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szkunas · 3 months

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KNOCK KNOCK, GUESS WHO! ౨ৎㅤsuguru geto.

synopsis / premise ♱ㅤwhen things in your life go well for a long time, there will undeniably be a problem knocking on your door. this time, the issue is your ex-boyfriend, wanted by the jujutsu society — who is very angry with you, even after he stole your money. || PART ONE (previous)

featuring ♱ㅤsuguru geto (jjk0 / 2017 version) x FEM reader.

warnings ♱ㅤ NSFW ♡︎ ㅤporn with very little plot ! toxic behavior ! suguru (GENOCIDAL man) ! unprotected sex (wrap it up) + unrealistic portraits of sex ! creampie ! reader and gojo are not in a relationship, but mutually interested in each other ! coercion / dub-con (both consent but just to be safe) ! genocide / death mentions (geto) ! stalking and breaking in ! bondage + choking ! spanking ! edging ! obsessed suguru agenda ! delusional suguru (you will see) ! seduction !

honorary mentions (inspirations, please read) ♱ㅤthis ask, by anon! all credits to them, i was not planning a part two, haha. whoever you are, i hope you enjoy it.

author’s note ♱ㅤso, today i was sitting down and thinking “im going to finish that yuta draft and probably start the sukuna draft for the event, since he’s winning the poll”. guess which of these two things I did? exactly. none. so, here is more suguru geto for you. i apologize in advance — i am not good at writing seduction. this is a bit rushed lol. repost because i can't see my post in tags

THERE IS NOTHING SCARIER than discovering that the person you love most is hiding a dark secret. it could be a lover, a second family, a dark past or a real, rotting present. that’s the feeling you get: everything is rotten. the walls around you and the space are shaped into a molten mist that rots as time passes, as you read the letter that someone slipped under your door.

the highly wanted criminal, suguru geto, was seen in your apartment two weeks ago, as shown in the photos below. we ask for your full and complete cooperation in the investigation, and soon some sorcerers will need to interrogate you. expect their visit at any time and answer the door when the time comes.ㅤ— the higher-ups from jujutsu society.

oh, hell. no. this cannot be happening.

as the procedure says, you burn the letter and get rid of the ashes.

although your situation is absolutely desperate, the secrecy of jujutsu comes before your disastrous love life. you turn to look for your cell phone, and the delay hurts your bones.

it seems like the object disappears when you need it most. when you find the damn phone, you don’t even hesitate. as you type the number that, at this point, your head knows by heart, your hands shake. this cannot be true. they are lying, they are trying to deceive me and defame suguru. but why? why would society need to do this?

of course, mentally, you suppress yourself. and a rational part of your brain — the part that isn’t driven by the love you feel for a man who’s been with you a long time — slowly realizes that this is the truth.

that’s why the disappearances in the middle of the night, the slight disregard for non-sorcerers touching you or him. the preference for privacy and not allowing you to post photos of the two of you together. he doesn’t have social media, he said. it feels very public. what a lie, he was actually a wanted criminal and cult leader.

no one answers the call, and you press the button once again. and again. and again. by the sixth time, you’re not sure if your hands are shaking with fear, disgust, or hate.

your money. your savings, built up after you left the witch life behind. a small guarantee of your future, a future you planned to have with suguru. a future stolen and lost, by the same man who once stole her heart. beautiful black hair and purple eyes really make a girl forget to pay attention to the red flags.

you leave voicemail after voicemail, until the box is full. then, messages. text after text while your fingertips digit furiously. it didn’t take long for you to realize that a response from him would be even worse, so your last messages were simple, direct. do not talk to me anymore. don’t ever appear in front of me again. and don’t you dare involve me in your affairs, you bastard.

pressing the send button through tears was one of the hardest things you’ve ever done in your life. and so, blocking the number seemed like the most sensible solution. it’s not like he would respond, even if you gave the number to the investigators — your exact intention.

so everything went as it should. 39 missed calls, 104 unanswered messages that changed her perspective of him forever, along with a letter that turned to ash, like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. your life took a new direction, an unpredictable metamorphosis that made you move to another address after the entire legal process on your part was concluded. you didn’t know, and you had no involvement, as hard as it was to believe. and then the sorcerers left you alone, and this was your second new start to normal life.

lonely and with a betrayed heart, in a new apartment far from your ex. unloading the last box does not bring the relief of releasing a chain, but the pain. the pain of losing something. as if the chain had tied itself to one of your ribs and ripped it away, taking a part of you.

but the tears dry. time passes. the pain diminishes, and the space that takes it in the heart is hatred. you become your priority again, and in time, you rise again only to fall again. one last effort, a call to a certain sorcerer you once knew, satoru gojo. this was his noah’s ark, his last hope before resorting to more desperate methods.

he answered. and since then, a lot has changed.

it’s been almost ten months since suguru stole your money and trampled on your love and dignity. almost ten months in which you had your heart broken, and you slowly put the pieces back together. now, your latest relationship — it’s not really a relationship.

six weeks ago, you and satoru had sex in your apartment for the first time. since then, he has been very helpful in all aspects of your life and visits you regularly. he takes you on dates and even carried you when his feet got sore from walking. it sounds crazy, feeling so comfortable with someone after just six weeks, but that’s what happens.

gojo is more than an arrogant boy who uses humor in every situation he sees, he has a heart, and a very generous one at that. despite his insistence, the credit card that was entrusted to you is rarely used (and you managed to convince him to change the password, too). his intention was to ask for help, not to become a parasite that will take as much from him as he can. not when he’s a much better person than you expected. a kind of clumsy white knight, in a cute and a bit of a loser way at the same time.

so, of course, the dates have become routine now. cinemas, walks in the park, roller skating, going for ice cream. these experiences stand out in your memories, as sweet as scenes from clichéd romance films. kisses in the rain, desperate hands pushing you into the apartment — maybe this time, you might be able to tease him a little, make him lose it and have you right there, in a dark corner? the idea is exciting, dangerous, and so stupid it makes your heart flutter.

he still owes you a new bed, though. you keep fucking on your couch because you two broke your single bed the last time you did it.

checking yourself in the mirror before a date is, naturally, what everyone does. the red dress that adorns her body is a little short, the kind of thing you see on a seductive movie character. but satoru asked for this tiny — as tiny as the dress, in his words — favor and promised anything you wanted later if you wore that and hung on his arm all night. even when he’s being a pervert, he’s just a guy who’s whipped for you.

the idea makes you take a step back. satoru can’t be in love with you. yeah, okay. he does cute things often. he takes you on dates almost every week. he’s always trying to make you laugh and has already learned most of your quirks, likes and dislikes. he remembers you throughout the day, at random intervals, and buys you things so casually that you had to beg him to stop and not max out his card bill — he just laughed and said it was all cheap anyway. heirs…

but he can’t be in love. it’s all new, recent. perfect, but maybe it’s just hidden by the love fog at the beginning of a relationship. it has already blinded you to bad signals once, and you internally wonder if you are using gojo.

of course, part of you has already thought about it. having sex with your ex’s best friend and solve your financial problems. two birds, one stone. but satoru is everything suguru is not — true. intense and real, without a mask of sweet truth that covered a rotten truth.

honestly, you don’t want to think about it too much right now. this is a conversation that should be between you and satoru, not between you and your intrusive, insecure thoughts. he deserves to know the truth and he deserves to know that you’re just as interested as he is — not on the money, but on him.

a text message makes you smile right after spraying a sweet perfume on your neck. the screen lights up with that contact that has now become your favorite.

toru <3; ㅤ already in the dress? photos or else ill die (seriously)

a small laugh escapes your throat, and you immediately prepare to take a photo. stepping back a little and posing in front of the mirror, you could swear you heard something near your apartment door while simultaneously hearing the soft click of your cell phone.

one pose to show the front, and one for the back, with a soft, evil smile. satoru isn’t your boyfriend, but with his attitude, he could very well be. he looks at you as if you were the only woman in the world, and as if he wanted you forever. it’s beautiful. it’s such a beautiful emotion to see in those blue eyes that you can’t wait for the next time you look.

after texting back, asking what time the movie starts, your eyebrows come together in a frown. omnisity takes over the environment quickly, and you swear your heart stops beating.

this energy— it cannot be.

“hi princess. missed me?”

the whisper in your ear is so sudden that you immediately turn your face to look. a hand grabs your chin and forces your head to turn back to the mirror, and you gasp, immediately struggling.

suguru geto, on the flesh, the greatest traitor to have walked the earth since judas. traitor to the jujutsu society, criminal and mass murderer, and of course — your ex-boyfriend. right behind you, and forcing you to stare at the mirror as his free hand snatches your phone away.

you hit him with your elbow, but he barely moves. humming, as if he is amused. as if you are some game. geto’s hips press forward against yours, and he efficiently traps you between the sink and him.

this cannot be happening.

what suguru doesn’t find amusing, though, is your text messages with satoru. long or short, little flirtations or obvious nudes, these messages are simply something that makes him turn his nose up in disgust. how dare him. how dare satoru take the one thing suguru truly loved that way?

“get off me.” you murmur, your eyes widening. like any sorcerer, you know the basics of defending yourself, but panic runs through your veins like poison. your muscles feel like solid stone, and you can’t stop your breath from hitching when his hand stops cupping your cheek to grab you by the throat.

he’s a criminal who definitely must have had his share of fights. you are a sorceress who has not been in the field for almost ten years. in a real fight? he could drown you in that sink and satoru would only find out hours later.

satoru. the thought makes you immediately ramble.

“don’t you dare lay a hand on me. satoru will—” he squeezes your neck softly, a silent message for you to keep your mouth shut. suguru sighs, annoyed he needs to explain it to you, word by word. he really, really likes you, but he’s not in the mood after all these games.

this small action — squeezing your neck gently — makes you remember old times. old times, not good days. because, although they were good, the memory was effectively corrupted when he left you, almost a year ago.

“satoru will not do a thing. he doesn’t know i’m here, and he won’t know.” a break. “yet.”

your eyebrows shoot up, before your face contorts into confusion. what does he mean, yet? if anyone knows he’s here, he will be executed. why would he risk it, just to see you? is he here to kill you?

the thought brings visible panics into your eyes — the wonderful, pretty eyes you have. the window to your soul. your soul and body, which suguru would like to possess again.

again, what a ridiculous term. he never stopped owning it, in the first place.

maybe if you buy time, satoru will come see what’s taking so long. he will help. you’ll be safe.

but the date is only thirty minutes, and for satoru to come in person, you would have to wait another forty. one hour and ten minutes with your genocidal ex-boyfriend. wow. this must be some kind of twisted lottery of fate, where winning makes you unlucky.

you force your voice to remain calm, composed. he does not deserve the satisfaction of your fear.

“why are you here?”

“oh, look at her.” he mocks, as if you’re not even just there, listening. “asking why i’m here as if she has no idea.”

“i don’t.” you grit your teeth. “this is why people ask, imbecile. they want answers— ugh.” he squeezes your neck again, making you grow quiet until he relaxes.

“darling.” suguru smiles softly, but some veins are popping up on his hand. he is absolutely pissed, using that sweet voice to smooth you. “you know why i’m here. don’t play dumb. you— let satoru touch you.”

his tone is still soft, affectionate as the boyfriend you once called yours. but beneath the sweetness, there is an anger, a possession. like an animal whose territory has been pierced.

“did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he leans in, his hot breath making shivers run down your spine violently. “you underestimate me, my love. i’m a bit offended. coming from you, i expected so much more.”

his hand snakes all over your body, and close as he is, you’re sure he can hear your erratic heartbeat. thump-thump. thump-thump. thump-thump.

like the engine of a machine, accelerated to its limits. if your organs are your gears, you believe you are malfunctioning right now. a poorly functioning machine due to information overload.

it’s a lot to handle. his hands are warm as they gently pull your dress up, groaning. “i barely had to move it away. what, you enjoy dressing like a slut for satoru?”

it seems like your voice only works normally, as it should, when you feel your panties being pulled down, gasping. “suguru, no! you can’t!”

“oh, i can’t? why? c’mon, darling, just the tip.” he throws your phone away — the sound the device makes when it breaks against the wall is blood-curdling. he wraps both his arms around your waist, pressing his hips to yours. “pretty please?”

you grit your teeth. why the hell is this attractive? perhaps it’s because you barely heard geto beg before. but, no. you can’t. satoru, your satoru, he’s waiting for you — instead, you have your freak ex humping slowly against you. no way, is he wearing buddhist attire? like a monk or something. but these thoughts don’t matter. his words take you out of your head.

“i saw everything that day, you know. and a little before, and after that. getting all cozy with satoru, because i’m not here? you offend me, sweetheart. i’m a bit hurt.”

“oh, i’m not hearing this.” you curl your hands into fists, slamming them on his arms. “not after you lied about who you are, stole my damn money, and left! fuck you, geto! fuck. you.”

he smirks against your ear, grabbing your wrists and pulling your arms behind your back. you groaned, and he quickly decided to hit two birds with one stone.

tugging at the clothing strip that holds his robes together, he rips it off and uses it to tie your hands together as you squirm. he gives it a little tug, confirming it’s not too tight, and throws his clothings to the other side of the room.

“i know i haven’t been here.” he pauses, and you can watch him through the mirror as he forces you a bit down. “and i’m sorry. i wanted to tell you, i did. but i couldn’t. i know what you would think, and— i couldn’t lose you.”

it’s like a sincere admission, but you’re not foolish enough to feel sorry. not for him, definitely. throwing salt at the wound is your strategy right now.

“you lost me anyway. y’know, satoru really has a way with backshots that—” your words are cut off by a gasp, when he rips your panties off you and holds you down by the back of your neck. your back does a pretty arch for him like that, but suguru is not nearly amused enough.

“don’t be a brat. i made mistakes, but you, too. whoring yourself for my best friend? are you kidding me, love?”

“i’m not your love, don’t call me that.” he grabs you by the hair, tugging your head back up to look at his eyes through his reflection.

a pause, and suguru decided against what he was going to originally say, softening his grip on you.

“i missed you. i did. can’t i show it to you? just a little, baby, please?” he presses his hips into yours a bit more gently, and you can feel it.

his rock-hard erection, rubbing softly against your warm pussy. it makes you shiver and hum against your will. a part of you misses it. nothing wrong with satoru — he’s a great learner for an inexperienced guy — but geto knows just how to blow your back and be soft at the same time. an art satoru hasn’t mastered yet.

the idea of doing this to that white haired man who is so good to you — it brings tears to your face. how dare you want to say yes? but also, how could you say no when suguru’s head is rubbing deliciously against your entrance?

you close your eyes in defeat, not able to look at yourself.

“be quick. and don’t ever ask me anything again. you get this— and you disappear from my sight. forever.”

a deal with the devil. sacrifice something and gain something. your body for peace.

he chuckles, throwing his head back with a smirk. “oh, you and i both know that’s not happening, sweetheart. i’ll be here, forever.” he slips his hands down your waist, grabbing it gently and pushing his cock in.

the feeling is— exquisite. geto could try all he wanted, search in all the world, but he never could find someone like you. your body is almost poisonous — intoxicating is the right word. he just bottomed out and he’s already mixing his thoughts. that’s the effect you have on him.

suguru’s hips start moving at a restless pace, not giving you time to breathe or a warning. he can’t waste time with words, not now. not after being pulled away from you, his beloved, for ten torturous months. just when he was planning to come back and convince you to join his cult — or just grab you and lock you up, whatever —, he found you riding his best friend. sinking down satoru’s cock and making him cream all inside you.

the idea makes him huff, thrusting harder.

and you, under him? with your wrists tied up? well, you’re a mess. you’ll have to try bondage with satoru later, it’ll surely make his cock explode. your eyes widen, and you babble something — what’s wrong with your head? why are you thinking about satoru, then, suguru, then satoru again?

oh, lord above, maybe both at the same time? it’s a fantasy that makes you blush more than what you’re doing right now.

suguru guides your head up again, holding your neck gently.

