#and the us looked at it and tightened their grip on slavery in fear of slave revolts

[addithevampire]

Every time this topic comes up I’m reminded of a discussion I had in a Latin American history course.

Just after the French Revolution came the French enlightenment era, where French people were churning out new treatises on how all men are equal and none deserve to be subjugated, how they shouldn’t be ruled by a tyrant-king.

Haiti was a French colony with particularly brutal slave treatment, going through slaves quicker than anywhere else, and a population of free, educated black people who were reading these treatises.

These free black people read these works by French enlightenment authors and said “Hey, if you really believe in these principles, set us free and let us be our own country. We, too, are suffering under a tyranny we didn’t choose and want to be free.”

The French laughed and said no.

Because it wasn’t really the principles they believed in. It’s not that they believed oppressive rule was innately wrong. It’s not that they believed all men deserved freedom. It’s that they were against tyranny when it was them under its thumb. They couldn’t have given less of a fuck about doing it to others. They didn’t want the abolishment of oppression. They wanted to go from being oppressed to the ones doing the oppressing.

Obviously this is not on the same scale as this discussion, but the principle of the matter is something I think is the same. A lot of people don’t view these thing as something that’s inherently bad. They just want the bad to be directed at someone who isn’t them.

honestly if you only have compassion for oppressed people's suffering because they are in a sufficiently oppressed class, thats a problem. anti-oppressive activism is useless if it ends up as "these people deserve compassion because they are in the Right Group" instead of "everyone deserves compassion and injustice and cruelty is never okay for anyone". anything else is doomed to repeat the very systems it wants to destroy.

[yeonjuns-beanie]

In Odio Est Amor (Preview)

warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, descriptions of blood and violence, lustful/cathartic sex, some exhibitionism, angst, mutual pining, talk of death, oral(f receiving(maybe i haven't gotten there yet))

summary: in a trade gone bad, you’ve been sought out by macrinus due to your animalistic combat skills. stuck in the camp of gladiators, Hanno is assigned your sparring partner. your existence is a bitter reminder of what he lost but in hate we find love. 

HERES THE LINK

“Your name. It’s not Nero, is it?”

Your body separated itself from your mind and you stared at Hanno with fear and uncertainty. Your birth name was shallow on your tongue but heavy in your throat, begging for someone to see you for more than just your flesh. To attach an identity to the body more than an insult. You shook your head and turned to the makeshift window toward the ceiling, seeing a navy blue begin to stroke the sky in its image. Praying that something would give you the strength to share yourself the same way you had done when it was at the expense of others. Hanno’s hand encased your own and brought you back to the conversation as the gesture startled you. 

“I’m not your enemy. Remember we’re 'barbarians', only the two of us.” 

Sighing, he swallowed his own pride and revealed his belly to you. 

“Hanno is not my name, and I’ve not always been Rome’s favorite beast. I’ve come to know I bore a name that mattered. Lucius Verus Aurelius. The Prince of Rome. A name I may never be able to reclaim in glory.”

He paused tightening his grip around your hand as if seeking comfort. 

“There was a dream of Rome, one that my father fought for. But through slaughter and slavery, power won over the people and now we wade in the remnants of what once was. In search of the hope that someone or something will restore the honor.” 

Lucius let go of your hands and brought one of his calloused ones to his face. Rubbing the stress-ridden features away as the scratch of his beard caught your ears. You watched him attentively, waiting on bated breath for him to speak his next words. He leaned closer, the gap between you seeming to have never existed. He gazed into your eyes, searching for something you knew not of until he uttered them in the next breath. 

“You remind me of her.” His voice was nearly a whisper. Something you’d miss again if you weren’t so focused on him. With more chest to his tone he admitted, 

“My wife. She burned like you do. A flame that never quit dancing. A warrior who refused to bow–they stole her spark. The same day they made me a slave. A bitter goodbye, I shared, but when I look at you, I see her ghost.”

There was a touch of venom in his last words. They seemed to have meant good will but the taste was sour in your mouth. A moment fleeting once again. Even in your vulnerability, your search for someone seeing you for you, you were a reminder of something else. You paused, taking a deep breath in before you spoke. Removing your hands from Lucius’, you stared at him with the cracked concrete resolve that you walked through life with.

[sunshiline-writes]

A Rose Amidst Thorns #13: A Promise Amidst the Nightmare

okay so.. imma be real this took me so long and im still not super happy with it. But if I don't post it now I never will so.. enjoy.. CW: lady whump, poc whump, mentioned minor whump (just barely), choking, mentions of historical slavery (please don't kill me), gore, hanging, torture, dehumanization, fear of death, fear of witnessing death Whumpee referred as a dog a lot idk man, toxic relationships, past abusive relationship, past toxic relationship, complicated character dynamics, fade to black noncon, thoughts of murder I THINK that's everything, let me know if I missed anything. Previous | Masterlist | Next

There was blood on the floor. Solomon’s blood. It scattered on the wood, drops staining it. Henrietta had already cleaned the broken plate, now she was working on the blood. She was cleaning her friend's blood from the ground. Xavier had beat him until he was almost unrecognizable. His eyes had swollen, his skin had turned red and purple. His lips swollen and split. He barely even looked human. Solomon was unconscious by the time Xavier dragged him upstairs. 

She was ordered to clean the blood. No matter how much she scrubbed and scraped, the blood wouldn’t come out of the wood. It had stained it, become one with it. They had waited too long. Her knees hurt from being on them for so long. Her hands were dried and cracked from the soapy water and cloth she had used to try and clean. Everything frustrated her, the stains in the wood, the stains on her dress. Her nose was still throbbing from its earlier assault. 

Henrietta pressed her forehead against the ground and sighed. The pressure of the ground against her was nice. She took deep steadying breaths, trying her best to calm her racing heart. When she opened her eyes, there was still blood. 

“Get up.” 

Henrietta pushed herself to her knees, staring up at Xavier. Tears welling in her eyes. There was no warmth in Xavier, all she felt from him was the cold rage. He grabbed her by the arm when she didn’t get up fast enough, pulling her forward, dragging her with him. “Just wait.. I-” Henrietta started to say, but she was cut off by a short growl. Xavier continued to half drag, half walk her out the door of their house. Their house, she still called it their house. It was hard to break that habit. It was his house, now she was just living in it. She knew that she was being taken to the barn. How could she not know? It was right in front of her, getting closer with every step. 

“Xavier, please..” she whispered as he threw the door open. What was she begging for? Henrietta didn’t know. His grip only tightened on her arm, bruising. One more to add to the array on her body.  

“Just shut up already,” he growled, shoving her forward. 

She stumbled forward and tried to avoid falling on her face. When she finally looked up, she gasped. In the middle of the barn lay Miguel. Rope around him that had recently been cut. His legs were still tied together. There was a noose around his neck, though the rest of the rope hung off a beam in the ceiling. 

“Xavier what did you do?”   

“Nothing he didn’t deserve. There’s a chair on the other side. Go sit in it,” he said, voice low and rough. 

“Xavier I don’t understa-” 

His hand shot out and he grabbed her by the throat. Squeezing and shoving her backwards. She stumbled back instinctively, eyes going wide and mouth opening in an attempt to get some air. Xavier walked backwards until her hind legs hit the back of the chair and he shoved her down to sit. Hand still wrapped her throat, he squeezed. Her lungs and throat burned. Everything was blurry and her vision went dark around the edges. When she started to slump, he let her go. She gasped, taking in lungfuls of air. 

“Stay there,” he growled, “I want you to watch.” 

Henrietta was too busy sucking in lungfuls of air to really grasp what he was doing. She couldn’t get enough air. When she finally could breathe without her vision fading, she looked up. Xavier’s hands were on the rope. The rope that hung loosely over the beam in the ceiling, the one connected to the noose around Miguel's neck. Xavier’s eyes connected with hers. Then he pulled on the rope. 

“Xavier stop!” she screamed as choked sounds came from Miguel. His feet slid on the wood and his hands clawed at the rope around his neck. “You’re going to kill him!” 

“Why shouldn’t I? Would it really matter if I did? He’s just a dog.” Xavier’s eyes were wild, unhinged. He looked as if he really would kill Miguel, right here, in front of her. 

Henrietta improvised. Trying to take the attention off the choking boy in front of her, who was turning blue. “Xavier. Please. Please don’t do this. I’ll never forgive you. I’ll kill you.” 

He released the rope and Miguel fell to the ground with a dull thud, gasping and choking for air. Miguel was crying, shaking and sobbing. When had Xavier put on the blindfold? Henrietta didn’t recall. Her memories were flooded. 

“You’ll kill me? Over a mutt?” Xavier asked softly. Releasing the rope from his hands. “Didn’t you ever love me?” 

Henrietta’s eyes widened. She did once. A long time ago. Before Xavier was all rage and hatred. He wasn’t always like this. Or maybe he was, she was just blind to it. In her youth, she was blind to a lot of things. She was blind to the way he was built, all hard stone and jagged edges. Darkness surrounded him and perhaps, just for a little bit she was attracted to that darkness. She thought she had needed the darkness. Henrietta hadn’t realized that Xavier’s darkness was all consuming, destroying everything in its wake. 

Her parents had grown up in darkness. They had been freed  from slavery by their masters paying for their papers. They earned that money playing music for people.  Their masters had claimed their talents were wasted as slaves. So they set them free. How strange some people were, seeing a beautiful thing and instead of wanting to keep it, they wanted to see it flourish. Henrietta had grown up free, by the time she was four or five, slavery had been abolished and her parents had danced and drank. Her mother sang loudly, more loud than she had ever heard her sing. Her father’s violin had never sounded so happy. It was her most fond memory of her childhood. 

When she had seen Xavier for the first time, as a young woman, she was attracted to his calm outer shell. The way he was so confident and the way he tried to charm her. She liked the attention. Was that what caught her in the snare? The attention? 

She had always liked the love of the crowd. When they laughed and jeered it fueled her. Made her want to prove them wrong. She always proved them wrong. Her mother always said that spite would get her in trouble. After she married Xavier, it always did. She liked the fight, liked the way he would get frustrated and try to control himself when she did something particularly spiteful. Henrietta had enjoyed it, she had loved it. She loved him once. 

Henrietta had slowly fallen out of love when his anger became more and more uncontrolled. When every slight thing sets him off. He never hurt her, not really. It was the words that cut deep and true. The slow effort to control every aspect of her life. The last straw was Miguel. 

When he had brought him home, she had asked what he was going to do with him. 

I just got myself a new dog, I think, was the response.  

It wasn’t until a few years later though, after a particular conversation with Miguel and Solomon that sealed the deal. That made love turn into hate.  *

“What's the book about?” 

“Anger.” 

“Anger?” She repeated the sign, unsure of what it meant. The boy spelt it out for her. “Anger.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“The Captain. He’s so angry all the time. He gets so angry he forgets about his crew and he’s focused on killing the whale.” 

“Oh. Did you like book?” 

“No. Everyone dies.” 

“Not everyone.” Solomon gently corrected, Miguel shrugged. He was fifteen at the time. And the shrug had become a common response. It was the only time she saw his real personality come out. Slightly sassy, and intense. 

“Ishmael lives,” Solomon continued. 

“You remind me of Ishmael.” 

“Oh? What about Hen?” 

Henrietta gave him a small smile. 

“The Captain.” 

Henrietta’s smile faded. No one expected that response. Solomon gave a nervous chuckle. 

“Oh. Well.. what about you? Who are you in the story Miguel?” 

His expression turned sour. Shrugging again and signing his next words with practiced ease.

“There are no dogs in the book.” 

There are no dogs in the book.  *

Xavier had made him believe that he was not a person. He was not a character in the book. He was just a dog. Nothing more than a slave. It reminded her of the stories her mother would sing about being a slave. It was the thing that broke her. “I did love you once. But you became a monster.” 

How easy it was, for love to turn into hatred. They weren’t all that different. Two sides of the same coin. Both such passionate fiery emotions that could tear the world apart if used correctly. 

Xavier grabbed her by the throat again, growling and hissing something. She couldn’t even help the choked laugh that escaped her. The fire that was growing in her chest. The hatred that poured from her, from him. The love that used to reside in that space between them had rotted and twisted into that hardly distinguishable hatred. 

Henrietta preferred the hatred. 

Xavier was her white whale. 

He stopped choking her, looking into her eyes, searching for something. Slowly, he stepped back. There was a chasm between them. It was a relief and it broke her heart. 

“All of this over a fucking kid.” 

“He’s not a kid anymore.” 

“You’re not my wife anymore.” 

Henrietta stared at him with a sense of indignation. “I haven’t been for a long time. We both know that.” 

Xavier smiled at her, cruel, unforgiving. “Yes. You’re right,” he lifted his hand to rub his face. “On your knees.” 

She didn’t move. It was always going to end like this. With him throwing her to the ground, wrenching her on her knees by the hair. His grip stayed firm in her hair as he undid his belt. Henrietta was going to kill him. She was going to kill him and use his own spurs to slit his throat. 

This was a promise.  __

Taglist:

@demondamage @burntcoffeewhump @angst-after-dark @just-a-silly-little-whumper @tictac-murder-spaghetti @crash-bump-bring-the-whump @whumpifi-reads

@flowersarefreetherapy @badgerwhump @whumpbees @whumplr-reader

ask if you'd like to be added or removed!!

[livelaughwhump]

Hi! I just started to read your series and i was checking out the drabbles, and I just loved them sm. If you want an idea, I was thinking on one during Elliot's captivity? Like, one day Christopher was out doing smth, and Elliot had a peaceful day, idk, just cleaning the house? I also though in another thing, one while Elliot was 18~20 years old. The time Christopher was harrassing him. Idk, these are just some ideas I just had, and if you feel like writing it, you can save for doing later, maybe? I just love your series ❤

Masterlist

Of course! Thanks so much for all the love you've given my series!! Sorry this took so long, I couldn't decide which suggestion I wanted to go with, but thanks to a poll, I decided to go with the first one. I hope you enjoy!😊

Content: muzzle, slavery, starvation, dehumanization, degradation, pet whump, it/its pronouns used for whumpee, self-hatred, self-deprecation

If I forgot any content warnings, please let me know

-

"I want this whole house spotless by the time I get back in three hours," Master ordered as he slipped his arms into the sleeves of his thick coat.

Pet's eyes widened. Master's house wasn't particularly big, but three hours wasn't nearly enough time, especially given Pet's emaciated state. "But, Master, that's-" A sharp smack cut off the rest of Pet's sentence. Then, a hand grasped its bony chin, and Pet yelped.

Pet strained its neck in order to look up at Master from its kneeling position on the ground. Tears welled in its eyes as Master ghosted his thumb over its quivering lip. "I'm sorry, I must have misheard you. Are you talking back to me, mutt?"

Pet choked back its sobs. "N-No, Master."

Master's grip tightened on its chin. "Then, what were you saying?"

Pet whimpered and squeezed its eyes shut. "I-I would be h-happy to clean the house for you, Master."

Master smiled and released his grip on Pet's chin, only to gently cup its face and scratch behind its ear. "That's my good boy. So obedient."

Pet lowered its head to hide the tears in its eyes. "Yes, Master," it mumbled.

Master began to card his fingers through his pet's hair just before he planted a soft kiss to its forehead. "Good boy. I'll be back very soon." Master used two fingers to tilt his pet's head up. "This house better be sparkling when I return. Otherwise, I'll have to punish you, and neither of us wants that, do we?"

Pet swallowed the lump in its throat. "N-No, Master."

Master smirked. "Good. I suppose I'll be going, then," he said as he stood to his feet and adjusted his coat.

Pet's stomach grumbled loudly. It hadn't eaten in days, and it knew it wouldn't be able to clean the house in time while it was starving. Pet looked up at its Master just as he was about to walk out the door. It knew this was a risk, but it had to try. "Master?"

Master paused with his hand on the doorknob and turned back to look his pet. "Yes, pet?"

Anxiety burned Pet's throat, but it swallowed it down. "Um...before you go, I-I was wondering if I could...ask you something?"

Master's expression darkened slightly, and Pet instantly regretted opening its mouth. "And what might that be, pet?"

Pet lowered its gaze to its lap again, shaking. "W-Well, I-I haven't eaten for a few days, and-and I'm afraid it'll affect my-my service to you." It swallowed the fear burning in its throat and kept its gaze trained on the chains clamped around its slim wrists. "S-So, I-I was wondering if-if I could possibly...have something to eat?" Pet risked a glance up at Master and immediately wished it hadn't.

Master's expression was terrifyingly calm, but Pet could see the anger seething behind his eyes. Pet yelped.

"Are you accusing me of not feeding you enough, mutt?"

Pet flinched. "N-No, Master. I-I would never-"

Smack

Pet was sent sprawling across the floor, its cheek burning where Master had slapped it. The tears it had been struggling to hide suddenly slipped free and a particularly loud sob escaped its throat.

Master grabbed a fistful of Pet's hair and dragged it back onto its knees. "Look at me, you ugly mutt." Pet did as it was told, staring at Master through watery eyes. "Listen to me very carefully. I feed you as much as you deserve. I am fully aware that you haven't eaten in a few days, but I expect this house to be spotless, regardless of that fact. Do you understand?"

Pet wished it could nod its head, but Master's iron grip on its hair prevented it from doing so. "Y-Yes, Master."

"Good. Now, remind me of what you are, bitch."

Pet sniffled. "Y-Your pet, Master."

Master jerked its head by its hair and Pet yelped. "Yes, but that's not the answer I'm looking for. What are you?"

"U-Um...y-your dog, Master?"

That answer earned it a slap across the face. "Also true, but once again, not the answer I'm looking for. I'll give you one more chance, mutt. What. Are. You?"

Pet could only think of one other possible answer.

Another loud sob escaped Pet's throat. "Your-Your slave, Master."

Master released his grip on Pet's long, greasy hair, and Pet collapsed onto its hands and knees, crying. "Very good, mutt. You're my slave, and do slaves have wants?"

Pet shook its head. "No, Master."

Master grimaced at his pet's pathetic state, disgust washing across his face. "Good. Surely, even a stupid mutt like you can remember that much."

Pet sniffled and watched as it's tears dripped onto the wooden floor. "Yes, Master."

Master considered his pet for a moment before turning and bypassing the door. Pet watched as its Master stood before the table beside the door and fiddled with the lock on the drawer.

Pet's stomach dropped. "Master-"

"Quiet!" Master commanded. Pet flinched and snapped its mouth shut. It knew what was coming. When Master turned around, he was holding a familiar contraption that made Pet's throat close and stole the breath from its lungs.

It was a muzzle.

Pet's lower lip started wobbling as it eyed the torturous device. It wasn't one of the comfortable ones either, the padded ones that simply strapped to Pet's face. It was made of exposed metal with a leather bit, complete with a painful tongue clamp.

Pet's whole body was trembling as Master approached it with the muzzle. "M-Master, please-"

"Enough!" Master shouted. Pet flinched again. "I am so sick of hearing your whiny little voice, mutt. If I can't even trust you not to speak without permission, how am I supposed to trust you not to take food or something?"

Pet wanted to beg and assure Master that it would never take food without permission, but it had already dug itself a deep enough hole. The last thing it wanted to do was make it worse.

Heavy tears trickled down Pet's face as Master knelt down in front of it. "Now, hold still and open up, mutt."

Master was hardly gentle with his pet, but he was even less so when he was frustrated. He wrestled the metal contraption onto the lower half of his pet's face, tightening to leather straps so much that the sharp metal started to cut into Pet's wet cheeks. The bit that was shoved into Pet's mouth was nearly too big and the clamp around its tongue was painful. Drool pooled in Pet's mouth, but the muzzle prevented it from swallowing.

