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angelremnants · 4 months ago

Note

Thank you for answering my ask, I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable before i sent the request.

I'd like to request a Loki x reader where the reader is a shield agent with magic powers (however not the best with them due to lack of training.) Where she's at the base where loki first arrives on earth and she tires to sneak up on him (using her magic) but he uses the scepter on the reader to put her under his control and he sees her potential and helps her with her magic maybe there could be some romantic tension thrown in if you want.

I hope you enjoy the rest of your day :)

In the Gravity of You l L. Laufeyson

summary : You never expected to cross paths with a god, let alone have your destiny tangle with his. Tasked with retrieving the Tesseract for S.H.I.E.L.D., you quickly learn you're in over your head after getting extraordinary powers in an unfortunate occurrence. Your fate is no longer in your hands, and the stone, the source of your connection, seem to have sinister abilities. Its power will either bond you together... or tear you apart.

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature (16+) angsty angsty angst, Loki being the villain we all know and love, themes of manipulation, mind control, emotional turmoil, psychological distress, intense character conflicts, power dynamics, toxic relationship (overall platonic-ish but could be translated as a romantic one), referenced minor character death, strong language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 20.7k

author's notes : I sincerely apologize for the lateness of the publication, the resumption of my uni classes really grabbed me by the neck. Surprisingly enough, your request aligned perfectly with my initial idea when I read the rough version of it—I guess great minds really do think alike. I know this would technically suffice to answer your ask, but I do have the rest of the storyline thought of, so let me know if you'd like me to pursue and make a second part.

Thank you for trusting me with your concept, I hope what follows meets your expectations and that you enjoy it. <3

(ao3 version)

⠀⠀

The Tesseract was never just a relic, never a mere stone. It was the embodiment of infinite potential—a boundless power encased in crystalline geometry, a paradox of beauty and destruction. For centuries, it had altered the course of supernaturals and men alike, its light shaping destinies and shattering them in equal measure. And yet, here it sat, deceptively inert, its radiance subdued by the sterile walls of the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, a tiger caged by human ingenuity.

Its glow was hypnotic, a rhythmic pulse that promised something beyond comprehension—something vast, something catastrophic. The energy emanating from its cerulean heart whispered of stars born and civilizations lost, of power so immense it demanded reverence, yet made no overt claims to it. Instead, the Tesseract simply waited, patient and silent, for the inevitable moment when it would unmake everything that dared to wield it.

To you, however, it was not a cosmic artifact or an object of worship.

It was both a beginning and an end—a harbinger of ruin masquerading as opportunity. It loomed over you like the sword of Damocles, its promise of untapped power balanced precariously against the reality of your fragile humanity. And yet, duty, curiosity, and an innate selflessness had brought you here into its presence, as if you could tame the infinite. What you did not realize was that the Tesseract was no tool for mortal hands; it was entropy given form, the instrument of its wielder’s undoing.

And it was also the reason you crossed paths with him.

The reason you were irrevocably bound to the accursed dark prince—the fulcrum upon which your fates had pivoted, weaving a cruel tapestry that ensured your destinies were bound in a way that neither of you could foresee or escape. A cosmic entanglement, propelled by the very force that would ultimately undo you both.

The mission itself had been deceptively simple. Retrieve the Tesseract. Transport it safely to Dr. Selvig at the P.E.G.A.S.U.S. research facility. No surprises, no complications. For S.H.I.E.L.D., it was a routine operation—yet as you entered the chamber where it was to be housed, an almost imperceptible shiver coursed through you, charged with an energy that gnawed at the edges of your composure. Something was wrong.

You had been entrusted with this mission personally by Director Fury, a rare responsibility that spoke volumes about your standing within the organization. Though officially labeled a field agent, your consistent track record of competence and leadership had earned you an unspoken authority among your peers. When missions called for precision, discipline, and sound judgment, you were the agent to lead the charge.

The cube rested at the center of the room, ensconced in a sleek containment unit. Its glow was softer here, less urgent, like the calm surface of a tranquil sea. But the tranquility was a facade. Beneath its placid exterior, the cube pulsed with an untamed vitality, its light rippling in hypnotic waves that seemed to draw the eye and ensnare the soul. The air itself seemed to tremble in its presence, warped by its gravitational pull, as if reality itself were bending to accommodate its vast power. It seemed to distort reality as it pleased, bending the space around it in subtle, unnerving ways.

“Stay sharp,” you ordered, your voice steady despite the growing unease gnawing at your gut. Your eyes remained fixed on the vestige, even as the agents around you fanned out in a choreography born of years of training and with military precision. It was magnetic in its presence—a quiet siren’s call that whispered promises you could not fully understand.

The youngest of your team, Harris, shifted uneasily near a console. His nervousness radiated outward, every hesitant movement and squeak of his boots against the polished floor betraying a lack of confidence that had no place in a room like this. You saw his fidgeting in your peripheral vision, but there was no time for reassurances. Not here.

The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of the Tesseract’s energy and the occasional scrape of boots against the polished floor. Its light painted the room in shades of blue, casting restless shadows that seemed to move of their own accord. Something about it felt alive, as if the artifact itself were watching, waiting. A resonant hum grew louder, its vibrations crawling through the steel floor and up into your bones in a low, ominous thrum that threatened to drown out the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. It demanded your attention, pulling at your senses as though daring you to confront the mysteries it held.

And then it happened.

A sudden metallic clang shattered the silence. Harris had stumbled, his elbow striking the console with a sharp impact. His face drained of color as he stammered an apology, but the damage was done. The Tesseract’s pulse shifted, its rhythm escalating into a frenzied crescendo. The soft glow erupted into bursts of light, chaotic and brilliant, like the heart of a star going supernova.

An invisible shockwave rippled outward. It struck you with the force of a hurricane, sending you staggering backward. Harris was thrown off his feet entirely, his body skidding across the floor until it collided with the wall. “Harris!” you shouted, your voice cutting through the chaos, but the Tesseract was not finished.

Its light flared brighter, blindingly so, as a guttural hum resonated through the room. It wasn’t just a sound—it was a vibration, crawling up through the floor and into your bones, sinking into the very marrow of your being. Then you felt it: a pull.

It was subtle at first, a faint tug deep in your core. But it grew with terrifying speed, an insidious force that bypassed muscle and bone to grip at something deeper—your essence, your very soul. Your boots screeched against the floor as you fought against it, but resistance was futile. This was not a battle of strength. It was inevitability, as natural and unstoppable as gravity.

“Agent, fall back!” Agent Barton’s voice cut through the hubbub, urgent and commanding. But even as his words reached you, your body betrayed you. Your hand shot forward, drawn toward the cube by an unseen force. The world around you seemed to collapse, sound and light narrowing to a singular point as your fingertips grazed the Tesseract’s surface.

In an instant, the world dissolved. It felt like the universe shattered in one single motion.

Pain erupted through you—a raw, searing force that clawed at every corner of your existence. It wasn’t a mere sensation; it was an annihilation. It tore through muscle and bone, shredding you from the inside out, molecule by molecule, as if the very fabric of your being were coming undone. The agony was boundless, an unrelenting tempest that blurred the edges of reality. Each wave struck with merciless precision, splintering your consciousness into shards of unbearable light and dissonant sound.

Your scream ripped through the chaos but was swallowed whole by the deafening roar of the Tesseract. It loomed before you, pulsating with untamed energy, a singularity of infinite power that consumed everything it touched. Your body was no longer yours—it vibrated violently, oscillating between solidity and dissolution, between being and nothingness. One moment you were whole, anchored to the world; the next, you were scattered like ash in a storm, lost in a kaleidoscope of light that knew no boundaries.

The air around you rippled and bent, folding in on itself as the Tesseract defied the laws of creation. Space and time became indistinguishable, a swirling vortex of cerulean light that twisted the chamber into an incomprehensible nightmare. Reality itself seemed to fracture, each shard cutting deeper into the fragile thread tethering you to existence.

You tried to fight, to pull back, to resist, but your body refused. Your limbs were paralyzed, locked in the cube’s grasp. The pull was inexorable, a force beyond comprehension, as though the Tesseract was unraveling not just your body but your very soul. Your hand clung to it involuntarily, the skin fused to the cube’s impossible energy. It surged through you, a flood of raw power that stripped away every defense, every sense of control, until you were nothing but an echo caught in its current.

Through the haze of light and torment, you saw Harris’s face—a pale mask of horror etched in wide, guilt-ridden eyes. He stood frozen, helpless, as the storm swallowed everything. His lips moved, shaping words you couldn’t hear, his panic mingling with the chaos until he became just another fragment in the maelstrom.

Then came the sharp sting. A sudden intrusion, a dart piercing through the madness. Warmth spread like a balm, slow and creeping, as the sedative flooded your veins. The jagged edges of pain dulled, softening into something bearable, and the Tesseract’s roar receded into the background. Your vision blurred, the blinding light melting into formless shapes and indistinct colors. Darkness encroached, a welcome reprieve, as your body succumbed to the numbing tide of unconsciousness.

When awareness returned, it was fractured and incomplete. The world was muted, sluggish, and distant, as if you were watching it from beneath a deep, impenetrable surface. Every muscle ached with the ghost of the Tesseract’s fury, trembling uncontrollably as if the energy still reverberated within you. Overhead, the sterile glow of the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility flickered, casting harsh, shifting shadows as figures moved around you. Their voices were muffled, urgent, like whispers carried on a breeze you couldn’t quite grasp.

“Keep her stabilized.” Fury’s voice cut through the haze—sharp, unrelenting, and commanding. “I don’t want to lose her—or that damn thing. Move her to incubation, now.”

Hands lifted you, careful yet hurried, the weight of urgency palpable in every touch. The cold, clinical surface of the incubation pod greeted your trembling form as they lowered you into its confines. Tubes and wires snaked over your body, connecting you to machines that hummed with purpose, their efforts focused on quelling the storm raging inside you. The glass walls of the chamber sealed with a faint hiss, encasing you in a cocoon of light and machinery.

The sedatives pulled you deeper into oblivion, their cold embrace silencing the tremors and dulling the edges of reality. Your vision faded, the faint shimmer of the stone’s glow being the last thing you saw before darkness claimed you entirely. In the void, there was no pain, no light, no sound—only silence, immutable and consuming. For now, at least, the battle was over. But the Tesseract’s presence lingered, a shadow at the edge of your consciousness, promising that this was only the beginning.

The entire universe collapsed into stillness, leaving you adrift in an abyss where even the echoes of pain could no longer reach.

⠀⠀

Your first encounter with him occurred before your mind could comprehend its gravity, before the threads of reality around you could form a coherent picture of the calamity descending.

When Loki arrived, the air itself seemed to hold its breath. His presence was magnetic, regal, and laced with a menace that spoke of a king returning to a throne wrenched away from him too soon. The atmosphere shifted in a subtle tremor that most wouldn’t notice, but to those attuned to power, it was unmistakable—a quiet warning of the storm in his wake. The faint glow of the Tesseract intensified as though it recognized him, its pulse syncing with his own like a heartbeat answering its master’s call.

His sharp azure eyes swept the lab, calculating and cold, taking in every detail—the sterile containment machinery, the panicked agents scrambling like insects, the futile attempts of those who had already failed to protect what was his. And then his gaze faltered, caught by something unexpected. Amid the wreckage and chaos, his attention was drawn to a peculiar structure: an incubator.

It stood at the center of the room like a relic in a temple, its cylindrical glass walls shimmering with an ethereal glow that softened the surrounding chaos. Tendrils of mist swirled inside, diffusing the cerulean light emanating from the unconscious figure within.

You.

Suspended in fragile stasis, your chest rose and fell with faint, labored breaths, as though the incubator were cradling a dying flame. Wires and tubes snaked outward, connecting your fragile form to a pulsating core that emitted a low, rhythmic hum, keeping you tethered to life.

Loki's countenance changed, his typical sneer replaced by something more subtle—a flash of intrigue. It lacked sympathy and concern. It was deeper, sharper, the kind of curiosity reserved for something unusual and frightening, something worth investigating. His stare lingered on you, scrutinizing every feature, his mind trying to figure out what the Tesseract's energy had done to you. You weren't just a bystander caught in its aftermath. No, you were tied to it in ways he couldn't understand.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, his voice smooth and low, a velvet thread winding through the chaos. His fingers brushed the cool glass, trailing over its surface as though he could feel the energy pulsing within you. “So this is the vessel,” he mused, tilting his head. “How fragile.”

Emerald magic flashed to life at his fingertips, flickering briefly before coiling around his palm. Without hesitation, he raised his staff, the shiny metal reflecting the lab's dim light. The stroke was rapid and purposeful, breaking the chamber with a single, thunderous crack that rang throughout the room. Shards of glass shower down in jagged, sparkling arcs, spreading across the floor like frozen tears. The stabilizing field faded and flickered before failing completely, leaving your still body crushed in the wreckage.

Loki stood there, unmoving, watching. Waiting. Surely, if you were truly tied to the Tesseract, something would happen—a surge of energy, a glimmer of defiance, some spark of recognition. But there was nothing. You lay motionless, unnervingly quiet, the faint glow that had surrounded you now extinguished.

“Disappointing,” the god scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. The intrigue that had sparked within him faded, a flame snuffed out by the absence of resistance. To him, you were no more than an experiment gone awry, a failed attempt at wielding something far beyond your reach. With a dismissive glance, he stepped over the shattered remnants of your chamber.

His focus shifted, and with a graceful turn, he redirected his attention to the true prize—the Tesseract.

The stone rested obediently within its container, its brilliance a beacon of sheer, unbridled power. Loki approached with steady steps and careful movements. Around him, turmoil continued to unfold—agents yelling commands, alarms ringing, lights flashing—but none of it affected him. He was untouchable, a power unto himself. Dr. Selvig and Hawkeye stood nearby, their blank eyes reflecting the same cerulean light, their bodies rigid and immovable under his command.

Fury stood apart, weapon drawn, his posture rigid in defiance. But even he couldn't shake Loki's unwavering confidence. The god's grin deepened, and a gleam of enjoyment appeared in his eyes as he grabbed the Tesseract in his palm.

“I believe this belongs to me,” the raven-haired man purred, his voice rich with arrogance. The director’s shot rang out, a sharp crack cutting through the din, but with an effortless flick of his wrist, Loki deflected it. The bullet clattered uselessly to the ground, and his expression darkened with wicked amusement. “How quaint,” he sneered.

The alarms screamed louder, the lab descending further into chaos as agents scrambled to intercept him. But Loki moved through the turmoil as though it weren’t there, his steps smooth and unhurried, his smirk unwavering. The pandemonium bent around him, powerless to halt the god who strode through it like a tempest, claiming all in his path.

⠀⠀

The world snapped into excruciating focus with a violent spasm, yanking you from the suffocating void of unconsciousness and thrusting you into agony. Your body convulsed, a ragged marionette caught in the grip of an unrelenting force. Energy tore through you, merciless, igniting every nerve as if your very molecules rebelled against their own cohesion. Pain burned through your veins, liquid fire coursing with wild abandon. Each breath was a desperate, jagged gulp of air that scorched your lungs, a brutal reminder that you were alive.

Fragments of memory swirled in chaotic fragments—flashes of the Tesseract’s blinding, celestial light, the shattering of the containment chamber, and the surge of overwhelming power that had consumed you. It wasn’t just recollection; it was an echo carved into the fabric of your being, a visceral reminder of what had been unleashed within you.

And beneath all, a deeper sensation pulled at your core. Something was missing. Something vital.

The Tesseract!

The realization struck like a blow to the chest, hollowing you from the inside. Its absence was an unfathomable ache, gnawing at the space it had once filled, leaving behind an emptiness that resonated in your very soul. The energy still thrummed within you, faint yet alive, but it was incomplete—like a melody with its center note stripped away. The absence wasn’t just noticeable; it was consuming.

Before your mind could process the void, your body responded on its own, instinct overriding all reason.

Tendrils of shimmering blue light coiled around you, alive with a life force too vast to comprehend. They twisted and pulsed, spiraling outward as your very essence flickered and fractured, teetering at the edges of reality itself. The sensation wasn’t conscious or deliberate—it was a visceral reaction to the loss. Desperation surged through you, bending the world around you and reshaping space to your will.

In one moment, you lay broken on the cold, fractured floor of the lab; in the next, you were somewhere else entirely.

A violent snap tore through the air as you reappeared near the facility’s exit. The displaced energy rippled outward, hurling agents back with wide-eyed disbelief. The world was a blur of sharp, blinding intensity—colors too vivid, sounds too loud, and sensations too overwhelming. Your gaze darted to the helicopter in the distance, its rhythmic blades carving through the air.

There it was. That faint, unmistakable blue glow pulsing from within.

The pull within you sharpened, more insistent now—a furious call that demanded action. It wasn’t merely anger, though rage burned beneath the surface. It wasn’t just desperation, though your chest felt tight with the weight of it. It was a connection, undeniable and unbreakable, as though the Tesseract was a part of you, an extension of your very existence.

The thought vanished as quickly as it appeared, buried beneath instinct. The energy spiraling around you intensified, wrapping you in a cocoon of light as the world dissolved again. You phased out of existence with a crackling burst of blue light, the chaotic din of the facility vanishing into silence.

When you surged back into reality, the helicopter was closer, its frame growing larger with each flicker of your form. You didn’t care about its occupants. You didn’t care about the destruction left in your wake. None of it mattered—not the chaos, not the consequences, not the searing pain coursing through you. All that mattered was the Tesseract.

It wasn’t a weapon. It wasn’t a relic. It was yours.

Another burst of power enveloped you, and you phased into existence midair. The helicopter’s rhythmic hum became a deafening roar, its descent jarring, unstable. But the chaos of its movement was nothing compared to the storm you brought. As you reappeared, the very fabric of reality trembled under the weight of your presence. The air shimmered, rippled, and bent—distorting around you as if the world itself could not reconcile your existence.

A radiant, otherworldly trail of energy marked your path, shimmering in your wake like the tail of a falling star. The ground below came into sharp focus as you landed, the grass beneath your feet trembling as though bowing under the force of your power.

The Tesseract’s faint glow taunted you from the helicopter’s interior, and your grip on the world tightened. Space itself warped and quivered, a prelude to the storm that would come next. You would reclaim it. No force on Earth—or beyond—could stop you now.

The car’s pilot, already riding the razor’s edge to evade relentless pursuit, had no chance to react when you materialized before them, a sudden ripple in the fabric of reality. Hawkeye, perched tensely in the driver’s seat, spotted you a heartbeat too late. His reflexes took over, and the vehicle lurched violently as he jerked the wheel to avoid a collision. The sharp swerve shattered their tenuous balance, throwing the team inside into disarray. For a moment, the vehicle bucked and wavered, momentum faltering as the pilot fought for control.

Your sudden arrival had fractured their escape, shredding the precision of their retreat like glass underfoot.

Without hesitation, you leveled your hand toward the fugitives, your outstretched finger heavy with intent, as sharp as any blade. “You have something of mine.”

The words were not a plea, nor even a demand. They rang with the weight of an irrefutable truth, a force that demanded acknowledgment.

From his perch atop the roof of the pickup, Loki tilted his head, his smirk as sharp and cutting as the edge of a dagger. “Is that so?” he drawled, the disdain in his tone curling like smoke in the air. “How curious—I don’t recall seeing your name etched upon it.”

The sarcasm dripped from his lips, designed to cut, to mock. Yet as he spoke, his gaze lingered on you, and the smirk faltered. His sharp blue eyes narrowed, the playful veneer slipping to reveal something colder.

The air around you shimmered, bending unnaturally as though space itself revolted in your presence. Each flutter of your form was a ripple in reality’s fabric, twisting the world in subtle, incomprehensible ways. This was no ordinary threat standing before him. This was something far more volatile. Far more intriguing.

The shift in Loki’s expression was subtle but unmistakable. His curiosity sharpened, dangerous and calculating. Whatever you were, you had caught his attention. He straightened, his scepter rising in one fluid motion, its dark magic coalescing at the tip, pulsing with power. “You are in my grasp,” he declared, his voice smooth as silk, laced with dark promise. The scepter’s energy thickened at the announcement, crackling with intent as the spell hurtled toward your mind.

But you were not so easily bound.

The pulse of magic surged toward you, but the instant it touched the space where you stood, your form dissolved in a burst of blue light. One moment, you were there; the next, you were gone. You reappeared several yards away in a swirl of ethereal smoke, the fabric of reality bending and twisting around you. The world itself seemed to shudder, as though struggling to reconcile your presence. What was left behind in your wake was not emptiness but a distorted imprint—an abstract chaos that flickered briefly before fading, leaving the air trembling as though it had witnessed something it could not comprehend.

Loki’s gaze snapped to you, frustration simmering beneath his cool facade, though his interest only deepened. He had faced many adversaries, but none quite like this.

Hawkeye reacted with instinct, spinning the vehicle on a screeching axis and charging toward you like a steel predator unleashed. The tires shrieked, the metal groaned, and the car hurtled forward—a weapon aimed to destroy.

You didn’t flinch.

With another flicker of gleam, you vanished, the car barreling harmlessly through the space you had occupied a moment before. Its path left nothing but rippling air, bending and twisting in your absence. When you reappeared, you were behind them, your body trembling as a sharp, icy cold gripped you. It wasn’t merely the chill of the air but something deeper—an invasive frost that gnawed at your very being, a cruel side effect of the power surging through you.

Your form wavered as you landed lightly on the warped ground, reality itself struggling to stabilize under the chaotic force that clung to you. Every movement left faint traces of distortion in the air, like a wound to the natural order that refused to heal.

Loki leaped down from the truck with predatory grace, each step carefully considered. His piercing gaze locked onto you, and the corner of his mouth twitched with something that wasn’t quite a smile. It was the expression of someone who had found a puzzle worth solving, a weapon worth wielding.

“Impressive,” he remarked, his voice velvet-smooth but laced with danger, like a shadow sliding over the edge of a blade. His words carried the kind of weight that chilled the air between you. There was no mistaking the hunger in his eyes—the hunger of a man who had glimpsed something extraordinary, something he intended to make his own.

Before you could draw a breath to react, he lunged, a blur of predatory precision, his every movement a testament to his otherworldly prowess. Yet you were faster. You flickered again, your form dissolving into a cascade of blue light, his grasp cutting through empty air as though the lack of corporeality mocked him. The space between you rippled and trembled, charged with a tension so thick it seemed to vibrate against the senses.

A flicker of frustration flashed across his face, a crack in the marble calm of his composure. He stepped back, his sharp gaze narrowing, tracking the elusive distortions in space that betrayed your movements. “What are you?” His voice was sharp and demanding, laced with a ravenous curiosity. It wasn’t a question; it was a challenge.

Confusion churned within you, tangled with a fear so visceral it clawed at your chest. The force inside you surged again, a tidal wave that pushed and pulled, relentless in its intensity. Each breath you drew felt like a battle, the air itself foreign and heavy. The cold that coursed through your veins gnawed at you from the inside, an unrelenting frost that left your body trembling and your teeth clenched against the shuddering.

“I don’t... I don’t know,” you gasped, the words barely more than a whisper, each syllable filled with helplessness. “It’s... happening to me.”

His lips curled into a slow, serpentine smile, a smile that carried no comfort. It was the kind of smile that promised danger, that whispered of schemes yet to unfold. “Fascinating,” he commented, his voice low and velvet-smooth, thick with an unsettling intrigue. “You are far more than you appear.”

He tilted his head, the glint in his eyes cutting through you like a blade. The weight of his gaze sent another shiver racing down your spine, its intensity a silent declaration of ownership, of intent. “I’ll be back for you.”

His words lingered, suspended in the charged air like the final note of a symphony, both a promise and a threat. Without a second glance, he turned, retreating with his team and the Tesseract, the space around him crackling with residual tension, as if reality itself bristled at his departure.

You exhaled sharply, your chest heaving as you struggled to steady your breath. The power within you thrummed wildly, a chaotic rhythm that echoed through your very core. It was untamed and overwhelming, but it was yours. No longer were you a victim of its force; you were beginning to feel it bend, however slightly, to your will.

Loki disappeared into the distance toward his newly acquired posse, and your gaze snapped to the truck where the Tesseract gleamed, tantalizingly close. Its light pulsed with an otherworldly rhythm that seemed to resonate with your own, beckoning you. Desperation drove you forward, your hand outstretched, trembling with effort. You could feel the Tesseract’s pull, its energy singing through the air.

But as your fingers brushed the cold metal of the truck, your body betrayed you. The familiar flicker of energy surged too late, and in an instant, you phased out again, vanishing into the blue haze of your power. The Tesseract slipped from your grasp, its light receding into the distance, impossibly far yet seared into your mind like an unfulfilled promise.

Frustration burned in your chest, but you didn’t falter. You willed the flicker to return, your body instinctively bending to the chaotic current within. With a sharp burst of energy, you reappeared, the familiar, sterile walls of the P.E.G.A.S.U.S. base snapping into focus around you.

The battlefield's disarray—the warping space, the crackling tension, and the suffocating presence of Loki—faded into the periphery. For the moment, you stood anchored in the only place that still felt real, the only tether you had to a world rapidly slipping beyond comprehension. Here, amid the sterile calm, you could breathe. For now.

