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harryspet · 4 years ago

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caged bird | s.rogers, p.parker & b.barnes

[Warnings] dark!steve rogers x reader, dark!peter parker x reader, dark!bucky barnes x reader, polyamory, prison au, noncon/dubcon sex, this plot scenario is very unrealistic but oh well, reader makes a deal so she can survive, hella manipulation, dominants/submissive, oral sex (male recieving), hella angst, shower sex, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

A/N: this is like a really f’d up situation so enjoy :):):) i also wrote this over the span of two weeks so i’m sorry if the pacing is weird and (also x2) this is nowhere near canon

In which you have to make a deal with three devils in order to survive in The Cage.

word count: 4.8k

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Your eyelids were heavy though the bright light outside the bus was forcing you awake. Your limbs shackled to the seat, it reminded you that you had lost your freedom so quickly and that you’d probably never have a good night of sleep ever again, “How long?” Your mouth was dry, the heat from the wasteland you were driving through crept through the window.

“Twenty minutes, princess,” Officer Rumlow looked you over for the millionth time like you were fresh meat ready for the slaughter. His perceptions weren’t far off and that’s what scared you the most. You weren’t cut out for a place like the Cage.

A week ago you thought this place was fictional, a nightmare tale that was used to scare the new employees. It was still a nightmare but you were now living in it. You thought your heart might explode out of your chest as the facility finally came into view. Five stories of complete concrete surrounded by two, hundred-foot fences and surrounded by a barren wasteland.

You were the only one on the bus. The Cage rarely received new inmates due to the nature of crimes that the prison was built for. Vigilantes and government traitors. Many used to consider them heroes but they were unregulated and dangerous. That's how they ended up here and, your boss, Alexander Pierce had sold you out to save himself.

“When … W-When am I going to get my phone call?” You asked as the bus entered the gates of the prison, finally stopping at the processing center.

Rumlow chuckled, walking over to unchain your shackles from the floor of the bus, “Who are you going to call, princess? Mommy and Daddy?” He grabbed you roughly by your upper arm, pulling you out of your seat and dragging you down the steps of the bus.

You refused to accept that you had been erased. Your parents probably thought you were only missing, not that you had been wrongly accused of betraying the government and had been thrown into the most dangerous prison in the country.

“They can’t do this,” You winced as your arm stung, “No trial. No jury. T-This is illegal!”

Rumlow ignored you, and you had to pick up your pace in order to not fall down. Your eyes wandered around, the sun nearly blinding you and stinging your skin at the same time. You noticed in the distance a group of male inmates standing behind a wired fence, wearing the same navy jumpsuit as you, and even from far away, you could see cold and hungry glances.

You thought you were lucky for a minute since you were a woman but then you remembered what kind of women probably lived here. As you were brought inside, past several guards, through metal detectors and pat-downs.

When you got to the body cavity search, you expected to part way with Rumlow. Standing in a small, cold room, Rumlow stood in the doorway with his hands casually in the pockets of his pants, “Undress, inmate,” Your eyes widened and you quickly crossed your arms, “Slowly, if you don’t mind.”

“I-I do mind,” You said quickly, “I’m supposed to have a female officer-”

“You don’t get those kinds of privileges in the Cage. We don’t separate inmates by gender,” You shook your head as your eyebrows began to furrow.

“That’s insane-”

“Undress, inmate,” He said more sternly this time, “Or would you like me to do it for you? You’re lucky I don’t make you put on a show for the rest of the guards.”

You shook your head again, tears starting to form in your tired eyes, “Please don’t-” You tried to plead with him but, as you did, you watched him reach for his baton, “Okay, okay!”

Rumlow smiled a wicked smile, “Good. Bend over and cough, inmate. Let me see that cute, little ass of yours.”

When you finally got to see a female officer, she was escorting you to your cell. In your hands, you held the rest of your life which included one more set of clothes, bedding, and a toothbrush. You had to eat what the prison provided and you could only earn extra commissary from working. Hela tried to explain everything to you but you were only latching onto every other world.

You walked along a slim passageway which had cells to the right and a metal railing to the left. There were three floors of cells and they seemed to go all the way around in a circle. Passed the railing and in the middle of the dome was where it seemed most of the inmates were gathered.

The shouting, laughing, and fighting echoed through the dome and you couldn’t help but think those calls were for you. You could barely carry your bag of things and walk straight without stumbling. If they couldn’t send your weakness from your appearance then they’d surely sniff it out soon.

“This can’t be allowed,” You whispered to Officer Hela, though her dark hair mixed with the look of death in her eyes didn’t scream “empathy” to you, “There has to be some sort of rule-”

She stopped in front of an empty, six by eight-foot cell which told you that this would be your new home, “You can sit in solitary if you like,” She spoke coldly, “Your meals get brought to you and you don’t have to deal with the animals in here but there’s no time outside. It’s easy to lose track of the days and forget which voices are real and which ones are inside your head. If you prefer to go insane before you die then I’d recommend that route.”

There wasn’t much of a choice to make and you found your feet moving before your brain could register. You stepped inside the cell, setting down your things on the bottom bunk, “A girl like you is going to need to latch onto a group, pledge your allegiance, and do not let them question your loyalty. They live by a different code here and following it is life or death, do you understand?”

You slowly nodded as you listened and part of you was grateful that she wasn’t completely cold, “T-Thank you-”

She scoffed, “Such a precious little thing … I give you a week,” With that, she turned on her heel and you felt hopeless once again, “I’ll escort you to dinner-”

You shook your head, “I’m not hungry.” You were actually starving but you could not yet face the beast.

She only shrugged and pulled the door closed. The light above you flickered and you stared back down at your bunk. You were holding back your tears as you tried to make up your bed. Staring at the flimsy mattress material only made you more depressed so you decided just to lay down. Facing the wall, your tired eyes roamed over what was scribbled on the walls.

S.H.I.E.L.D. is evil.

S.H.I.E.L.D. is corrupt.

You hated that the words initially sent a wave of anger through you. You hated that you still felt loyal to that group of monsters. You were a low level worker with good standing and they had just sent you to die?

With your face tucked into your arm, you cried yourself to sleep.

The next day you had no choice but to face your fears. You couldn’t go any longer without food and, in a place like this, you needed to keep your energy up. Before the sun was even out, you heard the mechanical click of the cell door. Your favorite officer, Rumlow, made sure to stop by your cell during roll call.

“So you decided on general population,” He popped the gum he was chewing, looking you over, “I’m sad to hear it, I was gonna visit you every day in solitary but I guess we’ll get some alone time soon enough.”

You scowled at him and a shiver went through you as he continued pass your cell. You were now grateful that you had chosen general population.

That feeling didn’t last as inmates started moving from their cells down to breakfast. You stayed back, waiting to slip out of your cell when the crowd had passed. You lingered in the back of the line but no one seemed to notice you until you were in the kitchen line. The first reaction was a quiet murmur that went through the group of (mostly) men at the sight of you.

You didn’t quite match anyone's stature, not even the women. At least they looked like they could take care of themselves. You were sure that your face probably had dark circles and sunken in features. You looked down when you felt someone's eyes on you and you cringed at every word whispered about you.

“If I could just get my hands on her …”

“I wonder what a little girl like that could’ve done to get in here.”

“I’d be real gentle with her …” “I wouldn’t … I’d make her scream …”

“Move along,” Hela barked at the inmates in the line. You tried to tune them out as a staff member handed you your tray of food. A stale piece of toast, plastic-looking eggs, peaches, and what looked like could be oatmeal.

It was when you turned away that you felt a pinch on your bottom. You turned around quickly only to find yourself staring at a chest rather than a face. As you looked up, a man with long, dark black hair stared down at you, “Aren’t you adorable?”

“I said move along, inmates,” You looked towards Hela for some sort of help but didn’t receive any.

When you looked back again, the man had disappeared. You shook it off, figuring that was the least of what you were about to experience today. As you stepped out into the middle of the dome, you remembered the advice that Hela had managed to give you.

There were cliques formed at each circular, metal table and you looked each one over as you walked past them. Again, people stared and said vile things but you spotted a table where two women were sitting. They were much older than you but the look you got from them was not maternal in the least.

“Can I… sit here?” You knew the answer based on their thin-lipped scowls.

You weren’t like any of them … you were fragile. Besides that, you used to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and the organization was responsible for locking half of these people away. You kept walking, eventually finding an empty table to sit at.

All you could think about now was eating. You picked at your tray with your plastic fork, and with each bite of the food you cringed. The toast was also completely rock hard, “It helps if you dip it in water,” Your head snapped up as you felt a shadow over you before someone took a seat beside you.

You weren’t expecting someone so young and you certainly weren’t expecting a friendly smile. You stared at the handsome man with your mouth agape. You hadn’t realized what he meant until you looked back down at the bread in your hands, “Oh … I doubt anything would make this edible-”

He ran his hand through his light brown hair, before reaching into the pocket of his jumpsuit. On the table in front of you, he placed a twinkie. The entire room seemed to go quiet for a moment and you realized that everyone was watching the two of you.

“I can’t accept this …”

“Of course you can, it’s no big deal,” His brown eyes pierced into yours as he shrugged, “I’m Peter.”

The sugary, process food was calling your name but you still weren’t sure what his deal was, “T-Thank you,” Not wanting to come off rude, you accepted it, unknowingly beginning to seal your fate, “I’m … I’m-”

“Y/N Y/LN,” He finished for you which left your eyes wide with shock, “You’re already famous. The guards like to gossip and it’s rare we get new inmates so people get curious.”

“Oh,” You shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

“Don’t worry, some people in here care about your charges, how you got here, but not me,” He tried to reassure you, a smile tugging at his lips, “S.H.I.E.L.D. screwed us all and I don’t think there’s a point in playing who’s the better bad guy.”

You looked around. Now that you knew that people knew your charges and your history, you were starting to feel unsettled. The only thing keeping you grounded was him reassuring you that he didn’t care, “How long-” Your voice came out in a whisper, “How long have you been here?”

Peter took a breath as he thought for a moment, “Few years. Now I kinda forget that I was a normal teenager when this all started.”

Years. And he was a teenager when they brought him here? Did they have no limits to their cruelty?

“God,” You breathed out, overwhelmed, “I don’t think I can … do this-”

Peter reached out, placing a calm hand on your arm, “Hey, hey, you have to survive here. Whether you were meant to be here or not, you have to live like this is your reality. Looking like you’re about to vomit is not a good look to everyone else. I saw Loki over there … he’s an asshole touching you like that but it’s because he’s already sniffed you out.”

You nodded, trying to stay calm, “But I don’t know how to look … to look less weak.”

“For one, you’re going to have to start eating more and building some muscle,” You could tell by his grip on your arm that he was quite strong, “And the next time someone disrespects you, you have to stand up for yourself. You also can’t just bark like a little chihuahua. Maybe you could pick someone out, someone that you could win in a fight against.”

As Peter started to scan the room, you immediately started shaking your hand, “I can’t just attack someone,” You whisper-shouted, your eyes wide with worry.

Peter chuckled, “Not with that attitude. Maybe you could go for Heather over there,” He eyed a woman who was practically elderly, “She has a cane so even you could probably overpower though I’ve seen here use the thing as a weapon a few times-”

“Peter,” You spoke sharply, “There has to be another way.”

Peter looked into your eyes and you lost hope for a moment until he seemed to perk up, “I have some friends, we kind of run together in this place, looking out for each other,” Peter explained and you listened intently, hoping for a means of survival that didn’t require attacking an old lady, “I could probably convince them to start looking out for you too. But it won’t be easy, we take loyalty very seriously here, and it wouldn’t be without a cost to you.”

“What sort of cost?”

Peter shrugged, “Could be lots of things. They serve plums on Friday and Bucky loves those so maybe you’d show your support to the group by giving him yours. Something like that,” You followed Peter’s finger as he pointed two men out, one with dark hair and the other with light. Both were built like bodybuilders, “Steve’s a respected leader here and maybe you could help run messages for him.”

You nodded, “T-That sounds fair,” You paused for a moment as the men eyed you, “And for the twinkie? What do you want?”

“Now you’re starting to get it,” Peter grinned, “Eat it and that means you accept our claim. You’re one of us.”

“Can’t I have time to think about it?”

Peter seemed to hesitate for the first time, “I’m sure you won’t get a better offer,” Your face fell, “But sure. I’d be quick about it though. Those big, doe eyes aren’t going to work on everybody.”

The dark-haired one was following you. Loki, Peter called him, hadn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you parted ways with Peter yesterday. He and his greek god, blonde friend were now walking behind you as you made your way through the halls. They were pushing mop buckets, evidently taking a break from their cleaning duty.

You had gotten lost trying to find the hospital wing and now you were paying the consequences.

“Little bird … caged and unprotected,” He taunted you and your heartbeat quickened as you tried to keep from looking back, “Not even the guards want to save her. Poor thing.”

“It seems she’s in need of protecting, brother.”

“Protecting? If I got my hands on her, the last thing I’d think of is being gentle-”

You turned into the first room you passed, expecting to find somewhere to hide but you only seemed to encounter more people. It was the TV room, a staticy old television airing a baseball game was hanging in the corner of the room, and a bunch of men were sitting at different tables.

They all turned their heads to you as you interrupted and you immediately recognized the two men from Peter’s loyal “group”. Bucky and Steve. Your heart was out of your chest at the point and you found yourself whispering a “sorry” before turning back towards the door. Loki and his brother, however, were waiting patiently.

Loki leaned in the doorway, eyeing you like you were fresh meat.

“Is this jackass bothering you, hon?” Your eyes wide with fear, you quickly realized that it wasn’t Loki taunting you. The dark-haired man’s, you remembered Peter calling him Bucky, voice boomed through the room.

You froze.

“Don’t you have toilets to scrub, Laufeyson?” The light hair man with a thick beard spoke, and by the look on his face you could tell he was a man of power. Not so much power-hungry but someone that demanded respect and often received it.

Loki scoffed, looking over you again, “As far as I know, this one is free territory.”

“Well, this room is my territory and guess where she happens to be standing,” Loki’s jaw clenched at Steve’s words.

“C’mere, hon,” Bucky spoke to you, signaling to cross the room. She hesitated but only for a moment as you realized your choices were Peter’s friends or letting Loki, have you. You crossed the room cautiously towards them, everyone now looking at you. You paused awkwardly in front of the table but a small yelp left your lip as Bucky grabbed you by the arm, spinning you into his lap.

“See,” Steve said as you uncomfortably tried your best not to squirm, “Don’t touch things that aren’t yours, Laufeyson.”

You felt a hand clench your thigh and cringed.

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

As soon as Loki stormed away, you stood up, brushing whatever wrinkles had formed in your jumpsuit. Amused, Bucky smiled at you, “You could at least thank us,” Bucky leaned forward and you tried not to scowl.

“Thank you,” You whispered.

“Good girl,” Bucky smirked.

“Lang, get Y/N a chair,” Steve ordered another man in the room. He was quick to obey the command and, even though you were in a new place, you felt you’d been transported into an entirely new planet.

“You don’t have to-”

“Sit,” Steve said as the chair was placed beside you, “You can leave when you give us an answer to the offer Peter mentioned yesterday.”

You had thought long and hard about Peter’s offer and decided last night that you wanted to reject it. It wasn’t until now that you realized your decision was a mistake. There was no telling when you’d be getting out of this place, Peter had been here for years, and it seemed you were already a target.

You’d even heard a rumor that the guards placed bets on how long you’d survive in here.

“Yes …” You nodded your head, “That’s my answer.”

Steve's lips pulled into a small grin as he eyed his friend across the table, “Good choice, doll.”

A week later and you were still alive and relatively untouched. Bucky was quite handsy but Peter reminded you that it was just protocol. Everyone had to know that you were a part of their group and that, if you were harmed, they’d have to deal with Steve and his minions.

Like Peter said, there were quite a few sacrifices you had to make. Your new job in the kitchen allowed you to provide the group with all the food they wanted and when you weren’t working, you were running errands for Steve. You got an idea of all the inmate leaders and how they functioned as a society.

Steve seemed to be at the very top and you realized the possible consequences of crossing someone like him. Still, you felt more pampered than like you were a part of some elaborate prison gang. Most of your wishes were theirs to grant.

They let you watch whatever you wanted in the TV room. Bucky always called you pet names that you were starting to grow fond of. Steve had some pull with the guards so Rumlow was never around to bother you anymore. Peter even found you a set of paints to occupy your time in your cell. As long as you followed them around like their cute little puppy, they were quite nice to you.

“C’mon, run a lap with me. You gotta build your strength,” Peter asked you, his face sweaty and shining under the baking sun. He was shirtless, the shirtsleeves of his uniform wrapped around his waist, and his magnificent physique was on display just like Steve and Bucky’s. During rec time in the courtyard, you’d become accustomed to standing by the fence and watching them lift weights.

“I’m good, thanks,” You smiled awkwardly, “I get tired just from watching you guys.”

“Peter’s right,” Steve let out a breath as he dropped his hundred-pound dumbbell.

“I just …” Your voice trailed off as Steve eyed you with his strong gaze. You knew that what he said goes but you were growing nervous, “I don’t want to get sweaty.”

“You’re serious?” Bucky chimed in, a curious look on his face.

“Is that like a girl thing I don’t know about?” Peter flashed you an amused look and your cheeks began to heat with embarrassment.

“Y/N?” Steve could see that you were hiding something.

You crossed your arms, sighing, “I just don’t want to have to shower, okay?”

“You haven’t showered since you’ve been here?” Peter asked incredulously.

“I have!” You quickly defended yourself, “I mean, I’ve just been using the sink in my cell.”

“I see what this is about,” Bucky had a knowing look on his face, “Dollface is scared of the communal showers.”

Peter’s mouth formed the shape of an “o” as he realized what was going on. You still felt so embarrassed. It was yet another thing that made you seem totally defenseless.

“Is that true?” Steve asked and you were beginning to feel overwhelmed by their concerned gazes, “Why didn’t you tell us? Next time, one of us will keep watch for you. No one’s gonna bother you.”

Maybe it was the isolation or the fact that your life would never be the same again. Maybe it was the fact that you’d never see your family again or that you cried yourself to sleep every night. That might be the reason you felt that they genuinely cared for you and why you wanted to fully embrace the comfort that they were providing.

Maybe that was why you wanted to belong to them.

For the first time, you were reminded of your old life. You weren’t sure how long you’d lost yourself under the water, letting time get away from you, as the warm water cascaded along your skin. The showers had a sorry excuse for water pressure and, despite the creepiness of the beige tiles and flickering light above, when you closed your eyes you were in paradise.

“All clean, beautiful?” Bucky’s voice brought you out of your trance. Suddenly you were back in the square room with showerheads lining each wall. You wiped the water from your eyes before turning off the water.

“Y-Yes, I’m almost done!” You shouted back, grabbing your towel from off the hook. You pressed it to your face, drying your skin. You were quite grateful that they’d taken the extra steps to make you feel protected, “Bucky-”

As you turned around, that feeling of gratitude quickly turned to something resembling fear. He was supposed to wait for you outside the bathroom and yet, there he was, only three feet away from you.

“What are you-”

He looked over you hungrily and you pressed your towel closer to your body, “You have no idea how long it's been since I’ve been with a beautiful woman like you … Steve too. And Peter, he’s just learning the ropes.”

You took a step back, towards the wall, and as you did you caught a glimpse behind Bucky’s towering figure. Both Steve and Peter were here, stalking closer.

“You said you’d protect me…” Your voice cracked, your hands beginning to shake.

“We will,” Steve spoke, determined, “No one else but us will touch you.”

“Nothing in here is without a cost, Y/N,” Peter seemed a bit solemn like his current life was not what he wanted it to be but he was just as hungry, if not more, as Bucky.

Bucky grabbed you then, his eyes impatient, and you wrestled for your towel for only a moment before he easily snatched it away from you. A helpless squeal left your mouth as he grabbed you by the arm with one hand and placed his other hand between your legs. He grabbed your thigh tightly and as his hand moved further up, you found yourself paralyzed.

“Good girl. You’re going to take all of us,” Bucky spoke quietly, shushing you, his grip growing tighter and tighter. Before you knew it, all three of them were surrounding you, their curious hands wandering over your wet skin. Grabbing your breast, your thighs, turning your face to bite at your neck.

“Get on your knees,” Steve grunted against your ear, growing impatient like his friend.

When you didn’t move, Peter was the one to push you down onto the cold floor. You hiccuped, trying not to hyperventilate as they overwhelmed you from each side. As they all started to pull down their clothes, you made one final attempt at trying to crawl away.

Steve grabbed you by your throat, making your efforts futile, pushing your face towards his crotch. You felt it, hard and throbbing against your cheek, “Open up, don’t make this hard, doll,” Through the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky stroking his own length, waiting patiently for his turn.

Steve grabbed you by your hair next, pressing your closed lips against his tip. He forced himself in your mouth, “There you go,” Steve grunted, pushing himself deeper, “Move that tongue around.”

Steve Rogers could make your life a living hell in the Cage. Was this really the price you had to pay in order to survive here? You couldn’t imagine it being any worse than this but Steve could make that possible. That’s why you started to swirl your tongue like he said, deciding that their orgasms would end your pain.

Bucky was much rougher than Steve, pinching your nose closed and enjoying watching your eyes widen and water. He practically touched the back of your throat and still commanded you to stroke Peter and Steve’s cocks with your hands while you took him in your mouth. Somehow, you managed.

Peter was much more gentle and you were grateful for that. His hands rested softly on the back of your head, guiding your mouth slowly up and down his length, “God, this is awesome,” He cursed, his head tilting back as he enjoyed the stimulation. When he finally finished, his warmth filled your mouth and before you could spit or catch your breath, Bucky grabbed you again.

He came so far down your throat that you were forced to swallow it but, unlike him, Steve took his time, “This little mouth. Is ours. Every single hole. Is ours. No one else, do you understand?” With each sentence, he thrust hard until he filled your mouth. You leaned over, coughing as you felt the stinging of your sore throat.

You were about to collapse onto the dirty cold floor when gentle arms lifted you up into a broad chest. You found yourself not fighting, only pressing your face into Bucky’s chest as you began to sob.

Steve didn’t have to say anything more. You understand your new position and there wasn’t anyone else there to save you from that fate.

That night you learned there was a change to your cell assignment. You’d sleep in Steve’s arms, a little bird that was safe and protected in it’s cage.

hope you enjoyed!! i’m posting this instead of sleeping because I have class in this morning :)

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mypersonmyg · 4 years ago

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The Misery Chick | MYG

thank you to my favorite @kimtaehyunq for the wonderful banner, ily you talented cutie <3

pairing: Yoongi x reader

genre: fluff, a lil tiny bit of angst, college au

wc: 5.2k (issa short one)

warnings: language

summary: maybe yoongi has a fat crush on you OR he notices, that’s all

a/n: happy birthday to the one and only min yoongi! i am so so fond of him and i couldn’t not write something for him, so I hope you enjoy :D and as always feel free to send in drabble requests for the fic and blah blah blah...

honorary tag: @gukssunshine

masterlist

To wonder about the quickened stride of the beating appendage in Yoongi’s chest, would be to question the routine catch of gaze to the lone figure at the far end of the classroom, dwarfed by cuddled fabric, consumed with the rapid turn of the lengthy page. His arm rests atop the desk’s surface, supporting the chin that minutely dips with your every flicker of expression, the parting of your lips in gasp mimed by his own. His eyes are glazed under bright light, lids threatening to blink, the passage of time too fast, but oh so slow.

Yoongi’s knowledge is second hand, rumblings of your demeanor spread through the vine of dialogue that floats coincidentally through his ears to connect with the edges of his brain, chewed and regurgitated without second thought. He holds his refusal to high regard, refusal to believe that you’re nothing more than a student, disgruntled by circumstance. It’s not simple attraction that guides his mind to the eye of logic, the region of reason, though it was the peak of initial interest.

He notices, and that’s all.

He notices the round of your puffed cheeks that follows a particularly surprising piece of narrative. He notices the seat left empty between you and the wall, open but not a forced invitation, and he notices the way your posture straightens when someone grazes a hair too close. He notices the deflation of your shoulders when you’re left without pair during lessons framed with the inopportunity of interaction forced to simulate the false reality of reality itself. He notices the things others are blind to in their half squint, though the picture is still blurred like the edges of a polaroid.

The numbness of his wrist, angled by the rest of his chin, draws him from captivation despite motivation to outlast the congregation huddle before you, their fronts focused toward him, his view obscured by obligation of association. His lips form the curvature of amiability necessary for pleasantry, neck craning to the defense of blue jeans offending his locked gaze.

“Can you stop staring so hard? She’s gonna eat you alive,” Hoseok’s finger nudges at the round of Yoongi’s jaw, urging his attention completely away from his person of interest.

“Fuck off, you don’t even know her.”

“Neither do you, despite your dedication to staring holes into her side every chance you get. They don’t call her ‘the misery chick’ for nothing, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile.” The jab rubs the wrong direction, Yoongi’s hand landing with a thud to the thick of Hoseok’s skull. “Come on, it’s a joke.”

“Maybe to you, and to everyone else, but she is a person. You guys just don’t look beyond what you wanna see because then she’s more than just a good laugh.” Every utterance of the moniker draws is lips to a downward twitch, fists balling in the pocket of his hoodie or scraping at the fabric of stressed jeans. It’s knowing that if he’s heard it you have ten fold, the thought harboring the wish that he could fold you inward, close to the beat of his chest to shield from the displeasure of words half baked with stupidity and the ignorance of hilarity.

“Well not everyone wants to see her between the sheets.”

Interruption of the education saves Hoseok from the verbal spar pending within the fire engulfing Yoongi’s pupils. A place of love harbors the words of war, he knows this, knows that Hoseok’s plan is to rile to the point of action, but he’s driven to the brink of insanity by twisted words of encouragement. The kindest person on the planet playing into the stereo of broken records hurled toward the edges of your delicate framing, .

Yoongi’s hands curl around his pen, ballpoint and already dancing the page, jotting words flown from one canal to the other and back to the atmospheric toxins of brains shorting caffeine. His sleeves are suddenly burning, neck itching with the heat of nerves crawling outward from within the confines of his collar. He glances toward Hoseok staring absently at Yoongi’s decorative scrawl, raising a brow to colliding gazes.

“Is it hot?” Yoongi puckers in mumble, swiping at the skin kissing the fringe sweeping his eyeline. Hoseok’s head careens in the negative, averting gaze to the front of the room, professor droning about the coming assignment, a project that Yoongi barely catches wind of.

The plague responsible for his discomfort of familiarity is comfort enough to stop the distant tremble of shoulders keen to the stare that meets his eyes from the room’s opposing side. He jolts, or rather the calm of his heart picks back to pace, when his eyes meet irises reflective of his own. They’re gone as soon as he finds them, but he’s confident that the cool of his neck is confirmation that sanity isn’t all lost.

“Dude, could you take your notes? I’m gonna need those later,” Hoseok nudges at his forearm, limp from distraction. Yoongi hurries to scribble missed lecture, patient for a lull in speech to make room for declaration.