"There," Master said once he secured the muzzle's padlock. "Much better."

Pet stared at its Master with tear-filled, pleading eyes.

"Don't look at me like that, mutt." Master sharply tugged on one of the straps holding the muzzle in place. Pet yelped as its head was yanked backwards. "You brought this on yourself."

A pathetic, broken sob forced its way out of Pet's throat.

"Now, get to work, slave," Master said as he pulled open the front door. A burst of icy air surrounded Pet's nearly-naked body and Pet shivered. "If you made me late to my appointment, hunger will be the least of your worries." With that, Master slammed the door shut, leaving his silenced pet kneeling in the foyer.

Pet knew it didn't have time to waste, but that didn't stop it from taking a few minutes by itself to just cry. It knew it shouldn't feel sorry for itself, but it couldn't help it. It was so tired and lonely and hungry, but Pet knew better than to ask for things. Master was right. It brought this on itself.

Pet wiped away its remaining tears and pushed itself off of the floor. It tried to adjust the muzzle in order to make it slightly more comfortable, but to no avail, and then it plodded over to the supply closet to start cleaning.

. . .

Pet was exhausted. It had only been forty-five minutes since it had started cleaning and it already didn't know if it could go much longer. Its knees were quivering, its hands were shaking, and the uncomfortable muzzle strapped to its face was too distracting.

Knowing that it was moments away from collapsing, Pet rested itself on the dusty living room floor, giving itself a break. Pet sighed heavily through its nose, struggling to catch its breath. It was so tired and the muzzle was so uncomfortable. Pet dropped the washcloth it was holding and tried to readjust the muzzle again.

"Mmph," Pet groaned as it tried to loosen the straps ever-so-slightly. "Ngh mmf." The clamp around its tongue was far too tight, and it feared that it was losing circulation. The bit attached to the muzzle stuffed Pet's whole mouth full. The muzzle's jagged metal edges carved into Pet's soft cheeks.

Pet wanted to cry.

It couldn't do this. It wanted so badly to be good, but it just couldn't. It was so tired and so hungry. It just wanted to curl up in one of the warm patches of sunlight on the floor and sleep, like a real dog.

Sometimes it wondered how Master would treat it if it was a real dog. Would he let it go outside? Would he feed it regularly? Would he cuddle it and pet it? Would he trust it enough to leave it alone without a muzzle?

If Pet was a real dog, would Master love it?

Pondering these impossible questions, Pet sniffed and picked up the discarded washcloth off the floor. As burning tears trickled down its face, it crawled across the floor and continued to clean.

-

I know you asked for Elliot to have a peaceful day, but in my defense, peace was a luxury Elliot was never really privy to

I hope you enjoyed this! I had a lot of fun writing it, and I couldn't resist including some muzzle content😈

If anyone else has any drabble requests, suggestions, or questions for me or my characters, please send them to me!

Taglist:

@l-antre-des-merveilles @pigeonwhumps @nicolepascaline @burningkittypoet @whumpinggrounds @suffering-and-misery @make-them-scream @honeycollectswhump @rabass @whumpdreamz @clairelsonao3 @rosewriteswhump @cepheusgalaxy

If anyone wants to be added to or removed from the taglist, please let me know!😊

Or if you only want to be tagged in main chapters

[whimsicallyreading]

For Rowaelin Month day 17

 “A sick day”

CW- PTSD, mentions of violence

Aelin considered herself a fortunate person.

She has survived genocide, her family's murders, losing loved ones, slavery, torture, and the Great War. Now she is a queen, a mother, a beloved Mate.

Her life had changed since those bleak days where she'd wondered if she would ever escape captivity—the days when Aelin didn't know if she would ever be free or find love again. Every morning she woke up curled into Rowan's side, and while she drank her morning tea, Aelin could count on her young daughter snuggling into her lap.

Yes, she was swamped most days, but that was normal for a queen. But even the moments between boring meetings brimmed with life and laughter. Rowan's hand on her thigh beneath the table. Fenrys' theatrics when conversation spiraled off-topic. And even the hardened lords thought it was hilarious when their three-year-old princess barged into councils and demanded her mother's attention.

Her family gathered for dinners at the end of every day. Aelin's little family, Fenrys, Emrys, and Malakai were the regular attendees. Aedion, Lysandra, Elide, and Lorcan joined when they were present. It was a time reserved for family only, and it was by far Aelin's favorite part of the day.

Aelin had a good life now. Her family was growing, and her country thrived beneath her rule.

So it always took her by surprise when a bad day came.

She had woken up fine. Delly had slammed open the chamber door with a gust of wind and squirmed herself between her and Rowan in the early morning. Usually, Aelin treasured the moments when her daughter joined them, but being pregnant again had taken a toll on her sleep.

Rowan tried to stop their child before she entirely collapsed onto Aelin but was a moment too slow. Delly flopped onto her mother's chest in a disarray of wrinkled nightgown and golden curls. Soft sobs were sputtering out of the tiny figure.

I'm sorry. Rowan whispered into her thoughts. He knew how hard pregnancy was on her and took his mate's comfort very seriously. It troubled him that their toddling daughter woke Aelin so abruptly.

Aelin blinks the sleep from her eyes and sends him a happy smile to assure him everything is fine.

"What's wrong, Dell?" Aelin soothes a hand up her baby's quaking form.

Adelia sniffles harder, unable to talk through the tears. She'd started to have bad dreams in recent weeks, but never had she been so inconsolable.

Aelin shifts as Adelia's arms tighten uncomfortably around her bump. Rowan sees her discomfort and reaches around to pull Dell to him instead, but it is met with resistance.

"No," Adelia finally wails. "Mama. I want Mama."

Rowan frowns. Adelia was a daddy's girl to the bone, and this was the first time she'd ever refused to go to him. Their daughter squeezes harder and burrows her face into Aelin's torso.

"Dell," Rowan leans next to her and whispers, a cool breeze brushing against her flushed cheek. "What's wrong little love?"

Adelia lifts her head, and Aelin's heart contracts painfully. Her cheeks are red and swollen from the intensity of her crying, little sobs still stumbling from her chest as Rowan settles her down enough to speak.

"Mama was gone. She was hurt, and she couldn't see me." Dell sniffles, her green eyes glassy. "Can you see me, Mama?"

Aelin tugs her daughter in closer, unable to stand the sight of her so sad. "Yes, of course, I can. I'm right here."

"You were in a box. She wouldn't let me see you," Adelia whimpers in a small voice. "She told me she was gonna keep you. I don't want you to go, Mama."

Aelin's face blanches. It wasn't possible. Her little baby couldn't possibly have seen what was coming to her mind. She looks at Rowan, and his face is pinched with worry.

"It's not real, Dell." Rowan uses a thumb to wipe the tears off her cheek.

Adelia flinches. "Uncle Ress told me it was. He told me Mama had got stollen and put into a box by the bad lady and that she should have stayed there."

Aelin's heart stops. Nausea crawls up her throat, and Rowan tugs Adelia away just in time for her to crawl out of bed and gag into a potted plant. The sickness grips Aelin, the shudders in her arms only growing worse with her daughter's mumbled cries.

"Daddy, I want Mama to stay here." Rowan hushes her and murmurs quiet reassurances. "Don't let her get stollen."

Ress had said that? In front of her daughter? Aelin tries to close her eyes against the visions creeping into her mind. The places her scars used to be ache, and her hands pulse with the remembered pain of reconstruction.

The baby in her womb squirms under its mother's stress, and Aelin throws up again.

She should have stayed there.

Cairn brings the hammer down onto her frail knees, the ringing of cracking bone splits the air.

She should have stayed there.

Aelin opens her eyes to endless darkness. Sweet smoke wafts through invisible holes and sends her to sleep- leaving her mind vulnerable to Maeve's manipulations.

She should have stayed there.

More and more memories swarm behind her eyelids until a pair of grounding arms wrap around her shoulders.

"Fireheart, you are home. You are safe. Can you breathe with me?" Rowan sighs loudly behind her shoulder, and Aelin tries to force her own breath out.

Breathing in is harder, but Rowan's scent fills her nose and loosens the binds on her lungs. Soon, Aelin is doing the exercises independently, and Rowan nuzzles his face into her neck. His hands snake under her bump and lift some of the pressure, easing more of her tension.

"There you are," Rowan kisses her cheek as Aelin comes back around. "Are you okay?"

Aelin shakes her head and sinks into his arms. "Can you take me back to bed?"

Her legs feel like jelly, and her stomach is weak from turning. Rowan lifts her with ease. His arms are warm, and he murmurs sweet nothings into her ear as he carries his mate back to their bed.

"Adelia?" Aelin looks around for their daughter.

Rowan pulls back the duvet and reveals the sleepy from nestled right into the middle of the pillows. "She fell back asleep quickly."

"I can't believe Ress told her those things," Aelin can feel a tear slipping down her face. Ress had never forgiven her for her days as Celaena. Darrow had grown to accept her, but Ress never warmed up to having Aelin as his queen despite her efforts.

She hadn't realized the extent his hatred went.

Rowan scowls as he lays Aelin down next to their daughter. "Ress is young and foolish. I have forgiven a lot of his hostility and ignored most of his juvenile antics, but Aelin, I can't forgive this."

"He should never have said those things to Dell." Ress's words linger in her head. She tried to do right by her title and live up to her parent's legacy. Aelin took a lot of pride in listening to the demands of her people and tending to their problems personally. But the odds of Ress being the only one to feel this way are slim. Did they wish she'd never returned? Was she arrogant to take the crown just because it was her inheritance? She'd never had the formal training as ruler and relied a lot on Rowan to help manage foreign affairs. Despite the loss of her fire, many still feared her and considered her a murderer. No matter how hard she tried, Aelin's history as Adarlan's Assassin proceeded her.

Tears burn Aelin's eyes, and Rowan's scowl deepens. "He should have never spoken of you like that at all."

Aelin shakes her head, "It's his right to think what he wants. Maybe he has a point."

"No." Rowan growls, and Dell flinches in her sleep. Taking a deep breath, Rowan softens his voice. "He's wrong, Aelin. Ress was wrong to scare Dell, and he has no right to demean everything you've sacrificed. You've suffered for your people."

"I closed the lock because I had to Rowan," Aelin argues. "That doesn't automatically make me a good queen. What if I'm failing?"

Rowan pulls their duvet up to Aelin's chin, and Dell instinctively snuggles to her mother's side. Her daughter was a leach for warmth, and Aelin could feel her remaining flames writhing in her veins agitated.

"You are a wonderful ruler, Fireheart." Rowan bends down and kisses her lips reverently. "I've met my fair share of emperors, kings, and queens. None of them have given up so much to better the lives of their people. They care for you in return."

Rowan steps away from the bed, and Aelin makes a displeased noise. "Where are you going so early in the morning."

"I'm awake now. I feel like a flight through Oakwald. Go to sleep, and when you wake up, I'll bring my females breakfast," Rowan pulls on a plain white tunic. "Sleep, love. You both need your rest."

Rowan can read her too well. Aelin can feel her eyes drooping despite how much she wants to deny it. "Very well, but there better be tea and pastries."

As Aelin drifts back to sleep, she swears that a mischievous smile passes across her mate's face.

~~~

"Aelin," Maeve twirls a lock of blonde hair in her fingers. "Where are the keys?"

Cairn twists the blade in her thigh again, and Aelin screams, "screw yourself."

Aelin writhes beneath the pain and the dark queen's gaze. Her torturer goes to twist the blade again, but Maeve holds up a hand. "Wait. There is a smarter way to go about this."

"I won't tell you anything," Aelin gasps, the blood seeping from her thigh pools onto the table. "There is nothing you can do."

"Not even to spare the princess?" Maeve smiles as the cell door opens. Connall walks into the room, a squirming girl in his arms.

"Let me go," the girl screams, and the air in the room turns frigid. Her blonde hair whips around as she twists and fights. The little girl's head turns, and she freezes when she catches sight of Aelin. "Mama?"

"Adelia?" Aelin asks, confused. "You can't be here. You aren't supposed to be here." With renewed energy, Aelin thrashes against her bonds and bares her teeth at Maeve.

Maeve takes Adelia from Connall and strokes her hair. "Such a pretty one."

"This isn't real," Aelin hisses. "I wasn't pregnant when you took me. Adelia was born in Terresan."

Maeve hums a sympathetic note, "It seems you're confused." Aelin fights as the dark queen sits with a frozen Adelia in her lap. "Begin again, Cairn."

A hot iron is lain against Aelin's neck, and Adelia's screams rattle the stone chamber.

~~~

Aelin wakes with a gasp. Her chest is seizing in uncontrollable fits, and little hands cup the sides of her face.

"Mama?" Adelia's concerned face hovers over Aelin's. "Why are you crying?"

Relief washes over her at the sight of her daughter, safe and sound. She tries to take deeper breaths, but her body fights against her. The baby in her womb squirms uncomfortably. Aelin feels guilt that they are so subject to her moods. She tries to open her mouth to speak, consol her frightened daughter, but Aelin can't get any words out.

"Daddy!" Dell screams, frightened tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.

Rowan bursts through the door, "Dell?"

Adelia sniffles and kisses Aelin's face sadly, "Daddy, what's wrong with Mama?"

Aelin grabs at her chest, trying to ease the tightness there. She was scaring her daughter. What kind of mother would do that? Rowan sits beside her, and a cool wind goes up her nose and fills her lungs.

"Fireheart," Rowan lifts Adelia and sits beside her. "Is this a sick day?"

It was the code they'd come up with for the days when the past came back to haunt them. When the turmoil in their mind forces their bodies to rebel, and they can't seem to put on their usual facades. It used to shame Aelin, the days she couldn't rise from bed and do her duty. But her mate's unwavering love soon cracked that lie and eased her burden. Rowan had convincing arguments. Aelin's people needed their queen at her best, and on sick days, she wasn't able to give that to them. Their court was strong. They wouldn't allow Terresan to fall while she recovered. Aelin deserved time to heal.

Rowan must have been able to tell that she wouldn't be able to settle herself this time as his winds continued their push and pull in her chest. "Yes," she rasps dejectedly.

Dell buries her face into Rowan's shoulder. Her mate rests a hand on the side of her face and soothes her cheek. "To whatever end, Aelin. We will get through this just as we do everything else."

Rowan kisses the side of Dell's face. "Little love, do you think you can go to the kitchens and have someone bring Mama tea?"

That fae instinct to fuss rears its head in their child. Adelia perks up at the opportunity to do something useful. "Yes!"

Rowan sets her on the floor, and she takes off in a blur of untamed hair and swishing skirts. They wince as a gust of wind slams the doors of their chambers against the wall.

"She's a handful," Rowan talks, aware of the soothing effect his voice has on her. "But we always knew our children would be. I can't wait to see what kind of chaos our son brings into our lives."

Aelin wraps her arms around him as the remnants of her dreams finally fade away. "You think it's a boy?"

"I know so," Rowan pinches her side, and Aelin smiles. He'd also been confident that their first child would be a girl. His smugness after Adelia's birth was unbearable.

"Rowan," Aelin whispers. "Can we just lay here today?"

"I could never deny you anything," Rowan leans against their headboard and kicks off his shoes. "You don't need to ask, Aelin. It's okay to take time for yourself."

"What if I'm just proving Ress right?" The insecurity slips from her lips before she can stop them. "What if there is someone more capable?"

"Ress won't be a problem anymore," Rowan rests a hand against her bump, and the baby withing kicks at it, bringing a smile to his face.

Aelin narrows her eyes, "What have you done?"

"Nothing that anyone will blame me for," Rowan assures. "He would be in a lot more trouble if the rest of the court learned what he said in front of Dell. Ress should be grateful I didn't do a lot worse."

Aelin sighs, "I don't understand why I can't just let it all go. Why do I allow myself to be so haunted?"

"It's not that simple," Rowan shakes his head. "I'm hundreds of years old, and no matter how many years pass, there are things from my past that haven't healed. The mind is different from the body, and sometimes it takes longer for it to recover. There is nothing wrong with that. You gave up everything for the people you loved."

"Because I had to," Aelin contradicts.

A hardness comes over Rowan, "because no one else could."

Rowan rolls over her body into a plank and looks deep into her eyes. "No one else that day would have made the same sacrifices out of love. Not even me. I was too selfish to let you go. You gave up everything, and by the strength in your soul, you came home to me. In all my decades, I have never met someone so remarkable, and I never will again. Take as many years as you need to recover, Aelin. This world owes a debt to you, and I will make sure it pays. You deserve every happiness."

His hand threads through one of hers and drags it up to rest on the bump between them.

Happiness.

Dell darts back into their room, a cup of tea sloshing in her hands as she runs. "Daddy, I put extra sugar in it. Uncle Fen is coming with more cups, but I made this one special."

Rowan pulls away from her, and the laughter on his face is contagious.  

Aelin smiles and accepts the tea from Dell's hands. She even manages a few sips without cringing from the sweetness. Fenrys follows behind her shortly and sets a fresh cup covertly on her bedside table.

There may be hard days, Aelin realizes as her family gathers around her, but the love they showed her every day made it all worth it.

[peachy-panic]

WHUMPTOBER DAY 3: “WHO DID THIS TO YOU?”

This is the next chronological piece of Do No Harm, continued directly from this chapter.

Tag list: @whumpervescence  @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump

WARNINGS: Medical procedures, referenced/implied noncon, slavery setting, the usual.

The young doctor seems a bit skittish and far less cruel than the other Facility employees, and that comes with the dangerous notion that perhaps he doesn’t plan on hurting him. But that notion requires a naivety of which Jaime is no longer capable. He, of all people, is aware that cruelty can disguise itself in many shapes and sizes. Just because it isn’t obvious doesn’t mean it isn’t there, and that only makes it all the more dangerous.

There’s no use in hoping either way, he decides. Dr. Tate will either hurt him or he won’t, will either touch him or he won’t, and Jaime can’t — won’t — react. He has already made that mistake once today and will certainly pay for it later in ways he doesn’t want to think about now. He would do well to remember that he doesn’t hold any power here. Not in this room, this building, this life. And that, despite any arbitrary written rules, Dr. Tate is free to do as he pleases. 

At least he had removed the restraints from his mouth and wrists. Jaime can console himself with this small mercy. 

Those had always been the worst part of nights with Mr. Torley, on the all-too-frequent occasions he decided to use them. He was clearly very into them, and even more into Jaime’s fear of them. In addition to the claustrophobia they stoked in him, the use of restraints in bed had always felt something like a mockery. What use was it to restrain someone who can’t fight back regardless? The binds on his wrists and ankles were nothing more than accessories. The shackles in his mind did all the work to keep him still. And Mr. Torley knew that.

He does his best not to think about that now. Not to think about Mr. Torley at all, since that was what had gotten him in trouble in the first place. Distantly, he wonders how long the influence of his first Keeper will continue to stain Jaime’s existence beyond the termination of their six-month contract.

Dr. Tate, who has been buried in the cabinets above the sink for several minutes, turns back to him sporting bright-blue gloves that adhere tightly around his slender hands. He meets Jaime’s eyes for half a second before his gaze darts somewhere just to the left of his shoulder. 

“We need to run a couple of tests,” he says in a detached, clinical voice, all notes of lightheartedness from earlier removed. “I’ll need to collect some samples from you.”

Jaime nods once in acknowledgement, squeezing his fingers tightly, unconsciously around the edge of the table. There’s an unnatural pause in his cadence, and Jaime when looks up, he watches a slight twitch of movement in the doctor’s jaw. 

“Please remove your pants and underwear,” Dr. Tate says, his voice taking on a lower pitch. “You can leave them on up to your thighs, if you’d like.”

