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arisenreborn · 8 months ago

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tomorrow i'll be brave (ch. 2)

Word Count: 2,045 Characters: Olivia (Arisen), Emrys (Pawn) AO3: (link) Chapter 1

After days of existing in a darkened fog the Pawn remembers nothing of what transpired - none of what was said or done. All that remains is the aftermath, and picking up the pieces.

Distantly, the sounds of battle tugged at the darkness of his mind. Screams and steel echoed dimly, muffled by the shroud of a too-long slumber.

Awareness came like the rain, one drop at a time and all at once. The first thing he saw with any clarity was her face, covered in blood and mud, trickling raindrops clearing paths across her skin. Those piercing blue eyes of hers seemed somehow faded now, eyelids heavy as she looked up at him.

He was on top of her, he realized, straddling her at the hips. Her chest was heaving, body trembling, clothes soaked. Some of these things were familiar, but the context was all wrong. Her clothes were in tatters, and it wasn’t only the rain that soaked them. Where the cloth ripped asunder, terrible wounds bled out.

Frantic, his gaze swept over her, around them, trying to piece together what had happened. His head screamed mercy for each movement he made, feeling for all the world like he’d been on the most gods-forsaken bender and tried to fist-fight a chimera.

Pushing back the clouds in his mind, the town square spread out around them under the gray skies of the night. Bodies, everywhere, scattered and strewn about. Something had plucked them from their homes, or they’d otherwise tried to flee. They hung out of windows, sprawled out across the cobblestones, or had been dropped as if from above over broken stalls.

The utter stillness and silence were deafening, a force against his ears that told him all he needed to know. Death weighed heavy in the air around them, as if it would smother out even a gasp of life.

A griffin? Or perhaps a drake? No… There was almost no real damage to the city's structures, apart from where it appeared the bodies had been violently thrown. And despite the chaos of it all, there was shockingly little blood - whatever had assaulted them didn’t seem to try rending them asunder with tooth or claw.

All except for her. The world spun every time he moved his head, but clarity bloomed around her. She was an absolute mess of claw and bite marks, as if whatever vicious maulings the creature had spared the townsfolk of, it had delivered all to her. More likely she’d put herself in its path, but the death that sprawled out around them suggested her failure, which seemed inconceivable to him.

“Em…” Her voice was a stomach-hollowing rasp, weaker than he’d ever heard anything. Painfully sobering, he felt his insides twist with a nausea unlike any hangover.

Shaking and feeble she lifted a hand towards his face, and he swiftly caught it in his - only to glimpse how red it was. The rain was washing it all away, but he could feel the blood caked under his nails. All thoughts stretched to a stand-still. All feelings bent towards a dawning horror.

Staring at her small hand in his he was suddenly stricken with the faint recognition: This has happened before. Oh, he remembered all-too-well the aftermath, but never the contents of that wretched black fog that filled the space before it. His former master and his beloved, torn to shreds and scattered about their campsite.

For how long had he tried to make sense of it? And for how long now had he tried casting it all away? It had been the origin of all of his unhappiness, the black mark on his soul that left him no better than a broken tool.

“Emrys…” Her voice called him back to this wretched moment in time where he could feel hot tears burning at the corners of his eyes.

Her hair was loose, strewn around her head like a dark halo, smeared with blood. She wasn’t even wearing her armor, just a nightgown, looking for all the world like she must have rushed out of bed. Had they been sleeping when this had all begun?

It was then he realized his own lack of clothing, just his smallclothes and… a lot of blood. Not only hers but his own as well; the slashes of a sword's blade criss-crossed his body, but he barely felt them now - they hardly mattered. Yet he could feel how weak each strike and slash had been; she’d tried to stop him, too reluctant to hurt him as much as he’d hurt her. Damn fool.

No, no. He couldn’t let his thoughts keep spiraling away like this, he had to… He had to? What could he hope to do?

“You’re back…” She smiled, or at least tried to. A hint of her usual light returned to her eyes, as he recognized now with another twist in his gut that what clouded them before had been fear.

Those two words, sounding as though they flowed from a wellspring of relief, damned him. He may not have remembered anything, but he knew too much to deny the bloody truth staring right back at him.

“Stop.” His voice was a grainy croak, throat raw from what felt like days of screaming. “Don’t…”

‘Stop talking, stop wasting your energy on me, stop looking at me like I’m worth a fragment of your affection. Don’t die, don’t die, please don’t die…’

His hands moved over her, scared to actually touch her but desperate to do something. To stop the bleeding, to pass over each wound and leave them without a hint of even a scratch. Damn him and his stubborn refusal to learn a single healing spell.

Her head turned to the side and he stopped short as terror gripped him for a moment. But he could see her eyes searching the faces of the bodies around them, trying to make sense of what had happened, calculating the loss - the immensity of her failure. Biting his cheek he brought his hand to the side of her face, turning her gaze back towards him.

“Hey, look at me, stay with me.”

Tears were spilling down her cheeks, but still she kept trying to smile.

“Hah… As if you could get rid of me.” Some pain deeper than her wounds seized her, and she wrenched her eyes shut and grit her teeth against a terrible, sobbing sound. “I’m really tired though, Em…”

Let this be only a nightmare, let morning come and the rain wash all of this away.

Such hopes had gotten him little in life he reminded himself, and made his body move.

“It’s okay,” he lied, “I’m going to take you home now.”

There was no telling how far this devastation went, or if the guards would be patrolling the area around their home, but he could scarcely imagine such a catastrophe going unnoticed. The fact there were no weapons aimed at him right now spoke of a more unpleasant reality than he could allow himself to think on just yet.

So he carefully picked Olivia up into his arms and put his feet beneath him. She made small, pained sounds as she was moved, but even now she was trying to muffle her suffering.

He wanted to comfort her, to offer some small, futile words of consolation, but what could his liars tongue possibly offer with so much blood on his hands? Fear gripped him by the throat all the while, silencing his own voice. Instead he strained every sense to the sole purpose of listening to her breathing; it was slow and a little uneven, occasionally broken by a stifled sob or groan, but for a blessing never faltered.

The ambling walk home went by in a haze. The bodies never seemed to stop, familiar faces staring up at him from the ground where they lay, rain blurring their features. A guard laid sprawled on the steps up to the noble quarter, as if in answer to the question he didn’t want to ask.

Within the familiar walls of her small estate the pattering of the rain against the roof and windows seemed almost peaceful. With the door shut behind him he could for just a moment close his eyes and believe it was another simple, stormy night.

Only a moment though, before he hastened to their room and put her in their tousled bed. In a feverish blur he sought out potions, bandages, clean water and towels. He may not have been a chirurgeon but he’d been around long enough to know a thing or two about cleaning wounds, and that had to count for something.

He took only enough time for himself to make sure he was effectively clean before tending to her, and abandoning his blood-stained skivvies for some simple trousers that had been laying on the floor.

It was alarmingly easy to pull off the remaining tatters of her nightgown, but there came some relief to find most of her wounds looked more grave than they were. Only a few cut deep, and to his great relief none struck anywhere vital. The amount of blood loss from the sheer amount of cuts was the more concerning thing, but few of the injuries continued to bleed anymore.

She was cold though, both from the rain and her loss of blood, and he took as much care drying her off and bundling her up as he had dressing her wounds. Then he quickly stoked the dwindled embers in the fireplace before returning to her side.

Throughout all of it she dozed off and on, murmuring and moaning, making sounds that tried and failed to be words. He shushed her gently and did his best to soothe her, but all the while his voice trembled as much as his hands.

When she finally fell into a less fitful slumber he remained hovering at her side to make sure her condition didn’t deteriorate, and constantly checking her over for any injury he might have missed. He pinned every thread of thought and awareness to her, less he started wandering the dark roads of pondering what had happened.

Yet one part he couldn’t wrap his mind around was the look of the wounds she bore. He’d traced his fingers alongside three long claw marks around the side of her waist that couldn’t have possibly come from his hands if he’d tried. But for some reason he couldn’t shake the sureness of his sin, the certainty that the smell of her blood had been a match to that which had been caked beneath his fingernails.

In the end he could do nothing but wait for her to wake and give him the true account of things. He dreaded it far worse than he could remember dreading anything in his life before. Even more than he’d dreaded the thought of being called and commanded by another Arisen. Perhaps this was why. Perhaps he would always be a broken pawn who could only bring suffering to his master.

The minutes dragged into hours, and the rain eased to a soft drizzle as the sounds of thunder grew distant. Sitting at her side he clasped her hand in his, ‘to gauge her temperature’, he told himself, but he was too afraid to squeeze it tight or let it go.

Whatever other fears plagued him, he dreaded even more the idea that somewhere in the long hours of this night she might slip away from him to places he could never find her again.

“I’m sorry.” The words aching in his chest echoed in her voice. There was a clearness in her voice that relieved him, and looking at her it matched the focus in her eyes. Exhaustion yet clung to her features, but she was far from the confusion and stupor from earlier.

His mouth moved but words failed him. What could he possibly say? Why was she apologizing to him? He wasn’t sure if that was just her being foolish, or delirious, or if there was something else he was forgetting. Though if he had to bet, the options were already ordered from most-to-least likely.

But before he could fathom up a response, or she could relieve him with even a single other word of explanation, Olivia’s eyes fluttered shut once more. Her breathing fell into an easy, familiar rhythm that ought to have soothed him, if not for the company of his wretched thoughts.

#dragon's dogma 2 #dd2 #arisen x pawn #crow's writing.#oc: olivia #oc: emrys #fic: tomorrow i'll be brave

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maria021015 · 6 months ago

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SPOILERS AHEAD FOR CHAPTER 54!

“Zay, can we talk? About what happened before?” Stiles asked her in a hushed voice as they walked out of the school towards the Jeep.

Zaida took in a shaky breath, her heart caving in on itself within her chest at the mere mention of what had happened. The image of her best friend and the boy she cared so much for, so close together, was burned behind her eyelids. Every time she blinked it was there, reminding her of her stupidity. Not enough. Not enough. Not enough.

“About what?” She feigned ignorance, walking faster so he couldn’t see the barely concealed pain on her face.

“Zaida, you…come on, you know what.” He hurried after her, stumbling over his words. All that was running through his head now was, how was he going to fix this?

“No actually, I have no clue what you’re talking about.” She insisted, clearing her throat when her voice came out far more hoarse than she would have liked.

She couldn’t understand why he would flirt with her when his heart still belonged to the redhead. Had she been imagining it? Had she been delusional this whole time? Had he done it on purpose to mess with her? But no, Stiles wasn’t like that. He’d given up on Lydia and had settled for her instead - for the girl who was always there. For the easy option. Then when Lydia had made her move, Zaida had just fallen away - not even a real competitor, just collateral damage. It was the only explanation that made sense. Anger crackled and burned within her, casting a dark soot over all the memories she cherished - all of the times she spent with Lydia and Stiles. They were corrupted now, only serving as a reminder of what might have been if she was enough.

But Zaida had never been enough. She wasn’t smart or athletic enough. Not enough to make a real difference in anything. Not like Xander, who was a powerhouse in both areas and had fought off Deucalion on his own to escape that night at the mall when she had failed. She wasn’t cautious enough. Not for Xander, who had always wanted her to be more careful. To be more selective. More cynical. To be a hunter as he was. To be like Allison. She wasn’t enough of anything for Stiles. Stiles wanted Lydia, and Zaida was nothing like Lydia. She was just there. Was that all she was? A placeholder for him?

“Please, Zaida, at least just let me explain-” Stiles begged her, desperate to clear the air.

“If you keep talking,” Zaida quickly interjected, her jaw clenching. She was spiralling and she knew it, but she couldn't afford to - they had more important matters to deal with. “I’m going to make an extra thick icicle with a really sharp tip, and I’m going to shove it, right up your-”

“Okay, okay! I’m shutting up!” He interrupted before she could finish her vulgar description, his face twisting at the thought of such a method of torture.

Zaida climbed into the passenger side of the Jeep, and when Stiles joined her in the driver’s seat his shoulders were sagging and his energy was flat. The emotions that echoed through his door in her were only a further admission of his guilt and Zaida didn’t want to feel it anymore. She thrust her blocks firmly into place, shutting him out completely as she turned her knees towards the car door, fixing her gaze out the window.

She wasn’t enough. Not enough. Never enough. She never would be.

“It has to be on a telluric current, or maybe even at the axis of two, or where they all intersect. We just know it's where Derek took Paige to die.” Stiles explained to the others as they peered at the marked map of Beacon Hills that was spread over one of the metal tables at the clinic.

“My dad and Gerard were there, once. But Gerard said it was years ago and he couldn't remember where it was...And, my dad obviously isn't here to tell us now.” Allison swallowed, her eyes bloodshot the only evidence that she had been crying.

“Yeah, mine either.” Stiles added morosely, finding it hard to focus when Zaida was on the other side of the room, her arms crossed over her chest as she refused to even look in his direction. From the looks exchanged between their friends, they all noticed the tension.

“Lydia’s heading back from the loft now. We thought Peter and Derek - or at least one of them - would remember how to get there but apparently not. Talia Hale took the memory from them somehow.” Zaida added, her hazel eyes simultaneously dull and simmering with quiet rage. The redhead had messaged her the information and Zaida hadn’t bothered replying with anything other than ‘meet at the clinic’.

“Then how do we find this place?” Issac chimed in from over Stiles’ shoulder.

“There might be another way…” Deaton looked apprehensive. “But it's dangerous. We're gonna need Scott.”

“Well Scott hasn’t been answering his messages.” Stiles revealed bitterly.

“The alphas are hunting your sister,” Zaida turned to the veterinarian. “Morrell was missing from her office, but it didn’t look like there’d been a struggle so I don’t think she was taken. I think she ran. Where would she go?”

“If she was running? She’d want to be in the one place where she’d have the advantage. The woods.” Deaton stated, retaining his serene demeanour.

“Then that’s where we’ll find Scott. Once we’re close enough I can track him down,” Zaida tapped on the side of her head, indicating she’d be able to sense him.

“There he is,” Zaida pointed out the approaching figure as sticks snapped beneath her boots.

“What are you guys doing here?” Scott questioned them, emerging from the brush. “I could hear you from a mile away!”

“That was kind of the point,” Zaida tilted her head at him. “We need your help to find the Nemeton.”

“How’d you guys find out?” His brows met together in curiosity.

“Lydia’s drawings.” Stiles answered. “You?”

“Morrell. None of the other Alphas know where it is, either.” Scott shared with a grimace.

“So, if this works, are you gonna tell them?” Stiles eyed his best friend warily. He didn't like the trust Scott seemed to be placing in them, especially considering Deucalion was after Zaida. In his mind, that was clearly a conflict of interest.

“I can't stop Jennifer without them.” Scott reasoned with a sigh, indirectly answering Stiles’ question.

“How about we concentrate on finding your parents first?” Deaton interjected before any of them could get carried away.

“What's the plan?” The werewolf asked.

“Essentially, you, Allison, and Stiles need to be surrogate sacrifices for your parents.” As the words left Deaton’s mouth Zaida’s head snapped towards him in alarm. He hadn’t mentioned that.

“We die for them?” Scott clarified with a stunned expression.

“But he can bring us back!” Stiles exclaimed, then turned to Deaton to double check. “...You can bring us back, right?”

“You remember the part where I said it was dangerous?” The man pursed his lips. “If it goes right, the three of you will be dead for a few seconds...But, there's something else you need to think about. This is a dangerous ritual for more reasons than one. You'll be giving power back to the Nemeton, a place that hasn't had power for a long time. This kind of power is like a magnet - it attracts the supernatural, the kind of things that a family like the Argents can fill a bestiary with. It will draw them here, like a beacon.”

“Doesn't sound worse than anything we've already seen…” Stiles shrugged, brushing it off.

“You'd be surprised at what you have yet to see.” Deaton warned, and Zaida’s stomach churned uncomfortably. She didn’t have a good feeling about this at all.

“Is that it?” Scott questioned, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“No. It'll also have an effect on the three of you. You won't be able to see it, but you'll feel it...every day, for the rest of your lives. It'll be a kind of...darkness around your heart, and permanent, like a scar.”

“...Like a tattoo.” Scott mumbled, rubbing the bands inked into his arm.

“At this point, we’re out of options. It’s either we do this, or our parents die.” Stiles reminded them all of what was at stake.

“I’m in,” The werewolf nodded decidedly.

“You’ll each need something that belonged to your parent - something important to them, but also something to connect you to them. Something that holds a lot of sentimental value.” Deaton advised them.

“We’ll meet back at the clinic when you guys are done.” Zaida instructed and returned the way they had come without another word. Deaton followed after her, leaving both of the boys behind to gather the required items.

“What’s wrong with her? Did something happen?” Scott asked Stiles once the girl was out of earshot, picking up on her chemosignals.

“Yeah, she walked in on me and Lydia and now she’s pissed and she’s refusing to talk about it.” Stiles let out a heavy sigh, frustrated with himself.

“You and Lydia?!” Scott repeated, his brown eyes widening.

“Nothing happened!” Stiles exclaimed insistently, his arms flailing about expressively. “Well, something…something almost happened, and that ‘almost something’ was what Zaida saw.”

“What do you mean something almost happened?” The beta was outraged. “I thought you were done with Lydia! Don’t you like Zaida now?”

“I am done with Lydia. If anything, whatever almost happened today just confirmed that I have zero feelings for her whatsoever. She grabbed my face and came really close like she was going to kiss me,” Stiles suddenly reached out and gripped Scott’s face, mimicking the redhead’s earlier actions. The werewolf looked mildly uncomfortable and very confused. “And at that point, I just felt nothing, and I knew that even if she wanted me, I don’t want her anymore. I just want Zaida, more than I’ve wanted anything.”

“Really? Even more than you used to want Lydia?” Scott questioned, still only inches away from his best friend’s face.

“Yes! Even more than the erasure of the absolute heresy that is the Star Wars sequels!” Stiles insisted, grip tightening on the werewolf’s face.

“Why are we still doing this?” Scott asked, referring to their close proximity.

“I don’t know. I honestly thought you’d push me away a long time ago.” The boy admitted and Scott slapped his hands away, stepping backwards.

“Bro, you’ve gotta fix this.” Scott urged his best friend, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I know! It would be a lot easier if she’d actually talk to me about it.” He huffed. “And right after things were finally starting to get somewhere too!”

“What do you mean?” The werewolf questioned, frowning once more on confusion.

“Last night, at the hospital, we kind of had a moment…” Stiles revealed, cheeks warming at the memory of it.

“A moment?” Scott repeated, a slow and amused smile spreading over his face.

“A moment! You know, like a vulnerable conversation - a moment! It was a moment!” Stiles snapped erratically, rolling his eyes. “Whatever, we were talking about the deep stuff, you know? And then- well, then I started flirting with her a bit. Just to test the waters, you know? And then…well, then she started flirting back and it was awesome.”

“And then you ruined it.” Scott nodded as he followed along.

“Yes, Scott, thank you for the reminder.” Stiles narrowed his eyes bitterly.

“She probably thought that the something that almost happened, did happen.” The werewolf continued.

“Yes, I am aware.” The boy scowled, not really needing to hear what he already knew.

“She probably thought that you were messing with her.” Scott added and at that Stiles froze.

“What? Where- Where’d you get that from?” He spluttered. Was that really what she thought? That he'd just been playing with her feelings?

“It’s what I would have assumed, if I were in her shoes.” Scott shrugged.

“But- that’s not true at all!” Stiles protested irritably. Also, since when did he go to Scott for girl advice? And since when was Scott’s girl advice actually good?

“But Zaida doesn’t know that!” The beta pointed out. Stiles opened his mouth to respond, but he really couldn’t draw together a solid argument against that. He ended up sealing his lips with a loud huff of annoyance.

“I’ll fix it, okay? But how are you going to fix this mess you’ve gotten yourself into? Joining the alpha pack? Seriously? How could you think that was a good idea?” Stiles shifted topics, putting his best friend on blast for abandoning them the night before. “You know, this pack is like the mafia - once you join, the only way you’re leaving is in a body bag.”

