#at the end of the day all relationships have the potential of being either great or awful | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

erodasfishtacos · 1 year ago

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The Body Factory (sexclubowner!h)

Hellloooo!

It’s been a long while since I posted here. I am still going strong on patreon with 4-5 one shots a month with anywhere from 8 to 14k words usually (sometimes more) + blurbs. I decided to released one of my new tropes, just part one on here and if it sounds good maybe consider joining for $3USD a month to read more parts of this and many others coming up!!!

prompt: yn doesn’t feel fufilled in her relationship and so her fiancé, Arthur, comes up with an idea to help but it doesnt turn out as either of them expected aka sex club owner!h

word count: 8k

warnings: under-negotiation, power play, mean h, choking, safeword, cheating but not really yet

🛑 there is a scene that could potentially be triggering so i am going to put a brief summary at the end of the fic if you’d like to check whether it’s a appropriate read for yourself. 🛑

Author’s Note: I have had this idea on my mind for months and have been so extremely excited to share it with you. It has really really been inspiring to me as I don’t have a trope like this. I hope you enjoy.

Arthur was nice.

Arthur was a safe choice.

It’s why when YN’s father introduced them, it didn’t really seem like an option to turn down the invitation to go out to dinner at the swankiest restaurant in town.

The date had been so incredibly unexciting that YN had no doubt that he would not ask for a second one.

They had nothing in common, the space was often filled with an awkward silence, and averted gazes to the walls or out the window next to their seating.

Arthur was nice.

Arthur was polite, he held the door and paid for the bill before walking her to her car with the chaste kiss to her cheek.

It absolutely boggled her mind when her father informed her the next day that Arthur had told her that he had an amazing time and was going to ask her for a second date in the next upcoming days.

YN hated the mere idea of disappointing her parents, she had already let them down enough with her career choice not to join the family business

:readmore:

instead becoming neonatal nurse, despite that being a massive accomplishment, it wasn’t praised because she didn’t go to be a lawyer like both her mother and father.

It felt like most of the time she was on thin ice with her parents because of her education and career choice, even down to the car she drove (they thought it was too sporty and not practical enough) which left her in a precarious position.

She relied on them for help with her student loans.

YN was still trying to get her feet on the ground with her apartment landlord just bumping up her rent by nearly five-hundred pounds, her car note, among all the other things that came with being an adult that she wasn’t financially capable of managing yet.

Her parents agreed to pay for her school loans.

However, it came with silet threat of staying in their good gracious or they would cut her off at any moment, they had threatened it enough when she got into nursing school and informed them that she would be attending, she must have heard them threaten her inheritance half a million times.

Arthur was her ticket back into her parent’s limelight.

He was fresh out of law school but he was incredibly intelligent, good at what he did, and had multiple firms vying for him to join their legal council but he had chosen YN’s family’s business because of their well-known reputation.

Arthur came from old money, which had given him an extremely privileged life and a headstart into success as soon as he was born.

He was the great-grandson of an oil tycoon whom he had reaped the benefits ever since.

The second date happened, then the third, then the fourth.

No spark.

No chemistry.

Atleast on YN’s end because Arthur seemed happy as a clam in their relationship, he praised YN to anyone who would listen, and was consistently bragging about their life to anyone that would listen to him.

He was nice to her.

He remembered important dates, brought her flowers to work, and had dinner made when she walked in the door on nights that she worked late shifts and he got home before her.

Time passes and they celebrate their first year anniversary, then their second, then their third.

On the fourth was when he got down on one knee and professed his love to her in front of all their family and friends on Christmas Day at an extravagant party at his parent’s estate.

The diamond ring that he slid onto her finger was ridiculous, too big to not just be flaunting wealth, and it wasn’t a style that she liked but she lied and told him that she loved it.

There was an emptiness in her chest when he proposed, she was teary-eyed but she couldn’t determine whether it was from happiness or dread that she was going to spend the rest of her life with the man in front of her.

It wasn’t his fault in the slightest.

Arthur was just Arthur.

He lacked depth, there was nothing behind his twinkling brown eyes beside law, money, and judgement.

Arthur treated her nicely consistently, they barely ever fought, and he never raised his voice at her.

When he got frustrated, he just got an exasperated tone and took time to himself in his office until he had calmed down enough to talk.

But that was once in a blue moon.

They’ve never had a blow-out because he was so agreeable and accommodating.

That’s exactly what was missing from their relationship.

YN didn’t crave toxicity, not one bit, she wanted a healthy relationship with positive communication, understanding, and all the things that make that up.

YN did crave excitement, humor, sexual tension, and the type of relationship that kept her on her toes, got her adrenaline pumping and making her stomach turn in nervous knots because she didn’t always know what to expect out of her partner.

Arthur was as predictable as a clock, had no spontaneity up his sleeve, and his sense of humor was nonexistent.

YN had a partner that she’d been with in college named Klein.

He wasn’t the love of her life, not by a long shot, but he had been wild, on the edge of insane half-of-the-time, and always kept their relationship exciting.

He would show up at her part-time cafe job, with a fake excuse to her boss about a death in his family, and he needed her support.

When YN would walk out to his motorcycle with him, concerned about his grandmother’s death, he would only smile at her, inform her that his grandmother has been dead for fifteen years, and that he was going to take her on a hike to see a waterfall she’d mentioned wanting to see once in passing.

But then there was their sex life, it was phenomenal and unlike the few half-hapzard experience she had before him.

He was confident, dominant, and introduced her to things that she used to not even have the nerve to say out loud let alone do.

It was him who introduced her to BDSM and they explored it for nearly two and a half years of their relationship.

YN did research while they were together and after the fact, she had even attended a few virtual training sessions to learn about correct techniques, safety precautions, and learning the dynamic of power play which engrossed her to no end.

However, when Klein requested they open their relationship, that had been such an unexpected turn-off that she no longer felt the connection that was there before.

The end of the relationship was amicable, they were still friends on social media and liked each others posts but it was at that point they realized they wanted different things and they couldn’t provide that to one another.

Where Klein wanted flexibility, uncertainty, and fluidity.

YN wanted regimen, structured, and a deep sense of connection with one person.

She did not want multiple doms nor did she want her dom to have multiple submissives.

She wanted all the attention on her, her dom would be absolutely captivated by her and be so connected to her physically, mentally, spiritually that they only want her.

Her ideal dom would never mention sharing.

Which isn’t to shame it because it was more common than not to have an open relationship, partner sharing, and swapping.

YN loved the idea of becoming comfortable with someone enough that she could be a brat which she wasn’t an easy submissive she had come to learn.

Her dominant had to work for her submission, sometimes she crumbled quickly and other times it took multiple punishments until the smirk was wiped from her face and replaced with tears on her puffy cheeks from the pinpricks of pain.

After Klein, she had gone on a few dates, some she even hooked up with but she never clicked enough with them to talk about anything like that.

And so she wrapped it up into a nice, neat box and tucked it into the back of her mind because she would find the right partner who would be compatible sexually with her.

Right?

Arthur and her had no sexual chemistry.

Arthur was just as polite in the bedroom as he was outside of it, he never put her in a unique position, and preferred to rotate between the missionary and doggy style.

He would occasionally go down on her but he didn’t know what he was doing so it didn’t feel like much of anything as most of the time he couldn’t even locate her clit.

Which meant fingering was out of the question because he didn’t even know the g-spot existed.

Anytime she managed to orgasm, it was from her own hand, getting herself off because she was past the point of asking him to try to do it.

Arthur did not have a high sex drive and YN felt guilty for being thankful for it.

He wasn’t doing anything wrong, he was trying, and it was so unsatisfying that YN felt like her skin itched sometimes because she hadn’t realized until Arthur how much she craved sexual intimacy with her significant other.

Again, Arthur initiated once a week, sometimes twice or sometimes not for a few weeks when his work is really busy.

YN was six years into a relationship of unfilled desire, disconnect, and a lack of satisfaction which she would have never seen for herself at only being twenty-nine years old.

The wedding was set for fourteen months away, at a vineyard on the coast of Italy.

It was decided by everyone but her as with most things she felt like nowadays.

YN had been scrolling through a blog post when something caught her eye.

It was written by a female who had a similar lack of connection with her partner in the bedroom but wanted more.

The writer had described that as soon as she asked if they could experiment with BDSM that their relationship had completely shifted, they were more in love than ever, and their sex life was more amazing than it had been in nearly a decade.

It was the motivation that YN needed to have the conversation with Arthur, with the hope that it would ignite a flame that had yet to be struck between the two of them.

YN loved Arthur, she wanted to be in love with him but she couldn’t honestly say she was at this point in their relationship.

Arthur had been surprised by the conversation, over dinner one night, if the way he sputtered red wine onto his crisp white button-up was an indicator.

His eyes had gone wide in a look of almost horror and he cleared his throat a handful of times while they discussed it in more detail.

“I just feel like it would be something fun to try out,” YN tries to keep it casual, to not let on to how much she desired this or knew that she would already love it.

“Erm, yeah. I would be open to it,” Arthur had agreed sheepishly, putting down his fork and knife.

“No, I do not want you to feel pressured at all! I just -” YN begins to try to soothe because she had not meant to get such a reaction of concern more than lust out of her fiance.

He chuckles kindly, smiling at her as he reaches across the table to hold her hand, “We can try it, if that’s what you want. I am open to whatever will make you happy, sweetie pie.”

Sweetie pie….

YN tried not to blatantly cringe every time he called her that.

It did not work out.

They did not even get a few minutes into foreplay when Arthur backed out, saying that he just didn’t feel like he knew what to do, and that he’d prefer if they just did their normal thing.

YN agreed, trying to swallow the disappointed lump in her throat because she didn’t want to guilt him in to trying anything he wasn’t into.

They didn’t discuss it again after that for a long while.

Arthur wasn’t blind to the shift after that night.

He now knew that he was not satisfying a need that YN desired and she had just seemed more subdued since he had called it off but was trying to hide it because he knew that she wasn’t trying to make him feel bad about not wanting it.

It had been on his mind though.

“A sex club?” YN’s eyes nearly buldge from her sockets, puting down her glass of water and ignoring the splashes it leaves on her hand because what had Arthur just recommended they try?

“Yes. A BDSM club or a kink club they call it. Maybe if I see other people doing it or we get into the right atmosphere, it will work better. At least off the start?” Arthur seems just as nervous as her, he hadn’t touched his food.

“And…I just…” YN was at a loss for words because this is just the most unexpected turn of events.

“Maybe I can learn from others. Really get good at it for you, you know?” He suggests, his eyes looking anywhere but at hers.

“Yeah, yeah let’s do it.”

The Body Factory was the club that Arthur had decided after doing his research.

He needed somewhere secretive, exclusive, and with iron-clad NDA’s so that no one could use this against him in his profession which was fair enough.

That’s where The Body Factor came into play.

There were guidelines to a membership:

You must make over a hundred-and-fifty thousand pounds a year.

You were sign and resign an NDA every three months.

A deposit of ten thousand pounds, it will not be refunded if any rules or regulations are broken.

You will send in health screenings every two months, proof of birth control (if female), and a background check.

You may not belong to any other clubs during the time of your membership at The Body Factory.

YN was quite shocked that Arthur had dished out that amount of money on the deposit for something that they weren’t sure that they were going to like nor want to continue to visit even though the membership spans for a year at a time.

“If we go, hate it, and decide to never go back, just consider it a really expensive date night,” Arthur had assured her with a chuckle, she knew of his wealth but even this seemed a bit like frivolous spending but little did she know it was just his desperation to make her happy.

The club was in the packing district of all places, tucked back in between massive factories, some that were still open and operating, others that had been abandoned for years now.

It was actually in an old clothing factory that had been renovated to resemble any other high-end club, from the inside there would be no way that anyone could even tell except for the incredibly high ceilings at some points.

However, the location in the city and of building choice gave a lot of privacy of entering and exiting, it wasn’t advertised nor did it have any sign indicating of their presence.

It was a maze of alleyways until the entrance appeared, a dingy door that was rusted and gave no indication of what was inside, someone walking past would have never looked twice or thought anything of the building nor the entrance.

Everything was matte black, dark, and dimmed.

There were occasional deep emerald green accents but everything was sleek, modern, and simple but in the most elegant way as they walked in.

YN’s heart was in her throat.

Where people going to be fucking right when they walk in?

Or people being led around on leashes right off the bat?

Arthur may pass out.

However, there’s a front desk, almost like at an office with a woman dressed in a incredibly fitted sleek black dress with smooth, curled hair, and makeup like it was done by a professional, she had to be a model because she was gorgeous as she smiled widely and checked them in.

They had to show their licenses, hand over physical copies of their screenings, NDA’s even though they had to sign them virtually too.

There were two security guards in black suits with earpieces standing by large, heavy dark oak doors with their hands crossed in front of them.

This seemed like a movie or just not real with how sophisticated this whole process was.

“Enjoy,” Penelope, the receptionist had chirped with the whitest, most perfect smile she’d ever seen.

Arthur seemed a bit awestruck for a moment and YN couldn’t even fault him for it.

The two guards move aside to open the doors, nodding for them to go in before closing them firmly behind them.

YN finds herself reaching for Arthur’s hand, nervous and shaky with new experience anxiety and adrenaline that she was finally getting back into what she wanted even more so.

There were people mingling, sipping on drinks, and all fully clothed.

It wasn’t until Arthur informed her, “Play starts at ten, the first hour is to introduce, mingle, meet.”

Ah, that makes sense.

It almost builds the tension, YN feels like she can taste it on the tip of her tongue.

They walk over to the bar, another beautiful women greets them right away, laying a napkin down in front of both of them, “Newbies?”

“Yes,” Arthur nods, pointing to himself first, “I’m Arthur, this is YN, my fiance.”

The bartender quirks an eyebrow as she not-so-subtly scans them, “Nice to meet you two. I’m Raven. I bartend Friday through Sunday here. What are you drinking?”

“A moscow mule,” YN asks, maybe some alcohol will loosen her nerves.

“It’s a dry club, babe,” Raven smiles patiently as her long fingernails click against the smooth surface.

“Oh,” YN replies in surprise, looking behind her at the shelves only to see syrups for flavoring but no actual liquor bottles or draft taps to be seen, “A sprite?”

“Water, please,” Arthur adds as he rubs YN’s thigh, squeezing it in reassurance, “I forgot to tell you. No alcohol here. Everybody needs to be sober when playing.”

“That makes sense,” YN hums in agreement, never having actually thought about it much, but it could definitely get cloudy on consent when alcohol was being consumed in regards to playing which was a dangerous and unsafe mixture.

They sit, observed for a few minutes before a few people begin to flock towards them, greeting them and asking surface level questions until there’s a deep, almost eerie chime that echoes for a long moment through the club over the soft jazz.

It was signifying that the clock had struck ten.

Everyone quickly wraps up their conversations before moving to different areas of the rooms, some disappearing down hallways.

The atmosphere had changed significantly in a very quick spurt of time as people started undressing, kissing, moving as if they’d just gotten permission.

There was a couple of the couch across the room that Athur and YN were observing from their barstools.

The two started out slow, sensual, like any normal couple behind close doors but when the woman knots her hair into her partner’s hair and demands his mouth move lower, he obliges and Arthur gasps softly at the roughness displayed.

YN’s been aroused for the last five minutes of watching them but doesn’t make an effort to act on it, not yet atleast, and once the couple move so that the man is laying on the couch, the woman kneeling over his face, it changes her vantage point but it catches on something else.

In the corner, further back into the room, there was a man sitting in the corner where there was barely any lighting, dim and his goal was to obviously stay in the background.

No one was approaching him nor was he interacting with anyone else.

YN knew there was a no phone policy but this man was sat, scrolling boredly through his phone and only occasionally glancing up to observe the people in action around him before eyes dart back down like it wasn’t entertaining at all.

He wasn’t aroused, at least from what YN could see, and he was in a tight, well-fitted suit but his dress shirt was barely buttoned, open enough to show the definition of his pectoral muscles, the sharpness of his collarbones, and a variety of darkly inked tattoos.

He was fucking beautiful.

YN realizes she oogling him but can get away with it because it appears to Arthur that she’s still watching the couple like he is.

However, when the man looks up after a few moments once again, his eyes are instantly locked on YN.

She can’t tell what color they are from here but she knows they’re light, twinkling under the barely there light of a sconce on the wall and it’s smouldering as he doesn’t blink nor waver with embarrassment of being caught staring at her.

YN quickly diverted her eyes back to the couple, her heart was pounding, and a sense of thrill shot up her spine even though it was inappropriate.

She wasn’t here for new partners.

She was here to learn and explore with her own.

YN tries to play it casual when Raven refills the drink she nervously chugged, “Why does that guy have his phone?”

Raven’s eyes darted to the man before grinning, “That’s Harry. He’s the owner, my boss. He supervises the free play.”

“Free play?”

“Out in the common area, it’s considered free play. If you claim a room, you are in private play with whatever partners you bring back there. Harry just makes sure everything stays safe and consensual out here. He gets bored though and plays Candy Crush on his phone.”

YN cracks her own smile at that, trying to imagine the man trying to get rid of sugary sweets and getting frustrated when he loses a round.

“Does he not play?” Arthur asks curiously, now his attention has changed to Harry as well.

“Not often,” Raven informs them, leaning her elbow on the counter, “I can’t remember the last time he did. I’d say at least seven years ago, at least in the free play but he doesn’t reserve rooms or anything. He made it clear that he doesn’t find at least any of the current members interesting enough to engage with.”

“That’s interesting, considering he must have an interest in it, if this is his club,” Arthur replies to Raven before turning back to the scene of the couple, another member had joined the couple and was currently giving the male some startling rough looking bruised kisses and bites to his stomach and thighs.

Arthur was getting aroused by the look and feel of it, he reached over and brazenly took her hand, and led her to his groin where he was hard in his trousers, encouraging her to palm over him which she did as she tried to get into it.

This…This atmosphere, these people, they excited her.

Arthur still did not.

They manage to get to a couch, Arthur appears to be getting so turned on that foreplay isn’t in his realm of ideas because he’s hiking up YN’s dress around her hips and positioning her on top of him which is a new position (in all six years they’ve never done cowgirl) but still, her arousal is barely boiling above surface level.

YN licks her palm, reaching down to help moisten herself because Arthur was not doing anything to spark her to get wet.

It was actually making her more distressed that despite the scenario, she still didn’t feel the connection to her fiancé.

When she slides down, it’s fine, he was an average size so even without much lubrication, it didn’t feel like a stretch or burn when she started to move her hips but it wasn’t as pleasant as if she was sopping, dripping down her thighs.

Arthur glances to the side at one point, noticing that the male from the throuple was now pounding into the original partner with his had tight around her throat, pushing her further into the couch without mercy as she tried to whine through stutter breaths.

YN felt like she was being watched the entire time, which of course she was being watched by other members but it felt different, when she blinks around and notices that Harry has his gaze honed in on her with a twisted scowl of almost disapproval, it confuses her.

However, she’s brought back into the moment when Arthur pants out, “Can- I want to try that.”

When YN follows his gaze, he’s referring to the choking, and yeah, maybe that will light that match.

“Okay, yeah,” YN agrees as she brushes her hair off of her shoulders, wishing he would have taken this dress off of her instead of shoving it upwards where it felt confining.

Arthur smiles at her, leaning up to give her a chaste kiss which didn’t match their situation whatsoever that they were in at the moment.

YN was feeling anxious about the judgment other members might put onto them but not because she cared that people watched but because she knew Arthur and her were nowhere nearly as fluid, practiced, or elegant as the other members whom seemed to just melt into one another easily.

Arthur had never tried it before but his hand came up to her throat, he’s getting close to his own release which means that he’s not as focused, eyes getting a glazed over appearance.

YN soon realizes that he has no idea what he’s doing as he begins to cut off her airway by cupping her throat in the center instead of at the sides.

It hurts, she can’t breathe but not the way that feels tingly, excited, it feels like he could quite possibly suffocate her because of his carelessness.

They had talked about proper methods and he clearly hadn’t retained that information.

A few black dots begin to dance across her line of vision and her body starts to trigger a flight or fight response which she wants to use her safe word but she can’t speak.

YN takes to dig her nails into his hand but he doesn’t seem to understand that it’s not out of lust.

A true fear begins to take hold that something horrible will happen to her in less than a minute.

He’s truly going to injure her.

YN is in a full-fledged panic induced state.

Then suddenly, without warning, a strong arm is being wrapped around her middle and a big, ring-clad hand grips Arthur where it was around her neck so hard he yelps in pain and releases his grip.

The person is physically lifting YN off of Arthur’s lap, trying to steady her on her feet but they feel like jello and she feels light-headed, the room wouldn’t stop spinning.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” The person’s voice is deep, raspy, and incredibly pissed off, “What the fuck is your problem?”

YN can’t even bring herself to look at Arthur right now, her full support into Harry’s side as she notices the two securities guards walking in.

“C’mon, let me sit you down. You’re okay but I want to check you out, alright? Yeah, c’mon, pet,” He encourages in a much softer tone, gentle and trying to comfort me as she struggles to catch her breath.

It takes a long second to realize that she’s crying, tears streaming down her cheeks, and fuck, she is so embarassed as every other member had stopped playing.

“We’re done for the night. We’ll re-open tomorrow at the normal hours of operation,” Harry announces to the room at large before looking to Raven, “Go close down the private rooms.”

Raven nods, no longer as smiley and bubbling but an expression of concern as she watches what’s going on with YN.

“Hey, darling. Can you tilt your head up?” Harry asks quietly once he sits her down in the same corner that he had been in, away from the group.

YN whines because her neck is aching, she doesn’t want to do anything as the drop in adrenaline has made her more exhausted than she’s felt in a long time.

“I know, I know,” Harry simpers in an unpredictably cooing tone, he taps his thumb on her chin to signal her to tilt it up and she obliges.

Harry prods gently at her neck, focusing on the center where the pressure has been, “Any sharp pains? Anything feel off or wrong like you need to go to the hospital?”

YN shakes her head, a fresh round of tears.

She knew that she wasn’t injured or seriously hurt.

YN felt more traumatized mentally than anything else.