⠀⠀

The second time you awoke wasn’t to the haunting quiet of a shattered lab. Instead, the low, steady buzzing of engines surrounded you, accompanied by the slight, rhythmic sensations of an airplane in flight. It crushed on your senses, a bewildering bubble of noise and movement. The lighting around you was dark and flickering, producing shifting shadows on an array of medical monitors and gadgets crowded into the cramped area of a mobile lab.

Your body first recognized the restrictions laid upon you. Straps held your wrists and ankles to what seemed to be a hospital bed—not cruelly, but tight enough to send shivers down your spine. Anxiety zipped in your veins, making you acutely aware of your imprisonment.

Fragmented memories resurfaced: Loki's frigid, triumphant smirk; the Tesseract sliding from your hands; the painful warping of space as you faded away. Now you were fastened down like a laboratory specimen. Fantastic. Simply wonderful.

You shifted, testing the restraints. The faint creak of the straps broke the sterile silence, blending with muffled voices that drifted through the thin walls of your enclosure. Their tone was disturbingly casual, a stark contrast to the chaos brewing within you.

“She phased through a car? I’ve seen some weird things, but that’s a first,” a smooth, sarcastic voice quipped.

“Don’t forget the spatial distortions she caused,” another voice countered, sharper, more clinical. “She’s unstable. That’s the real issue here.”

“Unstable doesn’t necessarily mean dangerous,” came a calmer, measured response.

“Right,” the first voice shot back. “And unstable doesn’t mean she isn’t dangerous, either.”

You strained against the restraints, your heart pounding as the conversation grew clearer. The door creaked open, and a group filed in, their presence commanding the room.

At the forefront was the infamous Tony Stark, clad in partial armor, his sharp eyes scanning you with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. Behind him came Steve Rogers, his steady stride exuding quiet authority, and a man you hadn’t quite met yet. His dark hair was tousled, and his expression looked like someone who had seen more than his fair share of exhaustion. Agent Romanoff’s sharp gaze swept the room with cool precision, while the mighty Thor loomed behind them, his formidable presence unmistakable. And finally, Director Fury entered, his singular eye cutting through the room’s tension with practiced ease.

All eyes landed on you, and under their collective scrutiny, you felt like a rare, caged specimen being examined.

“So, this is her,” Stark drawled, his voice light but his gaze piercing. “She’s... smaller than I expected.”

“Thanks,” you deadpanned, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Natasha tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “She doesn’t look like a threat.”

“That’s what they said about the Hulk the first time,” Stark retorted, gesturing toward the quiet mant. “And we all know how that turned out.”

“Can we please not compare people to me?” The presumable Hulk guy sighed, raising a hand as though to defuse the brewing tension.

Steve stepped closer, his voice steady but firm. “She’s been through enough. Let’s treat her like a person, not a problem.”

Your patience snapped. “Hello? I’m right here!” You cut in, your voice sharp as glass. “Maybe stop talking about me like I’m a science experiment and explain what’s going on?”

Stark smirked, unfazed. “Hey, Jumper? Let the big men talk while we figure out what to do with you.”

Your brows furrowed. “Jumper? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Stark replied with a shrug. “Like that movie. David Rice, teleporting, stealing—ring any bells?”

“Haven’t seen it,” you said flatly.

“You should. It’s a classic,” he answered, unbothered.

Their debate about your powers, your instability, and whether or not you were dangerous carried on, as though you weren’t even there. Each word stoked the fire of your frustration until it burned white-hot.

Finally, you’d had enough. “Shut up!” You shouted, the anger in your voice reverberating through the air.

The energy within you surged, wild and uncontrollable. A pulse burst outward, rippling through the space around you. The walls groaned under the strain, lights flickered violently, and the medical equipment rattled as though caught in the eye of a storm.

“Stand down!” Fury barked, his tone cutting through the chaos.

You clenched your fists, trembling as you fought to contain the volatile force. The chill of your power seeped into your skin, biting and relentless, but you wrestled it back, forcing the storm to subside. Slowly, the distortions eased, and the aircraft steadied. Every pair of eyes bore into you, equal parts awe and caution.

Stark raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s cranky.”

Fury stepped forward, his expression unreadable but his voice firm. “Let her up.”

The medical bay was cloaked in an eery silence, broken only by the low hum of machinery and the faint shuffle of boots in the corridor beyond. You flexed your fingers, the ache in your joints a cruel reminder of how long you’d been bound. The restraints clicked open, and you pushed yourself upright, the cold press of the metal bed frame biting into your back as you adjusted to freedom.

Meeting Fury’s gaze, you kept your voice as even as possible despite the tremor in your hands. “Alright,” you said, steel in your tone. “What’s going on? Why was I strapped down like some lab rat?”

The one-eyed man didn’t flinch. His gaze was unwavering, his words carrying the weight of something far greater than yourself. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, weighted with unspoken tension. "We found you unconscious in the lab. Loki had made his escape, taken Barton and Selvig. When I came back, the incubation chamber that was stabilizing you was shattered. Loki smashed it, thinking it was part of the Tesseract’s containment."

You blinked, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of that chaotic moment. "Come again?"

"After you touched the Tesseract, your body went into a molecular spectacle," Fury explained, his words clipped. "That chamber was keeping the energy from ripping you apart. Without it..." He gestured vaguely at you, his meaning clear.

Your breath hitched as the weight of his words settled on your chest. "So Loki didn’t just free me—he left me like this?"

Fury nodded grimly. "And now we’re cleaning up the mess."

The unknown man stepped out of the shadows, his gaze analytical, though tempered by a quiet compassion. "It’s not just a mess," he started to explain, his voice softer than Fury’s but no less serious. "The Tesseract’s energy didn’t just destabilize you—it altered you on a fundamental level. Your molecular structure has been rewritten to... well, interact with dimensions in ways we don’t fully understand yet."

Your head throbbed as he continued, spilling out terms that blurred together in a haze of scientific jargon. Dimensional instability. Fourth-dimensional access. Something about space-time manipulation.

"English," you interrupted, rubbing your temples. "Please."

Steve, standing near the door, raised a hand in solidarity. "Seconded."

Tony stepped forward, letting out a dramatic sigh. "What he means is that the Tesseract got cozy with your DNA. Now you’ve got some nifty tricks: teleportation, spatial distortion, maybe more. Think of it like a surprise party—except the surprise is you’re the cake, and the Tesseract’s the one doing the slicing."

You glared at him. "Thanks for the metaphor. Really clears things up."

He smirked but didn’t respond.

Your thoughts churned, piecing together the implications. "That explains how I caught up to Loki after he escaped," you mulled. "He tried to hit me with his scepter, but I... phased out before it reached me. He looked... entertained, to say the least. Told me he’d be back for me."

The room went still, the atmosphere shifting from analytical to deeply uneasy. Natasha straightened, her gaze sharpening as she exchanged a glance with Fury.

"If that guy said that," she said, her voice steady but edged with steel, "it means he sees you as valuable. With those abilities, you’re exactly the kind of weapon he’d want to control."

A chill travelled down your spine. "So what, now I’m just some prize to be claimed?"

Fury’s voice cut through the room, cold and decisive. "We’re not letting that happen. Until we get to Stark Tower, you’re staying on this jet. No exceptions."

Before you could speak, Thor’s booming voice rang out from the doorframe. "A prize?" he repeated, stepping forward with his usual, thunderous stride. His golden hair caught the light as his eyes softened with an almost protective intensity. "You are no prize for Loki to claim. He may be cunning, but he will not have his way with you—not while I am here."

You raised an eyebrow, slightly thrown off by his earnestness. "Thanks, but I’m sure he’s got plenty of other ways to torment me."

The god of thunder's brow furrowed, as if the idea of Loki tormenting you was an affront to his very being. "You have my word, Lady... you will not be his puppet," he swore, his voice carrying the weight of Asgard's nobility.

Fury’s face remained unreadable, but his voice was firm as he turned back to you. "We're still not taking any chances. You’re staying here, safe for now. And if Loki comes back, we’ll deal with it. We need to get to Stark Tower as quickly as possible, it's the only place available with the resources to stabilize your condition. If we don’t, these dimensional instabilities could tear apart more than just this jet."

You opened your mouth to argue but stopped, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Fighting them wouldn’t change the facts. "Fine," you acquiesced, resigned that you had no other option available. "But I’m going to need food. And something to keep me from losing my mind in here."

Tony’s smirk returned, lightening the tension just slightly. "Snacks and movies, coming right up."

Despite his jab, the weight of the moment lingered. As the team drifted into hushed conversation, their words a low hum in the background, you sat quietly, your thoughts spinning.

The Tesseract had changed you and marked you in ways you couldn’t yet understand. And Loki—Loki had noticed. Whatever game he was playing, you weren’t just a spectator anymore. You were a piece on the board, and the stakes were only getting higher.

⠀⠀

How exquisitely bitter the irony: one prison traded for another. If you had a nickel for every time you had been detained in the past forty-eight hours—whether conscious or not—you’d have three. A meager sum, yet one that, in the context of your current plight, was profoundly unsettling.

The monotony of your confinement gnawed at your nerves with a relentlessness that seemed to seep into your very bones, its suffocating grip tightening with every passing moment. Time itself in this sterile, airless void became an elusive specter, slipping away like sand through trembling fingers. It felt as though you had been locked in this white-washed tomb for an eternity, the walls too pristine, the air too cold, the silence too profound—a crushing weight pressing against your chest, as if the very space around you sought to drown you in its emptiness.

Your once sharp, purposeful thoughts had shattered into disjointed fragments, fragments that drifted aimlessly in a haze of mounting frustration, their clarity dissolved like mist in a rising storm. Boredom, slow and insidious, bled into paranoia, each second stretching interminably, as though the very passage of time had turned traitor, conspiring to magnify your suffering. The silence was no refuge; it felt like a blanket too heavy and suffocating, threatening to smother the very thoughts it once cradled, to extinguish the last flickers of your sense of self.

You were on the verge of testing the limits of your power, of daring to see what lay beyond the fragile boundary of your current abilities. Maybe the Tesseract had granted you more than the simple gift of phasing in and out of reality. What if you could tear the walls apart? Warp time itself and bend space into your will? The temptation surged within you, a primal urge almost impossible to deny.

Yet the room—engineered with cold precision to temper anomalies like yours—stood as an unyielding barrier. There was something about its design, a constant, subsonic hum in the air, a pressure against the edges of your consciousness, that suppressed your abilities, keeping them tethered like an animal on a leash. It was a constant reminder of your limitations, a cage disguised as a sanctuary.

With a scowl, you turned inward, focusing on the wound that throbbed at the center of your being: the anomaly. The term stung like salt on an open wound, grating against your very essence.

Anomaly. As if you were some broken thing, some glitch in the machinery of the universe. You were no glitch. No, you were now pure power. Raw, untamed, and beyond their—and most of all, your comprehension. The more you thought about it, the more the resentment swelled inside you, bitter and untamed. Loki. The Tesseract. S.H.I.E.L.D. All of it—how it twisted and manipulated you, how it branded you, how it reduced you to something less than human, something to be controlled, to be feared. You had never asked for this. Never sought to be a pawn in some cosmic game, dragged into a struggle far too vast to understand. And yet, here you were—trapped in this sterile cage, reduced to an "anomaly," herded into a prison of white walls and cold silence.

Everything was a lie. The world, the system, and the very purpose they had forced upon you. And finally, the anger that had been simmering beneath the surface, hidden behind the layers of fear and confusion, found its voice—a guttural growl of pure, seething bitterness lodged in your chest.

Without warning, the air itself seemed to splinter. The jet convulsed violently, as if some unseen hand had seized it, and wrenched it from its course with reckless abandon. The shockwave slammed you against the cold, unyielding metal of the wall, a violent jolt that left your limbs momentarily stunned, your body trembling in its wake. The delicate web of electric circuits, already on the edge of failure, surrendered with a crackling roar. The hiss of shorted wires split the air, and sparks erupted in wild, erratic bursts, casting a flickering, spectral glow that pulsed with a life of its own, as if the foundation of the ship was fighting to escape its confines.

In the aftermath of the disturbance, the door to your lockup—once sealed tight—groaned in protest under the weight of the disturbance. Its mechanisms, unprepared for such a violent upheaval, faltered, stuttering before finally giving way. It creaked open, the sound faint but unmistakable, its defiance ringing through the stillness like an illicit promise. For a heartbeat, you wondered if the sound was a mirage, a trick of the senses, born from the exhaustion of confinement. But no, it was real.

You weren’t meant to leave. The door wasn’t meant to open. You had been told to stay put. The order had been clear, simple, and unambiguous. Yet, here you stood, poised at the threshold, caught between obedience and instinct, as if something—some invisible force—was drawing you forward. A whisper, deep within, gnawed at your resolve, an instinct honed by years of dangerous work.

You couldn’t stay. You had to move. You had to leave.

A strange, insistent pull surged through the air—a sickening, familiar energy that brushed against your skin, tugging with a force that seemed to seep into your very bones. It was unsettling, unlike anything you had ever felt, as though the atmosphere itself was charged with anticipation, electric and restless. You could not resist. Your feet moved, step after step, as if some invisible hand guided you forward. The hallways of the jet stretched before you like a twisting labyrinth, their shadows thick and oppressive. Each movement felt deliberate, yet as if the world around you held its breath, suspended in some unknowable pause.

Adrenaline surged, flooding your veins with a jolt that quickened your pulse and set your limbs into frantic motion. Every instinct screamed at you to run, but the warning was unclear—run from what? From whom? The urgency of it felt like a call you could not answer, a compulsion you could not escape.

In the distance, the muffled shouts of agents reverberated down the corridor, their hurried steps echoing against the steel walls. Yet no one noticed. No one saw your door swing open; no one cared.

The lack of attention only made the panic rise in your chest. Why was no one reacting? Why was it as though the world had forgotten you when you were supposed to be under the scrutiny of the highest surveillance possible?

The jet itself seemed to tremble under the weight of unseen forces, jolting violently as if it were struggling against some invisible pressure. But you couldn’t focus on that, not now. You had to keep moving. You had to follow that strange, magnetic pull.

The sensation of that energy, that invisible tether, grew stronger, a force pulling you deeper into the heart of the ship. Each step felt heavier, as though the walls themselves were pressing in on you, narrowing your path. Your body was on high alert now, your every sense heightened, your mind a whirl of caution and confusion. And then—there he was.

Loki.

His silhouette loomed at the end of the hallway, tall and imposing, barely illuminated by the flickering lights above. His presence was unmistakable—like a black hole of power, consuming the very air around him, draining the light and warmth from the space. The energy surrounding him was palpable, cold, and twisted, making your stomach lurch.

That power. It was him. You knew it without question, yet even now, something urged you forward like a moth would to a flame. A force beyond reason, beyond understanding, that would undoubtedly leave you with burning wings should you not be careful enough.

At the far end of the corridor, Loki stood with his back turned, a dark figure framed by the erratic flickers of overhead light. The space around him rippled with alarming vigor, warping the air itself, as if the atmosphere recognized and bowed to him for who he truly was. Your pulse quickened in response, and the beat of your heart thunderous in your ears. You couldn’t stop yourself. You had to move closer.

Step by cautious step, you advanced, adrenaline coursing hot and sharp through your veins. The corridor stretched endlessly before you, dimly illuminated by flickering lights that cast jagged, restless shadows on the cold, metallic walls. It felt as though the jet itself was alive, its unseen breath mirroring the erratic rhythm of your own.

Every step you took reverberated in the oppressive stillness, each shuffle of your boots against the floor magnified into a drumbeat that echoed through the narrow passage. You moved as silently as you could, but the sound felt deafening, a betrayer of your presence, heralding your approach. The air grew heavier with every step, thick and suffocating, pressing down on you like unseen hands. You weren’t sure if it was the atmosphere—or him.

At the far end of the corridor, Loki stood like a statue carved from shadow and light, framed by the weak, flickering glow. He was still, unnervingly so, but the air around him was charged with a menace that set every nerve in your body on edge. His presence was a gravitational force all its own, exuding power so palpable it prickled across your skin like static. Your breath hitched, but something inexplicable pulled you closer, even as dread whispered at the edge of your mind.

Your steps faltered for an instant, instinct screaming for you to turn back, but the pull was merciless, driving you forward. Loki didn’t move. He remained motionless, his presence a coiled tension, a predator biding its time.

A single movement—so slight it might have been imperceptible—broke the stillness. His head tilted, just enough to send a jolt of alarm surging through you. The subtle shift in his posture was deliberate, a tightening of his shoulders that radiated the kind of precision only predators possessed. The air seemed to ripple, trembling under the weight of his awareness, as if the space itself recoiled from him.

Your body locked in place, breath frozen in your lungs. He hadn’t turned; his face remained hidden in shadow. Yet somehow, you knew. He knew. He had felt you, heard you, sensed you in a way that transcended understanding.

Time suspended. The corridor stretched infinitely in that moment, an expanse too vast to cross and yet suffocatingly narrow, leaving no room to retreat. The silence pressed down, interrupted only by the faint hum of the jet’s machinery, a sound that seemed almost mocking in its calm. Your heartbeat thundered in your chest, a frantic drumbeat that surely he could hear, though he gave no sign.

And then he moved.

The motion was almost inhuman, fluid as ink spilled into water, his form melting into the shadows with a grace so seamless it was unnerving. He didn’t glance back, didn’t speak, didn’t offer any acknowledgment of your presence. One moment he was there, his figure a looming threat at the end of the corridor—and the next, he was gone. Swallowed whole by the darkness, leaving nothing but the echo of his absence and the electric charge of a predator who had simply chosen to bide his time.

You froze, panic clawing its way up your throat.

He was fast. Too fast.

But the irresistible temptation of the thrill remained. You had to follow.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a drum of desperation as you ran, your feet slapping against the cold metal of the jet's floor. You turned the corner, breath ragged, but when your eyes swept the hallway—nothing. It stretched on endlessly, an empty, hollow void. No sign of him. No trace.

The jet lurched beneath you, as though responding to the shift in the air, but you didn’t stop. You pushed on, driven by a force you couldn’t comprehend, only to be met with silence—unnerving, profound silence.

Loki was gone.

And yet, the feeling lingered, crawling under your skin like the echo of a distant storm. He was out there somewhere, you were sure of it—watching. Waiting.

Your feet struck the cold metal floor with a rhythm that mirrored the frantic pulse of your heart. The jet lurched again, the walls groaning as if they too shuddered at his absence. You ran, each breath a jagged gasp, every step weighted with the gnawing certainty that you were chasing something—no, someone—into danger, right into the sharp claws of a prowler who coveted the sponsor of your essence.

Keep going. You’re almost there.

But as you reached the next turn, the hallway stretched before you, empty. An oppressive, suffocating void of quietude awaited you, curling around you like a thick fog. There was no sound, not even those of the scattered units working on the disturbances going on—no hint of movement, no trace of him.

No Loki. Only the cold, hollow echo of your own footsteps.

A sharp, crawling panic gripped your chest, spreading out like wildfire as you spun, searching frantically—any sign, any trace of him, anything to pierce the silence. The quiet pressed in, as heavy as a weight in your ears, suffocating, making the world spin around you, dizzy and unsteady.

It was subtle at first—barely a whisper—but then the temperature dropped and the chill seeped into your bones, a cold so deep it felt almost unnatural. You thought your mind was tricking you as you saw puffs of your breath fog before you, but you definitely trusted your nerves at sensing the inevitable approach of something—someone.

The jet jolted again, harder this time, as if it too had felt the shift. The floor tilted beneath you, and the walls groaned, their strength buckling under an unseen pressure. They seemed to bend, their shape distorting unnaturally, the very corridors twisting around you. Reality stretched and warped at the edges of your vision, blurring the world into a disorienting swirl. The ground shifted, and the panels seemed to close in on you,as though space itself was contracting.

And then—there he was.

He emerged from the shadows like an omen wrapped in its cloak of darkness, all towering and sinister. He presented himself as a monolith of malice, his very being an affront to the fragile world around him. A cruel smile twisted on his lips, laced with venomous amusement that grated through the silence like the harsh screech of a violin's strings, cutting through the quietness with a sharp, discordant note. His eyes—cold as the deepest winter—shone with a sharp hunger, the glint of a predator toying with its helpless prey.

You lurched back, your pulse racing in your chest, but your legs felt heavy—as if they had switched muscles for sludge. Fear clutched at your throat, but a resolute murmur in the back of your mind propelled you forward.

Desperation seized you. You reached for it—the power that had always been your tether to survival, the force that had kept you one step ahead. You tried to summon it, tried to feel the familiar hum of energy coursing through your veins, to rip open the rift and vanish into the unknown.

But it was gone.

Panic slammed into you like a tide. You reached again, your fingers trembling, but the power slipped away, evading you like smoke, elusive and intangible. The rift shimmered on the cusp of existence—so close, so near—but something had severed the connection, leaving you stranded in a world that had turned against you.

Loki’s laugh rang out, a low, mocking sound that reverberated off the warping walls of reality. His voice, thick with dark amusement, slithered through the air, each word dripping with a promise of doom.

“Do you truly believe you can outrun me?” He mused, his eyes never leaving yours. His eyes twinkled with wicked glee as he approached, hands militaristically behind his back. “I know you’re trying to escape, but you’re trapped, agent.”

You twisted, struggling to break free, to flee, but your limbs felt frozen—rooted in place, shackled by an invisible force. His hand shot out, catching your wrist with an ironclad grip. Cold spread through your veins like ice, locking you in place and the world seemed to tilt, your body buckling under the sheer force of his touch.

“So desperate,” he tutted, his small pout dripping with mockery. The words slithered over you, as smooth as silk, as venomous as a serpent’s bite.

Before you could react, he effortlessly pulled you close, his gaze fixed on yours. The fear within you burst, suffocating your breath as his power smashed down on you, infusing you with a blackness that threatened to engulf you completely. His gaze, blank and vast, as deep as the void, pierced your very soul. The minute his stare met yours, a searing, suffocating cold swept through your chest, as if the very light within you had been sucked. His gaze seemed like a weight crushing down on you, with each second stretching into eternity and drowning your will. You could feel the tendrils of his power burrowing deep into you, twisting and corrupting, like poison coursing through your veins and chilling you from the inside out. It was as though his eyes alone were rewriting your very essence, turning you into something hollow, something lost.

“You’re mine now,” he sauntered with finality, each word laden with inevitability.

Every fiber of your existence cried out for freedom—each heartbeat a drum of urgent desire, each thought a keen, frantic claw digging at the bars of his hands. Your muscles burned with the effort of defiance; the power that had once flowed through you with effortless grace was now a raging fire under your skin, waiting to be released. You pushed with the last of your power, pushing against the iron of his grip and straining for the rift—the barrier between you and freedom.

But no matter how hard you fought, it was as if his very existence had become interwoven with yours, a smothering cloud that cut off your connection to the energy you had previously commanded. It was as if the entire area surrounding you bent to his will, denying you any outlet or opportunity of escape.

You fought for control as you saw him approach with his mind controlling weapon, whipping your arm around to summon a burst of energy. A tempest of force crackling through the space—and with a cruel twist, Loki shoved you backward, sending you crashing into the walls.

"Well done," he applauded as your lungs heaved for oxygen at the abrupt impact. "But it will take more than that."

You could feel your strength slipping away. Every respiration was a battle, each movement a desperate attempt to resist the crushing weight of his presence. The rift began to widen, the very fabric of reality humming with your power, vibrating with an intensity you had yet to fully understand. Using it this way—on the jet, with no true grasp of how to control it—had been reckless. But for a fleeting moment, freedom had seemed within reach, one step away from redemption.

Unfortunately, Loki was faster.

In the blink of an eye, he was upon you, his hand wrapping around your throat with a grip that threatened to crush bone. He shoved you violently against the partition of the jet, his body pressing hard into yours. Dazed, panting, you fought him with renewed fury, your will surging back to life. But his hold on reality tightened, suffocating, relentless. Every possible escape was sealed, every path to liberty shut down by the sheer force of his control.

You refused to yield.

Summoning what little force remained, you raised your free hand, unleashing a blinding burst of energy. The flash surged toward him, but rather than faltering, Loki seemed to draw strength from it, his eyes gleaming with a dark delight. The energy you unleashed only seemed to fuel the fire within him, causing ripples of chaos that sent you reeling. A dizzying wave of power knocked you off balance, your head colliding with the wall, and you struggled to stay conscious.

"You fool," Loki hissed, his voice thick with cruel disdain. He swung his scepter, striking it against the floor with an ground-shattering crack. The foundations of the jet groaned under the impact. With a flick of his wrist, the back of the scepter struck you, sending you crashing to the ground, your body jolting violently. Pain exploded through you, a shockwave of agony that seemed to reverberate in every part of you.

Gasping for air, disoriented, you looked up at him through a blur. Loki’s eyes—those merciless, fathomless eyes—were locked on you, glinting with cold amusement. A twisted smile curled at the corners of his lips, and his gaze never wavered, fixed on you with a knowing, cruel intensity.

