#i would have taken that information to the grave
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sulliedsorrow · 8 months ago
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imagine being fifteen, falling in love for the first time, and the person you like is DAZAI FUCKING OSAMU. i would have killed myself
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sadbicth · 1 year ago
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israel posted a video of them giving water bottles to palestinians on a beach, then destroyed their luggage and shot at them after they stopped recording.
israel posted a photo of one of their soldiers "assisting" with an elderly man, then they shot him twice in the back and killed him.
in 2015, the idf posted pr photos of an israeli soldier giving water to an elderly palestinian woman, only for them to execute her after the photo was taken.
in 2005, an idf soldier emptied his rifle into a 13-year-old palestinian schoolgirl. he said he would have done the same thing if she was 3-years-old. he was acquitted of all charged.
israel claimed that hamas beheaded 40 israeli babies and then a month later cut off power to a palestinian hospital where premature babies were on incubators.
israel bombed a group of children collecting rainwater.
israel shot and killed two palestinian children playing with their scooter.
israel shot a hard of hearing girl in the face with a stun grenade and broke her jaw.
israel is using bombs with blades that are designed to cause maximum damage to the person in range.
israel forced medical workers at al-Nasr medical center to leave babies in incubators in order to evacuate the hospital they were bombing.
israel turned off power to hospitals in palestine, forcing nurses and doctors to use their phone flashlights when treating patients.
israel raised their flag over Al Shifa hospital.
israel has blown up the chambers of the palestinian legislative council.
israel targeted a "suspicious vehicle containing several terrorists”, meanwhile the only people in the car were three girls, ages 10, 12, and 14, their grandmother, and their mother. the only survivor was the three girls' mother.
israel planted a copy of mein kampf in a children's bedroom in a gazan house they claim hamas was hiding in.
israel poured fake blood onto the floor of an israeli child's bedroom and claimed hamas killed them.
israeli soldiers posted a video of them dancing on gazan graves.
israel posted a video showing a calendar in a palestinian children's hospital was a hamas guard list because it was written in arabic.
israel was using white phosphorus on hospitals.
israel bombed a refugee camp.
israel has burned olive trees in palestine.
israel has put cement into the water supply of palestine.
israel claimed that they found tunnels under Al Shifa hospital, only for it to be exposed that those tunnels are actually in sweden.
israel built a bunker and command room under Al Shifa hospital in 1983, only for them to now say that they are hamas tunnels.
israeli police arrested an israeli high school teacher, who posted on facebook expressing sympathy with palestinian civilians who have been killed.
israeli soldiers filmed themselves throwing a stun grenade into a palestinian mosque.
we are witnessing a genocide in real time framed under the guise of stopping hamas. israel has been terrorizing palestine for as long as israel has existed, but their access to technology and social media has made it much easier to fool people into supporting them.
meanwhile, noah schnapp is posting that zionism is sexy and celebrities are standing with israel. just absolutely twisted shit.
edit: for those who would like sources, my twitter is alliiesmith. i have retweeted everything i’ve mentioned. i apologize for not providing this sooner
edit 2: i’ve had some people in the replies and reposts pointing out that linking my twitter seems like promotion. i just wanted to clear up that that was not my intention. i’ve been retweeting resources and news much faster than i’m able to add to this post, and i thought that my twitter profile could be something of a hub for information. i don’t care if you follow me, but i think scrolling through and seeing what i’ve retweeted could be helpful.
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e-nonsense · 2 months ago
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TELL ME YOU SEE ME
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pairing. jason todd x reader
warnings. reader is a little pathetic, character death and revival, eventual smut, sub!jason, soft dom!reader, virgin!jason, lots and lots of consent
request. here
a/n. thank you both for this ask, not sure if this is what you wanted exactly, i couldn’t really fit it all in with what i had going
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you giggled as dick grumbled about the piece of gum stuck in his hair, your legs swinging over the ledge of the building he’d cornered you on.
the former robin had followed you after you’d ‘stolen’ jewels. turns out selina had taken off with hem and you were just the distraction. but that didn’t stop you from playing your usual pranks.
like that time you superglued bruce’s utility belt closed, or put little animal stickers on the cowl of his suit.
all that had changed so quickly. the lightheartedness and awkwardness you emitted had disappeared.
everyone saw how losing him changed you. you weren’t loud and weird anymore, you’d stick to yourself, keeping your weird thoughts to yourself. actually now that you think about it you didn’t have many weird thoughts anymore.
maybe they died with jason too.
“oh come on. i haven’t done anything wrong, have i?” you grinned at the robin in front of you. there was a hint of a smile on his lips, head tilted at you.
“i guess not, but i am gonna need gordon’s glasses back.”
“buzzkill, birdy.” you pout before pulling the glasses off your face and handing them over to him with a grumble.
“thanks kitty cat,” jason grins, before leaving to go back on patrol.
you were half asleep, dreams of him haunted you every night. you’d see his face all the time, flashes of his brutal state would come over you, you remember his funeral too, well the one you and dick had for him because bruce buried him without everyone.
“hey kid,” dick muttered, his hand on your shoulder as he looked down at his brother’s grave. this was the last thing the first robin thought would happen when he got back from space.
you don’t say anything, no jokes or pranks. you just stand there like a peace of you was in that grave with him.
you spun in your chair waiting for the computer to finish decrypting the information dick had brought to you. you’d broken through the locks and safety measured on the drive easily.
apparently it belonged to some new criminal mob boss, red hood, he called himself. you hadn’t encountered him yet, you assumed your turn to meet this lunatic was soon or never, seeing as nobody new about your whereabouts these days, except dick.
and there. you were in. you grabbed your phone to make the call to dick.
you heard it before you felt it, the soft click of a gun and then the cold nozzle pressed up against your neck. “i wouldn’t.”
the voice was distorted, your fingers stilled against your key board.
“you’re a hard person to find, kitty cat. very hard, i leave for six years and then you’re off the grid too. but i finally found you.”
“excuse me?” stupid, you scold yourself in you mind, what idiot snarks when— oh yeah, you would.
he laughed, a cold, creepy sound coming from what you assumed to be a voice modulator. then you heard a soft hiss of air and a thud, his helmet placed on the desk in front of you.
“c’mon kitty cat. you don’t remember me?” he uses the gun to tip your head back.
“what..?” your eyes widen as you stare up at him.
“ah, there you go. you’ve changed, not as much spunk and crazy anymore.”
you snatched the purse of some mugger, knocking him out before handing it back to the lady he stole it from. the woman smiles before going on her way. you hummed softly as jason landed in the alley in front of you, “nice work, kitty.”
you couldn’t help the smile on your face, grinning proudly at his praise, you were sure if you had a real tail it’d be wagging happily right now. “really?”
“oh yeah,” he nods, even at sixteen jason wasn’t completely a fool, he could tell how much his words meant to you.
he stared down at you. “c’mon kitty cat, i’m gonna need those files back. can you do that f’me?” was it mean to use your feelings against you like this? yes, definitely but jason was also trying to determine whether or not you still had those feeling for him too.
your shake your head, dick needs these files to stop red hood. but jason is red hood, so you’d be hurting him— no you have to help dick.
“i can’t.”
“sure you can, just take it out and give it here.”
“no.”
he pressed the gun harder into your neck, reminding you that it was an option, but he wouldn’t pull the trigger, it’d be useless to anyways. the gun was unloaded, not a single bullet inside, he couldn’t risk accidentally shooting you.
“fine,” you scoff, unplugging the hard drive and handing it over.
“i’ll see you soon kitty cat.” he leaves, leaving his helmet behind with you, the camera in it would keep an eye on you and you most definitely wouldn’t give the helmet up, he knew that.
it wasn’t long later until you saw him next. he didn’t intend to stay away anymore. this time when he came to you, it had properly registered in your mind. this was jason, jason was back.
so when you hugged him so suddenly, words tumbling out of your mouth messily. “i missed you so much.” you whisper, arms tight around him.
you sniffled and his heart broke, fingers gently running through your hair as he held you. his body tensing when the words ‘i love you’ escaped your lips. you hadn’t seem to realised because you kept going on, soft rambling, refusing to let him go.
he tried to speak, only to be cut off by you once more.
“i didn’t know how to say it, but you always got me.” you whisper, looking up at him. “tell me you see me.”
“i see you, doll.”
you didn’t expect him to be a virgin.
not with the looks of a god and the voice of an angel.
but you embraced the fact, you loved it even that he wanted you as his first. even though you were the one begging, on your knees in front of him, he couldn’t tear his eyes from you.
“can i touch you?” your fingers hover over his undressed body, he nodded.
“words, jay.”
“y-yeah.” he shivers under your touch, a soft groan leaving him.
“you’re so pretty,” you murmur, meeting his eyes as you lick a strip up his cock, swirling your tongue around his head. “taste so sweet too.”
his hand grips the sheets, staring at the arch of your back and the way your ass sticks up. you take his hand, leading towards your hair, “can i?”
“yeah, yeah go ahead, kitty.”
your lashes flutter as i pushes your head down towards his cock, you mouth falling open immediately to suck him up. you hum softly, as if you were gaining more pleasure from this than he was.
he holds your hair out of your face while you gag on the sheer length of him, his cock so thick it stretches your mouth open so far that you know your jaw will ache this time tomorrow.
he groans out your name, shameless with his noises. he pulls you off him, you whine trying to go down on him again, he thinks he could cum at the sight. “i wanna feel you, please.”
you can’t deny him, not when his big icy blue eyes stare down at you.
jason todd does not fuck like a virgin. you learn that when he can’t seem to stop fucking you into the bed. gasping into your ear while you babble on about how good he is.
how pretty he is.
how nobody could understand you like him.
how much you love him.
he can barely hold himself in but he doesn’t wanna stop right now.
“oh— oh jay.” you whimper softly, “so so good.”
he’ll wait, just to hear your little praises and whines, to hear that you love him.
“i know, i know baby. i love you too.”
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© e-nonsense. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off
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novaursa · 5 months ago
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Where Dragons Dare (1/3)
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- Summary: After you are left greatly injured by a dragon riding accident, the small council puts pressure on your father, King Viserys I, to have another male heir.
- Pairing: (male!targ) reader/Alicent Hightower
- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin brother of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.
- Rating: Mild 13+ (rating will go all the way up for the last two parts)
- Word count: 9 000+
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog
- A/N: This was requested by @witch-of-letters. ❤️ I hope you enjoy the first part. I've tried to fit into this one most of the information you've given me. The rest will be in the next two parts.
- Next part: 2
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The council chamber buzzes with tension, thick as smoke, as the lords gathered around the long table cast uneasy glances at King Viserys. The king, grey hairs creeping into his Targaryen silver, wears the weight of the realm across his brow. His gaze is distant, fixed on the empty chair at the end of the table where you, his only son, should be sitting, were it not for the incident that left you bed-ridden, your ribs shattered and your leg mangled. The air is tight, a storm brewing beneath the grand stone arches and tapestries that adorn the walls.
Viserys lets out a weary sigh as Grand Maester Mellos, hunched and robed in the dull grays of his order, speaks. “Your Grace, the Prince’s injuries are… severe. His recovery remains uncertain, particularly with the damage sustained to his leg. There is concern that even if he does survive this ordeal, he may never ride Dallax again.” Mellos’ tone is cautious, as if picking each word with tweezers.
At that, Otto Hightower, ever poised and calculated, leans forward with his usual practiced air of concern. “It is regrettable, Your Grace, but these events could have been avoided had the young prince exercised more restraint. Dragonriding is no sport to be taken lightly, yet Prince Y/N chose to put himself and others at risk with those… dangerous maneuvers during Maiden’s Day celebrations.”
The jab is subtle, but the intent is sharp. Otto’s words are always carefully weighted, his voice smooth as oil yet edged like a blade. There’s a flicker of something behind Viserys’ eyes at the mention of your name, but it’s Corlys Velaryon who rises to your defense before your father can respond.
“Dangerous, you say, Lord Hightower? A dragonrider’s bond with his mount is not something to be dictated by the whims of others,” Corlys counters, his voice deep and resonant. “The Prince, young as he is, shares a bond with Dallax that most dragonriders would envy. To stifle that connection for fear of injury would be to deny what it means to be Targaryen.”
Tyland Lannister, ever opportunistic and sharp-eyed, cuts in with a smooth smile, “While that may be true, Lord Corlys, we cannot ignore the situation at hand. The heir is gravely injured, and we do not yet know the extent of his recovery. The Crown’s stability must be maintained, especially with Queen Aemma carrying another child. We all pray for a healthy son this time, as it would ensure—”
Viserys’ eyes narrow, cutting off Tyland mid-sentence. “You would dare place my son’s potential death before the birth of another heir?” There’s a warning in the king’s tone, though it lacks the sharpness it might have once had. He looks tired, older somehow, as if the weight of his crown presses down harder with each passing year. “Y/N will recover. He is strong, like his mother.”
Otto’s voice slices through the tension again, softer but no less cutting. “No one doubts the Prince’s strength, Your Grace. However, we must be practical. The realm must always have a clear line of succession. Given the uncertainty surrounding Prince Y/N’s condition, ensuring that the Crown is secure with another male heir is not an option to be taken lightly.”
Corlys shoots Otto a disdainful glance, his irritation evident. “It seems some here are quick to forget that Prince Y/N is still very much alive. Would you so easily cast him aside, Hightower?”
Otto doesn’t flinch. “I speak only of the reality we must face. The Prince’s injuries are a reminder of the dangers inherent to our lineage. Daemon Targaryen was much the same in his youth, reckless and bold. Look where that has led him. The realm cannot afford another… unsteady Targaryen to destabilize it.”
Viserys’ face hardens at the mention of Daemon, but there’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes. It’s no secret that Otto sees you as another Daemon-in-the-making—bold, fiery, and likely to cause as much chaos as your uncle once did. But Corlys, undeterred, presses forward.
“The Prince is no Daemon, and it is folly to compare the two. Y/N is his father’s son, and he carries his mother’s heart in him as well. You speak of him as though he were already lost, yet he fights even now to return to us.”
Mellos interjects, his voice soft yet firm. “We must consider all possibilities. Should the worst happen, the realm would be thrown into disarray if another male heir is not secured. Queen Aemma’s pregnancy provides an opportunity to ensure stability. No one wishes harm upon Prince Y/N, but the Crown must prepare for all outcomes.”
The chamber falls silent as Viserys leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest. His eyes flicker from one lord to the next, the weight of their words heavy upon him. It is clear that this is not just about your health, but about the fear that haunts every Targaryen king—the fragility of power, and the burden of legacy.
At last, Viserys speaks, his voice measured but lined with steel. “Y/N is my son, my heir. He will recover. We will not speak of replacing him while he yet breathes and fights. The Queen’s child—should it be a boy—will not supplant my son’s birthright.”
The lords exchange uneasy glances, but none dare press the matter further. Otto’s lips press into a thin line, his eyes calculating, already plotting his next move. Corlys gives a satisfied nod, as if some silent victory has been won in this battle of words.
“Let us end this meeting,” Viserys declares, standing abruptly. “My son needs me at his side, not in this chamber, bickering over shadows.” With that, the King strides from the room, leaving the lords in tense silence. 
The echoes of that discussion linger, the council divided, the seeds of doubt planted. But in the end, it is your fate, your strength, that will determine the realm’s future. Whether you rise again or fall will shape the course of House Targaryen’s history, and those who doubt you now will soon see just how much fire runs in your veins.
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Alicent Hightower’s fingers work restlessly, picking at the skin around her nails until they redden, a nervous habit she can never seem to fully break. Her eyes, tinged with worry, flicker toward Rhaenyra, who paces before the hearth, her face a storm of emotions. The princess is rarely still, her movements a reflection of her restless energy. But today, there’s an undercurrent of unease in her steps.
Rhaenyra finally pauses, catching Alicent’s gaze, her expression softening just slightly. “You’re worried about him too, aren’t you?” Rhaenyra’s voice carries a note of exasperation, though it’s more for her brother than for Alicent. “Everyone is,” she adds, her tone a mix of annoyance and affection.
Alicent nods, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress as she carefully forms her next words. “I heard the fall was… grave. My brother, Gwayne, he’s been beside himself with worry. He asked after Prince Y/N’s condition, but I haven’t had the heart to tell him much, as I didn’t know the truth of it myself.” Her eyes search Rhaenyra’s for any sign of reassurance.
Rhaenyra gives a small, mirthless laugh, though there’s fondness in her voice. “It was a bad fall, yes. Several broken ribs, a twisted leg… it was awful to see him like that, especially with all the blood. But you know my brother—his head’s still intact, and that’s all he seems to care about. He was already jesting the moment I rushed in to see him after it happened. Can you imagine?” She shakes her head, lips curving slightly. “The first thing he told me was that the dragon landing was all Dallax’s fault, as if the creature hadn’t been trying to save him mid-air.”
Alicent lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The tension in her shoulders eases just a fraction, and despite herself, a soft smile graces her lips at Rhaenyra’s words. “That does sound like him,” she says quietly, her voice warm with a touch of relief. “He’s always been kind to me, even when others were not. I thought I might visit him, to see how he fares. But I didn’t want to intrude… especially with everything happening.”
Rhaenyra’s sharp eyes catch the shift in Alicent’s tone, the nervous edge behind her request. Her smirk returns, a knowing look that dances in her violet eyes. “Is that all, Alicent? You simply wish to return a kindness?” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, but it isn’t cruel—rather, it’s affectionate, as one might tease a younger sister.
Alicent’s cheeks flush a delicate shade of pink, and her fingers return to picking at the skin of her thumb. “I only thought it would be polite…” she trails off, clearly flustered under Rhaenyra’s knowing gaze.
“Polite,” Rhaenyra repeats, almost to herself, savoring the word like it’s some private joke. Then, with a mischievous glint, she steps closer and leans in as if sharing a secret. “Why don’t we visit him now, then?” she suggests, her voice both challenging and inviting. “I was planning to see him anyway, and I imagine he’s bored out of his mind. You’d be doing him a favor by distracting him from all the fussing Grand Maester Mellos has been doing.”
Alicent blinks, caught off guard by the sudden suggestion. “Now?” she echoes, her heart skipping a beat. She had been expecting to arrange a visit discreetly, perhaps later in the day, but to go now, with no time to compose herself or prepare… She hesitates, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering wildly. But then, she straightens her spine, smoothing out the folds of her dress. “Yes,” she replies with quiet resolve, the flush still faint on her cheeks. “Let’s go now.”
Rhaenyra’s smirk softens into a genuine smile. “Good. He’ll be glad to see you, I’m sure of it.” She turns and leads the way, her stride confident and purposeful, and for a moment, Alicent is struck by how effortlessly her friend carries herself, a blend of grace and fire that draws everyone’s eyes.
Alicent hurries to match Rhaenyra’s pace, her thoughts racing as they walk down the long corridors of the Red Keep. She’s already imagining what she’ll say when she sees you, how she’ll carefully choose her words to avoid showing too much concern, or worse, revealing the affection she’s kept hidden for so long. It’s no secret that she and you share a certain awkwardness in each other’s presence, a tension that dances between propriety and something unspoken. But perhaps this visit will be different, she tells herself. Perhaps today she’ll find the courage to speak more freely, to let you see the care that lingers behind her usually composed exterior.
The clang of armor and the soft murmurs of passing courtiers fade into the background as the two young women make their way toward your chambers. The air seems heavier the closer they get, anticipation thickening with each step. Rhaenyra glances at Alicent from the corner of her eye, noting the way her friend’s hands twist together nervously. “You know,” Rhaenyra says casually, breaking the silence, “he’s probably expecting me to bring news of the council meeting. But I think he’ll be more interested in who I’ve brought along.”
Alicent’s breath hitches, but she quickly composes herself, offering a light, practiced smile. “I only hope I don’t disturb him.”
Rhaenyra chuckles softly. “Disturb him? You’re more likely to brighten his day, Alicent. He’s been locked away in that chamber long enough. I’d say he could use the company of someone with a gentle touch.”
As they near your chamber doors, the conversation fades, leaving only the echo of their footsteps in the dimly lit hallway. Alicent’s heart pounds in her chest, nerves battling with the quiet thrill of finally seeing you after days of anxious waiting. She takes a deep breath, her hand resting briefly over her stomach as if to steady herself, before glancing at Rhaenyra, who gives her an encouraging nod.
The heavy oak door creaks open, and the first thing Rhaenyra and Alicent see is Queen Aemma, heavily pregnant, perched on the edge of your bed, fussing over you with the care only a mother can give. Her hand smooths the unruly strands of silver hair from your forehead, her gaze filled with a mixture of sternness and deep worry.
“You should be resting more,” Aemma chides softly, adjusting the pillows behind you for the third time. “It’s a miracle you survived that fall. You push yourself too hard, my sweet boy.”
You chuckle, though the sound is edged with the discomfort you try to hide. “Mother, I’m hardly on death’s door,” you say, your voice light despite the tightness in your chest from the bruised ribs. “You’re embarrassing me, fussing like this in front of my guests. I’ve survived worse—remember the time Dallax nearly knocked me off during that storm over Dragonstone?”
Aemma gives you a look of mock disapproval, though her eyes glisten with affection. “That’s no reason for you to go risking your life every time you’re in the saddle. But I suppose I’ll leave you to your visitors. If you need anything, send for me at once.” She leans in, ignoring your protest, and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Behave yourself, and don’t be too stubborn,” she adds with a small smile, before gracefully rising from the bed.
As she turns, Aemma’s gaze softens when she sees Rhaenyra and Alicent by the door. “He’s in good hands now,” she says warmly, giving Rhaenyra a brief but knowing smile, before excusing herself from the room.
Once Aemma is gone, Rhaenyra moves closer, her usual air of confidence returning as she grins down at you. “So, how is my brave brother faring today? Still planning to be back in the saddle by week’s end, or has the council convinced you to take up a life of courtly entertainment with Mushroom?”
You chuckle again, though it comes out more like a wince. “Well, if I can’t fly, I suppose I can stand in the throne room and juggle while Mushroom tells his bawdy tales. It might be just what the court needs to liven things up.” Your eyes gleam with amusement, though there’s a hint of frustration beneath your humor, the kind only Rhaenyra would notice. You’ve never been one to take well to being bedridden.
Rhaenyra snorts in amusement, shaking her head. “I’d pay good coin to see that. Though I doubt our dear father would find it as amusing as the rest of us.”
Your gaze drifts then, catching sight of Alicent standing just a little behind Rhaenyra, her hands clasped together nervously. She gives you a small, polite curtsy, her cheeks tinged with a soft flush. “Prince Y/N,” she greets, her voice gentle, almost tentative. “I heard about your fall, and… I was worried. I hope I’m not intruding by coming here. I—”
“Alicent,” you interrupt, your tone softening as your expression shifts into one of genuine warmth. The playful banter fades, replaced by something quieter, more sincere. “You could never be a bother. I’m glad you’re here, truly.” Your words seem to ease some of the tension from her shoulders, and the corner of your mouth lifts into a reassuring smile.
Rhaenyra looks between the two of you, her smirk deepening, though she wisely stays silent for the moment, letting the exchange unfold.
Alicent takes a hesitant step closer, her eyes briefly meeting yours before she looks down at her hands. “I… I wanted to bring you something,” she says, her voice nearly a whisper as she reaches into the pocket of her gown and retrieves a small, delicately woven ribbon in shades of deep crimson and gold. “It’s just a token, to wish you a swift recovery. I know it’s nothing much, but I thought…” She trails off, the blush deepening on her cheeks as she holds it out to you.
You reach out to take it, your fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment—a touch so light it’s almost imperceptible, yet it sends a ripple of warmth through you. The contact lingers in both of your thoughts longer than it physically lasts, and you catch the way her breath hitches slightly, the same way yours does. “Thank you, Alicent,” you say, your voice softer than before. “It means more than you know. I’ll keep it close—perhaps it’ll speed along this recovery of mine.” Your thumb brushes against the fabric of the ribbon, savoring the thoughtfulness behind the gift.
Alicent’s lips curl into a shy smile, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of relief and something else—something tender that neither of you have the words for yet. “I’m glad… if it helps even a little,” she murmurs.
Rhaenyra, ever perceptive, clears her throat pointedly, though there’s a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Well, now that you have such a fine token to aid in your recovery, brother, you’ll be back on your feet in no time. And if you do decide to take up juggling, I’ll make sure it’s the talk of the court.”
You roll your eyes at Rhaenyra’s teasing, but there’s warmth in your gaze as you turn back to Alicent. “Next time, maybe you could bring Gwayne along. I’m sure he’s been worrying just as much as you have.”
Alicent nods, still holding that shy smile. “I’ll see if he can visit soon. He’s always asking after you.”
Rhaenyra steps back, giving Alicent a pointed look before quirking an eyebrow at you. “So, shall we sit and keep you company, or do you have other princely duties to attend to from your bed?”
