#fire red metal flake | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

caffeinewitchcraft · 3 months ago

Text

The Fool Dies

Summary: You are a villain known for telling the future. When a Hero kills your right hand, you’ll let the future burn to get her back.

Hero Cowboy kills your henchman after you’ve already surrendered.

Gunshot silence, the scent of iron heavy in your nose, the crippling cold that floods your chest. All familiar sensations, companions you’ve carried with you since you even became a villain, but this time—

This time it’s…different.

You’re on your knees, the rock salt on the road digging into your kneecaps, with your hands above your head, the ghost of your signature smirk fading fast. The street isn’t empty. There are witnesses. The Hero pulls his punches when there are cameras and citizens and teammates. That’s what your plan says. He pulls his punches.

She asked if you were willing to bet her life on that and you said yes.

Your henchman’s body is stuck in the crumpled side of a car. You see her out of your peripheral, the pale oval of her face unencumbered by the mask you’d lovingly bestowed upon her six years ago. Cowboy backhanded it off of her as she was falling to her knees beside you. There is wet and red and twisted metal dancing foggily around her. The air is harsh and cold to breathe. The world is wavering as tears flood your eyes. You can’t blink them away. If you do, you won’t be able to see her just at the corner of your vision, you won’t be able to watch for a breath you already know won’t come, you’re afraid she’ll disappear—

“Clever to pretend to surrender,” the Hero says. He’s like a swan, spreading his arms out so the leather tassels lining the underside of his sleeves look like wings. He tips his head back so that the news cameras rushing in can catch the strength of his jaw under his wide-brimmed hat. She’d managed to singe it in the fight and the light catches in his blue eyes through the resulting hole. “Was it worth it, Prophetess? Was your attempt on my life worth the life of your sidekick?”

Snow falls, a few flakes here and there. The street is lit like the middle of the day thanks to the news cameras swarming out of the side streets now that the fight is over. The fire is being put out and thick curls of smoke rise from just beyond the gathering crowd of onlookers.

Your spellbook is lying a hundred feet away at the bottom of the lake. That’s why the Hero is flaunting himself in front of the cameras, trying to minimize her death at his hand. He did what he had to do. They were wrong, not him. Unfortunate but expected. The Hero always wins.

She’s gone.

The Fool. She always wanted a different name. But you were adamant she wouldn’t receive one until she earned one outside of her service to you. Until then, her name was a reflection of your journey. Your first step, foolish and unknowing, young and ignorant of the consequences. The name felt right when you called it and you never thought to question why. Only now can you taste your own cruel power in the decision. The power of prophecy spelled her fate out in front of you and, like always, you didn’t listen.

Your tattered cloak ripples in the breeze coming off the water. The vibrant purple is stained with soot and worse, the once smooth velvet charred and eaten away at by the Fire Cowboy’s flames.

They don’t remember that you surrendered before he struck. He’s dismissed your uncharacteristic action as an act, and so the world will too. The Prophetess always lies. Isn’t that the first line in your Hero Force file? The Prophetess has no powers of divination; she lies.

The world is magic. You believe it like the sun, like the earth, like the ocean—

--like her—

--and there is magic even here. The spell of your grief rises over your head like a shroud and, for a moment, you are drowning in the dark as the world heaves. You can taste the last cup of coffee she ever gave you going sour at the back of your mouth, the small daily comfort washing away under the metallic scent of her blood. There is a purple current around your thoughts, painful and biting. You will always be in this moment with her jester’s mask – cruel, you are so cruel – leering up at you, closer to your hands than her. How did you let her get so far out of reach?

Why didn’t you hold her close?

“I asked,” Cowboy says from directly in front of you, “if it was worth it?”

The world pulses back into purple focus. Cowboy is looming over you and the smoke of your battle rises into the night behind him. The media jockeys closer the longer you are silent and they’re inching around the car she’s lying against.

“Tell them to get away from her,” you say. Normal, your voice is so normal. Your arms are burning from holding your hands over your head and your neck aches from forcing yourself not to look. You are afraid your tears will fall if you blink so you stare at the gaudy belt buckle in front of your face. Your eyes are purple in the reflection and your face is as pale as hers. “P-please.”

Cowboy must kill all the time. He has no problem glancing towards the slowly gathering swarm and you can feel his eyes on her body as if they were on your own. “They’re trying to help her.”

“She’s beyond helping,” you say. Why would they even try? You can’t even look at her and you can tell that. “I don’t want anyone touching her.”

“They’re not monsters,” Cowboy says. There’s a scoff and then he’s crouching in front of you. He smells like singed leather. “Not like you.”

You’ve never seen the Hero this close. He’s older than you thought, only a few years shy of your age. His stubble is darkened with soot and his nose bears scars of past battles. His eyes—they’re not blue. You can see the edge of brown behind his contacts, the same deep brown as his mask.

“You killed her,” you say.

“No, you did.” He answers you so quickly it’s like he was waiting for those exact words. He tilts his head so the brim of his hat hides his lips in shadow. “She wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for you.”

He’s so confident that you nearly believe him. Your hands ache with phantom bruises from the blows and the weight of your sin falls onto your shoulders like the sky itself coming to rest there.

--------------.

You see the trajectory of her life lined in gold. Her first day at your firm, her finding out your identity, her wavering in front of the window overlooking the Charlotte skyline as she admitted to knowing exactly who you are and how you’d been hiding more than your fair share of power all along.

That moment shines. She wasn’t the Fool then. She ripped her pencil skirt up the side as you debated her fate. When you asked her why, she said in case she needed to run.

“You would run from me?” you asked, eyebrow raised, conveying with expression alone how ridiculous you found the idea of her getting away was.

“I would,” she said. She grinned unhappily. “You can kill me, but you’ll break a sweat doing it.”

You laughed and held out your hand. When she took it, the outline of her life changed. No longer edged in gold. All black. A night sky all around her.

“You’re a fool for this,” you told her.

“The biggest one around,” she said, chagrined. Then she laughed with you.

You’ll never hear her laugh again.

----------.

There is a protocol for arresting a villain. Cowboy is already so outside of Hero Force code that it takes a while for things to be ready. He stands over you for the better part of an hour, smiling at the cameras, glaring you into submission, waving to the officers that eventually come to secure the scene.

An ambulance comes to take her body away. Only when they load her into it do you move. You watch the side of the vehicle like you can see through it. Cowboy tenses when it starts to drive away, but you don’t twitch. Her body isn’t her. If you start clinging to it now, you will never let her go.

“I know they call you Cowboy,” a woman drawls, “but you aren’t supposed to act like one.”

The reporters leap out of Strongwoman’s way. Barely five feet, Strongwoman is a super hero. Nobody is willing to get too close, regardless of how good and moral she is. The dark-haired woman is one of the few heroes who don’t wear a mask. No villain is stupid enough to think that makes her weak. Her dark eyes catalogue the scene quickly and efficiently. The ground rumbles as she approaches.

“Heat of battle,” Cowboy dismisses. His shoulders relax with another hero to support him and he shakes out his leather vest. Soot and snow falls from him. “Literally.”

“Hm.” Strongwoman finally turns the weight of her attention towards you. “Where’s her spellbook?”

“Bottom of the lake.”

“She hasn’t tried to summon it?”

“Her minion was in charge of that.”

Strongwoman’s voice whips. “We don’t call them minions.”

“Sorry.”

“You should be,” Strongwoman says. She folds her arms across her chest. She always gives the impression of being wrapped in armor and it takes you a moment to realize she’s wearing a tank top despite the cold. The muscles in her arms twitch. “That’s your third body this year.”

Cowboy hisses, eyes flying over her head towards the reporters. “Don’t—” A coalition of people in dark suits are already herding the media away. Cowboy’s lips thin. “Not in public.”

Strongwoman raises an eyebrow. She reaches down with one hand and hauls you up by the collar of your robes. “Fine. The car then.” She frowns at the way your hands hang by your sides. “You didn’t cuff her?”

“She doesn’t have her spellbook.”

“Protocol, Cow.”

“It’s Cowboy.”

“…”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Strongwoman cuffs your hands behind your back. The familiar sting of power suppressors races up your arms. The last time someone managed to get them on you, the Fool had to break them off once you escaped. You feel her breath against the shell of your ear and her voice whispers, Now who will do it for you?

Her memory is another spell on you. The edges of your life – dark and violently violet – cover your eyes so that you’re blind and deaf to the world around you. Once this new incantation runs its course, you’re sitting in the back of a Hero Force car. The grate between you and the front seat is closed. Beyond it, you can see Strongwoman at the wheel, shoulders vibrating with tension. Cowboy is sitting in the passenger seat like a petulant child.

You read their lips in the rearview mirror.

--review, Strongwoman says. Three. Three deaths on your hands.

This one was just a villain—

Tell that to Foresight. I beg you. See how he likes that excuse.

Cowboy changes tactics. You know the Prophetess is basically an S-Class—

Without her spellbook?

She had it for most of the fight.

Did she?

You lean your head back and close your eyes. Cowboy’s been operating alone for too long. They’ll likely stick him in probation and then transfer him to a hero team with an established leader. Maybe Atlas’ team in San Francisco or Light’s team in LA. Hell, if they really want to punish him, they’ll assign him to Omit’s team in Chicago. The guy’s the most righteous and the most powerless leader out there. Cowboy might actually become a villain if he’s forced to follow that guy’s lead.

“He’ll suffer,” you say in your prophecy voice.

A speaker crackles to life overhead. “No divination,” Cowboy snaps.

“I wasn’t talking about you,” you say.

“Prophetess lies,” Strongwoman says to Cowboy. “Remember, she always lies.”

“It’s still a threat—”

“Prophetess,” Strongwoman says. “Let’s go over next steps. When we get to Charlotte HQ, you’ll be taken to a secure floor where you’ll be asked to remove your mask. It’s important that you understand your identity will remain confidential until your loved ones can be secured—”

“He killed her,” you interrupt. You watch the ceiling of the car. “I can tell you my identity now if you’d like.”

There’s a pause. “That won’t be necessary,” Strongwoman says. Is it just you, or is her voice a little softer? “There is a proper course to this investigation.”

The way she says it makes it sound like she’s promising you something.

It’s like your mind is scrambling for connection to her. There is nothing in what Strongwoman says that reminds you of the Fool. And yet, as the car falls back into weighted silence, one word rings. Proper.

There is a proper way, the Fool whispers. You could fight this spell, but don’t. You sink into the car seat the best you can with your hands behind your back. Hear me out.

Please, you think. By all means.

------.

The first time you ask her to dinner, you’re too hasty. There’s blood on the hem of your robes (possibly a tooth) and the city is still screaming the sirens of your escape. The Fool isn’t shivering like the rest of your henchman; she is standing next to you. Her Jester’s mask is carefully secured with three exact ties despite the haste with which she put it on.

“I can never wear this skirt again,” she says. She is standing on the very edge of the building, the toes of her sensible work shoes a bare inch away from nothing. “This was my best work skirt.”

The city sparks with the purple of your magic, violet vines climbing the buildings and blocking your view of the street below. Your magic is mostly illusion, but all power leaves behind a mark. Where your spell has started to fade remains a charred outline of leaves and flowers against the concrete and stone of the buildings.

While the rest of your minions look a bit like chimney sweeps, the Fool remains untouched. It’s an obvious sign of favoritism; you had room for one other person underneath your cloak and you chose her.

Somehow the memory of her pressed against your side as she used her power to lift you both up to the rooftop makes you blush.

“You don’t have any residue on you,” you say. “You can stitch it up.”

She scoffs. At you. “It’s recognizable, Prophetess.”

It’s really not. The black pencil skirt is the same kind she wore when you first met. How many does she go through? You find yourself smiling at her bare thigh. Since she first told you she knew who you were, you’ve seen her rip at least three.

“Something amuse you?” she asks. Her voice is short and snappish, the tone she uses when one of the other paralegals aren’t as thorough as they need to be with the briefs. She turns to face you so that the setting sun lights her outline in orange and pink and gold.

“Have dinner with me,” you say.

And for a moment, the hope of her saying yes is as blinding as the sun behind her. Her lips part and you imagine that her eyes widen behind her jester’s mask. A wind picks at the long strands of her hair, sending them fluttering around her like a halo, and you’re standing so close that one brushes your cheek.

“There is a proper way,” she says and then stops. Her right hand twitches at her side. “There is—” is she stuttering? “This isn’t—Prophetess.”

You’re fascinated. She’s always so precise with her words. Even when you threatened her all those months ago she never once floundered like she’s doing now. “Hmm?”

“Hear me out,” she says.

You nod. “Of course.” You lean forward so that you’re only inches away from her. “I’m listening.”

“This…is not the time,” she says. You feel her attention slide to the others and then back to you. She hisses when she finds you even closer. “Prophetess.”

You don’t want to push too hard.

You lean back onto your good leg. “You let me know when it is time,” you say. Your lips quirk. “My little Fool.”

“Oh my god,” she mutters. She turns sharply on her heel. “Get yourself off the roof. I’m going home.”

You watch as she steps off the roof without hesitation. Her telekinetic powers are unique in that they can work on people too. You usually rely on her to get you home.

Maybe you should have asked her afterwards…

You turn to your other minions. Low-level villains without the drive or power to execute their own heists who all owe you the same favor. You raise your brow. “So how are you lot getting me off this roof?”

“You’ve got legs,” the Ace of Swords says.

“I broke my left one,” you say. And, to prove you aren’t lying, you draw away your cape to show that your pant leg is soaked in red.

The Ace of Swords stares. “This is why she said no.”

“Was that what it sounded like to you?” you ask. His surety makes you frown. “For that, you get to carry me down.”

The Ace of Swords groans as the other Swords flee.

-----------.

Your Swords are not always Swords. Sometimes they are Pentacles or Wands or Cups. There’s meaning to the costuming you put your people through, a meaning that escapes Hero Force.

“Where are the others?” Cowboy growls at you over the interrogation table. He keeps aggressively tapping the photos he flung in front of you. Grainy shots of your Wands storming through the Christmas Parade you used as a cover to kidnap the Mayor, blurry screen grabs from security footage of them as Pentacles in the art museum, a delightful brochure featuring them as Cups in a reproduction of Macbeth you used to do some light money laundering. “If you tell us, we might cut you a deal. Six of your people are being prepared for interrogation right now. Want to bet who breaks first?”

The ghost of you smiles behind your dead eyes, leans forward, and sneers in Cowboy’s face. That version of you is delighted by Cowboy mistaking six people for twenty-four and wants to play the interrogation game he’s offering. But the real you feels as heavy as lead and it takes all your strength to watch as Cowboy slowly works his way into a frenzy.

“For too long you’ve been tormenting this city,” he says. He shakes a finger in your face. “I told Headquarters, I said you were a problem when you first showed up in Raleigh. I said, ‘This one is going to come to Charlotte and she’s going to show up with an army.’ I did. I said that and now you’ve got the largest crew in America.”

“Quite the fortune teller, aren’t you?” you murmur. The Fool is at the front of the brochure, all done up as Macbeth. You’d tried to get her to be Lady Macbeth, but she’d insisted she be the main character for once.

You don’t understand Macbeth, you’d said.

His name is the play, she argued.

Lady Macbeth is the mastermind.

Did you read the play?

Did you?

Neither of you had.

Cowboy slams his hand on the table. “Look, Prophetess, I’m the only chance you’ve got at a deal. As soon as those DC heroes get in here, it’s off the table.”

Ha.

“It would be convenient for you if there were no witnesses,” you observe. “More convenient if you get to them before the DC crowd.”

“Witnesses to what?” Cowboy blusters. But he draws back and his gaze is colder than the Hero Force air conditioning that’s already making this room glacial. “To justice?”

How dare he lie to you? Her pale face haunts your peripheral vision. You can see her in the window of the interrogation room.

“To murder,” you say. Your glares clash when you finally look up at him. The soot is still in his stubble and you imagine you can smell her blood coming from his singed leather vest. “She surrendered. We all saw it.”

“She was an A-rank villain with telekinetic powers strong enough to crush my skull,” Cowboy bites back. “I acted in self-defense.”

“With us both on our knees—”

Cowboy whips his arm across the table, scattering the photos of your people into the air. He slams his hand again. “Last chance. Tell me where the rest of your minions are!”

In your holding cells, you stupid—

“You’re a pathetic worm of a man,” you say. You clear your throat. “Sorry. Let me say it in a way you’ll understand.” You adopt your prophecy voice. “The dust Cowboy leaves behind is red, red as the blood on his hands. His golden star is stained—”

You see the blow coming. Not a prophecy, of course.

You just know what heroes do when their buttons are pushed.

-----.

The second time you ask her to dinner, you’re too stupid for her to say yes. It’s not your fault though. How could you have known the Mayor had superpowers? He didn’t do anything besides embezzle taxpayer money!

“Maybe,” she says tightly, dragging your leaden and paralyzed body through the grand halls of the mayoral house, “you could have done a single iota of research instead of sewing all those costumes.”

Feeling is coming back into your hands. They still ache from finishing the elf-themed Wand costumes you’d made for your employees. You think the group costume of Five of Wands came out particularly well. All those little elves holding giant candy cane wands…a perfect symbol for the tumultuous election Season. You flex your fingers and then wince when the Fool’s nails dig into the soft undersides of your arms. “Ouch. Could you—”

“I am not slowing down,” she says. She grunts as she slings you around another corner. “We need to get to the backyard. Ace is meeting us there with the chopper.”

