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lorialia · 18 days ago

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⋆ sweet temptation ⋆

pairing: best friend!han jisung x fem!reader

genre: smut, minors dni.

summary: you and your best friend accidentally devour an entire box of sex chocolates while watching a pirated version of the movie ponyo. now you're left to deal with the consequences.

a/n: this came about after i submitted a similar thirst for @daydreams-after-dark 's birthday month event . . . so if you're seeing this, hi :) thanks for the indirect motivation to start a skz blog and post this. i hope you all enjoy ♡

warnings: dom!hanji, sub fem!reader, accidental use of sex chocolates/aphrodisiacs, dry humping, unprotected sex, very messy and wet, creampie, pet names(baby), possessive language, multiple orgasms, technically there's no verbal consent but they're both enthusiastic

"This is bullshit. I swear it is."

“What do you mean?" Jisung says, staring at you accusingly from across the couch. His wispy black hair falls in front of his round glasses, and his fingers reach up to brush it away so he can give you a halfhearted glare. "I put Ponyo in B-tier. That means it's good."

Your nose crinkles in pure disgust, absolute horror at the dingy laptop placed on your best friend’s ottoman. The screen glitches every once in a while, but you see the brightly colored tierlist clear as day. There’s Ponyo—one of your favorite Studio Ghibli movies of all time, a masterpiece of visual art and fairytale storytelling—in B-tier. Middle of the road. Average.

“It deserves better than just good!” You insist, convinced that he has the worst taste on planet Earth. “C’mon. At least put it up a tier.”

“Next to My Neighbor Totoro? Fuck no.”

“Fuck you!”

“Woah woah woah, language,” Jisung replies cheekily, and you grumble, tipping back to sink your head into the cushions of your best friend’s couch. If he even is your best friend after this anyways.

You and Jisung have been hanging out at his apartment for hours, chatting about basically anything and everything. It’s an especially exciting night; his roommate is out visiting family for the weekend, meaning the two of you have the whole place to yourselves.

“Don’t make a mess,” Minho had said through the phone. “I don’t want to clean up once I get back home.”

So far, you’ve had halfhearted success in baking cinnamon rolls, little-to-no success cooking dinner, and full success in ordering barbeque chicken. The kitchen had barely survived through it all, but aside from an occasional utensil on the floor it’s pretty clean.

Aside from your cooking ventures, you two have taken it upon yourselves to rank all the Studio Ghibli movies on a tierlist. Some of his takes surprise you, maybe frustrate you— but none of them fill you with such rage as seeing Ponyo in B-Tier.

“When was the last time you watched this movie?” You ask, almost demand. Jisung pretends to think for a moment; his soft lips pursing together in contemplation.

“Uhh… when I was twelve.”

“Oh for fuck's sake,” You reach over to his laptop and grab it, typing furiously to find a pirated URL for the movie. “We’re watching Ponyo tonight. No buts.”

“Fine,” Jisung says, extending the ‘e’. Out of the corner of your eye you spot him picking up the empty plastic containers of your dinner. He pouts, lips jutting out exaggeratedly when he finds the tins utterly empty. “Aww man, no more food. I’ll go see if there’s any leftovers in the kitchen.”

“Okay,” You idly reply, too busy trying to bypass the stupid ad pop-ups on his computer. You mash a couple of buttons, open and close a few tabs, and boom, you’re in.

Meanwhile, Jisung has gone and returned from the kitchen. In his hands he holds a random box of chocolates that he tosses into your waiting hands. “Found these in the back of the pantry. Probably Minho’s.”

You open the cardboard flap and dig your hand inside, pulling out a rectangle-shaped chocolate wrapped in pretty red tinfoil. You don’t care to read the name—the room is too dimly lit to see anyway—and rip open the package, finding two square chocolates waiting for you.

“Huh,” You comment, holding up the two chocolate pieces. “I’ve never seen chocolates that come in twos before.”

A hand snatches one of the chocolates away and you turn to see Jisung chewing. His adams apple bobs as he swallows. “Mmm, cherry. You should try it.”

You glance at the singular square held between your fingertips, and shrug before popping it in your mouth.

An hour later, you and Jisung are curled up together watching Ponyo. From glances and little remarks here and there, he seems to be enjoying it, and thank god he does. You couldn’t stand seeing Ponyo be misplaced any longer.

During a particularly captivating underwater scene, you reach for the box of chocolates—only to find the insides empty. You blink for a moment, tearing your eyes away from the screen, and realize you and Jisung have eaten them all.

“Aww,” Your eyebrows furrow in annoyance, but you remove yourself from the pile of blankets to toss the box in the trash. Your best friend remains engrossed in the movie, only shifting to adjust his glasses.

You think to check the brand on the box before you throw it away. It would be nice to get again, after all. The chocolates tasted pretty good—

“Jisung.”

The serious tone of your voice jerks your best friend back into reality, and he hurries to pause the movie. His gaze flickers up to yours with a slight level of concern. “What’s up?”

“These chocolates…” You audibly gulp, and your mind swims from reading the label on the box. “I don’t think these are regular ones.”

“Then what are they?” Jisung crawls over from his side of the couch and leans over your shoulder. His breath tickles your neck as he speaks. “Weed?”

You point to the packaging. It’s sensually decorated, with elegant lettering and a good number of red hearts littering the front. Right in the center are two words: aphrodisiac chocolate.

Jisung’s eyes bulge wide open and he blinks several times. “Sex chocolate?!”

“Yeah,” You let out a breathless, winded chuckle. Your eyes are equally as wide as his. “How many did we eat?”

Over the next minute, you and Jisung rummage around the couch and collect as many wrappers as you can. With each find, you’re more and more flabbergasted—assuming you two had an equal amount, you can say that you probably had ten to twelve chocolates…each.

“Holy shit,” is the only thing he can say for the next minute. You check the back of the box and discover more lovely news: the recommended amount is one to three squares per person.

There’s silence for the next couple of minutes after that.

The two of you must look so stupid, crouching over copious candy wrappers, dumbfounded by your dual idiocy. What the fuck were you going to do?

Jisung attempts to answer that question in breaking the silence. “So essentially…we’re gonna get super horny.”

“Yeah,” You respond, wincing. “I’m kind of trying not to think about that right now.”

“Well- I mean- You- I- ugh,” Jisung rubs his temples sorely. For once he’s completely serious, no giggles, no jokes. It concerns you as much as it frightens you. “How long until it kicks in?”

“A few hours, it says.”

“Any way to reverse the effects?”

“We already ate the chocolates, Sungie. I don’t think we can get them out.”

“Fuck,” He stares at the empty container. “What are we gonna do then?”

You open your mouth to respond and find it dry. Suddenly you’re hyperaware that in an undisclosed amount of time, both you and your best friend will be incredibly horny. In an apartment together, with no distractions. Just you and him.

You’re tempted to run for the hills. Grab your bag and race home to deal with it all on your own, rather than face this volatile situation and the can of worms that is your undeniable attraction to a man you swore never to date. It feels like the better situation for a split second; enough for you to place one foot on the ground in an effort to stand up from the couch.

Jisung’s head whips up immediately, and the panicked, almost desperate flash in his eyes freezes you in place. It’s almost a plea, a look that stirs something deep in your gut: Please. Don’t go.

You sit back down.

“So…wanna watch the rest of Ponyo?”

By the end of the movie, Jisung moves Ponyo up to A-tier. Normally you’d gloat in his face and criticize his judgmental movie taste—but you can’t seem to get the thought of the chocolates out of your head. It doesn’t help that he's uncomfortably close, his hoodie brushing up against your shoulder with every breath.

He doesn’t say anything as he shuts the laptop, doesn’t look at you as he leans back on the couch. His eyes are distant. Unfocused, dazed like you’ve only seen when he’s dead drunk.

You only need to wonder why for a moment before you notice just how burning hot you are.

Your shirt tightly sticks to you like a vice, and your head fogs like smoke filling the air. The thick pulse in your chest can’t seem to subside, and you feel your skin heat up more with every second that passes.

One sensation rushes in even stronger, an ache from your lower half. Your thighs squeeze together involuntarily, feeling for some sort of relief, any sort of relief. God, you’ve never wanted a dick more in your entire life.

And your best friend happens to be sitting right across from you with one.

Shit. No. You can’t think that way about him; you shouldn’t look. He’s your best friend—but your gaze moves on its own and hones in on the very obvious bulge in his sweatpants.

You glance upwards. Jisung’s cheeks are flushed. A bead of sweat trails down his forehead. He can’t seem to stop swallowing. His pretty dark eyes are not trained on yours but on the way your thighs press against each other for friction. He stares as if he’s devouring you whole.

“Jisung?” You say softly, your voice almost hoarse in your throat. There is no need to whisper. It’s just you and him, in his apartment together, alone.

“…Yeah?”

“Are you feeling it too?”

Jisung still can’t seem to look you in the eyes. He nods, slowly.

You crawl closer.

“Fuck,” He sputters out breathlessly. His hand reaches up to shakily adjust his glasses. Sweat seems to drip down the side of his face and off his chin. He wipes it away.

You inch closer, and with every shuffle you hear Jisung’s breath grow more ragged. His hands move all over himself— adjusting the gray sweatpants you want to ruin so badly, make a mess all over and cum on, brushing away the same strand of hair over and over. He still can’t seem to look at you.

Finally, you arrive right in front of him. You sit with your legs spread wide, your shorts doing little to cover up the arousal starting to drip down your thigh. Your knees, planted on the couch cushion, brush against his legs. His breath stops.

You reach up and gently grab ahold of his chin. Slowly, you turn his head so he comes face to face with your equally flushed face.

“Oh my god.”

In an instant, Jisung’s lips press against yours; he practically climbs on top of you, pinning you down into the furniture. His arms reach and wrap around whatever he can as he drinks from the taste of your lips in a dizzying rhythm. It’s insistent, messy, desperate. Your mouths move in a tangled dance, hoping each to swallow the other whole.

His fingers find the bottom hem of your shirt and hook underneath it to tug it up. You oblige and revel in each and every touch you can get.

Your shirt is shoved above your breasts, and Jisung doesn't bother to unclasp your bra—opting to move the fabric aside instead. He breaks the kiss to ogle at your bare chest. His eyes are lidded and you swear that his pupils are heart-shaped, and he sighs, almost dreamily. Like he's seen a piece of heaven.

“God, you're fucking beautiful,” He mutters from above you. “I'm sorry, I just can't....”

His words send a rush of heat straight to your core, and you whine. Next thing you know, he has his hands on your knees and spreads your legs apart so he can slot himself between them.

The friction of his pants against your clothed clit makes you keen—usually you aren't so sensitive, if not for those chocolates. Every sensation seems to be heightened.

"Sungie~" You whimper as Jisung rocks his hips against yours, your legs wrapping around his waist. He leans down to capture your lips in his once more, hungry for the hints of chocolate he tastes.

Everything is sloppy and coordinated; he grinds into you like a bunny in heat, groaning at every bit of friction between his gray sweatpants and your cotton shorts. It's hot and stuffy, but you've never felt so good in your life.

"Feel so good, shit-" Jisung mumbles between messy kisses. His glasses are fogged and hanging half off his nose, but he couldn't care less. "Wanna fuck you so badly- you want that? Want me to fuck you- ah, god~ like you deserve?"

Jisung shoves his head down into your chest, burying himself between your two mounds as he presses up on you from below. He kisses your skin and moves slightly to suckle on your right nipple, making you keen. His soft boba eyes peek out to look up at you, dazed and sick with sticky desire.

Your cunt clenches around nothing, throbs under the way Jisung's clothed cock hits your clit repeatedly. You want him to fuck you so bad, need your best friend's dick to split you open.

"Fuck me please," You beg, your voice trembling and thoughts hazy with lust. You've never begged for a man before, but Jisung is simply different in every way. "Please, Jisung, Sungie, please-"

He audibly groans, as if the sound of your voice gets him any closer to heaven. He wrenches himself away from your cunt to slip down his pants just enough for his thick, veiny cock to slip out. Meanwhile, you can't resist slipping your hand under the waistband of your shorts, to your needy wet cunt. You rub your clit with two of your fingers, whining softly at the stimulation of your swollen bud.

Suddenly, Jisung's hands wrap around the hem of your shorts and panties—he tugs them down all at once, exposing your sobbing pussy to his greedy view. You look up and his eyes are hungry, lidded and clouded with want, zeroed in on your cunt. You think he might be drooling.

Jisung hurries to press his cock against your wetness. He's shaky, almost trembling as he guides his mushroom tip through your folds, his breath coming out in stutters.

Even with just the tip, it's big. You feel like you're split open, and every inch of his cock entering your pussy sends a shiver of pleasure down your spine. It doesn't even hurt with how wet it is, and he slides in like warm butter. He practically collapses onto you as soon as he bottoms out, his head buried in your neck.

His cock twitches inside you, and you realize through the haze that Jisung isn't moving. He's whining softly, breathlessly, but his hips do little more than tremble.

"Jisung-"

"Don't," He shushes you. His voice is raspy and desperate, and he mouths at your neck between words. "I-I'm trying not to cum."

You whine, wanting any sort of friction—but Jisung doesn't budge. Then you squirm a little, just to feel it a little more, and both of you let out audible moans. He grabs your hips roughly to hold you in place.

"F-fuck-" He swears, and there's a growl in the back of his throat. "Are you trying to get me to cum inside?"

The idea of his cum filling you up sends a rush through your bones. You inadvertently clench around him, and the grip on your hips becomes so strong it might bruise.

"Y-you want it that bad? Fine then. Fucking take it."

Jisung starts a relentless pace; he groans into your neck and holds your hips down so you take every inch of him with every thrust. His tip brushes up against your cervix sweetly, and you keen, your hands tangling into his black hair.

"You're so wet baby-" He mutters, stamping in a word between rough thrusts. "So. Fucking. Tight. God, bet no one has made you feel this good, huh? Say it."

You can barely find the words, letting punched-out moans every time his cock kisses your cervix. "Y-you're the only one, Ji!"

"That's it," He says, his pace speeding up impossibly faster. He's hardly going in a pattern, just bunny fucking into you like there's no tomorrow. "This pussy belongs to me, doesn't it? All mine~"

Jisung changes his grasp; he gets a hold of your thighs and spreads them so he can fuck you deeper. It's a welcome change—and you remove one hand from his hair to clamp over your mouth, your moans becoming unabashedly noisy. Your eyes squeeze shut and roll back behind your eyelids. "O-oh Jisung, that feels good-"

"Baby, baby please, I gotta cum- gonna cum inside, want that? You want that?" He says, and his hand shakily moves to rub his palm against your clit.

You cry out, about to tip over the edge. You want it more than you've ever wanted anything in your life. "P-please!"

Jisung groans loudly, not bothering to muffle the noise as he cums inside. You cum at the same time, whimpering into his tangled-up hair. His hips stutter but they don't halt; he fucks his cum into you lazily. You whimper at the sensation of his warm cream filling your insides. It's messy and deliciously wet.

"Jisung," You mumble out, still feeling a burning ache. You're addicted to the pull of his cock inside your walls. "I- I want-"

He interrupts you with a groan; then his hips begin to pound into you once more, moaning into the skin of your neck. He simply can't stop, even when you let out a high-pitched cry.

"I'm sorry baby- just had to. Your pussy is sucking me in-" Jisung grunts. His voice is nearly drowned out by the wet squelch of every thrust into your creamy cunt. "Just one more, one more, that's it~"

You feel like you're being folded in half from the way he presses you down, your thighs moving to rest on his shoulders. He ruts into you with reckless abandon, and his hands find themselves digging into the couch on either side of your head.

Jisung lifts his head up so it's right above yours, and you see him for the first time in what feels like ages. His glasses are long gone, and his lips are slightly ajar as he groans senselessly with every thrust. The pinkness of his round cheeks and the lidded pleasure in his eyes matches yours; he leans down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss.

You moan into his mouth sweetly, and he hums in delight. There's no rhythm to the way he kisses you and fucks you—just pleasure-driven madness, desperation to feel you in every way.

"Mine," He mumbles, almost to himself as he pounds into you desperately. "Gonna cum in you again, fill you up~ my baby, all mine-"

You clench despite the tired ache in your thighs. You want him to cum in you over and over, spill his semen and let him fuck it into you again. You want him completely, irrevocably.

It's this thought that sends you over the edge for a second time; you wail, unable to make out any words as a wave of pleasure washes over you. Jisung messily kisses you throughout, muffling the sounds that escape your lips with his own.

He thrusts a few more times, groaning senselessly into your mouth before finally cumming again. Another warm sensation floods your insides and you sigh in satisfaction.

Jisung crumples onto your body and simply lays limp on top of you. Neither of you can bring yourselves to move.

"Best sex ever." He croaks out with a hoarse voice, and you laugh tiredly.

The next morning, you wake up on the couch. Jisung is laying next to you, his body tangled with yours. He stirs as you shuffle and pull yourself up from the cushions.

"Morning," You whisper, and he responds with a soft hum. His hair is adorably chaotic and worsens as he runs a hand through it. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," He says, and sits up with a groan of pain. "God, my joints. I feel like I blew out my back."

You notice a similar soreness in your thighs, but you tease him regardless. "You old man."

"Shut up," Jisung replies with no real malice. He looks down at you with surprising affection, his boba eyes twinkling with joy. You can't help but smile at the sight.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You say, an amused breath leaving your lips.

"Nothing," He grins cheekily. "Just that I got to have sex with my best friend who I've liked for an entire year."

You blink in shock, and Jisung giggles. "What? You're surprised?"

"No, I mean- yeah," You find yourself stumbling over your words, a pink blush appearing on your cheeks. "I mean, we did fuck yesterday, I just didn't expect you to say it so...bluntly."

"Well I did," Jisung lowers his voice to a soft whisper. He leans in close so his lips nearly brush against yours. "I like you."

"I like you too," You reply bashfully, and you can't resist kissing him. It's slow and saccharine sweet, nothing like the desperate messes you were yesterday. He sighs like a love-struck teenager as you pull away.

"Minho's gonna kill us," He mumbles dreamily. You burst out laughing.

#why did this take so long actually #i mean it took a few days to write but i sat down a couple days ago thinking i'd get it done in a couple hours #anyways i love two stupid best friends <3 #⋆ jinnie's fics ⋆#han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids smut #han jisung x you #han jisung x y/n #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you

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tokoyamisstuff · 1 month ago

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Voice of Treason

Squid Game S2 Spoilers ahead!

A/N: just a lil' drabble written on my phone, but this man got a chokehold on me so I needed to get it out of my system

A bloodcurling scream echoed through the hallways as you witness player 390's lifeless body drop to the ground.

You didn't even know his real name.

Both you and 456 had been forced on your knees, wailing on the ground as you mourned the death of your allies, well aware your own demise was imminent.

This whole ordeal was futile from the start, but you had decided that you'd follow this reckless fool to the grave rather than dying for the sick entertainment of a rich elite without even putting up a fight.

"Where is 001? What did you do to him, you bastard?!"

In-ho's face dropped behind the angular plastic of his mask, taken aback by your worry for him despite of your own hopeless situation. "Why do you care?" the distorted voice spoke callous despite his inner turmoil. "The man you got to know is long dead."

You collapse at this revelation and you let out heartbroken sobs, hugging your belly as if to cling to the last thing that kept you from spiraling into despair.

Gi-hun observed your interaction with great pity. It was understandable to develop feelings for another while trapped in such an insane life-and-death situation, especially since 001 had been especially protective of you due to your circumstance.

But player 456 that has become a mentor towards you had warned you several times to not give in to this irrational sentiment, reminding you that the man you fell for had an expecting wife waiting for him back home.

"Take them away" he orders his henchmen, withdrawing the gun before tearing his eyes away from you. "The game needs to continue."

"Take him" the man dressed in all-black ordered his henchmen, gesturing towards player 001 before busying himself with you again. "The game needs to continue."

Gi-hun's pleads to spare you if not for the unborn child's sake went on deaf ears as a bag was put over his head and he was dragged away.

The Frontman lifted his gun again, the shaking of his hand barely noticeable as the barrel stroke almost gently across your cheek, a black trail of gunpowder trailing his movement. With one swift movement he put it underneath your chin, forcing you to look up to him one final time.

In a last act of resistance you spat at the man's feet, your relentless glare imbued with hatred as it bore into his skull. "You're a monster!"

"I know."

And yet he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger.

While you assumed sadistic glee as his motivator, In-ho was shocked with himself, caught in a labyrinth of his own mind. After a while of letting those conflicting emotions ravage his heart, he withdrew his weapon, signalizing the guard behind you to knock you out before sending a bullet straight to his head.

What he plans to do cannot allow any witnesses, even among his own ranks.

*~´*~´*~´*

God knows how much time had passed since then, but when you finally regained consciousness, only one question was burning urgently:

Why are you still alive?

You jolted up in a rush of adrenaline, scanning the unfamiliar room you were brought to. The interior was almost completely dipped in pitch black, even the furniture was no exception.

A new game, maybe?

Eventually your eyes caught the silhouette lurking in a corner of the room, leaned over in a huge armchair. That damned mask of his did nothing to hide the piercing glare you could feel underneath.

Feeling your rapid breaths and how your body started to tremble uncontrollably, panic threatened to consume your every sense.

Your mind was invaded with countless horrid scenarios to why a deranged man like him would take you back to - as it appeared - his private bedchamber.

The sheer sight of him was a nightmare, but seeing him approaching you with firm, deliberate steps shook you to the core. He pries off one of his gloves, laying them on the nightstand besides you with his whole demeanour perfectly composed.

A violent tremor jolts through your body as he reached out for you, however he merely places his hand onto your belly, unable to hold back a muffled gasp as he feels it kick beneath his palm.

"I had a doctor check on you while you were unconscious" he disclosed as if it was some sort of generous act. "The baby is perfectly fine. A little fighter, like it's mother."

It was meant to be a placating gesture but it had the complete opposite effect on you, not daring to guess the reason for his sudden interest.

Your face contorts in disgust and you shuffle away from his touch, pulling your knees to your chest and wrap the blanket over your belly, as if to shield it from this homicidal maniac. "Why- What do you want from me, you fucking lunatic?!"

There was a while of strained silence between your question and his answer.

"I told you to stay back, you foolish girl" he sighed, striping the hood from his head but his hand hesitated on the buckle of his mask. "But you insisted on joining this pathetic revolt."

The moment he unveiled his face your world scattered for the second time today, as you were confronted with the face of a dead man - at least the one you had mourned and wept for just shortly before.

Oh just seconds ago your greatest wish was to be able to see him one last time, to confess the things you had preserved until it felt like you'd burst with that secret admiration for him.

Right now however it was like staring straight into the abyss.

He forced his lips into a crooked bow, that fake excuse of a smile you had always thought to be remnant of the hardships he had to endure. But now you saw it - or rather him - for what it truly was.

This couldn't be real. It mustn't be real.

You replayed those words in your head over and over again, but they morphed into a nonsensical jumble, blurring with the overwhelming torment of confusion and betrayal.

He gazed at you with bated breath as he awaited your reaction, desperate to find any hint, at least a glimmer of affection in your features.

"Young-il?" you stammered with a meek, broken voice that buried him underneath a wave of shame he wasn't aware he could still feel.

He shakes his head. "No. My real name is Hwang In-ho...I'm sorry."

You knew the whole time, didnt you?

Something about him was off from the very start. The way he carried himself seemed to robotic, as if he was merely playing a role. Deep down you had always wondered about how his story never fully added up, so many times you ignored any suspicious behavior of his out of some twisted dependency.

And ever since you personally witnessed how he snapped the other contestant's neck without any remorse you had a plaqueing feeling that he wasn't who he claimed to be.

There was a wordless aggreement to keep quiet about this particular incident, due to your egoistical necessity of his protection.

That's when it dawned on you - he had already pulled you down to his level, made you his accomplice through your silence. And even now, all this time not even a single thought about the fate of your comrades had crossed your mind until now.

He only barely outranks you in selfish cruelty.

"Was-" you choke on a sob, feeling his thumb tenderly wipe away your tears just to be replaced with new ones. "Was it all a lie?"

"Not everything." In-ho spoke with a hint of melancholy in his bearing. "I did have an ill wife, back when I first participated. You remind me of her a lot actually...strong-willed and yet gentle." There was an undeniable reverence in his tone and the way his hand was still gracing your cheek. "I participated and won just for her...but when I returned, she was already gone."

