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controld3vil · 1 year

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what she sow

PAIRING(S): AEMOND TARGARYEN X TARG!READER, AEGON II TARGARYEN X TARG!READER SYNOPSIS: Alicent sees herself in you. Her once-wild spirit dissolved in the flames of missed adventures and leisure. Before duty took her life away. But like her father, Alicent was bound to the realm. She scolds you whenever you make a brash comment or clash with your siblings. Out of everyone, Alicent finds comfort in talking to you but knows it’s a double-edged sword. You spoke truthfully and gave her the harsh reality every time. That you were a stubborn Targaryen. NOTES: - this one shot mostly revolves around the reader's life & perspective. implied relationships are referenced but aren't the main focus of this story. - excuse all grammar mistakes !! - cw: targcest; there are subtle hints but not explicit. if you’re uncomfortable, please do not read

DRIFTMARK was not as welcoming in its pursuit to give you comfort. You never favored the sea - it was a thousand miles away from your homeland. The grim-looking castle stood towering on its own, surrounded by the open ocean. The sun hid in the morrow today, and so did the radiant blue sky. You could feel a tinge of sadness as you glimpsed up into the void of dusty clouds. Regardless of the ceremony, the empty hole in your chest would not waver. The High Tide, a section of the Driftmark castle, was where most people visited in sorrow.

And as you stepped down onto the cold cobblestone, you took a deep breath. The apparent death of Laena Velaryon gathered many loved ones. She had only passed away a few days prior. Laena failed to give birth to her third child, her son. If not worse, Ser Vaemond persistently recited in high Valyrian. You understood the parts and pieces of what he was saying. In the memory of Laena Velaryon, let the Driftmark waves guide her soul toward peace. Or something like that you couldn’t decipher quickly enough.

You stood by, with your dark cloak next to your mother and siblings. Ser Criston made sure to stand by Alicent's right side. Your father, King Viserys, First in his name, was held by two knights, underseeing the ceremony in utmost sorrow. But compared to his children and wife, they were motionless and could not express empathy. You heard stories of Laena in your younger years. Your aunt and her family resided in Pentos, a thousand miles away from King's Landing. It was inevitable, partly because she was never interested nor cared.

You, the secondborn, did not want to bring shame to your family. But the Driftmark ceremony was tedious and cold. Not to mention, you knew no one besides the residents from King’s Landing. Staring at the ocean, you hope no one is looking at you for not paying your respects to your late aunt. Nothing on this god-forsaken island was worth contemplating. You knew this trip was dull as the most intriguing thing you sought out were the rigid rocks and dried-up seashells.

After the ceremony, the atmosphere became more relaxed. As residents and families alike walked on the canopy and talked. Your mother and Ser Criston Cole hesitantly stared at your father, who was seated in the center. You were holding your mother’s hand when she spoke to you.

“Go to your brothers and sister. Find comfort in them.”

You nod with haste, wanting to seek a sense of comfortability. Being surrounded by the unknown residents of Laena Velaryon did not please you. Why wouldn’t it? You never attended a funeral until now. It felt foreign, more uncomfortable than the grand parties back at King’s Landing.

You jog towards the nearest tent with drinks and tarts. The salted aroma of the sea was murky but diverged terribly with the freshly baked loaves of bread. Taking note of your presence, a servant girl presented a tray, a new batch of bread with various stuffings.

Politely thanking her, you grab the largest one. Sadly before you could delve into your savory snack, your brother’s obnoxious voice came down like a snap of a whip.

“I can't marry her.”

“You have to - it’s your duty.”

“You marry her then!”

“I would perform my duty to pass on the Valyrian bloodline.”

“She's an idiot– ow!”

“Not as idiotic as you,” Aemond turned to his right to find you, munching on a pastry. The same pastry you split into pieces and threw at your older sibling. Aegon lets out a scowl. “You were never suited for duty.”

“Pardon me,” The eldest son suddenly felt the urge to correct your claims. “I never said I'd refuse mother's marriage pact – Better yet, you should be envious of me and our sister. We’d be the first to marry in the family, performing our duties.”

“Mother says she will be our future queen.” Aemond jumps in, gazing at Helaena’s oblivious mumbling. His claims were purely harmless, though it was something your mother wanted you all to understand. Duty came necessary to bring to the realm. Sacrifices would be bargained with afterward.

Ignoring his words, you faced him head-on. “Call her an idiot again and I'll sever your tongue and feed it to the rats at King’s Landing.”

“That's awfully far from here, sister. Are you sure you can make it back on Gaelithox? Without plunging into the deep sea bottom?" He taunts, knowing it would only agitate you. Your dragon, Gaelithox, shared many qualities with you. Even after claiming him on your fifth-name day, you had trouble controlling him. He was not pleased whenever you mounted on his back. Numerous times, he jolted you off his saddle out of aggravation. Aegon could recite all the times you puffed annoyedly, pleading with the dragon as if he listened.

“Then I will feed you to Gaelithox. I'm sure he would enjoy a cunt for a meal,” You barked, trudging towards where Halaena sat. You knew what you said was disrespectful. Your mother would most definitely reprimand you if she heard. Calling your brother a cunt was prohibited. You spoke out of turn and will accept the consequences if Aegon or Aemond decides to tell your pesky mother. “Helaena, have you been sitting here all day?”

“Fret not dear sister, I've caught a spider,” Conversing with Helaena always soothed your sanity. You had a soft spot for her, attending to her mumbling and infatuation with insects. “Rivaling disorder will come to shake the tides. Solitude will not prevail.”

“Then we shall prepare for the tides,” Seizing your sister’s arm to head inside the castle. The cold and eerie palace. One that corresponded to King’s Landing but did not offer the reassurance your home did. “Come! Let’s rest!”

THERE WAS an inkling urge to rip all of the strings you’ve conducted. It didn’t look right. Embroidery was a lady’s sport, the representation of articulated beauty. Out of all of the girls, Helaena was the most skilled. She could’ve woven a thousand portraits and never gotten tired. The threads continually overlapped each other as she hemmed the final knot. She replaces the string with a different color and starts again.

“The trick is to keep track of the number of loops you’ve made,” She says, finding her rhythm in her work. Seeing your sister at ease consoled you. Her soft-spoken words were like an old childhood melody.

Sweet and soft.

Helaena never raised her voice. Only when she came to the world did her cries screech throughout the Red Keep. As a babe, you had no conscious memory. However, Helaena’s squealing gave you such a fright, you screamed. The mutual linger of anxiety was the only reminder of your genesis. It was a fuzzy recollection that periodically hovered in your head. For such an innocent girl, her cries would be the last thing you wanted to hear.

“What if you lose track?” You idly gaped at your sister’s handiwork. It was exquisite, resembling the sigil of the three-headed dragons.

“Then you best retrace the loops from the last knot you started on.” She giggled, tugging the needle in and out of the fabric. “Septa Rhea taught us that together!”

You beamed, “My apologies sister. I've forgotten.” You both knew that was sarcasm. You didn’t care as much as Helaena did about embroidery. A lady’s sport. Many things distinguished you unbecoming of a lady, and sewing was the least of your concern.

“At least understand the basic maneuvering of the needle, dear sister,” Your twin teased, slowly beaming as the corner of her lips moved upwards. “Mother would be upset if you abandoned your duties.”

“I have been practicing! No need to worry.”

“Even dragons lose their footing,” Helaena lightheartedly said. “Some may tumble into the sea like flightless birds…”

Your eyes quirk up to process her remarks. You couldn’t help but devilishly grin. “How dare you-!” Abandoning your work, you tackled her to the ground. Both of you giggled but were abruptly interrupted by the sounds of servants.

“Princess Rhaeryna is going into labor! Quickly bring the maesters!”

It stuns the two of you, ascending from the rug to pat down your gowns.

“We should visit our sister to help! I hear the birthing chambers is where many women gather to aid the–”

“It’s best if we do not intrude,” Helaena pats her skirt one last time and hauls you out of the room and down the passageway. “Mother would disapprove of such things.” Alicent forbade any of her children to even be in sight of Rhaeryna and her children. Her childhood friend was now a stranger to her. The discourtesy she bestowed on Velaryon and Targaryen's lineage was unrepairable. And the Queen Mother made sure to enlighten her children in such manners constantly.

“Follow your duties properly and the realm will be protected,” she said, caressing the heads of her four children one night. Her four children nodded, all too young to recall her words.

That afternoon, you roamed close to the gardens of King's Landing. They were nearly in color as winter was approaching its end. The flower bushes looked withered due to the frigid temperature. But soon they will prosper from their slumber, luminous with rich colors. Strolling down the gravel lanes, you pass by Jacaerys and Lucerys. Grabbing their attention, you ask them where they were running.

“We are going to the Dragon’s Pit! You’re welcome to join us.” Jace smiles while Luke nods with delight. The two of them were affixed on you whenever you joined them. Feasts, sword fights, or chasing through the Red Keep, they have become fond of your company. In the absence of your siblings' love, you were present whenever they asked.

“I’d be delighted to!”

In the waiting years for your egg to hatch, your father and the council members were worried whether your dragon would hatch. It was custom for a dragon egg to hatch at the same time as the birth of a Targaryen, becoming their life companion. But the dragon keepers reassured the king that patience was crucial.

Eventually, the gods shined brightly on you at the age of five. Despite many stares and pity whispers, you dismissed them. Even as a small child you were strong-minded and kept your thoughts clean out of criticism and jealousy. In a sense, Galitheox was alike — having to endure five years of isolation, unable to break away from the shells of dependency. You too felt imprisoned - the two of you in fire and blood were twisted in the bloodline and hierarchy of fidelity.

The day you recall the faint cracking sounds over the fire was one of the most rewarding days in your life. In excitement, you attempted to grab the egg but the dragon keepers defied your touch.

“You mustn’t touch, princess. Dragon eggs desire a place where they’re most comfortable.”

After you visited the Dragon Pit, your mother scolded Aegon and you. You were not involved in Aegon’s and Rhaeryna’s children's schemes but it did not bypass Alicent. She was enraged, more apprehensive about the reputation and well-being of her second son.

“You mustn't ridicule your younger brother. You know how passionate he is to have a dragon!”

You grimaced in silence when you saw the pig with wings strapped around its belly. Your older brother relished teasing, and he would giggle in delight at the humiliation of others. It was something you developed to distaste, a bad and annoying habit.

You felt your stomach pile with remorse at their laughter. You defended Aemond that day but were heavily criticized by their taunts. Your anger rose when they suggested you fetch your dragon to fly with Aemond. Everyone eventually exploded into name-calling that would’ve escalated into a physical fight. Fortunately, because of the distressed company of your younger brother, you held against it.

“It was only for mere amusement, mother—!”

“It should not and never will be! You brought shame into this family and humiliated your younger brother!” Alicent screeched, seizing both of Aegon’s fair arms. He had no clothes on, an appearance you were familiar with now.

Moping, you gazed down at your feet. You felt awful for not protecting Aemond. You treated him with respect since he was a babe. But you lacked the care your mother had for all of her children. Your protectiveness of him was relentless, yet you did not know how to console him, to reassure him of his insecurities. You accept ten times the admiration you deserve.

Calmly, Queen Alicent ushered her secondborn out of the room.

Sundown was mere minutes away as you strolled through the dimmed galleries. Dinner would come soon. And affairs were problematic to reminisce about. The Kingguards stationed around the palace peeked at you in question. The orange sky laminated brightly as the clouds surrounding King’s Landing grew darker. When night falls, the faint sounds of insects and chirping appear. The servant maidens who had completed their chores whispered in the dark corners. And the septas in the garden carefully minded their tongue, aware of Targaryen’s predicaments. Everyone in the palace was accustomed to the disputes all princes had.

The legitimacy of Jacaerys and Lucerys was always on the top of their tongues. It will never fade as long as they live. You wonder if their mother scolded them for the recent incident. Rhaeryna’s and Alicent’s relationship had plummeted out of existence since the birth of Aegon II. And the servant girls were naïve enough to whisper in hollow halls. You heard numerous rumors when Rhaeryna disregarded her father’s order to wed. And how Alicent’s proposal for marriage contradicted Laena Velaryron's. It saddens you how the deep scars of your family's past revoke the realm.

You weren’t mindful of where you were until the door of Rhaeryna Targaryen was in front of you. It was as if your consciousness wanted to find her. Would she allow you? Rhaeryna despised all of Alicent’s children, as someone said to you. Replace her legitimacy from the Iron Throne. You hoped it was not the case because your mother was inclined to pursue her duties as the second wife.

She never spoke to you only in telepathic stares. Her lilac eyes forever grimaced at yours, a gesture you could never recuperate. Knocking a few times, you voiced your greetings and asked for her presence. The doors were slightly open and only allowed light inside. The first time you saw Rhaeryna in days, she looked radiant. She was glowing with the aftermath of her pregnancy - sweat still presents on her forehead. She looked weary and slightly disoriented at the sudden visit.

Rhaeryna lets out a sigh at your name. “Please come in.” she smiles, which shocks you. She never smiled at you. “I apologize for the mess. I wasn’t expecting any visitors as the maesters have ordered me to rest…” Rhaeryna pushed her arms to allow entry. You strode into the room. Close behind you, your older sister shut the doors and found a suitable seat in her lounge.

For as long as you can recall, the firstborn of Viserys Targaryan and Aemma Arryn was fierce. She had a reputation as the first female heir declared to the Iron Throne. It fascinated you. Rhaeryna was given the duty of the realm at such a young age. Her purpose to wedlock children was now more demanding than ever. It was the power that was given to her that made her fierce. And the more desirable.

“I congratulate you on the birth of your third son, Princess.” You nervously chirped up, taking a seat across from her. “Pregnancy is a terrifying thing for all women. Yet you’ve done it three times.”

She laughs, buckling her chin down. The atmosphere felt bizarre because you’d never had a casual conversation with your half-sister. “I suppose you’re correct with that matter,” Rhaeryna mumbles, looking at you with those lavender hues. The same lavender hues from years before. “I thank you, Princess…” She acknowledged the atmosphere was tense. “Would you like to see him…?”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “If you would allow it.”

“Come…” Your half-sister rises and puts a hand on her hip. “But you must be quiet since Joffrey’s been sleeping for quite some time.”

Rising, you immediately ran to her side and supported her weight. Rhaeryna beams up again and directs you to his crib. In quiet paddles, you could hear your nephew's tiny snores. His dark brown curls were the first thing that caught your eye. You mindlessly cursed at yourself for bringing up bad habits.

Taking a deep breath, you admired his other features. The silence you two shared was sublime. Staring down from the top of his lips to his tiny hands, you felt smitten. The babe was only a few hours old, but you wanted to spoil him rotten. The light blush he had reminded you of Rhaerynas. The sunset was beautiful, yet your nephew's face was more divine. The orange hues of sunlight highlighted his chubby cheeks. Joffrey’s long lashes resembled the smallest feathers.

“Beautiful, isn’t he?”

IN THE late evening at King’s Landing, the palace grows weary, and so have their residents. Dinner was tolerable - all the council meetings were pleased with their progress. The royal family was escorted back into their chambers to rest while the Kingsguard lurked around the shadows. Candles lit in every corner of the castle were burned out. Only a few in each corridor stood, barely hanging onto life.

As the moon slowly ascends, the sun goes down to rest. It was the same with those who resided in the kingdom of Westeros. The Queen Mother and her children descended to their bed chambers. As the servant girls followed the second-born daughter, she loosened her shoulders. The day was tiring as her mother demanded more of her time and assistance. Tedious and time-consuming.

Hence when the bubbling bath finally simmered, all of the maids huddled over the tub. One sprayed essential oils of lavender - another scattered small rose petals. The three remaining girls assembled around your body and began to unbind your laces. The dark crimson (almost velvet) dress hung down your hips luxuriously. It was one of your more favored dresses, gifted from the fine maker in Essos. The stitching of the swirls was intricately sewn, highlighting your curves.

It brought your title as a princess to the highest order. No man or woman could defy such beauty. The Targaryen characteristics only accentuated your playful charm. And those violet orbs that can pierce any living creature with a single stare. It glows between the moonlight like embers of a volcano. From the neck down, you remain poised. But on the occasion of a full moon, you loosen the tension between your shoulders.

Stripped down to your garments, you slipped out of them. There was a sense of comfort in these domestic times alone. You felt at peace as you climbed into the tub. The soft sizzling eased your body as you moved further down. The heat never harmed the Targaryens - it sympathized with you. The fireplace behind you was the only light source in the room. It chaotically twinkled, burning through the logs beneath them. The smell of incense lingered - like sweet wine waiting to be drunk. After a long day regarding your mothers' necessities, you wanted to disappear from the world.

You should no longer exist.

