#Fury Family Verse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

igotanidea · 1 year

Text

five years later : Jason Todd x fem!reader

the graphic is not mine, found it on Pinterest, all credit goes to the author.

Another piece of Cheshire!reader!verse aka what happened earlier, when Cheshire (Y/N) found out Jason was not in fact dead.

Other parts are: Cheshire cat and That damn gala and can be read regardless.

Warnings: all of it. Smut. Insecurities and mentions of scars. Angst. Mentions of Jay flings and Y/N unsatisfying relationships. Fluff at the end. MINORS DNI!

Loosely inspired on the song "Lost in the fire" by The Weeknd.

The air in the room was filled with so much tension and palpable electricity that the slightest spark could set it able. Y/N and Jason were sitting on the opposite sides, eyeing each other. She was suspicious, cold and unwavering. He was a bit nervous, shy and unsure what to say.

“So….” she started crossing her arms over chest “ you were dead”

“Yeah.”

“Did you get bored?” she mocked

“What?” the visible hurt in his eyes did not make her change this tone. She was angry, she felt betrayed and most definitely were not going to let him get away with everything he has done easily. “How could you….?”

“did they kick you out of Hell?”

“Y/n…..”

“No, Jace. Did they kick you out? I bet even the devil didn’t want you after he learned you played a trick like that on your family and …. friend….” She hesitated on the last word. Honestly, she had no idea if they were friends? Lovers? Frenemies? Before everything turned to shit they kissed a few times and were trying to become something more but now she wasn’t ready if what they had before was still on.

“Well that is far from a warm welcome I was expecting…..” he looked down a bit depressed. If she did not want him he truly had nowhere else to go. Bats rejected him, he was not going to turn to Bruce and she was his only hope. Apparently gone now.

“Are you serious?” her tone was cold as ice and so was her gaze “it’s been five freaking years, Todd” oh, shit, she was using his last name now. Silent fury, the worst kind. “You were dead. And they I just get a call from Dick with the most mysterious message : he’s alive. And apparently he has been for a while now. Tell me, Red Hood, because that is who you are now, right? Was is fun? Was it worth it?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like? Go on, I’m being merciful here, you have one chance to explain it and then I don’t want to see you again. “

“I was dead” he sighed deeply “and then…. Then I got resurrected.” He sighed deeply knowing well enough she was not going to believe him

“Don’t give me this religious shit about bringing people back from the dead” she rolled her eyes and stood up in frustration

“Y/N….” he raised to her height as well, now his 6’4 figure towering over her “please, you have to believe me, I’m telling the truth. There’s this place called Lazarus pit. I… I was thrown there and …. came back.” He absentmindedly reached for her hands but she moved away.

“Yeah, I heard a legend about it. But sure as hell you did not crawl there by yourself. Who helped you? Was it someone I know?” Jason muttered something incoherently “sorry? What was that? And don’t try to lie, you know I am a human lie detector.”

“Thalia al Ghul.” He mumbled and his cheeks became a bit flushed

“Shut up!” she let out a desperate laugh.

“It’s true.”

“Oh, I know, I see it in your eyes. And on your whole face. God damn it! Thalia Al Ghul. Like Dami’s assassin mother?” still laughing she raised an eyebrow making sure she put the two dots together and hummed in satisfaction when he nodded “that is crazy. Wait till I tell him……”

“Don’t you dare!” he yelled moving closer to her.

“Oh, there you are. Not so quiet and repentant anymore. Good, nice to know you still got problems with anger management. Now, one more thing. Should I tell Damian that you and his mother actually had an affair?” she smirked with venom in her voice “that you….”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence!!” he was now even closer but she was the one who always liked to play with fire and push on his buttons.

“That you fucked his mother? Because you did, didn’t .....?”

Before she could finish this sentence Jason had her pressed against the wall, his chest moving up and down in frustration, panting

“Auch!”she mocked, but the impact really was painful even if she did expect it.

“You are a brat. Always have been. Guess nothing changed for the last five years.”

“Or maybe your time with League of Assassins exacerbated your temper? I mean you always had issues but now it’s seems completely out of control. Didn’t they teach you how to keep your cool?”

“How do you know about….?” He moved back, surprised with her words. He did not tell anyone what he was doing during the last years.

“Come on. Thalia? You just said it yourself. If she helped you, you definitely stayed there. It’s simple dots connecting. Oh, my god. That would be a spit and disgrace for Bruce if he ever were to find out! I can literally imagine his face right now.” She laughed hard, not moved by the fact that only a second earlier she was brutally pinned against the wall. She was a vigilante, things like that did not bother her.

“Will you just shut up!?” he yelled in frustration.

“Don’t worry. I won’t be the one to tell him. That’s one thing I can do for you” she smirked “Cheshire knows exactly how to keep a secret and yours is safe, all right? Now will you just calm down?”

“How do you expect me to calm down?” his gaze fixed on her and for the first time in a long, long time she was completely frozen by the look in his eyes “Do you know what you are doing to me?” he groaned

“Jason……” her eyes went wider and wider when he started moving towards her again and soon had her cornered. “Fuck!” she hissed. There was nowhere to run now and she mentally facepalmed herself for not taking precautions. She was not scared. Jason could be angered and violent, but he would never hurt her, right? Despite that rational part of her brain, telling her that it was still her Jace, her vigilante instincts got the best of her when she ducked under his arms and moved to the other side of the room.

The sound, the groan that came from the back of his throat when she wriggled out of his reach was not human. God, she always knew how to get on his nerves. So why the fuck did he still love her? Why did he want her? Now. Immediately. He wanted her under him, writhing and moaning his name in indefinite pleasure as he would go down on her, getting exactly where she needed him and giving her everything. He wanted to feel her against him, caressing her perfect body, showing her how much he missed her for those last years. He needed to feel her and her touch on every scar he got from his fights. He wanted to kiss every place, every square centimeters of her smooth skin, her neck, collarbone, her breasts and belly button. He wanted her lips and those sweet sounds he knew she would make. He wanted to make her feel so fucking good. He craved to assure her that she was the only one on his mind. Ever. He needed to hear her whisper that she was his. He needed to know that she loved him too, that he was the only one for her. Fuck! He saw it in her eyes and if he was someone else he wouldn’t even hesitate just took her right there, right now, without asking, without waiting for her to say yes, just getting what he wanted. That was what Red Hood would do. However, she was still his sweet, beloved Y/N. Unruly and challenging but still he never wanted to break her. And just to her, he didn’t want to be the vigilante, the anti-hero. He wanted to be Jason Todd, the boy she knew before, hoping this would be enough and that she wouldn’t turn him away. Oh, he was getting such dirty thought…. The fact that he spaced out did not pass her

“Jaybird?” his eyes got a bit glassy when her voice switched from Cheshire mode to concerned words of Y/N as she used his nickname “Jay?”

His lust filled eyes landed on her, pupils blown unnaturally, dark and with so much need and …..love. she involuntarily took a deep breath and just by seeing her like this, now completely vulnerable, with chapped lips, so innocent and frightened made him hard.

“Jay, why are you looking at me like that?” her voice trembled. Was she scared of him? That is not what he wanted. Slowly, carefully not to made her run away from him again he took a step forward. And then another and other, getting braver when she did not move, eyes searching his face “why are you…..?”

“You know I want you…..” he whispered “I always wanted you. Even when I was with…. anyone else, there was only you.” his face was now inches apart from hers and he could tell she wanted him too and were struggling to keep her composure and self-control. That was what she was learned, never give up control.

“Wait, you thought about me when you were having sex with other women? Ugh. That is seriously messed up and sick.”

“Y/N….” he whispered against her skin, brushing his nose over hers “You know I’ve always loved you…. I know I messed up, but give me one chance to fix it.”

“Just…. Just one chance.” She gasped and he leaned to kiss her but she put a finger on his lips “What do you want to do to me?”

“I want to fuck you. Slow. With the lights on.”

“Ja…. Jay….” She whimpered “I…. I don’t…..” who would have thought that tough and independent Cheshire would suddenly become so shy and embarrassed because of physical intimacy.

“Don’t worry, kitten. I will make you feel good, I promise. I will devour you….” he whispered and finally, finally their lips met when, surprisingly, she was the one who pulled him down to her by his neck. Oh, she still wanted control. Even when he grabbed her hips, lifting her up with no effort and wrapping her legs around his waist making her feel how hard he was for her. She was still fighting for dominance when he bit on her bottom lip and his tongue sneaked into her mouth making her moan so sweetly. She was still resistant when his hands moved under her shirt, up, up, to her breast, cupping and massaging it gently through the thin material making her whole body shiver.

“Jay….” She gasped when his mouth moved down her neck to the collarbone, at the same time pulling the shirt over her head.

“Fuck, I love you…..” he bit on her pulse point, definitely leaving the hickey. He wanted to mark her whole. “I so fucking love you.” he pulled away only to take her in. Her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, her wide, innocent eyes.

“I love you too Jace. But don’t stop.” she moaned

“I have no intention to do so, baby. I will take my time with you. We have so many years to make up for…..” he carried her towards the bedroom, throwing her onto the bed, losing his own shirt on the way and climbing up to hover above her body. All his scars were now visible and she gently, seductively, but also lovingly traced her fingers over them making him close his eyes. He was still insecure about how his body looked.

“My poor boy. My wonderful boy…..” she whispered “you’ve been through so much, haven’t you?” her hand travelled up to his cheek cupping it “Jace, look at me….”

“I hate them…..” he whispered

“Well I already love them. I love you. I don’t care about those scars. You are beautiful. So, so, beautiful. Each part of you….”

He could not hold it back any longer when he leaned in to kiss her with all passion he had. He wanted her closer, he wanted her to feel the love and longing and every emotion he had for her.

“Tell me what you want, Y/N. I’ll do everything, just tell me.” He kissed her neck again as she played with the hair at the nape of the neck.

“I…. Can we turn the light off?”

“Why?”

“Well, you are not the only one who’s insecure. And…. And I am not as experienced as you, so…..”

“Fuck. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes now. You are a goddess Y/n. I’m gonna show you” his hands moved down and behind her back unclasping her bra and as soon as her breasts were free he started kissing them with feather light kisses switching between left and right one. His tongue circling over her sensitive nipples as she was already falling apart. “Hmmm” he grinned moving down “we’ve only just began and you’re already a mess. “

“Jay….. please, please…..”

“Don’t worry, princess, I’ll take you over the edge.“ she shivered and barely noticed when he moved down her pants and underwear pulling her legs apart. “so wet for me.”

“Come on!” she urged him, arching her back and moving her hips up to signalize him what she wanted.

“As you wish.” He dropped in between her thighs immediately hitting the perfect spot. She moaned and he grinned “there then?”

“Yes! Fuck! Yes, Jace, please, oh, please, please. I need you…..” she threw her head back and he sped up wanting her to cum, to feel all the pleasure.

“Tell me you’re mine, babygirl. Tell me who do you belong to?”

“You! You Jace! Please, fuck! I’m so close, so fucking close!”

In some other circumstances he would tease her more, but the way she squirmed and begged for release was too much. He just couldn’t keep edging his treasure. She deserved the best. A couple more licks and gentle circles on her clit and a few words “come for me babygirl” and she was over the edge, her vision turning white, her whole world limited to him. Jason. Jace. Jay. Her Jay. It took her a few seconds to get back on earth and the first thing she saw was his smiling face.

“Was that good? Was I good?”

“Fuck, Jay. That was… that was… fuck. I don’t even want to know who taught you that, but you were just phenomenal…..” she gasped locking her hands on his neck making him lean his forehead on hers “I want more…..” she closed her eyes.

“Needy now, huh?”

“Can you blame me? I bet you got enough stamina to keep me satisfied.” She smirked

“’Is that a challenge?”

“Yes.”

“You know I never back down from such. You want me inside you, baby?” he started unzipping his pants and soon they were on the floor along with his boxers, his cock hard and swollen springing out.

“Oh fuck, you’re huge…. I don’t know if….”

“You can do it. I’ll go slow, all right? Just say a word and I stop. No need to rush.” He assured her, capably putting on condom.

“O…ok.”

“Good….” He lined himself against her entrance but once again she stopped him from taking any action.

“Jace…..” she whispered looking anywhere but on him finally making him grab her chin and force her eyes on him

“Second thoughts?”

“No. No, of course not. I…. I trust you.” he melted when she said that, his hands started to shake, heart swelling with love and affection. “I just…..”

“Tell me what you want, baby. What do you want to do? I’m listening.”

“I want on top.”

“Getting confident, now?” he grinned “Can’t lie, I like that.”

“I just…. I’m not sure if I know how to…..”

“You never….? Wait, weren’t there any men?” he muttered and regretted that a second later. If there were anyone else in her life, touching her and loving her he did not want to know.

“A few. But…. Most of the times, even after…. I just had to take care of myself……” she tried to look down but he didn’t let her, softly caressing her cheek.

“You poor thing. Neglected and kept unsatisfied by a bunch of losers. We’ll make sure it will never happen again. You….” he whimpered “you trust me?”

“Yes.” No hesitation in her voice. Zero inhibitions.

“I’ll make it worth it.” He pulled her up, making her sit on his lap so he could prepare her for his huge cock, his fingers circling her clit at first and soon getting inside. One. Two. three fingers were moving inside her and she was moaning and saying his name like a prayer. “You think you’re ready?”

“I…. Yes. Just… help me with it….”

“Come here” this time it was his turn to groan and moan when he grabbed her hips and guided her onto his cock slowly moving her down. “Fuck! So good, so tight!” she whimpered when he bounced a bit due to his excitement “sorry, baby” a little kiss on the lips “you’re good?”

“I think so….” she smiled shyly and looking more beautiful than ever

“God, you’re so hot. So beautiful. Do you even know it?” he said absolutely hypnotized by her widened eyes, messy hair and lips swollen from the kisses.

“All red and sweaty and sticky?” she laughed “you can’t be serious, Jay….”

“Look at me, babe.” She slowly lifted head to meet his eyes “You. Are. Fucking beautiful. And I’m so lucky you let me make love to you…..”

“Oh, so now we are making love? I though you said something about wanting to fuck me….”

“Changed my mind. You deserve so much more than just fucking.” his grip on her hips tightened when he pulled her closer and she moaned “That’s it baby. Show me how good you feel.”

“Jay…. I want to….”

“Ride me?”

“Yes...." She threw her head back in ecstasy.

“Go on then. You’re in control. Use me. Take what you need.”

“I don’t know…..”

“Just do what you feel like. Don’t worry about me. It’s all about you now, ok?”

“Mhmmmmm…. Ok.” She started to move her hips, slowly, testing the waters. That was new, and she did not want to hurt him or embarrass herself by doing something stupid. However soon it started getting more and more natural and easier.

“You’re doing so good, baby, so good” Jason praised her, fighting the urge to guide her hips to move a bit faster. “you can pick the pace up, its…. Ah, fuck!”

“Enjoying yourself?” she smirked, much more confident now, as she observed his blissful face and his half closed eyes and some sort of pride crept on. She was doing it to him.

“Oh, you little tease.” He moved and she bounced on his cock, squealing when she lost balance and quickly grabbed his neck for support “you first.” He started moving his hips against her, and the heat started building inside her. “close?”

“Mhm. So close. You?”

“Yeah.”