“I’ve got a plan, Stiles. You’ve just gotta trust me.” Scott assured him, promise behind his dark eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what Zaida said,” He muttered under his breath. Yet again, all things led him back to her.

“All right. What did you bring?” Deaton asked as Allison was the last of the group to arrive.

They all gathered around three giant metal tubs filled almost to the brim with ice, water and various Celtic herbs and flowers. Zaida, Isaac and Lydia had spent their time helping Deaton move all of the tables out of the way and prepare everything necessary for the ritual. They had done so in awkward and thick silence.

“Um, I got my dad's badge.” Stiles turned the warped metal over in his hand, the light glinting of the damaged surface. “Jennifer kind of crushed it in her hand, so I tried hammering it out a little bit. Still doesn't look right.”

“Well, it doesn't have to look good if it has meaning.” Deaton smiled faintly. The Sheriff had also been his friend.

“Is that an actual silver bullet?” Isaac asked as he caught sight of the small, shiny object between Allison’s gingers, stamped with the Argent family crest.

“My dad made it. It's kind of a ceremonial thing.” She explained its significance. “When one of us finishes learning all the skills to be a Hunter, we forge a silver bullet as a testament to the Code.”

“Scott?” Deaton prompted the werewolf to show them his item.

“My dad got my mom this watch when she first got hired at the hospital. She used to say it was the only thing in their marriage that ever worked.” He gazed down at the watch and not for the first time since meeting Scott’s dad, Zaida wondered what the history was there.

“Okay. The three of you will get in. Each of us will hold you under until you're essentially...well, dead.” Deaton prepared them for what was about to happen. “But, it's not just someone to hold you under - it needs to be someone who can pull you back, someone with a strong connection to you. A kind of emotional tether.”

Despite the situation, Zaida found her eyes drawn to Stiles as she recalled similar circumstances they had experienced together. Months ago, he had held her under until she had almost died. He had been the one to pull her back. He must have been remembering it too because their eyes locked, sending a jolt through both of them before Zaida quickly turned away.

As Zaida crossed the room, headed for Allison, Deaton stopped her by holding out his open hand. “Zaida…You go with Stiles.” He instructed and she froze.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. It should be Lydia - you said it needs to be a strong connection. An emotional tether.” Zaida muttered bitterly, lowering her eyes.

“Which is exactly why it needs to be you.” Deaton insisted sternly. “Lydia will go with Allison.”

This time Zaida wasn’t the only one who noticed the longing in Isaac’s eyes as he looked towards Allison. And what was even stranger, was Allison glanced at him as well. Scott tilted his head, eyebrows twitching downwards slightly in confusion, but he brushed it off rather quickly.

Zaida took in a deep breath as she moved over to stand behind Stiles as he peeled off his shoes and socks, forcing herself to push everything else aside and focus on the matter at hand. The stakes were high - this was literally life or death. Stiles' own words jumped to her mind - “I’m about to drown my best friend. I don’t know how I could ever be ready for that” . It was only now that she stood in his shoes that she understood what he’d meant. Climbing into the tub, Stiles clutched his father’s mangled badge in his hand. The boy gritted his teeth against the freezing temperature, but pushed through it, lowering himself to sit inside, his legs outstretched. Allison and Scott did the same on either side, gasping at the cold.

“By the way, if I don't make it back and you do, you should probably know something…” Stiles’ voice trembled along with his body as he turned to his best friend before he went under. “...Your dad's in town.”

Scott’s eyes widened for a moment, but he didn’t have time to ponder the information as Deaton moved into position behind him, setting a hand on each of his shoulders. Lydia and Zaida followed suit but the brunette hesitated for a moment, her hands hovering over the fabric of Stiles’ shirt before she forced herself to grip him. The boy’s chest heaved, taking in desperate and deep breaths as the panic set in. It struck Zaida through that chestnut door in her mind, almost blowing the lock off, but she barricaded it shut. She’d be no use as his tether if she somehow went under with him. Even once her blocks were firmly in place, she still felt anxiousness churning within her stomach, though this time it was indeed her own. She might never see him alive again. She might not be able to pull him out.

“It’ll work,” Stiles whispered, assuring her - or himself - as if he was able to read the thoughts in her mind. Would it work? It had only worked last time because of what Stiles meant to her. He’d made it clear that she didn’t matter to him in the same way, despite his pretty words that morning.

“On the count of three,” Deaton spoke serenely, and Zaida felt Stiles shudder beneath her grasp. “One, two…three.”

On the final word Zaida held her breath as if it was her that was going under, pushing downwards and watching Stiles squeeze his eyes shut and he slid beneath the icy surface with no resistance. For a few moments, he remained still and peaceful, bubbles of air escaping his lips and slowly rising to the surface. Then he began to thrash against her hold - they all did - fighting to come up for air. Zaida’s guts twisted with guilt as she held him down, her hand almost slipping off his shoulder as he twisted to get away. She knew he didn’t actually want to come up. She knew it was his survival instinct kicking in. However as it became easier to hold Stiles down - as his strength waned and he finally went completely motionless - Zaida still felt as though she had killed him. She didn’t realise she was crying until a single tear dripped from her chin, falling into the water below and causing the surface to ripple slightly.

As the seconds stretched into minutes it soon became clear that something had gone wrong. The three would not be waking up as quickly as Deaton had planned. Zaida couldn’t watch them like that, floating lifelessly below the water. Instead she wandered into another back room and busied herself with unpacking her friends' clothes from the bags they had brought, folding them neatly in a pile for if - no, for when - they would emerge from the freezing waters. At least then they would have something warm to change into. As she fiddled with the corners of a fluffy towel Deaton had provided, Lydia entered the back room. Zaida didn’t have to turn around to know it was her from the sound of her heels clacking against the tiled ground.

“Zay, I know you don’t want to talk about it,” The redhead began and Zaida’s jaw clenched.

“You’re right,” She spat through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But we need to.” Lydia insisted, moving to stand right behind her. “Please, just hear me out. Let me fix this. I need to fix this.”

“Lydia, right now I’m just trying really hard to hold it together long enough to deal with everything else going on.” She let out a stressed sigh.

“You don’t even have to speak, just listen!” Lydia pleaded with her, reaching out to touch her arm. As soon as her fingertips made contact, Zaida flinched away. “Zay, please. I am so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, I just panicked!”

“You panicked so you grabbed his face and kissed him?” Zaida snorted, whipping around to face the girl with an expression that was a mix between outraged and sceptical. “Right, because that makes so much sense!”

“What? No, I didn’t kiss him!” Lydia shook her head, green eyes growing wide. Then she winced. “I was about to, but-”

“Oh, and that’s so much better?!” Zaida burst out in dry and humourless laughter and she whirled to face the girl.

“No, wait-” Lydia backtracked, desperate to explain herself.

“You know what, no. Just stop. I don’t understand why you would do this to me. I have gone above and beyond for this friendship. I stood aside and I gave you every opportunity to be with Stiles, because I didn’t want to get in the way of something that might make you happy - someone that might be good for you for a change!” The brunette exclaimed, and once she’d open the gates, everything came flooding out. “The thing is, if you had told me you wanted him I would have stepped back for you in a heartbeat. But you didn’t tell me anything, you went behind my back and I had to walk in on it and react like a complete and utter idiot! And it’s not even like you were oblivious - I told you how I feel about him! You know what he means to me, and you told me you didn’t see him in that way. You told me he wasn’t your type-”

“And he’s not my type! I don’t see him as anything more than a friend - if that!” Lydia interrupted in protest, her guilt eating away at her from the inside out. Zaida had never spoken to her like this, but that only meant the girl had never been this hurt. And Lydia had been the one to cause it.

“Then why would you do it?!” Zaida didn’t even register the fact that she was yelling now, allowing her frustrations to get the best of her.

“It wasn’t like that, Zay. He was having a panic attack and nothing I was trying was calming him down - in fact, I think I was just making it worse. I didn’t know what else to do, and I’d read somewhere that holding your breath can stop a panic attack. The only way I could think of to get him to hold his breath, was…well to do that.” The redhead couldn’t even bring herself to say it, she felt so awful. “But I just couldn’t go through with it, and I didn’t need to because just grabbing him was enough for him to freeze in shock long enough to stop panicking.”

Zaida’s inferno of anger lowered to a simmer as she registered what the redhead was telling her. Lydia hadn’t kissed Stiles, and the only reason why she had been going to do so was in a strange, last-ditch attempt to stop his panic attack. The realisation that she had completely blown up over something that now didn’t seem nearly as bad was embarrassing, to say the least. Her best friend hadn’t gone behind her back to seize an opportunity to kiss the boy she liked after all.

“I’m not going to lie to you, I’m still angry. There are so many other ways - better ways - to stop a panic attack than that.” Zaida took in a deep breath, trying to calm her temper. She knew she could be irrational, and she had a knack for jumping to conclusions and blowing her lid occasionally. She didn't want to turn this into something bigger than what it was. Lydia hadn't meant anything malicious by her actions.

“You two have this ability to understand exactly what the other needs and you calm each other down like it's easy. You only have to look at each other, or start counting and you ground one another. I’ve seen you do it! And I can’t do that. When I tell you nothing was working, I mean nothing was working. I know it was stupid and awful, and I hate myself for it, but I genuinely didn’t know what else to do.” The redhead promised. “I am so beyond sorry, Zay.”

“Look, I…I know that it’s not an easy thing to deal with - especially being someone who hasn’t had any experience with it whatsoever.” Zaida sucked in another stabilising breath, trying desperately to be the bigger person and look at the situation from an objective perspective, pushing her jealousy away. “Panic attacks suck, and the only reason why Stiles and I can calm each other down is because we both know what it’s like to have them. We have our strategies that we know work for us. I can see how you would have arrived at the place you did, and under different circumstances - like, had I known what was actually going on when I walked in - I wouldn’t have freaked out the way I did.”

“Your reaction was entirely valid,” Lydia reached out to squeeze her arm in support, and this time Zaida didn’t flinch away. “I should never have even considered it. The last thing that I wanted was to be that girl. The girl I was before - the girl that made out with Allison’s boyfriend to get back at her and Jackson. The girl that hurt her friends and didn’t care. I thought I was past that.”

“I know you’re not that girl anymore, Lyds.” Zaida let out a heavy sigh, releasing some of the lingering tension along with it. “It’s just, for the longest time all Stiles could see was you, and I found a way to be okay with that because I didn’t want to resent you for something that wasn’t even remotely your fault. But things started to change and then it was like he was seeing me for the first time, and it made me hope that maybe I had a chance. Walking in and seeing you two like that just shattered it all, and it felt like shit. I still feel like shit.”

“I never wanted to make you feel that way,” The redhead shook her head, disappointed with herself. “You are the last person I ever want to feel like that. You are my best friend, and I love you more than anyone in the world. I hate that I was the one to do that to you and if I could take it back, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

“But you can’t take it back.” Zaida swallowed thickly. “And now I know that Stiles and I are never going to happen.”

“What? Why not?! Zaida, haven’t you noticed the way he’s been looking at you? How he’s been making any excuse to touch you and compliment you? How protective he is over you? How he goes absolutely insane whenever Isaac is around you? Stiles likes you!” Lydia exclaimed, not understanding how the girl couldn’t see it when it was so obvious.

“Maybe he does do all of those things, but it doesn’t matter, because you’ve always been the one for him Lydia. Today has shown me that the moment he might get a chance with you, he would take it. Even if one day he does choose me, I will always be his second choice. And I'm not going to allow myself to be somebody’s back up.” Zaida shook her head definitively. “I want to mean more than that.”

It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it happening again only solidified the fact that it wouldn’t be the last if Zaida let it. Stiles always went back to Lydia. If once was an accident, twice was a coincidence, and thrice was a pattern…that planted Stiles firmly past the pattern category. The boy would realise the redhead wasn’t interested and he would mope and Zaida would pick up the pieces, and after a while of him not showing any signs of still liking Lydia, she’d think that he’d moved on. Only for Lydia to show him the smallest bit of attention, sending him crawling back to her and leaving Zaida in the dust. Well she wasn’t okay with that anymore. Zaida wanted to matter to someone. She wanted dedication and loyalty and she wanted to be wanted. She wasn’t about to allow herself to settle for less than what she desired.

#teen wolf #teen wolf fanfic #stiles stilinski #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles #stiles x oc #teenwolf fanfiction #female oc #female original character #scott mccall #lydia martin

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hello-there · 6 days ago

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Communities are a new way to connect with the people on Tumblr who care about the things you care about! Browse Communities to find the perfect one for your interests or create a new one and invite your friends and mutuals!

#tumblr communities #communities

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annoyinglandmagazine · 10 months ago

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A Song Only You Can Hear 7

He was awash with nerves, running lines through his head again and again despite being made aware multiple times that there were only going to be six or so people to see him make a fool of himself and all of them were obsessed with Shakespeare as an entry level requirement so it wasn’t as if they’d find him reciting love sonnets embarrassing in and of itself.

Still, he was restless, which meant in his case a lot of moving around the narrow room and doing things that he did not need to, such as probing the decidedly dying embers of the fire, that had at last been lit during the nights as they entered November, and very little accomplishment of whatever task he was attempting to complete. In this case getting dressed.

Maedhros was looking at him with his eyebrows raised in disbelief, ‘Fingon you cannot possibly have mistaken that for your shirt, the sleeves go to your fingertips!’

He blinked rapidly to clear the fog of sleep dragging at his eyelids while trying to make sense of the words being said to him, ‘Hmmm? Oh! Right….so sorry Maedhros, this is yours I guess, huh?’

‘You’re grand, it’s not as if I don’t have others,’ he chuckled softly while tossing him one from the pressed pile by the desk.

The bell was clanging rather agressively outside, matron always seemed unusually enthusiastic to rouse them out of bed kicking and screaming to his mind, what difference did it make to her anyway?

Maedhros rushed to straighten his tie, already perfectly straight to begin with of course, ‘Now make haste, I am not letting you get us a mark for tardiness!’

He yanked the shirt over his head only partly unbuttoned and scrambled to put on his own, missing several buttons along the way, and his hands fumbled so much over the tie that Maedhros, bouncing on the tips of his toes with anxiety at the idea of getting chewed out for something, sighed and smacked his hands away, ‘You’re making a complete hames of it, let me,’ sounding exasperated but more fond than genuinely frustrated.

He stood still as he could while Maedhros made quick work of it, tucking it into his blazer and Fingon did not realise he had forgotten to breath until Maedhros drew back to grab his satchel; he found himself pulling air into his lungs as if he’d been suffocated.

He yanked his own off his desk just as Glorfindel poked his head in the doorway, ‘Having a lie in are we boys? What an example you’re setting Maedhros, violating the sanctity of your office-’

Glorfindel promptly had a sock thrown at his head and tossed it right back with a laugh as they shut the door behind them and began to move towards the dining hall, pulling Ecthelion along with him (did they always travel as a pair? It rather seemed like it sometimes, though he supposed he and Maedhros were becoming not so very different).

‘Do we truly need the dramatics so early in the morning?’ Maedhros gave a rather excellent impression of Fingon’s mother sometimes.

‘This coming from Maglor Feanorion’s brother?’

‘Exactly. At least here I shouldn’t be subjected to it around the clock.’

‘Ecthelion’s musical fanaticism down the hall must have been a disappointment for you in that regard then.’ The aforementioned Ecthelion made a face and Maedhros shot him a commiserating smile.

‘Ecthelion doesn’t practice past midnight.’

‘Ecthelion’s also not as good,’ the aforementioned Maglor Feanorian seemed to emerge behind us from the shadows at the sound of his name.

Ecthelion took exaggerated offence making an effort to emphasise the rather striking amount of inches he had on the younger and, from what I had heard Ecthelion himself admit in the common room when Maglor was in his own dorm and not in a position to overhear, more naturally talented musician.

(‘Honestly,’ he’d groaned to Duilin while in a phase of ruthlessly editing the piece he’d been writing until it was scarcely recognisable as more than black ink, ‘that boy… I should very much like to know what they put in the water back at Formenos because it is entirely unfair for him to be that good.’ Maedhros had tried very hard to smother a proud little smirk from the armchair where he had notes strewn across his lap that he had not so much as underlined in ten minutes, choosing instead to ever so unobtrusively eavesdrop on the goings on around him . Fingon noticed these things.)

He rolled his eyes dismissively, ‘Watch yourself firstie. Maedhros, tell your brother to respect his elders!’

Maedhros sighed in a fond manner that reminded Fingon rather vividly of his mother hearing about the trouble her children had got into; he liked to think he was a good eldest son in that it was only directed towards him on occasion but in reality that was most likely a result of Aredhel commanding all the exasperation of the household.

He thought he probably loved her that smidge extra for how easy it was to look neat and respectable next to her penchant for white petticoats that were inevitably snagged in briars and trailed through mud until their original colour was hard to discern, leaves and twigs sticking from her loose hair.

Turgon certainly had the opposite effect; he should have been the first born, he already looked most like to take their father’s lead by going into politics and had the maturity, much remarked on by relatives and tutors alike, of a grown man (in his slightly uncharitable opinion a quite remarkably old man with no sense of humour).

He was struck by a sharp stab envy for Maedhros, who had his brother right in front of him, unreasonable as it was because he knew his friend missed the other brothers as much as he did his siblings.

He knew because Maedhros had actually told him, something that had taken him aback for a moment, being very unfamiliar with people directly trying to talk about thoughts like that with someone their own age, but left him feeling strangely excited at them same time; he felt as if he suddenly had permission of a form to say things that he would not normally feel he could broach for mortification.

The fire crackled and hummed with a bright red glow at their feet with a branch persistently hammering against the window behind his pillow as he whispered all his ponderings and worries to the shadows shifting on the flaking ceiling.

Weren’t they all homesick, they must be even though to actually say it would certainly get anyone strange looks and an unholy amount of teasing. It wasn’t that he was unhappy per say, he got on with everyone even better than at his last school, the activities were fun even though the food was awful and Maedhros was perfect.

He still felt horribly cheated that he had to treasure the letters he received once a week, trace the distinct slopes and scrawls, flourishes and clumsy print, try to hear the voice of the author in their little quirks because it would be another month before he heard it in person again, when he had once been accustomed to take breaks from his governess in his father’s study or his mother’s parlour when he grew tired.

He wasn’t a crybaby though, not like the first years could sometimes get away with being at times, and he only ever discussed this hesitantly. He’d begun to get an image of Maedhros’ own family in these evenings, though he seemed to guard these details tightly himself it seemed to be some different reason altogether, what he couldn’t hazard a guess to.

Maedhros chuckled, a little of that tension slipping away, ‘Be nice Kano,’ he chided with a ruffling of unruly dark curls that earned him a pout and smack on the arm. Maglor’s flush of embarrassment at being chastised by his older brother in the halls when he slinked back over to his friends seemed to vindicate Ecthelion’s sensibilities enough for him to huff and shake his head.

‘Children, these days. None of us were ever that cocky I’m sure.’ He seemed slightly aware of the irony of the statement as a fifteen year old himself from the sly smile pulling at his lips.

*******

He had been running through his lines again and then his thoughts had wandered to- well he couldn’t quite remember what exactly, something vaguely to do with Shakespeare somehow in a series of connections that would not have made much sense if he tried to explain them. The upshot of this was, of course, that he ended up looking up at the dusty blackboard for the first time in ten minutes and understood precisely nothing that was on it.

Just how exactly had they gotten that answer and how was he supposed to replicate it with the additional sums everyone else had already started on?

He took a few seconds to gaze at it in confusion, hoping it would slot itself together (it didn’t), before he realised that if he looked bewildered his teacher may pick up on it and as Mr Caldwell was one of the three professors in the school who took the most satisfaction out of the cane resting against his desk this was not a situation that he saw playing out well for him.