“Such a waste of money,” you bemoan. The chopper had been Two’s idea and all she does is maintain it. She won’t let you fly it until you get your license. “We should’ve got a boat.”

“Great idea,” the Fool snarls. She adjusts her grip so her nails are now digging into your shoulders rather than your arms. “A giant vehicle we have to keep in the harbor. The heroes would never find that.”

“Okay, you have me there,” you say. Your words are crisper now and you can even push a little with your legs as she pulls you into the empty kitchen. “But consider this. I could take you to dinner on a yacht. I can’t take you to dinner on a helicopter.” She stops in her tracks, head whipping down to look at you. Your noses nearly touch. You grin dopily. “Hi.”

“Are you asking me to dinner right now,” she asks in a tone that tells you you’d better be careful with your answer.

She’s so pretty. That’s why you aren’t careful when you slur, “Yes.”

She drags you through the doorway into the backyard. “I sure hope it’s the drugs making you this stupid.”

“Hey—”

“Hey!”

Both of you look back towards the house to where the Mayor has just appeared. He’s wearing the smoking jacket he’d monologued in and the handkerchief he’d used to drug you is hanging limply in his grip.

He points at you. “You. You should be unconscious! Nobody escapes my venom!”

“Oh gross,” the Fool says. “Does he make the sedatives from his body?”

“From his sweat,” you affirm. Then, raising your voice over the growing sound of the chopper and her gagging, “Maybe you should sweat better drugs, huh?”

The Fool coughs and wheezes. You recognize a laugh in the sound. “Don’t antagonize—”

The Mayor bellows and sweat begins to drip from his forehead. He mops at it with his handkerchief and then advances across the grass. “Get back here!”

“Hahaha,” you say, “He was definitely a hero. I know how to push their buttons.”

It becomes a race to who gets to you first; the chopper or the Mayor.

As usual, the Fool wins.

-----.

Cowboy isn’t allowed in your room after hitting you in the face. You can feel him lurking in the hall outside when Strongwoman takes the seat across from you.

“That…wasn’t supposed to happen,” she says and pinches the bridge of her nose. She’s sitting on a special crate they brought in for her. It creaks when she leans forward. “Are you sure you don’t need medical attention?”

The Fool is the only one you let tend to your wounds. Blood stings your eye. Cowboy was wearing his rings when he hit you. “I’m fine.”

Strongwoman sighs through her nose. She’s short and stocky, dark hair and wide nose. There’s a beauty to her when she’s still and quiet. When she moves? She moves like a threat. “We need to know where your base is,” she says.

“Home is where the heart is,” you say. And you killed mine.

Strongwoman’s lips thin. “Look, if you want the guys who speak riddles, we can wait for them. Or you can answer my questions and maybe we can come to some sort of understanding.”

“Interesting offer.” You lean back and contemplate her. “You have my spell book.”

“Except that,” Strongwoman says immediately. She winces. “Sorry. You’re in custody. The spell book isn’t even on-site anymore.”

“Then you can take these off,” you say, nodding to your cuffs. Their faint glow is making you sick. “As a sign of good faith.”

“Tell me everything about your operation,” Strongwoman retorts. She shakes her head. “Nobody believes you’re harmless without your spellbook.”

“Cowboy does.”

“Cowboy is operating under a lot of false assumptions,” Strongwoman says. She leans forward to match you. “Like the one where you have over 30 lower-level villains working for you.”

“Oh?”

“We have six,” Strongwoman says. “Tell me where the rest are and we can negotiate.”

Ha. She doesn’t know either. You are so good at costuming. It’s not like your henchmen can multiply. There are always just six with you and it’s through your costumes that they transform. You’ll have to tell the Fool—

Your mood sours. Tell the Fool. Who’s the Fool now? You’re not in the mood to play games. “I tell you everything, you let me talk to those you have.”

“No—”

“I don’t know everything about them,” you snap. “You’re asking me to betray my people. Fine, I’ll do that. You lot will pry and pull and claw until you find out anyway. But allow me to give them the chance to tell you about whatever family or loved one they haven’t told me about. If I must take them down with me, at least let them beg Hero Force for leniency for their loved ones.”

Strongwoman considers you. “And what do you want in exchange?”

“Let,” you clear your throat. Your eyes are hot and itchy. “Let me have a moment with them. To mourn one of our own passing. To—” you clear your throat “-to lay the Fool to rest.”

The silence sticks to the walls and builds. It presses into you on all sides until you feel like you’re in a coffin. You once told her you would die with her.

Not allowed, ma’am. I don’t think we’d go to the same place.

You swallow hard and stare at your hands.

“Deal,” Strongwoman says finally.

“Thank you,” you say. Your head bows until your forehead presses against your shaking hands. “Thank you.”

“Cuffs will stay on,” Strongwoman says gruffly. She pulls out a pen and pad. The pen looks like it’s made of metal. “Start talking.”

You do.

-----------------.

The third time you ask her to dinner, she stares at you for a long time. It makes you nervous in a way you haven’t been before, her unrelenting stare. Is it because she’s usually so quick? Or could it be because you can feel her eyes on your bare face for the first time since she stood in your office and called you a villain?

The same office you’re currently standing in now as the sun sets behind her?

“I have concerns,” she says at last.

Oh thank god. You’re smiling too widely. “I can work with concerns.”

“Can you?” Her eyes flash gold with the sun. “You keep asking me out while we’re working,” she says.

You blink. “Do I?”

“You do.”

You consider her words, leaning back against your desk. You’re wearing your pinstriped suit today and it’s getting a little tight. She feeds you before and after every meeting you have and you have a lot of meetings. “I’m always working.”

“That’s true,” she says. She turns on her heel. “And that’s the concern.”

You stand up. “Wait, how is that—”

She stops at the door and turns to look at you in a way that steals your breath. “I am not work,” she says. Her lip twitches. “Nor am I a fool.”

“I know, you’re—”

“Ace says they’re already at the meeting place. According to your schedule, we’re running late.”

“We haven’t finished talking.” You try to sound firm, like you used to. Instead, the words come out as almost a plea. “We can be late.”

“You’re never late. Besides, I hear it’s going to be a regular rodeo.”

“Cowboy? Ha! When did he blow back into town?”

“His probation period is up.”

“Lucky us.”

-----.

Lucky us.

You Fool.

--------.

You look over the bowed heads of your employees. Ace, Two, Five, Eight, Ten, and Page. The room Strongwoman led you to looks like the cockpit of a spaceship. Noxious blue light undulates up the concave walls. There are no chairs in here, no pulpit for you to stand behind.

So your employees kneel when you walk between them all to stand in the very center.

“Prophetess,” Ace says. Her voice is thin and high. “We—I’m so sorry.”

Two looks up. Her face is drawn and there’s a deep bruise along the side of it. “We know how it is to lose.”

“You do,” you murmur. You’re aware of the eyes on you here. You saw Cowboy sneering in the observation room on the other side of this one. There are cameras scattered like black stars across the ceiling. “I know you do. But there is a renewal in Death. If—” you swallow hard “-if you allow it.”

You expect fear. What you’re asking of them has happened exactly six times. The favor they owe is not only to you, but to each other. Death is the complete annihilation of everything you know. It can be the end. Or it can be the beginning.

But it takes people to begin.

And you have asked them too many times before.

“Anything,” they say as one.

Your head shoots up. “What?”

Six of your employees – your friends – return your gaze unflinching.

“If I have to redo everything again, I will,” Ace says. She presses a hand over her heart. You know a picture of her son lies there. “Time doesn’t matter. We won’t lose anything but time.”

“We know we can rebuild,” Two says. Her eyes are fierce. “We can do it better.”

“You taught us how to do it better,” Five says.

“I thought you would’ve already done it,” Page says. He scratches the back of his head. “I didn’t eat lunch thinking you woulda done it by now.”

“You didn’t miss much,” Eight tells him. Then, to you, “You did it for us. Again and again and again—”

“—and again and again and again—”

Eight punches Page. “Shut up.” She breathes in through her nose. “Prophetess. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“The memories you have made will only remain with you,” you remind them. Your hands are shaking. This—you have asked this favor for the sake of others. Did they feel this vulnerable asking? So hopeful and so full of dread. “It will be different. Time changes all and you who have experienced it—”

“—will be like fortune tellers in a strange new land,” Ace says. “We know.”

“We’re okay with it.”

“Are you?”

The time is approaching. You can hear voices outside the room. Ten minutes. She’d promised you thirty, but you figured they’d interrupt sooner. Especially considering what you’re saying.

You breathe in deeply through your nose. You think of her pencil skirt and her flashing eyes and her warm smile. The ghost of her pale face is fading into blackness as this curtain closes.

Your resolve firms. It was a bad ending. As a villain, you’re allowed to rewrite those.

“Tonight,” you say in your whispering voice, “we rebalance the deck.”

The blue in the room flickers. The voices in the corridor gain urgency. The cuffs around your wrist flare and then go dormant.

“I see my son a babe again,” Ace sings. Her eyes burn with your purple power as she brings her hands up towards you. The memory of the favor you granted her rises with her words. “I hold his hand.”

The blue flickers purple and electricity arcs. The Hero Force suppressors are to stop superpowers.

There is very little they can do against fate.

“I see the bus that takes them away,” Page says. He doesn’t sing. His voice is as dry as the desert and he salutes you. His hand glows against his temple. “They get on it.”

“I see my friend at the crossroads,” Two says. She holds her hands palm up and tilts her head to the sky. Tears of neon violet fall down her face. “I follow them.”

“The power I have falls into my hands like rain,” Eight says. She cups her hands in front of her and they fill with your power until it spills over onto the ground. “I drink from it.”

“The harm I caused erased,” Five says. He crosses his arms over his chest and bows his head. A halo the color of lilac blooms over his head. “I atone.”

“I do better,” Ten says simply. They stand with their hands by their sides. Their eyes burn with your power and they do not flinch. “I don’t bury them.”

Your power crawls along the walls. There are no more blue arcs of power. There are purple flowers and thorns that leave shadows in their wake. They seal the door shut and you are distantly aware that Strongwoman is trying to smash her way inside and can’t.

Fate takes a different type of strength to overpower.

“I see her again,” you say. The tides of the world pull at your long hair. You are drowning in light. The ground shakes under your feet. You think of her life outlined in gold, yourself outlined in gold. Is it possible you can see it glittering there in the unrelenting ocean flooding into you? “I see her again.”

Thunder crashes and everything becomes nothing.

-----------.

You are at your desk. You blink at the pages lying before you. A brief. A case. From four years ago.

You release a trembling breath. You never doubted it would work but it’s a relief to see not so much time has passed. Ace will still share some memories with her son. Page will not have to sit by his brothers’ bedsides again. Ten won’t be trapped in her father’s house.

The rest…the rest will not expect your help. You didn’t help them the last three times. Cruel, maybe. Fate often is.

You think Two is in Charlotte at this point. She mentioned something about a halfway house…

You freeze grabbing your coat as familiar footsteps echo from the hall outside your door. The skyline is twinkling with city lights, but it’s nearly midnight. Nobody should be here, you don’t remember anyone being here at this time—

The door opens without a knock. Her hair is chopped beneath her ears and she has a lip piercing and there isn’t a pencil skirt to be found. But it’s her. It’s her.

“Anika,” you breathe.

Her gold eyes flick to you, to your desk, to your coat in your hand. “You working?”

“N-no,” you say. Your words pile up behind your teeth. Do you remember? Of course you do, otherwise how would you be here. But how? Did I infect you? Did the outline of my life really drag you into my power enough--

Anika waits. When you continue to stare at her, she prods, “I’m not your paralegal.”

“You don’t look like you’ve even finished your degree,” you blurt out. You point. “A lip piercing?”

Anika rubs her piercing. “I’m not the Fool,” Anika says patiently.

A light bulb goes off. “Oh,” you say. “Oh!” You get down on one knee. “Anika, will you marry me—” Anika throws her purse at you. It misses by about three feet. You stand and try again. “I mean, will you go to dinner with me?”

“Yes, I’ll go to dinner with you.” Anika rubs a hand over her face. “Everytime I give you an inch, you take a mile—"

“For the rest of our lives,” you promise.

Anika shakes a finger at you. “Dinner.”

“It’s a beginning,” you say cheerfully.

The best one you’ve ever had.

-------.

Thanks for reading! I do love my supervillain stories and appreciate you for making it through this one! Sometimes I wonder if I can even write flash fiction anymore haha

Next week's story is already up on my Patreon (X)! I'm super excited to share it as it made me laugh writing it. It's an AITA style post from a woman who used to be a Cryptid professionally and feels like she's made a misstep with her Slasher boyfriend.

See y'all next time!

#my writing #long post #super long post #my superpowers #grief #death #loss #happy ending #original fiction #writers on tumblr

2K notes · View notes

thesassypadawan · 2 months ago

Text

Make Them Blue (Hayden x FemReader) *Blurb*

Summary: It’s No Nut November and a certain moose was too polite to tell his friends no this year to their stupid, little bet. Somehow managing to make it through almost the whole month, he finally caves after getting a taste of a major adrenaline rush. Wanting more of that electrifying feeling and thrill.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut. Fun from behind (giddy up), semipublic smex, slightly dom moose, car abuse, and, as always… Hayden’s big, fat dick.

Notes: Happy No Nut November all you, lovelies! 🤍💙

- Roughly shoving, pinning you easily in place with his larger body. Gaze locks with his in the windshield’s faint reflection. “Ha-Hay, no…” Watching him fiddle with the delicate, red string. Lazily take another long, slow drag. “S-stop it…” Before tossing, grinding the cig out on the concrete floor; cloud of smoke circling his head like a halo. “Wha-what about you-your be-”

- “Shut up…” Ripping your lacey panties, slapping your pussy. Long fingers wrap, squeeze the back of your neck. Pressing your cheek against the car’s warm hood, plush bottom rising into the air. “Screw the bet…”

- Cool breeze wafts in through the open garage door. “Not her-here though…” Kissing, making goosebumps form on your exposed skin. A pathetic whimper falls from your lips, beads of slick and pre coating the back of your legs. “Some-someone can walk in on u-us…”

- “Don’t care…” Hayden hisses in your ear; bitter- sweet scent of tobacco on his breath, clinging to his fire suit. Strong hand gripping, kneading the soft flesh of your handle. Bulbous head pushing, prodding at your little hole. “Not worrying about that right now, angel…”

- Tears of embarrassment sting, fill the corners of your eyes. “I-I am…” Weak sob escaping you when he rolls his hips into yours, trying to surge forward. “I don't want t-to…” Only met with resistance as you clench down on him.

- Growling low, cock twitching in frustration. “Shit…” Lightly calloused fingertips pinch your fat, descend and trail. Firmly grabbing hold of your thick thigh, hiking it up onto the smooth metal. “Relax…” So he can bully, force you to take him deeper.

- Lewd sound of your juices squelching, heavy balls slapping wetly float through the still air. “Too tight…” Along with your high-pitched whines, the squeak of your skin. Dragging forward and back across the sleek surface; from his wild, unbridled thrusts. “So fucking tight…”

- “Keep…fuck…” Nails scramble, scratch frantically. Flaking off some of the decals, embedding remnants of your pearly polish in the finish. As Hay practically rearranges your insides. “Keep squeezing me like this…”

- “And you’re going to…” Feeling him throb, gummy walls cling desperately to his long length. Poor cunny aches, burns from the familiar stretch; clamps impossibly harder. “Going to make me…”

- Slamming, putting his entire weight behind that last, hard drive. Knocks the air and a cry from your lungs, makes something buckle beneath. While pumping, flooding you with his pent-up load. Overflowing, dripping down the now bent hood…trickling to the floor, mixing with his cigarette ashes. “Cum.”

(Extra: He would totally light another one up afterwards. Stuffing your torn panties into his suits pocket. Saying with a cocky ass grin… “Now that’s podracing.” Before putting that sexy, black helmet on. The one you’ll end up begging him to keep on later when you’re on your back, legs spread wide open…just like he told you to.)

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @fredswrite, @xhunnybeeex, @vaderswifey, @anakinstwinklebunny

@littlelamy, @khoatic-with-no-energy, @raiwpenl, @malinadbbdh, @strokingforyou26, @xspacexwitchx, @em-21, @hearts4sammonroe, @shouldbetakencareof2, @loxbbg, @supersoldatbarnesstuff, @thesilentreaderrrrr, @theoriginalsinner28, @dumb-slut-things, @indigoblues1207, @ald6518, @julxstrawberry, @wh0sl0ttie, @tojis-missing-arm, @xoxo-hayden-fangurl-xoxo, @theladykassia, @doblasftcisco, @morguexmvp, @f4iryjinsworld, @nyxiesstuff, @heymamasblog, @justsomeimbicel, @prettywhenicry-777, @femme-is-typing, @maddis0n4, @ttdrake, @melmurkun, @brattyyybbg, @zara13ts, @bigaoibhe2024, @neocitywhore, @ter-luer, @ladyanaschmidt, @sarahflores07, @death934, @dovepevensie, @adorebambie, @pookiswookis, @icecoldhearts, @elliemariscal, @allievalll, @moonlxght-tyler, @1-racha, @tosterwwannie, @inejghafawifesblog, @carlgrimeswifeofficial, @hellemo666, @pitas-star, @sapphirefrog-blog, @carlgrimeseyepatch, @melonmochi, @coldcupcakedinosaur, @juli007, @skyguy8108, @frogtowne, @jennasco, @nothinspecial1000, @burnthispls666, @dovepevensie, @xxxxxxctu, @abobiwan-kenobi, @kpopperotp12, @no-yes-maybe-so

127 notes · View notes

toweroftickles · 2 months ago

Text

Reimagined Tickling #5

Fairy Tail/The Legend of Korra

A lot of times when I see a tickling scene in a movie or TV show, I imagine how fun it would be to see other characters in those same situations. You know, like "Oh I wanna see X character get tickled like that." So I thought I'd try writing a few drabbles where I'll take a famous tickle scene and reinterpret it with new characters in new settings.