“Together?”

“Always.”

“Come for me baby boy” she used the same sentence as he did before and with one final snap of their hips, she was sent over the edge, feeling his cock twitch inside her.

“Fuck!” he panted, holding her closer not ready to pull out. “I should…..”

“No…. hold me like this. Just for a while…..” she sneaked her arms around him clutching to his chest and his heart nearly jumped out of his body “I missed you.”

“Well, who am I to deny you this little koala moment?”

“koala?” she chucked against his skin, her laugh so beautiful

“Sorry, I forgot. You’re a kitten.”

“Not just any kitten. Cheshire. I can play with your mind….”

“You don’t even have to try. You already made me crazy for you. " He kissed her temple lovingly. "Now, let me clean you up.” He pulled out, removed and threw away the condom and collected a cloth to clean her up from her own juices. “You have no idea how I missed you.”

“I’m hoping you suffered through the fact you knew I was alive. I was living in grief but in belief I would never get to see you or touch you or…. be more than friends. Cause you know, your death left us in a very ambiguous relation.”

Jason lied on his back, sighing deeply.

“Come here” he urged her and the girl put a head on his chest, tracing patterns on his abdomen, while he run a hand up and down her arm “now you got me back. And if you want to…..”

“Sh. Don’t.” she silenced him “We don’t need to have that conversation now. Let’s just live in the moment for a while. Blissful, peaceful moment before we put a tag on it. And before we figure out how to reconcile my work with your family and you solo Red Hood killing spree. Is that all right with you?"

“Perfectly.”

“Perfectly perfect than….” She muttered slowly drifting off. In his arms. Where she always belonged.

584 notes · View notes

em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 10 months

Text

gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 6: Fury

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Hello, everyone! I know, I know - yeeting these out, aren’t I? A small change of plans, in that this one is the OG Chapter 4 split in half; I’m THIS close to having Chapter 7 done, too, and after that, it’s minor edits to the existing work. I’ve done the major reworking for this instalment, so yaaaaay! Only gotta rephrase/add slight things to upcoming chapters to make it all round out cohesively. As always, thanks to my slap daddy @ewanmitchellcrumbs for reassuring me that this makes sense! YAY!

TRIGGERS: incest, purity culture, violence, age gap, dubious consent.

Luring you in is easier said than done.

He finds you when and where he can, your seemingly untraceable movements easily resolved through quick conversation with Harrold Westerling, none other than the Lord Commander himself. A stolid, serious man, he’d taken little issue to his Prince’s request, providing Cole’s whereabouts with an ease that speaks to the Kingsguard’s acclimatisation to your routine. He does not particularly enjoy searching you out by means of the Stormlander knight, but needs must.

Daemon does it all, too. He spends what time he is able in your company, taking care not to press his suit too forcefully and scare you off; he regales you with tales of his nobler deeds and escorts you to meals with your family; he unearths his old stockpiles of accrued riches and selects the few among them he thinks you might like; he plies you with adulation and declares you to be the fairest maiden in all the known world, the envy of every creature fortunate enough to lay eyes upon you. He gives this endeavour all the effort he possesses, more so than any past conquest, for you are infinitely more valuable than some cheap fuck, and he is so sure that you will receive his attentions with a sweet smile and a ready spirit, all too willing to take the hand he is silently offering with every look and every word, urging you to accept him and—

And nothing. It drives him mad. So distracted is he that he begins to draw further and further away from his old associates, declining their entreaties wherever he might. The most recent occasion had left a rather sour taste in his mouth.

“Come on, man! Where is your head tonight?” Dargood asks, leaning across one of his many acquaintances to yell at him over the din. “You’ve not said a word all evening!”

Daemon lifts the tankard and takes a lengthy draught. “Ah—perhaps you bore me, then.” A wan smile curves as their gathered companions roar with laughter.

Truthfully, he’s been avoiding the lot of them; they desire little else than to drink and fight and fuck. While his taste for such pastimes hasn’t exactly waned, his enthusiasm has taken a great blow. He can only presume it has something to do with you, blasted tempting girl you are. Each time he resigns himself to one of these outings—each time he must playact at interest in the whores Dargood parades before him in yet another reputed establishment—all he sees in his mind’s eye is your face, wounded disappointment clouding your beauty and transforming it into something haunted and sorrowful.

Kettleblack snorts. “Of course he’s bored, what with his Delight waiting for him in the Keep! Probably wishing he was back in her right now!”

“Or is it his Delight in that shithole that he’s craving?” Hollard asks. The reminder of the whore—of that embarrassingly public affair in which he’d shouted your name in a fucking brothel, of all places—churns in Daemon’s gut.

He looks suspiciously towards Dargood, who shrugs innocently. Dargood had been the only one to pay attention as the whore had led him away and up the stairs; and, when he’d lurched from that shabby chamber after spilling himself like a green boy, he’d come across the other man loitering in the hall outside, expression alight as though he’d just learned some great secret.

He’d have to impress the importance of silence upon his longtime comrade a little more forcefully, it seems.

“Whatever will he do—two silver-haired lasses ready to spread their legs for him?” One of the men whose name he cannot recall grins, revealing his missing front teeth in all their hideous glory. Eyes glittering meanly, he adds, “Who has the time?”

Daemon dislikes the turn in conversation. “Now, now, lads,” he says with a conceited sneer, though his heart isn’t in it. “It’s poor form to tell tales of the royal bedchamber. Or one’s exploits in them.”

“Lucky bastard!”

He levels a look at this unknown. “I assure you; my mother and father were wed.” The manner in which he emphasises it, with a raise of the brow to accentuate, leaves no man unaware of his intent.

“Oi!” he exclaims, indignant even as the others guffaw. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“Nothing at all. Only; they say bastards have a certain”—here, Daemon pauses and lets his gaze travel assessingly over his form, settling back with a smirk after completing his observation—“ look about them.”

Uproarious mirth follows his pronouncement, though it did not nearly warrant the volume with which the varied cackles and chortles now ring in his ears.

Hollard slaps his back, guffawing all the while. “Stop terrorising him, my Prince! He’s wroth enough as it is, what with you getting to tumble two Valyrian whores!”

“One cost me a single silver.” Daemon waves him off drolly. “You’re welcome to her. The other”—he thinks of Rhaenyra’s penchant for glittering jewels with a snide sort of affection—“well, you can’t afford her.”

“Tell you who I’d like to have a go with, eh,” Kettleblack slurs, having been in his cups for far longer than the gathering had taken place. “Our People’s Princess.” Daemon’s chest tightens at the mention of you. “Reckon she’d be a first-rate fuck, don’t you?”

“Mm.” Dargood smacks his lips after slamming his tankard back on the table, an unreadable stare trained upon his Prince. “She’s a shy little thing, isn’t she? Thought the confident ones were your type.”

“If it has a cunt between its legs, it’s my type.” This ignites a wave of jeers and more than one crass comment about whether or not he’s taken up horse-fucking as of late. “Oh, fuck off!” Kettleblack says irritably. “Not what I meant. Besides, she’s a looker. None of you would refuse, surely! Can you imagine it? The sound of her—”

He’s speaking before he even realises. “That’s enough.”

The harshness in his voice spurs them all to an abrupt silence.

Daemon had left not long after, unable to stomach spending longer than he had to their presence. Their ribald banter was by no means the most vulgar it had ever been—in fact, it was positively tame in comparison to some of the sentiments expressed in past encounters—but hearing them discuss you so crudely made him uncomfortably aware of how tasteless many of his own thoughts of you had been.

After this disturbing epiphany, he seeks distraction by throwing himself ever more into the task of winning you over, only to be thwarted at every turn.

His flattery is for naught; your lips curve up shyly when you look at him, but so too does this occur when any other compliments you. You absorb yourself in his stories, probing where you will and exclaiming in pretty ahs of girlish fascination, but so too does this happen when your half-sister natters on about her own day to your keen ear. You accept his gifts with earnest solemnity, clutching them to you as a child with a prized doll, but so too do you hold tight the flowers young Jacaerys presents to you after a morn spent in the sun.

Ever agreeable, ever kind, ever polite you are to his overtures—but you do not warm to him in the way he expected you to. The way he wishes you would. In truth, he isn’t entirely sure you are even aware of his motives, for you do not regard him with the same hesitance you do the Tyrell lord or Lannister or your idiot brother. Is that a terrible thing? he wonders. It is not as though you particularly like any of them. Nonetheless, he remains, frustratingly, your uncle and nothing more.

This is partly his own fault, he knows. The court had once had its pleasure in the scandal wrought by Daemon’s calculated seduction of Rhaenyra, obvious to all but the King himself—and what had resulted? His banishment, her ruination, his years in exile and her marriage free of passion. No such occurrence is to be the conclusion of this attempt; thus, he is resigned to stepping out from the shadows, conducting his business in the safe light of day. Never once does he dare to hint at anything less than what is proper in the presence of others—and never once does he dare meet with you alone. There can be no errors this time.

As such, his suit remains overlooked. He can do nothing else but persist, waiting for you to finally realise his intentions.

How tedious it is to lower himself to such a competition with no real opponent! He is the only one worthy of your pedigree, a man of high enough birth that you would not be ridiculed by wedding below your station. A man who could ensure you kept your familiar life in King’s Landing with your family, who could garb you in the finest velvets and silks and jewels this side of the Narrow Sea, who could give you trueborn Targaryen children worthy of your royal womb.

And yet, strangely, wooing you excites him. For all his many pursuits and passions, he had never once played the role of valiant suitor; and the sight of your pleased face as he offers you presents or walks you around your garden in amiable conversation tugs at a long-buried part of his soul. He wants to be your hero, wants you to worship him. In the bedchamber, yes, but also on his arm for all to see, to know that he has won your affections as assuredly as he has won your hand.

It is this that goads him to seek you out today.

You had welcomed his presence in the dank library, the scent of stale leather and rotting parchment permeating the echoing space. It’s fucking cold, too, in a tower so high up in the Red Keep he can swear the air feels thinner. You’d pulled out your winter furs, draping them over your shoulders to stave off the chill, and he’d noted with amusement that you’d done the same to your guard. Ser Crispin was fetchingly shrouded in flaxen hide, complementing his armour rather stunningly. His attempts to get a rise from the man at this had failed, with the cunt obstinately refusing to acknowledge his existence.

“Finne laz anha ezat sewafikh,” you say, grinning at the dubious twist of his lips. He has come to find that, for all your solemnity, it is easy to amuse you. “Go on, kepus—try.”

“Finne… laz anha—ezat swafeek.” He grimaces at the words as they leave his mouth. The flavour feels distinctly wrong.

“Seh—wa—fikh.” You correct him gently, nodding at him to try again.

Your Ser Lysan Marios is in the corner of the room, chin to chest as he snores in the only comfortable chair in the room. He truly is an old man. With dark skin and white hair, Daemon has never seen a person with so many lines on their face, looking more like the craggy hills of his dead bronze bitch’s prized Runestone than actual human flesh. A man of acuity and hilarity, it is no wonder you enjoy his company.

“It is best to let him rest,” you had said as the man’s lids had drooped and his head had lowered forward, slumping in his seat. “He has been unwell lately—I worry for him.”

You had since obliged with his entreaties to teach him some phrases in Dothraki. It is a hard-won process. His jaw and tongue are unused to situating themselves for throaty dialogue, being far too used to the lyrical fullness of his ancestral native speech, but it is entirely worth it to watch your sweet face light up.

“Sewafikh,” he says.

You gasp excitedly, wiggling in your seat. “The whole thing!”

“Finne laz anha ezat sewafikh,” he says, smirking at you when you clap. He can’t help but find you endearing in your joy, eyes shining and smiling bright. “Now, little girl—what have you just made me say?”

“I thought you would find this phrase most useful.” You grin impishly. He narrows his eyes at you.

“And this useful phrase is?” His brow quirks.

You’re already giggling. “You can now ask ‘where can I find the wine?’ should you discover yourself surrounded by a khalasar.”

A startled guffaw bursts from him at your cheek. You are a surprisingly witty little thing, and he has found himself more and more charmed with each hour he spends in your presence. A consummate royal youth, you are exceedingly well-versed in the politics of social niceties, navigating your exchanges so expediently that he has learned he must actively work to keep up.

“Impudent brat.” He chuckles, eyeing you as you catch your breath and making a list of all the parts of you he intends to get his hands on when you are his.

Curls of silver bundled into a braided coiffure, strands threatening to escape—and he finds this more and more apt a metaphor for your character, a timid little bird just waiting to be set forth from its cage. The damnable temptation of your throat thankfully encircled with the abundance of precious stones forming the Valyrian steel necklace he had gifted you some days prior, a welcome respite from being besieged by the involuntary seduction of pale skin. Voluptuous waist and widened hips in perfect shape for his hands to span. Rounded cheeks and pouty pucker and dewy-eyed gaze…

You are a maiden strumpet waiting for her first lesson in the art of carnality. He is determined to be your instructor in this. Your only instructor.

“Here,” Daemon murmurs, withdrawing the reason for his visit from under his chair. He leans forward and places the item upon the desk before you.

You had paid little attention to the wooden case tucked under his right arm as he sauntered in, instead keeping your eyes fixed upon his as you uttered a courteous greeting, mildly perplexed as you always are when he seeks you out. He watches you as you open the chest now and lift out the carving inside, the same size as the little book before you. Your small hands turn the object curiously as you ogle the fine details of the gift, a soft little gasp of wonder escaping bow-lips.

You glance back at him.

“Is this Caraxes and Athfiezar?” you ask softly. He nods.

It had not taken long to realise your partiality lay less along the lines of ostentation and more meaningful simplicity; he’d only need to recall your lacklustre enthusiasm for Jason Lannister’s lion pendant to form such a notion. (Though, it may very well be that the gift had come from Lannister that had inspired such indifference, he thinks amusedly.) He had solicited the services of a common toymaker entirely by accident, having taken notice of the man’s goods during a nightly stroll through the city.

Daemon had been absent-mindedly making his way back from that eve of tension with Dargood and his crooked companions, only to find that his feet had taken him entirely past the route to the Keep. Instead, he’d moved north along the Kingsroad to Cobbler’s Square, idly observing the shopkeepers flog their wares along the street. One look at the stall upon which were arranged brightly-coloured carvings—an array of lions and horses and dragons, of knights and ladies and Kings in an assortment of sizes, shapes and poses—and he had known that the skill of the man would be something you’d enjoy, honest and artful. The peasant had been overawed when met with a request from the Prince of the City, eagerly accepting the task of producing a miniature replica of your dragons.

The man really had spared no detail, he muses as he surveys your inspection of the sculpture. It is truly a fine piece, carefully depicting his crimson mount snarling and wound around the central figure of your own reptilian steed. They are posed as though they are about to take flight. From the whittled minutiae to the meticulously applied paints, it is a worthy representation of the pair. He would have to make further commissions of him.

“It is beautiful, Uncle,” you breathe, running the tips of your fingers over the hewn surface in concealed awe. You are careful not to disturb the layers of colour affixed to the wood. “I love it. But you should not have bought me anything”—you look back up at him with a frown as your hand lightly reaches up to touch his previous gift fastened at your nape—“for you have already given me something very valuable.”

(“I will treasure it,” you had said, stunned wonder muted by the veil of decorum. He has yet to see you without it; he likes to view it as almost a brand marking you as his.)

