#Lords of the Armory

[odditiestrader]

[hotcinnamonsunset]

let’s gooooooooooo virgins!!

[countryboys45-70]

[the-punforgiven]

I love when you see some armor in like a drawing or a comic or whatever and just have that moment of "I know exactly what real life armor set you based that one on lmao"

[sunderwight]

Okay, so the canonically confirmed Cang Qiong peaks are:

Qiong Ding (leader peak, CEO peak, politician/diplomacy peak, admin peak, etc)

Qing Jing (scholar & artists peak, knowledge peak, strategic advisor peak, etc)

Wan Jian (sword guy peak, blacksmith peak, armory peak, etc)

An Ding (logistics peak, servants peak, peak of the cang qiong labor party, delivery guys & messengers peak, supplies & catering peak, etc)

Xian Shu (gender segregation peak: girl flavor)

UNKNOWN

Bai Zhan (shounen anime peak)

Qian Cao (healer peak, pharmacy peak, first responders peak, etc)

Ku Xing (gender segregation peak: boy flavor, ascetic peak)

Zui Xian (alcohol peak)

UNKNOWN

UNKNOWN

So we only have three peaks that are entirely unnamed and unaccounted for. This has pretty good utility if you want to do a transmigration fic where Airplane and Shen Yuan are there as peak lords, but so are OG Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu. You can just give them two of the three mystery peaks, and then there's only one peak remaining for an OC and kapow, you've got all twelve peak lords sorted.

But the question of course, is what should these peaks actually be? What should they specialize in?

Fandom has argued in favor of a Beast Peak, and I actually endorse this idea, although I think specializing in demonic beasts is more of a Bai Zhan and Qing Jing thing. But while we can suppose that between An Ding, Qian Cao, and (probably) Zui Xian the agricultural needs of the sect are being met (or met sufficiently for what they can also supplement through trade), there's no clear existing peak to outsource things like training spirit animals or keeping any livestock that the peak might require. And hey, if there is a Beast Peak, then them also having some expertise in demonic beasts would be interesting.

I think the Beast Peak would slot in most logically between Xian Shu and Bai Zhan.

For the lowest peaks, things get more interesting. While there are obvious roles such as talisman making, barriers, musical cultivation, etc, most of those things seem like they'd either be covered by one of the other peaks (i.e. Qing Jing and musical cultivation) or else would be strange things for the sect to acquire so late, literally after the peak that specializes entirely in brewing.

But, that actually can work out, if we assume that these peaks have taken as specialties things that were previously secondary or tertiary interests to other peaks. Perhaps even owing their origins to particularly capable disciples from the other, more highly ranked peaks who showed such prodigal skill or innovation in that area that they were allowed to establish new peaks focusing on it.

For my money, I'd go with a Barrier Peak, specializing in protective barriers, talismans, and spiritual cultivation that shot off from Qing Jing during some long-prior generation. This peak could also be responsible for guard duties in the sect, basically sending disciples to close off unsafe or prohibited areas, to manage things like access to the various branches of the Lingxi caves, sealing off dangerous items, and (probably) helping to maintain existing barriers, arrays, and other such systems throughout the sect.

I think this peak would be a decent fit for Airplane, as it would once again situate him pretty close to matters of daily sect operations, and put him in position to know a lot of the secrets and goings on beneath the surface of things. So a plausible explanation for his authorial knowledge and insights would simply be, Barrier Peak are the flies on the wall of a lot of high-level matters. If someone breaks into a restricted area, they know about it. If someone wants something hidden, sealed, or disguised, they know about it.

Bonus angst: this would probably mean that the Barrier Peak's head disciple assisted in sealing a young Yue Qi inside the Lingxi Caves with Xuan Su. If that's Airplane, well, that's twisting a knife a bit now isn't it?

Which just leaves peak no.12, which frankly could be any damn thing. After Booze Peak and Girl Peak, the field is wide open. Dance Battle Peak. Transit System Peak. Spiritually Infused Textiles Peak.

My personal favorite, though, is Sex Worker Peak. Not only because that is the most fanfic-y option, but also because it actually kind of makes sense.

The PIDWorld is just chock full of fuck-or-die tropes, which makes there are countless substances, ailments, curses, etc that can only be cured via sex. Not just for cultivators, but also for everyone else in the world. Like imagine you're an NPC magistrate or something just out there managing your district, having only the most tangential connection to the plot, and one day you're going for a walk and you trip and fall and manage to land right in a field full of sex pollen that cropped up like weeds overnight. Because that's just how this shit works, it doesn't wait for the protagonist to exist in order to activate, it's all got to be out there all the time in order to be there when the wife plot happens, and also for various experts to have accumulated all the mandatory exposition points about how it works.

But you're just some normal guy! You don't want to die of Horny, but the best way to clear this up is not just to have sex, but to have sex with a cultivator who is at least moderately good at using the exchange of spiritual energy to purge your body of the sex pollen poison.

Unless you're lucky enough to know someone, you're probably going to be in the market for professional help here, like even apart from all the other reasons people like to hire sex workers. This is a situation that probably happens fairly often and for which "hire someone to fix it and then move on with your life" is probably the ideal solution. As a bonus, a professional sex cultivation expert is probably also going to minimize your risks for unwanted side effect like STDs and pregnancy, too.

So, imagine we have Qian Cao peak struggling under the workload of all these requests for help with dual cultivation. The problem isn't prudery, but that this stuff is so commonplace it eats up time that could also be allocated to things like research and other medical emergencies. Plus, you have political leaders (kings, princes, emperors, etc) always demanding to be sent your "best" disciples to attend to them, when quite frankly their condition is something even an outer disciple could handle in less time than it would take them to travel out to their location, and these fuckers are not-infrequently liable to try and steal your people away into concubinage too.

One day then, much like with Qing Jing and the Barrier Peak, the Qian Cao peak lord of yore gets fucking fed up and is just like, this requires it's own department. Zhangmen-shijie we're starting a new peak. I'm not asking you I'm telling you. It's a medical peak entirely devoted to sex work. My best disciple at sex, who is in the running for Head Disciple status almost entirely because of this shit, is going to be the new Peak Lord. Any time some princess gets her vagina cursed and needs dick badly, the new peak are going to handle it, while I get to finally fucking finish my research into organ transplants.

And the sect leader of that era, knowing what was good for her, was like yes okay rubber stamp that we have twelve peaks now. Twelve's a good number we probably should have done this sooner anyway. What do you mean we don't have that much mountain? Eh, we'll haul some dirt in and make it happen.

Other Sex Worker Peak Thoughts:

Obviously, raising disciples from the age of ten upwards into this kind of work is controversial at best. Depending on tone, a fic author could either accept that grooming children for sex work was a historical practice and examine the fucked-up-ness of it all, or, we could go another direction and make a case that this is generally the peak which takes on older prospective disciples.

After all, dual cultivation is actually good at helping with setbacks and restoring a damaged cultivation base. You could argue for it being the ideal cultivation approach for latecomers. There could even be a precedent for adult disciples from the other peaks transferring to the Twelfth Peak/Sex Worker Peak if they show an aptitude for the work, and for disciples to temporarily join them as part of repairing or preventing damage from qi deviations.

This could also be a contributing factor to Shen Jiu being like, I have to not only be on Qing Jing Peak but also be the absolute boss of Qing Jing Peak with as few people able to gainsay me as possible, because he's terrified of being ordered to pimp himself out.

Not that he would be, though, because I imagine the sexpert cultivators are pretty well aware of how trauma works and who does or doesn't actually have the right temperament for their business, or what jobs within that business. It's their specialty, after all. If someone is going to have a panic attack and qi deviate over doing the job, that someone is not a good candidate for the job, or for these types of treatments overall.

Sometimes Twelfth Peak loses people on account of them falling in love with their clients or deciding to take some king up on his concubinage offers, but it happens less than one might think. After all, it's basically like working for the best brothel in existence. They have rigorous hygiene and healthcare standards, you get access to all the generalized medical care from Qian Cao, travel expenses are covered and you don't have to work out of your home if you don't want to, your food and housing is supplied by the sect, you're trained in cultivation and martial arts, with a shot at achieving immortality, and you don't even have to work every day because the jobs are contingent on what's being requested, not on you making rent money. In addition to physical cultivation, you can also make and sell tons of erotic art or "love tokens" and it will sell for a lot because of the social mystique of sexy cultivators. A pair of twelfth peak lord's panties probably goes for just as much as one of Shen Qingqiu's fancy calligraphy paintings. So unless you really want to live with some dude, switching over to depending on him for your upkeep doesn't seem all that appealing as a prospect.

Additional fun with this idea is that it would also potentially be an interesting peak lord role for either Airplane or Shen Yuan to end up in. Airplane would probably be like, well I guess this is karma for putting so much gratuitous smut in my stories, and then actually manage the hell out of the whole peak and enjoy himself by only taking on the jobs he actually cares to. Not a bad gig, especially compared to his previous grind. On the other hand, Shen Yuan's internal freak out and subsequent attempts to somehow be the Sex Peak Lord while not actually having any sex would be a potential comedy/suspense goldmine.

[peachessndreamss]

Wolfswood

Summery : Cregan receives an injury while out hunting, his wife cares for him

Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings : Cannon typical injury and first aid/wound care, cannon typical hunting

Word count : 4k

A/N : Cregan Stark I love yooou. Also, apologies in advance if this is the most boring thing you've ever read.

Winter had arrived with devastating speed and brutality in the North. The first heavy snowfall had destroyed the last remaining crops left out in the fields and the woodpiles stacked as high as two men and just as wide had looked like enough to see them through two winters but soon began to deplete at an alarming rate. 

And when a great boar had been sighted at the edge of the Wolfswood, Lord Cregan Stark quickly called the men of his house to a hunt, knowing it was better to find the creature now and make use of it rather than let it be starved by the winter. 

They had set out in the pre-dawn, 10 men of House Stark, wrapped in layers of leather, wool and fur, mounted on the most surefooted horses the Winterfell stables had to offer. Lord Stark rode at the front of the group, his steward and close friend Martyn Snow riding beside him, the two of them talking as they disappeared from sight. 

Once in the Wolfswood Lord Stark had led the hunt, first on horseback as they tracked the creature deeper into the cover of the dense wood and then on foot, when the terrain had become too dangerous for the horses and the boar needed to be harried out of its hiding place.

Cregan had been moving slowly north, stepping over tangles of brambles and avoiding tree roots thicker than his thighs, the men of the group formed a large crescent shape as they moved slowly, hopefully driving the animal toward a clearing. One of the men at the end of the line gave a sharp whistle to indicate the group should stop, instinctively his head moved toward the sound and in that split second of distraction Cregan missed the rustling of dead leaves and the heavy breathing of an animal charging. 

The great tusk of the boar gored his left thigh. Cutting deeply through the skin to the muscle beneath, bright red blood immediately falling to the leaves at his feet. The power of the blow from the animal knocked him off his feet and sent him slamming into the cold ground, the back of his head knocking hard against a tree root. The metallic stink of blood filled his nose as shouts went up from the men of the household, they abandoned the hunt and gathered around their injured lord. 

“Get the beast,” was all he managed to say before the wintery sunlight faded from his view and he wasn't aware of pain or cold anymore. 

Lady Stark watched the hunting party return from the covered walkway between the Great Keep and the Armory. She expected to see Cregan leading the party, a triumphant smile on his cold reddened face with the great beast slung over the back of his stallion. 

Instead it was Cregan's steward, Martyn, who galloped in at the front of the procession, his horse wet with sweat, its nostrils flaring as it snorted. The animals rider didn’t look much better, the steward’s face was fearful and the same colour as the bark of the weirwood tree, his pale brown leather jerkin was darkened with blood. 

“My lady,” he called when he saw her watching, “Lord Stark’s been hur’, cut by the boar. Please send for the maester,” 

His words caused a lump of ice to form in her stomach, chilling her from her heart outward. There was always a risk when the men went hunting, and more often than not her husband returned home with some small injury or another but this had to have been serious. As she dashed into the Great Keep she caught sight of a wagon being drawn by two great horses, on the bed of the wagon a tangle of fur and blood, she fought a wave of nausea at the sight and ducked inside the keep. 

Her feet were light and silent as she reached the maester’s chambers, not bothering to knock on the old man’s door she threw it open with a crash. 

The maester was startled by her sudden interruption, jumping up from his stool at the desk with surprising speed and agility for a man who was nearing 70. He opened his mouth, ready to scold whoever had so rudely burst into his rooms, but his words died on his lips. 

“Lord Stark’s been injured in the hunt,” she said, praying her voice didn't waver and give away the fear that was gripping her throat like a claw. 

“Injured how?” The maester replied, moving toward the large wooden sideboard that dominated the room. On the shelves were jars, bottles and boxes containing every substance needed by a maester, and probably a few they didn’t need as well. 

“Gored, I don't know where, they've just arrived back, please come now,” she said firmly, not willing to keep Cregan waiting. 

The maester nodded and gathered his heavy leather case from the side, the bag was filled with sharp tools and simple herbs and mixtures for most every day healing.  He followed behind Lady Stark as she led them to the undercroft of the Great Keep, where there was a great deal of noise and disruption. 

The undercroft was a dark, cool, enclosed space usually used for storage, most days it would only see one or two visitors but now it was alive as men lit torches around the walls while others heaved Cregan’s limp form onto the huge oak table that sat in the centre of the space. They stripped him out of his blood soaked outer clothes and left him lying in his linen shirt and woollen trousers. 

The left leg of his trousers was ripped open at the mid thigh, revealing a 5 inch gash, skin and muscle had been torn apart and glistened dark red. A tourniquet above the wound had stopped most of the bleeding but his face was ghostly pale and his lips an unhealthy shade of blue. 

Lady Stark moved slowly toward the head of the table where Cregan’s closed eyes made him look almost peaceful, the maester went straight to the wound and began cutting away at his trousers. 

“Has he been talking?” he asked as he began to inspect the wound more closely. 

“A little, but he was unconscious for a minute or so after it happened,” the steward replied, standing by Cregran’s right hip, wringing his hands together. 

“Hello my love,” Lady Stark said softly, brushing her hand over his forehead, willing herself not to fall to her knees and weep when she felt how cold his skin was. 

His grey eyes fluttered open and blinked slowly, trying to bring his wife’s face into focus, the world around him seemed to shift violently, left and right, up and down but her warm hand on top of his head held him steady. 

“Now, what have you been up to?” she asked softly, as if addressing one of their children. 

Cregan’s whole left leg throbbed painfully and his stomach roiled with nausea, he swallowed once, finding his mouth and throat dry. 

“It's barely a scratch,” he croaked. Lady Stark gave a small huff that might have been out of amusement and stroked her fingers over the crown of his head. 

“‘Tis a dreadful looking scratch,” she replied, “still, the maester’s here now,”. 

Cregan hissed with the pain as the maester applied a green tinged ointment to the wound. Sweat broke out all over his body and he felt his hands start to tremble. 

“Did they get the beast?” Cregan asked, once the initial wave of pain had passed and faded back into a constant throb. 

Lady Stark glanced at Martyn who gave a small nod of his head. 

“Of course, and you shall have the beast's head for your chambers if you want”. 

He gave what appeared to be a weak nod before closing his eyes again and taking a deep breath. Cregan had known pain before but dislocated shoulders, broken bones and the sharp bite of Valyrian steel were nothing compared to this. 

At his thigh the maester had soaked a small piece of linen in a clear, strong smelling substance that he placed over the wound before tightly wrapping a clean bandage before removing the tourniquet tied high up his thigh. As the blood was allowed to flow back into the lower leg the colour returned to the skin but there were no signs of excessive bleeding at the wound. The maeester turned his attention to Lady Stark. 

“It’s as clean a cut as we can expect from a tusk, most importantly there’s no sign of dirt within, I have great faith that it will heal well,” the maester explained, wiping his hands on a clean piece of linen that was tucked into the belt at his waist. 

“I'll go to my rooms now and make a poultice to fight infection and in the meantime he can be moved to his rooms to ensure he's comfortable,” he added. 

With a small nod from Lady Stark the men still standing around the room went into action, they brought a stretcher and carefully moved Cregan from the table to the stretcher. He was then carried slowly through the Keep and up to his rooms. The masters chambers were the largest but the least used within the Great Keep, Cregan and his wife favoured the smaller but warmer Lady’s chambers, especially as they were the closest rooms to the children’s rooms. 

Once he was settled on the bed she sent for two bowls of water and a cloth before stripping him of the last remaining pieces of clothing. Unable to lift him from the bed to get his shirt over his head she cut the fabric straight up the middle with a small knife, pushing the two halves over his chest and cutting the sleeves apart to expose his arms. She also had to cut away what was left of his trousers, finding some of the material stuck to his skin with blood. 

Once he was as bare as the day he’d been born she soaked the cloth in warm water and set about washing him. Somehow the blood had managed to get up to his neck and down to the bottom of his left foot. She started at his neck, watching as droplets of reddened water ran down onto his chest and collected in the dark mess of curls that started at his collar bone, completely covered his chest and then funnelled into a thick strip that ran all the way down his stomach to the apex of his thighs.  

“I swear you're more beast than man sometimes,” she said softly as she dabbed at his chest, lifting the blood from his skin and hair. 

“It's the wolf in me,” he replied softly. 

Her head snapped towards his face, she’d had no idea he was awake and seeing his soft gaze on her face brought a wave of emotion flooding through her body. The usual surge of love she felt whenever she looked at him, intense relief at seeing his cheeks a healthy flushed colour after how deathly pale he’d looked before and bubbling anger brought on by the extreme fear that still sat in her stomach like a block of ice. 

“The wolf couldn't smell the boar sneaking up on you?” She asked as she felt tears burn her eyes. Cregan offered her a small, reassuring smile. 

“The wolf is more,” he paused a second while he thought, “passive...”. 

Unable to resist him, Lady Stark felt herself smiling and the two of them shared a laugh before she continued to wash him, revealing the pale skin under the dark curls and dried blood. 

“You're lucky it wasn’t more serious,” she said softly as she wrung the red water out of the cloth into a mostly empty bowl before dipping the cloth back into clean water, “if it’d caught on the inside of your leg you'd have been dead before they got you home,” she added, an icy edge to her voice as the fear that had gripped her throat now throbbed behind her eyes. 

“But I wasn't,” he placated gently, reaching out and taking hold of her wrist as she dabbed at his stomach.

“I'm fine,” he added when he noticed the tears gathering in her eyes and the angry wobble of her bottom lip. 

She snatched the hand from his, throwing the cloth into the bowl of clean water at her feet. The water splashed up, catching the skirt of her dress. 

“And what if you weren't? What if you weren’t fine?  Your son is barely 9 months old Cregan, do you expect me to hold the entire North until he comes of age? Fighting off every grasping lord from The Wall to Dorne trying to get to him and steal his birthright?” An angry tear tracked down her cheek.

“I cannot be regent, Cregan, I cannot be here without you,”. 

He reached out again and took hold of her balled first at the wrist, bringing her hand towards his face, pressing a soft kiss to her curled fingers. 