“I need words, want to hear your pretty voice,” Harry orders in a honey sweet tone, eyes hyper-focused on her like they were in the beginning of the night.

His eyes were green.

Close to the accent color of the club.

“I’m okay,” YN manages to speak out, throat dry and scratchy.

Raven appears with a glass of water to hand to Harry before giving them their space again.

YN is about to reach for the glass but Harry is already moving it towards her lips for her, “Drink f’me.”

It’s strangely intimate as he tilts the glass, eyes watching her carefully and a sense of guilt sets in that she likes that Harry is tending to her, giving her his full attention.

“Is this a common occurrence? Between you two?”Harry doesn’t sound as kind anymore, his jaw muscle twitches slightly.

“Um, no. We came here to explore. I’m very much into this world and he isn’t. He’s told me he’s done his research in his free time but -“

“You’re telling me that you’ve never negotiated nor tried something like this and he full fledge tries choking?” Harry interrupts, outraged from where he stands up from squatting in front of her, “Did you ask or plan for that?”

YN shakes her head, a bit embarrassed that she was coming off as an amateur to someone…she felt an attraction to, felt intimidated by, and Arthur had ruined their experience here.

“No. We tried spanking a few times but he backed out. We were just supposed to come here to watch others so he could visual what all this looked like before putting it into action-“

Harry doesn’t let her finish as he storms away from her, his glare set right on Arthur who was sheepishly sitting back at the bar and nursing a drink as Raven talked to him.

YN’s heart rate starts to rise again when Arthur tenses, clearly being chewed out by Harry before her fiancé gets off his barstool and follows the club owners lead down the hallway.

YN rushes to the bar, Raven is already pouring her another sprite, “Calm down. He’s not going to hurt him or anything. They just need to have a discussion on whether or not Harry will revoke his membership.”

It feels ruined and it never even started.

All she can think about is that despite for a short amount of time she was getting what she asked from Arthur, there was still no god damn spark.

After a good half hour, the bar phone rings and Raven answers, murmuring a few words back into the receiver before having up.

“I’m going to take you back to his office now.”

Harry’s office was just as luxe, elegant as the rest of the club.

It was tense as soon as she stepped in the room and Raven left, closing the door behind her.

“I’ve decided not to revoke your joint membership after discussion with Arthur. However, there are contingencies if you would like to continue coming here. Are you willing to hear them? Arthur has already agreed to the terms.”

YN nods slowly, voice soft, “Yes.”

Harry keeps his face on her as he speaks, “I do not tolerate what happened here tonight in my club. Arthur has clearly proven that he isn’t educated enough to be able to have free access to the club and free play.”

“If you want to continue membership, Arthur will need to reserve a private room and lessons will be held until he fully grasps the concepts, displays understanding, and can play safely without supervision.”

“Who…Do you have instructors?” YN doesn’t think she wants another man involved in their sex life even in an educational aspect.

“Yes but I will be teaching the lessons,” Harry informs her, calm as ever, “I bring this up because I would need to be hands on, to demonstrate and display certain practice, power play dynamics but that is a lot to ask as I do not know your limits on sharing.”

YN’s speaking before she even realizes it, “Yes. We can do that.”

Harry’s lip quirks slightly before it disappears but it oddly enough seems like a reward.

“We can schedule. I will send the paperwork. I already have your questionnaires about hard limits, likes, dislikes, and willing to try. I want to make this clear, this will be purely educational and there will be no dynamic developing between me and you two.”

YN nods dumbly, at a loss for words because the mere thought of Harry domming her was a lick of a flame that she’d been missing so much.

“I will dom you with instructions interwoven for Arthur. We will try to keep everything minimal as I cannot stress enough that this is not anything but informative on my end to help improve your sex life as a couple.”

Three longs weeks pass before their first ‘lesson’.

Arthur voiced excitement about the instruction, never brought up the choking incident again, and never initiated any type of sex during this time either.

Everything was swept under the rug as usual in their relationship.

YN would never admit the fact that she had gotten herself off to the mere idea of Harry domming her because something about him had triggered something carnal, something near feral in her.

It’s more than she had even felt with Klein.

She knew it wouldn’t last forever but she was going to enjoy this to the best of her abilities.

YN only had excited nerves going into the night.

Harry had inquired more in the break of time about YN’s experience and was extremely pleased to realize that she wasn’t as much of a novice as he assumed.

Though she hadn’t experienced many partners or relationships within the community, her knowledge was expansive and deep enough to impress him.

Harry had texted her back with a simple message that had her core tingling enough that she had to rub her thighs together.

YN: Thank you for continuously checking in on my comfort and experience regarding these situations. I have many more concerns for Arthur as we’ve already discussed. If you have any more questions, feel free to ask!

Harry Styles: I do not plan to go easy on you. Unless you specifically want soft play for these experiences. I can be a softer dominant but my main modality is firm, mean, regimented with softer aftercare.

YN: You don’t scare me. ;)

She was already being bratty with him.

It sent a wave of good nerves through her as she waited for a reply to be sent to her inbox.

Harry Styles: It’s interesting that you’ve already started to decide to be bad for me when you don’t even know what I’m capable of, darling.

YN : I’m shaking.

YN: Terrified.

Harry Styles: I wish I could wrap my fingers around your throat right now. Show your fiancé the proper way to choke a god damn brat.

YN could feel herself pooling with arousal.

It felt a bit wrong but she reasoned enough with herself that it was all for the greater good of her relationship with Arthur but deep down she knew that was bullshit.

YN: You’re probably not much better.

Harry Styles: Quite honestly, haven’t worked with such a fucking disobedient bitch in a long time. I cannot wait to break you. A kitten who thinks they’re a big bad tiger.

YN: Fuck you.

Harry Styles: Kitty’s got claws.

Harry Styles: For now…

It felt bordering on inappropriate but YN reasoned again that Harry had made it clear that there isn’t anything happening, it is a strictly professional as a type of situation like this can be.

Saturday has come and YN wakes up to a text.

Harry Styles: Better wear something cute enough that I find you interesting enough to play with. Even if it’s just to teach.

YN rereads the message quite a few times and why is he so good at getting under her skin and she doesn’t even know him yet but it’s like he knows exactly how to wind her up.

YN: Black dress with tights.

Harry Styles: It’s good to know that you’re just another basic bitch.

YN: What will you be wearing then?

Harry Styles: That’s none of your fucking business. I call the shots, kitty. Not you.

YN: 🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕

Harry Styles: Good to know. Five spanks for the five emojis. Would you like to keep going?

She can’t even help herself

YN: 🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕🖕

Harry Styles: Noted.

YN wants to reply, knowing he’s probably waiting but a tiny sliver of guilt starts to creep in when she thinks about Arthur because though she’s trying to convince herself this is perfectly fine.

It’s not.

Not with the emotions it makes her feel.

She hasn’t felt them in so long.

It scares her.

“Sweetie pie, are you having second thoughts? Should be getting ready,” Arthur steps out of the walk-in closet, adjusting the sleeve of his button up.

“No!” YN replies much too quickly, her tone high pitch, “Um, I lost track of time. I’ll get ready now.”

“Okay, I’m excited for this new experience with you,” He smiles sweetly, stepping over to press a kiss to her forehead.

It’s affectionate, loving, and she’s still thinking of other things than her fiancé.

YN decides on a black wide leg trouser with a corseted bodysuit that gave her tits the perfect push-up, she’s spray a very thin most of body glitter on her chest, she knew it would sparkle in the dim lighting.

She considered wearing the dress and tights to spite him but whatever, she’d be less easy access for him.

Arthur held her hand tightly as they entered The Body Factory.

YN was already searching for Harry, barely waving to Raven as Arthur leads them over but she doesn’t want a drink, she wants to play.

However her fiancé guide her to a stool, ordering for both of them as Raven has a look of curiosity as she slides them in front of him.

“Does he come out and get us?” Arthur asks Raven, looking around he doesn’t see him either.

Raven bites her lip, shaking her head with a chuckle, “No, I take you to your reserved room when ten hits.”

“What is it?” YN asks, unable to read what is going on the bartender's mind.

This conversation didn’t seem particularly funny.

“Nothing really. Harry just hasn’t offered private lessons for at least eight or nine years. Normally when couples have an incident like you did, Harry revoked their memberships without a second thought,” Raven informs them as she picks at a spot on the smooth surface of the bar absentmindedly.

“Why us?” YN wonders out loud, why after all that time did he make an exception.

“I wish I knew,” The bartender shrugs neutrally.

The deep chime rings out about forty-five minutes later.

YN cannot decipher whether she wants to throw up or jump up and down with excitement.

Especially when Raven guides them down a long hallway, then into another corridor until they reach a door with a sign that warns, “No members past this point. Private access only.”

“Um-“ Arthur goes to point out the sign, he was a rule follower to his core.

“It’s Harry’s private playroom that members can’t use but again, this is special circumstances,” Raven’s voice is hushed as she leads them into a surprisingly minimal room.

There were cabinets built sleekly into the walls where all toys and accessories must be held, a matte black.

Everything matched but there was a bigger prominence of the green accents that were more subtle in the main areas.

The play bench hardware matches everything else but the cushion is a luxe emerald.

The bed was…unlike anything she had ever seen.

It was massive but fit well in the spacious room.

High posts on all four corners with subtle hooks to place restraints in.

The mattress looked fluffy and giving, it looked as if the sheets were a black silk but the duvet was a very muted pattern of black and green diamonds.

YN was in love with space.

It was so much more than she was expecting.

“Holy shit,” Arthur gapes at the elegance, clearly he had been expecting something different too.

“Okay, when Harry comes in, he will already be in the dom headspace and so he wants me to give you reminders. Harry will respect your hard limits as he’s reviewed them before the session. You have received a list of his so please do the same.”

“Just as you can safeword out at any time without consequences, Harry can as well. He will use the same ‘red’ if need be and will check your colors throughout to ensure safe play.”

“For this first lesson, Arthur you will sit and observe. Harry will display a safe, typical scene of play to understand what that looks like with whatever kind of submissive YN is. You may also use your safeword at any time to stop the play.”

YN swallows because would he allow that?

Surprisingly, Arthur’s face is still clear and happy as he starts to walk over to an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room and smiles at YN, “Can’t wait.”

YN raises a shocked eyebrow at his willingness but nods at Raven to show she understands.

They’re silent as they wait for Harry.

She wasn’t given instruction and because she was a bit nervous, she perched herself on Arthur’s lap as he rubbed her thigh and kissed her shoulder blades occasionally.

Then there’s a shuffle outside the door, the door knob twisting and the door opening.

Harry looked ethereal.

He wasn’t wearing a tailored suit like before but leather boots with a bit of a heel, form-fitting jeans that make his lean quads look biteable, and a plain black shirt.

His arms had even more beautiful ink than YN realized.

After Harry closes the door, his eyes lock on hers, not even acknowledging her fiancé’s presence.

“Stand up,” Harry orders loudly, a bit startling.

YN obeys instantly, her heart was pounding in her eardrums like waves of the choppy ocean.

A cruel smirk tilts on his lips when he scans her up and down.

“Did I strike a nerve, pet? This isn’t a black dress and tights. Are you already starting off so insecure? And you think you can handle me. What a cute, pathetic little kitten,” His voice is venomous, steady, and she’s clinging onto every word.

Arthur’s clearly confused but stays silent.

“I’m not pathetic,” YN argues shakily, it felt dangerous to get bratty so soon but it was her submissive profile and character, it came naturally.

Harry quirks a brow, “Sir.”

YN gives him her own confused look.

“I’m not pathetic, sir. Every time you speak, try again.”

“I’m not pathetic,” YN bleats easily, a flutter of her eyelashes.

Harry smiles like a goddamn wolf.

“Oh, you’re not? Let’s test that theory,” Harry draws as he takes a few steps backwards, towards the door, “Come to me.”

YN stands up, on wobbly legs, and begins to but is stopped in her tracks by his hard voice.

“Hands and knees. Crawl for me, I want to show your fiancé how pathetic you are for me,” Harry has a humor, an evil sense of it.

YN drops to her hands and knees, nearly panting already, and begins to move.

summary of triggering scene: YN’s fiance chokes her and though it’s completely consensual he doesn’t know what he’s doing and almost hurts her. YN cannot safeword out at the time but harry stops the scene.

#harry styles writing #harry styles #harry styles masterlist #harrystyles #harry styles boyfriend #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles one shot #harry smut #harry styles fanfic #harrystylesfanfic #fan fic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles au #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #patreon

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astriddestelle · 1 month ago

Text

In light of discovering I’ve been a friends to lover girlie this whole time. Here’s are my top ten friends to lovers of all time canon and non canon.

1. The ship that started it all admittedly I liked Raven more so I shipped her with Robin, but my god Robin and Starfire were cute a whole ass ship I didn’t even realize I was shipping until they kissed in the movie and I was squealing like well I was a kid lol. My favorite episode aside from the Raven ones were always the ones focused on their relationship. Stranded was chefs kiss. I’m not a girl I’m not your friend. Date with Destiny had me gagged. Sisters the arm reach as she’s kidnapped beautiful. No other couple will compare.

2. God when this was airing what a time to be fucking alive. I was so obsessed with this ship. My first fanfic ideas were about this ship. I used to roleplay this show at school. They were so fucking messy with their just friends bullshit. Just friends my ass. I used to watch episode 22 routine on repeat and yes I have it memorized they almost kissed then spent the rest of series pretending they weren’t down bad for each other. They never actually made it official either which will forever haunt me to this day.

3. This one crept on me. I didn’t realize I shipped it until I shipped it and there was no going back. I mean come on. The look of love is literally their theme song. What do you mean Langa only likes skateboarding when Reki is there to watch and cheer him on. What do you mean Reki is afraid of Langa getting hurt not himself but Langa. Cindereki need I say more. The most casual friends to lovers cause they don’t even realize till the end. I went to skate infinitely with you who says stuff like that to someone they’re just friends with. How they adopt each others love languages through your the show. Ugh.

4. Alright imma be honest. This one started as me just wanting to read more Itadori fics but my god. If gege wasn’t a coward they would’ve been official (jk mostly) but Megumi only wanting to live a domestic life with Yuji, regaining the will to live after Yuji says he misses him, not having a reason for saving him not wanting him to die, start by saving me itadori…yeah. And itadori never giving up saving fushiguro, first words out of his mouth are always fushiguro, tells Sukuna to give fushiguro back. I mean how could I not.

5. Might be too early for me to be adding them to this list but so far Momo and Okarun have all the makings of being just as great as Robin and Starfire if not better. Two idiots sharing one brain cell the way they actually communicate with each other, Okarun getting salty when people insult his wifey, Momo getting jealous when people flirt with her husband. Okarun straight up telling Momo he can’t read her mind but he cares about her and values her friendship. Momo straight up saying she wants to talk to Okarun and loves hanging out with him. I’m into deep and it’s only been nine episodes. First time I’ve been this invested in a straight ship in years.

6. Back to the classics with this one. And I’m lowkey starting to sense a pattern. Cause why do they all involve redheads in some way and do I have a type? (yes) Kim and Ron are the original boss wife/fail husband. They’re so cute cause if you rewatch the series there’s all these little hints that they always liked each other (it took you 12 stinking years to kiss me) (I mean me and Kim sure everyone expects it but) but like didn’t wanna ruin their friendship fucking cute as hell idk if it was intentional on the writers part but yeah

7. Gwen and Geoff from Total Drama Island. They had one episode together and I was a goner. Idk I just love my sun and moon motifs as yall can clearly see. Something about the black cat golden retriever dynamic just tickles me I guess. I know yall see the potential. I rewrote total drama island just to get them to together it was bad

8. Harry and Luna from HP. Idc he shoulda been with her and not Ginny. No shade to Ginny but I just feel like they would’ve been such a great couple. Harry with someone who understands him and will never make him feel like he needs to live up to the savior role and Luna with someone who will never judge her for being different or odd. Sigh. So much wasted potential. So stinking cute oddly doesn’t exist as much anymore sigh.

9. Birdflash. I will not deny a huge part of this stems from really liking Wally West and that’s pretty much it. And I wanted more fics about him. I did not like Artemis at all, no one else shipped him with Zatanna or Rocket or Batgirl or Megan so Robin it was lol. But I mean I’ve been eating since so I can’t complain.

10. Ok while I don’t like this ship anymore I can’t deny I was obsessed with it for a hot minute. Danny/Sam from Danny phantom so much freaking potential and actually really cute from 10 year old me’s pov too bad they don’t hold up as an adult. I was very much obsessed with goths as a kid huh.

Honorary mentions

Adrien/Marinette: I haven’t seen enough of this show to put em in my top ten but my god is it cute af sometimes I just need to cute sunshine’s falling in love that is all. I’ve seen enough to know I’m rooting for both of em. A

Jade/Andre: I was obsessed with the episode he had a crush on her. Also in canon he’s the only one she calls a friend, they have lunch dates, she isn’t ever mean to him not as mean as she is to everyone else. I think it’s be cute af alright. Plus Andre wouldn’t flirt with other girls and make her jealous

Tododeku idk yall I just think they’d be cute af together not much else say. Same goes for Mina and Bakugo. Idk I just like em.

Sheen/Libby very refreshing to see a black girl get a love interest and not be discarded later. Sigh too bad that hasn’t happened since like 2006

can also throw on numbuh one and numbuh five from kids next door for similar reasons above. As well as numbuh two and numbuh five

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lizzybeeee · 2 months ago

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Me watching my Inquisitor walk off with Solas at the end of the game like :) "aw cute ..hey if Mythal hadn't told you to stop would you have murdered her,," (I haven't played the other endings yet).

This!!!

(Obviously, not murdered her personally, but he absolutely had no qualms about doing the ritual once more - knowing the consequences of it.)

Let me preempt this by saying that I wanted there to be a happy/fulfilling ending to Solas and Lavellan. I'm not a blind hater! Just someone who finds it very hard to put my own Lavellan in the place of the 'Lavellan' provided to us in DATV.

The Solas/Lavellan relationship already was kind of iffy (power imbalance, constantly dragging her culture, removing her vallaslin/then dumping her, constantly lying to her, etc...) but DAI did a great job of making you feel sympathetic towards his plight - especially after Trespasser! He woke up in a world so divorced from his own that it was unrecognizable - the people he had done so much for were suffering from the consequences of his actions, justified as they may have been at the time (stopping the evanuris). His actions led to great suffering in the pursuit of preventing even greater suffering.

Even after we learned of his plans in Trespasser, it was very much: "cool motive, still murder."

I felt sympathetic towards Solas and the implication that we could change his mind, given to us in Trespasser, gave me hope that we would be able to convince him of another path. That he could find a place in Thedas as it is now and look to the future. That was why I chose the option to try and get through to Solas, despite knowing that his plan would lead to mass death/terror if it went ahead.

I always expected the Veil to fall at some point, but i was hoping there'd be some more nuance to it than: veil gone, demons everywhere, lots of people die. Well, I was very wrong lmao.

But, if anything, the game made me entirely unsympathetic towards Solas.

The moment he started his ritual he chose the old elven empire over Lavellan - over her family, friends, home, culture, and anything else she may have loved/valued.

And he did this twice.

He chose to pursue lowering the Veil - knowing that thousands would likely die. For all his insistence of 'minimizing the damage' he went in knowing that many more people would die because of his actions. There was no justification of stopping the evanuris this time either - no excuse of not knowing the potential consequences of his actions like the first time.

He chose to begin the ritual that ended up releasing the Elven Gods - knowing full well the risks it entailed.

He killed Varric - whether by accident or not, it was by his hand.

He chose to use blood magic to manipulate Rook into thinking that Varric was alive - puppeting his corpse around in Rook's eyes and putting his words into Varric's mouth.

He chose to manipulate, mold, and guilt Rook into the old 'switcheroo' in his mind palace/regret prison

He chose to 'free' the elven people by bringing down the Veil - regardless of their feelings about it (elven Rook can call him out on this!), never mind the consequences or ramifications of a bunch of people suddenly having their bodily autonomy overwritten by now being magic/having immortality.

He looked at the devastation caused the by the Gods and still went ahead with trying to bring down the veil again.

These are the thing he does in-game - not even mentioning making the dwarves/titans tranquil, creating the blight, started the chain of events that led to SOUTHERN THEDAS BEING DESTROYED, and taking my good gear from Inquisition!

Aside from the 'all lore leads to Solas' reveal just being really dull it also does nothing to help with making me sympathetic to him as a character. The audacity of this man to say: "it was like walking in a world of tranquil" when he fucking lobotomized the dwarves/titans is wild in retrospect.

If he didn't do the ritual at the beginning, if something else went wrong and that resulted in the God's being released, I could understand why a Lavellan would still want to get through to him. It would make sense - she could stop him from doing it again at the end too! You can still have him conflicted and torn between the restoring the past or pursuing the future - but this doesn't happen!

He never chose Lavellan in this game! Hell, it's Mythal who convinces him to stop?!! He owes her nothing! He's learned nothing from this!!! He's only stopped because Mythal 'pardoned/freed' him - once again showing that he values the ancient elves/mythal over her!!!

How impactful would it have been to have him choose Lavellan over Mythal! To show us this! Mythal, who 'crawled through the ages for a reckoning' (which was retconned to her being sad about the elves lmao) telling Solas to go through with the ritual and him touching grass and saying 'no'.

It's something I feel was wildly out of character for him as well - he never came across in DAI as being subservient to Mythal, if anything the ending cutscene gave me the impression they were equals?!

After everything he did in this game - after all we learn about what he did in the past - I had no interest in reasoning/appealing with his ass. None whatsoever. My inquisitor/Lavellan asking if Solas can be reasoned with only made me regret making that choice - perhaps other people's inquisitor's would say that, but mine would not, especially after everything that happened in game.

She came across as delusional: standing on the ruins of a blighted Minrathous, the south blighted to hell, dead all around them, blight tentacles everywhere, a gaping hole in the Fade right next to them:

Lavellan: "I forgive you! All you have to do is stop." Solas: "But I cannot."

Boom! There it is.

At this point it's not romantic, it's just sad! Sad that she's spent 10 years pining after a man who seemed to learn nothing at all from what happened in DAI.