You were torn between the seething anger and an irrational urge to comfort this grief-strickened man, in your shock the severity of his words not leaving you unscathed. "That- that still doesn't excuse a single one of your actions!" Refusing to give in you spat venom at him either way, reminding yourself the aching of your heart should be nothing but newfound hatred for the man.

"I'm aware" The Frontman neither aggrees nor denies your accusations, as it doesnt't matter to him at all. His voice is unbearably cold, the softness of his in it you were used to now replaced by a sharp edge. "I don't expect anything...no understanding or even acceptance. But i cant- won't let you go."

You could see it in his eyes that his stoic facade was crumbling, he was teetering on the brink of a bottomless pit, begging for a lifeline, needing for your presence to save him from the darkness within.

"I wanted to help you become the winner." In-ho takes a hold of your hands, squeezing them ever so slightly in the naive hope to convince you of his pure intentions. "That wasn't my plan initially, but I decided to risk it all to keep you safe. I swear I will protect you and our child, no matter what."

Our child. Such a small word yet such a huge impact. The implication sent a shiver down your spine, understanding it was like swallowing shards of glass.

In-Ho leans his forehead against yours, his own eyes glistening with usnhed tears. "You're my redemption, my salvation..." He trails off, suddenly grabbing the back of your neck, pulling your lips to crash over his. It was a searing kiss, one that demanded surrender, that commanded obedience, a vow to keep you at his side whether you want it or not.

You writhe against his hold as he cradles you in his arms, but his embrace is like a steel vice, suffocating and unyielding just as his love.

"I couldn't save her..." he rasps in a hoarse whisper, every syllable laced with utter determination. "Allow me to at least save you."

#squid game #hwang in ho x reader #young il #player 001 #frontman #fanfiction #writing #reader insert #hwang in ho #young il x reader #player 001 x reader #the frontman x reader

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dalishious · 3 months ago

Text

Teia and Viago Master Post

It seems my overwhelming love for Teia Cantori and Viago de Riva has garnered a reputation that I’m worth asking questions about them. I’m honoured! But I think it would be easier to just make a master post about them that I can direct to, so that’s what this is.

Appearances

Dragon Age: Deception (Teia and Viago appear as unnamed Crows. It is later confirmed in Tevinter Nights that it was them)

Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights; “Eight Little Talons”

Dragon Age: The Missing

Dragon Age: The Veilguard

Pre-DATV Events

9:44 – Teia and Viago are in Ventus when the Antaam attack.

Between 9:44 and 9:52 – The events of “Eight Little Talons” takes place. (Viago says they were “recently” in Ventus when the Qunari attacked, meaning it’s probably closer to 9:44.)

9:52 – Teia and Viago are in Vyrantium when the Antaam attack. They took a contract together to kill Lady Crysanthus, who was a member of the Venatori. They briefly run into Varric and Harding, who are following Solas’s trail.

Information on Teia

Teia’s full name is Andarateia Cantori. She is the head of House Cantori, which holds the seat of Seventh Talon. House Cantori’s territory is centred in Rialto.

Teia is 28 in “Eight Little Talons”. While we don’t know for sure when the story takes place, it is most likely around 9:45-9:46 based on context clues. If so, this would make Teia in her mid-30s during Dragon Age: The Veilguard.

Teia grew up on the streets of Antiva City with no family, surviving on thievery. She was taken by the Crows at age eight, and considers them her family now. (In “Eight Little Talons,” she reflects that she’s been a Crow for 20 years.)

Teia was the youngest Crow to gain the rank of Talon in history. She is also an outlier in that she does not come from a wealthy, prolific family background. This caused quite a controversy, where she was considered an “overreaching street rat;” while the Crows tell recruits that anyone can become a Talon, it very rarely happens.

Teia has her own set of rules to follow; for example, she refuses to kill servants unless absolutely necessary.

Teia’s best skill is being a master manipulator, with a level of astute observation in others that gives her an advantage in pretty much any conversation. She is very good at figuring out what to say and do in order to get the response she wants from someone.

Teia’s biggest flaw is, in my opinion, her naiveté. You could also say that the fact that she’s held onto strong morals and sensitivity to others is a strength, certainly. But the fact that she wants to see good in everyone, even people who arguably don’t give her any reason to, has gotten her into trouble.

Teia was in an abusive relationship in the past; Dante Balazar, who was Second Talon before his death in “Eight Little Talons”. Dante was addicted to lyrium, and would lash out at her verbally and physically. At some point Teia fought back and finally broke things off, while leaving a scar on his shoulder. Despite all this, Teia held sympathy for him.

Teia is afraid of dogs, after being chased by rabid ones on the streets as a little girl.

Teia has a tattoo marking her as a member of House Cantori on her back.

Teia’s horse is named Andoral (after the archdemon).

Teia has probably not been a Talon for very long; I would guess less than five years as of “Eight Little Talons.”

Information on Viago

Viago is the head of House de Riva, which holds the seat of Fifth Talon. House de Riva’s territory is centred in Salle.

We do not know Viago’s age for certain, but I would guess he’s in his mid-40s during Dragon Age: The Veilguard based on vibes and sensible timelines.

Viago is a master poisoner, and carries around plenty of it wherever he goes… as well as antidotes, because in addition to this, he is extremely paranoid about being poisoned himself. He does not eat or drink anything before testing it first, and he even takes a small dose of Adder’s Kiss every day to build up a resistance to it.

As one of many bastard children of the Antivan King, Viago was only given two choices in life: either live in luxurious exile, or join the Crows. He resents all his half-siblings who chose the first, and he resents the king himself. Viago may be more powerful than them all, even the king, but he is now stuck in this life. Had he not been, he thinks he could be a better ruler of Antiva.

Viago also holds resentment towards his mother, who it is hinted was an alcoholic to cope with the loss of interest from the King. Viago recalls her wine-stained “demon teeth” from when he was a child.

Viago does not give a shit if people like him or not; he only wants to be respected and feared. (Despite this, Teia tries to make the other Talons like him.) He is also used to having to constantly watch his back, and typically thinks the worst in people.

Viago tries to avoid emotional thinking, preferring hard facts and logic.

Viago has a pair of adder snakes he milks for venom. He also now has a third named Emil, choosing to keep the snake that bit and nearly killed him in “Eight Little Talons”.

Viago enjoys art collection.

My guess for how long Viago has been a Talon is somewhere around 10-15 years, based on vibes and timelines. I think he was fairly young himself when he succeeded his predecessor. I also think it’s entirely possible that the Antivan King arranged his rise to power, based on the comment in “Eight Little Talons” from Dante: “Your daddy will protect you.”

Dialogue (in no particular order)

Viago: It's frustrating, right? I'm correct to feel that way? How the occupation has pushed us all… apart? Teia: I try not to let the fledglings see it. Viago: If they had done nothing else, I would hate the Antaam for making you restrict any part of yourself.

Teia: I haven't seen that look in some time. Viago: It's called "hope." And perhaps some other thoughts. Teia: What sort of thoughts, Vi? Viago: About the future. Both long term and… more immediate.

Viago: Is my collar high enough? I need to present an example. Teia: The fledglings see their leaders standing tall against the tide. Incessantly. Teia: Perhaps it is time to set other examples. So they know that war is not all we are. Viago: Perhaps we should discuss as much. Say, at the café? Teia: Once they've scrubbed out the remains of the Antaam.

Teia: Your push against the Antaam has been admirable. Viago: Your work here is also commendable. Teia: Good, good. Why is this so awkward? Viago: Perhaps we know each other too well to be strangers.

Teia: What are you drafting now? Viago: It's a contract to murder a vacation. It requires a very particular set of skills from a very particular Seventh Talon. Teia: Very funny, and unnecessary. I'll take a break soon. Really. Viago: As it was with gods and reavers, I'll believe it when I see it.

Teia: Haven't seen you around the Diamond much, Vi. Viago: I've been preoccupied. Teia: I thought perhaps you were avoiding me. Viago: I thought perhaps you wished to be avoided.

Teia: So, will I see you for breakfast? Viago: I don't think you will. Teia: No? Why not? Viago: It's only breakfast if we sleep. Teia: Vi, you are the worst.

Teia: Despite the governor, Rook has certainly given us time to consider our options. Viago: I'd forgotten that kind of time. Just, time to appreciate… those around me. Teia: There's only the two of us here. Viago: And who else could I possibly mean?

Teia: You fought darkspawn? Viago: None of them touched me. Teia: I will inspect you later. Viago: All right.

Teia: I told her their bickering was amateurish, and that they'd need to work much harder to argue as well as we do. Viago: That was altogether the wrong message to take away from that. Teia: I thought you enjoyed our little squabbles? Viago: Among—and possibly overshadowed by—other things.

Viago: You're smirking at me. What is so funny? Teia: I was just noticing how much you're starting to look like the dog. Viago: We are free from the influence of gods and traitors for the first time in months, and that is where your mind goes? Teia: Especially when you pout! Viago: I do not pout.

Teia: I found some Crystal Grace in the gardens earlier. Viago: I didn't know flowers still bloomed in this city. Viago: And thank you. They were most pleasant to find on the desk this morning.

Teia: Fighting back suits you. Your tone has much improved since we last argued. Viago: Excuse me. I wasn't aware it was my tone that was at issue. Teia: That's all right, I'm sure you'll pay closer attention from now on. Viago: See, this is why we split. And got back together. And split.

Teia: Fighting back, making our voices heard… this is feeling like old times. The good ones. Viago: Thank you for the clarification. Teia: I meant it. Viago: So did I.

Viago: Have you been home in the last week? Teia: I won't let the fledglings see the Diamond empty.

Teia: Are you certain the fledglings should see you smile this much? You'll spoil them. Viago: It's unavoidable, I'm afraid. The cause of my smile refuses to leave the Diamond. Teia: Is that so? Viago: It is very much so.

Teia: Not all things end with clarity, as you and I both know. Viago: Fine. Endings are fuzzy. Starts are shocking. Middles… middles are worth lingering.

Rook: The Cantori Diamond is your casino? The occupation hasn't closed your business? Teia: Business may be down, but it isn't "my" casino to close. Viago: An easy mistake to make. Isn't that right, Andarateia Cantori? Teia: I am no landlord, and anyone who treats me as such shall be evicted.

Rook: Were either of you trained by Heir? Viago: Not this one. Mine was… stern. Teia: Mine spoke in the third person until you were skilled enough to be recognized as an equal. Viago: Starting with grammatical murder. Fascinating.

Teia: Why are you so frustrating? Viago: Am I? We are only frustrated by things we are truly invested in. Teia: That can't be. I just threw out your old shirts. Viago: Old? There's no such thing as old satin.

Rook: So you two are both Talons. Doesn't that make you rivals? Viago: Rank in one area is rarely applicable to others. Which is to say, only a fool would try to impose rank on Teia. Teia: Wise words from a sometimes fool. Viago: A history I would wish on no one else, lest they take it from me.

Viago: Occupied! The insult of it! Teia: It's more than insulting. Viago: It's salt in the wound. And that is my purview.

Viago: To see you so energized, Teia. I'm staring at the sun. Teia: Viago, once Rook kills Ivenci? On again. Viago: We shall see.

Teia: Viago, dear. Do you want children? Viago: I rarely see the dog.

Viago: I think [Jacobus] could be the best of us. Teia: That's a high bar. Including you? Viago: Well, perhaps second-best. Behind you. Teia: Flattery will get you everywhere.

-----

SOURCES:

Dragon Age: Deception

Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights

Dragon Age: The Missing

Dialogue between Teia and Viago (DATV)

Letter from Mistress Trella (DATV)

#dragon age #teia cantori #andarateia cantori #viago de riva #meta #datv spoilers

470 notes · View notes

ginnsbaker · 5 months ago

Text

My Sundown

Summary: You’ve been a Hydra agent for as long as you can remember, when Wanda Maximoff and her brother, Pietro, volunteers for Hydra's human experiments.

Word count: 10K+ | Tags: Wanda Maximoff x GN!Reader | Warnings: Only mentions of smut. Hurt/comfort. Reader is a little older than Wanda. Some angst. | A/N: I missed writing for Wanda, and have always wanted to write canon-ish oneshots for the MCU character. Main Masterlist

When they first bring her in, she looks like she's been through hell—eyes hollow, skin pale, a storm simmering just beneath the surface. Her hands tremble, not from fear, but from the sheer, unbridled power flowing through her veins. The room seems to shrink under the weight of it, as if even the walls are aware of what she’s capable of. The other recruits are scared and jittery, but she’s different. Her brother too—both rough around the edges, like two sides of the same scarred coin.

“Where did they round up these rats now?” you mutter to Lev, who’s standing dutifully beside you—the only person you've let close enough to be called a friend in all your years with Hydra.

“Sokovian volunteers,” he corrects you, eyes fixed straight ahead, mirroring your own unblinking focus on the twins. Maybe he feels the strange energy coming off them too, or maybe it’s just the routine numbness that sets in after years of blindly following orders.

You nod slightly, though the term volunteer feels like a cruel joke. No one truly volunteers for this.

“Agent.”

Dr. List’s voice yanks you out of your thoughts, dreary and impersonal. He calls everyone that way, as if you're just another tool, interchangeable and anonymous. It’s an intentional tactic—strip away the names, and you strip any sense of humanity. Without a name, you’re not a person; you’re just a weapon at their disposal.

But you know he means you.

You step forward. “Sir,” you reply, maintaining a ramrod straight posture, your eyes fixed on a spot just beside his perpetually scowling face. It seems all villains share that same dour expression, but if this woman—this girl—makes it through the experiments and officially joins the ranks, she might just break the mold, looking more like an angel than a monster. You quickly shake off the thought, stifling a grimace at the odd turn your thoughts have taken.

When you risk a quick glance at her, you catch a ghost of a smirk playing on her lips, as if she knows exactly what you were just thinking.

“You’re to oversee Wanda Maximoff’s progress,” Dr. List continues without sparing you a second glance. “Ensure she complies. If she doesn’t…” He lets the threat hang, but you don't need him to spell it out. You know what Hydra does to those who don't meet expectations.

“And the boy?” you ask, genuinely curious about the other twin.

Dr. List gives you a sharp look, like he suspects something. Questions are frowned upon here, but ever since you laid eyes on Wanda, a persistent tingling has crept up the back of your neck.

To put it bluntly, she unnerves you, and you'd much prefer to deal with her brother.

“Strucker decided to…take a more hands-on approach with him,” Dr. List says.

“Understood, sir,” you reply crisply, reaffirming your commitment to your orders. You steal another glance at Wanda, only to feel a rush of heat when you realize she’s been watching you the entire time.

Wanda looks even more formidable once she’s showered and changed into fresh clothes. You can’t decide if it’s because the sinister gleam in her eyes remains untouched or because the grime and hardships of life on the streets have been washed away, revealing a haunting beauty beneath the dirt. Clean, she’s striking—but that beauty only makes her more dangerous. You’ve tried to delay any direct interaction with her, but this morning, Dr. List visited to follow up on the initial assessment, leaving you no more time to postpone. After a week of stalling, you’re out of excuses, and there’s a lot of ground to cover.

As she steps out of the small bathroom, her damp hair clings to her shoulders, softening her otherwise sharp features. The moment she becomes aware of your presence, her gaze locks onto you, and she begins to comb the wet tendrils back with her slender fingers. Your hand tightens around your keycard involuntarily as you take a deep breath, reminding yourself that Wanda is just like any other volunteer who entered the organization and never left its walls to see the light of day. Besides, you’re armed, and Wanda is not. It’s ridiculous to be this on edge around someone who's at a disadvantage.

“You,” Wanda murmurs, her accent rolling off her tongue like a slow, winding river.

“Shall we begin?” you ask, keeping your tone even and detached. You can’t afford to let her see how much she frighte—affects you.

Wanda ignores your request. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, studying you with a keenness that makes your skin prickle. You meet her stare, determined not to show any cracks, even though your heart's hammering away.

Finally, she nods—a small, almost imperceptible movement.

You clear your throat and motion towards the small cot given to them as beds. “Please, have a seat,” you say.

This time, Wanda complies without a word.

You glance around the room, searching for a seat, and silently berate yourself for not arranging one beforehand. It’s a small oversight, but it makes you feel foolish. With no other option, you settle against the farthest wall, opposite her, and lean against it, though it doesn’t make you feel any more grounded than you did a second ago.

In your hand is a file detailing everything Hydra knows about her, which isn’t much. You open it with a practiced ease, flipping through the pages, but you’re aptly aware of her eyes on you, watching your every move.

“Wanda Maximoff,” you start. “The procedures you're about to undergo are highly experimental. Hydra won't be held responsible for any injuries, no matter if they're permanent or temporary.”

Including death. But you are prohibited from disclosing this to avoid causing panic or stress among the subjects.

Wanda says nothing, her expression unreadable, but you can sense she’s lingering on a thought. Not sure what it is, you go on, falling back on the lines you've memorized these last few months.

“These procedures will enhance your natural abilities, giving you powers beyond what you may or may not currently possess. However, there are risks involved. Do you understand the nature of these risks?”

Wanda nods again. It’s the same answer you’ve received from countless other volunteers, most of whom had no idea what they were truly signing up for. But there’s something different about her, something in the way she holds herself that tells you she knows exactly what she’s getting into—and she’s not afraid.

“There will be a series of physical and psychological evaluations. We will push you to your breaking point and beyond. It is crucial that you cooperate fully. Resistance will only make the process more difficult, both for you and for us.”

You scan her face for any sign of fear or hesitation, but she's a blank slate. It’s as if she’s made peace with whatever fate awaits her here. That bothers you more than you’d care to admit.

“We will also be conducting interviews throughout the process,” you continue. “These will assess your mental state, your thoughts, your fears. Everything you say will be documented, and nothing will be private.”

Wanda's eyes narrow a touch, the first sign of any emotion since she sat down. It’s subtle, but you notice it. Maybe the thought of her mind being picked apart like a lab specimen is getting to her more than the threat of physical harm. Or it could be something else entirely.

“We’ll begin the physical tests tomorrow,” you say, closing the file and hugging it to your chest. “For now, you should rest and eat as much as you like. Your room is monitored constantly. If you need anything, just ask, though your movement around the facility will be restricted.”

The mask of indifference slips back into place. Wanda leans back on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows in a display of casual ease.

“Do you have any questions?” you ask, mostly because you have to, not because you really want to know. You figure she won't ask anything—most are too scared or too defeated to speak up.

But Wanda Maximoff isn't most people.

“Why do you do this?”

You can’t help it—a faint smile begins to creep across your face at her question. Most volunteers, when they ask anything at all, are fixated on their own impending ordeal, too scared of what's coming.

But Wanda isn't asking about herself; she's asking about you. It feels like forever since anyone showed that kind of interest.

Pausing at the doorway, you turn your head just enough for her to see the profile of your face.

“I do what I'm told,” you say, dodging the deeper question she posed—the real why behind your actions. The truth is, you stopped asking why a long time ago. Reasons tend to blur into excuses when moral lines are crossed in an organization you once trusted.

You're already tapping your keycard against the scanner when Wanda speaks again.

“Will doing what you're told bring them back?”

Her question spins you around so fast it's almost like whiplash. How did Wanda know about that? Was it just a wild guess meant to throw you off? Whatever it was, it worked.

You open your mouth to reply, but the words stick in your throat. You don’t even remember the last time you even thought about them. You've never shared this with anyone—not even Lev. Only a handful of Hydra figures were ever privy to your past.

Wanda couldn't possibly know. Unless—

“Good night, Y/N,” Wanda says, her tone dismissive as she curls into a fetal position, turning her back to you.

If your theory holds, Wanda might be the key Hydra has been searching for—the one who can unlock the powers of the scepter that have eluded so many others. Her apparent ability to read minds could be the very breakthrough Dr. List has been waiting for.

Finding yourself hesitating to report this discovery surprises you. It’s almost ironic how your conscience decides to kick in now, just when Hydra's goal seems tantalizingly close with the acquisition of the twins. You know what Hydra would do if they realized just how special she is, and the thought of them twisting her into something monstrous is something you can’t even begin to imagine.

In the days that follow, you keep quiet about your suspicions regarding Wanda’s innate abilities. You tell yourself that Dr. List will probably uncover them through his experiments soon enough. It’s definitely not because you're worried about what they might do if they decide to fast-track her program.

Yes, you’re just staying out of it, certainly not because you want to protect her.

At least, that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your next face-to-face with Wanda comes a week later.

Though you have merely been observing her through a two-way mirror, you've been plagued by sleepless nights since your last meeting, and not even the strongest sedatives at your disposal have helped. Thoughts of her well-being nag at you, despite Hydra's strict rules limiting interaction between volunteers and handlers to prevent any emotional attachments. Such attachments have formed before, and Hydra has always dealt with them ruthlessly.

When you enter her room, she's in the same position as before—curled up on her cot, making herself appear small and almost childlike. She looks up as the door closes behind you, her eyes meeting yours with a quiet recognition.

As you step closer, the hollowness of her cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes, and her pale complexion are unmistakable. The word weathered hardly does justice to the toll her first week has taken. You know exactly what she’s been through. The tests here aren’t just tests—they’re torture, meant to break people down, body and mind. Even with her powers and confidence, Wanda shows the same signs of strain. She's slight, frail, and clearly, she's had as rough a time as anyone else here.

This time, you come prepared with a metal chair and a freshly prepared tea set next to it, and take a seat across from her.

“How are you holding up?” you ask, although the answer seems painfully obvious.

Wanda shrugs, barely moving, as if the effort to appear okay is too much for her. But then she surprises you.

“How long until Hydra enhances my powers?”

You weren’t expecting that. After everything she’s been through, she’s asking for more? You thought she’d be wary, maybe even broken by now. But the question says otherwise. She’s been through hell, and she’s still pushing forward, demanding more. Is she courting death?

“You seem in a hurry,” you say, hiding your worry behind a soft chuckle.

Her eyes narrow. “I didn’t come here to wait around. If they want to use me, they need to make me stronger.”

Use me.

How disconcerting. She’s asking for more—more pain, more trials. As if everything she’s endured isn’t enough, as if she needs it to become something greater. It’s reckless and foolish, to say the least.

“We’re moving as fast as we can—”

“Move faster.”

“Wanda,” you say quietly. “What you’re asking for... it could break you.”

“I’m already broken,” she declares, cold and matter-of-fact. “If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

It’s only when you notice the disgust in her eyes that you realize you’ve been looking at her with pity. Wanda is about to snap back, likely to tell you she doesn’t need your sympathy, when her expression shifts abruptly to one of curiosity.

She tilts her head, studying you—or maybe, with the mirth in her eye, it’s more like she’s mocking you.

“You look at me like that again, and I’ll ask you a question,” Wanda says, her voice low, almost a whisper.

You stiffen, uncertain of what's coming next, but before you can say anything, she continues.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

The question startles a laugh out of you, abrupt and a bit too loud—almost like you're trying to convince both yourself and Wanda how absurd she’s being. But as the laughter dies down, you feel your face heat up, your cheeks flushing a telltale red that you can't hide.

“No,” you say, your gaze dropping to the floor as you shake your head. You clasp your hands behind your back, one finger nervously picking at a cuticle. “This isn’t what this is about.”

Wanda smirks slightly, her lips twitching, amused by your discomfort. “Isn't it?”

For a split second, you start to doubt everything. Did you really want to sleep with her? It's been ages since you've even considered intimacy with anyone—maybe too long. Life here doesn't leave space for that kind of thinking, and even if it did, the situation wouldn't allow it. Your heart's been shattered so often you're sure there's nothing left to give—especially not to someone you've only known for a week.

Wait—love?

This is, at best, lust—nothing more.

“No,” you repeat with more conviction.

Wanda’s smirk fades into a slow, knowing smile. “Fine. Just know the offer stands if you ever change your mind.”

A proposition. It’s not the first time you’ve received one, but this offer sticks with you longer than you’d like. Wanda’s already spent too much time in your thoughts, and you’re desperate to shake her off and get back to the task at hand. But she makes it maddeningly hard to do so.

Without looking at her, you clear your throat and begin the routine interview. You refuse to focus on the fact that she’s just openly considered a physical encounter with you—and you’re definitely not considering it in return.

