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beels-burger-babe · 3 years

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A Little Voice Told Me - Pt.2

Poly! MC Summary: Words hurt and leave their scars. MC learns this the hard way after hearing some not-so-nice whispers about them while on a date with Beel. How are they supposed to be the partner of the seven lords of the Devildom when they just don't measure up? Part 1: HERE, Part 3: HERE ***Good Golly!! Y'all really like the angst, huh? Here you guys go. Cry your hearts out and enjoy! - B*** Beelzebub woke up the rest of his brothers early the next morning. While most of them attempted to flip him off or threaten him at the initial disturbance, all it took was him saying that they needed to talk about you for them to shoot out of bed. In a matter of minutes, all of them, except Levi, were seated around the breakfast table. "If we're talking about MC, why aren't they here?" Satan asked while poking at a piece of fruit. "I don't know about you, but I personally don't feel right talking about them behind their back." Belphie scoffed and laid his head in his arms. "It's not like we're gossiping about them or anything. They were acting off last night, and Beel thought we should discuss what we're gonna do about it." Beel nodded, "They pulled into themself halfway through the night, and was upset but kept brushing me off whenever I tried to talk to them about it." Mammon huffed and crossed his arms. "Maybe they just didn't feel like they could talk to ya about it," he rose to his feet and began to walk towards the door. "I'm the first! I'm sure I can get it out of them, easy peasy! I'll just head in there and-" "Mammon, sit down!" Lucifer hissed. Mammon grumbled under his breath but did as told. Lucifer sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We've talked about this. Stop bringing up the whole 'first man' thing. MC is in a relationship with all of us. Not just you." The second-born pouted and stabbed an egg with his fork.

Lucifer rolled his eyes at his brother's antics and looked back at Beel. "Something clearly happened during the date. Do you have any ideas at all at what it could've been?" Asmodeus stirred a swirly straw around in his drink. "I mean, I would be pretty upset if I spent three hours of my evening at a barbaric sporting event too," Asmo chuckled and smirked. "The only good thing about sports is that you get to see all those rippling muscles of the athletes in action." Beel scowled at his brother took a bite out of the omelet that was on his plate. "It wasn't because of the game. MC loves coming to my Fangol games and was having a blast with me until halftime. Something had to have happened while I was gone." Asmodeus opened his mouth to counter the statement when Leviathan came rushing into the room carrying his laptop. Lucifer raised an eyebrow at the sight, "What have I told you about devices at the table?" Leviathan shot him an annoyed look as he plopped down in one of the chairs. "This isn't about table etiquette. This is about MC," he looked over at Beel and Belphie. "I think I have an idea on what may have caused them to start distancing themselves." Everyone perked up in interest at the news; each one of them eager to know what was distressing their loved one so much that they felt like they couldn't talk to them. "Well are you going to tell us, or are you just going to sit there?" Satan quipped, his anger beginning to get the better of him as he sat on the edge of his seat. Levi gave him a flat look before he typed a few things on his keyboard. "I was doing a raid last night trying to keep my mind off of what might've happened with MC and decided to ask my party members about it," Leviathan's expression darkened as he began to explain. It was clear to everyone that whatever was said, wasn't taken lightly by the otaku. Rather than reading the conversation out loud, he turned his laptop screen for all his brothers to see. Leviachan: Gaaah! I just can't focus on the game tonight. My partner came back from a date tonight and has been acting kind of sus. There's definitely something bothering them, but they refuse to tell anyone. Ruri-Chans-Husbando: Dude, you're talking about that stupid human right? Why are you even with them? You shouldn't give a Normie like them the time of day. Waifu-Addict: Exactly! Listen, we've all been talking and you need to drop that whore. They're totally just using you and your brothers for your titles and power. The demons read in horror and rage as the chat room filled with messages from the members of Leviathan's party all saying similar garbage about you and degrading you in every way they could think of. Satan stood up and began to pace near the table as he used every inch of his self-control to keep himself from lashing out. "I want names, Levi. Who are they and why do they seem to think it's okay to talk about MC like- like that?!" Satan snarled as he curled his hands into fists. Levi tsked and crossed his arms, as Lucifer took the laptop to look more closely at the messages. "You say that as if I haven't already used my 'title and power' as Grand Admiral to have my men collect and imprison them. They're at the navy base waiting for us to get our hands on them as soon as we sort this whole mess out." Belphie growled, now sitting up and wide awake. "Get our hands on them is right. No one gets away with this shit," Asmodeus glared at the computer as though it had just dyed all of his clothing brown. "Rotten brats. They're all just jealous of stunning MC. Ugh, Diavolo, haters are the worst." Beel pushed his plate away from himself as he frowned deeply. "As disgusting and horrible as this is, what does it have to do with MC getting all quiet during our date?" A low rumble came from Lucifer as he handed the laptop back to Levi. A fiery hatred was burning brightly in his eyes as he gritted his teeth. "If a bunch of anti-social shut-ins are going around talking about our dearest MC like this, I believe Leviathan's point is that others probably are."

"Ouch. I wasn't going to say it l-like that, but yes," Levi winced and continued, "MC probably overheard people saying something about them. I mean, if people said that crap about me I'd probably hide in my room and not come out for months!" Mammon, who had been surprisingly quiet during all of this, had a very serious expression on his face. "Right, and we don't want MC to go through that. For Diavolo's sake, they've left alone to overthink this enough," Mammon stood up and headed towards the door again, Satan hot on his trail. "I'm going up to there to talk with them. Ya'll are welcome to come with, but you ain't stoppin' me." "Actually, Mammon, you're not. We should wait until MC comes to us," Lucifer interrupted. An animalistic snarl tore its way from Satan's throat as what little self-control he had snapped. Wrath incarnate lunged himself at Lucifer, grabbing his older brother by the collar of his cloak. "Are you serious, Lucifer?! You're seriously putting your stupid pride first, now?!? MC needs us!" Lucifer growled and pushed Satan off of him as he stood to size him up. "No. What they need is to not feel pressured to open up when they aren't ready! We can't make them feel like they can't come to us!" Mammon scoffed from where he stood in the back. "Oh, cause that's perfect logic! News flash, oh wise one, They ain't gonna come to us if they're thinkin' they're a burden! But you wouldn't know anything about that would you?!" Lucifer's eyes widen and he took a step back in shock at the statement. "What is that supposed to mean?" Mammon and Satan both opened their mouths to put Lucifer in his place when Beel all of sudden cleared his throat loudly. All three of the angry demons turned to snap at him but froze as they saw you standing in the room behind them. They instantly straightened themselves up gave you their full attention. The air seemed to lay still between you as everyone waited for the other to make the first move. As with almost every situation, it was Mammon who broke the silence. He took a step towards you. "MC, I was just coming to get you actually. There's somethin' we all wanna talk to you about." They could hear your breath catch in your throat as you took a step back. Panic filled your eyes the moment the words left his mouth. "O-Oh. I, um, I was actually just going to grab an apple and then head off to RAD for class. M-Maybe we can talk afterwards?" Satan frowned as you walked past him towards the fruit bowl. "MC, it's the weekend." You stopped mid-step. An uncomfortable tension filled the room as the obvious excuse was exposed. The brothers waited for you to move, to speak, to do something to give them any sort of sign for what you wanted them to do, but you just stood there, still like a statue except for the tremors in your hand. "Come on, Darling," Asmodeus spoke softly. His face clearly showed the hurt and concern that was coursing through him. "Everything's alright, I promise. We just need to talk about a few things." The brothers had thought of a number of ways you could've reacted to them confronting you. Lucifer thought that perhaps you would snap at them and distance yourself further. Mammon, Levi, and Asmo expected a few small tears followed by a cuddle session. Satan imagined a slightly more dramatic telling, like something from one of his novels, that ended him being your hero and massacring all those who dared speak ill about you. Beel thought perhaps you could talk over a bunch of comfort foods that allowed you to remain calm and feel safe. Belphie had hoped that perhaps you hadn't believed what you overheard, and the two of you could laugh at how idiotic even the idea of them not loving you was. But you, breaking down into tears, sobbing the words "I'm sorry" over and over again? None of them had expected, nor were prepared, for that. ***Apparently this is now going to be a three-part series. This part was interesting to write. I fully believe that if the brothers were in a poly relationship with the MC they would definitely bicker and argue about

who knows MC best and who had the better date whenever MC isn't around. Honestly, they probably have a score chart 😅 I hope you guys liked part 2! Keep an eye out for part 3, where MC finally opens up to the boys and we have some hurt/comfort times \uwu/ ***

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hollandsmushroom · 3 years

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Broken Rules and Ruined Lace

Pairing:Tom Holland x Reader AU:No Word Count:3,134 A/n:Um, this is just pure filth pretty much, its slightly edited so I hope it is good but I am not sure…I think everything I write is shit so um, feedback is greatly appreciated. Warnings: Smut Masturbation, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Slight Degradation, Cum Play, Cum, Dom!Tom, Smut, Oral(F receiving), unprotected sex, orgasm control, orgasm denial, spanking(one mention). I think that is everything if not I am sorry.

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It’s not that you wanted to break Tom’s rule, you didn’t want to be his brat, you really wanted to be his good girl. But as soon as you woke up you knew that you were fighting a losing battle and all you could do was try and hold off the inevitable.

You remember when Tom set the rule, both of you laying in bed, your had rested on his sweaty chest as you stared up at his flushed face, entranced by the movement of his lips, they were still wet with your arousal and his spit, the slickness catching the minimal rays of light in the shadowed room causing the thing yet plump flesh to glisten, distracting you from his words.

“Y/n?” he gave your head a light tug, forcing your eyes to meet his “Are ya listening to me?” His accent was thick and words were stern.

“No, sorry”

“I was saying you can’t touch yourself without permission” he growled, mashing his mouth to yours teeth hitting each other with the pressure of the open mouthed kiss. “So no more of what you did today, you hear me?” he asked, breathing heavily from the intensity of the kiss, his eyes looking deep into yours searching for recognition, you gave it to him in the form of a nod and a quiet “Yes, Tommy” before curling even further into him.

As you recalled what that night you knew you should be focusing on the assertiveness he used when speaking to you but all you could think about was how his lips felt on yours. On days like these his words never left your mind, but today you were more focused on remembering your cum on his lips. You knew that you needed permission but you didn’t want to bother with asking him if you could get off without him. Deep down you knew the excuse of not wanting to bother him was simply that, an excuse because you knew what his answer would be and it would be so much easier to disobey if he didn’t know that you had been thinking about it already, if he didn’t know to check if you had broken, if he didn’t remind you of the consequences.

When you had woken up Tom was already gone, you knew that he had press for Spider-Man No Way Home which was premiering tonight, your cunt on the other hand, had a mind of its own. As soon as you had fully awoken you felt a heat in your core, a fire that was waiting to be stoked, one that the clenching of your thighs in an attempt to alleviate the desire only worsened. A small whimper passing your lips as your thighs pressed your labia together, applying pressure to your swollen clit. You tried to ignore it, hauling your ass out of bed and to the kitchen, fixing yourself a nice cup of tea, sipping slowly as you tried to focus on anything else. The burn of the hot liquid on your tongue or how the marble counter was digging into your lower back, even Tessa’s cold nose nuzzling your calf, but nothing was working.

Deciding to put off making a choice until after breakfast, you fixed yourself something to eat. Focusing on the food in front of you as you did your best not to burn anything. Your brain was a debate, divided and arguing over the pros and cons. The pros were simply that you would get off, that the burning itch of ecstasy would go away, the cons well out weighed them, Tom’s punishment should have been threat enough but the state you were in was something past rationality. You surprised yourself by your decision that you were gonna do it. Eyes looking at the clock on the oven, the digital flash of numbers alerting you that Tom would be home in a couple hours, enough time for you to have your fun and not get caught.

You felt a little bad about disobeying Tom, but as soon as your hypersensitive skin met your sheets, and the pads of your fingers touched your clit, all guilt evaporated from you. Your mind was on him the whole time, how his fingers felt in you and on you. Pinching your nipples between your thumb and pointer finger, rolling the nub gently as you rubbed your clit furiously. Your body had been ready to go since you woke up, your orgasm building mere minutes after you began, your fingers covered in your slickness, you wished they could be cleaned by Tom’s tongue. You wanted it to be his fingers or better yet his cock that grazed over your g-spot making you dive into the pool of ecstasy that overflowed in your lower belly. You came down from your high, eyes falling upon the large blotch of liquid that squirted from your core, tainting your pure grey sheets, you assured yourself that it would dry before Tom got home not finding it in you to change the bed sheets.

You felt much more calm, your body feeling less like it was vibrating in a high speed desire ridden anxiety, it felt like you could breath and like you weren’t about to explode. You looked at the clock, knowing that you needed to get ready and you still had just over enough time to get yourself to the state that was presentable to the world. Making your way to the bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping in, scrubbing your hands clean, trying to rid them of your strong scent.

Tom came home from the press junket an hour later, already ready for the event, having had to be all put together since this morning for press. You heard him, his footsteps sounding on the hardwood floor followed loudly by Tessa’s claws clicking as she ran up to him, his voice was tired and beautiful, sounding like home and calling to you.

“Love, you here?”

“Up here Tommy” you shouted in response, continuing to apply your final bits of makeup to be prepared for the evening, specifically the red carpet. Tom followed the sweet notes of your voice, wanting nothing more than to hold you in his arms, to ground himself from all the insanity that was the countless interviews. Tom found his plans changing when he saw something on the covers of your shared bed, his eyes catching on some patches of dampness on the grey duvet cover, they were mostly dry but still altering the color of the sheet a shade darker than it would normally be. His eyebrows raised up his forehead he went to check it was, making sure that Tessa hadn’t peed on the bed again. As soon as got near the spots a familiar scent hit him, arguably his favorite smell, one that almost always made his cock harden, the only exception being when he was already fucked out. It was the smell of your arousal, your cum to be more specific.

He was confused, you hadn’t had sex in a couple of days so why would your cum be on the sheets, unless you broke his rule. He felt a fury boil inside of him, mindlessly drawing him to where you stood in front of the mirror preparing yourself for the premier of his movie tonight.

“Hi Tommy!” you spoke excitedly as you could, your focus on the spooly in your hand applying mascara to your lashes. Without a word his hand wrapped around your wrist pulling your dominant hand to his face.

“Tom what the fuck” you exclaimed, angry that he had interupted you and almost ruined your face of make up but that anger melted quickly, realizing what he was doing as he unfurled your pointer and middle finger from around the mascara wand, bringing them to his nose as he glared at you.

The scent was faint on his nose, not as noticeable as it had been on the bed sheets but yet it was still present, hidden under multiple bouts of hand washing trying to rinse your disobedience down the drain with your lavender scented hand soap but clearly you hadn’t be thorough enough, the faintest hint still present.

“Tom, I-”

“No talking” he bit at you, your mouth shutting immediately as you nodded at his words. He pushed his body against yours, the imprint of his dick showing through his trousers before it pressed against you. His lips burn the skin on your neck before scratching his teeth over the juncture of your shoulder and your collar bone, biting down hard, making you hiss at the pain. “You broke the rule, I should have expected that you being the little fucking brat that you are” he chastized, his fingers bunching up the edges of your dress, hiking it up until the ruffled silk sat above the round of yoru ass, you barely clothed core visible to Tom’s hungry eyes as he knelt infront of you, fingers slipping inbetween your thighs and forcing them apart, a wave of yoru arousal hitting his nose. “You smell so sweet, I would love to devour your pretty little cunt but that’s only for good girls’’ he leans in and bites your mons, the lace barely protecting you from the blunt of his teeth.

The lace scrunched up beneath his teeth as he tugged it farther from your burning skin, pulling them downwards as he exposed your core, mouth watering as he saw your wetness connect to the crotch of your panties to your cunt. He had to remind himself that he couldn’t that you didn’t deserve it, that he was angry with you, but god did you look fucking delicious.

“Im gonna fuck you so hard, your legs are gonna shake the whole way down the red carpet, you’re gonna need me there to hold you up, even though you don’t need me cause you got off on your own” Tom spat, undoing his belt buckle.

“I do need you” you whimpered, the cold on your core nearing pain, all the blood rushing between your thighs increasing your sensitivity, the contrast of the chilled atmosphere on your burning skin already too much for you to handle.

“What did I say about talking, pretty girl” his often soothing voice coming out as a snarl. Taking the base of his cock he ran his tip through your folds, coming downwards over your clit before stopping at your entrance, thrusting into you without any warning, fully entering you with the first thrust. Tom watched as you bit your lip, nearly hard enough to draw blood.

“Good girl, stay quiet” he ordered as he started to thrust, the impetus of his hips making his balls slap against your taint, a jolt rolling up your spine as you felt every inch of him pulsing inside of you.

You wanted to scream, to whine, to moan, but all you could do was bite your lip as the pleasure started to overtake your body, every inch of your body being set aflame as Tom continued his thrusts. Tears were pricking your eyes as his hand gripped into your yielding and supple flesh, you felt your orgasm building, and you knew that Tom was too, his tip twitching against your walls, but just as you were about to unravel he pulled out, grabbing his cock and sliding his hand up and down it, thick white spools of cum shooting out, and landing on your panties, tainting the french lingerie that Tom had bought you on a romantic get away not long before. You were less worried about the lace, more about the intensified burning between your thighs that you now knew wasn’t being satisfied or eased anytime soon.

“It’s time to go,” Tom informed, pulling back from you leaving you standing there, your face portraying nothing but shock, eyes flitting between the cum that tainted your red lace panties and Tom’s smirking face. He tugged your panties back up your legs, soothing the lace over your core and spreading the cum across your folds before planting a kiss on your lips. “Come on” he tugged your wrist and led you down stairs to head to the event.

At the red carpet you felt his cum cooling on your folds and slipping between them, spreading around with every single step you took, you felt it seeping through your lace, smearing on your thighs and making them sticky. It was all you could think about the whole evening, how it continued to spread and absorb into your soft skin, it felt too much, and he wasn’t even touching you. Tom could tell how much it was affecting you, occasionally rubbing his hand up your thigh and gathering a little on his fingers, sneakily placing them in his mouth and sucking them clean. When you arrived home, you were a mess, your thighs sticking with his cum but slipping with your own arousal. It was enough to make you cum just thinking about it, and you were pretty sure you could if given the chance, but you weren’t. As soon as you reached the solace of your bedroom Tom spoke up, really the first time since before the event.

“Let’s get ready for bed” he suggested, causing a frown to overtake your face, but not wanting to make things worse you gave a curt nod and headed to the bathroom, grabbing one of Tom’s shirts on the way in there. You stripped yourself of your constraining dress, slipping on the loose fabric, and involuntary sigh escaping your lips at the feeling of freedom. You had already finished your nightly routine when Tom came in, you were right about to sit down and clean yourself up when he caught you by the waist.

“Nuh uh, don’t clean yourself up yet” he whispered, breath hot on your neck making goosebumps spread wherever his breath touched. “Go lay on the bed and wait for me” he ordered, placing a soft kiss beneath your ear. Spinning you in the direction of the door, and laying a slap on your ass, watching it jiggle as you walked away.

You laid down on the bed, you were stuck on thinking about what was about to happen, having been nearly positive that you already got your punishment for your disobedience. Tom sensed your confusion as soon as he walked into the room, standing at the end of the bed for a moment, watching you as you watched him, his eyes eager as they caught your pussy peeking out from beneath the hem of your shirt.

“I’m gonna make you cum with my tongue” was all he said before he was on you kissing his way down your body, lifting up the oversized shirt that now covered your body, nothing underneath it. The soft cotton bunching up much like your dress had earlier in the evening.

“Look at this cunt, so fucking gorgeous” Tom groaned, looking at how his cum still covered the lips of your pussy. “I love seeing my cum on you” his tongue flicked out and licked some of the arousal that was leaking from your entrance, the mixture of his spunk and your slick delicious on his taste buds.

“Tommy I want you in me” you whimpered, tugging on his hair.

“Nuh uh baby girl, I’m letting you cum on my tongue, you don’t get to be greedy, “ he growled, softly sinking his teeth into your clit. “You can moan, you can touch me, but you will only cum when I tell you too” you nodded your head eagerly, at the point where you would have agreed to anything just to have him touch you properly. He said nothing else, no words, no noise, simply licking over the closed lips of your pussy, enjoying the taste, if he hadn’t drained his cock earlier he knew that he would have been hard, and he was actually happy he wasn’t, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hold out from fucking you to completion if he was.

“Taste so fucking good, baby” he slipped his tongue between your lips, licking over the folds and vallies that lined the inside of your vulva.

“Tom T-t-Tom you feel so- fuck good” you moaned, threading yoru fingers in his hair as you tried to pull him closer to you trying to smear your cunt across his face, but he fought back, he was gonna make you cum, but in his own time. Finally after multiple minutes of kitten licks and light kisses between your folds he fully delved into your cunt. Licking a heated spitty stripe from entrance to clit. He pulled back and spat on your clit, rubbing his nose against it as his tongue slipped into your cunt, licking the inside of nudging that one spot deep inside of you as his nose bumped into your clit. He continued this action over and over again, the thrust of his tongue increasing the pressure on your clit.

“Tommy, I-I-I’m gonna cum” you whimpered, your legs trying to clamp around his head but his hands held them in place.

“Cum on baby, cum on my face” he spoke into your cunt as he sped up his movements, letting pushing you over the edge, and you fell, your back arching off the sheets as your body tensed, toes curling into the duvet as your breath was pulled from you lips, a silent scream on your mouth. He held you through your orgasm, only tearing away from your pussy when he was sure he had milked you of everything that you had. Licking his lips and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he watched you, your eyes were clenched shut as you tried to catch your breath. Your high, leaving you so blissed out that you didn’t realize Tom had left and come back until a cool wet towel soothed your burning core, a sigh escaping your lips.

Throwing the towel into the hamper he crawled into bed next to you, pulling you into him. His touch still burned your skin, the need to unravel around him still not having been satiated. He seemed to sense your tension, rubbing his hand down your back and breaking the thick silence in the air.

“You’ll get what you want tomorrow morning, love, I promise, but don’t you dare think of getting off while I’m asleep,” he hummed, kissing your temple before turning off the light. You wanted to whine, to complain and be a brat but you knew that would just get you even farther from cumming around Tom’s pretty cock, so you maintained your peaceful silence, eyes fluttering shut just thinking of what you were gonna get the next morning.

@thehumanistsdiary @spydeysense

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rocorambles · 4 years

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Perks of the Job

Pairing: Oikawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Non-Con/Rape, Bullying, Coercion, Abuse/Violence, Sexual Assault, Degradation

Prompt: “I wonder what he’d do if he knew you were with me right now.”

Summary: You realize far too late that you should have read the fine print of your job contract, questioned the golden egg that had fallen in your lap a little more as you stand face to face with the man you thought you had left far behind in your life.