The slight shift in demeanor sets Jaime on edge, but he doesn’t hesitate at the command, even as a familiar panic claws at the inside of his throat. He drops forward from the table, his legs taking his weight. His thumbs hook the waistband of the thin, cotton pants he had been returned in, and he doesn’t allow himself a moment of hesitation before pushing them unceremoniously off his hips. He takes Dr. Tate up on his merciful offer to keep them partially on his body. The cold, sterile air inside the clinic is sharp against his exposed skin.

Jaime’s eyes find the ceiling as he prepares for the touch he knows is coming. He doesn’t look to see whatever tools and instruments Dr. Tate is laying out on the silver tray beside the exam table. He doesn’t have to. “We need to run a couple of tests.”  Whatever foolish hypotheticals Jaime once held in regards to WRU — what they did and didn’t know about the treatment of their wards — had long been shattered. 

Of course they needed to test him for sexually transmitted diseases. They can’t have a Domestic Companion spreading something to the next paying customer that buys their time and exposing their innocent charade. 

There’s a pause in Dr. Tate’s movement, but Jaime doesn’t look away from his spot on the ceiling tile.

“I’m going to touch you, now.” Dr. Tate’s voice is low and measured. “I need to examine you for bumps or sores, any abnormalities.” He clears his throat. “And I’ll take a swab from your urethra. It might be uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt you.” Another pause. “Please, tell me if it does.”

Jaime’s grip on the table tightens, but he otherwise doesn’t react. Distantly, he is grateful for the warning, the bare explanation, mortifying as it is. He knows that the doctors here are not obligated to explain anything to the Companion patients, to seek consent in any form. Their consent was implicitly given in the contracts they signed at intake. He just as easily could have left Jaime gagged and bound to the table and gone about the procedure without so much as a word to him. Jaime is glad he hadn’t. 

Instead, Dr. Tate’s touch is light and professional. His gloved hands don’t linger, they don’t poke and prod to get a reaction from him. It seems, even, that he touches him as little as possible. Almost as if he is as eager to get this over with as Jaime is, which doesn’t feel quite possible. 

The fluorescent strip of light next to his focal point on the ceiling burns at the edge of his vision, but he doesn’t look away, using the mild discomfort as an anchor to hold himself steady. He concentrates on that instead of the gentle touches, gritting his teeth against any traitorous urges his body might provoke. Mr. Torley had loved that about Jaime — his responsiveness to touch — but not as much as he loved using it against him. 

His stomach sours at the memory, fresh humiliation creeping into his cheeks at the idea of something similar happening now. He doesn’t think Dr. Tate would tease him the way his Keeper had, but he still doesn’t relish the idea of becoming physically aroused in front of this young doctor, who couldn’t have been more than a few years older than him and, in another life, Jaime might have found pretty. 

The thought is gone almost as soon as it comes, too painful to linger on. The idea of another life. A normal life. A life at all. These are thoughts Jaime is forbidden to have. The phantom sting of an electric shock lights up the column of his throat and Jaime winces.

“Sorry,” Dr. Tate said quickly, misunderstanding the movement and withdrawing his hand. Jaime’s eyes finally fall to his as the doctor takes a step back, inserting the long swab into a glass tube and sealing it with a cap. “The worst part is over.”

Jaime is numb all over, but he nearly laughs. He knows that having stepped foot in this facility again, the “worst part” has not even begun. 

“I’ll need to collect another sample from your mouth,” Dr. Tate continues, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves, and Jaime absently wonders why they even bother wasting extra product on the patients here. “And we’ll draw some blood—” 

Something catches his voice mid-sentence and Jaime’s eyes flick up to his again. Dr. Tate looks at him, and then pointedly, hurriedly away. Jaime swears he can see his pale cheeks reddening.

“You can— We’re finished with that part.” He stumbles out. “Feel free to cover yourself up.”

Jaime does as he’s told, finding it somewhere within himself to be grateful that the doctor had kept the procedure professional. He couldn’t say the same thing for every encounter he’d had in the facility clinic before. 

********

Sebastian knows what happens next, and that’s why he finds himself taking his time with the rest of the visit. As soon as he’s completed the mandated intake exam, he is supposed to mark the patient as cleared in his chart and alert the handlers to come collect him. To take him back into the part of the facility where Sebastian has never set foot; the “residential” wing where the unclaimed Companions are housed between contracts. On all the promotional advertisements, it’s depicted as a dormitory-like accommodation. Now that Sebastian knows just how little truth exists behind their lies, he can only imagine it’s nothing of the sort. 

His mind conjures images of iron-barred cells and concrete rooms, of medieval dungeons with chains and darkness and filth. It’s a sensationalized version of what he assumes is probably the truth, but that doesn’t mean the reality is any less horrible. After what he’s seen in his time here and everything he’s heard, he has no doubt that the people who are forced to reside here between Keepers are subject to the company’s own brand of horror. Frankly, he’s in no hurry to turn his patient back over to their hands a moment sooner than he has to.

The boy is silent and entirely pliable throughout the whole exam, allowing himself to be moved when necessary and not so much as flinching when the needles for the blood draw break his skin. Sebastian is glad when the more… invasive parts of the exam are over. The boy had been no less compliant during them, maybe even the opposite, but Sebastian hadn’t missed the subtle changes in his posture, the way the muscles in his hands clenched and released around the edge of the table as he touched him as little as possible. 

He had looked up at the ceiling instead of at the wall behind Sebastian, as he had done previously, and Sebastian had silently prayed that the position wasn’t intended as a way to hold back tears. He doesn’t know how he could live with himself if he made this kid cry.

When the blood has been drawn, the test samples submitted for lab processing, and a full physical performed, Sebastian has run out of ways to delay the inevitable. He closes out of the boy’s patient profile on his screen and turns to him, hands folded professionally in front. 

“I’ll need to alert the handlers that your intake exam is complete,” he told him, probably unnecessarily. He hadn’t looked to see how long he had been in the system, but from his behavior, he assumes it’s been long enough to break his spirit. He probably knows these protocols better than Sebastian ever wants to. “They’ll come and escort you back to the residential quarters.”

110750 nods once without looking at him. “Thank you,” he says flatly. Then, there is a moment of pause before he lifts his eyes and seems to level Sebastian with something more sincere. “Thank you for… for letting me get cleaned up.”

Sebastian feels like shattering into pieces all over the cold linoleum. Instead, he tries for a smile and lands somewhere in the realm of a tight, thin line at his lips. “Sure,” he says, a bit mortified to hear the crack in his voice. 

He watches 110750 take slow, measured breaths as Sebastian makes the call he desperately wishes he didn’t have to make. He tries not to stare as they wait in tense silence for the handlers to arrive. Of course, Sebastian could leave the room if he wants. The intake procedure is done, and so is his minimal obligation to patient care. But something feels wrong about leaving him. More than that, something feels utterly wrong about this boy being taken out of the clinic, away from his line of sight, where he can’t see what will happen next. He only knows it won’t be good. 

A split second before he hears the clinic doors whoosh open, Sebastian steps closer to his patient, lowering his voice to a quick, urgent whisper. “Keep an eye on that broken nose,” he advises. “If you have any trouble breathing as it heals, please don’t hesitate to let your assigned handler know that you need medical attention, okay?”

The boy hitches in a breath but doesn’t respond. Sebastian takes half a step closer. 

“Look, you have a right to medical assistance,” he says, the words feeling like treason on his tongue despite knowing their written truth. “Even here. Even now. You can always come see me here if you need to. They can’t legally prevent you from requesting care. Do you understand?”

Unexpectedly, something dark flashes in the boy’s eyes. Something less like the fear and dread he had witnessed earlier, and something much more akin to anger. Anger at Sebastian?

Before the interaction can go any further, they are interrupted by the unceremonious swing of the exam room door. The same two men who had brought him in - one with a fresh bandage on his face - push their way in, stepping between Sebastian and his patient. 

“Up you go, 7-5-0,” Handler Hernandez barks, and the boy is on his feet before he can finish the command, his hands behind his back, head bowed. 

“Oh, look who finally decided to behave,” the other one - Smith, maybe? - taunts as he sizes him up in a way that makes even Sebastian’s skin crawl. Just as he had prior to the visit, the man shifts his gaze to him, a sneer permanently embedded into his expression. “Does he get a lollipop for good behavior? Maybe a sticker?”

The boy doesn’t look up at him, but Sebastian thinks he sees his throat move. He feels a swell of rage rise into his throat, coming to a boiling point for the second time since he entered the room with this boy, but he swallows it back, keeping as level an expression as he can manage. 

“He was perfectly agreeable,” he responds tightly, refusing to play into whatever mockery he’s initiating. 

Smith answers him with a dismissive snort, turning his attention back to the boy like a predator who just found fresh meat. “What do you say, sweetheart?” He asks, the thick rubber of his boots squeaking against the tile as he takes a step too far into the boy’s personal space. “Think we can go the easy way back, or would you prefer to do things the hard way again?”

The beat of silence in the room is painful as they await his response, which comes eventually in a subdued voice, through slightly gritted teeth and with his eyes on the floor. “The easy way. Sir.”

A snort from Hernandez breaks the tension. “Yeah,” he says. “We’ll see about that.”

With that, he is escorted from the room and seems to take with him all the air in Sebastian's lungs. Naively, desperately, he hopes for the briefest moment of eye contact before he’s taken away from him. But his eyes stay downward, even as a large hand curls around his bicep and makes him stumble in his gait as he’s yanked forward. Sebastian watches helplessly as he disappears from sight, one singular thought slicing through his mind on a loop:

Who did this to you?

[godestof3worlds]

If u still take promos the how about voltron force with Daniel being Lance's son.

I do still take them and this one was a fun prompt to try. Hopefully this is what you wanted and I am sorry for taking a while to answer, it was a little difficult to try and make their relationship more Father and Son. Enjoy and give me another prompt if this is what you wanted or something totally different!

Lamina elbowed me in my side and though I swatted her away with a glare, I still gulped in fear of what the approaching steps could mean. I know we were not supposed to leave the castle but it wasn't our fault. What were we supposed to do? Just hope they wouldn't get killed? Without us, they might have lost and Arus could have been destroyed or taken under slavery again. Really, they should be thanking us, not about to lecture us about listening to orders. Will I say that? No, I'm not about to get killed by a Voltron Force member instead if an actual abd guy.

I feel Vince's worry glances but before I could comfort him, the Voltron Force comes storming in the hanger. I tighten my fist before I straighten my back and try to hide any tells that I was quivering in my boots.

"Daniel Lee McClain!"

I give up on pretending that I wasn't scared as I feel myself pale as my father shouts my full name. I feel eyes locked onto me but my main concern was the voice of my father.

I don't even have time to squeak out a timid 'Yes' before the red pilot grabs my arm and yanks me out of the room and away from worried eyes. The grip isn't too tight but it's not comfortable. We briskly walk to an empty room that he pulls me into before yanking his hand away from me and closing the door behind us before he turns back to me with crossed arms and pointed eyes. I fidget under his glare though I can see the fear and worry mixed in with the anger so I do understand where he is coming from but still. The glare could definitely be felt and it shouldn't be this hard after the last mission.

"What were you thinking?" He speaks lowly through gritted teeth.

I take a deep breath as I rub the back of my neck before quickly dropping it and look right to his eyes, "I was thinking that if I didn't do anything soon, my father and the rest of the Voltron Force might just die."

He takes a deep breath to calm himself, "Look Daniel, I know you want to help, I really do understand that, but you cannot risk your lives for some short time glory."

"At the time I entered the battlefield, I didn't care if I would get honored for almost dying, I was worried about you guys."

"That doesn't give you a right to disobey orders-"

"I can when you guys could get hurt of mortally injured-"

"And then what happens when you or one of the other cadets get hurt? That's on us."

"And if you get killed, I shouldn't feel bad that I stayed here like a coward as I lost another parent?"

"If you are safe, then yes."

I growl as I look up at my dad. I know we bicker all the time but I can't image a life where I can't see him or know that he's alive. I won't be able to live with the guilt that because of me I lost another parent and this time I could have done something about it.

"I would not have changed anything if we had a do over," I take a deep breath, "If I had to choose between a lecture from you and the rest of the Voltron Force or your death then I will gladly have you yell at me for hours on end because I know I did my job and kept you alive. If I can't keep a person I love and care alive then how can I protect the rest of the universe?"

Dad sighs as he looks at the ground. We stay silent before I hear him curse under his breath and walk toward me. He grabs me by the shoulder and pull me into a hug where if I wanted to get out I wouldn't be able to though I really don't want to let go. I strengthen my grip on his jacket as I feel my eyes sting as the roller coaster of emotions goes through it's final loop.

"You scared me out there, kid," I hear him speak through my hair, his voice muffled but I could hear the emotion transparent in his voice.

"Not as much as you scared me," and we stand there in the room just holding onto each other and reassuring ourselves that the only family left is still alive...

...And that's when Vince runs in, out of breath, and starts rapidly speaking as if his life depends on it, "Please don't kill Daniel. He wasn't the only one who went to help you guys and it was only to save your lives so we wouldn't have to take the mantel of Voltron so quickly. Really, we need Daniel alive because who would take over either the red lion or the black lion? He's useful and I know he led us to go against your orders but if you punish him you will have to punish all of us and let me tell you-"

"Vince, buddy, calm down and breathe," I extract myself from my father and attempt to calm Vince down, "He isn't going to kill me though he might punish all of us that might wish we weren't born to begin with."

And that's when more footsteps come racing toward our direction, Hunk barely squeaking in before the rest and he is already rambling, "We know how scared you were, I mean we all were, but don't kill your only son. He's vital and you won't be able to live with the guilt for long-"

This time Lance stops Hunk's rambling, "I'm not going to kill the kid, jeez. Why do all of you guys think that?"

By now the rest of the Voltron Force is in the room and all looked slightly worried though with each second ticked by their faces become more amused. Pidge speaks up, "You were telling us interesting ways you were going to wish he was never born."

I send a shocked look toward the red paladin but he only smirks, "He's needs to be alive for that."

And I silently groan as my shoulders slump because of just thinking about the future punishments made me wish I was never born. But that's fine, at least he was alive and nobody was severely injured-

"Starting with cleaning the whole castle."

"Dad!"

[peachbear88]

Island of Forbidden Love

Pairing: Attendant!Yelena Belova x Attendant!Reader

Warnings: Dark themes such as death, slavery and more, strangulation, etc.

A/N: Inspired by @roger-that-cap's beautiful Greek Mythology fic that you should all check out. Also, apologies it's not as good as I wanted it to be because it's kind of rushed and I suck at writing sad endings. :)

Summary: Wanda (Circe) runs a magical island full of beauty treatments, magic and more. Paradise. But what happens when her faithful attendants fall prey to a more ancient magic then she could ever hope of possessing?

-------------

"And that's you all done miss!" You chirp and the blonde girl in front of you flashes you a smile. Your cheery smile falters when your eyes meet hers. Beautiful, honest hazel eyes that sparkle in the sunlight of the cavern.

"Thank you," she replies graciously and you gulp, an unnatural feeling tickling your neck, like someone poured a bucket of ice water down the back of your flowy, satin dress.

"Y-Your welcome," you sputter, busying yourself with a mundane task in an attempt to hide the blush coating your cheeks.

Another attendant bursts into the room. Carol Danvers. She nods at you briefly, before pulling her mask back on, approaching the girl.

"Ms. Belova," Carol smiles, curtseying to the hazel-eyed beauty. "Our mistress awaits you." The girl nods before following Carol out of the room. 'Wanda has something special planned for her,' Carol mouths as she exits the room swiftly, the girl trailing behind her.

A feeling of dread washes over you and you abandon the moist towelette you were clutching, dashing after the two girls.

------------

You hitch your dress up, slipping through the shadows of the cave as you approach the mouth of the cave. Disappointment is clear on your face when you peer into the cavern to find it empty, no Carol, no mistress and certainly no mystery girl.

Your shoulders slump in defeat and you slink off back to your living quarters, unaware of the dark green eyes piercing your back.

"A nosy one she is. Keep on eye on her for me, will you?" A silky smooth voice purrs. Carol nods her head vigorously.

"Yes mistress."

-----------

"Everyone!" Your head snaps up, turning your attention to the doorway. "Meet your new co-worker!" Carol announces, moving to the side and flailing her arms dramatically to reveal none other then the mysterious, hazel eyed girl.

She rubs her arms nervously.

"H-Hi." She shrinks under the expectant gazes of your fellow attendants.

"Girl, you have to tell them your name," Carol snickers and the girl flushes bright red.

"R-Right. I'm Yelena." She waves. Everyone else grumbles, turning back to whatever they were doing and she slumps, clearly expecting some kind of welcome.

You wave back at her enthusiastically and you see her face light up before contorting into rage.

"You!" She tackles you and Carol lets out an exclamation of surprise. "Ты. Маленький. Сука!" She screams, each word accentuated with a forceful punch as Carol tugs her off of you. You lay on your bed, frozen in fear. (You. Little. Bitch.)

"Wha- What did I do?" Her facial muscles twitch.

"Plumped her up like a cow getting ready for slaughter I s'pose." Carol interjects dryly.

"Oh come on!" You exclaim. "You know if I had the choice, I wouldn't even be here!"

Yelena lets out a frustrated huff before storming over to her new bed. You sigh, tentatively making your way over to her, ignoring the insinuating glances sent your way by the other girls in the room. A strong arm gently tugs on your wrist and you look back.

"Let her be for now. You know how rough it is for the new ones to accept their fate." Carol coaxes you back to your bed and you sigh, running your hands through your hair.

-----------

"No! Let him go!" You cry, wrenching your arms out of Carol's steely grasp. Wanda tuts, running a finger along your brother's jawline. He hisses.

"Such a handsome young boy," she smiles sadly at him. "Shame he won't be around long enough to enjoy it the benefits of beauty." A wicked glint flashes through her eyes as she snaps her fingers, a rope of red mist surrounding his neck, constricting him.

His eyes bulge, the veins in his neck popping. You scream, as he chokes and sputters, the light in his eyes growing dimmer with every passing moment.

Wanda squeezes her hand into a fist and the mist seemingly tightens even more.

"I'll do what you want! Anything! Please just let him go!" She arches an eyebrow, tightening her fist even more. Your brother begins convulsing, toppling over from his seated position. "Anything!"

"You swear?" You gulp. She rushes over, gripping you by the neck violently, forcing you to stare into her dark, clouded eyes. "Swear it on Styx!"

"I swear, I swear!" You plead and the red mist disappears. You rush over, bending over the semi-unconscious form of your sibling. "Are you okay?" He nods weakly. You turn back to the sorceress. "Now give him safe passage out of here." She smiles patronizingly at you.

"My child. I never swore on Styx I would let him go. You pledged your loyalty to me. I never promised you anything." Your eyes widen as she tightens her fist once again.

Your brother floats off the ground, his eyes wide, hair splayed out.

"And now, his blood shall be on your hands, all because you couldn't use that pretty little head of your to think."

You fall to your knees, your eyes wide in horror as your brother stares down at you, a final plea in his eyes before his head falls back, limp.

"Get her out of here," Wanda snips and Carol shuffles forward dutifully, grabbing you and hauling you out of the dark cavern.

----------

A warm figure shuffles into your bed, clutching your waist. You turn groggily to find Yelena there, a frightened look in her eyes.

"I'm sorry it's just- I just-" She struggles to find the right words. "I haven't been able to sleep properly after today's..." Horrors? Nightmares? Brutal murder and manipulation? "Events." You smile sympathetically at the younger girl.

"It's alright." You pat the space next to you. "Come, come." She curls into the empty spot beside you, clutching your waist tightly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"'M sorry for blowing up at you," she mumbles quietly. "Wasn't your fault." You run your hands through her hair gently in hopes of soothing her.