He made to copy them into his notebook, so he could appear to be working and when Mr Caldwell by a stroke of luck got up to fetch some spare sheets from the storeroom down the hall he wasted no time in taking advantage of the opening to lean over Maedhros’ shoulder and whisper softly as he could in his ear.

‘I’m sorry to bother you but I really don’t understand what we’re doing right now. Could you explain it to me please?’

He shot him his warmest, pleading smile that had always let him get away with pure bloody murder when employed towards most adults. Though from his position with his chin just at Maedhros’ shoulder it would not be visible to the other boy he was fairly certain Maedhros knew him well enough to infer that it was there.

Maedhros went very still for a moment (was it his imagination or did his cheeks flush a few shades brighter?) and Fingon wondered if he should repeat the question but decided to wait a few seconds longer. He was giddy with the proximity, the red curls tickling his face and the scent of the soap his roommate used filling his senses.

He whispered haltingly back, tilting his head away a little to Fingon’s inexplicable disappointment, ‘I, uh,’ he glanced down at his notes and slid them onto Fingon’s desk with an anxious glance at the door, ‘right, of course, so you just need to….’

He gathered his thoughts quickly and patiently began to talk him through it, mindful not to disturb anyone around them by speaking with their heads bent close together. Finally Maedhros said that he’d gotten it, his answer matched his own, and seemed very pleased with himself for a moment as he tried to cross check one more.

They were interrupted by Caldwell’s footsteps forewarning his return, something he suspected they would have missed entirely had Glorfindel not leaned over, ‘Psst! Might want to move back to your desk there old boy, unless you feel like getting caught!’

When the door swung open he looked over the diligent heads bent over their work with a suspicious glare before striding down the centre of the room and using his newly acquired chalk to scrawl the next series of numbers across the board and continue the lesson.

He risked one grin towards Maedhros with a mouthed thank you which was met with a quick don’t mention it. Just as he was looking up at the board so as not to miss anything this time round, however, he was met by a distinctly odd glance from someone from one of the West dorms that he vaguely recognised from tryouts. ‘What did I do to him?’ he wondered, the furrowed brow and wrinkled nose lingering in the back of his mind for the duration of the day.

#silmarillion #tolkien #maedhros #fingon #maedhros x fingon #russingon #a song only you can hear #victorian au

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fioreofthemarch · 2 years ago

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Finding Her - Chapter 4

Link makes notes, takes photos and keeps time on his quest across Hyrule, in the hopes of finding Zelda and staying sane until he does. [ Previous | Next | First | AO3 ]

Welcome to the Purah Pad! — Home Screen —

Today’s Purah Pointer: Keep a firm hold of any weapons, gear or luggage on your person when teleporting using the Purah Pad. Hateno Ancient Technology Laboratories disclaims liability for any goods misplaced when using the Purah Pad.

> Camera

Camera selected.

> Scanner

Scanner sub-function selected. Please place text to be scanned in view of the Purah Pad camera.

Scanning… Processing… Scanned text uploaded.

Talus Tracking Stone Taluses in Hebra and Hyrule Ridge are our main sources of rare gems that we use for weapon and bow crafting. They’re a tough enemy, but a skilled warrior can take one with the right preparation.

The easiest place to find a talus is south of Rito Village near Strock Lake. This part of Hyrule is rocky and lush with mineral and ore deposits, so it just makes sense that taluses make their home there.

Be careful of what the Hylians are calling Battle Taluses. Bokoblins in the region have caught wind of the defensive capabilities of taluses, and have started making hackneyed little camps on top of them. A few well-placed arrows will take the cretins out, but stay on your game if you come across this type of talus, and consider bringing your best wingman for back up.

Log date: 22:45. 5th month, 26th day 104AC Location: Swallow's Roost, Rito Village Weather: Snowfall continuing

Eyelids heavy. It's late. But wanna get all this down. Arrived in Rito Village yesterday morning. Haven't been here in about a year, a lot has changed.

The blizzard is bad, real bad. The bridge into the village is down, so no food coming in. Visibility basically zero with the snow. The Rito can't forage or hunt if they can't see. Genli offered me some mushroom stew that she made but, said no. I've got some rice balls that weird sign guy gave me. The kids here need the food more than me.

Met with Teba and Tulin. Elder Teba! Did Zelda know about that? I bet she did. And Tulin! He's as tall as me now, with a bow of his own. Glad to be here with them. There's talk of a scouting trip tomorrow, for any food that can be found. Least I can do is help out and then see if I can figure out what's causing the blizzard. Going to need some Snowquill gear for it though and have all of 58 rupees on me.

So I got an idea. And Zelda, if you ever read this, keep in mind I survived it.

Harth the armourer keeps a map of Stone Taluses in the area. Quickest way to get rare gems to sell is from a talus. I grabbed a Moblin-horn sledge, ate some Ironshroom Rice Balls and rode south to where Harth had marked the location of a talus. Was crossing a narrow bridge across a gap in the Hyrule Ridge when it hit me; not the Stone Talus I was looking for but an arrow, directly into my right arm.

Praise Rauru, the arrow hit the arm on its snaking metal gauntlet but my horse (Spot) reared and threw me down into the clearing below the bridge. Hip still bruised from where I landed — right in front of a Stone Talus with three bokoblins riding on top of it, all howling with laughter. A Battle Talus.

The Moblin-horn sledge broke in the fall. Just managed to get my shield up to block a hail of arrows from the bokoblins. Was in a bit of a tricky spot, cornered too. One hit from the talus and it’d all be over. Had to improvise.

Zelda, maybe where you are you’ve seen the Zonai tech? It’s all over the place now. I’m a fan of the rockets. And a fan of fusing them with arrows. One rocket arrow took out all three bokoblins. Three more took down the talus. Might have gotten a little singed myself. But I lived to write all this down and farm enough gems from the talus to buy a Snowquill coat.

Still, there have to be better ways to make a few rupees.

A photograph of a pile of rubies, sapphires and amber. The sparse, spiny grass behind the cairn is still on fire from the battle in which the gems were acquired.

Caption: Can’t wait to tell Harth about this.

---

Log Date: 09:45. 5th month, 27th day 104AC. Location: Hebra Trailhead Lodge Weather: Snowfall worsening

Set off to help Tulin with the hunt but he’s gone on ahead. Taking a quick stopover in this cabin at the base of the Hebra mountains before going to look for him. Amali helped make some spicy pepper-stuffed capsicums (struggling not to eat them now) and Harth is here too. Can’t tell if he was impressed by my Stone Talus story — he just sort of shook his head as I told it.

The blizzard is howling. The cold feels cruel somehow. Aggressive. Was always taught never to muck about in bad weather — Nature doesn’t care if it kills you, someone once said. But what would it feel like if it did? If it was actually trying to? Probably a bit like this.

A photograph of dense snow, the outline of the rising Hebra mountains traced faintly in the background. Tiny flecks of orange light are visible from the bonfires that have been lit along the Hebra trail.

Caption: Even through all this the Rito keep going.

---

Log date: 14:25. 5th month, 27th day 104AC. Location: Kahatanaum Shrine, Rising Island Chain Weather: Warning! Blizzard conditions and unbearable cold. Return indoors as soon as possible.

Stopped over by a Shrine of Light for a rest. We’re splitting the stuffed capsicums Amali made. Tulin made a little shelter with some torches and a camping blanket he had. We wouldn’t be able to stop otherwise, the blizzard has bite now. It’s good to travel with company. Tulin is a beast with a bow and an aerial ace too.

We found him heading for the sky islands above Hebra Peak. He said he’d seen Zelda out this way. Can barely believe it. What’s she doing out here? It’s dangerous. And cold. Whatever it is, she doesn’t have to do any of this alone. She should know that.

A voice has been calling to us. Tulin has been singing the song of Stormwind Ark as we climb. Up above there’s something in the clouds, something big, circling at the centre of the blizzard.

Can’t stop long. If Zelda’s here, we’ll catch her. If the blizzard can be stopped, we’ll find a way. Next time I do one of these, this’ll all be behind us.

A photograph of the huge dark cloud that stretches high into the atmosphere. It is encircled by two dozen or so floating wooden structures.

Caption: Boats? Those are definitely boats.

---

Log date: 0800. 5th month, 28th day 104AC. Location: Spire of Lake Totori (above Rito Village) Weather: Clear skies.

Feel like I’m gonna start off many of these with ‘a lot has happened’, but — A lot has happened. Wind temple. Colgera. Secret Stone? Demon King? And you, Zelda. Still chasing you.

From the top of the rising sky islands we dove into Stormwind Ark (the one from the song), navigated its ancient corridors and then beat the crap out of a giant ice bug.

It was holed up inside the boat and was NOT happy to be set free. Right away it was in pursuit, the huge mandibles that surrounded its ugly, angry face barely missing us as it flew by, its segmented body trailing behind. There was no doubt it was the cause of the blizzard, the way it blasted us high into the air with its gusting winds. It took a few useless arrows fired at its face before we realised it had a weak spot. But not before nearly being blown overboard, saved by a well-placed gust from Tulin, who caught me with his talons and flew us back to safety. Then it was just a case of hitting Colgera where it hurt (or maybe diving through where it hurt?), enough times to kill it without also dying myself. You know, hero stuff.

That’s when we met the ancient Rito, heard about the Imprisoning War and saw you, Zelda. Tulin’s not convinced but I am. I know that determined look, that quiet poise and that commanding but calm voice, the kind that could convince anyone to do anything, including an ancient Sage of Wind. But still I don’t understand — we saw you at Stormwind Ark in our time as well as the past. Tulin and I searched the temple before we left but found no trace of you.

Speaking of, Tulin accepted the duty of being the Sage of Wind, and lends a little of his power to me. Wish he could come along when I leave this place, not just his avatar, but he is needed here. You should have seen Teba’s face when he learned HIS son was the Rito warrior to finally end the blizzard. Could have sworn the old man smiled. ‘Zelda would be proud of you both’, he said. ‘She’ll be back when she’s ready, and not before.’

Starting to maybe believe that could be true. With the blizzard gone and a little corner of the world back to normal, maybe someday it’ll all be okay, and you’ll come back.

Gonna stay here another day to rest. And for target practice with Tulin. He’s here now, gonna see if he wants to try a friendly archery contest.

A photograph of Tulin of the Rito, his new Great Eagle Bow in hand. Behind him are the mountains of Hebra, shining brightly in the sun, and in the distance Rito scouts flying freely through the skies. Tulin is smiling, giving the camera a thumbs up with his free hand.

Caption: He won all three rounds.

#totk #tears of the kingdom #zelink #totk spoilers #legend of zelda #legend of zelda fanfiction #finding her #tloz

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ask-de-writer · 1 year ago

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Return to the Master Story Index

Return to CLASSICAL FANTASIES

THE FISHERMAN'S LEG (Part 15 of 20)

A sequel to Dee 1/2 Demon

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

16914 words (work in progress)

TUMBLR EXEMPTION

Blog holding members of Tumblr.com may freely reblog this story provided that the title, author and copyright information remain intact, unaltered, and are displayed at the head of the story.

Fan art, stories, music, cosplay and other fan activity is actively encouraged.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

New to the story? Read from the beginning HERE.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Minami, Ichuru's body in his arms, began to stride determinedly along the street toward the Shop of Repairs. Tanira was about to try stopping him but Magistrate Lim prevented her with a silent raised hand.

Brow knitted in puzzlement she backed away. Bobbing his head in a bow while walking, he whispered to her, “He is greatly distraught. Folk who are so upset often reveal more than they intend. He has already let me have one thing that he has never let out before this.”

Minara overheard and quietly took Takahara aside to explain.

Nodding thoughtfully, she followed along.

Minami stopped just outside the door of the Shop of Repairs and cried out, “Murderers! You must restore life to my son! You have to undo your evil act!”

Dee looked up from her anvil where she was working on a set of kitchen knives. Her clear inner eyelids slid up over her golden, snake like eyes. She simply shook her head, her usually slowly undulating flame orange hair slowed.

“That is something that no mortal being can do, Minami,” she hesitated before adding, “san. He has been drowned and dead for hours. Only necromancy could bring him back and that is unlawful Sorcery.”

“So is murder! That gives you no trouble at all, does it Monster? I have seen you and your six evil witches do it with my own eyes!”

Patsu made a comic stare about the Shop, shading her eyes with a hand. “We seem to be a bit short of evil witches here. Mind explaining where the others are?”

Satsuna set aside the leather wet weather boot that she was repairing to step up close and take a look at Ichuru's body. Her face pinched in puzzlement, she asked, “Why was he not wearing his floats? When he fell in while playing the straps made marks in his clothes that would last until they were dried out. There are no strap marks on these clothes.”

Minami gave no bow at all as he snapped, “He needed no floats! All that he had to do was stay in the boat to be safe! Your evil magics toppled him into the sea to drown!”

Miko had put aside the calligraphy that she had been working on and stepped close, shaking her head. “Minami san, that makes no sense at all. Even if it were true, which it is not, you had what? Four or five men besides yourself in the boat, of whom at least four could swim. Even without his floats, any of you could have easily extended a pole, like a boat hook for him to grasp. Failing that, a swimmer could have gone in and pulled him out.

“Why would you ignore him at all? When any child is in any boat, you must pay attention to them. It is a basic safety precaution.”

Before Minami could retort, Magistrat Lim intervened. Bowing politely, he stated firmly, “This has gone far enough. My good Constables, Canra san and Horichi san will take Ichuru to the Temple of Two Trees to be prepared for cremation.

“You, Minami san, and you young ladies of the Shop of Repairs must all come with me to the Tribunal. There we shall hold a proper Inquiry into this distressing situation that has resulted in the death of Ichuru san.”

The whole lot trooped up Sabo's tidy streets to the Tribunal. After all had taken their places, kneeling before the Magistrate, he laid his sword across the black lacquered table that he knelt behind.

He signaled with his hand, saying, “Miko san, I wish you to keep the record of this Inquiry.”

She took her place, taking from a drawer in her table the inkstone, brushes, Tribunal Chop and paper needed for the record.

Dipping her brush in a small cup of water, she wiped it on the inkstone and sat ready. “What shall I write?”

The Magistrate replied, “Seal the upper right corner of each page and title it INQUIRY INTO THE DEATH BY DROWNING OF ICHURU SAN, aged ten years.”

He composed himself carefully and went on, “These are known facts. More may be found later but we must begin with what is known and proved. First, Minami san, sentenced to a moon at labor on the Roads of this Province, escaped after only two weeks of his sentence. Second, Minami san engaged crewmen who were used in the theft of the boat Sea Lion.”

Minami started to object but remembered in time to raise a finger and bow. “The Sea Lion is my boat! I cannot steal what is mine!”

Magistrate Lim quietly raised his hand. “You owe a great deal of money to your crew. They took out the Lein on it. The Tribunal holds the ownership and the crew has full rights as owners until the whole of the Lein is paid. Only then will you own the Sea Lion again. The taking of it without the permission of her proper crew is theft.”

Exasperated, he inquired of Miko, “Did you get all of that?”

She bowed politely and replied, “Every word and who said it.”

“Good. Thirdly, Minami san abducted Icchuru san from his home and the custody of his mother.”

He interrupted himself to explain, “The Order of Protection served to you, forbids approach to the house, Fish Market or the persons of Tanira san and Ichuru san. The violation of that order makes taking him an abduction.”

The Magistrate took an exasperated breath and added, “Fourth, entering the Fish Market and taking Ichuru's floats and his toy boat. It is known that he would not enter a boat without wearing the floats.

“Fifth, you took the Sea Lion to the fishing grounds.

“Sixth, his floats were found neatly folded and dry when you returned. His clothes showed no sign of the float straps and were deeply soaked. Two of the men with you were also soaked.

“Seventh, and last for now, you accused Dee san and her friends of murdering him.

“His body was sent to the Temple of Two Trees to be examined for any sign of witchcraft or Sorcery before being prepared for cremation. High Priest Nandi san will do that and we shall have his report in person soon.”

To be Continued

<==PREVIOUS ~~ NEXT==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to CLASSICAL FANTASIES

#THE FISHERMAN'S LEG #Part 15 of ?#Classical Fantasy #sequel to DEE 1/2 DEMON #WORK IN PROGRESS #Written by De Writer

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ahsokathegray · 2 years ago

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I Bleed the Same || Twenty-One

Pairing: Rexsoka

Summary: Ahsoka and Rex try and make sense of who and what they are after Order 66 occurs. Figuring out what to do with themselves, they remain together for a period of time before parting in their own directions.

Warnings: slow burn, mentions of Order 66, ptsd, injury, death, and future nsfw situations

Word Count: 4,247

A/N: another nightmare sequence plus some more palpy

read on ao3! / series masterlist

Ahsoka shivered and lifted the top sheet to cover her exposed legs, drawing the one hanging off the side of the bed to press firmly against the other. Rex didn’t follow her action, still needing to remove the lower half of his armor. Even if he didn’t have it, joining her underneath a blanket wasn’t in the question, fatigues on or not.

“Back on Saleucami…” he trailed, making room for a question.

“I know what you’re going to ask,” Ahsoka said, looking briefly up at him before back down to her lap, “It took everything in me to do it. I don’t even know how I found the strength to look at their ship, much less eat anything.”

Rex kept his gaze on her, observing the physical traits of her exhaustion. The blue of her irises were darker, her skin a dull orange. Her eyelids were heavy, glossy, and red-rimmed, too weak to open all the way. She sighed and raised her hands up to her face, rubbing first and then pulling up gently on her Mandalorian headdress, lifting it from its nestled position. It was then tossed atop her med pack and she massaged the area with her fingers.

His eyes softened, looking upon Ahsoka in awe as her hands fell back into her lap. He’d never seen her without something covering that area of skin before.

Ahsoka felt his observant gaze, “What?”

Rex snapped his eyes back down to hers. “Nothing. It’s just, I’ve never seen you without something there,” he motioned his hand over his own head in reference to hers. His face immediately flushed. What made him think it was appropriate for him to comment on that? You di’kut!

“Oh,” she laughed, feeling the area she’d just exposed with her fingertips, “Well, I suppose we haven’t run out of firsts yet.” Ahsoka remarked. “I like firsts. Good or bad they’re always memorable,” she motioned towards him, “For example, I’d never seen Captain Rex in just his skivvies until today, making this a total of two times now. That’s memorable.”

The Captain chuckled with her and pinched at the fabric covering his wrist, “You’ve seen these plenty of times over the course of the war, and I’m still half-plated up.”

“Not on you. And you never walk around in just half,” she corrected.

“I’m just partial to my armor.”

“Oh, trust me. I’m well aware. If anyone had asked me, I’d probably have said that you slept in it. So far, you’ve only proved my theory.”

Rex shot her a jaunty grin, looking down and reaching for the sleeve of her shirt, two fingers taking the hem of the material. “This is a first, too,” he said quietly.

Ahsoka felt the weight of his arm from the hand attached to her shirt. A hot blush began to form on the underside of her lekku at his unexpected touch. His ungloved fingertips brushed against her wrist and she looked up at him expectantly, her lips parting. She kept her eyes locked on his, noticing the flicker of something warm behind the usually stoic, honey color.

He quickly snatched his hand away and sat up straighter, inwardly scolding himself for the invasion of her space and clearing his throat. “What I mean to say is, had it been up to me, earlier in the war you’d have been wearing something like this over…” Rex set his jaw and stopped talking, lest he dig himself into a deeper hole, and shook his head.

Had it been up to me? You rakeweed, he reprimanded himself again.

She pressed her mouth into a thin line and her brow markings raised a hair before she understood his meaning. Rex was referencing the blasted top she’d worn when she was first made into a Padawan. Ahsoka giggled, “Oh, you’re not wrong.”

“You just needed more protection than what they gave you. You were just a child,” he explained, still bitter over the fact that no one ever gave her any armor when both of her Masters wore it.

A reflective silence filled the space between them before Ahsoka broke it, “So were you, Rex… Even if you didn’t look it.”

