappointment – this is more than he could’ve hoped for, but still. He gestures to the chair across from him. “Why don’t you have a seat, Mikhail. I think we have some things to discuss.”

Mikhail takes the offered seat before staring at Bucky intently. “You cannot tell her.”

“What?” Bucky is somewhat taken aback by the intensity of Mikhail’s voice.

“You cannot tell her that you are not really the Soldier. I am sure it will not be easy for you to deceive her, but she will not be able to hide it when the two of you are in the same room together. Her heart is in her eyes when you are around as it is”

“I know,” Bucky mutters as he pushes his hands through his hair absentmindedly. “I want to tell her, God, I want to fucking tell her just to give her some damn hope, but I can’t take the chance. She wouldn’t be afraid of them anymore if she knew that I was there with her. She - she has too much damn faith in me.”

Mikhail shakes his head slowly. “It seems clear to me that you have earned it and that her faith is not misplaced. She loves you, you know. She worries more for you than she does for herself. I know it is difficult, but let me handle the hope, yes?” Mikhail smiles brightly. “Now, I have roughly 40 minutes before I need to leave, so let me tell you all of what I know of those bastards.”

Tags Round 1: : @rogersxbarnesx @hellomissmabel @howdoesoneadult @musichowler @ms-potts-to-you @nykitass @danimuhle @iwillbeinmynest @4theluvofall @shifutheshihtzu @iamtal @passiononfire @jade-cheshire3303 @flowercrownsandmetallicarms @lostinspace33 @gingerrootknits @callmebucky-doll @learisa @sammedrano @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @vaisabu @widowvinter @amrita31199 @bellenuit45 @agentraven007 @sarahjeaniejean @canumoveyourseatup-no @unpredictable-firecracker @omalleysgirl22 @crazyliraz @shamvictoria11 @kaaatniss @lillian-paige @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @sexyseabass1231

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #my work #i don't want the world to see me (cause i don't think that they'd understand)#IDWtWtSM #11

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witchymarvelspacecase · 7 years

Text

Wraith pt. 11

Summary: Bucky x OFC

Follows the storyline of CA:CW. Regan is an ex-HYDRA experiment who has been on the run for about a year. Turns out the Winter Soldier has been hiding not only in the same city as her, but the same BUILDING. Chaos ensues and she offers her help to Bucky and his friend Steve.

Word Count: 1962

Warnings: Swearing, Typos (sorry), Torture, Death, Destruction

A/N: I am SO SORRY that this has taken so long to write, but I just finished my bachelor’s degree if that’s any good as an excuse!

Masterlist

Not my gif, credit to the owner

Regan had lost all feeling in her arms, she had no more awareness of the screaming pain in her shoulders. She was slumped in her wall shackles, completely exhausted. She couldn’t even draw energy from the building, the scientists had lined the walls of her cell with something that was able to block her powers.

They’d strapped into the chair, the Winter Soldier’s chair, and the scientists had tried to use it on her like they had on Bucky. It hadn’t done what they’d planned, but it had done something.

The chair’s electrical current had been altered somehow, it no longer meshed with her own. So, when the lab coats had initialized the chair, she screamed in pain and quickly blacked out. When she came to, the lab had been destroyed.

She was no longer restrained in the chair, having apparently snapped the restraints. The chair was sparking and popping, it’s fuses were shot and the wires were fried. There were large scorch marks surrounding the chair, and the two men who’d been standing the closest to it were on the floor, charred and likely dead.

Regan didn’t care. For a moment, she was unrestrained and energized; she ran for the door, only to be dropped by a tranquilizer dart. When that had worn off, Regan was back in her cell. The woman reappeared, scolded her as if she were a naughty child and shot her full of poison again.

Regaining consciousness was an exercise in pain. Regan’s throat was raw from screaming, her legs sore from being left in their half folded position for too long, and her shoulders felt like they were being torn away from her torso. Wincing, Regan forced her feet underneath her, and straightened her legs. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she used the wall behind her to help her get upright, gasping when she almost collapsed. Once she was standing, leaning heavily on the wall, she opened her eyes; the room was empty, and she was alone.

