Sanctuary 3
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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as blood, violence, possible noncon or dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: In an attempt to break free from a tyrant, four women finds themselves faced with a group of mysterious men with questionable intent. (werewolf + medieval AU)
Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Thor, Loki
Reader characters: Jasmine, Poppy, Primrose, Verbena (each character’s POV will be written as a reader character.
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Poppy
At Primrose’s suggestion, rather nagging, you stay awake to keep watch over the others. After some time, she wakes and tells you to sleep. You lay down with the others in the dusty attic, shivering as moonlight limns the closed shutters.
The house groans and growls as if living as the winds swirl over around it. Your eyes are heavy and achy. You close them and let yourself drift into an exhausted slumber.
You wake, warmer than you were when you fell asleep. Verbena is snug against you, her arm around your middle. Behind her, Jasmine lays with her eyes open, staring at the thick supports under the roof. Primrose sits against the wall beneath the window as she stares at her palm and traces the lines.
You gently untangle yourself from Verbena’s thrall and sit up. Primrose’s eyes list over to you. You look between her and Jasmine.
“How fare’s your ankle?” You ask the latter.
“Sore. Swolling, I think.”
You nod and look at Primrose. “We should search this place. Now that it is light.”
“Mm,” she leans forward and puts her hands on the dusty floor. She pushes herself up. “Suppose.”
You get up with her and look back at Verbena. “Will you keep an eye on her?” You ask Jasmine. She hums and siddles closer to your slumbering companion.
You go to the hatch and wait for Primrose to descend first. You follow and come down to the second floor of the house. She clucks her tongue and looks around.
“Was this down when you came in?” She touches the ladder.
“No, I lowered it.”
She tilts her head thoughtfully. She spins away and cautiously walks along the planks. She stops at the first door and listens through the wood. She pushes down on the iron lever to open the latch. She eases it inward and peeks through.
She sniffs and peers back at you. “We need to be sure this place is empty.”
You back up and go to the door behind you. You do as she did, listening before you open it. You hear her grunting at the other end of the hall.
“This one’s locked. Padlock and bar.” She says.
The room before you is empty too. There’s a bed and other furniture. It’s rather nice compared to the attic floor.
“Anything?” Primrose asks.
“Nothing. No one.”
“So far,” she sighs. “Downstairs.”
You follow her. She descends the stairs at the center of the hallway. It’s still dim despite the dawn. The windows are all covered.
The house is vacant but there are signs of life. The rug is padded beneath a large oval table, there are settees and cushioned chairs and benches by two of the windows. The hearth is large enough to step into and littered with the remnants of logs and ashes.
Primrose examines the unburnt bark. She crosses her arms. You near her.
“They might have food here,” you say. “And there are beds.”
“No,” she faces you. “We cannot leave any sign we’ve been here.”
“What? It’s empty? Are we leaving? Where can we go?”
She scowls. “I don’t know that either. We’ll stay, maybe a day or more, but I’ve a feeling there are people to return to this place.”
“Oh,” you rock nervously. “But… we… can’t go home.”
“I know.” She shrugs. “We have to learn how to be without that. We have to leave ourselves behind.”
You look up at the ceiling. “We need food.”
“We do,” she agrees. “But we’ll do best not to take what isn’t ours. If this is within the archduke’s realm, well, it would be as good as stealing from his plate. We’ve already absconded his will far enough.”
You drop your shoulders. “We’ll go out and search. We might catch something. Or find some nuts? Roots?”
“You know what to look for?” She asks.
“I know what mushrooms will make us sick,” you offer.
“Good enough,” she moves her hands to her hips.
You stare at her. She is scared too but she shows it differently. You all are.
“We need to stay together,” you say. “At least for a time.”
“Yes, I suppose we should,” she resigns. “I’ll keep watch, you’ll go and find food.”
Her demanding nature is somewhat grating but you don’t know any better what to do. You don’t have any plans. It is easier for now to just do as she bids.
·༻𐫱༺·
Jasmine
“I don’t think it’s very bad,” you bend your leg and touch your ankle. It’s swollen and tender, but not broken. “A day or two?”
