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ladydaemon · 3 years

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HOME IS THE TWO OF US

jesper fahey x female! reader

A/N: this is my fic for @magpiencrow's 1.2k writing challenge - i chose to combine 'you and i' by queen and 'two of us' by the beatles. and yeah this is more than two weeks later than when i said i would post this what about it

Summary: jesper and y/n have a wonderful night on ghezen's day

Warnings: swearing, i think that's it? its literally just pure indulgent fluff

"You do realize someone probably worked very hard to earn kruge like this, right?" Y/N L/N grinned, holding up a thick wad of money they had stolen from someone's pockets. She was seemingly unperturbed by the fact, her tone light and teasing as she bumped playfully into Jesper.

"And we, my dear, are working very hard on spending it," Jesper winked, wrapping one of his long arms around her shoulders. He snatched the kruge from her hand, immediately spending a portion of it on the first thing he laid eyes on, which was a ridiculously bright orange hat that burned Y/N’s eyes just looking at.

Jesper plopped it on her head, adjusting it so it was crooked, laughing.

Y/N would have done anything to hear that laugh.

The streets were loud and boisterous and carefree, and for the first time in a very long while, the two of them felt the same way. For today, at least, there were no chores or errands or jobs to do.

It was Ghezen's Day - the holiday that signified the starting of spring, where everything was sunny and bright. It was the one day where even the lowest of the Barrel thugs were out enjoying this tiny sliver of happiness, where there was only whistling vendors and cheery parades and star-gazing at night.

But for Y/N and Jesper, it was something more. It was a day where they weren't con artists or thieves or sharpshooters. They weren't thugs or gamblers or criminals.

They were teenagers.

Kaz, of course, pretended like he didn't care. He rolled his eyes and told them that were just trying to get away from chores they despised or any actual work. But everyone knew, even if they didn't admit it, that today was a day where they could pretend.

Pretend to be normal, pretend to be regular, pretend that they had loving families and good homes. Pretend that the weight of being hated and criminalized and addicted didn't make their shoulders slump and their heads hang. Pretend that they didn't muffle their sobs behind closed doors or shake in bed as they tried to rid their minds of all the horrible, treacherous, necessary things they had done.

Pretend that they were just a pair of inseparable best friends having a good holiday.

"C'mon, we need to find a good spot to see the sky," Jesper needled, taking Y/N by the arm and dragging her toward a carriage, elbowing a small, old lady out of the way and almost running them over a few small children on the way.

On Ghezen's Day, an hour after the sun set, the city mandated that all lights be shut off - the sky was clearer than it ever was in the hours that followed, and nearly everyone over the age of twelve stayed up until dawn, watching the sky. However, there was still pollution in the city, remainders of the gas and oil and muck churned up from the sea and the homes of the wealthy, and many preferred to ride to the outskirts of town, if not all the way into the country, where the sky was more visible.

Those towns that bordered between rural and urban, which never saw much tourism or profit, were the most popular places to be, full of tents for dancing outside and vendors selling foreign delicacies and musicians standing in the streets.

And as such, it was almost impossible to get a carriage out of the city without deploying either bony knees, steel-capped boots, or vicious elbows.

And that was exactly what was happening as people shoved and hassled people out of the way, even occasionally pulling out thick wads of kruge, trying to bribe other people in getting out of the limited selection of carriages going out of the city.

"The woman with the black shawl," Y/N whispered (though she needn't have bothered - the city was loud enough to mask any noise), leaning in and brushing her lips against Jesper's ear so he could hear her.

She could’ve sworn she felt him shudder.

"Ten minutes. No less."

"Twenty kruge.”

"Done."

Y/N grinned, slipping out of Jesper's hold and sauntering over to the woman in question, a pretty red-head. The woman was obviously rich (Y/N took a moment to appreciate the elegant dark blue dress she was wearing, paired with pretty gold earring and a matching necklace) and was about to step into a black carriage - one that Y/N was about to charm her out of.

"Hey there, miss," Y/N called out, putting on the face of an entitled, flirtatious mercher. "You wouldn't mind sharing the carriage, would you? I can’t seem to find an available one, and I’d rather share one with a beautiful lady such as yourself instead of some of those Barrel barbarians.”

The woman stopped halfway into her seat, looking back at Y/N.

If Y/N hadn’t been wearing the obviously expensive clothes she was, with the even more expensive diamond necklace around her throat (that Jesper had given her last Ghezen’s Day, as a present), the woman would have simply shut the carriage door in Y/N’s face.

Then there was the fact that she was gorgeous, and nobody in their right mind would refuse a two hour carriage ride alone with her.

That was Jesper’s opinion, at least.

“I could say the same about you,” the mercher grinned, opening the door wider.

Y/N smiled back, stepping into the carriage and placing her hand delicately on the other woman’s arm-

And swiftly shoved her into the streets, slamming the door behind her. Jesper climbed in from the other side, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Cruel.”

“Please, I slipped fifty kruge in her sleeve, she’ll be fine.”

“Ah. In that case, proceed. I don’t like anyone flirting with my Y/N, anyway.”

Y/N smirked at him, handing the driver a wad of kruge and telling him to step on it.

“Criminals,” he muttered, snapping the reins.

"Heels down, Y/N, love," Jesper shouted, grinning.

Y/N, switching the reins to one hand, flipped him off, scowling, but adjusted her feet in the stirrups anyways, forcing her heels downward and huffing when her calves ached. “I hate you.”

“We both know you love me,” Jesper shouted back, easing back into a trot - Y/N did the same, easing her weight further into the balls of her feet and gripping the saddle tighter between her knees. Beside her, Jesper had already done the same, posting in time with his horse’s gait.

“Where are we going again?” Y/N asked, panting as she slowed her horse down to a full stop.

“Absolutely nowhere.”

“Do we’re going nowhere, and basically getting nowhere and you want me to be happy about all this work?”

“Yes? You’re being blessed with my presence.” Mock indignation filled the words and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” Jesper huffed, “let’s go back home.”

But home wasn’t always a place, was it?

”Come on, I’m hungry,” Y/N whined, pulling Jesper’s wrist with her as she power-walked through the crowded, small town in search of some sweets.

”Ooh, cinnamon honey cakes,” Jesper said dryly, almost smacking into Y/N when she came to a full, screeching halt.

”Don’t you dare joke about honey cakes,” she hissed, poking him in the chest.

”I wasn’t,“ Jesper chuckle, nodding toward the vendor selling the sweets in question.

Y/N gasped audibly, dragging him along with her as she practically sprinted for the cart.

”After this, we’re going straight to the pond. We don’t want anyone to steal our spot.”

Y/N flopped down on her bed, staring at her wall of paper in boredom.

Each scrap of parchment, every napkin with hastily scribbled writing in the back, was a letter from Jesper.

Every week, no matter where Jesper was at the moment, he would write her a letter - describe where he was in detail, and then every thought that came to mind. It was a strange tradition (that nobody remembered how it came about) that Nina liked to tease them about.

You two have separation anxiety, she would giggle. Like an overprotective mother and her baby.

Two best friends, actually, Y/N would respond, stuffing her face with waffles.

Um, no. Would ‘best friends’ write, and I quote, “I’ll be home soon” on every letter they write?

Yes, they would, Y/N would sigh, snatching whichever letter Nina had gotten ahold of that time, and stare at the phrase in question.

Because home wasn’t a place.

“Stop doing that,” Jesper whined, plucking the lit match from Y/N’s fingers and tossing it into the pond.

She huffed, sticking out her tongue and lighting another one, waiting until it had burned down to her fingers before flinging it into the lake. “It’s a habit, Jes.”

They could’ve been there bickering playfully, enjoying each other’s company in silence for three days or three hours or a mere three minutes. Time didn’t exist, didn’t matter when they were alone together.

Laughter rang through the darkness, lanterns only bobbing pinpricks of light behind them - drunk giggles and cheerful music echoed back to them, but it didn’t really register to either of the two.

Moonlight bathed the two of them in a white glow as they both stood up as the stars gradually came out, twinkling, tiny lights covering the marbled, dusky blue-purple-black night sky, exposing nebulae and swirls and whorls of colors.

“Y/N, love, you’re gonna catch a cold.”

“I don’t care in the slightest.”

Jesper sighed, a grudging smile overtaking his face as he watched Y/N. She was soaked to the bone, hair and clothes sticking to her skin, nose ruddy from the cold.

“Dance with me,” she pleaded, holding out a hand to him.

She looked beautiful.

Jesper finally relented, picking Y/N up and twirling her around. She squeaked, closing her eyes, gripping onto his arms for dear life as the rain came down in silver sheets around them.

When he set her back down, the world seemed to stop spinning, the carriages stopped moving, it was just him and her and the rain.

“Let’s go home,” Y/N said eventually, quiet and peaceful, smiling up at Jesper.

But they were already home.

She turned to Jesper, about to remark on how pretty the whole thing was, but stopped in her tracks. He was staring at her, a small, happy smile on his face, an unreadable emotion in his silver eyes.

“Wha-“

He closed the three feet of space between them, grabbing her face between his hands, gently, like she was as precious as the diamonds around her neck. Not like she was breakable - like she was valuable, and he never wanted to lose her.

He gave her time to pull away, to laugh and make a joke, but she only stared back at him, the quizzical expression gone, on its place one of fear and hope and happiness.

And then his mouth was on hers and her hands were messing up his hair and she couldn’t feel the grass on her feet anymore or the wind on her neck or her heart, jittering in her chest like it wanted to burst out and fly into the night, only him, him, him.

And then he pulled away and kissed her nose, her eyelids, her forehead. He was laughing, hands going to her waist to twirl her around and around and then she was laughing too, too many emotions to count bubbling up in her chest. Elation, hope, almost hysterical happiness, and-

Absolute certainty.

That was the feeling, that was the one thought filling her head - that there weren’t any questions anymore, because this was where she was supposed to be, this is what she was supposed to be doing, and for once, she was letting herself.

For once, she wasn’t thinking about the next day or the next job or the next week.

It was just the two of them.

Because she could never predict where life was going to lead her next, or foresee the future years, or know what horrible thing was going to happen to her next. Hell, she didn’t know what was going to happen in the next couple hours, let alone what type of sandwich she was going to eat tomorrow.

But she knew, with absolute and utter certainty, that she wanted to do it with him.

That whatever happened, she would be alright, because home wasn’t a place - and it wasn’t Jesper, either.

It was the two of them, together.

Music floated gently in the darkness, down to were Y/N and Jesper were laying in the grass. Her head was on his chest, and they were both staring at the stars.

Home is the two of us.

#magpie's 1.2k #lady dae fics #jesper fahey x reader #jesper fahey #jesper fahey x y/n #jesper fahey x you #jesper x reader #jesper x y/n #six of crows #crooked kingdom #six of crows fanfic #grishaverse #jesper x you

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snarky-badger · 3 years

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Snapshots 4/5

Grievous Fuckery part 4! This time with Smut! Lmao.

Snarling, Grievous closed a hand around the thug's throat and shook him violently, vaguely aware that two of his Magna droid bodyguards had moved to flank him, electrostaffs held up in warning to the marauder's companions. "What did you do with her?!"

The thug clawed at the metallic hand that was cutting off his airway. ".....d-desert...! W-we dropped h-her.....-hrk!- ...desert!"

Bright yellow eyes narrowed in anger and worry. Being dropped into the deserts of Tattooine was a death sentence. Daytime temperatures were known to reach deadly levels. Dehydration could occur in less than an hour, death in two. Any person who ventured into the deserts unprepared was, more often than not, either found dead, or never found at all. And that was only if the vicious tribes of Sand People didn't come upon them first.

And his taisilee had been dumped into the heart of it.

"Give me the coordinates of her last known location, and, perhaps, I'll rethink my decision to have you all killed."

His shuttle touched down three klicks east of the coordinates the marauder leader had provided, throwing up clouds of sand as it settled in the lee of a rocky outcropping. The ship's sensors were on maximum, struggling to find any life signs amongst the dunes. Topographical maps didn't encourage hope. While they had landed near a series of rocky mountains and outcroppings, the surface temperatures were well above dangerous levels. Dry gusts of sand laden wind were doing a good job of stripping the shuttle's outer hull of it's markings - Grievous didn't want to think about what it could do to unprotected skin.

He left two of his Magna droids at the shuttle, with orders to continue scanning for any signs of life. The other two flanked him as he descended the ramp, his rarely used white cloak billowing out behind him. The heat meant little to him, and even less to the Magna droids. The sand, however, was a different matter. Sand could damage sensitive joints, and in his case, irritate his still organic eyes.

But there was no telling how long the winds would last, or even how much time he had before an inevitable sand storm hit. He had to find Kyra. He only hoped he wasn't too late.

"You two, spread out," he growled to his two guards. "Search the outer ridges. Kyra wouldn't have strayed far from the shelter of the rocks. If she's here, the scanners may have difficulty finding her signal because of interference."

Grievous spun away as he finished speaking, his own sensors stretched to their limits as he sprinted towards a small canyon, stabilizers struggling to compensate for the shifting sand under his feet. Scans had shown a series of caves lining the shallow canyon's walls, the perfect shelter from the overwhelming heat and biting sands.

It was only when his talons hit stone that he stopped, his cloak whipping around him as he let his gaze cut across his new surroundings. Dark shadows dotted the sides of the canyon, outcroppings and shelves of stone making the walls look sharp and unforgiving. The wind buffeted his back, the sensation of sand grating across the back of his skull making him wish his cloak came with a hood.

He was just about to pick his way down to the canyon floor when something caught his gaze, his eyes narrowing as he walked over to crouch in front of a smooth boulder. There, etched into the reddish stone, was a rough copy of the emblem that was on the grey cloak he usually wore.

She had been here! Maybe, was still here.

"Kyra?!" His voice echoed through the canyon, even as he haphazardly jumped from outcropping to outcropping, darting from cave to cave. "Answer me! Kyra!"

Through the echoes of his calls, Grievous caught the telltale howls of hunting Sand People, the sound pulling a snarl from him as he rose his gaze to eye the horizon warily. Knowing time was short, he sped up his search, chemsensors and scanners tuned as high as they would go as he searched for the slightest sign of her, keen eyes cutting across his surroundings for any other possible etchings.

He was halfway through scouring the north side of the gorge when the calls from the Sand People turned into a completely different sort of feral cry. They had found prey. And judging by the sound of blasters, armed prey.

Curious, the cyborg climbed up onto the ridge, keeping low to hide his profile. Using the rough terrain as cover, he darted from boulder to boulder, slowing once he got within visual sight of the fire-fight. Five Sand People were taking cover behind a dune, only reappearing to take shots at a hidden opponent. Grievous narrowed his eyes at the second dune, catching sight of a barrel of a crude blaster before a very familiar glint of fire-red hair sent a shiver of recognition through him. "KYRA!"

She ducked as a shot grazed her cheek, rolling onto her back as she wiped sweat and dirt out of her eyes. The tribe of Sand People had been hunting her for days, having spotted her when she had headed into the canyon hoping to find shelter. While the caves there had given her an advantage - there were mazes of interconnected tunnels in the deepest caves - something had prickled her Force senses, drawing her out of her shelter.

It had been a stupid move. Kyra knew the Tribe had been watching her. She knew they were waiting for an opportunity to catch her. And despite that, she had let her Force instincts draw her out. Even now, while she was dodging blasts, her Force sense was still niggling at her. Though, considering that she had barely slept, and had gone without food for four days, and without water for two, it was possible that she was hallucinating.

With a tired sigh, Kyra rolled back onto her stomach and dared to poke her head over the top of the dune again, her index finger lightly tapping the trigger of her stolen blaster. A shocked gasp left her seconds later when she spied a familliar burnished white form moving amongst the Sand People, four lightsabers whirling with deadly precision.

Grievous dispatched the five tribe members in as many seconds, kicking the final body in disgust before he resettled his lightsabers into the hidden pouches in his cloak and turned towards the sound of shifting sands. Seeing Kyra rushing towards him, Grievous spun and loped down the lee of the dune, heedless of the unstable terrain as he ran over to her.

He reached her just as she stumbled, not slowing as he scooped her into his four arms, taloned feet digging deep into the sand to slow their momentum as he nuzzled his mask into her hair. "Taisilee."

Kyra wrapped shaking arms around him, curling her fingers around bits of his back armor. "I knew you'd find me," she whispered, hearing his low purr/growl as he brushed the lower part of his mask against her forehead, then against her cheek, his upper right hand rising to brush tears from her skin. "I knew you'd come."

"Always," he growled, his voice a low husky rumble. "Always, my taisilee."

Concerned at the pained tint to her scent, Grievous leaned back and really looked at her, a shocked curse leaving him when he saw the horrible sunburn that covered every inch of exposed skin. The marauders had stripped her of everything except a thin tank top and her pants and boots. She looked exhausted, dirty and dehydrated, with little cuts, bruises and scrapes marring her badly sunburned, and sand-grated skin. That she had managed to survive for a week without adequate coverings or water was nothing short of a miracle.

With a protective rumble, he shifted his hold on her, then sent a silent message to his guards, requesting a pick-up. "My shuttle is on it's way," he told her, meeting her gaze. "I made sure to stock some supplies for you."

She leaned into him, feeling him tighten his hold on her. "They took the lightsaber you gave me," she admitted softly, wincing a little when he tensed, a low snarl leaving his vocalizer. "I'm sorry."

Grievous jerked, surprise pushing thoughts of killing the entire lot of marauders from the forefront of his mind. "And why, my taisilee, are you apologizing for something that isn't your fault?"

"....feels like my fault," she murmured sourly.

"Kyra, I saw the state of those thugs. I know you fought them." When she frowned, he ducked his head and gently brushed the lower part of his mask against her chapped lips. "They drugged you, my taisilee. I found the darts they shot you with and had the contents analyzed. With the amount they gave you, you shouldn't have been able to move, never mind fight like you did. You killed three, and wounded seven before the drugs took effect. It was a lost battle that you were forced to fight, my taisilee, and even so, you still fought to the last. It is very..... attractive."

She shivered at the lust in his voice and eyes, blushing when he chuckled and pressed his forehead to hers. Deciding that two could play that game, Kyra lightly brushed a hand across his chest, using a bit of her waning energy to send a teasing thrum into him.

Another chuckle rumbled out of him. "When I get you home, I may just pay you back for that," he purred, snickering when the redness on her face and neck darkened. "All this time, and I can still make you blush, my taisilee."

She passed out the moment Grievous gently set her down on a medical berth, and it took him several tries before he managed to pry her iron grip off of him. Once he was free, he busied himself with carefully slicing away her filthy clothing, tossing it into a waste compartment as he did so. Only then did he do his best to clean the dirt and grime off of her, scowling at the raw, and badly sunburned state of the skin on her face, arms, upper chest and shoulders. Every inch of skin that had been left unprotected to the elements was damaged, and by the sound of the soft whimper that left her, extremely sensitive. The rest of her body was decorated with sporadic bruises, and once he tugged her boots off, he found that she was sporting a badly sprained ankle.

The little first aid supplies he had weren't going to be enough to treat her raw and sunburned skin, and Grievous smothered a growl at the realization. Disgusted at his lack of insight, he settled for dosing her with painkillers and setting up an intravenous drip of saline to combat dehydration. Her body absorbed the water at a frightening rate, making him set up a second bag of the liquid, this time adding a liberal dose of vitamins and minerals that would help boost her recovery.

At the end of his medical knowledge, Grievous sighed and undid the clasp of his cloak, draping the material over her to hide her nakedness. Even though there were only droids on the shuttle, he wasn't about to let anyone other than himself see her without clothing. She was his. And he wasn't above admitting his possessiveness.

The medical scanners gave a warning chirp, and he spun to stare at the readout, hands clenching into fists. Her body temperature was dangerously high. Only one degree higher, and there would be a very serious chance of brain damage.

Cursing, he yanked his cloak off of her, talons shaking as he started to reach for her, only to hesitate mere centimeters from her skin. There was nothing on the shuttle he could use to lower her temperature. And if it edged just one degree higher.....

He whirled and barrelled out of the small room, storming up to the bridge, where two of his Magna droids were piloting the shuttle, eyes narrowing when he realized that they were barely out of the planet's atmosphere. "Why aren't we in hyperspace yet?! We need to get to my Citadel!"

One of the Droids turned crimson optics onto him. "We had to circumnavigate a sandstorm. We'll be in hyperspace momentarily."

"Re-route energy from the shields and weapons," he ordered, giving the console a quick glance. "Push the hyperdrive engines to maximum."

The second guard visibly stiffened before glancing at him. "Lady Kyra?"

Grievous didn't know if he liked the fact that his bodyguards had picked up how much Kyra meant to him. "She requires urgent medical attention," he answered gruffly, barely able to hold back a growl when the droid nodded and turned back to the controls. "Advise me when we land."

He burst out of the shuttle before the ramp had fully lowered, clutching a still unconscious Kyra to himself as he darted into his Citadel and headed for the medical ward, bellowing for his Doctor as he ran.

The medical droid looked rather annoyed at being yelled at, until it spotted Kyra in his Master's arms. Whatever snarky remark it was preparing to give was wisely put aside as it stepped aside to avoid being run over. "Where did you find her?"

"Tatooine's badlands," Grievous answered, pushing past the Doctor and rushing into the cleaning area he usually used to wash the dirt, grime and blood off of himself after a battle. The cloak he had wrapped around her sailed out of the room, landing on the droids head and blocking it's view as the cyborg activated the water jets and lowered the temperature to as cold as he could stand.

It worried him to no end when Kyra didn't even twitch as he angled her under the freezing spray.

The Doctor knew better than to even think about looking at a disrobed Kyra, so it turned it's back to them, scanners running. "How long has her temperature been at such a level?"

"Exactly twenty-one minutes. I administered two intravenous saline drips, a single dose of painkillers, and a vitamin cocktail as soon as I got her onto the shuttle," Grievous told it, grimacing as the cold water seeped into his joints. But he pushed his discomfort aside and kept Kyra's body under the jets, tilting her face against his shoulder to keep her from accidentally inhaling any water. "She lost consciousness as soon as I brought her onboard. I haven't been able to wake her."

"....it has been documented that some Sith and Jedi can enter a sort of healing trance when they are wounded. She may have fallen into such a trance as soon as she found herself safe enough to do so. By doing so, she may have kept her temperature from rising any higher."

He mulled that over for a second. "What are the chances that she contracted brain damage?"

"Statistically? Twenty-five point two percent. However, my scans show an increase in brain activity, and there is a significant rise in theta waves."

"Theta waves? That's not Force related, is it?"

"Unknown. I do not have other scans to compare with. Though her body temperature has dropped oh-point-seven degrees since you arrived. I estimate that another ten minutes under the cold water will bring her core temperature back to a safe level."

Grievous felt some of the tension leave his frame at the information and slumped a little under the stream of water, holding back a curse as the frigid spray hit him in the face. Hissing, he shook his head, blinking the cold water away as he returned his attention to the woman in his arms, frowning down at her worriedly as he split his arms into four.

Three arms cradled her while he rose the fourth to her face, lightly brushing her soaked hair aside and panicking a little when his talons got caught in her tangled locks. With a dismayed growl, he carefully extracted his fingers, then cast his gaze around the cleaning area, grumbling when he couldn't find anything that was safe enough to use on delicate human skin.

"Here, sir."

Blinking, the cyborg glanced towards the medical droid, quirking a hidden brow when he saw the liquid soap container being held out to him. Grunting, he snatched it out of the Doctor's grip, re-adusting his hold on Kyra until his upper hands were free, his lowers keeping her cradled against him.

He spent the following ten minutes washing out her hair and gently scrubbing dirt off of her skin, taking great delight in running his upper hands through the fiery locks once he had worked out all of the tangles and knots.

And when his Doctor announced that Kyra's core temperature was only one degree above normal, he fairly launched himself out of the spray of water, nearly taking out the medical droid in the process.

A distinct lack of towels had him grabbing his cape once again, giving it a rough shake before he wrapped it around her, snarling at the droid in warning when it moved the edge of the cloak aside to look at her sunburn. "Don't even think about putting her in a bacta tank."

"But--"

"No."

The droid let out something very close to an exasperated sigh. "Then I'll prepare a bacta-infused salve for her burns."

"Good." He carefully reintegrated his arms back into two, then held Kyra tighter against him. "Is she stable enough for me to bring her to our room?"

"For the moment. Though I suggest you bring a portable medical scanner with you."

Could have mentioned that before I reintegrated my arms. Stupid droid. With a growl, Grievous split his left arm into two, snatched up the offered scanner, then stalked out of the medical bay, trying very hard to ignore the urge to behead the droid with a lightsaber.

Slowly, being careful of her sunburned back and shoulders, Grievous lay her down on their bed, pausing to brush her hair out of her face before he turned to fetch a roll of elastic bandage from her things. Once he had found one, he moved to the end of the bed and started to wrap her sprained ankle, plasteel talons glaringly white against the dark bruise.

When he had it wrapped to his satisfaction, he returned to her side, stretching out beside her and lightly brushing the fingers of his right hand across her cheek. Now that there was no audience, and thus no reason to hold back any longer, he gingerly slid his arms around her and gently rearranged her onto her side, curling his raptorine body around her as he tucked her as close as possible.

He murmured her name, one hand stroking her cheek as he stared at her face, practically willing her to wake up. "Please, taisilee," he whispered, brushing his curled fingers across her skin. "Please. Wake up."

Moving silently, Grievous slid into the steam filled bathroom, barely managing to hold back a predatory growl as he edged towards the enclosed shower, and the woman within. Her soft humming hid the low click of his plasteel talons opening the shower door, and he struck, cackling at her shriek of laughter as he wrapped his arms around her and pushed her further under the stream of warm water.

"You--!" Laughing, Kyra smacked him on the shoulder, knowing full well that the hit wouldn't harm him in the least. "Don't scare me like that!"

He chuckled, holding her to him with one arm while he playfully flicked her wet bangs out of her eyes with his free hand. "Where's the fun in that, my taisilee?" he teased, gently pushing her back against the tiled wall before he ducked his head and nuzzled his masked face against her neck. "Mm. Besides, I thought I'd help you clean up."

"Oh, is that your reason for pouncing on me?"

"I never need a reason to pounce on you," he retorted playfully, chuckling as he lifted her and carefully interspersed himself between her thighs, groaning happily when she tightened her legs around him, her knees snug against his sides. The stream of water poured over his back, the warmth seeping into his armor and joints as he used his body to keep the droplets from blinding Kyra. He shifted his stance a little to better support her, taloned feet finding purchase on the slick tiles. His hands dropped to massage her buttocks as he closed his eyes to focus on the sensations the sensors across his body was bombarding him with. "Ohh, taisilee...."

