#vision x daughter!reader

[mrsstruggle]

The Beast of War - Chapter 1 // Teen Wolf x Marvel AU

This is the second part of the Shadow Wolf Series. Read The Lost Child First if you haven't!

Series Summary: In the aftermath of discovering her true identity and reuniting with her long-lost family, Y/N Stilinski finds herself adjusting to a new chapter of her life in Beacon Hills. With her brother and his friends in their senior year at High School, the town faces a fresh new threat. Y/N must navigate the complexities of her new life while confronting the looming threat that threatens to hurt her and the people she loves.

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Death/Injury/Grief/Torture, Possible Grammar Mistakes (please let me know if there is anything else)

Series Pairings: Derek Hale x Reader, Stiles Stilinski x Malia Tate (for now), Steve Rodgers x Bucky Barnes, Bruce Banner x Natasha Romanoff, Vision x Wanda Maximoff

Words: 4.5k

Note: I am aware this is late! Please don't hate me!

Additional Note: While this is a Teen Wolf x Marvel AU, not everything is true to the shows/movies/comics. I had to change things for the story.

One Last Note: Y/N was adopted by Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. I did this so more people can see themselves in this story.

***I do not own Teen Wolf or Marvel or any related characters. This is a work of fanfiction and is meant for entertainment purposes only.***

Masterlist

The Beast of War Masterlist

The Lost Child Masterlist

Previous Chapter

---

“Are you going to keep secretly writing notes about me or ask me that question you’ve been too afraid to ask?” Y/N questions, her eyes never leaving the computer where she is tying in the new patient information. She is currently six hours into her ten-hour shift.

The boy sitting on the exam table freezes. His thumbs stop typing in his notes app as he looks at Y/N in surprise. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, “Mhm, sure. This is the fifth time you’ve been in this week, but you always seem to leave with nothing wrong. You either have hypochondria or you’ve kept coming back until I was your nurse.”

“Maybe the previous nurses and doctors didn’t do a good job and sent me home without properly helping me.” He picks at the bottom of his shirt in a nervous habit.

“The first time you came in was for pink eye, which has been noted that you didn’t have that. The second time was for a rash on your arm that you didn’t have.” Y/N says, looking over his previous visit notes, “The third time was a bump on your knee that turned out to be your kneecap. The fourth time was for a broken wrist that turned out to be broken or even sprained. Now you’re here due to flu-like symptoms, but your vitals are all good and there is currently no indication of you being sick.”

He forces out a fake cough, “Are you sure about that?”

Y/N turns to look at him, “I’m sure. You do know this is an emergency room, right? We have actual patients that need help, and we are short staffed. We don’t need some kid coming in trying to meet the Stark girl to get a good photo for his Instagram or whatever.”

“First of all, I’m not a kid—we’re the same age. Second, this isn’t for my Instagram, this is for my criminology class.” He says, dropping his act. He knew there was no point in tripling down on his lies.

“Well, your parents must have a lot of money or some really good insurance for you to be able to show up here five different times.”

“Something like that.”

Y/N looks him up and down, contemplating what she should do. She should just send him home, but she’s worried he will keep showing up until he gets what he wants. “The school year just started, why do you need to speak with me for your criminology class now?”

“Our first assignment is to do a paper on a famous crime. What’s more famous than the kidnapping of Tony Stark’s daughter?”

“I can think of several.” Y/N lets out a sigh, turning her body to fully face him, “You get five questions. If I don’t want to answer one, then it’s still going to count as one of your questions. After that, you have to leave and also promise not to come back here unless you have an actual emergency.”

He smiles in victory, turning his phone back on, “Do you mind if I record this so I can type out your answers later?”

“Sure.”

He opens the Voice Memos app on his phone, hits the record button, and holds it up between Y/N and himself. “Okay, first question, I am aware that the Avengers are currently relocating to a little outside of Beacon Hills, but have you been back to the other Avengers compound or the place you lived while with them?”

“No, I have not been back.”

He opens his mouth to ask her to elaborate but decides against it in case she counts that as a question. “Second question, what was your initial reaction when you discovered the truth?”

Y/N pauses as she thinks of an answer. For safety reasons, when they announced who she was, they changed the story of how it happened. Instead of telling the public she was re-kidnapped by Hydra, they told them about Bucky discovering the photo of her in Derek’s auto shop. It’s part of the reason some people like to show up there.

To the public’s knowledge, Hydra kidnapped her in hopes of raising her to be their soldier before she was able to escape on her own when they left her unattended outside. She was then found by a friend of Talia Stilinski and adopted by the Stilinski’s. To the public’s knowledge, Pepper didn’t hand her over to Hydra, she was never experimented on, she has no powers, and she didn’t know about the Avengers because she was too young—not because her memories were blocked.

“Mostly confusion. It’s not every day that someone shows up and claims to be your other family.  Now I’m just waiting for my biological family to do the same thing.” Y/N jokes.

“Third question, I know thanks to photos online that you spend some time with your brother, Peter, but have you spent any time with your sister, Morgan?”

Y/N debates on whether she wants to answer the question or not. The answer is no, she hasn’t spent any time with her sister, nor has she met her. She has nothing against Morgan, and she doesn’t blame her for Pepper’s actions, but she’s not sure if Morgan feels the same way. According to Peter, she is close with her mother, and her relationship with Tony is strained due to his shortcomings as a father to her.

Y/N is unsure if Morgan blames her for those shortcomings. It’s because of Tony’s obsession with finding her that caused him to neglect to be a good father for Morgan. It’s because of his resentment and anger toward Pepper’s nonchalance at Y/N being gone and her happiness toward the new baby that caused him to leave Pepper in the first place. It’s because of his grief of losing her that caused him to be unable to hold her until she was three years old.

It wasn’t until Morgan became a teenager did Tony start to step up as her father. He still isn’t perfect, and he can never make up for her younger years, but he is a lot better. Y/N adds Tony and Peter moving to Beacon Hills as another reason for Morgan to be justified to hate her.

Y/N knows that if Derek or Peter knew her thoughts about Morgan, they would tell her that she can’t blame herself for Tony’s mistakes. The choices Tony made were his own, not hers. Right now, she’s told Peter and Tony that the decision to meet, form a relationship, or anything is fully up to Morgan. She doesn’t want to cause any upheaval in Morgan’s life by inserting herself into it. If Morgan wants Y/N in her life, then she will be. If she doesn’t want anything to do with her, that’s okay. If she wants to meet her once and then never again, Y/N will do that too.

She does however know—thanks to Peter—that Morgan has decided that she prefers a private life away from the spotlight. While Peter attends all charity and public events in the Stark name, Morgan likes to stay home away from the crowds and paparazzi. She even keeps away from social media, so she doesn’t see anything about herself or her family.

“Um, I’m going to pass on that question. Morgan is a minor and prefers to stay out of the press. I don’t feel comfortable talking about whatever relationship I may or may not have with her. That’s private and it will stay that way.” Y/N answers. “You have two questions left.”

The guy huffs in frustration, “Fine. Fourth question, what are your thoughts on the theories and videos people were making after it was first brought to the public’s attention that you’re Y/N Stark?”

“I think the best word to describe I how felt, and still feel, about the things people were saying is disappointment. I’m disappointed in how people were, and still are, talking about my family. Honestly, I don’t really care what people say about me,” That’s a lie but she isn’t going to correct herself, “but I am disappointed in the way people talked about my family and the people I love.”

He nods his head in understanding, “Okay, last question, do you plan on changing your name back to Stark?”

No, she doesn’t. To be honest, it’s not even a thought that has crossed her mind. Scott asked her about it once when he saw her driver’s license and her only thought was that she hopes Derek proposes before Tony asks so she has an excuse that won’t hurt his feelings.

“Maybe, I guess we’ll see,” Y/N says instead. “Now, you can be on your way, and I’ll make sure to let the front desk know I refuse to see you if you come back with anything less than a life-threatening injury. Hopefully, that will keep you away and make you reconsider faking injuries and illnesses, and taking a room away from someone who actually needs it.”

He hits the stop button before turning off his phone and thanking her for answering his questions. He follows her out of the room and rushes out of the building to start working on his paper.

“What’s that about?” Melissa asks, watching the boy run out of the hospital.

Y/N rolls her eyes and sighs, “Just another person who wanted to interview me. I humored him for a few questions before I told him to not come back unless he’s dying.” She hands Melissa the boy’s file that’s in her hand. “Can you put a note in his file to let the others know I won’t see him if he comes back unless necessary?”

“That’s like the fourth one this month,” Melissa laughs in disbelief.

“What can I say, I’m famous,” Y/N winks at her. She and Melissa both know how much she hates the amount of attention she’s gotten since Kate exposed her. At one point in her life, she dreamed of being a star that everyone loved and was extremely famous. Now she wishes she could go back to being a nobody.

“When do you get off today?”

“I have about four hours left and then I’m out of here. I’ve got to go home a prepare myself for family dinner.” Y/N says, grabbing a new patient’s clipboard.

“I heard Stiles telling Scott about that. Is this the first dinner with all of you together?”

“Yep, and I’m already regretting it.”

Melissa lets out a laugh, “I’m sure it will be fine, and if it isn’t, you can tell me all about it tomorrow.”

“I actually have the next two days off, so it will be a few days until I can give you a play-by-play.” With her working so many shifts to make up for her unintended long absence, she decided she needed two days to take a break. She’s exhausted and just wants to sleep in for a day.

“I can’t wait.”

---

“Hey! Where’s Stiles?” Y/N asks as she greets her dad. He’s the first one to arrive for dinner and she expected Stiles to be with him.

“He said that he could drive himself here, so I drove here straight after work.” The sheriff replies, pulling Y/N into a big hug.

“Okay, well, the others should be here soon if you want to go ahead and sit at the table, or I can turn the TV on, and you can sit in the living room and wait.”

“Where’s Derek?” He questions.

“In here!” Derek calls out from the kitchen.

The sheriff follows Y/N into the kitchen to see Derek checking on the rolls in the oven. “How are you, Derek?”

“I’m good, sir. How are you?” Derek asks, shaking Noah’s hand in greeting.

“Well, I’m still here so I guess I’m good.”

“Dad, why don’t you sit down, and I’ll help Derek finish up,” Y/N says, gesturing her hand toward their dining table. She moves to help Derek when there’s a knock on the front door. “Never mind.”

Walking toward the front door, she can hear two heartbeats on the other side. Opening the door, Tony and Peter are now standing in front of her, “Hey. Thanks for coming.” She hugs them both as they enter the loft.

They had a few conversations after taking down Kate and the hunters, but they are still a little awkward around each other. Y/N and Peter not so much, but she isn’t sure how to navigate a relationship with Tony. She doesn’t want to come off as she doesn’t care about him, but she also needs time to get used to having another dad.

With Peter it’s different. They’re close in age and they have the shared trauma from Hydra. She also feels like she talking to Stiles most of the time.

Y/N shuts the door behind them, she leads them into the kitchen. She pulls out her phone to text Stiles as they greet Derek and Noah. Tony and Peter sit down at the table, and she helps Derek bring the food over.

She looks down at her phone when it vibrates in her hand, “Stiles says he’s a bit caught up and that we should start without him. He’ll be a bit late.”

“What’s he caught up with?” Derek asks, sitting at the head of the table next to Noah and Y/N.

“He didn’t say.” She hopes it’s just something to do with school and not supernatural-related.

“So, Derek, when are you going to start working on your old house?” Peter asks Derek. Y/N has told him a bit about Derek’s plans, but she hasn’t told him everything.

“Um, soon. I’m waiting until after I hire someone to help out at the shop.” Derek replies. A few people have applied to the open position, but two of them ended up being Avengers fans who faked their resumes.

“You know who would probably be interested in the position, Barnes,” Tony says. “He would know what to do and he’s been looking for a job.”

Bucky hasn’t applied to any yet, but he has a few saved. He’d been thinking about taking a step back from the Avengers for a bit. After seeing the files and the videos of what happened to Y/N, they seemed to trigger some bad memories that he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about. He’s also had several nightmares about what they could’ve possibly done to Y/N if she wasn’t rescued when she was.

Derek shares a small look with Y/N as if to ask for help with what he should say, “Yeah, I could send him the listing to see if he’s interested, or it’s on our website too. At least, that’s what Lydia told me.”

Y/N shrugs her shoulders a little when Derek looks back at her. She’s not going to tell Derek whether he should hire him or not, or even give Bucky a chance. It’s Derek’s business so that decision is completely up to him.

Tony opens his mouth to say something else, but Y/N decides to interrupt him. She’s sure Tony is about to say something that he thinks will be helpful for Derek, and she knows Derek probably doesn’t care to hear it. Derek likes doing things his way and he doesn’t always love people injecting their opinions. “So, Dad, is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

Y/N ignores the longing look in Tony’s eyes as she speaks to the other man who raised her.

“Uh, not to my knowledge, no.” Sheriff Stilinski doesn’t know what she’s talking about. The tone in her voice says he should, but he can’t think of anything.

“Really?” Y/N looks down at his left ring finger where his wedding ring used to be.

“Right, I may or may not have a date tomorrow night.”

“Good for you,” Derek says proudly, patting him on the back. They haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, but he and the sheriff have grown closer after he started dating Y/N. It was rough at first, but they started to get along after the sheriff saw how well Derek took care of Y/N after she was attacked one night by a hunter. They bonded that night as Y/N rested. It’s why Derek knows that the sheriff going on a date is a big deal for him.

“Who’s it with?” Y/N asks with a teasing smile.

“It’s with someone you know,” Noah says, keeping it vague.

“Well, it’s not with Melissa because she would’ve told me. But you also didn’t tell me until now. Oh my god, you’re date’s with Melissa.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Deaton?”

“It’s with a woman.”

“Well, who else do I know that’s at an appropriate age for you to date?” Y/N mutters mostly to herself.

Tony and Peter silently eat their food and watch the conversation with amused smiles on their faces. They like seeing Y/N with a smile on her face. It’s a lot better than what she looked like when dealing with Hydra, the hunters, and Derek getting shot with an arrow.

“It’s Lydia’s mom,” Derek states.

Noah looks at him a little shocked. He didn’t expect Derek to guess correctly or even chime in. “How’d you know?”

“I didn’t, but I do now.” Derek sends a triumph wink toward Y/N. She’s a little surprised he’s showing this side of himself with Tony and Peter here. With strangers, and sometimes the pack, he prefers to only let them see him as the tall, broody guy who doesn’t have many feelings.

“Just don’t tell Stiles. I haven’t told him I’m going on a date yet either.” He looks pointedly toward Y/N.

“Fine. My lips are sealed.” Y/N pretends to zip her lips for added effect. “What about you Peter? How’s MJ?”

The last time Peter had talked to her about MJ he wasn’t sure about the direction of their relationship. He loves her, but she’s still in college going for her master’s and he’s moving to Beacon Hills to be closer to his sister. They hadn’t decided if they wanted to try long-distance, have Peter go back and forth, or if they should call it quits for now.

Y/N told him that she shouldn’t be the reason his relationship with MJ should change. He just replies that he thought she was dead for several years and has missed out on being in her life, so he doesn’t plan on missing anymore.

“She’s good. We still haven’t decided what we’re going to do yet.” Peter replies, keeping his eyes down on the food on his plate to avoid looking at her.

“How has it been at the hospital? Are people still showing up and harassing you?” Tony asks, turning the attention away from Peter because he can feel he doesn’t want to talk about MJ.

“Yeah, we had a guy come in today asking me questions. It’s the fifth time he’s been in this week.” Y/N rolls her eyes in annoyance.

Tony frowns at her answer. He offered her a job to work with the Avengers in their medical wing to avoid the crazy press and fans and to spend more time with her, but she declined. She likes her job, and she likes that she can help her brother and friends by having her job.

“He’s been in five times?” Derek questions, his tone on the protective side.

“Yeah, he’s some college guy who wanted to interview me for some school project.”

“College guy?” “Didn’t the school year just start?” Derek and Peter question at the same time.

“He said it was for a paper for his criminology class. I let him ask me a few questions and then told the front desk not to let him back unless he’s dying.”

“What questions did he ask you?” Peter asks.

“Like ‘how did I react when I found out’ and ‘how did I feel about the videos people were making about me.’ I gave him five questions and only answered the ones I wanted to.” Y/N shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I only did it so that he’d stop wasting the staff’s time with his fake injuries and illnesses.”

“Has Stiles told you if he’s on his way?” Noah asks, changing the subject.

Y/N checks her phone and sees that Stiles hasn’t texted her, “Nope, but you know how he gets. He probably lost track of time, or he’s still caught up in whatever he’s doing.”

The table goes quiet, and everyone continues eating. No one knows what to say. This isn’t the first dinner they’ve had together, but they all typically end in silence. They do some polite small talk in the beginning—mostly everyone only speaking to Y/N—then finish their food in silence.

Derek takes his and Y/N’s empty plates to the sink when they're done. Y/N packs up some of the leftovers for her dad to take home.

“I should go. I’ve got a long shift in the morning.” Noah says. He pats Derek on the shoulder as a goodbye. He takes the leftovers from Y/N’s hands and follows her to the front door. “I’m assuming you’re going to show up to the station before my date tomorrow.”

“You know me so well.” Y/N smiles, hugging him goodbye. “See you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you too.” He closes the door behind himself as he leaves. Y/N turns to Tony and Peter who are ready to leave as well.

“Thanks for having us over. Dinner was good.” Tony says, putting his jacket back on that he took off while eating.

“Thanks for coming,” Y/N says, hugging them both goodbye. “My schedule is starting to slow down so I’ll let you know when I’m free for us to do something.” She notices Tony perk up at the thought of spending more time with her.

She waves at them goodbye before closing and locking the loft door. Sighing in exhaustion, she turns to see Derek standing and staring at her with a familiar lovestruck look in his eyes.

“I feel like I could sleep for a week,” Y/N says, slowly walking over to him.

Derek wraps his arms around her when she reaches him, “Well, I’ve done the dishes, so how about we go upstairs, take a nice hot bath, and then get you to bed?”

“Keep saying things like that and I’ll get on one knee right now and ask you to marry me.”

“I prefer when you get on both knees.”

Y/N scoffs at his joke, “Just take me upstairs to a bath. If you treat me right, maybe the bath could turn into something more.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Derek says. Y/N lets out a laugh when Derek wraps his arms around her thighs and picks her up, carrying her upstairs.

---

Y/N slowly opens her eyes to see Derek asleep next to her. She smiles a little at how cute he looks when he’s asleep. Turning to the clock on her bedside table, she notices that it’s almost midnight. She’s only been asleep for a little over an hour and she’s not sure what woke her up. As she turns back to Derek, their bedroom door flies open.

“Y/N?” Stiles calls out from the doorway.

“What the fuck Stiles?” Y/N groans, clamping her eyes shut when he flicks on the bedroom light. She can feel Derek waking up next to her. “Why the fuck are you here so late?”

Stiles walks into the room and sits on the bed next to Y/N, “I feel like I’m going crazy and you’re the only one that believes me.” Y/N can smell that he reeks of anxiety.

“Go home,” Derek groans, wraps an arm around Y/N’s waist, and pulls her in closer to him, pushing his face into the back of her neck to try and hide from the light.

Y/N sighs, using her hands to block the ceiling light, “You can tell me what’s going on after you turn off the light.”

Stiles huffs in frustration but gets up and turns off the light before sitting back on the bed, “There’s something off about Theo but no one believes me. Scott thinks I should give him the benefit of the doubt and that, even if he is bad, everyone is savable.”

“Does some of this have to do with why you didn’t show up to dinner?”

“Sorry about that. Me and Liam followed him around to see what he’d do.”

“And what did he do?”

“We may have followed him to the bridge near where his sister was found.” Stiles mumbles, fiddling with the drawstrings on his hoodie.

“He could’ve noticed you following him and put on a ‘good guy’ act,” Y/N says, trying to think of something that would support Stiles’ theory.

“Don’t encourage him,” Derek mumbles sleepily behind her.

“I broke into the administration office and found the transfer form his dad signed and compared it to a speeding ticket he signed eight years ago. The signatures are completely different.” Stiles says. He knows he’s right about Theo and he doesn’t get why Scott doesn’t believe him.

“Okay, I believe you. Look, I’m exhausted so how about we get some sleep and talk about this some more later? You’ve got school tomorrow, so you need some sleep too.” Y/N says as gently as she can. She doesn’t want him to feel like she doesn’t believe him either, but she might fall back asleep any minute now. “You know you are welcome to the guest room. It’s practically yours now anyway.”

“Can I sleep in here tonight?” Stiles asks shyly.

“No,” Derek answers quickly.

“Not like in your bed, but like can I drag the guest room’s mattress in here and sleep on it on the floor?”

Even in the dark, Y/N can see the vulnerability in his eyes, “Yes, you can sleep in here.” Stiles smiles and runs out of the room toward the guest room.

“You should’ve said no,” Derek groans.

“He’s worried about his friends and senior year has been giving him a lot of anxiety after asking Dad about his high school buddies.”

“How has that given him so much anxiety that he stinks of it?”

“Dad told him that he no longer speaks to any of his friends from high school and he’s scared him and his friends will end up the same way.”

Derek sighs, “Fine, but him staying in here is a one-time thing.”

Y/N starts to reply when Stiles comes back into the room, pulling the guest bedroom mattress behind him with one hand and his pillows and blankets in the other. He puts the mattress against the wall that faces Y/N’s side of the bed.

He puts his pillows down on the mattress before laying down and wrapping his blankets around himself, “Okay, goodnight. Don’t do anything gross since I’m here.”

Y/N rolls her eyes at his last sentence, “Goodnight Stiles.”

As she starts to drift back off to sleep, she hears Stiles speak again, “Y/N?”

“What?”

“Did you notice that Dad stopped wearing his ring?”

“Yeah,” Y/N replies gently.

“Do you think he’s met someone?”

“You’d have to ask him that.” She would’ve responded with yes, but she promised her dad earlier that she wouldn’t tell Stiles because he wanted to be the one to do it.

“I just want him to be happy,” Stiles says, staring up at the ceiling.

“Me too.”

There’s a moment of silence before Stiles says, “I miss Mom.”

“Me too.”

“Okay, goodnight,” Stiles rolls over to his side to face the wall.

“Goodnight,” Y/N pushes herself back into Derek’s loose embrace. After Stiles laid out the mattress, he was out like a light. She starts to drift off again when Stiles interrupts her again.

“Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for believing me.”

“Always.”

---

@xxemmarldxx @esposadomd @ladyjenjay @ts1mp0ne @misshale21

@n1ght5h4d3-24 @xoxoloverb

[spideyhexx]

billy fucking you missionary over a cushioned bench like one foot on the ground still, his one knee leaning against the bench…passionately making out with you and the bench creaking…

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Second Chance Master List

Cover art designed by my girlfriend Taylor P.

Summary: You’ve never known your father it was information that you didn’t need to know. Your mother gave you everything you needed and more. But after your mother was killed in a car accident and you find a box filled with information about the man you never thought about; your father. Tony Stark. But you don’t feel the need to reach out until you were diagnosed with cancer and you need his help.  

Please note I am not a doctor and a lot of the medical stuff will be from my own research and personal experience (my mother had breast cancer). So if I get some stuff wrong, I am sorry. I don’t mean to offend anyone. 

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Setting

This story takes place in April 2024. Our MC is 27 years old and was not part of the Blip. This is a very much a everyone lives/no one dies AU where the events of the MC happen. 

There will be flashbacks and those will be italicized 

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Chapter List 

Chapter 1           Chapter 11

Chapter 2           Chapter 12

Chapter 3           Chapter 13

Chapter 4           Chapter 14 

Chapter 5           Chapter 15

Chapter 6 

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

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Discussion

All posts regarding this story will be tagged as #SeondChance. Please feel free to ask me questions!

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[tabathastan]

Thinking about being Raiden Shogun Daughter…

It’s different when she has a daughter compared to Scaramouche. But she does wish that she had a relationship with him and wish that you, her daughter had a relationship with her older brother.

She very protective of you, and as she created the vision hunt decree you weren’t really allowed to leave the temple. But secretly you did of course, as you usually visited your friends or your aunt Yae Miko who has get your back.

But if your mother would to find out, she would be extremely upset. After she ended the vision hunt decree you were officially allowed to leave the temple without sneaking out and were also allowed to travel Teyvat.

Eí was very nervous about allowing you to travel but Yae Miko had assured her that it would be ok. Since you were a daughter of the electro archon there for you were strong.

[book-place]

Most Wonderful Time

Warnings: mentions of character death, weapons, and fighting, let me know if I missed any :)

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x daughter reader, Vision x daughter reader, Batfamily x reader platonic <crossover>

Request: I was thinking maybe a batfam x Wanda's daughter! Reader who got reincarnated into the mcu universe after she died in the DC universe. She still has memories of her past life so she asks wanda about it so she shows her the dark hold and how it works. So when wanda is asleep, she uses the dark hold without permission and travels to the DC universe. When she got there she immediately went to the nearest store to buy them presents. It was Christmas day so you decided it would be a nice thing to do. After you did that you immediately went to the manor to greet them after a full year of being dead (in that universe)

Request by: @ladyagagaslefttoe

*not my gif*

Summary: An idea came to you suddenly about the flashbacks you had been having of your past life

A/N: Welcome to day 9 of Book Places 12 Days of Christmas Celebration

Please don’t plagiarize my work, you may reblog if you like but I’m asking that you don’t steal my hard work

You frowned, staring up at your ceiling in the dark with your hands laced together and gently laying on your chest.

So lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t even heard your mother come in, only snapping out of your trance when she flicked the flights on.

“What are you doing?” Wanda asked in amusement, strolling over and sitting at the foot of your bed.

You sighed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard and pulling your knees to your chest before resting your chin on the top, “Just thinking,” You admitted.

“Well don’t think too much longer,” She teased, leaning over and planting a kiss on the crown of your head, “It’s Christmas Eve and we’re going to have a great day tomorrow.”

It’s true, the two of you, along with your father, Vision, had been invited to go over Tony’s for the day tomorrow to hang out with the rest of the Avengers.

When you gave her a small smile in return, she left you to your thoughts, flicking off the lights on her way out so you could return to your previous activity.

Perhaps it was the fact that you were born to the most powerful witch alive that you had the abilities that you had, to see into your past life.

You didn’t exactly have a normal life in that one, not that you did now. You were born in a separate universe, with your father and brothers, as well as yourself, all being vigilantes for your home city, Gotham.

Recently, you have been getting more and more flashbacks than normal about the life you had led as Bruce Wayne’s daughter.

About times with your brothers, sneaking cookies from the kitchen, pillow fights, real fights with thugs out on the streets. And, of course, your death.

It had happened one night while you were on patrol, trying to take down a gang in a warehouse. You had gotten separated from your brothers and someone had snuck up behind you and caught you by surprise.

For obvious reasons, you couldn’t remember what came next, but you knew that it wasn’t pretty.

All of a sudden, an idea sparked through your head and you sat straight up.

It wasn’t impossible, but it wouldn’t be easy, especially since your mother clearly wouldn’t approve.

You gnawed on your bottom lip for a moment as you contemplated what to do before slowly swinging your legs over the side of your bed and hesitantly putting your feet on the ground.

Before fully planting your feet on the ground to stand up, you listened for the sound of your parents steady breathing to let you know that they were in fact asleep.

As quickly and quietly as you could, you slipped out of your room and crept into the spare room that your family had specifically designated for the Darkhold.

Your mother had taught you a while ago how to use it, stressing the importance that it was only to be used as a last case scenario in emergencies.

True, this wasn’t a life or death situation, but you had been given a second chance at life. You were forced to leave behind a family that never got closure for what had happened to you.

Of course, you loved your family in this universe and the avengers more than anything, and you knew and felt nothing for your past family other than what memories gave you. But somewhere deep down, you felt like you owed this to them.

Tossing aside the thoughts of how furious your parents would be when they found out, you took the Book of the Damned into your hands and flipped through the pages until you found what you were looking for.

You closed your eyes and murmured the spell that was inscribed upon the pages, and when you opened them again, you stood on the middle of a sidewalk in a city that you had only seen in your dreams. Gotham.

The city bustled with midday rush, informing you of your suspicions that time moved differently in this universe. If that was the case, then you would have been dead for exactly a year here.

With that fact in mind, you quickly brought your hood over your head and closed the Darkhold, tucking it safely under your arm as you began moving with your head down through the city.

Somehow, you knew exactly where you were going without really thinking about it. As if you knew this foreign city like the back of your hand.

When you arrived at the store you had unknowingly been traveling to, you finally paused for the first time in hesitation.

Your brilliant plan suddenly didn’t seem as great as it had sounded in your head.

You had wanted to use your mothers book to travel to the universe that you had died in and surprise your used-to-be family with gifts and tell them about how you remember, and how you were sorry for what had happened to them.

But what if they didn’t take it that way? What if this was just a slap in the face to them about the sister and daughter they had lost?

Because you weren’t her, not really, but you had thought that maybe- just maybe- they would see it as a way of finally gaining the closure they never had.

Was it selfish that some part of you also wanted to meet them? To see what they were really like? Yes, and you knew it.

Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, knowing that it was too late to go back now, you took a step farther into the store and began to look for what you came for.

In the end, you had some coffee mugs, bags of candy, and other little trinkets you were able to find that reminded you of the memories that you had been having.

With that, you made your way back outside and flagged down a cab, ignoring the weird look you got when you told the driver to take you to Wayne manor.

“Hey,” He said gruffly, eyes narrowing slightly at you, “You look familiar…”

“I’ve probably taken your cab before.” You lied coolly with a small shrug.

He grunted and turned back to begin driving, “Yeah, probably.”

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the wave of nerves that hit you like a train as the large home came into view.

After taking only a deep breath to steady yourself, you paid and thanked the driver before stepping out and warily eyed the intimidating building.

Picking up the bags of gifts you had gotten for them, you hesitantly made your way up the front steps and rang the doorbell once, stepping back to wait.

The two moments it took for someone to answer the door were the longest of your life. You were rocking back and forth on your heels and nervously glancing around in a way that no doubt made you look suspicious.

The door was opened by a man you knew to be Alfred Pennyworth, and the moment his gaze landed on you, he froze, hand falling from the doorknob as he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Who is it Al?” Dicks contagious laugh reached your ears before he was within sight. But when he was, he stopped dead in his tracks as well.

“No…” Your eyes snapped behind him to where Bruce, Jason, Tim, and Damain all stood, eyes wide and faces pale.

A silence broke out then and there, no one wanting- or daring enough- to break it as you all stared at one another. You in curiosity, while some of them held mixed expressions of horror, sadness, and disbelief.

“Hi, guys,” You finally greeted softly, “It’s nice to meet you all.”

That was your first mistake.

Automatically, all of their softened faces hardened and each of them reached for a concealed weapon within their pockets and got into a fighting stance.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” Bruce asked coldly, his tone sending shivers down your spine.

Out of all the flashbacks you had, he had never once spoken to you like that.

You flinched slightly, “Listen, I know this is a lot to take in-“

“Who are you?” Damian hissed, eyes narrow and fists clenched at his sides. The sight of his older sister clearly messing with his head.

You went to take a step forward, but Jason put a finger up to stop you, “Not another step.” He warned.

“Do you think she…” Dick trailed off, not having to finish his sentence for the others to know that he was asking if you had come back from the grave like Jason had.

Tim shook his head, “She couldn’t have.” His tone indicated that he was trying to convince himself just as much as the other, “We tried that already and it didn’t work.”