“She was looking at me.”

“What?”

“Y/n, she was looking at me. I saw her...I felt her.”

“Maybe she was just staring off into space because this class is a snooze-fest.” Hoseok speaks through the timing of yawn, perfectly punctuating his point. “She probably doesn’t even know you exist. Though, I guess everyone knows you exist, so maybe she just doesn’t care.”

The words aren’t false, Yoongi’s following his beyond the definition of quaint, his celebrity following him from the rush of the court to the thrill of the keys. He’s hard pressed for a moment of peace, but he often finds it here, lost in you.

“I’m serious.”

Yoongi sighs an audible defeat, Hoseok’s dropped lids and the rest of his chin atop folded arms a clear sign that his mind is beyond the classroom and beyond Yoongi’s own romantic woes. The end of the lecture appears miles from the start, the wave of dismissal a spell releasing its hold on the shackles chaining the ghoulish appearance of sleepless students.

Yoongi has worked himself to the brink of decision by the end of the lecture, sure enough that his stride to your desk will prove a build in the shy tint of his cheeks when he musters a faint ��hello’. The pan of his half thought out plan doesn’t sort as well as he hoped, the rush of legs scurrying for the door tripping him up in his rush to the chair where you patiently filed notebook to bag.

His vision is blurred by the passage of sweaters and hoodies, emblems emblazoned on sleeves and beanies sagging from the tips of bedhead. Hoseok follows after his stride in a confused wake from the desk that housed his sleepy head for the last seventy minutes, stumbling along with the drag of feet on tile.

When destination is met, your chair is neatly housed, your figure nowhere to be found, Yoongi paces back, his sizable sneaker just scuffing the metal recline of an adjacent chair.

“What are you doing?” Hoseok clutches the muscled fabric of Yoongi’s shoulder, stopping near disaster following the weighted displacement of the two.

“Nothing, let's get lunch.”

The passage of days are a haze in the midst of the craze of midterms and Yoongi’s attempt to find reason to believe your glance was more than a passing innocence. The press of his back to his mattress, sheets freshly laundered, linens, scented of the artificial makings of fresh lilac courtesy of Jeongguk, are used to his mid-day collapse for a pre-study snooze. He’s swallowed whole beneath the dense of his comforter, fingers curling into the soft material, lips emitting a sigh of satisfaction.

The buds in his ears are a dull hum, white noise to saturate the crevices of his brain still vibrating from the surge of knowledge consumed at the twice rapid pace of the semester’s schedule. His lids are aflutter, pupils rolling to the dark precipice, the unconscious already tugging at the bits of his subconscious manifested to snooze.

The muscles of his pillowy cheeks fight upward against the smush to the firm cushioning of his mattress, arms cuddled around the decorative cushion of deep blue. A pitched giggle echoes in the receptors of his brain, bouncing against the walls, a comforting sound. It’s foreign though, the melodic stutter, yet it engulfs his chest with the warmth of affection, his stomach turning with nerves of the giddy sort.

He teeters on the edge of more, features dancing between streams, a waterfall blur. Yoongi aches for the reach, his physical and metaphorical being extending from the depths of his full size bed, yearning for the exploration of the four walls and beyond. He can swear his fingers graze the soft of skin, the trace of lip curved in sensuality just visible through sleepy haze. The giggles grow in volume, almost as if guided toward his hasty reach.

“Jeongguk, shut up!” Yoongi falls forward, just catching onto the ledge of his dresser, quick reflexes doing wonders for his physical well being, but the skip in his mental and the stop of his heart are undeniable.

He's heard the voice a handful of times, an arm eagerly shooting to respond to a professor’s quarry, the hidden mumblings that he swears he’s the only one to pick up on, his smirk almost never enough to stop impending chuckle.

It’s you.

He knows, but can’t quite grasp that just beyond the barrier of belief, past the door sealed to keep from disturbance you’re somewhere laughing with Jeongguk. He listens for a moment, unmoving, to attempt a deciphering of your intentions, but laughter has turned to the inaudible mumblings from the room across the hall. He’s silent in his trek to the door, pulling it on rusted hinges, cringing with every scrape of copper and wood.

He slips down the hall on tiptoe, unsure if you’re attune to the other members of the house, but not ready to face you if Jeongguk’s door swings back to reveal the occupants of the small cubical. Yoongi makes way to the kitchen, surprised to find the rest of his roommates crowded into the sizable space, each occupied with their own endeavor of strewn textbooks and half frozen toaster strudel.

“Well well look who’s awake,” Jimin sneers playfully in Yoongi’s direction, drawing attention from the rest of the room.

“Bet I can guess why,” Taehyung snickers, glances exchanged with a conspiratorial air, the shift of Yoongi’s feet not unnoticed by his personal tormentors. “We told Jeongguk he might wanna keep it down, we know how you like your rest.”

“Jeongguk didn’t wake me,” Not the correct turn of phrase, realized just moments late, the flicker of pupils raising with the feigned ah ha! Yoongi side steps them all, settling on the sphere of orange grabbing his interest from the bowl on the table, plopping into the nearest chair.

“Oh he didn’t? Well what other reason could you possibly have to forgo your pre-study nap, hmmm?” Jin pokes at the slightly greened peel of Yoongi’s fruit, hand smacked away with haste. He withdraws to card through his hair, lengthening by the day, framing his face with more beauty than should be allowed by the ethereal senior.

“I was hungry, s’all.” He tosses scraps with each peel of fruitful flesh, eagerly sliding bits of tangerine past his puckered lips. Anything to keep his mind from the fresh dose of giggles eating at his brain like a love bitten parasite. “Who—umm, who does Jeongguk have over.”

“Oh, Kookie has a friend over? We had no idea,” Namjoon hums, glasses perched to the bridge of his nose, arms eaten by the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Maybe you recognize their voice? I mean, you’re the only one close enough to hear it.” Hoseok’s grin is shit eating, half hidden behind the length of his hand, fingers curling in position at the tip of his chin.

“Oh, oh! I think I recall him saying something about a...Y/—hmmm was it…” Taehyung fakes stumbles over the name, tips of his fingers tracing the glass of his crumbed plate.

“Y/n.” Yoongi speaks through teeth clenched, his cheeks rosy from snatched sleep and the scrutiny he’s placed himself under, the heat of a lamp concentrated in the five pairs of eyes trained on his every movement for their amusement.

“So you do know her, why don’t you go say hi?” Jin pats him with vigour, the sound of an echoed frame permeating the air of what Yoongi has affectionately titled, friendly toxicity. Those same muffled voices grow with the trek down the stairs, threatening to give way with each step. Yoongi lifts his eyes from his half eaten fruit for the first time since he sat down, daring them to say a word out of turn with a single look.

“It’s pretty quiet considering seven guys live here,” Your voice is audible from the front door, Yoongi’s grip tightening, juice spilling down the crevices of his hand, soiling his shirt sleeve, palms already sticky from the stress. “I have one roommate and, as you’ve seen, she can be loud enough for the both of us.”

“I’m just as surprised as you are actually. I know Yoongi is probably asleep,” Yoongi sinks into his chair, knowing glances threatening to drop him straight through the wooden surface. “The rest are probably out.”

“Yoongi?” Your voice strays a bit, Yoongi’s lip twitching, unsure what to think of the sudden strain in pitch.

“Yeah, do you know him?”

“Oh, um...kinda? Not really, we share a class together, but we’ve never talked. I’m pretty sure he’d think he’s too cool for me anyways. You know, ‘misery chick’ and all.” Yoongi levels a stare at Hoseok whose arms lift in readied defense, though his own face conjures frown at your words. Your attention clearly never spotting the longing with which he’s leveled you for the past few months.

“You’re not the ‘misery chick’,” Jeongguk’s voice holds firm reassurance, something Yoongi wishes he could give you, but he’s glued, too curious for the thought of impromptu interruption. “People are just jerks. Besides, Yoongi-hyung isn’t like that at all. He likes to pretend he doesn’t know how cool people think he is.”

“Guess I’ll just have to take your word for it. I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Koo.”

The door closes, Jeongguk just as soon rounding into the kitchen, tracks dead when there are six pairs of eyes trained on his figure. “Wha—have you all been here the whole time?”

He only takes pause momentarily, his stride leading to the fridge, a juice box of all things pulled from metal confines. The naked eye would never guess the soft interior of Jeongguk, his features contrasting with the boots swallowing his feet and the tattoos eating his arm, tracing his digits. But he’s the walking embodiment of the careful youth painting each man posted in the room, a piece of him nursed by a piece of them with each day passing.

“Yeah, we’re just hangin’ around, Jeonggukie.” Hoseok shrugs, ruffling the base of Jeongguk’s wild curls.

“Well you’re doing it pretty quietly, Y/n thought it was weird.”

“Are you guys dating?” Jimin’s question is thrown with abandon, eyes trained on Jeongguk with absolute focus, Yoongi sending a glare toward the silver haired fiend.

“No.” Jeongguk pays little mind to the question, too busy squeezing every last drop from the box clutched in his fist, doe eyes glistening with concentration. “We met last semester in lit and she’s really cool so we started hanging out. You guys should meet her sometime, she doesn’t have a lot of friends because of this dumb rumor that she’s ‘the misery chick’ which is ridiculous because she’s one of the nicest people I’ve met here.”

“Yeah, you can bring her over any time.” Namjoon encourages, book lowered to the table, face scrunching in mental agony when he realizes the corner of his novel is soaked with the spill of orange juice.

“She said she knows you from class Yoongi, but she doesn’t think you’d like her. I think you would though! Maybe you should try to talk to her next class.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi readily agrees, new found vigor in his speech. “Maybe…”

Over the next several weeks, Yoongi is sure that coincidence isn’t what found his stare locked to yours, Jeongguk’s overheard conversation clearly leaving your interest peaked about Yoongi who was forced to make his own gazes less frequent for fear of being caught. His first sighting after he floated the walls of his home like a ghost in haunt was next lecture.

The nerves that ate at his skin the first instance of your curious scan was turned bearable by the itching of excitement to his every nerve, skin alight with the tango of possibility traversing his very being. His attention was wayward, standing at the head of the class, scooping the pages required for lecture from the overflowing desk, a minute ‘excuse me’ cutting through the thick of his cogged brain.

“Yes?” Was his response, regurgitated dumbly despite the forming line waiting for him to budge to his waiting seat.

“Uh...could I get by...papers.” He smiles, unintentional, but the effect is the duck of your head, refusal to meet his eyes under such a heated gaze. He’s left to stare a moment longer before the snag of his sleeve, Hoseok forcing him away, calming the mob of students too impatient to momentarily still for the fruition of his romantic interest.

Lately, your exit from class seems somehow quicker than usual, the practiced haste too much for him to master, another obstacle to his formal introduction. Though it seems your professor can read the tension that hovers the expanse of the classroom, a thread itching to be linked by two lovers, one unknowing of the delicate pull she has on her soul suitor.

“Okay!” The professor stands at the front of the room, barely holding the attention of the class, barely holding Yoongi’s attention until he speaks once more. “Instead of a formal midterm, I want you all to complete a joint essay, yes you heard me correctly! I want you to pair up and write an essay on the topic of your choosing—as long as that topic is related to the course.”

Yoongi perks up, ignoring the telltale that Hoseok hopes to grab him as soon as the class is dismissed because Yoongi has a plan of his own.

“Of course I won’t force you to choose a partner, I know some of you prefer to work alone. But no more than two people to a group. Now I can see that you’re all on the edge of your seats, but I’m feeling generous today, so you’re dismissed, but your pages are due on my desk beginning of class Monday!” The final words of the professor send the class into frenzy, those who were paying attention quick to grab hold of their half and those who weren’t suddenly catching up and scrambling for someone who’ll make do.

“Hey, we’re partners, right?” Hoseok looks at Yoongi hopeful, but Yoongi already has his sights set on you, watching everyone link up, resigned to working solo.

“Nah, I’ve got another partner in mind if that’s okay with you.” Hoseok catches the drift rather quickly, wide smile forgoing slight disappointment at his loss of the sure A on his midterm.

“Go for it,” Hoseok gives a light shove forward, much appreciated by Yoongi whose heart threatens to burst from his chest, sure that the nerves are painted on his face like a slice of Van Gogh. He’s just in time, your hands shoved into your pockets, ready to leave the suffocation of a space smothered in unwelcome.

“Hey.” Yoongi can see the uncertainty, your eyes glancing to either side to ensure that he is certainly addressing you.

“Hey…”

“So, this midterm thing is kinda weird, right?” He can already see the snicker on Hoseok’s face, though his friend is posted at the door opposite him. Your own lips quirk, his only thought of coherency aimed at how cute the action is. You rock on your heels, he notes your style isn’t far off from the bones of Jeongguk, hoodie black and heavy boots ready to stomp through endless waves of the nauseating sea of university.

“Yeah...I guess it’s a little unconventional. But great for people who get test anxiety,” You humor him, hands withdrawing from jeaned confines to gesture wildly to the room void of anyone but the three remaining vessels, two of which are engaged in unlikely exchange. “Did you need something?”

“Huh?”

“Sorry! I don’t mean to be rude, but I have a class to get to and I have a thing about being late. I figure there’s a reason you’re talking to me seeing as we’ve never actually talked before…” You catch yourself in ramble, tripping over phrases whilst Yoongi watches without missing a beat.

He’s incredibly taken with the way the words flow without pretense, a nice change to the closed off demeanor people falsely associate with you. He would listen for a lifetime to the things you have to say, hopefully with the clasp of finger and longing glances. Your intent is nonsense, nerves eating away at the buds of your tongue. To him it’s a poetry specially curated, a tickle to his throat bringing forth the soft laughter that halts your speech.

“I’m sorry, you go ahead I’m just...nervous.”

“No no, don’t apologize, I like listening to you,” He coos when you smile, quick to recover before your eyes, wide and attentive find his own once more, now notably softer, safer. “I love your smile too…”

“You’re not so bad yourself…” Soft spoken and not altogether sure is the way you speak, your class long forgotten, a blip in rear view shadowed by the shining beacon before you. “So…?”

“Right, right...I was just wondering if you’d maybe wanna work together?” Despite compliments and hinted flirtation you’re taken aback by the offer, your eyes skirting Yoongi completely, raising question to the figure station by the exit. Hoseok offers you a smile you can’t help but return his thumbs raising in the affirmative.

“He’s all yours,” Hoseok assures, taking his leave prematurely, Yoongi still waiting for confirmation.

“No pressure, just thought I’d ask. I think we’d work well together,” And I wanna know you, he withholds for fear of frightening you more so than the sudden acknowledgement already has.

“Well I don’t know about that, but yeah I’d love to if you’re sure.”

“I’m positive. Wanna meet at my place after school?”

“Sounds good.” You pull your phone swiping at the screen before passing it over. “Just text me when you’re free.”

“I’ll text the address,” He knows it’s unnecessary, just taking precautions to shield from the admission of his eavesdrop the last time you occupied the residence. You wait until you’re once again clutching the spherical confines of your devices, checking and double checking that all digits are present, not unfamiliar with the harsh reality of falsehood buried beneath genuine interest.

“Oh, I actually know where you live. My friend Jeongguk is one of your roommates, so I know my way.”

“Well I’m sorry we’ve missed each other, that it took me so long to say hello.” Yoongi’s legs lead him half a step closer, an accidentally purposeful close of the gap between, your eyes avoid the bottom half of his face, focusing instead on the bill of his cap and the dark hair tickling the edges.

“Guess you’ll just have to make up for it somehow.”

“Guess I will.”

Your visits to Yoongi are routine over the next week, the laughter filling the hectic halls caused by him rather than his roommates. He’s seen more of you in a week than he could’ve hoped in a lifetime, even more confused about the way you’ve been outcast by a majority of your major. He’s awed by your lack of reaction to the judgement of peers, often citing it as a joke, sarcasm lacing the words.

It’s the day before assignment is due, you’re perched at Yoongi’s desk, he’s laying on his bed, tossing his basketball in mock free throw simultaneously with his toss of ideas while your fingers type vigorously in final draft.

This particular evening leaves you alone with Yoongi, the other members of the house trying and failing to convince you to join for their weekly outing to the nearest bar where they would no doubt drink their weight to poorly prepare for the week to come. Yoongi was swift to opt out, much preferring your company to the stench of stale beer and jokes poorly executed by Jin after he downs his fifth shot.

You were insistent that he let you handle the rest of the paper, just pages standing between you and your final product, but he’s too fond of the way your post-its decorate the shelf over his desk, different colored notes for every paragraph, the ink of your pens highlighting each point in magenta saturation. He’s obsessed with the way you hunch to close to the pages of your textbook while scolding him for getting too close to the screen of his laptop in the next breath.

He can’t help the thought of what could be, close calls and a hair’s breadth stepping between you all week. It’s the price of seven roommates and a lock loosened with the jiggle of a handle. The hesitancy that still fills your pupils despite the easy way his words lace with genuine interest.

Yoongi remembered what it was like to notice, deciding that it’s much better to experience you. The moment is delicate, your soft suggestions and argumentative replies tossed with a hint of tease lacing the bite of your tone. He doesn’t try to hide the smile that breaks the mold of his face, lips dampened by the press of gums prominent from healthy reach.

“Can I ask you a question?” He raises, your fingers slowing against the keyboard, chair swiveling to offer full attention. “Does it bother you...the whole ‘misery chick’ thing?”

He’s not sure what possesses it, but he is sure that knowing will make things easier, break a barrier that to him doesn’t exist. He knows your breath is baited, knows you’ve been waiting for the pull of the rug, so he offers a tug, a comforting teasing sort of thing to ease your mind and close the gap of misunderstanding that he could never blame you for.

“Can I ask you a question? Do you believe the whole ‘misery chick’ thing?” You counter, scooting along hardwood until your knees are pressed to his mattress, sinking into the cushioned flesh as far as it allows. Your stare is careful, not expectant of the negative or offended by the positive. “It’s okay if you do, just don’t lie about it.”

There's a sadness in your delivery and Yoongi notes it immediately. Your attempt to hide the twitch of your lip and the anxious fold of your hands in your lap don’t escape him. Your tone is even, your eyes much the same and he wonders how anyone could ever believe it, he’s grateful that he never did.

“Not for a second.” He responds almost immediately, waiting for any lingering doubt on your end. It never comes.

“Good.” Is your reply, just as even as the question itself. Your shoulders relax, posture not as stiff as before. “It does bother me, not as much as it used to, but it does. It bothers me that they don’t like that I’m not like them. I don’t mean that in the whole ‘I’m not like other girls’ way, but I’m just not Cathy college, you know? I don’t get excited about parties and drinking, I don’t need to go out all the time to have fun, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you if you do, but I don’t and because I’m not like everyone else I have to be ‘the misery chick’.

He’s sure you don’t realize it, but Yoongi see’s the build of tears in your eyes, unshed but there and it breaks him. Breaks him that something so trivial could be the defining factor of someone’s experience, that you can hide it so well at the cost of your own happiness.

“I mean, it’s college, you’d think that people have better things to do than come up with reasons to ridicule someone, but I guess I have too much faith.” You finish, glancing up to find Yoongi all ears, lips etched in frown. “Sorry, you didn’t ask for all of that.”

“People suck.” Is all he says, hand extending toward you, inviting you to join him on his island, silent but sure. You crawl the length of the mattress, your back pressing the headboard, fingers laced with his own, warm and sweaty from nerves, yours or his neither of you are sure.

“People do suck.”

“I know what’ll make you feel better.” He offers, thumb running along the jagged edges of your knuckle, skin kissing skin. You lift your head, half leaning on his shoulder so your eyes meet, a reflection of picture perfect, a record in perfect sync.

“Yeah?”

“You should go out with me.” Yoongi doesn’t expect a snort, but the response is exactly what he receives your head averting to conceal your laughter, hands shielding your face from the expanse of an ego deflated by the graze of your accidental needle. “Why are you laughing?”

“No I’m not—I just—you’ve been looking at me like I’m completely insane all semester! I didn’t think you liked me, I thought you were looking right through me...I kinda thought you were just coming to class high every day.”

“I don’t even smoke, those were not the eyes of a stoner, they were the eyes of a man who’s very fond of you.” Yoongi defends his position, his usually dormant stare now bugged to exaggeration, unavailable for serious consideration.

“My mistake, though I don’t know whether to be weirded out or completely flattered.”

“You better be so flattered that I can see hearts in your eyes because you were pretty quick to agree to be my partner for this project!” Yoongi keeps the charade, glad to lighten the tension and draw from the heaviness of the previous conversation. It’s not a chapter that’s closed, but the beginning is the build and he’s planning an entire novel with you, so he figures his time isn’t limited by the tick of a clock nearing the midnight hour.

“I heard I’ve got a sure ‘A’ and I’d be an idiot to pass that up.”

“You could get a passing grade in your sleep, you can’t fool me. But you can go on a date with me.”

“So you, cool guy Min Yoongi, want to go on a date with me, ‘the misery chick’?” You gasp, hand clutched to your chest, Yoongi’s hand catching hold and bringing it to his own, to the beat of his heart, the bass begging for a melody that only you can satisfy.

“More than anything.”

“Well when you put it that way I have no choice but to say yes, but to be clear, I’ve definitely seen you looking at Hoseok with that same look in your eyes so you might wanna sort some stuff out first—”

#bangtanuniversity #bangtanidx #suganetwork #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #yoongi x reader #myg x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi fanfic #bts fluff #bts fanfic #yoongi oneshot #bts oneshot #houseofddaeng

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time-to-cause-chaos · 4 years ago

Text

i didn’t finish my chem homework yet

Peter and MJ get kidnapped after school and Tony is a worried overprotective dad™ who just wants his kid back.

(This used to be a two-shot but since I’m re-uploading it, I thought i’d just smash both chapters together, here you go)

AO3 link WC:5,426

The first thing that Peter noticed through the harsh pounding in his skull was that he couldn’t see and there was a heavy metal weighing down his wrists. He figured those two out pretty quickly. He couldn’t see because he had a blindfold covering his eyes and his wrists were shackled to the ground, so he assumed he had been kidnapped.

Don’t get him wrong, he was freaking out, but the last few times he’d been kidnapped they weren’t that bad. Either Mr.Stark came and helped him get out- with a lot of fussing afterwards - or he got out himself. No one had figured out that he was Spiderman, which was good, it made it much easier for him to make like and get out of there without looking back on it.

His head was still dully throbbing but it was much less worse than it originally was, then the memories came crashing onto him, with another agonizing squeeze of his head.

Him and MJ were talking in the school parking lot, helping each other on the chem homework, ah shit we didn’t finish it, when those people in the cars came and...what happened after that? He racked his brain trying to remember, but no memories popped up.

Wait.. MJ, dammit

He bit his lip frowning and, achingly, reached a leg out trying to see if she was there or at least close to him. He would have called out her name but he didn’t want to alert the people that captured them, at least, not yet, he didn’t even know if anyone was even in the room with him.

His toe prodded something and he poked harder-

“Ow, Parker that’s my freaking thigh”

“Oh, heh, sorry MJ”, he said, voice cracking slightly

“Mm-hmm, so how are we going to get out of here?”

“Can you see?” he tried

“Nada”

Peter fumbled blankly for a moment, “Do you remember what happened?”

MJ didn’t respond for a couple of seconds, “You don’t?”

“Must’ve hit my head”

“Yeah, ok, so those guys came and..took us? Yeah, you weren’t waking up in the car so you probably hit your head in the parking lot, I’m pretty sure nobody saw anything so I don’t think anyone knows we’re gone”

“That's fine”, he could see- well, not really -MJ judging him

“You really need to rethink your sense of ‘fine’”

Peter would have said something but a bang shook the walls, effectively, cutting off his words.

MJ’s foot was, lightly, leaning against Peter’s knee, and his blindfold was harshly ripped off, eyelids immediately shutting back, unaccustomed to any sort of light.

Before he could even try again to see again, “Look, I want something”

“Well duh, I want to get out of high school, but at this rate it’ll never happen”, Peter snarked, thinking of all the treacherous finals they were preparing for.

He could see now and the lights were actually pretty dim, compared to the normal brightness lights usually were.

There was a man standing in the center of the room, he seemed pretty normal, if you passed him on the street, you probably wouldn’t have blinked twice. He was wearing a faded red t-shirt with a motorcycle on it and he had a light tan with brown hair, he seemed pretty young, no more than 25.

“Listen, I don’t want to hurt you, I swear on that, but I got friends in the other room who wouldn’t hesitate, so you’re going to unlock your phone and call up Tony Stark” his voice shook, and he sounded...scared.

Scared people do reckless things.

The man held up Peter’s phone in 2 fingers, and Peter turned his head to see MJ fully staring at the man(let's call him Jeff) down with a glare. Sadly, Jeff didn't even blink in her direction, because if he had he would be terrified. Peter knew that first-hand, he had been pinned with that look way too many times. MJ could be very scary when she wanted, like Natasha.

“Look, man, you know Tony Stark could track my phone before you could blink, right?” the man’s face was paused, “He’s Tony Stark” Peter emphasized.

“We have advanced hackers protecting this area, so at least for a little bit, we’ll be safe. Thanks for the concern though” his face hardened, “now call”

“Alright, fine”, he surrendered.

MJ cast him a side-glance and he gave her a nervous smile in return

“Can you uncuff me, so I can call him?”

“Sure, kid”

On cue, 3 beefy men stalked in, forming a half-circle around them. One more person walked in, a woman, muscular with her ginger hair in a ponytail.

He grimaced, he couldn’t take on everyone in such a small room, especially with MJ still chained to him, he didn’t know if he could defeat them even if they were out on a field with no one around. Those guys looked like an elephant couldn't make them budge, they were literally covering half the lights, filling his eyes.

Jeff came behind him and freed one of his wrists from the miserable cuffs, and handed him the phone.

The lady who had come in, pulled out a sea green dagger bejeweled with gems, it was beautiful but not helpful in this scenario. Don’t let it fool you, it may have looked lovely but one look at the blade would show it’s still efficient.

She knelt down next to him and gently held it against Peter’s chest, “try and cry a little, sweetheart, we want our money”

Ok, they want money.

MJ next to him tensed, “Be careful where you put that thing”

The lady, now called Cam because Peter’s brain said so, pulled another dagger out of her pocket, a purple one now equally pretty as the other- what did she collect them? -and directed this one at MJ.

“Listen, or else your girlfriend’ll get it”

“She’s not my girlfriend”, he muttered.

Peter chewed the inside of his cheek, these people were much harsher than Jeff, who was now standing towards the back of the room watching them silently with his arms folded over his chest, eyes avoiding his.

Peter couldn’t risk getting MJ hurt so he typed in the password and made a show of him raising it to his ear.

The dialed ring took 10 seconds before it clicked and Mr.Stark picked up.

“H-hey, Mr.Stark”, his throat was dry and he cleared it, trying to get the squeak out of his voice.

“Sup, kid” Mr.Stark said, “Is May home?”