Rex sighed and ran a hand over his neck.

Ahsoka continued, “Have you ever stopped to think about how young we were? How young we still are?” Her thoughts drifted to what she’d said on the bridge… the last normal moment they’d had.

All I’ve been since I was a Padawan is a soldier.

The Captain tilted his head and ran a hand over his buzzed head, “Sometimes. Mostly about you. As for me? Nah. I don’t feel so young anymore.”

She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, ”I don’t either. I feel about as old as you look.” Ahsoka teased.

Rex gave a hearty laugh — a real laugh, “Oh? Think that’s funny, do you?” She joined in his contagious laughter at the exchange of banter. Their amusement soon died down and they looked off to the dusty corners of the room, not sure what words they could say to follow that topic up with. Soundless space squeezed itself between them yet again, allowing Rex to hear her breaths start to grow even. Ahsoka got still after a while and he had a hard time trying to discern whether or not she’d fallen asleep.

“I’m sorry those years were taken from you,” she spoke slowly and as if it were to no one in particular.

He glanced over her relaxed features. Her eyes were shut. “I could say the same to you,” he whispered.

“Do you ever wish…” Ahsoka yawned, “Do you ever wish you could somehow slow your aging?” She blinked heavily and Rex cocked his head. The young woman’s shoulders slumped as she tried to focus her hazy vision on her friend.

“How about I tell you tomorrow when you’ll remember?” Rex whispered.

Ahsoka hummed in a weak protest and Rex chuckled softly. He reached for where the sheet sat around her ankles and pulled it up over her drifting form. His hand was shaky as he used the backs of his fingers to caress her chin, “G’night, ‘Soka.” Her skin was so soft on his rough knuckles and he momentarily wondered if her lekku were just as delicate… if the place where they joined her face felt any different.

She was beautiful. So beautiful that he could place a chaste kiss to her temple.

Rex pulled away. For the first time in his life, he’d felt the burn of a kiss sting at his lips. He’d never before felt the urge. It wasn’t an unwelcome feeling, in fact, he wished she were still awake so that he might chase it. He sighed. Rex could no longer deny the fact that he’d seen her differently ever since she’d returned. She was even more cheeky than she’d been before… but it was more deliberate this time. She was more deliberate. Her banter was… flirtatiously charged. Their ongoing playfulness despite the death and the anguish that was Mandalore’s initial siege made him wonder what might’ve been. What would their friendship look like had she escorted him up to the Temple with Maul in custody?

It was a helpless effort to battle those “what if” thoughts. What he could fight, though, was everything that sat behind it. It all had to remain behind the wall of emotion that he could never reveal. Thoughts were one story, but to act on them was another thing entirely.

So, carefully, he removed himself from the warm bed and took his pillow with him. It was placed softly on the cold window seat and he picked up the one pistol that wasn’t currently dismantled and tucked it under his pillow. Even though Ahsoka was now asleep, he still turned to finish removing his armor. When he was done, he switched off the lamp, fit himself onto the ledge, drew his legs up, and allowed his bleary eyes to close, succumbing to whatever nightmare would take hold of him.

~~~

He stood in an empty, unused hangar this time. The lighting was dim and the air was cool. A voice echoed around him. Not the voice of any one of his brothers. He shook his head, trying to focus on the person in front of him.

“Rex?” the small voice questioned.

It was Ahsoka. She was younger than the age he presently knew her to be. Her Padawan beads swung between her stubby lekku as she looked around, sitting on the floor — disarmed as if she’d just taken a fall. She was wincing, one arm clutching her side. Her eyes were wide as she stared up at him, hurt etched into her more juvenile features. He and the boys had her surrounded in what he recognized as their first practice area, but no one made a move to lower their guns. Her single lightsaber lay several feet from her… and under his foot. Rex stepped down harder and looked back to her, wincing under his helmet.

But she couldn’t see his face.

The younger version of her glanced at each of the men, their sunbonnets blocking their faces from her view. Ahsoka turned her attention back to him, “Rex, what’s happening?”

Wordless chatter trickled through the comms and in a single motion, Rex and the men switched their blasters off of the stun setting. His holoprojector chirped. He answered. A hooded figure appeared in his hand and spoke. He addressed the figure by name. He accepted the order.

The device clattered to the floor and he lifted his arms, twin blasters pointed between her eyes. Ahsoka made no reach for her lightsaber. He took the shot. Her propped up form fell flat on the duracrete. Only then did the men lower their weapons. They shrank the circle, following Rex’s lead as he neared the Jedi.

She wasn’t dead.

His eyes filled with tears and her hand came up, two orange fingers pushed weakly against the muzzle of the live pistol. Rex shoved them away and blinked back tears. The unwelcome emotion fell down his cheeks and his eyes closed.

When he opened them, his vision returned to normal. His brothers that once stood surrounded her had vanished, leaving them alone in what looked like the Resolute’s hangar and not in one on the surface of Coruscant. She was sitting there still, but she was older. She looked the way she did when she left. Ahsoka bit her lip and tried pushing the guns away again, the action prompting Jesse to shove his own blaster into her rear lek. The Padawan winced but her focus on Rex was unwavering. She slowly stood, holding her hands out in front of her. Rex stepped ever closer to the Jedi, jabbing both of his blasters into her midsection. Ahsoka’s bottom lip trembled and she closed her eyes, screwing them shut at first and then allowing them to relax.

Her erratic breaths swam in his ears, matching the rapid beat of his heart. Rex pressed his deecees harder into Ahsoka’s abdomen and choked on a sob. Her eyes opened and she found his through the blacked-out visor of his helmet. Gentle hands gradually rose between them, causing him to tense up and rest his fingers harder on their respective triggers.

She pressed her hands into his helmet and lifted, bringing the bucket up over his head. Rex held his breath and when it came off, the Ahsoka he knew was standing in front of him. Her montrals and lekku had returned to their extended length, mirroring her current age. Her lekku were less curled and her montrals more so, her blue chevrons beginning to branch away from their original pattern. The light of open ventral doors lit her face, showing him that they were back in the Tribunal’s control room, approaching atmosphere at a fatal speed.

The same fear from earlier still filled her eyes. They feared for something beyond her own life. She’d had the training. She’d passed every test and made it to see the other side, every single time, but the men hadn’t had that same luxury. She knew not every life would make it off their crashing warship.

Pain exploded inside of Rex’s veins at his inability to push down his weapons, to get her out of his line of fire. Outside, he appeared determined to shoot, but internally he was screaming his throat raw. He tried until his bones ached to lower his weapons, but couldn’t redirect them.

They needed to change course or the moon at their doors would devour the ship along with them.

Tears gathered in Ahsoka’s eyes as she accepted it — accepted that he had a mission to finish and that they’d meet an end indescribable in tragedy. He was bred to kill her and their time had finally run out. His helmet was placed under her right arm and she lifted her left hand up to his cheek, wiping his tear-streaked face and settling on his clenched jaw. “It’s okay, Rex. I know this isn’t you. You’re fighting so hard. You can stop now. You can let go,” she whispered, her voice bouncing off the walls.

She removed the hand from his face and wrapped it around the barrel of one of his blasters, pushing down again.

It moved that time.

A fresh tear ran down his cheek and he gasped for air, the control reluctantly lifting from him as Ahsoka was able to redirect his hand. His arms fell limp at his sides and he almost dropped his weapons with the amount of relief that flooded his body. Her eyes were no longer engulfed in pools of fear, but with worry, concern, and determination to make a run for it — to run with him. They had to grab who they could and get off the Venator. They needed to get Jesse.

Jesse.

Ahsoka opened her mouth to speak, but a cry came out instead. A flash of light consumed his vision and hit her shoulder. The unmistakable smell of blaster-burned skin filled the air. She turned around and Rex’s blasters came up once more, no longer trained on her but stretched out on either side of her — protecting her. The sound of her sabers igniting filled the room and she held them out in front of her — protecting him.

The same hooded figure from earlier was standing next to Jesse in the doorway. Fives was behind them, calling the figure by name… a different name than the one Rex had used.

~~~

Heavy, panting breaths filled the room. Ahsoka blinked and instinctively felt the space next to her. It was cold and empty. She rubbed her sleepy eyes and located Rex in the dark. He was half leaned against the window and back lit, one of his blasters in a death grip and pointed at the floor.

Rex’s chest heaved and his eyes shone, reflecting the light that crept in through the blinds. Ahsoka stilled her movements and slowed her breaths, not wanting him to realize he’d woken her. She watched as tears gathered in his eyes and then fell down his pained face. Her heart constricted.

He was just in blacks again — not ones borrowed from Cut this time, but his. Ahsoka wondered at what point he’d undressed and how long she’d been asleep. It couldn’t have been for very long. When she lifted her gaze from his body glove back to his face, he was looking right at her. His chest still undulated rapidly from his apparent nightmare. Rex looked terrified, like a lost cadet back in the long white halls on Kamino.

Ahsoka had only seen his current expression once before… just days ago.

She realized then that she’d not been startled awake, but rather drawn from her slumber another way. Had he not yelled out for Fives this time? There was an energy vibrating in the pads of her fingers and a knot in her chest as she connected the dots. It was the same feeling she got outside of the Lawquane home, when the Force had alerted her that Rex was in distress. That same feeling was present here now too.

The bond seemed to work differently when it involved someone who wasn’t Force sensitive. The bond she had with Anakin was completely different than this. She wondered if Rex could feel it at all.

Ahsoka looked at her Captain from under thick lashes. His gaze was still locked on her.

“Ahsoka,” Rex whispered her name. She shifted and sat up a bit, giving him her full attention. “Did I wake you?” he asked.

She shook her head, “No. I… just felt it.” He didn’t respond, but just released the grip on his deecee and set it aside. Bravely, she continued, “Was it Fives again?”

Rex hung his head and slowly closed his eyes, sighing. Ahsoka removed the thin sheet from over herself and padded over to where he sat, knowing well that he wouldn’t accept an offer to sit with her on the bed. She slid onto the window seat in front of him. “Not exactly,” he answered, meeting her eyes. Relief took over his tired body. Seeing her blue eyes open was a welcome sight. She was alive. He hadn’t killed her and neither had Jesse. He hadn’t betrayed her. She was here with him still.

Ahsoka tilted her head, waiting for him to continue. He opted to leave out the part she’d played in the dream sequence. Dreams had never been a thing of mystery to Rex. He knew well why certain things crept into the subconscious.

The whole time Rex had been alive, he’d been designed to kill her. It was his only purpose. Every breath he took was a lie. The two halves of the war… the droids and the clones both fought for the same end… this end. He wasn’t needed as a military asset against an evil. The evil was him. He was needed to execute the Jedi… to execute Ahsoka when the time came. And the time did come. Rex was made to kill her and help Sidious rise to power.

From the time he met her, he was chipped to carry out the order. Even when she was a youngling… a child, he’d been programmed to do it. Even as a Padawan, when he and the men stood around her countless times at the request of Skywalker, aiming to better her chances of survival, they were chipped to take the fatal shot. He was chipped to kill her the entire fucking time. Rex knew, had the order been given any earlier in the war, he wouldn’t have been able to quell it. He wouldn’t be able to warn her. He’d be forced to kill her point blank.

There wasn’t as strong of a bond between them then. They were merely coworkers. She was the war buddy of his war buddy. They were only in the process of growing close. At that point, there was nothing to even warn her about. Fives was still alive.

But that last part… the hooded figure…

“When you were away, something happened to Tup,” Rex began quietly, meeting her concerned gaze. She leaned forward to show him he had her undivided attention. “He killed General Tiplar on a mission… started repeating the same thing over and over. Fives was with us. He went back to Kamino with him. I-I don’t know all the specifics of what happened there… but Tup died and Fives found something… came back to Coruscant with the information. They said he’d attacked the Chancellor, but I don’t believe that anymore,” Rex’s voice grew shaky, “I was with General Skywalker when it happened. Fives was erratic — scared — and asked for our help. He said he was framed because he knew about a plot… a deception planned against the Jedi. Fives knew about the chips in all the clones. He warned us what they could do… that they could compel us to blindly carry out someone’s bidding.”

Ahsoka’s heart beat rapidly. She knew this was a sensitive topic for Rex.. He’d only told her en route to Mandalore that Fives had passed, but not given any other specifics. He’d only promised to explain the details later. Even in the direct aftermath of Order 66, he’d been unable to fully speak it into existence.

“He was convinced the Chancellor was going to kill him… that he was somehow involved. I see now why Skywalker was convinced otherwise. Fives died in my arms… he was right about everything. Darth Sidious. The one Kenobi mentioned to you. The one Maul spoke about. The one who gave me the order. Ahsoka…it’s Emperor Palpatine. He’s the Sith Lord.”

A dull pounding began to take up residence at the top of her neck, spreading through her montrals and sinking deep into her skull. She shuddered, a shaky breath racking through her. Her lips parted and she began to feel dizzy, shooting an arm out to press against the wall and keep herself stable.

Maul’s words swam around in her head, coupled with the deafening rush of blood in her montrals. His claims about Anakin returned once more. The events of that day that she’d tried so hard to block out came tumbling through every cracked wall she’d built. No longer could she only see the death and the grief and the loss, but the reason. It demanded to be seen. It laughed at her and taunted her. It had been there the whole time and she hadn’t seen it… just like Maul had said.

Anakin was closer than anyone to the Chancellor… They were good friends. Master Kenobi had said that Master Windu asked him to spy on the man. As the war came to a head, evidently so had his plan… the plan that Maul mentioned… the same one Fives told Rex about even longer before. It’s why Fives was killed. It’s why Rex was alive. It’s why Ahsoka was able to save him. It’s why everyone she knew was either dead or had managed to escape by the skin of their teeth.

Ahsoka rose to her feet, knees wobbly as she stood. Rex bolted upright. She gasped, the pieces of the puzzle snapping together so violently that it should’ve drawn blood.

How had the Jedi allowed this to happen? How had they not seen that their own Senate had been infiltrated? That the Chancellor was playing both sides of the war? How had they all been so blindsided?

It was all so obvious.

Her knees failed her and she slumped to the floor. Rex was by her side in an instant, throwing himself behind her to break the fall. “How long have you known?” she asked, voice hoarse and eyes unblinking. Her vision was convoluted as she stared blankly at the wall.

Rex pulled away, “It was the nightmare. I-I don’t think I would’ve figured it out if it wasn’t for Fives… Ahsoka, I’m so sorry.”

But Ahsoka couldn’t respond. Every instance of Palpatine’s treachery was becoming clear. He was Maul’s Master and then Dooku’s. He’d used them both as pawns until he could have what he really wanted… who he really wanted. He was responsible for the mysterious creation of the clones, for chipping them, for seizing their autonomy, and slaughtering them. He was the sole reason the Jedi had become nearly extinct at the hands of people they trusted as friends.

Her head hurt with every sliver of evidence that Sidious had a hand in. He was the reason Anakin had died — the reason Padmè and the child had died. She was sure of it. If he wanted Anakin, he’d have gone after him.

The last thing Anakin would do is join a Sith Lord. He wouldn’t betray the Jedi or willingly follow someone who betrayed them.

He died protecting his family…

It was then that her tears fell.

Rex hated watching her break. Just when he thought nothing could fracture her further, he found he’d misjudged the universe.

She hugged her knees and her small form shook, releasing her pain. Against his better judgment, and the vow he’d made not to touch her, Rex placed a delicate arm across her back. She sucked in a breath at the contact, tensing at first and then relaxing into the gesture. Ahsoka then allowed her knees to fall, knocking them into his. Rex’s presence, the warmth of him through fewer layers, just him… eased her a bit. Ahsoka collapsed under her own weight and into Rex’s side, sobbing into his chest rather than into her knees.

He didn’t know what to say to comfort her. It wasn’t like fighting a Sith Lord was comparable to the branches of Sith she’d handled before. It was an ancient evil they weren’t presently equipped for.

Wrapping his other arm around her, he held her closer, inviting her to spill all of her pain into the fabric of his blacks. He held on with a firm grip, a small part of him afraid she’d shrivel up and disappear if he didn’t. Ahsoka reached up and wrapped her arm around one of his, hanging on for dear life as the realizations washed through her.

His scent and heartbeat calmed her and her own heart matched the rhythm of his in their close proximity. When her grip on him lessened, Rex knew that she’d cried herself to sleep.

#rexsoka #rexsoka fic #my fic #I bleed the same #ahsokathegray

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yukiwrites · 2 years ago

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Servitude and Love

Thank you for the support, @mourningstorms! This was such a breath of fresh air from what I usually write, so thanks for the opportunity and I hope you like the pain!

Summary: Kagero had been trained to serve her liege, Ryoma, in all and any way she could. She did not learn, however, how to separate the feelings of a retainer from those of a woman...

Commission info HEREand HERE!

__________________________

The first time they did it, they were seventeen.

Ryoma hasn’t always been the centered, cool-headed leader he became after he properly assumed his role as High Prince in the war with Nohr. He wasn’t always a man that relied on meditation to clear his mind, nor was he always a man who imposed walls between himself and his subordinates.

Once, he was also a seventeen year-old, who was susceptible to the charms of his kunoichi and retainer, Kagero.

The first time they did, they were seventeen.

They had met by chance at the moonlit halls of Shirasagi Castle, as Ryoma returned from his studies and Kagero, from her training. The way the silver drops of moonlight fell atop her glistering body, and the way her perfect black hair swayed slightly with the breeze… It bewitched the young prince.

His body felt hot at the sight of her; the way she looked up at him under her perfect eyelids made him feel like he was the predator and the prey of her womanly charms. The sudden kiss his lips stole was sweeter than any candy he had ever eaten before or thereafter.

From there to the nearest room took no time at all — and the stupor that invaded his mind filled the silent walls, heating the space that from then on, would be only theirs.

It was a night that would bring shame and joy in equal measures to the prince in the future, given his inexperience and Kagero’s excellence. He had never felt anything quite like it before — sweet and addicting like a drug, yet forbidden and secret like an escapade.

However, what marked the prince more than the heated night, more than their bodies mingling; more than Kagero’s fiery body that contrasted with her serious exterior… was how the sun shone on top of the bed the next morning, illuminating only her in its golden spectacle.

Even though it was such a remarkable scene, Ryoma couldn't quite remember what her expression looked like at that time. He only saw her long hair covering part of her face and body, as she slightly pulled the bed sheet to cover only the most important parts, while — unbeknownst to the prince — deliberately sitting in a seductive manner.

What marked him from then on was what she said with the rosy lips he had tasted so deliciously they were still a bit swollen.

“Good morning, master,” she whispered, her voice carrying no weight at all, lifting Ryoma up as if by magic. “How may I serve today?” She asked next, slamming Ryoma down to the ground by force.

‘Serve’.

Serve!

Trembling, Ryoma remembered leaving the room in great shame, not stopping even when his family spotted him throughout the suddenly labyrinthine corridors of the castle.

His chest pounded and his breath heaved.

He ran and ran, endlessly as if the chaos in his mind had materialized into the world. He ran until he was out of breath, straight to the waterfall an old sage had told him about. Apparently, it was a good place for meditation.

Although his state of mind was the furthest it could possibly be to even attempt to start meditating, the cold water hammering on his skin helped cool down the turmoil in his heart. There was no way to know how long he had remained there, nor how many strings of thought his mind spiraled into as he tried to make sense of his feelings, his actions and reactions to Kagero’s words.

Only one thing remained clear, however.

That night was a mistake.

A mistake Ryoma probably would never recover from.

A mistake he vowed to keep to himself, to lock it away and lose the key. It would rot inside of his heart.

Yet, when he saw that Kagero acted exactly as he had planned to act — like usual! Like nothing had happened! Like those kisses hadn’t been… Like they hadn’t… — he felt a bitter taste in his mouth.

Each time they interacted ‘normally’, as ‘usual’, a needle pierced the young prince’s heart. Needle after needle, day after day his heart was pierced. Until there was no more room to pierce, and his heart eroded; crumbling like dust inside his chest.