Your heart broke at the sight of them. These strangers, but not, so confused and upset by your appearance, that for the first time, you really began to regret coming to see them.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered out, eyes pooling with tears as you slowly bent down and placed the shopping bags before them, “I knew coming here was a bad idea.”

As you turned to leave, one voice made you freeze.

“Y/n?” It was Dick, “Y/n, is that really you?”

Your eyes squeezed shut as you turned around to face them once more.

“Kind of,” You whispered, “I’m from a different universe.”

They all exchanged a glance at your words before slowly relaxing their tense stances, surprising you a bit.

“This isn’t the first time we’ve heard something like that”. Tim said.

You took that as your cue to talk once more, and you dove into the explanation as to why you were there.

You told them about the flashbacks you were having from your past life. The way time moves differently. Your universe. How you had just wanted to bring them some gifts for Christmas and hopefully meet them in person.

By the end of your story, the silence had returned, and you were looking back and forth between all of them in anticipation, half expecting them to reach for their weapons once more.

“Would…” Bruce's voice broke slightly before he swallowed thickly, “Would you like to come in?”

So in you went, allowing each and every one of them to give you a hug, even if you weren’t really the girl they lost and passed out their gifts to them. But in so many ways, you were similar. Living in a different universe just made you slightly different.

For hours, you talked and talked. Sharing stories and laughs as you enjoyed Christmas together.

By the time the sun had begun to set, you knew it was time for you to leave, so you hugged each of them once more before stepping out the door.

“Wait, Y/n!” Jason called, causing you to turn to him with slightly raised eyebrows, “Will you- I mean can you-“ He stuttered out.

“Are you able to come back to visit?” Tim filled in the blank for him.

You smiled softly at the request and nodded your head once. Though you still weren’t from that universe anymore, it felt as right as being in your own.

Using the Darkhold once more, you disappeared just in time to see them all waving at you before you returned back to your home once more.

Your parents were still asleep by the time you got back, so you snuck back into your room and got under the covers of your bed.

You had given others and yourself a second chance that day. And no Christmas gift could ever outdo that.

The Superior Robin ❤️- @ineedmorefanfics2 @sambucky8 @spidyyparker @i-writes-things

We Are Groot 🤎- @lovanitu @jvdethirlwall @ineedmorefanfics2 @sambucky8 @spidyyparker @irethepotato @femalemarvelself @mukbee @its-hell @ip747 @i-writes-things @popfishjr @mitsuki-murakami

[wanda-little-baby]

Restless Dreams - Wanda Maximoff x romanoff!Reader

Summary: When the past haunts you, it's best to have someone to hold on to or it sucks you in.

Warnings: mentions of death, injuries, weapon, there is a shoot, needles, sedative, kidnapping, sleep-inducted, and many other bad things... | +18 DNI

A/N: Sorry for my absence, but between the holidays and various reasons I have stretched the broth too much.

Words: 8.674

You stood on the roof of the compound with your girlfriend staring up at the stars under a blanket. "How did you get your powers?" gazing at the starry sky Wanda, your girlfriend, she asked.

"I don't really know. I think they've always been there, just one day something made them activate" you stared at your fingers, passing a little magic ball through your fingers, reflecting on the origin of everything.

The atmosphere between you was getting more tense, you both had a bad history with discovering your powers, and that doesn't brighten the moment at all.

You turned on her side to observe her better and smiling you spoke to her. "But all in all, if I hadn't 'activated' them I wouldn't be here with you, and we just can't allow that" you kissed her cheek, underlining your happiness in being there, and also making her giggle.

"No we can't" she giggled she moved your tickling hands off her lap before she couldn't breathe anymore. "Who knows where I would be if you weren't here? If you hadn't saved Piet?" more serious she asked she, more to herself than to you, you too then think of an answer; then smile.

"You'd be down in your room in a more advanced stage of your emo phase surely despairing over Pietro's death" you made her understand, with no malice in intent, your thought.

She reacted by patting your shoulder in annoyance at the emo phase comment, making you giggle even more this time. "I'm not in an emo phase!" clearly lying she tried to hide, to no avail since you know her well, and your minds are connected.

"Your black nails, the many rings you wear on your fingers and a list of a hundred thousand other things would say differently, darling" you alluded more and more to everyday Wanda, loving her in all those little details, just like she does with you .

"I miss when you were too cheesy" she with a sad smile she moaned softly.

"And I miss your lips. You see, we're both unhappy." you pouted at her, thrusting yourself closer to her, still failing to make eye contact.

Your huffs rang in her ears, cracking her frown, eventually forcing her to turn around to look into your beautiful blue eyes. When you finally managed to look at her, seconds later her lips met yours, in a slow, sweet kiss.

Just before you needed a big breath of fresh air you interrupted your moment by leaning your foreheads together. "Better?" opening those gorgeous emerald eyes, with a smile full of love, your girlfriend asked to you. "Much better" savoring the remaining taste of her lips, you narrowed your eyes basking in all the warmth you emanated.

"What do you say, let's go back to our stars?" she made you open your eyes again with a confused look, which caused her to giggle, before realizing and gasping. "That's why I'm the cheesy one" you pouted, without real intentions, and together you resumed observing the starry night sky.

Your room has never been quieter, and the only thing that made it more comfortable was the memory of one of those late night dates with Wanda.

The two of you rarely sleep in different rooms (and different beds), but the few times you do, the night is always particular.

You've been lying on the bed for hours, under the covers, lost in thought, you could say you've reviewed your whole life but you would seem exaggerated.

A lot has happened lately, your friend Kate has moved to the compound (although she commutes between here and her apartment), you start to think that something is brewing between her and Pietro (but for now it's just continuous teasing), life inside and outside the missions is strangely easy (or maybe you're in love and everything else seems insignificant to you) and the 'be human' project with Vision proceeds slowly but steadily.

And as you stare into the void in the walls of your room, you start to hear a strange sound.

Beep... Beep... Beep..

A kind of beep, getting louder and with a constant rhythm, grips your mind, chasing away all other thoughts.

Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep...

You try not to think about it but the more you ignore it the more persistent it becomes. It starts to get unbearable, so you violently get out of bed and walk out of the room in search of the source.

You go into the kitchen and dig a hole in the water, you wander around the other areas of the compound with no results, you even try to see in the living quarters (the empty ones) but you just can't see anything abnormal.

You were about to give up and reopen the door to your room, yielding to the pressures of the mysterious sound and growing sleep, when you pass Wanda's room and hear soft moans.

Beep... Beep... Beep... Beep... Beep...

The closer you get to her room and the louder and faster the sound gets, there's no doubt that whatever it is, it's from her. She should be sleeping therefore it's useless for you to knock and enter by forcing the handle a little.

The room is dark, you can barely distinguish the stretched out shape of your girlfriend's body, and it's a bad thing that every beep corresponds to a gasp from her.

This is one of those nights huh? WHY I didn't get it before!

Sometimes at night Wanda still had nightmares, they could be about her parents, or they could be the memories of the tortures that Strucker called 'experiments' that came back to haunt her.

In these moments she goes back to being a scared child, increasingly fragile, your heart hurts to see her like this.

In a heartbeat, you wrap your arms around her, she's still shaking and desperately muttering words in Sokovian. You don't know which of her usual torments haunts her tonight, but you hope that your presence can help her in some way.

In your attempt to banish the painful memories, a sad realization comes to you.

The continuous beeps, all in sequence, as if they were a countdown, are one of the things that terrifies Wanda the most. The ticking of the countdown of that cursed missile torments her very often, even before you met her (Pietro once told you so).

That beep handed down in your mind was nothing more than a request for help from her subconscious.

Suddenly, still wrapped in your thoughtful cloud, you notice movement beneath you. It's Wanda who woke up abruptly, she was reliving that memory crap, so when she opened her eyes she didn't expect to feel two arms around her and so she gasped a little.

"Hey, it's me. Still the nightmares?" she whispered into her ear, trying to keep her tones as low and calm as possible, just to not scare her further. "Mhm" wide awake, and very shaken, she admitted in shock.

"Why did you come here?" now more conscious she formulated her curiosity about her, unfortunately continuing to mentally reproduce that annoying sound. You wince at her continued concern for you, even though the one needing treatment now is her. "I felt you needed me and I ran right away. However I was still awake" you reassure her without giving her further worries, she is already too shaken.

She sighs, turns in your grip, and only now can you see traces of tears covering her cheeks, her eyes still red from crying. "I keep seeing them, the seconds until the explosion. Under that bed, I keep counting the seconds until that damned missile explodes" sobs escape her lips, she closes her eyes before shrinking smaller and smaller .

You basically became the big spoon in no time, with Wanda curled up with her head on your chest, you making concentric circles on her back to help her calm down, and an impending outburst.

"I shouldn't have done it! I... I shouldn't have volunteered for Strucker's experiments. There wouldn't have been Ultron if I hadn't let hatred and vengeance take me" she gets caught up in anger and pain, towards herself, and the more she continues the more she hyperventilates.

You try to calm her down, but all attempts fail, then you remember what she did when it was you who hyperventilated. "Hey, hey, hey, Wands breathe. In and out, follow me." you take her hands, now that both of you are sitting in the middle of the bed, and together you try to take deep breaths.

"Remember what you tell me when I'm in trouble? Focus on my thoughts, let go of everything else, just you and me now" you look into her eyes, thinking about the things she needs to hear (they're all true, for you), just waiting for a change.

It's not your fault, you did what you thought was right, and when you understood the truth you quickly changed your mind.

Do you remember? I was there, I saw you. And then Ultron is gone, we defeated him, together.

Now you're here, you have a lot of people who love you, and above all you have me.

You've said the last part many times in the last few months of dating, yet those three famous little words are struggling to get out, perhaps it would be premature to even think so. It used to be normal for you to say your love for each other without doing it, either physically or with a veiled version of ILY, but every time you had to soothe Wanda out of one of her post-nightmare outbursts you were very tempted to spill the beans.

Focusing on the words you were thinking, taking deep breaths, and anchoring herself in your touch, she finally calms down. "Goes better?" you worried, probe the ground, staring fear into those once joyous eyes.

Honestly she doesn't know what to answer, you understand it too, that's why you caress her cheeks, brushing away the last traces of tears with your thumbs. "Shall we go back to sleep?" finally you propose to her, you also open your arms so that she can sneak in, as she likes to do every time.

At this point in the night, you are both mentally tired, both from the exhausting day and the recent late night episode. You are already leaving for the world of dreams again when something unexpected happens.

"Thank you Y/N for always being there for me. I love you so much." are the words that Wanda says, probably just before falling asleep, since after coming out of the trance for the realization of her you try to call her without success. "I love you too Wanda" you finally whisper before kissing her head and falling asleep too.

Of course she may not have heard you, or she may have said it in a moment of tiredness, or she had said it but she doesn't mean it in that sense, but tomorrow you would (perhaps) make sure you tell her again.

≈≈≈≈≈≈ a few weeks later ≈≈≈≈≈≈

"Are you sure everything will be fine?" near the Quinjet, Wanda asks you, worried about the mission. You rolls your eyes before receiving a serious warning look, and shakes your head confidently. "Wands, everything will be fine, the mission is no big deal. Don't worry, I won't be alone, Steve and Kate will be there with me too." you keep her shoulders still, your eyes fixed on her, and your words as sincere as possible, you are sure that everything will be fine.

How can she say no when you're so sure, and then when you stick you can be so stubborn.

"They'd better protect you, otherwise they'll have to deal with a very angry girl" she tells you, accentuating the last part of her for the two avengers inside the jet to hear. You give her a tender smile followed by a too-short goodbye kiss before you turn and step into the aircraft to admire a sorry pout from your favorite brunette afterwards.

I love you, girl

I love you more Y/N, and be careful

——————————————————————

Everything is fine isn't it?

You just had to search a building, neutralize the threats and recover the resource. You Steve and Kate split up, eliminated all threats for each floor and now you were looking for a very stupid crate marked with number 74.

"It's like looking for a needle in a haystack" rummaging through a kind of warehouse among the papers, you communicate into the earpiece. "Only it's a huge empty building here" from earpiece Kate equally bored, huffs plaintively.

"Girls stay focused, danger can be everywhere" as usual, as a good leader he is (or as a good pain in the ass) Steve interfered in your bored complaints to the research.

As much as you huff, surely Kate does too, given her clear laugh at your flippant reply. "All right capsicle, we'll be careful we don't end up frozen for seventy years" you tease the poor super soldier, you torture him on this whenever you like.

"What does this have to do with it?" annoyed, he clearly wonders about the relevance of the topic. "Oh nothing, it's just that I find it funny" as a thing like any other you say by taking an interesting folder, leafing through it a bit and then continuing to rummage elsewhere.

The musty smell of the basement, mixed with the immeasurable quantity of files stored in this horribly disturbing place, makes you considerably speed up the search for the desired object.

You're browsing through the shelves of a bookshop when you notice a door, a door that really shouldn't be there, on the maps you studied earlier this place had to have only one exit, and it's not that.

Stealthily you approach cautiously, secretly hoping that it is closed, even if it would not serve to block you, in fact it would only slow you down. "Guys, I found something..." you try to communicate, the mysterious door getting closer (and more disturbing), and a deafening silence.

You wait impatiently for an answer, time passes and you feel only the recondite silence in the air, and you start to worry slightly. "Guys?" try again, hoping for a futile attempt, whose failed attempt only made you more nervous.

"....."

You sigh disconsolately, the situation worsens rapidly, and you have only one conclusion.

Shit, there's no signal.

It looks like a horror movie, and I'm going to do exactly what I'm not supposed to do.

As bold as ever, you turn the doorknob and leap inside. The room is exactly like the rest of the basement, damp and smelly, except that there's a 90's computer on a desk in the center of the room.

"Not at all creepy" you mutter cautiously, obviously it's a trap, if there were signs their 'it's a trap' arrows would be pointing at the vintage knick-knacks.

Now given up on having communications, you continue the mission's purpose, and thus approach the obvious pitfall.

Behind you, however, hidden in the shadows, there is a masked figure ready to ambush you. It approaches as shrewd as a cat in a flash, and before you knows it he's injecting you with a powerful sedative behind your back, powerful enough to make you collapse not before saying your last words. "блядь..."

——————————————————————

Your sedated body was dragged to an unknown location, leaving you hanging around your mind while someone did what they wanted with you.

——————————————————————

Steve and Kate after trying several times to get in touch with you reunited in the empty dungeon discovering your having been kidnapped. Defeated and morally demoralized, as well as empty-handed, they were forced to return to the compound without you.

Wanda and your mother (just back from a mission) were waiting for you at the landing zone, and what they didn't expect was not to find their favorite person.

As soon as the Quinjet landed they expected to see your sunny presence rushing towards them, that's why they are surprised when they hear only the deafening noise of the rotors fading away. Neither of them want to break the terrible news to your mother, who is also a very protective ex-assassin when it comes to her adopted daughter, or to your girlfriend, a powerful witch in love with an expert in torturing mind.

Fortunately for them, or rather unfortunately, those two girls are very suspicious and in fact after a few minutes they are already inside the aircraft very worried. "What happened to Y/N?" the concern written on your mother's face, arms folded and a glare, emotionless on the outside but trembling with concern on the inside using all her spy training to hold back worried tears.

The uncertain looks that the super soldier and the young archer exchange and the obvious strong thoughts that emanate, involuntarily make your girlfriend understand the sad truth.

Her whole world seems to collapse, the only person (besides her brother) who has not been afraid of her powers (or of her in general) and with whom she felt different, more herself, has now been kidnapped, subjected to god knows what atrocity, and no one knows better than she what those people can do.

She can no longer stand from the pressure, so with tears still just welling in her eyes, she drops to her knees, one hand over her mouth to keep from screaming at the searing pain in her chest.

Natasha still unaware of your kidnapping, understands the gravity of the situation by closely watching Wanda's rapid collapse and fires a quick 'tell me what the fuck happened to my daughter' dart at Steve, before ducking just a little to Wanda's level and giving her a hug of comfort; she is your girlfriend after all, she should show some affection to her too, and then she too suffers for the same reason and understands.

Sure, that hug maybe didn't calm Wanda, but it allowed the widow to seriously experience how down in the dumps Steve and Kate were. Kate is the most experienced, she sees traces of tears still fresh, her hair is all messed up, and she probably cried on the flight home.

Steve on the other hand is very shaken, since you've been here despite your problems you've tried to make him feel at home, and he was the first one you met so he feels guilty for not having come to check sooner, maybe he could have caught the kidnapper .

"They took her..." the blond from America finally confesses.

At these words the young archer gets up and from the seat and walks away at an accelerated pace, with more tears starting to flow, she doesn't want to see the same mistake again, not after she keeps seeing it in her mind every single second.

"Taken? Who did it? How could this happen?" as a mother terrified of losing her daughter, she shoots questions deeper and deeper into her wound.

"She entered an area with no cover, the enemy was waiting for her…they ambushed her" in a cracked voice, a battered Steve sums up what he knows about what happened to you.

"You should have protected her...you should have..." between a sob and a shower of tears, accusing words, not really to Steve, more to herself for not coming with you (you said you could handle it) and maybe even to you for being so careless.

She is increasingly desperate, not even Natasha's reassuring gesture manages to keep her rooted without sinking into the abyss of pain. As always, the redhead has to be the strong one, now she has to do it for you, to find you as soon as possible, and she has to do it for Wanda too, deep down she cares a lot about the girl.

From the position next to her, he faces and puts his hands on the shoulders of the Sokovian, perhaps perceiving a minimum point to give her hope. "Wanda listen to me, I promise we will find her. I will find her, and I swear I won't stop until she's here again" she promises stubborn as ever, and truly she won't stop until she finds you.

"We'll Find Her"

——————————————————————

They took your body to a research facility, which is something a normal person would do when they 'get' someone with powers, didn't they?

From the few minutes of sleep-wake they let you have between one dose of sedatives and the other you understand that you are probably attached to a heart rate monitor and they have certainly put you on a stretcher.

Every now and then in the sleepwalking void you feel like pricks, so you assume they are studying you, your powers and abilities, or they are other drugs because you are too awake to feel them. After all the void of sleep isn't that bad, it feels like sleep but this time you don't know how conscious you are until you fall back into induced sleep again.

You don't understand if the hours, the days, the weeks go by, and everything seems like a boring monotonous silence.

At the same time as the compound, your mother doesn't rest for a second, puts all her energy into finding a link to where the Hydra has locked you up and literally hasn't slept in who knows how long, she has the whole team involved in your research (not that there was any need, they would have done it even if she hadn't asked), everyone does everything possible to remind Natasha to at least feed, as well as spending every way for the slightest clue.

Everyone except Wanda, she hasn't left your room since she found out, she spends her days crying in your bed and when she's not crying, she reads all the little notes you've stuck in the room to remind you of the most mundane things (such as: training with mom at 10 am, date with Wanda tonight!✨, etc...) just to remember what your voice would sound like.

The night is the worst moment for her, since nightmares have kidnapped you, they are a daily thing and they are all about the fear of losing you, of seeing your lifeless corpse in her arms, that's why her eyes are glassy from tiredness and from despair all day.

——————————————————————

Three weeks have passed since day X, they have just reduced the dose of sedatives and moved you to an isolated cell, very dirty and full of mold everywhere. However it's not like you could go anywhere, they tied you to the bed and you can't move from there.

They come every three hours to check if you're awake, and two times out of three they put you back to sleep, so you stay awake about long enough to sort your thoughts. You're stuck and shut down, barely able to read very strong thoughts from weak minds, so an escape is unlikely.

However, now you feel a strange feeling in your stomach, and then a rush of energy. A rush of familiar emotions, anger, worry, revenge but above all love, give you a new rush of power.

The only person capable of restoring your magical power is the only one you would now like to see in your arms, so a new strength makes you sit up abruptly, breaking the belts that held you to the bed. "Wanda!" burning red eyes and a hopeful smile accompany you as you quickly get off the bed.

You've just discovered that you're wearing a hospital gown, and by the meager marks on your body you understand the length of your stay with the enemy. With a flurry of hands you unhinge the door and with very little energy you trudge out. You can feel Wanda, she is here, wherever here is, you just have to find her.

Obviously being an enemy base it is full of soldiers, ready to shoot you as soon as they see you. You trudge tired and luckily thanks to your powers you manage to take out one by one (slamming them from one wall to another) all the obstacles, at least that's what you thought after passing a few floors.

Slowly exhausted from the walk and very hungry you continued your desperate search when you feel a thud behind you and then a warmth in your leg. You are already too exhausted from everything so the bullet that entered your leg is the straw that breaks the camel, so your fainting is quick, unfortunately you do not notice the red flash behind you and a familiar walk behind you.

It took them three weeks, but your mother finally found you. They kept you imprisoned in an old abandoned Hydra base, or so the team believed, well hidden from prying eyes, but not so well from some satellite.

Within minutes the information had spread throughout the compound, and the entire team was already mobilizing for the rescue.

If you were there with them you could have described your mother and girlfriend in three words: hope, determination and revenge.

As soon as FRIDAY had announced your location in your room Wanda was incredulous, in less than five minutes she was already out of the compound ready to go and very pounding.

When they arrived near the 'abandoned' structure Pietro did a quick inspection counting the exits, the enemies and maybe spotting you, so after a few minutes the Avengers burst into the building.

When Wanda found you she had just split from the rest of the team, convinced she had seen something, she had just turned the corner when she heard a shot, a little further on there was a guard holding a gun pointed at someone, in a fit of rage he flies off the building and looks at the shot victim.

Her eyes are shocked, you just fell to the ground, exhausted and with a hole in your leg, you pass out before she reaches you. When she takes you in her arms she sees your glassy eyes, your malnourished body and pale skin, you basically got here by miracle. You're so thin that she can pick you up bridal style and make her way to the jet.

——————————————————————

They rescued you and blew up the building (after successfully eliminating any form of threat), but you had been too neglected in the three weeks and also aided by your gunshot wound you fell into a coma.

The team took you back to the compound where you were met and treated by a world-class medical team, you were cleared of the drug cocktails those Hydra scientists had injected into you, but you still didn't have enough strength to wake up. Days go by and the team, or rather your family, continues to visit you assiduously.

Sometimes only Kate will come, and whispering she will ask you a billion times sorry for she knows not what reason, she feels guilty for her friend and somehow holds herself responsible for your suffering.

Steve comes to visit you at least twice a day, the first time he brings you one of your favorite books, he changes them every day and he knows how much you love to read so he hopes it helps, the second time he does it for Wanda, he brings her a hot meal, given who refuses to leave your side until you wake up. Not that this helps, however she wouldn't eat it anyway, at least maybe she doesn't show it but she appreciates Steve's gesture.

Sam stays a while and then goes away, but he always wishes you a speedy recovery and tries to make Wanda smile every now and then.

Tony came the other day too, his usual manners getting him kicked out of the infirmary by your mother before he said anything to arouse Wanda's wrath. However what he wanted to give you he had already put in your room so the visit to the infirmary was just pure courtesy.

Vision is the one who showed up the least, he had calculated that you would wake up within a week and therefore there was no need to worry, he will only have come to check on you twice.

The only people who never or very rarely left the room were Natasha and Wanda.

The brunette always sat by your side and as the rest of the world went on she stopped hers for you. Even if you're standing there right in front of her, your pulse being monitored on the screen, she's terrified that one day, the wrong one, the pulse on that monitor will stop.

Her favorite activity has now become holding your hand, hoping that you will respond to her squeeze, or in cases where she feels suffocated and misses you too much, she rests next to you, with her head on your chest, to remain anchored here only thanks to the sound of your heart.

If Pietro hadn't been there, she would have gone mad with pain, it may seem excessive but in a short time you filled a hole in her life that she didn't even know she had, and now that hole is reopening, and blood is coming out. As close as he could was to his sister, as well as her friend.

Natasha took the hit of the coma better than Wanda, she had you at home safe, and she's too stubborn to think you can die, you'll just wake up full stop. The only times she left the room was when someone else was with Wanda, just to get some air, or something to eat, after which she would quickly come back to you two.

A silver lining was that at least they talked to each other more, when they were in the mood for it, and mainly share the best memories they have with you. Your presence certainly helped the twins settle better in the team, let's say you gave both sides a boost.

She takes care of your girlfriend as well as she does you, she knows that's what you want, and it's also a way to postpone the pain so welcome.

For a couple of nights Wanda has fallen asleep exhausted curled up against you, and each time Natasha takes and puts the blanket on for you two, letting you rest, then she sits down on one of the chairs and dozes off, also very tired.

——————————————————————

It is now afternoon, twelve days have passed since you were shot, and one month and five days since the fateful mission.

It is the first time that Natasha has left the room leaving Wanda alone, nothing should happen after all she is sleeping which is rare in recent days.

The first thing you feel is a big headache, you're completely dazed, you don't even know where you are or how you got there.

When you open your eyes slightly the yellowish light of the sun blinds you and you can barely see the white ceiling of the room.

The continuous background noise that has accompanied you in the last month, that of your heartbeat on the monitor, is always present only this time it seems to you that you are less bedridden.

Then all of a sudden the memories of the last month come back to you, the constant sedatives, and the withdrawals, the tests, the confinement to the bed, and then the escape, only for it all to vanish in smoke.

Realization hits you when you try to move and you realize there's someone leaning against you, why didn't you notice it sooner?

Your blood rushes to your brain at the very thought of having to fight in this state but you immediately cheer up when you see that it's your girlfriend.

She is clinging to you as if her life depended on it and you even mind breathing if it means disturbing her graceful sleep.

The light breeze that moves her hair makes you aware of where you are, the dear infirmary of the compound, much better than the last bed you woke up in. The soft light already gives you a daily context but you are quite tired of lying down.

With a lot of effort you try to get into a sitting position, but as you suspected, in addition to the impending difficulty, you wake up Wanda. "Y/N!? Oh my god, you woke up!" her eyes widen in disbelief, she quickly unravels from your arms, her happy expression changes when she sees your strained face.

"Stay down, don't force yourself, you'll hurt" with strong hands she brings you back down again, with one goal, to let you rest. "I'm fine Wands, I'm just a little dizzy. I just wanted to be a little straighter" you reassure her, making the situation clear, and hoping for a slowdown in the restrictions.

Her expression doesn't waver, she's not going to make you move a single muscle, and she'll take care of it personally.

"No you're not well, you woke up after almost two weeks in a coma and now you won't even move a muscle, you have to rest" like a good nurse she commands you, even pointing at you with her finger, her concern screams from all over her.

You sigh yielding, you missed her caring side too, even though sometimes it's too much, this time you have to indulge her. Stop all your futile attempts to get your body to move and embrace the idea of ​​lying down.

At this point it would be better to restart the conversation completely, so in order not to undermine it even more, you prefer to enjoy the silence and stare, with an unconsciously pained gaze, at the caring emerald eyes of your favorite brunette.

The thought that she was too brutal by preventing you from getting up doesn't even cross her mind, after all you were in pain getting up and she doesn't want you to suffer, if anything she could help you…maybe.

Now sitting more composed, on the edge of the bed, with her legs crossed, she thoughtfully massacres her lower lip with her teeth while with one hand she strokes your numb legs. A flash of genius comes to her in these few seconds of reflection, a light in her eyes, literally when she approaches and she fixes you by putting an extra pillow behind your back to make you stand a little higher.

"I missed you so much, I thought I was losing you" moving, close enough to have her long brown hair on your chest, her strong arms gripping your forearms, she lets go of all the sadness and especially that little constant dread of never hearing your voice again.

The benefit of being a telepath yourself, even if you're exhausted, is that you feel all the plethora of painful thoughts gripping her brain, and you're perhaps the only person who can put an end to them right now.

"I've missed you a lot too Wands, and I'm never, ever leaving you. I promise." with your heart in your hand you promise her something for which you will fight to the last drop of blood in your veins, to seal this pact you also raise your little finger, one way for another to make everything lighter.

Her little finger quickly reaches yours, and you squeeze it to seal your solemn promise.

Don't miss the opportunity to push your face a little closer, so that your lips come together in a kiss that has been requested for more than a month.

"Never do that again" now that the kiss is done, in fear her whole facade crumbles. "What... kiss you?" you look at her amazed, usually she liked your kisses, maybe there's something deeper underneath her, or maybe you wanted to make her smile already knowing the answer.

"No stupid, leave me alone" she smiles at your antics, sometimes they really change her day, but this time her fears are well founded.

"I can try to do this, after all I have good reasons to go home" you linger over the last words, sketching in your mind a series of valid reasons, while you give her a look that is both sincere and provocative at the same time give. "And what would these reasons be? I'd really like to hear them" provocative eyes, malicious intent, are hers when the space between you increases, sitting again in the space next to your outstretched legs.

"Hmm let's see....It's movie night on Friday..." with a thoughtful look, fingers on chin, your eyes in full defiance, you tease her. "Friday movie night?" with her mouth hanging open and an expression both surprised and disappointed, she surely she was expecting something romantic, aside from the fact that you can be romantic as well as be a tease.

"Then there are... my mother's failed attempts at cooking... Vision's lingering philosophical quotes... the grandfatherly air Steve brings... Sam's incomprehensible jokes..." you list one by one very random motifs, some unnerving, leaving a little pause between each one to give the brunette a little more suspense. "AND?" she shakes her arms in exasperation, she knows she's at the end of this, but you're really dragging your feet.

At her insistence you laugh, maybe you shouldn't since lifting your chest so much causes you a little pain (which you're good enough to hide) all over the ribcage area, you can see that maybe you shouldn't have scoffed her insistence. Your brief reward is when she pouts, that tender pout she only gives you, the one you can't resist, anyway you would have told her in the end.

"Annnnd... you Wanda, you are the biggest reason to come home" with soft eyes, heart in hand, and aching limbs, once again you confess your love to her.

Joy is not quantifiable on Wanda's face, of course she knew you would say it, in practice she was begging you to finish that sentence in this way, but it always does her heart good to feel how much you love her.

For this reason, immediately after your fatal words, she jumps on you, in a bizarre way too, considering that you are half-reclining, forgetting all the precautions she had imposed on herself to make you respect.

She nearly chokes you at how tight her arms are wrapped around your neck, and all in all her reaction was not quite like the usual Wanda you know.

When you met her she was always standoffish with others, the only one she literally wasn't bitter with was her brother, certainly the situation you were in wasn't the most favorable for making friends, among other things you were probably still enemies, but with you she always behaved differently from the others. It may be because of your bond, or curse if you prefer, unique, but right from the start there was an incredible chemistry. Time has only helped, until now and her attempt to smother you in a hug.

"Hey…it's okay…it's okay… I love you too, there's no need to choke me" you force yourself to speak, giggling at her grips, knowing that maybe this will lead you to be free. Fortunately this time it suits you because you are immediately released, but in exchange you get the best show you could ask for.

Red as a tomato, her hair all tousled, your beautiful girlfriend cackled loudly, using one hand to push her dark hair away from her face and behind her ear and the other in a failed attempt to hold back the laughter, drawing the your gaze in love like a magnet.

Your constant staring only makes the Sokovian grin even more, almost making her breathless. "W-Why are you staring at me?" she mumbles still trying to suppress the rest of the laughter, still beaming as always, only now you realize what you were doing perhaps unintentionally and this in turn makes you laugh.

"I was just thinking that I just picked the right Maximoff" you nonchalantly tell her smiling. Your answer makes her raise an eyebrow in disbelief. "You say?" she asks you curiously. Whereupon you shake your head and already prepare yourself for other flattery to give to your declared crush.