“what are you thinking about, love? you keep—” he grunts. “clenching down on me.”

“nothing,” you stammer out. okay, there is something seriously wrong with you for enjoying this so much. a moan escapes you before you can stop it. “nngh— satoru!”

his eyes widen at the same time as yours. if your hands weren’t tied up, you would have brought one up to your mouth. the squeezing on your neck is firm, enough to not cut air circulation, but present. surely. the whisper of your name echoes through the bathroom.

“what did you just say?”

he looms over you, blushed cheeks and vulnerable expressions changing all the time, staring at your dumb little face in the mirror. suguru has a soft frown on his face, his eyes wide in horror, and his lips are slightly parted. but there’s a dark shadow oozing off him, a rage that cannot be contained.

he’s hurt. he’s mad.

you try to justify it quickly, to do damage control. “suguru! i said— i said suguru!”

but it’s a little too late for that, and lies only make it worse. he pins you down harder, his hips moving back at a ruthless pace this time. harder, faster — no mercy or trace of the sweet man who used to make love with you as if you were made of glass.

now, he fucks you as if he hates you, he hates your guts.

your moans and whines are muffled by the obscene sounds escaping where your hips meet. plap plap plap, mixed with a softly, slightly wet whisper of some sort. suguru lets go of your waist and brings his hand up.

you gasp when it hits the back of your thigh in a loud smack!

he forces you to look up, breathless as he murmurs.

“start counting.” he groans, harshly. and he smacks you again, right on the ass. he’s hitting so hard that you believe his intention is leaving a red mark — a present for satoru to look at later. and you’re right. his friend knows no boundaries and keeps taking what is his. what choice does he has, unless to mark you up?

smack.

you shiver, trying to squirm away and kick before he pins you down again.

“behave, brat. now start counting.”

smack.

“one—” you moan when his heat hits your sweet spot, huffing. smack. “two.”

“good girl.” smack. smack. smack. “how many is that, princess, mm? ohh, that’s the good pussy i missed so much. so— tight.”

“ngh! three! four! f—five?”

“is that a question, or are you answering me, my love?”

he chuckles meanly, thrusting into you again. you both grunt — near the edge already.

“suguru.” you throw your head back, whimpering. “i’m— i’m gonna—”

“ohh, you’re going to cum? that fast, honey? satoru hasn’t been good enough to you, i see.” he thrusts harder, laughing meanly at the way your eyes widen and tear up. “aww, he can’t treat you like you want. he fucks you like a good girl, i bet. but you want to be fucked like a slut.”

he leans down, peppering your neck with kisses and hearing your deep breaths. “it’s okay. i’m close, too. you have this effect on me, my love.” he grunts again, grabbing your hips. “throw that ass back on me, baby, yeah? yeah, juuuust like that.”

he grabs your chin, forcing you to look up as he presses his lips to yours in a upside down kiss. it would be romantic if it weren’t so possessive, visceral, crude. carnal. desperate.

when your lips part, he grunts and sighs softly, while you’re moaning loudly. nearly at the same time, your orgasms hit you both with everything.

suguru’s thrusts become messy, sloppy, and his skin feels a bit sticky against yours as he fucks himself using your pussy, pushing in ropes of cum to paint your insides.

you let your head fall forward when it’s your turn, squirming and whimpering softly. his forehead would have hit the sink if he weren’t holding you up. some more seconds, to dry out both of your highs. slowly, gently, he pulls out of you, watching the fat drops oozing out of your used hole.

suguru smirks as he undoes your restraints, kissing the back of your neck tenderly and adjusting your dress.

“don’t forget who has you first, mkay? i left a little gift for you and satoru here.” he sighs, sounding a bit sad. “i’ll have to go again, i’m sorry. but i’ll be back soon. don’t miss me too much. just leave your window unlocked, and i’ll be here again.” he grabs your face to turn it again, brushing his lips against yours. “unlocking them is a chore.”

geto leans back, and you shiver, confused. the sound of clothes being adjusted and thrown back into a body makes you turn your head moments after you heard it, still a bit too slow.

and he is gone. as you fix yourself up on your feet, you shiver as the realization hits you hard as a stone. no, no. satoru. no.

you stumble to the corner of the bathroom, picking up your phone. the screen is broken, but a call icon appears. you accept immediately, nearly sobbing.

“hey, senpai,” the nickname is soft coming from his lips. a small joke, playing with an honorific that he does not use with figures he should use. “you’re— a bit late. did something came up, or?”

“satoru.” you sob, and even through the screen, you can feel him tense up. his voice becomes more serious.

“what happened? are you okay? where are you? i’m on my way.” the scraping of a chair can be heard in the background of the call.

“i’m— my apartment. i have something to tell you. we need to talk, seriously, we—”

you shiver, and for some reason, you can picture your ex perfectly — walking proudly, with his nose up, the wind making his black hair flow behind him and cruel, purple eyes accompanied by a soft smirk.

“i made a mistake.”

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE, I APOLOGIZE FOR ANY MISTAKES.ㅤthank you for reading! <3

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delicatebarness · 5 months

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i cant read your mind | chapter six

Summary: You and Bucky, in a bathroom.

Warnings: Bucky once again has your neck in his hands.

Word Count: 746

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A/N: It's short and doesn't add to the plot.

You paced the bathroom of Sharon’s place in High Town, clutching your phone tightly. How did you forget to silence it? Why didn’t you just send a quick reply? Sighing, you rested your phone on the vanity, meeting your reflection in the mirror. Your hand instinctively rose to feel your neck, still sensing Bucky’s touch. “Hi, Baby,” his voice echoed in your thoughts. You had yearned to hear him utter those words again.

After reflection, you deeply breathed and splashed your face with cold water. Picking up your phone again, determined to confront the situation with Tim. Your heart raced as you composed a message, wondering how Bucky would feel about you trying to save whatever you and Tim were. After typing and deleting a few drafts, you finally settled on a simple yet, sincere reply.

Before you were able to press send, the bathroom door creaked open and there stood Bucky. Startled, you quickly pocketed your phone as his gaze fell upon your dress again. You noticed his jaw clench as he looked over your body.

“Hey,” you greeted him quietly, trying to keep your voice steady despite the guilt running through you.

His gaze snapped back up to yours, his eyes flashing with anger, “Your little boyfriend almost got us all killed,” he accused, his voice was low and deep.

Your defensive instinct kicked in as you squared your shoulders, feeling a surge of frustration. “He’s not my boyfriend,” you retorted, a sharpness in your tone. “And it wasn’t his fault.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched tighter, “I don’t care what you call him,” he spat. You could feel the tension filling the space between. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy. His eyes narrowed as he began to step closer to you. “Was that him you were just texting?” you could almost sense the venomous jealousy dripping from his words.

Your heart raced as you met his gaze, “What if it was?” you shot back, a hint of defiance laced in your voice as you refused to back down.

“You’re still mine,” he growled, his voice filled with entitlement as he closed the distance between you. His body looming over you a like dark cloud.

Despite the urge to pull him down, you stood your ground and stood straighter as you summoned a bit of courage. “I don’t belong to anyone,” you spat at him with a tone of determination.

His gaze moved down to your neck, his hand traced the area where his touch had previously lingered. His eyes darkened with desire as he admired the metal against your skin. “You’re reckless, Baby Girl,” he murmured, you sucked in a breath as he found his grip around it. “Always getting yourself into trouble, and it drives me crazy.”

Frustration surged through you. “I can take care of myself,” your voice barely a whisper as you gasped for air between words.

His grip on your throat tightened as he pulled you closer, his voice husky. “You’re playing with fire.” his breath was hot against your skin. “And, you know it.” His presence, his touch, ignited a familiar desire sending shivers down your spine.

With a shaky breath, you found yourself being pulled closer to him. The blue in his eyes deepened as they locked onto yours. For a moment, it felt as if the world around you ceased to exist.

“You’re always so damn stubborn,” he muttered with a hint of admiration in his tone. Your lips were inches away from each other, on the verge of meeting.

But before they could touch, a knock at the bathroom door jolted you both back into reality. You pulled away from Bucky, a flush crept up your cheeks as you turned to look back in the mirror.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we don’t have much time,” Sharon’s voice called from the other side, her tone was urgent.

Looking at Bucky through the mirror, you noticed his jaw clench as he looked toward the door. With a resigned sigh, he reluctantly turned back to you, your eyes meeting in the mirror.

“We’ll finish this later,” he murmured, his voice thick with promise without dropping your gaze. You swallowed hard, and your heart began to race again as you offered him a small nod.

Bucky turned to leave the bathroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts. As the door closed behind him, you took another moment to compose yourself before changing into the new outfit Sharon had provided you.

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #tfatws au #tfatws bucky #tfatws #fatws!bucky x agent!reader

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 25 days

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In Love and War (6)

Author's Note: This came out angstyyyyyyyyyy, I'm sorry idk what happened. It's gotta get worse before it gets better, I guess.

Content Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Azriel using Truth-Teller, Mentions of Abuse/Death

Chapter 5/ Masterlist

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I can’t breathe. The walls of the tent close in, the dark leather pressing in closer and closer. If the ground were to open up and swallow me right now, I wouldn’t even have the presence of mind to scream. The fall would be a welcome reprieve from the roaring of my heart in my own ears.

What does he mean our fathers killed each other?

It’s wrong. He’s wrong! He’s lying. He has to be lying!

I roll over so I can face him, so close on this small mat that our noses brush. His violet eyes glow in the darkness of the tent. “What do you mean?” The panic that edges my voice makes me sound shrill, even in my own ears.

I don’t want him to answer, but I desperately need him to tell me everything all at once. The wine threatens to come back up in a rush as his hand skims up my side to cup my cheek, “Tamlin didn’t tell you?”

How dare him touch me while we have this conversation; what is so broken and wrong inside of me that I let him? I know that I am shaking in his grip and when he starts rubbing calming circles into my cheek with his thumb I lean into that touch like it might give me one last life line to cling to.

“He said you killed my father.”

He stills, wings fluttering; I feel it pass through him like its own little draft, skittering across his wings. A dark mist follows, seeping from his skin.

I know we’re not supposed to be talking about this, but the words are already out, whether from the wine or by the sheer desperation I feel crawling beneath my skin. I need to know! I need to know that everything I had believed was true. That all that I was doing this for was not based on a lie.

He brushes his nose over mine, lips ghosting over my forehead. “When I see what they have done to you, I wish I had killed them both.”

My stomach twists. No. No. This can’t be happening!

“But no, it was my father, in retribution for what they had done.”

But I saw him holding the sword! I saw him leave the tent! I never saw his father’s body and Tamlin had always said he arrived too late to save any of them, that all he could do was fend Rhys off to keep him from slaughtering what was left of us.

The confusion must be evident on my face, because he asks, “You really don’t know, do you?”

It’s more than a little patronizing but I don’t even have the energy to be angry about it, because my whole life is a lie! I’ve spent decades hating him. I just offered up my body and possibly my future to destroy him for nothing? For something his father, who’s long dead, did?

“Maybe we should talk about this in the morning,” he suggests and it’s definitely because I’m crying now and not because he’s trying to avoid it.

My throat feels like it;s closing. “No!” And it’s then that I feel the faintest prick of fangs growing behind my lips. “Please just tell me.”

His thumb soothes over my cheek again, like he can feel the sudden shift in my being. I don’t know where that rush of power comes from. Maybe it is some sort of effect of being so close to him while he repairs the wards.

“Rhys!” It’s always Azriel that interrupts us somehow, the shadowy male hurtling into the tent with that wicked looking dagger in hand. “We’ve got movement in the hills.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Now? Of all the Cauldron damned times for Amarantha to show herself, it has to be right now?!

Rhysand is on his feet in an instant, reaching for my discarded chest piece and ushering me into it, our conversation forgotten. “How many?”

I wish I could say I possess his ability to compartmentalize tasks, but despite the worst possible danger knocking on our unguarded and unwarded doors, all I can think about is how desperately we need to finish this conversation.

“Five, a scout and four chargers. I’ve got Nox and Avos on their trail, but I don’t see any marks yet.” Azriel continues, oblivious to my inner turmoil.

Rhysand slings my quiver and bow over my shoulders again, checking all the straps to ensure they’re in place. He’d never taken his own armor off, only the belt for his sword, he uses a tendril of shadowy darkness to strap it into place while he finishes with me. “Stay with her.”

Azriel eyes me like I’m a pile of shit he accidentally stepped in, but I’m too busy trying to wipe my eyes on my sleeves to care. “You might need me out there,” he protests.

“Might,” Rhysand counters, stalking out of the tent in search of his horse. “But I definitely need you here more.” He grabs the reins on his horse, the mount still saddled, just in case we’d needed to leave in a hurry. Dinner threatens to come back up as I watch him slide into his cloak. I’ve spent my life hating that triple star pattern that will sit over his eyes, cursing his existence, wishing him every pain and misery imaginable for ruining my life and it wasn’t even his fault?

The ground is unsteady beneath my feet, I feel myself stumble and sway and I can’t tell if it’s the wine or the reality of the situation that makes my legs feel like jelly.

I want to go home! I want this to be a bad dream.

For a moment, I think he might simply toss the cowl over his head and mount up, leaving me to sit here in the misery of our half finished conversation, but he comes back a moment later, hand sliding into my hair as he tilts my head back and kisses me swiftly.

He should taste as bitter as the wine we’d shared. I should feel nothing but misery when he slips his tongue behind my teeth, but when he has me like this, nothing else matters. There doesn’t have to be anything between us. I do not feel like some broken, wretched thing.

“Don’t leave Azriel’s side,” he says as he pulls away. “We’ll finish our conversation when I return, I promise.” Then he mounts up, calling for half of the men as he goes. The thundering sound of the horses hooves as they race down into the grassy hills beneath us makes it feel like we’re standing in the center of an earthquake.

There’s enough moonlight to watch them go, their mounts and flowing capes in the wind making them appear like wraiths racing towards the enemy.

With half of the men gone, and two scouting, that leaves Azriel and four other men to guard camp. None of them look too happy about it, least of all Azriel, who keeps watching me out of the corner of his eye like he thinks I might disappear at a moment’s notice. I remain next to him, anxiously shifting my weight from foot to foot, hoping the chill on the wind might wake my dull senses up.

Shadows drift off Azriel’s shoulders, but unlike Rhysand’s that always stay curled around his body, Azriel’s drift off like inky tendrils, testing the wind around him. Some slither along the ground like snakes, searching through patches of grass for an unwanted scent, others drift away, testing the wind for him. One remains perched over his ear, and I hear the faint sound of whispering like the shadows are reporting what they find.