You can’t help but laugh at that, wincing slightly as your ribs protest. “I think I’m due for a bit of entertainment. It’s been dreadfully dull in here with nothing but Mellos’ remedies and reports from the small council. Stay���both of you.”
With that invitation, Rhaenyra finally settles into a chair near your bed, while Alicent quietly takes the seat on your other side. For a moment, a comfortable silence settles in, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the quiet sounds of the Red Keep outside your window.
But beneath that surface calm, there’s a new feeling—not unpleasant, but charged with possibilities unspoken. You and Alicent exchange brief, sidelong glances, your minds both swirling with thoughts you’re not yet ready to give voice to. And though Rhaenyra pretends to be absorbed in adjusting her skirts, you know your twin far too well to miss the satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
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The morning sun filters through the stone arches of the courtyard, casting crooked shadows as you make your way through the Red Keep. The steady thunk of your cane against the cobblestones marks each step, your gait still uneven from the injury. Though you’re no longer bedridden, the limp remains, a constant reminder of the fall that nearly cost you everything. Despite this, there’s a quiet determination in your stride—strength buried beneath the calm exterior.  The deaths of your mother and brother cloak your soul and heart with grief, but you continue to go on as months drag on. Because your mother would wish for you to stay strong, you know this in your bones.
You’re just about to reach the library when you hear the low, familiar drawl of your uncle, Daemon Targaryen. “Another council meeting, and once again, your name was left unspoken,” he says, stepping out from the shadows of a nearby pillar. His silver hair gleams in the light, and there’s a sharp edge to his eyes that matches the curve of his smile—part amusement, part disdain.
You pause, turning to meet his gaze, though you remain composed, unbothered by the subtle provocation. “I’m used to it by now, uncle,” you reply, your voice even, almost indifferent. It’s not a complaint, merely a fact, a truth you’ve come to accept. The small council rarely considers your presence necessary these days, not when Otto Hightower holds sway over your father and lords like Tyland Lannister whisper about the need for more ‘stability’ in the line of succession.
Daemon’s expression darkens, his eyes narrowing. “Used to it?” he echoes, his voice dropping with barely contained irritation. “They push you aside as if you’re nothing more than an afterthought, a decoration. And you’ve grown comfortable with it?” He steps closer, the intensity in his gaze unmistakable. “You’re the king’s son, his heir, yet you let them treat you like some soft-spoken scribe, buried in books and songs while that leech Otto tightens his hold around your father’s neck.”
Your fingers tighten slightly around the cane, though your expression remains calm. You meet his eyes steadily, unflinching in the face of his scorn. “I prefer to choose my battles, uncle,” you say quietly. “Like Dallax, I know when to show my teeth. There’s no sense in snapping them at shadows.”
Daemon scoffs, a mix of exasperation and grudging respect in his tone. “Spoken like a poet, not a dragon. You should be making them fear you, not waiting for the perfect moment that may never come. They should see fire in you, boy, not this... apathy.” His frustration is clear—he’s never had patience for subtleties or caution, preferring the boldness of action over waiting in the wings.
But you don’t flinch. You’ve long learned that the fire in your blood doesn’t need to be on display at every moment. “And where did being feared get you, uncle?” you ask with a hint of amusement in your voice. “You’ve been exiled twice, alienated half the court, and have more enemies than friends. If that’s the path you think I should follow, then perhaps I should throw more reckless tournaments and provoke the lords with tales of misrule.”
Daemon’s eyes flash, though there’s a hint of grudging admiration beneath the irritation. “Perhaps I’ve made mistakes, but at least I act. I don’t hide behind patience while others pull the strings. You speak of showing your teeth when the time is right, but when will that time come? When Otto’s scheming has woven its webs so thick that there’s no air left to breathe?”
You give a small, knowing smile. “You mistake stillness for inaction. Even a dragon rests before it strikes.” Then, with a touch of humor, you add, “And besides, Dallax may have thrown me, but I landed well enough.”
That draws a snort from Daemon. “Landed, yes. With a leg that’ll remind you of it every day.” Despite his harsh words, there’s a glimmer of reluctant approval in his eyes. “But you’ve got a point—Dallax hasn’t eaten you yet, so perhaps you’ve earned a measure of respect. Just don’t think that quiet strategy will protect you forever. Sooner or later, you’ll need to show them who you are, nephew. And when you do, make sure they remember it.”
You nod slightly, letting the words hang between you for a moment before you turn away, your pace deliberate as you resume your walk. “I’ll keep that in mind, uncle,” you call over your shoulder, a hint of dry humor lacing your tone. “Perhaps one day, we’ll both show them our teeth together—when it truly matters.”
Daemon watches you go, his eyes lingering on your form as you disappear into the corridors. Despite the tension, there’s an unspoken understanding between you. You both know that fire is not always meant to be unleashed at every provocation—it can burn hotter when contained, waiting for the moment to strike with devastating precision.
But for now, you choose patience, aware that when the time comes, it will be all the more powerful for having been held in check. As you leave your uncle behind, a small, satisfied smile touches your lips. You know your strength, and you’ll reveal it when it’s most needed—not before.
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The fire crackles quietly in the small chamber as Alicent sits across from her father, Otto Hightower. The room is dimly lit by the glow of the hearth, and the air feels heavy with unspoken tension. Otto’s eyes are fixed on his daughter, sharp and calculating, as he recounts the events of the recent small council meeting.
“The council remains divided,” he begins, his tone measured. “The matter of succession is still a delicate topic, but it’s clear that the King will not remain unmarried for long. The realm demands stability, and he knows it.”
Alicent’s brow furrows, her head snapping up at the implication in her father’s words. “Father, you can’t possibly be suggesting—”
Otto’s gaze remains steady, unyielding. “I’m not suggesting, Alicent. I’m stating a reality. The King is vulnerable, grieving, and the pressure of the realm weighs heavily on him. It’s only a matter of time before he considers remarriage, and when he does, you must be ready.”
Alicent’s expression hardens, a rare defiance flickering in her eyes. “I won’t do it,” she says firmly, though there’s a tremor beneath her voice. “I won’t be used like this.”
Otto’s patience visibly thins, a tightness forming around his mouth. “Is this about the Prince?” he asks, his voice edged with irritation. “You’ve grown fond of him, haven’t you? You think that because he’s been kind to you, that he’s somehow different, somehow worthy of your loyalty?”
Alicent shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers twisting in her lap as she struggles to find the right words. “He is different,” she insists, though her voice is quieter now. “Y/N is the heir, Father. He’s kind, thoughtful, and gentle in ways that others aren’t. He doesn’t play these games like the rest of them do.”
Otto’s expression tightens, his frustration barely masked. “The boy is reckless,” he snaps, his tone cutting through her protest. “Too much like Daemon, whether you see it or not. He flies that dragon of his in dangerous stunts to impress the smallfolk, and he’s already alienated half the council with his indifference to their politics. You think kindness will make him a strong king? He’s more likely to lead the realm into chaos than rule it with a steady hand.”
Alicent’s chest tightens, anger flaring in her eyes. “He’s not Daemon!” she retorts, her voice stronger this time. “He’s nothing like him. Y/N has a heart that Daemon lacks, and he cares deeply for those close to him. You only see what you want to see because it fits your plans.”
Otto’s eyes narrow, his patience worn thin. “And you see him through the lens of a girl smitten by his gentle words and kind gestures. You think he’ll protect you from the harsh realities of court, but you’re wrong, Alicent. This isn’t about what you want—it’s about what the realm needs. The King’s decision must be guided carefully, and you will play your part.”
Alicent’s heart races, her throat tightening with a mixture of fear and resentment. She knows there’s little room for argument when her father takes this tone. “I won’t betray him,” she whispers, her resolve wavering under the weight of her father’s expectations.
Otto leans forward, his gaze intense. “You’re not betraying him, you’re securing your future—and the future of our house. You will do what’s necessary when the time comes. The King’s affections can be swayed, and when they are, you must be there. You’re a clever girl, Alicent. Don’t let emotions cloud your judgment. Remember, loyalty to your house comes first.”
She lowers her gaze, the firelight casting shadows across her face. The thought of maneuvering against someone she’s grown to care for—a young man who has only ever shown her kindness—makes her stomach twist with guilt. But Otto’s expectations press down like a vice, and she knows all too well the consequences of disobedience.
“Prepare yourself,” Otto says, his voice softer now but no less commanding. “When I give the word, you must be ready to act.”
Alicent swallows, her resolve crumbling beneath the weight of her father’s will. She nods, unable to muster more than that, her mind churning with conflicted thoughts as she tries to reconcile the path being laid out before her. Her heart aches with the burden of what she knows may come—sacrificing her desires for the sake of duty.
As the conversation falls into a tense silence, the crackling of the fire is the only sound that remains.
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The Red Keep is quiet in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun casting shadows through the stone corridors. You walk with only a slight hitch in your step now, the limp almost entirely gone after months of healing. It’s a small victory, but one that fills you with a new sense of freedom, a reminder that you’ve come through the worst of it. Yet, as you round the corner into one of the smaller courtyards, the sight that meets you sends a jolt of concern straight through your chest.
Alicent is seated on a stone bench beneath a tall tree, her shoulders trembling with barely contained sobs. Her hands cover her face, and even from a distance, you can hear the quiet, heart-wrenching sounds of her crying. It’s a rare thing to see her like this; Alicent is usually so composed, so careful in maintaining the image of poise that’s expected of her. But here, alone—or so she thought—she’s unraveling.
Without a second thought, you approach her, the concern plain in your eyes. “Alicent,” you call softly, your voice gentle, almost hesitant as you close the distance between you. She startles slightly at the sound of your voice, quickly wiping at her tears in a futile attempt to regain her composure. But it’s clear that the floodgates have already opened, and there’s no hiding the raw emotion in her eyes.
“Y/N,” she manages, her voice catching as she forces a tremulous smile. “I didn’t think anyone would be here…”
You kneel down in front of her, ignoring the twinge of discomfort in your leg. “What’s happened?” you ask, your voice full of warmth and concern. “You’re crying, Alicent. Talk to me. What’s troubling you?”
For a moment, she can’t meet your eyes, her hands clenching in her lap as she struggles to hold back more tears. But when she finally looks at you, the anguish in her gaze cuts straight to your heart. “It’s my father,” she whispers, her voice trembling with the weight of her confession. “He’s… he’s been instructing me, pushing me to get close to the King. He… he wants me to…” Her words trail off as a fresh wave of tears spills down her cheeks. “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to be a pawn in his games.”
Your expression softens even further as you take in the depth of her distress. Without hesitation, you reach out and gently cup her cheek, wiping away her tears with the pad of your thumb. “You’re not a pawn,” you murmur, your voice low and steady, infused with a tenderness that you reserve only for her. “You’re Alicent—kind, thoughtful, more than any of these schemes or plots.”
She closes her eyes at your touch, leaning into the comfort you offer, as if drawing strength from your presence. “But what choice do I have?” she whispers, her voice cracking. “He’s my father. If I don’t do as he asks, I’ll be seen as disobedient… or worse. I feel trapped, Y/N, and I hate it. I hate how helpless I feel.”
The fierce protectiveness that surges through you is almost overwhelming. You lean in closer, your other hand finding hers and holding it firmly, grounding her. “You’re not helpless,” you say with quiet determination. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You have my word, Alicent. No matter what schemes your father or anyone else tries to weave, I’ll be there. You’re not alone in this.”
Her eyes snap open at your words, searching your face for any hint of doubt, but all she finds is unwavering sincerity. There’s a softness in your gaze that she’s come to rely on, a steadiness that offers her a sense of safety she’s found nowhere else. “But how can you protect me from all of this?” she asks, her voice laced with desperation. “You can’t control what the King decides, or what my father pushes me to do.”
You smile, a gentle curve of your lips that holds both reassurance and quiet confidence. “Perhaps I can’t change everything,” you admit, your thumb still brushing away her tears. “But I can stand by you. I can make sure you don’t have to face any of this alone. And if they try to force your hand, they’ll have to deal with me first.”
Her breath catches at the intensity of your words, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the weight of courtly duties and schemes fading into the background. She clings to your hand, drawing strength from the way your fingers entwine with hers. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “You don’t know how much it means to hear that.”
You squeeze her hand gently, offering a small but genuine smile. “You deserve to be happy, Alicent, not burdened with all these games. Whatever happens, you have a choice—and I’ll be here, no matter what.”
There’s a long pause as she looks at you, her heart in her eyes. It’s a look that speaks of more than just gratitude; it’s a mixture of emotions that neither of you can quite name yet, a deepening connection that lingers just beneath the surface. “I believe you,” she says softly, her voice steadying at last.
For a moment longer, you stay there, kneeling in front of her, your presence a quiet but steadfast comfort. The world outside the courtyard feels distant, irrelevant. Here, in this quiet corner of the Red Keep, the schemes and pressures of power seem to hold no sway.
As you help her rise to her feet, your hand still holding hers, you can see a spark of resolve returning to her eyes. “You are not alone,” you tell her, a promise wrapped in those simple words.
And for the first time in what feels like ages, Alicent allows herself to hope that she won’t be swallowed by the games of court—that, with you by her side, she might find a way to reclaim her own path amidst the chaos.
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The council chamber is as it always is—filled with tension and the murmur of hushed conversations as lords and advisors deliberate the future of the realm. The lords gathered around the table speak in low voices, with Otto Hightower presiding over the meeting with his usual composed authority. Viserys, looking more weary than ever, listens half-heartedly as discussions about trade routes and tax levies dominate the conversation. Rhaenyra stands off to the side, holding the wine jug as she fulfills her role as cupbearer, her expression one of faint boredom—until the door suddenly creaks open.
All heads turn as you stride into the chamber, unannounced, your cane in hand though you walk with almost no noticeable limp. The lords freeze in surprise, the very air growing still as you make your way directly to your seat at the council table. Your presence is commanding, purposeful, as if you’ve planned this moment down to the finest detail. Rhaenyra’s eyes gleam with amusement as she watches from the sidelines, a smirk curling her lips—she’s the only one in the room not taken aback by your unexpected arrival.
The council members shift uncomfortably in their seats, unsure how to respond. Otto Hightower is the first to speak, his voice laced with thinly veiled irritation. “Your Grace, this is most inappropriate. You were not summoned—”
You cut him off sharply, your gaze piercing as it sweeps across the table. “And it is most inappropriate that I have not been summoned to these talks,” you say coolly, your tone brooking no argument. “I am the heir to the throne, yet it seems my presence is no longer deemed necessary while decisions are made that affect my future and that of this realm.”
Viserys opens his mouth to intercede, but you raise a hand, your eyes never leaving Otto’s. “Save your apologies, Father,” you continue, your voice growing firmer. “This is not a matter of oversight or courtesy. It’s a matter of respect—respect that has been slowly eroding while certain parties here conspire to keep me in the dark.”
Beesbury and Tyland exchange nervous glances, both lords visibly shifting in their seats. The weight of your accusation hangs in the air like a blade, unspoken but understood by all. Otto, however, remains collected, though there’s a glimmer of annoyance in his eyes. “No one seeks to replace you, Prince Y/N,” Viserys says, attempting to smooth over the tension. “You are my son, and my heir. There is no question about that.”
You scoff, your gaze now locked onto Otto with unyielding intensity. “Is that so?” you reply, your voice laced with challenge. “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe when whispers circulate through the court, and when my own seat at this table has been deliberately left empty.” Your gaze flickers briefly to Beesbury and Tyland, who both quickly avert their eyes, before returning to Otto. “I know about the talks. I know about the concerns for the continuation of the Targaryen bloodline. If that is what worries this council so deeply, then perhaps it is time I address it myself.”
The room goes utterly silent, every lord and advisor hanging onto your next words. Viserys looks puzzled, while Rhaenyra’s smirk widens, her eyes alight with curiosity and pride. “What are you saying?” Viserys asks, trying to understand where this is leading.
You straighten in your chair, your voice clear and decisive as you deliver your next statement. “I have decided that I will marry.”
The words drop like a stone into a still pond, sending ripples of shock through the room. Viserys’s eyes widen in surprise, while several of the lords exchange stunned looks. Even Rhaenyra, though aware of your intentions, seems momentarily caught off guard by how bluntly you’ve declared it. But the greatest reaction comes from Otto Hightower, who immediately tenses, his carefully constructed mask of composure slipping just slightly.
“Marry?” Otto repeats, disbelief tinging his voice. “Your Grace, this is a most sudden decision—”
“Sudden, perhaps,” you say, cutting him off again, “but necessary. If the continuation of the Targaryen line is such a concern, then I will see to it myself. And I already know who I intend to wed.”
The room waits with bated breath, every eye fixed on you as you pause for dramatic effect. Then, with absolute certainty, you deliver the bombshell: “I will marry Lady Alicent Hightower.”
A shocked silence follows, broken only by the sound of Otto’s breath catching in his throat. The lords gape, disbelief etched into their faces, and Viserys’s eyes widen in surprise, a mix of confusion and relief crossing his features. But it is Otto whose reaction is most striking—his face blanches, a rare display of genuine shock. “This is…” he begins, clearly scrambling for control, “This is not—”
You turn to him, your expression hardening, your voice cold and edged. “Are you offended, Lord Hand?” you ask pointedly. “That your daughter would one day be Queen? Is this not the very opportunity you’ve sought?”
Otto’s mouth opens, but no words come out as he searches for a response. You can see him weighing his options, assessing whether to push back or accept the twist of fate you’ve thrown at him. Before he can gather his wits, Corlys Velaryon’s deep voice rumbles through the chamber, breaking the silence.
“If Lord Hightower finds this match disagreeable, perhaps the Prince would consider my daughter, Laena, instead. The blood of Old Valyria would be preserved, and such a union would strengthen House Targaryen’s ties with the Velaryons.”
You hold back a smile at Corlys’s calculated offer, knowing full well that he’s taking advantage of Otto’s moment of hesitation. Otto’s eyes narrow at Corlys’s interjection, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he realizes he’s being cornered. Backing down would mean missing out on the very outcome he’s been subtly maneuvering toward, even if it wasn’t quite in the manner he’d intended.
After a long moment, Otto exhales slowly, carefully regaining his composure. “Of course, Your Grace,” he finally says, his tone clipped but respectful. “I… only wish for what is best for both you and the realm. If this is your decision, then I will see to it that the arrangements are made.”
You nod, satisfied, as you see the acceptance in his eyes. “Good,” you reply, your voice firm and unyielding. “Because I have no intention of letting anyone else dictate the future of this house. The realm needs strength, unity, and continuity, and I will see that it is achieved—on my terms.”
The council members exchange uneasy glances, realizing that they’ve just witnessed a pivotal shift in the dynamics of power within the Red Keep. Rhaenyra’s smirk remains, her eyes gleaming with admiration as she watches you assert your authority, while Viserys seems both relieved and unsettled by your newfound determination.
As the meeting continues, there’s no doubt left in anyone’s mind—you are no longer the sidelined prince. You are a force to be reckoned with, and the council now understands that you will not be ignored or underestimated.
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The sun filters softly through the arched windows of the Red Keep, casting warm golden light over the ladies of the court as they gather in one of the sewing chambers. The room is filled with the gentle murmur of idle conversation, the sound of thread sliding through fabric, and the occasional soft laugh. Alicent sits among them, her focus on the delicate embroidery she’s working on. Her hands move with practiced grace, though her thoughts are distant, lingering on the conversation she had with her father and the weight of the expectations he’s placed on her.
She’s lost in her thoughts when a familiar figure bursts into the room with the energy of a brewing storm. Rhaenyra sweeps into the chamber, her eyes scanning the room until they land on Alicent. The princess’s expression is one of unbridled excitement, a grin wide and mischievous spreading across her face. “Alicent!” she calls out, her voice ringing with barely contained glee.
The ladies of the court look up from their work, startled by the princess’s sudden entrance. Alicent rises from her seat, her brow furrowing in confusion as she sets aside her embroidery. “Rhaenyra,” she says warmly, though with a hint of uncertainty. “What’s gotten into you? You look like a dragon who’s caught a sheep.”
Rhaenyra steps closer, her grin widening as she takes Alicent’s hands in her own. “I wanted to be the first to congratulate you,” she says, her eyes alight with barely restrained amusement.
Alicent blinks, bewilderment etched across her delicate features. “Congratulate me?” she repeats, glancing around at the other ladies, who are now watching the exchange with rapt attention. “I don’t understand—what are you talking about?”
Rhaenyra leans in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, though loud enough for the other ladies to hear and exchange curious glances. “You don’t know? Oh, Alicent, you’re going to be married.”
The world seems to tilt for Alicent, her breath catching in her throat as her heart pounds wildly in her chest. “Married?” she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper. “What… what do you mean? To whom?”
Rhaenyra’s grin softens into something more sincere as she watches the realization dawn on Alicent’s face. “To my brother, of course. Y/N announced it himself in the council meeting not half an hour ago. He declared that he’s decided to marry you.”
For a moment, the room seems to spin, the words hitting Alicent like a physical blow. Her chest tightens, and she feels a flush rise up her neck as her mind races to catch up with what she’s just heard. “He… he said that?” she asks, her voice trembling with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something else—something that makes her heart skip a beat.
Rhaenyra nods, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she squeezes Alicent’s hands. “He did. Right there in front of everyone. You should have seen the look on Father’s face—he was stunned, and Otto nearly choked on his own breath. And you know what’s even better? He said it with such certainty, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He’s chosen you, Alicent. You’re going to be a queen one day.”
Alicent’s legs feel weak beneath her as the gravity of the situation sinks in. Her mind flashes back to the conversation with her father, to the pressure and expectations, to the fear that she would be forced into a match she had no say in. But this—this is something entirely different. Y/N chose her. Not because of Otto’s schemes or because it was expected, but because he decided it. The thought is overwhelming, both terrifying and thrilling all at once.
She struggles to find her voice, her emotions swirling in a chaotic mix of disbelief, gratitude, and apprehension. “I… I never imagined…” she stammers, unable to form a coherent sentence as she tries to process what this means for her.
Rhaenyra’s expression softens as she sees the turmoil in Alicent’s eyes. “You’re shaking,” she says gently, releasing one of Alicent’s hands to brush a stray tear from her friend’s cheek. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you should have seen the way he spoke about it. He was so resolute, so determined. And you—you deserve this happiness, Alicent. You deserve someone who sees you as more than just a tool in their schemes.”
Alicent’s breath shudders as she tries to regain control of her racing thoughts. “But what if… what if this is just another game? What if he’s being pushed into this?” she whispers, her voice laced with fear and doubt.
Rhaenyra shakes her head, her expression turning fierce. “No. This isn’t like that. My brother’s no fool, and he’s not one to be forced into anything he doesn’t want. This was his choice, and I think it’s about time someone reminded the court that he’s more than capable of making his own decisions.” Her grin returns, wry and full of pride. “And besides, I think you know him better than anyone else. You’ve seen how he looks at you.”
Alicent’s eyes widen, and a fresh flush colors her cheeks. She’s known for some time that there’s been an unspoken connection between her and Y/N, but she never dared to hope it would lead to something so monumental. The thought of being his wife, of standing beside him as queen—it’s as daunting as it is exhilarating.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” she finally manages, her voice thick with emotion.
Rhaenyra’s smile softens into something more tender as she pulls Alicent into a warm embrace. “Then don’t say anything yet. Let it sink in. But know this—you’re not alone, Alicent. You have me, and you have him. And now, you have a future that’s yours to shape.”
As they part, the ladies of the court begin whispering excitedly among themselves, the news spreading like wildfire through the chamber. But Alicent barely notices, her mind still spinning as she tries to grasp the enormity of what’s just been revealed. For better or worse, everything has changed in the span of a single afternoon.
And somewhere deep in her heart, beneath the fear and uncertainty, a flicker of hope begins to bloom.
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The sound of your boots echoes as you step into the Dragonpit, each footfall deliberate and heavy against the ancient stone floor. The cavernous space looms around you, darkened by shadows cast by the great arches above, yet the air hums with the presence of power—dragons and their keepers. You wear a deep, crimson coat embroidered with silver thread in the pattern of coiling dragons, the rich fabric tailored perfectly to your frame. Beneath it, your tunic is a dark charcoal, cinched at the waist by a wide leather belt, and black riding gloves encase your hands. Your hair, a cascade of silver, is tied back in a loose knot, allowing a few strands to catch the breeze. The light armor you wear, adorned with the sigil of House Targaryen, adds an edge of battle-readiness to your regal attire. Today is not merely for show—it’s a declaration of your return to the skies.
The Dragonkeepers, clad in leather armor and bearing the scars of long service to the dragons, bow slightly as you approach. Their deference is not out of fear, but out of respect for what is to come. With a silent nod from their leader, they move aside to reveal the imposing silhouette of your dragon.
