#poor truss what did she do to deserve this again

[frostbeees]

What do birds 🐦‍⬛, climbing trees 🌳and Montreal 🇨🇦 have in common? Thomas Daskas.

[ace-din-djarin]

*peaks over counter* could I possibly have....some Luke whump with Din being protective? *Ducks back under counter*

@ameliajessicawilliamspond

Hi!! Sorry for the delay... I hope this fill meets your expectations!! It's so fun to write Luke whump, tbh. Poor bby. I went a little nuts with it, like always...

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When they finally found themselves cornered, Grogu cowering in Din’s arms and Din weaponless, ready to defend the child to the death-- it wasn’t much of a choice for Luke to step forward and surrender himself, and let them take him. They descended on him like the birds on Tatooine that would wait for a creature to be close to death, and then swoop down for the kill. The troopers dragged him forward, away from Din and Grogu, and the last thing he saw before they hit him with a stunner was the look on Grogu’s face. The last thing he felt was Din’s fury and fear, roaring from him through the force like wildfire, before it cut off abruptly along with the rest of Luke’s awareness.

He had no way of knowing whether what they were doing to him was what they would have done to Grogu, or if they were devising new and even more cruel methods just for him. He found it didn’t matter much. If what they had planned for Grogu was even a sliver of what they did to him, it was worth it. Even if they hadn’t been planning to hurt or experiment on the child at all— and he doubted that— but even if they hadn’t, just keeping Grogu from feeling alone and scared, the way he had way back when Moff Gideon had kidnapped him and held him on that huge star destroyer, it was worth it. It was all worth Luke’s sacrifice.

The cruel med droids, stripped of all personality and wielding scalpels and hypos full of unknown substances; the cold-eyed officers and scientists who wouldn’t come near unless Luke was trussed up, force suppression cuffs on his wrists and a double dose of suppressant drugs burning in his veins; the troopers who stood, silent and unmoving, at the door to his cell, two inside and two out, watching him, never giving him a moment alone, even when he screamed and retched and shook… All of it was worth keeping Grogu safe. Keeping Din safe. Their family, their small clan, it was what mattered. Nothing else.

In the dark of the night, when he lay on the cold durasteel bench of his cell under the eyes of two stormtroopers, blasters held across their chests in warning, Luke felt that perhaps this was penance as well as sacrifice. He stared at the troopers, the white of their armor gleaming dully in the dim lights overhead, and considered just how many of their brethren he had murdered. There were those who had been aboard the Death Star, of course — by far his worst, most heinous act — but there were also those who had fallen by his blade, or his blaster, or by Rebel plots he helped to fabricate. He reached out, in the small gaps of time when the suppressants started to wear off and circumnavigating the cuffs was bearable, and felt the troopers’ small threads of light brush against his mind, considering just how many other threads he had snipped. Surely enough to weave hundreds of miles of fabric, within the Force. So many beings— and in the Force, it did not matter their affiliation or creed, they lived just the same— whose lives he had cut short.

The officers who presided over the scientists’ experiments definitely knew who Luke was. They watched with stiff shoulders, with hands fisted in rage... but they hesitated, and they didn’t look him in the eye. Din had told Luke about Gideon, how he had tried to kill himself when he realized Luke was there on his star destroyer, and he supposed these officers viewed him in much the same way. A power both feared and respected, something strange and monstrous, a dark cloaked figure that flitted through Imperial nightmares. A truly fitting form for Darth Vader’s son.

Time passed in hazy, half-acknowledged spurts. The artificial light of the cruiser’s cell block never shut off, and the trooper’s schedules seemed to be random; he watched them with as much awareness as he could muster, but never seemed to be able to latch on to a system that would tell him how long each day was. Even their experiments and interrogation seemed to be done at random intervals. Sometimes he would go what felt like days with only the two troopers for company, and at others he was shaken awake in the middle of sleep and dragged off hours after their last session.

It was during one of these sessions-- woozy from drugs, from lack of sleep and food, from the constant blank nothingness the cuffs forced on him-- that something changed. Luke was strapped to a table, doing his best to ignore the scientist speaking into a voice recorder by his side, not thinking about what they were planning, when the room shook violently around them, his stomach rolling with the movement.

The officer standing at Luke’s head looked up, frowning. “What…?”

He was cut off by another shudder and a distant boom that reverberated down the cold steel hallways outside their room. The officer’s eyes, from what Luke could see, were wide-- he was worried.