"Shhhhhhh... Go to sleep." You whisper as her eyes droop slightly.

"'M sorry."

----------

The dynamic between you two changed after that. Lingering glances were exchanged, words of comfort whispered in the dead of night.

-----------

You run along the beach, relishing in the feeling of the sand against your bare feet.

"Вернись сюда идиот!" Yelena sprints after you. (Get back here idiot!)

You shriek in surprise as she tackles you, sending the two of you flying.

"Give me back my shoe!" She exclaims, shaking you playfully.

"Never!" You cry, rolling over so she's pinned under you. She arches a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at you.

"No? Then I guess you'll just have to deal with the consequences!" She yells triumphantly, her hands coming up and tickling your ribs. You drop, landing on top of her, laughing.

"Y-Yelena, please, stop!" You cry desperately, tears streaming down your face.

To your utter surprise, she stops. You open your eyes slowly to find Yelena staring at you.

"W-Why are you staring at me? Do I have something on my face?" You quickly wipe at your face, feeling slightly self conscious.

Instead of laughing, Yelena surges forward, wrapping her nimble fingers around your neck and pulling you down to meet her in the middle.

"Mmph!" Your cry is smothered by her lips. You melt into the kiss, letting her pull you even closer as she slips her tongue into your mouth.

Eventually, the two of you break away from each other, gasping for air. She smiles at you dopily.

"That was nice." You burst into laughter.

"Only nice? Hmph. See if I ever let you kiss me again," you pout and she frowns.

"Noooooo! I'm sorry!" You smile, pinching her cheeks. "So does this mean I get another kiss?"

-----------

Words of comfort turn to stolen kisses as the two of you sneak around, stealing moments, moments that feel like something from someone else's life.

------------

"Y/N." Your head shoots up to find Carol.

"Yes?"

"Mistress would like to see you." Her tone is cold, unforgiving, sending shivers down your spine.

You follow her wordlessly, fidgeting with a small obsidian ring on your middle finger. A gift from Yelena.

Carol knocks on the entrance of the cave.

"Come in," a sultry voice replies. You gulp, recognizing the voice of the person responsible for all your trauma, your enslavement, your pain. Carol, enters and you trail behind her meekly.

"Ah, I see Y/N has decided to join us." Wanda turns gracefully on her heel to face you, her red dress flowing.

"Yes mistress. What would you have me do?" You snap, not bothering to keep the venom from your voice. Wanda shakes her head disappointedly.

"Few years on this island hasn't taught you any manners yet I see," she comments coldly. "Maybe this will sober you up."

She steps aside to reveal Yelena, bloody, battered and bruised on the floor, barely breathing.

------------

Each breath is ragged and painful as you race over to Yelena.

"You wouldn't." She smirks.

"Oh sweetie, you don't know the half of what I would do."

You press a gentle kiss to her forehead before standing up, shielding Yelena with your body.

"I'm not going to let you harm anyone anymore." Yelena tugs weakly at the hem of your dress but you ignore her pleas for you to stand down, smiling down at her sadly.

"A sweet but foolish gesture." You draw your silver pairing knife, brandishing it at the witch in front of you. "Please, a knife?" She sighs dramatically. "You were one of my favorite attendants you know?" She paces the room, turning her back to you. "So hardworking and diligent." She raises her hands. "But it's time for you to die now!"

Snapping her fingers, she whirls around, a murderous glint in her eyes as the dark energy shoots towards you.

Time seems to slow as it hurtles towards you. You close your eyes, ready to embrace the arms of death, knowing that you stood by the love of your life in the last minutes on this traumatic island. You wait and wait but the mist never seems to hit you.

Your eyes flutter open just in time to see Yelena jumping up and the red magic catch her in the chest, making her crumple in your arms.

"Lena!" You cry, catching her before she hits the ground. A dribble of blood escapes her mouth as she coughs.

"It's okay. My only regret was not being able to spend more time with you. The Fates are so very cruel but do not fret. Maybe in another life we'll be able to truly live." She coughs violently, hocking up a bit more blood before wiping the tears streaming down your eyes. "I'll see you on the other side."

She flashes you one last smile before her once bright, lively eyes glaze over, her hand dropping from your face.

Waves of anguish wash over you as you watch the life fade from her body, bit by bit.

"Touching. Very touching. A useless sacrifice however. I'm afraid it's time for you to die." Wanda snaps her fingers. "Carol." Your friend shuffles forwards obediently. "Kill her."

You can only imagine the betrayal flashing through your eyes as your former friend approached you, silver knife in hand.

With nothing left to live for, you press one last kiss to your dead lover's forehead before embracing death with open arms, knowing that Yelena awaits you on the other side.

------------

Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @trikruismybitch @ima-gi--na-tion @nicole-rayleigh-hot @olsensnpm @peabrain112

[the-last-kenobi]

Since the request is still open: #3 for part 3, give us an ending to the Sith!AU?

All right! The end of the QuiObi trilogy. Thank you for this little series, you practically invented it. And thanks for being patient!

Part One • Part Two

From this various prompts list.

_

“Why didn’t you run when I told you to?”

Qui-Gon was dreaming hazily of long-ago-days and impossible futures, of a smiling red-haired boy holding out his hand to be helped to his feet after an exhilarating spar, of a man with that same red hair sitting beside him on a lakeside dock, his head resting on Qui-Gon’s shoulder.

He was woken abruptly by two gloved hands, one grabbing his arm in a bruising grip and the other clamping over his mouth before he could even open his eyes.

Qui-Gon gasped and jolted, eyes flying open, and in the semi-darkness he saw Obi-Wan leaning over him, his Sithly golden eyes gleaming unnaturally in the shadows.

“Shhhh,” Obi-Wan said, so very softly, his hand still tight over the Jedi’s lips.

Qui-Gon waited. He forced himself to keep still, waiting for whatever was coming next, doubting but also trusting.

“Shh,” Obi-Wan said again, and this time Qui-Gon gave a minute nod to show he understood.

Slowly the Sith removed his hand, only to haul the Jedi to his feet, his hands on his shoulders, keeping his eyes fixed on Qui-Gon’s. There was something strange in his eyes, something cold and urgent. Qui-Gon held his tongue as he was forcibly escorted to the door — the door he had not crossed the threshold of since he had first been brought here, nearly a year ago by his estimations.

As Darth Renovan pushed him harshly into the corridor, Qui-Gon began to struggle, but still held his silence.

Obi-Wan’s face split in a snarl. With a harsh gesture, he broke the force inhibiting cuffs around Qui-Gon’s wrists, the ones he had so rarely gone without all this time. The Sith raised a finger to his lips as if the Jedi’s hesitating feet were causing a thunderous noise and gestured sharply down the hallway to where a guard droid stood waiting, electric pike in hand. “Go,” Obi-Wan hissed, and his voice was so low as to be little more than thought.

“What?” Qui-Gon hissed back, much less quietly.

The hand gripping his shoulder tightened, and a burst of agony shot through his body like electricity, pinning him to the spot. When his vision returned, he blinked dazedly at his former apprentice, who glowered at him, face set. “Go,” he said again. “Run, Jedi, and don’t come back.”

“But why?” Qui-Gon breathed, suspicion coiling in his gut. He would not be used as a tool, would not be used to distract his fellow Jedi—

“Run, Qui-Gon, and if I see you again—” Obi-Wan said. He did not need to finish his sentence. The bloodless lips, the yellow eyes, the cheeks flushed with rage, the iron posture; these all spoke much more clearly than words might have done.

And, daring to hope that he might escape whatever plan was revolving around him, Qui-Gon turned and stalked up the hall towards the droid.

When he glanced back, the Sith had gone.

-

The droid guided him through winding passages, narrow halls, and cramped stairwells, leading ever downwards.

It took Qui-Gon eight minutes to realize he was being led through back ways — maintenance passages and unused corridors.

It took another three for him to realize that this unintuitive route was not to confuse him, but to make it harder for someone else to follow them.

Qui-Gon took a slow breath and waited. He measured his steps carefully, treading in the wake of the wary droid guard, and bided his time until they reached a fork in the halls.

Now.

Qui-Gon grabbed the droid by its head as it turned to look each way and threw it into a wall, pinning it there with the Force. Before it could cause a commotion, Qui-Gon dove in, delving into the Force in a way he had not been permitted for so long. His senses dissolved, taking in every detail of the droid’s mechanics, its inner workings. With the flick of his wrist he disabled its voice and removed its weapon, and with another he accessed its memory drive. He activated it on the droid’s holo projector, which was built into its palm.

A moment later he had what he needed.

“Darth Renovan,” said a hooded figure, looming ominously. “Prepare for my arrival.”

A long pause.

“You have disappointed me,” the Lord of the Sith added softly.

And that was all.

Qui-Gon froze, realizations washing over him, crashing like waves.

The Sith Master was coming. He was deeply unhappy with his Apprentice. And Obi-Wan’s reaction had been to send Qui-Gon away, away from him, forever.

Because the Sith Master would hurt Qui-Gon.

And why else if not because to do so would hurt Obi-Wan?

…Because Obi-Wan cared.

Qui-Gon ran back the way he had come.

-

Darth Renovan stood on the landing platform, gazing beyond the setting sun, watching the dark spot on the horizon grow larger and larger, nearer and nearer.

The amber light lay over him in shafts, setting fire to his neatly brushed hair and the embellishments in his sweeping black robes.

He knew he looked pristine.

He also knew he had only hours, at most, to live — hours spent in torture in agony.

Punishment for derailing the plan to enslave the Clones to his will.

Punishment for choosing sentient freedom over his Master’s will.

It was an exquisitely painful reminder of defying another Master, on Melida/Daan, saving other sentient beings from the tyranny of bloodthirsty others.

Obi-Wan would not define himself as a hero.

For so long he had cared only for his own power, for proving Qui-Gon Jinn wrong, for making himself into something beyond what the Jedi had ever believed he could be.

He had succeeded. He was wise beyond the years of Elders, with powers to rival the greatest Masters of the Order, clever and cunning and blindingly charming, able to bend people to his will by various means.

He was a villain. A corrupt politician, a predator, a mastermind, a servant to a Dark Lord.

He was going to die for the soul of compassion he had held on to beneath the surface.

For his disgust for slavery.

For his rage against being controlled.

For his love for the man he had held prisoner for months on end, at first for the triumph of seeing him laid low, and then for the pleasure of seeing him resigned…

…to keep him safe from the war, to keep him close, to make sure he still lived and breathed.

Obi-Wan would now die to ensure it.

He wanted to laugh at himself.

Brought low, once again, by his love for Qui-Gon Jinn, his need to please him, make him happy and safe and proud.

He truly had never grown beyond the rejected Padawan he had been all those years before.

Black gloved hands tightened slightly, and he folded his arms across his chest as the sleek ship descended to a smooth halt on the platform. Steam issued from the pipes, and with a soft hiss the door fell open, the ramp descended, and a black figure emerged like the hand of Death itself.

Darth Renovan, once Jedi Kenobi, lifted his chin and met the gaze of Sidious squarely.

Sidious began to laugh.

-

Obi-Wan was screaming.

A terrible, high-pitched, out-of-control sound that grated against Qui-Gon’s soul like fingernails on chalkboard.

If he had held any lingering doubts about Obi-Wan’s intentions in sending him away, they vanished now, as Qui-Gon raced towards the sound of the screaming.

As he drew nearer, he could discern the sound of electricity, and beneath that, the sound of jagged, cruel laughter.

Anger burned within him.

Obi-Wan continued to scream.

-

Obi-Wan had been taught many times to wish for death.

At this moment, all he could hope was that his death would be swift enough to save his mind and long enough to ensure that his Jedi escaped.

He was engulfed by blue lightning, real enough to make his throat tear with the force of his uncontrollable screams but not quite real enough to kill him as real lightning would in this amount.

Qui-Gon, he thought dimly. You bastard, you had better appreciate this.

And then fire exploded across his vision, and the pain ceased.

Obi-Wan curled on his side, twitching and shaking, blue light still cracking along his limbs, watching in disbelief as the platform between himself and Sidious exploded into flames, and first one, then two, then over a dozen of his own guard droids leapt from overhead, crossing the flames to descend upon the Sith Master.

A callused hand clamped over his lips, muffling his cry of shock and fear, and he was dragged backwards across the platform, away from the fire, into the shadows of the hangar bay. Obi-Wan struggled.

Hands took hold of him and hauled him to his feet, and when he could not stand, strong arms pulled him close and held him upright. Obi-Wan struggled weakly, his vision spinning nauseatingly.

The hand was still tight over his lips, and he cried out against them.

Someone sighed softly, and the hand shifted from his mouth to the side of his face, and his vision suddenly seemed to resolve itself.

Obi-Wan stared into the eyes of Qui-Gon Jinn.

His limbs betrayed him, still shaking with pain, and his vision flickered, giving the whole scene and even greater sense of unreality.

Obi-Wan’s lips parted.

“Why didn’t you run when I told you to, you fucking idiot?” he gasped.

Qui-Gon laughed and held him closer, glancing over his shoulder at the battle going on behind them.

“Run with me,” he said.

Obi-Wan stared. Golden eyes flickered dimly. “What?”

“Run with me,” Qui-Gon said again. “Run with me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, I’ll run forever if I have to, if it’s with you. Otherwise I’ll stay, like a stubborn idiot, and fight with you. Whatever you choose.”

Obi-Wan was a mess, his burnished hair and beard ruffled after torture and a kidnapping that had become a rescue, and he stared at his stupid Jedi with pure amazement.

And then he began to smile. “All right,” he said, and his trembling arms came up to wind around Qui-Gon’s neck, slipping underneath the hand the Jedi was still resting on the Sith’s pale face.

“All right?” Qui-Gon asked, sounding surprised. “You will? With me?”

“With you,” agreed Obi-Wan. “And no one else. It seems you’re destined to pull my life apart, Qui-Gon.”

“Well,” Qui-Gon pointed out very reasonably, “I wouldn’t have to do that if we would just stick together like we’re meant to.”

And so they ran.

[lonewolfel]

Theron Appreciation Week: Day 6

Prompt: AU(Imperial Agent Theron)

teen(brainwashing, hallucinations, slavery, child abuse/child torture, death)

Characters: Theron, Kaliyo, Watcher X

@theronshanweek-official

Cipher 9 stormed onto his ship with little regard for his companions. He could hear Watcher X in the back of his head scheming and planning, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He passed Kaliyo in the corridor.

“How was Dromund Kaas?” Kaliyo asked with boredom in her voice. Cipher payed no mind to her. He stormed passed her and heard her say. “That well huh.”

Cipher entered the refresher and locked the door behind him. He removed his mask and stared at his face for the first time in a long time. Since working with the SIS, Cipher had been scared that they will realize who he is and who he is related to. There were dark bags under his green eyes. His skin was paler than usual and his brown hair was sticking to his forehead due to sweat. Over all he looked sickly in a way he hasn’t really been since he got kicked from the Jedi Order. 

All Cipher could think was that no matter what you do, follow or disobey orders, the Empire will make you suffer. He remembered what it was like as a freshly captured slave. Cipher had thought that he had known pain having been trained as a Force blind Jedi, but he had been wrong. His stupidly stubborn and defiant 13 year old self hadn’t been prepared for the evilness and torture of the Sith. It felt like his master was taking him apart and putting him back together over and over again. The worst part was the cold almost gleeful sheen in her eyes as she “educated” him.

Was this what the Empire was really about?

After all Cipher had been ordered to allow the death of millions of Imperial, civilian, lives in the vain hope that the Sith will arrive to defeat Darth Jadus. Buy them time. That was what he had been told. True he didn’t follow orders, but he got the mission done with minimal casualties. That should have been enough to make the Empire happy, but it wasn’t. Now Cipher 9 was stripped of his free will and brainwashed to follow whoever had the code word no matter their intensions. All they were was bantha fodder for an Emperor who couldn’t care less about his subject. 

In the mirror Watcher X appeared behind Cipher 9. He didn’t turn around not wanting to deal with the illusion, hallucination, whatever the dead man was.

“You aren’t really an Imperial though.” Watcher X said. Theron’s grip on the sink tightened. He hadn’t even realized that he had been holding it. “I know who you really are. A slave beaten into submission only to turn against his master to free himself. A broken failure from the Jedi that not even his own mother wanted. How did you think this would end. You were never free, not really.” 

With a cry Cipher 9 punched the mirror. The broken shards couldn’t pierce his thick gloves though. Causing them to harmlessly fall into the sink. His chest heaved with broken breaths trying to stop himself from crying. He had thought that the tears had been beaten out of him. No doubt his crew would be concerned, but he didn’t care.

Watcher X was right. He would never be an Imperial no matter how hard he tried. Though he wasn’t a citizen of the Republic anymore. His accent vanished long ago. His memories of the Republic are distant and fuzzy little more than good dreams that a slave boy clung to in the face of beatings and pain. If the Republic knew who he was he would be executed as a traitor as soon as they got their hands on him. If the Empire knew he would be little more than blackmail to the Jedi Grand Master. 

Cipher finally allowed himself to look into the shattered mirror. His image was distorted by the cracks and missing pieces. It filled him with relief. The Republic stripped him of his dreams and family. The Empire stripped him of his identity and free will. He will get back his free will. Even if it meant taking down Imperial Intelligence and the SIS. After all the SIS is the one using it. Sure the brainwashing had been placed by the Empire, but it was dormant. 

Cipher 9 couldn’t care less about the Empire or Republic. They could both burn for all he cared. They are both corrupt governments that cared little about the people under them. Though those are bold words from a man that won’t leave the Empire. He is after all a broken slave, and slaves are ruled through fear.

“My name is Theron Shan son of the Jedi Grand Master Satele Shan, code names Cipher 9 and Legate.” Cipher said brokenly. Finally he allowed himself to cry. For the boy who wanted to be like his mother. For the teen that wanted his freedom. For the man that wanted to save as many lives as he could. And for the innocent people slaughtered in a pointless war over ideology. 

[koulakoukoula2003]

Kiss Me, Kill Me: Part 3 (Levi x OC)

Pairing: Levi x OC, Levi x Reader, Levi x Y/n, Levi x You

Summary: Eleanor has been sold to many households in the Underground as a servant and housemaid. She had had many masters to serve, always a victim of human trafficking in the dark underworld of the Underground.

But what happens when Levi lays his eyes on her, and immediately decides to save her from her cruel fate?

Trigger Warnings: Mention of Human Trafficking, Slavery, Eventual Smut, Violence, Gore, almost A/B/o dynamics but I do not mention them, Submissive OC, Dom/Possessive/Overprotective Levi.

I haven't proofread it, sorry

A/N: It takes place in the Underground, before no-regrets so Levi is a thug, Furlan hasn't yet joined him. This fic is also published on ao3

Part 1 > Part 2 > Part 3 > Part 4 > Part 5 > Part 6 > Part 7

The next few days passed on a similar note. Levi would leave in the mornings. She would wake up on an empty bed and she would start her routine. She wasn’t particularly safe when he was missing, but she knew she had to get used to him missing. He couldn’t stay home all day. He had things to do. Jobs to chase. And he did. And she stayed back and did anything she could to prove herself useful. Who knows what he’d do to her if she wasn’t somehow helping around? She washed the sheets. She scrubbed the floors till they were squeaking. He had brought her new clothes as well. Three long, ankle-length, white skirts and white long-sleeved shirts. They covered her skin perfectly all the way down her feet. She preferred it that way admittedly.

She kept her hair back with a white cloth. A bang of black hair escaped the white fabric and fell on her face, but she’d push it behind her ear every so often, and it wasn’t a massive trouble to her chores.