"You cannot escape," he asserted, his voice heavy with the finality of doom. The words landed like a death sentence, woven with both victory and irrevocable defeat.

As his grip tightened once more around your throat, pulling you deeper into the inevitable, a chilling realization settled in your chest. He was right.

The world spun around you, every inch of your body screaming for freedom. But the harder you fought, the more futile it became. Loki’s power had already woven itself around you, binding you in ways you could not escape. It pulled tighter, drawing you deeper into his grasp, unraveling every thread of resistance beneath the weight of his will.

And when he smiled, it wasn’t with kindness.

It was with victory.

⠀⠀

The third time you regained consciousness, you were bound to a cold, unforgiving metal chair. Your hands were shackled on the armrests as your ankles were on the joints, the skin around your wrists raw from the futile struggle. At first, everything was a blur—shapes and colors twisted together, indistinct and shifting like a dream on the edge of clarity. You blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the haze, your senses sluggish as you registered the cold, hard surface against your back, the rigid splats pressing up beneath you. A faint scent of iron mingled with something sterile, almost clinical, as though the very air itself sought to keep you at a distance from comfort.

Gradually, reality sharpened, crashing into you like a cold wave. Your heart thudded erratically in your chest, a rapid pulse that betrayed the disarray in your mind. You could feel the chains digging into your flesh, their cruel bite not nearly as unbearable as the gnawing sense of dread tightening around your chest. You were in an unfamiliar place, vulnerable, helpless—at the mercy of a god who thrived on chaos.

The scrape of boots against the floor echoed from the shadows, and instinct flared within you. You tried to move, tried to scramble toward the door, desperate to flee, but the sensation of his presence loomed heavy in the space, suffocating. Loki, that elusive god, was somewhere in the dark, and you could feel him drawing nearer.

"You disappoint me," came his voice—silky, smooth, and laced with venom. He appeared in the doorway, standing tall, his imposing figure casual yet drenched in superiority. His arms were crossed, the epitome of arrogance, but there was something more in his gaze—something darker, colder, that made the hairs on your neck stand on end.

Your stomach twisted, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away. There he was, standing in the doorway like an ominous figure straight out of a nightmare, his presence as unnerving as the storm behind his eyes.

“I thought better of you,” he continued, the words dripping with disdain. “You could have been something greater. And yet here you are—shackled and easily subdued.”

You clenched your teeth, fighting the instinct to show any sign of fear. No. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Despite the steel in your resolve, you felt a sliver of unease crawl beneath your skin. His calmness, his composure, was like a storm on the horizon—a quiet before a cataclysm.

“I’d suggest you fuck off with your unwanted opinions, serpent,” you spat, your voice hard despite the tremor beneath.

Loki raised an eyebrow, amused by your feeble resistance. He took slow steps toward you, his boots clicking against the floor with each movement. “How crude. You know, I can see it in your eyes. The fear, the doubt. You feel it, don’t you? That chaos inside of you. The power you don’t understand.” His voice dropped lower, a thread of venom coating his words. “How does it feel, to know that something so powerful is inside you, but you can’t control it? To know that it could tear you apart at any moment?”

You inhaled sharply, your breath ragged. “I’m not afraid of you.” You wished it were true. You wished you could push the fear down, but it gnawed at the edges of your mind.

“You should be.” He smiled, a slow, almost predatory curl of his lips. “But it doesn’t have to be like this.” His voice softened, growing more persuasive, coaxing. “I’m feeling rather lenient. I can help you, if you let me. I can show you how to control it, all this power inside you. You could be free—free from this constant battle, from the chaos. All you have to do is let me take it. Let me take you.”

The sincerity in his voice was almost convincing. For a split second, you found yourself lowering your guard, your eyes tinkling at the thought of release. Of peace. Of finally understanding this frightening power was wreaking havoc on your body and mind and that only a superior being—as much as you hated to admit it—could master it. A wave of temptation surged through you—his words sounded so safe, so soothing, like balm to your aching mind. It would be so easy to let him take control, to let him guide you.

But no. You clenched your fists and forced yourself to stay grounded. “I will never let you get me.”

Loki’s smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of anger. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a mask of serenity. He tilted his head slightly, as though he were studying you, eyes narrowing as if he was peeling back the layers of your being and see into the very depths of your soul. “You’re stubborn,” he observed, almost to himself. “I understand. I know you. I know what you’ve been through, what you’ve lost. Clint Barton told me all about you, after all.”

Your heart skipped a beat, a cold shiver running down your spine. “What did he tell you?”

Loki’s lips twisted into a sly, satisfied smirk, his voice low and laced with venom. “Oh, everything. Your life, your pain, your endless losses. The way you've been forced to fight—alone—without a single soul to trust. It’s almost poetic, isn’t it? How you, of all people, found yourself at the helm of such a 'noble' unit in your precious secret services? How utterly pathetic. Righteousness... What a farce. All of you, so-called patriots, parading around like saints, when in reality, you’re nothing more than fools. Jesters, wearing masks of morality while you destroy each other in ever more barbaric, senseless ways.”

He leaned in closer, his shadow looming over you as did the light over his head, making him appear even more menacing than he already was. “But not you, of course. You think you’re the only one who’s ever suffered, don’t you? The only one who’s ever been left to fend for themselves?”

You shook your head, but the words hit harder than you expected. “I see you, the real you.” he pursued. “You don’t have to fight it. I could be the one to guide you. I could show you how to wield that power, how to become what you were always meant to be.”

He moved then, just a step closer, and it was like the world shifted on its axis. Loki paused in front of you, his face softening just for a moment. “We’re more alike than you think.” He crouched down, bringing himself to your eye level, his gaze intense but strangely understanding. “I know what it’s like to have something inside of you—something uncontrollable, something powerful.” His eyes darkened. “I know what it’s like to be consumed by it. To feel like it could tear you apart if you don’t keep it chained.”

You blinked at him, confusion mingling with your frustration. Was this… empathy?

“I’ve been there,” he continued in a hushed manner, like he was sharing a secret with you. “You’re not the first to feel overwhelmed by power you can’t control. Believe me, I’ve spent lifetimes struggling with that very thing. But you… you’re different. You have the potential to be more. You don’t have to fight it anymore. You don’t have to suffer. Let me help you.”

Your pulse quickened, but not from the dread of what he might do next—more of because his words resonated deep within you. Every single one of them felt like a key, unlocking the very parts of you that you had spent your entire life burying through your diligent work. His voice, so soft, so knowing, slid under your skin like a lover’s caress, coaxing out the parts of you that longed to be understood.

Loki was dangerous. You knew that. But the way he spoke, the way he looked at you—he made it so easy to forget.

“I can teach you,” Loki whispered, his breath cool against your skin. He reached out, his fingers brushing gently against the chains that bound your wrists, a silent promise of liberation. “Let me show you how to embrace it. How to wield it. Let me show you what it feels like to let go.”

The words glazed on your defenses like honey, and for a moment, you thought you might give in. His gaze was so understanding, it felt like he truly cared. His hands, now resting lightly on the chains, made your hair stand on end and felt warm against your skin, a stark contrast to the cold metal. It seemed almost… familiar?

You didn’t know how to feel about that.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmured, his voice almost tender. “You’ve been alone for so long, haven’t you? You don’t have to do this alone anymore. I’ll help you. Let me take control, just for a little while. I can give you peace. I can give you what you’ve always wanted.”

You tried to pull away, but the chains held you fast. Your heart raced as his words wrapped around you like a vice, and the conflict within you grew more unbearable with each passing second. Part of you wanted to scream, wanted to break free, but the rest of you… the rest of you was listening, was waiting for his touch, for the release he promised.

Was it his eyes? The way he seemed to know exactly what you were thinking before you did? Or was it the power, that seductive undercurrent to everything he did, that promised you could slip into dangerous water, without ever fully understanding the cost of drowning in it?

It was a tempting offer. Too tempting. You could almost feel the warmth of it—the weight of control that you had never known. It felt like the answer to all your struggles, all your years of pain, all the times you had been forced to fight. Could it really be that easy? All the pain, all the confusion—it could all fade away. If you just let him in. You were spiraling now, your mind reeling with the possibilities, with the allure of it. You had suffered for too long, and he made it sound so simple, so easy. You knew better. You had to.

But the temptation… God, the temptation was overwhelming.

“No.” The word felt foreign in your mouth, a last defiant breath in the face of everything he was offering. “I won’t let you control me. I won’t be like you.”

For the briefest moment, Loki’s expression flickered—like the mask of compassion he’d so carefully crafted slipped just slightly. His eyes hardened, the warmth vanishing, replaced by cold fury. The air seemed to drop ten degrees.

“You refuse?” he asked, his voice a dangerous whisper, low and menacing.

You didn’t answer, but your heart raced, the uncaged power churning beneath your skin like an unrelenting tide. Loki’s eyes narrowed, the corners of his lips curling into something between a smile and a snarl.

“Very well,” he murmured, his fingers curling into a fist. “But you don’t get to make the rules.”

Before you could react, his hand darted out like a serpent, seizing your face in a bruising grip. He leaned in, his blue eyes searing into your very soul, their intensity whispering the horrors of your darkest, most twisted nightmares into your mind, each image more agonizing than the last.

“I gave you a choice. You should have taken it.”

A burst of pain suddenly slammed into your head, a vicious wave that made you cry out, your body jerking against the chains. It was only then that you realized, far too late, that his scepter was pointed directly at your heart, the cool tip barely a breath away from your skin. The last remnants of your resistance faltered as the power of the scepter sank deeper into your being, the force of his control sinking like iron chains.

It felt like a glacial wave crashed into your mind and seeped into your thoughts. Loki’s voice was nothing but a muffled sound now, cutting through the haze in a calm and satisfied tone. “Feel that?” His eyes gleamed with sadistic delight. “That’s the power you have. The power you could have had all along. You’re mine now.”

Your thoughts were spinning, the room closing in around you. The Tesseract’s energy was flaring inside you, the raw power scrambling for control, and you could feel Loki’s influence seeping in, overtaking your thoughts, wrapping around your mind like a vice.

“No…” you gasped, weakly, trying to shake him off, but the words were swallowed by the overwhelming pressure.

“Yes,” Loki purred. “You belong to me now, and you will thank me one day. When you realize that everything I’ve done, everything I’ve shown you, was for your own good.”

With a cruel laugh, he twisted his grip, and a flood of darkness poured into you, overwhelming your mind with every painful, searing detail of his power. He controlled you—body, soul, and everything in between.

The world went black.

⠀⠀

The noise of reinforcement units coming in for repairs filled the background, the steady hum of machinery punctuated by the occasional clang and whirr of tools at work. Outside the small, utilitarian debriefing room, the distant sounds of jets being repaired and refueled echoed through the corridors—a constant reminder of how close they had come to the edge. The Quinjets, once sleek symbols of precision and strength, were now battered and broken, their forms twisted by the brutal assault in the skies above. The jet bay, a hub of efficiency just hours ago, now stood as a grim testament to how quickly things could fall apart.

The room itself, stark and functional, lacked windows—its white walls offering no reprieve from the sterile atmosphere that weighed heavily on those gathered inside. A massive holographic display at the center of the room flickered with damage reports and strategic movements, casting an eerie glow across the faces of the Avengers as they processed the chaos they had just endured. The room buzzed with a quiet sense of urgency, the kind that comes when everything hangs by a thread, when the adrenaline of the mission has subsided but the aftermath still lingers in the air like a faint echo of destruction.

Natasha Romanoff paced at the front, her every step deliberate and measured, her hands clasped behind her back in a posture that suggested both authority and restraint. Her expression was unreadable, a carefully crafted mask that hid the storm beneath. Steve Rogers leaned over the table, his eyes scanning the data with practiced precision, his brow furrowed as he took stock of the damage—not just to the equipment, but to their mission, and to themselves. Tony Stark, ever the restless soul, paced nearby, his arms crossed over his chest, his face a study in concern and frustration. Bruce Banner, though seemingly calm on the surface, shifted uneasily, his eyes darting between the reports and the quiet hum of the room. His mind was still reeling from his recent transformation into the ‘Other Guy,’ and the weight of his own unpredictability hung over him.

"So, what’s the damage?" Bruce’s voice cut through the tension, his words soft but tinged with a quiet apprehension. "I’m guessing we’re not going anywhere anytime soon with the jets looking like they do."

"Repairs are underway," Natasha replied, her voice as clipped as ever, though there was a flicker of exhaustion in her tone. "We’ll be fine for a short-term flight, but it’ll take some time before we’re combat-ready."

Clint Barton, standing near the glass overlooking the hangar, gave a tired shrug, his face etched with the weariness of battle. His hand brushed across his brow, wiping away the sweat that had accumulated there, and he nodded toward the Quinjets in the distance. "Well, if you’re asking if we can leave anytime soon, I’d say no. We’re grounded for now. That one over there..." He gestured toward the wreckage of the Quinjet, its tail section reduced to a mangled heap of metal and fire. "It’s a total loss. We’re looking at days of repairs."

Tony shot a glare at the nearby repair bay through the glass, his mind already working at full speed as he assessed the damage. His eyes traced the outline of the battered Quinjets, the destruction evident in every twisted part. But as much as the sight of the wreckage stirred a sense of frustration, it wasn’t what had his blood boiling.

"Great," he muttered, his voice thick with resentment. "We’re grounded for the time being, and half the damn world’s going to burn because I’m stuck here playing babysitter. Meanwhile, Fury’s getting more irritable by the second."

"Fury’s always irritable," Clint quipped, though his tone lacked the usual bite, his words more a fact than a joke.

Steve’s eyes narrowed as he stood, hands resting on the table, his jaw clenched. "That’s not what’s bothering him, though. We’ve all seen how he’s been. This isn’t just about the mission—it’s personal for him. He feels guilty about her."

"Who, the agent?" Natasha asked, her voice sharp with curiosity. "Why would he feel guilty about her?"

"Because he let her go," Steve answered, shaking his head slowly. "He’s the one who pushed her into the field. He’s the one who didn’t anticipate Loki going after her like this. Fury’s the one who’s responsible for her being on the front lines. And Phil..." His voice trailed off, the mention of Phil Coulson’s name cutting through the room like a cold gust of wind. The weight of his death hung in the air, a shadow that none of them could escape.

Clint’s face hardened, his gaze flickering to Natasha before he broke the silence. "Loki’s got her, right?" His voice was low, raw with the weight of his own regret. "I remember him asking me about her, pressuring me for information. Something about turning her into his prize warrior. I didn’t realize how far he’d already gone." His words lingered in the air, filled with the sting of failure.

Natasha’s eyes darkened, a sharp edge creeping into her voice. "Whatever Loki’s done to her, it’s more than we’ve seen. It’s safe to assume he’s fully gained control of her now."

Tony’s mind raced, his thoughts tangled with the anxiety gnawing at his insides. "And what happens if he unleashes her powers? I’ve seen what she’s capable of—teleportation, molecular distortion. She could level an entire city if she’s pushed far enough." The grim reality of what they were up against settled in the pit of his stomach.

There was a moment of silence, the weight of Tony’s words hanging heavily in the room as they all considered the consequences. Bruce was the first to speak, his voice low but resolute. "We can’t let that happen. We have to intercept her before Loki does more damage. Before... she does more damage."

The room fell into a heavy silence again, each person lost in their own thoughts. The stakes were higher than they had ever been before, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead weighed on them all.

Finally, Tony broke the silence, his voice tinged with bitterness. "So, where are we going?"

Steve’s gaze met his, determination flickering behind his blue eyes. "We’re going to your tower."

Clint raised an eyebrow, confusion briefly flashing across his face. "The Stark Tower? Why there?"

"Because it’s the perfect place for Loki," Steve replied with certainty. "The guy thrives on theatrics, on flair. Stark Tower has the kind of symbolism he’d love. It’s big, bold—exactly the kind of place he’d make his base."

Tony’s eyes widened slightly as realization set in. "You’re thinking what I’m thinking?"

"If she’s there, we’ll have the best chance of getting her back," Steve continued, his voice steady with purpose. "And if Loki’s there, it’s the place where we’ll have the best shot of stopping him."

Tony sighed, rubbing his temples as the weight of it all bore down on him. "Alright, but we need to hurry. The longer we wait, the more dangerous this becomes. And with her powers, we don’t know how much time we have before..." His words trailed off, unspoken fears hanging in the air.

"Before she becomes a weapon we can’t stop," Natasha finished for him, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. Her resolve was unwavering, her eyes sharp with determination.

Tony tapped a few commands into his wrist console, and a hologram flickered to life. "I’m sending the signal to Thor. If anyone’s going to be able to face Loki head-on, it’s him. We need to have him on standby in New York, ready to come to our aid if this goes sideways."

Steve nodded. "We have to be ready for anything. Loki won’t make this easy, and he’s always got a trick up his sleeve."

Clint nodded grimly, his jaw tight as he looked toward the hangar, his mind already on the mission ahead. "Yeah, well, it’s not like we’re giving him a choice. We’ll be there, we’ll find her, and we’ll stop this before it gets any worse."

Nick Fury stood outside the briefing room, pacing with impatience, his mind a blur of conflicting thoughts. The guilt that had been building in his chest for days threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was somehow his fault—that by putting you on the front lines, by sending you into this mission, he had given Loki the perfect opening to manipulate you. He had created the perfect weapon for him.

“Damn it,” Fury muttered under his breath, his words sharp and biting. “I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve known what would happen. I’m the one who signed off on this. I’m the one who put her in harm’s way.” The thought of you, of your powers, your vulnerability—haunted him. But it wasn’t just you that gnawed at him.

Phil. The name seared through him like a burning coal. His jaw clenched, and the memory of Phil Coulson’s lifeless form flashed before his eyes, a haunting reminder of another failure, another loss. The weight of it all pressed down on him, and he couldn’t escape it.

The Avengers emerged from the briefing room, their faces set in grim determination, but Fury remained frozen, consumed by the suffocating weight of his guilt. His hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his eyepatch, the sting of failure cutting deep. If it wasn’t already too late, they were going to have to fight harder than ever before.

And God knows how you were faring up.

⠀⠀

The fourth time you came back to your senses, a strange sensation overtook you, an out-of-body experience that felt almost too literal. For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to stretch away, like you were hovering above it, distanced from your own existence. You watched as events unfolded, disembodied and detached, your mind observing from an unfamiliar perspective. The space around you was no stranger—it was cold, metallic, the steady hum of energy vibrating in the air. Yet it felt as though you weren’t fully tethered to reality, as if something in you was pulled just out of reach of the present.

Loki’s influence lingered, like a shadow veiling your thoughts, a faint pressure that continued to tighten around your consciousness. But it was different this time, less suffocating, as though you could almost stretch your fingers and reclaim your mind, resetting it, pushing the fog of his control aside. It wasn’t complete freedom, but it was a crack—a hint that you could break through.

It had been a few days since the takeover. The sensation of being mind-controlled was nothing like you had imagined. It wasn’t some visible force pressing down on you, suffocating you with weight. It was far more insidious—a creeping intrusion that slid under your skin and flowed through your veins, weaving its way into the very fabric of your mind. It was a whisper at first, a soft murmur against your will, growing louder, more forceful until it became a wave that swallowed your thoughts whole, drowning you in its depth. The overwhelming sensation was like drowning in your own mind, fighting for air that was constantly out of reach.

Each flicker of resistance you managed to summon was met with a violent recoil, an electric shock that surged through your brain, disorienting you. Your vision swam, fractured between moments, reality blurring and snapping back in quick, disorienting flashes. You tried to hold onto yourself, to anchor your sense of identity, but each struggle only seemed to tighten Loki’s grip. There were no chains, no physical restraints—just a far more personal, insidious force that felt like an extension of him, an inescapable presence that filled your mind, shaping you, controlling you.

And Loki… He was everywhere, his influence like a suffocating cloak, draped over your every thought. His power radiated around you, inside you, as if it had seeped into your very bones. His presence was relentless, constantly guiding, twisting, and reshaping you in his image. He wasn’t simply a teacher, not in any traditional sense. He wasn’t trying to help you understand your power. No, he was breaking you down—remaking you in the process.

Training under him was nothing short of grueling. Each session felt like an endurance test, an ordeal that pushed you to the edge of your capabilities. Every command he issued, every flick of his wrist was an exercise in both frustration and fear. You were nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game, subjected to his whims as he tested your limits in mock battles, moving with predatory grace, sizing you up. This was no place for nurturing or protection. He wasn’t here to teach you; he was here to force you to become something more—something stronger, something more deadly. Every sparring match felt like a war of attrition, each blow a reminder of your own fragility, each movement an attempt to break you down, mold you into something that would serve his whims.

But then, in moments that made no sense, he’d pause. His usually cold, calculating demeanor would crack for just a fleeting moment, revealing something tender and nearly unrecognizable. There were times when he would brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering a moment too long, as though he could feel the weight of your exhaustion, your pain. He would offer you a drink of water, his eyes scanning your face, searching for signs of weakness, yet almost as if he cared. His voice would lower, just slightly, when he spoke to you, as though offering words of encouragement, though veiled with the same cutting edge of superiority that tainted everything else he said.

In those brief, inexplicable moments, you found yourself warming up to him in a sickening way. It twisted in your gut, a dangerous familiarity that began to seep into your thoughts. When he offered small, rare gestures of clemency, like letting you rest or even acknowledging your progress, you couldn’t help but feel something shift within you—a fragile connection that you knew should never be there, that you hated for being there.

You hated that you somehow felt a semblance of comfort in his proximity, even in those rare, fleeting instances when he allowed you to see a hint of his true self, when he was almost... kind. But that kindness was always tainted with a darkness you couldn’t ignore, a reminder that beneath the surface, he was the same ruthless god who controlled you, who tested you, who owned you.

It was dangerous. It was the most dangerous thing you’d ever felt. But you couldn’t stop it.

You would never admit it, not even to yourself. But deep down, the quiet warmth he showed—however brief—had you questioning if there was a part of him that truly saw you, beyond the pawn. And in that sickening realization, you knew that this power he wielded over you wasn’t just physical; it was psychological, emotional. And you suspected this exact power wasn’t even his to begin, more like he was a slave to it. The lines between torment and care blurred in ways that left you confused, torn between your desire for freedom and the strange, almost intimate connection that had begun to grow, against your will, in the shadows of his manipulation.

The first time you phased through the air, an accident in the chaos of the training, Loki’s smirk was immediate. “That’s it,” he languildly praised, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re beginning to grasp it. But you’ll need to master it fully. Let me push you further.”

Before you could process his words, he was upon you, commanding you to fight. There was no hesitation, no room for doubt in his voice—it was an order, and your body obeyed without thought. Your movements were fluid, unnatural, like a puppet whose strings were pulled by forces beyond your control. Weightlessness flooded your mind, and before you could fully understand it, you phased again, reappearing inches from him. The amusement in his eyes was evident, but it was not pride—it was a predator's pleasure.

“You’ll need to be faster,” Loki remarked in an unforgiving tone. “Faster. You’re too slow. I expected more. Show me the depth of your power, or will you disappoint me?”

You had no choice but to obey.

You lashed out, your limbs moving with a speed you could barely comprehend. Power surged through your veins like liquid fire, filling you with both exhilaration and terror. The world around you seemed to blur, the space itself warping as you teleported again, this time behind him. But before you could register your success, he was ready, his body already turning, hands outstretched. In an instant, you found yourself caught in a vortex of his power, the space around you twisting and pulling you into a storm of his will.

“You’ll need to understand this more fully before you even think of using it against me,” Loki said coldly. With a casual flick of his hand, your body froze in mid-air, held by the invisible grip of his power. Every inch of you was locked in place, the pulse of your own abilities stifled by his sheer force.

Inside your mind, you screamed. You fought, clawing at your thoughts, trying to regain control, but Loki’s mind was a labyrinth, and you were lost within it. Each attempt to break free sent shockwaves of pain through your head, the weight of his presence pressing down on your neural pathways until they felt like they might snap under the strain.

“Still resisting?” His eyes gleamed with malicious pleasure as he approached. “This is nothing. Wait until I truly unleash it.”

And that was when you understood. He wasn’t teaching you. He wasn’t trying to help you. He was breaking you.

But there was a flicker—a momentary lapse, a crack in the control. And in that instant, you phased again. It was instinct now, not power, that guided you. You broke free of his hold, stepping back, your mind screaming in defiance. You didn’t know how you did it, but in that one brief, desperate moment, you reclaimed a piece of yourself.

Loki’s smile faltered. His eyes narrowed, irritation flaring in his gaze. “You think your little tricks can free you from my control?” he spat. “You are mine—body and soul. You’ll bend to my will. You’ll master your powers—not because you want to, but because I will make you.”

His biting words struck deep, but there was something else in his eyes. Something more than just control. A flicker of something deeper—something he was desperately trying to hide. You didn’t have the strength to confront it, not yet. But somewhere, deep in the dark corners of your untouched subconscious, you swore you’d fight. Even if it meant destroying yourself in the process.