“Have you noticed any unusual side effects since the last session? Headaches, nausea, dizziness?” you ask, skipping the pleasantries.

“No,” she says dryly. “No headaches. No nausea. No dizziness.”

You jot down her answers, ignoring her evident disinterest in the proceedings.

“Any changes in your sleep pattern?” you continue.

“No.”

“Any unusual pain or discomfort?” you ask, forcing yourself to meet her gaze, but her focus is on the rings on her fingers. The prisoners—volunteers, you correct yourself—aren't supposed to keep any personal items. It baffles you how she managed to hold on to those cheap pieces of metal and silver.

It takes Wanda a moment to respond. “Just the usual soreness.”

You suspect it's more than just soreness. She’s probably downplaying the pain, so you make a note beside her answer.

“Alright, we’ll keep an eye on that. Any changes in your mood? Irritability, anxiety, anything like that?”

Wanda shrugs. “Depends on the company, I suppose.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Noted. We’ll stick with the same regimen for now. Any concerns or questions about the next phase?”

“What happened to them?” Wanda asks, steering the interview off course.

Annoyance flares up as she probes again, prying into your business. “Don’t you already know?” you snap, your patience wearing thin.

But Wanda doesn’t even blink. She isn’t scared, and that just irks you even more. She should be, if she knew what you’ve done to others who’ve pushed your buttons. You’ve never hesitated to throw your weight around with those who make your job harder.

“Sometimes what really happened and how we remember it are two entirely different stories,” she says, taking a deep breath before she continues. “Our mind protects us from the truth. It obscures what’s real, and what’s not becomes all we remember.”

You're stone-still, your mind drifting back to the past Wanda keeps prodding at. You don't even have a picture of your family anymore. Their voices are gone from your memory, and you're barely holding onto their faces. It used to tear you apart, thinking about them, but now there's just emptiness. You realize Wanda can’t rattle you—she has no leverage because there’s nothing left inside you to disrupt.

You’ve got nothing.

“Y/N?” Wanda presses, her features tightening with concern.

You consider throwing her blunt words right back at her, but you hold off. Instead, you set the clipboard down on the counter with a soft clack. Turning to the medical cart, you grab a tray of needles and tools, then bring it over to her bed. Wanda's eyes widen slightly, and she scoots back as you sit down on the edge of the mattress. It’s satisfying to finally see her react with something other than that usual smug, unshakable attitude. You pick up a syringe, fill it with a bright yellow liquid from an unmarked bottle, and swipe a cotton ball soaked in alcohol over the top.

“What’s that?” Wanda asks evenly, though you can detect traces of doubt in it that suggest she’s trying to put up a brave front.

“Supplements.”

Wanda raises a skeptical brow.

You lift the syringe slightly, letting it catch the light so she can see exactly what you’re holding.

“May I?” you gesture toward her arm.

Wanda eyes you warily, then gives a quick nod.

With her consent, you scoot closer until your knees almost touch. You gently roll up the sleeve of her scrubs, exposing her arm. This close, you can see the goosebumps on her skin and feel the slight tremors running through her. You hadn't noticed before, but she's shivering—not from the cold, but probably from a fever.

Instinctively, you press your palm against her forehead. Wanda flinches but doesn’t pull away. Slowly, she settles into your touch and lets out a small sigh.

“You're hot,” you blurt out, and then quickly realize the unintended double entendre. Fortunately, Wanda lets it pass without comment. You retract your hand and hold the syringe up to her arm, poised but something stops you.

“What are you waiting for?” Wanda prompts impatiently.

You're thinking of straying from the usual protocol, knowing the yellow meds might worsen Wanda's condition, especially with her fever spiking. Deciding against it, you put the syringe down and grab another bottle off the cart, this one filled with a clear liquid.

“Change of plans,” you murmur, prepping the new syringe. You nod at her for her arm, and she shifts closer, making it easier for you. When you depress the plunger, it's quick—so quick that Wanda barely feels the needle's prick.

You pull out the needle and press a small bandage onto the spot. “All done,” you announce.

Wanda massages her arm, feeling no real pain at the injection site. “T-Thanks,” she murmurs softly.

You acknowledge her gratitude with a nod and start collecting your notebook and tools. As you rise to leave, Wanda's hand shoots out, her fingers wrapping around your wrist urgently. You turn, meeting her striking, green eyes.

“I’m sorry about your family,” she murmurs quietly. Her words solidify your suspicion: she came to Hydra with powers already in tow. Mind reading or memory extraction would be invaluable to Hydra, and now, with even more power at your fingertips, you find yourself hesitating to use it.

If Dr. List catches wind of your hesitations, the reprisals will be brutal.

You glance down pointedly at where she's holding your hand, but Wanda doesn’t let go.

“It was a long time ago,” you whisper.

“Time doesn't really heal that kind of loss,” she says, still holding onto you.

“No, but you learn to live with it,” you reply, feeling the truth of your own words.

Wanda's hold slackens but remains. You feel awkward standing there, yet something holds you back from pulling away. You hadn't realized until now how starved you were for such a simple, human connection.

“I lost my parents the same way,” she shares.

“I'm sorry,” you say, and you really mean it. You can't read Wanda like she seems to read you, but in this brief moment, with the walls down, you decide to ask, “Is that why you came to us? To avenge your parents?”

Wanda's grip loosens completely, and she lets go of your wrist. You rub the spot where her fingers were, still feeling the warmth she left behind.

“‘Avenge’,” she spits out. She draws her knees to her chest and hugs them close. “I hate that word. Pietro and I, we're here to stop them. I wish… I wish they’d just leave Sokovia alone. They won’t leave because we can’t fight back.”

Your own past with Hydra comes to mind as she speaks. Back then, you joined because you were out of options. No country to fight for, no people to call yours. It strikes you how different Wanda's motivations are—rooted in something far more personal and noble. She deserves more than what Hydra can offer.

Wanda looks at you, waiting for an answer. When you don't say anything, she pushes, “Do you think we made the right decision coming here?”

You're all too aware of Hydra’s real agenda. They're not about peace. They're here to extend their control, to bend the world around their so-called divine mission.

“Sometimes, you don't know if it’s the right choice until it's too late to change it,” you say, knowing it’s not much of an answer. It's just the bitter truth you've come to know. It's all you can offer Wanda.

“Can you do me a favor, Y/N? Will you look after Pietro?”

The same way you’ve been looking out for me, Wanda thinks to herself, relieved that there’s only one telepath in the room.

“No promises,” you say.

Wanda gives a slight nod and starts to withdraw again. She settles back down on the cot, turning away from you, the conversation clearly over.

Lev sneaks into your room just before midnight, the door giving a soft creak as it swings open. Though friends, you typically keep to your own spaces. You blink sleepily at him, fighting to sit up and shake off the grogginess.

“Dr. List decided to skip ahead,” Lev says in a rush, closing the door with a gentle click. “He’s moved forward with exposing the twins to the scepter.”

“When?” You're wide awake now, sitting bolt upright in bed.

Lev’s eyes dart to the small window in your room before returning to you, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “An hour ago.”

That can’t be good. It’s far sooner than anyone had anticipated. Dr. List’s decision to advance the timeline without further testing could have unpredictable consequences. You swing your legs off the bed, your brain ticking through the possible scenarios.

“What’s the status now? How did Wan—the twins react?” you ask, grabbing your jacket and shoes and throwing them on without taking your eyes off Lev.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. They rushed them to the Observation Chamber right after the exposure. Everything’s been kept under wraps.”

You pace a few steps, mulling over your next move. Exposure to the scepter has been lethal for everyone. Even with Wanda's unique abilities, there’s no guarantee she’ll pull through when others haven't.

“We need more information. Can you get access to the observation logs?”

Lev nods, though his expression shows his apprehension. “I’ll try. But security has been tighter since the exposure.”

You catch the anxious twist of his mouth at the idea of sneaking around, and choose to spare him the risk. His relief is palpable when you tell him, “I'll handle it myself.”

He sighs in relief. “Be careful…”

Only a select few can get into the Observation Chamber, and your badge isn’t on that list. You're going to need something stronger than just caution.

You slip your underwear back on, feeling Laura’s eyes tracing the contours of your body.

After Lev left, you headed straight for her. Laura Brown, the Hydra director's daughter, hadn't seen you in almost a year, but the nature of your previous encounters left little doubt she'd be open to reconnecting.

Laura reclines on the bed, a sheet loosely draped around her, smirking as she watches you. “I knew you'd come back eventually,” she purrs, a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.

You straighten up, deliberately avoiding her eyes as you button your shirt. “I need a favor, Laura.”

She leans back against the headboard, the sheet falling to her waist and revealing her bare chest. “This sounds serious.”

“I need to get into the Observation Chamber. Tonight,” you say. You despise asking her—or anyone, really—for favors, but you need to see Wanda. It's imperative.

Laura's eyebrows go up, her smile growing. “Direct and desperate. What's in it for me?”

“What do you want?” you ask, even though you already know the answer.

She thinks it over, then answers, “Keep me company tonight, no strings attached. Just like the old days.”

“Done.”

Laura claps her hands, clearly pleased, and tosses you the badge from the bedside table.

You pick it up, feeling a bit degraded, like you're picking up coins someone's thrown your way. “I'll be right back,” you promise.

The guards give you weird looks as you show up at the Observation Chamber. They had clear orders: only Dr. List or Baron Strucker can go in. But dropping the director’s daughter’s name does the trick. You flash her badge and they let you pass, no more questions asked.

The hallway is pitch-black. This place had been sleeping until now, woken up by the fact that Pietro and Wanda Maximoff hadn’t died like the others who met the scepter. Clearly labeled doors mark the new, grim function of the space.

You think about heading straight to Wanda's room, but you remember her earlier request and decide to check on Pietro first.

The soft beeping of monitors greets you as soon as you step inside his room. He's in rough shape, alive but barely hanging on. You quickly check the chart posted next to the door—it shows low blood pressure and a high dosage of Epinephrine administered, with a note that his chances of survival stand at only 57% as of 11:30 PM.

He looks much thinner and more worn than the last time you saw him, his condition evidently worse. His eyes are bloodshot, his skin pale and stretched tight over his bones. As you move closer, you notice his body trembling, a sheen of sweat covering him despite the room's chill.

Quickly, you pull the extra covers from beneath his bed and wrap them around him, trying to stabilize his shivering. Then, you snag a water bottle from a nearby stand, helping him take slow, measured sips.

Pietro looks at you, his eyes filled with confusion and pain, struggling to form the words. “Who are you?”

“Just someone who made your sister a promise,” you say, scooping up some water in your palm and gently drizzling it over his head. Pietro sighs in relief. “Get some rest now, and try not to die.”

His eyes flutter shut in seconds, his breath smoothing out as sleep claims him. You linger just a moment to make sure he's really out, then hurry off towards Wanda's room. Your heart pounds in your chest, fear pulsing through you. Pietro was in rough shape; how bad might Wanda be? You cling to a shred of hope that she's holding up better.

The air stays heavy as you enter Wanda’s quarters. You tread lightly, making sure not to disturb her sleep, and check the medical chart by her bed. Unlike Pietro’s dire prognosis, Wanda's stats are steady, but still troubling. Her breaths are regular, without the distressing shivers that torment her brother.

What strikes you is how normal, how peacefully she's sleeping, despite her recent exposure to Loki’s scepter.

Relieved to see her condition isn’t more severe, you end up at the foot of her bed. There isn’t much to do after confirming she’s stable, and you know you should head back to Laura. But leaving Wanda’s side proves difficult once you're there. Almost immediately, your mind floods with ideas on how to get her out of Hydra’s clutches. If they fully realized her potential, it wouldn't just be dangerous for her—it'd be catastrophic for anyone in their path. Internally, you start plotting escape routes and thinking about who might be willing to help.

It’s strange to think how you went from one of Hydra’s most devoted agents to scheming against them.

Lost in your plans, you're jolted back to the present when you feel a gentle nudge against your thigh. Wanda's foot is pressing against you. She's awake. You look up to find her eyes open, wary and searching.

“Y/N,” she murmurs, her voice raspy from lack of use. “What—what happened?”

You subtly shift on the bed, making sure her toes aren't touching you anymore. You're not sure when you became so acutely aware of Wanda’s proximity, or of the points where your bodies meet.

“What do you remember before all this?” you ask.

She rubs her forehead, straining to recall. “There was a room... a stone emerging from the scepter. Bright lights… then nothing.”

You nod, already knowing half of what Wanda just told you. This is the first time anyone has lived to tell about their experience with the scepter, and you were hoping for more insights into how it unleashes its power. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about trying it yourself, wondering if you could resist its effects. Being Hydra, curiosity about power was a constant temptation.

“You weren't supposed to be exposed to the scepter yet,” you admit quietly. “Dr. List sped things up, maybe because he suspected—”

“Pietro,” she cuts in, her thoughts finally catching up. “Was he exposed to it too?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes widen, clouded with worry. “Is he okay?”

“He’s alive,” you say. “I just saw him before coming here. He's stable, but it’s precarious.”

Wanda’s face crumples as soon as the words leave your lips. Before you can react, she throws her arms around you, her face buried in your shoulder. You freeze for a moment, uncertain how to respond. It’s been so long since you’ve held someone like this, since you’ve allowed yourself to care enough to even consider it. But then you feel it—tears, warm and wet against your neck. She’s crying.

After a moment, you hesitantly wrap your arms around her, holding her as she trembles against you. You can feel her fear, her desperation. It cuts through your defenses, the ones you’ve built so carefully over the years.

You tighten your hold on her, offering what little comfort you can, but inside, you’re battling your own fear. You can’t afford to care about her this much—not here, not now. But as you hold her, feeling every shake of her body, you know it’s already too late.

Wanda's sobs slowly subside, and you pull back slightly, intent on offering some kind of reassurance despite how foreign it feels to you. You reach up, brushing away her tears with your thumb, trying to find the right words, but they don’t come. Instead, as your hand lingers on her cheek, she pins you with a quiet stare. Before you realize what’s happening, Wanda leans in and presses her lips softly against yours.

The kiss is brief, just a fraction of a second, but it leaves you utterly breathless. She pulls back almost immediately, watching you, waiting to see how you’ll react. For a heartbeat, you're stunned, but then something ignites inside you, something you’ve been holding back without even recognizing it.

Acting on pure impulse, you reach up, grasp the back of her neck, and pull her in for another kiss. In an instant, you take control effortlessly, letting the animalistic and Hydra part of you come to the forefront. Your thumb presses roughly against her chin, coaxing her mouth open, and you slide your tongue in, staking your claim. Wanda responds with a gasp, her hands clutching at your shoulders, but you’re too far gone to think about anything except the taste of her, the way her body molds against yours.

You tilt her head back, deepening the kiss further, your other hand sliding down to grip her waist, pulling her closer still. The feel of her, the heat of her skin under your fingers, it’s intoxicating, and you can’t get enough. You've never allowed yourself to want someone this much. Just as you think you can't hold back any longer, Wanda's hand captures yours and guides it under her shirt. You're startled to find out she's wearing nothing underneath when your knuckles brush against her hardened nipple. That unexpected discovery is what compels you to pull back.

Wanda's lips leave yours with a wet sound, and she begins kissing down your jaw to your neck.

“Wanda, wait—”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” she says. Her breath is hot against your skin, and you feel her tongue trace a line up to your pulse point, leaving a fiery trail that makes you shiver. “You can claim your reward, you can have me.”

Her words snap you out of the haze, that single word—reward—ringing in your ears like a warning bell. You quickly place your hands on her shoulders, pushing her back gently but firmly.

Wanda blinks, confusion and hurt flashing in her eyes as she looks up at you. “What’s wrong?” She knows she’s attractive and has already glimpsed your desire for her during your visits, reading it in your thoughts. It’s why she finds your rejection so absurd—frustrating, even, given her openness.

“I'm not here for that,” you say, your voice coming out rougher than you intended.

“Then why are you here?”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, unaccustomed to openly discussing your feelings. “I came to see how you're doing after... after the scepter.”

“I'm fine,” she answers flatly.

You nod, still feeling the residual heat of her closeness. “Do you feel any different?” you ask, partly out of concern but mostly to shift the conversation elsewhere.

“I'm just tired,” Wanda says, closing her eyes and running a hand through her tousled dark hair. “Can we do this tomorrow?” She sounds a bit let down, assuming you're here just for a routine check—looking for any new powers or changes—as if she had hoped for something more personal.

“I'm sorry,” you quickly say. “I’m not here on any official orders. In fact, I shouldn't even be here.”

This revelation softens her look, her eyes narrowing slightly with renewed interest.

Taking a deep breath, you continue, “I'm working on getting you and Pietro out of here. It's not set yet, but—”

“Out of here?” Wanda cuts in, her eyebrows knitting together in puzzlement. “Why would I want to leave?”

“You got what you came for, right? The power of the scepter? Now you can leave. Hydra isn’t what you think,” you explain, trying to make her see the danger.

“Look who's acting all self-righteous all of a sudden. You've been here for years, and I've seen you do things,” she retorts sharply.

“Stop looking into my mind,” you snap, irritated by her knack for sifting through your thoughts without permission and using your past against you. Just because she can doesn’t mean she should.

“You’re saying I’m wrong?” she sneers.

You shake your head. “Look, I’m just trying to help—”

“If you really want to help, just do your job.”

Her words hit you harder than any physical blow could. You knew better than to let someone get this close, to allow your emotions to cloud your judgment. But there’s no one to blame here but yourself. Wanda didn't even have to do much to earn your solicitude; it was your own doing, your own need to make things right that led you here.

Hydra’s training kicks in like second nature, and you shut down the emotions before they can show, your face hardening into a mask.

“Alright, Wanda. I'll do just that.”

It’s easier the second time you’re with Laura that night.

After Wanda's dismissal, you find Laura’s body to be the comfort you need. You lose yourself in her, the way she responds to every touch, every move you make. Pushing everything else from your mind, you focus solely on her, making her come again and again until she’s too bone-tired to do anything but black out beside you.

After it's over, you slip out of her bed, leaving her to sleep off the night’s weariness, and return to your room. You don't think about Wanda. Not even once.

In the following days, Wanda's recovery is swift—too swift for your level of clearance. Dr. List decides she’s beyond your oversight and assigns her to a higher clearance team. You’re left dealing with new recruits, volunteers who are eager yet naïve, none of whom survive the brutal exposure to the scepter. Each failure hardens you a little more, cements the necessity of detachment.

But even with countless deaths on their hands, Hydra doesn't back down. If anything, they’re more driven now, hungry for more power, spurred on by the success of the twins. Pietro develops superhuman speed, a skill Hydra quickly puts to use by dispatching him to enemy territories for intel. Wanda’s abilities become more varied, showing signs of what could be categorized as psionic powers. She demonstrates capabilities that suggest telekinesis, manipulating objects without touching them, and telepathy—which she employs at her whim.

Sometimes you wonder if she ever peeks into your mind anymore. But then, with the kind of power she wields, why would she even bother with what you're thinking? You're not special. Not even your badge, which doesn't get you into sections of the base without currying favor with Laura Brown first.

The Sokovian base is sprawling, and encounters with either of the Maximoff twins are rare but unavoidable. Pietro remembers your visit that night. Now and then, he nods at you politely. Wanda, on the other hand, acts as if you don’t exist. If you pass her in the hallways, she looks through you as if you're invisible. So, you make it a point to stay out of her way, blending into the dull walls and shadows as much as you can.

This detachment suits you in a way. It allows you to focus on your duties, on surviving one day at a time in an environment where the stakes are always high and the consequences often lethal.

It leaves you with nothing to lose, because there's no one left to lose.

Weeks pass quietly until rumors start floating around that Wanda's been seeing someone inside the complex. It’s hard to call it dating, really, since concepts like love and trust struggle to take root in a place as bleak as this. It’s probably just two people keeping each other company through the colder nights. Still, you can’t shake off how much this bothers you.

But it's not surprising. The twins' popularity has only grown, especially since, months later, no one else has matched their extraordinary feat of surviving an Infinity Stone—a term you picked up only after Hydra discovered what was really behind Loki's scepter.

Sometimes, you find yourself observing Wanda from afar, trying to figure out if there’s any substance to the rumors. Who makes her laugh? Who does she choose to sit with at meals? The more you notice your own scrutiny, the more you recognize a feeling of jealousy stirring within you, an emotion that’s prevalent among your peers but not in this regard. You're bewildered and annoyed by your own reaction—why should who Wanda spends time with matter to you? Whatever she does, whoever she fucks—it's none of your business.

You hate this feeling, but you combat it by heading to Laura’s room every night, as if she’s the cure you need to keep yourself in check.

“They’ll betray us someday,” Lev murmurs as you both amble through the dense woods, taking a rare break from the base for a smoke. He breathes out slowly, watching the smoke curl upwards. You don’t have to ask to know he’s talking about the twins.

“No sooner than Hydra will throw us under the bus when the Avengers show up,” you reply, stepping around a fallen branch. “We’re all expendable. You know that, right?”

Lev takes a deep drag, his gaze fixed on the trail ahead. “Yeah, I know,” he says at last, releasing a plume of smoke. There’s something in his eyes, a look that tells you he’s not saying all he could about the twins.

You eye him suspiciously. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Lev glances at you, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he's deciding how much to share. After a moment, he nods.

“Okay, I wasn't planning on telling you this yet, but I've been handed a special assignment—the Maximoff Contingency Plan,” he reveals.

You scoff at him. “You’re the contingency plan?”

“No, not just me,” Lev chuckles darkly as he tosses his cigarette to the ground and stomps it out. “I'm involved, but it's more than that. We're working on a weapon, one that borrows from the tech of the Infinity Stone.”

The seriousness of what he's saying sinks in. Leveraging the power of an Infinity Stone means they're not messing around.

“And what's this weapon supposed to do?” you ask, not sure if you want to hear the answer.

Lev’s expression darkens. “You know what weapons are supposed to do,” he says tersely, turning to head back. “Let’s go.”

Hydra does not tolerate treachery. Even the mildest punishment is a swift death—a quick end, but an end all the same.

It’s only a matter of time before the Avengers find the Sokovian Base. Tensions had been mounting and Hydra's movements had become increasingly aggressive, drawing unwanted attention. When it all goes down, you’re in your room, scrambling to suit up and arm yourself with pistols—not to confront the Avengers, who are essentially gods, but to fight for your way out.

As the base descends into turmoil, you hear that Wanda and Pietro are attempting to escape. Hydra has a ruthless protocol for such situations: eliminate the entire unit to prevent any leaks. It's cleaner to destroy and rebuild than to let loose ends compromise the organization. Knowing about the contingency plan to eliminate the twins, you grab your radio and contact Lev, asking where he is.

“You’re just in time. I need backup. I've got Wanda Maximoff in my sights, waiting for the right moment to take her down,” he radios back.

“On it, I’m with you,” you reply, feeling the sweat bead on your forehead as you move toward his location. When you get there, you find Lev, poised and ready, his eyes fixed on the target through the scope of his rifle. You scan the surroundings, looking for hazards until you spot Wanda among the debris. Iron Man's missiles have turned the area into a deadly maze of flying rocks. From her fingertips, streams of red magic swirl, skillfully steering the massive boulders away from crushing both Hydra agents and civilians.

Wanda isn’t trying to escape—she’s helping fend them off. Seeing her save these lives, something inside you breaks. Lev has his rifle aimed at her, ready to pull the trigger while she's busy playing the hero. The possible outcomes flash through your mind: Wanda dead or imprisoned by the Avengers. The thought is unbearable. You've spent months pretending you didn't care, but now, faced with the reality of losing her, you realize all you want is for her to live, to be free—something you've long given up for yourself.

You're about to dissuade Lev, to argue her worth, her potential, anything to stall, when an explosion nearby startles Wanda. She turns, momentarily distracted, and Lev's finger tightens on the trigger, ready to end it all.

But you're faster.

He collapses with a shocked gasp, the life leaving his eyes as he hits the ground. The noise of his body falling draws Wanda’s attention. She turns just in time to see what you've done—for her. Her eyes, wide and questioning, boring into yours.

Why did you save me? They seem to ask you, those green orbs that have hunted you ever since you looked into them. There's no time for lengthy explanations—not that you have a solid one anyway. But with each passing second, the chance of escaping undetected by these so-called superheroes dwindles.