“Yeah, uh Mr.Stark, I’m not really at home right now” a small whimper broke out as Cam pressed the knife’s blade into his chest, a dribble of blood ran under his shirt.

Geez, why was she pressing it so hard, he wasn’t going to teleport through the phone line and escape.

Tony paused, “Ok, I’m tracking you right now, unless you tell me what’s going on. Are you hurt? Where are you?”

MJ looped her ankle over his knee and she threw him another weak smile, probably to distract him from feeling a knife pressing into his chest. It wasn’t even cutting deep but knowing that Cam easily could, made him worry.

“No I’m good, just-”, the phone snatched out his hands before he could respond.

“Hi, Stark, hope we’re not bothering you, but we need something from you”, Cam said, setting the phone on speaker, with a bored expression

“Actually, I am quite busy, just got pulled out of a meeting for this, but I suppose I could hear you out, as long as you let the kid go”, he replied coldly, Tony already got the gist of what was happening, good.

Faintly, in the background noise coming out of the phone, Peter heard FRIDAY’s voice saying she hasn’t tracked the call yet, he only picked it up because of his advanced hearing.

He let out a low groan, leaning against the wall behind him, trying to ease his headache, and scooched a little closer to MJ.

“There’s two of them actually, we got his girlfriend holed up here too”, MJ glared at her, “You were just sent an email, Stark, follow the simple instructions and you’ll get ‘em back, and in one piece” she added with a sick grin.

“Do you know how many people have tried this trick before? Yeah you probably do, Daily Bugle usually gets to them, anyways, not one of them has worked before. How do you know yours will?”

Peter knew Tony was trying to stall so he could track the call, but Cam caught on, “Nice try, see you later, Iron Man, and try to remember who we’ve got over here, okay? For their sake”

She ended the call, cutting off Mr.Starks protests, knelt down next to Peter and squinted, “So kid, why are you so special to Tony Stark? What’re you his secret love child?”

“I’m just an intern”, Peter replied, his headache had decreased just enough to where he could ignore it, and now that the dagger wasn’t cutting into his skin anymore, he could finally breathe without worrying a blade was about to stab him.

“You’re lying”, she says with an air of finality, standing up, “but that's fine so long as we get our money” she shrugs

“Your daddy’s got 4 hours to do what we sent him or else your brain’s gonna go ka-plooey” she mimics getting shot in the head, twirling on her feet, as an extra, the big guys in the back each pulled out a gun which Peter and MJ shrink back at.

MJ had been quiet this whole time save for the occasional remarks and with a start he realized that she was scared.

It wasn’t too visible but her fingers were having a silent tap-dance on the floor next to her and she was biting down on her lip, and then there was the occasional shine of tears in her eyes that quickly diminished immediately after appearing.

Peter wanted to slap himself, she’s MJ, yes, but she’s never been kidnapped and threatened to be killed before, and to top it all off, her life is depending on a billionaire who has to pay up. Of course, she’s going to be scared.

One of the big guys came and reattached the cuff, blocking MJ from his view for a few seconds, before everyone, even Jeff, walked out.

She looked at the floor, and only after the door to the room slammed shut again, did she look back up at him.

“MJ, I’m so sorry I got you into this mess, but we can get out, we’ll find a way and maybe Tony got the location and is already on his way”, his eyesight got blurry, MJ shouldn’t be here, she could get hurt and that couldn’t happen. MJ knows the basics, throwing a punch, kicking someone in their stomach, but that wouldn’t help against a stupid gun.

She breathed in, “Yeah, I know we’ll be okay, it's still scary though, don’t look at me like that, dork. It’s not your fault, and I’ll be fine just give me a second”

She closes her eyes sucking in deep breaths and Peter is unconsciously doing the same, taking in air that wasn’t there before, forcing his tense muscles to relax. They both sigh melting against the wall.

“Mr.Stark is gonna get us out of this”

“You sure?” MJ asks, 2 hours later.

“Ok, well I’ve tried to break the chains, they’re not budging”, Peter answers

The past 2 hours, MJ and Peter had been joking around and laughing, almost as if they were back in the school cafeteria with Ned, snorting their eyes out over a stupid joke that was way too old to be funny at that point, and not in a dingy, dreary room, kidnapped, and out for ransom.

Still, it was easier to put on a front then, now they had around 2 hours left based on MJ’s mystical time-guessing. Now the deadline was much closer and with their kidnappers out of sight for so long- they hadn’t reappeared after they left with Peter’s phone - anxiety was building up and it was getting harder to joke and act like they were fine, you could their smiles being forced to show and a small sheen of sweat breaking out on either of their foreheads.

Now they sat in silence waiting, Peter tried a couple more times to break through the chains or get out of them but each time they just chafed his wrists a little bit more, and MJ forced him to stop before he hurt himself more.

MJ found her eyes starting to slip closed, and she shook her head a little bit to try and clear the mindless fuzz out of her head. Peter next to her didn’t look far from passing out too, it should have only been 5 in the afternoon about now, though they both seemed ready to zonk out of the world for the next 12 hours.

Peter was more unconscious than conscious when the door slammed open, Peter yelped at the harsh bang and jerked up. He felt exactly like he had just woken up from an afternoon nap and he had no idea where he was. MJ was also up and looking around like she couldn’t believe where she was.

“Ah shit, that wasn’t a dream”, she groaned

The only people who came in this time, though, were Jeff, Cam, and one of their meaty bodyguards.

Peter was still blinking ripples out of his eyes as he watched Cam come closer to them.

“Call Stark again”, she shoved, his phone into his face, and he took it nearly dropping it out of his fingers

He huffed but called, he was doing it mostly for himself though. He wanted to hear his mentor’s voice talking, it always seemed like Tony’s words calmed him down, and he wasn’t complaining, hearing Tony Stark talk about something dumb one of his rich ‘friends’ did at a banquet was always perfect after a nightmare. At this point, he would settle for anyone’s voice; Steve, Thor, Nat, May, Pepper, Bruce, Bucky, Sam, Rhodey, literally anyone.

If you had told a 13 year-old Peter, who had just lost his uncle and felt 100% guilty for it, that in a little over a year he’d have half the Avengers as his own little makeshift family and Tony Stark as an almost-dad, he’d have called the cops on you, but here Peter was now having a whole home in the Avengers.

He also called without protesting because as much as he wanted to listen to Tony's voice, he also wanted to know what in the world Tony was doing, because Peter wanted him and MJ out of there yesterday.

Tony picked up the first ring and Jeff stepped up this time to speak into the phone, “Where’s the money, Stark?” he hissed

“It’s only hour 2 and you gave me 4 hours, time’s not up yet”, despite his cool exterior, Peter could imagine Tony right now, sweating with anxiety, voice trembling when he fails to catch and correct it, getting frustrated because FRIDAY couldn’t get a location yet, and Peter really wants to get out of here geez.

He wants to get out of here because MJ’s here too and she could get injured and because he still has a lot of homework that’s due tomorrow and it’s really hot in here, and he’s tired because his head is pounding-

“If you wanted these kids you would've transferred the money a long time ago” Jeff spoke

“Fine, I’ll transfer it now-” Cam smirks, hearing Tony agree, “only if you let me talk to them first, give me two minutes with them and you’ll have your money then I can get them both back”

Cam frowns, “no” she says bluntly, as if she’d let him gain the upper hand in this situation

“Then my money is staying my money”

“Jessie-”

So that’s her real name.

“-give him two minutes, and we’ll get our money” Jeff said, trying to persuade her.

They had a silent conversation, staring each other down with their eyes, and Peter noticed they looked really similar, their eyes were each an emerald green and they had the same high cheekbones sculpting their face.

They’re siblings, he realized.

Jeff didn’t look like he wanted to be there at all, in fact, he looked sick of all this, so Peter assumed his sister was forcing him to be there to get some cash.

“Jess! Please! Let’s just get this over with”, he pleaded again.

Her eyes flashed and Peter felt compelled to scooch farther away from her out of instinct.

“Fine! This isn’t working, get out of here!”, spittle flew from her mouth and Peter had seen a fair share of crazy, broken people during his time as a vigilante. She didn’t look so good at all, she actually looked pretty close to ripping her hair out and stomping the hell out of there.

He could tell MJ could sense that too, casting him a concerned look and gesturing her head towards the woman.

Jeff - Peter wanted to know his real name now that he knew the sister’s - looked lost and he raised his hands, weakly, in a plea, “Jess, this was never supposed to go this far” his face broke down, and he was full-on crying now.

Peter felt close to crying too, he absolutely despised when people were forced to do something against their will, and by his sister too. That must feel awful for him.

MJ tried to reach out, but her fingers barely brushed his shoulder until the chains stopped her.

“Peter, please breathe” she whispered

He gasped, face unbearably hot, and the image of Tony popped up in his head-

“You gotta breathe, kiddo, you know oxygen, yeah that, you need that unless you want to pass out”, Tony knelt down next to him on the lab floor, “Can you tell me 5 things you see?...”

His breathing slowed down gradually, Tony helped me calm down from a panic attack, he thought, hazily.

MJ bit her lip, “You okay?”, Peter couldn’t feel anything at the moment but he gave her a small ‘mm-hmm’ from the back of his throat, chest aching.

He realized MJ was still staring at him, and he tilted his head just enough to look at her, “What?”

“You’re pale, how’s your head?”, he shrugged in response

The two siblings were still fighting and he couldn’t hear what Tony was saying through all of their yelling, he strained his ears, and right before, Jess caught on and hung up, he heard Natasha yell through everything else, “держись, детка” (hold on, kiddo)

He managed a smile, and looked to MJ, “They’re coming”

The after-effect of all the fighting had the buff guy with them in the room leave - presumably to get out of there - and had Jess pointing a gun at both Peter and MJ’s heads.

“We’ll kill them and get out of here” she spoke, Jeff was frozen watching her, hands frozen in outreach as if to stop her.

She glared, teeth bared, and aimed one gun in each hand, Peter wanted so badly to grab MJ but he couldn’t, he steeled his face and tried to give a reassuring look to her, but the realization that they were actually about to die was looming over them.

Peter strained to hear the sound of familiar repulsors but they didn’t come.

His eyes pressed shut and he heard the safety of the gun click off-

“Wait!” he yelled, “Let MJ go, please!” Jessie, looked him up and down, “please”

MJ was ogling her eyes at him, “Peter, I swear-”

“Stop, just stop, both of you are dying”

Peter heard the gun go off, yes, but he also saw Jeff lunge at his sister knocking her and the gun down.

Coincidentally, it hit Peter’s chains against the wall, causing the socket it was in to pop out. He yanked off the other one with his now free hand so that he could move his arms freely with only the weight of the chains hindering his movements.

He lunged for the gun on the floor and kicked it to the corner of the room, getting it out arm’s reach from either of the siblings.

“Ryan! Get the fuck off of me!”, Jessie yelled

As Peter pried MJ’s hands out of the cuffs, his brain started auto-correcting Jeff to Ryan.

Got it.

Ryan was a twig, which wasn’t a bad thing necessarily, but it made it much easier for Jessie to throw him across the room.

Peter had heard first-hand stories of Ned and MJ fighting with their siblings but this seemed a little extreme.

He threw a punch at Jessie as she ran at him, pushing MJ to get her out of the way.

They went back and forth one kick to his shin, an elbow to her stomach, and Peter had her in a good spot, ready to flip her to the ground but he’d underestimated her. She jumped up, kicking Peter hard on his chest. He coughed and - how the hell did she get the gun? - slammed his head with the butt of the gun, causing him to scream from the pressure on his head.

“M-MJ” he managed, trying to get her attention from where she was preparing to knock Jessie’s head to the wall, “Tony” he whispered, as repulsors came firing into Peter’s ears, he had never appreciated the sound more.

Her face turned solemn and she ran back out of the room, nodding her head, Peter smiled, she got it.

Out of the side of his eye he could see Ryan struggling to lift himself off the floor, and Peter’s eyes fluttered as Jessie slammed him against the wall holding him up against the wall, stretching the small cut on his chest.

Throwing him over her shoulder and walking out the door, Peter agonizingly watched as the hallway they were walking through blurred through his vision.

Exiting the building, Peter saw the sun setting colorizing the sky with purple and orange.

She grabbed him and manhandled (or technically, womanhandled) him to his knees, pressing the barrel of the gun to his head.

“Stop!”, he heard Tony yell.

Oh, Tony, yay

Natasha was posed next to Tony keeping a sharp eye that she softened the slightest bit for him to see. Next to her was MJ, a little farther back, but still holding a knife pointing towards them.

“How about no, Stark”

Ryan ran out from behind Peter yelling for his sister to stop, Peter sluggishly blinked trying to focus the double-visioned image blurring into his eyelids.

“Kid! Focus on me”, Tony yelled

He could do that.

Tony’s voice was easy to pinpoint and he zeroed in on him, taking in the hot-rod red of the Iron Man suit.

“Mr.Stark, I didn’t finish my chem homework” he called, earning another harsh stab of the gun into his head.

“Yeah, buddy, we’ll get to it”, Mr.Stark probably thought he was delirious, who knows, maybe he was, he wouldn’t know.

Peter remembered reading stories about loved one’s dying, they’d plead and yell, and the descriptions would say time seemed to slow down but for Peter it sped up.

“Say bye-bye”, Jessie smirked

“NO!”

“Stop!”

“PETER!”

Peter also remembered watching a video where it said if you don’t hear the bang of the gun going off, it’s because it hit you and you’re either dying or dead.

But Peter heard it, Peter heard it as clear as he’d hear music blasting in his crummy old earbuds.

Tony wasn’t busy, he never really was anyways. Sure there were board meetings and the occasional meet-ups for SHIELD, but being the Tony Stark had its perks, meaning it was pretty easy to get out of things unless Pepper was after him for a signature or conference( he’d been able to slip out of some of those too though, so hah!).

The point is, Tony basically was able to do whatever he wanted all day which, when his mind was zooming through ideas faster than a car on a race track, was helpful and somewhat enjoyable with new theories pumping through his veins and having FRIDAY take notes of the gibberish he spewed out for later.

Some days though, the days when that zooming car kept stuttering and stopping, was pure agony, because there was so much he could be doing - there always was - but he couldn’t get them done because his head wouldn’t cooperate with him and it felt he was ripping up, inside and out.

Today was not one of the latter days, he was going at a steady pace in his lab, the oil smudged across his arms and the music moving him as he bopped his head to the beat. Grinning, he finished the last part of the specs and pulled out some small spare pieces for a prototype. This was just a random idea he’d had in a dream and it wouldn’t amount to anything too special but it was pretty fun and he had an abundance of ideas on how to advance it further.

Then Pepper came, which he knew was coming because he’s been skipping way too many meetings lately and he could only hold out for so long.

The meeting was boring, as expected, and it seemed to be dragging on forever. He wasn’t even paying attention at this point so when Peter called, he was glad he had an excuse as he quickly turned to Pepper and showed her the ringing phone before running out of there. Those fancy-schmancy business people could think anything they wanted about him, he’d never cared anyways.

The thing was, when he picked up he was ready to hear the kid’s ramblings of what happened at school or some weird fact Ned told him that would make Tony regret picking up.

What he wasn’t expecting was Peter’s words to be shaking and someone else speaking into the phone, cutting Peter off mid-sentence and thank god for FRIDAY who had alerted him, she was already trying to track the signal.

She didn’t get in time though and he almost yelled when the call ended with nothing solved.

He went up to the living room where Nat was upside down on the couch watching some cheesy sitcom (it was a spectacle when he found out the great Black Widow watches sitcoms but she’d threatened him to stay quiet about it. She had weird ways to love them.)

“Tasha?”

“Mm-hmm” , she asked, biting into a strawberry distractedly.

“I’m pretty sure Peter got himself kidnapped”

She’s up in less than a second already stalking towards him. Her face is passive but you can tell she’s worried.

“Of course he did, why wouldn’t he have?” Nat murmurs, “Do you have a location yet?”

“I didn’t get it in time but Friday’s still trying and I’m pretty MJ’s with them”

She nods, “Have you called Ned yet?”

“Yeah, he said that went out to the parking lot to go home and he hadn’t seen them after that.”

“What about May?” she prods.

“I tried her, she said she wasn’t worried since he usually stays out at school after hours and Ned checked the parking lot and said he found their backpacks there but that doesn’t really help with anything”

“What’s the plan then?”

“They sent me an email, it’s instructions to deposit money into an account”, he grimaces.

“You know if you hand in the money, you’re going to get in trouble”, she glances at the clock.

“I know, it’s just a last resort. He’s been in situations like this before, hopefully he won’t get into too much trouble.”

Nat raises an eyebrow, “Are we talking about the same Peter?”

Tony winces.

2 hours later, Friday still hasn’t got a location and they got a second call.

He just needed a few more minutes and they’d have a location, Friday was already so close to cracking it.

The call ended just as Nat yelled something in Russian to Peter and just as Friday, claimed she found the place.

Oh thank god

The last time Peter was kidnapped it had been max, 45 minutes and the first time had been around a little less than an hour. This time it had been over 2 hours and he knew that lady hadn’t been joking when she’d set a deadline. Right before they’d hung up, she seemed angry and Tony didn’t like to jump to conclusions but she didn’t seem too merciful or lenient.

“Let’s go,” he said, face hardening.

They were just a few minutes too late. Who knows, maybe even 30 seconds would have been enough.

Peter had still gotten shot though.

His blast had messed up her aim and thank heavens for that because otherwise it would have shot his head.

Instead, the bullet went sideways, stopping just hitting his collarbone.

There was still blood though, and plenty of it at that. It had run red underneath his nails, staining them and despite their protesting, MJ had been right next to him the entire way drenching the front of her shirt with red.

Peter had passed out along the way, which was a small mercy in itself. Helen had gotten the bullet out without too much difficulty. She’d huffed a small laugh afterwards, exasperatedly, saying if it was even a centimeter lower it would have hit his organs, a part of his collarbone was still shattered a little which they’d done a small surgery for before the shards could hit any of his blood vessels or arteries.

He’d also had a pretty bad concussion which Helen had said shouldn’t have done too much permanent damage, he’d just have to be monitored closely for the next day or two.

She’d practically begged him to stop bringing broken teenage spider-boys to her, and Tony would’ve loved it if he could promise her that, but considering his life and Peter, he didn’t think he could hold out on it for too long.

Peter slept for almost 7 hours before he woke up, throwing out his arm and letting out a small gasp when he felt the bone ache.

Luckily, Tony was still wide-awake at that point and gently grabbed his wrist, putting it back on his side before he could rip his stitches.

“T’ny?” Peter asked, struggling to lift his eyes.

“It’s me, kid” he says, placing a hand on Peter’s head.

Peter blinks his eyes open and glances around, before settling on him again, “,‘s MJ o-kay?”

“She’s fine, asleep”, Tony sighs, “You should probably get some more sleep too, bud. You lost a lot of blood.”

‘I will if you will”

“Oh you’re evil” Tony groans, “Fine then, scoot over”

Peter manages to move one leg a smidge over and Tony laughs, pushing him to the side as he settles in next to Peter, pulling him close to his side and pressing a kiss on his forehead.

“Did you get the guys who got us?” Peter asks.

“Yeah” Tony tightens his grip, “We got them all”

“You know the lanky guy who looks like he just came out of a noodle machine?”

“Weird way of describing him but yes” Tony looks at him.

“Just,” Peter sighs, “Can they cut him some slack, he didn’t mean to do anything. His sister was making him do it, he shouldn’t be held just as responsible as her.”

“He was still a part of it, Pete”, Tony tries.

“I know, I know, but it wasn’t his fault, he didn’t want to,” Peter insists.

“I’ll see what I can do for him, kid” he settles.

Peter hums in agreement already shutting his eyes.

“You know, you better not be doing this again anytime soon, you managed to scare Tasha”, Tony says.

“Don’t worry I wouldn’t want to anyway, it sucked. I rate it 0/10, definitely would not recommend”.

Tony chuckles just as Natasha walks in, “I heard you guys talking about me” she observes, smirking.

She sits, pulling up a chair next to the bed and putting her feet on top of theirs from her seat.

“But seriously, don’t do it again”, Nat warns.

Peter smiles, hiding his face in Tony’s shirt. He falls asleep to Tony’s fingers running soothingly through his hair and the comfortable weight of Tasha’s legs on top of his.

#moira writes #my fics #marvel #avengers #spiderman #ironman #peter parker #tony stark #natasha romanoff #MJ #michelle jones #fanfiction #ao3 #kidnapping #irondad #irondad fics #irondad and spiderson #jdbejbc

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chaseatinydream · 4 years ago

Text

pirate king (49) || atz

You’re sitting in the rigging, the wind whipping at your hair as you watch the island of Grand Iguana come into view. As per your captain’s orders the day before, the Treasure is sailing to the closest possible town to get herbs for San to make an antidote with, an island just off the coast of Hispaniola.

Your eyes see, but aren’t really focused on the sight before you.

You raise your fingers to your lips absentmindedly. They’re smooth and warm, a little chapped, but not cracked or bleeding. But even though there’s no reason for it, you can still taste the phantom metallic tang of blood in your mouth, warm and coppery, lingering in the back of your mind like a nightmare unforgotten.

You don’t know what to think.

What is happening to you?

Those nosebleeds since you’d healed Yeosang… they had all been warning signs of something bigger to come. You wish desperately that you hadn’t ignored them back then, but it seems as if it is too late to regret things now. There so many questions swirling in your mind, erasing every other thought from you as you frantically ponder each and every one all at once, but eventually they stumble to a dead end and you never find an answer to any of them.

But one stands out above all the others.

What does this mean for you?

You’re afraid. Very, very afraid of what might come to pass. Terrified beyond the point of your imagination. Petrified in fear-

“Chin Hae?”

You whip around in shock at the sudden voice, nearly falling from the ropes in your haste and panic shoots through you for a second. To your fortune, a warm hand catches yours firmly, pulling you back up onto the yardarm, the sound of chains jangling in your ears.

“Thanks, Wooyoung-oppa.” You gasp as your back collides with the wood of the mainmast, your eyes meeting a familiar green gaze. But on his face, where there is usually a wide, boxy grin that brings out and complements his vibrant, emerald eyes, his mouth is instead pulled in a tight line, his gaze dull and weary.

Wooyoung still attempts a smile for you as he takes a seat next to you, however it comes out more as a forced grimace that doesn’t comfort you in the least. He must be worried for Yunho, it’s as obvious as the sun in the sky from the skittish way he swings his legs to the furrow in his brow. It’s been less than a week since Yunho has been poisoned, but the impact on the Treasure and its crew is apparent, the main deck that is usually clamouring with noise and activity unnaturally subdued without their resident mood maker there to spice things up for them.

You’ve never really considered why the battlemaster’s nickname onboard the ship is ‘Yunhogizer’... but now that you think about it, it’s clear to you. He might not have a prominent role on the ship except in times of battle, but Yunho truly is like a big brother to everyone on the Treasure… an irreplaceable part of the ship itself.

A lump rises in your throat. You miss him.

Back when you had first learned the ropes, Wooyoung had sat on your right, Yunho on the left, with you sandwiched in between them to prevent you from falling. But now the yardarm feels too big, too spacious, an empty spot at your side where the lookout should be sitting.

Yunho is already conscious but San has confined him to bedrest, telling him that moving around will simply make the poison spread faster. To your surprise, Yunho had been surprisingly compliant, not arguing in the least and simply letting you and San tend to him quietly. You’re worried, but you don’t know what yo say to him.

“Have you been to Grand Iguana before, oppa?” You ask, watching the blue of the sea gradually change from a deep azure to cerulean, shoals of bright, colorful fish darting about the ship’s hull in curiosity. Wooyoung’s hand slips into yours instinctively, like it’s the place it belongs.

“Yeah.” He smiles weakly at you, fingers closing tight around yours. They’re trembling, just a little. Just as terrified as you are for Yunho’s life, even as he tries to keep his voice light. “Not a lot of pretty ladies here.”

You elbow him in the side but it lacks any real strength behind it, silently squeezing his hand back, both trying to reassure him and comfort yourself at the same time. “It’s not nice to say that in front of me.” You say with what you intended to be a humorous laugh, but it comes out more of a nervous, flighty chuckle.

To your surprise, Wooyoung’s face becomes deathly serious, turning to face you, grasping both of your hands tightly in his larger ones. The shackles on his wrists clink and your eyes are immediately drawn to his, earnest and sober, as they bore into yours quietly. For a moment, you see him searching your expression for something that you’re not quite sure of, but before you can ask him what he’s doing, he merely sighs to himself and bows over your joined hands.

Confused, you don’t move, simply staring at Wooyoung as he leans forward. You feel warm breath touching your hands, stuttering out over your skin slowly, hesitantly, like he’s afraid you might push him away, before his lips brush your fingers with a gentle touch.

You freeze, eyes widening as you take in the head of purple hair before you. Wooyoung straightens up, meeting your eyes straight on with some solemn, unreadable gaze that sends inexplicable shivers up your spine, an entire ocean of emotions hidden behind a dam that is on the verge of shattering under their weight. Inhaling deeply, he takes a moment to steady sort out his thoughts before he begins to speak.

“I…”

But it never finishes.

There’s a long moment as Wooyoung suddenly falters, the words trailing off his tongue as he stares at you, green eyes widening. Then something creeps into the iridescent emerald hue, something you would go as far as to describe as fear, his hand going slack in yours.

You frown, waiting for him to continue speaking.

Instead, the head gunner simply stills, chewing on his lower lip hesitantly, before he suddenly sets your hands back in your lap, abruptly turning to watch the island before you once more. You’re so utterly confused by his behaviour, your mouth opening to ask him exactly what he was about to tell you, but then you hear Mingi calling for both of you to assemble at the main deck before the question can even leave your lips.

Wooyoung rises to his feet, pulling you with him even as the quartermaster waves the two of you down from the main deck. Your curiosity hasn’t been satiated in the least, so you tug on Wooyoung’s arm before he can descend the mast, stopping him in his tracks with a befuddled expression on your face.

“Wooyoung-oppa, what is it?”

“I…” For a second, Wooyoung actually stumbles over his words, his silver tongue failing him for the first time you’ve seen it as he stares at you haplessly, a conflicted gaze in his eyes, his fingers tightening around yours unconsciously. They’re a little clammy, and to your shock, you see an expression you’ve only seen one other time on his face, when you had been shot in Nassau.

Actual, honest to god panic.

He suddenly seems to realise that his hand is still in yours, because he drops it as fast as he can, as if it’s aflame. You try not to look as shocked as you feel, because not once in your life has Wooyoung rejected your touch, but you’re sure hurt and confusion flashes across your face before you can stop them.

Wooyoung, as perceptive as always, notices immediately and makes to explain himself, before he thinks the better of it and falls silent once more, jaw working furiously under your gaze. You’re so utterly bewildered by what has just happened, did Wooyoung just… kiss your fingers before pulling away? There seemed to be so much weight, so much meaning to what he’d just done, but you just don’t understand what it is.

What had just happened?