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s NSFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this prompt. (Masterlist goes live Sunday, December 6th!)

Big thank you to @sawamooora for beta-reading this~

Even by his first year of high school, Oikawa is used to the attention, used to girls smiling and giggling at just a well practiced wink he sends their way. And although no one catches his interest, he thrives on the power he feels, the way he knows he has people so easily wrapped around his fingers with just a few rehearsed lines and a dash of his natural charm. So he’s surprised when he first encounters you.

Unlike everyone else, you don’t even pause as you pass him in the hallway, don’t even bother to turn for a quick look in his direction. Unlike like every other female, you keep your face focused forward and continue to class, completely tuning out the gaggle of giggling girls he has surrounding him. And suddenly his interest is peaked as he watches your retreating figure, a sharp gleam in his eyes and a new conquest in sight.

He uses every trick in the book at first, shooting coy smiles and flirtatious winks your way, cheerfully greeting you each morning at the front gates and walking you right to the doorway of your classroom, sometimes lingering around to exchange small talk if there was time before class started. You’re polite about it, although a bit hesitant, unsure what about you has caught his interest, uncomfortable with the glowering attention you’re receiving from the females around you, but he grits his teeth in frustration when you never reciprocate with anything more than a small smile and superficial words.

There’s only so long that one can keep a facade, even if it is almost like a second skin and bit by bit, Oikawa’s sheep-like fleece weathers down until snarling fangs and bared teeth are all that remains. You wince as he sharply tugs at your hair, glare as he purposefully knocks the items off your desk onto the floor, and lash out at him to his amusement when he repeatedly closes your locker on you. And although there’s bitterness inside of him that he’s had to resort to such uncouth methods, he can’t help the self satisfied smile when he has all your attention, when your rage filled eyes are locked on him and him alone, when you’re spitting venomous snarls just for him to hear.

So, he’s quite displeased when third year comes around and suddenly it’s like everyone’s biological clock has suddenly started to rapidly tick. Things are different now that they’ve officially entered adulthood.

His fangirls are touchier, more clingy, and although he rolls his eyes as they purposefully hike up their skirt and press their bodies against him when they talk, he doesn’t pull away. It wouldn’t be good for his image. And besides, being an adult means having fun doesn’t it?

So, to the dismay of Iwaizumi and the hoots and hollers of Hanamaki and Matsukawa, he has his fun, sneaking girl after girl into the locker room, the club room, even the equipment room.

But what infuriates him the most is the way seemingly every male suddenly has their eyes on you, the way your locker is filled to the brim on a daily basis with love notes, the way you’re now always surrounded by a flock of groveling boys all clamoring for your attention, the way he can’t even get close enough to do anything to you anymore, the way you seem to forget he even exists.

And that’s unacceptable.

He sends his fangirls to do his bidding and although it’s not nearly as satisfying when he’s not the one personally wreaking havoc in your life, when he doesn’t get to see the look of pain and anger in your eyes up close and personal, there’s still a sense of contentment when he sees your tear stained eyes and ruined uniform from afar, the way you seem to shrink in on yourself in shame and embarrassment when you come out of the women’s locker room, the restroom, places only other female students can get to you, where there are no other eyes to protect you.

But his nails dig into his palms as his fists clench when he sees his fellow male classmates bending over backwards to comfort you, to help you, draping their uniform jackets over your shoulders to hide your disheveled uniform, cooing at your injuries as they gently lead you to the nurse’s office.

And if there’s anything Oikawa hates in the world, it’s losing.

He slams his fist in frustration as he feels you slipping further and further away from him, as he loses against Ushijima, as he loses against Kageyama, as he loses any chance of seeing his dreams of Nationals come true, as he loses in everything that ever mattered to him.

Maybe that’s why he drinks far more than he should at the third year house party, an early graduation party of sorts, a last hurrah before all of you go your separate ways. Maybe that’s why when he sees you, his eyes narrow in determination as he chugs the rest of his drink, despite Iwaizumi’s growl at him to slow down his intake. Maybe that’s why he seeks you out like a bloodhound looking for prey that it’s caught wind of.

And all he can think of as he corners you in an abandoned section of the house, forcing your body against the wall, feeling you helplessly push against him, watching fear and confusion fill your eyes, is that he needs a win - just one win.

But of course life has different plans for him and just as he’s shoved his legs between your thighs, just as one of his hands has slipped underneath your shirt to roughly knead one of your breasts, just as he’s crushed his lips against yours in something far too brutal to be considered a kiss, he’s being torn away from you. It’s only Iwaizumi’s familiar voice and face that keeps the ace from getting punched in the face as he snarls at Oikawa to get the fuck away from you and sober up. And all Oikawa sees is red when he briefly glances back once more before turning the corner, only to see his own best friend kindly hovering next to you, gently taking care of you and fixing your clothes for you, an uncharacteristic softness in green eyes as he looks at you.

Betrayal like he’s never felt before suffocates him as he watches the two of you tentatively begin to dance around each other in an awkward yet endearing courtship. He watches as he loses his best friend, watches as he loses the only woman who’s ever caught his interest, watches as the two of you walk off into your fairytale sunset together, hand in hand, never even glancing back at him as you both go off on your merry way together.

He’s not proud of the cruel smile that naturally stretches across his face when he hears that the two of you have broken up years later, a brief comment that Hanamaki slips into one of their happy hour catch-ups as the ex-Seijoh third years share a bottle (maybe a few bottles) of sake. But he fakes a look of concern and consolement, trying to conceal his curiosity as he lightly questions Iwaizumi about the break-up, airily asking what the reason was.

And he secretly grins as he excuses himself to the restroom when he thinks about the depressed slump of the ex-ace’s shoulders, the downcast look on his face. He cherishes his dear friend, but it’s nice to see someone suffer the same way he had, to share the pain of loss, to share the agony of losing you specifically.

But maybe lost things are meant to be found, he thinks, as he scans the resume handed to him when he enters his office the next morning, chocolate brown eyes gleaming when they see the familiar name neatly typed on the top of the page.

You're desperate.

After Iwaizumi and you had broken up, you had insisted on moving out and living on your own. Never mind the fact that Iwaizumi was paying for the majority of your old rent. Never mind the fact that you don't make nearly enough income to survive on your own. You had just wanted a clean break from the handsome man who had been such a large integral part of your life and despite the small part of you that pleaded to give this relationship another chance, to take him up on his offer to stay with him until you're in a better place to support yourself, you packed your bags and left.

And now here you are, living in an awful part of town, sirens blaring every few minutes, struggling to pay rent for the old decrepit studio that's barely big enough to fit even just your modestly sized bed. But you determinedly make do, putting on your one nice interview outfit and applying your makeup as best as you can despite the cracked bathroom mirror and flickering lights, before taking a deep breath and exiting your apartment.

You're not even sure how you landed an interview at such a prestigious company. Although being a secretary for one of their higher ups doesn't exactly sound like your dream job, when you saw what the salary range was, you leapt at the opportunity. Screw your pride. If faking a smile and acting like a glorified maid for a disgusting old man meant you were finally able to afford a decent quality life? So be it.

Nerves eat at you and your heart pounds as you anxiously wait for the interview to begin, but you're shocked when an employee steps inside the room only to distractedly ask you generic questions, questions you're sure just about anyone could answer, not even pretending to pay attention as he fiddles with his phone in front of you. You can’t help but wonder if this is a good or bad sign. Were you so unqualified that you were just a waste of time? Why even bother bringing you in for an interview if they had intended to turn you away right from the start?

But to your surprise when the quick and simple questioning is done, the interviewer just stands up with a smile and nonchalantly tells you that they'd be in touch soon. And true to his words, your cell phone rings not even a few hours later that same day and you gape as they extend an offer to you with a salary even higher than you had ever imagined, which you eagerly accept, not a trace of doubt or hesitation in your mind.

You meekly follow the friendly receptionist who leads you through the intimidatingly large office, the smell of coffee and the sounds of keyboards clacking and voices chattering swirling around you as you’re led further and further until you’re finally facing a solitary office, far from the bustling crowd of the main floor, reeking of status and power. And you force a tight smile on your face as you’re left alone, taking a deep breath before timidly knocking and opening the door when a voice beckons you in.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight in front of you and if you were jittery before at the prospect of a new job and a new boss, then you’re positively shaking now, trembling like a leaf in the wind when you see a face you hoped you would never see ever again, a face that still haunts you to this day, that brings back painful memories of a tormented childhood. And you wonder if you should quit right here, right now, cursing yourself for not asking more questions about exactly who your employer was, who you’d be working side by side with as their executive assistant.

You’re so lost in your panicked thoughts that you don’t register the tall figure approaching you, head whipping when your name is called in that lilted sing song voice of his and you shudder as familiar brown eyes gaze down at you.

“Oikawa…”

He smiles at your shivering figure and your frenzied wide eyes when you register exactly who you’re now working for. Pride soaring in his chest when he sees the impact he still has, the effect he still has on you, even after all these years. And he can’t help but circle around your frozen figure, admiring how you’ve grown and matured since he’d last seen you, purring at the way you instinctively lower your head in unconscious submission, not daring to meet his eyes as he closes his office door, flinching at the sound of the lock clicking in place.

It just wouldn’t do for anyone to interrupt such a special reunion.

You’re so predictable, it’s almost laughable. Oikawa has to fight the urge to roll his eyes as he leans back against the closed door, blocking your one escape route out of this hell hole you’ve gotten yourself trapped in. It’s amusing listening to you stutter out some feeble attempt at a resignation, listening to you try to convince yourself and him that this must be a mistake, that surely you’re someone else’s secretary, not his, never his. And as cute as it is watching denial and pure terror dance across your face, he tires of your endless blathering and he maliciously grins at how quick you are to snap to attention and silence yourself when he barks at you to shut up.

But what he isn’t expecting is the sudden fire in your eyes, the resolved steeliness in your demeanor as you glare at him head on and maybe it’s a good thing that you’d spent so much time with Iwaizumi because this is going to be so much more fun than he could have possibly imagined.

The wolf inside of him gnashes his teeth and howls in amusement as you furiously give him a piece of your mind, rebuke him for how horrible and awful he was throughout highschool, haughtily tell him that this is the real world now and that you’re not going to let him just walk all over you, let him do whatever he wants. In fact, you’re leaving right now. You don’t need him or this stupid job.

And his grin sharpens as you hold your head up high while you make your way towards him and the door, not even hesitating as you move to shove him aside. But then he pounces and you can’t even scream as you’re suddenly shoved down, gasping as you painfully hit the ground.

He has to give you some credit though. Clearly dating an athletic trainer has done you some good and he winces just a bit as you thrust your knee into his abdomen, surprised by the force behind it. But the pain only fuels him more, the sharp pang grounding him, helping him concentrate as he pries apart your legs, his knees achingly pressing down into the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs as he puts all his weight on top of you, chuckling when you wail at how his kneecaps painfully pin you down.

And he almost coos proudly at you as you try to sit up, as you try to support your upper body off the ground with your forearms and hands, as you try to find some leverage to get yourself out of your undesirable position. But all it takes is him digging his knee even further into your bruised leg and with a yelp you fall back down, snarling at him with pretty tears welling in the corner of your eyes as he leans forward, pinning you fully with his arms now trapping your wrists on the floor on either side of your head.

“Don’t be like this, cutie. You’re the one who accepted the job. Not my fault you were too dumb to even look into it carefully. But I guess a dumb bitch is always a dumb bitch.”

He smirks at the way his cruel words have you twisting and writhing underneath him with renewed fervor, but like an animal sensing that it’s nearing its end, you surprise him with a last vehement action as you spit in his face when your futile struggle falls flat. And as the thick glob slides down his face, his facade cracks and a sharp cracking sound pierces through the air before you’re suddenly seeing stars as heat rushes through your face from the impact of his palm.

“Listen to me. You’re going to shut the fuck up and behave. You’re going to stay as my secretary. You’re going to do every fucking thing I tell you to do. You know why? Because I own you. I could ruin your entire life with a single phone call - with the snap of my fingers. Your entire career, over, with just a single email. Good luck trying to afford even your shitty little apartment when you’re blacklisted from every corporation in this city.”

Oikawa hums in satisfaction when you finally still, fear and uncertainty twirling in your eyes as your bottom lip begins to tremble, liquid pooling in your tear ducts as you shakily stare at him. But he outright laughs in your face when you latch onto your one last hope.

“Hajime! I’ll tell Haji-”

You break off into a squeal when sharp teeth bury into the crook of your neck, tears streaming down your face as Oikawa leaves a mark that will last for at least a few days and you cringe at the feeling of his warm wet tongue tasting you, staining you.

“Iwa-chan? I wonder what he’d do if he knew you were with me right now. Would he trust his longtime childhood friend, his best friend who he still talks to and hangs out with almost everyday, especially now that you’ve left him all alone? Or would he trust the woman who broke his heart, who led him on for so many years, only to tell him you just “weren’t feeling it” anymore when he was about to propose?”

He lets out a derisive snort at the hurt in your eyes, the guilt he can practically see smothering you at his words.

“It’s okay, cutie. Of course you weren’t feeling it with Iwa-chan. You were just waiting for me all this time, right? So don’t worry. Relax. Let me make you feel good and make up for all the lost time, okay?”

And he beams when you don’t even resist in the slightest as he removes your clothing, as he hungrily explores every inch of you, calloused fingertips, lips, teeth, and tongue tracing every bit of you, tasting and feeling everything that’s been out of reach for so long.

A victorious grin spreads across his face at the slight moan you try to quickly muffle as he drags a wet trail to your nipples, tongue lightly flicking the hardening bud before his lips swoop in and harshly suck. He groans as your hips instinctively buck when his hand begins to toy with your other nipple and he grinds his straining cock against you.

But he lets out an irritated tsk as your hands feebly push at him, as your quivering voice begs him to stop, quickly silencing you with a rough twist of the nipple between his fingers and a feral warning look as he slides down his pants and boxers just enough for his throbbing cock to spring out.

And he briefly relishes the way your watery eyes are suddenly captivated by the sight of his impressive length. A sick sense of pride bubbles in his chest at the way you nervously gulp when he lines himself up with your entrance. You barely even have time to blink before he’s brutally slamming himself to the hilt inside of you with one rough thrust.

He hisses at how tight and warm you are, grits his teeth at the feeling of your nails clawing at his back and arms as he slams himself even deeper. Your pathetic cries make him even harder as you desperately scramble to accommodate his size.

He drowns himself in the intoxicating feeling of your walls clamping down on him, the sound of your strangled voice screaming his name mixing with the clapping sound of skin meeting skin as he pistons in and out of you relentlessly, starting a brutal pace right from the start, ignoring the terror and hurt laced in your screams as he hones in on your sweet voice repeating his name over and over again, hones in on the fact that every ounce of your attention is on him, that he’s all you can think of and feel in the moment and he wishes this moment could last forever.

But that’s impossible and he can feel his end approaching, his rhythm becoming erratic, his body tensing, and with a few more slams of his hips against yours, he’s spilling deep inside of you, moaning as he makes a mess of your insides, careful not to let even a single drop escape as he pulls out and quickly slips your panties back on you, trapping his essence inside of you.

You’re still limp on the floor as he stands up, casually stretching his arms above his head with a yawn before tucking himself back into his pants, brushing himself off as he makes his way to his desk. And he hums as he turns on his computer, not even glancing at the pathetic sight you make, sprawled out, naked aside from the pair of panties he had generously helped you with, your face a mess of dried tears and saliva, your hair a tousled mess.

But you flinch when he finally speaks as you muster the will to slowly dress yourself, the will to ignore the pounding ache and dripping mess between your legs, his carefree tone tearing your self-esteem to shreds as he just continues typing emails all the while.

“Hurry up and get to work. That’s what you’re getting paid for after all. You can consider what just happened a perk of the job and I’ll be sure to give you a lot of extra bonuses while you’re with me. Looking forward to working together.”

Bile rises in your throat at his flippant words and the flirtatious wink he sends your way. For a second you hesitate, staring longingly at the locked door. But even with your back turned to him, you can still feel his piercing gaze boring holes into your soul. You know deep down in your gut that his threat isn’t just empty words, that as hard as life is now, it would be complete and utter hell the moment you stepped out of his office without his permission. You know that in the end, you’d be left with no other option than to come crawling back to him, groveling for mercy when your bank account is running on less than empty, when you’re forced out onto the streets.

So, as humiliating as it is, you limp over to the smaller desk situated in the corner of the office, every step a crushing blow to your self worth and pride, grimacing as you begin to feel something thick and sticky threaten to leak from between your thighs. And you obediently sit, blinking back the tears as you turn on your own company-issued laptop, shifting uncomfortably as your aching body comes in contact with the solid surface of your chair, raising the ringing phone to your ear.

“This is Oikawa Tooru’s office. How may I help you?”

#haikyuu smut #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu yandere #yandere oikawa #oikawa x reader #oikawa smut #oikawa #oikawa tooru #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu writing #haikyuu x reader #tw: abuse #tw: violence #tw: noncon #tw: rape #tw: bullying #tw: coercion

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antebunny · 4 years

Text

Lan Wangji: Damsel-in-Distress

If Lan Wangji had known it was this easy to get Wei Ying to do what he wanted, he would’ve put himself in mortal peril a long time ago.

He has this realization when they’re retreating from the Wens. Despite Wei Ying’s new, dangerous powers successfully turning the tide of war in their favor, the Sunshot Campaign still loses battles and takes losses. But Nie Mingjue rarely loses battles, and Wei Ying has never lost a battle he participated in, which makes this battle a special case.

Their intelligence underestimated the number of Wens in this region, so when Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin launch an attack shortly after sunrise, leading the Lan and Jiang cultivators into battle, their forces falter under the onslaught of Wens.

The Wen supervisory office is bathed in blood when Wei Ying arrives. He collapsed after the last battle, and Jiang Wanyin elected to head into battle anyway, under the premise that it would allow Wei Ying more time to rest. Lan Wangji very much disapproves of Jiang Wanyin’s decision to let Wei Ying continue demonic cultivation, even if it is winning them the war, but he has to admit that he does care for Wei Ying in other ways. But Jiang Wanyin’s plan backfired, because instead of winning the battle and successfully giving Wei Ying the day to rest, the battle instead dragged on, until the day sunk into night and they were forced to admit they were losing.

Lan Wangji is knee-deep in dead bodies and blood, guarding the retreat of their forces, when he steps into the array. He misses it because of the sheer volumes of blood, running from an endless number of sword wounds. He stands facing the entrance of the supervisory office, back to the retreating Lans and Jiangs. Jiang Wanyin is ten paces behind him, Zidian one violet blur around him.

The shrieking of Chenqing heralds Wei Ying’s arrival, and Lan Wangji is just as displeased as he is pleased. He spares himself one glance back, and sees Wei Ying standing on the roof of a nearby building, corpses already rallying to his song. Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin make brief eye contact.

“Go,” Lan Wangji tells him. “Wei Ying and I will cover the retreat.”

If Jiang Wanyin resents being told what to do, he sees the sense in Lan Wangji’s words and nods sharply. The Lans hesitate to abandon their Hanguang-jun, but a sharp gesture from Lan Wangji sends them after Jiang Wanyin and his contingent of cultivators.

At the same time, Wei Ying advances, jumping off the roof and joining his ranks of corpses. Lan Wangji pushes down his usual revulsion upon seeing Wei Ying walking amongst the corpses. He retreats to the top of the steps while the corpses of Wen and Jiang alike line up at the bottom, Wei Ying at their head. The Wen cultivators hesitate to chase after the retreating cultivators, scared by the presence of Wei Ying. Instead, they cluster outside the main door but before the stairs, surrounding Lan Wangji in a loose semi-circle.

Lan Wangji’s fingertips are bloody on the strings of his guqin when he feels the array flare up around him.

Immediately, Lan Wangji tenses, and inspects the array for weaknesses. Wei Ying runs up the stairs, but red light flares up when he tries to break the array, and Wei Ying is pushed back, hissing in pain. A moment later they both realize that the array is a repurposed protective array, meant to keep out demonic energy. This includes, of course, demonic cultivation, and by extension, Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji’s mind is already racing with possible solutions, and clearly Wei Ying’s is doing the same, if the grim smile that settles on his face is any indication. It takes the Wens a further five seconds to recognize the array, at which point they all level their swords and begin to run towards Lan Wangji.

There’s only two meters between the Wens and the array, and about two seconds before the Wens reach the array. During those two seconds, time for Lan Wangji slows to a near standstill.

The array trapping Lan Wangji is perhaps one and a half meters in diameter. Wei Ying can very easily direct his corpses around it and kill all the Wens at the top of the stairs. But the Wens, unlike the corpses, can enter the array. Wei Ying cannot enter the array, and Lan Wangji cannot leave. The only way Lan Wangji can leave is if someone enters the array and takes him out–these arrays are nominally made by cultivators to protect non-cultivators who find themselves in the middle of a night hunt or some such danger.

This means Lan Wangji will be fighting however many Wens can fit inside the array, which by his estimate is up to twenty at a time. Although Lan Wangji is confident that he can defeat twenty Wen cultivators, he knows that he cannot fight the entire army, especially not after having fought for the entire day.

In other words, Lan Wangji is about to die.

This all passes through his mind in less time than it takes the Wens to realize what the array even is, which means that he’s turning back to look at Wei Ying one last time when the Wens actually start running. Wei Ying, having come to the same conclusion perhaps faster than Lan Wangji, has set his corpse army into motion by the time Lan Wangji turns back to look at him. The corpses flood past Lan Wangji, roaring and snarling, but Lan Wangji already knows that they won’t slow the Wens down enough.

So instead of turning around to defend himself, he finds himself staring at Wei Ying’s face, even though Wei Ying’s familiar silver eyes are instead demonic red, and his pretty face is twisted in a dangerous smile.

Wei Ying presses a hand to his chest and then draws it away. Shadows follow, swirling all around his body like Wei Ying’s very presence causes resentment to the world. They hiss and shift like writhing snakes, lashing against Wei Ying’s control until his face twists with effort.

“Here,” Wei Ying says. “Catch.”

And then he hurls the resentful energy like the world’s deadliest toy. The massive cloud of demonic energy quickly seeps into the Wen soldiers, who freeze in place, suddenly battling an invisible energy. Soon, screams split the air, as grown men crumple under a fraction of the power Wei Ying wields.

Used to wield.

Wei Ying looks so much smaller without his deadly aura. His eyes shine a familiar silver as he takes the one step he needs to cross the array. A shiver runs through him as he does, and he staggers on the other side of the array. His fingers wrap around Lan Wangji’s wrist, and his grip is much weaker than Lan Wangji thought it would be.

“Well, don’t take your time, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying chides with dark humor. “It’s not like we have all day.”