We can no longer see the others, and I spin slowly around in a circle, taking stock of my surroundings. We’re a little higher than the base of the mountain, perched on a cleft in the rock for a better vantage point. The ward remains behind us, I think, without the trail of Rhysand’s magic, I still can’t see or feel this one. To the left and right, the rocky base of the mountain is dotted with ancient trees, some thicker than a house, but the coming winter has stolen their leaves, no vantage point for archers to be had there without being sitting ducks. Beneath us, the rolling hills of grass stretch far out of sight. If Amarantha brought an army behind those first five riders, she’s hidden it well. Still, the thought makes a chill run up my spine and I keep a hand around the hilt of my dagger, just in case.

Azriel does nothing to quell my nerves, just stands there, still as a statue, listening to his shadows, eyes glued to the horizon. I can’t help but wonder if his shadows show him things as much as they tell him. Can he see Rhysand right now?

My stomach twists at the thought. I can’t see him. I can’t hear if he’s ok. There’s nothing in my arsenal to tell me that he’s coming back. And Cauldron boil me, I want him to come back. If he dies without finishing our conversation, I might never learn what happened. Whether it’s the truth or not is yet to be seen, but Tamlin’s account and his account are different, and I will be damned if I don’t get some answers from someone.

The hand not holding my dagger reaches up to rub at the scar above my ear, hidden under my hair. Tam and I had been fighting that day, he’d been on edge about something and when I’d pushed too hard he’d shoved me right into the corner of a table. I’d been in the healer’s tent getting stitches; all these years I’d thought it was the Mother looking out for me, that little accident might have just saved my life. But looking at it now, I can’t help but wonder if it kept me from seeing the truth.

I shift my weight again and Azriel’s gaze flicks back to me once more, irritated, like I’m somehow distracting him.

“Sorry,” I mutter, locking my knees.

I can stand still, it’s fine. I force myself to focus on my breathing, but in the silence there’s one nagging thought that eats at me: Do I really believe Rhysand is telling the truth? I take him to bed one time, accept a couple gifts from him, and what? Believe everything he says as truth? Are claims of a mating bond really enough to make me believe he’d be open and honest with me? A mating bond certainly hadn’t saved my mother.

I close my eyes at the thought of her, chest aching. Did I believe Rhysand was right about that too? That my father had used her powers to try and breed powerful sons, not because he’d loved her? I’d certainly never seen my parents be affectionate towards each other, not even in the way Rhysand was with me. They’d never held hands, never ridden out together. He’d kept her clothed and fed, sure, and entertained her obsession with fairytales when it suited him. My mother told me, on one of her days of clarity, that he’d carved her rocking chair for her when he’d found out she was pregnant with Tam. But I never saw him be warm with her. I’m not even sure I ever saw them kiss, even on the cheek. But a lack of affection in public didn’t mean he cared so little about her he let her, supposed, powers drive her insane, did it?

“A scout’s coming back,” Azriel says, breaking me out of my thoughts.

My eyes snap open as the rider crests the hillside and comes into view. Illyrian mounts really are beautiful, all sleek muscle and rippling midnight black manes. Together they make a lot of noise, but alone, they’re pretty damn quiet until their hooves hit rock.

Azriel motions me to follow him as he goes to the edge of the cleft in the rocks and waits as the scout approaches. “Well?”

“Not Amarantha,” the scout says and I let out a breath of relief.

“Who the fuck would come out here then?” Someone behind me challenges.

“Spring,” the scout says and all the blood drains from my face.

Azriel glances at me, but there’s pity in his hazel gaze this time.

I swallow the lump in my throat. Not now, I’m not ready to see them yet!

“What do they want?” I’m having a hard time processing that Tam would waste resources looking for me, especially when we’ve barely had horses to spare to move camp, let alone ride all the way out here.

“Proof you’re alive,” the scout says, holding out his hand.

It’s Azriel that smacks his hand away. “She only rides with me or Rhys.”

The mount shifts beneath the scout, his hood falling even lower down his face. Something feels off about it and I glance at Azriel for confirmation I’m not alone. He nods at me as he steps closer, hand on the small of my back as he leads me to where his own mount chews on a dying patch of grass.

“Be ready,” he says in my ear.

The scout fidgets in his seat like he’s not used to riding in one and it’s that more than anything that has Azriel’s shadows flying off his shoulders to grab the rider by the wrist and yank him out of the saddle. He slams into the ground with a scream, the sound of bones crunching against rock so loud I wince as Azriel hoists me up into his saddle.

I grab the reins to keep the horse steady, trying desperately to remember where Rhysand had held his hands when I rode with him.

Azriel stalks over to the male, wings flaring as he knocks the back of the hood back with the tip of his dagger. Even in the moonlight, I know what swatch of dark hair and golden eyes. One of Tamlin’s Wolves, Andras. Of course he wouldn’t know how to ride, we’d survived a lot of skirmishes over the years because Tam had used his shapeshifting powers to change the men into beasts to fight.

Azriel crouches in front of him as Andras grips his clearly broken shoulder. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

Andras’ gaze flicks to me first. Thankfully, Azriel’s horse is a lot more patient than the others and my own nervous energy hasn’t caused it to run off. If anything, I think the animal cares less about my presence than its usual rider, because it goes back to eating.

“Your whore of a warlord-” that’s as far as Andras gets before Azriel slams the hilt of his dagger into the other male’s throat.

“Start like that again and I’ll make sure you never use that shoulder,” Azriel threatens with so much venom, I shiver.

Andras coughs, good hand reaching for his throat and Azriel slams the blade clean through his forearm, pinning him in place.

I look away as Andras screams. He is not my friend, I can do nothing. I have always done nothing. The males have their fights and their quarrels and I have always stood on the sidelines waiting for the violence to pass like a good girl.

“Ok! Ok!” Andras rasps. “I had orders to get into the camp and get Y/N, that’s it!”

But wasn’t being tired of standing on the sidelines that prompted me to stay here in the first place? Wasn’t I trying to make things better for my people? How was sitting here helping them?

“What about the others?” Azriel questions.

“I don’t know! Lucien was supposed to handle that.” Andras replies through gritted teeth.

Do I even want to help them? If Rhysand was telling the truth, whose side am I even on? My head hurts from the questions, my stomach still churning end over end. I don’t know what to do.

“Where’s Tamlin?” Azriel asks as he rips the dagger out.

Andras screams, the sound echoing off the rocks. “There’s only five of us! Tamlin never left camp.”

Of course he would send Lucien and not risk coming out here himself. That would put him face to face with Rhysand and he’d lose. And looking at it now, I realize that he knows it. He’s always known it. I rub a hand over the scar on my hand. Did he know about the bond too? Had that been why he was always so sure that I knew Rhysand was the enemy?

Azriel raises the dagger to make another cut and Andras screams, “I swear I’m telling the truth!”

“Azriel,” my voice is steadier than I feel and all eyes suddenly turn to me. I need to get answers. I need to do something. “Take me out there please.”

“No.”

I tighten my grip on the reins. I’ll go out there myself if I have to. “If it’s Lucien, then it’s not a fight they’re having. Let me diffuse this.” I’m not sure I mean those words; I’m not sure I have the power to do anything but watch horror after horror unfold around me, but I know that I have to try. I have to attempt to put my life back together. I have to find some bit of order or I’ll go insane. Besides, this is Lucien we’re talking about! Surely he could see reason, right?

Andras is looking at me like I’ve grown a second head.

“Tie him up,” Azriel says to one of the others as he stands and wipes his blade on a cloth that hangs from his belt. “I’m not done with him.”

“But I don’t know anything!” Andras protests as two men haul him to his feet, wrenching his broken shoulder in the process. Blood drips from his forearm, down his fingers. Regardless of the confusion I feel swirling around inside me, he’s still a part of my people. Lucien is still family. If I can keep any more bloodshed from happening between our two people I will.

“I can work this out. Not everything has to be a bloodbath.”

Azriel swings himself into the saddle behind me and steals the reins. “If I so much as hear an arrow being fired, we’re turning back around.” He snarls.

“Fine,” I concede, because at least it meant I tried.

“Rhys is gonna kill me for this.”

----

I’m not convinced Azriel’s horse isn’t a wraith. It’s almost completely silent, save for the softest hint of breathing imaginable. When it breathes, little wisps of shadows escape out its nose. I wish I had time to ask him about it, but there’s none, not as we race over the hills, fast as the wind.

No arrows rise up to meet us, so at least I’ve been, so far, correct about Lucien not leading an ambush. Their scout must have taken down one of Rhysand’s and stolen his mount and cloak to look presentable. At least, I tell myself it was just that and not that Lucien ordered a man killed to try and get to me. Lucien, who would sneak me snacks and who secretly taught me how to fish; Lucien who used to braid my hair for me while we sat on the creek bed, making jokes. Lucien who had always been a spot of sunlight in my world, who looked after me like a brother, and promised to scare away any suitors who made me uncomfortable. Lucien was a good male; the best of us, even, the thought that he might be capable of such violence makes me nauseous. I have had too many life changing questions hurled my way tonight, I cannot bear another one, especially not about him.

We crest a particularly large hill and finally get a glimpse of the Illyrian riders. They’re not fighting. In fact, they’re just standing there, in formation behind Rhysand’s horse. The warlord himself stands in front of it, shrouded in that heavy cloak, facing off against Lucien and his three dismounted riders. They’re all armed, but no one is actively fighting each other, I take that as a good sign.

Though Lucien doesn’t look particularly pleased to see me riding with Azriel, nothing but unbridled horror crossing his scarred face as we approach.

When we get to the bottom of the hill, I jump off the horse, much to Azriel’s dismay.

Lucien takes a step towards me, but growling, Rhysand steps in front of him. “Touch her and you’re dead, Vanserra.”

The men move to let me pass through and I focus all my energy on breathing evenly as I walk towards them. Does Lucien know? Did he hide this from me too? Or was he just as blind as I was?

“Y/N, are you all right?” Lucien asks, his metal eye whirring as he looks me over.

My chest feels like it’s gonna rip right down the middle and spill my heart right out onto the floor. I don’t know who to believe. I don’t know who I want to believe. This is Lucien we’re talking about, he would never willingly hurt me. He comforted me when my entire world fell apart, he helped Tam and I bury them. I want so desperately for all these onlookers to leave, so it’s just the three of us and the truth, but the way they all stand there, armed and ready tells me that’s not happening. There hasn’t already been bloodshed here, because Lucien was waiting for Andras to give him some sort of signal that it wasn’t necessary. Because he was expecting to be able to just kidnap me.

Why do all these males constantly treat me like I’m just an object to be snatched up on their whims?

Rhysand’s hooded head is angled in my direction, watching my approach through the stars in his cowl. I don’t like that I can’t see his eyes. He doesn’t look like the Rhysand who’d just been holding me. He looks like the male I remember from my nightmares.

And Lucien looks like someone I don’t recognize at all.

How am I supposed to make sense out of any of this? Seeing them doesn’t make it easier.

The Illyrians shift behind me, horses snuffing in agitation, kicking up loose strands of grass. I feel their unease as easily as I can see it in the males behind Lucien. Maybe this isn’t the time for answers, maybe all I can do right now is keep them from killing each other. Regardless of who’s right here, I don’t want to see either males hurt.

“I’m fine,” I lie as I come to a stop at Rhysand’s side. His gloved fingers brush mine like he might take my hand, but he doesn’t.

Lucien stares back and forth between us. “I wouldn’t call being kidnapped fine.”

Rhys growls again, the sound skittering over my spine, “But you’d call letting her starve to death on a solo hunt fine?”

Lucien’s mouth pulls back in a grimace. “Tam made a mistake, he admits it-”

“He admits it?” His wings shake behind him, darkness drifting in waves from beneath them until it shrouds him more than the cloak. There’s so much of it Lucien retreats a step. “How brave of him to admit he fucked up and yet he still let it go on this long before someone came looking.”

Lucien keeps his gaze on me. “It won’t happen again. We’ve talked about it. Trust me, next time-”

“There is no next time,” Rhysand snarls. “She’s not going back with you!”

Lucien’s hand falls to his sword hilt, but his gaze remains on me. “Let her come home. Let this be settled and done. Tamlin sent money-”

A whip made of starlight appears in Rhysand’s hand, knocking the bag of coins Lucien pulls off his belt from his hand and scattering it across the grass. All of the men with Lucien draw their swords, even as the redhead tightly grips his own. Rhysand can easily kill him here and he will if Lucien keeps talking. I need to diffuse this, I need them all to leave each other alone. I’m not done here, and even if Lucien won’t understand it, I can’t bear to see him get hurt.

“He’s my mate,” I say and the words taste like a betrayal.

Lucien’s face twists in a mixture of horror and disgust.

“No one is keeping me here against my will.” Well, mostly. It’s not like I’ve put that to the test, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“That can’t be true,” it comes out like a whisper, as if he doesn’t want to believe it. I suppose, if our places were switched, I wouldn’t want to either. “You did something to her.”

Rhysand huffs, “I didn’t and I wouldn’t.”

“Like you didn’t slaughter thousands for Amarantha?” Lucien snarls.

Rhysand freezes, still as death beside me.

Azriel, silent in the grass, has come up behind me, his presence a steadying energy amidst the chaos I feel swirling around us. What does he mean he killed for Amarantha? Isn’t he trying to kill her?

“That’s enough,” Azriel hisses. “The lady told you she doesn’t want to go back with you. Respect that and go.”

Lucien doesn’t move. “He didn’t tell you that, did he, Y/N?”

“Leave!” Azriel snarls.

“I’m sure he didn’t tell you how he whored himself out to her either. Why do you think the Illyrians have so much land?”

Azriel steps around me, shadows swirling, dagger in hand, but it’s Rhysand, who’s now almost wholly surrounded by a dark mist, that puts out a hand to stop him. “Everything I did, I did for my people,” he says in a voice that’s so low I almost can’t hear it over the wind. “Everything Tamlin is doing now is for himself.”

“How noble,” Lucien snarls. “If your intentions are so pure, let her go.”

Rhysand turns to look at me, pushing the cowl off his head so I can see his face. The moonlight doesn’t hide the shadows under his eyes, or the weight I see crushing down on his shoulders. It’s impossible to miss the way his wings droop behind him. My chest aches at the sight of him, something clawing in desperation beneath my skin begging me to find a way to take that burden from him.

“Do you want to go back with him?” He asks.

I don’t know if what he’s said tonight is true or a lie, but I know here and now that if I said yes he’d let me walk away. No strings attached, if I took Lucien’s hand and got on that horse, he wouldn’t fight me.

I don’t know what I want any more. I don’t know who I am anymore. Everything I have built my life on feels like it's crumbling beneath my feet. And everyone is just standing there watching it happen.

No one has ever offered me a choice like this before. My whole life I have been told where to go and who to be and given one taste of freedom I had still followed exactly what was expected of me, hoping that it would finally make me feel at peace. But I haven’t felt a moment of peace in all of it, except when I was in Rhysand’s arms. It’s impossible that he of all people could make me feel like that. It shouldn’t be this way.

And Lucien, who I always considered another brother, who shared food at my table and always made me feel like I wasn’t a waste of space, was now someone I didn’t recognize. There is no sign of Rhysand’s missing rider among them. I don’t know if he’s dead or not, probably, judging by the way Lucien keeps looking at Rhys like he’s an animal.