However, that dream will never come true, as the doors breached open - your train of thought with a dreadful visitor. “Princess, the Queen,” You sigh and gesture to the maidens. As soon as the doors open, your mother waltzes in hastily. She looked like she was in a hurry to get here. Alicent's brows were full of tension, and her mouth was slightly open in exasperation.

“Leave us,” She said, looking down at you. The doors suddenly closed. The room was hers to initiate. “I have some news to share with you.”

“What is it?”

“Well—“ Her breath staggers as she stumbles towards the nearby couch. Your eyes linger down at her clammy hands. Your mother, the Queen Mother, was anxious about what she was about to disclose. “Your grandsire and I have settled to wed Aegon and Helaena.”

Alicent had to flip a coin every time she spoke to you. You could explode, like a firework - if it displeased you. Or become soft and docile like a dragon - lazily resting in the Dragon's Keep. But both alternatives can be bittersweet. So when she made the decision, you had to be the first one to know. Not even Aegon or Helaena were aware of the news. If not for Viserys as king, she would’ve appointed you onto the counsel if she wanted. Alicent relied on your morals and decision-making.

But sometimes it came with a price.

“What…? Why—?”

“It was inevitable - but now, we have chosen a date,” She clasped her hands together, preventing herself from shaking. “For the ceremony.”

“Why have you come to me first–?”

“Because I trust you, sweet dear, more than anyone,” The last part was a lie. Alicent wanted to assure you that she still does have faith in you. “Aegon will be king - Helaena will be queen—“

“No… she shouldn’t!” You grimaced at her, dragging your knees to your chest. Even in the haste of rage, your disheveled state looked beautiful. “Why would she marry that twat? Their marriage will cease to exist the moment it is declared.”

“She is the most suitable. Helaena has shown devotion to her duties and will not fight against it.”

“Then I will!” Your slouched back straightens. “Why would you let her be married off to our cunt of a brother—?”

The slip of your name hangs on her tongue. With a sharp inhale, her lips narrow. “Hold your tongue.”

“Do you have no respect for her?! When she marries that idiot, he will treat her with no respect and love! Without devotion, their marriage will crumble. Her children will suffer the same fate!“

“She will be performing her duty!”

“What duty?!” You cried, face filled with burning rage. There was a contortion of emotions on Alicent’s face. Anger makes you look more beautiful. Because when your patience is at its peak of erupting, chaos debuts. “Why would you sacrifice your children for duty? Why is duty more important than your children?”

Sacrifice for duty? You were speaking nonsense, Alicent deciphers. She was more than willing to face you herself after dinner. All of the preparations have concluded with a check on a pamphlet. The Queen Mother had known the wedding would not be triumphant if not for her children’s well-being. You were the first she had to console - let you understand why she must accept this proposition. But the claims you made disbanded her attempts at peace.

“Why? Because duty is sacrifice!” Vice versa, your mother's fury had just begun. It was as if the two of you wanted to add more firewood to the burning fire. “To uphold the Targaryen bloodline is to maintain its course.”

“Then you don’t care for your children,” You ridicule back with a sneer. “Helaena should not marry him! She should have the freedom to do so!”

“Then who would you let her marry?!”

“Someone more kind and considerate. More attentive than our brother because she deserves far more than all of the suitors in Westeros. She is the righteous figure of beauty. She should at least be happy! I want her to be happy!” Angry tears sprung out your eyelids, blinding you to your mother’s shattered face. “Aegon doesn’t deserve her… She should have the right to do so….”

A minute passed, and all Alicent could think of was the look on your face. She has seen you broken down before but never torn to pieces like this. Your protectiveness over your sister was something she envied. The two of you had each other, never to be alone. She tries to clear her throat but fails.

On the other hand, silence offers you a moment to ponder. You felt shameful of your outburst, of shouting at your mother over a trivial matter of love. But you wanted Helaena to be free and content. It was an impossible justification as arranged marriages were more political arrangements. It pained you to envision how your sister would feel. Dressed in her wedding gown, she would have the most pristine and painful smile. It should be you in the Citadel, offering your freedom to the gods.

Your better half deserved that much.

“I understand your doubts, darling… I really do,” The Queen’s watery eyes trail back to you - and hesitantly rose up from her seat. Your body felt chilly even in the hot boiling bath. “But this is the only way. Rhaeryna had once asked for Helaena’s hand for her son, Jacaerys. I could not let her son have it her way…”

You hummed deliberately. She had mentioned Jacaerys proposal once before - it did not bother you. Jacerys always had a kind heart and was quite fond of you and your younger sister. However, the Queen Mother was grudgingly displeased with Rhaeryna’s children. Her sons and their dark curly hair and lack of Velaryon qualities.

You looked up at her, unaware of how close she was to the tub. “Then wed Aegon to me.”

It takes a second for Alicent to process what you just said. “W-what—? Dear, I don’t understand—“

“Wed him to me.” Sorrow filled your eyes. You lifted your head to meet her with a bitter smile. Your blonde hair posed carefully on your shoulders, slightly skimming the water. “I will deal with him right. He will obey.” Your mother acknowledged the strange fondness the two of you had. The two of you had a familiar sense of humor and danger. He would waste his ways with his whores. While you distracted yourself with old men about philosophy. Aegon tolerated you, unlike Aemond and Helaena - who did not stand for his despicable banters.

“You’re right…” For once, the Queen agrees with her daughter. Perhaps Aegon was the ideal match for you. However, she recalls the harsh critiques her father had of you.

She is far from a lady. Her redundancy to those ferocious beasts is beneath her. The princess is unbecoming of her maiden’s duties.

Your mother brushes a few strands of hair behind your right ear. A single teardrop ran down your face, taking in the shape of your face - she takes in the cruel truth.

“It’s too late for that… Your grandsire expects the preparations in a few days…” Your expression drops slightly, a habit you picked up from Alicent. Viserys protectiveness and her witted mouth - you brought out the best of the Hightowers and worst of the Targaryens. No longer should she demean your judgment - the truth that could’ve saved her children from years of torment and isolation.

“My cunt of a grandsire is as demanding as ever….” And for the first time, she didn’t mind you calling her father a cunt. She softly chuckles, taking in the heat and light from the fireplace.

THE SMALL rubbles of sand leaped back and forth as the royal carriage came to a stop. The Kingsguard in front of the entry of King’s Landing did not flinch, bearing on their duties. The frigid weather did not suit Westeros. The air was tense as the doors opened to reveal Princess Rhaeryna and her family.

Residing in Dragonstone was a calculated conclusion for Rhaeryna. Kings Landing only brought awful memories from her childhood. As she stared at the castle, disappointment shielded her eyes. Westeros’s King’s Landing did not change — it was like steel, lingering for the rust to overwhelm its bare roots. She did not miss the people or the nostalgic conformity. She ignored her thoughts and stepped forward, carefully holding her swollen belly. Her husband, Daemon, and sons came out after her. And her niece, Rhaena stood beside her, sensing her distress.

They all knew arriving here would be uneasy. But for Lucery’s claim to the Driftmark throne, Rhaeryna was determined. No one should challenge her children’s claims and indirectly spit in her face.

Ser Vaemond Velaryon should’ve rotted in the Stepstones a long time ago.

“Have you spoken to the dragon keepers about this predicament, Princess?”

“Not quite, though I’m sure they won’t have anything to say,” You worriedly march towards the desk full of scrolls and parchments. Trailing your fingers over all the papers, you search for the particular piece about dragon scales. “Gaelithox grows weary day by day. And there’s nothing I can do.”

You inspected all the dragons in the Dragon’s Pits during your study. You relished learning their manners and habits. But one of the unknown, not even the Seven could deduce, was the changes your dragon had. Gaelithox was ill, or so you thought. A cold? He wasn’t in severe conditions but was consistently troubled and did not desire to fly like usual. His albino scales were slowly flaking off like the skin of a snake. One by one, his scales fall off, revealing a darker shade, a dusty gray.

The dragon keepers could not come up with an explanation for this mystery. Anyone knowledgeable about dragons was gone - very few were in the presence of these giant beasts. Your dragon, your sole companion, was fighting an unknown condition. Yet you could not do anything about it. Gaelithox nuzzled against your frame - every time you spoke to him. He sighs - reassuring you it is not as painful as you feared.

“He’s as stubborn as a mule,” Sighing discreetly, you did not see your lady-in-waiting, Kiara. She patiently pauses and allows you to finish your conversation with the maester. “I cannot continue my research if he’s unwell.”

“You have more than enough time, Princess. His sickness will pass. Many of the maesters - including myself - will look into this predicament and let you know if we discover anything worthwhile.”

“Princess,” Kiara carefully voices. Your head turns, raising your brows in question. “The Queen requests your presence.” The maester beside you intertwines his hands and bows. You nod and steadily remove yourself from the library. Kiara smiled as you walked with her swiftly. After becoming your lady-in-waiting, she has become your trustful friend. It was rare to have a friend in King's Landing. Kiara took pride in herself - to have gained your trust.

And she knew you were troubled. The news of Ser Vaemond’s ridiculous assembly disturbed you.

After the loss of Aemond’s eye, some part of you changed. You did not understand why, at the time, Lucery's had a knife when nobody else had. He was the only one who held a weapon. Why was it fair for Rhaeryna to claim it as self-defense? In the process, Aemond’s claim about Vhagar angered Laena’s children. The night became more disastrous as the distance between Alicent and Rhaeryna's relationship faded. You held onto your dear sister protectively that night. Your mother was spiraling down in panic while your half-sister stood her ground. Even your father had to intervene and scold the two women. You had never seen him as outraged as he was that night. Viserys never yelled unless regarding his family.

And when he turned to Aegon after Aemond's accusation, you quickly held onto your older brother's arm. Out of fear of Viserys screams and the following events.

Perhaps you would have done something differently if you had more courage. You stare at your mother's back - worriedly pacing back and forth in front of someone's chambers. “Mother,” She jumps in shock. “You wished to see me?”

Queen Alicent flattens her dress. “Yes dear, I would like you to welcome our guests. Rhaeryna and Daemon are already in your father's chambers.”

Your eyebrows rose in immediate anger. “Why have you not informed me sooner?”

“I apologize, sweet darling,” Your mother rubs your arms consolingly. “I was… caught up in a council meeting.”

You thought about making a hasty remark but denied it. Nodding with a soft smile, you stepped back. “I will greet Rhaenrya and Daemon accordingly. It has been a long time since we last saw them.” Before your mother could say anything, you headed to the king’s chambers.

Alicent saw it coming. She failed to inform you of your half-sister's return. But you knew it was inevitable - no one was pleased for the heir to the Iron Throne to return. Many of the residents in King’s Landing were not fond of her from the start. Your steps speed up. Kiara, behind you, desperately tries to catch up. She calls for you to slow down - but you ignore her.

Entering the chambers of King Viserys, you notice your sister’s posture. She was stiff - standing beside her husband, sitting on an armchair near the fireplace. Both their expressions were in surprise to not be greeted by the Queen, but her daughter.

“Princess Rhaeryna, Prince Daemon,” You bowed with a genuine smile. “Welcome back to King’s Landing. I hope the trip was not as tedious as you anticipated.”

A playful chuckle erupts from Daemon. Despite your similarities, you two never spoke to one another. Though there are times - you hoped he would reach out and bond with you. His dragon, Caraxes, was exquisite, adorning itself in red blood scales. Stories say that when he arrived at the Step Stones, Caraxes burned hundreds of their enemies on the shoreline. Millions of burnt bodies lay on the sandy floor. You thought his efforts were admirable.

Your sister’s face morphs in relief. Her furrowed brows no longer tensed in thought, she returns the smile. “Thank you,” She breathes your name in hesitation. It’s been many years since the two of you spoke. You hoped she had fond memories with you when she still lived in King’s Landing. “It’s good to see a familiar face. None of the others dared to greet us at the gates.”

Your bitterness towards your mother was boiling.

“I do apologize. The council members were occupied, discussing regional matters —“

“You seem to have decorated the place quite nicely. Why is that?” Daemon’s tone stunned you. He sounded aggravated, more so teasing. Your lilac eyes trailed back to his like magnets. With his head slightly down and slumped posture, you felt intimidated. “You allow the Hightowers to plunder in with their pretty lights and stars. Did they remove the Targaryen flags as well?”

You felt as if he was pointing the blame toward you. Even when you had no control over which sigil to display in King’s Landing - it was as if you were playing a game of chess with him. He had just taken one of your pawns.

“Due to the King’s sickness, the Queen has taken matters into her own hands.” Your lips draw a narrow line. “And the council members do as they please.”

You wanted to block his attacks - to prevent checkmate. If you wanted to insult him, you would have - but the company of your dear sister was present.

“And have the maesters been able to deal with our father's sickness?” Her tone is more delicate than Daemon’s, more promising. Rhaeryna has always tried to maintain mutualism between her family but forever failed. You applaud her for her attempts. “Does he sleep all day in bed? Moaning like a dying dog?”

Her last sentence made your heart jump. You would have expected her to smile again - but she doesn't and holds Daemon’s hand.

“His sickness is inevitable,” You sneer lightly, shielding your hands behind your back. “The maesters tried everything even before you left for Dragonstone. It is an unrecognized sickness no one has witnessed before.” Daemon tightens his grip on Rhaerynas hand. “The councilman and Queen do as they see fit. Regardless of what they do, I have no part in their decisions. You must understand Rhaeryna - the councilmen have firm beliefs for the realm."

“And what do you know about the realm?” Daemon took your last words as an insult. “You, the daughter of my brother's second marriage with a whore of a mother. Tarnishing the Targaryen name with outlandish banners and statues!”

“Daemon enough—!” Rhaeryna snaps, releasing his grip. She steps forward with a stern look.

You glare at your uncle, and the sharpness of your hues brightens. “The maids will escort you to your rooms. I thank you for your patience today - I hope to see you again in the Red Keep… for your son’s illegitimate claim.”

Your eyes meet again mockingly. The rumors of Rhaeryna and Daemon are far more than true. In front of you, their gazes darkened. They were one of the same. Both held more than cruel intentions, glaring holes into your body. You knew you had stepped into the dragon’s pit, two voracious dragons snaring their teeth at you.

You had just lost Rhaeryna’s trust.

That late evening, you harshly plucked at the jewelry adorning your ears and neck. The small candles on your vanity table flickered as your eyes glanced at all the luxurious accessories, then at yourself in the mirror. The radiant blush on your cheeks lightly flushes under the candlelight, lashes carefully fluttering with ease. Your lips lacked tension, the adorning color of roses.

Between the pearls and rubies, you chose the custom-made silvers from the Narrow Seas. The pearls enhanced their diamond edges. You gracefully clipped them onto your ear lobes and unlatched the necklace that came with it. The chain somewhat resembles sea coral. The gold molded into a sea fan, the center representing a large pearl.

Kiara stepped beside you and gave you an approving smile. “They’re beautiful, Princess.”

“A talented jewelry maker gifted this on my fifth and tenth nameday.” You pleasantly reciprocated her smile. “He was a fine man.”

“He certainly had a keen eye,” Your lady-in-waiting teases with a mischievous tone. You couldn’t help but recall that day. It was hot and humid in King’s Landing. Fine carpenters and others stumbled upon your home to offer gifts. You and your sister did not favor extravagant parties. Yet it amused you when men came flocking in with boxes that required more than five men to carry. The man from the Narrow Seas was more than generous as he offered his entire stock. You knew he only did it for the crown. Yet out of all your gifts, his treasures caught your eyes the most. “Are you ready, Princess?”

You hum in approval and lift yourself from your chair. Dinner unexpectedly became a dreadful thing to look forward to. You wished you were flying on Gaelithox instead of being forced to converse with relatives. But then Kiara leads you out of your room and down the corridors. The night had already begun its course.

And when you first entered the dining room, none of your family members had gathered by the dinner table. Everyone was disassembled and socializing with each other. Rhaeryna admires the tapestries alongside her husband while Alicent whispers to the Hand. Aemond and Aegon seem to be chatting away about unknowns to you. And your nieces, Rhaella and Baela, were beside Jacaerys and Lucerys by the fire.

Helaena was chatting with a servant girl when you arrived beside her. “Be sure to feed them after their baths,” The maid nods and heads out.

You took her place and reluctantly snickered. “Have the twins been restless playing with their mother?”

“Quite, actually,” Helaena laughs, adorning her sweet smile you adored dearly. “We had to replace a servant girl in the morrow. It was a sudden request - they weren’t happy about it.”

“They are energetic when they are young.” You sarcastically sigh while Helaena nods similarly. You dearly cherished her twins - they both had the same curious look their mother had. Jaehearys and Jaehaera shared many similarities with Helaena - which made you relieved for many reasons.