“And nor will you be,” he said softly, his lips still touching her fingers, “you and I are going to grow very old together, so old they write songs about us when we're all but turned to dust,”. 

She gave a small, watery laugh through her tears and pulled her hand out of his again. 

“Now you're just placating me,” she said, reaching into the bowl for the cloth and ringing it out. 

“Of course I am,” he replied with a smile, stretching his right arm up and settling it behind his head, the bend in his arm causing his muscle to flex and bulge under his skin. Were it not for the bandage around his leg he would have looked as if he was just relaxing for the evening. 

“I understand well that my most important duty is keeping you happy,”. 

Lady Stark scoffed at him and returned to the gentle washing of his stomach. A small smile tugging up the corners of his lips as he watched her tending to him so carefully. He'd been in a fair few scrapes before this one and was always happy to be tended to by his wife, the mixture of her gentle hand and sharp words always made him feel better. 

“Am I permitted to say how I'm enjoying your undivided attention?” He asked. 

“You may not say it” she replied, flicking her eyes to his face and catching him grinning at her. 

“I shall just think it then,”. 

They both fell into a tense silence as her cloth inched closer to the bandaged wound. The maester had said he would come by later that day to stitch the wound closed once it had time to dry and he could be certain there was no rot. Sweat broke out across his body as her gentle touch began to feel like needles piercing his skin, he kept his jaw firmly shut, unwilling to let a single sound of pain pass his lips.

“Would you take something for the pain?” She asked, not needing to hear him cry out to know he was in great discomfort, she wrang the cloth out again wetted it with clean water again. 

“I would rather keep my wits,” he replied, his voice strained. 

“Then perhaps a little when we’re finished and you can rest?” She pressed. She knew he disliked the effects of milk of the poppy but seeing him in such pain made her heart ache. 

“Perhaps,” he nodded before pressing his lips tightly closed, redoubling his efforts to stay silent.

She finished his bed bath at his left foot, cleaning the dried blood from the bottom of his toes and the ball of his foot. And all the pain that had passed before paled in comparison to the agony he felt as her hands gently tended the most ticklish part of his body. He fought with every ounce of willpower to stay still and not curl his toes and kick his foot out of her hands. 

Once finished she rung the cloth out one final time before standing and carrying the two bowls of water across the room and setting them aside to be cleared away later. 

“Will you sleep for a while? She asked him, moving back toward him and running her hand over his forehead before drawing a soft woollen blanket over his nakedness. 

Cregan nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted and wanting nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep until the dawn of the summer. 

“Alright, will you take a little milk of the poppy?” she asked.

He nodded again, opening one of his eyes to peek at her face. 

“And a kiss to sweeten it?” He asked, letting the corners of his lips quirk up just a touch. 

She laughed softly, taking the small bottle of white milky liquid from the table beside their bed. She unstopped it and helped him lift his head off the pillow, she held the bottle to his lips while he took a small swallow before dropping his head back onto the pillow with his eyes closed. 

“And to make it sweet,” she said, bending and pressing her lips to his. 

As she stood he opened his eyes again although she could already see he was fighting the effects of the milk of the poppy. 

“Kiss the babies for me as well?” he asked. 

“Of course,” she replied, stroking his forehead again and watching his eyes close as he finally gave in and allowed himself to be dragged into a dreamless sleep. 

She watched him for a few minutes, keeping an eye on the steady ride and fall of his broad chest. In sleep he always appeared to be younger, his features softened as sleep took away the worries and the duties he carried on his shoulders every day. 

Once she was happy he would sleep for a while and there was nothing else she could do for him, Lady Stark went in search of Martyn the steward, she knew he would be worried and was waiting for news of his lord and friend. 

She found him outside the stables, running a brush over Cregan’s stallion. 

“Is he alright?” Martyn asked as she approached him. There was a panicked edge to his voice and his face betrayed his worries. 

“He'll be fine,” she soothed with a nod, “he's made of strong stuff,” she added as she placed a comforting hand on his forearm. 

“I'm sorry he was hurt, my lady,” he said, already looking lighter knowing Cregan was alright. 

“You've nothing to be sorry for, he's a man grown and it's his own fault if he doesn't hear a boar sneaking up on him,” she said, making her voice playful and teasing. 

“I'll pray for him,” the steward said, returning to brushing the huge grey horse that stood patiently in front of him.

“Thank you, I know he'll appreciate that,”. 

She stayed talking to the steward a little longer, the two of them discussing how to make the best of the creature that’d been killed that morning. The sky was quickly darkening and the air turning colder by the minute, although no new snow had fallen that day there was a crisp smell of it on the air and dark, heavy clouds covered the sky, threatening a heavy snowfall that night. 

She left Martyn to his final tasks for the day and returned to The Great Keep, she went first to the nursery to look in on their children. The eldest, Aly, was playing on the floor with her nurse, the two of them racing carved wooden animals across the floor. She paid no attention to her mother when she entered the room, too caught up in her game, while their son slept in his cradle. 

She lifted the boy from his crib and carried him to a chair beside the fire where she sat, focusing on nothing other than the small sound of his breathing and the tiny movements as his chest expanded and contracted with every breath. 

After a few minutes Aly got up from her spot on the carpet, her wooden horse still clutched tightly in her small hand as she walked toward her mother. 

“Where's papa?” She asked, coming to stand beside the chair, reaching out her own empty hand to take her mothers. 

“Resting, the men went hunting this morning, do you remember?”. 

“Will he put me to bed?” Aly asked, letting the toy horse drop from her hand with a small thud. 

“Not tonight, I can do it tonight,” Lady Stark replied. 

The girl sighed heavily, like she'd received some truly dreadful news, her small shoulders slumping. 

“But Papa tells the best bedtime stories,”. 

“I know he does, and I’m sure he’ll have a very special one for you tomorrow night,”. 

After another heavy sigh Aly climbed up into the chair with her mother and younger brother, curling into Lady Starks chest and closing her eyes. The girl found a loose thread on the bodice of her mothers dress and begin to twist it around her finger, in a few minutes she too has slipped off to sleep. 

The warm weight of her children soothed the Lady’s fractured nerves, this wasn't the first time her husband had returned home injured, his body was a tapestry of scars, each one she'd lovingly touched and kissed in turn, learning his scars as closely as a traveller learns a map. 

When she heard the first spatterings of wet snow from the nursery window Lady Stark decided it was time for her to look in on her patient. Calling the nurse over and letting the young woman take the sleeping girl from her lap. 

“Let her sleep a few more minutes, then wake her or she’ll never sleep tonight,” Lady Stark instructed as she stood and carried her small son back to his crib. 

“And I'll be back to feed this one once I've looked in on Lord Stark,” she added, lowering him into the cradle and watching as he settled. 

The nurse nodded and smiled softly as she lowered Aly onto her day bed, covering the girl with a soft embroidered blanket. 

Cregan didn’t stir when the heavy oak doors of his chambers were opened and his lady wife stepped inside, she paused, watching him for a few moments to see that his condition was unchanged, the only difference was that he’d thrown the blanket off his body and was now lying naked, his whole body exposed to the cool air. Moving toward him she noticed his breathing was still easy and his cheeks were a healthy colour. She touched the back of her hand to his cheek and then his forehead. 

At her touch his eyes flicked open and he blinked slowly as the world around him came into focus. He made a small sound of approval that rumbled up deep from his chest as his eyes focused on his wife. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked softly. 

“Better for seeing you,” he replied, his voice gravelly. 

“You're a dreadful flirt Cregen,” she replied with a smile, knowing his ability to flirt was a far better indication he was on the mend than anything else would be. 

“Come lie with me,” he said, choosing to ignore his wife's chastisement.

“Only for a few minutes,” she replied, moving to the other side of the bed and climbing on it, settling herself beside him and placing her head on his shoulder. 

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and encouraged her to roll onto her side, tightening her body to his in a familiar and comfortable way and she sighed contentedly. Her hand rested on his chest, her fingers pushing and playing with the dark curls of hair. Cregan turned his head and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, feeling the warmth of her body sink into his own flesh and bones. 

“I should ban you from future hunts,” she said, her voice muffled by having her face squashed on his shoulder, “make you take an oath never to put yourself in such danger again,”

“Even for you, I could not swear such an oath,” he replied, kissing her forehead again and keeping his lips pressed to her skin, breathing in the familiar and comforting scent from her hair. 

The two lay in silence for several minutes, Lady Stark listening to the steady and deep drum beat of his heart, the thumping sound reminding her that he was still alive, injured but alive and home with her and in their private moment it was easy for her to believe that was the only thing that mattered in all the known world. 

“But I can swear, it will only be death that keeps me from you,”.

[drunkenskunk]

... I kinda want to see an adaptation of Lord of War for Lancer now.

"There are over 550 billion mechs currently in circulation within known space. That's 1 mech for every 12 citizens of Union. The question is: how do we arm the other 11?"

Of all the weapons in the vast Harrison Armory, nothing was more profitable than the Sherman MK1. It’s the world’s second most popular mech. A frame all fighters love. An elegantly simple amalgamation of forged steel and heatbank. It doesn’t break, jam, or overheat. It’ll shoot whether it’s covered in mud or in the Danger Zone. It’s so easy, even a child can use it; and they do. HA put the frame on a coin. The Purview put it on their flag. Since the end of the Interest War, the Sherman has become the Armory people’s greatest export. After that comes vodka, heat sinks, and reactor criminals. One thing is for sure, no one was lining up to buy their cars.

[heliosunny]

Can we have a part 2 of yandere Mydei x knight reader plsss

Yandere!Mydei x Knight!Reader

[part 1] [part 2]

After the ballroom incident, you knew one thing for certain, you had to escape. But escaping Mydei was easier said than done. Especially when he was already expecting it.

The moon is high in the sky when you make your move. The corridors of the palace are eerily silent, the flickering torches casting long shadows on the stone walls. Mydei had kept you under constant watch after the incident with Lord Aldric, but tonight, he had been called away for an urgent diplomatic matter.

With practiced stealth, you slip through the hallways, dressed in dark clothing stolen from the armory. Your weapons are hidden beneath your cloak, and beneath your gloves, the scars of your assassin days itch, as if reminding you of who you truly are.

You are not a knight. You are not his.

You are a weapon, and tonight, you will be free.

Your heart pounds as you reach the palace walls. The outer gates loom ahead, heavily guarded—but the servant passage through the western courtyard remains unguarded at this hour.

"Going somewhere, my dear?"

The voice freezes you in place. whipped around, only to find yourself face-to-face with him.

He stands before you in the dim moonlight, his golden eyes gleaming like a beast that had finally caught its prey.

There is no anger in his expression, only amusement.

"You disappoint me" he sighs, taking a step forward. You instinctively step back, but the stone wall behind you halts your retreat.

"Did you truly believe I wouldn’t anticipate this?" he murmurs, tilting his head.

Your hands twitch toward your weapons.

"Go ahead" he encourages, spreading his arms as if daring you to strike.

Your fingers brush the dagger at your belt—but you hesitate. Something in your gut warns you this is exactly what he wants.

"Hmm…" Mydei hums, stepping closer. "No? Pity. I was looking forward to a little struggle."

Before you can react, his hand clamps around your throat. Your breath cuts off. Not enough to choke you. Not yet. But enough to remind you—he is stronger than you think.

"Do you think I will punish you for this?" he whispers, his thumb brushing against the racing pulse at your throat. "Oh, my dear… this is not punishment."

He leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear.

"This is a lesson."

You try to wrench away, but Mydei is faster.

In a single movement, he spins you, pressing your back firmly against the stone wall, his gloved hand pinning your wrists above your head. The cold night air bites at your skin, but his body is warm, suffocating, inescapable.

"Did you really think I would let you go?" he murmurs, his voice dipping into something darker.

"No" he breathes, his golden eyes alight with twisted satisfaction. "You are mine. And if you run… I will always catch you."

He releases one of your wrists, only to slide his hand down, tracing the length of your arm with a mockery of tenderness.

"Shall I prove it to you?" he murmurs.

Your legs buckle as a sharp pressure strikes your side. You gasp, barely managing to keep from crying out. Mydei watches your reaction closely, as if studying the exact moment your defiance begins to crumble.

"Not deep" he comments, withdrawing his dagger from your side. A gloved finger smears the blood against your cloak. "Just enough to remind you."

You glare at him, but your body trembles despite yourself.

"You will not die from this" he assures, almost lovingly. "But you will remember it."

His hand trails lower, pressing against your wound just enough to make you shudder in pain.

"You will remember that no matter how far you run… no matter how hard you fight…"

He leans in, his lips brushing against your temple.

"You are already caught."

You curse him, struggling against his grip—but he merely laughs, tightening his hold.

"That’s it," he whispers, relishing your desperation. "Show me more, my dear. Fight me. Hate me. But never forget—"

"You will never be free of me."

You failed to escape.

Now, Mydei tends to your wound—but his touch is anything but gentle.

The world tilts as Mydei carries you.

His arms are firm, unwavering, as he strides back through the palace halls. You barely register the movement—your wound burns, the fabric of your stolen cloak sticking to your side with warm, wet blood.

But worse than the pain is his voice.

"Ah… such a foolish thing you are" Mydei murmurs, almost mockingly, his golden eyes never leaving your face. "And yet, I cannot find it in me to be angry."

You force yourself to stay silent. If you speak, you’ll curse him. And right now, you can’t afford to anger him more than you already have.

"I wonder" he continues, his grip tightening around you as he carries you up a grand staircase. "Did you hesitate to kill me? Or was I simply faster?"

You are placed on a lavish bed within his private chambers. The fire crackles in the hearth, casting the room in a golden glow, but the warmth does little to thaw the ice in your veins.

"Take that off" Mydei commands smoothly, nodding toward your bloodied cloak. "Unless you wish for me to do it for you."

Your fingers twitch toward your dagger—before you remember that he took it.

With a slow, deliberate motion, you remove the cloak, the fabric sliding from your shoulders as you reveal your wound. The cut isn’t deep, but it bleeds enough to weaken you. Mydei watches intently, his gaze heavy, unreadable.

"Good" he murmurs, reaching for a cloth and a glass vial.

A familiar scent hits you immediately—medicinal wine. You barely have a moment to brace before a sharp sting burns through your side.

You flinch, a hiss escaping through gritted teeth as the alcohol sears the wound.

And Mydei… his grip on your waist tightens, keeping you from pulling away.

"Painful?" he asks, his voice mockingly gentle.

You glare at him.

"Good," he breathes. "Remember it."

His fingers brush against your skin "I could have made this worse for you," Mydei murmurs, his golden eyes flickering with something dark and unreadable. "But you are lucky I am merciful."

Merciful. The very thought makes you want to laugh. Instead, you bite back your pain, keeping your expression void of weakness.

"You call this mercy?" you manage, voice hoarse.

Mydei chuckles.

"If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be breathing right now."

His hand lingers against your exposed skin, tracing the curve of your waist with an unsettling sense of ownership.

"I wonder," he muses, his voice dropping lower, "if I should mark you another way—so you never forget who you belong to."

The room feels smaller. His presence is suffocating.

"But no" Mydei decides, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Not yet."

His touch finally withdraws—but not before he presses a kiss just above your wound.

"Rest, my dear," Mydei whispers against your skin. "You won’t be going anywhere for a long, long time."

And with that, he rises, leaving you in the golden glow of the fire, with nothing but the sting of your wound.

-----

A noble lady visits Mydei far too often.

You don’t care—at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But when you notice something off about her, you realize that your indifference might cost Mydei his life.

Lady Callista of House Vernay. Beautiful and relentlessly persistent. She has been fluttering about the palace like a bird of prey, visiting Mydei under the guise of "diplomatic talks."

But everyone knows the truth.

She is courting him. And Mydei lets her.

You watch from the shadows, seething.

Not from jealousy.

You simply find her annoying.

Her saccharine voice drips with false charm whenever she speaks to Mydei. Her delicate fingers rest on his arm too easily, her eyes glimmering with an admiration that makes you feel… something unpleasant.

And worse?

Mydei does nothing to stop her.

One evening, you are passing through the palace gardens when you see her again. But this time, she isn’t with Mydei. She is alone—speaking in hushed tones to a cloaked figure.

You slip into the shadows, ears sharpening as their words drift toward you.

"…the poison must be slow. It cannot be obvious," Lady Callista murmurs. "I want him to grow weak over time. I want him to trust me before he dies."

Poison.

She is plotting against him.

Your fingers twitch toward your concealed dagger. You could end this right now. A single strike, a precise cut—Lady Callista’s pretty little plan would die along with her.

But you hesitate. Not because you care for her life.

But because you need to know why.

Why does she want Mydei dead?

And more importantly—how much time does he have?

You move swiftly, finding Mydei in his private study. He is alone, reading over documents. He barely looks up when you enter—but he knows.

"You have something to say" he began, setting his papers aside.

"Lady Callista is trying to poison you."

He laughed. Not a loud, mocking laugh, but a low, amused chuckle.

"Oh? And you care because…?"

You scowl.

"I don’t care." The words are sharp, biting. "I just thought you should know before you drink from the wrong cup and drop dead like an idiot."

He leans back, smiling.

"How dutiful of you, my dear knight."

You grit your teeth.

"This isn’t a game, Mydei. She wants you dead."

His amusement doesn’t fade.

If anything, it deepens.

"Then perhaps I should let her try," he muses, watching you carefully. "I wonder… would you let her succeed?"

You couldn't say a word.

"No?" he breathes, leaning forward. "Then tell me, my dear... why?"

Yeah, why? Why does the thought of someone else killing him make you furious?

Mydei sees the conflict in your eyes.

"How delightful" he murmurs, reaching for your hand. "It seems you aren’t as indifferent as you claim to be."

His fingers curl around yours.

"So tell me…" Mydei whispers, voice smooth as silk. "What shall we do about Lady Callista?"

And just like that—

You realize you have already chosen a side.

Lady Callista is cunning.

She knows she cannot kill Mydei directly.

So instead—she tries to eliminate you.

And Mydei watches it all unfold.

The grand banquet hall is filled with laughter, music, and the rich scent of wine. Noble guests mingle, their silken garments shimmering. Mydei sits at the head of the grand table. And at his side?

Lady Callista.

You stand in the shadows, unwilling to partake in the pointless pleasantries. But your eyes never leave her. Because you know what she is. A snake in silk. And tonight, she finally bares her fangs.

"Your Highness," Lady Callista suddenly speaks, her voice carrying across the hall. "I must bring something grave to your attention."

The room falls silent.

Mydei lifts a golden goblet to his lips, unbothered. "Oh?"

Lady Callista rises from her seat.

She turns toward you and points.

"Your Majesty, this assassin has been plotting against you."

Murmurs ripple through the hall. Eyes turn to you.

And yet—you do not react.

Because you expected this.

"Oh?" Mydei leans forward, interested. "How intriguing. Do tell, my lady."

Lady Callista presses a hand to her chest, feigning concern. "I have reason to believe this assassin has been poisoning your wine. I witnessed them lurking near the kitchens, slipping something into your cup just this evening."