Wooyoung smiles at you but it’s clearly forced, dry and brittle, his gaze not meeting yours even when you try to catch his eye. Confusion and fear about what has just happened to one of your best friends outweighs your self consciousness, and you reach out to take his hand, forcing him to stay by your side.

“Oppa, what is it?”

But Wooyoung flinches away as if burned, blinking furiously as you stare at him, your hand still hanging in the empty space between the two of you. The head gunner realises what he’s just done, his expression turning apologetic, but then he falters once more, his own hand falling to the side as he stares back at you helplessly.

“Chin Hae, Wooyoung, hurry up!”

“Wooyoung,” you breathe cautiously, as if being too loud will scare him away. “Why exactly are you-”

“We should get going.” He dodges your question, turning towards the mast so that you can’t see his expression any longer. Something in you feels lost, hurt, betrayed even. What exactly is Wooyoung hiding from you, and why?

But before you can force him to give you an honest answer, Wooyoung has already leapt down the ropes to the main deck, leaving you behind on the main mast. A sort of confounded anger rises in you, but you force it back down, remembering your past experiences with Yeosang. No. Maybe Wooyoung is just having a bad time. He’s just worried about Yunho. Nothing more, nothing less.

You take a few deep breath to calm yourself. This isn’t the time to be thinking of such things. You need to focus on saving Yunho.

After you take a moment yourself to get your emotions under control, you join the rest of the crew on the main deck, stepping up to your master’s side. The deck has started rocking a little more underneath your feet, indicating that the crew have already lowered anchor and the ship has stopped sailing towards the island, merely bobbing on the waves.

You glance over the side, gasping in surprise at seeing the seabed just beneath the waves, all sorts of colourful corals and fish under the surface. Far off in the distance, there is a tiny cove in the side of the island, just out of sight, but your eyes are immediately drawn to it. A fond memory surfaces in your mind, you remember how you had encountered the Kraken on board the Treasure at the very beginning of your journey, hearing its voice in your mind and saving the crew. In a way, if that sea monster hadn’t chased the ship, Hongjoong may not have started trusting in you, and you wouldn’t be where you were today.

There’s a familiar click of boots and you turn around to see your captain stepping out of his cabin, red jacket around his shoulders. He’s still holding himself straight, emerald green gaze hard and determined, but there’s a weary slant to his shoulders, barely noticeable dark circles under his eyes that reveal just how exhausted he’s been for the last few days.

You’re worried for him.

Everyone on board had suffered from Yunho’s attack, no doubt worried beyond comparison for their cheerful crew mate, but for your captain, it seems to be something running deeper beyond what you can see, a storm of emotion swirling behind his one eye.

There are six people gathered on the deck including you and your captain, San, Mingi, Jongho and Wooyoung. You don’t know why exactly your captain has called all of you here, but it’s probably something to do with getting herbs for an antidote from Grand Iguana… you’re just not sure why there are so few of you gathered.

“San, I want you and Chin Hae to go into town and get the herbs you need. And make it fast, I have a bad feeling about something in the waters.” Your captain goes straight into instructions, shaving off the usual banter he begins with when giving orders. Your heart sinks at his words. What does he mean by he has a bad feeling?

“A bad feeling?” The young battlemaster echoes your thoughts, frowning at his captain as his fingers dance unconsciously over the handle of his cutlass. Hongjoong doesn’t bother trying to reassure any of you in the least, and with that you understand the severity of the situation.

“Seonghwa will remain on board and tend to Yunho because he doesn’t know the herbs you’ll need as well as you and Chin Hae will.” There’s no room for argument in your captain’s voice and all you can do is nod obediently. “I’ll be sending you with Jongho and Wooyoung to protect you while you’re there, I can’t have anything happening to either of you, especially not now. Jongho and Wooyoung, the two of you protect them with your lives, you understand?”

“Yes, captain.”

Nodding, your captain turns to glance at the two of you once more. “San, you go with Jongho. Wooyoung, you-”

“I’ll go with San.”

Wooyoung’s words cut across his captain’s faster than a loaded cannon.

Your eyes dart up to Wooyoung in shock and hurt. You know that something strange had happened up there on the yardarm, what exactly it was, you didn’t know, but Wooyoung isn’t meeting your eyes, instead glancing to the side. You see San’s brows furrow slightly in confusion, but your captain is too focused on the task at hand to sort this problem out now.

“Jongho with Chin Hae then. San and Wooyoung. We’ll cover more ground that way.” Your captain beckons the four of you to the little rowboat, Mingi passing over a bag of coins. “I wish you all the best.”

Even as the rowboat pulls away from the Treasure, Jongho and Wooyoung pulling at the oars, you feel a sinking feeling in your chest.

And you’re not sure why anymore.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

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nukyster-blog · 4 years ago

Text

CC Chapter 33) Of Mice And Men

.-.-.

Out of troubles and pain will emerge strength and triumph, that was what kept Ivar from devolving back into the Bloody Bear of Kattegat. The Giant hadn’t bothered to unshackle him due to his poor state and a few days had passed, of which he’d spent mostly in solitude. Stubborn solitude, because Piglet did her best to strike up a conversation:

“Ivar I’m-” Piglet started, but Ivar cut her off.

“Do not say you’re sorry. You despised her!” Ivar snapped, rediscovering his voice and his temper, “you hated her!”

Piglet pursed her lips and kept them firmly shut, the look upon his face frightened her. She must have noticed the change within him, too. The Djinn or Wrath had been pushing him to his limits. His physical limits, too, because every damn day that he was shackled like an animal, Ivar used to regain his strength. Carrying his lower body across his box, over and over. There was something empowering about those repetitive actions; it was mind over body, because his body ached due to the recent beating.

“I want more food,” Ivar demanded after the Giant locked the door for the night.

“I want golden slippers and a dress made of silk,” Piglet answered matter-of-factly, while knitting a new scarf, “but we don’t get what we want.”

Her reaction made Ivar shut his mouth for the rest of the evening, deciding he needed to lower his standards in order to regain more strength and muscle. He’d never been a very picky eater and desperate times called for desperate measures.

After dusk settled and Piglet curled up beside him, Ivar kept his eyes open and his knife raised above his head. Uttstot’s interested cawing echoed as Ivar held his breath and pricked up his ears.

Soft squeaks slowly erupted from the floorboards, during the night it was mice that ruled the shed. Fast, scurrying little bastards; always curious and eager to find crumbs of food.

Ivar remained motionless, supporting his weight on his elbow, careful not to make a sound. Until a very brave mouse came too close and signed it’s own death warrant.

Ivar’s knife met with flesh; tiny limbs spasmed for the last time. He pulled the mouse off the blade, careful not to tear the small thing up.

Ivar was used to skinning rabbits; but mice turned out to be a challenge. It required special skill to slice the fur and organs from such a small body. He made a mess and decided that the kill was so meager, he’d also have to eat the organs, too.

If he had to describe the taste, he’d have to go with quite pungent and gamey. But the taste wasn’t bad enough to make him gag. Besides, Ivar never had any aversion to the taste of blood.

Tearing meat from a tiny hipbone, Ivar failed to pick up on the sound of keys stealthily twisting into the lock of the shed, before a shadow of a monster lurked inside.

While chewing on vermin meat, Ivar locked eyes with Ludolf who froze in the doorway.

Candlelight illuminated his face, which immediately fell when the young ruler lay eyes on the cripple slave. It must be a peculiar sight, seeing another human’s mouth covered in blood, ripping the bones and intestines from a mouse.

It was enough for Ludolf to snatch a handkerchief out of his pocket and press it in front of his mouth, muffling a squeamish gag noise.

The disconcerted whimper that followed from those lopsided lips was enough for Ivar’s ego to rise and stand taller than the Giant.

He ripped off the tiny head of the rodent and held its ear between his thumb and index finger, bringing it in full view.

“You see this, spineless bastard?” Ivar spoke toneless and wiggled the head before pressing it into the palm of his hand, “if you ever cross Piglet’s line, yours will be next,” and with all the spite he could muster Ivar rammed his fist into his palm.

Blood and specks of gray matter splattered across Ivar’s face, and the absolute disgust coming from Ludolf’s throat was simply music to his ears.

Ivar held his palm up, so that the young ruler could have a front row seat to the bloody mouse pulp before bringing it to his mouth.

For the second time Ivar managed to cast Ludolf out of the shed by grossing him out. Stumbling over his own legs Ludolf fled their shed. As the keys locked the door, Ivar wiped the crushed skull and brains off on the hay covered floor and held his breath.

Piglet’s calm nasal weeze indicated that the young woman slept through the whole scene.

“Not to be all sanctimonious, dear Piglet,” Ivar whispered to the sleeping form of his companion, “but you don’t know the half of what an incredible safe keeper I am to you.”

.-.-.

Piglet woke up with a lot of dramatic noise and gestures. Stretching her arms, cracking her neck, and exhaling a deep yawn. Ivar rolled his eyes at her, arms tucked behind his head and still wide awake. During the hours traveling towards morning he’d decided not to tell Piglet about Ludolf’s nightly visit. What good would it do? None at all, and it would be nice if at least one of them had a proper sleep during the night.

All were wrapped in silence; Piglet was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Utstott hadn’t made a peep ever since Ludolf pressed the keys into the lock. That feathered creature was a lousy guard dog.

And Ivar was simply brooding, inwardly declaring war on the entire world.

Piglet eventually broke the silence: “What happened to your face?” she asked and bobbed her index finger against his cheek.

Realising his face was still covered with specks of mouse splatter, Ivar dully rubbed the back of his hand over his cheek and with a shrug muttered, “I fell.”

“Into what, paint?” Piglet retorted, raising an eyebrow, “that’s blood,” she stated and took hold of his chin, “what did you kill?”

Ivar roughly slapped her hand away, “this does not concern you,” he growled.

“If the Toothless finds animal carcasses in here it is my concern,” Piglet rapidly bit back, getting into his face again, “what.did.you.kill?”

It was evident that Piglet would continue to pester him about his nocturnal massacre until she reached his breaking point and had her front teeth knocked in by his fist. As that would do neither of them any good, Ivar sighed deeply and extremely annoyed.

“Fine,” with one swift move he wiped away hay and plucked four badly scalped mice furs from the dirty floor. Tossing them in front of Piglet’s bare feet, the young woman screeched and shoved herself backwards on hands and feet.

“W-what did you do with-”

Ivar cut her off: “-the rest? I ate it dear Piglet, because I am sick of being hungry all the time. And since you refuse to do anything about it, well, let’s say I had to take matters into my own two hands. Bloody hands.” Ivar added, showing his palms.

It wasn’t often Ivar managed to leave Piglet speechless, but his ability to absolutely disgust others knew no limits. He of course learned from the mistress herself.

“You are eating rats in the middle of the night?” Piglet eventually muttered, forming her disgust into a question.

“Mice,” Ivar corrected her. ‘I scared away a spineless rat though,’ he thought to himself, but kept his lips firmly pressed shut.

“Mice…” Piglet dully mumbled more to herself then to Ivar, “Hamar, by Allah, he’s eating mice…”

.-.-.

A/N: I’m sure there are others that share my worst nightmare: people finding out the things you google. For this chapter the worst search was: ‘what do mice taste like?’ Interesting fact, apparently there are many ways you can eat mice. Another fun fact about this chapter, I wrote it while eating a jelly doughnut, which about halfway through turned out to not be the best idea. So yes, our Prince is eating vermin, grossed Ludolf out and saved Piglet’s virtue for another day. I’ve had a bad case of writer's block but I am recovering, so that’s why the length of this chapter is rather short for my books.

Hopefully next chapter won’t take as long,

Xoxoxo Nukyster

The kickass beta: @sarahh-jane The tagged ones: @youbloodymadgenius @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys @shannygoatgruff @pieces-by-me @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @readsalot73 @lauraan182 @conaionaru @sarahh-jane @peachyboneless @adhdnightmare If you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

#ivar the boneless #ivar oc #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #ivar the boneless fanfic #ivar's heathen army #vikings #vikings fanfiction #vikings fanfic #vikings fandom #viking fanfic #alex hogh andersen

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levisnackajack · 4 years ago

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The Wrath of War

Hi there. Thanks to anyone who’s read up to now. This chapter is pretty long, so I have decided to post the story both here on my Tumblr, as well as on AO3.

The link to the story is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28919136/chapters/70952145

Please check it out if you can!

Much love.

Chapter Four

Captain Levi Ackerman.

This was the title owned by the man who had swooped in and saved Eden’s life like a damsel in distress. She felt sick to her stomach. How stupid was she to risk her life like that?

Questions like that rolled through her mind, painfully wrecking her brain for the past couple of hours. The battleground had quietened; but Eren was ripped out of Mikasa’s arms as soon as the Scout and Garrison regiment both got their hands on him.

Armin managed to grab Mikasa by the wrist as they led Eren away; but Eden was quick enough to avoid Armin and sprint after him; eyes lit with a fierce flame. Someone grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around violently- making Eden lose sight of her weakened friend.

She huffed irritably; hazel eyes widening at the realization that Captain Levi had gripped her tightly. His expression blank, intimidating dull grey eyes staring down at the girl in an irritated way. Eden bit on her tongue to suppress the snarky remark resting in her mouth.

“You seem to like proving how big of a pain you are, Cadet,” Levi began, his cool and monotonous voice causing realization to boil within the girl. The man standing before her was the leader of the Survey Corps’ Special Operation Squad. His reputation has gifted him with the title of being “Humanity’s Strongest Soldier”.

Being so close to him, Eden could barely figure out how old he was. He had a deceptively youthful face holding a chiseled jawline and narrow, grey eyes with dark circles under them that betrayed his possible insomnia.

After all the things he has probably seen; how could he be able to sleep soundly at night?

“Sir, I’m only making sure that Eren is safe,” Eden said in a meek voice, mentally slamming her head against the wall. She didn’t want the frightening captain to feed off of her uneasiness.

Whether Captain Levi grew satisfied knowing he instilled fear in people with a mere question would truly stay a secret. His physiognomy never betrayed his thoughts.

He tipped his head to the side ever so slightly, clicking his tongue. “Not that I owe you an explanation or anything, but he’s staying with us for the time being. Don’t want him going on a rampage because he couldn’t keep his emotions intact now, do we?”

“It’s not like that...” Eden muttered out, hands balling into fists until her knuckles were painted white. That was when she began deeply regretting her reckless behavior.

The Captain stepped closer, cape flowing rapidly behind him; his now lethal expression barely concealed by the loose raven strands of hair.

He jabbed his finger into Eden’s collarbone; making her swallow a hiss.

“Oh, apologies, I suppose we should all trust you and the miniscule amount of common sense you seem to own by the way you’re backtalking. What is your name, cadet?” He said in an uncomfortably calm manner; eyes never leaving Eden’s pale face.

“Chiasa. Eden Chiasa, sir.” She forced herself to salute him, using that as an opportunity to step back from him. Levi glared at her in annoyance.

“Well, Chiasa, learn some manners before opening that mouth of yours. I’m assuming you’re itching to join the Scout Regiment by the way your eyes sparkled once we took over?” He paused, lips pursing in disgust as though the idea of her yearning for a spot in his Regiment made him nauseous. He stepped forward once more, his words completely throwing her over the edge as she basked in embarrassment, cheeks glowing red.

“Let me tell you something; we’re not looking for idiots who can’t even watch after their own backs. We’re also not looking for brats thinking their filthy attitude will impress their superiors. I suggest you think before you make up your choice about where you truly belong.” With that, Levi turned his back to the freshly-graduated cadet, striding off in the direction Eren was dragged to.

Eden stood there; eyes trained to the ground as she begged herself not to cry. She didn’t mean to offend the Captain; she was just looking out for her friend. She begged for a titan to pop out of nowhere and tear her to shreds. Levi’s first impression of Eden was that she was a snotty brat who couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

Being part of the Scout Regiment was her reason to live. She ached to belong with that Squad. But now, the somber feeling of knowing that she forever fucked up her chances of ever being able to join them made her want to give up entirely.

She viciously chewed on her bottom lip; shrugging Armin’s gentle touch off of her shoulder. He backed up, having witnessed the girl’s conversation with the profound Captain.

"We need to go. Eren will be brought before the military tribunal. They’re deciding his fate...” Armin echoed, Mikasa darkly staring into oblivion beside him. Eden nodded, following her friends; eyes trailing back to the path Levi and Eren took.

Swallowing hard, she stopped in her tracks and went exactly the opposite way of the military courthouse. Eden followed her instincts, assumptions leading her to believe that they would most probably keep Eren underground since they were in fear of him and his powers. She hid in the shadows, her tiny body concealed by the darkness as soldiers passed her, unaware that someone had broken into the temporary prison.

She followed the deep voices, heart sinking with relief when she heard Eren’s distinct- somewhat whiny- voice. Just as she was about to turn and walk into the cell; Captain Levi walked out of the room with a taller man who’s blond hair was slicked and parted to the sides.

Eden held her breath as they continued walking in the opposite direction; talking in hushed, gruff voices.

Once they were out of sight; she slipped into the jail-room and held onto the bars; gently calling Eren’s name. He looked up, eyes widening in horror.

“Eden, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I needed to make sure you’re okay. Have they told you where they’ll be taking you next?” Eren stared back at the determined girl, swallowing thickly as he gave her a tight nod.

She nodded in response, eyes softening at the sight of her friend behind bars. “Whatever happens Eren, just know that we are beside you. I will not let them slaughter you out of fear, okay? Just stay strong, this situation will soon be over and done with...-”

“Who are you?” A deep voice snapped at Eden, causing her to yelp in surprise. She turned to meet the sky-blue eyes of the tall, blond man from before. His thick, bushy brows were knitted together in confusion; a parallel to the lethal death glare the shorter man who stood stoically beside him sent Eden.

She saluted them both formally. “My name is Eden Chiasa. I am a cadet from the 104th Southern Division and I was just making sure Eren was alright, sir!” She spoke in a loud, clear voice that echoed through the jail cell. The taller man looked surprised and Levi cringed, his blank eyes twitching ever so slightly.

“Eden Chiasa, huh? Part of the top ten graduates of the Southern Division, I heard. I’m Commander Erwin Smith, leader of the Scout’s Legion. Who told you to come here?” His eyes were much warmer than Levi’s; although it was probably because the latter man looked an second away from throwing her into the cell with Eren.

“I-...no one. I was on my way to the military courtroom but I decided to follow Captain Levi after knowing that that was the path Eren was led through. I have no excuse for coming here uninvited and I completely understand if you feel like it’s necessary to remove me from the Cadet Corps...” Eden trailed off, ignoring the resentful “tch” that slipped through Levi’s thin lips.

“I see. Are you two close friends then?” Commander Erwin inquired in the most nonchalant tone. It was as though they were acquaintances getting to know each other over a cup of coffee. He walked closer, eyeing Eren who sat looking as uncomfortable as ever.

“We grew up together, sir. Back in Shiganshina.” Eden paused as she watched both men’s stares darkened at the mention of her home. “After the Titans broke through, we vowed to join the Scout Regiment and help claim back what was stolen from humanity. Please understand that Eren is not a monster. If you allow them to execute him; it would be a far greater loss than a win,” Eden trailed off, hands trembling at her sides.

“We have a strategy, Eden. Plans that will be greatly disrupted by Eren’s demise. Though I cannot promise miracles, the Scout Regiment agrees with you,” Erwin remarked as two guards walked into the cell and pulled Eren to his feet. Eden watched as they silently dragged him out.

The Commander stared at the young girl watching her friend exit. He was certainly impressed. Perhaps it was the exhaustion of leading one war after the other that made him more lenient in this instance. He pursed his lips as he raised an arm towards the exit.

“Shall we then?”

Eden shifted uncomfortably as she took a seat beside Captain Levi in the courtroom. Hushed voices and spitting insults were thrown at Eren as they shackled him in the center of the room.

Levi snapped at her once after she accidentally kicked his boot, her blood turning into iced water under his hooded stare. Mumbling a quiet apology, she watched as the Supreme Commander silenced the entire courtroom.

After some time had been wasted on throwing disrespectful and vulgar sneers from one side of the courtroom to the other; Pastor Nick ruthlessly ordered for a gun to be pointed towards the handcuffed Eren. Before Eden could release the breath she had been unknowingly holding in; the Captain beside her had risen from his seat, striding towards the prisoner. Instead of jumping up and defying the merchants and the pastor; Levi’s boot met Eren’s jaw with such shrill force, the crack of his neck echoed through the silenced courtroom.

Eden sat in shock; her whole body petrified as she watched Levi beat Eren to a pulp. He towered over the boy menacingly before kneeing him in the face countless of time.

“In my personal opinion, pain is the greatest tool for discipline,” Captain Levi seethed in an unnervingly composed voice before grabbing Eren by the hair. Eden flinched and Levi’s eyes snapped to the side.

That seemed to provoke him because his fingers flexed in a way where Eden could visibly see his grip grow tighter.

“You’ve fallen so low to the point where it’s easy to kick you around.” He kicked him again and again until Eren choked on his own blood, shaking as he lifted his eyes to meet the Captain’s dead ones.

He slickly conversated with the Military Police and the Pastor; feeling obligated to ensure they know how useless they were. Out of fear, they wanted to dissect Eren and then dispose of him.

Raising a hand, Erwin intervened, proposing that Eren was placed under Captain Levi’s command; kept under constant surveillance until the Scout Regiment could figure out whether he was a pawn worth investing in.

Levi stared at Erwin as he spoke. His bored eyes jumped from the Commander onto Eden and his frown grew deeper as her hot glare hoped he would burn. He scoffed, completely disregarding her as the Supreme Commander voiced his final decision.

Eden shoved through the people seeping out of the courtroom, fuming at everyone and everything. Naturally, she was relieved that her friend would live another day; but to treat him like some experiment was sickening. Yes, she vowed to partake in the restoration of humanity; but to what avail?

The girl nearly missed Commander Erwin’s beckon directed towards her. She turned and walked back, saluting him; completely overlooking the man beside the tall man.

“Albeit being impulsive; I can see you have Scout traits burning inside you. Will you join the Special Operation’s Squad and accompany them on their upcoming mission overseeing Eren?”

Eden’s mouth swiftly parted, eyebrows rising slightly as the breeze ran cool fingers through her short, inky waves of hair. Her eyes dripped with the color of melting honey as they landed on her future Captain; who stared down at her in a detached manner; clicking his tongue and walking back to his horse as soon as Eden’s head began bobbing in affirmation.

She was one step closer to achieving her goal; but one step further from impressing the man in charge of her new Squad team.

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secret-engima · 4 years ago

Text

Drabble for Time Travel Twins verse

(because I have no impulse control and SOMEONE *eyes @rayearthdudette* reminded me about Titus and then my muses ran away with me. Enjoy!)

...

-They are 12 when Titus first comes to the Citadel. Romulus is more than ready to stab him, because he remembers Libertus telling him what happened, that the man became a traitor, and any threats to Regis are threats that need to be removed, but Remus is … conflicted. One on hand, yes, Titus is a danger. But when? Surely the man hadn’t always been a traitor. Captain had taught him … so much. Taken care of them before going cold and hard in those final days. Remus is … biased he supposes. Reluctant to arrange an “accident” for the man who meant so much to him at one point, especially when he shows no signs of treason right now.

-So they watch, aloof and quiet (which is not unexpected for them considering their … backstory, so no one really notices), trying to find evidence of treason or loyalty and are both disturbed when they realize that Titus Drautos is … he is loyal. He is angry and hurting, having just lost his home of Cavaugh outside Insomnia and it’s Wall, but he is not angry at Lucis. He is not bitter toward the king, but instead seems to respect Regis in a polite, impersonal sort of way. He treats both twins with respect and manners, not questioning their paranoid looks, the way Romulus keeps picking a fight, or how Remus has nicknamed him Captain with a feral sort of smile even though the man is a Crownsguard rookie with no real rank.

-Sometimes he even steps into situations unprompted on their behalf, and while Romulus is convinced it’s a ploy to gain trust, Remus sees the crease in the man’s forehead when he interjects himself in a situation (a dispute with the other guards, a reckless prank he can see about to go dangerously south rather than just hilariously sideways) and his gut whispers that Titus is sincere. But then, he trusted Captain before and look where that got him.

-They are 16 when Titus Drautos disappears on a mission outside Insomnia. If they hadn’t been keeping a constant eye on him (hadn’t been making up excuses to be around him so as to search for treasonous behavior, hadn’t been getting attached despite the memories screaming that it was a bad idea) then they would never have noticed. Titus was one man amid the entire Crownsguard, and as good at his job as he was, as personal his reason for joining the Guard (saved by Regis when their “father” personally led rescue efforts to Cavaugh in the wake of the destruction), one man is so very easy to miss. Titus was new, he didn’t have that many friends in the guard, and most of them were on other missions and duties themselves. So when Titus was assigned to a milk run outside the Wall with three others and two of them came back with a report of a daemonic ambush, everyone else just shrugged with regret and moved on. Hardly the first time they’d lost a rookie to the Night.

-Except.

-Except Romulus and Remus know that Titus couldn’t be dead. They had not altered the timeline in a way that would have made the man die, surely. If anything, Romulus’s constant sparring challenges would have made the man more capable and besides all that, somewhere deep inside Remus still clings to the image of his Captain before the betrayal. The strong, steady, unbreakable presence that kept so many of them from throwing themselves into fights they couldn’t win because they didn’t want to come back to empty houses and shattered Clans.

-Except Romulus and Remus know that at some point Titus Drautos becomes Glauca, the wielder of an experimental regenerating armor, and Romulus has personal experience with Niflheim and their predilection towards immoral science.

-They are smart enough to leave a note at least. One telling Regis that they’re going looking for Drautos and will be back in a few weeks. Hopefully. Then they run, putting as much distance as they can between themselves and Insomnia before Cor can catch up to them and drag them home.

-It takes them longer than expected. Romulus remembered a lot of things and a lot of missions, but Niflheim holds a lot of territory and they can only hit so many bases before they risk capture and discovery from either side.

-But they do have some ways to narrow it down, and the twins lost their qualms against “aggressive negotiations” to gain information a very long time ago.

….

-Titus doesn’t know how long he’s been there. Only that it’s been too long. Far too long.

-Long enough to know that no one is coming. He is alone. Forgotten. Abandoned.

-Just like his home when Mors pulled back the Wall, not even sparing a thought for the region of small towns and simple villages right on his doorstep that were no match for Niflheim’s military.

-Long enough that he’s stopped trying to fight it when they come into his cell and unshackle him from the wall to drag him off to the lab for another session. Another agony filled day of them pumping black sludge and liquid metal into his veins and watching him writhe on the table as it forces itself into shape around his skin and then slides back underneath when the scientists press certain buttons.

-He hates them. He h a t e s them.

-He’s starting to hate the Lucis Caelums more. For leaving him. Just like they left his family to burn, just like they left all of Lucis to burn.

-(And in the back of his mind he knows that’s not fair, that he should hate the people doing this to him not those who live safe and far away, but he is helpless against these scientists who keep him drugged and shackled, and it is so much easier to hate the things that he doesn’t have to be terrified of, so much easier to keep himself alive when his hate has a target he can imagine lashing out at rather than the ones who have long since gotten wise to his escape attempts and tricks and pin him down body and soul).