He pulls Lan Wangji out of the array, and collapses nearly the moment he’s out. Lan Wangji doesn’t waste a moment before scooping Wei Ying up in his arms. He steps onto Bichen, guqin on his back, and flies off as fast as his shaking limbs can carry him, leaving the Wens behind to deal with the corpses.

Lan Wangji arrives at camp with spots dancing in his vision, and Wei Ying in his shaking arms. Wei Ying, who is free from demonic cultivation.

Drunk on this victory, Lan Wangji promptly faints.

Lan Wangji curses his body’s limitations when he next wakes up and discovers that during the time he was unconscious, Wei Ying woke up and promptly picked up demonic cultivation again. He witnessed firsthand how weak Wei Ying was in the moments after he removed all the demonic energy from his body, so he has no doubt that Wei Ying was scared. But if only he hadn’t fainted, if only he’d been there when Wei Ying woke up to support him through this temporary weakness and encourage him to pick up Suibian instead of Chenqing–

It’s no use, he tells himself. What’s done is done. What he focuses on instead is the moment he looked back at Wei Ying and saw his face set in grim determination. He knows that Wei Ying realized everything he did, which means he looked at Lan Wangji trapped in the array and made a choice: Lan Wangji or demonic cultivation. Of course, he did it knowing that he could pick it up again, but still, Lan Wangji’s heart does funny little rabbit thumps every time he remembers how Wei Ying’s overwhelming gaze focused on him as he casually drew the resentful energy out of his body and chose Lan Wangji.

It seems that all of Lan Wangji’s lectures and arguments about the danger of demonic cultivation had a much simpler solution. Wei Ying threw it all away because Lan Wangji needed help. Now Lan Wangji finds himself in a strange situation, in which the way to help Wei Ying involves something Lan Wangji has never done, not once in his life: asking for help.

Naturally, he turns to his brother for advice.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen says, his smile strained to the point of breaking. “No.”

Lan Wangji frowns. It sounds perfectly reasonable to him.

“You are not putting yourself in mortal peril on the off-chance that Young Master Wei will choose to abandon his method of cultivation,” Xichen says flatly.

“It is not an off-chance,” Lan Wangji argues. He’s almost never argued with his brother before, merely choosing to run away from conversations (such as “I see you’ve been staring at the Jiangs’ Head Disciple a lot, Wangji–Wangji, come back–”)

“Assume that he does, then,” Lan Xichen allows. “Did you not say he immediately picked it up again?”

“Giving up demonic cultivation caused him to collapse,” Lan Wangji says. “As I was injured at the time, I was not there to help him through its loss, and Jiang Wanyin–” He allows himself a small scowl, so furious is he at the carelessness of Wei Ying’s brother. “–did not say a word to stop him.”

To be fair, he doubts that Jiang Wanyin discouraging Wei Ying from using demonic cultivation would stop him. Lan Wangji must admit that he’s taken advantage of Wei Ying’s lack of respect for his new sect leader’s orders. Once he understood that Jiang Wanyin would make no move to prevent Wei Ying from using demonic cultivation, he turned his entreaties to Wei Ying instead, knowing that the only way to help Wei Ying would be getting through to Wei Ying himself. And because with the war keeping him exhausted and on the verge of losing his temper, he’s afraid that if he talks to Jiang Wanyin for too long, he’ll snap and beat him bloody, which is not the support that neither Lan Xichen nor Wei Ying need right now.

Lan Wangji eyes his brother expectantly, hoping that Lan Xichen will offer to guide and support Wei Ying on his behalf, after Wei Ying has narrowly recused Lan Wangji from mortal peril once more.

If he’s being completely honest with himself, it would be far easier to engineer a scenario in which Wei Ying must give up demonic cultivation for either of his siblings. But Lan Wangji’s morals won’t allow him to put others in danger in such an underhanded scheme, and Lan Wangji very much likes the thought of Wei Ying running to his rescue. The truth that Lan Wangji does not want to admit to himself is that the second reason is far more compelling to him than the first.

Lan Xichen’s face makes a strange motion that indicates that he would be sighing at Lan Wangji if he was just a slightest bit meaner. “Wangji,” he says patiently, “from what you have told me, Young Master Wei purged himself of resentful energy because you needed his help. Why do you not just ask for his help?”

That, Lan Wangji has to admit, sounds far simpler than orchestrating a scenario in which Wei Ying is the only one who can help him, specifically by setting aside demonic cultivation.

It’s also far less compelling than Wei Ying dashing heroically to his rescue, but Lan Wangji was raised to be straightforward.

He was not, however, raised to need help, so he frowns and asks; “How?”

Lan Xichen still refrains from sighing at him, because he knows why Lan Wangji finds the concept of asking for help so baffling. “Well,” he says, “here’s one thing you can do…”

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #wei wuxian #lan wangji #lan xichen #jiang cheng #my writing #writeblr #greetings tumblr void #featuring: simp!lwj #wangxian #antebunny's ficlets

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iam93percentstardust · 3 years

Note

For the birthday prompt: [Winteriron or Stuckony] Omega Tony soothing Alpha Bucky after a panic attack/nightmare shortly after they get him back to the Tower/Compound. Maybe a little bit of the team being overprotective on the omega genius and had been keeping him away from the "dangerous" and traumatized alpha assassin. But in the end, Tony just struts in like it's nothing and Bucky just f'ing melts to do whatever Tony says (in a sweet way, not a creepy one). Please?

Tumblr is doing weird things with the asks so if this doesn’t work, bear with me and I’ll post the story in the notes.

This story got a little bit (okay, maybe more than a little bit) away from me so I hope this is still what you were hoping for! I went the Stuckony route here and I’m also headcanoning that after a few years of dating Steve, Tony has mostly gotten over his emotional constipation.

As always, everything I write is on ao3 but tumblr doesn’t like links so I’m not including that

The first time Tony sees Bucky Barnes, it’s through a screen.

It’s the first real lead they’ve had in months, since the flurry of sightings immediately following SHIELD’s collapse. The team had sent Natasha and Clint to check it out. They’re both betas, and Nat’s ability to control the calming pheromones all betas let off gives them an edge over an alpha they suspect is on the verge of going feral.

He’s not on the verge, Tony realizes when he sees Barnes on the screen for the first time. He is feral.

Eyes clearly gone red, clear even through the low saturation of the screen, baring his fangs at Natasha and Clint as they cautiously approach, growling so fiercely that the other people in the market are giving him a wide berth as they peer at him fearfully from under their lashes—Bucky has been pushed past the point of breaking into ferality. It’s not surprising. Their entire world crashing down—literally, in this instance—would be a lot for any alpha to handle, but for one trying to deal with seventy years of brainwashing and amnesia? Yeah, Tony’s not surprised.

There’s something slightly terrifying about it. Alphas going feral is supposed to be a nightmare story, something you tell children about at night to scare them into being good. It’s not supposed to be something you see in a crowded marketplace. And when Tony thinks about how easy it would be for something to go wrong, if they’d sent someone other than Nat or Clint—like Steve who had wanted so badly to be the one to bring his friend in or even Tony with his omega pheromones evolved to tempt alphas into paying attention to him and only him—he shudders.

But—there’s something almost piteous about it too. It’s clear that Bucky is terrified beneath his snarling veneer, clear that he doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, and something in Tony’s heart shifts the same as it had the first time he saw Steve.

Something thrums deep inside him to the tune of mine.

“I can help,” he says.

Beneath him, Steve shifts uneasily, saying, “Tony—”

“I want to,” he interrupts. He turns, Steve’s arm sliding from his stomach to his hip, and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder, watching Nat raise her hands placatingly out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve had six months to get used to—everything. It wasn’t his fault, I know that, and—and you still love him, Steve, I know you do.”

“I love you,” Steve says, which isn’t really much of an argument.

“I know.” He smiles when Steve rolls his eyes at the well-worn response. “But you love him too. And… he feels like you did when we first met.”

He can feel Steve tense, and he tucks his head deeper into the crook of Steve’s neck, purring quietly to force him to calm. He knows his alpha is only worried about his safety. Bucky isn’t the same person he once was and even if Steve still has feelings for him, it’s only instinct to be worried about the omega he’s also in love with. But he doesn’t need to be worried. Tony is more than capable of taking care of himself and his own instincts are screaming that Bucky won’t hurt him, that Bucky is his. Only once Steve is fully relaxed again does he continue, “Please, Steve. I want to help. I want to know him better and I want to know if what I’m feeling about him is real. Let me?”

Steve sighs but Tony feels his lips curve upwards where they’re pressed against his hair. “I don’t let you do anything.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

Bucky is still feral by the time he, Nat, and Clint return to the tower, but it’s tinged now with panic. Tony can smell the sour scent it all the way from where he and the rest of the team are waiting in the kitchen and Bucky’s still outside. He’s not sure if that says something about his strength as an alpha or the depths of his panic, but either way, it’s not good. He glances again at the screen where he can see Natasha trying to calm Bucky down enough to get him to enter the building—the windows blacked out so that Bucky doesn’t panic further at the sight of the team just inside the landing pad—but it’s no dice.

“I’m going out there,” he announces.

It’s meant to just let everyone know that he’s going, but everyone else seems to take it as an invitation to stop him. The noise in the kitchen swings up into an uproar. Even Steve, who knows that he has every intention of helping, has tucked him up against his side, keeping him from taking a single step out of the kitchen.

“He’s dangerous,” Bruce argues once the initial noise has died down a little. It’s telling that Steve doesn’t immediately argue with him the way he normally does when someone says something bad about Bucky.

“We’re all dangerous,” Tony shoots back, ineffectually trying to wriggle his way out of Steve’s arms. “I’m dangerous and biology practically dictates that my orientation is about as dangerous as a bunny rabbit.”

Steve, who has been on the receiving end of Tony’s intense heats, snorts.

“Look,” he continues, “Nat’s not having any luck getting him to calm down enough to come inside and right now I’m really worried he’s going to either steal the Quinjet and take off or jump off the tower and take off. Either option comes with a lot of paperwork that I have to sign so I’d prefer it if he just came inside so why can’t I try? We can’t send another alpha out there, he’ll take that as a sign of aggression, and we can’t send Sam. The last time Bucky met him, he kicked him off a helicarrier. So that means we’re down to me. Sucks that it’s me but I’m our best option.”

“If he hurts you—” Steve begins.

“He won’t,” Tony says softly and turns so he can nose at Steve’s scent glands. “You won’t let him. I know you’ll be right there, ready if something goes wrong.”

Steve clearly still doesn’t want to let him go out there but his arms loosen enough for Tony to slip away. He smiles at the others, hiding his own nerves beneath a façade of self-confidence that he absolutely doesn’t feel. It’s not like any of them are wrong: feral alphas are dangerous, and this one is more dangerous than most. But he’s not wrong either: Bucky is in more danger the longer he stays out there. Hydra is searching for him and it was sheer luck that the Avengers found him first. But he doesn’t know how long that luck will hold, so the quicker they can bring him in out of the cold, the happier he’ll be.

He straightens his shirt and steps outside, ignoring the way the rest of the team trails him to the door. Bucky’s red eyes snap instantly to him. It’s unsettling, a little terrifying, and Tony has to stop himself from reaching for his sunglasses or from jamming his hands in his pockets. Instead, he holds himself loose and open, hands at his side and palms open so Bucky doesn’t think he’s hiding a weapon in his fists.

“Tony, what do you think you’re doing?” Clint murmurs, alerted to his presence by the sound of the door closing. Natasha is still concentrating on Bucky, trying to soothe him. Even from where he’s standing, he can feel her pheromones washing calm over him and he revises his plan to include her. He’s never felt this kind of strength from her before but he’d be an idiot not to use it.

“It’s okay,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on Bucky, who’s growling lowly now. “Go back inside, Natasha and I have got this.”

“Can’t do that,” Clint says. “Steve would have my head if—”

“Steve’s my backup. He’s right inside. Go inside; I can’t calm Bucky down if he’s worrying about you.”

“But—”

“Please.”

He thinks it’s the please that does it. By now, the team knows that the whole Tony Stark doesn’t use social niceties thing is bullshit but he still spends so much time in the workshop, and so much time teasing the others when he’s not working, that it’s still an indicator that he’s completely serious about something.

Clint doesn’t waste time asking any other questions. He, more than anyone else on the team except for Steve, knows better than to underestimate people and question them when they’re confident. And Tony is about as confident as he can be. There are ways that this can go wrong, absolutely, but they’re running out of options and what he’s about to try is something that’s been scientifically proven to be effective.

He doesn’t watch Clint go, though Bucky does, only to snap his gaze right back to Tony as soon as Tony takes a step forward. He places a hand on Natasha’s shoulder as he passes her, murmurs into her ear too low for even supersoldiers to hear, “Keep up the good work. You’re helping,” and comes to a stop within armlength of Bucky, knowing that Bucky could easily reach out and hurt him if he wanted to.

It seems to throw Bucky off, who blinks at him. Tony smiles at him and reaches up to his neck, loosening the scent blocker just enough to dilute the bonded scent pouring off of him and allow his own to filter in.

Bucky blinks again. “Omega,” he says eventually, voice rusty with disuse.

Tony smiles again. “That’s right.”

“And… Stevie?” Bucky guesses. In that moment, he sounds so young that it makes Tony’s heart break. Bucky had his future stolen away from him just the same as Steve did. He can’t fully regret that because it brought them both to him, but he knows how much pain and healing Steve had had to go through after waking up in this century and he knows what Bucky will still have to do, and he hurts for them.

“Steve’s my alpha,” he says. “Do you remember Steve?”

Bucky hesitates and then slowly nods. The red is slowly starting to recede from his eyes—though Tony isn’t sure that has anything to do with what he’s doing or if it’s just because he’s managing to baffle the alpha—and then Natasha shifts. It’s nothing more than a twitch of her leg but Bucky instantly notices it.

Before Tony realizes it, Bucky has snatched him to him, tucked him behind the mass that makes up Bucky’s body, and is snarling at Natasha, eyes scarlet red again. Just barely, he sees the door start to open and if it does, if the team comes out of it ready to fight, they’ll lose Bucky.

“No!” he shouts, startling Bucky. It’s enough though. The door pauses. Tony can see Steve through the crack, looking terrified, but he isn’t hurt. He’s okay. Bucky hasn’t done anything other than seemingly try to protect him.

He darts in front of Bucky again, wraps his arms around his shoulders, and tugs him down to his neck, tucking his face into the loosened scent blocker so he can inhale both Steve and Tony.

“Settle,” he commands. It’s usually a command an alpha uses for their omega but there’s precedence of omegas using it too. He draws on every ounce of strength he typically reserves for the boardroom and pushes it into his voice, ordering him again when Bucky lets out an answering growl.

It takes a moment but Bucky suddenly melts, going limp and boneless against him. Tony’s only half-expecting it; the alpha’s weight takes him by surprise and they sink to the ground, Bucky taking in huge gasping breaths as he breathes in their combined scents.

“Oh my darling,” Tony whispers, hands coming up to stroke through Bucky’s hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Without quite meaning to, Bucky ends up moving into the guest room on his and Steve’s floor. Tony means to put Bucky on his own floor but then Bucky spends the afternoon following him docilely around the common areas, as sweet now as he was feral a few hours earlier. The others still seem a little wary but as time passes and it becomes obvious that Tony is in fact doing some good, they start to relax. By the time they’d be heading up to bed, Bucky is stretched out on the couch, head on Tony’s lap and feet tucked under Steve’s legs, as the team watches a movie.

“I think he’s imprinted on you,” Clint observes dryly as he heads for the elevator. “Like a duck.”

Tony doesn’t look up from where he’s carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair but he feels the alpha tense. “That’s okay, darling,” he comments idly. “I’m pretty sure Steve and I imprinted on each other once we started living together too.”

Natasha groans. “Don’t remind me. It was like watching a Disney movie without the singing animals.”

“Disney movie?” Bucky asks, voice muffled by Tony’s thigh.

“I’ll show you,” Tony assures him.

The rest of the team starts slowly filtering out until it’s just the three of them. Tony and Steve exchange a look over Bucky’s head, not needing to communicate with words after the years they’ve spent together. They’re both concerned about where Bucky will sleep tonight. With a quick glance toward Bucky and a tilt of his eyebrows, Steve tells him that he would be more than happy with Bucky staying with them, but he’ll leave the decision up to Tony. No one likes the scent of a distressed omega after all, and the easiest way to end up with a distressed omega is by inviting someone into their space that they don’t want there.

Fortunately, Tony would be more than happy with Bucky there. He hadn’t been joking when he’d said that one look at Bucky and it had felt like they were meant for each other, just as it had felt with Steve—and, he suspected, just as it had felt with Steve and Bucky, even if they’d never made a move.

But he wants the choice to be Bucky’s, so he gently lifts his hands away from Bucky’s hair and asks, “Bucky? Do you want to have your own floor? We’ve got a few extras for when we expand the roster. Or you could stay on our floor, if you’d prefer?”

Bucky doesn’t even hesitate to say, “With you.”

He knows Bucky doesn’t mean it the way he wants, doesn’t mean that he’ll join them in their bed, but maybe… Maybe someday, once Bucky is better (he isn’t so naïve as to think this is the end of it; he only has to look at his own history with backsliding after Afghanistan and Stane and the palladium reactor to know that) and if he and Steve can figure out the right words to invite someone into a triad bond…

Well. Maybe someday.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to Steve gently shaking his shoulder. “Waz wrong?” he mumbles, blearily rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Did I have a nightmare?”

“No, sweetheart,” Steve whispers, leaning over to kiss his bare shoulder. “Bucky wanted to know if he could join us. Said he was worried about Hydra.” He doesn’t say if Bucky was worried about Hydra taking him away or someone else, Tony or Steve, he notes, but the answer is the same either way.

“’Course he can, long as he’s not a blanket hog.”

He fully expects Bucky to climb in on Steve’s other side. It only makes sense: the two grew up together so of course, Steve would be the middle in this instance. Instead, Steve tugs Tony closer to him so that he’s spooning up behind him, and Bucky crawls under the blankets so that he’s facing Tony, looking more relaxed as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Huh. Maybe there’s something to what Clint was saying about Bucky imprinting on him. He would be more worried, but alphas don’t imprint on someone unless they feel safe with them, unless there’s the beginning stirrings of a mating bond in the back of their mind, even though a full bond takes time, communication, and love to develop. Considering that Tony’s pretty sure he’s imprinted on Bucky the same way, he really isn’t that concerned about Bucky’s feelings.

Still though, he makes a note to sit down and talk with Bucky eventually about how they can’t just rush into this. They’ve all been through too much to immediately strike up a relationship. Bucky isn’t in the right mental state at the moment. And as for Tony, he wants to make sure they’re all on the same page and that Bucky won’t regret this two years down the line. Hell, he’s still uncertain that Steve won’t regret this at some point, so he definitely wants to know that Bucky’s sure of his feelings.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow-Tony, he decides. Tonight, he’s going to snuggle into his alpha’s warmth and enjoy having Bucky close by instead of somewhere out in the world where Tony can’t keep him safe.

The next day is weirder. Not in a bad way! Just—here: when Tony finally drags himself away from the warm spots in the bed that his mates (not his mates; his mate and his mate’s best friend… who might one day be his mate), makes his way into the kitchen, and sleepily grumbles, “Coffee,” there are suddenly two steaming mugs in front of him, one from Steve and one from—someone else. He raises his eyes slowly to where Bucky is watching him with hopeful eyes. That answers that question then.

“Uh, thanks, Snowflake,” he says and takes a cautious sip out of the one Bucky put down. It’s not that he thinks it’s poisoned. It’s just that Bucky has been here for less than twenty-four hours, there’s no way that he know how exacting Tony can be about his coffee, how particular—how—how…

Huh. This is pretty damn perfect actually.

He takes another, larger sip and then looks at where Steve is busy making breakfast for the three of them. Steve watches him with an amused look in his eyes. Tony knows Steve isn’t concerned about someone else preparing his coffee—Bruce has done it plenty of times and whenever Rhodey’s in town, he insists that he’s the only one who can make Tony’s coffee—he’s just enjoying watching the two of them together.

He thinks about the nights he used to wake from a dead sleep to the sound of Steve weeping over Bucky, about the concerns he used to share with Tony that Bucky wouldn’t want to stay with them or would want to leave. He wonders now how much of that was fear that Tony wouldn’t want Bucky to stay because he wouldn’t be able to stomach housing the person Hydra used to kill his parents. Silly alpha, he thinks fondly. As though Tony wouldn’t love anyone Steve loves.

At least that’s a fear he can put to rest.

Gulping down half his coffee in one go, he leans back in his chair and casually says, “Steve, you’re fired. Pack your things and go. I’m keeping this one. His coffee is lightyears ahead of yours.”

Steve bursts out laughing and crosses the kitchen to pull him up and kiss him soundly. Tony purrs into the kiss, answered with a low rumble from Steve and then, so low he almost misses it—another rumble from Bucky. He smiles triumphantly and pulls away with another kiss, hands resting on Steve’s broad chest.

“Better finish up that breakfast, soldier,” he says teasingly. “Got things to do today in the workshop and I need my alpha down there to stand around and look pretty. You too, Bucky Babe,” he calls over his shoulder. “Universe gave me two supersoldiers, be a shame not to take advantage of that.”

He doesn’t know what Bucky looks like but the kitchen suddenly scents like contended alpha, and he knows it’s not Steve’s scent because he knows Steve’s scent as well as he knows his own. He smiles again, nuzzles deeper into Steve’s chest and hums happily.

It’s not perfect yet, he thinks, but soon—soon it will be.

Tony was right that first day—it takes time, months really. Time for Bucky to backslide and Steve to backslide and Tony to back-shimmy because he doesn’t do anything as gauche as slide. It takes months of therapy, days of consultation with the world’s top experts on how to remove the brainwashing and programming from Bucky’s brain, hours of working together in the workshop on Bucky’s arm as Tony comes up with improvement after improvement.

It’s countless bad nights where Bucky wakes up in a nightmare and reaches to strangle Steve—never Tony, never his omega, but always his best friend—and countless bad days afterward trying to convince him to come back to their bed. It’s figuring out how to work around the myriad of triggers all three of them have and sometimes it doesn’t work. Sometimes Bucky doesn’t realize that Tony can’t handle baths anymore. Sometimes Steve doesn’t notice that Bucky’s afraid of heights. Sometimes Tony misses that it’s the anniversary of Bucky falling from the train.

It’s bad sometimes.

But it’s good sometimes too.

It’s figuring out how they curl around each other in bed and waking up warm and rested. It’s feeding each other by hand in the morning when they’re too tired to bother with silverware. It’s cups of coffee and donuts with sprinkles and warm hugs. It’s Bucky resting his head on Tony’s lap and tucking his feet under Steve’s legs during movie nights.