Smiling, Kyra wound her arms around his shoulders, placing a kiss on his mask just over his vocalizer and sending a little thrum of energy into him. His eyes shot open, a low growl leaving him as he met her sapphire gaze before his arms split into four, two continuing to support her while he rose the other two to frame her face with his hands.

Purring, he pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes again when she lightly stroked one of the sensors on either side of his head. "I want you," he growled, skimming his hands over her shoulders and frowning when he felt her tense, her breath leaving her in a pained hiss.

"Sorry," Kyra grimaced, dropping her eyes from his worried golden gaze. "My shoulders are still a little sensitive. I didn't mean to ruin the moment."

He rumbled and shook his head. "You've ruined nothing," he murmured, brushing her wet hair back so he could study her sunburned skin. "I can wait the few minutes it will take to treat your burns." At her curious look, he chuckled and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her chest flush with his and shivering as the sensors in his armor sang with pleasure. "I have a new batch of the bacta-infused salve for your burns. All this changes is that I'll treat your skin earlier than I had planned."

"Oh, really?" A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "And what else did you plan?"

Another chuckle left him. "Oh, this and that," he said evasively, snickering at the pout she gave him. Her fingers stroked the hidden seams in his chest armor, her touch activating rarely online cybernetic sensors and pulling a deep moan from him. Groaning, he nuzzled his face into her neck, his upper hands moving to knead her breasts. "Mmm. Shower's over."

Taking her breathy moan as agreement, Grievous shifted his lower arms and held her more securely against him, bringing her with him as he carefully stepped out of the enclosed shower. He paused only long enough to shut off the water and snatch up a couple of towels before he carried her out of the attached suite and into the bedroom.

It was only when he was standing at the end of the bed that he gently set her on her feet, brushing his mask against her lips before he knelt in front of her. He locked his arms back into two, glancing up at her playfully as he started to dry her off, starting at her ankles and slowly working his way up her body. He caressed and nuzzled spots of soft skin as he worked, delighting in the growing scent of arousal he picked up from her.

A purr rumbled out of him when she skimmed her hands over his shoulders, and up his neck to his masked face, sending little eddys of power dancing across his sensors.

"Keep your hands to yourself, taisilee, else I won't be able to hold back long enough to treat your sunburns," he chastised her, shivering when she smirked and leaned down to place a kiss on his cheek. "I'll tie you down if you don't listen."

"I'll get loose," she sing-songed, meeting his burning gaze when he surged to his feet and advanced on her, gently pushing her backwards until she bumped into the edge of the bed.

Unable to think of any restraints that wouldn't cause her harm, Grievous effortlessly tore the towel into strips, chuckling at her shocked look. "I did warn you," he teased, laughing when she tried to make a run for the bathroom. He lunged after her, cackling at her startled yelp as he slung her over his shoulder and carried her back to the bed, treated to a lovely view of the curve of her thigh when she tried to struggle free.

"I didn't think you were serious!" she protested, hands scrambling at his back armor as she tried to push herself upright.

"And who's fault is that?" he mused, snickering as he dropped her onto the bed and pounced on her before she could make another run for it. Crouching over her, Grievous deftly caught her hands and wrapped a strip of the torn towel around her wrists, leaning down to brush the lower part of his mask against her lips before he gripped her hips and flipped her onto her stomach.

"Oof!" Kyra tossed her head to get her hair out of the way and glared at Grievous over her left shoulder as he straddled her hips. The cyborg looked entirely too pleased with himself, eyes shining as he met her gaze and gave her an lecherous look, his hands already starting to caress her bare back. Grumbling, she focused on her bindings, giving an annoyed curse when she didn't recognize the type of knot. "This is massively unfair."

He chuckled and reached out to carefully move her damp and curling hair off her partially healed sunburned shoulders. "Behave, and maybe I'll let you go when I'm finished treating your burns," he offered, playfully trailing his plasteel talons down her spine and growling softly as he watched goosebumps break out over her skin.

Moving gingerly to avoid hurting her, Grievous braced himself and reached over the edge of the bed, picking up the jar of salve he had set there earlier before he resettled himself on his knees, still straddling Kyra's hips. The salve, he had discovered, had little to no scent, which, to him, was a boon. He had never understood why some humans obscured their scents with perfumes and chemicals. Certainly, he was glad that Kyra didn't use such things; he liked her natural scent.

"That stuff doesn't stink does it?" Kyra asked curiously, further endearing herself to him without even knowing it.

"No," he assured her, rubbing a hand down her back to calm her when she cast a wary look over her shoulder. "I would not have approved of it otherwise. You know how much I like your scent, taisilee. I'm not about to put some horrid smelling concoction on you. Now, lie still. I don't want your hair getting in the way."

She sighed and lay her cheek on her arm. "I really should cut it."

"Don't you dare," he scolded as he opened the jar and scooped some of the salve onto two fingers. Setting the jar to the side, he reached out to run his free hand through her hair, the locks curling around his digits. "I like your hair, too."

An amused chuckle left her. "Yeah, but you're biased."

He growled happily. "When it comes to you, my taisilee? Always. Now brace yourself, this is rather cool."

"You haven't actually touched my shoulders, have you?" she murmured wryly, shivering when Grievous rubbed the cold salve across her burned skin. The relief was almost instant. The heat and tightness vanished, the aching tension in her muscles easing. Even the painful over-sensitivity calmed, turning his gentle massage into something pleasurable instead of something she needed to endure for her own well being.

The blissful sigh that left her made him purr as he worked the bacta infused cream into her skin, feeling her relax under him. Every patch of skin that radiated heat, he covered with a thin layer of salve, lightly massaging her neck and shoulders. He used the opportunity to explore her back and sides, finding which spots made her bite back laughter and wiggle in an attempt to get away and which pulled pleased moans from her.

Only when he had treated every inch of burned skin did he fully indulge himself, splitting his arms into four and bracing himself on knees and lower arms as he leaned over her, growling as he nuzzled the nape of her neck. His upper hands slid up her sides and under her, to cup her breasts, his growl deepening to a guttural purr when she gasped out his name and arched her back, giving him better access to the side of her throat.

He rubbed his mask into her hair, drinking in her scent. "I have something I want to try," he rasped, shifting his weight back onto his knees so he could free his lower arms, hands brushing over the small of her back before he wrapped his left lower arm around her waist and tilted her pelvis up against his. His right slid around her, fingers finding her core, a low growl rumbling out of him when she mewled and rocked her hips into his hand. "But I want you to promise me that if you feel the slightest bit uneasy, that you'll tell me."

She moaned as he slid a finger into her, his uppermost hands still kneading her breasts as he pressed his chest against her back. "G-Grievous...."

"Promise me, taisilee," he purred into her ear, trying hard to hold himself back, despite how wet and hot her core felt around his finger. He could already feel an echo of her own pleasure starting to warm his innards, her thoughts brushing against his, building the odd loop of pleasure that let her bring him through his own completion.

"I promise!" she said breathlessly, hearing his low chuckle as he slid a second finger into her, slowly pumping his hand against her.

"Good. Now let me feel." Growling, he quickened his caresses, gripping her breasts as he pushed her down into the bed again, grinding his hips against her buttocks to push her pleasure higher, shivering when an echo of what she felt rippled through him. "I want to feel you, taisilee. Now."

Kyra gasped, struggling to reach out with her Force powers, brushing her thoughts against his and shuddering at the want and lust he openly sent to her. "Grievous!"

He hissed in pleasure and closed his eyes, fingers sliding deeper. "Yesss. Now."

A cry left her as her orgasm crashed through her, dimly aware of Grievous' arms tightening around her as her climax echoed into him. He snarled, a shudder wracking him before he moaned and hugged her, gasping for breath.

She was still trying to catch her breath when his comforting weight vanished, listening as he darted over to a small trunk and rifled through it. "Grievous?"

"One moment, taisilee."

Dazed, and with little aftershocks still going though her, she blew her bangs out of her eyes and tried to see what he was doing. That effort was thwarted when he caught sight of her and rushed over to toss a blanket over her head. "Hey!" She struggled to free her head, pausing when she heard a click followed by his low moan of pleasure. "What are you--?"

"J-Just a moment."

Frowning at the odd tone of his voice, Kyra used a bit of power to Force Push the blanket off of her, gasping when Grievous suddenly flipped her onto her back and stretched out on top of her, his eyes fairly glowing with excitement. "What was that all about?"

"I'll show you. But first," he playfully brushed his mask over her lips, all four hands exploring her body. "Eyes closed."

She blinked, but when he didn't elaborate, sighed and closed her eyes, shivering when he gently coaxed her legs open. She was still sensitive, unable to hold back a gasp when he leaned down to nuzzle her abdomen, sliding two fingers into her, going right for her g-spot.

"I wish I could taste you," he growled against her skin, breathing in lungfuls of her scent and purring in pleasure. "Even this won't fully make up for it."

"What--?" Kyra cut herself off with a moan when he grasped her hips with his lower hands, his uppers returning to her breasts. Instinct had her rolling her hips towards him, a startled cry leaving her when he chuckled and copied the motion, something long and hard sliding into her, stretching her.

Her eyes shot open, locking onto Grievous' burning gaze as he held himself above her, fairly trembling as he stared down at her, eyes wide. Unable to help the blush that spread over her cheeks, Kyra glanced down at their linked bodies before looking up at him again. "You didn't."

"Best technology available, after myself of course," he purred, bracing himself on his upper arms as he leaned down to nuzzle her. "It's connected into my neural net. And, oh, it feels so real, like I remember.... And you, ohhh taisilee, you feel incredible." He gently moved his hips against hers, growling at the sensations that shot through his body as his new 'member' was caressed by her core. ".....want you. So beautiful. Want to take you...."

Kyra gasped, automatically moving to meet his thrusts as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up until she was straddling him. Talons tore through the bindings on her wrists, letting her grip his shoulders for stability while he nuzzled his face against her cheek, panting heavily. She clung to him, crying out when he put a hand to the small of her back and changed the angle of his entry, hitting the spot inside her that nearly tipped her over the edge.

He growl/hissed and closed a fist in her hair, watching her face as he canted his hips to hers, shouting when she caught his gaze and smirked, tightening her muscles around him. It felt so real. As if his cock was flesh and blood instead of carefully crafted plasteel and circuitry. And, oh, the embarrassment of getting it made was worth it. It was perfect. Kyra was perfect. And his. Wholly his.

A snarl left him. "Mine," he hissed, tightening three arms around her, the fourth still gripping her hair. "Mine."

"Yours," Kyra echoed breathlessly, hearing his growl as he snapped his pelvis to hers, going even deeper into her. "G-Grievous! Please!"

He leaned further back onto his knees, legs slightly spread, lower hands going to her hips to pull her onto his thrusts, groaning when he felt her curl her legs around him. She was clinging to him, mewling his name as she leaned her forehead on his shoulder. He felt the familiar sensation of her Force abilities brush against his thoughts, and welcomed it, a shudder wracking him when he felt the echoes of her own pleasure.

Half a dozen more thrusts and Kyra cried out, arching her back as her inner muscles spasmed around him. The feeling sent shock waves through him, a strangled howl ripping it's way out of his throat as his 'attachment' sent overwhelming sensations into his neural net. He convulsed against her, eyes clenched shut at the long-missed sensations of true - if artificial - physical, completion.

Gasping, his breath coming in rasping pants, Grievous rose a shaking hand to brush his fingers across Kyra's cheek, meeting her warm gaze when she rose her head to look at him. "Taisilee."

She smiled weakly, still shivering as little aftershocks washed through her. "....I love you, too," she whispered, placing a kiss on his mask, just under his left eye and gasping when he pressed a hand on the small of her back and smoothly rocked his pelvis against hers. He growled and cupped her face in his upper hands, locking gazes with her as he started moving within her again, his lower hands holding her hips, encouraging her to meet his movements.

"You've given me back what I lost," he murmured, golden eyes staring into sapphire. "I accepted the changes to myself, but I trapped myself in the process. I lost everything. All I had was my rage, and my hate." Purring raggedly, Grievous pressed his forehead to hers, keeping up his slow thrusts into her. "You showed me that I wasn't just what I had become. That I didn't have to.... to limit myself. That I could have more. So, so much more." He punctuated the last word with a strong slide within her, rubbing up against the spot in her that made her gasp, her eyes darkening.

"You never treated me as anything but Kaleesh, never a cyborg, never a droid. You've given me everything I thought out of my reach. Friendship, a mate. That you'd let me touch you, let me find pleasure again..... trust me enough to even touch your thoughts to mine...." He slid his upper hands into her hair, gathering the wild locks into his fists and brushing the lower part of his mask across her lips. "I will never let you go, my taisilee. Never."

She shivered when he growled, expressive reptilian eyes fairly glowing as he pushed her down into the blankets, his hips churning against her, the new angle meaning that every deep thrust brushed her g-spot. He stretched out over her, hissing when she wrapped her legs around him again, letting him drive himself into her. Gasping for breath and mumbling Kaleesh endearments, Grievous locked his arms back into two and grasped her hands, pinning her arms above her head.

Her inner muscles fluttered around his cock, the sensation pulling a deep growl from him as he stared down at her, watching her as he drove her closer and closer to climax. She bit her lower lip as she met his gaze, sapphire eyes glittering, even as she brushed her fingers against his, sending a wave of energy dancing up his arms and across his chest. The pulse went straight to his innards, the pleasure echoing through him in an ever-growing shockwave until it was too much to endure.

He arched his back, roaring as his climax ripped through him, hips jerking against hers, dimly aware of her own cry of pleasure as her core spasmed around him. A long, drawn-out moan left him at the sensation, his heart hammering in it's protective gutsack.

Stunned by the overwhelming pleasure, Grievous slumped on top of her, face buried in her hair as he wheezed, struggling to regain his breath. Limbs twitched with aftershocks, each little movement accompanied with a small flash of bliss. Kyra was trembling under him, gasping, warm breath tickling the right sensor on the side of his head. Still dazed, he regained enough coordination to release her hands, sliding his palms down the length of her arms and across her shoulders in calming strokes.

After a few long minutes, he gently pulled himself out of her, murmuring endearments at her soft moan. Knowing he wouldn't be able to rest while it was tied into his neural network, he carefully reached down and, with a hiss at the pleasure his own touch caused, unlocked and slid the plate the sex-tool was attached to out of the thin groove of his pelvic armor.

He reached back to set the alloy tool on the bed behind him, grimacing when he set it down only for it to roll off and thunk to the floor. Kyra shook against him then, burying her face against his chest, and he glanced down at her, chuckling when he found that she was struggling not to laugh. "You won't be laughing if it's damaged," he teased, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her close.

Kyra snickered. "We made do before you got it," she smiled, placing a kiss on his chest. "Not that I'm complaining."

"No," he purred, brushing a hand across her shoulders and up to stroke her hair. "No complaints." He gently slid his free hand between them, palm pressing against her abdomen. "Did I hurt you?"

She reached up to press the fingers of her right hand to his mask, just over his vocalizer. "You didn't hurt me. Trust me, with how close our thoughts were, you would have known. You're not the only one who lost control for a moment there."

He gave a pleased, very male, growl and nuzzled her cheek, wrapping his arms around her to pull her into the curve of his body. "Good." Purring gutterally, Grievous curled his raptorine body around her, tugging a fur up over her bare back and shoulders to help keep her warm.

tbc

#grievous fuckery #general grievous #snarky is writing #grievous x oc #star wars #fanfiction #fanfic #help me obi wan kenobi i wrote grievous smut

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angelic-kisses13 · 3 years

Text

Claiming Part II

Authors Note: I’m sorry it took so long to write this! But I’m glad that I finally got it out to you guys! Happy Valentines Day everyone!

Summary: Charles and his sacrifice finally arrive at his castle.

Claiming Part I

A few hours later, and they had arrived back to King Charles’ kingdom, the palace was even grander than King Indulf’s. It seemed to tower above the clouds, and he watched as her features went from hostile to pure awe. Her hands made quick work of the window, and she poked her head out, trying to see every detail of the kingdom from her vantage point.

He smiled indulgently. Yes, he had made the right decision. She was going to make the perfect sacrifice. “Little lamb,” He reached out and grabbed her waist, his hands spanning across her curves and full stomach easily. He brought her down to his side, “You will be able to see it better when we are closer.”

His sacrifice pouted, and he rolled his eyes as he reached out to shut the carriage window. “Don’t pout, now. It’s unbecoming.” She snorted and turned her body to face away from him. They continued to ride in silence, the carriage rocking from side to side as they turned bends and ran over loose bricks in the road.

“Why haven’t you sucked me dry yet? Isn’t that the point of a human sacrifice? To become your food source?”

His head tilted to the left in amusement. Charles forgot that the poor human wasn’t coached on what being a sacrifice entailed. He would have fun with this one. Something told him she wouldn’t take kindly to the future proceedings.

“You are adorable Little Lamb. You will be a perfect sacrifice for my people. A few more hours and I will give you what your heart desires.”

She scoffed and turned her head from him. Her pulse was hammering in her delicate neck. The rapid blood flow causes his fangs to ache. He knew she could feel his gaze on her, yet she stayed turned away. She was effectively cutting off the conversation. Charles should feel annoyed at the blatant act of disrespect. His little human, however, managed to chip away at his walls and self-control slowly.

Soft but firm words had Charles’ spine-tingling, and he blinked as they echoed around them. “I do not desire to have you drink from me, ‘Your Majesty.’” The venom laced tone had Charles’ spine-tingling, and his beast was prowling in a possessive manner. Charles was taken aback at the level of possession he felt growing in him.

“Not yet.” The words were spoken to remind himself not to reach out and claim her. There were rules and procedures in place, yet her blood and fiesty nature had him cracking around the edges—his once cool and collected demeanor nothing more but a crumbling avalanche of stone.

It appeared that she had taken the words as a challenge. Charles was momentarily distracted by the sight of her head snapping around quickly; he was surprised she hadn’t broken her neck at the movement. Her eyes were wide, and the passionate flame he had noticed in the courtyard and throne room was resurfacing. He needed to placate her before he had her trying to claw her way out of the carriage.

That was when his eyes fell on her busted lip and swollen cheek. He would have to heal that before the ceremony commenced. Charles’ finger itched to reach out and soothe the pain. He thought better of it, though, and curled his fingers into a fist. “How is your cheek faring?”

She blinked before her hand rose and softly brushed across the swollen flesh. “It has been better.” The words were lispy, but it wasn’t to the point where he couldn’t understand her.

“Once we get to the Castle, I can find some comfrey to help the swell.” Charles was confused when he saw her body tense.

Her eyes were guarded as she stared at him. “I don’t have anything to offer you in thanks.”

Ah, so that was what had her so tense. The poor lamb probably never had anything nice given to her without numerous conditions. Charles waved his hand, dismissing her words, “I do it because we need you in mint condition. A sacrifice is not very fun to play with if they are not in good health.”

Her eyebrows wrinkled, the lines on her dirtied forehead more prominent with that gesture. “I hardly see how a bruised cheek and busted lip would make me unable to play the part.”

Charles hummed as he reclined in his seat, his blue eyes taking her in. “Vampires pride themselves on perfection. Anything less is beneath us. I will not have our first sacrifice -in many centuries- look like she was in a brawl.”

The woman sniffed before turning away, her body hunching in on itself. It seemed that the closer they got to the castle, the more she lost her spirit. Interesting.

“You are scared.”

Charles was amused by the scowl the girl shot him.

“I’m not scared... just weary.”

“You aren’t afraid to die?”

The woman laughed, but there was no amusement in her tone. “I have been dead for many years, your majesty. Being a sacrifice just makes it more official.”

Once again, the mortal had a way of surprising him. “You will be honored. You won’t be just a nameless lamb led to slaughter.”

“I do not need to be honored. I have never been in my life and I don’t need to start now.”

Charles didn’t have any words to offer the human, so they remained in silence as they pulled up in front of the castle. He tried to refrain from growling as he noticed several council members standing outside, waiting for his return.

His little human frowned as she took in the sight. “Are they here for you or me?” Her fingers were clenched together, her thumb rubbing vicious circles into the flesh between her thumb and forefinger.

“I believe it’s a bit of both, little one.” Charles composed himself, his cold mask falling into place. Once the carriage came to a stop, he waited until the footmen came down and opened it for him.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye. His little human was shifting in her seat. He breathed deeply and caught the swift scent of fear. Usually, it would have been a sensual scent. Fear always made the blood taste better. But she didn’t have a reason to be scared. Anger grew in his chest; what was she fearing? Was it him? Was it the situation she had found herself in?

His jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes before stepping down and holding his hand out for her to take. He could hear the counsel members murmur amongst themselves. Their delight at having the human here was palpable. Charles wasn’t going to have a moment’s peace until the ritual was completed.

Charles heard several gasps from behind him, and his lips twitched when his little lamb knocked his hand out of the way and climbed down herself. Standing in the light of the torches, her form was more pronounced, the dirt covering her skin was smudged, and her lip and cheek made her features a lump of swollen flesh. Easy to say, she wasn’t much to look at.

Before his counselors could speak out about her, Charles began moving towards the Castle doors. A gentle tug with his mind and the oversized doors opened on their own. He heard a startled squeak sound behind him, but he paid it little mind. “Come along, little lamb. We must get you situated so we can discuss the ceremony.”

“Why do you call me that. I am a person; I do have a name.” She snapped as she struggled to keep pace with his long stride.

Amusement bubbled up in his chest, and he struggled not to let his counselors know how much the little human was affecting him. She was something else, an enigma that he would never tire of trying to figure out. If the ceremony went well then, he would have the rest of eternity to spend with her.

“Are you going to share it with me or leave me in suspense?” He teased as he slowed his stride down enough for her to catch up. He was momentarily startled when he felt a hand wrap around his arm and a warm body press against him.

He raised an eyebrow as he took in the marveled awe written across her face. Her eyes sparkled as she took in the tapestries and portraits that lined the stone walls. It appeared she hadn’t been listening to his question, so he let it drop. Her name wasn’t necessary, not until the ceremony, and he was old fashioned. He preferred to voice her name at the altar than in the ever-watchful halls.

“Sire, the room is this way.” One of his followers called out as Charles continued past the corridor his little lamb would be staying in and instead headed towards the infirmary.

“I’m quite aware, Andrews. Why don’t you and the others go and see the ceremony preparations? We won’t be long. See that you send a couple of handmaidens to start a bath for my sacrifice as well.”

Charles didn’t bother turning to see if his followers had heeded his words. He trusted the men to do what was asked and with little questions. He heard the soft rustle of clothes as the men turned and left. His little human jumped when she turned to see nothing but open air and a long empty corridor.

“Oh heavens, that's not creepy.” She whispered to herself.

______________________________________________________________

He stood in front of her, his chest heaving, nostrils flared as he watched goosebumps appear on her skin. She was everything he had ever wanted, and she knew how to put him in his place when he needed it.

She was also the only one who could ever make his heart thunder in his chest, and his hands shake with the effort from holding himself back. She was his for the taking. She had dressed in all his favorites, a dark red dress with gold lacing around the bodice and sleeves. At her neck sat a cascade of teardrop emeralds. It highlighted her collarbone and pulse perfectly. With each thud of her heart, the necklace would pulse with it.

It was enough to have his mouth-watering; her blood was calling to him, begging for him to claim it as his own.

Claim her.

His mind shouted as he wrestled with his self-control. It wouldn’t do good to scare her away. He needed to execute this perfectly.

He took a deep breath as he watched her move around the room, her skirt rustling against the stone floor. Her fingers ran along the spines of the books, her eyes flitting from one place to another. She was comfortable in his presence, her peaceful continence allowing his inner beast to relax.

“You’re very calm about this situation.” His voice floated across the room. He watched as her body stiffened at the sound—fingers stilling as she took in his words.

“Will you treat me the way that the villagers did?” The question was innocent enough if he didn’t know the whole story behind her words.

“I will treat you infinitely better. You are my mate, the necklace around your neck, and the ring on your left-hand claims you as such.”

“But there is more, is there not?”

He waited until she was facing him before he spoke. “There are several things that have to happen to finish the ritual.”

Her eyes flickered at his words, but she stepped forward, her hands clasping in front of her. “What do you need me to do?”

A swirl of pride ran through his body, and his beast purred in delight. His mate was willing to do the impossible, and he would treasure and value her above all else. She was his.

“You need to transform before we can move on. Once that is done, we will proceed with the claiming ritual.” His words were matter-of-fact but held a depth of concern for the young woman.

“What does the transformation entail, exactly?”

“You and I have to exchange blood; once the blood is shared, your body will begin to change. It will be painful for a few hours, and your body will shut down—first the limbs, then the heart, and finally your brain. When you come back, you will be part of the Vampire realm. You will be my Queen and me, your King.”

There was a long moment of silence, both standing in front of each other, gauging the other’s reaction.

“You will not leave me to suffer alone?”

He stepped into her personal space, her scent invading his senses. His eyes closed for a few seconds as he acclimated himself to her. His hand lifted, and he finally allowed himself to touch her skin since the exchange of vows. It was rough beneath his fingertips; the weather had not been kind to her.

Up close he could see the chapped lips and red circling her eyes, attesting to her long nights without sleep. He swiped his thumb across her cheek, relishing in the feeling of the blood rushing through her body. He watched enraptured as her pupils dilated and her pulse fluttered beneath his caress. His eyes were drawn to her lush mouth as her breath stuttered.

“I will be by your side the whole time. I will never leave you to suffer, I promise.”

Her eyes shifted to meet his, and he caught just a glimpse of fear before she shut her eyes, trying to hide from him. “I’m ready.”

He nodded his head before stepping away from her. Turning, he walked over to a goblet on the table, a small dagger resting beside it. He grabbed the blade and reverently traced his fingers over the jeweled handle before opening his left palm. He held the dagger out to her with a flourish. She looked from the weapon and back to him.

“You’re going to need to cut my palm for the ritual.”

Her breath stuttered, but ever the fearless little lamb, she slowly shuffled over. Her hands shook as she took the dagger, her fingers clumsily holding the hilt. His lips twitched at the sight. Even with all the bravado out in the courtyard this morning, she was still a human that was terrified of becoming a vampire king’s sacrifice.

“Are you okay?” Charle’s words were hushed.

“I’m fine; just tell me where to cut.”