The soup was ready when the door opened and she jumped in response. Her heart leaped from the fear of someone else breaking in, but she immediately turned around, and she let a sigh of relief when she realised it was Levi. Her shoulders relaxed and she allowed herself to rest back against the kitchen counter. But he wasn’t alone. There was another man with him. A tall, dirty-blonde with a kind smile on his lips.

“Eleanor, this is Furlan,” Levi said as she approached the two men and she smiled kindly on the other man. “He’ll be staying with us from this day forth,”

“You didn’t tell me you were dating someone, Levi,” Furlan said before he took her hand in his own and he pressed a gentle kiss at the back of her palm. A small giggle escaped her and a bright blush spread across her cheeks. “It’s nice to meet you, Eleanor,”

“L- Likewise, sir,”

Furlan chuckled. Hazel eyes met her own as he smiled softly and finally let go of her hand. “Just Furlan,”

“Oi, let’s carry that bed in before anybody steals it,” Levi reminded him and Furlan nodded.

“Right,” Furlan set off and exited the building.

She thought Levi was supposed to join him, so she turned around to finish the soup that she was cooking, but Levi grabbed her hand, and forcibly yanked her so that she was facing him. His grip was painfully tight around her wrist. It almost awakened the pain of her scars from chains and ropes that she had acquired all those years of slavery. She winced and tried to pull her hand back but his grip only tightened around her wrist. His other arm slipped around her thin waist and he pressed her body flush against his own. Her eyes widened and her breathing got erratic.

She panicked. What was it that she had done wrong to trigger that side of him? The side that she had tried so hard to evade, being obedient and helpful in every way she could think of. His hand found her long black hair. Rough fingers messed within the silky straight locks and his hand let go of her wrist, recognising the look of discomfort in her eyes. He wasn’t intending to hurt her, but nothing instilled discipline like pain. His hand found her cheek. He ran his rough thumb against her tender skin and he looked at her wide eyes. So helpless.

“Just because you were about to be sold and be a whore in a brothel, doesn’t mean you are one,” Levi growled. His arm tightened around her waist. Painfully so. He was going to split her body in two if he wanted to. “You’re mine, Eleanor. Mine, and no one else is allowed to touch you. You’re not allowed to giggle and blush at anybody’s comments but mine, is that understood?” He had that look in his eyes. The one that made her body shiver all the way down her spine.

She didn’t know what to say. What to think, what to do. Furlan had just assumed those two were dating, and Levi hadn’t even tried to deny it. Maybe she indeed belonged to Levi. He hadn’t bought her, but in his mind, he had. He bought her and paid with his boss’s life and his bodyguards’. He had indeed bought her. She was a slave to him. Nothing had changed. Levi was no different than all her other previous owners. But it shouldn’t surprise her. It was incredibly foolish of her to think that this man was different than all the rest of them.

“Y- Yes, s- sir,”

“You belong to me. Say it,” Levi ordered.

The tip of his nose brushed against her own as she looked up at his face. The sharp, delicate features that looked perfect beneath the torchlight. Silver, dangerous eyes that should scare her and make her feel threatened, she couldn’t help but spot a small tinge of adoration in them as he stared down at her. His arms, suffocating around her, yet his thumb on her cheek, gentle. His hot, minty breath fanned over her face. His arms, warm around her.

“I belong to you,”

He leaned close. His lips found her cheek, her chin, and stopped right on top of her own. She didn’t know why she was she even breathing hard for. Was it still fear? It just felt so safe, right there, with him holding her. His eyes could have devoured her lips with just one look.

“You’re mine,” He insisted.

“I’m yours,” It came out in barely a whisper. Her lips, brushed against his own as she spoke. She thought he was going to kiss her. She thought that when this man would kiss her, it was going to be against her will. But he didn’t kiss her, and part of her felt like begging him to.

“Good girl,” He said and he let go of her.

He exited the building and helped Furlan carry his bed right in without so much of an effort. His face, stoic and emotionless like it had always been, as if none of that had just happened. As if he hadn’t made her accept the fact that he was her owner and she was just another product that he had bought with the lives of other people.

They helped Furlan settle in. He didn’t have more than a few changes of clothes. His mother had just died and he didn’t want to stay in that small apartment that his mother owned. He came here instead, to live with his friend. Eleanor served them their soup that she had made, and Furlan praised her for her cooking skills. She just smiled at him quietly and averted his gaze right away. She thanked him silently and gathered the dishes and took them straight away for washing. The place was so clean. The floor practically squeaked beneath their feet, and Levi never thought somebody down here could be as thorough at cleaning as he was.

But then it was she, and he didn’t yet know what he wanted her to be to him. He just knew he had felt an attraction the second he laid eyes on her. He just knew she was special, but it was a feeling that he couldn’t quite recognise. She brought out a side of him that he was unfamiliar with. All he wished to do was protect her and make sure she knew she was his. Make sure that everybody knew that. He couldn’t even imagine the sight of another man, laying his disgusting fingers on her precious body.

Eleanor was important, somehow, for a reason that he could not explain.

But when the time came for bed, he was respectful of her space as he had always been. He kept his back on her as she unclothed and put on a gown that she would wear for the nights. And she turned her back on him whilst he unclothed and slipped into much comfortable clothes. Eleanor lied down on her side of the bed and Levi soon joined, both beneath the same blanket, but as far away from each other as possible. He was quiet. He said nothing more. She said nothing else as well. What could she say? This was her life now. At least, until someone came and killed Levi and claimed her as their own.

Eleanor closed her eyes and she buried her face in her pillow. That was life in the Underground. At least, for a woman. But for now, she was safe. She was sleeping on a bed. She had food. She had protection. A roof above her head. It was more than any woman could ask from this place. And he wasn’t assaulting her, in any way. So, maybe Levi was different. Maybe she should hope for something better. Maybe he was something better.

She snapped out of her sleepy haze when she heard him mumble something. It wasn’t the first time she was awaken in the middle of a night from his mumbling and tossing and turning. Levi had been having nightmares. Honestly, lately he had been thinking of not sleeping at all. And usually, she wouldn’t be able to make out his words, but she could barely hear the word mom into the commotion of undecipherable words. And her eyes widened, because his past was a subject that he never spoke about and neither was he ever going to tell her.

Or at least she thought.

But she couldn’t tell why, she hated watching him like this. He buried his face in his pillow. His eyes, shut tight, his breathing erratic, but he relaxed for a moment. She didn’t know what to do. The previous nights she would just ignore him and go back to sleep, but this time, she couldn’t bring herself to do that. She couldn’t understand what was different this time.

“You didn’t tell me you were dating someone, Levi,”

Was this really the case?

“You belong to me… you’re mine,”

What could that really mean?

Those words could have a million different meanings. But what did he really mean? Was she a product to him? One that he dressed and fed and housed and used? But he did not use her so far. Not in the only way that men would use women in the Underground. He hadn’t even kissed her. He had only made her pledge her loyalty to him. What was the next step? Killing her was no longer an option, was it? He had lost his mother. She could tell as much. He had probably never met his father. She could tell. Why take her in and save her and keep her, an extra mouth to feed? Why?

Eleanor couldn’t seem to come up with answer to any of that. But she shifted closer to him. She did not question her actions. What was he going to do to her? Beat her? Scold her? Rape her? He had already proven he wasn’t capable of doing the last one. Sleeping on the same bed with a woman and not touching her one bit? He really was different. And whatever else that he could possibly do, it would be nothing that she hadn’t already handled.

So, she found it safe to move closer. She cupped his face and ran her fingers across his cheek. He leaned on her hand right away, seemingly still in his sleep. A touch-starved man wasn’t going to beat her for offering to help. Right? She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her fingers found his silky black hair and she buried her face in his neck. Her arms slipped away from his hair and found his chest, merely resting there. His scent reached her senses. Always clean. A smile spread on her lips. The realest she had ever had.

It didn’t take too long when he noticed a nose tickling his neck, and a warm breath brushing down his shirt. Warm palms pressing down on his chest. Levi looked down at the woman who had surprisingly shifted closer to him, holding onto him. He let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t know why he was relieved. He just wrapped his arms around her and brought her close. It felt good having someone to hold onto. He felt relief.

It almost felt like if he closed his eyes now, he wasn’t going to have any nightmares. Levi buried his face in her hair and he breathed her in. He shut his eyes and his arms tightened around her slightly as if she was going to leave any moment now. Maybe this was all a small misunderstanding. Maybe she had only shifted closer to him, in her sleep, because she was dreaming of someone else.

He couldn’t know, and he was terrified to find out. He ignored that final, most-possible thought. He pressed a kiss down on her hair as he brushed them away from her forehead with a tender motion of his hand.

My girl. My good girl.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Lemme know what you think!

[blkmxrvel]

Haven’t Forgotten My Way Home (26) - [CONVERTED]

Pairing: Kara Zor-El x Female!Reader

Summary: In the D/s society of National City, men and women abandoned by their Dom/mes or otherwise deemed unfit for life “outside” end up at the Mount Overland House for Orphaned Submissives. It is here that Kara Zor-El finds Y/N Hastings, broken and fearful from mistreatment at the hands of her former Dom. Can Kara coax Y/N back into the world that once so terrified her, and show her the true meaning of care and submission?

Warnings: Domestic Violence (Flashbacks, Mentions and Descriptions), Misogyny, Domination/Submission.

They filed into the courtroom one by one, a nervous band of shaking hands and uncertain faces. Kara wanted, once again, to sit with Y/N, but she had to satisfy herself with a kiss, and tucking a loose strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear, before Lena ushered Kara off to sit in their previous seats.

It had been hell, sitting through Y/N’s testimony, especially knowing that Schott probably was turning a deaf ear to everything the young woman was saying. Kara didn’t know how that was exactly possible; there was nothing in what Y/N told that should lead anyone to believe she’d had a happy life with James Olsen. Kara had wanted to run up to the table and take Y/N in her arms, telling her that everything would be okay. And she wanted to punch Iris West.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Kara muttered to her.

Lena slipped an arm around Kara and squeezed her close. “Breathe, little one,” she whispered, and Kara didn’t object to the term of endearment. “You need to be strong for her, because if you’re not, who else is going to be?”

“I have to think about myself too, you know,” Kara said with a sigh. The talk she’d have to have with her bosses was looming ever-present in her mind, even as she tried to shove it away and concentrate on Y/N.

Not like my Miss Kara.

They were words that simultaneously thrilled her, and damned her. Kara knew that morally and legally she hadn’t done anything wrong; her bosses couldn’t keep her away from Y/N. But ethically… ethically she’d broken every rule in the book. Don’t get involved with a client. Don’t give a client preferential treatment. Don’t fall in love with a client.

Alex’s knowing face had told Kara that she knew what was in store for her, and Kara couldn’t help but absurdly wonder if she’d called her bosses to be there. There wasn’t any reason for them to be there, they usually never expressed interest in court cases involving clients.

“She wouldn’t do that,” Lena said when Kara voiced her fears. “I think Alex learned her lesson about not being upfront with you.”

“And I’m not telling you to not care for yourself,” Lena added. “You ought to know me better than that. Your first priority is to yourself. But don’t get so lost in it that you forget Y/N, too.”

“And you know me bet—“ Kara trailed off as the door opened and she and the others stood up as Judge Schott entered.

“Be seated,” he said. “Mr. Olsen, remain standing, please.”

His smile to James filled Kara with dread as she sat down and Lena took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Kara looked at Y/N, who sat there stone-faced, as if she knew what was to come, and was steeling herself for the inevitability.

“I’m going to get right to the point,” Judge Schott said smoothly. “Mr. Olsen, I find you not guilty of the charge of neglect.”

Kara growled low in her throat and Lena’s hand tightened around hers.

“I find that you provided Y/N with food, shelter, and the discipline that should be given to a submissive. Since you did not have a contract outlining rules and the consequences for breaking those rules, as well as the establishment of a safe word, it is the judgment of this court that you cannot be held responsible for going beyond acceptable punishment.”

Iris West-Allen looked startled at Judge Schott’s words, a fact that gave Kara no small amount of satisfaction. The man’s own lawyer hadn’t even believed in him. Alex glanced over at Kara, a combined expression of regret and triumph on her face. Kara knew she’d want to start phase two of bringing down Schott as soon as possible, but Kara felt tired, so impossibly tired.

And she only had eyes for Y/N.

“While the court finds you not guilty of the charges of neglect, the court does find that you did not obtain a contract, including the use of a safe word, at the beginning of your relationship with Y/N, as is required by law.”

“Slap on the wrist,” Kara muttered, and Lena shushed her.

“The court therefore sentences you to one month of probation as well as one month of Dominant education classes. Before you enter a claim with another submissive you will be required to submit proof that you attended these classes, is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” James Olsen replied; Kara found it curious that instead of looking relieved, Olsen seemed more… sad than anything.

Good, Kara thought. Maybe his conscience was finally catching up to him.

“Do you have any questions?” the judge was asking Y/N, though by his tone it was obvious any question she could ask would be considered stupid, and a waste of time.

“Do I- do I have to go back with him?” Y/N asked softly.

Kara nearly retched; it was only Lena’s hand still gripping hers that kept her from doing so. She hadn’t even entertained that possibility. Y/N had left James; there had been no thought in Kara’s mind about her having to return to him, or even still being bound to him. But Judge Schott had insisted on calling her Hastings-Olsen…

Oh god. What if—

“Do you want to be with him?”

This time, Y/N’s voice was strong, solid.

“Not if he were the last Dominant on earth.”

Kara smirked; next to her, Lena chuckled.

“You’ve taught her well.”

Kara shook her head. “That’s all Y/N,” she said proudly. “I’ve had nothing to do with that.”

“I think you have, more than you know.”

Maybe, she thought to herself, but the judge was speaking again.

“If you don’t want to be with him—“

“But I want to be with her,” James interrupted. He leaned forward, his hands splayed open on the table.

For a moment, Kara realized, the roles had changed. James was the one reaching out in supplication, and this time Y/N had the upper hand. This time, it was Y/N who had the power over James Olsen.

“I love you, and I’m sorry,” he insisted. “Things will be different, you’ll see. I know how to do things better now, you have to come home.”

There was a pause that seemed, to Kara, to go on forever before Y/N answered.

“I will go home, but not with you.” She looked at the judge. “I don’t want to be with him.”

A second pause; Kara and everyone else jumped at the sound of the gavel. When had that appeared?

“The claim is dissolved, and court is adjourned.”

The room emptied out quickly; Lena had gone off to console Sam, who seemed to be muttering swear words under her breath while glaring at the door through which Schott had made his hasty exit. Lucy’s job was done so she felt no need to linger around after a simple touch on Y/N’s shoulder and an apologetic smile. Alex allowed Maggie to wrap her arms around her, and the two women stopped in front of Kara.

“We’ll talk later?” Alex asked quietly.

Kara nodded, her gaze focused on the girl sat at the table in the front of the room.

“We’ll talk later.”

“I’ll call you.”

“You’ll call me. Alex?" She stopped and turned back.

Kara smiled. “Love you.”

She winked. “Love you too.”

Kara turned back around, watching her in the silence of the almost empty room. Watched as Y/N took a breath in, out, fingers flexing against the laminate wood of the table. What thoughts were warring with themselves in her mind? Kara wondered. She wondered if it was the same thought that kept running through Kara’s own mind.

Y/N was free.

Free. To enjoy personal rights or liberty, as a person who is not in slavery. Pertaining to or reserved for those who enjoy personal liberty.

To make free; set at liberty; release from bondage or imprisonment.

Schott may not have given them what they really wanted – James in prison, but he’d given Y/N exactly what she needed, had needed ever since she was a sixteen year old, terrified submissive.

A voice. A decision. A choice.

The claim is dissolved.

Kara sat in her chair and watched Y/N. In, out, hands flat on the table. Lips parted, eyes ahead.

“It’s not my fault.”

The battle was raging. Kara nodded.

“It’s not.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I-I’m free.”

Kara stood up and moved to the front of the room, to the table, positioning herself on it in front of Y/N.

“You’re free.”

Y/N looked at her, then wrapped her arms around Kara’s waist and rested her head on Kara’s lap.

“I can do whatever I want.”

Kara stroked her fingers through Y/N’s hair. It was always so soft, she thought.

“You can do whatever you want.”

Y/N let out a shuddering sigh, and Kara hunched forward slightly, covering Y/N as best she could in a hug and kissing the top of her head. She sat back up, her hand in the girl’s hair.

“What do you think you want?” Kara asked.

Y/N was quiet, and Kara felt a little worried about what Y/N’s answer might be. Perhaps she’d say she wanted time. Her own apartment. Which would be nice, really, Kara knew that Y/N was probably ready to leave Nia’s, leave Mt. Overland House behind. It would be absurd to think that Y/N would want to move in with Kara; it was absurd to think that that would even be a good idea at this point.

But what if she said she wanted to see other people? Maybe she wanted to try to submit to someone else, someone who wasn’t Kara. Maybe she didn’t want to submit at all.

But it would be her choice, Kara knew. Her choice, and she’d stand by whatever Y/N decided. Because she was free.

“A cheeseburger.”

Kara tilted her head. “What?”

“A cheeseburger, Miss Kara,” Y/N said, lifting her own head and smiling at Kara a little, her eyes sparkling with tears. Happy tears. “I’m starving.”

“Then you should get a cheeseburger,” Kara said with a laugh, her fears a little relieved. “You certainly deserve one.”

“Why didn’t he believe me?” Y/N asked, and Kara knew the opposing side of the battle was making its move.

“I told the truth…”

“I know,” Kara soothed, pulling Y/N up from her lap and cupping her cheek. “I am so proud of you. But we knew how this was most likely to turn out, Y/N. Judge Schott clearly had his mind made up before you even spoke.”

“I just thought if he heard me, if he listened—“

“He didn’t want to listen, little one.” Kara leaned forward and gently kissed Y/N’s lips. “But that doesn’t mean that you weren’t right, that this was your fault. None of this is your fault, and you know that now.”

Y/N stared at her for a long moment, and Kara was glad to see a new resolve appear in her eyes, and Kara was pretty sure she knew which side had won the battle.

“I know it wasn’t my fault.”

Kara smiled and kissed Y/N’s forehead. “Let’s go get that cheeseburger, shall we?” She had her own resolve, to put the impending meeting with her bosses out of her mind, at least for now.

He was waiting for her as Kara walked out holding Y/N’s hand. The surprise in his eyes told Kara that James hadn’t expected her to be there as well; had he expected to ambush Y/N in an empty hallway? Y/N’s hand tightened in hers.

“What do you want?”

“To talk to you.” He flicked his gaze to Kara. “Alone.”

Kara opened her mouth, but Y/N beat her to it. “That’s not happening.” She couldn’t help but smirk.

“We need to talk. I want to talk to you now.”

His hand was around Y/N’s arm, and Kara sprang into action, pulling Y/N behind her and positioning herself in front of James.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her eyes never leaving James’s face.

“I’m fine, Miss Kara.”

“Good.” She addressed James. “You’re going to leave her alone.”

“Says who?” he snorted.

“Says me.”

Kara smiled at Y/N’s words, and nodded. “You’re going to leave her alone. Your claim is dissolved. You had a good thing and you cruelly, brutally mistreated one of the most beautiful things you could have ever been given.”

“I didn’t know what I—“

“You’re right. You didn’t know, and you still don’t. You don’t know that women are no longer required to accept mediocrity when they deserve superiority.” He looked confused, but Kara didn’t bother to stop to explain.

“You are the poorest excuse for a dominant I have ever had the displeasure of meeting, and I am so sorry that Y/N ever had to suffer under your stupidity. But I’m also glad.”

Kara reached behind her and grasped Y/N’s hand again, pulling the girl forward so that they were standing close.