It’s Tony and Steve dancing together around the kitchen island as Bucky cooks, watching them fondly. It’s Bucky crooning old songs from the 40s when Steve’s on a mission and Tony can’t sleep without his alpha. It’s Steve and Bucky spending hours walking the streets of Brooklyn, reminiscing about growing up together.

It’s love, blooming slowly but surely for everyone to see.

And when one night as Tony is changing out of the charcoal suit he’d worn for the board meeting that day and into his pajamas and Bucky stops him with a hoarsely whispered, “Doll,” he smiles and guides Bucky’s hand to his waist.

“It’s okay, darling” he murmurs. “You can.”

Bucky’s kiss, when it comes, feels like coming home.

#stuckony #alle writes #alle answers #if you like please consider reblogging #fingers crossed that tumblr lets me post this #willowlark369

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Omertà👄18

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rap, fingering, blow job, blood, violence, death, some elements may be untagged.

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit (with sides of dark!Steve and dark!Thor). Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: Did I write another ending? You’re damn right. Enjoy another finale as I try to decide what I’m doing next because I dunno...

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

masterlist

The red dress slid up on your thigh as you crossed your legs. You tapped your bottom lip with your fingertips. The radio buzzed with some British punk group you’d never heard of as Thor gripped the wheel and reclined. You sensed his quick peek over at you and looked back from the corner of your eye.

You were anxious even if you were confident. You had no idea what Bucky had planned but you knew that this trip wouldn’t go as smooth as expected. You sighed and leaned back as you dropped your arm and uncrossed your legs. You had to get Thor off-guard, it was simple enough to distract him.

You let your hand trail along your thigh and took a deep breath so your chest rose. Your hem slipped up even further and you closed your eyes. He hummed and you tried not to grin. You knew he was fighting to watch the road and not you. The moment you appeared in the short red number and matching lipstick, he was on the hook.

“Long ride,” he said coyly, “it’ll be nice to get away, eh?”

“From those two? Any day,” you answered as you opened your eyes, “I’ve just been so…” you let your fingers dangle down between your thighs and quickly retracted it as if it wasn’t at all deliberate, “tense.”

“My brother can be a handful and that American,” he said, “I can see how you’d be so worked up.”

You squirmed and pushed your knees further apart. His hand suddenly clapped down on your thigh and he squeezed. He glanced in the rearview and you bit your lip. You rested your hand on his and felt his fingers go rigid.

“Loki--

“He doesn’t know about before, he won’t know now,” Thor growled as he kneaded your leg.

“I don’t know…” you let your voice trail off, “he’s already so mad at me--”

“I won’t say a word,” he purred.

You swallowed and watched your own fingers. You had to do it. It would dull his defenses. You urged his hand up your skirt and pushed your pelvis forward on the seat. He barely kept the car steady as he felt your bare cunt.

“Oh, honey, you want it badly, don’t you?” he pushed between your folds without hesitation, “no panties…”

“Habit. Your brother demands it,” you rasped as he rubbed your clit. You couldn’t help but quiver.

He was quiet as he kept his fingers moving and listened to your shuddering breaths. You played them up with moans and groans as you arch your back and gripped the door.

“If you prefer me, I could…” his fingertips slickened as they explored further and he prodded along your entrance, “I could take you away. You’ll be far enough before he even knows.”

“Oh…” you gasped, “but… why would you… do that?”

“Look at you, honey,” he taunted, “that cunt--” he shoved a finger into you as he leaned awkwardly over the space between your seats, straining to keep his gaze on the road, “I can’t even fault my brother for his distraction.”

“God,” you squeezed his hand between your thighs as he pushed another finger into you.

It became less of an act as you latched onto his wrist and rocked your hips. His thick digits filled you and curled as the tide rolled through you. You were close to cumming, all the better as he had to buy into your desperation.

“You’ll really take me away?” you whined, “really? I have no other way out but-- you.”

“If you fuck me like you fuck my hand, I’ll keep you forever, honey,” he snarled.

You exclaimed and covered his hand with yours as you tilted against him hungrily. You dug your heels into the floor and lifted your pelvis slightly as you came against his palm. He snickered at your delight and let you ride his hand until you finished.

You fell back limp and he reluctantly removed his hand from your cunt. He reached blindly up and pressed his fingers against your lips. You braced yourself and took in his fingers and sucked your taste off of them. He drew away and sat back in his seat as he rubbed the front of his pants.

“Did you mean it?” you asked as you felt between your legs.

“Fuck my brother. We’ll leave right now,” he said, “I always did like his toys better.”

“We should stop by the shop,” you murmured, “I know where he keeps his stash.”

“His stash?”

“You could have everything that’s his,” you whispered, “everything.”

He considered the suggestion and exhaled. His squinted through the windshield and groaned.

“When we get to the shop, I want you on that desk,” he said as he continued to play with himself, “can’t wait to fuck you in that little dress.”

“I can’t either,” you reached to his lap and he caught your hand.

“No,” he said, “I want to see it all.”

You retracted your arm and pouted. You hugged yourself and shivered dramatically. He glanced over at you again.

“That day in the office, I haven’t stopped thinking of it,” he said, “I can see you’ve suffered just as much as me.”

Your smirk was interrupted by the sudden veering of the car at the impact of another. You cried out as the rubber screeched over the road. The car skidded over the lanes and turned horizontal with the rest of traffic. Another bump on the tail and you were rolling. The airbag deployed and blinded you as the glass and metal crunched past the railing and into the ditch.

You panted in shock as the vehicle stilled at last and you felt along your face and body. There was blood dripping from your hairline and some aches in your neck and back, but you could move and you were alive. You put your palm against the roof and unbuckled the belt and kept from falling on your head. The welts of the restraints burned at your chest and waist.

You squatted and looked over at Thor. He hung from his seat but there was much more blood on him and his blond hair was stained with it. You crawled out through the window and fell into the dirt.

You heard footsteps as they carefully descended the incline and you looked up as a silhouette neared and came clearer. Steve approached the other side of the car and bent to look in the driver side. You heard his voice as he poked the unconscious man inside and he stood again.

“Get up,” he demanded as he came to you, “no time to waste.”

“What?” you let him pull you to your feet, “you were supposed to be at the shop--”

“We’ll get there,” he dragged you up to the rail and stepped over.

You struggled to get over the metal barrier yourself and he nearly had you off your feet as he thrust you towards his waiting car. He opened the passenger door and pointed you inside. You dropped into the seat and touched your sore neck. He closed the door and rounded to his side.

“What’s going on? Bucky said--”

“Bucky wants to make sure you’re not fucking with him,” Steve interrupted and his eyes fell to your skirt. You barely realised how high it was as you were still spinning from the crash.

“You could’ve killed me--”

“You’re a smart girl. You had your seatbelt on,” he said as he bent between the seats and fixed your dress, his fingers lingering on the fabric, “we’ve got a whole day… we get the money and have some fun while Bucky takes care of that other moron.”

“Money?” you asked.

“You’re his little bookkeeper, I’m sure you have the combination to that safe he keeps nestled in the back of the shithole,” he turned the engine and pulled out from the gravel, “a healthy price for your… defection.”

“Fine,” you said coolly, “I’ll help you get it. But what about Lopez?”

“I’ll take care of that fat fuck but that’s another debt,” he replied.

You were quiet as you rubbed your shoulder and tried to clear your head. You were slightly dizzy but fought through it as you tried to redirect your plot. There was still a way out of this. You just had to deal with this idiot instead.

“That day in the club… Fucking Buck, he can be so selfish but I think I’ve waited long enough,” he hissed, “you don’t even know what you haven’t had, sweetheart.”

You looked at him and he met your eyes briefly. You fought not to show your disgust and just batted your lashes.

“Do we have to wait?” you asked as you shook off the cobwebs.

“Hmm--” his voice caught in his throat as you stretched between your seats and touched the front of his pants, “oh.”

He squeezed the steering wheel as you leaned over and rubbed his crotch until you felt it harden. “We’re not far,” you said and held in a grunt as a pang stabbed your neck, it wasn’t as intense as before, “but we have time.”

“Sweet--”

“This is what you wanted… Bucky won’t like it--”

“He won’t know,” Steve interjected, “shit, I can’t--”

You unzipped his pants and he went silent. You slipped your hand down his boxers and pulled out his dick. You stroked him as the noise of the traffic flowed around the car. You held him firmly and moved your hand. It would end soon enough.

He groaned and tensed as you worked him steadily. You’d learned to read men, to use them. They did the same to you but they taught you just as much. The only way out was their own tricks. As you sensed him nearing his release, you placed your lips around his tip and swirled your tongue.

He gasped and his foot pushed down the pedal. You moaned around him and moved your hand faster and faster. It sickened you but you had to commit. You couldn’t let him see through the cracks.

He came in a hot spurt and you struggled to swallow it down without gagging. You sank until he poked at your throat and drank him in. His legs shook and he swore as you lapped up the last of his cum and pulled off of him with a pop.

You sat up, dizzier than before and wiped your lips. He shifted in his seat and brought one hand away from the wheel to zip himself back up. He sniffed and rolled his shoulders.

“That was fuckin’ good,” he said, “I see why Bucky didn’t give up.”

“You know what he’ll do if he finds out,” you said sharply.

“Oh, you can keep me quiet, sweetie,” he said with a crooked grin, “just like that.”

You closed your eyes and collected yourself as he took the ramp and you readied yourself for what came next. You didn’t know if you could do it, if it would work at all. You’d come this far though and couldn’t turn back. If you failed, with all that happened, it would only be worse than before. So you couldn’t.

You watched the streets of New York and as you got closer to the antique shop, you had to keep your hands from shaking. The adrenaline buzzed inside of you. Your mouth was dry and your limbs felt numb. You peered over at Steve as he pulled up to the curb and he looked over at the façade.

“Stay behind me,” he winked as he reached to his belt and unholstered his gun, “I got Lopez. You head for the safe.”

He got out and you did the same. You circled the car as he headed for the front door with his gun low against his thigh. He grabbed the handle and pulled. He raised his hand before he entered and you stayed back as the gunshot echoed from inside. You felt a twinge in your chest; you liked Lopez but he was one of them.

You followed and let the door fall closed behind you. Steve laughed to himself and nodded you ahead of him. You went silent, past the chipped statue and that old grandfather clock.

The office was stolid and still. It brought back a sense of nostalgia and yet felt like a prison. Steve entered behind you as he tucked his gun away.

“Better hurry,” he muttered, “too bad I made so much noise or we could stick around… maybe you could finish what you started.”

“We’ll go somewhere else,” you shrugged as you looked around and went behind Loki’s desk.

You pulled out the drawers and pretended to search. Really you were wasting time, trying to put Steve off alert. He watched and crossed his arms.

“What are you doing?” he grumbled.

“Just making sure we’re not missing anything,” you slid shut the drawer, “whatever, nothing there.”

You went to the cabinet and rolled over your office chair. Steve sat in Loki’s cushioned leather seat and leaned back as you opened the cabinet and bent behind the door and began to wind the numbers. He put his feet up and tossed around a glass orb that usually sat on Loki’s desk.

You turned the handle and the loud metal clank filled the office. You reached inside and pulled out a money bag and loaded it up with the stacks of bills within. You zipped it up and tossed it over the door and it landed on the desk heavily.

Steve sat up as he smiled at the thick pouch. You shoved your arm back in the safe and pulled out the gun on the higher shelf, stowed with the priceless Victorian pocket watch and a pair of diamond cufflinks.

You stood as Steve took the bag and sat straight. His face paled with surprise as you pulled the trigger and the bullet opened his chest. The chair wobbled under him as he dropped the money and gave a brittle croak.

His hand went to the wound across his front and you kicked shut the safe. You swept around and bent to pick up the money bag. Steve trembled as the blood pulsed from him and the chair creaked.

“Pity,” you said with a smile, “looks like you did miss something.”

You angled the gun and admired it as you hugged the cloth pouch under your arm. You shrugged and left him to his death thralls. You went out into the front room and stopped at the rack of gauche vintage coats. You pulled one on and hid the gun in the inner pocket as you secreted the money in the sleeve.

You exited and stepped out onto the sidewalk. You blotted away the dried blood along your forehead as your heels clicked and you blended into the steady New York foot traffic. You were done running from behind. You would be out of the city before anyone thought to look for you and with the bulk of Loki’s savings you would always be a step ahead.

👄👄👄

End

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wardenannie · 3 years

Text

Under the Table

Ao3 Link: x

An N*FW levihan drabble

N*FW under the cut (obvs)

Levi was preparing for his upcoming meeting with Commander Erwin. It was to be a short but cumulative discussion on Eren’s progress, both in his titan training and in his training as a scout.

The Captain had collected the relevant files and righted his cravat. A cup of steaming tea was grasped between the fingers of his left hand, which he sat neatly on his desk (on a coaster of course) before he rounded the piece of furniture and pulled back his chair, sitting promptly and without bothering to glance down.

There came a soft chuckle, and a tickle up the back of his calf. He jumped slightly in his seat, pushing his files forward across the desk and nearly spilling his tea. He glanced down, incensed at whatever prank the cadets thought they were pulling...

Hange was under his desk.

She was kneeling, patiently, a glimmer in her wine-colored eyes, a knowing smirk on her face. She pushed her glasses up her nose and they caught distractingly in the light which filtered through the window.

Hange was under his desk and her hands were running up this thighs, up to his hips then back towards his—

“I don’t have time for this,” Levi hissed, eyes darting between Hange and the door. “I have a meeting with Erwin. He’ll be here any minute now, you can’t… fuck.”

Hange squeezed his shaft through the front of his breeches. Lips brushing over the clothed head.

“It sure doesn’t seem like you want me to leave,” Hange grinned up at him then winked.

“Hange I’m serious, we can’t—

There was a knock on the door, followed by a muffled, low, “Levi?”

“Fuck. Fine. Just don’t do anything stupid, alright? Just stay put.”

Hange laid another kiss against the front of his pants, eyes sparkling with mischief, “I promise.”

“Come in!” Levi called and at the same moment he thought; I’m screwed.

Erwin stepped through the door, shutting it gently behind him. In his hand was grasped a small notebook, clearly anticipating a routine report from his trusted Captain.

“Commander,” Levi inclined his head towards the tea as the older man sat across from him. “Tea?”

At that exact moment Hange unzipped his fly, mouthing his cock over his briefs. He glanced down with a scolding look onto to find her gazing up at him hungrily from beneath her lashes. His cock twitched.

“No thank you,” Erwin crossed his legs. “So, let’s get down to it. How is Eren performing in Hange’s experiments?”

Levi gave a hard swallow, trying his damndest to ignore Hange as she fished his hard cock out of his briefs. She gave it a few careful strokes, thumb pushing back his foreskin to fully expose the head.

Levi ground his teeth, but remained professional, “We’ve had middling results. It seems he can only transform so many times within a certain time period, otherwise his titan is deformed.”

Hange blew on the head of his dick and Levi nearly bit his tongue. Then she lapped at his slit, swiping up the precum that had beaded there. Her hand kept working on his shaft, agonizingly slow.

Levi felt a flush rising up his neck.

“Deformed how?” Erwin was looking down, taking notes for a moment.

“Um…” Levi disguised a pleasurable grunt as a cough, “Last time the lower half of the body was emaciated. Just skin and bones, no muscle. And Eren’s ass was hanging out the back.”

“I see,” Erwin jotted something down then glanced up. Hange popped the head of his cock into her mouth and began to suckle on it delicately, tongue swirling around his glans. “What does Hange have to say about this?”

If only he knew that the Section Commander was right there, under his desk with his cock in her mouth.

Levi’s nostrils flared and he shifted slightly, leaning forward as naturally as he could manage. He dropped a hand to his thigh while Hange sucked. Slowly, he slid it forward past her face, towards the back of her head.

“She isn’t quite sure what to think. She’s slowly been shifting her focus towards Eren’s hardening abilities.”

“In hopes of sealing the hole in Wall Maria?”

Levi let out a shuddering breath as Hange’s tongue traced along a throbbing vein in his shaft. His fingers laced gently into her hair, encouraging her to take more of his dick into her sucking mouth.

“I… ehem, I believe so, yes.”

“Are you alright, Captain?” Erwin quizzed, thick eyebrow cocked curiously. “You’ve gone quite red since I arrived.”

“Mmmyes,” Levi groused. He pushed Hange more insistently, easing her over his throbbing dick until her nose nestled into the downy hairs at his base. He touched the back of her throat and she was unable to contain a small gagging sound, which Levi covered by scooting his chair forward.

“I’m fine,” Levi said. “Just a little hot in here is all.”

Erwin gave him a skeptical look, “...alright. Just take the rest of the day off after this. I don’t need my Captain to come up sick.”

“Yessir,” Hange’s tongue swirled around his cock as it rested in her mouth. She was warming it for him now, unable to bob with his hand in her hair. He gave a squeeze at the back of her head, a warning of what was to come once Erwin left.

“How is his physical training going?” Erwin asked, consulting his notes again.

“He’s been exhausted from the titan training, so it’s difficult to say.” Levi sat back, feeling more confident that he was in control of the situation. His dick twitched in Hange’s mouth and she gave a gentle suck, hand rising up to fondle his balls.

“I assume he’s at least competent with the ODM gear?”

“Yes Comand—uh— Commander,” Hange had begun to make soft, nearly inaudible humming sounds around his dick. Vibrating his sensitive, swollen flesh. Her fingers toyed more insistently with his sac.

Erwin sat back, surprised, “Captain, are you sure everything is alright?”

“Now that you mention it,” Levi cleared his throat, digging his fingers harder into Hange’s scalp and pushing her hot, wet mouth more insistently against his cock. “I am beginning to feel a bit ill. Perhaps we could postpone this meeting until tomorrow?”

“No need,” Erwin said, slapping his notebook shut. For a brief moment Levi was afraid that they were caught. “I have everything I need. Get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow at morning call.”

With that the Commander stood up to leave. Levi scooted his chair further forward, trapping Hange’s head between his muscular thighs as he tried to obscure the act of oral sex from Erwin’s view. Luckily the man only turned around once he reached the door, his expression was curious.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where Hange is, would you?” Erwin asked, raising a brow.

“Nope,” Levi replied, perhaps too curtly. “Definetly not in the fucking baths though.”

That earned him another, more insistent hum that vibrated down his aching cock. He was beginning to swell in her mouth, balls tightening up under her ministrations.

Erwin only hummed in reply, then shut the door behind him with a gentle click.

At once Levi was on his feet, pulling his sopping cock free of Hange’s seeking mouth. He held her down by her shoulder with one hand while he jerked himself off over her face with the other.

“What the fuck was that four-eyes,” He hissed through clenched teeth, abdomen and thighs going tense with impending pleasure. “You trying to get us fucking demoted for fraternizing, huh?”

Hange only moaned, wriggling her body slightly and craning her neck so her face was positioned directly beneath his angry red dick. He slapped her cheeks with it, leaving an obvious wet spot on her tanned skin.

“Fuck!” Levi snarled, throwing his head back as his cock began to pulse and white hot ropes of his semen shot across Hange’s prominent features. It criss-crossed the jut of her nose and dirtied the lenses of her glasses.

Hange grinned, licking it off of her lips.

“But that was awesome, right?” She leaned forward and kissed the tip of his softening cock.

“Fuck, four-eyes,” Levi panted. Then he leaned over and hoisted her up by her armpits, sitting her on his desk. He kissed her lips, then her chin, then lowered his mouth to her throat.

“Oh,” Hange moaned softly as he descended down her body, thumbs hooking into her waistband. “Oh.”

He returned the favor, thoroughly.

#levihan #my writing

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sergeantsporks · 3 years

Text

Another Shot at Life

Rating: General Audiences, Gen

TW: Child abuse, emotional manipulation

Ao3

Hunter accidentally makes his way into the human realm and can't get back home. But he's discovering that might not be such a bad thing.

Ch 6/7: Fall into Your Nightmare

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5

Hunter watched the portal close, tears rolling down his face. Belos pulled him away.

“Hunter, I thought you were better than that. Really, your lack of loyalty is painful.” He coughed. “Agh—”

Hunter bit back a whine of pain as Belos’ grip tightened even further, and his arm started to go numb and tingly.

Belos steered him back through the hallways to his room. “You are going to stay in there. I will have meals brought up. Do not leave this room.” Belos tugged Hunter’s gloves away. “Oh, and I’ll be taking these, in case you had any ideas about trying to get back to the human realm.

He slammed the door shut and locked it. Hunter’s legs wobbled, and he staggered to his bed, sitting down.

She would have fought for me.

But this had been the right choice, right? Even if Camila and Vee would have fought for him, they wouldn’t have won. How could they?

Red fluttered out of his pocket, chirping sadly. Hunter cupped the palisman in his hands. “We’ll be fine. I still have you, and—this isn’t so bad. If he won’t let me out of my room, then there’s no chance that he’ll send me after Luz, right? Right. Really, this is probably the best outcome I could have hoped for when I ran away. A couple of bruises and not-so-solitary confinement? I’m getting off easy.” He swiped tears out of his eyes. “Yeah. This is—it’s fine. We’ll be okay. And Camila and Vee are safe, and that’s what really matters.”

The door creaked open, and multi-colored eyes glared hatefully at him. Hunter jumped up. “What do you want?”

Kikimora pushed the door shut behind her. Her eyes flashed dangerously, and the coven patch on Hunter’s arm started to burn, glowing red and black. A wave of pain hammered up his nerves, and his vision went blurry.

“Belos might have forgiven your attack on me,” Kikimora hissed, taking a step closer, “but I have not.”

The patch throbbed, and Hunter clutched his arm to his chest, looking around wildly for his staff—but of course, Belos had taken his coven staff away. Red fluttered to him, shifting into a staff, and he swung it towards Kikimora.

She lazily drew a circle in the air, and his staff flew from his hand. Another wave of pain swept up from his arm, and his legs gave out, tears pricking at his eyes.

“Hngh—Kiki—”

“What are you going to do?” she taunted, looming over him. “Fight back? I doubt Emperor Belos will let you get away with it twice. Tell on me? I’ll claim I caught you attempting an escape. Naturally, I had to stop you. Guess who he’ll believe? I’m in the emperor’s good graces. Not you.”

His coven patch faded to its usual color, and Kikimora turned her back on him, striding back to the door. “Just remember your place, Golden Guard.”

The door clicked shut behind her, and Hunter curled into a ball, waiting for the pain in his arm to subside. Red fluttered down next to him, chirping anxiously.

He managed a smile. “I’m okay—that doesn’t hurt nearly as much as she thinks it does.” Hunter sat up, rubbing the patch. “I promise you, we’re going to be okay.”