This one was a request from my readers! Let’s see how Avatar Korra fares, living through Lucy Heartfilia’s torment from Virgo.

This story takes place during TLOK Season One.

Late-night puddle droplets splished into the air and drenched Korra’s heavy tundra-camel boots with every thunderous step. The brickwork backstreet was too crowded for her to use her bending arts safely, but she wasn’t going to let her target escape.

“Hey! Get back here!!” she shouted.

Through the window of Narook's Noodlery where she and her Fire Ferrets celebrated, Korra had spied the girl outside...a scrawny little scarecrow, couldn't have been more than 10 or 11, all in seaweed-colored rags of ill fit, with tufts of bright orange plumage shooting out from beneath her aviator goggles. She'd been struggling to remove the hubcaps from Asami’s car. A street rat kid rummaging for auto parts? Probably part of the Badgermole Triad. Well, if Officer Lin was too busy with “important city matters” to deal with them, Korra would do it herself.

The Avatar pushed and shoved her way through the crowd, lagging behind a diminutive thief who had the ability to simply slip underneath the sea of legs. For a moment, her pursuit was blocked by a busy traffic intersection...the girl was already across the street and fleeing fast...but Korra quickly dodged and flipped between the charging vehicles. As one car pulled out into the road, milliseconds before crashing into it, she vaulted legs-first over the engine hood, a blast of air propelling her along to the sidewalk on the other side, and the squeeeaaeeaaaky slide over hot metal nearly rubbed her butt-cheek raw.

"GET OUTTA THE STREET, YA MORON!" The pedestrian driver's horn rattled her eardrums.

Yow!! Ow ow ow ow ow! Korra hissed to herself, clutching her sore behind as she ran. (Well…it was more of a limping hop.) Ugh, that’s gonna smart for a while…

The chase led down a limestone alcove, hidden beneath a dumpster behind the Cabbage Corp building, down a wrought iron ladder that bored flakes of rust into Korra’s palms, and into the cyclical catacombs of the Warrens. Why did these dumb squirts have so much energy? She was nearly out of breath and about to call off the pursuit, when she found herself in the atrium of a massive cave.

The city lights above illuminated the red-brown earth floor. All across the sprawling portal were the bodies of countless wrecked vehicles, no doubt used in the illegal racing circuit. Satomobiles and Cabbage Car chassis of all colors littered the pools of light like croutons in soup, their parts creaking and groaning against each other. And at the far end of the cavern, past the musty graveyard of wheels and springs, there stood the kid, her back to Korra, perfectly still.

Was she oblivious, or planning something? Korra wasn't gonna wait to find out. Uncaring about noise or stealth, she charged.

Now I've got you!

Without a turn, without even a sideways glance, the mysterious child stomped a bare and bandaged foot into the dirt.

The ground beneath Korra's feet instantly dropped away like a trapdoor. “WHOA!!!” Korra yelped and tried to stop herself, but her momentum slid her down the ramp-like opening on her heel and carried her right into the maw of this newly-dug pit. She barely had time to steady herself either - as soon as she wobbled to a stable position, four large rectangles of stone, thick as concrete slabs, rose up vertically around her and rushed at her from all angles. On pure instinct she threw her arms out to the sides to block them, and her wrists were greeted by a crushing weight that nearly shattered them to splinters. She winced and shouted as the walls pushed against her hands, boxing her in and forcing their way closer and closer to her, but somehow, her throbbing arms held firm. Her energy was drained from the chase, but eventually, the blocks ground to a slow stop, and the dust settled.

Korra wheezed. Whew. I was almost a pancake. She felt like she was trapped inside a chimney. Unable to clearly see her surroundings, she glanced up to find the little sticky-fingers on the ledge of the trap hole, staring furiously down at her.

"Stop following me!" the kid yipped.

“You’re an earthbender?!”

"Of course I'm an earthbender! Now leave me alone!"

It was this surprise revelation that made Korra pause…this earthen box itself was no problem. One quick push outward and the walls would crumble. Her knees swiveled inward to form a Gong Kiu stance. She furrowed her brow and felt the rock surge beneath her hands, unaware of the sedimentary serpent that approached her.

It started small at first. Tiny granules of sand and crumbled earth all teemed together like a school of krill at the Badgermole recruit’s feet. Then, smoother, rounder stones joined the fun. Soon they all coalesced into the shape of a tentacle, that grew and grew in length until it was large enough to reach over the edge of the crevice and spiral down to the Avatar’s body. It nosed around as if hunting, dancing to its master’s commands, until finally, it lunged.

A sharp blade of air stabbed Korra's throat. All the blood in her face drained into the back of her neck, and she froze, save for her widened eyes, which darted to look at her abdomen. For a split second of terror, she thought she'd been speared. But no. This was worse.

The stone whip that she saw for the first time caressed her stomach back and forth like a tongue, up and down, side to side, between every taut muscle and even around the rim of her navel. It wiggled and poked and wouldn’t stop.

What the - ?!

“Tickletickletickletickletickle!!” the urchin girl’s shrill voice called out.

No. Wait. You’ve gotta be kidding me.

Korra tried to wrestle the urge down into her stomach, but she couldn’t help herself. She simply burst out laughing.

“Wha…d-d’ah! H…Haha! Haha Ha-Ha Ha!” Only for a fraction of a second, her hands slipped downward. But that was enough. Her strength gave way and those rock slabs, commanded by another stomp of the mysterious kid’s foot, pummeled even harder against her arms. They smooshed Korra tighter and tighter ‘til her elbows buckled.

“Ahhhh-ow ow ow OWWWW!!!” Hot thorns of pain cracked her ulnae.

“Heh-Heh Heh! That’s the best trick I ever learned! Not so easy to concentrate on your bending when you’re laughing like a hyena-monkey, is it, Miss Avatar?”

“Ugh! You little brat! Fight me like a real bender!” Korra barked.

But the young thief was merely bemused by this demand. “Hmmmm…” She stroked her chin and pretended to ponder for a moment, before a cruel snaggle-toothed smile grew across her freckles. “Ok!”

The girl threw out her right arm and twisted her wrist so that her fingers faced the ceiling. While those pointed digits wiggled in the air, her left hand made fast swipes like a conductor's baton, and her feet drew concentric circles on the ground. Korra had never seen bending like this. She would’ve been more curious...if her thoughts weren’t distracted by the craggy tentacle that was now wiggling underneath her left armpit.

“D-don’t!! Haha-Ha! Ha-Ha Ha-Ha!! *gasp* Huh! Quihit it! Nooo, crahap; why don’t I cover thohohose?!” This was humiliating. Why tickling?!

With every tiny stumble of her hands, the rocks pushed in closer. A few more slip-ups and she'd be crushed. Now she was starting to panic.

“Are you ticklish here? Or here? What about there? You’re gonna beg for mercy before long!”

The pebbles in the strand climbed over one another and traced serpentine patterns along Korra’s jaw, dragging their tiny rigid edges against the underside of her chin…down her neck…deep in her collarbone…drilling into the left armpit, and then the right…down her back…scrawling between each individual rib…once it even burrowed itself into the back of her knee, twisting and wriggling against a painfully vulnerable spot of skin. Every time Korra attempted to contort her body away from the rock-and-sand tendril, it leapt with lightning speed to another one of her softest pressure points, each more weak and sensitive than the last.

“Kitchie kitchie coo! Ah-Kitchakitchakitchakitchakitchakitchakitcha!” That nasal baby-talk was really starting to grate.

“PFFHA-HA HA-HA……nnnnn!! ….GkKHaha-Ha! *hic* Ha-Ha Ha-Ha Ha-Ha!! D…Dahamn it! Haha! Huh-Huh Ha-Ha Ha!! R-HA-hocks…rocks are supposed to be sharp; they’re not s’posed to tickl-hl-hl-ha!!”

Korra’s arms trembled in their sockets. Only a single cubit’s length separated the two walls that sandwiched her…all her strength was sapped out…gravel was practically sanding down her ears…

“Had enough yet?”

All of a sudden, the tickle whip backed off. Korra bent over double in a struggle to catch her breath. Pools of achy misery swam through her ab muscles. A single bead of sweat drizzled its way down the bridge of her nose as she huffed and puffed.

“Hmmm…this isn’t working,” the pint-sized pilferer pouted with folded arms.

“Uhhh…Wha…what do you mean?” the Avatar moaned and raised her head. Particulates of sand were slithering up the side of the crevice and back to their commander. “Why’d you stop?”

“Hmf. Well I wanted to punish you for chasing after me. But you’re enjoying it.”

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU THIS IS TORTURE!!” Korra might not have been a direct branch on Aang and Katara’s family tree, but she sure could channel her Water Tribe forebear’s explosive frog-mouthed temper. Tenzin was rubbing off on her.

Before she could protest further, the stone walls around her dissolved back into the ground as quickly as they’d sprung up. With nothing to push her palms against, Korra was suddenly thrown off-balance and, with her arms windmilling wildly, she toppled backwards like a chopped-down tree.

CRASH!!

It was a good several seconds before she managed to push herself up off the soil again. A heavy pulse thump-thump-thumped all the way from her hips to her throat. Her arms felt like jook pudding.

“Ugh…yep. Still smarts. Landed right on it,” she groused, to no one in particular. Korra didn’t have to climb out of the quarry to realize that her quarry was long gone.*

Great. Just great. She galavanted off halfway across the city, ditched her friends, bruised her ass, got lost in the Underground, nearly broke her arms, and got tickled mercilessly, just to fail at catching a poor kid who didn’t actually steal anything from them. Brilliant, Korra. She groaned and pinched her eyebrows, her mouth in a stubborn frown.

Slowly standing and dusting herself off, Korra limped up and out of the hole. In the midst of wondering how to explain this one to the team, one more terrible realization struck her.

"Aw, crap...

…I didn't pay my check."

*Why yes, I AM very proud of that sentence, thank you. (gets hit with a shoe)

********

43 notes · View notes

kastalani123 · 8 months ago

Text

Consider:

Leo Valdez was not born. Instead, two pairs of hands form him from bronze and steel and gold. His hair is copper wires so thin they bounce like natural curls, and his eyes glimmer with silver flakes. The joints of his body are plated so delicately, so perfectly, the segments are near indiscernible, smoothly gliding over each other. Faint traces of fingerprints and flecks of impurity are deliberately left behind for their uniqueness, a form of impossible signature of his creators.

Most importantly, gilded bars curl around each other in his chest, protecting the red-red-red flame that pushes his eyes open everyday, that beats in tune with his thoughts, that heats his body to expand and grow.

A metal child is not so different from a human one, and yet is so far from it at the same time. He is curious, about the world, about himself, and he picks apart toys and TV remotes and his arms, spilling their secrets before his constantly shifting eyes. He does not cry from fatigue or thirst or hunger, but a bump, a dent, a scratch never fail to draw tears. He splashes in the rain and snow, carefully bundled in waterproof coats and jackets, and runs from baths like he's possessed, fire flickering in fear.

The first time he meets someone like him, an endeavour he had long thought hopeless, it is a malfunctioning dragon others call for the death of; he is too unpredictable, too dangerous, too broken. Leo looks him in ever-shifting eyes glimmering with silver and sees himself if the cage in his chest ever bends, cracks, shatters, if the gears beneath his skin ever jam and stick and wear down irreversibly.

It is not golden flowers and godly aid that preserve him; just as he'd done for his twin-in-all-but-appearance, he creates a new body, with new fingerprints and impurities mapping his design. His hair is more bronze than copper, now, and his eyes more gold than brass. The plates of his joints scrape against each other faintly, and the gears of his bones grind together uncomfortably — he only had so much time, so much material to use, he could not polish every element of himself in the way he wished, but it holds together.

Most importantly, he reinforces the cage in his chest, coats it in layers upon layers of metal, to ensure his flame will not go out in the explosion, that Festus will be able to salvage it and lay it gently in the chest cavity carefully carved in his new body, bringing it to life.

He returns to Camp, movements more clunky and mechanical than should be, and his siblings finally pin down his segmented limbs, his shifting eyes, his clicking fidgeting. They are ecstatic, just as fascinated with him as they had been with Festus, and he lets them. He lets them take him apart, piece by piece, clean out the sand of Ogygia from his organs, polish and oil his gears until they glide against each other, press new fingerprints, new signatures of belonging, against his skin.

Most importantly, they craft him a secure, intricate cage, with golden flames licking up the bars, with delicate chains shielding it from the elements, and his flame settles inside it, flickering happily, finally truly, truly comfortable in the cage of his body.

Leo Valdez may not have been born, but he was crafted with the most loving hands imaginable, and is that not so much better, for a son of the Craftsman?

#pjo #rick riordan #hoo #pjo fandom #pjo series #pjoverse #pjo spoilers #leo valdez #I like you!#*makes you an artificial human*#and yes #after it's revealed Leo would totally experiment with like #gun arms #Cabin Nine is very enthusiastic about it #they love their funky robot brother and his funky robot dragon #the ultimate show of love and trust:#letting your nine-year-old brother (Harley) poke around in your insides #Nico would pin him down as not-alive the moment he paid a gram of attention to him #but this also means he wouldn't have felt him die #dunno if that's good or bad #Leo's friends would obv also leave their marks on him too #Piper sneaks a tuft from her harpy feather into the batch of metal for his right hand #Percy crushes up some of his nicest seashells for his face #Hazel paints tiny patterns onto his irises #Nico mixes some actual bones into his gears #Frank crumbles a few splinters of his fire stick into his back #Annabeth adds marble to his legs #Jason gets some gold into his hair to look like lightning or sparks in the right light #etc etc regardless of if it makes sense #Leo absolutely loves his new freckles/birthmarks

86 notes · View notes

bigfootsmom · 3 months ago

Text

tease/tidbit tuesday

life has really enjoyed making everything happen at once so i have not really been a person on here or had a lot of time to write :(( BUT! I did manage to write 1.5k of a 8x01 coda fic in a blur! thank you @tizniz for the tag <3 <3 <3

Buck doesn’t move, staring unblinking at the dull red until his vision blurs.

The scent of blood is metallic and cloying, the air thick and sticking where it coats the back of Buck’s tongue, clinging to the inside of his throat until he has to swallow back bile. It settles on his prickling skin, making him itch. Buck scratches at his chest, his throat. He sweeps his palms roughly down his arms, brushing away invisible flakes of dried blood. Distantly, like looking through a dirty window, Buck notices that his hands are shaking.

Something goes tight in Buck’s chest, squeezing around his lungs and forcing his heart up into this throat.

He feels dirty. He needs to leave— he needs… he needs to go home.

tagging:

@usersiren @swiftietartt @honestlydarkprincess @holdmygum @roy-kents

@princessfbi @homerforsure @mellaithwen @bisexual-buck @buddie-buddie

@maygrantgf @underwaterninja13 @father-salmon @giddyupbuck @devirnis

@shyaudacity @iinryer @try-set-me-on-fire @smallandalmosthonest @monsterrae1

@lonelychicago @diazsdimples @eddiebabygirldiaz @boykisserbuckley and anyone else who wants to post something!!!

#tease/tidbit Tuesday #tag game #911 #911 fic #evan buckley #blood mention #911 spoilers #I guess it’s spoilery?#snippets #Molly writes #I’m sorry if I didn’t tag anyone I usually do! I am out of practice

46 notes · View notes

wh3nturtlesfly · 2 years ago

Text

Hello @epiclamer ! I saw you were looking for some hero whumpee and villain caretaker, I hope this could suffice :)

CW/TW: Hypothermia and frostbite, near death experience, whump

The room was immersed in white. Creeping over the metal walls and across the concrete floor. Icicles hung from the ceiling and left the floor slick and shining. The patterns would have been beautiful in any other case, spindling across the room in delicate flakes, but now they left the Hero shivering.

Their thin t-shirt served as almost no defense against the blistering temperatures- their coat had been taken long ago. Now Hero shook, red blotching their exposed forearms and stinging their cheeks.

Hero shifted, trying to touch as little of their bare skin to the concrete as possible. The chill numbed their muscles, though it didn’t take the pain of the bruises away. Supervillain had made sure of that.