“You need to leave, now!” you yell at her, but she doesn't budge. Instead, she looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time with something other than disdain. It’s the same look she gave you the night the scepter awakened her powers. It’s a look that tells you that maybe she’s been pretending too, these past few months.

You’re about to sprint toward her, to drag her to safety if you have to, when a blur of motion sweeps her away. Pietro appears out of nowhere, whisking them both out of the base before the Avengers close in.

For a second, you're left standing there, surrounded by the wreckage and the friend you just betrayed and killed. There's no time to grieve, no time to second-guess leaving his body behind—it's pure instinct that forces you to move quickly. You head towards an exit known only to the most important figures of the organization, a piece of information you picked up from Laura. She wouldn’t have given it away if you weren’t frequently sleeping together, those personal liaisons caused by trying to forget Wanda.

It’s strange, in a way, how you both just ended up saving each other.

Several weeks after the Avengers demolish the Sokovian base, Wanda finds you at a small cabin you own on the outskirts of Novi Grad. The modest structure sits on a 2-acre plot near the woods—a spot you picked up when your stint in Sokovia stretched past thirteen months. You never really planned on settling here; you thought you’d be moved to another location and sell this land at a profit eventually. But life, it seems, had other plans.

You’re chopping wood beside the cabin when you feel her presence. Dropping the axe, you straighten up and spot her at the edge of the clearing. Your eyes quickly sweep her surroundings for any sign of Pietro, but it appears she has come alone.

“Why did you do it?” she asks once she's close enough. You take a few moments to take her in, hardly believing she's actually here, and touched by the thought that she sought you out. You've missed her presence, even though the last few months have only found you both inhabiting the same compound, breathing the same air but never speaking.

Sometimes, lying in bed at night, you wonder why you can’t shake Wanda from your thoughts. You’ve even entertained the idea that she might have hexed you, that her magic has somehow ensnared your mind and… maybe your heart. It seems like the only logical explanation, because since the day you met, Wanda has never really left your mind.

“I did what I thought was right,” you finally answer, tucking your hands inside your pockets, not knowing what else to do with them.

“He was your friend,” Wanda points out softly.

Your lips curl into a strained smile; of course, she’d know. She knows things about you that you'd never voice out loud. Wanda’s ability to read minds makes hiding anything impossible. Does she understand how deeply you care for her? She must. Wanda has always seen right through you, so why does she need to ask?

“Did you ever think about me after that night?” she asks out of nowhere. The night the Infinity Stone changed everything, when you were closer to her than you’d ever been before.

You're taken aback by her directness. This, too, she probably knows the answer to because you've thought of little else.

“Everyday,” you say.

That night, you invite her to your home, the first person ever to share the space you once believed would always be just yours. Your living room is snug, with a three-seater couch and a medium-sized TV mounted on the wall. There’s also a fireplace that lights up the space with an amber glow as you hand Wanda a cup of hot chocolate.

You and Wanda find yourselves chatting about lighter topics. She shares her favorite shows from childhood, and you're surprised to learn she’s a big fan of American sitcoms. You enjoyed them too when you were younger, but not to the extent that you'd watch entire seasons over and over like Wanda did. Your preference leaned more toward books, gobbling up Agatha Christie novels when you were younger.

While you're in the middle of sharing a particularly funny memory from one of those old sitcom episodes, Wanda suddenly leans in and kisses you. Though your first instinct is to dive back into the kiss, you pull back instead. The last time you were this close, things escalated quickly before they crashed and burned.

“Are you sure?” you ask, searching her eyes for an answer. Learning from past mistakes, you want to make sure it's what she really wants.

She nods, her eyes steady and invitingly dark. “I’m sure.”

You close the distance between you, kissing her to your heart’s content. Before long, clothes are discarded, and you move from the couch to the bed, leisurely exploring each other, discovering how to bring one another to new heights of pleasure.

As you lie next to her afterward, breathless and tangled in the sheets, you realize there’s no way to pretend anymore—you care too much to go back.

The quiet doesn’t last long.

Tony Stark’s experiment goes awry, giving rise to Ultron—a global threat with ambitions that soon become clear. It seeks to bring about what he perceives as peace, by any means necessary. And just when you thought you and Wanda might have found some peace, she tells you she’s joining Ultron.

“It’s too dangerous,” you tell her. The twins and a robot against the entire Avengers team? The numbers alone put the odds against them. “We can stay here, help the people around us, and actually make a real difference.”

She shakes her head, her jaw set. “You don’t get it,” she argues. “You never will. You’re not…”

Special. Go ahead, Wanda, say it. Say what you really think of me.

“...you don’t have powers. You don’t know what it’s like to be able to change things and then just stand by, powerless.”

You were bracing for it, but it hurts all the same.

“So what am I then, Wanda? Just a bystander? Someone not worth listening to because I don't have powers?”

“I’m saying I have to do this,” Wanda mutters solemnly. “I’m the only one who can do this.”

You can see in her eyes that she’s already made up her mind. You’re still racking up your brain for something that might make a difference but she speaks again.

“I’m doing this for Sokovia,” she says quietly. “For everyone who's suffered because of Stark.”

You say nothing. Her fierce loyalty is one of the things you adore about her.

Wanda steps closer, her hand reaching out to touch your face, her thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “I’ll come back,” she promises. “When this is over, I’ll come back to you.”

You nod, resigned to the reality that you must let her go. “I’ll be here,” you say, your voice thick with regret that you can’t do more to protect her, to make sure she’s safe. “Waiting for you, right here.”

Pietro Maximoff dies riddled with bullet wounds—over a dozen of them. You learn the details of his death through a tabloid, days after witnessing Novi Grad being torn from the ground.

A week later, Wanda comes back to you, just as she promised, but she’s not the same. The light in her eyes is gone, replaced by a ghostly void. It’s a look you know all too well, the same one you’ve seen staring back at you in the mirror for years.

A loss of purpose.

In the days that follow, you try to restore some normalcy, but nothing feels right. You cook meals she barely touches, sit beside her during long stretches of silence, and listen when she occasionally finds the strength to talk. It's tough, seeing her struggle, but you stay by her side, hoping things will begin to heal.

But they don’t.

Every day, you see it—the guilt, the pain, the loss. She tries to find reasons to keep going, but nothing seems to hold. And as much as you want to be the one to help her, to pull her out of this darkness, you know you're not enough. Not this time.

Wanda is adrift, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t anchor her to this life you’re trying to build. She’s lost her brother, her home, and whatever sense of justice she thought she could achieve by joining Ultron. And you—you’ve been running from your past for so long, and you’re simply tired of it.

You start thinking about what’s best for her, about what she needs to move on and find a new purpose. Deep down, you recognize that maybe the best way for her to truly heal is if you step aside.

Like Wanda, you don’t trust Stark. So, with the skills you’ve honed during your time with Hydra, you manage to find a way to contact Steve Rogers instead.

The conversation happens one afternoon, over a phone call. You tell him everything—your past with Hydra, the things you’ve done, and why you’re ready to turn yourself in. He listens without interrupting, letting you confess everything. You mention that Wanda's with you, and make it clear this isn't about trying to reclaim some lost sense of patriotism. You're doing it for her.

“You did the right thing by coming to me,” Steve says when you finish. “Wanda has so much potential. She deserves a chance to become who she’s meant to be.”

“I know,” you reply, your voice dropping to a whisper. You’ve known it all along, perhaps better than anyone. It’s why you’re doing this, even though it feels like tearing yourself apart.

Over the course of the conversation, you and Steve work out an agreement. You’ll serve a reduced sentence in exchange for all the intel you have on the remaining Hydra heads still out there. You’ll act as an informant, helping to bring them to an end, once and for all. And maybe, after you’ve paid your dues, there’ll be a chance for you to live something close to a normal life. When the call ends, you're washed over with a feeling of real freedom, despite knowing it might cost you Wanda all over again.

Later that night, you find Wanda in the kitchen, stirring a pot and humming a tune you don't recognize, looking more alive than she has in weeks. Seeing her like this is bittersweet; she’s here, but soon, you might not be.

She notices you and gives a small, relieved smile. “You’re back,” she says.

“Yeah, I had a craving for this specific brand of red wine…” You say, tossing out a casual lie since you did swing by the grocery store, and errands are a regular part of your routine.

“Red wine?” Wanda perks up. “Perfect, I’m just about done with dinner. It should pair nicely.”

The kitchen smells foreign but amazing, and you can't help but compliment her. “It smells incredible in here,” you say as you start setting the table.

Wanda smiles softly as she turns down the stove and grabs a bowl to serve. You set out two wine glasses and place them on the table.

You pour a generous amount of red wine into each glass and watch as Wanda carries the meal over.

“Thanks for dinner,” you say with genuine appreciation.

“Try it and tell me what you think,” she urges, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she watches you with anticipation.

You take a bite, the flavors unique and perfectly blended. Looking up, you see her watching you, eager for your reaction.

“Well?” she asks impatiently.

You laugh, then wipe the corners of your mouth with your thumb. “Don't you already know?” you tease, hinting at her telepathic abilities.

Wanda pretends to be offended, crossing her arms. “I haven’t read your mind in a long time.”

You can’t help but be a little skeptical of her claim. “Since when?”

Wanda blinks, her gaze veering away as she hesitates, clearly not eager to revisit the memory.

You give her a gentle nudge, mimicking her earlier prodding “Well?”

Wanda turns to face you, her bottom lip pushed out slightly in a pout. “Since I saw you were sleeping with the director’s daughter.”

Saw? Did she see everything I did with Laura? The thought that Wanda witnessed it all like a scene playing out in front of her makes your stomach twist. You blush, mortified. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” you mumble, looking away.

Wanda shakes her head, trying to dispel her lingering jealousy. “I shouldn't have been peering into your head that much to begin with,” she says softly.

Your ears catch on a particular phrase. “‘That much’?”

It’s Wanda’s turn to blush, her cheeks flushing deeper as she quickly downs the rest of her wine and then holds out her glass for a refill. Deciding to show some mercy, you pour her another glass without prying further. The conversation stalls into an awkward silence until you finally decide to break it by giving your verdict on the dinner.

“By the way, this is delicious,” you say, adding another serving to your plate.

Wanda's face lights up, her smile stretching so wide that she looks almost like a giddy child. But then, she is young. You can’t help but imagine how she'll fit in with them. Steve, in particular, seems like he’d be good for her. Even though you don't know him well, that one phone call was enough to get a sense of his character and leadership. He seems like the kind of guy who'd really look out for Wanda, in ways you can't.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?” Wanda suddenly asks.

Your smile falls a little, but you manage to keep it there. You wish she could read your mind now, that she could understand the choices you’ve made today better than you could ever explain them. You’re not abandoning her—you’re setting her free from this life. You've done too many unspeakable things to ever truly deserve a quiet life with her. Eventually, your past will catch up to you, and the opportunity for Wanda to do something good might slip away if she’s still tied to you. You wish she could see how much you care for her, how much she’s changed you. Because of her, you’ve felt the desire to be good again, to be human again. To open yourself not just to grief, but also to love.

You wish—

“Maybe we can visit that lake you mentioned? I've spent my whole life in Sokovia but never really left Novi Grad,” Wanda suggests.

“Rain check?” you say, trying your best to sound like tomorrow isn’t goodbye. Steve wanted to move quickly, and you’ll be expecting him and a small squad tomorrow, no later than noon. “I’m thinking I might just stay in, catch up on some reading.”

Wanda cocks her head, a puzzled look on her face. You’ve been the one pushing her to get out of the cabin more, so your answer isn’t what she’s expecting. But she likes the idea. She just wants to spend time with you. The hole Pietro left in her heart is only bearable when she’s with you.

“Okay,” she mumbles, starting to clear the dishes. You place a hand over hers, silently telling her you’ll take care of it later. Leaning in, you plant a soft kiss on her lips.

“You want to go to bed early?” you whisper quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She looks up at you, a playful gasp escaping her lips.

“Just to sleep,” you add quickly. I just want to hold you all night, one last time.

“I might not be sleepy right off the bat, maybe if you tire me out—”

“Naughty,” you chuckle softly, giving her nose a gentle tap.

“You love it.”

“I—” Love you. You want to say it, but you don’t want to make it harder for you both when the time comes.

Without another word, you grab her hand, holding on to this moment, to her, for as long as you can.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #pietro maximoff #gender neutral reader #hydra #avengers age of ultron #Steve Rogers

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llostwriter · 7 months ago

Text

Never Meant To Be | SVSSS Fanfic

- Nonbinary Reader

When you found out that you were reincarnated as a wandering orphan, forcing you to steal to survive. You lost count of the times that you would get beaten up upon getting caught by the villagers. The looks of disgust from the villagers upon seeing your raggy clothes and dirty face were imprinted on your small mind. Intelligence was nothing in this world; all that mattered was the ranking of an individual. There were times when you ended up starving on the streets or almost freezing to death.

It wasn't even surprising that, soon enough, the human traffickers found you. The original owner of the body was found by the human traffickers before you were even in the body. The human traffickers make weekly visits to the orphans, demanding that the orphans give them the taels that the orphans gathered from begging on the street. The ones that weren't able to give any received a beating. All the good spots in the areas were taken by the other orphans, while you were left with the crappiest area, which is mostly deserted.

The income was so low that you even decided to leave this village and beg elsewhere. The traffickers caught you again, and you received another beating. Only then did you learn that the orphans are only allowed to beg within the village.

Every week of the first few months, you have received a beating from the traffickers.

The orphans could hardly fend for themselves, so they didn't even bother sharing any of their stuff with you. Resorting to having to even fight them for some ointments. Yes, there would always be some additional bruises after the fight; however, you did get your ointment. You know that your life is miserable the moment you even have to fight a dog for a blanket. Even the white cat from the village council’s madam gives you the disdainful treatment. Hissing at you whenever you look at its pearly white fur.

You were envious of the white cat. It gets better treatment and is cleaner than the combination of you and the other orphans. You remembered watching out of the village council madam’s window, drooling at the lotus cake being fed to the white cat daily, who later licked its paw.

One day, in the village, there was a huge fire that ended up spreading out to the borders of the village. Everybody was evacuating, while you stood confused and helpless. Almost accepting the new path of death, ending this misery of yours. You would have never expected that a cultivator would rescue you. Your memories of his appearances were blurry. The only thing that you have left of him is the ripped-off piece of his light green robe.

Away from the human traffickers, your life was somewhat peaceful. You would be found stuffing your mouth with mysterious berries that you found in the forest. The stomachaches taught you which berries to pick and which berries not to pick. Cleansing the filth off yourself in the rivers.

You find yourself in a new village and hear from the villagers about Cang Qiong accepting new disciples. That would be a good chance to turn your life around.

There was something familiar about that name, but you were not able to find out exactly what it was.

——-

You watched the large crowds of hundreds of people. There were some other orphans, some kids dressed in rich silk robes, and some kids from the casual village household. The task was plain and simple; it was just digging holes. A few of the rich folks were complaining of dirtying their robes: “This is too filthy!”. “I can’t handle this any more!” “I’m telling my mommy and daddy about this!”. “This is so unfair!” “Why am I doing the work of a slave?!” so many complaints.

So they ended up ordering their servants to do it for them, resulting in the rich folks getting disqualified. “Wait until my parents hear about this! They’ll shut this mountain completely down!” but as expected, those complaints were all barks and no bites.

The sun beat down on your back as you hunched over the earth, your long, pointed nails digging into the clay. Untrim nails for months, maybe even years; you were not sure since you only occupied the body a few months ago.

Each thrust of your hand was met with gritty resistance. The earth, dry and stubborn, yielded only grudgingly. Tiny particles of clay, fine as dust, clung to your nails, causing a gritty discomfort that snaked up your arms, sending chills through you. Regardless of your gender, the sensation was maddening, a constant reminder of the tenacity of the very ground you were attempting to conquer.

There were some smart kids who dug platforms stacked upon each other like stairs from the soil. That is to make it easier to get out of the hole.

However, that also wastes a lot of time, and time is precious.

Your brow furrowed, and you bit your lip, the scent of nature mingling with the dust that clung to your clothes. The discomfort was a constant, a nagging reminder of the futility of your task. Yet, you dug on. It was more than just a hole you were creating; it was a statement, one that would completely change the turn of fate.

Each inch dug was a battle—a slow, agonizing victory. The earth, unforgiving and relentless, fought back, the damp clay clinging to your nails like a tenacious parasite. But you pushed on; you drew in grim concentration, your eyes burning with a singular focus.

You knew the pain and discomfort were necessary parts of the process. It was the price you paid for the freedom of creation, for defying the expectations of practicality. The discomfort was a reminder that you were pushing boundaries and challenging the very fabric of reality.

Finally, with a groan, the earth gave way. By the time the ending was announced, the hole, deep and narrow, was complete.

You looked around, and that's when you saw him. You identified him from the crowd by his green robes. The feeling of familiarity and nausea hit you like a wave.

Your survivor, your angel, is the one that’s going to drag you out of this hellhole.

He noticed you; his paper fan spread out, covering half of his face. He narrowed his eyes at you indifferently.

—-

Being a disciple of Qing Jing Peak Lord was not that bad; your life clearly improved. You don't have to fight other orphans or animals for anything. All living expenses were provided for you. You shared your daily tasks with the other disciples. During your free time, you’ll spend time watching your Shizun from afar. Aside from that, the looks of admiration and gratitude were obvious.

The wind carries the rumors.

It has only been a few months since you became a disciple, and you have already heard your share of the rumors surrounding your savior.

The rumors surrounding your savior were outrageous; you would never bring yourself to believe them, even if there were doubts surrounding them.

in the following months. You have always kept a safe distance from your savior. You can’t deny that there were desires of wanting to have physical contact with your savior. It was pure nonetheless, but it still felt wrong. Even after you left behind your past of being an orphan, you still felt filthy and tainted. You were disgusted by yourself. It wasn’t long before you realized that you had romantic feelings for your savior.

But you never have the courage to confess. Your savior was close, yet felt so distant at the same time.

——

A young disciple named Luo Binghe had just arrived, and he was taken in as your Shidi. From the start, he showed himself to be a hardworking and persistent teenager, always displaying politeness towards everyone. However, despite his good nature, your savior began to treat him unfairly, burdening him with an excessive number of tasks compared to the other disciples. This sudden change in attitude was puzzling.

Witnessing Luo Binghe being disciplined unjustly, you found yourself tending to his wounds and gradually forming a close bond with him. Despite the mistreatment, he never blamed Shizun for his hardships. As time went on, the male disciples following your savior joined in on the unfair treatment, directing their animosity towards Luo Binghe by assigning him all the unwanted tasks. Despite this, Luo Binghe continued to fulfill his duties without complaint.

Nonetheless, it pains you to see your savior acting like a monster.

——

You were unsure how it turned out this way. One day, your savior’s personality completely changed. It was almost like they were completely different people. It was also the first time that your ‘savior’ approached you willingly, apart from missions. You were happy about it, but something felt horribly wrong at the same time.

You have always had that feeling since you first became a disciple. It was wrong for a disciple to have romantic feelings for their Shizun.

This was different; it was almost as if this was an imposter living in your savior’s body; their aura was different. The imposter gives out a more outgoing and calm vibe, while your savior gives out a more indifferent and cold vibe. There is no possible way that one person could change in the span of hardly one day.

But how is it possible that somebody would look exactly like your savior? Did your savior have a twin brother? If yes, where is your savior right now? There’s no possible way that your savior would just abandon his disciples and his title without a single word.

The imposter attempted to mend your relationship; however, it didn’t work. The longer that the imposter stayed, the more hatred that you grew for him.

At the same time, you were glad that he’s now nicer to his disciples and Shidi Luo Binghe. But you simply can't get over the fact that the imposter is using your savior’s body without any permission.

Months turned into years, and your hatred toward the imposter grew numb, just like your feelings. There was no use for it anymore. You ended up leaving the peak and becoming a wandering cultivator.

When your Shidi Luo Binghe married the imposter, they invited you, hoping that you would come. Which you did.

As you watched the smiles imprinted on both your Shidi Luo Binghe and the imposter, Only then did you realize that you had officially lost your savior. Forever.

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meiyudo · 1 year ago

Text

Missed me?

Sub!Anakin x Reader

a/n: Helloo!!! i apologize once again for going awol- but here is a small horny drabble i wrote for no reason hahah I hope u enjoy- ik it’s not my usual content, but i wanted to branch from my series for a moment- hope u enjoy!!

Anakin takes his role as a general very seriously, but sometimes he gets tired of giving orders and just needs to follow them

warnings: cursing, pwp, smut, overstim, masturbation (M!), gn reader, degredation(male receiving), shaming, handjob

_____________________

The council gathered to discuss the next steps the Jedi would take in their involvement in the clone wars; the meeting had gone on for hours- the masters couldn’t seem to agree.

Anakin grew impatient as he sat and listened to the elders bickering over politics; sure he was a general, but he was used to action. Getting things done. Not sitting in a stuffy room creating hypothetical scenarios.

He needed this meeting to be over.

As he leaned back in the chair provided to him (not a seat among the ranked masters) he found his mind wandering. The last battle was long and near the end, it became more so one of attrition rather than power. He had been gone for months and was exhausted. His orders were to return home for a brief period until the council could decide the best course of action- so he thought that meant he would be going directly home…to you.

He was under the impression he was to return to his home on Coruscant to recollect himself before discussing further matters with the council.

In preparation for his return to you, he had shamelessly been edging himself- so long in the tense heat of battle gave him little time to relieve stress.

In a way he took the build up as something to look forward to when he could finally return- something special he could share with you- that would be the most rewarding feeling.

He hadn’t seen you in so long, he hadn’t felt you in so long…hadn't tasted you in so long.

Months away had taken its toll on him in more ways than one; he felt himself becoming more irritable and having a shorter temper than the already short one he was known to have. His fists clenched under his jedi robes as he itched to run home.

He sat with his usual scowl on his shapely face as the others continued to talk.

“Isn’t that right, General Skywlker?” Master Windu asked.

His scarred eye twitched before he was snapped from his thoughts, “Ah, yes- our enemies are becoming weaker as they continue on”.

Master Windu nodded at Anakin in thanks and continued his point. A few other members took Anakin’s statement into consideration.

Little did they know he was hardly listening to them, instead he was trying to keep his pulsing erection hidden from his superiors. He was gripping onto his chair in fear that if he shifted a certain way he wouldn’t be able to subdue the moan building in the back of his throat.

Maker… he needed you.

When he was first deployed he was able to subdue his unnaturally high libido but as the time went on and tensions of the war grew, he needed some relief.

The Jedi would retreat to his tent and grab one of the military-issued rolled-up blankets and toss it onto his cot; after tying it tighter with his belt- it was ready.

He needed something other than his own fist to help him out and at least he could grip around the blanket as if he were gripping onto you.

The first few times he did this he was embarrassed- but he always kind of liked the shame. The famous General Skywalker desperately fucking himself into his blanket in the middle of the night… how pathetic.

He couldn't wait for you to scold him for being such a horny and desperate excuse of a jedi…

He wanted to hear it all.

Oftentimes he would thrust in and out of the bundle so vigorously that he would almost always collapse onto his cot from exhaustion afterwards. He just needed to get all of his cum out… he just had too much.

There were nights where he couldn’t help but moan and pant your pretty name as he bucked his hips into the makeshift pussy

“Meeting adjourned”.

Anakin blinkled himself back to reality and rushed out of the temple with great urgency. His master eyed his eagerness and simply shook his head.

Of course Obi Wan knew about you- he had known Anakin since he was a boy; he could read him like a book.

Also he had heard Anakin practically howling your name in his tent during his nightly walks more times than he would have liked.

But you were good for Anakin, plus Obi-Wan thought highly of you, so he kept his mouth shut.

You were also the only one who could put Anakin in his place.

__________________________________

You sat on the balcony of your large penthouse as you waited for your lover to arrive; Anakin sent you a message yesterday telling you he would be home today, but much to your chagrin the day had almost passed. You were getting a little worried.

Of course, being with a Jedi, you were well aware contact wouldn’t always be available- you had to keep your relationship a secret after all- but it didn’t help your anxiety.

You were about to head back to your room when you heard quick footsteps in the hallway outside of your apartment- could it be?

Before you knew it your door slid open at lightning speed and behind it was a panting Anakin. You took a moment to enjoy the beautiful scene in front of you; Anakin’s hand still outstretched form forcing the door open, his sandy locks windswept (from the speed at which he ran to you, no doubt), and a glint of desperation is his blue eyes.