A bell rings suddenly - everyone walks to their selected seats. You guide yourself next to your sister’s seat. Beside you, Aemond sits at the end of the table. However, across, your grandsire, Otto Hightower sits in front of you, already observing you as if critiquing your posture. The shuffling of footsteps echoed throughout the room as the Kingsguard carried King Viserys on a small carriage. Your eyes follow his arrival, never breaking eye contact. Everyone stares at the king.

When he sits between his wife and daughter, Viserys groans in pain. Your father stands and brings attention to him. It was a heartwarming speech - one that almost brought you to tears. For the longest time, you never had family dinners with your father. He was often too ill - converging with your siblings was already a daily occurrence. Your mother tries her best to involve everyone in the conversation. It’s awkward - her efforts are rewarded whenever you pitch in at someone's interest. Your small family is not as close as people expect you all to be - but you manage with the time you have with each other.

The king’s words remind you that family issues are unavoidable and tiresome. Steep wounds had damaged your family, those evident of your mother. Yet here you are with all of your family members in peace. For a moment, you relished their faces, all bearing the same characteristics and traits. House Targaryen is at its strongest when they are together. For centuries, your house stood as the most powerful, sitting on the Iron Throne. Without your disputes, you would have all stood together in King’s Landing.

When King Viserys removed his iron mask, you could feel your heart tremble. He jokes about his appearance - it makes your eyes water. Your father was a kind-hearted and generous man. Out of all the Targaryens, he was the few that cherished your heart. You loved him, you thought as you wiped your tears away.

Queen Alicent drapes her hands around his shivering form. She looks at her husband with tenderness. And for a moment, Rhaeryna was hesitant to speak. Yet she does it anyway and raises her cup. Viserys's words resonated through all of your minds. He wanted his family to stop fighting. Alicent and Rhaeryna sense remorse in their words, knowing their actions impacted many of their past accounts. You listen to your half-sister and your mother toast. Raising their cups to one another felt like a mutual victory.

And with a murmur, you hear Aegon’s obnoxious sniggering. It irritated Jacaerys much more to have him suddenly stand. All eyes abruptly rested on him as he nervously lifted his cup. Aemond suddenly stands as well - you skim at him with suspicion. He eyes down at you with a long empty stare.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond,” he starts, awkwardly punching Aegon’s shoulder. You feel a smile grow on your face. It felt amusing to witness. “We have not seen each in years. I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, uncles.”

Aegon clears his throat. “To you as well.” Alicent’s eyes flicker slightly in relief. And as if sensing your stare, your older brother glances at you. You mischievously quirk your head side-ups to mock him. Nothing to say? His eyes twitch in confusion.

Reluctantly, Helaena slowly rises to raise her cup. She salutes her nieces on their engagement to Jacaerys and Lucerys. “It isn’t so bad… Usually, he just ignores you… except when he’s drunk.” The crowd lightheartedly chuckles. Helaena was innocent in every way. She was endearing and lacked the malice many others had. You drink to her toast, gleaming at her with pride. She never deserved him. You can only guess your mother felt displeasure at her speech. When Queen Alicent declared their wedding, you had no power to veto it. What satisfied you now was the look on your brother's face - ashamed.

Yet they would have to refill one last time.

When Helaena takes a seat back down, you stand up. “And a final toast to those sitting beside the King.” All eyes dart up at you as you raise your cup again. Your arm was unnecessarily sore from raising your glass too many times. “Without you, the realm wouldn’t have been able to prosper. In a time of peace and tranquility, you have captured the hearts of the people of Westeros,” You nudge towards your father, partly. “And to those who stand beside him... Your deeds have not been forgotten. Those who are devoted to the crown will see it prosper. House Targaryen is thankful for all of your sacrifices and hardships. Long may we reign!” Daemon’s faint chuckle likewise makes you scowl slightly. The words you spoke of felt like molten lava. It didn’t feel right for the tongue to speak. Yet when you finished and looked at your mother, everyone cheered. She beams wholeheartedly at your speech, alleviated that you’ve harmonized with your father’s words.

Bitterly, you sit down and consume the last of the wine. It clings harshly down onto your throat. Like poison, it strips you of your senses and numbs you of your surroundings. Luckily, you feel Helaena’s hand wrap around yours with ease. She knows you didn’t mean what you said. The way you spit out your words like venom to everyone. You are not one to please others - it was not in your nature. You despise dinners more than ever.

“You did not have to do that, dear sister.” Helaena hums, plainly lets go of your hand, and starts eating. “You could’ve said something out of hand.”

“Yet I did not.” You respired, refilling your cup. “Do not underestimate my ignorance, sweet sister. If I wanted to humiliate them, I would have.”

“Mind your tongue.” She harshly whispers your name. “You shouldn’t. Not here with mother and father present.” You can tell by Helaena’s jittery hands she's uncomfortable. Is she afraid you will grow brash? Even if she fails to admit it, Helaena is afraid of you. It does not matter if she denies it. You see it in her lilac pupils whenever you’re about to snap. Her eyes quiver - her hands shake as if shaken from ice. Your dear sister did not want you to explode — make a fool of yourself.

You pity her compassion. She shouldn’t care as much for you. Helaena should not worry for you because you are capable of the consequences. Therefore when Jacerys asks for Helaena’s hand for a dance, you’re glad you see her jittery hands fade away.

The musicians near the doors began to play a playful tune for the two young dancers. The atmosphere felt festive with all of the food brought out. Queen Alicent felt relaxed, talking to her father. For the first time in many years, she's able to enjoy a delightful conversation with him. It felt right for her. Her heart flutters when she meets Rhaeryna’s eyes. They constantly beam at each other. They were together again — as a House and family.

Rhaeryna giggles at a comment Daemon says to her in her ear. She hasn’t laughed in years. Amused at his wife’s reaction, Daemon mischievously sips his wine. He's not one to mingle and apply useless conversation. Yet when he hears his lady wife giggle, he feels content. While beside him, Lucerys happily talks to his betrothed cousin. At first, he was nervous to speak but Rhaena was the one to reassure him. Together, they were an adorable pair Rhaeryna always thought.

In the corner, Aemond eyes his younger nephew. Lucerys mindlessly does not look at him but gleams at what Rhaella said. His right eye squints, wanting to pierce his nephew's head on a spike. Aegon, diagonally mumbles something unrecognizable. The wine is getting to him, he thinks. A glimpse, he believes he can see the teenage boy's eyes glance at him nervously.

“Scaring the poor child will do you no good, dear brother.” Your voice tunes him out of his gaze momentarily. He clenches his hand on the table at your sudden comment.

However, his gaze did not falter as he continued to look forward. In his perpetual, his eye senses you continue your pursuit, leaning closer to his chair. Your lips were a breath away from his ear - as your hand shields your mouth.

“Foolishness does not suit you. And please do not summon Vhagar, you'll frighten our guests.” You snicker aimlessly. Aemond’s glare now directs at you. Yet he does nothing and leans back in his chair. When he looks at his mother and Helaena, gracefully dancing with Jacaerys with the biggest smile on her face. He feels the urge to smile — at least they are happy. Yet when his eyes land on you, it feels unjust. You were chit-chatting with Aegon, both drunk to the core from the red wine. The two of you shout with slurs and boisterous laughter.

He ignores the pit in his stomach. “Final tribute.” He says when the Kingsguard escorts the king to his chambers. “To the health of my nephews, Jace… Luke and Joffrey.” Jacaerys released his hold from Helaena’s. “Each of them… handsome, wise…” he hesitated, yet rage fueled his words. “Strong…”

Alicent calls out his name nervously.

“Come, let us drain our cups for these three…” You glance at Rhaeryna’s expression, which displays disappointment. Grinning in delight, you raise your cup while Aegon follows your pursuit. “Strong boys…”

“I dare you to say that again.”

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourselves strong—“ Jacaerys punches Aemond with a forceful blow to the face. Your brother barely flinches as he backs away, laughing. Reluctantly, Aegon reaches for Lucerys and slams him down on the table.

Pure madness was overtaking dinner. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of your family fighting. Alicent quickly strides towards Aemond and questions him about his foolish action.

And with a simple curt, he says. “I was merely expressing how proud I was of my family, mother.” He turns back to Jace, “Though it seems as though my nephews aren't as proud as theirs.”

“You—!”

“Stop, stop.” Daemon steps in between the two and urges his son to let it go. His son obliges and goes to his mother hovering over Lucerys.

“Go to your rooms, all of you.” Your sister’s motherly voice reached your ears. The silence between the youngest sons of kings stared down at each other. Aemond is the one to break and leave.

You hastily follow behind him.

King's Landing was not the most pleasant place to be at night. The only moving figures were Aemond’s black coat and your laced dress. The clattering sounds of your footsteps only made Aemond’s pace quicken. It was until you see him reach a dark corridor you stop. The moon was impatient tonight as it illuminates lustrously upon your arrival. Your steps were slow and concise, not wanting to provoke his rage. You called out his name.

There was no answer.

The closer you come to the corridor, the snappier your heart beats. The enjoyment you deemed back at dinner was fading away. The adrenaline you had from your family’s gathering was now pumping through your veins. You called him out again, facing the dark wall of the cold entrance. You could see his figure standing in the shadows. His hair - even though covered by the darkness - is still beautiful. He enjoys the lack of light the night gives him. You can tell by his posture, leaning against the wall he was studying you. “Are you satisfied now, brother?” You are met with silence, encouraging you to continue. “Your foolishness truly exposed our family's differences.”

“And yet you spoke of unity tonight.” He breathes, and the vapors of his words flow into the night sky. His tone was ice cold, wanting to puncture your beating heart. He snaps in disgust - you guess by the change of his posture. “You said that House Targaryen united us all.”

“Yet I rose my cup to your tribute.” Your slow strides unnerved him. Your shoes - that can clank roughly against the cold cobblestone - made your presence stern. You were like a water serpent emerging from the depths of the ocean. Your expression - cold makes his heart beat faster. “You know I despise lying, Aemond.”

“Must you always fiddle with your lies?” He sneers, nudging his face fully at you. Your silence alerted him to your uncertainty and confusion. “Why did you toast to them?”

“Is it not respectable of me to congratulate our sister and uncle?” With a raised eyebrow, you felt a strong sense of rage. “Despite my distaste for Rhaeryna and her family, it does not demean my respect for them.”

“Respect is the last thing they deserve.” He releases himself out of the darkness and towers over you. His annoyance was like ticking a time bomb.

You can see his eyes flicker toward your lips. “It wouldn’t be fair.” Eyes colored in the darkest purple trail up to meet one another. You two stare at each other, too tense to move. “To you included.” Aemond freezes for a moment. It was as if he didn’t catch what you said. “How hypocritical of you to deem them without respect while you do the same.” You can feel a devilish grin come to your lips. “With a bastard.”

And like a scared animal, your brother jumps back. He doesn’t look frightened, mostly troubled — in his mind. Yet before you say another word, he brushes past you and dashes back into the darkness.

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delulu-archives · 6 months

Text

Love Me Lights Out (Jeon Wonwoo x Reader)

Wonwoo shook the planet with his iconic MAMA 2019 entrance — blue hair, red robe, dark evil gaze, and soul-crushing voice. He held a different type of power that day, holding you like putty in his hands in total surrender.

His possessive side was on full display when a certain someone got a little too close to you during the intimate and private after-party.

This can be read as stand-alone fic but this happened within Love in Vinyl universe/timeline. I highly recommend you give that a read. 💜

Note: Wonwoo x producer!reader, smut, explicit smut, dom/sub themes, AU, established relationship, penetration, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, overstimulation, multiple big Os, unprotected sex, fluff, unedited, 18+ Series: Love in Vinyl Inspired by John Mayer's rendition of XO.

Ready for it? 'Cause I am. Dear reader, here is the next part of our Love in Vinyl series. Thank you for giving your love to LIV, darlings. Who wouldn't love to see Wonwoo's possessive side? Shameless, explicit smut, everyone. Some dom/sub themes, reader was weak and whipped for Wonwoo's gentle dominance. Plus some tooth-rotting fluff bonus ending. 😌💜 Yuletide and In the Soop 2 shots coming soon, darlings.

I pour my blood, sweat, tears, and delulu dusts to write this. Please help me protect my work while reaching more delulu darlings who may find escape here, too. 💜 Word count: 7,360 Cross-Posted on AO3

Your love is bright as ever Even in the shadows Baby, kiss me Before they turn the lights out Your heart is glowing And I'm crashing into you Baby, kiss me kiss me Before they turn the lights out Before they turn the lights out Baby, love me lights out In the darkest night I'll search through the crowd, Your face is all that I see I'll give you everything Baby, love me lights out Baby, love me lights out We don't have forever Baby, daylight's wasting You better kiss me Before our time has run out Nobody sees what we see They're just hopelessly gazing Baby, take me take me Before they turn the lights out Before time has run out Baby, love me lights out I love you like XO You love me like XO You kill me, girl, XO You love me like XO In the darkest night I'll search through the crowd, Your face is all that I see I'll give you everything Baby, love me lights out You can turn my lights out

Manic. That's always your answer whenever junior producers ask you what awards shows are like based from your experience.

That year, you expected it to be different in various ways. 2019 was the year when K-Pop continued growing its footprint and reaching global scale, one group at a time. The year changed the trajectory of how k-pop was perceived and received especially with western audiences, and you saw it first hand.

Over the past six years, you had always been present behind the scene with BTS as they painstakingly conquered these awards shows, culminating their effort and hardwork during such tedious times. You shared tears and joys with them, especially during MAMA 2018 when they gave such powerful reminder on how tough the industry could be. Hoshi and Seungkwan even shared with you that they were fighting back tears especially when J-Hope started crying during the speech. You knew how much Seventeen could relate to BTS and you also saw how BTS also supported Seventeen during their starting years, given that their roots were alike - both groups were self-made, both were their respective company's saving grace.

BTS used to practice in dank, murky practice room that was often flooded, while Seventeen used to tape regular earphones so they could have make-shift in-ear monitors during their first performances. Both groups conquered those adversaries, started from rock bottom and climbed their way to the top with Blood, Sweat, and Tears. You could not be more proud to see those groups you love shine in one stage once more.

December was for awards shows and both sides of your coin were busy with their respective performances, with BTS ending their last leg of Love Yourself tour and Seventeen ending the first leg of their Ode to You tour.

You were just supposed to just be in the audience that day, hoping to just enjoy and watch the show without working. You were excited to watch their performances after seeing glimpse of it during rehearsals and you really needed your break already.

You requested the month off few months before, knowing just how restless the year was for you as part of the creatives team of these groups. While your job was mainly around their variety contents and documentaries, supporting touring groups also meant you were flying across the globe when needed, too. Apart from that, it was already apparent that the acquisition would be made formal and official the following year - it was long time coming. You already assumed backlash would happen and as someone who already faced such with BTS alone, the artists' welfare was always your top priority. Business decisions would be made, but you were determined to ensure that Seventeen would feel even more at home with your plans for the following year. You knew that the creatives and think-tank would be required to work twice as hard to ensure that contents and shows would be even grander both for the artists and the fans.

Your supposed break during MAMA 2019, however, did not come into fruition. You received a call from one of BTS' senior producers a week prior and pleaded you to cover for him during the show to film and produce the behind the scene of the show for BTS. The producer had to take time off as his wife had to give birth prematurely and you did not have the heart to deny the request. So, you brought your work stuff along with you and flew to Nagoya two days prior the show without telling your boyfriend that he might just see you spinning in the backstage.

Your call time for the show was at 7:00 AM. With various performances, it was pivotal to have everyone around and ready before the rehearsals and pre-show shoots commence.

You arrived just in the nick of time, already huddled with your assigned camera directors and assistant producer to discuss how things should run. You spent the whole night reviewing the production guide sent to you and polishing it with the timelines of that day's show so there would be smoother coverage and to avoid causing too much distraction during the busy day.

BTS arrived an hour later so they can prepare under their make-up chairs while the show floor directors were instructing everyone. You remained quietly hiding on the side, typing away and monitoring the footages being taken by one of your cameramen. Once the show's PD left, finally revealed youself earning a booming scream from Hoseok who was shocked to see you there. The team held you one by one, saying they missed you as the last time they saw you last was early October.

"Happy birthday, WWH!" You greeted when Jin entered the dressing room after washing up.

"Woaaah!! What are you doing here? Are you here to film? Waaah, you can't make me do silly things today it's my birthday." The man exclaimed, followed by his windshield wiper laugh and gave you a quick hug.

Your presence was always familiar so being there was business as usual, seven years and counting.

Wonwoo messaged you a little later saying that they were already on the way to the venue and that he was excited to see you in the audience. You spent the whole night talking on the phone with him thinking your flight was in the morning of that day. Little did he know, you were already in the venue working your ass off.