Cole is glaring at him from the entry to the library. Daemon sneers, lip twitching in smug enjoyment as the man looks away.

“Why ever not? I was thinking of you,” he asks gently, reprovingly. If I push too hard, she will withdraw. “I enjoy giving you things. Allow your old uncle to indulge, sweet girl.”

You smile unbidden, a flush blooming on the tip of your nose.

“You are not old, kepus,” you whisper, refusing to look at him, and a thrill tingles at the top of his spine at your receptiveness.

He is about to respond when there is a knock upon the door. It reverberates through the room, the bare stone floors serving to propel the noise around. Cole opens it to reveal the mousy form of a servant girl, the plain red linen of her dress and the cream caul adorning her head denoting her as one of the royal staff members. She colours as she notices his presence, quickly glancing away.

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” she says, bobbing a curtsey to you and lowering her head, “but the Lord Tyrell is awaiting your presence.”

He seethes internally as you resignedly stow away his gift, giving it a final caress before latching the box closed. Fucking Denys. He’ll be damned if you dare entertain the notion of wedding that flowery cunt, all too eager to bend over for the Hightowers as he is.

“I’ll escort you, niece,” he chooses to say, solicitously stowing the chest under his arm once more as he heads off your weak protestations. He walks around the desk to offer his arm to you.

“I think you’ll find that I will be escorting her, my Prince,” Cole says stiffly, striding forward several paces. The knight stops when you turn to face him.

“Actually, Ser Criston—could you ensure that Ser Lysan makes it safely back to his chambers?” You beseech him quietly, and from the look on the Kingsguard’s face he has no doubt you are gazing up at him with wide, imploring eyes. It is entirely too winsome an expression on you, and he deliberates whether there is a man alive or otherwise who could resist the power of your pleading. “I would hate to awaken him, and my uncle can surely manage to escort me to my sister’s solar to meet with Lord Denys.”

The fastidious man insisted on meeting you for tea, of all things. Fucking ridiculous. Loath to leave you to face the obnoxiousness of his presence alone, Rhaenyra had insisted on playing host to the courting. Needless to say, the food and drink was to be the best part of the event each time he paid a visit to you.

Cole nods yieldingly as you thank him, sighing a defeat as he steps back and allows you to pass with Daemon.

Your hand is firmly wrapped underneath his arm, grip tight. The journey is quiet, and he notes that you have retreated into yourself once more. Though hates to see you unhappy, he cannot deny how well it bodes for him that you are.

“Chin up, sweetling,” he whispers conspiratorially to you as you approach the Princess of Dragonstone’s solar—the room adjoining the chambers of the royal heir to the right—and stop.

You smile weakly at his attempt to cheer you, though it does not reach your eyes, as he knocks on the door for you. Rhaenyra appears in the opening, her countenance morphing into perplexity at the sight of you and Daemon. It is clear she had been expecting Cole instead.

“Uncle,” she says, a wrinkle of confusion on her visage. “I didn’t think—why are you here?”

Her gaze shifts between you and him, noting the grip of your hand upon his arm and the manner in which he is angled toward you.

“Cole’s been tasked with an obligation by our Princess,” he replies, and it is a breath of fresh air to be able to look her in the eye and feel nothing but affection and the throb of old guilt and hurt. The desire has finally worn itself out, though the memory of it still lingers. He supposes you may have had something to do with that. “I felt it best to accompany her to your rooms myself.”

Rhaenyra nods, brow raised and mouth pressed in a thin line as she opens the door wide to let you both in. You whisper a small thank-you to him as you slip away from him, politely moving forward for the visitor to make his introductions to you.

Denys Tyrell is surely the most repulsive man to grace Westeros, Daemon thinks disfavourably.

The man stands aimlessly in the centre of the room, appearing to be idly examining the tapestries depicting the Targaryen Conquest adorning the walls. A stout, rotund lad, he is encased in a garish, ill-fitting doublet of pale sky brocade with gold flowers, straining mightily at the buttons. His features are diminutive among ruddy flesh, save for the huge, meticulously groomed moustache decorating his upper lip. The son of the late Lord Matthos, he is probably one of the few suitors close enough in age to you to bond with over the delight of being young.

And yet, he is still not good enough for you.

“Your Highness.” He bows dramatically, a ridiculous flourish of the hand punctuating the finish.

Daemon has to restrain the urge to scoff at the fawning grandiosity of the gesture. He observes with half-hearted intrigue as the lad’s eyes flick to him and his lip curls in an abortive sneer before quickly returning to you. Another one of his ‘supporters’, he expects.

You politely tip your head and engage in small talk, asking after the quality of his lodgings and the welfare of his family in a manner that suggests you have gotten this routine perfected over the course of these meetings. He wants to roll his eyes as the man brightens, loudly beginning to chatter his poor niece’s ear off.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra hisses from next to him.

Glancing over at her, he sees she has a forbidding look upon her face as she jerks her head towards the open door. Bemused, he follows her out of the room, casting a brief look back at you as you engage in conversation with your suitor. Flowery cunt.

Rhaenyra shuts the door quietly before rounding on him in the middle of the hallway.

“What in the name of the Seven are you doing, Daemon?” she asks, looking around quickly for any loiterers. The corridor is silent.

“Can I not walk with my own niece now, Rhaenyra? You really must apprise me of the new laws. I wasn’t aware that it was now a crime to chaperone my own blood—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” She scoffs, waving her hand toward the closed door. “Finding her all over the Keep? Staring at her constantly? The gifts? The flattery?” She steps forward threateningly, though her womanly disposition and her lack of height serve to diminish the effect. “She’s told me all about it—I know what this is.”

He smirks down at her, arms crossing. “And what do you think this is, then?”

Her hand clenches into a fist. He wonders, entertained, if she would dare to hit him. “Don’t play the fool, Uncle; it doesn’t suit you. I won’t let you spoil my sister the way you did me.”

He scoffs. “As I recall, Princess, I took no part in your spoiling.” He is callously satisfied by the flush spreading across her visage at the imputation of his words.

Oh, yes. I know about Cole.

He continues, timbre colouring with aggravation. “And I have no intention of ruining her.” Well, not yet—not until the wedding night. “Why does everyone in this fucking city always assume the worst of me?”

“Because that’s what you do!”

She has escalated to a near yell now, whipping around in her frustration, the end of her braid lashing across his chest with a thump as she moves away. When she turns around, her eyes are bright with the gradual swell of moisture.

“You pick a target, lay them thick with pretty words and affection, and then cast them away when you’ve grown bored. You do it with father; with your lickspittles and your precious City Watch; with your whores and your women; you did it to me, and now you’re going after my sister—”

It infuriates him to hear her slander his character so thoroughly, for all that it is true. Perhaps it is this fact that upsets him more.

“Is that jealousy I hear?” he asks cruelly, turning the attack upon her. He presses forward, allowing the fury to infuse his step, his words, his countenance. “Such a bitter shrew you’ve become. It’s no wonder I’ve moved on to more enjoyable pastimes. After all, your sweet sister really is exquisite—she’ll make a fine little bride for me.”

He watches with vicious gratification at the unmitigated outrage that overtakes her.

“How dare you—”

Suddenly, the door opens. Lord Tyrell steps into the doorway, lip curled and face red.

“I believe this meeting is at an end, Princess.”

The man sneers, shoving past him as he exits. Behind him, Daemon can see your distress clearly. You are still in the middle of the solar, wringing your hands and biting your lip, refusing to look at anything other than the floor before you.

Rhaenyra tries to gather herself in affecting a disposition of regal indifference, though the cracks in her façade are clear to see. “You are leaving so soon, my Lord? I am sure my sister would so enjoy—”

“I think I understand what the Princess… enjoys, Your Highness.” He scrutinises you, then turns to Daemon and looks him over disdainfully. The insinuation is obvious. It is clear that he and Rhaenyra had been quarrelling louder than intended. “And who she enjoys it with. I’ll suffer no harlot as my wife, royal or otherwise.”

How dare he. How fucking…

It is a flagrant offence to one so pure as you. Of all the women in the city, you deserve such affront least of all.

At the sight of tears welling in your eyes—brows drawn, lilac blurred by the tear-sheen collecting on your lashes, “will I ever see you again?”—the familiar, burning fire of rage overtakes him completely, the dam bursting and breaking as he swings his fist directly into the foppish lord’s face.

“How dare you insult the Princess’s honour!”

The bestial part of his nature revels in the satisfaction of feeling the man’s flesh tear under the force of his knuckles as he drags him to the floor, of feeling the grinding frisson of pain in his bones as they collide with the insipid cunt’s face. The blood spills hot and wet over that ridiculous outfit, over his fists and clothes, spraying over the floor. The lord can only cry out as Daemon rains down punches upon him, seeking to erase the image of the man who’d dared to malign you so. The Rogue Prince thinks he can hear voices, but the sound is muted, muffled, like listening to a scream underwater.

“You stupid piece of shit, how dare you—”

He aims for Denys’s nose, hoping to smash it in entirely, when he is abruptly dragged off the man and forcefully shoved away. He presses forward wildly, attempting to finish his mission, straining against the hold of Breakbones—and by the gods, the Strong boy really lived up to his name, did he not?—until he takes in the sight before him.

He slows as he views the scene. The Tyrell attendants have run in to kneel next to their lord with rags already mopping at the blood oozing from his face, Ser Willas Fell and Ser Rickard Thorne of the Kingsguard stand with hands on pommels, and several servants are looking on with curiosity and fear at the sight before them.

And you. You are enfolded in the arms of Rhaenyra, a look of abject horror on your sweet face. His heart clenches.

—the horror in your expression feels like the edge of a blade carving to his very soul. “But… you promised”—

This is not what he wanted. He had made you fear him, he can see it; he knows you are afraid. How could he? How could he?

“The Prince attacked me—this is the gravest of abuses, Ser—” cries Lord Denys in response to Ser Rickard’s quiet inquiries, clutching a cloth to his swelling and bloodied eye.

He has to get out of here, he thinks rashly, pulling out of the City Watch Commander’s hold and spinning away, stalking out of the hall—

“Your Highness, you cannot leave while—”

“Daemon, stop—”

“Kepus—”

He runs.

Read on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/121060219

Taglist (😭 thank you!):

Now in the comments!

To be on the taglist:

Click here to apply for the general taglist! Click here to apply for the terms of endearment taglist!

350 notes · View notes

princess-ibri · 7 months

Text

Darkside Disney Princesses: Cinderella

(Trigger warning for well, murder. This one gets kinda dark...)

In trying to work out a turning point for Cinderella I kept thinking it had to be at the moment after her dress is destroyed, when she's at her lowest point. But of course that's when the Fairy Godmother comes in, and it felt sort of cheap to say "well the Fairy Godmother just doesn't show up" cuz why wouldn't she? What would stop her?

And then I had the thought of Cinderella 3. Where the Fairy Godmother has been stopped, and can't come to fix anything.

And Cinderella 3 already falls into a very prevalent fairytale trope of the step-sister assuming the heroine's form and place, often by either turing the heroine into a different form--or outright doing away with her. And the Stepmother seemed pretty set on the latter with trying to send Cinderella over the cliff in that twisted pumpkin coach.

And in the Darkside verse, she succeeds. The mice fail to rescue Cinderella, and the coach goes over. Anastasia tries to back out still, but without Cinderella showing up to spoil the ruse and back her up in facing Lady Tremaine she's quickly bullied back into place by her mother, and marries the Prince in Cinderella's form. The Royal family is bespelled once more to keep them complacent and gain Lady Tremaine even greater power.

But these types of Cinderella tales never end with the stepfamily escaping the price of their evil deeds, and neither does this one.

A year to the day of her untimely end, a restless spirit breaks free of her unmarked resting place. A spirit of flame and fury, wreath about in the vines of the couch that carried her to her doom.

There is to be a ball that night, celebrating the Prince and Princess' one year anniversary, a magnificent affair, and all are invited to attend. Though no one is expecting this particular guest, and by the nights end, those left standing will never be able to forget her...

#darkside disney princesses #darkside disney princess #dark cinderella #my art #cinderella #cinderella 3 #lady tremaine #prince charming #anastasia tremaine #( i like to think that maybe Anastasia makes it out of this still #she was trying to be better #but of course Cinderella's ghost doesn't really know that :s)#disney #halloween #spooky season #tw murder #darkside disney

112 notes · View notes

farity · 10 months

Text

Who Hurt You?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Aemond to the rescue

Warning: Violence towards OFC - no smut, all fluff

“Helaena, do you still have- Apologies, my lady, I am looking for my sister.”

She was holding Jaehaerys in her arms, the little boy sucking his thumb, and she turned sideways when she heard him. “The princess Helaena is in the garden with the princess Jaehaera, Your Highness.”

Aemond had been fascinated by her since the moment she’d arrived in King’s Landing. Unlike most of the other ladies who served and accompanied his family, she didn’t go around flirting with the guards or trying to catch the eye of any visiting nobles. She was quiet around most people but he’d heard her laugh with his sister and Helaena often confided in her. Anyone who had his sister’s trust gained respect from him, and he had never heard anyone mention her as the source of any gossip, and as a noble lady that was indeed a rarity.

“Thank you. Is prince Jaehaerys well?” He took a couple of steps towards his nephew and she, again, turned away from him.

“Oh yes,” she said brightly, “I believe he is winding down for the day, so I am just giving him some quiet.”

“May I have him?”

He saw the instant tension in her shoulders, the tightening of her jaw, but she knew - and he knew - she could not really refuse him. “Of course, Your Highness.”

She placed the little boy in his arms, the warmth of her and the scent of her skin pulling him in, and kept one side of her face away the whole time. As she stepped hack, he reached out, and gently placed two fingers under her chin. “My lady.”

She pressed her lips together, and he slowly turned her face toward him.

Along the outside of her eye and spreading down to her cheek was a large, purplish mark, with a small cut on the very top of her cheekbone.

“I am so very clumsy, Your Highness,” she said quietly, not looking at him.

“Who hurt you?”

She said nothing, still looking down, and merely shook her head gently.

“If it was one of my men-”

“No, Your Highness. Like I said, I am very clumsy.”

Jaehaerys began rubbing his eyes and then reached for her. “May I have the prince back, please?”

“Of course. I will leave you to settle him for the night.”

“Thank you.”

* * * * *

Aemond walked down the hallway the following morning, icy fury still coursing through his veins. His servant was well versed in the ins and outs of the keep and he had been tasked to find out who had hurt his sister’s companion.

They had visitors, as they did much of the time, and if it was one of them, Aemond would have to navigate more difficult paths to retribution. The concept of guest rights and political alliances meant some visitors were less likely to suffer consequences for their actions.

“My prince.”

He turned at the sound of his servant’s voice.

“What have you found out, Tommas?” Aemond asked quietly, still walking.

“I have it on good authority, Your Highness, that after last night’s feast there was much drinking and talk from the men. One of our guests requested the company of a specific lady who is a companion of the princess Helaena, and when the lady declined, he went to look for her.”

Aemond looked at Tommas. “Go on.”

“One of the footmen followed him to keep an eye on things, and the lady in question told our guest that ‘she did not do things like that’ and in response,” Tommas made a backhand motion.

“You trust this footman?”

“Of course, my prince. I know him well.”