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

There should have been some sort of a dialogue option with Lavellan right before you go into the big fight - she can ask you what you think of Solas, if he's truly regretful for everything that happened, and then you can give her an answer that can 'change' her approach to Solas in the end - giving the player some agency as to how their Inquisitor would actually respond to this.

Ending One: Bye Bye Bye

Rook: "HE'S A GUY."

alternatively, "Look around you! Look at what Solas has done - what he's threatening to do even now after all of this! You gave him every chance to turn away from this path. So did Varric...and look at what he did!"

Lavellan is bitter/angry with Solas: "It seems we never were people to you after all."

Refers to him as 'Fen'harel' and not Solas - dig the knife in deeper, give us angst!

"Just go. You love the Fade, don't you? Enough to do all this - enough to kill Varric for your pride in a dead world that no longer exists. We were never 'real' to you, were we?"

Solas says his goodbyes, expresses his love, and Lavellan steps back.

Solas leaves voluntarily, his 'situation-ship very much over', to stew in his regrets for the rest of his life.

Ending Two: Bittersweet Goodbye

Rook: "Girl, it's been 10 years."

alternatively, "You loved him once, perhaps you still do even now - after all he's done - but love wasn't enough. Love does not excuse this."

Lavellan is firm with Solas, does not excuse his actions, but has a bitter sweet farewell: "I had hoped…it doesn't matter what I hoped. You made your choice - it wasn't me. It wasn't our friends. It wasn't this world. You can make a choice now - if I ever mattered you. If I, if our friends, were ever real to you."

They can have a final goodbye, a goodbye smooch, and then he can go off to the Fade.

Bittersweet ending - acknowledge what they had and then provide closure.

Ending Three: Happy Ending (?)

Rook: "He didn't mean it babe. He's tots sorry."

alternatively, "He seems to regret what's happened - I've seen his memories, his regrets. He believes this is the only path he has. Perhaps you can convince him to find another."

Default Lavellan ending basically

"There is no fate but the love we share" blah blah blah

As happy an ending as it can be when you have Lavellan fuck off to the Fade - leaving behind her life, friends, family, and whatever remains of the world for an eternity.

I'm being mean but I genuinely wanted a happy/fulfilling ending for them both too - despite the fact that this game seems to want that ending as well, it did little to convince me of that. :(

I genuinely liked Solas in DAI - despite his flaws, I thought his romance was compelling and I was hoping to be able to convince him to change/alter his path. I can see what they were trying to do with him in DATV but it's so hard to feel sympathy for him when we see/know the results of his actions. The story in this game is doing anything but convincing me to give him a 'happy ending'.

'Love' can't excuse what he did and neither would my Lavellan.

Also RIP Sandal's Prophecy about the Fade lmao

#super compelling character #stuck in a very uncompelling story #if you're happy with the ending I'm glad! my Lavellan would have kicked his ass though #hard to feel sorry for a guy who ends up inadvertently nuking the world while planning to do a ritual that will kill thousands #Oops I accidentally pressed the nuclear missile codes instead of the regular missile codes my mistake tee hee #i would have LOVED the chance to try and change his mind btw - I WANTED TO SAVE HIM #Gareth David-Lloyd was the highlight of this game #which makes this all the more depressing #delivered the performance of a lifetime for this trainwreck of a romance ending #DAI Solas is superior change my mind #wasn't reduced to an exposition machine either #my cat stepped on my laptop while writing the post - i copied and pasted his message to u all:#uyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy126qw12qw12qw12qw12qw12qw12qw12qw12qw12qw12qw12qw12qw12qw12qw12qw12qw12qw5rtt #words of wisdom #datv spoilers #datv critical #bioware critical #dragon age the veilguard #solavellan critical #veilguard critical

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marthawrites · 1 year ago

Note

"don't shut me out. please"

I hope it is not too late for me to join the celebration ☺️ Congratulations! 💕👏🏼

Thank you sooososo much! You are such a gem and I appreciate all of your fandom love more than you know! I did my best to include a (one shot appropriate) slow burn, angst, and a happy ending. I hope you enjoy this ride MWAH!

Summer's End, Autumn's Beginning

Modern Aemond Targaryen x fem reader

Word Count: 6.3k+

About: A chance encounter with Aemond leads to a whirlwind of emotions. Over the next few months you both fail, in yourselves and in the relationship, and learn from the mistakes.

Includes: Chance encounter, age difference (references to Aemond x Alys) mentions of cheating, allusions to cheating, angst, second chance romance, and smut featuring vaginal fingering, possessive sex, and unprotected protected vaginal sex

Note: Hello lovely reader! This is the longest piece I've wrote in quite awhile - whew! I also feel like it's one of the more ambitious one-shot fics I've worked on/completed. Reader is non-descript. As always, please, enjoy!

read part 2 Between the Covers here

There were two things tied for number one on your five-year goal list.

First, be out of your city apartment (preferably as a home owner and not a renter)

Second, have a dog.

They went hand in hand. One couldn’t happen without the other. So, it was a hard tie and you weren’t willing to budge on either. Until then, to take the edge off your self-proclaimed animal loneliness, you volunteered at a local shelter two nights a week. Mondays and Wednesdays.

While your day job wasn’t a doctor, lawyer, or professional athlete – ones that your family pushed you to have while growing up – it still paid decently and had the potential for career advancement. And! You were able to live on your own. Not having a roommate was worth the dry job description. Besides, your boss was fair and most of your co-workers were friendly; a win win, really.

Tonight, Monday, you finished your shift, went home to change, then headed out to the shelter. Even though it was all volunteer hours you valued punctuality and did your best to get there around the same time each night.

“Hey! You made it!” Arryk called out to you when you stepped inside the building. Chaos sparked all around. He did a great job running and maintaining the schedule, and with the help of volunteers alongside regular staff, it was, more often than not, smooth sailing. Tonight, however, it appeared quite the opposite.

“Hey! Yeah, a few minutes later than usual, sorry!” You said as you walked over to him.

He waved a hand brushing off your apology. “No worries. We had a few people call in today. So, since being short staffed we’re definitely running behind. I know you normally help bathe the dogs with Baela tonight, but can I ask you to do something else instead?” He winced slightly with his question, unsure of your answer. He knew how much you loved Baela and cleaning the dogs!

You squinted at him suspiciously. “Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, crossing your arms. “You know I won’t administer shots. If I could get over my fear of needles I’d be a veterinarian and not an office worker like I am!” You scrunched your brows before one, all on its own accord, arched up dubiously.

“Ha!” He laughed. “No no no, I know. We have six dogs that need walking tonight. And I don’t think Targaryen can handle all of ‘em.”

“Helaena? She’s back?” You asked, eyes bright with surprise.

“She’s still away for that college trip. It’s her younger brother, Aemond. Have you met him before?”

You’d heard Helaena talk about him, of course, but you’d never met him. Shaking your head, you peered around the shelter looking for anyone else with the Targaryen tell-tale silver-blonde hair. No one caught your eye. “I haven’t. But, I don’t mind.”

“You are a lifesaver!” He praised. “He’s down the west hall getting them ready. Depending on how long you're here afterward, there might be another couple who could use a second walk. Terriers. You know how they are.”

“Happy to help, Arryk!” He was a good guy. You’d always liked him.

“Aemond’s tall, towheaded as the rest of his family, and has an eyepatch. You can’t miss him.” And with that Cargyll switched tasks and got right back to work.

Turning and walking down the west hall, you were happy to say, chaos began to fizzle out. This hall had the larger dogs; no wonder Aemond wouldn’t be able to walk all six at once. Even with the slow turn of summer to autumn sunset wouldn’t be for another three hours. Assuming all went well you’d be able to walk the second batch of dogs, too.

Down the aisle were five opened doors with each respective dog ready for their walk. Their leashes were hooked onto the door so they couldn’t run amuck. You patted and scratched them, earning yourself more wagging tails, a few happy barks, and some excited licks. Looking to the end of the hall you saw someone who you assumed was your evening walking partner. He was kneeling, talking soothingly to a great big senior hound, while clasping the final buckle of their harness. “Hello, uh-, Aemond?” You called out feeling slightly self-conscious.

Still kneeling, he turned his head to look up at you. Any softness in his single eye quickly hardened to match the rest of his sharp features. “Hey,” he said, caught off guard by your presence; someone he’d never seen calling him out by name. “Is there something I can help you with?” Slowly, in a single fluid motion, he stood up and the aged dog kept his eyes on him the whole time, panting happily.

Whoa. He was tall. And, at first sight, incredibly good looking: dressed in casual black clothes, long silver hair tied into a braid, with a scar along the left side of his face that you had to tell yourself not to stare at. His mouth was a unique shape, too, and you weren’t sure if he was merely waiting for a response or if he was smirking the tiniest pout at you. “Hi,” you said again with a nervous laugh. You told him your name. “Arryk sent me. Said you could use some help with the walk tonight?” ‘Play it cool, dummy. He’s really handsome, so what? He could be a huge asshole. Play. It. Cool,’ your inner voice said.

Did he have a mechanical eye beneath his patch? The way he looked at you, then, made you feel like he read your thoughts. “Ah. I could certainly use the help,” he said smoothly with a small curve of lip, turning his attention to the three dogs at the front of the hallway. “Wanna take those three?” He asked, looping the big dog’s leash around his wrist. “I mean, you can have any of them as long as I get this guy. He’s my favorite.”

Your pulse raced a little too fast. Clearing your throat, you smiled in an attempt to ease the butterflies in your belly. “I don’t mind. Why is he your favorite?” You turned and began to unclasp leashes from their doors; happy tips and taps of claws growing louder at the pups’ excitement.

“Reminds me of my girl at home,” Aemond replied, adoration clear in his voice. “Big and old, a little stinky, a little slobbery. The best kind, really.”

“Aw, that’s very sweet. I don’t have any pets. I get my fix here,” you laughed. Holding all three dogs in one hand, you pulled the door open with the other. Except, it didn’t open. On instinct, you tried again hoping Aemond didn’t notice.

He strode up next to you with the rest of the dogs in tow, smirking at you for real this time, as he said, “it’s a push door.”

You knew it was a push door. Fuck. He gave you a knowing glance over his shoulder as he walked out, waiting for you to follow along.

II.

You didn’t see Aemond on Wednesday and you couldn’t deny your disappointment when you left for the night. Come to find out you two had been volunteering at the same place for months – only on different days. He tended to be there Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Monday had been a chance encounter. One you couldn’t shake out of your head.

Before leaving tonight, however, you took a selfie with Aemond’s favorite old hound. You’d exchanged numbers but hadn’t an excuse to strike up a conversation. Yet. Now, with the selfie as an excuse, you opened a fresh text thread and sent him the photo along with:

Someone missed you tonight!

While buckling up in your car and getting ready to reverse out of your parking spot, your phone dinged with an incoming message:

Very cute. Will you be there on Monday? Maybe Cargyll will assign up walking duties again.

Your belly flipped. Truthfully, you weren’t expecting him to message back – especially so quickly. Before you could stop yourself you sent back:

Yup! See you then?

And he sent:

I’ll find another excuse to be there.

Feeling a little bold, you replied:

Excited to see you again! You have these adorable dimples when you smile. Maybe I’ll see those, too?

When nothing came through for a few minutes, you feared you might have gone too far. It was just a little innocent flirting, right? Nothing bad? And then:

Maybe so. See you Monday.

Smiling, you didn’t send anything back. It’d be your luck to say something dumb and rub him the wrong way.

During your first walk, as soon as the ice broke, you both clicked really well. Hopefully – just maybe – things would flow like that again. The connection you felt, something akin to a liveware, couldn’t have been one-sided. He had to feel a spark of it, too; even if just a little.

You drove home, made dinner while facetiming one of your friends from uni, and when she asked about the spark in your eye you told her about your friend Helaena’s younger brother.

III.

“I seriously cannot believe you’ve never seen The Lord of the Rings. The Hobbit trilogy was a little silly, but watchable. But you haven’t even seen that?” Aemond asked clearly aghast at your lack of understanding his reference.

Tonight, you both got walking duty again and neither of you complained. And, this time, he regarded you with a softer look in his eye than his original sharp glance. He was dressed in dark casuals again and you hated (loved?) how good he made them look. His hair was in a bun and his eyepatch stayed firmly in place. You wanted to ask him about it but weren’t sure if you should try it yet. Instead, you rolled your eyes and laughed. “You’re making it sound better and better the more you talk about it.”

“That’s because it’s the best.” The dogs pulled both of you along and you had to walk brisker than normal to keep up with them and Aemond’s longer legs. He seemed unaffected by it.

“So, you recommend I watch it?” You asked playfully.

“No,” he started, very serious. “I recommend you read it first and then watch the movies.”

If you had more breath in your lungs you’d have giggled – not laughed, but giggled. Something about the way he said it, and the totally serious look on his face, tickled you. “Will you watch them with me?”

The question appeared to catch Aemond off guard. He looked at you, lingering over your pinkened cheeks and smirking lips, before finally making it back to your eyes. Just when he opened his mouth to say something in reply, a completely unrelated thing stole his attention. Sometime during your bantering you’d made it back to the shelter, and a tall dark-haired woman called out, “there’s my sweet Aemond. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you and you haven’t been answering your phone.”

If you thought Aemond attractive, this woman made him look like any regular ol' Joe. She was elegant, warmed by a late summer tan, and had raven dark hair cascading down her back; truly a vision of enchantment. When she sauntered to him and pressed her body to his, you felt like a voyeur watching the embrace.

“Alys,” Aemond breathed quietly. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want,” she answered as she trailed manicured fingers across the front of his chest.

She had a timeless look to her, the kind that concealed her age. She could have been anywhere from twenty-five to fifty, you thought. You really hadn’t a clue. All you knew, now, is that you should finish your task alone.

Aemond’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. Posture tense. “I told you I was busy tonight–”

Before you could stop yourself you cut him off with an awkward wave. “See you later, Aemond.” And, with that, you walked inside before you overheard anything else they might be saying to each other. Turning to glance over your shoulder one last time, you were met with a look of deliberate triumph from Alys; she had the greenest eye you’d ever seen.

It was haunting.

Driving home, you felt stupid. Aemond was just a guy you just met. It was silly to think someone like him would be single and even sillier to think your innocent flirtations would be working on him. You had half a mind to delete his number. Or, at the very least to delete the short message thread of your texts.

Instead of making dinner like you normally did, you called in delivery and facetimed with your friend as you waited. She immediately knew something was off and you were quick to tell her everything that happened.

Twenty minutes passed and you were starting to feel better. It’s not like you two hooked up or even kissed. It was just a chance meeting with playful banter. Nothing to get shook up about. “Food’s here. Thanks for listening to me. I’ll talk to you later. Love you!” You said as you got up to answer the door.

When all else failed, your favorite food could always make you feel better.

Turning the tv on and sitting down amongst your couch pillows and blankets, you were getting ready to dig in when your phone rang.

Aemond.

Your insides did a weird flip and hunger disappeared entirely from your mind and belly. Should you answer? Let it go to voicemail? Turn the stupid thing off and completely ignore him? Right before the final ring, you decided. “Hello?”

“Hey,” he said, immediately sounding relieved. “I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t yet ready to call it a night with you.”

“It’s no biggie,” you replied. Lying. “I didn’t want to interrupt anything–,” you paused, searching for something else to say to soften the edge of your voice, “–the dogs were getting tired anyway.” God. It sounded stupid even to your own ears.

Aemond sighed through the phone. You wondered if he slid his hand down his face or through his hair. It sounded like he did. “No. Alys is… it’s complicated. She’s my ex and–”

“ –you don’t have to explain anything to me,” you said, cutting him off. “Really. It’s fine.” Despite it being a phone call, you tried to smile as if it would blunt the dismissal of your tone.

“I mean it,” he said. “I really wasn’t ready to say bye yet. What do you say you skip your regular Wednesday night plans and grab a milkshake or something with me?”

Your insides flipped again but for an entirely different reason this time. You knew it: the sparks definitely weren’t one sided. The firm set of Aemond’s jaw and the rigidness of his shoulders flashed once more in your mind’s eye. Since your break up with your long-term boyfriend you’d been on a few dates, but none of them lead to anything worthwhile. With how you and Aemond clicked, however? This date might lead to something more than a hook-up (or, attempt at a hook-up. Some men truly had no game). “Are you sure…?” You asked after a moment. “You and Alys looked pretty comfortable–,”

“ –I’m sure,” it was his turn to cut you off.

“Alright then. Let’s do it.”

IV.

It'd been two months since your first milkshake date with Aemond – the first of many dates. It was a guilty pleasure of yours and apparently one of his, too!

Your first kiss, first time meeting his elder dog, Vhagar, and first time meeting his family were all memories you cherished.

The more you learned about Aemond’s relationship with Alys, the more you understood it "complicated". Including Targaryen drama, Targaryen business, and a list of other things you had a hard time following. It didn’t matter anymore, though, Aemond reassured you. Things were done between them and he only wanted you; proving it to you with fingers and mouth until you begged for a break.

A lesson you learned from your last relationship – one Aemond learned from his, too – was to be careful with love. As much as you genuinely enjoyed him and his company, a barrier stood between you that neither dared yet to cross.

Love.

Each day you fell for him a little more; you were scared to admit it. The scar of heartbreak healed slowly. Could you truly trust Aemond with that part of yourself? With the very essence of your heart? It’d been two months and you still weren’t entirely sure.

If he felt the same he’d say something, right?

Autumn blanketed the lands with brisk air, rainy days, and rolling fog. As days grew short and nights long, you and Aemond spent more time at your apartment or his quarter at the Targaryen estate. Your apartment was the clear favorite. Living alone had its perks: never having to worry about nosy family or friends who showed up unannounced.

And thank God you didn’t live with anyone else.

"Mmh… fuck, baby, I've been thinking about this all day. I can't get enough of you. Let me make my girl feel good," he said against your mouth as one of his hands moved up the inside of your thigh. "Are you wet already? I bet you are," he chuckled, fingertips tracing your slit. "Mmm… I knew it. Your clit is sooo needy, isn't it?"

Shit. Those hushed words, the glint in his eye, his rasped tone… you happily indulged him in whatever way he wanted. And him, you. Fingers, mouth, cock, he quickly learned what tricks made you melt.

As much as he loved having you ride him, or bending you over, his absolute favorite was fucking you into the mattress. You sprawled out beneath him, hair messy and fanned out around your head, legs wrapped tight around his waist, fingernails on his body… he could never get enough of your blushed face beneath him, trembling and arching as he pushed you to peak after peak.

Your sheets had never been cleaned so often in your entire life.

It was particularly rainy today and you were both finished with everything on your to-do list. Aemond sat on the floor in front of you as you lounged in your overstuffed chair. You told him you'd read the Lord of the Rings as long as he read it to you. He didn't even pretend to be annoyed by your bargain. He read to you from his own collection, claiming he liked the worn feeling of the pages better than a new book's pages.

Like any proper reader Aemond started with The Hobbit. You enjoyed it more than you thought you would. More so than the story, however, you enjoyed him reading aloud to you – he had the loveliest voice. You were about half way through The Fellowship of the Ring and the story continued to get better.

But, all afternoon, Aemond's phone never stopped going off. It seemed like every few minutes it would ping with some kind of notification. "Who's blowing you up?" You asked, annoyance creeping into your tone.

Stopping mid sentence, he looked. "Alys," he sighed as he scrolled through the various messages.

You tried to not look over his shoulder to the texts. You really did. But there was something about Aemond's shift in posture, and the air around him, that made you suspicious. "What's going on?" You asked in your best nonchalant manner.

"She's asking if I have some of her clothes at my place still," he answered and you swore you saw pink spread atop his cheeks.

That caught you off guard. "Why would she have clothes–"

And whatever else you were going to say was abruptly cut off.

There, in a new string of messages, was the single text line, "I miss you, baby boy," followed by at least three photographs of Alys in lingerie and various stages of undress.

"What the fuck Aemond!?" You asked, anger and hurt instantly warming your blood. "What the hell were those? Are you fucking joking?"

"I have no idea why she sent–"

" –is that why she left clothes at your place? Couldn't let her go for real? Jesus Christ I can't believe you." Anger flushed your face and bittered your words.

"Listen, please. Hear me out, bab–"

" –oh fuck off, Aemond, you don't get to 'babe' me around anymore. In fact, just leave."

He looked as hurt as you. And shocked. A hundred emotions played across his chiseled features. "No, really. Let me explain," he pleaded with eye and tone.

You weren't having it. You were cheated on before and he knew it. It made your own hurt cleave even deeper. You really fucking liked him. Maybe even loved him. And this whole time he had you and Alys? "I'm seriously about to get really fucking angry. Leave. Now."

He stood and left. Silent fury screamed around him like a whirlwind. He didn't even give you one final look over his shoulder.

He shut your door with a deliberate click.

You curled up in your blanket alone as fat ugly tears streamed down your face. You couldn't be bothered to grab a tissue for your snotty nose.

Aemond's leather jacket was still draped over the back of your couch and his book still lay on the floor. Your crying somehow turned uglier at the realization.

Eventually you dozed off. With Aemond, you always had your phone on silent so you didn't hear all his missed calls and texts.

The following month went by in a blur; you drowned yourself in work. You also stopped volunteering because you didn't want to give Aemond the opportunity to meet you there. By some feat of strength you ignored all his attempts at talking – and by proxy, apologizing.

The only thing you said to him was a single text:

I need time. Please understand

Part of you wondered how it affected him. His calls and texts became sparse until they eventually stopped.

Helaena asked where you'd been and you felt horrible lying to her. So, you didn't. After telling her the story she sighed and asked if you'd want to grab tea. You agreed. Meeting her at a local cafe allowed you to air out your feelings; laughs and tears alike. She was kind, and sweet, and supportive without being passive. She loved her brother but knew he had many of his own issues. You'd been friends for over a year and this was the first true heart to heart you shared.

Upon returning home you picked up the Fellowship and tried to read from where Aemond left off. But, it wasn’t the same without him and it only made you cry. Again.

VI.

The following morning, despite your car's newer model, it barely wanted to start for your drive to work. By a stroke of luck you made it there fine. And, made it back home that evening, too. But that was the end of your luck. It needed to be picked up and taken to a shop until a mechanic could see it.