Nothing can ever match how loud Seventeen is. When they arrived, everyone knew it was them, hollering in the background as they greeted everyone with such bright, contagious energy and entered their dressing room across BTS'.

You excused yourself from your team so you can greet your other family, silently walking towards their dressing room, index finger on your lips to shush the others who saw you to stay quiet as you approached your blue-haired man leaning against the door frame. He was busy typing on his phone, eyes still heavy as he rubbed them while yawning. Your phone vibrated and a messaged flashed on the screen.

"We're here, baby. See you later."

You held back a chuckle. Finally standing behind him, you answered his message by muttering a cheerful, "I know."

Wonwoo turned in a flash, eyes widening and hand covering his mouth when he saw you standing there. "Woah!"

"Good morning, babe." Wide smile painted your face at his reaction.

"H-how?" He inquired, heart fluttering at your presence as he held your hand and pulled you inside the dressing room, waving at the other members who were also surprised you were there.

"Had to cover for a PD due to an emergency."

"I thought you would be in the audience!" He spoke softly, shoulders drooping slightly when he finally engulfed you in a tight hug after a week of not seeing each other.

You just chuckled when he asked you a week prior why you did not book the same hotel as them, and you just made up some silly excuse saying it was for the whole 'audience' experience. They were in the same hotel with BTS and some other artists, and you were just in the hotel a block away, essentially cooped up in your room to avoid running into anyone of them before your surprise.

"I missed you. I am happy you're here."

"I missed you too."

You returned his hug and stole a quick peck on his lips while everyone was busy. "I'll still be in the audience once you're on stage." You winked at him and his heartthrob smile widened as he let you go.

"I'll look for you in the crowd, baby. I'll have my eyes on you alone."

He smirked.

Dangerously.

Seventeen was part of the last artists to perform, with only two performances between them and BTS. It gave you ample time to get a camera so you can go where the camera directors in front of the main stage were and watch Seventeen's performance, as promised.

Shivers ran down your spine at the chilling entrance, even when they hadn't even started the performance yet. You saw them rehearse couple of times, but somehow, everything felt new. The crowd went wild with ear splitting screams when the music finally started.

It was a dark opening, hooded figures in red with one person on the spotlight - Wonwoo. Despite his robe, you could see his broad shoulders and notice the way he ascended the stairs with such a different vibe and aura especially when he pulled down the hood, revealing himself.

You saw that in rehearsals, but somehow you were taken into another world. His eyes were cold as ice, staring sharply into the audience as he bit and crushed the candied rose. He held an intense gaze as he devoured the intro with his deep, raspy voice, officially opening their ensemble.

Wonwoo captured your attention throughout the whole performance effortlessly, even meeting his eyes from time to time as he smirked at you. You were helplessly drawn to his magnetic aura and familiar warmth and sensation filled your body. He was scrochingly and devilishly handsome as they broke the stage.

When their performance ended, Wonwoo saw you backstage gave you yet another salacious smirk as he retreated to the dressing room.

Such power he held over you.

Two bottles of ice-cold water did nothing to quench your unexplainable thirst.

To say that you were on an emotional high during the show was an understatement. You were ecstatic over the wins of BTS and Seventeen, quite teary even, because you had seen just how massive their successes were which were all very much deserved after their years and years of hardwork. Then, you were blown away by their performances, and of course, your boyfriend's stage presence.

After the award show, Jungkook and Mingyu hosted and organised an intimate and private party, and BTS, SVT, and only very few other groups and colleagues were there.

After freshening up in your hotel, you arrived at the luxurious and private roof deck bar where the party was, donning a simple black dress and a pair of comfortable heels. It was rare for them to see you all glammed up, given that as a PD, you were constantly in sneakers and comfortable clothing so running around was easier. Wonwoo could not wipe the smile off his face upon seeing you all dressed up for the party, as if mesmerized by you.

BTS, Seventeen, and some of their friends mingled and drank merrily. Jungkook and Mingyu were goofing around like bunch of kids. Yoongi and Woozi were talking about music looking like twins. Joshua, Jeonghan, and Seungcheol were with Taehyung and Jimin catching up while the others were chilling or catching up with the staff members. It was a joy to see them like that, even Wonwoo was laughing around and comfortable with them.

You noticed however that birthday boy was quiet in the corner of the banquet. Being an introvert, Jin had always found social gatherings quite daunting, just like your boyfriend.

While Wonwoo was busy with his members, you joined Jin by the corner of the banquet hall, drinking your second glass of margarita that day.

"Why are you not socializing? It's supposed to be your birthday."

Jin just shook his head and laughed, saying it was not his forte. And you understood that. You spent some time catching up with him until Jimin approached you, pulling the two of you to the floor to dance.

"I am so tired, Jimin.." you complained but the man just smirked, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Just one song!" He insisted, twirling you around.

Jimin always had that flirtatious flair with everything he does. It was not as though he was flirting with you blatantly, but he always liked making you blush for sure.

"I heard you have a boyfriend, Y/N." His full lips curled up into a smirk as if pleased to have caught you off guard.

"Why? Were you surprised?"

"Mhm, you could say that. You denied me once before." Jimin teased, reminding you of his attempt to woo you years back, and it made you throw your head and chuckle.

"We were too young then."

Jimin just smirked and nodded pulling you closer as you danced with your other friends before you finally freed your self about a minute or two later.

From a distance, though, Wonwoo was intently observing at how Jimin was looking at you, and he did not like it at all. His gaze was poisonous, lethal, even.

You joined the group where your boyfriend was and he immediately looped his arm around your waist and drew you against his side as if showcasing that you were his.

"Hi love," he mumbled, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead which took you aback. He never was that comfortable doing that in front of others before, but you could not deny that the bold gesture made your heart flutter.

"Hey. You drank a lot already."

"No, not yet." He smirked down at you, his attention solely on you as he rubbed your back gently. "You having fun? Or are you tired and want to go home?"

One of the many things you love about Wonwoo is that he is always sensible. He has always been sensitive about how you are feeling because he pays attention to you and somehow naturally senses how you feel.

You smiled up at him and pressed your body closer to him.

"Maybe we can leave earlier? You had a long day." He added, tucking a strand of your loose hair behind your ear and caressing your face. Such unusual gesture from him, especially in front of your friends and other people though they were busy. At one point however, Wonwoo shifted his gaze and you were in the right mind to follow its direction. That was when you finally realized it - Wonwoo was looking at Jimin who was watching the two of you, and he was asserting his edge on the situation. Your boyfriend's innate possessive side got triggered with how flirty Jimin was with you earlier, one thing you should've considered sooner.

"I'd love that." You answered, wrapping your arm around his back as well, as if a silent reminder to ease the building storm inside him.

Few moments later, you had to excuse yourself so you can go to the empty ladies room, only for Wonwoo to tail behind you quietly.

Wonwoo stood up from the leaned position he was in against the wall as he waited and walked up to you when you left that bathroom. He placed his hands on your shoulders slightly and pushed you playfully back inside, guiding you into a cubicle, locking the door behind you as he snaked his hands over the fabric of your dress, placing his forehead lightly against yours.

"Hey! We might get caught!" You shushed, looking him with wide eyes as your knees wobbled from his gentle teasing.

"Don't pretend like you don't know I've wanted to get you alone since this morning." He whispered softly as he placed a trail of kisses over your skin, from your cheeks and down your neck before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. "And it seems like it's not just me who wants you." His voice muffled against his demanding kiss which made you melt against his arms which were looped around you possessively.

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on, babe. You know what I am talking about." He growled under his breath, chasing your lips for more when you started pulling away slightly, pressing your hands against his chest.

"Baby. Babe... listen."

He just gave you a cheeky smirk, chuckling at the worried look on your face as you wiped your smeared lipstick off his lips.

"Hm?"

"Wonwoo."

He arched his brow, "What?"

"It's too risky here!" You basically pleaded, arms wrapping around his shoulders, caressing the back of his neck. Nodding and surrending, he pecked your lips hard one last time before pulling away.

Wonwoo understood. Despite being open about your relationship among your friends and colleagues, your number one goal was to avoid any rumour or scandal especially that you were not within your private space where you can do anything you want.

"I'll go first. You need to fix your lipstick." He teased, opening the door of the cubicle for you.

"Yeah, thanks for that."

You rolled you eyes and watched him check the corridor to ensure the coast was clear before leaving you in the ladies room and returning to the banquet.

Releasing the pent-up breath you had been holding, you fanned yourself and looked at your flushed face and messed-up makeup from the mirror.

You were unsure what your boyfriend consumed that day that made him ever brazen.

Maybe it was the rose.

After trying your best to retouch post the encounter in the bathroom, you joined the group, sitting beside your boyfriend who was already yawning. One by one the people were already dispersing so Wonwoo took that opportunity to say goodbye, and you also did. You greeted and hugged everyone, including Jimin, who held you a little tighter as if trying to provoke Wonwoo even more with his playful antics. You knew it was nothing but you pulled away and shook your head at him.

"Let's go, Y/N." Wonwoo held out his hand and twined it with yours, and, despite the stern expression of his face, gave Jimin a courteous nod.

One of their managers and a security personnel were assigned to drive you back to the hotel where they were staying, and you were really impressed by the level of security and privacy hotels like that offered.

"We need to book another room, I share with Mingyu." Wonwoo spoke when you settled inside the car.

You smirked at him, waved your spare keycard, and gave it to him. "Done."

You somehow expected this even before the show, so you also paid for a room reservation online a day before your arrival, and checked in a few things there before going to your other hotel. You checked out of the hotel you stayed in and transferred some of your belongings to your room in their hotel before heading to the party that night.

Smirking in delight, he took the keycard and leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, "That's my good girl."

You entered the hotel separately with him guided to his room by his manager and you going straight into yours. You gave him the spare keycard anyway in case he decides to visit you, which you were looking forward to, if you were being completely honest.

When you entered your room, you quickly went to the bathroom to run the hot water for a much needed shower after that long day of work.

You turned the shower on and adjusted the setting, running your hands under the cascading water to check the temperature. Almost immediately, your whole body ached to feel the soothing warm water and you even hummed in excitement.

Turning to undress, you jumped upon seeing your boyfriend by the door of the bathroom, eyes dark and wanting as he watched you.

"What the hell, Wonwoo! You'd give me a heart attack!" You exclaimed, clutching your chest while he only grinned at you.

Mischief and danger hid behind that smile he gave as he locked the bathroom door and stood behind you, meeting your gaze in the slightly fogged up mirror.

"Let me help you with that," He mumbled under his breath as lips hovered against your skin when he took the clasp of the necklace you were removing form your hand.

All the while, he was staring intently at you, his usual warm almond eyes were sharp and a lopsided smirk tugged against the corner of his lips. He was teasing you, playing with fire and fuelling yours.

He reached behind you and placed the necklace on the countertop, bracing himself against the cold marble and caging you in between his arms.

Then, he crashed his lips against yours, roughly, like he never did before.

Your knees were weak and as if under a spell, you were in complete surrender, wrapping your arms around him when he tilted your head by your chin and plundered your mouth with his tongue, deepening the kiss and making you want more.

Whimpers left your lips when he sucked your lower lip then pulled away with a loud smacking sound.

"Take your clothes off for me, baby." He ordered, stepping back and watching you. "Go on, don't make me wait.

Those words coming from such perfect face and deep voice, were hypnotizing enough, making you obey without a word. Still looking at his eyes, you fiddled the hem of your dress and peeled it off, leaving you in your matching light blue undergarments.

"Seems like you've been waiting for me all day, too, love." He growled at the sight of you in his favourite colour, seizing you against his body before and tracing kisses down to the valleys of your breasts and then towards your lips once again.

"Now be a good girl and undress me." He mumbled against your lips, not letting you go as you unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his body. Then, you worked on his belt, button, and zipper, letting his pants pool into his feet which he quickly kicked away.

He shoved you inside the glass partition under the shower head with your body glued together, his lips finding purchase against your skin, making your core throb with a familiar ache.

Wonwoo pinned you against the cold, tiled wall and snaked his hand inside your panties, feeling your wet, warm core as his middle and ring fingers circled your sensitive nub. He was eager. As if wanting to prove something with his sudden brute force.

"My needy girl... so wet and I haven't even done anything..."

"W-wonwoo -" You stuttered, gripping against his biceps trying to steady yourself from his sudden teasing.

"Who are you this wet for, Y/N?"

You whimpered when he paused, making your knees buckle and thigh press together.

"Baby please..."

"So needy..." He growled, using his other hand to dip and pull a cup of your bra, and then sucked your taut, aching nipple.

"S-shit!"

"Mmm."

You quivered, eyes closed as you tried keeping your pleasure at bay, which was impossible when his fingers started teasing your slit with gentle strokes towards your clit.

"Look at me in the eyes and tell me who this is for..."

You met his lustful gaze and gulped, "Y-you."

"Say it... say who makes you shiver with need." He licked his lower lip as he pressed his fingers against your pulsating clit. He was enjoying his power play, you could see the way his eyes darkened as you shivered from his relentless teasing.

"Wonwoo... you Wonwoo... Please."

"Yeah... I am the only one that can make you this wet and needy, right?"

"Yes, just you..." You nodded eagerly, closing your eyes and crying out as he went down on his knees, ripped your panties, and finally devoured your aching, dripping core as water cascaded against your bodies.

"My good girl... don't hold back, baby, let me hear you."

He did not need to tell you. Moans and whimpers left your lips at his expert teasing, sucking and licking your sensitive bud. His tongue lapped at your core, tracing your entrance repeatedly and then drawing figure-eights against your clit while pushing his fingers inside you, curling and searching for that erogenous zone that always made you squirm in pleasure.

His moans were muffled against your sex when your climax coursed through your body quicker than you anticipated, making you nearly lose your balance as you cried out his name.

"Fucking hell..." You slurred, catching your breath and steadying yourself from the sudden outburst of pleasure.

Wonwoo looked pleased - he had his proud smile when he rose and kissed you, squeezing your ass and pressing your close to him.

"We're not done yet." He said with such ease before ever so casually reaching for the shampoo bottle and started washing your bodies as you came down from your high.

Wonwoo lathered your shower gel against your body in the most sensual, teasing way possible. His hand glided through your skin, massaged your breasts and tweaked your nipples, and caressed down to your stomach, your core, and your aching limbs. Every second was intentional seduction, keeping you on the verge with desire.

He allowed you to do the same, palming his whole body down to his hard shaft, pumping him up and down with your soapy hand which made him twitch against your touch until he could take it no longer. He rinsed your bodies with such urgency and once done, pushed your naked body towards the room and the bed.

"Sit." He commanded. Droplets of water trickled against your skin from your still soaked hair as he stood before you and as you pat your body with a towel, then squeezed water from your hair.

He took the towel from you and threw it away, then grabbed your hair to force your head upwards when he leaned in to ravage your mouth with ardent kisses.

Need once again simmered inside you and you reached out for him, wanting to feel him closer and relieve whatever ache he was causing. He drew away and stood in between your legs, his shaft standing long and hard in front of you.

"See what you do to me, Y/N?" He asked, holding the back of your head as you looked up at him and nodded. Your mouth watered at the sight of his beautiful, perfect cock all erect for you. Your core throbbed, needing him so bad.

"Let me see what your pretty little mouth can do."

You normally know what to say but seeing his dominant side made you tongue-tied. While there were rough encounters since your first time, Wonwoo rarely talked in such a manner. He was always a man of few words but eager actions, even in bed. He rarely even cursed but he seemed to do whenever you were in the throes of passion. This time showed a side of him you were already becoming drawn to, evident with the way you seem to surrender under his control so easily.

Eyes peering at him, you licked his polished length from base to tip, running your tongue around the bulbous head of his sizable cock. You slowly took him deep inside your warm mouth, eliciting a loud groan from him.

"Fuck, that's my good girl..." He moaned, looking down at you and pushing your head further down his length so you can take him deeper. "More baby... let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours..."

Carnal desire awakened inside him when he saw you like that, both hands gripping the base and massaging his sacs, as he hit your throat while you bob your head up and down his needy cock. Your eyes watered as you gagged, but it only seemed to further entice him. He tightened his grip on your hair as he increased the pace, your eyes still focused on him as you heed his commands.

"You look so good taking me like that, letting me fuck your mouth... ah such good girl." He panted for air, hips thrusting one last time before pulling away. Watching you wipe your mouth, he beckoned you to stand and kissed you before turning you around to face the bed.

"On your hands and knees for me, baby." He mumbled, lips brushing against your ear as he shoved you flat in your tummy back into the bed.

In a blink, you were on all fours in the middle of the bed, heart racing and eagerly ancipating his next move, until a loud, hard spank landed on your ass sending you reeling forward from the impact.

"WON - ah!"