Loki came at you again, faster this time, his movements precise, fluid, each strike a test of your endurance, each attack a deeper push into your limits. But with every blow, you saw more. More of the man beneath all of the godliness. More of what made him tick. What made him… human, for the lack of a better term.

For the first time since your powers had awakened, you weren’t completely afraid. You were scared, yes. Terrified, even. But you were also intrigued. You needed to understand him. You had to. It wasn’t just about breaking free anymore. It was about finding what layed beneath the surface. What drove him to wield such raw, unrelenting power.

And maybe, just maybe, you could use it against him.

As the god pushed you further, you began to realize just how far you’d come. The simple act of teleporting had become a foundation—a means to control space itself. You had only begun to understand your abilities, but now, under Loki’s relentless training, you were beginning to unravel the layers of power that the Tesseract had gifted you.

“Focus,” his voice sliced through the fog in your mind. It was sharp, commanding, precise. “Control it. Master every aspect. Your power is disorganized, but it can be more. It can be your weapon, your shield. Learn to wield it.”

With a flick of his hand, he sent a burst of energy hurtling toward you. Instinctively, you phased through it, the familiar sensation of weightlessness taking over as you reappeared a few feet away.

“Good,” Loki murmured. But there was no approval in his voice. Only calculation. “But you’re still holding back.”

You glared at him, frustration building in your chest. How could you not hold back? Every time you unleashed that power, it felt like you were teetering on the edge of something far darker, something that could consume you. You didn’t know where it would take you—or what you would destroy in the process.

Loki saw it, of course. The hesitation. The uncertainty in your eyes. He raised a brow, his lips curling into a smirk. “What? You think you can’t handle it? That you’ll lose control?”

“I’m not afraid of losing control,” you shot back, your voice wavering despite your defiance. “I’m afraid of what happens when I don’t.”

The smirk on his face deepened, his eyes calculating, as if he were deciding just how far he could push you. “You have no idea what true power feels like. You’re afraid of its potential. But that fear is what’s holding you back.”

With a casual flick of his hand, he created barriers around you, walls of energy that hummed with his power.

“Break them,” he commanded.

You couldn’t wait to see how far you could push him.

The walls around you shimmered, their surface unnatural, like liquid glass caught in perpetual motion. They weren’t walls in the traditional sense; they were space itself, bending and warping as though it was alive. The air grew heavy, charged with invisible tension. You stared at them, willing yourself to see, to understand.

And then, in a flash of clarity, it hit you.

This wasn’t just about moving from one point to another. This was something far greater. You could feel it now—the infinite potential swirling within you. It wasn’t merely about stepping through the fabric of space; it was about bending it to your will. The molecules around you, so subtle and elusive moments ago, now felt tangible, pliable. You could rearrange them, reshape them. This wasn’t just teleportation. This was the ability to reshape matter itself.

You extended your hand, trembling slightly as you reached toward the shimmering walls. The strain in your head was immediate, but it was an exhilarating kind of pain, like the edge of a storm waiting to break. The air around you rippled in response, and slowly, the walls began to shift. Small rifts, windows into other spaces, opened like jagged wounds in the room’s fabric. You gasped softly, watching as they revealed glimpses of places far from here—a corner of the room, an entirely different plane.

A portal blossomed before you, its edges glowing faintly as it stabilized. The tear in space stretched outward, showing the opposite side of the chamber.

Loki’s eyes widened, the faintest flicker of surprise breaking through his composed mask. He recovered quickly, a slight smirk curling his lips as he took a step forward. “Passable,” he grumbled, though his usual amusement was absent. His voice was sharper now, edged with something colder. “But don’t get cocky.”

His words struck you like a challenge, daring you to push further. You clenched your jaw, determination flaring in your chest. With a mental snap, you pulled the rift closed, the portal dissolving into nothingness. The room settled again, but the air still vibrated with your energy.

You turned your focus inward. The molecules around you felt alive, humming with energy as though waiting for your command. You could almost taste their vibration, their power. Extending your hand again, you exhaled slowly, this time pulling not to open but to still. The energy around you tightened, and with a rush of intent, the space itself froze.

The room went utterly still. Objects suspended mid-motion, their trajectories arrested in a silent tableau. Even your own breath faltered, caught in a moment of frozen time. You stood in the center of it all, holding the room together by sheer force of will. The power surged through you, intoxicating and overwhelming all at once. For a brief, flickering moment, you allowed yourself to bask in it.

Until Loki moved.

Of course, he was never one to let his adversaries savor victory for long. With a flick of his hand, he sent a barrage of objects hurtling toward you, shattering the stillness. You reacted instinctively, the power in you surging again. The air around you obeyed your silent command, freezing the projectiles mid-air before they could strike.

“Not bad,” the raven-haired remarked, though his voice was colder now, a faint hint of disappointment lacing his words. “But you still don’t understand. You’re holding back. You haven’t learned to truly channel it.”

You felt it then—his presence pressing against your mind like an unseen force, urging you forward, demanding more. The pressure built, an oppressive weight you couldn’t ignore.

And so, you gave in.

The next wave of energy he hurled at you didn’t stop. It didn’t freeze. Instead, it absorbed into you, the force coursing through your body like molten metal. Your veins felt alive, filled with raw, chaotic power. The intensity was almost too much, threatening to split you apart, but you held on. And then, without thinking, you redirected it.

A pulse of energy exploded outward, aimed squarely at Loki. The impact sent him staggering back, a rare moment of imbalance breaking his usual grace. His head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable as he stared at you.

“You… redirected it?” he asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with something you couldn’t place.

Panting, you nodded, the strain catching up to you. The energy of the Tesseract pulsed within you, wild and untamed. It had given you the ability to absorb and harness attacks, but the cost was steep. Your body felt like it was burning, every muscle trembling with the effort of holding it together.

“That’s enough,” Loki commanded, his voice devoid of emotion, yet carrying an undeniable finality that echoed through the tense air. Your legs buckled beneath you, your head spun with a nauseating dizziness, and your arms felt as though they were made of lead. The world around you seemed to melt away, the edges of your vision blurring into a cacophony of shifting shadows.

It was then that it happened—the flicker.

For the briefest of moments, you felt yourself again, as if your very essence had returned to you. The sensation of shifting between spaces, phasing in and out, was familiar, grounding. The molecular alteration that had become second nature to you—an innate force deep within your cells—began to reset your mind. It was only a heartbeat, a small second where Loki’s overwhelming grasp on your thoughts loosened, allowing you a sliver of clarity.

The flickers grew more frequent, the moments of clarity more profound. Each time your molecules unraveled and reassembled, your thoughts sharpened, became clearer, more lucid. The oppressive fog that Loki had woven over your mind peeled away, layer by layer, leaving you with sharp clarity—if only for mere instants.

You didn’t understand it. You didn’t know why it worked, but you clung to those fleeting moments as if they were your lifeline. Each time you phased, you felt something inside you shift, like your brain was being reset, free of the chains he had bound you with. And in those moments, as your clarity returned, you found yourself watching him.

Not just observing him as an enemy or a captor, but seeing him—his every movement, the tension in his shoulders, the subtle tremor in his hands. You noticed the cracks that began to form in his facade. His orders, once laced with effortless authority, now carried an undercurrent of something else—frustration, hesitation, or maybe even doubt. His piercing gaze, so sure and unyielding, sometimes lingered on you for a moment too long, as though searching for something he could not name.

In one of your moments of freedom, you couldn’t help yourself.

“Why do you do this?” Your voice, low but steady, cut through the tense silence of the room, hanging in the air like a challenge.

Loki froze, his step faltering as the flickering light of the room cast jagged shadows across his face. He slowly turned to you with an unreadable expression. “Do what exactly?” His voice was dangerously soft, but the hint of something darker lingered beneath the surface.

“This,” you pointedly said, your hand sweeping between the two of you, gesturing vaguely to the invisible war that raged. “The mind games. The controlling. Why do you hide behind this power of yours? What even is your point in all of this?”

A tight, humorless smile curled at the corners of his lips, but his eyes, those eyes that once burned with amusement, darkened with something far less playful. “Careful,” he warned, his voice a venomous whisper. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

But the words were already out of you, spilling faster than you could control. “You act like you’re untouchable, like you’re above all of this, but you’re not. You’re hiding. From what, I don’t know, but I see it. Every time I phase out of your control, I see it. You’re just as trapped as I am, aren’t you?”

The air around you both shifted. It grew heavier, dense with the weight of the unspoken. The silence stretched, thickening with the tension of your accusation. Loki’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. His gaze flickered for the briefest moment—pain, raw and unguarded. It flashed so quickly, you almost wondered if you had imagined it. But it was there, and it was real.

Then it was gone, replaced by cold, seething fury.

“Silence,” he hissed, his voice low,dangerous. “You presume to know me? To understand me? You, a pawn caught in a game far beyond your comprehension?” His power surged around him, crackling with energy as the room seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his presence. The air around him felt as if it were bending under the pressure, each word carrying the weight of a threat you could almost taste.

But before he could act, you phased.

The sensation was like slipping through water, the atoms of your body rearranging with effortless grace as you disappeared and reappeared on the far side of the room. Loki’s gaze whipped toward you, a mix of surprise and fury painting his face.

“You will not defy me,” he snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a whip.

“Oh, but I think I just did,” you shot back, your grin widening as you phased again, this time landing on a ledge above him. “What’s the matter, boss? Losing your touch?”

He whirled toward you, his composure unraveling with every word, every flicker of movement. “You dare mock me?” His voice trembled with barely contained rage.

You phased again, this time directly behind him. “I think I just did that too,” you replied, your voice dripping with insolence.

His hand shot out, crackling with energy, but you were already gone before he could even touch you. Each time you phased, his control weakened, and with it, his mask began to slip.

“Enough of this nonsense!” Loki bellowed, his voice echoing through the chamber as his magic lashed out, sending another pulse of energy to the space you had just vacated.

But you were already gone, phased to the other side of the room. You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up as you taunted him. “Not used to someone slipping through your fingers, yeah?”

He lunged toward you, his hand glowing with power. But once again, you phased out of his reach, reappearing behind him with maddening ease.

It was working. You could see it in the way his movements grew sharper, more erratic. His control, his perfect composure, was beginning to unravel. And for the first time since your capture, you felt like you were in control.

“Stop this!” he roared, his voice cracking on the edges of his fury.

“Why?” you taunted, your tone almost teasing now, every word cutting through the tension like a blade. “Are you afraid of what I might do? Or are you afraid of what this says about you?”

“I am warning you,” he snarled, his voice trembling, the power crackling in the air. “Do not push me further.”

You took a step forward, closing the distance between you with deliberate defiance. “Or what?” you challenged, your voice softer, but no less cutting. “I don’t need to understand you to see the truth. You’re unraveling, Loki. Just like I am. And the more you push me, the more I see it.”

Something snapped in him then. In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance, gripping your arm with bruising force, his presence suffocating, his eyes alight with barely contained fury. You thought, for a fleeting moment, that he might break you—his force pressing down on you like a vice.

But then, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your throat—not tight enough to choke, but enough to remind you of his strength.

“You forget your place,” he growled, his voice a deadly whisper, every word dripping with menace. “I could end you with a thought.”

You gulped at the threat, your heart hammering in your chest, but you refused to look away. Even as his grip tightened, even as his power bore down on you like a mountain, you held your ground.

“Then do it,” you finally said, your voice trembling but resolute. “If you want me silent so badly, then end it. But we both know you won’t. You need me.”

His breath hitched and for a moment, he looked at you like you were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. The tension in his grip faltered, just barely, before he yanked his hand away as though your very touch burned him. His sharp intake of air was the only sound that punctuated the quiet between you, a pause that felt longer than it should.

“You are insufferable,” he spat, though his tone lacked the earlier venom, the conviction of his anger dimmed. “Your defiance will be your undoing.”

An almost weary defiance burned in your chest as you rubbed your neck where his fingers had left their mark, a small, throbbing reminder of his touch. “Maybe,” you said softly, eyes never leaving his. “But it might just be yours too.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line, a mark of something teetering on the edge of unsaid utterances. With deliberate slowness, he took a step forward. His movements were predatory, as though he was testing your resolve. His gaze drilled into yours with such intensity that you could feel it like a physical weight against your skin, an invisible pressure that seemed to hollow out your lungs. He was close now—so close that his breath, warm and almost tangible, mingled with yours. His presence surrounded you, overwhelming, filling every corner of the space.

The adrenaline that had fueled your defiance started to dissipate, leaving a quiet exhaustion in its wake. The fight had drained more from you than you cared to admit. With a sigh, you took a few steps back and sank to the floor, your knees folding under you as you sat cross-legged, your shoulders sagging with the weight of fatigue.

“I’m tired,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair as if the action could somehow soothe the tremors beneath your skin.

Loki stood motionless, his chest rising and falling with the effort of suppressing the raw emotions that were still simmering beneath the surface. His hands hung at his sides, fingers twitching faintly, as if they couldn’t decide whether to lash out at you or reach for something instead. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing every inch of your weary form as though searching for something he couldn’t name, something you didn’t even understand.

“You’re persistent, I’ll grant you that,” he said finally, his voice low, the words sharp, though they carried a hint of curiousness beneath the surface.

You glanced up at him, too drained for anything other than the bitter truth of the moment. “Persistent? Coming from you, that’s almost a compliment,” you retorted, the wryness in your tone at odds with the ache that seemed to consume every inch of your body.

A twitch at the corner of his mouth and a faint softening in his gaze passed quickly over his face. It was gone in an instant, buried beneath his practiced mask of indifference. “Hardly,” he corrected, his tone clipped as he stepped closer. “It’s an observation. You’re like a moth flitting toward the flame, heedless of the danger.”

You leaned back on your palms, tilting your head to meet his gaze, the spark of defiance still stubbornly burning. “And you’re the flame, I suppose? Burning everything you touch because it’s easier than admitting you’re just as fragile as the rest of us.”

His jaw clenched, a brief flicker of something raw flashing across his face—anger, pain, or perhaps both. “You presume too much,” he said, his voice cold, though it lacked the sharpness it had carried earlier.

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Maybe. But you’re not as good at hiding as you think you are. You wear the mask well, Loki, but it slips. And when it does… I can see you.”

His expression quickly hardened, though his lips were still tight with something you couldn’t quite place. “You see only what I allow you to see. Do not mistake my mercy for weakness.”

You raised an eyebrow, your gaze unwavering. “Mercy? Is that what you call this?” You gestured vaguely around the room, your words cutting through the tension. “Because it feels more like a war of wills.”

His figure loomed closer still until his boots nearly brushed your knees. He hovered over you, his shadow swallowing you whole, yet there was something in his posture now that lacked malice. “You speak as though you know me, as though you understand the choices I’ve made,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “But you don’t. You can’t.”

You met his gaze, unfaltering. “You’re right,” you admitted, surprising even yourself. “I don’t know you. Not really. But I see enough to know there’s more to you than this…” you searched for the right word, your voice soft yet firm, “performance.”

A raw and unguarded emotion crossed his face for the briefest of moments before he suppressed it. “I don’t need your pity,” he said, the sharpness of his words dulled, the usual bite missing from his voice. “Or your insights.”

“It’s not pity,” you said quietly. “Curiosity, maybe. Frustration, definitely. You’re not just a villain, Loki. Actually, I don’t think you ever wanted to be one in the first place.”

He scoffed, though it lacked the conviction it usually held. “And what would you know of my wants? Of my purpose?” The bitterness in his tone was sharper now, though his words seemed to betray more of a wound than venom.

You gave him a small, tired smile, the weariness of the moment tempered by a fragile understanding. “Not much. But I know enough to say this: I don’t think you’re as evil as you want people to think you are. And if you weren’t on the wrong side of all this…” You hesitated, then shrugged, a glimmer of misplaced hope in your voice. “I think I could’ve been your friend.”

It was like a chord struck in the dark. Loki stared at you, his expression unreadable, yet his eyes betrayed a whirlwind of emotions—shock, confusion, and… vulnerability. “A friend?” he repeated, the word tasting foreign on his tongue, almost as though it were a language he hadn’t spoken in centuries.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. A friend.”

He was Loki—an outcast, a trickster, recently a monster in his own eyes. Friendship was not for him, not for someone like him. Yet here you were, offering him a concept he had long dismissed as alien. Your words were not a gift—no, not in his mind. They were a lie. A cruel jest. But something about them, about the way you said it, seemed to unsettle him just a little.

His hand twitched at his side, and for a moment, you thought he might reach out—reach for you. But instead, he stayed still, his gaze filled with something he couldn’t quite name. Then, like a crack forming in his ironclad armor, he spoke, his voice low, barely a whisper against the silence between you.

“You are a fool.”

The words stung, yet you didn’t flinch. Instead, you met his gaze, unyielding. “And you’re a liar,” you softly countered. “But you’re not that bad. Or at least, I’d like to think so.”

For the briefest of heartbeats, the world seemed to still around you. The invisible tension pulled you closer even as his walls, so meticulously built, held you apart.

Then, like a thunderclap in the midst of a quiet storm, it happened. A sharp, involuntary twitch in his jaw. His expression faltered, his usual composure slipping away for a moment, leaving him raw, exposed. His body jerked violently, a sharp intake of breath escaping him, and his hand flew to his temple, clutching as though something inside him was unraveling. A guttural sound ripped from his chest.

"What’s wrong?" you instinctively asked, concern lacing your voice despite the turmoil in your own chest.

"Silence," he hissed through clenched teeth, but there was no venom behind the words—only a desperate plea. His gaze snapped to yours, vulnerable and raw for just a fraction of a second. In those fleeting seconds, desperation passed through his eyes, a storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface. The sight of it made your chest tighten, a jagged breath catching in your throat.

"What’s happening?" you pressed, your voice softer now, hesitant, unsure if you were even allowed to breach this moment. "Let me—"

"Quiet!" His voice shattered the fragile silence, a barked command that reverberated with cold authority. His hand fell from his temple, but the movement were jerky and unnatural, as though he were trying to force himself back into the rigid state he had been in for the past few days. His posture straightened, and the ice that had replaced his features now belied the chaos brewing beneath, his eyes betraying him with a tornado of clashing thoughts.

"You should not concern yourself with things you cannot comprehend," he accused, his voice sharper than before, yet it wavered at the edges, a crackling vulnerability buried in the syllables. He took a step back, his movements stiff, as if his body itself were rebelling against the order he demanded.

Before you could respond, he stretched his hand out, a flash of blue energy spiraling from the scepter nestled in his palm as it hummed ominously in the air. "You are far too meddlesome," he declared, his voice cold, detached, though the tremor beneath it betrayed his growing frustration. "I think it’s time we corrected that."

The energy hit you like an avalanche, its cold tendrils sinking deep into your mind before you could even react. It was different this time. Stronger. The force of it suffocating, relentless—consuming. It swallowed every fragment of your thoughts, your will, your very sense of self, leaving no room for resistance.

It was as though he had learned from your earlier defiance, amplifying his grip until there was no escape.

A gasp tore from your throat as the world around you blurred, dissolving into a haze of chilling disorientation. Your vision spiraled, your thoughts scattered in every direction, unable to hold onto anything. Somewhere beneath the overwhelming force of his control, the faintest flicker of your consciousness lingered—but it was distant, buried beneath layers of icy, impenetrable control.

And through the haze, you could still feel him—watching, observing. You could see his hands trembling ever so slightly as he gripped the scepter with an almost desperate force. His face was a mask of unrelenting authority, but his eyes—his eyes held something else entirely. Frustration. Anger. And beneath it all, something undeniably close to regret. For a moment, the scepter’s glow dimmed, as though he hesitated—but it was only for a moment. The unsureness passed and his grip tightened once again, the power surging back to full force, driving you deeper into submission.

"You will not defy me again," he sharply stated, yet unable to conceal the faint tremor beneath them. It was a promise, or perhaps a threat. But as he spoke, a mournful aftertaste lingered, a whisper that could hardly be heard over the pounding of your heart. Loki lowered the scepter slowly, his chest rising and falling as if he had just waged a battle—and won. His gaze lingered on you for a long, silent moment before he spoke again.

"You will remain here," he announced, and the words were not just a command but an ominous finality. "Until I decide what to do with you."

He turned then, almost mechanically—as though his body, too, were beginning to betray him. His footsteps echoed in the room, hollow and final, but just as he reached the door, something halted him. His hand hovered over the frame, the faintest dubiousness in his posture as his eyes found yours again.

In the silence of the room, you stood there, frozen, helpless under his command. Your body obeyed him, no longer your own, while your mind screamed in rebellion, trapped in the suffocating grip of his mind control. Your eyes dulled with the weight of the scepter’s influence, and somewhere deep within, a faint ember of your will still flickered, but it was too weak—too far gone to challenge the force consuming you.

He paused, his lips pressing into a thin line, his expression conflicted. For a heartbeat, something almost tender passed between you, but then it vanished, replaced by the hard, unrelenting figure he had built himself into.

"You shouldn’t have followed me," he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost wistful. "It would have been easier for the both of us."

And with that, he was gone. The door closed behind him with a dull finality, its low thud echoing in the silent room like a death knell that reverberated in your chest. Loki leaned against the cold metal wall outside, his back rigid as though the weight of the universe had settled on his shoulders. The scepter trembled faintly in his grasp, the gemstone atop it glowing softly, a faint pulse of light that seemed to reflect the last remnants of a power that bound you both—cosmically, inevitably—together. It was the final tether between you, a cruel connection that neither of you could escape, no matter how far you tried to run.

The power he had once thought would offer him control was now a cruel mistress, bending his will like a fragile branch in a typhoon. He had sought to vainquish, to conquer, but now he was its prisoner. He could feel the grip of the mind binding tightening, its influence sinking deep into his bones. It promised him everything: power, control, victory. But it demanded something in return. His freedom. His agency. And now, it had even begun to take from him his character.

And you… you were the proof of that.

Loki closed his eyes, his breath uneven, his heart beating like a drum in his chest. A single tear escaped from the corner of his eye, trailing down his face like the last vestige of something long lost. Friend. The word you had spoken earlier echoed in his mind, foreign and unwelcome. He had no use for such things. Glory, domination—those were the only truths he understood. Sentiment, compassion, kindness—these were weaknesses to be eradicated. Yet, there you were. A living contradiction. For a quiet instance, you had defied everything he had ever known, everything he had ever believed.

The god reopened his eyes to glance down at the scepter in his hand. The cold, alien light pulsed with intent, one that he could not decipher but could feel deep in his bones. He hated it. He hated everything it stood for. The whispers it carried, the promises it made, the power it offered—it had taken everything from him. And yet, there was no escaping it. He could not let it go, because the Tesseract, the scepter, wasn’t just power. It was survival. His survival.

He took a step away from the wall, his movements stiff, mechanical, as though he were some puppet on strings. No different from you. No different from anyone who had dared to touch the infinite and had been torn apart in the process. The golden instrument was a testament to his burden, his curse—his salvation and his undoing.

As Loki strode down the corridor, the cool metal floor beneath his boots clicking rhythmically, the tear on his cheek had already dried, leaving behind only the bitter taste of a fading regret. He had made his choice, and there was no turning back. The scepter had ensured that.

In the cold, hollow silence that stretched out before him, he knew one thing with terrifying clarity: the Tesseract had bound you to him in ways that would destroy you both. It had never cared for you, for him. It had only cared for its own purposes—its own designs. And in this brief, agonizing moment, Loki understood the true cruelty of its force. It hadn’t just doomed you. It had made him see you. Truly see you—your fire, your strength, your humanity and made him gravitate towards you. Only to take it all away, piece by piece.

Once again, Loki was alone.

⠀

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ultralightpoe · 7 months ago

Text

The Bride - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: Happy Halloween! I am so excited to kick off the Halloween event with a new take on one of my all time favorite novels, though if we are being practical then the Bride would never actually make it to life. But she must, for she served too much cunt for everyone not to adore her.

Warnings: Being brought back from the dead.

Word Count: 3,621

Requests: OPEN

~2024 Halloween Event Masterlist ~

[Thank you for the gif @evilmatt762 ]

ENJOY!

It’s a loud crack of lightning that wakes the soldier up, the small metal frame creaking as his body moves into an upright position. He had just gotten back from a 3 day mission that required all his energy, so every movement was a bit of a struggle but he couldn’t help it. Every instinct in him roared in preparation for something, the tight feeling locking into his spine as he focused in to listen.

One beat of silence passes, nothing but the small drops from the crack in the corner of the cell ceiling, hitting the stone of the floor with a rhythmed “plop plop plop”. Its easy for his ear to tune it out and narrow closer to the hallway.

Another beat of silence, he can feel the sweat at the base of his neck and the grimy feeling of his hair that he hadn’t washed. He hadn’t noticed how dry his throat was until this moment and does his best to fight off the cough threatening to escape. He couldn’t pinpoint the threat, he sure as hell didn’t want the threat pinpointing him.