It’s a startling sight, not because I would have looked at him like that myself a couple days ago, but because that’s how Tam always looked at me. Like I was some thing that was so inherently wrong; some creature that needed to be tamed and bridled. Those pointed tips of the fangs I felt try to make an appearance earlier have come back, poking into my lower lip. I feel something shifting beneath my skin, a beast awakening from some deep slumber. My hands open and close reflexively at my side. The stirring feeling is strongest in my chest, right where I sometimes feel that weird pressure that’s somehow tied to Rhys.

“No, I don’t want to go back with him,” the words are steadier than I feel, my chin raised. I do not cower from them, or the fact that I mean them. Even though Lucien looks like I’ve punched him in the gut. I can’t go back. Not until I have the truth. Not until I can make sense of all this mess I feel in my head and in my heart.

“Tamlin won’t take me back anyway,” I pull the gaps in the arms of my sweater down, so he can see the stars inked across my skin. “Nor do I feel like being tossed out again.”

“Y/N…” Lucien shakes his head, auburn hair flying around his tan face. “It was a misunderstanding.”

Rhysand won’t stop staring at me. I think he’s waiting for me to change my mind.

“Please leave, Lucien,” I say, only looking at Rhys. I’m a terrible person, because there is so much unbridled hope in his eyes, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, waiting for me to take my chance and run; I’d been playing games this whole time, he hadn’t.

He hadn’t been playing games.

I’d used him, taken what I needed, and had planned to throw him out when I was done. Even if he had killed me father, I was still… I was still just like my own father. The realization nearly knocks me off my feet. What have I done?

“This isn’t the end of this,” Lucien hisses as he backs up, never leaving himself exposed, even as he reaches for his mount. The horse is old, it’s mane patchy and unkept, I’m not sure how it carried Lucien here, let alone how he expected it to carry the both of us. “Tamlin will consider this a breach of your agreement.”

“We agreed not to kill each other,” Rhysand returns. “If he comes at me now, then he’s the one that broke that agreement, not me.”

Lucien swings into the saddle with ease, mount shifting slightly beneath him. “What of my scout?”

“What of mine?” Azriel returns.

“Food for the vultures,” Lucien snarls and my heart sinks even further. What if I’ve been wrong about everybody, not just Rhys?

“Then so is yours,” Azriel returns.

Lucien leaves with the remainder of his men, no further fight for Andras life to be had. Rhysand watches them go, wings still drooped behind them like they are impossibly heavy. I should try and comfort him, as that thing in my chest demands, but I can’t. My limbs refuse to move, feet rooted in the grass. What have I done? Where did I go wrong in all of this? I was just trying to do what I thought was right, but I’m not sure I know what that looks like anymore.

“Are you all right?” Rhysand asks once they’re gone. On instinct, he’s throwing his cloak around my shoulders again, cocooning me in that blissful pocket of warmth that smells like him. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve any of his kindness.

“I don’t know,” the words slip out of me. I can’t think past the roaring in my ears. What have I done?

His hand falls to my back, gently leading me back to his horse.

“For the record-” Azriel starts, but Rhysand cuts him off, “I know, Az. Thank you for staying with her.”

I think, even as we mount back up to return to camp, we would have all been better off tonight if this had been a fight with Amarantha.

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

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riniworld · 6 months

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my perfect soldier

yandere!emperor x general!f!reader

warnings// mention of blood+injury, that much it.

reference// you,general, woman/girl, y/n, she/her.

remake of this hcs

a/n// i was having a bad wi-fi and when i wanted to save the draft it didn't save, i had a damn long heart attack, then when i was about to cry it said that it had been saved, man the scare!

born and raised as the heir of the throne,in a luxurious life,some people will dream to live like his life, but he hated it.

Baron hated how he shouldn't act like a child because he's the heir, hated the boring meeting he has to attend with his father, hated how he didn't get attention,but he hated his parents more than anything.

a small light lightened his life,his brother,who came to him after 8 years from suffering alone,as he grew up,baron took his responsibility upon himself,he won't let his brother live like him.

in the night of his eighteenth birthday, instead of hearing clapping and partying for him,what the castle heard was a scream, echo in every corner of it.

in that day the death of the emperor and his wife was confirmed and he stood there without guilt or shame "i did it." was Baron's first words on that night.

he did it,he got rid of his misery, he got his revenge for his shattered childhood, for his brother's tears.

he got rid of his misery and gave the people a new misery.

And who can prosecute him? he is the law after all,he put it and he eras it.

as a young boy it wasn't professional to give him the throne but he insisted and killed everyone that was against it.

as the years passed,baron was expanding his empire taking as much kingdoms as he please, starting with small ones to the large ones.

however,Yale,baron's brother,didn't like all the blood that was sacrifice for his brother's pleasure,hence he left the whole empire at age 18,and has never communicate his brother again.

This got on Taron's,as he named himself, nerves, wich lead him to take out his anger on the civilians,the smallest mistake lead to getting killed.

life started to get boring for him until he heard about you,a powerful general that no one had defeated,not like the kingdom you were in was under too much pressure or popular,but it won't hurt him to take it anyway.

anxiety kicking in as you hurry to the throne room, the king asked for you to come,it's not everyday he want to see you so it's must be something important.

a loud thud was heard as you open the door aggressively.

you bow your head a little as you see the prince standing in the room,he smiled at you softly in return,when you get closer to the king you kneeled down on one knee and bowing your head down in front of him.

"your majesty." you said steadily.

"Excuse me for bringing you from your duties in a hurry,general, however we received information that you should hear." the king explain "I'm sure you've heard about the falling kingdoms by now?"

you stood up "i did,your majesty, apparently the new emperor isn't as peaceful as his father."

after a minute of silent the king spoke again "i don't know what is his purpose by this.." he walked to a close table and took a latter that was on it "but it seems we're next." he handed it to you. "I'm counting on you about this."

you opened your mouth to speak but the prince cut you off.

"pardon me but what! you're saying the emperor wants to take our kingdom and you still want to fight? father no one happen to stop him!." he said irritated but didn't rise his voice.

"what do you suggest then? giving up easily? so everyone can call us cowards?" the king said calmly (dumbledore said calmly)

"It is better than wasting the blood of soldiers in vain."

the king sighed in frustration and motion for you to go.

you bow your head and headed out immediately.

planning to call every battalion commander to discuss the plan for the battle.

the day of the battle came,everyone was anxious even you,you'll fight the emperor how can you not?

but as the general you need to keep a steady expression as you check on every soldier,recuse the frightened ones and reassure the ones that has a slight anxiety.

The promised hour has come, you wear your armor, it wasn't alot but it did just enough.

you arrive at the place at the same time taron's has arrive, you two were at the head of your army.

taron scoff as soon as he sees you "a woman? is that what your king could bring? what a joke."

you got irritated, you've always hated when someone talks about you because you were a woman, You extended your hand to the side and someone gave you a bow, you throw the arrow at taron, it didn't land on him as you knew this was a big move to do first but it did scratch his cheek and killed one behind him,you return the bow and say"i didn't laugh" in a calm manner.

taron put his finger on the scratch and look at his blood, he smiled crazily. This was the signal for the beginning of the war.

Two hours have passed since the start of the battle، and it did not go well in your favor. Many of your soldiers were dying, but that does not mean that you were not advancing as well.

you were against the emperor the whole time and the first thing you learned about him is that he's not a silent type because he was talking the whole damn fight.

in a quick motion his blade was at your neck,you expected your head to chop off, but instead taron was smiling widely as he looked in your eyes "it would be such a waste to kill you now." he said.

then he removed the blade away from you as he announced to his army to withdraw.

you wanted to yell after him to come back,to end things, you couldn't return to the kingdom with such shame, even if you didn't lose you know deep down that you would have if he didn't do that.

when you return to the kingdom the king received you with clapping hand and congratulation, you didn't even left your head up you don't know how to tell him what happened in the field.

you were sitting on a bench at the practice ground, your head between your hand thinking about everything.

you felt someone sitting beside you, you were ready to kick out whoever was there but when you left your head up you shut your mouth close, it was the prince "your royal highness!."

the prince was smiling slightly at you,like always, "why are you here alone?."

"I'm just...resting." you say turning your head away.

"you don't seem like usual, what happened at the battle?."

you pause don't know how to say it, "i-..wouldn't have won if the emperor took it seriously," the prince hummed "he was an inch away from killing me but he just backdown..i don't count this as a won." you continue.

"well,what were you expecting from an emperor?, i respect your power but as much as you've been in the army he must have been practicing more, I'm just happy you're alive." he put his hand on yours.

you looked at him with soft eyes like you were about to cry, in return he looked in your eyes as he spoke "how about you accompany me to the town,hm? like old days."

right,in one point of your serving here you were his personal knight wich made you two so close to each other, even if you treat him as a royal prince he always has treated you as a friend, wich made you,as much as you don't want to admit it,falling for him.

"that would be an honor,your highness."

"great." the prince took your hand and drag you outside.

seeing all the people in the town safe, smiling and laughing was enough to make you smile and forget about the battle.

on the other side,at taron's castle.

"she's incredible." taron was lying on the bed, smiling staring at the roof.

His personal advisor was standing at the door inside "if you say so,your majesty."

taron sighed dreamly "i can't wait for our next battle,y/n, was it?."

"it is,your majesty."

"Gather as much information of her as possible."

"as you wish,your majesty."

the battles continued to happen,Day after day, taron becames quicker to announce the second battle,he start,what you consider it as,flirting in the middle of your fight, saying things such as, "you look gorgeous with blood." , "you make me more insane in your love,dear" , "won't you consider becoming my personal soldier? oh,or maid!." you nearly cut his arm off when he said that, he sometimes cross the lines saying some personal information no one knows.

you got enough with his playing, always announce a battle then backdown when he's close to knocking you off.

it all changed though at that fateful day.

after every fight the prince,keith,would come to you, talking or taking you out with him, the civilians noticed that as much as the servants did, and the rumors spread quickly about you two being in some sort of relationship.

it eventually reached taron's empire.

"what is this fucking thing i hear?! what do you mean there's a rumor about my woman being in a relationship?!" taron was holding his personal adviser by his collar.

"i-i don't know your maje-it what I've heard!." the man says frightened.

taron throws him away making him hit the ground "oh,i know what I'll do, if that shame of a man wants to take my girl away, then I'll just have to make him to never see her again, prepare the army, we'll go get what's mine."

and that's how you end up looking at him standing above while you bleed on the ground.

finally ending this

have a good day/night♡

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x y/n #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere oneshot #yandere story

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pigeonp0st · 6 months

Text

Lena Luthor x Reader #3

Summary: Lena breaks up with Reader to keep her safe from Lex. Reader hatches a plan to get rid of him that goes terribly wrong, and naturally, torture follows. This mostly takes place after she’s found again.

Warnings:

Angst,torture, depression, trauma, childhood trauma

Notes:

Hey! I’m going about writing differently now. Everything I write from here on out will most likely be straight from the tumblr drafts and fairly quick. Something I decide to do in a random sitting (unless it’s paid for). Fair warning that this isn’t that, this is just something I worked on ages ago and didn’t publish. I did NO SPELLING CHECKS and remember writing at 2am, so warning number 2

———————

Lena loathed the DEO in that moment. She loathed Alex, and she loathed Supergirl , and she loathed every damn agent in the building so that she didn’t have to loathe herself instead. It’s not enough, there was still a small part of her that she couldn’t ignore, a part of her that screamed; ‘you should have held on. You should have been there’

She knows she should have been there. She knows she failed you before anyone else did. She knows. But she’s trying now and she doesn’t know how to get it to matter to the world. Trying won’t save you, and trying hasn’t led you back to her.

Trying has only led you there, far from Lena, laying somewhere unknown with a body and a heart too worn. Though, Lena imagines, that’s probably not a new feeling for you. She trembles with the image of Lex mocking her on video, holding a gun to your head, she trembles and thinks, I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him.

Then, miraculously;

“Found her!” Winn shouts loudly, raising his Supergirl action figure in victory, and Lena, CEO, multibillionaire, crumbles in relief in front of dozens of agents in the middle of the DEO.

—-

When you wake up Lena feels her heart stop.

She wanted to kiss you, hold you. She wanted to be the type of person that stayed. She wanted to be the type of person worth staying for.

She wanted to believe the both of you would be okay, and she wanted to hold your face and tell you that. That you’d be okay. She wanted more than anything in that moment to be the type of person that said the right thing. That did the right thing.

She wasn’t. She wasn’t any of the people she wanted to be. Your eyes met hers, full of sorrow, and human and hurt, and she wasn’t. She wasn��t because she was scared, and because she was human also. She wasn’t—so she leaves.

Now, as she’s gripping herself in the hallways of the DEO, struggling against the weight of what feels like worlds on her shoudlers, choking on breaths that should have been being shared with you, she’s filled with so much self contempt it could fuel the whole government. Whoever said that “It’s better to have loved and loss, than to have never loved at all”, has never met the two of you and has never loved this desperately.

Loving you made her feel just as much as losing you had, and is it worth it? Maybe, but It’s certainly not better to be feeling this than not ever feeling it. Can’t those things coexist? Can’t it be better for her to never love, but can’t loving also be a choice she’d make despite all the pain?

Can’t you love the things that will destroy us in the end? Doesn’t she always?

She should go back in. She should go back in and ask for forgiveness, but the fear of ruining things further, of the both of you hurting each other further, prevents her from trying to fix things.

When she broke up with you she had just wanted to protect you from Lex. Losing you like that would have nothing compared to—

Lena shivers, shakes her head, and clutches onto herself more tightly with trembling fingers.

“You’re hyperventilating,” Alex says from where she’s leaning against the wall beside Lena. Her eyes are watchful, careful, but Lena feels them like daggers.

She straightens, forces out a; “wow, you really are an amazing analyzer, detective,” and nearly gets a smirk for her troubles—but Alex is too soft, too caring to give her that. She moves towards her, ever the big sister, but Supergirl rushes in first.

“Lena,” Supergirl—Kara, Kara, Lena thinks, and often starts to forget, except when Kara looks at her like this—breathes out.

Lena steps back from them both, the humanity in the room tears her apart, reminds her of her lack of, and destroys her. “You have to…to warn people when you do that…super speed thing,” Lena grits out, cutting Kara off before she can even begin to try and be…be good. She gestures towards the room with shaky hands and begins to try and compose herself lHow long was she awake while I was asleep?”

Kara and Alex look at each other. Say nothing. “Guys—”

“She woke up two hours ago,” Alex says, at the same time Kara says; “you were wiped out—didn’t even hear the nurses, of course we couldn’t just wake you up”

Two hours, and she was asleep. Lena goes cold instantly. She remembers hearing Lex had you, remembers it like one remembers the worst moment of their life; both intimately and not at all. She remembers hearing Supergirl had you—that you were breathing , but people only say that when someone is very not okay, and Lena remembers the way adrenaline had rushed through her. She had felt both alive and utterly useless through it, and it sticks to her even now.

Alive, but asleep, never the person she needs to be to protect you. How alone have you felt because of her? How scared?

“Lena,” Kara starts again, “Lena, she wanted you to sleep— ”

“Go in there,” Alex cuts her off, gets a very annoyed look for it, because they both can’t seem to help cutting each other off today. “You want to show her she’s not alone, that she’s safe? I promise you that the only way she’ll feel that is with you there.”