“Keep going,” he snapped at the scientist, and stalked out of Luke’s view. He heard the door whoosh open and closed again, and they were alone.

Luke had long since stopped trying to fight the straps that held him down, but now he couldn’t help but thrash against them and hope that somehow they were looser today than usual, somehow he could pull himself free…

“Stop that!” the scientist snapped, even as the room shook yet again and a tool rolled off his tray of instruments and clattered to the ground. He lacked the fear that the officer had shown; he was brutally efficient, continuing to measure out a hypo full of an unknown substance, holding it up to the light with calm, unconcerned eyes. He grasped Luke’s arm and injected the hypo as the sounds of explosions outside got closer, and the sound of booted feet running on durasteel echoed louder and louder down the hallway. He turned and looked Luke in the eye, as he had never done before, just as whatever he had injected started to burn.

“You killed so many, Skywalker.” He said, still calm and collected, but now with eyes that shone with fury, “It’s only fair, don’t you think, that we get to strike back?”

Fire was in his veins, under his skin, burning him from the inside out.

Luke screamed.

______

The scream that echoed down the hall froze Din in his tracks.

He felt, rather than heard, Leia stumble to a stop behind him. He could hear only that scream-- unending, agonized, and horrifically familiar. It sent ice down his spine and through his heart, and he felt himself running again before he really realized it, sprinting flat out towards that voice, Leia on his heels.

He skidded a bit when the ship shook with another explosion-- Boba, Fennec, and Axe were having a bit too much fun with the explosives, but as long as Bo-Katan and Koska were still able to keep the ship flying, Din couldn’t find it in himself to care much. The door opened with a quick blaster shot to the keypad, and he and Leia ran in and stumbled to a stop as one. Horror welled up in his throat.

Luke was strapped down to a table, thick bands around his forehead, arms, and legs, and his hands were bound in front of him in what looked like force-suppression cuffs. He was screaming, thrashing against his bonds, eyes open and tracking some unseen terror. A man stood over him, arms crossed and an expression of sick satisfaction on his face as he watched Luke writhe. He turned to face Din and Leia with no sign of fear.

Leia raised her blaster and stepped forward, face twisted in a snarl. “What have you done to him?”

The man-- a scientist, judging by his clothing and the room, which held instruments and tools that turned Din’s stomach to contemplate-- looked at Leia with cool, calm eyes.

“Only what he deserved.” Behind him, Luke gasped something that may have been a “No!”

Din snarled and before Leia could react, lunged towards the man and punched him full in the face. He howled, hands flying to his nose, and Din hit him again, and again, until he sagged in his grip, unconscious, and Din dropped him to the floor. He stepped over him and reached out to cup Luke’s face in his hands, watching him breathe through clenched teeth, whines and moans of pain slipping through. He didn’t seem to see Din, but he seemed to register something; he turned his face towards where Din stood, even as his eyes rolled in their sockets.

“He shot him with something-- it’s probably causing him pain,” Leia said, holding up a spent hypo-syringe, face grim. “I’ll see if I can find what this was; maybe we can figure out how to help it.”

She turned towards a cabinet along the wall that held all sorts of horrible things, chemicals and liquids that seemed distinctly menacing. Din looked down at the cuffs around Luke’s wrists. It was so wrong, seeing him cuffed and bound like this, and he couldn’t stand it. He pulled the Darksaber from his belt and thumbed the activator.

Leia whirled at the sound of the blade extending, and barked “Wait!” just a second too late-- the Darksaber cut the connection between the cuffs, and a wave of energy exploded outward. Din dropped.

There was a presence all around him… slimy, oily, uncomfortable darkness, brushing up against him, making him shudder even as he walked calmly next to a hulk of a man in black armor…. Rage filled his thoughts as he struck out with his blade, struck the figure that taunted him, that threatened his sister…. His blade sliced through his father’s wrist, a mirror of his own maiming…. He tossed his saber aside, facing the Emperor, watching rage twist that horrible white mask of a face…. And then, pain, everywhere, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but writhe underneath it, couldn’t get away…. And his father looked on, watched as he died….

Din gasped as he was wrenched out of the vision, sitting up from where he had fallen onto the floor, staring up at Leia, who was slumped slightly over Luke, hands on his wrists. When Din pulled himself to standing, he saw that she had managed to get another pair of cuffs around them. She seemed to sense his disapproval, and shook her head, eyes never leaving Luke’s face.