Gasps. The nobles whisper amongst themselves.

She was the one poisoning his wine.

She is simply trying to frame you before you expose her.

Mydei hums, twirling his goblet. "Is that so?"

"How bold of you, Lady Callista," you say smoothly. "To claim I poisoned his wine… when I saw you do the very same."

The hall erupts into new whispers.

Lady Callista’s smile tightens. "You lie."

You tilt your head. "Do I?"

With measured steps, you approach Mydei’s goblet, lifting it before the watching crowd.

And you drink.

The nobles gasp.

Lady Callista’s face loses color.

Because she knows—she did, in fact, poison it.

You lower the goblet. The taste is bitter, but you’ve trained your body to resist weaker poisons.

"How strange," you murmur. "If I had poisoned this wine, I’d be dead by now."

Your gaze flicks to Lady Callista.

"Shall I fetch you a cup, my lady?"

She stiffens. She knows she has been caught.

The nobles begin to whisper amongst themselves—doubt creeping into their expressions.

And Mydei?

He laughs.

"Oh, how delightful," he muses, golden eyes gleaming. "A web of deception spun in my very halls."

Then, he stands. In one fluid motion, he turns to Lady Callista.

"You seem nervous, my lady" Mydei remarks. "Shall I have my physician examine you? Or better yet… perhaps you should try my wine yourself?"

She shakes her head. "Your Highness, I—"

She never finishes. Because Mydei grabs her wrist. And in the next second—he forces the goblet to her lips. She chokes, wine spilling down her chin as she struggles.

The nobles gasp in horror.

"Drink."

Lady Callista sputters, eyes filling with terror as she falls to the floor. Her body convulses, her breaths turning ragged—before she finally falls still.

The room is silent.

Mydei turns back to you.

His golden eyes gleam with satisfaction.

"How fortunate that you were here to reveal such treachery," he murmurs. "It seems you truly are mine, after all."

You have removed your greatest rival.

And in doing so, you have only bound yourself closer to him.

[fetusgooseandjuice]

Perfect

Pairing(s): Knight!Natasha Romanoff x Princess!Reader

Summary: Natasha becomes insecure about her place in your life.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Tony Stark being a jerk

Authors Note: This is another mini-oneshot to my fic “Soulmates”. I’d recommend reading that one before this for context to be able to grasp the storyline! Also I have deleted this post and reposted it so many times because it wasn't showing up in the tag at first lol

Other mini-oneshots: Forever | Promise | Enamored

(Takes place before Natasha proposes in Forever)

“Great work today everyone, but stay behind just for a moment as we should have a guest arriving any minute now.” commander Fury said.

Natasha wiped her forehead with a towel before taking another big gulp of water. Her and the rest of the knights had just finished their weekly training session, and were now cleaning up to return home.

“If it’s another one of his war buddies coming to help tell all of their ‘stories in battle’ again, I’m slipping out the back gate.” Clint muttered.

The redhead rolled her eyes and chuckled, “You act as if you actually have somewhere else to be that’s not here.”

A playful scoff left the man, “I’ll have you know that I have a date later, and I’d prefer not to smell like dirt and sweat when I see her.”

Clint Barton was the first friend Natasha made when she began training to become a knight years ago. He specialized in archery, and would often help teach the trainees the ways of the bow and arrow.

He met Natasha after the arrow she’d shot nearly took the man’s head off— hence why her area of specialty was always hand-to-hand combat.

That was the first and last time he chose to stand off to the side whenever she held the weapon. From then on, he made a point to always stand behind her instead.

“Oh, so Laura finally agreed to go out with you?”

He shrugged with a smug smirk, “She was bound to say yes eventually,”

“May I have your attention everyone!” commander Fury’s booming voice sounded, interrupting their conversation.

Beside him now stood a familiar face.

“This is Lord Tony Stark,” he began, “He has been so kind to take the time to design us some new armor and weapons, so make sure to pick yours up from the armory at some point and thank Lord Stark on your way out. You’re all dismissed.”

At that, everyone moved to finish packing up and begin heading out.

Natasha was acquainted with the noble. His name had sometimes come up during your rants about the meetings you’d attended that day. Needless to say he was a genius, but at times could be a little self-absorbed and insensitive.

“As smart as that man is he sure can say some really dumb stuff.” Natasha remembered you saying.

She quickly grabbed her bag and made her way toward the exit of the training grounds, leaving Clint having to jog to catch up with her.

“So now you seem to have somewhere to be too,” he teased.

The redhead didn’t have the chance to make another playful remark as a smile overtook her features that’d be difficult for anyone to miss.

“Y/n is coming home from her trip to the neighboring kingdom tonight, and I want to do something nice for her.”

Clint raised his eyebrows, “Does this ‘something nice’ have anything to do with that ring in your bag?”

She’s had the ring for almost a month now. Yelena and her mother helped to pick it out, but she was still thinking about how and when to pop the question.

“Not yet,” Natasha said, “I haven’t spoken to the King and Queen about it, and I want it to be perfect when I ask her so I still have planning to do.”

The archer scrunched his nose in a faux look of disgust, “God, when did you become such a romantic? What are they feeding you over there in that castle?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, “You’ll understand if things work out between you and Laura.”

As they approached the exit gate, the face of Lord Stark became clearer. He was exchanging a few words with each knight as they left, some deciding to shake the nobles hand as well.

When it was their turn, Clint gave a firm nod of his head and held out a hand for Lord Stark to shake.

“I wouldn’t suppose some new bows and arrows were included in this upgrade as well?”

Lord Stark raised his eyebrows, “Wouldn’t be much of a weapon upgrade if I left those out now would it?“

As Clint thanked him, Starks eyes now focused on Natasha when she stepped up, giving him a small smile of gratitude.

“Thank you for helping us out. It is much appreciated.” she said.

“Of course,” he gave a nod of his head. Just as the pair of knights went to leave he spoke up again, “Romanoff, right? The one with the Princess?”

Natasha turned back to him with a look of confusion etched on her face at the reason for his question.

“That would be me,” the redhead answered. “May I ask why?”

“No reason. Just surprised you two are still together is all.”

“Excuse me?”

Lord Stark laughed lightly, “Oh don’t get me wrong it is adorable. You know, the whole childhood sweetheart thing.”

“So what seems to be the problem?” a displeased frown settled upon the knights eyebrows.

“I’m only shocked she isn’t bored of you yet with how long you’ve been together.” he chuckled, “I mean she is the Princess. Plenty of people have their eyes on her, and who’s to say she hasn’t been looking at them too?”

“What’s it to you?” Natasha snapped, “What is the point you’re trying to make here?”

She didn’t even know why she still standing there listening to him, much less engaging in the frustrating conversation.

“Relax, I was only joking. No need to get so defensive.” the noble chuckled.

“Well then I guess I failed to understand what was funny about anything you said,” Natasha said as she readjusted the bag on her shoulder, “Have a good rest of your day, Lord Stark.”

With that, the redhead brushed past the man and stormed out of the courtyard.

She didn’t know how she managed to stay talking to him for that long, but she knew if she stuck around any longer things probably wouldn’t have ended the best way for either of them.

The archer was quick to catch up to his best friend, a look of concern now sat on his face.

“Are you alright, Nat?” he asked, “The nerve of that man is insane.”

Natasha nodded, “I’ll be fine, I just needed to walk away.”

“You know nothing he said is true, right?” Clint assured, “Y/n loves you and everyone can see that. They’re blind if they don’t.”

“I know,” she said, “I just want to get back and clean up before she gets home. You should probably do the same.”

As hesitant as he was to leave his friend alone, she was right. “Okay, but I’ll see you tomorrow alright?”

Natasha agreed and said her goodbyes to the man before they went their separate ways.

When you arrived home in the evening, the knight had asked the cooks to prepare your favorite to eat. She’d gathered both of your families in the dining room to share the meal, knowing how much you enjoyed family dinners after being away.

Everything appeared to be just as you had left it. Your mother and Melina were busy with their normal chatter; your father and Alexei chiming in as well. Natasha and Yelena were engaging in their everyday sibling banter.

But despite that Natasha didn’t seem like herself.

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint what was wrong, but it was clear that something was up based on the way she’d occasionally zone out. You’d have to call her name multiple times to gain her attention again.

Even then, she was tense and had a distant look in her eyes. As if she was afraid to look at you for too long.

“Is everything okay, Nat?” you’d asked her several times throughout the night.

Each time she flashed you her usual charming smile that always made you melt, and responded with an “Of course I am, princess. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You weren’t totally convinced.

The suspicions you had were confirmed as everyone was finishing up the last of their dinner and began cleaning up. The redhead had excused herself from the table, but never returned.

About a half hour had passed when worry had finally got the best of you, and you decided to search for your girlfriend. You first looked in the places she frequented most in the castle, but every room you searched you came out empty handed.

With one last place in mind, you made your way through the halls and out the front doors of the castle.

~ ~ ~

Natasha nocked the arrow onto the string and drew it back just as Clint showed her many times before, her eyes locked in on the target set up across the training grounds.

She took a deep breath in, releasing it completely before letting the string go. The arrow slid off her fingertips as it shot through the air and past the target, missing it completely.

The knight huffed and let her arms drop down to her sides as she stared at the still untouched bullseye despite her having shot four others before that.

“I think you’re supposed to be aiming for the target, you do know that right?”

Natasha turned to see you making your way over to her. She laughed and set the bow down as she sat on the grass. You joined her, deciding that this was more important than your mother lecturing you over the dress that would inevitably become dirty.

“I guess today is just not my day,” she shrugged.

“Anything you want to talk about?” you wondered, giving her the floor to speak freely, “You weren’t exactly acting like yourself at dinner.”

Natasha should’ve known she wouldn’t be able to hide this from you. You knew her like the back of your hand, and vice versa. Nothing ever got past the other.

“I just missed you is all,” she answered, giving you a small smile for extra reassurance.

Once again, you weren’t fooled.

“I missed you too, Nat. But that doesn’t explain it since I’m home now.” you said.

The redhead went silent, chirping from the crickets hiding out in the trees filling the air instead. She had no grounds to deny your words because she knew you’d see right through her.

“So what’s actually going on? Did something happen while I was gone?”

Natasha shook her head, “It’s nothing, really. I don’t want you to worry.”

“Well it’s a little too late for that,” you lightly chuckled, “And it’s clearly something if it’s bothering you this much. Was it something I did?”

“No!” she quickly assured, “God no, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“So then talk to me, my love. Please,” you pleaded and reached to take her hand, your thumb stroking over the back of her palm.

The knight sighed and forced herself to look straight ahead. The gentleness in your eyes made her want to tell you everything.

Every thought she’s ever had, every secret she’s ever kept, every feeling she’s ever felt. That’s just the effect you had on her.

You made everything okay.

The worries and stresses plaguing her mind just seemed to dissipate little by little until they were gone whenever she was with you.

And as much as Natasha fell in love with you because of that, she was now questioning if she even deserved to have you look at her the way you were.

“Do you ever think about what it would be like if you’d chosen someone else to be with?”

Your eyes slightly widened as your mouth opened just to shut again multiple times in disbelief.

“What?”

Out of all the things you could’ve predicted her to say, that was not one of them.

“You’ve never been with anyone before me. We became exclusive as teenagers, and you just stuck with me.” Natasha explained, and you nodded to confirm what she said was true.

“Do you not ever wonder what it’d feel like to be with someone else?”

“Nat, where is this coming from?” you asked, “Have you been thinking about that for a while, or did someone say something?”

The redhead finally looked at you, sadness evident in her gaze, “Lord Stark stopped by during training.” she said, and you had a good idea of where this was going now.

“He made us some new equipment and when I went to talk to him, he said he was surprised you were still with me. That he was shocked you hadn’t gotten bored yet.”

You had first hand experience working with the noble during council meetings for the kingdom and his ideas were beneficial, but he was also notorious for his filterless mouth.

A sigh left your lips and you squeezed her hand, “Nat, I don’t think Lord Stark has ever kept a woman around for more than a few weeks, so he’s probably familiar with people getting tired of him.” you chuckled.

Natasha cracked a smile, but it was short lived.

“You don’t think he has a point, though?”

“No, I do not.” you said. You wish you could slap Lord Stark for making her feel like this. “I’ve never wanted anyone else because I found everything I need in you.”

The redhead looked down at your connected hands, fighting the urge to fidget with your finger she hoped to soon have decorated with the ring in the bag lying next to her. She opted to interlace your fingers instead.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to settle for me just because I’m your first relationship.”

“Oh, Nat. Come here,” you tugged on her hand and guided the knight to lay on her side, her head resting safely in your lap. “You don’t understand how perfect you are.”

Your fingers began to run through her messily braided her, brushing back the loose strands from in front of her face. Natasha immediately relaxed under your touch.

“Perfect might be a bit of a stretch,” she murmured.

“I don’t think it is,” you disagreed, “You look out for your parents, and Yelena, and the people you love. Even people you don’t know because you’re so selfless.”

Now that you’ve started, you could probably go on for hours about all the reasons you chose Natasha Romanoff over anybody else. You probably would because it’s clear she needs to hear them in this moment.

“And you’re just as sweet with me. The way you take care of me. The way you always know what I need before I even know myself. It’s like you have a sixth sense,” you giggled and you felt the redhead chuckle against you too.

“Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve you because to me you’re just so perfect in every way imaginable.”

That was when Natasha decided to maneuver onto her back instead, now staring straight up at you.

“There you are,” you grinned softly down at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Your head tilted as your fingers continued to card through her red strands, “For what?”

“I don’t know why I was acting like that. I was being ridiculous.”

“Nat, you were not being ridiculous. You were feeling vulnerable and that’s okay. You don’t have to act like you’re fine when you’re not around me.”

“I know,” Natasha said and took your freehand to bring it up so she could press a kiss to the back of it. “I know, princess. I love you so much,”

You smiled softly at her and leaned down enough to connect your lips. It was slow and gentle, you just wanted her to know you were here and not going anywhere.

When you pulled back you didn’t go very far, your face still hovering centimeters above hers, “Hey,” you mumbled.

She opened her eyes at that to meet your gaze.

“It’s you, and it’ll only ever be you. Okay?”

Natasha softly smiled against yours lips and nodded, “Okay,”

You gave her one last peck before urging her to sit up when you began standing, “Alright, now show me how it’s really done.”

The knight stood up as well and watched you pick up her bow along with another arrow from the bag. She rose an eyebrow and crossed her arms as she looked at you amusingly.

“What are you doing?” Natasha chuckled.

You pushed the weapon into her hands before backing away, “I want to watch you practice,” you answered simply.

Natasha shook her head, “As much as I love it when you watch, I think you’d just be disappointed.”

“Come on, just try one more time, please?”

Of course, the redhead struggled to say no to your face. Natasha sighed and turned towards the target once again, correcting her stance like she’d done earlier and nocked the arrow.

Drawing back the string, she precisely aimed the arrow and exhaled a deep breath before letting go. The knight expected it to miss by a long shot like they had earlier, but was proven wrong when it landed dead center in the bullseye.

You had an innocent smile on your face when Natasha turned to look back at you, like you had known she’d hit the bullseye when you first forced the bow into her hands.

“What was that about today not being your day?” you wondered.

God, you really did make everything okay.

Natasha broke into a big grin and motioned you towards her, “Come here,” she said.

Your head tilted slightly at her request, but still made your way over to her, “What?”

She just chuckled. “I want to show you how to shoot a bow,”

The redhead was now realizing that she’d probably be needing that ring much sooner than she originally thought.

~ end ~

Authors Note PT 2: I don’t know if I like this one but here it is! Also I finally decided to give the commander a name and add in Clint bc you can’t have a Natasha series without her best friend ofc

[lovelaurs]

hi!! i really like your writing:) you followed me last night and i was So Confused because i don’t post i just repost with stupid tags HAHA if you can and your requests are open (i checked like 29 times and read the rules and im still scared im gonna mess this up and i missed something), can you write a suggestive mcd garroth and laurance little drabble? if you want a direction to go in, i really like fanfics where they fight and it turns into a suggestive bit ^_^ thanks so much aahhh!!!!!!!!!!!!

TRAINING TOGETHER

featuring : mcd garroth & laurance x gn reader synopsis : after deciding to train to be a guard, you seek the help of none other then a knight from phoenix drop. yet, after a tough training session, things begin to get a bit out of hand... tags : mature, romance, friends to lovers, sword-fighting, training, kissing, making out, suggestive word count : 2.5k | around 1.2k per character! a/n : woohoo, my first request done! this was really fun to write, so i hope you enjoy!! these two were so silly to write, i just love them so much!

MASTERLIST

GARROTH

As someone who has always dreamt of being a guard, you didn’t exactly have the schedule of one.

After sleeping in for what seemed later than normal, your eyes quickly shot open as you remembered what today was.

Shit.

Your weekly training with Garroth was this morning.

As you quickly shot up from your bed, you ran around your house putting on the first pieces of clothing you could find.

After slipping over a plain tunic along with some boots, you swung open your door, slamming it behind you as you sprinted towards the training grounds.

As you passed through the town, many of the other villagers looked at you with amusement as you exhausted yourself on the way there. They had gotten used to watching you run late to almost everything.

Ever since you were younger, you had always aimed to be a guard.

Except, with the village guards being scarce and always so busy, you were never able to train. This was the very reason that got you rejected from the training program in O’khasis.

Of course, since things have been more and more easier under Lord Aphmau’s rule, the guards have increased, and with that, so has their availability.

After seeking out a guard to help train you, the Head Guard, Garroth, gladly accepted. Even though he himself learnt his sword-fighting in O’khasis, he always mentioned that it wasn’t required to make a good guard, and that all that mattered was the strength in one’s loyalty.

Since you met him from when he arrived, he always showed himself to be loyal.

Ever since then, your hopes have been raised.

It has been weeks since you began training with him, your sword-fighting skills increasing almost tenfold since the first day.

And yet one thing has never changed.

Your tardiness.

As arrived at the training grounds, you keeled over, hands on your knees as you breathed deeply. A disapproving Garroth watched from afar, smiling at the scene.

“Yet again you're late.” He noted, leaning against the guard tower.

“Yeah,” You panted. “No shit.” 

He frowned at your response. “Watch your tone, we’re supposed to be prepping you to be a guard, remember? Guards do not speak that way.” As you finally caught your breath, you stood up straight, nodding. “Right… I’m sorry.” “Great.” Garroth pushed himself off the bricks, reaching for his sword. “Now, are you ready to begin our training that was supposed to start at sunrise?” He teased.

“Haha, very funny.” You sighed at the remark, reaching for the hilt of your sword… before finding it not there.

You frantically patted yourself down, quickly realizing that you had forgotten your sword at home.

“You know, I was waiting for you to notice.” Garroth chuckled. He motioned his head towards the guard tower. “Go grab an extra sword from the armory.” You groaned as you made your way over there, picking up a random sword. 

As you made your way back over to the training grounds, you noticed Garroth watched you with a smirk.

All you wanted was to wipe that stupid look off his face.