He peered at her, gauging her reactions to her words. She was far from fine, but he wasn’t going to push just yet. Soon she wouldn’t be able to hide from him, and then he would figure everything out. But, in the meantime, he would continue.

“You need to cut from the bottom of my left ring finger to the end of my palm. Once that’s done, you’re going to cut from between my index and middle finger down towards my pinky, it should make a symbol of a Cross once you’re finished.”

Her eyes widened in alarm. “You will die if I carve a Cross into your palm!”

Charles chuckled in amusement. This little lamb was going to be a fascinating fit for his life. “That’s a common misconception; the wound will never heal right, so it will scar, but that’s the point of the ritual. It is to show that I am claimed. Think of it as your claiming mark, little lamb.”

“Don’t call me that.” Her lips fell into a deep scowl as she glared up at him through her lashes. His inner beast rumbled at the sight; she was breathtaking and all his. He couldn’t wait to claim her, have his blood running through her veins, his mark covering her body.

“What would you rather me call you then? My little sacrifice?”

“My Queen, will do just fine.” The amount of sass made Charles preen. She was his Queen, wasn’t she? The emerald ring on her finger attested to that, but to hear her claim herself as such was enough to make his cock twitch.

Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, grounding himself. He couldn’t lose control just yet, and her body was too weak to handle him right now. She needed to transform first. Soon.

“Charles.”

He was snapped back to himself when he heard his given name fall from her lips. The way her tongue weaved the syllables of his name was enough to ignite his blood to a boil.

“You need to cut now; I don’t know how much longer I can hold myself back, little lamb.”

With one last curious gaze, she swiftly sliced his palm open, the Cross taking effect immediately. Charles swallowed down the hiss as he clenched his hand into a fist and raised it over the goblet, the two of them watching as the black blood trickled down with soft plunks.

It took them a couple of times to get enough blood into the goblet, but all too soon, it was time to add her blood to the mixture.

Taglist: @agniavateira @cavillanche @cavillunraveled @creepingfromthecorners @dreamwritesimagines @fangirlings-things @ficsandcatsandficsandcats @hlkwrites @hnryycvll @honeydulcewrites @iloveyouyen @johnmotherfuckingfrusciante @keiva1000 @ladyreapermc @laketaj24 @littlefreya @ly--canthrope @mary-ann84 @mrsaugustwalker @ohvalleyofplentyyy @omgkatinka @sciapod @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @supersweetstache @thethirstyarchive @the-winter-witcher @thegreattodd @titty-teetee @tumblnewby @viking-raider @wednesdaybraids @wendimydarling @white-wolf-of-rivia @witcherwrites

#Charles Brandon #Henry Cavill #Vampire Charles Brandon #Reader Insert #Charles Brandon x Reader #Sacrifice Reader

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sodone-withlife · 3 years

Text

it's a sad song

heavily inspired by Hadestown, will feature lyrics from How Long? and Epic III. thanks to @yourlocalheartbreaker for indulging me and my rants about how much i love this musical

the musical's interpretation of Hades and Persephone's story is perfect for Hotch and Haley, so here is the self-indulgent cliche songfic. as usual, i did little to no proofreading so apologies for any grammatical/spelling errors. it's also more choppy than i'd like, but i really wanted to get it out so i can force myself to work on another angsty Hotch fic

warnings: canonical character death, non-canon character death, suicide

word count: 4k words

(And what has become of the heart of that man, now that the man is king? What has become of the heart of that man, now that he has everything?)

In the grand scheme of things, Hotch was lucky. He was further away from the bomb when it went off and only needed a day and a half in the hospital before he was back at the field office, taking the reins in handling the press and brass that was ready to tear Gideon apart.

The inquisition that followed in Virginia was vicious and by the end, Gideon was on indefinite medical leave and the unit was under the brass’s close scrutiny as Hotch took charge of the unit. As much as the word “temporary” was being parroted around in regards to the new chain of command, it was tacit knowledge that it was a permanent arrangement. A fiasco on the scale of Boston was enough to get an agent fired, and it was only Gideon’s seniority and excellent record that kept him with the bureau.

For Hotch, Boston and the months following only reinforced three lessons that were already hardwired into his brain:

Do not break and do not allow yourself to bleed where others can see, for there are always sharks waiting to tear you apart.

(Give them a piece and they'll take it all Show them a crack and they'll tear down the wall)

Nothing is certain. Even the strongest, the smartest, the most experienced, can fail. Do not fall victim to your own hubris, for it will be your undoing.

(Lend them an ear and the Kingdom will fall The Kingdom will fall for a song)

Death awaits everyone. It takes without mercy or regard for the lives left behind.

He was the new face of the BAU within the bureau, and even his prosecutorial and investigative record could not help protect the team from scrutiny.

So he straightened his spine and hardened his already severely sharp features, throwing himself into work and restoring the unit’s reputation.

Then Hotch came home one day to Haley’s brilliant smile and delighted excitement, and for a moment, he was reminded of the first time he talked to her nearly twenty years ago, when he told her he was quitting his smoking habit.

He had frozen when she first approached him in his dark corner a few weeks after school had resumed in the fall. She had smiled amusedly, his social ineptitude clear as day as he struggled to find words to greet her, to apologize for seeming like a creep over the summer when he first saw her outside on the sports field coaching younger students through vocal warmups before they started rehearsing the musical that was being put on that year, only to completely blank she plopped herself down next to him with her own school bag and lunch.

By the end of that day, he had convinced himself it was only going to be a one-off thing, that she wasn’t going to come back. If he had been honest with himself, part of him, the part that knew so intimately that his mother’s skin only remained free from bruises after his innocent baby brother was born was because his damned father finally had a son he could look at without being reminded of his self-hatred, wished it was.

But then she came back the next day, the day after that, and the day after that, apparently content to sit beside him in silence only broken by periodic comments about the going-ons in her life and the musical. And she continued going to sit next to him, even as he watched as others tried to warn her away, tried to physically guide her away from the bleachers.

What was stranger, he thought, was that she stayed even in spite of his silence, and in spite of his vices—he could tell she didn’t like his habit, but she didn’t comment. She just kept him company.

It was a few weeks into this arrangement, when he saw his still mostly full pack, that he realized that he hadn’t itched for a smoke during lunch for weeks, not while she was there and talking to him in ways he’d never been talked to before.

Sometime later, as the number of cigarettes in the pack remained unchanging, as the pack itself went untouched in his schoolbag, he finally threw it away.

That was the first time Hotch talked to her, to tell her that he’s giving up the habit. That small, but no less proud or bright, smile that spread across her face, he decided, was something he wanted to see again.

Slowly, he started talking more, and on good days, the two made conversation on topics ranging from classes to their favorite books all the way to whatever shenanigans Sean or Jessica was getting into. On other days, on bad days, the silence was never awkward, and she simply kept him company as he struggled to control the storm in his mind.

Those were the days his fingers itched for a cigarette, and those were the days she introduced to him a new book that he would finish within the day. The next day at school, they would once again be stuck in an in-depth conversation about the characters’ flaws and the absurdities of the antagonists, and the itch would be gone.

And it went on like this, even after he threw all caution and his doubts to the wind and asked her out on the first day of their senior year, even as they faced the townspeople’s questions about why such a good girl like Haley Brooks was dating someone of the likes of Aaron Hotchner, who, despite being so coldly brilliant, was just that.

Cold.

Dangerously unfeeling.

Barely human.

But she had seen behind the facade and she knew that he loved with the fierce burning of a thousand suns. She knew how terrified he was of losing everything, that he would be left alone and floundering in a world that was not kind to the lost.

So she stayed, through college, as she went into teaching and him into law, as the final straw came and went and he registered for the Academy and started training, breaking records along the way before finally being assigned to Seattle and quickly climbed his way up the ranks until he caught David Rossi’s keen eye and transferred back to Virginia for the BAU.

Every night, Hotch came home to his wife, the light of his life, and was reminded of why he was working himself to the bone. That day, when he came home a month after Boston for Haley to press a simple rectangular box into his hands, the stakes were raised once again, and he knew he had to fight twice as hard.

Not only for his team, the people he protected so fiercely under that steel mask, but for his son.

Early mornings and late nights became the norm as he threw himself into more and more work, and slowly, the unit began to recover as Spencer Reid and Jennifer Jareau joined the expanding unit, as Gideon returned as a senior agent, and as Elle Greenaway was pulled from Seattle just like he was all those years ago.

Then Jack was born, and he used his accrued vacation time to finally take a month off. Never had he been more terrified than in the moment he first held his son in the delivery room, acutely aware of his tiny size and sheer vulnerability to the dangers of the world.

That night, sleeping in the hospital bed with an exhausted Haley and their child in his arms, he swore to do whatever he could to make the world safer for his family.

His world.

So he tried. He tried and he tried, forcing himself to leave when cases that required their presence in the field came in, forcing himself to take on the heaviest burdens of the job so his team might be protected and his family would be safe.

Maybe a part of him was trying to get him to stop in his tracks and look up, to take a moment so he could clearly see that he was being consumed by the chase.

Maybe if he was strong enough, he could have lifted the weight of his world just enough to change the direction he was going.

But he was scared.

Scared that the moment he looked up, the moment he let go, he would lose everything he was defending.

And so he did not stop—not as Elle was shot in one place she had a right to feel safe in, not as Elle resigned and prevented him from making a terrible choice, not at Reid was suffering in a hell that could only be created by the lure of potent drugs, not as the unit was once again put under scrutiny because of her and Gideon’s actions.

Not even as he was forgetting important appointments, as he was struggling to be present for the important events and early milestones in his son’s life.

Not until he was suspended for two weeks because of the vow he made to himself the moment he stepped into the leadership position to protect the team to the best of his ability.

He stopped, looked up, and put in for a transfer.

But it was too late.

(It's true the earth must die But then the earth comes back to life And the sun just goes on rising)

(I’ve had enough)

The divorce did nothing to lessen the weight on his shoulders or the utter terror he felt at the prospect of stopping.

As more and more cases started piling on his desk, he kept his back bent and head down for hours as he pushed himself to the brink with a mental image of the smile that had not dimmed for twenty years and of the only proof of his humanity at the forefront of his mind.

Every day, he bent lower and lower, but he never let himself crumble, forcing himself to remain Atlas as Kate fell and Morgan nearly followed in New York, Reid and Prentiss in Colorado—

—as JJ and Will brought their first child into the world and he promised to protect her as best as he could so she would not make the same mistakes he did—

—as he wrangled politicians and major corporations in the aftermath of him fulfilling the promise he made to Megan Kane—

—as he called in favor after favor to get to the Vatican so Prentiss could get justice for her friends—

—as he compartmentalized as best he could when he found out about the anthrax attack at a public park he knew Haley and Jack frequented whenever they visit her parents’ house and when Reid got infected—

Then the Reaper returned after ten years of silence and ten years of being a silent spectator in Hotch’s nightmares to become an active participant in his night terrors for months.

But the night Hotch returned to his apartment with the intent of pulling out a glass of scotch and staying on his couch with a book, those dreams that left him nearly paralyzed with fear every night became his reality.

That night, as his team was sleeping in their beds, dead to the world while he was slowly bleeding out from nine stab wounds and floating in and out of consciousness in his own apartment, he only felt fear—fear for the team, fear for Haley, fear for his son.

He faded into unconsciousness with the expectation that that was it, that his hubris finally caught up to him.

Less than twenty-four hours later, Hotch was staring at the dried streak of red on the photo of his whole world and wondering if he had made his way into hell without realizing it.

When Haley and Jack visited him in the hospital, he could barely look at their faces, not wanting the scared and confused expressions they wore to be the last memory he might have of the two people whose lives he sought to protect in throwing himself into work but ended up putting in danger.

Then they were walking away, and he felt his walls slowly building themselves back up to a height and with fortifications that he had not needed since he last wore them in his youth to protect himself against the people in his hometown who had treated him with suspicion and derision.

The months following the day his world was ripped from his weakened grip was its own brand of hell, and more than once he wished he had been less of a coward and let himself look up from his chase.

Soon he was stepping down and ignoring all reason as he threw himself back into work yet again, wearing a facade that his teenage self would have been proud of while desperately trying to fulfill the promise he made Haley, that he would spend the rest of his life making everything up to her.

But of course, life has a funny way of reminding people of the promises they made and the important lessons they have learned at the worst times.

Suddenly, the sound of three gunshots was ripping through his head.

Suddenly, he was forcing himself to look away from Haley’s body, strewn on the floor like a doll with its strings cut, forcing himself to keep it together so he could clear the room.

Suddenly, he was straddling George Foyet and unleashing upon him years of pent-up hurt and anger that he had never allowed himself to feel in favor of remaining strong for the people he loved so fiercely.

Do not break and do not allow yourself to bleed where others can see, for there are always sharks waiting to tear you apart.

Nothing is certain. Even the strongest, the smartest, the most experienced, can fail. Do not fall victim to your own hubris, for it will be your undoing.

Death awaits everyone. It takes without mercy or regard for the lives left behind.

That day, Hotch was reminded of all three statements that he swore to live by after Boston.

Foyet was witness to his unraveling and poked and prodded at him, so much so that he uncovered the rage he inherited from his father and had vowed long ago to never express.

His hubris, his confidence in assumptions that had been made so many times in the past, his confidence that denying the deal that had been offered to him just over a year ago was the right thing to do, cut the threads of over ten people far too early.

Haley was lost to him.

Forever.

But in the years afterward, as Hotch found himself stuck in his head and mentally removed from the team’s present more and more often, he wondered if that was actually the moment that he lost her.

Perhaps the time he had to fly out to Mexico on his birthday weekend was the start and the stress of his suspension the catalyst.

Was he simply too destructive and too desperate to have a happy ending? Was anyone closely associating with him doomed to fall along with him?

Why else was his mother spared from bruising when she was able to focus on raising Sean, a son whose looks did not remind his father of the sheer hatred he felt for himself?

Why else had his brother, who he was estranged from, done so well in life and remained so carefree?

For what other reason could Haley have been murdered than the fact that she was collateral damage in a psychopathic narcissist’s dream to cause him as much pain as possible?

For a short time, Haley’s murder had given Hotch a chance to look up, to free himself from all the responsibilities he had taken on, but it ultimately only served to increase his fear and paranoia. The team had seen the tail end of his unraveling in that house, and he knew it had shaken them to the core, so the walls remained up. Strangers in the street were unsubs, and he was never far away from a weapon if he could help it, always fearing that he would be too late to be of any help.

Four years to the day he locked himself away, he was seeing Haley smiling radiantly at him and wearing the same dress she was wearing when he proposed as she waved him over to sit next to her in an empty movie theater and he was struggling to articulate her beauty.

The large screen in front of them was playing scenes from his life in the years since she was stolen from this life. While her eyes were glued to the projection of his memories, he was left unable to tear his eyes away from her, the woman who had been such an integral part of his life, whose death he would probably never forgive himself for, whose presence in his world he had so desperately missed.

Then he was looking down from the screen when their moment was interrupted by the man who had become a permanent fixture in his night terrors and surprising himself with just how prepared he was to kill again to protect Haley like he had failed to do years ago. It was only Haley’s repeated assurances that finally got him to look back up at the screen, and in the next moment, he was once again experiencing his nightmares in real-time.

His voice cracked as he tried calling out for help, becoming more and more desperate as it became clear no one was coming, and then—

You’re not meant to.

They were suddenly standing face to face in that dark corner of the school where they first met. Hotch froze, rooted to the spot by the uncharacteristically cold expression on Haley’s face.

Where is he?

It wasn’t right, the hard tone, the way she was looking at him as if he were a stranger—

I don’t see Aaron Hotchner in front of me. Where is he?

Then her face softened, and she walked over to sit against the wall, uncaring of the dirt that was gathering on her dress. She stared at him pointedly until he made his way over to her and joined her on the ground. It was with great surprise that he felt her lean onto him, a long-forgotten and now unfamiliar warmth settling over him.

I want to tell you a story.

She told him the story behind an old song, the story about the queen who brought spring and summer with her every time she walked the earth and the king who ruled the shades and the underworld. And though the king loved his queen so desperately, every time she walked the earth while he remained in the underworld, he doubted that she would come back to him, for what could he offer her except his darkness?

So he worked and he threw himself into building a kingdom of metal and glaring bright lights that might compensate for his darkness, but he could not bring himself to look up for fear that he would lose everything the moment he stopped. In his fear, he kept his head low and his back bending, he locked his love away so it wouldn’t be a distraction.

(But what he didn’t know is that what he is defending was already gone.)

When Hotch found himself on the edge of a roof being held against Peter Lewis, who had a gun at his temple, facing the team’s desperate and fearful faces, he could only think about that story Haley had told him and the questions she had sent towards him right before he woke up in the hospital four years prior.

(Where is the treasure inside of your chest? Where is your pleasure? Where is your youth? Where is the man with his arms outstretched to the woman he loves with nothing to lose?)

That was the first time he could remember crying in front of Jack—when the two were clinging to each other in the hospital bed after yet another close call—and he resolved it wouldn’t be the last. It hurt to tear down the walls he had so meticulously built around himself over the course of nearly five decades, but to see the smile that his son inherited from Haley…

He could only lament that he hadn’t started earlier.

Slowly, he rebuilt his world, and it was filled with a warmth that hadn’t been since those golden years between first meeting Haley and becoming a prosecutor.

But then Peter Lewis came and turned his mind against him, forcing him to watch his nightmares come to life. And when he found himself at MPD’s gunpoint with Jack watching, his world cracked.

And in that interrogation room, watching the recording of Lewis’s testimony against him, his world cracked again.

And seeing his son’s withdrawn affect, trying to get him to understand that he wasn’t leaving, that he wouldn’t ever abandon him of his own free will—

Then they were called to Arizona and he found his name carved into a victim’s forehead, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the attacks would become more and more personal.

Favors were called in, calls were made, and all the while Hotch tried to keep Jack as ignorant as possible to the way his world was going up in flames around him. For a moment, it felt like the immediate aftermath of Boston, with all of the non-stop workdays and the scrutiny of the brass falling onto him and the struggle to balance his work and Jack—

And then one day, Jack disappeared in the middle of the school day.

A day later, Rossi and Luke were holding him back, trying to keep him away from the security checkpoint at the entrance of the Academy office buildings that had been taped off as a crime scene. His eyes caught a sudden movement, and all the fight left him when he saw the white sheet being unfolded and lowered over the small body that was on the gurney.

Maybe he was supposed to be more grief-stricken than he felt.

Maybe that’s why the team tip-toed around him in the months afterward—they were waiting for the sand to run out, for the inevitable breakdown that was expected from a man such as him.

And the sand did run out, only it wasn’t where any of them expected.

The cold metal digging into his temple provided him an odd moment of clarity as he thought about the questions he had asked himself—because that wasn’t Haley, she never looked at him with such cruelty, not even when he probably deserved it, it was always that voice in the back of his head, the voice that led him down the road to hell.

That treasure that he kept in his chest—it was buried in the ground with Haley and Jack.

His pleasure, his youth, it was left behind in his past with that first strike he felt from his father.

A smile spread across his face for the first time in months and he closed his eyes, a strange peacefulness settling deep in his bones. He flung himself backward, letting himself become dead weight as he suddenly heard shouts of horror through the sound of the wind rushing around him and Peter Lewis as they fell.

Didn’t you tell me to find the man who was reaching out with nothing to lose?

I found him.

I hope you and Jack waited for me, Haley.

#criminal minds #bau #aaron hotchner #haley hotchner #hurt aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner whump #aaron hotchner x haley hotchner #hadestown #tw death #tw character death #tw suicide

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celestialtitania · 3 years

Text

Black Butterflies and Deja Vu

Can also read on AO3 or FFN. Hope everyone enjoys!

Adrien sighed for the umpteenth time, gazing at a picture of Ladybug on his monitor. She was amazing, he couldn’t help it. Her dark blue-black hair tightly held with those bright red ribbons, her piercing bluebell gaze, that righteous determination...she was just incredible.

Adrien had spent a rather long amount of time surfing the web. He’d wanted to find some of his favourite pictures of Ladybug. Not that there ever could be a picture of Ladybug that he would dislike, but there were some which were precious memories. Moments that he remembered so clearly of her, smiling or laughing at a pun he’d made. Those were some of the memories he cherished and looking at the pictures from then brought back all those warm and fuzzy feelings.

“Are you going to do anything else?” Plagg asked irritably. He flew right in front of Adrien, eating Camembert, as usual, making Adrien wince at the smell of the pungent cheese.

“What else is there to do?” He asked mildly. He’d already finished his lessons and homework, as well as piano practice. There was nothing else that demanded his attention.

“Eat cheese, of course!” Plagg told him happily, making Adrien both roll his eyes and smile fondly at his kwami.

“I think I’ll leave that to you, Plagg.” Adrien went back to staring at his monitor. Idly, he wondered if he knew the girl behind the mask or if he would ever get the chance to truly know her without any secrets getting in the way.

There was so much he wanted to tell her. So much that sometimes he didn’t even know where he would begin if given the chance. He paced the room for a little bit, wishing he could escape and be with the people he cared about.

“You alright, kid?” Plagg asked, putting his cheese down. Adrien couldn’t help but smile at his kwami. He didn’t know where he would be without him.

“Just thinking,” Adrien shrugged.

Plagg made a sound of disapproval. “You know thinking never helped anyone.” Adrien laughed, as he fell backwards on his bed.

“I want to tell her,” he sighed, staring up at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts.

Plagg zoomed in and out of the corner of his eye before popping right above him. “Tell who what?”

“Tell Ladybug how I feel of course!” Adrien knew she didn’t feel the same way for him, it was clear in the way she brushed him off or thought his flirting was just a joke. And then, of course, there was the matter of that other boy. The one she had a crush on.

Adrien’s face fell at the thought. Jealously, he wondered what Ladybug would want to tell that boy and how she would confess her feelings to whoever he was.

He consoled himself by thinking that she hadn’t told that boy yet, which also meant they weren’t together yet. Whatever, it was the boy’s loss. Adrien on the other hand, would never stop trying to woo his Lady and one day, he hoped at least, she would be able to move on and consider him as an option.

“I just wish she knew how much I care for her,” Adrien shrugged. He could never articulate his feelings properly in front of her. It was as if his brain stopped functioning in her presence.

He shook his head as he reached for his phone, automatically searching up more Ladybug pictures. Her bright smile filled his screen and he gave another sigh, more lovesick this time than anything else.

“I want to see her.”

“Well, you might just get your wish,” Plagg hummed as he hovered over Adrien’s open monitor. There the news channel was broadcasting an akuma attack near the Louvre. “Then again, your pining isn’t all that bad with cheese,” Plagg was musing.

“No time!” Adrien said eyes lit with excitement. “Plagg, Claws Out!” Transformed, Adrien slipped out of the large windows, eager to meet his Lady.

As Adrien raced along the rooftops, trying to get to the Louvre in record time, he heard a sweet voice call out to him. He turned to see Ladybug swinging in next to him.

“Not often we meet up on the way to battle,” she teased.

“But what a pleasure it is, milady. Any idea what the akuma is?”

“I wasn’t paying attention to the news broadcast. I just ran out as soon as I heard the word akuma,” Ladybug shrugged sheepishly.

He let out a laugh. “We’re two peas in a pod, Bugaboo.” She rolled her eyes at him but didn’t say anything so Adrien beamed as he kept moving forward.

“Look!” Ladybug pointed downwards, once they’d gotten close enough. “Just what is happening down there?”

It was a weird-looking akuma, a rectangular-shaped person with pole-like arms and legs and their body was littered with buttons. It was shooting beams of light out of the screen above their face. Ladybug and Adrien glanced at each other in confusion. “What is that?” Adrien whispered in bafflement.

Ladybug leant forward, trying to take a closer look. “It’s familiar somehow?” They looked at each other, months of battling together had made it easy for them to understand each other’s signals.

“I am the Ticketmaster!” The akuma was roaring. “I will turn everyone into tickets!” Each time a light beam hit someone, that person was transformed into a marble statue of a ticket.

Adrien nodded at Ladybug before jumping into the fray. “Looks like you’re more ticket off than anything else!”

The Ticketmaster turned around, surprisingly fast for someone with such a bulky, uncomfortable frame. He tried shooting his light beams at Adrien, but he quickly jumped out of the way.

Ladybug’s yoyo came tying itself around one of the Ticketmaster’s hands. He gave a vicious tug, causing Ladybug to topple to the floor. Adrien retaliated by jumping on top of him and trying to hit him with his baton. “Would you wait for a ticket?”

The Ticketmaster dodged. “Give me your miraculous!” He cried as he continued shooting them with light beams.

Adrien scoffed as he continued trying to attack. He didn’t see anything on the Ticketmaster which could be the akumatized object. While he attacked, the Ticketmaster ignored him, his focus on targeting Ladybug.

“Chat Noir!” Ladybug called out to him. He risked a quick look at her where she pointed upwards. Guess it was time to regroup and come up with a plan. Kicking Ticketmaster in his middle, making him wobble and stop attacking long enough to regain his balance, Adrien extended his baton to join Ladybug on a nearby roof.

“Well, m’Lady? What are we to do about him? Did you see what the akumatized object was?”

She seemed deep in thought. Slowly she spoke, “I think the akuma is in one of his buttons.”

“His buttons?” Adrien repeated flatly. “Which one?”

“The big green one, right next to the screen,” Ladybug winced.

“How do you know that?” Adrien exclaimed.

“A hunch?” Ladybug shrugged. “I’m not sure but he keeps fiddling with the button. It’s either that or the screen itself.”

“Well, how are we supposed to get close enough to get at it?” He asked her, brows furrowed. “He’s rather quick to attack, I’m afraid.”

Ladybug gave him a determined nod before calling out for a Lucky Charm. Down fell a sponge.

Adrien gave it a disbelieving look. “That’s helpful,” he snarked. She gave him a look in return while her brows furrowed in concentration.

“Got it!” She exclaimed after a moment, a bright grin on her face. For just a second, Chat couldn’t breathe. She was dazzling when she was so sure of her success. Especially with the sun falling on her, just so, giving her a golden effect.

He wanted to say something, tell her how amazing she was, but he couldn’t find the words. Besides, Ladybug was too busy, as she instructed him to go attack and wait for her cue, right before she stole his belt.

He yelped as his ‘tail’ was ripped away. “I need this,” she said in apology before swinging away so she could put her plan into action.

He called out but she didn’t turn back. “Be nice if you would explain for once,” he grumbled before launching himself at the akuma once again.