"Very convinced. Pietro isn't as witty as he thinks, and then he's really a messy..." you explain your reasons when the lock on the handle clicks and the door opens revealing Pietro following Natasha who were chatting softly.

When your conversations have petered out together, looks of astonishment and wonder come to their eyes, the next thing you know is that your mother is on the other side of the bed, showering you with hugs and kisses.

It is literally the greatest amount of affection that Natasha has given you, of course there have been hugs, kisses of various kinds, other things between mothers and daughters, but never as concentrated as now.

"Sleeping Beauty has finally woken up" in his usual sarcastic way, Pietro comments, and if you could see him, even if you already know he's got it, you'd see that cursed smile he's given since he's been teasing you.

"I missed you too, Piet," you tell him, after extricating yourself from your mother's forest of arms and red hair. "When did you wake up?" more composed and less attached to you, but always on the right side of the bed, your mother asks for hours.

You give Wanda a quick quizzical look, since she was the only one in the room, but she has the same uncertain expression you have so you don't know what to answer. "a few minutes ago..." you try again a look of support "... yes minutes, practically recently" Wanda backs you up, as uncertain as you are.

"You had a long sleep" begins from behind her sister, that dear sprinter you have as a friend. Speechless with a single glance you address the unspoken question to the two women on either side of you. "Almost two weeks" by rubbing her hand over your outstretched arm, your mother updates you on your forced rest period.

"I bet C-3PO tried to calculate when I would wake up, did he?" smile thinking back to the synthezoid while he tries to calculate your shooting time, sometimes the way he talks you can't help but chuckle. Your smile is contagious, because the other three smile at your joke too, but only Pietro intervenes.

"Speaking of robots, there are a couple of people over there who can't wait to talk to you" with a grimace he teases you, he knows you hate all this attention, oh how much he knows.

You roll your eyes and mutter "let's take this band-aid off" as you pass your right hand over your face, you also manage to make Wanda smile with your manners and all in all this is not bad.

——————————————————————

Within a few minutes, one by one all the members of the team, or for you of your family, arrive in the now crowded room.

In the short waiting time, you have the opportunity to take a further look at the room and smile when you see the book on the bedside table on your left, already knowing who brought it to you and planning to thank him.

——————————————————————

As you suspected, Steve was the first to cross the threshold of the medical cabin, an expression of relief when he saw that you were well and in good company. "Captain" you greet him formally, still a little aching, stupid headache. He approaches you, making room for himself on the side of the bedside where Natasha used to be, now out to go and call the others.

"Girl you really scared us" a serious but also concerned tone takes the super soldier. You sigh in amusement, ready to answer, you adjust your position, firmly helped by Wanda's arm. "Well what do I have to say, I haven't slept for seventy years but I'm tired of being in the REM phase" with a slight arrhythmia from the effort you make a slight joke.

A reproachful look nevertheless reaches your eyes, even if it dissolves immediately after, by now your jokes on this topic missed him.

A sound getting closer, almost like a scream, you start to hear. "Y/N!!!" Kate bursts into the room, held briefly by Sam, hell the girl is nimble.

Her eyes are shining with contentment, her feet far apart, her arms stretched out for the run, and all her disbelief is enclosed in her being. "Kate..." you whispered in surprise, sincerely at everything, at her hasty manner and the faintly remorseful expression on her face. "Oh my god…"she covers her mouth with her hands before almost throwing herself at me.

She literally pushes Steve away for space and before long she's wrapping you up in a tear-jerking hug. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, sorry sorry..." she murmurs into the crook of your neck, so sorry and finally relieved to empty herself of the guilt she feels she has that she doesn't mind your surprised expression at all.

Like a brick all the stormy guilty thoughts that sink her suddenly hit you, thoughts from her point of view very concrete, having suggested to split up to cover more ground was her idea without most likely you would not have fallen into the trap.

But what he doesn't know is that you wanted to venture alone into an area with no signal and that clearly reeked of a trap. "No no... No Kate, stop apologizing, you didn't do anything. It was all my idea" you cautiously move away, alienated by the amount of hugs you've had in the last few minutes, but with a more important task.

Apparently your intentions weren't clear because she's still insecure so try again with more conviction. "I knew what I was doing, nothing of the last month is your fault" even more convinced you take her by the shoulders, eyes convinced, and you indicate your body to explain above all the shot.

She is really shocked

She took all the blame for your kidnapping before and your weak coma now

She shouldn't have, she shouldn't, the responsibility for that is mine alone

I don't know what to do Wands, should I use my powers?

I think this is for you to decide детка

Her posture is all hunched over, mostly due to the fact that she was holding you, but you have to continue despite her evidence of upset from her. "Are we still friends? I mean... aren't you angry with me?" she comes out, surprising you suddenly, a sudden question but with a lot behind it.

Take a deep breath and before you can say anything Wanda reaches the young archer from this side placing a hand on her shoulders.

"If I were to be angry about all the plans gone awry that caused me some injuries, I would most likely hate the person who is about to walk through that door" without a hint of sarcasm, alright maybe just a little bit, you finally tell her, concluding the last part just as Sam was panting through the door.

"This...girl...runs...a lot" taking deep breaths, Sam gestures at Kate, completely oblivious to your previous conversation with the archer.

The exclamation plus the birdman's breathless pitiful state (he hates when he's called that so you'll keep calling him that in your head hoping he can hear it) brings out a hopeless watery smile at the girl as well as a knowing look between you and Peter.

"Sam" you greet him trying not to let a smile slip, acknowledging your active presence. "Y/N, well woken up" between a sigh and the rest now more composed he too returns the smile. "Trouble breathing, bird man?" teases Pietro as only he can do, he is on par with Tony sometimes as far as it can be a joke, it would be an exciting fight.

If a look could kill then the sprinter would now be stone dead from the glare that the literal "not birdman, they're just wings" throws at him. Then you really can't resist any longer and you grin maliciously laughing both at the joke and at the look (even at your thoughts), a light pat comes on your shoulders when Wanda makes you understand that laughing at other people's misfortunes isn't so nice after all, even if you pout however her idea remains the same.

Right now Natasha walks into the room too, before the now tangible body of the world's most motor-skilled toaster pops out of the wall, further boosting your laughter as he makes poor Sam take a hit. "What are you doing so funny?" says your mother, aware of your laughter, but for Sam's sake she tries to deflect the subject.

"I entered and ..." Vision believing he has to make a list, all serious he gestures undermining what he has done and then staring at the others in confusion. "Vis what did I tell you? It was rhetoric, she doesn't want to know what you did." particularly precise on this point, he had asked you to learn to understand the human being and you are helping him, rhetoric is part of all this. A sad look however took him.

"Oh. Well woke up anyway Y/N." dejected dejected he shut up.

——————————————————————

That's what you've done for the next hour, talking to all the people who have given color their way into your life.

At least until your mother pleaded that you needed to rest, which you were already tired of doing since the last month in bed, kicking everyone out of the room.

The only people left inside were you, Natasha and Wanda, or as you dubbed them in your head: your new nurses.

They literally instituted very limited visiting hours beyond which only the two of them in exchange could see you.

When you insisted on the first night to go back to your room they protested and so you ended up staying in that kind of hospital room for another week. The biggest torture was that you couldn't do anything.

'Rest and see that you'll get better' your mother tells you all the time, even if it's true that whatever they injected in there could be dangerous now you're bored.

The only activity that wasn't eating (all rigorously prepared by your girlfriend), sleeping, chatting with your 'freedom holders' and other things that don't move much is reading.

You love Steve after all those books he stole from your room and brought them here, literally even if you know them by heart you devour them out of boredom.

When they finally let you out you are strictly accompanied, no longer by two prison guards but only by Wanda (perhaps you can fool her with her big eyes) which you don't mind.

The missions for the first three weeks are off-limits, you can't even talk about it, then slowly, pushing the right buttons, you convince them to trust you.

Of course of all these treatments you know that as soon as they run out the rest of the team will mess you around until you die. Especially Pietro

[braveclementine]

Chapter 20

Warnings: None

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own a few OCs like Elizabeth, Katherine, Stacy, and Jessie. I do not condone any copying of this.

Ben didn't react at all, which was making you think that he didn't have anything to do with this. But Y/S/N on the other hand, flinched for a second, eyes darting around the room, realizing the position that she was in.

"Pardon?" She asked calmly.

"Our father came to visit me earlier today." You said carefully.

She frowned, "Y/N, our father is dead. He was murdered."

"I know. I was there." You said coldly. There was a pause in the room, the tension could've been cut with a knife. You smiled a little, "You know, there were so many things that I wondered. I wondered why we didn't have similar soulmates. I mean, we both know how sibling soulmates work. Jessie and Katherine both got Pietro. Thor and Loki got me. Me and Elizabeth got Avengers. . . so I always wondered how you never got an Avenger as your soulmate, or how I never got a normal person as mine. But it makes sense now."

Y/S/N just watched me, brow furrowed. Ben's brow was also furrowed, looking between her and you, not saying anything.

"And then, I wondered how I could care for Minerva so easily when we had no connection by soulmate. I thought maybe that it was because I felt I owed Elizabeth, or that I was there when Minerva was born so I obviously had a connection to her. But no, that's not it at all. You see, I don't feel the same for your daughter, who you conveniently, I noticed, have named Melody. Which means that Elizabeth was really my sister, and you weren't."

"Y/S/N, what is she talking about?" Ben asked quietly. But Y/S/N didn't answer him, keeping her gaze on me.

"You would really believe a mad man that tried to kill you, over your own sister?" Y/S/N scoffed. "Are you kidding me right now?! How much have we been through together? You always kept me safe and now this man comes along, tells you I'm not your sister and you just believe him?!"

"He also told me you were part of HYDRA." You continued, hoping that you weren't making a mistake in trusting the man.

"I'm younger than you!" Y/S/N protested.

"That you are." You nodded. "So I did wonder why it would even matter whether or not you were my sister. After all, if you were younger than me, you wouldn't know about HYDRA anyways because I was only a year old when I was given to our adopted parents. But then I remembered," you looked up at her again, "You used to do all of those after school activities and clubs. They were always private clubs too. You always had to have a certain grade to get in. Our parents were proud, but now I'm wondering if they were something more."

"You're crazy. I cannot believe this." Y/S/N scoffed. "I can't help it if I had good grades and they wanted to reward me for it!"

You were silent now, watching her. "Why would you flinch when I called you Melody?"

She gazed at me, eyes darting around the room. Fury shifted where he stood. Coulson and Maria were standing behind him just a little, waiting for her answer.

"My daughters name is Melody." Y/S/N said. "And your voice was rather cold, wasn't it?"

Ben looked utterly confused. The year and a half old baby on his lap was starting to stir out of her nap.

"Well you had to know I wasn't going to be trying to talk to your daughter." You answered. You paused, tilted your head, and then said, "We can't possibly of had the same mother. You're two years younger than me after all. And my mother went to jail first."

"No. . ." Y/S/N said slowly. "We didn't have the same mother."

Pietro, Wanda, and Vision were downstairs now, listening in at the side door.

Y/S/N straightened up, staring straight at me, "Even if I wasn't your sister. Even if I am everything that you- that this man that claims to be your father says I am, why would it matter huh? Even if I was Brock Rumlow's daughter, what does that matter? I have never tried to hurt you Y/N! Can you even possibly think of an instance where I hurt you?"

"She never said you were Rumlow's daughter." Bucky said softly. "You said that."

Y/S/N sucked in her bottom lip. "Fine. I'm Rumlow's daughter. Elizabeth was your real sister. Are you happy? I admitted it. But I never hurt you Y/N. I would never do that. You protected me for so many years. Think! Can you even think of an instance where I hurt you?"

And the answer was no.

There was no time that you could think of where Y/S/N- Melody- had hurt you. She had always tried to help you. She brought you back to your mates when you ran from the tower. She was always so supportive and laughing.

"I understand now." Tony said softly, getting to his feet. "It all makes sense now."

Everyone looked at him, wondering what the heck he was trying to say.

"You know." Tony said, taking a few steps towards Melody, who glared at him. "I never stopped looking into all of the attacks in the Bahamas. I couldn't understand how F.R.I.D.A.Y. was missing something vital. A common figure that could have possibly caused the attacks on Y/N. But I understand now. You were the common figure."

"Are you-" Melody said angrily.

"You were bunking with Y/N in the hotel room." Tony said. "But after the first night, you moved out. I thought you were staying in Ben's room, but you weren't, were you?"

Ben opened his mouth and then closed it. You felt terrible for him right now.

"No, you were staying in a completely different hotel than the one we had booked." Tony said. "I thought it was strange, but it was the same one that your adopted father had booked, so I thought it was possible you were making things up with him. Not to mention, you were Y/N's sister soulmate, you wouldn't possibly do anything to hurt her. It was out of the question."

"You knew all of the plans ahead of time." Fury said, nodding his head slowly. "You were able to alert your fellow HYDRA agents so that they could be prepared ahead of time."

Melody was trembling with anger.

"You didn't go with us on Karaoke night." You whispered, realizing it. "You said that you wanted to stay in. You knew that it was rigged with bombs."

"But you kept failing." Tony said, shaking his head in disgust. "And then Elizabeth joined the group. You two never got along and I always wondered why."

"The day of the bomb attack." You gasped in realization.

"You went out on a date with Ben not even five minutes before it happened. You slipped out the front door and said you'd be back before dinner." Clint said, closing his eyes. "I remember being frustrated that you left the gate wide open."

"How'd you convince Rocket to disable F.R.I.D.A.Y.?" Sam asked, crossing his arms.

"It was a bet." Melody admitted.

Ben scooted away slightly, holding little Mel tighter in his arms. "Y/S/N what-"

She glared at him.

"You can either come clean about everything and you'll be put in an ordinary cell with visiting privileges, or you can go straight to the raft and never seen another soul for the rest of your days." Fury said. "It's your choice."

Melody looked over at Mel in Ben's arms. Despite everything, you knew she loved that little girl. But you also wondered how she had gotten here.

She sighed. "I was actually born four years before you, Y/N. Rumlow brought me up in secret and when you were born with your magic lines, your parents tried to kill you. You were handed around SHIELD for a long time before you finally reached our adopted parents destination. There, I was posed as the younger sister. There was so much I had to fake like not being able to feed myself or talk, but even at that young age, I understood the importance of a mission. HYDRA made sure of that."

Bucky shifted in on his feet. You knew that despite his hate for her at the moment, he also knew how it was under HYDRA's rule and was thinking about how terrible it must've been for a little girl to go through that.

"I was the HYDRA princess and they made sure I knew that." Melody said softly. "And you're right. In school, they had special meetings for certain kids. Some, like me, were already part of HYDRA's kid program. Others were indoctrinated into it. As I grew older, I was given my missions. I never had a problem carrying them out. It was easier that I was playing the younger sister too. And then there was on particular mission that I knew would change everything."

"You got our mom killed." You whispered.

"It wasn't easy," Melody admitted, leaning back on the sofa, crossing her arms like she didn't even care. "I couldn't actually kill her of course. But I got us into a position where if they did miss mom, they would hit you instead. It would take care of everything. But as planned, our adopted mom did step in the way for you. And so that was my most successful mission and also my promotion."

Ben looked absolutely sick. He desperately wanted to move off the couch, but he was also frozen where he was sitting.

"I mean, it wasn't easy living alone with you, especially when I knew I could just slit your throat in the middle of the night. But no, they wanted to know who your soulmates were. They figured they would be either powerful, rich, or influential. Turns out it was all three, wasn't it? Once we both moved into the tower, my missions became more difficult. There was so much information to steal, but I also had to maneuver around F.R.I.D.A.Y. so she didn't get suspicious."

You swallowed, your throat dry. So much manipulation and you'd never even known.

"HYDRA had attempted to keep tabs on Elizabeth for a long time." She admitted. "They didn't know about her water powers though, they didn't find out until I reported back to them about 'em. They became interested in her because of them. So I left the gate open so that they could get to the house and kidnap her. They took both of you instead."

"You killed Rhodey." You choked out. "That was you. And Elizabeth and Hogun."

"They wouldn't be the first deaths in my book." She said nonchalantly. "I saw you and our adopted father talking about everything in the Bahamas. I had to alert HYDRA to your position. I was afraid my position had been compromised after he'd seen Elizabeth. He had to know who she was- or so I assumed."

"So you had him killed." You choked out.

Melody just smiled crookedly. "It was to soon for a compromise."

"What did they want with Elizabeth?" Pietro asked, eyes flashing in anger.

"They wanted to extract her powers." Melody answered. "The plan was to put the powers into another person who was loyal to HYDRA."

"Why kill her afterwards?" Vision asked, his voice hard with emotion.

"It would only be a matter of time before Dr. Banner discovered that Elizabeth and Y/N had similar blood properties and then go into their DNA and find out that they were related." Melody answered.

"That's why they took me as well." You said. "Because they wanted to see if I had any powers like Elizabeth."

"Yes. And you don't." Melody answered. "Because she got them from her mother."

"What happened to her powers? Were they ever able to extract them?" T'Challa asked.

"Yes. But they put them into someone else." Melody smarted.

"Minerva." Loki said. You were surprised he hadn't said anything yet, though his voice was shaking with so much emotion you weren't actually surprised.

"With us split up over Bucky's drama, you were able to get HYDRA to attack the safe house." Thor rumbled. "That way they could take Minerva. But the only way to do that was to get Wanda and Vision out of the picture."

"Naturally." Melody said, sounding almost bored with the conversation. "But then your father had to show up and ruin everything by telling you. And now we're here."

"Who else helped you?" Vision asked.

"Every name helps you." Maria added.

"Even with HYDRA, why didn't you just run?" Bucky asked, "We're the Avengers, we could have helped."

"You killed my father. You killed Rumlow." Melody snapped. "And you've put my mother on the run forever. She can never come back to the United States."

"We can bring your mother back if you tell us who she is." Fury said. "There are pardons for every crime."

"But she didn't commit a crime, did she?" Melody snarled. "Right Steve? Right Sam? Bucky? Helping you out wasn't a crime at all."

Steve's brow furrowed. "Who are you talking about?"

Melody glared at him. "Sharon Carter is my mother."

[aemondfairy]

The Albatross

summary: Originally an unlikely match, you give birth to Aegon’s first child and his entire world changes.

pairing: Aegon x Strong!Reader

word count: 767

warnings: Description of pain & childbirth, brief mention of blood, guilt.

note: “Albatross” is used metaphorically as a psychological burden dealing with shame or guilt! (and shout out to Taylor Swift)

Aegon wanted to hate you. He wanted to hate your hair and your eyes. Your thick eyelashes, the freckles that dusted your cheeks, the way your nose scrunched when you laughed. Despite wanting to hate you in your entirety, he found himself physically incapable of doing so. As a young boy he refused to admit it, even going so far as to tease you for your features — but he thought you were beautiful. If anything, you could’ve resembled his mother more than a Targaryen.

It wasn’t your features that were wrong, but who you inherited them from; you and your brother’s served as living, breathing reminders of Rhaenyra’s infidelity.

Alicent Hightower had been sure to remind him and his siblings that you and your brothers were a product of their older sister's infidelity. An embarrassment to the family. An insult to the crown, to the realm. Abominations. Bastards.

Screams of pain shook the walls of the Red Keep.

“I can’t do this anymore, Aegon! Please make it stop, it hurts!” you rasped, clawing at the blood-soaked bedsheets. It had been almost 24 hours since your labors had begun. To everyone's surprise, Aegon had yet to leave your side.

“We’re almost there, my love. You’re doing a great job,” your husband encouraged as he placed a chaste kiss to your sweat-drenched forehead, which you only returned with a death glare.

“I cannot take it anymore! Just get it out! Cut it out if you have to!”

One of your handmaids tried to dab at your forehead with a cloth, but you gripped her hand forcefully.

Aegon gave her a sympathetic look as he got her out of your grasp, locking his fingers with yours.

“You know we can’t do that, my love. I will not risk losing you.”

You winced as your midwife slid a finger around the base of your opening. All day long you had been violated against your will. Childbirth was not only painful, but humiliating. For Aegon’s sake, you silently prayed the babe was a boy. You weren’t sure if you would be willing to go through this again.

“I can feel the head, your grace. Just a few more big pushes for me and the babe will be here.”

You groaned loudly, your teeth grinding together as another contraction wracked your frame. Pain radiated down your spine and into your groin. You felt like you were being ripped apart at the seams. Being eaten by Sunfyre seemed to be a more pleasant fate than this.

“You hear that? You’re almost done. You’re doing so good.”

You squeezed onto Aegon’s hand as hard as you could, pushing with all the strength in your body. The harder you pushed, the sooner it would be over. You needed it to be over. With a final push, your vision began to blur and your mind went blank.

Before you knew it, loud cries pulled you back to Earth, and coo’s from your handmaidens filled the room. You laid back with a sigh of relief.

Finally.

The handmaids quickly handed the babe to Aegon so you could get cleaned up.

“A girl,” she stated proudly, “and she looks just like you, my queen.”

“Like me?” You shot up.

“Lay back your grace, you need to relax,” she scolded you.

Throughout your pregnancy there was a fear in the back of your mind, that if the babe inherited your features that Aegon would be disappointed. Turns out, you couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Yes,” he chuckled, tears swelling in his eyes, “like you. She is absolutely beautiful.”

He placed the baby in your arms, smiling down at the two of you.

A wave of guilt had crashed over Aegon at the sight of his newborn daughter. As well as your initial reaction to her looks. Thinking about the torment you endured for those same features in a world full of violet eyes and snow-white hair. How could he have been so cruel to you for something so fickle?

He couldn’t help but think about Ser Harwin Strong. And the fact that he probably shared the same thoughts as him the first time he laid eyes on you as a babe. This baby was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and the thought of anyone making her believe anything else made his blood boil. He would simply not allow it. Anyone who even dare whisper a word regarding your daughters features would lose their tongue for it.

Although the responsibility of sitting the Iron Throne loomed heavy over Aegon’s head it wasn’t until this very moment that he had true reason to be motivated to rule: his new family

[barbieaemond]

Religion

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: mild angst, misogyny, banter, pregnancy, childbirth, oral sex, p in v, fingering, orgasm denial, dry humping, overstimulation, brief lactation kink, breeding kink, manipulation (to get some), some good ol' tying up, slandering of the Gods lol

Author's note: this is the third and final part following And I dream of a grave and A curse for a curse but can be read as a standalone. Just keep in mind that Aemond did not cheat on his wife while in Harrenhal. He used Alys only for her visions.

Word count: 13k. Ye have to suffer for your smut darlin'

MASTERLIST | English is not my first language.

taglist: @multyfangirl @ladystarksneedle @arcielee @darylandbethfanforever9 @zaldritzosrose @alphard-hydraes-blog

Her mother had come to King’s Landing three days after she gave birth. Peering through the door, the Princess didn’t know if the woman was more surprised to finally see a baby safely tucked between her daughter’s arms or to witness that she was still breathing. She had chosen to believe both.

Since she was a little girl, she had been instructed in what was coming, for her and all the girls like her: how to serve men, how to serve the Realm. She knew pregnancy could be a time of great distress, physical and otherwise, and for her, it turned out to be nothing more than that.

She spent the first moons plagued by sickness, glaring at the Maesters who told her that morning sickness was perfectly normal. It would've been, if only it had lasted the hours the sun was at its highest. Instead, she couldn’t keep down her breakfast, just like her lunch, or dinner. She had lost weight, she couldn’t stand any kind of smell with the risk of rushing to her pot and empty her stomach.

Then, on one fine morning, while she was walking the gardens with two of her maids, she had suddenly bent over, hissing with pain while clutching her maid’s arm, dreading the trickle running down her thighs.

The Maesters said occasional bleedings might happen, that she only needed to rest and take some tonic to strenghten her body. But that day signaled the end of her peace and the beginning of her confinement.

Because clearly, at the first sign of something going wrong, slipping out of his control, Aemond would panic, albeit showing none of it, standing as tall and stoic as ever and somehow more than he’d ever done now that the Conqueror’s Crown weighted on his head. But she knew better. She knew how to look through all his walls. She knew he was scared—for her, for the baby, for his sister, for his whole family. It was simply too much for a single person to carry all of that on their shoulders. And it was precisely for that reason that she didn’t object to any of his orders. After all, she couldn’t. He was the King now, even if he didn’t choose to style himself as such.

Thus, her chambers became her prison.

Cobwebs didn’t have time to grow because she was quick enough to point them out to the servants. She was aware of the slight drop in the stone tiles just behind the terrace, as of the strategic point where to linger to gain some cool breeze from the sea. She knew the baby liked to sleep upside down in the early afternoon, occasionally kicking hard as he, or she, settled comfortably in her womb.

Aemond had picked some books for her, mostly about history, having her yawning at the third page. She had tried needle work, putting all her good will into it for the sake of doing something, and she had deliberately chosen to believe she was undeniably good at it. But that was a very generous lie. 

“What is that supposed to be exactly?” Aemond asked one day, peeking over her shoulder as he reached her on the terrace.

She didn’t look up, keeping her eyes fixed on her embroidery tambour, working the needle in and out. “Isn’t it obvious?”

He leaned down until she felt the long silver strands tickling her head and even without turning, she could feel him grimacing. “A bird?”

At that, she had raised her head, reading all the disbelief on his face. “It is a dragon. For the cradle.”

Aemond had simply furrowed his brow, unable for the life of him to consider what he saw as something even remotely resembling a dragon. But he thought better than to anger his pregnant wife, given her late sour spirit, but especially in light of how fiercely she had started to stick the needle in, likely picturing to stick it into him instead. He had built the most fake pleasant smile he could master and said “Very well. Excellent work, my love.”

“Thank you, husband.”

The trouble was that, as time went by, she only became sourer. She grew more and more uncomfortable, too tight in her own skin. Her back hurt, her breasts hurt, and she was starting to believe she was carrying a real dragon, with fangs and all; she had no other explanation for how hot she constantly felt, forced to lie in a thin white chemise all the time, despite the winds carrying the winter.

But maybe there was another reason why her spirits were so low and sour. She had come to learn that pregnancy affected every aspect of her life, including the most pleasant one.

She would grow wet for a kiss. She would close her legs and rub them together upon seeing him rise from the bathtub. She would moan into his mouth if he so much as grazed her nipples with his knuckles. But as she grew bigger and bigger, along with the discomfort, kisses and some intimate brushing were all she would get from him. Aemond had grown distant, not only with his presence, due to all the duties he had to fulfill wearing the Crown, but even when he was there, in their chambers, sleeping next to her, she felt him leagues and leagues away.

“Pregnancy is a very hard time for a woman.” The Dowager Queen had said to her “It is overwhelming to think that you are never alone and yet...somehow you are.”

She’d never understood what her good mother meant until she was confined to her chambers, alone with her thoughts and her fears. She didn’t expect Aemond to do something, this was women’s business. And she knew his reluctance to lie with her rested solely on concern and love for her.

No matter how much he craved to take her, he had decided to put his husband’s rights away for the delicate final moons until the baby was born. He still felt guilty, for Harrenhal, for the witch, for forsaking her only to get drunk on visions and prophecies. Yet, those visions turned out to be true. He had shut that voice in his head and tried to make amends. But they didn’t have the time to mend themselves together, to knit all the distrust and suspicions into something good; the baby was coming, and it seemed he or she did nothing but grow them more apart. 

He saw how tired she was, how some days she couldn’t even get out of bed. And how useless he felt when he would catch her crying, like that night when he found her all alone on the terrace at the hour of the owl.

She was sitting on her chaise filled with cushions when Aemond walked around her. Given the state of his white shirt and hair, he had likely just awakened and hadn’t found her beside him.

“What are you doing out here? You will catch a cold.”

“I cannot sleep.” she had kept her eyes far, on the Black Water Bay, far from him. But he saw them anyway, her reddened eyes.

“You cannot stay here in your condition.” He said almost tiredly, but when she didn’t even blink at his words, he called her name, with the tone he used in the Throne Room.

“Aemond, please.” She whispered, turning her head. “I—” she bit her tongue, unwilling to put this on him, but she knew he wouldn’t let go until she was safely back in bed. So, she said “I don’t want to hear her.”

It took him less than a moment to understand what she meant. Helaena. Helaena who lost a child, who saw her flesh and blood horribly murdered before her eyes. Helaena who couldn’t stop wailing in the dead of night.

She had looked at him, seeing that torn thing, broken and raw like a split wound; shame and guilt and rage all at once. Then, he lowered himself onto his knees until he took her cold hands and squeezed them tight. His mouth opened, but she was faster. “Don’t say it.”

You cannot keep such a promise, you cannot keep us safe. No matter how many times you say it. But she wouldn’t take that solace away from him, not that plainly. The more he said it, the more he seemed to believe it. So be it.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, and there was a beautiful, heartbreaking desperation in his hushed voice. “Tell me what to do.”

She had built a convincing smile, running her hand through his loose hair and pushing some strands back. “Go back to sleep. I’m fine.”

Her spirits during the day would slightly improve. And between the Council and some hearings in the Throne Room, he always saved some time to go visit her in their chambers. She didn’t seem to enjoy being watched like a toddler, but deep down she cherished his concern. She cherished the way his hands would gently hold her own, or caress her hair, her belly. She found it hard to believe those hands could bestow such reverence and violence at the same time. And even in his absence, he managed to ensure she always had anything she needed. Even blackberries in early autumn.

“Myra, where have you been?” She asked in a late afternoon, when one of her most loyal maids entered her chambers after disappearing for the whole day.

The young girl had an awful look. She seemed exhausted, as if she had walked the entirety of Flea Bottom, twice. “Apologies, my Princess. It took me quite a while to find blackberries.”

“Seven Hells, it is only a craving. You did not have to go all the way through King’s Landing to find me blackberries.”

"No, I-I ought to.”

The Princess paused, frowning at the young girl. “Did someone else tell you that you ought to?”

“Well…yes…” the maid said, sinking her gaze to the floor “The King—uhm Prince Regent.”

She sighed deeply, and with heavy steps, she walked towards the terrace; her maid was immediately at her side to help her. “What did he tell you?” the Princess asked as they reached the chair outside.

The girl waited for her to sit, slowly and awkwardly given her big belly; then, a little timidly, she said “He…ordered me to go look for blackberries and not to…bother coming back if I didn’t find them.”

The Princess rolled her eyes in quite an unlady-like manner, “How in the name of Seven did he know about it?” She asked, grimacing as she desperately tried to find a comfortable position. “I have barely seen him this morning.”

The young maid helped her, fixing some cushions behind her back and whispered “The White Cloak at the door…I suspect he reports everything to his Grace.”

The notion didn’t seem to strike her that much, or maybe she was too tired, too uncomfortable and too hot to comment on the matter, or even scoff at it.

She grabbed a fan from her maid’s hands and unceremoniously shook her shoes off, placing her swollen feet on the cool tiles. Closing her eyes, she basked in that small relief; the floor was cold, the sun was about to set, and the baby was sleeping.

According to the Maesters, her time was close. She was eager to meet this little person but in truth, she just wanted it to end. She hated having no control over her body, her spirits, her marriage. She missed being a wife and being treated as such, not just as the mother of his child. She had come to think that, deep down, any woman felt that way, but they were forced to hide everything behind a joyful smile while sinking to their knees to thank the Mother. Wasn’t that the sole purpose of any girl in the world? To bleed on a birthing bed? Wasn’t that the way men measured women’s value?

She swallowed hard as the question spun in her head. Am I finally worthy of you, Aemond?

She wouldn’t dare ask him. 

“What is it? Are you unwell?”