Dallax emerges from the shadows, his massive form a study in sleek, predatory grace. His scales are a deep, inky black that gleams like polished obsidian under the faint light. Unlike most dragons, his eyes are not the usual shade of fire-yellow; they are a striking, luminescent green, gleaming with intelligence and an almost unsettling awareness. His pupils narrow to slits as he focuses on you, a low rumble vibrating through his chest. His body is built for agility and speed, lean but powerful, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. But it’s his teeth that make him most unique—when he’s calm, they are hidden away, retracting into his jaw, giving him a deceptively benign appearance. But you know better; when agitated or in the heat of battle, those teeth emerge like rows of daggers, sharp and menacing. It’s no wonder Rhaenyra affectionately calls him “Toothless” when she’s in a playful mood.
You take in the sight of him, a thrill running through your veins. It’s been months since you last mounted him, but the bond between you remains unshaken, as if it were a living thing forged in fire and blood. Dallax’s eyes meet yours, and in that moment, the unspoken understanding passes between dragon and rider. He has waited, patient but eager, for this moment as much as you have.
The Dragonkeepers pull back as you stride forward, your limp almost unnoticeable now, a testament to the months of recovery you’ve endured. With a firm hand, you reach up and grasp the saddle harness, your fingers gripping the familiar leather. In one smooth motion, you pull yourself up and swing your leg over Dallax’s back. You settle into the saddle, feeling the comforting weight of the straps as you secure yourself. Dallax shifts beneath you, his wings unfurling slightly, the dark membrane stretching wide, catching the breeze as if testing the air.
You take a deep breath, the scent of leather, smoke, and ancient stone filling your senses. “Fly,” you whisper in High Valyrian, a command and a plea all at once.
With a growl that vibrates through his entire frame, Dallax lowers himself briefly before launching into the air with a powerful surge of muscle. The ground falls away beneath you as his wings beat with precision, each stroke lifting you higher until the walls of the Dragonpit are a blur. The rush of wind tears at your hair, your coat billowing behind you like a banner as Dallax ascends into the open sky.
As you break free into the sunlight, the city of King’s Landing sprawls out below, the rooftops and winding streets glinting in the late afternoon light. Dallax roars—a sound both thrilling and terrifying—as he soars above the Red Keep, his shadow sweeping across the stone battlements like a predator stalking its prey.
From her chambers, Alicent stands by the window, her eyes fixed on the sky as she watches you fly. Her hands are clasped in front of her, a mixture of awe and fondness in her expression as she traces your flight path. You cut through the clouds with an effortless grace, Dallax responding to every shift of your body as if you are one being. For the first time in what feels like ages, there’s no tension in Alicent’s shoulders, only the quiet joy of seeing you in your element—free and commanding, a true Targaryen heir.
Behind her, Otto Hightower steps forward, his expression a mix of calculation and displeasure. He watches silently for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he observes the ease with which you handle your dragon, the majesty of it undeniable. “He’s just like his uncle,” Otto mutters, more to himself than to Alicent. “All fire and pride—reckless.”
Alicent doesn’t turn to face her father, but her smile lingers, soft and secret. “Perhaps,” she replies, her voice distant, her gaze still following your every move. “But there is more to him than you see, Father.”
Otto’s mouth tightens into a thin line, but he says nothing more, turning away from the window. To him, dragons are dangerous, unpredictable forces that must be controlled. But to you, they are freedom itself—a reminder that no matter how thick the walls of the Red Keep or how intricate the webs of intrigue, you are a dragonrider first and foremost, and no one can cage that fire.
As you guide Dallax into a steep dive, pulling up at the last moment to skim over the rooftops of the city, you feel a deep, exhilarating rush. The wind in your face, the roar of your dragon, and the vast sky stretched out before you—it’s a sensation unmatched by anything else, a reminder that the world is yours to claim, one way or another.
You circle back toward the Red Keep, allowing Dallax to level out and glide effortlessly. From below, you see Alicent at the window, her face turned upward, her smile radiant and full of something unspoken—pride, affection, and hope. For a brief moment, you dip your wings in her direction, a silent acknowledgment that she sees you for who you are, beyond the politics and the expectations.
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redflagshipwriter · 6 months ago
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Mamabat 10 part 1/2
Chapter 10 : Calling from Hell just to say the demons are suspiciously absent, is that fine?
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“Fucking Batman,” Val said under her breath. Her Red Huntress mask muffled the words and made them come out even meaner than she probably meant them. “Years late and too little, even if he’s not working with the GIW.”
Sam hefted her requisitioned Fenton bazooka and pressed her lips even further together. None of them liked this at all. It stank. It was suspicious. Danny hadn’t sounded distressed, but he’d been out of contact too long for such a short conversation to put her at ease. There hadn’t even been time to update him on what had gone on in Amity Park.
“There.” Sam followed Val’s pointer finger to see the nearly invisible outline of a jet in the faint light. It was landing in the right field. 
“It’s them or it’s a trap,” Sam muttered.
Val let out a mean laugh. “If it’s someone we don’t expect, they’re the ones in trouble.”
Sam huffed and said nothing. She couldn’t disagree, but Val seemed too confident for her comfort. They waited in tense silence to see the jet come to a landing. Not long after, a hatch popped open and the distinctive ears of Batman himself were the first out into the cold night air of a January night in Amity Park. 
He was quickly followed by smaller figures- 1, 2, 3 of them. Sam felt nerves churning in her gut. She tried to channel them into aggression. She had to be tough, tougher than usual. There was no cavalry waiting to help out.
Well, there was Tucker, but he was probably going to be more useful in the wings to feed them information. He was pretty good aim with a thermos but that wouldn’t do jack about Batman and a small flock of, what, junior associates?
“Does Batman work with children?” Sam asked under her breath. One of them was genuinely small.
Tucker snickered on the other end of the line. “Uh,  there’s supposed to be a Robin. Guy in yellow, green, and red I guess? Aside from that, there’s debatably like, 6 former Robins associated with him. But there’s also the Justice League’s junior varsity team, so it’s hard to say.”
She frowned at the lineup. She saw purple, black, and red. There was- yeah, okay, there was quite a bit of yellow when the little guy faced them, but she didn’t see any green.
“Showtime,” Val said. Sam crouched further behind cover as the other girl zoomed out on her hoverboard, effortlessly drawing Batman’s eye. She adjusted the dial on her sound settings to hear Val’s feed just a little louder.
“Batman.”
“You have me at a disadvantage.” Sam cringed at the gravely voice over her sound system. Batman sounded like he smoked a pack a day. She turned the volume down just a hint.
“Not really, there’s four of you,” Val said breezily. Sam suppressed a snort at the dodge. “You wanna meet Jazz Fenton? You’re going to have to prove that you’re not a plant. There’s a GIW facility-”
“Two miles west of here, yes,” Batman interrupted. “I researched.”
“Great. Do you have ground transport?”
“Of course. What is it that you expect me to prove?”
“That you’re not with them.” The subtle whine of Valerie’s weapons started up. Sam only heard it because she was hooked up to the helmet. “They do experimentation and keep prisoners. Show me that you’re not a cop.”
“The police would not support the capture and abuse of people.”
Valerie made a skeptical sound in the back of her throat. Sam couldn’t blame her. “Yeah, but they do.” Her hoverboard’s jet whooshed up in power. “Meet me there, outside the main gate.” She was off like a shot in the dark. 
The four out of towners didn’t take long to get four silent motorcycles out and dash down the lane. Sam thought about what she’d heard as she cut a more direct route on Valerie’s spare hoverboard, taken from Vlad’s deserted mechanics lab. 
Either Batman was a liar, naive, or he was exactly what they were worried he might be. The Justice League was famously affiliated with governments. Wonder Woman was even a member of the United Nations! If someone accepted the claim that Infinite Realms Residents weren’t really people, then they’d say just what Batman had. It wasn’t lying if you didn’t think the people you were hurting were really people.
Sam watched from a distance as the group reached the gated facility. One of Batman's people did something that unlatched the electronic security system. It swung open. 
“Not shabby,” Tucker said quietly. “I coulda done it faster.”
“Not unless it goes off the rails,” Sam reminded him. She clenched a fist against her thigh. They needed to see Batman's real colors before they risked him knowing about their group. It was hard to outplan what you didn't know about, and they'd need every advantage they could get. 
She let them all go ahead before she followed onto the property. It was eerily deserted, tire tracks where dozens of white Vans ought to have been. 
The GIW had deserted Amity Park weeks ago. They were pretty sure there was a skeleton crew stationed out here, but no one came and left anymore. They only occasionally saw an agent wander across the path of a security camera, which were sparse inside the building.
But that didn't mean it wasn't dangerous to be here. Even now, a camera swiveled over the lawn, blinking a clear light that was easy to miss during the day. There was a reason that they hadn't risked a second raid after Danny had barely made it out last time. 
Sam swallowed, hard. The bitterness in her mouth felt a lot like guilt. Who knew what the GIW had been doing? They could have someone else held captive. It was a big building. Danny might have missed someone when he was breaking Vlad out. 
‘We did what we could, and we are making a move now.’ 
She repositioned her weapon and waited, tense with nerves. All she was meant to do now was follow along via what she heard on Val's comms and be in the wings to facilitate an escape, if needed. 
“Left,” said Batman quietly. The comms were quiet for a long moment, then- “clear. Clear. Clear.” 
Sam shifted her weight from one foot to the other. 
“Red Robin.” 
“Got it,” came a response, barely audible. Val must have been hanging close to Batman, then. 
“You think now's a good time to try their computers?” Val said helpfully. 
Tucker snorted. “Could just ask,” he sang to himself, cocky as hell. “I know all.”
Sam rolled her eyes. He didn't know all. About half of the property was disconnected from the security system, meaning they had no eyes on whatever was down there. 
“Six stationed here.” 
That had to be Red Robin’s voice. Sam cocked her head and focused on it, frowning slightly. Did it sound young?
Tucker's computer chair made a click when he sat up too fast. “Wait, what? How'd-” His end of the line devolved into rapid typing. 
“Did you find a schedule?” 
“No, it's not in the system. They're on paper, I suppose.” Seconds passed. “My bet is that labs would be in this wing.” 
“Be my guest,” Val drawled. Sam could all but see her crossing her arms across her chest. 
The line went silent for a while. Then, faintly, there came the sound of a metal door opening. 
“Fu-” A GIW blaster went off. “Intru-”
The alarm was cut off before the GIW goon got out a full word, but odds were good he'd been heard anyway. Sam flexed her hands. Sitting this out sucked. She wanted to see what was happening. How many agents were there?
“Robin!” Batman snapped. 
‘The little one?’
Sam felt vaguely ill. They had to be okay. This was Batman’s team.
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howdoesagrapewrites · 1 year ago
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𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐰𝐬
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Plot: Imagine being the legitimized bastard of Daemon Targaryen, and having a very devoted family.
Cw: fem!reader, cisgender female reader (I'm sorry mascs and nbs, I'll make something for you later) incest/targcest implied for later, platonic and romantic yanderes, yandere EVERYONE x reader, here's a list of every character that will be featured (not all of them are romantic):Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen, Rhea Royce, Alicent Hightower, Otto Hightower, Viserys I Targaryen, Aegon II Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Haelena Targaryen, Daeron Targaryen, Lucerys Velaryon, Jacaerys Velaryon, Laena Velaryon, Laenor Velaryon
Notes: I go by a very strange mix of the series and the books, I haven't seen the series in a while so the timeline will most likely be a mess. I'd like this to be a series but I've been incredibly busy. Extra: at first I thought about making reader Mysaria's daughter, but this is a self insert, so it's best that you look however you like, leaving the mother anonymous. The only physical reference I'll make will be reader's silver hair
>After Rhaenyra was declared the heir of the iron throne, Daemon, insulted, flew away with his mistress, the white worm, who he would conceive a child with, even asking for a dragon egg for the prince or princess to come
>However, Viserys demanded him to go back to his home and wife, he sent Mysaria off to lys, where the stress of a storm in the trip back made her lose the baby
>Daemon never fully forgave his brother, and this left him less than eager to have another child anytime soon
>So imagine his surprise, when 7 years later, there's a rumour spreading in flea bottom like wildfire, about a girl carrying Daemon's bastard
>Many women had claimed to carry a royal child before, thinking this could give them any sort of prize, so Daemon didn't think much of it at first, but when he heard her name, he recognized her as one of his previous "favorites" who disappeared without a trace months ago
>She was said to have taken residence in Essos, and Daemon went on dragonback to find her. She was from the free cities, five years older than Daemon, and a heart as cold as a northern winter, or so they said. She was not expecting Daemon, running away to have the child in peace
>"They said I was too far along when I found out, moon tea would've only harmed me. Besides, it was lucrative in its own way" said the woman. Daemon did little to suppress the disgust on his face when thinking about her being defiled by other men while carrying his dragonseed babe
>She wanted no part in the baby's life, and Daemon, in his particular fashion, informed her he'd take the youngling as soon as it's out of her, may even pay her a few coins to make sure she won't do much as think about keeping it
>A few months passed, and he returned to king's landing with a babe in arms. Demanding an egg in honor of the birth of princess Y/N Targaryen
>This egg would later hatch into the dragon Dagahrion, the princess' bound dragon
>The court was a hot mess, according to Otto, he wouldn't be surprised if the young creature lost its left ear because of all the gossip and ill-speaking of her, just like her father. This was a scandal, considering he was still married to Rhea Royce, who he gravely dishonored time and time again, Daemon was always shameless, but this was crossing a limit, even for him, to call his bastard a princess while refusing to lay with his own rightful wife, disgraceful
>Daemon tried to use you as yet another attempt to get his brother to annul his marriage to "the bronze bitch", but even when he failed, he did everything in his power to legitimize his daughter
>Despite everyone on the council telling Viserys how foolish it'd be to do it, making enemies out of the Royce house, further insulting Rhea, and putting a whoreborn on the line of succession (no matter how far from the throne), all it took was a little yawn and the bright twinkle of your eyes to make him melt, he is fully committed to his role of uncle, even as a doting grandfather, considering his father passed long before her birth
>Viserys sent Daemon back to the Vale, saying he should do his best to give lady Rhea an heir, to make up for the slip and avoid causing the Targaryen house any more trouble. Viserys, for totally not selfish reasons wanted to keep the princess in KL, saying Rhea should not be made to raise his bastard
>Daemon said he'd rather be exiled again than to leave his daughter in Hightower hands to go try to fuck his wife. Viserys was greatly offended by the implication that the Hightowers truly ruled and schemed while he reigned
>To his outmost displeasure, he finally had to let his niece go to the Vale with her father
>Rhea loved you as soon as she set eyes on you, completely separating you from your father's actions, and seeing you as a pure angel in this horrible situation
>But it was so difficult with Daemon around, she just wanted to whisk you away and love you, she'd pray to the mother to be able to breastfeed you, crying when she heard you wail in frustration of your hunger, since it took several wet nurses to get you to drink milk
>But Daemon was always around to remind her you were not hers, that he considered her lowly, not worthy of you. He'd correct you when you learning to speak, and dared to refer to her as "mama"
>It was said the ground of the vale would shake upon them yelling when fighting over you
>But this joy to Rhea was short lived, as Daemon sent you to KL when he had to fight in the war of the stepstones, saying the "nest of vipers" was more deserving of you than she was. When you were three, your step mother had an accident while hawking, many said Daemon orderded for her to be poisoned when she was bed bound, others said the distress of your parting made her lose skill
>It was Viserys greatest pleasure when you were left at his care, his adorable baby niece was now an infant, and somehow you were even more charming, being able to speak, sing and walk
>To no one's surprise, Viserys' reaction was not generalized, with many not being keen on having a bastard running around the castle playing with the princes, by that point, Aegon was 8, Haelena was 7, Aemond was 5, and Daeron was 1, and almost all of them could see people treated you differently
>Rhaenyra was welcoming, baby Lucerys had just been born, and she was delighted to have a girl to spoil, it only helped that Jacaerys loved you as well, and would often fight his uncles for the chance to be with you
>Alicent in particular was not pleased with your presence, thinking you were an uncomfortable conversation to have with her children, especially resentful of the fact her youngest son would be attached at the hip with you
>To Otto, you were an annoyance, a living proof of Daemon's pure disregard for the norms, however, he could rest at night knowing you were ninth in the line of succession, and a girl, who would someday marry a son of a minor house and be too busy bearing children to present a claim to the iron throne
>Even though the Hightowers were tougher than the king, they did eventually succumb to your spell, and became just as enamoured with you as everyone else, in their minds, you were almost a product of spontaneous generation, completely ignoring your shameful father and prostitute mother
>Your arrival also caused the birth of Lucerys (who was again, born with a striking resemblance of Harwin Strong, just like his older brother) to be less gossiped about, after all, your case was much more interesting
>Some people in court starting referring to you as "The princess of flea bottom", this title costed quite a few tongues around the castle, ordered by Viserys, happily approved by Otto
>The Hightower hand was careful not to show too much affection to you, as it was improper and he knew how zealous was Viserys when it came to you
>Aegon was "already too old to be playing" in his words, and kept his distance from you, you reminded him to much of his sticky handed little brothers
>But as if you knew, you chased him around and praised him for his knightly demeanor (in your eyes) and how he's just like the heroes in Viserys' stories. It was not a long time before Aegon now appointed himself as your guard, watching like a hawk over his brothers and nephews when he thought they were being too rough on you
>Haelena loves you from the start, sees you as a little doll, she loves showing you her bugs, you're the only one who listens to her attentively
>Jacaerys and Daeron are only a year old, but always search for you, you think they're cute, something that spikes jealousy on Aemond, he wants you to think of him as someone worthy of admiration, like you see his older brother, he'd even accept being cute in your eyes, but he has none of those traits to appeal to you. You love him and love playing with him nonetheless, but he thinks he needs something else to win your favor
>The Velaryons dote on you too, with Laenor married to Rhaenyra and once your father marries Laena that same year, they are maybe too eager to become part of your family, and regard you as theirs
>Especially Laena, who Daemon allows (unlike with Rhea) to pamper and care for you, but still corrects you when it comes to remembering your origins, Laena may love you, but she's not your mother
>Maybe Daemon does this as a way to imagine you're only his, he doesn't care for the woman who abandoned such a precious treasure, she has been wiped away from your life and memory, you're only familiar with your father, you only belong to him
>You have his silver hair, you have his name, no matter who your mother was, you are his true valyrian heir, his dragonseed
>Unfortunately, Daemon is not the only one whose eyes light up when thinking of owning you
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whore-ibly-hot · 2 years ago
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Yan!Soldier/General x Fem!Reader
'His little bride.'
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18+ Minors DNI
Warnings: Smut, power dynamics, mentions of sa, p-in-v sex, mentions of war and military, implied violence, threats, possible dub-con as reader does not know the full story behind our yan's goals, female and male genitalia, female reader, pet names.
(AN: Not me coming back from the grave to drop a horny fic and this disappear again. Gonna go eat some pumpkin roll.)
Part 2 here
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The sound of papers shuffling and a heavy sigh pierces the usual quiet of General Fritz's office, which is only occasionally broken by you dusting or rearranging one of the many books on the various shelves that lined the room. It's been 3 weeks since the invasion of your small town of Cyril, and the few civilian homes not destroyed in the invasion have been turned into functioning barracks and homesteads for the troops that now occupy your town. While not ideal, the army Fritz serves aligns with the beliefs of your villages people much more than the opposition, and while they are still invaders, many believe them to be the lesser of two evils. You remain as quiet as you can as Fritz attends to his work with a furrowed brow.
General Fritz, while known for his excellence in military strategics and his translation skills, seems to be struggling with the morning's crossword puzzle. A man of 42, he has served in his countries army since he was just 15, leaving his family's small farm and quickly rising through the ranks. He's a scarred man, with many gashes, stubble, and hair that when not in public is rather unkempt. Despite the things he's seen, a kindness remains in his bespectacled eyes. He gives up on the crossword puzzle, allowing the paper to fall to his desk with a 'plop!'. You glance over at him, and approach.
"Sir, is there anything you need, you seem a bit, well, stressed." You say, trying not to impose but express concern. When the troops arrived, many men were recruited, and many girls had to seek jobs. Some had to turn to unsavory means to get by, but you were lucky, you supposed. You were scouted out to serve as a guide and servant for the general, to both give information and serve his needs. While the thought of serving a strange man, one much older than you at that had frightened you, he was nothing like the other soldiers you had seen. He was polite, careful not to scare you off, provided you with good quarters, and never laid hands on you. All in all, the situation would have been perfect, had you not missed your family's bakery from which you were taken. For reasons you didn't fully understand, he never wanted you to travel far beyond his estate and into town.
He sighs. "I am fine, my dear girl. Just dealing with some disputes at the border of the county. Nothing you should concern yourself with." He says. He looks up at you, his glasses reflecting the light of his desk lamp. "Would you mind drawing me a bath, my dear? It has been... quite the day, and I think I need some time to relax." You quickly nod, and scurry off to the master bedroom, entering the attached bathroom and beginning to fill the tub with hot water. After some time, Fritz enters, looking as though he is fighting the urge to ask a question. "I... I hate to ask this of you, and say no if at any point in my asking you are uncomfortable or find me uncouth, but-" He hesitates. "I am very tired, and am currently dealing with some rather serious pain in my legs. Past wounds, you know. Would you be offended if I asked for your assistance in bathing?" You blush a little, but a part of you knows he won't try anything. You have noticed he seems to be limping a little more than usual, his mobility decreasing. Plus, you can tell he's only asking because he must, as the look of utter shame on his face suggests this is the last thing he wished to ask of you. "Of course, sir." His breath hitches, but he nods. As he begins to remove his more civilian garb, as he did not wear his uniform on this day, you try to avert your gaze. Still, you catch a glimpse of his pronounced muscles, littered with the occasional scar or blemish. You swallow heavily.
He slides down into the tub, his tensed muscles visibly relaxing as he lets out a groan. "Hmm..." He glances at you. "It's okay to look now, my dear. Sorry to have upset you." You shake your head, as if to assure him that you aren't bothered. He looks at you softly as you go to grab a sponge, a small part of him disappointed that you won't be using your bare hands to lather soap onto him. He shakes this thought off quickly. 'Shame on you!' He scolds himself 'Thinking such thoughts about your sweet servant girl. God, I'm acting like a recruit visiting his first whorehouse'. He is disappointed in himself, but tries to rationalize it by being innocent. Perhaps he just wanted to feel your hands on him, for comfort, for something different. One of the things he likes most about you is your hands. He noticed them when you first were sent to his mansion, much more timid then. You shook his hand, and his large, calloused and veiny hands, rough from years of labor and fighting, practically trembled at the feeling of your soft ones. As he grew to know you better, he would watch as you worked, your delicate hands dusting a vase or folding a sheet. He quickly decided any hard labor around his home be delegated to cadets and privates, when they would make the occasional visit, and sometimes as a disciplinary action. He wanted to keep your hands like you, soft and warm.
"Sir?" Your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "Uh- Yes?" He stammers, readjusting his glasses (which oddly enough he always kept on for bath time.). "I was wondering... if I may take a bath sometime soon?" You ask timidly, causing him to frown. "Have you not been able to take one?" He asks. He doesn't remember ever giving such a command, and he would never deny your basic needs. "Well, one of the privates told me that the recruits shower schedule is twice a week, and that I should probably adhere to that at your house." You explain. Fritz grimaces. Of course some recruit would find it funny to torment the General's beloved servant. The soldiers where allowed two showers a week, but you were no soldier. You were a servant. His Servant. His.
"No, my dear, you may bathe whenever you see fit, that rule only applies to my soldiers of low rank. I imagine that young recruit may have been trying to have a laugh at your expense." He huffs. "Please, if you ever see him at the estate again, alert me to him, alright?" You nod, a little put off. You've never seen Fritz truly mad at one of his soldiers, he doesn't even get grumpy often, but now... he's scowling, as if that cadet had come right up to him, spit on his boots, and insulted his mother.
His eyes suddenly flash with a different emotion, as a thought crosses his mind. He bites his lips, trying to keep away the thought, but it's too tempting. "Perhaps..." His hand grips the porcelain edge of the tub. "Perhaps it would be easier for you to bathe me properly, if you were closer." He mumbles, avoiding eye contact. You tilt your head. "What do you mean, sir?" You ask naively. "Well, I just think, you could get a better position to clean me if you were to join me, i-in this bath, I mean." You blush wildly, and he begins to stammer, coming up with reasons it's a good idea. "For one, it would help you to apply the pain balm to my leg, and-" He's out of breath. "And taking a bath now, together, would ensure you are free later if I should need you." He risks a glance up at your face, feeling his turn red to match your own. You swallow. "I... I suppose that would be okay, sir." You mumble. You can't imagine he would hurt you, or try to take advantage of you. If that were the case, you imagine he would have had his way with you already. Besides, you can't deny how you failed to avoid looking at him when his disrobed before his bath. "Just, look away while I undress, please." You say, beginning to undo the corset of your servants attire. "Of course, anything to protect a ladies modesty." He says, quickly using his free hand to shield his eyes.