Kara nods, suddenly straightening and transforming into Supergirl just like that, just in the stance. “Hero complexes will serve nothing except separation and loneliness. You taught me that. Stronger together, Lena.”

Wanting to save you had left you alone, and yes, alone to Lena meant away from Lex, but he’s not the only scary thing in this world, and she should have known that he’d never forget how to destroy her. To leave you alone, Lena thinks, was the worst thing she could have done.

While you were away Lena had to confront herself. Had to realize that so far, every good thing in her life has come with a cost, has led to ruin, and the threat of Lex…it had just seemed to her like the time had come. Like it was her only option. To sacrifice, to sacrifice and hurt.

If Lex had won by separating the two of you, then he had one like that. In her mind, Lena had already been destroyed, of course she imagined that to be the end of it, that he wouldn’t touch you. She’d rather hurt by pushing you away than you dying. Even the thought—

God, she’s so tired of being a coward. To being so scared of losing you that she’s willing to destroy you both.

Kara and Alex hating what she’s done in the unspoken way that they do hurts even more in a way Lena’s used to, because it hurts like regret. Their stances have turned from concerned and loving, to protective heroes. She should have never left you alone. Not when she was scared of Lex, and not now. She gives both Kara and Alex a firm nod and tries to walk past to get into the room. To make things right.

Kara stops her with a hand on her shoulder. She drops it instantly when Lena turns towards her. Ever the fragile hero, always afraid of her own hands for the strength they hold. “Before that…” Kara coughs awkwardly, “Um…we need you to understand her injuries…and what happened.”

—-

When Lena walks into the room, it’s not like you thought she would. She’s not the fragile human curled up in a chair, or the terrified women fleeing your medical room. She’s angry with rage and a whirlwind of feelings, caught in a tornado of emotion. She’s large in the way she’s always been, and yet it has never left you feeling so small.

You sink back into your hospital bed, pull the covers to your chin, and watch her.

“You went after him?” Lena hisses out, so lowly, so sharply, that she might as well have cut the words into your skin for the way that it dig into you. “Everything I’ve ever done is to protect you, and you just decided to throw it all away like it means nothing? Do you have any idea—”

“You were protecting yourself!”

Lena stops. She was pacing, shaking with emotion, but she stops dead in her tracks at the sound of your voice. You yell it, and yet it’s still somehow silent. Your throat is ruined, a testament to the cruelty of Lex, and the evidence of that and more is written on your skin. You’re covered in injuries. Your brokenness has never been more visible, you think, and it should leave you feeling fragile, and it does, god it does, but right now it gives you power.

Power over Lena, who looks at you like her life hangs in the palm of her hand.

“You think I’m stupid, that I don’t know that every fiber of your being is laced with fear?” You whisper now, hand on your throbbing throat. “You left me for you, and I went after Lex for me.” Its venom. Venom, and anger, and all of the thing you know Lena takes In stride. The thing she strives on.

It hangs in the air for a second. Then Lena, beautiful Lena, kneels by the side of your bed. CEO, one of the most powerful people in this city; on her knees for you. She doesn’t look invigorated, doesn’t looked fueled by anger, just looks sad with regrets.

“I did it for me,” Lena agrees, so soft, so not like them; not like her family. “I did it for you, too. Of course I did it for you, and maybe it was a terrible thing to do—led by my trauma talking to me—but don’t lay there and deny I wasn’t thinking of you,” she breathes, then pauses, eyes tracing your busted lips, bruised face, bruised neck. Her jaw trembles and her lips part, she looks as if she wants to say more, but her eyes are haunted by the home she grew up in.

As if reading your mind Lena whispers, “they haunt me. It’s as if I can never let go. I’m so sick of it. I’m so sick of it.” She closes her eyes with furrowed brows, as if not looking at you will prevent the shake in her voice. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. For them. For them now, for them back then, and for them in the future—if you still want to be in my life, you have to know I can’t escape them. Even when they’re not there they’re there. It…god, it makes me sick.”

When Lena raises her hands and grips herself, digging her fingers into her skin like she wants to pull the trauma and memories out of herself, like she wants to get rid of them, something in you breaks. Breaks because your arms are raw and aching, and it wasn’t Lex. Breaks because you know so intimately what it’s like to face reality and find it so frustratingly unchangeable. To want so much, and for it to mean nothing is the most devastating thing.

To be so large, and so small.

You’ve been crying, and Lena doesn’t notices until a sob falls from your lips. You’ve been trying to hold it in, but when she startles up at it and looks at you with that same wanting, like you’re her heart walking and she’d give anything to take your hurt, the sobs break through like a dam. They break through and it hurts because there is no part of you left unbroken.

When you sob it disturbs your broken ribs, disturbs the bruises covering your torso, rips at your tarnished vocal cords, and has the machines in the room beeping so loud it alerts the nurses.

—-

Lena doesn’t even have time to stand before the nurses rush in and pull the blanket off of you. There’s no words to describe the shift that happens in side of her when she sees the extent of your injuries.

It’s like something both breaks and rebuilds in her, and then breaks again, paralyzing her. Then, she sees a nurse heading towards you with a syringe and it activates her.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” Lena says, or thinks she says. She can’t recognize the venom in her voice, doesn’t feel apart of her body.

She’s moving in between the nurse and you, but your sobs begin to bring her back to reality.

“She needs to be put under, she’s hurting herself—”

Lena doesn’t pay attention to her, just sees Alex and Supergirl enter the room. Sees the way Alex shakes her head and nods to the corner of the room, and follows in suit while every fiber of her being says to do otherwise.

It kills her that she can’t protect you. Can’t protect you from the nurses that you try to pull away from, can’t protect you from the hurt on your skin, or in your heart, couldn’t protect you from— she thinks of Lex. Lex when he was her big, smart older brother that she admired more than anyone in the world.

She thinks of the way he’d give her a cheeky roll of his eyes behind Lillian’s back after a small verbal lashing. Thinks of every chess game, every hide n seek game, every reassuring grin. You’re smarter than they know Lena, he’d say, and she’d beam, not noticing the progressive darkness in his eyes as he said it.

Her eyes don’t leave you as the nurses put you down again. She thinks; I’ll kill him. In her peripheral she knows Kara is watching the floor, and feels Alex watching her. When the nurses cover you back up and they both turn towards you, Lena knows it was out of respect for you. She’s grateful for it—somewhere in her thunder of emotions she’s thankful for them, but also feels a bit of anger towards them.

This is why they kept her from seeing you when you were brought in?

“Why doesn’t she have a hospital gown?” Lena asks in a whisper.

“She took it off, said it hurt when the nurses moved it, and that it was sticking to her. Constricting her,” Kara explains, she sighs, shakes her head, and then turns towards Lena as Supergirl. With a fire in her eyes.

The same one in Lena as she allows herself to ask the very question she wanted to run from hours ago. “Where’s Lex?”

“No.” It’s both Supergirl and Alex.

“Alive then? Okay,” Lena starts towards the door. “If you’re here, he’s here. I’ll find him easily enough.”

Supergirl, familiarly, stands in her ways. Eyes sympathetic next to Alex’s hardness. “Where are you when you’re with them?” Alex asks from behind her. When you let them guide every bad decision you make, she hears.

Lena stops. Thinks about control, about gods, about leaving you to wake up alone again, thinks about murder, both in her blood and not, thinks about Lex with a gun to your head, with fists, and kicks, and a maniac smile, thinks about her dad in the same way—standing over Lex while Lillian gripped Lena back. She thinks of cycles, thinks of protection and all the ways it’s possible, all the ways she’s capable, more capable then him.

Smarter, Lena remembers Lillian saying casually. Always smarter than.

Better than, Kara will say.

The good one, Alex will joke.

My hero, you’d grin. Lena feels herself split. Starts forward again.

Kara whispers now, “Heroes don’t kill, Lena.”

Alex, “it’s both the best and most terrible thing about us.”

Us.

Lena wants to yell, wants to crumble, wants to curl by your side, wants to kill Lex with her bare hands, wants to erase the Luthor history from her mind, from her body, wants to erase it from yours even more. Wants it so desperately, so acutely it hurts. Sadness fills the room, suffocates them all.

Kara is watching you again, Alex keeps glancing back, they’re both unconcerned about Lena now. Full faith in her to be who they claim she is. Lena returns to the seat by your bed and allows herself to be that person.

“Whatever cell he’s in, I’m building it,” Lena whispers, thinking of the cuffs she’ll put on him, wondering if she can somehow slow down his mind.

Alex nods, running her hands down her face. The past couple hours have completely exhausted her in a way Lena’s not used to seeing from her. Alex cares so much about you, and it shouldn’t surprise Lena but It does. “We’re thinking about sending him to the phantom zone.”

Here, Lena is more surprised. They must know that’s a death sentence. Lena glances at Supergirl, she’s still watching you but she’s clearly listening, her eyes have turned hard. They aren’t underestimating Lex. They clearly know the responsibility that’ll bear on them if he escapes again.

Lena feels another bought of gratitude towards them as she takes your hand, and trusts them to handle the person she trusts no one to handle.

——

When you wake up the second time it’s because nurses are dapping you with wet cloths, clearly trying to clean you. They apologize profusely, say they thought the drugs would keep you down longer, and offer to finish the cleaning after you’ve gotten more pain killers.

Your eyes dart around rapidly, chest constricting in anxiety, and then you see Lena. She’s standing by the door, clearly trying to keep out of the nurses way. She’s not full of rage and untouchable in that way, and she’s not fragile, she’s strong.

Her eyes are hard, but not cold. They’re determined, and loving, and they’re your strength too. You suck in a shaky breath, whisper; “thank you. Later might be an option”, as you try to focus on Lena and not the thought of the nurses hands on you turning into Lex’s violent ones.

When they all shuffle out Lena quietly returns to the spot by your bed. This Lena somehow makes you feel more fragile than angry, furious Lena had, because in the place of your defensiveness you’re left to feel your guilt.

“I’m…I’m not weak, Lena.” It feels stupid to claim now as you lay in a hospital bed feeling nothing but. You clench your jaw. Lena’s hand reaches up and takes your chin, forcing you to meet her eyes. She’s not gentle, certainly not rough, but her firmness gives you the power to continue. She’s the stable ground that helps you find your footing.

You find it. Meet her gaze unblinking. “I’m not Supergirl, I’m not you, I’m not Alex, or Jon, or Winn, or James, or Kelly, or— or Lex…I’m not capable in the particular ways you guys are, but I am capable.”

Lena’s eyes fall to your throat. You grip her wrist, the one holding your face, and her eyes meet yours apologetically. “I know,” she says, so softly, so quietly. “You being here is the evidence of it, isn’t it?”

You nod, but you aren’t done. “I’m not sure what Supergirl told you. Clearly she told you I went after Lex, and in a way that’s true, but more so I wanted him to come after me,” you pause. Lena is watching you with furrowed eyes, clearly trying to piece together what you’re explaining before you finish.

Her lips part after just another moment. She’s figured it out you realize, feeling a bit of pride because of it. Pride because she has faith in you, pride because she‘s so incredibly quick and you have had the privilege to know her so acutely. “All of this…was your plan?” Lena asks, sounding both shocked and not.

You wince, brushing aside her hand so you can look down, adverting your gaze. “Well…not all of it.” Memories flash through your mind. “I thought he’d keep me captive, not…” you left out a frustrated breath, angry, so angry at yourself for not being able to speak about it. Speak about him.

“It was a game to him, of course. He’d torture me, send you a video to torture you. He’d get you chasing him. He’s always liked the thrill.” Your eyes stay on Lena’s fists. Watch as they clench so tightly to her side that they shake. “I knew he loved messing with you, and was partly counting on it, not like that but— but maybe just having me wouldn’t have been enough, maybe it was good he did what he did—got so high off of it his guard lowered.”

“Don’t say that,” Lena pleads. You startle up at the sound of her trembling voice doing everything not to cry.

You breathe in; your ribs hurt. You breathe out; they hurt again. Lena shakes her head at herself, frustrated and biting her lip. She’s having a battle with composure and losing.

“Kara told me how you stole his nanotech and used it to immobilize him. That the tech that was missing from my lab last week was found with the stuff he confiscated from you. That you hacked his computer with my prototype to send her the location to his headquarters underground,” Lena rushes out, “I didn’t know you planned to get taken to his HQ, to steal his nanotech, didn’t know that anyone besides me and the DEO knew what he was working on.”

It’s a quick summary of the things you’ve done, leaving out the weeks of planning, leaving out the struggles of actually setting the plan in motion when the shifting variables shifted in a way you weren’t prepared for. It should leave you proud, but when you think of what you managed all you remember is pain and struggle.

“You stopped Lex like you planned. So many people are saved because of you. An unfathomable amount, and yet,”she says. And yet, you think, heart fluttering because you know Lena will say the very thought that kills you to think of, but the thought that can’t escape you anyways. “What…what you did was monumental, and thank you, but god, I so wish you hadn’t,” Lena breathes. “He gone, and yet he has never been so present. Perhaps you felt the effects of him through me before, but you know now what it’s like to have him really present, always right over your shoulder, and that…I would’ve given the world for otherwise.”

It’s exactly the same thoughts you have had. To hear it from Lena, someone you admire and trust so much, someone you believe to be good with every piece of you, someone you’d follow everywhere—it’s like a medicine for guilt.

“What I said before…about doing what I did for me,” Lena shakes her head, ever understanding, like she doesn’t need you to finish. You do though. “I did it for me because I wanted desperately for you to still be mine, and getting rid of Lex was the avenue for that,” you admit. “I didn’t want him to plague you anymore either.”

You hesitate. Memories of Lena pacing at night—startling awake, watching the news with the grimness of someone attending a funeral—memories of Lena’s affectedness come to you. Her humaneness at hearing Lex escaped again, and in her humanity in her vulnerability.

“I want to take responsibility, so I don’t want to say I did it for you, but what you said earlier made me realize everything is a bit of both. I did it for me, I did it for you too.”

Lena laughs. Laughs. It shocks you, causes you to jump and stop looking at your hand, causes you to meet her gaze again. “Ow,” you growl, unamused, because Lena is still laughing. She’s covering her face and has the decency to look apologetic.

Your ribs hurt from the startle but even you can’t help but be confusedly amused.

“I want to hate,” Lena starts, mirth in her voice, “that you did the thing I wanted you to do least in the world, and you got exactly what you wanted out of it. You captured lex, and in a way captured me back too.”

“Oh,” you perk up, smiling up at Lena innocently. “Guess I’m the brains now, brawn.”

Lena’s eyes narrow at you. “That insinuates that you were ever the brawn.”

Back to glaring. Lena lets out another huff of laughter and brushes your hair back, away from a cut on your forehead. Her eyes are so soft, so full of warmth, and love that you could cry. Would cry, perhaps, if it wouldn’t hurt every part of your body.

Instead you grin, because that’s what humans are taught to do instead of cry, and ask, gently—feeling like a shaky child; “does that mean you’re my girlfriend again?”

—-

Lena’s eyes widen as she realizes what she implied, and as you own up to it so hesitantly, so childlike, like Lena could ever think of pushing you away after everything. Her words, not for the first time today, betray her. All she can do is nod.

Your responding grin is heroin to Lena. You smile so wide the cut on your lip breaks open again and starts bleeding, but you pay it no mind. Lena does. She smiles back, albeit more gently, and squishes your cheeks together to prevent the split widening.