Energy seeped out of them too fast to keep up. Too many times they had caught their eyelids threatening to slip shut. Their fingertips had frozen to the point they couldn’t feel them anymore. Hero was helpless, trapped in the pain that couldn’t even be healed by sleep. Their tears crystallized when they couldn’t hold it in anymore.

When the click of the latch sounded, Hero went rigid. Fingers numb, they couldn’t form so much as a fist, much less fight off anything more that came their way. Supervillain knew this as they strode in.

“My, you’re looking a bit blue my dear,” Their lips split in a cruel smile. Supervillain stepped forward and Hero inched back. They couldn’t do it- couldn’t fight-

Hero’s back bumped against the wall and they flinched from the new wave of cold that shot up their spine. Trapped, and Supervillain was well aware.

“Don’t look so afraid now. You know what I want,” They stepped forward before Hero could scramble away- not that they had the strength to- and grabbed a fistful of their hair. It crackled with the frost that had settled in their locks. “You’re only making this harder on yourself, and really, I don’t think you have much left to give.”

Supervillain yanked harshly on Hero’s hair and received a sharp cry in return. Hero fought to pry their fingers away but their own muscles were stiff. It was like moving through molasses, they couldn’t even manage to grasp Supervillain’s hand.

“It's lovely seeing you struggle,” they chuckled, pulling Hero so close that they could feel the breath upon their cheek. Warm. Their hands shifted to either side of Hero’s cheek, and they couldn’t help but lean into the touch, starved of heat for much too long. “Now, give in and we can forget this mess.”

They eyed Hero expectantly, brushing a finger down Hero’s cheek and leaving them chasing the trail of warmth that followed. It was a wicked game to play, though it was working. Hero wished to be free- to have their bones no longer encased in ice. It hurt to think, hurt to breathe. Supervillain’s touch was like fire, beautiful and comforting- and yet-

“I c-can’t.” The words were broken as they fell from Hero’s mouth.

Supervillain’s expression darkened. “You insolent fool,” their grip tightened, fingernails pricking Hero’s skin.

They hurled Hero to the ground and their cheek collided hard with the concrete. Pain shot through the Hero. It was all so cold. Hero groaned as they pushed themself up. Not a moment later and a foot connected with their stomach, sending them into the back wall.

“You just never know when to stop, do you?” Supervillain chuckled, eyes alight. “This time I’ll make sure the message is clear.”

“No- please,” The words were choked as Hero clawed at their ground. Their muscles refused to move, stiff with the chill and reddened with bruises and the smear of blood. Supervillain stalked forward and seized Hero by the throat, pinning them against the wall.

Hero gasped as the air was forced from their lungs. It burned. Squeezing, squeezing, they could feel Supervillain’s hands crushing their windpipe and yet there was nothing they could do to stop it. Pins and needles lingered in their joints. They couldn’t move.

The corners of their vision began to grow dark. Hero’s eyelids were heavy and a new wave of panic shot through Hero. They were falling unconscious. Fingers flexing, reaching for any sort of movement. They couldn’t close their eyes- they wouldn’t wake up again.

“Not so strong now,” Supervillain cackled, squeezing tighter and grinning when a choked cry fell from Hero’s blue lips.

Hero fumbled through pleas but no sound came out. Flakes swirled around Supervillain’s head like a halo, though they were anything but. Their lips were spread wide into the cruelest of smiles, nails pinching into Hero’s skin. They had to stay awake- they had to hold on-

They had to…

Hero went limp and fell into the void of ice and darkness.

***

Words mumbled above their head as if suspended in a fog. Hushed at first, a silent plea. Hero’s head lulled to the side as their eyelids lazily peaked open.

“It’s alright-” Were they being spoken to? Their eyes searched the space, but they couldn’t see anything. “It’s okay, you’re safe.”

Hero was dizzy. Everything felt distant. They couldn’t remember. This voice, it swirled around their form, but it was undeniably kind, comforting even. Supervillain would never-

Supervillain. Panic shot down Hero’s spine. They leapt up from where they had been laid only to discover they were trapped. Eyes darting frantically around, they trashed in the covers that held them down. Get out, they had to get out-

A hand pressed against their chest and Hero fell back onto the covers. Blankets, they must be in a bed. Why would they be in bed?

“You mustn’t move too much, no need to start any new wounds.”

Hero looked up to find the Villain staring at them. Worry shone in the wrinkles by their eyes though they hid it behind a gentle smile. The hand that wasn’t resting on the blankets held a damp rag. Beside the Villain was a bowl of water, steam pooling gently above the surface.

Villain dunked the cloth in the water and wrung it out until droplets of water no longer fell into the bowl. They reached forward and began to peel away the layer of blankets that were wrapped around Hero’s form.

“No! Wait, please!” Hero shouted before they could stop themself. They pulled desperately at the covers, their warmth. They couldn’t feel the scrape of cold air against their skin again. Couldn’t live with another second of clouded breath and silent shivers.

Sorrow crossed Villain’s face and they laid a hand on the Hero’s own, warming it with the touch of their fingers. “I have to treat the damaged skin. I promise I won’t hurt you.” They studied Hero’s expression, waiting until the tension in their shoulders faded before taking Hero’s arms from beneath the covers.

For the first time Hero noted the pinkish-blue tint of their fingertips. They had been too stunned to care before, but now the tingling sensation made sense. Frostbite.

Hero couldn’t help but sigh as the rag was wrapped around their hands. It spread like fire, licking up their insides and settling in a pool of heat. The cuts that covered their skin no longer screamed with pain, and the coloring returned to their complexion.

They stayed like that for minutes, breathing softly under the embrace of heat. Villain then removed the cloth to dip it back in the bowl.

“How did you find me?” Hero asked as Villain tucked them back beneath the blankets.

“It was late, and I still had yet to see you,” Clear droplets fell into the silver bowl as Villain squeezed the rag tighter, “I found your jacket in an alleyway, and Supervillain isn’t so secretive about their ventures.”

Hero tensed at the thought of the Supervillain, but Villain caught their gaze. “Don’t worry, I won’t let them touch you again, ever.” Their expression darkened as they spoke, though was soon replaced by a reassuring smile.

This time they held Hero’s chin gently and brushed the towel across their nose. The stroke of Villain’s thumb across their cheek left searing trails and Hero longed never to lose the feeling of their touch.

Villains retrieved a small device from their pocket, a thermometer, and ran it gently across Hero’s forehead. After a small beep sounded, they observed the reading with a pleased expression.

“Your temperature has gone back up,” they said, “You’ll have some scabs, but they should heal in due time.”

Villain gathered the bowl and rag and set them at Hero’s bedside. The thermometer was tucked into their pocket, but as they moved to stand, Hero stopped them.

“Wait-” Hero grasped their arm, all the numbness had gone from their fingers and they now latched onto Villain like a lifeline. “Stay.”

Arms outstretched, desperate, Hero tightened their grip ever so slightly. They couldn’t be alone again. They wanted Villain’s comfort and the warmth that came with their touch. They wanted Villain at their side.

And the Villain listened. They settled back onto the bed and shifted close. When Hero remained with their arms outstretched, they understood and carefully wrapped their arms around the other. Hero melted into the embrace, burying their face into Villain’s shoulder. They hadn’t even realized they had started to cry…

Villains rubbed soothing circles on their back, carding through their tangled locks even when Hero’s tears soaked their sleeve. They were safe.

Hero hugged Villain tighter, latching onto them as if they were the only one left on earth, and in Hero’s world, they were. “Please don’t let go,” They mumbled into Villain’s sleeve, and ever so softly a hand rose to cup their cheek.

“I won’t Hero, I swear with everything that I never will again.”

#turtlewrites #hero x villain #prompts #writing prompts #story prompt #villain x hero #heroes and villains #whump #whumpee x caretaker

413 notes · View notes

oceanlipgloss · 5 months ago

Text

BUBBLEGUM

PAIMON.

+ warnings: dark themes, erotic hues, focus on haematophilia [mentions of blood and its relevant elements], graphic/gory descriptions (gore fascinates me and I like it a lot, so while I enjoyed writing this a bit too much, it's a fact that this piece is definitely not for everyone—i.e. people with weak stomachs, revulsion of blood, and/or dislike for twisted material).

+ female mc, feminine pronouns.

Blood and bubblegum don’t mix. Is that what they think?

The thing is, they do. One minute he’s hunting angels, the next he’s putting on stickers. It’s quite stupid to judge a book by its cover, or a pretty face by its perfect makeup.

Blood can have different shades. Just as in the case of paint, darkness and texture depend on a number of factors.

‘They’d all look so pretty on youuu,’ he had told her.

His palms painted her naked body with the brightest red. He printed the shadows of his fingers on her as though she were a canvas. A pale canvas of soft, corrupted flesh.

Burgundy coagulated on her skin. Crimson clots flaked under his nails.

The room smelled rancid with the rusty iron of blood and the bloody juices of meat. It was a nauseating, sickening smell, but it aroused her. Even as her stomach heaved, even when her intestines tensed inside her, it aroused her.

Her organs were on fire.

Lipgloss and metallic salt became one in flavour.

She was smeared with the blood of dead angels.

He was lovelier when he looked crazy.

Everything reeked.

Dizzy.

She was dizzy.

So sharp, so rancid.

Swallowing everything else.

She could almost no longer smell the subtle flowers on him, faint as their syrupy fragrance had become. And yet, her overwhelmed senses latched onto something in the hot air, to the fruity sugar.

It was familiar.

Childhood’s unforgettable scent.

The sweet scent of bubblegum.

+notes: Paimon's lust for blood made PrettyBusy chicken out play safe, so I stepped in with a ketchup bottle and some red paint ;)

Either way, ever since yesterday I've been working on and organising my WIPs hence the fic duo today, and this was the last WHB piece in my notes. I almost murdered it and drowned the evidence in a bathtub, but to be honest, I really liked the only pair of sentences I had already written ('blood and bubblegum' ➙ 'putting on stickers') and thought it would be a shame not to use them; I couldn't put them in another character's fic either, as they were tailored specifically for Paimon, and I also didn't have a clue about which direction the fic should take. So, I gave my brain a few scritches, scratches, and pokes, until the next thing I knew, I was thinking, 'oooh, this is gonna be hot' lol ngl man, this has to be one of my favourite works I've ever written.

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

#what in “hell” is bad #what in hell is bad #whb #whb paimon #the story factory

38 notes · View notes

mingtinys · 10 months ago

Text

back in the game

pairing : kim younghoon x gn!reader

maverick!au , angst , hurt / comfort

warnings : mentions of fire , blood , and death

word count : 0.7 k

requested ? no

a/n : maverick and tbz lore has always been so interesting to me, SO expect plenty of lore-based boyz fics

Younghoon still dreams on the brink of suffocation. With smoke twirling in the orange glow of his world burning around him. Infiltrating the makeshift inferno trapping him and filling his lungs.

Every night, for nearly two months, the memory plagues his sleep. Forced to relive every excruciating second down to the very last detail.

It always starts the same, with you lying slumped in his arms. Short, sputtering, gasps escaping your red-tinged lips as he cradles you against his chest. His left hand is warm, coated in dark red as it desperately clamps down on the gaping wound in your abdomen. But no amount of pressure can stop your blood from pooling on the dirty cement below. At this point, it's a race to see what kills you first. The rebar through your stomach or the fire spreading through the compound.

The collapsed steel around him moans as it bows from the heat. The sound akin to the weathered wood of an old house bearing its final storm. Ash flurries around like snow from above. Each flake hissing as they singe his clammy skin.

"Please!" He cries, between fits of coughs. His throat too parched for his vocal cords to produce anything but a hoarse whimper. "Someone! We're down here, please..."

But in his dreams, Eric doesn't find him. Doesn't hear his tattered screams through the rubble. Doesn't tear through the remains, piece by piece, scorching his hands on the hot metal in the process. Sangyeon doesn't pull him from his prison and rush you to Jacob for treatment just in the nick of time.

In his dreams, you go limp, and Younghoon spends his final minutes on earth alone. Left to choke on the stench of iron and smoke. Those eight neon letters burned into his brain.

MAVERICK.

A sick, twisted, game.

It's not fair.

How could any of what happened ever be justified in their eyes? The inhumanity. All that training just to treat them as expendable tools. Like–

"Younghoon," you call softly. Like anything louder would shatter what's left of him. "Younghoon, love, it's too cold to be out here at this hour."

Younghoon can't remember how long it's been since he awoke from his personal hell. All he can recall after waking were the four walls closing in on him. The sweat drenched his back and hairline. Dread flooding his veins, mind, and lungs. Panic lighting every neuron ablaze until it propelled him into the crisp night.

He thought he could escape it out here. But his chair creaks against the wooden porch as he rocks. Creaks like steel beams. The stars litter the sky like ash. The rain pipe drips and pools like your blood–

"Hey," gentle fingers tilt his chin up to your worried gaze. "You're not there." It's times like tonight, when you tether Younghoon to his reality, that he finally feels safe enough to let his emotions catch up to him.

"Was it the same nightmare?" You ask even though you already know.

His answer comes in the form of teary eyes and an outstretched hand that tugs at the hem of your shirt. A silent plea for comfort. Certainty. Confirmation you won't slip away when his eyes shut. Shaky fingers dip under the soft fabric and ghost the scarred skin beneath. You shudder, no doubt with your own memories of that night. One's you've refused to speak of since. Younghoon doesn't know just how much of it you remember, just that the nightmares find you at this hour as well.

Strained sobs break the silence of the night. You cradle his head against your stomach to muffle them. Delicate fingers comb through his hair in an attempt to soothe, though they do little to quell his tears. Younghoon clutches at any part of you he can grasp. Refusing to let death rip you from his arms once more.

"I can't..." He gasps, "–I can't breathe."

You assure him he can. "Just follow me, okay? In–" you trail a finger up his spine "– then out," and back down. You breathe with him, letting your finger be the metronome to guide him. A few more and the tension in his muscles melts away into exhaustion.

Finally, Younghoon feels the smoke clear from his lungs.

46 notes · View notes

flowercrowngods · 1 year ago

Text

just a teeny tiny little wintering kid fic thing for @cxwzkeys featuring transmasc!eddie/steve/johnny (that punk from family video) ❄️

Babies are the most punk rock thing to exist. Well, according to Eddie, they’re the most metal thing ever, but Eddie can’t be right about everything. They had lengthy arguments about it — lengthy only because they were busy laughing and kicking and fighting dirty about it (read: Steve distracted them both with kisses and scalp massages).

Secretly, Johnny decided that Val is their metal baby and Sue is their punkrock baby. Valerie Amalia Munson, born into the world during a glorious summer storm and crying her lungs out. “Most metal ever,” Eddie had breathed, exhausted and sweaty and so, so warm after giving birth to their babygirl.

And Johnny let’s them have it.

But Sue? Suzie Joanne? With her wild, blonde mane that Johnny likes to pretend to spike up into a mohawk? Oh, she’s his little punkrock baby, alright. Especially with that little pointy hat she’s wearing right now, sleeping soundly in her papa Steve’s arms while he caresses chubby red cheek whispering nonsensical promises to her sleeping form. It never fails to make Johnny smile, even as Joyce has him wrapped up in a conversation about… something. He’s not listening. Not when that’s his babygirl sleeping so soundly in the arms he knows can make anyone feel safe.

Joyce stops talking and follows his eyes, her hand coming up to Johnny’s forearm as she strokes him gently, as though she understands and forgives him.

“She’s beautiful,” she says.

“Yeah,” Johnny says. “She is.” Then, remembering where he is, he snaps out of it and looks back at Joyce, who has this awfully gentle look on her face, her eyes almost watery. She knows. She’s a parent, and she knows.

She had two little punkrock babies, too, even though Big and Baby Byers are a lot more normie about it.

He grins at her and motions for her to follow him. “How ‘bout we make some hot chocolate for those two, hm?”

“Oh, you deserve one just as much,” Joyce says, lightly nudging his shoulder as they walk through Steve’s winter holiday home — it should still be a crime that this exists, but Johnny knows how excited his idiot lovers get about snow, so he’ll pause the agenda for two weeks, in the name of stars in Steve’s and Eddie’s eyes. But after that, it is on!

“But I didn’t—“

“Yes, you did,” Joyce says, gathering all the stuff she needs to make her infamous holiday hot chocolate — these should really be capitalised, in his very secret opinion. “You’re doing a lot, all three of you, raising those two wonderful girls. And you’re doing enough. You deserve a treat about it even if you’re not drowning in house and care work, boy, when will you learn that?”

Johnny smiles sheepishly, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, not really comfortable with the easy affection just because.

“Sorry, ma’am. Yes, ma’am.”

“Now that’s what I wanna hear. Come, help me.”

And so he does. They work in silence, the entire situation still so unreal to him. Standing in this lavish kitchen in his big house somewhere in the middle of nowhere as humongous flakes of snow keep falling outside while he can walk around here in socks.

Some part about him wants to be angry about it. But another part is just… calm. Happy. Indulgent.

They get to have this, get to invite Steve’s found family here each year before the rest of Eddie’s and Johnny’s will arrive, too, for two weeks of winter fun.

Two weeks where his little family gets reminded of how big it actually is. It takes a village, they say — and man, they really actually almost got one. It’s insane. He loves them all so much.

The rest are lounging around the fire, with a very mortified-looking Hopper trying not to move as a two-year-old little metal gremlin girl spends her nap time sleeping on his stomach.