She was too lost in her thoughts to even hear his footsteps on the terrace. As her gaze flew up, she read the deep concern on his face, all lumped in the steep furrow between his eyebrows. He must’ve seen her grimacing, thinking she was in some pain. She was, but she was too much of a coward to tell him.

She resumed her fanning, averting her gaze and stretching her legs out further on the floor. “I feel like I’m boiling.”

“Yes, I can see that.” He deadpanned, raking his eye over her disheveled state; sprawled on that chair with her legs slightly open, her white chemise all crumpled and unbuttoned, and a bead of sweat on the forehead, in the crevice of her swollen breasts. He thought the times when a mere look at this woman would make him hard were gone once the novelty of having a wife, someone rightly and thoroughly his, had dissipated. He was wrong.

“I’m well aware of my lack of decency.” She replied, seeing how he was staring, the little inquiring curve in his eyebrow. “I’m afraid I care very little about decency at this moment. Blame it on your son.”

His lips curled up, watching her gather her loose hair with one hand while she kept fanning herself quickly with the other.

“Are you still inclined to believe for certain that it’s a boy?”

“I know it’s a boy. Only men can be this insufferable.”

That little smile on his lips lingered, deepened, and then he moved, going to stand behind her. “Let me.” He said, and took her hair between his hands. She couldn’t see what he was doing but got the gist as she felt his deft fingers moving and her neck free to get some air. When he walked around the chaise to sit beside her, she saw that his hair was loose. He had tied her hair with the black lace he always wore to prevent the silver strands from ending up in front of his eye.

She loved to see him like this: hair loose, eyepatch lost somewhere in a drawer, sitting next to her, even without saying a word. The sapphire seemed to match his eye, glowing a soft violet under the setting sun. She felt that familiar lump in her throat, as she stared at him, a restless thing flowing through her whole body, demanding to be released only to be trapped under her teeth, biting down her lower lip, starved and yearning.

“A little bird told me you put a hound on my trail.” she said at one point, shutting her little fan.

Aemond didn’t look surprised to acknowledge that she knew. He had actually ventured with himself about how long it would have taken her to realise he was spying on her every move.

“You are well aware of my duties now.” He said, turning his head to look at her. But not quite. His eye seemed to linger everywhere at once, fleeting, snatching a look here and there, her legs, her sweated neck, her belly…his own testament, as if she wasn’t one already.

You left your mark on her just as she did on you. Those were Alys’ words, at which he had ugly sneered. And she had laughed at the sight, eerily, as someone who owned the truth. I’m your spoil of war and yet, you speak to me ten paces away. What are you afraid of, Kinslayer? That your skin would burn like brimstone if you touched another woman?

“Besides,” he resumes “any lady would be flattered by her husband’s genuine concern.”

“You could flatter me in different ways.” was her prompt answer and she moved incredibly fast, given her impediment, getting close to him until she filled his nostrils. She smelled different since she was pregnant. A thick smell, musky. She tasted differently. Sweeter and somehow sourer. He swallowed at the mere memory. “We have talked about this.”

“And I’ve talked to the Maesters.”

His head spun around, forcing her to stifle a smile at his ever strictly reserved nature.

“They said there’s nothing wrong, or remotely dangerous, if we…engage in our conjugal duties.”

He tried to ignore her hand, her fingers traveling up his arm like a spider’s legs. “Did you need the Maesters to learn that?”

“No, but you do. You hang on their lips…I wish you hung on mine.”

Aemond heard her voice dropping a tone, and dropped his chin down, looking at her hand roving on his chest, shamelessly slipping beneath his dark green doublet, skin to skin. She glided on his planes slowly, making sure to trap one of his nipples in the little hollow between her index and middle.

“I don’t need them to know about my private matters.” He said mindlessly, trying to hold a grip on his thoughts.

“Seven Hells. It baffles me to witness how prudish you desperately want to appear while I perfectly know how debauched you really are, to the bone.”

“My debauchery is confined to these four walls.”

“Oh, is it? What about that time on our way to the Grand Sept?” She tilted her head, so she was talking almost in his ear. “Do you remember?”

Her hand on his chest was burning, or was it his own skin? His own flesh simmering wherever she touched him.

“Don’t do that.” She whispered when she saw his long legs cross. “Let me see. You have condemned me to do nothing else.”

His eye chased her hand as she grabbed his knee and pushed to uncross his legs, so that she could see, the outline of his cock through the breeches, see how he ached for her. “Do you remember what you did in the wheelhouse?” She asked again, looking at him; the sapphire was the only thing flashing violet now. His eye was pitch black.

“You put your hand beneath my gowns…” she said and her hand slid up against his thigh “you grabbed me, harshly.” And she did the same, forcing his mouth open and a shallow breath out of his throat. “And you grinned…because my garments were soaked.” he closed his eye for a moment, perhaps recalling, or maybe because her hand was moving, palming all his length through the breeches.

“And then you slipped your fingers underneath…” and again, she did just so, unbuckling his belt and sinking her hand in. He opened his eye, and basked in what he saw: that sort of silent, desperate plea in the little wrinkle between her eyebrows, in her heaving chest, in the way she was rubbing her legs together.

Thus, just when she was about to grab him, he grabbed her wrist instead and crashed his mouth against hers with a low growling sound. She could do nothing but moan, giving him open room to slip his tongue in and taste every corner, driving his body closer and closer, but not too much as to crush her.

She, on the other hand, felt free, finally, to roam, to rummage. Her hands grabbed and pulled everywhere, at his doublet, the collar, the buttons, the thin white shirt underneath it all, until everything was loose, and she was free to touch him, all the while making the sweetest wanton sounds, close to desperate whines. “Please, Aemond…” she begged freely, holding his face “just this once…please…”

He shushed her with another harsh kiss and with a free hand, he clutched her white nightgown into his fist, pulling up, enough to stick his arm between her legs. She spread them for him, panting with anticipation, and stopped breathing altogether when he cupped her core with the large palm of his hand. Aemond trapped her lower lip with his teeth, biting softly upon feeling how wet she was, dripping on his fingers, so much that he wished to fall on his knees and wipe it clean with his tongue.

“Please…” she breathed, barely rocking her hips to urge him to touch her.

“Hush.” he said, and curled his fingers, brushing his fingertips against her centre, gaining a delicious wince from her. “Tell me of the wheelhouse.”

She smiled breathlessly, her eyes hungry and heavy, full of lust. “It was the first time I wore green.” she started to tell. “We were still betrothed. I wanted to impress you.”

“Hmm. You certainly did.” He remarked, watching her closely while rubbing his index pad against her entrance, teasingly, making her squirm. “Go on.”

She felt like burning, her face hot for the sun, the baby, the ache in her lower belly, stirring and coiling. “You told the White Cloak to take another round…” she said, breathing with her mouth open. “You grabbed my waist and forced me on your lap.”

“And you pushed me away. Twice.” he’d laughed, flashing a grin that made her willing to shove him away, to pull him closer. “What a farse you put on.” he continued, leaving a chaste kiss on her neck that resulted in her writhing some more, pushing her pelvis against his hand. “I had to cover your mouth for your mewling. You were so fucking loud.”

It was then that he finally granted her some mercy, slipping one finger inside her drenched lips, spilling a long gasp from her.

“No. Not quite.” He observed cruelly and slid another finger, this time gaining a proper loud moan. “That’s more like it.”

His two fingers started to pump slowly, and yet she was making the lewdest sounds he’d ever spilled from her, arching her back as far as she could, scrunching her face almost in pain and pulling at his collar, twisting, as if he were torturing her instead of giving her pleasure. She made his cock stir painfully, his teeth grind for the ache, for the fact that she was coating his whole hand. “Easy now…” he warned her, his tone all husky. “You don’t want to come already, do you? ‘Tis the only thing you’ll get from me, sweetling…you better make it last.” 

She whined in annoyance, forcing another grin on his ruthless lips, and with that same ruthlessness, he slowed his ministrations, only to cup one of her breasts with his free hand, squeezing softly until the thin, silky fabric slipped down, revealing her pink, swollen nipple. “I must say…I’m relieved you will summon a wet nurse…so these will be all mine.”

She had to stifle a breathless laugh at that. “Being jealous of your child is a bit too much, even for you…”

“Oh, my love” he crooned, freeing the other breast “I am jealous of the clothes on your skin.”

Wasting no time, he wrapped his lips around her nipple, causing her to arch against him once more, one hand flying down his shoulder, fisting his doublet, twisting it as he swirled his tongue and hummed with delight dripping from his tone, as if he were tasting honey, and the sweetest ever made.

His fingers resumed their frantic rhythm, sinking deep inside and stretching, hitting that special spot that made her sight go black, reduced to a mess of sweat coating every inch of her skin and a string of moans growing hoarse and high-pitched.

“Are you close? Hmm?” he rasped “How about another? Can you take another for me?”

He slipped a third finger in, causing her to wince and cling to his shoulders with her mouth open in a silent scream. “Good girl.” He praised at the sight. He wished he could savor it for a little longer, he wished to keep doing that again and again, until the sun went down and rose again, until there was nothing but ruin around them.

But she was so close now, he could feel it in her tensed arms around his shoulders, in her clenching walls around his hand, and quite frankly, the ache in his breeches was unbearable, twitching at every moan and squelching sound of his fingers inside her flesh. 

She came loudly, curling her ankles on the ground and writhing in his hold as if in a delirium. He kept her still, his hand buried inside her, feeling the quick pulsing that rivaled the one in her heart. And he watched her, gasping for air and throwing her head back, utterly spent, hair all sticked to her forehead. In his eye she had never looked this beautiful.

He pulled his fingers out, making her wince slightly, and brought them to her mouth, smearing her spent desire on her own lips, like the final touch to a painting. And then he kissed her, humming at her bittersweet taste. He held her face gently, grabbing her jaw and angling her head to taste her better, eliciting a blissful sigh from the back of her throat that made his hardness throb. As if she had felt that, her hand had slipped between them with purpose, sinking past all his layers and taking hold of him.

She rejoiced in the little whimper he gave her, and started to work her hand up and down, making it impossible for him to kiss her any further, if not for a sloppy and panting mess of spit and teeth. 

Given the unbearable pressure building past his navel, he knew he wouldn’t last long. And she knew that too. But she didn’t want to have him this way. Awkwardly, she stood up and spread his legs to make herself some room, but as soon as Aemond, despite the lack of blood in his mind, caught her intentions, he stopped her, grabbing her arms firmly.

“No…” he croaked. “Not on your knees.”

She couldn’t help the little surprise on her face. Aemond had never been this considerate, especially in bed. He could be gentle in his own way, subtly. Little hidden things in the way he would run his fingers through her hair once she had reached her peak, the way he would regain air once he’d spilled inside her, breathing into her neck and running his lips lazily against her skin. But most of the times, he was very diligent, all focused in giving her and himself the pleasure they both craved; he was somehow harsh, ruthless, a mirror of who he was outside the bedroom, possessed by some kind of urgency that would break her in the most beautiful and cruel way and put her back together at once.

But then again, she imagined the promise of his heir living inside her was affecting even one of the most ruthless of men.

She sat down again and watched him stand up, his breath labored and open-mouthed as he looked down at her, working the few laces of his breeches still tied. She didn’t need an invitation, an order, a mere tilt of his chin to sit upright and put her hands alongside his snatched waist.

She looked up, and he found himself swallowing hard, cursing silently at the sight of her looking straight into his eye with his cock a breath away from her, all hard and glistening on the tip. Shamefully, he thought that would have done it for him.

A coarse grunt left his lips as soon as she wrapped her mouth around it, teasingly swirling her tongue on the slit without ever averting her gaze from him. He hissed painfully when her lips started to travel along his length, trying with all his might to hold back and not spill into her mouth so soon.

She, on the other hand, seemed eager to watch him come undone, just as he had done to her a few moments earlier. She started to suck him eagerly, like a starved creature, because on all those nights and days when he had taken her apart, learning every inch of her and how to bend it to his will, she had done just the same.

She knew how to make him wince and moan openly, while on her knees on their bedroom floor or on a fucking terrace during a late afternoon, with likely anyone to walk on them at any moment. With the Gods watching.

She didn't care. The Gods didn't care for them anyway. Let them see to whom she fell to her knees.

He couldn’t stop looking, how pretty she was like this, swallowing him whole, up to the hilt, hitting her throat with a gagging sound. So lecherous, so holy.

He was so close he had to bite his lip to restrain himself, letting out a string of curses until he felt the pressure growing stronger, and then, he thought, he might as well have it his way.

“Stop…” he croaked, grabbing her cheek but delicately, slipping out of her mouth and running his thumb over her sore jaw. She closed her slicked mouth, a drop of spit running down her chin and she looked at him, with such devotion he thought he had nothing to envy the Gods.

“Let me…” he pleaded, wiping her chin clean with his finger. “Let me fuck your mouth, sweetling. Would you?”

A question that needed no answer. Indeed, he wasted no time and grabbed the back of her head, tilting it slightly up for a better angle. He sheathed himself all the way in, gasping deeply at feeling the hot walls of her mouth, her cheeks hollowing.

His fingers curled into her hair, but never in a hurtful way, enough to keep her still as he started to move his hips against her face back and forth, his open mouth quivering as the pleasure began to build where it left off.

“Fuck—” he cursed once, and then twice, fucking her mouth faster to chase his peak, pulling ever so slightly at her scalp until he went still altogether, pushed his waist hard against her, and grunted loudly, in a pretty uncharacteristic way, as his cock twitched and spilled down her throat until the last drop.

Panting harshly, he pulled himself out and watched her close her mouth, eyes fixed on him, working her cheeks and making no mystery of the white essence on her tongue before swallowing it, thoroughly.

Aemond let himself fall on that chaise and she watched, she drank that sight: his hair all disheveled and damp with sweat, a shade of pink on his cutting cheekbones as he slowly pulled himself together, breathing through his open mouth while buckling his belt and breeches.

“I think I’m going to take a bath.” She said at one point, clumsily standing up. He had mumbled something in return, still caught in the throes of what they had done, but before she got back inside, she turned and said “Oh, just so you know…all of this was a ploy.”

She smiled cunningly at his frowning. “I never had any cravings. And I knew about the White Cloak at the door since the first day you put him there. You are not as subtle as you think you are, my love.”

A man of few words, but loud actions.

Her pains came during a peaceful afternoon.

In haste, nursemaids began their frantic rounds in and out of the Princess’ rooms like soldiers, carrying hot water and boiled rags. The Dowager Queen abandoned her perch beside Queen Helaena, or what was left of her, and went to assist the Princess. Having borne four children, she had quite a bit of advice to dispense, things she had learned on her own skin, things that any Master would never have told her because oblivious and convinced they knew what happened to a woman's body at such a delicate time based on how deep they had buried their nose in an old dusty tome.

Alicent helped the Princess rise from the bed, clutched her arm firmly and helped her walk. She said it was vital to walk, that it would ease her pain and help the baby come sooner. She told her to squat when the pain hit. She rubbed her back and wiped the sweat off her face as if she were her own daughter. It felt like that. Even though the Princess seemed to face it all with a stiff lip, Alicent could see that she was scared and in terrible pain, that she probably wished for her mother to be there. She had wished the same, no matter how many times she had faced it.

“Your Grace?” The Princess asked after another wave of pain had come and gone.

“Yes, child?”

“Do you think your son would forgive me If I said this one is both the first and the last?”

The Queen had smiled at that. “If the Gods bless you with more children, it will be easier, I can assure you. The first time is always rough. But it shouldn’t be long now.”

Well, her good mother turned out to be wrong. Because the pain plagued her for a full night, giving her no peace. At the hour of the nightingale, the nursemaids forced her to bed, and she gladly went. She was exhausted, she could no longer walk without hissing at every step, and by that time she was so used to the pain she no longer whined or anything, only scrunched her face and ground her teeth.

The servants stripped her bare and replaced her sweat-soaked nightgown with a fresh one. They dabbed her face with a wet cloth, but she could barely register anything, floating into unconsciousness only to be brought back to the present as another pain choked her breath.

“Perhaps some Milk of the Poppy?” One of the nurses said at one point.

“No.” the Maester said. “She may need to start pushing any moment now. We need her vigil.”

Her heavy-lidded eyes opened, wandering helplessly around the room. Useless research, for she knew he wouldn’t be there. She didn’t expect him to be. The birthing bed was no place for men, save for the Maesters, although she was starting to doubt their real usefulness when all they could do was pull her nightgown up, take a close look and shake their heads. They might as well let Aemond be there.

She imagined he must’ve been waiting outside, or in the Council, and yet she ached to see him. She closed her eyes and searched for him in her mind, clutching the sheets in her fist as if she could clutch his hand instead. And then she felt someone’s hand closing around her own, loosening her grip. Alicent, smiling down at her, and holding her hand tight.

It was holding her good mother’s hand that, at the first light of dawn, she gave birth to her child. A boy, healthy and all screeching as soon as he was out of her womb, clad in blood and grease.

Aemond had decided to name the child Aenar, if it was a boy, after the first Targaryen Lord, and she couldn’t quite believe her eyes or force her tears back when he was finally admitted to their chambers and took their son in his arms for the first time. 

Alicent was beaming at the sight, squeezing his arm. “Congratulations, my son.”

But Aemond didn’t seem to even register her mother’s words, or presence, utterly enraptured by his little creature. He cast a look at his wife, a secret little look that told her how proud he was of her, how relieving it was for both to have come this far after all that happened, to have this little thing, this little ounce of peace amidst all the chaos of war.

What she didn’t know at that time was that Aenar was not exactly a peaceful child.

She had believed there had finally come the time when she could be herself again. But from the earliest days, Aenar proved not to be an easy child to deal with. The newborn cried and cried for hours, plagued by belly aches, and seemingly able to calm down only when in his mother’s arms. They had obviously called on a wet nurse; highborn ladies did not feed their children themselves, let alone a Princess. But Aenar had categorically refused to latch onto his wet nurse’s breasts. Alicent had proposed to summon another one, but as they dawdled and wavered, the Princess felt her heart break into pieces each time she held her little baby in her arms, all red in the face, hungry and in pain, turning his head towards her cleavage, desperate for her milk. Thus, she had put aside ceremonial court and all of that and chose to feed him herself.

But it was a strenuous task. The Maesters had warned her it would be tiring, sleep depriving, but she really had no choice. She had to do it every three hours, sometimes less, because being latched onto her breast seemed the only thing that would prevent the baby from screaming at the top of his lungs all day long. The nursemaid had recommended fennel and chamomile for belly aches. And, instantly, Aemond had ordered an astounding amount of both to be delivered to the Red Keep’s kitchens.

Queen Alicent taught her to hold the baby on his stomach, to rock him, but not too fast. They told her to take several breaks during breastfeeding, to make the baby belch often and prevent air from his belly. In the first week after Aenar was born, her mind was all but a vessel of do this, do that. No, not this way. Don’t ever wake the baby when he’s sleeping. Try to sleep when he does. Don’t eat spicy dishes.

In the midst of all of this, Aemond turned more and more suffocating in all his well-hidden, self-consuming concern. A handful of white cloaks, the most trusted by Ser Criston, were constantly guarding the door, day and night. He had a secret passageway that led to his rooms walled up, and she could swear he slept with his dagger beneath the pillow. Evidently not at peace with such extreme measures, he had the cradle moved to his side of the bed, within his reach, so that every time she had to wake up because the baby was wailing, she had to walk around the bed and pray that she would not tumble to the floor in the dark.

However, she was at least grateful to have Aemond’s support, for the little he could do. If he wasn’t occupied with warfare or hearings, he spent all the time he had with her and their child. And in those moments, no matter how exhausted she was, she would always find the strength to smile at the view when he held their baby, tracing his long fingers over the velvety grizzled skin of Aenar’s small hands; even when he’d speak to him in Valyrian, at which she had frowned at first.

“You do realise he’s one week old?”

“”Tis never too soon.”

“Mh. What’s next? Bring him to the skies on dragonback?”

“I’ll have you know Vhagar is perfectly safe to—“

“Over my dead body.” 

He had smiled and stood up, going to place the baby in her arms. Aenar immediately began to fuss, whining and turning his head against her chest. She had started to unbutton her chemise but then stopped, looking up, where Aemond stood still like a sentry, and watching.

She raised an eyebrow. “Am I putting up a show?”

“Usually, you do.” He drawled. “Am I not allowed to watch? It seems my son and I already share a few interests.”

She looked away, smiling, and then she freed her left breast, watching as the baby immediately latched onto it. A moment later, Aemond took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. He stared at her, and she saw that familiar glint his eye.

He trailed his thumb over her lip, barely breaching inside. “Soon?” was all he asked.

“Soon.” Was all she answered.

The soreness and the bleeding were reducing, and she was back in her tight flesh.

But the Gods must have cursed them some more, because that “soon” never seemed to become “now”.

The sickness didn’t seem willing to leave the poor child alone, along with his parents and the entirety of the Red Keep who had to suffer through his heartbreaking cries day and night.

The Princess had started to feel hopeless and guilty, no matter how many times the nursemaids, and even Queen Alicent, told her it was not her fault, that it was natural. No matter how many times she tried to convince herself they were right. Her heart broke any time the baby cried, wriggling desperately in her arms, in Aemond’s, in the cradle. She would end up crying too as she tried to soothe him, caressing his back with her cheek resting on his timidly silver-haired head.

She was working herself up to exhaustion, often falling asleep with the baby still latched onto her breast. It was Aemond who would take the baby to the cradle, it was Aemond who would button her chemise and pull up the blankets.

She hit rock bottom two weeks after Aenar’s birth, when she realised she hadn’t bathed in four days. Even Aemond, she could swear, was starting to look a little ragged around the edges. You don’t want to be King and take decisions in the middle of a war only to come back to a screaming infant at night.

But then, like a curse lifting, the sickness stopped. Amidst all those days she had stopped counting or even being aware of which was which, Aenar stopped crying. She was ashamed to admit that the first night he slept peacefully in his cradle, she had gone to check on him five times, to see if he was still breathing. 

She began to gradually return to her former self, able to enjoy motherhood with a more rested mind, at least. Physically, she still felt worn out, given how much time she spent breastfeeding or rocking the baby to sleep. But now she was strong enough to take the baby out, walking the gardens with her maids and smiling proudly as the court ladies stopped to congratulate themselves and say how beautiful her baby was.

By doing this, though, she also became aware that she had lived in a bubble for so long that she had almost forgotten there was a war raging, there were battles being fought across the realm.

Reality hits her one day when Alicent goes to visit her and her grandson, bringing the news of a very important victory near the Honeywine, a large river flowing in the Reach, thanks to Prince Daeron Targaryen who had arrived all victorious on that very morning, riding his blue scaled dragon, Tessarion.

The news stuns her for a moment. She had no idea of it, partly because she had been too caught up with Aenar, but also because Aemond had not told her. Yet her family came from the Reach, they lived there, not very far from the Honeywine; her older brother fought for the Green Army. Still, not a word from Aemond.

Taking advantage of Aenar sleeping and the fact that Alicent offered to watch him, she leaves her chambers and heads for the Council. There’s a bustle of lords coming out of the door when she gets there, barely paying her any attention as they hastily babble about armies and supplies and men; always more men to be sent to slaughter.

She stops at the door, widening her eyes at the silver head crossing the threshold, one she hadn’t seen in a long time. “Prince Daeron.”

The youngest son of Queen Alicent and late King Viserys was nothing but a boy. But war had taken its toll on him too. He stood like a man, a Prince, and more than anything, a skilled dragon rider.

“Princess.” He says, tilting his chin down.

She curtsies and sees an immediate gentle smile softening his Valyrian features. “I believe some congratulations are in order.”

“Well, in all fairness, you shall be the most celebrated, my Prince. I’ve just heard of your recent victory.”

His gentle smile lingers, but loses its sparkle. “I must say I much prefer to celebrate life…rather than…the death of innocent men and women.”

There can’t be objections to such a statement; she just nods and casts a distracted glance inside the Council.

“Please…” the Prince says then, making room to let her pass “I won’t keep you away from my brother.”

She turns her head and smiles, tightly. “I’m afraid it is your brother who keeps himself away from me.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the Crown.”

“Indeed.”

The Prince bows to her and leaves.

Closing the door behind her, she glances at Aemond sitting at the head of the table, in the King’s chair, with such effortlessness that he seems to have been born exclusively for that purpose.

“I thought I heard you.” he says absent-mindedly, scribbling down a small piece of parchment. She slowly walks to the windows, casting a single furtive glance down, but she can’t possibly make out what he’s writing, or to whom.

“How’s—"

“Aenar is fine.” She cuts him off. “He’s with your mother, sleeping.”

He stops scribbling, glancing up for a moment. Her voice is tight, cutting. He knows that tone. It’s the same one she used in Harrenhal, as if he should have fallen to his knees and be grateful for the mere fact that she was speaking to him. But he doesn’t have time today to circle around her like a coiling snake, so he goes straight to the point. “Is something the matter?”

“You didn’t tell me of the Honeywine.” She says after a moment, gazing at the Bay.

Aemond sighes, a sign that he was expecting such a question. “You were looking after our son.”

“And?” she’s quick to rebut, quick to reach him at the table and stare down at him. “You didn’t deem it appropriate to inform me of a battle raging in my family lands?”

“I am your family.” He says, stoically, as if common law, and she has to stifle a bitter laugh. The nerve of him. “That is a very lovely concept. Strange how it got lost on you in Harrenhal.”

“Enough!” he barks, and the sudden harshness makes the quill pierce through parchment. “I thought I’d made myself clear.” He warns. “I don’t want to hear another word about the witch. Ever.”

She obediently looks down, regretting having said that, but not entirely. Perhaps she has spent so much time beside him that she, too, can’t let go of her grudges.

“I did not tell you, for I did not want to upset you.” He says, resuming his collected tone. “You were worn out by the baby, I didn’t want to put more weight on your shoulders.”

She knows he’s sincere. Still, her nod is stiff as she looks away, biting her cheek. She is just so sick of it all. Of being regarded as a cunt to be bred at first and now a weakling nailed to a cradle with an infant sucking the life out of her. She knows she’s not the first, and she won’t be the last.

Aemond leaves the quill and stands up, circling until he’s close to her. “Your family is fine.” He tells her, lingering behind her. “Daeron spoke to your brother this morning.”

She keeps nodding, keeping her gaze down on the table, all scattered with maps and little dragon-shaped tokens, some black, some green. She frowns, letting warfare soothe her petty spirits. “What is this?”

“Our next move. A defense plan…which happens to be an attack plan too.”

“A pincher?”

She turns just in time to see the little surprise on his face. “My brother talked of nothing else when we were children. He slept with warfare books as pillows.”

“Hmm.” He muses, and takes a step closer, slipping his arm around her waist and resting his chin on her collarbone. “Show me.”

She shudders at his sudden proximity, at his breath blowing on her neck. She shudders at anything these days. A hand on her back, his legs fumbling beneath the covers and casually brushing against hers. She’s tight as a fiddle string.

“A pincher is nothing else but a decoy.” She explains. “You let your enemy believe they have you trapped…” and in saying this, she grabs his hand and moves it across the map. “And then…at the right moment…” she makes him hold a green token between his fingers and brings it near a little division of black ones “you strike on both flanks.” And with a swift flick of her wrist, his hand scatters all the black tokens across the table. To do so, she must lean over the table, accidentally brushing her lower back against his bulge. He’s not hard, yet, but it thrills her to feel the lightning quick effect she has on him.

“Hmm. Good. Very good.” He praises next to her ear as she withdraws her hand; his voice is so low it makes her spine shiver. But she keeps herself grounded and asks “When will this happen?”

“Soon.” he whispers, placing his hand flat on her stomach. “There’s another Small Council shortly but Aegon wanted to be present. They went to fetch him.”

“Well, then I shall retire to my chambers. I feel a bit lightheaded from all the thinking.”

He ignores her jab and keeps her still by the arm when she tries to move. There’s a little sly smirk pulling at his lips. “I have some time to spare.”

“And how do you propose we spend it?”

“Enough with your pantomimes. I can feel your legs squirming.”

Curse him.

He slips the other hand straight into her corset, cupping her breast and humming with delight at how full she is, how it fills his large hand entirely. “Are you wet for me, my love?”

His teeth sink down her lobe, and at the same time, he pinches her nipple between his thumb and index, forcing an indecorous whine out of her. “My, my…” he laughs darkly, torturing her sensitive skin until he feels something wet on his fingertips, probably milk. “I could make you come just by doing this.”

Powerless, she yields, leaning completely against him, rubbing her lower back for some friction. “What if someone enters?”

“We’ll make it quick.”

“But I don’t want it to be quick.” She pants, grabbing his hand on her breast and squeezing; the other crawls behind her back to try to feel him through his breeches. 

Hissing, when she starts to palm him, he says “Then we let them watch. They get to see how pretty you look when you come on my fingers, or my cock. Which should it be?”

“Both. Anything.” She answers hastily, pulling at his collar to bring him close enough to kiss him. He hums contentedly when she does, twirling his tongue around hers. It soon gets messy, each of them fighting for dominance, winning and losing in turn, until he spins her around, so he can look at her and with both his hands, he seizes her gowns and pulls up, furiously rummaging through them.

“How many fucking layers have you on?”

“I’m not pregnant anymore.” she points out, unbuckling his belt.

“Pity. Perhaps I should fuck another one into you to keep you in your skimpy robes.”

“Don’t you dare, Aemond—” 

“Gods be good, brother! That eager to make another one?”

They both startle like little children caught doing something naughty, turning their heads towards the door, where two servants are carrying King Aegon on a chair. Aemond sighs annoyingly, letting go of her gowns as she does with his belt, trying to compose herself.

“My King.” She says, greeting her good brother with a tight little smile.

Aegon’s appearance has improved since Rook’s Rest, just as the burnings, but he carries with him the smell of Milk of the Poppy and rotting skin everywhere he goes. 

“Good-sister. What are you doing here? Apart from being ravished by my brother... should you not be breastfeeding?”

Aemond gives him a level stare and then looks at her, hoping she will not take the bait. Aegon and his wife never got along well, to say the least. Things had only escalated with time, to the point that whenever they found themselves in the same room, one of them would wisely leave, his wife most of the times, lest they start to hiss at each other like two cats fighting for territory.

“What if I intend to stay and attend the council?”

Aegon giggles, as the servants put down the chair, and after a quick glance below her neck he says “I’m afraid you would be a little distracting. And my brother is not one for sharing.”

Before she can ask what in the Seven he is blabbing about, Aemond takes her arm and makes her turn, shielding her from his brother and the Lords coming through the door.

“You should retire.” He curtly says.

“Are you taking his side again?” she asks, wriggling her arm to free herself from his hold.

“You’re leaking.” He informs her, flatly. 

At that, she frowns and dips her chin down, watching the front of her dress practically soaked in milk. “Oh.”

“I shall join you when I’m done here.” He tells her, and lets her out through the side doors.

Aemond did not join her.

The council lasted until the evening, a recurring thing when Aegon attended. Aemond was stern and concise in his decisions. Aegon liked to laze around, enjoying the wine in his cup, rattling his younger brother’s nerves. Deep down, she was convinced that Aegon did not really want to attend the Council because really interested in what to do, but only to remind his brother that he was still breathing and that the Conqueror's Crown on Aemond's head was a temporary measure.

But it didn’t matter. She would join him for the banquet in honor of Prince Daeron.