You slip into the bath water, and he looks up as he hears the water splash upon your entrance. You both remain silent, and you bathe him gently. He holds back sighs of pleasure, as you have forgone the sponge, and now use your bare hands as he had dreamed of moments ago. "Sir?" you break the silence. He lets out a "Hmm?" In response, eyes still closed in satisfaction. "May I ask, why do you never let me go into town? I wish to see my family, and the bakery." You ask. He seems to tense a little, the veins in his arm more prominent. "Because I simply don't have the time to venture there with you right now." He explains. "Yes, but I grew up there! I'm fine to go by my own." You say, a little annoyed he seems to think you're some helpless maid. He lets out a long exhale, before sitting up a little. Even like this in the bath, he towers over you. "It's not you I'm worried about, little one. I'm sure in town, before me and my men arrived, you could hold your own. But you couldn't against my soldiers, and-" He hesitates to tell you this, a part of him not wanting to scare you. "I don't trust half of them around a sweet thing like you." He sighs. You furrow your brows, your face upset. "You mean, like?" You can't bring yourself to say it. He nods. "I prevent it in every way I can, for all women. I do not allow it, but I cannot be everywhere, and the leaders above me do not permit me to dismiss a single man for a transgression like that. We need all the men you can get for the war." He makes a bold move, to cup your cheek. "But, rest assured, I won't let a single one of them lay hands on you. I just fear something could happen outside of my estate, that I could not control." You gulp at the notion, and nod. He sees the sorrow on your face, and strokes your cheek once more. "I will try to take a small holiday, a day or two perhaps, and I will take you to see them, alright?" He feels his heart speed up when he sees the light return to your eyes.
"Oh! Thank you, sir!" You look as if you could cry. He smiles and nods. "I, I must confess, I hope to go sooner rather than alter, I had wished to speak to your father." He says. "About what?" You feel a little fear knaw at you, and you gasp. "Wait, sir, no! He's much to old to fight, and-" Fritz cuts you off with both hands on your shoulder. "No, my dear, no. I'm not going to draft your poor father, do not worry. I would not want to do anything that would worry you so much." He coos, then avoids eye contact again. "I had wished to speak to him. The last time we spoke, we made a deal that you were to work for me as a servant girl, but..." You nod for him to continue. "I have found that house chores and labor do not suit you." You frown at his words. Had you not been doing a good enough job. "I'm sorry, sir, if I've not been performing well, please don't fire me. My family needs the money." He seems shocked once again, and laughs awkwardly. "God, I do seem to be bad at saying what I mean, don't I?" He shakes his head. "I mean that I think such things are below you. I... I should like to take you as my bride, if you and he should permit it." Your eyes widen. You hadn't expected that. What would he have you do as his bride? He senses your nervousness, and continues. "I assure you, it can have as much or as little intimacy as you wish. You needn't even act as a proper wife to me, I just-" He seems to be struggling to explain. "I just want you to be safe, and comfortable, a-as you have made me feel since you began to serve me." You feel your heart flutter at his words. "Since you arrived, you've been so sweet. Doting on me, caring for me, helping me with the daily crosswords." You laugh a little, and he smiles. "I want nothing more than to ensure that I get to enjoy that everday, and more importantly," a slightly darker tone ebbs its way into his voice. "I want to ensure that no other man does." You're a bit put off by the shift, but only nod.
"I should like to, sir." His head snaps up, his mouth hanging open slightly. "I'll admit, I always wanted to live in a fancy house like this, and the company isn't half bad either." You admit, shyly looking up at him. He is elated, his form almost trembling. "Do you mean it? Truly? You wish to accept my proposal?" He gasps. You nod. He lunges forward to hug you, causing the water to surge forward, but stops just short of you, remembering your nude form rests below the soapy water, as does his. "Ah, um." He coughs awkwardly. "I must ask, if we are to marry, and you do enjoy my company, would you be okay with the typically romantic things? I know people usually court first, but seeing as we've spent all this time together already." He says. You think. "Like kissing, and holding each other?" You ask. "Yes, like that sort of thing." He affirms. You nod. "I'm fine with trying it, but I need to tell you something." He nods for you to go on.
"I'm sure you know, we are a little reserved and conservative in our town. As a traveling man, and a general, I'm sure you have had your share of, um, intimate encounters. I was always told to wait, however, and I may not be what you are used to." You look at the water, trying to fight the insecurity gnawing at your heart. He only shakes his head quickly. "No, no, my darling girl! How could you ever be anything but perfect to me?" He asks, caressing your shoulder blade with his thumb. "I would be honored, if you would have me, to teach you about the more, intimate affairs of marriage and courting." He says. "I must admit, I'm afraid that I wouldn't be enough to satisfy you as a man, or a husband." He confesses. You gasp, and cup his face. "Why, sir?" You implore him to confide in you. "My dear, you are a mere twenty-three years of age, and I am forty-two. I'm practically twice your age. Besides being an old man, you had to help me with this blasted leg into the tub. I'm practically a cripple..." His insecurities begin to flow out as he confesses. You gently tuck your head against his shoulder. "No, sir. You are enough for me. You are a general, and a kind man. You have always treated me with respect. If I didn't think you were enough, I wouldn't have said yes to marrying you, would I?" He nods reluctantly. "No, you wouldn't have. You've always been a smart girl." He admits. "I'm willing to learn, as long as you show me, sir." You whisper.
He blushes, but takes this as a sign. "Well, seeing as we are due to wed, I don't see the harm in teaching you a few things now..." He says, pushing forward a little so your smaller frame is up against the slanted back wall of the tub. "Are you alright with this, you may tell me at any time if you want to stop." He says. You nod. "Words, my dear, please. I want to hear that you understand." He pushes. "I understand, sir." You say. He shakes his head as he plans a kiss on your forehead. "Call me Fritz, my little bride." He coos. "And since you are to be my bride, I hope you won't mind showing me what's been hiding under that uniform I gave you?" He asks. You blush, but slide a little further up the tub, parting your thighs just a touch, so he can see the bush of hair between them. "I haven't shaved, sorry." You say, a little embarrassed. He only chuckles, and shakes his head. "My dear, I've gone months without a shower, and shared a restroom and barrack with 27 other men. A little hair won't scare me off." He looks longingly. "Besides, it's what's under it I'm interested in." His hand suddenly comes to your inner thigh, the sensitive touch making you gasp. You've never been touched up there, much less by a man so strong. One of his large, calloused fingers comes to part your lips, exposing to your future husband your dripping, virgin holes. He lets out a wanton sigh at the sight.
"So beautiful, and untouched?" He asks. You gulp, and nod. "It is my honor to be the first and last man to pleasure your sweet little sex." He says. He traces that finger up and down you're folds, making sure you are properly teased, and getting a feel for you. "So wet, and not just from the bathwater, it seems." He whispers. "Is this how you planned to lose your purity? To a man twice your age, and an invading military officer, no less?" You blush in shame. "I didn't think of the specifics, just... just wanted you to have it, sir..." You whine. His grins grows, and he lets out a groan as he latches his lips to your neck. He licks and kisses up and down your neck, until he finds a spot that makes you let out a beautiful whine, causing him to nip at it. "Do you think your father would be less likely to accept my proposal if he noticed you covered in marks of love from me?" Fritz asks, and you only giggle a little. He finger wanders up to touch the pearl of your sex, making you gasp. "Oh, Fritz... what are you doing?" You ask. "Just finding your pearl, my dear. I want you to cum at least once before I take your virginity. I want to please you, my darling girl." He kisses your cheek, before he presses another finger against your pearl. He rubs in soft, slow circles, trying a few different angles before he finds one that pleases you, which he discerns from the moans you let out. "Fritz, mm-" You moan. You can feel a slow heat spreading, as something in you builds. "Please, a little faster?" You ask. He tuts, and looks at you. "Can't you be patient?" He teases. "No, wanna finish..." You mumble. "Want you in me, I-I wanna be your little wife." He almost chokes at your pleas, the words going straight to his cock. He didn't think you could arouse him even further, but you always did exceed his expectations. He quickens the pace, and you can feel your orgasm approaching. "Yes, Fritz, Yes. Please, make me cum." You beg. "You want to cum, cum so I'll put my manhood into you? Want me to make you a proper little wife for me?" He edges you, and as you nod and agree profusely, you feel that wave wash over you. Your pussy convulses around nothing, as you let out a whine that sounds like music to him. This beats his visits to the royal opera a hundred times over.
As you pant, coming down from your high, Fritz holds you in your place, rising a little out of the water himself. You blush, as his erect manhood becomes visible. He's well groomed, and while the tip isn't pronounced, there's a curve to it that makes your mouth water. "Well, do I seem up to your standards, my love?" He asks. "More than that, Fritz. You're so pretty..." While it seems like nothing to you, these words strike him hard. He's never been called pretty before, and hearing it from your soft lips wipes the lewd grin off his face, replacing it with momentary shock. He pulls himself to you, his chapped lips colliding with your soft ones. You squeak, but melt into it. He tastes like earl grey tea and the occasional cigars he would smoke, but only when stressed. You both gasp as he pulls away, needing air. He places many small kisses on your face, making you smile as you look up at him. "My sweet, sweet girl. Always so kind to this old man..." He murmurs. As he does, he rolls his hips forward a little, allowing the underside of his manhood to rub against the length of your sex. "I'm going to be gentle, alright? It might hurt a little, especially with me being quite a bit larger than you. But I promise to take it at your pace, alright?" He asks, his hands resting gently on your waist. You nod, and feel his hard tip prod a few times at your aroused pearl, before moving down to line up with your entrance. He warns you a little, before gently pushing the tip in. You wince, and he continues to soothingly rub your waist with his thumbs. He moves himself out, then rolls his hips back in, a little deeper with each thrust. It hurts, but the relaxing warm water helps, and it's not as bad as you thought it would be. "Feels okay, darling?" He asks. "Yes..." You respond, focusing on the feeling of him inside you. As he continues, the pain subsides, and he begins to quicken the pace when he tells you this.
"God, Fritz. You're big, s-so big..." You moan, his hips causing your ass to bounce back and forth off the wall of the tub. "I' feel 'mazing." He huffs. "So tight, and warm. My girl, letting me take you like this, getting you ready for our wedding night." He feels himself harden even further at the thought. "Y'know, I think it'd be a shame not to share how sweet you are, how caring." He says, his hips now pounding at your cervix. "W-what?" You ask. He had made it clear earlier he didn't want to share, so despite the pleasure you are confused. "Saying you'll make a good wife, but I think you'd make a better mother." He moans. You gasp at the thought. "All swollen with my baby, my child. Letting me care for you for once, instead of helping me walk cause of my leg, I'd get to help you around..." He thrusts grow more erratic at the idea, and you feel yourself about to climax once more. "Let me, my love, please. Let me fill you with my seed, my children. Let your fiance make you a mommy..." He begs. Just as you shout an agreement, you feel yourself convulse around him, causing his breath to hitch. He groans. "God, gonna finish to now, going to give you my babies..." He shouts. You feel a warmth flood you, as he sprays hot, white ropes of cum into your womb. You both pant, taking quite some time to recover.
Being the strong man he is, he bounces back quite quickly, while you are so tired you can barely move. "I'm sorry, my love." He coos. "Perhaps I was a bit rough for your first time..." You shake your head. "Mmm, no. I-I felt good, just, I'm just tired." You yawn. He chuckles. He cleans himself, and you, before draining the tub. He grabs both of your clothes as he carries you past your servants quarters, and into his room. Helping you to redress in your undergarments, he lays you down. You sigh as your body melts into the luxury sheets. He sits beside you, gently stroking your face. "Get some rest, my little bride." He whispers, before departing back to his office. He heads to the front door, and picks up a letter dropped off from the courier. Inside the envelope is your father's response, from a proposal sent several days ago by Fritz. Once again, though this was his third and final time asking, your father once again denied your hand in marriage to Fritz, saying he would never marry his precious girl to an invader. Fritz grimaces, as he had not wanted it to come to this. Sighing, he writes two more letters in response. One to your father, stating his intent to take your hand either way, and another to his second-in-command, ordering a man to be jailed for treason and defying military orders. The first letter reads as follows.
Dear sir,
As you are well aware, this is the third time you have rejected to allow me to take your daughters hand in marriage. While i understand your hesitation, I do what I do only to provide her a safe, comfortable life, which I do not believe you could have provided her, in your town which my men overtook in merely three hours. I could not imagine if a man worse than I had set his sights on her instead. Rest assured, that in light of your soon-to-be imprisonment, I will care for her. She has developed a reciprocation of my feelings, and despite your refusal to wed her to me, as I write this she lays in my bed, beginning to bear my child. I wish that you had been understanding, and done what was best for your daughter. Now, she will marry happily, but have no father, and the blame lies only on you.
-Fritz, General of the Northern King's forces.
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antiquarianfics · 7 months ago
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Accidental
What happens when you accidentally kidnap the exact man you were looking for?
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pairing: mob!bucky x reader
warning(s): canon level violence, kidnapping
a/n: idk if this does well, maybe i’ll do a pt 2?
part 2
»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««
You glance down at the picture in your hand of your younger sister before putting the picture back safely away in your jacket pocket. You take a deep breath and pull the right ear loop of your black mask up around your right ear to secure your mask to your face. Then, you pull your hood up over your head, check that your gun is still securely in its holster, and slide around the corner. You were going to find your sister. You promised.
You walk with purpose towards the bar that you’d heard men who work for the man responsible for your sister’s disappearance were known to hang out. In fact, you’re pretty sure the man responsible owned the bar, so you have a good feeling anyone you kidnap to question will be able to give you some amount of information. You have a feeling, though, that you’re not getting into the bar, so you slink around the back. Surely someone will need a cigarette break?
As luck would have it, as you slink around the corner, someone is already taking a cigarette break. The man stands tall, leaning against the side of the wall, a cigarette lit. He isn’t smoking it, though, merely holding it lit in front of his face, studying it. The man is wearing a black suit, his jacket unbuttoned. Perhaps he had just gotten off work?
Good, you think. He must be freshly off work; I’ll have a few hours before anyone thinks to look for him.
You walk quietly, stealthily up to the man. Before he notices you, you take the butt of your gun and knock it hard against the man’s temple. He crumbles.
It isn’t easy, but you manage to drag the man to an empty townhome where you tie him up in the basement. You have his hands bound to the chair, each wrist tied carefully to the chair’s arms. His feet are bound at the ankles. You don’t bother gagging him. You sit a good distance away on an uncomfortable futon, your mask still on, your hood still pulled up. You’re cleaning your gun when the man finally stirs.
The man groans as he raises his head, bright blue eyes scanning the room, settling on the only exit up the stairs behind him, noticing the lack of windows, and then falling on his captor in front of him: You. The man says nothing, merely stares. You stare back, raising an eyebrow. He breaks first.
“I’m awake now. What do you want?” His voice is gravely with disuse, his tone serious.
You laugh. To your own surprise as well as your captive’s, it’s a genuine laugh—your normal laugh.
“What? No “Who are you? What’s going on? How did I get here?” You ask, amused.
“You’ve watched too many cop shows.”
You laugh again. “Perhaps.”
“I’ll ask again. What do you want?”
“Information.”
“Can’t help you.”
“Sure you can.”
“Why’s that?” He raises a curious eyebrow.
“Found you outside The Red Star. The only people who hang around that bar work for the man that’s responsible for my sister’s kidnapping.”
He laughs humorlessly. “Kid, listen, if your sister was taken by the mob, she probably owed them something she couldn’t repay. You’re going to have to accept your sister was in with the wrong crowd.”
You pull a knife from its sheath at your belt and put it to the man’s neck. He sucks in a breadth.
“Bullshit. Tell me. What do you know about my sister?”
“Nothing.”
You push the knife further against his neck. “Bull.”
“There’s a lot of women in Brooklyn, sweetheart. Can’t expect me to know which one you’re talkin’ about with no information.” He shoots you a cheeky smile.
You sigh and pull away. You pull out your sister’s picture and show it to him.
“Her name is Ellie. Now, spill.”
He leans forward a little to look at the picture before leaning back.
“Never seen her.”
You tilt your head at him and purse your lips.
“You’re lying. You know something.”
“Perceptive are we?”
You hum. He sighs.
“Well, I’m not just going to risk my life and my job for anyone. Who are you? Show your face.”
You roll your eyes, and against your better judgement, you pull your hood back and your mask down. You need answers. The man stares at you, taking in your features, and after what feels like forever, he seems to make a decision. He smirks.
“You’re looking for a man by the name of Barnes, James Barnes. He’s the owner of the bar you took me from, and he’s the head of the Barnes Family. He’ll have the answers you’re looking for.”
“Where can I find him?”
The man grins, a dashing smile.
“I’m right here, Doll.”
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penny00dreadful · 11 months ago
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STWG Prompt: I Couldn't Lose You
Happy birthday @hitlikehammers, you deserve the world!
AO3
“He’s dead.”
Something must have been wrong with his brain. Maybe all those hits to the head had finally caught up with him. Maybe his audio processing was fucked or he was hearing things.
He had to be.
Because there was no way in hell this doctor just told him Eddie was dead.
“He’s what?” Steve asked with a slight shake of the head, like that would dislodge whatever was making him hear this incorrectly.
“He’s dead, Mr. Harrington.” The doctor repeated, his fingers tensing around his clipboard.
Steve could feel the crease in his brow, his confusion was probably plain all over his face. 
It didn’t make any sense.
“How could he be dead? He can’t be dead.” He replied. “I only just saw him.”
There was no devastation, no heartbreak, no clawing grief and no screaming agony. 
Because it didn’t make any sense.
The doctor looked on in sympathy. “Mr. Munson took a very quick turn-”
“A turn of what?” Wayne snapped, his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at this ‘doctor’. “How did he turn?”
Steve glanced behind the doctor to look into Eddie’s hospital room again. The empty bed, the crisp sheets, the quiet monitors. Flowers gone. Cards gone. Eddie’s stuff sitting in a chair near the door.
It was almost like he’d never been in there.
When did they have the time?
Steve and Wayne had only left his side for ten minutes. It was the first time Eddie had been left alone since he came into the hospital, half dead and bitten to hell.
And Steve and Wayne had come back to find a doctor waiting for them by the door.
A doctor that Steve didn’t recognise. In a town with less than 5,000 people.
“His fever got quite high-”
Wayne scoffed. “Eddie didn’t have no fever.”
“Sir.” The doctor sighed out, frustrated. “Your nephew was very sick. And gravely injured. Situations like these can turn fast.”
Steve and Wayne glanced at each other, the both of them seeing the same suspicion reflected in each other's face.
There had been no alert over the PA system. The nurses station hadn’t been scrambled. If Eddie had taken a sudden turn, if Eddie had died… a young twenty year old suddenly dropping dead would have had half the floor flooding in trying to save him.
Not to mention Steve was pretty sure that doctor, if he was even really a doctor, was breaking the Hippocratic Oath by telling him this information.
Steve wasn’t family, he had no right to that information. The doctor hadn’t even asked Wayne before he started talking, he just started talking.
Steve could be anybody. 
Something super fucked up was going on. They needed to find Eddie and they needed to find him fast. 
“I understand this must be very hard for you.” The doctor said with a solemn face. It was very convincing. He must have gone to acting school. “Would you like to see him?”
Steve’s mind screeched to a halt again.
“Excuse me?”
“He’s down in the morgue.”
Bullshit he’s down in the morgue. But Wayne’s face was remaining hard and with one curt nod, he began to follow the doctor down the hallway.
It only took a glance back for him to communicate that he wanted Steve to follow him, to come with them. Either as backup or as emotional support if it did turn out that Eddie was dead.
Which it wouldn’t.
Because it couldn’t.
Because he wasn’t fucking dead.
Steve also really didn’t like the idea of leaving this floor unmonitored. He just felt… there was something in the back of his head telling him that he needed to keep eyes up here.
As they approached the nurses station and by extension, the elevators, his saving grace turned the corner.
“Just one second.” Steve said to the two of them. “I need to talk to my girlfriend.” 
Wayne snapped his head over to him and when Steve nodded in Robin’s direction there was a moment of complete and utter bewilderment on his face before he masked it.
With a small nod, he sent Steve off and Steve could see all of the questions running through Wayne’s eyes but he didn’t have time. 
Robin’s eyes got wider and wider as he approached, opening his arms up for a hug and a weary, “Hey baby” before he pulled her into him, turning them so her back was to the doctor.
“Code Red. Eddie’s missing.” He whispered into her hair, keeping his nose buried into her neck to hide the movements of his lips. “They say he’s dead. We’re going down to the morgue. I need eyes up here.”
He just fucking hoped she’d be able to keep a straight face, that she’d get it, that she’d go along. 
Though he should have never doubted. 
Not for one second.
Robin was silent only for a moment before she ran a hand up and down his back with a little sombre nod. “Remember. Will’s body was found in the Quarry.” She whispered back.
Steve didn’t have time to figure that one out, Robin was untangling herself from him with a sad smile.
“I’m so sorry, honey. I’ll tell the kids.” 
She turned his head to kiss him on the cheek and then gave him a light push back towards Wayne.
Steve leaned against the elevator wall and he stared down at the floor. The three of them were carried down in silence, but Steve’s mind was whirring.
Was Robin suggesting there might be a body down there?
A fake Eddie? Made to look dead?
But how could he tell? How would he be able to tell?
From what he’d heard, Will’s fake body was like a clone of him. Hopper had only been able to find out it wasn’t actually him by cutting into him.
There was no way he’d be able to get close enough to cut in. He probably wouldn’t even be allowed to touch. They might try to keep him at a distance. 
And there was no way to warn Wayne about what might be coming. 
The doors dinged open and Steve was out of time. 
Down another hallway and through another set of metal doors, there was already a gurney out in the centre of the room covered in a white sheet, the shape of a body clear as day underneath, like they had been expecting them.
Despite, despite Steve knowing in his bones that that wasn’t Eddie. That that wasn’t his boy under there, the sight still sent his heart lurching.
He could feel the apprehension crawling through his skin and he almost asked them not to show him.
There were two doctors standing by the doors, almost like sentries, big and bulky. Their lab coats were too small on them and they were watching Steve and Wayne like a pair of bouncers.
The doctor they had travelled down with looked to Wayne and with his nod of approval, pulled the top of the sheet back.
Dark curly brown hair spilled over the side of the table. Skin so pale it was almost white in death glared across at them and it was Eddie.
It looked… it looked just like him. 
Wayne took a shuddering breath in, took a step closer and was stopped by a hand on the shoulder.
“Hey man.” Steve snapped, far too loud in the cold metal room, unable to keep his own emotions out of his voice. Because what if he had been wrong? “That’s his family. Get your fucking hands off him.”
The ‘doctor’ holding Wayne back glared at Steve like he was ready to disappear him under a black bag. 
“It’s alright son-”
“No, it is not alright.” If Steve needed to create a scene to get them their way, then Steve was going to create a fucking scene. “Do you know who my father is?” He asked, all but sticking his nose up in the air.
The corner of Wayne’s mouth ticked up ever so slightly. It made Steve’s skin crawl to invoke the status of a man he couldn’t fucking stand, but he needed to do something.
Steve wrenched the doctor's hand from Wayne’s shoulder and he wouldn’t be surprised if he got punched in the face for it, he was almost expecting it but the doctor who had led them down here spoke up.
“It’s- it’s okay, Vince.” He said, a little panicked, like he hadn’t really planned this far ahead and didn’t really know what to do in the face of Steve’s tantrum.
Wayne seized upon the opportunity to take a step closer and Steve followed in his shadow.
He had to know. 
He had to know if that was really his baby lying on that cold and impersonal gurney.
Steve turned his back on the two guards and while the doctor they had come down with watched Wayne like a hawk as he reached a hand out to brush Eddie’s hair away from his face, Steve took his opportunity.
He kept his movements out of sight of the guards behind him, and kept them small enough so they wouldn’t draw the eye of the other doctor in front of him. 
He slipped one of Eddie’s fingers into his hand through the sheet and twisted.
It went easily. Twisting around on itself without any resistance. 
There was no bone in there.
It was like it was just full of cotton.
It wasn’t Eddie.
It wasn’t Eddie.
Steve closed his eyes and felt the tension drain out of him.
But then he heard a sniffle to his left. 
Wayne.
Fuck, how was he gonna tell him?
How was he gonna get him out of this room so they could go find his boy?
They were running out of time.
“I have to go tell the kids.” Steve muttered, with as much sympathy as he could. 
Wayne looked at him, his watery eyes searching, almost offended that Steve wasn’t more upset until it seemed to hit him that there was a reason for it. 
Wayne searched his eyes again, asking a million, million questions, but he must have eventually settled on some kind of trust because he gave Steve a short nod before looking back down at the fake body, his gaze a little angrier than it had been.