Once the war broke out in earnest, Ryoma had less time to focus on the matters of the heart, which he silently welcomed. He could throw himself into battle; use all of his expertise into the field; rally the hoshidans under his banner to protect his homeland.

Day and night he marched; day and night he trained; day and night he studied and sharpened his senses. Without rest, without respite. Ryoma was the sharpest blade in Hoshido and he would protect what was left of it, even after the loss of his sibling, Corrin.

The night Corrin chose to remain in Nohr, Ryoma returned to Shirasagi in shambles. With what face could he tell Queen Mikoto that her blood child chose to remain with those… savages from Nohr?! How could he ever break the news to her…

As he trudged through the corridors towards the royal wing, he saw Kagero standing beside a pillar, her face wrought with worry.

Tired, drenched and broken, Ryoma looked down to his silent retainer, passing by her to go to the Queen’s quarters. However, before he could lift a hand to knock, he heard silent sobbing coming from inside.

Of course, the news had already traveled to Shirasagi from the border, so although Ryoma was about to ‘break the news’ to Queen Mikoto, he would mostly be there to berate himself and ask for his mother’s forgiveness.

His hand fell helplessly as Mikoto’s silent sobbing continued. He lifted his head to order all servants to vacate the wing if only to leave some space for a woman to grieve for the loss of her child, but he noticed a beat too late that the hall was already empty from the start, save from Kagero standing still beside that pillar.

“Did you… ask them to leave?” Ryoma’s lips parted with difficulty, dry and clinging to each other.

“I did. I hope that wasn’t too forward of me,” Kagero replied silently, her voice nearing even though no sound came from her steps. Ryoma turned to her approaching presence, his mien dark and his body hunched over.

“Not at all,” he breathed out.

“My lord, I…” Kagero hesitated for a moment before reaching out to touch Ryoma’s damp, rough cheek. “Please, use me.”

The dry, crumbled heart froze inside Ryoma’s chest. From a by-stander’s perspective, a retainer asking her lord to use her was most likely to be interpreted as a literal way of using her prowess; her skills.

But Ryoma knew better.

He knew she was referring to that night. That dreadful, wonderful night they spent together when they were seventeen.

“Kagero—” his voice was hoarse as he held her wrist.

The usually stoic kunoichi frowned, her eyes pooling with emotion. “Please, use me, my lord. If I can ease your burden even a little…” she took his other hand to touch her own pale cheek.

It was so soft and creamy. It didn’t even feel like it belonged to an actual person. She had been there at that battle just the same as he had, but she still looked so perfect.

She was so warm, so soft, so welcoming.

Ryoma had vowed to never allow what happened when they were young to happen again, and yet… Yet, when she looked at him like he was her whole world; like she belonged to him in a deep way he could never understand; like she was willing to do anything for him… It made his conviction waver.

Lost in the sea of emotion entrenched behind her dark eyes, Ryoma fell once again. He fell into her heat; into her heart. Into her body.

The kiss they shared for the first time in years wasn’t nearly as passionate as the first one, nor was it as long. It was needy, it was desperate, it was almost painful.

However, even more than before, their bodies mingled perfectly. Each of their gaps filled one another wholly — the way she wrapped her arms around his neck and the way his hips fit perfectly between her thighs… Truly, there was no better match than theirs.

Her voice singing into his ear and his hot breath prickling her neck made them feel like they belonged to one another.

Or at least, their bodies did.

After that day, Ryoma could never get over the way she had told him to ‘use her’, and Kagero could never allow the true reason for her request to seep through her lips during their nights together.

Not while both of them drew breath.

Being born in Igasato meant that one would pursue a specific kind of profession, growing up.

All children of the village were initiated on the path of the ninja as early as they could hold a knife in their hands. Some even learned how to fight before learning how to read, though both skills were the utmost basics if one wanted to be bestowed the highest honor of serving the royal family of Hoshido.

Saizo V, Kaze and Kagero were of the few children who surpassed their peers during their early training, being graced with the opportunity to serve the highest echelons of hoshidan royalty. That meant that their training was only about to get tougher: harder physical training, more difficult texts to memorize, and more… intimate lessons, as well.

Kagero and Kaze were taught that, as the first playmates and servants of the young royals, there could come a time when they would be made to… serve them in more ways than one. Of course, Saizo V also received such lessons, but since he was to lead Igasato as the fifth in the line of Saizos, his training focused elsewhere.

Growing up under such lessons ingrained every possible action and reaction one could make in bed into their bodies. It became as natural as breathing, even though they had never truly embraced anyone outside of lessons.

They were taught to keep a level head and control the situation with their bodies, just like during any other lesson in their curriculum.

‘Give your body, but keep your heart well protected,’ one older instructor told Kagero once, as she looked over the young girl’s shoulder to the sky well beyond the barred windows of their secluded village. Her words overflowed with something the girl couldn’t quite understand at the time. A longing, perhaps, or a past regret so deeply buried it became only the sliver of a memory.

However, Kagero started to understand that feeling after the first time she truly served Ryoma when they were young.

She kept all of her lessons in her heart, and she knew her performance had been on par with what she had learned. Her body moved in the correct places and she spoke in the perfect tone. Yet, when she asked Ryoma to serve him again, he ran away as if she had done something wrong.

Kagero couldn’t understand.

For years, she was confused.

She had served him, hadn’t she? She had done what she had been trained to do.

For years, she noticed how Ryoma either forgot or pretended nothing had happened, so she simply followed his lead — after all, she was there merely to serve.

Nonetheless, Kagero couldn’t quite pinpoint why she kept remembering what that old instructor had told her. ‘Keep your heart well protected’.

She watched over her Lord as she had been trained to. She protected him, supported him and even served him as she had been trained to.

Yet, after that day, she couldn’t help but feel a stronger pull around his orbit, as if she could find him in a crowd without even looking. She paid more attention to any changes in his mood; she carefully issued commands that would easen his burden before he told her to; she even sometimes walked ahead of him just so their eyes could meet once he passed by her.

That was why, that night, when he returned from the border, she acted on impulse.

She had never been taught about asking to be of service. She had always been told to wait for him, to be silent and demure when called for, but fiery and passionate when demanded of her.

But looking at him in shambles like that made her heart hurt so much.

She wanted to be of use; she wanted to help him unload even a tiny bit of his burden.

If that meant asking to serve, so be it. She would offer up her body, her devotion; even her soul to her liege if it meant his comfort.

The moment he accepted her touch — the moment he lowered down his muscular neck and rubbed his dry lips on hers — her entire world changed.

She felt complete, she felt needed, she felt accomplished.

She could serve, and his burden would be easened. By her.

As the war raged on, the times she served increased, and, naturally, as did the time they spent together. Waking up by his side and having his face be the last thing she saw before falling asleep terrified and comforted Kagero in equal measures.

For one, it meant being able to help him in any way she could; for another, it meant that the burden of the war grew heavier on top of his shoulders. The nohrian army advanced steadily into hoshidan territory day by day.

The front lines had been eating into Hoshido slowly but surely, encroaching Shirasagi Castle.

As if the nohrian army had brought the darkness that reigned over Nohr with them, the days grew darker and the nights felt longer. Intermittent rain, thunder and tempest shook the once sunny and bright capital of the Dawn Dragon.

The last time Kagero served was the night before the nohrians were right by the castle’s doors. All defenses had fallen, and the soldiers still fought throughout the night, cutting through the darkness they were unaccustomed with.

It was a desperate yet resigned embrace.

It felt like saying goodbye and good night at the same time. They would see each other soon — mayhaps neither of them would sleep a wink after it — but they still knew that it would be their last time together.

She served in a way she had never done before. She allowed herself to just feel; to lose herself into the act.

She embraced him and welcomed all that he had to offer; she took everything he had and held it deep into her body, seeping it into her heart.

Squeezing her eyes shut as she dug her face into his shoulder, Kagero couldn’t deny the truth anymore.

She loved Ryoma.

She loved him so ardently it hurt.

Each time he released himself inside of her, she felt more complete. Each time his warmth filled her, she never wanted to let go. Each time he murmured her name, between his teeth as if controlling himself not to, she wanted to beg him to say it again.

She did not want to let go of him, even after the time came to go into battle.

She did not want to watch him go confront the nohrians; she did not want him to fight anymore.

It was shameful, as a kunoichi, to wish for no more fighting, but she couldn’t help it.

Hadn’t he suffered enough? Hadn’t he shouldered an entire nation through a war on his own? Hadn’t he done enough?

Kagero bore her blade and raised it high, ready to give her life before seeing his end. She fought against one and many, pouring years upon years of training into a desperate struggle.

Arrows grazed her face, knives stuck to her thighs, but she still fought.

As the other side of the room fell, and the fighting got more instead, she still fought.

Saizo had perished, but she still fought.

Coughing up blood from her internal wounds, Kagero looked down to the hall below, widening her eyes once she saw Ryoma sit as if preparing for a gory ritual.

Her heart froze and her body hardened as Ryoma took out Raijinto and, with a swift and painful movement, committed to the purest way a warrior could ever choose to die in Hoshido.

He sliced his own stomach, allowing his soul to cleanly leave this world.

Kagero’s weapon fell with a thud on the tatami floor, her vision swirling around her.

As if she were a puppet with its strings cut, Kagero slumped on the floor, her eyes burning the scene into her head. Raijinto crackled with its last bit of strength before turning completely black, right through Ryoma’s body.

He barely fell over.

Even in death, his poise was unmatched.

Etching the scene with hollow eyes, Kagero picked up her weapon once more to follow Ryoma wherever he went. However, she felt something she couldn’t quite understand pulling her blade away from her neck. As she looked down to herself, she saw that she bled, but in a place where no blades had reached.

In between her thighs, blood flowed as if something — or someone — inside of her had been hurt.

Terror filled her chest when realization hit her.

She had been so focused on serving Ryoma that she hadn’t been paying attention to her cycle, the fool! If she had paid attention, she would’ve noticed sooner.

She would’ve been able to prepare for it; to… to even tell him about it.

Shaking, Kagero lowered her blade even further, glancing down to Ryoma’s body as the King of Nohr made his way into the throne room. Kagero gulped, her breathing uneven, as she looked between Ryoma and her stomach.

Reaching out to rub it, Kagero felt an immense emotion overwhelm her.

It was even more intense than the desperation she had felt just a few hours earlier, in Ryoma’s embrace. It was something so deep and so personal that she would never be able to understand it, nor put it down to a canvas.

She wanted to protect it.

She wanted to protect this life inside of her, no matter the cost.

She had been too weak to protect her liege and her love, but this child… Only this child had to live.

Summoning strength from the depths of her soul, Kagero managed to pull herself up to her feet. She had managed to sneak into the ceiling of the throne room in hopes of jumping down to save Ryoma, but now… now, she had to escape.

She had the layout of the castle deeply ingrained into her, so finding a secret passageway to slip through unnoticed would not be a challenge, were she in her usual state.

Pregnant, wounded and a step away from death, it would be a miracle if Kagero made it out of the ceiling alive, let alone out of the castle.

Yet, she would do it.

She wouldn’t simply try to. She would do it.

And, once she did, she would run. She would run as far and as fast as she could, away from Nohr, Hoshido, Igasato, and everything.

She had served and idolized Hoshido all of her life, but this baby… it would be great if this baby never knew fighting.

It would be great if this baby looked like Ryoma, but managed to grow up healthily in a place without conflict.

She did not want to inflict that terrible, terrible training into this little baby. Although Igasato had fallen alongside Hoshido, the ninja would never truly die. They would scatter into the wind and rise up again in another hamlet, away from the prying eyes of civilization.

As one such ninjas, Kagero was confident she could disappear and never be found again, but she would do it on her own, with her baby.

Only the two of them and no one else, with the memory of a beloved liege and father to guide through the matters of the heart.

But first, she had to escape.

#ryoma x kagero #fire emblem fates #fef #whats the ship name? ryogero? ryokage? hmmm #my writings #yuki's commissions #it's Pain #be warned asdklkm #kagero #ryoma

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sayurifellfrost · 1 year ago

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Snap

Twenty-Third Sun of the Sixth Astral Moon, 10 Seventh Astral Era - Nighttime

She slowly raked her claws at the ground before her, a mere few inches from the flowerbed that curved the tree. It was the first place her feet had brought her after she wandered off from S’khenna, and she had opted to merely sit there - finding some odd comfort in knowing that it was where S’lhevrha had been buried.

Lilybells had been a favourite of hers, and S’vexrha didn’t quite remember that any had been there before her disappearance. It made sense, that they would mark it with the woman’s favourite flower to honour her.

Flashes of memories that fateful sun made themselves known, offering vivid pictures of the scenario S’vexrha already remembered painfully well. A long since buried sorrow began to violently claw itself to the surface, making her usual high spirits sink rapidly.

It was a faint reminder that she never truly had time to mourn her sister’s death, to properly come to terms with it. The constant questions she had received about that sun had forced her to recall it, slowly but surely bringing out the grief she had held bottled up for so long.

”Have you not been tortured enough, Vexrha?” Azrathar’s voice rang out, a certain softness that S’vexrha had not heard in a long time clinging to his tone. “Why are you tormenting yourself further with these memories?”

... I can’t.. help it..

She shut her eyes, feeling the stinging of tears burn behind her eyelids as they threatened to well over.

It had been cycles since she last cried, and she certainly didn’t want to start now. Sure, the occasional tear from pain had happened when the agony had been so severe she had little choice, but from sadness? No. That had been kept under wraps, most of her sorrow having been converted to anger, directed at the slavers.

”You are about to receive company.”

The warning made S’vexrha bat her eyes open, raising her free hand up to her eyes to swiftly wipe the tears away before a voice rang out.

“Vexrha.”

Her breath briefly caught in her throat and eyes slowly shifted upwards at the sound of S’vakih’s voice, her clawing hand tearing across the soil just a touch more violently than before.

“What?”

The singular word left her curtly, masking her misery with a rude tone. The tone was immediately met with a frown from the Nunh.

“You do realise that I get told when you agitate others, yes?”

“Took her surprisingly long to tell you, then.” S’vexrha scoffed. “Or did it take you that long to find me?”

“.. Khenna’s duties do not surround you.” His frown deepened, ears tilting backwards. “I realise that you have had a hard time, but that does not excuse having such poor behaviour and disrespecting your mentor. I’m incredibly disappointed.”

“Yeah, well. Join the fucking queue. There’s about one hundred and forty before you, give or take.”

A sharp breath left S’vakih, a clear frustration taking to his expression.

“I do not know what you’ve been through, Vexrha. But this kind of behaviour is unacceptable, and you had best prepare an apology to Khenna, who has kindly agreed to continue mentoring you in spite of your attitude.”

“Nor will you. And I won’t. And that’s a fucking shame.”

“You are acting like a child, with the mouth of a Limsan sailor.” S’vakih frowned. “You are an adult, act like it.”

“Piss off.”

The words left her sharply, a snarl clinging to them as S’vexrha’s fingertips tore into the ground. S’vakih’s frown only deepened, ears pinning back and tail swatting behind him.

“Fix your bloody attitude, Vexrha. Especially when speaking with your superiors.”

The way her name was uttered made S’vexrha temporarily freeze, a flicker of flame curling around her shoulders before fading into nothingness. The tone had been scolding, reminiscent of the way Grymahtyn had spoken her name whenever he intended to incite fear - and all it did was to fan the flames of her own hostility.

In one swift movement, S’vexrha shoved herself up on her feet and turned around to face S’vakih, crimson eyes narrowed in a so far quiet but obvious anger, more and more embers sparking along her frame while she did her utmost to keep it under control.

“.. Let me fucking enlighten you about one of my last so-called superiors, who was also supposedly my mentor.”

S’vexrha stepped closer to S’vakih, placing herself in such a way that he had to look down in order to keep eye contact with the younger, shorter Seeker.

“He shoved me into a fucking arena when I was eight, and told me to fight another kid. A kid I was forced to fucking kill in self-defense when they attacked me first, because we had been given a feigned a promise of freedom.”

Her voice got louder as she spoke, her control of the flames being lost slowly but surely as her emotions stirred, leaving them to flicker around her wildly. S’vakih held his ground, keeping his stare buried in hers while she almost yelled at him.

“When I was thirteen, he shoved a goddamn scythe into my hands and put me in front of a beast he had already pissed right the fuck off and told me to fight it or fucking die.”

She raised her hand, jabbing a clawed finger directly into his chest.

“And this was all after I had to watch him KILL MY FUCKING SISTER!”

S’vexrha’s hand violently shifted backwards in motion to the tree behind her as she yelled the last bit, the fire clinging to her frame shifting in intensity as Azrathar did his utmost to choke the flames.

”Calm yourself, Vexrha.”

S’vakih lingered in a brief silence, his features softening somewhat as S’vexrha voiced some of her pain, even if she only did it because she snapped at him.

“.. You have suffered. I understand–”

“You don’t understand SHIT.” S’vexrha yelled.

She could feel the stinging of tears behind her eyes anew, fangs locking in a tight grit as she tried to compose herself. She reeled herself back several steps and turned around - not wishing for him to see her tears if she failed to contain them. S’vakih approached calmly and settled his hand on her shoulder, despite the fact she immediately shrugged it off.

“Then help me understand.” He uttered, a newfound softness taking to his voice.

“... Leave me alone.”

Her voice was much quieter now. The anger fading into something she didn’t quite reveal, even if S’vakih could quite easily make the connection.

“Vexrha..”

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

A soft sigh left him as he slowly began to withdraw without another word. S’vexrha spent a moment merely listening to his footfalls get more and more distant, before she finally sank back down onto the ground and dragged her legs up to wrap her arms around her knees, burying her face against them.

#S'vexrha Tchuma #IC #FFXIV #Writing

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wiinestories · 8 months ago

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Angelo's focus remained unwavering, his sole concern being the safety of Eden. "Keep it down, Sabelle," he instructed Cade firmly, emphasizing the urgency of the situation. Without delay, Angelo contacted Eris, his most dependable contact in such matters, to brief her on the unfolding events. "Amorello, I don't have time. I'll meet you at the location," he declared with resolve, conveying the urgency of the situation. "Let's go, Sabelle. I don't owe any explanations to you, I hope that's clear. We're in this because your girl ended up with Eden, apparently," Angelo stated tersely as he left the bakery, returning to his vehicle. His gaze flicked to his phone, committing the location to memory before driving off as soon as Cade joined him. He trusted Eris would be there in no time, per usual.

Agatha's face bore the marks of Ryan's violence, her cheeks reddened and imprinted with the harsh slap she had received. She felt powerless, her hopes of becoming a mother now overshadowed by fear and despair. What would she tell Cade? How could she announce the news of her pregnancy, knowing that it might all be over soon? The thought of losing her child filled her with anguish. She couldn't bear the idea of her baby being harmed, not like this. The flicker of hope that Cade had given her when she first learned of her pregnancy was now threatened by the cruel reality of their situation. Despite her fear and pain, Agatha clung to that hope, refusing to let go. She couldn't allow her dreams of motherhood to be shattered by the violence of others. She prayed for a miracle, for a way out of this nightmare, so that she could protect her child and hold onto the happiness she had glimpsed. "Ryan, please..." Her plea was once more heard through cries, her ribs hurting from crying, from the violence of it all, from witnessing her friend being hurt. "Give you the mercy your dear Cade showed to me? That sounds fair to me, He won't ever be a father to a child, Agatha, Not if I can stop it from you bearing it. You won't bear a child that hasn't been mine in the first place," His narcissistic side was exposed once more, and he expressed gratitude to the hitman that gave him the knife, his fingers gripping her throat tightly. She began gasping for air. "Sweet dreams, Agatha," He whispered before he moved the knife down to her bell, prepared to make the opening wound.