Johnny grins as he meets his eyes, saluting to him with too much cheek, knowing it will land him face-first in the snow later, but he doesn’t care as he carefully balances three too-large mugs of hot chocolate in his hands, walking over to his best guys over on bank by the large window.

Steve has stopped whispering things to his little banshee girl and is gently swaying her this way and that instead — Johnny wonders if he’s aware he’s doing it.

He watches for a moment, just to take it on, just to feel again how unreal everything is. Still he can’t help the smile as he steps closer and presses a kiss to the crown of Steve’s head, who hums in affection.

“Need me to take over?” he asks, finishing off with another kiss. “Take her for a while?”

Steve shakes his head, leaning back slightly to look up at him, his head bumping into Johnny’s stomach as he does, earning himself another kiss.

“No, she’s asleep.”

Eddie scoots closer to Steve to make room for him on their bench.

“Come sit with us?” they ask, barely tearing their gaze away from the dancing, tumbling snowflakes outside, their voice just as quiet as Steve’s, just as hushed, just as reverent. It’s the snow, Johnny figures. It’s the snow and their little babygirl.

Johnny hums and leans over to the side, lightly kissing Eddie and brushing his lips to his little girl’s forehead, too. It’s so… magical, having this tiny little human who is already so different from their other tiny human. Most beautiful goddamn thing he’s ever seen, both of them.

“I love you, little punkrock baby,” he whispers, delighted to see she doesn’t even stir. Delighted to see she feels so safe. So calm. That she can just fall sleep anywhere. She’s like her papa Steve.

“I love you, too, you big punkrock baby,” Steve says, bumping his nose into Johnny’s cheek with a smile. “Now come. Rest. While you can, before madame decides she’s jealous of this very delicious smelling hot chocolate you’ve acquired there.”

“Fuck off,” he chuckles, handing over their mugs as he slides in on Eddie’s other side, resting his arms on the window sill and just watching his little family for a bit.

In the end, they make use of the quiet they’ve been given when Eddie leans against Johnny and Steve against Eddie, the three of them falling asleep in a little pile, their baby safe in her papa’s arms.

It’s only when Val comes over an hour later and decides she wants to be part of their cuddle pile, too, that they have to stir and rearrange. She ends up in Johnny’s lap, watching the snow as Eddie tells a story about a Snowflake named Sam.

Johnny pretends not to listen raptly.

#pretty punk metal #steddie #steddie x johnny #steddie fic #steddie x johnny fic #johnny #i wanna call him johnny rotten so bad but NO 😤#it’s johnny wallace #sue is bc johnny is lame and a fan of siouxsie and the banshees #hi keysie i gave the babies names i hope this is fine :3 #i fucking love kid fic i fucking love johnny even tho he’s too calm in this one but. snow always makes me calm #and he deserves a little happy family moment okay they all deserve it ughhh #dio words #<- extremely niche dio words for an audience of one 🤍

57 notes · View notes

redmantic · 6 days ago

Text

Screeching,

banging,

deafening explosions,

meaty debris tossed from thick smoke.

Existential terror consumes my mind wholly, trapping my body in vice like grip as I'm forced to witness what is sure to be the god’s forthcoming.

Their ultimate means to an end.

Gargantuan metallic beasts trample what little natural life remains on these crimson-stained valleys.

This meadow that we once existed in togetherness - the sparrow’s nest now kindles manmade flames.

Sulphur erupts from smaller aviated devices howling overhead - only to crash in undignified horror, casting wicked flames that crash over seas of precious life.

—-

Clanging and mechanical wailing continue to harold destruction, the ringing stains my ears.

Divine force’s hold my muck-stained form to witness humanities testimony to holy creation.

> To stand and spit on the creator’s feet -

Bi-pedal life rushes ignorantly towards the flames, roaring with what I can only assume to be pure insanity.

Flakes of dusty white lay on my brow and voices within howl for me to evacuate, but jittery movements are all my exhausted form can muster in this state.

Where is there to hide if these gods are all seeing?

Where is there to hide if these gods are all knowing?

> Then pray and beg and howl for forgiveness.

My futile efforts spent searching for an obscure haven drum my heart over the mound of sticky bodies - frantically searching for an out. My head raises to the heavens.

Inferno envelops what used to be Eden. its earthy scent devoured in pungent brimstone.

> Oh - but a child knows not of their own actions

Heaven’s falls in dusty white flakes, it covers broken humans where flame can not. A final try to reclaim their mortal children.

> To stand at a broken window, with your mud-stained cleats.

A ball of light reaches down from the cosmos, and then another.

Air exhales from within my small body, and irony liquid streaks through matted fur lining my face.

And I pray that those ancestors of mine can take me home.

> Repent your sins to our lord -

> Your mother.

But only ringing follows their descent as fire continues to ravish the valley.

The gods,

they must’ve..

—

As heaven falls to meet us, a bi-pedal stands at my side.

Soot obscures their face and their hands are coated in grime.

Their eyes twinkle as they stare agape at divine display.

But some would say the gods are cruel.

And humans, mirror exactly their makers.

The being raises the barrel - so shiny, so pristine.

And they kiss their strongest ally goodbye.

> “Three hail mary’s and the gods forgive”

> Three harsh slaps and mother’s rage subsides.

I've witnessed what must be existance’s undoing.

> And “God will take care of the rest.”

> Mother plucks the glass from your tender palms.

—

Rays of light lay before my eyes.

A harsh reality hits me harder than fallen shells -

the only victors are those who are laid to rest,

never to witness divine anger and her consequences remain justly unholy.

—

Dawn breaks across the tragedy as I bore witness to the carnage that unfolded across this sacred land.

Red sunrise is like an early warning. A taunt from the heavens above as they reclaim their worthy children.

“Deny me in front of your allies and I will deny you in front of my father”

I lay and rest among the land that I once called home.

7 notes · View notes

flakehub6 · 8 months ago

Text

Discover the Bold Brilliance of Dark Green Metal Flake Paint

Are you looking to give your car, motorcycle, or craft project a stunning new look that turns heads and stands out from the crowd? Look no further than the eye-catching allure of Dark Green Metal Flake Paint from Flake Hub. This dazzling paint option brings a unique combination of sophistication and sparkle that can transform any surface into a masterpiece.

Unleash the Power of Sparkle

Dark Green Metal Flake Paint is more than just a color; it’s an experience. The deep, rich green hue is infused with metallic flakes that catch the light and shimmer brilliantly, creating a dynamic, multi-dimensional effect. Whether you're cruising down the highway, showing off at a car meet, or adding flair to your DIY projects, this paint ensures you make a lasting impression.

Perfect for Automotive Enthusiasts

For car enthusiasts, the exterior finish is a crucial element that speaks volumes about the vehicle’s personality. Dark Green Metal Flake Paint provides a perfect blend of elegance and boldness. The dark green base exudes a classic, refined vibe, while the metal flakes add a modern, high-energy twist. This paint is ideal for custom cars, muscle cars, motorcycles, and even bicycles, offering a show-stopping look that's both timeless and contemporary.

Quality You Can Trust

At Flake Hub, we understand that quality is paramount. Our Dark Green Metal Flake Paint is formulated using premium-grade pigments and resins to ensure long-lasting durability and a flawless finish. It’s resistant to fading, chipping, and weathering, meaning your vehicle or project will maintain its stunning appearance for years to come.

Versatile and Easy to Apply

Not only is this paint visually striking, but it’s also incredibly versatile. Suitable for metal, plastic, wood, and fiberglass surfaces, Dark Green Metal Flake Paint opens up a world of creative possibilities. Plus, with its easy application process, both professionals and hobbyists can achieve a smooth, even coat. Our detailed instructions and support resources make the painting process straightforward, ensuring you achieve professional results every time.

Elevate Your Projects

Beyond automotive uses, Dark Green Metal Flake Paint is perfect for a variety of creative projects. Whether you're customizing a guitar, crafting unique home decor, or working on model kits, this paint provides a bold, vibrant finish that enhances your creations. The metallic flakes catch the light beautifully, adding a touch of magic to whatever you’re working on.

Environmentally Conscious

We’re committed to offering products that are not only high-quality but also environmentally friendly. Our Dark Green Metal Flake Paint is formulated to minimize environmental impact without compromising on performance. It’s a choice you can feel good about, knowing you’re using a product that’s safer for you and the planet.

Join the Flake Hub Community

When you choose Flake Hub, you’re not just purchasing paint; you’re joining a community of passionate creators and enthusiasts. We offer a wealth of resources, including tutorials, tips, and inspiration to help you get the most out of your Dark Green Metal Flake Paint. Share your projects, get feedback, and connect with others who share your passion for creativity and craftsmanship.

Ready to Transform Your Project?

Don’t settle for ordinary when you can have extraordinary. Elevate your vehicle or craft project with the mesmerizing shine and depth of Dark Green Metal Flake Paint. Visit Flake Hub today to explore our full range of metal flake paints and get started on your next masterpiece.

Unleash your creativity. Embrace the sparkle. Choose Flake Hub.

#dark green metal flake paint #metal flake paint #fire red metal flake #gold metal flake #pink metal flake #metal flake gold #metal flake for sale #copper metal flake

0 notes

sweet-self-indulgence · 2 months ago

Text

Bleeding Out Part 2

The first chapter is here.

I really liked the first part of the prompt, but it didn't feel very Sam x Mika since he was unconscious the whole time.

Part 2 is from Sam's perspective!

Warning for graphic depictions of pain, blood, and gore.

They had been winning the fight handily at first, but those damned devils are dragging this out. Sam can sense it, the turning of the tide, and it’s not in their favor. It’s time to get out, now. He signals his brothers. James meets his eyes with a firm nod and Erik reciprocates the hand sign without taking his eyes off his opponents.

Sam’s eyes flick over the carnage, where did the runts get to-FUCK!

Sam speeds to intercept the devil poised to thrust an evil looking spear at Matthew and Damien’s unprotected backs. As he runs, he yanks on the red string tied to his finger.

Sam looks down to see metal protruding from his chest. I must have made it in time, are his last thoughts before darkness consumes him.

Pain.

Agony is the only sensation, the only thought. Pain consumes Sam’s entire being. It has no location, no feeling. Some kind of instinct kicks in and Sam tries to move, to escape, to fight.

Suddenly the word is darkness again.

Then for a few moments, Sam exists in a twilight of consciousness. Pain radiates from his abdomen. It burns white-hot and fierce, but it feels distant somehow. Other feelings tug at his senses. Crimson magic pulls at his organs, stitching a barrier around the fire. Blue and purple auras flicker to his left, they seem brittle from fatigue and anxiety. Black energy swirls around his head, it seems to grow weaker and weaker. The shadow over him briefly lifts and Sam moans as the pain becomes tangible again. Then the black tendrils drift back into his mind, they shimmer with golden flecks that bring a comforting warmth. Darkness slowly overtakes him, and Sam relaxes into it.

The scent of blood startles Sam into awareness. He focuses on the scent, demon blood. Sam’s eyes snap open. The world rotates wildly for a second before snapping into place. A hand comes up to hold his throbbing head, horns? Shit.

He looks around the room, craning his neck as much as his horns will allow him. At one end of the room Matthew and Damien lie in a heap on the sofa. Matthew has dried blood caked on his shoulder. Sam can just make out red hair matted with blood tucked into Matthew’s elbow. Behind him James’ head rests on his shoulder as he sits slumped in an armchair. In the matching chair, Erik’s head falls behind him at an awkward angle. His right hand is covered in flaking blood.

Sam struggles to make sense of the sight, something seems off, but his brain feels sluggish. Pieces slowly click into place. We’re in our demon forms, which is weird cause we’re in the human world. All the blood is dry, hours old. Why is there blood? The fight…Sam looks down at his chest and frowns at the white gauze wrapped around his ribs.

Mika’s head and hands lay by his side. Sam’s heart flutters a little as he gazes at her sleeping face. She’s beautiful, even with her hair and cheeks smudged with blood. My blood, Sam realizes, she worries so much about me. I should let her know I’m okay.

As Sam opens his mouth, Mika opens her eyes, and her face takes his breath away. He can feel a goofy smile pulling at his lips.

“You all look like shit.”

As if his words were some kind of spell, the room suddenly buzzes with activity. His brothers swarm around him, asking him and each other a million questions that Sam can’t seem to fully understand. His attention is focused on Mika. She’s grasping his hand with tears in her eyes.

Shit I made her cry again! Sam tries to sit up and pull her into his arms, but he only moves a few inches before blinding pain sucks him back into unconsciousness.

The next time Sam opens his eyes the world comes into focus more easily. He’s lying in bed in what used to be his room. Mika is slumped in a chair pushed right next to the bed. Her hand is limp in one of his own, he can feel the faintest trickle of energy flowing between them. Sam quickly cuts the connection. That was stupid, she could get seriously hurt letting me drain her like that.

Sam opens his mouth to ask her but only a rasping sound comes out. His tongue feels impossibly dry. He notices a bowl of half-melted ice chips and shoves a few in his mouth. As he lets the melting ice soothe his throat, he ponders the feeling of the spells holding his insides together, must’ve been cursed or something.

After the second handful of ice Sam’s mouth finally feels normal enough to swallow a sip of water. His empty stomach cramps painfully around the scant bit of liquid. Sam grimaces and forces himself to take two more slow swallows.

He replaces the now-empty bowl on the side table and starts testing his extremities. He had no problems moving his head and arms just then. His legs feel stiff, but otherwise fine. Sam clenches his core experimentally. A dull pain reminds him of the exact shape of the spear that stabbed him, but honestly his stomach feels worse.

Sam swings his feet to the floor and succeeds in hoisting himself out of bed quietly enough not to disturb the sleeping human. He wobbles dangerously on his first few steps but manages to adjust to the weakness in his knees so that he shuffles fairly efficiently across the room.

Thud.

Sam hisses as the unexpected impact of his horns on the doorframe sends a wave of pain to his head. He sighs and twists his broad horns through the doorway.

Damien suddenly skids into the hall. His eyes look frantic, and his hair is sticking up on one side, but he has enough energy to glamor, Sam notes with relief. Damien dashes at his brother but stops two inches shy of crashing into him. He drops his forehead onto Sam’s shoulder. Sam wraps one arm around his brother and uses the other to smooth his bedhead, It’s alright, bubs. I’m okay.

Damien shakes his head, and Sam can feel tears on his chest. He tilts his neck to smoosh his cheek into the top of Damien’s head. Stop being a dumbass! We were all getting our asses kicked! You can repay me by helping me get some fucking food.

A wet chuckle bubbles out from Damien. He guides Sam’s arm over his shoulders and helps him shuffle down the stairs. They find James and Matthew at the dining room table, also back in their human forms.

“You’re up! And I’ll bet you’re hungry!”, Matthew’s darting into the kitchen before Sam can even nod.

Sam collapses into chair across from James and manages to rasp around the hoarseness in his voice, “Update?”

James looks at Damien who runs off the to kitchen before responding, “You’ve been mostly unconscious since the fight a little over two days ago. The devil syndicate is still a problem, but likely not an imminent threat. Erik, Damien, Matthew, and I received only minor injuries. Mika is unharmed. We are all recovering from critically low energy, though.”

A glass of water slides into Sam’s hands and he thanks Damien silently while slowly sipping from it. “So, why’d you let Mika give energy to an unconscious Incubus?”, Sam’s voice sounds almost normal now and James does not miss the danger in his tone.

Exhaustion is abruptly apparent on James’ face as he pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, “Believe me, I tried to explain the risks, but the lady insisted.”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up, he’d never seen James fail to convince anyone of something important. She must have ‘insisted’ pretty violently. I’d give anything to have seen that! Sam huffs a laugh and immediately regrets it as the dull pain in his chest becomes sharp.

“Don’t go pulling your stitches!” Erik chides as he slides into a seat next to Sam.

“Stiches?” Sam glances down at his demonic body. He quite literally does not have a stitch of clothing on.

“It’s a human expression. But a web of spells is the only thing keeping your blood on the inside until you have enough energy to heal properly…” Erik trails off as he checks on the spells with gently fingers strumming lightly over Sam’s bandaged torso.

Just as he nods in satisfaction, Matthew places a large pizza on the table. “Should I reheat another if everyone’s up?”

“That’s not a bad idea, Matthew. I’ll go see if Mika wants to join us.”, James offers before quickly disappearing up the stairs.

“Sorry it’s leftovers, but I figured fast and filling would be better for now. And-and I’ll cook something fresh for dinner in a few hours. But we’ve just been ordering food while we get our energy up and—”

“C’mere” Sam interrupts Matthew’s rambling.

Once he gets within range, Sam snares Matthew in a one-armed headlock.

“Hey!”

“See? I can still kick your ass, so stop acting like a weird-o”

Matthew escapes Sam’s clutches with a wide grin plastered across his face, “You’re the weird-o!” He gives Sam’s arm a playful smack before retreating to the kitchen.

“What did I just tell you!” Erik hisses, “Don’t over-do it!”

Sam only shrugs as he begins stuffing pizza into his mouth.

James rejoins the group with Mika in his arms. She quickly clambers out of them when she lays eyes on Sam. She shoves her face into his neck and wraps her arms around his shoulders. He can feel her breath shuddering as she tries not to cry, “Hey, no need to be dramatic, doofus!”