You yelped at the tingling sensation, both pain and pleasure present at the unexpected action, making you bury your face against the cloudlike pillows. Your mind was still processing the flicker of pain and pleasure, when the bed dipped and you felt fevered kisses against your shoulders, tracing down to your spine, and towards your still numb and tingling rear.

Wonwoo kept complete focus on you and your pleasure as he parted your knees and his tongue swirled and danced around your clit, feeling you move against him as he continued to bury his face between your thighs and grip your rear. A few more teasing motions with his tongue against your pleasure spots, he dove his tongue between your folds, exploring the depth of your core as your essence ran down his mouth like an addicting nectar. His forcefulness built as he pulled you closer towards his mouth, earning whimpers of his name to escape your lips, muffled by the soft sheets you were biting into.

"I want everyone to know you're mine." He stated again as he continued to taste you against his tongue, fingers stimulating your core until you were trembling once more.

The pleasure and his eagerness were slowly driving you over the edge, getting closer and closer to that glorious climax... until he pulled away.

"Wonwoo fuck!" Intense ache throbbed inside you at the unfulfilled bliss that was still at bay when he hauled you once again, yanking your weak body until you were on your back.

Wonwoo grinned down at you, running his hand over your body, tweaking your nipples while the other thumbed your engorged bundle of nerves.

"Won- hurts... mm... need to..." You arched your body against his touch as needs boiled inside you, aching for that high only he can provide.

He watched you so weak for pleasure under him, but he wanted so much more. He lifted one of your legs and placed dove-like kisses on your shin and down to the inside of your thighs. You jolted.

"Please... baby..."

"What do you want?" His lips hovered on your navel as he looked up at you. "You have to tell me..."

You swallowed the tears pooling in your throat, trying to hold out as much as you can, "I want... need you to... make me cum... please..."

He smirked. "That's my good girl."

Wonwoo dove to your core once more, fingers slipping inside your soaked cave and began to massage your sweet spots as his tongue continued to flick in quick motions against your clit. He would only be satisfied until he felt you shaking and making a mess of the silk linens that adorned the bed. His eyes looked up at you overcome with pleasure, a view that he would never tire of.

"Oh, baby... please mm.. so close..."

Your sounds of encouragement was music to his ears as you wriggled at his actions, feeling your core seeping with excitement over his fingers and dripping down his knuckles as he kept his consistent pace. Your legs delicately wrapping around his broad shoulders built anticipation as he craved to watch you explode in pleasure once more.

"Give it to me, baby." He growled, stroking that velvety spot inside your walls eagerly.

"W-WONWOO —"

You wailed and convulsed as a ferocious orgasm rocked through your body, the extent of your bliss filling you from head to toe.

"Holy... fuck!"

My good girl... you came so hard..."

Wonwoo filled your face with kisses as you came down from your high, hovering over you in between your thighs and wrapping them around his hips. He shifted the both of you to your side facing each other, with his arm supporting your head safely. He eliminated the space between your bodies and kept your legs around him, gripping your rear as he kissed you fervently.

"You're mine." He declared, staring intently at you and caressing your face. While his eyes were still dark with lust, you saw a twinkle of affection and unadulterated emotions behind them that made your stomach flutter.

"Say it baby... that you are mine and no one else's."

"I am yours, Jeon Wonwoo. Only yours."

He smiled at the certainty in your voice. There was never a doubt about it, but Wonwoo always loved hearing you say it and you always loved reminding him. Unable to wait any longer, he kissed you, lined himself in your heated entrance, and sank in deep.

And raw.

For the first time ever.

You nearly lost your mind.

You never thought making love with Wonwoo could be any more indescribable, but here you were, feeling every ridge and friction of his perfect manhood as he stretched and filled you raw over and over again.

"Fuck so tight... my sweet pussy... mine..." He crooned in his euphoric state, eyes closed as he gripped your rear and bucked, pushing himself impossibly deep inside your hot core. "You're mine, Y/N...just mine... Jimin can never have you... no one else can... mine..."

You drew away slightly to watch him, pondering on his words until you realized it. There was jealousy in the mix. While it has been a while since your last intimate encounter leading to pent up needs, his possessive side was also on an all-time high that day, hence, the dominance and the power play. It sent electric shock to your core watching him take you and hold you possessively - his eyes closed, brows knitted, and lips agape. He looked so good it should be illegal.

"I am yours, just yours Wonwoo." You whispered and kissed him lovingly, pouring out your emotions in that exchange. His pace increased as the slapping of your skin, the squelching of his cock, and the sounds of your groans and whimpers created music against the night.

You were in sync - mind, body, heart, and soul.

"I will fill you up so good, baby."

"Ugh yes - please... fuck me..."

Wonwoo savoured the feeling of your hot, velvety walls clamping around him without barriers as he hammered into you. His fingers buried against the soft flesh of your rear, squeezing you hard as he guided you to meet his every thrust.

"You want it, baby? You me to fuck you... full?"

His words were broken up between lowly moans against your lips as he pressed his forehead against yours, his hips slowing down and sensually rolling so he could feel every inch that he filled inside of you. His thrusts became slightly rougher as he pounded himself inside of you deeply, as if carving every inch of your walls as his. "Will fuck you so good baby... fill you up..."

Your body arched, revelling at the feeling of his huge length inside you, earning a loud moan as he took you wholly. He watched you lean back and as you did so one of his hands gripped your breasts, pinching and pulling on your erect buds while he wrapped his lips around the other, suckling and wanting to satisfy and please you as he picked up the pace.

"Wonwoo... I'm... ugh—" He landed another harsh smack against your ass sending a zing of pleasure straight to your core.

"Go on, baby. Be a good girl and make a mess for me." He hushed as he trailed open mouthed kisses against your neck and jawline and then your lips, tongue delving inside your mouth.

Wonwoo jerked his hips, pulled away completely and then breached your walls again. Hard. He flicked your clit with his fingers and orgasm blasted through you, scorching every single cell of your body.

You moaned his name, again and again, clinging onto him as his flesh continued ramming inside you while your walls molded around him tighter and tighter with your release.

"One more, baby. I want more." Wonwoo stiffled against your skin, as he bit and nibbled the sweet spots on your neck and collarbone. The feeling of your walls around him skin to skin, was like a drug to him, or a craving that he never knew he had all along making him greedy for more.

"Fuck... c-can't baby." You whimpered, high and overstimulated as he captured your lips in a passionate kiss.

"Yes you can. For me... yeah? Come for me once more... you can do it, baby."

Wonwoo purred, pushing you on your back, your hips propped up on a pillow as he knelt caged between your thighs and impaled you once more with a hard, determined thrust. Your drenched core coated his cock, making it even easier for him to glide in and out of you, no matter how tight you were. The in-drawing sensation of your pussy was driving him insane.

Sheen layer of sweat coated your bodies as you both panted and trembled, your legs wrapped around him and your nails raked against his back while he slammed his hips vigorously, urging both of your release.

"Fuck... my good girl... mm... gonna fill you up..."

"Won- "

"Mine..." He cupped your face and tilted your head so you can look at him in the eyes as he pummeled into you. "I love you... so much."

"Yours, yours... I love you so... much..." You whispered in between puffs of air, tears rolling against your cheek as he snapped his hips faster and rougher, making you cry louder. "Want your -"

"Yes, yes, baby... my good girl. You want me to cum?" He asked, nuzzling and groaning against your neck as you squeezed him in, a foretaste of your impending orgasm. "Tell me.. tell me you want me to cum..."

"I want...you...to cum for me..." You mewled.

"Yes, yes, yes!"

Wonwoo kept his pace until his hips stuttered and his cock swelled deep inside you, painting your walls with his thick, hot cum, wailing your name as his body collapsed with the mind-numbing pleasure. Your walls pulsated around him, clamping him in and milking every last drop of his release as you let him bask in his orgasm. "Yes, baby. Take it... Take my cum..." Wonwoo grunted drunkenly, feeling you so close to your release and when he buried his cock deeper with his remaining strength, you finally erupted with a loud wonton cry of ecstacy, toes curling and body shuddering under his weight.

"Wonwoo! Fuck yes! Fuck baby—" You weren't sure how it was possible, but your climax was even longer this time, all-consuming and earth-shattering and Wonwoo felt it rocking through him as you spasmed around him.

"That's it, baby...that's it..." He stiffled against your skin, fingers working on your clit as you surfed the wave of your climax, until you both came down from your glorious high, fully spent and satiated.

Wonwoo kissed you gently as he pulled away, cradling you in his arms softly, protectively when you whined at the empty feeling. "I love you so much... so good to me... let me take care of you, baby.." You could only hum and smile against the kiss.

You weren't sure what was happening few moments later - you were sore, overstimulated, and nearly unconscious. You reckoned you could feel him inside you for days. The next thing you knew, Wonwoo was parting your thighs, wiping your core gently with a warm, damp towel as he let you rest and catch your breath.

"We n-need shower... messy..." You mumbled, and he just chuckled at your state.

"Can you even walk, baby?"

"Hmm, I can. I just need some time."

He crawled towards the bed by your side and cradled your head under his arms and that was when you got to admire how utterly flawless he looked — skin glowing, tips of his nose and ears pink, lips plump and red, blue hair all messed up, and his neck and chest sweat-clad.

"I love you and your jealous ass." You declared, flicking his nose gently. "You know that, right?"

"I do. I love you." He nodded and cupped your face to peck your lips. "Sorry, love. Was I too rough?"

You hummed, looping an arm around him, "Hhmm. It's all good. I kinda liked it."

Wonwoo smirked at you, pleased with himself, and drew you closer, snuggling and savouring the post-coital bliss.

Before the night ended, you found yourselves back in the shower, making yet another mess and screaming each other's name.

BONUS:

It was a random decision on your end. You really weren't supposed to be in the studio as you were on a break which was long overdue, but you were bored and you hadn't seen Wonwoo for about a week. So, you decided to whip up some surprise and buy snacks to surprise the members and the team during the filming of SeungKwan Boo's Past Life Destiny for Going Seventeen 2020.

The team were gathered in a circle when you entered discreetly, all of them still huddled and finding their partners. Hiding with the staff members behind the camera, you saw your boyfriend being rejected several times, with the members teasing him that he doesn't need a partner because he has you anyway. Wonwoo looked extra cuddly that day with his white turtle neck shirt and knitted navy sweaters. He seemingly had high energy, too, like one of the junior producers told you. You loved seeing him like that, playful and excited.

However, you started sensing Wonwoo's slight unease and discomfort after few more failed rounds, and even the head PD that daysaw it, too. So, when he was finally on the chair as the last member to match, the PD requested you to surprise him to lift his mood back up. It was never something you would do during filming, but you felt it was needed that day.

You emerged from behind the cameras and quietly approached him, earning excited reactions from the team.

"No peeking yet, hyung!" Seungkwan exclaimed, with such contagious excitement, standing next to Wonwoo and ensuring he wouldn't turn around just yet.

"Waaah, nice Wonwoo-hyung!" The members cheered and hooted, making Wonwoo even more curious as to who actually came to be his partner.

"Why? Do I have many admirers?" Your boyfriend joked, then turned around, gasping in surprise and delight when saw you beaming and reaching out your hand to him.

"Waaaah!! When did you get here?!" Wonwoo marvelled, nearly falling off the chair while taking your hand and engulfing you in a hug as everyone cheered. You just chuckled and rubbed his back. He held you tight and breathed you in, immediately soothing whatever discomfort he was feeling.

"I bought you guys food." You smiled at him and pushed him back on the chair to resume the filming. He smiled brightly at you, blood rushing to his cheeks as he nodded and finally let you go.

Knowing you were there and right on time as always, his battery became fully-charged once again.

You are there for him, in his brightest days or darkest nights.

And he loves you, in his brightest and darkest moments, too.

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betryl · 7 months

Text

Some random Henry moments and quotes that I really like (in no particular order):

Henry winked solemnly at her from across the table.

Many times, I've seen Henry pick up the telephone with an irritable, cautious 'Hello,' and may I never forget the harsh and irresistible delight of his 'Khairei!' when Julian happened to be on the other end.

"Some little place I've got here, huh?" I said, and laughed. He glanced up at the hole in the ceiling. "Yes," he said brusquely. "Like the Pantheon."

"Reason is always apparent to a discerning eye. But luck? It's invisible, erratic, angelic."

"Anything might happen, Francis. He might be hit by a car tonight, and save us all a lot of trouble."

"You wore chitons?" "Yes," said Henry, irritated. "It was all in the sake of science."

But that came to a quick end when Henry, who was very nearsighted, shot and killed a duck by mistake. He was quite shaken by it and we put the pistol away.

Henry took a deep breath. Then he closed his eyes; and exhaling sharply, a hand to his chest, he fell back in his chair as if he'd been shot.

"Who is it?" "Henry." "Tell him I'm in the bath." "He's in the bath," I said. "He is not in the bath," Henry said. "He is standing in the room with you. I can hear him."

"I haven't eaten anything in three days." Henry marked his place with a ribbon and slipped the book in his breast pocket. "Well," he said amiably, "go get a doughnut, then." "I don't have any money." "I'll give you the money, then." "I don't want a goddamn doughnut."

[...] the armchair in which Henry sat, motionless, a glass in his hand and the cigarette burning low between his fingers. For a moment his face, pale and watchful as a ghost's, would be caught in the headlights and then, very gradually, it would slide back into the dark.

"Anything is grand if it's done on a large enough scale."

Henry glanced up. "Salve, amice," he said, and a subtle animation flickered in his rigid features, usually so locked up, and distant: "Valesne? Quid est rei?" "You look well," I said to him, and he did. He inclined his head slightly. His eyes, which had been murky and dilated while he was ill, were now the clearest of blues. "Benigne dicis," he said. "I feel much better."

#the secret history #tsh #henry winter #bunny corcoran #charles macaulay #camilla macaulay #francis abernathy #richard papen #oh i love him so much

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aquidragon · 1 year

Note

heya! could I request a comfort blurb for re4 remake Leon after he has a raccoon city related nightmare?

of course!! sorry that this took a while, I had to get back into the swing of things lol

---

re4 Leon S Kennedy x reader

[drabble]

Normally you wouldn’t care for the concerns of your fellow squad members, agent Leon S. Kennedy especially. Not that you had anything against him, of course, but you found that meddling in the emotions of others led to disaster when they inevitably got mauled by some abomination Umbrella creation. So in the end, it was better to keep it impersonal. You assumed most of your fellow agents had similar insights, especially after the deaths of multiple of your former friends and comrades.

You sat alone, your glock-17 dismantled, as you gently cleaned it. Your nose wrinkled in disgust as you scrubbed off built up gunpowder and dried blood off the muzzle. All you had to focus on was the gentle hum of the airplane’s engine, and Ashley’s soft snoring. You were somewhat impressed that she was able to sleep after the actual nightmare that she had experienced, but you figured that she hadn’t slept in the days that she was trapped with Ganados.

Leon, her rescuer, was also asleep. He chose to sit in the seat across from yours, you weren’t “friends”, but you accepted that he was a good ally to have within Strategic Command. His ash blonde hair fell across his closed eyes, his head was slightly tipped forward as his broad chest rose and fell as he slept. You also noted that his facial features were slightly angular, and the dim lighting of the cabin emphasized the shadows of his face.

You put your gun back together with subtle clicks, it came mindlessly to you.You had been sent to pick up Leon and Ashley after their original extractment was shot down. There was no action you had to deal with, which meant an easy paycheck. As you slid in the empty magazine back, you heard the slightest whimper from the man across from you.

You froze, eyes flickering up to the blonde a foot away. His fingers twitched around the armrests, his eyebrows furrowed as his face pinched with distress. A few, almost decipherable words escaped his lips with a frantic whisper, as he began to trash in his seat. Had Leon been bitten? Was he still infected with Las Plagas? Your brain spun with confusion as you frantically considered your options.

Finally, his cobalt eyes shot open, and instantly met yours. He was breathless, his grip taught against the wooden armrests, as he began to reconnect with his sense of reality. Your heart fluttered with an uneasy feeling as the image of his fearful gaze locked deep within your very core. It scared you, almost, to see a seasoned agent with prey-like eyes.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat, “I had a nightmare.” He averted his gaze.

You stumbled over your words, as you swallowed deeply. “No it’s fine, I get them too.”

Leon laughed humorlessly, clasping his hands together and looking down at his dirty knuckles. “I guess it comes with the job.” He cocked his head to the side slightly, to look out the small oval window. The ocean stretched for miles below, a dark, murky blue for as far as the eye could see.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You offered, anxiously rubbing your thumbs together.

The blonde agent made a noncommittal grunt, resting his forehead on the plexiglass with a dull thump. “You can probably read about it in my file.” He mumbled, exhaustion evident in his voice.