You pout in her hands. Lena’s heart flutters. She keeps getting hit randomly with momentous emotion, and she’s hit again with it now. The softness of this moment feels like seeing a rainbow after months of storms.

You here, alive, looking at Lena with so much love in your eyes, so much understanding. It feels like a fantasy. Feels like a lucid dream, a dream she’d choose, over, and over again, until the end of time.

Lena leans in and kisses you—not on the lips, they are cut and bruised. She kisses you on the space just below your eye. A spot, one of the few spots, clear of visible injury. She takes pleasure in the way you flush like it’s the first time. She always did, will always do. “I love you,” Lena whispers, promising herself that even if there are days you won’t believe her, there will never be a day you don’t hear it.

It’s you, and it’s her, and it’s the mountains of history and trauma you two are fighting against. Lena likes the both of your odds. Loves winning just as much.

You’ll beat Lex she knows. There will be a day soon where he stops haunting the two of you. Where he’s not even a thought. When that time comes you’ll have won the war, but for now she’ll take the pride of winning every battle in stride, for now, in the now; she’ll cherish every moment, the many moments, when trauma leaves the room and love consumes it.

“Lena Luthor,” you breathe. You breathe. “My love, my hero.”

186 notes · View notes

alicerosejensen · 7 months

Text

Another you

Warning: reader mutation (c-virus), angst, blood, slight aggression, acquired albinism, fem/reader (not an agent, an ordinary civilian who worked at the museum), Leon has plot armor, more narration than dialogue, the text contains an antagonist like Simmons (male character), Ada is helping Leon again, relatively happy ending.

Synopsis: You didn’t want to change, you loved him, just as he loved you, but against your will, your love turned into hatred and animal anger towards him. However, Leon still hopes that you will remember him...

A/N: This is probably my biggest work. Tumblr told me to fuck off a few times while editing, but I came out victorious in the fight, although I had to re-write the text into the draft a few times because Tumblr for some damn reason published it without my knowledge. I hope feedback if anyone liked it, because I have been burning with this idea for a long time!

The text also contains an excerpt from Byron's poems (I adore him)

He promised himself first of all that nothing would happen to you. That his work won't affect you in any way and you won't get hit by the corporate bastards, and you really didn't. However, something else happened...

But people whom Leon loves or simply cares about tend to leave or even die.

Everything was fine with you. Ideal in his imperfect life and you were this perfection that he valued and protected. A prudent person would not keep an expensive diamond in front of everyone, so Leon did not scatter information about you and who you are to him. You were loved and dear to him more than all the treasures of the world, he appreciated your tenderness towards him and kindness, because it was you who helped him get out of the hole of despondency in which he buried himself. His personal little guardian angel. Still, he has something to continue his fight against bioterrorism.

A normal working day, except that the museum where you work was supposed to host an exhibition of some very expensive collection for which you were so carefully preparing, forgetting about yourself. It seemed to Leon that you were burning with enthusiasm and love for the work you were doing, which made you walk around too excited, forgetting about food, so he had to remind you to eat. This exhibition had no meaning for Kennedy, but he did not belittle your efforts thrown into this preparation, especially since you were so happy that you were incessantly talking about all these paintings, historical activities depicted on them and objects: a pendant with a strand of hair of some queen - you explained to him that this is a symbol of affection that was previously used It's like you're giving a piece of yourself to your giver, a kind of connection with a loved one, but this is just one of the meanings of such a peculiar gift. Silk fans, a clock, a desk, some items of clothing that, in Leon's opinion, were very strange and he was just glad that fashion had moved far ahead.

Although he could interpret all this in one word: beautifully.

And you were beautiful too. He would have liked to spend more time with you, but you were completely absorbed in your work, and he was overwhelmed with paperwork that he couldn't stand, but anyway, at least he could come back to you and listen to excited speeches and new facts that he didn't know anything about and would hardly remember if he told him about it someone else.

And everything went to hell when there was another outbreak, less global, but most importantly - human lives. And yours.

He was trying to save you, even if someone else had survived this exhibition, he would still have saved you first and not someone else. Mini Raccoon City, that's what he called it, making his way with you to the emergency exit while you kept up with him on your heels, because today you were supposed to shine and glow and not cry with fear looking at the pale corpses of history and art lovers. The light from Leon's flashlight illuminated a small part of the space while you walked quietly thinking about Leon's words, "I wonder how much time we have before they get up?"

"Were they poisoned?" you assumed, because how could you kill such a huge number of people without weapons. Leon, watching the ventilation grilles in the rooms, suggested in his head only one quick way.

"It must be gas,"

But then you would both have died too, you decided, but you did not voice your thought, because shortly before the tragedy you were invited to discuss something by the sponsor of this exhibition. A man who managed to collect so many magnificent things with a rich history. The man who gave you flowers and flirted with you from the day you first met, despite the fact that you made it clear to him that you were not interested in any relationship with him, except for work.

However, Leon also remained silent when he saw the luxurious bouquet of scarlet roses on your work table, which filled your entire small office with their aroma. But right now that simply wasn’t the main thing. He needed to get you out of the mess that happened, and then ask about flowers from rich strangers.

You walked slowly, trying not to make any noise or cry behind him while you clung to his jacket, partially managing to wonder why Leon's gun was with him when he had no reason to carry a gun. All this, of course, was secondary, given how stress, coupled with imagination, turned the exhibits into various frightening figures that frightened, made you scream, thinking that the fallen armor, which was probably simply poorly secured to the stand was another dead man. I didn’t even want to think about what happened in the exhibition hall, much less imagine. Leon had to take you by the hand and at times drag you along with him because the panic really aggravated everything, he was afraid that you would start to go hysterical, but it seems that despite the periodic stupor, you kept yourself well under control, exactly until the moment when Leon’s flashlight went out, leaving you in pitch darkness.

“Leon?” you called out anxiously, feeling noisy ragged breathing behind your back. Was this what Leon was talking about? Until recently, you hoped that his words were just another stupid joke and the dead do not rise, but here behind you is the living embodiment of a nightmare who is ready to grab your neck and feast on warm flesh. Have time to scream? You didn’t even have time to fully scream when a strong grip grabbed you by the shoulder and roughly threw you to the side from the line of danger because you fell, hitting your thigh on the marble tiles, after which a series of deafening shots and the muffled groan of a dead man was heard, three bullets or maybe be more? You didn't count.

As if in slow motion on a large screen, it was impossible to take your eyes off what you saw. All sounds died down, leaving the silence of your own mind and the smell of blood.

All you could do was watch how the beam of light from the flashlight shines directly on the corpse and how Leon’s hands are trying to bring you to your senses, because you knew the one whom he had just completely killed. Richard, your colleague with whom you had coffee this morning and discussed the latest news, sometimes often joked at lunch... was now dead and you were crying without knowing it. Tears just flow uncontrollably from your eyes even as Leon wipes your face with his thumbs, trying to lift you off the floor and make you go outside.

“Come on, sweetheart, I know it’s hard but we have to go"

"I... I can't... why here?" You ask more into the void than from him

“I don’t know, but we need to get out of here.” Leon grabs you under the armpits, helping you get to your feet, dragging you towards the exit.

Better yet, this would all just be a nightmare. The noise from the shots makes you cover your ears with your hands while Leon once shoots people, at the same time trying to protect the slow-moving you. They scream, moan, attack and you feel like you are in a horror film with high-quality special effects and good acting, but you realize, albeit reluctantly, that all this is not a joke but an evil reality where Leon almost at the very exit asks you to pull yourself together and you don’t even you can stand on your feet. Before your eyes, everything collapsed and the world went crazy, trying to grab you with it.

"I can't... can't... I'm so scared..." your hands grab Leon and he hugs you to him, which only makes you want to cry harder and ask him to do the impossible - to return everything to the way it was. He hugs you tightly, kissing you on the top of your head, giving at least some reassurance given the fact that he has always tried to protect the little that he loves from his work, but you accidentally found yourself in the epicenter and your reaction is quite expected.

"Everything will be fine, please look at me," he asks in a soft tone, lifting your head and forcing you to look into his eyes, "It will be difficult, I do not know what is happening outside and what kind of virus it is, but you must not leave me alone. I shoot, and you stand behind me or hide if I tell you to. If you see a dead person, don't you dare approach him!"

"Is it like this everywhere?"

Leon didn't quite understand if you were talking about the whole city or just the upcoming race, in any case, he only nodded briefly, giving you a little more time to catch your breath while you listened to the rapid pounding of the heart in his chest. He was afraid too.

It could have tried better. You really pulled yourself together, but after contacting Hunnigan, Leon exhaled for a second, saying that the virus had not spread so far and in fact the appropriate measures had already been taken, she sent the two of you to the evacuation point where doctors could examine you and give you a vaccine injection in case it really was gas, as Leon said, which logically you were both breathing anyway. So the virus could have entered your body, the scariest thing you reasoned while you were following him, is that you are both alive by a lucky chance, because if Leon had not been attacked by an attack of tenderness, it would probably have been the last day of his life. You no longer even thought about the fact that that sponsor called you somewhere... Emerick. You smiled when you remembered that Leon called him a high-dimensional asshole, but he probably became a victim like everyone else, so there's no need to speak ill of him.

You thought that because you didn't think he was a bad person. You and Emerick had common topics of conversation, he knew a lot and he had a rich collection of rare things bought from auctions for a lot of money, besides, as he himself said, much of what he actually has was inherited in his family, which made you think that he probably was some kind of hereditary noble. His manners were really perfect.

It took about an hour before Leon left you in a quiet place. There were only zombies outside and a few survivors who, no matter how hard Leon tried, still couldn't help. They always died in front of his eyes, even now leaving a sense of guilt in his soul, because he should protect and not kill, but now this is the best thing he can offer them to the infected. Wide windows on the third floor of a God-forsaken warehouse protected from enemies and if you believe Ingrit, then this is the C-Virus that Neo-umbrella created, not so old, but in the terrorist market, in fact, it is already junk.

"At least there are no cocoons and lepoticas, otherwise I would have big problems"

You were sitting on the crates risking tearing your nylon tights while Leon was talking via video link on his work smartphone, waiting for his colleague Ingrit from F.O.S to plot the safest route to the plane that should pick you two up. Leon thought you were safe with him. You just sit quietly next to him trying to catch your breath while he does the main work and he was really calm until you screamed sharply falling off the box, forcing him to turn to you when he saw you holding your neck.

The phone immediately fell to the floor.

"What happened? Are you in pain?!"his eyes widened as he pulled out the dart that was the cause of everything. "Baby, can you hear me?! Everything will be fine, hold on!"

There was no one in the window. By the way, there was no time to search for the culprit. Thoughts were flying crazily in his head, Leon picked you up in his arms, hiding you behind drawers so that you would not get into anyone else's lens, noticing how quickly your breathing becomes shallow.

Was it a new virus or an improved one from before? You curled up crying from what seemed like your organs were turning into a burning cauldron causing hellish pain that made you moan loudly.

"Hunnigan! I need a vaccine, urgently! Where's the damn helicopter?!" Ingrit shot up for a moment. The women's painful moans in the background were ready to make Leon burst into tears and she was almost sure that tears were stuck in the corners of his eyes.

"It will take time to figure out what it is..."

"There's no time!" he shouted into the phone. Ingrit's fingers immediately clicked on the keyboard.

You sobbed. The bones seemed to melt, which made you literally lie on the concrete floor until Leon shifted you onto his lap, feeling your body temperature rise from normal to high.

That's probably why you threw up and blood gushed out of your nose. Your heart was pounding wildly, you didn't hear Leon screaming in panic, hugging your body to him, realizing that if you don't inject the serum soon, then everything will be over. You're dying, but Leon's brain refuses to accept it when he picks you up in his arms trying to save you because with your death, life won't make sense to him.

"You're not going to die!" the words expressed through clenched teeth echo in the spacious building as Leon picks you up in his arms and carries you outside in time. "Everything will be different"

He couldn't let this happen again. It was as if everything was being repeated again from hell to hell, only now in Helena’s place he is himself and he definitely won’t have enough strength to put a bullet in your forehead, and if he does... then he’ll shoot himself too.

Every minute was precious and if it weren’t for the infected, Leon would have instantly reached the right place and injected you with the serum, but luck was not on his side again, just like on the first day of work in Raccoon City. You were heating up so much that he could feel the heat emanating from your body, even through your clothes. Once the virus enters the human body, the incubation period varies for everyone: Deborah Harper lasted two hours before she mutated, for some it takes about a couple of minutes, even God himself does not know how much time is measured for you.

Having reached the helipad, Leon cursed everything in the world since the helicopter was not even visible anywhere. The situation was clearly not going in your favor. You again let out a painful groan, feeling like your body was literally burning and your head hurt so much that you wanted to be hit with a huge hammer. Leon stroked your back, holding you close to him. God, your temperature was already colossally high!

"Just a little more, be patient, honey" Leon doesn't believe it, he wants to, but he can. You scream and cry, trying to tear off your skin with your nails just to make this heat go away. He would like to change places with you, it would be better if he were dying now and not you, and not so monstrously.

The virus flows through the veins, attacks all defense mechanisms, mercilessly rebuilding the entire body in a new way, creating an aggressive weapon out of a person capable of mass murder without any remorse. Leon's affection does not destroy you, right now it is the only way to save yourself, but even if by some miracle an active medicine fell on your head, what is the chance that it saved you? The probability of healing, even with side effects, tends to be no more than 5-7%.

"D-don't want to d-die"

A pitiful groan, through the agony of pain you see Leon’s crying eyes, the skin peels off unnaturally under the influence of high temperature, but this is not visible under the clothes, but face...

"No no no no!"

Leon fell to the ground from your sharp push, but immediately jumped to his feet, running up to you after a wild, painful cry. Just one second and the body was suddenly engulfed in a flash of fire, turning the flesh into a hardened cocoon. You are gone.

It was all over.

Leon sees double. It shouldn't be like this, it shouldn't be like this! The gun is lying somewhere a couple of meters away, having fallen out of the holster when you pushed it away from you, and if this was a standard work situation, Leon would have tried to quickly run up to it or pick up the Sentinel Nine, but his hand did not rise. His knees hit the concrete floor painfully, along with the realization that he had lost again. The hard cocoon transforms the caterpillar inside itself into a beautiful butterfly, which is destined to fly, but Leon knows that everything human in you has burned out and only a monster will hatch from this cocoon, at best only vaguely reminiscent of you, so maybe it’s better to just tear it apart and then let him go on his own a bullet for himself?

The rain continues to pour, gradually calming down. The guys from B.S.A.A are already somewhere down there clearing the city of the infected and saving the survivors because there is a vaccine, there are ways to destroy the trash that Neo-Umbrella created. The sounds of gunshots mix with a frenzied rumble in his heart, which is why Leon doesn't want to hear anything anymore, preferring instead to stretch out his hands to your still warm cocoon, where some movement is already visible. Watching this, Leon was ready to miss even the deafening sound of the helicopter, but the light made him close his eyes and lift his head up.

Even without looking closely, he immediately realized that it was not the helicopter that Hunnigan had sent.

For the sake of love, people really do the most cruel things.

Leon immediately realized who was behind all this when the helicopter landed and several armed men jumped out of it, their faces hidden by masks. He slowly got to his feet, looking at the culprit of his suffering, dressed in a snow-white suit, with an impudent grin that Kennedy remembered from the beginning of the evening, when everything was still fine. Leon could have sworn that he had never felt such rage before, although a painful scream stuck in his throat.