Steve didn’t waste a second, couldn’t waste a second.
He turned and left the room as calmly as possible but as soon as he was out of sight of the guards, he ran as fast as possible without creating too much noise.
The ride on the elevator back up to Eddie’s floor was excruciatingly slow, everything was taking too long. Why was everything taking so long?
Eddie had to still be in the building somewhere.
They wouldn’t have had the time to take him out of the hospital completely, they would have needed the people, they would have needed to be sure no one saw them move him down to the ground floor.
The elevator dinged and the doors had barely started to open before Robin threw herself in, furiously jabbing at the button to take them back down.
“Rob, what the-”
“Lucas saw an ambulance pull into the ambulance bay from the wrong direction and it looks brand new, not like any of our usual rust buckets. Jonathan’s got the car running with Argyle standing by. Dustin and Mike think they’ve found the room he’s being held in downstairs but it’s locked.”
“Not for long it’s not.” Steve growled and Robin grinned at him.
“Thought you’d say that.” She plunged her hand into her pocket and pulled out a handful of bobby pins. Steve was forever finding them lying around his car, she always had some on her.
“Perfect,” he said, taking them from her.
“I can’t believe this is how you’re finally gonna use the lockpicking skills Eddie taught you.”
“I can. It sounds like something out of one of his stories.”
Robin snorted and the doors opened. 
The hallway was thankfully deserted, except for Mike, standing at the end and waving them forward.
Steve and Robin followed him through the corridors until they ended up just outside the Ambulance Bay, Dustin hovering next to a closed door.
“In here, in here!”
“How do you know?”
“A nurse was talking to a janitor about why it was locked. He told her there were some chemicals being stored in there but you can’t store chemicals out here, there’s too many temperature variables and the weather-”
“That’s all we have to go off of?” Steve cut him off, but even so he still dropped to his knees and started to fit the pins into the lock.
“He’s in there, Steve. I know it. What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? Stop distracting me.”
“How do you know how to do that?”
“Enough questions, Roast Beef.” Robin pulled the brim of his hat down but then looked around and asked, “Where are the guards? Shouldn’t there be guards?”
“Erica had a seizure.”
“Erica had a what?!” Steve practically shouted, nearly losing his grip.
“Not a real one, obviously.” Mike sniffed. “But the guards were dressed as ambulance guys-”
“Ambulance guys.” Robin muttered.
“Yes. Ambulance guys and so they had to help. We screamed at them to help.”
Steve drowned them out, focusing all his attention on getting this fucking lock open. If it didn’t open in the next five seconds he was gonna break the fucking door down- 
He felt the lock catch and with a quick turn to the side, the door gave a little creak as it opened ever so slightly.
Steve was barely on his feet again before he burst into the room, being met with cold concrete and steel shelves and a hospital bed awkwardly wedged in between them all, no monitors, no tubes, nothing but a pale body lying in a thin hospital gown.
“Eddie.” Steve called, making his way across in less than two steps, bending down to scoop him up. He was fucking freezing and knocked out completely. “Eds?” 
He shook him just a little, hoping to get him to stir but Eddie didn’t stir, his head lolled against Steve’s arm and he was just dead weight. 
At least he was breathing.
“Is he okay?”
“Why isn’t he waking up?”
“Did they sedate him?”
He shoved his way out of the room, ignoring Dustin and Mike’s questions. 
“Where’s Jon parked?” He asked Robin, already heading towards the Ambulance Bay doors. “Can you take care of-” 
“We’ll get Wayne, we’ll get everyone else. He’s just around the corner.” Robin’s eyes went wide at the sound of footsteps running towards them. “Go!”
Steve took off. 
He’d thank Robin later, he owed her his life.
He clutched Eddie tight to him, shielding him, curved over him and nearly tripping over himself when he heard a door slam somewhere behind him and shouting echoing around him.
But then he saw the car.
Jonathan was behind the wheel and as soon as Steve turned the corner he started revving the engine, while Argyle threw the back door open, twisting over the passenger seat to get to it.
It was a little less than graceful, stuffing Eddie into the back seat and practically falling in on top of him as Jonathan took off, tearing out of the hospital with the door still open and Steve’s legs still hanging out. 
But they got away. 
They’d made it away.
For now.
Steve was able to pull himself fully inside, slamming the door closed behind him and cradling Eddie into his lap.
“Where am I going?!” Jonathan shouted back at him, one eye on the road, one eye in the rearview mirror.
There was no one following them so far.
“I don’t know! I don’t- The cabin!” Steve shouted back. “Get us to Hopper's cabin!”
“This is fuckin’ wild, dude.” Argyle whooped. “Born free!”
Eddie let out a soft little noise, rubbing his face into Steve’s shoulder and curling in on himself. His skin still felt like ice under Steve’s fingers.
“Stevie?”
Steve looked down at him, surrounding him as much as he could, rubbing up and down his arms trying to bring some warmth back in. “Yeah, it’s me baby. I’ve got you, it’s okay.”
Eddie hummed against his neck. 
“They stole me.”
“And I stole you back.” He pressed his lips against Eddie’s forehead. “I’m not letting anyone or anything take you from me.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“I don’t care. I couldn’t lose you. Not again. I couldn’t.”
Eddie grinned up at him. “You didn’t.”
“No,” Steve whispered back. “I didn’t.”
AO3
Big thanks as always to @hbyrde36 for her magnificent beta work and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation.
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oaksgrove · 1 month ago
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Wrong Graves, Right Heart
pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x female!Reader
synopsis: What starts as Simon’s small act of kindness—leaving flowers on an abandoned grave—takes an unexpected turn when he learns the dark truth about the man buried there. A chance meeting at another grave, however, leads to a connection he never saw coming.
warnings: mentions of death, grief, murder (briefly described, not graphic), guilt, emotional vulnerability. Mostly fluff with humor and a touch of angst.
word count: 1367
a/n: Inspired by a hilarious, and slightly dark, Twitter thread that I stumbled across (this one) and written while listening to Radiohead—so, yeah, heavily inspired. This spiraled into something bigger than I planned, but I loved how it turned out!
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Simon visits his mom pretty often. At least once a week when he isn’t on deployment.
He would buy her bouquets and her grave was the most well-taken care of all Southern Cemetery, it frequently resembled a solid third place at Chelsea Flower Show.
But the guy next to her didn’t have much luck. His grave was abandoned and never received flowers, the only readable information about the man was his name and that he died on christmas day at age 33.
There was something unsettling about the headstone that Simon couldn’t shake. Maybe it was the way the chiseled name seemed to fade quicker than the others around it, or the date etched so starkly—Christmas Day. It felt like the grave itself bore a story too heavy for time to carry.
Every week, as Simon walked past that abandoned grave, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. Not for the man, but for what the man represented—a life wasted, forgotten, abandoned by time and loved ones. It was as if Simon could almost hear the echoes of the man’s lonely final days, a voice in the silence that reminded him of his own lost moments, his own griefs that had never been healed. He was doing it for both of them, in a way—he was making up for something he couldn’t even name.
He thought of his mother, resting just a few rows down, her grave adorned with flowers he could no longer place there himself. Maybe, just maybe, this stranger’s memory deserved a similar kindness… when he looked outside the iron gate and saw the pop-up florist and had an idea.
That's how Simon started buying flowers for a deceased man he had never met. And after some time Simon even started adding little touches—fresh soil to the base of the tombstone, cleaning the headstone when the rain left stains, sometimes even rearranging the flowers into a new arrangement.
Simon didn’t know why he cared—it wasn’t like the man would notice. Still, an odd sense of duty settled on him, as though he’d become the custodian of a memory long forsaken.
It was like he was making the world better, one bunch of flowers at a time. He did this for quite some time, but never told it to a soul. He knew it sounded weird, kinda lonely but he came to think about him as a friend. The loneliness of it all gnawed at him. He wondered, was he doing this for the stranger—or for himself, to fill some silent void he couldn’t quite name?
As Simon approached the grave that week, the familiar pang returned, sharper than before. He stood still, the wind teasing the edge of his jacket. The flowers in his hand felt weightier than usual, as though the guilt he carried seeped into their petals.
“What am I doing here?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rustling leaves. But no one answered—not the man beneath the stone nor the ghost of his own regrets.
He wondered if there was a hidden connection between them, something that drew Simon to him. Maybe they went to the same school, or maybe both supported Manchester United football club or whatever. So he decided to google his name.
Finger hovering over the enter button, he hesitated. It was silly, he knew, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to unearth something better left buried.
When Simon first Googled the man’s name, he found nothing.
But, just like Price says, “Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.”
The days had passed, and curiosity gnawed at him until, one night, he gave in. With a few beers in a pub with the 141 clouding his judgment and hours of searching through online records, he finally found a Newspaper article.
His pulse quickened. When the article loaded, Simon froze. The words blurred together at first, the screen swimming in his vision.
‘Family Tragedy Ends in Suicide on Christmas Day.’
“Murdered her…” he whispered aloud, his mouth going dry.
The words clawed their way up his throat, and the details stood out like jagged shards—murdered his wife and in-laws on a Christmas night. His hands shook as he scrolled, the bedroom suddenly feeling too small. The man he’d been honoring wasn’t a victim but a villain.
His wife didn’t leave him flowers because he murdered her on christmas day. After murdering his wife he also killed her parents and then jumped in front of the only train passing in Piccadilly Train Station that christmas night.
His stomach churned as he read on, his hand trembling against the mouse. By the end, he wasn’t sure if the nausea came from the man’s actions or the realization that Simon had spent years tending to the grave of a killer.
Simon’s heart sank while reading all the news, he felt like a terrible person and felt so sorry for his wife and parents. He felt he needed to do something to soothe the guilty and that's the situation he found himself in, he wouldn’t buy them flowers for almost two years but he was going to apologise.
After searching where they were buried he bought them flowers and drove to the Blackley Cemetery.
The smell of damp earth and fresh-cut flowers hung in the air, mingling with the faint rustle of leaves and the occasional distant crow. It was quiet, reverent, a sanctuary—and yet, under it all, a gnawing sadness.
Standing in front of their graves, Simon’s hands trembled. The flowers he’d brought felt heavy, like a physical manifestation of the guilt he hadn’t even known he was carrying.
What right did he have to apologize for a crime he never committed?
The flowers became more than just a gift; they were a ritual. With every petal he placed, Simon felt as though he were piecing together something broken—not the strangers’ lives, but perhaps his own. And when he laid that last bouquet at the foot of the victims’ graves, it was less an offering and more an apology whispered through the blooms.
Kneeling before the graves, Simon fumbled with the bouquet, his fingers clumsy and unsure. He cleared his throat, but his voice cracked anyway. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, the words escaping like a confession.
The headstones didn’t respond, their silence deafening, but Simon kept going. ‘I didn’t know. I should’ve…’ His words trailed off, swallowed by the damp air, leaving only the faint rustle of trees to answer him and a nudge on his shoulder.
‘Hi,’ she said, her voice calm but mildly woolly. ‘Why are you leaving flowers for my aunt and grandparents?’
Simon was startled. He turned, finding a woman standing a few feet away, arms crossed but her expression more puzzled than angry. His throat tightened. ‘I, uh… it’s complicated,’ he stammered, his face flushing under her steady gaze
Her eyes were full of something he couldn’t place—curiosity, disbelief, maybe even a little amusement. The words he’d rehearsed in his mind felt silly now, but he said them anyway, rambling about flowers and apologies.
Simon shifted, glancing from her face to the graves. “It’s… a long story, one I’m not even sure makes sense.”
She tilted her head, lips quirking into a half-smile. “You know, weird as it is, those are usually the best stories. So, how about you tell me over coffee?” Her face softened, the tension easing as he listens, there was no judgment, only a quiet understanding that unsettled Simon more than anything.
He blinked, surprised. ‘I, uh… yeah. I’d like that.’
As they walked away from the cemetery, the weight in Simon’s chest lightened. Maybe it was the fresh air, or maybe it was the odd sense of peace that seemed to hang between them now. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something had shifted. The ache in his chest had faded, replaced by a soft, unfamiliar warmth. It was as if, in trying to make the world a little better for a stranger, he’d found a piece of something he’d been missing too.
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part 2
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dmitriene · 11 months ago
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THOUGHTS ABOUT BIKER SIMON AND HIS ATTRACTION TO YOU.
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cw: fluff, comfort, smut, established relationship, brief mention of simons past, coul be slightly ooc simon, unprotected sex, p in v, public sex (on motorcycle), creampie, kisses, mentions of posessive behavior, simon having a hard time to confess his love to you, that's all. pairing: bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader
✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄
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simon's behavior comes down to how a black cat behaves next to a person he has taken a closer look at, he is as affectionate as a cat can be, whom miss fortune has been desperately avoiding all his life, but at the same time still going towards affection, in this case, to you, the one who gives it.
it is very easy to notice that he accepts care for him slowly, meekly, but in response he cannot squeeze out a word, he responds with actions, and to almost every “i love you, si„ there is not an expected confession, but a gesture that shows his affection wider than a few fleeting words.
if you needed to get somewhere quickly or leave somewhere, simon was right there, the motorcycle parked near the place where you were waiting, while both of his gloved hands held the second helmet, bought especially for you as soon as you started dating — with the aim of not only protecting you, but also carefully introducing you to part of his life, riding and fiddling with bikes.
you carefully extracted information from him about his life and hobbies, every time you drove together along the wide streets at high speed, your arms gently wrapped around his waist and clung to his leather jacket, he answered your every question willingly, with a gentle chesty growl, sometimes laughing hoarsely under his breath and teasing your desire to get to know him better
— “curious thing you are, darling„
and you always playfully pouted, resting your helmeted forehead against his back and lightly pinching him where your hands were placed on his waist, squeezing tightly so as not to slip away, and at the same time touchingly playfully attacking him through the fabric of his clothes with small pinches, to which he just laughed, listening to your mutterings
— “just wanna know you better, si.. you don't tell me anything„
and you’re right, he knows this, but his service in the task force and the nightmares he experienced forbade him to talk too much about himself or his feelings, the person hidden under the balaclava of the skull was considered forever dead and hiding in the shadows, and the absence of a photograph on his dossier in the army will be remembered there forever, but little by little there is less and less of that ghost of a man left, because you are definitely bringing back that side of him that he managed to bury.
simon gave flowers to someone for the first time in his life when your relationship just started, he didn’t even buy them for his own grave from which he fled, but he knew that he had to buy them for you, and the colorful fragrant petals became the beginning of your relationship, as bright as a lipstick mark on his bare cheek that day, and he would happily never wash it off, but you both know that you will put more and more of them, marking his whole face.
his affection is reflected in reverent touches, sometimes obsessive, every time you go out somewhere together, the heavy hand on the bottom of your back feels like a pleasant weight, with the care of which he later outlines your waist, holding you close to him not to control, but out of concern.
despite the fact that he is slightly unfamiliar with being so close to women, to signs of attention, you still notice that he is not afraid to take your hand in public, hug you, allow you to slightly lift his mask to kiss his lips or cheek, but it is even more tactile in the warmth of the walls of your home.
hugs from the back, arms exploring your body completely openly, small kisses on the back of your neck and face, he practically carries you around the house in his arms — all just for the urgent purpose of having you close, so that he can cuddle up to you and feel you close, while are you gently teasing him with the words — “aren't you clingy, si?„ but simon only grumbles and buries his nose in your chest while you carefully sorting the light strands of his hair, stroking.
but at a certain moment he breaks down, unexpressed feelings gather in an uncomfortable lump that worries simon, you are so affectionate for him, so beloved, but he cannot even answer a word of mutuality to you, he feels that he is not enough, feels helpless, and therefore solves everything with intimacy, squeezing your body in his arms carefully, gloves are hastily thrown off at the feet so that bare, rough, warm palms touch your soft skin, squeezing your hips and rising to your waist as you spread your legs for him, so lovely, leaning on his motorcycle.
your legs wrap around his waist, trembling slightly with each powerful thrust as your bodies press against his bike, balancing in a dangerous, uncomfortable position, elbows rubbing against the leather seat and the smooth surface of the bike, but it’s nothing compared to the heat in your body and the heaviness in bottom of your stomach.
simon's kisses are hot and demanding, his tongue sliding wetly into your mouth, muffling your moans and whimpers, the taste of his lips mixing with the overwhelming sensations rushing through your body as he greedily captures your mouth, his lips and tongue exploring every inch, making you to suffocate and at the same time desperately demand more.
he breaks the kiss, his completely darkened caramel eyes meet yours, silently ordering you to remain silent, before he nevertheless exhales into your wet and swollen lips, holding back his moans at the very edge
— “gonna be quiet for me, love, can't let anyone stop and go check from where all this pretty sounds go, yeah?„
and the need for discretion can't help but intensify the tension of the moment, igniting the thrill of the forbidden even more, causing you to hastily nod your head and moan into his open mouth as he again pushes his tongue to intertwine it with yours.
with each quick and desperate thrust, his cock plunges deeper into your sloppy cunt, allowing the wetness and heat to envelop his meaty cock all the way to his pelvic, as the sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the air, mixing with the quiet whimpers escaping your lips despite your best efforts to remain silent and obey simon.
he can feel your orgasm approaching, telltale signs evident in your moan and the way your body trembles against his as simon's tongue explores your mouth with newfound eagerness, sucking on your tongue and eliciting muffled moans from your lips that he swallows.
with every deep thrust, his cock hits your spongy spot, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, causing the tight muscles of your cunt to clench around his girth, wet, squelching sounds filling the night air as simon's cock slips out slightly, but then pushes back into your tight, slick warmth, pushing you closer to the edge, making you practically scream, babbling
— “si, simon, hmnhrgh!! c-close, i'm close„
and then your hands slide with a slight creak from the surface of his motorcycle, and you instinctively reach out and grab his neck, your fingers curling, clinging to the back of simon's head, somewhere brushing the fabric of his leather jacket and the blond strands of his hair as you give in to the all consuming pleasure, falling completely silent.
every movement of his hips elicits a moan from your lips, your body eagerly responding to his primal dominance, all his feelings poured out into his erratic and rough thrusts as he strokes your waist carefully before pulling you close and straightening up, allowing you to be literally impaled on his girthy cock, muffling the loud sobs in his shoulder as he leans one hand into the seat of his motorcycle, white knuckled, and the other squeezes your thigh, impaling you again and again.
simon's hips snap with more force, driving himself deeper into your slobbering and throbbing cunt, he enjoys the way you clench around him in this new position, almost milking him, making his cock throb with every thrust into your slickness and squirm against your soft walls.
the feeling of his cock kissing your cervix sends a wave of pleasure through your body, coiling the tension in your belly tighter and tighter, and then it snaps, your walls clenching around him, milking him out as you reach your peak, practically biting down on his shoulder from the intensity of the feelings rolling in like a wave of heat.
your slick fluids and cum coat his cock, further lubricating the already slippery rhythm between you, the pulsing, gripping sensation driving him over the edge, his sighs and moans mixing with your incoherent mutterings, and you sing almost in unison about your feelings for each other
— “si, si, fuck!! aahn, l-love you, si, i love you„
— “i know, sweet girl, i know, mngh! f-fuck, love ya too, i love ya too„
his cock throbs inside your walls as he releases his hot cum, filling you up with his potent seed, painting you inside with his milky release and letting it drip down from your clenching cunt, coating his messy, wet from both your liquids cock and down his balls, somewhere there on the ground are still his gloves, on which white drops of your vulgar encounter now falling, the shared release creates a raw, intimate connection between you, the words he has kept for so long fall from his lips incessantly, and he whispers them in your ear, covering the side of your face with hurried, warm kisses.
he doesn’t care about the gloves, he doesn’t care about the roar of cars passing in the distance, which can turn here at any moment, the only thing that worries him is your warm body in his hands and the confessions that he can’t stop whispering to you, he kept them inside himself for so long, and finally gave them a path to the surface, and you will remember this for a long, long time, but for now, let simon take care of you and bring you two back home.
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btsmosphere · 6 months ago
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Supercharged | JJK
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Epilogue: Sweet Taste
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🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: How it all boiled down.
🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 1k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, found family 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: mentioned death, violence, weapons
a/n: and with this, we've reached the end of supercharged!! that is surreal to me🤯here's a reminder to those of you who may have already reblogged the masterlist to keep on your blog for reference (I'm honoured!), you may want to reblog it again now it's completed so all the links are there! since reblogged posts aren't updated on this wonderful site lol🤡 I also want to give a sincere thank you to everyone who had read, especially those who left even a single comment, reblog, tag or ask. this story was a lot of work but also a lot of fun and I'm so happy now I finally shared it! to hear anyone enjoyed it makes it all worth it😊you guys are the absolute best! I hope you enjoyed the ride, though there's still the epilogue to go👀 let me know what your favourite moment of this series has been!💜💜
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“More information has emerged after celebrated hero, Bolt, was found murdered in his home yesterday. Another beloved hero, Monsoon, also fell in the same battle.
“The anonymous attackers, who many theorists have already connected with the lair attacked by a monster earlier the same day, have sent several records to our studio, apparently taken from Bolt’s home. They have… requested that we display these on air.”
The screen cut away from the reporter’s face to a series of photographs. Weapons laid out, one by one, labelled in Namjoon’s handwriting with the locations they were stolen from, and the purpose each one served.
Next, a map with several red crosses marked on it; the places Bolt had attacked, and several more he planned to. Your home was one of them.
There were other files on the drive Jin had mailed to them. Detailing Bolt’s plans, his building of weapons and allowing them to be used to justify his ‘confiscation’. Jin had been careful not to record too much, but it painted a grim picture nonetheless. Had Bolt been preparing to rule the city?
You knew there would be people out there who would never shake their star-studded image of Bolt. But there would be others ready to see him for the monster he was. All that mattered was that you had all shaken up the grip he held over this city.
The last clip that jumped on screen was from only the night before. Of course, Bolt had cameras. And, in the end, it had turned out to be most useful to you.
“Flush out the rats and they’ll have nowhere left to run.”
The dark, fuzzy image shifted into static. The next voice was your own.
“You did this to me.”
Another cut.
“You were nothing before I gave them to you…”
It faded to black again. Good. It was past time for the people to start questioning the man they had idolised for too long. The man who would have thrown their lives away, too, the moment they happened to be in his way.
The reporter’s face returned, looking grave.
“This has left citizens wondering: who was Bolt really? Was he truly as heroic as he seemed?
“But it remains to be seen how we can stay safe in the wake of his demise.
“Next up, we report from the scene of a spate of attacks in the early hours since the hero’s death was announced. And stay tuned to hear from the families who say their loved ones died needlessly when working for Bolt-”
The screen flashed off and you turned to find Hope lowering the remote, hand on hip.
“Good to know the tv still works!” he beamed.
Snorting, you followed him over to the kitchen. The table had been set upright again. All in all, the scene was only partially being lit by the hole in the roof, most of which Jimin had already pieced back together.
An intimidating amount of dust and debris remained to be cleared, but you were sure Yoongi would just hide it by making the space look extra bright and fresh until someone could be bothered to pick up a vacuum cleaner (which may well be buried itself).
Oh yes – Yoongi. You were sure he would be playing his usual lighting tricks again… once he was strong enough. After seeing to Bolt’s fate, he was the first place you had all run to. Hobi and V had already been at his side. You remembered the crushing dread in your chest at seeing their faces, the tightness with which you squeezed Jungkook’s hand.
All you had to do to quell the memory of that feeling was cast your eyes over your white-haired friend. He sat at the table, sagging a little wearily onto his elbows, but grinning begrudgingly up at a giggling Jin and Jimin.
He was alright.
Jungkook sat across from the injured Yoongi, staring just as intently. You knew the protective fire that burned in him for his team, because the same one lived in you. And you had walked through that fire enough times, finally ending up on the right side of it.
Sliding into the seat beside him, you wordlessly put your hand on his back. Let it drift to circle his waist.
Jungkook’s fingers loosened their death grip on his mug, gaze shifting to you. You felt his sigh more than heard it, his back relaxing where you held it. Together you shared a smile.
Although perhaps it wasn’t quite as private as you first thought, because a second later Jin was thumping another mug loudly onto the tabletop. Jumping, you sheepishly turned away from Jungkook and accepted the drink Jin pushed towards you.
“Right!” The eldest clapped his hands to gather attention now that you were all here. “Y/N and I have made some good progress checking inventory. The ceiling seems to be… looking up!” (you all groaned as he erupted into his squeaky laugh) “We’ll be settled back in in no time – with no one to bother us.”
“Quite,” Namjoon agreed. For perhaps the first time, when he turned to face you, you were certain you read pride there. “With Bolt and Monsoon out of the picture, we’ll let Pheonix take their place.”
“So, nothing much to worry about at all!” Jimin chimed in, to a round of chuckles. Even Namjoon gave him an indulgent smile.