“Dramatic?!” Mika draws back to look at Sam with mock indignation, “You’re the one who’s been sleeping all day like some kind of freeloader!” She sniffles and quickly wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

Sam grins and ruffles her hair. Mika grins back at him and grabs a slice of pizza.

For a few minutes everyone is quiet while they refuel with warm, cheesy goodness. Sam is disappointed in the effects of the food on his body. Instead of feeling his energy increase, his insides seem to move and shift uncomfortably.

Sam instinctively moves his hand to his bandages as the discomfort morphs into a dull ache. When he pulls his hand back, his palm is red with blood. “Shit.”

Mika darts off in a flash. Mere seconds later, the dining room dissolves as Sam materializes in the bedroom. Mika pushes him to sit on the bed.

“Hey, call someone else to get some help—”, Sam starts to complain. But as he notices Mika’s swift, practiced movements his, stomach churns for a different reason. Sam watches Mika’s face as she applies a clean bandage. She’s disturbingly calm, but there’s a slight pinch of worry around her eyes. How often has she had to do this?

“I’m so sorry”, he whispers.

Mika’s breath hitches. She finishes the final few wraps. As she smooths her hands gently over the new bandage, a sob wrenches itself from her body. Her hand flies to her mouth as tears squeeze from her eyes.

Sam feels his heart clench in his chest. He pulls Mika to sit next to him and leans his forehead down to hers. He cries with her, breathing shakily into the narrow space between their faces. His hands come up to cup her cheeks. His thumbs carefully wipe away each tear that falls.

#seduce me otome #seduce me the otome #seduce me #seduceme #sam anderson #seduce me fanfiction #sam x mika #fanfiction

8 notes · View notes

hannibals-favourite-meal · 2 years ago

Text

The Lost Princess Chapter 7

Jotun!Loki x plus size reader

When Jotunheim and Asgard are on the brink of war, only a marriage of convenience between the two worlds can unite them. The only problem is, Odin does not have a female heir, or does he?

Submit your own character!

Warnings: violence, arranged marriage, angst, enhanced!reader, swearing, slightly unhealthy relationship, Loki is an emotionally stunted person, age gap (I wrote reader as being in her early twenties but can be read as any age)

WC: 8.9k (I'm so sorry hahaha)

A/N: Thank you all for sticking with this series, I find it hard to write sometimes but I promise, the subsequent chapters will be shorter and coming out quicker. I love you all!! 💞💞

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Minors DNI

Chapter 7

Home Again

“Remove your hands from her or I will do it for you.” Loki’s voice was edged with something dangerous, the tip of a knife doused in poison. Y/N could feel his anger even from yards away but her own fury overpowered her fear of him and his temper. Thor faltered only a moment before his grip tightened on his sister’s shoulders, pulling her behind his bulky body in a vain attempt to shield her from the frost giant.

His glare deepened, his red eyes blazing with a barely contained fire. Adjusting the hold on the hilt of his long blade, his knuckles turn a pale blue with the force. “Let. Her. Go.” Each word is punctuated by a thundering step forward that shook the stone floor. He seemed far bigger than his usual 12 foot-self like this, with his bare chest puffed out, silvery lines of old scars and traditional markings shining in the lamplight. He would look terrifying to Y/N if she wasn’t blinded by the overwhelming feeling of betrayal.

A sour anger curled in her gut as he got closer and closer. The rest of the world faded to a white noise, her focus solely on her husband. She easily side-stepped her brother, fingers curling into fists so tight that her nails sliced through the delicate skin of her palms. Bright red blood dripped from between her knuckles.

The grey cobblestone beneath her bare feet melted, her body radiating a heat she had never felt before. The stone sizzled as her blood made contact with the floor, leaving behind dark stains on the now white hot ground. “You lying, manipulative piece of shit.” She barely caught the falter in his step, the hitch of his breath, as if he was wounded by her words. “You are a selfish worm who doesn’t deserve the air he breathes. Was everything a lie? Did you just make up that little sob story to get me into your bed willingly?”

The oxygen ignited around her, embers burning out before sparking to life again. The air crackled unstably, like the moment before a fire rages out of control. “Are you that pathetic that you have to rely on lies and trickery to force someone to marry you? To have a slave at your every beck and call to make you feel powerful?”

“You know nothing!” Shadows curled around the god. He had stopped in his tracks, blade plastered to his muscular thigh, almost as if he was preventing himself from doing her harm. The dark metal trembled against his blue skin.

“I know enough.” She snarled, also stopping. Wind whipped around her, sending sparks flying through the great halls. She was an inferno, waiting to blow.

They were an arms length apart and he towered over her but she refused to back down, refused to give even an inch as the feared prince glared down at her, his jaw clenched so tightly, she could see the muscles ticking. “All that talk about helping me, about teaching me. All of that, was that a lie too?” His eyes darted away, telling her all she needed to know.

Flames so hot they were blue licked up the bare skin of her legs, singing her husband’s shirt. It flaked away from her body but the fire replaced the silk. “I did what I had to.” The air shimmered with the heat, making her facade tremble before him.

Loki studied her, daring her to make the first move. They were on the precipice of something more but for the first time, Y/N was in control. She had a choice, turn her back and run or make him burn for what he did. She thought about what she had confided in him. Of her pain and fear, and he pretended to care. “I hate you.” Her voice was calm but brittle, on the edge of breaking with even the most gentle of touches.

“You do not hate me.” He urged, his own voice becoming softer as if to cradle her own. “You could never hate me.” The flickers began to die down around her as the fight began to leave her body. She was tired and her body craved his attention, needing to be held and comforted.

But when he took a step forward, she took two back. The tears that escaped her eyes, disappearing as soon as they touched her cheeks, evaporating instantly. “I can’t believe I trusted you.”

She did not fight the hand that closed around her bicep, carefully pulling her away from him and into the embrace of her brother. “I can’t believe I-I lo-“ Her words were cut off with a sob and buried her face into Thor’s chest who had silently followed her every step, her anger burning away like ash in the wind.

“If you know what is best for you, let us leave.” Thor spoke plainly, using one arm to lift her into him so that he could carry her, while the other held Mjölnir at the ready. For a moment, it seemed Loki would let them leave, the ruby of his eyes dulled and forlorn but then, in the blink of an eye, his sword was pressed into Thor’s sternum.

“You are mine! You have always been mine! How dare you disobey me! How dare you even think of leaving me!” But the god did not waver, his hold tightening around her as he prepared himself for battle. The leather of his armour easily gave way to the sharp tip of the blade.

“By order of Queen Frigg of Asgard, the allmother, your marriage is annulled and Princess Y/N must return to her place on Midgard.” Thor took several long strides backwards, Loki followed, his weapon at the ready. He would kill to get her back, the god could see that, but he would not give him the chance.

“You cannot take her from me!” He howled like a wild animal. And Y/N flinched.

“I was never yours, I will never be yours.” She spoke in a whisper but her husband heard her all the same. “Goodbye Loki.” As the light from the bifrost enclosed around the siblings, he lunged but a sudden wall of white flames forced him back as they burned his skin.

“No!”

The air was warm, almost biting against her freezing skin as the sun finally shone on them. The wind was a gentle breeze, shifting the fields of flowers like the waves of an ocean. But the beauty of the scene was broken by a scream.

Y/N slipped from her brother’s arms, releasing a howl from deep in her soul. The ground singed beneath her, burning with the rage and pain she felt. Thor could only watch, helpless as she crumbled before him, crawling at the dirt.

“Sister.” He called but she did not respond. Her sobs broke his heart and all he could do was kneel beside her and pull her back into his arms. She clutched onto his arm which was pressed against her chest as she leaned back against his front. His blue eyes shut, wishing he could take her pain.

By the time her chest hiccuped with quiet cries, the sun had begun its descent, casting a golden glow over the field. “I want to go home.” She whispered against the tanned skin of his forearm. Thor nodded against the side of her head and laid a quick kiss to her temple.

“Then let’s go home.”

Tony kept three photos on his desk. The first was of him and Pepper the day he proposed, the Paris skyline silhouetted behind them as their lips met in a kiss borderline of explicit. The second was of him and Peter, both hunched over his lab bench, focusing on some invention that they had later scrapped.

The final one was a side profile of a woman. Tony had found it in the small bedroom in Y/N’s home. She was younger, not yet burdened by the world. Her smile was easy, her eyes soft. She wore a lilac sundress, a flower tucked behind her ear.

It had been almost seven months since he had last seen her face, heard her voice. The search had been given up when Thor came back, reeking of alcohol and sadness. He had told him that he was too late, that she was already Loki’s and there was no way of getting her home.

She was gone, married to the monster responsible for the death of more than 80 people and the almost complete destruction of New York. He dreaded even thinking of what was happening to her, what he was making her do. Everything he had tried to get her home had failed.

Building a long range rocket to somehow reach Jotunheim. Trying to beat up a depressed Thor and forcing him to take Tony to her. Even trying to bribe Strange. All of it crashed and burned.

It was only last month, during a late night brainstorm that Pepper had convinced him to stop. “She made her choice Tony. She married him of her own free will.” It destroyed her to tell him that but he needed to hear it, he had to know it wasn’t his fault. He had broken down in her arms but he was ok, finally.

AC/DC, as usual, blasted far too loud through his home lab. His ears pounded with the high volume but he kept plotting along, his eyes focused on yet another suit design that FRIDAY had pulled up for him. Pepper was out at a charity gala that he couldn’t be bothered to attend so he could stay up as late as he wished, or rather, how late his body would allow given that the only thing in his system was a smoothie and many cups of coffee.

“Hey boss, Thor has just made a landing on Earth.” The AI pipped up. Tony sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“And why is that of any importance to me?” There was a beat of silence before the hologram before him disappeared and a video feed filled his vision. Thor was standing outside the gate, a woman held tightly in his arms. His armour looked strangely burnt, the silver metal blackened, his cape ripped.

“Is that?” Tony started, his eyes widening.

“Yes Boss, it’s Miss Y/N.” He stumbled to his feet, knocking over everything on the bench. His chest constricted with panic. She was alive, she was here. “Should I let them in, boss?” But he didn’t respond, lost in a blind haze. Tony ripped through the lab, his disbelief and returning hope driving him forward faster and faster until he was sprinting through his home, FRIDAY’s voice following close behind him.

“Y/N!” He consciously knew she couldn’t hear him but he had to call her name, to make this real. The front doors swung open before him like gates to a new world. The setting sun illuminated a pair of figures, forming a beautiful glow around their heads.

Her head lolled against the god’s shoulder and in the fading light, he saw her smile sadly at him. “Tony.” There was no grace to his movements as he collided with them, only pure relief. Her soft body fell into his embrace and he finally felt like he could breathe again.

“I’ve got you. You’ll never have to leave again.” There was movement in his peripheral vision as Thor backed away from them. Tony chanced a glance at the god who had brought her home. He looked devastated. He could only speculate about what had happened to them both for them to end up here. A sudden wetness forced his brown eyes back down to Y/N.

She was crying quietly, sobs that sounded strained like she had nothing left to give. Tony cupped the back of her head as he wrapped his other arm around her shoulders. “Keep her safe, there's work to be done.” And with that haunting message, Thor was gone.

“Let’s get you inside and put on some human clothes.” She chuckled tearfully against his chest and Tony smiled, feeling the way her own lips curved up in that grin he knew so well.

“I really want a cheeseburger right now.”

“Then let’s get as many greasy slabs of meat as you can stand and a milkshake too.” Her laugh became more joyous, a sound he missed so dearly. “Come on, you also have months of trash TV to catch up on. You won’t believe the shit you missed on the Real Housewives.” He helped her to her feet, noting the shirt she wore that was far too big to be her own. He resolved to burn it as soon as she took it off.

She hummed in agreement. “I miss my phone too, and coffee. Dear lord, I would kill for a coffee.” His arm wrapped around her shoulder, guiding her into the luxurious mansion, leading her away from the nightmare she had escaped.

“Now you’re speaking my language, kid. Coffee and a phone coming right up!”

Cold water washed over her as Y/N stood in the massive shower. She was still running terribly hot, her skin blazing like a bad fever. Emotions swirled in her mind, the anxiety, fear, and sadness. But what made it worse was that every time she closed her eyes, she saw Loki.

She wished her mind showed her his terrifying anger, the evil deeds he had done but instead she watched snap shots of their life together. The way he held her protectively while they slept, his huge arms winding around her soft body to keep her pressed against his muscular chest. The rare instances where he would chuckle under his breath at one of her outbursts. Even those times where he kissed her with a passion she had never encountered before.

Her chest ached with the simultaneous feeling of complete betrayal and the relief to be home with people who loved her. But seeing her ex-boss again, eating their favourite meal together, even watching menopausal white women yelling at each other felt different. Everything was just as she left it, but she had changed fundamentally.

Her fingers brushed the slim chain of her collar which she had not had the heart to take off yet. Everything else had been stripped away and she assumed destroyed in the most violent way possible by the eccentric billionaire but the necklace remained.

Shutting off the water, she dried almost immediately, the remaining droplets evaporating into the chill air of the bathroom. A small pile of clothes were left on the counter for her, suspiciously they weren’t new but in fact from her now abandoned apartment in the Avengers Tower.

She caught her reflection in the huge mirror on the otherside of the blindingly white bathroom. She was not the girl she was before. Her innocence and trust in the world was robbed from her, replaced with an anger and cynicism that would have disgusted her younger self. Her body was now covered in scars, the branding of the torture she endured both mentally and physically.

Y/N traced the lines of her body, now more rounded out than the last time she was on Earth but she did not feel a hatred for those extra pounds that sat on her curves. It meant that she had survived, and now, she would have the chance to live again.

As she quickly redressed, hiding her necklace under the large plaid Tony had given her. Sadly, she glanced at her left hand. Her ring had been the first thing taken from her.

Tony ripped it from her finger as soon as he saw it, tucking it into the pocket of his jeans with the promise that he would melt it down into nothing. She couldn’t admit to even herself that her hand felt wrong without the familiar weight of the bulky ring.

A sudden knock on the door shook her from her thoughts. “Did you drown in there?” Tony said jokingly but she could hear the worry in his voice.

“I’m fine boss, just getting dressed.” His sigh of relief was loud enough to hear through the large door. Double checking her appearance and making sure her scars were covered, Y/N opened the door, the ripped ruins of her husband’s shirt in her arms.

As soon as Tony made eye contact with the younger woman, his shoulders slumped. “C’mon kid, let’s get you downstairs, there are some people that want to see you.” The silk was taken from her grasp with a quick yank and tucked behind his back.

Y/N’s heart rate spiked. The last time she was surrounded by people was her wedding. She had been isolated for months, only seeing Loki or his father on occasion. But still she nodded, painting a strained smile on her face to appease her mentor. He had told her of the effort and pain the whole team went through to find her again, she had to see them.

He took her arm in a friendly gesture. Y/N froze up. Suddenly her belly was filled with fear as bile rose in her throat. They marched side by side to the main sitting room where she picked up overlapping murmuring of voices. Each step brought back memories of her biological father pulling her forward to a fate she agreed to but did not want.

She heard the clack of her heels, felt the weight of the tiara on her head, heard the swoosh of the beads Frigg had given her, with each step. Her fingers curled tightly around Tony’s bicep causing him to hiss. Her eyes were wide with fear.

Logically, she knew these people would never hurt her but yet, she was still terrified. “Hey hey, we don’t have to do this now.” Tony had stopped walking only a few feet from the entryway to the large room and turned to face her.

Y/N shook her head. “It’s fine, I’m fine.” But her words were hollow.

He glanced at her skeptically. “Ok- how about if you need to tap out, say pineapple. It’s my safe word.” That made her giggle, easing the building pressure in her chest.

“Could you get any more basic?” She teased. Taking in a deep breath, she stepped forward once more, entering a window to her past.

The Avengers looked like they had been trapped in time until she returned. There were small differences, like Bucky’s short hair and Steve’s beard but all in all, they looked just as she remembered them. It felt like a dream, an image her mind had conjured up as some sort of unconscious protection from the cruel reality she had been living in.

Her eyes locked with Wanda’s grey ones. The witch gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. This caused the others to look around, searching for the source of her shock. “Y/N!” She threw herself at said woman, enveloping her in the warmest, tightest hug Y/N had ever experienced.

That seemed to break the others from their trance. They swarmed her like ants, each attempting to embrace her but stopped by the arms of another team member. Even as her brain was thrumming with panic, she laughed. Those feelings were shoved down as far as they would go, inevitably to be dealt with when she woke up from her nightmares.

She could barely catch individual words as they spoke over each other, eager to hear of her ordeal. There was only one that hung back. Steve looked like he was about to cry, his blue eyes shone with tears he couldn't hide as he crumpled onto the couch behind him.

Instantly, the way was cleared for Y/N. “Steve.” She whispered. He wouldn't look at her. She knew he must've been wracked with guilt, blaming himself for what happened to her like the noble and slightly foolish man he was. Y/N repeated his name, drawing closer to the soldier, her body trembling.