Xxx

Hunter jumped to his feet as he heard a familiar cough echoing down the hallway. He grabbed Red as Belos burst in. His uncle’s chest was heaving frantically, and cursed goop dripped from his face.

“Give me—the palisman,” he rasped.

Hunter’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he clutched Red close to his chest, backing away. “You said I could keep it if I came back,” he accused.

“That was before your disobedience caused me another attack,” Belos snarled, holding a hand out, “Give it to me!”

Hunter shook his head. “N-no.”

Belos lunged towards him with a growl, making a grab for Red with a hand that was half liquid. Hunter turned his back to his uncle, shielding the bird. Belos’ grasping hand slammed into his back, and all of the air rushed out of Hunter’s lungs with a whoosh. He staggered forward to the window, launching his palisman out. “Get—out of—here—” he wheezed.

Belos ripped him back from the window with a roar, reaching out the window for Red, but the palisman fluttered out of reach, diving down away from the window.

Belos gasped as more and more of his body shifted into a goopy mess. Hunter scooted backwards, but the room wasn’t big enough, and Belos’ curse lashed out. Hunter rolled to the side to avoid one flailing tendril, but another one caught him, throwing him back into the bed. His head hit the frame with a crack, and everything went a little fuzzy. He didn’t know how long he was lying there, but when he came to, Belos was back to normal, breathing heavily.

Hunter pulled himself into a sitting position, his head spinning. He tucked his head between his knees, willing the sharp pain to go away.

“You should have… given me… the palisman…” Belos gasped, “Hunter… you know… better… than to set off… the curse…”

Hunter closed his eyes, sick to his stomach. “Camila s-said… you shouldn’t blame me…” he whimpered, rubbing the back of his head.

“What was that?”

Hunter hugged himself, his shoulders shaking. “N-nothing.”

“Hunter, Hunter, Hunter. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to be the bad guy. I hate to be the villain. And if you’d just listen the first time, things like this wouldn’t happen.

Belos put a hand on his head. Hunter was sure it was supposed to be comforting, but the touch sent another spike of pain hammering through his skull. He whimpered, and Belos shook his head, walking out.

“I do wish you wouldn’t make me be the bad guy, Hunter.”

Red fluttered through the window when Belos was gone, tweeting in concern and landing on Hunter’s hand. Hunter retched as his head swam, tears running down his face.

“I—I want to go b-back,” he sniffed, scrubbing at his eyes, “I want—I want—”

Red gently pecked his hand, and flew to the window, chirping.

Hunter looked up. “R-run away again? B-belos would just find me.”

Red tweeted that Belos couldn’t possibly search the whole isles, and there were plenty of places to hide. And people who would help him.

Hunter staggered to his feet, stumbling to the window. “How?” he croaked.

Red shifted into its staff form, flapping its wings. The staff floated, and Hunter hesitantly climbed on, clutching onto the staff for dear life as his palisman took off, shooting out the window.

To their credit, they made it all the way to the wall before Kikimora swooped next to them on a massive hand demon.

“Return to your room, or I will be forced to take action against you, Golden Guard.”

“Where does she keep getting those?” Hunter muttered. He nudged them down into a dive, aiming for an arch that was just a little bit blurry—how hard had he hit his head?

Almost immediately, the patch on his arm burned, sending a shockwave of pain up his arm. Hunter fell off of the staff, tumbling to the ground. Red stopped, fluttering back to him as Kikimora strode across the ground towards him. With a wave of her hand, ropes appeared, snaking around Hunter’s arms and dragging him back towards the keep.

Kikimora ‘tsked.’ “The emperor will have to hear of this. A good thing I was here to stop you—if you’d gotten out of my range of sight, I wouldn’t be able to activate your patch.”

“What—a shame.”

Red dove down and pecked at Kikimora’s head, shrieking and undoing her hair tie so that her hair fell into her eyes. Hunter bolted as his coven patch returned to normal, his palisman fluttering after him.

HUNTER!

Hunter froze as Belos’ voice echoed around him. Red chirped for him to come on, hurry, but Hunter couldn’t move.

Belos was angry.

Really angry.

Hunter hadn’t known the difference until now. Before, it had always been a cold, calculating anger. He could pin it now more as… Displeasure, maybe?

But this was angry.

At him.

Before it had just been disappointment. Now? Now he was driving Belos up the wall. Belos was actually going to lose it at him.

His mind screamed at him to run, go, go, go, but his legs wouldn’t move as Belos strode towards him, huge and rageful. One hand reached out and snatched Red out of the air, and finally, Hunter could move, fueled by blind panic.

“G-give it back!”

“No. You can’t be trusted with it. Running away, Hunter? After I gave you another chance? This creature of wild magic is a bad influence on you. I will be taking your pet away until you prove you can be responsible.”

Hunter grabbed for Red as the little bird struggled against Belos’ grip. “No!”

Belos grabbed his shoulder to stop him, adding a new layer of bruises. “Stop this at once,” he hissed, “You are behaving like a child. I raised you better than this!”

He squeezed Red tight, and at the cardinal’s chirp of pain, Hunter stopped struggling.

“You will return to your room,” Belos hissed, “You will stay there. If I catch you trying to run away again…” he squeezed Red just a little harder. “…just don’t run away, Hunter.”

Hunter nodded. “Yes, sir,” he murmured in a hoarse whisper, trudging back through the palace while the coven scouts and guards whispered. He struggled to latch the door, his head spinning, and after the third miss, he gave up, kicking the door, then hopping up and down on one foot in pain with a yell.

Hunter flopped back on his bed, tears pricking at his eyes.

“I want to go home.” The whisper escaped his lips, and panic built up in his chest. He wasn’t ever going to get out of here. Belos would keep him locked up forever, and he would never see Vee or Camila again, and he was trapped, and he couldn’t get out, and no one here cared about him, and he would die here, alone, and no one cared, and he was trapped.

Hunter unbuckled his chest plate, throwing it across the room with a certain kind of savage pleasure as it clanged against the floor. It had used to feel protective, like a shell shielding him from the world. Now it just felt restrictive, like a cage. The cloak followed, the coven symbol on the pin gleaming mockingly at him.

Hunter scrambled down halfway under his bed, pulling out the clothes Camila had given him, and he changed into them, pulling the over-sized hoodie over his head with a sigh of relief. He pulled the hood up and retracted his arms into the sleeves, curling his knees to his chest and chewing on the ends of the hoodie strings.

The fabric smelled like the Noceda house.

Hunter buried his face in his arms, his stomach nauseous.

I want to go home.

Hunter drifted off into a half-dazed dream, voices from coven guards floating in and out.

The Golden Guard is just a kid.

Whoof. He doesn’t look too good.

You think he’s sick?

What is he wearing?

Hunter blearily opened his eyes. Ugh—his head was still throbbing, little pulses of pain emanating from the back of his head where he’d hit the bedframe. Hunter shuffled to his first aid kit, pulling out a pain patch and slapping it on the back of his neck. The pain in his head subsided, but the disoriented, displaced feeling stayed.

“Golden Guard.”

Hunter flinched at Belos’ voice, turning around to see his uncle looking down at him, and casting an irritated glance at the messy heap that was his uniform. Hunter drooped. “Sir…”

“What. Are you wearing.”

Hunter tugged at the ends of his hoodie sleeves. “I just thought—that if I was staying up here anyway,” he said in a small voice, “and if I wasn’t going to leave, that it didn’t really… matter what I wore?”

Belos’ lip curled. “Put your uniform back on. Then you will join me. There is something I want you to see.”

Belos swept out, and Hunter sat down on his bed with a whump, still dazed and groggy. He stared bleakly at his uniform, then started to change with a sigh. Was there any point in resisting? He couldn’t run away, he couldn’t get back to the human realm. Maybe… maybe if he just stopped acting up, things could go back to the way they’d been. Belos would stop being angry for running away eventually, if he just behaved himself. If he proved that he could still be loyal, if he could prove that he was still useful… maybe he would be able to leave the keep again. He could work on getting his palisman back. He just had to get back into Belos’ good graces.

Hunter folded the human clothes up neatly, burying his face in the hoodie for a minute, then pushing the pile back under the bed. He poked his head out into the hallway, where Belos was waiting.

“Come along, Hunter.”

Hunter trudged next to his uncle, zoning out as they passed through hallways until they came to the dungeon. Hunter blinked, swallowing hard. Well, he hadn’t thought life could get much worse, but apparently, Belos didn’t care about appearances anymore.

But Belos led him to the very back, to a solitary cell.

“I thought you’d like a reminder of your time in the human realm,” Belos purred.

Hunter peered in the cell, and his heart stopped in his chest.

Vee.

Chained to the wall, bruises showing on her face.

He shook himself, forcing himself to think through it. No, that was Luz, not Vee. Which wasn’t ideal either, but he knew Luz could handle herself. “What—what is she doing here?”

“She’s attempting to build a portal. I want to know how close she is.” Belos put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him towards the cell. “And you are going to find out for me. After all, you’re some sort of human expert now, hm? You spent time inside of her home, you know her family.” Belos held out his coven staff. “Prove to me that you are still loyal. Prove that you can leave the people in the human realm behind. Find out about her portal by any means possible. Perhaps if I see you can be trusted, I’ll even return your palisman to you.”

That clicked in Hunter’s numb mind. Prove his loyalty—even if he wasn’t sure about it himself, doing this could get that loyalty back, right? Prove he was useful, prove that Belos could still use him, and then he could get back to some semblance of normal. He couldn’t get back to the human realm—he might as well stop moping about it and make the best of his situation.

But that was Camila’s daughter!

That was Luz, the first person to be nice to him!

It didn’t help that she and Vee were identical.

Prove that you can be trusted.

Xxx

Luz lifted her head as the cell door creaked open. “Back for more?” she quipped shakily.

Hunter shuffled in, closing the door behind him. “Uh. Hey.”

“Oh, are we playing good cop, bad cop? Warden Wrath was the bad cop, now you’re the good cop? Fun.”

Hunter looked down at the ground, his knuckles white on his coven staff. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said softly, “Please just tell me about your portal.”

“Ehehehe, no.” Luz twirled a finger in the air. “Props to you for asking nicely, though, that is a nice change.” She glanced at Hunter. “Hey—you okay?” his face was pale, way too pale, and his eyes didn’t seem… quite focused. Then she spotted the healing patch on his neck. “Whoa, what happened to you?”

“I’m supposed to be asking the questions.”

“What, I can’t express concern for my jailer?”

His hands shook. “You’re in a much worse position, here. You’re not looking great, either.”

“Well, yeah. I’m the prisoner. Hunter. Seriously. Are you okay?”

Hunter glanced at the door. “I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

Right, that was a big fat lie.

“I—I met your mother.”

Luz felt a steely cold settle over her soul. “If you’ve hurt her I will—”

“No! I…” Hunter ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t do this. Luz. Please. It is really, really, really important to me that you tell me about your portal.”

There was a certain kind of desperation in his voice that made Luz pause. “…Hunter?” she asked quietly, “What happened?”

He glanced back at the door again. “I—I went to the human realm,” he said in a low voice, “I met Camila and Vee.”

Luz’s eyes widened. “And? Are they okay?”

“They’re fine.” He hesitated, then took a deep breath. “I stayed with them for a while, but Belos came to take me back, and everything since then has just been… he has my palisman, Luz.” Hunter’s chest heaved frantically, and he ran a hand through his hair. “He has my palisman, and I keep making him really mad, and Kikimora-!”

“Hey—Hunter—whoa—deep breaths.”

He looked like he might just be sick on the floor of her cell, but he inhaled deeply.

Man. She couldn’t just leave him like that—and she definitely didn’t want Lil Rascal to get hurt. “Okay. Look. Hunter. You can tell Belos that I’m nowhere close to finishing that portal, and I’m nearly out of titan’s blood, anyway.”

He squinted at her. “Is that the truth?”

Actually, she still had a good amount of titan’s blood left, but Belos didn’t need to know that. “Unfortunately, yes. Hunter, look—I hope you get your palisman back. I really do. But also… I’ve broken out of here before. I’ll do it again. Just… don’t try to stop me when I do, okay? I don’t want to hurt you, I think you’re dealing with enough right now. But I will fight to escape. I can promise you that.”

He rubbed his arms. “I tried to run away,” he admitted in a whisper, “It… didn’t go well. Best of luck, but… don’t get your hopes up. If Belos wants you to stay here, you won’t be going anywhere.”

Xxx

Hunter blankly watched Red hop around his room. He should have felt happy he’d gotten his palisman back. Or at the very least, he should have felt relieved.

But he just felt tired. He’d won this time. He’d gotten Red back safe and sound, he hadn’t even had to hurt Luz to get the little bird.

But it wasn’t over, he knew that. This was just a respite until Belos confiscated his palisman again, or Kikimora decided she wanted to hurt him again, or Belos decided he wanted something else.

And it was just going to keep on going.

Best behavior. Prove he was trustworthy, banish the lingering feelings from his time in the human realm. He could do this—he’d always had to claw his way to the top, he could do it again.

He heard yelling and explosions outside, and he went to the window. A small figure in a blue cape was running for the walls, knocking out coven guards right and left. Luz.

Hunter leaned on the windowsill with a small smile, watching her progress. She made it all the way to the walls, and slapped down a glyph, a pillar of ice rocketing her towards the top.

Only for an attack from Kikimora to knock her off. He winced as she hit the ground, and coven guards grabbed her arms, dragging her back inside. The smile faded from his face, and he closed the window.

Red warbled sadly, and Hunter sighed.

“Yeah. I hoped she’d make it, too.”

He waited about an hour, then rifled through his first aid kit, pulling out a few pain patches. He slowly pushed the door open, checking both ways for anyone coming down the hallway, then crept out, palisman on his shoulder. He snuck through the hallways and down to the dungeon, unlocking Luz’s cell door with a creak, and slipping inside, checking one more time for guards.

She lifted her head when he came in, wincing. “Oh. Heyyyyyy. Are we… doing another interrogation?”

“Shh.” Hunter pulled up her sleeve, putting a few pain patches on her arm, then rolling the sleeve back down. “Those should make it hurt less,” he whispered, “They’re more effective if you put ‘em on the back of your neck, but Belos or one of the guards would see it there.” He shuffled back, rubbing his arm. “Sorry I can’t do more, but I… I’d get in really big trouble.”

She managed a faint grin. “Awwwww thankssss, Hunter. You’re not… such a bad guy.”

Hunter glanced out the little window in the cell door. Still no one out there. Of course, Belos could be watching at any moment, but he was pretty certain that he would have heard an angry voice telling him to get out if he was. “Do you think… isn’t Amity Blight going to come for you?”

Luz shook her head. “I… was on a solitary training retreat… to the Knee… my friends won’t expect me back for a while.” She blinked at him. “Thanks for… for helping me.”

“’s not a lot.” Hunter turned to go. “I’ll leave you alone, now. In case you want to try escaping again.”

“No, wait!”

He paused at the door, looking back at her.

“Stay and talk to me? How’s my mom?”

Hunter sat down on the floor, crisscross with his hands on his ankles. “She misses you. She wants you to come home. But she and Vee are… they’re happy, I think.”

“Yeah?”

“Your mom, she… she took me in. Even after she found out I was your enemy. She was nice to me. I… I was happy there.”

“Why’d you come back?”

Hunter shook his head. “Didn’t have a choice. Belos came for me, and if I hadn’t come… he just would have hurt your mom and taken me back anyway. He can go to the human realm whenever he wants, he has the door, and he has enough blood in the key to go back as many times as he needs to drag me back.”

Luz was quiet for a moment. “What if… he didn’t have the key?”

“Wh-What?”

“If we got the key away from him—”

Hunter stood up so fast it made his head spin. “I can’t steal the key! Are you insane?!”

“Insanely clever! Ah, come on, I’ve tricked him before.”

Hunter shook his head. “I want to escape. Not get myself killed. Or worse.” He went to the door. “The sooner you come to terms with the truth, be better off you’ll be. We’re both stuck here—or at least, you are until your friends realize you’re missing. If you keep trying to escape, you’ll just keep getting hurt. Belos doesn’t let prisoners go.”

Hunter left the cell, closing and locking the door behind him. He turned around, and yelped. “E-emperor Belos!”

His uncle shook his head. “Hunter, what are you doing down here?”

“Getting… the human… to trust me?” he tried.

Belos held a hand out. “Palisman.”

Hunter grabbed Red, holding him close. “I swear I wasn’t going to help her escape, I promise!”

“Palisman, Hunter. I don’t want to keep taking your pet, but if you keep proving you can’t be trusted, then I have no choice.”

Hunter backed up, pressing his back to the cell door and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Hey, goop man!” Luz called from inside of the cell, “Leave him alone! I’m the problem!”

Belos glanced in the cell. “Quiet.”

“No! You leave Hunter alone, he didn’t do anything!”

Xxx

Luz waited, holding her breath. She was not going to be the reason Hunter or his palisman got hurt—he’d just been trying to help her.

Belos’ eye stared into her cell. “Are you really so eager to rush your own petrification, human?”

“Oh, please, is that supposed to be scary? You’ve already failed to kill me several times.”

Belos straightened. “If you two enjoy each other’s company so much, why don’t you have a little sleepover together?” he said in a voice steely with rage. Luz heard a yelp from Hunter, and then the sound of a door locking. “No—wait—Uncle, I promise I won’t come down again, don’t—”

“Goodnight, Hunter.”

The dungeon door closed behind Belos, plunging them into darkness.

Luz could hear ragged breathing from the cell next to hers. Oh, boy. Not again. “Hey—Hunter, buddy. Deep breath. Deep breath, buddy. You’re okay. I’m right over here. It’s just a dark cell, it’ll be okay. Deep breath.” She heard Lil Rascal’s chirp. “Hey, wait, you still have your palisman? Just break out!”

“Why, so Belos can catch me and lock me up somewhere else?” Hunter snarled miserably.

“Oh. Yeah. At least here you’ve got company, eh?”

She heard a deep sigh.

Xxx

“Hey. I’m sorry I got you in trouble.”

Hunter leaned against the wall. “I haven’t been out of trouble since I got back here.”

Luz chuckled. “That doesn’t sound like you, golden boy.”

“Thanks for… for standing up for me. If he’d taken Red away again I—” Red snuggled against him, and Hunter scratched the palisman’s head. “Luz? Why did you—why did you run away from home?”

Luz was quiet for a moment. “I… I wasn’t trying to run away. Not really. I always planned on going back, I just… everything happened so FAST, and then I’d destroyed the portal—or I thought I did, anyway. I just… I never fit in. Guess it sounds like a pretty silly reason to run away to you, huh?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just—I mean—I love my mom a lot. And I know she tries her hardest. And I did feel bad about leaving her behind—it was just that the rest of my world… I didn’t fit in, and I wanted something more. But Belos is horrible to you. I’d understand if you wanted to run away.”

Hunter curled his knees up to his chest. “It wasn’t always like this. It used to be—well, better. He wasn’t ever as caring or kind as Camila, but he… he wasn’t this bad. But then I ran away to the human realm, and I just… He’s really upset, you know? Like I’m sure your mom is, too. It’ll settle down eventually, I guess, he can’t be mad forever. It would probably help if I stopped getting into trouble.”

Luz was quiet for a moment. “But what if it shouldn’t settle down?”

“What?”

“Hunter, you don’t have to take this! Fight back!”

Hunter shook his head, nauseous at the thought. “It’s not… You can do that, Luz, you live in a world where a—a plucky attitude can get you out of a bad situation, and good wins, and the power of friendship or whatever can do anything. That’s not how it is for me, Luz. If I keep standing up, I’m just going to keep getting knocked down. It doesn’t matter what the issue is, the fight doesn’t end until I’ve lost. I can’t win, Luz.”

“So you’re just going to give up?”

“Yeah, okay? I’m giving up. It’s not just about me anymore—I have to watch out for Red, too. If I keep fighting back, Belos will hurt me, he’ll hurt Red—it’s just not worth it.”

“But—”

“I’m done talking about it, Luz.”

“Fine.”

There was a small explosion from the cell next to him, and Luz burst out into the open with a small grin. “What if you didn’t have to be here?”

Hunter’s heart started to thud in his chest. “Wh-what?”

Luz drew a glyph on the floor, and vines erupted from the ground, ripping his cell door off of its hinges. “I’m breaking you out, Mr. Tragic, let’s go!”

“I—I can’t, he’ll catch us!”

Luz shrugged. “Oh, well.” She drew another glyph, and a block of ice rose up, encasing him.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

“Kidnapping you!” Luz slapped a fire glyph on the back of the ice block, and Hunter shot forward towards the door, Luz clinging to the back.

“Stop it! You’re going to get us both in trouble!”

“Belos’ fault, really, for leaving you down there with me.”

They shot up the stairs, and Red fluttered after them, turning into its staff form. Luz grinned. “Good idea!”

She used a plant glyph to tie Hunter’s ice block to the staff and sat on it. “Let’s go!”

“Traitor,” Hunter grumbled to his palisman, but hope fought his panic. Luz had nearly made it last time—and with his palisman, she had a way to get over the wall.

They zoomed through the hallways, Luz immobilizing coven guards along the way. Hunter’s heart pounded, leaping up to his mouth. They were going to make it—this time, they were really going to—

A blast of magical energy barely missed Luz, and she dove to the side, glaring down at Kikimora, who was standing next to Belos, her finger smoking. “Hey!” Luz yelled angrily, “I’ve got Hunter—you really going to risk me dropping him?”

For a moment, just a moment, Hunter thought he saw Belos hesitate. But then he nodded to Kikimora, and another energy blast slammed into Luz, knocking her out of the sky and severing the vines securing Hunter to the staff.

Wind whipped past his face as he fell, but he barely even noticed, his mind numb.

Belos would let him die rather than escape.

Red dove down with a shriek, slamming into the ice block so hard it broke. Hunter grabbed the staff, hanging on for dear life as he scrambled to get into a sitting position. Then he angled the staff down. “GO!”

They dove down towards Luz as she fell, wind whistling in his ears. They shot past her, and Hunter pulled up. Luz slammed into him, and they plummeted again, Red straining to hold them both up. They skidded into the courtyard, tumbling to a stop, and Hunter flopped on the ground with a groan, Luz unconscious on the ground.

Belos glided over, peering down at him as coven guards hauled Luz away again. “Excellent work, Hunter.”

“I almost died!” The words burst out of his mouth before he could stop them. “You were going to let me die!”

“I knew you could handle it,” Belos said dismissively. His eyes glinted. “Besides, I won’t negotiate with rebels, and she should learn that.” He started to walk back towards the keep. “Clean yourself up, you look a mess.”

Red tweeted anxiously, hopping up to him.

Hunter hauled himself into a sitting position with a wince, picking up the bird. “’m okay.”

Red chirped again, glancing in the direction the guards had taken Luz.