There had originally been a camera in her cell, recording her every moment. But it had taken very little energy for Regan to disable it, which she did every time it was replaced. HYDRA had opted to have a guard in her cell instead.But the guard wasn’t there.

Regan stretched as much as she could and tried to stifle her whimpers of pain. Once she was able to stand without the help of the wall, she tested her power. Drawing energy from herself since she couldn’t reach anything else; she felt an answering tingle on her fingertips. Regan had been afraid that whatever had caused her episode in the chair might have crippled, or even killed her powers out right, so she was glad to feel the burn of the electricity across her skin. She smiled.

As she continued to move, she became aware of the many slashes, nicks, and bruises covering her body. There was a large amount of her own blood sticking her clothes to her skin, her movements causing the caked cloth to pull and reopen some of her wounds. Hissing in pain, she knew she had to stay standing, if she were to lean back against the wall again, she wouldn’t be able to push herself back up again.

Her head shot up at the sound of the cell door opening. She watched as two guards entered, followed by the woman with the poison. She looked much the same as she always did, just a different colored shirt, and different shoes.

“Ah, I see our wraith has awakened. Have a nice nap?”

Regan chose to look at a spot in the wall over the woman’s shoulder and slipped on her emotionless mask. She couldn’t show weakness, but she also couldn’t let the woman know that her powers were functional, possibly functional enough to kill the three of them and escape.

“Mmm, not talking still? Well, I know your vocal cords work, I’ve heard your screams. Such a lovely soprano,” the woman hummed with a sick smile on her face. Regan fought to not flinch when the woman reached out towards her. She brushed her fingers over Regan’s cheek, down her neck, and rested them at the juncture where her neck met her shoulder as she drew her face up next to Regan’s.

“Still so defiant, Wraith?” the woman purred right next to Regan’s ear. Regan still fought the urge to flinch away.

“Such a trial, but good things come to those who wait, yes? I think you could do with some more waiting,” she patted Regan’s cheek and this time Regan did flinch, but if the woman noticed, she didn’t seem to care.

“This ought to be her last day of reconditioning,” the woman spoke to the guard nearest Regan. Turning just enough to smile at her captive, she added, “make sure the lesson sticks.”

As the woman walked away, the guards approached Regan, who maintained her “Wraith face” while terror and helplessness collided in her belly.

Bucky’s POV

The flight was taking too damn long. He knew that they couldn’t go any faster, but he couldn’t help feeling like they needed to, like they were gonna be too late. He’d given up on sitting 10 minutes into the 90 minute flight and was pacing the jet.

“Buck,” Steve began, but Bucky silenced him with a glare. He didn’t want to be talked down. He didn’t want to hear that everything would be alright, he wanted Regan back.

He shook his head; not even 3 days he’d known Regan, and he was already attached. They’d barely even spoken really, but he felt something. Something more than just an obligation to find her because she’d helped him. Some part of him knew her, remembered his years of interaction with her, cared for her. She had said that she felt guilty for something she’d had a part in, something related to him, but if his vague memories were anything to go by, the Soldier had already forgiven her.

“On approach,” came Clint’s voice, causing Bucky to snap back to reality, and turn towards his seat.

“Landing’s gonna be a little rough, better buckle up back there,” Natasha added.

Regan’s POV

Regan was hanging limp in her restraints again, at least one bone in her left leg was broken, her left shoulder was dislocated, and several ribs were likely broken. Her right eye was swollen shut, and she could feel blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth.

At the sound an alarm, her tormentors rushed from her cell, leaving her alone again. She could hear the alarm, but the only thing she thought was that she wished it would stop. Her head was already ringing and spinning and the noise didn’t help.

As the minutes ticked by, the alarm continued and Regan became more lucid. Lucid enough to realize that if she could gather enough strength, she could make an escape attempt. The sorry state of her body would make this more difficult, but she had to try. This was the only opportunity she’d had so far, and she couldn’t guarantee that another would come along; she couldn’t afford to waste this chance.

Unable to put weight in her left leg, Regan used the shackles holding her to the wall, and her battered right arm to lever herself into an upright lean against the wall before focusing on releasing her restraints. Reaching for her powers, and feeling the draw on her dwindling energy; the burn returned to her fingertips.