The abrupt eruption of a gunshot ruptured the fragile calm, sending shockwaves through the tense atmosphere. Ryan's agonized cry pierced the air as the bullet tore through his knee, his body convulsing with pain. Agatha, swept up in the maelstrom of violence, crumpled to the ground, her chest heaving with the effort to draw in air amidst the chaos. The weight of the unfolding horror bore down upon her, threatening to overwhelm her senses as darkness edged in from her vision. In the midst of this turmoil, the warmth of Cade's presence enveloped her like a lifeline, his eyes a steadfast anchor in the tumultuous sea of emotions. Agatha's voice, barely a whisper amidst the cacophony, trembled with raw emotion as she struggled to articulate her words. "F-F-For... Forgive me..." she stammered, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. "Our... our baby..." Tears mingled with blood, tracing rivulets down her pallid cheeks as she clung to Cade's touch, seeking solace in the midst of despair. The sight of bloodstains on her clothing hinted at the grim possibility of a miscarriage. Agatha's voice wavered as she voiced her deepest fear, her words a fragile plea for absolution in the face of unbearable pain. "If... if I was... weak... Forgive... me..." She let out shortly before passing out, her eyelids instantly closing.

Angelo's arrival at the scene was swift and decisive, his footsteps echoing with purpose as he followed closely behind Cade. With sharpened precision, he discharged his weapon four times, towards the assailant near Eden. Without hesitation, he rushed to her side, sinking to his knees and gathering her fragile form into his arms. "Eden, I'm here," he murmured softly, his voice choked with emotion as he cradled her close, the crimson tide of her blood staining his clothing. With gentle but steady hands, Angelo set to work untying the ropes that bound her, his touch a tender caress against her bruised skin. As he held her close, his gaze momentarily averted, a telltale glimmer of moisture glistening in his eyes. Though he attempted to maintain his composure, the sight of her injured form stirred a tempest of emotions within him, a potent mix of anger, guilt, and profound sorrow. "Mi dispiace di non essere arrivato prima, angelo mio. [I'm sorry for not getting here sooner, my angel.]" He murmured, his voice filled with guilt and deep sadness. He was bound to make Ryan pay for that as well.

When Cade's voice pierced the air with a demand, Angelo's head snapped around with a fierce glare, his features twisted in a mask of barely contained rage. "Shut your fucking mouth and don't fucking dare to demand anything from her now!" he spat, his voice seething with fury. Any further provocation from Cade would meet with swift and merciless retaliation, of that there was no doubt. Angelo slowly began lifting Eden's body up from the ground along with his own, rising up to his feet to lead her immediately to a hospital. He glanced towards Cade, easing his gaze on him. They both were suffering, they both were struggling with guilt and hatred. Angelo held Eden tightly against him. "I'm taking Eden to a private hospital, You coming, Sabelle?"

"Santino." he immediately thought this was Angelo's doing, but then why Agatha? He squinting, eyes narrowing across the room, both with their guns drawn and aimed. "You mean you didn't do this? Where the fuck is my Agatha? Hold on why in the fuck are you even talkin' to Eden? She text me, did she text you?" There was disdain in his voice over it, he had a lot of questions for that girl and why she was getting caught up with Angelo fucking Santino. They both heard that one word and his brows raised. "Whoever you're callin', abandoned warehouses. They've taken two females in daylight hours... wherever they've taken 'em it's gotta be out of use, they'd pick somewhere away from everyone else so abandoned warehouses." he wasn't being considerate he was being direct, blunt as hell and to the point. "Tell 'em to be fucking fast too."

"Amorello." Eris answered within two rings, only her friends got to call her by her first name.. then again she'd done that many hired jobs for Angelo now that she might just consider letting him utter the word.. "Now I've just made a hot cup of tea so this best be a fun one Santino." Eris sighed down the phone, the sound of her sipping audible down it. She listened and then hummed, however, she was extremely blunt. "Abandoned warehouse? That'll be the old boat warehouse by the old Dockyard. It's been out of commission years and that dockyard doesn't run Thursday to Sunday, makes perfect for keeping someone captive four days. Eris briefly paused to sip her tea again. She wasn't going to get to finish this damn cup either, the thing was.. she was trustworthy. She got the job done, every time. She was efficient, she was fast and honestly quite scary with how deadly she could be. "I just sent you the address." exactly as he said it an email pinged on his phone with the location, she had no doubt about it. That'd be the place. "I'll be there, but Santino." she huffed a little amusement. "Double rate, just for making me waste my tea. You can tell me all about this girl later too, I'm dead curious." with that she hung up, she knew it'd be a girl... she could tell by the urgency and for all the time she'd known him, he'd never quite sounded like that. She pouted at her cup of tea that'd sit and go cold as she grabbed her keys, her gun, and slot five small knives into her outfit. Just five today but on a big job, she carried twelve at all times.

Tears streamed down Eden's cheeks, leaving clear lines where the blood from her cut brow had stained one side of her face. She kicked her legs, she pulled at the arm tied, she screeched into that gag and she had never.. not once, felt so helpless. Then it dawned on her that yes, yes she had felt this helpless before. She'd been a little girl that nobody heard cry or scream for help, she'd felt exactly like this before. In the end Eden squeezed her eyes shut, she didn't want to keep watching Agatha be hit, to be hurt, she couldn't bare it but then even if she wasn't listening... she still heard each sickening thud and slap. Then she heard it, give me the knife. The two hitmen look at her, looked at the knife in her shoulder. She wanted them to leave it just so they'd not dare take it near Agatha but they started approaching her and she writhed, she kicked, hell she tried to yank her entire arm back when they reached for it but pain shot through her like a burning iron. There wasn't anywhere she could turn to hide or run to, so they wrapped their hand around the blade and lazily pulled it out. If they'd just pulled it out straight it wouldn't have been so bad, but they yanked it up and twisted as they pulled it free.

Eden whimpered, she whimpered, she looked ready to throw up from the pain but the worrisome thing was now that they'd pulled that blade, an alarming amount of blood flooded that wound. what'd been a stain and a running stream was suddenly spreading into the material, larger and larger, soaking up into the ends of her hair. Eden thought it felt warm, it'd be so nice to be warm. For a little while she wondered if maybe that was how Ben felt, but she'd been there, cradling him, a soft voice for him... briefly, Eden questioned whether she deserved the same or if this was her punishment for not being able to save him. When she let her eyes open again she saw Ryan, she saw the knife he held.. and she saw where he held it. This couldn't be happening, they had to go shopping, she was meant to be the babysitter. She could do nothing, nothing but hope she'd tried as hard as she could and that Agatha might see that as enough and forgive her for it, whilst constantly repeating the she was sorry in to the fabric gag in her mouth.

Eris must have pulled up seconds after them, the small yet agile woman sliding from her car and pointing to the warehouse. They weren't bursting in through the front door, she knew the better option, she'd scoped this place before and used it herself a few times when she needed answers. She knew of Cade Sabelle, but security? Not her line of work, if anything she imagined she'd taken out a few of his employees.

Cade was furious, he was hot blooded and ready to go. He didn't hesitate in going in right behind Eris, his gun loaded and ready, no safety. The moment he went into that room his eyes locked on the scene, at Ryan and the knife held at Agatha's belly. He didn't question it, he took one breath in so he knew he could make the shot- he always shot on a breath in not a breath out, it gave better focus and aim. In one swift movement he'd shot Ryan through the knee. "Get your fucking hands off of her." his voice wasn't normal, this was a guttural growl, protective and possessive. He shot again, this time straight through the arm that'd held the knife that had clattered to the ground. "I should've killed you weeks ago." Cade couldn't help but spit at the man, sending his foot into his chest to have him skid across that warehouse floor. He wasn't going anywhere, the shots he'd taken weren't lethal, they were to down him so Cade could come back and make him pay for what he'd done slowly. He had Agatha and she was far more important than anything else in the world.

"Agatha- Aggie. Sweetheart, I'm here." Cade was so quickly down on his knee's, on the floor. Guilt twisted his gut, the blood on her face, the blood- not his girl, he never wanted to see her like this. "I've got you baby you tell me what hurts you tell me where it hurts okay? I'm here I've got you-" he turned his head over his shoulder, scanning the room quickly. Eris had knocked out on hitman, she'd snapped his arm backwards and commented that their choice of equipment was amateur at best and that yes, this was definitely going to be her idea of a fun job. Then he saw Eden and couldn't help but shout. "Eden what in the fuck happened- You tell me what they fucking did to her!" he shouted across, but his attention was back on Agatha, his hand stroking into her hair and so gently manoeuvring her. "I'm gonna get you help okay? I'm gonna fix this, talk to me baby." he was kissing her head, his hands shaking because he didn't know if where he touched would hurt.

You could hear the fear in his voice, the slight tremble in his vocals a clear indicator that Cade was beyond scared he'd lose her right now, that she'd slip right through his fingers and he couldn't lose her, he couldn't lose someone again, he loved her so deeply that it'd tear his soul to shreds and he would never recover. He held her like he could never bare to have her out of his arms again. "You've got to be okay- you've got to. I need you to be okay."

#elpida #m: agatha #m: angelo #re: angelo and eden #re: agatha and cade #I'm.... crying #violence tw #blood tw

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bearsinpotatosacks · 2 years ago

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Day 5 of Benthan Week 2022 - Fake Death

Ethan Hunt doesn't accept death easily, but what happens when he's faced with it head on? @benthan-week-2022

Words: 6605

Ethan watched him run. Run around the corner with the drive in hand and a hasty smile on his face. His hair flapping as he ran down the clean white stairs and to the reception desk. It all seemed fine.

But his pace slowed as he neared him. His eyelids dropped lower over his eyes. The drive clattered onto the tiled floor, his hand flopping limp.

He'd almost reached them when he hit the ground. The thud reached Ethan before he knew what he was doing. Benji's head lay in his hand, soft hair caressing his fingers, thumb stroking his hand by the time he came to and realised what was going on.

"Ethan-"

Benji's voice was frail, faint and frightened. The air barely tickled Ethan's hand as he pulled him up so his head rested on his shoulder. Neither knew what was going on.

There was no blood. No bang of a gun or knife poking out his back. Just a thud and his eyes drifted closed. No goodbye. Just gone.

"Benji." He whispered back, too late. "Benji, wake up."

He didn't know what happened or why he- don't say it, that'll make it real. There wasn't any blood so why was he- again, don't say it.

He ran his index and ring finger down the rough material of his suit jacket, felt the smooth skin getting colder and paler in his touch. He found the pulse point and he stopped breathing.

No pulse.

His head dropped an inch or two, closer to Benji's face and felt no breath on his face. The rise and fall of his chest has stopped.

"Benji wake up," he said, louder this time. "Please."

Luther, whom he hadn't noticed getting closer, placed a hand on the shoulder that wasn't holding Benji's head. He didn't shake him, didn't move him, just stood.

"Ethan, we need to go."

Ethan didn't say anything. The words swam through the air before reaching him. He was thankful for the delay. He didn't want to hear the words, because they made it all too clear that Benji wasn't sleeping.

"We need to get to a hospital."

Ethan nodded. He didn't blink. Didn't want to breathe as to change anything.

"Yes, they'll figure out what went wrong." Ethan whispered.

'And fix him' he didn't add. He knew it sounded crazy. That he was really- not that. But saying Benji was anything other than asleep, or at most gone, would end him somehow more than he already had.

He nodded, hooked an arm under Benji's knees and fully embraced his head and torso with the other. Ilsa grabbed the drive, Will stopped the van outside the doors as they hobbled out. They were alive, at least.

Although Ethan was still on the floor in the entrance hall with Benji.

"What ha-" Will started.

Ilsa shook her head and got in the passenger side. Ethan distantly heard her low voice explaining. He heard her stop, wavering in her words, then Will's simple 'Oh'.

Luther opened the back door and let Ethan climb in. It was simple and bare but he couldn't care less.

He settled on the chipboard floor, careful not to jostle Benji too much, and set his gaze on his unmoving form.

He couldn't see his crystal blue eyes. There were wrinkles from years of laughter marking his face. His skin was almost sickly, growing ice cold. He traced a finger along his cheekbones, rubbing the smooth skin of his cheek and the ridges in his dry lips.

Too cold. Too empty. Not his Benji. Physically, this was the same man that he'd kissed, cuddled on a Sunday morning and had given pleasure to in the depths of night. But this body was too cold and still to be his Benji.

He pushed him back up onto his shoulder regardless. His hair was still soft, at least. The clothes on his body seemed too big for him, he’d shrunk. This body that served him left an empty casm within minutes.

Everything was dampened. He tried to focus on the world around him but couldn't. His vision was blurred if he tried to look anywhere but Benji.

His stomach dropped. A sense of deja vu washed over him. This was all too familiar. Far too close to '96, when everyone he held dear was lost in one night.

Memories flashed in his already crowded mind. Jack's face, or lack thereof. Sarah bleeding against a metal gate. Hannah's burnt body among the burning rubble of a car. And now Benji's cold body in his arms.

His arms squeezed around Benji tighter, like a child with a comfort blanket. The smell of his aftershave, sweat and Benji's familiar musk floated to him and eased the knots in his chest. Part of him didn't want them to loosen. That meant easing the pain and the pain was the only thing he had left of Benji.

In an attempt to distract himself from the still body in his arms, he didn't want to admit that Benji wasn't just still and cold yet, he peeked through his eyelashes at the others.

Luther had his eyes closed, head back against the side of the van taking deep, shuddering breaths. He'd known him the longest out of anyone in their little team and knew he didn't break like this for anyone. But Benji wasn't just anyone, they'd been disavowed countless times and saved the world from destruction practically on a daily basis together. That was excuse enough to break down.

Will drove with his eyes set on the road. But when Ethan looked closer he saw his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel and knots of tension from clenching his jaw.

Ilsa had her head against the window. He could probably relate to her feelings the most. She was the top agent of the MI6, had sacrificed impossible things for the cause and tried desperately not to start believing what Solomon Lane preached despite working closest with him for two years. And when she'd finally got people to care about, to call her family, she'd lost one and no-one knew why.

Returning to Benji, he held him tighter, tighter and tighter. Tight enough to break. Putting all his will into warming his empty body, forcing the soul back inside and begging any gods to return Benji to him. Hadn't he done enough good to get that? Had he really done enough bad that he was worthy of this pain?

That's all he felt. Pain. Not strong and piercing. Not forceful, shattered porcelain and ripped body parts.

It was slow and leaking. Tingling all over and threading into every part of him. A sick symbiosis that left him dazed and forgetting that the before was filled with happiness and life and not just a ploy to torment him.

He felt like he was underwater. Deep in the ocean, chained to the ocean floor with thick steel anchors. A cursed man left to a cursed fate.

The waves kept coming, kept plowing overhead. Cold had reached his bones. Shivers ran all over. No air reached his lungs as the familiar ache took over. But he didn't black out. No release for him.

He was blue. Murky darkness and an iciness that just couldn't be shaken off.

Part of him longed to feel what you'd expect to feel in grief. Sadness. Flooded by tears and not this awful black hole within him. He begged to feel lonely rather than deserving, wished to just have one normal thing even if it was the worst thing to have.

He didn't hear the doors open. Didn't see Luther get out or the others crowd around, staring at him like a zoo animal. Didn't see the blue flashing sirens against the night sky and jumped when Luther spoke to him in his patient but not 'I'm tiptoeing around you' voice.

"Ethan, we're here."

He turned his head gradually. Every muscle in his body was tight. Pain, the physical kind, seemed to buzz within him. His feet tingled from sitting on them. A high pitched whine surrounded him as he tried to listen and focus.

Outside the van was a white porter's bed. Hospital staff with tired faces stared at him. Everyone was so close. So expecting.

"Sir, we need you to give us the body."

Body. Not even a name. No memory or life. It made his stomach churn and the flooding rush of nothing came again.

He didn't move. Benji's body slipped off his shoulder. He rushed to lift him back up, couldn't be separated from him yet. He was already gone, still couldn't say what it actually was, he didn't want his body to go too.

"Sir-"

His head darted up.

"We need to move his body, your van is blocking the entrance for ambulances."

The nurse speaking to him looked tired. Her patience was worn thin, and the drizzling rain on her wrinkled scrubs. The bright flash of her purple patterned hijab almost hurt his eyes, too bright and positive for now.

"Okay." He managed to say.

He moved, feeling robotic as he did, from the van with a vice-like grip on Benji. This would be the start of the end. Time to say goodbye, even if every inch of him screamed otherwise.

Laying him down on the bed felt wrong. This wasn't their bed. He wouldn't be comfortable here, in a full suit. The rain raised his arm hair. Benji was already cold and would turn freezing in this weather.

But before he could jump in and reclaim Benji's body, Luther lay a hand on his shoulder. Will drove the van away and the world seemed to start moving again.

"Take care of him." He trembled.

"We will." The nurse said and walked away.

Another nurse pulled him into the ER. He didn't see her face, though, because his eyes couldn't look away from Benji, who was looking less and less like himself with every second.

~~~

"What's your name, sir?" The nurse asked.

He'd been placed on a bed, the thin privacy curtain pulled but the busy hum of the rest of the ER filled his head. It used all his energy to pay attention, so his response was lackluster, her words foggy in his ears.

"Ethan," he said, his voice raspy. "Ethan Hunt."

"Okay, Ethan, how old are you?"

"Erm, 58."

He was too old for this. Sure, people rarely retired at his age in the modern world, but his job wasn't the usual job. Too much running and dodging bullets and maniacal villains for someone facing 60 in a few years.

"What's your date of birth?"

She gently pushed his chest. A spike of dulled pain and a gasp, that it took him an embarrassingly long time to realise was his, told him his ribs were broken.

"You have three broken ribs," she said, writing it on a form next to her. "Date of birth?"

"August 18th, 1964."

"Where were you born?"

"Madison, Wisconsin,"

"Parents' names?"

"Nathan and Margaret Hunt."

Why so many questions? His head already hurt, so much pain in every way possible. All the questions had taken his mind away from Benji, how cold he'd be, lonely and possibly still scared. Maybe that was the point.

"Who was that man you were holding out there?"

She was smart, getting him to talk, taking him mind away from the vast nothingness that threatened to consume him.

"Benjamin Dunn, goes by Benji."

"Who's he to you?"

Her eyes flicked up from where she rubbed her fingers along the vertebrae in his neck, going down towards his hips. He noticed the bisexual flag pin on her landyard.

He loved Benji, would do anything for him. Ethan was fine telling friends, fine around Benji's family and alright with holding hands over the dinner table in a restaurant.

But telling a stranger seemed daunting. Maybe it was growing up in a small town in the 70s. Even after over thirty years he could still hear the ranting priests preaching about the vulgar sin of homosexuality, could still feel the sick rumble of guilt and raging blush on his cheeks when he saw Han Solo in Star Wars or the first time he kissed Jack.

He looked at her again, again at the tiny enameled pin and sighed.

"He's my partner, at work and home." He smiled.

"How long have you been together, now?"

"Coming up to five years,"

She smiled, "My girlfriend and I are coming up to four."

One of the knots in his chest eased. The happy memories of Benji flooded him. Light for a moment. Benji's smile, his laugh, the confusion when faced with a problem, it all came back.

They melted too fast, though. The smiles disappeared as he remembered he'd never see one again. Never make anymore memories. Never feel the weight of his body on his as they slept, or wash his hair with his wonderful smelling shampoo.

The nurse stepped back, finished with examining him. She scanned her notes again.

"Apart from some broken ribs, your physically fine-"

"Physically?"

"But I saw your reaction times and behavior outside, and I think you're in shock," she said. "That's why I've been asking you so many questions, Benji seems to be very close to you, and this is going to be a difficult time so I tried to make you remember good things."

He could only nod. She cared and tried. But the black hole just consumed it. Because Benji was gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.

Gone and never coming back. But he still couldn't say it.

The realisation dawned on him, nonetheless. His body went tingly, numb. Shockwaves rippled through his body. It all went blank, his mind, the good times, the bad times. Black hole consumed everything, finally.

Benji was gone, and Ethan not far behind.