“He’s too out of it to shield, right now, and he’s too powerful to have the cuffs off while he’s unaware. I’m guessing you saw what I saw?”

Din nodded slowly, and she sighed, reaching out to brush trembling fingers across Luke’s cheek, doing nothing to smooth out the agonized expression he still wore.

“He’s told you about our… our father? About the Emperor?”

“That--” Din’s voice cracked, and he tried again. “That was a memory.”

“I believe so. I wasn’t there-- I was leading the fight on Endor with Han and Chewie. But he told me afterwards. And I would know Palpatine’s face anywhere.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked back up, steel in the set of her jaw. “Let’s get him out of here.”

They made quick works of the straps, and it was worryingly easy to lift Luke into his arms. He still struggled against whatever he saw and whatever he felt, but Din held him fast to his chest as they hurried back down the shining steel hallway and towards where they had entered. He could hear the sounds of blaster fire as they got closer, and Leia moved to block the two of them, blaster in hand. Din shifted Luke in his arms, tucking him a little closer so that he could reach his vambrace, and primed his whistling birds. He sent a quick, silent prayer of thanks to the Manda that he had found the Armorer again as he felt them rise and click into place.

They hurtled around the corner, Leia already firing at a stormtrooper who was grappling with Boba, and he whirled around as the trooper dropped. Din’s whistling birds flew, and five other troopers around the room-- one about to slam Axe into the ground, another huddled around a corner taking shots at Fennec-- fell with howls of pain.

“Djarin! Princess! You found him?”

Boba seemed to notice Luke writhing in Din’s arms as he said it, and he cursed even as he ducked a shot from another trooper. “Get him to the ship! We’re nearly done here. I’ll comm Kryze, we’ll meet you there.”

He clapped Din on the shoulder as he passed, and Din nodded his thanks, hurrying after Leia.

The Falcon was waiting for them, and Din quickly laid Luke on one of the tiny bunks, stuffing a blanket along the edge of the wall so that Luke, if he thrashed too much, wouldn’t hurt himself.

Leia slid down the wall opposite, coming to rest with her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.

“I’m never letting him out of my sight again,” she groused, looking up at Din through her hands, flinching when Luke groaned again. Her eyes were so weary, it hurt Din to look at them. He looked down at Luke from where he sat at the edge of the bed, and brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes, watching him flinch and gasp.

“I… he told me about the Emperor, and what happened on the second Death Star. But I never guessed it was that bad... “ Leia trailed off. They sat together for a few long minutes, the only thing filling the silence of the ship the sound of Luke’s pain. He seemed to be tiring-- he hadn’t screamed for a while now, and his thrashing had quieted some. Din prayed that it was just the drugs wearing off, and not exhaustion forcing him under.

“I’m going to go get ready to take off as soon as the rest of them are back,” Leia said, rising to her feet and brushing soft fingers across Luke’s cheek once more. Din felt himself slumping a little as she left, closing the door behind her, and he reached up and released the seals on his helmet.

“You’ll be okay,” he whispered to Luke. He gathered Luke into his arms and kissed his forehead, ready to wait out the rest of this nightmare along with him.

————

Now with part two here!

[cronchevans]

lock fair daylight out

After a long hiatus, mod han has returned. And they’ve brought the angst for all their little masochists. You might wanna hold onto something. This is about the time that Pierce actually let ws!steve keep his pup.

warnings: rape/non-con, htp (hydra trash party), physical/emotional abuse, dissociation, victim grooming

The asset had done well. The proof was cradled in his arms. A little pup with bright blue eyes and a mess of wispy red curls atop her head. The director who’d put her in his womb did so at a dinner party, all trussed up and spread open on the long, mahogany table, a red ballgag keeping him a drooling mess and a speculum in his ass to hold him open, keep him drooling from that end too. His legs were folded beneath him, his arms bound backward and attached to ankle cuffs, forcing his bottom into the air and keeping his chest pressed helplessly to the cool wood. He was the main course; his mission this time was to please. To please everyone. 