“I’m glad because now she knows what she should have had, and what she still can have. So no, you’re not going to talk to her, and no, she’s not going back to you, and yes, you’re going to leave her alone.”

She stepped so that she was so close to James she could feel his breath on her; it didn’t matter that he could easily crush her. Protecting Y/N made her feel ten feet tall.

“Because if you don’t, I will make your life a living hell, James Olsen.”

For the rest of her life Kara would consider it a personal triumph when James Olsen walked away with a glare, and Y/N threw back her head, laughing, as she picked Kara up and spun her around in a hug.

Two days later, triumph was the last thing on her mind when Kara was sat in the boardroom at SETS, facing down Bamford and Truelove. It was awkward, Kara thought, knowing that she would have to justify her actions to someone named Truelove. She would have thought he’d understand, but his stony expression as they both stared at her told her that she wouldn’t be that lucky. Of course.

“Are you Miss Hastings’s mistress?”

Apparently there weren’t even going to be forced, meaningless pleasantries; just jumping straight to the point. “No,” Kara answered.

“But she refers to you as Miss Kara.”

“That’s what you heard,” Kara said wearily. “And that’s why we’re here.”

“Kara.” Mr. Bamford folded his hands together and leaned forward against the table, regarding her with something that was between father and executioner. “We’re here because based on Miss Hastings’s comments during the hearing, it’s clear that you overstepped your boundaries as an employee of the Society for the Ethical Treatment of Submissives.”

“I didn’t intend to,” Kara insisted, though she knew in the end it wouldn’t matter.

“Is she submitting to you?” Truelove asked, and Kara sighed inwardly.

It was well-known, Alex had told her when she’d started at SETS, that Truelove’s aim was to become Bamford’s right hand man, and it didn’t matter who he railroaded to get to that point.

“Yes.”

“Are you making a claim on her?”

Kara glanced out the window. “I don’t know.”

“So you picked a patient at Mt. Overland House, ingratiated yourself into her life without regard to her recovery or treatment, and coerced her into submitting to you, but you don’t know if you’re making a claim on her?”

Kara slapped her hands on the table and stood up, beginning to pace around the room.

“From day one my only thought has been for Y/N’s well-being,” she said. “I didn’t pick her as if she was at a trade auction, I did not pick her as if she were a target for some… nefarious plan of domination. Things just… happened.”

“And they’re not supposed to,” Bamford said, a measure of kindness in his voice. “Sit down, Kara.”

She sat, still on edge, her foot tapping nervously.

“You’ve been trained,” Bamford said. “You’ve been trained, and you’re an excellent worker. You truly do have your clients’ best interests at heart, but I don’t think you can deny that you skirted your responsibilities to pursue a relationship with Miss Hastings.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Kara said, and narrowed her eyes when Truelove laughed out loud.

“Stop it,” Bamford admonished him, and Kara refrained from sticking her tongue out. Bamford regarded her and shook his head.

“Legally, you didn’t. Morally, you didn’t. You can’t help who you fall in love with, Kara. The heart wants what it wants.”

Kara managed a smile as his words sank in. The heart wants what it wants.

“But we cannot have an employee who is in love with a client.”

“She’s not a client anymore, the claim has been dissolved and she’ll be leaving Nia’s house on the Mt. Overland grounds.”

“To move in with you?” Truelove asked; Kara didn’t answer.

“That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that all of this happened while she was still a client. Didn’t you at any time think that perhaps you shouldn’t be dominating her?”

Kara shook her head. “We all know why I’m here, and we all know what you’ve already decided, so why don’t you save me some precious time and just tell me.”

Bamford sighed and looked at her. “We will give you two weeks to submit your resignation. If we don’t have the paperwork in hand when two weeks are up, you’ll be terminated.”

“So quit or be fired,” Kara translated, her hands beginning to tremble. She hadn’t actually thought it would be that bad. “Can I not just be transferred to another department?”

“So you can case for your next claim?”

“Truelove, go make yourself useful,” Bamford said. “Get me a coffee.”

He waited until his coworker had left with a huff, and then shook his head at Kara. “If he wasn’t my nephew,” he sighed, and Kara giggled a little.

“We can’t transfer you to another department,” Bamford said, sounding regretful. “Kara, I would if I could but you’ve compromised the good work we’re trying to do here. Who is going to take submissives’ rights seriously if counselors, advocates, workers start falling in love with them and getting into relationships? You’re a liability.”

He laid his hand on Kara’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

Kara stood up and moved towards the door, then paused to glance back at her boss. “You’ll have my resignation in a couple of days.”

“I’ll probably look for another job in a few days,” Kara said to her fathers, later as she was curled up on their couch in a pair of her old pajamas and indulging in a pint of ice cream.

Her fathers exchanged a look. “What about New York?” Randy asked carefully.

“What about it?”

“Kara,” David admonished softly.

“Now you can go to New York.”

“I don’t want to go to New York.”

“That’s crap, young lady, and you know it.”

Kara winced, and Randy wrapped his arm around her, kissing the top of her head.

“It’s my fault you’re still here.”

“Dad—“

“Hush while your elders are speaking, Kara Zor-El.” Kara rolled her eyes but fell silent. “It’s my fault that you’re still here. I should never have let you use my illness as an excuse not to chase your dreams. But you’re still young, you still have plenty of time, and now you have the opportunity. You’d be a fool not to take it.”

“Then I’m a fool,” Kara muttered, concentrating on the ice cream.

“What are you so afraid of, Sophie?” David asked, and she shrugged. “I know Y/N would want to go with you.”

“Y/N needs to make her own decisions about that.”

“You’re right, but is it her decision if you don’t even give her the opportunity to make it?”

“Do you love her?”

Kara just looked at him. She had thought it was obvious, but putting it into words, that was a whole different matter.

“Do you want to make a claim on her?”

“I don’t know, Daddy.”

Wasn’t this what she wanted? Kara thought. Everything seemed to be falling perfectly into place. Y/N was free to make up her own mind, and Kara was reasonably certain if she offered Y/N a collar, Y/N would accept it. Though it wouldn’t be a collar she’d offer, Kara knew. Maybe a necklace. A delicate chain with a dainty lock. Silver, and a gold star on. Or perhaps just a simple ribbon with a charm…  Maybe white. Green? And what would the ceremony be like? Would they even have a ceremony? Well, of course they would. They’d have the chance to stand there in front of everyone – well, Kara would stand, Y/N would kneel. And Kara would make her claim, pledging her love for always. Y/N would answer that she would be Kara’s girl, Kara’s little one, as long as they live. What would she wear, Kara wondered. But it wouldn’t matter to her; Y/N could wear anything and she’d still be the prettiest girl Kara had ever met.

She was smiling, and the look her fathers were giving each other now told Kara that yes, she really was obvious. Kara sighed.

It was what she wanted, more than anything. But an offer was just that, an offer. And as “reasonably certain” as she was about Y/N’s answer, an offer could be turned down. A heart open with love could be broken. And though she called Y/N hers, though Y/N was her little one, it was in words only. There was no contract, no signatures, no rules or safe words on paper. At least not officially. Ultimately the decision would be Y/N’s, and Kara knew that a decision wasn’t always “yes.”

And New York… New York could mean too many things that were too uncertain. New York could mean success and happiness, or New York could mean endless auditions, one rejection after another, a career working as a waitress instead of on Broadway. A high-rise apartment in a great part of town, or a dumpy studio with bars on the window. And if she couldn’t provide for Y/N, what would she do then? Y/N deserved better than having to support Kara because she couldn’t be successful. She wanted more than anything to believe that New York would be the beginning of a magical new life for herself and Y/N, but Y/N had already had her hopes and dreams shattered once before; Kara didn’t know that she was willing to risk doing that to her again.

“You should at least talk to her,” her daddy said. “It’s not fair to Y/N for you to just shut her out of this decision. Of course it’s yours to go to New York or not, but to not ask Y/N for her input… It would seem to me that you’d be telling her all her hard work after James was for nothing.”

That wasn’t what Kara wanted to do, at all. Y/N had worked so hard, she was so strong now, probably the strongest person Kara knew. And the last thing she wanted to do was send a message to Y/N that Kara, who had believed in her more than anyone, thought she was too weak to share in Kara’s concerns, Kara’s dreams, Kara’s life.

But Kara could handle being fired. She could handle living in Lima for the rest of her life. What she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle, was a rejection from Y/N.

“The sky’s the limit, Kara,” her dad said quietly, squeezing her close. “The sky’s the limit, and Y/N can share that with you.”

She started to answer, but the vibrating of her cell phone distracted her. Kara glanced at it; Y/N’s smiling face stared up at her as it had for the past ten times she had called since Kara had left the SETS building.

Kara picked up her phone.

“Hi, little one. I think we should talk.”

[jettingtothemoon]

Save You; chapter 9

➳ pairing: hector x witch|reader x alucard ➳ genre: fantasy, angst, fluff ➳ warnings: violence, swearing, smut, mentions of rape, past slavery, spoilers for seasons 1 thorough 3. ➳ word count: 2099 ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ summary: In which y/n and Hector continue to flee from the council of sisters, finding refuge among an unlikely acquaintance with fresh scars and a cold personality. ➳ Part two of, ’Rescue You’.  ➳ tags: @afierayeehaww​

Chapters: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09,

Three

The rest of the day felt like years, hours dragging on. Surprisingly, although the three of you- particularly Hector -were a little more awkward than usual, none of you brought up what you spoke of again. It was business as usual. Well, almost.

There was a feeling in your stomach, an excitement, a fear, a feeling you were sure the others were also experiencing. Butterflies that just wouldn't go away. Worry that this might end badly. Would Adrian really be okay? Would this only make things weird between the three of you? That was what you were worried about.

Of course, however, nighttime soon arrived.

You and Hector had headed up before Adrian, allowing him a moment to himself, after tucking Alexander into bed, in order to decide whether he would be joining you or not. You dressed for bed, in your nightgowns as you waited for him, wondering if he really was going to come.

When the door quietly opened and his almost hesitant footsteps walked in, closing the door just as quietly after, you both sat up.

Adrian met your eyes, smiling softly as he took in a deep breath and walked over to accompany you on the bed. He crawled up from the end, sitting on his knees in front of the two of you. Hector reached out for his hand, squeezing it reassuringly in his own whilst you placed a gentle hand against his cheek.

"Are you sure about this?"

He only smiled and brought up his hand to cup your own, fingers delicately wrapping around it as he turned his head to press his soft lips against it.

"I am."

When his lips left your hand, his attention turned to Hector. He reached out, running his fingers through Hector's hair. He just closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. Your hand was soon on Adrian's cheek again, turning his face towards you so that you could kiss him, pulling him closer to the two of you.

For a while, it was just like this. Gentle touches and tender kisses shared between the three of you. The pace was slow, comfortable. But, as the minutes passed, you all began to grow more eager to move on.

It was Hector who first pulled at Adrian's nightgown, helping him remove it whilst you took off your own.

When Adrian said that he had scars all over his body, you hadn't imagined this. They were everywhere. A dark red burnt into his skin, a permanent mark of all the horrors he had been through. You ran your hand over them, starting with the one from his father. He looked away, as if ashamed of them. You took his hand again as the three of you moved, allowing Adrian to lie down against the bed. He sucked in a breath when your lips delicately began to kiss the scars along his arm, slowly working your way up to his shoulder.

"You're so beautiful." You whispered into his ear before kissing him again.

Hector then took over, his hand taking Adrian's most vulnerable organ in his hand. Adrian hissed, eyes closing as Hector began to stroke him whilst kissing along his torso, working his way down to his stomach.

His first moan was such a pleasant sound. So rich and sweet, like a fine dessert wine. It only made both you and Hector want to hear so many more.

It wasn't long before Hector was pleasuring Adrian with his mouth, sucking his already hardened cock with such tenderness. Nothing about this was going to be rough or rushed. You were going to take your time. To enjoy this for as long as you could but also to explore those feelings you were having.

Whilst Hector continued to work on Adrian's lower half, you found yourself kissing him again. Swallowing his little moans and groans for a moment before you lips travelled along his jaw and down onto his neck. From there, you continued to leave little open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone and torso until your mouth was around his nipple, tongue rolling over it before your teeth lightly teased the sensitive skin.

Adrian hummed in pleasure, throwing his head back against the pillow as he bit into his bottom lip.

"H- Hector." He whined, hands carefully pulling the other man off of him before he could go too far and back up so that their lips could meet again.

As the two of them kissed, you made your way between Adrian's legs. You pressed your lips to his thigh, softly kissing the skin there. Whilst your hand slowly ran up and down his leg, fingers lightly smoothing over his scars, you began to suck and bite little marks into his pale skin.

Hector was the one to gather your attention, his hand on your shoulder as he led you to trade places with Adrian. Now you were the one lying beneath them, reaching up to place a hand on each of their cheeks as they smiled down at you. Hector kissed your hand and then his lips began to travel down your arm, his soft lips making sure to savour every inch of your skin. All the while, Adrian's head dived down to your chest.

Never did you think you would ever lie with two men at once and feel such love and care in each and every touch. And yet, that was exactly what this was. Being with them, both of them, brought you a feeling of joy you had never felt before. You loved Hector and he loved you but there was a chance you both loved Adrian too. Or, that you could grow to love him in the near future.

Now Adrian's teeth were on your nipple, being careful not to use his fangs as he lightly bit down and tugged just was you were doing to him only moments ago. Hector soon joined him, his lips tending to your other breast once he was finished with your arm. The feeling alone had your toes curling as you hands ran through their hair. On one side, long, silky golden locks ran elegantly through for fingers. On the other, shorter, wavy silver strands. There was a comfort it in, their hair. A comfort in touching it, running your fingers through it.

You could no longer hold back your voice, allowing moans to slip from your lips as Hector's fingers travelled down, soon pushing into you. With a gasp, your grip on their hair tightened ever so slightly, not enough to pull but enough for them to notice.

Adrian came back, kissing you again. Your tongue was soon in his mouth and his in yours, swirling about as the kiss deepened. The feeling of his fangs occasionally scraping against your tongue was unexpectedly pleasant, it had a danger to it and yet, you never felt any less than safe and comfortable.

When he pulled away, Hector was retracting his fingers from within you, clearly now ready for something more.

"How are we going to do this?" Adrian questioned, kissing your forehead affectionately before turning to Hector for answers.

The answer he received, however, was one neither you nor he had seen coming. Hector simply took his fingers, that were now coated with your own natural lubrication, and began to push one into himself. You and Adrian jumped into worry the moment his face scrunched up in something that wasn't quite pain, and were by his side in seconds.

"You don't have to do that." Adrian reassured but Hector didn't stop, instead, he just rested his head against Adrian's shoulder.

When he put in another, he groaned, "I- I want to."

Adrian looked down at him so softly, wrapping an arm around him before turning his head back to you. You simply offered him a gentle smile and began rubbing soothing circles into Hector's back. When he was finished, or had simply decided it was enough, he pulled his fingers from himself and kissed you.

Soon, he had guided you back to your position on the bed so that you were lying beneath him. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb lightly stroking over your skin as he lined himself up with you. You nodded and he pushed into you with a groan but, before moving, he turned to Adrian and reached out for him to come closer.

Adrian hesitantly approached, taking Hector's hand as he reached the two of you.

"Don't act so clueless, you've laid with a man before." Hector chuckled, not bothering to hide the way his cheeks blushed at his own words.

"But I've never..."

Before he could finish his sentence, he was already pushing himself into Hector, who's face once again turned to one of discomfort. 

Adrian kissed his shoulder, "Does it hurt?"

"J- Just uncomfortable." Hector admitted, opening his eyes to look down at you from where you were beneath him.

You smiled up at him, comforting him with a kiss.

After a quiet moment of adjusting, Hector spoke again, "Y- You can move now."

And so, he did. As Adrian began to roll his hips into Hector, the latter consequently rolled his hips into you. The three of you let out sounds of pleasure. Your arms wrapped around Hector's shoulders whilst his hands gripped the sheets beside you. Adrian's hand soon found it's way to Hector's, their fingers twining together whilst the blonde kissed your hand.

This feeling was like one you had never felt before. Both physically and emotionally. You and Adrian felt good. This felt good. But Hector, he was clearly experiencing something different altogether.

From the looks of it he couldn't muster any words, only moans as the three of you rocked back and forth together. Tears had gathered in the corner of his eyes but it was clear they weren't tears of pain.

You kissed him whilst Adrian peppered kisses across his back, lips brushing against his honeyed skin and toned muscles.

"I'm going to- to-"

You quietened Hector with a kiss, letting him know that it was okay for him to finish inside you. A few more of those gentle thrusts and he came, spilling his load into you as he moaned into your mouth. Not even seconds later, Adrian pulled out and came over Hector's back, your orgasm followed soon after.

The three of you collapsed onto the bed, lying beside each other and panting heavily. Hector remained between you, lying on his front so not to dirty the sheets any further with what was on his back.

"Thank you." Adrian was the first to speak, smiling at the two of you as he did so.

You simply smiled back, knowing now that whatever this was between the three of you was something real. It was also something none of you had ever expected to happen, especially when you once knew him all those years ago.

When you woke up the next day, you were pleased to see the two naked men lying beside you. Hector was snuggled up into Adrian's chest, you had an arm hanging over the pair of them. Legs tangled together, bodies warming each other. This was cosy, it was comfortable and most of all, it was how you wanted to spend the rest of your mornings until the day you died.

Adrian was the next to wake, looking at you with a smile and then down at Hector. He began to run his slender fingers through Hector's hair, gentle enough so not to wake him. The two of you just silently lied there, allowing Hector to sleep just a little while longer since it was clear that last night had truly worn him out.

When he too finally awoke with a sleepy smile, Adrian kissed his forehead before climbing out of bed.

"You two stay here, I'll go prepare breakfast."

You shook your head, "We'll all go prepare breakfast, together."

Your statement may have been true about the matter at hand but it was clear to all of you what the true meaning behind it was. You were going to do things together from now on. You were going to stay together. The three of you, like this. This was the new normal, this was what you wanted. From the way they both looked at you with such love in their eyes, you knew that they both wanted this too.

"Very well, we shall all go make breakfast. But first, perhaps a bath?"

Chapters: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong Chapter 41: The Birds and the Bees

Chapter 40

Read on AO3

Claire spent far too long holding onto Jamie and Fergus for dear life, but it seemed to her they were equally as reluctant to let each other go. So they swayed together, saying nothing, just breathing each other in. At some point, they pulled away, though they all still touched somehow; Jamie and Claire’s hands laced together, Fergus’s hands on Jamie and Claire’s shoulders, Jamie caressing his son’s cheek.

His son.

Christ...his heart felt fit to burst.

“Yer mam tells me ye’re a fine brother,” Jamie said hoarsely. “Ye take good care of our wee lass.”

“Aye, I do,” Fergus said, nodding. “I have always loved her. I can’t remember what it was like to not have her.”

“Oh, and she’s always loved you,” Claire said, caressing his other cheek. “She looks at you like you’ve hung the stars.”

“Knowing you, ye’ve told her ye have,” Jamie teased, and Fergus broke into a teary grin.

“There is...so much to tell you…” Fergus shook his head. “So much I have said to your grave, in my head, in my prayers...but you have not really heard any of it.”

“I’m here now, laddie. There’ll be many years to come fer ye to tell me all of it.” Jamie caressed the boy’s face with both hands, and Claire took the cue to step away for a moment.

“Such a handsome lad ye’ve become.” Jamie’s voice was rough with emotion. He tilted Fergus’s head so that he could press a kiss to his forehead, giving him every ounce of fatherly affection he had held back for eight years.

It’ll never be enough, Jamie thought miserably.