You snorted, a small smile poked at your cheeks. You were fully aware that your co-worker had the same perspective on “friendships with coworkers” that you had. If anything, he was more familiar with the concept than you were. He had joined STRATCOM a couple years before you had joined. In fact, he had been there long enough to become the president’s “golden boy”.

Leon S Kennedy was good at his job.

In this line of work, you knew that being good at your job meant witnessing the gruesome deaths of your fellow agents. A violent, disturbing ordeal that forced the best agents to suppress the parts of them that made them weaker. Typically, that meant vulnerability.

You sighed, finally stilling your rubbing hands as the walls around you began to crumble. “I used to get nightmares after my first mission. I couldn’t sleep for like, two weeks.” You almost chuckled at the memory. “It was pretty ass, I lived off of caffeine and adrenaline.”

The man scoffed, amused. “I remember that, that was just before the mission to Chicago, right?”

You nodded, as vivid memories of your first few days on the field flashed through your mind. The scent of rotting flesh, the screams of survivors, gunshots, more screams, infants wailing, and the chilling sound of cracking bone. Noises that you had grown familiar with, but not comfortable. Never comfortable.

“You’ve heard of Raccoon City?” Leon asked suddenly, his gaze locked somewhere in the distance.

“Yeah, we got a crash course on it during rookie training.” You answered.

“I was there in 1998. I was only twenty-one, my first day as an RPD officer.” He turned away at the window to glance at you, but his eyes still held a distant fog. “It was gruesome, I was just a kid. I had witnessed more carnage and suffering than anyone should ever see in their lives.” His lips twitched into a humorless smirk. “Honestly, I didn’t even want to become a STRATCOM agent, it wasn’t exactly in my five year plan.” Leon paused, “didn’t get much of a choice, though.”

You frowned, a slight jab of empathy poked at your heartstrings. You had heard the whispers around the office, about agent Kennedy and his connections with Raccoon City. You hadn’t paid much attention to gossip around the building, mostly since you figured it wasn’t your business. Hesitantly, you reached out to rest a hand on his firm shoulder, gently brushing your thumb against his black shirt.

There was no need for words, you understood how he felt. Albeit, you didn’t get dragged into the agency to fight against Umbrella. You had signed up for it yourself, fully aware of the job you were getting yourself into. Leon, however, didn’t have that choice. For that reason, your heart ached for him.

He looked up at you with wide, surprised eyes, before relaxing his shoulders underneath your warm palm. “Thank you.” The agent smiled at you, a genuine, affectionate smile that you had never dreamed of gracing Leon’s pink lips.

You felt your cheeks flush, you returned his expression. “Anytime, Leon.”

---

#leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil 4 #resident evil #leon kennedy #re4make #re4 leon

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tired-but-willing · 1 year

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can you write for Tonowari x reader but there’s no ronal in this one.

Water on Rock

Pairing: Tonowari / Reader

Word Count: 1,037

Warnings: Hunting, animal death. Does not contain spoilers for The Way of Water. Does not contain gore. Does mentions of blood and minor injury.

Summary: You want to go fishing and bite off a little more than you can chew. Tonowari decides to lend you a hand.

Gif by bbutterrcuppp

Small waves crashed against the rock you crouched upon. Deep blue water crawled up the stone platform, trying to lick at your feet. You ignored it resolutely, too focused on your task to pay much mind to the chilly liquid trying to reach your crouching form. Your tail swayed ever so slightly from side to side. Your ears stood at attention, perked up while you tried to pinpoint a sound in the swirling depths. There was the caw of an avian creature in the distance. There was the soft splash of water on rock. There was the distant sounds of the village, which you could hear from your post. And suddenly- there. There it was.

Something dark, moving below the surface. You could hear its lithe body shooting through the water. The small ripples it made. Swift as the very thing you hunted, you slammed your spear downwards, catching the fish in the center of its back and effectively ending its life. A triumphant grin tugged at your lips, baring your teeth to the water.

Victory tasted a lot like salty air.

You stood and started to pull your spear from the water. It was oddly heavy. The creature you speared wasn’t that large. Surely it wasn’t this weighted on its own. You leaned over the edge of the rock, squinting down into the waters below. The dark shape had stopped moving. Maybe if you just got a closer look…

It sprang to life suddenly. You could see now a little too late that your spear had struck it beside its fin, not in its back. It was playing dead to fool you. A squawk that was hardly dignified of the village Tsahìk left your lips as you were yanked forward into the water. The crisp air of fall had made the water carry a slight chill, and it washed over you now. You held on stubbornly through your spear. Pain shot through your stomach. The stubborn little thing was pulling your spear- and, unfortunately, you along with it. Your body dragged along rocks, smacking into what felt like every hard surface beneath the water. You tightened your grip on your weapon and yanked backwards, pulling the fish back towards yourself. The butt end of your spear smacked you in the nose.

Cursing angrily, you expelled all your air at once. Your spear slipped from your hands and blood made the water by your head murky. Despite your lack of oxygen, you shot forward after the creature that had caused all of this. You were going to kill it with your teeth. Or, you would have, had a second spear not cut through the water and pierced it correctly, pinning it to a formation of rock. Seconds later, a hand grasped onto the back of your neck and hauled you out of the water like you were no more than a misbehaving child. You thrashed, gasping once the cold air hit your wet skin. Your hand struck something solid and you heard a hiss.

“Really?” A voice demanded. Your ears shot up at its familiarity. They then lowered with sheepishness. Still holding the back of your neck was your dearly beloved mate who you hadn’t at all meant to smack. His expression was a deadpan one.

“I did not know it was you,” you said. It was a little difficult to turn your head towards him, and so you settled for awkwardly looking at him from your peripheral. “How did you find me?”

His hand released you. You were able to turn now and get a look at him. His expression was severe, and the thought of disappointing your lover made your heart drop like a stone. Only one thing stopped you from being completely dejected. His lips were set in a hard line. Too firm to be natural. And his posture was rigid like he was trying to prevent a movement of sorts. He inhaled, and- Great Mother.

He was trying not to laugh. The realization had you gasping, and your hand settled over your heart in mock offense.

“You!” You cried.

His resolve broke. Tonowari’s eyes crinkled around the edges, clear evidence of his smile.

“It was hard not to realize something was wrong,” he said. “I could see the bubbles and splashing from the village. Is it not beneath you to play with the fish?”

“I was not playing,” you hissed. “There was an attempt on my life. Look at me!”

He looked you up and down. His eyes lingered on your stomach. Then, they shot up to your face.

“Did the fish do that to you?”

Once more, you hissed. “The fish was vicious.”

“I am sure.” He circled you. His hand gently touched your lower back- his palm alone covering the entirety of it. “It seems as though it was able to claim victory against you.”

“I had it.” It was a little difficult to focus on defending yourself when his skin was so warm whilst your body was so cold. Perhaps if you kept talking, he would linger. You tilted your head back to look up at him once more and found he was equally focused on you. He was bent over- just barely- as though trying to near your height- and suddenly even breathing was difficult. Your breath caught in your throat.

“You should dress your wounds.” His face was so close to yours.

“I should.” Your gaze was locked on his lips. His hand drifted upwards on your back. He began to lean down, stopping when he was mere inches from your face. Your eyes snapped back up to meet his. He smiled.

“And I should retrieve our meal. If it is still edible after you poked so many holes in it.”

Bastard.

His hand dropped from your back, leaving your skin cold in his absence. He turned away from you and began making his way down the sand towards where his spear still stuck out of the water. You were left with your hand on your heart. It pounded frantically beneath your palm. You huffed and turned away from him, making your way back to the village, resolute in the fact that you would be getting him back.

#hey guys look #it's me #remember when i said i would post more often lol #anyways have this #tonowari #tonowari x reader #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #avatar the way of water x reader #request

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the-californicationist · 4 months

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The Devil's Summer

Konig/Reader TW: Rape, sexual assault, corpses, murder, violence

I am not being playful when I say that if you find any of these tags disturbing that you should skip this fic. Reading this story is not worth making yourself feel uncomfortable or causing yourself pain. Please take care of yourself first and foremost.

MDNI/18+ NO EXCEPTIONS

AO3 Link

A tall, foreign stranger comes to town with his masked crew of bandits. They rob the train station and the bank, but the big one… he has his sights set on a different sort of prize: you.

The summer had been like an open mouth, unbreathing, unmoving, but warm and wet and still in its bearing. The bayou lay like a lolling tongue over the swampland, and the sweetness of the azaleas could not make up for the stench of its lazy, murky flow. Bald cypress trees lined the river like rotten teeth, their graying, dull bark holding evidence of the cavities of selfish men, black bullet holes from selfish gunfire. The rope burn on the tall, gnarled bows left scars as if they were old wounds, and they were. Your brother’s innocent body had been the cause for one, and you were glad he wasn’t here to witness them today.

The Devil didn’t know how hot it could get, but you did. You could barely move in the high noon of the day, and as the cicadas screamed, so you wanted to as well. The air lay on you like an awful hand, pressing you flat with its damp, punishing palm. It kept you from sleep, and it threatened you with steady, unrelenting torment. Your skin grew pink and tight from the ruby-colored sun, gleaming and immutable as it sagged in the cloudless firmament. Like the tangle of Spanish moss that hung in the trees outside, swaying back and forth like strange fruit, your hair clung to your neck, vampiric.

Your father was dead, much good may it do him, as were most of the other people in your town. Since the early hours of the morning, you’d sat on your aching knees in the wet bank of Bayou Têche, providing sustenance for the mosquitos who feasted on your unguarded flesh. Your hands were bound with wire twine, and it cut into your wrists hard enough for them to bleed. The flies swarmed you, and you’d long since given up trying to fight them off. The man who had come to deliver this day to you and the other few inhabitants of your town was watching your future unfurl before you, as patient as the summer sun.

He hadn’t shown his face, but you knew he was a white man. Those pale, ice-blue eyes couldn’t have been borne from Creole blood. If you were honest with yourself, something in your chest told you that those eyes weren’t even human. They were situated behind a black, heavy hangman’s hood that covered him from head to neck, and it was stained with blood and all manner of other liquids. The humidity made it cling to his nose and jaw, and you saw the aquiline shape disturb the smoothness of the fabric.

The hangman wore a large-brimmed cowboy hat on his head constructed of fine, black felt. It was very much out-of-season, meant for a cool dry winter. Despite your suffering, you could imagine and empathize that his head and neck must be near boiling.

His body was immense. He looked like he was seven feet high, and he was as broad as a door. His heavy musculature moved slowly, teasingly, but you had watched him strike like a water moccasin, deadly accurate and blindingly fast. Atop his demonic draft horse, he looked like he was one of the Hessians that Sister Campbell had described to you in school, when you’d been allowed to go.

The Hessian was a fine shot. He’d killed most of the men in town by his own hand, picking them off like he was elbow-deep in a blackberry bush, choosing the biggest ones first to stain his hands in their sweet juices. Your father had been near the end, no longer a threat in his old age. The white hair of his beard was painted with red stripes, coughed up in those final moments of futility, and the dark skin of his cheek made the colors that much more vibrant. You wished his eyes were closed. You didn’t want him to see what may happen to you now.

He’d been staring at you for quite some time. Although he hadn’t been the one to tie you up, it was what he wanted. The will of his men and of your small town folded under his brutal control, and now that everyone was dead, he dominated the silence with comfortable ease.

You watched him swing a long, thick leg over the saddle, lowering himself to the wet ground with a thud. His boots were worn and filthy, not intended for walking through the black bayou waters and shores, and his spurs were sharpened into curled spikes. Each step was a promise. The gun in his hand would be your reward, you were certain of it.

Imagining all of your hopes and dreams seemed disgusting to you now. The shine of the gun was nothing like the glittering gold ring you’d wanted to wear to your wedding, if you had one. You’d wanted children, a whole litter of them, and you wanted to cook jambalaya for them and dress them in matching flour sacks, all lined up in a row. You wanted to braid their hair in the way your mother had braided yours, secreting away little prayers between each bite, locking them in place with an extra twist.

You would have none of that. The only thing for you now was this demon. Whatever he wanted had replaced your own desires. You waited for his wanting to find its end.

The dirty barrel of the gun pressed under your chin, its soot gritty and black against your skin, and your jaw turned up to the blinding sky to look into the coolness of his gaze. He looked like he was smiling at you, which was worse than his fury, and you held back the bile rising in your throat, burning you as hot as a brand.

“Fils putain,” you snarled without raising your voice, spitting on the gloved hand that had the gun to your neck.

You watched the spit bubble white across the black leather, his thumb as wide as a root, and you heard it drip into the mud at your knees when it ran in thick rivulets across his knuckles.

He smiled again with his eyes, removed the gun from you to lift his hand to his face. As he did so, he lifted the hood so that you could watch his mouth as he licked your spit from the glove, tasting the sour sting of your bile and vitriol. You saw his pale, ghostly lips, scarred and maligned, peel away from sharp incisors as he laved his tongue across the back of his hand, clad in shining silver like two daggers. The rest of his teeth were bright and straight and ready.

The pain you felt from the butt of his gun was sudden and shattering. The crack of your cheekbone exploded in your face like a collapsing star, white hot and dying. You felt like you were dying. You landed, face down in the mud, vomiting and coughing and crying. There was nothing more meaningful than your sobbing, and your body prioritized it over everything else.

Your assailant knelt in the muddy bank of the bayou with you, letting his boots dip into the shallow waters where minnows hoped to feed on the larvae that lay sprinkled across the surface like salt in a stock. He had removed his gloves and was cupping your face, gently soothing the wound that he had caused. That pale, bloodless mouth was kissing you, leaving a trail of little, soft contacts over the ruined skin on your face, and the blood from his cut was staining him crimson. He replaced the hood and picked you up off of the ground.

At first, you couldn’t walk, and all the blood that had been pressed out of your lower extremities was now flooding back in, making your bones ache from the inside out. You stumbled next to him, and he carried you like you were as light as his sidearm. One of his men approached you and spoke to your tall devil in his language, foreign and loud.

They’d robbed the small train station, killing Mr. Fusilier, and they blew up the track, stopping the sheriff from being able to send for help. Sheriff Guidry was dead, laying in the small graveyard next to the church, and you found it odd that he’d died laid over a headstone. You were sure there was poetry there, but you weren’t smart enough to know what kind.

Your captor handed you off to one of his men, a thin, wiry man with a large mustache. He smelled like sulfur and tobacco. His grip was weaker than the hangman’s, and there was a coldness to his touch that made you uncomfortable.

He was taking you back up to your house. You didn’t know whether or not it was worth it to fight him off. He was smaller than the other one, but your cheek still throbbed, fresh and mean. He sat you down at your own kitchen table like it wasn’t yours, like you hadn’t cleaned its worn oak slats every morning since you were old enough to hold a rag.

Yanking out a chair beside you, he sat, rolling a long cigarette, and leaving the twisted matchstick on the tabletop, marring the grain. You wanted to rail against him, to wail and scream that he was ruining it, that your mother had set all of her meals down in that very spot — crawfish etouffee, filé gumbo, rice and beans — and that you missed her laugh and the way she smelled like white pepper and rosemary oil.

The cheek that had been hit couldn’t have throbbed any harder, and something twisted within you wished that the large man was still there, wiping away the hurt.

The one with the mustache spoke in a slow, Texan drawl,

“What’s your name?”

You rolled your eyes up to meet his, hoping that the hate you felt was loaded in them like the bullets in his gun,

“Eve.”

“Like the Bible?”

You didn’t reply. He grabbed you around your knee and pulled you towards him, your chair screeching across the floor,

“Bitch, I’m talkin’ to you. You think you’re too good for me, huh? Fuckin’ whore.”

You were on the table then, spread out and plated like a red fish, all meat and bones and sauce. He was going to eat you alive, and what could you do about it? Your bound hands bit into each other like the fangs of a snake. You kicked out, hard, but he caught you.

Then, you felt his hands ripping away the fabric of your cotton dress. There wasn’t much left of it to ruin. You wondered if the button you mended last week on the collar was still intact. You were never as good as buttons as your mother was.

Dirty fingers dug around between your legs, finding what they wanted to, shoving aside your bloomers and wetting themselves one by one, dipping into you brutally, soaking the pads over and over like a candle was dipped in wax, like a pen into a font of ink, and you hoped it stained him.

You screamed until he stopped you, planting a smelly hand across your mouth. You bit it, taking his bitter flesh with you.

“Ah, fuck! Son of a bitch!”

Clutching his wound, he backed away from you. Then, when he raised his eyes, he looked behind you at a horror you could not see. Then, he died on your kitchen floor. The bullet sliced through his dark brown eye and splattered his brain and face all over your kitchen counter. There were two big, flaky biscuits left over from your breakfast that morning, and they looked like someone had slathered them in a rich, fruity compote.