The asset blessedly didn’t remember too much, never does. He was drugged to the gills with hormones to force him into heat and an aphrodisiac to force his little cock to get hard and his hole to get wet. they liked to pretend that he was enjoying it. At least this time they didn’t make him beg - the gag meant they wanted him quiet. The asset complied. He only cried out once, when the director shoved into him dry, forcing his partially inflated knot past the asset’s rim. The director fucked him rough and fast while everyone at the table all watched, marveling at the sight of the infamous winter soldier being reduced to nothing more than a hole and a womb. It was an honor to watch the next fist of Hydra be conceived. And once the director had planted his seed inside the soldier, he was there for the consumption of the other esteemed guests to do with as they pleased. Seven months after that and the director from the party was dead, assassinated by one of his own guards. Alexander Pierce was nominated as temporary director until a more seasoned member could take over. And the asset had never seen anyone like him before. None of the other directors had an easy charm or glittering eyes the way he did. Something about him made the asset want to obey, to follow him around like the lost pup he was. He wasn’t cruel like the others. He gave the asset treats when he was good and doled out reasonable, deserved punishment when he was not. The asset found himself wanting to please Pierce, seeking out the brief head pats and desperate for a kind touch. The asset’s dedication to Pierce became solidified after the birth of his pup. Something about the way she was wailing in his arms, the way the soldiers had their fingers on the trigger, made the asset very nervous, a sense of foreboding looming over him. He didn’t remember what had happened before, but some part of him knew he didn’t want to let it happen again. The soldiers shuffled closer and the asset shuffled back, clutching the screaming bundle to his chest, a snarl curling his lips. “Mine!” he barked, growling when any of the soldiers approached. The asset hardly ever spoke - he wasn’t allowed. Nor was he allowed to disobey a direct order. This was a new, unexpected reaction. The strike team fully expected for Pierce to take the pup and punish the asset before shoving him back into cryo. It went the opposite actually. Pierce strode into the dirty medical cell, expensive shoes kissing the cement floor. He knelt down to the asset’s eye level and immediately the asset cowered, darting his tear filled eyes down; he knew better than to look anyone of a higher status in the eyes, and knew even better still about what showing fear got you. Pierce then cupped the asset’s face in his hands, bringing their gazes together, and the asset whimpered as though he’d been shot clean through. “You’ve been a good boy, Asset,” Pierce remarked. the blonde preened internally at the praise, meager as it was. “I think you deserve a treat,” he added lowly, conspiratorially, as if what was being said was a secret for only him and the asset to know. “Would you agree?” The asset was unsure about the desired answer. Weapons do not have opinions, they cannot agree. But Pierce’s eyebrow was raised sternly, the grip on his face was tightening, so the asset knew an answer was expected, but what was he to say? He decided not to answer at all, rather pose a question of his own in response. “Please?” The asset’s voice was no louder than a whisper. This seemed to be an acceptable answer because Pierce’s mouth did that funny thing where he almost smiled but didn’t, so it ends up looking more like a grimace. It lit the asset up inside though; that look meant he had done well, that he was a good boy, and completed his mission in the correct way. And then, much to everyone’s confusion, Pierce tilted the asset’s head down just a bit and pressed a reverent kiss to the center of his forehead. The asset blinked away tears of surprise. “You truly have been a gift to mankind,” murmured the director. The asset furrowed his brow in confusion, a faint whimper leaving his lips when pierce gently pulled the sheet down from the crying pup’s face and chest, revealing her to all in the room. “Look at what you have given us. With this precious little one, we will create a new fist of Hydra. we will balance the scales and bring peace to the world.” Pierce tilted the asset’s face upward to bring their eyes together once more. This time the asset made no sound. “She will become like you.” Something ached in the asset’s left shoulder, pulling at it, heavy and dark. He turned to look down at the gleaming silver metal with a vague sense of fear. At his chest, the little pup wriggled against him, bringing the asset’s attention back downward. He didn’t want her to become like him. “You have done well,” Pierce praised again. He went to stand, waving away the guards who immediately raised their weapons, trained on the asset. “As a reward, you may keep the pup. You will raise her and when the time comes, relinquish her to fulfill her destiny as the soldier who will save us all. That is your new mission. What do we say?” “Ready to comply.” The asset’s voice broke. “Thank you, sir.” The director and the strike team filed out, leaving the asset alone in the dark, damp cell with the restless pup at his chest. He was even more confused now than he was before. The director wanted him to raise a pup? He wasn’t trained to be gentle - how was he supposed bring up this small, soft little thing? In a place like this? The baby started fussing, clumsily fumbling at the asset’s uncovered chest, her hands smacking at his swollen nipples. He winced and whined in confusion at the pain and the white liquid dribbling from his chest. He was...lactating? There was a ghost feeling of other hungry little mouths pulling at his chest. Had he done this before? Slow and unsure, the asset adjusted the pup in his arms, fitting her snuggly against him. She pressed her cheek to him, mouthing at the skin around his nipple. “No,” he whispered to her, shifting the pup once more and turning her so that she faced him more directly. The asset pushed his chest out. “Here.” The little pup latched on nearly immediately, sucking greedily at the asset’s chest. He sighed as an odd feeling of relief and satisfaction flowed through him. It wasn’t sinister the way it was when he gunned down a target, when he saw red smeared upon his hands. It was light, the way he felt with the man in his dreams when he’d been put on ice. The asset closed his eyes as his pup nursed from him. It was quiet for the most part. sometimes when it was quiet enough, the asset could hear the man come to him. He wanted to show the man this beautiful little thing he’d made. How good he’d been to be allowed to keep her. But the asset should have known better. By the nature of what he was, he should have known there was no good left in him, no way for him to truly be able to keep his pup. She’d barely hit the one month mark before they came for her. The asset had been displaying erratic behavior - possessively marking his territory, nesting, and aggressively attacking anyone who came too near his cell. He’d also came fatefully close to failing two consecutive missions, once getting captured and tortured for information before completion, the second, the Asset’s position was compromised because his mind was elsewhere, causing him to suffer field-impairing damage. He’d finished without another hitch after that second unfortunate incident, however the damage had been done; he had been seen. Now Pierce was at his cell door, hands casually in his pockets and looking incredibly disappointed. “You really have done a poor job,” he sighed as he unlocked the cell door. The asset quickly wrapped the babbling pup in her sheet and backed up against the far wall. Pierce stomped through his nest on his way in, causing the asset to whine in distress. That was for his baby, he’d made that for his little pup, so that she’s be able to have at least one comfort in this god forsaken place. “Please,” the asset begged. He nuzzled the pup up to his chest, pushing his nipple past her little mouth to calm her, distract her. And maybe, if they saw him taking care of her, they’d see that he was a good omega, a good asset. “Please, sir...I’m s-sorry, please...” Pierce backhanded him. “Be silent.” The pup gurgled between them. “Hand over the child. This has been a poor experiment indeed.” Pierce clicked his tongue in disappointment. “And to think I advocated for you to keep it.” “I can - I can do better,” the asset mumbled, hugging the baby to him tightly. “P-please let me keep her.” I love her went unspoken.