She was thrilled to go. It was not a proper feast. Since Helaena had fallen into grief, the atmosphere within the walls of the Keep had become rather austere. But a banquet still meant an occasion for conviviality, and after weeks and weeks spent locked up within four walls, the Princess was eager to spend some time outside her chambers. She had felt like a terrible mother at the mere thought. She loved Aenar, how could she not? But she also loved herself, her family, her marriage, Aemond. Especially Aemond.

Once she had put the baby to sleep, she had ordered her maid to prepare one of her favorite dresses, a green one, and to tie her hair in an elegant braided bun. When she had looked in the mirror, she had almost grunted. The scarce and troubled hours of sleep were all evident in the dark circles under her eyes, but it was nothing a little egg-white couldn't temper.

When she arrived at the banquet, Aemond was already there, standing in his usual soldierly stance, intent on talking to his mother. She approached them from the side, Aemond's blind side precisely, so that when she announced herself, he had to turn his shoulder to look at her. He cast a glance at her hair, ran his eye over her entire figure. She wasn’t expecting any kind of sappy words, and certainly not in front of his mother, nor did she desire them. She could feast on that look alone.

Queen Alicent excused herself to give order about the banquet, and they were left alone, while some musicians gathered in a corner of the hall.

“You said you would join me. I thought they abducted you.”

“More or less.”

“Ah. Yes, I'm sure it must have been so hard for you to listen to the lords snapping like little soldiers at your command.”

“It pains me to acknowledge how little you know me, when you think I'd rather talk war with those wimps who can't even hold a sword than fuck my wife till dawn.”

“That was your plan?”

“We have some unfinished business, don’t we? And don’t play dumb. You’re wearing green. You’re not as subtle as you think you are either.”

“Good. I’m sick of subtleties. So, are you going to ask me to dance?”

Aemond rolled his eye and gave her a stare that told her he’d preferred to walk barefoot on lava.

“Still not fond of dancing, eh?”

Prince Daeron suddenly appeared between them, with his cheerful manner and his head of silver curls, dressed in dark green just like his older brother. “Strange. You were the only one listening to the lessons when we were children.”

“Yes, because you and Aegon acted as court jesters the whole time.”

“I’ll have you know, brother, I have refined my dancing skills in Oldtown. So…may I dance with my good sister?”

Aemond gave him a simple nod, and Daeron bowed to her gallantly, raising his palm up.

She kindly accepted the invitation and placed her hand on his. “Don’t sulk too much.” She whispered to her husband before following his brother.

Aemond watched closely as they started to dance, stealing all the attention, and despite that little primitive tug at the sight of his woman dancing with another man, even though that was his brother and there was absolutely nothing malicious in his or her intentions, he was glad to see her like this, spinning and twisting around instead of lying still in the cold with dread eating her alive.

When the dance ended, Daeron escorted the Princess back to Aemond and took his leave. “Remind me again,” she asked as she watched the young Prince leave “How is it that your brother is still unmarried?”

Aemond sighed deeply and took her arm to escort her to the table. “I’d give you one week before you’d get bored of him.”

While they waited for dinner, the lords and ladies of the court were obviously very eager to hear Prince Daeron. Alicent in the first place, after so much despair, and after being separated from her youngest son for years, seemed to smile with her eyes every time she heard him speak.

“Hear, hear!” one of the lords cheered after listening to Prince Daeron’s retelling of the Battle of the Honeywine. “A brave soldier and a brave dragon rider! I propose a toast.”

At once, everybody stood up, raising their glasses. “To Prince Daeron, to House Targaryen!”

“And to House Hightower.” The Prince proudly stated, raising his glass towards his mother.

As they sat back, the Queen ordered the servants to serve the dinner. The table was gradually filled with a great variety of dishes, many of them Prince Daeron's favourites, specifically ordered by his mother to make him feel at home. It had been weeks and weeks since such a banquet had been seen at King's Landing. Prince Daeron seemed very pleased and grateful, as did all those present who watched the rich dishes crowd the table, and lastly, the huge tray of fresh fruit that a servant laid in the middle.

“I can’t quite believe my eyes. Blackberries? This far in the season?” said Lady Bracken.

“I’m afraid that is entirely my fault.” The Princess chirped, catching Aemond’s attention from across the table.

“I had a sudden craving, while I was carrying Aenar.”

“I had one too with my first.” Lady Redwyne joined in. “Plums, specifically.”

“Did you find them agreeable, Princess?”

“Oh, very much indeed.” She stated, casting an innocent glance around, but lingering for just a moment longer on her husband. “I devoured so many…I still feel the taste on my tongue.”

Devious woman, he thought, fighting back his cursed smirk. He had half a mind to excuse themselves and retire to their chambers, if he managed to endure it all the way and not take her in the middle of a hallway.

She seemed able to read his mind, judging by the way she was looking at him, unfurling a napkin on her lap. He knew her well enough to foresee when she was in a teasing spirit, and he was all in for it.

But then, just when they were about to start eating, her trusted maid came in, going straight to the Princess. “Apologies your Grace.” she said to her ear “but the Princeling is awake.”

Aemond saw the concern instantly widening her eyes and then a shadow passing over her face. “Yes…” she said, and stood up talking to all the present. “My apologies. I must retire.”

“See?” said Lady Bracken as Aemond watched his wife leave the hall. “This is why I refused to breastfeed. No matter how my second would scream…”

By the time she had done breastfeeding, her chest hurt so much that the maid had to place some rags soaked in cold water directly on her nipples; the instant relief had made the Princess close her eyes and almost moan. She had planned to go back to the banquet as soon as Aenar had had his fill but as she gained relief by pressing those wet rags to her breasts, she realised her son wouldn’t let her get away that easily.

As soon as the maid had taken him, trying to put him to sleep, he had begun to fuss and wriggle, whining in what she knew would soon turn into a high-pitched, deaf inducing crying.

Perhaps he’s cursed too. She had thought exhaustingly, promptly kissing his silver little head.

She gave up on her plan to go back to the banquet and rocked the baby herself, pacing before the windows while whispering sweet soothing words.

As soon as he had dozed off, she put him in his crib and absent-mindedly grabbed a book from Aemond's desk, lazily leafing through it while rocking the cradle with the other hand.

Aemond finds her like this when he opens the door on his way back from the banquet. She looks up from the page and sees him striding purposefully towards her, snatching the little book in her hands and throwing it on the bed.

She’s shocked, to say the least. One might say he treats books far better than his subjects.

“What—“ she tries to say but he takes her hand and pulls, forcing her to stand up and follow his steady gait.

“Aemond?” she asks down the corridor, a girlish grin climbing on her lips. “Where are you taking me?”

He doesn’t bother to answer but she doesn’t have to wait long to find out. They stop before a door down the corridor opposite to their chambers, Aemond pushes her inside without so much grace and shuts the door behind them. 

She looks around briefly; the room is warm, the fire in the hearth is lit, as the candles scattered all around. This is all familiar. “These are my old chambers…” she says with a little frown, turning to him.

“Quite the observer, wife.” He drawls, and takes a few steps. His stride is different now. Slow, contemplating, as his gaze raking over her, as if he in the first place doesn’t know why he brought her here and he’s assessing what to do. A war map, and he knows where all the faults lie.

“I thought we could spend some time together” he starts, walking past her to go sit near the fire “Alone.” he adds once he leisurely sits down, crossing his long legs and resting his hands on the armrests. “What better place than a vacant room? No one will come looking for us here.”

She tries as hard as she can to stop the little smirk at the corner of her lips; she walks closer, stopping right in front of him, staring down. “They might hear.” 

“Hmm. And that is much of a trouble for you, isn’t it?” he asks with the most fake genuine tone, taking a cup from the nearby table, and then “You sucked my cock on a terrace and begged me to fuck you in the Small Council…I thought I told you to quit your act.”

She smiles openly now, watching the wine pouring in the cup, his eye fixed on the liquid as his eyebrow shots up. “Besides, I know exactly what to do to muffle your noises.”

“You should be proud of my noises.”

“I am.” He says, taking a sip of wine, his eye piercing through her above the cup’s brim. “But for once, Aegon is right. I’m not one for sharing.”

His arm moves to put the wine aside but she takes it, only to feel his hand pulling the cup away from her. “You cannot drink.”

“Fine.” She concedes, leaning on him. “I’ll have it my way.”

She holds his face and with her left hand she glides her fingers on the left side of his face, delicately but with purpose, pushing the eyepatch off. And then she kisses him, eagerly, licking his lips and then breaching inside to taste the wine on his tongue, on the roof of his mouth.

She sighs deeply when he locks his tongue with hers, and feels his lips curling.

“Did you hear it?” He says breaking the kiss, breathing into her mouth. “That one is my favorite.”

“Your favorite what?” She asks mindlessly, chasing his lips but to no use, because he tilts his head back, his cursed smirk ghosting.

“Noise. It’s a little thing…” he tells her, locking one hand around her neck “in the back of your throat, close to a sigh but not quite…” his fingers trails against her throat, chasing her swallowing “It tells me you’re dying to.”

“To do what?”

“Fall on your knees for me. Be a supplicant.”

She grabs the back of his neck, driving his head close and looks down at his arched mouth “You cannot live without God, can you?” She looks up, her mouth open to breathe “Seven of them seem to have cursed me. I had to find my own.”

His eye widens at that. He looks straight into her eyes, so devoted, so raw. She’s right. The Gods would curse her some more if they saw she looks at him the way she should look at the Gods.

“Then do it.”

“What?”

“Flatteries don’t work on me, sweetling. You should know that.” With his hand on her neck, he slightly pushes her away, making some distance between them. “You will have to show me.”

“What would you have me do?”

His hands let go of her completely, resting on the armchair. The gemstone glints blue, and yet it’s nowhere near the bright cursed thing in his eye. “Get on your knees for me. Now.”

She should be ashamed of the pull in her bones, the muscles willing to move on their own accord and fall to the ground. But why, why does it have to be sin? Why can it not be religion?

When her knees hit the ground, she sees his chest rise, his long fingers spreading flat on the armchair. But her eyes fly back to his face as soon as he speaks, as soon as he commands. “Take off your dress.”

His eye sinks down, watching her hands work the corset, steadily. It’s the only sound in the room, this tugging, at the dress. But she tugs at his cock too. She tugs between her own legs.

When the dress is nothing but a pool of green on the ground, she goes to pull down her white chemise, but she suddenly stops. Aemond uncrosses his legs and the air hitches in her throat as his hands go straight to his belt, unbuckling it.

He revels in the little lump in her throat. Perhaps later he will let her have what she’s craving, but not so soon. “Give me your wrists.”

“My—”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

Swallowing, she keeps her eyes on him and raises her hands, like an offering. Aemond takes off his belt and leans forward, enough to take her hands and cross her wrists. She shudders at the sharp tug when he wraps the leather around, tying them tight.

“On your feet.”

And up she goes, testing her hands briefly but finding soon that she cannot move them, at all.

“Come.”

It takes one swift movement of his leg, bending the knee while the other rests loosely on the ground, for her to get the gist and walk closer, sitting on his knee, sideways.

“No. Like this.” Quite harshly, he grabs her hips and turns her so that she’s straddling his thigh. He can hear her little gasp when he pushes his thigh firmly against her core. He can feel her warmth through the fabric, stirring his cock. But he pays it no mind, for now.

“What now?” She asks, poised precariously on his thigh. 

Aemond tilts his head, and he just looks at her. In the spur of a moment, a boyish one that doesn’t sit well with how he’s built, he thinks he might be quite contented by merely looking at her. Because she’s beautiful and mine, mine, mine.

But his hands are burning, they might fray and wither if he doesn’t touch her. He unties her hair, running his fingers through them as they fall around her shoulders. The Maiden. The Mother. And yet something better, something worse. Because her eyes are hungry, her mouth is starving for air, for his flesh.

“You must toil to find God.” He says, and then he grins. A savage thing, full of promise. “Bring yourself to come.”

A flash of thrill lights up her face, darkens her eyes and Aemond tilts his head again, biding all the time in the world, for he knows she will.

Tentatively, she pushes her body down, against his thigh, feeling a timid shot of pleasure traveling up from her core, ending in a short, labored breath.

That noise, that might be his second favorite.

Soon, her hips start to move back and forth, each time trying to push herself down as hard as she can, making little breathless cries each time she fails to give herself the friction she needs. She has little balance due to her tied wrists, so she rests her palms on his chest to gain some leverage. And that seems to do the trick.

She tilts her head back, moving faster, doing little jumps on his thigh, panting harshly as sweat lumps on her forehead and pleasure coils in her belly.

Aemond hikes up her chemise, watches her cunt brushing back and forth against his leg, leaving a trail of wetness on the fabric of his breeches. He has to choke down a growl. “Gods, you’re soaking me…”

She looks down at him, her cheeks pink, her lips open in a little o. He can’t help himself. He sticks two fingers inside and how relishing it is that she waits for no invitation or order. She laps, twirls her tongue around his fingertips, sucks them.

“Look at you…” he croons, taking his fingers out, leaving a trail of saliva down her chin. “But you can’t, can you? Perhaps I should fuck you before a mirror, so you see. You see how pretty you are when you’re desperate for me.”

His hand travels down her neck, tossing her hair back and then grasping the strap of her chemise, pulling it down, revealing her swollen, turgid breast. He leans forward immediately, cupping it in his hand, and takes the nipple into his mouth, crooning contentedly and then some more when he feels her wince and cry out loud.

Her tied wrists writhe in their merciless hold and he stops her, gripping both her hands with one of his own, keeping her still, lapping and sucking at her nipple until he feels something wet and saccharine on his tongue, humming all the better. He grazes his teeth over the sensitive bud, and she cries out again, bucking violently against him, turning sloppy and frenzy as she feels the fall close.

He feels it too, feels her thighs trembling around him, and that’s when he takes her hips in a tight hold and forces her to stop altogether.

“Did you think I would make it so easy?” he asks spitefully, seeing her dazed expression. Wasting no time, he holds her firmly close to him and stands up. It takes him only two of his long steps to reach the bed and place her above. In a moment of illusive freedom, her tied wrists fly to his breeches, to his evident hardness, but he’s quick to stop her, bringing her arms above her head, keeping them there with a firm hold. “Stay still.”

“Aemond—“ she pleads.

“Hush. Spread your legs.”

She obliges, eager for him to do something, anything to stop the aching. Aemond wets his fingers on his tongue and brings them down, breaching inside her with two of them, watching her gasp, arch her back and twist her wrists in his hold, uselessly. “Easy…” he cruelly laughs “I have just started.”

But she hasn’t. She’s a few steps away from the precipice of her previous denied peak, it would take him so little to push her over the edge. Instead, his torture is so slow that the whole coiling in her belly falls apart and she must climb her peak again.

His two fingers slip in and out ever so easily, their wet sounds echoing through the room, mixed with her panted breaths and his own. He aches for her to touch him, he aches so much that his cock is pulsing, painfully, but this is just too thrilling. Now he knows exactly how she felt in Harrenhal, when she had him chained up to a chaise.

Her hips rock frantically against his hand, trying to speed him, to get there faster. Mumbling nonsense, her legs tense like iron, her cunt clenches and sucks his fingers in like a vice. “Yes…yes, please…Aemond…please don’t stop—‘m so close…”

And just like that, he slips his fingers out; a dark pleasure dances on his candle-lit features as she writhes and whines for the loss of his fingers, swinging her lower back and forth, desperate for the barest friction that would end her misery.

“Aemond, please…” she says, and even with only one eye, he can’t mistake the tears of frustration at the corners of her eyes.

“What, my love?”

“Plea—” she’s cut off by his hand, pushing his sticky fingers inside to make her clean up her mess.

“We said enough with subtleties, did we not? Speak. Tell me…what you need me to do?”

“Let me come please…please…”

At that, he finally lets her wrists go, and she almost winces in pain, for the time she had them tensed above her head. He stalls for a moment, unsure, running his eye over her whole body, sweating and feverish, and so beautifully plump because of motherhood. He unbuttons his doublet, and then his shirt, his breeches. He bares himself completely, catching her eyes following his deft hands everywhere, breathing heavily.

He kneels between her legs, spreading them. And it’s embarrassing, really, the way she tumbles as soon as he puts his tongue flat against her drenched folds. If only she cared.

It takes only a couple of twirls of his tongue around her lips, and she comes undone, shaking all over, canting her slit against his face. He helps her ride out her climax, by not stopping at all. Instead, he doubles his efforts like a man possessed, pushing his mouth open against her cunt as if he wished to devour it, sucking harshly until she whimpers hard, choking on a loud sob. “Aemond—wait—I can’t—”

She cannot take more so soon. But he’s utterly deaf to her complaints.

He feasts on her, lapping and dipping his tongue in, parting her folds to go as deep as he can, humming while drinking all of her; his voice reverberates through her flesh, it makes her bones rattle.

His long nose rubs against her bud and he looks up: she trashes about the sheets, cutting herself as the belt leather scratches her skin. She tries to push him away with her tied wrists, to no use. She clamps her legs around his head, in a desperate attempt to chase him away, sobbing for the unbearable stimulation. And yet…and yet her hips move on their own whim, bucking with sharp jolts until the wave starts to rise, higher and higher, and she drowns in it, letting go a high-pitched cry, clutching his scalp with both her tied hands, scraping, pushing him against her as she rides her peak against his face.  

He swallows everything, licking her clean, moaning softly at feeling her pulsing on his tongue.

“Enough…I—Aemond you have to stop…” she rasps breathlessly.  

“Why?” he asks, finally rising from where he had perched himself; he climbs on her, until he speaks to her face. “I am only making up to you. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

She can smell herself on him, she can see herself, glistening on his mouth, chin, even his cheekbones.

“Answer me.” His hand grips her jaw “You said you wanted everything.”

She chokes down a whimper when he leans completely on her, feeling his cock against her cooling flesh, while he’s hot and hard and heavy.

“I will give you more.” He says, brushing a strand of her sweat-soaked hair from her temple. “I will give you another child. Keep you all aching and wet for me while you swell with my child. Do you think I don’t know? How you ached for me? D’you think I didn’t?” he presses himself down, so she can feel it thoroughly, furrowing her brow as her body already answers to his call.

 “I can feel you in our bed…” he keeps rasping “rubbing your legs together. And you know how much that bothers me. Your pleasure is mine to take…and to give.”

Her lips part, gasping roughly. She was so hung on his lips that she hadn’t even registered that he had taken hold of himself, bending her knee on his left hip, and guided himself in.

She arches against him while he slowly sheathes himself all the way in, moaning with long-awaited relief. He stays still for a moment, adjusting, but also because he takes her wrists and sets her hands free.

Thrilling as it was, he wants her hands on him, he craves her touch.

He wants her to cling to his shoulders as she always does, digging her nails down.

He wants her to clamp her fingers on the back of his neck, scraping and pulling his hair to keep him close enough to moan into his mouth.

He wants her hands on his back, sliding down, to push him even deeper while rutting inside her.

And she does all of that. She finds God.

[anisespice]

“ accidents happen ” || tokyo rev.

cont.

synopsis: in which they discover you had their child and kept it from them all these years later.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, ran, sanzu ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, angst (if you squint really hard), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be errors lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: i just want the drama >:) may make more parts, and even extend said headcannons into longer fics in the future, but wanted to post something quick for mother’s day. hope you enjoy!

When you disappeared off the face of the earth, MIKEY had never been the same. One fight. One argument that spiraled out of control, and you were just gone...

He had people looking for you for about a couple years, the trail ran cold after a while and he had half a mind to think you were dead. Up until he got intel of your whereabouts one morning during a meeting.

That man got up and left immediately.

He wasn’t accompanied with any of his men, only because he didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention in the broad daylight. Sure, him wearing a black hood, ball cap, and mask in a park didn’t really help him look inconspicuous but it at least concealed his identity enough for him to blend in. Mikey sat on a bench for a good forty minutes, anxious, making anyone who passed him shiver from his intense aura alone; even birds walked around him. After almost an hour of waiting, he began to feel frustrated. Perhaps, the intel was false. Just as he went to stand, already conjuring up ways to have Sanzu execute the idiot who wasted his time, he heard it.

Your voice. Seizing him, like a siren’s call.

His eyes were alert, darting around until they landed on your figure, spotlighted by the sun, like an angel descending from the heavens. You looked good, healthy. That was good. An array of emotions fought for their turn in Mikey’s heart—Relief, distress, anger, nostalgia. He couldn’t just pick one, especially when it came to you. As he watched from his spot, doing his best to not seem suspicious, he clocked the people you were approaching with excitement, your peppy stride as you waved at, what he presumed, to be mother and daughter.

However, his entire world turned upside down when the little girl extended out her arms towards you, and said “Mama!”

“Hello, my darling.~” You cooed, taking her into your awaiting arms from the woman, embracing the toddler tightly. “Mama missed you so much.”

“Missed you, mama!” was the child’s reply, followed by her giggles.

A bucket of cold water would’ve been better than this. Watching you converse with who he now assumes to be the babysitter, Mikey felt faint. Vision blurring, head pounding, heart clenching. You…you…no. There’s no way. You wouldn’t have moved on…you couldn’t have, not like this, not from him. You loved him, didn’t you? You still love him, didn’t you?

How could you…how could you?

Before he knew it, he started to follow you around. From the park, to the store, all the way back to your apartment. He already phoned some of the executives to start working in on the babysitter, and anyone else in your new found circle for information. He wanted answers. He needed them.

By the time you began fixing dinner, with your daughter laid down for a nap, you receive a knock at your door. Who could that be at this hour?

RAN was chilling outside the rendezvous spot for something the boss and a few other execs were participating in, having a smoke, minding his business, up until he sees a little girl with pigtails wearing a school uniform approaching, standing before him and just…staring. She barely came up to his thighs, could've been no older than seven. She was practically staring into his soul with bright lavender eyes that scarily reminded him of Rin’s when he was that age.

He stared back, head tilted as he blew out the smoke from the corner of his mouth. The hell was a kid doing on this side of town?

Then, after an uncomfortable staring contest, the little girl points at his cigarette. “My ma says those things are bad for you.”

Ran raised a brow, “Does she now?”

“Mmhm! She says it makes people unhappy.”

He offered a thoughtful nod, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Mm. Do I look unhappy?”

The girl looked at Ran for a minute, eyes squinted. Eventually, she shook her head. “No. But, ma also says people who are always unhappy get better at hiding it.”

Ran’s grin faltered. Her unwavering stare started to unnerve him, especially after hearing such a heavy statement come from such a small package.

After a brief moment of silence, he chuckled softly, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it away. He exhaled. “Smart woman.”

The little girl beamed, “Mmhm! My ma knows a lot of stuff.”

“Tsk. But not ‘Stranger Danger’, apparently.”

She tilted her head, curious. “Huh?”

“You shouldn’t be wandering around by yourself, let alone approaching someone you don’t know. ‘s not safe. Especially for nosy little girls who stick their noses in other people’s business. Your ma never taught you that?”

The little girl rolled her eyes, hands on her hips. “Duh. Of course she did. Everyone knows that rule,” she exasperated. Ran snorted, but yielded when she squinted at him, pointing as she sassed. “And I do so know you, so you’re not a stranger.”

This time, Ran couldn’t help the incredulous laugh. “Oh, you know me, huh? That’s not good. ‘m supposed to keep a low profile. Say, you ain’t a cop are you?” He teased, earning another eye roll.

“No. Too small to be a cop, dummy.”

“Oh, pardon me, I didn’t notice. Where do you know me from, then?”

The little girl pointed over to the building..where the executives were having their meeting. She beamed, “Ma’s works in there. On important people days she can’t get me from school, so she tells me to come straight here, and to not talk to the purple man that stands near the building. She says you’re mean.”

Ran smirked, then gave a half-hearted shrug.

“She also says you’re my pa. But, I never believed her. You’re too old.”

Ran’s smirk dropped.

Whether more from the first comment or the last, you decide. But, one thing was for certain: he needed another cigarette.

SANZU cackled watching some guy struggle to round up a couple of rowdy twins at the convenience store. One was knocking shit off the shelves while the other ran circles around the guy. It was what he needed for his bitch of a hangover, a good laugh to distract from the ache in his skull.

However, he wasn’t laughing for long when you came around the corner of the isle, holding a few items with a smile on your face that soon faded once you saw the scene unfolding before you; the pinkette thought he was still tripping balls. Blinking a few times to allow any after effects of the drugs to clear up, when you didn’t disappear he used his long legs to swiftly yeet behind one of the shelves, peering around it like some paranoid stalker. The last time you had spoken, you had threatened to castrate him with your teeth if you ever saw him again.

And he’d be damned if he tried your bluff.

He watched in awe as you straightened those twins up quick. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought they were trained to obey you, and only you. Any other authority be damned. While the guy was putting all the stuff back on the shelves, sweaty and out of breath, you gently reprimanded them for causing trouble. You still made that cute pouty face you always did whenever you were mad at him…

“What did we talk about earlier? Hm? Mr. Satoru was very kind to help mama today, you know. You two promised me you’d be on your best behavior for him.”

Sanzu gagged. This was the rebound you let nut in you? This huffy moron who can’t handle a couple of ankle biters, this was your king? He had half a mind to just gut the guy to put him out of his misery from that pathetic display from earlier, alone. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be back home. He remembers when he was that age—Rowdy, reckless, the Antichrist. Adorable, but deadly. God bless that poor bastard’s soul.

Wait…Mister? Not…dad?

The first twin whined, stomping their feet. “He’s too boringggg!”

Come to think of it…if Sanzu squinted…the longer he looked at the little family…he swore the more he saw the resemblance of himself in the tiny gremlins. From the hair, to the eyes, all the way down to the mannerisms…Hang on. When had been the last time you two fucked? Three…no, was it four years ago?

The second twin huffed, pointing at the man. “Yeah! And he’s jus’ being nice so that he can sleep in your bed, mama!”

You flushed, nervously chuckling as you looked around to make sure no one heard. Sanzu ducked behind a bag of chips, now nothing but eyes peeking through the gaps of food on the shelf.

So…that loser’s not the father? Then…could that mean..?

“He’s mama’s boyfriend, remember? He’s allowed to do that. And he’ll be around for a while, so I want you two to be nice, okay?”

“…okay, mama.” They grumbled.

Sanzu almost popped a blood vessel, fist clenched around a bag of Lays and nearly busting it. He chuckled darkly, “Oh. We’ll see about that.”

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved.

likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[dolicekiss]

From Friend To Foe

PAIRING: Dark!Aemond Targaryen X Strong!fem!Reader

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+, mdni), noncon, virgin!reader, possessive aemond, friends to enemies, childhood friends, reader is from house strong, dragon riding (also riding Aemond), unprotected sex (p in v), forced kissing, breeding, angst, threats, humiliation, reader has dark hair, hair pulling, slapping, cunnilingus, mention of forced marriage, attempted murder.

SYNOPSIS: Aemond and you were childhood friends, you being the daughter of a lord and him being the Targayen prince. When the Greens and Blacks went against each other, your father’s sworn fealty to the blacks became an obstacle in your friendship and when your father was defeated, army overthrown — you were taken prisoner, kneeled before the Targaryen prince who was once your closest friend.

Swords clashed, dragon roared and knights fell after fighting bravely.

All you could do was sit idle in your room and await the promise of a better future. Only it did not come and when silence haunted the grounds of Harrenhal and everything came to a halt, you were certain your family had lost the fight.

You were mere humans, with no possession of such an almighty being.

Dragons were Gods. To be worshiped and prayed — and one was prominently flying over the remains of Harrenhal.

Belonging to none other than Aemond Targaryen, who was once your beloved friend with whom you dreamt of riding on a dragon.

Aemond had promised you when you were younglings. A promise that once he has claimed himself a dragon, you would be the first person he'd take for a flight.

The irony of the situation broke your heart.

The same dragon had left your castle and people in ruins — Vhagar’s loud wails filling up the sky with terror. You knew very well that now your army had fallen, your father definitely slain, you were going to face the same fate as many women during war did.

A prisoner, meat for Aemond’s men.

The door was slammed open and you turned around in a swift motion, finding your servant standing there. A look of horror adorning her once serene features. “It is done. The Targaryen prince has won and we are the only ones left.”

Tears blurred your vision. You did not remember reaching for the sharp blade which you had placed on your side table, an escape from all the atrocities you would eventually be forced to face by the hands of your own closest friend.

War was war.

And with the stories of Aemond’s cruelty circulating about, you knew very well than to beg for mercy or even expect it. Long gone was the sweet prince who made you promises of protection, a dragon and long lasting friendship.

He was your foe now.

An enemy who had slayed the men of your house, your own blood.

As you attempted to cut your own throat, a hand prevented you from doing so. Guards, of house Targaryen. Your face paled and your tears finally rushed down your face in glossy streaks, your one chance of escape taken from you.

The men restrained you but you screamed, struggled even. To break free and somehow draw the blade closer to your throat, only a small cut and you would disappear. You did not care if this was considered weak, you were willing to do just about anything to keep your dignity and honor.

To not be some slave for a man to put his cock in.

“Stay still, woman!” One of the guards berated you but you didn't listen, worming in their grasp.

“Let me go! Release me, right now.” Your screams echoed in the expanse of your chamber as well as the castle and Aemond heard them too.

He had ordered the demise of everyone, everyone besides you. There was this ache, this need to lay his eye upon you for the first time in awhile. Last time he saw you when you were nine, a beautiful little girl who often came to the red keep with her father — member of the council.

Aemond and your friendship flourished when you defended him against Aegon, comforting him to not lose all hope for a dragon. It was you who encouraged him, who provided him with the mental strength to claim Vhagar.

Your words of strength lingered in the back of his mind when he took claim of the largest dragon.

And now he had caused destruction with the same dragon.

Fate had brought you both to this. Ruined every good thing which was left in his life and he knew that you would never, ever forgive him for destroying your home.

You were kind, loving, sweet. Rebellious too but always stood your ground and believed in achieving justice, by any means. Aemond wondered how you'd grown, how you appeared as an adult now.

Did you braid your dark hair the same way as his Targaryen sister did, since you'd grown so fond of their silver hair? Were your eyes still the same onyx dark as your hair, a stark contrast to his own purple ones and was your choice in clothes still so dreadful? Curiosity pinched at his abdomen.

Your screams boomed through Harrenhal and Aemond felt proud of your resistance, only he had no knowledge of what you were resisting for so prominently.

He had no idea all your desperation and fight was to end your life.

The guards pulled you apart, their blood stained hands managing to rip off the side of your dress which concealed your shoulder during all the commotion to get you to release the blade. You somehow managed to free yourself from one of the guard’s unbearable grip and slashed his face with the blade.

“Ah, you fucking bitch.” He screamed, holding his face with one hand while the other tried to reach for you.

Another guard extracted his revenge, striking you across your face and tugging at the already torn fabric, exposing more of your back.

Your face contorted in pain, wishing to rid yourself off this world. “Don't fucking touch me. Unhand me and I will slaughter you lot like pigs.”

Your threats were larger than your size and some guards found you amusing while some knew you were capable of what you had promised them. A hand reached for your wrist, to tame it but not being able to pry open your clingy fingers around the dagger with all their strength.

Your fingers had paled, losing all their pink hue and the blood had stopped pumping through the small veins. That was how strong your grip around the weapon was.

Being carried down the stairs, your gaze took in the sight of the place that was once your home. Broken and hopeless, you were dragged along to the main hall. Rain pattered over the stones, causing a nauseating feeling in your stomach as you took in the situation of your castle.

Thankfully, your blurry vision did not allow you to take more of the destruction. All you noticed was the daunting figure of your enemy, standing pridefully at the center of the hall, awaiting your arrival.