Another beat of silence passes and he begins arguing with himself mentally. He might have had a night terror, it wouldn’t be the first, and it might be influencing his reality right now. But was he willing to believe that? There could be a threat and he’d be a fool to trust-

The silence is ruined by another large crack, loud enough to rumble the stone floor beneath him and send him to his feet in a desperate search for a weapon. He feels an odd pulse, the metal arm shifting enough that it’s almost like he can’t control it as a surging sound marks the air. It all stops at once with two beats of silence in between as he realizes that the power had been blown. This sends him into soldier mode, preparing himself for the enemy as the backup generators start up with a whir and all the emergency lights flicker on.

The once dark cell was now lit up with the emergency lights and it took him a moment for his eyes to adjust before he reached for the thigh that he normally kept his weapons on, a wave of disappointment filling him as he remembers that they were taken when he returned. Protocol. Always something to keep him in check.

He didn’t have to wait long for answers though, soon enough the blocked cell door was opened with a devastating whoosh, and he could do nothing but watch as the guards in charge of him entered with snarls already placed on their faces.

The Russian came easy to him as he asked what the matter was, trying to keep his voice as dark and sinister as possible even with it being scratchy, but the guards gave no answer to him and instead stomped forward quickly.

It wasn’t like the soldier thought he couldn’t beat them, in fact he knew he could beat these two within seconds. Dreaming about it quite often on days where they took their liberties with him a bit too far. But the Soldat knew he would never be able to escape the compound alive. And even if it would give him such great satisfaction to kill the two who currently dig their nails into him, it would only make for further punishment.

A good soldier is a civil soldier.

He had been stitched together too many times to actively search out punishment. He died and was brought back and given an arm that wasn’t his own but no proper name. He went on missions and came back for his skin to be stitched up and his bones to be reset. He was a Soldat made and unmade every single day, his mind in scrambles and his body a stranger. He was a stranger.

So he doesn’t fight back, for if he loses this fight that means he won’t lose more later on. A simple trade.

He lets them drag him through the halls, mentally trying to prepare himself for the chair that we was used to,only they pass the room it’s kept in, instead leading him down the hall three doors down. A wave of panic crosses him as he tries to think of all the things that could be behind the door fill his mind.

A bride was not one of those ideas.

The second the door opens she’s the first thing his eyes land on, his body tightening for a fight as the guards shove him in. He half expects them to come in with him, but when he drags his eyes to find them he sees that they both remained firmly outside the doors with wide eyes and green faces. But it’s the slight pity in the second man’s face that unnerves the Soldat the most as the doors shut, trapping him in.

There is no choice but to look back to the bride strapped to the metal table in the center of the room, not that it was a struggle to do so. There were so many details to take in all at once.

Her feet were dark, and there were scrapes along them as well as stitches along her ankle, the dress that had once been long now sat at different lengths. The left side still had the long train whereas the right side had been torn enough that he got a good sight of the stitches making their way up her leg until the dress covered her hips. There were red stains on the fabric and her arms were strapped down tight enough that they were pressing into her skin.

He fights off the urge to reach forward and rip them off once he sees just how tight her fists are rolled up, and the claw marks and stitched up her arms. The most jarring of her stitches lands on her chest where the wedding dress had swooped low. An autopsy scar.

“Behold.” An odd voice speaks out from the corner of the room, and the Soldat turns to see one of Hydras newest scientists walking closer. “My test.”

The air between them becomes stale as the man stops at the corner of the table, not bothering to look at the body laying there, but instead waiting for Soldats response. But then he realizes that the Soldat won’t respond and huffs with a look of anger.

“I make you a gift, and this is how you repay me?”

Once again the Soldat doesn’t waste his voice, but rather tilts his head to the side ever so slightly for the man to continue.

“I was given the gift of research, in order that I reward my benefactors toy with his very own….. toy.”

Realization slowly begins to creep in as he watches the scientist circle the table now, the finger tracing up the bodies scarred leg. “I can see the questions building. What would the Soldat want with a dead body? Right?”

He flips a couple switches, shaking his head as the Soldat steps back the second the machines whir to life. “But don’t worry. I won’t be giving you a body.”

They charge, and the Soldat steps back some more as the one hung right above the body lights up.

“You’ll get a BRIDE!” The scientist yells out like a mad man, surging the machine with a crazed look. The room lights up with all the power as the rest of the building loses it, then at the speed of light it all goes dark and there is a loud crack of electricity.

It smells like fire, and metal, and rotting flesh. The Soldat is desperate for an escape as he wrenches at the handle before the lights begin flickering.

And once they settle and stay on, though half working, he sees the body sit up.

Wide eyes, face drawn into pure pain as he tries the handle again. Then, to no one's surprise, the bride lets out a horrified scream.

The Bride, as the Soldat had called her since he first heard it, quickly became a pain in his ass.

He had been given no clear directive of what to do with her, and no reason as to why she had been brought back. Instead they forced them into the same cell and left them.

At first he couldn’t bear to look in her direction, to see there wretched stitches that sat swollen and uneven on her skin, but at the same time he couldn’t look away at the sheer beauty of her. Even dragged back from the dead he had to admit that his heart beat a little faster at every look he managed, stitches and all.

He also quickly realized that she was confused, and scared. But there was no way for them to communicate since she obviously didn't understand a word of Russian and she didn’t speak at all. The only communication was through sounds she made and he had yet to make sense of them.

It had been two weeks, and after they had moved in a small cell bed for her on the other side of the room it had been a little easier. He left her to her side and she watched him like he was a zoo animal.

In this moment she was watching him again, curled up on her own cot as he laid out on his tapping his metal hand against the stone of the wall in a sad attempt to remember a song that sat just at the front of his mind. It had been stuck crossing through his every thought and yet he couldn’t quite get it. So close. Yet so far.

She laid in her curled up form, unblinking as he did so, and he was a little self conscious that her grunts were just laughing at his obvious frustration. But he couldn’t tell, and everytime he looked over the Bride had taken to blinking at him. Nothing but curiosity and fear filled her gaze, and it always made him sick to his stomach until he managed to look away.

They did this routine over and over until the sound of guard change got his attention. Without thinking about it the Soldat stood and took three gentle steps to the door to get ready for anything, just like he did every day. The only difference is today the Bride stood up, so quickly he felt himself get ready for an oncoming attack, only to find her trying to mimic his steps to make it to the door herself.

Her movements are choppy and before she falls he barely manages to snatch her arm and try to keep her upright without intruding on her space. It doesn’t work well because her legs give out and she lands on the floor with a slap and a yell of fear.

“Easy.” He scolds in Russian, doing his best to ease her as she slaps his hand away and throws herself further on the ground. He watches in amazement as she staggers up like a doe learning to walk and reaches to slap her hand against him again until she hits the metal and a yelp of pain falls past her lips before a yell of anger.

“Easy.” He repeats once more and this time her wide eyes focus on him and he sees her mouth the words. “Easy.”

She mouths it again, and he finally recognizes it. She is watching to learn. It’s amazement and fear that she is working on. He waits for her to finally say it but the sound never leaves her lips and a slight wave of disappointment fills him.

“We’ll work on it.” He amends, the russian falling from his tongue smoothly. And even though he is sure she didn’t understand it, he sees her ease a little herself.

“The test subject is working well, acclimating well I should say. What a wonderful idea it had been to attach her to the Soldat.” The scientist mumbles, staring at the Bride as if she were a museum exhibit, poking and prodding at her without a care in the world. It made the Soldat nervous, and a little angry, watching the scientist slap her knee carelessly.

He stood to attention, spine tight as his fists clenched, but no one else in the room seemed to bat an eye.

“Though I hadn’t understood why you pushed so much for it in the beginning I can now see the appeal.” The Soldat wondered if the scientist even understood what he was saying or if he just liked hearing himself talk. “Two monsters, acclimating one another. Why, Mary Shelley couldn’t master it if she tried.”

“I’m glad you think so, Dr. Frank.” Pierce smirks, casting a quick look to the Soldat that told him Pierce hated the man just as much as he did. But he didn’t have time to look at Pierce long enough to try and map out the scheme his owner was setting, he had to watch over the Bride and keep Dr. Frank in check.

Over the past couple of weeks they had practiced walking, and she was finally getting the hang of it. But the talking was a mute point, no matter how hard he tried she couldn’t say a word. In fact the more he tried teaching her the less she grunted and yelled in general. She communicated through hand movements.

One of them he knew well, whenever she tapped her side three times it meant she wanted him near and in this moment he sees her hand reach over to her other side to tap aggressively three times. Within moments he is moving over, a small wave of satisfaction filling him when the scientist backs away quickly.

The Bride moves to grab at his arms, before the scientist tries to interfere. The Soldat has none of it though, pushing his arms away and helping the Bride off the table quickly. Pierce lets out a hum of approval.

It’s then that the Soldat realizes the plan. Pierce wanted what Frank had, and he was using the Soldat to get it.

“What’s the connection between them again?” Pierce asks, stepping closer as the Bride escapes his hold and moves to explore the lab.

“They… they met back in- DON’T YOU DARE!” But it was too late for the doctors warning for the Bride already had the lever he hadn’t even seen her grab pulled down until water rushed in from a tank.

The Bride looks to him with a look of excitement before reaching for the liquid, he stops her and drags her away from it, too fearful that the water had something in it.

Away from the lab and away from the cell was one of his favorite places to be, the shower room. Days where he got to properly wash his arm and sink into the water.

But it was more enjoyable now that he got to see The Bride's excitement at the water. Just like she had in the lab her hand immediately reached for the water not running from the shower head, a silent yell slipping past her lips as she pulls it back quickly.

He’s quick to step behind her before she could make her escape, rubbing her shoulder in comfort as she shakes her head.

“Trust me.” He mumbles, reaching past her to stick his flesh hand in the water so it can wash it. She watches for a moment before her fingers slide ever so gently from his shoulder down to his hand, and though the shower room was steaming he felt like every move her flesh made against his own was scarred there frozen. He wanted to remember that touch for the rest of his life, especially when her forefinger traces over the top of his hand until she flips it to trace along his palm.

The warm water bounces off both hands as she traces, and soon enough she turned slowly to face him and kept her hand in his. But when she looks at him there is something different there.

It’s not just the Bride, but suddenly he sees you.

Four months, 6 days and 12 hours.

That’s how long it had taken the Soldat to see you, behind the stitches and the dress that had now thankfully been removed.

He saw the woman you had once been, and could imagine it well. The tint your cheeks would have gotten when you blushed, now something that would never happen since the blood in your body wouldn’t rush. He could see the way you would style your hair, the way it would move when you danced and the many styles you would have it in. But one thing that was altered in his mind was that he couldn’t see you without the stark white streak, something he reached for to play with between his flesh fingers quite often.

He could see the happiness in the way you moved, a graceful way about you. But he loved the awkward way you moved now.

“Do you remember where you were before you got here?” He asks, leaning against the wall the day he got back from his most recent mission, watching you from where you sat. Since he returned you had made sure to keep a hold of him, and right now that was his ankle.

You tilt your head at his question before shaking your head no and patting his ankle as if to ask “You?”

“No. But I’m sure I was somebody.” He whispers, leaning forward a little. “And I am sure you were too.”

You lift your hand, showing the stitches of your ring finger to him and he huffs out a laugh at what you are saying. “Yeah. But you were more than a bride too.”

Then you shock him by using your forefinger to touch his own ring finger on his metal arm. A silent question he didn’t have an answer to. “I don’t know if I was married.”

But, not that he would confess it out loud, he knew that if there was a chance he had been married it would have been to you. No doubt about it.

“Just like Frank said, monsters made for eachother.”

A small huff is his only answer, and he finds it just as endearing as anything else.

- - -

“I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I can not satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.” The Soldat whispers, rubbing the pad of his thumb along the scar of your ring finger, bringing it up to kiss softly before continuing to quote Frankenstein. “How sweet is the affection of others to such a wretch as I am.”

A smile breaks across your lips as you rub along the new scratch made in the metal of his ring finger before tapping your lips twice to signify that you would repeat what he had said.

It wasn’t common, he knew, to be married by yourself in the dark cell of a compound he was sure he didn’t belong in. But it felt right.

And when he kissed your lips he let himself melt into the pure love behind it, and he could hear the soft melody of a song he once knew start in his head. So he hummed it for you, laying in the small cot together.

- - -

Extra expert

You couldn’t keep up.

You had the fear of being late to your own damn wedding and you still could not keep up with the pace your mother was setting.

“Movin a wedding.” She mumbled to herself. “I have never heard of such a thing in my damn life.”

“They had the Stark convention, Ma,” You explain, completely out of breath as she drags you even faster, your heel snagging in the ground. You are just about ready to meet your fate when another shoulder collides with yours and you are driven back from falling forward, your eyes landing on the most gorgeous pair of ocean colored eyes you had ever seen.

“You alright there Darlin?” He asks, his touch burning you through your dress as you could only blink at him.

“Bucky, come on we gotta go.” The blonde behind him laughs as the diner begins playing music through their juke box.

“I’m confessin’ that I love you..” You blurt, your cheeks heating up as his head tilts.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m confessin’ that I love you. The song. It’s a good song.” You rush to amend your mistake, shaking your head wildly. “My favorite.”

“It’s a good one.”

“Buck come on! Don’t try to steal someone elses bride.” The blonde laughs again and the man in front of you, Bucky, rolls his eyes before letting you go.

“You best be careful.” He warns. “It’d be a mighty shame if something happened to you before you ruined your life.”

And though you knew he meant it as a joke your heart practically dropped, the fear you had been feeling for months catching up to you as he begins to walk away.

“Oh! Your name?”

“Mine?”

“No the other bride I just saved from death.”

You mumble your name, and he silently repeats it to himself before walking away and leaving you to be dragged once more by your mother. To a fate you weren’t quite ready for.

Little did you know that running for it would end up with you being caught and killed by scientist, frozen for years before you would be brought back the night of a thunderstorm.

[Thank you for the gif @bill-weasley ]

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel angst #marvel fluff #marvel smut #marvel fanfiction #halloween #halloween2024

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mrpenguinpants · 2 months ago

Text

City of the Dead [ Commissioned ]

— A new planet has brought not only the Express crew, but also the IPC to an unknown land. Although… why does everything feel so familiar?

Word Count: 7.1k

Warning: Mild Gore and slight spoilers for the Penacony quest

— Aventurine, Topaz, Caelus, Dan Heng + March 7th

Request: [ A platonic exploration fic set on an Earth-like planet, now overrun by alien plant life and the long-lost homeworld of a male reader. ] Reader is based on an OC, so there are a few extra details/lore, but no OC names or physical details are mentioned. This is still a reader fic. [Masterlist]

Thank you for commissioning me and trusting me with your OC again! Since this fic had a big overarching story line, I hope I did justice to the lore you built. It's always lovely to hear your ideas, and I hope you like it!

You adjusted your coat, standing amidst the ruins of a city long claimed by nature’s relentless advance. The skyline, once a towering symbol of progress, had crumbled into a graveyard of steel and stone—skyscrapers half-sunken, their shattered facades strangled by creeping vines. Jagged fractures split the roads where gnarled roots had forced their way through the pavement, twisting the streets into uneven, alien terrain. A sickly green hue bathed the landscape, casting restless shadows against skeletal buildings. Some still stood, leaning at precarious angles, their frames groaning beneath decay. Others had collapsed, buried beneath the suffocating grip of massive, unearthly tendrils. Between the cracks in the pavement, grotesque flowers unfurled—translucent petals curling as if gasping for breath, pulsing faintly with bioluminescent glow in eerie rhythm with the unseen force that had overtaken this world. The air was thick and humid, cloying with the scent of damp earth and rot, each breath laced with something metallic, almost unnatural. Above, the sky stretched like stagnant water, a murky green that blurred the horizon. The ground beneath your feet was unsteady—fractured asphalt overtaken by roots as thick as pillars, weaving through like the grasping fingers of a long-dead giant. What little remained of civilization was suffocating beneath an endless tide of overgrowth. Moss devoured street signs and windows, erasing the past beneath a blanket of green. Vines slithered through shattered vehicles and crumbling doorways, creeping ever forward as if the city itself was being slowly digested. You buried your hands deeper into your pockets, your gaze distant yet wary. This wasn’t just a city lost to time. It was something else—something still alive.

The Astral Express had been gliding smoothly along its tracks when an unexpected burst of spores wove into its wheels, clogging the intricate mechanisms with a thick, fibrous substance. Within moments, the train lurched violently, metal screeching in protest as control slipped from its grasp. The crew barely had time to react before gravity took hold, pulling them into an uncontrolled descent toward the surface of an overgrown, green planet. Through the windows, all they could see was an endless sprawl of twisting vines and towering canopies—a world swallowed whole by nature’s relentless grip. It was only through a combination of Welt's black hole manipulation and sheer luck that the Express sustained only a single damaged engine. Not a catastrophe, but given the dangers of this unknown planet, it was a risk they couldn't ignore. The crew had barely touched down before splitting into their respective groups—Sunday, Himeko, and Welt veered right, where the stench of rot hung thick in the air, while you, Dan Heng, Caelus, and March took the path of iron and concrete, the remnants of a city buried beneath creeping vegetation.

The planet was strange—incredibly strange—and everyone wanted off as soon as possible.

“So… this is... Earth? Is that what Mr. Yang called it?” March muttered, scanning the area with a frown. Her voice, usually upbeat, sounded subdued, the weight of the planet’s corruption settling heavily around you all. Even masks of beauty looked wrong on this world. Flowers bloomed in places they shouldn’t—on the sides of buildings, in the hollowed-out skulls of old statues, from cracks in the pavement where no light should have reached. But they weren’t normal flowers. Their petals were too thick, too waxy, their colors unnaturally vibrant, almost glowing. Some twisted toward the group as they walked, their centers yawning open like mouths.

Caelus reached out to touch one. Dan Heng stopped him with a look.

The further you all walked, the worse it became. The city had been swallowed, but not in the way of an abandoned ruin overtaken by nature. There was something deliberate about the way the plants had grown—like they weren’t reclaiming the world, but replacing it. Buildings had collapsed beneath the weight of writhing branches, their insides gutted by roots that had burrowed deep, sprouting out of windows like grotesque, reaching limbs.

And the trees.

Massive, towering things, their trunks so thick they seemed like natural pillars holding up the sky. Their bark was not wood, but something tougher, something that gleamed faintly even under the dim light. Leaves stretched out like blades, some drooping low enough to drag against the broken streets. Some trees bore fruit, swollen and bulbous, their surfaces shifting slightly—like something inside was pressing against the skin, trying to escape.

“Ugh, I don’t even want to know what that was,” March wrinkled her nose as she stepped over something unidentifiable—goopy, slimy, and reeking of damp earth. It clung to her boot for a moment before slopping back onto the ground with a wet squelch. Definitely not something she wanted anywhere near her shoes.

Dan Heng’s eyes flicked across the crumbling landscape, his hand hovering near his weapon. The faint rustle of distant vines and the occasional groan of shifting buildings were the only sounds cutting through the silence, "Let’s... watch where we step and keep moving. We don’t know what’s waiting for us.”

“Well, if anything does try to attack, I’ll have my arrows ready! Wild man-eating plants might not be scared of fire, but ice is just as nice!” March, ever the optimist, shot him a grin, even going so far as to snap her fingers into finger guns at her silly rhyme.

"I’m sure that’ll work… until it doesn’t. Then is that when we'll see your secret strength? Should we stab you too?" You shot her a sidelong glance, your expression half-lidded yet amused, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

"You could at least pretend to have a little faith in me! And don't you dare point anything dangerous at me or I'll tell Himeko and Mr. Yang when we get back!" She puffed out her cheeks, clearly unimpressed, but the spark of determination in her eyes remained unwavering. A faint breeze rustled through the overgrown world around you, carrying the distant creak of shifting metal and the low hum of unseen creatures stirring in the undergrowth.

The playful banter settled over the group like a fragile shield, offering a sliver of warmth against the oppressive weight. As you all made your way toward the heart of the city, the ground beneath you cracked with every step, brittle and unstable beneath layers of creeping decay. The once-bustling streets were now eerily vacant, long abandoned by whatever civilization once thrived here. Shimmering pools of dark, stagnant water collected in the fractures of the asphalt, their surfaces disturbingly still, reflecting the pale, sickly glow of the planet’s dying sun. Your thoughts drifted, your gaze wandering over the crumbling cityscape, a strange unease settling in the pit of your stomach.

Something's been tugging at the back of your mind ever since the Express landed. An odd sense of familiarity that you couldn't shake. Something in the back of your mind, deep within the recesses of your memory, whispered that you were once here in this place before. Certain buildings that were now rocks and rubble, you felt like you knew what they used to be.

A crumble of brick catches your eye. A flicker of...something behind your eyelids that tells you what those rubbles of rock used to be. The remnants of rusted metal poles jut out of the ground, and you have the odd feeling there should be a sign attached to them, but it’s gone—faded or swallowed up by time. The eerie familiarity of it all unsettles you.

"Hey, you okay?" March's voice cuts through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present.

You blink, realizing you’ve fallen a step behind the group. Shaking off the haze creeping into your mind, you turn to her with a casual smile, "Fine. Just thinking."

"About what?" Caelus asked, his voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of curiosity. His eyes, sharp and steady, met yours, unwavering and expectant. It felt like the weight of the moment hung between you, a silent invitation for something deeper. You hesitated, the heaviness of his question pressing against the gnawing unease that had been slowly building in the pit of your stomach since you first set foot on this planet. It was a feeling that had woven itself into the fabric of your thoughts, following you like a shadow, but only now did it feel like it was demanding to be acknowledged.

The air around you seemed thicker here, somehow, charged with an unshakable sense of déjà vu. You couldn’t explain it—not to him, not to yourself—but it was there, lingering in the corners of your mind, refusing to let go.

"About how this place feels... like I’ve been here before," you found yourself saying, your voice quieter than you intended, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You shifted slightly, fingers tightening around the fabric of your coat as if grounding yourself against the weight of the admission, "It’s... strange. I can't shake it. I don’t know if it’s the city, or something about the way the air feels—maybe the way everything's… familiar. But it’s like I’m walking through a memory, one that’s just out of reach, like it’s teasing me."

There’s a knot in your stomach, but you push it down, hoping it’s just your mind playing tricks on you. The walls stretching out before you feel familiar in a way that unsettles you—like an echo of something long buried, just out of reach. The skeletal remains of buildings tower overhead, their shapes warped by time and nature’s relentless encroachment. The cracked asphalt beneath your boots feels unnervingly like a path you’ve walked before, and the air hangs thick with a sense of forgotten history. But there’s no time for memories now. You were here to investigate, to uncover what had happened to this world, and, hopefully, to find a way off this god forsaken planet with everyone intact and no leaves in your hair. With every step you take through the overgrown streets, it feels as though you’re trespassing—an intruder in a forgotten past. The silence of the city presses in on you, the weight of time and wethering hanging in the air like a shroud. Even the plants that creep over the remains of the city seem to watch, alive in a way that feels unnatural, as if they remember something you don’t. The feeling of déjà vu only intensifies, but you force yourself to push it aside. There are more important things to focus on now.

“Not that I remember, it's probably nothing,” you finally say. And that’s the truth.

For now.

---

The group continued onward, moving deeper into the city. The air grew heavier with each passing minute, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional rustling of leaves or the distant creak of dissolving structures. The planet’s death wasn’t sudden—it was slow, inevitable. The kind of collapse that started at the foundation, while the ones at the top kept pretending everything was fine. The buildings around them loomed like broken skeletons, their once-shining facades marred by rot and the slow creep of alien plant life. They passed through what looked like a former park, now a twisted mockery of its original purpose. The swings were long gone, replaced by vines that snaked around rusted metal frames. The trees were warped, their branches gnarled and twisted like skeletal fingers. In the center of the park stood a statue—a figure that was now nearly unrecognizable, its features blurred and eaten away by the creeping vegetation.

Your eyes lingered on the statue. Something about it made your chest tighten. Your breath hitched in your throat as an emotion you couldn’t place swirled within. Memories, fragmented and blurred, flashed through your mind like ghosts, flickering just beyond your reach. The statue… it felt important. But what?

“Hey! If you're going to enjoy the sights at least say something! I don't want to play hide-and-seek here!” March called, her voice muffled in your daze. You barely noticed when the others stopped walking. Your mind was still clouded with half-formed memories—images and feelings that had no anchor.

You blinked, breaking out of the trance, your gaze shifting to her, “Yeah, I’m coming.”

But you didn’t feel like moving forward. It was as though a part of you had already been left behind in this forsaken place—lost to the decay, trapped in the remnants of what once was. The feeling gnawed at you, a weight you couldn’t shake.

Ahead, a crooked billboard stood precariously against a half-sunken building, its frame leaning as if it, too, had grown tired of the world's festering. The paint was cracked and peeling, yet the image beneath was still visible. A smiling diplomat shook hands with another man. Behind them, a gleaming utopian city stretched into the distance, untouched by the ruin that now claimed the land. Bold letters sprawled across the top of the billboard, their meaning lost to time but their message still clear:

“A NEW DAWN! RESOURCES SECURED—A PROSPEROUS FUTURE FOR ALL!”

March scoffed, looking behind the billboard at the wreckage left behind, “Yeah. Real prosperous.”