Perfection.

Finally you gave in to the magnetic force pulling you to your lover and ran towards him with open arms.

“Ani!” you gasped as he met you halfway, engulfing you in a tight embrace.

Your senses filled with his force signature as you buried your face into his neck. His strong hands gripped at your back and he breathed in your sweet scent.

“It’s been too long, Angel,” he sighed into you.

“Too long” you agreed, starting to kiss up his neck.

His body shivered and a small moan escaped his plump lips.

“Fuck baby…” he groaned as he pawed at your ass through your night-robes.

You grabbed his face and pressed your lips into his; the kiss was full of passion and lust. He could barely stop his tongue from exploring your mouth- he just needed you so badly.

“Someone’s impatient” you smirked against his lips.

“You have no idea” he growled as he lifted you up to wrap your legs around his waist.

The way he held you, had your core right next to his bulging erection. He panted as you wiggled your hips against him.

“Lets go to the bedroom” you instructed and he nodded without hesitation.

Once inside you pushed yourself off of him and he backed up with a sad look in his eyes.

“Don’t worry pretty boy, I’ll give you what you want- but first I need to see how badly you really need it” your voice had a lilt of mischief to it.

“Anything- anything for you” he mewed as he began to take the glove around his mechanical hand off.

“On your knees” you demanded. You needed to see just how willing he was.

Without another word the powerful Jedi sunk to his knees and tilted his head up to meet your face. “I need you”.

The desperation in his voice made your spine tingle- he was so deprived. That only made you want to play with him even more.

“Are you sure? You don’t seem like you need my help much- you’re holding yourself together just fine- I might as well just leave the roo-”

“NO!” he exclaimed loudly, reaching for you.

After he realized he raised his voice too loud, he lowered his head, “please don’t go” he whispered.

“What was that baby?” you cooed.

“Please, don’t go- I can’t- I need you” he practically whined.

“Need me to what?” you tormented.

“I need you to touch me- I need you to help me cum” he said ashamedly.

You clicked your tongue and strode towards the man in front of you, “Alright, but you have to ask nicely alright?”.

He nodded vigorously, “Please, Please, I’ll do whatever you ask”.

You smiled and began to undo his robes. Slowly, you removed each strip of fabric from his tired body, every brush making him shiver. A new collection of scars and scrapes has accumulated on his sculpted torso- a beautiful sight. Soon all that was left was his pants, a painfully hard bulge obviously present.

“My poor pretty boy had no one to help him out huh?” you said, slowly pulling his waistband down with your fingers.

He shook his head, “no, no I didn’t”.

You freed his aching member from the constraints of his pants and he moaned as it slapped against his stomach. Anakin was truly a sight to behold; standing at 8.5 inches, a prominent vein running up his left side, his blushing red tip already leaking with precum.

Maker.

You bit your lower lip in anticipation- it took all of your willpower not to take him into your mouth then and there… but you needed to play with him some more- it would make the release all the much better.

You wrapped your fingers around him; he was hot to the touch and pulsating. He groaned and tossed his head back. With a smirk you pumped his length a few times before he began to move his hips with the up and down motion of your hand.

Once you could tell he was lost in the feeling, you removed your hand and his eyes shot open with desperation; he practically whimpered for you to continue.

“Are you sure you’ve been a good boy? I think you haven’t waited for me” you scolded.

You didn’t care if Anakin jerked off or not, but it was very enticing to berate him for doing so when it got such a visceral reaction from him.

“I-I tried not to, I really did, but wit-” he stuttered, dick still twitching.

You put on a fake displeased look and got up to take a seat in the chair adjacent to your shared bed; leaving a disheveled and agonizingly horny Anakin with a look of confusion.

“Go ahead.” you ordered.

He fixed his posture and sat on his knees once more on the plush bed, “I don’t understand-”.

“If you like the company of your own hand so much, go ahead and pleasure yourself” you said, crossing your legs.

He gave you a defeated look, “Angel, please”.

“I’m waiting.”

He huffed out a few curses under his breath before he brought his remaining human hand to his mouth and spit. This was humiliating- he was so exposed (but there was a certain allure to that).

He would never admit to anyone but you, but something about being belittled and degraded resonated with a deep part of him. All his life he had been taking orders, it was his nature by now.

“Show me how you did it while you were away, I know you needed to use something other than your hand”

The judgment in your sultry voice made his cock pulsate, Maker he loved your sweet degradations.

He grabbed a blanket and his utility belt to form a model of what he had been shooting his load into for the past few months. He mounted the bundle and began to thrust himself in and out, moans building at every snap of his hips.

Your eye twitched as you watched the scene infront of you- he was so desperate for you that he had been fucking his own bedding in wait to return to you.

Anakin was lost in the familiar pleasure of the plush blanket around himself, but the fact that he could feel you in the room was throwing him off- how could this be enough to make him cum when he could feel your presence right there.

Why would he waste his high on this when he could have you instead?

Between thrusts he managed his deep blue eyes open to see you had moved from your chair to his side. He gasped at the sensation of your cold hand on the base of his neck. You dragged your nails down his back and basked in the melodious noises he made.

You grabbed a fistful of his sandy locks and pulled his face back to look at you

“Do you even hear yourself right now Anakin, you’re moaning like a bitch in heat.”

Yes. more.

“If only those so frightened of you knew what a submissive little slut you really are; how does your battalion even take you seriously?” you taunted, standing behind him to wrap your arms around his waist.

“Fuck” he sputtered out… don’t stop.

At this point he was violently bucking his hips into the blanket, messy hair falling into his eyes, chest heaving with each snap.

“Do you want me to touch you, baby?” you whispered into his ear.

His whole body quivered at the feeling of your breath against him.

“Y-yes”

“How much do you want me t-”

“I need you! I can’t- I- Fuck!” he whined.

He was close- just a little more

The smile on your face widened and you kissed his temple before slipping your hand down his v line and finally grasping his dick- he gasped at the pressure and the coolness of your hand against his hot skin.

He leaned his head back against your shoulder as you worked on him. The overstimulation was insane- he whole body shuddered with each stroke of your hand.

“You’re so pathetic Anankin, does anyone actually respect you? Look at yourself” you taunted as you squeezed the tip of his pulsing cock garnering beads of milky precum.

He pried one of his eyes open to see the sweaty mess between his legs, precum coated his thighs, his dick, and your hands. Maker.

So close.

You took your other hand to grab around his neck, “cum for me like the good slut you are”.

There it was.

Anakin exploded in your grasp, milky cum erupted from his overworked tip. His moans rang through the walls of your bedroom and his whole body spasmed with each wave of his high. He wasn’t sure of anything in that moment except for the pleasure that filled his body.

“F-fuck fuck” he stuttered, grabbing onto your with his mechanical arm; cold metal clawing at you flesh.

His cock finally settled down, only a few twitches here and there. The scene in front of him was his ruined sheets and ropes of white.

He leaned against you as he caught his breath.

“That’s my good boy” you praised, brushing his sweaty locks from his forehead.

He whimpered at your words because his aching cock responded to your praise.

“It looks like you want more; would I be correct, or are you too tired to continue?” you smirked.

He opened his eyes and weakly propped himself up, “m-more, I can do more- need to please you” he insisted.

“please me then Ani” you cooed into his ear, running your hands up his chest.

“please me with your mouth, please me with your cock…” you trailed off before he closed his eyes once more.

And with what seemed to be a flip of a switch, he grabbed you with his strong hands and flipped you onto your back.

“I’ll show you how much of a good boy I can be”

***

(a/n: ik this was mainly just a handjob lol- but i feel like doing a whole smex scene would been too long- but lmk how u felt abt subby ani!!!)

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shadowsndaisies · 5 months ago

Text

hangman meets 'thena

wc: 1.7k

synopsis: word is, there's a new pilot on board carrier air wing nine, and she flies for the VFA-14, the Tophatters.

main masterlist

athena-verse master post

a/n: the highly requested hangman and athena meet blurb, let me know what else you'd like to see from this universe, especially things that exist outside the storyline. or even if you just want more of certain characters. This serves as a precursory understanding to Jake and Athena, it probably doesn't answer every question about them, but it might help you see their foundation a bit better. but special shoutout to @djs8891 @tgmreader @rory-cakes and @fanreader75 for asking specifically about hangman and athenas dynamic (mentions at the end as well)

You’d heard of him, everyone active had. The only active aviator with a confirmed kill, never mind that your dad had two.

Hangman was exactly what you expected if you were honest.

Phoenix, who had taken an instant liking to you as soon as you’d been reassigned to the Tophatters, had filled you in on all the Lemoore gossip. Phoenix flew with the VFA-41, the Black Aces, also based out of Lemoore, and in fact, on the same carrier as you, Commander, Carrier Air Wing Nine. Her first order of business was getting you caught up on the carrier, that included learning the players, and while she was happy to introduce you to different Naval officers, the only one she warned against was Hangman.

Someone really should have told her that at your core, you were your father’s daughter.

Let it be known, you did not go looking for him. He appeared in all his Ken Doll Aviator glory as you were doing a morning check on your F/A 18E. Apparently he also flew an F/A 18E, ‘Nix on the other hand had an F/A 18F, as she normally flew with a WSO.

He approached, full of cocky attitude, and maybe it was all the years being raised by both Ice and Mav, but when he spoke it was like you could understand him just as fluently as you did with them. You could see where Nat was coming from with “honestly, Athena, Hangman in two words? Texan Douchewad.”

“Well, Howdy, darlin’, scuttlebutt was that there was a new girl on board, glad to meet you, name’s Hangman,” was his introduction.

You couldn’t help the smirk when he said girl, “Isn’t the hallmark of a proper southern boy, that he’s, well, proper?” you shoot back, eye brow quirked. “I’m a woman, not a girl.”

It was fun, watching the way his smirk melted, how his brow furrowed, as he tried to catch up.

“You-”

“Phoenix gave me a run down, but to be honest, I’ve always preferred forming my own perceptions,” you shrug, as you continue your check.

As you brush past him, you aren’t surprised to hear him following after you. “Ah, so my reputation precedes me then?” he muses, and you can see the way he uses his charm and humor to cover, a shield of bravado, too bad he didn’t realize you were raised by bravado.

“Not exactly, though I did see your plaque at Top Gun, to be fair, I saw Phoenix’s too,” you shrug again.

“So you’re the fresh blood, huh?” he prompts, and finally you turn and smile at him.

“I guess fresh blood is better than being called new girl. Name’s Athena, you’d do well to use it,” you tell him, smile in place.

“Athena? As in th4e Greek goddess of war and wisdom?” he asks, brows furrowed down.

“That’s the one,” you nod, moving to check the landing gear.

“Athena as in, the Naval Aviator who climbed through the ranks and had two separate stations before she went to Top Gun?” he follows up and you turn.

You turn to face Hangman, and now your brows are pulled, “How’d you know that?”

“I keep tabs on things that pique my interest,” he shrugs, and your lip curls on the end. “Rumor was you had Admirals arguing over who got you under their command…”

“Nice to meet you Hangman,” you decide finally, climbing back from under the plane, and offering him your hand.

“Pleasure’s mine, Miss Athena,” he smirks back. “It true your old man flew too?” he tacks the question on as he shakes your hand.

You can see it in his eyes, nepotism, you know it’s where is brain’s gone. It’s like you couldn’t escape it, everyone assumed that’s how you got as far as you have, as quick as you have. They were wrong.

“Yeah, mostly f-14s though, nothing with the juice of my baby,” you straight up lie, so what if your dad was still flying? So what if he was probably flying f/a-18s or something experimental? No one but you needed the specifics, and you’re pretty sure it wouldn’t help you fight against the nepo-baby claims. Too bad no one realized how much of a detriment being attached to Maverick actually was. It made most of the higher ups uneasy about taking you on, unsure if you’d inherited your father’s need for speed and reckless streak, you had, but you were just better than him at keeping it in check, if Ice taught you anything, it was that — “ice cold, kiddo, no mistakes.”

“Must’ve been nice, having a leg up like that,” he’s still smiling as he talks down at you.

You match his smile and catch the flicker of confusion in his eyes as you walk up closer to him. “It was, see, it prepared me for a lifetime of dealing with cocky naval aviators and their inflated sense of bubble wrap bravado.”

“That all?” he presses, staring down at you, the two of you now face to face, staring hard at each other, but you caught the little twitch of his eye at your term.

“No,” you smirk before turning and walking away, “but I’ve got a hop to prep for, see you around Hangman.”

…

He finds you in the Mess later that day. You’d just returned from morning drills with your squad, and was eating with Phoenix.

“Ladies,” he greets, setting his own tray down in the seat opposite you.

“And I’ve officially lost my appetite,” Phoenix decided, standing up. “Athena, I’ll catch you later, I’d say it’s nice to see you, Bagman, but we know better,” she states, grabbing her tray, patting your shoulder and walking away.

“You sure know how to clear a room, Hangman,” you note, eyes flicking to Phoenix over Hangman’s shoulder, Nat was clearing her tray and pauses to look back and roll her eyes dramatically as she looks at Hangman’s back.

Your lip twitches and you lift your glass of water to cover up the smile threatening to split your lips.

“Bubble wrap bravado,” Hangman repeats back to you, echoing your statement from yesterday.

“What about it?” you challenge.

“Explain it to me,” it’s not a question, not in how it’s phrased, but you understand that he is asking.

“Protective to an extent, easier to pop than you think, so long as you apply the pressure properly. Problem is, everyone knows when it does, it’s usually a bit loud,” you explain, and he seems so incredibly focused on you.

You didn’t mind the hyper-focus though, you’d coined the term a long time ago. It had originally been for a different boy, one with a temper, but who you’d watched grow up. Ice had thought it an apt descriptor, he’d even taken it to describe a few officer’s he’d interacted with over the years.

“Hmm,” he hums, eyes glued to yours.

“You disagree?” you ask.

“No. I think you hit it on the head,” he admits and your lips curl up just the slightest bit, at least he seemed honest… cock sure and stubborn too, but honest.

“A naval aviator for a father was a lot of things, Hangman,” you admit, hesitating for a moment, deciding how much you wanted to say. “It was limited time, and firm goodbyes. It was getting behind a yoke for the first time when I was 12. It was learning ranks at the same time I was learning how to do multiplication,” you say, and you study how his expression changed which each revelation. “Having a Naval Aviator for a father might have given me a home field advantage, but that’s all it did. The rest, the wings, the assignments, I earned those,” you tell him seriously.

“Sure you did,” he nods along condescendingly, but his eyes betray his curiosity, and for now, that was enough for you.

You smile again at him, though this time it is a bit sour. “You don’t believe me, that’s fine, fair even, to be skeptical. But you should know, you’re gonna eat crow when you realize how wrong you were,” you tell him seriously, before standing up with your plate and glass, and walking away.

…

You get your chance to prove him wrong just a few days later when the Tophatters get assigned to a drill with both of the other squadrons on board the carrier, the Black Aces, and the Vigilantes. Meaning both Nat and Jake are in the air with you.

After is the first time Jake looks at you with something other than cocky contempt. As if seeing you fly up close resolved some of his concerns, but there’s still something there. He was waiting for the other shoe, too bad no one told him that you’d had both feet firmly on the ground since you signed your life to the Unites States Naval Services.

You get paired with him about a month and a half later for a cover assignment for an emergency evac of a SEAL team.

Normally assignments were set within squads, but it was an emergency evac and the carrier was docked. You and Jake had been the closest to the carrier at the time who were qualified, and so you were the two who were sent off. You flew south into South America, and while a lot of the details were later labeled as redacted, Jake never questioned your ability after. Nor should he. You saved his life.

He did however decide that meant you were friends, much to the immense annoyance of one Natasha Trace.

Considering the entire mission had been classified and redacted, you weren’t able to explain a lot of it to her, but when Jake started choosing his words a little more carefully she did her best not to start anything either. When he started sitting with you in the mess, she eyed him carefully. And when he started following you around in any downtime that lined up, she kept her mouth shut.

She found a new case study in the two of you, the outward and obvious differences between Hangman with Athena, and Hangman without. Her eyes jumping from how easily you let your guard down with him, and how utterly soft Hangman could be when he thought no one was paying attention.

Natasha, to her credit, had tried, desperately tried, to get more information out of you regarding your budding friendship, but all you would ever offer was a simple, “people tend to be more complex than what meets the eye, ‘Nix, I’m proof of that. So is he, and so are you.”

She decided then and there, you had way too much tact and patience, and maybe, just maybe, that was what Hangman needed.

...

everything: @butterfly-skinnylegend

athena’s tags: @omgbrianab @smoothdogsgirl @bazellawriz @sbrewer21 @inky-sun @djs8891 @rory-cakes @geeksareunique @je6291 @whoismurphyslaw @kee-0-kee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @thespillingvoid @youdontknowe @burningcoffeecupp @mrsevans90

...

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canonsinthehead · 3 months ago

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One Piece Headcanons - One Piece Fan Letter's Brother & More

Let's finally put words and these two magnificent Marine Brothers along with some headcanons. Dinner is ready!

Older Brother

Name: Gina D. Morino

Birthplace: South Blue

Age: 32 yo (DO NOT call him old, he hates it and he’s not)

Marine Rank: Master Chief Petty Officer

Favorite Food: His favorites fruits are Mangoes and Bananas (because monkey love bananas apparently). He has a weakness for sweets and parfaits but barely consume them to stay in shape. Meat (especially Grilled Beef or Lamb) in the honor of his favorite pirate

Least liked Food: Cranberries and he hates any types of pasta and tomato meatball sauce because one day he had to clean up his brother vomit after getting drunk and they just ate that very meal. The disgusting smell and pool of digested food on the floor forever turned him off from this meal.

Typical older sibling syndrome, when he was younger his parents put a lot of “you must show the example! You are the first-born!” type of pressure.

Back in elementary school up until high school, he had to take ballet classes (under the order of his parents) when his younger brother could choose whatever he wanted to do as extracurricular activities. He changed it every week or so and their parents folded EVERYTIME.

Still enjoys dancing but keeps it to himself because it was often used as a nasty joke (Do you know my big bro loves to dance?! Come on show us!!!! Hahahaha you should be in a band!). The reason why it bothers him so much is because he despises when someone’s passion (no matter what it is) is not taken seriously or mocked/ridiculed.

He is taller and never mentions the fact that his arrogant little brother is wearing height lengthening insoles to make both of them the same height. The younger often brags when he appears a little taller. Gina refrains from mentioning the truth because his brother is insecure about his height

Has a Luffy shrine in his bedroom in a shoe box he hides under his bed.

Everything he eats turns into 10 pounds of fat if he’s not careful contrary to his brother who can inhaled gallons of food and not gain a single pound.

Always loses at card games against his younger brother

Single and never being in a relationship. If he gained 1$ every time his parents asked when he’ll get married, he would be richer than all celestial dragons combined.

Currently operates in New Marineford but would love to work and discover the East Blue (Luffy birthplace)

his brother clown him for having a “feminine name”

Favorite Marine: Gets along with Koby well. Female higher-ups won’t leave him alone. He is working under Tashigi’s leadership, but she recommended him to Tsuru who agreed to further his training and possibly promote him since he made so much improvement. Bel-Mère can’t contain her laughter “You’re so popular with the ladies!”

Least Liked Marine:

Borsalino. He is not forgiving him for almost killing him with his beams of lights.

Akainu & Greenbull: With all that happened to him recently, his stance on the Marine, pirates and the world are changing but those two men’s narratives are too much in his opinion and negative in the long term.

Likes Pinkpantheress

Younger Brother

Name: Clovis D. Morino

Birthplace: South Blue

Age: 28 yo

Marine Rank: Lieutenant Commander

Favorite Food: He loves Strawberries and swears Rhubarb is the greatest thing ever (everyone ignores him). Seafood boil enthusiast and Sandwich Lover, it doesn’t matter what’s inside of it.

Least liked Food: Hate greens and almost pukes at the sight of them, his brother thinks he need to grow up.

He received the typical youngest sibling favoritism, and it got to his head.

Favorite Activity to do with his brother: Challenging to anything (like races, arm wrestling, push-ups and loses 90% of the time but ALWAYS bring up how it’s the only time his older brother can win and how he’s better than him at life blah blah blah...,). One thing they agree on is their love of collecting and analysis wanted/bounty posters. They are geeks about it and is always trying to learn about what going in the world of piracy even if “the pirates are bad, and we are the good marine”

Had many girlfriends but struggles to stay faithful and often uses his marine rank to get his way with the ladies. Gold Medal Womanizer.

Biggest dog fan while his brother is a rodent (rabbit, Guinea pig, Hamster & Capybara) type of guy

For unknown reason, mobs of pigeons have an affair with him and often chase him, he stopped fighting it when he learned that birds pooping on you meant great luck and it happens every time. “I DIDN’T CHOSE LUCK, LUCK CHOSE ME!”

Favorite Marine: Akainu, for being the strongest in his opinion. He loves to hang out with Django & Full-Body. Not only they are in the same rank but they are cool dudes to have a good time & dance with. Clovis likes above all when Django tells his adventures when he was a pirate. There’s thousands of stories and all of them have all type of information about pirates and the world, it fascinates him to no end.

Least Liked Marine: Hina.

He will never admit how hard it is for him to ask for help to his brother even in his worst moments because of his gigantic ego. Marineford was a painful and bitter lesson in humility even if his “spoiled brat” personality never went away or reduced a little bit.

Blonde Rich Kid

Name: Barclay Early Cumberbatch

Birthplace: East Blue

Age: 24 yo

Marine Rank: Seaman Recruit First Class

Favorite Food: Beef Sausages, Quiche & Eggplant Spread

Least liked Food: Spicy Foods, Cinamon & Iced Coffee (he thinks it’s an abomination to the art of coffee)

Rich kid who got in with his father’s connections, this is the highest rank he could get without traditionally “climbing the ladder” and he’s bitter about it

It was not clear, but Helmeppo know this guy, his family was working with Captain Morgan (during his prime). Helmeppo mentioned how Barclay always had narcissistic/bullying/controlling tendencies worse than him back in days. Helmeppo always tries to stay as far as he possibly can and advice others to do the same

He was the type to questions his teachers and starting arguments with them over the taught material back in college/marine academy.

Often complain how uncomfortable the fodder marines’ uniform is

He often shoves civilians out of his way or kicks dogs.

Doesn’t respect women in the Marine

Favorite Marine:

Akainu.

Least Liked Marine:

You would think him and Greenbull are personality and ideology twins, but he despises the green admiral for being “annoying”, his closeness with the fleet admiral and for being egregiously unattractive.

HE CAN’T STAND KOBY! He had to work under him many times and he can’t bottle his hatred for the pink haired boy. His voice, the way he dresses, EVERYTHING. Barclay always depicts him as someone desperate for the validation of higher-ups and talentless.

Smoker. Told the vice admiral to “put some clothes on”. Smoker didn’t acknowledge his existence.

X Drake. Knowing Drakes’s endeavor with women, he made him grab a seaman recruit’s breasts and got suspended for it, but his rich daddy bailed him out like nothing happened.

He made Hibari’s life a living nightmare luckily Bel-Mère was here to check him.

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

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Can I request a yandere Katsumi who has the hots for his first and only female student?

It feels a little bit like presenting a dish before Gordon Ramsay on Hell’s Kitchen or something, but as you wish ma’am. Let us hope I don’t make a donkey out of myself.

Yandere! Katsumi Orochi x Student! Reader

Featuring the karate prodigy and a female reader that’s impressed him beyond just fighting skills.

[Baki Masterlist]

It’s not a given for everyone, but some people just seem to be gifted for a particular vocation, inclined towards a certain calling. While Katsumi is widely envied for his quick learning and masterful karate prowess, the one place where he shines most, where his skill is unequivocally unmatched, is in the dojo. Specifically before students. One can easily tell him apart, even among names of greater authority such as Doppo Orochi. Pupils naturally flock to him, you included.