Carless, you had to rely on Uber or public transportation. Yuck.

A few days of stress passed and now you were done for the week. Thank God for weekends. Unfortunately your groceries were extremely low and you would need to make a trip in the morning. You sighed and used it as an excuse to order pizza.

After waking up and a breakfast of (the last, and past its sell-by date) packet oatmeal you got around to make the walk to the nearest grocery store. Knowing you'd be walking home, too, the list was small. Carrying bags up two flights of stairs was hard enough, much less carrying them home a mile!

On the way back it started sprinkling. Great. Just great. You started walking faster with hopes of making quicker time than your leisurely stroll to the store. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, you heard your name called. Was that…? Stopping in your tracks you looked across your shoulder to the side of the road and saw none other than Aemond. You knew his car and voice anywhere. You didn't have to see yourself to know a dozen emotions played across your face.

"Hey," he said gently, his own features a mirror of yours.

"Hi," you said.

"Why are you walking in the rain with groceries?"

Slumping your unintentionally scrunched up shoulders, you sighed. "Stupid car died on me and it's been with the mechanic for almost a week."

He smiled softly. So soft. The outside of his seeing eye crinkled and emotion rushed to your chest. Your gut. "You're way too good to be walking alone. Let me drive you home at least?"

You didn't resist. How could you? "Alright. Sure. Just dropping me off though, okay?" Guilt panged your chest. Did he feel it too? Could he read it on your face he knew so well?

"Alright," he answered, expression falling just slight. You might as well have stomped on his foot with how it affected you.

I miss you. I love you. I'm sorry. Can we try it again? Can I hold your hand? God I love your hair in a ponytail. You smell good. Did you see the trailer for that new horror movie? I miss you. I love you. I'm sorry. It all turned around your head like a fucking rotisserie chicken. It shouldn't be so hard to say any of those things to him. But it was.

You didn't say anything on the short ride home. Neither did he. His right hand flexed a few times and you wondered if he was having a hard time, too.

"Can you get it all upstairs?" He asked as he pulled into an empty spot and parked, looking across to you with horribly concealed emotion.

"Yes, but…," you trailed off momentarily, trying to read his face. "I still have your book and jacket. Wanna come up and grab them?" You asked hopefully.

He killed the engine faster than you could blink. "Yes! So that's where they've been. You could have mentioned it sooner," he said slightly accusingly, grinning at you with a spark of playfulness.

Leading the way upstairs to your apartment, you unlocked the door and disappeared inside. After placing your items down and grabbing Aemond's, you turned to look at him standing in the doorway. He leaned against it. Waiting. Quiet. He glanced around with a wistfulness that made your throat tight. You watched him watching you and your home until the air became awkward – was it half a second, a few seconds, longer? You weren't sure.

Slowly you walked over to him. Your gaze flickered up at him as you handed his things back. "Were you ever going to tell me the truth?" You asked. "Did you think I really wouldn't find out? Why did you stick around if I wasn't good enough?"

He blinked. Taken back. "You never even gave me the chance to explain." His jaw feathered before it tightened. His eye hardened.

You grabbed the door, fixing to close it on him. Now that you started talking – unloading pent up questions which kept you tossing and turning at night – you couldn't decide if you wanted to slam it on his face or yell. "I told you how I was cheated on! And you did it anyway! I trusted you, Aemond." Your voice thinned, sounding shrill even to your own ears.

One of his hands braced on the door so you couldn't close it on him. "So this is your revenge then, huh? Punishing both of us? Why don't you trust me?" Hurt and fury simmered in the lovely hue of his eye. A storm. No, a hurricane. "Alys and I have been done for months. Months. Even before you and I met. I'm sorry for what she did but I can’t control what she does. She was playing her wicked games trying to sabotage us– you and me. Don't shut me out. Please."

He pleaded, every pore and line of his face begging for forgiveness. As each word came off his tongue they clicked into place in your head. He meant it. He was telling the truth. Before you could stop yourself your fists balled into the front of his shirt, pulling him down so your mouth crashed up to his. "You mean it?" You asked through the kiss.

Instantly he leaned down into you, and instantly he held onto your waist pulling you deeper against him. His other hand cradled the side of your face daring to curve along the shape of your skull. "I mean it. Yes I fucking mean it," he answered against the kiss; breath stealing yours away until it left you in a little moan.

You pulled him inside and shut the door, locking it. You moaned as he nipped and bit at your neck. Your heart thumped wildly. He sucked at the sensitive skin, again and again, pulling away just before leaving a mark. "God, Aem,” you whimpered. Goosebumps covered your body. The only thing on your mind was him.

"Fuck, I missed you. I missed you so much." His hands were somehow all over you all at once. His mouth trailed, and dragged, and kissed over any exposed portion of your skin. He happily pulled off layers of your clothing to expose more and more of your soft, warm, saccharine flesh; intoxicating him. After weeks of your separation the last thing he wanted to do was to push too far too fast. “Can I take this off?” He asked before taking your shirt off.

“Yes,” you replied breathily. “Fuck it. Take all of it off. I missed you too. So much,” you said as you helped pull his clothes off, too. He pushed you against a wall. You kissed. Heavier, and hotter, and hungrier. You pushed him against a wall.

He gasped as he smirked. “I love when you act all tough when we both know I can have you squirming under me in minutes,” he growled, pupil swelling. The dimples at the very corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement, however, as he once again pushed you against the wall. You were both only in your underwear, now, and his lean body on yours had you aching. “My tough girl… how quickly do you think it’ll last when my fingers are in you?”

“Why don’t we find out?” You asked defiantly, knowing damn well it wouldn’t last long at all. By now you were both down the hallway and your bedroom was only a couple feet away. You needed him. Now. And judging by how fucking hard he was he needed you too.

The next moment went by in a blur and before you could catch yourself you were sprawled out on your back atop your bed. Aemond made quick work of moving you both inside, and made quicker work of pulling your panties down. He groaned as your thighs immediately spilled open for him. He dragged two fingers up your slit and circled your clit with your arousal. “Shit–,” he hissed. “Never make me wait so long to have this pussy again. Do you understand me? Never,” he said as he worked your already swollen clit. He played with it just how he knew you liked it and your cunt’s tiny wet sounds sent his cock throbbing. “Answer me.”

Tension built in the low muscles of your belly. Your legs began to tighten already – one of the tell-tale signs of your approaching climax. How the hell could he push you there so quickly? “N-never! Ahh-h never again!” You replied, voice light, and sweet, and tantalizing as any sin Aemond ever knew. “Please, Aemond, I want to cum…!”

He shoved those same two fingers into you. “Good girl,” he said as he curled those fingers. “This pussy is mine. All fucking mine. Give it to me,” he said huskily as he worked them in and out of you. It was sloppy and wet. Borderline obscene. Each time he slammed his hand against you he was mindful to press the heel of his palm against your clit and your mound, knowing how the extra pressure sent your pretty toes curling.

You cried out his name as your eyes clenched shut. The tension in your belly snapped and a wave of glorious bliss washed over you. Sweat sheened between your breasts and along your lip. You arched, quivered, shuddering in the aftermath of his intensity.

Aemond’s mouth crashed to yours and you threaded your fingers through the roots of his hair. It was still in a ponytail and you had no mind to take it out, you just had to pull him deeper into the kiss. He tasted the salt of your sweat and groaned. “Relax your pussy, baby, you’re clenching me really hard. It feels amazing but I don’t wanna hurt you pulling out,” he said tenderly, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck.

“Sorry,” you giggled. “Just feels too good.” You tried to steady your breath and relax as he laid beside you, continuing to kiss your neck and shoulders. When your spongy walls finally eased around him you were sad to feel him withdraw. Stress melted away from your subconscious and you wanted to thank him for the pleasure. You wondered if your eyes said it while he looked at you.

Leaning up, he discarded the final piece of his clothing and sighed in relief as his cock sprang free. He got between your thighs and looked down at you hungerily. “Look at you all doe eyed already. See? I knew you couldn’t stay tough for long,” he said, smug, as he lined up with your drenched cunt. He held one of your legs up against him, and you pressed the other against his side.

When you left for the store this morning you had no idea your afternoon would go in this direction.

He pushed into you. Inch by inch he sunk into you and soon he was as deep as he could be. A moan escaped both of you, and a throatier one left him when his free hand tugged at your bra. It was one that clipped in the front. He popped it open and rocked into you as soon as your tits spilled free. "You're so sexy like this."

With your body already sensitive from your first orgasm, and now with Aemond building a rhythm between your thighs, you weren't going to last long. "You feel so good," you purred, eyelids heavy. "Fuck I missed you."

Another sound left his chest and when you wrapped your legs around his slim waist you swore you felt goosebumps pebble all along his skin. Or, maybe those were your goosebumps on your legs. Whatever the case, Aemond leaned forward and kissed you again. "I missed you too," he rumbled. "Gonna let me fill this pretty pussy with my cum again?"

You two made good use of your birth control and you weren't about to deny him – or yourself – the pleasure of being thoroughly fucked and stuffed. "Y-yeah," you stammered, smiling.

Aemond mumbled something incoherent into your neck, and if your brain wasn't foggy from his perfect fucking cock you might have caught what he said.

He leaned up and supported himself on his forearms, pressing his forehead to yours. "You're my girl. You're my fucking girl. You're my fucking girl," he repeated again and again until the pace of his thrusts grew sloppy. Somehow the sloppiness of it, the neediness and urgency of his voice, sent emotion swelling in all of you.

Heat collected and grew out from your spine, webbing throughout your entire body. You clung to him desperately. You rolled your hips up into him and shamelessly grinded your clit against his pelvis as he drove in and out of you. It was all too much. You crumbled beneath him and let orgasm take control of you. The depths of your body squeezed and convulsed around him, holding him tight and soaking the fullness of his length with your slick. He never stopped or paused his thrusts.

His own peak followed. Once he was as deep as he could be he released everything he had into you. He stayed there, both of you panting through little moans, until he no longer twitched between your stretched walls. Slowly, he pulled out, and slowly, his seed dribbled out of you. Grinning, he rolled onto his back and scooped you against him.

"Let's stay here like this all day," you mumbled happily, fingertips trailing up and down his abdomen and chest.

"You'll get no argument from me," he said.

Quiet minutes passed and the sound of his heart nearly put you into a trance. "I'm sorry for how I acted," you finally admitted.

All the while he'd been petting and trailing his fingers through your hair. He didn't stop as he answered, "and I'm sorry for not trying harder." He kissed your forehead and held you tighter.

"Let's try it again. For real this time. With the titles and commitment and everything."

"Are you asking or telling me to be your boyfriend?"

You smirked. "I'm suggesting."

Returning your smirk, he pulled you atop him so you could straddle him. "You're all mine," he said with a dark eye. "My perfect girl."

Leaning down, you kissed and nipped his bottom lip. "Are you already hard again, Aemond Targaryen?"

A chuckle rumbled somewhere in his chest as his touch dented into your hips to hold you at just the right angle. With a roll of his hips he pushed himself up inside you again. "Whose cock is this?"

You gasped, eyes darkening with another round of lust. "Mine."

"That's right. Yours. Not anyone else's. It's fucking yours."

You rode him until your tits were covered in fresh hickies and you were filled with another load of him.

Yours. His. The second chance you both needed.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

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Masterlist

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @dreamsofoldvalyria @chompchompluke @fan-goddess

Aemond taglist: @darylandbethfanforever9 @bellaisasleep @aemondsblog @khaleesihel @sirenofavalon @sahvlren @doublesparrows @aemonds-fire @nikstrange @abbyandizzysmum @lost-and-founds @castellomargot @okfashionista @avidreader73 @snh96 @boofy1998 @evermorre

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #modern aemond #aemond smut #aemond fic #aemond imagine #request

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angelremnants · 11 days ago

Note

Thank you for answering my ask, I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable before i sent the request.

I'd like to request a Loki x reader where the reader is a shield agent with magic powers (however not the best with them due to lack of training.) Where she's at the base where loki first arrives on earth and she tires to sneak up on him (using her magic) but he uses the scepter on the reader to put her under his control and he sees her potential and helps her with her magic maybe there could be some romantic tension thrown in if you want.

I hope you enjoy the rest of your day :)

In the Gravity of You l L. Laufeyson

summary : You never expected to cross paths with a god, let alone have your destiny tangle with his. Tasked with retrieving the Tesseract for S.H.I.E.L.D., you quickly learn you're in over your head after getting extraordinary powers in an unfortunate occurrence. Your fate is no longer in your hands, and the stone, the source of your connection, seem to have sinister abilities. Its power will either bond you together... or tear you apart.

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature (16+) angsty angsty angst, Loki being the villain we all know and love, themes of manipulation, mind control, emotional turmoil, psychological distress, intense character conflicts, power dynamics, toxic relationship (overall platonic-ish but could be translated as a romantic one), referenced minor character death, strong language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 20.7k

author's notes : I sincerely apologize for the lateness of the publication, the resumption of my uni classes really grabbed me by the neck. Surprisingly enough, your request aligned perfectly with my initial idea when I read the rough version of it—I guess great minds really do think alike. I know this would technically suffice to answer your ask, but I do have the rest of the storyline thought of, so let me know if you'd like me to pursue and make a second part.

Thank you for trusting me with your concept, I hope what follows meets your expectations and that you enjoy it. <3

(ao3 version)

⠀⠀

The Tesseract was never just a relic, never a mere stone. It was the embodiment of infinite potential—a boundless power encased in crystalline geometry, a paradox of beauty and destruction. For centuries, it had altered the course of supernaturals and men alike, its light shaping destinies and shattering them in equal measure. And yet, here it sat, deceptively inert, its radiance subdued by the sterile walls of the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, a tiger caged by human ingenuity.

Its glow was hypnotic, a rhythmic pulse that promised something beyond comprehension—something vast, something catastrophic. The energy emanating from its cerulean heart whispered of stars born and civilizations lost, of power so immense it demanded reverence, yet made no overt claims to it. Instead, the Tesseract simply waited, patient and silent, for the inevitable moment when it would unmake everything that dared to wield it.

To you, however, it was not a cosmic artifact or an object of worship.

It was both a beginning and an end—a harbinger of ruin masquerading as opportunity. It loomed over you like the sword of Damocles, its promise of untapped power balanced precariously against the reality of your fragile humanity. And yet, duty, curiosity, and an innate selflessness had brought you here into its presence, as if you could tame the infinite. What you did not realize was that the Tesseract was no tool for mortal hands; it was entropy given form, the instrument of its wielder’s undoing.

And it was also the reason you crossed paths with him.

The reason you were irrevocably bound to the accursed dark prince—the fulcrum upon which your fates had pivoted, weaving a cruel tapestry that ensured your destinies were bound in a way that neither of you could foresee or escape. A cosmic entanglement, propelled by the very force that would ultimately undo you both.

The mission itself had been deceptively simple. Retrieve the Tesseract. Transport it safely to Dr. Selvig at the P.E.G.A.S.U.S. research facility. No surprises, no complications. For S.H.I.E.L.D., it was a routine operation—yet as you entered the chamber where it was to be housed, an almost imperceptible shiver coursed through you, charged with an energy that gnawed at the edges of your composure. Something was wrong.

You had been entrusted with this mission personally by Director Fury, a rare responsibility that spoke volumes about your standing within the organization. Though officially labeled a field agent, your consistent track record of competence and leadership had earned you an unspoken authority among your peers. When missions called for precision, discipline, and sound judgment, you were the agent to lead the charge.

The cube rested at the center of the room, ensconced in a sleek containment unit. Its glow was softer here, less urgent, like the calm surface of a tranquil sea. But the tranquility was a facade. Beneath its placid exterior, the cube pulsed with an untamed vitality, its light rippling in hypnotic waves that seemed to draw the eye and ensnare the soul. The air itself seemed to tremble in its presence, warped by its gravitational pull, as if reality itself were bending to accommodate its vast power. It seemed to distort reality as it pleased, bending the space around it in subtle, unnerving ways.

“Stay sharp,” you ordered, your voice steady despite the growing unease gnawing at your gut. Your eyes remained fixed on the vestige, even as the agents around you fanned out in a choreography born of years of training and with military precision. It was magnetic in its presence—a quiet siren’s call that whispered promises you could not fully understand.

The youngest of your team, Harris, shifted uneasily near a console. His nervousness radiated outward, every hesitant movement and squeak of his boots against the polished floor betraying a lack of confidence that had no place in a room like this. You saw his fidgeting in your peripheral vision, but there was no time for reassurances. Not here.

The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of the Tesseract’s energy and the occasional scrape of boots against the polished floor. Its light painted the room in shades of blue, casting restless shadows that seemed to move of their own accord. Something about it felt alive, as if the artifact itself were watching, waiting. A resonant hum grew louder, its vibrations crawling through the steel floor and up into your bones in a low, ominous thrum that threatened to drown out the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. It demanded your attention, pulling at your senses as though daring you to confront the mysteries it held.

And then it happened.

A sudden metallic clang shattered the silence. Harris had stumbled, his elbow striking the console with a sharp impact. His face drained of color as he stammered an apology, but the damage was done. The Tesseract’s pulse shifted, its rhythm escalating into a frenzied crescendo. The soft glow erupted into bursts of light, chaotic and brilliant, like the heart of a star going supernova.

An invisible shockwave rippled outward. It struck you with the force of a hurricane, sending you staggering backward. Harris was thrown off his feet entirely, his body skidding across the floor until it collided with the wall. “Harris!” you shouted, your voice cutting through the chaos, but the Tesseract was not finished.

Its light flared brighter, blindingly so, as a guttural hum resonated through the room. It wasn’t just a sound—it was a vibration, crawling up through the floor and into your bones, sinking into the very marrow of your being. Then you felt it: a pull.

It was subtle at first, a faint tug deep in your core. But it grew with terrifying speed, an insidious force that bypassed muscle and bone to grip at something deeper—your essence, your very soul. Your boots screeched against the floor as you fought against it, but resistance was futile. This was not a battle of strength. It was inevitability, as natural and unstoppable as gravity.

“Agent, fall back!” Agent Barton’s voice cut through the hubbub, urgent and commanding. But even as his words reached you, your body betrayed you. Your hand shot forward, drawn toward the cube by an unseen force. The world around you seemed to collapse, sound and light narrowing to a singular point as your fingertips grazed the Tesseract’s surface.

In an instant, the world dissolved. It felt like the universe shattered in one single motion.

Pain erupted through you—a raw, searing force that clawed at every corner of your existence. It wasn’t a mere sensation; it was an annihilation. It tore through muscle and bone, shredding you from the inside out, molecule by molecule, as if the very fabric of your being were coming undone. The agony was boundless, an unrelenting tempest that blurred the edges of reality. Each wave struck with merciless precision, splintering your consciousness into shards of unbearable light and dissonant sound.

Your scream ripped through the chaos but was swallowed whole by the deafening roar of the Tesseract. It loomed before you, pulsating with untamed energy, a singularity of infinite power that consumed everything it touched. Your body was no longer yours—it vibrated violently, oscillating between solidity and dissolution, between being and nothingness. One moment you were whole, anchored to the world; the next, you were scattered like ash in a storm, lost in a kaleidoscope of light that knew no boundaries.

The air around you rippled and bent, folding in on itself as the Tesseract defied the laws of creation. Space and time became indistinguishable, a swirling vortex of cerulean light that twisted the chamber into an incomprehensible nightmare. Reality itself seemed to fracture, each shard cutting deeper into the fragile thread tethering you to existence.

You tried to fight, to pull back, to resist, but your body refused. Your limbs were paralyzed, locked in the cube’s grasp. The pull was inexorable, a force beyond comprehension, as though the Tesseract was unraveling not just your body but your very soul. Your hand clung to it involuntarily, the skin fused to the cube’s impossible energy. It surged through you, a flood of raw power that stripped away every defense, every sense of control, until you were nothing but an echo caught in its current.

Through the haze of light and torment, you saw Harris’s face—a pale mask of horror etched in wide, guilt-ridden eyes. He stood frozen, helpless, as the storm swallowed everything. His lips moved, shaping words you couldn’t hear, his panic mingling with the chaos until he became just another fragment in the maelstrom.

Then came the sharp sting. A sudden intrusion, a dart piercing through the madness. Warmth spread like a balm, slow and creeping, as the sedative flooded your veins. The jagged edges of pain dulled, softening into something bearable, and the Tesseract’s roar receded into the background. Your vision blurred, the blinding light melting into formless shapes and indistinct colors. Darkness encroached, a welcome reprieve, as your body succumbed to the numbing tide of unconsciousness.

When awareness returned, it was fractured and incomplete. The world was muted, sluggish, and distant, as if you were watching it from beneath a deep, impenetrable surface. Every muscle ached with the ghost of the Tesseract’s fury, trembling uncontrollably as if the energy still reverberated within you. Overhead, the sterile glow of the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility flickered, casting harsh, shifting shadows as figures moved around you. Their voices were muffled, urgent, like whispers carried on a breeze you couldn’t quite grasp.

“Keep her stabilized.” Fury’s voice cut through the haze—sharp, unrelenting, and commanding. “I don’t want to lose her—or that damn thing. Move her to incubation, now.”

Hands lifted you, careful yet hurried, the weight of urgency palpable in every touch. The cold, clinical surface of the incubation pod greeted your trembling form as they lowered you into its confines. Tubes and wires snaked over your body, connecting you to machines that hummed with purpose, their efforts focused on quelling the storm raging inside you. The glass walls of the chamber sealed with a faint hiss, encasing you in a cocoon of light and machinery.

The sedatives pulled you deeper into oblivion, their cold embrace silencing the tremors and dulling the edges of reality. Your vision faded, the faint shimmer of the stone’s glow being the last thing you saw before darkness claimed you entirely. In the void, there was no pain, no light, no sound—only silence, immutable and consuming. For now, at least, the battle was over. But the Tesseract’s presence lingered, a shadow at the edge of your consciousness, promising that this was only the beginning.

The entire universe collapsed into stillness, leaving you adrift in an abyss where even the echoes of pain could no longer reach.