You wanted to see who had saved you, but you knew already. His huge boots made the table rattle beneath your burning wrists, and you could hear his enraged breathing, dampened by the mask. It was your Hessian.

He stood over you for a moment, looking disturbed by your appearance. You had disappointed him somehow. You were crying, but you didn’t stop for his benefit. It wouldn’t matter anyway, you figured. Might as well give in to the feeling.

Your body was being lifted, carefully, and carried to your father’s bedroom. It was the nearest to the kitchen, just off of the first hallway. A cross-stitch goose you’d made when you were twelve hung neatly on the wall below the lantern. You remembered the way the threads used to sound when they ran to and fro through the linen. The goose wore a little blue bow, and her beak was the most beautiful goldenrod yellow.

The giant man lay you on your bed, the blood from your wrists surely ruining your duvet. Was it still your duvet? Did you actually own anything anymore?

The mattress sagged under your weight, and it groaned deeper as it sagged under his.

He unbound your wrists and took a careful look at them. Then, he peeled away the ripped edge of your dress, shaking his head sadly,

“I am sorry, Liebling. My men should know better than to touch what is mine.”

You let tears and snot run freely down your face.

“What is your name?”

The same question. And why did it matter? Who gave a shit what your goddamn name was? It wasn’t going to help you.

“...E-Eve…”

“Eve...” He dragged out the vowels like he had dragged you into the house, slowly and against your will.

“I have been called many names,” he leaned down to your neck to smell your skin, whispering into it, “But, you may call me Kӧnig.”

When his hands ran up under your dress, they did not fumble, they were not brutal, and yet the pain of them hurt you anyway. He didn’t force you to open, but your body yielded to him nonetheless, wilting for him like a flower in the sun. You became pliant, and your sobs went from desperate to something laden with strife. You had not consented to his touch, and yet your body welcomed him in with open arms, eager to host the traitor at the gate.

He knelt. As he began to lick you between your legs, he smelled your scent, lifting his hood and letting it pool along your belly, cold as his hot mouth made wet contact with your skin. The way he suckled from you reminded you of the calves in the spring, pumping their mouths onto their mothers’ teats and filling their throats with her warm cream, selfish and relentless. His nose tickled the dark curls above your folds, and you wondered if he was being teased by them, if his nostrils could smell your fear and if they misunderstood it as desire.

“Mmm,” he hummed, pleased, “You are so sweet, my little Eve. So eager for me, hm?”

A growling sob escaped from your throat, and all at once you felt like you would vomit again. He caught your face in his hands before you did, lowering you to the floor and holding your jaw up to face him. Knocking off his hat, he pulled the hood from his face and you saw the gruesomeness there. It wasn’t as bad as you’d feared. Your mother had always told you that the promises of the darkness never amounted to much in the light. You wondered how true that was now.

“I will show you how eager you make me, Liebling.”

He pulled off the button fly of his cotton britches, and his heavy cock tumbled out of them, rolling into the center of his body, pounding with blood and want. He placed the tip at your lips, and although he could have ignored your volition, he begged you instead, providing you with the illusion of choice.

“Kiss it for me, Eve. Be a good girl for your Kӧnig, ja?”

You did not comply. You were your mother’s daughter after all.

He shoved your face onto his length with a calm sort of precision. You didn’t bother to make it easy on him, letting your teeth drag against the velveteen slip of skin, nor did you bite down. You were already dead, and you had decided to act like it.

“Are you not pleased, Liebe? I will give you what you want then,” he laughed quietly to himself, the curl of his smile broken into shards by his scarring, “Silly me. Playing my little games. I am such a tease.”

He pushed you to the ground, shoving your face into the floorboards, letting you look under your own bed. You saw small piles of dirt and a glittering ornament, lost from the last Christmas you’d had. You felt him preparing you from behind. Although you had not married him, you and an old beau had gotten this far. But, this was something else. The way he stretched you was like an intrusion. Your hip bones ached under his drooling rod, and you could feel the sharp tear of your thin skin.

“Oh, Scheiße! So tight for me. I want to come in you already, my darling.”

You let him fill you, and you tried to ignore the electric pleasure that he crafted in you, spinning a spell over you and forcing your orgasms with his cock and hand, one after the other, making you tremble beneath him, laughing all the time,

“So pretty. Coming for me just like a dream. Such a good girl, Eve.”

You were out of tears.

After he was finished with you, he carried you to his horse and put you in the saddle, climbing up behind you and taking the reins. You felt his come and your blood dripping out of you and onto the black leather, wetting you between your thighs, making you slide across the seat, back and forth.

The hot wind blew in your face as he rode you out of town, and you saw the smoke from all of the burning buildings floating high, high into heaven. And you wondered if God could smell the mesquite bark as it smoldered.

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #konig call of duty #konig #konig smut #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig cod #dark!konig

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circledotdestroy · 3 months

Text

Retrospective - Chapter 2: The Insult of Injury

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x F! Pro-Hero! Reader (slow burn)

Main Summary: After 12 years, you, Pro-Hero Strife, has to return to Japan. Your objective: discreetly track down and capture Akari Kaneko, a.k.a. Pro-Hero Aegis— your old classmate who attacked you during her visit in America. In the aftermath of All Might losing his power, however, using UA resources has its complications. The most unexpected complication being Aizawa, someone you never expected to see again. Why does your past have to come back to haunt you now? Masterlist First chapter Next Chapter Word Count: 5585

A/N: Sorry it took so long for me to post. While I was gone I got my first big girl job and my beta reader has been having trouble with her computer, so I had to obsess over the prose by myself. In the end, i had to split my planned second chapter in two because it was almost 10k, so that's fun. Also, I uploaded this fic to Ao3 and I added the tag "Autistic Shouta Aizawa" and I'm the first one to tag that in an X Reader Fic??? I thought it was a popular headcanon lol Anyway, you've waited long enough. I hope you enjoy!

Head hung over porcelain, gloved hands gripped onto the sink. A giant hammer banged against your skull from the inside leaving sparks in its wake. Neurons like shooting stars lived behind your eyes. “Sparks…” You gulped back nausea.

Murky puddles of colors blurred together. Light blue stalls behind you, slightly opened, but empty. A massive void leered through the mirror with slivers of red. Hunched, panting over the counter. Burning wounds spreading out, conquering the rest of your cold skin. Not so different from the last time you needed a healing quirk. Cold, clammy, and disgustingly pitiful in one of the dark backrooms of your agency–because doing paperwork was better than being by your lonesome with nothing. The main difference this time around was the mortification that came with breaking down in a high school bathroom.

You were going to smack Akari for what she put you through.

The thought stabilized your shaky breath. You straightened your body, your hands still grasping the counter. The pressure released from the stab wound. It steadied you and you were grateful.

The last thing you needed to add on this little business trip was a reunion with Recovery Girl. She had first-hand encounters of your nonsense. Dealing with the aftermath of you being a menace to society— or “younger” if someone wanted to be polite—more times then you can count. You went to her office a lot–sometimes for yourself. Sometimes. It didn’t matter if you started more “advanced” in your class, you weren’t immune to scraps, bruises, or the occasional slip up during training. Other times, it was for other classmates. Some you sent her way after battle trials, but other times you popped in to take supplies then ran out.

One time you asked when she was going to retire, she said whatever the Japanese equivalent was for “until I croak”. That was after she threatened you with her cane, but you laughed it off like the cocky child you were. You thought even if she could land a hit, it wouldn’t hurt that bad. After all this time, it’d be disappointing to tell her you got in a fight and lost at your big age. Maybe she’ll try hitting you with her cane again, you thought. She’d have an easier time now.

But no. Dealing with the effects of one healing quirk was enough. The risks of getting her involved drowsiness at best, or possible death before the investigation gets shot down at worst. Investigation aside, it’s becoming apparent your healing process isn’t where it’s supposed to be. The itches, the burning… no one is in this bathroom with you, but you’re burning beneath cold skin. Someone who sees you on the street can say: “It’s only been two days! Walking around, catching a flight, that’s a MIRACLE for only two days!”

However, that’s the problem. It’s already been two days. With the healing quirk, you’re supposed to be at least 75%, but you’re not pushing fifty.

Removing your hands from the sink, you brought them to your sides. It was hard to know where one pain starts and where the other ends. Everything burns and your body is compelling you to turn around and throw up nothing. You flexed shaking fingers into fists. Your stomach was turning inward. It’s been a while since you ate. Perhaps you should’ve brought something on your way here. Even if it was stopping at a konbini and picking up one of those stupid-ass nutrition cookies Aizawa used to eat for lunch every day of the week. You swallowed, shaking your head. Food can wait. You can wait three hours. If you eat, you’re going to stay nauseous and dizzy anyway… unless you do something about it.

With a shaking breath, you glanced over your shoulder then at the door. There was no charge down your spine, so no people were close by either. You flexed your hands again, eyes closed, counting your fingers rhythmically. The sparks died down. The pain became more discernible. Abdomen still fresh and oven-hot. Knuckles chaffed, raw, and bruised. Your legs: thighs sore from jumping during the mission, your left knee ached, and the top side of your right foot was especially tender. Your shoulders, your back, behind your head.

You kept the rhythm until your lungs demanded release. When you exhaled, the pain dwindled. Not completely. Warmth still lied below your skin, at a near simmer. When you opened your eyes though, the blacks and reds weren’t blurred together. They were a clear, albeit crooked mess. You fixed the red arm guards first. When that was done, you had enough energy to fix the rest of your uniform.

Daring to move around, you inspected your fixed outfit further. When it passed inspection, you grabbed your briefcase below the paper towel dispenser to your right. Hitching your breath, you reached for the black handle. Your right leg carried all the weight to avoid setting off a potential mine-field of injury. At first contact, you swung the case on top of the sink then opened it. There were many compartments at the top, one housed a phone the boss gave you, since your old one was collateral damage. There were few numbers inside the cell. Only the ones you thought were most important to include. One of them was for the agency medic, which you cleverly titled as “Medic” to make sure you don’t call more than necessary.

This development with his quirk, unfortunately, was necessary. Rocks filled your stomach. Your mouth feels like you ate gravel. You can hear his reaction to telling him his ‘all powerful quirk’ wasn’t helping like a future sense. He’d make the concussion he diagnosed you with worse if you called.

Wanting to grip the phone harder, you clenched your teeth. This whole thing was stupid. You could’ve kept your guard up. You could’ve stood up, knife be damned, and run after Akari. Stopped her. Asked her what the hell she was talking about— All these choices you could’ve made–all those years of training, and you still got a concussion. Seven minutes passed when you finished typing your little update. It was better to give him a heads up now. It helps against accusations of Akari annihilating your brain cells at the fight.

The next person you contacted was Athena, your Support Expert. It hasn’t been long, but you needed an update on something. Even if it was just your uniform and equipment.

The message itself was quick. Though, you couldn’t help following up by asking if she knew anything about one of the crime scenes. You then thanked her, again. Heaven knows you keep her busy when you need new equipment. During the past two years alone, you’ve asked a lot from her. Whether you needed a new arm guard, gauntlet, or a whole new uniform, she came through every time. It’s hard to get an SE who specializes specifically in power-based quirks. From what you’ve experienced, and heard from other heroes, most SEs don’t appreciate their designs getting decimated. Their creations are children in their eyes. Athena’s creations aren’t as precious in her eyes, by comparison. She has a spreadsheet dedicated to how long until the creations get busted. Keeping up with these records is her research. It changed constantly, telling her what works and when she needs to switch things up.

You should bring her something when all this is over, you thought. She deserved something nice. Something that says “I’m sorry for wrecking all the support items you made me during my missions, you’re the best SE ever!”

The phone went back inside of its compartment, next to the pouch where five hologram disks were held. A surge of panic came through you. Thinking of the horrific scenario of traveling all this way and forgetting essential items for your visit today. You tore open the pouch. Heart in your ears and heat crawling out your back. Two disks were labeled, three were not. “CS1” and “CS2” were in the pouch. Good. You glanced at the other objects in the case, double checking everything was there before you met up with the principal. Folders, notebooks, paperwork, until relief washed over you in a cool wave. Closing the briefcase, running your hand across the leather. Slowing down to trace the broken heart emblem, similar to the one on your breastplate.

Your power won’t get rid of the hammers in your skull, or the itch around stitch wire, but the thick material will prevent you from scratching. Plus, no one else would know about the other bumps and bruises beneath.

You got this.

Leaving the bathroom, you pulled out Hizashi’s instructions one more time. They were less blurry and a bit easier to understand. You may actually have a chance to get out of the maze disguised as your alma mater. Ironically enough, before you could turn the corner, a white rat-bear-dog shorter than a yard-stick— wearing a black vest, blocky, yellow shoes, and had a gangster scar across his eye—came around. “There you are! It really has been a long time,” he greeted, like you’ve seen him before. He didn’t give you time to respond to him, he just explained how he waited at the meeting spot until it occurred to him how long it’s been since you were a student. The principal also made many changes since the time you graduated, which he insisted on showing you. This welcoming gesture forced you to tail him around the floor, instead of simply going to the meeting spot. You didn’t like the idea of walking around, not with that flare up earlier. You were still abnormally sore. But he can’t know that. You squared your shoulders, nodded your head, and quietly marched on.

There weren’t many rooms to make note of. Most of them were regular classrooms. You already saw where the current classroom for 1-A was before you ran into Aizawa. Apparently your old classroom is being used for one of the first year general education courses. The principal asked if you’d like to look inside. You declined the offer politely. At the end of the day, it was just a room. Another room with desks, windows, and a chalkboard in the front. What more did you need to see? You didn’t explain that last part, obviously, and the principal went on talking about other changes around the school.

At one point, he interrupted himself, stopping in front of one of the other doors. This time he didn’t ask you before opening it. “And here is my office.” The principal revealed a room with a giant window behind a desk. The orange light from the rising sun shone through the window casting deep shadows on the office furniture. If you stepped closer, you’d see everything outside the window. The brightness made you queasy. You opted to focus on the gray couch instead. “It looks a little different compared to the last conversation we had here,” he commented.

‘Last conversation,’ you wondered. Then it hit you.

This principal wasn’t new.

Your principal never left UA. How you forgot your principal having a gangster-scar, you weren’t sure. There was no one like him. Absolutely no one that you’ve met.

Muffled words and a shadow in front of a stark blue window came to mind. Paws holding stacks of paper, hitting them against the desk to straighten them out. Were you supposed to add on to what he said? Were you supposed to apologize? He didn’t look unhappy.

But you could be wrong. Would it be a surprise if this was an act? Taking you on this walk so you’d waste your time telling him everything? You looked to the right and left side of the hallway. If the resources weren’t valuable then you’d walk yourself out first.

The principal didn’t follow up his statement with anything about the past or the future. He closed the door to his voice and rambled his way to nothing. He probably wanted to get a reaction out of you, but you were too confused to give him one.

After a while, the stitches got tighter. And tighter. And your legs were becoming sore. Of course, you clenched your jaw to keep quiet. If he caught on, he’ll send you to Recovery Girl then bye-bye. She hits you with her cane and Nezu could press a button to eject you from the building.

Honestly, where was Hizashi? You knew he was supposed to be busy with work last night, but he said he’d be here for the meeting. It was supposed to start soon and you don’t want to be in a room alone with a passive-aggressive rat-bear-principal. Maybe he was telling Nemuri you were in town.

Or maybe he would try to find Shouta and they could all be talking right now! Aizawa would tell him about you leaving him in the hallway, saying you were rude, demanding to know what’s going on. Aizawa was pushy enough. Hizashi would tell him about how you called him, hurt and asking for help. Despite Hizashi’s best intentions, Aizawa could use this information to raise doubt against you in the meeting. Get rid of you before you become a problem, his problem.

You needed to find Hizashi before that could happen.

As luck would have it, the tour was coming to an end. The last stop led to a blond man leaning against a door down the hall with his arms crossed. A blond man with a punk rock style and a speaker around his neck. A blond that bounced his knee impatiently because he couldn’t bear standing still.

Hizashi!

His head snapped in your direction. He, like a ray of sunshine, grinned ear to ear. “And look here, folks!” Hizashi rushed toward you, “coming out of the cage, ready for her GRAND COMEBACK–” you gripped your briefcase tighter, your eyes wide and almost bouncing, expecting impact. Hizashi pivoted around you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “It’s the Queen of Terror, Pro-Hero STRIFE!”

It’s been over five years since you’ve seen him in person, longer since he’s called you by your hero name. You beamed, he was here. In the same room, not across the world. You thought of hugging him, but stopped when you remembered your old principal was still here.