“Hello again!” Adrien greeted cheerfully, making the Ticketmaster snarl. “I know, I’m tired too but haven’t you heard? There’s no rest for the ticket!” He dodged another light beam, as he tried hitting Ticketmaster with his baton.

“I think I might become a master at this soon!” He glanced around, what was Ladybug waiting for. As he leapt to avoid yet another beam, Ladybug called out.

“Ticketmaster!” She was standing near him. As Ticketmaster came near her, Ladybug only dodged the occasion beams, letting him come closer, right until he was standing in between a wall of cars.

“Chat Noir!” She called out, signalling for him to bring the Ticketmaster towards her. Adrien lured the Ticketmaster with more puns as the akuma grew angrier and angrier. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Ladybug climb the car wall until she was hanging upside down from it like a spider.

Adrien didn’t know what she was planning but he knew that he trusted her. Ticketmaster was cackling, as Adrien spun the Ticketmaster around so his back was to the wall and pretended to fall.

Quick as can be, Ladybug tied the sponge around the Ticketmaster’s face and Adrien summoned his Cataclysm. Her yoyo had bound his hands and unable to see, he was unable to shoot his light beams.

With a single touch of his cataclysm, the button broke and the akuma flew out. Ladybug easily purified it and cast her miraculous cure. “Pound it!” She exclaimed happily as Adrien tapped his fist against hers.

The young man who had been akumatized looked up at them. “Ladybug? Chat Noir?” He stared up at them in confusion before seeming to realize what had happened. He groaned as Adrien helped him up.

“You alright?” Ladybug asked the man, a worried expression on her face.

He nodded. “Had a bad day and it caught up with me I suppose. Tiring when people try to sneak in without a ticket. Sorry for...well, attacking you both.”

They waved the man off and helped him get back to work. The beeps of their miraculous reminded both heroes that it was time to leave. Before Ladybug could leave, Adrien called out to her.

She turned to face him, curiosity brimming in her eyes. He paused for a moment before blurting out what he wanted to say. “Ladybug, will you come to Rooftop 3 tonight?” They had specific rooftops they liked spending time on, while they watched the city.

Ladybug watched him for a moment as she hesitated. “Please, Ladybug?” She sighed as she relented, promising him she would be there. The decision to ask her had been impulsive but he was ecstatic she had agreed to come. Quickly waving Ladybug goodbye, he used his baton to propel him back home.

Adrien took a deep breath as he surveyed his handiwork. Soft blanket to sit on and plenty of food. Nothing that was overtly romantic and would make Ladybug uncomfortable. He glanced at the sky where the last vestiges of the sun were about to fade before looking at the clock in his baton. Where was she?

As if the thought had summoned her, that was when Ladybug made her entrance.

“Hey, Kitty,” She greeted him.

“M’Lady,” he gave her a sweeping bow in welcome. She looked hesitant as she stepped forward and took in his preparations. She blinked in surprise at what she found, her shoulders relaxing and a smile spreading across her face.

“Do you like it?” Adrien asked, a tinge of hope in his voice. “It’s been such a difficult time lately, especially for you as the Guardian, I thought it would be nice to just relax together. As friends!” He was quick to add.

Ladybug gave him a soft look before stepping closer to him. “It’s wonderful,” she told him, as she laid a hand on his face and softly pecked his other cheek.

Her lips were soft but he was unable to enjoy the feeling of Ladybug kissing him. The swift motion through which she kissed his cheek was oddly reminiscent. It reminded him of sunsets, and friends and heroes.

“Marinette,” he softly whispered as Ladybug pulled away from him, his mind a million years away.

“What?!” Ladybug shrieked in alarm. Quickly, he raised his eyes to meet hers, worried an akuma had found them.

“Marinette? Who-who’s Marinette?” Ladybug blurted out, face pale and eyes wide.

Adrien stared at her in disbelief. How did Ladybug forget Marinette? As Chat Noir, she was the one who introduced her to him!

“Marinette is…” before Adrien could remind Ladybug about Marinette, the wonderfully, sweet girl he was lucky to be friends with, Ladybug frantically shook her head,

“You’re wrong! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Adrien felt a frown grow on his face, wondering if he’d spoken his thoughts on Marinette aloud. Then he frowned deeper, realizing if he had spoken aloud that meant Ladybug seemed to dislike Marinette. It was the only possible explanation. “Of course I do! I have proof!”

Would someone who wasn’t a complete angel give Adrien her lucky charm? Or be so helpful with akumas? Marinette had practically been a pro as Multimouse. He was just sad they couldn’t bring her onto the team more often. No, he didn’t think there was anything not sweet about Marinette at all.

“Proof?” Ladybug squeaked, her face pale.

Adrien crossed his arms across his chest. “Yes, proof! Nothing you do or say will change my mind about this!”

Ladybug looked utterly terrified, as she took in deep breaths trying to calm herself down.

“Ladybug?” Adrien questioned gently, realizing that however wonderful he thought Marinette was, the possibility that Ladybug may have had a misunderstanding with her somehow. He, himself, had had such a misunderstanding when he’d first met Marinette. He’d simply have to clear the air. He’d just decided that when Ladybug stifled a scream. He paused letting her calm down before questioning her.

“How did you know I’m Marinette? Where’d you get this proof from?” Ladybug questioned, her voice quiet as a whisper but deadly serious.

Adrien felt his jaw drop. It felt like all the pieces of the puzzle were finally coming together and arranging themselves in front of him.

“I….huh?” That was all Adrien could say, feeling himself at a loss for words.

“Chat Noir! You said you had proof! What is it?” Ladybug was demanding furiously, clearly terrified she had been too lax in protecting her secret identity. However, Adrien was far too busy trying to put his world back in order, to reassure her.

Dumbly, Adrien raised his hand to point at her. “Marinette?” His voice came out strangled.

“What?” Ladybug hissed, as she leaned in, eyes wide. “Tell me!”

“You’re Marinette,” Adrien whispered again, feeling like he was unable to breathe. He hadn’t seen this coming. Why hadn’t he seen this coming?

Ladybug looked at him weirdly. “Why are you acting so surprised? You’re the one who said...oh. Oh no!” Ladybug trailed off in horror. “Y-you did know I was Marinette, right?” She stuttered out slowly, a small sprinkle of hope in her voice.

Silently, he shook his head still trying to take everything in as he slowly slumped to the ground. Ladybug...no Marinette buried her face in her hands as she let out a soft scream.

“Why did you say my name then?” Marinette demanded once she’d calmed down, her hands on her hips.

“I got nostalgic! I’m sorry, I didn’t know!”

“Nostalgic for what?”

“Well…” Adrien scratched his cheek awkwardly, “From when you kissed me on the cheek, it reminded me of when you did it to me as Marinette.”

Marinette only seemed to grow more confused. “What are you talking about? I haven’t done that with anyone except…” slowly Marinette raised a trembling finger to point at him, her eyes wide and mouth agape. She swallowed hard before softly whispering “Adrien?”

If he hadn’t been standing next to her, he never would have heard her. As it was, all Adrien could do was give her a sheepish grin as she fell down to sit next to him.

“You’re Adrien?” Ladybug asked, breathlessly.

Adrien let out a small chuckle. “That hard to believe m’Lady?” He joked before wincing as he remembered. She wasn’t just his Lady, no she was Marinette. He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realize Ladybug was still speaking until she put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m glad it’s you, Adrien,” she declared, her gaze warm and fierce.

He stared at her, finally seeing the Marinette he knew appear from behind Ladybug’s mask. Of course, the two most amazing girls he knew could only be one person. Adrien shouldn’t have bothered guessing otherwise.

“I’m really glad it’s you too, Marinette.” She smiled at him, a little hesitantly. He could tell what she was thinking, as he rubbed the back of his neck. They had never expected to find out about each other’s identities this way. Where were they supposed to go from here?

Marinette seemed to sway between one decision and another before she finally made up her mind.

“Let’s enjoy this wonderful picnic you put together,” she suggested. Adrien looked at her inquisitively, making her shrug. “We can deal with everything else later. I’d rather have a moment to enjoy this, don’t you?”

Adrien wanted to nod and enjoy the moment but his feelings got the better of him. “I love you,” he blurted out. Marinette froze as she slowly turned to look at him. He put a clawed hand over her gloved one. “I always knew I would love the girl beneath the mask, but now I really know for sure.” He gave her a soft, bittersweet smile.

“I know you’re in love with someone else, I just had to tell you.” Slowly, Adrien pulled away from Marinette but before he could get very far, she put her hands on his face and yanked him forwards.

Adrien’s eyes widened in surprise as Marinette crashed his lips onto hers. He was so surprised, he couldn’t process what was happening until it ended. All he could do was gape at her uselessly.

“You. You’re the boy I’ve been in love with,” Marinette told him breathlessly, as she anxiously waited for his reaction. Adrien blinked slowly before raising his hand to point at himself.

“Me?” Marinette nodded quickly. “Me?” He said again, unable to comprehend it.

“Yes, you.”

“You’ve been rejecting me for….me?” That made Marinette groan and hide her face in her hands, snapping Adrien out of his shock. Within moments, a big grin had overtaken his face as he tugged Marinette’s hands away from her face.

She gazed up at him, her long, dark lashes making her pretty bluebell eyes glitter. Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned in, to properly kiss her this time. It was only a sweet, chaste peck but Adrien could hear the fireworks going off and the ladybugs in his stomach were fluttering.

He pulled away, only to rest his forehead on hers. “We were so blind,” he whispered softly.

“What does this mean?” Marinette questioned slowly, gesturing between them.

“Ladybug. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Will you do me the honour of being my girlfriend?” Adrien asked cheekily, though inwardly his heart had leapt into his throat as he waited for her reply.

She threw her head back and laughed. Adrien was terrified for a moment before she cupped his face gently. “Of course I will, you silly kitty. I love you too, Adrien.”

Adrien beamed at her, as he felt his heart swell. He didn’t remember the last time he had been this happy.

“Now, you put so much effort into this picnic. Let’s not let it go to waste, hmm?” Marinette tilted her head to look at him. She was so cute, all Adrien wanted to do was cuddle her and never let go.

He watched as Marinette began to blush, a deep, bright red. “I-It’s a bit s-soon for cuddling but we could, maybe h-hold hands?”

Adrien blinked as he realized he had spoken out loud. His moment of surprise had Marinette reeling backwards as she frantically waved her hands. “Of course we don’t have to, it was just a suggestion, silly me!” She was saying as she tried to divert his attention.

Quickly, before she could panic too much, Adrien grabbed her hand with his own. “I’d love to hold hands,” he told her, as he fought to keep the silly smile off his face.

Marinette blushed lightly, as she let him lace her fingers with his. “O-okay,” she whispered, her gaze on their hands. “L-let’s eat,” she suggested.

Adrien smiled and leaned his head against her shoulder. “Yeah, alright.”

They sat there, enjoying each other’s company even as the moon rose and the stars twinkled in the night sky. The entire time they sat there, they didn’t let go of each other once.

#miraculous ladybug #ml #ml fic #adrien agreste #chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #love square #ladrien #ladynoir #identity reveal #ml humor #fluff

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honeyitallreadydid · 3 years

Text

I want Dream and Techno to place all the TNT above L’Manburg and laugh at all those fighting underneath, as there is no way they could lose

I want Tommy to realise this, and look around him. At the friends and family who’ve betrayed him, ridiculed him. At Tubbo, the boy who loved bee’s and laughed with him and Wilbur. At the boy battle weary and broken, angry and vicious, both cruel and weak willed. And he won’t recognise him. He isn’t Tommy’s Tubbo. And this isn’t Tommy’s L’Manburg

Dream will give a speech, ranting about everything he’s done, how foolish they all were, how weak tommy has been. Technoblade is silent,crouched away on top of the walls, staring at Tommy, his expression unreadable.

This isn’t L’Manburg. Not anymore. For starters, Wilburs gone. He was a murderous, inanse, unpredictable son of a bitch, who’s both cold and wild nature made him a caricature of a villain. But he wasn’t. He was funny and loud and teasing and Dream fucking broke him. Broke him with his demands, broke him with his laughter, his taunts. If dream had stayed away, maybe Wilbur would still be here.

My L’Manburg he said. My. It was his, his and Tommy’s. It was never Tubbo’s, never Fundy’s, and sure as shit not dreams. They never laughed in the caravan, never hid away in the ravine. The sharp stab of Erets betrayal was nothing but a sting to the others.

Tommy looked at Dreams frustratingly calm face, his smile just visible under the mask. Victorious, cruel, mocking. He aimed his bow at Dreams neck.

“You think you can kill me Tommy? Really? You can’t even follow sime instructions. Stay away from L’Manburg. Don’t go in the nether. Don’t go against me. Tubbo agrees with me. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, couldn’t stop Wilbur, couldn’t keep me away. You aren’t shit”

Tommy paused, hesitating, rethinking. Was his impulsiveness the reasoning for all the wars? Was it his own insolence, his own betrayals that broke his old home?

Yes. He knew the answer. He knew what he had to do.

He looked at the TNT, overshadowing the city, obscuring the sun. He thought of the hundreds of wither skulls at technoblade disposal. He thought of the crater, the explosion, the terror that had already once before encapsulated the nation.

“If I can’t have L‘Marburg, then no one can” Tommy muttered, but Dreams gloating and the pleads from Niki and Tubbo let his declarartion go unheard.

He focused back on Dreams broken mask,his once Sandy hair turned deep and matted from when he pulled at it with his blood stained gloves.

Technoblade stands tall, no longer crouching. He looks prepared to fight, but there is weariness in the way he unslings his crossbow, fatigue weighing down on the cracked crown upon his head. Where did he get it? Was it stolen from a vanquished foe, or perhaps commissioned from a blacksmith. Was it a point of pride, a spoil of war? Or just an accessory, with no more meaning than a bracelet or necklace. Tommy would never find out.

He looked away from Technoblades intimidating form, and back at the TNT. Slowly, as if not to draw attention, he notched in a flame arrow and aimed towards the center of the canopy of dynamite.

He cast his eyes at the shield Dream had worn. It was a gift of good faith from Technoblade, it was in the style of the Aegis. The branded face of Medusa had quickly caught Technoblade eye when they were younger, and Tommy remembered seeing a 14 year old Technoblade(who was in the height of his mythology obsession) having to beg and plead Phil for the shield. The distorted reflection revealed Ranboo, standing at the back of their group, staring back at Tommy. Ranboo had seen the red embers that encase the arrow’s tip, he had seen where it was aimed. He knew the destruction and death that would follow. He had seen Tommy’s mind, his intention.

Black eyes met blue, and in a moment of silent resolution they both understood. L’Manburg was once there home, but without Wilbur, it was no more than a bargaining chip. Something to hurt others with. L’Manburg was just like the discs in that respect. And you can’t have freedom with a collar around your neck.

Tommy let the arrow fly, and all hell broke loose.

Hellfire reigned down upon the houses, the wood alight and the stone blast open. The explosives ricocheted in every direction, several breaking through the walls, and a few going over.

Dream, who had been standing underneath the explosives, was immediately trapped as fire and sound broke the ground around him, immediately submerging him in the rubble below, the floor collapsing so fast that Tommy wasn’t sure if a sinkhole had spontaneously erupted. But no. It was him. Good

I hope your fucking dead

He saw Fundy and Quackity fall through the gaps in the paths, the water catching theyre fall but not healing them from the wounds that covered there torso and faces.

Ranboo had teleported at the first assailant, and had taken Tubbo and Niki with him. Thank fuck tommy thought, relieved. Throughout all Tommy’s anger, his rage, his betrayal, he still couldn’t stomach the idea of them being hurt. There clothes were scortched and Nicki’s hair was mostly seared off, but they looked to be mostly okay.

As the final blasts went off, and the fire truly began catching, he looked down into the abyss he had created. Iron and other metals had emerged from the blast, and a slow stream of lava was visible, lighting up the bottom of the pit.

Dreams crumpled form was just barely visible, but what Tommy could see didn’t look good. His armour had somehow fused into him. What remained of the netherite was connected to his chest, the skin around it blood soaked and damaged beyond repair.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, Dream groaned. No Tommy thought, No no no no no

Please just fucking die. It wasn’t mean to be like this. It was never meant to be-

Technoblade elegantly climbed down from the wall in which he stood,observing that battle like one would watch an ant farm. Amused, intrigued. Maybe a little proud at the ingenuity, but otherwise removed.

Then, unsheathing the Axe Of Peace from his belt, he threw it like a tomahawk and buried it in Dreams neck.

Silence.

Time had frozen as everybody gathered around the pit with morbid fascination as they all watched Dreams death, as his neck was cut with blood spewing out of him, thick and hot, staining his face and trademark green hoodie a deep rich brown.

How do you move on from this? What was there to do?

“I-uh, well, I...” Quackity stuttered, unsure of what to say

“L’Manburg is gone.” Tommy stated, his voice loud and authoritarian. “L’Manburgs been mutilated beyond repair, by me, by Wilbur, by Technoblade, by all of us. Use the land for whatever you want, but your not going to rebuild. Not now, not ever. Cover it up, make it a monument, I honestly couldn’t care less. But let L’manburg burn.”

Tommy looks down into the crater and on a ledge not too far from the top, he sees them. His discs. One has a crack down the side, rendering it unplayable, and the other surely is scratched beyond repair. He climbs down into the gaping hole, ignoring Dreams charred remains. He picks them up, softly caressing the indentations, and fondly remembering the times he and Tubbo had listened to them on the bench, gazing at the warm setting sun.

He throws them down, down into the rubble, down past the crumbling houses, and into the lava from the exposed cave system below.

He watches them burn, takes a moment to calm himself, then climbs out.

He ignores the gobsmacked faces that stare at him, eyes wide, jaws slacked. He nods at Tubbo with a tight lipped smile and move on, walking determinedly to Technoblade.

“L’Manburg was fucked the minute it became independent. The war, the exiles, the executions, it was all so pointless. So fucking pointless. Cause everybody’s now dead, and nothing has been won. There are no good guys here Technoblade. No battle, no hero’s, no moral to the fucking story. It was pointless violence fuelled by greed and corruption.”

“I knew you’d agree with me in the end” Techno’s monotone voice betraying him as you could hear the start of a smile behind his helmet.

“I don’t agree with you. You’re destructive and unreasonable and I can’t trust you anymore.”

Tommy walks closer to Technoblade, and with a start Technoblade realises that this isn’t his brother, not now. Tommy isn’t playing hero. He isnt the soldier who had fought in multiple wars. Not the boy who no matter how high the stakes were, no matter how powerful the competition, the boy who would always fight for what is right.

That boy had died. He’d been dying for a while now. Since burning the discs, abandoning technoblade, spending weeks alone with only Dreams honeyed lies filling his ears like wax, unable to hear anything other than what Dream wanted him to hear. Maybe it was Wilburs death, or even before, the moment they were exiled the first time.

Whatever the case, Tommy was gone, and had been replaced by an empty shell of who he was. His eyes were so dark they were almost grey, his hair damaged and his face gaunt. There was no twitch of a smile on his lips, no glint of trouble in his eyes. There was only a poorly concealed grimace of both anger and pain.

He leaned in his mouth tight and his words short. Technoblade clenched his jaw in anticipation of a shouting match, but Tommy’s next words were barely a whisper.

“L’Manburg wasn’t yours to take” his voice was hoarse and his words sharp, and the moment he had finnished speaking his stepped back quickly and walked away from the ruins of the fallen city.

#mcyt #and i want to cry #i want the shit to hit the fan #tommyinnit #dreamsmp #fanfiction #dreamwastaken #technoblade #tubbo #l’manburg

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grim-faux · 3 years

Text

07_A Small Echo

First

The air was heavy and muffled, every step he took echoed. The reverberations strummed through the back of his thoughts, weighing on his senses. It was wading through deep water, the resistance heavy and he needed to be somewhere right now but no matter how much effort he put into each reaching step, the air itself restrained him. Confined his body in a tight coil, choking air from his lungs. His stride became heavier, he wasn’t sure how much further he could go, or if the next step would be the last he could endure.

At the end of the gnarled corridor a door loomed tall, watching him. A lone and massive eye judged his progress, as if daring his resolve to reach the handle and trip the lock. Something awaited him. Answers, possibly. All the answers he could ever want.

But the closer he came to the door, the harder his heart throbbed, the more intense the pressure of the everything around him. The colors became intense and their flavor palpable, tart and thin. If he reached the door though, it would be better. He was certain. It would be okay. Somehow, it would solve everything.

A methodical chime crooned, tallying down the moments that he had left. Warning him that what is set in motion cannot be undone. A trick.

His eyes snapped open, and he had to confront the delightful truth that he was not dead. Wonderful.

Out there somewhere, the rain drummed against the boards of a window. He was so tired of the rain, so weary of gasping on the mist and only being slightly damp, but never fully dried; of his clothing being an outer skin, rather a barrier against the vicious onslaught.

He dragged an arm beneath the stiff cloth and smacked himself in the face. Mask still there. He didn’t normally take it off for rest, it was strange his first impulse was check for it, though he felt it crumpled around his face. He tried breathing calmly, but his sides buzzed. It could have been so much worse, he was sure, but being thankful for anything wouldn’t improve his mood.

Should sleep? He had to find Her. The Six. Tower. She was there, he didn’t know if she was all right let alone alive, but he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t do anything until he found her. The thought stung his eyes, and he emitted a faint crooning. He wanted to be there, he so badly wanted to. But he was so lost, so hurt, and afraid they were both going to die. And he didn’t want to lose his friend. He let her down too many times. He let them all down.

Drawing on some pathetic refuse of energy, he pushed himself up from the weighted fabric and edged forward. It was unbearable now, but this wasn’t unusual. Once he got moving and warmed up, he wouldn’t notice the tears or breaks. It didn’t stop the tremors in his arms. Slow first. Be careful.

He was badly tangled up, and it took more effort than it was worth to just get his legs free. Where was he? He adjusted his mask and gave the area a look over.

A room.

Window. He heard that. Too high.

Some furniture. Good. Not a lot of shadows, no visible spaces or notches, but furniture was good. At least it could be moved, with some force and a slice of lunacy. Furniture made noises.

He was on a busted sofa, not his first choice. Absolute worst. A novice, idiot, suicidal choice. The sofa was not in the middle of the room, but it might as well have been. Across the room, a doorway. He took a deep breath and looked over to his side on the cushion. And tilted his head.

Foods. Bits of what looked like meat and some wafer things, piled onto a napkin. Reflexively he cowered, but his lesser sense of self-preservation won out. Injuries forgotten, he tore into the foods. Half gobbling and choking as he sought to breathe and eat altogether. The whole choreography never worked well, since food was a rarity and having the chance to eat the food you did secure was rarest of all. It did enter his mind that this wasn’t quite right, and so kept his eyes cast off, barely paying mind to what he was shoving into his mouth.

Until a creaking board sent him scuttling to the arm of the couch. He shoved the bag over his face and continued to gnaw, as he cast his eyes toward that doorway.

The tall thin man in the hat entered, with a deep bow. Mono swallowed and swayed on the chair arm, already letting his eyes dip to the floor. It wouldn’t take long to tear the place apart searching for him, though he did already connect up who brought him here, who left the food.

This was the worst situation. Horrible. He set another glare on the figure, as it positioned itself by the wall. Not near enough to warrant anxiety, but not far enough to be safe. Everything moved normally – the tall man was not alarmingly swift, and Mono was not crawling through the air. A plus there. Not likely to last, so he tensed up and watched.

The Thin Man shifted closer, and Mono climbed to the back of the sofa. He strafed along the wall, rooting for a gap between furniture and plaster where he could get down. There was none—

A harsh screech splint the room; intense and more punishing than thunder screams. He tumbled to the chair arm and clutched at his bag, the electrical pop whittled at his ears like a cold spike. No amount of huddling or defense was enough, he didn’t think he could stand much more….

“C̸̖̟̖͖̻̼͆͋̋̕͝ạ̷̢͎̖̬͇̗̃̽n̴̦̝͔̲̎̿̆̀̍͑͜ ̴̬́̌̈̔̔̈́͋́̈́ý̸̙̜͕̯̟͓͉͇͚͇̈́́́́̒͐̍̒̉͝ơ̵̝͈̝̼̜͓̥̩̺͙̲͔̮̅̆̾͑̀͋͂̔̒͒̌̕͠ͅu̸͓̗̯̮̹͔͎͈͍̥̪̻̐͑͗͆̉͋̓́̽͌̊͗̚͝͝ understand me?”

Mono perked and tilted his head. Yes he… could. The ideal that he could put connection to the speek, given that it was his speek, was most worrisome of all. It was altogether, and with the way the adult always seemed to know where he would appear, and set a trap. This was wrong and concerning, and told him how little his chance for escape was.

He tumbled over the sofa arm to the nightstand and dropped to the floor, then, set himself beneath the piece of furniture. Now on the floor, he cast his eyes around searching for something more promising. If he could slip out of view for a few seconds….

“You want help to your… ‘friend’. Yes?”

Mono hissed in his throat but kept silent, instead opting to shake his head. The floorboards creaked with that terrible familiarity, and he poked his head up. No place to run. No place to hide. The man in the hat was thoroughly focused on him. Bad.

“You could resist, but chose didn’t. No fight.” The child glanced his way, and then back to the floor, rooting for fresh cover. “You should be dead, do think?”

Mono couldn’t stop his lips from twitching. Think he didn’t know that. Of course! This wasn’t fair. He pressed his head against the leg of the nightstand and crouched down. Should run? Floor open. No cover. Flee.

“Twice over,” the Thin Man posed. As reply, the child scooted further around the table leg. “It’s not like you to give up. It’s not what you’re made of.”

Mono tucked his head down. The Thin Man leaned over, peering under the table and trying to find the tell-tale mask.

“What is it then? You’re running out of chances.” The child muttered a sound. “Come again?”

“Want back,” he wheezed. “Want back her.” He coughed, more from shock than the discomfort of trying so hard to make words when it was not safe.

“Well, that won’t do. She belongs to the tower now. As do I.” And an unspoken, as do you. “You forfeited your time for negotiations.”

Mono poked his head up. “For-feet?”

“Gave up.” He reached to the napkin on the sofa and picked out a piece of wafer, and held it out for the child. Mono skittered behind the table legs, pressing into the walls surface. His gaze darted up, inspecting the hand and the figure beyond it. “You will need your—”

Faster than a whip, Mono snatched the bread and inhaled it. The Thin Man wondered if he was lucky to have kept his arm.