A grin of your own on your face, you sipped your drink, welcoming its flavour which nestled beside the sweet taste of revenge curled in your gut. Even with a gap letting fresh air in through the roof, you felt warm all over. Mostly from the heat of the arm pressed against yours.
You couldn’t imagine keeping your distance from Jungkook ever again. Having been victim of his fierce fight so many times, you knew you could always rely on it now he stood by your side.
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Thank you for coming with me on this journey💜What was your favourite moment?
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taglist: @aianloveseven @preciouschimine @written-in-flowers @taegularities @dvalities
@parapiop7 @taiwan0618 @11thenightwemet11 @junniesoleilkth @doctorquack
@oddinary4bts @svnbangtansworld @ktownshizzle @minisugakoobies @jksusawife
@kokoandkookie @veemegatron @kookxin @seokout @jkayy
@peaaachpit @stxrrielle @welcometomyworld13 @ssexsellls @ramicherie
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brokenpieces-72 · 7 months ago
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I READ “Reunion” AND OOOOOO
HOW WOULD THE BOYS REACT TO READER GETTING CAPTURED AND SOMETHING HAPPENING WITH HER PARENTS???? 👀👀
So admittedly this was going to be a future story. For some extra context, the reader's father I haven't decided whether he exists yet or not, but the mother is... admittedly also undecided in terms of what she is. When I started writing this I intended it to be a drabble and now it’s… yep. Enjoy!
Reset
Massive trigger warning!!! Abuse, kidnapping, torture, poor eating mentions, cannibalism, angst, let me know if I missed anything.
First and foremost you know they tried, all of them. You saw it before everything went dark. Johnny was screaming for you, ready to tear everything apart just to keep you safe. He didn't care who the bitch was, you were his sister. Konig already was tearing everything apart, only he didn't notice your situation until it was to late. The cadejos had nabbed some shadows to rip up with Alejandro and Horangi grabbing at more, trying to restrain themselves from just ripping into them. As you were taking off, Kyle went so far as to try and chase after you, but had his wings shot at, making you scream and fight to try and help him. Ghost had been too far away to try and grab at the heli. Price would have burned the whole thing down but you were inside, and not fire resistant.
Seconds after they'd lost you, Hunter got Kyle into the infirmary to fix his wings but they were still garbage. The entire team is anxious and worried about you. They'd all learned as much as they could about your relationship with your mother but could only imagine what she wanted from you now.
Simon wasted no time. He dragged thrall after thrall into interrogation, demanding answers of where they could be taking you. Being brutal and pissed he put any humans they were able to take alive in the room to show he wasn't playing around. If a thrall wasn't willing to talk, the human better be ready to scream and beg.
Price and Laswell and working around the clock to get everything they can on your mother from medical records, to bank statements. The two friends are keeping each other calm, as best as they can when they are as fired up as they are. Laswell has to step out of the room more than once because of Price releasing smoke to keep himself from getting too heated.
To the surprise of many, Horangi contacts KorTac. He's getting information on... well anything. While he keeps to himself, he can't deny your presence hasn't been welcoming. The team was up in arms, and the last thing he wanted was to sit around and do nothing while he waited for this to be fixed. KorTac can look into any jobs or contracts they may have gotten from Graves or your mother as a one off. Maybe someone gave up information thinking it was just an innocent missing persons report. Maybe your mother had tried contacting KorTac before Graves. Whatever he can get to make this go faster.
Alejandro and Rudolfo did the same, contacting other bases to see if they may have run into Graves or thralls recently. If they mapped out previous locations they could find a pattern. They even went back to facility where they'd first encountered your mother, seeing if there could be any signs of where she might have gone. Aside from that they had taken the initiative of running everything on base, giving the rest of the team more time to focus on you.
Kyle is pissed because he couldn't do anything to help. His wings were too damaged to fly anytime soon. All he could do was join Alejandro and Rudolfo on recon. He hated wasn't about to just sit, wait and heal. He wanted to help now. Alejandro and Rudolfo aren't about to stop him either.
Konig became restless, and the percht was practically beating against him. It wanted nothing but violence, blood and revenge. Konig just wanted his little friend back. You'd helped him even when there seemed to be no hope.
As for Johnny... it's something everyone gives him space for. Simon is one of the few who approaches him. He's restless and the full moon approaching makes it worse. All the wold wants to do is to find you, and Jonny wants the same. Sleep is near impossible, and he's started going to your room in order to do so. Your scent is still there, smelling like earth, grass and pine. If he isn't trying to find you, it's like he's trying to remember you. After 24 hours of you being gone Simon found him.
"Did you tell your mom?" He asked. Johnny looked up from where he was sitting on your bed. Simon was in the doorway looking at him, mask off for once. The question is one Johnny never wanted to think about. Telling his mother he'd lost her new baby. Johnny just stares down at his hands. Simon comes in and sits next to him on the bed, picking up a small plushie. The last thing Johnny needed was his pessimism. Simon didn’t have high hopes for you but he wasn’t going to give up on helping you. Johnny still hasn’t said anything so Simon took out his phone and offered it to Johnny.
“You need her too.” He said. Johnny took out his own phone, and dialed his mother. Simon stood up to leave but Johnny asked him to stay. He didn’t want to be alone for this.
The call goes well at first. It’s short-lived. As soon as Johnny told his mother you were taken Simon could hear her asking questions. Johnny answered as much as he could but regretfully most of the answers were “I don’t know”. By the end of it, he was fighting tears, with Simon putting a hand on his shoulder. Johnny’s mother asked Johnny how he was doing, and if he was okay. He was fine. He was going to find you. He promised. He hangs up and his breathing is unsteady. Simon didn't say anything or move to comfort him knowing a lot was going on underneath the surface. Johnny was honest enough to tell him if he needed it. There was silence for a while until Johnny took a deep breath.
"What kind of a shite brother am I?" He wondered aloud.
"One that will find his sister even if he has to do it barehanded," Simon answered. Johnny looked at him. Simon looked back and just gave him a nod.
For a while, you thought every moment you had experienced, every smile, every joy, every triumph, every bad day, every victory... you thought it had all been some mental episode of escapism. A dream your mind had put you in to save you from the torment of your mother. You don't know how much time has past, but it's been long enough for her to try and starve you and feed you more raw flesh. The more feral part of you is starving and ravenous. You want to eat so bad but you know Graves probably put something in it to make your feral state more powerful. You're chained to the wall with a collar and cuffs on your ankles and wrists. Waking up had sent you into a panic attack where you passed out. When you woke up again, the food was there, staring at you with vacant eyes. Dead bodies were not something new to you, but in this setting it just awoke you trauma. This wasn't the first time you'd fought your hunger. You turned away facing the wall, trying to hold your breath so you wouldn't smell the carcass. You held your nose when you needed another breath. Next you took the chains and wrapped them around your limbs to make them shorter. You knaw on your shirt to resist.
Then your mother came in. Your spine went frozen, your whole body tensed, and your held sped through the horrible moments her voice awoke. The way she talks is like burning sugar.
"Hello my little bunny." She said, soothingly. It's not soothing, she is not soothing, the only thing she would soothe was her own heinous actions. Little bunny was her name for you. You didn't know your own name because she would just give you pet names. All you want right now is to do the same thing you had done to innocent people who got lost in the woods. She'd set you on them, letting you hunt to the feral monster's content. "Come on, I want to see you. Can you look at me? I want to see how much you've grown. They took you away from me, my sweet girl."
No. They saved you. There had been missing person reports pointing to the woods you'd grown up in. A hunter came, properly armed to deal with hybrids, with some blurry photos capturing your image. He'd saved you with his hunting party. They'd found you feasting on an elk, starting to come back to your normal state. When you tried to flee, a hunter shot you, wounding you. You curled up on the ground they gave you a sedative. You were too small, and they weren't about to kill a kid who was probably just running on instincts. They saved you from your mother, continuing to search the woods.
Your mother moved closer, voice staying motherly and warm. "Please sweetheart? I'm sorry it had to be like this. I just wanted you back."
No more. You wouldn't give her anything. You didn't care what punishment she would give you. Whether it was burns or cuts you wouldn't give in. Your whole body shivered and tensed up as you felt her gentle hands on your shoulder and back, kneeling behind you. Your mother rubbed your back and shoulders, trying to coax your body to relax. When she tried to tug on your shoulders, to pry open your balled up position, you yank away.
"How did you get tangled up like that?" She asked noticing your efforts to keep you from the food. You don't look at her but you can hear her shuffling. There was a horrible wet sound as she moved back to you. You covered your nose, breathing through your teeth, as she tried to give you the meat. "Come on sweetie you need to eat. You want to be big and strong for mommy don't you."
You cowered, blindly swatting and pushing her away. In any other context her reaction would be that of a mother trying to keep her child from hitting her. You know it's a facade, the setting was evidence of that. "Now now bunny don't hit your mother."
"YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER!!" You shrieked at her. The wendigo, the guardian state could be heard within your voice. Your mother stopped.
"B-but... l-little bunny-"
"I'm not your little bunny you fucking bitch! You are not my fucking mother! You are nothing but a psychopath who made me eat the closest thing I had to a friend! I'm not your daughter!" You yelled, not looking up at her, head covered by your legs.
"I know baby, I know, I am so sorr-"
"No! No you're not! If you were sorry you would stay behind bars! You would have moved on when you got out! You would have walked away knowing how much damage you did." You argued. There was no excuse for the crimes she had committed. Your mother didn't say anything for a while. You heard her toss the meat to the floor.
"Fine," she said, sounding like she was biting back heartbreak. "We can try again tomorrow. Please eat something though. I don't want you to starve."
"That's exactly what you want." You said, your voice overflowing with poison.
From then on, the routine continued, with a new body put in every other day or so. Your mother continued to coax you to eat, giving you kind and gentle praises. She's changed truly, she just wanted her cute little bunny girl back, her precious baby. Then she tried gaslighting you, burning and cutting your skin, only to hurry away to retrieve a first aid kit, acting like you'd come to her with a scraped knee. Oh dear did you scratch yourself too hard? Don't worry she'll fix it. Do you want mama to kiss it better? No? Then she'll get Mr. Graves to come in and talk to you about the mean things you did to his thralls. Maybe he can get you to eat something too. Open wide, here comes to airplane. Don't spit it out!
It goes on... and on... and on...
Your stomach churned. Food you need food... there's some right there. You don't smell anything wrong with it... no... no not again...
When Price found you... damn. You were back to your feral state but this seemed to be worse. Blood drunk, but hopefully not on Graves tainted shit. It had taken them some time, too much time to track you down. Right now Johnny and König were making for a good distraction tearing into the thralls in fully shifted forms, Johnny having the full moon on his side. Kyle, now fully healed and flying again was keeping overwatch dive bombing anyone who might try to take up a sniper position. Rudolfo had the cadejos tracking your scent. Horangi was keeping Hunter safe, using the clouds for their cover. Simon was moving through the bunker looking for two other people, Graves and your mother, shadows keeping him from being noticed. Of course he also yanked a few thrall into them, as they tried to make it out to Soap and Konig.
"Captain, what's your status?" Alejandro asked through comms.
"I found the target." Price said. "Soap keep on the thrall. Lieutenant, what's your location?"
"South Hallway." Ghost replied, voice quiet.
"Have you located the other targets?" He asked, holstering his gun slowly approaching. Your blank white eyes looked up at him, and you launched yourself at him. Your chains snapped taut, making you fall back. Shit. You were still yanking and pulling on your chains to try and reach the fresh food that had stepped into your cell.
"Not yet. Wait, the cadejos may have found something." Simon replied. Before Price could get Simon's help, Alejandro came up beside him. He stepped back when you tried to lunge at him next.
"Fucking hell." He said under his breath.
"Horangi, get Hunter to our location, east side, second floor." Price said.
"Copy." Hunter said.
"She needs to be restrained." Price said. They needed to wait for Hunter, but until then you needed to be pinned down. Alejandro understood shifting to the jaguar form and stalking in. The meat was coming closer. You shrieked, getting on all fours, watching him closely. The meat kept his eyes locked with yours. It's growling, it won't let you eat without a fight. You screech back at the meat, encouraging some play before you feasr. Your body tightens in a crouch as you move back a little, readying yourself. You strike, but you can't. A huge weight is put on your back and you thrash around. Your arms are pinned behind you. No! You're hungry! You have fresh food right in front of you! Price wasn't about to let you enjoy Las Almas cuisine. Alejandro backed away the moment Price put his full weight on top of you. Hunter arrived a few minutes later, and Horangi stayed close. One sedative wasn't enough. Two wasn't enough. They gave it time, ut you weren't relaxing fast enough. One more. The world slowly goes dark. Hungry... you're still hungry.
You're released from the chains, but bound in them again. Simon acquired a blanket after trying to pursue your mother. He had a feeling he knew what Graves was actually doing and what was going on with your mother but he could wait. You're the priority. Your unconscious body was rolled up in the blanket, with the chains wrapped around to keep you restrained if you woke up. Johnny was demanding updates to your status, still outside with König, waiting on orders. Price ordered them to head to evac, and they had the target restrained. Johnny didn't like that answer but doesn't argue.
When he finally saw you, Gaz made sure to be in between you and Johnny. Johnny got out of the chopper and came over, back to his human state, clothes destroyed. Price wasn't about to deny his sergeant, even when he wasn't shifted. Johnny took you from Price and held you tight. The look on his face was focused as he got back in the heli, and the whole ride back he said nothing. Hunter got to work immediately giving orders for the medics on base to be ready. As soon as you woke up you would be hungry again. despite this Johnny just kept you close, as if you didn't show signs of being feral, or wouldn't try to dig into his flesh as soon as you woke up.
The healing process takes time. You're kept under for a very long time. Hunter had to get a feeding tube so you would return to normal. Your wounds are cleaned thoroughly, and you're put in a safe place. The team visited and stayed with you in shifts. The feeding tube was not a tested method for you yet, and Hunter was concerned about over feeding you, thinking it may cause you to vomit or get sick.
As expected Johnny had to be pried from your side more than once. Ghost did it to spar with him, knowing Johnny had plenty of aggression built up, and he could take the hits. The last thing he wanted was for a punching bag to receive that kind of treatment. Once you had been put under observation, Johnny called your mother. Your real mother. She'd relieved to hear you are okay, and asked Johnny if you would be able to stay with her for a bit to help you recover. Johnny would talk to Laswell about it later, you needed to wake up first.
When you finally wake up they’d already taken out the feeding tube, your state much more relaxed. You wake to see Johnny had fallen asleep in the chair next to you, his head rested on the bed. You sort of squirmed down further under the blanket to press your forehead to his. There are silent tears down your cheeks, as you feel a great sense of relief. Johnny woke up and pulled away to look at you. He wanted to pull you close to him, but he didn’t want to overstep. You sat up and he held your face in his hands, pressing your foreheads together again.
“You came to get me.” You said.
“Made a promise. Wouldn't go into the dark unless I 'ad to pull ya out.” Johnny said. You threw your arms around him and he gently returned the gesture. It was perfect. It was safe. You had your family back, and to make it better they had come for you.
The next while isn’t fun. Well a few times you enjoy yourself, but it’s mostly filled with recovering and exhaustion. Your mental state was damaged, your body was sore, and your hunger was difficult, as you were craving food but couldn't eat as much as you wanted without getting sick. Hunter does an amazing job of helping your body heal. While you do have a healing factor, the wounds weren't healing as much as they should. Your team's medic sits with you when you eat, keeping the portions smaller than you'd usually take, but they gave you snacks to sustain your stomach in between meals. Once you were out of the infirmary Price granted you a week off. Johnny was still in the process of getting you a month or so away from base.
For the most part, you became Johnny's shadow, if he wasn't yours. Part of it is because the wolf is now more protective over you, and well Johnny is too. He'd told you about getting time off and honestly it would be really nice to have it. Outside of that, you found yourself snuggling up with him. Johnny had done a good job at sleeping in his own bed since your return. Now though, you'd taken to curling up with him at night. He didn’t mind, finding your presence comforting. Seeing you asleep in his arms brought him peace.
Johnny still has tasks to do on base though so he can't be by your side 24/7. You go to the others on the team who don't mind having you nearby. You did a little where you could, like retrieving items or doing prep work. Sleeping and lazying around wasn't your thing. Hunter let you help them with prepping the medical supplies and take inventory as usual. The rest of the team either made something up or just let you observe.
König had taken to standing in when Johnny was too busy. He was grateful and happy to have you back. This was also a chance to return the favour for all the hard work you’d put into getting him in control. At one point you had a panic attack, accidentally knocking over a bowl had created a loud noise. Before anyone could step in König had you in a tight hug, talking to you. He ran you through the process of naming things in the room you see, smell, hear, touch and taste. Panic attacks were a first hand experience for him, having his own social anxiety. While he didn't know what exactly happened when you were in captivity, he wasn't about to let you suffer through the small triggers by yourself. König had promised he wouldn’t go into the dark. He wasn’t about to let you go through it alone.
If neither Konig nor Johnny was shaodwing you, Simon was quite literally shadowing you. In that he would peek in on you through your shadow just to be sure you were okay. He doesn’t hesitate to talk to about what happened. Abuse is something he will never forgive. Simon for the most part though would stay out of the way. You deserved some privacy, and a chance to heal on your own. Until another soldier was a little too clumsy and made a mess of the ammo bins. The crash is loud and you jump back, as the other soldiers raise their voices to hound him. Bloody idiots, keep yelling when there’s a startled kid! You back into the nearest corner and start to breathe heavy. Your ears ring, and Simon found you. He goes through the piles of ammo cartridges and suddenly the argument is muffled, and there’s only ringing. Until Simon’s voice broke through, and you looked up at him. You see you’re surrounded by darkness but Simon looked normal. His mask was on, but his focus was on you. Just take a minute. You needed it. This happened again, but only when you doing really bad.
Kyle hasn't stopped spending time with you, and if you're struggling to get up to the roof you guys like to sit on, he'll help you up. The wings are always around you, which can really help. It makes you feel like you're alone with Kyle, even if there are soldiers down below running drills or moving supplies around. You don't talk as much, but Kyle talks a bit more to fill the silence. Sometimes you guys don't talk at all. That's fine. Yeah, you could lean on him if you want. His arm goes around you, avoiding any scars you have.
The cadejos paid you a visit in your room one day, and they had... a ball? Rudolfo poked his head in and asked if you wanted to play some fetch for the dog spirits. You didn't think they played fetch but you don't say no. You follow them outside and throw the ball for them. The white spirit comes back like a golden retriever each time, front paws tapping away, tail whipping about, tongue lulling with happy pants, all while waiting for you to throw the ball. The darker spirit is a little less trained. When it caught the ball it sped back to you causing you to flinch. Rudy got his hands on your shoulders pulling you back, reminding the black cadejo to be gentle. Your body tenses but when Rudolfo checks in you tell him you're okay. Just startled a little. If you want to come out with the spirits again, you can ask.
You went to Alejandro and Horangi directly, asking if they could show you some better self defense techniques. You could fight, but you wanted to be better prepared if someone grabbed you again. Alejandro is hesitant because the last thing he wants is for you to have a panic attack in the middle of it. Horangi however is all for it. Knowing that stuff had saved his own ass more than once when he was building up debts. Why shouldn't you be able to drop captors like a sack of potatoes? Small bonus, he could make Alejandro be the one that got dropped on his back a few times. After all Alejandro had him outweighed, so learning more built attackers would be beneficial. Throughout the demonstrations, they do check in after check in. He was going to grab your wrists next okay? Alright, then he would whip you around, yep don't let him turn you around. Still good? Perfect.
Soon it was your last day off, and tomorrow you would be on leave with Johnny. It would be nice to see Scotland again. You wandered into the rec room where you saw Price on the couch. The tv was on likely watching the game. You sat down next to him, a blanket around you, and he gave you a smile.
“Are they winning?” You asked.
“Not who I’d like.” He admitted. You played on your phone for a bit and then started to nod off. Everything felt so much better. You were safe. No one could hurt you with your pack nearby. Price didn’t pay much mind. He assumed you came to the break room to have some privacy, and he kept his voice down for you in front of the tv. Until he felt the couch move. When he looked over, he saw you trembling. Fuck. He got off the couch and knelt down in front of you, shaking you awake.
“Come on kid, it’s not real. It’s not real!”
“NO!” You cried out, waking up and found Price looking at you, shaking you awake. Tears ran down your face. Nightmares were becoming more frequent again. All because that witch decided to force herself into your life again.
“You broken?” He asked. A gentle but calloused hand going, resting on your head. You gave him a hesitant nod. “Okay.”
Without asking he picked you up giving a playful roar. It surprised you, but you couldn’t help but laugh. He sat back on the couch, reclining so you could rest against his chest. You never noticed how warm he was. His wing wrapped around you unconsciously as he went back to the game. The captain’s heartbeat was calming against your ear.
“I’m sorry-“ you start to say.
“Don’t say sorry. You can’t control it.” He said. You continued watching the game until he turned it over to a show he saw you watching earlier in the week. Slowly you fell asleep again. Price found himself subconsciously stoking your ears as you relaxed into him. Before Price didn’t know what to make of you. Right now, he was worried about you. At first you were a requirement, something he was obligated to take on. Then you proved yourself, showing value to the team in more ways than one. Now… you were part of his hoard. You were a treasure worth protecting. His team had been doing better, and much better now that you were back.
“John I hav-“ Laswell walked in and looked up to see a scowling Price, shushing her.
“Just fell back asleep.” He said voice very low. Laswell raised a brow with a small smile. You shifted a bit and Price hushed you, not wanting you to wake up. John ran his claws gently through your hair, keeping you relaxed. Even Kate can’t deny you’d exceeded her expectations. When she first met you were about a terrifying as… well as a rabbit with antlers. You’d grown so much.
“You ever expect this to be a scenario we find ourselves in?” Price asked her.
“No. The time off has been approved… but there’s an issue.” Laswell said. Price looked up. “Colonel Vargas has offered an alternative.”
“What does that mean?” Price asked, a slight scowl at the word ‘alternative’.
“The program still has some authority, and with what’s been going on with the mother and the kidnapping they think sending her back with Johnny might put her at risk.” Laswell explained.
“…Alejandro has offered to take them in instead?” Price asked. Clearly the program wasn’t concerning themselves with separation anxiety.
“I’m trying to convince the program to let Johnny go with her. They’re proving difficult.” Laswell said.
“But she’ll be safe?” Price asked. Laswell nodded. Price got up, carrying you with him, still swaddled in your blanket. “Taking her to bed.”
Price took you to your room where he saw your things ready and packed. He set you down on the bed, and you shifted, rolling to your side. You would be safe. He knew that. He trusted the colonel, he was just worried about you. You’d only been back for a short while, and instead of going somewhere you knew, you were being tossed into a whole new environment. Hopefully Johnny would be understanding.
@yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666
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kingkatsuki · 2 years ago
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Sealed With A Kiss | Bakugou Katsuki x Reader
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Didn’t think I’d write anything for Bakugou’s birthday and then a random idea popped into my head and I wrote it all in one sitting. It’s been months since I’ve started and finished a fic, so please be kind! And Happy Birthday, Bakugou!💕
Summary: Not everyone wants the quirk that they're given. Ever since you were a child, you were cursed with a quirk where you’re able to see how someone will die when you kiss them. Unsure on whether your quirk is telling the future, or sealing their fate with a kiss of death, its safer for you to completely give up on finding love. Coming to terms over the years that you’ll have to watch all your friends get married and settle down, while you spend the rest of your life alone. That is, until you run into Bakugou Katsuki.
Warnings: 18+, minimal plot, mostly smut, no beta, praise, dirty talk, fingering, multiple orgasms, public sex, protected sex, not as angsty as I thought it’d be!
Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.
Word Count: 6.4k.
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What would you do if you could tell someone the exact time and way that they’re going to die? Would you share that information with them, hoping that they can get their affairs in order and live those final moments to the fullest before kicking the bucket? Or would you keep quiet about it, holding onto the information as though it's a sordid little secret that needs to be buried and taken to your own grave?
Not that it matters anyway, because even if you held that information no one would believe you anyway, would they? Telling someone that they’re going to die in a car accident when they don’t even drive, or that they die during a snowstorm in July. It’s like people only ever believe what they want to hear, and it’s the same reason why even your best friend doesn’t know about your quirk. Imagine if you’d proved it, writing down your prediction and then waiting for it to happen. Counting down the days like you’re waiting for an exciting event, not waiting for someone to die. And then what? Someone dies and people want you to do it again, to prove that it wasn’t just a fluke. And then what? You’re kissing every single person that comes along just to tell them that they’re not going to make it to their next birthday?
Quirks should be a blessing, but yours was most definitely a curse.
“You know you really should start trying to settle down, you’re not getting any younger.” You could practically feel the disdain in their tone as you tried to avoid the question by taking a sip of your drink.