“Day or two?” Primrose echoes. “If we have so long.”
You frown and let your leg fall straight. You lower your chin. You didn’t mean to injure yourself. It was so dark.
“You’re being scary,” Verbena accuses.
“You should be scared,” Primrose retorts. “We should all be. Do you know that already the archduke’s men are scouring his lands? For us? And his intent will be worse than before.”
“But we did nothing?” Verbena argues. You nudge her gently. You know it doesn’t matter what you did or didn’t do.
Primrose huffs and stands. She turns to look through the crack of the shutters. She drones in disappointment.
“I should’ve gone with Poppy,” Verbena says.
“And slow her down?”
“Could carry more,” Verbena counters.
“And make more noise,” Primrose snaps and turns to cross her arms.
“Well, what do we do?” You ask, frustrated.
“I don’t know,” she hisses. “This is all very… it is… men.” She curls her lips. “Men cannot be trusted.”
“My father–” Verbena starts then quiets as Primrose shoots her a glare.
You reach over to rub her arm, as much to comfort yourself as her. Your stomach is roiling with fear and hunger. If you should have to flee, you don’t know that you’ll make it as far as them. Or if they should feel obliged to help you do so.
Primrose paces back and forth. She feeds your impatience. Verbena’s stomach growls loudly. You feel your own mulching painfully.
“Can you hear that?” Verbena asks.
Primrose turns, her shoulders high and tense. “Hear what?”
“The birds. They’re singing.” Verbena cheeps.
“Birds?” Primrose snips.
A thump on the roof makes you all flinch. You look up with wide eyes and listen at the clatter overhead. There’s a sharp squeal and another clunk closer to the window, followed by banging at the shutter.
Primrose peeks between the wooden doors before then opens them. Poppy nearly falls through. She hauls with her the cloth sack. She’s breathless.
“Close, close…” she gasps and points behind her.
Primroses shuts the window and locks it. Poppy lets go of the bag and rubs her chest. She bends over to steady herself. She lifts her head slowly then looks at each of her.
“There are men, coming this way,” she whispers.
“Bugs!” Primrose exclaims.
“Where?” Verbena squirms.
You gulp and bend your leg. You hold onto your throbbing ankle. You stare at Primrose as she slaps her forehead. She stops and looks at you.
“We just have to be quiet.” She says. “They’ll pass.”
You lower your head. You should tell them to go without you. You should accept your fate, but you’re too scared to speak. Scared because you don’t think she’s right.
·༻𐫱༺·
Primrose
You peer between the shutters. You see the men approaching. They’re on horses. Two of them.
They come closer and closer, as if they know this place. You watch in dread as they guide their steeds straight to the house. They must live here. It is as you feared. You should’ve have left these women in the water.
One man has blond hair. He wears it proudly as he canters closer, his hair beaming in the sunlight. The other hides beneath a green hood. The former blusters loudly, his voice carrying up to the attic.
You turn and slide down the wall. You put your finger to your lips and signal for the others to quiet. None have made a noise since Poppy’s return.
Verbena covers the mushroom cap she’d been chewing on in her fist. You chew your cheek. She’s a nice girl but she’s not very clever. She’s the kind of lady better off with riches. Those ladies have walls and can pay for the skills they lack.
Poppy reaches to take the other women’s hands. She meets your gaze. You roll your eyes. What good is this? Cowering like pigs from the slaughter.
You listen as the men dismount outside. They continue to chatter; or rather only the one. The other doesn’t seem very interested in the conversation.
The loud thump of the bar on the front door being dropped makes you flinch. You close your eyes and focus. The doors swing inward on tight hinges. The men’s footfalls intrude and tempo through the house. Their voices are dulled by the walls still between you.
“Should air this place out. Smells like you, brother.” The same deep timbre taunts, then laughs.
Jasmine gasps and covers her mouth. You open your eyes to glare at her. These women are weak. They’re going to get you all killed. She bats her sparkling eyes and curls her shoulders.
“Very amusing,” another smoother voice returns, so flat you struggle to parse the syllables clearly.
“Ah, what fortune! We’ve ale left.”
“It must be sour.”