“I know—I want her to get out, too, but I just… I don’t think she can make it out of these walls, the perimeter is just too secure.”

Hunter watched after Belos, the gears in his mind quietly clicking.

But what if there were a way for her to escape without ever leaving the walls?

Xxx

Luz was half asleep when she heard it. A thump and a yelp from the guard that Belos had permanently posted, then the click of a key in a lock. She somehow just knew from the sound that it was Hunter, even before he poked his head in.

“Okay, we’re getting out of here.” He unlocked her from the wall, and she fell, her legs wobbly. “Whoa!” He caught her, lowering her gently to the floor and pulling out a couple of the pain patches he’d used before, pasting them to the back of her neck. “I’m going to get you home.”

“Home?”

Hunter held an arm out, and his palisman fluttered through the door and landed on his arm, the portal key in its mouth. He took the key. “You’re taking the portal out of here, back to Camila. Oh—and I’m coming with you.”

Luz blinked as the aching in her muscles and the throbbing in her head subsided. “How’d you get that? And what about Belos, aren’t you worried he’ll see us?”

“Well, to answer both of your questions…” Hunter winced. “Let’s just say that I set up some traps specifically designed to set off his curse, and Red lured him in.” His face paled, like what he’d done had just now caught up to him. “Ohhhhhhhhhh, he’s going to be so mad.”

“Well, we’ll just have get out of here before his curse recedes,” Luz said confidently. She hauled herself up. “Lead the way!”

They crept through the hallways, Hunter jumping at every sound.

And then Luz heard it.

A drip, drip, drip, and ragged breathing.

Hunter went white as a sheet, and he turned to face the noise, jabbing one finger behind him. “Down the hallway, giant doors, can’t miss it. I’ll misdirect him and meet you there.”

“Hunter are you—”

“Go!”

Xxx

Hunter took a deep breath and tucked Red and the key into his pocket as Belos shambled towards him, the ooze of the curse dripping on the floor.

“U-uncle Belos, you shouldn’t be out like this, let me help you get somewhere—”

“The human,” Belos rasped, “She’s escaped. I can feel it. And your palisman is helping her.”

“Then she’s—she’s probably outside, again, making another go at the walls, we should—”

“No. She’s… trying to return home. She has the key.”

Hunter ran around the emperor, standing in front of him. “But she doesn’t want to go home! She likes it here, besides, why would she be so stupid as to head deeper into the keep, that doesn’t make any sense, it makes way more sense for her to have stolen the key for the blood in it and she’s probably going to keep trying to make her portal, I mean—”

“Step aside, Hunter.”

Hunter backpedaled, keeping himself between Belos and the throne room door. “Really, we should go to the walls and look for her, she tends to make a mess of the guards, and—”

Belos’ curse lashed out, throwing him against the wall. Hunter collapsed in a dazed heap, blinking stars out of his eyes. “I said to step aside,” Belos growled. He put one hand on Hunter’s head. “Just stay down, Hunter. I can still pretend you had nothing to do with this. You don’t have to implicate yourself with her.”

He strode towards the door, leaving Hunter crumpled on the ground. He slowly pulled out the key, clutching it tightly.

She’s… trapped.

Xxx

Luz hopped from one foot to another. “C’mon, Hunter, where are you?”

The door creaked open, and she brightened. “Hunter?”

“I’m afraid Hunter will not be joining us,” Belos’ voice oozed.

A chill ran down Luz’s spine. “What did you do to him?” she demanded.

“You and your family turned him against me,” Belos hissed, “I’m sure it will distress him, but you must be eliminated.”

Luz backed up, reaching for her glyphs. “I’m not so easy to take down!”

Belos tilted his head. “Maybe not. But there’s someone else who posed an even greater influence on him—perhaps you will escape.” The emperor leaned in. “But I know exactly where to find your mother and the basilisk.”

There was a thump, and a singular boot thudded to the ground, bouncing off of the back of Belos’ head. He turned around. “What—”

In a flash of gold, Hunter appeared just above Belos, his palisman in its staff form and cackling with red electricity. Hunter swung the staff, catching Belos right in the mask. Belos fell, and Hunter landed, breathing heavily. “Don’t—you—touch—them—” he snarled.

Luz crowed, half-tackling him in a hug. “You did it!”

“Huh?”

“You stood up to him, Hunter, you fought back!”

He glanced down at Belos, face pale. “… I did. Oh, titan. I am so dead.”

“Then let’s get out of here!”

Hunter clicked the key, and the portal hummed, opening up. Luz raced back into the human realm, turning back. “Come on!”

Hunter was busy tugging on his shoe, hopping on one foot. “Hang on—”

He took a step forward, then stopped, his eyes widening and darting down.

Luz glanced at his feet.

They were covered in Belos’ cursed mud, holding him in place. The emperor groaned

Luz started forward. “Hang on, I’m coming, Hunter!”

He held his hand out. “No! If you set foot back here, he’ll get you, too!”

“I’m not just going to leave you!”

Hunter held up his staff. “Take care of Red.”

Luz felt tears press at the corners of her eyes. “Hunter—”

Hunter tossed the staff through the air, and Luz caught it, catching the palisman as it transformed. “Are you sure?”

Hunter squeezed his eyes shut, turning his face away. “Belos will kill it if it stays. And I… I don’t want it to see this.”

Red shrieked shrilly, snapping and clawing at Luz’s hands, struggling to get back to its witch.

“Hunter, just hang on,” Luz begged, “I can help you get out—we’re escaping together!”

Hunter shook his head. “Belos can’t have the portal. We can’t risk it.” His voice cracked, and he pulled out the key again. He clicked it, throwing it through the portal as it closed. “Say hi to Vee and Camila for me.”

The key clanked to the ground in front of Luz.

And the portal was gone.

Xxx

Hunter watched once again as the portal closed, trapped on the wrong side.

Emperor Belos rose up behind him with a growl, his face melting and reforming and melting and reforming. The cursed mud on Hunter’s feet crept up further, oozing and cold, but also burning at the same time, like acid wherever it touched him.

“You,” Belos growled, “are a horrible, disobedient child.”

Hunter squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenching into fists. “Then get rid of me,” he challenged.

The mud crept all the way up to his neck.

“No, I don’t think so. I have a much better way to keep you in line.”

Cursed mud covered Hunter’s mouth and nose, and his back arched instinctively. He held his breath as long as he could, but his lungs forced him to open his mouth, and the curse crept in, filling his lungs. Hunter choked and screamed, and then he was falling into an inky black sea. He clawed for the surface.

Willful child, a voice whispered, Just submit. Give in. Won’t that be easier than fighting?

No matter how hard he swam, Hunter couldn’t—reach—the top—

You cannot win this fight. Just give in, and it will all be over.

Despair swept over Hunter, and he let himself sink.

Maybe… it is… easier…

He didn’t know long he was there, sinking into the darkness.

Time was irrelevant.

At least nothing hurt him here. It was just… endless nothingness.

At least it was until a shaft of light pierced through the darkness, and a voice called his name.

Ch 7

#this one is so long asdfghjkl #toh #the owl house #toh fanfiction #my writing #luz noceda #toh hunter #emperor belos #tw: child abuse #tw: emotional manipulation #the golden guard #kikimora

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theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 3 years

Note

person who left the "Impulse & Skizz as the final 2 in 3rd life or Impulse kills Skizz for knowing too much" prompt here. Just read your latest fic so could you do the one where the final 2 are Impulse & Skizz? Thx ^^

thank u so much for asking for this. it became quite self-indulgent but i hope it’s still good :D

cw blood, suicide

…

“Martyn!” cries Skizz, seeing his friend and only remaining ally stumble into Dogwarts, a bloody wound in his chest.

He dashes forwards just in time to catch Martyn as he stumbles. As he lowers his friend down, he inspects the wound. It’s clearly a stab wound, and it’s been bleeding for a while.

“Martyn, oh my gosh…!” Skizz’s voice cracks as he cradles Martyn in his arms. “Stay with me, Martyn! Stay with me!”

“I don’t have long,” rasps Martyn, his face pale. “S-Skizz, listen-”

“You gotta stay with me! W-We gotta win this together!”

Martyn weakly shakes his head. “I’m d-done for. Skizz, please… Impulse is on his w-way here. You gotta kill him. End this.”

Tears spring to Skizz’s eyes. “I… I can’t lose you, Martyn…”

“I’ll b-be okay,” Martyn whispers. “I’ll be with R-Ren again. G-Good luck, Skizz. Thanks for e-everything.”

“No…”

Martyn’s head falls back, his eyes closing. But it’s the buzz of Skizz’s communicator that confirms what he already knows.

InTheLittleWood was slain by impulseSV

His only remaining friend and ally is gone.

Skizz hangs his head and cries, hugging Martyn’s body close to him. They were so close to winning this. Two vs one; it should’ve been so easy. They could have won this together. They SHOULD have won this together.

They were so close…

Finally, Skizz gently lays Martyn’s body down and shakily stands up, his hands and armour smeared with blood. He takes a moment to wash them clean in the pond, before collecting everything he could need for the final fight.

There’s only two people left now. Just two. Skizz…

…and the friend who betrayed him.

After enchanting some fresh diamond armour, using the Renchanting table for the last time, he climbs the ladder onto the wall of Dogwarts, equipped with Martyn’s shield, Ren’s axe, and Etho’s bow. It helps to have a part of them with him as he enters the endgame. He can feel their presence, their strength, cheering him on. With the prospect of either killing or being killed by his best friend looming over him, it makes him feel a little braver to have this extra strength.

After several excruciating minutes of waiting, Skizz spots a figure coming towards him from the direction of BigB’s house, down the mountain. Its pathing is too specific to be a mob.

This is it.

Skizz nocks an arrow and aims it at the figure. If he can get a shot on Impulse here, he might be able to gain an advantage.

Impulse gets closer.

Skizz doesn’t shoot.

Impulse gets closer.

Skizz can’t bring himself to shoot.

“Hey, Skizz,” says Impulse, stopping close enough to the wall that a shot from here would kill him. “How’s it going?”

“You here to collect the full set?” snarls Skizz. “Killing Ren and Etho wasn’t enough for you, huh? You just had to take Martyn from me too.”

“I’m not gonna back down now, Skizz. Not after everything I’ve done to get here.”

Skizz’s grip tightens on the bow, causing Impulse to let out a laugh. “C’mon, do you really want to fight me?”

“Of course I don’t, you jerk,” whispers Skizz shakily. Louder, he says, “I’m not gonna back down either. I’m gonna beat you for Dogwarts.”

“Dogwarts is meaningless,” scoffs Impulse. “A fake kingdom with a fake king that’ll die as soon as this world does.”

“Ren was more of a king than you were of a friend!” Skizz snarls back. “Ren, Martyn, Etho — they’re all better people than you!”

“Really? Then why are they not here now?”

“BECAUSE YOU MURDERED THEM!!!!”

Skizz’s roar shatters the otherwise quiet air and he lets his arrow fly. It glances off Impulse’s armour and does no damage, but Impulse stumbles back anyway, clearly taken by surprise by Skizz’s unexpected attack.

While Impulse is distracted, Skizz leaps down from the wall and charges at him with his — Ren’s — axe. Impulse only just manages to raise his shield to block the attack, but he’s off-balance and Skizz’s strike shoves him backwards.

Impulse’s cry throws Skizz off guard. For a brief moment, he feels the urge to rush over to his best friend and make sure he’s okay.

But then Impulse recovers and charges at him. In his haste to get away, Skizz forgets his shield and simply dodges to the left, but Impulse’s own shield catches him in the jaw, causing him to taste blood in his mouth.

“You’re so annoying!” Skizz growls.

“Good. So are you.”

Remembering his shield this time, Skizz blocks Impulse’s next blow and lashes out blindly with the axe.

Impulse screams as the blade digs into the exposed part of his arm. It’s not a deep cut but it’s enough to throw him off.

“The Red Winter Axe finally tastes enemy blood,” says Skizz triumphantly, as if the spirit of Ren is giving him the words.

“You’re so PATHETIC,” Impulse snarls, clutching his arm.

“GOOD!” Skizz screeches back. “SO ARE YOU!”

Clearly now infuriated, Impulse resumes his attacks.

Normally, Impulse would be much better at PVP than Skizz. But 3rd Life has changed something in both of them. They’re both exhausted, but it’s more than that. Their motivations have changed. Impulse has done so many bad things; he’s lost himself, and it reflects in his fighting style. Whereas Skizz has improved, and he has something to fight for. So now they’re on more equal footing.

Finally, Skizz finds himself fighting extremely close to the edge of the hill, at the bottom of which a river flows at its deepest part.

But as Skizz tries to move out of the way, Impulse charges again and in his haste to dodge, Skizz loses his balance. He grabs hold of Impulse’s wrist as he topples backwards, bringing his former friend with him. The two both lose hold of their weapons as they tumble down the hill towards the river.

Skizz lands heavily but cleanly in the water and sinks rapidly. The shock of the impact stuns him — not for long but long enough. He struggles to swim upwards but his strength is almost gone. The utter exhaustion is finally catching up to him.

As Skizz sinks further down under the water, he can’t help thinking that this is it. This is how he’ll die. The coldness of the water grips him and pulls him down, weakening him. He’s about to run out of air. This is the end…

…

No.

It can’t end like this.

It won’t end like this.

Pushing off against the bottom of the riverbank, Skizz breaks the surface of the water with a loud gasp, taking in a gulp of oxygen. He manages to swim to the edge of the river and climb out. His chest and limbs are aching but he knows he can’t afford to stop now. He crawls away up the hill, choking and gasping for air, not daring to even look back. Every bone in his body is telling him that Impulse is right behind him, about to kill him in one shot. The bloodlust, the drive to win, it’s all coming to a head.

But just as Skizz reaches the top of the hill, his communicator buzzes.

impulseSV drowned

Skizz has to read the message no fewer than a dozen times before he properly realises what it says.

Impulse is… dead. He’s gone. He must have hit his head when they landed in the river, knocking him out.

After a while, Skizz lies down on the ground, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. He doesn’t know whether to cry hysterically or be relieved. Impulse’s death was indirectly his fault, considering he’s the one who caused the two of them to fall into the river. If he had noticed his former friend’s predicament sooner, maybe he could have saved him. Should he have tried to save him…?

But then he remembers the way Etho’s voice cracked when he talked about how Impulse had betrayed him. Ren’s scream as Impulse buried his axe blade in his chest. The sight of Martyn bleeding out in Skizz’s arms.

He pushes himself up off the floor and, exhausted and almost completely out of energy, limps over to his cracked shield, lying where he had dropped it. Picking it up, he turns his face upwards and lifts the shield to the sky. A triumphant gesture devoid of triumph.

“For Dogwarts,” he rasps.

This gesture drains the rest of his strength and he drops to his knees, head spinning, the shield falling to the ground beside him. He’s fought so hard for so long. All he wants now is to rest.

He manages to pull himself to the edge of the hill that has no water at the bottom. It’s time to finally end this, once and for all.

Skizz straightens up and takes a final deep breath. Holding the Dogwarts banner tightly in his hand, he leans forward and lets himself fall.

Skizzleman fell from a high place

And with the final death notification, broadcast to a world of ghosts and memories, the 3rd Life journey comes to an end.

#3rdlifesmp #3rd life smp #skizzleman #impulsesv #vaunna’s requests #cw blood #cw suicide

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slythergirlimagines · 4 years

Text

I Suppose That Would Be Alright- Draco x Reader

Request: Hello!! May I request prompt 4 with Draco Malfoy where the reader saw Draco cheating on her and they broke up? & He tries everything he could to get her back but she doesn’t give in easily. This could be a little angsty. xD

Summary: Reader catches Draco cheating and breaks up with him. He desperately wants her back. Angsty with a little fluff at the end! (gif not mine!) masterlist

Words: 3,681 Requested: Yes

******PLEASE GO TO THIS POST AFTER YOU READ THIS STORY, I REALLY WANT YOUR FEEDBACK ON A CONCEPT I HAVE*********

For reference, L/n refers to “your last name”

I Suppose That Would Be Alright

Draco meant everything to you. You had been dating for almost two years now, and you were happier than you had ever been.

There was a different side to Draco that you got to see. To the world he may be tough and snarky, but to you he was sweet and caring. He was also overly indulgent, and you knew he would do literally anything for you. He always told you how much you meant to him, and you had always believed him. Until this very second.

Draco stands in front of you in the corridor, being snogged within an inch of his life by Pansy Parkinson. You stand there, frozen in shock as time grinds to a halt. The other students in the hallway dart their eyes between you and Draco, and start whispering. You whirl around as quickly as you can, unable to take anymore of their pitying looks or Draco’s snogging session.

As you run, you hear Draco calling your name, but continue to push through the throng of students. You tell yourself that you just have to get away. As you run, memories swirl through your mind.

The words swim in front of your eyes, blurring into nonsense. How were you ever going to succeed in potions, when absolutely nothing made sense? Tears gather on your lashes, further obscuring what little you could make out. With a sigh, you let your head slam onto the heavy potions book.

“L/N? What are you on about?” A snide voice rings out in the quiet of the library.

You whip your head up, and blink back the moisture in your eyes. In front of you stands a scowling Draco Malfoy. His silver eyes penetrate yours, and it makes you uncomfortable. You know what he’s like, and he so obviously is going to use this against you somehow.

“Shove off Malfoy.” You mutter angrily, swiping at your eyes with vigor.

Draco eyes you for a second, then takes the seat opposite of you. He reaches out a pale hand and slides the book out from under you, turning it to examine its contents.

“Potions, huh?” He says. He looks back at you, and some how his face is a little softer than before.

“I’m pretty good at potions, if I do say so myself.” He brags. “I bet I could whip you into shape L/N.”

“Why would you help me?” You question. His actions go against everything you’ve ever heard about him, and everything you’ve ever seen him do.

Draco shrugs, and juts his pointy chin.

“Beats having to help Crabbe and Goyle. At least you can read.” He says.

You catch yourself laughing, and it surprises you. Draco Malfoy is funny?

“Y/N.” You say, extending your hand across the table. Draco considers it for a moment, and then takes your hand in his cool one.

“Draco.”

The tears stream down your face, as the memories keep hitting you full force.

“Y/n?” Draco asks, sprawled out in the grass. “Would you call us friends?”

You look up from the book you’re reading and mark the page. You’ve been Draco’s friend for several years now, and you know his moods like the back of your hand. If you don’t give him your undivided attention he’ll pout for the next week.

“I certainly hope so. I don’t spend this much time with just anyone you know.” You say gently.

You always try to be gentle around Draco. He’s been horribly belittled and mistreated by his father, and though he will never willingly admit it, he craves the support he didn’t have growing up. You never want to treat him the way his father does.

Draco sighs, and then locks his eyes on yours. He scoots his head into your lap, and then sets his gaze on the tepid lake. It’s a cozy afternoon, and the soft light makes Draco’s blonde hair look even lighter.

“But friends can take each other to dances and things right?” He says. His voice is uncharacteristically timid, and it makes you smile. Draco is always softer around you than he is with others, but he is still usually cocky and confident. Now he is nervous, and it makes your stomach flutter.

“What do you mean?” You ask, smirking. Of course you understand what he’s getting at, but you’ll take any opportunity to mess with him.

He looks up at you then, grey eyes narrowing when he catches the expression on your face. Draco sits himself up and turns to face you. He’s much closer than you anticipated, and you feel a blush rising to your cheeks.

“You’re messing with me.” He says, voice low.

“Maybe.” You agree. You aren’t quite successful at keeping the breathiness out of your voice.

“Go to the ball with me?” He asks. You pretend to think about it for a minute.

“I suppose that would be alright.” You grin. “Poor Goyle, though. I think he already had his dress picked out.”

Draco rolls his eyes, but smiles back at you anyways. You can’t keep the blush off of your face the rest of the day.

The most important memory hits you last.

“That was so much fun, Draco.” You say as he walks you through the abandoned corridors to your dormitory. If you listen closely enough, you can still hear the faint sounds of the music. The night has a dreamy haze to it, and you practically feel like you’re floating.

“It was, wasn’t it? Doesn’t help that you had the greatest date.” He adds.

You laugh, happy and carefree.

“Y/n.” Draco says, catching your hand and stopping you.

“Yes, Draco?” You ask, blinking at him. The moonlight filters in through the hallway, and Draco’s hair and eyes are gleaming. He’s never looked more beautiful to you.

“I don’t want to be friends anymore.” He says.

Your face falls as you take in his words, and then he’s kissing you in the moonlight.

“I love you.” He says when he pulls away. It’s all too easy for you to stand on your tip toes, and press another hungry kiss to his mouth.

“I love you too.”

How could he do this to you? You loved him, and until now you had never doubted that he’d loved you just as much. You had been so blind.

Draco catches you before you can get away from him.

“Y/n, wait!” He says, griping your elbow to pull you back to him.

“Don’t touch me!” You shout, venom dripping from every word.

“It’s not what you think!” He starts.

“Not what I think? What I think is that you and Parkinson were just having a nice song. Don’t let me interrupt!” You snarl. You itch to whip out your wand and curse him.

“Y/n...” he says, giving you the wounded puppy eyes. They usually work, but not this time.

“I’m done!” You snap. “There are a lot of people in your life that let you toy with them, Draco. They let you move them around like chess pieces, but guess what? I’m not one of those people.”

“I know you aren’t!” Draco defends.

“I won’t let you treat me like one any longer. I loved you!” You say, tears streaming freely down your face. “I loved you for years and you were just using me.”

“No I wasn’t! That’s not true.” Draco pleads. “Y/n, I’m telling you nothing happened!”

“If that’s nothing then I’d hate to see your definition of something!” You wrench your arm out of his grasp and move away.

“Y/n, please...”

“I’m done, Draco. I’m done.” You say, and walk away. Even though you want to, you don’t turn around once. You know your worth, and you deserve more than to be treated like rubbish.

The next few days are incredibly hard. The entire school learns about your breakup, and there’s a flood of sympathetic faces wherever you go. People whisper when you walk into a room, and grow quiet when you come near. It’s humiliating and annoying, and all you want is some damn privacy to mourn.

It doesn’t help that Draco refuses to take the hint and leave you alone. He’s already tried to approach you a few times, and it’s getting harder and harder to avoid him.

Today you all share a class, ironically potions, and you usually share a table. You know that it will be impossible to get any learning done with him next to you. Maybe you could find someone to switch with you. Draco was still astoundingly good at potions, and there had to be someone who would want to reap the benefits of being his partner.

Finding that someone, however, was proving to be impossible. You weren’t really that close with anyone in your class, and after the second no, you were starting to get the feeling that everyone wanted to see the drama play out. You decide that if you had to sit next to Draco, then the best thing to do would be to get there last and leave first.