“To bed wi’ ye now, son. I’ve a few things to discuss wi’ yer mother.”

“Aye. Catching up to do.” Fergus elbowed him playfully, and Jamie snorted.

“Fergus!” Claire exclaimed, aghast. She really didn’t know what she expected; she should have known the little imp would make some lewd comment as such. She gave a light tug on one of Fergus’s curls. “Really!”

“Sorry, Maman,” he said, but he winked at Jamie.

“Incorrigible.” Claire gave Fergus a shove. “Both of you.”

“Bonne nuit, Maman.” Fergus bent down to plant an exaggeratedly sloppy kiss on Claire’s cheek, and she rolled her eyes through it all, giving his head a shove as he started strolling away.

“Goodnight, Papa,” Fergus called over his shoulder, then disappeared out of the dining room.

Claire crossed her arms, leaning into her hip, only to be surrounded by Jamie from behind.

“Papa, is it?”

“Hm.” Claire smiled warmly, leaning into him gratefully. “He called you that sometimes, especially when he was little. I told him to call me Maman straight away, and I suppose he...he thought when you came back, you’d be Papa.”

Her voice trailed off until it was a breathy whisper.

“I don’t think he realized at first. That you...wouldn’t. Come back.”

Jamie pressed a reverent kiss to her temple, inhaling the scent of her greedily.

“I think perhaps it hurt him too badly to call you that after a while.” Claire’s throat tightened painfully. “I think it was...easier to reconcile losing his Milord than it would be to lose a father.”

Jamie hummed thoughtfully, sadly.

“But no matter what he called you, you’ve always been his father, Jamie. Just like he said.”

“Aye.” He tightened his grip on her. “I ken.”

They swayed in silence for a while, savoring the warmth of each other’s living bodies, the rise and fall of each other’s chests.

“This Governor…” Claire said after a while. “The man who...got you your freedom.”

“What about him?”

“He really did so out of...complete selflessness? He expected nothing in return?”

“Aye,” Jamie confirmed. “He’s a good man, Sassenach. As I’ve said.”

Claire shifted in his arms so she turned around to face him. “Tell me the truth, Jamie.” She looked him in the eye. “You didn’t...offer. Did you…? Like...before?”

His grip on her shoulders tightened, and her breath hitched in her throat. Perhaps he’d been sparing her before during dinner, not wanting to upset her in front of the entire family.

“Jamie.” Her voice was firm, yet it wavered.

“I did, Claire.”

She felt like she’d been punched in the throat, kicked in the stomach. Jamie had to tighten his grip again to keep her from slipping to the floor, her having gone weak in the knees.

“How could you...how could you do that…? How could you put yourself through that again…?”

“He didna accept, Sassenach.”

“After all that we -- ” She refocused her bleary vision on his face, and she saw the truth in his blue depths. “What?”

“I offered my body to him, and he didna accept.”

A few silent tears dripped down Claire’s face as she gawked at him, waiting for an explanation.

“I knew that he was partial to men by the way he spoke of a friend of his that he’d lost at Culloden. This friend always made his way into conversation when I spoke of you. Didna take much thought to put it together.” Jamie’s tone was attempting to be impartial and indifferent, but Claire could see the struggle on his face.

“I...I feared him, ye ken,” Jamie said, averting his eyes shamefully. “Knowing what I know of him now, I’m ashamed to admit it. But I feared what he was. After the things that bastard put me through.”

Claire ran her hands up the length of Jamie’s arms so that she could rub his shoulders soothingly.

“He kent who I was from the beginning, ye see. His brother told him of the lie he’d told about Red Jamie, and he knew I was no Alexander Malcolm,” Jamie went on. “He managed to have private audience wi’ me to tell me as such. Somehow the game of chess came up in conversation. And before I knew it, I was playing chess wi’ the man who held me prisoner.

“There were...rumors. Lord Grey’s predilections were no secret. I beat a fellow prisoner so senseless I almost killed him when he so much as implied that the Governor was...rogering me behind closed doors.”

Another tear slipped over Claire’s nose, and she wrapped her arms around his middle, kissing his sternum, as if to give his heart the strength to go on.

“He could have, Claire. He could have had his way wi’ me. He could so easily have been another Randall. He had every means necessary to get away wi’ it.”

“But he didn’t.”

“No. Never so much as asked. I could feel the way he looked at me...like I always felt the way you looked at me. So I knew that he...wanted me. But he never had me. I thought maybe he was afraid of the shame his fellow officers could have brought upon him.

“But then...the prison was being closed, all the prisoners sold as indentured servants to the colonies. I...I nearly went mad, Claire. The thought of being so far away from ye, veritably sold into slavery, no means of ever getting back to ye...I was desperate. So our last meeting...I offered.”

“Jamie…”

“I begged him to have his way wi’ me to buy my freedom. Those other men...they’d lost everything in the rising. They were dead men walking. But I...I had something to hold onto fer eight years...and I was about to lose it. I’d rather have suffered any indignity than face the thought of being parted from ye forever. So I told him. I told him I was at his mercy.”

“You damned fool!” Claire whispered miserably into his sark. “How could you offer such a thing…?”

Jamie actually chuckled. “John may as well have said the same thing. He seemed more than offended that I thought he’d even consider. He laughed, even. ‘That I should live to hear such an offer,’ he said.

“Then, Claire...I swear I thought I’d died and gone to Heaven. He told me he’d already pulled the strings to grant me my freedom.” Claire pulled away to look up at him, having heard his voice become hoarse with emotion. “I was prepared to whore myself out and he...he’d already given me the greatest gift wi’out expecting anything in return.”

“Oh, love…” Claire caressed his face. “As much as I want to bloody throttle you for even putting yourself in that position...I am relieved that this man wanted nothing to do with it.”

“It’s what I’ve been trying to tell ye, Sassenach. He’s a good, honorable man. He did all he did fer me out of...friendship.”

Claire was so overcome with relief that she kissed him soundly, and he eagerly responded.

“I wish I could thank him,” Claire said softly. “For...for all of it.”

“Ye can,” Jamie said. “Part of the agreement of my release was that he makes regular visits to the estate to ensure I remain a loyal subject to the Crown.” Jamie rolled his eyes. “The story he gave was that I was a puir cotter forced into fighting upon threat of harm to my wife, that I couldna fully be blamed fer my actions. As Mister Malcolm, of course.”

“Bloody hell,” Claire exchanged. “He completely bent over backwards to set you free, Jamie.”

“Apparently that family takes a debt of honor quite seriously.” He tenderly kissed her forehead. “So now, Lord John Grey, former Governor of Ardsmuir Prison, is to check in once a quarter wi’ the derelict Alexander Malcolm wherever he has decided to find work. Which just so happens to be as a farmhand at Lallybroch estate.”

Claire shook her head in disbelief. “And nobody finds it suspicious that the redheaded Mister Malcolm has decided to settle down on Red Jamie’s family land?”

“If they did, John would have a thing or two to say about it,” Jamie assured. “He’s got his superiors fully convinced that I’m exactly who I say I am. Red Jamie has been dead fer eight years in the eyes of the Crown.”

“It’s unbelievable...what about all the Redcoat Captains that have been harassing us for years? They’re convinced I’m the traitorous English wife, that Brianna is your demon offspring…”

“Those officers willna be around much longer if John has anything to say about it.”

She shook her head again. “It’s like he’s waved a magic wand and made all of our troubles disappear.”

“I dinna ken about magic wands, Sassenach,” Jamie clasped his hands on the small of her back, pulling her closer. “But it certainly feels as if all is right in the world again.”

Claire kissed him gratefully, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

“Once a quarter, hm?” she said between kisses. “You’d better tell Jenny that.”

Jamie grunted in annoyance in the back of his throat. “Dinna speak of my sister while I’m kissing ye like this, Sassenach.”

Claire laughed a bubbly laugh that melted into a delicious moan, and Jamie swallowed it as his tongue probed the inside of her mouth. The kiss deepened, and Claire began feeling dizzy, every inch of her coming to life in a blazing fire.

“Mummy?”

They pulled away from each other like they’d just been burned, and Claire choked on a startled gasp.

“Hello, darling,” she stammered, her voice thin and high pitched. She could feel the heat of Jamie’s blush radiating off his body. “Is everything alright?”

“Fergus already gave me my kiss,” Brianna said. She was standing in the doorway in her nightgown and bare feet, holding Jehu in both arms. “I waited for you to come in, but you didn’t. So I came to find you.”

Claire forced a light chuckle, leaving Jamie’s side to kneel in front of her. “I’m sorry, lovie. Your Da and I were talking about something important.”

“Talking?” Brianna challenged, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

“Yes, well…” She threw a glance back to Jamie, who looked like he was trying not to burst with laughter. “We were talking. We got a little...off topic.”

Brianna blinked mutely at her, and Jehu licked his own nose and gave a little snuffle.

“You know that...married people kiss, don’t you, Brianna?” Claire said.

“Aye,” Brianna said, almost sounding offended that anyone would ask such a thing. “Auntie Jenny and Uncle Ian kiss at midnight on Hogmanay. But they dinna look like that.”

Jamie did make a noise, then, a veritable snort, and Claire shot him a dangerous look.

“Right, well…” Claire made a mental note to tease Jenny about the absurdity of her niece only witnessing affection between her aunt and uncle one time out of the year. “At Hogmanay, there’s a whole room full of people. Kisses in private are just a little bit different.”

“You weren’t kissing in private, Mummy. I was right here.”

Jamie laughed out loud.

“For Christ’s sake, Jamie!” Claire snapped over her shoulder, but as she turned back to Brianna, her facade melted away, and she started laughing as well.

“What’s funny?” Brianna demanded.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Claire said. “We’re not laughing at you, I promise. Your father is a ridiculous human being.”

Brianna looked back and forth between both of her parents as if trying to decipher what the joke was, but came up short.

“I promise we’ll be more careful about being private next time. Alright?”

“Alright,” Brianna agreed, but her brow was still furrowed skeptically.

“Let’s get you to bed now.” Claire stood. “Would it be alright if...if Da joined us to say goodnight?”

Brianna looked around Claire at Jamie, then back up at Claire, and she nodded.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

Claire turned Brianna around by the shoulders and began gently pushing her along. Jamie was upon them almost immediately, no longer laughing at all.

He was joining his wife to put their daughter to bed.

It was beyond anything he’d ever dreamed he’d have.

He followed behind Claire, who trailed behind Brianna as she bounced up two flights of stairs, muttering in nonsense-Gaelic to Jehu, who panted with contentment in her arms. They reached her bedroom, and Kitty sat straight up in bed when they arrived.

“Sorry, Kitty,” Claire said. “We’ll be out in a bit. Go back to sleep.” Claire crossed the room to kiss her forehead and gently push her back into her pillows. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“G’night, Auntie.” Kitty pulled her blanket up to her chin, and then looked around Claire. “G’night, Uncle Jamie!”

She was attempting a whisper, but addressing her long-lost uncle that had come to be somewhat mythical in her young mind was far too exciting, so it came out hoarse and just a bit too loud.

“Aye,” Jamie said awkwardly, waving at her. “G’night, lass.”

She giggled a bit, pulling the blanket up higher, under her eyes. Brianna put Jehu down and he settled in at the corner of her pillow as he always did. Brianna climbed in after him, and Claire sat on the edge of the bed. She looked up at Jamie and took his hand, and he slowly crouched down beside the bed so that he was level with Claire.

“It’s been...quite an exciting day, hasn’t it?” Claire said, and Brianna nodded. “I know it’s…a lot to process, your father being here. Are you doing alright?”

Brianna nodded again. “I’m fine, Mummy.”

“Alright. If you ever have any questions, or you’re feeling uneasy, you can talk to me. You know that, don’t you?”

“Aye.”

“Good. Good girl.” Claire cupped her cheek. 

“I’m, uh...I’m here fer ye to talk to as well, lass. If ye like,” Jamie said hesitantly. “Ye dinna have to, of course. Only if ye’re comfortable.”

“Alright,” Brianna said warmly. “I like talking to you, Da.”

Jamie laughed softly, feeling warmth spread from head to toe. He squeezed Claire’s hand tighter, and she reciprocated. “I like talking to you too, m'annsachd.”

“Good.” Brianna nodded curtly, and both of her parents chuckled.

“Alright. Kisses,” Claire said, leaning in with puckered lips. Jamie’s heart felt fit to burst watching them peck each other lovingly on the lips. “Goodnight, baby. I love you.”

“Love you.”

Jamie thought Brianna might just nestle into her pillow, but she turned to look at him expectantly. He chuckled again, feeling tears burning behind his eyes. He cupped the back of Brianna’s head and pressed his lips reverently to her forehead, breathing her in, cherishing her.

“Goodnight, Brianna.”

“G’night, Da.” She pecked him on the cheek, and Jamie squeezed Claire’s hand so hard he thought it might fall off. Claire kissed his cheek as well, cupping the other one lovingly. The three of them sat there for a moment, just taking each other in, just being. Jamie watched as Claire tenderly brought Brianna’s blanket up higher and brushed her hair back.

“We’ll see you in the morning.”

Brianna smiled sleepily, and Jehu nuzzled into the crook of her neck. Claire stood up and began walking out of the room with Jamie’s hand in hers, but was met with resistance. She turned back around, her heart breaking at what she saw.

Jamie could not take his eyes off of Brianna, whose eyes were now closed. His hand was hovering over her hand, trembling like a leaf. It came down to rest on her curly head, and he exhaled with a heavy shudder, closing his eyes. Claire crouched down beside him, and then she paused, hearing him whisper in Gaelic. He was praying over her.

Claire rested her cheek on his shoulder and listened to the soothing tones of his prayer, wrapping her arms around his bicep and stroking him soothingly. His prayer ceased, and Claire looked up at him.

“She’ll still be there tomorrow, love,” she whispered.

Jamie nodded tearfully, swallowing so that Claire could see his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Look,” Claire whispered, cocking her head toward Brianna.

“She smiles in her sleep,” she said. “Just like you.”

Jamie let his fingertips trail down her face, his touch light as a feather, and his pointer finger brushed over the corner of her upturned lips. Her lip twitched at the contact, the smile widening, her head unconsciously turning toward his touch.

“I could watch her sleep fer hours…” Jamie whispered hoarsely.

“I know. I always felt that way when she was a baby. I still do sometimes.”

Claire gave him a moment in silence, waiting until he was ready. He cleared his throat after a moment, and then crossed himself. Claire gave his hand a squeeze, grounding him, giving him the strength to get up and leave his daughter’s side.

“She’ll still be there tomorrow,” Jamie said, confirming it.

“She will.”

With a curt nod and a visual sweep of the room (as if double checking for danger as an ingrained behavior) Jamie made for the door, gently pulling Claire behind him. Claire shut the door as quietly as humanly possible, and when she turned around, she was immediately and abruptly met with Jamie’s hands on her face and his lips on hers. She whimpered in shock, but then melted into him, threading her arms around his neck. He probed her lips with his tongue and she greedily accepted, whimpering again, this time for a much different reason.

Jamie pulled away far too quickly, and Claire was breathless.

“What was that for…?”

“Fer creating that beautiful child.”

Overcome, Claire kissed him again. “You created her too, Jamie.”

“Oh, aye, I’m well aware.”

He swallowed her again, and Claire felt that unmistakable hardness against her hip. Something ignited within her, something left dormant for far too long. She lapped at the inside of his mouth, becoming desperate. She pulled herself ever closer to him, and she had to physically restrain herself from gyrating her hips to relieve the pressure building between her legs.

Jamie abruptly pulled away again, his lips -- swollen and pink from Claire’s assault -- quirked into a smug grin.

“Not here, mo nighean donn.”

He took her hand, kissing it chivalrously, as if he hadn’t just had his tongue down her throat, and then he pulled her behind him toward the stairs.

Every step on the staircase had Claire’s heart hammering faster and louder. Every step was a step closer to her bedroom, a place where she was absolutely certain of what was to come. By the time they reached the bottom, she could hardly feel her legs, and the floor felt like it was tipping beneath her. Her mouth was dry, swallowing was painful.

Jamie paused at the door, turning back to grin at her before opening it and pulling her in after him. Claire was trembling from head to toe, most of all her hands, and she attempted to steady them on the door. She deliberately took longer than she should have to close the door, terrified to turn around and find what awaited her.

She knew he’d be looking at her with fire in his eyes, and she knew she’d be powerless to resist him if she didn’t slow down. Her heartbeat was pulsing in her temples, and she was warm. Everywhere. She took a deep, stuttering as she pushed the door shut, steeling herself for the conversation that they needed to have before anything continued.

Christ, she was terrified.

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 26

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Something went wrong. Very wrong.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Torture, violence, psychological abuse, brainwashing, demon slavery, implied past noncon, no actual noncon in this chapter (but it gets close)

AO3

You whipped around, heart in your throat, unable to breathe from the shock of the scream. It was strained, agonizing, and arrested the blood in your veins.

Bucky was sitting in a chair, his arms strapped down as a metal contraption encircled his head. Electricity sparked against his skin, and he continued to scream.

“Bucky!”

You tried to run but couldn’t move, your feet glued to the floor, and you were forced to remain where you were as Bucky howled in agony.

There were other people in the room, soldiers dressed in uniforms and men wearing lab coats. Catwalks stretched above your head, grey stone at your feet, and in the back of the room an iron chamber of some sort. Smoke or fog curled from the opening, strange glyphs written across its surface.

You ignored it all, your entire attention focused on Bucky.

What was going on? What were they doing to him?

The torment finally stopped. It must have, because Bucky slumped in the chair, chest heaving as hair clung to his sweat-soaked forehead, the metal device lifting from his crown. A man spoke a language you didn’t know, but the longer he spoke the more you understood the words.

The words themselves didn’t make much sense, but he chanted them like an incantation. Longing. Rusted. Furnace. Daybreak. With each one uttered, Bucky grew more calm, his twitching snarl smoothing into a neutral stare.

Only then did your eyes drop downward to truly take in his appearance. He wasn’t clothed in the jacket and jeans he’d been wearing a moment ago. A tactical harness covered his chest, combat pants and boots on his legs. His very human legs.

That was different. His guise was dropped, and everything else looked the same. The wings, the horns, his tail looped tightly around his leg. The armored arm with the pentagram carved into the stony flesh.

But why were his legs human?

Because, you realized, this was a different time. One where he wasn’t fully the demon you knew.

I’m trapped in his memory. The wrong memory.

“Bucky…”

Your pained whisper went unnoticed. Of course it would. You were just a passive observer over something that had already happened. But when had this happened? What exactly were you witnessing?

Seeking the answers, you paid attention to the man who was addressing Bucky. He carried a strange red tome with a pentagram on the cover, and it was from here he’d recited the nonsensical words. He closed the book shut with a definitive snap and set it aside, turning his cold gaze on the demon in the chair.

“Good morning, Soldier,” he spoke in the language you didn’t know but could somehow understand. It sounded Slavic, possibly Russian.

Bucky answered in a low growl you barely recognized.

“Ready to comply.”

You wanted to run to him. Scream at him. Shake him awake from this nightmare. But it had already happened, and there was nothing you could do to change it.

“I have a mission for you.” The man held out a folder to Bucky, fully expecting his cooperation. “Sanction and extract. No witnesses.”

Bucky lowered his gaze… and looked up. Directly at you.

You’d encountered many things that had terrified you. Alpen. Heigore. A cursed flesh-book that communicated with your own blood. All those things couldn’t have prepared you for the existential terror that gripped your body in a vice.

Bucky took the folder without glancing at it, his dead, empty gaze still focused on you. He rose from the chair and walked forward. You flinched and braced yourself, but he walked past, close enough you could feel the displacement of air.