“Thank you, Tommas, you have been very helpful.”

Aemond knew well what he could not do. He could not, as he wished, go to the young lordling’s guest chambers and beat the ever living lights out of him. He could not challenge him to a duel. He could not have him tried for abusing a maid.

But there were things he could do.

* * * * *

You were putting a ribbon on Jaehaera’s hair when you heard her brother rushing to the door. “Aemond, Aemond!”

Your heart began beating a little faster, as it always did whenever prince Aemond was around. As Helaena’s companion, you were around most of the family much of the time, and you were used to the various dynamics of the Targaryens.

What had surprised you the most was the tender and easy way Aemond behaved toward his sister and her children. He found time to see the little ones every day, to listen to his sister’s talk even when it made no sense, and he had no problem sitting on the ground to play with the children.

The man who inspired dread and fear in others was a kind, quiet man with love in his heart, and you had often thought he would be a wonderful father someday. The thought made you a little sad, and you told yourself you had no right to feel such things.

You finished putting the ribbon on the little girl’s hair, and she, too, ran to her uncle. When you turned, always making sure the worst of your injury was facing away, you saw the tall prince with one child in each arm, kissing the top of his niece’s silver head and attempting to stop his nephew from undoing the clasps on his jacket.

Unable to help your smile, you turned back to tidy up the box of ribbons and picked up one that Jaehaera had thrown on the floor.

“We do not pull on uncle’s hair, sweet girl,” Aemond was saying to his niece. You put the box away and turned back toward the trio.

“Would you like me to take either of them?”

Aemond looked at you. “Thank you, my lady, but I shall suffer these two small dragons for a few minutes longer,” he sat on the floor and watched as Jaehaerys ran to get a little play sword. “How are you doing today?” he asked, still looking at his niece, but the words meant for you.

“I am very well, Your Highness, thank you. Princess Jaehaera, please do not pull on prince Aemond’s hair,” you reminded the little girl as she wrapped her small hand around the prince’s locks.

“It’s pretty,” Jaehaera replied, smiling angelically.

You knew better than to trust that dear little face. “Yes it is, and we’re going to leave it looking pretty. Would you like to show the prince your coloring papers?”

“Ha!” Jaehaerys waved his sword in the air and pointed it at his uncle.

“You think my hair is pretty?”

When you looked at Aemond, he was smirking at you. “I think the princess your niece thinks it is pretty,” you replied calmly, grabbing Jaehaerys around the waist before he could stab your leg.

“Dearest niece, I believe I have just been insulted. So have you, for that matter, as your excellent taste has been put in question.” Jaehaera simply laughed, patting Aemond’s cheek.

“No insult meant, Your Highness. I am sure you spend much time making sure your hair does exactly as you wish.”

“Oh my goodness, Aemond, I did not know you were here!”

Helaena walked in and grabbed her daughter, kissing her cheek. “I will be here if you wish to break your fast,” she told you.

You nodded, putting Jaehaerys down. “Do not murder anyone, prince Jaehaerys, I shall be back soon.” You curtsied before leaving and started heading to the kitchens. You heard the prince saying something to his sister and then heard his steps behind you.

“My lady, I would walk with you.”

You turned, giving him a small smile. His hair was somewhat disheveled and your fingers itched to run through the silver locks. Whether to set them back to order or dishevel them further, you did not know yet.

“Prince Aemond.”

“Is your face very sore, I can send a maester-”

“Please, Your Highness, do not concern yourself.”

He took your arm and you stopped walking. “But I must, my lady.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from asking. “Why?”

“Because anything that causes you harm concerns me,” he said quietly. “Because I would not see you hurt in any way. Because a kind, loyal woman like you is a rare thing, indeed.”

“Your Highness thinks too highly of me,” you whispered.

“I do not,” he said, and stepped closer. “I think only what is true. I have admired you for a long time and I know how highly my sister and my mother think of you. How anyone could hurt a creature such as you-”

You smiled sadly. “How anyone could hurt someone like you, prince Aemond. You were brave and fierce and you were harmed for it. Sometimes things happen regardless of our character, and those responsible are free to live without the consequences of it.”

“Not always.”

You reached up, against your better judgment, and brushed your fingertips against the lower end of his scar. He took your hand, pressing his lips to your wrist. “My lady.”

“I am sorry, I have overstepped-”

“No, you have not.” He turned your hand in his grasp, kissing the back of your fingers. “I have wished-” he stopped himself, not letting go of your hand. “May I kiss you, my lady?”

You nodded, and he leaned down. It wasn’t one kiss, but several, soft and light brushes of lips, and he didn’t touch you other than holding your hand. The leather and spice scent of him enveloped you and you yearned for more.

When he pulled back, his eye was like blue fire on yours. “I shall leave you to your meal, my lady, but would you meet me in the library at two bells?”

“Of course, Your Highness.” You watched him walk away for a moment, then collected yourself and went to the kitchen.

* * * * *

“Have you heard?” Helaena found you in the gardens where Jaehaera had fallen asleep on your lap after making flower crowns. “They’ve sent the young lord to the front lines.”

You went very still, mindful of the small princess laying on your legs. “What do you mean, princess?”

“That nasty boy, he is gone as of this morning. He was much surprised.” She turned back to you and her eyes got that faraway look that told you she wasn’t really looking at you. “He shall not return,” she said dreamily.

After Jaehaera woke up from her nap, you took her back to her mother’s rooms for some reading with her nurse and then headed to the library to meet Aemond. You had spoken to other ladies and overheard some of the servants talking, and when you walked into the library, you closed the door behind you.

“Was it you?”

Aemond looked up from his book.

“Did you send him to the front lines?”

One corner of his mouth raised so very slightly, and he put the book aside. “I do not make the calls when it comes to the army.”

You simply stared at him until he took a step toward you.

“I called in a favor.”

“You have sent him to his death.”

Aemond shrugged. “You were not the first woman he has bothered.”

He had done it for you. And as wrong as it was to have sent the young lord to a certain death, the thought of Aemond doing it for you was overwhelming.

“But you are the last. And I would do it again. And if you hate me for it, so be it, I will accept your hatred if it means you are safe from him.”

You swallowed, your emotions all tangled up. But you were certain of one thing. “I do not hate you,” you said so quietly, you thought he might not have heard you. “I would never hate you, prince Aemond.”

He stayed where he was, eyeing you warily. “I suppose that is good.”

It was you who closed the distance between you, and you grabbed his hand, holding it in both of your own. “I should, as you have all but ensured his death in retaliation, but I do not.”

He cupped your face with his other hand. “Maybe you are as bloodthirsty as I am.”

“You are not.”

“I am.”

“I see you with the little ones.”

He smiled softly at that. “You can hardly expect me to send my niece to war because she tangles my hair.” His smile faded as he rubbed his thumb over your cheek. “But I am glad you do not hate me, for as I have told you, I have long felt admiration for you.”

Your skin tingled where he touched you, and you decided to throw caution away. “I do not know if this is admiration, but I think of you all the time,” you said before reaching up and pressing your lips to his.

His response was immediate. The hand on your cheek slipped through your hair to hold you in place and you felt him pull you against him. He felt so damn good, his lips soft, his frame long and lean, holding you securely. He deepened the kiss and you whimpered, your every sense taken over by him.

When he finally pulled away, you stayed with your arms around him, unwilling to let him go just yet.

“Tell me I may speak to my sire of a betrothal. I will make sure you are always protected and cared for, my lady, and my devotion to you will know no end.”

You kissed him again, smiling against his mouth.

“Is that a ‘yes’“

“Yes, prince Aemond, it is very much a ‘yes’.”

* * * * *

TAGGING

@arryn-nyx @ girlwith-thepearlearring @greenowlfactif @hydrationqueensworld @megzdoodle @melsunshine @queenofshinigamis @throughgoeshamilton @travelingmypassion @watercolorskyy

Aemond fics only

@hb8301 @kaemond-zafiro @arcielee @castellomargot @m-indkiller @urmomsgirlfriend1 @lunamoonbby

Thank you for reading, for your likes and reblogs, they all mean so much to me!!!

My Ko-fi

#aemond targaryen #aemond fluff #aemond #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader

228 notes · View notes

xx-vergil-xx · 21 days

Note

Can I ask what pushed you to end Hounds the way you did? It's a fantastic ending, but I'm curious. I expected the Fates to revive Dream, or allow him to inhabit a new form (such as one made by Daniel, so that Dream becomes a dreamthing), etc. But instead, his death is made to have never happened. Which makes it partly feels like Hob's whole road trip journey was for nothing since he lost all those memories and connections with Matthew, the Corinthian, Delirium, Despair, Desire, Death, etc. (thank god he kept the farmhouse). But it's almost like he traded all those memories and connections for Dream. Unless I missed something while reading (I was crying very hard).

Again, fantastic ending, and I'm also glad it's a happy ending. But I'm curious as to why you didn't go in the other direction

howdy! thanks very much for the ask — an excellent query, one which i’m happy to answer

(verg of the future: this answer ended up long! there’s a short form at the top here and at the end <3)

in brief: he did make that trade you described! but not strictly for dream — it was the price of swapping genres!

an explanation:

what i had in mind while planning and writing was less the idea of erasure of prior narrative action and more a subversion of the expected genre, in particular the genre tropes that follow dream in the original arc of the comics, where his story is very classically tragic (with the understood weaving of hob into that tragedy, this being a dream/hob telling and all)

for reference, i also drew a lot of inspiration for hob’s road trip odyssey from the aeneid, an epic that is, yes, about the founding of rome but also (at least to my reading) a fundamental tragedy — the cost of founding rome is aeneas’ home, many of his friends, much of his core family, and the very end of the story is not some victorious depiction of the glory of rome to be (which we do get earlier in the book, with the ekphrasis on his shield) but aeneas, overcome with fury and loss, killing a man who begs his mercy. i’ve always felt that the aeneid, while certainly stepped in the expected amount of roman nationalism, is centrally about a single man and his singular suffering as an instrument of higher destiny.

i wanted to model hob’s arc around the aeneid (minus, y’know, some of the chunks that are strictly battle sequences <3) both because intertextuality is a huge part of how i wanted to handle hounds (story about stories, made of other stories, etc), but also because hob and aeneas are fundamentally parallel characters — nomads with exceptional ordinances, permanently displaced by the passing whims of higher powers, men who are made to reckon with both extraordinary wonder and extraordinary tragedy regularly while still, at their core, just being human. that’s what makes aeneas so compelling — he’s just a man. and so is our beloved hob — that’s his whole thing, his whole narrative function and his whole central ideal, humanity

so then, approaching hounds with both the thought of the sandman’s original tragic contours (see: the whole lead-in to daniel. christ above is the way that goes devastating to read) and the man vs fate core of the aeneid, i was considering a lot of things about how to mess around with both notions without gutting them entirely. i tend to dislike tragedies that become un-tragic without some sort of Serious Payment For It (not to say i don’t like happy stories because i very much do! but i get ticked off when high stakes get deflated too quickly) and i didn’t want to undermine the very real fact that the Fates are typically not versed in notions of empathy and/or leniency, and that dream and hob and those around them did experience and endure devastation and loss, and that death is a fact typically immune to argument.

the world of sandman is not one with easy answers, and to my mind there’s no such thing as a bargain with the Fates where you break even. for hob to get what he wanted, something had to be given, something dear and vital and real. there’s more to what hob actually gives the Fates than he verbally stipulates, which i tried to address largely via the corinthian and his perception of the situation, especially those last conversations with dream in the “swamp”. i have a lot of options about the corinthian in his function as “dark mirror” having a blistering clarity of understanding much of the time, which is why i foisted the onus of those complexities onto his dialogue, rather than hob, who (and i say this with love) is a creature of bias and often blinded to greater repercussions of his actions insofar as they extend beyond his immediate objectives/enjoyments, or dream, who can see the bigger picture but i think often really keeps himself from doing so when it comes to anything at all that’s personal (king of stories has a blindspot for his own). what hob gives the Fates actually costs him almost nothing, in the long run, if we operate with the idea that he cannot remember, nor is there any lasting effect from, his 600-ish heavily-relived years. there’s narrative and symbolic weight, of course — he gives them love as an oath and as nostalgia (sidebar: his driving force is an almost pre-nostalgia, a continual love of the moment as the moment is passing, but anyway) (cuff links), he gives them in a captured moment the lovely discomfort and simultaneous brilliance of being alive (the hook, the finger prick the blood), and he gives them a rich and complicated experience of humanity (those 600 years). but practically, what is actually taken from him that he doesn’t just get back?

only those few months — and in them, a web of real and known connections, all of which matter, and all of which change his understanding of and relationship to things like grief, and loneliness, and fear, and forgiveness. those are important changes, real changes, that would affect how he operates in the world going forward. that development is gone. he returns instead to the (of course, fought-for and hard-won) stasis of what was, which becomes what will always be. in making the Fates and their judgement more complex, he has actually made his own life less complex. now, i’m not going to sit here and argue that “suffering has inherent value” or some shit like that because i think that’s bullshit! pain is just pain. but he does lose experiences which would have shaped him in new ways, and, i think, good ways. even important ways

and he may well be shaped towards similar courses with dream (especially re: learning that lesson about loneliness — i think hob suffers from the curse of always, ultimately, being alone (immortality etc there’s so much discourse about this), and the road trip was in part about him learning that though it is the simplest path it is neither the sole nor the best path), but he certainly doesn’t learn them the same way, with the same faces, with the same acuity and clarity and intensity.

the thing with the Fates (to me anyway) is that you don’t ever just win. maybe you can get what you want, but it’s not easy (it make take a thousand repetitions of your lifetime until friction and the touch of your hands wears the sisyphean boulder down to a pebble — like the parable of the bird scraping its beak on the mountain), and it’s sure not free.

so yes, those months are lost. that’s a big part of the price. and we don’t know, at the end, how much of that thing he really gave ultimately comes back — his new relationship depths with deanna or cori or the other endless, those things aren’t seen. the main arc is resolved — hob and dream — but there are still pieces missing. he loses a piece of his human experience, he gets tossed back around through the wringer of his life (which is often distinctly not pleasant), and he is, as he ever was, a character with a path whose impetus and dictation rest heavily on external forces. even in attempting to channel his life elsewhere, he still has to bargain, and is still subject to the choices of the fates, and in some ways the story remains irrevocably a tragedy, in that one way or another it has loss in a central place. in the latter half of hounds hob really became my attempted version of an aeneas type — a man with a quest and a fated directive, a deeply human and flawed individual, who can alter the path and even irrevocably change the genre of his own narrative, but only at cost.

of course let’s be clear! some of all the actual rendering of this ended up as it did partly because i am not always a clean writer, and for that i apologize! but i did genuinely want that sense of gaps — of faces and voices given over to the gravitational well of the principal narrative arc of hob/dream versus the Fates. i think those things are gone. the narrative is forcibly re-centered around hob and dream, and in doing this — in shifting the story genre — other ties and bonds are not just cut, but unwoven entirely. when you change the kind of story you’re telling, the change is done at the expense of something else. kind of like how there’s a fixed amount of matter in the universe? you can’t create or destroy matter — to make something new you have to take from another place. (sidebar: wow i’m realizing something about my fundamental storytelling beliefs right now! laws of physics! anon your ask has really got my cylinders firing, and most sincerely thank you <3)

still, they might come back. though i didn’t write it as fully as i could have (i will freely admit there was a great deal of burnout at play towards the end there), i had a lot of thoughts re: repetition and density, namely that if you stack a thousand repetitions of a lifetime against each other it’s the equivalent of writing a word over and over and over on a page. when you erase it, the channels remain. language flows most naturally in the direction once etched for it. maybe hob learns those same lessons and knows the same people in the same way — maybe he and the corinthian find that odd patch of common ground, maybe he takes a long drive with delirium through rural maryland. maybe there are echoes. maybe even if it is gone what was still shapes the topography. maybe a kindness or a word exchanged still ring out when you can’t see them or remember them. while the milestones of our lives rippled the most visibly, i think we’re shaped a thousandfold ways by accumulations of small things we can’t distinctly remember. only a feeling of a thing, or the negative space it leaves.

well. tl;dr — i didn’t want to let hob get away without actually giving anything up, nor without his choice to bargain affecting others besides himself in equally irrevocable ways (sidebar: at his core is a selfishness that is both charming and ignoble — he wants to do a good thing for dream but also he makes a call that changes a plenitude of lives other than his own, and i don’t think he really asks, he just does — grey areas are his whole gig to me), because nobody makes a deal with the Fates for free, and changing genre has a price tag. it was my effort to make the tone of the whole beast more authentically sandman-esque, since sandman does a lot of that sort of water-muddying, especially when using understood narrative models/archetypes/etc etc

i am. sorry this was as long as it is! jesus! but i’m sending it off all the same. anyways, anon, thanks very much not only for your lovely kind words and the high honor of your tears (no pulitzer could mean more to me than knowing a thing i wrote really moved someone, seriously thank you) but also for giving me a blank check to go buck wild and ramble about my own damn writing and Things I Just Think <3 i hope you have a lovely day/morning/noon/night, and thanks a bunch for dropping by <3 <3 <3

#the sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #dreamling #hounds #vergil says hello #vergil says way more than fuckin hello tbh #vergil writes a manifesto woukd be a better line for this #anon has given me the greatest gift: License To Monologue #fingers crossed any of that actually answered the question at hand #thanks for saying hi and asking things because i love both experiences immensely #<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

37 notes · View notes

jedinerd27 · 11 months

Text

The Devil-Spider Is in the Code Part 1/?