Dan Heng knelt, carefully brushing debris off a stack of old newspapers half-buried beneath the rubble. The pages crumbled at his touch, but a few headlines remained faintly legible, hinting at the world that had once thrived here.

“Rationing Measures Extended—Citizens Urged to Conserve.” “Power Grid Failing in Outer Districts—Authorities Working on a Solution.” “Protests Continue as Resource Shipments Prioritized for High Council.”

His brow furrowed as he flipped to another page, this one featuring a portrait of a well-dressed man raising a glass of golden wine at a lavish banquet. The caption, though worn, was still clear:

“Unity Through Strength—Leadership Brings Stability in Times of Crisis.”

The juxtaposition of opulence and the desperate headlines made the wasteland around you feel all the more depressing. The lavish images of wealth, now faded and peeling, contrasted violently with what the planet looked like now. It felt like the city's fate had been sealed the moment those in power had ignored the rot beneath the surface, the cracks in their perfect illusion.

“So they were starving while the elite were throwing feasts," Dan Heng’s grip on the crumbling paper tightened, his eyes scanning the headlines with an unreadable expression. A sickening twist churned in your stomach, the anger rising like bile. The bitterness, the frustration—they gnawed at you like something deeply ingrained. It wasn’t just the words on the page—it was something inside you, a distant memory, a forgotten anger.

March kicked a rusted metal canister, sending it rattling across the cracked pavement, breaking the silence, “How do you even do that? How do you watch people starve while you drink yourself stupid?”

“It’s easy,” you muttered before you could stop yourself, your voice rough with something you didn’t want to acknowledge. The others turned to you, but you weren’t looking at them. Your eyes were fixed on the billboard, fingers twitching slightly.

“They tell themselves they deserve it,” you continue, voice distant, the words slipping from your mouth before you fully process them, “That the people below them wouldn’t know how to handle luxury anyway. That if they didn’t take it, someone else would. So why not them?”

A heavy silence follows. The old billboards tower above you, their peeling paint and faded slogans promising a bright future that never came. Smiling officials shake hands with something not quite human, their pristine suits stark against the grimy, ruined city below.

If it wasn't for them...

“Hah. Sounds familiar.” A new voice slices through the tension, casual but tinged with sharp amusement.Your group tenses immediately, instincts kicking in as you shift into a defensive stance. You turn, eyes narrowing, and find old but familiar faces standing there. Topaz, a young woman with blue eyes and short, silver-white hair with a visible red streak. To her side, Aventurine, a young man with medium length, sandy-blond hair, along with magenta and cyan eyes with black slitted pupils. She’s leaning casually against the wreckage of a fallen building, arms crossed, a faint glow radiating from her Warp Trotter, which peeks out from behind her leg. Aventurine is beside her, his usual smirk plastered across his face. It’s impossible to tell if he’s actually impressed or just entertained by the situation unfolding before him.

It’s been a while since you've seen the two IPC members, the last time being on Penacony. Although these two were in Caelus's company more than yours, the memory of that encounter is still fresh, though time and distance have dulled its edge. Back then, Topaz had been all business, her sharp eyes calculating and unfazed by the chaos around her. Aventurine, on the other hand, had been his usual self—teasing, grinning, always with an air of detachment that made it hard to know where his loyalties truly lay. You study them now, the familiar mix of wariness and curiosity rising in you. Topaz’s usual neutral expression is less guarded than before, but there’s still an underlying strain in her stance. Aventurine, ever the wildcard, doesn’t seem to have changed at all. His smirk is just as sharp as the last time you saw him, but his eyes... there's something different there now, something more focused.

“You’ve been following us,” Dan Heng states, his tone carefully neutral, yet the edge in his voice hints at suspicion. His sharp gaze settles on both of them, as if weighing their every move, calculating their intentions. Topaz shrugs in response, her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

“More like we happened to be heading the same way,” she replies, her voice nonchalant, but there’s an undeniable tension in the way she speaks—like she’s measuring every word. "Can't say we’re surprised to find you staring at propaganda." Her eyes briefly flick over the crumbling billboard again, before returning to meet your group's gaze. "Makes you wonder how much of it the people actually believed... before everything fell apart."

The words are casual, but they carry an undercurrent of something darker. The ruinous state of the city around you serves as a grim reminder of the lies that once held this place together. The images of opulence and hope now seem laughable, but Topaz doesn't seem to share that same amusement. She watches you all, her eyes sharper than they first appeared, flicking back to the deteriorating cityscape. Aventurine chuckles, a low, almost amused sound that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He adjusts his gloves slowly, methodically, as if savoring the moment. The quiet, deliberate movements contrast with the way he dismisses everything around him, as if there's something ironically funny about the situation.

“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” Aventurine muses, his voice smooth and easy, almost like he's repeating a tired fact. “They didn’t have a choice in the end.”

His words hang in the air, dense and suffocating, as if they carry the weight of a thousand untold stories. It’s the kind of truth someone who’s seen the worst of the world would accept with a resigned shrug—someone who knows the rules of the game too well to question them. The quiet smirk on his face doesn’t reach his eyes; instead, there's a cold, almost clinical detachment, like he's watching a movie he's already seen too many times to care about the plot.

Then, his gaze flicks toward you, his eyes sharp and unsettling in their intensity. There's a flicker of something hidden beneath the surface—something observant, as if he's studying every twitch of your expression. His stare lingers a moment too long, like he's cataloging your reactions in a way that makes you feel exposed.

“But you already knew that.”

The words are smooth, but they hit you like a sudden chill. His voice carries weight, layered with implications. It’s not a question, but a statement, as though he's unraveling something deep inside you—something you didn’t want to admit, even to yourself. His tone is casual, yet sharp, like a blade hidden beneath a friendly smile. You shift uncomfortably, caught between the unease of his piercing gaze and the unsettling familiarity of everything around you—the billboards, the faces, the hollow promises. Something about this place, this moment, feels far too close to a past you can’t quite remember. It lingers just beyond reach, like a dream you can’t wake up from. The weight of his words hangs in the air, and suddenly, it feels thicker. There's something in what he’s said—a truth you've been running from—and the more you try to push it away, the more it creeps into your thoughts. The hopelessness of it all—the people with no choice, the promises reduced to smoke and mirrors—is too familiar, too raw. The silence stretches, each second dragging as you try to shake off the uncomfortable weight of Aventurine’s gaze. His words echo in your mind like an unwanted refrain, but you can’t quite grasp them. The tension in the air is thick, oppressive, as if everything—this world, your purpose here, even the people around you—has been drawn into some long-forgotten web you're only now starting to understand.

"Well, that's a lovely way to look at things," March pipes up, her voice sharp, attempting to cut through the awkwardness, "Not like we needed any more reminders of how messed up this place is."

“I’m just stating the facts,” he replies, unphased. His eyes flicker over to you again, and for a brief moment, you feel like he’s looking straight through you, as if he’s peeled back your layers and found something raw and exposed beneath, “I don’t expect you to like it.”

You want to snap back, to say something—anything—to push back against the unease gnawing at your stomach, but the words feel stuck in your throat. Instead, you focus on the surroundings, trying to ground yourself in the decaying reality of the world around you. The faint smell of rust, earth, and decay fills your senses, grounding you in the moment.

“We’re not here to dwell on what’s already happened,” Dan Heng, ever the pragmatist, breaks the silence again, his voice calm but firm. His gaze shifted to the horizon where the crumbling city meets the sky, "The Express had an...accident so we're temporarily stranded. I don't know what the IPC wants with this planet, but the Express has no intention of interfering as long as we can safely get off this planet."

His words are a reminder of why you’re all here—why you’ve pushed forward into this forsaken place. But even as he speaks, you can’t shake the feeling that everything is already too far gone. There’s something about this world, this situation, that feels like it’s already spiraling out of control. And no matter how hard you try to ignore it, a small voice in the back of your mind keeps whispering that maybe—just maybe—this place won't let you leave. Not anymore.

Aventurine’s smirk fades slightly as he gives Dan Heng a brief, almost imperceptible nod. “Fair enough,” he says, his tone shifting to something lighter. “But hey, let’s join together. Not as IPC members, but as fellow strandees! The more the merrier, right? In a place like this, it’s good to have a few friends, don’t you think?”

His words ring with a strange mix of sincerity and calculated nonchalance. The way he says it makes you wonder whether he truly means it, or if it's just another tactic, another way to test you, to see how far he can push. The playful edge to his voice doesn’t quite match the coldness in his eyes, but it’s a thin layer over the deeper, more guarded thoughts beneath.

"A few friends? With you? Didn't you almost kill us back on Penacony?" March raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. Her tone carries a hint of sarcasm, "That’s a bit of an optimistic take, don’t you think?"

"Optimism’s all relative. Call it what you want, but there’s no harm in making allies, especially when the odds are stacked against us," Aventurine shrugs, unfazed. His gaze flicks over the group, lingering for a moment longer on you, before he continues, “And besides, with this kind of mess, it’s better to have a few people watching your back, right?”

A quiet weight settles between the group, unspoken thoughts flickering between you all like a silent conversation. You glance at March, her furrowed brow mirroring your own hesitation. The words left unsaid hang heavily in the air as you exchange a glance—both of you wondering if you can trust what’s being offered. The unspoken doubt is shared between the two of you, but there’s something in the way your eyes linger on Aventurine and Topaz that deepens the uncertainty. Their motives are unclear, their calm demeanor too composed for this wreckage of a planet. Dan Heng stands off to the side, his expression unreadable as he studies the two IPC members. You can almost see the wheels turning in his mind, evaluating, analyzing, weighing the risks. His posture is tense, but it’s a quiet tension—one born from caution rather than suspicion. Then, Caelus shifts his gaze toward you, his eyes meeting yours. The intensity of his stare says more than any words could. He doesn’t hesitate. A firm nod, decisive and unyielding, seals his choice. His conviction cuts through the silent exchange, his approval of the alliance clear. There’s no room for doubt in his mind, no second-guessing. He’s made up his mind. March catches the movement out of the corner of her eye, a skeptical shake of her head following shortly after. She turns to you, her uncertainty mirrored in your own expression. She doesn’t speak, but the disappointment in her subtle gesture is enough. You shake your head, not in refusal, but in hesitation—still unsure if this is the right path. And yet, despite the doubts lingering between you and March, Caelus stands firm, an unwavering resolve settling in his stance. His decision is made, and in that single moment, the silence is louder than any argument.

“You don’t need to accept, and it’s obvious we aren’t friends,” Topaz glances over her shoulder, her expression flat and unreadable, “But you’ve seen this planet. We’re all stuck in the same mess. Our mission? Not your concern. Just like the Express is none of our business.”

She pauses for a beat, her eyes scanning the four of you, “It would just be safer for all of us if we stuck together.”

With that, she turns and starts walking again, boots scraping against the cracked pavement as she leads the way deeper into the city. Aventurine follows, his smirk never wavering, while March stays beside you, her gaze flicking between you and the others, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. The tension doesn’t ease, but it shifts. Now, there’s a shared resolve among the group. Everyone knows that despite the heavy weight of the past, the present is what matters. You have to push forward, no matter how heavy the past may feel, because if you don’t, there might be nothing left to fight for. Still, as you walk, your mind races, trying to make sense of everything. What’s your connection to this place? Why does it feel so familiar? And most of all, why does Aventurine’s cold, knowing gaze seem to hold so many answers you’re too afraid to ask? The path ahead remains unclear, but you press on, unable to shake the feeling that the answers you're seeking might be far closer than you think.

---

It wasn’t until you all reached an old, overgrown shopping district that things began to take a darker turn. The decay of the place was suffocating. Store windows were shattered, their jagged edges reflecting the dim light. Signs hung loosely, barely legible beneath the layers of plant matter that had overtaken everything, and the air smelled of rot and mildew. Inside, the shelves were barren, save for strange, dark fruit that clung to the walls—pulsing like something alive, unnatural.

You stepped inside one of the stores, your footsteps hesitant as they echoed through the hollowed-out interior. The dust of neglect hung in the air, mixing with the overwhelming scent of earth and decay. Your eyes scanned the abandoned aisles, the emptiness unsettling, as though even the air had surrendered to the slow grip of nature's reclamation. Only then did something small catch your eye—a toy, discarded in a forgotten corner. It was a simple thing—nothing more than a small wooden soldier. Its once-bright paint had long since chipped away, leaving behind a faded, almost ghostly figure. It should have been inconspicuous, but it wasn’t. Seeing it sent a ripple of unease through you, a quiet pang deep in your chest. Your heartbeat quickened, thudding in your ears. You reached for it, fingers trembling as you picked it up, studying the worn details.

A sudden flash hit you—one that wasn’t yours. It was from a time long buried, but it felt so close, like it happened yesterday. You were a child, sitting on the floor of your room. Small hands wrapped around that very toy, clinging to it for comfort. There was a warmth, a softness in the air—a voice calling to you, gentle and loving. Your mother’s voice. You could hear the faint melody of it, the sound tugging at the edges of your mind, but the words were slipping away from you, dissolving like mist. You tried to grasp onto them, but they fluttered just beyond your reach, fading before you could make sense of them. And then, an image—of a woman, standing before you. She was familiar, more than anyone you could recall, yet her face was a blur, indistinct and distorted by time, by the fog of your memories. You knew instinctively it was her—your mother. But no matter how hard you strained, no matter how much you willed the details into focus, she remained just out of reach, shrouded in shadow, like a forgotten dream.

For a moment, everything around you seemed to freeze. The pulse of the fruit on the walls, the rustling of wind through the leaves outside—it all faded into the background, drowned out by the pounding of your own heart. The toy felt heavier in your hands now, the weight of something lost pressing down on you. You clenched your jaw, forcing the image to dissipate, but the hollow feeling in your chest remained.

"You've been spacing out a lot," Aventurine remarked, his tone light but laced with curiosity. His gaze lingered on you, his dark eyes sharp with that familiar, unsettling focus, "Something on your mind, or are you just that mesmerized by the decor?"

You blinked, suddenly aware of the toy clenched in your hand. You hadn't even realized you'd picked it up, your fingers wrapped around it instinctively. The toy, a small wooden soldier with chipped paint and faded features, felt oddly heavy, as though it carried the weight of something far more significant than its size. It was too familiar—like a part of you you didn’t want to remember. A pang of discomfort twisted in your chest, but before the feeling could settle, you let it slip from your fingers. The plastic hit the ground with a dull thud that seemed louder than it should have been, echoing in the hollow space of the store.

"Just thinking," you said quickly, your voice a little too sharp, forcing a casual tone to mask the unease that had wormed its way deep into your bones. You wiped your palms against your pants, the motion far too quick, almost frantic, as if trying to physically rid yourself of the discomfort creeping up your spine. The air around you felt heavier, thick with unspoken words and lingering thoughts, as if the ground beneath your feet was somehow more uncertain than it had been moments before. You tried to push it away, to convince yourself that nothing was wrong—but it was hard to ignore the gnawing feeling in your gut.

"Nothing important," you added, though the words sounded hollow, even to your own ears. Aventurine didn’t buy it. You could feel his eyes on you, sharp and unwavering, like a hawk studying its prey. Something was unsettling about the way he looked at you, as if he was seeing more than you wanted to reveal. He leaned just slightly forward, his posture too casual for the weight of the moment, yet it only made the tension grow. He hummed, a low sound that lingered between you, a curious note that vibrated through the thick silence. It was almost... knowing. He didn’t speak immediately, his gaze still tracing you as if he were piecing together a puzzle, carefully fitting the scattered pieces one by one, until the whole picture formed in his mind.

“You really don’t know… do you?” His voice was softer now, but still edged with something sharper beneath the surface, something you couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t accusation, exactly. It was more like a quiet observation—a realization dawning. A flicker of something dangerous danced in his eyes as his lips curled into the faintest, almost imperceptible smile, “Perhaps that’s for the best."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning, and the weight of them pressed down on your chest. You couldn’t quite shake the feeling that whatever he was implying wasn’t just a casual remark—it was something deeper, something that cut straight to the heart of things you weren’t ready to confront. You stood there, frozen for a moment, uncertain of whether to respond or simply let the silence stretch on, letting Aventurine's gaze speak the truth that seemed just beyond your reach.

You barely registered his words. The air had shifted—cold, unnatural. A presence pressed in from the edges of your vision, the feeling of unseen eyes watching, waiting.

Then, a sound. Low. Guttural. The kind that vibrated in your bones.

The ground beneath you trembled.

---

“What… is that?”

The others followed Caelus's gaze, their steps faltering as they took in the grotesque scene. At first, it just appeared to be another cluster of thick, twisting roots clinging to the side of a crumbling building—gnarled, pulsating faintly beneath a slick sheen of moisture, as if the plant life itself were alive. But as they stepped closer, something twisted in the shadows of the roots, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Shapes began to emerge, indistinct at first, but unmistakable once they came into full view.

A body.

Or what was left of one.

It had been consumed by the plant life—no, absorbed—its limbs twisted unnaturally, bound by thick tendrils that burrowed into the skin like parasitic feeders, feeding on its very essence. The flesh had taken on a sickly greenish hue, blending into the plant matter like it was part of the same grotesque organism. Where the person’s eyes should have been, there were only empty, gaping sockets, hollow and untouched by life. The skin around them had withered away, leaving raw, exposed tissue where roots had burrowed deep into the body. The corpse didn’t bear any marks of a struggle—no blood, no sign of defiance. It was as though this person hadn’t fought at all, but had simply allowed themselves to be consumed, swallowed whole by the unforgiving green tendrils. The plant life had claimed them, leaving nothing behind but a husk of what once was human. There was no dignity in the way they’d been absorbed—only cold, indifferent assimilation into a force far larger than themselves.

March stumbled back a step, her hand flying to cover her mouth, a choked gasp escaping her throat, “That’s—”

Dan Heng was already at her side, his gaze sharp, his usual calm demeanor slipping into something more ominous as his eyes swept over the scene. His jaw tightened. There was something colder in his expression now, a recognition that didn’t come from the body itself, but from the process that had claimed it.

He was silent for a moment, eyes narrowed as if trying to piece together the grim truth, before his voice cut through the stillness, low and even, “The plants. They don’t just grow—they consume. It’s like they’ve learned to feed on living things.”

There was no need to elaborate. The implication was clear. This wasn’t just a death caused by mindless growth; it was deliberate. The plants had taken this person, drained them, and now, their body was part of something far darker and more insidious than they could have ever imagined. The realization hit like a blow, and it seemed to settle over the group, chilling the air around them.

March shook her head in disbelief, her hand still pressed against her mouth, as if trying to keep the fear from spilling out, “We need to move. Now.”

Then, the ground trembled.

A deep, wet groan reverberated through the ruined city, a sound so low and unsettling that it seemed to come from the very earth itself. The trees, their trunks warped and gnarled by the ever-expanding plant life, swayed as if something enormous was stirring beneath them, something ancient and powerful. The vines, thick and pulsating, trembled in response, a shudder rippling through the roots and branches like a collective exhale.

And then, from the darkness that had swallowed the heart of the city, something stirred.

Something monstrous.

A low, guttural groan reverberated through the crumbling earth, a sound like the dying breath of an ancient beast. The ground shuddered, cracked open in jagged, uneven lines, and something immense stirred beneath the surface. Roots, thick and gnarled, began to push through the fissures, like the twisted fingers of a long-forgotten god reaching for the light of the world. Each root was coated in a slick, blackened substance, a molten resin that hissed and sizzled as it met the air, releasing a sulfurous stench. From the depths of the earth, a tremendous force erupted. The ground buckled as a colossal figure rose from the cracks, its form shifting and writhing, impossibly large and grotesque. It resembled a tree, but one corrupted by time, fire, and dark magic. The trunk was thick and hollowed, veins of molten gold and crimson running through it like veins of a living creature. Massive, twisted branches reached out from its broken core, each one stretching toward the sky with claw-like fingers that seemed to tremble with a malevolent hunger.

The creature’s head was a twisted, hollow void at the center of the tree, its shape a grotesque parody of a face. Hollow sockets where eyes should have been flickered with unnatural fire, an eerie glow that sent shadows sprawling across the earth. Its bark-like skin cracked open with each movement, revealing glimpses of something far worse within—an ever-shifting, nightmarish mass of fire and corruption, pulsing and throbbing as though the creature itself were alive with rage and agony. The air around it was thick with the scent of burning flesh and scorched earth. The ground trembled again, and from the creature’s open mouth—if it could even be called a mouth—a torrent of roots and tendrils shot forth, thrashing violently, searching for anything to latch onto, to consume. It moved like a slow, grinding force, each step leaving the earth scarred, the soil crumbling beneath the weight of its twisted existence. The creature let out a screech, a horrible sound like the tearing of wood and the crackling of flames, and with it, the world seemed to bend and warp in response to its emergence. Its branches swayed with unnatural grace, but its presence felt like the world itself was being torn apart by its very existence.

But beneath it all, something more familiar, something deeply wrong. Another human form, or what had once been human, distorted and bloated by the suffocating growth of plant matter. A grotesque parody of motherhood. Her limbs were elongated and twisted, fingers curled into gnarled claws as if reaching out, not for protection but to claim. Her chest was grotesquely swollen, bulging with strange growths that seemed to birth and reabsorb horrors in an endless cycle, each twist of the flesh forming grotesque shapes that dissolved into the next.

Her face, if you could call it that, was obscured by layers of rotting flesh and vine-like tendrils that had twisted their way around it. But through the mess of corrupted growth, you could still see remnants of what had once been a human expression—frozen in an eternal grimace of agony, her mouth caught in a silent scream that never reached the world around her. Her hollow eyes, if they could be called eyes, were wide and vacant, yet filled with an indescribable pain that seemed to claw at the edges of your mind.

The sight was so unnatural, so impossible, that it seemed to twist the very fabric of reality. A twisted fusion of human and plant, struggling to exist in a world where it no longer belonged. And yet, despite the horror of it, there was something deeply, disturbingly maternal about the form—an endless cycle of creation and destruction, a reflection of nature’s will to consume and rebirth, no matter the cost.

The air thickened with the stench of rot and decay, the smell of something that had gone wrong, that had festered too long without intervention. The group stood frozen, eyes wide, the weight of the monstrous figure pressing down on them like an unbearable force. Each breath seemed heavier than the last, as if the very atmosphere itself were being consumed by the monstrous growth that loomed before them.

No one moved.

Then, as if in response to their stillness, the mass gave a low, rumbling growl, reverberating through the ground and into their bones. The vines tightened, the roots shifting in place as the creature’s limbs twitched, and for a moment, everything was still.

But it was only for a moment.

The creature moved again—slowly, inexorably—its form shifting as if to rise from the depths of the city, breaking through layers of cracked concrete and decaying remnants. Each movement of its body was a grotesque reminder of how deeply this place had been consumed, how completely the city had fallen under the influence of the twisted, corrupting plant life.

Your heart stopped.

The whispers in his mind became screams.

My child...I've found you..

Without thinking, you drew your weapon, your hand trembling only slightly as you steadied your grip. Your memories were starting to break through the fog, but they were still too fractured to make sense of. And yet, your gut told you something the others didn’t know—that the creature before you wasn’t just any corrupted plant.

It was something else. Someone else.

#commission #honkai star rail #hsr #platonic honkai star rail #platonic hsr #aventurine #topaz #dan heng #caelus #march 7th

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simpingforbots · 21 days ago

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Big Scary Grandpa - part 5

“Little one!” panic building in his system from suden change, Megatron adjusted his grip, gently lulling you in between two of his servos, trying not to move little flesh form to much. One second you were alright, reactive, screaming and kicking, then the other second go completely limp. Light escaping opticks, he scanned small fleshy body for any injuries, letting an audible gasp of relief from his vents as it came up with nothing – no internal bleeding, no damadge to bones, no visible scaring or bruising, so why did you suddenly fainted - he had no idea, and it worried him a lot. Twirling small body in servos, he looked up, opticks focusing on small flickering light shining though the line of trees, a beacon of human civilization, some where you need to go, but if HE brings you to the camp, unconscious like you are now, it will surely spike some panic and will add even more bad reputation to his already dark picture. Gears shifting inside him, big bot let out his frustration in a huff, optick shifting rapidly, while trying to think as hard as he could, digits wrapping around small cushy body just a bit tighter, able to feel week pulse echoe though out...

Crickets orchestra echoed though the ranch as the huge moon shined gently upon the land. The cattle were in the barn, peacefully resting after day of grazing and watching kids get in to all sort of trouble, rolling in the mud and getting all the attention from them. Kids were sleeping as well, having a sort of sleep over in secret barn base, after having a late nigh fun, all knocked out and huddled together under blankets – Mo was nestled in arms of Nightshade, who was letting soft “who’s” as he recharged, resting on Jawbreaker, who was in his dyno form, laying on his stomach. Rob was wrapped in Thrash and Twists, who was curled around boy and Hashtag just sprawled in top of them, with data pad still in servo. Letting a soft chuckle, Dorothy Malto let out a happy sigh, observing their little happy family resting. Walking over, she fixed the blankets over them and left, turning lights off, walking out in cold air, taking in deep breath of fresh night air and walking in to her home. It was one of a few spare days when they had whole house to them self, mg that they can finally catch up on some alone time they wanted, and Alex already planned a few things as soon as he heard kids plan to have a sleepover in the barn. Opening the door, Dot can smell popcorn scent hanging in the air, along with some other scent and a loud pop of wine bottle being opened in the leaving room. Smiling, Dot took of her jacket she wore over her comfortable nightwear and walked in to the leaving room, with tv on and a bowl of icecream on the table. One of a few days when they can dig in to secret stash of sweets without kids begging for their share, adding a little bit of amarula and chocolate pudding. Plopping down on the sofa as Alex brought in two glasses of whine.