You were pushed towards someone, forced on your knees and the silky silver strands gave away at the person's identity. Prince Aemond Targaryen stood before you, with his back turned to you and hands clasped behind his back.

You attempted to gather the pieces of your torn dress, holding it over your chest since it was ripped evidently in the back. Aemond upon turning around, did not expect you to be in such ruins. Dress torn apart, dark hair all but a mess and he caught glimpse of the silver rings encircled around your strands.

Now in a complete frenzy.

The same silver you always wore in your hair, around your little braids.

Aemond glanced up at his guards and then back at you, watching you. Demeanor phlegmatic, lips sitting tediously on his face.

You didn't dare to lift up your eyes. It wasn't about possessing enough courage to look him in the eye but having no self control. You knew deep down if you looked at him, you'd lose all control and attack him.

“I don't recall ordering you lot to bring her in such a..” Aemond tilted his head, analyzing the state you were in. “disheveled state.”

“She fought back a lot, my Prince. Intended to cut her throat with that little blade of hers in her hand.” Aemond was slightly taken aback from the revelation but you were right to choose that as an option. Everyone in this room knew what happened to women during war, especially the beautiful ones such as yourself.

The highborns were craved more as they carried noble blood within them.

His one eye fell upon the blade you still held with great vigor in your hand and Aemond nearly snickered. You had not let go of that adamant personality of yours, carrying it with you in adulthood.

Aemond did not like how your beautiful skin was exposed to the lecherous eyes of his guards. This abrupt jealousy even left him bemused for a moment, nonetheless he diverted his attention back to you.

He stepped closer — frame towering over yours and you saw the perfect moment to attack him. A feeble and thoughtless action but it was either succumbing to horrors or extracting revenge. In a fraction of mere seconds, you had risen up from your knees and headed for him with the pointy end of the dagger in his direction.

The guards reached for you and before you could possibly injure the Prince regent, his fingers enveloped your wrist. With potent strength and fast reflexes, Aemond held you in place. A mischievous glint flashed in his one good eye, lips curving up in a malicious smirk.

He saw the raw hatred and hunger for revenge in your eyes — your hand unwavering and stable. You meant the attack. Nowhere was it under the sad emotions of losing your family.

“Bold of you to assume this would work on me, Dōna.” Aemond whispered, face only a few inches apart from yours. Only the dagger separating you. You acknowledged the name he'd called you, from when you were children and the anger inside you was fuelled more. (Sweet)

“Have I not trained in front of you, hm? Did you not see me wield a sword whenever you stayed in the red keep?”

You glared at him. “I will kill you, either with poison or with a dagger. It is my promise to you, tyrant.”

“From raqiros to tyrant? You truly have grown, my Dōna.” He whispered malevolently, his warm breath with its own mind caressing the bridge of your nose, nearly with affectionate. (Friend)

Having spent most of your childhood in the red keep with the targaryens, especially Aemond, he was bound to teach you some high valyrian. You knew what raqiros meant, but he had never unveiled the meaning behind the nickname he gave you. Promising you he would once you two are grown enough.

Aemond looked up from your face to his men who stood on guard. Three of them, big and broad. His eyes raked over their hands and as he imagined those same hands mishandling you, ripping away at your clothes and prying open the corset which held your dress together, his jaw clenched.

“Ser Criston Cole,” he called out and the commander responded, head held high.

Aemond’s hand still prevented you from moving an inch, the pointy end of the dagger only a few inches away from his glistening, pale cheek.

“Behead them.” It was a simple command but it instilled fear in everyone in the room, including you. Even the commander was surprised by such a gruesome order and dared to ask. “Forgive me, my Prince but why?”

Aemond locked gaze with you. “They dared to lay hands on my prize, unveiled her dignity.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the Commander nodded, passing the order to his other guards. You heard the sounds of constant struggle, similar to yours as their pleas to live fell upon deaf ears.

“My Prince, please! Spare us, we were only acting upon your order!”

They were ignored, as Aemond continued to stare at you. His purple eye dropping to your lips for a second. He released you and you, on instinct, stepped back with the dagger still in your hand. It was proven that combat was definitely not how you could take down the prince.

Aemond had forced you to come along to the premises of Harrenhal, where his dragon rested. Strained and tired from the war she had indulged in. You had never seen Vhagar up close but knew that she was the second largest dragon, her first rider being Visenya Targaryen.

Your lips shuddered the more closer you were pulled next to the sleeping dragon.

“She can smell fear.” Aemond reminded you, staring ahead. “Conceal it unless you wish to burn to ashes.”

You inhaled a deep breath, closing your eyes and hoping to put an end to the growing fear in the presence of Vhagar.

When you opened your eyes, you were more calm now and in the right state of mind to admire the beast’s beauty. She was gorgeous, a shade of bronze mixed with green and blue highlights. Green, fierce eyes staring ahead and you would have congratulated Aemond on claiming a dragon if only the circumstances were different.

“You will ride with me to King’s Landing.”

“I will not.” You spat, taking a step back from him. That didn't seem to please Aemond as he closed the distance between you and grasped your arm, holding you in place. “Yes, you will.”

“I would rather be fed to your hounds than ride with you upon the back of the dragon which destroyed my home.” Your tone was venomous, full of anger and spite. Aemond knew there was no way calming you down or ridding you of your anger, so he did the next best thing that came to mind.

His slim hands slithered across your waist as he picked you up, settling you down on the dragon’s back. Vhagar released a roar and Aemond whispered something to her in high valyrian, causing her to calm down. Her head settling down, to rest.

He moved in front of you, taking a seat as well. “Hold on tight.”

You glued your hands to your sides, completely ignoring him. Aemond released a frustrated growl at your adamant behavior and lack of pliancy. He reached behind to grab your arms with his gloved hands, forcefully circling them around his small waist.

“Let go of me.” You struggled and Aemond looked back at you with irritation all over his beautiful face. “Do you wish to succumb to your death by falling? If so, feel free to let go.”

That was a lie as Aemond had already tied you to him with the brown belt — locking you with him. Even if you were to let go of him, his body weight restricted on his dragon would prevent you from falling and eventually meeting your demise. This was merely to get you to touch him.

To feel you against him, with little to no distance.

Your lips settled in a frown as you tightened your hold around him causing Aemond to grin. He patted his dragon’s back and then spoke. “Sōvēs, Vhagar.” (Fly)

The dragon shifted on its legs, preparing for the flight and you gasped when you felt it move more beneath you. Subconsciously, your fingers gripped the leather tunic of Aemond, chest pressing tightly over his broad back. Terror filled you as the dragon finally took flight, its huge wings flapping and the force of it made you realize how easy it must have been for Aemond to ruin your house.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, closing your lids shut and burying your face in Aemond’s shoulders.

This is exactly how he had anticipated your first ride on a dragon with him all these years, how you'd react to the beast moving and roaring. Your subtle touches, adorable reactions and soft sounds were just as Aemond had pictured them in his mind.

And he was fulfilling his promise to you.

Until now, Aemond never allowed anyone to ride with him. Only you were the exception and as gruesome the enmity between the two of you was, he could not simply suppress the overwhelming feelings he'd always harbored.

“Aemond..” You whispered, as the dragon took flight and it left you screaming. “Aemond! I'm fucking terrified.”

One hand holding onto his seat, the other reached over and settled on your hand around his chest. In an attempt to comfort you as Vhagar flew into the depths of the sky, Harrenhal nothing but a small scenery when you opened your eyes to look down at it.

A lone tear slid down your face.

This was not how you wished to ride with Aemond.

You hated him, disgust all over your face when you noticed how little and inferior everything appeared from up here. No wonder the Targaryens burned people and houses, as they felt superior being this close to Gods than the rest of you.

“Calm down, Dōna.” He said to you when his dragon had finally flew for King’s Landing.

You didn't say anything, only loosened your hold around him after realizing how awfully close were you to him.

Aemond noticed that and didn't like it.

“Vēzot, Vhagar. Vēzot.” Upon hearing Aemond’s command, the dragon changed route and flew high up in the air, going up tearing through the grey clouds. In fear of falling, your arms once again found themselves around the dragon rider’s small waist. (Up)

You had no idea what Aemond had said but it made his dragon fly up, defying gravity and leaving you gasping for air.

With a satisfied smile on his face, Aemond relished in the feeling of power he had over you and the power he'll soon have over others too. It was painfully evident his brother was incompetent and if something were to befall him, it would be Aemond next in line to inherit the throne.

Never did you ever think or expect that you would be brought back to the red keep as a prize, a symbol of victory — a slave most definitely for Aemond after how he behaved last time with the guards last time. He did not allow anyone to look at you, to touch you, besides your maidens who helped you doll up for the Prince.

His possessiveness was very well known to you when you both were children but you had expected him to grow out of it. How foolish of you to assume that.

Aemond was a possessive child. You recalled the time where he had forbade his siblings from playing with you — or when he did not let anyone touch his sword or even wield it. You remembered how the future lord of Casterly Rock was treated only because he had dared to pass a compliment to Aemond’s sword.

You could hear the cheers of the smallfolk and it disgusted you. He only won against you and your family, not the Blacks. It repulsed you how he was supporting a usurper and not the rightful heir. Your father died for the cause of Rhaenyra Targaryen, you would do too in a heartbeat.

You were lead inside the Red keep after the notorious flight with Aemond. The Prince’s orders were to his servants were to lead you to his own chambers and clean you up. You had no idea why, but you were not going to comply easily.

“I am not your mistress.” Your voice boomed loudly in the main hall, causing Aemond’s footsteps to come to a halt. “Neither am I your whore. Kill me because I too support Rhaenyra Targaryen’s claim to the throne. I shall die a honorable death as my father and kin did.”

You had dared to speak to him, like that, in the presence of not only the Queen but even the other council members.

Aemond’s hands balled up into fits. “Take her.”

You were forcefully dragged somewhere while you struggled, piercing screams enough to damage one's ears. Before you were pulled in a corridor, you made a promise. “I will get my revenge, Aemond Targaryen. You shall answer for the blood of my family that stains your hands. I will never forgive you!”

Alicent followed her son, your threats still lingering in her mind. You had screamed them with tremendous agony and will. She worried, for the kingdom.

“Do you believe you would be doing the realm anything good by bringing a blood thirsty enemy here?” Alicent questioned as she followed Aemond into the room where the council took place.

His fists shook, with poorly tamed rage. “She is anything but a weak girl.”

Alicent scoffed. “She is openly screaming threats. Either a fool would do that or a person who has got absolutely nothing to lose, Aemond.”

“Her screams will quiet down once I have managed to put a child in her.” Aemond spat at his mother, placing his sword down on the table.

She was appalled at what her son had evolved into. The monster he'd become and somewhere she doubted her own motherly skills.

You were forced into a beautiful, pale dress – the fabric as thin as a sheer curtain – after your bath. The maids obviously did not provide you with anything which could conceal your body in the see through white dress. It had embroidery done on the front, so it somewhat worked to cover your breasts.

But the longer it extended, the more it revealed everything underneath.

Pieces of your wavy dark hair were pinned behind, some braided with silver rings clipped around.

The maids soon excused themselves, leaving you to your solitude. Your body felt cold from the lack of clothes so you moved over to stand before the fireplace. Arms sliding up and down your frame to warm up yourself.

Truth to be told, you were suffering with trepidation. Were you prepared to sleep, to head to bed? But why in Aemond’s chambers? All sorts of vile and impure thoughts came rushing in your mind as you tried to keep them at bay.

The doors were soon opened and there stood Aemond, in a different set of clothes. You immediately stepped back, albeit him standing far away from you. He noticed that but no matter how many walls you tried to build between you two, Aemond was determined to break and crush each and every one of those.

He appeared enamored with you.

You were nothing less than an angel, standing underneath the moonlight illuminating your frame.

“Is this what you brought me here for, Prince Regent? To dress me up and warm your bed late at night?” You questioned with disgust and Aemond stepped froward.

You immediately retreated. “Do not dare to come any closer. I will not be one of your whores.”

“What makes you think I would let you become one of my whores?” Aemond asked with a soft tone. Your beauty had soothed all his irritation but it also ignited a fire within his core.

“You're a monster.” You whispered. “You have become a tyrant, a beast worse than those dragons of yours. It is a pity.”

Aemond was losing his patience with you. He didn't waste time, snapping and running towards you. The man pinned you against the wall, knocking over a vase resting on a table besides you. Pain bloomed in your back from the hardness of the wall — and being slammed into it.

The targaryen man locked eyes with you and let out a smile of satisfaction, witnessing the fear swimming in your innocent gaze. “Pity? You dare pity me when you are left with nothing of your house, nothing.”

The cruel reminder caused tears to well up in your eyes but your gaze stayed locked with Aemond’s. It did not waver and with all your strength, you pushed him away from you.

“I hate you.” You confessed, tears sliding down your face, a testament to the pain you were battling. “You were my friend, my fucking friend. How could you do this to me, to me? Your fucking Dōna, Aemond.”

When he heard the high valyrian word escape your lips, he growled. You saw him take a step further and this time decided to make a run for the door, trying to crawl over the bed hastily but Aemond was fast, vigilant as he grabbed you.

You fought back, slapping and punching him but it didn't work at all. He shoved his lips against yours and he did not care that you didn't want this. He wanted it, that was all that mattered. Aemond’s tongue forcefully entered your mouth as your hands continuously punched his chest.

He pushed you down on the both whilst staying locked to you, tasting your plump lips with vigor.

Head tilted, he pushed open your thighs and buried his knee between them. Rutting it against your cunt and you released a muffled cry in the liplock, hoping he would show some mercy but Aemond was too far gone.

The pressure on your clit – sheer fabric the cause of you and Aemond’s separation – was intense. A burgeoning need lighting up in your core as you struggled. There was no way you would give in, no matter how much you had admired him when you both were children. You knew better. You were only the daughter of some lord, meanwhile he was the Prince.

The fight for dominance was already won by Aemond as his tongue explored the inside of your sweet flesh. He broke apart from you to gaze upon you, a mess he'd turned you into. Face flushed, lips swollen and bloodied from how harshly he had sunk his canines into them.

Your dark hair with glinting silver in pure disarray, spread about everywhere on the bed. Aemond was fucking drunk and there was no stopping him.

“You said I'm a monster, right?” His voice was eerily low, causing you to panic. “I shall show you what monstrosity I am capable of.”

He tore the dress in a single tug, discarding the two pieces somewhere on the ground. Fear evident in your enlarged eyes as you struggled to conceal yourself with your arms but Aemond held them above your head, his fingers roughly pressing into your skin leaving marks.

“Aemond, please.” Tears fell and Aemond nearly softened.

If you'd been kind to him like how you were in the past, this compromising situation wouldn't have fallen you. He would've let you live, be a maid in the red keep but now, he had to prove it to you.

Just what he was capable of.

“Aemond,” you sweetly called out, hoping it would work. “My prince, don't do this. You do not wish to do this.”

“Too late for that sweet tone, my lady. If you do not wish for worse, I suggest you shut your goddamn mouth and take it.” His voice was so soft, so low but his words were as repulsive and cruel. It was what Aemond had become. A broken boy who sought out solace but was too afraid to ask for it, fearful of seeming weak — yet again becoming a target of his brother’s constant bullying.

In the process of becoming what he hated, Aemond lost you too.

One eye raked over your exposed breasts, full and round. You were no longer the little girl who used to chase him around the red keep, in her long dresses. You had flourished, flowered with grown tits and when his eye fell lower, he inhaled sharply. Plush, meaty thighs greeted them. He recalled how at one point you were as skinny as a boy, with no fat to your lean frame.

Now you had blossomed in a beautiful woman.

Your skin glowed neath the moonlight, your presence basking in its light. It showcased all the little minorities your features carried, what you had become, the delicate beauty that you were.

“You are certainly no little girl no more.” He reminded you, words no less than salt over your sounds.

Tears pearled on your waterline. “And you've grown into a fine man yourself.”

Your words were carried on obvious pain and Aemond pretended he did not catch a whiff of that. You continued, with a wavering voice, drained from all your rebellion and fight. “Fine but cruel, Aemond. I thought you were different, ought to be different. You proved me wrong.”

“Keep your lips sealed.” Aemond commanded, as your words nearly made his will to defile you falter. Being the daughter of a high lord, he was certain your maidenhead was still intact. You were never the type to engage in lecherous actions before the pure promise of a marriage.

Aemond’s rough hands took a handful of your breasts, fondling the fat. Thumbs swiping over your peebles, sending them upright. Undeniable pleasure shot through your body in the form of swarming heat as it settled in your lower stomach. A prominent gasp tore from your parted, swollen lips as Aemond stared at you in adoration.

“They are so full.” His comment about your body your pleasure-clad face form into one of grimace. “I wonder how your cunt looks now that you are older. You were always too innocent to consider our friendship anything more than what it was.”

Your back arched off the bed, the writhing of your hips increasing whenever Aemond rubbed his knee over your tiny pearl. You felt it swell up with need and wanton, a dull ache growing, begging to be burned out. The silver haired male pried your thighs open to lay eye on your pink cunt.

Aemond licked a wet tongue over his lips, his hunger to taste your seemingly delicious core pressing at him. He never once got overwhelmed with the urge to put his mouth on a woman's cunt — as the woman he got involved with whores. He had no interest in tasting something where most men found solace in.

But you were a virgin.

He knew that.

Yet he asked, surely to rile you up. “Has anyone been inside of you yet?”

Your eyes widened at the repulsive question of his. Brows scrunching in disgust and the rosette on your cheeks transcending into beetroot. Before you could control your imminent action, a strike echoed in the chambers. Tears had stalled, replaced with a hateful searing look and when Aemond recovered from the slap and faced you, chills enveloped you. Despite the impact, he was still poised. Eyes sheened with darkness and pure rage, his hand moved to reciprocate the harsh movement.

Only his slap hurt more — a scorching sensation awakening below your skin. A hint of red in the form of a hand imprinted on your face.

“Answer my question.”

You shook your head. Not only had the slap worked wonders to make you more pliant, it also made you realize that what Aemond was capable of.

His fingers ran along the line of your plumped up lips. “Use this pretty mouth of yours.”

“I'm not a low born.” You said through gritted teeth. “I'm chaste. Check for yourself if you are disbelieving of me.”

Aemond let out a scoff, fingers dimpling into your cheeks. The angry pout on your lips along with his hand print left behind on your cheek made you look ten times more endearing to him. “That I plan on doing, my lady.”

Hands lowering to your thighs, fingers dipping in the thickness. Aemond nestled his head between them, eyes gliding over your glistening cunt. It was true that you were still chaste and he was sure of it, there was no need to check it. He softly ran his tongue over your pearl, a sharp breath from you entering his ears.

“I don't want this.” Your tone had a hint of plea in it. “Please, Aemond. It is too repulsive, I cannot—”

Aemond growled. “Cannot, what? You cannot allow my cock inside you? Cannot allow me to put a babe in you? Or won't allow me to simply because I'm Aemond.”

“Targaryen with the largest dragon who put an end to my family line.” You finished, vision blurring. Aemond knew this conversation was pointless to carry and he instead closed his lips around your swollen bud, suckling like it would produce the sweetest of nectars in existence.

You tried to fight him off, pushing at his shoulders with the little strength left in your small fingers to no avail. He sucked with great vigor and your demeanor fell — back rising up from the ruined mattress and hips pushing your mound further into his cage. He pulled back, lapping at your swollen clit over and over again, like a dog in heat. Tears furiously caressed down your face as Aemond’s fingers came to collect your arousal from the center of your folds.

By the Gods, you were a waterfall.

“Never did I think I would grow this addicted to the taste of a woman's cunt.” Aemond whispered, his warm breath shooting jolts of pleasure through you. Your hand on its own accord pressed onto his head, palm flaccid and fingers twisting his Targaryen strands around. “The more I taste you, the more famished I become.”

“G-Get off me.” You somehow managed to utter. You were mortified. How your body ached for him to continue, hand forcing his mouth against your hot heat whilst the heavy fists of your morals thudded on the door of your hazed mind.

All but a futile endeavor to fight back.

Aemond pulled back and reached for his slacks, undoing them. You watched with a dazed out look as he released his cock from the confines of his breeches. His fingers moving to curve under the hem of his shirt, ridding himself of the leather as well as his small clothes.

Left bare and naked before you, your gaze caught Aemond’s searing red cock. Head swollen and shining with leaking cum, veins traced up and down. You closed your eyes, in hopes that the nightmare before you would be over but that was only you losing last remnants of your hope.

“I-It won't fit.” You whispered to yourself, more tears sliding down your temples.

Aemond heard it, despite your voice being a low whisper. He reached over to grab your face between his large hand, fingers sinking into your cheeks. That caused you to flutter your weak lids open, staring back at him with a sheen in your pupils. “It will fit. Your maidenhead is still intact, so it might be painful. But who cares?”

Your bottom lip quivered as Aemond let go, holding his cock. He guided it across your wet slit, pushing its thick head past your folds and pressing into your pearl. Your breath was bated, perspiration dancing on your forehead. Your body had grown completely warm and you wished for someone, anyone to burn down the fire which was ignited in the fireplace.

Aemond gathered your arousal, in soft circulation around your pebble. You whined out, hands slapping at his broad shoulders to put an end to his obscenities. Yet he did not falter, will growing more profound and strengthened to a point of no return.

He soon aligned his cock along your hole with the disgusting intention to defile it and slipped in. Your walls squeezing around his cock head tightly, endeavoring to grow used to the size but Aemond did not wait. He pushed and your tears of sadness had now transformed into tears of pain.

Hot searing pain.

“It hurts, it hurts. Let me go, please let me go.” You cried, screamed even, nails scratching rapidly at his chest. You left evidence of your firmness, of your distaste for such degeneration. Long lacerations formed on a pale canvas as Aemond held you down with one hand circled around your throat while the other had pushed your leg up for more easy and open access.

You were crying relentlessly and it was beginning to annoy the young Prince. “Quiet now, or I will have your tongue.”

“I-It is too p-painful.” You sobbed and this time Aemond landed a tight slap to your other cheek, watching it imitate the shade of the other one. “I said, fucking quiet. If I hear anything other than sounds of pleasure out of these lips of yours, I will toss you to my guards.”

It was an empty threat.

Aemond would never, ever do that. You were for him, only him. Insignificant your view was about him.

You were his prize, a sign of victory.

Still Aemond stalled, not having the heart to pummel his cock fully into you. All he managed was to breach your maidenhead and you were already wailing like you'd been shot with an arrow. He waited it out, letting you grow accustomed to his length and thickness.

Once your agony-clad face recovered and softened, Aemond took it as a sign to move further. Your gummy walls sucking his cock in, caressing the rigid veins. Deeper, and deeper. He went slowly and carefully, which you didn't overlook. You felt him sheath his cock fully into you, arms extended out for him, in complete submission.

Aemond, silently surprised by such vulnerability and submission, took your hands into his and brought them to his nape. “Hold me, brace yourself, Dōna.”

That sweet tone of his.

It nearly warmed your heart but the constant reminder which took at Harrenhal haunted you like a ghost. A cursed bestowed upon you, no escape at all. Aemond melted within you, nestling against your spongey spot of nerves. Your lips fell when he found that sensitive spot of yours.

He didn't waste time pummeling his cock into your weeping cunt, growls of a beast escaping him. You could not bring yourself to look at him. Pulling him closer, you concealed your face within the crook of his neck as your hold clasped around his slender nape — fingers intertwining with silver roots. Aemond had only tried Sylvie, his first and last so when he felt you draw him closer, it ignited a fire impossible to end.

“Gods,” Aemond groaned in your ear, his sharp nose running along your cheek, both hands gripping your flesh. “If I had known laying with you would be this pleasurable, I would have done it when we were younglings.”

Disgust would have made path on yout face it it was not for the pleasure Aemond bestowed upon you. His thick cock head repeatedly bruised your cervix and all you could do was wail, your hold for dear life tightening around him. Aemond found delight on your innocent moans, your sweet little hiccups and sounds of pleasure. He pulled from you, to glance down and felt immense satisfaction at the ring of blood around his length. He had officially taken you, not exactly under the circumstances he wanted but pondering about that was futile now.

His one eye stayed focused on you. Examining the lines donning your forehead, dark brows furrowed and a sheen of sweat sitting on your forehead. Pale cheeks flustered and saccharine sweet lips parted, birthing little sounds.

An epitome of nobility and charm you were.

Aemond pulled out of you, just as you were beginning to reach your pounding climax.

He leaned on the head board of the bed, chest glistening with droplets of sweat. The fire crackling was not helping neither of you to find some cold. “Get on top of me.”

You weakly shook your head.

Aemond’s glare obliged you and you shifted on the bed, crawling on top of him. In the process, you caught the blood of your purity staining the pale bed sheets, as well as your thighs. A burning sensation prodded and you finally did what Aemond asked you to do. The evil man grinned, leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple.

“I'm sure you know your job here.”

Your lips trembled. “I-I am supposed to sit on it?”

Innocently you had voiced that question and Aemond almost cooed. He gave you a simple nod and watched as your cheeks burned with newfound embarrassment. You still did what you were told to, aware that fighting him back on this would only make him revoke the small kindness he'd shown you.

You grabbed a hold of his erect cock — pressing it over your soaked hole. As you slipped down on it, Aemond and you groaned in unison.

Your small hands found support on his bleeding chest, fingers swiping over his nipples accidentally and Aemond let out a choked gasp. The feeling of your walls clamping his cock mixed with the way your fingers brushed over his nipples was enough to send him fucking into you. Thrusting upwards into you while his large hand stayed locked on your hip.

Both of you moved simultaneously, greedily chasing after your own pleasure. Aemond saw a goddess in front of him — a weeping goddess who possessed the cunt of a hungry whore. Your small waist and bare tits bouncing with each move had him obsessed like a dog.

“Fuck, fuck, Dōna.”

He panted like his dragon, matching your pace with his, hand fondling your breasts. He was close but ripping an orgasm through you first was his priority and he was dedicated to it. Aemond felt your cunt squeeze him, watching as your tears fell in little pearls. “I am going to put a babe in you, Dōna. Can you believe it? Your childhood friend putting a babe in you.”

You couldn't even voice out your disagreement, Aemond was bound to do what he promised you. An intense feeling surged in your stomach, your pace slowing down and your sobbing growing more and more. Your orgasm tore through you in the form of essence, as your eyes disappeared behind your lids.

“Aemond, Aemond! Aemond.” You chanted his name out like a mantra and he slapped his cock deeper into you.

He fucking loved how submissive you were being now — entirely at his mercy and neath him. His own climax followed thoroughly, filling your walls with his spend. Spurting our rope after rope of white to fill up your expanded womb. Growls of need and ache echoed in the room and you couldn't stay still anymore, losing all your balance and colliding right in his chest.

Your little body was spent, fatigue and tiredness weakening you. Aemond was quick to wrap his arms around you, shushing you gently while you cried in his chest.

“It's over now.” He reassured but you knew very well that it was not. It was only for tonight that it was over.

Aemond comforted you, holding you against him with his cock still inside you.

“I hate you.” You cried, tears coating his chest as your forehead rested on his muscular chest. Aemond could only sigh, loathing the situation that bad befallen them. He did not resent you as you were the only one who had shown him true kindness.

But the war and throne were far more important.

“Rest, you need it.” He said, an order it was and you felt forced to comply. “Things will be very different from now on, Dōna. I will have the high sept marry us tomorrow, our child will not be a bastard.”

All you could do was weakly stir in his arms at that. There was no way you were willing but it was better than being a slave for Aemond’s guards. Being one man's whore was better than being a thousand’s.

[mrsstruggle]

The Beast of War - Prologue // Teen Wolf x Marvel AU

This is the second part of the Shadow Wolf Series. Read The Lost Child First if you haven't!

Series Summary: In the aftermath of discovering her true identity and reuniting with her long-lost family, Y/N Stilinski finds herself adjusting to a new chapter of her life in Beacon Hills. With her brother and his friends in their senior year at High School, the town faces a fresh new threat. Y/N must navigate the complexities of her new life while confronting the looming threat that threatens to hurt her and the people she loves.

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Death/Injury/Grief/Torture, Possible Grammar Mistakes (please let me know if there is anything else)

Series Pairings: Derek Hale x Reader, Stiles Stilinski x Malia Tate (for now), Steve Rodgers x Bucky Barnes, Bruce Banner x Natasha Romanoff, Vision x Wanda Maximoff

Words: 2.6k (This is short but the chapters will be longer)

Note: This is Part 2 of the Shadow Wolf series! This happens in the time span before the epilogue in The Lost Child. This will loosely follow season 5 (and possibly the beginning of 6) of Teen Wolf.

Additional Note: While this is a Teen Wolf x Marvel AU, not everything is true to the shows/movies/comics. I had to change things for the story.

One Last Note: Y/N was adopted by Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. I did this so more people can see themselves in this story.

***I do not own Teen Wolf or Marvel or any related characters. This is a work of fanfiction and is meant for entertainment purposes only.***

Masterlist

The Beast of War Masterlist

The Lost Child Masterlist

Next Chapter

---

Y/N hums to herself as she mixes the ingredients for Stiles’ favorite pancakes in a glass bowl on the kitchen counter. He slept over at her and Derek’s loft since their dad had to work an overnight shift at the station. She hasn’t seen much of Stiles since everything that went down with Hydra, the hunters, and the Avengers. With getting kidnapped and outed as the dead Stark child to the world, she had a lot of shifts to make up for at the hospital. Today is the first morning she doesn’t have to be in at 5 AM, so she plans to make the best of it and catch up with her little brother.

Letting go of the whisk and bowl, she grabs the tongs next to the stove and flips over the bacon she has sizzling in a pan. Y/N is so engrossed in what she’s doing that she doesn’t hear Derek sneak up behind.

“Holy shit,” Y/N jumps as Derek wraps his arms around her from behind.

Derek lets out a low chuckle, “For a werewolf, you have terrible hearing.”

Y/N rolls her eyes at him, “I was clearly distracted.”

“I’d be happy to distract you some more.”

“Or you could set the table?”

“I can do that too.” Derek presses a kiss into her hair before letting go of her. He notices that she has three different pans on the stove cooking bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns. “What’s with the big breakfast?”

“It’s Stiles’ first day of senior year, and I feel bad that I haven’t seen him that much since everything that’s happened this summer,” Y/N says, pouring some of the pancake batter onto the griddle she has set up on the counter.

“He slept here for almost two weeks.”

“Yeah, but that’s because he was scared that he was going to lose me. Not that he’d ever admit that.” She says the last part under her breath, but Derek is still able to hear it. “We haven’t had time to catch up lately.” Y/N turns to look at Derek and loses her train of thought when she sees him. He’s shirtless and his blue plaid pajama pants are hanging dangerously low on his hips.

Derek pauses setting out the silverware as he feels her eyes on him. Looking up, he smirks at her eyeing him up and down. He’s about to tease her when she hisses in pain and jumps away from the stove.

Y/N rubs at her arm where she accidentally touched it to the hot pan on the front burner of the stove. She was so distracted by Derek that she wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing.

“I blame you for that,” Y/N mumbles, pouting at Derek as he walks over to her.

“I’m sorry,” Derek presses a quick kiss to her lips before grabbing her arm and pressing a kiss to where her arm touched the pan. There was luckily no burn on her. She either didn’t touch the pan long enough, or it had already healed by the time he got to her.

Y/N thanks him and kisses him on the cheek before turning back to the food before it burns. She continues to hum the tune to the song stuck in her head as she finishes cooking breakfast. She hears Stiles come down the loft’s stairs as she scoops the scrambled eggs into a bowl for the table.