Miguel O’Hara X Fem! Spidey! Reader

Summary:

You are the one and only Arachne, the newest hero of Hell's kitchen. Well, in you're dimension anyway.

In your Free time, you're a hacker, trying to bring down companies like Alchemax, Oscorp, and Stark Industries. Exposing them of corruption and their inhumane experiments.

You've recently have been recruited to the Spider-Society. Now surrounded by echos of your dead brother and other unique faces, You are gaining new tricks every day.

Yet, the only annoyance is Miguel O'Hara. The grumpy man doesn't seem to like you, and you have no idea as to why. You're doing your best to catch Anomalies and protect the Multi-Verse. So what if there are no Variants of yourself?

Multiple parts

Word Count:2,151

Cross posted on my AO3

Comment if you want to be Added to Taglist

--------

Alright. Let’s get this out of the way.

Inter-dimensional Travel was something you’re older brother had theorized. He would explain it to you in long drawn-out personal lectures. Too bad you never understood it and would play Minecraft on your Phone when he would start, never noticing how your eyes would become glassy, staring at your screen.

He was the science geek. He spoke out against Alchemax and Oscorp so many times. Leading him to be flagged and blocked from multiple positions at other smaller companies. All he was doing was advocating for more humane experiments, no careless dumping of hazardous waste, and the black market deals the companies were making.

He was the true hero. You were just his gal in the chair, his personal hacker. Getting him the information he needed to give to lawyers and news outlets. Showing the world what corrupt experiments were going on. Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson became the biggest legal defense you and Peter had. It was just a bonus that Matt taught you both how to defend yourselves, and was the legal Guardian after Aunt May and Uncle Ben’s death.

That was the case until the accident. Oscorp released a small little critter into your shared apartment one night. Hoping the little spider would spin its little web down onto your brother, poisoning him with the genetically modified venom.

The Spider bit you instead. And the enhanced venom? Sure it gave you a seizure, and you were driven to the hospital as your brother panicked. But it didn’t kill you.

That’s when the head of Oscorp decided a hitman was the solution.

It happened a few days after your release from the hospital The only family you had left. Taken from the world by the very people he spoke out against.

The rain started the same time your tears hit the ground.

“Peter, please, don’t sleep” You cry out clutching him to you. Thunder clapping all around you as the gunman runs down the alley. You think you heard Foggy yelling after Matt, before calling 911. “Please, Pete. Don’t Die! Don’t die!”

Matt’s footfalls as he ran down the alley, perusing the man.

“It’s okay bug, It’s going to be fine lil’bug” He mumbled out with a smile. And then he shut his eyes.

The cry you let you shattered you. A dark abyss opened up inside of you, fury inside you was born.

As Foggy tried to pull you away from his body, and the Red and blue flashing lights approached, you saw nothing but red down the alley. When Matt returned with bloody knuckles and a black eye. The cops didn’t question him.

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

You took on your brother’s unfinished work, but with the addition of your new found powers. Anger fueled you for a long time, until you came to the realization, your brother was never angry with the world, He was disappointed. He wanted it to be a better place. Safer.

You had to continue fighting for what he wanted. You had to become his legacy.

No matter how hard you got hit, you hit harder. If you were going to go down, you weren’t going alone. You are not going to stop, not until Ospcorp, Alchemax, Stark industries, and others are held responsible.

Thank God that Matt continued to take care of you. He helped you grow into the powers.

One Day your ginger Guardian took you up to the apartment building rooftop.

“Why do I need this on?” You pointed to the blindfold he had put on you. Technically it was your winter scarf, but it was tied around your head.

“For this!” Matt said somewhere on the rooftop.

KAWCHUNK!!

Pins and needles ran up you back and you ducked.

THWACK! The sound of rubber hitting brick rang out. A tennis ball hits the Roof entrance in front of you.

“What the hell Matt?”

KAWCHUNK!! KAWCHUNK!!

TH same sensation ran up you on your left, and then your right, taking a step back you miss the next KAWCHUNK!! That was in front of you.

A tennis ball thwacks you in the stomach.

“FUCK!”

“Kid, you’ve got this sense,” Mat speaks as another Tennis ball is fired Causing you to bend your back, falling to your knees in a quick motion. “And I’m testing it out.”

The prickles form in the back of your head. Sliding to the Right, a woosh of the tennis ball goes whirling past.

“SO you thought getting hitting me with Tennis balls is okay?”

“You’re dodging most of them” One hits you in the rib. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“How are you doing this?”

“The same way you’re dodging the chew toys”

There is a click of a button. The whirling of 5 machines catches your ear, You’re whole body gets that sensation. You leap up as all of them fire. All five tennis balls hit each other in unison.

“I taught you how to throw a punch, the least I can do is make sure you know how to dodge.” He smirks but you only look at the Red lensed glasses. The same shade that was on his knuckles that rainy night

He Gave you batons and old pieces of armor. Vanbraces and shoulder pads, Greaves that went over the combat boots you always wore.

He offered a helmet as well.

“That’s never going to fit me.”

“Would you prefer a bike helmet?”

“I’d prefer it if I can make my own adjustments and touches.”

In the end, a red hoodie covered in various light armor bits and pocket pouches. You took your inspiration of the spider and your old sewing machine and ran with it.

Blue LED Wires were sewn into the hood under black thread. The vanbraces got integrated with tech. Project a holographic Computer, stolen from Alchemax, easy for you to hack things without needing a physical computer. You had rewritten the software and the code, making it unique and unable to be tracked.

“What are you going to call yourself?” Matt asks, fingers tracing over the hoodie, your handy work made a small smile appear on his face. This was him beaming with Pride.

“Arachne” You didn’t even think about it. “I will be Arachne.”

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

Then you met the others. The Spider society.

Well, not all of them at first.

You just got out of college, graduating top of your Computer Engineer and Computer Science class. No job yet though Especially after it was revealed that you were the sister of the Annoyance that was once Peter Parker.

You going to blackmail us?

Thanks, but no thanks, we don’t need out dirty laundry to be aired out

Bastards.

Sure, they were right though. You were going to leak all their secrets out. Their software was used to spy on people in their homes, breaking their contract that had mentioned they would not do that. It helped that your guardian made sure you also got a minor in pre-law.

For the past 7 years, you were the one and only Arachne. The Crime Fighting vigilante, new to the scene, but taking over when Matt finally agreed it was time to hang up his horns.

The patrol was pretty quite that night, until that glitching Lizard started rampaging down the street.

“what the?” This definitely was not Dr. Cadence Conners. “Hey, Lizard Fella, DROP THE TRASHCAN!”

Landing on a light post, above the scaly humanoid, he stared up at you.

“Glowy Spidey?” His eyes slitted, as his long tongue licked his snout.

“Uh… kinda. Listen buddy why don’t-“

He threw the trash can at you. Causing you to let go of the lamppost.

“Okay, want to play dirty, let us play dirty.” Landing on the street, lucky no civilians around, you pulled out your batons and clicked the safety button. Electricity sprang alive to the metal and you charged.

Claws swiped left and light. Dodging and weaving, you manage to land a blow in the center of his chest.

ZAAP! And down he went. With a loud THUD and the whole ground around you shook.

“All in the days work” You chucked before you pulled out a hologram to call the authorities. That was until… he glitched. Green turning to purple, shapes surrounding him. Then he was back to normal. “The hell is going on in hell’s kitchen?”

“Oh, that’s where we are. I knew I was right, Ghostie!” A voice called from above you… and your froze.

No, no. It can’t be. That can’t be, but it sounds exactly like-

“Peter?” Your do a 180, staring up at the other lamp post.

There was a man squatting on top of another lamppost, just like how you do. The proper pouncing stance.

He stood in a skin-tight suit, the webbing of the suit was close to yours, and the same shade of red, with a pink bath robe on top with.. a baby Bjorn?

A slender woman was holding on to the post of it, leaning forward. Also in a skin tight suit. White with pink and black accents. Converse shoes on. Her hood was similar to yours, without the glowing blue LED.

“Uh, I take it you know me.. I mean my voice?” He swings down with a.. web-shooter. What?

He pulls of his mask and.

“I buried you.” Comes tumbling out. You pull him in for a bear hug. “How? How are you alive? And… why do you look so much older?”

He did, more wrinkles, and streaks of fading brown hair. He was… off. He wasn’t the same Peter.

“Oh… here’s the thing.” His face drops. And he pulls away. “I’m not your Peter. I’m from another Dimension. I’m a variant of…what was your peter to you?”

The woman swing down next to him, and delightful glee echos out. A baby was clutching not her shoulders. A toddler.

“Woah, hey mayday why don’t” Peter was cut off as the baby swung over and promptly sat herself down into the bjorn.

The woman took her mask off and…

“Gwen?”

“Oh, she knows both of us..” Peter sighed.

“When did you get an eyebrow piercing!” Your brother’s best friend from high school left town shortly after the funeral. She.. she looked younger. And her hair was slightly pink. “Wait… another dimension? No.. but..” As you fumble over the right words. They stare at you.

“You” pointing to Peter. “You’re not my brother.”

“Brother?” They both asked as the child giggled out and the swung over to you. Mayday.

“Mayday? After Aunt May?” Your eyes widen. This can’t be real. Your brother was dead, you didn’t have Gwen’s contact info, and you knew she would never get an eyebrow piercing. Hell, a second lobe was a BIG if for her. “Different dimensions? Is this… is this about this multiverse theory?”

“It is Kid. “

“You… My brother talked about it a lot. He was into theoretical science, physics. He wanted to do that.”

“I’m sorry you lost him” Gwen speaks.

Staring down at the little girl in your arms, your eyes start to water.

Her joyful face drops and then she puts her tiny arms around your neck. A gentle squeeze.

Your brother deserved this life to have a kid, but never got it. Why not? This Peter got it.

“Why are you here.” You say as you gently hug the girl closer.

“For lizard over there.”

“A different version of Cadence Connors?”

“Yep.” Peter said. “We’re a part of a group of other People like us.”

“Spiders” Gwen simply explained taking a closer step. “But you’re gear…”

“I’m Arachne.” Extending a hand she shook it. “Daredevil taught me. He just retired.”

“Matt Murdock?” Peter’s Raises an eyebrow. Familiarity Rang aloud.

“Wait, Murderdock?” Gwen is taken aback at that. Fear raising her voice

“Wait, what? No, Matt doesn’t Kill. I don’t kill” You let go as the girl swings up to the lamppost above. “Sure, we hurt… and sometimes it’s a hospital visit for the other, but we don’t kill.”

“Woah, calm down the broth fo you” Better extend his hands as he tried to catch his daughter. ‘This is just another example of how the multiverse works.”

“And this multiverse has holes in it? Letting random rouges just fall through.”

“Essentially yes, and we” pointing to him and Gwen as Mayday was hanging of his bicep. “Are a part of a group that helps the ones that fall through back to their reality. Unfortunately, they don’t come willingly.”

You stare down at the Lizard.

“How many do you have? Currently, in this group?”

“Uh, twenty. Why?”

“How many multiverses are there?”

“Uh well one. If you mean dimensions… billions. Maybe Infinite.”

A smirk crosses your lips as you clicked your batons. Folding into one another they became the size of two pens. Putting the back in a pouch you smile up at the three newcomers.

“Need an extra Spider?”

#miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #marvel fanfic #marvel x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #Spiderverse x Reader #spider gwen #peter b. parker #Mayday Parker #miguel o'hara #Oscar issac

171 notes · View notes

haydenigmatic · 3 months

Text

Doria/n Muriel

Meet Doria/Dorian, a figure of striking allure and concealed complexities. Disowned by their noble lineage, their past is marred by a mother's tragic death, a resentful father, and a treacherous kidnapping by pirates.

Their face claim, for a M!Dorian is a mix between Can Yaman and Ian Somerhalder, for a F!Doria I'm not entirely sure but Alessandra Ambrosio could work. the voice is Carmilla (Jaime Murray) and Adam Driver.

Family Dynamics:

Duke Walranus - Father's Resentment: Doria/Dorian's relationship with their father is strained due to the blame unjustly placed upon them for their mother's death during childbirth. The father's resentment and emotional distance have fuelled Doria/Dorian's desire for revenge.

Duchess Katriona - Mother's Legacy: The memory of their mother is shrouded in sorrow and mystery. Doria/Dorian clings to the silver locket containing her portrait, the only tangible connection to a woman whose presence was overshadowed by tragedy.

Sour New Family Ties: The younger wife of their father, that used to be his paid companion, gave him a son, a half-brother Doria/n has never met, yet has taken everything away from him.

Some details about them:

Memorable Quote: "Trust no one, and you'll never be disappointed."

Has a particular fondness for the sea, and the sound of crashing waves can evoke both nostalgia and a haunting sense of loss.

There's an air of ruthlessness about Doria/Dorian, a demeanour that remains unwavering, even when facing moral dilemmas or causing harm.

Doria/Dorian is an insomniac, haunted by restless nights filled with vivid dreams that often blur the lines between past and present.