His broad shoulders shook with silent sobs, becoming more hysterical the closer she got. “I-I can't believe this. You're not here.” The others had gone silent, glancing at each other with looks of worry. They knew Steve had taken her disappearance hard but they didn't think it was this bad.

“I'm here. I'm home.” She fell to her knees before him, dipping her head so she could catch a glimpse of his eyes. “I'm safe.” Tentatively, he reached for her, the tips of his fingers just barely touching her full cheek. As soon as he made contact with her hot skin, something snapped in his mind.

Strong arms wrapped so tightly around her, her ribs creaked with the force. But it didn't hurt. “I've got you.” Tears soaked into her shirt from where he tucked his face against her neck.

Y/N expected that usual warm feeling to settle on her chest from whenever Steve touched her, the butterflies in her stomach and dare she say it but the spark of arousal between her legs. And yet, as she held him more intimately than ever before, emotions flying, she felt nothing.

Well, she did feel sad, she chose to marry Loki and put all of her friends through this. She had a fondness for Steve she knew would never dissipate but it seemed now there was an icy grip on her heart, holding all of her affections back. “Oh Stevie. I'm so sorry.”

The room grew quiet. They had all waited for this moment for so long and yet there was a wrongness to it that no one could identify. Y/N was different. Bucky clocked onto it first, seeing how dull her eyes were, how guarded her body language. She was holding back, fearful of something or someone. Or more likely, a whole room full of people.

“Let's give them some space.” He grabbed Sam by the shoulder as the younger man went to swoop in for another hug, “I'm sure we'll all get our fair share of Y/N time now that she's home.” A grateful look confirmed his suspicions. He nodded as he led the others away.

She watched them leave. He knew that look, it was the same way that he used to look at the world when he first escaped HYDRA. She was questioning if what she was seeing was really real or just some dream. Just as he turned to exit, Y/N shifted, causing her shirt to lift over her hip, exposing a small sliver of skin but it was more than enough to reveal the puckered flesh of a scar, one that looked painful and deep.

Their eyes met and it was like looking in a mirror, a broken and bloody mirror. With a silent promise to himself to check in on her later, Bucky shut the door softly behind him.

“It's just us now Stevie, you don't have to worry any more.” Her knees were getting sore from kneeling on the hardwood floor but Steve wasn't letting go anytime soon so she just resolved to sit there and wait for him to let go.

“I thought you were gone forever. And it was my fault.” He felt so small in her arms, so weak. He was crumbling before her like a sandcastle caught in the incoming tide.

Y/N shook her head. “No Steve it isn't, I promise you that.” And no more could be said. He would insist he was at fault, and she would reassure him that it wasn't the case as more and more shame built up in her gut. So they stayed quiet, holding each other on the floor, both wishing they could turn back the clock.

“Little star, it’s time to wake up.” A smooth voice crooned. A cold hand cupped her full cheek, encouraging her to wake from the light slumber she found herself in. She smiled but quickly stamped it out, keeping her eyes firmly shut. “You cannot sleep forever, my star.”

“I’m not asleep.” Her voice was filled with laughter just waiting to bubble out.

“Oh really?” He hummed. “Then what are you? Because you look asleep to me.” His voice grew closer and she could feel his warm breath against the cup of her ear.

“I've been cursed and only you can break the spell.” Even with her eyes closed, she knew he was smiling in that wicked way he always did before he lathered her with his attention.

“And how do you propose I do that?” He asked like he didn't already know the answer. His fingers trailed down from her cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw, down the softness of her chin, then following the lines of her neck until he reached her collarbone which had been exposed by the t-shirt she wore.

Her breath hitched the lower he went, goosebumps following in his wake. “True love's kiss.” She felt him lean closer, his slim chest pressing against her left shoulder.

His lips were cold, as they usually were, but they were the softest things she ever felt. The kiss was gentle at first, merely a brush of his lips against hers but soon, he rested more of his weight on top of her, his hunger for increasing exponentially.

But far too soon, he pulled away and her eyes fluttered open. “It's time to go, my star.” She frowned.

“But I don't want to go, I never want to leave your side.” Black hair hung over them like a curtain, shielding their faces from the rest of the world. She knew he didn't want to leave, but he had to, just like how she had to go home before her mother got too worried.

“I know my darling but one day, one day we will be together forever.” His green eyes shone with love as he looked down upon her.

“Do you promise?”

“Always.”

Y/N jolted awake, gasping for air like she had been drowning. These dreams were becoming more vivid as if she were revisiting a memory that had only occurred the day before. The boy had been a fixture of both her childhood and teen days, a comforting presence that only a first love could be.

“Little fucking star.” She growled, throwing the sheets from her body and slipping from the too soft bed Tony had provided her that she could never find rest in. Even with the air conditioning on full blast and sleeping naked, Y/N felt too hot, too uncomfortable.

She knew that her body was used to the freezing temperatures of Jotunheim and having a living ice cube sleep beside her but she didn't want to admit that out loud. It would be like admitting that she actually cared for the man that ripped her life apart and destroyed any future hope for an actually healthy relationship.

Darkness still enveloped the wooded area around the mansion, it must have been still early morning. Haphazardly, she grabbed coverup, concealing her naked body, and ventured out into the house, in search of something to occupy her mind.

It had been just over a week since Thor returned her to Earth. And to say it had been strange would be an incredible understatement. No more than three other people would be in a room with her, even movie nights and dinners were split up so she wasn't overwhelmed. Everyone walked on eggshells around her, consumed by their own guilt and frightened by what, if anything, would trigger her.

The only person that had actually treated her normally was Bucky and she supposed that was because he had gone through something similar. Well not the being forced to marry a god that tried to start a war in order to get revenge against his previous adoptive father, but the being kidnapped and experimented on part of it.

And then there was the person she had been avoiding for the six days she had been there, Steve. It was hard to look him in the eye and see that undying love he held for her while her own heart was confused and broken simultaneously.

The house was thankfully silent as Y/N walked along, mindlessly wandering as she got lost in her own thoughts. Most of the Avengers had decided to temporarily stay with the Starks in an effort to provide some sort of normality for her. Only Clint, Bruce and Peter returned to their own homes, leaving the mansion still quite full.

“It's a bit late for a midnight snack.”

“Holy shit!” Y/N jumped at the sound of another voice interrupting her thoughts. Bucky sat at the counter, dressed in a red henley and sweatpants, his short hair still mussed from sleep, sipping a coffee that had gone cold a while ago.

He slyly smiled at her from behind his mug. “Don't scare me like that, asshole.” She grumbled but her scolding only served to make his eyes light up in amusement. Padding over to the pantry, Y/N began searching for something. She didn't know what she wanted but it was so nice to have that choice of just looking at a shelf full of food while she decided what to eat.

“You're the one stalking around a dark house in the middle of the night, I'm just having a coffee. Can't sleep?” She hummed.

“I'm thinking mac and cheese. Do you want some?” She knew she was being obvious with her avoidance of the question but hopefully the super soldier would take the hint and just drop it.

But Bucky was nothing short of persistent. With the silent steps of a weathered assassin, he cautiously approached her. “Go sit, I'll cook it for you.”

“No!” She snapped and suddenly the air in the room got ten degrees hotter. Bucky stepped back preparing for another outburst, but her shoulders fell, and so did the temperature. Her right hand cupped her cheek in a self-soothing manner. “I'm sorry. I just, I need to do this myself.”

“I know. How about I make us some hot chocolate to go with it?” Taking his chance, Bucky moved forward once more, his metal hand coming to rest on her bicep in a friendly touch.

“Y-yes thank you.” Her voice was shaky but her hands were steady, he would take that as a win. With a kiss pressed to her temple that made her release a shuddering breath, he left her to cook her mac and cheese as he started some hot chocolate. Maybe tomorrow she would open up some more.

“Hey Wanda?” The TV played a rerun of an old sitcom the witch was fond of, the volume down low so as to not wake Vis, who was somehow asleep. Her head lolled back on the couch and saw Y/N standing nervously in the doorway.

Her face was illuminated by the flashing lights of the show. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Wanda could feel how conflicted her mind was, how lost and broken she felt. It was hard not to. Sadness oozed from the demigod like oil spilling into the ocean. “I need help.”

The testing room for Tony's suits was surprisingly empty given how many projects he was working on at once. Already, FRIDAY had a fire safety protocol in place plus a protective shield for Wanda if Y/N happened to go nuclear. “I'm sorry, what do you want me to do?” The red haired woman asked in disbelief.

“I want you to get into my head and find out how exactly my powers work. Lo- he tried to help me control them but I passed out whenever we trained. I need more control.” Her brow was set with determination. “So come on, slap my brain around a bit. It'll really help me out.”

Appalled, Wanda's mouth hung open in shock. “Y/N, that's not going to help. I think it might just make this whole thing worse.” But it seemed, she wouldn't listen to reason.

“I don't know what I'm capable of or even what could set me off. I need to find that trigger before I hurt someone. Please Wanda.” She crossed her arms over her slim chest.

But as she looked at the other woman, feeling her pain and her terror, she relented. “Fine, but I get to stop at any time for any reason. Deal?” Y/N's face lit up and Wanda was suddenly struck by the thought that she hadn't really seen her smile like this since before she disappeared.

“Thank you! Thank you!” She almost jumped for joy and Wanda watched as a huge weight was lifted from her shoulders. How heavy had this burden been and why would she want to carry it alone. Y/N scuttled off to the center of the room, stripping off the oversized long-sleeve shirt and leggings she wore, leaving her in a sports bra and panties.

Catching Wanda's curious gaze, she shrugged. “I don't want to burn up my clothes and have to walk back to my room naked.”

“Fair.” She agreed. The scars were obvious now, standing out like tattoos against her skin. Wanda was fascinated by the morbid beauty of the largest of them. “So how do you want me to do this?”

“Just get in there and poke around, see what sticks.” Red mist curled around her head as she steeled herself for the inevitable onslaught of emotion.

An older man laughing through tears of sleep deprivation as he leaned against her.

Pain, knives slicing into her skin.

Blinding white and cold, the coldness of a hand as he slid a heavy ring on her finger.

Warmth as strong arms encircle her.

The taste of foreign fruit exploding on her tongue.

Tones of blue and red, lips coming closer to her own.

The sound of his amusement.

The smell of his hair.

Suddenly, all of it disappeared with a shocked gasp. Y/N shakily opened her eyes to see the devastation before her. The now previously white walls of the room were black with char, smoke curling from beneath her feet. Wanda still stood behind a protective shield but her face was coloured with terror.

“We have so much fucking work to do.”

“It's not always nightmares.” A lone lamp in the corner of the living room was the only source of light for the pair, casting their faces in soft shadows. Bucky looked at Y/N from over his small plate of leftovers, noodles hanging from his lips as he took in what she said. “I dream of a boy I used to know sometimes.”

He quickly slurped up the rest of his food and put his plate to the side, shrugging. “I sometimes dream about Dot but they are of the damp variety if you know what I mean.” With a disgusted look on her face, Y/N slapped his arm but Bucky could see the way her mouth turned up in a shy smile.

“Shut up Barnes! I don't want to hear about your centuries old conquests!” He chuckled along with her.

“It was barely a century ago and besides who are you to judge, virgin.” He stuck his tongue out at her childishly which made her laugh even more.

Their midnight chats had become a nightly occurrence, a colliding of two alike souls who were destined to drift apart once more like passing galaxies. She spent her days training, learning what she was truly capable of and her nights were for soothing her hurt.

Bucky was of two minds about the whole thing. He knew that he could help Y/N in a way that none of the others could but it broke his heart to see his best friend so hurt. No one knew why she had been avoiding Steve, well maybe Wanda did but there was no way she was going to say.

Steve needed to talk to her, to touch her and make sure she was real but whenever Y/N saw him, she would leave the room and isolate until it was time for her and Bucky to have their little chats. “I just keep dreaming about him. I don't remember his name or really what he looked like, but I know that he made me happy.”

She looked wistfully into the darkness as if trying to conjure him to appear before her. “It could be your mind trying to comfort itself, creating someone to deal with all the trauma you went through.”

Her brows furrowed. “But it feels so real, he felt so real.” Curling her shapely legs beneath her, Y/N leaned against the back of the couch, her eyes shifting upwards to the ceiling. This happened a lot, she would drown in her own mind, overwhelmed by the waves of emotion.

“He might have been, a long time ago. But there is someone who is real that could help you.”

“Bucky-” Her gaze flicked down to him.

“No listen. Steve adores you and he cares for you in a way that I have never seen him care for someone before. You two need to hash out what ever the fuck has been going on.” His words carry a weight that Y/N already felt on her chest. “Let him help you.”

Taking in a deep breath, she tried to find the words to explain to him that she couldn't, when her breath caught in her throat. Emerging from the shadows, Steve loomed over the pair. Evidently, he had been working out, he donned his usual track pants and white t-shirt that was always a size too small. Sweat still glistened on his forehead, making his blond hair appear even darker.

Her head snapped to the former Winter Soldier, leveling him with a glare that sent a shot of fear down his spine. In that moment, he saw her become the goddess they all logically knew her to be, terrifying and beautiful. But her anger was controlled, measured. She knew he had told Steve to come up during their talk and he knew that she would get her revenge one way or another.

“You two need to talk. I'll see you in the morning.” Bucky began to reach out to touch her shoulder in a friendly gesture but faltered when he caught the flash of betrayal in her eyes.

Steve quickly took his place on the couch, his blue eyes boring into her soul. Guilt ignited in her veins. At first she avoided him because she was confused, her feelings were jumbled and running wild. But now, after having her brain turned into soup and put back together again by Wanda, she knew why.

“You, um you're looking a lot better.”

“Thank you. I think I just needed some junk food and TV.” She huffed nervously. Every fibre of her body was telling her to run but she forced herself to stay, she owed him that. Reaching down, she fished her now cold cup of tea from the floor and cupped the ceramic gently between her palms.

You're mine, little one. Heat soon flowed between her skin and the cup, quickly heating it back up. Steve looked at her in fascination as the tea began to steam. “Wow.”

She chuckled and curled into herself even more. “Pretty wild right?” He gave her that dazzling smile she knew so well, the one that made people around the country swoon when they saw it, his fake smile.

“Yeah, it's a neat trick.” She cringed at the insincere tone of his voice. Steve readjusted himself, his knees spreading wide so he could bend forward and plant his elbows onto his strong thighs. His fingers intertwined beneath his nose in a pose that screamed dominance. “So.”

“So?” He exhaled harshly through his nose.

“You've been avoiding me. No, don't try to argue, you have. I've spent days trying to figure out what I did wrong and I couldn't figure out what it was. But then, I overheard you and Wanda training.” Her heart dropped. She knew what conversation he was talking about.

“Y/N, I think we seriously need to talk about what your powers are tied to.” Confused, she glanced over at the witch and in the process, extinguished the flame floating freely before her.

“What do you mean?” She asked. Wanda sighed deeply from her place on the small bench they had dragged into the testing room. Her red hair hung heavily around her face, framing the devastating expression she was sporting.

“Throughout everything, all your thoughts, your feelings, your fears, your hopes, they are tied to one person.” Her voice was soft like she was breaking bad news to Y/N.

“Steve?”

“What? No. Loki you idiot!”

Not convinced, Y/N shook her head. “No, I hate him, I want nothing to do with that piece of shit!” But her words held no conviction. Patting the spot beside her, Wanda gestured for the other woman to sit down with her.

“You say that but I have seen your mind. You may not have liked him at first, but you have grown to care for him. Your souls are intertwined like you have loved each other for decades. No matter what has happened, you do lo-”

“Shut up.” She snarled, suddenly turning on her friend. “You don't know what he did to me, what he caused. He is a monster, nothing more.”

“I have seen him through your eyes! No matter how much you tell yourself that you despise him, it isn't true. I hate this as much as you do but it's a fact. You're in love with him.” There was a clatter from the opposite end of the room, causing both women to whip their heads around but there was nothing there.

Tentatively, Wanda faced Y/N again. “And he loves you. In some twisted, sick way, he needs you more than anything in this universe.” Fat tears streamed down her full cheeks as Wanda took her by the hands. “You need to admit that, and then we can move on.”

“Ok, fine.”

“You're avoiding me because he tricked you into falling in love with him!” The rage came swiftly like a summer storm. “He took you from us, from me! He forced you to marry him! And you're in love with him?!”

But her anger was the tsunami, not the rain. “You know what, fuck you Rogers. You don't know what I've been through and you certainly can't judge me for doing what I had to in order to survive.”

“You need physiological help Y/N! You're obviously suffering from Stockholm Syndrome! I can help you! I can make it better!” He attempted to reach for her but she jerked away. His eyes flashed with pain at her rejection but she truly could not give less of a shit.

“Oh and what do you get out of this? You fix me and then what, I fall at your feet and offer to blow you as a thank you?” A dark pink flush spread across his cheeks and Y/N scoffed. She rose from her seat, slamming her mug of tea back down onto the coffee table in front of them. “That's what I thought. Don't speak to me again unless you're ready to actually fucking listen to me instead of pretending to be my hero. And tell Bucky that he can go fuck himself.”

Smoke rose from the empty cup, the only thing remaining was burnt tea leaves.

“I need to talk to my brother.”