Your case, however, is a little bit of an exception. Out of random circumstance you happen to be the only female student at the Shinshinkai Dojo. Truth be told, Katsumi had opposed your membership at first. He takes pride in his neutral approach and equal treatment when it comes to his pupils. So when the men started to whisper, snicker and whistle secretly behind your back, he could only grit his teeth in shame and frustration. He would’ve liked to scold them, tell them that this is a sacred place dedicated only to martial arts and other temptations are to be kept strictly out. But he, too, found you attractive. He would’ve been lying to everyone, including himself. Hereby the conflict: accepting you as a student would’ve been tainted by impure thoughts, but denying to train you would’ve stripped him of his dignity as a teacher. He promised to fix his inappropriate attitude instead; after all, discipline is part of the art.

All that being said, he doesn’t regret his decision. You’re awfully talented and often remind him of his own karate journey. You only need the slightest push in order to grasp most techniques and you’ve gone above and beyond his expectations in conquering the basics. The veiled, flirty glances from the other fighters have been replaced by somber, respectful nods as your reputation continues to increase with each rank. Katsumi would go as far as calling you a true prodigy. Admiration aside, only one small issue remains: not only has his initial crush remained with stubborn vehemence, but it appears to have turned into full blown, sickening infatuation. To put it mildly, he’s obsessed.

Is he really to blame here? It’s as if everything about you has been carefully chiseled to his liking. “Then the Lord God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man. The man said, ‘This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called ‘woman’, for she was taken out of man.’” You are the Eve to his Adam, a genesis of love that was fated to return to him. There is no other explanation. Indeed, the more he tries to rationalize it, the clearer his purpose becomes. Out of all the places, the timelines, the people, the fact that against all millions of variables your encounter settled on him…His desire is not to be disciplined. Not anymore. One has to acknowledge the ridiculousness of battling destiny itself.

Then he shall no longer tamper with matters that are predestined. In fact, he might just lend fate a helping hand. His patience is reserved for teaching, not romantic affairs. He needs an opportunity to have you alone without interruptions, and conveniently enough you’ve asked him to stay behind today. You can barely conceal your cheeky smile as you slide the canvas door open. As promised, Katsumi is standing near the wall, hands folded behind his back. You can feel your heart pounding, but you muster up the courage to approach him. You’ve been training hard and he’s had nothing but praise for you. A nervous blush tints your face as you bat your eyelashes, calculating your next words. Katsumi’s eyes narrow in adoration. It’s alright, he knows. “How may I help you, (Y/N)?” He nudges you expectantly. “I’ve been wondering about it…I was afraid of your response, but I need to let it out nonetheless. I think I’m ready for the next step.” Oh God, here it comes. He can barely contain himself. Just say the words, and he’ll take you right here and now. “I know it hasn’t been that long, but I really think I’m ready for the upcoming competition. Is there truly no way for me to sign up, even with my current belt?”

Huh. His mouth hangs open for longer than he would’ve preferred. Is this…is this why you’ve called him here? He looks around the room, as if expecting some cameramen to pop out and announce it was all a prank and (Y/N) actually meant to confess her unwavering attraction to him. Your smile slowly fades seeing his increasingly frantic expression. He grunts. “I’m sorry, if you think I’m not ready yet I can-“ He lifts a hand to your face and firmly grabs your jaw. Shut up, please. He walks over to the door, pulling you after him, and hastily checks the hallway for people. It’s empty. With the other free hand he slams the door shut. The dojo will remain closed until morning at least. Plenty of time to set you straight. It’s fine, he’s calm. Oh, you silly, sweet darling (Y/N). He loves this innocent obliviousness of yours. There are other important matters at hand. You try to remove his fingers from your face, but Katsumi’s arm is tense and stiff, refusing to budge. You’re suddenly very cold. His gaze is different and it scares you. You don’t recognize the possessed, hollow eyes that pierce into you. But here’s where you’re mistaken, they’re not hollow at all. On the contrary, they’re overflowing with adoration and worship. You just haven’t realized it yet.

#baki #baki the grappler #baki hanma #yandere Baki #baki headcanons #baki x reader #katsumi orochi #katsumi orochi x reader #yandere

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aviawrites · 7 months ago

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a winter’s dragon: flying

!s: aemond targ x reader, northern!reader

summary: Princess Auriela hasn’t known a day of happiness since she was arranged to marry Aemond Targaryen. In her pursuits to take control of her life so far from her home in the North, Auriela only stirs the pot of the already war stricken kingdom, pointing knives in her direction. Accompanied by her common folk, Auriela intends to dig herself out of her green hole. [9.9k]

a/n: i’ve been writing a game of thrones fic for a year and a half now (i can’t seem to finish). in the meantime, my most recent hyper fix has been aemond so i hope this story does him justice. part two may come in three days or three years depending on my mood. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: swearing, allusions to sex/almost a smut scene, death, violence, nothing you haven’t watched in the show

in this story, yn is: auriela dustin

hey! read part 2! -> a winter’s dragon: burning

The Red Keep has been a cold place, the walls going bare and air flowing frigid since the departure of Rhaenyra. In the two short years since the Grand Maester wed you to the queen’s second born son, you’ve quickly come to realize why your neighboring Northern house, Stark, happily bent the knee to Rhaenyra when she was named.

Much has changed since then, your already feeble relationship with your husband has grown ever weaker. You’ve become a solemn woman since your last days in your home of the North, your only friends in the Keep being your handmaiden, Vialy, and your goodsister, Helaena. Sinless, virtuous women in the crossfire of the vicious infighting that has fallen upon the kingdom as of late. You spend your days with them, caring for Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, and strolling with Vialy as the royal family immerses themselves in their own politicking.

Your husband, Aemond, seems just as apathetic to you as you are him. The only conversations you have consist of him relaying cold messages from his mother, the majority urging you to produce her son heirs in order to strengthen their line. Save those, you and your husband have virtually no interaction at all. Even the consummation of your marriage has been put off, neither of you wanting to face the reality of your relationship.

Now, in your bedchambers, you wince, blood drawing from where you’ve pricked your finger with the embroidery needle. Just as you go to soothe it with your mouth, a knock comes through the door.

“Come.” You call, sucking your thumb.

“Lord Larys Strong, my Lady.” Vialy’s voice softly whispers as she opens the door, the clubfoot coming into view. She closes it behind him.

You set aside your hoop and fabric, smoothing your robe as you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

“Please, Princess,” he holds a hand up. “No need.”

You nod, putting your legs back under the covers. “What is it, Lord Strong?”

He stalks closer, his eyes switching from the silhouette of your legs and back to you.

“Women,” he begins, “are the most overlooked assets in the kingdom, my Lady. Good queen Alysanne’s Women’s Courts brought to light many of the injustices our mothers, sisters, and wives stumble upon in their ranks.”

“I know my histories well, my Lord,” you assure him. “Is that of relevance?”

He glares at you, that sorrowful look forver behind his eyes.

“May I speak plainly?”

“Please.”

“…I understand that you’ve taken notice of your Lord husband’s absences at night. One seldom may find him abed, where he’s expected, in the hour of the wolf.”

Your brows thread together as the Lord teeters on overstepping. Though you’ve wisened to the fact that the clubfoot has a gift for speaking ugly truths with no consequence falling upon him.

He continues. “I can’t help but wonder if the Princess ever longs to know where he spends his nights.”

You sigh. “I have no doubt that you possess such knowledge.”

“I do…but I shall hold my tongue, should it displease you to know,” he remarks, cornering you into the allusion of choice, wanting you to beg at his feet for the miraculous information that he seems to have an endless supply of.

“No, pray tell me where Aemond goes in the dead of night,” you relent.

Lord Larys goes on to tell you nothing short of a tale. He speaks of a pleasure house that your husband frequents, along with a madam. Thrice his age she’s said to be, the first and only woman he’s laid with. That is where he chooses to spend his time, throwing dirt on the name of his wife in exchange for a whore in a pleasure house.

You dismiss the Lord, but can’t help the spark of fury rising in your stomach. Aemond is the son of the Dowager, he’s brother of the King, he’s a Targaryen, and he chooses to fill his time shaming his name and house in such a place. The issue hardly lies with his choice of establishment and more with his status. He’s promised to you, wed to you. Even if the two of you have no love for the arrangement, at least you honor it. But because he is a man he can conduct himself as he pleases?

You quickly change out of your robes and into a plain featured gown, making sure that a hood is on the collar. Swinging your door open, you grab Vialy’s hand and pull her down the corridor.

“Where are we headed?” she asks, struggling to keep up with your pace.

“We’re going out,” you whisper.

“What for?”

“If my husband can spend his nights on the Street of Silk, so can I.”

“The Street of Silk?” she raises her voice as the two of you rush down the stairs. “What business could you possible have there?”

“Shh-“

“Auriela.” you hear a familiar voice at the top of the stairs.

The two of you freeze, slowly turning to face your goodbrother, dimly lit by the moonlight.

“Aegon.”

“Where are you off to?” he asks, a cup of wine in his hand and a tipsy droop to his eyelids.

“To the city, my King,” you say truthfully, assuming he won’t remember the conversation come dusk. “We won’t be long.”

“Well…Wait there, I’ll get someone to escort you.”

“Oh, there’s no need for hassle, brother. I’ve got Vialy-“

“Your handmaiden is not a knight,” he rolls his eyes, ever vigilant of how attached at the hip the two of you are. “You need a swordsman, stay there.”

Aegon stumbles as he walks toward his chambers in search of a guard. You look at a wide eyed and terrified Vialy. You briefly ponder on your next actions, though not long enough before you pull your friend with you, sprinting down the stairs and toward the side doors.

“Ella!” she whisper shouts as you run away from the castle.

“I’m not being chaperoned on a visit to my own city. Especially not by some stuck up white cloak.”

“The King commanded you, I- We’ll get in trouble!”

“The King’s drunk, he probably never made it ten steps before collapsing.”

…

You finally slow down, looking in upon the vibrant Street of Silk, colorful creatives and laborers alike lining the street with their gifts. A great smile grows on your face, never having seen such savage freedom in your life. Nothing of the sort could possibly take place in the snowy streets of Barrowtown, nor the guarded streets of the Keep. But the smallfolk, the lucky majority, see such liberty all their lives.

You and Vialy stop at the tallest and most decorated brothel on the street, men and women pouring in and out.

“Are you sure about this, Princess?”

“No more of that, Via,” you tuck your hair before pulling your hood up. “We no longer have status. Not here,” you grin before pulling her in.

What you can only imagine is the smell of ravaging sex fills the air, the temperature rising as the two of you cowardly enter the pillow house.

“This is not a place becoming of a royal, Auriela,” Vialy whispers.

“The King and his brother attend such places all the time,” you mindlessly remark, looking around at all of the frivolous and free fucking in every direction.

It’s only when your eyes scan a private room at the back of the house when you see a sight you don’t expect.

Green eyed, olive, and tall, a roughly dressed boy sits alone on a floor mattress, looking out at the pursuits around him.

“Via…” you keep your eyes on him.

“If any of them were at the wedding they’ll know who you-“

“Vialy, look.” you point.

The two of you stare on as he obliviously looks past you, his carefully molded face glistening with a sheet of sweat in the humid atmosphere.

“I’ll see you…” you walk toward the boy.

“What- Don’t leave me, Ella!”

“He isn’t your taste anyhow, find a maiden to entertain.”

Vialy turns red at your observations, never secure in who the gods made her attracted to. You never minded though, the realm knows the same of Rhaenyra’s late husband, Laenor. It never cast as dark of shadow on house Velaryon as Vialy believes it shall cast on her.

“Princess.” she nods, leaving you to it as you approach the boy.

You draw closer. His emerald eyes look up at you as you close the curtain behind you, sitting criss cross in front of him.

“How much for your favors?”

He remains relaxed, slyly leaning back on his hands. “How much do you have?”

You smile. “I just want your time.”

“I have little and less of it as of late, Princess.”

You catch a frog in your throat as your smile drops, sitting up straight.

“…You know me?”

He leans forward, stroking the arm of your gown. “Nobles frequent here…No common woman has frocks of such tulle.”

Your face goes a little hot as you examine his…examining yours. The man is young enough, though older than Aemond, only by a few years. His loose blouse nearly slips off of his thin frame as a mischievous smirk grows on his lips.

“I’ve never served a highborn woman before,” he mimics your position, his hands in his lap.

“And that way you shall remain,” you assure him. “Who have you served?”

“Many out of the Red Keep. Beneath their cloaks of righteousness all men wish for the same thing.”

“Is it only highborn men that you’ve served?”

“Highborn…lowborn…any willing to pay their dues.”

“Hm,” you hum, wondering if he knows how much you envy his autonomy of his own endeavors.

“And what of you? What business does a Princess have in a place like this?”

“I heard I’m free to be who I wish as long as I’m here,” you say truthfully. “Free to do as I wish.”

“That is true…Though I’d imagine you’d much better enjoy the freedoms of the safe castle.”

You scoff. “I know none of the freedoms you speak of. I’m just as chained as the prisoners I walk above every day.”

“You resent what most girls would kill for.”

“Let them,” you shrug. “I’d give my station to the lowest of women if it meant I could go back home.”

“And where is that?”

You pause, wondering if such information can be trusted with this man. But as he so prettily awaits an answer, you can only think of the web of truths your husband has likely spun to his paramour.

“Barrowtown.”

“A Northerner,” he smiles, “I should’ve known.”

“And where is your home?”

“Is it not clear?”

You furrow your brows.

“Gods, the sun really has been seized from my skin,” he chuckles. “Dorne, Princess. Starfall.”

“Starfall…” you recall your lessons with the Septa. “Are you a Dayne?”

He hums. “You know your histories, Princess.”

“Call me Auriela, Lord Dayne.”

“Lord,” his body shakes with an erupting laugh, his smile brightening your mood even more. “I’m no Lord, Princess Auriela. I’m called Lucan, or Deephide.”

“Deephide?”

“They say I’m too dark to be a hart but too light to be a crow. The company I keep isn’t too creative when it comes to names.”

You laugh. “I think Lucan is a fine name alone.”

You and the boy talk well into the night, your sitting positions morphing into lying side by side on the mattress. Groups of buyers trot in and out of the pleasure house, though all of Lucan’s are rejected in your presence.

In one of the long hours of the night, or perhaps an early hour of the morning, Vialy emerged from behind the curtain. A girl was treading on her heels, her hair darker than yours and skin paler than salt. Your heart warms as Vialy’s rare smile grows upon her face, locking hands with the girl. Alice, she’s called. “I never want to leave, Ella.” she remarks before giddily running back off with her doxy.

It’s only hours later, when the patrons thin and the sounds of pleasure cease, that you and Lucan finally egress from the small back room. There, you see slithers of sunlight peeking through the cracks in the door.

Vialy rushes up to you, her eyes wide.

“Princess,” she urges. “Princess, we must go.”

On the other side of the door, you hear an array of hoof beats against the cobblestone street.

“They’re looking for you, Princess,” she frantically pulls you toward the door.

“Wh- Who?”

“The City Watch.” vialy heaves, her panic only growing. “We’ve overstayed, it’s well past the hour of the Nightingale. We must return.”

“Wait, wait,” you pull your arm from her. “Why must we go? Aemond doesn’t return for days at a time.”

Vialy stares at you. “We are not men, Princess.”

“Why rush?” you giggle, Lucan joining your side. “You were just having so much fun.”

“That was before I knew that Gold Cloaks were searching for a Princess that I’m meant to tend to. Please,” she pulls you once again, “please, let’s return to the Keep.”

“No,” you turn her to you. “The Gold Cloaks will cast around for a while before they return to the Keep empty handed, as they do with my husband.”

She frowns. “Ella…”

“We will return,” you assure her. “Only a little longer, okay? We as women don’t experience this freedom often in our lives, allow me this one day.”

Vialy’s expression says all you need to know. Nevertheless, she bows her head as she does in the Red Keep.

“Princess,” she mumbles before weakly returning to the dark haired girl.

Lucan turns to you. “Do you often evade the law enforcement of your castle?”

“Not nearly as much as I wish to,” you smile.

“I have yet to meet a noble woman who’d rather spend her days in a pillow house than in her palace.”

“Spend your time locked in the Keep and see how long before you run back to freedom.”

He examines the near empty premises before pulling you toward the door.

“Once the Watch leaves our street I’ll be happy to show you the finer things in your city,” he suggests. “Much prettier than here…”

…

Your hood stays up as Lucan pulls you by the hand, holding tight so as not to lose you in the sea of smallfolk at the Blackwater docs. Your mouth hangs agape as ships sit idle in the port, hundreds of men laboring on and around them. Grand green and gold flags hang from many of them as cargo is loaded.

“Are these all from Essos?” you ask Lucan.

“I thought you knew your histories.”

“Lands and lords, I know well. Maritime traffic was never a subject my septas lingered on.”

“Hm,” Lucan nods, watching as you admire the great ships. “Well that one there is from Braavos. The plum tint of their sails is from the old practice of dying their stolen ships.”

“And those?” you point to the green bannered vessels. “Are they our royal fleet?”

“Some are,” he shrugs. “Others come from lands across the Narrow Sea or the Sea of Dorne.”

The two of you finally depart the docs in pursuit of your next expedition. Lucan plays the jester, forcing so many laughs from you that your stomach burns as the two of you explore your sacred town for hours. Plays in Flea Bottom amuse you more than any fool in the Keep has, beautiful musicians bring you to tears, and incredible tailor-ship lines the streets as the sun begins to fall. The two of you see flashes of gold throughout the city, signaling the second round of searches. Lucan leads you back to the whore house that is once again bursting at the seams. You head to the familiar and quiet room, though you pause when you see Alice, alone.

“Where’s Via gone?” you ask, Lucan’s hand still in yours.

“Forgive me, she’s left.”

A small beat skips in your heart as you examine the room.

“Has she?”

“Early this evening, says she was too afraid of the Gold Cloaks to deliberately elude their efforts.”

“Hm,” you nervously bite your lip. “Well I shall await her return, even if she may bear the company of those I avoid. When they come, I shall be ready.”

Alice stops you when you attempt to pass her, holding something out.

“For when you see her next,” she places a fine necklet in your hand, a handmade red pendant in the center.

You nod, noticing the matching one she wears around her neck. With that, you and Lucan leave Alice and enter your room.

“Do you imagine your husband worries for you?” Lucan asks as you both sit.

“He’s never done so before, it’d be a shock if he began now.”

“He surely has some love for you, Princess. It must not be that he’s a cold as you say.”

“Colder,” you assure him, your knees touching his as you lean toward him. “We hold the titles man and wife but we couldn’t be further from it.”

“…Does he please you?”

You scoff. “Not in the way you’re asking.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I like how you speak plainly,” you smile. “Aemond seems to prefer a more…seasoned woman.”

Lucan laughs. “Really?”

“Thrice his age his lover is said to be,” you reveal before you can stop yourself.

“May I say it as I see it, Princess?”

You nod, paying more attention to his lips than you are his words.

“I think the Prince knows not of what he fails to seek out. I have no doubt that he’d find satisfaction in pleasuring you. His wife is a maiden yet he fucks a crone…a fools choice he makes.”

“Precisely, Lucan,” you argue. “It matters not whether I’m a maiden if at the time of the deed, I have no knowledge of what I’m to do. By all accounts I’m meant to lay there as he impales me until I bear his plain featured sons, I want no part in it.”

“I can show you, Princess. When done the way whores are taught, coupling isn’t an act of duty but a mutual act of pleasure. For both lady and lord.”

You think on his words, your attention now on those rather than his mouth. You ultimately agree, some hidden and repulsive side deep in you wanting to be desired. Wanting to be able to please Aemond.

Lucan smiles, lying on the mattress. He pulls you onto him, a flash of hot warming your face.

“He’ll never allow me atop him like this.”

“Perhaps no. But minds will change once he feels what happens when you are.”

He places his hands on your hips, rocking them back and forth as he instructs you as to where to put your hands. His chest, his neck, your hair, your palms roam every inch of your bodies as he instructs you further. Even when he flips the two of you, hovering above, he tells you how to stay in control. His bottoms stroke against your dress as your hands travel once more to Lucan’s orders.

The two of you continue until you’re sweaty and worn out, falling asleep with many and more ideas on how to touch your husband, should the time when you wish to ever come.

✺ ✺ ✺

“Are you sure about this, Princess?” Lucan looks around the crowded fighting pits. “He’s not ours to take.”

“Would you rather him in there?” you ask as you pick up the tiny, hooded, silver haired boy, looking down at the feral children.

Lucan stays quiet, following after you as the boy keeps a hold around your neck. You make it all the way back to your room in the whore house before being stopped.

“You can’t bring a child in. Leave him outside,” a brothel madam commands at the door.

“They’re with me,” Lucan insists.

“Outside,” she commands.

You sigh heavy, reluctantly lowering the boy’s hood to reveal his indisputable Targaryen hair. The madam’s eyes widen as she more likely than not imagines how much a Targaryen would sell for, even if he’s only young. She lets you in, smirking at Lucan as if he’s brought her a gift.

You arrive back to the room. “He’s not Aemond’s,” you tell Lucan. “My husband’s a fool but he’d never do this.”

“Aegon’s then,” he watches as you sit the child in front of you two.

“One of many I’d think.”

The boy is slow to speak, making you wonder if he knows how. You can make out that he’s about Jaehaerys’ age, no older than seven.

It’s only after much unanswered questions and empty silence that the boy finally speaks. Maeserys, he’s called.

“Whoever his mother is,” you whisper to Lucan, “she knew what he was.”

A name fit for a decendant of Old Valyria. He uncovers the little of his past that he remembers. No brothers, no mother, only fighting pits and scavenging. He speaks with a lisp and knows few words, only enough to keep him alive in a city such as this one. You can’t help but feel sad for Maeserys, he’s your kin by law yet has been living as a commoner since he can remember.

Lucan relieves the boy of the heavy interrogation, delivering him to his close friend working a nearby tavern, Pate. As difficult as it is to separate from the neglected boy, a tavern is a much more fitting environment for someone like him.

Alone again, you and Lucan sit knee to knee, your hand in his. He traces the lines of your palm, a trick he says he learned in Dorne. “Each trunk is how many sons you’ll have, each branch is how many daughters.” According to this, you’re meant to have three of each.

Simultaneously, you trace his palms back. You sit in silence, the ambience of constant foot traffic outside humming lowly. Lucan lifts your hand, pressing a kiss into it. You’re entranced, sensuality sparking through you as you look over to him.

“Every woman is an image of the mother,” his face nears yours, “to be treated with reverence.”

It’s not a thought out action when your lips meet. It’s slow, it’s passion filled. A small smile grows on your lips as you truly taste your newfound freedom, finally being liberated of the dread that comes with your husband in the Red Keep. Lucan’s lips travel downward to your jaw, then to your neck. You stroke hair, small breaths escaping you. His hand is making its way up your thighs and to your waist when the curtain cover of the room is ripped open.

There, standing taller than you remember him, your husband stares down at you. His old ladylove of which you’ve heard so much about stands behind him, both of them stripped and bare. Aemond’s face twists in a mix of anger and humiliation, staring at both you and Lucan before rushing away.

You’re left frozen, silent as Lucan stumbles over his words.

“I-“ he stammers, “I’m sorry, Princess. I knew not that he’d be-“

Your eyes stay wide, tears beginning to line them as you think of all of the grave consequences that you’ve invited upon yourself. You never had a plan, at least not one that you’ve thought through. Sure, you were awaiting the Gold Cloaks. But the idea of your own husband catching you in such a compromised state sends shivers down your spine.

Though, there was no time for shock. Aemond comes barreling back in, now fully clothed and alone. He says nothing, only tightly grabs your arm and drags you to your feet, away from Lucan.

✺ ✺ ✺

Water fills your eyes as they stay glued to the floor. You stand in the center of a secluded room, the furnace behind you heating up your body. In front of you, a council of those you wished to never lay eyes on again stare at you. The Dowager Queen, the Hand, the Maester, your husband, and the King all sit behind a long table, interrogating.

“What for?” the Queen Mother asks, stern and angry.

“I- I don’t know, Your Grace,” you mumble, hiccuping between your tears. “I wanted to see beyond the walls of the keep.”

“Three days, Auriela,” she reminds you. “You ‘saw the city’ for three days whilst the Watch was searching endlessly?”

You’ve concluded that she’s the most fearsome woman the Gods have yet to make as you fiddle with the hem of your sleeve, barely able to croak out words.

“…I was exploring.”

“Exploring, you say,” she nods. “In a brothel?”

You shake your head, assembling a feeble lie in the seconds you have. “I was only chasing hound, my Queen.”

“And the boy?”