“Why take? Why is her stole?” Mono continued to dip and paw at the wall beneath the furniture, distressed and unable to keep still. His flight instincts on overdrive, but he hadn’t the opening to safeguard his exit.

“I’m not keeping you here,” the Thin Man offered. “But I won’t let you enter the tower.” He moved back from the table and gestured the room. “This place is on the outskirts of the city. You are miles and miles away from your goal.”

Mono crept out from behind the nightstand, checking the tall thin man and then dropped his eyes to the floor level. There was only the one doorway. “Then have start again. So what?”

This child…. “I said miles. Miles. Do you know how far a lone mile is? How much abuse and setbacks did you suffer, to come within a city block?”

“Don’t care.” Mono shrugged. While the adult was turned away, he clambered up the sofa side and bounded across the cushions. “She trapped. I’m not leave, especially friends.”

This idiot child. “You single-minded, stubborn, relentless fool. You are going to destroy yourself.”

Mono stood there and actually bristled, fists clutched by his hips. “So. WHAT? Hurt more in to leave! That desT-Roy me! S’not right!”

But he did have a point. As their twisting paradox was uncontestable, so was this urge to… do something. Anything. Even if it was self-destructive. Children didn’t know any better.

“I have an obligation to remove you,” the Thin Man cautioned as he wound back, the air vibrating with the sinister static. “If you insist on being a nuisance about it.”

Mono climbed back over to the nightstand, the piece of furniture swayed under his weight. As if the floor might’ve shifted during his absence, he once more skimmed below. “You won’t though.”

This tiresome child. “And what makes you so… assured?” In response, the child held up three fingers.

“Caught, woke up.” He set down the third finger. “Gave foods.” He leaned backwards over the armchair, looking down at the scraps.

The Thin Man tipped his head. “Is that really all it takes to gain your trust?”

“No….” Mono plucked at the callouses on his finger with his teeth, removing splinters. “I get friend mine back, and you won’t work stop me.” He turned the bag, so that it lowered and the eye holes peered at the Thin Man. “You for-feit?”

The Thin Man frowned. “No. I expected more from you. I anticipa— was prepared for the different outcome.” Mono’s response was lift his shoulders.

“Let me go the tower.”

Sighing, he tried once more. “It will destroy you. There will be nothing left of you, of who you are, strange child. You cease to exist, once you enter.”

Mono looked away, and he could almost picture the concerned twitch of his eyebrows as the strange child examined the room over. “I think… would okay to that.”

“ Wͪͩ̍̋Hͤ͛Y̆̊͆̊̈́͛͒!̵ͬͬ̌̆͂̍҉ ” His shout made the boy dive off the couch and flatten himself into the nearest corner of the room, where he huddled, his paper mask gawking. But given a moment and no action, the child calmed by a small amount. He continued to fidget and inch back. It took a minute longer for a response.

“I don’t believe. You are lie. And I to have do myself.” He shoved his hand up under the bag and rubbed at his cheeks. “Have nothing… else. I, um….” He curled down into the corner, hugging scrawny knees to his chest and trying not to look at the Thin Man. There was probably more he could say, but he didn’t know how to convey it.

It was painful. He didn’t do enough. It was his fault. He had to fix this. Was it fixable? She probably hated him, he was taking so long. She could be dead. He might never see her again. He did this. He should be dead. He could fix this. It should’ve been him, not her. This wasn’t fair.

The Thin Man sighed through the static and brought a hand to his face. The action caused Mono to recoil a bit, though there was no longer space for him to creep into. “Very well. I admit, I am curious to witness how you go about this. If you so desire, I will escort you.”

Quietly, Mono inquired, “You think can I stole back?”

“No.” He spun away, moving to the doorway. “As stated, your life will end there, and that is the sum of it. But I am exhausted of this fantasy.” He turned back when Mono remained rooted. “Are you coming?”

Mono tugged at his coat, gaping at the tall man in the hat, but unresponsive. At last he did uncoil, and bounded right over to the sofa cushion where the food was abandoned. He kept his shoulder to the Thin Man as he chewed on the remnants, then plucked up as many of the crumbs as possible until there was hardly any dust left. Cautiously, he climbed off the sofa, and gave his coat a shake off.

“Any time now.”

Mono finished checking his coat for snags or loose bits, then tentatively walked over to the Thin Man. Not getting too close, but near enough he could peer up and announce his preparedness with an unreadable expression. The Thin Man stooped and entered into the corridor. He was certain Mono was right behind him, though he couldn’t hear the footfalls at all. Children had ways of vanishing once a gaze was dropped. But he knew without a doubt the child would find his way to the Signal Tower, as he was initially instructed.

If not for Mono’s retaliation in the first place, and in his inability to destroy his youth, that all along was the primary goal. That was all that mattered. Deliver him, replace himself. Either way, the events twisted in a manner the Tower demanded. But he was curious now to see how this hitch in the pathways worked, and what its finality would mean. It would be interesting nonetheless.

Might as well bend the paradox further.

#little nightmares #mono fanfic #little nightmares fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #spoilers?#mono #the thin man #the man in the hat #the tall thin man #little nightmares fanfiction #mono fanfiction

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readysetstarker · 4 years

Note

I wish you would write a fic where... high school starker au where both peter and tony get bit by the spider

warnings: 16!peter, 17!tony, hs au. nothing nff, we’re keeping it pg this time around. pre-relationship, but don’t get it twisted, it’s still written with starker in mind

—

Peter wasn’t sure what it was, but it wasn’t dangerous.

Ever since the bite, things had been “different.” Peter could hear, see, smell things at a frequency he could barely stand. It was like someone had gone into his settings and pushed everything to their maximum levels, and then some. He couldn’t stand being in band anymore; no offense to Justin’s perfect cymbal playing, but any more sessions after the first two he tried to push through, and Peter was sure he was going to go deaf.

Along with the dialed-up senses came a premonition-like feeling that started at the back of his head, just at the base of his skull, and spread out to his extremities like lightning. Peter wasn’t sure what to call it, beyond “a lifesaver.” It had alerted him to things like a car that ran a red light and gave him just enough time to yank Ned out of the way.

(They didn’t mention that Ned had also ended up tossed three feet behind Peter on the sidewalk. His near-death experience took priority over that fact.)

It had also been handy in alerting him when Flash was in a particularly vicious mood. He managed to avoid most beatings when his senses went off, but on rare occasions, Peter found himself cornered in a bathroom stall. He feared his secret being found out more than he feared a swirlie, so fighting back quickly became a non-option.

This feeling, though...

Peter felt it again while eating lunch with Ned. They were discussing a new Lego set to complete over the weekend, with Ned mentioning pulling an all-nighter at his place to complete it in one sitting. Peter had been tuning out his “danger sense” after making eye contact with Flash across the lunchroom, but this new feeling overwhelmed the other. He had been in the middle of shoveling terrible cafeteria spaghetti into his mouth, and his plastic fork never made it to his lips.

Warmth spread across his chest, up into his shoulders and down past his ribs. He sat up, tried (and failed) not to look panicked as it made its way to the tips of his fingers. What panicked him more than the feeling itself was the fact that he didn’t feel panicked like the other sense made him. He was calm. He felt safe. Safe, in high school, of all things.

Flash staring daggers into the back of his head not withstanding.

Peter ignored Ned’s question of “Hey, what’s up?” to look over his shoulder and around the lunchroom. Aside from MJ making eye contact and flipping him the bird, there was nothing that should have garnered his attention. Classmates and underclassmen carried their trays to their tables, or took them outside to sit in the sun, and the lunch ladies were busy cleaning off tables and taking away empty trays.

It was normal level of activity for a high school cafeteria. What was his body picking up on that he wasn’t?

“Hey, uh, Pete?” A rushed tapping on Peter’s worn plaid sleeve caught his attention from his classmates. Peter tore his eyes away from the busy room to his best friend, looking a little bug-eyed at something to Peter’s right. “Did you piss off our resident delinquent?”

“Did I what?” Peter asked. Ned grit his teeth and pointed a shaky finger over Peter’s other shoulder.

Peter wasn’t subtle in glancing, but he did feel his heart stutter when he locked eyes with the last person he wanted to be involved with: Tony Stark, local heir to a multi-billion dollar company, party junkie, and overall bane to the NYPD’s existence. The fact that his father hadn’t publicly disowned his own son was a testament to how dedicated his family was to their “legacy.”

And said heir to that legacy was giving Peter the most intense glare he had ever been subjected to. The boy was hunched over whatever concoction his family’s chef had whipped together for him, currently going untouched in favor of narrowing his eyes and burning a hole into the back of Peter’s head. Peter could hear the leather of Tony’s jacket creak from across the room when he lifted his hands from the table and folded them in front of his mouth.

Peter turned so violently back to Ned that he was sure that cracking sound he heard was his own neck.

“Great, now two people want me dead,” he groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve barely said ten words to the guy! The most interaction we’ve had was me asking him to borrow a pencil in shop because I left mine in my locker.”

“How many words did you use?”

Peter flicked what might have been a chunk of beef at his friend. “Not funny.”

—

Peter had to wait for May to fall asleep to go on patrol tonight. She had wanted to watch movies together, and Peter loved spending time with her, but his skin itched to get out and swing between buildings, catch a few purse-snatchers, and breathe. Their apartment in Queens was small and comfortable, but there were some days where he felt suffocated in his little bedroom. He needed space, to feel free.

And after tucking May into bed and making sure his own door was closed and the lights turned off, Peter was out and flying through the air, homemade suit and mask covering his features.

The webbing he made was a new formula, meant to be stronger and dissolve faster. He had gotten the rate down to less than fours hours now, which lowered the cops’ chance of using the leftover webs to track him down. They hadn’t gotten close yet, but there was no need to leave it to chance.

It was a slow night tonight. One mugger, and he had been so easy to web up into a wall that Peter wondered if it was his first time doing it. The old lady he saved had given him a cherry-flavored cough drop as a reward, and Peter sucked thoughtfully on it while swinging and landing on the top of an apartment complex.

A deep breath in brought with it the smell of roasting coffee beans from the coffee shop across the street. Peter didn’t drink the stuff, but the smell of it was divine. It was one of his favorite places to take a breather during his patrol.

Peter was halfway through his cough drop and still breathing in the scent of a freshly-made latte when he felt it again: that warmth in his chest, tingling out towards his fingertips. He started, up on his feet, mask hastily and clumsily pulled down and over his face.

He turned in time to see a figure climb up over the edge of the roof’s barrier, pause, and then jump down and land heavily on its feet. Peter’s fingers found the trigger to his webshooters. He was already calculating his potential escape as the figure stepped further into view, and he could make out more details.

It was male, if the skin-tight armor said anything about him. And “armor” was a proper term. It was thin and flexible, moving with each minute gesture of the figure’s body, but there was no mistaking that it was made of some type of metal. Deep crimson with gold inlays and plating on his sides and the inner plating of his arms and legs. His mask portrayed a scowling gold face amongst the crimson, but its eyes were bright blue slits.

His counterpart had money, if not the most insane technical skills Peter had ever seen. And he had to be the source of the feeling in Peter’s chest.

Peter wasn’t given an opportunity to speak. The figure stepped up so closely that he felt the compulsion to step back.

The mask glanced down, head cocked, and Peter felt very self-conscious. He crossed his arms across his chest, hands tucked securely in his armpits, and took two more steps back.

“Um, c-can I help you?” he asked. He did his best not to wince when his voice cracked and cleared his throat.

“You’re like me,” came the reply. The voice was unrecognizable behind a filter that gave it a metallic rasp. “I can feel it. I thought I was going crazy, but I’m not. I’m not crazy!”

“Yeah, sure.” Peter took another step. “Um, I’m gonna go.”

“Hold it, Parker!”

Fingers wrapped around his arm as he turned to move away, hand already outstretched to cast a web and pull himself off the room. Something else curled into his chest, fear, panic, making his heart race into his throat. Peter whipped around and tore his arm from the stranger’s grip. He nearly choked on the cough drop still lingering between his teeth and cheek.

How do you know who I am? He wanted to ask. He wanted to grab the figure and slam him against the nearest wall and demand answers from him. Peter had been so careful. How did someone already know?

“Oscorp, right?” the figure asked. He held his hands palm-out in front of Peter. Was he trying to reassure or calm Peter down? “The, the spiders. The little red spiders, right? You got bit, didn’t you?”

Peter’s mouth went dry. “How do you”—

“Me too!” The figure’s voice went high, and he patted the side of his neck. “It crawled into my jacket while I was visiting with my dad. Where did you get bit?”

Peter pointed weakly to the back of his left hand. The stranger immediately grabbed it, turning it over and finding the webshooters. He touched the trigger and jumped back when the webbing shot out and attached to his chest.

“Whoa! So that’s how you did it. I saw you swinging around, earlier. Wait, did you make this?”

“Who even are you?” Peter asked, stepping away again and disconnecting himself. “How do you know about the spiders at Oscorp?”

“Oh. Sorry, um, allow me to introduce myself. We’ve met before, though.”

The figure stepped back but remained in the light. He lifted his arm up and Peter was grateful his mask hid the way he gaped at the command board that projected from the bracer. The figure tapped at it, inputting a few commands for his suit. Peter swallowed the cough drop whole.

The plating over his face slid away. Tony Stark’s proud grin replaced it.

#i swear i could write an entire like 70k fic of this if i had the time #maybe i'll come back to it #starker #peter parker x tony stark #ironspider #my work #Anonymous

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chocoships · 4 years

Text

Nightmarish dream

Chase is aware that he’s dreaming.

He remembers going to bed, spending a few hours aimlessly scrolling through various apps on his phone while his tired eyes took almost none of the endless stream of information offered to him. There wasn’t any anxiety or fear as his eyes finally slipped shut and he let himself be taken away into the comfortable embrace of sleep, but as his eyes suddenly shoot back open with an acute lucidity, a deep feeling of unease already seize him.

Chase’s gaze nervously darts from side to side as he tries to take in his surrounding. This isn’t what he’s used to. Instead of a dark expanse of nothing, Chase finds himself to be in some sort of... coffee shop? At least it’s the best guess he can make as to what the warped space around him is supposed to be. There is an air of familiarity to the chairs and tables neatly put away, to the unintelligible signs hanging above the empty service counter, but everything looks just a degree too off for him to fully recognize the place he’s supposed to be in. Just standing there feels wrong, it’s lifeless. He doesn’t know why he’s here, how he even got to this place, but as memories slowly slips back into places, fill in the blanks in his mind, he remembers now… And he knows what is about to happen next.

He remembers the series of strange encounters he started having in his dreams, of the entity that infest his mind every nights, of Its… strange obsession with him. He has no idea what he could have ever possibly done to attract Its attention but it’s too late for him to wonder about the cause of it all. Chase silently curse himself for falling asleep so nonchalantly, but how could he have known? With each morning, or abrupt awakening, Chase forgets. He always does. The memory of his dreaming self simply slips away, and the gaps it leave behind trap him further into this vicious cycle. Dooming him to unknowingly commit the same error every night and finding himself yet again at the mercy of whatever being haunts his nightmares.

He recall breaking down at the very beginning of it all, desperately asking It why he could never remember in his waking hours. The entity, which eventually named Itself Anti, simply answered him with; It is in the nature of dreams to be forgotten.The answer had been strange enough by itself, but Its following promise to change that unfortunate truth left Chase slightly more disturbed for the rest of the night. He didn’t want to learn what that promise could mean anytime soon.

The current scene Chase finds himself in is a little odd though. As far as he can remember, his “meetings” with Anti have always happened in a mostly empty void. He doesn’t know whether to feel relief or dread at the change.

Eventually his attention is brought to the thing in front of him, to Anti patiently sitting on the other side of the small table Chase is currently seated at. He didn’t even notice he was sitting down until this moment... As if on reflex, Chase immediately avert his gaze from It. His head faces downward as he keep his eyes fixed on the table instead of looking directly at Anti.

He can’t bear to look at it.

It’s not inherently monstrous, in fact It probably could pass for a normal person at first glance, but simply looking at It for longer than a fleeting second is enough to shatter any illusion of normalcy It tries to put up. The more you look, the harder it is to see past all the details that aren’t quite right. Eventually, you’ll end up wondering how you could ever have mistaken this Thing for another human being. The wrongness Its presence alone exude is simply too strong to ignore.

And the worse thing of all is that It’s wearing his face.

It look like someone took Chase’s skin and then draped it over a barely human shape. It doesn’t fit, nothing could ever be done to make it look natural or seamless. The way It moves or simply is cannot be hidden under the mere layer of stolen flesh It wears.

The air feels tense, thick with dread. Each inhale and exhale takes more effort than the last, it almost feels as if it started solidifying in his lungs. Like it shifted from gas to liquid without him noticing, and as far as Chase is aware maybe it did. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch considering his situation. Dreams are weird like that after all, right? But the pressure weighing down on him from every direction feels so real and he’s trying with everything he has to not outwardly show any of his growing discomfort. But with Anti’s gaze directly fixed on him, never once leaving his hunched over frame, finding the strength to not squirm under Its intense scrutiny is a much harder task. It feels like something is crawling under his skin wherever Its eyes land upon him, like It’s trying to find its way into the deepest part of him.

Chase is eventually brought out of his spiraling thoughts as the wood grain of the table he’s staring at starts moving, dancing, crawling, in front of his eyes. The sharp yelp that escape his throat at the sight cannot be held back.

Right. This is a dream. One that Chase isn’t in control of.

A dull ache starts forming at the front of his skull as he keep his gaze fixed on the ever shifting shape trapped in the glossy surface of the wood. No words are spoken, but a clear choice seem to be offered to Chase: either look up and face the captor of his dreams or keep his head down and let the pain grow. The ache slowly climb in intensity as Chase weight both of his options. A decision is eventually made, and it’s with a whimper stuck in the back of his throat that Chase straighten up and slowly lift up his head.

He’s shaking as he finally meet eyes with Anti. As the man return Its gaze, the thing’s stolen visage shift from an expressionless mask to a twitchy facsimile of a smile. There are far too many teeth crammed into Its mouth, far more than what should be physically possible. The sight alone send a cold shiver down Chase’s back.

“do you like it?” Anti’s voice reverberate through the space, and yet Its lips do not once move. There is an eagerness to the question, perhaps even hope, but for what? Chase doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to hearing the being’s voice. Like Its appearance, it seems similar enough to his own at first but an undeniable layer of wrongness hides right beneath. As if Its voice itself was afflicted with rot and decay, inevitably tainting it whole with a deep feeling of unease. If Chase’s voice was a melody, then Anti’s would be a cacophony of dissonance.

“What?” Chase’s voice is barely above a whisper, meek and confused. He watches as It vaguely gestures around Itself and him, Its movements jerky and stiff.

“Our surroundings… From what I’ve seen, most humans seems to considers those places to be good spots for dates. I won’t pretend like I fully understand why. The supposed romantic charm of it is lost to me, but I thought you’d appreciate it” Anti’s head cock to the side, Its dark blank eyes never once blinking or leaving Chase as It spoke.

“So, as I said before; do you like it?”

Chase stays motionless as Anti speaks, completely stunned. Well, until his chest shakes with a faint laugh, it’s more nervous than anything but Chase is at a point where he’ll latch onto any emotions that isn’t fear like a lifeline.

“I mean… It’s better than the previous empty void for sure. It’s, uhm- it’s alright. This is kinda impressing, if I’m being honest...”

At the half hearted praise, Anti seems to glow with pride. Its whole demeanor perks up, but Its excitement seem to also cause Its disguise to slip ever so slightly. In a matter of seconds, multiple eyes blink open across Its body, breaking skin as they do so. Its smile stretches further and further until the flesh of Its cheeks rip apart, showing even more crooked teeth than before. Anti leans forward, placing his elbows on the small table as he rest his chin in the palm of his hands, more limbs soon following suit.

Chase watches, frozen with terror, the horrible display of body horror happening in front of him. He cannot look away from it no matter how much he tries to will his eyes to move or even simply blink. Panic surges through his body as he soon discovers he can’t move at all. He desperately tries to get up from his seat, to stand up and run, but his body feels like each joints has been locked into places. The only thing he can do is trembles as the phantom sensation of countless of hands starts grasping at him, at least he hope it is. Chase cannot look down to see if what he’s feeling is real or not.

The only thing he can see is the terrifying beast sitting across him, admiring him with either yearning or hunger in Its eyes.

“I’m glad my efforts paid in the end, maybe next time I should try to recreate your home” It sigh, yet Its chest never moves to even attempt to give the illusion of breathing. Its voice sounds dreamy as It continues on.

“For now though, let’s just enjoy our time together. I still have a lot to show you tonight”

Chase whimper when a cold elongated hand take hold of his. It’ll be long before this nightmare end.

#eldritch au #antiaverage #I know there isn't much shipping but stuff gotta start somewhere #I hope it's good enough tho #choco's writing

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videogamelover99 · 4 years

Text

Reason

A/N: I physically cannot write something that’s not angst. Anyway, with Episode 15 of TAZ Graduation (by far the best episode, in my opinion), I couldn’t help but need to write this. Warnings for: sexual coercion, abuse of power, classism. AO3 link here.

Summary:

"When you transformed Silvia Nite, the fear in her eyes made you feel powerful. Don't you want that again?"

"...I kinda do."

Chaos takes their time to convince Fitzroy that their power is worth it.

When Fitzroy was eight, his father finally took him with his caravan. It was hired out to a Madam Adaman Fern, a human whose new estate was waiting to be moved into. Fitz had watched the items get loaded in by his father’s crew, one by one: solid red wood furniture, silverware of the purest metal, a grandfather clock, and pounds and pounds of jewelry, carried in malachite boxes, full of amber, jade, gold and precious stones that he’d never thought existed. He’d excitedly watched from his father’s place at the head of the wagon, his father smiling as he calmed the horses down, stroking their necks. It was a long trip, passing fields and rivers and mountains, each more beautiful and grander than the last. Fitzroy, in his short life, had seen nothing father than his nowhere town and the local farmer’s market his mother liked to go to. He tried to consume all of it, to not miss a glimpse of anything they passed on their way. That night, the crew had a hard time wrestling him to sleep.

When he woke up, earlier than he ever had out of his excitement, the first thing his eyes were drawn to was the large, three story mansion. It loomed above the horizon, its marble columns reflecting the light of the dawn in a way that made them shine with early morning luminescence. The caravan pulled up in front of the large iron gate, and the crew got out, ready to unload. Beyond the gate, he could see a cobble-stone driveway, circular and in the center of it – a marble fountain, shaped like many outstretched hands, holding up the sky. In front of the carriage stood a woman, helped down by a man in a black and white frock. They slowly approached the caravan, stopping a few paces away from Fitzroy’s father as he got down to greet them. They had not a speck of dirt or road dust on their silken garments. Jerry, when right in front of them, with his grass stains and horsehair covering his overalls, looked a bit like a homeless vagabond. He nodded politely at the two as they watched the luggage get unloaded.

“Careful with that,” the woman said softly, eyeing the people handling the grandfather clock, “it’s been in my family for generations.”

Then she spared a glance at Fitzroy, and the boy smiled wide, like he always did to grownups he didn’t quite know yet. His mother loved that smile, said none of their neighbors could ever resist it.

The woman did not smile back. Instead, she gave him a look, one that made him want to climb into one of the wagons and never crawl out again. A look of pure, unashamed resentment. They she turned away quickly, as if Fitzroy was not worth any more of her time, her jewelry clinking gently as she did so.

Fitzroy remembered that look well. He’d remembered it, because it was the same look that the students at Clyde Nite’s Night Knight School sent him as he passed down the hall, weighed down with expensive, barely affordable books, and ill-fitting clothing his dad had given him. It was a look he chose to remember, when his body was too tired to stand, when his mind was unfocused, when his muscles ached from the overexertion of his training, when his hands shook when holding the sword. He remembered it, and pushed on, past the pain, past the sickness, past the shaky adrenaline.

You could say that at some point, his tenacity had become singlehandedly fueled by spite.

At first, he thought Silvia Nite was better. She’d called out his potential early on, when he’d felled several on the training field, his shirt clinging to the sweat on his back, his face and hands covered in dirt. She’d smiled, and he smiled back, proud that finally, finally someone was noticing his potential.

He had run into her in the hall once, embarrassed and out of breath from being late to class. She’d offered him a helping hand as he tripped over his own feet, mumbling an apology. “Your class can wait,” she said, leading him by the arm, “walk with me.”

He nodded frantically, at loss for words. She led him through the hall of the castle, and into the courtyard. They walked side by side, and Fitzroy had to fight the impulse to lower his head. She breathed power the same way he breathed oxygen. He’d admired the way she held herself, above any trifles or misunderstandings.

“I hear you’re making quite the progress,” she said, stopping just under an old apple tree.

“Y-yeah…I-I mean-” he choked on his words, nervously wondering if he’d already fucked this up.

She smiled at him. “Breathe.”

And, on command, he did. “That’s me! Always, always punching the clock, working those books…” he wanted to jump off the nearest cliff.

“Good,” she turned away from him, plucking one of the flowers from the tree, watching as a few stray petals flew to the ground, “you know, a lot of the other staff members didn’t believe me.”

“Believe you…?”

“About your potential.” She stroked the petals with the tip of her finger. “You’re a talented young man, Fitzroy,” she turned to him, and grinned. “I’m glad you were able to prove them wrong.”

“Oh…I-uh…thanks, I guess? T-thank you.”

She shook her head. “Don’t thank me. You’ve got no one but yourself to praise.” He nodded dumbly. His chested swelled with pride. She’d noticed. Silvia Nite had noticed him. His hard work, his monkey, his time, his pain - everything was finally worth something. “It was very good talking to you, Fitzroy Maplecourt. It’s time for you to head back to class,” and she walked away, the flower still in her hands.

He might’ve felt a little giddy when, after one of her lectures, she’d approached him again. He’d noticed the looks of the other students, some sneers, some of unidentifiable pity. He shrugged them off, thinking them envy. It wasn’t hard, given how much better he was than everyone else at mostly everything. Magic excluded. A Knight didn’t need magic to be successful. A Knight did, however, sometimes needed a helping hand. Which was what Silvia offered to him, placing her long, perfectly trimmed fingernails on his shoulder. She was much taller than him, her elven features similar to his own, and yet so much more pronounced, regal. “I believe there are some people in the oversight guild I can introduce you to. You’d want to build up contacts once you graduate.”

He’d nodded, already having thought of that for months now. Because even though his kingdom, Goodcastle – was already lined up for his taking, something told him broadening his scope was a wise decision.