“Hmmmm. Not bad at all. You would do well with a stein, brother.”
“You would do well to keep your head clear,” the other snaps. He sounds like a rational man. That isn’t good for you. You don’t expect you’ll be sneaking away easily.
“The moon grows and so do my aches,” the other gripes. “I see it in you too.”
“I know,” the other growls. “I feel it.”
You furrow your brow. Why do they speak of the moon? It is not as if they are women; that they might bleed with the wax and wane of the night sky.
Poppy shares a similar confusion in her eyes. You flutter your fingers. Just stay silent.
You all stare at the floor as the men continue to move below. There’s the scraping of furniture and other sounds you can’t discern.
It would be your luck to trap yourself in another prison. You were right when you thought you should just move past it. At least, you should not have stayed through the morning.
“Did you move this?” The droller of the two asks. You twitch. You did your best not to touch anything.
“What does it matter? I’m certain one of us did,” the other deflects.
“I only… I recall… hmmm.”
You tense and dig your nails into your palms. You count your breaths. You can’t help but think of the men in your father’s house. How they searched the trunks and the shelves and the cellar. They tore it all apart, then…
You shake your head. It isn’t the time for it. No, it won’t ever do to think of it. These are different men but you don’t expect a different end.
·༻𐫱༺·
Verbena
You fidget until Poppy pokes you. You look over at her and give a sheepish smile. It falls quickly. You hear those men again. One is louder than the other and laughs a lot.
Your ears tweak as the air shifts. You peek over at the wall. Is that thunder? You hear something in the distance.
Primrose sits up and her eyes go dark. Her lips tug downward. Slowly, she shifts to her knees. She turns and puts her eye to the shutters. She leans her head back and balls a fist.
She sits again and sinks down with her knees bent to her chest. Your skin tingles. Oh, something bad is happening. You know that look.
You reach over to Poppy and latch onto her hand. She squeezes back and looks you in the face. She looks drawn.
Yet, what if these men aren’t villains? They don’t seem to be searching for you. They only live here. And you are only women. You’re only lost.
Horses nicker and snort outside. More of them. You love horses. When they put out the plows, you were allowed to take them to water after.
“They’re here,” the louder of the men announces. He gets no response. That other man reminds you of Primrose.
Footsteps stomp below and the front door opens. “Good day, sirs. I see you’ve made the journey safe.”
“Have we?” Another challenges.
There’s more scuffling, some rustling, even some thumping. You try to picture what’s happening but it’s too much at once. You lean on Poppy and listen. That’s all you can do.
“There are men in the forest, did you see them?” Another new voice asks.
“Only my brother. He’s inside.”
“Stark’s men. They’re looking for something. Someone. They wouldn’t say.”
“And he wouldn’t let them search the cart,” the lighter of the two new arrival chides.
“What right do they have? Stark’s holding ends at the ravine.”
Primrose blows out through her nose and lifts her head. You all exchange looks. Not the archduke’s men but you are fugitives nonetheless.
The men enter the house. Their footsteps sound like they’re all around you. Poppy squeezes your hand.
There’s a metal clink that makes you jump. You stare at your skirt as your ears prickle. The men greet the fourth one inside without much excitement.
“We’ll need to slaughter that ox,” one of the men says.
“Oh, it’ll do for all of us, I think.”
“Better than the lamb’s meat.” Another intones.
“Yes, a regrettable choice,” the big bold voice agrees.
Footsteps climb the stares in a measured tempo. You let go of Poppy and crawl over the floor. You feel a tug at your skirt. You try to see around the edge of the hatch. You see a shadow pass below but not much more.
“Do you smell that?” The man growls and retraces his steps.
“Leaves?” Another comes up the stairs. “Maybe some mice have nested in the hearth again.”
“No, stop. Take a breath.” The other drawls.
They’re quiet. You hear them sniffing. You inhale too, trying to smell out anything but the wood and dust.
“The moon is close,” one says. “You know what it does to us.”
You tilt your head. They keep talking about the moon. You wonder why. You do think it’s pretty when it’s full. You hope at least you can look out at it before bedtime. That’s always your favourite thing.