“You act like she’s going to die soon,” Your best friend Tatami laughed, shaking her head, “She’s got plenty of time.”
Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. You should scoff at the saying, but in this instance, it was very much true. The entire Hen party was made more awkward by the fact that you didn’t like any of your best friends friends’. All socialites that would give up your deepest, darkest secrets to further themselves and get their names plastered all over the latest tabloids. You were lucky enough to have known her since childhood, but it didn’t make it any easier.
Every wedding you’d attended in the last few years was even more elaborate and outrageous than the last like each bride competed to show that they had the most magnificent life. And every time you were stuck in an uncomfortable bridesmaid dress, trying to avoid the same string of questioning that you knew was coming.
“Come on, Tatami.” One of the girls rolled her eyes, taking a large sip of champagne, “Why don’t you try to set her up with one of your old school friends? At least then she’d be with a man with ambition.”
You felt irritated by them talking about you as though you weren’t even in the room, never mind sitting on the opposite ends of a table. They made it seem as though you were incapable of finding a partner like no one would ever want you.
“Or you could try one of those dating websites, I almost married a rich tycoon from Russia on there before I settled down with my husband. It’s funny how things work out.”
Of course, no one even bothers to ask me whether I want a boyfriend or not– never mind a husband. You rolled your eyes at the idea of flying out to Russia to marry a rich oil tycoon.
“I’m happily single at the moment,” You force a smile, your hand tightening against your glass, “
“They are right though, darling.” Tatami gave you a soft smile, “You have been single for quite some time. I’m not even certain I remember the last time you even mentioned going on a date with anyone?”
That’s because you hadn’t. Not since you lost your boyfriend all those years ago. Why would you try to look for someone again knowing what you know now?
Growing up you’d eagerly awaited receiving your quirk, but the longer it took to manifest the more you’d come to terms that you were one of the quirkless. It wasn’t until you shared your first kiss at sixteen that you realised that maybe things weren’t quite as they seemed. Everyone anticipates their first kiss, hoping it would be one of those special, perfect moments that you’d remember for the rest of your life. But instead, the moment you’d shared yours, you’d been struck with a horrifying premonition.
It felt like a dream at first, a moment where you’d pinch yourself and realise that everything had been concocted in your mind. The vision of your first love walking into traffic on a cold, snowy evening. The cars were unable to stop against the icy terrain as they drove straight towards him, the lights bouncing off the road to make it difficult to see pedestrians as he was knocked to his back. You’d even told him about it after it happened, laughing about how vivid your imagination was– but not even three months later and it's like your nightmare came true.
You’d told yourself it was a coincidence, that it could've happened to anyone and it was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Trying to heal your heart as you took time to recover from losing your first love until you met your next boyfriend. You were trying to allow yourself to be happy again, to forget the bad memories that haunted your past. Until it happened again– your first kiss with him gave you a vision. This time a villain attack endangered the city, your boyfriend was caught in the crossfire as a fire quirk ripped through his body and burnt him from the inside out.
It should’ve frightened you, much like the first time. But instead, you just felt numb. It was then you realised that you weren’t in fact quirkless, but instead of gaining a talent that was cool, flashy or useful to society– you inherited a curse.
Of course, there was no way you could explain your quirk to anyone, finding someone that believed you would be hard enough. But telling someone that you know when they’re going to die purely from kissing them? It sounded insane. Not to mention what it could do if the information fell into the wrong hands. Using the information for those dark, depraved benefits.
And to this day you weren’t even sure whether kissing someone showed the way they were going to die, or whether kissing them sealed their fate. Like you were the grim reaper handing out the macabre kiss of death.
Why would anyone want to be with you?
So it was easier this way, guarding your heart so you couldn’t feel the pain of losing someone you love again. A small price to pay to ensure that you didn’t harm anyone else, and the disappointed looks from your friends that you were still very much single were a small price to pay.
But you did feel alone.
Watching all your friends get married, settle down and have kids was harder when you knew you could never have those things. Maybe that's why it hurt even more. We always desire what we can’t have, after all.
“Let me set you up on one date and see how it goes,” Tatami’s annoying friend dipped her glass towards you from across the table, the champagne sloshing inside it, “I have this friend, not much of a looker, but he’s a quirk defence lawyer. It pays good money, and he’s looking to settle down–”
“It’s alright, I’m really not looking–” You felt awkward as each set of eyes around the table scrutinised you.
“Nonsense, he’d be perfect for you,” She continued, and you almost groaned as she pulled out her phone, “Let me text him now, I bet he could get you lunch in that new Sushi restaurant in the city.”
“Sorry, I just need the bathroom-” You almost shoved Tatami out of the booth as she stood up to let you out, her drink splashing as you tried to give her a reassuring smile before disappearing into the throng of people inside the busy nightclub. You weren’t even sure if you’d be able to find it back to your table at this point, but all you knew is you needed to get out.
The heat inside the club was suffocating, burning through you as you tried to find an exit. Weaving through the sea of people as you tried to remind yourself to breathe. Heaving a sigh as you noticed the sign to a smoking area as you followed the few people heading in the same direction. Stepping into the cool evening air is a welcome relief, the chill pricks against your skin as the heat slowly simmers down. Leaning against the rough brick wall as the back of your head knocks against it gently, closing your eyes to try and alleviate the irritation bubbling up inside you.
“Oi, you okay?” Your eyes opened into a glare to see the source of the voice, your nose scrunched in irritation at the blunt introduction.
A blond man stood a few feet away from you, cell phone in hand. The bright screen illuminated his face and cast a soft glow against his skin. You felt your heart betray you as it sped up at the sight of him, suddenly feeling self-conscious beneath his piercing ruby gaze.
“M’fine.” You mumbled, not about to dump all your issues on a random stranger.
“You don’t look fine,” He shrugged, glancing back down at his phone as he typed against the screen.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You sneered, your defences up.
“You just look pissed,” He smirked, and it only irritated you more.
Who did this fucking asshole think he was?
“Well I’ve got a random stranger bothering me, so perhaps I am.”
The answer has the opposite effect you were expecting as the blond beside you gives you a wide grin, shaking his head.
“Gotta be better than the desperate pricks inside there?” He tilts his head towards the club and you’ve gotta admit he’s right. You’ve been standing beside him for a minute and he hasn’t tried to buy you a drink or grab your ass.
“Guess you’re right.” You exhale softly.
“Whatever it is can’t be that bad anyway,” He shrugs, “You’re too pretty to be frownin’.”
You hate the way your heart throbs when he calls you pretty, it's pathetic really.
“You come here alone?”
Does he really think you’re that much of a loser to come to a club by yourself?
‘No, my friends are still inside.”
“So why are you out here alone?” He raises a questioning brow.
“Why are you here?” You crossed your arms against your chest defensively, turning the question back on him like he wasn’t doing the exact same thing you were.
“Got a big promotion today,” He shrugs it off like it’s nothing. Probably just another step on the never-ending corporate ladder to him, “My friends got me out to celebrate.”
“Is that why you’re standing outside on your own?” You shoot back, unable to miss the way his nostrils flare in irritation.
“Could say the same to you, sweetheart.” He scoffs, “Who’re you here with?”
“My best friend,” You smile softly, “She’s getting married.”
“Not very rowdy for a hen party.”
“Oh yeah?” You watch the way his tongue darts out between his lips to wet them, “You're not exactly the life of the party yourself, are you?”
“Just wanna go home,” He rolled his eyes, “My friends turn into assholes when they’re drunk.”
“Mine can be assholes at any time.” You were already expecting texts in the morning trying to invite you on a blind date you didn’t even want to go on.
“Dya want me to call you a cab?” The guy held up his phone, “I can get you a separate one if you don’t wanna share. It ain’t safe to be out here alone.”
“Very considerate of you,” You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop your heart from doing a little flip, “I can take care of myself.”
“Sure looks like it,” He scoffed, “That why you’re gonna hide out here for the rest of the night?”
“Shut up,” You almost pouted, “I’ll go back in.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He smirked.
“What’s your name?” You asked as he slipped his phone back into his black jeans pocket.
“Bakugou.” He answered after pausing for a second, “What's yours?”
You mumble your name and can’t stop your cheeks from scalding when he responds with a soft “Pretty.”
Standing in a comfortable silence between the handsome stranger you watched groups of people slowly leaving the club, some moving on to their next destination for the night and others trying to stop their friends from throwing up before they climbed into their designated cabs.
“Gonna take fuckin’ ages to catch a cab now, I hate this part of the city.” Bakugou groans, running his palm down the length of his face.
“You could go back in and party,” You shrugged, “I’m sure your friends are missing you.”
“Yeah? After you, sweetheart—” Bakugou made a mock chivalrous movement with his arm to invite you to go back inside first which you rejected. Moving back to stare into the sea of people with a small smile on your face, “Didn’t think so.”
You stood in a comfortable silence beside him for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. One of the first times in a long time that you felt yourself as you both listened to the rowdy cheers in the background.
“Do you ever just want to say fuck it and disappear?” You surprised yourself by speaking your thoughts out loud.
“Go somewhere where no one knows who the fuck you are or what the fuck you’re doin’?” Bakugou responded simply.
“Yeah.”
“All the time.” He murmurs.
“It just hurts when it seems like everyone else has their perfect little lives while you’re just waiting on the sidelines,” You sigh. Maybe it was easier offloading everything onto a random stranger, it wasn’t as though you had anyone else you could talk to, “It’s just lonely.”
“You don’t have to be lonely.” He replied as though it was the most simple answer.”
“It’s not that easy,” You shake your head.
“Who said it ain’t that easy?” Bakugou turned to face you, his frame towering over you as you looked up at him with wide eyes.
“Cause I’m always lonely.” You felt hot, pearly tears beginning to clump in your lash line as you thought about the nights you spent at home alone while all your friends were with their partners. The life that you’d always dreamed about, but never have. For once you just wanted someone to be there for you, with you, “It's just how it is.”
“You don’t have to be though, sweetheart.” He whispers.
“Yeah?” You murmurs, “Do you feel alone too?”
“Fuck,” He groans, leaning his forehead against yours as he stands with you for a moment, “C’mere.”
Bakugou took your hand in his as he walked you through the crowd of people outside the rowdy venue and down a dark dingy alley that was illuminated in fierce neon lights from the various clubs dotted along the high street. You followed behind him obediently as your heart danced against your ribcage, astounded by your daring behaviour. He could be a murderer or a psychopath for all you knew– just another stranger out looking for his next victim. But for some reason (maybe it was the liquid courage coursing through your veins) you felt safe with him.
He moves his hands to your hips as he pushed you back against the cool brick wall, slotting himself between your parted thighs as he looks down at you with crimson eyes. The scent of liquor was sharp on his breath as his lips hovered close to you, warmth fanning your face as he leaned to kiss you.
“No kissing,” You gasped as you tilted your head just in time to avoid his lips as he pressed a wet, scorching kiss against your jawline.
If he had an issue with it, he didn’t voice it. The only sound was a rough grunt rumbling from the back of his throat as his lips continued to pepper sloppy kisses along your neck. Your fingers swiftly carded through his messy hair, nails grazing his scalp as you tried to pull him closer. As though everything right now wasn’t enough, you needed more.
“Please,” You whine as you felt his teeth graze your pulse point, hips bucking as strong palms reached out to steady you. Keeping you still as he bit down on the supple skin hard, the sudden pain had you crying out for him as the ache blurred your vision. Or maybe it was the alcohol running through your system— warm lips suckling the fresh bite mark as you clench your thighs together in a feeble attempt to give your neglected clit some much-needed friction.
“Please, what?” He rasps against your neck, his tongue salving against the mark he’d left against your skin moments earlier.
This is the part where you should’ve stopped him. Making up an excuse about Tatami wondering where you are, or needing to get home and disappearing into the night. But you didn’t—
“Touch me,”
“You always beg random strange men to touch you, sweetheart?” He smirked, his hand reaching round to grab a handful of your ass, “Or am I just special?”
If only he knew how unlike you this really was, that no one had touched you so intimately in years. A thought that would’ve surely ruined the mood if Bakugou’s hand hadn’t slipped beneath your dress to cup your aching sex, the sensation had you gasping in surprise as the blonde smirked down at you.
“I’m just special, hah?” He answered his own question with a toothy grin, “Is that why your panties are dripping for me?”
You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this insatiable. Evenings spent at home with your toys felt nothing like the way his warm hands felt against your skin, uncaring that you were in a dirty alleyway as you found yourself grinding into his touch.
“Fuck,” You murmur, your head knocking against the cold brick as Bakugou presses the heel of his palm against your clit through the sheer fabric. A heat blazes through his touch and scorches you as you writhe against him, desperate to create a delicious friction as he smirks down at how salacious you look at this moment.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet, bet I’d slide right in.” He grunts, surprising himself at his blunt words. Blaming his audaciousness on the alcohol Sero and Denki had plied him with not long ago, the liquor flowing through his veins.
“Please,” It’s quite pathetic really, just how easily this man has turned you into this. You’d managed to go years without the touch of a man, and now you’d felt it for a moment you were unsure how you’d ever lived without it.
“Oh, fuck.” He chokes back a groan as he pulls your panties to the side, the skirt of your dress now shamelessly bunched around your waist as he notes the glossy strings of your essence that cling to the flimsy fabric of your panties, “This all for me?”
His fingers drag through your slick shamelessly, testing it on his fingers as he feels the heat radiating from your core. He spends little time circling your puffy clit before continuing lower, dipping one thick digit inside your tight hole. You wish at this moment that you’d worn slightly prettier panties than the plain black ones you wore right now, but if Bakugou had any issues with them he certainly didn’t seem to mind as he pumped his finger in and out of your core.
“Shit, you’re so sensitive.” He groans at the way your body responds to him, thrashing against him as he places more pressure on your clit.
“Please, Bakugou.” Your thighs quiver as he continues pumping his finger inside you, feeling the way your walls hungrily try to suck him in deeper, to take all he's got to give and more.
“Wish we weren’t in a dirty fuckin’ alley right now, princess. I’d have you sit on my face.” He groans, feeling the way your cunt clenches around him at his lewd words. You’d never wished something so bad in your life, tempted to tell him you didn’t mind if there was an audience if it meant having his lips wrapped around your clit.
“I don’t normally do this shit,” He groans, nuzzling your neck.
“Fuck strangers in alleys?” You tease as he gives you a playful smirk against your skin.
“Somethin’ like that.”
You groan as he adds another finger to join the first, stretching you open as your nails dig crescent-shaped moons into the base of his neck, leaving reddened indents against his skin as he growls from the slight twinge of pain. The sounds coming from your cunt are downright crude, echoing around the empty alley as he deliberately curls his fingers to press against the spongy spot inside you.
“Shit, you’re fuckin’ dripping.” Bakugou grunts, watching your creamy slick dribble down his fingers and settle into his palm, his thumb pressing sloppy circles against your needy clit as you shamelessly rock your hips into his touch. Greedily searching for the orgasm that he’s more than happy to give to you.
“Look at you,” He goads, “You’re so fuckin’ easy. This sloppy ‘nd I’ve barely even touched you. Is this all it takes, sweet girl?”
You don’t have the heart to tell him how long it's been since anyone touched you like this, that no matter how hard you try to replicate his touch after today, you’ll probably never feel anything like this again. It’s like he’s tempting you to say something, to give him a witty comeback. But you can’t, not when his fingers are stroking you in all the right places, stretching you out in preparation for what you know is soon to come. You spread your thighs further apart to give him more access, a movement that has a wide grin from ear to ear appearing on his face. Standing on shaky heels as he ensures you stay upright with a palm on your waist.
He knows when he’s found it, like a lost ship searching for the bright glow of a lighthouse to guide it home. Pushing his calloused digits against the same spot that he knows will have you coming undone.
“Right there, huh baby?” He coos, “Yeah, I know, I know. Such a pretty pussy.”
You must look debauched now, your tongue lolling out as you pant pathetically with your head knocking against the cold brick wall. Allowing Bakugou– a complete stranger– to do as he so pleases with you.
“Oi, you listening to me?” He growls, and you can’t even remember what he’s just said. So lost in your own bliss as he continues to press the same persistent circles against your clit, “Course you ain’t, so desperate to cum, hm?’
“Please, Bakugou.” You mumble, breaking off into a salacious moan as he increases his pace eagerly trying to push you over the edge. He’s watching intently as you writhe against him, dangerously close to your release as you pulse around his digits.
“Fuck,” He almost snarls, the sound sending shockwaves direct to your needy cunt as you feel yourself vaulting into your bliss.
His fingers don’t stop their ministrations, even as you're crying out for him and gushing all over them. He instead, increases his pace, determined to have you completely intoxicated on him before he's even begun.
“You’re so goddamn noisy, ain’tcha?” He scoffs, finally pulling his digits from your spent cunt with a crude squelch. Unabashedly holding them up to his lips as he tastes you on his tongue, groaning as though he's tasted the sweetest ambrosia as he cleans you off his skin.
“Please, Bakugou.” You slur, legs shaky from the intense orgasm he’d gifted you as he pulls his fingers from his mouth.
Bakugou’s fingers are quick to unfasten his belt, letting the heavy buckle hang as he dipped his thumbs into the hem of his boxers to pull them down along with his jeans. Letting the material settle around the curve of his ass, just enough to free his aching cock. The sight of it had your thighs quivering in anticipation, the bulging head an angry pink colour as it oozed pre from the slit. Dribbling down the underside as the veins that forked along his girth made him appear even bigger, the length of it drooped down from the sheer weight as you wondered how on earth he could keep something that size hidden beneath his jeans.
“S’big,” You murmur, biting down on your lower lip as your cunt throbs in anticipation. Even his balls look huge, thick and weighty as you watch him give himself a teasing pump. His wrist rolling as he smears pre along the length. Ready to ignore how damp and filthy the floor looks in favour of dropping to your knees to worship his cock as it deserves.
“Think you can still manage it though, sweetheart.” He grins, “I know that pretty pussy’s good for it.”
You’re almost disappointed when he pulls a condom out from his wallet in his back pocket, seemingly you’ve found the only man in the entire bar with a conscience as he rips the foil packet open with his teeth. Lifting one of your thighs up to press against his hip as his cock slips between your folds, the fat tip catching against your entrance as he sucks in a breath.
“Don’t do that,” Bakugou groans, “You’ll make me wanna fuck you raw.”
“Do it then.” You challenge, wondering whether he really is like all the sleazy men your friends end up with.
“Another time, baby.” He glowers back, pushing the tip of the condom against the head of his cock as he slides it down his length.
The first push against your tight entrance has the air stolen from your lungs, a dull ache from the stretch in your core as his thick cock slowly breaches your sex.
“Holy fuck,” He grunts, his fingers dipping into the fat of your thigh as he holds it against his hip, “You’re so tight.”
He smirks at how desperate you are to feel him inside you, trying to drop yourself down on his length as he gives a few, shallow thrusts. Your fingers dig into his skin to try and get him to give you more, rewarding you by thrusting all the way inside. One sharp rut is all it takes to have him sheathed inside you, your walls moulding to the shape of his cock as he takes a moment to cherish the sensation of you wrapped around him.
“Told you I’d slide right in, perfect fuckin’ pussy.” He groans, slowly pulling back as he glances down between you to watch his cock slide out of your warm heat before you take every inch again.
There’s not much you can do in this position except stand there and take what Bakugou’s got to give, his rough thrusts push you against the wall as he almost sweeps you off your feet. His messy pubes tickle your clit with every forward motion as your essence leaks from your needy cunt and dribbles down his heavy balls.
His scent is intoxicating, the saccharine tartness has you tugging him closer. Burying your nose into his neck to smell the mixture of cologne and his natural scent. It’s almost comforting as you cling to him a little tighter, trying to commit it to memory so you can cherish it when you inevitably end up alone after tonight.
“Oh, god.” You cling to his broad shoulders, holding him tight as he sets a brutal pace. The fabric of your dress catches against the rough brick behind you as he leaves a trail of kisses against your cheek.
The sensation is overwhelming, the pleasure rapidly building inside you as he continues thrusting into you with hard, sharp ruts of his hips. For once, the only thing you can think about is the white-hot pleasure coursing through you. The soothing ache from his cock stretching you open is almost cathartic as you let him use your body as he pleases, his rough hands groping at your exposed skin as he presses more scorching kisses against your jugular, sharp teeth nipping at your skin.
“Oh fuck, Bakugou.” You cry out, louder than intended as your toes curl from his harsh movement.
“Shit– You want us to get caught, sweetheart?” He groans, his palm reaching up to cover your mouth, “Can’t kiss you to shut’cha up, can I? So I’ll have to do this.”
And maybe it’s better this way, your lips warm against his palm as your lipstick smears against it. Otherwise, with the way he was looking down at you, you probably would’ve kissed him.
Your moans are muffled by Bakugou now, his pace unrelenting as he gives rough thrusts inside you. The lewd squelch vibrates around the empty alley and mingles with the loud thrum of bass that vibrates from inside the club. The loud bustle of voices only feet away as anyone could turn down and see you both in such a compromising position— not that it would be anything unusual. You certainly aren’t the first couple to fuck down this alley, if the empty condom wrappers and bottles are anything to go by, and you surely won’t be the last. But it’s been so unlike you to allow yourself to submit to your pleasure, to live a little.
“You still with me, pretty girl?” He groans, “Pussy feels so good. Can feel you clamping down around me.”
You whined against his palm, feeling the pleasure intensifying inside you as Bakugou continued his rough pace. Drunken patrons hollered boisterously as they left the bar causing him to shield your body with his broad back, taking his eyes off you to ensure they didn’t decide to come down the alleyway to interrupt you.
“Fuckin’ pricks.” Bakugou snarled under his breath as he stilled inside of you.
Your entire body felt as though it was on fire, hovering dangerously close to the edge of your climax as your cunt clenched around his thick cock. Causing Bakugou to suck a harsh breath through his teeth as he brought his attention back to you, the corner of his lip curling into a sly smirk.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I didn’t forget about you,” He groaned, languidly moving inside you, “Gonna make you cum so hard.”
“Please,” You mumbled, muffled by his hand as he began rolling his hips, the bulging tip of his cock catching against the spongy spot inside you with each pronounced thrust.
“Fuck,” Bakugou snarls, moving his hand from your mouth in favour of slipping it between your bodies to thumb at your clit. The sensation has your knees buckling as your weight drops, no longer able to hold yourself up. But he’s strong, keeping you pinned between his body and the wall as he keeps his unrelenting pace, “Come on, pretty girl. I know you’re close, can feel you choking me.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” It’s embarrassing really, how one man— a stranger, can have you coming undone like this in public no less.
“So fuckin’ noisy, shit-” He grunts, his ruby gaze intense as he watches you come undone.
Bakugou steals your climax from you, his thumb is unrelenting against your clit as he feels your cunt clamp down around him. The loud cry that spills from your lips has him wincing as he hopes no one’s decided to look down the alley for a free show— something that would certainly make the front page this very morning. He eases you through your high, the white spots that dance across your vision make it feel like you’re seeing stars. A sea of constellations against your eyelids as you succumb to the pleasure.
“You look so pretty when you cum,” He groans, his face buried in the apex of your neck as he inhales deeply, committing your scent to memory as he cherishes the way your cunt clenches around his cock.
Bakugou pushes his fat cock inside you, as deep as he can go. Until his balls are snug against the swell of your ass as he feels the tremble of your cunt coming down from your high. His warm breath scorches your neck as he gives himself a moment's respite before picking up his pace once more, greedily using your body to chase his own release. His palm pushes your thigh up higher against his hip, changing the angle as the swollen tip of his cock finds what it was searching for. The euphoria already surging through your veins is enhanced by the attention from his cock knocking against the same spot inside you over, and over, and over.
“Think you can give me one more, sweet girl?” He rasps, watching your thick lashes flutter as tears blind your vision.
“I– can’t,” You manage to get out between broken breaths, unadulterated pleasure coursing through your veins.
“Yeah, you can.” He coos, his thumb persistent against your clit as he ruts into the same spot inside you, “C’mon, for me?”
The sensation building inside you is almost painful, still overwhelmed from your last intense climax the pleasure still bubbling to the surface as Bakugou is unrelenting. It’s too much, and yet not enough at the same time.
“Don’t hold back, sweetheart.” He groans, “Cum for me.”
Your body feels ungovernable as you succumb to the pleasure, a cry of his name tumbling from your lips that he doesn’t try to silence as he holds your quivering body. Preventing you from thrashing as he clings to you tightly, fingertips creating divots in your plush thigh.
“Oh fuck, there we go.” He snarls primally, nostrils flaring as he gives a few final shaky ruts of his hips, spilling his release inside the condom with a grunt as you both bask in the aftershocks of your release.
You’re certain if he let go of you now you’d collapse to the dirty floor, your legs no longer strong enough to support your weight as you cling to Bakugou. And he holds you back just as tight, dropping your sore thigh in favour of wrapping his arms around your waist as he remains buried inside your fluttering cunt.