Pierce nodded his head as he sucked on his teeth. “Weakness,” he said. “Fear. Begging? These are diseases. And they will rot you to the core -” The director held out his arms. “- if you do not give up the child.”

The asset gasped in weak despair, staring down at his pup; she was clasping onto two of his metal fingers, blinking up so beautifully and trusting.

Stevie, baby, you can’t give her to ‘im.

The asset jerked his head up, looking around the room frantically. He’d heard the man, the man was here. It’d been so long since he dreamed of him.

I know she ain’t mine, I wish we coulda had one of our own babydoll, but you can’t give her up. The asset felt tears begin to well up in his eyes. She’s yours, she can be ours. Don’t let ‘em hurt her, Stevie.

“Ours?” the asset whispered. Pierce narrowed his eyes, not trying so hard to disguise his annoyance anymore.

“What did you say, soldat?”

“She’s...ours…” he spoke dazedly, as if in a trance. “Can’t...he said so...said I can’t....”

“Who said so? Soldat?” Pierce snapped his fingers, but the asset didn’t notice. He was still looking around, looking for the man with the grey eyes and the pretty smile.

What happened next was a blur, punctuated with pain and screaming and the prick of a needle. One moment, the asset was pressed back against the wall while desperately clinging to his pup, and the next he was facedown on the floor, his pup nowhere to be seen. His head felt fuzzy. And when he tried to stand up, he couldn’t. Pierce’s foot was pressed down on the center of the asset’s back, pushing him down against the floor. Physically, Pierce didn’t stand a chance, the asset could have him neutralized in less than five seconds. Pierce was the director, mentally pulling puppet strings. The asset knew not to react, but the thought of his pup made him throw caution out the window. Physically, he didn’t move; inside he was thrashing. Belatedly, the asset realized that he was crying.

“It really is a shame,” sighed Pierce in feigned disappointment.

The asset heaved a sob. “M-my ba-aby…” He scraped his forehead across the floor. “Plea - please give her back…” He wasn’t allowed to ask - oh what they would do to him if he asked - but that was his pup, his little spot of sunshine.