��⠀

⠀⠀

Your first encounter with him occurred before your mind could comprehend its gravity, before the threads of reality around you could form a coherent picture of the calamity descending.

When Loki arrived, the air itself seemed to hold its breath. His presence was magnetic, regal, and laced with a menace that spoke of a king returning to a throne wrenched away from him too soon. The atmosphere shifted in a subtle tremor that most wouldn’t notice, but to those attuned to power, it was unmistakable—a quiet warning of the storm in his wake. The faint glow of the Tesseract intensified as though it recognized him, its pulse syncing with his own like a heartbeat answering its master’s call.

His sharp azure eyes swept the lab, calculating and cold, taking in every detail—the sterile containment machinery, the panicked agents scrambling like insects, the futile attempts of those who had already failed to protect what was his. And then his gaze faltered, caught by something unexpected. Amid the wreckage and chaos, his attention was drawn to a peculiar structure: an incubator.

It stood at the center of the room like a relic in a temple, its cylindrical glass walls shimmering with an ethereal glow that softened the surrounding chaos. Tendrils of mist swirled inside, diffusing the cerulean light emanating from the unconscious figure within.

You.

Suspended in fragile stasis, your chest rose and fell with faint, labored breaths, as though the incubator were cradling a dying flame. Wires and tubes snaked outward, connecting your fragile form to a pulsating core that emitted a low, rhythmic hum, keeping you tethered to life.

Loki's countenance changed, his typical sneer replaced by something more subtle—a flash of intrigue. It lacked sympathy and concern. It was deeper, sharper, the kind of curiosity reserved for something unusual and frightening, something worth investigating. His stare lingered on you, scrutinizing every feature, his mind trying to figure out what the Tesseract's energy had done to you. You weren't just a bystander caught in its aftermath. No, you were tied to it in ways he couldn't understand.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, his voice smooth and low, a velvet thread winding through the chaos. His fingers brushed the cool glass, trailing over its surface as though he could feel the energy pulsing within you. “So this is the vessel,” he mused, tilting his head. “How fragile.”

Emerald magic flashed to life at his fingertips, flickering briefly before coiling around his palm. Without hesitation, he raised his staff, the shiny metal reflecting the lab's dim light. The stroke was rapid and purposeful, breaking the chamber with a single, thunderous crack that rang throughout the room. Shards of glass shower down in jagged, sparkling arcs, spreading across the floor like frozen tears. The stabilizing field faded and flickered before failing completely, leaving your still body crushed in the wreckage.

Loki stood there, unmoving, watching. Waiting. Surely, if you were truly tied to the Tesseract, something would happen—a surge of energy, a glimmer of defiance, some spark of recognition. But there was nothing. You lay motionless, unnervingly quiet, the faint glow that had surrounded you now extinguished.

“Disappointing,” the god scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. The intrigue that had sparked within him faded, a flame snuffed out by the absence of resistance. To him, you were no more than an experiment gone awry, a failed attempt at wielding something far beyond your reach. With a dismissive glance, he stepped over the shattered remnants of your chamber.

His focus shifted, and with a graceful turn, he redirected his attention to the true prize—the Tesseract.

The stone rested obediently within its container, its brilliance a beacon of sheer, unbridled power. Loki approached with steady steps and careful movements. Around him, turmoil continued to unfold—agents yelling commands, alarms ringing, lights flashing—but none of it affected him. He was untouchable, a power unto himself. Dr. Selvig and Hawkeye stood nearby, their blank eyes reflecting the same cerulean light, their bodies rigid and immovable under his command.

Fury stood apart, weapon drawn, his posture rigid in defiance. But even he couldn't shake Loki's unwavering confidence. The god's grin deepened, and a gleam of enjoyment appeared in his eyes as he grabbed the Tesseract in his palm.

“I believe this belongs to me,” the raven-haired man purred, his voice rich with arrogance. The director’s shot rang out, a sharp crack cutting through the din, but with an effortless flick of his wrist, Loki deflected it. The bullet clattered uselessly to the ground, and his expression darkened with wicked amusement. “How quaint,” he sneered.

The alarms screamed louder, the lab descending further into chaos as agents scrambled to intercept him. But Loki moved through the turmoil as though it weren’t there, his steps smooth and unhurried, his smirk unwavering. The pandemonium bent around him, powerless to halt the god who strode through it like a tempest, claiming all in his path.

⠀⠀

The world snapped into excruciating focus with a violent spasm, yanking you from the suffocating void of unconsciousness and thrusting you into agony. Your body convulsed, a ragged marionette caught in the grip of an unrelenting force. Energy tore through you, merciless, igniting every nerve as if your very molecules rebelled against their own cohesion. Pain burned through your veins, liquid fire coursing with wild abandon. Each breath was a desperate, jagged gulp of air that scorched your lungs, a brutal reminder that you were alive.

Fragments of memory swirled in chaotic fragments—flashes of the Tesseract’s blinding, celestial light, the shattering of the containment chamber, and the surge of overwhelming power that had consumed you. It wasn’t just recollection; it was an echo carved into the fabric of your being, a visceral reminder of what had been unleashed within you.

And beneath all, a deeper sensation pulled at your core. Something was missing. Something vital.

The Tesseract!

The realization struck like a blow to the chest, hollowing you from the inside. Its absence was an unfathomable ache, gnawing at the space it had once filled, leaving behind an emptiness that resonated in your very soul. The energy still thrummed within you, faint yet alive, but it was incomplete—like a melody with its center note stripped away. The absence wasn’t just noticeable; it was consuming.

Before your mind could process the void, your body responded on its own, instinct overriding all reason.

Tendrils of shimmering blue light coiled around you, alive with a life force too vast to comprehend. They twisted and pulsed, spiraling outward as your very essence flickered and fractured, teetering at the edges of reality itself. The sensation wasn’t conscious or deliberate—it was a visceral reaction to the loss. Desperation surged through you, bending the world around you and reshaping space to your will.

In one moment, you lay broken on the cold, fractured floor of the lab; in the next, you were somewhere else entirely.

A violent snap tore through the air as you reappeared near the facility’s exit. The displaced energy rippled outward, hurling agents back with wide-eyed disbelief. The world was a blur of sharp, blinding intensity—colors too vivid, sounds too loud, and sensations too overwhelming. Your gaze darted to the helicopter in the distance, its rhythmic blades carving through the air.

There it was. That faint, unmistakable blue glow pulsing from within.

The pull within you sharpened, more insistent now—a furious call that demanded action. It wasn’t merely anger, though rage burned beneath the surface. It wasn’t just desperation, though your chest felt tight with the weight of it. It was a connection, undeniable and unbreakable, as though the Tesseract was a part of you, an extension of your very existence.

The thought vanished as quickly as it appeared, buried beneath instinct. The energy spiraling around you intensified, wrapping you in a cocoon of light as the world dissolved again. You phased out of existence with a crackling burst of blue light, the chaotic din of the facility vanishing into silence.

When you surged back into reality, the helicopter was closer, its frame growing larger with each flicker of your form. You didn’t care about its occupants. You didn’t care about the destruction left in your wake. None of it mattered—not the chaos, not the consequences, not the searing pain coursing through you. All that mattered was the Tesseract.

It wasn’t a weapon. It wasn’t a relic. It was yours.

Another burst of power enveloped you, and you phased into existence midair. The helicopter’s rhythmic hum became a deafening roar, its descent jarring, unstable. But the chaos of its movement was nothing compared to the storm you brought. As you reappeared, the very fabric of reality trembled under the weight of your presence. The air shimmered, rippled, and bent—distorting around you as if the world itself could not reconcile your existence.

A radiant, otherworldly trail of energy marked your path, shimmering in your wake like the tail of a falling star. The ground below came into sharp focus as you landed, the grass beneath your feet trembling as though bowing under the force of your power.

The Tesseract’s faint glow taunted you from the helicopter’s interior, and your grip on the world tightened. Space itself warped and quivered, a prelude to the storm that would come next. You would reclaim it. No force on Earth—or beyond—could stop you now.

The car’s pilot, already riding the razor’s edge to evade relentless pursuit, had no chance to react when you materialized before them, a sudden ripple in the fabric of reality. Hawkeye, perched tensely in the driver’s seat, spotted you a heartbeat too late. His reflexes took over, and the vehicle lurched violently as he jerked the wheel to avoid a collision. The sharp swerve shattered their tenuous balance, throwing the team inside into disarray. For a moment, the vehicle bucked and wavered, momentum faltering as the pilot fought for control.

Your sudden arrival had fractured their escape, shredding the precision of their retreat like glass underfoot.

Without hesitation, you leveled your hand toward the fugitives, your outstretched finger heavy with intent, as sharp as any blade. “You have something of mine.”

The words were not a plea, nor even a demand. They rang with the weight of an irrefutable truth, a force that demanded acknowledgment.

From his perch atop the roof of the pickup, Loki tilted his head, his smirk as sharp and cutting as the edge of a dagger. “Is that so?” he drawled, the disdain in his tone curling like smoke in the air. “How curious—I don’t recall seeing your name etched upon it.”

The sarcasm dripped from his lips, designed to cut, to mock. Yet as he spoke, his gaze lingered on you, and the smirk faltered. His sharp blue eyes narrowed, the playful veneer slipping to reveal something colder.

The air around you shimmered, bending unnaturally as though space itself revolted in your presence. Each flutter of your form was a ripple in reality’s fabric, twisting the world in subtle, incomprehensible ways. This was no ordinary threat standing before him. This was something far more volatile. Far more intriguing.

The shift in Loki’s expression was subtle but unmistakable. His curiosity sharpened, dangerous and calculating. Whatever you were, you had caught his attention. He straightened, his scepter rising in one fluid motion, its dark magic coalescing at the tip, pulsing with power. “You are in my grasp,” he declared, his voice smooth as silk, laced with dark promise. The scepter’s energy thickened at the announcement, crackling with intent as the spell hurtled toward your mind.

But you were not so easily bound.

The pulse of magic surged toward you, but the instant it touched the space where you stood, your form dissolved in a burst of blue light. One moment, you were there; the next, you were gone. You reappeared several yards away in a swirl of ethereal smoke, the fabric of reality bending and twisting around you. The world itself seemed to shudder, as though struggling to reconcile your presence. What was left behind in your wake was not emptiness but a distorted imprint—an abstract chaos that flickered briefly before fading, leaving the air trembling as though it had witnessed something it could not comprehend.

Loki’s gaze snapped to you, frustration simmering beneath his cool facade, though his interest only deepened. He had faced many adversaries, but none quite like this.

Hawkeye reacted with instinct, spinning the vehicle on a screeching axis and charging toward you like a steel predator unleashed. The tires shrieked, the metal groaned, and the car hurtled forward—a weapon aimed to destroy.

You didn’t flinch.

With another flicker of gleam, you vanished, the car barreling harmlessly through the space you had occupied a moment before. Its path left nothing but rippling air, bending and twisting in your absence. When you reappeared, you were behind them, your body trembling as a sharp, icy cold gripped you. It wasn’t merely the chill of the air but something deeper—an invasive frost that gnawed at your very being, a cruel side effect of the power surging through you.

Your form wavered as you landed lightly on the warped ground, reality itself struggling to stabilize under the chaotic force that clung to you. Every movement left faint traces of distortion in the air, like a wound to the natural order that refused to heal.

Loki leaped down from the truck with predatory grace, each step carefully considered. His piercing gaze locked onto you, and the corner of his mouth twitched with something that wasn’t quite a smile. It was the expression of someone who had found a puzzle worth solving, a weapon worth wielding.

“Impressive,” he remarked, his voice velvet-smooth but laced with danger, like a shadow sliding over the edge of a blade. His words carried the kind of weight that chilled the air between you. There was no mistaking the hunger in his eyes—the hunger of a man who had glimpsed something extraordinary, something he intended to make his own.

Before you could draw a breath to react, he lunged, a blur of predatory precision, his every movement a testament to his otherworldly prowess. Yet you were faster. You flickered again, your form dissolving into a cascade of blue light, his grasp cutting through empty air as though the lack of corporeality mocked him. The space between you rippled and trembled, charged with a tension so thick it seemed to vibrate against the senses.

A flicker of frustration flashed across his face, a crack in the marble calm of his composure. He stepped back, his sharp gaze narrowing, tracking the elusive distortions in space that betrayed your movements. “What are you?” His voice was sharp and demanding, laced with a ravenous curiosity. It wasn’t a question; it was a challenge.

Confusion churned within you, tangled with a fear so visceral it clawed at your chest. The force inside you surged again, a tidal wave that pushed and pulled, relentless in its intensity. Each breath you drew felt like a battle, the air itself foreign and heavy. The cold that coursed through your veins gnawed at you from the inside, an unrelenting frost that left your body trembling and your teeth clenched against the shuddering.

“I don’t... I don’t know,” you gasped, the words barely more than a whisper, each syllable filled with helplessness. “It’s... happening to me.”

His lips curled into a slow, serpentine smile, a smile that carried no comfort. It was the kind of smile that promised danger, that whispered of schemes yet to unfold. “Fascinating,” he commented, his voice low and velvet-smooth, thick with an unsettling intrigue. “You are far more than you appear.”

He tilted his head, the glint in his eyes cutting through you like a blade. The weight of his gaze sent another shiver racing down your spine, its intensity a silent declaration of ownership, of intent. “I’ll be back for you.”

His words lingered, suspended in the charged air like the final note of a symphony, both a promise and a threat. Without a second glance, he turned, retreating with his team and the Tesseract, the space around him crackling with residual tension, as if reality itself bristled at his departure.

You exhaled sharply, your chest heaving as you struggled to steady your breath. The power within you thrummed wildly, a chaotic rhythm that echoed through your very core. It was untamed and overwhelming, but it was yours. No longer were you a victim of its force; you were beginning to feel it bend, however slightly, to your will.

Loki disappeared into the distance toward his newly acquired posse, and your gaze snapped to the truck where the Tesseract gleamed, tantalizingly close. Its light pulsed with an otherworldly rhythm that seemed to resonate with your own, beckoning you. Desperation drove you forward, your hand outstretched, trembling with effort. You could feel the Tesseract’s pull, its energy singing through the air.

But as your fingers brushed the cold metal of the truck, your body betrayed you. The familiar flicker of energy surged too late, and in an instant, you phased out again, vanishing into the blue haze of your power. The Tesseract slipped from your grasp, its light receding into the distance, impossibly far yet seared into your mind like an unfulfilled promise.

Frustration burned in your chest, but you didn’t falter. You willed the flicker to return, your body instinctively bending to the chaotic current within. With a sharp burst of energy, you reappeared, the familiar, sterile walls of the P.E.G.A.S.U.S. base snapping into focus around you.

The battlefield's disarray—the warping space, the crackling tension, and the suffocating presence of Loki—faded into the periphery. For the moment, you stood anchored in the only place that still felt real, the only tether you had to a world rapidly slipping beyond comprehension. Here, amid the sterile calm, you could breathe. For now.

⠀⠀

The second time you awoke wasn’t to the haunting quiet of a shattered lab. Instead, the low, steady buzzing of engines surrounded you, accompanied by the slight, rhythmic sensations of an airplane in flight. It crushed on your senses, a bewildering bubble of noise and movement. The lighting around you was dark and flickering, producing shifting shadows on an array of medical monitors and gadgets crowded into the cramped area of a mobile lab.

Your body first recognized the restrictions laid upon you. Straps held your wrists and ankles to what seemed to be a hospital bed—not cruelly, but tight enough to send shivers down your spine. Anxiety zipped in your veins, making you acutely aware of your imprisonment.

Fragmented memories resurfaced: Loki's frigid, triumphant smirk; the Tesseract sliding from your hands; the painful warping of space as you faded away. Now you were fastened down like a laboratory specimen. Fantastic. Simply wonderful.

You shifted, testing the restraints. The faint creak of the straps broke the sterile silence, blending with muffled voices that drifted through the thin walls of your enclosure. Their tone was disturbingly casual, a stark contrast to the chaos brewing within you.

“She phased through a car? I’ve seen some weird things, but that’s a first,” a smooth, sarcastic voice quipped.

“Don’t forget the spatial distortions she caused,” another voice countered, sharper, more clinical. “She’s unstable. That’s the real issue here.”

“Unstable doesn’t necessarily mean dangerous,” came a calmer, measured response.

“Right,” the first voice shot back. “And unstable doesn’t mean she isn’t dangerous, either.”

You strained against the restraints, your heart pounding as the conversation grew clearer. The door creaked open, and a group filed in, their presence commanding the room.

At the forefront was the infamous Tony Stark, clad in partial armor, his sharp eyes scanning you with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. Behind him came Steve Rogers, his steady stride exuding quiet authority, and a man you hadn’t quite met yet. His dark hair was tousled, and his expression looked like someone who had seen more than his fair share of exhaustion. Agent Romanoff’s sharp gaze swept the room with cool precision, while the mighty Thor loomed behind them, his formidable presence unmistakable. And finally, Director Fury entered, his singular eye cutting through the room’s tension with practiced ease.

All eyes landed on you, and under their collective scrutiny, you felt like a rare, caged specimen being examined.

“So, this is her,” Stark drawled, his voice light but his gaze piercing. “She’s... smaller than I expected.”

“Thanks,” you deadpanned, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Natasha tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “She doesn’t look like a threat.”

“That’s what they said about the Hulk the first time,” Stark retorted, gesturing toward the quiet mant. “And we all know how that turned out.”

“Can we please not compare people to me?” The presumable Hulk guy sighed, raising a hand as though to defuse the brewing tension.

Steve stepped closer, his voice steady but firm. “She’s been through enough. Let’s treat her like a person, not a problem.”

Your patience snapped. “Hello? I’m right here!” You cut in, your voice sharp as glass. “Maybe stop talking about me like I’m a science experiment and explain what’s going on?”

Stark smirked, unfazed. “Hey, Jumper? Let the big men talk while we figure out what to do with you.”

Your brows furrowed. “Jumper? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Stark replied with a shrug. “Like that movie. David Rice, teleporting, stealing—ring any bells?”

“Haven’t seen it,” you said flatly.

“You should. It’s a classic,” he answered, unbothered.

Their debate about your powers, your instability, and whether or not you were dangerous carried on, as though you weren’t even there. Each word stoked the fire of your frustration until it burned white-hot.

Finally, you’d had enough. “Shut up!” You shouted, the anger in your voice reverberating through the air.

The energy within you surged, wild and uncontrollable. A pulse burst outward, rippling through the space around you. The walls groaned under the strain, lights flickered violently, and the medical equipment rattled as though caught in the eye of a storm.

“Stand down!” Fury barked, his tone cutting through the chaos.

You clenched your fists, trembling as you fought to contain the volatile force. The chill of your power seeped into your skin, biting and relentless, but you wrestled it back, forcing the storm to subside. Slowly, the distortions eased, and the aircraft steadied. Every pair of eyes bore into you, equal parts awe and caution.

Stark raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s cranky.”

Fury stepped forward, his expression unreadable but his voice firm. “Let her up.”

The medical bay was cloaked in an eery silence, broken only by the low hum of machinery and the faint shuffle of boots in the corridor beyond. You flexed your fingers, the ache in your joints a cruel reminder of how long you’d been bound. The restraints clicked open, and you pushed yourself upright, the cold press of the metal bed frame biting into your back as you adjusted to freedom.

Meeting Fury’s gaze, you kept your voice as even as possible despite the tremor in your hands. “Alright,” you said, steel in your tone. “What’s going on? Why was I strapped down like some lab rat?”

The one-eyed man didn’t flinch. His gaze was unwavering, his words carrying the weight of something far greater than yourself. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, weighted with unspoken tension. "We found you unconscious in the lab. Loki had made his escape, taken Barton and Selvig. When I came back, the incubation chamber that was stabilizing you was shattered. Loki smashed it, thinking it was part of the Tesseract’s containment."

You blinked, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of that chaotic moment. "Come again?"

"After you touched the Tesseract, your body went into a molecular spectacle," Fury explained, his words clipped. "That chamber was keeping the energy from ripping you apart. Without it..." He gestured vaguely at you, his meaning clear.

Your breath hitched as the weight of his words settled on your chest. "So Loki didn’t just free me—he left me like this?"

Fury nodded grimly. "And now we’re cleaning up the mess."

The unknown man stepped out of the shadows, his gaze analytical, though tempered by a quiet compassion. "It’s not just a mess," he started to explain, his voice softer than Fury’s but no less serious. "The Tesseract’s energy didn’t just destabilize you—it altered you on a fundamental level. Your molecular structure has been rewritten to... well, interact with dimensions in ways we don’t fully understand yet."

Your head throbbed as he continued, spilling out terms that blurred together in a haze of scientific jargon. Dimensional instability. Fourth-dimensional access. Something about space-time manipulation.

"English," you interrupted, rubbing your temples. "Please."

Steve, standing near the door, raised a hand in solidarity. "Seconded."

Tony stepped forward, letting out a dramatic sigh. "What he means is that the Tesseract got cozy with your DNA. Now you’ve got some nifty tricks: teleportation, spatial distortion, maybe more. Think of it like a surprise party—except the surprise is you’re the cake, and the Tesseract’s the one doing the slicing."

You glared at him. "Thanks for the metaphor. Really clears things up."

He smirked but didn’t respond.

Your thoughts churned, piecing together the implications. "That explains how I caught up to Loki after he escaped," you mulled. "He tried to hit me with his scepter, but I... phased out before it reached me. He looked... entertained, to say the least. Told me he’d be back for me."

The room went still, the atmosphere shifting from analytical to deeply uneasy. Natasha straightened, her gaze sharpening as she exchanged a glance with Fury.

"If that guy said that," she said, her voice steady but edged with steel, "it means he sees you as valuable. With those abilities, you’re exactly the kind of weapon he’d want to control."

A chill travelled down your spine. "So what, now I’m just some prize to be claimed?"

Fury’s voice cut through the room, cold and decisive. "We’re not letting that happen. Until we get to Stark Tower, you’re staying on this jet. No exceptions."

Before you could speak, Thor’s booming voice rang out from the doorframe. "A prize?" he repeated, stepping forward with his usual, thunderous stride. His golden hair caught the light as his eyes softened with an almost protective intensity. "You are no prize for Loki to claim. He may be cunning, but he will not have his way with you—not while I am here."