No one pointed a gun at him. Everyone just froze, waiting for something.

"It's a small world, Mr. Kennedy," he said, waving to one of his assistants, and he and two mercenaries pulled a cryogenic capsule out of the plane. "But it was stupid to think that a man like you would die from a bunch of mindless zombies. I must admit, I didn't want to go to extreme measures until the last moment, I liked today's event, but because of you, I had to cancel everything. I've lost most of my collection"

"So it was you after all…" Leon muttered through his teeth, not yet grabbing the gun, realizing the risks. He is alone in the open space - a wonderful target. "I didn't see your corpse in the museum."

"A distraction," he explained, watching the capsule's preparation from the corner of his eye.

Emerick… Leon suddenly remembered how you recently confessed to him that he began to take care of you by giving you flowers, then inviting you for a cup of coffee, listening to music or general topics of which there were too many. But in the end, when the attentions began to exceed the standard amount, hinting at something more, you refused him, saying that you already have someone. You didn't notice, but Leon has been catching his obsessive glances at you all evening… How sometimes you looked at the exhibits behind the glass case, which you can not touch, despite the ban.

But you didn't even choose between the two of them. Leon always came first.

"For what?"

Emerick smiled as he looked at the cocoon and Leon's question disappeared by itself. Because of jealousy? Because a rich bastard couldn't get what he wanted, even with a giant bank account?

"You won't believe it, Mr. Kennedy, but for love. Death took away a dear person from me and I want to return what belonged to me, however, you will not understand this"

Leon grinned, clenching his fists.

"Why? Why her? If you wanted to take revenge on me, then you would have taken revenge on me and not on her!"

"Who said it was you?" asked Emerick, looking at his interlocutor as if he were an idiot. "For the most part, you just annoyed me like an annoying fly, but no more, although you encroached on something that does not belong to you."

Leon was about to answer and pounce despite the machine guns pointed at him, but the movement below and the sound of the cocoon tearing attracted all attention. He has seen it many times and your hand was reaching out to break free from the tight shackles of the past flesh, forcing its way out. Everyone is closely watching the birth of a new life, but only in the eyes of one of those present there was delight, not fear and regret. Leon couldn't bear it… He didn't understand what was wrong. The transformation was different.

"Happy birthday, Ada,"

A memory flashed through his mind.

History repeats itself. Only it turns out that besides Simmons, there is another bastard who looks like him in everything.

Leon reached out to you, as if trying to grab you, to help you get out and take you away from here. A brief moment of hope still lit up in my soul like a small smoldering flame, my mind seemed to be clouded, and yet deep inside there was a glimmer of awareness. He couldn't get rid of the feeling that something was wrong while you were trying to get out, muffling all his annoying voices of caution. Wrong smell, wrong body color… Leon squints his eyes, the cocoon breaks and before he can grab your hand, he freezes.

The slimy, sticky naked body lying in front of him looked more like a white marble statue with a thin network of blue veins protruding under the skin. The mercenaries looked at each other, clutching their guns tighter but still not pointing them at you. The sight is really amazing. Leon comes up to you lying down, at first glance it seems lifeless, but looking closely, your chest quietly heaves and he kneels down again, pulling you to his shoulders, peering into familiar but still changed facial features.

There are no appendages behind the back, from which ugly claws protrude, no razor-sharp claws, no fangs. But instead, unnaturally pale skin and hair… the structure is thicker, and the color merges with the color of the body. The same discolored ones, but stuck together due to the transformation in the cocoon. You open your eyes a little, and instead of the usual iris, two red lights rush at him without a shadow of anger and aggression, just fatigue, something that Leon used to see when you stayed up late at work.

"And, when the grave restores her dead,

When life again to dust is given,

On thy dear breast I'll lay my head—

Without thee! where would be my Heaven?"

Ignoring the familiar lines of poetry, Leon remains silent when he gives him an order in a harsh voice.

"You won't understand," Leon has no doubt. He doesn't want to understand these motives. "You're not even worthy of the dirt under her nails, let alone touching her!"

Leon picks you up in his arms, turning to face Emerick, meeting with loaded guns.

"Did you infect her with the C-virus so that she would become your toy?"

"A toy?!" he snapped back.

Now it already looks like a confrontation between two men for the heart of one woman, almost a joust in modern realities in all its dirty manifestations and meannesses, but Leon does not feel the advantage. A fairy tale with a bad ending. One madman decided to use a virus to change the girl's memory and her appearance, making you the one who died a long time ago, and he…a brave man with a valiant heart who somehow thinks that even after death, Simmons is also connected with this. Even indirectly. Sold the idea of resurrecting someone else's personality in another person?

The rain is hitting your body in drops, and Leon wants to cover you, hide you, hoping that this is his second attempt. It seems that consciousness is returning to you, but you are still disoriented, not understanding who you are and what is happening. You became a part of the darkness that Leon carried on his shoulders.

"All for love," one wave of his hand, and the one standing behind him makes Leon bend painfully, crying out in pain, almost dropping you, his fingers dig into your skin, causing a barely audible moan from your mouth, but you are still snatched from his hands, carried into that capsule, after that, Emerick turns away from his opponent, putting something like an oxygen mask on you, stroking your cheek gently with his fingers.

"What the hell kind of love?!" Leon knows for sure that the other person is smiling even if he does not see it himself.

"You may not believe it, but I'm one-woman man, Mr. Kennedy. It took me a fortune to improve the C-virus so that it would affect her body without turning her into a vile insect-like creature. There was only one side effect after the final result - loss of pigmentation, but this is not significant, in all other respects it completely met my expectations. All THIS is for her sake."

"You sick... "

"No, I'm a heartbroken husband who lost his wife prematurely but now we will be reunited." Emerick looked at you lovingly before closing the capsule, which they began to load back into the helicopter. “And you, Mr. Kennedy, are just one of millions. You saw a work of art and decided to grped it when you had no right to do so. Someone like you will never understand her value, you were never able to give her everything she deserved!”

It’s hard to disagree when the muzzle of a machine gun is pressed to the back of his head, but Leon still fights as he watches the cryogenic capsule ahead being shoved back into the helicopter.

Adrenaline is pumping into his head and his palm is itching to get the second gun out of the holster, but Leon realizes one wrong move and this will be the finale in his story. You will drown in a pool of false memories, considering yourself the person you have never seen or known, you will begin to be called by another name, carrying antibodies to the improved C virus in your new body and you will give yourself into the arms of a man distraught from his loss, considering yourself his true love.

Leon walks on the edge, but now the feeling that a thin rope can throw him into the abyss, from where there is no return, feels more acute. If only Hunnigan's helicopter had arrived, but intuition suggested that the delay was caused not just by technical circumstances.

"Do you think you injected her with a virus and she will start to adore you? You gave her the power to smear you like a bug on the wall as soon as she wakes up." He does not know the properties of this virus and what abilities it can give, but experience suggests that minor adjustments in appearance and lack of pigment like albinos are not the whole potential obtained.

"You've dealt with many terrorists, but I'm not one of them, Mr. Kennedy," still pretending to politely hide his hatred for some American sharing a bed with his woman, whom he considered his own, Emerick retorts: "I don't want to turn people into monsters, although I don't want the world to be on fire, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices. This virus was tested on many before my trusted person injected it to her, and before using it, I tested it on many."

Leon clenches his teeth, glaring at Emerick, letting him finish. Truly, big money creates lawlessness.

"As I said, everything is for love"

But there is no love here. Just an obsession.

Emerick no longer intends to continue the conversation, sits back down in his seat in the helicopter next to the cryocapsule, again signaling his people to get rid of the last witness, besides, he no longer intends to dirty his hands, especially about someone like Kennedy. Although he may still have the desire to end Leon on his own, but looking back at the capsule, his lips are touched with a mocking smile. The project must be completed, and the finishing touches are always needed so that the creator can enjoy his creation.

"But so be it, I'll leave her memories of you. The most bitter and unhappy, she will remember you and be glad that I saved her from you. See, I can be generous even to those who don't deserve it."

"I will refuse your generosity."

The situation was turning into complete shit. Emerick probably hoped to clean up all traces of himself, which is why he left the mercenaries to clean up after him, while he himself rose into the air with a last contemptuous glance at Leon.

"I'll find you, you son of a bitch."

He'll find him and kill and then bring you back.

Fortunately, sometimes Leon has a guardian angel with a smoke bomb behind his back, covering him with shots from a crossbow bolt while Leon quickly pulls out his spare pistol, getting rid of the last two mercenaries. A familiar style and a familiar fragrance when the haze clears allowing you to see the savior in the flesh in his unchanging red outfit and Leon would even smile at her if the plane with you did not move away from him every second. Ada is the red queen of today who postponed the execution of her former lover, smiling at him gently and a little cunningly wondering how fate brings them together and separates their paths from time to time. Leon does not thank out loud, but words of gratitude to this woman who clearly spent her personal time on him still freeze in the air.

She looks at the remains of the cocoon, clutching the crossbow tighter, roughly imagining what could have happened, seeing Kennedy's wet eyelashes, although the rain could have been to blame for everything, which fortunately had already calmed down, as well as the noise outside, although occasionally groans and shots were heard in the distance. Today, her calculated accuracy saved him again.

"Long time no see, Leon" The velvety voice sounds soothing, but a little tired. In any case, Leon definitely owed her more than double the fare for his rescue.

A princess must have a knight in love to protect her from evil. In fairy tales, a kiss of love usually solves all problems, but what if the princess herself does not remember losing herself in the memories of her own and others? A suppressed personality cries out from the depths, not wanting to be forgotten, fighting with the one who took the pedestal and two names… two girls cannot merge into one, causing you only panic attacks and uncontrolled aggression, forcing the creator to believe that he is not so skilled even if he was filled with desire and endowed with money.

A charming man who calls himself your husband bends over her, holding out his hand decorated with antique rings to you, and you look at her with a puzzled look, pressing your back against the wall, trying to create distance between you. Because no matter how hard they tried to suppress your personality, but the feeling of uncontrollable fear, fused together with a new body, did not leave you, so you did not believe. Neither to him, nor to himself, nor to anyone else, and the dagger in the white palm hidden behind your back does not seem so heavy. The reaction is faster, the senses are heightened, and although the virus does not give the princess strength, you still resist, wounding your "husband", allowing scarlet drops of blood to bloom like roses on a white dress that has merged with the color of your skin.

Contrary to that, you have not become perfect, but you are still a passionate obsession for two men: one with pure thoughts and the other with a mad desire that has been tormenting him for a long time. It's hard to escape from the mansion, but thanks to heightened senses, it no longer seems impossible. However, it is even harder to ignore your true self, which screams and tears your head apart, as well as to separate two personalities from yourself.

You're confused. Not in luxurious rooms and corridors, but in yourself.

Something screams from the inside telling you to run away from here, and then it calms you that this place is your home, you know every corner here, every crack on the vase, these outfits in a separate dressing room tailored specifically for you, everything is familiar and at the same time alien. Your husband said that he saved you from a bastard named Leon, and after saying this name, the image of a blond man with beautiful blue eyes immediately stands in your eyes, but your heart overflows with rage, forcing you to tighten your grip on the dagger hilt.

You still have at least one sincere emotion, as you thought, however...

Leon is intently examining the analysis result from the remains of the cocoon that was sent to him. It really was what he was thinking, but Ada had already revealed a little secret to him.

"Maybe years will pass, and her real personality will somehow begin to manifest itself. I still don't know how Simmons fixed Carla's memory."

Leon puts the phone back in his pocket, looking at Ada with a slightly offended look, although she knows that he holds a grudge only against himself.

"But she's an exact copy of you," Leon reminded her, saying that when you pulled out of the cocoon, your face remained almost the same, yes, the features changed a little, but it was still you.

"But it will explain your new friend's obsession with your girlfriend," she chuckled, teasing him kindly, "If she looks so much like his dead wifey, then why would he change her appearance when they are almost identical to each other."

"And if it was an extreme measure, as he said... " Leon continues, scolding himself even more.

"You provoked him to infect her yourself. If he was hitting on her and she turned him down because of you, then it makes sense. Maybe if your girlfriend had been more mercantile and greedy for money, everything would have been without the virus."

However, was it Leon's fault or yours? Ada didn't blame anyone.

Leon may never guess at the ulterior motives, which may not have existed at all, but who else but she helped him again, however, leaving all the dirty work to Leon himself. After all, you were his concern, not hers. Although she followed you and your strange behavior a little, she finally sent him the coordinates of the place and your photo.

"I wish I could say that she remembered everything, but it seems that the virus did not affect her the way it was originally intended. Be careful, your beloved is a little aggressive."

Is it a consequence of the virus, or do you still remember who you are? Leon wants to believe in the latter when he collects equipment for the road, no longer hoping for anyone's help. But your new house looks more like one big clever trap and all the working staff have disappeared somewhere. In Leon's opinion, there should be more than one butler here, but there were no corpses either. Holding a gun at the ready, it was essentially a trespass on private property, but in the report he would later indicate that he was getting evidence. It won't be easy to find you, although you might make a little noise to attract his attention.

And you? You are sitting in a silent garden in the sweet scent of roses, standing out against the background of bright colors as a white spot, listening to the noise of the fountain, which still somehow calms you down after the last scuffle with your spouse. Alone, barefoot, you walk along a stone path, fingering strands of hair between your fingers, trying to compare in your head incomprehensible pictures from the past of two different people. You cannot love that person, for some reason you are afraid and angry at him despite his care. He took the knife away from you, letting you wander around the house like a ghost humming an annoying melody from his own past to himself, letting Emerick hope that manipulation and time will do their job. You hate Kennedy and that's been enough.

The support group is ready, but Leon still prefers to pick you up and then let the guys from the alliance work, having their own personal accounts in this matter. This could be the easiest capture of a terrorist in all his professional experience, but when his presence becomes known, the situation becomes complicated in the form of additional traps equipped with deadly devices and gas for which the anti-C vaccine is useless. In the end, Leon remains even without light and the flashlight does not save well. He looks into every room in an attempt to find at least some hint of your stay here after almost six months of absence.

And he finds in one of the inhabited rooms where only one bed occupies a quarter of the space. There is a beautiful comb with precious stones with traces of white hair on the dressing table, and Leon, picking up the jewelry, is sure that you are here somewhere, just like he is wandering among the dark corridors, although he really regrets that he did not find you in this room. However, another thought comes to his head when a thin lace pale pink negligee lying on the back of the sofa catches his eye… you only walked around in such things with him alone, and clutching the fabric in his hands, Leon can't help but think that Emerick slept with you in this bed.

The funny thing is that he's ready to forgive you everything now. He won't even remember that another man touched you afterwards because you're a victim and Leon, even if you don't remember him, wants you to at least return to a relatively normal life.

But the silence is suddenly cut short when a creak is heard behind, barely perceptible to the ear. A secret door? He does not turn around, freezing in one position, continuing to hold your negligee in his hands, feeling someone's sharp gaze on his back, but out of the corner of his eye catches a familiar silhouette, in the darkness of which two red eyes are burning.

You.

Leon tenses up. The sound of the blade breaks the silence, and your light tread turns into a sharp jerk as you rush at him with a sharp hairpin, hoping to plunge it deeper into his back. Your reaction may have improved, but Leon's reflexes are still faster, Kennedy dodges to the side, which causes you to fall directly onto your dressing table, knocking it over with you, forcing him to open his eyes in amazement.