“I’m afraid not.” Pierce motioned the remaining strike team out. They shut the door with a loud clang, deadbolting it shut. He then took his foot off the asset’s back, knowing the omega would stay put. “I’d like to share some exciting news,” the director said as he came around in front of the asset, kneeling down. He lowered his voice, as if in conspiracy, saying, “Just between the two of us.” The asset continued to sniffle, keeping his face to the floor. “I’ve just been appointed to the position as...” Pierce paused to savor the word, “permanent director of Hydra.”

The whole of the asset’s body jerked as if uncontrollable and Pierce’s laugh scraped down his spine. The director petted his hand through the omega’s hair as he sobbed.

“You know what that means, don’t you?” he taunted, playing with the fine blonde hairs at the nape. “You’re going to have my pups.”

Stevie! The asset heard. Stevie, they drugged you, baby they put you in heat. You gotta get outta there!

Abruptly, the feeling of fire inside his veins increased tremendously and the heat pooling below his navel was acutely more intense. Only one thing felt like this. The asset began to panic, limbs trembling, yet unable to move.

“My baby,” he whimpered, tears streaming down his face and snot bubbling out of his nose, shaking desperately. “P-please...just want m-my pup again…”

“Don’t worry,” crooned Pierce as he got up and began to move behind the asset. He heard the jingle of a belt buckle being undone and the panic re-ensued. The asset whined helplessly, trying to get away and failing. He felt cold hands run down his sides to grab at his hips; the asset yelped. “You’ll be having another one real soon. You might not be the best mother, but you are the best fuckhole and womb.” Pierce chuckled like he’d made a joke. “Or so I’ve heard.”

Don’t hurt him! Get your hands off him you slimy son of a bitch! The man from his dreams was raging as Pierce wetted his cock with slick from his hole. It felt wrong when arched his back in perfect presentation, wrong when he pushed inside. No, not my omega! He’s my mate you motherfucker - stop it, stop it, you’re hurting him! Baby, oh god, my omega...my baby…

‘My omega’? The asset didn’t remember belonging to anyone other than Hydra.

The room was filled with skin slapping against skin and silence, white liquid pooling beneath the asset’s chest as he ached inside and out for his pup, for her sweet little mouth on him. The asset swirled his fingers in the mess, Pierce still grunting from behind, and stuck them in his mouth, sobbing at the taste of his own milk. He cried quietly while Pierce had his way, accompanied by the crying of the man as well, a melancholic symphony of sorrow, which only two tethered souls could share from beyond even the grave.

Who are you? The asset wanted to ask aloud; he didn’t understand why this man was behind his eyes, why he was so kind and beautiful when no one else in his world was.

“Who am I?” Pierce panted, digging in nails into the asset’s skin. “Say it, Soldat.”

I’m your Bucky, the man said with tears in his voice.

The director’s knot began catching at his rim with every thrust.

What am I? The asset asked the man.

“Say it.”

You’re my omega, you’re Stevie. I’ve loved you since we were thirteen.

‘Love’? The asset didn’t remember that either.

You know me, insisted the man. I’m your -

“Fucking say it!”

The asset gasped and for a single, brief moment, he remembered. Calloused hands, strong sun-tanned arms, a sea salt breeze and sticky sweet lips on his - they all came in a rush and were gone just as fast. But, it was enough. It was enough to remember, the man was -

“Alpha….” Steve breathed out in ecstasy. Light exploded behind his eyes and the man - Bucky - smiled, and god it felt like what he imagined love would feel like, soft and safe and warm.

Pierce rutted into him twice more before spilling inside him. Pierce thought it was for him, his hopeless plea for his alpha. But it wasn’t for him. It was for Bucky, his Bucky, to whom he truly belonged.

Leave me a comment to validate me, I’d love to know what you think. This is a test run for a new blog. xxx

[amymel86]

Mother's Plan - Jon x Sansa ficlet

NOTES: Edith Collwood (original character) has been wrangled into her ambitious Mother's plan to make her daughter the King's mistress. (Collwood is a small, new House seated in the southern regions of the North). ******

"You can at least try child!.. for your family! For House Collwood"! Edith's mother said proudly as she brushed out her daughter's long blond hair. Edith rolled her eyes.

"Mother...the King is married....asking me to do this....what good can come of it"? She retorted as she nervously worried her lip and fiddled with some hair ribbons.

"Our House is small but growing Edith, it wouldn't hurt to curry a little favour with King Jon-"

"But like this? Mother...is it wise?...Should the Queen find out -" Edith argued.