You raised an eyebrow, slightly thrown off by his earnestness. "Thanks, but I’m sure he’s got plenty of other ways to torment me."

The god of thunder's brow furrowed, as if the idea of Loki tormenting you was an affront to his very being. "You have my word, Lady... you will not be his puppet," he swore, his voice carrying the weight of Asgard's nobility.

Fury’s face remained unreadable, but his voice was firm as he turned back to you. "We're still not taking any chances. You’re staying here, safe for now. And if Loki comes back, we’ll deal with it. We need to get to Stark Tower as quickly as possible, it's the only place available with the resources to stabilize your condition. If we don’t, these dimensional instabilities could tear apart more than just this jet."

You opened your mouth to argue but stopped, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Fighting them wouldn’t change the facts. "Fine," you acquiesced, resigned that you had no other option available. "But I’m going to need food. And something to keep me from losing my mind in here."

Tony’s smirk returned, lightening the tension just slightly. "Snacks and movies, coming right up."

Despite his jab, the weight of the moment lingered. As the team drifted into hushed conversation, their words a low hum in the background, you sat quietly, your thoughts spinning.

The Tesseract had changed you and marked you in ways you couldn’t yet understand. And Loki—Loki had noticed. Whatever game he was playing, you weren’t just a spectator anymore. You were a piece on the board, and the stakes were only getting higher.

⠀⠀

How exquisitely bitter the irony: one prison traded for another. If you had a nickel for every time you had been detained in the past forty-eight hours—whether conscious or not—you’d have three. A meager sum, yet one that, in the context of your current plight, was profoundly unsettling.

The monotony of your confinement gnawed at your nerves with a relentlessness that seemed to seep into your very bones, its suffocating grip tightening with every passing moment. Time itself in this sterile, airless void became an elusive specter, slipping away like sand through trembling fingers. It felt as though you had been locked in this white-washed tomb for an eternity, the walls too pristine, the air too cold, the silence too profound—a crushing weight pressing against your chest, as if the very space around you sought to drown you in its emptiness.

Your once sharp, purposeful thoughts had shattered into disjointed fragments, fragments that drifted aimlessly in a haze of mounting frustration, their clarity dissolved like mist in a rising storm. Boredom, slow and insidious, bled into paranoia, each second stretching interminably, as though the very passage of time had turned traitor, conspiring to magnify your suffering. The silence was no refuge; it felt like a blanket too heavy and suffocating, threatening to smother the very thoughts it once cradled, to extinguish the last flickers of your sense of self.

You were on the verge of testing the limits of your power, of daring to see what lay beyond the fragile boundary of your current abilities. Maybe the Tesseract had granted you more than the simple gift of phasing in and out of reality. What if you could tear the walls apart? Warp time itself and bend space into your will? The temptation surged within you, a primal urge almost impossible to deny.

Yet the room—engineered with cold precision to temper anomalies like yours—stood as an unyielding barrier. There was something about its design, a constant, subsonic hum in the air, a pressure against the edges of your consciousness, that suppressed your abilities, keeping them tethered like an animal on a leash. It was a constant reminder of your limitations, a cage disguised as a sanctuary.

With a scowl, you turned inward, focusing on the wound that throbbed at the center of your being: the anomaly. The term stung like salt on an open wound, grating against your very essence.

Anomaly. As if you were some broken thing, some glitch in the machinery of the universe. You were no glitch. No, you were now pure power. Raw, untamed, and beyond their—and most of all, your comprehension. The more you thought about it, the more the resentment swelled inside you, bitter and untamed. Loki. The Tesseract. S.H.I.E.L.D. All of it—how it twisted and manipulated you, how it branded you, how it reduced you to something less than human, something to be controlled, to be feared. You had never asked for this. Never sought to be a pawn in some cosmic game, dragged into a struggle far too vast to understand. And yet, here you were—trapped in this sterile cage, reduced to an "anomaly," herded into a prison of white walls and cold silence.

Everything was a lie. The world, the system, and the very purpose they had forced upon you. And finally, the anger that had been simmering beneath the surface, hidden behind the layers of fear and confusion, found its voice—a guttural growl of pure, seething bitterness lodged in your chest.

Without warning, the air itself seemed to splinter. The jet convulsed violently, as if some unseen hand had seized it, and wrenched it from its course with reckless abandon. The shockwave slammed you against the cold, unyielding metal of the wall, a violent jolt that left your limbs momentarily stunned, your body trembling in its wake. The delicate web of electric circuits, already on the edge of failure, surrendered with a crackling roar. The hiss of shorted wires split the air, and sparks erupted in wild, erratic bursts, casting a flickering, spectral glow that pulsed with a life of its own, as if the foundation of the ship was fighting to escape its confines.

In the aftermath of the disturbance, the door to your lockup—once sealed tight—groaned in protest under the weight of the disturbance. Its mechanisms, unprepared for such a violent upheaval, faltered, stuttering before finally giving way. It creaked open, the sound faint but unmistakable, its defiance ringing through the stillness like an illicit promise. For a heartbeat, you wondered if the sound was a mirage, a trick of the senses, born from the exhaustion of confinement. But no, it was real.

You weren’t meant to leave. The door wasn’t meant to open. You had been told to stay put. The order had been clear, simple, and unambiguous. Yet, here you stood, poised at the threshold, caught between obedience and instinct, as if something—some invisible force—was drawing you forward. A whisper, deep within, gnawed at your resolve, an instinct honed by years of dangerous work.

You couldn’t stay. You had to move. You had to leave.

A strange, insistent pull surged through the air—a sickening, familiar energy that brushed against your skin, tugging with a force that seemed to seep into your very bones. It was unsettling, unlike anything you had ever felt, as though the atmosphere itself was charged with anticipation, electric and restless. You could not resist. Your feet moved, step after step, as if some invisible hand guided you forward. The hallways of the jet stretched before you like a twisting labyrinth, their shadows thick and oppressive. Each movement felt deliberate, yet as if the world around you held its breath, suspended in some unknowable pause.

Adrenaline surged, flooding your veins with a jolt that quickened your pulse and set your limbs into frantic motion. Every instinct screamed at you to run, but the warning was unclear—run from what? From whom? The urgency of it felt like a call you could not answer, a compulsion you could not escape.

In the distance, the muffled shouts of agents reverberated down the corridor, their hurried steps echoing against the steel walls. Yet no one noticed. No one saw your door swing open; no one cared.

The lack of attention only made the panic rise in your chest. Why was no one reacting? Why was it as though the world had forgotten you when you were supposed to be under the scrutiny of the highest surveillance possible?

The jet itself seemed to tremble under the weight of unseen forces, jolting violently as if it were struggling against some invisible pressure. But you couldn’t focus on that, not now. You had to keep moving. You had to follow that strange, magnetic pull.

The sensation of that energy, that invisible tether, grew stronger, a force pulling you deeper into the heart of the ship. Each step felt heavier, as though the walls themselves were pressing in on you, narrowing your path. Your body was on high alert now, your every sense heightened, your mind a whirl of caution and confusion. And then—there he was.

Loki.

His silhouette loomed at the end of the hallway, tall and imposing, barely illuminated by the flickering lights above. His presence was unmistakable—like a black hole of power, consuming the very air around him, draining the light and warmth from the space. The energy surrounding him was palpable, cold, and twisted, making your stomach lurch.

That power. It was him. You knew it without question, yet even now, something urged you forward like a moth would to a flame. A force beyond reason, beyond understanding, that would undoubtedly leave you with burning wings should you not be careful enough.

At the far end of the corridor, Loki stood with his back turned, a dark figure framed by the erratic flickers of overhead light. The space around him rippled with alarming vigor, warping the air itself, as if the atmosphere recognized and bowed to him for who he truly was. Your pulse quickened in response, and the beat of your heart thunderous in your ears. You couldn’t stop yourself. You had to move closer.

Step by cautious step, you advanced, adrenaline coursing hot and sharp through your veins. The corridor stretched endlessly before you, dimly illuminated by flickering lights that cast jagged, restless shadows on the cold, metallic walls. It felt as though the jet itself was alive, its unseen breath mirroring the erratic rhythm of your own.

Every step you took reverberated in the oppressive stillness, each shuffle of your boots against the floor magnified into a drumbeat that echoed through the narrow passage. You moved as silently as you could, but the sound felt deafening, a betrayer of your presence, heralding your approach. The air grew heavier with every step, thick and suffocating, pressing down on you like unseen hands. You weren’t sure if it was the atmosphere—or him.

At the far end of the corridor, Loki stood like a statue carved from shadow and light, framed by the weak, flickering glow. He was still, unnervingly so, but the air around him was charged with a menace that set every nerve in your body on edge. His presence was a gravitational force all its own, exuding power so palpable it prickled across your skin like static. Your breath hitched, but something inexplicable pulled you closer, even as dread whispered at the edge of your mind.

Your steps faltered for an instant, instinct screaming for you to turn back, but the pull was merciless, driving you forward. Loki didn’t move. He remained motionless, his presence a coiled tension, a predator biding its time.

A single movement—so slight it might have been imperceptible—broke the stillness. His head tilted, just enough to send a jolt of alarm surging through you. The subtle shift in his posture was deliberate, a tightening of his shoulders that radiated the kind of precision only predators possessed. The air seemed to ripple, trembling under the weight of his awareness, as if the space itself recoiled from him.

Your body locked in place, breath frozen in your lungs. He hadn’t turned; his face remained hidden in shadow. Yet somehow, you knew. He knew. He had felt you, heard you, sensed you in a way that transcended understanding.

Time suspended. The corridor stretched infinitely in that moment, an expanse too vast to cross and yet suffocatingly narrow, leaving no room to retreat. The silence pressed down, interrupted only by the faint hum of the jet’s machinery, a sound that seemed almost mocking in its calm. Your heartbeat thundered in your chest, a frantic drumbeat that surely he could hear, though he gave no sign.

And then he moved.

The motion was almost inhuman, fluid as ink spilled into water, his form melting into the shadows with a grace so seamless it was unnerving. He didn’t glance back, didn’t speak, didn’t offer any acknowledgment of your presence. One moment he was there, his figure a looming threat at the end of the corridor—and the next, he was gone. Swallowed whole by the darkness, leaving nothing but the echo of his absence and the electric charge of a predator who had simply chosen to bide his time.

You froze, panic clawing its way up your throat.

He was fast. Too fast.

But the irresistible temptation of the thrill remained. You had to follow.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a drum of desperation as you ran, your feet slapping against the cold metal of the jet's floor. You turned the corner, breath ragged, but when your eyes swept the hallway—nothing. It stretched on endlessly, an empty, hollow void. No sign of him. No trace.

The jet lurched beneath you, as though responding to the shift in the air, but you didn’t stop. You pushed on, driven by a force you couldn’t comprehend, only to be met with silence—unnerving, profound silence.

Loki was gone.

And yet, the feeling lingered, crawling under your skin like the echo of a distant storm. He was out there somewhere, you were sure of it—watching. Waiting.

Your feet struck the cold metal floor with a rhythm that mirrored the frantic pulse of your heart. The jet lurched again, the walls groaning as if they too shuddered at his absence. You ran, each breath a jagged gasp, every step weighted with the gnawing certainty that you were chasing something—no, someone—into danger, right into the sharp claws of a prowler who coveted the sponsor of your essence.

Keep going. You’re almost there.

But as you reached the next turn, the hallway stretched before you, empty. An oppressive, suffocating void of quietude awaited you, curling around you like a thick fog. There was no sound, not even those of the scattered units working on the disturbances going on—no hint of movement, no trace of him.

No Loki. Only the cold, hollow echo of your own footsteps.

A sharp, crawling panic gripped your chest, spreading out like wildfire as you spun, searching frantically—any sign, any trace of him, anything to pierce the silence. The quiet pressed in, as heavy as a weight in your ears, suffocating, making the world spin around you, dizzy and unsteady.

It was subtle at first—barely a whisper—but then the temperature dropped and the chill seeped into your bones, a cold so deep it felt almost unnatural. You thought your mind was tricking you as you saw puffs of your breath fog before you, but you definitely trusted your nerves at sensing the inevitable approach of something—someone.

The jet jolted again, harder this time, as if it too had felt the shift. The floor tilted beneath you, and the walls groaned, their strength buckling under an unseen pressure. They seemed to bend, their shape distorting unnaturally, the very corridors twisting around you. Reality stretched and warped at the edges of your vision, blurring the world into a disorienting swirl. The ground shifted, and the panels seemed to close in on you,as though space itself was contracting.

And then—there he was.

He emerged from the shadows like an omen wrapped in its cloak of darkness, all towering and sinister. He presented himself as a monolith of malice, his very being an affront to the fragile world around him. A cruel smile twisted on his lips, laced with venomous amusement that grated through the silence like the harsh screech of a violin's strings, cutting through the quietness with a sharp, discordant note. His eyes—cold as the deepest winter—shone with a sharp hunger, the glint of a predator toying with its helpless prey.

You lurched back, your pulse racing in your chest, but your legs felt heavy—as if they had switched muscles for sludge. Fear clutched at your throat, but a resolute murmur in the back of your mind propelled you forward.

Desperation seized you. You reached for it—the power that had always been your tether to survival, the force that had kept you one step ahead. You tried to summon it, tried to feel the familiar hum of energy coursing through your veins, to rip open the rift and vanish into the unknown.

But it was gone.

Panic slammed into you like a tide. You reached again, your fingers trembling, but the power slipped away, evading you like smoke, elusive and intangible. The rift shimmered on the cusp of existence—so close, so near—but something had severed the connection, leaving you stranded in a world that had turned against you.

Loki’s laugh rang out, a low, mocking sound that reverberated off the warping walls of reality. His voice, thick with dark amusement, slithered through the air, each word dripping with a promise of doom.

“Do you truly believe you can outrun me?” He mused, his eyes never leaving yours. His eyes twinkled with wicked glee as he approached, hands militaristically behind his back. “I know you’re trying to escape, but you’re trapped, agent.”

You twisted, struggling to break free, to flee, but your limbs felt frozen—rooted in place, shackled by an invisible force. His hand shot out, catching your wrist with an ironclad grip. Cold spread through your veins like ice, locking you in place and the world seemed to tilt, your body buckling under the sheer force of his touch.

“So desperate,” he tutted, his small pout dripping with mockery. The words slithered over you, as smooth as silk, as venomous as a serpent’s bite.

Before you could react, he effortlessly pulled you close, his gaze fixed on yours. The fear within you burst, suffocating your breath as his power smashed down on you, infusing you with a blackness that threatened to engulf you completely. His gaze, blank and vast, as deep as the void, pierced your very soul. The minute his stare met yours, a searing, suffocating cold swept through your chest, as if the very light within you had been sucked. His gaze seemed like a weight crushing down on you, with each second stretching into eternity and drowning your will. You could feel the tendrils of his power burrowing deep into you, twisting and corrupting, like poison coursing through your veins and chilling you from the inside out. It was as though his eyes alone were rewriting your very essence, turning you into something hollow, something lost.

“You’re mine now,” he sauntered with finality, each word laden with inevitability.

Every fiber of your existence cried out for freedom—each heartbeat a drum of urgent desire, each thought a keen, frantic claw digging at the bars of his hands. Your muscles burned with the effort of defiance; the power that had once flowed through you with effortless grace was now a raging fire under your skin, waiting to be released. You pushed with the last of your power, pushing against the iron of his grip and straining for the rift—the barrier between you and freedom.

But no matter how hard you fought, it was as if his very existence had become interwoven with yours, a smothering cloud that cut off your connection to the energy you had previously commanded. It was as if the entire area surrounding you bent to his will, denying you any outlet or opportunity of escape.

You fought for control as you saw him approach with his mind controlling weapon, whipping your arm around to summon a burst of energy. A tempest of force crackling through the space—and with a cruel twist, Loki shoved you backward, sending you crashing into the walls.

"Well done," he applauded as your lungs heaved for oxygen at the abrupt impact. "But it will take more than that."

You could feel your strength slipping away. Every respiration was a battle, each movement a desperate attempt to resist the crushing weight of his presence. The rift began to widen, the very fabric of reality humming with your power, vibrating with an intensity you had yet to fully understand. Using it this way—on the jet, with no true grasp of how to control it—had been reckless. But for a fleeting moment, freedom had seemed within reach, one step away from redemption.

Unfortunately, Loki was faster.

In the blink of an eye, he was upon you, his hand wrapping around your throat with a grip that threatened to crush bone. He shoved you violently against the partition of the jet, his body pressing hard into yours. Dazed, panting, you fought him with renewed fury, your will surging back to life. But his hold on reality tightened, suffocating, relentless. Every possible escape was sealed, every path to liberty shut down by the sheer force of his control.

You refused to yield.

Summoning what little force remained, you raised your free hand, unleashing a blinding burst of energy. The flash surged toward him, but rather than faltering, Loki seemed to draw strength from it, his eyes gleaming with a dark delight. The energy you unleashed only seemed to fuel the fire within him, causing ripples of chaos that sent you reeling. A dizzying wave of power knocked you off balance, your head colliding with the wall, and you struggled to stay conscious.

"You fool," Loki hissed, his voice thick with cruel disdain. He swung his scepter, striking it against the floor with an ground-shattering crack. The foundations of the jet groaned under the impact. With a flick of his wrist, the back of the scepter struck you, sending you crashing to the ground, your body jolting violently. Pain exploded through you, a shockwave of agony that seemed to reverberate in every part of you.

Gasping for air, disoriented, you looked up at him through a blur. Loki’s eyes—those merciless, fathomless eyes—were locked on you, glinting with cold amusement. A twisted smile curled at the corners of his lips, and his gaze never wavered, fixed on you with a knowing, cruel intensity.

"You cannot escape," he asserted, his voice heavy with the finality of doom. The words landed like a death sentence, woven with both victory and irrevocable defeat.

As his grip tightened once more around your throat, pulling you deeper into the inevitable, a chilling realization settled in your chest. He was right.

The world spun around you, every inch of your body screaming for freedom. But the harder you fought, the more futile it became. Loki’s power had already woven itself around you, binding you in ways you could not escape. It pulled tighter, drawing you deeper into his grasp, unraveling every thread of resistance beneath the weight of his will.

And when he smiled, it wasn’t with kindness.

It was with victory.

⠀⠀

The third time you regained consciousness, you were bound to a cold, unforgiving metal chair. Your hands were shackled on the armrests as your ankles were on the joints, the skin around your wrists raw from the futile struggle. At first, everything was a blur—shapes and colors twisted together, indistinct and shifting like a dream on the edge of clarity. You blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the haze, your senses sluggish as you registered the cold, hard surface against your back, the rigid splats pressing up beneath you. A faint scent of iron mingled with something sterile, almost clinical, as though the very air itself sought to keep you at a distance from comfort.

Gradually, reality sharpened, crashing into you like a cold wave. Your heart thudded erratically in your chest, a rapid pulse that betrayed the disarray in your mind. You could feel the chains digging into your flesh, their cruel bite not nearly as unbearable as the gnawing sense of dread tightening around your chest. You were in an unfamiliar place, vulnerable, helpless—at the mercy of a god who thrived on chaos.

The scrape of boots against the floor echoed from the shadows, and instinct flared within you. You tried to move, tried to scramble toward the door, desperate to flee, but the sensation of his presence loomed heavy in the space, suffocating. Loki, that elusive god, was somewhere in the dark, and you could feel him drawing nearer.

"You disappoint me," came his voice—silky, smooth, and laced with venom. He appeared in the doorway, standing tall, his imposing figure casual yet drenched in superiority. His arms were crossed, the epitome of arrogance, but there was something more in his gaze—something darker, colder, that made the hairs on your neck stand on end.

Your stomach twisted, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away. There he was, standing in the doorway like an ominous figure straight out of a nightmare, his presence as unnerving as the storm behind his eyes.

“I thought better of you,” he continued, the words dripping with disdain. “You could have been something greater. And yet here you are—shackled and easily subdued.”

You clenched your teeth, fighting the instinct to show any sign of fear. No. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Despite the steel in your resolve, you felt a sliver of unease crawl beneath your skin. His calmness, his composure, was like a storm on the horizon—a quiet before a cataclysm.

“I’d suggest you fuck off with your unwanted opinions, serpent,” you spat, your voice hard despite the tremor beneath.

Loki raised an eyebrow, amused by your feeble resistance. He took slow steps toward you, his boots clicking against the floor with each movement. “How crude. You know, I can see it in your eyes. The fear, the doubt. You feel it, don’t you? That chaos inside of you. The power you don’t understand.” His voice dropped lower, a thread of venom coating his words. “How does it feel, to know that something so powerful is inside you, but you can’t control it? To know that it could tear you apart at any moment?”

You inhaled sharply, your breath ragged. “I’m not afraid of you.” You wished it were true. You wished you could push the fear down, but it gnawed at the edges of your mind.

“You should be.” He smiled, a slow, almost predatory curl of his lips. “But it doesn’t have to be like this.” His voice softened, growing more persuasive, coaxing. “I’m feeling rather lenient. I can help you, if you let me. I can show you how to control it, all this power inside you. You could be free—free from this constant battle, from the chaos. All you have to do is let me take it. Let me take you.”

The sincerity in his voice was almost convincing. For a split second, you found yourself lowering your guard, your eyes tinkling at the thought of release. Of peace. Of finally understanding this frightening power was wreaking havoc on your body and mind and that only a superior being—as much as you hated to admit it—could master it. A wave of temptation surged through you—his words sounded so safe, so soothing, like balm to your aching mind. It would be so easy to let him take control, to let him guide you.

But no. You clenched your fists and forced yourself to stay grounded. “I will never let you get me.”

Loki’s smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of anger. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a mask of serenity. He tilted his head slightly, as though he were studying you, eyes narrowing as if he was peeling back the layers of your being and see into the very depths of your soul. “You’re stubborn,” he observed, almost to himself. “I understand. I know you. I know what you’ve been through, what you’ve lost. Clint Barton told me all about you, after all.”

Your heart skipped a beat, a cold shiver running down your spine. “What did he tell you?”