~~~

He came to surrounded by darkness. Parts of his vision were a lighter red, where some light shone brighter through his eyelids. He tried to open them but felt them glued shut. What was going on?

Seeping cold shivered all over him. The kind that made him wonder if it was actually something cold or wet?

Everything was still. He tried to focus on a specific sound, figure out where he was, but nothing. There was a general hum of a room, heating that was barely on, lights shining behind his eyes and electricity.

One eye opened. Then the other.

He saw a turquoise tiled ceiling and LED strip lights. To his left, despite his neck creaking, he saw shining metal cupboards filled with rectangular drawers. His right had cluttered desks and windows, closed off by closed shutters.

The last thing he remembered was the mission. He had the drive, which contained everything they knew about a poison and its antidote, was running when his body shook, shuddered and he dropped. He was wearing a suit in those memories but, looking down, he was stark naked, only covered by a thin sheet.

His head was groggy. This didn’t make sense yet he couldn't place anything that could help. It was like he'd been asleep for years, felt like sleeping beauty but without the kiss.

A shuffle from behind the glass woke him from the slob. He darted up, spy instincts kicking in. The sheet fell to the ground

He glanced down at what he’d been lying on, just a metal table on wheels. A plate, metal too, was on a desk next to where his head had been. He snatched the sharpest tool he saw, a scalpel. God knows what would've been done to him with this.

Someone came around the corner. He formed an action stance, ready to move and attack. He may be a tech genius but he'd passed the field agent exam for a reason.

Someone in a white lab coat, halfway through a sip of coffee, stopped on his way to the table.

"Who are you?" Benji shouted. "Where am I? And why am I naked?"

He didn't reply. There was a splash and he dropped his coffee on the floor.

"Answer me!" He repeated, less bite to his words now, more confusion.

"S-sorry, I'm Andrew Dwart, Pathologist at the City Hospital."

His eyes were wide. He gulped and wiped his hands on his coat.

"Sorry, I'm not usually this flustered, I'm just not used to the people I work with talking back."

Benji lowered the scalpel. He knew what pathologists did, worked with blood, helped to identify problems, worked with the dead. But that meant- no, it couldn't be.

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"Well, you came to me, came to the hospital, dead. You were dead on my table until five minutes ago when I went to get a coffee," he chuckled awkwardly. "I'm glad I didn't get to doing anything."

It all clicked. Why everything went black, his strange surroundings. He was in the morgue of a hospital. Presumed dead. That only left why?

He dropped the scalpel on the metal table. The clarity ceased and confusion set in. An almost overwhelming realisation of his own mortality, flashbacks from the two other times he'd almost died and the swirling confusion took over.

"Dead?"

~~~

"Well, your bloods have come back." The doctor walked in with a file in hand. "There's an abundance of an unknown chemical in your blood that must've recreated the effects of death."

Benji sat on a hospital bed, partially clothed in the usual gown. The crew only half looked at the doctor. Their eyes more naturally fell on him, considering almost three hours ago he was dead.

"Somehow it managed to lower your heart rate and breathing to undetectable levels, lower your body temperature yet still keep you alive," she said.

"How?"

Benji was no doctor, not a scientist. He knew tech. Not bodies.

"We don't know yet, but my guess is that it must reduce breathing rate, and your heart rate to boot, to such a low level that you fell into an extreme coma, but we have no evidence,"

It was strange, to be so close go death yet so far. It was a controlled torture. But something that controlled, being able to calculate his body like he hacked computers. Someone being able to do that using an unknown chemical, it threw him.

"This kind of thing has been known in some animal species, some kinds of frogs have been known to hibernate in winter and allow themselves to freeze-" she looked at Benji. "But you’re not a frog."

He laughed, "No I'm not."

"Well, we have your bloods, so can investigate this further, and have been observing you for a while now, and you've shown no other side effects so I'll discharge you. Rest, I don't want you back to work for at least a week to stay safe. But if you feel any side effects, straight back, okay?" She said.

He nodded, watched her fill in forms as she left. The air conditioning chilled his skin. Goosebumps rose on his arms, hair standing on end.

Luther came forward and smacked him hard on the shoulder. He had a relieved smile on his face but his eyes were tinged red.

"It's great to have you back," he said. "Almost lost you there."

He tapped his hand, "Good to be here, nothing like being presumed dead to make you want to live your life."

"Or be reminded of your own mortality." Will spat with the same fatigued ease he always had after a mission, but he heard the heartfelt tones in his voice.

In the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Ethan flinch. He'd been quiet since Benji came in. Hovered over his shoulder as the doctors ran tests and scrambled their brains to try and come up with any idea of how Benji 'came back to life'.

He hadn't had time to focus on why he was acting so ominously in amongst the rush of the hospital. But, the doctor had said a week off, and the IMF would surely give Ethan the time off too. So there was still plenty of time to dwell on that.

But not then. As a nurse came through with his clothes, and he was desperate to get into something warmer.

~~~

The apartment block was quiet at three am. Lights from the street shone through the windows on either end of the corridor.

He tried to step lightly on the creaking floorboards but the adrenaline from the hospital was wearing off and he became clumsy in his steps. The floorboards squeaked yet, when he looked at Ethan, his steps made no sound.

They unlocked the door. Benji felt himself ease as he realised he was home.

"Home sweet home, right?" He said.

Ethan didn't reply. He hadn't spoke for the entire cab ride home. Had barely said anything at the hospital either.

His face was hard to read, perfectly masked. All he could see was that odd calm. To anyone else this might seem good, having such a calm attitude around such chaos. But Benji knew Ethan better than that. He knew this was all a facade, his way of keeping the people he loved at just a distance that he wasn't being malicious but not too close as to burden them with his pain.

Benji had been fooled in the beginning. He'd enjoyed the cloud of security. Still drunk on Ethan's charm, lulled and satiated by his stunning good looks, marvelling intelligence and willingness to protect him. He didn't release it was a way to assure himself he wasn't being a burden to people.

He thought he'd told him he wasn't, thought he'd convinced him to give in a little and let himself be vulnerable. But apparently not enough.

"Have you eaten?" Benji asked him.

Ethan shook his head.

"I'll order something, somewhere's got to be open, right?"

He tried humour but got nothing. It was starting to worry him.

"I'll make something." Ethan said with little tone in his voice. "Omelette?"

"Sounds divine." He smiled. "I'm going for a shower, alright?"

Ethan nodded and turned left into the kitchen.

Benji shrugged and began to undress in the bedroom. He was already shaken from the night's events but Ethan being so cold, even if it wasn't meant to be malicious, was shaking him up further.

Making his way to the bathroom, he sneaked a glance at Ethan. He couldn't tell much from with his back turned but he noticed the difference. Ethan whistled when he cooked. But not today.

It was like the Ethan he loved wasn't there, the man he'd fallen for had disappeared and this cold shell remained. All he wanted to do was hold him, cradle him in the soft darkness of their apartment.

But Benji was also starting to feel grimy and sluggish. He turned on the shower and stepped under the hot spray.

The heat melted down his shoulders, worked out the muscles that had built up from hours of sitting hunched on a hospital bed. His mind drifted as the sound of the shower filled his head.

He took check of himself. His chest, arms, legs, head. All okay. He was safe. He was at home and home was safe.

Mentally would be a different story. This was just another experience to add to the roster, another choice for his nightmares. But he knew he had people there, Ethan, Will, Luther, Ilsa, who could support him. They'd tell him otherwise if he ever started to think he wasn't worth it. Which just added to the question of why Ethan was acting so distant?

After getting out and dressed, he rejoined Ethan in the kitchen. The omelettes were on the table and when the smell hit him he realised how hungry he was.

"Thanks," He said, sitting down to eat.

Ethan just nodded. He focused on the omelette as if it was an impossible task. His eyebrows furrowed and eyes steely, cold.

"How are you, then?" He asked.

"Alright," he said. "Tired, it's been a long day."

Benji lay a hand on his and smiled. Ethan's facade cracked, ever so slightly, and he returned a warm smile. It wasn't as vulnerable and honest as he wanted, but if that's all he could manage in terms of intimacy then he'd take it.

But he could tell he wasn't doing okay. And Benji knew Ethan better than to believe his lies about his wellbeing.

"You sure?"

"Benji, you're the one that needs to be worried about, you've been through a lot today, are you okay?"

Oh no, he thought, he's not getting out of this that easily.

"I'm tired and shaken and scared at how easily I could die and am yet again being faced with my own mortality, but I know I'll survive it, I've got through it before, and as annoying as it is that every time I start to get somewhere in terms of recovery something else comes along to cause more trauma, I'll get through it again." He said.

He placed down his knife and fork. Now he'd eaten, gotten warm and comfortable, his head was clearing. Not entirely free of everything from the night but enough to think clearly about what he wanted to say.

"You will," Ethan said.

He gave him another smile but this one was less warm. This was the charming one he used to dazzle people on missions, people who had no idea who he was and were easily fooled. Benji wasn't easily fooled.

"You didn't answer my question?" Benji repeated.

Ethan got up, darting so quickly his chair scraped across the floor and clattered backwards into the cupboard. He picked up the empty plates and set them in the sink. His back was straight. Uncomfortably bolt upright, yet his hands were shaking.

"It's alright if you're shaken up by this Ethan-" Benji got up more slowly, not wanting to set him off any more. "Even by IMF standards, this is pretty insane."

"I'm fine." Ethan said.

"You don't seem fine Ethan,"

He tensed further. The shaking in his hands was spreading to his forearms. Benji could see the muscles in his neck tense. The cold sweat forming on his skin shone in the low kitchen light.

"And that's okay, it's okay if you're not okay,"

"Not okay about what?" His voice was low but not threatening.

"About what happened tonight, I'm certainly not, and that's alright. We go through extreme things in our line of work and are taught that we need to deal with it all, but if you can't, that's okay." He said.

He stepped closer, like he was approaching a wounded stray cat, and lay a hand on the small of Ethan's back. He flinched. Actually flinched. How bad was this?

"The IMF may tell you that you need be okay with murder and world-ending scenarios, but no human was made for that, so when we can't deal with it, it's natural and okay," he uttered, made his words soft. "You don't have to be strong all the time, you can just be human, just be human with me, yeah?"

Ethan trembled under his hand. His entire body shook as he restrained himself from something. Breaking? Being honest?

He turned to him with his jaw set. His body shook like the earth in a storm. Grounding yet terrifying. Something meant to protect turning itself onto what it cared for.

"I'm fine." He said.

The steely indifference returned and was strong, thick. Whatever was hurting Ethan was hurting him badly. And Benji knew what it was, he'd died tonight, had died in front of his friends for no reason. That would shake anyone up.

But no, what had Benji perplexed was why Ethan was hiding it. Why was he so reluctant to talk to Benji? It wasn't like it was unprecedented, rather the contrary.

It was scaring him, not because Ethan had put on his game face, but because he only hid this much this severely in the early days of their relationship or when it was really bad.

"No you're not." Benji barked.

Ethan left the kitchen. Didn't listen to Benji. He went to slam the door but he caught it. He may be insistent on pushing Benji away but Benji could be stubborn sometimes too.

"Yes, I am."

He went to go into the bathroom, half opened the door when Benji laid his hand on his and closed it. He didn't want to be angry and he truly wasn't, he just wanted Ethan to talk to him.

"No, you're not."

Ethan met his eyes and shook off his hand. He didn't turn away, though, which was a start.

"Why is it such a big deal?"

"Why?" Benji scoffed. "Because I'm your boyfriend and I love you and I know you're hurting and I don't feel comfortable seeing you deny it."

Ethan tried to calm himself, tried to put on his facade again but softer this time. Yet Benji could see the cracks in the way his eyes misted with tears.

"I'm fine." He said, trying to hold his voice steady. "Are we done here?"

Benji gulped. Ethan was good at distracting him, good at the give and take and good at controlling it. Not in a malicious way, to protect himself, a coping mechanism. But that didn't mean it was a healthy one, or that it was easy for him to break his ease.

"No."

Ethan let out a long sigh. His calm exterior wore thin but he didn't go cold again. His hand shook and Benji's stomach sank when he saw the growing fear in his eyes.

"Really? Why can't we drop this? I'm tired, it's been a long day, the doctor told you to rest," Ethan raised his voice but there was no anger in his words. "I'm fine, you're the one who was hurt tonight, so why can't we just drop this?"

Benji saw the tears well up in his eyes as his own stung. He knew his face was lighting up red. Both their hands shook but Benji clenched his to give himself that last push of confidence.

"Because you're scaring me." He stated and felt all the determination and annoyance leave him.

Ethan too, dropped all resolve. A tear trickled down his face, now frozen in shock. He looked both older than he usually seemed but younger than his years.

"I'm scared at how easily you've turned back to old habits, and I know progress isn't linear, but even when things got tough in the past five years and you've distanced yourself, it was never like this." The tears flooded Benji's face.

"I'm scared because I know how much this hurt me and the others so it must've hurt you too but you won't admit it. I'm scared because you've never stopped talking to me before and I'm scared for you, because for you to go so far back within yourself, to protect yourself, then you must be so hurt and I'm scared because I never want you to hurt that much and feel that I, that someone, can't be there for you."

He held his fingers as Ethan continued to freeze. He didn't even seem to be breathing enough. And it made Benji's gut drop when he realised that this is what it was like for Ethan. Which made him realise why Ethan had pulled away so much.

"I can't say it," Ethan whimpered. "Don't make me say it."

Benji stepped closer, took Ethan's face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. He reached for his hand and grasped it in his own clammy grip. He moved it over his heart, laying it flat out and made sure they could both feel the pulse.

"It's okay," he whispered back. "You're safe, I'm safe, we're safe here and it's okay to say it."

It was just them. Just them in the universe. So much pain that was bleeding away to comfort and catharsis.

"I can't."

Tears were falling down Ethan's face. He trembled like a leaf in the wind.

"Why?"

"Because that would make it real."

Benii kissed his forehead and smoothed his fingers along the stubble on his cheeks.

"But it was, for a little while. And you need to say it so you can heal and move on." He said. "Okay?"

Ethan didn't reply but closed his eyes. His hand pressed on Benji's chest. His breath caught in his mouth in a hiccup.

"You died."

And that's all it took for him to collapse into tears on his shoulder. His hands enclosed him in a tight embrace, rubbing up and down his back, gripping his t-shirt into his fists. His sobs began to fill the air, full and heartbroken.

Benji wrapped his arm around his back and lay a hand on Ethan's neck. He held him there as if nothing else mattered, because, in that moment, nothing else did. Pressing his thumb into the base of his scalp, he shushed him gently, stroked the short hairs there and listened to Ethan whimper as he wet his shoulder with his tears.

He'd never known him to cry so hard before. It was such a switch but one he should’ve seen coming. He didn't blame himself too much, for once, because tonight had been hard on all of them. But Benji realised that he'd fallen into the comfort of Ethan's strong reputation a little more than he'd intended to.

"Shh, shh, let it out," he whispered. "It's alright, honey, I'm here, okay?"

Ethan nodded and pulled up slowly. His dazzling eyes were red from crying. Red blotches covered his slippery looking cheeks. There was a tremble to his lips as Benji caressed a rogue strand of hair off his forehead, his hair was sticking to his moist face and would no doubt annoy him soon.

"You don't have to talk about it if it's too much for tonight, okay?" He said. "I know I didn't make it clear that I just wanted you to admit that you weren't fine and I'm sorry, I could see the cracks forming and didn't want you to think you had to hide them because I was the one who died."

Ethan still flinched but less so than before. He could see the bags under his eyes and the sag of his skin. They were both even more tired than before.

"You were so cold." He said. "So cold and still and empty, you weren't you and I had no idea why."

He said his words slowly with deliberation. Every syllable was taking effort and that was okay. Benji was proud of him just for admitting that something was off, so this was just extra.

"There was no blood, no weapons, no fight, you just fell and died in my arms without saying goodbye." His voice faltered, a fat tear rolled slowly down his face. "It was like Jack all over again, he was alive one second and dead the next, then Jim, then Hannah, then Sarah, and my body stopped feeling, just like that night, shut down and went into emergency mode as if I was being disavowed all over again and had to go on the run."

He wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist. He'd stopped whimpering now but his lip quivered as he brought up the courage to speak.

“You were so still, not yourself and there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t bring you back to life, couldn’t find out who did it and punish them, I couldn’t even mourn you properly as I couldn’t feel anything,” He said.

Benji nodded, cradling his hands as he spoke. Part of him wanted to know about what had happened, he hadn’t been there to experience it, that was the whole point of Ethan telling him. But hearing him speak of it, the memories so raw in his mind, was making the slight security he’d managed after accepting that this was going to be hard, melt away.

“Ilsa and Will and Luther they all dealt with it normally, Will was tense, Ilsa was defeated and Luther was tired but I felt nothing. There was pain but I was underwater, far away from it all, I’d take a few moments to hear things after they were said, I couldn’t move, I didn’t want to accept that you were dead, I couldn’t say it, couldn’t let them take you when they didn’t know who you were because they’d just be dealing with a body and that would mean you were-”

He hesitated, “That would mean you were dead and I didn’t want you to be, I couldn’t deal with it if you were, so I didn’t want to let you go because they’d prod and cut and you’d be cold and uncomfortable and I couldn’t deal with that, not after you’d just collapsed. I wanted you to be comfortable.”

Benji looked up from where he was stroking Ethan’s palm. He lay his hand on his cheek again and felt the growing stubble on his face.

“Well, I’m comfortable now,” he said.

Ethan nodded. He took a few deep breaths as the tears on his face dried. Gradually, as Benji began to realise that it was closer to four o’clock in the morning and his fatigue was starting to consume him, Ethan collected himself.

“They were so focused on me but I was still in shock and didn’t feel all the injuries they said I had. I almost didn’t want to break the bubble and stop saying you were just gone because I know that would cause me more pain than I could handle."

Ethan lent into the touch for a moment then pulled away, "And I guess that's why I was so distant, because admitting you were fine would mean having to admit you weren't fine and I couldn’t deal with that, so I just didn't deal with any of it at all, and I'm sorry."

He pressed his forehead to Ethan's and exhaled slowly, "Thank you for the apology," he said. "And we can deal with this together, okay? It won't be more pain than you can handle because you won't have to deal with it alone, so won't have to handle it by yourself."

"We can get through this together," he whispered.

Ethan nodded. His eyes were scrunched shut but for the first time all night, he actually had a sense of peace around him.

It was these moments that Benji loved. The peace in the heartbreak and pain. Because despite the despair, it gave them more understanding, a chance to learn and grow closer.

Benji pulled away and rubbed his eyes. His growing fatigue sank into him and he sagged onto Ethan.

"Bed, I think?" Benji stated.

Ethan nodded, giving him a kiss on the cheek before going into the bathroom. Benji blinked slowly and shuffled his way to bed, climbing into its warm cocoon and half falling asleep in moments.

Just as he was drifting off, Ethan slipped in next to him, crawled up him until his head was nestled in his neck. He heard him exhale, felt his breath tickle the hairs there.

"Can you stop wiggling," he said, laughing.

"Getting comfy," Ethan mumbled.

Benji's hands rested naturally on the base of Ethan's head. He carried on rubbing the short hairs there as he felt Ethan's muscles relax. His breaths grew deeper until he could feel he was asleep.

"Love you," he whispered, giving him one final kiss and closing his eyes to sleep.

I got the idea for what Benji was drugged with kind of from Amok Time in Star Trek, where a character takes a drug to fake death and save the day. I reread this fic in editing and it really is good, not to brag 😂. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!