She let go, stepping back toward her desk. “Meet me at my office tomorrow afternoon. There, we can continue this discussion.”

He should have suspected something, then. But he was too much of a fucking idiot, wasn’t he? And the opportunity seemed so close. Silvia Nite had tossed in the bait, and he’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

But when the time came, and he poked his head into her office, even he could tell that something was wrong. The window blinds were down, and as Silvia walked up to greet him, shaking his hand, and reached over his shoulder to lock the door behind him. A part of him knew, when she told him to sit down, not letting go, smiling, her praise oozing out of her lips like molasses. Suddenly agitated, he shifted in his seat, all to aware of her gaze wandering all over him. They sat down, Silvia behind a redwood desk, him sitting across from her, hands writhing on his lap.

“I can help you, of course,” she’d said, her tone matter of fact, “graduate faster. Find important people to introduce you to. It would be an opportunity you wouldn’t want to miss.” Then she sat back in her leather chair, adorned with the carved faces of eternally hungry wooden lions, and said: “I am a busy woman, though. It would take quite a lot of my schedule to do that for you, do you understand?”

He’d nodded. And flinched, when her hand covered his, and the whole time, his mind was screaming that it was wrong, wrong, wrong. He felt trapped. Under her gaze, in the shadows of the closed blinds, by the lock in the door behind him.

Then her other hand moved to grasp the back of his neck. “So you’ll have to do something for me as well, Fitzroy.” Then she tugged on his collar, and he sprang back, his legs finally working correctly. He was breathing shallow, panicky, because he knew that look. For so long she’d masked it under the pretense of kindness, with nice words and smiles, but at its core, it was all the same. The look of someone who thought that Fitzroy was nothing more than the mud under their shoes. He’d been such an idiot not to see it sooner.

The older woman moved back in surprise, her hand still hovering in the air. Then her gaze narrowed.

“Y-you…” he tried to find his voice, but it was shaking to much for him to form any words. He suddenly wanted to laugh. “You think…you can just…I will never-” He’d never felt so angry in his life.

Her eyebrows rose up, perfect arches she’d no doubt spent hours of her precious time on. She eyed him up and down, standing from her chair, and he bristled, his hands turning to fists. No matter how skilled in combat he’d become, he would still be no match for her. She held his gaze.

Then she sat down, waving a hand. “Alright. You may go, then.”

He practically flung himself at the door, turning the lock with his shaking fingers. “And Fitzroy?” she called, just as he was about to leave, with a tone that sent a chill down his spine, “not everyone is as accommodating as I am.”

After that day, the calls of kissass and teacher’s pet turned to something much more vicious. He made himself suck it up and carried on. Only a few months before graduation. He could make it. After all, one thing was made clear to him. There would be no one who would ever respect him, not until he left this school behind.

The anger didn’t go away. It festered, with every jeer, every rude gesture, every pitying gaze the other teacher had sent his way, and had boiled over when he had to face her once again, in her magic class, trying to light this goddamn candle that would not light the piece of shit-

Her gaze dug into him, ignoring all the other students, the resentful look so clear, so unmistakably present, and if he could just light this goddamned candle so he could leave-

And then the whole room exploded. And moments later, when Silvia Nite was turned back to normal, her gaze wide-eyed and terrified, Fitzroy felt like he couldn’t get enough of the fear in her eyes.

Chaos paused the memory, turning it over in their hand. “You were angry. Good.” They smiled at him, hovering over his shoulder as he looked alongside them. Their shifting head of hair wrapped around his shoulders like a cloud, undulating and free. “You had every right to be.” Their voice was like a whisper of the wind. “She wanted to possess you, control you. Her position gave her the illusion that she could own you. And she was wrong.” They waved their hand, and the memory faded from view, melting around them like sugar. “This is why I chose you.”

They came to him every night, his nonsensical half-dreams replaced by their strange, every-shifting world. Sometimes it was a room in a castle. Sometimes they were out in the woods. And sometimes, the two of them would just sit there, on the foot of his bed, his own body sleeping fitfully behind them. Chaos looked delighted whenever they came. They were possessive, but not in the way people were. They lacked that look in their eyes. They knew they owned him, but not from any illusion of power, not because they thought they were better than him. They owned him, simply because they could.

They turned to him them, smiling, but not amused. Reveling in their truth. “With my power, there will never be such humiliation. Isn’t that reason enough?”

#taz graduation #taz g #sir fitzroy maplecourt #chaos #taz grad spoilers #fanfiction

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laurazepamwrites · 4 years

Text

The Chemicals between us ~ Ch.10

The Italian government had taken great steps to preserve the beauty of Venice, tourists now roamed the streets sampling the local Gelato and Pizzerias, taking romantic walks along the many canal sides and enjoying relaxing Gondola rides. If one was to scratch the surface and peer under the sophisticated culture and peaceful environment Venice had to offer they would see the vicious underbelly that lived unnoticed among people and Omnics alike. A decade had not even passed since the infamous Rialto Incident, a covert mission gone wrong that was a turning point for both Overwatch and Talon. For Overwatch the mission had been a disaster and eventually became its downfall, For Talon it created a power vacuum that was quickly filled by Akande Ogundimu the ‘successor’. It was in the long deceased Antonios office that the formidable terrorist leader now stood behind the rich mahogany desk and watched the unassuming Venice below from the very window Gabriel Reyes had shot the former occupant through. To the right of him, barely visible from the shadows, a living memory of a woman stood, her cold eyes watching Akande's guest from where he stood the other side of the desk. She had smirked when he refused to sit, Men of all kinds liked to play their power games.

‘You promised Akande.’ A metallic voice spoke.

Akande took a moment to reply as he watched an Omnic Gondolier help a young family on to his boat. The child happily took its hand as she climbed aboard, no sense of fear, no mistrust. She was born in happier times. ‘ Ignorant.’ he thought, turning to his guest. ‘I remember exactly what I promised. I hope you do not insult me by thinking Talon will not deliver. I am Talon and I will reward my allies. As long as they are patient and continue to play their part.’

The silence hung heavy in the room and the woman's fingers twitched with impatience. ‘Give me the name.’ She thought.‘Give me the name and he will not leave this room.’ Yet eventually and to her disappointment the light glinted off the metal of the guests body as he nodded his understanding, at that moment a heavy hand knocked on the large double doors of the office.

‘That will be our meeting over my friend.’ Said Akande, holding his hand out. Shrike, the leader of Null sector, considered before taking it and shaking once. ‘Enter.’ Akande called and the doors opened slowly revealing Reaper. He and Shrike ignored each other as they passed, Reaper remained silent until he heard the door close behind him.

‘Gabriel.’ Akande said ‘If you please?’ He gestured to the empty chair.

‘I’m not staying.’ He replied, he heard the woman in the shadows scoff.

‘As you wish.’ Replied Akande as he returned his attention back to the view outside. ‘Like my new windows? Double reinforced.’ He smirked as he tapped them with his knuckles. He heard a growl from behind him. ‘A joke to lighten the mood Gabriel, and I have much reason to be unhappy. You have not obtained my prize.’

‘Its under more protection than we thought.’

‘Ah yes..the Junker. Then dare I ask why have you not brought him?’

‘ He’s under more protection than we thought. Somehow Overwatch has got him.’ Reaper growled.

Akande laughed and walked over to a beautifully carved drinks cabinet and selected a vintage whisky. He glanced at Reaper as he poured two glasses, ‘So that's what happened in Darwin, and now you mean to tell me the last remains of overwatch bested my soldiers and indeed you?’

‘They were prepared. Your men were arrogant, that's why they are all dead.’

Akande placed the glass of whisky in front of him and took a sip of his own. ‘Yet here you still stand.’

‘I went for recon, not for battle. I've learned who the target is with.’

‘And have you learned where the target and Overwatch are? What was the last watchpoint they used?’

‘That watchpoint is long abandoned after I stole the agent files, they would be foolish to remain there. Sombra scans every watchpoint weekly and has come up with nothing.’

‘She is on thin ice.’ Akande stated. ‘I feel her allegiance wavers.’

‘You would lose your best hacker over feeling than fact Akande? Let her play her games and she delivers, she is your best bet at finding them.’

‘Is that trust I hear Gabriel?’

‘No more than I have for you.’

Akande smirked and took another sip. ‘It's quite the vintage’ He said as he studied the amber liquor. ‘A pity you are too ashamed to remove your mask to sample it. I thought O’deorian did a remarkable job.’

Reaper ignored the slight and looked toward the strange woman who in turn was watching him with curiosity. ‘Why is she here?’

‘Bad behaviour.’ Stated Akande. ‘Killed four men whilst she underwent her treatment. She screamed for her husband and drove a pen through one of the scientist's eyes when he told her she herself had murdered him, I admire her creativity.’

‘They taunted her.’ Snarled Reaper. ‘Amelie is not a plaything!’

‘Is that sympathy for your deceased friend's wife, Gabriel?’

‘Realism. She knows too much of our mission to risk her slipping.’

‘It is already being dealt with. Our good doctor will take her back into her care soon enough then she can return to work.’

Amelies eyes widened with fear and she looked desperately to the door, Akande noticed and snapped his fingers at her, the crack in her mask disappearing as quickly as it appeared as her eyes glazed over once again and she cooly returned her gaze to the two men before her.

‘Hmm’ Akande grunted ‘Much easier to quell then Siebren..’

‘My orders?’ Reaper asked, sounding bored.

‘Now that we are certain of Overwatch's return I want you personally in charge of wiping them out for good. Despite their lack of resources and men they have still got in our way and more importantly they have the target, our vision can only go so far without the final piece.’

‘If he even has it.’

‘One thing I am certain to find out in my mission of goodwill, my friend. Keep in contact, soon Shrike will engage phase two and on my return the council will be summoned.

Reaper groaned as he made to leave. ‘Just don't sit me next to Moira.’

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

The briefing room was buzzing with conversation and excited chatter over the success of the latest mission as everyone talked -and shouted- amongst themselves.

‘Reinhardt why does your armour have a huge dent in it?’

‘I earned it from strength and valantry my young squire!’

‘It was a wall.’ Said Zarya.

‘- And their mech had nothing on us right Fareeha?’

‘We were lucky, and actually you were-’

‘Pure skill Lucio!’

‘-Bring ya back a souvenir next time i'm out Frosty? How’s bout a snow globe.’

‘I'll throw it at your head!’

‘Reckon she's still pissed with me Hog..’

‘Children, behave!’ Ana clapped her hands for attention as she entered with Jack and Winston,

when they approached the table jack remained standing to address the team. ‘First I want to offer congratulations for our recent mission, as I'm sure everyone now knows it was predominantly a success. The weapons cache was destroyed and We’ve gained valuable information and more avenues to work from. One thing in particular we will certainly be investigating, Athena? Play the viskar security file.’

‘What?!’ Exclaimed Lucio, jumping from his chair and leaning in to stare intently at the holographic footage of the Talon weapons compound welcoming Sanjay Korpal. Athena paused the footage on Sanjay's smiling face.

‘This is Sanjay Korpal, he is one of the head officials for the Vishkar corporation, recently he has been seen meeting with Talons accountant Maximillien and very recently he was at the Bryansk weapons compound flown in by Talon aircraft. We have little idea as yet to his reason for visiting but Ii think I can safely say he could be one of the council, with this lead we can-’

‘I KNEW IT!’ Lucio shouted triumphantly, slapping the table for effect, ‘I knew it! This is amazing! We can bring Vishkar down with this! Yeah man up top!’ He high fived Junkrat sitting next to him. ‘Commander Morrison! Sir! You gotta let me in on this, I….i’m gonna sit down and be quiet now sir, my bad, sorry..’ He slunk down in his seat under Jack's unamused eye.

‘All done? Good. With this lead we can focus on Vishkar and look for more evidence on their connection with Talon, this could be an isolated incident and Sanjay is working alone or the entire company is involved. Getting to Sanjay will be near impossible but we may be able to infiltrate one of their offices. Winston will talk you through the plan.’ He nodded to Winston as he took his seat and the Great ape cleared his throat as Athena changed the footage to a photo of one of Vishkars many office buildings. ‘Here we have the Viskar corp Offices based in Turkey, conveniently its the closest one to us and Athena has flagged up that vishkars most decorated Architect has recently been stationed there, her name is Satya Vaswani. Interestingly she was last to be seen at the Oasis university where Dr Moira O’Deorian is minister of genetics.’

Angela made a distasteful noise and muttered under her breath which was shared by many of her teammates who knew the scientist as once one of their own until her greed for knowledge twisted her and enticed her to join Talon where she was free to do as she pleased regardless of human cost.

McCree uttered a curse and rubbed at his beard, ‘We know where that witch is. Why not go get her? Hell, I’ll happily tie that woman to a stake.’

‘Unfortunately she is well protected by her position as a minister as well as her status within Talon.’ Ana answered. ‘Which may also implicate Oasis as having Talon ties but we can't investigate every single place they step foot in, they hide well and cover their tracks.’

‘Not unless you are Sanjay.’ Genji chuckled darkly.’Maybe just wait it out and Talon will assassinate him themselves for blowing his cover.’

‘I’d prefer him alive but as we have no idea where he currently is following his trip to Bryansk our best bet is his architect, he is personally in charge of Vaswani and she may know something.’ Said Morrison

‘Bet she does.’ Lucio interrupted. ‘Someone that cold and ready to destroy good peoples lives can’t be on a moral level.’

‘Yes thank you Lucio dear.’ Ana said patiently.

‘How do we get into a Viskar building?’ Asked Fareeha. ‘A company that size and with Talon connections must be well guarded.’

‘It will be quietly done.’ Answered Morrison who ignored McCree’s chuckle, ‘No teams, no storming the building, one person undercover.’

Junkrat nodded in apparent understanding, ‘I’m sure Winston will do a great job.’ He grinned at his successful joke as Hana and McCree burst out laughing.

‘Very good Jamison, but it shall be myself taking this task.’ Ana smiled, ‘And please don't look at me like that Fareeha. One day you’ll find out there are at least some quirkes to being a woman my age.’

‘How do you propose to get in?’ Asked Genji.

Ana smiled mischievously and tapped her nose, ‘I have my ways children, I have my ways.’

‘Let's move on.’ Said Morrison as the holograph disappeared, he paused before continuing and weighed his words. ‘I know there's divided opinion to Omnics within the base but I will ask you all to remain amicable, especially with what I am about to show you. Athena?’ There were murmurings of curiosity as the AI began to play the found footage of the captured Omnics. A range of emotions showed around the table from shock to impassiveness and in Junkrats case, boredom. Soon his mind began to wander and he started to fidget, a glint caught his eye and he found himself studying Mei’s hair pin. He wondered how it kept her hair up, then he thought it would make a good improv weapon then suddenly the thought of her stabbing him with it if he pushed her far enough. Wonder what her hair looks like if she wore it down, how long was it?...Suddenly his stomach growled lightly. He had forgot to eat again. A nudge from roadhog.

‘Huh?’

Roadhog nodded towards Morrison who had apparently been talking the entire time. What was he on about again?

‘Why give any thought to some random missing Omnics?’ Asked Zarya. ‘Surely we have bigger issues?’

‘I agree.’ Grunted Torbjorn.

‘Do we know why they are taking them?’ Questioned Angela. Ana shook her head sadly ‘I’m afraid not, it seems they were just in Bryansk temporarily and moved on quickly to who knows where. Talons' flight movements are heavily encrypted and there is only so much Athena can unearth.’

‘We believe Talon had at least three groups of Omnics move through here, some er..remains were found.’ Said Winstons.

Junkrat scoffed ‘Spare parts’ he muttered under his breath.

‘This could well be an isolated incident.’ Said Ana ‘And if so we don't have the resources to find out what became of these Omnics, it is up to the local authorities to follow up the disappearances..unfortunately that is unlikely. However there could be a pattern here, other disappearances, reports maybe. I need a volunteer to research and..yes Mei dear?’

Mei's hand was eagerly up in the air like a student trying to get her teacher's attention. ‘I’ll do it ma’am!’

‘Very good. Thank you Mei we shall await your findings.’ Mei settled back into her seat looking pleased, finally she had a task at hand that held some importance. She smiled shyly to herself as Jack stood up once more to address the room. ‘Hang on a minute Jack.’ Said McCree lazily lifting his arm in the air, ‘I think we’re overlooking a rather important detail here..Just who the hell was that guy that tried to grab the kid?’

‘Probably just one of Moiras freaks guarding the place. No doubt the explosion finished him off.’

Torbjorn said dismissively. Jack and Ana gave each other a dark searching look before Ana eventually nodded. Jack sighed and raised his hands for silence. ‘His name is Reaper.’ He said solemnly, ‘He is an assassin for Talon and the one responsible for attacking this base and stealing agent information. Me and Ana have been tracking him for months now before he kills any more of our own. Some of you here have had dealings with him before and lived to tell the tale. The fact that Fawkes is still here and not dead confirms he’s wanted alive.’

‘What's under the mask Jack? Do we know who he is?’ Winston asked.

Jack thought of his words carefully, ‘I don't know who the man behind that mask is.’ Ana raised her eyebrow at him from behind her steeped fingers yet remained silent. ‘All we know he has orchestrated many Talon attacks including this base, Volskaya and tried to steal the doomfist Gauntlet. Winston and Tracer fought him off but in his failure he then proceeded to free Akande Ogundimu ‘The Successor’. Lena shuddered in her seat and lightly touched her chronal accelerator, vividly remembering the powerful gauntlet snatching her from the air and crushing her anchor.

‘Whoa back up a fucking minute mate!’ Said Junkrat, ‘Youre saying this goth fuck knows we’re here?!’

It was Winston who answered. ‘Not exactly. I was the only one here when Reaper and his strike team invaded to steal the data. After the fight I immediately sent the recall and with Athena we fortified this place as much as possible. We have beacons set around the base within a mile radius that give off a ‘cloaking effect’. It basically shields us from spy drones and gives the illusion of abandonment.’

Junkrat nodded his head as he tried to get his head around this new information. ‘Okay..okay..so You're the one to blame if he rocks up at the front gates.’

Winston looked offended, ‘Well in the very rare circumstance that one of the beacons happened to malfunction there may be some responsibility but blame is a strong word and i don't appreciate-’

‘We’re protected for now Fawkes. Leave it at that. If you want to leave you know what you need to do.’ Interjected Jack. To Junkrat this seemed to be the perfect time to slouch back into his chair, fold his arms and scowl, Jack chose to ignore him and continued. ‘Now that Doomfist is free he has shaken up the hierarchy of Talon and has become head of the council with Reaper at his side. Me and Ana last saw him in Egypt, from there we lost his trail and got word of Winstons recall.’

‘And now we’re all one big happy family again.’ Drawled McCree, ‘Missing a few folks and adding a few of course.’ He drew a cigar from his pocket. ‘Is this meeting done?’

‘Oh i fucking hope so.’ Muttered Junkrat.

‘All dismissed, return to your duties. Mei? Lets have that report by tomorrow AM.’ Said Jack. Mei smiled and nodded as she got up to leave, Ana remained seated with her fingers still steeped in front of her and a slight frown on her face. When the room had emptied Jack turned to her. ‘Go on then, say your piece Amari.’

Ana sighed, lowering her hands and looking up at Jack. ‘Why did you not tell them that Gabriel is Reaper?’

Jack was ready for this, ‘The same reason you didn't. It wasn't the right time.’

‘And when is the ‘right’ time?’

Jack sat down next to her. ‘Honestly? I don't know. I don't know if we should even tell them. Half of the team don't even know who he is.’

‘But half of them do Jack. He was their friend, comrade. He played with my child, he was Jesse’s mentor!’

‘And how do we explain to them that he has murdered our own?’

Ana had no answer for him. They both sat in silence for a few moments lost in their own thoughts, eventually Jack spoke again. ‘I know we will have to tell them the truth sooner or later Ana..but not like this. It has to be done delicately.’

‘I know..they’ll be angry with us Jack.’

Jack laughed bitterly, ‘Just blame it on me Ana, God knows i deserve it.’

Ana tutted ‘You're not responsible for what Gabriel has become.’

‘Aren't I?’

‘No.’ She stated firmly. ‘He chose this path Jack. You were both in that explosion..did you feel the need to dress up in a costume, become a serial killer and join the same terrorist organisation you tried to bring down?’

Jack smirked and then a thought occurred to him. ‘Do you think Talon knows who he is?’

‘I believe so, he’s a weapon against us in more ways than one and a huge advantage to them.’

‘....I’m going to kill him Ana.’

‘For revenge or to put him out of his misery?’

‘Both I suppose.’

Ana sighed and stood up to leave. ‘I think Gabriel died in Switzerland Jack, whatever wretch he is now is no longer redeemable...but i don't believe you could ever bring yourself to kill the man who was your dearest friend.’

‘I suppose we will find out soon enough.’ Jack replied, her words in his mind. Could he really bring himself to do it?

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

Finally feeling encouraged and a task at hand, Mei had headed straight to one of the smaller computer labs and began the search for any news of Omnic disappearances. Much of the team would think it was a waste of time but Commander Morrison was right, If Talon was involved it couldn't be good. Besides, she was a firm believer in Omnic rights and doing what was right and good, and this was certainly the right thing to do to help these omnics and possibly give closure to the families of the missing. A sudden intrusive thought entered her mind of her teammates' families, desperate for closure when they discovered the Cryostasis had malfunctioned. ‘They hate me.’ She thought. ‘They hate me for surviving instead of their loved ones.’ Her droid, sensing her sadness snuggled against her. Mei took a deep breath to compose herself and gratefully petted her little friend. ‘Thank you Snowball. Don't you worry about me, I'm fine. Honest.’ Snowball made a sceptical emotive at her but Mei had already turned back to the screen and was typing away eagerly. Ten minutes had passed with no results, had no one made any reports at all? Maybe Bryansk was too much of a hot zone for Omnics for anyone to care, maybe their families felt it no use to report the disappearances. Maybe she was just wasting her time here..the thought made her miserable. ‘Hey Snowball? Happen to know of any missing Omnics outside of Russia?’ She asked glumly. The little droid shook side to side and a message of ‘sorry.’ flashed on its screen. Mei sighed, ‘Guess you're just as out of the loop as I am..’ She turnt to the sound of the door sliding open behind her. ‘Oh great..’ She thought.

‘Aw why so sad Frosty?’ Junkrat asked as he sauntered in and sat down heavily on a spare seat and draped both his legs over the armrest, he gave Snowball a suspicious glare. Mei ignored his question and typed away more fervently, ‘What do you want?’ She asked.

‘I’m on free time Frosty, I’d say I earned it. With my successful mission and what not.’

‘Yes I heard how you oh so bravely destroyed a building.’ She replied sarcastically.

‘Now now no need to get all snippy cos you're jealous, I'm sure you're getting your fill on your silly little quest here. How's that going by the way?’

Mei shot him a glare, ‘You're not in here because you care.’

‘Too right I don't, think you're wasting your time personally. No one cares bout some missing bots.’

‘Of course they do! I do!’

‘Yeah? Having much luck finding missing Bots from a place currently at war with them?’

‘Just get to the point.’ Moaned Mei, rubbing her eyes behind her glasses.

‘No one said those Bots n bolts even came from that place, fuck they might not even be from Russia. Those Ruskies have the right idea about bots, far as I know hardly any of em live there.’

‘Look if your just here to spew your hate then you can-’

‘Whats that stupid city called in Africa? Numble something or fucking other?’

‘Numbani. You're thinking of Numbani’

Junkrat waved her off. ‘Whatever, point is they live with Omnics there right? Like.. peacefully..? I calls it bullshit but anyways, If Omnics are going missing or being taken by Talon then maybe they know more about it? If not then it's probably just a random thing and you can forget about wasting your time here with your shitty little icemaker.’

Snowball flashed red and a tirade of insults crossed its screen making Mei smirk, but he had given her food for thought. Maybe she was missing the bigger picture. She turned back to her computer and searched for omnic disappearances on a Numbani journalist website, She felt Junkrat scoot closer on his chair to better see. Headlines flashed up of Omnics being attacked and businesses vandalised but nothing struck out about Omnics missing or kidnappings. Mei groaned in frustration. ‘Fine. Just say it! Im wasting my time!’

‘Just fucking hang on a minute and stop moaning.’ He retorted, half standing and leaning over her.

‘You smell like bonfire.’ She wrinkled her nose.

‘That would be from the bonfire I started.’

‘What?! Where-?’

‘Relax, I left Hog to put it out.’ He replied lazily as he typed.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Helping.’

Mei snorted, ‘Oh that's what you call it.’

He ignored her as he typed away, Mei felt annoyed and scowled unbeknownst at him for invading her personal space but she made no attempt to move back herself. ‘At Least he had a shirt on today.. ‘ His arms are rather muscular..What?! Why did I notice that? Just..Just keep scowling.’

‘You're not going to find anything I wouldn't have done.’ She snapped.

Junkrat grinned, sat back down and finger gunned at the screen. ‘Eat those words Frosty!’

Mei looked at the computer, a recent article loaded about ‘Liberte’ the revolutionary Omnic artist famous for his political street art.

‘You need only to travel the Quartier Omnic to see the incredible

Art of Omnic artist Liberte. His thought provoking pierces strike a cord

of Omnic and humans alike with his distinctive technique…’

Mei stopped reading. ‘I don't get it? So you found some Artist, never would guess you would appreciate anything like that.’

‘Harsh. Look just read the article woman. It's gone AWOL.

‘But that could mean anything.’ Mei argued, ‘Maybe he’s…’

‘What? Under the weather? Come down with something? Been fucking nicked?’

‘It's really not likely you just so happened to pick a missing omnic out a haystack.’

‘No but I reckon no ones gonna give a shit if some random Bots go missing, but It raises a few eyebrows if a kinda famous one goes off radar. If you bothered to read the rest you’ll see he’s missed his last three events. The last rally was even cancelled because some Null sector bots got caught nearby.’

‘Wait what? Really?’

‘Oooh now she's interested!’

‘Sssh!’ Mei scanned the article quickly, sure enough Three rallies were cancelled, two due to ‘personal reasons’ but the other because Null sector, the extremist Omnic group was found not two towns over. It was certainly suspicious. Mei quickly searched the social media and news outlets of the town in question, Calais. Her breath caught in her throat, there were three social media posts looking for information on Omnics not seen for 48hours, four days, Over a week. Mei let out a squeal and clapped her hands in excitement as Snowball did a flip in the air.

‘Aww, I’m happy when Omnics go missing too..’