Loki’s lips twisted into a sly, satisfied smirk, his voice low and laced with venom. “Oh, everything. Your life, your pain, your endless losses. The way you've been forced to fight—alone—without a single soul to trust. It’s almost poetic, isn’t it? How you, of all people, found yourself at the helm of such a 'noble' unit in your precious secret services? How utterly pathetic. Righteousness... What a farce. All of you, so-called patriots, parading around like saints, when in reality, you’re nothing more than fools. Jesters, wearing masks of morality while you destroy each other in ever more barbaric, senseless ways.”

He leaned in closer, his shadow looming over you as did the light over his head, making him appear even more menacing than he already was. “But not you, of course. You think you’re the only one who’s ever suffered, don’t you? The only one who’s ever been left to fend for themselves?”

You shook your head, but the words hit harder than you expected. “I see you, the real you.” he pursued. “You don’t have to fight it. I could be the one to guide you. I could show you how to wield that power, how to become what you were always meant to be.”

He moved then, just a step closer, and it was like the world shifted on its axis. Loki paused in front of you, his face softening just for a moment. “We’re more alike than you think.” He crouched down, bringing himself to your eye level, his gaze intense but strangely understanding. “I know what it’s like to have something inside of you—something uncontrollable, something powerful.” His eyes darkened. “I know what it’s like to be consumed by it. To feel like it could tear you apart if you don’t keep it chained.”

You blinked at him, confusion mingling with your frustration. Was this… empathy?

“I’ve been there,” he continued in a hushed manner, like he was sharing a secret with you. “You’re not the first to feel overwhelmed by power you can’t control. Believe me, I’ve spent lifetimes struggling with that very thing. But you… you’re different. You have the potential to be more. You don’t have to fight it anymore. You don’t have to suffer. Let me help you.”

Your pulse quickened, but not from the dread of what he might do next—more of because his words resonated deep within you. Every single one of them felt like a key, unlocking the very parts of you that you had spent your entire life burying through your diligent work. His voice, so soft, so knowing, slid under your skin like a lover’s caress, coaxing out the parts of you that longed to be understood.

Loki was dangerous. You knew that. But the way he spoke, the way he looked at you—he made it so easy to forget.

“I can teach you,” Loki whispered, his breath cool against your skin. He reached out, his fingers brushing gently against the chains that bound your wrists, a silent promise of liberation. “Let me show you how to embrace it. How to wield it. Let me show you what it feels like to let go.”

The words glazed on your defenses like honey, and for a moment, you thought you might give in. His gaze was so understanding, it felt like he truly cared. His hands, now resting lightly on the chains, made your hair stand on end and felt warm against your skin, a stark contrast to the cold metal. It seemed almost… familiar?

You didn’t know how to feel about that.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmured, his voice almost tender. “You’ve been alone for so long, haven’t you? You don’t have to do this alone anymore. I’ll help you. Let me take control, just for a little while. I can give you peace. I can give you what you’ve always wanted.”

You tried to pull away, but the chains held you fast. Your heart raced as his words wrapped around you like a vice, and the conflict within you grew more unbearable with each passing second. Part of you wanted to scream, wanted to break free, but the rest of you… the rest of you was listening, was waiting for his touch, for the release he promised.

Was it his eyes? The way he seemed to know exactly what you were thinking before you did? Or was it the power, that seductive undercurrent to everything he did, that promised you could slip into dangerous water, without ever fully understanding the cost of drowning in it?

It was a tempting offer. Too tempting. You could almost feel the warmth of it—the weight of control that you had never known. It felt like the answer to all your struggles, all your years of pain, all the times you had been forced to fight. Could it really be that easy? All the pain, all the confusion—it could all fade away. If you just let him in. You were spiraling now, your mind reeling with the possibilities, with the allure of it. You had suffered for too long, and he made it sound so simple, so easy. You knew better. You had to.

But the temptation… God, the temptation was overwhelming.

“No.” The word felt foreign in your mouth, a last defiant breath in the face of everything he was offering. “I won’t let you control me. I won’t be like you.”

For the briefest moment, Loki’s expression flickered—like the mask of compassion he’d so carefully crafted slipped just slightly. His eyes hardened, the warmth vanishing, replaced by cold fury. The air seemed to drop ten degrees.

“You refuse?” he asked, his voice a dangerous whisper, low and menacing.

You didn’t answer, but your heart raced, the uncaged power churning beneath your skin like an unrelenting tide. Loki’s eyes narrowed, the corners of his lips curling into something between a smile and a snarl.

“Very well,” he murmured, his fingers curling into a fist. “But you don’t get to make the rules.”

Before you could react, his hand darted out like a serpent, seizing your face in a bruising grip. He leaned in, his blue eyes searing into your very soul, their intensity whispering the horrors of your darkest, most twisted nightmares into your mind, each image more agonizing than the last.

“I gave you a choice. You should have taken it.”

A burst of pain suddenly slammed into your head, a vicious wave that made you cry out, your body jerking against the chains. It was only then that you realized, far too late, that his scepter was pointed directly at your heart, the cool tip barely a breath away from your skin. The last remnants of your resistance faltered as the power of the scepter sank deeper into your being, the force of his control sinking like iron chains.

It felt like a glacial wave crashed into your mind and seeped into your thoughts. Loki’s voice was nothing but a muffled sound now, cutting through the haze in a calm and satisfied tone. “Feel that?” His eyes gleamed with sadistic delight. “That’s the power you have. The power you could have had all along. You’re mine now.”

Your thoughts were spinning, the room closing in around you. The Tesseract’s energy was flaring inside you, the raw power scrambling for control, and you could feel Loki’s influence seeping in, overtaking your thoughts, wrapping around your mind like a vice.

“No…” you gasped, weakly, trying to shake him off, but the words were swallowed by the overwhelming pressure.

“Yes,” Loki purred. “You belong to me now, and you will thank me one day. When you realize that everything I’ve done, everything I’ve shown you, was for your own good.”

With a cruel laugh, he twisted his grip, and a flood of darkness poured into you, overwhelming your mind with every painful, searing detail of his power. He controlled you—body, soul, and everything in between.

The world went black.

⠀⠀

The noise of reinforcement units coming in for repairs filled the background, the steady hum of machinery punctuated by the occasional clang and whirr of tools at work. Outside the small, utilitarian debriefing room, the distant sounds of jets being repaired and refueled echoed through the corridors—a constant reminder of how close they had come to the edge. The Quinjets, once sleek symbols of precision and strength, were now battered and broken, their forms twisted by the brutal assault in the skies above. The jet bay, a hub of efficiency just hours ago, now stood as a grim testament to how quickly things could fall apart.

The room itself, stark and functional, lacked windows—its white walls offering no reprieve from the sterile atmosphere that weighed heavily on those gathered inside. A massive holographic display at the center of the room flickered with damage reports and strategic movements, casting an eerie glow across the faces of the Avengers as they processed the chaos they had just endured. The room buzzed with a quiet sense of urgency, the kind that comes when everything hangs by a thread, when the adrenaline of the mission has subsided but the aftermath still lingers in the air like a faint echo of destruction.

Natasha Romanoff paced at the front, her every step deliberate and measured, her hands clasped behind her back in a posture that suggested both authority and restraint. Her expression was unreadable, a carefully crafted mask that hid the storm beneath. Steve Rogers leaned over the table, his eyes scanning the data with practiced precision, his brow furrowed as he took stock of the damage—not just to the equipment, but to their mission, and to themselves. Tony Stark, ever the restless soul, paced nearby, his arms crossed over his chest, his face a study in concern and frustration. Bruce Banner, though seemingly calm on the surface, shifted uneasily, his eyes darting between the reports and the quiet hum of the room. His mind was still reeling from his recent transformation into the ‘Other Guy,’ and the weight of his own unpredictability hung over him.

"So, what’s the damage?" Bruce’s voice cut through the tension, his words soft but tinged with a quiet apprehension. "I’m guessing we’re not going anywhere anytime soon with the jets looking like they do."

"Repairs are underway," Natasha replied, her voice as clipped as ever, though there was a flicker of exhaustion in her tone. "We’ll be fine for a short-term flight, but it’ll take some time before we’re combat-ready."

Clint Barton, standing near the glass overlooking the hangar, gave a tired shrug, his face etched with the weariness of battle. His hand brushed across his brow, wiping away the sweat that had accumulated there, and he nodded toward the Quinjets in the distance. "Well, if you’re asking if we can leave anytime soon, I’d say no. We’re grounded for now. That one over there..." He gestured toward the wreckage of the Quinjet, its tail section reduced to a mangled heap of metal and fire. "It’s a total loss. We’re looking at days of repairs."

Tony shot a glare at the nearby repair bay through the glass, his mind already working at full speed as he assessed the damage. His eyes traced the outline of the battered Quinjets, the destruction evident in every twisted part. But as much as the sight of the wreckage stirred a sense of frustration, it wasn’t what had his blood boiling.

"Great," he muttered, his voice thick with resentment. "We’re grounded for the time being, and half the damn world’s going to burn because I’m stuck here playing babysitter. Meanwhile, Fury’s getting more irritable by the second."

"Fury’s always irritable," Clint quipped, though his tone lacked the usual bite, his words more a fact than a joke.

Steve’s eyes narrowed as he stood, hands resting on the table, his jaw clenched. "That’s not what’s bothering him, though. We’ve all seen how he’s been. This isn’t just about the mission—it’s personal for him. He feels guilty about her."

"Who, the agent?" Natasha asked, her voice sharp with curiosity. "Why would he feel guilty about her?"

"Because he let her go," Steve answered, shaking his head slowly. "He’s the one who pushed her into the field. He’s the one who didn’t anticipate Loki going after her like this. Fury’s the one who’s responsible for her being on the front lines. And Phil..." His voice trailed off, the mention of Phil Coulson’s name cutting through the room like a cold gust of wind. The weight of his death hung in the air, a shadow that none of them could escape.

Clint’s face hardened, his gaze flickering to Natasha before he broke the silence. "Loki’s got her, right?" His voice was low, raw with the weight of his own regret. "I remember him asking me about her, pressuring me for information. Something about turning her into his prize warrior. I didn’t realize how far he’d already gone." His words lingered in the air, filled with the sting of failure.

Natasha’s eyes darkened, a sharp edge creeping into her voice. "Whatever Loki’s done to her, it’s more than we’ve seen. It’s safe to assume he’s fully gained control of her now."

Tony’s mind raced, his thoughts tangled with the anxiety gnawing at his insides. "And what happens if he unleashes her powers? I’ve seen what she’s capable of—teleportation, molecular distortion. She could level an entire city if she’s pushed far enough." The grim reality of what they were up against settled in the pit of his stomach.

There was a moment of silence, the weight of Tony’s words hanging heavily in the room as they all considered the consequences. Bruce was the first to speak, his voice low but resolute. "We can’t let that happen. We have to intercept her before Loki does more damage. Before... she does more damage."

The room fell into a heavy silence again, each person lost in their own thoughts. The stakes were higher than they had ever been before, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead weighed on them all.

Finally, Tony broke the silence, his voice tinged with bitterness. "So, where are we going?"

Steve’s gaze met his, determination flickering behind his blue eyes. "We’re going to your tower."

Clint raised an eyebrow, confusion briefly flashing across his face. "The Stark Tower? Why there?"

"Because it’s the perfect place for Loki," Steve replied with certainty. "The guy thrives on theatrics, on flair. Stark Tower has the kind of symbolism he’d love. It’s big, bold—exactly the kind of place he’d make his base."

Tony’s eyes widened slightly as realization set in. "You’re thinking what I’m thinking?"

"If she’s there, we’ll have the best chance of getting her back," Steve continued, his voice steady with purpose. "And if Loki’s there, it’s the place where we’ll have the best shot of stopping him."

Tony sighed, rubbing his temples as the weight of it all bore down on him. "Alright, but we need to hurry. The longer we wait, the more dangerous this becomes. And with her powers, we don’t know how much time we have before..." His words trailed off, unspoken fears hanging in the air.

"Before she becomes a weapon we can’t stop," Natasha finished for him, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. Her resolve was unwavering, her eyes sharp with determination.

Tony tapped a few commands into his wrist console, and a hologram flickered to life. "I’m sending the signal to Thor. If anyone’s going to be able to face Loki head-on, it’s him. We need to have him on standby in New York, ready to come to our aid if this goes sideways."

Steve nodded. "We have to be ready for anything. Loki won’t make this easy, and he’s always got a trick up his sleeve."

Clint nodded grimly, his jaw tight as he looked toward the hangar, his mind already on the mission ahead. "Yeah, well, it’s not like we’re giving him a choice. We’ll be there, we’ll find her, and we’ll stop this before it gets any worse."

Nick Fury stood outside the briefing room, pacing with impatience, his mind a blur of conflicting thoughts. The guilt that had been building in his chest for days threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was somehow his fault—that by putting you on the front lines, by sending you into this mission, he had given Loki the perfect opening to manipulate you. He had created the perfect weapon for him.

“Damn it,” Fury muttered under his breath, his words sharp and biting. “I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve known what would happen. I’m the one who signed off on this. I’m the one who put her in harm’s way.” The thought of you, of your powers, your vulnerability—haunted him. But it wasn’t just you that gnawed at him.

Phil. The name seared through him like a burning coal. His jaw clenched, and the memory of Phil Coulson’s lifeless form flashed before his eyes, a haunting reminder of another failure, another loss. The weight of it all pressed down on him, and he couldn’t escape it.

The Avengers emerged from the briefing room, their faces set in grim determination, but Fury remained frozen, consumed by the suffocating weight of his guilt. His hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his eyepatch, the sting of failure cutting deep. If it wasn’t already too late, they were going to have to fight harder than ever before.

And God knows how you were faring up.

⠀⠀

The fourth time you came back to your senses, a strange sensation overtook you, an out-of-body experience that felt almost too literal. For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to stretch away, like you were hovering above it, distanced from your own existence. You watched as events unfolded, disembodied and detached, your mind observing from an unfamiliar perspective. The space around you was no stranger—it was cold, metallic, the steady hum of energy vibrating in the air. Yet it felt as though you weren’t fully tethered to reality, as if something in you was pulled just out of reach of the present.

Loki’s influence lingered, like a shadow veiling your thoughts, a faint pressure that continued to tighten around your consciousness. But it was different this time, less suffocating, as though you could almost stretch your fingers and reclaim your mind, resetting it, pushing the fog of his control aside. It wasn’t complete freedom, but it was a crack—a hint that you could break through.

It had been a few days since the takeover. The sensation of being mind-controlled was nothing like you had imagined. It wasn’t some visible force pressing down on you, suffocating you with weight. It was far more insidious—a creeping intrusion that slid under your skin and flowed through your veins, weaving its way into the very fabric of your mind. It was a whisper at first, a soft murmur against your will, growing louder, more forceful until it became a wave that swallowed your thoughts whole, drowning you in its depth. The overwhelming sensation was like drowning in your own mind, fighting for air that was constantly out of reach.

Each flicker of resistance you managed to summon was met with a violent recoil, an electric shock that surged through your brain, disorienting you. Your vision swam, fractured between moments, reality blurring and snapping back in quick, disorienting flashes. You tried to hold onto yourself, to anchor your sense of identity, but each struggle only seemed to tighten Loki’s grip. There were no chains, no physical restraints—just a far more personal, insidious force that felt like an extension of him, an inescapable presence that filled your mind, shaping you, controlling you.

And Loki… He was everywhere, his influence like a suffocating cloak, draped over your every thought. His power radiated around you, inside you, as if it had seeped into your very bones. His presence was relentless, constantly guiding, twisting, and reshaping you in his image. He wasn’t simply a teacher, not in any traditional sense. He wasn’t trying to help you understand your power. No, he was breaking you down—remaking you in the process.

Training under him was nothing short of grueling. Each session felt like an endurance test, an ordeal that pushed you to the edge of your capabilities. Every command he issued, every flick of his wrist was an exercise in both frustration and fear. You were nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game, subjected to his whims as he tested your limits in mock battles, moving with predatory grace, sizing you up. This was no place for nurturing or protection. He wasn’t here to teach you; he was here to force you to become something more—something stronger, something more deadly. Every sparring match felt like a war of attrition, each blow a reminder of your own fragility, each movement an attempt to break you down, mold you into something that would serve his whims.

But then, in moments that made no sense, he’d pause. His usually cold, calculating demeanor would crack for just a fleeting moment, revealing something tender and nearly unrecognizable. There were times when he would brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering a moment too long, as though he could feel the weight of your exhaustion, your pain. He would offer you a drink of water, his eyes scanning your face, searching for signs of weakness, yet almost as if he cared. His voice would lower, just slightly, when he spoke to you, as though offering words of encouragement, though veiled with the same cutting edge of superiority that tainted everything else he said.

In those brief, inexplicable moments, you found yourself warming up to him in a sickening way. It twisted in your gut, a dangerous familiarity that began to seep into your thoughts. When he offered small, rare gestures of clemency, like letting you rest or even acknowledging your progress, you couldn’t help but feel something shift within you—a fragile connection that you knew should never be there, that you hated for being there.

You hated that you somehow felt a semblance of comfort in his proximity, even in those rare, fleeting instances when he allowed you to see a hint of his true self, when he was almost... kind. But that kindness was always tainted with a darkness you couldn’t ignore, a reminder that beneath the surface, he was the same ruthless god who controlled you, who tested you, who owned you.

It was dangerous. It was the most dangerous thing you’d ever felt. But you couldn’t stop it.

You would never admit it, not even to yourself. But deep down, the quiet warmth he showed—however brief—had you questioning if there was a part of him that truly saw you, beyond the pawn. And in that sickening realization, you knew that this power he wielded over you wasn’t just physical; it was psychological, emotional. And you suspected this exact power wasn’t even his to begin, more like he was a slave to it. The lines between torment and care blurred in ways that left you confused, torn between your desire for freedom and the strange, almost intimate connection that had begun to grow, against your will, in the shadows of his manipulation.

The first time you phased through the air, an accident in the chaos of the training, Loki’s smirk was immediate. “That’s it,” he languildly praised, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re beginning to grasp it. But you’ll need to master it fully. Let me push you further.”

Before you could process his words, he was upon you, commanding you to fight. There was no hesitation, no room for doubt in his voice—it was an order, and your body obeyed without thought. Your movements were fluid, unnatural, like a puppet whose strings were pulled by forces beyond your control. Weightlessness flooded your mind, and before you could fully understand it, you phased again, reappearing inches from him. The amusement in his eyes was evident, but it was not pride—it was a predator's pleasure.

“You’ll need to be faster,” Loki remarked in an unforgiving tone. “Faster. You’re too slow. I expected more. Show me the depth of your power, or will you disappoint me?”

You had no choice but to obey.

You lashed out, your limbs moving with a speed you could barely comprehend. Power surged through your veins like liquid fire, filling you with both exhilaration and terror. The world around you seemed to blur, the space itself warping as you teleported again, this time behind him. But before you could register your success, he was ready, his body already turning, hands outstretched. In an instant, you found yourself caught in a vortex of his power, the space around you twisting and pulling you into a storm of his will.

“You’ll need to understand this more fully before you even think of using it against me,” Loki said coldly. With a casual flick of his hand, your body froze in mid-air, held by the invisible grip of his power. Every inch of you was locked in place, the pulse of your own abilities stifled by his sheer force.

Inside your mind, you screamed. You fought, clawing at your thoughts, trying to regain control, but Loki’s mind was a labyrinth, and you were lost within it. Each attempt to break free sent shockwaves of pain through your head, the weight of his presence pressing down on your neural pathways until they felt like they might snap under the strain.

“Still resisting?” His eyes gleamed with malicious pleasure as he approached. “This is nothing. Wait until I truly unleash it.”

And that was when you understood. He wasn’t teaching you. He wasn’t trying to help you. He was breaking you.

But there was a flicker—a momentary lapse, a crack in the control. And in that instant, you phased again. It was instinct now, not power, that guided you. You broke free of his hold, stepping back, your mind screaming in defiance. You didn’t know how you did it, but in that one brief, desperate moment, you reclaimed a piece of yourself.

Loki’s smile faltered. His eyes narrowed, irritation flaring in his gaze. “You think your little tricks can free you from my control?” he spat. “You are mine—body and soul. You’ll bend to my will. You’ll master your powers—not because you want to, but because I will make you.”

His biting words struck deep, but there was something else in his eyes. Something more than just control. A flicker of something deeper—something he was desperately trying to hide. You didn’t have the strength to confront it, not yet. But somewhere, deep in the dark corners of your untouched subconscious, you swore you’d fight. Even if it meant destroying yourself in the process.

Loki came at you again, faster this time, his movements precise, fluid, each strike a test of your endurance, each attack a deeper push into your limits. But with every blow, you saw more. More of the man beneath all of the godliness. More of what made him tick. What made him… human, for the lack of a better term.

For the first time since your powers had awakened, you weren’t completely afraid. You were scared, yes. Terrified, even. But you were also intrigued. You needed to understand him. You had to. It wasn’t just about breaking free anymore. It was about finding what layed beneath the surface. What drove him to wield such raw, unrelenting power.

And maybe, just maybe, you could use it against him.

As the god pushed you further, you began to realize just how far you’d come. The simple act of teleporting had become a foundation—a means to control space itself. You had only begun to understand your abilities, but now, under Loki’s relentless training, you were beginning to unravel the layers of power that the Tesseract had gifted you.

“Focus,” his voice sliced through the fog in your mind. It was sharp, commanding, precise. “Control it. Master every aspect. Your power is disorganized, but it can be more. It can be your weapon, your shield. Learn to wield it.”

With a flick of his hand, he sent a burst of energy hurtling toward you. Instinctively, you phased through it, the familiar sensation of weightlessness taking over as you reappeared a few feet away.

“Good,” Loki murmured. But there was no approval in his voice. Only calculation. “But you’re still holding back.”

You glared at him, frustration building in your chest. How could you not hold back? Every time you unleashed that power, it felt like you were teetering on the edge of something far darker, something that could consume you. You didn’t know where it would take you—or what you would destroy in the process.