The burn never hurt her, but it did make her skin extremely hot to the touch, and it gave her the ability to melt metal shackles. The cuffs were thick, but they soon became malleable, the instant that they were, Regan yanked her wrists free. She almost screamed in relief mixed with pain as her arms came down to her sides. Taking a few precious moments, she used the wall to force her shoulder back into its socket, crying out as quietly as she could before rolling both joints out and limping towards the cell door.

Fucking idiots, Regan thought as she tested the door and found it unlocked. Just because an alarm sounds you forget to secure your prisoner? You’d better hope you don’t make it out of this, HYDRA isn’t gonna be kind to you after this fuck up.

Out in the hallway, Regan found no one left on watch, but she still wasn’t home free; she had no idea how to get out. She’d only ever been to the lab and her cell. She could feel the building’s energy now though, and she knew that if she followed the electrical draw, she could find her way to the command center. That would draw the most power in the building, so she should be able to find it just be searching for the heaviest source of power draw.

She encountered no one in her hobble through the halls, but she did find a lot of unconscious, or dead HYDRA agents. Not wanting to get her hopes up, Regan continued on.

Finding the command room took longer than Regan would have liked, but once outside the door, she froze; this room, wasn’t empty.

Bucky’s POV

Natasha had accompanied him to find the command hub, although he had vehemently stated that he didn’t need, or want help. Natasha hadn’t acknowledged him. They had systematically taken out anyone in their way as they searched for the room that would have the surveillance feeds, feeds that could tell them where Regan was being held. Having found it however, they encountered another problem.

Inside the room was a woman wearing a skirt-suit, her green-black hair swept over one side of her face, and a dead-man switch in her hand.

Natasha and Bucky both had guns aimed at her, but the woman just smiled.

“Where’s Regan?”

“Who?” The woman calmly asked.

“Wraith,” Natasha clarified. “Where are you keeping her?”

“Oh,” the woman nodded, still smiling serenely, “she is in her cell, incidentally the same cell I’ve rigged with poisonous gas. Gas that will be released by this trigger here. If you shoot me, the wraith will die.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on his gun. “I want proof of life, show me her feed,” Bucky motioned to the monitors showing various rooms. He couldn’t see Regan’s.

“Well I’d love to Soldat, but she kept destroying the cameras I put in her cell, so I’m afraid you’ll have to take my word for it,” she giggled.

“No they won’t,” a gravely voice replied.

Regan’s POV

She entered the room then, looking her captor in the eye. “You know, a wraith is believed to be a harbinger of death? It’s a spirit that’s shows up just before you die, the last thing you ever see. I guess I am your wraith,” she said as evenly as she could with her wrecked voice, as Natasha pulled the trigger.

Regan swayed on her feet as the woman’s body hit the floor. Bucky caught Regan around the waist causing her to groan in pain as his hands and arms put pressure on her wounds. Bucky shifted his arms so he could lift her, one under her knees and one across her back.

“Let’s clear out,” Natasha said, holstering her weapon and heading for the door.

“Steve, we got her. Heading out,” Bucky spoke into his comm. “You doin’ alright?” he asked Regan.

“I’ve been better,” she grated out, her throat burning. She whimpered when Bucky sped up and jostled her.

“Shit, sweetheart, I’m sorry. We’re almost there.”

Regan hummed in response, closing her eyes and resting her head against Bucky’s chest.

“Regan?” She heard his voice, but it was like she was hearing it from underwater; it was soft and garbled. When she tried to respond, she felt completely drained and unable to even open her eyes.

“Regan?!”

Tag List

@canumoveyourseatup-no, @imsunnysu, @17marvelousfreak , @ipaintmelodies, @blacwings-and-bucky-barnes, @littlxshit

Thank You’s: @bellblake-trash , @buckyslion , @bovaria , @buckybarnesstar , @fvckingbuckyandsteve, @thatawkwardtinyperson, @imhereforbvcky, and @gigistorm

#bucky barnes #bucky x OFC #Captain America Civil War #ca:cw fanfic #bucky barnes fic #marvel fanfic #avengers #wraith #steve rogers #winter soldier #clint barton #hawkeye #natasha romanoff #black widow

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