“I can safely assume kids are asleep?” he asked with a soft smile, leaning in to give his lovely wife a kiss on a head, plopping right by her and snuggling in, ready to enjoy their tv show. It might be a bit wrong to agree on, but it was really nice to have a break from the kids and their constant troublemaking attendances.

“Yep, they are finally asleep. And we have a home to us.” She smiled, scooping some cold treat on to the spoon “So, what episode we are on?”

“If I do remember correctly it was episode 10 session 3” picking up remote, Alex clicked a few buttons, setting it up to the right episode. The theme of the show played along and sweet couple settled in to watch their show... though it seemed like their peaceful time did not last for to long. Half way though the show a familiar sound of helicopter rung through the air. Letting a soft grunt out, Alex got up, helping his wife up, stopping their show and walked out, silently pondering as to what reason Megatron would be visiting them in such late hour. Walking out of the house, they braced them self as big bot descended on their lands in his alt form, moving incredibly slow. For a moment it reminded of the moment Dot saw him again after a long time, being dramatic and taking it slow. Yet, something deep inside her heart felt that something was wrong. Bot started transform, taking his sweet time to shift every peace of his metal in to right position, one by one, taking more humanoid form. He quickly reached for his chest and something visibly fell in to his palms. Kneeling down, Megatron froze for a moment, looking at Dot with a very familiar look.

“Megatron, what happened?” worry sipping in to her soul, Dot took a few carful steps forward, eyes narrowed on large servos, clearly cooped aorund something protectively, refusing to even pull away from his chest.

He knew well that it was late, he just really had no one else to go to in this situation. He still was not to sure that he wanted Prime to find out that he was secretly leaving base to see a human child, which will make this trouble even more problematic, so the only person he can think of going to is going to Dorothy, a very trusted person. Plus she was a human, so she will know what to do. Slowly lowering his hands, he glanced down at small body, that was still not responding to any thing: not when he transformed around them, not when he took them in to the air, not even now, just still, breathing and not awake. Once the body was at Dot’s eye sight level, her eyes grew wide with shock rushing over with a bit of a limp, focused on the child completely.

“I need your help Dot” he spoke with worry and care, letting human touch little archivist...

Stirring awake, you turned in your sleeping bag, letting out angry grumbles as you pulled covering over your head. For the first time in weeks you managed to find a soft spot in your sleeping sack, your body melting in to soft padding and hotel pillows, letting a sigh feeling soft fur of teddy bear, nuzzling in to it, letting out a wide yawn. You can hear birds chirping loudly with light annoyingly shining in to your eyes even though you had a blanket over your head. Though one noise confused you just for a moment, enough to forse you to open your eyes. You knew for sure that forest did not had any cows, so how come you can hear them. Still with blurry vision, spinny head and half asleep state, you set up, feeling your self almost loosing fight to blanket, looking around, trying to get out. It took some time but ass soon as your eyes adjusted you realised one thing after another: for once you were not in a sleeping bag in your tent, you were in some kids room, evident by all the toys, pink bedding and other things that clearly made it seem like a child’s room. Slowly getting out of the bed, you looked down, shame quickly heating up your cheek and you pulled the blanket over your self, panic now fully settling in. Adrenaline pumping through your blood, you lost control of your limbs and fell out of the bed with loud echoing thud. You are certain that this noise alerted someone as a set of footsteps echoed though the house, quickly approaching the room you were in. Being an “A+” student meant that you quickly learned how to differentiate footsteps and when thay are getting close, wrapping your self in blanket and shoving your self in to the corner, eyes wide and heart pounding like crazy in your chest, deafening you. The door slowly creaked open and a dark skinned woman poked her head in, making sure you were decent before walking in. You relax a bit at sight of green uniform of forest ranger, but still were on guard.

“Morning kiddo, you look better. That was a nice way of letting us know you were awake” she let a small chuckled, placing clean clothes on the bed you just fell out of, as yours were gone as you are sure that falling out of tower watch in to tree made it dirty, you just were creeped out that they were missing. “How are you filling?”

“I am okay” you nodded softly, panic calming down just a bit “Where am I? Who are you?”

“You are okay, you are at my range. My name is Dorothy Malto.” She did not move from the other side of the bed, giving you a bit of space and time to relax. You looked down at clothes and then up at woman “Your clothes were not.. in best of conditions. Do you feel any pain any where? Falling from such high place surely left some marks on your body.”

“I feel.. okay...” you nodded softly, patting your self to feel anything. So far you were okay and honesty only thanks to miracle and Megatron that you were unharmed .”How did?”

“How about I tell you every thing at breakfast. I am sure you are hungry”

“Yeah. Thanks” you nodded again and watched woman leave, giving you some privacy as you looked down at new clothes.....

Taking in deep breath, Megatron opticks flickered to life, unfolding his arms from his chest and looking around. He was in secret base of little ones, who were more then ecstatic that he suddenly showed up for the late night – any sleep disappearing with in seconds, assaulting him with questions and asking for stories. Of course he complied, intertaining the youth with all kind of fairy-tails he could remember, all while wondering just what will happen to you. Now he was awake, young ones were out of the base, propably already having fun with Bee or meeting you. He secretly hopped that they didn’t, wishing to introduce you him self to they young once, knowing how some of them can get quite excited. Getting up with grunt, he carefully walked out of the base, making sure to be carful with his big frame, squinting as sun shined brightly in to his opticks, lifting his servo to block some light. He can hear kids laughing, cows mooing and birds chirping. After a second, he was able to see and spotted a group of younglings huddled around in far out corner, hiding under the tree, with a new small figure in between them. Letign a sigh, his hopes of introducing Little Archivist dwindle, but not to much. Even from here he can see that you seemed to feel a bit better then you did in the camp though, clearly engaging with others without looking like you were forced in to socialising. Any time your camp would have some kind of activities, you always tried to hang out in the corner, out of sight, trying not to interact with kids. And even during free time you will avoid same age kids like fire. But now he sees you more relaxed, engaging with others, even if you are trapped under Soft Ears, letting your little hand slide up and down the fur. Taking a deep breath, Megatron strated walking forward, already seeing a chain reaction from young once, Twitch face lighting up with a big grin and flying towards him, circling his head and then nuzzling in to his side. She was really affectionate for a small bot, and he liked her too. Especialy her energetic enthusiasm.

“Good morning little one” he greeted them softly, joining them in the small circle, with Terrance happily greeting him back, with one more additional voice in the mix, he knows MO and Robby are in school by now, menaing there were only terrance and a new guest “I see you met a new friend?”

“Yeas, we did, and they are quite nice” Nightshade smiled, his cyan optick not moving even a bit, but he can still can gues that kid was happy to meet another “egghead” as human would say. And he just let them on, with all the kids soon talking about what ever was on their mind, making him feel a bit more content that all the kids were in one place, almost but he knew Rob and Mo were safe at school. Though one of the younglings were not as safe as they were. Still worried about Y/N passing out suddenly in his servo AFTER falling of a watchtower, that even he can tell was to dangerous to climb, let alone when he slammed in to it, yet he is sure that speaking about it with them in privet will be the best, so he just waited pationly, knowing well that Bee will show up soon to whisk kids away for another training integrated with a play. It’s seemed to be the only way to get younglings to enjoy training in this day and age. And like a clock, Bee shows up and take young Terrace to train, leaving him and little archivist alone. Clearing his throat, Megatron looked down at the small young human, who was looking up at him with doe like eyes, coking their head just a bit.

“So, mind telling me what you were doing on that watch tower?” And he can see colour drain immideatly drain out of their little face, eyes growing wide and darting around, brain visibly struggling for answers. It was hilarious that they panicked so quickly at such simple question, making him let a snort out. “So?”

You shrunk in your self, mentally wishing that little cattle did not fell asleep on you, wishing that you can try to say something that you needed to do something, that you needed to get back to the camp, but alas, you were stuck. You can feel warmth drain out of your body and back heating up, quickly glancing down to avoid eye contact with Megatron, who clearly was giving you a parent glare, squinting a bit as you made a eye contact for a second. You really had no idea what to tell him – first of all you already had enough of your parents dealing with your bullies, even if it did not help much thanks to school politicks and all, you really did not wanted to drag Megatron in to it, second of all if he will get involved you are sure that your bullying will get worse. Just talking to him made it bad, what will happen if he will show up for a “talk”. Sucking in breath, you scrambled in your head for an explanation that will save you and HIM a hustle: well first of all you are a teenager, right, and they are infamous for getting in trouble, so maybe if you pretend that you were “acting out” you can make him believe that you were just exploring something abandoned, and second of all it was not much of a lie. You always wanted to see and visit an abandoned building, so you decided to go with this. Yet one more glance at bot quickly made you rethink your life choices – the squint seemed to glow, red light digging in to your soul, you immideatly averted your gaze, pressing you lips in to thin line and pressing your head in to your shoulders, able to feel heat spreading through your back. Yep, no, you are not lying to big bot who’s hands can easily wrap around you. You hated to admit it, but that night, when he “kidnapped you”, it did leave some mental scars, giving you nightmares time to time and just how weak you are compared to cybertronian. An uncontrollable chill ran up your spine, you gave up on lie, gently stroking little cattle, who finally seemed to have enough of you, or he heard his mom calling him. You almost cried a bit as little comforting cattle got up, the warmth of living being leaving your lap and slowly trotting away to where ever they wished, leaving you alone with Megatron. He seemd to immideatly notise your discomfort, reaching for you and scooping up to hold up to his face, as you are sure that constantly looking down must hurt his neck. You tried not to move to much in his servo, to scared right now, like a child terrified of a parent who knows that their kid did something wrong.

“Well?” Megatron asked again, tilting his head to side, digits flexing behind small humans back “why were you up there, in the middle of the night?”

“I... I was asked to bring something from there” you replied with notes of shame, now truly seeing how ridiculous it was to risk your life for a toy, yet you had your reasons and maybe they were a bit childish. “I could not say no”

“And for what reason you could not say no? What would be the reason to put your fragile life in to danger?” his tone was calm yet you still can feel notes of anger and disappointment echoing though his voice. “If I were not there, you would’ve been badly hurt, for pits, I don’t even wish to think if you would even make it out a life” you shivered a bit as bot raised his voice, just a bit, not to much to get attention of other robots, but enough to make you shiver. Yep, you are hundred present in trouble now, folding in to your self, you looked away, not able to look in to his red optick, not because they were scary, but because you felt ashamed. “Well, why were you up there?”

“I.. I was forced to do it” you answered with a bit of shame, regretting that you are admitting your weakness, yet it also felt good. You did grew tiered of running to your parents for help, even if it what you supposed to do “I could not say not to it.... they had my Teddy bear”

“Teddy bear? Seriously?” Megatron stifled a chuckle as he coked an eyebrow at little life in his hand. They risked their being for a toy... such a childish act, but honestly, sort of adorable as they were still young and naive. “For a teddy bear?” a smile escaped him and he quickly looked away. This is not a laughing matter.

“Teddy was gift from my grandma! I couldn’t let Dupeng do anything to him!” you bursted out, able to see that Megatron is not taking it seriouse as much as he tries, slowly cracked in to quite chuckle “It’s not funny!”

Despite the disappointment and anger, seeing you get so riled up relay broke him, Megatron cracking in to laughter, shaking with chuckle. You had to grip on to his servo, clinging to life and not really wanting to fall again, even if from small height, still you had enough of falling for one day. When he managed to calm down, he jus let a heavy sigh and patted you on your head. Alright, this was a really stupid decision on your side that you went to such length just to keep a toy in good shape, a childish like behaviour for a young being.

“It’s not funny” you pouted, clinging to metal fingers wrapped around, really wanting to be back on ground. “It was a last gift from my grandma... and I can’t sleep without it” you confessed with red cheeks.

“You risked your life for a toy, little archivist. This is funny” Megatron chuckled, pocking their cheeks with his big digit, feeling soft flesh give in under him “Well at least you were lucky I was there.”

And safe. After a quick scolding, he let you down and join Terrance when they had a break, able to feel his spark relax and now seeing his little collection of kids safe and all gathered in one place. Maybe he can even somehow put you in to the same school as Rob and Mo, just to be more safe. And he is sure it will be easy as any parent will be happy to switch school if their kid went missing on one of the school trips.

#transformers #transformers x reader #transformers x human #megatron #tfe megatron #transformers earthspark #writing

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cinnbar-bun · 3 months ago

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"Heart" Beat

The American Dream Chapter 1

Summary: He shouldn't have been alive. But with his "heart" reaffirmed and given a second chance at life, he's willing to do whatever it takes.

Relationship: Funny Valentine x Daughter!OC (Familial- not romantic!)

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~1.2k

Notes: Blood, death, religion, and mentions of a certain president's backstory. This has already been posted elsewhere I just am here posting it on my main since I'm retiring that other blog.

Read it on my AO3 here! Chapter 2 here!

Full Masterlist for The American Dream here!

He clawed his way through the sand, struggling to breathe as the heat of the San Diego sun beat down on him. He darted his eyes around, recognizing no other signs of life besides him. His company and fellow soldiers had perished in the Devil’s Palm, leaving him all alone.

He placed a hand over his “heart”. This “heart” beat steadily- feeling like his own, yet entirely foreign. It was nothing if not enlightening to the young man. A reminder of his own mortality and of his desire to serve the country. It was surely “fate” he was chosen to live while every other soldier would be left to rot.

Ah, but that meant-

He hobbled onto his feet, curious to see where she was. Was she still alive? Or did she fade just like everyone else? The thought made the young soldier somber, yet another reminder of loss in his life. Dead corpses were buried partially underneath the sand, a slight breeze blowing more of the small grains around. It was as if the land was personally trying to cover this gruesome and unsightly bunch.

Perhaps he had been walking and looking for almost an hour now. Time was something he could not feel or understand at the moment, only the thumping of his “heart” and the sweltering rays of the sun. He swallowed, finding himself unable to bother trying to continue this meaningless search. She was dead anyways, wasn’t she? There would be no possible way she could survive this long. It was only due to a miracle he himself was alive- she had no hope.

That was what he told himself as he pulled out a compass to attempt to make it back to home base and return to civilization. North was… ah, that way.

He began his tiring journey back, before he heard a pathetic gurgling. He raised a brow, cocking his head left to right. The gurgling sound echoed again in the near silent desert, and the young man could pinpoint that it was most certainly coming from behind him. He turned around, yet nothing.

The gurgling stopped for a few moments before it became a full on wail. His eyes widened. What was making that noise? A wild animal? That surely had to be the answer, because there was no possible-

He stiffened as the crying grew louder, making his “heart” tighten and ache. As if compelled, he walked to the source of the noise and noticed a rock that jutted out and formed a bit of shade underneath it. He gasped when he saw his wife’s body curled up in a ball, hidden beneath the rock. He knelt down to her, reaching a hand out to touch her. No pulse. No life. She was gone, just like everyone else. His curiosity was peaked when he noticed a pool of blood collected around her. Unlike the others, she practically bled to the death. But why? How?

He wouldn’t be able to know exactly what had happened while he was practically knocked unconscious earlier. But he saw she was cradling something in her white apron tightly, as if shielding it.

He was about to reach out to it when he heard weak cries coming from that bundle in her arms.

Wait, was it possible-

He quickly untied the apron off her corpse and held the bloodied bundle together to drag out from underneath the shade. He unfurled the apron and gasped as he saw that, inside, was a newborn.

The newborn sobbed and all the young man could do was watch for a moment. His wife… she had… she may have left, but she had given him a final parting gift and protected it with her life.

She…

The young man stood up and lifted the newborn, his blue eyes sparkling with renewed life in them. “She” was perfect. “She” was a “miracle”, born to the most patriotic and selfless people ever known. How could he not find joy in this creation, this “miracle” of life he thought he would never get to have?

“She” cried, and his eyes teared up, his ears ringing with the sound of life that brought him unbridled joy.

This was certainly “fate”, wasn’t it? This must have been further proof that God had bore him such wonderful fortune. Undeniable evidence that he, a young soldier, was destined to go beyond for the sake of this country.

“It is alright now, my child. Weep no longer,” he stated to the sobbing newborn. “I am here, and I will make sure this country is a place where you will be able to be at peace and revel in its wealth. I will make that world for you. I promise.”

He held his daughter close to his chest, carefully caressing her head as he shakily exhaled.

“Oh… you are so precious. You sound like heaven itself,” he whispered euphorically. “I see… I see what they meant now.” The young man turned his eyes to the sky. “Father, this was what you felt, wasn’t it? It’s what made you want to die to protect those secrets, wasn’t it? I see it now, I understand now. Holding her… I know what you must have felt. The torture, the pain, none of it means a damn thing.”

A few tears dripped down his cheeks as he looked down at his child again.

“None of it matters. I have even more reason to pursue those goals. My precious child shall never know of heartache or sorrow. She shall never know a land that is unfortunate or inhospitable. I will make it so this country that you have bled and died for is a sanctuary for her, father. I will make it so her mother’s sacrifice is honored. By my own hands, I will make this happen.”

He pressed his lips to her soft head, holding her close.

“This sun must be unbearable for you, right?” He asked her, knowing very well she could not answer. He removed his army coat and wrapped it around her to protect her from the sun. “Much better than that bloody rag, now.”

Once swaddled in his coat, his daughter began to calm down, soothed from being enveloped in her father. His “heart” beat faster, full of life as she settled into his arms, accepting him as her caregiver. The young father had started to walk as he carried his child, going north to reach home base.

“I am sorry your mother wasn’t here alongside me to christen you. You know, we discussed many names for you,” he recounted. “If you were a boy, we would have named you ‘Jonathan’. That’s an appropriate for a young boy, I believe. And, well, I do have a fondness for the nickname ‘Johnny’. Although, your mother was insistent on the name ‘Joseph’.

“But for a girl, we had agreed quite easily on a name. ‘Mary’. It’s a beautiful name, one that is very important and meaningful,” he continued, smiling. “And seeing you, my daughter… you fit the name perfectly.”

The young man rubbed his thumb across her squishy cheeks, enamored with the way she was beginning to yawn and fall asleep against him. “Mary, Mary, Mary. Yes, no other name fits you better. You are my miracle, Mary. I promise, as your father, I will do whatever it takes to keep that smile on your face.”

#funny valentine #the american dream #funny valentine jojo #jojo #jjba #jjba part 7 #jojos bizarre adventure #heart of everything #mary valentine #jojo oc #jojo fic #jjba fic

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blurredcolour · 1 year ago

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You Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under | Part Two

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Dick Winters x Female SOE Agent!Reader

Dick's mandated dose of civilization puts him, quite literally, on a collision course with someone he had not expected to see again.

Warnings: Discussion of Injuries and Death, Hints of PTSD, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Language, Mature/Explicit Themes [handjob, fingering, vaginal sex, condoms] - 18+ ONLY.

Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal of Dick Winters by Damian Lewis. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within. Non-English is denoted in italics.

Word Count: 6723

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Paris – December 10, 1944

Seeing your roommate off on her train to Arnhem was not exactly how you’d pictured spending your first day off in months. But Lucy had become a close friend to you over the past several weeks you’d shared the relatively luxurious accommodations, and she was all nerves as she headed even closer to the German border. Dressed in your Canadian Women’s Army Corp uniform with Lucy, or Luus in her native Dutch, in her Women’s Royal Navy Service uniform, you had helped her cart her belongings to Gare du Nord to catch her train.

Neither of you had technically trained in the respective uniforms you wore, instead coming to the service by way of the Strategic Operations Executive, due to your language abilities and other skills. Lucy’s family had only very recently moved to England from the Netherlands and her mastery of the Dutch language would be an asset to the Allied headquarters being established in Arnhem. Similarly, you were expecting to spend the rest of the war working in Paris. Exchanging knives and explosives for typewriter ribbon and file folders. Your feelings on the matter oscillated between relief and impotence on a daily basis, but you had little say in the matter.

Waiting until her train was pulling its way out of the station, you began making your way through the flood of passengers disembarking from another train that had pulled in across the platform. Several people bumped into you but only one apologized.

“Sorry –” Spoke a voice you’d probably recognize just about anywhere before he repeated. “Excusez-moi.”

You spun around quickly, eyes going wide as the Lieutenant from Normandy stood before you, sending your thoughts hurtling back to early June. You had been gasping for breath – the proximity of the detonation had driven the air from your lungs, compounded by the now dead weight of the German solider on top of you. An obnoxious ringing had taken up residence in your ears, obscuring any and all other sound as you had futilely pushed at the burden above you, shock weakening your muscles. The ground had begun to tremble then, an immediately recognizable sign that tanks were approaching, increasing the beat of your heart to a frantic rate as you lay essentially incapacitated in the road.

Suddenly the pressure above you had eased and you had frozen, holding your breath and closing your eyes, unable to determine just who exactly was intervening in your situation. When a pair of fingers found the pulse in your neck and two sets of hands lifted you from the road, you had risked cracking your eyelids only to be greeted by the sight of the Lieutenant carrying you by your knees. His face had been wreathed in sunlight, sea-glass green eyes striking in the shadow cast beneath his helmet, looking practically ethereal as he had moved you to safety.

Brought back to the present by the realization that you were gaping at him like a startled rabbit, lost in your memories, your eyes flicked to the cap on his head and confidently noted his promotion. “A captain now.”

“A Canadian now.” He replied as his own eyes settled on the patch embroidered on your shoulder. “Or were you always, Charlotte?” The hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as his green eyes met yours.

Your throat clenched at the name, and you swallowed hard to clear it before smiling even wider than before. “I’m sorry you’ve got me confused with my good friend Charlotte Roussel. She’s told me all about you.” You offered your hand to shake as you introduced yourself properly, no pseudonym this time, only your real name.

Taking your gloved hand in his, he shook it firmly with a bemused expression playing on his face. “Dick Winters. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Captain. If you are in need of a place to stay, I happen to have a recently vacated room in my apartment I would be happy to loan to you, free of charge. The hotels in Paris would love nothing more than to liberate you of your American dollars.” You hazarded a guess that he was on a short leave based on the small bag he carried at his side.

“I wouldn’t want to impose…” His denial was half-hearted, leaving you with an opening to convince him.

“Not at all. Besides, Charlotte would not forgive me if I did not repay you for saving her life.” You insisted with a nod, not missing the way his eyes slid to your forehead. You flexed your fingers at your sides, willing them to remain there rather than nervously checking that your hair was covering the still-healing scar.

“If I remember it correctly, she saved mine first.”

“Please it’s just a short subway ride.” You gestured down the significantly emptier platform and he nodded his assent, turning to follow you.

You helped him purchase his fare, his unfamiliarity with the local currency somehow charming, before guiding him underground. Securing a pair of seats by the door, he had barely slid into place before someone was calling your name from further down the carriage.

“I’m so sorry, I’ll be right back.” You apologized before hurrying over to greet one of your colleagues, a staff assistant to one of the officers at headquarters.

He asked you all about your plans for your days off while not-so-subtly trying to find out more about the American soldier you had boarded the subway with. It was an easy topic to skirt around by encouraging him to talk about his recent promotion and his new French girlfriend, but you found your eyes glancing at Captain Winters as his posture seemed to grow more and more rigid.

“Sorry to cut you off, First Sergeant Danvers, but I’ll see you in the office on Tuesday.” You excused yourself as politely but as firmly as possible before returning to stand beside the Captain, very carefully setting your hand on his shoulder.

“Captain?” You asked softly, swallowing as he looked to you sharply before slowly exhaling. “Next stop is ours.”

He nodded and gathered his things, following you off the train at the station and up the stairs back into the light of day. Your apartment lay in a building that had been requestioned by the British army, not two blocks from the station, on the second floor. The previous owners had fled in the face of German occupation and left some furnishings which you were using, though more beds were slated for delivery in January with the arrival of further CWACs. Unlocking the door, you led Captain Winters into the foyer, carefully removing your uniform cap to hang by the door.

“Kitchen is on the left, living room overlooks the street, bedrooms and the bathroom are this way.” You led him down a corridor to the room that Lucy had just vacated, retrieving her apartment key from the nightstand. “So you can come-and-go as you please.”

He took it carefully after tucking his garrison cap into his belt, setting his bag on the freshly made bed. “This is extremely kind of you, thank you again.”

Now that you were no longer in public, you licked your lips, feeling as though you owed him a proper explanation. “I considered our accounts balance, Captain, once you helped me retrieve my men. Therefore, I owe you for saving my life.”

Captain Winters eyed you intensely as he registered your use of ‘I’ and ‘my.’