One of Doria/Dorian's guilty pleasures is indulging in poetry. They keep a hidden journal filled with verses that explore the complexities of their own emotions.

Possesses a distinctive silver locket containing a small, faded portrait of their mother, the only tangible connection to a past filled with loss.

The easiest way to ignite Doria/Dorian's wrath is to harm a child, a trigger that transforms their usual composure into a tempest of fury.

In their role as quartermaster, Doria/Dorian is known for making ruthless decisions, ensuring the ship runs efficiently, even if it means sacrificing sentiment.

Their trust issues run deep; they've learned that betrayal often comes from those closest to them, making it challenging for anyone to earn their genuine trust.

Their father, the Duke, painted them as the cause of their mother's death.

Doria/Dorian's taste for vengeance against their father simmers beneath the surface, a flame fuelled by years of perceived betrayal.

#if game #if wip #interactive fiction #ro's #oc intro #tbotd #the blood of the dragon #doria/n

40 notes · View notes

lumiidragon · 2 months

Text

Scamper Night Light

Scamper is the most sociable and friendly of the three night lights. He's incredibly playful and energetic, and eating is one of his favorite hobbies. His naïve nature can sometimes get him into trouble, but his sisters are always there to help him out.

#how to train your dragon #httyd #night light #oc #scamper #fury family verse

144 notes · View notes

maisonaime · 4 months

Text

Ilithyia's Blessings

I got Covid-19 as a college graduation/early Christmas present :) enjoy the fruits of me being stuck in my parent's basement.

Summary: Rewrite of Feyre's reaction to finding out about the risks of her pregnancy! I (like many) hated how this was dealt with, and would personally love to see her rip the entire IC a new one for that bullshit. Diverges from canon the moment Nesta leaves the townhouse. Heavy angst and hurt for all, BUT a happy ending! Please note that I am atrocious at writing dialogue so forgive me.

Warnings: Pregnancy complications, family dysfunction, mentions of past trauma, emotionally abusive & generally unhinged behavior from all!

Part 1:

As the last of Nesta’s burning fury trailed out of the door after her, Feyre’s eyes once again met Amren’s. The tears there had turned sharp as glass shards. Power imbued with the abundance of life nestled in the High Lady choked the air of the townhouse, damp and salty and so very wrong. They had been so very wrong.

Amren did not falter, but her stance was one of false ease. She had never wished so badly to be well-versed in the nuances of emoting and made a note to herself to observe her peers' reactions more closely; that she might glean some useful mimicry for a similar situation in the future. A creature of preternatural stillnesses and pregnant silences, Amren waited until Feyre spoke in a voice so deep it may have been derived from the pits of the Mountains themselves.

“How long have you all known?”

“You should really ask your ma–” bared teeth cut her off.

“I asked you Amren. How long?” Feyre snarled.

It was becoming uncomfortable to breathe, reminiscent of the cloistered air of the Prison. Amren was struck with the sudden realization that her powers were no match for her High Lady, not anymore.

“Too long” she admitted unflinchingly. “I will apologize for my part in it, but Rhysand had his reasons and I saw the practicality of it. As your friend, I know it was wrong. You must understand Feyre, I have to be the one person who can separate emotion from decisions in this Court, it’s my first nature and my duty as Rhys’ second.”

Feyre just stood there, eyes wide, breathing hard. Her tattooed hands still clutching her stomach as though the babe would rip its way into the world for all the horror she felt in that moment.

“Has it ever once occurred to you…” – her voice burned through the condensed ether like the birth of a star, Amren winced – “has it ever once occurred to any of you, that when Rhys made me High Lady, he made me High Lady of this Court, not just his High Lady. I am High Lady of the Night Court, I am your damn High Lady. And if you Amren are his second, then you are also mine.”

Tiny ancient one be damned, she needed backup for this. She only prayed Varian had the good sense to bring Elain back to the townhouse, no one else would do any good for this moment.

And to think I was lecturing Nesta on respect.” she seethed. “To think that I’ve put up with this ridiculous sequestering of my family by my family. Elain and Nesta are flailing as they grapple with bodies and lives they were born and bred to fear, just as I did. We treat Elain like a vapid flower as if she is not burdened to see between fucking worlds. And you all act as though Nesta’s viciousness will tear chunks out of me but you forget she is my sister. I have known her my whole life and she has not torn my throat out yet. Vicious she may be, but at least she’s godsdamn honest.”

“No one is denying this Feyre but I don’t see–”

“What this has to do with me? With my child? There’s plenty you lot are failing to fucking grapple with right now. The very basic premises of duty and friendship to start with. What about the principle of allowing a female control over her own life, her own body?” there was a jagged edge of panic making its way into her tone, the air grew impossibly tighter.

At that moment the door banged open once again and Amren winced again as Morrigan pushed her way into the room against the wave of unyielding magic pulsing from Feyre. She silently cursed Varian.

“Feyre, I’m so sorry. If we had thought there was any other way to keep you and the babe safe–” she began before she was cut off by a dark wave of Feyre’s magic. Not the same magic that silenced Tamlin’s voice at the meeting of the High Lords, but a plume of magic that quite literally took the place of the air in Mor’s lungs, bringing her swiftly, silently to her knees.

“Surely you aren’t going to tell me you knew what was best for my womb Morrigan, you couldn’t even protect your own from desecration.” Feyre spat down at her.

Amren stood frozen in horror, watching Mor claw at her neck, eyes bulging and mouth agape like a fish out of water. The spell lasted only moments before air rushed back into her purpling face with a harsh gasp, but both Fae were still frozen in place before their High Lady.

“You all seem to have forgotten, that I live and breathe the powers of all the Courts of Prythian. That I am Made, my sisters and I. We are creatures to be feared and served before we are loved. You’ve failed me, and in doing so you’ve failed this Court. Make sure you let Rhysand see me say that when he looks into your mind.”

Mor blanched, “Feyre you can’t leave now, Rhys and Madja are so close to finding an answer.” Where the hell was Rhys, how had he not yet sensed the chaos threatening to level the entire block of buildings the townhouse occupied?

“I can and I will. I am not safe here, nor is my child. I will seek refuge where I can find healers and friends who will allow me the dignity of deciding what I do with my body, my child. That I would put my life in the hands of a healer who answers to my mate over me, a husband who seeks to deceive me and involve my entire family in doing so? No, I would be a fool to give away my life so passively.” she paced before them frantically, power collecting into thick bands that coiled around Feyre in a churning, horrid shield.

No longer their friend, no longer their family. A mother and a female burning with primal rage and fear for the safety of her child, guaranteed only by her ability to protect it. Protect it from the world, and in these agonized moments, protect it from her family. A family that could no longer be trusted.

“He will rip apart the world to find you and the babe Feyre, this won’t do any good.” Amren spoke as bluntly as usual, but the edge in her tone betrayed her wariness.

“Let him try. I’ve never had the chance to test my powers against him, have never needed to until now. I confess I’m curious to see if I can inspire the fear in him that he’s attributed to my name.” The crazed glint in Feyre’s watery eyes was wholly unnerving.

“Feyre, I’m begging you, don’t do this. We all lived with the fear of losing each other during the war– you and Rhys actually did. Don’t let this tear us all apart again.” Mor was practically weeping, still draped at Feyre’s feet in submission.

“Mor, it’s not my decisions that have led us here. I’ll leave it to you all to decide how to proceed; this Court seems to conceive of its most coordinated efforts without my knowledge.” Feyre had stopped pacing and closed her eyes, all of that asphyxiating power rushing from the room back into those bands of black power coalescing around her. The hair on the back of Amren’s neck stood tall.

“Will you return girl?” she asked quietly, refusing to look away from the fierce specter of power they had so woefully forsaken. Accepting that there was little they could do to stop the events that had been set in motion.

Feyre’s head snapped to her, eyes black with rage, looking every bit the Made Fae that could undo curses and courts.

“I will return when I have proven to you all that I can give birth to my son without your duplicitous interference. I will return when I have a Court and friends and a mate that I trust to bend the knee, not bring me to my own.” she said with finality.

The vortex of power around Feyre crackled and snapped as Rhys’ careful warding of Feyre’s body collapsed under her iron will. A new source of power, alarmed and frenetic and reeking of Rhys, swept through Velaris and into the townhouse. It crashed into the whorls of Feyre’s might with a piercing screech. The windows shattered sending glass through the air. Amren and Mor curled into themselves to avoid the spray.

When the chimes of falling glass had stopped and Mor and Amren could uncover their eyes, Feyre was gone. Where her scent, her power, her body had overwhelmed the room, there was absolutely nothing left to indicate that the High Lady of Night had ever stepped foot in the townhouse.

Somewhere in the distance, mountains rumbled, birds took flight and the citizens of Velaris cowered as Rhysand let out an unearthly roar.

45 notes · View notes

cinnamonbunpuff · 5 months

Text

how a song changed my year.

achilles, achilles, achilles come down, won't you get up off, get up off the roof?

it's officially been one year since i first heard this song. it's kinda crazy how much can happen in that time, in reality and in mentality.

i still remember stumbling upon it. i'm sure i've seen it on my recommended in the past but this was the first time i really listened to it. it was late and i was sat on my bed, recovering from a cold. stressed over my barely-started application for some of the UC schools i never saw myself going to. i paused to take a little peruse through youtube, where i saw this performance. based on the song of achilles (a familiar name), and choreographed to achilles come down (an unfamiliar title).

i was drawn immediately in. not just by the smooth flow of the dancers portraying their characters, but by the power of the lyrics and how it affected what i was seeing of achilles, patroclus, and briseis.

and so i decided to look up the actual song and its lyrics, to see what they really were. and they were beautiful.

today of all days, see, how the most dangerous thing is to love,

this song, all seven minutes and two seconds of it, has seen me through so many monumental changes in my life. from growing positively mentally, to graduating high school and starting uni, to familial tensions.

how you will heal and you'll rise above, crowned by an overture bold and beyond,

it's honestly a wonder how i haven't grown bored or tired of it yet. and i think that's because every time i sit and really listen to it, there's always something new i'm discovering or interpreting, whether that be compositionally or lyrically.

to start, it was realising that the only instruments are strings - definitely a cello, and in all most likely a string quartet. as a violinist myself, i love hearing any use of strings in modern songs. having a whole song relying on the softness and dynamics of them though? that's gonna get me every time. how almost the entirety of the song is underlaid with the eighth notes of the cello, and throughout the verses the intermittence of the higher strings.

as i grew familiar with achilles come down, i discovered the power that all the lyrics held. there were a select few that drew my attention, from either how poetic they sounded, to how they seemed to mirror an aspect of my life that i didn't know could be put into words.

loathe the way they light candles in rome, but love the sweet air of the votives,

then there were the sections of spoken french. i thought that the addition of a second language in the song really added to it as a whole, but upon looking up (and attempting to translate what i could), i found that they added another level of melancholy. because what better way is there to make the song more emotional than including snippets of french philosophy about the value of life?

qu'on appelle une raison de vivre, est un même temps une excellent raison de mourir

through this year, i've found myself coming up with scenarios in my head, with this song playing in the background. mostly it's been with characters of my current hyperfixations, but i've found myself in these situations as well. it's definitely a reflection of who i see myself to be, but i hope it's also an envisioning to who i hope to be.

thank you to achilles come down for finding its way into my life. thank you for the past year, and i hope the next is just as exciting.

throw yourself into the unknown, with a pace and fury defiant

38 notes · View notes

delusionalwings · 2 years

Text

― synopsis -> when another demon (mentioned with they/them pronouns) flirts with you

― characters -> leviathan, satan, asmodeus, beelzebub

― gender neutral reader

― headcanons

― warnings -> yandere content, mentions of violence.

solomon, diavolo, mephistopheles

LEVIATHAN

Ho-How dare the demon try to even breathe in your direction?! Levi is not the Avatar of Envy for nothing! Red blurs his vision the moment he sees the familiarity between the two of you. He's sure that you didn't smile as broadly at him as you're smiling in their presence.

That's so not fair! He needs to set everything right even if he's just a yucky otaku!

Despite usually getting ignited at the smallest insults, he's a demon who keeps a cool head when dealing with his enemies because he's also the Grand Admiral of Hell's Navy, a master strategist.

Once you're out of sight, the demon won't know what hit them — Lotan's fury or Levi's tail choking them with a mad grin and chants of "[Name] is mine. Only mine!"

SATAN

His keen gaze always lingers on you ― observing every little detail and secret of yours. So, when you're busy being the candy of another demon's eye, he's noticing the interaction from a window that hides his presence. The aura of wrath that he exudes makes the hallway he's standing in impassable for the lower demons so he's left alone there with his insecurities and rage. Looking at him, you'd never guess that his mind is plotting to ruin the demon who had the audacity to approach you.

It takes exactly one day for the rumor to circulate. Satan comments how he had seen you with the demon in the rumors and once you confirm, he gets upset. See, he cares about you so he'd hate it if you fall victim to a demon's wiles. He's well versed in demonic tactics so stay close to him and listen to his advice which again entails you to always stay close to him.

ASMODEUS

Oh ♡ Wrapping his arms around you, he asks about the cutie who's flirting with you. The other demon can't help but be a little flattered and charmed at the word 'cutie' but one look at Asmo sends a chill down their spine.

Sure, the Avatar of Lust has the easy smile on his lips but the hard glint in his eyes is far from forgiving. For someone who loves really easily, loves everyone out there without judgement, he doesn't take it well when the object of his highest affection is stolen away.

He had his eyes on you first, loved you first, poured out his entire heart first and more beautifully so how DARE someone hit on you behind his back?

Since your back is against Asmo's chest, you can't see the warning in his gaze. When the demon leaves at once, you can only raise your eyebrows before transferring your attention to the needy demon behind you. As it should be like ♡

BEELZEBUB

He doesn't like the way the other demon is touching you. It upsets him to know that there's someone other than the brothers who can get close to you. Why do you need more friends when you already have a family in the Devildom? You can never be too sure of their intentions either. It took the brothers a while to trust you completely and to win your faith in return. Demons can be dangerous so don't wander too far away from him. Alright?

Beel only needs to stand beside you as if he's waiting for the conversation to end but the hungry gaze he shoots the demon is enough to make them gulp. The Avatar of Gluttony is known to have eaten lower demons and by the look of it, they seem to be the next target. Since the conversation is not worth their life, the demon retreats immediately and Beel gets all the hugs he wants from you.

... Now, some family bonding time is in order.

#obey me #yandere #gender neutral reader #obey me yandere #yandere male #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #yandere leviathan #yandere satan #yandere asmodeus #yandere beelzebub #x reader #x mc #gender neutral mc #obey me headcanons #yandere headcanons #forbidden path

767 notes · View notes

sofasoap · 11 months

Text

Lastochka - Espionage

Pairing : Nikolai x F!Reader ( OC/Mini MacTavish)

Summary: Your first covert assignment after you return to duty. Prequel to A quiet moment - Lastochka

Part I , Part II, Interlude,Part III,Part IV,Part V,Epilogue, Night,

TRIGGER WARNING: explicit scene. talk of PTSD, non-consensual touching. Smut. Slight Jealous! possessive and Dom! Nikolai.

Thanks to @homicidal-slvt for planting ideas into my brain. this whole series is all for you :)

My usual thanking @saltofmercury, mother of Mini, for lending me the character :) Please go and check out her fics!