Loki saw it, of course. The hesitation. The uncertainty in your eyes. He raised a brow, his lips curling into a smirk. “What? You think you can’t handle it? That you’ll lose control?”

“I’m not afraid of losing control,” you shot back, your voice wavering despite your defiance. “I’m afraid of what happens when I don’t.”

The smirk on his face deepened, his eyes calculating, as if he were deciding just how far he could push you. “You have no idea what true power feels like. You’re afraid of its potential. But that fear is what’s holding you back.”

With a casual flick of his hand, he created barriers around you, walls of energy that hummed with his power.

“Break them,” he commanded.

You couldn’t wait to see how far you could push him.

The walls around you shimmered, their surface unnatural, like liquid glass caught in perpetual motion. They weren’t walls in the traditional sense; they were space itself, bending and warping as though it was alive. The air grew heavy, charged with invisible tension. You stared at them, willing yourself to see, to understand.

And then, in a flash of clarity, it hit you.

This wasn’t just about moving from one point to another. This was something far greater. You could feel it now—the infinite potential swirling within you. It wasn’t merely about stepping through the fabric of space; it was about bending it to your will. The molecules around you, so subtle and elusive moments ago, now felt tangible, pliable. You could rearrange them, reshape them. This wasn’t just teleportation. This was the ability to reshape matter itself.

You extended your hand, trembling slightly as you reached toward the shimmering walls. The strain in your head was immediate, but it was an exhilarating kind of pain, like the edge of a storm waiting to break. The air around you rippled in response, and slowly, the walls began to shift. Small rifts, windows into other spaces, opened like jagged wounds in the room’s fabric. You gasped softly, watching as they revealed glimpses of places far from here—a corner of the room, an entirely different plane.

A portal blossomed before you, its edges glowing faintly as it stabilized. The tear in space stretched outward, showing the opposite side of the chamber.

Loki’s eyes widened, the faintest flicker of surprise breaking through his composed mask. He recovered quickly, a slight smirk curling his lips as he took a step forward. “Passable,” he grumbled, though his usual amusement was absent. His voice was sharper now, edged with something colder. “But don’t get cocky.”

His words struck you like a challenge, daring you to push further. You clenched your jaw, determination flaring in your chest. With a mental snap, you pulled the rift closed, the portal dissolving into nothingness. The room settled again, but the air still vibrated with your energy.

You turned your focus inward. The molecules around you felt alive, humming with energy as though waiting for your command. You could almost taste their vibration, their power. Extending your hand again, you exhaled slowly, this time pulling not to open but to still. The energy around you tightened, and with a rush of intent, the space itself froze.

The room went utterly still. Objects suspended mid-motion, their trajectories arrested in a silent tableau. Even your own breath faltered, caught in a moment of frozen time. You stood in the center of it all, holding the room together by sheer force of will. The power surged through you, intoxicating and overwhelming all at once. For a brief, flickering moment, you allowed yourself to bask in it.

Until Loki moved.

Of course, he was never one to let his adversaries savor victory for long. With a flick of his hand, he sent a barrage of objects hurtling toward you, shattering the stillness. You reacted instinctively, the power in you surging again. The air around you obeyed your silent command, freezing the projectiles mid-air before they could strike.

“Not bad,” the raven-haired remarked, though his voice was colder now, a faint hint of disappointment lacing his words. “But you still don’t understand. You’re holding back. You haven’t learned to truly channel it.”

You felt it then—his presence pressing against your mind like an unseen force, urging you forward, demanding more. The pressure built, an oppressive weight you couldn’t ignore.

And so, you gave in.

The next wave of energy he hurled at you didn’t stop. It didn’t freeze. Instead, it absorbed into you, the force coursing through your body like molten metal. Your veins felt alive, filled with raw, chaotic power. The intensity was almost too much, threatening to split you apart, but you held on. And then, without thinking, you redirected it.

A pulse of energy exploded outward, aimed squarely at Loki. The impact sent him staggering back, a rare moment of imbalance breaking his usual grace. His head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable as he stared at you.

“You… redirected it?” he asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with something you couldn’t place.

Panting, you nodded, the strain catching up to you. The energy of the Tesseract pulsed within you, wild and untamed. It had given you the ability to absorb and harness attacks, but the cost was steep. Your body felt like it was burning, every muscle trembling with the effort of holding it together.

“That’s enough,” Loki commanded, his voice devoid of emotion, yet carrying an undeniable finality that echoed through the tense air. Your legs buckled beneath you, your head spun with a nauseating dizziness, and your arms felt as though they were made of lead. The world around you seemed to melt away, the edges of your vision blurring into a cacophony of shifting shadows.

It was then that it happened—the flicker.

For the briefest of moments, you felt yourself again, as if your very essence had returned to you. The sensation of shifting between spaces, phasing in and out, was familiar, grounding. The molecular alteration that had become second nature to you—an innate force deep within your cells—began to reset your mind. It was only a heartbeat, a small second where Loki’s overwhelming grasp on your thoughts loosened, allowing you a sliver of clarity.

The flickers grew more frequent, the moments of clarity more profound. Each time your molecules unraveled and reassembled, your thoughts sharpened, became clearer, more lucid. The oppressive fog that Loki had woven over your mind peeled away, layer by layer, leaving you with sharp clarity—if only for mere instants.

You didn’t understand it. You didn’t know why it worked, but you clung to those fleeting moments as if they were your lifeline. Each time you phased, you felt something inside you shift, like your brain was being reset, free of the chains he had bound you with. And in those moments, as your clarity returned, you found yourself watching him.

Not just observing him as an enemy or a captor, but seeing him—his every movement, the tension in his shoulders, the subtle tremor in his hands. You noticed the cracks that began to form in his facade. His orders, once laced with effortless authority, now carried an undercurrent of something else—frustration, hesitation, or maybe even doubt. His piercing gaze, so sure and unyielding, sometimes lingered on you for a moment too long, as though searching for something he could not name.

In one of your moments of freedom, you couldn’t help yourself.

“Why do you do this?” Your voice, low but steady, cut through the tense silence of the room, hanging in the air like a challenge.

Loki froze, his step faltering as the flickering light of the room cast jagged shadows across his face. He slowly turned to you with an unreadable expression. “Do what exactly?” His voice was dangerously soft, but the hint of something darker lingered beneath the surface.

“This,” you pointedly said, your hand sweeping between the two of you, gesturing vaguely to the invisible war that raged. “The mind games. The controlling. Why do you hide behind this power of yours? What even is your point in all of this?”

A tight, humorless smile curled at the corners of his lips, but his eyes, those eyes that once burned with amusement, darkened with something far less playful. “Careful,” he warned, his voice a venomous whisper. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

But the words were already out of you, spilling faster than you could control. “You act like you’re untouchable, like you’re above all of this, but you’re not. You’re hiding. From what, I don’t know, but I see it. Every time I phase out of your control, I see it. You’re just as trapped as I am, aren’t you?”

The air around you both shifted. It grew heavier, dense with the weight of the unspoken. The silence stretched, thickening with the tension of your accusation. Loki’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. His gaze flickered for the briefest moment—pain, raw and unguarded. It flashed so quickly, you almost wondered if you had imagined it. But it was there, and it was real.

Then it was gone, replaced by cold, seething fury.

“Silence,” he hissed, his voice low,dangerous. “You presume to know me? To understand me? You, a pawn caught in a game far beyond your comprehension?” His power surged around him, crackling with energy as the room seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his presence. The air around him felt as if it were bending under the pressure, each word carrying the weight of a threat you could almost taste.

But before he could act, you phased.

The sensation was like slipping through water, the atoms of your body rearranging with effortless grace as you disappeared and reappeared on the far side of the room. Loki’s gaze whipped toward you, a mix of surprise and fury painting his face.

“You will not defy me,” he snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a whip.

“Oh, but I think I just did,” you shot back, your grin widening as you phased again, this time landing on a ledge above him. “What’s the matter, boss? Losing your touch?”

He whirled toward you, his composure unraveling with every word, every flicker of movement. “You dare mock me?” His voice trembled with barely contained rage.

You phased again, this time directly behind him. “I think I just did that too,” you replied, your voice dripping with insolence.

His hand shot out, crackling with energy, but you were already gone before he could even touch you. Each time you phased, his control weakened, and with it, his mask began to slip.

“Enough of this nonsense!” Loki bellowed, his voice echoing through the chamber as his magic lashed out, sending another pulse of energy to the space you had just vacated.

But you were already gone, phased to the other side of the room. You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up as you taunted him. “Not used to someone slipping through your fingers, yeah?”

He lunged toward you, his hand glowing with power. But once again, you phased out of his reach, reappearing behind him with maddening ease.

It was working. You could see it in the way his movements grew sharper, more erratic. His control, his perfect composure, was beginning to unravel. And for the first time since your capture, you felt like you were in control.

“Stop this!” he roared, his voice cracking on the edges of his fury.

“Why?” you taunted, your tone almost teasing now, every word cutting through the tension like a blade. “Are you afraid of what I might do? Or are you afraid of what this says about you?”

“I am warning you,” he snarled, his voice trembling, the power crackling in the air. “Do not push me further.”

You took a step forward, closing the distance between you with deliberate defiance. “Or what?” you challenged, your voice softer, but no less cutting. “I don’t need to understand you to see the truth. You’re unraveling, Loki. Just like I am. And the more you push me, the more I see it.”

Something snapped in him then. In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance, gripping your arm with bruising force, his presence suffocating, his eyes alight with barely contained fury. You thought, for a fleeting moment, that he might break you—his force pressing down on you like a vice.

But then, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your throat—not tight enough to choke, but enough to remind you of his strength.

“You forget your place,” he growled, his voice a deadly whisper, every word dripping with menace. “I could end you with a thought.”

You gulped at the threat, your heart hammering in your chest, but you refused to look away. Even as his grip tightened, even as his power bore down on you like a mountain, you held your ground.

“Then do it,” you finally said, your voice trembling but resolute. “If you want me silent so badly, then end it. But we both know you won’t. You need me.”

His breath hitched and for a moment, he looked at you like you were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. The tension in his grip faltered, just barely, before he yanked his hand away as though your very touch burned him. His sharp intake of air was the only sound that punctuated the quiet between you, a pause that felt longer than it should.

“You are insufferable,” he spat, though his tone lacked the earlier venom, the conviction of his anger dimmed. “Your defiance will be your undoing.”

An almost weary defiance burned in your chest as you rubbed your neck where his fingers had left their mark, a small, throbbing reminder of his touch. “Maybe,” you said softly, eyes never leaving his. “But it might just be yours too.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line, a mark of something teetering on the edge of unsaid utterances. With deliberate slowness, he took a step forward. His movements were predatory, as though he was testing your resolve. His gaze drilled into yours with such intensity that you could feel it like a physical weight against your skin, an invisible pressure that seemed to hollow out your lungs. He was close now—so close that his breath, warm and almost tangible, mingled with yours. His presence surrounded you, overwhelming, filling every corner of the space.

The adrenaline that had fueled your defiance started to dissipate, leaving a quiet exhaustion in its wake. The fight had drained more from you than you cared to admit. With a sigh, you took a few steps back and sank to the floor, your knees folding under you as you sat cross-legged, your shoulders sagging with the weight of fatigue.

“I’m tired,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair as if the action could somehow soothe the tremors beneath your skin.

Loki stood motionless, his chest rising and falling with the effort of suppressing the raw emotions that were still simmering beneath the surface. His hands hung at his sides, fingers twitching faintly, as if they couldn’t decide whether to lash out at you or reach for something instead. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing every inch of your weary form as though searching for something he couldn’t name, something you didn’t even understand.

“You’re persistent, I’ll grant you that,” he said finally, his voice low, the words sharp, though they carried a hint of curiousness beneath the surface.

You glanced up at him, too drained for anything other than the bitter truth of the moment. “Persistent? Coming from you, that’s almost a compliment,” you retorted, the wryness in your tone at odds with the ache that seemed to consume every inch of your body.

A twitch at the corner of his mouth and a faint softening in his gaze passed quickly over his face. It was gone in an instant, buried beneath his practiced mask of indifference. “Hardly,” he corrected, his tone clipped as he stepped closer. “It’s an observation. You’re like a moth flitting toward the flame, heedless of the danger.”

You leaned back on your palms, tilting your head to meet his gaze, the spark of defiance still stubbornly burning. “And you’re the flame, I suppose? Burning everything you touch because it’s easier than admitting you’re just as fragile as the rest of us.”

His jaw clenched, a brief flicker of something raw flashing across his face—anger, pain, or perhaps both. “You presume too much,” he said, his voice cold, though it lacked the sharpness it had carried earlier.

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Maybe. But you’re not as good at hiding as you think you are. You wear the mask well, Loki, but it slips. And when it does… I can see you.”

His expression quickly hardened, though his lips were still tight with something you couldn’t quite place. “You see only what I allow you to see. Do not mistake my mercy for weakness.”

You raised an eyebrow, your gaze unwavering. “Mercy? Is that what you call this?” You gestured vaguely around the room, your words cutting through the tension. “Because it feels more like a war of wills.”

His figure loomed closer still until his boots nearly brushed your knees. He hovered over you, his shadow swallowing you whole, yet there was something in his posture now that lacked malice. “You speak as though you know me, as though you understand the choices I’ve made,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “But you don’t. You can’t.”

You met his gaze, unfaltering. “You’re right,” you admitted, surprising even yourself. “I don’t know you. Not really. But I see enough to know there’s more to you than this…” you searched for the right word, your voice soft yet firm, “performance.”

A raw and unguarded emotion crossed his face for the briefest of moments before he suppressed it. “I don’t need your pity,” he said, the sharpness of his words dulled, the usual bite missing from his voice. “Or your insights.”

“It’s not pity,” you said quietly. “Curiosity, maybe. Frustration, definitely. You’re not just a villain, Loki. Actually, I don’t think you ever wanted to be one in the first place.”

He scoffed, though it lacked the conviction it usually held. “And what would you know of my wants? Of my purpose?” The bitterness in his tone was sharper now, though his words seemed to betray more of a wound than venom.

You gave him a small, tired smile, the weariness of the moment tempered by a fragile understanding. “Not much. But I know enough to say this: I don’t think you’re as evil as you want people to think you are. And if you weren’t on the wrong side of all this…” You hesitated, then shrugged, a glimmer of misplaced hope in your voice. “I think I could’ve been your friend.”

It was like a chord struck in the dark. Loki stared at you, his expression unreadable, yet his eyes betrayed a whirlwind of emotions—shock, confusion, and… vulnerability. “A friend?” he repeated, the word tasting foreign on his tongue, almost as though it were a language he hadn’t spoken in centuries.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. A friend.”

He was Loki—an outcast, a trickster, recently a monster in his own eyes. Friendship was not for him, not for someone like him. Yet here you were, offering him a concept he had long dismissed as alien. Your words were not a gift—no, not in his mind. They were a lie. A cruel jest. But something about them, about the way you said it, seemed to unsettle him just a little.

His hand twitched at his side, and for a moment, you thought he might reach out—reach for you. But instead, he stayed still, his gaze filled with something he couldn’t quite name. Then, like a crack forming in his ironclad armor, he spoke, his voice low, barely a whisper against the silence between you.

“You are a fool.”

The words stung, yet you didn’t flinch. Instead, you met his gaze, unyielding. “And you’re a liar,” you softly countered. “But you’re not that bad. Or at least, I’d like to think so.”

For the briefest of heartbeats, the world seemed to still around you. The invisible tension pulled you closer even as his walls, so meticulously built, held you apart.

Then, like a thunderclap in the midst of a quiet storm, it happened. A sharp, involuntary twitch in his jaw. His expression faltered, his usual composure slipping away for a moment, leaving him raw, exposed. His body jerked violently, a sharp intake of breath escaping him, and his hand flew to his temple, clutching as though something inside him was unraveling. A guttural sound ripped from his chest.

"What’s wrong?" you instinctively asked, concern lacing your voice despite the turmoil in your own chest.

"Silence," he hissed through clenched teeth, but there was no venom behind the words—only a desperate plea. His gaze snapped to yours, vulnerable and raw for just a fraction of a second. In those fleeting seconds, desperation passed through his eyes, a storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface. The sight of it made your chest tighten, a jagged breath catching in your throat.

"What’s happening?" you pressed, your voice softer now, hesitant, unsure if you were even allowed to breach this moment. "Let me—"

"Quiet!" His voice shattered the fragile silence, a barked command that reverberated with cold authority. His hand fell from his temple, but the movement were jerky and unnatural, as though he were trying to force himself back into the rigid state he had been in for the past few days. His posture straightened, and the ice that had replaced his features now belied the chaos brewing beneath, his eyes betraying him with a tornado of clashing thoughts.

"You should not concern yourself with things you cannot comprehend," he accused, his voice sharper than before, yet it wavered at the edges, a crackling vulnerability buried in the syllables. He took a step back, his movements stiff, as if his body itself were rebelling against the order he demanded.

Before you could respond, he stretched his hand out, a flash of blue energy spiraling from the scepter nestled in his palm as it hummed ominously in the air. "You are far too meddlesome," he declared, his voice cold, detached, though the tremor beneath it betrayed his growing frustration. "I think it’s time we corrected that."

The energy hit you like an avalanche, its cold tendrils sinking deep into your mind before you could even react. It was different this time. Stronger. The force of it suffocating, relentless—consuming. It swallowed every fragment of your thoughts, your will, your very sense of self, leaving no room for resistance.

It was as though he had learned from your earlier defiance, amplifying his grip until there was no escape.

A gasp tore from your throat as the world around you blurred, dissolving into a haze of chilling disorientation. Your vision spiraled, your thoughts scattered in every direction, unable to hold onto anything. Somewhere beneath the overwhelming force of his control, the faintest flicker of your consciousness lingered—but it was distant, buried beneath layers of icy, impenetrable control.

And through the haze, you could still feel him—watching, observing. You could see his hands trembling ever so slightly as he gripped the scepter with an almost desperate force. His face was a mask of unrelenting authority, but his eyes—his eyes held something else entirely. Frustration. Anger. And beneath it all, something undeniably close to regret. For a moment, the scepter’s glow dimmed, as though he hesitated—but it was only for a moment. The unsureness passed and his grip tightened once again, the power surging back to full force, driving you deeper into submission.

"You will not defy me again," he sharply stated, yet unable to conceal the faint tremor beneath them. It was a promise, or perhaps a threat. But as he spoke, a mournful aftertaste lingered, a whisper that could hardly be heard over the pounding of your heart. Loki lowered the scepter slowly, his chest rising and falling as if he had just waged a battle—and won. His gaze lingered on you for a long, silent moment before he spoke again.

"You will remain here," he announced, and the words were not just a command but an ominous finality. "Until I decide what to do with you."

He turned then, almost mechanically—as though his body, too, were beginning to betray him. His footsteps echoed in the room, hollow and final, but just as he reached the door, something halted him. His hand hovered over the frame, the faintest dubiousness in his posture as his eyes found yours again.

In the silence of the room, you stood there, frozen, helpless under his command. Your body obeyed him, no longer your own, while your mind screamed in rebellion, trapped in the suffocating grip of his mind control. Your eyes dulled with the weight of the scepter’s influence, and somewhere deep within, a faint ember of your will still flickered, but it was too weak—too far gone to challenge the force consuming you.

He paused, his lips pressing into a thin line, his expression conflicted. For a heartbeat, something almost tender passed between you, but then it vanished, replaced by the hard, unrelenting figure he had built himself into.

"You shouldn’t have followed me," he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost wistful. "It would have been easier for the both of us."

And with that, he was gone. The door closed behind him with a dull finality, its low thud echoing in the silent room like a death knell that reverberated in your chest. Loki leaned against the cold metal wall outside, his back rigid as though the weight of the universe had settled on his shoulders. The scepter trembled faintly in his grasp, the gemstone atop it glowing softly, a faint pulse of light that seemed to reflect the last remnants of a power that bound you both—cosmically, inevitably—together. It was the final tether between you, a cruel connection that neither of you could escape, no matter how far you tried to run.

The power he had once thought would offer him control was now a cruel mistress, bending his will like a fragile branch in a typhoon. He had sought to vainquish, to conquer, but now he was its prisoner. He could feel the grip of the mind binding tightening, its influence sinking deep into his bones. It promised him everything: power, control, victory. But it demanded something in return. His freedom. His agency. And now, it had even begun to take from him his character.

And you… you were the proof of that.

Loki closed his eyes, his breath uneven, his heart beating like a drum in his chest. A single tear escaped from the corner of his eye, trailing down his face like the last vestige of something long lost. Friend. The word you had spoken earlier echoed in his mind, foreign and unwelcome. He had no use for such things. Glory, domination—those were the only truths he understood. Sentiment, compassion, kindness—these were weaknesses to be eradicated. Yet, there you were. A living contradiction. For a quiet instance, you had defied everything he had ever known, everything he had ever believed.

The god reopened his eyes to glance down at the scepter in his hand. The cold, alien light pulsed with intent, one that he could not decipher but could feel deep in his bones. He hated it. He hated everything it stood for. The whispers it carried, the promises it made, the power it offered—it had taken everything from him. And yet, there was no escaping it. He could not let it go, because the Tesseract, the scepter, wasn’t just power. It was survival. His survival.

He took a step away from the wall, his movements stiff, mechanical, as though he were some puppet on strings. No different from you. No different from anyone who had dared to touch the infinite and had been torn apart in the process. The golden instrument was a testament to his burden, his curse—his salvation and his undoing.

As Loki strode down the corridor, the cool metal floor beneath his boots clicking rhythmically, the tear on his cheek had already dried, leaving behind only the bitter taste of a fading regret. He had made his choice, and there was no turning back. The scepter had ensured that.

In the cold, hollow silence that stretched out before him, he knew one thing with terrifying clarity: the Tesseract had bound you to him in ways that would destroy you both. It had never cared for you, for him. It had only cared for its own purposes—its own designs. And in this brief, agonizing moment, Loki understood the true cruelty of its force. It hadn’t just doomed you. It had made him see you. Truly see you—your fire, your strength, your humanity and made him gravitate towards you. Only to take it all away, piece by piece.

Once again, Loki was alone.

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