He can still feel you spasming when he finally pulls out of you, sliding the condom off his spent cock as he shamelessly throws it onto the ground. Fixing your panties before pulling your dress back down around your thighs to hide your modesty before he moves to tuck his wet cock back inside his underwear and buttons his jeans.
You hadn’t expected him to hold you so tenderly, as though you were the world's most precious porcelain. But you both stand there for what feels like forever, basking in the afterglow as you sway side to side.
A large palm raised to cup your warm cheek, the calloused pad of his thumb brushing against the soft skin as he tilted your head to meet his gaze. Leaning forward as his eyes crossed to stare at your pouty lips, closing the distance slowly until you placed a palm on his chest.
“No kissing.” You repeated, turning your head as Bakugou pulled back, squinting at you.
“Still?” Bakugou grunts, “Why the no kissin’ bullshit?”
You couldn’t explain it to him, especially not after this. Wondering if it would be easier to make up a lie about your breath smelling or being nervous.
“I just can’t.” You sounded pathetic, internally wincing at the pitiful tone of your voice.
“Yeah, why?” He continued, “You got a boyfriend or somethin’?”
He actually looked hurt as he asked the question, his crimson gaze searching your eyes for any kind of deception as you shake your head no.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Husband?” Bakugou pushes as you shake your head again.
“No.”
“Then what’s the fuckin’ problem?” He spits, slightly more harshly than intended.
“You won’t like it,”
I don’t want to know when you die. You think to yourself.
“Like fuck I won’t.” He scoffed, “Fuckin’ dumbass.”
Bakugou caught you by surprise when he wrapped his palm around your neck, holding you so tenderly as he ducked his head forward. Catching you even more by surprise as he placed his chapped lips against yours, his tongue instantly slipping past your parted lips to delve deeper.
Fuck.
The first time you’ve actually felt something for someone this had to happen. The premonition played clearly behind your eyes as you felt Bakugou’s tongue mould against your own, a deep timber groan vibrating against your mouth as he lost himself in the kiss.
Of course, whatever higher power couldn’t just let you be happy for once, you had to see the fate in store for Bakugou Katsuki.
Pulling away from your lips as his tongue poked out to taste your lipgloss, the corner of his lips curled into a smug smirk as you stared up at him in complete horror. This wasn’t good—
You’d hoped that his death would be a peaceful one, dying a natural death surrounded by his loved ones at a ripe old age. But it was anything but, the terrifying vision now imprinted onto your memory. And you wished he never kissed you, not only so he wouldn’t die but so you wouldn’t have to see this vision every time you close your eyes.
With one kiss you’d sealed his fate.
“Fuck,” He mumbled, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his breath.
You’d convinced yourself that as long as you didn’t kiss him, it would be okay— but now you’d seen the future you knew nothing would be okay.
Humans are such selfish creatures.
“Yeah, fuck.” You groaned.
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mrmorganswoman · 8 months ago
Text
no grave can hold my body down, ill crawl home to her
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summary:
arthur morgan knew he was the type of man that shouldn’t risk falling in love, but jesus she just made it so hard NOT to
a/n: first fic!! inspired by work song by hozier lol. hope y’all enjoy it Xx 💗
‘Arthur Morgan, you fool’ He thought to himself, mentally swearing for catching himself staring at their camps newest member yet again. But he just couldn’t help it. He knew he shouldn’t indulge in this. It was stupid really, any attempt at love in the past had failed him. All because of this life he chose to live. One that wasn’t easy to leave behind. Though Arthur knew, if you asked him to he’d throw it all away. God this man would do anything for you, he practically worshiped the ground you walked on. He didn’t know why he was so captivated by you, maybe it was your honey sweet voice, or the kindness you showed him right from your first day of knowing him. He couldn’t stop himself from loving every little thing about you, to him you were perfect. A goddamned goddess. He thought you deserved someone better than him. A woman such as yourself deserved to live a good life, one where the law isn’t out to get you. One where people could be out to hurt you because of your husband’s line of work. You deserved to feel safe and secure in your life. Nothing like the chaos you were living through now.
Little did Arthur know, you were feeling the exact same way about him. You had deep feelings for Arthur Morgan, you were as sweet like sugar on that man. You loved everything about him, but most of all how he treated you. He made 100% sure you felt safe and were taken care of all the time. You were one of the first people he’d check up on when returning from a job. Or you mentioned something you needed and the next day he would just so happen to need to run to town and what do you know, the exact scarf, seasoning, hair ribbon, you name it would be included in his haul. And if he was around at meal times, he would not so subtly make sure you got your portion. All of this and yet, he rarely said a word to you. It confused you to no end, it felt like he cared about you deeply but he rarely paid any attention to you. You were a lost soul before you started riding with the Van Der Lindes, and because of the Blackwater situation it was hard for the gang to let in a new mouth to feed. But ever since the beginning Arthur made you feel so welcomed. You don’t know what you did do deserve his kindness but it was deeply appreciated. Mary-Beth was CONVINCED Arthur was sweet on you, so we’re Tilly, Molly, Abigail, Karen, goodness even Susan Grimahaw herself made a comment about it you once. You wanted to believe it so badly, but he didn’t talk to you!! He could just be a kind man of little words and you’re reading into the situation all wrong.
‘Oh well…’ You thought with a sigh, flicking your eyes up from the needle work you had long been neglecting because of your thinking. To your surprise, you found a pair of beautiful blue eyes already looking in your direction…
~~~~~~~
“Shit!” Arthur swore under his breath, god dammit you were still as a staute for ages before this why’d you have to look up now?? Arthur begrudgingly tore my eyes away from t and started walking to his horse- where he was supposed to be already. Hosea wanted to take him into town for some reason he had yet to say.
“Arthur!” Hosea said warmly. He then raised an eyebrow. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble getting here?”
‘Oh I this is NOT goin’ there.’ Arthur thought.
“Course not.” He said flatly. Hosea smiled a knowing smile, before long they mounted thier horses and were off.
The ride to Valentine was thankfully silent and quick. But Arthur knew that was going to change as soon as Hosea informed him that he was taking Arthur to the saloon to “Chat over a drink” With such a grin on his face that Arthur knew he was nothing short of doomed.
After getting situated at the bar with a neat whiskey and a beer, Hosea start talking to Arthur, though it felt more like he was speaking AT at him. Making little remarks about love and what it does for people. Sharing little stories of “the joys of marriage.” …..very sneaky, Hosea.
“Hosea…. Please get to whatever point it is yer tryin’ to make here.” Arthur said, cutting into his rambling.
“Arthur….” He cooed, sounding like he was talking to some schoolyard boy. “I’ve been watching you pine over (Name) for MONTHS.”
Arthur said nothing. Nothing but a silent prayer that his cheeks weren’t burning a fiery shade of red.
“I know you’re sweet on her, it’s as obvious as a wolf standing in a pack of sheep!”
Arthur ran a hand over my face and let out a tired sigh. Hosea sipped his beer, waiting for him to respond.
“What ‘m I supposed’t say?” Arthur grumbled, crossing his arms over my chest. ‘God, what a pathetic fool I am.’ Arthur thought. “Not like she’d want an ugly bastard like me ‘nyway.”
“On the contrary! Hosea chuckles. “I was walking by the women’s tent last nigh- couldn’t sleep. Wanted to walk a bit to clear my head- and my boy you should’ve heard the things (Name) was saying about you!”
At that, Arthur sat up a little straighter. “What things…?” He asked, slightly wearily. Hosea smiled.
“Son, she’s fallen for you head first! If only you’d start speaking more then 2 words a week to her! You do so much for that girl Arthur, would it be so hard to do that too?”
He didn’t say anything. Learning that, by some fucking MIRACLE- the woman of his dreams has fallen for him was making his head spin. Could this really be happening?? Could this work?? A stab of pain shot through him as he remembered Mary, and how things ended with her. But this could be different, after all you were with the gang. You didn’t care about his life, you loved him despite it all…Arthur hadn’t dared let himself think that a love with you could possibly work out. The thought made him giddy. He felt dumb as rocks, feeling so strongly for you without ever saying a damn word to you. But he couldn’t let himself get to know you- he couldn’t bare to hear your silky voice say his name more then you already do. With such kindness, such love.He wanted to talk to you, to love you, to cherish you and worship you like you deserved to be, but-
“Hosea, I’m afraid.” Arthur said quietly. “Look at ‘er, I can’t drag this woman down the path I’m on. She doesn’t deserve a man like me.”
Hosea pushed Arthur’s untouched whiskey towards him, Arthur took the glass and downed it all in one go. He listened to Hosea’a next words at the fiery liquid settled in his stomach.
“Are you going to risk making that decision for her?”
~~~~~~~
You sat on the cold ground in front of the dying out campfire, grateful that everyone had fallen into their cots for the night. You loved the solitude of nighttime. It was so nice to be by yourself, enjoying the quiet peace of the stars above you.
Before long, your thoughts (as they always did) turned to Arthur Morgan. Hosea has returned to camp hours ago, telling you that Arthur should be back shortly. It’s been hours and still no sign of him. You knew it was normal, but you couldn’t help but worry while he was out of camp. Which was stupid really, you weren’t his girl. Just because he was kind didn’t mean you had to get your knickers all on a twist over him.
‘Damn your mysterious-ness Arthur Morgan….’
You only know you dozed off when the familiar sound of a horse whining woke you up. And then an even more familiar voice soothing the distressed animal.
“Easy girl…. Y’know I can’t spend all my time with ya’ don’t you?”
You stretched your arms out and listened to the sweet interaction. Despite him being the gang’s toughest enforcer, a wanted dead or alive outlaw, Arthur truly was a sweetheart. He treated all the women of the camp with the utmost respect and was such a help to any soul in need of. If only he knew how badly you needed him.
You from your spot on the ground, drawing the outlaws attention. He approached with a small smile.
“Glad it was jus’ you..” Arthur said, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. You on the other hand were absolutely over the MOON at the fact that Arthur had finally decided to talk to you.
“Oh I hope you’re not too disappointed Mr. Morgan!” You said with a light chuckle. Arthur, not sensing your sarcasm through his nerves, panicked.
“N-no! Not at all, ma’am! I apologize if I came off that way-”
“I’m just teasing ya’ Arthur. It’s quite alright.” You said and smiled. A smile so sweet and bright Arthur could’ve melted on the spot. Your sweet smile, the way his name rolled off your lips. Arthur wasn’t a religious man, but he might as well have been in heaven.
“(Name)….” Arthur said, his sweet southern drawl when he said your name making you blush. “I’d like to apologize. For how I’ve been treatin’ you.”
“Oh Arthur! You’ve been nothin’ but kind to me since I’ve been here- whatever are you sorry for?” You asked him, genuinely shocked at the man’s statement. Were you talking to the same Arthur who took care of your horse for you, bought you ribbons to put in your hair, and watched over you like a protective hawk? Sure he didn’t speak to you much, but you knew he was a man of few words. Even if it hurt sometimes, could live with it. You didn’t need him to love you back for you to love him all the same. You’d almost accepted it. Almost.
Arthur sighed a deep and nervous sigh, his thoughts blurring and the several whiskeys he had in him were NOT helping. Not a bit.
“You see- well it’s, it’s just-” Arthur stammered- god he was making a complete FOOL of himself!
You stepped closer to Arthur, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. You looked up at him nervously. The two of you had never been close as this. Arthur looked down at you, you had concern laced in your eyes. Concern for him. Your long hair was falling out of its messy braid, the loose strands framing your face beautifully. He could see the nights starts reflected in your eyes.
‘How beautiful..’ Arthur thought. He was completely captivated by you. ‘How could a woman like this be allowed to roam the same earth as someone like me..?’
Without even realizing what he was doing, Arthur pulled you flush against his chest, one arm wrapping around your waist and the other reaching up to cup your chin. His touch was feather light as he stroked his thumb over your face.
“I ain’t never felt like this before Miss…” Arthur mumbled, leaning his forehead down to touch your. He didn’t have time to wonder (or thank) whatever divine force gave him to courage to do this. “You got me makin’ a fool outta myself…”
You let out a soft gasp at the a sudden touch from Arthur. You had only ever been like this in your sweetest dreams, was this really happening??
“Arthur…?” You whispered, questioning him. “Wha…What ‘re you d-”
That’s it. He couldn’t take it anymore. To hell with the risks, the past to hell with it all! He had come to love you more than life itself. You were exactly what he needed in his painful and cruel life.
You were such a loving soul, treating everyone and everything around you so kindly it was heartwarming. You give and give and GIVE to everyone around you. You never judged anyone around you for their actions- past or present. You picked up chores from the other women when they needed a break. You sung little Jack to sleep when Abigail was too exhausted to lift her head from her cot. You put braided flowers into your beautiful long hair whenever you had a moment to yourself. You smiled at him every morning when you left your tent to begin your day. You always kept the pink silk scarf he picked up for you and left in your tent with a note in the pocket of your skirt. You picked at nails and hummed when you were nervous. You loved staying up late, gazing at the stars and admiring the universe. He had pages upon pages of you doing exactly that sketched in his journal.
You were heaven sent. You were perfect. The world didn’t fucking deserve you.
Arthur slammed his lips down onto yours without wasting another moment. And he shuddered at the feelings of your lips finally being against his own. You kissed him back just has hard, standing on your tip toes to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. You felt his tongue slide against his bottom lip, and wasted not a moment opening your mouth to let him in.
Months of longing, tension, were fought out as your tongues pushed against each other. Of course Arthur won, you could barely contain the moan that was building in the back of your throat when you felt his tongue exploring your mouth like a starving man. If he hadn’t been holding you so tightly, you would’ve fallen over. The sheer want and desperation of the kiss made your knees go completely weak.
Unfortunately, you both needed air and had to pull away. Arthur rested his forehead against your own. The both of you stood there, panting with closed eyes. Neither wanting the moment to end.
When you eventually opened your eyes, you looked up at Arthur. And couldn’t help the giddy smile that spread across your face. Arthur wrapped both of his strong arms around your waist, and he smiled sweetly back at you. You both stood there for a moment, swaying gently back and forth as you embraced each other. The silence that fell between you both was comfortable and welcome as you gazed into each others eyes, both sharing the same look of love and adoration.
Arthur was the one who finally broke the silence between the two of you, and you will never forget his next words.
“Please darlin’” He whispered. “I’m beggin’ you… I want you to be my girl. I’m sorry I was a fool for such a long time-”
You leaned up on your tip toes and silenced him with a gentle kiss.
“I wouldn’t have you any other way, Mr. Morgan.”
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sailorstar9 · 24 days ago
Text
My Childhood Friend Who Stole My Fiancé Tried to Do The Same Thing Again Warning: Anti-Diluc, Anti-Donna, Angst
Trigger warning: Cheating
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F/N was a 24-year-old daycare teacher working at Galesong Daycare, a sub-branch of the Favonius Cathedral orphanage in Mondstadt. She loves her job because she got to hang out with kids every day and her relationship with the parents are good, too. She also got to work under a helpful boss and great colleagues.
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One day, Donna, one of F/N's old friends, asked F/N to grab a drink with her.
“I heard what happened.” Donna told F/N over a glass of sparkling berry juice. “Master Diluc proposed to you, right?”
“Wait.” F/N paused in mid-sip of her berry and mint burst. “Who told you that?”
“You should've told me yourself, F/N.” Donna rebuked. “We're friends, right?”
“It just happened a week ago so I only had told my closest friends.” F/N defended.
“So, you're finally getting married.” Donna sighed dramatically. “You're acting like you don't want me to know about this. I just heard it in a rumour.”
“I just don't want everyone in the world finding out.” F/N pointed out.
“You should be sharing this news to everyone.” Donna insisted. “Besides, if people find out that you're marring Master Diluc, they're gonna go crazy. He's the most eligible bachelor in all of Mondstadt.”
“Is that why you asked me to come and have drinks with you today?” F/N asked.
“What did he say when he proposed to you?” Donna pressed. “Tell me.”
“He proposed to me on Starsnatch Cliff.” F/N replied.
“That's kinds of cliché.” Donna admitted. “But who cares? You're marrying Master Diluc. That's all that matters.”
“Thanks...?” F/N blinked in confusion.
“When're you having your wedding?” Donna continued her interrogation. “Have you met Adelinde yet?”
“That's enough questions for today.” F/N put a pause on Donna's intense questioning. “I don't want you to dig into our relationship too much.”
“Don't be so petty, F/N.” Donna fumed.
“I'm not trying to be petty. “F/N defended. “It's just that it happened so recently, that nothing's been decided yet. I'll tell you everything once it's been confirmed.”
“I wish I was dating Master Diluc.” Donna moaned.
That night, Donna ended up drinking way more than five cocktails and F/N had to bring her home.
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A few months later...
Diluc had met F/N's parents and had taken her to Crepus' grave inform his late father.
Shortly after the wedding preparations were finalized, Diluc returned to the Dawn Winery manor after another business meeting, looking a little depressed.
“Adelinde, is my bath ready?” Diluc asked, hanging up his heavy coat.
“It's already warmed up, Master.” Adelinde replied.
Is something wrong?” F/N, seated by the fireplace with a book, looked up worriedly at the redhead. "It looks like something is bothering you.”
“I don't know how to tell you this.” Diluc racked his fingers through his hair. “Especially with the wedding coming up, but... let's break up.”
This sudden declaration just came out of left field, leaving F/ shocked.
“Diluc, stop joking around.” F/N pleaded.
“I'm not joking.” Diluc insisted.
“But you're looking forward to this wedding, just like I was.” F/N reminded. “Just tell me why.”
“I'm dating one of your friends now; her name is Donna.” Diluc admitted. “You know, the girl working at Floral Whisper?”
“You've got to be kidding me.” F/N hissed. “You can't be serious right now. How did you two end up dating?”
“She said she would listen to me vent about my life.” Diluc sighed. “And that's how we first talked.”
“In other words, she lured you in.” F/N concluded.
“Yes,” Diluc confessed. “The more we met, the more I fell in love with her. We started seeing each other three months ago. Sorry.”
“I can't believe you!” F/N fumed. “You cheated on me. Why did you have to keep our relationship going if you don't love me anymore?”
“I'll pay you compensation.” Diluc offered. “I'll also tell the wedding venue and the people we invited that the wedding is cancelled.”
“You thought you could just pay me off and solve this?” F/N snapped. “You betrayed me; both you and Donna did.”
“This isn't her fault.” Diluc defended Donna. “This is all my fault. Could you not blame her for this?”
“I trusted you, Diluc!” F/N screamed. “I loved you! I spent so much time with you. Looks like it's all just a waste. You don't have to cancel the wedding; just change the bride.” she snapped and stormed out of the manor.
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The next morning....
“Hey, F/N.” Donna greeted. “How's it going? You finished preparing for your wedding yet?”
“I can't believe you have the gall to greet me like nothing happened, Donna.” F/N snarled.
“Why are you so angry?” Donna feigned ignorance.
“You know exactly why.” F/N spat. “Diluc told me everything last night; about you and him.”
“So you finally found out?” Donna giggled. “That's right, Master Diluc and I are madly in love. I stole the most important person that you had in your life. Master Diluc told you he wanted to break up with you, right? How does it feel to be betrayed like that?” she mocked, laughing. “I loved Master Diluc ever since I first laid eyes on him; it was love at first sight. I've been trying to get his attention for so long, but then, you came along and he began courting you. I was so pissed.”
“That's why you just decided to steal him from me?” F/N asked.
“That's right.” Donna bragged. “He deserves way better than you. I should've been the future Lady Ragnvindr from the very beginning. You can beg, but I'm not going to give him back to you. I'm already pregnant with the next Ragnvindr heir, so...” she grinned. “You don't have to act so tough. I know you're on the verge of crying.”
“Just marry him then.” F/N shrugged.
“I have your blessing?” Donna squealed. “Thank you.”
“I have nothing else to say to you.” F/N waved farewell to Donna. “Goodbye.”
With her resignation letter in her pocket, she headed off to Galesong Daycare.
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Shortly afterwards...
F/N received a large amount of Mora from Diluc as compensation; Donna had also quit her job because of her pregnancy.
Diluc had tried to reason with F/N, but she wasn't having any of it; she gathered all of her belongings and moved out of the Dawn Winery manor.
“Are you sure you want to study in Liyue?” F/N's mother asked, after she informed her of her decision to go to Liyue to study law.
“I don't wanna live so close to the people who betrayed me.” F/N answered. “A new scenery might do wonders.”
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A few months later...
“You missed a stroke there.” a deep masculine voice sounded behind F/N as she worked on her homework.
“Mister Zhongli.” F/N gasped in surprise, turning to see the consultant behind her.
“It's only been a few months since you arrived in Liyue, hasn't it?” Zhongli took a seat opposite of F/N at the table and poured himself a cup of tea. “Allow me to show you around.”
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Sometime later...
“F/N,” Zhongli started during one of their night walks. “Will you grant me the honour of courting you? I swear my feelings for you are true and unwavering.”
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A year later...
“It's been some time since I visited the Land of the Winds.” Zhongli remarked outside Mondstadt City, the couple arriving just in time for the Windblume Festival; and also F/N wanted to introduce Zhongli to her parents.
“F/N?” Donna was shocked to see F/N entering the city.
“Are you Donna?” F/N blinked.
“I finally found you.” Donna fumed. “Where have you been?”
“I don't have to tell you that.” F/N retorted. “You betrayed me and stole my fiancé from me, remember?”
“Why are you digging up the past all of the sudden?” Donna demanded.
“It's only been two years since that happened.” F/N reminded. “You think I already forgave you or something? I thought my life was over because of you two.”
“Is this your friend, F/N?” Zhongli inquired.
“This is one of my old friends growing up.” F/N replied.
“I see...” Zhongli noted. “So, that's her.”
“Who's that handsome foreign gentleman standing next to you, F/N?” Donna instantly gushed over the 'retired' Geo Archon.
“And why do you sound so excited?” F/N hissed.
“My name is Donna.” Donna cosied up to Zhongli.
“Stay away from Zhongli.” F/N snapped.
“So, Zhongli is his name?” Donna cooed. “That's such a wonderful name. He's gonna be mine from now on, F/N.”
“What are you talking about?” F/N retorted. “This is my boyfriend.”
“He's so clearly out of your league.” Donna mocked.
“Donna, stop embarrassing yourself in front of him.” F/N sighed.
“You know that I'm kinder and prettier than you, don't you?” Donna taunted. “So, give me your boyfriend.”
“Enough.” Zhongli stepped forward. “i already have a girlfriend I love very much. F/N told me all about you and all about what you did to her. You're a terrible person, do you know that?”
“Why would you tell him about me?” Donna wailed. “That's not fair.”
“How is it not fair?” F/N fired back. “It's the truth. Aren't you married to Diluc? And you also have a kid with him? So, where's the kid?”
“Adelinde is so tough on me!” Donna wailed. “She forced me take up etiquette and dance lessons so that I won't bring shame to the Ragnvindr name. It was a complete disaster. Even after I had our child, I was always super busy entertaining the manor business visitors; I had no free time. They treated my son well because he's the heir and was gonna take over the family business. But they never treated me as family. I started losing hair because of the stress and they won't even let me see the doctor. The Diluc I loved was nowhere to be seen. This is what I get for thinking I'd be happy if I stole your fiancé from you.”
Donna was sobbing her eyes out and she looked super stressed; she had lost weight and was a completely different person from two years ago. “And now, they're taking my son away from me.” she cried. “They won't even let me hold him. That's why I decided to run away and then I met you.”
“Why did you act like you wanted to take Zhongli away from me?” F/N asked.
“Can't you tell?” Donna fumed. “I can't let you be happy. It's just not fair. You forced me to date Diluc. You're the reason I'm like this now. You're gonna pay for this!”
“You brought this upon yourself.” Zhongli corrected, stepping in between F/N and the charging Donna. “You stole him from F/N, remember? You shouldn't take your anger on F/N. It's wrong. You took her happiness away from her. You deserve to have it taken from you, too. I need to protect F/N from you, whatever it takes.”
“I just wanted to be happy...” Donna bawled. “I loved Diluc... I really did... I hate you!” she ran away, weeping. “I hate you all! I hope you all become unhappy!”
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Afterwards...
One of the Ragnvindr guards located Donna and dragged her back to the manor.
Donna begged for a divorce, but her parents had received a substantial dowry from Diluc, so they refused to help her.
“Why...” Donna wailed in the dark room that served as her solitary confinement room. “Why is this happening to me? I just wanted to be happy. I just didn't think it was fair. F/N didn't deserve Diluc. It wasn't fair.”
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Meanwhile...
“F//N, marry me and be my wife.” Zhongli proposed with a handcrafted Cor Lapis ring.
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A/N: Writing this so I can get the Geo grandpa on my main account. He dodged me yesterday.
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