“masterlist” for Mini MacTavish expanded verse

“I said NO.” Nikolai threw the files back into Price and Laswell’s face, not even trying to contain his fury. “Nik….” Tugging on your husband’s arm, trying to placid him to sit.

Shrugging off your hand and ignoring your plea he stepped closer to the desk, snarking at the two commanders. “Have you two forgotten what happened last time when she went into the mission ALL BY HERSELF???” he roared. There is no way Nikolai is going to see you, his precious wife going through hell again.

You wrap your arm around yourself, biting your lip. Not a memory you want to revisit . Slashed. Kept up for days straight, exhaustion. Only a piece of bread and sip of water for you to sustain on for weeks. Darkness of the chamber, contrasting with the bright light shining right into your face, demanding information. The animalistic look when the soldiers try to tie you up and……

Soap was the first one noticing you stumbling back into the chair, hyperventilating. He dashed forward, steadying you. The unfocused eyes and lack of response when he calls out to you, head rolling back and mumbles incoherent words, he knows you are suffering from another episode. Putting his arm around your shoulder, he whispered words in Scottish, calling out your full name, trying to guide you back into the present. While Gaz and Ghost standing on each side, ready to assist.

Argument stopped as Laswell held her hand up, stopping him from talking, he was about to protest, when she went around the desk with a motherly concern on her face. Nikolai turned around and realised what had happened to you. “... Remember when Da and Ma were angry with both of us when I let you roll in the peat? Da had to hose both of us down… and your first time making scones but nearly burnt down the kitchen…..” Soap’s gentle and soft tones as he tries to recall childhood stories of both of your mischiefs, luring you out from the unwanted traumatic memory of time in captivity. Slowly blinking, you slowly came to.The warmth of your brother’s arm around your shoulder, as your eyes came back into focus. Nikolai was kneeling in front of you, his big hand enveloped yours, thumb slowly caressing your hand, grounding you back into reality. Eyes full of worry and guilt. One by one, the muscles of your body relax again as you realise you are not back in that horrible prison. You are safe, and sound. With your team family around you. The room was quiet, apart from the sound of your brother guiding you to slow down your breathing as he sees you coming out from the flash back, and your still uneven breathing. “I am sorry.” You choked out after a long while. You feel guilty as the centre of attention, having the team worry about you. The feeling of incompetence, that fear again of getting kicked out of the team again comes careen down the hill.

Tightening the grip of Nikolai’s hand, he notices your distress coming back again. He stood up, guiding you to stand up and pull you into embrace. “Meeting over.” Nikolai’s curt tone leaves no room for argument. “Nik.” Price growled. “We need an answer soon as possible.”

“Give us a few minutes.” You interjected with a whisper.. Price’s softened gaze lands on you. Running a hand down his face, he nodded. He cares about you like his own daughter, but he knows the urgency of this mission will require him to get all the final details sorted as soon as possible.

Closing the door as you tow your husband out of the office before he can say anything , two of you walk down the corridor a few metres away from Price’s office, it’s late at night, no one else is around apart from people on night shift and patrol duty. Stopping around the corner of the corridor and out of everyone’s earshot, Nikolai turned around, voicing his opinion on the matter again.

“I am sorry I shouldn’t have mentioned .. The Incident. “ He apologised, choosing his last few words carefully. “But I am not letting you into danger again. You are NOT going.”

“Nik.” Closing your eyes, trying not to let your mind astray again, “Love. At least let see what they have to say about this mission. And we can decide how we can help out?” You suggested meekly.

A scowling expression appeared on his face. You wonder between Price and Nikolai, these two can have competition to see who has the most variations of unimpressed or displeased expression on their face. You snorted at the thought. “You are a stubborn one aren’t you. .. Why are you laughing?” “And you love me for it.” dismissing him lightly, tip toeing up to give him a kiss on the cheek, “Come on. Let’s get back to the office.” Walking back to the office after the reluctant discussion with Nikolai, everyone was relieved you have decided to rejoin the briefing. “Shall we?” Laswell gave you and Nikolai a look, asking permission to proceed with the details of the mission. You gave her a nod, allowing her to continue.

Flipping open the folder, Laswell and Price started the briefing. Typical international criminal rings trying to stir up war and have a dab in money laundering and illegal weapon sales. Nothing new, you thought to yourself. Their latest stint was trying to dab into investment into businesses. Whisky business. To be precise.

That had you and Soap’s full attention.

The MacTavish family had been around the highland area for generations. Started off as humble crofters all the years ago, and by luck, manage to own the piece of land they have farmers on for centuries, trying their luck in the whisky operation ( illegally, you remember your grandpa’s words as he winked at you.). They built their empire from the ground, bit by bit, and now the reputation of the MacTavish whisky is well known in the business circle and around the world for top quality but wide varieties and ranges of drink. Gaz joked once when you mentioned the family business. He whistled, even though someone like him isn’t totally into whisky, he knew about the reputation of quality of MacTavish whisky. “So you two are posh rich kids? I always thought it was just coincidental that you two share the same surname with the famous whisky company.” You laughed. Even though two of you were sent to the best private school and had anything you could have wanted when young, your Ma and Da made sure you and Johnny knew money is not grown from trees and two of you always had to prove your weights around the farm to earn pocket money.

“We were used as free labourers during school breaks.” you rolled your eyes. “Johnny had to help the crofters cut up the peats and put them out to dry. While I get the other dirty job, look after the farm animals and clean their poops.”

(You did see Price’s eyes glint when you mentioned the cellars you and Johnny used to explore as children. Even Ghost, who is partial towards bourbon, his eyes drifted towards you, as he pretends not to be interested at all in the topic of conversation. You made sure every Christmas you asked your parents to send some vintages for the team as presents).

“I have a feeling this will be about Johnny and me. So what is the catch?’ You sighed as you lean back in the chair, crossing your arms. "We need someone who is Scottish, obviously,” everyone’s eyes zoomed in on both of you and Soap, “In the Whisky business….”

“Send Soap.” Nikolai frowned and cut in. Price eyed his friend, shaking his head. “ I will send him if our target is interested in male.” That leaves you.

Pressing your lip together, tapping your foot. Do you really want to do this? Grabbing your dog tag, you pull on the chain. Agitation setting in. There is really no point of sending Johnny in anyway, you thought. He hardly dabbed in your parent’s business, as he joined the military straight out of school, while you hanged around home more than him, during semester breaks, even attended a few business events and meetings here and there when your parents decided there are more hope for you to take over the family business than Johnny. You knew how the distillery runs, how the farm functions. It makes more sense for you to attend the mission.

“Let me see the file.” You extended your hand, as you sigh in resignation. Your eyes open wide with slight shock as you flip through the target info. Leaning back to show the photo of the target to Soap,

“Didn’t you go to school with him? Or was he a few years above you…” The name and the face were vaguely familiar. You search through your brain where exactly you have met him. But you were pretty sure he was at the same boarding school as Johnny. Soap let out an amused hum, “Oh the Witherington boy? Spoilt brat he was. Always try to boast about his achievement. So now he is in the illegal business aye?” Tapping the photo, “He tried to flirt with you once, at the family day. Da wasn’t impressed.” Ah. Now you remembered, it still sends chills down your back at the disgust. That boy wasn’t subtle with his advancement, and you nearly punched him if it wasn’t for Da and Johnny trying to pull you back. “You are still not going.” Nikolai said in a clipped tone. “And this is why You are going with her.” Laswell replied with a conspired tone. Both you and Nikolai stared at her, confused.

Taking a deep breath, you look at yourself in the mirror. Hoping you have everything all done up right.

Thistle shaped floral hair accessories, secured and staying in. Make up, seductive but not over the top.Perfect for an evening function. Earrings, necklace, bracelets,all in place. Laswell’s wife helped you to choose the evening dresses and accessories. Armed with the card Laswell handed over to her,she dragged you out shopping. “No need to worry about the cost. Let’s go all out!! Leave it to me to turn you into a seductress, making sure that husband of yours will fall head over heels for you again.” She smiled at you.

Laswell gave her wife a concerned look, you laughed nervously, promising her you would try your best and make sure the two of you don’t overspend. She found a perfect dress for you at a high street shop, something elegant, suitable for a cocktail party, but still shows enough skin to seduce the target. A beautiful cabernet colour sweep train dress with a V-neck design at the front, showing a bit of cleavage but leaving enough just for imagination, and thin cross straps around the back holding up the top part of your dress. Split on one side of your dress, stop up to the top of the right thigh, well, that will make escape more easily, you thought, also means it is harder for you to hide anything underneath. Best of all, the dress hugs your figures perfectly. She certainly had good eyes for fashion.

Growing up with Johnny and no other female siblings, you two were labelled the wild children of highland by the neighbours for all the daredevil stuff he dragged you around to participate. You were never good at the so-called “girly stuff”. Everytime there is a special outing it’s always your Ma or your other friends that help you to get dolled up. You haven’t done this for a while. There was no need for dressing up and playing the part of socialite since you have joined the military. The only piece of jewellery you own nowaday was the simple wedding band you and Nikolai gave to each other when you exchanged the vow in secrecy. You reach automatically around your neck where you usually have the dog tag and the wedding band around, a habit you developed when you are deep in thought or in need of comfort when Nikolai isn’t around with you.

You know you are not bad looking, but you didn’t think you are stunningly beautiful in comparison to your friends. “Plain looking???” Johnny Scoffed. “Do you know how many boys and girls I had to fend off for you?” You were oblivious to the fact how many people were trying to chase after you until your overprotective brother complained to you once over a glass of whisky.

I CAN DO THIS. You assure yourself. Everyone is here to back you up. It won’t be like last time.

Opening the door of the rented hotel apartment, you stride towards the living area, where everyone was waiting. Your breath hitched when you saw Nikolai, dressed to the nine with a dark tailored suit, sitting on an armchair, with a glass of whisky in one hand, rolling an unlit cigar in another, deep in thought. Oh lord have mercy. You thought while feeling that familiar pool of heat in your core. You still don’t know how this charismatic and handsome man is your husband. You recite in your brain the whole Lord’s prayer in your mind three times, trying to dispel your unholy thought (Never expected your religious study at Catholic boarding school was useful until now), Concentrate on the mission Mini, don’t be such a horny teenager. You can have your husband anytime he wouldn’t run away. You chastised yourself. “And this is why You are going with her.” Laswell replied with a conspired tone.

“ME?” Nikolai wasn’t sure if he heard her right. Pushing the details of the operation towards the front of the desk, both you and Nikolai leaned forward to have a good look.

“Well, this role suits you well.” you smirked. “Russian businessman slash possible mafia boss. Looking for possible new investment to expand his territory.”

Nikolai hummed. Not a bad idea. He has a valid excuse to be by your side.

“And our little spoilt brat will be eager to try and impress you to try to beat whatever offer you,” pointing at Nikolai, “had on the table.”

“Wait, so this isn’t as straight ‘go-in-and-steal-whatever -I-have-to-grab-and-exfil ‘ kind of mission I used to do?” you pointed out.

“No.” Price tipped his chin down, “ It’s more of a lure and capture mission. We are going to try and see what our pretty rich boy knows about this illegal weapon ring.”

Now you feel like a bond lady. This will be an interesting challenge. You cleared your throat, getting everyone’s attention. Heads turned, and Gaz whistled. Nikolai lifted his head up, you saw a flash of surprise,clenching of his jaw, nearly dropping his cigar that he was twirling in his hand. Quickly regaining his composure, he set down his drink on the side table as you walked up to him, swaying your hip slightly. Extending out your hand, he grasps it lightly as he stands, keeping his eyes on you all the time as he brushes his lip against your knuckle. You can feel his hand warmer than usual, and he is already a furnace, and with his dark and lustful look, you are certain you have successfully turned him on. Side mission completed. You smirked. Now just hoping the main mission will be just as successful. “You certainly polished up well Mini.” Soap chimed in. You rolled your eyes. Trust your brother to break the moment. “Well thank you for saying I am not ugly my dear sibling.” Turning to face him as making a face, you feel Nikolai’s hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “Final check. We will be stationed just outside the venue until you two give us the go ahead when you lure the target into the designated area. You got the sedative?” holding up your wallet, waving it around a bit indicating to Gaz everything is in there. “Good. All the communication equipment is on Nikolai. Sorry Mini, there is just not enough coverage on you to fit you with an earpiece or microphone discreetly. “ He looks at you apologetically. You shrugged, “Well, Nik is going to be sticking by my side most of the time anyway. I am not too worried. At least there is a tracker in my wallet.”

“Alright. Let’s roll.”

Nikolai couldn’t take his eyes off you.

When you walked out of the room, he just barely held back a groan that was threatening to escape from his throat.

You look absolutely stunning in your dress. His Goddess. His beautiful Lastochka.

Half of his mind wants to abandon this mission straight away, kick everyone out of the room and devour you right on the spot.

The knowing smirk on your face shows you knew exactly what he is desiring and the deliberate sway of your hip and the stride you made showing most of your skin off your right thigh and leg? Blood was rushing down towards where it shouldn’t be. For once he was glad for Soap’s distraction. While you and Soap had a little back and forth sibling banter, he pulls you in by the waist. Trying to get you close as possible, to touch you,to breathe in your scent. The beautiful bright citrus smell mixes with jasmine and orange blossom, yet there’s the mysterious calming sweet patchouli and amber scent. How can a perfume describe your personality so perfectly? Nikolai thought. Bright and passionate , and yet,you can also be so intense and fearless.

He is falling in love with you all over again.

He wasn’t even listening to the last check over Gaz was conducting, all his focus was on you. Until you gave him a little tug, he noticed the team was piling out of the room. “You alright Nik? Your mind seems to be somewhere else.”

Shaking his head. Carefully not to ruin your make up,he pressed a light kiss on your temple. “Sorry, your beauty distracted me so much I was floating away.”

Ducking your head, face heating up, embarrassed by his compliment. You gave him a little poke for his flirtatious words, “ Well that makes two of us. You look very dapper tonight.”

Pausing for a second, you lean into his chest, speaking in a soft and vulnerable voice, “Thank you for coming with me to the mission.”

Running his hand down your bare shoulder, “I want to be there to protect you, my Ненаглядная ( precious ). I can’t let you plummeting into danger again. I nearly lost you once. Never again I am going to let that happen.” Tightening his grip on your shoulder as he tries not to think what will happen if the mission fails tonight. “Come on, let’s head out. We are going to be late.”

Grabbing the long coat, he draped it over your shoulder, making sure you are all tucked in nicely before putting his own overcoat on. You murmured a word of thanks before looping your arm around his, searching for that bit of comfort to ease your nervousness. Time to get some work done. Quicker the better. To have you away from the danger, and he can have you all by himself.

Sipping on your champagne while scanning the room, trying to spot the target. So far, no sign of him… yet. “Any luck?” Nik appeared behind you, enquired in a low voice. His hand slowly glides down the spine, coming to rest at the small of your back, drawing circles. You swear he is doing it deliberately, to see your reaction. This man was here to distract you more than keeping a close eye on you or potential enemy. You decided to pull a surprise on him.

“Nikolai,if you don’t want me to jump on you right here and now, you better behave and concentrate on the task ahead.” you murmured as you pretend to take another sip of your drink.

He was taken aback. Not by the context or the tone of your voice.