“It’s too early,” Stiles whines, plopping down in a chair at the kitchen table.

“It wouldn’t be too early if you didn’t stay up almost all night last night.” Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles.

“How do you know that I stayed up last night?”

“Because thanks to werewolf hearing, we can hear you typing and scribbling all night,” Y/N replies, setting down the eggs and bacon in the middle of the table. “What were you doing anyways?”

“Research.”

“For what?”

“Another werewolf showed up at the school at Senior Scribe. Well, technically two werewolves showed up, but I’m only talking about one of them. He claims to be Theo.” Stiles says with disdain in his voice as he shovels food onto his plate.

“Should I know who that is?” Y/N asks, setting down a plate of pancakes and sitting down in the chair between Stiles and Derek.

“He used to go to school with me and Scott. His sister, Tara, was found dead in a creek before him and his family moved.”

“Oh yeah,” Y/N says in realization, “I know who you’re talking about. Why was he at the school? And what do you mean two werewolves showed up?”

“Some guy showed up and tried to kill Scott a—”

“What?” Derek stops cutting up the pancake on his plate and looks up at Stiles with a slightly angry look on his face.

“He was talking about taking his power and shit. His claws, which were glowing by the way, were in Scott when Scott broke his arm and some of his claws and told him to leave, or he��d break more of his bones. The guy left after that.” Stiles shrugs before shoveling some food into his mouth.

“He just left?” Y/N questions doubtfully.

“Yeah,” Stiles says with his mouth full of food.

Y/N turns her head to look at Derek. She can see he’s thinking the same thing she is. There’s no way a guy tried to kill Scott and then just left when he was unsuccessful. He’s probably hiding out somewhere in Beacon Hills until he heals and then will strike again later. She doesn’t love it, but she sometimes wishes they would stop being so gracious with people’s lives. It seems to cause more trouble than killing them. As seen as what happened with Gerard and Kate.

“How does Theo fit into this story?” Y/N asks.

“He tried to stop the guy that tried to kill Scott.”

“And that’s why you’re researching him?” Derek questions, unsure how that warrants Stiles doing a deep dive on him.

“No,” Stiles huffs in frustration, “It’s because he’s different.”

“Wasn’t the last time you saw him in fourth grade or something like that? People tend to change as they get older.” Y/N says, confused about what Stiles is trying to say.

“There’s just something off about him. Scott doesn’t believe me, but I can feel it in my gut that something is not right about him.” Stiles looks at Y/N with a pleading look, begging her to believe him. Scott thinks he’s paranoid and that he needs to give Theo the benefit of the doubt, but Stiles knows he’s right. Malia also doesn’t understand why he’s suspicious of him.

“If you say there’s something off about him, then I believe you.” She almost asks if she should ask Tony or Bruce to look into Theo, but she thinks that would make Stiles more upset. It’s not that he doesn’t like them, but she doesn’t want it to come off as she thinks he won’t do a good enough job.

It’s been almost three months since she found out she is a Stark. Stiles was insecure about it in the beginning, as was their dad, but they slowly got over their fears as Y/N not only tells them but shows them that she isn’t going anywhere, and they will always be her family. Even though it’s not as prominent anymore, those insecurities are still there.

“Other than this Theo guy, what else is new? How are you and Malia?” Y/N asks, changing the subject.

“We’re good. She got her email that she doesn’t have to repeat junior year. We’re still looking for the Desert Wolf.” Stiles says.

“That’s good.”

“What about you two? What have you been up to?”

“Well, there’s still people pretending to be sick or hurt to meet the long-lost Stark, so not much has changed.” Y/N rolls her eyes thinking about the number of people who show up and disrupt her from helping actual patients just so they can meet her. A few reporters even try to interview her while pretending they need help. Luckily no one has purposefully injured themselves to try and meet her. This has been going on since she went back to work the day after her big press conference.

She’s just happy that nothing about her, Scott, or the others has been exposed. She tries not to think what would happen if the truth about Beacon Hills got out. She can handle people at the grocery store staring at her for being a Stark, but she’s not sure she can handle them looking at her in fear for being a monster.

“Still?”

“People are still showing up at the garage too. There’s not as many as there used to be, but several still love to show up.” Derek says. He wants to complain about it, but all the extra money he’s making is going toward remodeling the Hale house. He will complain about them taking pictures of him though. They think he can’t see when they do it, but he notices when they secretly take pictures of him. He assumes they post them on the internet, but he stays as far away from that as possible.

“Oh, tell him about what happened with those bikes someone left in front of the garage,” Y/N beams at him, proud of what he did with the four motorcycles that were abandoned at the garage. He spent several weeks fixing them up in his free time and even customized them to make them a bit cooler. She will never forget the massive grin on his face when he showed her the first one he finished.

Derek shrugs his shoulders, “I fixed them up and sold them.”

Y/N rolls her eyes at his modesty, “He sold them at some show in San Francisco, and they sold for over $25,000 each. He’s already gotten a few emails from people asking him to customize their rides.”

“Really?” Stiles asks with a shocked look on his face.

Derek tries not to blush at Y/N’s praise, “I probably could’ve sold them for more, but I didn’t think anyone would buy one. I’m currently interviewing for a new mechanic to take some of my work because we’ve got some more bikes coming in from people who have emailed me.”

“Speaking of the garage, when are finally going to bring Roscoe in?” Y/N asks Stiles.

“The jeep is fine and doesn’t need to be brought in.” Stiles crosses his arms in defiance.

“It has more duct tape than I did when I was making duct tape wallets in sixth grade—and I had a bucket full of duct tape.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at her, “What else has been going on? You know it’s not going to hurt me if you talk about the others.” ‘The others’ being her other family.

“Um, well, they are currently back at their compound and will be back tomorrow. I’ve been told they’ve each found places they are going to rent until the new Avengers compound is built.” After a few conversations among themselves, the Avengers decided to move closer to Y/N. She made it clear that she has no intention of moving out of Beacon Hills anytime soon.

The new Avengers compound started building two weeks after the fight against the hunters. Even though they still have the lake house, they decided it would be best to get their own separate places until it was finished. Y/N even went with each of them to look at places to rent. She also made Derek promise to lie to them and tell them there were no available units in their apartment building. She likes them, and she enjoys getting to know them, but living in the same building with any of them would be too much for her.

“Tony and Peter still bring me lunch at least once a week.” Y/N continues, shrugging her shoulders in nonchalance. “Steve and Bucky have even brought me food on some of the days I’ve worked for almost twenty-four hours.” She hasn’t had much time to spend with them with how much she’s been working. She feels like she’s barely seen Derek with how much she’s been working.

“What do you talk about with them?” Stiles asks.

“I mostly just talk about work or Derek, or we laugh at the wildly inaccurate articles people write about me. If they ask, I explain more of the supernatural to them, but even I don’t know everything. We mostly just avoid talking about Pepper, Hydra, the hunters, or anything that happened after Hydra kidnapped me and Peter.”

Conversations with any of the Avengers revolve around telling each other about their days with awkward silences in between. She thinks it’s because they see her as family while she sees them as strangers. She can see this look in their eyes like they expect something from her, but she can’t give them what they’re looking for.

“You talk about Derek but not about me?”

“I talk about you too, but I have a hot boyfriend, and I like to brag about him.” Y/N sends Derek a flirty wink while Stiles groans in disgust.

Stiles stands up and brings his dirty plate to the sink, “I should go. I promised to pick Malia up to take her to school.”

“Okay, are you still coming over for dinner tonight?” Y/N scheduled a little family dinner and invited Stiles, their dad, Tony, and Peter. She knows them all separately, but she wants them to all get to know each other as well.

“Yeah, I’ll be there!” Stiles yells out, running up the stairs to grab his stuff.

“Okay, well have fun on your first day of school!” Y/N yells back, watching as Stiles stumbles back down the stairs. “Wait!” She shoots up from her chair and grabs her phone from the kitchen counter, running to catch Stiles before he leaves.

“What?” Stiles groans, his hand resting on the loft’s door handle.

“Smile,” Y/N grins, snapping a few pictures of him. “Don’t roll your eyes at me. You know this is tradition, and I need to send one to Dad—so smile.”

Derek leans against the pillar in their living room, a small smile on his face as he watches Stiles force a smile on his face as Y/N continues to take pictures. “Do you want me to take a picture of both of you?”

Stiles glares at him as Y/N happily hands him her phone. She walks up the few steps up to Stiles and wraps her arms around him in a crushing hug. Derek smiles at Stiles’ embarrassment and takes a few pictures of them.

“I hate you both.” Stiles pushes Y/N off him, pulls open to door, and walks out of the loft.

“Love you too!” Y/N calls after him.

“Should we be worried about this Theo guy?” Derek asks as Y/N shuts the loft door.

“If Stiles says there’s something off about him, then I’m going to believe him unless proven otherwise.” Y/N walks down to Derek and wraps her arms around his waist. He moves his arms around her and pulls her into his chest. “What if we just stayed like this forever?”

“I have no complaints, but I think your job would.”

“I’ll quit.”

“If you say so,” Derek presses a kiss to the side of her head.

“I hope this year they’ll be able to get through school without almost dying several times. Hell, I hope we get through the rest of the year without almost dying several times.” Y/N says after a long moment of silence. She doesn’t need to say who she’s talking about because Derek knows she’s talking about Stiles and his friends.

“Me too. Maybe this year will be different.” They both know that’s a long shot, but they still love to hope.

---

@xxemmarldxx @esposadomd @ladyjenjay @ts1mp0ne @misshale21

@n1ght5h4d3-24 @xoxoloverb

[feral4daryl]

masterlist || MDNI

sweet scent.

perv!daryl x fem!reader

summary: while looking for his crossbow around the house, daryl ends up finding a pile of your dirty clothes and... used panties of yours. and when no one's looking, he decides to have some fun with them.

warnings: EXTREME AGE GAP (daryl is in his late 30s/early 40s and reader is 18), not entirely proofread, smut, mean!daryl sort of, corruption kink, daryl being an absolute pervert, panties sniffing, daddy kink, masturbation, cussing, daryl imagining himself doing the dirtiest things to you (unprotected p-in-v, squirting, face fucking, praising, loss of virginity, cunnilingus and i think that's pretty much it)

word count: 2.8k

a/n: please proceed with caution, this piece of work portrays a few extreme or unusual fetishes, so if you're not comfortable with any of those i've listed above please do not ready this. the idea that inspired this work originally belongs to @dilfsandmartinis.

if there was something daryl absolutely hated, it was the feeling of uselessness.

since andrea had mistaken him for a walker and shot him from afar, grazing his head, useless was exactly how he felt, having to lay down on a bed the whole day and night, doing absolutely nothing but be left alone with his own thoughts. and oh, what a disgraceful fate.

everytime he wasn't focused on hunting, fighting or surviving in general, the farmer's sweet younger daughter flooded his mind. your hair, your face, your stupidly adorable sundresses, everything about you was so... distracting.

daryl wasn't ever the kind of guy to simp for a woman, but that one specific girl made him feel emotions and sensations that were hidden deep within his being for years, maybe even decades. feelings he thought had vanished from his heart a long time ago were now blooming all over again, like he was some stupid teenager looking at a playboy magazine for the first time.

there was something about your innocence, your adorable mannerisms, your sweet voice and your kindness that had awakened something in him, something he wasn't quite sure what it was.

no, he wasn't exactly a young man. and while being aware that you were very young, he couldn't help but feel so guilty for having those feelings. whenever you bended over to pick something up, he had to fight demons not to have a glimpse of your panties. he often wondered how could you be so careless by exposing yourself like that, even if you didn't do it on purpose.

and there was him again, thinking about you. it's like no matter how hard he tried to push those thoughts away, they were like water, always finding a way in.

he huffed, feeling defeated. he knew he was still recovering from the incident, and that he should rest, but why was he following orders around anyways? he wasn't a damn puppy. plus, everybody else had left him there to go looking for sophia. he wanted to be able to help too. he was alive after all, and if he was alive, he believed he should be on his feet.

so that's what he did. he slowly lifted his right foot, resting it on the floor, then he did the same with his left one. his body reluctantly lifted itself up, and he immediately could feel the consequences for laying down for so long, his back killing him and his vision a bit foggy. anyways, he ignored any discomfort and started walking slowly, his head still a little dizzy.

then, he remembered he needed his trustworthy crossbow, he couldn't just leave unprotected like that. he looked around the room he was settled in but it was nowhere to be seen. he knew it was still in the house, so he left the room. he started walking down the corridor, his eyes attentively looking for any signs of his crossbow. he was even starting to think that his mates might've hidden it to force him to stay in the house when he spotted a halfway open door.

his calloused hands pulled it open, revealing a small bedroom, all pink themed and stupidly decorated. no, his crossbow wasn't likely to be there, it just looked like it belonged to one of hershel's daughters, but it was like something was calling him in.

he stepped in the room and it almost looked messy. the dressing table on the corner had lipsticks, combs, all sorts of make-up and girly stuff all piled up and... a perfume.

it was happening again, images of you flooded his mind and it was like he could almost smell you. oh, your sweet scent had the power to make him hard like nothing else. just by looking at that small bottle, just by imagining your scent, he could feel little shock waves travelling all the way down to his cock, threatening to awaken it.

he knew it was wrong, so fucking wrong thinking about a much younger girl like that. and it was even worse considering that you were the daughter of the man that provided him shelter in such difficult times. it felt ungrateful.

when he saw you for the first time, he didn't think much of you. he was actually careful, treating you like the stranger you were. and even when time passed, he never really got close to you. now and then you tried to share a word, even if just a little bit, but it seemed useless since he would reject all your attempted approaches. he didn't hate you like he tried to after acknowledging his disgusting desires for you, but he just couldn't allow himself to interact with a girl that made him sick to his stomach for all the wrong reasons.

your sweetness was almost annoying. the entire world had gone to shit, for goodness sake! dead bodies walking around and eating all the people they could find. how could you act so clueless all the time? daryl even wondered if you had ever seen a walker before, if you knew what was really happening out there. after all, it was very obvious that you were a daddy's girl, always protected under your father's wing.

but strangely enough, acknowledging that only made him protective towards you. he was always somewhat watching, always around you making sure you were safe and he barely knew why, he just felt like he should.

so he didn't stop himself from reaching over to your small perfume bottle. the design was very simple, no labels to be seen, time had probably faded it away. the cap was baby pink and heart shaped, and when he removed it, he immediately brought the bottle to his nose, giving it a gentle sniff.

fuck.

now, he was 100% sure that was your room. the fragrance was the same one that filled his nose and made him drunk in you everytime you walked by. he wondered if that was the scent he would feel if he ever hugged you, burying his face into your chest.

in that moment, he couldn't think about anything else, not rick, not carol, not his chores, not surviving, not even sophia. you were everything that he had in his fucked up mind.

he wouldn't feel so fucking guilty if his thoughts were only about your innocence and sweetness, but they were also dirty as fuck. countless were the times when daryl imagined groping you, running his hands all over your delicate body, feeling every texture, squeezing every junk and listening close to your every little whimper. he would pull your hair, gently at first, just to get it off your face and neck so he could pamper them with little wet kisses, gently scratching his teeth along them. he imagined he'd have to keep you on your feet himself, since you'd struggle to because of how weak your knees would get at all the sensations he would provide you and...

wait, no.

what was he thinking? was he out his fucking mind? he needed to stop those absolutely disgusting thoughts right away. he couldn't keep having those thoughts about you, not when you're out taking care of such important business with the others. he put the perfume bottle back on the dressing table, determined to let all that go. he knew he couldn't just let himself get so distracted like that over something so mundane and unimportant as his own sexual desires but then...

...he spotted a basket filled with clothes when he turned around to leave. his mind immediately started to rush all over again, and for the 100th time that day, he turned careless. he slowly approached it. shorts, tops, pants and so on could be seen at the top of the pile.

in that moment, he had totally forgot why he had entered that bedroom or even left his bed in the first place. he couldn't even remember the existence of his crossbow or his duties.

and then... he gets an idea. he starts going through the pile of dirty clothes and in no time, he finds your panties. they were white with a pink ribbon on the front, a clear reminder of your innocence. for a moment, he just looks at it, contemplating the possibilities. then, he remembers seeing you in it when you bended over to pick some off the floor the day before. he remembers catching a glimpse of it under your yellow sundress when you went to change his bandage.

that meant that those panties had been freshly worn.

if just your perfume ignited such vile desires in him, he couldn't even imagine what your natural scent could do to him. and he was oh so curious to find out. he still felt guilty, but that man had been sex deprived for so fucking long, he didn't even masturbate very often. he knew damn well he was about to commit a big mistake, maybe even starting something he was sure he couldn't finish, but he finally made up his mind.

he flips the small piece of cloth over, eyeing the soft-looking lining of the panties. he gulps, feeling his mouth water right away. god, what was he doing? what was right, what was wrong wasn't even important to him anymore. he just wanted to embrace his sickness.

there was a small stain on the lining, probably from you wearing it. just that sight alone was enough to get him off, and once again, he found himself having to face that tingling sensation inside his pants. he knew damn well what that meant and what was about to happen. but honestly, he couldn't give a single fuck anymore.

in one quick motion, he brought the fabric to his face, giving a long sniff while he rolled his eyes to the back of his head. that fucking scent of yours got him drunk the moment it filled his nostrils. so intense, so feminine and raw, daryl couldn't remember the last time he felt that type of pleasure, or if he had even felt anything like it before.

it made him needy like a horny teenager. he felt himself going back to puberty when all he could think about was jacking off day and night. and it was all your fucking fault.

daryl palmed himself through his denim pants, never taking your panties off his face not even for one second. the natural scent of your cunt was more than successful to make him hard as a rock, the sensation of being in his pants started to get uncomfortable as his dick grew bigger and bigger.

just palming himself wasn't enough.

he slowly unbuttoned his pants and unzipped them, inserting one of his hand in his briefs to catch his hard cock in it, freeing it for the first time in a while. his angry-red tip was literally pulsating while a clear and sticky liquid dropped down his length.

he wasn't able to hold a small grunt as he wrapped his calloused hand around his cock, the rough sensation of his fingers causing him to feel a jolt of pleasure so fucking delicious and guilty at the same time. the archer brought his hand to his mouth, catching some of his saliva to use as lube.

oh, how he wished you were there. he'd make sure you'd get his cock nice and wet with your spit so you could rub it up and down. and then, without warnings, he'd just shove it down your throat, forcing you to prove how much of a good girl you could be just for him.

and just for him. he wanted you all for his own. daryl never really liked to share, specially when it came to a girl like you, so princess like, so adorable looking. your plump lips looked so fucking perfect, and they would look even more wrapped around his big cock.

knowing how fragile you were, he knew you would definitely choke and gag on him, struggling to fit all of him in your mouth. he would whisper sweet encouragement words to you like “tha's it, tha's ma good girl”. he imagined how he would hold your head in place and keep a hand on your throat so he could feel his cock while he aggressively pumped it in and out, making you drool all over him. “just like tha', yeah, show daddy how fuckin' good ya are fer him”.

in his imagination, you would look up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, with a mix of uncertainty and desire to make him proud. “am i doing this right, daddy?” he could almost hear your voice saying it whenever you would take him off his mouth to catch your breath for a moment, never disconnecting your small hand from his thick length.

he started pumping faster, squelching sounds were all that could be heard in that silent room, a proof of his degeneracy. the grunts and stifled moans were only getting harder and harder to hold back. he was sticking those panties to his face and sniffing on them like his life depended on it, like he was a desperate virgin.

a virgin. he wondered if you were one. you sure looked like it, your dad never let you out of sight for long enough for you to try something like that, he supposed from what he knew about your relationship. he imagined how would it feel like to be the one to pop your cherry for the first time.

oh, he would teach you so many things, everything he knows. he would guide you through it all along, teaching you where to touch, where to kiss, where to lick. he would make your virgin little cunny cum so many times it would get all puffy and red. he even wondered if he could make you squirt, stuffing you with his fingers, brushing against your sweet spot over and over again until you were a quivering mess, squirting all over his skull tattoo. and yes, he would make you lick his fingers clean, your sweet little tongue dragging across them, and then, he would kneel down in front of you, not wanting to waste a single drop of your sweet release, attacking your sensitive clit and slit with his lips and tongue.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

he was so fucking eager to taste your slick, to revel in your salty taste. he imagined how fucking good the smell he was getting from your panties was from the actual source. he would lick it all, your lips, your slit, even your ass, but he would give special attention to your little clit, flicking his tongue on it, making it cum again just for him. he would never grow tired of it.

and when he felt you were finally ready for him, he would bend you over just like you used to do so absentmindedly. he would be gentle at first, but knowing himself, he knew he wouldn't be able to hold himself back for too long before absolutely railing the shit out of you, making you cry out and scream his name in pleasure and pain.

and when he flipped you over on your back, he would be able to see the bulge on your lower belly caused by his big cock inside you. just by imagining that he felt himself getting close to the edge. he would press his hand on it, making the little room inside your pussy even tighter. fuck, he imagined the sweet sounds you would make just for him.

all those dirty thoughts and your sweet scent from your panties were more than enough to make shivers run down his spine and his whole body tremble. he kept his eyes shut tight as he licked a stripe on the lining of your panties, trying to get some of your delicious taste. meanwhile, he hadn't stopped his hands not even for a second, harshly rubbing his cock up and down until it was too much.

in a strangled moan, his cock started shooting spurt after spurt of thick cum onto the floor, the dressing table and pretty much anything that was around. he couldn't remember the last time he had such an intense orgasm, the sensation making his mind completely empty except for your image.

his movements got slower until they stopped and he let go of his now sensitive cock. he sighed after catching his breath. he was left with that afterglow and the feeling that he made a huge mistake. suddenly, he felt dirty like before. he opened his eyes slowly, removing your panties from his face and putting them in his pockets. yeah, he knew it was wrong, but he was still planning to keep them for later.

then, when he averted his gaze to the mirror on his side, he saw...

you. standing on the doorframe with a shocked look on your face.

“u-uncle daryl?”

[PART TWO]

a/n: i know, i'm disgusting. i'm sorry. (just a quick reminder, english isn't my first language, so please excuse any grammar mistakes or awkward phrasing lmao, and tysm if you read it this far)

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Lightning Bug - Chapter 20

Masterlist

Warning: nightmare, mention of past trauma, Vision gets a little upset, panic attack, fluff and angst

Note: I took some creative liberties in one section of this story. I did do some research but my thinking is if there is a soul realm why can't every infinity stone have one.

Word count: 4.5k

You were exhausted both mentally and physically. You loved spending time with Natasha and Wanda as they brought you to Bryant Park and the New York Public Library (you did get a library card). At the end of your adventure, you got two slices of cheese pizza. Now back at the tower, you wanted to lay in bed and fall asleep. You didn’t realize how exhausting it would be so social. As the metal doors opened to your floor, you were expecting it to be quiet and empty. You were mistaken. Instead, you saw Kate, America, Yelena, and Peter on the couch with a dog. You gasped, eyes glued to the one-eyed Golden Retriever. “Puppy,” you whispered. Kate laughed.

“Well don’t just stand there come say hi,” you walked over, extending your hand to the dog for it to smell you. “His name is Lucky.”

“Or Pizza Dog,” America added on. Lucky licked your hand and it was you needed to drop to your knees and bury your face in his fur. You loved dogs. When you were younger, your next-door neighbor had a yellow lab named Buddy. Sometimes, you went outside to go sit by the fence and pet him. He was never afraid of you.

“Wait,” you said suddenly. “His name is Pizza Dog?” The group laughed which launched them into the story of how Kate found the dog. Which Yelena explained as a ‘cool way to die’ getting hit by a car to save a dog. Kate left the dog in her apartment in a panic and gave him pizza to eat.

“I mean what New York City dog doesn’t love pizza,” Kate defended herself. She had a point. “But Eleanor’s ex-fiancé watches him for me,” you weren’t going to question that one. “I’m thinking about bringing him to the Bartons,” she scratched underneath his chin. “They love him and I think he’ll enjoy all the land.”

“But I’ll miss him,” America said, burrowing her face in his fur. “I’ll miss him so much.” You giggled as the elevator doors opened and Tony walked onto the floor. He was holding an envelope.

“Bishop,” he said slowly. “Why is there a dog in the tower?”

“Because he’s cute,” you smiled, scratching the sides of his head. Lucky’s tongue hung out of his mouth. “How can you be upset with this face?” You looked at the billionaire, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. Tony sighed, admitting defeat with a roll of his eyes.

“I think Stark is having trouble saying no to you,” Yelena smiled. You merely shrugged, going back to giving your attention to Lucky.

“Is that a mission, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, pointing to the folder in Tony’s hand.

“Oh right. I got distracted by that,” he pointed to the golden retriever.

“Please Stark you thought about buying an alpaca,” Natasha said from the kitchen.

“This is for you,” he walked over to you and handed it. You took it, not sure what was in the envelope. “It’s not bad. Just your test results.”

“Test results?” Wanda questioned. You looked at Tony and then back to the envelope, trying to figure out what he was saying. Then it hit you like a freight train.

“Oh. OH!” You said, opening the envelope. You noticed that the seal was opened already ripped. He must have looked into it.

“Want to fill us in, bud?” Kate asked.

“You didn’t tell them,” you cringed, placing the envelope in your lap.

“I forgot,” you defended. And you did. With everything going on it was the last thing on your mind. You sighed. “I took the placement test,” it was like you spoke a different language that no one understood how quiet it was.

“Why-why didn’t you tell us?” America questioned. You began to pet Lucky. He knew something was bothering you as he cuddled up against you.

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” you explained. “I asked Tony to not tell anyone then everything went to shit,” you heard Natasha gasp out a ‘language’ which made you giggle. “Then I forgot about. I’m sorry.” You had every intention of telling them when you found out your scores.

“So,” you looked at the witch. “How did you do?” Looking at Tony, you motioned for him that it was okay to tell everyone. He smiled.

“Well, our girl tested out of reading comprehension and writing,”

“Shocker,” Yelena sarcastically said. You giggled, hiding the blush on your cheeks. It was weird being the center of attention.

“According to the test, those two skills are at a college level,” he continued. You liked the smile on his face, it was like he was proud of you. A warm feeling filled your belly at the thought of someone being proud of you. “As for science and math, you tested around a 6th-grade level which is amazing considering you’ve never set foot in an academic building.”

“See!” Peter said, pulling you into a side hug. “I told you were going to do great!” You laughed, thanking him for helping you study. It was a chorus of congratulations and hugs were given to you. Your cheeks were hurting for how much you were smiling. For once in your life, you felt proud of your accomplishment. The negative words of your father didn’t reach your head.

*    

You called Shuri immediately, getting her phone number from Peter, and she congratulated you. Stating that she told you so and that you had nothing to worry out. When you were done with your phone call, you found your friends in the kitchen on the common floor. “What are you doing?” You asked, walking over to them.

“Thank God! Your back,” America groaned. “She kicked me out of the kitchen.” She pouted and pointed to Yelena.

“She wouldn’t even let me help,” Peter mumbled, picking up a card from the pile. He and America were sitting at the counter playing Uno while Yelena and Kate were in the kitchen. Water was boiling on the stove and Kate was chopping a carrot.

“That's because she almost chopped my finger off,” Yelena said. “And Peter Parker, you burnt yourself boiling water. I can not trust you in the kitchen.”

“But you trust her?!” America exclaimed. Yelena sighed.

“Against my better judgment,” you giggled at Kate’s expression but it quickly vanished when Yelena kissed her on the cheek. They were really cute together.

“What are we making and what can I do to help?” You asked, washing your hands.

“Dumplings, fried rice, chow mein, and wonton soup,” Yelena told you.

“Bucky, Steve, and Rhodey should be coming back tonight and Yelena volunteered our services to cook,” America made Peter draw 2 cards. Which caused your friend to pout but it soon faded to a smile when he placed another draw 2 down. America gasped. “Rude!”

“You made me draw 8,” he defended. “It’s not the end of the world.” You smiled at the interaction. Yelena sighed.

“If I give you the dough recipe for the dumplings can you make it?” The blonde asked you. You nodded and she handed you a tablet with the recipe. There was a time in your life when you hated cooking. It meant that you were left alone and no one was there to feed you so you had to feed yourself. You remembered living off of toast and peanut butter because it was easy for you. You moved to make scrambled eggs and pancakes. But know you loved cooking with your friends around you and their laughter filling the silence. It was comforting. It was a gentle reminder that you weren’t alone.

*       

“Dinner smells amazing,” Rhodey said, helping you set up the table. He was the first one back. You were told he had to make a trip to DC to clear stuff over with a few politicians about the Avenger’s work with the Wakandans and the mission that sent Vision and a few SHIELD agents to South America. You were a little jealous of all places the Avengers traveled to.

“I helped,” America proclaimed and Rhodey frowned.

“Then it’s poisoned,” you chuckled, walking back into the kitchen as the Avengers filed in to take their seats around the table. You put on hand warmers to grab the last dish from the oven.

“Need help?” You jumped at Steve’s voice and spun around to see the American super-solider. His hair was damped, he must have just gotten out of the shower. “Glad to see you up and moving.”

“FRIDAY alerted you and Bucky that I was hurt,” Steve nodded. “Can I have a hug?” Instead of answering, he held open his arm inviting you into a hug. His arms circled you. He was warm, felt safe, and comforting. “Thank you,” you said. Steve let out a shaky breath.

“Scared the hell out of me kid,” you heard a chuckle, pulled away from Steve, and saw Bucky.

“Did I just hear Captain America say a bad word?” Steve rolled his eyes at his boyfriend. “Glad to see you are safe, doll,” you smiled, taking a step away from Steve. Starring at Bucky’s hands, you found yourself starting to panic. You’ve felt his hands on you before. They were cold, and strong, and caused bruises on your skin. You swallowed the growing fear and held out your hand. You weren’t ready for a hug from him yet. Bucky raised his flesh hand.

“The other one,” you stated. “I trust you, Bucky.” You tried to keep your voice steady. Did he hear the slight shake? Or was he just as nervous as you were to notice? He hesitated and connected his metal hand with yours. Still, it was a shock to your system. You knew it was coming but the hairs on the back of your neck stood up and all you felt was fear. You dropped his hand and forced a smile on your face as you busied yourself with getting the last dish ready. “Hope you boys are hungry,” you said, leading them back to the table. “We made a lot of food.” You set it down and took your spot between Yelena and America. The blonde gave you a questioning look but you gave her a reassuring smile. You were okay. You had another hurdle to climb over.       

Dinner was fun. You laughed at the stories Rhodey and the two super soldiers told about their missions. Tony told the rest of the team about your test results. It reminded you of your father and how he gushed and bragged about a test Caleb did well on. But the entire time Bucky kept watching you. You wondered what was going through his head. Was he trying to remember you? Or did he remember and was too ashamed to admit it? Once dinner was done and cleaned up, you said your goodnight to the team and went to bed.

Well, you tried to sleep. You lay awake staring at the ceiling. You were exhausted, right down to your bones but you were afraid to fall asleep. “FRIDAY, can you read to me?” You asked the AI, turning onto your side. You hoped the sound would fight away any nightmares.

“Of course, do you have a specific book in mind?”

“The Fifth Season by NK Jemisin,” was a book on your TBR that you’ve been meaning to read. You figured now would be a good night.