‘No its-! Shut up I found something! I can work on this!’

‘ I found something.’

‘Ok fine you helped.’

She began printing out pages of what she found and couldn't help but smile, Commander Morrison will definitely be interested If Null sector was involved in any way.

‘Oi can I look at your pin?’

The question came at a surprise and shocked her out of her thoughts. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Pointy thing in your hair.’

‘Erm..?’ She lightly touched it, the smooth shiny red bauble on the end to the pointed metal snowflake. ‘Why?’

‘Dunno, looks nice i guess..like..I dunno. Just asking.’

‘I..erm..’ Mei looked uncomfortable and had visions of him dropping it as soon as she handed it to him. ‘I’m not sure..My dad gave it to me.’

‘Alright, Fair do’s say no more.’

‘Sorry, it's just..It's really precious to me.’

‘S’alright I'm not gonna break it, I'm surprisingly delicate.’ He giggled. ‘Kinda have to be with what I do.’

‘I meant no offense.’

‘None taken. If i had something like that id let no fucker touch it.’

She looked at him for a second, a question on the tip of her tongue..’Don’t you have..?’ She shook her head, she didn't want to be insensitive and she had heard Jamison could be defensive. ‘Nevermind.’ She stood up and collected her printed pages. ‘I'm going to take these to compile a report for the commander..and erm..thanks?’

Junkrat folded his arms behind his head, ‘Ya know..you should tell him you’re gonna go to that town to investigate.’

‘I ..I did think..should I?’ Mei looked unconvinced.

‘Why the fuck not? You wanted the task to get more info, you did all the legwork. Why stay here at the last hurdle?

Why should she remain here? She did have all the information to devise a mission plan. Junkrat was right though it pained her to think it.

‘You know what..Im going to tell the commander im going to Calais!’ She said feeling encouraged.

‘Atta girl, stick it to the man!’

‘I will!’

‘Hope it does turn out to be a waste of time.’

‘I...wow! You just had to ruin it didn't you?’ She snapped.

Junkrat laughed, ‘Go on, fuck off to the Old man.’

‘Fine I will.’

‘Good.’

‘Good!’

‘Good!’ He said mocking her voice

‘Ugh!’ Mei tried hard to slam the sliding door but it refused, closing painstakingly slowly and making her feel like she had truly lost that round as she turned on the spot trying to save the last of her dignity. ‘Act your damn age Mei Ling!’ She told herself.

#meihem #junkmei #otp #overwatch #jamison fawkes #junkrat #mei ling zhou #fanfic

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nympsycho-ao3 · 5 years

Text

Dimessa Temporaneamente

Want to read on AO3? Click here! (please heed the tags!)

Three years after your escape from Cioccolata's enslavement, you've finally gotten used to the taste of freedom.

Unfortunately for you, Cioccolata knows better than to let you run free, and he's more vicious and vindictive than ever before. He has so much to show you, revealing his newfound pet and talents in the most visceral, repulsive way possible. After all, three years of disobedience can't go uncompensated.

Please heed the tags. Contains graphic depictions of torture, sexual, physical, and mental abuse, drug abuse/use, and major character death.

A sequel to "Mia Piccola Cagnolina", though it is not necessary to read before this one.

A commission fic.

Escaping Cioccolata’s bondage was a formidable challenge, but just one lucky break was all you needed. You’d memorized his work schedule, his meal times, the sound of his heavy footsteps above you to map his routines. It all paid off; freedom is sweet, the smell of morning dew dotted with earth from last night’s rain.

“Calm down, Rynke,” you murmur to yourself, sliding open the door for the plucky pug that toddles out onto the porch. He’s been attached to you at the hip since the day you picked him up from the shelter.

You swear you can still hear his laugh, sadistic and deep.

Luckily, the calls of birds drown it out, your eyes closing to enjoy the distraction. You bring the mug of coffee to your lips and take a sip, a bit too hot to enjoy. Luckily, that’s just how you like it.

His chuckle returns to your from the depths of your psyche, souring the coffee in the bottom of your mouth. You choke down bitterness as your brows furrow, your lip curling with disgust. Your wound pain is truly psychosomatic, flaring up every time you remember what was done to you.

You’ve healed more than you thought you would in three years, though it definitely wasn’t easy.

Rynke settles, plopping down onto the porch. It’s unusual for him to be quiet, but it’s even more unusual for him to growl as harshly as he does now. Your eyes open, only to be greeted by the serenity of nature as it always was, looking out for moose or lynx that might have alarmed him.

There’s nothing but the rustling of the trees.

Until suddenly, there’s nothing .

And then there’s everything.

Rynke barks ceaselessly as your vision is obstructed by what feels like a suffocating vice around your face. The fabric of it sucks into the gape of your mouth as you try to take in air, fear forcing air into your lungs with a gasp.

Your coffee splashes from the mug and onto your chest with a sickening scorch before the ceramic shatters at your feet. You cry out, the noise muffled by the sudden clamping around your trachea. The stranglehold forces you into action, flailing your arms out desperately, only for them to be caught by something, or some one , stonelike and strong.

You tremble profoundly as your arms are bent behind your back, fighting the pressure of a fist finding your hair through the sack around your head. Your entire being becomes dedicated to the surge of adrenaline that burns in your blood until another fist cracks against your cheekbone with a wicked punch, shutting you up and making you bite your tongue.

You whimper pathetically, blood dripping from somewhere in your mouth and sloughing onto your chin, as your head is tilted back and to the side. Fear paralyzes you as someone heavy straddles your thighs, keeping you pinned in place; you can hear their breathing, the sound all too familiar and gut-wrenchingly disgusting.

“My little escape artist…” his voice burns deep in your skull.

“No…” you manage to whimper. “You son of a fucking…”

You wince at the sensation of a long needle penetrating the vessels of your neck. You try to jerk yourself away to no avail, the richness of his chuckle masked by what sounds like a rabid beast’s breathing behind you.

“I figured you’d be more of a cat person,” he continues, something cold stinging your vein as he plunges a syringe. It’s a feeling you’re come to know just from the bite of medicine, one that sickens you to the bone and nauseates you. “Dogs are so… needy.”

The thing behind you, gripping your arms and hair too tightly for any semblance of mercy, barks a laugh.

It’s the last thing you hear before the light shining through the meshed threads of the bag darkens into nothing.

You awake to sniveling.

Aside from the strange dribble of water that drips rhythmically onto the concrete floor, the pitiful noises of sniffling are all that you hear. You’re unable to verbalize yourself, still dazed from drugs and confusion.

You manage to open your eyes just enough to spot the figure of what must be a young man, somehow suspended above you from the ceiling. Your vision unfogs slowly, catching brief details of the boy’s black hair adorned with what looks to be a strange, orange headband.

Then, you notice that he’s staring right at you.

He trembles, breathing heavily through his nose since his mouth is gagged and secured with duct tape. He’s heavily battered, his chest flailing with each breath, terrified and whimpering.

“Long time no see, my pet.”

Your eyes widen with the greeting, wondering if this was just another nightmare that Rynke would wake you up from any moment now. Your hope is squandered quickly with a sharp pain searing deep in your thigh, your neck rolling as you try to identify the source.

You try to move something, anything, but you can only manage a languid roll of your hips. You turn your head to assess the macabre restraints securing your wrists and ankles to a grossly cold stainless steel operating table, digging into your skin.

A feral, goblin-like chortle echoes from behind you; you’re not sure if the source is far away, or if your ears are still cotton-filled from sedation. Either way, the noise disgusts you, but it’s nothing compared to the slimy hand that snakes its way onto your abdomen.

His fingers are slicked with blood, its origin horrifically unknown. You follow the trail that shiny, black-gloved fingers make along your stomach, your peripheral vision slowly returning with each hurried blink.

“Much has changed,” he drawls, speaking just loudly enough to overcome the whines from above. “But I’ve always known you’d come back to me.”

Your mouth is too dry to succeed in a swallow, your saliva soaked by the bite block stuffed between your teeth. You try to push it out with your tongue, only to find that it doesn’t budge, securely tied behind your head. Panic wracks your body, his voice spurring deep-seeded fear to root among your viscera.

“Relax,” he insists, his entirety finally coming into view as if he were teasing you. His hair is longer, more erratic and messily styled into dreads. He maintains his signature psychopathy painted clearly on his features, taking in the fear that he obviously induces in you simply with his presence. He’s traded his navy blue scrubs for an eccentric outfit, his chest and abdomen exposed as he leans over you, framed with a cross-like visage and pointed with a wide lapel. Your eyes linger on what you figure must be the waist-strap of a thong that frames the crest of his hip, your brows furrowing at the ridiculousness of it.

“You’ll have your turn,” he continues, snapping you out of disoriented thought.

Your attention is returned to the wriggling mass above you, able to truly see the pain and terror in his eyes as Cioccolata looks up at him curiously. He cries, his tears dropping down onto you with sparse plops. The figure that’s haunted you every night for three years moves slowly as he crawls onto the table, returning his ardent gaze onto you. You eye the white shorts he wears, making way for the black, latex stockings that stretch up to his thighs.

He straddles your hips, looking down at you with pinpoint pupils despite the dim lighting of the room. The weight of his body sickens you, the way he looks at you like a piece of meat nauseating. The green of his eyes returns you to a place you never thought you’d have to endure again, the nubs of your amputated fingers starting to ache; you’re not sure if it’s from the lack of circulation, or traumatic stress manifesting somatically.

He trails your bare chest, marred with a second-degree burn from your coffee, with steady fingers as if he’s admiring an antique, the latex of his gloves catching on your sweat and squeaking horribly. He sighs, the wind of his breath trembling with excitement, before raising a fist and pounding it into your gut quicker than you can recoil from. You cough, the wind knocked from your lungs painfully, tears already flowing down your face from fear of what you know is waiting for you.

Cioccolata leans in close to your face, the scent of expensive lipstick on his breath. He runs his tongue along the river of your tears, your cheek sliming with his spit. He pauses and appreciates the bouquet of your suffering like a fine wine, chuckling darkly to himself before rearing up and looking down at you victoriously.

He climbs off of you, taking his time, and approaches the head of the table. The ogreish huffing noise continues, somehow less disturbing than Cioccolata’s hands on your shoulders. Suddenly, with a skull-wracking clap, your face is encased in two hands other than your captor’s. They feel gooey like mud, keeping your head in place and forcing you to look up at the blubbering mess of a boy above you.

“After your… departure,” Cioccolata begins, crocodile-heartbreak saturating his tone, “I had no choice but to find another pet. I’ve also become acquainted with some interesting… new talents.”

Your brows furrow as you watch the young man writhe against his restraints, his eyes following what must be Cioccolata’s path. A feral laugh, dotted with the sound of nasally spit, echoes behind you.

Then, you see it.

It hovers over your face with its own, back hunched with setting-sun eyes. You’re paralyized under its gaze, only its eyes exposed as the rest hides behind what looks to be a mask. The covering of its face sloughs with mud and dirt, and as it moves to reveal its mouth like some sort of living creature, dribbles of mess scatter onto your face.

The dirt is much less disgusting than the gluey slobber that drips onto your forehead and cheeks, seeping from its horrible smile. You shiver, writhing against your restraints to no avail as it drips like exudate along the side of your face.

“Relax, Secco,” Cioccolata drawls. “Soon.”

You realize this thing must be named Secco. Not that it mattered.

The boy above you starts to panic entirely, his eyes locked on something out of your view.

“You’ve yet to witness the full scale of my power,” Cioccolata says softly, almost inaudible over the boy’s muffled screams. “Though, you cannot possibly comprehend it.”

With the noise of a clattering chain, the boy suddenly plunges towards you. You flinch, expecting him to collide with you, but he’s merely suspended a few feet above you, violet eyes locked on yours before they start to roll into the back of his head.

You’re utterly confused, left with no frame of reference that could possibly explain what you see next.

The boy’s skin makes way for a gurgling, broiling sick that froths from deep inside his body, as if it were under pressure and suddenly released. Bubbles form under his skin, only to burst horrifically and empty fuzzy, green exudate onto your bare skin. He cries out until his throat is filled with what smells and looks like mold, seeping from the duct tape and flowing from his nose. With a final, excruciating buildup of pressure, his skull fractures and spills an amalgamation of brain matter and mold onto your face. His eyeballs dangle from what used to be his sockets, finally silenced and limp as the mold takes what’s left of his body.

You’re rendered absolutely noiseless, shivering with fear and disgust, his eye dangling disturbingly close to yours.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Cioccolata laughs behind you. “I doubt you’d like to suffer the same fate as Mr. Ghirga, though.”

You don’t recognize the name, but considering his sinew drips onto your body stinking of rot, it feels like you know him rather intimately. Cioccolata’s threat looms heavily over you, knowing that the stakes were even higher than before.

The boy’s corpse is raised back towards the ceiling, its remnants still dripping as the mold consumes his bones.

Cioccolata makes himself known to you once again with a flat palm against your cheek as he circles back towards your feet. He trails down your body and settles on the crook of your thigh, not dancing around his intentions. Secco releases your head as it follows him, almost out of view as it appears to crawl on all fours. You spot what looks to be a bolt sticking out of the back of its cranium, the suit meshing around its insertion.

“You’re one troublesome puppy,” Cioccolata remarks as he adjusts something under the table, his other hand gripping your ankle with a squeak of his glove.

You cry out pitifully as you’re moved into lithotomy position, the steel of the table rising to bite into stirrups behind the back of your knees painfully. He glares down at you as a wide smile grows across his face, his hand trailing onto your pussy without hesitation. Secco works to secure the restraints tighter, leather buckled straps insidiously tough.

Secco huffs, obviously intrigued, his tongue lapping from between his lips to drape over his chin. You squirm and fight the position of your legs, grating the head of your femur within its joint painfully.

“Stop squirming, pig,” Cioccolata spits before slapping the inside of your thigh. It burns as if every ounce of his vitriol embedded in your skin. He digs his fingers into it, pinning you into stillness.

“Secco,” he starts, catching the animal’s attention. “Get the camera.”

The camera?

His assistant chortles as it does as it’s told with the sprawling of its limbs. Cioccolata’s unoccupied hand searches along a stainless steel tray by his side, prepped with a blue sterile dressing long before you woke up.

“Unfortunately, three years of disobedience doesn’t afford you much in terms of choice,” Cioccolata growls, selecting a lead-fillet mallet from the side table. “But, here’s one. Right or left?”

You look down at him with wide eyes, screaming noiselessly in confusion. He taps the head of the mallet against each of your toes as he waits for you to somehow answer with a gag stuffed in your mouth.

“Hm, she’s indecisive. What do you think, Secco?”

Secco holds the camera steadily at your feet, crouched atop the table for the perfect angle. Your eyes lock on to the rhythmic blinking of red light, frightening you deep to your core as you remember a similar one from your confinement.

“Left! Left!” it barks, its chest heaving with excitement.

“Hm,” Cioccolata ponders, twirling the mallet between his fingers. “Right it is, then.”

You had no idea what he was talking about until you become horribly, lucidly aware.

He puts all of his weight behind a swing of the mallet, throwing it onto your femur with a sickening pound. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you clench them shut, screaming from the pit of your throat at the incredible, mindblowing pain you hardly stay conscious to experience. You can feel the shards of your bone slosh around the movement of your muscles as it stays put in the restraint, though the portion most proximal to your hip sways with your movement. With two, three more swings, your femur is nearly obliterated into mush under your skin.

“Stay still,” Cioccolata commands, dropping the mallet onto the table haphazardly as he snaps his hand onto your hip. “You’ll tear the blood vessels.”

You can hardly hear him over the ringing in your ears, watching a gruesome hematoma form around the assured crumbles of your bone.

“Well, more than you already have,” Cioccolata mentions casually, instigating the wound with his thumb. “That should keep you in your place, no?”

You feel consciousness slipping away from you, only to be brought back with a swift capture of your throat into Secco’s hand. It squeezes hard as it sticks the camera in your face, its visible eye closed to view you through the lens.

“My apologies for my assistant,” Cioccolata hums, rising unseen, “he has his fixations.”

Secco pokes its thumb against your larynx before withdrawing, snarling a chuckle as it watches you cough from the crushing pressure. It claws at your breast instead, drooling onto your chest, its fingers feeling like sandpaper along the scalded skin.

Secco becomes the least of your worries as Cioccolata pries his thumb inside your pussy, assessing the boundaries of it with a pull and glide along your pubis symphysis. He hums in approval, though the noise of it is drowned out by Secco’s beastly huff of breath as he eyes your chest.

“Not yet,” Cioccolata gripes as he snaps his fingers, diverting his pet’s attention from you to await his command. “Here first.”

You sigh with relief as he releases your breast, only to crawl towards his master. It’s as if it knows exactly what Cioccolata expects from it, setting the camera down to frame your vulva with its hands. It spreads you apart too quickly for comfort, its face hovering over your stomach to assess what it has to work with.

It plunges both index fingers into you, grating against the tight, moistureless confines of your walls. The discomfort hardly compares to the aching of your broken leg, though the shame you feel wracks your mind in waves. Secco sloughs saliva from its bottom lip onto its fingers, making them slippery enough to jam its middle fingers inside as well. It snorts as its knuckles bottom out inside you, under Cioccolata’s scrutinizing approval.

“Open.”

Secco licks its lips as it abducts its hands, disregarding your boundaries completely and gaping your entrance open for Cioccolata’s analytical stare. You roll your hips as much as you can manage, Secco’s fingers scissoring you to stretch your muscle viciously.

Cioccolata wordlessly commands his underling, nodding approvingly as Secco sends a glob of saliva from the tip of its tongue inside you. It concludes with a harsh spit, spattering drops in its wake that make you shiver.

Cioccolata takes it upon himself to fill the void with three fingers, slicking your walls with Secco’s spit before jamming their fingers together inside you. You bite the guard between your teeth at the coldness of latex and the sudden invasion, closing your eye after a clump of mold falls onto it.

“Good,” Cioccolata praises as he pats his accomplice’s head. It takes it as an invitation to withdraw, rearing up onto its knees to watch Cioccolata drive his fingers into the newfound tightness. Soon, that apparently bores it, finding your breasts again with a slurp of its tongue. Its suit shrinks under its chin, looking up at you to expose its teeth in a malicious grin.

They’re metal.

Your brows furrow at the sheen of them, textured and with exaggerated, elongated anatomy. Its inhuman tongue captures your attention away from the short bursts of Cioccolata’s fingers digging deep. It wriggles along the roundness of your breast before settling on your nipple.

Cioccolata picks up the camera with his spare hand, chuckling darkly at whatever information he must know that you don’t. He points it directly at your face as Secco drives its canines into your breast, followed by its incisors, pinning you down onto the table with its weight. You scream, earning a grin from both of them.

Secco laps at the blood at seeps from the bite, slapping your other breast with the flat of its fingers. Cioccolata curls his fingers inside you, pulling out just enough to force his pinkie in as well. Four fingers work to stretch and explore you, watching your expression of despair and pain through the camera’s lens.

“Do you see how good he is?” Cioccolata murmurs, fighting the resistance that you give him. “He listens to everything I say.”

Secco practically wags its tail at the praise, releasing its teeth from your tissue with a snap. Blood leaks from the punctures, dripping down your chest in stripes. With another wordless command, Secco swipes its fingers along the wounds, squeezing your breast to squelch more blood from it. It slaps its bloodied fingers adjacent to Cioccolata’s, lubing them up further. He nods, dismissing his servant and continuing to slam his fingers into you.

“Hopefully I don’t have to take out half of your brain like him, though…”

Secco takes the camera and shuffles towards your head, eyeing you hungrily. It kneels down to your level, taking your hair into its fist and forcing your chin down towards your chest. The leather strap keeping your bite block in place loosens, and soon it tugs and wriggles it from between your teeth. You fill your lungs with fetid air, tasting mold and blood as you take a deep breath.

You’re not given much of an opportunity for a breath, your lips enclosed by Secco’s with a flash. Cioccolata lets out a hearty laugh, his lips curling over his teeth at the sight of Secco forcing its tongue down your throat. You try to cough it out, fighting the kneading of your lips, revolted by the movement of it as it explores your esophagus. Its metal teeth click against yours as it shoves itself as deep as it can go.

“He’s taken a liking to you, it seems,” Cioccolata murmurs, lining up his thumb with your entrance. “Keep her quiet, Secco.”

You gag on its tongue as Cioccolata drives all five of his fingers inside, stretching your limits beyond anything he’s put you through before. He grins sadistically as you’re forced to swallow Secco’s spit, his fingers curling into a fist as he forces the knob of his wrist inside. He pulls out entirely just long enough to assess his work, slapping you across your clit before drilling his fist back inside you. You writhe and cry, tears streaming down your face as the rhythm of his fisting jostles your body with each thrust.

Secco’s tongue wriggles from your throat animatedly as it pulls back, spitting on your face with stunning accuracy. Its fingers find your mouth, prying your jaw open as you’re finally free to gasp breaths and groan with the pumping of Cioccolata’s fist deep inside you.

“You’re actually quite like me, now that I get a good look at you…” Cioccolata murmurs as you try to form words, pushing Secco’s spit from the back of your throat. You can’t see what Cioccolata does next, but deep down, you know; the familiar sound of buttons coming undone stuns you into silence, stilled from many lessons that Cioccolata had taught you so long ago.

“How does that make you feel?” Cioccolata asks as he lines up the tip of his cock with the stretched muscle of your entrance. Your eyes widen at the thought of his cock fitting in there with the girth of his hand and wrist, though he seems to spare you unexpectedly.

Instead, he slides it down to your ass. He was merely slicking it in an apparent act of negligible mercy.

Secco must’ve picked up on another wordless que, slapping your face roughly to snap you out of the traumatic haze you found yourself in.

“I asked you a question,” Cioccolata spits, stilling his fist to focus on coercing the head of his cock inside the first ring of muscle of your ass. You squeal and grit your teeth into the fingers stuffed between them, your eyes finding Secco’s in an asinine plea.

His words echo in your head as he drives himself in, earning an agonal cry from deep within your battered lungs. Cioccolata smiles, the true sound of pain and anguish only making him harder, driving his hips forward. You cry with the burning sting of his cock forcing its way past the unlubricated catch of your virgin hole. Through the many months of torture at his hands, he’d never hurt you this way; before, his punishments carried a lesson or experiment behind them. Now, though, he seemed to be doing anything to instigate guttural, agonizing cries from deep within your soul. He writhes his hips in the most gruesome way before pounding into you over and over again, rubbing his cock against the side of his fist through the stretched tissue between your holes.

I asked you a question.

Just as he drives himself fully into you, he pulls back, plunging his hips deep and rotating his fist for better access. Your squeaky cries barely make it past your lips, holding your breath with what little conviction you have left to try and push him out of you. He finds this quite amusing, groping your thigh with his free hand. The crackles of your bone repulse you almost as much as it pains you, reminding you once more that every ounce of disassociation you’ve allowed yourself to sink into can be just as quickly rescinded.

I asked you a question.

Much to Cioccolata’s curiosity, your cries hollow out into barely-there gasps, hardly enough to fill your lungs. You feel yourself losing the very essence of your consciousness, pain making way for delicious numbness. It’s enough to settle you, relax you fully into taking Cioccolata’s penetration, loosening you despite gallons of adrenaline urging you to do anything but that.

“Hm…” Cioccolata muses, pounding his hips into you once, twice, three times in an attempt to get a rise from you. Instead, your eyes roll into the back of your head and your tongue lolls around Secco’s fingers, your wrists falling limp and your vision dimming around the periphery.

Finally…

There’s nothing.

The feeling of a needle messily leaving your skin is what spurs you from your haze.

Then, it’s as if every muscle in your body is electrified, seizing uncontrollably and rousing you from shock like whiplash. Like naloxone to morphine, every sensation your body has tried to block out rushes back to you at once.

“Ah, too much…” Cioccolata scowls as he tosses the syringe to the ground, not bothering to apply pressure to your vein to stop the bleeding from the puncture site. “No matter.”

Secco practically hops with excitement, pointing the camera too close to your face. You’re jumping out of your skin, pain and overstimulation shooting through every nerve in your body and making you dizzy.

“I didn’t want you to miss this,” Cioccolata seethes as you realize that he’s pounding into you; it’s like you’ve picked up where you left off from in a nightmare, the past feeling hazy and surreal compared to the horrific awareness you’re enduring right now. “It would be a shame, truly.”

You feel every touch and thrust more potently than the last, drool seeping from your agape mouth like a rabid dog. You can hardly keep your focus on the meeting of your bodies, your irises forced into nystagmus from the overwhelming effects of the drug.

“W-why…” you manage to utter, your blood spurred with newfound energy.

“Why?” Cioccolata laughs, spreading his fingers inside you. You give way easily despite the trembling of your muscles, your head slamming back onto the metal table with the surge of acute stimulation that pops like bubbles through your gut.

He keeps his fist clenched as he rends it from your pussy, exposing the black latex of his glove, covered in milky, bloody fluid. He’s strangely wordless, as if he’s knocked speechless at the sight of your opening welcoming him with pink tissue rubbed raw.

“You really are stupider than I thought,” he retorts, grasping the base of his cock with his sullied hand as he pulls out from your ass. Secco howls deliriously, pointing the camera between your legs as it straddles your abdomen with the entirety of its weight. You shudder with the sensation of emptiness, only for two of Secco’s fingers to plunge into your pussy and stretch you open wide. “Maybe half of your brain is already gone.”

Your eyes burn from dryness, wide and unable to blink. Cioccolata’s lips curl into a perverse smile, only needing to insert the head of his cock into your pussy before cumming in spurts. Secco keeps you still as heat and lightning surge through you, the feeling of his cum curling your toes and digging your fingernails into your palms.

Cioccolata grunts with relief, finishing himself with a few languid strokes of his cock. “Did you get that, Secco?”

It nods voraciously, the red light on the camera blinking incessantly as if in confirmation. Your breath is too hot; in fact, your entire body burns hot as if it’s on fire. Through it all though, you’ve come a startling, loathsome realization.

You need more.

Secco crawls over you like an insect, falling to the ground at Cioccolata’s feet to shove its face between your legs. You can only watch as its tongue unfurls from between its lips to lap at your weakened entrance, spooning cum onto the hollow of it. Cioccolata rubs the top of its head, cum and slobber dripping down Secco’s chin as its eyes glaze over with appreciation.