Suddenly, the air escapes your body as you look up for the first time, your eyes shooting to Aemond. He was angry with you, rightfully so. But you hadn’t expected him to tell his mother the true details of how he found you. For some foolish reason you thought the two of you had that understanding.

“I- He means nothing we…we did nothing. I swear it.”

Your husband for some odd reason feels the need to speak up.

“That’s not what the madam told me.”

An anger rises in you that you weren’t sure was accessible to you at such a time as this. Only in the face of directly speaking to Aemond did all of your fear cease.

“And what were you yourself doing in a brothel, Lord husband?”

He smirks, recognizing this side of you. “Searching for my Lady wife, of course.”

“Searching,” you scoff. “Is that why every whore on the Street of Silk knows you by name and face? Because you go searching so often?”

“Hm, watch your words, wife,” he bickers back, his smirk turning into more of a sneer.

"Your words are wind, for I am innocent of any crimes,” you speak up, face hot with fury. “Why am I standing trial when the Prince runs to the same place every night? Fucking old rotting whores instead of tending to his wife-“

“That is enough, Auriela!” Alicent demands, pounding her hands on the table.

Aegon finally acts, placing a hand on Alicent’s. “Mother…”

Remembering he is here, you bow your head. “My apologies, my King. That was beneath me.”

Otto Hightower sighs, breaking the silence as the table ogles his daughter. "It brings shame to your house, Princess; to your family, when a Lady such as yourself is seen in such an...implicative position. We only ask that you not be seen conducting yourself in such a manner again.”

You nod at the Hands request, slight shame warming your face.

“Command, he means to say,” Aegon corrects. "It is a command by word of your King that you never leave this keep again if not attended."

"I was attended-"

"By a member of my Kingsguard."

Once again, you nod, though you’d much rather roll your eyes in the face of this shameless usurper.

"A clement constraint, wife,” Aemond adds. “It wouldn't be so were I King."

If only you were King.

✺ ✺ ✺

“One day I’d like to see the city,” Helaena remarks as you sit beside her, playing dolls with little Jaehaera.

“One day you shall, my Queen,” you assure her.

Behind you, the door opens. Vialy enters, her presence suddenly reminding you of the new life that you lived for a short three days.

Only, Vialy looks grievous. A black and purple ring forms around her eye, bruises and scars littering her neck and chest. You drop the dolls, running up to her. You frantically turn her jaw, examining.

“What’s happened!?”

“I’m alright, Princess-“

“That’s not what I’ve asked you.”

She sighs, knowing well that you won’t let this go. “The King’s Justice didn’t like my arrival unaccompanied by my Lady.”

Your lips part, regret washing over you. “Wh-“ you stare at her. “Did he take you to the dungeons?”

“Only a few short hours,” she shrugs, “and a few short beatings.”

“Vialy,” you shake your head. “Why would he torture you after you’ve said all you know? It’s not sensible…”

She chuckles. “My Princess, I said nothing.”

Your face drops, staring at hers. A small and proud smirk rests on her lips as a frown forms on yours.

“You fool!” you reprimand. “You should’ve told him all you knew of me, down to the room I resided in!”

“I am loyal to you-“

“I would never ask this of you, Via!” you stress. Her beaten down, yet gratified expression evokes a crossness in you…along with a hint of reassurance. Nevertheless, you sigh. “I’ll take it up with Aemond. The king as well.”

“It’s truly not needed. For my devotion to the Princess shan’t be swayed by a few hits.”

You sheepishly smile, giving her this small victory. Though, you have no intent of letting this happening go unspoken of. But as of now, you drop it, bringing Vialy to where you and Helaena sat with the children. There, you hand her the wooden spun necklace that Alice gave you, a warm smile growing on her lips as she thanks you.

…

“Clement,” you burst into your husband’s bed chambers, slamming the heavy door behind you. “A clement King you called him.”

Aemond can barely turn around before you shove him, forcing him to catch himself on his table.

“I know not what you speak of,” he looks at you wildly before regaining his composure, “but I suggest you keep your head about you.”

“Did you see what they had done to my Handmaiden? A woman, an innocent!”

He scoffs. “She was the last to see the missing Princess, it is the Justice’s work to see to any leads.”

"To what end, Aemond? The girl said she didn't know, what more must she say?"

"And that was a lie,” he corrects you. “Lying to an extension of the crown is treasonous, Auriela. Punishable by death."

"Death…” you stare, eyes burning with fury, “all for not revealing my whereabouts?"

"If only you had come home."

You roll your eyes, sighing as you debate saying what the both of you already know. The image of a weakened Vialy smiling through her pain encourages you to express on the whole of you and your husband.

"...Why this farce, Aemond? Why must we continue this? We fail at up-keeping the appearances of our marriage…why not just end it?"

"End it...” he furrows his brow, “you have yet to mention this before."

You do the same, silently begging for him to just admit it. "Need I? You know as well as I that we shall never learn to work as one."

"Actually I ever learn that I know little and less about my Lady wife."

You shrug, knowing he’ll never cease to dance around the cold truth of what the two of you have been and will always remain…strangers. You accept defeat and land on compromise.

"Just have Aegon allow me leave. I will arrive back as needed,” you truly ask. He looks at you so intently, the last time he’s done so being on your wedding day. “I will do my duty and produce you heirs, and we shall live our separate days."

“Hm,” he thinks, scanning you up and down in that cold stare before nodding. "And would you be asking leave if I were that brothel boy?"

You scrunch your face, the conversation seemingly taking a turn in a different direction.

"What?"

"The boy, Deephide."

Regrettably, you almost scowl, feeling strange toward your husband’s mention of Lucan. Your days on the Street of Silk seemed like a separate reality completely, one that Aemond has no knowledge of. Now, you feel a small sense of territoriality of those few days, and all personnel that they entail.

"Aemond I'm married to you, what- How can that not be enough?"

"But you chose him,” he continues. “Is it because he's older? Or lowborn?"

"Husband, leave this.”

“Do you like Dornish men?”

Perhaps I do, you think.

"You've always seemed most uninterested in what l like.”

He continues to pry. "Why do you want him?"

"Why do you want women older than your mother?” you snap, his perseverance on the matter seeming all too personal. "We all want things in our lives, Aemond. There's no reason, we just do."

“Those are wise words,” he remarks, still staring as if he wants to see through you. "…Did you bed him?"

“What do you take me for?” you deride. “I am wed, that may mean little to you but it's an ever growing shadow upon my name. I am not like you, I am not a man, I cannot give my maidenhead away freely as you can."

A small grin sneaks on his lips. "I am glad."

"Excuse me?"

"That you've remained a maiden,” he departs from leaning on the table and pursues you, his tall frame towering over yours. “Despite your...excursions.”

The closer he gets the smaller you feel, his eye still treading on yours.

His voice lowers. “Our marriage must be consummated one day, Auriela. Some don’t consider us legitimate at all so long as you remain unsullied.”

Aemond’s breath heats your skin, the two of you closer than you’ve been in years. Your eyes flicker from his own to his lips, refusing to believe what he’s asking of you.

Your breath shakes slightly. “That I know…”

He bites the bullet, moving before he can think. His hand rests between your collar and jaw, keeping a firm grip on you. You shudder as he pulls your mouth to his, a hunger in his kisses. The rough and sudden clash has your mind racing a million leagues a minute. The two of you have had your fair share of kisses, all of which being to please the eyes of his mother and council. Aemond has never desired you, never looked in your direction, never spoke of or to you unless forced to. Where this abrupt change in passion comes from, no man can say.

You don’t realize the way your hands seem to pull him closer until you’re interrupted, a knock at his door. Aemond pays it no mind, continuing to overwhelm you until three knocks ring out again.

He lets out a frustrated growl, keeping you in his hands as he looks over your head. He gives you one more glance before releasing, walking over and opening the door.

“The King requires an audience, my Prince,” the unmistakable voice of Criston Cole says.

“Tell my brother I’m occupied, Ser Criston,” Aemond brushes him off, shutting the door.

Cole holds it open. “Forgive me but it’s a command. He asks for your wife.”

Your husband grunts, slamming the door and turning back to you.

“He truly always finds a way to steal my joy.”

Standing opposite a mirror, you smooth your dress down. “Ser Criston?”

“Aegon.”

“Hm,” you hum. Aemond stands behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist as you ready yourself for the King you so despise.

Neither of you dare speak a word of what may have happened had Ser Criston not intervened. You just stare into the mirror, a rare sight, the two of you looking like a proper pair.

You snap out of it, heading toward the door as Aemond holds onto your waist for as long as he can. When he finally lets go, you scurry out of his chambers, a breath finally escaping that you were unaware you were holding. Ser Criston leads you to the chamber of the Small Council.

…

“No, my King,” you plainly state, wanting nothing more than to leave his presence, “I have yet to bear a Princeling.”

Aegon sits at the head of the empty table, sitting you at the corner as he asks perpetual and aimless questions.

“My brother is a cunt but I always thought he’d know his way around one,” he smirks, staring at you with an all too fake quizzical look. “May that be yours or an old hags.”

You stay silent, imagining you were anywhere but in this chamber with this boy.

“Have you at the least lost your maidenhead? I’ve heard whispers of you and the Dornish boy-“

"Is the King this engrossed with his own wife's affairs? He seems to be most interested in my fucking and fooling."

“Ha,” Aegon tsks, "you may soon find that Northern mouth getting you into trouble, goodsister.”

You eye him impassively with a demeaning tilt of your head before making the mature decision to back down.

"Right, Your Grace,” you adjust. “I forget myself, I shall hold my tongue before my King. I only wish to ask what this meeting may be about."

“Much better,” he smiles before standing up, heading toward the board marked with houses, pins, and landmarks. “You know as well as anyone that the North is a hard cart to heave. They swore fealty to the pretendor of Dragonstone years ago, I need you to ensure that they now know who their trueborn King is.”

You stifle a laugh, the sight of Aegon trying to rule being nothing short of a jest. In this prospect especially, where he’s sure to fail before he’s even begun.

“And how would you have me do that, Your Grace?”

“By traveling to Winterfell and promising your firstborn daughter to second of Cregan Stark’s sons,” he blurts out, a proud smile on his face telling you that he’s come up with this plan all on his own…evidently.

“My King,” you begin, not sure which of the hundreds of flaws you should bring attention to first, “I suggest we send a raven to scope how far Winterfell is willing to stray from their oaths foremost. As you said, we aren’t easy to sway, the North does remember, Your Grace.”

“They may not be easy to sway,” he emphasizes the detachment of the North and yourself, “but I send you because you know the North. It was your home, you’re more familiar than any of us.”

“Yes, and because of that I know that Cregan is slow to waiver and quick to call his banners.”

“Shall he support the cunt of Dragonstone, let them come.”

You scoff. “You don’t want war with the North, Your Grace. Cregan will never bend even with Sunfyre himself at his gates. Lucerys wasn’t far from Lord Stark’s own dead brother’s age, all the more reason to sympathize with the Velaryons. And who’s to say he hasn’t already been preyed upon by the blacks?”

“The North is closer to us than to Dragonstone.”

“They’re ahead of us in that sense,” you remind him. “While our King thrust us into war and bloodshed, Rhaenyra took a steady route; collecting her allies and seeking her foes.”

Aegon wears a frustrated scowl at your reprimands, coming back to the table and standing over you, his hands resting just in front of yours.

“Do you mean to doubt the King’s ways?” he asks, his voice low and warning.

“I mean to do no such thing,” you assure him. You look toward to door. “May I ask why my husband isn’t privy to this discussion?”

He looks you up and down, minorly offended before he retakes his seat. “I heard that you disagree with some of my methods of questioning.”

Vialy. Your heart skips a beat, knowing that the only people who knew about your feelings on the matter were Helaena, Vialy, and Aemond; all of which were consulted within the hour. Was he eavesdropping on your conversations?

You stay fairly quiet on the matter. “I just wanted my handmaiden to feel safe and at home in the Keep.”

“Mm,” he nods, placing his chin on his fist, “and do you feel safe and at home, sister?”

A small wrinkle forms above your brow as you fail to decipher what he could possibly be getting at. You smooth it out, knowing better than to hurt a powerful man’s confidence beyond the grounds of small jabs.

“…Am I free to go, Your Grace?”

He lingers on you, close to how his brother does, before waving his hand. You stand, walking toward the door not knowing whether you’re still expected to go North. If the King says it, so it shall be. Though, you’re not sure how welcome you’d be back home after your time here. As you exit the room, a pit forms in your stomach at the thought of it…

✺ ✺ ✺

Later

The night replays itself in your head relentlessly. Aemond seemed like a new man. He was careful, gentle even as he undressed you, cradling your head as he laid you upon the bed. The consummation wasn’t witnessed, though you’re sure Ser Criston could assume the activities at hand from what he heard at the door. Many of the things Lucan taught you worked ably, one of them sending your husband over the edge.

You shan’t complain about the experience, for you expected much worse and are painfully aware of how much worse women before you have had it. However, as you laid in Aemond’s bed, his arms wrapped around you as he softly snored, you couldn’t find sleep. You contrite the thoughts that kept creeping into your head. Alice, Maeserys…Lucan. Your mind refused to rest even as the night grew late.

You cannot deny that Aemond was good to you tonight…which makes the fact that you’re presently lying naked next to Lucan even more regrettable. You didn’t mean it to happen, but as your feet continued tip toeing away from the Keep and toward the whore house, you found yourself justifying what you intended to do. My maidenhead is gone you thought, bedding two men within the hour only counts as one.

“I have to return…” you sit up, Lucan’s fingertips tracing your spine.

“Must you?”

“Mhm,” you nod, standing and stepping into your dress. “I was only meant to visit you.”

He grins. “It gladdens me that you did, Princess.”

You say your goodbyes, deciding to leave the act as it lay and not speak of it again. Lucan seems to understand the arrangement you’ve made, just for the night.

The cool of the night stings your eyes as you exit the buzzing pleasure house. You nearly trip when your foot is caught at the door. Snapping your head down, your gaze quickly softens as you see what’s grabbed you. Maeserys’ sad violet eyes stare up at you, his hood draping over his brows as his tiny fingers hold onto your dress. You contemplate rushing back inside and cursing whoever left him out here in the cold, then you contemplate doing the same to Pate for not keeping an eye on him. Ultimately, after a brief brainstorm and scan for witnesses, you pick him up and whisk him away.

You don’t consider what you’ll do with him until you’ve snuck back into the Keep, his arms latched around your neck. Small pattering footsteps ring out as you hurry to your chambers. Though, you find you’re not quick enough as a you hear a familiar clanking round the corner…A knight. You freeze in your spot as Ser Criston Cole nearly walks into you.

…

“You’re exactly what I thought you to be,” Aemond stands across the room, his volume rising, “heinous…whorish,” he shakes his head.

Your eyes turn a watery red as you silently hex the Lord Commander for delivering you to your downfall.

“Aemond I…” you shake your head, “it was below me, I admit. I-“

“You shall address me as your Lord,” he points a finger in your face. “After all we built, Auriela…Just to throw it away on the morrow, I-“ he scoffs, pacing the room.

“I was thinking of the boy…” you admit truthfully. Of the few victories you’ve won, sneaking Maeserys out of Ser Criston’s sight before he could be he seized was certainly one of them.

“Who is none of our fucking concern!” Aemond hurls a goblet at you, it clattering onto the floor. “I put my trust in you…I put my my cock in you. Just for you to…” he struggles to normalize his breathing, “just to dispose of me as if it meant nothing.”

Sorrow fills your heart as you see water lining his eye as well, suddenly regretting ever leaving the Keep.

“Husband…” a tear falls down your cheek as you walk toward him.

You reach for his face, he hesitates before dropping to his knees. His arms wrap around your waist, burying his head as small sobs escape him. It breaks you, feeling only remorse and shame as you cradle his head, softly weeping with him.

You and your husband stay this way until you have no more tears to cry. No words are spoken as you leave his bed chambers, retrieving little Mase and returning to your own.

✺ ✺ ✺

2 moons later

The unfamiliar smell of dragon breath seeps into the cool air of the North as you stand atop the wall, Cregan looking over the snowy forests with you.

“If you’ve only come to make me bend the knee to the Usurper then you’ve wasted your travels, cousin.”

“I figured as much,” you admit, “I only ask that you consider it before you open yourself to a war that the North can avoid.”

“You may be committed to the tyrants by oath and for that I don’t fault you, but the North still remembers their own oaths. If that sends us to war then we welcome it.” Cregan shrugs, his thick accent feeling like home.

“I’ve heard that,” Aemond’s voice emerges from behind you. The two of your turn. “That the North remembers.”

He steps out of the lift, animal skin draped over his frame. “It’s funny though, as no Northerner seems to remember that your ancestor, Torrhen Stark, bent the knee to mine own, Aegon the Conquerer.”

Cregan glances over to you, then back to Aemond before letting out a laugh. The Prince uncomfortably shifts his position.

“That’s right,” he nods, challengingly getting closer to Aemond. “But you’re no conquerer…you’re just a boy. A craven kinslayer at that.”

“Hm,” Aemond looks down at him, “watch your tongue, Northman.”

“I suggest you do the same…your royal status doesn’t protect you this close to death,” he gestures beyond the wall.

“My position may be weak here, but my dragon is not.”

“When that fat old lizard is brazen enough to fly over this wall maybe she’ll finally instill some fear in my heart.”

The boys face off, both of their hands resting on their daggers. You step in, placing a hand on Cregan’s chest.

“I’ve got something to show you.”

Aemond returns to his place beside Vhagar and his knights, staying there as you return to Cregan, Mase in your arms.

“…And you’re sure he’s Aegon’s?” Cregan examines the boy, stroking his hair.

“Can’t you tell? I only ask you watch over him until the war subsides, cousin. He’s an innocent.”

He nods, the memory of his small brother pushing his yes.

“I shall protect him like he were my own,” he agrees.

You thank him. “Next time I see you I hope it to be on kinder business.”

“As do I.”

…

Your husband, at the cost of your dignity and stiff lip, allowed the Starks a time free of war and calls of banners for now, even if they didn’t particularly bend the knee. You and Aemond are leagues ahead of his royal host as you fly on Vhagar. Reluctantly, you make a stop to your home of Barrowtown, seeing your father and sisters for the first time since your father promised you to Aemond. That, you haven’t yet put past him. But the Seven ask you to be forgiving, so forgiveness you shall seek.

✺ ✺ ✺

1 moon later

You feel like a rat beneath the feet of the royals as you peek into the Small Council chamber, silently watching. A hand hovers over your belly as a table full of men discuss the matter.

“I am confident that the child is mine.”

“How can you be so sure, Aemond?” Alicent ridicules him. “The girl has no respect for you or our house, who’s to say she hasn’t fallen pregnant at the hands of a whore in the city?”

“She spends more nights with me than she does in the city, mother. Certainly after Aegon tried shipping her North in the dead of Winter, she wouldn’t be so reckless.”

“But she is reckless,” Aegon speaks up. “I commanded her to stay in the castle, she leaves again that same night. I command her to get Lord Stark to bend the knee, she convinces you to join her on some holiday to the North, accomplishing nothing. Your wife is disobedient, she recognizes no authority.”

“And if the child is not mine?” your husband asks. “If he comes out with dark hair and olive skin, what then? Will you have my child murdered for her crimes.”

You furrow your brows, never considering Aemond to be one of your allies in the castle. After the insults you’ve heard him hurl toward Rhaenyra’s children, you were certain that any child that was not true born was, in his eyes, undeserving.

Lord Wylde eyes him. “You certainly aren’t suggesting we house a bastard in the Keep, my Prince.”

Aemond shrugs. “I only mean to raise the question.”

“There should be no question,” Alicent rubs her temples. “Your shameless wife parades around the castle, bowing to none and seeing no consequence.”

“If she is to be executed for the crime of not living in fear then let you pike my head beside hers-“

“The history of questioned legitimacies is a long and bloody one, my Lords,” Otto breaks the bicker. “Let us not plan for such wickedness and instead bend our knees and bow our heads to the Seven and pray that the Princess bears a true born son of her husband.”

With that, the council moves on to other matters. Though, the sneers on Alicent and her oldest son’s faces don’t cease so quickly, their abhor for you only growing stronger.

…

“Watchers always find a way to seek each other out,” Lord Larys creeps on you from the corner of your bedchamber. “I saw you watching, Princess.”

You sigh, shrugging. “Is it wrong to wish to know the rulings of my own family?”

“Oh, far from it,” he assures you. “But when the queen speaks the bees listen…They question your morale.”

“They question my very being, Lord Larys,” you admit, not in the mood for his riddles. “Speak what you mean.”

“…I fear that the water is rising, my Lady. Tensions run high and blood runs deep in the Red Keep, I can see as well as any that your welcome here is nearing an end. What they plan to do with you when the grim day comes, I cannot say I know. Though, I do not wish to see you perish, Princess.”

You tilt your head. Larys has a way of rising perspectives that you otherwise would’ve never imagined. He means to say you’re in trouble, you’re in danger in the Keep. The harder you stare the more it all falls into place. They forbid your leaving, they torture your handmaiden, they question your spirits…You begin to feel their ropes of fire tightening around your cold and snowy neck.

“…What do you suggest I do?” you ask, doubtless that he’s thought of an array of plans.

“If all were to come to turmoil here,” he begins, “the Princess is not without a place to turn.”

You shake your head. “My father wouldn’t take me back, he only wishes to keep his ties to the Targaryens.”

“Not the North…I propose you look across the bay.”

“…Dragonstone?” you ask.

Larys nods. “The black Princess has no reason to turn you away.”

“None save the fact that I’ve sworn myself to her enemies and sleep in her stolen castle.”

“A commitment not made by your hand,” he argues.

You think back to the few interactions that you have had with Rhaenyra, all of which taking place when she returned for the brief period following your wedding. You recall her and her children showing you nothing but kindness, a warm feeling in contrast to the everlasting silence you experience here. Rhaenyra spoke to you as if you were a person, an equal; she talked about histories, asked about your life in the North, introduced you to Jace and Luke.

“So I flee my husband and my duties?” you query, contemplating both sides of the coin. “Leave the land I’ve always known to seek refuge with Rhaenyra?”

“A cautious, yet judicious arrangement,” Larys remarks. “If my Princess wishes…it shall be done.”

Rhaenyra’s an acquaintance, a relative at the greatest; but as you weigh the odds, warily looking at your lawful family, the ancestral seat of the Targaryens begins to look like the more favorable position.

A knock rings at your door. Both you and the Clubfoot look at each other, then toward the knocks.

You clear your throat. “Come.”

Vialy opens the door, behind her, a serpent.

“The Dowager Queen, Princess.” your handmaiden announces, giving you a worrisome look before shutting the door behind Alicent.

“Queen mother,” both you and Larys bow as Alicent eyes you.

“I wish to speak to the Princess alone, Lord Larys.”

He nods before tottering his way out.

“How can I serve you?” you ask.

Alicent huffs, sitting at your study and looking out of the window.

“You’re with child,” she states.

“Yes, my queen,” you smile. “I ask the Seven for a healthy boy.”

“As do I,” she looks back at you. “Did you want for children before this, in the North?”

“Um,” you stammer, “I want whatever makes you and your- or- my house happy.”

“We’re alone here, you may speak truly.”

The Dowager’s words slide off your back, knowing better than to ever speak plainly to her.

“I was never good with children. I had only my sisters at home whom were one and two years my junior,” you shrug. “But the time I spend with the Queen’s children gives me hope that I may be a sufficient mother.”

“Mm, and do you fear for your child? For what people will think of them?”

A frown forms on your lips. “I do not,” you lie. “Have I reason to?”

She scoffs, standing. “You have all the reason to, Auriela.”

Alicent nears you, inspecting your face. Her breath tickles your skin as she strokes your braid.

“We birth children knowing the horrors they’ll face and the suffering they’ll endure,” she says. “I only hope that a mother’s shameful acts don’t add to the weight upon their tiny shoulders…”

She looks you up and down, your mouth slightly agape. No more words are spoken as she releases your hair and heads to the door, leaving you dangling.

You cannot say if she meant to scare you or threaten you, perhaps both. But the overpowering spark in your stomach is what you can only recognize anger. Angry that she feels she can scare you in a castle that she ordered you to, that she could frighten you when she arranged your marriage…Alicent is the shameless one, stalking and harassing you as she soils the Lord Commander’s white cloak nightly.