“Right away,” you closed your eyes. “Let’s start with the end of the world, why don’t we? Get it over with and move on to more interesting things…”

*   

You woke up with a silent scream. You barely had enough time to stop the sound from coming out of your mouth. His hands. You could still feel them as he pinned you against the wall or held you down as waves and waves of electricity moved through your body. Scrambling out of your bed, you fell to the floor and put your back against the wall. Breath, you told yourself, breathe. The tingle in your palms began to spread. You didn’t register FRIDAY alerting you that she informed Wanda and Natasha or when the door opened. “Sweetheart, can you open your eyes for me?” You weren’t sure when you closed them.

“Can’t,” the pressure was becoming too much. “Need,” you couldn’t form the words you wanted to say. Everything was a mess in your head. You needed a way to release this pressure without hurting yourself, the couple, or causing a power surge in the tower.

“I’ll be right back,” you heard Wanda say and rush out of your room. Natasha stayed, talking through your panic. It was helping, the pressure began to lessen. Finally, you heard Wanda and she pushed something into your hands. “Focus your powers on that. Let go, molniyenosnyy zhuk (lightning bug). We are here,” And you did. You heard the familiar sound of your powers dancing around your fingertips and the warmth it caused. You opened your eyes when it stopped, the couple was blurry from your tears but you saw their smiles.

“There’s our girl,” Natasha whispered, whipping away your tears. You surged forward, arms wrapping around her waist as you buried your head in her lap. “Sh, your safe. Your safe.” Your body shook against her and Natasha ran her fingers through your hair.

“Was it a nightmare?” Wanda asked, rubbing soothing circles on your back. You nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?” That was the last thing you wanted to do so you shook your head.

“That’s fine. We can just sit here until you are ready,” Natasha said. You turned your head to face Wanda. She held a battery, similar to the ones attached to the machine Tony made for you. Where did she get it?

“Tony gave us a few extras just in case you need them,” she answered your question. “But I do think we need to do some training, maybe it will help you regulate your abilities.” You nodded, rubbing your eyes.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” you forced yourself off the Black Widow and climbed into bed. Natasha pulled the blanket over. “Do you want us to stay with you?”

“No, I’m okay,” you finally said. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank us,” Wanda said, kissing your forehead. “Come get us if you need anything. Goodnight,” the couple left and closed the door behind them. You traced the spot Wanda kissed. You never received a goodnight kiss from your mother. She was afraid to touch you once you revealed what you could do. You sighed, twisting the blanket in your hands. You wondered what you did to deserve this life you were living and if there were any way to repay them.

*     

You tried to go back to sleep but your room began to feel too small and suffocating. You debated on waking up Natasha and Wanda but you already disturbed their sleep. You began to walk the tower. You enjoyed the peace the tower provided at night. You were alone to figure out your thoughts but close enough to someone if you needed it. “Miss. Y/n,” you smiled at Vision, who sitting by the windows and illuminated by a nearby light. He was playing chess. “What are you doing up?” You walked over to him and sat in the empty chair.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said. “How was your mission?” You asked him as he cleared away the game he was playing to start a fresh one.

“It went well,” he gave you the first move. “We completed the mission with limited injuries,” you both didn’t speak, finding peace in the silence as you played. Until he broke it, “The team informed me you were hurt. Are you alright?” You sighed, tracing the groves of the pawn.

“I’ve probably been the healthiest and happiest I’ve ever been,” you took your turn. “But sometimes I worry this is all temporary, that the rug will be pulled out from underneath or my demons will come back to haunt me,” Vision stayed quiet as you continued, “Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning, unable to keep my head above the water.”

“Do you wish for advise or do you just want someone to listen?” He asked. You smiled, laughing slightly.

“If you have advice I’d love to hear it,” he smiled. There was something about Vision that made you feel connected. Unlike a few others in the tower, Vision could exist in silence. He didn’t want to be the center of attention and he was content with sitting back and observing. There was a natural calming presence around him.

“You were born to a family that didn’t appreciate you,” you recognized the quote from Matilda, the reference made you smile. “You bare the emotional and physical scars of those who hurt you and it’s very unfair. But,” you looked at him. “You are very special, resilient too. So if the carpet you are standing on gets pulled out from underneath you, you have the strength to overcome it. However,” his smile grew. “You have a family that will catch you.”

“Was that a Matilda reference I heard?” He nodded. “I didn’t expect you to be a movie lover.”

“I like to indulge in a guilty pleasure every once in a while,” you giggled.

“Thank you Vision,” you covered your mouth as you yawned. “I guess that’s my cue to try to get some sleep.” You stood up but before you went back to your room you stared at the infinity stone. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course. You can ask me anything,” you suppressed a sigh. You were curious that was why you wanted to touch it. You wondered if it would feel like Wanda’s powers.

“Can I touch the infinity stone?” He hesitated. It was the first time you saw him so unsure of himself. You expected him to say no and you would accept that but he nodded.

“Just be careful,” he warned. You nodded. Your hand shook as you raised it and moved your finger to the yellow stone. Before you even touched it, a short surge of electricity left your finger and the world around you went dark.

*     

Your eyes slowly opened staring into the vast nothingness above you. You sat up, hands skimming the water you were sitting in but your clothes remained dry. Where were you? Where was Vision? Where was anyone? On shaky legs, you stood up. “Hello,” you called out. But your voice echoing back was your only reply. You began to walk unsure of where to or how to get back home. “Hello!” You yelled.

“There is no need to raise your voice,” you spun around but saw no one behind you.

“Whose there?” You questioned. “Where are you?” The voice chuckled. The sound bounced around so you were unable to pinpoint where it was coming from.

“That is an interesting question when I’m here but nowhere. I’m near but very far,” you heard footsteps walking towards you. Out of the darkness you saw yourself. It was like looking in a mirror. It wore the same clothes you wore now, the scar, even the color of your eyes. “I’m me but also you.” It mimicked the sound of your voice.

“Where am I?” You asked. The figure didn’t answer, instead, it titled its head from side to side and you couldn’t help but mirror it. You snapped out of the fog. “Stop that.” It laughed.

“You're in the mind realm, you stupid, foolish girl. Your lucky you aren’t dead,” Well that was a relief. You were beginning to wonder if this was some strange version of the afterlife. “But,” it raised its hands. “I can’t be too upset. I’ve been dying to talk to you,” it began to circle you. You stayed cemented to the spot, trying to call upon your powers but they didn’t answer you.

“What do you want with me?” You asked. Your voice was surprisingly calm.

“There is a problem, an imbalance if you want to call it that,” it stopped walking and stood back in front of you. “And you are going to be the savior or our downfall, the choice is yours.” Your stomach dropped.

“Me?” You questioned. “Why-why me?” You weren’t a hero. You were just-well you weren’t sure what you were. But you were just a kid, just finding your footing in this big scary world.

“Because I chose you. It’s very simple please try to keep up,” it turned on its heels and walked into the darkness.

“Wait,” it didn’t. “Wait, hold on.” You ran after the figure, the water splashing at your every step. “Are you going to tell me what this problem is so I can fix it?” The figure shook its head.

“Nope, I can’t do that. Sorry,” something told you it wasn’t but it did stop walking. “Think of it like a game of chess,” With a wave of its hand chess boards appeared in the darkness. At every board, you were sitting on one side and your opponent was one of the Avengers. “All the pieces have been placed,” you began to walk around, watching the games play out. “But there are thousands of possibilities that could be the outcome. You could lose,” a few captured your king. “But you could also win.” The boards disappeared, leaving one. It was you against Natasha. The image before you began to flicker; changing from you hugging her to you standing above her with a gun.

“No,” you whispered. You looked away as the gun went off. “No! I won’t let that happen.”

“Only time will tell and as the judge, I can’t change the outcome of how I want the match to end,” it closed the gap between you two. Grasping your chin in its hands. Its skin was cold against yours. “I want to make myself clear. I want you to win. Your loss will make my life difficult. But you aren’t ready,” it dropped the hold on you and its appearance began to change. You watched the mind stone form in the center of its forehead. “I gave life to the Vision, powers to the Maximoff twins, and Loki wielded me to enslave others and take over New York,” it smiled and began to float in the air. “I wonder what I’ll give you.” Its fingers began to glow, lighting up the darkness around you. It was like you were watching a movie, moments of your life flashed around you. “I wish you the best of luck and I do apologize, you won’t remember our meeting. You have to understand, it’s for the best.”

“Wait,” it was too late. The figure touched your forehead and you were forced back. Like a string was attached to your waist and someone yanked you back. You began to chant in your mind to remember. Remember. Remember. You had to remember.

*

You stumbled backward and you felt Vision grab onto your hand to catch you. “Are you alright? Should I get-”

“I’m fine,” you told him. He wasn’t convinced but you were. Your stomach was a little upset and there was a small ache in your head but you’ve experienced far worst.

“What did you see?” He questioned. You titled your head, eyebrows pinched together. “Tell me what you saw.” The grip he had on you tightened.

“Ouch,” he released you. His eyes said his apologies. You rubbed the spot on your wrist. “I-I didn’t see anything,” you said. “Honest. I wouldn’t lie to you, I promise.”

“Right,” he sighed. “I do apologize for my behavior. Have a goodnight,” you forced a smile, a little concerned by what happened.

“Goodnight, Vision,” And you went back to your room, holding onto the wrist that was going to bruise come morning.

*       

Vision watched the young girl walk over the staircase and return to her room. He rubbed the stone, that gave him life, and Wanda her powers. He valued the power and responsibility that came with protecting the stone. Without it, he wouldn’t have been able to warn the Avengers of Thanos. Something was coming. He could feel it but the stone was silent, not indicate what the threat was. All he knew was it involved his new friend and that worried him more.

_

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[honestsycrets]

starved | [miguel o'hara x reader]

❛ pairing | new papi!miguel x new mami!reader

❛ type | oneshot: explicit content

❛ summary | peter says he's sex-starved. he isn't. he's just... adjusting to less time with his wife.

❛ tags | breastfeeding miguel, lactation kink, slight pregnancy kink, touch starved, pissy miguel, spanish is not translated, mention of violence, some cursing, f!reader.

❛ sy’s notes | written as per poll request! thank you everyone who voted.

Miguel likes to work.

Or, he thinks he likes to work.

The fate of the multiverse and all that boring ass bullshit. Peter has heard it all, twice, thrice over. What he knows is what he sees. What he sees is an overworked man running through anomaly files, sending out orders, and not spending time where it really mattered.

“Is that who I think it is?” Peter’s annoying ass house slippers flapped over the ground by Miguel’s feet. Peter’s hands rubbed together, sparking little bursts of heat between his palms. “It is! Mireya!”

Mireya, the newest addition to his small family. She was nestled comfortably in the crook of one of Miguel’s muscular arms as if it were the safest place in the entire world, suckling on what was left of a bottle of breastmilk. Miguel turned to place the empty bottle down on his desk. Peter followed, peeping over Miguel’s arm at her. Despite Miguel’s reservations, her bright brown eyes bored Peter with interest. She cooed at him. “Can I hold her? Let me hold her, it’ll be great! Aw look, she has curls.”

“My daughter isn’t your doll.”

“Look how pretty, she’s just like her mami. All sunshine and dimples and--,” Peter reached forward, easing his scrawny hands under her plush little arms and picking her up. Miguel’s hands fell onto his hips, shifting weight from one foot to the other, glancing down at his feet expectantly. “You know, for a new dad, you’re grumpier than usual.”

“Peter.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he bobbed back and forth, spinning in a circle. She giggled the kind of laugh that was all sugar, making Peter grin even harder. “I mean, wasn’t Mireya your idea? Are you-- y’know?”

“Y’know?”

“Sex starved,” Peter whispered like it was a great, terrible secret. As if in this vast space of silence, someone might catch his words and convict him because of them. Miguel’s half-lidded eyes slid against one another, held for a second, then spread open in an annoyed flick. He fluttered his gloved fingers at Peter to hand Mireya over.

“I’m just saying if you need a night alo--”

“I don’t. I’m not sex-starved.”

He waved him off. His eyes fell on his daughter, boring back up at him with those beautiful eyes he had waited so long to see. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, lulling her back into her late-night slumber, cradled against his chest.

Sex starved, he said. What a shocking joke.

His room was no place for a child. It was perpetually dark, dimmed for his sensitive eyes. So, at the end of the day, Miguel had your room to return to. A real home, one with more than a ratty run-down chair and a lifetime of regrets. A home that he couldn't make alone. Miguel pressed past the bedroom door where he found you overcome by sleep. Just like Mireya in his arms.

He turned his gaze down to Mireya once more, her soft and squishy body a vision of peace. Tiny fists balled up over her belly as she slept in her soft velvet onesie. The whole world in his hands: the start of a happy little family. Only right now, it didn’t feel so happy. Those were the cycles, the push and pull of life.

Tonight would prove to be another silent night with his thoughts. His chest swelled with a rush of air, bunching up his shoulders as he moved to the adjoining room to set Mireya into her warm crib. Torn from his warmth, her palms stretched out, ready to wail. Miguel placed his hand along the wooden rail, his stomach flopping into throbbing anxiety in his stomach. She could wake you up. "Shh," he set his finger in her tiny palm. Mireya’s small hands rested listlessly around her head. The wail never came.

“Mi vida,” your sleepy voice fell over his ears, a gentle caress. He longed to hear it from your lips again. “Is she already asleep?”

“Sí--” he glanced over his shoulder, catching just a sight of one of his favourite little slips. Dusty rose with delicate lace details. He studied the edge of the gown, flowing over your thick thighs as you walked. Shock.

“You look beautiful." You looked down at your soft belly, a mincing smile pulling at your lips. He knew you were nervous, the way your hands obscured your plush belly. Mesmerized, his finger fell away from Mireya's soft grip. Peter's words echoed in his mind, a deep annoyance. It made his skin crawl, this growing annoyance in the acknowledgment that he had no sex in weeks, months. He took a step forward.

“I hope she doesn’t sleep through the night. My breasts are full,” Your fingers skimmed the taut skin. The glint of your wedding band invited him forward as if… you should be his tonight. You were his wife-- and though he didn't expect you to give him relief, he missed you. Miguel dipped his head, stroking the sore muscles of his neck.

Are you, y'know, sex-starved?

“When does she ever..." he couldn't help from saying. He grazed his fingertips over the swollen skin of your breasts, glancing from the skin to your deep, shy eyes. His breath thinned, realizing that you were disengaging, too scared to look him in the eye.

“She does, Miggy,” you breathed. His jaw worked, annoyed. “Lately. You’d know if you came home at night.”

If it was lately, he had no knowledge of it. Every lab screen he pulled up, every status report from Lyla, and every silent night in the lab, obsessing over how his little girl was doing-- he missed it. He should be coming in more often, crossing the threshold of work to family life. His hand cupped the underside of your breast. You winced, embarrassment working on your face. You pushed his hand away, likely feeling exposed by his touch on your tender skin.

“Does it hurt?” He leaned down, mingling his smoky, musky scent with your delicate one. He leaned in to place a soft, open-mouthed kiss along your neck, the warm pulse of your skin against his plump lips.

“Miggy, you’ll wake her up.”

Your fingers laced in his before you pulled him out of the room with a click of the door. He settled his hand on the middle of the door, sliding his hand up your waist, the soft fabric crinkling over the movement. He glimpsed a look at your soft panties cupping your round ass. “Miggy, I… I can’t. I’m tired.”

Of course, you were tired-- He underestimated how much work you took on in her care. He willed the wisps of his desire to snuff out. The distant flicker of hope followed promptly after. Maybe, one day, you would want him again. It wasn't today.

“Ya veo,” he suppressed his frustrated growl, wrinkling his forehead. “Another time.”

It wasn't the next day. Or the one after that. Or the one after that.

The anomaly whirled along a cobblestone street, exploding in a cloud of dust and stone. Its many black dipped hands flickered, dulling into little more than a negligible tremor of their limbs. Everyone else noticed the complacency that came with loss of consciousness. Miguel did not.

Miguel sauntered forward, dragged it by its muddy boots out from the crumbly remnants of the wall, and whirled it into another. It wasn't moving. It was done, tired, exhausted. He didn't care, his large hand encompassing its tendril hair and smashing it over the dusty floor. A violent crack, crack, crack of its head scratched his inert need to destroy something, anything, anyone. It fell from his hands with a slump. Miguel spat a bit of blood to the side, his cheek chewed raw under the tension of the moment.

“You need to take Peter up on that offer.”

Miguel stretched his neck one way. Then the other.

“We’ve been over this,” Miguel grumbled, hiking the pummeled body over his shoulder. It gushed blood, streaming into a diluted pink with the downpour of rain. A simple contusion, Miguel said. It was just a contusion. And a concussion. Maybe a gash or two. It would heal if the thing woke up. “I don’t need help.”

“You thrashed it, whatever it was,” Jess said pointedly. Miguel’s finger ran across his watch. The air was stale without an acknowledgment of Miguel’s churning temper, growing into a churning tempest by the passing minute. He stared long and hard through his mask. She drew out the silence as she waited for his response.

“It’s a contusion.”

The portal whirled to life before them in a slurry of vivid color, an unforgiving abyss. Jess slumped her bike with weight on one thigh, hand on her belly. The longer Miguel stared at her, so full and pregnant, the more he was reminded of you. He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no use-- he saw visages of you everywhere he looked.

“Doesn’t look like any head contusion I’ve seen,” Gwen slid into the portal. His lip curled, annoyed by the obvious objection to what he was saying. If they would let it go-- he could go on about his life, wait for this obsession with his sex life to abate. Wait for you to come back to him.

“You can’t keep taking out your—“

“I am not sex-starved!”

“Convincing.” Jess sped into the portal.

Miguel soothed the stress out of his forehead, opening and closing his palm, a current of energy coursing through his palms. They picked— and they picked— and they picked at him. At some point, he was bound to explode. He only hoped you wouldn't be in his way when it happened. He whipped the anomaly through the portal and followed after.

On the other side of the portal, there was Peter— again. Cooing with his hands on his daughter— again. His dark mask faded away, his suit wicking water off his frame. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he located you beside Jess and Gwen. You nudged its crumpled body with your shoe. He didn’t often feel ashamed of his actions. Usually, they were necessary. Something was wrong, your face pinched and curled in disgust. He felt the string of your disapproval pulling through his arms, a slight, incriminating tremor flickering through his finger. He willed it away.

“What did you do to this poor thing?” you turned to Jess, a click-click-click off your tongue. He’d hardly call it poor. “It’s overkill.”

“Girl, ask your husband,” Jess folded her arms, reclining on her bike.

“Mi Miggy?” you went to him. You leaned over, pecking his cheek with a terribly insulting kiss, tickling his jawline. He swallowed. Blinked. Then frowned and brushed off your fingers, finding the care misplaced. You could care for an anomaly but didn't care to ask him how he felt. What he needed. Your voice wilted that sunshine quality, dropping almost to a whisper. “¿Qué te pasa, Miggy?”

“Nothing.”

“Miguel--"

“I said nothing!” He knelt down, grasping its ankle and dragging it down the long, drab hall that stored a variety of anomalies. A line of blood soaked the floor, swerving after his rumbling steps. You took a step forward, snatching his wrist between your fingers. He whirled around, a tremble on his lips firmed out into an unforgiving glare. You let up the pressure on his wrist, allowing him to spin his hand free. “Déjame en paz! There is nothing shocking wrong!”

Mireya cried. So did you.

The admittance that Peter was right wasn’t one that Miguel was about to make openly.

Although he showed up that night, as you informally requested, the night proceeded awkwardly. There was no talk over dinner, not as he watched you feed his little girl, swaying by the window of the enormous city below. As you gazed into the sea of twinkling lights, Miguel came up behind you. His palms encompassed your slight shoulders, moist against your exposed shoulders. His naked chest grazed your back.

"Are you going to apologize?"

Why should he have to? If anyone listened to what he was saying-- he wouldn't be in this mess. Still, Miguel steeled his face. He placed a mincing kiss on the top of your head. His voice thinned out, barely a feather on his lips.

"I snapped."

"You did a lot more than that. You scared her."

You let him sit with his regret until you fell asleep. He debated returning to the lab or his room to try again tomorrow. But he knew his wife. You were attentive to everything that he did. You might take it as a sign of his disinterest. After minutes turned to hours, he breached the door and slid into your bed when he was sure you were asleep.

When his eyes coursed over your figure, he realized all he missed. It was too long since he felt the warmth of a real kiss. Not the brief pecks on his lips as he rushed out the door to help Jess or Gwen or any other number of spiders demanding his attention. He missed the warmth in your eyes, the way they turn into crescents with a happy smile or jaunty laugh. He longed for that sensation of your fingers combing through his hair, taking your time and curling his fluffy hair behind his ear, eyes trained on his alone in a sea of spiders. That… sensation of being the only one that you wanted.

Mireya was that for you now. He longed for it every time he came into the room, seeing you sway with his child in your arms, cradled against your breast, feeding her into a restful sleep. What he thought was a mere seed of jealousy turned out to be a terrible beast, tendrils of resentment that you can’t see what he needs. He needs you. And it isn’t his beautiful Mireya’s fault, no. It’s his.

Instead, he lay there with his palm wretched around his cock, soaked in the artificial lubricant, throbbing into his hand. He remembered his words that night. A begrudging -- Mami, give me a baby-- and how well you took him. Your body seemed to know what he wanted, swelling with his child after a few weeks. He buckled into his palm, cranking around the base and swirling up to his leaking tip, bubbling with his need. He circled his finger over the head, swiping the fluid away.

“What are you thinking about?”

Miguel paused, sweat crept down his thick throat over his broad chest. He shuddered under the weight of your silken words. His hand coiled around his cock in one more jerk, somehow accepting that he had been caught.

“Are you thinking about me? Or is there someone else?”

"Someone else?" he breathed. His lips dropped into a frown, agitation simmering to a boil. It cooled when you looked at him-- but really looked at him. The bed shifted under your weight, ruffling pillows aside. You hoisted your legs over his body, pushing his cock against your soft vulva and his stomach, breasts pushing into his face. So close that Miguel inhaled the uniquely sweet smell of your milk obscured by thin lace.

“Why would I have anyone else?” he asked, his chest distantly aching. His gaze tracked from one breast to the other. He stole a glimpse at your face, stricken with shyness. The slight pout of your lips, eyes refusing contact. “Do you even want me?”

Undoubtedly yes.

“You don’t come to see me. You don't fuck me. You don't even--"

"You're always tired."

"But you could wake me.”

“Could I? To deny me again?” It hadn’t meant to come out so passive-aggressive, but with the natural inflections in his voice, he knew you could read him like a book.

“Oh, papi," not that soft voice. He might hope again. "I always want you.“

Hmpf. Debatable.

“Even when you’re jerking off in my bed. Or couch.” You slid your pink tongue along your lower lip, guiding your body against his. The wet draw of your juices over his dick drew his sharp scarlet eyes to the sight, knocking your stiff clit with his dick. For a moment, his words failed. He should have known you would watch him.

“Is that why you're so... angry? Because of me?" He made a small noise, barely a huff. You drew his hands to your full breasts, obscured by a thin layer of fabric. This time, he smothered a groan in his chest. How pathetic, he thought, to be moaning from something as simple as your firm breasts back in his hands. What was he-- twelve? "Have I been neglecting you, Miguel O’Hara?”

“Yes-- you've neglected me,” he murmured, dragging the lace underneath each breast, knocked together by the straps of the fabric. He melded your breasts again between his hands, massaging the sore skin. His thumps flickered over your nipples, stiffening them into peaks. With a small pinch to your breasts, milk dribbled over his fingertips.

"I won't do it again," he wondered if you missed his touch by the full, grateful hum of your lips, your palms disappearing into his dark hair. You coursed along his dick again, eliciting another piteous noise of longing from his throat. "I promise."

“Hm," was the only agreement. "What a mess,” he teased, not bothering to look at you. It had the desired effect, your shoulders shyly bunching up, the cute pout of your lips, warmth in your cheeks, quivering eyes. He loved it when you looked so fucking shy, so vulnerable, and all for him. "You're leaking all over my hand."

“I’m-- sorry,” you flushed, “It… happens.”

“Mhm, you're full,” Miguel flicked his pink tongue along your stiff, fat nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a suckle. Sweet milk soothed his tongue. He hungrily drank it up, shifting his other hand back to angle his cock at the entrance of your core. A hand left his thick locks and jerked to his broad shoulder, stabilizing your hips down to sink onto him. Blood welled to the surface with your claws scratching piteously along his sunkissed skin. With a bit of resistance, he slid perfectly into your body, just like he always did. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips against your breast. It was somehow different-- the tug and stretch of his cock-- as he fucked the mother of his child. Maybe it was all in his head. “Shock, you’re gorgeous on my dick.”

“Miggy--”

He shifted to the other breast, his hands nearly stapled on your hips, encouraging you to do the work. Your warm milk slid into his mouth, down his starved throat. The pleasure of knowing he was draining you of your milk was tempered with the ever-present fact that soon, you’d have his spunk in your belly again. Your hips flushed, drawing around in quick circles, flushed with his pelvis. Small waves of pleasure grew in your belly. Your stiff clit glided against his skin, again, and again with the undulations of his hips. You felt pinned between his mouth and dick, restricted in movement, but all his, devoured by his need.

“Come here, mi hermosura,” Miguel released your breast from those lush lips, sliding his tongue along his lips to catch the remnants of your sweet milk. He slid down along the pillows, flushing your chest to his, and propped his legs slightly for a better angle. His muscular arms wound around your back, cock pumping into you with renewed vigor. He knocked against your cervix in this position, holding you fast and tight in his arms. You nestled against his sweaty chest, accepting his thrusts so well.

“Miggy-- I’m not-- on anything.”

“You're breastfeeding, close enough,” he mused in your ear as though it were a joke.

You might have argued with him if you weren’t so blinded by that fantastic juddering of his hips. As it were, pleasure rocked all thoughts of birth control out of your mind. Miggy, an ever-present lover, groaned as he held out through your orgasm milking and soaking his swollen dick in your cum. Not a moment later, Miguel forced a long stroke of his dick inside your cunt, reaching his climax buried deep in your tremoring walls. You squeezed him tight, milking him dry of his orgasm until it all faded into fuzzy pleasure. You sighed as his arms loosened, warm and full of Miguel after so long. His soft dick slipped free, cum oozing onto his thighs, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with the mess.

He set a kiss on the top of your head, then your forehead, and eventually snatched your lips in a warm kiss. You could taste the sweetness of your milk on his tongue and flushed. Your head dropped down on his chest, listening for the gentle whining of your daughter. It was silent but for the intermingling of your heaving breaths.

After all the issues: the disappointment, the fighting with Peter and Jess, Miguel couldn’t help but chuckle. All it took was jerking off in your bed. He should have known-- you never did like to be left out on his fun. You were always a jealous lover, even at the threat of his own hand.

“Hm? Why are you laughing?”

“Peter said I was sex-starved."

“Well," you glistened a smile, kissing along his jaw. He huffed. "He wasn't wrong."

[writing-fanics]

don’t mess with the devil

Part ii

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

[warning: angst: mentions of death: death?]

Your movements became sluggish. The wound on your side bleeding more and more with each movement, and swing of your angelic weapon. “Can’t even hold a weapon.” Adam mocked, as she glared at him. Already tired and she looked down at her wound. “Who would’ve thought a fucking human, making a deal with the devil.”

“Was it for dick? It was for dick wasn’t it?” Adam laughed, and mocked. You let out a battle cry flying towards him.

You screamed in pain, as the yellow light shot right through your wing. Your wings started going weak, as you struggled to keep up with Adam’s attacks. He laughed and cackled, taking enjoyment in your struggle.

“Where’s your little boyfriend huh?” He mocked, as more and more yellow shots kept hitting your body. Until you could barely keep your body up, “awe, is he not coming to scared to show his fa-”a fist punched, Adam in the face. Causing him to let go of your chin, but you didn’t fall instead.

A pair of familiar arms held you, “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t be here sooner,” said Lucifer, as he nuzzled his head against his partner. Then lifted his head and glared at Adam, eyes fuming with rage.

“Sorry, for being so stubborn.” You mumbled, knowing this was the reason he didn’t want you to fight. Even though, he gave you some of his powers. You were still a human. He nuzzled, his head against yours once more. “It’s okay,” He said, as he landed on the rooftop.

He handed you off to Charlie, his daughter taking your injured body into her arms. She looked down at you worriedly, as you took shallow breaths. Your face battered cuts and bruises covered your face, and your right eye was swollen. Landing on the rooftop, walking towards Adam.

“Huh? Okay? Seriously?” Adam panted, as he stood up slowly. “How many of you freaks do I have to fight?!” He shouted, glaring at them.

Lucifer rolled up his sleeves, as he walked towards Adam. “Oh, I’m the only one that matters.” said Lucifer, as he looked up at Adam angrily.

“See, you messed with my daughter and my partner.” his eyes burning with rage. “and now I’m toning to fuck you!” he shouted, and everyone went silent as they stared at him dumbfounded.

Charlie leaned over, “It’s fuck you up dad?” Charlie whispered, and he looked confused as he raised his eyebrow, “Wait what did I say?” He said, and then Adam flew towards him sending them both into a wall. But Lucifer transformed into a white snake.

You could barely keep your eyes open, as the pain became worse. You didn’t know how much blood you were losing, but knew it was a lot. You were just a mere human, a human who fell in love with the king of hell. Him inevitably giving you some of his power in an act of love.

Your memories of how you ended up in Hell, a blur. You still figuring out a way to at least see your family again. But now that seemed to be in vain. You wondered if this was how it was going to end for you. You wondered, what would happen to you a human dying in hell?

Would you be dead forever no second life? Or would you just enter purgatory?

“So, this is what you’ve been up to since Eden?” said Lucifer, taunting him.

“Gotta say, you really let yourself go buddy.” He said, as he taunted Adam.

Adam laughs, as he grabbed Lucifer by the tail. “You judgin’ me?” He shouted angrily, as he tried to throw him. But he transformed again, this time into a duck. “You’re the most hated being in all of creation.” Adam shouted, angrily looking at him.

“Well, your first wife didn’t seem to hate what I had to offer.” said Lucifer, as he made a V shape with his fingers and dragged it downward from his mouth.

“or the second.” He said looking Adam straight in the face, “Bow-chicka-wow-wow.” He said, as he backed away making a thrusting motion with his hips. Adam lunched at him, and Lucifer transformed into a horse. Kicking him around, “I’ll fuckin’ end you!!” Adam shouted.

Your vision started to blur, as you leaned your head against the wall You didn’t want to die not like this, not without seeing your parents again. Wondering if they’re worried about their missing child, who they haven’t seen in almost a year.

You’ve been stuck in Hell for that long. Lucifer and You, still figuring out a way to get you back. But you always promised that you’d stay in Hell with him, and visit your friends and family once in a while.

Maybe this was to be your fate, dying in Hell. Where would your soul go? You couldn’t imagine the heartbreak your death would bring to both, Charlie and Lucifer. You couldn’t bear the thought of seeing them cry, you’ve grown to love them so much. Seeing Charlie as a child of your own.

Lucifer your partner. The best thing to ever come out of being trapped in Hell. He was so kind and caring, when he found out about your situation. Wanting to help you anyway he could, which led him to falling in love. How his heart swelled whenever you smiled at him, turning his cheeks red.

How seeing you cry made his heartache, knowing you missed your family and friends back on earth. How when that ‘Red Bastard’ at the Hazbin Hotel, took your hand and kissed him while staring mockingly at Lucifer. Boiled his blood.

A smiled grew across your lips, as you grew tired. You were too tired to even notice the beam of light, heading straight towards the hotel. Towards you. Everything went dark.

Y/n?

Y/n?

Y/n!

who’s calling my name?