You were just a ghost to him. That fact didn’t erase the chill that clung to your skin like dread.

The scene blurred and shifted, and you nearly lost your balance. But of course, you couldn’t fall. You couldn’t tell what was different at first—the room looked exactly the same, though there were less people in it. Bucky and the uniformed officer were standing near the chair.

The man opened a silver briefcase while Bucky stood at his side, also gazing down at the contents. IV bags full of blue liquid. You didn’t understand the significance, didn’t even know what year it was, but it felt horribly important.

“Well done, Soldier.”

Bucky said nothing, eyes just as hollow and empty as before. This wasn’t truly Bucky. The looming, dark figure that wore his face was the infamous Winter Soldier.

“Would you like your reward now?”

“Yes, Colonel,” Bucky responded in that same low growl, the one devoid of personality and humanity.

You pressed the back of your hand against your mouth, but nothing came out except a shaky breath. Hopefully that meant you couldn’t vomit in a memory, because you were dangerously close to doing so. After what Bucky had told you, it wasn’t difficult to guess what “reward” this man planned for him.

Being unable to move did not spare you from avoiding the next scene. The air around you shifted again, and this time it truly did change. You sensed it was in the same research facility or bunker—the place had that heavy, underground feel to it—but it was in a smaller, warmer space. Dotted with furniture made of dark wood, electric lamps flickering on the walls, and to the side a large bed draped in a thick green blanket.

A bedroom.

Your stomach roiled violently, but the two occupants were ignorant of your presence and distress.

Bucky stood in the center of the room, his hands placed behind his back. His guise was back in place, his demonic features gone, but it did nothing to make him appear any more human.

“At first, I found this method of feeding to be… inconvenient.”

Your head turned unwillingly toward the source of the voice. Colonel. That’s what Bucky had called him.

“But as time moves on, and you continue to be a faithful soldier…” The Colonel traced a pale finger down Bucky’s jaw, the man’s stare no longer cold. It was interested, predatory. Simmering. “…I can see the benefits of partaking in such a meal.”

Bile rose in your throat, and you curled your hands into tight fists at your side. Your eyes stung so badly you had to blink to keep your vision clear.

Were you really going to have to watch this? This horrible thing that Bucky would never have wanted to show you of his own free will? Where was he? Why wasn’t he with you? Surely he would be just another observer of his own memories, not forced to be a participant.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

“I live to serve you, Master.”

It was the wrong thing to say. The man slapped Bucky across the face, open-handed.

Bucky did nothing but slowly turn his head forward again.

“Do not use such barbaric language,” the man hissed. “It does not become you.”

Bucky dropped his gaze, but there was nothing contrite in his deadened tone.

“My apologies, sir.”

Raising a hand, the man softly patted the cheek he’d just slapped.

“All is forgiven. You are the relic of a bygone era. It is not in your nature to adapt, only to obey and to feed. Isn’t that right?”

Bucky’s downcast eyes focused on the man’s belt buckle as he unlatched it. The hunger was the first sign of life that you’d seen in them so far.

This can’t be happening, you thought. Prayed. Please, no.

“On your knees, Soldier.”

Bucky obeyed without hesitation, dropping into a kneeling position as he stared up at the Colonel expectantly. The man finished unbuckling his belt and opened his pants, pushing them and his underwear down far enough to pull himself out.

You wanted to look away. Turn your head and pretend it wasn’t happening. But it had happened, to Bucky. He’d actually lived this while all you had to do was watch. Witnessing what he’d had to endure was the least you could do, and it wasn’t as if you had a choice, either way.

“Tell me,” the man said as he began to stroke his half-hard cock. “What was it like?”

Bucky said nothing but slightly tilted his head in an unspoken question. The Colonel huffed, a hint of impatience.

“What was it like to kill him?” he clarified. “The great Howard Stark?”

Howard Stark? you wondered, the name fresh on your mind from your recent search on Bucky’s past.

In your confusion, you almost missed it. The flutter of his eyelashes, the flash of tension in Bucky’s jaw. It was a sign you’d seen many times before when Bucky was irritated. Irritated and about to say something scathing.

The motion was quick, subtle, and the man didn’t notice. But you did.

Bucky remained silent, but the man above him, still stroking himself to hardness, kept speaking.

“I wish I could have been there to see it. America’s most brilliant industrialist. The Icon of America’s Strength. Butchered by nothing more than a Soviet ghost.”

The man’s smirk grew and Bucky’s frown deepened. His eyes were no longer staring hungrily at the Colonel’s exposed cock, but past him, far away. Growing darker with every word the man spoke.

“It is almost a shame no one will know the truth. That the boogieman they all fear is quite real and far worse than their deepest nightmares.” The man sighed wistfully, then blinked, seeming to remember what he was doing as he gazed down at Bucky.

“Either way, you served your purpose well. Now… open.”

Bucky stayed motionless. He didn’t seem to even hear the command, staring forward as the corners of his lips tightened.

The Colonel frowned, more perturbed than angry.

“Were you damaged during the mission?”

“No, sir.”

“Then, open.”

Bucky did not. The man scowled, finally noticing the Winter Soldier was no longer willing to take orders.

“Open, Soldier.”

Bucky winced, favoring his left shoulder. A painful punishment, you realized, for disobeying. The mark was compelling him to listen, and yet… he didn’t. He remained on his knees, posture rigid even as blood trickled from the pentagram carved into his skin.

Fingers wrapped in Bucky’s unkempt hair and yanked backwards, forcing him to look up. The Colonel gave him a cruel shake, eyes blazing with the aggression of a dominant figure being ignored.

“Obey me!”

Bucky stared at him. Truly. There was no vacant emptiness in his eyes now. There was only quiet fury.

“No.”

With Bucky’s answer, the air shimmered around him. Wings unfurled, horns swept backwards, tail angrily lashing against the floor.

The Colonel scrambled backwards as Bucky rose to his feet. The man clumsily stuffed himself into his pants, tripping over his feet as he grasped at something on his desk.

Bucky descended on him, raising his right arm and flexing his fingers to extend his dark claws.

The man spun around and fired. The sound was deafening in the small space, but you could still hear Bucky’s howl of pain

Bucky grabbed his shoulder, bleeding profusely from where he’d been shot at the exposed part of his arm. He stomped forward, determination twisting his features, but the man fired again, this time into Bucky’s chest.

A klaxon blared above and you covered your ears the same moment Bucky covered his, and he snarled miserably before stumbling out of the room. He fled down the hall, the tips of his wings brushing against the concrete walls on either side, but there were already soldiers coming after him. From many of the terrified, shocked expressions on their faces, many of them had no idea what Bucky truly was.

They gunned him down, all the same.

Up until that moment, you’d been so enraptured by the memory that you’d nearly faded into it, forgetting yourself and beginning to experience Bucky’s emotions as if they were your own.

Watching Bucky fall, bleeding profusely from multiple bullet holes, changed that. You were very aware of your own mind, of the horror and grief that gripped it as you sank to your knees beside him.

He gasped for breath, eyelids fluttering as he tried to keep them open. And then he looked at you. He looked right at you and saw you.

Blood bubbled up from his mouth, but his expression was… calm. No, more than that. Relieved. The nightmare was over. They would never use him again.

You reached out, tears burning your eyes as your fingertips brushed against his cheek. But he vanished under your fingertips; Bucky’s body collapsed and fluttered away as if dust.

Or ashes.

The latter felt more accurate to you, because the next breath you took was searing. The cold of the bunker was replaced by a barren landscape of red rock and burning, sulfuric air.

The pull you’d experienced earlier, the tug toward something deeper in Bucky’s memory, it was too strong to refuse this time.

When you opened your mouth to cry out, you coughed and gagged instead, and the next breath you took was not your own.

Next Chapter

[30somethingontumbler]

So I have developed a slight obsession with the Bucky/Sarah Wilson pairing and decided the only way to get it out of my system is to write a short angst filled fic so here it is. The idea was basically what if Hydra tried to get the winter soldier back by kidnapping someone important to him so I guess enjoy?

James Buchanan Barnes had gotten use to the constant sound of two young boys during his stays with the Wilson’s in Louisiana. The constant sound of play from his sisters while growing up had been something he didn’t even remember missing until he had woken up to AJ and Cass playing with the Shield, that first morning. They also reminded him of long summer days spent running the streets of Brooklyn with Steve the noise had become a comfort to him. That is why when he walked in the back door he knew something was wrong. He had spent most of the morning at the docks helping Sam and Carlos get the boat ready to go for it’s fist day back of shrimping season starting tomorrow. He had promised to be home by 3 to help Cass with his history presentation on the howling commandos, but when he walked in the house was silent, the boys got out of school at 2:30 and they where normally home by 2:45. Sarah had a lot of chaos in her life but the one thing she always managed was making sure they boys had the most consistent schedule known to man, the thought of her possibly running late was almost unimaginable, so where were they?

Right as he was thinking this the front door burst open, Sarah charging through and running directly to him, as she crashed into his chest he noticed her disheveled state her braids normally tied back neatly had come loose and her flannel over shirt was falling off her right shoulder, he had never seen her so distraught, her calm strength had been the thing that attracted him to her the most when he had finally gotten the courage to ask her out about a month after the flag smashers had been dealt with and he and Sam had some time to themselves, that had been almost a year ago and the only time he had seen her control even slip a bit was when Cass had gotten lost at the zoo, and that is when it hit him the silence and Sarah’s distress could only mean one thing, something had happened to the boys his boys.

“Sarah, baby what’s going on where are the boys,” he asked trying to keep his own distress out of his voice and be strong for both of them at the moment. Sarah pulled back and took a couple of steadying breaths.

“I got them from school and we went to pick up a poster board for Casses project, a car had been behind us for a while when we pulled into the dollar store but I didn’t think much of it until we parked and got out to go in and a group of men they took my babies James they took them and told me if I wanted to see them again the the soldier would return to his rightful place, Bucky they just drove off I don’t know what they meant” she said having grown more distressed as she spoke.

Bucky knew exactly what what’s happening, hydra was not gone, they wanted their asset back and they had taken his children to get him. He opened his phone and shot a text to Sam telling him to come home immediately and to bring Carlos, while he waited for Sam he tried to reassure the woman he loved that he would not let anything happen to her baby’s and that he would get them back.

It only took Sam 10 minutes to get to the house knowing when Bucky said emergency he meant it. He walked in to see Bucky on the couch his sister holding on to him for fear life and sobbing. Before he could even ask the super soldier spoke

“Hydra kidnapped the boys, they want the soldier back, I need to leave immediately”

Bucky looked from Sam to Carlos, and picking up on what was needed Carlos went to Sarah and tried to take her so that Bucky could get ready and go after hydra but she pulled tighter to him. Bucky turned to his best girl.

“Sarah baby I need you to go with Carlos I promise I will get our boys back.” He soothed

Sarah nodded her head weakly and pressed and quick kiss to the side of his mouth before letting go and allowing Carlos to take her to her room. As soon and Sarah was out of the room Bucky was out the door and in the garage, he pulled the hey off the top shelf and began to unlock the cabinet that held his tactical gear and weaponry.

“Air lift will be her in 20min what’s the plan buck,” said Sam behind him.

“The plan is I turn myself over to Hydra in exchange for the boys, they are most likely at an old base a mile outside of DC, it was off the records and abandoned but it is the closest one that would have been exposed when Nat leaked everything.”

“No, man you are not going to just give yourself over to Hydra again, I know you love the boys like your own and they are my nephews I want them back just as much as you do but we can find another way that doesn’t involve you going ack to Hydra” said Sam

“We don’t have time Sam, I know Hydra if I don’t turn myself over to them and do it fast then they will start hurting them, and I will not be the reason that they are tortured, the quicker I turn myself over the quicker they are safe, I will figure out how to get out once AJ and Cass are safe” Bucky replied with a scary calm “Sam I need you to trust me I can’t Do this without you, someone has to be there to bring them home after the exchange and it need to be you”

“What about Sarah, I know she needs you.” Sam spoke quietly hoping his friend might see reason.

“The boys are the priority right now, anyway She will get over me, and look at where being with me has gotten her. Her children kidnapped as a barging chip, they will be better off with me, if we are lucky hydra just wants to kill me so that I’m one less hero to fight them and everyone will be free of the poison of knowing James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Buck” Sam began but before he could say more the Quinn jet was landing and Clint was stepping down the ramp.

“I’m here to help how ever I can” said Clint as he met them in the yard.

“Thank you Barton,” said Bucky “ what we need is someone here to make sure Sarah is ok in case hydra decides taking the boys is not enough leverage and come for here too.”

“I can do that,” replied Clint, “Laura and the kids are flying in commercial to provide emotional support they should be here by tonight”

“Thank you Clint” said Bucky “ hopefully they boys will be back with their mother by the end of tomorrow” and with that Bucky was boarding the jet Sam right behind him carrying a shield and his suit in its case.

Chapter 2

By nightfall they were sitting outside of the hydra base waiting for negotiations, Bucky could not stay still he kept pacing back and forth waiting for hydra to make themselves known. Finally the doors opened and out walked 10 men with AJ and Cass being restrained by two very intimidating armed men.

A man stepped it from the formation the leader assumed Bucky and approached stopping about 10feet from Bucky

“Solidat how nice of you to join us” said the leader “You probably don’t remember me but you would remember my father Dr. Arnim Zola, I am Dr. Arnim Zola the second. But I am assuming you are not here to chat we will have plenty of time for that later, right now I am assuming you would like to negotiate, so here are my terms, the Wilson boys for your life and please do not assume you can trick us if you make a single wrong move I have snipers who will end the life’s of the Wilson children before you blink,” as the Dr. Zola the second spoke red lasers appeared on the boys at least a dozen from every direction, Bucky was not getting out of this it was his freedom or his children and he knew there was no choice to even make.

“Well since you have such good back up will you at least let me say goodbye to the boys before I have to give up my freedom” he said hoping he could take just a moment to let them know how much they meant o him before he would be forced back into slavery to Hydra never to see them again.

“I suppose we can give you that last request Sargent Barnes,” said Zola “release the children.”

As soon as they where no longer being man handled by the hydra agents the boys where running to Bucky as they neared him he fell to his knees embracing the little men who he had come to see as his boys, his children, they both grabbed on to him as tight as they could holding on for dear life.

“Bucky you can’t go with them, you can’t leave us” cried Cass into his shoulder

“We don’t want to loose another dad” cried AJ into his other shoulder

His boys cry’s almost broke him and for a moment he tightened his grip on them before pulling back to look in at them one last time.

“If I had a choice I would never leave you boys, and I don’t want you thinking this is your fault sometime bad people do things that we can’t change and it is not your fault,” he said hoping to give his boys one last lesson before he had to leave them forever. “Thank you for letting me be your dad, even if it was only for a little while, you boys and your mom have been the best thing that has ever come into my life,” he paused trying to compose himself, “now I need you to on do me a favor ok, I need you to tell your mom, tell her that she made me a new man and that I would not trade a second for anything and that I love her. Can you do that for me.”

The boys nodded their heads and wrapped their arms around him one more time. Bucky held them for a moment before he stood back up placing a kiss in each of their heads with a final whispered I love you before letting them go and having them run back to Sam who had stayed in civilian clothes by the request of hydra not wanting captain America to have his shield or wings to give them an advantage over the hydra agents. As soon as they were safely in Sam’s grasp Bucky turned to the hydra agents, disabled his arm and placed it behind him on the ground and slowly began to make his way toward the agents waiting to capture him.

Suddenly as of out of no ware all of the guns red dots that had been aimed at the boys and himself turned onto Zola, and out the agents all turned on each other as tendrils of red magic swirled around them and Wanda descended behind them while Zola sunk through a portal made on the ground.

“Hello Sargent Barnes it seems like you could use a bit of assistance” came the voice of Stephen Strange from his left

“Next time hydra tries to grow its heads back true giving me a call before offering yourself up on a silver platter, Barnes” came the voice of Nick Furry from his right at shield agents flooded the area taking the hydra personal into custody, a simple task thanks to Wandas mind control.

Before Bucky could say anything to either man AJ and Cass were running towards him and without hesitation he scooped both boys into his arms lifting them as if they weighed nothing. They held on to Bucky as if he would disappear if they released him Bucky made eye contact over their heads with Sam who turned to address their backup.

“Doctor, director thank you for the assist” said Sam. “You guys really showed fast, and Wanda did you learn how to voodoo so many guys at once”

All of the hydra men having been taken care of Wanda had made her way over to the group.

“The suburbs” she replayed.

Bucky looked at them all over the boys heads

“You have no idea what this means to me, thank you all of you” said Bucky “I know their is probably more we need to discuss but I need to get the boys home to their mother”

“No worries Bucky,” said Wanda “ I think we understand the need for a mother to know her children are alright” there was a sadness in Wandas eyes with that last comment and Bucky made a note to talk with the young woman once he go his family home and settled.

Chapter 3

The boys refused to leave Buckys arms for the entire ride back home on the jet and he was just fine with that, he sat with one boy on each knee there little arms thrown loosely around his neck heads resting on his shoulders, he periodically would kiss each of their heads saying a quick prayer of thanks that not only did he still have his freedom but he got to be in these boys lives even for just a little longer. When the jet landed the boys tightened their grip on his shoulders and he lifted them with the ease that the serum flowing in his veins allowed. As soon as his feet left the ramp Sarah had them all pulled into her embrace kissing each boys head before pullycas into her arms and Laying her hand on AJs back, Bucky guided them into the house and up to the boys room both boys being completely worn out and barley awake after the adrenaline had worn off on the ride back to Louisiana, Sarah placed Cass in his bed while Bucky put AJ in his placing another kiss on his head before switching places with Sarah and repeating the process with Cass, as he began to pull away from him Cass reached out his hand grabbing Buckys metal are and pulling him back.

“You will be here when we wake up right Dad?” His little voice said full of fatigue.

Buckys voice caught in his throat at being called dad for the first time and from across the room AJ added

“You won’t leave us will you dad?”

Bucky cleared his throat and looked between the boys

“Nothing in this works could make me ever leave my boys, I will be here in the morning, and as many mornings as you will have me for the rest of my days, you two are my world, I love you, now sleep boys I will see you in the morning”

Sarah and he stepped into the hall wordlessly and quietly made their way down the stairs as soon as they hit the bottom Sarah was pulling him toward her and placing a searing kiss on his mouth, pulling him flush to him he returned her kiss with just as much passion and emotion, he had almost lost everything today. And I’m that moment when he thought everything was gone he decided that if he got back to her he would ask her a question the most important question of his life. And when they finally ran out of air and had to break the kiss as soon as he has enough air he spoke

“Marry me, Sarah, marry me.”

“Bucky” she said, “you don’t have to, today was heavy don’t make a decision you might not be ready for because of a stress filled day”

“I’m not” he relayed “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, have for a while, I want to be officially the father of those two boys up there, I want to raise them together and grow old with you, and I want to marry you! I want the world to know that James Buchanan Barnes is Going to do everything in his power to protect this family and I want to call you my wife”

“If you are sure” Sarah said “ the of corse it is a yes, 100 times yes, I could not ask for a better man and I want you to help me raise our boys, you were willing to give up you freedom and your life for our children and I have every faith that you will keep us safe and love us forever so it’s a definite yes.”

Bucky could not hold his joy in he lifted Sarah into his arms and spun her around twice dropping he back to her feet he kissed her again with all the love in his heart. The next morning James Buchanan Barnes woke to the sounds of his children playing outside his window with their uncle giving he and Sarah a few more hours to sleep but Bucky simply laid in bed enjoying the feel of his fiancé in his arms and the sound of his children’s laughter coming in through the window.

Mans that’s it if you liked it please leave a comment or just drop a like thank you!