-Titus has been here too long and as he is dragged to the table and strapped down for the (tenth-hundreth-thousandth) time he knows that no one is coming.

-He doesn’t realize that the shaking of the world is not just another side effect of his mind struggling to cope with whatever the sludge and metal does to him until the scientists stop in the middle of their work and start looking around.

-One of them looks toward the door and orders an MT to go check what was going on. The unit leaves and the pain resumes.

-Until the intermittent shivering of the world turns into one long, prolonged shake. Like reality is a wet dog and the entire lab is a stubborn drop of water that won’t quite leave the fur coat. Somewhere to his right, the head scientist, a weedy man with black hair and a propensity to laugh in childish delight when Titus gets violent, yells something that sounds like “earthquake? Here? Impossible!”

-Titus loses time easily on the table, and he isn’t terribly surprised when he blinks his eyes open without memory of closing them and instinctively looks around to try to reorient himself in regards to time (to whether the session is almost over or if he still has a long way of torment to go)

-Why is his face wet.

-Why does the wetness taste like copper.

-Is he bleeding again? Did the liquid metal come out of his skin too fast and open large gashes again?

-A blink of lost time, a sluggish glance to the right.

-Had … had the weedy scientist man been pinned to the wall by a sword through his chest for long?

-Why were all the scientists screaming? He was the only one who did screaming during the sessions.

-Another blink and the screaming was quiet but the alarms were like nails in his ears, so loud he almost couldn’t hear the words being said to him by the person yanking the restrains off his arms, “-kay, Captain, we’re gonna get you out of here. Just hang on. You hear me, Captain?”

-…Captain?

-Only one person called him Captain.

-He lifted a hand toward the … person? Hallucination? and brushed his knuckles against a slender cheek, metal skittering in and out of his hand, reaching for the person-vision-thing with something like curiosity, “Re … mus?”

-Blue eyes, darker than their usual ice, as dark as the ocean or the King’s magic, filmed with tears. The hand that took his was scarred in familiar patterns, burns that were done by fire but branched jaggedly like lightning, “I’m here, Captain. I’m getting you out.” A glance to Titus’s other side and a tightening of the jaw, “We’re getting you out. Just hang on, okay?”

-Titus had to be dreaming. Or dying. Finally. The royal princes were very openly not fond of him, for all they had chosen to make him their preferred pestering target and training chew toy for the last 4 years. They were only 16 and this was a Niflheim military laboratory. No one was coming for him, especially not the princes.

-Titus did his best to hang on to Remus’s shoulder anyway as the much smaller teen have carried, half dragged him down torn up, smoking hallways. Ahead of him, silver gleamed, not like the liquid metal the scientists kept pumping in his veins (that he was probably dying of right now) but brighter. Purer.

-Romulus’s armiger had always been a thing of deadly beauty, especially when Titus wasn’t on the receiving end of it. It carved through the MT Units that tried to stop them with barely a thought, the dozens of swords the boy had obsessively collected swapping from the air to his hands and back in the space of blinks, defending or destroying by turns.

-Not a single Unit or bullet got anywhere near Titus and Remus.

-Something coiled around him, warm and painful, but a … good kind of painful. Not like the scientists and their tools. More like the burn of a hot shower against sore muscles.

-Not a bad thing to feel while he dreamed up a rescue scenario as he died.

-A blink that lasted too long, because when he opened his eyes again, he was lying on his back, being dragged through the grass on some kind of makeshift shield sled. The sky was above him, so open and vibrant he hadn’t realized he’d started to forget what colors other than black, silver, and white were until just then. He didn’t dare blink away the tears that started, because he didn’t want to miss this. This dream of rescue and freedom in his final moments.

-It was evening. If he craned his head, he could see smoke rising in the distance. The base that had held him nothing more than an empty shell.

-The vision of Remus was still talking from where he and Romulus were dragging Titus’s shield sled, “-a little longer. We’ll patch you up once we get to the Haven, okay? Just a little longer.”

-He blinked. Opened his eyes to pain.

-Pain-pain-pain-painpainPAINMAKEITSTOPPLEASE-

-“What’s wrong with him?”

-“I don’t know! He might- he might be going through withdrawals from whatever drugs the Nifs used?”

-“It’s been hours past that point and it started up just now, withdrawals have more warning than that-!” swearing, loud and by his ear as he writhed in burning white agony, “Is he seizing? Hold him down till I get an elixir!”

-“-not working I don’t know what’s wrong-”

-“-ven! It’s the Haven!”

-“What?”

-“Captain never went on Havens! No one knew why, and he always had a good excuse so no one really questioned it but-.”

-“Daemon blood, it’s got to be, they probably used it as a conduit for the armor. The Haven was trying to purify him-.”

-“He’s off the Haven now, why hasn’t it stopped?”

-“We interrupted the process, the suit isn’t complete and we probably just screwed up whatever counted for stable with it-.”

-PainpainpainpainpleasejustmakeitstopjustenditenditENDIT

-“-dare die, Captain! Don’t you dare die on me!”

-Please.

-Just.

-E n d i t.

-Hand on his chest and on his neck it hurthurthurt-, “You don’t get to leave me behind!”

-Light.

-White hot light, brighter than the sun, brighter and more agonizing than anything in life before or after.

-Kids in front of him. Kids who thought they were adults, thought they were ready for war, thought they were ready for magic to reach inside and change them forever.

-His boys. His girls. His idiots.

-His Glaives.

-Blood and bandages, blades and crisp black uniforms edged in silver. “Appropriate,” laughed the shadow of the jungle and the storm on his heels and where did he know that voice from? Where did he know that shadow?

-Endless battlefields and unchanging training rooms, the flicker of braids in the corner of his eyes, meanings kept secret, meanings absorbed through exposure until the sight of pink made him cringe and the glimpse brown beads made his heart hurt in sympathy. A hundred faces come and gone, a dozen more that stayed-stayed-stayed. Brown eyes green eyes burning burning blue. Lips in a hundred different faces with a hundred different names, all of them looking at him and calling him the same thing in fondness-anger-respect-heartbreak-affection-trust.

-“Captain.”

-“Hey, Captain.”

-“Yo, Cap!”

-“For Hearth and Home, right Captain? As long as there is breath in my body, I follow that order.”

-A name on the tip of his tongue, a knowing that was fond and angry and regretful all at once. The glimpse of beads.

-Lightning branching scars made of purple fire.

-The pain stopped.

-Titus opened his eyes.

-And looked into burning burning blue, set in a face that was partially cracked open in branching lightning scars that bled purple fire, “Hey … Captain.”

-There was a name on Titus’s lips, and it wasn’t “Remus”, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what that name was. At least not before the world went dark and he passed out from the relief of no longer being in pain.

-He woke up to the crackling of a campfire and a sprawling night sky over his head. For a moment he lay there in utter disbelief, not daring to move just in case he woke up back in the lab. Something shifted off to his right and a moment later a small, calloused hand rests on his forehead, “Awake for real this time, Drautos?”

-Titus stares, “…Prince Romulus?” The words cracked in his throat and when his coughing fit died down, the prince who shouldn’t be there handed him a canteen of water. Titus inhaled carefully several times after drinking, then looked up again. The prince was still there, “…How?”

-Prince Romulus sat back on his heels with a carefully blank expression, “You’re a hard man to find, Drautos. And a hard one to keep alive.”

-“I … what?”

-The Prince looked over his shoulder and Titus jerked internally when he spotted Prince Remus curled up asleep on a bedroll, exhaustion in every line of his teenage body, his branching scars far more vivid than usual.

-Purple fire spilling free of skin and blue, blue eyes and memories he can’t see-hear-touch-.

-“You … you came for me.” Titus whispered, unable to believe it, but also unable to disbelieve it. Why?

-Romulus grunted and evaded the implicit question in Titus’s words, “It took us longer than we thought to find you. Didn’t realize the Nifs had so many labs, let alone in Lucis. Then we got you out to a Haven and whatever they pumped in you decided to send you into some kind of violent fit.”

-Titus could remember that, dimly, and it made him feel sick just thinking of the black sludge and the liquid metal squirming under his skin-.

-Except he couldn’t feel it anymore.

-He pressed his hands over his arms, trying to find the feeling of foreign, painful metal inside him and instead felt … something else. Light. Twin suns of light hiding in his core, one that nipped and grumbled at his senses like a winter-chilled river that looked calm on the surface but raged quick and fast underneath, and another that crackled and sparked eagerly down his bones like lightning and the pounding of rain. Magic. Twin cores of magic, humming under his skin in place of the horrible, burning liquid metal the Nifs had constantly forced into his veins.

-…The princes’ magic?

-Romulus saw his look and turned his face away, “Remus burned the Starscourge and that … metal … out of your body with his magic but something needed to replace it. It had … carved you up inside and leaving those channels empty … would have been fatal.” Romulus glared at the night beyond the Haven, “I’m not explaining that well. But that’s what happened. Then he passed out.”

-Titus couldn’t untangle his emotions properly, they were too jumbled and strong do to more than rasp, “And … you?” Because there were two distinct magics inside him now, he could feel them.

-Romulus shook his head, stood up and prowled a few steps away to the campfire before sitting down again and admitting gruffly, “Remus wasn’t enough. After you were purified, you went into shock. I’d brought along ten phoenix downs just in case something happened…” The prince inhaled slowly, whispered more to the flames than Titus, “I ran out. You were still fading. So I dragged you back.”

-“Why?” Titus’s hands were shaking and he couldn’t get them to stop, couldn’t think about what the prince’s words made him feel because if he did he would break before he could get an answer and he needed to know. Needed to know why the two princes that had never acted particularly fond of him would race into the wilds, would risk their lives to free him, and then would … give him their magic.

-It wasn’t Romulus who answered, but a sluggish Remus, who slurred from his bedroll, “Cause you’re our Captain.” Remus blinked sleepily, yawned and finished, “Hearth and Home. ’S what matters most. Hearth is where you stay, Home’s the people in it. That’s you.” Blue eyes fluttered shut again before Titus could think of a response, but when he looked over at Romulus, the eldest prince was watching him solemnly.

-The prince tilted his chin in agreement with his twin, then added very softly, “We were afraid of you because you’re from Cavaugh. Our father already has to deal with enough bitterness and backlash over Mors’ reign, we didn’t know how you would react, being so close to the royal family that failed your town. But then you disappeared and … a prince takes care of his people. We can’t save everyone, we don’t have that kind of power. No one does. But that doesn’t mean we can’t try. It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.” Then he shook his head, shifting to sit with his back to the fire and his sword on his shoulder, a soldier keeping watch even though there was no need on a Haven, “Go to sleep. You’ve been through a lot. We’ll call for pickup to Insomnia in the morning.”

-Titus lay back down very slowly, head spinning and limbs shaking, his entire world upended and shaky. Except for one thing. One realization, one burning vow, curling tight in his chest.

-These princes were his. They had come for him. When he’d lost all hope that anyone could come, they had. They had come and carried him to freedom, burned out the poison in his veins and given him each a piece of themselves to keep him alive when they had no obligation to do any such thing. No matter what he thought of Mors, or their father, for that …

-For that he would stand beside the throne without hesitation or doubt.

-He woke up the next afternoon to find that Remus had somehow migrated from his bedroll to Titus’s and was sleeping curled up under one arm, his magic tangling around Titus’s soul and keeping the nightmares at bay while Romulus, who had drifted over sometime in the night, dozed fitfully within arm’s reach away. When Titus stirred, Remus clung tighter to the tattered Crownsguard coat they had dressed him in at some point. Remus called him “Captain” the same way King Regis beckoned his Shield, (the same way a child called out to a trusted adult, and what had he ever done to earn that trust from two boys who were known to have been abused so badly by adults before), and Titus relaxed obediently into the teen’s hold.

-And he knew.

-He was theirs. Whatever they needed of him, whatever they wanted him to be to them, that’s what he would be. For them he would burn down the world if they only asked, and in their defense he would give anything.

#Secret Engima Rambles #Melodies and Manuscripts #Time Travel Twins verse #titus drautos #HERE BE ANGST #long post

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years ago

Text

Protea (Part 13)

She avoids Mohi’s if only to avoid distressing Kaz any further. She pretends like she is busy and overwhelmed by her very first job. That she needs to focus on it so she doesn’t mess it up lie the last few jobs she’s had. Mohi and Zenyul trust her whole heartedly. It hurts terribly. She doesn’t deserve that kind of trust.

She knows it. Kaz knows it.

And so she spends most of her time at the palace and with Mai, hoping that Mohi doesn’t resent her fro growing distant. She thinks that maybe it is some sort of defense. To create that distance. To show herself out before they can show her out.

Working with Mai and tending to the flowers is a welcome distraction. Mostly she doesn't think too much about Kaz.

Mostly she doesn't think about him until he enters the shop. She is at the back of the shop, poking seeds into soil when Mai calls, "your brother is here."

For one small moment she thinks that Mai is referring to Zuko and her heart gives an anxious leap. She finishes patting the soil over the seed and wanders up to the front.

"Oh. Hi Kaz." She can't even manage to feel slightly enthusiastic to see him.

"Did you guys have a fight or something?" Mai asks in a whisper.

"I think."

"How can you not tell? Either you had a fight or you didn't."

But she isn't good with feelings, isn't good at understanding them. "I'm not mad at him." She replies.

"But he's mad at you?"

Snapdragon nods.

"I can finish planting the seeds if you two need a minute or you can step outside."

Snapdragon nods again.

Mai finishes handing her last customer his flowers and disappears into the back of the shop. Snapdragon brushes her fingers over nearby petals. "I made a bouquet for Mohi's birthday.” “And?”

"I want to come home for Mohi's birthday."

"Is that a demand or a question, princess." He sneers.

"A...request?" Snapdragon replies. "I made an arrangement with her favorite flowers." She holds up a bouquet of fake jasmine, daisy, clover, and yarrow. She will replace those with genuine flowers on Mohi's birthday. Around the boy she has tied a few yellow and white painted beads and brown and white bird feathers that she had found in her hoard. "Can you give it to her?"

"Give it to her yourself when you visit on her birthday." The way that he extends the invitation is anything but kind. It makes her think that, maybe, a silly bouquet might not be good enough. That maybe a pouch of gold coins would be a better gift. Mohi could start reclaiming the life she had sacrificed for Snapdragon. For the woman that shouldn't exist.

She watches Kaz sulk away. She never finds out what he had come there to tell her.

.oOo.

With the passing of several days, her mind has mostly sorted itself out. Snapdragon and Azula coexist well enough with Azula--as per usual--taking dominance. She attributes this mostly to the stresses and sorrows that Azula is prone to coming back in full force. They stir about in her mind until Snapdragon’s joy and enthusiasm is swept away.

But Azula finds that she rather enjoys the freedoms that Snapdragon has found for her. The ability to speak as she will and do what she will without the fear of tarnishing an immaculate reputation. She still very much enjoys being around Mohi. Mohi who ruffles her hair and gives her the affection she wishes that her own mother would afford her. Her own mother who she has seen about the palace several times now. Her own mother who loves Snapdragon more than she could ever love Azula. She is just one more reason to feign ignorance and keep up her facade.

Really, it isn’t too hard. She thinks that Snapdragon is everything and all of the freedom that she had yearned for. And now she has it. Maybe all along Snapdragon, minus eating flowers and rolling in dirt, has been the real her. The real her that she has buried so deeply. The real her that has been hindered and bogged down by crushing expectations and loneliness.

She is terrified that this loneliness will come creeping back in. Kaz hasn’t warmed up to her any and Zenyul always sides with his brother.

She is more desperate to keep their affection that she would like to admit. Desperate to keep the family she has found and the little joys. She supposes that she wasn’t thinking clearly. Had she been thinking clearly, she wouldn’t have gotten caught. Had her mind not been so fixated on salvaging her relationship with Kaz. Fixated on keeping everything from falling apart completely.

.oOo.

It is Kaz who opens the door and he tries to shut it in her face. But she didn’t walk all of that distance just to be shut out. “I said you can come for Mohi’s birthday, no other day.” Kaz grumbles, he gives the door another heave. Azula holds her ground.

“Just let ‘er in, Kaz.” Zenyul sighs.

He releases his hold so suddenly that she nearly loses her footing.

“What’s goin’ on ‘tween you two anyways?”

Azula shrugs while Kaz grumbles, “don’t worry about it.”

Mohi makes her way into the foyer, apron tied tightly around her waist, face smeared with flour and dough. Azula mood lifts if only slightly. “Where ya be at chil’.” She frowns. “Ya git yerself a job ‘n we don’t never see ya.”

“Kaz doesn’t want me here anymore.” She doesn’t particularly want to cause problems for him but she also doesn’t want Mohi to think that she has forgotten about her. “He was here first so I’ve been staying with Mai.”

Zenyul scoffs, “you’re talkin’ like one’a them nobles.”

Her tummy flutters, how is it that he can manage to make the extravagance of palace life sound so ugly and foul? “I brought a souvenir.” She slips her hand into her pocket and draws out a small coin pouch. She holds it out to Mohi. “It’s enough to buy a place in the…uh, in the less rough area of Caldera.”

Mohi’s eyes go wide and she clamps her hand around Azula’s wrist.

“Oh chil’ no. Ya didn’t steal this did ya?”

Technically she didn’t. It belongs to her whether or not the palace guard recognizes her. But it doesn’t belong to Snapdragon and right now she is Snapdragon. “They won’t know.” She thinks that they have so much wealth anyways that a couple of coins would go completely unnoticed.

“Chil’ ya swiping hands is gon’ git ya in trouble.” She looks terrified. “Why ya go ‘n do this?”

She shrugs. “You were supposed to live well. You were doing fine until I got here.” She notices Kaz grimace.

Mohi cuffs Kaz on the back of the head. Kaz and Zenyul both. “I oughtta give ya a good swat too, girl! Ya should know betta then takin’ from the royal family!” She slaps the coins back into Azula’s palm. “Ya go ‘n take this back.”

“But you need it.”

“Not as much as we need ya here ‘n safe.”

Azula’s lower lip quivers. Even when she tries to do something good, she hurts people. She is beginning to recall more vividly why she had sought out the Mother of Faces to extract her memories, her face, her essence--everything that made her Azula.

“Kaz!”

The boy goes rigid.

“Why’d ya go ‘n say them thin’s to ‘er? Don’ tell me ya don’ wan’ ‘er around?”

Kaz seems to chew on his lips. “I were mad, okay?”

The imperial firebenders don’t knock. They just enter. Just as they have been trained to do. Azula feels absolutely sick. She thinks that one of the servants, likely Ami, had seen her slip out of the treasury. She wasn’t careful. She was foolish and impulsive. She has made things worse.

“I don’ think it’s okay.” Mohi shakes her head. She squeezes Azula’s hand. “Oh chil’, ya didn’t have ta do that.”

.oOo.

They handle her roughly. More roughly than even Snapdragon is used to. Snapdragon may have been lower class filth but she was never a criminal. She is a criminal now though and they have very little regard for her comfort. Her wrists are bruised from their grip and her knees are bruised and scraped from having been shoved to the floor of her new cell.

“I’ll admit, it takes nerves, a certain fire, to steal from the royal family.” One of the guards sneers.

“Never liked that one.” Says the other. “Never liked the glum one either.”

And she is left in darkness, with metal clamped around her hands and feet. It weighs them down so heavily that she thinks they may break. She lays with her cheek pressed against the chilly dirty floor.

She can tell them who she is, but she can’t imagine that they would believe her. They won’t let her show them her fire.

She believes that two or three days pass before she sees anyone aside from the guard delivering her sorry excuse for a meal. It is so terribly lonely and so dreadfully cold. She misses her freedom. At night she dreams of her factory, of making it to the very top.

She misses the wind in her hair as she leaps from building to building. It dawns on her that she hasn’t done parkour in a good long while. She had taken the simple life for granted. And now she is more restricted than she has ever been. She feels horrible for thinking so, but she wishes that she had never run into Mai again.

At one point she hears Mai arguing for them to let her see her girlfriend and she feels guilty twice over. “Wait until Zuko gets back, wait until he hears about this!” She had vowed. Azula can’t name another instance where Mai had been this passionate. It earns her no prize. No prize save for, “oh I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear that you brought a thief into the palace.”

Her stomach is rumbling softly by day five. They have neglected to feed her for the past few days. She begins to wonder if they plan on leaving her to die. She doesn’t remember any laws that punish thieves so steeply, but then she hadn’t really paid attention to exactly what penalties thieves, traitors, and murderers received.

The door to her cell opens. She doesn’t move. Even if she wanted to, the shackles keep her tethered to the floor. The light that spills onto her face is blinding after nearly a week without any light at all.

She doesn’t try to get up, even when the shackles clunk to the floor and away from her wrists and ankles. When she doesn’t move at all, the figure comes closer. She flinches as hands pull her to her feet. These hands are very gentle. Very caring. Those hands pull her into a little hug. “The coins were returned, I don’t see the point in keeping you in here.” Speaks a very familiar voice. “And treating you like this.” She detects a scowl in the woman’s voice. The same sternness that she usually addresses Azula with. But Snapdragon, as far as Ursa knows, is not Azula. And so her voice becomes light again, “let’s get you cleaned up and something to eat.”

Azula winces with each step. But she is very intent on simply walking it off. Walking it off, at least until her ankle twist and she buckles to the floor.

Her mother catches her and gives a wince of her own. “We’ll get you to the infirmary and then get you something to eat. We can get you cleaned up later.”

She scoops Azula up and Azula shakes her head. “I’m fine, I can walk myself.” She insists.

Ursa purses her lips. “Your ankles are very swollen, I shouldn’t have let you walk so soon.”

“I can walk, I’m not weak. I can…”

“Maybe you can.” Ursa smiles. “But you don’t have to. The sooner we get you to the infirmary, the sooner you will get to see Mai and--what was her name--Mohi?”

Azula nods, “Mohi isn’t in trouble, is she?”

“Mohi and her sons are safe.” Ursa replies as she lays Azula upon a vacant infirmary bed. She beckons for a doctor. “Why did you steal from the treasury, Snapdragon?”

“Mohi needed the coins.” She replies.

“Zuko is a generous Fire Lord, you could have asked him. You could have asked me.”

Maybe if Azula hadn’t resurfaced, she would have considered those to be options. Maybe if she didn’t forget that Zuko doesn’t have anything against Snapdragon… Maybe if Azula didn’t exist at all.

She closes her eyes.

Ursa sighs, “you like your independence, don’t you?”

She nods, supposing that, that is a part of it. Even if it is a small part.

And Ursa gives a small laugh. “I guess that, that’s a firebender’s curse. We can never just ask for help or talk about how we feel.” She takes Azula’s hand.

“I don’t know how to ask for help.” Azula admits. She knows that she needs it so badly and for so many reasons. But she doesn’t know how to request it. Even Snapdragon didn’t really know how to reach out…

Ursa gives her head a sad and small shake. “You’re quite different than her, but you remind me of my daughter.”

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Mai #Maizula #Fanfiction

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itsy-bitsy-spider-fan · 4 years ago

Text

First Impressions

Whumptober, Day 1 (Waking up restrained; shackled)

AO3 Link

“Hey, what are you--- wait, leave him alone---”

Peter was stirred into a thready consciousness by his spider sense flaring at the back of his neck seconds before the water was dumped over him: ice cold, shocking, and a hell of a wakeup call.

He jolted upright, skin freezing over, eyes snapping open, wrists pulling forward only to be stopped by a pair of thick cuffs that kept his arms up over his head. Peter jerked his head up, breathing raggedly as icy water dripped down his face, ran down his eyes and nose and lips. The frigid water that now drenched him from his head down had chased away any lasting drowsiness and now all there was was panic, tightening in his chest as he watched the man in front of him set down a wet metal bucket and then crouch down in front of him so they were nearly eye to eye.

“Sleep good?” the man asked gruffly, a sinister grin twisting on his face.

Peter got the feeling he didn’t actually care, so he pressed his lips together and glanced around, eyes immediately locking on a flash of motion on the other side of the room--- a boy chained to a radiator across the room, barely visible just beyond the man’s shoulder. Peter’s gaze shifted. He caught a short glimpse of the molding, decrepit basement he was in --- cracked concrete floors and walls, wooden rafters running across an unfinished ceiling, stone stairs to his left leading up to a plain door, a singular lightbulb dangling from the ceiling and casting muted light across the room --- before the man’s hand shot forward, gripping Peter’s chin and forcing their eyes to meet. His wicked grin had dropped into a scowl.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” the man said curtly, squeezing Peter’s jaw one last time before letting it and grabbing something off the floor. He raised something and Peter tried to flinch back, pressing his back against the wall he was sitting up against. “Smile.”

Peter squinted against the water dripping into his eyes and the camera flash that popped against his vision, almost blinding him. The man lowered the camera and stood, heading for the stairs Peter had noticed earlier.

“What the hell do you want?” Peter asked, voice more gravelly than he intended. The man’s laughter followed him out the door, which he shut and locked behind him.

“What a dick.”

Peter turned his head, wincing when brilliant pain struck his skull like an ice pick being shoved through it. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his head still, waiting for the pain to stop before he opened them again. When he did, he followed the voice. With the man gone, Peter could clearly see the other captive: a teenage boy with sandy brown hair who was across the room with his hands chained to a radiator in front of him --- in front of him, not above his head like Peter’s hands were.

He looked Peter’s age and ordinary enough, but ordinary tended to stop applying to people who were kidnapped.

“What happened? Where are we?” The questions were out of his mouth as soon as he was done inspecting the room for answers. His gaze caught a small window the size of a textbook above the other boy’s head, but he dismissed it quickly. It wasn’t big enough to climb through --- for either of them to. A thought occurred to him and he paused. “Wait --- who are you?”

His head was starting to throb even worse. The boy pursed his lips, eyes narrowing in what might have been distrust before his face cleared of doubt. “Harley. And I don’t know where we are.”

A southern-sounding accent and Peter was suddenly left wondering if he was still in New York.

“What happened to me?” Peter repeated, swallowing in a poor effort to try to make his mouth less dry. He tentatively looked up, wincing again, and shook his cuffed arms, which were looped around another close-ended pipe jutting out the wall. “Or us, I guess.”

Harley tilted his head, eyebrows drawn together. It was when the light hit the side of his face that Peter noticed the darkening bruises around Harley’s eyes and over his cheek.

“They knocked you out. I thought they killed you,” Harley said, and he would have managed to look kind of calm if Peter didn’t see his hands shaking. “Do you remember?”

Peter licked his lips, the cold on his skin increasing --- and not just because of the dread swelling in his chest. He was sure he could break the cuffs above his head if he tried, but he wasn’t sure about Harley and whether or not he was trustworthy, even if they were sort of in this together. He also wasn’t sure why he was here in the first place --- or why an important chunk of his memories seemed to have been erased.

“You don’t remember that, do you?”

Harley was perceptive and when Peter glanced up at him, shifting to try and bring some feeling back into his shoulders, his face was dark.