As you took your position, readying your sword in front of you, you let your eyes focus on the trained knight before you.

This man had been trained amongst would be Jury Of Nine members, so of course he’d be tough to beat.

It wasn’t until he counted down that you brought yourself back to the present, focusing.

As the word “go” left his mouth, he rushed towards you, unrelenting on his force.

His first contact with your sword was strong, catching you off guard. You held your stance, pushing against his blade, causing him to jump back to regain his own footing.

“Nice defense, your hold is getting stronger.” He smirked, slowly circling you like a shark staring down its prey.

As it seemed he was going to keep taunting you, never truly moving towards you, you decided to take the opportunity to take the lead.

You rushed towards him, putting all your strength into the swing of your sword as it collided with his.

He held his stance, before you both pulled back, colliding your swords once more.

It wasn’t until you shared several more blows that you started to feel sweat pooling on your forehead. This singular match has gone on longer than your usual time, so it wasn’t surprising that your muscles started to ache in response.

Out of nowhere, Garroth swung his sword with all his might, causing your own blade to go flying off towards the bushes behind you.

As you fell to the ground, the blonde stood above you, holding his sword towards your throat.

“You need to work on your grip.” He heaved, before sheathing his sword, offering his hand out to you with a smile.

That’s when you thought of something devious.

You swept your leg under his, causing him to fall on top of you with an “Oof!”.

“And you should work on your stance.” You giggled. 

Garroth adjusted himself, his hands caging you in on both sides of your shoulders. As he took notice of your current position, he paused, just looking at you in the eyes.

You couldn’t help notice just how beautiful his cerulean eyes were. You were so lost within the blue that you didn’t notice how his pupils dilated, his position above you growing stiff.

It was then that his eyes wandered down to your lips, almost watching them impatiently.

With that, you practically couldn’t stop yourself from looping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

As the two of you sat in silence, it wasn’t long before Garroth spoke.

“Can… Can I kiss you?”

A sense of wonder filled his eyes as he watched your expression switch into one of joy.

You smiled, slightly tilting your head. “Yes.” When he kissed you, it felt like all pieces of a puzzle were finally connected. With his lips locked against yours, you savored the feeling as much as possible.

He pulled back for a breath for only about five seconds before diving back to kiss you once again.

His lips hurriedly pressed against yours as if the two of you were running out of time and his goal was to taste your lips on a dying breath.

As if a knee-jerk reaction, you slowly moved your hands from around his neck to his hips, pulling his lower half closer. Garroth couldn’t help but groan at the friction.

His face was flushed, tinted pink all the way to the tips of his ears.

As you lay beneath the blushing blonde, it wasn’t long before your perfect moment was interrupted.

“Sir Garroth! Come quick! Kiki’s animals got loose and-”

The two of you whipped your heads around to see a dirtied Dante, covered in hoove marks and mud, looking at you both all flustered.

He quickly brought his hand to his face, covering his eyes. “Oh my- uh, nevermind! I’m sorry to interrupt-” He stuttered as he began to quickly rush away.

Garroth stumbled off of you, rolling over in the grass before stumbling as he went to chase after Dante “W-Wait! It’s not what it looks like!”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the guard’s reaction to being caught, catching his attention.

He turned around, puffing his cheeks. “Don’t think you’re getting away from this!” He yelled, before giving you a soft smirk. “I’ll swing by your house later this evening to continue where we left off, okay?”

And with that, he ran after the younger blue-haired knight.

Now it was your turn to flush, as your mind conjured up several images within your mind that left not much to the imagination.

And you just couldn’t wait.

LAURANCE

Who in Irene’s name suggests training in the middle of the woods?

As you made your way through the shrubbery, pushing aside all sorts of branches and leaves, you kept asking yourself if you were going the right way.

When you left the gates of Phoenix Drop earlier in the day, you felt something in your stomach twist. Perhaps it was a bad omen as to your situation now?

The training area Laurance had told you to meet at was somewhat northwest of the wall, in a clearing in which you could see the ocean.

As if such directions would be easy to follow within an overgrown forest such as this!

He had originally suggested it in an empty area so the two of you “could have no distractions”, which in hindsight, you seriously should have doubted more. That charmer of a man always had ulterior motives.

The brunette himself had gone ahead of you earlier in the day, saying he’d set up the area with equipment and some rations. 

Why the hell did you let him go ahead of you?!

As you continued to stumble over tree roots and unforeseen rocks, your eyes eventually caught sight of the ocean.

You had to be close!

You continued to trudge forward, your new boots practically covered in dirt. As you made your way into the clearing, you saw Laurance polishing his sword, his hair tied up into a small ponytail.

While you approached him, you stepped on a twig, alerting him of your presence.

“Took you long enough.” He smirked, raising his head to look at you. “For a minute I was beginning to think you stood me up.”

You scoffed, taking off your satchel and placing it next to what seemed to be the bag of rations he had brought. “Maybe I would have gotten here sooner if someone had at least made it more obvious where this “secret” area was.” 

“You do know what the word secret means, do you not?” He chuckled. “And besides, I’m sort of glad you had to stumble through the woods by yourself. I mean, just look at the state you’re in right now!” He held back a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand as he pointed at you.

You quickly looked around your clothes, seeing countless spots of dirt littered across it, before patting your head to find leaves scattered amongst your hair. You picked out as many twigs from your hair as you could before finally dusting yourself off.

You swung your head back towards his direction with a pout. “I can’t stand you.”

He smiled at the comment, before standing up with his sword in hand, throwing away the cloth he used to polish the blade beforehand.

“So, are you ready to face the all mighty, powerful Laurance?” You guffawed at the comment. “My, it seems you're even more full of yourself than usual.” You unsheathed your own blade in response.

As the two of you began to circle the area, an unspoken commencement of the training between you two, you kept distance from the brunette as you surveyed his moves.

You kept watching his stance, waiting for an opening, until out of chance his foot slipped up just slightly.

Perfect.

You lept towards him, raising your blade above your head before bringing it down with such might that even he was surprised. 

He blocked it easily, sure, but his stance was still unstable. Your first move had caused him to move his feet to re-adjust himself.

A great play indeed.

Your eyes watched as he let his feet move back.

He must have sensed your motives, as his eyes followed yours to his feet. Of course, being the trained guard he was, he wasn’t about to just let you defeat him so easily from a minor slip-up.

The Shadow Knight decided to turn the tables on you, swooping beneath your own feet, causing you to slam into the ground.

He followed you soon after, pushing his sword against yours whilst on top of you. Your eyes trailed over his body, trying to find a weak spot to escape your soon defeat.

Soon, your eyes landed on the side of his lower abdomen, and your foot instinctively kicked him, causing him to fall off to the side.

You took the chance and jumped onto him, your knee pinning down the arm in which he held his sword, with your own blade aimed at his neck.

As you straddled his waist, pinning him down by your blade, you couldn’t help but breath heavily.

“I won.” You smiled, watching as his light blue eyes never left your own. “I won!” You repeated, only this time cheering.

He smirked as you took pride in your victory. “Really? Because right now it really feels like I won.” His eyes wandered, looking you up and down.

You couldn’t help but slightly flush, realizing the position the two of you were in. “You know I can slit your throat if I wanted to, right?” “And yet you don’t seem to be doing it.” He smiled smugly. “Seems to me that you might care for little ol’ Laurance.”

You rolled your eyes as you sheathed your sword back within your scabbard. “In your dreams.” You responded, before turning to get off of the knight.

That was when he grabbed your hand, pulling you flush against him, before he rolled you both over; switching your positions.

As he towered over you on the ground, he brought his hand to your cheek, cupping it gently, before whispering your name.

Your face flushed, the color change obvious enough for Laurance to notice with a smirk. He began to lean down, closing in the proximity between the two of you.

Before simply plucking a stray leaf from your hair.

“You missed a spot.” This. Asshole.

The look of disappointment seemed to have shown as your face, as his smug grin grew even wider. “Hm? What’s wrong? You look a bit frustrated.” He teased, basking in the fruits of his actions.

You puffed your cheeks, sighing. “You know, if you’re thinking about doing something, just go ahead and do it instead of humiliating me.”

A confused look spread across his face before he smiled again, leaning closer to you. “So you do want me.”

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

It took only a moment for that to process in his brain before he swooped in and planted his lips upon yours.

Your heart fluttered as you felt Laurance battle to take the lead. His lips almost fight against yours as if you were dueling once more.

At some point, you decided to just let him win, seeing as you beat him in your duel.

That’s when he turned you over, both of you laying on your sides as his hands flew to grip your hips. The action caused you to let out a gasp on Laurance's lips, which he took as an opportunity to let his tongue explore. His knee popped up in response, placing itself between your thighs.

You felt like you were going to die. From the way he kissed you, to the grip he had on your hips, and the friction he was causing between your legs? Oh my Irene, it was incredible.

As he pulled back to take a breath, you suddenly realized the two of you were outside… anyone could see you.

But your worries were quickly assuaged as you realized… This place was secret after all.

@lovelaurs, 2024. do not repost this work in any way!

[dearjoons]

⚔️ KNIGHT!JIMIN HEADCANNONS

warnings: yearning and pining. knight!jimin x princess!reader. if ur heartstrings aren’t tugging, i haven’t done my job.

lulu speaks: request by @rosequartzz77 !! i actually had a namjoon ver. of this in my drafts as well as a cai bot on my page soooo !! check that out if you’d like.

☾ knight!jimin who drops to one knee and bows his head every time he addresses you, even when you beg him not to be so formal.

☾ knight!jimin who always stands just a little too close, hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes scanning the crowd like he’d fight off an army for you.

☾ knight!jimin who calls you “your highness,” but it burns on his tongue—because he wants to say your name like a lover would.

☾ knight!jimin who bowed so deeply his forehead nearly touched your slipper the day he was appointed your guard. you gently told him to rise—and when his eyes met yours, it was the first time he ever forgot to breathe in full armor. he swore loyalty to the crown, but it was you he meant in his heart.

☾ knight!jimin who sharpens his sword when suitors arrive. you’ll hear the angry thrashing of steel against stone echoing through the ballroom form a nearby armory.

☾ knight!jimin who secretly teaches you how to wield a dagger just in case he isn’t there to protect you someday.

☾ knight!jimin who refuses to leave your side when you’re ill. not for food, not for sleep, not for orders. when you wake, pale and weak, he kisses your hand softly while you pretend to still be asleep.

☾ knight!jimin who turns away when you undress for a royal fitting, face red and jaw tight, even though your lady-in-waiting assures him it’s routine. he simply says, voice low and strained, “i dare not look upon her in such state. ’tis not mine right.”

☾ knight!jimin who would carry you through mud, over rivers, into fire—without hesitation. when your carriage breaks, and you jokingly say “well, someone must carry me,” he doesn’t laugh. he simply lifts you in his arms, voice low: “as thou commandest, my princess.”

☾ knight!jimin who steps in front of a lord’s outstretched hand when the man tries to touch your waist. the man scoffs, “i meant no offense.” and jimin bows, cold and sharp, eyes hard: “and yet, offense was taken. her highness is not to be touched without leave.”

☾ knight!jimin who sees you in a gown stitched in gold. that night, he dreams of unlacing it—only to wake before his lips ever reach your skin.

☾ knight!jimin who walks a step behind you in the gardens, carrying your cloak, your books, a flower he picked just in case you liked the color.

☾ knight!jimin who falls asleep seated at your bedside when you’re unwell, fingers curled loosely around yours on top of the covers, armor long since abandoned.

☾ knight!jimin who trains beside the royal pond, shirt discarded, hoping you’ll pass by and notice—but never bold enough to call you over.

☾ knight!jimin who when you’re away for a week, his bed remains untouched. he trains until his knees give out, collapses in armor, dreams of the way your fingertips grazed his cheek months ago.

☾ knight!jimin who would give you everything. his sword. his life. his soul. but the one thing he won’t take—unless you command him to—is your heart. because he still believes a princess deserves a prince, not a guard’s love.

lulu speaks pt2: um HI I LOVE HIM. REQUESTS ARE OPEN AND WELCOMED 😌

cai bot. masterlist. navigation.

[oh-good]

Lords and Ladies by Terry Pratchett is good because all gentle women who are treated like doormats should be allowed to raid an armory and the go absolutely berserk on some bitches

[loveharlow]

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [8.5k] based on Netflix’s Outer Banks Season 2 Episode 10

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, general obx warnings, graphic depictions of injuries/blood, mild violence

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

NOW PLAYING‧₊

“IT’S SO HOT IN HERE…” You groaned, fanning yourself as you slumped against the side of the receptacle. You’d all been enclosed in the space for well over two hours at this point and the exhaustion was starting to settle in…as well as the agitation.

“Nice work, John B.” JJ said sarcastically as you leaned on the blonde's shoulder while he glared at his best friend. “Y’know, these things lock from the outside, right?”

“I was just trying to get us on the boat, JJ…” John B groaned, forehead pressed against the metal wall as he stood limply. “I wasn’t thinking that far ahead.”

“Now we’re stuck in here...like rats.” JJ argued, tone short. 

“It’s hot…” Kiara exasperated, stripping off her jacket.

“Okay, JJ, you’re not helping.” Pope dismissed, annoyed as beads of sweat trailed down the sides of his face. He was gripping a random bar, holding on for dear life. 

“You don’t have a whole lotta room to talk, right now, Pope.” JJ retorted. “You said you had a plan but what happened to thinking ahead?” 

“I find your lack of self-knowledge very disturbing.” Pope shot back through heavy breaths. 

“Ohh, okay.” JJ laughed humorlessly, standing from his spot. “Last time I checked-”

“Oh, my God. Shut up!” You and Kiara reprimanded simultaneously — you tugging so hard on JJ’s arm that you managed to get the boy to sit back down as Kie slammed her arm between the two. “Instead of arguing,” You started. “How about we try to find a way out of here?” You offered, mildly agitated yourself.

“We can take the bridge.” JJ offered, shrugging carelessly. You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration, turning towards your boyfriend stiffly, sighing.

“...What?” 

“The bridge. It’s like killing a snake — we go for the head. And I happen to know that there’s an armory on this ship. I’m talking grenades, SMG’s-”

“Killing everyone here is not an option.” You stopped JJ bluntly, looking the blonde in his eyes. You sighed once more, walking away in an attempt to recollect yourself, isolating yourself from the group and wandering into the very back of the shipping container.

“Well, what’re we supposed to do-”

“We can’t do anything until we find a way out of here, JJ.” John B told the boy. 

You tuned out the boy’s conversation as your eyes found a beam of light coming from behind a mountain of crates and boxes. The observation stopped you in your tracks, squinting your eyes as your thoughts raced. Without hesitation, you began moving the objects out of your way to get to whatever was shining behind them.

After a few minutes, you finally got to what you were looking for — your eyes going wide. “Guys…” You tried, but your voice went unheard over the bickering of the two boys.

“Guys!” You snapped, eyes on your friends on the other end of the container. Their voices came to a halt, all eyes on you as you used your head to motion them over.

“She’s got somethin’.” JJ mumbled as the four of them walked over to you, now able to see what you were seeing.

“Can we fit through that?” You asked smugly, motioning for the window you’d uncovered. 

“Hell yeah.” JJ chuckled, squeezing your arm proudly. “And uh, what about that swiss army knife 'not coming in handy'?” JJ asked sarcastically in John B’s direction, holding his pocket knife in between his fingers — the perfect tool to pry the grate off of the window.

“Just shut up.” JB rolled his eyes as JJ used one of the crates on the ground as a step stool to get high enough to start rooting out the metal grate.

“Okay, sooo…we raid the armory, get weapons, roll back here, and plot the next move?” Pope confirmed with the group as JJ worked, to which everyone nodded tiredly.

“The armory is on the third deck, near the laundry room. Let’s roll.” JJ verified, fingers hooked into the unscrewed grate, ready to pull it off. 

“Hold up.” Pope started, looking around at all of you as JJ stopped in his tracks. “I don’t think we should all go out there…” He cringed. “It’s too risky.”

“What?” JJ said incredulously. “How?”

“...I think you should stay here.” JB added, eyes on your boyfriend. “I have Sarah that I’m gonna go after. And Pope has-”

“The cross.” Pope finished for him. 

“Yeah…” JJ said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Let’s go get it.”

“Also, if you go out there, there’s a one-hundred percent probability that you’re gonna do something stupid.” John B shrugged.

“Okay, first of all, I think the correct terminology is ‘ballsy’-” JJ tried only to be cut off.

“Okay, get down here-” Pope urged, tugging on the blonde’s arm.

“No. Get off-” JJ whisper-yelled as he snatched his arm away but hopped down off the crate anyway. “Dude, I’m a field player.”

“Shhh.” John B demanded. “Look, if we go out there and we get in a bind, we need somebody to look out for us. That’s what we need-”

JJ scoffed, unbelievably. “Okay, I get it, I get it.” He dismissed, jutting out his bottom lip as he trotted over to you, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “Fine. I’ll stay here. Single out the one who got your asses out of the container, cool.” He said. "I’ll be on B team, ‘s fine.”

“I never said B team.” John B said bluntly, blinking.

“Sorry, are you calling me B team?” You asked, mildly offended as you looked up at the blonde, crossing your arms.

“You’re not B team, baby, of course not. I was just-”

“Did ‘B Team’ not just find our way out? Or am I, like, totally losing it?” You asked rhetorically, looking around the cabin with your hands up in surrender. 

“Look, we’re just saying we need people to hang back and hold down the fort.” Pope clarified, hands clasped in front of him. 

“Great, fine. It’s fine, I’ll just stay here with my girl.” JJ smiled annoyedly, throwing an arm over your shoulders as your arms returned to their crossed position.

“Oh, now you wanna stay back with B Team?” You sassed, raising your eyebrows.

“Will you please-” JJ tried before being cut off by Kiara.

“Guys.” She said firmly. “Chill. Look, John B and Pope wanna go alone? Fine. I’ll stay here with Y/N and JJ, I’ll babysit.”

“You guys have fun. It’s your funeral, your game. We’ll be in here, on the bench…” JJ taunted, shrugging nonchalantly as he released his hold on you and walked back to the front of the container.

You watched as John B and Pope climbed the crates on the floor up to the opened window, one behind the other as John B moved the metal grate to the side. 

“Don’t...get shot?” Kie said, attempting to offer some kind of comfort.

“...Don’t get shot.” Pope reiterated sassily, pulling his lips into a thin line. “That’s…disheartening and scary.”

Kie simply shrugged. “It’s all I got.”

“Okay, let’s go.” John B whispered, poking his head out of the window like a dog. “Pope, grab my feet.”  He instructed in a whisper before launching himself out of the window before bothering to make sure the boy in question even had a hold on him. 

“Oh, Jesus-” Pope cursed, watching as his friend fell face first out of the window — you and Kie’s jaws going slack. It seemed John B had managed to catch himself, however, considering there was no screaming or cursing as his entire frame seemed to slide the rest of the way out of the window.