You walk into potions with your head held high, seconds before class begins. Professor Snape narrows his dark eyes as you walk in, but doesn’t say anything to you about it. Draco is in his usual seat, sitting stiff as a board.

He is paler than usual, you note as you take your seat. Dark purple rings his eyes, and betrays his lack of sleep. Your heart stutters being this close to him, but you are strong and you will ignore all of this.

Snape begins his lecture, and you hang onto every word. You’ve never been so focused on a lecture in your life. You’re busy noting every word that Snape says, when a note pops up on your parchment.

“I really need to talk to you.” It reads. It’s in Draco’s neat and proper handwriting, and you have the violent urge to destroy the loops with your quill.

You lock your jaw, and then continue taking notes as if you’ve never seen Draco’s message.

“Y/n, please. I’d just like to explain.” Another note says.

Again you ignore it, and you can feel the tension in Draco increase as he scribbles another hasty note.

“Y/n, please..” the words start.

“Enough!” You snap at Draco, loud enough to draw the attention of the rest of the class.

“L/n, I didn’t know that you were so educated about Acromantula Venom that you didn’t need my lecture.” Snape says in his slow drawl. “Please enlighten the rest of the class with your expansive knowledge.”

“I-I’m sorry professor, it won’t happen again.” You say. Snape looks more sour than ever as he turns his attention back to the lecture.

You feel the familiar pressure of tears behind your eyes. This time, they are angry tears. Draco couldn’t settle for humiliating you in front of everyone in the corridor, he had to also humiliate you in class too.

The second Snape dismisses you, you are running from the class. You give Draco no time to catch up with you, as you hastily make your way back to your dormitory. Maybe you’ll just have to hide out here forever.

Draco tries again during dinner. You knew you should have just had one of your housemates bring you a plate, but you hate feeling like a coward. You’re not going to starve to death because Draco couldn’t keep his tongue in his mouth. You refuse to let him have that much power over you.

You’re in the middle of forced conversation with your housemates when Draco makes his way over and sits down. Instantly, you feel a multitude of prying eyes on you, and you again have the urge to run.

“Y/n.” Draco says firmly. “I need to talk to you.”

“Leave me alone, Malfoy.” You say coldly. Draco flinches at your use of his last name. You’ve never called him Malfoy, not since the day you became friends.

“Y/n, nothing happened with Pansy. I love you!” He says as quietly as he can. It irks you that he’s being so quiet about it. If he really loved you, why was he acting like it was such a shameful secret.

“Right.” You say. “I’ll believe that when I see it Draco.”

You didn’t mean it as a challenge. Draco’s actions had already proven to you what he felt. However, his face brightens at your words and warmth blooms in your chest. You quickly stamp it out, and ignore the feelings. You’ll get over that soon enough.

“I’ll prove it to you! I swear I will.” He says, and then he swings his legs over the bench and walks out of the Great Hall. You have the sinking feeling that disaster is looming.

Draco’s first attempt to win you back involves flowers. Somehow, he manages to jinx a vase in your room to procure a new flower for you every morning. Of course, they are your favorite kind of flower, and the vase magically expands to include them all.

The flowers anger you because they are a sweet gesture and an impressive bit of magic. Why couldn’t his attempts be weak and pathetic so you didn’t consider taking him back? Draco was too good at wooing and schmoozing. You have to remind yourself multiple times a day that you caught him kissing Pansy.

To his credit, Draco leaves you alone for a while. He doesn’t try to contact you or force you to talk to him. That doesn’t mean you can’t feel his eyes on you all the time, and that potions isn’t the most intense class you have. But at least it’s something.

You have five flowers when Draco makes another attempt. Your favorite candy from Honeydukes now appears underneath the flowers. You carefully unwrap the package, and put the delicacy in your mouth. It’s delicious, as always, but it makes you sad too. You miss Draco more than anything, but your trust has been broken. Some chocolate and flowers won’t fix that by themselves.

You miss him, and you really should stop hiding from him and just talk. He was trying, and that’s at least enough reason to let him speak. You didn’t have to forgive him.

You go down to the Great Hall with determination. You’re going to get this resolved today, regardless of the outcome.

You walk into the hall, eyes searching for blonde hair and silver eyes. You find Draco at his normal table, and then your heart sinks. Next to him sits Pansy, who is staring at him with obvious heart eyes. Your anger reaches its boiling point as you stomp over.

“Draco.” You say, tone stormy. “We need to talk.”

Draco looks eager as he jumps from the table and follows you outside.

“What are you doing?” You hiss. “You can’t send me flowers and candy every morning and then still be hanging around Pansy whenever I see you! It doesn’t work that way.”

“Oh I’m sorry.” He says, voice haughty. He sounds like the Draco everyone else knows. “I’m just a little confused because I try everything to reach out to you, and you ignore me and all my effort and then get mad when someone else acts interested in me!”

“I’m not allowed to be mad that you’re with the person you cheated on me with?!” You snap.

Draco’s grey eyes narrow dangerously, and his body shakes with anger.

“You never listen to what I say.” He snaps.

“You know what? I was coming down here this morning to talk to you. I was hoping we could talk about everything, get it resolved, but I can see that I have my answer!” You cross your arms, and lock your jaw. You desperately try to stop your tears, but they spill over your lashes anyways. You collect yourself for a minute.

“If you’re going to be with Pansy, Draco, just let me move on.” You say quietly, voice watery.

Draco doesn’t say anything to you as you leave. As soon as you make it to your dorm, you smash the vase of flowers to pieces.

Weeks go by, and you are more miserable then you have ever been. You spend all your free time in the library, avoiding crowds and Draco. You don’t want to see him any more than you can help. Every time you have to sit next to him in potions it hurts. You don’t even go to Quidditch matches anymore to avoid seeing him. If he’s with Pansy then you’d rather not know.

One particularly rainy afternoon finds you in the library, potions book on your lap. You aren’t doing much studying, instead your eyes trace raindrops as they roll down the window. Your melancholy is broken by someone stomping up to you.

“I’m not with Draco.” A nasally voice says. Pansy stands in front of you, one hand on her hip.

“Ok.” Is all you say. You don’t want to so much as look at Pansy. All you see is Draco’s lips on hers when you do.

“Ok, so stop moping and just make up!” She says annoyingly. Even this doesn’t spark your anger like it should. You just feel numb and empty.

You don’t give her a response. Instead, you shift your potions book from your lap, and tuck your knees under your chin. Once settled, you turn your attention back to the rainy window, and ignore Pansy.

“Fine.” She says, storming off. “Keep being miserable.”

It’s only when she’s gone that you let yourself become a reflection of the window.

Draco tries again for a final time when he catches you in the library. Today, you are actually trying to study. Ever since you and Draco broke up, you had lost not only a boyfriend but your potions tutor. Now you were desperately trying to teach yourself, and it just wasn’t working out.

Draco finds you in much the same position that you were when you first became friends. You’re all but banging your head against the table when he speaks.

“Y/n.” You look up and find he looks as miserable as you do.

“Draco.” You say. Your heart still thunders when he’s near. You hate that he still has any effect on you.

“Listen. Just let me say this once and I’ll never bother you again.” He says, his grey eyes imploring you to hear him out.

You sit silently, waiting for him to proceed.

“I never kissed Pansy. She kissed me. I admit, I let it go on for too long. I should’ve pushed her off the moment she touched me, but I was so shocked and I froze. Then when I finally realized I pushed her away and you were already leaving. I never had feelings for her, nor did I ever want to cheat on you. You’re the only one I want.” He says.

“I know I hurt you, and that I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I would never hurt you like that. I love you and it’s killing me to be apart from you like this, to think that you hate me. You’re the best part of my life, y/n, the only good part.” Draco takes a deep breath and continues.

“After this, if you still don’t want to be with me, then I’ll back off. I just wanted you to know the truth. I love you, and it’s only ever been you for me, never anyone else.”

You are in shock as he finishes his speech. Draco watches you process his confession with patience, and it takes you a few minutes to really understand what he’s saying.

You feel stupid when tears well up in your eyes again. You’re so sick of crying and feeling pathetic.

“It really didn’t mean anything?” You find yourself asking. “She kissed you?”

“Yes!” He exclaims. “It was 100% one-sided on her part.”

You sniff, thinking about it for a minute.

“Ok.” You finally say. “I believe you.”

Draco eases his tense posture and death grip on the chair he’s leaning on. He looks at you warily, trying to decipher where he stands with you now.

You look down at the table and your useless potions book. How funny that your relationship would come full circle. You know how you feel about him, how you‘be always felt. Even when you were broken up you still loved him.

“I’m sorry.” You say. “You tried to tell me and I didn’t listen.”

“Its not your fault!” Draco assures you. “It was me, I was being a right git.”

You shake your head, but for the first time in weeks you smile. When you look back up, Draco is smiling too.

“So, could I have a second chance?” He pleads.

You pretend to think about it for a minute.

“I suppose that would be alright.” You grin. Draco gives you a glowing look and matches your grin.

“On one condition.” You tell him, suddenly serious.

“Anything.” He tells you with sincerity. He walks over to your side of the table, and crouches down in front of you.

“I really need help with Potions.” Draco laughs and pulls you in for a bruising kiss.

It’s needy and passionate, and you let your mouth express to him everything you can’t yet put into words.

When he pulls away, Draco lets his forehead rest against yours. You relish this closeness with him in a way you never have before.

“I suppose that would be alright.” He whispers with a smirk.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed:) I am currently working on part 2 of “Don’t Call Me Princess” and that will hopefully be up in the next few days! Please don’t hesitate to request something, I write for several fandoms. I’m lowkey desperate for someone to request something Marvel.

#slythergirlimagines #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco x you #draco x y/n #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #Draco Malfoy

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laurore-stormwitch · 3 years

Text

I did write a lot of words of a self indugent fic because I’m having a serious breakdown over row and these two madly in love idiots. I’m sorry I haven’t really proof read it and I don’t know what this is, I wrote it in an impulse, but I’m gonna share it for whoever needs to ease the pain of waiting another two days for row. Sending you big hugs for all the breakdowns to come. As usual i need to thank the two halves of my heart @not-just-human and @claudiarya because they're my biggest inspiration and for all the meltdowns we share ily

burning flames and raging fires

“Damn it.”

Nikolai paced the room, relentless, frantically searching for something or someone to unleash his rage on. He fisted his hands, trying to stop the violent shakes of fury that were bolting through him.

“Damn it!”

His voice came out hoarse, in a low snarl that seemed to call his demon to the surface. He slammed his hands on the table, squeezing his eyes shut. They attacked Lazlayon. The truth of what had happened was still taking root in his mind. The Fjerdans attacked Lazlayon. They attacked us. His military base, supposedly the secret one. How for all the Saints were they able to do that? How many losses had there been? Who tipped them off? All appropriate, rational questions he should have been trying to find an answer to right now, instead of walking through every corner of the sitting room of Zoya’s chamber, caught by the sheer terror of not knowing how she was. He glanced at the closed doors, barely registering the swarm of people coming and going beside him, the whirl of red keftas worn by Healers. Every time someone came in, he felt the wrenching urge of running to her, sweep her in his arms and take her to safety. Except there was nobody to protect her from right now anymore, and he had already failed at keeping her out of harm’s way. And he could do nothing but wait, sulking in his own despair and anger, while strangers tended to her.

“Your Highness.” Tolya called him as soon as he stepped in the room. The giant was still covered in sweat and dust, one of his arms badly bloodied. If the blood were his own, Nikolai could not tell. He had rarely seen his guard shaken and out of breath. He forced himself to straighten up his spine and try to focus his mind on one thought.

“Tell me.”

“We got as many as we could out, and we sealed the tunnels. We should be safe. It was a targeted attack; they knew we were there.”

Tamar growled, frustrated, holding her axes so hard her knuckles went white. As many as we could. How many? And what horrified him the most, he could not bring himself to truly care. The only person he cared about had saved their lives and was sealed behind a door he could not cross. He never hated himself as much as now. As if he could read his look, Tolya avoided his gaze, turning to his sister.

“How is the general?”

“The injuries seemed bad, but – I don’t know. Genya is inside.” Tamar answered, her eyes running to Nikolai as she spoke. “She’s going to be fine, she’s tougher than all of us put together.”

Nikolai felt it was a reassurance she was giving to herself as much as everyone else in the room. He could hear nothing but the deafening thrumming of his own heart, the panic gripping his insides and blurring his mind, the air constantly catching in his lungs. Every breath was like a painful stab in his heart, the oxygen felt like fire. His brain was torn apart; one side of it was scrabbling for solutions, making up plans and possibilities, while the other stayed gripped on the sound of her voice. The attack was all a blur, his memory was struggling to grasp strands of it. He remembered the explosions, the screaming, the utter chaos they unleashed on the Gilded Bog. It was a succession of sounds and bright flashes and the smell of blood and gunpowder. There was only one vivid image he could hold on to: Zoya with her arms stretched out to the sky and her feet planted in the ground, standing between them and the enemy, silk black hair hovering around her. As she threw her fists open, a thunderous rumbling noise had shaken the ground, the sound similar to the one that preceded an earthquake. In one split second the waters had risen from the lake, growing in a monstrous tide, swirling with Juris’ blue fire and speeding towards their opponents. Then, everything had started crumbling down on them, shattered by the force of her powers. Zoya’s diversion had saved them, providing them the time to distract the Fjerdans and run through the tunnel that connected Lazlayon to the Grand Palace. The rest, he did not want to remember. He wanted to erase from his mind Zoya toppling to the ground after being struck by the Fjerdans bullets, with the entire world crashing around her, the faint groaning she let out as she held her in his arms. Most of all, he wanted to forget her silence, or how he felt empty and powerless when someone had taken her from his hold and shut the door in his face. He knew how much his general would have scolded him if she could see him now. Pull yourself together, King Wretch, she would have said. Remember who you are. Nikolai was the king, and the king could ill afford to sulk in his anxiety and worry with his country’s safety hanging on a thread. And still, he could not bring himself to care, he could not find the strength to walk away. Not until he knew she was safe. Then you can spend the rest of the day telling me how much of an idiot I am. Please wake up and do it. He pulled the words out, tucking at the last strand of sanity he seemed to find.

“Tamar, I need you to double the security in the palace. And send scouts all over Os Alta to patrol the borders. We need to be prepared if they choose to push their attacks further.”

Tamar nodded, without leaving the grip on her weapons, her face strained. A rush of adrenaline washed over him, numbing the pain for a second.

“Tolya, no one followed us? Are we sure?”

“No one did. We blew up every entrance to the tunnels as soon as we got out.”

“Gather the other generals, tell them we’ll meet in the war room of the Grand Place to discuss how to proceed. Bring them up to the date on what happened, I’ll come as soon as I can.”

“Your Highness”, Tolya tried, gently, “it would be best if you – “.

Nikolai cut him short. “I’m not leaving here until Zoya is awake.” The twins exchanged a glance, without daring to contradict his firm and cold tone or dwell on the implications of what he had just said. He did not care about this either. He did not care about anything anymore; Ravka could burn to the ground as far as he was concerned right now. Eager Ravka, which was now trying to take from him the person he held most dear. Keeping up the façade had been already tiring enough the last few weeks, but this was utterly unbearable. The doors of her chambers slammed open, and they all snapped towards the sound. Genya took a couple of steps towards them, scrubbing her hands with a clean cloth. Her hair were damp in her face, her shoulders slumped, but she locked her eye on Nikolai’s ones with a reassuring gaze that flooded him with relief.

“She’s going to be fine.” She exhaled, closing her eye for a moment, and taking a long breath in. “Thank the Saints, it looked worse than it was. The injuries were not deep, nor vital.”

Genya explained, carefully marking every word. The reprieve sank in slowly, tearing through the curtains of desperation that plagued him. Nikolai released his breath. The whole air in the room seemed to shift, the tension flowing away. He heard Tolya faintly muttering a prayer under his breath, and for once, he understood him. As much as he had never liked the dragon, maybe Juris was the actual Saint they should thank now. Tamar let out a nervous chuckle. That was all he needed; he rushed toward her door but was stopped by Genya’s hand catching his arm in a firm hold.

“Your Highness – “She hissed, glancing at him from under her lashes and lowering her voice. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Nikolai was taken aback by the fire glinting in her amber eye, red and swollen from tears and exhaustion. She loosened her grip; he felt her hand shaking slightly, a whole tremor running through her. Her look was vengeful, enraged – and tired. His own panic was mirrored in her, but she had been the one to clean Zoya’s wounds, to watch her as she had hoped to see her eyes flutter open. Zoya hardly spoke of her affections, so Nikolai tended to forget how close the two of them were and how fiercely they protected each other.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Eliciting a diplomatic incident on top of an armed attack is what I think you’re doing.”

He let out a disgruntled breath, searching the room with his eyes. It was still full of people, coming and going, occasionally sneaking a glance at him. Studying his reactions. He wanted to send them all to hell, to scream to clear the way and spend the night listening to Zoya’s breathing.

“I need to see her, Genya.”

“And have you stopped to think on what she needs?” Again, he was startled. Genya’s voice cracked, her amber eye filling with new tears of frustration. She yanked his arm free, brushing them away and composing herself. “I’m sorry, Nikolai. I am not mad at you. But you are getting married in a week”, she inhaled, steadying her voice. “I can’t let you barge in there and have people witness you having a meltdown over your general. Zoya does not need this. She needs you to be the king and solve this situation, since she had already saved you once today. It’s your turn.”

Nikolai took the daring decision to ignore how truthful her words were and how they were filling him with shame. His own selfishness had a much tougher grip on him.

“I need to see that Zoya is safe. I can’t do my job if I don’t.”

“General Nazyalensky - ”, she corrected him, sending another threatening glare his way, “- is fine. I made sure of it personally.” Genya’s gaze softened, as she gently tugged him toward a more discreet corner. “Nikolai, you need to calm down. I told you it looked worse than it was. She is not even conscious right now; they have given her a sleeping tonic that is going to last for a while. You can trust me; she is safe and out of danger. Go be our king, please, and leave this to me.”

Nikolai fell silent for a moment, turning he matter over in his head and trying to bring himself to gather some composure. “I hate it when people are so reasonable”, he huffed, “I can’t even assert my authority when I’m being the irrational one.” A faint smile tugged Genya’s lips. He trusted her with Zoya’s safety and could see the clarity of her look under all the distress of the situation. If she had promised him Zoya was fine, there was no reason to doubt her. Reason. Something he was missing entirely right now. Genya spoke again, an edge to her voice.

“If I was Zoya I would have already tried to murder you or just slapped you into some sense, you know?”

“I do. Thank you for not slapping me.”

She shook her head, still trembling, and smoothed her kefta, returning to an affectionate tone. “Come back after the meeting. I will make sure everyone is gone by that time and I will wait for you. You can see her then.”

Nikolai nodded, feeling another gust of wind clearing the clouds from his mind, although he still did not much appreciate the idea of leaving. That had always been his life, pulled away by duty, failing to protect the people he held dear and then abandoning them to their fates. He slowly got back control, slipping inside his confident mask.

“Try not to be seen. You are still getting married in a week.”

Genya added. The warning was clear, on a lot of different levels. The despise he felt for his position, for the way he was conducting himself, for how coward he felt he was being, all those feelings towered over him, threatening to drown him. Nikolai shut his eyes, shoving the worry and self-deprecation aside for another time. He had the Fjerdans and his own desire for revenge to deal with now. Gesturing for Tolya to follow him they took the corridor to the palace. The king could not help but feel he had left his own heart behind and sensed a silent hollow in his chest.

***

It was well past midnight when the last of his soldiers left, and he was finally free to rush to the Little Palace. Being away from Zoya had felt like a limb was being teared away from him, the blood spilling from an open cut. His mind kept slipping to her, and he had spent the last hours trying to keep it leashed on the issues at hand. The terror never left him; he kept dreading for someone to walk through the room with dreadful news of her, kept staring at the doors waiting for this imaginary servant that never came. He would be forever grateful to Genya, who at the chime of every hour had sent him concise notes updating him on Zoya’s conditions. To be truthful, it had been the only thing that kept him sane. He felt a rush of anticipation and renewed worry as he pushed the handle of her room, the one that had previously been the Darkling’s property. Nikolai let himself be thankful for a brief moment for the Darkling’s gift for deception. He had built his rooms to be easily accessed from the palace in complete secrecy, to be protected by curious ears and prying eyes. That came in handy right now; however, he did not stop to think of how shameful this thought was, or how much he loathed having to snuck to her rooms like a hidden thief. To his relief, Tamar was on guard outside her chamber. Nikolai did not want to meet Genya’s severe and knowing gaze again, the one that seemed to peer right into his soul. Tamar got up when she sensed him arrive.

“Your Highness.”

“Is everything alright?”

“It is. Zoya is still sleeping, the tonic they gave her is strong. The Healers said she needs to rest as much as she can for the wounds to heal properly, but she should be back up on her feet in a couple of days.”

He acknowledged her words with a nod of his chin and headed inside, but Tamar stopped him clearing her throat. “Genya has asked me to tell you she’ll be back in the early morning to check on Zoya and tailor away what she can. She said it would be best for you to go back before dawn.”

“I will keep that in mind. Thank you, Tamar.”

He did not have the will to fight this now. They were all tremendously right, and he hated it. He knew he was being unfair; he should not be mad at them for trying to keep up the appearances when he clearly was ignoring how to do it. Guess the king had one true weakness after all.

He locked the door behind him, and every thought and worry he had disappeared when his eyes caught her figure. He had never seen Zoya look so frail, so human and defenceless. It tore every fibre of his being apart, snatching the hair out of his lungs. She was laying on her side, with her hair splashed and tangled around her bewitching face. Nikolai tried not to linger too much on her cuts and bruises, on the bandages that peaked over the clean shirt someone put on her. Each and every one he laid his eyes on sent a stabbing pain through him.

Why do you always have to play the hero?

He thought sourly as he came closer to her. He could almost hear her voice answering him.

Because you are my king, and I am the general. It is kind of my role.

The lamplight played on her skin with the glowing rays of the moon, making her look like a nightly creature who had emerged from a bedtime fairy-tale. Trying to be as delicate as he could, he placed a chair next to her bed and slumped in it, sighing heavily. He leaned towards her, brushing some hair away from her face, untangling them slowly with his fingers. He could imagine her getting mad at the Healers for neglecting to care for it, vain and petty as always. Even the thought of this made him smile and warmed him up. He kept his work for a little while, clearing the mess of her mane as best as he could without disturbing her too much. Zoya shifted in the covers but did not wake up. As Tamar warned him, the tonic was strong enough to keep her in her sleep. His fingers lingered on her cheeks and her lips before he pulled himself away, scorched by the improper touch he had let himself have.