"Oh hush! That woman is as cold as The Wall, I'm sure she's aware that her husband would seek some warmth in his bed....they were once siblings you know - nothing like kinship to put out the flames of romance....rumour has it he's already felt the heat from a certain Southern Dragon Queen".

Edith huffed. She'd end up going along with her Mother's ridiculous plan, she knew she would. They were visiting Winterfell in two days time and her Mother had spent three moons preening and pressing her, whispering words of encouragement behind her Father's back (for he would surely despise her harebrained scheme).

Apparently she was to seduce King Jon. Or so her Mother said.

She supposed it wouldn't be so bad, the King is rumoured to be very handsome, brooding, but handsome.

It wasn't as if Edith was a maid either - her husband had been charming, too charming it seemed when he was killed only five moons after their nuptials when he was caught in bed with the Stable Master's wife. The fool.

"There" her Mother said to herself as she finished her hair fussing and stepped back to appraise her efforts "if we present you to the King thus then he'll be blinded by your beauty - I'm sure of it"! She clasped her hands together in glee.

Edith surveyed herself in the mirror. Her mother had commissioned a few new dresses and this one dipped almost indecently low about the neck. Edith watched the flush on her chest at the sight of herself. Her natural blush was hidden behind rouge and her lips sported some beeswax to make them look plump and soft. Edith thought it all a bit much. She liked her hair though.

***********

Winterfell was so much larger and grander than she thought it to be - what exactly it was she expected she could not say, it was the seat of the King and Queen after all.

Like the weather, the people of Winterfell seemed frosty too. Edith was used to the warmth and familiarity of a smaller household and found the contrast curious as she smiled widely at the castle's other visitors and staff only to be treated to curt nods and indifference in turn. The only exception was a rather attractive yet shy stable hand, who had actually returned her smile in an adorably nervous manner. Mother would not like it should I make a friend of him, Edith smirked to herself.

If she thought the people to be cold and closed then that was nothing compared to Queen Sansa herself. Edith watched her in awe up on her weirwood throne that perfectly matched her husband's. The rumours of her beauty were sorely inadequate - she was so, so much more than what they had proclaimed - more beautiful, more fierce, more intimidating, more regal, more graceful....just MORE. Edith hardly noticed the dark handsome man sat on the throne next to her - a man with eyes that scanned the room while his jaw clenched to indicate his discomfort at the number of people in the hall.

His gaze paused when he saw her, eyes skimming the ridiculous dress Mother made her wear and then back to her face, he shifted in his chair and glanced at his icy wife. She'd caught the exchange of course, the Queen seemed shrewd and all too aware with her glacier blue eyes. Eyes that met Edith's a few too many times, forcing her to inspect the flagstone floor instead.

*************

"You must go to his chambers before the feast ends tonight" her mother whispered in her ear on their sixth night at the great castle.

"What"?!

"It's been days now Edith and we've made no inroads whatsoever.... now's not the time to be coy...he won't be able to resist...come, let's go to his rooms and you can wait for him there...say that you were lost should he really not show any interest but I'm sure that won't be the case" her Mother ushered in whispers as she nudged Edith to a standing position from her seat. She grabbed her hand and began practically dragging her out of the hall.

Whilst they wandered the hallways, looking for the Lord's Chambers Edith contemplated her next moves.

She could simply slip from his room before he returns and claim to Mother he'd refused her, or....perhaps she could offer herself to him? It had been almost a year since her foolish husband's death and for all of his faults, his prowess in the bedchamber was not one of them. Edith missed that.

"Now, this must be it" Mother said as they stopped outside a room with a large oak double door which was intricately carved with depictions of weirwood trees and wolves.

"Be clear with your intensions girl... and all will be well" Mother says as she fusses with her daughter's blond locks. Edith frowns when she starts to loosen the laces at the front of her dress, showing even more of her flesh.

"I'll be waiting for him in his rooms Mother, how much clearer could my intentions be"? She responded a little angrily. Her mother ignored her tone and pushes her into the chambers, shutting the great door behind her with an ominous thud.

The room was uncommonly warm for how large it was and Edith noted that a fire had already been lit in the hearth. She sent a silent prayer of thanks to The Old Gods that she had not intruded on the servants - she's not sure she could have outlived her embarrassment.