Seconds passed before Pope followed suit, carefully sliding himself out of the small opening. You were quick to tip toe up the crates, hearing unknown voices from the outside which prompted you to carefully replace the metal grate, praying it wouldn’t dislodge itself. 

Letting the object set itself, you turned to face the two people you remained locked inside with, sighing heavily to yourself when you realized how awkward this would be — even if all parties didn’t realize it. 

“...’s just us.” You sighed with a grimace, hopping down off the grates. “Now, we wait.”

NOT EVEN THIRTY MINUTES INTO CAMPING OUT, OR “KEEPING WATCH", THE THREE OF YOU WERE SWEATING BULLETS. Kiara had isolated herself on the complete other side of the container — whether it was to give you and JJ space or avoid you, you weren’t entirely sure. A part of you wondered if you should tell JJ about Kiara’s confession, if that was the right thing to do as a girlfriend. But the other part figured that it wasn’t your place as Kiara’s friend, no matter how rocky of a hill the friendship currently stood on.

“I’ve been thinking,” JJ started after half an hour of silence — you were resting your head in his lap, hands splayed across your stomach as he laid his head back against a stack of boxes and crates. “When all this is over, and we’re just rollin’ in the dough, I’m gonna get a new board.” He concluded, lanky fingers playing in your hair. “I’m gonna deck it out, and I’m gonna go on a surf trip.” He smiled to himself in thought as you stared up at him. “I don't know where,” He shrugged. “But, like, the world’s calling…I don’t know. Name a place.” He requested, blue eyes looking down at you.

You pondered for a moment, fingers tapping on the surface of your stomach before you settled on an answer — eyes meeting his with a small smile. “Spain.”

He beamed, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “Then after Spain?”

“...South America.” You said, pouting your lips in thought. “Or South Africa.” You shrugged with a smirk.

“And then Micronesia, maybe? And then we…just ride.” He sighed dreamily. You couldn’t help the pure admiration blooming in your eyes, unable to unglue them from the boy above you as he got consumed by his own daydream. You liked seeing JJ happy. He deserved it.

“Wherever the wave takes you?” You asked, voice soft and full of adoration. 

Your voice seemed to snap him out of his stupor, the blonde looking down at you once more to find your big eyes staring at him like everything you’d ever wanted. Everything he'd ever wanted. “Wherever the waves takes us.” He corrected.

“So, that’s the plan if we were to get a ton of cash? That’s it?” You inquired. “That’s the dream? Surf trip?”

The blonde simply nodded. “Rippin’ jungle break all day long. Bamboo hut, cooking a fish on a fire, and after that, you go back out and hit the waves again.” He smiled once more to himself, dropping his hand to brush his thumb over the curvature of your jaw. “That’s the dream.” 

“Sounds perfect.” You cooed, putting one of your hands over his. Subconsciously, you let your head fall to the side, finding Kie’s eyes across the shipping container. Her own sad, brown eyes were glued where you and JJ’s hands were connected — fleeting between his featherlight touch on your jaw and your fingers on top of his. There was an indecipherable look in her eyes, a look that made your stomach turn in the worst ways.

You loved JJ. But you hated hurting Kiara. And you wonder if being in a position like this would ever get any easier.

The sound of tapping and Pope’s voice broke you from your thoughts. “Hey, hey,” He whispered, face nearly pressed against the grate. “Open it.” He instructed in a whisper, Kiara being the first one to get up in order remove the barrier, allowing the boy into the container. You and JJ stood to get closer to the two, watching as Pope climbed through the opening. 

“You need help?” Kiara offered her friend.

“I’m good.” He strained out a polite denial of the offer, landing on his feet inside the space.

“I thought Rafe got you guys for sure.” Kie worried, shoving her hands in her back pockets. 

“No, we’re chill.” Pope whispered, peeking out of the window once more before letting John B in after him, the brunette struggling a bit to climb back in. 

“All right.” You sighed, finishing your mental headcount. “Let’s put the grate back on.” You suggested as JB landed on his feet.

“No, wait.” Pope held out a hand, prompting you to wait a second. 

Your eyes furrowed at this. “What?”

“Hold on to it.” Pope instructed, eyes focused on the opening as if he was waiting for something. Or someone.

“No, put it back.” Kie urged, ready to replace the grate. Suddenly, a girl appeared in front of the square opening — a pretty, brown-skinned girl, covered in sweat. Your face immediately contorted into one of confusion upon registering her presence.

“Jesus Christ!” She whisper-shouted, taking in each of you one by one before her eyes landed on John B. “I kill you, John B!” She threatened with her accent, climbing into the shipping container as you all backed up to make room for her.

“Who is this?” Kie whispered, eyes on Pope. 

“Just relax, okay?” John B got Kie’s attention on him. “I told you I had a surprise.”

“When did you say that, exactly?” You asked, eyes permanently pinched together as you instinctively backed into JJ for comfort. 

“Who is she? What’s going on?” Kiara interrogated, voice becoming something between angry and frantic. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” John B coaxed, planting his hands on the girl’s shoulders to stabilize her. “Kie, relax.” He tried, tone lowering as he seemed to calm her. “Remember I told you about the girl we met in the Bahamas that saved us?” He asked, eyes connecting with all of yours.

“Uh…Cleo, yeah?” Kiara answered, earning a nod from John B.

Your eyes went to the girl standing on the makeshift stairs, pointing as you gained her attention with the movement. “That’s you?” You asked.

She offered a simple nod in response, allowing John B to continue talking. “She’s gonna help us.” He told Kie before turning to Cleo herself. “...Right?”

“Next time, ask me.” Cleo reprimanded your friend in a low, annoyed tone. This girl didn’t necessarily give you a bad vibe, but this seemed to be working out in your favors a little too well.

“John B.” You started, eyes on his as you jutted your head towards the back of the container and away from the group. “Can I talk to you?” The boy drew his lips into a thin line as he followed you to the back of the container, leaving the remaining four up front.

“What’s wrong?” Your friend asked impassively.

‘What’s wrong?” You asked incredulously, eyes fleeting quickly between your friends and the unknown girl as you took one step closer. “John B, we don’t know this girl. How do you know she’s actually going to help us?”

He immediately began shaking his head, his hands out in front of you to stop your ranting. “I know, it’s risky.” He assured you. “But that girl saved me and Sarah’s lives in the Bahamas. I know you guys don’t know her but I trust her.” He explained. “Do you trust me?”

You pondered for a moment, chewing the inside of your lip as your foot tapped incessantly on the floor — eyes flying back and forth between Cleo and your friends. “...You know I do.”

John B nodded, a pompous smile on his face. “Okay. So, trust me when I say that you can trust her.” He said simply.

You clenched your jaw as you eyed the girl from feet away as she conversed with your friends. 

“...Fine.” You caved, sighing and untensing your body. “But if this is a bad call, it’s your bad call.” You warned before walking away and rejoining the group as JB trailed close behind. 

“You seriously grabbed nothing?” JJ said in surprise, the group continuing the conversation you and John B had missed a chunk of. “Not even a single gun?”

John B sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leaned on some netting hanging from the ceiling. “We tried, okay? I got attacked.”

“This is why I should’ve gone with.” JJ sassed, shrugging from his place beside you. 

“Let me get this straight,” Cleo inserted herself into the boys' bickering. “You five, with no weapons, decided you were gonna hijack this tramp steamer on your own?” She asked, unbelievably. “Do you have any idea who these people are?” She asked, something between anger and fear in her eyes. “Eberhimi? If he catch you, he’s gonna kill you.” She warned. “Dead. Cut off ya fingers.” She exaggerated. Or...maybe not.

“Okay…” Kiara started. “What about waiting until we get to port?” She threw out. “At least then, if something goes wrong, we have a place to run.” 

“No.” Pope shook his head almost immediately. “No, we can’t do that.”

“Why?” Kiara shrugged in offense. 

“Because I’ve run the scenario over one-thousand times in my head, and our best chances are on this ship. There’s fifteen crew members and six of us,-”

“Exactly.” Kiara quipped.

“Three-to-one odds.” Pope said bluntly. “That’s the best it’s gonna get. If we wait ‘til we get there, they’re gonna trap us.”

“We have no chance.” Kiara argued with his logic. 

“No, Kie, there’s something else.” John B added. “...Ward’s alive.”

You couldn’t control the way your neck snapped in the boy’s direction, an immediate wave of confusion and pure anger washing over you. “Excuse me, what?” You spat as the rest of your friends stood frozen, waiting for John B to elaborate on just exactly what the hell he meant. 

“He’s alive, and he’s on this boat.” 

“What?” Kiara finally spoke.

“I fucking knew it.” You scoffed, overcome with disbelief as you turned away from the group, shaking your head. 

“You gotta be kidding me.” JJ scoffed.

“...Are you serious?” Pope asked in a whispered tone. 

John B just nodded despondently. “It was all a setup.” He shrugged. “Blowing up the boat, his confession to Shoupe? Think about it.” He explained. “That was to clear Rafe’s name. And he does what? Goes to the Druthers. And what’s on the Druthers?”

“Scuba gear.” You answered, voice tight as you turned back around, clicking your teeth. 

John B grimaced, tilting his head to the side. “Bingo.” 

“So, Ward’s alive, huh?” JJ started, tone indecipherable. “And he has the gold…and the cross…and Sarah.” He listed, walking to the center of the group. 

“Thanks for rubbing that in.” Kie retorted, rolling her eyes. 

“So, he’s just gonna get away with everything again, huh? Rafe, too?” He provoked, looking at each of you as he spoke. 

You immediately shook your head, a look of borderline disgust on your face. “No.” You threw out. “No, hell no.” You reiterated, tone much more firm this time. “We’re not watching this movie again. Okay? Pope? John B? Do you hear me?” You continued. “You said we need the win. You said that Pope.” You reminded the boy, taking a few steps into his space. “And with her?” You pointed to Cleo. “We’re going to the bridge, and we’re gonna take it. Are you with me?”

“...Let’s do it.” John B opted in, eyes focused on his feet as he took your words in.

“I’m with you.” Pope assured, eyes meeting yours. “And I wanna be the one to take that bridge.” He made abundantly clear.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” JJ praised, cupping your neck and pulling you in to place a quick, proud kiss on your cheek. 

“He’s gonna take the bridge?” Cleo chuckled, referring to Pope. “He couldn’t even take me.”

“Okay, first of all, I was going easy on you-” Pope tried to defend. 

“I went easy on you.” Cleo asserted herself, pointing at the boy.

You all shushed the bickering teens, careful not to be too loud. 

“Relax.” John B directed as JJ began talking, eyes on Cleo.

“If you’re really with us, if we use that knife,” He started, referring to the weapon in the girl’s hand. “We can go up into the bridge, hold it up against the captain’s neck, then we go on the intercom and make him tell the rest of the crew to meet up in the forward hull.” He explained his logic. And for once, his plan didn’t sound so bad. “Once they’re in the same place, bam, we lock ‘em in there and take back what’s ours.” 

Pope nodded, thinking about JJ’s words. “I like it.” He agreed. “It could work.”

“...Are you with us, then?” JJ pressed Cleo, stepping even closer and making unwavering eye contact with the girl. 

“No.” She said without much thought before turning to look at John B, directing her next words at him. “This is stupid.” 

“All right, let’s open these things up!” A voice boomed from outside the container, startling all of you as your gazes whipped in the same direction. 

“...They’re checking the containers.” Kiara stated the obvious. Cleo wasted no time in climbing the stair of crates and peeking outside the “window” before removing the grate. Your heart raced as you watched her quick movements — was she about to rat you all out?

“”Wait. No, Cleo.” Pope tried.

“What are you doing?” Kiara hissed. 

Cleo shushed the pair, carefully placing the large piece of metal on the ground. The five of you watched with anticipation as the girl climbed out of the window, hearing metal clanking from the outside as you presumed the men had begun to open up your crate to search next. 

“Piece of shit’s stuck.” One of the men complained. Good, you thought to yourself.

“Macias!” Cleo bellowed as her feet hit the ground, the girl disappearing out of sight for the most part. 

“She’s gonna tell them. Shit!” Pope automatically assumed the worst. 

“Hold up!” Cleo’s voice boomed from outside as you instinctively covered the opening, also assuming the worst. Until you heard her voice again. “This one’s clear, sir.” She said to the men, the sound of metal clanking from the outside coming to a halt with her words. 

“...You sure?”

“Went through it inch by inch. Nothing but tubing and plastics in there.” You all shared smug smiles of amusement. Maybe you could trust her.

“What if the stowaway had been in there?” The guy pressed.

“Well, he wasn’t, so…” She replied. “C’mon, man. We have work to do. Move your bumper, man.” She dismissed the crew member. And it wasn’t long until you heard footsteps coming back your way.

“Okay…” Pope started. “She’s on our side. That’s good.” 

“Okay, Pope, you’re up.” JJ patted his friend on the back, watching as Pope removed the metal covering once more, revealing Cleo on the other side as she whistled to signal her return. “We’ll wait for your signal, okay?” Pope nodded before turning to the girl waiting outside for him.

“Come on.” She urged, helping the boy out of the container. 

“Thanks for that, by the way.” He showed his gratitude to your new found companion, their voices still close enough to hear. “I don’t know why you did that, but I’m not gonna argue.” He told her. “...Why’d you do that?” 

“Not for charity.” Cleo told him honestly. “Just figure I’m better off with you guys than with Eberhimi.” 

“Right.”

“And now you guys owe me a cut of that treasure.” 

“...That’s fair.”

“All right.” The pair concluded. “How we takin’ over this fort, Chief?”

“...Can I borrow your knife?” Pope asked. 

“...I got a better idea.” Cleo denied. “Come on.” And that was the last of the conversation you all could hear before the sound of their footsteps retreating was heard.

ABOUT TEN MINUTES PASSED BEFORE YOU HEARD IT. 

“Attention, all passengers, all crew, report to the tween forward hull. That’s an order.” The four of you remaining in the crate, shared looks before putting your ears to walls of the enclosed space. “Repeat. All hands and all passengers report to the tween forward hull immediately.” 

There it was — Pope’s signal.

“They did it. They took the bridge.” John B smiled.

“That’s our boy. “JJ applauded, him and John B immediately removing the metal grate for what you hoped to be the last time. “Alright, we split up. Once they’re all in the hull, Y/N and I will lock them inside.”

John B nodded in agreement. “I’ll find Sarah and get the lifeboat.” He informed. 

“What about me?” Kie asked, eyes wide as they went between John B and the pair of you and JJ.

“...Come with us.” You told the girl, your eyes locked with hers. It was a silent gesture, a speechless truce — your way of letting her know that you were both okay. She nodded, a tiny smile on her lips.

“Alright.” She took the offer. 

You nodded in her direction before looking to John B. “We’ll load the cross, meet you, and get outta here.”

“Okay.” JJ gathered you all’s attention. “Let’s roll.” He led the group of you, leaning out of the window and using the barrels below to help himself out. Once he was on the ground, he turned around — hands outstretched to help you out, assistance that you gratefully accepted. John B followed after you and Kiara was the last one out.

The four of you wasted no time in bolting in the direction that Pope and Cleo had gone previously, following JJ as he led you all to the forward hull. John B had already managed to separate himself as soon as you entered the ship, quick on the start of his search to find Sarah.

You, Kie, and JJ ducked behind the walls on either side of the door when you reached the hull. You and Kie on one side, JJ on the other. You heard voices grow as the room filled with passengers and crew members.

“Hey, what the hell is this all about?”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with that stowaway, does it?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

“Psst.” JJ aimed to get your attention - your wide, adrenaline filled eyes going to him as you tried not to move a muscle. “How many?” He whispered. You and Kie took a quick glance into the hull, doing a quick count before turning back to your boyfriend as you both held up three fingers simultaneously. 

The three of you peeked, watching as the room filled with person after person. 

“What’s goin’ on, man?”

“I don’t know. Waitin’ on the captain.”

“He’s supposed to be down here.”

Over the mess of voices, one in particular caught your attention. 

“Where are we going? Where’s dad?” Wheezie? The girl’s meek voice caused you to peek further into the door, watching as the girl in question followed Rose into the hull, both of them being followed by Rafe. 

“I don’t know, Wheezie.” Rose sighed.

You watched them approach the final door to the hull, hiding back behind it in order to not be seen or spotted as Rafe paused in his tracks, whipping his head to the side, just nearly missing the sight of you three. Once you heard footsteps, you assumed he’d gone inside — taking the risk and peeking to find the family of three completely out of sight.

Turning to face JJ, you spoke as low as you could. “That’s all of the crew.”

But he shook his head. “Except Ward.” The blonde reminded you. “We need Ward.”

As much as you agreed, closing the door now was your best bet before the crew got suspicious. “We can’t wait.”

JJ seemed to sit on the thought for a moment before caving in, motioning for you and Kie to help him close the door. With no hesitation, the three of you ran inside and used all of your collective strength to push the door shut, the people inside immediately reacting to the creaking of the metal door.

“Hey!”

“Oh my God!”

Crew members began to throw themselves against the door in an attempt to keep it open and overtake you three, but you had already gained the upper hand. For the most part. Once the door was shut, you and Kie held it down while JJ locked it.

You all left out breaths of relief until you heard one of the voices on the other side.

“Check the other door!”

You, Kiara, and JJ all shared mutual looks of shock before jumping into action, running around to the other side of the hull, almost tripping over one another in the process. 

JJ himself took the lead, managing to shut and lock the door completely by himself before the men inside even had the chance. You all looked at one another, sharing the same victorious smile before going off and taking the ladder down into a lower part of the ship where the cross was being held. 

“Time to jack this loot.” JJ clapped his hands together and rubbed them together in true klepto fashion, being the first one down the ladder.  You followed his lead, watching as he stopped in front of a cloth-covered coffin. JJ didn’t wait a second before uncovering the box, revealing the cross you all had lost. “There she is.” He cooed, staring down at the golden masterpiece.

Your eyes locked with his, the two of you sharing a look. “Surf trip?” He asked lovingly. 

“Surf trip.” You winked, the two of you carrying out a complex handshake. 

However, the three of you paused — hearts jumping out of your chests when the ceiling opened up. But your fear quickly turned to relief when you made out Pope’s frame standing above you, smiles breaking out on your faces.

The pure relief in your chests prompted a chorus of laughs to ring out, eyes on the boy standing above you with unadulterated determination on his face. You all started cheering, forgetting how important discreteness was to this plan.

“Whoo!”

“Whooooo!”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Let’s go!”

You all applauded how well the plan was going. For the first time, it felt like something was going right. In your favor. Maybe the Kooks didn’t always win. Maybe the Pogues didn’t always lose. 

“The time where people do shit to us and we just sit back and take it is over.” Pope declared, standing above you all like a public figure.

“That’s my boy!” JJ praised, punching the air. “Let’s get this done, baby!” 

You three watched as Pope climbed his way to the top of the crane, seating himself and watching as the machine came to life. The trio of you got the cross ready for pick up and drop off, wrapping a loop around the cross with thick fabric, securing it. 

“Take her up, Pope!” JJ shouted from below once the large piece of treasure was ready to go. You all watched in awe as Pope used the heavy machinery to lift the gold, watching it sway violently from side to side on its way up.