You lick your lips, parched and sore, as it crawls back over you and meets you face to face. It dips its lips down onto yours, swirling Cioccolata’s cum around your tongue and down your throat. The taste of it rolls your eyes into the back of your head, your hips bucking into Cioccolata’s firm grip of your thigh to the rhythm of his laugh. You hate every cell of your body for finding a modicum of pleasure in this.

Secco pulls back with a lap of your teeth, running the tip along the upper row. You spot from behind its head an unusual sight: Cioccolata rolling down the sheath of his glove to expose his forearm, bringing a needled syringe to the crook of his elbow. His eyes gleam in a way you’ve never seen them do so before, scanning your body maliciously.

“Secco, down.”

His servant obeys, hopping to the ground and bracing his weight onto his knuckles. He withdraws the needle with a hiss, his eyes rolling and his balance wobbling before he quickly collects himself. You swallow the gluey cum that sloshes around your mouth, your lids heavy and your body responding viscerally from the pleasure of it.

Cioccolata bends down close to you, unscrewing the needle from the tip of the syringe. He holds it close to your face, rolling it between his fingers as your eyes cross to look at it.

“You’ve been given a mixture of gamma hydroxybutyrate, amphetamine, and dextroamphetamine,” he slurs, his breathing quickening after each word as if he were exhausted. “Well, we have.”

Your brows furrow, not knowing what that sting of words meant.

You’d learn soon enough.

Cioccolata leans his weight onto your chest, taking one of your breasts into his sticky hand. He never breaks eye contact with you, bringing the tip of the needle to your achingly hard nipple before spinning it provokingly.

“You’re hardly worth the effort of surgery,” he jeers, pressing the bevel into the hardened tissue slowly, agonizingly. You squeal a pained groan, your jaw falling slack, trying to roll your hips despite the sickening mashing of your femur under your skin. “Drugs will have to do for now.”

You drool, unable to swallow through your screams, as the needle penetrates clean through the other side. You can see Cioccolata’s heartbeat through the rhythmic trembling of his fingers, rapid and fluttering. He laughs heartily, the noise foreign, though it brings a groggy smile to your face for reasons unknown.

You can’t hide the flushing of your face or the throbbing of your abdominal muscles, completely forgetting about the corpse dangling above you. You’re absorbed in the static that spreads from your nipple to your gut, finally forcing yourself to blink.

Cioccolata rests his head on the softness of your belly, the green of his eyes surrounded by white. He’s almost domestic, flicking the needle with amusement and grinning widely. Secco gets a wide angle shot as Cioccolata trails his tongue into the crux of your rib cage, licking the sweat that buds from the mixture of the drugs and the pleasure that starts to drive you crazy. Your pussy aches with strange urgency, pulsing with the feeling of cum dribbling from it.

“Secco,” Cioccolata exhorts, “get the box. A sugar cube is in it for you.”

At the mention of a sugar cube, Secco bares its metallic teeth in an animalistic grin. It starts to bang its head back and forth like there’s no other way that it could release his excitement, halting abruptly after it bonks its forehead against the table. Cioccolata rolls his eyes and waits patiently for his gimp to do as he’s told.

Secco drags a heavy box from somewhere unseen, grunting with heaving breaths. It practically fumbles over itself to unlatch the lid and throw it open. You tremble incessantly, your fingers twitching erratically, as Cioccolata reaches into the inside of his top to retrieve a perfectly formed sugarcube. Secco whines and whimpers as it pounds its knuckles into the concrete floor, losing its mind over the sugarcube’s appearance. It holds its tongue out, allowing you to notice the physiology behind its length: it’s merely many tongues stitched together, scars of long-passed surgeries suturing them together.

Cioccolata flicks open a pill bottle, sending the lid toppling onto the floor. He tosses two or three onto his palm, his hands too shaky to be exact, before lobbing the cocktail into the air towards his assistant. Secco’s tongue darts around the projectiles with surprising precision, swallowing them down after gnashing them between his teeth. It reminds you of obscuring a pill in a hunk of meat to get a dog to eat it.

“Hope you don’t think I’m playing favorites,” Cioccolata says a tad too quickly for sobriety. “He’s just on blood thinners, is all…”

Secco laps up the last of the powders before digging through the box. Your teeth clatter from the electricity flowing through your jaw, pupils blown wide as you fixate on the toy that it retrieves triumphantly.

Cioccolata claps his hands together, the noise ringing in your ears and making you jump. Every sensation and experience is amplified by the thousands, your muscles recoiling with each touch of Cioccolata’s fingers.

“Excellent choice, good, good, good…” Cioccolata murmurs to himself, swiping the Hitachi wand from his pet’s hand with a clatter of the wire. You struggle to stop yourself from hyperventilating, feeling dizzy from the rapid breaths your diaphragm forces you to take.

He holds it in front of your face, spinning it to make sure you’ve gotten a good look. His eyes are nearly black from wide pupils, the head of his cock blushed red as blood surges through it. Secco practically vibrates, rushing to plug it in as slobber flows past its teeth and across its lip.

Cioccolata tosses the wand its way. It scrambles to catch it, its hand previously occupied with groping the surprisingly large bulge between its legs, tenting the strange suit that encapsulates its body.

“Three sugar cubes,” Cioccolata proposes, dangling the promise in front of Secco’s face, “if you make her forget all about this escaping business.”

Secco leaps into action, flicking the vibrator on with a drag of its thumb. It settles between your legs, eyes locked on your pussy as it presses the bulbous head of the vibrator against your thigh.

It’s almost enough to make you cum right then. If it held it there for just a moment longer, you’re sure you would have had the most powerful orgasm of your life.

Instead, it hovers it over your clit, dotting the bud with the unpredictable, shaky movements of its hand. Cioccolata laughs to himself at the way your hips bob and jerk from the stimulation, making a mental note to himself to throw Secco an extra sugar cube. He cradles your head with his forearms, his hands gripping the sore meat of your breasts as he looks down at you. His finger flicks the needle still embedded in your nipple, smiling grotesquely at your pathetic reaction.

He keeps your shoulders pinned to the table as Secco presses the head of the wand directly onto your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. It’s almost enough to blur the debilitating pain, but in a sick betrayal of your body, the pain began to mix with pleasure like ink in water.

Good, good, good…

Cioccolata’s voice repeats like waves in your head, your unfeigned moans turning to screams as you fight the resistance of his hold on you. He runs his tongue along your upper lip, hunched over you like a beast, taking in the sweetness of your cries.

Something comes over you, a primal need that every ounce of your logic screams against indulging in.

You do anyway.

Cioccolata’s eyes widen as you lurch your lips onto his, taking them into your best attempt at a kiss. He scapes his teeth against yours, taking back what’s his with a suck of your bottom lip. You bang your wrists against the restraints, the clatter of metal only adding to the cacophony of frantic moans and cries.

Cioccolata sinks his teeth into your lip with a shuddering moan, swallowing your heightened cries and the taste of your blood with thorough enjoyment. He abrases your lower lip as he pulls back from the kiss, distinctive marks rubbing your skin raw. His hand claps onto your forehead, tangling your hair between his fingers, as he rubs your head excitedly. His laugh echoes through you, amplifying the intense building of pressure deep within your pelvis.

Saliva and blood seep from your lips, agape in glorious, breathless dismay, your eyes locked on his. He tosses your head around like a ragdoll as you cum hard and fast, tears flowing down your cheeks. Your muscles contract as strongly as they can, only for orgasmic relief to follow; normally, you’d be given a break before the next one, but neither Cioccolata nor Secco plan to give you the kindness.

Instead, Secco twists its wrist with force, angling the head of the wand at your entrance. You squirm from the movement of the stimulation, gritting your teeth as it jams the bulk of the toy inside you, plunging it in aggravation when you offer resistance.

“Yes…” Cioccolata looks on approvingly, slamming the back of your head into the table with a forceful pound. You start to groan with the penetration, only for your whine to be cut off into a yipping cry as Cioccolata sinks his fist clean against your cheekbone. You gasp for breath, your efforts fruitless as his knuckles crack the bones of your sinuses into splintering shards. You try to turn your head, only for a barrage of fists to follow, his grunts of effort matching the ringing in your ears. He pauses, breathing heavily, watching you sputter blood from your nostrils.

“Secco, stop.”

As if the entire world stopped turning, the last beacon of pleasure that was the vibrations deep inside you cease. Secco looks up at its master with wide, confused eyes; even it wasn’t privy to whatever diabolical thoughts mused through Cioccolata’s head. Secco lets out a goading whimper, shaking the handle until Cioccolata snaps at it to stop.

Cioccolata leans in close, clearing blood from your ear so you can hear his whispers. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

You shake your head wearily, your skull feeling heavy.

He bashes his fist against your temple, making your ears ring. “It’s just like you, daring to lie right to my face.”

You shudder a breath, your hearing starting to fade from your right side, as he pushes your head to wobble around your neck. He strides to your feet, shouldering Secco out of the way to grip the handle in its place.

He switches it back on.

You spray blood from your nose and mouth as you puff a breath, the toes of your left foot curling now that you lost the ability to move your right.

“You fucking love this,” Cioccolata laughs, the smile in his voice loud enough to hear over the buzzing of the wand.

You’re forced to face that fact yourself, the beginnings of orgasm rippling through your gut mercilessly. He angles it just perfectly, more precise and purposeful than Secco, prodding your most sensitive spots as if in spite.

“Tell me, you worthless pig,” he spits, pressing the heel of his hand onto your mons pubis to keep you in place.

When all you have to offer is a half-hearted gurgle, he switches the vibrator off again and takes in the involuntary whine of petulance that spurts from your swollen lips. He thuds the heel of his hand against your mons, the impact settling deep in your gut.

“You want more?” Cioccolata sneers as he holds the wand painfully still. You feel the crushing weight of your diaphragm as you cough, though you’re not sure if it’s in protest or confirmation.

Cioccolata scoffs, giving you just enough stimulation with the vibrator’s head to start toppling you over the cliff of hopeless acceptance. When he switches the vibrator on again, your resolve shatters, unable to stop yourself from shuddering a groan as orgasm finds itself a mere pinprick away.

Cioccolata takes even the last morsel of anticipation that you have, switching the vibrator off just as you’re at the tipping point of orgasm. He scowls at your fervent whine and rolling of your hips, pounding the side of his fist into your gut.

“You want more, then tell me!” Cioccolata yells, dotting his words with another irritated punch. The volume and vitriol behind his voice catches both you and Secco off guard.

You manage to part your swollen lips enough to allow air to pass through.

“Please…”

Cioccolata grins, knowing from the sound of fluid in your lungs that you were simply unable to say more. “Stupid pig…”

He indulges you, turning the vibrator on again and putting all of his weight into prodding your gspot with the rounded head. You grit your teeth and cry, unsure if you feel relief or self-hatred more potently. Either way, your body convulses with the need for release, trying to ignore Secco’s snarling breathing.

Through the gurgling of your breath within the muck of blood and spit, you cum again. The intensity of the vibrations against your abused g-spot was simply too much to handle, the sensation curling your toes as you spurt cum onto the handle of the wand and the pair’s faces. You can’t see Secco’s confused expression, your eye sockets swelled with fluid from the assured fractures. Cioccolata makes his approval known with an amicable pat on your belly, letting the wand protrude from you, anchored only by the squeeze of your muscles. He approaches the head of the table once more to look down at his handiwork.

Contusions already pool around the impact points of his punches, spreading like a bullseye. Cioccolata’s heaving breaths linger on your skin, effectively blinded despite your best efforts to meet the gaze that surely bore onto your face.

“Good pet…” he murmurs, almost too soft to hear.

He grunts as he slaps the meat of his cock against your battered face, hissing at the sensation of broken, bloodied flesh and shards of bone crunching beneath the weight of it. He cums almost instantly, needing only three unscrupulous thrusts before he sends seed to embed in your wounds. You cough out blood that flows from your sinuses, the salt of his cum stinging deep under your skin. It seeps through the hair-breadth slit of your puffed eye socket, singeing your eye and making you grimace.

“C-Cioccolata…now…?” the gremlin huffs. It’s the first time it’s formed a coherent request, and if the sounds you hear are anything worth trusting, it must be stroking his its cock fervently.

“Not yet,” Cioccolata manages to respond through bated breaths, apparently becoming disinterested with your face and stumbling away from you into nowhere. You’re powerless to do anything but whine pathetically as the wand’s head is yanked from your pussy, catching on your pubis symphysis horribly before tumbling to the ground. Secco snorts more than it breathes, watching over you as something cold and hard prods against the hole left gaping from the wand.

You snivel pathetically as a stainless steel speculum twists its way inside, much to the pair’s amusement. They chuckle as Cioccolata twists the speculum wide open, exposing you and blocking off any chance of pleasure you could feel from insertion. You whine, the cold making you shiver, your face painfully sore from the battering.

“In here, only,” Cioccolata mutters, obviously to his protege. It howls excitedly, using the disjointed, pensile remnant of your thigh to pleasure itself. It thrusts his hips wildly, fucking the sinew and baggy flesh until it’s at its limit.

It rears back and unleashes its load inside your pussy, so generously laid out as if just for its own personal use. Cioccolata apparently pats it on the back as it grunts and squabbles, cum sloughing to pool against your cervix.

Secco jams its fingers inside, spreading its cum around like a fascinated child. Cioccolata pushes it aside with a huff, clapping his fingers greedily over the stretched viscera of your clit.

“It’s such a shame you made me do this to you,” Cioccolata seethes, rustling through the utensils on the side table sloppily. “You had such a pretty face.”

You listen to Secco scramble to the head of the table, its fingers toying with the needle through your nipple. With a gut-churning splice, it tugs the needle free from its place. You yelp through the fog of delirium and hyperawareness, spit frothing from between your gritted teeth as Cioccolata begins to circle your clit with his latexed thumb.

“You’re sort of beautiful like this, though,” Cioccolata shrugs, rolling the unhooded bud between his fingers. You squeal and pant, bucking your hips into the stimulation, shameless and unrepentant. “If only you weren’t so… disgusting.”

Cioccolata holds something cold and sharp to the inside of your thigh as he angles his cock back into your ass, forced into accepting it due to your desperate need for something, anything other than crippling pain. You used to think that his cock, engorged artificially from drugs and the incredible sight of seeing you in pain, stuffed in your ass was entirely too unpleasant to earn any modicum of pleasure.

Now, though, as your leg, breasts, and face singe red-hot in pain, Cioccolata’s rabid fucking is a mere mercy.

“Secco.”

That catches its attention, just as it always did.

“Teeth.”

Secco hoots, hollering excitedly. You can’t fight the way it pries your jaw open, the tendons hardly attached to the broken bones of your mandible. Secco’s pinkie digs into the previously-healed sockets of your top canine teeth, removed from an act of defiance many years ago. You drool all over its fingers, feeling another orgasm tug on your exhaustion that the drugs won’t let you confront.

The skin of the inside of your thigh parts ways with the slice of a scalpel, sending fresh blood gushing onto the table. You don’t have any fight left in you, instead losing yourself to tracing the path of the scalpel. Are you falling further into insanity, or is he carving... letters?

F…

He pounds himself into you as Secco fumbles with something else, dropping what sounds like bullets to the floor with a frustrated groan. The thought of imminent death, a swift bullet to the brain, comforts you more than you expected it would.

Cioccolata has much more planned for you, though.

The rolling of his thumb is too much, sending you over the edge again with a clamp of your muscles. You nearly push the speculum out, but Cioccolata shoves it back in with the palm of his hand.

U… C…

Secco holds your weakened jaw open and bends your head backward. You open one eye as much as you can manage to see its shaky fingers dangling a metallic fang in front of your face before sinking it into the sheath of your mouth.

K…

You manage a throaty cry as it starts to screw the tooth into your gum, the socket milling into thready sinew. Cioccolata giggles to himself, amused at the way you gurgle bubbles of fresh blood out of your mouth.

M…

The pain in your thighs is quickly overshadowed by the invasion of slow, tortuous metal drilling into the misplaced bones of your skull. All you can do is cry, thankful when Secco lets your head go, only to be dragged back into dread as it prepares the other socket.

E… A…

The scalpel slips, digging deeper than Cioccolata intends. He scorns himself for being so sloppy, though he can hardly keep himself together, his balls aching with the promise of another release.

Your tongue explores the newfound implants as best as it can, the taste of metal not nearly as off-putting as the iron in blood. They’re too big for your mouth, jutting across your lower row of teeth.

Cioccolata grunts, pulling out of your ass to cum into the waiting hole of your pussy. It almost hurts to cum again, but the delightful sight before him spurs him on. His cum, combined with Secco’s and a tinge of blood, drips from the speculum’s border and onto the roundness of your ass.

“Good, Secco,” Cioccolata says between panting breaths, dropping the scalpel onto the ground triumphantly.

“N-now?” Secco begs, grinding his cock against your skull, sullying your hair further in addition to the blood, spit, and mold.

“One more thing,” Cioccolata bargains, slapping your broken thigh before approaching the box. “I’m sure you don’t want this to end anytime soon, right?”

You’re not sure which answer bubbles from your psyche first.

Secco strokes its cock as it licks its fingers, clearing the suit of spumy muck. Cioccolata tosses something large and heavy its way, praising him when he catches it.

“My pet,” Cioccolata whispers, holding something behind his back as he places a kiss to your forehead. “Those fresh new teeth of yours hold a little… secret.”

Secco giggles exaltedly as it manages to ignite the flame of a butane torch clumsily, a bit too close to your hair. The fire melts a small portion of it into bundled twine, burning your face just from the proximity. You hardly care, your eyes locked on the cross-shaped iron that Cioccolata bares freely from behind his back. Secco hops in place excitedly, pointing the flame to the design of the iron as well as it can manage. You watch as the iron grows fluorescent yellow-orange, releasing bouts of smoke with the impressive heat.

“At my command, at any time, and for any reason,” Cioccolata says smugly, admiring the opulent design of the iron, “I can release this same drug you’re surely hating now. In an instant, you will be right back here, and I’ll have to increase the severity of your punishments. No matter where you go, I will always have control.”

Cioccolata hovers the red-hot iron inches above your breast, the heat of it making you writhe. You shake your head weakly, begging without the words stuck painfully in your throat.

“You will never forget that you’re mine again,” Cioccolata growls, tightening his grip on the handle of the iron.

You force air in and out of your battered lungs, preparing yourself.

There’s nothing that could have possibly prepared you for this.

Cioccolata plunges the hot iron above your nipple, smoke bursting forth from burning skin and sinew. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as Cioccolata says something you don’t hear, the sound of blood rushing past your ears all you can focus on aside from the excruciating pain and the stench of burning flesh and hair.

Cioccolata rolls the cross across your skin to ensure even coverage before pulling back and tossing it to the ground. Threads of burned skin drape over your side, eschar and granulated tissue marking the cross like a signature. You’re barely conscious enough to feel Secco release another load of cum into your pussy, hot and sticky.

It’s nearly silent, the only noises being your stridor and Secco’s feral wheezing. After a moment of horrible nothingness, wondering what could possibly await you in the tension of quiet, you’re startled back into the present.

The clattering of the leather straps on your ankles resonates within the walls of your confinement. You think you might be going crazy, truly, until your left leg is released and sent tumbling onto the edge of the table. You’re dead weight, dizzy from blood loss and trauma, unable to give resistance even if you wanted to as your wrists are freed without a word.

As your right leg is freed, you scowl and wince from the pendulous swinging of it from the edge of the table. You pry your eyes open to see Cioccolata hovering over you from behind, heaving your weight onto his support with a scoop of his arms under your shoulders.

You wheeze, your chest crushing under your weight as you’re rolled off the table and onto the floor. The speculum topples onto the concrete next to you. You snivel and lay there in the heap that Cioccolata left you in, staring at Secco’s shins.

He kicks you in the back with the heel of his boot, catching your attention and turning you on your axis.

“You want more?” Cioccolata hums, digging the sole into the protuberance of your shoulder blades. It’s like he knows the answer already, his tone confident and assured.

He leaves you there as he moves to lean against the wall, crossing his arms and looking down at the pitiful lump before him. Secco joins him, shuffling on his knuckles to lean against Cioccolata’s leg.

Your muscles ache, but that’s no matter. Something spurs you from all semblance of logic, urging you into action. You haul the entirety of your weight up by your palms, your head hanging loosely on your neck.

Slowly but surely, you start to forget anything else but the feeling of their cum seeping from your abused hole and the sound of molded corpse plopping onto the floor. Cioccolata chuckles lowly as you shuffle towards him, dragging your bunk leg behind you as you claw the concrete with dedicated crawls.

You finally settle at his feet, collapsing from the massive amount of energy you poured into hauling yourself just a few feet. Cioccolata grabs the knots of your hair and forces your face towards the ceiling. You’re met with the sight of their hardened cocks bearing down at you.

“Good, pet,” Cioccolata mewls, taking your wrist into his grasp. It stings from the abrasions there, rubbed raw from the restraints. He fixates your limp fist around the shaft of his cock, sticky from blood and sex. Secco harrumphs persistently until Cioccolata mirrors the action onto its cock, rolling his eyes like a father to a petulant child. It starts pumping immediately, the movement sparking new pain through your thigh as you rely on your stable leg to hold your weight.

Cioccolata takes a different approach, coaxing your hand into stroking his length languidly. He smiles widely as you catch on, moving your fist on your own, your knee aching with the pressure of your weight.

“That’s right,” Cioccolata hisses, already close thanks to the endurance and hair-trigger nature that the drug affords him. “Keep going like I know you want to.”

You drool from puffed lips, fighting the swelling of your eyes, whimpering doggedly. The noises and your newfound devotion finishes him off thoroughly, ropes of cum spilling into your face and dripping onto your chest. Cioccolata keeps you steady with the grip on your hair, just long enough for Secco to fuck your hand to the hilt, murky cum spattering onto your hair and the contusions of your face.

They rub their cocks on your face, thoroughly ensuring that nearly every inch of your face was covered in a milky combination of cum, blood, and spit. The sight is enough to sate Cioccolata.

For now.

The warmth of the bubble bath is exquisite, though it compares not to the tingling on your scalp from his kneading fingers. The shampoo smells sweet, like violets and vanilla, as he works it though the tangled mess of your hair.

Secco works at your leg, keeping it suspended above the water to keep the cast dry. You smile lazily, though you’re urged back into stoicism from the pulling of the bandages across your face.

Cioccolata kneels in close, rinsing your hair with warm water that cascades down your chest.

“We can do this every morning, tesorina ,” he crones, stroking your upper arms authoritatively. “Well, so long as you behave.”

“Yes, Master,” you mumble through the bandages.

He helps you out of the bath, calling on Secco to dry you with the plushness of a towel. You think to yourself how strange he looks unadorned by his usual makeup and outfit, favoring a bathrobe and slicked-back hair.

Just as Secco finishes drying you, the familiar pitter-patter of ebullient nails clacking against hardwood brings a smile to your face. You watch as Rynke praddles into the bedroom, sitting at your feet, not minding the water pooling there. You give him a brief pat, unable to bend too much at the hips for now.

You’re desperate for affirmation, waiting for the opportune moment to collect the palette of makeup from its place on the vanity. He turns towards you, his gaze warmer than usual, and chuckles when he realizes what you must be planning.

“You want to help?” he smiles, sitting at the vanity.

You nod twice, the movement hurting the sore muscles of your neck. Cioccolata finds the request to be delightfully endearing, facing you and closing his eyes.

You try your best, angling the brush across his forehead and cheeks carefully. The green paint-like makeup edges easily into sharp lines, framing his face perfectly. His black lipstick goes on smoothly, following the curvature of his lips as he pouts for you.

He opens his eyes to assess your work, scanning his face in the mirror across from him. You await impatiently, bouncing on your good leg.

Crack.

You stare ahead at nothing, looking down at the floor. The wounds of your face burn from his vicious bare-handed slap, bringing tears to your eyes. Rynke whimpers behind you.

“Do it again,” Cioccolata scathes. “Wash it off and do it again . Better this time.”

You sniff to clear your nose, scrambling to retrieve a washcloth. “Yes, Master. Sorry, Master.”

Cioccolata glares at you upon your return. It would be easier to wash his face in the sink, but then you couldn’t learn your lesson. Instead, he stares daggers at you until you’ve cleared his face of your mistakes, your hands trembling in fear. Really, truly, through it all, you’re more disgusted with yourself for failing than you are afraid of punishment. After all, you would deserve it.

Finally, his face is dried and prepped for your second attempt. You try to keep your hand steady as he wordlessly grants you permission to continue, dabbing the brush in the makeup more cautiously than before.

Cioccolata grins, as if he knows the exact spot his makeup should be just from touch. His gaze relaxes, taking in the fear and apprehension on your face like fine wine.

You set the brush back down onto the vanity quietly, hardly tacking it against the counter. Cioccolata sighs before assessing your work once more, taking his time to study his reflection.

Much to your relief and delight, he approves. It’s as if your life has meaning again, elevated from your depression in an instant with the brightness of his smile.

“Good,” he says simply, brushing wet hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. “You can help me with this every morning, then.”

You smile widely despite the agony of your face, revealing the exaggerated metallic fangs that glisten there. He pats your head before rising, shuffling past you and Rynke towards his wardrobe. He spits out a vague insult at the dog, labeling him patatino before urging him from his path with the side of his foot.

“Come now, pets,” he beseeches, dropping his robe to the floor. “We have much, much business to attend to.

Tags:

Explicit Sexual Content

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Character Death

Abduction

Non-Consensual Drug Use

Aphrodisiacs

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD

Violence

Abuse

Strangulation

Choking

Blood

Injury

Gore

Medical Torture

Bondage

Rape

Psychological Torture

Sexual Abuse

Burns

mold

Death

Body Horror

Broken Bones

Needles

gaping

Vaginal Fisting

Painful Sex

painful anal

Spit Kink

Blood As Lube

Teeth

Biting

Vaginal Fingering

Praise Kink

Forced Orgasm

Non-Consensual Kissing

Slapping

Face Punching

Face Slapping

Punching

Mind Rape

Multiple Orgasms

Creampie

Threesome - F/M/M

Stimulants

Video Cameras

Come Sharing

Nipple Torture

Vibrators

Speculums

Blood Loss

Object Insertion

Orgasm Delay/Denial

Squirting

Marking

Knifeplay

Branding

Domestic Violence

Bukkake

Master/Pet

Fear

Ownership

Secco is literally called "it" through the whole thing

Lobotomy

POV Second Person

The dog is okay

#JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #Jojo Part 5 #cioccolata #secco #cioccolata x reader #secco x reader #n/s/f/w #n/s/f/w text #smut #please read the tags

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