Edith began walking around the room, trying to decide what she would do whilst taking in the grandeur and opulence of the place. It had nothing compared to some of the southern decors she was sure, but her King was the King of Winter and the North held no place for ostentatious frivolities. Edith felt oddly proud of that before she remembered her own ridiculous appearance this night.

She hastily re-tied her laces before trying to tug her dress a fraction higher. Noticing a dressing table, she starts to rush over to it, intending to rub the silly rouge from her face. She stops half way. A dressing table? Why should a King-?

Edith looks more closely at the items in the room - brushes, combs and pots of lotion on the dressing table, a piece of unfinished needlework on an embroidery hoop on the table by the hearth, a pale blue robe draped across the back of the chair.

She closes the gap to the dressing table and lifts a single long copper red strand of hair from the ivory comb.

Oh Gods! This isn't The King's Chamber's, this is-

Edith's thoughts die as soon as she hears someone approach. She looks around, frantically searching for a solution. She considers her Mother's ridiculously thinly veiled excuse from before but thinks better of it when she notices the door to an antechamber.

Edith had only enough time to pull the door to before not one, but two people entered the room.

"You shouldn't have said that to Lord Gaurdtree tonight your Grace" a woman's voice drifts through the open crack of the antechamber door. The comment was met with a very Northern sounding grunt.

"Any man who so brazenly stares at my wife deserves to be made a fool of" a man answered. Edith peeked through the opening, her eyes confirming what she already suspected - King Jon and Queen Sansa.

The redhead chuckles "I am their Queen Jon, people will look at me".

"Aye, but his glare was different, I didn't like it" the King answered as Edith saw him come up behind the Queen and place his hands on her hips.

"Jealous my King"? She turns her head to him.

"Very" he says as he bends to nibble at her neck.

Mother was wrong, Edith thought as she watched the couple.

"If anyone should be jealous, it's me your Grace" the Queen hums as the King continues his attentions on her opalescent skin.

"And why's that my Queen"? He asks her earlobe.

"More and more Lords seem to be bringing their daughters to court... I dare say over half of them have ambitions of becoming your mistress".

King Jon groans in response "I know....did you see the Collwood girl? Trussed up like a dessert she was" he shook his head.

Edith's cheeks flamed - she was sure the rouge would not be able to hide this level of embarrassment. She silently cursed her Mother and vowed to never again listen to one of her plans.

"Don't be so harsh on the girl" the Queen says, catching both her husband and Edith by surprise.

"Why ever not" the King scoffs. Edith notices one of his hands has roamed up his wife's bodice and is now cupping her breast over her dress.

"Because, after speaking with the Mother, I have a sneaking suspicion it is all the parent's doing...and besides, the girl looks to me more than she does you"

King Jon chuckles at that. "Aye, I'm a poor substitute for your beauty... perhaps she intends to become your mistress"?

The Queen laughs out a musical sound before turning in her husband's arms and becoming somber. "Littlefinger cornered me again today" she said so softly Edith barely heard her. She saw the King's jaw clench.

"He tried to kiss me this time" she whispered.

"He what"?! The king roared, making Edith jump in her hiding place. "I'll kill him"! He growled "We must have made enough progress with Lords of the Vale by now Sansa, let me kill him"!

"Hush my love" the Queen silenced him with a finger to his lips. "Soon Jon, soon. Just a few more Lords to bring into the fold...and then you can have him" she pauses to place a tender kiss on her husband's lips. "But for now my King I should like for you to use your energy elsewhere" she says suggestively. Edith swears she witnessed the Queen's hand pass over the Kings breeches.

"As my Queen commands" King Jon hums in response.

Mother was VERY wrong! 

  ******

Edith remembers wondering exactly what the King was doing when he knelt down and disappeared beneath his wife's skirts - the Queen seemed to like it very much, whatever it was. Edith thought perhaps this is something they only do this far north.

She also remembers, with shame, the feeling that she should look away when he bent her over and took her roughly from behind. Edith herself began to pant along with the royal couple as their flesh slapped and their cries intermingled.

Luckily, they'd decided to move out of sight to the enormous bed after that and, after some more writhing, moaning and declarations of love and dedication, Edith had deduced it was her chance for escape, the King and Queen having fallen asleep in each others arms.

Good for them, she thought with a grin as she made her way back to her Mother's guest chambers, ready to tell her all.

However, she stopped in her tracks once she was almost there and decided to turn on her heel to go and find that handsome Stable Hand instead. Perhaps she would even find out what the King had done underneath the Queens skirts.