“No,” Peter said quietly. “Uh, I remember I was leaving my house and, uh... “ Peter chewed his lip in thought before giving in. “Then nothing.”

He took a second to focus and listen for anything upstairs. It was almost silent, and the only heartbeats he could hear were his and Harley’s. The man who had been here before had left, and if Harley’s information was reliable --- which it probably was --- then so had whoever else had taken them. Peter heard Harley sigh and looked back up.

Harley leaned against the radiator he was chained to, looking tired. “They took us --- me first but eventually we stopped in front of a street and they dragged you in too.” He straightened a bit. “You’re Peter, right?”

Peter was too tired to figure out how he knew that. He nodded.

“Right,” Harley said, shifting and bumping his cuffs against the radiator hard enough that it made a small sound. “I almost thought you were going to get away but then one of them hit you with a crowbar or something and you dropped.”

“Huh,” Peter said, arms twitching as he tried to bring them down to gauge the injury on his head. He suddenly remembered why he had been out and about --- where he had been going. Stark Tower, to get his head stitched up by an actual medical professional instead of in his low-lighted bathroom by himself. The people who had assailed him weren’t the only criminals to get the drop on him that evening. “That explains the headache.”

Harley barked out a low laugh. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got more than a headache, Peter. I’m surprised you’re even awake right now.”

Peter hummed a quiet affirmation, swallowing again because his mouth was dry and he was thirsty. He was starting to wish he’d come to his senses earlier --- maybe then he could have tried to get some water out of their captors.

Well, he reminded himself bitterly as he started to shiver, they had given him water. Too much.

“So, Peter,” Harley spoke again as Peter gingerly tilted his head back and looked at the barren ceiling. “How do you know Tony Stark?”

Peter snapped his head down so quick he almost gave himself whiplash on top of the pain that lashed through his skull which he promptly ignored. “ What ?”

“That’s why we’re here,” Harley answered. “Ransom.”

Peter was still tripped up and felt himself start to stumble over his own words. “They want--- How do you know Tony Stark?”

“I asked you first.”

Peter mulled over that before deciding to go with the truth. If Peter was going to break them out of there --- and he still wasn’t sure if it was better to do that or wait for the cavalry --- they needed to trust each other. A small portion of the truth couldn’t hurt.

“I’m his intern,” Peter said truthfully, not pulling away from Harley’s scrutinous gaze.

He was telling the truth. Technically, Mr. Stark had made Peter his intern after the whole Vulture incident. It took a while, but they were there now.

“His intern?” Harley asked disbelievingly, and Peter squinted at him. “Not his kid or something?”

“Just his intern,” Peter said stiffly. “What about you then?”

Harley looked at him before the scrutiny dropped. He shrugged, a small motion, and rattled his cuffs again. “We’re connected.”

When Peter shot a dubious look his way, Harley cleared his throat and said, “I met him once. Threatened him with a potato gun too. But I think I made up for it by saving his life, so.” Peter raised an eyebrow as Harley leaned back against the wall. “I was actually on my way to meet him when this happened.” He raised his cuffs an inch as if Peter didn’t know what “this” meant --- not that Peter was focused. His mind was moving a mile a minute, trying to decipher what was going on.

He opened his mouth to say something and closed it --- head hurting again --- before finally saying, “You saved his--- wait." It clicked. "You are potato gun kid?”

“Potato Gun what?”

“Mr. Stark said---”

Peter cut off abruptly when he heard a door slam somewhere above them, then footsteps thumping against carpet. His skin crawled and he shot a glance at Harley, who was instantly more awake.

“What? What is it?”

The other boy got up on his knees as much as his bindings allowed and looked up towards the staircase where Peter moved his gaze too.

“They’re back,” Peter said quietly, because he definitely heard two sets of footsteps. “I can hear them.”

Harley had gone quiet, not questioning Peter for a second, which made him relieved. Maybe he could leave this situation with his secret identity unscathed --- or maybe Mr. Stark would show up first, which would be exponentially better. Even if Harley did know Tony, Peter wasn’t sure how much trust he could or should put in a boy he’d just met.

“Okay,” Harley breathed. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said, because he didn’t. “Do what they want, I guess.”

It was a terrible idea but until Peter could think of something better, it was all they had --- and Harley wasn’t coming up with anything either, though his face was creased with thought.

“You know,” Harley began under his breath. They had both wordlessly gotten quieter. “This was my first week in New York. ‘S pretty shitty.”

Peter breathed out a soft laugh, even though nothing was really funny. “That sucks, man. If it makes you feel any better, Iron Man is almost certainly on his way right now.”

Harley’s eyes swung to his. “You think so?”

I know so, Peter wanted to say, but he had to face the fact that unless their captor had immediately sent the ransom demand --- which he sorely doubted --- Mr. Stark didn’t even know Peter had been on the way to the tower, so it was really up to how fast May noticed that Peter wasn’t checking in after patrol. He cursed himself for not telling her where he was going either.

“My shoulders are killing me,” Peter mumbled.

Harley glanced from Peter’s face up to his cuffed hands, which were surely bruised and raw around his wrists if the pain was anything to go by. It wasn’t like the rest of Peter was in better shape. Harley didn’t need to spell out that Peter had fought hard for Peter to feel exactly how hard he’d fought.

“Maybe they’ll let you loose,” Harley said quickly as Peter heard footsteps approaching the top of the stairs. “Ask them to go to the bathroom.”

Peter didn’t say anything, concentrating hard on the noises upstairs. He’d thought they were coming his way but they’d stopped. Peter almost jumped when they started yelling:

“What the hell are we supposed to do now, huh? I thought you said he was going to accept the damn ransom!”

“He was!” retorted someone, but they sounded unsure. Peter recognized his voice: the guy who had taken his picture. “And he will! Besides, it’s only been a few hours. We can make Stark stew --- just give it time.”

“Time? Really, Carter? How much more time? And who the hell are these kids anyway? Why would he care?”

“For one, he’s a superhero for crying out loud. He saves people. But I showed you the files. One of them’s his intern,” Carter replied. “But they’re both on his private server in encrypted folders. And the Parker kid’s been seen hanging around him more than a few times. They’re comfortable together. That’s way more than an internship, I’m telling you. I promise it’s the break we were looking for.”

The other man paused, probably mulling it over, and Carter pushed on, “Listen to me, James. This is it.” He let out a hysterical laugh. “We’re gonna be rich, man!”

James let out a hot breath. “Yeah, okay. I trust you.”

“You trust my hacking ---”

“Whatever,” James shot back. There was silence and Peter thought they were done before James continued, “What’s our next step, then?”

Carter didn’t hesitate. “Leave ‘em down there. We can take a video tomorrow and the worse they look the better. Stark will pay up.”

James laughed. “He better. That island is not going to buy itself.”

Peter tuned out after that, sagging against the wall again. They seemed like they were safe --- for now. He glanced back at Harley, who was watching him. Peter caught a short glimpse of his face: head tilted, eyes curious, before the lights went out. The darkness further confirmed that he wouldn’t be seeing James or Carter until the next day. Why else enclose them in shadow? He was glad for the window above Harley though, even if it wasn’t a means for escape. It let a small patch of moonlight onto the concrete floor, and let him tell the time, at least somewhat.

“I don’t think they’re going to bother us until tomorrow,” Peter said. Harley stared at him for a beat before settling down too. Peter felt a sort of kinship spark in his chest. At least now he knew they were surely in this together --- and Harley was Potato Gun Kid, so if push came to shove, he could lose his qualms about Harley knowing --- not that Mr. Stark didn’t have ways of making people forget.

“We should probably get some sleep,” Peter added tiredly, sitting up despite his dimming awareness. “I can wake you if something happens.”

“This isn’t like the movies, Peter,” Harley said, but he looked tired too. “You don’t have to stay up. If shit is going to happen, it’ll happen.”

“It could be like the movies,” Peter offered, trying to sound more in control than he was. “Besides, I don’t know if I’ll be able to fall asleep with my arms like this.”

Harley’s face dropped and he made a movement forward that was quickly aborted when his cuffs were pulled. Peter could tell he wanted to say something but there was nothing to say. Harley looked at him one last time before angling his body against the radiator and trying to get comfortable up against it.

“So much for going to the bathroom,” Harley mumbled, and when it went silent, Peter was acutely aware that he didn’t want Harley to stop talking.

The quiet felt too real, too unnerving. And Peter liked Harley’s voice, he realized. Maybe him and Harley could be friends, when they got out of the dingy basement and preferably to the luxurious Medbay in Stark Tower. Or to a restaurant --- either would be superb.

Peter listened quietly in the darkness. It was cold, in the basement, as if the lights going off had sucked out the miniscule amount of warmth there was. Or maybe that had been the water. Peter was still soaked, and now he was shivering as he waited for Harley to fall asleep. Eventually, he did: Peter heard his heartbeat steadily fall into a calmer, steadier rhythm and his breaths even out. Still, Peter waited until he was sure that the other boy was completely out before letting his walls drop. Then, he let out a hitched breath and hunched forward, trying to breathe through the inferno that was consuming his skull.

He could feel the differences in injuries. The blow from the crowbar was on a whole other plane from the half-healed cut below it --- something that felt like it had happened years ago. It was like his head had a heartbeat of its own, the way it pounded.

Peter was stuck. He didn’t want to stay in this basement any longer than he had to, but revealing himself to a kind of-stranger --- a circumstantial acquaintance --- plus two petty criminals seemed like too big of a risk to take, and not just for himself. What if Harley got hurt in the crossfire of whatever fight inevitably broke out?

Peter had to think. Mulling in the darkness was a start, but his mind was sloppy because of the cold and the head trauma. He needed to come up with a plan that would get them both out --- one that had zero chance of failure. He could imagine what would befall Harley or even himself if he messed up.

He groaned quietly and leaned back against the wall. He was still freezing, and shivers wracked his body. After a moment, he made one decision.

He needed to heal up before he did anything, at least a little bit. Maybe bring the pain in his head down from agonizing to bearable. Then he would figure out something to do. Maybe between now and morning, he’d know. Maybe between now and morning, Mr. Stark would have tracked him down.

For the next few hours, Peter dozed. It wasn’t quite sleep, but it allowed his healing factor to get a crack at the concussion. Sure enough, when Harley finally stirred in the earliest hours of the morning --- if the patch of gray-blue sky visible through the miniscule window was any indication --- his head felt somewhat better.

“Peter,” Harley whispered in the near darkness.

Peter’s eyes flitted up from his lap to Harley’s. “I’m awake.”

“Still?��

Peter shrugged --- barely visible. Harley shifted on the floor.

“My legs are numb.”

“Same.”

“Shouldn’t you try to sleep?”

“Maybe.”

Harley groaned softly across the room. “Are you always so cryptic?”

“No, just when I get kidnapped,” Peter deadpanned.

Harley cracked a smile. “You’re horrible.”

“Thanks.”

Silence fell, besides their breathing. Peter knew James and Carter were still upstairs; he could hear them sleeping and hoped they wouldn’t wake up soon. He still needed time. Time to come up with a plan since Mr. Stark hadn’t found them. Peter had total faith that if Mr. Stark did know where he was, he’d have already been here.

They were on their own.

“Harley,” Peter said after a while, when the men upstairs started to stir. “When they come down here, I need you to stay quiet. Don’t draw attention to yourself. I have an idea.”

Harley straightened. “Care to share it with the class?”

“No,” Peter said, rolling his wrists in a poor attempt to restore some feeling to them. “Just trust me.”

“ Or you can trust me and we can figure out something together,” Harley shot back quietly. “Because I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but you look horrible.”

“I’m fine.”

Harley scoffed. “And I’m a city boy.”

Peter scrunched his face. “Where are you from again?”

Harley looked surprised by the sudden change of conversation but answered anyway. “Tennessee. I’m guessing you’re from New York, then?”

“Yeah. Queens.”

“Hm.”

Silence again, until Peter heard voices upstairs. He listened carefully, trying not to let anything play out on his face.

“Is the camera set up?”

“Ready to livestream once we bring ‘im up here.”

“Come on then.”

Footsteps, approaching the top of the staircase. Peter tuned out.

“Harley?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember what I said about being quiet?”

“Remember what I said about not caring?”

“I’m serious---”

“Peter, we’re in this together---”

“Harley, just--- listen to me, okay? They’re coming.”

Harley’s face grew grim, maybe a little confused on top of that, but Peter continued flexing his hands, rolling his wrists, stretching arms: trying to get into fighting shape. Well, he wasn’t going to fight just yet. Not until and unless he needed to.

The lock slid against the door, and if Harley wasn’t convinced that Peter was right, he was then. The door opened and Peter felt his blood rush --- warming him --- and his heartbeat jump --- revving up. He’d heard what the men had said before the lights had gone off a few hours ago: hopefully, they'd put more of their stakes in the “Parker kid,” which was Peter.

All he’d have to do was get them alone and take them out --- two quick punches which would be like cutting butter for Peter, even in his less-than-ideal condition. Harley wouldn’t have to know --- and he surely wouldn’t be in harm's way.

Peter recognized Carter first: the man who’d taken his picture. James must be the other guy, hanging back towards the staircase. Peter assessed their faces, burned them into his memory just in case he needed to pick them out of lineup later. Though for the way that Mr. Stark moved in these situations, he doubted he’d need to, but it was a necessary precaution.

Carter was clearly the one in control --- and he looked it too. He was imposing, tall and bulky, with a mean face like smashed in bulldog. Peter knew that somewhere behind the demeanor though was a functioning brain; you didn’t get into Tony Stark’s personal servers without one, even if he’d barely breached them. James was tall, too, but lanky, jittery. He hung back towards the stairs but not in a way to suggest he couldn’t wrestle down an average teenage boy.

Luckily, Peter wasn’t one. He’d faced bigger and badder and had spent too much time in the dirty basement thank you very much. He strained his wrists, barely moving. He didn’t want to break the cuffs until they were secluded, but it was a small relief to know that he could.

“Keener,” Carter said, a wicked smile on his face. “You’re up first.”

For a moment, Peter’s brain short-circuited at the startled look on Harley’s face. His eyes shot to Peter, panic lit up in them, and Peter finally realized what Carter had meant by “Keener.” Or rather, who.

“Wait,” Peter said, stumbling over a leaden tongue as Carter kicked Harley’s legs aside and grabbed the boy by his hair. “Get the hell off him.”

Carter’s flinty eyes flitted over to Peter, who was leaning forward as much as he could, dread scooping out his chest like pumpkin guts. James was already kneeling down Harley’s cuffs, preparing to drag him away, while Carter gripped Harley’s shoulder with one hand and Harley’s hair with the other, holding him in place.

“Shut it, Parker,” Carter snapped without turning, and Peter bit his tongue hard in anger. “Keener, up.”

Harley’s cuffs were undone and despite the way he thrashed and swore blue murder, the boy was dragged up onto his feet. Peter had two cards to play, so he blurted out the first thing that came to my mind, suddenly uncaring of the pain in his head or the sinister look that never really left Carter’s face or the way that Harley flashed him an angry, disbelieving look.

“He won’t get you anything!” Peter yelled. “Not like I will! Take me and I’ll get you whatever you want.”

Carter froze, James froze, everything froze. The petty irritation drawn on Carter’s face was washed away by greedy hunger. Harley’s eyes were wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Peter could almost hear him saying What are you doing? as Carter tilted to his head hungrily, casting a knowing glance at his partner.

It’s a good thing Harley didn’t actually ask him that; Peter couldn’t have answered. But now that he had their attention, it was too late to back out. He’d have to figure something else out.

“Care to elaborate?” Carter asked lowly, gripping Harley’s hair tighter and pulling his head back: an unspoken threat. Harley was seething, jaw clenched and posture stiff between the two men holding him up. Carter shoved Harley back into James’ arms, eyeing Peter darkly. “Speak, Parker.” Peter swallowed, eyes flicking between Carter and Harley.

“Put him down and I’ll talk.”

Carter’s jaw twitched, and he cast his partner a glance before nodding his chin curtly towards the radiator. Harley’s resistance to both James getting him back down by the radiator and Peter’s plan was evident, but futile. Carter was already moving and in seconds, Harley was cuffed again and staring at Peter hopelessly.

Peter ignored the way his neck prickled when Carter walked forward: slowly, like a tiger stalking up to its prey. He crouched down, even slower, before his hand shot out, gripping Peter’s chin --- pressing the rest of his hand against Peter’s neck hard --- and roughly jerking his face upward.

“I don’t think you realize how this works,” Carter said, taking time to drag out his words as if Peter wasn’t beyond caring. He had two things in mind: get himself out of the room, then get them both out of this place.

“I call the shots around here,” Carter said gruffly, holding Peter’s face and using his other hand to snake up Peter’s neck, into his hair. Peter only sat stiffly, unwilling to give in. “And you listen, understand?” When Peter remained stoic, Carter gripped his hair like he’d done Harley’s. “Last chance to answer me.”

Peter shot a glance over Carter’s shoulder, towards Harley. He flicked his gaze back to Carter in time to see a muscle under his eye jump. Then, in the space of a breath, and in a motion that Peter might not have been able to dodge even he wanted, Carter stood and slammed his knee directly into Peter’s face, pulling Peter’s head down by his hair in the process.

Harley’s shout was lost in the ringing of his ears that followed the sound of Peter’s nose snapping, sending blood down his face and onto his shirt.

Peter didn’t have a chance to really recover his bearings when his collar was getting seized and his bleary-eyed, bloody face was being pulled upwards. Carter twisted his bloody shirt in his fists. Peter stared up at him, breathing hard through his mouth.

“Now,” Carter said, lips twisting upwards. “Either you can finish what you were saying earlier, or we bring the other boy up to make a fun video for your boss. You pick.”

It wasn’t much of a choice in Peter’s eyes. He scowled.

“I’m the one you want,” he reiterated, breaths harsh. “Harley has been in New York for a few days. I’ve spent every weekend at the Avengers Compound for six months. Believe me, I have the bigger price tag.”

He was bluffing, because he had no idea how well Mr. Stark had kept in contact with Harley after the potato gun/Mandarin incident that he had told Peter the tiniest bit about, but Carter didn’t call him on it --- not that Peter gave him much of a chance.

He pressed on. “I’ll do whatever you want, say whatever you want. Let me prove it to you. Just leave him out of it.”

Carter shook his head amusedly and stepped back. “You really think you’re the hero, don’t you?” Peter didn’t dignify him with a response, because he’d gotten what he’d wanted --- both of them had. “James, help me bring up.”

Peter stayed still as James pulled a keyring out of his pocket. With both of them standing above him, he couldn’t see his arms or them unlocking them, but he immediately felt the tension dissipate when his bindings were pulled away.

Peter let out a choppy sigh of relief that was short-lived when he was tossed forward instead of hoisted upwards. His arm felt like it was filled with TV static --- he couldn’t catch himself, could only brace himself as he hit the ground on his stomach and was nudged by a booted foot onto his back.

“Change of plans,” Carter said from above, grinning down. “I think we need to roughen you up a bit first. Make sure you’re camera ready.”

Peter didn’t know what his reaction was, but it was swiftly replaced with one of pain and shock as a foot caught his ribcage, then the side of his face, then his stomach. Harley was yelling again, and Peter was losing the will to go along with it. But almost as quickly as the barrage of blows began it was over.

Peter was left gasping wildly on the floor while James grabbed his limp arms and cuffed them in front of him. His everything ached, and when they hoisted him up, he had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something stupid.

They dragged him between them towards the stairs, and Peter rolled his head to the side in time to see Harley’s face before he was taken upstairs, the door slamming shut behind him.

Peter wasted no time --- the vigilante in him bucking to life. The second the door was shut, he snapped his cuffs like it was toilet paper around his wrists and not steel, then whipped around to deliver a knockout blow to James, who grunted out a choked gasp of surprise before his eyes slipped shut.

Carter managed to react quick enough to pull out something black and shiny that Peter realized was a handgun at the last second; the bullet sank into the wall above Peter’s shoulder and Peter kicked the offending weapon out of the guy’s hand. Carter was clearly outraged. He lunged forward like a maniac, managing to tackle Peter into something large and wooden --- a bookcase Peter was pretty sure; he couldn’t really see where he was --- both of them tripping over James, slumped on the floor. They hit the bookcase and rolled onto crusty carpe; Peter noticed it was an ugly shade of burnt orange that even Aunt May couldn’t find character in as he got to his feet, shaking out his arms. Peter spat blood out of his mouth and this time, Carter was the one beneath him, looking up as Peter grabbed the man’s black jacket collar and yanked him up directly into his fist: effectively knocking his lights out.

It was almost worth the wait.

Peter doubled over to catch his breath, more worn out than he’d been since he had to run a mile in gym with his asthma --- pre-bite. It was Harley’s screaming that drew him upright, faint behind the thick door. He must have heard the commotion and probably thought the worst.

Peter staggered over to the door, one hand clutching his ribs --- one of which was definitely broken --- and cracked it open, calling, “One second!”

Carter didn’t stir as Peter rolled him onto his side and rifled through his pockets until he was able to produce the same ring of keys and a phone: a burner at that. Peter shoved it in his pocket and limped back over to the door atop the staircase.

Harley watched him with wide, wild eyes as Peter made his way down the stairs and towards him, key ring in hand. Peter thought Harley would be attacking him with questions --- that’s what Peter would have done anyway --- but instead he watched unblinkingly as Peter unlocked the cuffs, watched them drop onto the floor with a metal clatter, and watched Peter kick them away.

“Sorry,” Peter breathed, extending a hand and pulling Harley to his feet. “I should have---”

Harley was colliding with Peter in an instant, and before Peter could blink he was wrapping his arms around him tightly in a panicked hug --- body shaking, even. Peter hesitated before returning it, leaning his head against the top of Harley’s shoulder as his adrenaline started to crash. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, and the plethora of injuries all rendering to his nerves at once certainly wasn’t helping.

Harley pulled away first, but his hands were still gripping Peter’s upper arms tightly. “I thought you were dead, Jesus. You’re crazy, you know that? You and Tony must get along swell.”

He stepped back and scrubbed a hand through his hair, glancing away. Peter cracked a tired grin and produced the burner phone from his pocket victoriously.

“Maybe you’re right,” Peter said as Harley pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes. “But at least I got this. Help will be here before we know it.”

Harley looked up and couldn’t resist grinning, tired as it may be. He flicked his eyes towards the staircase. “You, uh, took care of them right?” Peter nodded slowly and Harley managed to look a little pale despite his country tan. “Right, well, I am not going to ask. Not yet, at least,” he added with a pointed look at Peter, who looked down, stomach rolling at the idea of another person knowing who he was. Maybe he’d tell Harley, but the uncertainty was there, and he doubted the nerves would leave until he left the house. “You think they have food up there?”

“Probably.”

A trip up the staircase later, Harley cast a satisfied look at James' and Carter’s unmoving --- but definitely living --- forms as they entered the stomach of the house, which turned out to be a cabin. Peter managed to keep himself upright until they got to the living room. Even though the thought of food made their stomachs growl, the thought of staying there a second longer repulsed both of them, so they stumbled out onto the porch, inhaling deeply and casting shaky smiles each other’s way.

Peter ended up sitting on the front steps, carefully lowering himself down as to not further aggravate his injuries, while Harley all but collapsed onto the porch swing, which creaked obnoxiously in the gusty wind.

“Did ya call him?” Harley asked from behind him.

“I texted him,” Peter responded tiredly, before propping his arms onto his knees and laying his head on his arms. He was freezing but it wasn’t cold enough to make going back inside the cabin worth it. He wished he had a jacket --- or even a flannel. Harley had both but Peter wouldn’t take it from him anyways. The phone made a sound; Peter's eye skimmed over Tony's response. It felt like a balloon full of tension was popped in his chest. Peter relaxed, casting a hopeful glance at Harley.

“He’s coming.”

---

Tony wildly grabbed at his phone as it went off four times --- no seven --- times in a row. His heart dropped as he fumbled to unlock it, mind racing as he thought above what the hell it could be. Another ransom picture? Or worse, some sort of video like they’d threatened?

He opened the attachment first, brain short-circuiting at the sight of the blurry selfie of Peter --- Jesus was that blood? --- and Harley laying down on a porch swing in the background. If the picture didn’t mean that Tony was having some sort of stroke or mild heart attack, the six texts from Peter certainly confirmed that he was losing his mind (or maybe that was the lack of sleep and sustainable food):

Hey Mr. Stark it’s Peter can you come get us

It’s Peter here is the address:

Also please bring food we are okay but we're starving

Also Harley might have guessed I’m Spider-Man he looked suspicious

Thank you

===

Thank you so much for reading my official debut into Whumptober (2020 or otherwise). Because of outside preoccupations, I will probably take more than a month to get this all done but I fully intend to do so. Hope to see you on the ride!

#whumptober2020 #no.1 #waking up restrained #shackled #Spider-Man #Irondad #Parkner #fic #whump #hurt/comfort #kidnapping

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sabineelectricheart · 3 years ago

Text

The Long Road

Summary: Hawke asks Sebastian to accompany her to the Wounded Coast to help matchmake Aveline and Donnic. The Brother is not amused.

Rating: K+ - Suitable for more mature childen, 9 years and older, with minor action violence without serious injury. May contain mild coarse language. Should not contain any adult themes.

Words: 1909

Notes: So, I’ve been playing DA these days, and I thought to cross-post here some fanfictions I wrote way back when. Enjoy!

Sitting on the floor by the door of the City Guard Captain is certainly not the best use of my time.

Hawke was twirling her hair distractedly, to my great surprise, also looking extremely bored and rather uncomfortable. I did not think she had that tick, as I felt that fighting highwaymen and explorations down the Deep Roads did not seemed befitting to hair care and the affairs of the heart.

Well, this whole day has been about surprising circumstances.

*_*_*_*_*

“Please, Sebastian!” She begged. “The whole thing feels so ungainly!”

She came looking for me at the Chantry, early that morning, while I tended to the candles to the dead. I had not the chance to finish my prayers before she grumbled her request.

I was used to Hawke’s weird invites, and usually I am more than glad to attend to them. She is a good friend and a fierce fighter, I never feared for my life with her by my side, not to mention my standing debt with her.

This, however, was a little too weird. To help matchmake the Guard Captain with a guardsman. By doing the rounds ahead of them.

“I can see that.” I agreed. “That is why I don’t think I should get involved. How would Guard Captain Aveline say if she knew you are being so open about her private life?”

“She asked me for help, and now I’m asking you…” She mumbled.

“She asked you, not me. You should do what you can, not bite more you can chew, and certainly not go spreading the tale around town.”

“I know that!” She defended. “That’s why I came to you, really. Varric and Isabela would tell all the patronage at the Hanged Man, Merrill has good intents, but she has an awful lack of tact, and Fenris and Anders are pants at romance.”

“And you thought a Brother of the Chantry would be a better option?”

“Yes?” She said, weakly. “Look, you had a, er, prolific romantic life when you were younger. Besides, mother tells me all the noble girls ask for you to hear their confessions.”

I felt my cheeks redden. “That’s beside the point!”