You were talking to him in near-perfect Russian.

You felt his finger halt his movement, before dipping his head down, looking at you with raised brows. You tilt your head up meeting his eyes, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Had too much time on my hands while recovering at my parent’s. So I thought I picked up a new skill.”

“We need to talk about what else you've been hiding from me later on.” Oh, he is definitely getting turned on with the way he is eyeing you, his low voice thick with lust. “Oh my love, I have a lot of hidden talents waiting for you to explore at any time.” You purred.

Before he could reply, both of you heard a boisterous greeting with a heavy Scottish accent from a short distance away.

“Well! Isn’t this Miss MacTavish?? Look at you all grown up!” You and Nikolai parted slightly and before turning around, put on a well schooled smile on your face and greeted the man with an overly cheerful voice.

“Ah, Mr MaCleans, what a pleasant surprise!” you extended your hands and leaned forward to give the older man a light embrace. You half expected to run into some of your parent’s associates and connections, but you are genuinely surprised to see this person here.

“I see you haven’t retired yet?” You asked half jokingly. This man was already quite old when you were growing up, and you remember him as a very energetic man, always travelling around, never seeming to stop for a second.

Letting out a laugh, “I will only retire the day I die! Now, what are you doing here? Where are your Da and Ma? And that daredevil brother of yours?” You let out a real chuckle, “Ma and Da are on holiday overseas at the moment, that is why they send me in for the event instead. And my brother?” waving your hand around, “off on an adventure, somewhere. He’s always floating around. I am not sure.” Trying to make an excuse. No one really knows you and Soap both joined the military and in the special forces. Your parents always use the excuse of you being sent around studying and Johnny off somewhere travelling like a nomad.

“Your parents did talk about making you take over the family business a long while ago.. Ah, where are my manners and ignoring your companion, so who is this fine young man here.”

You manage to hold back an unladylike snort as Mr Mcleans called your husband a young man. You suppose anyone else is relatively young in comparison to him. “This is Nikolai…..” “ Oh! Your husband?” Mr MaCleans interjected with a glimmer in his eyes.

Your smile falters slightly but you quickly cover up by a fake giggle. “Oh, no, Mr Belinski is Ma and Da’s .. um, new friend and possible new investors. They ask me to show him around to get more connections.” it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth not being able to call him your husband openly.

Nikolai introduces himself, as the two men engage in conversations about business and serves as a good distraction as you make an excuse to grab more drinks from the bar and to search for the target again.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw a younger man approaching.

Bingo.

As you considered your next move, you saw him walking up towards Mr Mcleans. Taking a quick glance at Nikolai, you notice the subtle change of his body language, aware that the target is approaching towards the group.

“There you are, young lad, where have you been? Let me introduce you to my old associate’s daughter and her companion.” Hearing Mr Mcleans' comment, you quickly thanked the bartender as you grabbed your drink, returning to the group.

You feign surprise as the target holds his hand out and introduces himself to you and Nikolai, grasping and feeling your hand a tad bit longer for your liking. You pull your hand back, trying not to show your disgust.

“Benjamin Witherington?”

He raised an eyebrow, confused how you know him.

“You know him?” Mr Macleans asked, curious.

“He went to the same school as John. But I don’t believe they were in the same social circle.” You turned around to face Ben again, putting on your most flirtatious smile as you introduced yourself with your full name.

You can see a sudden recognition in his eyes as he heard your surname.

“MacTavish? Ah, you are Johnny MacTavish’s sister? I remember we met once during the family opening day.” You are half impressed with his memory, since it has been some years ago when that happened. The day you wanted to punch the hell out of this man for being inappropriate to you. Biting the inside of your cheek, you try to suppress the anger from the memory.

“Look at you, all grown up and beautiful.” and you are still as slimy and frivolous as ever, you thought.

Letting out a little giggle, pretending to be bashful with the comment, “Well thank you, my mother will be pleased someone finally has something nice to say about my appearances.”

“Well I mean look at you…” Eying you up and down before landing his eyes on your tits, you strategically turned slightly to pick up your drink from the side table, covering yourself and changing the subject. “So, what are you doing here? Seems like you and Mr Macleans came together.”

He puffed, “My father wanted me to attend the function with him and try to gain some business connections and learn some social manners,” he rolled his eyes and puffed, your lip twitched slightly at the new information. Hum, this could prove interesting, there might be bigger fish to catch than him here. The young naive Witherington boy might be a tool for his father, but you doubt he will be all innocent like he is trying to present himself.

You lean forward, fingers on your chin, pretend to be empathise with him,

“Well we are in a similar boat then. Ma and Da are overseas at the moment, so couldn't attend the event.. And Johnny being Johnny, we have no idea where that nomad is, floating around the world with no care so, here I am,” sighing dramatically as you point to Nikolai, who standing on the side, pretend to listen to conversation Mr Macleans and few other gentlemen he had introduced him to, “babysitting duty for one of their new friend.”

Lowering your voice as if you were telling a great secret into his ears, “I heard through the grapevine he is very rich back in Russia though, and possible association to the Russian mob. But that is just rumours.” you lean back. “He did shower me with gifts when he first arrived. So who knows? I might keep him as a sugar daddy.”

Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Nikolai’s hand twitching as he heard the last bit of the comment. Have you gone a bit too far?

“Well, let’s forget about these old men, boy, is it a bit hot in here?” you pretend to fan yourself, trying to dissipate the heat.

“Let’s go somewhere with less people“ Ben eagerly offer to escort you out of the main ballroom, “ I think there is rooms down the hallway with a balcony, Maybe we can talk more there.” he tries to loop his arm around your waist, you back away slightly, making excuse you have to let Nikolai know where you are heading to.

Shuffling yourself towards your husband, turning as he immediately notices you approach.

“Mr Belinski, Mr Macleans, sorry to interrupt your gentlemen’s conversation, but Ben and I are going to retreat somewhere with a balcony to get more fresh air.” You look at Nikolai right in the eyes. Target moving, ready to extract

“Ah, balcony. That is a good idea.” he repeated your location, relying onto the team through the concealed microphone. You can see his jaws clenching. This is the part he is worried about. You will have to be out of his sight, alone again.

“We will be back in five minutes!” send in the team through my tracker location in five minutes.

Out of the ballroom as you walk down the corridor, you grab tight onto your clutch wallet, hoping the tracker in there is working correctly. You try to calm yourself down, half listening to some outlandish stories Ben is currently rambling on about, trying to impress you.

Stopping in front of a room, you pushed it open. The room was dark and musty, the only source of illumination was the balcony and street light from outside the window.

As soon as you walk in, you feel Ben grabbing you from behind, trying to force a kiss on you.

“What…?!! Get off me Ben!!!” You try to push him off you, elbowing him.

“You slut!!! I thought you wanted this!!!”

“Oh don’t flatter yourself, you lavvy-heided wankstain.''You sneered. Pulling out your sedation needle from your wallet, you jabbed right into his neck, “I would prefer Nikolai over you ANY DAY. Sweet dreams.” And with that insult thrown at him, he dropped to the ground in an instant, passed out as the drug took effect. You threw the needle onto the ground, as if it burnt you and stumbled back until your leg hit a couch.

A minute later, Nikolai and the team bursted in, ready for a confrontation. They immediately relaxed as they saw the target on the ground, snoring away and you safe and sound. Nikolai strided towards you, currently collapsed on the couch, looking dazed and out of breath, he immediately gathered up into his arm, murmuring words of assurances.

“I am fine Nik… I just need a minute to catch up on my breath.” you let out a big breath as you lean into his chest. Soap came up towards the two of you, with a small smile on his face. “Thanks Mini. Couldn’t do it without you.” Giving him a weak smile, you held out your hand to give him a hi-five.

“Now you two love birds go back to the hotel, I’ll get Gaz to drive you two back. Rest of us will clean up the scene and cover the rest.” You peek over Nikolai’s shoulder, seeing Ghost hauling the unresponsive body of Ben over his shoulder without any care, you begin to wonder how strong the drug is to knock him out instantly. It’s probably one of those answers you don’t want to know. Gaz gave you a wave, indicating he is ready to move. Nikolai helped you to stand, wrapping you up in the overcoat before leading you outside to the van waiting. Passing by Price, you gave him a salute, he returned with a warm smile, happy to know the mission has completed without much harm being done to you.

Now you just have to face your husband. You were certain he would be fussing over you once the two of you are alone. Or maybe he will treat you with something better… to reward you for the job well done.

Your hands were still shaking from adrenaline as you tried to open the door with your key card. You can feel Nikolai’s body heat radiating off him as he is practically sticking right against your back.

You had told him what happened after you left the ballroom while in the car ride back to the hotel. His hand around your waist tightened, and the hardened look in his eyes says it all. He is angry. And pissed off. Not at you. But at the dirty, filthy, piece of lowlife target that has touched you without your permission.

As soon as the door is closed, he pushes you flat against the wall, nibbling your earlobes as his hand drifts down towards the slit of your dress, sliding this callous hand between your inner thigh. “Do you know how hard it was for me to watch that Мудакl (asshole) touching you? Tainting my wife.. MY GODDESS with his dirty filthy hand…” he growled as he pushed himself closer to you, feeling his hard and thick arousal on your back. As you arch yourself back towards him, giving him more friction.He grabbed your throat lightly, and caressed the line of your jaw with his thumb. “I couldn’t do a thing. Watching him flirting away with you, ogling at your breasts like a hungry wolf…. “ Grabbing one of your butt cheeks, squeezing it lightly, “ No one, no one else should be touching you but ME. you belong to me.” he hissed. “I will not let any other despicable, wretched low life lay a hand on you ever again.”

“Nik…” you whispered, aching for more. More of his touch. To erase the filth and dirty feeling Ben has left on you. “Please...”

“Shh…” now he moved his hand towards the slit of your core, “I will give you what you want, soon. Be patient, my little bird. Oh?” Ah he noticed. You bite your lip, waiting for his reaction.

“No underwear? How daring of you.” cupping his hand around your pussy, inserting his middle fingers in, prodding. “So you walked around all night like this, what were you thinking?”

“... I… I was thinking..” Whimpering, trying to get your words out. Gosh your mind is like a muddle right now, all you can think of is how much you want him to move his finger, make you feel good. Your pussy clenches around his finger, wanting to get a bit of relief.

“Louder. I can’t hear you” He commanded as he licked the back of your neck, from the nape of your neck right up to the base of your ear.

“I was thinking how pleased my husband will be when he finds out.” you blurted out, whole body trembling with anticipation.

You can feel his amusing smirk as he planted a kiss on the back of your head.

“Well, he is indeed pleased by it. But what he wasn't pleased about was how a scum had been touching you..ah. It’s not your fault.” his tone changed from slightly harsh to a softer genuine loving tone as he senses you shrinking away slightly. “You did well on the mission. And now, the good girl gets the reward.” he started moving his fingers languidly, his thumb rubbing ever so often circling around the sensitive nub of yours. Rolling your head back onto his shoulder, moving your hip in sync of his movement, silently begging for more.

“Already dripping wet thinking of me, hmmm?”

“Only you. It’s only you..” you moaned.

“MMM… and you are the only one,” As if to emphasise the point, he started grinding his hip into your back as he sped up his ministration, “That can get me this hard. Can you feel that?”

You nodded your head eagerly,

“Good. keep that thought. Because…” moving his hand from your throat, moving down towards your breast, kneading it through the thin fabric of your dress and pitching the nipple. “This is the cock that is going to fuck you until you scream out in pleasure for me, fill you up again and again.”

With that thought, it topped you over the edge. You didn’t even bother suppressing your loud moan as you felt the intensity of the orgasm hit you. Feeling the hot liquid gushing on from your fold and onto his finger. He murmurs words of praise into your ear as he slows down his pumping and lets you ride out the rest of the high.

You feel you are about to collapse after he just drew such an intense orgasm out of you. You tried to grab onto the wall, searching for some friction to hold yourself up right. He pulls away from you slightly, one arm supporting you around your waist, as he undresses with a quick tuck of the strap and unzipping the fastener on the back of the dress, letting it drop on to the floor.

Now you are standing there in front of him,with nothing but all your jewellery and heels still on. facing the wall in such a vulnerable position.

Hearing him undoing his belt and watching him kicking his pants to the side, he moved closer to you, one hand intertwined with yours, the other turning your head, facing him as he leaned down and giving you a deep, passionate yet loving kiss, before slowly pushing himself into you.

No matter how many times the two of you made love, you still can’t get over the delicious sensation of how his large cock stretches your pussy, with each pounding you see stars in front of your eyes.

The room is full of the sound of his low groan and your sobbing and begging, for him to give you another release. Lifting one of your legs up to change the angle, he ordered you to move your hand down towards your swollen bundle of nerves.

“I want to see how you pleasure yourself, my little bird.”

You began to rub your own clit intensely, trying to relieve that need that is bubbling up again, all of sudden he sped up with his pace, hitting right into the sweet spot that made you scream out with pleasure.

“That is … sing out for my lastochka… I love it when you show me how much pleasure my cock is bringing you. Now, why don’t you be a good girl and come for me?”

Your hand falters as the second orgasm hits you,your pussy clenching uncontrollably around his cock. Closing your eyes and letting out a stream of incoherent babble, followed by the sensation of Nikolai’s hot cum filling the inside of you. He buried his head into the crook of your neck, trying to ride out his own orgasm.

You moaned out with frustration with the emptiness that he left you when he pulled out from you, you felt both of your cum dripping down between your legs and the drag of wetness between the crack of your ass as he drew his cock back.

Turning you around, he runs his fingers between the fold of your pussy, and gathers up a bit of the cum.

“What a mess you have made… Now, how would you suggest we clean this up?”

With an innocent smile, you draw his hand up towards your mouth, licking and sucking each of the fingers clean.

“Like this?? “ you batter your eyelashes as you cheekily replied. He let out a laugh and bent down to kiss you, getting a good taste of your and his own cum. “What a brilliant idea.. Now , why don't we move to somewhere more… comfortable, so I can perform the cleaning procedure, and maybe, “ his eyes dart down, you can see him getting hard again, “you can clean up mine too?”

The two of you didn’t check out of the hotel the next day until the team came pounding down on the door, and silently retreated back out again as they saw all the clothes scattered along the floors of the living room, leading towards the bedroom.

“You love her don’t you?”Nikolai looked at Mr Mcleans with surprise but said nothing.“Ah, don’t look so surprised. I have lived twice as long as you, I know that look. The same look I give my lovely bonnie Linda. Bless her soul in heaven.” he took another sip of whisky.

“ I only agreed to take that bampot bairn because his father Lord Witherington begged me to do so. Now,” Slapping Nikolai’s back,”Go and get her back.”

And People, this is the story of how Anya MacTavish was produced. My inspirations : Again, nothing beat's @shkretart's beautiful Nikolai from this post NIKOLAI IN SUIT . so hot and delicious. I just couldn't get over it! tag list:

@homicidal-slvt,

@roosterr @preciouslittlecreature

@siilvan @floral-force @kaplerrr @captainpriceslover

#cod nikolai #nikolai cod #nikolai cod x reader #nikolai cod x f!reader #taskforce 141 #nikolai reboot call of duty #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price #call of duty #nikolai cod x female reader #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty mw 2022 #mini mactavish #mini mactavish universe

72 notes · View notes