"No, no, no, you couldn't turn into a monster," a thought runs through Leon's head.

The mirror breaks into many pieces and dig into your skin, causing the blood to contrast brightly on the light skin, which seems almost an unnatural sight. But through the pain, you hiss again trying to pounce on him, which causes Leon to fall on his back, rather out of surprise, managing to intercept your hand that aimed the clip directly at his eye. Pushing you away is not too big a problem, but the point is that you will still continue to throw at him and he does not want to use weapons at all.

"Bastard!" you growl, "Don't you like being hit back?"

"Stop, it's me!" he shouted, still holding your wrist so that you couldn't hurt him.

It was as if you hadn't heard. Leon pushed you away a little, hoping that being farther away would allow you to get to know him better, but what he didn't expect was for you to lash out at him over and over again, and honestly, if it were up to him, he would have removed the threat quickly, but it's hard to hurt someone you love. He'd had to kill Marvin and the President in the past, that in itself still weighs on his soul, but if he had to kill you… Deborah was easier. She was Helena's sister, not his, so his hand didn't shake when he pulled the trigger of the shotgun, but you're different. You're impossible to shoot at.

"Stop it!" he begs twisting your wrist so that you scream in pain and that scream tears his soul causing a lump in his throat. "It's not you! I beg yoy don't make me hurt you."

He doesn't even want to think about the estate being so deserted because of you. Leon still thinks it's just a virus, and somewhere inside you remember his, you just need to trigger it somehow. Ada said the virus affects you differently than it does Carla, but she didn't mention that you're aggressive to anyone who tries to touch you. Leon keeps his guard up, but despite your tight grip, you've apparently acquired some sort of ability that allowed you to break free and run down the hallway. He's not sure if you can throw people against the wall like baseballs, but your regeneration is enviable, because the only reminder of the wounds from the broken mirror on your body are drops of blood.

No abrasions.

So, after a little scuffle, as a result of which the antique dressing table is smashed to pieces along with all the bottles standing on it, Leon gets to his feet trying to figure out what the hell just happened. However, your trail has already disappeared. The house is huge, but despite this, Leon still puts the safety on the gun, afraid to instinctively shoot you if you attack him again. In hand-to-hand combat, you have little chance, but his reflexes can work faster than his brain. But abrasions and wounds a couple of centimeters deep, your body is able to regenerate itself. So cold steel will be the best thing, in case he meets other inhabitants of the estate besides you.

As already mentioned, the flashlight did not save the situation too much, of course, fanatics worked in some places, especially in the garden, but Leon did not find anything except small supplies, although his gut instinct encouraged him to pick up a gun to feel confident. But in the backyard, after several hours of searching among the marble statues and the damp fresh air that hit in the face, somewhere among the bushes in which some cautious movement is heard. It's like a wild cat sneaking up to its prey and Leon realizes - you're here!

Behind him again, so Leon straightens up. If it were daytime or even evening, he would have no problem finding you, but there is a starry night overhead. Rage is growing somewhere between your ribs, inside, but everything is different for him, because despite the internal contradiction, Leon is to some extent convinced that it is useless to fight with you.

There is nothing in his chest but regret and delayed words that he rarely said.

And yet at some point you look at each other continuously. You notice that he has only one knife in his hands, just like you, although Leon hides it back in the case, taking two small steps back trying to talk again. White hair is blown away by the wind and it annoys you that there is no elastic band or barrette to put it in a bun or tail. There doesn't seem to be anything in this damn house for your comfort!

The most painful thing is the way you look at him, but Leon still grins hiding his pain behind an inappropriate joke, standing in a fighting stance preparing to deflect blows.

"Well, I'm not against role-playing games, I really liked it when you were my bunny last time."

It's confusing or rather discouraging that it stops you for a few seconds and Leon uses this time to take the knife away from you, but you dodge so deftly and still more scared, almost dropping the knife to the ground.

"Come on, drop it, sweetheart" Leon asks, taking a step towards you, then you, on the contrary, retreat trying to find your advantage. "You know I'm not the one who's going to hurt you. I'll take you home."

"fucking dog," you growl in response, seeing how he swallows the insult, "Do you think I'll go with the one who made me like this?!"

Your voice is almost hoarse with hate. At the same time, Leon's face takes on a painful appearance, as if he was hit from the inside in the most painful place. That's what that son of a bitch told you! Okay, you can scold him with the most vile words, most of which he'll really be surprised that you even know, but... No buts!

"See?! I'm not afraid of you anymore! "

"You've never been afraid of me."

"You loved me, and I still love you," he wants to say, but the words are stuck in his throat. And after all, somewhere in the whirlpool of memories, these frames sometimes pop up in your head. Not the Stotholm syndrome...

You weren't afraid of him, but of the other one... the man who is your husband calls you by a different name, although Leon calls you by a completely different one, and what you hear from the agent seems much more familiar, more correct and more familiar.

"Baby, I don't want to hurt you! If I wanted to, I would have shot long ago, right? "

"I'm not your baby!" you're snarling, and your red eyes are burning even brighter in the dark.

Bad word.

Leon wants to bite his tongue. He still doesn't know about all the properties of your mutation, but he hopes that now you won't have claws behind your back, God bless him who left him many years ago, but it seems you don't have anything like that. Although when you attack him in a fit of anger, Leon really hurts like hell, which makes him even clench his teeth trying to hold back a moan of pain.

Probably, with strong malice, the power also somehow increases... A lot of times, because it looks like you broke his rib.

"Yeah, you never liked that word, but at least you didn't rush at me with a knife before," Leon still jokes, realizing that talking clearly won't help here. He doesn't want to use force, but it seems that there is no choice. He agrees that you may never love him more, but he won't leave you here either.

It is not even necessary to move to radical measures. Your head is bursting with pain again, causing tears to flow from your eyes and everything inside screams with fear, making you want to cower into a ball. Therefore, Leon does not expect you to bend at the knees and cry and start running away from him, just as you ran, according to Ada, all over the estate from Emerick. The wind licks wet tracks from your cheeks, scratching your skin when you run along the garden path, running out into a small open space before freezing in a frenzy, pressing your palms to your chest, as they did in a previous life, before mutation, when you were worried.

Cocoons.

A nightmare come true. Your heart was pounding and forehead was covered with sticky sweat, as were your palms from which the knife slipped.

"It's scary..." an inner voice echoes. You hear Leon running up to you and stopping too, looking at something he hoped to forget someday. Tears involuntarily flow down your cheeks, as if the real you are making your way, pushing someone else's personality into the background. Fire, pain, fear, a dart... This hellish pain that turns people into monsters, you haven't seen the staff, the estates, but now you understand what happened. Just like a divine epiphany.

Maybe it's just one of the reactions. Leon remembered from his own experience that not all individuals hatched from cocoons, but this was a huge rarity, and here as many as twenty if not more, however, this was the trigger. You remembered something.

The wet paths glowed in the light of the moon on your cheeks. If the situation had been different, Leon would have immediately tried to console you, but it seems that this could have become another stupid idea, on the other hand, your stupor could have been turned into a plus and they could have simply picked you up, put you in a helicopter and then calmly dealt with this crap. A tempting thought, of course, but... Something like a phantom pain... a feeling as if the whole body was burning again and being reshaped under high temperatures. Even the same hellish headache that sends a painful pulsation into the eyes. You were again struck by a short flash of memories, how someone’s strong hands held and stroked you while your body was changing and it definitely wasn’t your husband... his hands are icy, and his voice is dry, devoid of emotion... Maybe..

"Аt least it's clear where everyone has gone," a voice sounded from behind. It was getting harder to breathe and the world was spinning wildly in front of your eyes, so an inner voice told you to find where to land or your head was at risk of injury. This is not the first attack, but the most severe in the last few months. Anyway, your vague consciousness leaves you for a while, turning off, allowing you to get lost in fragmentary memories, but Leon's hands manage to catch you in time, carefully laying you on the grass.

Leon checked your pulse, the main thing is that your heart was beating and your chest was heaving smoothly. Apparently, it was an ordinary fainting fit against the background of a spectacle that caused you psychological trauma. He picked up your knife with which you tried to stab him a couple of minutes ago, was ready to take you away from this place as he had hoped earlier. Those guys who were still alive from his group proved that Emerick was not in the estate, but Leon did not believe.

And it's good that I didn't believe it. Leon didn't believe in miracles at all.

Well, right now he was definitely aiming to just pick you up before you regained consciousness, because trying to explain where the truth is and where the lie is clearly not the best idea. Calling a helicopter for evacuation and picking you up in his arms, hugging you closer to him, Leon quickly jumped up but heard a painfully familiar click to his right, which froze him in place.

“In the past, hands were cut off for theft, but I’ll assume that a colossal imbecile like you doesn’t know that.”

Leon grunts as he turns around. A tactical vest will protect his back and chest, but his head remains open for a shot.

"Then you should have been walking without hands for a long time," Leon retorts, putting you on a bench while delaying your rescue. "Looks like you didn't run away after all."

"I don't like unwanted guests, because of you, my wife and I will have to move to another place. It's a pity, she liked this garden."

"She's. Not. Your. Wife." Leon almost hisses, reaching for his gun, but jumps aside after a burst of three shots that were meant for him. "Bastard"

"I was informed that they did not get rid of you and I assumed that you would look for me at least out of a sense of duty to the country you work for, but please note that there are bigger fish in the sea. You seem to have a weakness for women with Asian features, so maybe you'll focus on your own preferences and not mess with my wife, whom, as I told you earlier, you just don't deserve. You have no idea what a valuable diamond she is, a nugget! One in a million!

Oh, this conceit! His measured and calm tone is annoying, Leon tries to suppress his anger at the fact that the bastard dug up information on him somewhere, but his attachment to Ada is in the past, although they still care about each other in some sense, but now there is you. And you are you, not the woman that Emerick considers his wife. Leon hides behind one of the cocoons and the bullets hit the non-dense flesh, after which a kind of ugly embryo that was once an ordinary person falls to the ground, forcing him to quickly take a better position behind the statue of the goddess Aphrodite.

"You've been living a lie for so long that you've come to believe it yourself!"

"Oh, sure, you know better!" sarcastic laughter makes anger boil from the inside, but Leon looks out of hiding just to look at you and make sure you're still where he left you. "We past even though we always knew that we were made for each other, and only by chance and then you got in my way! "

"I would have felt sorry for you if in your grief you hadn't tried to make an innocent girl into a copy of your dead wife and killed a lot of people in the process."

Leon pulled the safety off the gun. Now the main thing is not to catch a stray bullet and hope that this bastard does not turn into a giant mutated creature, because apart from four spare clips and another pistol, he has nothing and the space is not spacious enough to maneuver, besides, you could also get hurt. He has already forgotten that you can regenerate wounds, but nevertheless, there is no time to find out what is your Achilles heel yet.

"All for the sake of love"

"This is not love"

Leon pulled the trigger but Emerick dodged. There was a smell of gunpowder and something sickeningly acrid in the air, as if something had died somewhere and even the scent of flowers could not completely drown out this smell. You opened your eyes, but your head still continued to spin and the sharp noise of the vystreds only mocked your brain, forcing you to involuntarily pull up your arms and clap your ears with your palms, just like... Like when you were protected from zombies in a museum"

It wanted to hide, curled in a dark corner and not get out until everything resolves itself, although life knows how to throw surprises. You hear someone else's conversation, you hear how the one who came for you says that your husband is a sick cretin who considers it normal to infect people to make a copy of a dead person out of them, whereas he explains his reasons only with grief. The puzzle is not fully assembled and there are still many white spots in your memory, but some fragments have connected to each other despite the fact that you still do not understand who you are.

This shootout will continue for some time, and unnoticed by these two, you will slowly slide off the bench and see Leon and Emerick engage in hand-to-hand combat after they ran out of bullets. It is noteworthy that after losing your knife in battle, which is now proudly stuck in a tree post, he used his own, which he did not plan to part with, but since they are busy with each other, you calmly grabbed the handle and pulled out the blade, looking at your own reflection of scarlet eyes in steel.

You don't love any of them and you don't want to choose someone's side at all, but you also don't want to be tied to someone who actually infected you, having put so much effort into driving you crazy. You need to make a choice, and whether it will be right, only time will decide. Two people are fighting for one woman, although it looks like you are not a princess in trouble at all, and as Ada said, despite the effect of the virus, the real personality will still take everything back under his control, but the old life will never be. All dreams burned down along with that body, so you're also quite sincerely stabbing the family knife into Emerick's back.

The princess does not need a knight to kill the dragon, because she herself is able to stab him when he does not expect it. This is the simplest from the point of view of Leon's combat missions, but at the same time the most difficult. A scarlet stain spreads on the snow-white suit, but that's all. Emerick had not infected himself with anything, although his fate could not be called terrible. It was all for love, and he died at the hands of that love. A stupid death, which is even insulting, but not for you. And walking with you to the helicopter in the living room above the fireplace, Leon really understands why such an obsession arose...

You really look like the smiling girl in the portrait like two drops of water.

He was told that rehabilitation would take a long time, possibly years. You never spoke to him, you didn't even say a word, but you didn't attack him either. You just withdrew into yourself, allowing the doctors to conduct tests and identify whether you are ready to mutate into other stages when you receive any damage, but I was glad that you did not. In their opinion, all your physical data remained at the same level before infection, although perhaps you just deceived everyone well just so that they would leave you behind and not make you an experimental rat, allowing them to drain blood from you, but this allowed Rebecca's team to make a new improved vaccine. A dubious achievement for Leon, given the fact that you persistently ignore him.

He brings clothes, books, even begged for a TV for you to let you kill time and still nothing. You didn't even turn it on until the moment when, with fighting and shouting and after a bunch of official papers, Leon was finally allowed to take you home. They said that you don't have any regeneration and your injuries heal like on any other person, you don't rush at people in attempts to devour them, sometimes you still talk for more than five minutes a day (but not with Leon) and you don't have any unusual abilities. Nothing that would be of interest to the bigwigs of the government. You'd think that you'd literally become a black sheep, people would just start mistaking you for an albino, which is basically true now.

It's good when you can control some of your body's processes. This eliminates a lot of problems. At home, you curiously look at all these little things from your past life, thinking about what it was like to share this apartment with Leon, you look at the bed in which you must have slept with him, and it seems incredibly comfortable, although right now sleeping with Leon causes rejection. He does not climb into your personal space, no longer clings like a puppy, although he whines in the corner from the lost affection of a loved one. He gave you the bed, but he sleeps on the couch, brings breakfast and after a couple of months you get in touch.

It took Jill Valentine several years before she returned to the barn. Chris is so comforting, telling him that everything is still fine, but if necessary, he will let you go. One way or another, of course, he will check if everything is okay with you, but he will let you go if you still do not accept him back into your heart. Leon believes that therapy will help and you will remember your real self by separating the grain from the chaff. You don't have to love him again, although he will be happy if you ask him to stay by your side on a stormy night, hugging you after a nightmare. Then he will wrap you warmly in a blanket and press your face to his chest, gently stroking your back and comforting you with words.

Therapy will help and one day everything will be fine again. Kissing the top of your head, Leon wants to believe it as much as you do. At least you're willing to try.

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