“I’ve seen you wear many different costumes…how close to your real persona is this one?” He asked, looking over your CWAC uniform curiously.

“The closest, honestly, though I don’t feel like I’ve really earned the Sergeant’s stripes, they are necessary to explain my presence so far forward. The war is over for Charlotte, France all-but liberated, yet I still have skills to contribute. And my British accent is sh – shameful.” You corrected yourself with a smirk, recalling his distaste for coarse language, enjoying the twitch of his lips in response. “I’m assisting with translation in the Allied offices here. The delay in relaying them to England is no longer necessary.”

“So, really a Canadian.” He confirmed.

“Yes, and you know my real name, too.” You nodded reassuringly. “But I’m assuming you’d like to see more of Paris than just this apartment?” You laughed and he nodded quickly. “Would you like a guide or –”

The ‘yes’ was out of his mouth before you even had the chance to give him an out and you bowed your head lest he see the smile that pulled from you.

“That is, if you’re free and willing…” He amended, tone sheepish.

“It’s the least I can do for the man who saved me from being crushed by a tank.” You smirked and he chuckled before his eyes widened.

“I still have your knife, back at the base.” He frowned.

You grinned a little, shaking your head. “Good. That’s good.” Echoing his words to you when he realized your hearing had returned. “Keep it. It saw me through a lot of things. I hope it does the same for you.”

He eyed you a moment. “Thank you…for your honesty, and the knife.” He clarified.

“I apologize that I cannot always be honest with you, but I will endeavour to do so as circumstances permit. Now, I’m assuming you haven’t had lunch?”

“Not yet, no.”

“There’s an excellent café not far from here, shall we?” You led him back out through the foyer, snagging your cap on the way by, the pair of you taking a moment on the threshold to secure your uniform cover before you locked the door and headed back outside.

The streets were filled with soldiers on leave, but with his height and bright red hair, it was difficult to lose him in the crowd. Securing a table outside, you walked him through the menu before ordering on his behalf in French.

“Where did you learn to speak it so well?” He asked, tilting his head.

“Oxford.” You swallowed hesitantly as not many men appreciated the fact that you had studied at university, let alone a prestigious school in England. To your great relief he titled his head back and simply laughed.

“Nix would be so jealous to hear you say that…” He shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee as it was delivered.

“Lieutenant Nixon?” You clarified, taking the time to add the packet of Saccharin that you had requested to sweeten the bitter liquid.

“He’s a captain now, but yes. A Yale man, but not an Oxford man.”

You laughed in relief, sipping your own beverage once it was slightly more palatable.

“What took you there?”

“Scholarship, and my uncle, my mother’s brother, lived there. The opportunity to go to Europe was difficult to pass up. I began my undergraduate degree in 1938.”

He shook his head, presumably at the timing. “Did you manage to finish?”

You nodded quickly. “Graduated with a major in French, minor in German in the spring of 1942.”

He hummed thoughtfully, the strategic value of those two languages going unspoken in such a crowded space.

“How about yourself?” You prompted as your food arrived, laying your napkin across your lap.

“I went to Franklin & Marshall College in Pennsylvania – definitely not Oxford or Yale. Graduated with an Economics degree in ’41. Tried to get my military service out of the way early but then Pearl Harbor happened and well, here I am…” He shrugged, tucking into his food.

The pair of you spent a good hour, trading questions back and forth between bites of your food, learning about your families, where you had grown up, why you had joined the war effort.

“My uncle was killed during an air raid in London in May of 1941. He’d gone to visit a friend and stayed the night – apparently, they had tried to drink the pub dry.” You shook your head fondly in memory. “The Luftwaffe decided to bomb the neighborhood that night, neither of them even made it into the shelter. I almost quit my studies the next day to join FANY or become a Land Girl or just…do something useful.” You sighed leaning back in your chair as the waitstaff came to collect your empty plates, avoiding Captain Winters’ gaze, though you could feel his eyes on your cheek. “Friend of mine convinced me I could do more good if I finished what I started – that my language skills would be put to good use once I honed them.”

“Sounds like a wise friend.” He replied softly and you turned to him.

“They are. Helped me get where I am today.” You nodded meaningfully, a movement which he mirrored in unspoken understanding. “Anyway, I’m meant to be showing you around.” You forced a smile and summoned the bill, though Captain Winters beat you to punch by laying a large number of francs on the table, not allowing you to pay for your own meal. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He replied, pulling out your chair once he’d received his change.

Leading him along the historic streets you showed him some of the more famous sites, waiting patiently as he picked up a pack of postcards to send home as the sun began to set.

“There’s a popular restaurant just up the street, did you want to try and get a table for dinner?” You offered once he rejoined you, tucking his purchase into his pocket.

“That would be nice, yes.” He nodded, his hand hovering just above your lower back as you navigated your way along the crowded sidewalk to the restaurant.

Placing your name on the waitlist, the pair of you were idling patiently in the foyer when your direct report Major Wilkes stepped out of the dining room, making you stand up straighter. “Good evening, sir.”

He looked over to you and the American Captain standing tall at your side, greeting you in kind. “Enjoying your well-earned rest, Sergeant?” He asked warmly.

“Yes sir, thank you again.”

“You’ve earned it.” He reminded you with a laugh.

“Major Wilkes, may I present Captain Winters of the 101st Airborne.” You introduced the men to one another properly as you recalled your manners.

The two shook hands and exchanged pleasantries before Major Wilkes turned back to the maître d,’ murmuring something neither of you could hear. “See you on Tuesday, Sergeant. Enjoy your time in Paris, Captain.”

“Good night, sir.” You smiled, glancing at the Captain before the maître d’ was calling your name to seat you, ahead of several other groups who had been waiting longer.

“Your CO seems to like you.” Captain Winters murmured once you were settled at a table a few rows back from the dancefloor, not too close to the bandstand.

“Major Wilkes is a good man, easy to work for.” You nodded, setting your cap on the empty chair beside you.

“I’m glad. And grateful.” He lifted the menu, and you leaned in once more to walk him through the options, swallowing as he smelled of Brylcreem and aftershave.

Conversation didn’t flow as easily once the band started playing, couples crowding the dancefloor as you enjoyed some delicious yet overpriced food. The Captain seemed to be watching you closely, glancing between you and the dancefloor, until a slow song began to play, and he leaned in. “Would you like to dance?”

Dabbing at the corner of your mouth with your napkin you nodded quickly, heart leaping into your throat as he pulled out your chair to help you stand. You set your hand in his, following him onto the crowded dancefloor as he set one hand on your waist, the other held out to the side in his as he swayed with you to the music. Neither of you were particularly talented dancers, but you could not deny how lovely it felt to be held this close by him. You glanced at him with a shy smile, certain the tips of his ears were pink, though it may have been the dim lighting, before you looked to the side as you nibbled your lip, trying to even out your breathing.

Belatedly you realized that Captain Winters was speaking to you, into your right ear, which had never fully recovered from your roadside escapade in Normandy. It had a habit of being particularly uncooperative in crowded, noisy places such as this. Registering the vibrations of his voice you turned your head quickly to look up at him. “I’m so sorry could you repeat that please?” You asked before offering him your left ear.

After a moment or two of nothing but music you turned back to see him frowning deeply.

“Oh, Captain, please, it’s the only thing, and then only sometimes, not always.” You tried to reassure him, reaching out to smooth the furrow of his brow with your fingertips.

“Please call me Dick.” He replied, leaning towards your left ear as he spoke.

“Alright, Dick.” You exhaled, your heart fluttering erratically as you turned your head to press your lips against his softy.

His feet stopped moving altogether, hand clasping yours tighter as you felt the fingers of his other hand curling into the back of your uniform jacket. His lips pressed closer to yours, drawing a barely audible sigh through your nose, until another couple carelessly bumped into you, jolting you apart. Dick carefully steadied you and you squeezed his hand, leading him back to the table to grab you cap. He flagged down a waiter and, infuriatingly, paid yet again before leading you out in the dim streets out black-out Paris.

“I was trying to save you money, not make you spend it all.” You gently chastised him, almost stepping off the curb in front of a cyclist you did not hear approaching from the right.

His arm quickly slid around your shoulders, pulling you close into his chest just before they zoomed by spewing curses in their wake. “Careful. I already told you it’s my pleasure.” He assured you before offering his arm.

“Thanks, Dick.” You took it slowly, trying not to let your frustration show. You had previously excelled at navigating dark places and now you were forced to rely on the guidance of others. Taking a fortifying breath, you began leading him along the sidewalk. “I thought we’d walk home, the subway didn’t seem to agree with you?” You asked carefully.

“I’d appreciate that.” He replied, keeping an eye out for further obstacles hidden by the shadows of the black out as the pair of you made your way back to the apartment in companionable silence.

“I just need to close the curtains before we turn on the lights, one moment.” You left Dick in the foyer, setting your cap on the hook by the door before tugging the black out curtains closed in each room, turning the lights on as you made your way back to him. “Sorry about that I wasn’t thinking when we left.”

He shook his head softly, watching you quietly from right where you’d asked him to wait. “Do you think it would be all right if I were to take a hot bath tonight?"

You smiled warmly and nodded. “Absolutely alright, I’ll get you set up.”

Leading him to the bathroom you set out some towels and the bar of soap, turning to him. “There should be plenty of hot water at this time of night, the boiler will have had time to refill. Anything else you need before I leave you to it?”

His lips quirked into a tentative smile. “Yes, might I kiss you goodnight?”

Your pulse quickened as you tried not to smile like a buffoon. “Please.” Your voice waivered slightly, much to your annoyance, but mercifully it did not seem to deter Dick.

He stepped forward, hands cupping the sides of your face tenderly as he angled your lips to meet his. Gripping his forearms to steady yourself, you came to realize that Dick was a different man when he set his mind to something. You had simply taken him by surprise on the dancefloor. This kiss was altogether more assertive and left you breathless as he pulled back.

“Goodnight.” He smiled gently, nose brushing the hair from your forehead to press his lips to the scar there softly.

“Night.” You exhaled, eyes fluttering shut briefly at the surge of emotions that unleashed within you, taking a steady breath before you were able to smile dreamily and slip out.

Retiring to your room, you unpinned your hair carefully before sliding into your cotton nightgown, pulling your quilted housecoat overtop and settling onto the double bed left by the apartments previous owners to do some reading while you waited your turn to use the washroom. Fully absorbed in the novel that Lucy had left for you, you were surprised when you noted that over an hour had passed since you had opened your book. Frowning, you slid your bookmark into place before cracking the door open slightly and peering down the hall, startled to see the bathroom door still closed while the door to the other bedroom remained open.

Gnawing on your lower lip you walked to the end of hall, knocking gently on the door. “Dick?” You waited, frown deepening as there was no response. Your main concern that he had fallen asleep in the deep claw-footed tub, at great risk of drowning. Knocking more firmly, you called his name again. “I’m coming in if you don’t answer.” You warned, giving it a slow count to ten before stepping into the humid washroom, careful to keep your eyes well above the waterline.

True to your concern, the man was sound asleep, thankfully with his head bent back over the edge of the tub, a washcloth cushioning his neck. Impressed by the level of comfort he must be feeling to sleep through all the noise you were making, you took a step closer, calling his name yet again. Kneeling beside the tub with your back to his lower body, you focused on his peacefully sleeping face, shaking your head in awe before reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He jolted awake, sending now-tepid water sloshing over the side of the tub and down your housecoat onto the backs of your calves. You let out an involuntary gasp at the temperature shock.

“Aw heck, I’m so sorry I…” His hands quickly dove under the water to cover himself.

“It’s alright, I’m glad you’re ok.” You smiled, waving off his concern and leaned in to kiss his cheek before moving to stand.

“Before you leave uh, could you uh pass the soap?” He’d gone red to the tips of his ears.

You bit the inside of your cheek to smother your grin and fetched it from atop the towel behind you. As you turned back to him, your eyes accidentally fell on the length of his body beneath the water, hands still firmly cupping between his legs. Unable to look away, to think, to move, Dick’s voice brought you back to reality.

“You alright, honey?” He asked softly and your eyes snapped to his face as the term of endearment dripped from his lips.

“More than alright.” You breathed in reply, seized by the need to lay your hands on his pearly white skin smattered in a constellation of freckles. Shrugging out of your housecoat you were left in your ankle-length nightgown with frills of lace at the shoulders. “May I help?” You tilted your head, kneeling at the edge of the tub once more.

He watched you with wide eyes, seeming unable to avert his gaze this time before his adam’s apple bobbed violently at your question. You waited patiently until he gave you one sharp nod, dipping the bar of soap into the water before you began to drag it along his neck and chest, sliding it beneath his dog tags. Their metallic jangle was the loudest sound in the washroom. You took a moment to rinse his skin clean with your other hand before repeating the pattern with his upper arms and abdomen, shifting to the bottom of the tub to do the same with his calves and feet. You did not miss the way his breaths grew heavier, lips parting slightly, his eyes never once leaving your face.

“Can I wash your hands?” You ask, biting your lip as he only offered one as the other tried and failed to hide his erection.

Swallowing thickly, you focused on washing it thoroughly – between each finger and up to his elbow, rinsing the suds from his skin before holding your hand out for the other. He set it in yours boldly, meeting your eyes, no longer feeling the need to hide from you as his clean hand gripped the edge of the tub. Once his second hand was clean you leaned in to press your lips to his, trailing the soap down his abdomen once more before dipping it to his left hip then sweeping it back up to before repeating the motion to his right. His breath shuddered against your lips, and you pulled back to look over his face.

“Ok?” You breathed, throat constricting at his blown pupils, and he nodded violently before sliding a hand to the back of your neck to pull you closer, kissing you hungrily. You traced your fingers along the length of him, reveling in the shiver that wracked his body. Abandoning the bar of soap, you wrapped your hand around him fully, running your tongue along his bottom lip as his mouth fell open with a soft gasp.

It was a noise you soon echoed as his tongue slid forward to meet yours, licking into your mouth teasingly at first before he was confidently dominating the kiss. Bracing your free hand against his shoulder, you began to move your first along his length in earnest, lips curling against his as his knees bent before falling open, sloshing still more water from the tub. You could feel the cotton of your nightgown wicking the water higher along the material, surely become more and more translucent with each bit of moisture, yet you remained undeterred.

Forced to part from his lips to suck in a greedy breath to soothe the ache in your lungs, you experimentally swiped your thumb across the tip of his cock, sinking your teeth into your lower lip as his head fell back with a moan, hips nudging towards your hand needily. Encouraged, you made a point of repeating that motion, paying special attention to the head as you reached the apex of each pull. You watched the way his eyebrows knit together, listened to the pants and breathy grunts, felt further onslaughts of water as his hips bucked to your touch. Your thighs pressed together as you felt your panties grow damp in response, desperate for some friction of your own, but nonetheless thoroughly enjoying the act of pleasuring him.

“Honey, I’m…” He lifted his head to look at you quickly, voice tense, jaw muscles ticking.

You nodded eagerly and his fingers, which had been clinging to the back of your neck this entire time, hauled you in to plant his lips against yours fiercely. You happily swallowed his hoarse shout as his hips surged up into your grip, cock twitching as you felt him release into the now-cold bathwater. Stroking him through his release, you placed gentle kisses across his cheeks before shifting your hand to stroke his side.

“That was…” He sighed, speechless before brushing his lips against yours gratefully, cheeks still flushed.

“I’m glad.” You smiled shyly, brushing your nose against his. “Now come on that water is cold.” You murmured, standing and holding open a towel for him.

He gave you a crooked grin before pulling the plug from the drain and leveraging himself to his feet, stepping onto the rather wet bathmat and taking the towel to wrap around his waist. It was only then he properly noticed how much of your skin he could see through the damp patches of your nightgown. “I splashed you quite a bit, didn’t I. Sorry about that.” He murmured.

“I have another nightgown I can change into, don’t worry about it.” You assured him, reaching for your housecoat, but his arms slid around your waist, pulling you against his still-wet torso, drawing a gasp from your chest.

“Don’t bother.” He muttered before kissing you deeply.

Fingers digging into his biceps you squeaked against his lips as he began to shuffle you backwards, shocked that he was confidently leading you through your own apartment nearly blind. Reaching your bedroom, he looked to you softly, gathering the fabric of your nightgown in his hands. “May I?”

You nodded, licking your kiss-swollen lips, before the flurry of sodden cotton obscured your view. He lay it over your desk chair, turning back to you and exhaling reverently.

“You are so beautiful, honey.”

“Dick…” You whispered shyly in protest, but he shook his head, long fingers cradling your face tenderly to force your eyes to meet his.

“So beautiful.” He repeated, guiding you to lay on the bed.

Sliding on the mattress next to you, his lips began to map the skin on your jaw, body braced on his left arm while his right slid along your collarbone. Delving your fingers into his short ginger locks, you sighed warmly, tilting your head to offer more skin to his exploring mouth. Touch featherlight, his fingertips traced down the swell of your breast, making you arch towards his hand in invitation as he trailed open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. You rewarded him with a soft moan as he cupped your tender flesh fully, gently kneading the weight of it in his warm palm, your nails brushing against his scalp.

As he reached the hollow of your throat, he darted his tongue out to lap at the skin there, making you writhe sightly beneath him. The contrast of his warm skin and the rough metal of his dog tags pressing against you was making your head swim. The addition of his tongue as he lapped at the supple flesh of your breast had you mewling breathlessly, once again pressing your thighs together to try and assuage the sheer need you felt. His hand slid along your side, progress slowing as his fingertips encountered the long, jagged scar there. It was well-healed by now, but still raised to the touch. He swiped his thumb along it tenderly before his hand moved to your hip, giving a gentle squeeze before skirting down your thigh. Exhaling shakily, you parted your legs for him, the pair of you gasping as his fingers cupped between your thighs.

“Dick.” You whimpered.

“Ok?” He looked to your face quickly and you nodded rapidly, lifting your hips to help him slid your panties down and off your legs.

Your eyes fluttered shut as his fingers returned to trace your folds before carefully parting them. His thumb came to circle your clit, the callous on the edge of his digit working wonders as his index finger dipped into the entrance to your warmth, teasing you.

“Oh my god..sh…” You belatedly caught your curse, not missing the way he chuckled against your shoulder before pressing his lips to your skin fondly. You forced your eyes open to look at him, if a bit blearily, but the smug bastard only replied by sinking his finger fully into you. “Christ!” You moaned richly, completely losing control of your manners, and your volume, as he stroked it along your silken walls before adding another.

Graciously, he pressed his lips to yours to smother any further curses his actions might have drawn from you, and you moaned richly against his tongue as you clung to his shoulders. You barely even noticed the way his dog tags were knocking into your chin, but he insisted on pulling back for a moment to swing them behind his neck before sliding a second finger into you. Your thighs began to tremble as you bucked wildly towards his hand, panting against his lips.

“P..please…” You pleaded, so very close, not wanting him to lose interest in your pleasure as your only other partner had seemed want to do.

“I’ve got you, honey, I’ve got you.” He reassured you, the pace of his fingers increasing until your thighs clamped down around his hand. Hastily, he covered your mouth with his as he felt your walls begin to flutter, smothering your wail as your nails dug into his skin slightly.

Chest heaving, you pulled back from his lips to try and catch your breath, body still trembling with small aftershocks of pleasure. Dick gently slid his fingers from your body, your breath hitching in your throat before you smiled at him fondly.

“Good?” He asked softly, smoothing the hair from your face tenderly.

“Very good.” You reassured him, pecking his lips warmly.

They curled against yours in a soft grin before he whispered your name as you tugged the very loose towel from his lips to find his cock fully erect once more.

“Are you sure?” He asked, looking to you.

“Do you have a condom?” You asked and he paused a moment before nodding.

“I’ll be right back.” He quickly secured the towel around his waist again, making you chew your lip fondly as he dashed out of the room. He was not gone a full minute before he returned with several individually wrapped paper packets, making you raise an eyebrow.

“Optimistic man.”

He laughed under his breath. “It’s cold tonight, I didn’t want to have to leave this room again.” He explained, shutting the door behind him before shedding the towel and climbing into bed with you.

Working together, you secured the latex sheath over his length before Dick settled between your thighs. He rested his weight on his right forearm beside your head, fingertips stroking your hair as he took his cock in hand. “Ok, honey?”

He checked one last time and your hearth clenched warmly as you reached out to cup his cheek. “Yes.” You reassured him, running your thumb along his lower lip.

He pressed a kiss to the pad of your thumb before rolling his hips forward, carefully sinking into your warmth, his fingers, now free of their burden, lacing with yours and pining your hand to the pillow. His jaw hung open as your body welcomed him inch by inch, stretching to envelope him completely until his pelvis nestled snuggly against yours.

“Mhmm!” You keened, rocking up against him eager for him to move as he brought a feeling of completion that you’d never felt before.

His fingers flexed in your grip before he began the push and pull to build another orgasm within you, his grunts and breathy moans blended with words of adoration, all directed into your left ear. The mixture of it all – the pleasure, the care, the emotions – brought tears to your eyes and praise tumbled from your own lips in return.

“So good, Dick.”

“Like an angel, honey.”

“Just like that, yes!”

“Only you can make me feel this good.”

“Oh, Dick I’m…I’m gonna…”

“Yes honey, let go.”

You pressed your face tightly to his neck, your knees hugging his hips tightly as your back bowed with the force your release, an anguished cry of pleasure wrenched from your throat as you clamped down tightly around him. His rich groan followed shortly after as he rocked tightly against you in the throes of his own climax. Pulling from you slowly, he carefully rolled to lay beside you, the pair of you grinning up at the ceiling stupidly for a moment before you rolled onto your side to kiss his cheek.

Collecting the used condom, despite his protests, you padded to the washroom to run through your night routine at last, gratefully sliding into the housecoat to turn out the lights before returning to find him waiting for you beneath the quilt. Dick immediately pulled you into his chest as you slid into the bed and kissed your forehead.

As his fingers pulled at the tie of your housecoat, however, you could not help but laugh. “Really?”

He chuckled in return, pressing a kiss to your jaw before his fingers darted beneath the warm fabric to find the scar on your side. “What happened?” He asked softly and your throat clenched at the concern in his voice.

“Bayonet.” You replied quietly, frowning as his eyes jerked up to meet yours in the low light of the bedside lamp you’d left on. “I was lucky, really.” You smiled fondly at his incredulous look. “He tried firing on me first, but his weapon jammed, and then he got so flustered he barely stuck me.” You ran your fingers through his hair soothingly as you spoke.

“This looks like a little more than barely.” He countered flatly and you kissed him softly.

“I was furious. First mission and I made it all of four days before I got hurt.” You shook your head. “A sympathetic doctor stitched me up and then it was a long way back to England to heal.”

“So, I met you on your…” He prompted, thumb sweeping along your scarred flesh as though he might erase the mark with his touch.

“Second.” You nodded. “And last in a way. I’ll never be able to do those things again with my right ear the way it is…” You grimaced and it was his turn to kiss you reassuringly.

“You’ve done more than enough, honey, more than should have ever been asked of you. And yet you’re still here, in a uniform, helping all the same.”

Pressing your forehead to his you sighed fondly. “Thank you.”

“We should get some sleep.” He murmured, pulling you close into his chest so he could reach with a long arm to turn off the lamp behind you.

It proved difficult to leave his arms for the rest of his time in Paris, though you managed to see to it that you remained fed despite Dick’s efforts to tire you out completely. Not a single condom went to waste. As he lay sleeping in the late afternoon, you took the opportunity to write a letter for him to carry with him – not knowing where he would find himself next, nor when you’d have the chance to see him again. Seized by the radical idea to package it up with some small token, you pried the badge from your cap, hoping the three silver maple leaves would make him think of you. Folding the badge within the letter, you tucked it into the front pocket of his luggage, fully prepared to feign complete astonishment when its absence was noted by Major Wilkes, or whomever noticed first.

Early Tuesday morning, you delivered Dick to Gare du Nord to catch the first train back to Mourmelon-le-Grand, unable to ignore the way he crossed his arms against the chilly north wind that seemed to herald to arrival of winter. Glancing at the drab olive wool scarf dangling around your neck you bit your lip as you reached the platform before sliding it off. Grasping each end, as Dick turned to say goodbye, you carefully slung it over his shoulders.

“Keep warm, Dick.”

His eyes widened. “I can’t take this from you, you’ll freeze.”

“I can get a new one easily.” With your hands still on the ends of the scarf you pulled him in to kiss him softly. “Good luck out there.” You repeated your parting words from Normandy.

His hands rose to cup your cheeks one last time as his eyes traced over the features of your face as if to commit it to memory. “I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

You nodded quickly, all possible responses congealing into a lump in your throat that made it impossible to speak. The rumble of the approaching train shattered the intensity of the moment and he quickly pressed one final kiss to your forehead before reluctantly stepping back, turning only at the last moment to step into the carriage. You stood rooted to the spot, only able to inhale tiny sips of air lest you shatter into tears, until it disappeared out of sight.

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Read Part Three

Your Arms Pull Me In Like The Tide Pulls Me Under Masterlist

Tag list: @allthingsimagines, @bcon24

#dick winters x reader #dick winters #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers

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