“That's a weird way to say 'good morning my favourite human. Would you do me the honour of using your insanely large brains and good looks to contact my idiot brother?'” Tony didn't even bother to look up from his work as he answered but when Y/N didn't reply, he lifted his head.

She stood in the entryway to his lab, her expression that of pure hatred. He could see the heat around her, making the hardwood beneath her feet warp and curl from the flames within her. Her eyes were pure white, milky like those of a corpse. “My brother. Now.”

He had seen that look before, but it had been four years ago, looking into the eyes of a man that wanted to kill him and his entire species. How far had Loki sunk his claws into her?

“Ok ok just keep your pants on, this could take a minute.” That seemed to appease her as slowly, the colour returned to her irises almost like dye bleeding through white fabric. Her shoulders dropped and she staggered forward collapsing into a chair by his work bench. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“Not really.” Came her response.

“Does it have something to do with the midnight rendezvous you've been having with the Manchurian Candidate? Or the mind melding with our wicked witch?” Y/N groaned and slipped from the chair, practically melting into the cool concrete of the floor.

“Sort of. It's mostly Steve though.” Tony glanced at her over the line of code he was writing so that Thor could be alerted. “He just- ugh I hate men!”

“You can't have your big brother beat him up. No matter how much I dislike the Golden Boy, he's useful and the press like him, we don't need him dead.”

Y/N sat up onto her elbows. The white streak of hair that she left out of her usual hair styles, falling perfectly over the left side of her face. “Please, I don't want to talk about it right now.”

“Riiight. Do you need your timeout room until point break gets here?”

“Maybe a little bit.” He smiles kindly, as a father would to their child and nods his head towards the door diagonal to him.

“Go on, I'll have FRIDAY let you know when I get through to him.” With a groan, she pulled herself to her feet, staggering only once before she righted herself and slipped into the testing room.

Tony turned back to his code but was interrupted once more as Y/N poked her head out from behind the door. “I know I don't say it enough, but thank you.”

“Go blow something up and stop bothering me.” He said dismissively but she heard the waiver of his voice.

“Whatever you say, old man.”

The sound of small explosions soon became a white noise. The rumbling under his feet turned them numb but Tony didn't want to complain. He had seen her power, spying on her training with Wanda on occasion, only to be struck by what he had seen.

Fire swirled around her like wind, a rainbow of reds and blue and whites. Her face was always at peace, her arms moving gracefully as she conducted an orchestra of destruction. But when she was mad, she really got mad.

The flames became huge waves that would crash over her. Blind with rage, she would let it consume her whole until she collapsed in a heap. And today, seemed like one of those days.

Absent-mindedly, Tony switched on the fire suppression system for when the room got too hot and then returned to his work. The message had been sent out, now all he had to do was wait.

“Where's Y/N? Did something happen? Is she ok?” The lights in the lab had brightened with the rising sun, but as usual, Tony was too absorbed in his own head to realise how much time had passed. The sudden panicked voice broke him from his thoughts.

He went to answer the frazzled god who stood in the slightly damaged doorway but found his throat was bone dry. He really needed to drink more water. So instead, he gestured vaguely to the training room and Thor took off. His huge bulk bumped into several tables, knocking a few important projects to the floor. He ignored Tony's hoarse shouts of protest in favour of almost ripping the door from its hinges to get to his sister.

But evidently, there was no need to panic. Y/N was sitting on the floor in the middle of the white room, covered in a white foam. Her expression was both one of absolute glee and extreme annoyance. “He could have just sprayed water on me and not this shit.”

Thor's head dropped forward in relief. “That is not very dignified for a princess.”

“Suck my royal ass.” She retorted. She held her hand out and her brother wasted no time pulling her to her feet and into a tight hug.

“I'm glad you're alright, sister. Tony's message worried me.” Slowly, his arms unwound from her, letting her take a step back so their eyes could meet.

“I need to talk to you about something that none of the others would understand.” The strained tone behind her words, immediately sobered his mood.

“Very well, get cleaned up and I will take you somewhere private.”

As it turns out, somewhere private was Thor's small cabin in Norway that had been set up for him a month after his sister's marriage. Apparently, he had gone mad with grief, falling into bad habits that put the other Avengers at risk. So they created a home for him in the wilderness where he could indulge without hurting others.

It was small, probably far too small for someone of his incredible stature, especially with all the little trinkets scattered around and framed photos on the walls. There were some generic stock photos of flowers or beaches but there were also candid shots of their friends, a gorgeous one of Jane in her lab, and a copy of the photo of Y/N that Tony had on his desk.

“I hope this is far enough away for you to be comfortable.” Thor said nervously, his anxiety spiked at what she could need from him.

“Thor, we could have just gone to my room, but I appreciate the effort.” She chuckled as she ran her fingers over the photo of her brother very obviously drunk with his arms wrapped around Peter and an inebriated Sam. “You've got a lot of pictures here.”

“Yes! Cameras are such a magnificent invention, certainly better than sitting for portraits for hours on end as a child.” Y/N glanced back at her brother from over her shoulder.

“Do you have any portraits here? I bet you were such a cute kid.” He visibly lit up. With ginger steps, he scooted around her and walked further into the cabin.

He disappeared into what she presumed was the bedroom at the back of the house. There was a brief moment of silence and then a crash, followed by some truly explicit curses. Thor soon emerged with a small box in one hand and a red splotch on his forehead which he was currently rubbing with his free palm.

“I stole these from mother but I guess she knew because she gave me more.” He squeezed into one of the small kitchen chairs. Y/N had the distinct thought that he looked like an adult trying to sit in a child's seat. He laid the box down in front of him and carefully lifted the ornate lid, letting Y/N catch a brief glimpse of the collection of papers inside.

Without needing to be told, she sat opposite him, elbows on the table, hands folded beneath her soft jaw in waiting. The first he pulled out was a simple sketch of Frigg. She looked far younger than Y/N remembered her. She was gazing out a window, wind blowing through her loose hair. “She's beautiful.”

“Indeed, our mother is a handsome woman.” He simply commented and moved on quickly. The next was of him as a baby, she could tell because of the shock of blond hair atop his head and huge blue eyes. He was being held by his mother as Odin stood proudly next to them, his armour gleaming even through the medium of paints.

Many photos followed after, showing his slow progression of growing up, but as he was in the middle of a story about the first time he held a sword (at the ripe old age of three), Y/N froze, her entire body going stock still. “Who is this?”

Thor stood beside another boy, his arm wrapped around his shoulders. He was taller than the other but they looked to be similar in age, around their mid teens. He was smiling broadly while the boy under his arm kept a straight face. His black hair was slicked back, away from his face, highlighting the high cheek bones that would emerge with puberty and his shocking green eyes. It was the boy from her dreams.

Before Thor could answer, she flipped the small portrait over to read the inscription left in the corner of the canvas, written in Frigg's hand. Thor and my little star.

“Oh, I didn't realise that was in here.” He was avoiding the question.

“I-I've been dreaming about this boy. I knew him a long time ago, before my mother died.”

“Are you positive that it's the same boy in your dreams?” He implored, his jaw set and brow furrowed.

“Of course I am! I've been seeing him almost every night and whenever Wanda got into my head.” The air seemed to freeze with tension, and then shattered as a sudden epiphany came over the older god.

“Sister, it seems you have known Loki for far longer than any of us have realised.” Her gaze dropped back down to the image in her hands, focusing on the boy as her fingers unconsciously reached for the necklace hidden beneath her shirt.

“What in the actual fuck?”

Series Masterlist | Marvel Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Join my taglist!

All works

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @alexxavicry @ravenwings73 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @silverfire475 @psychadelichues @mvyalx @faefanatic @evansqueen54 @km-ffluv

The Lost Princess

@willowtree42095 @christineblood @albinotigerpython @kattreffic @mizunsure @iconfusemyselfalot @multifandombitch696 @jhaverijinal @inpraizeof @girl-obsessed-with-things @chaoticfiretaconerd @that-chick212 @insanitybyanothername @meavetriesart @lokigirlszendaya @randomfandoms2001 @monbebefan247 @its-juls8 @sititran @lokiandbuckysdoll @elizabethmoon82 @salenorona23 @pretty-npeach @l0kis-slvt @generouspuppypuppy @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @raajali3 @honkytonkbabe @itsbqueenthings @getoutofthere @theweepingvulcan91 @valen-yamyam16 @luvvvjada @r0si5 @marvel-mistress @niyaaka-tojis1wife

201 notes · View notes

sweetsweetjellybean · 2 years ago

Text

King!Steve | Lovers to Enemies

An innocent crush leads to Steve teaching you the rules of the game. Turns out you're an even better player.

TW: FemReader, Angst, Revenge, Smut, Hate Sex, Jealousy, Cheating, 18+

It began with a kiss.

A party on a cool fall night. Red and gold leaves still clung to their branches, painting the woods around skull rock a new color. Your friends were getting tanked on cases of cheap beer bought by Dean Finley's older brother after a blow job from Chrissy under the bleachers.

Hawkins golden boy Steve Harrington stood on the other side of the fire, untouchable, above it all. Like a stalker, you hadn't been able to keep your eyes off him all night even though he's never spared you more than a glance. A moth to a flame, you watched him through the tiny glowing embers rising in the smoke, with a growing ache radiating from your gut. A crush – that's what your friends told you. It can't be real love if it's not returned, but you know that's not true. It would be so much easier if it were. It would mean you could stop.

He threw his cigarette into the fire and wandered away from his friends into the dark of the woods, and because you couldn't stop, you followed him. But he was already gone, lost among the tall trees, leaving you alone with your pain. A twig snaps behind you, and Steve is there, leaning against a tree.

"Following me?" he stepped toward you until you looked up at him.

"Um…no," you sputtered, panicking, "I was just…um…what are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," his hand landed on your hip, drawing you closer.

"Me?" you questioned as your body automatically complied, "How did you know I'd come out here?"

"I hoped," his lopsided smile had your stomach doing somersaults as his thumb traced your bottom lip.

"I didn't even know you–"

His pillow-soft lips covered yours, slowly teasing your mouth until you opened for him and his tongue found yours. All the pain turned to rapture, your love burst into gold flakes that glistened as they floated through your veins.

He kissed you and kissed you until you were drunk on him, eyes still closed when he pulled away.

"We should get back," his hand smoothed along your jaw, "You go first, and I'll be there soon."

"Okay," you agreed, shaking your head like you understood, although you didn't.

Sipping from the warm can, you let the malt and metallic tang wash away his kisses as you watched from the other side of the fire when he joins his friends, not offering you a glance. Seeing his kiss-bitten lips kept you from wondering if you had imagined the whole thing.

A few weeks without acknowledgment and he was pulling you into the tiny half-bath on the first floor of Tiffany Edward's house. His mouth was sweetened by beer and tobacco while his hands roamed over your clothes. Your body heated, and that gold glittered - though slightly tarnished from neglect. Sighing into his mouth, you pushed those thoughts away. He wanted you. That was all that mattered.

That turned into this - in the backseat of his car, thick fingers finding you sticky wet.

"Has anyone touched you before?"

"There has only been you," you admit without regard for your heart.

He smiles against your lips, "Can I make you feel good?"

With your permission, you're stretched around him. Pants and gasps steaming the windows until he does just that. Still floating and trembling, his hand moves yours until you're touching him and watching him get lost in the feeling.

When he told you his parents were gone for the weekend, you knew what you were saying yes to. You'd been expecting the sting.

"It won't hurt next time," he soothed.

The promise of next time made any pain fade as he moved inside you, and you gave him everything.

"Bend over and hold on to the hood."

He found you after the game, asking you to stay. He kept you waiting in the parking lot until everyone else had gone. His BMW sat parked in the shadows. His hair was damp from the shower, and his body still high from his win. His hands moved under your skirt, flipping it up, moving aside your panties. Rubbing your clit until you were embarrassingly wet. He pushed inside while you clawed at the hood. And he was right. It didn't hurt. He moved hard and fast. Colors exploded behind your eyes.

"Shit, that was good," he kissed you after, "I made you cum, right?"

He was holding Nancy's hand, walking her to class, when you first felt it.

Those tarnished gold flakes had turned to rust, collecting in your heart, corroding it until it seized. She was perfect, smart, and pretty. He put his arm around her shoulder, and you watched his eyes light up with pride. She's his girl. He walked past you without a glance. Your blood is a bitter poison, formaldehyde keeping you preserved despite being dead inside.

Everyone gets it wrong. Hate is just as strong as love.

It ends with a kiss.

A party at Carol's, one you know that Miss Priss won't attend. Steve arrives with the rest of the basketball players. His eyes land on you, and he looks away. No matter. Chance Bailey is his teammate, his rival, younger with adorable floppy hair. They even play the same position. It doesn't take much, a smile while you "accidentally" rub up against him, and he is yours – like you used to be his. It makes you just as bad as Steve. That should give you pause, but it doesn't. Steve taught you the truth. It's all just a game, and not everyone can win.

Pulling Chance over to the couch, you sit on his lap and hang on his every word. Steve's jaw is clenched when he takes the chair beside the couch – you've got his attention.

"I think next year we'll make it to the championship," Chance tells you with his hand high on your thigh.

"I bet you're real good at gettin it in," you run your hand through his wavy locks, and his eyes widen.

"Give it a fucking rest, Bailey," Steve stands up, his hands open and closing into fists, "We could have won this year if you tried as hard to get the ball as you are trying to get this girl's ass."

"Is that right, Harrington," Chance pushes you off his lap and mirrors Steve's posture, "because I was thinking we could have won if Coach had kept you on the bench with the rest of the losers."

Without another word, Steve's fist connects with Chance's nose. There's an audible crunch of bone and a burst of red. The other players are getting in between them to make sure things end there.

"This is who you want now?" Steve yells at you, pointing his hand toward the boy bleeding onto the carpet, "or are you making your way through the whole team?"

Now it’s your turn to strike. With a red handprint on his face and his arm wrapped around your bicep, he drags you into Carol's little brother's room, and you get exactly what you want.

His hungry mouth is on you, tearing at your lips as his hand fumbles behind him, twisting the lock on the doorknob.

"Is this what you wanted?" he yanks your head back with a hand full of your hair, "you wanted me to fuck you."

"It didn't have to be you," you say, loosening his belt, "anyone would do."

He pushes you further into the room against a low chest of drawers with a mirror attached. Plastic dinosaurs and transformers fall over the side and onto the floor. The stiff corduroy of your skirt burns your skin when it's yanked up around your hips, and you're lifted to the edge of the bureau.

"Is that right? You think you're going to give away what's mine?" He latches on to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark while peeling your panties down your legs until they slide off the rest of the way, fluttering to the floor.

"Yours?" you can't help the laugh that bubbles from your throat, "I think you're confused."

"There's no confusion," he wrenches your legs open wide, "this cunt is mine to play with when I want," he looks down at your center, a warm blob of spit falling from his mouth, running down into your folds.

"Sorry, Harrington," you suck in a sharp breath as his fingers start to work you, "You broke this toy, and now it's somebody else's turn."

"You think someone else is going to fuck you as good as me?" his tone is arrogant, and he holds your gaze, trying to prove his point with his thumb circling your clit.

Only one of you can win this game, and it's a little pathetic he hasn't figured out he's already lost. Your hands on his chest push him away, "You think I need your fingers to cum?" your fingers glide through your wetness before taking his place, "I can play all by myself," you say each word slowly before letting out a moan.

"Christ," he breathes, eyes darkening with lust and fury. His knees hit the floor, and his hands push into the skin of your inner thighs, holding you open so he can bury his face into your core.

He licks you and licks you until you're cumming on his tongue, eyes opened wide when he pulls away.

"We should get back," your hand wipes away some of the wetness on his face, "You go first, and I'll be there soon."

With a growl, he pulls you off the bureau and spins you around. He unzips and holds himself at your entrance watching your face in the mirror while he waits for you to fuck yourself onto his cock. Smirking, you oblige him, rocking back until your ass slaps his thighs. His eyes roll back as you really start to work him, rolling your hips as you push back hard and fast.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" you coo, sticky sweet, as you watch his face in the mirror, "You like watching yourself get fucked, Steve?"

His lips twist into a smug sneer as his hand comes down on your ass with a loud slap before he digs his fingers into your hips and starts meeting you thrust for thrust. Angry grunts mix with moans and swears. You're cumming again when his strokes get frantic.

"I'm gonna cum," he pants.

"No," you say, pushing back hard and moving away until he's out of your pussy, "you can't cum inside me."

His hand moves to his cock, stroking, trying to salvage the orgasm you had rudely interrupted.

"What the fuck?" ropes of cum splash his shirt, and run down his hand staining his jeans.

Bending, you pick up your panties and smooth your skirt back in place.

"Save that for when you're with Nancy."

That was the moment you won. His eyes widened with the realization of what he'd done with his cock softening in his hand. He really loves her, and now he can live with his guilt.

Pausing before you walk out the door, a little of that rust flaking off with a single pump of your heart – maybe not completely dead.

"Steve," you look at him over your shoulder, blowing him a kiss, "have fun cleaning up your mess."

If you've enjoyed this fic, please reblog & drop me a comment. It helps others find my work. For more fics check out the pinned post at the top of my blog. Thanks for reading.

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #king steve #stranger things smut #lovers to enemies #steve harrington x fem #steve stranger things

312 notes · View notes