“What I mean by that is that you know how it works.” She countered, matter-of-factly, then, whispering, she said, “That’s more I can say for myself.”

The declaration made me halt for a moment, as I was quite sure that she would have had involved herself with Fenris at some point in time, or at least Anders in the three months they were away at the Deep Roads.

Nevertheless, while I heard her quite well, in respect for her right to privacy over her affairs of the heart, I did not press, despite my deep-seeded curiosity in the matter.

“I do not know what you would call experience, but I insist that I have no special skill over those matters. Even if I did, my, ahem, interests have been firmly and historically towards the fairer sex, and I come to understand that this is an entirely different métier.” I argued, trying to put an end to the discussion.

She groaned unseemly, and looked me dead in the eyes. “I didn’t want to tell you that, but I have no choice. Yesternight, Aveline wanted me to take Donnic for a drink at the Hanged Man and distract him for a while before she arrived, and now he’s under the impression I’m interested in him. He rejected me, of course, and thank the Maker for it, but I’m horribly embarrassed by that.

“If you were to come with me, perhaps… Well, perhaps he would understand I don’t want nothing with him and refrain from doing this sort of comment. At least, I think he wouldn’t jump to that conclusion anymore. Just… Please?”

Guardsman Donnic thought Hawke was interested on him, out of all people? And then came to the conclusion she was not worth his affections? He had quite a sense of self, huh?

Marian Hawke was not only a blue-blood, hailing from one of the most important families of the Free Marches, and with an enviable martial skill, which serves to memory that he made use of when she saved him. She was remarkably beautiful as well, yes, but that is not all, either. She had a noble character that was very hard to come by, always in service of the downcast of Kirkwall, even if she made questionable decisions on occasion.

The thought that Donnic is somehow above her made me want to laugh.

“Fine. Let’s go.” I conceded, sighing.

She beamed and led me to the city gates by the hand. I did not mind.

*_*_*_*_*

Her plan at the Wounded Coast did not go well.

Aveline was right in asking for all the help she could get, as she was hopeless when it came to romantic relationships, and it was painfully distressing to watch it unfold.

After clearing the entire path of highwaymen and traffickers, Donnic and Aveline had a completely uneventful patrol, where she could not form a single sentence that did not feel like nails on a chalkboard, not to mention the pitiful romantic caliber of it.

Hawke was downright frustrated, whispering expletives to herself she thought I could not hear, and I usually would chastise the language, but there was a time and a place to swear, and I ought to say this was it.

Finally, when they reached our outpost at the end of the trail, she forsook their anonymity and jumped in front of the pair of guardspeople, a wagging finger in front of her face.

“We don’t have all night, you know?!” She shouted at them.

Donnic, confused, looked between me, emerging from the bushes, Hawk and Aveline.

“Would someone please tell me what is going on?” He asked.

I sighed. “Guardsman Donnic, excuse my bluntness, but for the Maker’s sake, me and Hawke have been trying to help Captain Aveline to communicate her feelings for you all day. Please cooperate, because she is helpless.”

“Captain?” He turns to her to confirm, and she could only laugh noncommittally. Faced with such riveting response, he responded, uncomfortable, “I… Should get to the barracks.”

“Most unwise.” I commented, but made no further attempt of dissuading the man.

As he left, Aveline turned to Hawke in absolute rage. “I thought we were friends.”

“Friends sometimes push.” Was her response.

“I have to fix this. He could ask for a transfer, file a complaint.” She said, concernedly, and then turned to me. “You! You will come to the barracks and explain why you put him on the spot, or so help me!”

“Aveline, love is patient, love is kind, but love does not read thoughts.” I pointed out. “I hear you wanted to know whether you were a good match for each other, and I am sorry to say, there is no other way. The Maker will not tell you the right answer, you will have to find out yourself.”

Her eyes narrow and her hold on her sword tightens. “I will see you at the Keep.”

*_*_*_*_*

Once at the City Guard headquarters, Aveline had yet to calm herself down.

She paced back and forth through the main lounge, the other guards looking curiously at us.

“Maker, where is Donnic?” She begruntled. “I have to stop this before it arrives at the viscount. Maybe a formal apology. Something that show the guards they still can trust me.”

“Perhaps a few awkward gifts should help.” Hawke pointed out, and I snickered.

The redhead glared at her friend.

“You are their captain, Aveline.” I said, trying to defuse the situation. “You are not a golem; you are a human being. They expect you to have feelings, and are bound to respect you more if you show them on occasion.”

“Not if they are getting on the way of the job!” She countered.

“You don’t know that yet.” Hawke piped.

“It doesn’t matter! It’s a liability!” The other woman responded, deeply frustrated and afraid. “I will not be that stupid again.”

Guardsman Donnic chose that moment to appear down the stairs at the headquarters.

“Excuse me, Serah Hawke, Messere Vael, I need to speak with Aveline in private.”

“Guardsman Donnic.” Aveline acknowledges him, looks for confirmation from Hawke and motions for them to converse at her office.

*_*_*_*_*

Now, we wait.

A loud giggle coming from the room surprises Hawke, who uncrosses her arms and straightens her back.

“It seems to be going well.” She commented.

“It would appear so.” I agreed.

Her mouth twitched slightly over her thoughts, and then she sits next to me. “Hey, Sebastian?”

“Yes?”

“Before you made your vows, have you ever been in love?”

“No.” I said, categorically. “When I first left the Chantry, which was when I started dragging the family name through the mud, my mother offered me a choice: either to return to the order or to get married.

“I abhorred the idea of being what I thought to be equivalent to shackled to a woman the rest of my life, so I thought I could just pretend to have a righteous life with the sisters for a year or two, and then resume my prior interests once my parents forgot about it. Funny how things turned out.

“Had I been in love, truly in love, my choice would certainly be other. In fact, perhaps I would never get to the point of having to chose at all, I would have never strayed.”

“I see.” She tutted. “Do you regret it? Making your vows? Being unable to marry?”

I chuckled. “I could never regret a promise made to the Maker. However, I do wish things have never gone this way.”

“You mean, the Harimanns?”

“Yes, that too. I was more than happy to continue my life as a third son, keeping my vows, but I think I would be happy as a minor noble in an estate in the Marches, and that would include having a family, too.”

She smiled sadly at me. “For what is worth, I am sorry for what happened with your family. I am sorry you are being forced into a role you do not really want. Maker knows it’s something I have experienced.”

I thought about what I could say about that matter, but I was still trying to wrap my head around what had happened. Instead, I asked of her, “What about you? Do you desire to get married?”

“Yeah.” She responded shily. “I am a mage. I think I should marry, I feel like I should, for my people at Circles that cannot. Besides, you tend to develop a desire for stability when you become a refugee.”

I sighed. “I see. Who would you want to marry, then?”

Her cheeks redden. “I don’t know. The best I can tell you is I want a good man.”

“Preferably a direct one?” I asked in jest.

“Andraste, yes!” She breathed out.

As she spoke, Donnic emerged from the office, bowed his head slightly, and Aveline asked to talk to her.

“Sebastian?” She asked from the doorstep. “Would you care for waiting for me? We could stop by the baker’s before walking to the Chantry.”

I smiled. “I would love to.”

“Great.” She, too, beamed. “I’ll be right out.”

So, I began to think, what does make a good, direct man? Perhaps Varric knows the answer. I ought to ask him one of these days.

*_*_*_*_*

Dragon Age II Masterlist

#dragon age #sebastian vael

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sylvain-writes · 4 years ago

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Blood Like Wine (Vera x Hamish)

Fandom: The Order (Netflix TV) Pairing: Vera Stone/Hamish Duke Rated: T Dominant Vera, submissive Hamish, gentle dom, light Dom/sub, hurt/comfort, hand feeding, kneeling, memory magic/memory loss, angst and feels, sexual tension (~1.7k words)

To save herself and Hamish from his sudden transformation, Vera over-casts her sleeping spells. He wakes at her home disoriented and overwhelmed.

⁂ Magic coils the chain around his neck and Vera pulls. It’s pure luck that she'd been at her desk, that she'd had the enchanted chain at arms length, when Hamish cried out.

Covering his ears, he falls to his knees. Vera holds her breath as his eyes turn to ice.

They had been strategizing in her office. Arguing about some silly thing. Hamish at the disadvantage, always. He never has enough information to put up a real fight.

It all seems trivial now.

The alarm of dark magic calls to him, urges his body to transform, and he writhes against the restraints. Vera adjusts her grip and the links tighten. It doesn’t escape her how much he looks like a man on a leash.

But he’s so much more than a man. And a leash won't tame one such as him.

Hamish's wild blue eyes look up at her as he claws the floor. His nails drag uselessly over the stone. He gnashes his teeth. But he hasn't reached for the chain.

Vera doesn't have more than a second to wonder why. He’s moving toward her.

“Dormitum Dimittatur,” Vera casts, and sleep takes him in an instant.

The chain pulls as Hamish collapses in a heap. Vera releases it quickly, letting the shackles clatter to her feet. And then she's at his side. Her hands pass delicately over his throat. The caress, an apology.

Moving him isn’t difficult, having finely honed her telekinesis over the years, but finding a place to hide a grown man is a challenge. The others will return soon to give report on their werewolf charges. She has to move fast.

Vera increases the potency of her sleep spell- “Sopite” -and tucks Hamish out of sight.

He folds neatly under the oak desk, curled in on himself. His face has gone slack, but Vera remembers the way his lip curled in its snarl.

Hamish’s hidden strength enticed her from their first meeting. But seeing him like this - in the illusion he’s some small, fragile thing, after coming so close to his raw power made flesh - has her ensnared.

Her eyes catalogue the angles of his face. Even knowing the beast under the surface, affection expands warm in her chest.

Vera moves the chains to his wrists and pillows his head upon them. Adjusts the angle of his neck just so. She scoffs at what little comfort she can provide.

The sound of her Magistratus's impatient knock comes sooner than she expects. Vera pauses over Hamish, moves a stray hair off his face, and caresses his cheek before she stands.

With a gesture Vera opens the doors and Selena rushes in with Gabrielle and Austin on her heels.

“It happened again." Gabrielle announces, crossing her arms over her chest. She looks more annoyed than contrite. "But Randall and Jack ran off before anyone saw them."

Vera turns to Selena for her excuse, knowing full well she's clueless as to Hamish's whereabouts.

“Professor Kean needed coverage for her night class.” Selena holds herself upright even under Vera’s scrutiny. “I can’t watch him every moment…” She goes on, but her attempt to justify her ignorance wavers. “I don’t… I don’t know where he is. Probably with the others."

Vera plants her hands on her desk, shielding Hamish’s body with her own. “Must I do everything myself?”

“Yes, Magus,” Selena repents in a rush. “I mean, no, Magus.”

Vera’s glare would burn the Magistratus in her spot if it could. “Grand Magus,” Vera snaps.

Selena takes a step back and the three young practitioners bow their heads. “I’m sorry, Grand Magus.”

“Get out,” Vera says, her tone grave. “Leave Hamish Duke to me.”

Selena looks up in shock.

“Be grateful that’s the only responsibility I’m stripping from you, Selena. You’re not so hard to replace.”

Selena nods and Vera raises her voice again. “Get out!”

The doors close behind the young practitioners and Vera breathes deeply, both relief and frustration. Beneath the desk, Hamish stirs.

His hand brushes Vera's heeled shoe and she crouches to check on him. “What am I going to do with you?”

The red marks on his neck turn white at the barest touch of her hand.

Hamish moans as if in response, and his fingers curl possessively around her ankle.

Unwilling to risk him waking up like this, Vera cups her palm over his fluttering eyelids and casts sleep on him again.

⁂

Hamish wakes slowly. First, a crick in his back begging him to stretch. Next, a burst of pain behind his eyes stirring him fully to consciousness. He doesn't remember drinking. Then again, he doesn't really feel hungover.

Hamish rolls onto his side and bites back a hiss. His shirt scratches like burlap against his skin.

He wrinkles his nose against the sharp smells of the home. Fabric softener. Charred meat and herbs. The scents fill the room and his stomach roils. He gingerly brings his feet to the floor to sit up.

The change in position doesn't agree with him either. Pressure builds behind his eyes. There's a pounding in his skull. And as the thin blanket falls from his shoulders, he notices the chill that’s settled in him, bone deep.

Hamish squints as his eyes adjust and he finds he's grateful for the dimly lit room, even though finding himself in a strange place ignites his anxiety.

Sound rushes toward him, and while he knows it’s coming from far away, the scrape of metal on metal echoes like it's directly at his ear.

He breathes through it. Struggles to focus on something else.

Anything else.

There’s a light crackle from the fireplace. A gentle roar as the flames lick dry logs.

Hamish lets the natural sounds fill his awareness and the rest begins to fall away.

He's drawn across the room, and before he realizes, he’s on his knees, pressing his hands against hot stone.

He lowers his head to the hearth, as if bowing in thanks for the soothing heat, for the earthy sounds and smells.

Hamish doesn’t stray far. He finds an armchair, but doesn’t trust himself to climb into it. The floor feels safer. The carpet is lush. He curls his toes into the fibers and draws his knees to his chest.

His fingers rub circles over his temples as his heart thunders against his ribs.

There's magic in the air. Incantations dimming the glow of the fire, spells radiating a heat that brings to mind much larger flames.

Hamish lets the fire warm his back as he turns more fully toward the chair.

He's woken in strange places before. Even felt the remnants of magic on him while his memories were in hazy disarray. For a reason he can’t place, his mind reaches for evidence of Selena.

But with his face against the cushion, he recognizes Vera's perfume. The scent of safety and strength. He inhales deeply and relief floods his veins, pacifies his racing heart.

He's wrung out, exhausted. But knowing Vera is nearby is a balm to his distress.

⁂

Vera finds Hamish curled up beside her chair. The blanket long since abandoned on the couch; he's shivering.

A little influence on the fire increases the temperature in the room and she takes a seat. She’s not imagining it when Hamish shifts toward her and not away.

Vera places a plate and a glass on the end table, and Hamish lifts his nose in interest. A growl rolls in his chest in tandem with one his stomach gives in hunger.

He watches the approach of her hand as she tentatively, cautiously, lowers it to his head. His hair falls like silk through her fingers.

Hamish melts under her attention. He releases a shaky breath and what could be a whimper. His stomach growls again.

Her hands leave him for a moment but when they return, there's a fork and food. Vera brings a piece of steak to his lips.

It’s seared and spiced and Hamish turns his face at the offer.

“You should eat,” she says, and he presses his forehead against the armrest in protest. He waves her hand away and the fork falls to the floor.

Hamish tenses, brings his clumsy hands behind his back, and stares guiltily at the stain on the carpet. But Vera merely sighs.

She cuts a fresh cube of meat, picks it up between her fingers and holds it out for inspection. The rare, unseasoned cut glistens, pulling Hamish's gaze.

His mouth waters and she brings the meat closer. She gives his bottom lip a gentle nudge.

With his eyes locked on hers, Hamish takes the offering from Vera's hand. His teeth graze her fingertips and a shiver dances up her arm.

Hamish chews and swallows, closing his eyes in relief. He hasn’t eaten properly in days. He parts his lips for more.

Vera watches his throat work as he swallows another bite, and her heart twists at the sight of dark bruises blooming under his skin. To think she caused him this pain.

She lays a hand upon his neck and runs the other over his jaw. Feels his muscles tense and release. He draws in a sharp breath.

“Sanetur,” she whispers, heals.

He exhales.

Vera feeds him carefully. Holding each piece of meat to his mouth. When Hamish's lips part, she holds steady, letting him rise up and take at his own pace.

He quietly accepts each morsel with the slide of his tongue. He sucks the juices from her fingers when they linger on his mouth.

When his stomach is heavy, he leans into her legs, lays his head on her thigh, and sinks into her care.

Vera offers silent comfort by the fire, never leaving him long without her touch, until his eyes find hers again.

"Did you do this to me?" Hamish asks, his voice hoarse from disuse. Confusion is written in his expression. A question about tonight and so much more. Even still, there's devotion. There's trust.

Vera pets his head, stalling. She drags her thumb over the corner of his mouth, wipes drying blood from his lip.

The truth will hurt.

But Hamish's eyes go soft as he turns into her touch, nuzzling her palm, and she can no longer abide the lies.

"Oh, pet," she purrs as he takes her thumb between his teeth.

Vera cradles his face and watches the flames flicker and spark in his eyes. She holds Hamish firm as she promises - to him, to herself - "I'll make it right."

#netflix the order #vermish #hamish x vera #vera stone #hamish duke #my writing #a case of you series

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killrockabill · 4 years ago

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azula redemptive

so this isnt a full redemption more of a setting her on the path. azula is a character i kind of identify with. i grew up in a chaotic environment and learned to “play the game” manipulate lie and occasionally throw people under the bus. at first it was just a way to get through life but then it kinda just became who i was. i have gone to counseling etc but still occasionally wonder if my feelings are real or if theyre just what theyre supposed to be. i was lucky to have people in my life. my uncle irohs but she didnt seem to. here it is.

Azula was never the type for brooding, that was more zuzu’s territory. Tonight was different. She was tired. It had been a few years since the avatar ended one hundred year war. she had barely kept track of the actual amount of time. In the time since however; she had not grown complacent. she couldn’t.

Zuzu had become the fire lord and seemed to be decent enough at it. At least he was capable of not destroying the fire nation with incompetence. While they were never close there was a hint of something in her that could almost be considered pride. No. Pride was the wrong word the feeling was more that of acknowledgment. He and the avatar won and that was the end of that story.

For a time azula was unsure of her place in the universe. She had lived her life to be the true heir, to be ozai. He was a wrathful and petty god and she was his disciple.

“ Why was that again?” She pondered. “Well what else could i be? Zuzu?” She knew she was smarter than that.

Zuko was soft and too stupid to play the game, so she used him. Every misstep, every weakness was a way to save herself from being him. Did she ever feel bad about it? Perhaps a long time ago, not that it mattered. You do something long enough you get used to it and when you get good at it you start to enjoy it. Every maneuver, every manipulation was a victory and nobody played the game like her.

“My shadow lord” a shaky voice called from behind. The cult of ozai must have sent him. They had been useful to be sure, but she hated that name. It reminded her of the darkness within her, the same darkness her mother saw.

“Yes?” Azula spoke finally in an exasperated tone. “What is it? i have no use of any of you right now.”

“F-forgive me. I-I have come to warn you.” he stuttered as though he were shaken by the earth itself.

“You? Warn me? I may not be the fire lord anymore, but i am still one of the most powerful firebenders of this generation. What could be coming that I need worry?!” That was a bit more intense than she intended, but anyone who knew her knew it was her default state.

“N-nothing that i'm sure you cannot handle, b-but as your loyal servant it’s my duty. The ozai followers t-they doubt your intentions. They believe you don't intend to restore ozai to power.”

That was a fair thought seeing as she had no intention of restoring ozai to power. She had used them to challenge zuko and make him grow into the strong leader the fire nation needed. He was soft on enemies, azula being a perfect example, and not wary of friends that could turn on him as they do.

“Hmph, well I suppose i owe you thanks. Tonight you will leave and discard any sign of joining the movement. Live a life well or not it doesn't matter to me” she hated being in debt to someone. Azula could manage some over privileged fanatics, but knowing she’ll have to get her hands a bit dirty is nice.

“M-my lady i-i-i apologize i meant no offense. please i-“

Azula cut him off. “ you misunderstand. Tonight there’s going to be a … discussion, between the rest of the group. Take this and go do whatever it is you people do.” She flipped a gold piece. She couldn't be bothered to remember if he was one of the wealthy members and what's one gold piece. It was his duty to her to report and that should be rewarded. Flies and honey; perhaps if she did that back then those two. NO we are not going there azula scolded herself. Focus.

The man was still sitting there mouth agape like a fool. Was he processing what just happened? Regretting exposing his comrades? If he betrays her and lets them know she's coming she will live up to the darkness that earned her the title shadow lord.

“I don’t know what you are waiting for, but go. I have an appointment.” Azula walked past him. Ordinarily any threat of a stanger betraying her and leading her to a trap would be subdued by their fear of her. Azula learned that was not a guarantee the hard way. Her shoulder aches like an old woman from ty lee’s strike. That wasn’t what azula had heard about chi blocking, but maybe this hit was deeper.

“FOCUS” azula chided herself “her of all people. Yes, I did use fear to keep them in line but I was good to her. I tried at least. There weren’t many who’s tears could get to me. Fuck, enough. You need to deal with these fools”

Azula had reached the door to where the cult of ozai held their meeting. A Modest wooded shack near where Azula was. It benefited them to be out of the way and not get attention. Azula paused and thought “alright put on the scary eyes” before making her entrance. You could hear the conversation screech to a halt.

“My lady! Welcome, what brings you? New plans rid us of your brother?” One finally broke the silence. The fool that was their leader before azula had seized control.

The gaul to pretend like they werent just talking about turning on her. Did they know who they were dealing with? She was no longer princess azula daughter of ozai; she was the god now.

“Its come to my attention that some of us feel breaking my father, ozai out of prison. Let me clear ozai was a fool who bit off more than he could chew trying to conquer the world. He’s weak now spoiled by everyone's fear of him he lost to a child.”

“You speak out of turn little girl. You wouldn’t be so brave as to say that in his presence!” One of them burst out.

“Ah, yes the withered old man that has been in shackles for how many years?” Azula genuinely could not remember anymore. “I am a prodigy trained by the finest benders this nation has to offer. The bender that conquered ba sing se. Even with his bending he lost to an avatar that I beat. “

Azula wasn’t bragging. This was the fight. Subduing them without having to lift a finger. What happens when azula needs to lift a finger? Well, let's say azula would oblige in earnest. She could tell most of them had already seemed to understand. Any of them try something it’ll end one way. She’d won the fight before they could even try; perhaps she should write a book azula mused. “Azulas art of war”.

The only one not to flinch was their leader. His smile from when he greeted her did not waiver. He must have something in mind, as he would have no way of defeating her in single combat.

“My princess, perhaps you’re right there is something unclear about our partnership.” He started, as calm as can be. “ you are a talented bender to be sure, but without your father’s backing you’re simply an unstable little girl. Your usefulness is only in name and furthering our reputation.”

Usefulness? This commoner did not just reference her as a prop in their machinations. This was when azula began to get heated, literally. Around her the air began to warm until the air around her blurred like that of the air around an open flame. The room had become unbearably hot for the others, but azula the dragon she was, could handle much more.

Azula let out a sigh. “Unstable?!? Lets be clear you work for me! Not the other way around. I have seen and done more in life let alone for the fire nation than you will in what is about to become a shortened life!”

Parts of azula began to catch fire as her rage seethed. Zuzu may have been a lame turtle duck of a brother, but he did show her the usefulness of adapting different bending styles. The fire on her crawled across her body into a sphere in her hands. Though the leader had prepared for a direct strike; azula had something else prepared. She slammed her hand on the floor and allowed the fire ball to be pressed on the ground exploding out in a circle around her.

The cabin had caught fire and many of the cultists were sent flying into the walls and scattered like the insects they were. Azula had practiced that move for some time and understood why strong earth benders would use an impact like strike like that. It was an effective way to combine offence and defense, and not to mention oddly satisfying.

Azula may have been willing to kill if necessary but leaving them broken was the better choice. She snuffed out the fire leaving the smoke cloud to cover her exit. That should be a clear message to anyone. Princess azula is done.

Fire lord zuko did not need his shadow lord anymore. Azula hated to admit zuko had become a passable fire lord. The land prospered, and while zuko is about peace hes is firmer on asserting influence in world. The fire nation is still a force to be reckoned with and she was as influential in it as the avatar or that slob of an uncle. There wasn’t much to do here. Azula wasnt sure what the next move was, but there were things that needed to be drawn before action could be taken.

The palace at the fire nation capital. It was much like she remembered less a gaudy statue of her father. The way the paths lead by lantern fire flowed like a living flame. It was soft enough to have a cozy warmth like that of the hearth. If she missed anything the most of the old princess lifebit was how home loosened tension. This unfortunately was not a vacation.

Her brother liked to sit near the water where the woman and him sat. Only two kyoshi to guard him, I suppose if azula was an average attacker that would do. Azula could already feel the exhaustion this is going to come from this

She waited seated at the spot he typically stops at.

“AZULA” ah that raspy broody voice is never, not funny. He growls like a cub caught without a mother. “What are you doing here?! Trying to cause more trouble for me to clean up? Trying to take the throne?

“Oh zuzu all I’m doing is sitting here. Come I wish to speak to you, as civilly as possible. I’ll even allow one of your fangirls chi block my arms.

A laugh broke the tension “that's even funnier the second time around azula” that cheery pitch could only be one person. Azula perked up in her seat.

“Ty lee, im glad you’re here too. Wait that sounded ominous. I mean the sight of you is pleasant.” Not exactly how she thought things would go they were supposed to be separate. “Well that’s best anyway it’d make the noodle arm treatment feel less awkward when it’s someone you know.”

“Hey that makes this easy” with two jabs azulas arms and therefore lightning wre off the table. “I just want you to know. I am still scared of you, but that fear makes me want to stop it.”

“Ah-um ty lee… i don’t expect you to and ill understand if you say no but i'd like to speak with you after.” Azulas voice was gentle when it reached ty lee.

Ty lee paused to glance back. She was shaken at the thought. Of course she would be what else should she be? Happy? She said it herself she was scared of azula and you cant have friends with that or they betray you.

“Lets try this one first.”

Azula was impressed at how ty lee could not only give a non answer and still leave someone hopeful. After the war, thinking through things during training sessions, azula had a new perspective on ty lee. Azula never doubted her prowess for a second, but being such a skilled people reader and least suspect of manipulation. She was everything azula was not and then some. Where azula scanned for weakness ty lee scanned the person. Where azula would use fear to bend to her will ty lee was playing the long game with positive reinforcement. Azula needed her to know that and more.

“There.” Zuko barked. “Now state your business.”

“Zuzu, you’re not meant for impressions, that was the worst ‘father’ i've ever heard. I'm leaving the capital and maybe even the fire nation. “

“Why?” Zuko was confused, what would be her next move. other nations aren’t helpless and its not like Zuko would leave them to her.

“What is there for me here? Zuko, youre the fire lord ive made my peace with that. You were too soft when you first got the throne, and while not all of my actions were always so benevolent; after a while it was about keeping you on alert dealing with the changing world. Making sure you had fangs. Father, ozai, had beat you to submission for so long and only at the end of the war did you begin standing.

“You think you were helping me? Training me in some insane way?!” Azula knew he’d be this way.

“Heavy lies the crown on the head of the ruler zuko. I should know i had it for a couple hours and lost my mind.” Azula chuckled at the memory. A foolish child who had nobody left to manipulate and nobody she trusted, of course shed crack. “You don't have to believe me. Im not sure I believe me. If i couldn't be the fire lord, I'd help mold him, I thought. You're still too soft with other nations in my opinion but you can manage. You’ve proven that.”

“And why tell me instead of just going?” Zuko had began to calm down, perhaps the avatar was rubbing off on him.