“Slow, Pope!” You hollered, watching the cross nearly hit the sides of the ship. “Slowly!”

“Bring her in the middle!” Kie instructed, using the short rope JJ had tied around the bottom to help Pope guide it. Pope did as he was told, but way too fast, sending the cross flying to the middle of the opening in the ceiling, taking JJ with it.

“No! Too far!” You shouted, chasing the cross while trying to lend JJ a hand at the same time. “Too far, Pope!” 

“Sorry!” The boy shouted from the crane operating cubicle. “My bad!”

Once JJ was on his feet, you, him, and Kiara helped to guide the cross to the actual middle. 

“Hey!” A fifth voice chimed in, your heads shooting in the direction of it — watching as Cleo ran around the corner, standing above you all where Pope was just moments before. “Send it up, Pope. You got it!”

“Did John B get the lifeboat?!” Pope questioned from his place above you all.

“I don’t see him!” Cleo replied back loudly, shrugging confusedly. 

“Where’s Sarah?!” Pope questioned further as the three of you keeping the cross stabilized, the boy earning no response from the girl as she waved a hand to dismiss his interrogation.

“Hurry!” Cleo commanded. The three of you watched as Pope lifted the cross, the piece of treasure getting higher and higher in the sky. “Wow…” Cleo's eyes twinkled at the sight of the cross, this being her first time seeing the aforementioned treasure. “Send it this way.” She guided Pope.

Once those two had the cross secured to the crane — You, JJ, and Kie’s job here was done. The three of you released your hold on the cross, letting the pair of them do their task without intervention. You led your boyfriend and best friend around the corner, at the forefront of the three person line, now on your second task to meet John B.

“Clear?” Kie asked, peeking behind you. You eyed the scene left and right before nodding at her over your shoulder.

“Clear.” You assured, tip-toeing around the corner and onto the upper deck. You swiftly walked around, looking for where John B and Sarah should've been with the lifeboat. “I don’t see him.” Rounding another corner, you looked around before your heart dropped when Eberhimi, the captain of the ship, descended the stairs.

You and the man made eye contact — challenging and unwavering as he unsheathed a knife. “Of course.” He gritted through his teeth, brows set into a harsh line. “There’s more of you.” He spat, pointing the knife at the three of you. “Get down on your knees.” He ordered.

JJ was the first to speak, drawing his lips into a thin line as his head jutted to the side. “I don’t swing that way. Sorry, bro.”

“In front of my boyfriend?” You couldn’t help but chuckle — being somewhat acclimated to situations like this. “Wow, you’re bold.” You shook your head in pity. 

“Is this a joke to you?” Eberhimi squinted, looking at the group of you like you were out of your minds. “Get on your damn knees!”

“Yeah, not gonna happen.” Kiara denied as the captain’s patience came to an end, the man charging at you all, swinging his machete at all three of you as you managed to collectively dodge the attack. He swung again, to the side this time. An attack that didn’t land, again. 

JJ took the opportunity to pin the captain’s arm against the wall, rendering the older man somewhat defenseless. You and Kiara used your collective strength to replace JJ’s hold on Eberhimi’s arm, allowing your boyfriend to clock the man in his cheek. “Hit him, Y/N!” JJ directed, you giving Kiara the task of keeping the man pinned as you opened the fusebox closest to his face, slamming the door against his features. “Where’s John B?” JJ asked breathlessly, frustration growing with the aforementioned boy's absence.

“John B!” You and Kiara screamed, looking over the edge of the boat for any sign of the lifeboat. “Bree!” You continued screaming, looking back to find JJ engaged in another brawl with the captain. JJ had the upper hand for a moment — dodging hit after hit until Eberhimi managed to get him one good time in the chest, sending your boyfriend flying backwards, watching as he hit his head against the side of the ship.

“Hey!” You jumped into action, running towards the two men. “Don’t fucking touch him!” You warned, running at the man whose attention jumped to you at the sound of your rapid footsteps coming in his direction. He swung at you but you managed to dodge the swing, just narrowly missing being cut with the tip of his blade but now you were disoriented, unaware that your back was to the older man now.

“Y/N!” JJ and Kie called your name at once. You tried to stabilize yourself, turning in the direction of their voices only to come face to face with the man once more, but this time you weren’t as lucky. As you made another attempt to dodge his swing, you failed — a burning sensation blooming down the length of your thigh as his machete made a long, deep incision from the top of your thigh to right above your knee.

“Y/N!” They shouted once more, watching you get semi-mutilated as you let out a heart-wrenching screech, falling to the floor as your own blood started to pool underneath your injured leg. All you could do was sit, dry-heave, and watch as JJ quickly regained full consciousness, getting up and launching himself on to the man's back.

He managed to get the man into a chokehold and away from you, until he was elbowed in the ribs and hit under his chin — rendering the blonde unconscious and sending him flying overboard and into the water. It was like your entire world was moving in slow motion as you watched JJ fall into the water, your heart dropping to your stomach as your only focus became him.

You screamed his name as he fell, you were sure of it. But you couldn’t hear your own voice in your ears. Somewhere in your adrenaline-driven haste, the pain in your leg seemed to dissipate — pushing yourself up and onto your feet. You angry eyes found Eberhimi, limping swiftly in the man’s direction before he had time to register your movements, giving him no time to defend himself as you used your good leg to kick him savagely in the stomach before punching him mercilessly in the face, sending the man to the ground with strength you didn’t know you had.

You immediately turned your sights to Kiara, who stood to the side, shocked. “Where is he?” You asked through heavy breaths, eyes scanning the waters below for any sign of your blonde.

“Y/N, you need to-”

“Where is he?!” You repeated yourself, much less patience in your tone this time. You didn’t mean to yell at her, but JJ needed help. Why couldn’t she see that? Eyes still trained overboard, you spotted a figure floating face down, motionless. “JJ!”

You didn’t think twice — wincing as you lifted yourself up onto the edge of the boat, paying no mind to your own potentially fatal injury before jumping off into the water where you watched your boyfriend’s unconscious body float, hearing Kiara scream your name before your body hit the water.

You were under for seconds before you were able to fight your way to the top, looking around to find JJ floating limply next to you. “J…” You breathed out, struggling to swim to him — the saltwater eliciting the pain receptors in your thigh to work in tandem with your brain again. 

Despite the insufferable burning sensation in your leg, you continued to swim to JJ — scooping him up by his arms when you reached him, now able to flip him onto his back. His eyes were closed and his chest wasn’t moving, which sent you into a panic of your own. “JJ.” You tried, attempting to shake him but it was hard with the water restricting your movements. 

It was also becoming increasingly harder to keep you both afloat by yourself. “JJ, come on!” You groaned, maneuvering so you could use one hand to lightly slap his face. “J, please. Please, don’t do this to me.” You begged, letting the tears you didn’t know were forming fall down your already wet face.

Holding you both afloat was getting harder by the minute and you were sure only one of your legs was working to tread any water. An overwhelming sense of fear started to overtake you every time your chin dipped below the surface of the waves, wondering how long you could do this. “JJ, please.” You cried, sniffling. “You’re scaring me. I need you, okay?” You breathed. “I can’t lose anyone else.” You whined, crying harder by the second. “I can’t lose you.”

Suddenly, there was a splash in the water next to you, Kiara’s head popping up within seconds as she shook the water from her hair. A part of you wanted to ask her what took her so long but the other was grateful that she came down at all.

“Let him go.” She instructed breathlessly. You looked at her like she was insane, paying no mind to your own vision that was starting to spot. You were losing too much blood, you realized. But you had bigger things to worry about it. You’d be fine, you told yourself.

“No.” You shook your head, holding JJ closer to you. “No, I need to keep him above the water-"

“He’ll float.” Kiara told you, treading water. “He’s already unconscious so he won’t breathe any more water in. But if you try and hold him up, you’ll drown.”

“I’ll be fine-”

“Y/N, you have to-”

“No, I don’t!” You argued, vision going blurry as you shook your head to re-stabilize it. “I’ll keep him up until we find the others.” You told her. “I’m not letting him go.” Kiara seemed to accept her defeat, opting to share some of the burden of JJ’s weight — moving to hold up the other half of his body.

“Where’s John B?” You asked, voice slipping under.

“I - I don’t know.” Kiara sighed. “John B!” She screamed, looking around as you continuously blinked to try and keep yourself awake. “John B! Help!”

You figured all hope was lost until the sound of a boat engine rounded the corner, four blurry figures coming into view. 

“There they are!”

“JJ!”

“Kie!”

“Y/N!”

They all called your names as they got closer, the boat slowing next to you.

“No, no, no, no no…” John B repeated, taking notice of JJ’s unconsciousness.

“Why is she so pale?” Pope asked, referring to the way your skin had lost all pigment and undertones, leaving you looking like a ghost. "How long have you guys been in the water? Is she hypothermic?"

“Help me get them up.” Kiara demanded, releasing JJ to your friends as they dragged him onto the boat, laying him in the center before they began to help you up, not seconds passing before they took notice of the large, deep gash on your thigh.

“What the hell happened?” John B asked, realizing both of his long-time friends looked like they were on the verge of death.

Once all three of you were on the lifeboat with the others, you immediately pushed your way through your friends to reach JJ, despite their protests that you should sit back down. JJ was flipped onto his back, head elevated against the boat.

You began to tap the side of his face, trying to get a response once more before deciding to go further, clasping your hands together and pushing down on the center of his chest. 

“Here, let me-” Someone offered, you didn’t know who.

“No.” You said quickly. “No, I got it.” You assured weakly, but you could feel yourself slipping away, having to recenter yourself every few seconds. 

“I don’t think you do…” They tried once more, but you ignored them — involuntary or voluntary, you weren’t exactly sure. You continued pushing down on JJ’s chest until you saw droplets of water dribbling down his bottom lip, the sight only motivating to push harder until he started coughing. Only then, did you allow your movements to stop as your boyfriend coughed up whatever liquid had leaked into his lungs from the fall.

A small, weak smile crawled onto your face at the sight, the two of you locking eyes for the briefest of moments. “Hey.” You said softly, leaning back as you finally let yourself breathe. The boy looked at you tenderly before rasping out a response.

“...’Sup?” He said, trying to sound cool, sending you a sly smile before it morphed into concern. “Why are you so pale?” He asked, a hand coming up to caress your cheek.

You shook your head slowly, your eyes closing themselves as you spoke. “...’M fine.” JJ’s eyes went to his friends for answers, realizing you were losing it. Then he remembered — his eyes immediately shooting down to your thigh, the blood still leaking like a waterfall, if not faster.

“Shit.” He cursed, sitting up straighter and pulling you into him. “Help her.” He ordered, holding you tight. “Help her!” Was the last thing you heard before everything went completely black.

THE NEXT TIME YOU OPENED YOUR EYES, you were greeted with the heat and glare of the sun and a dull ache in your right thigh, grains of sand pressing into the back of your legs. Blinking your eyes open carefully, acclamating them to the rays of light, you watched as Pope, JJ, and John B drug the lifeboat to shore. A quick glance down at your thigh had you realizing someone had done their best to construct a makeshift tourniquet to help you out. 

Where you were? You had no idea. But you felt better. Somewhat, anyway.

You watched as the three boys plopped the floatation device on the sand, taking deep breaths from the labor before approaching the four of you girls sitting in the shade.

You didn’t miss the way JJ’s eyes immediately locked with yours, a grateful smile on his pink lips at the sight of you awake. He took a seat next to you, pulling you into his side and planting a kiss on your temple as you cuddled into his embrace. 

“Good to see your pretty eyes again.” He uttered, voice oddly soft and gentle.

You playfully shrugged him, not enough to disrupt his hold on you as you let out a light chuckle. “Get away from me, you flirt.” You joked before returning to a somewhat serious demeanor. “Are you okay?”

The blonde shrugged, sighing and leaning against the tree you perched up against. “Still a lil dizzy. But I’m alright.” He said simply. “How ‘bout you, princess? How’s your leg?” 

You nodded, sighing relief. “Much better.” You told your boyfriend. “Was this you?” You asked, referring to the tourniquet that seemed to be constructed from someone’s sock.

He simply shook his head, jutting out his bottom lip as he motioned his head in Cleo’s direction. “It was all her.” He smiled gratefully. “I think we can trust her. She’s saved three of our lives so far.” 

"Three?" You pondered. "Wouldn't it be four?"

"Nah." He shook his head. "You saved my life. That was all you." The praise made your cheeks go hot, burying half of your face into his chest.

Your eyes found Cleo across the sand, locking eyes with the girl. You sent a sweet smile her way, mouthing a ‘thank you’ her way. The girl simply winked and nodded at you. You had a feeling she’d fit in just fine, if she wanted to stay, that is.

“Might not want to thank me just yet, darlin’.” The girl warned, a sly smile on her face as she leaned against her arms. “We still gotta cauterize that thing.” She pointed to your thigh. “And you can’t be asleep for it.”

A look of terror made its way onto your face as you looked up at JJ, a small action that made the group laugh, a miniscule moment of lightheartedness after the unspoken loss.

“Okay,” JJ came down from his laughter. “Anybody know where we’re at?” 

“Deserted beach.” Pope shrugged, taking a seat next to Cleo. “Unknown island.”

“Alright, I’ll take that as a no.” JJ replied to Pope stating the obvious. “Plan A, huh, Pope? That went well.” JJ sassed, to which you lightly elbowed him in the side.

“This is the lowest we can go.” Pope said, sitting with his hands in his lap, hunched over. “We literally have nothing else to lose.” He laughed, humorlessly. “The cross, gone.”

“The gold, gone.” Sarah added calmly, yet sadly.

“Seriously, if we had a nickel for every time we got beat up, I’d say we’re at a dollar-fifty.” JJ threw out.

Kie shrugged, looking up at the fading cloud as the sunset. “That’s more than I got on me…”

“That somehow doesn’t make me feel better.” Sarah agreed.

“Hey, I’ve got a large coin slot on my leg if anyone wants to make donations.” You joked, earning head shakes at your morbid humor.

“Yeah,” John B finally spoke up. “You’re all right. But, I mean, we’ve…” He shrugged, eyeing all of you. “We’ve had some good stuff happen, right?” 

Pope scoffed. “Name something.”

“Um…” John B pondered, looking at the leaves of the trees. “Uh, the boiler room?” He concluded optimistically. Everyone just stared at him. “What? If the boiler didn’t explode, I wouldn’t have gotten away from Rafe. I couldn’t have gotten the Zodiac and gotten us out here.” He laid out a timeline of cause-and-effect.

“That wasn’t luck.” Cleo started, a knowing smile on her sun kissed face. “That thing was gonna blow the second I stopped feedin’ it.” 

“Stealin’ my thunder, Cleo…” John B said lowly. 

“Sorry.” The girl shrugged shortly. 

“Okay, Pope,” Your friend started again. “You’re related to Denmark Tanny.” He reminded, all of you making faces of agreement at this statement. “That’s crazy-”

“And I lost all his inheritance.” Pope said frustratedly, looking JB in the eyes. 

“...You know what?” John B stood from the log he was perched on. “Guys, this is it. This is the Pogue life.” He dreamed, walking closer to the shore. “We are in the Caribbean. It’s our own little slice of paradise. With my best friends, with my family…” He tried to reel you all in. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t wanna do it with anyone else.” He said, eyes mainly on Sarah. “Look, and while you guys were complaining about every little thing…” He trailed, walking over to you and JJ and kneeling in front of you both. “JJ?”

“Hm?” The blonde holding you hummed in response.

John B simply pointed behind himself and smiled, raising an eyebrow. “I was looking at those burly lefts.”

JJ eyed the water that his best friend was pointing to, trying to hide the smile on his features. “There’s some slabs out there, yeah.”

“Just a few?” John B poked, diverting his attention to someone else. “Kie, you see that? I know you wanna get out there.” He continued taunting. 

“No boards.” The girl rolled her eyes, a small smirk on her features.

“Well, we can…bodysurf ‘til we make some boards.”

She sighed, leaning back. “Lame.”

“Pope?” JB moved his attention once more. “Come on, man.”

“...They do look pretty tasty.” Pope admitted, still trying to hold onto his self-pity. 

“Oh, yes, they do.” The brunette smiled. 

“There’s nobody around.” Pope observed with squinted eyes. “We could squat here for a bit. Kind of belongs to us now, huh?”

“You got a point.” You added, breaking your silence. 

“Six-way split?” Pope inquired, doing a handshake with John B. 

“Poguelandia.” JJ started in a posh accent, smiles breaking out on all of your faces as your boyfriend gently removed himself from your side and repositioned you comfortably against the tree before standing to his full height.

“Oh boy.” John B groaned facetiously. 

“I claim thee Poguelandia.” He continued, leaning his arm against a tree with his swiss army knife in hand. “I like the ring of it.” He said, voice returning to normal. “I’m gonna make a flag, it’s gonna have a chicken on it. With a coconut bra, smokin’ a J...in Crocs.” He described, eliciting small laughs from everyone as they envisioned his soon-to-be work of art.

“I could use a J.” Kiara added.

“As long as you're sharing.” You joked with the girl. "Can't turn down the injured girl. Puff puff pass."

“Can we vote on this?” Sarah smiled.

“Shall we get to work?” Pope offered, talking mainly to JB who was right next to him. 

“...Let’s get to work.” He fist-bumped his friend. “Let’s start working on provisions. Set up shop.” They planned, walking into the thick of the trees. 

“Going full pogue?” JJ asked you, offering a hand to help you up as the others stood.

You smiled, rolling your eyes at him lovingly. “Going full pogue.” You joined, voice strained as you got up, putting as little weight on your leg as possible. The seven of you walked away from where you’d been camped out, leaving your first landmark behind with an ‘X’ to mark the spot, in the shape of ‘P4L’  carved into another tree.

Whatever happened back at home, or would happen, in Kildare, it worried you. You didn’t know what was going on or what would happen days from now, weeks…Months. But it was out of your control. And you weren't sure whether you hated that or loved it. Was “Poguelandia” a final moment of rest or the first step towards you and your friends retribution? 

As you walked, you suddenly remembered a quote John B told you that he got from his dad. It was from Euripides…

“The ocean washes away all the evil men do.”

…But you weren’t sure if that was necessarily true. Maybe, the ocean doesn’t truly “wash away” anything. If anything, the ocean makes you remember.

next chapter >

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

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[serpentface]

Renyari Asinya, member of the Hoüheteni warrior order, posing with a handcannon.

Most of his weapons and armor are self-supplied, though the handcannon is allotted from the Odonii priesthood's armory and the helmet is made to standard as a marker of this warrior order. It's trimmed and caped with the mane of a wildtype lion, rather than the pale to white furred semi-domesticated temple stock. The mane is worn for ceremonial purposes and can be unclipped and removed from the helmet when in combat, though many will choose not to.

Two of three khattanocuy on his belt are rewards for distinction in combat, and the center one is Hoüheteni specific and made with sacrificial temple lionsmane that only Odonii, their blood kin, and their associated warriors are permitted to wear.