#mission impossible #benthanweek2022 #benthan #benji dunn #ethan hunt #luther stickell #william brandt #ilsa faust #fake death #angst #hurt/comfort #fake character death #character death #bear writes

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labomi · 4 years ago

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a demon’s promise | (18+)

summary: You didn't want to spend your Friday night trying to summon the king of all demons in your tiny apartment, but here you are with your best friend by your side reciting an incantation from a strange book. To your utter relief, the spell doesn't work or so you seem to think.

pairing: sukuna ryomen x f!reader

words: 4.2k

warnings: explicit sexual content, slight dubcon, smut, explicit language, choking, overstimulation, rough sex, pet names, not a particularly happy ending

notes: read on ao3 here! first sukuna piece and i don’t have much to say except aahhhhh!! i initially planned it to be more of a cute, fluffy story but obviously that didn’t happen oops. well anyways thanks for reading!

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” you ask hesitantly, watching your best friend finish drawing a pentagram on your living room floor. Kimi dusts the chalk off her fingers, admiring her work with a satisfied smile.

“Oh, come on,” she says, a little exasperated at you. “Don’t bail on me now. Aren’t you the tiniest bit excited?”

“About summoning a demon from a weird book you found in the back of a sketchy thrift shop? Yea, I’m absolutely thrilled,” you deadpan.

It was about a week ago when Kimi surprised you with her new find. The book was bound in torn leather and filled with handwritten notes about how to conjure the supernatural on ink stained, wrinkled pages. It certainly looked old, but you couldn’t help but think it was a scam. Some kid might have decided to replicate the look and feel of an ancient book, filling it with absolute nonsense that your best friend was clearing falling for.

Unfortunately, once Kimi had gotten a hold of this book, she would not shut up about it. For the past week, you tried your best to feign interest in her new obsession as she flipped through pages, oohing and aahing at the sketches and descriptions of different types of demons. They ranged from little mischievous creatures to incubi and succubi and even a terrifying being that ate the souls of its prey.

For the most part, you think the book is absolutely absurd, but you can't ignore the tiny voice in your head that is just a little terrified about the potential existence of demons. Kimi had begged you nonstop to try one of the spells. You were hesitant and initially said no, but she kept begging you over and over again. Eventually you gave in because she was your best friend, and she was clearly excited about trying out the book with you. There is no harm in humoring her a little, right?

Kimi finishes lighting the five candles that surround the pentagram as you place a small bowl in the center.

“Alright!” Kimi says, clapping her hands. She looks at the open spell book next to her, double checking the instructions. “The only thing left is a drop of human blood.” Kimi looks at you expectantly.

You blink and point a finger at yourself. “Me?” you squeak. “But isn’t this your idea?”

“But you know how squeamish I get about pain and blood! Pretty pretty pleaassee,” your best friend begs.

You sigh. “Alright, alright. You owe me big time for this. Hand me the knife.” Kimi happily gives you the small knife that you had grabbed earlier from the kitchen. Scrunching your face, you make a tiny little cut on your index finger and squeeze one drop of blood into the bowl. You suck on your finger, hoping it would scab over quickly. “Ok, now what?”

Kimi turns the page. “Now we just have to say this incantation together. Come here.” You scoot over to sit next to your friend as she holds the book between the two of you. Together, you both recite the words scribbled down on the crumbled page.

You wait.

And wait.

And nothing happens.

“Umm,” you break the awkward silence. “Nothing happened.”

“No, this can’t be right.” Kimi groans and starts aggressively flipping through the pages. “We followed the instructions exactly. It should have worked!”

Part of you feels relieved. You weren’t particularly thrilled about inviting the supernatural into your tiny apartment on a Friday night. Now you’re more convinced that the book really is a fake.

“What were we supposed to summon anyway?” you ask, a little curious.

Kimi frowns, still re-reading the instructions. “A creature named Sukuna Ryomen. Apparently he’s the king of all demons.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. “What the fuck, Kimi? The king? You chose to summon the king of all demons? What were you thinking? I thought we were going to summon those harmless creatures that steal people’s left socks or something like that!”

Kimi huffs. “Well, I did ask you what we should summon, but you said you didn’t care and that I should pick something. So I did!”

You rub your temples, trying to keep calm. “You’re right, you’re right. My bad. I’m sorry.” You could tell that Kimi is already quite upset that the spell didn’t work, and you were just adding fuel to the fire. “Hey! It’s ok. Let’s just take the rest of the night off. I’ll clean everything up, don’t worry about it. And listen, maybe we can try a different spell next week. Perhaps there’s not enough spiritual energy in this room or something to summon the big guy.”

Kimi perks up a little at your words. “We can try again next week? Really?”

You nod. “Promise. Take the book back to your place and choose something a little bit more tame, ok?”

Kimi giggles. “Ok, I promise too!” She grabs the book and carefully places it in her bag before getting up and heading towards the door. You follow her and give her a quick hug.

“Talk to you tomorrow,” you say.

“Yep! Good night!”

Once Kimi leaves your apartment, you let out a deep breath. You survey the mess on your living room floor with a frown. You truly love your best friend to death, but she’s just a little too adventurous for your tastes sometimes.

A sudden wave of lethargy washes over you, causing you to lean against your kitchen counter for support. You rub your eyes, struggling to keep them open as your eyelids start to feel unusually heavy.

Weird.

It isn’t particularly late, so you are a bit surprised to feel so tired out of the blue. You figure the excitement of tonight’s activities likely got the best of you, so you decide to retire early for the night. Walking into the living room, you blow out all the candles around the pentagram before retreating into your bedroom. You will clean up everything tomorrow. No harm in letting it sit out for the night.

---

You wake up with a start. The darkness of your bedroom greets you. Groaning, you grab your phone in order to check the time but it was dead. You silently curse at yourself for forgetting to charge it before passing out. You lean back in your bed with a sigh. Normally, you sleep through the night undisturbed. You briefly wonder what had woken you up.

Crash!

You instantly freeze and hold your breath. The noise came from the living room. It sounded like something had fallen. You try to calm your racing heart as you convince yourself that it was just one of your decorations falling off the wall. But you know you won’t be able to comfortably go back to sleep without checking, so you quietly slip out of bed and open your bedroom door. You peek into the living room, but you’re unable to make out anything clearly in the darkness.

You fully step out of your bedroom and hit the light switch for the living room. Squinting your eyes, you try to adjust to the sudden brightness. Once your vision finally clears, you gasp.

There’s someone in your living room.

The first thing you notice about the intruder is his tattoos. Intricate symbols mark his entire body, including his face.

The second thing you realize is that he’s completely naked.

You open your mouth to scream, but the intruder appears right in front of you within the blink of an eye and clamps his large hand over your mouth to shush you.

“Be quiet,” he growls deeply. “You can’t act so surprised. After all, you’re the one who called me here.”

You feel a chill crawl down your spine as your eyes widen in realization.

No. No. It can’t be.

Once the intruder is convinced you won’t start screaming, he removes his hand from your mouth. He stands back and takes in your appearance as you stand there numbly in your pajama shirt and shorts.

“A woman, huh.” He licks his lips. “I wasn’t expecting a woman to be the one to resurrect me, but I’m not complaining.”

This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening!

You try to convince yourself that you’re still dead asleep in your bed and dreaming about this entire encounter. There is no way that damn book actually worked!

“Ryomen Sukuna,” you whisper to yourself, suddenly recalling the name of the demon you tried to summon with Kimi.

You don’t miss the way his eyes light up. “Oh! You’ve heard of me!” He grins. “You should feel honored to be in the presence of the Great King of Demons.”

You shudder at his voice. There’s a certain aura of power, strength, and pure evil that you can feel radiating from the demon, but his appearance is still rather surprising. For the Great King of Demons, he looks rather...human. You could have easily mistaken him as a normal man who just really liked tattoos. No tail. No wings. No horns. Perhaps your view of demons was a bit outdated.

“I have to admit. I’m a little disappointed,” Sukuna says with a small frown, surveying his own body. “It seems you didn’t summon me correctly. My power is nowhere near what it should be, and it took me forever to spawn into this measly physical form. I normally have four arms and two faces.”

Your eyes bulge out of your head. Did he say four arms? And two faces?

The demon taps a finger on his chin in thought. “I did start off as a human before becoming a demon, so I guess it makes sense I’m reborn looking like a human at first.”

You silently thank your friend for messing up the ritual. If Sukuna had spawned immediately at full power, the two of you would have both been in danger. At least it’s only you in harm’s way. Kimi is safe and sound, far away from your tiny apartment.

“It’s ok,” Sukuna purrs, approaching you. “It doesn’t matter that you messed up the ritual a little. You can help me fix it now, pet.”

You stumble backwards, heart racing and body quivering in fear. He reaches out to place his hands on your shoulders, steadying you before pushing you against the wall. You instantly freeze, breath caught in your throat as you wonder what he’ll ask of you.

Sukuna lightly strokes your cheek with one hand. You want to recoil in fear and disgust, but your body remains frozen in horror.

“You haven’t noticed?” he asks. “It was your blood used in the summoning ritual. That means we are bonded.”

No. No.

Sukuna places two fingers underneath your chin and lifts them up so you look directly up into his eyes. You tremble uncontrollably as you meet his dark gaze.

“The way I regain my strength is by sucking the energy out of you. You might have noticed that you felt tired and sluggish after the ritual. That’s because the it took a lot of energy from you to give me a physical form. Don’t worry though, it’s not enough to kill you. But you are pretty weak, so it might take me awhile to regain my full strength.”

You gulp. The Great King of Demons at full strength? You know you have to prevent this from happening somehow, but your phone is dead, the book is gone, and Sukuna is not likely to let you leave his sight long enough for you to figure out a plan. Was it even possible to fight back against him? Maybe your best bet was to comply with his demands and hope he spares you.

“But there is a way to speed up the process.” He looks down at your body hungrily before leaning his head towards you until his lips hover over your left ear. “Sex,” he whispers huskily.

You stiffen slightly and try to ignore the spark that travels down your body and lights up your core.

“Wh-what do you mean?” you stammer nervously.

“I feed off your body’s energy, and everyone knows that there’s nothing more powerful than sexual energy. Sex gets your heart racing and blood pumping. It’s the perfect energy source for my complete resurrection.” Sukuna moves away from your ear and grins at your stricken face. “You are the one who summoned me here. It would be rude to not feed your guest and accommodate his needs.”

He places a thumb on your bottom lip, rubbing it back and forth. You try not to react, but your body won’t listen to you. Sukuna’s presence is overwhelming. His bare chest is practically pressed against your body. His eyes are dark with lust as he gazes at your face. His thumb continues to rub your lips which leaves you flustered. Your mind feels hazy, and your body feels unusually warm. A small, sane part of you tries to fight back. A little voice in your head reminds that this is the king of all demons. How could you fall for the literal embodiment of pure evil?

“I know you’re turned on,” Sukuna says smugly. You look away feeling absolutely mortified, but the demon grabs your head and forces you to look back at him. “Ah ah. Keep your eyes on me. No need to get embarrassed. Like I said before, I was resurrected from your blood, so we share a connection. This means I can feel your blood pumping in your own body, and I can tell exactly where it’s headed.” Sukuna drops his gaze down your body to emphasize his point. He doesn’t miss how your thighs suddenly clench together.

With a dangerous flash in his eyes, Sukuna hoists you over his shoulder and throws you on your bed. Before you could even think about saying no, Sukuna is on top of you harshly nipping and sucking at your neck. One hand is already underneath your shirt, fondling one of your breasts and playing with your hard nipple. He sucks at a particularly sensitive spot on your neck which leaves you moaning shamelessly underneath him. Any doubts or reservations immediately leave your mind.

Your body feels like it’s on fire being this close to Sukuna. He chuckles darkly, leaving your neck and pulling out his hand from underneath your skirt. “That’s my good pet,” he purrs. “So eager just for me.” Sukuna kisses you roughly, leaving you gasping as you try to match his fervor. Eventually he leans back and admires how swollen your lips look after his harsh treatment. Your pupils are blown wide with lust. With Sukuna’s face hovering just above yours, you can’t help but admire his unique markings. Without realizing, you reach a hand out and start tracing the lines on his cheek. Sukuna stills for a moment, enjoying your tender touch.

The moment of gentleness shatters when Sukuna rips open your shirt with his bare hands. He immediately latches onto one of your breasts with his mouth and roughly gropes the other. You grip the back of his head, digging your fingers in his short hair. He bites down a little too sharply on your nipple, causing you to yelp in slight pain. Sukuna lightly chuckles at your reaction and finally pulls away, giving your now sore breasts a break. He suddenly flips your positions so that you are now hovering over him as his back hits the bed.

You stare at his chiseled chest and can’t resist rubbing your hands up and down his prominent muscles. Sukuna observes you with an amused look as you openly admire his body.

“You like what you see?” he smirks.

You ignore the question and begin peppering light kisses down his chest and over his abs. The demon hums, enjoying your soft touch all over his body. However, he eventually has enough of your teasing. He pushes your head down until you’re forced to look at something you’ve tried to avoid glancing at the entire night. Your heart flutters with a little nervousness as you’re greeted with Sukuna’s dick. It’s long and thick with just the slightest curve. You wonder how you’re going to be able to handle his impressive size.

Sukuna can sense your hesitation, so he decides to give you a little push. He grabs your hair roughly and brings your face closer to his throbbing dick. “Be a good girl and open wide.” With a shaky breath, you take the tip of Sukuna’s cock into your mouth. He’s so thick that you can barely fit him in your mouth. With the demon’s hand still on your head, he coaxes you take him in deeper and you oblige. Sukuna groans as your hot, wet mouth takes more and more of his length. You look so good with your lips wrapped around his cock.

You start to bob your head up and down to Sukuna’s delight, but he’s rather annoyed at your languid pace. “Too slow,” he growls and that’s the only warning you get before the demon jerks his hips up sharpy. You gag as his dick hits the back of your throat, but Sukuna's firm grasp on your head keeps you in place. He tightens his grip and then begins to roughly thrust into your mouth. You try to relax your throat and keep your composure even as tears start to fall from your eyes as the demon ruthlessly fucks your face.

“You feel so good,” Sukuna groans. “You were made to take my dick.” A particularly rough thrust leaves you gagging again and drooling all over his cock. “Fuck yea, just like that.”

Once the demon is satisfied, he releases his grip on your hair and you immediately pull back to catch your breath. You wipe the spit from your mouth and the tears from your eyes, panting heavily from the rough treatment. Sukuna silently admires the way your breasts look against your heaving chest.

“Take the rest of your clothes off,” he demands. You shakily get off the bed and shimmy out of your pajama shorts. As you roll down your underwear, Sukuna doesn’t miss how it’s already drenched with your arousal. As you climb back on the bed, Sukuna roughly places you underneath him once again. He spreads open your legs and presses a finger against your entrance to test your wetness.

“Damn,” Sukuna growls. “You’re this wet from choking on my cock.” You moan in relief as you finally feel some friction against your throbbing core. “A good little whore just for me.”

The demon strokes your folds at a leisurely pace which drives you insane. You unconsciously grind against his hand, silently begging him to pick up the tempo, but Sukuna just chuckles and continues to tease you. He barely brushes your swollen clit with each stroke, causing you to whine in frustration.

“Please,” you whimper.

Sukuna raises his eyebrows with a smirk. “Please what?” He suddenly stops his ministrations to your immediate displeasure.

You bite your lip feeling slightly embarrassed, but you decide to swallow whatever pride you have left. “T-touch me. I want to feel you. I n-need to feel you.”

“Only because you asked so sweetly,” Sukuna hums. He finally rubs his thumb over your throbbing clit, and you immediately cry out as pleasure wracks your body. The demon’s touch becomes faster and rougher, leaving you a writhing mess underneath him. Just as you’re about to hit your climax, Sukuna pulls away and you can’t stop the frustrated whine that leaves your mouth. He strokes his dick amused by your reaction and leans down to whisper in your ear. “Wouldn’t it feel better to cum around my cock? Come on. Tell me that’s what you want, pet.”

The fire between your legs only grows as you listen to his words. Desperate for any sort of release, you beg for Sukuna’s cock. “P-please fuck me. I need your dick so badly. Please please please.”

Sukuna answers your pleas by lining his cock against your sopping entrance before pushing into you in one go. You groan at the slight burn as your walls stretch around his wide girth, but you’re so wet he manages to slide his entire length into you without much resistance. Once he’s fully sheathed, the feeling is completely overwhelming. You feel absolutely stuffed to the brim with his giant cock pulsing inside you.

“Oh my god,” you breath. “You’re so big. Fuck.”

Sukuna doesn’t give you much chance to adjust to his size as he immediately pulls out until only his tip remains before ramming back into you at full force. You yelp at the sudden movement, while the demon softly groans. He sets a brutal pace that leaves you absolutely breathless. With every snap of his hips, you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Your toes curl in pleasure, and you rake your nails down his muscular back as the demon fucks you senseless.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Sukuna growls as you continue to moan and whimper wantonly underneath him. When the head of his cock hits that sensitive spot inside you at just the right angle, the tension in your body finally snaps and a wave of pleasure completely washes over you. You cry out as you reach your climax, squeezing your eyes shut as you surrender yourself to the sensations of pure bliss.

Once you start to come down from your high, Sukuna pulls out of you and adjusts your body so that you’re on your hands and knees. Your arms are still quivering from your orgasm but you have just enough strength to keep yourself from collapsing. Both you and Sukuna groan as he enters you once again. He somehow fucks you even harder than before. The lewd, wet noises of your bodies slamming against one of another fill the bedroom. Sukuna grips your waist with such force as he slams into you over and over again that you know you’ll wake up with nasty bruises tomorrow. In this position, it feels like his cock is pushing even deeper inside you at such a brutal pace.

“You going to cum on my cock again?” Sukuna pants. He slaps your ass, and you squeak at the unexpected sting. “Answer the question, pet.” He gives you another slap.

“Oh god, yes,” you gasp as your cunt clenches around him. “F-fuck. Your cock feels s-so good.” Satisfied with your answer, Sukuna reaches around to rub your clit. It was just the right amount of extra stimulation you needed to reach your climax again. Your body shudders as you lose yourself to the white hot pleasure. Sukuna pulls out of you, and you immediately collapse on the bed.

“Who said we were done yet, pet?” The demon picks you up and places you on top of him as he lays back on the bed. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck as your hard nipples rub against his chest. You can feel his still erect cock poking at your entrance. “I want to watch your face as I fill you up with my cum.”

You wince as he slips back into you. You’re already starting to feel overstimulated and sore, but Sukuna hasn’t shown any signs of slowing down yet. He ruts into your limp body, only concerned about chasing his own pleasure.

You don’t think it’s possible for you to cum again, but Sukuna’s cock is continuing to hit all the right places. The pain from overstimulation only seems to egg you on further as you feel the familiar tension building within your body once again. Sukuna groans as your walls start to clench down on him. His thrusts become more erratic as he approaches his own release.

As he continues to pound into you as you’re splayed across his chest, the demon tells you about all the humans he’ll kill once he’s at full power. Not even women or children will be safe from his destruction. He’ll lay siege to all Japan, perhaps even the world. Sukuna mentions how the golden age of demons will begin once again.

You begin crying, but you can’t even tell if it’s from the overstimulation, the shame of letting him use you like this, or the guilt of bringing such a horrifying demon back to Earth. With one more rough thrust, you come undone again for the third time during the night. Sukuna follows right after you, pumping you full of his cum. There’s so much that you can already feel his seed leaking out of you.

Sukuna remains still, trying to catch his breath as you quietly sob against his chest. The demon rubs your head with surprising tenderness.

“Don’t worry, pet. I promise I’ll spare you,” Sukuna says. “You’re mine now. No one else will ever touch you again.”

You hiccup through your tears as Sukuna’s words fill you with dread. It’s all your fault. He’s going to be reborn at full power and wipe out human civilization because of you. The guilt tears at your heart.

What have you done?

Sukuna can already feel his power returning to him. It’s only a matter of time before he’ll be unstoppable. Perhaps a couple of more days of indulging himself with your body will get the job done. He rubs your back, feeling how your sobs rack your body. Your tears only amuse him. Just another sign of how weak humans really are.

“Get ready for the new age, pet. And it’s all thanks to you.”

#tw dubcon #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #mine #n/sfw

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