“The very reason i had to have my arms chi blocked. You fear me. Sure, you could fend me off with your friends but you know i am not something you would want to face. Now you know you dont have to look over your shoulder, at least not for me.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Zuko lowered his tone. If azula were plotting it could’ve worked here.

“No. I expect the next few weeks you’ll be on high alert. You’ll be upping security in cities and in constant communication with smaller settlements. Most importantly, you will be training. You Want to know that if we cross blazes, you will win. That is why i am leaving that response to an unseen threat? Exactly as a fire lord should be.” He won't look at it practically, at this point what is there for azula to be here. the only reason to keep this up is to take that throne, the one that broke her, it may be rightfully hers but she was not rightfully its. It was owed to her but she was not owed to it.

“Listen zuko, we’ve both seen ozai for what he is. The man who needed his teenage daughter to take ba sing se because he never could. The shortest reigning fire lord who faced an avatar that had only one year of training on the day he was at his peak. He called you a loser, and always asserted dominance because that was the only way to get people to not see the pathetic incompetent man with good enough luck to have me. Looking at you now he missed an opportunity at a useful tool.”

“People aren’t tools azula.” The father talk began to itch at zukos emotional scabs.

“That was the way of the house, and you never learned that. You were too blind or stupid to think ‘whats the right answer’. That is why i was favored. Not luck, i played the game. Not unlike my friend ty lee, there did with me. She saw me.” It appears that azula had some scabs still too. She felt like her skin was raw and each word was hard to spit out.

“It doesnt matter” she took a breath “it would shame the fire nation anyway having to change leaders every few years. Just take my words and do what you will with them.” Azula was done, this had already been more a spectacle than she cared for.

“Ok, now what you stroll out the front door? We should take you in. That’d interrupt your trip. What now?”

“Oh zuzu, you are so on guard still. Good. I’ve an exit lined up out if the way so nobody questions my presence. If you take me in? Why? So i can escape THEN leave? Just extra steps. I dont mind waiting however. I think we both got something from this conversation.”

The air was warm. Unseasonably warm, its him. Azula wondered if this was coincidence or if he made hes own version of her technique. Now azula was tense. Impressive brother, but these are your options.

Finally, a high pitched intervention. “Uhum, fire lord zuko she also wanted to have a talk with me too. Maybe while you think about what to do with her I can see what she wants to say.”

“Are you sure? If she tries something.” Big brother of the year hm. Hopefully mai watches her back azula mused.

“Zuko im a big girl. Plus you’ll be in holler distance. Just keep an eye out.” Ty lee turned to azula. “Im going to sit next to you now, and if you try to bend at me or kick me i will be very upset.” There it was. Azula looked in awe at how she managed to channel a determined child while making it clear there will be consequences for any transgressions. Azula truly was a fool like her father before her, failing to see what’s right in front of her.

“Hi azula. You wanted to talk?” She tried to keep the pep but ty lee couldn’t help but be nervous. Azula was one Of the most dangerous people in the fire nation.

“I did. Thank you. Even though you know there’s a chance i could actually be up to something leading to you or something or someone you care about because all youve ever seen from me is wrath. So, thank you.”

“Ppft, im sorry azula I really am and you’re right i wasnt sure but that awkward rambling reminded me of that day at the beach.”

“ARE YOU MOCKING ME?! I came here and let you chi block me. Do yoy you know what this feels like? Limp noodles where my arms should be.”

“No, no, azula i swear it just shows there's still some of the good in you. Your aura is less vlack more a...deep watertribe navy blue. Theres also the temper still i see” ty lee tried not to give azula a reason to get heated.

“Oh. I see. Well regardless of the context tgat was rude”

“Yes it was, sorry.” She gave azula the eyes that always got to her.

“Its fine. I may have also been a tiny bit intense there.” Azula hated this. She was a prodigy. Which meant apologies and social interaction were unnecessary.

“Ok. Lets try again. ‘Now state your business’” imitating zukos growl of a voice. It got a genuine laugh iut of azula. It had been a while since she laughed at all.

“How do you do that? Just lull people into a state of placation and lowering their guards.” Azula regrouped.

“Its not a trick like you said. Well, mostly not. I do watch people and learn what i can, but its so i dont do anything to start upsetting people. And the rest is just i have a calming aura”

“So you’re just a pure sweet roll in this terrible world?” Azula was proud. She made a quip that didnt sound threatening. That practice wasnt for nothing at least.

“I dont know about that. All I do know is that if we try the world doesn’t have to be terrible. You’ve changed azula. I can see it. Not just your aura either. You meant at least half of what you said i can feel it.”

“Half? That's more generous than i would be in your shoes. I appreciate that and would love to girl talk i think time’s coming so ill jump to it. I want you to know the same as zuzu. I dont have plans for revenge for the prison. I also wanted to say… im sorry. You may have noticed my opinion of my father has changed and as his heir, his duplicate its making me think i need to redefine me. Clearly our way didnt work. I held you and mai by a leash and when it came down to it who do you side with the leash wearer or holder. I’m sorry it happened that way and what it’s probably done since, but there it is.

Ty lee remained silent.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me or even believe me. I just thought, you of all people deserved that much even from a monster like me.” The silence coming from ty lee was worse than any words she could have said. Each second of waiting for any kind of reply was tourture. Ty lee was never the silent type, so as expected she probably won’t accept it. That's fine azula didnt need her to; she didn’t need her or anyone for that matter. Beasts dont always have packs, especially the most vicious ones.

Ty lee stood up and took a few paces. Azula watched and simply thought ‘there she goes. She may be giving azula an out as a courtesy, ehich is more than she expected.

“You're not a monster.” Ty lee's silence finally broke. Her tone was quiet and somber.

“Youre not a good person. Youre Probably one of the worst friends I’ve had, but we were friends. I dont know how much to believe you, but you’ve apologized for hurting my feelings before in more casual moments. The time away may be good for you. I tell you what, I’ll accept your apology for the both of us. I’ll know i gave you one last shred of trust and if how things ended truly bothered you it can stop now.”

Azula was stunned. She shouldn’t have been. That reaction was as textbook as azula threatening a subordinate. Azula should be a little more at peace now, but she isnt. It hurts. Here was a kind strong woman who managed to make something of herself and azula was nothing anymore. A vagrant who couldn’t do what she was raised to do for a few hours. Kindness and compassion were underused thongs for azula but clearly they’re good for something.

“Ty lee” azula choked on the words. How pathetic. How embarrassing. On the verge of tears because she was not a monster to ty lee.

“ thank you ty lee. I didnt and still don’t deserve your friendship, but i think you did something to me. I dont know what, but something. You may go if you wish. I think i want to wait and see what zuko has to say”

“I’ll put in a good word for you. You called him ‘zuko’ most of the time you talked to him. You're a bit confusing right now but I think that might be a good thing.”

“Ha, oh ty lee you have too much faith in people. I could still be the monster in your closet. Don't ever change that.” Azula needed everything in her to not cry, not in front of them. Not again. Never again

Ty lee turned back to face azula. “And you have too little faith. That's ok though, i may not need to change but I really hope you are.” She smile md at azula. It was a soft smile like the glow of a candle in the night and just as warm. How she could manage a real smile towards azula was beyond her. It was beautiful and it had a way of crushing azula.

Ty lee was gone. Not far, as zuko still had to be in the garden somewhere. Azula was glad for that she could breath and focus on the next hurdle. Getting out with noodle arms would be difficult but not impossible. They were so put at ease about the arms they didnt think of any attacks she could do with her legs. If it came down to it she would set enough of a blaze to keep them occupied and run to her escape location.

Zuko and the others returned. He had a stoney look on his face more grim than broody. Azula cant be surprised its bad news, but it was less than ideal. Ty lee stood next to him. Had she kept her word and gave her a chance? Or was that just to encourage me to stay. She had been bitten once and was twice as shy nowadays.

“Ty lee mentioned your talk went well. Im glad you didnt try to kick or bite her.”

“Zuzu, what do you take me for a platypus bear or something?”

“Or something” zuko remarked. It was a fair enough jab azula decided.

“She told me you seem lost in the world. If this is true, we can help. Theres the beach house so you dont have to interact with people unless you want to. We can get you treated like someone in our family should be. You can help us do good for a change.”

“Where do you people get this faith?! I do not intend on being a ward or high end prisoner. I do not belong here, and cannot promise you I’ll be what you want. For all we know i'll turn on you like i have a dozen times over.” Azula could not tell if he really was that foolish or if she should be offended at the patronizing proposition. “No, if im to become something, someone, else it has to be away from here.

Zuko stood silent for a moment. “Very well, but i want you to know that any action against a fire nation citizen is an action on me. the way you and i have been going for years seems to only have one end so i hope you mean all of this. You may go on the condition a kyoshi warrior shadows you for a while.”

“The ones in the elaborate dresses, white, make up and golden fans? Im sure theyll be like a shadow in the night. Though I suppose it could be worse. If i get left alone they will be left alone, just so we’re clear.” Azula hated being followed, but if its just for a while she can put up with it.

“They’ll watch and see if you're just up to old tricks. You'll get a head start and they'll catch up so you won't be sure they are present. If they determine youre no longer a threat they will leave you.”

“Interesting proposal Zuko spoken like a benevolent leader. I accept.” Azula stood up, and was a little off balance because of the arms but they began to come back to her. “I… suppose that's it then brother. I’ll do you a favor and make it so my way in cannot be used again. We may not see eachother again, so farewell. remember, you are the dragon not some toothless herbivore. Dont embarrass us.” There was an awkward melancholy to azulas voice. They were never siblings in the traditional sense and she did try to kill him. A lot. Still, it’ll be sad to not get under his skin anymore even just a little.

“Goodbye azula. I hope you find whatever you’re looking for. If all of this is true my offer will stand.”

Azula had nothing to say. She couldn’t. She fully intends to be gone, and yet he leaves the door open? It’s embarrassing, its offensive, and somehow its cruel. Azula living the rest of her days in a place designed to make her complacent? No. She may not want the throne but she will not be a pet.”

Azula nodded and walked away. He was as good a brother as you could get in this family and she was as bad a sister as you could get in this family. That bridge is burned whether he realizes or not.

Now all that was left for azula was to decide where to go. That entire exchange left her raw and exhausted. Zuko may have had a point, the beach wasn’t far and a small coma would be nice. A stop off there get some nation neutral clothes and see where the wind take her. It was as good a plan as any for now.

When she finally reached the shore and looked up the stairs to the childhood beach house the exhaustion set in. How long had it been since she slept? More than 24 hours to be sure. Azula dropped to her knees and felt the sand beneath her. Soft, like ty lee's smile.

“No.” Azula dismissed. Now was not the time to reminisce. This sand was once a rock. It could have been a rock that punctured war ships sinking them to their doom, or a smaller rock cutting the food of an unwitting beach goers foot. Azula was that rock. Was she being worn down into sand? Was that ok? Everything in this world wears down, so why not her? If she could be half of what this sand was, pleasant soft and comforting perhaps that wouldn't be so bad.

#avatar #avatar the last airbender #atla azula #atla #atla fanfic #ty lee x azula #azula avatar #princess azula #prince zuko #azula and zuko #atla zuko #fire lord zuko #ty lee #ty lee atla #fan fiction #fanfic

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chaseatinydream · 4 years ago

Text

pirate king (69) || atz

You’re too late to reach him.

By the time your footsteps come thundering up the gangplank of the Treasure, wood creaking beneath your boots, Mingi comes to greet you midway, face drawn with concern and barely veiled fury.

“Where is he?” Your captain asks urgently, immediately, and you feel the pit in your stomach sinking more than it already has. San has had his hand on your arm the entire time, a reassuring presence but unwilling to divulge any information to you about that mysterious white ship.

White ship... you think, eyes glancing over over the hull, following the harbor. What meets your gaze is an unassuming, slender ship a few docks down, hull painted a stark, bone white, the same colour of ashes long burnt out, cold and dead.

“He’s in the sickbay.” Mingi runs a hand through his hair, eyes hard and distressed. He makes a soft, helpless noise, turns to your captain. “Captain, I really didn’t know this was going to happen, I-”

“There was nothing you could do, you couldn’t have predicted it.” Hongjoong says with a sigh, his fingers tracing the stitching along his eye patch. Next to you, San’s hand falls from your arm, chewing on his bottom lip nervously as he glances at the door to the sickbay. “How is he?”

“Wait.” You cut in, unable to bear not knowing about what is going on anymore. This is Wooyoung they’re talking, dolphin laugh Wooyoung, chatterbox Wooyoung, brighter than the sun Wooyoung. Why is the mere sight of a single ship sailing into the harbor of Tortuga enough to unsettle all of them so much. “What’s going on?”

San’s mouth works soundlessly for a moment, trying to find the right words, before it abruptly closes. He glances between you and the white ship and back again, then swallows nervously. “Chin Hae, that ship is-”

All of a sudden, the door to the sick bay slams open with a bang and you nearly jump, whirling to stare at the source of the noise.

“Wooyoung, wait!” You hear Yeosang cry out, and your eyes widen when you see the purple haired gunner burst out of the door, stumbling on shaky legs and eyes wild. He looks about frantically before his eyes zero in on the gangplank, and takes off at a run, frighteningly fast, barreling straight towards you. You don’t recognise his eyes, lost in the waves of something dark, a place where you can’t see.

“Wooyoung, stop!” Hongjoong grabs him by the arm and tackles him to the ground, and the younger gunner goes crashing to the ground with a painful cry. You merely watch in horror as Yunho follows behind his captain, dropping from the rigging to pin his other hand to the deck as Wooyoung continues to struggle and flail, panicked tears streaming from his eyes, mumbling unintelligible nothings under his breath.

“They’ve found me, they’ve found me, need to run, need to escape,” he moans, tears slipping down his cheeks as you can only stare on in horror - what on earth is happening? “Need to hide, need to run away before they find me and chain me up again, I-”

What?

“Wooyoung, listen to me-” Hongjoong tries to say, but Wooyoung shivers uncontrollably even though the sea breeze is warm, teeth practically chattering from fear. “Wooyoung, please, you need to listen-”

“Who?” You find yourself saying, even before you realise you’ve spoken. “Who is ‘they’, Wooyoung?”

“He’s here.” He sobs, and you can feel each individual piece of your heart shatter and crack at his heart wrenching wails. “He’s found me, I need to escape, I need to-”

“Wooyoung.” Your captain grabs him by the cheeks, forcing the younger man to look at him with tear filled eyes. “Listen to me. You are Jung Wooyoung. I gave you that name myself years ago, when I broke the chains on your hands and brought you with me. You are one of my crew, part of the Treasure.” He squeezes Wooyoung’s hands tightly, as if trying to will him to understand. “No one is going to hurt you ever again.”

Wooyoung stills, the fight deflating from him like a ship’s sails that have lost the wind. “No hurt anymore?” He whimpers quietly, eyes still clouded with fear.

Hongjoong nods once.

“No more hurt.”

>>>

“Master, what’s going on?” You ask the second he steps into the storage hold. San draws in a heavy breath, as if it carries the weight of the world, and sits down in front of you where your blanket is wrapped around your knees. Because of Wooyoung’s current sensitive condition, your captain has ordered for the beds in the sickbay to be given to Wooyoung and Yeosang for now, the navigator apparently being one of the few people able to calm him down. Thus now, you’re bunking down in the storage hold, lantern flickering dimly overhead, illuminating the weary slant of San’s eyes, the tight purse of his lips.

“I brought you this.” San says quietly, holding out something red - fox fur! - you realise. Thanking him, you draw the half stitched coat into your lap, fingers fondling the stray ends like they’re old friends, before you ask once again.

“Master, please.” You say quietly, fingers of your real hand curling around his, a reassurance of your presence, a persuasion for the truth. You can see that it’s weighing him down, that he’s dying to tell you, but there’s something holding him back. “Master, Wooyoung is...” you trail off, searching for the right words. What exactly is Wooyoung to you? But regardless of the answer that you do not yet have, the truth is still the same. “He’s a very precious person to me. I can’t just-”

“He’s an important person to me too, Chin Hae.” San says softly, squeezing your hand back tight. “He’s my best friend.”

“But you know.” You insist, desperation welling up in you. You feel your lower lips trembling, struggle to keep your tears from falling. “Master, what happened to Wooyoung?”

San lets out a groan, letting go of your hands to run his own through his hair harshly. “Wooyoung’s past is... complicated. He’s been through a lot, and-”

“Master.” You say, and he turns to stare at you with pained eyes. “Please, just tell me. I want to know.”

San holds your gaze for a moment longer before his eyes drop from yours, a soft breath leaving his lips. “I just... don’t want you to think any differently of him, or any lesser about him because of his past.”

“I couldn’t.” You answer instantly. When San looks at you, confused, you add on earnestly. “Nothing you say about his past could change the way I view him now, Master. He’s the one,” your breath catches a little, and you turn away, looking instead at the fox fur in your lap, “who saved me from the very beginning in Nassau, even before he really knew me. I care for him a great deal, master.”

“I know.” San says softly. A breath passes before he looks up at you, manages a grin. “Scoot over?”

You do instantly, shifting so that San has space to sit next to you, shoulders pressing together. He’s warm, you think quietly, letting your head rest against his upper arm. “So?”

San exhales. “Well... did we ever tell you how Wooyoung came onto the Treasure?”

“No.” You shake your head. As far as you know, Wooyoung’s past has been cryptic at best, with San and Hongjoong dropping the occasional comment before about how he’d been like you, without a name. The circumstances behind that are unknown, but you wonder if you might finally get to find out today.

“I was in the sickbay alone a few years back.” He raises his hands, looking at them as if trying to remember what he had been doing that day. “I was still relatively new on board the ship, after captain picked me up, but I know we were docked right here, in Tortuga.” Your breath hitches. “I was doing something at the table, whether grinding herbs or mixing salves, I can’t remember. But then all of a sudden Captain burst into the room, Mingi behind him. And I remember so clearly, the small, pitiful shape Mingi was carrying in his arms.”

You can see it playing out in your mind, San sitting at his little table, back turned to the door, spinning around in shock as your captain crashes in with his quartermaster in tow. “He was nothing but a bag of bones,” your master continues, voice hushed, cracking a little at the ends, “but the scariest thing were his eyes. They were so dead, Chin Hae.” The despair in his words is enough to make tears well up in your eyes. “If I hadn’t seen him breathing, I would have thought he might have been dead.”

Wooyoung with dead eyes? His eyes have always danced with life since the first day you’ve known him, bright and vibrant like the pulse of the sea and the life it brings. You don’t want to even imagine what he could have looked like, the mere thought of it too painful for you to handle.

“There were broken shackles around his wrists, heavy padlocks hanging from each.” San adds on, voice growing more and more solemn with each word. “Captain didn’t tell me the reason behind them, only instructing me to take care of him and feed him till he got better. And I did. I fed him and bathed him, and that’s when I saw the marks all over his body, bruises, deep scratches, bite marks...”

You still. “Bite marks?” You repeat hollowly, the words echoing around your mind. San sucks in a deep breath, buries his face in your hair. Your arms come up instinctively to wrap around him, and San continues, words heavy.

“Bite marks... from the women he was sold to.” The words seem to be nothing more than white noise now, ringing emptily in your skull. “Chin Hae, his old captain was a slave trader, but kept Wooyoung on board as a pet since he could remember. He was kicked, abused, beaten within an inch of his life as he grew up.” His tears soak into your hair as you stare silently at the wooden beams opposite, unable to think. “And when his captain thought he was pretty and exotic because of his purple hair, he started trading Wooyoung with high ranking women in towns for favors, and the things they did to him, he still has nightmares about them sometimes, and he-”

There’s nothing but a dull, throbbing ache in your chest. It hurts so much it stifles your breath, poisonous chains wrapped tight around your throat and lungs.

“-that’s why he’s so afraid of women, Chin Hae.” San says helplessly, seemingly unaware of the way your breath is trapped in your lungs. “He slept with them so much afterwards as his way of convincing himself he’d finally left his demons behind, but when you came, he-”

“Please stop.” You manage to croak out, and immediately San falls silent. Your head is spinning, a painful, raw feeling in your chest, breath trapped painfully in your lungs. Rising to your feet, you try not to let the tears slip from your eyes, refusing to look at your master.

“I need some time, please.”

Without waiting for his reply you stride out of the storage hold, climbing the stairs to the main deck, away from the stifling air beneath the deck that seems far too choking. Here the air is calming, and you step to the edge of the ship to cool off, trying to keep your emotions under control.

Wooyoung was hurt, is all you can think. People hurt him.

How could anyone hurt a person like Wooyoung?

You let out a long, shaky breath as you look down at the rippling surface of the sea. Your image is distorted, reflection half glancing off with the lights coming from the harbor, the other half submerged in darkness. There’s a feeling that only builds in you, deep and roiling, far beneath the surface, somewhere deep within you, like the beginning of a tidal wave.

Fury.

Like waves lapping at shore, slowly but surely, eating away at the edges. You glance up at the white ship a little while off, and thunder rumbles in the distance from the sea.

You’re furious.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

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yandere-daydreams · 5 years ago

Note

Oooooh, you added BSD (and I'm actually here when requests are open)? Could I request Chuuya with a kidnapped S/O trying to escape? Thank you! Love your writing!

I have realized there’s an insatiable urge somewhere inside of me to make the grumpiest characters as soft as I can possibly can. Chuuya shall be no exception, and I patiently await the day I can mock his height in the written word.

TW: Violence, Lacerations, Blood

“Baby?”

You went stiff the moment you heard his voice, freezing up and tightening your grip on the windowsill, cursing yourself for not hearing him come in. He wasn’t supposed to come home for another hour, and he definitely wasn’t supposed to see his little, docile captive halfway out a kitchen window, feet bleeding from the broken glass scattered across the floor and tether chewed-through, your collar now a useless accessory that you’d already attempted to tear off. Pausing was a reflex, holding your breath and closing your eyes and just praying he’d correct the problem without correcting your bone structure. But, that wonderful delusional was ripped away from you with another step, another reminder that Chuuya was in the same room and moving closer.

“Baby, what are you doing?” Chuuya still seemed to be disoriented, confused, if you didn’t know better. You didn’t move to look at him, much less answer, and his bewilderment began to morph into something threatening close to anger. “Get down from there, now. Before you hurt yourself.”

You could only shake your head, the movement slow, jerky, but all Chuuya saw was movement. Before you could process what was happening, you were on the floor, the edges of sharp, jagged shards tearing into your back and ripping a scream from your lips, the noise hastily silenced by a heeled shoe slamming into your chest, only driving you further into the glass. This time, you were smart enough not to scream, hands coming up to cover your mouth, even as tears began to form in your eyes, blurring your vision and making it that much harder to see the man now glaring daggers into you.

Panicked, you attempted to stutter out a response, an excuse, an explanation, something that took his attention away from you. “Nakahara, please, I… I didn’t mean to-”

“Save it.” Again, his heel drove itself into your chest, pushing the air out of your lungs and cracking something in your ribs, pain now blossoming in your chest as well as down your spine. You weren’t sure if you were bleeding, where you were bleeding, but if Chuuya was concerned, he didn’t show it, only growling when a whimper forced itself through your lips. “I work all fucking day-” Another grind, more pressure. “And what do I come home to? A fucking brat who thinks they can go around, breaking whatever they want to and being ungrateful when I do so much for the two of us. All I ask for is obedience, is that so much? Am I selfish for asking you not to fuck anything up while I’m gone?”

Your breath hitched, becoming more labored, a task you were really beginning to doubt was worth the effort. Choking back a sob, you forced yourself to relax, letting some of the tension out of your form, attempting to meet his eyes. But, your vision was so distorted, blurry and spotted and dim, you could barely recognize the vague outline standing over you, much less any distinctive features. “I’m sorry! Please, you’re hurting me, stop!”

There was the slightest bit of hesitance, an initial flinch giving you the thinnest strand of hope, but Chuuya’s resolve only strengthened, his foot pressing down one more time before he relented, withdrawing and simply watching as you struggled to control the tears running down your cheeks. You tried shakily to push yourself up, something warm now dripping from your shoulders and pooling onto the tile below, but as soon as you were upright, Chuuya was kneeling, keeping your down with little more than a hand on your thigh.

His demeanor had taken a sudden change, once again, his smile back in place and as forced as ever, lips twitching in irritation when you moved to curl into yourself. The small gesture alone was enough to make you stop, simply crossing your arms as he spoke. “You used me. You pretended to be happy, then you broke a fucking window and maimed yourself trying to crawl out of it.”

You wanted to point out that you hadn’t been hurt, not severely, not until he came home. You wouldn’t have been hurt at all if he hadn’t taken a dive off the deep end and chained you to a bedpost, but he probably didn’t want to hear that. Instead, you only nodded, biting into your cheek to keep from flinching as he rubbed slow, methodic circle into your skin, ignoring the way you flinched when he pressed down to hard.

“And you know how fucking angry that makes me, right? You knew how much it would kill me if you actually got away.” He didn’t wait for a response, this time, grabbing your thigh and squeezing, digging his nails in until you grabbed his hand, Chuuya only pulling away, glaring in your general direction. “But, you still tried. Because it’s so terrible to be with someone who loves you.”

He let out a heavy sigh, his hand moving further up your leg, his eyes dropping to the appendage he was focusing on. Chuuya didn’t move to speak, seemingly content to sit in silence, but you weren’t as satisfied. The pain in your back dulling into a persistent ache, you swallowed your nerves, not daring to pull away when his touch lingered for a little too long. “I… Are you going to get a new leash?”

He shook his head, leaning forward, his free hand coming up to brush back the hair that had fallen into your face. “No, that didn’t work, did it?” His question was answered by a soft laugh, breathy and fleeting, Chuuya moving a little closer, shrugging off the coat he hadn’t bothered to shed earlier. You whimpered when he drabbed it over your shoulders, the rough fabric rubbing against countless open wounds. You didn’t move, though, not wanting to waste what little empathy he had left. “I mean, I was going to take it off eventually, anyway. But, I didn’t think I’d have to do something so…”

He trailed off, and your eyes shot up to meet his, your stare pleading with him to think about this for a few more minutes, to see how injured you already were, to just pull out the fucking shackles again. But, Chuuya wasn’t looking at you, anymore. Not your face, at least.

No, he was still looking at your thigh, his soft touch changing to something more solid, pressing down gently, testing its strength. Already, you could feel his ability weighing down on you, the air around you feeling damper, thinner, heavier. He didn’t concentrate, still experimenting with how much force he should use, but it wouldn’t stay that way. It never took him very long to figure these things out.

Honestly, you should probably be thankful he bothered to think about it at all, rather than just pressing down until he heard something snap. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d threatened to, but… god, you never really thought he’d try to break your legs.

You scrambled to push him away, to move or scream or so something, but the moment you opened your mouth, Chuuya chuckled, his control increasing to the point you where you could hardly think about moving. Slowly, he leaned forward, kissing your cheek and nuzzling into your shoulder, but having him so close was far from a welcomed sensation.

“I just didn’t expect to do something so permant this soon.”

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