---

Imperial Wardin has eleven total major warrior orders, and a couple dozen minor (mostly ceremonial) ones. Warrior status is distinct from being a common footsoldier mobilized in states of active warfare, with warriors having an esteemed social standing and receiving special privileges and command roles over common soldiers. The vast majority of warriors are noblemen (and the inclusion of combat training in the childhood education of male nobility serves to bolster these numbers), though these orders are not outright averse to merit-based induction. Distinguishing yourself in combat as a footsoldier is one of very few avenues of upward mobility for lower class citizens (even peasantry), as induction into a warrior order usually grants a degree of wealth and privilege, and can sometimes entail receiving a sub-nobility lordship status and allotment of land. Captured enemy combatants may (very rarely) be inducted if they demonstrate exceptional prowess and are deemed likely to integrate well and find their given status favorable.

The primary use of these orders over the state's history has been subjugation and maintenance of tributaries, and upkeep of a loose border with the Wogan kingdom of Morihe to the east (with which mutual hostilities are near-constant, though conditions of outright warfare are not). Imperial Wardin has not expanded in any major way (barring its ultimately brief hold of Finnerich) in about a century, so many of these orders have developed functions that are more ceremonial than anything else, and some outright just do petty mercenary work or function as forms of urban law enforcement.

The Hoüheteni are unique among these orders, having originated separately as a class of servants, squires, and guards to the Odonii priesthood and their temples. Their initial roles in combat was just as ceremonial as that of Odonii, being arms bearers and war dancers while their associated priestesses performed their battlefield functions of spiritual guardianship. However, the fact that these squires were not necessarily Restricted to noncombatant roles would routinely lead to instances of them actively engaging and being encouraged to do so. Actual combat training gradually became a requirement for this role and improved their viability in the field.

They achieved their status during the peak expansionist period of the state after its initial formation. They first received major commendation in the process of subjugating the Wermani kingdom, which fought a lengthy war before its rulers finally submitted to tributary status. A group of pre-Hoüheteni squires are known to have helped turn the tide of an ambush in the early stages of the war by taking up weapons of fallen soldiers, with one remembered famously for killing a Wermani lord with a thrown spear at a distance (depending on accounts, this ranges from an impressive 15 meters to a completely ridiculous 40, given he's not described as using a spear-thrower). These men went on to serve increasingly active roles in the fighting for the duration of the war.

The Usoma at the time was Hittsanaebiwa Yanne, who is remembered quite favorably by the general public but has been recorded as as impulsive and unresponsive to cautious counsel. Upon the triumphal return with the spoils of war and first payments of tribute, Hittsanaebiwa singled out and rewarded the pre-Hoüheteni squires by declaring them an official warrior order to the Odonii priesthood, gifting them the full rights and privileges of other warriors (including armament) and granting landed status and command roles to the most distinguished members. He did not, however, place them within the core military structure under his own appointed general, instead moving a few men from other orders to be their commanders and symbolically assigning the Odomache as their general.

This move was not Completely absurd in context. At this time, the Odonii were a fairly decentralized priesthood entirely dependent on the state for its functions, and the role of Odomache was exclusively ceremonial with little to no hard power. In granting the Hoüheteni the status of a warrior order, he was empowering them to be better guardians to their priesthood and a symbolic completion of the concept of Odomache as the protector and ensurer of sovereignty, in creating a warrior order devoted to It specifically. This was also a political move, demonstrating the state's increasing wealth and power by socially and materially rewarding not only the warrior-nobility but the outstanding merit of common folk (these guys were essentially servants, none were nobility) who achieved this conquest. It was a popular move with the general public, and also a very bad one in retrospect.

This decision went on to be a thorn in the side of every Usoma since then. By the time the Usoma Hittsanaebiwa Yanne died, the Hoüheteni had nearly tripled in number, distinguished themselves in further conquest, and cemented themselves in the public consciousness as beloved, venerable figures. This was now a private militia existing outside of the central structure of Wardin's military under the command of an increasingly powerful priesthood, and represented an extremely obvious political threat to the already shakily centralized monarchy.

While not Directly within the command structure headed by the Usoma, they are still subject to his laws and decrees. Thus, there have been many decrees over the decades since to curb them from becoming Too powerful, while avoiding risky maneuvers such as 'revoking their status or disarming or killing them' likely to anger the general public or make outright enemies of the Odonii. Their number is presently capped off at a maximum of 300, on the given basis that their status is highly elite and should be restricted to only the best of the best. In tandem, a policy began of promoting distinguished combatants to Other orders in the central command structure as quickly as possible, improving the material privileges for these inductees (more land allotments, gifts of state weapons and armor, etc), and requiring inductees to swear binding oaths of service to their Specific Order to prevent them from being tempted away. This intended to reduce the pool of potential inductees to the Hoüheteni and force more to be chosen from eunuch squires (who serve the ceremonial/servant roles the Hoüheteni once did).

The goal was to physically weaken the order by depriving it of intact men, and to decrease its public esteem by the same means. This was ultimately not successful, as the presence or lack of testicles does not innately change a person's capability of killing things with swords/spears/arrows/gun's, and the novelty of a warrior order that was notably successful and fearsome AND composed of eunuchs on more than an incidental scale only improved their public opinion, by and large.

Restrictions around the allotment of handcannons were also gradually tightened, with only 30 being permitted for Hoüheteni use in conflict (to be given to only their most Elite high ranking members), with the concession that the greater number allotted to the Odonii for ceremonies and perpetual armament was permissible to be used for training their men. Under the Usoma Amanti Asita during the conquest and partial colonization of Finnerich, the number was decreased to only 10 on the basis that gunpowder and these highly costly weapons were in greater need by other orders dispatched to combat more frequently. He commissioned 10 high quality handcannons for Hoüheteni use, as well as a lavish gift of 300 (nonfunctional) gold handcannons for ceremonies.

Growing tensions between the Odonii and the monarchy in recent history lead to more overt tightening of the leash. The Usoma Amanti Asita, towards the end of his reign, forbade the Hoüheteni from attending the annual rites at the Sons of Creation as soldiers (though they had the same permission as every other citizen to travel as unarmed pilgrims). Instead, in an unprecedented move that is Ostensibly a major honor, he provided members of his own personal guard to attend the Odomache and the senior Odonii present. This has remained the case since that point.

The Usoma Amanti Stawis later prevented Hoüheteni from being dispatched to the rebelling Finnerich on the basis that cavalry had to be heavily prioritized for allotment of state weapons, resources, and ship space. He also provided members of his personal guard to protect the attending Odomache. All this ultimately looked really, really bad when the Odomache proceeded to get captured and killed and paraded around on a lance as a severed head.

The anxieties involved in these decrees are evident to everyone involved, and the conciliatory gifts of beautiful useless weapons and lavish praise have utterly ceased to curb ill will after the recent death of the Odomache. At this point, Hoüheteni opinions towards the Usoma Amanti Stawis trend towards the "he conspired to have her killed and needs to die badly", to the point that the Odonii are beginning to have difficulties controlling the regicidal sentiment in their own militia (which, in spite of tensions, is not a sentiment shared by the majority of Odonii leadership).

This came to a head in an assassination attempt on Amanti by a group of nine Hoüheteni (who at least Appear to have been acting alone, or at least not on the behest of the senior Odonii as a collective) two years before present. The attempt was foiled and the conspirators were executed by means of forced honorable suicide (decided upon as the best possible option for a deeply unpopular ruler in troubled times, giving them what is culturally the Cushiest death sentence possible to minimize potential public anger while not appearing outright passive). He decreed that Hoüheteni could no longer carry combat weaponry on their person within city limits (which is entirely forbidden to all civilians who are Not within warrior orders or Odonii, regardless of other status), thus effectively (though not explicitly) revoking their status as a warrior order altogether. This doesn't end up helping things much, and the Hoüheteni can now be collectively described as a revolutionary force whose ideological goals are to replace the monarchy with the same kind of monarchy except it's headed by a god-king.

---

This order is notably unique for a large portion of its members being eunuchs. This is entirely because many of its members are graduated former servant-squires to the priesthood, and these squires are required to be castrated to begin with. Eunuchs aren't outright Forbidden from joining other warrior orders (they have same overall Legal status as men even if socially considered de-gendered) but are less likely to be invited to begin with, as eunuchs aren't often nobility and are subject to cultural assumptions that (aside from a few outstanding outliers) they are innately weaker than intact men. Squires to Odonii have at least some combat training and opportunities to demonstrate themselves as viable, and are semi-frequently rewarded with Hoüheteni status when noted to excel (though most graduate to administrative or training positions instead). It is not an all-eunuch warrior order however (none exist here) and an approximately 2/3rd majority are intact men.

Much of its membership is composed of family members of Odonii, but initiation as Hoüheteni is EXTREMELY selective (due to its imposed membership cap) and is the most preeminently merit-based and least nepotistic of any Wardi warrior order. Not even being nobility blood kin to an Odonii with enough skill for merit-based promotion to other orders is necessarily sufficient.

Hoüheteni function primarily as light infantry. Most carry a javelin + spear thrower set, and a sword and light shield for melee. Strong proficiency with throwing spears (with or without a spearthrower) is the central requirement for selection as Hoüheteni. Their armor needs to be on the lighter side, and most will wear linothorax rather than the heavier iron scale/lamellar shown worn by a commander here. As they are funded by a wealthy priesthood and are limited in number, all members are supplied with linothorax, an iron helmet, javelins and a sword (though still generally have to obtain their own shields and any additional armor).

In organized battles with both sides in formation, they serve primarily to disrupt and soften enemy lines for the heavier infantry and cavalry of other orders behind them. In such open battles, they are known for singing coullagri summoning prayers to Odomache prior to their advance and mimicking the eye rolling and teeth baring of Odonii battlefield performance. More commonly, they're just used as lightweight smash and grab raiders against disorganized targets. Because they now only have 10 allotted handcannons at any given time, they don't have an organized artillery function. Use and assignment of their limited firearms is very flexible- Hoüheteni commanders carry them on a ceremonial basis, but in actual combat will generally assign them to their subordinates to provide cover fire from concealed or semi-distant positions.

Outside of combat, their non-ceremonial functions are primarily in training the squires of Odonii, and getting the Odonii themselves to required ceremonial weapons proficiency. Some act as guards to the Odomache or to senior Odonii when traveling. Hoüheteni aren't actually dispatched into combat very often (especially since BITCHASS Amanti Stawis has mostly prioritized developing sea trade over landgrabbing and tributary acquisition), and in practice these duties are 90% of their job. It is at least Heavily Suspected that some Hoüheteni function as enforcers for the Odonii priesthood and may have periodic involvement in assassinations at the priesthood's behest.

[beckyninja]

Righteous

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x FemOC (formerly FemReader)

Warnings: a lot of "self care" in this one folks, attempted SA (very quickly put a stop to), and violent fantasizing, MDNI

Description: Two very different Ultramarines long for the same woman in two very different ways. Which one is truly righteous?

Leandros's part may have been slightly inspired by this piece of @triassicnautilus 's artwork.

(Check out the chapters leading up to this in my Masterlist.)

As always, feel free to comment and ask to be added/removed from the Taglist.

It is not enough.

Titus whined, actually whined like a kicked canine as he stroked his hand down his shaft for what felt like the hundredth time. The results of his previous attempts dripped down his hands and lower stomach. 

Sera….

Her bright black eyes, lit with an inner joy when she welcomed him back to their quarters at the end of the day cycle.

Sera….

The soft sound of her humming, curled up next to him as she repaired yet another tear in his tunic.

Sera….

The feel of her skin beneath his hands as he thrust deep into her tight, wet-

“Sera!”

His spine bowed as yet another spurt of seed burst across his fingers. He let his head slam back against the thin mattress, hearts hammering within his chest, breath coming in great gasps.

Still, not enough!

Titus jerked upright on the cot, swinging his legs to the floor. Halfway through his allotted rest hours, and it looked as though sleep would elude him… again.

As it had almost every night since he’d left The Resilient.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the stubble he’d neglected to remove.

***

Sera grimaced as she pulled away from his kiss. When he grumbled and pursued, she covered his mouth with her palm.

“No.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and bit, gently. She squealed, yanking her hand away. He promptly pressed his mouth to the silky skin of her throat. She twisted and giggled in his arms.

“Demetrian! Not until you’ve shaved!”

So he did. For her.

***

Now, there didn’t seem to be much point.

He fought the surge of bitterness that welled from a dark place within him. Other Ultramarines aboard this ship had personal serfs. He’d seen them, shadowing their lords, or chatting with one another as they completed the innumerable tasks that made shipboard life bearable.

Only he was bereft.

Leandros’s face came to mind. Over two hundred years older, and he still hadn’t managed to rid himself of that juvenile smugness. Titus ground his teeth at the memory of his former subordinate’s words.

“This mission is a test of your commitment, to see if you truly remain free of any and all… temptation.”

Leandros didn’t know. He couldn’t know… how close to the truth he was. 

Titus’s eyes strayed to the reliquary perched on the lid of the chest at the foot of his cot. The armory serfs had offered to store it with the rest of his wargear, but he had refused, claiming devotion to a particular saint. A vital aid to his meditations.

Part of him, the part that clung to his indoctrination, the part that was a good, loyal Ultramarine, shuddered at the thought of the lies he’d told. But another part drowned it out.

That part craved the touch of a woman’s hand upon his cheek. That part longed for the sound of her laughter as she related the mundane, unremarkable, utterly human events of her day. That part loved even her silences, when no words needed to be said and they could both just bask in each other’s companionship. 

That part loved like no Ultramarine had a right to love.

“Sera….” Taking up the box, he opened it and slipped the braided lock of hair into his palm.

He pressed it to his face, savoring the scent that still lingered. Longing so poignant it caused physical pain lanced through him.  

Throne, I miss you.

He allowed himself a few moments, then sighed and replaced his most precious possession in its box. After cleaning himself and donning his tunic, he affixed the box to the belt at his waist.

Sleep would not come this night. So he might as well train.

Titus left the quarters he’d been assigned and began making his way through the hushed corridors of the ship toward the sparring cages. Lumens and candles alike flickered as he passed. The omnipresent hum of the great voidship resonated through him, just different enough from that of The Resilient to set his teeth on edge.

Perhaps another battle brother remained restless this night. A good, bloody spar was just what he needed to take his mind off-

“...no!”

The soft, feminine cry halted him in his tracks. He snapped his head to the left so hard he felt vertebrae crack. 

A flicker of movement in one of the alcoves. Panting. The familiar sounds of struggle. A dark chuckle.

He stood before the dim opening almost before he registered his body’s movement. Ducking down to look within, a growl rumbled through his chest.

A woman and a man stood there. Both serfs, though the slightly finer material of the man’s robe suggested an overseer. He pressed the woman back against the wall. Titus would have suspected a tryst had the man’s hand not been wrapped around the woman’s throat.

Her eyes met his. And, for a brief moment, he imagined another pair of eyes looking at him, pleading for aid. 

He reached in and grasped the male serf by the nape of his neck, tearing him away from the woman. The man swore and struggled, only to fall silent when he realized who held him in an iron grip. His mouth gaped.

“M-my Lord! I… I was… we were-”

Titus rose to his full height, dragging the squealing man with him, eyes never leaving his sweat-streaked face. “Woman?”

A shuffling of feet. “Y-yes, my Lord?”

“Was this… man forcing himself upon you?”

A pause. He glanced down to see the woman twisting the hem of her robe in her hands. 

The man in his grasp gasped out. “No! No! Enid, tell him we were just-”

Titus tightened his hold, cutting off the man’s babbling. He saw fear flicker across the woman’s face and sought to soften his voice.

“Speak the truth. No harm will come to you.”

The woman whimpered and fell to her knees before him. “Y-yes, my Lord! He’s haunted my steps for weeks, making… crude suggestions. Just now he grabbed me and pulled me into-”

“Lying whore!” The man managed to choke out.

“Silence!” Titus boomed.

He’d heard of such things happening on board other ships, or in the depths of hive cities. Heard rumors of nobles forcing their attentions on unwilling servants. And though he’d never wished harm upon the victims…

…such things were simply below the notice of an Angel of the Emperor.

His thoughts turned to Sera, what her life might have been like had fate proved crueler. The fear and shame and pain she might have known at the hands of men. Was this woman so very different?

No.

Slamming the man against the corridor wall, he glared at him. “You dare seek to violate a woman under the protection of the Ultramarines?”

His hands clawed at Titus’s fingers around his throat. “She’s… just… a… cleaning… wench…!”

Titus imagined tightening his fist further, silencing the animal once and for all. Then he heard the sounds of feet racing up the corridor. A glance to one side revealed a male serf running toward them like a horde of daemons bit at his heels. He held a length of pipe in one hand.

“Enid!”

“Ferrin?” The woman ran to him, and he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders.

“Are you all right, my love? Did he hurt you?”

Titus relaxed a fraction. “You know this man, woman?”

She glanced up from burying her face in the man’s chest. “My husband, my Lord.” All at once her courage seemed to give way and she burst into tears.

Titus watched the man hold her, comfort her, and again longing filled his hearts.

The man, Ferrin, seemed almost not to see the Ultramarine, instead glaring viciously at the writhing figure pinned like an insect against the wall.

“Emperor curse you, Danon! You son of a diseased bitch!”

Titus opened his fist and let the man fall to the floor. He did so with a yelp, crouching against the wall, eyes darting.

“There are punishments for one such as this.”

“Not for an overseer’s grandson.” Ferrin spat.

Then his eyes widened and he dropped to his knees, pulling his wife down with him. “Forgive me, my Lord! I forgot myself.”

Titus narrowed his eyes at the pathetic figure at his feet. Then glanced at Ferrin. He felt something pass between them, an understanding of sorts, and allowed a grim smile to curl across his face.

“My word will see him punished.” He paused. “However, justice is oft best served by those who were wronged.”

A gleam came into the serf’s eyes. He turned to his wife, offering her the length of pipe. She shook her head. He nodded and came forward.

Danon whimpered, trying to crawl away. “No… please-!”

“Be silent.” Titus planted a boot on his back and looked at Ferrin. “One blow only. Leave him alive.”

Ferrin stared up at him. “Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but few Ultramarines would take the time to defend a serf woman. Emperor bless you, my Lord.”

As he raised the pipe high, Titus considered his words. To his shame, he knew them to be true. How many times had he been blind to the plight of those deemed lesser? 

Once again, an image of Sera’s smiling face filled his mind. She’d opened his eyes.

The pipe fell. Danon howled. And Titus felt of rush of satisfaction.

So deserved all who would abuse the vulnerable. From this moment on, he would see to it.

In your name, Sera, I swear it.

***

Emperor damn the little temptress!

Leandros hissed as hot wax dripped onto his shaft, adding to the splatter of cooling droplets already dotting the traitorous organ. Hours he’d been at this, using pain to purge thoughts unworthy of a Chaplain of the Ultramarines. And yet the burn offered only temporary relief.