You sit in the chair that she did moments ago. You retrieve a quill, ink, and scroll, addressing your letter:

‘Dear sister…’

✺ ✺ ✺

1 Moon Later

“It was the Strong,” Lucan says, tears streaming down his cheeks, “I know it.”

You hold Vialy tight in your arms as she weeps, Alice’s cold slain body lying in the middle of you, a sheet draped over her. Lucan’s words are senseless, blaming Lord Larys, one of the few you consider your ally, of ordering their deaths.

“Not Larys,” you shake your head, “he’s a friend.”

“He’s a snake who weasels his way into all things,” Lucan grits his teeth, staring at Alice. “The people talk, Auriela...His servants say he did it for you.”

Your head snaps to him. “What?”

Lucan stares back, his eyes numb and voice low. “You think he’s a friend but so does the Queen, and the King, and your husband, and the Dowager. He cannot be trusted, he ordered me dead, Princess.”

“Why would he do such a thing, Lucan?”

He sighs. “I adore you, Princess, I do…But you’ve been blinded. The Lord speaks with two tongues. He tells you to estrange yourself from the crown, on the morrow he tells the crown that you’ve become reckless…treasonous.”

Vialy buries her head in your dress, still sobbing.

“…Have I no one in the whole of King’s Landing on my side?”

Lucan grabs your hand. “The smallfolk are a greater force than you take us for. Your handmaiden is loyal to you, you say your husband is loyal to you, even the Queen across the bay.”

You groan, tears collecting between the four of you as your escort, a Knight, stands over you out of earshot. Suddenly, it becomes very clear what you must do. Though, you no longer intend to take up the mission with Lord Larys.

✺ ✺ ✺

2 Weeks Later

You seize the first opportunity get. After a week of pent up emotions and grim planning, you and your allies in the City are prepared to make the escape that Lord Larys spoke of.

The Dowager and guards believe you’re meeting with the King tonight, the King believes you’re with Aemond, Aemond believes you’re with Helaena, and Helaena cares not. When you begged her to stay tight lipped as you escape the castle for a brief night of living before your return, she gave you no more of a sweet nod before returning to her twins.

Now, in the hour of the wolf, the blackest hour of the night, you board a ship; one that is said to fly a false green banner, as the crew are all holding steadfastly to their true Queen. It’s meant to be bound for Dragonstone if the whisperers of the city speak true..and there’s a spot waiting for you.

“Ticket,” the inspector stops you.

You look at him through your lashes, retrieving seven coins from your bag. Holding his hand in yours, you set all seven golden dragons in his palm, closing his fingers around them.

“Seven blessings,” you nod.

He looks at the money and then to you, realization hitting him. He nods as well, almost a bow, as he registers who you are. The doors are opened and you enter the boat, followed by two of your favorites.

“Honor means little to him,” Lucan says, “obviously.”

Vialy clings to your arm as the three of you thread through the crowds, searching for a compartment to sleep you on the journey to Dragonstone.

You correct him, your brows low and head lower as the cogs turn in your mind. “These men have got more honor in their cock alone than any in the Red Keep.”

You wonder how the Queen will accept you after your history, if she’ll see that you’re just as spiteful of the greens as she is. Though it matters not, for as the ship departs, the three of you are seated, prepared to do what it takes to never return to King’s Landing so long as a green sits on the throne.

#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd fluff #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aegon targaryen #alicent hightower #fanfic #hotd imagine #house of the dragon imagine #aemond imagine

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candyswirls · 13 days ago

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Garm Pt 5

Previous - Next - Master Post

Summary: Leman knows something is up. His instincts say so. He goes out to check and hears screams that ignite his parental instincts.

I posted a chapter yesterday too if you missed it.

It’s Garm’s gender reveal party(jk)! They still will use they/them pronouns interchangeably.

TW: injury, broken bone, blood, scared and hurt child, disregard for servitors

“We need to reach out to the other chapters,” Leman said. “We’ll absorb them into the space wolves. If they wish to keep current markings then it will be a company related item. This is the best course of action but all my sons will be with me. Just as it was during the crusade. I need all then wolves I can get.”

He glanced around.

“Where is Garm?” He asked.

“Taking a nap my lord,” one wolf answered. “The serfs and some guards are outside their door.”

Leman hummed.

“The Mooneaters are the ones closest and are currently on their way,” Grimnar informed his Primarch.

“Good,” the Primarch muttered as he lifted his mug. He didn’t take a drink though. He wasn’t really… feeling it.

“Everything alright my Lord?” Arjac asked.

Leman stared forward, slowly sloshing the drink.

Within the ranks of the Space Wolves you trusted your instincts over logic.

“Something is wrong,” he said alloud.

He stood tall, looking around, smelling the air. What was bothering him so much??

“Arjac,” he ordered. “Go check on Garm. Make sure no one enters or leaves the room.”

The champion nodded and left quickly, a few others joining him.

Leman left the hall looking for… he wasn’t sure. He let his instincts guide him throughout the ship till he was in the loading bay.

Servitors followed their duties and ships were ready for departure at any notice.

Why was he so on edge? What was worrying him? Was it the fact that Garm wasn’t with him? They were always together. Perhaps that was it?

His council had followed him.

“What are you thinking of my Russ?” Grimnar inquired.

Leman sighed and tried to shake off the feeling.

He began,”I fear it is just parental anxiety since-“

Across the bay frantic screaming started up.

His blood turned ice cold and he felt his soul leave himself. He watched his body operate on full adrenaline fueled instinct. His mind refused to believe what was happening but it also refused to allow it be a reality.

He trampled servitors and a few admech as he raced towards the terrified and pain filled shrieks.

He was on the other side of the loading bay in a matter of seconds. Ad mech and serfs who had rushed towards the screaming jumped out of the way of the Primarch.

He slid to where a tank named after him, parked near the corner and saw behind it.

His hearts stopped as tore the tank away, throwing it into a ship. He did not care. He dove next to Garm who continued screaming and crying. A hydraulic maintenance claw had clamped around their arm with full strength.

He didn’t think, he just acted, grabbing it with his teeth and hands. Tearing it and pulling it apart.

As soon as it broke and Garm was free he caught them. They still shrieked in pain, a steady flow of tears. Their arm was covered in blood and bent at an odd angle.

Russ snarled at those who tried to approach. He leapt up and sprinted to the apothecarium. Anyone in the hallways had better hope and pray they heard him coming and had the common sense to get out of the way because he was not stopping.

He didn’t wait for the door to open, he bashed it down and yelled.

“Priests!” He barked. “Help now!!”

The priests rushed forward to assist with Garm who hadn’t stopped wailing. They writhed and tried to bite or kick anyone who touched them.

He felt frozen as they were suddenly taken from his arms and his sons were pulling him back. He resisted, staring at his pup.

His pup! His sweet little puppy! His Garm! So young and little! He should have been with them! He needed to stay near!

He snarled as Garm screamed louder and the wolf priests tried to hold them down.

More of his sons restrained him as he tried to charge forward.

Grimnar was suddenly in front of him.

“My Lord!” He called. “They will help them! Please!”

Leman froze as Garm stopped screaming and started to go silent and limp.

“GARM!!!”

None of his sons could hold him back any longer, he was next to the toddler in an instant. Their eyes drooped and they grew weak.

“Stay with me!” He begged.

“They’re sedated!” One priest said quickly. “They’re fine. Just a light sedative to help with the process. Keep them calmer.”

Leman could breathe again and ran his fingers down the sides of Garms face.

They whimpered and he pressed a kiss to their forehead.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “I’m right here. We’ll get you all better.”

Garm tried to squirm as more tears spilled down their cheeks then they began hiccuping.

“There, there,” the priest assured. “Just need to scan this.”

Leman sighed, “I’m so sorry I let this happen, Garm. I’m so sorry, puppy.”

Anger boiled over in his chest.

He turned to Grimnar, “Find out what happened. I want to know how this came to pass, why they were alone, and why no one followed them when they woke or informed me.”

Grimnar nodded and began delegating tasks.

“Hold them down,” the priest ordered. “Need to test the pain threshold.”

Leman laid his arms across Garm and the other priests assisted.

Garm yelped, growled, and tried to bite. More tears followed till the priest was done.

“We’ll have to have them unconscious,” The Priest deduced. “Bone was shattered but they’re healing fast. We need to ensure it sets properly then put it in a cast.”

Leman nodded, “Do what you must.”

As the priest pulled more equipment over, Garm sleepily looked up at their father, scared. They cried more especially as an oxygen mask was placed over them.

“I will be right here with you,” he whispered. “You’ll fall asleep and wake up good as new. Then you can eat all the food on the feast table and we’ll play chase.”

Their lip trembled but they didn’t notice the extra dose of sedative, the IVs, or the anesthesia.

At first they panicked at the sudden feeling but soon relaxed and closed their eyes.

“Sleep well, Garm,” Leman told them.

He stayed right there the entire procedure, running fingers through their hair. They didn’t stir at all. Not even at the sounds of the medical tools.

The priests finished the cast and began cleaning up. The main surgeon came forward.

“They’ll be fine,” he said. “No doubt they’ll make a full recovery. They’re strong.”

Leman nodded, not looking up from his child.

“There is some good news to this” the priest said as he began to remove bloody clothes. “They’ve never been this still and they will not wake up at being moved which means we can finally check their gender.”

Leman let out a chuckle, “By the wolf mother. Light scent so warp creatures could not hunt them; fluffy fur to keep them warm, and never ending energy to keep up. Each something to aid them but it has hidden a part of their identity from me. All these years of not knowing and it takes them getting severely hurt to find out. Sometimes I wondered if I wanted to know. Fearful it would change my perception of them somehow. But Garm will still be Garm. They will not act any different.”

“SHE will not act any different,” the apothecary corrected with a smile as he tucked a blanket around Garm and took their bloody clothes away.

Leman laughed and nodded as tears pricked his eyes. He leaned over his child. His daughter. He had a daughter. Ten thousand years of sons and he now had a daughter. A daughter! First granddaughter of the emperor. Figured he’d be the first of his brothers not only to produce a child, granted there were mysteries with that, but he’d be the first to have a girl. How jealous would his brothers be to learn he had a daughter. They all had sons, plenty of them, but only he had a girl.

He smiled, “Acts like a proper wolf princess. Like she owns the place. Listens to no one and does her own thing. Just like her grandmother.”

He pulled the pelt of his wolf mother off and laid it over her.

He rubbed Garm’s stomach as they rested.

“I cannot imagine her in any of those… lavish and pompous dresses those high ladies wear,” he commented.

“Couldn’t imagine her in what the high lords wear either,” the apothecary laughed. “Her current opinion on clothes says she doesn’t care for them at all. They’re just another toy.”

Leman snorted, “She’ll be a great warrior. They’re very headstrong. My abdomen and groin have had to deal with full force tackling from her. You’re lucky you’re all wearing full armor all the time. Especially as they run without regard for anyone.”

He took bits of her hair and began braiding it.

“I never had an inkling of if they were a boy or a girl but girl suits them,” he commented. “Probably because she is one but I can’t imagine them any other way. They’re still Garm.”

He paused as he pondered the revelation.

“There are idiots like that rogue trader in this galaxy,” he muttered. “Didn’t even know Garm and tried to get them THAT atrocity upon the eyes. There are those that foolishly judge one upon genetic identities. They’ll judge her for being a she. Already Garm will deal with being the child of a Primarch.”

He rubbed his thumbs across their cheeks.

“I want a new order,” he finally said. “We already have the order that knowledge of Garm is to be limited. Them being a girl is to be limited even more so. We’ll continue to refer to them as they/them. Few will know. She can decide what is to be known when they’re old enough.”

The apothecaries and remaining council members nodded.

Leman added, “Also I don’t think she’ll care. Once they wake up they’ll want food. Have a serf bring their pajamas.”

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mudisgranapat · 1 year ago

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I. Lights Out

Word Count: 2,7 k

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley X F! Reader

Content: zombie apocalypse, mention of dead bodies, mention of death, children

Summary: A virus has taken over the world, turning people into zombies. Amidst the chaos, Simon has managed to stick together with the other operators of Task Force 141, his life barely any different than it was before. That is, until the day he crosses paths with a woman that keeps a well hidden secret and holds something he has long forgotten existed: a baby

Note: This is my first fic (and first tumblr post)! Hopefully you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I already have the story planned out, and will be posting the next chapter soon if anyone cares about this. If not, I’ll pretend I never posted this lol

Sitting on the back of the Humvee, Simon could almost believe that things were normal. The constant hum of the engine numbed his mind, as he stared into the sewing of the padding covering the old seat. Soap was seated directly across from him, blabbing his mouth to Gaz, who acted like he could hear anything besides the huge vehicle's obscene noise. Behind the steering wheel was his Captain, Price. Although, that didn’t seem to matter anymore. Not ranks, not names. Nothing was normal, and the reality outside that Humvee was something Simon, not even in his worst days, ever believed could happen.

He had witnessed bleak images. Cruelty in abundance. But the world he saw now was unlike anything he had ever seen before - the dead, roaming among the living. Not that he hadn’t encountered his fair amount of corpses, after all, that came with his job. But this, seeing the bodies of civilians, once full of life, now life-less and decaying at an evolving speed, nonetheless persisting, chasing the taste of human meet… It was different.

When the early signs of the apocalypse started to show, most of the people downplayed it, him included. He had always been a skeptic, and it just didn’t seem viable that a virus could bring down humanity with such strength. Regardless, Simon hadn’t been too worried about the so-called “end of the world”; He thought that his military ties would be enough to keep him informed with privileged intel of the real situation.

He had been deployed with the 141, far from civilization, when shit really went down. For obvious reasons, they came out empty-handed from the recon mission. Turns out terrorism doesn’t come first in the list of the insurgent’s priorities when there is a deathly virus going around. It was only at his team's fruitless attempt to land back at base that he found out that his ranks and years of service didn’t matter when the world was collapsing. They had been out for long enough that, when they came back, there was no more government in place. No hierarchy to follow, and no rules to structure society. And no one cared about them enough to let them know beforehand.

Some people had stayed in their houses, probably clutching their kitchen knives close to their hearts while they heard their neighbor's inhuman noises. Others had divided themselves into smaller groups, in the hopes of giving humanity a fighting chance. The lucky ones had made it to what once were the quarantine zones, now just simply a bigger group of people that managed to stick together and with far better resources. From there, all the typical apocalyptic mayhem developed: gangs, revolutionary groups, miracle safe spaces, cults, and so on. The chaos you would expect to see in a movie. Apparently, they weren’t that far from reality.

Along with the 141, Simon fell into the “smaller group” category - not that the four men would give humanity a fighting chance, they just didn’t really have anywhere else to go. Being military men, their lives revolved around structure and order, so it was natural for them to stick together. Whatever ties to the old world they had before had long been severed, and quickly they realized that it was less painful to hope that anyone they cared about had had the privilege of dying a quick death.

Not that that mattered to Simon either. He didn’t have anyone. So sitting at the back of that Humvee they had stolen from an abandoned base, things didn’t feel that different from what they used to be.

Soon enough, the group expanded, thanks to Soap, who had managed to fix an old radio and get in touch with a few other military personnel who were scattered around the globe. That is how they found Laswell: she had managed to seclude a select group of people from the military in one of the bases that were abandoned in the turmoil. They didn’t mention that she never tried to contact them while they were away on that recon mission, and she didn’t bring it up either. Now, over two years had passed, and the topic was long forgotten.

They were a bunch of people tied together by the hope they could still save humanity: scientists, agents, medics… Everyone had their place in the small society Laswell had created. And Simon… Well, he was a soldier. And soldiers are always useful when in the right hands. That was why things hadn’t changed much for him, and for the first time in his life, the fact that he never had a home to come back to was a relief.

Price was currently driving towards an abandoned research post, that had once been filled with people working to find a cure for the virus that plagued the world. Now, it was just a pile of junk and hopelessness, where Laswell swore they could still find valuable intel - maybe someone had forgotten to scrub their hard drive, or left behind a notebook with notes. At this point, even a post-it with bullet points would be considered a success.

As they pulled up to the location, they decided to park a few meters away from the entrance and proceeded with the skillfulness of a well-oiled machine. Soap and Gaz cleaned the era, taking out the few zombies in the vicinity with their knives, as Price and Ghost scanned for any intelligent life form that could possibly cause trouble. Not that they were expecting to find anything, it was just a precaution, as anyone who once lived there had either fled the area or become another roaming corpse.

They were about to follow the small dirt path that led to the makeshift building when Gaz held up his hand, a signal to stay put, while he used the other to hold the thermal vision glasses to his eyes. “I’m reading two heat signatures - one small and the other even smaller. Looks like it could be a woman and a child. The woman seems to be armed.”

“Let me see this, Gaz.” Says Price as he analyzes the scene himself. “He is right. Two signatures, one is armed.” Gaz makes a look of mock surprise behind the Captain, as he hadn’t just said that. He had become a lot more sassy since he could not be demoted.

“What do we do now?” Soap asks. “It’s not like we can just shoot a kid.”

Price pretends not to hear the last sentence. “I will approach, unarmed. They are probably just scared and trying to find a safe place to live. I’ll tell them we can give them some of our food if they come out and let us take a look at the place.” Before anyone can suggest an alternative, the Captain is removing his guns from the holster, and making his way towards the old science lab.

He is only a few feet away when the sound of gunshots fills the air. The bullets, all aimed just inches away from the captain’s boots, trace a line as if saying “Do not come any closer”. Immediately, the rest of the 141 aim their guns at where the shots came from, taking cover behind the trees, waiting for permission to shoot from the Captain, one that never comes.

“STAY THE FUCK AWAY!” A woman’s voice rings in their ears. This confirms part of what they had seen in the thermal goggles: there was a woman inside and she was, indeed, armed.

“I just want to talk, kid.” Price states calmly, standing his ground. He doesn’t take a step forward, so the shooter doesn’t feel challenged, but doesn’t take a step back either. He is not a man that backs away from a fight. “Name’s John. No need to shoot”.

“You can tell that to your men.” The woman is positioned behind a window, the scope of her gun pointing fearlessly at the bearded man. Not expertly, Simon notes to himself, as he can see the slight tremble that reverberates through the metal parts. Although her voice screams confidence, he can tell the person behind it is not as courageous. But she would probably still shoot that gun - Simon has seen more people pulling triggers out of fear than bravery.

“Alright. Stand down, boys.” And they do. “We just want to take a look around, we don’t want trouble”

The woman laughs. “You say, as you carry automatic weapons and wear a bulletproof vest.”

“Just protecting myself from these troublesome fellas around. You know, the ones with their face falling off, trying to eat people.”

“We both know no one needs that much gear to fight some brain-dead walkers.” She doesn’t seem to want to match the light-hearted tone John is trying to bring to the conversation. “Now get out, or my men will shoot you.”

Now it’s Price’s turn to laugh. “Sweetheart, we both know there’s no one else there with you.” He puts both his hands on the shoulder straps of his vest. “That is, except for the child.”

John was just trying to assert his dominance by showing he had more information than he had let on. However, an angry string of bullets directed toward his feet, again, showed that the comment had struck a nerve. “Get out.” She said through gritted teeth, loud enough for him to hear. “Or the next ones are going straight through that stupid fucking hat of yours.”

“Listen here, kid.” The Captain was angry now. He didn’t like when people commented on his hat. “I have three men ready to shoot your ass into oblivion if you don’t comply. If you can’t tell, they are military-trained, and they will have you down before you can aim at my stupid fucking hat. So quit being dumb and put that gun down.” It was surprising he had let her go as far as shooting at him twice, but he was done negotiating.

“Are you with the Resistance?” Simon almost wants to laugh at that name. The Resistance was a group that, surprise, surprise, wanted to resist the Government. People have too much faith in the Government, in his opinion, as it had crumbled before he came back from his mission. To be fair, it had been a long mission, so maybe he was being a little harsh. Now, the Resistance was a group of rebels that had nothing to rebel against, and who, ironically, had become the closest thing to a government you could have nowadays.

“No, we are not.” Simon could tell John’s patience was wearing thin. He isn’t a big fan of the Resistance either. “We are a group that’s still trying to fix things in this goddam world and that lab might have valuable information. Now let us through.”

At that, the woman puts the gun down and stands up. She probably didn’t know that, but by the tone of his Captaion’s voice, she had probably taken her last chance to avoid a conflict. “Name’s Y/N.” She says. Simon can see her face now - she looks like she is in her early twenties, with long hair tied in a tight ponytail. She disappears behind the window again, coming out the front door with a baby in her left arm and a pistol in her right hand. “I’m keeping the gun.”

“Suit yourself. Come on, boys.” With that, the three of them are taken out of their trance. He knows what they were thinking because he was thinking the same. Who in their right mind has a baby in the middle of a zombie apocalypse? Either this woman was crazy brave or crazy crazy. A baby was a rare sight, a healthy one even more so. But there she stood, baby in her arms and a furious gaze.

They walk past her and her gaze only intensifies. Clearly, the woman was hiding from something, or someone. But that was neither here nor there. They were on a mission, and they were going through with it regardless. Nothing had ever stood in 141’s way.

They don’t ask the baby’s name. Simon had a feeling she might point her gun to his head if he did. Not that he was curious, he could care less about the women or the child.

She doesn’t ask their names either. After all, there is no reason for formalities. If all goes well, they will be gone as suddenly as they appeared.

Inside, the lab was what you would have expected, except for a few things that showed that someone had been living there. It wasn’t hard to find their way around the place, although incredibly annoying to do when there was a five-something-foot-tall woman following them around with a disapproving look. He understood - after all, they were in her house. However, that wasn’t even a house in the first place. Simon tried to mock an equally disapproving look while scavaging for something useful. As if reading his mind, Johnny asks “May I ask why you are living here, of all places? I mean, there are real houses across the street, lass.” Always a gentleman, he was. He could tell the scot had put real effort into that sentence not to sound judgmental.

The building wasn’t too messy, courtesy of the current tenant. It wasn’t too big either. It resembled a house from the outside, and had two stories: the bottom floor looked pretty much like a regular house. It had one room filled with a not-so-normal number of beds, a bathroom, a simple kitchen, and tables everywhere, where it looked like people used to do research and eat, probably simultaneously. The top floor, on the other hand, seemed like something from another world: Wires covered the walls, feeding energy to dozens of different lab-related equipment. Some were big, some were small, and Simon couldn’t name them if his life depended on it.

“The place runs on solar energy. So the showers and appliances installed still work. Except for the cameras, I shut them down a long time ago, along with all this science crap.” So Simon’s intuition was right, she was hiding from something, and knew too much about the place for her to just have stumbled upon it on pure luck. They had already looked at the cameras and made sure that they weren’t working. They were small, installed mostly where it looked like the scientific research went down and at the entrance. She must have been looking for them, as he was pretty sure a regular civilian wouldn’t have been able to spot all of the cameras. But she did, despite the fact that it looked like those were the parts of the house that she used the least. And although Simon's first reaction was to be suspicious, he couldn’t deny that part of him was impressed.

“Smart.” Gaz said, but his tone seemed to reflect some suspicion as well. He had been sitting down in front of a computer since they arrived, trying to recover any data, while the rest of them tossed things around. Unfortunately for them, the scientists who had previously worked there had remembered to scrub the place clean - no documents or information was left behind. “Price, I think I got something.”

Whatever Gaz had been doing in that giant computer, seemed to have worked, as it looked like files were being restored. But the victory was short-lived, and they hardly had time to gather around the machine before the energy shut down. “What happened?” Soap asked.

“I don’t know, it looked like it was working.” Gaz proceeded to furiously tap the keyboard, probably having no idea what he was doing.

“Well, get it to work again then.”

“It’s not that simple, Soap.” As fast as the power went out, it came back on, and the distinct beep of the weird machines splattered around the place could be heard again. “It seems like the whole place rebooted. It was probably easier for them to have all the controls gathered in one place. Simpler.”

But Simon wasn’t focused on Gaz’s explanation. He was focused on the cameras, that he had physically confirmed were shut down, now red light shining bright. Apparently, the machines weren’t the only thing that had turned back on. “Shit.” He heard the woman say behind him. Her face was pale, and she hugged the baby tightly, shielding the child’s face against her chest.

Whatever she was hiding, Simon was willing to bet all his money it had to do with that baby.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x you #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #john price

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