Nikolai did not know how much time he spent just looking at her, taking the sight of a safe and placid Zoya. At some point, he straightened himself up, and was pulled out of his trance when his eyes caught a bandage on her arm where a bright red flower was blossoming through the linen. He was not sure if the Healer had not changed it, or the wound was opening again. He scanned the room, finding some clean strip of cloth and a bowl of cold water they left there. He took them and brought them back to his seat, pondering if and how to proceed. He could not stand the sight of blood on her; it was too gutting to take. Picking up his resolve, he rolled up his sleeves and gently tugged her arm towards him, starting to undo the previous bandage. When the last strip fell off, he dipped a clean cloth in the water and brushed the wound again until her skin was clear, feeling another rush of relief.

Every once in a while, Zoya stirred and let out a croaked breath, he saw her lashes flutter, or he felt a shiver ran through her. He stilled when she moved, terrified to wake her up and break the spell. Nikolai felt like he was stealing a precious and prohibited moment, a forbidden intimacy. Every touch of her skin felt sacred, felt like a prayer ushered in the quiet of night. He had never thought, never believed he could feel this kind of profound and pure love for someone. Even though he had long since accepted and acknowledged what he felt, it was still hard to grasp how deep it ran in his veins, how unforgiving the need of her was. It shattered everything else in its wake. It had begun like a small spark, nourished by stolen glances, gentle touches and truths whispered in the dark, fostered by forgotten secrets they had shared only to each other and simple moments that had withered away like the wind. And now the fire was blazing, the flames thriving and consuming whatever else there was. She had nestled herself in the deepest part of his heart where a storm was raging its fury. It was nothing like the tepid sentiment he had had for other people in the past. And he did not want to believe he was going to lose her, to turn his back on her. He would never be the same again, after loving her like this. After wanting her and longing for her like this. He would never, could never survive it, desire or have anyone that was not her. And for once, he just let this feeling flood, he just let himself relish in it and in the certainty that she was here, with him, by his side. Nothing else mattered right now, nothing could taint this. He wished she could hear him if he whispered in her ear.

I am in love with you.

He wished he could free his heart and let it hope. He wished she could believe him if he promised her.

Nothing will ever stop me from loving you.

Maybe she could not hear him, but he would promise anyway, against every odd and reality they were living. Whatever was bound to happen, he would hold on to this bond. Nikolai laid back her arm to rest on the bed and tucked her covers when he finished, getting up and pouring himself a glass of her favourite cordial he knew she kept hidden in one of her desk’s drawers. Another thing she would kill him for, to add to the long list of reasons he had already piled up in these years. The alcohol burned his throat but helped him ease his mind a bit more. Zoya was breathing evenly and quietly again, and he finally felt sure enough that she was past harm. The exhaustion he had hoarded and kept under control creeped up to him at this realization. Maybe he could let himself rest too. He eyed a small sofa from which he could still see her if he laid in it, that seemed like a good enough place to close his eyes for a while. It was placed on the side of her bed, near enough to her that he could feel her warmth, hear her movements if she needed him. He put the glass down on her nightstand, holding her hand up to him to leave a soft kiss on her knuckles and cupping her cheek briefly.

“Rest well, my ruthless Zoya.”

He muttered against her skin, hovering with his lips on her neck. He resisted the urge to lean closer to her mouth; he had stirred away from propriety far enough for one night. And do not ever leave me, even if I don’t deserve you, Nikolai added in his mind, as he leaned his head on the cushion and snuck a last glance at Zoya before his eyes dropped close and the familiar scent of wildflowers drifted him to sleep.

#zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #zoya and nikolai #zoyalai #grishaverse #fan fiction #my writing #rule of wolves #nikolai duology #when will you confess nikolai please #we cant wait anymore #i really dont know what this is just a self indulgent midnight writing #Grishaverse fic #king of scars #post kos

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Text

Just A Dream Away

Chapter 5/13 read here on ao3!

for @harringrovebigbang

~~~~

Robin gets to the phone first.

Steve was too busy wallowing in his bed to get up and answer, though he figures it might be worth seeing who it is that’s calling. None of the kids call him anymore, but he always considers, even if it’s for just a moment, that it could be an emergency. He’ll know whenever he decides to get up, or if Robin even decides to pick it up.

Its ring echoes shrill and loud in the apartment, the tone making him want to wrap himself in a blanket and never come out, so he slides out of his bed, calling down the stairs in search of a solution to end the noise, “You gonna get that Rob?”

For a moment, he wonders if she’ll even respond. It’s barely been a couple of hours since he made her cry, but she calls back, “Are you expecting a call?”

Relieved to know she at least still tolerates him, Steve answers, “Nope.”

“Then no.” Comes her simple response, and the phone ringing promptly dies out, “Guess it didn’t matter anyways.”

But almost immediately, it starts up again, somehow sounding more sharp than before. Steve tells her just to get it so the ringing will stop, coming down the steps to see for himself who it is calling.

He watches Robin pull the receiver from its base, in the place of a greeting going straight for, “What do you want?”

Steve takes note of the fact that her mood isn’t entirely better yet, though he’s definitely glad she’s taking those feelings out on the telephone and not on him, but, despite her abrasiveness, she still receives no response.

It looks like she’s going to hang up before she hears something, her features closing off as she focuses on whatever comes through the other end, “Hello? I can’t hear you. Who is this?”

There’s a whining static loud enough for even Steve to hear from the other side of the room, getting louder, and then a pop that makes the lights flicker and the phone die out, making Robin shriek and drop it, shaking out her hand.

“Son of a bitch shocked me.” She mumbles, picking up the dead receiver and showing Steve the two burnt ends.

In the moment though, something he’ll perhaps feel bad for another time, Steve isn’t worried about his friend. He isn’t rushing to see what happened and check if she got burnt, he instead just freezes up, filtering through the overwhelming questions filling his head to ask, “Did you hear who it was?”

“No, it just sounded like it was all distorted.”

Her answer is nonchalant, but it makes Steve feel weak and panicky, sitting down at the table as pale as a ghost.

That’s obviously not a normal reaction, and Robin asks, tone more afraid than concerned, which he thinks that’s appropriate for what just happened, “What’s going on Steve?”

Grimly, he explains, “Mrs Byers’ phone did that twice before, blowing up after a call just like that.”

“Okay, well maybe there’s just a storm coming and it’s just a coincidence that happened to her too?” She tries to reason, but Steve already knows, he's felt this dread before. “No, Robs. It happened because Will called her from the Upside Down.”

“But then that means-“ Robin starts, working through the implications, Steve finishing the statement for her, “Someone is trapped over there.”

“Holy shit, but the gate, hasn’t it been closed for a year and a half now?“

“Unless someone else opened it, yeah.”

Stiffly she nods, asking hesitantly, be it because of her questions or the disagreement between them earlier, “Well what do we do?”

A reflection of his lack for anything but pessimistic doomsdaying anymore, Steve worries, “What can we do, Robin? I’ve only ever fought the things that end up in our world, and you’ve never even seen half of the monsters that come from over there. We’re too overpowered here.”

More rational than her friend, Robin suggests, “I think we should get a hold of Eleven. You said she's the one that really understands any of this other dimension stuff. She can help.”

But Steve shakes his head, “Her powers are gone. She might know what to do, but I don’t think she’ll be able to do anything.”

“So you just want to leave whoever it is over there?”

“No, fuck no. That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what should we do?”

“I don’t know..” Steve frowns, thinking hard before he answers determinedly, “But whoever it is, they reached out to us. We have to help them.”

~~~~

The phone doesn’t work.

What is Billy supposed to do? He’s tried everything, and with his last resort at reaching out a dud, he’s not sure what else he even can do.

So, in true Billy Hargrove fashion, he lashes out, cursing and unnecessarily yanking the phone jack out of the wall, the plastic handheld skidding across the kitchen tile into the corner, “Goddamnit!”

The noise may have been a mistake though, because, despite how sure he was the dogs wouldn’t find this place, he hears a chitter, and the click of claws on hardwood floors. The damn thing is in the house, and his machete is by the door.

A recurring theme with these hell beasts, is that there’s never enough time to run, but unless he wants to use decorative mugs or a cookie jar to fight it, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to try.

He makes two mistakes as he runs, the first being that he hesitates, not wanting to leave Steve. Even if he couldn’t find him he had gotten so damn close, but a snarl from the dog puts things into perspective, and, with a heavy feeling of remorse in his chest, he leaves through the backdoor as quietly as he can, bolting down the rotting back steps.

His second mistake is looking over his shoulder. Just as his boots touch brittle grass, he decides just to glance back and see how much space is between him and the hellhound, but the second he sees it, he just freezes up.

Because it’s fucking big, for one thing. It has to force itself through the door frame, meaning it’s wider than he is. It has a lot more teeth than the others. It’s skin is pale and it’s limbs much longer. Something tells him the others he’s seen are immature, and this one is close to its final form, whatever that may be. Either way, he’s decidedly not fucking around with that.

The daunting unfamiliarity of this part of Hawkins, intimidating as it is, isn’t Billy’s main concern right now. He just bolts like a coward, hoping against hope that there’ll be anything along his path he won’t have to corner himself to get that can be used as a weapon, basically his only other option for surviving this that this amped up dog will get bored of him fast.

But, and really, he knew this was the case, he just hadn’t wanted to admit he was prey yet, it easily charges him, going up on its back legs to knock him off his balance. It misses at first, so he thankfully doesn’t get pushed to the ground, but his reflexes, especially when blurred by emotion, are no match to a monster of this size, and before he can even process its next move, it clamps its teeth on his arm.

Now, he’s been here for a while. He’s had scratches and cuts and welts from their tails, but he’d always been quick enough, smart enough, prepared enough to not get bit. Which he really wishes was still something he could still attest to, because it fucking hurts. Razor sharp teeth from too many mouths tear into the muscle, a stinging pain all the way from the point of impact in his wrist up to his shoulder.

It’s his fault, all this stuff with Steve was getting to his head, feeling his presence and hearing his voice again for the first time in god knows how long only to be unable to reach him. It was doing things to his judgement.

But this is still bad. Really fucking bad.

As soon as it lets go, he knows it’s going to latch onto him again, so he does what he does best in a situation where he’s hurt and scared and alone. He cries, for one thing, but he also fights. But where he’d normally just use his fists and his ego to prove his strength, this world is built differently. Even with a pocket knife to stand up for himself that’s not enough to survive, but he’s still going to make it count. If at the end of this he goes down, it won’t be without a fight.

A fight to just get back to the way things were. To prove to himself he could do this and survive. For once in his fucking life, just to overcome hardship and move the hell forward, no cycles of hatred and pain, love and respect drawing him back. Nobody else in control of his body. Nobody else holding him back from being happy.

He just wants to survive this.

There’s blood on his jacket sleeve, but Billy refuses to look at how bad the wound truly is yet. There quite frankly isn’t enough oxygen down here to afford a panic, but from the pain and the blood alone, he knows it’s not going to be good for him.

The fighting isn’t going too well either, with only one arm not weighed down by injury and a knife the size of his palm his last standing lines of defense, it’s mostly him dodging the creature and flailing his limbs to either stop an incoming bite or confuse it, both of them too confident in its ability to tear him to shreds to advance further than that.

But it gets bored of fucking around with him, and it rises to its back legs again, and Billy knows he’s fucked, squeezing his eyes shut and blocking his face, but the attack never comes. There’s a huge crack of lightning in the ever looming storm above, and a chorus of eerie chittering from more dogs at varying degrees of closeness to where they are, and it draws the attention of the big one away.

While the monster is distracted, he uses that opportunity to his advantage, takes charge of his circumstances to give himself a fighting chance. That strategy never worked for him before, only ever got him into deeper shit, but he can’t exactly just stand here and be monster bait either so, though it breaks his heart to put that distance between him and Steve, Billy chooses to run.

#harringrove big bang 2021 #harringrove #steve x billy #billy hargrove #steve harrington #ej writer #story by ej!#tw injury #more tags on ao3 #shortest chapter by far #just filler but the one coming tomorrow is big!

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kgraces · 4 years

Text

Any Other Canvas

@badthingshappenbingo

Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompt: Cold-Blooded Torture

For @iwhumpyou

Read it on Ao3 here!

Who is Jason Todd?

He is: the Red Hood, a merciless crime lord, one of the world’s best marksmen, a dead man walking, a skilled assassin, a former street rat, cold-blooded, the son of Bruce Wayne, no one’s son, Batman’s greatest failure, poisoned by the Lazarus Pit, partially insane, lethal.

Robin.

More importantly, Jason Todd is alive.

Tim isn’t sure if it’s the waters of the Pit crawling through his veins, or if his anger is truly this potent, but Jason stalks closer with murderous intent, nonetheless. His hands shake; he feels the fury directed toward him as a bone-crushing weight against his chest, and his heart beats like a bird’s fluttering wings in a frantic rhythm.

“Hello little cuckoo bird,” Jason says, and his voice is a low, soft growl through the voice modulators in his helmet. He snarls, and it sounds like a feral animal is clawing against his rib cage—a predator crooning at its prey. Tim stiffens, eyes going wide behind the domino mask. He’s done research on the Red Hood, even been shuttled off to San Francisco to keep him as far away as possible, but seeing him in person—knowing it’s Jason underneath that helmet—and hearing the darkness in his tone is jarring.

“Jason,” Tim says warily. He backs up half a step, muscles tensing when Jason follows him. “Why are you here?” He has a few guesses, but stalling might give him enough time to come up with a plan.

“You’re wearing a death shroud, Replacement, and that’s an invitation,” Jason replies, voice soft and almost condescending. “One I intend to respond to in kind.”

Tim is alone in the Tower, and the comms are down. A sickening dread creeps through him, but he ignores the feeling to focus on finding a way out. Tim reaches for his bo staff, readying himself for a fight. Jason surprises him, though, by drawing a gun and shooting him in the thigh before he can even react. Tim lets out a shout, using the staff to keep himself upright. He can’t see Jason’s expression under the helmet, but the laugh rumbling from his chest is chilling.

Tim’s mind blanks, plans deserting him as he switches into a primal fight-or-flight mode. He chooses flight, crippled as he is by the injury to his leg. He stumbles a little, shaking off the pain as best he can, and runs toward the stairwell. If he can reach his room, he might be able to get a distress call out with his personal panic button. He falters at the first step, leg shrieking at him, but Tim grits his teeth and glances around, frantic. He can hear heavy footsteps behind him—close, too close.

It’s fine. He can do this.

Tim leaps, grabbing onto the rail of the landing directly across from him. He clambers up and over the railing. The door to the stairwell opens, and his breath hitches. Tim bolts down the stairs as quickly as he can with a bullet still lodged in his thigh. He hears mechanized laughter behind him, and a jolt of fear runs through his bones. Tim pushes himself to go faster. He’s almost at the bottom of the stairs now. If he can just make it to the door....

He stumbles again, falling down the last flight. He hears the snap before he feels the burn in his wrist, and he can’t stop the cry of pain. Tim picks himself up off the floor and hobbles to the door, but before he can open it, a heavy boot kicks him in the back. The bo staff clatters to the ground, and Tim crumples again. He rolls onto his side to see Jason looming over him.

Jason picks him up by the collar and drags him out of the stairwell, heading for the training room. Tim tries to lash out at him, but with one good arm against enforced body armor, he’s fighting a losing battle. Jason drops him at the mats and digs his heel into the wound on Tim’s leg, laughing again when Tim has to visibly bite back a shout.

“Don’t worry Replacement,” Jason coos. “I won’t kill you.”

The next moment, he draws a knife from his belt, and the terror returns. He’s not going to kill Tim, but Jason’s certainly not going to leave him alone until he’s bled enough. Jason leans down and cuts the R off of Tim’s uniform. He holds the scrap of fabric in his hand for a long moment before shaking his head and tossing it to the floor. The knife descends again, carving not into the tunic but rather Tim’s skin, tracing the outline of Robin’s insignia, right over Tim’s heart.

He doesn’t scream, but it’s a near thing. He blinks up at the impassive red helmet, shuddering, and Jason pauses for a moment. Tim doesn’t bother hoping he’s decided to stop, and he’s proven right when Jason merely reaches up and removes the helmet, tossing it to the floor with a loud clatter. He removes his domino mask, too, just so Tim can see just how much he’s enjoying this. Then, he kneels down and tears off Tim’s mask, for good measure.

Jason traces the knife around Tim’s eyes, outlining the mask. He drags it down, over his cheek and jaw, to press against his throat. Jason smiles at the sight of the scar he’d left the last time he slit Tim’s throat. He applies just enough pressure to draw blood, and Tim fights back a wince. He draws the knife away from Tim’s skin, smiling still, and then, he stabs him in the shoulder, twisting the blade. Tim does scream, this time, blinking back hot tears at the blinding pain.

Jason leans back on his heels and laughs.

He pulls the knife out and wipes the blood off on Tim’s tunic before he places it back in his belt. Moments later, he has two other knives, serrated and wicked-looking, and he pins down Tim’s right arm with an iron grip, clutching the broken wrist so tightly he can feel the bones grind together. He only has a moment to wonder what Jason’s going to do next before one of the blades stabs through his hand, pinning it to the floor. He repeats the same process with Tim’s left hand, leaving Tim feeling like a butterfly encased in glass.

His breathing is shallow and too fast, and Jason’s leering at him with sick glee in his eyes. Jason hums, studying his handiwork, and after a moment, he reaches for another weapon. This time, it’s Tim’s own bo staff. A tear slides down Tim’s cheek, and Jason rests his free hand on Tim’s face, gently thumbing it away. Tim hates himself for leaning into the touch. Jason’s hand drifts to his hair, pushing the dark, sweaty locks out of his eyes and combing his fingers through the strands. Tim’s eyes flutter shut, a confusing mix of comfort and horror swirling in his stomach.

The bo staff cracks down against his collarbone, and Tim screams. The next swing hits his fingers, then his left knee, the fingers on his other hand, his right ankle. Tim sobs hard, trying to keep his crying as quiet as he can. He doesn’t want to give Jason the satisfaction of breaking him, but everything hurts, and he just wants it to stop. His ribs crack, and the scream is cut off by a harsh wheeze.

He must lose time, because the next moment he’s aware of, the knife is back. Tim turns his face away and catches sight of his staff on the ground, bloodied, a dark crimson. He whimpers as the tip of the knife digs into his broken collarbone. Jason cuts a path down Tim’s arm, a swirling pattern which could’ve been beautiful on any other canvas. Tim’s broken sobs have petered out into soft whines and hitched breaths.

Jason uses his fists, next.

His torso will be a patchwork of bruises, yellows and greens and dark purples, if Tim does actually survive this ordeal. He has his doubts, at this point. Those hands wrap around his throat, constricting his airway until he sees black spots at the edges of his vision. Jason lets him go right when Tim is on the brink of passing out. Tim coughs, throat feeling like it’s been scrubbed with sandpaper after the screaming and strangling.

“Please,” he manages to croak. It’s a pathetic sound, but it’s all he can muster. “Jason, please stop. Please I-I can’t. It hurts.” He dissolves into tears, sobs painful against his broken ribs and raw throat. “I’ll do anything, Jason, please. Just stop hurting me.” He blinks up at the former Robin, tears falling freely.

“Begging?” Jason murmurs. “I’d expected better from you, Replacement.”

“J-just kill me. Make it stop.” Tim lets out a wounded noise as he shifts, aggravating the injuries he has all over his body. “Please make it stop hurting.”

That seems to catch Jason’s attention. His eyes flare a darker green, and Tim flinches instinctively.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Jason snarls. “No more dead birds. Got it?” Tim lifts his head, crying still but feeling a spark of defiance flicker to life. He lets it grow into a roaring flame before he opens his mouth.

“Does that make you feel better about yourself? It’s the only difference between you and your namesake, Red Hood.” Jason stumbles back, eyes wide. He opens his mouth, expression twisting into something Tim can’t place. He doesn’t have enough time to puzzle it out before everything goes dark.

Tim wakes up—and isn’t that a surprise?—in the medbay. Everything hurts, but he’s able to crack open an eye without further injuring himself, so that’s a win. He hears a soft gasp to his left, and he manages to tilt his head to the side. His vision is a little blurry still, but he recognizes his brother sitting at his bedside.

Dick’s eyes are red, with dark shadows pooling underneath them and a haunted look trapped in his irises. Tim offers him a weak smile, and the one he gets in return is watery.

“Hi there Timmy,” Dick says softly. He cards a hand through Tim’s hair. “How’re you feeling?”

“Decidedly not great,” Tim rasps, sounding like he’s gargled with sharp rocks. He cringes at the sound of his own voice. “Where’s Jason?”

“Here,” a familiar voice says. Tim blinks and turns his head to look across from him. Jason sits in a chair directly opposite the bed, head in his hands. He’s wearing new clothes, Tim notes. His old outfit had definitely been much bloodier. “I...wanted to make sure you woke up.”

“I thought you would’ve left me there,” Tim mutters. Jason looks up, stricken.

“I was planning on it, but...shit Tim, I’m no better than him. I don’t want to be like that. You—-you’re just a kid.”

“You knew that the whole time,” Tim says coolly. “When did it start to matter?”

“When you said it,” Jason replies, voice dropping to a near whisper. “It made it real. I saw myself, crawling across that warehouse floor, but I knew at least I had hope someone would come for me. You were begging me to kill you, and the look in your eyes, I—” He shakes his head, like he’s shaking off the bad memories. “It snapped me out of it.”

“So he called me,” Dick says, gently breaking off Jason’s train of thought. “He’d already gotten you patched up by the time I got here, but he wanted to make sure you had someone you’d feel safe with when you woke up.”

“Oh,” Tim says. “I...I’m glad I’ll at least have seen you one last time.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Robin.” His voice is a pained croak, and it’s not entirely because of the bruises wrapping around his throat. “Robin belongs to Jason, and besides, I’ve failed, right?”

“Tim, no.” Dick hushes him gently. He strokes Tim’s hair again, smiling so sadly at him it must hurt. “You won’t ever have Robin taken away from you. Not until you choose to move on, okay?”

“I can’t take it back, anyways,” Jason says with a self-deprecating laugh. “Not with the blood on my hands. Not with your blood on my hands. I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t make any of this better, but it’s true.”

“Do you want to make things better?” Tim asks. He feels the heavy pull of unconsciousness clawing at the back of his mind, but he pushes it back. This isn’t something he can afford to pass out before he says. Jason nods, expression solemn and so very hurt. His eyes seem less green.

“I don’t think I can, Tim.”

“You can,” Tim argues stubbornly. Dick’s hand in his hair is making him drowsy, but he pushes through. “I’ll ask you again. Do you want to make things better?”

“More than anything.”

“Then come home.”

#batfam #dc #jason todd #tim drake #red robin #red hood #robin #batman #batbros #titans tower au #bad things happen bingo #prompt: cold blooded torture

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