He sat upon the cot in his dark little room, clothing scattered across the floor where he’d flung it in his desperation. The only light came from the half-melted candle he clutched in one trembling fist.

A groan burst from his chapped lips. “Emperor, help me!”

But the memories refused to subside.

***

She hadn’t noticed his approach, so focused upon the departing Thunderhawk. The Thunderhawk carrying her protector far, far away. Perhaps never to return.

Beneath his skull-faced helmet, Leandros’s lips twitched at the thought.

He planted himself mere feet behind her, wondering how long it would take the dim-witted little female to register his presence.

She turned.

Her cry of shock sent a thrill through him. He reveled in her frozen fear, allowing himself to scrutinize her form. The shining hair spoke of vanity, the smooth skin of sloth, and the lush curves of overindulgence. 

Leandros knew those curves. His gaze settled on the plushness of her breasts, remembering how they’d glistened with moisture on the day she’d dared pollute the baths reserved for him and his brethren. Remembering how the obscene little nipples had stiffened as she-

Breaking free of her stupor, she dropped to her knees. “Lord Chaplain, f-forgive me, I-”

“Did I give you permission to speak?”

Her eyes widened, plump lips opening before she obviously thought better of it, and shook her head.

“So, you can be taught. Good.” He bent slightly at the waist, looming over her. “What else will you learn, I wonder. Now that Titus,” he spat the name, “is not here to coddle you.”

He heard her heartbeat quicken, felt his own blood pound in his veins.

Chastising the wicked had always been his favorite part of the chaplaincy. 

Then she had the gall to speak again. “The Apothecarion! M-my Lord, forgive me, I must report to the Apothecarion.”

He drew a breath through clenched teeth. Wicked, disrespectful little thing. She must be put in her place. He must-

“Greetings, Brother Chaplain.”

Leandros straightened so quickly he heard the joints of his armor creak in protest. “Brother Chairon. Sgt Gadriel.”

The darker-skinned Ultramarine nodded, smiling. “Have you need to speak to this serf much longer, Chaplain?”

“What is your interest in her?” He winced at the harshness in his tone.

A frown flickered across Chairon’s face. His companion spoke before him.

“She is our Lieutenant’s personal serf, Brother Chaplain. As such, her well-being is of interest to us.” He cleared his throat. “We will see you to your new posting, woman.”

Leandros seethed at the pathetic look of gratitude in the spoiled wench’s eyes. Exactly how many of his brothers had she corrupted with her feminine wiles, her false innocence? He should drag her to the Chapel by her hair to serve penance for her sins!

But not yet. “Go.”

He watched her robes swirl about her hips as she jumped up, bowed to him, and immediately tucked herself behind the two Ultramarines. 

To act so openly would expose the entire Second Company to shame and ridicule. No. He must be patient.

***

“Patient. I must be patient!”

Another gobbet of wax. Another burst of blissful agony against his manhood.

She’d grown skilled at avoiding him these past few days. She rarely ventured from the Apothecarion, and when she did, it was under the watchful gaze of Chairon and Gadriel. He cursed his brothers’ names even as he pitied them. They could not know the wickedness their unworthy Lieutenant had brought upon them. 

The wickedness he’d brought upon even their Chaplain.

For hadn’t thoughts of this female haunted him for weeks now? Ever since he’d come across her in the baths. She must have known of his presence that day, the way she flaunted herself. The way she provoked him by moaning his disgraced brother’s name.

Because of her his own body betrayed him!

She must be punished.

He wanted her helpless before him, stripped of clothing, pride, and dignity. He wanted her begging for mercy as he lashed the sin from her soft flesh. He wanted her on her knees, face to face with the consequences of her coquetry.

He wanted her to touch it.

“Damn it all to the Warp!” 

Pain and pleasure mingled as he grasped his member with brutal force, scattering half-dried flakes of wax with every stroke. He knew what baselines did with each other when they paired off in shadowy corners. When they thought no one watched.

Her mouth would feel even better than his hand. She would cry. She would choke. Perhaps she would even try to pull away.

But he’d make her take every inch of his punishment, in every way she could. Until she repented. Submitted. Understood just how far beneath him she really was.

Until she forgot Demetrian Titus even existed.

Pleasure and shame crescendoed and he burst all over his own hand with a muffled shout.

Falling back against the cot, he stared at the metal ceiling and contemplated what he’d just done. Part of him shuddered in horror. 

But a greater part began to plot.

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[aglaias-blog]

"Wicked Game"

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Author's note: in honour of my 9 year anniversary on this hellsite and us finally getting fed with some new hotd content, here is my contribution to whatever the craziness of the last two days was.

I saw this post by the amazing, the great @ewanmitchellcrumbs and thought that I had to post this, it was in my drafts far too long haha Feedback is welcome and appreciated 💖

TW: dub!con, MDNI, afab!reader, fem!reader, degradation kink, jealousy, hatefucking, possessiveness, Aemond is a meanie, reader is a brat

Summary: You make Aemond jealous on purpose as a punishment for him always having his eye on you. But his reaction is clearly more than you have bargained for.

Taglist: @watercolorskyy

Never before had you seen your husband this angry. Sure, he had had his moments – when you had barged into the Small Council to give the King a piece of your mind or when you had humiliated him in front of his brother – and countless other instances. But never infuriated like this.

It had been a perfectly good day in the Red Keep. You were just walking past the Armory when you had seen Ser Davios Rane. He had become a good friend of yours over the years, since you had been married to Prince Aemond. It was a simple conversation; friendly, but reserved, as usual.

The courtyard was buzzing with people in preparation for King Aegon’s name day festivities: servants running around, carrying baskets, tapestries, tableware and many other things from one place to another, the invited Lords and Ladies just arriving taking a look at the Red Keep, engaging in conversation.

Yet somehow your husband had managed to see only you - and just the part of the conversation where you had laughed at Ser Rane’s comment - and put your hand on his arm. A grave mistake, you had realised immediately.

Aemond had been by your side in an instant, cutting the conversation embarrassingly short. You hadn’t even seen him coming, it was the frightened expression on Ser Rane’s face that had betrayed the arrival of your husband.

He had scolded you in front of everybody present – quietly, of course, but it was obvious that they knew what was happening by his body language alone. Servants had stopped in their tracks to observe the humiliating spectacle, the nobility’s conversations had quietened down to hear his heated whispers. And you – well, you had only ripped your arm from the tight grip he had your wrist in, and ran away. As childish as it was, you couldn’t stand being gawked at while your husband chastised you like a little child. Of course, he had followed you, but not before throwing a threatening glare in Ser Rane’s direction. He would take care of him later.

You hadn’t meant to make him jealous – at first. It was only when you had felt his sharp gaze on you everytime you spoke with somebody – be it a servant, a Lady, a Lord, a goldcloak – that you wanted to give him something to look at. A sort of punishment for always stalking you, for never trusting you enough to follow his rules. Surely, it couldn’t hurt to teach him a little lesson?

Well, now he was chasing you through the corridors of the Keep, taking his jealousy out on you.

„Are you content now? Was it your plot to infuriate me like this?“

Your husband had talked himself into a rage since you both had left the middle bailey, following you to your shared quarters. His face was marred by unadulterated wrath, his predatory gaze focused only on you.

„You are a Princess of this house! You’re much too sharp to think that it would be seemly to throw yourself at some goldcloak in this shameful manner!“

You had only wished to make him a little jealous – you should have known better. There was no moderation with Aemond Targaryen, only extremes. And once he whipped himself into this obsessive state, he was insufferable to be around. No word of explanation would get through to him.

„Did you think that I wouldn’t see? Attracting the attention of a mere goldcloak, in broad daylight, too, like a common whore!“

You couldn’t stand the thought of being in his presence any longer. He would drive you insane, you were sure of it! So, once in your quarters, you ran to open the door to your bedchamber and darted inside.

The sound of the lock turning sounded absurdly loud in the sudden silence.

„Open the door.“

His voice sounded treacherously calm.

You had leant against the table opposite the door, your trembling fingers gripping it tightly, your chest heaving with quick breaths of anticipation. What could he do now?

Tipping your head back, the tense giddiness in your body broke out of you in gleeful laughter.

„Open the door. Now!“

Oh, how you loved having him at your mercy.

„Say ‚Please, my love, be so kind as to open the door‘!“, you yelled, giggling.

„No“, was the only response that passed through the door.

„Fuck you, then!“

Your anger had returned with a sudden force. Who did he think he was? He had humiliated you in front of everybody, the whole court had borne witness to your embarrassment! How did he have the gall to talk to you as if to a little child? He could rot in the seventh Hell for all you cared!

He hadn’t responded yet. The sudden silence was highly suspicious. Did he give up - had he actually left? Oh, he was no fun!

Your victorious smile was wiped from your face the moment you heard the crash. Through splintered wood flying into all directions, your husband appeared on the threshold – breathing heavily, bearing his teeth, his gaze wild - the embodiment of fury.

After three quick strides he lunged himself at you – his hand painfully gripping your jaw, towering over you.

„You forget yourself, wife“, he snarled through gritted teeth, the vein in his forehead throbbing.

„You should have the good sense to remember your place.“

You simply stared up him calmly, defiantly, searching for the darkness in his eye that let you know that he was almost there, almost – before spitting in his face.

Before you had time to think, your head was whipped to the side, the heat of your blood throbbing in the place where his hand had just been. The slap had come out of nowhere - the sharp sting of pain in your cheek forced tears into your eyes – and yet you couldn’t help the wicked smile that formed on your lips. You had him exactly where you wanted him now, and he had fallen right into your trap.

This was the twisted game you played. You both knew it. Yet it didn’t feel like you were pretending. The rage was real. And so was the intoxicating thrill.

„Oh, this is all a game to you, isn’t it?“, he sneered, nostrils flaring. Let’s see if this is still a game to you now.

„Bend over.“

„No.“

„I’m not going to repeat myself.“

„Make me, then“, you said brattily, challenging him to make good on his word.

And he did. In the blink of an eye, he had his hand in your hair, turning you on your stomach and slamming your face into the table.

You felt your heartbeat in your whole body for the few seconds it took him to bunch up your skirt and loosen the ties on his breeches – you couldn’t move, his hand on your neck forced you to stay still, his leg between your thighs made sure that you kept them apart.

And before you knew what was happening, he sank into your wetness, immediately setting an unforgiving pace. He allowed you no time to adjust, completely merciless. You cried out, struggling against his hand that held you down, hands blindly reaching behind you, clawing at whatever part of his body you could reach. It was no use though – he wouldn’t slow down.

You could only hear him groan depravedly in response - he liked the way you tried to fight him, it dawned on you. The more you tried to resist him, the faster he slammed into you. Fed up with your antics, he grabbed both of your hands in his, bent forward and slammed them above your head. The new angle made your knees buckle.

„Don’t go weak on me now, wife“, he laughed into your ear. He laughed!

„Smug cunt“, you moaned. Immediately, you received your punishment. The sting on your ass hurt less than his hand in your hair, yanking you up against him, forcing you to arch your back almost painfully.

„Think you’re too good for me? Hm?“ His laboured breathing was hot on your neck. „But good enough for Davios Rane?“ He spat the name like a curse.

You could only whine in response, not being able to stop the desperate moans.

„Should we open the window, let him hear you? Hmm?“

He slammed into with such force then that it made you squeal. You couldn’t get a word out. With your eyes rolled back you couldn’t even formulate a simple thought.

„No? Then shut - your fucking - mouth“, he growled, emphasising each word with a thrust.

You couldn’t. You tried, you truly did, yet you failed miserably. Your body reacted before you had time to think, the loud pleasured whimpers and moans fell from your mouth before you could try to control them. He forced them out of you with each of his rough movements, knowing well that you had lost control over your own body.

He placed his other hand on your mouth to muffle your whines for you. The sharp edge of the table digging into your hips over and over again combined with his painfully pleasurable thrusts forced humiliating tears into your eyes. He could feel them flow over his hand down to your chin.

„Oh, are you sorry now?“

„Mmph!“, was the only muffled sound that passed through his hand on your mouth, as you shook your head ‚no‘.

„Say it“, he growled. „You know damn well that you need this, you’d do well to say it. Now!“ He lifted his hand from your mouth, giving you a chance to do as he told you.

„Detestable bastard!“, you only spat out through sobs, your hair still twisted painfully in his hand.

„What was that?“, he said harshly, stilling his movement completely, threatening to pull out.

„You’re sick, Aemond!“ Who cared if he left you now? You certainly didn’t! At least you would be left with your pride intact.

Yet, when he pulled out of you, the vast emptiness you felt made your heart ache. You regretted every single word you had said up until that point.

„N-no, I’ll say it!“, you sobbed, hating that he had this power over you. Hating that he could make you hate yourself, taking your dignity like this. Making you weak.

Patiently he waited for the words he had demanded. „Go on, humiliate yourself. Like you humiliated me“, he growled in your ear. Abruptly, he pulled your head farther back to get a better look at you. His fevered gaze was on you, as he watched your tear-stained face intently, curious as to what choice you would make.

He not only wanted you to swallow your pride; he wanted you to crush it, destroy it completely in a display of sacrilegious devotion to him.

Tears of shame were running down your face freely now. You didn’t want to do as he told you, hadn’t he degraded you enough already? This was more than you had bargained for – you hadn’t expected him to react this way when you had started your little game earlier in the day.

Now you had to pay the price for having dared to challenge him.

The feeling of his cock between your thighs made sheer desperation curse through your veins. You wanted him so badly, it was driving you mad! It would’ve been so easy to just- just wriggle down a bit to-

„Don’t!“, he hissed, biting down on your shoulder. Hard.

It broke you.

„I’m sorry!“, you cried. Through your sobs your words were almost unintelligible. „I’m sorry, I didn’t – I-I don’t care about him, I just – I need you, only you, please, Aemond-“

It truly was a pitiful sight – and disturbingly arousing. His wife with her dress sliding down to her waist, begging for him, her tears streaming down to her bare chest, degrading herself– all this only to have his cock inside her again. With a sick satisfied smirk, he watched you babbling on, only gibberish leaving your mouth now. He had driven you to your breaking point.

And now, you needed to learn your lesson. He let go of your hair suddenly, letting you fall back on the table weakly.

Your jaw went slack, eyes rolling back, when you felt him slide back into you with one smooth movement, settling back into his merciless pace, two hands holding your hips in a bruising grip - pounding you as if he hated you. You rested your head on the tear-soaked surface of the table, moving with every delicious thrust he gave you. With your eyes closed, you gave yourself completely to the sensation, to him.

He was everywhere, all around you, in your nose, your hair, your body, your mind, your soul.

„Fuck“, you heard him curse with a trembling breath. He had bunched up the fabric of your dress over your hips, watching his cock disappear inside you over and over again. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight – the way your glistening cunt swallowed him whole, coating his cock in your wetness was simply too much. The perverse sound of your slickness alone would drive him mad, he was sure of it.

He had to remind you that you were his, that he possessed you completely. He couldn't allow you to forget it - he had to ensure that the only thing he held dear in his life would never dare leave him. It was this wicked desire that drove him to insanity everytime he saw you with somebody else, somebody who wasn’t him.

„I own you“, he moaned, his hand had found its place in your hair again – twisting it threateningly when you didn’t respond. He didn’t allow you enough time to catch your breath, you had to concentrate to form any sensible words.

„I’m yours“, you responded hoarsely, without resistance this time. „Only yours, Aemond, yours, yours, yours…“ Like a prayer you mumbled the words – yet it felt like somebody else had put them there.

His eyes rolled back in his skull with a helpless groan at your admission. Those were the only words he ever wanted to hear you say - such a shame that he had to force them out of you brutally.

He could make you say anything he wanted, but your body was yours, still. You knew him like yourself, you anticipated what he would want, long before he said it out loud – so you wouldn’t give him the pleasure of reaching your peak on his cock simply because he told you to.

He could fuck you stupid, and you would refuse him what he most wanted – an admission of carnal weakness.

But the terror crept up on you slowly, and with your eyes wide with fear it dawned on you - this little rest of resistance had already been crushed. Your body had cruelly betrayed your mind.

The savage groan Aemond gave when he felt you clench around him wiped all thoughts from your mind. He didn’t withhold his moans, showing you so openly the pleasure your body gave him – it made you squeeze down on him again. It was raw, primal – beyond your control.

In an effort to stifle his groans he bent forward, sinking his teeth into your shoulder again, making sure to leave a mark.

„Your body knows it belongs to me“, he cooed. „No matter how convincingly you try to deny it.“

The hand that had been in your hair now moved around your hip, finding its way between your trembling thighs.

„N- no!“, you gasped, trying to squirm out of his grasp. „Aemond, please!“

Your humiliation would be complete should you give in to him now. You could pretend that he didn’t own your mind, but you couldn’t pretend with your body – it knew that it was his. It was honest. Always. And he knew it.

„Oh, you don’t want to reach your peak?“, he chuckled darkly.

„There’s no use in lying, wife. I can feel you clenching around me.“

He groaned again when your body proved him right.

„Your treacherous body belies your words.“

He knew that he had to draw your peak from you tenderly, he couldn’t brutally force it, like he forced those beautiful sounds from your throat.

The sudden sensation of his soft fingers overwhelmed you entirely – it was so in contrast to his harsh words and his merciless thrusts inside you. Your whole body was fragile now, having been so abandoned by loving touch that you jolted in his grip the moment his fingers gently made contact with the most delicate part of your body.

His other hand went to your shoulders, immediately pushing you down when he noticed you trying to get up again. You couldn’t let him do this, you couldn’t, you had to-

„Don’t - refuse me!“, he gritted out through clenched teeth. With his brow furrowed, he had to focus on his fingers on your cunt - he would come undone this very moment should he allow himself to take in the glorious sight in front of him, feel your writhing body underneath his hands, pushing him away and pulling him in at the same time.

„Please!“, you choked out. You didn’t know what you were begging for. For him to stop? For him to continue?

You had been prepared to withstand his roughness, thinking that he would use you for his own pleasure and then cast you aside. You had been starving for his kisses, adoring words and gentle caresses on your body – you had been so hungry for any sign of love that his unexpected soft touch on you now would make you fall apart.

The feeling of lightness cursed through you, as your mind went numb. Your body, however, felt his every move – outside of you, inside of you, around you, all at once.

The lighter you felt, the hotter the pleasure coiling in your stomach became - you tried to fight it until the end, defying the urge to give in to the warmth that spread from your innermost core – and then it effortlessly crashed over you in waves, pulling you under, drowning your resistance completely.

As if under water, you heard him come undone behind you, spilling himself inside you with choked moans and curses, gripping your hips so tightly, so painfully tight…

And then - floating. You were floating. He had pushed you too far. You didn’t feel anything anymore - you had slipped into a place where time had no meaning.

You felt weightless and then crushed down to earth again - heaviness and lightness played their ever-changing game with you.

You tried your best to find a way out of the fog in your mind, but you were just so tired, so utterly spent…You didn’t want to think, to fight, to do anything – surrendering to the divine nothingness seemed so inviting now, you wanted to stay in its warmth, to just float forever…