Hizashi moved closer, leaning into your face without such reservations. The amber reflection of your uniform was in his sunglasses. His hand dragged across your shoulder where the raised mending peaked. He looked toward the principal with his hand on the side of his mouth, like he was trying to tell you a secret. “I was waiting forever,” he fake-scolded, loud enough for the third party to hear.

Glancing at the principal, you saw he was watching the two of you. He had a smile on his face, but his eyes were blank. You stepped out of Hizashi’s grasp, standing properly. “I had trouble with the directions.”

“What? Getting rusty after being away for so long?” Heat rose to your ears. Of course you were going to be rusty. Did he really have to tease you about it now? “She really knows how to keep her fans at the edge of their seat,” he said to the principal casually, like he wasn’t Hizashi’s boss.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the principal responded, making you aware of the side eye you were giving to your old friend. “I was giving Strife a tour of this floor. After all, I’m proud of the changes I made to UA since your graduating class. I couldn’t resist showing off to one of my former students. Strife has certainly grown from that child I remember.”

Hizashi agreed with your old principle with a joke. “I hope that’s a good thing.” But you know there’s no good way to interpret the statement. Not with what he said when he showed you his office. Who brings up a time where they had to talk with you in a GOOD way? It’s like when your parents brought up how one of your dad’s coworkers caught you sneaking a cookie from the agency's break room when you were supposed to stick to a meal plan. Like, “oh, we sure hope you have better impulse control compared to when you were eight, even if you do, we’re going to reference this story over and over again so you never forget your moral failure!” He’s wearing yellow sneakers with formal wear, why is he passive-aggressive!

The conversation didn’t go further, thankfully. “There is time before the meeting, I’m going to set up. Feel free to catch up here in the meantime,” said the principal. You both thanked him as he went into the room. The nausea came back at the sight of the wooden swirls closing, your heart was starting to pound. After all, maybe he was planning to air it out with an audience, you couldn’t know for sure with his emotionless eyes.

“Did you really not have nicer clothes,” Hizashi asked, breaking you out of your trance. He was loud enough for the whole building to hear.

Your nose scrunched. “The damage wasn’t THAT bad…”

Hizashi shook his head. “I’m not talking about the damage. Last time I saw you, there was more…” Hizashi held his hand out, waving it toward your body. He went through a jumble of words before he decided on one. “Color.”

The last time he saw you in person, you were twenty-four and in-between agencies again. He was celebrating the first anniversary of his show being picked up for a radio channel. After celebrating the anniversary, he took a short vacation out of the country. It was the first time he was allowed since his career started. When Hizashi finally arrived in the States, you wore a uniform. It had less hard armor and was more red. Red breast plate with your black broken-heart emblem, which resembled that old Pac-Man arcade game. Gauntlets with red finger and knuckle pieces and armguards to contrast the black base of the gloves. Some other details like the center of your knee and elbow pads, the tips of your boots, your utility belt, and other lines and trims followed,

Vibrant color bounced off the void background. In comparison, your current outfit was–

“You look like a common mall goth.” You tilt your head at him. Before you can say anything about calling you “common”, he continued. “Actually it’s worse!” Hizashi stepped closer to put his hands on your shoulders, pressing into the raised mark on the left. He leaned closer to your ear–was he always this touchy? He whispered, “you look emo.”

You punished him back, somewhat gently. “Hizashi, what the hell,” you said in English. Why was he making you worried over nothing! And calling you emo…

He laughed, wagging his finger at you like you were some brat. “Nuh uh uh. It’s Mic. We’re professionals and we’re working.”

“What do you mean ‘professionals’? What was professional about that!”

“I’m a radio host too, I have to play it to the crowd!”

You scanned the halls. “Where!” No one was here! A thud echoed across the empty hallway. In your confusion, you accidentally threw your briefcase across the hall. You stupidly remember the rule ‘no yelling in the hall!’ rule as black leather slid across the purple floor. Oops… You sigh as the briefcase spins to a stop.

Mic continued laughing. You grumbled, giving him your back as you approached the briefcase. To think, you considered hugging him earlier. The man walked behind you. “Don’t be so stiff!” You stared at the briefcase, almost rolling your eyes, he had no idea. You pondered how you were going to pick it up. If you did it the same way as you did in the bathroom, it would look suspicious. And dorky.

His eyes were on you, you could feel it. If you waited too long then Mic would volunteer to get it for you. That would make him ask questions though. “Right,” you broke the silence before he could. You squatted with bated breath to pick up the briefcase. Your knee almost popped and you wanted to tear into the wound, but you weren’t going to tell Mic that. Not now, at least.

Somewhere more private. AFTER you were sure he wouldn’t talk to Aizawa about anything. But first, you’d need to say you met him earlier and it didn’t go well. You can save Mic the drama, not going into specifics. Other than that, what’s one more thing to the pile? He’s in the dark about Akari, for now. He didn’t need to know Akari was the reason why you called him from your medic’s phone the other day, right this minute. You’ll have to go over everything in the meeting anyway, so why waste time?

“I would’ve gotten that,” said Mic.

“But you didn’t.” You shot back, harsher than you meant to. “It’s fine. I forgive you,” you stated with a pouty lip. You hoped the joke would mitigate the unintended force of your words. Mic probably didn’t notice, or he thought it was simply the set up to the punchline. “What have you been up to?”

Mic gave you an elaborate update on the past few weeks. His summer was busy since the Sports Festival. As usual, he was booked out when it came to the radio host and DJ gigs during the beginning of summer break. He told you all positive things. Dancing around All Might’s retirement as Number 1 Hero. You imagined he’d describe it as a certified downer if you asked. “...and our first years are about to go for their license!” Mic posed his hands in the rock and roll gesture.

“Wow, already? We had to wait until second year.”

“Because of all the villain attacks. It was decided it’d be better for the students to protect themselves without waiting for a hero’s permission.” There were no bells or whistles attached to the explanation. His hand gestures were minimal as well. While the idea of first years becoming skilled enough to get their license at a young age was impressive, there was no argument the circumstances weren’t ideal. First years shouldn’t have to deal with villains yet, but they have multiple times. Even in America, the youngest an applicant had to be was 17 to get their license. One of the perks of going to UA was being able to expedite the process and get your license when you were 16. You couldn’t imagine letting 15 year olds take the test in America. ”If you’ve watched the Sports Festival, then you know they’ll CRUSH it!” He punctuated the statement with his signature “YEAH!”, putting his hands in the air for extra dazzle.

A beat passed and he broke his pose, asking if you watched the Sports Festival. The question wasn’t as pumped compared to his previous statement. Guilt struck you. Another month’s gone by and you still haven’t watched your friends on International Television. “It’s okay if you didn’t!” He responded, obviously concerned.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I should’ve watched it by now. Work’s been crazy for months. I had to cancel TV because it was wasting money.”

Mic shrugged, with a relaxed expression on his face. “Don’t worry about it! I’m sure I can give you the highlight reel while you're in town. But seriously, you had to cancel TV? You need to give it a rest!”

“No, you have four jobs. I have no excuse–”

“Details!” Mic brushed off your response with his hand. “Y’know…” Mic’s hand went to his face to rub his chin. “You could help out with the first years with the exam. If you have time for it, it could be another paycheck and you can hang out with me,” he finished like you were a kid motivated by cookies.

You raised your eyebrow and shifted your weight to your back leg. “First you say “give it a rest” and now you want to give me more work?” He posed glamorously then switched to another with that somewhat implied you giving him a high-five, but it didn’t look quite right. “Not everyone can multitask like you, Mic.”

“I’m just saying you have the experience. You judged the licensing exams a crazy amount of times—and you mentored young heroes before.”

“I didn’t do any judging this year, and there’s a difference between the American licensing exam and the one here. Also, those heroes already graduated from their program, and I only helped them because I had to. I’m not a good mentor, and, from what you said, I’m sure whoever’s teaching the first years are doing fine on their own.”

Mic paused with his mouth slightly open. His teeth clenched. “About that–”

A colorful blur caught the corner of your eye, but it was too late. A massive weight slammed into your body. The briefcase flew from your hand. What the hell! Your throat squeezed, choking down any sound you could’ve made. First there was shock. Then fire. Then pain. Every. Single. Type.

Everything burned and your bones rattled you from the inside. You had to get this off! You wrapped your arms around, ready to pick up and throw it down the next floor.

Your shoulder shrieked back at the embrace, your legs weren’t fairing with the shift either. In this split-second processing of your senses, it was apparent the weight was particularly squishy in certain places. It had purple hair as well, and she was absolutely thrilled to see you.

Your eyes widened. You lifted Nemuri, having stopped midway from slamming her to the ground. Her stomach was at your eye-level as she laughed with joy. That was good, you set her down., her heels clicking on the floor. You could’ve really hurt her. “--didn’t tell me you were coming to town–got you at the airport! Look at YOU!” The squishiness against your body left, replaced by an ecstatic Nemuri squeezing your face. Fingers pressed your cheeks enough to make your lips puff out. You tried to respond to Nemuri, but you might as well have your mouth full of cookies. The questions kept coming. After a bunch of non-answers, Nemuri took her hands off. Of course it was sore, but it was nothing like the rest of you. Unlike with Mic, you KNEW Nemuri was this touchy. This happened so many times a single memory became a cluster of events.

She turned out of your hold, pointing at Mic aggressively. “Did you know our friend was coming here and NOT tell ME!”

The scene was soon drowned out by your beating heart. Mic’s sunglasses slipped down his nose revealing a panicked expression toward Nemuri. He held out your briefcase to shield himself from the heat of the backlash. He was talking fast, explaining himself. You pressed your lips tightly in contrast. If they weren’t then you’d pant like you did earlier.

Nausea arrived once again like a recurring nightmare. Placing your hand over the stitches to push through the thick material did nothing. As predicted, the pain couldn’t be snuffed out. Keeping your face neutral was an uphill battle between scalding heat and pure annoyance.

Screeching thoughts scolded you to ‘stop scratching!’

Then the surge came.

Mic and Midnight were focused on each other. One was mad, one was somewhat scared. It gave you something to work with. Your breath deepened as you flexed your palm against your uniform. Once again the pain separated and simmered down. The only agony on the surface was the itchiness of your wound. It wasn’t perfect. You just had to bear with it—the healing process.

And watch out for any other attacks from your friends.

The hand on your abdomen balled into a fist. An invisible knife stabbed back inside the wound. Hopefully, the pressure could substitute the need to claw at your skin until your insides spilled into a puddle on the floor.

Before you got comfortable, something to your left burned through you. Not from a wound, or your quirk. Someone watched you down the corridor. Turning your head, you lowered the invisible knife.

“Aizawa,” Mic called out to him, but didn’t get a response. Aizawa’s attention was on you. Did he see what you did? There was no way he saw the whole situation, you thought. Just when you shanked yourself with the imaginary shiv. Even if he brought it up, so what? It was weird, not illegal. “Look who’s here, isn’t this exciting!” Mic continued. The way Aizawa kept staring you down made it clear he was expecting you to flinch. Maybe you weren’t doing something illegal just now, but he can say you stormed off from him. Which is worse in this context. A lot worse.

Aizawa tucked a blue file folder he was looking over into his arm with the others. “We saw each other earlier,” he responded coldly. He wasn’t excited to see you. Not today. Not ever. You stood your ground, waiting for him to tell them you walked out on him again, but it never came. He moved past, preferring not to be in the same room with you more than he had to.

“That’s it! C’mon don’t be like that! How often do you get to see an old buddy?”

“Just stay for a minute!”

He continued on his path, not responding to any of their pleas until he reached the door handle. “The meeting is starting soon. Don’t block the door.” He went inside, the door clicking shut behind him with an echo.

“Harsh…” Mic said.

Midnight turned to you. “I thought he’d be happier,” she said wistfully. You don’t blame her for hoping.

You shrugged, lifting your hands. ‘It is what it is,’ you thought, not quite remembering a good translation.

Midnight hummed. Mic moved on from the initial shock, opting to check out the detailing on your briefcase. No follow up questions from either of them. Throughout the years, there was never a time either of them mentioned Aizawa being their coworker. Not that you should care. They didn’t have to tell you anything about what he was up to. If he wanted you to know he could’ve told you himself. Whatever he did was none of your business, so why would they tell you?

Maybe they should’ve. It certainly would’ve avoided this mess. Although, the thought didn’t cross Mic’s mind. He probably heard the muffled yells of the medic for you to give his phone back and dived in with no questions. No hesitation.

Nonetheless, he could’ve warned you about Aizawa in the email he sent you after. Did he think you wouldn't come back if you knew ahead of time—if you knew Aizawa would be here? Probably not, but damn, dude, give a warning.

Midnight broke through your thoughts, asking how long you were planning to stay. She comments on the tension without any out of pocket comparisons to the devil’s tango. You reassured her you should be gone in two weeks. If you were going to do your research here, no doubt it would be uncomfortable for her and Mic if that’s how you’re going to interact with their friend. “I hope we can do something while you’re here. It’ll be fun,” Midnight offered half-heartedly. Even if you sucked at keeping contact for the past year, she was still nice to you. Although, it’s doubtful you two would have time for each other while you were investigating and she does her jobs.

“Count me in!” Mic puts his free arm around your shoulders, he doesn’t add any pressure, but your arms squeezed into your ribs at the unintentional threat. Like one wrong move and your skin would seer through kevlar and leather. “We have to grab a bite!”

Your ears perk up, stomach coming to the forefront of your thoughts. You were drooling at the thought of finally being able to eat some bomb-ass food.

The passage of time went faster with the distracting fantasy. Not long after agreeing to Mic’s invitation of food, and having to hear a long list of places you couldn’t go to this very moment, the meeting was close to a start–made apparent by the next pro hero arriving to the meeting room. Your friends introduced you to another one of their coworkers, Snipe, who was dressed as a cowboy and actually packed heat.

The lovely thoughts and curiosity came to a halt upon entering the room. Aizawa glared at you for disrupting him from reading what he had in those folders. Without breaking eye contact you reached toward Mic so he could give you back your briefcase, so you could put it down somewhere.

Aizawa went back to his folders, rubbing his temple like your presence alone vexes him. You chose to place it in the corner of the room by a potted plant. You were careful not to grunt as you squatted. Ignoring the pain, you swiped the pattern on the briefcase, for good luck even if you hardly believe in such a thing.

Call it habit or instinct, but you glanced over your shoulder after. Of course, there was Aizawa. He eyeballed you, waiting for you to make a mistake. You clenched your jaw as you stood up again, adjusting your uniform before walking back toward Mic toward the center of the room. If Aizawa saw an opportunity, an opening to get rid of you, he’d pounce.

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #mha x female reader #retrospective by dot #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you #whump #tw pain #yamada hizashi #nemuri kayama

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intheorangebedroom · 1 year

Text

Run Through The Jungle

Summary: You didn't want to take this mission, but your best friend and closest teammate talked you into it. Just how far are you prepared to go to prove him this was a bad idea… and what could you possibly gain from doing so?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader. Reader has a code name, "Echo".

Rating: Mature 🔞

TW: mention of blood, gun violence.

A/N: Hey @flightlessangelwings, your @pedrostories Secret Santa, here! I worked with your hurt/comfort prompt followed by a ✨confession✨, with our darling Frankie. I hope you like it, I did my very best 💝 I wish you a happy reading!

Word Count: 3.4k

He knows something’s wrong when the shot echoes through the canopy, followed by silence. He stops short in his tracks, a feeling of dread sinking in his gut, cold sweat breaking on his back, on his forehead. It goes against the direct order he just received, but he can’t help himself, his hand flying to the radio button before he even has time to think about it.

“Echo? Echo come in.”

He doesn’t recognise his own voice. Parched, hoarse, like sandpaper.

“Echo?” he tries louder, which only brings out the desperation in his tone and sends a flock of exotic birds upward.

“I don’t think it was her, Fish,” Ironhead’s voice comes in, much firmer than his own, but the concern in it is still tangible.

“Relax, men, I’m sure she’s fine,” Benny quips, but his apparent levity only thrums harder on Frankie’s nerves.

“Keep the radio clear, guys, she’ll call in when she can,” Redfly silences them all.

Frankie starts walking again, progressing deeper into the jungle, the vegetation so dense that he can’t see the sky, and all he can breathe is humidity, clamping his lungs. It’s dusk, and the world around him is dark blue and murky green. The press of his cheek against the cold metal of his riffle grounds him, he’s thankful for it, it offers a welcome balance to the shakiness of his trigger finger, ready to flex.

On his left, he feels Benny more than he can see him. Ironhead on his far right, a barely there rustle through the palms and long, invasive leaves. It’s uncanny the way Will can move his mass without any noise, like a ghost. He’s lost Pope a while ago, when he tried to keep up with you as you marched headstrong into the wall of foliage, but he assumes he’s somewhere behind, Redfly next to him, the two men strictly sticking to the plan.

They’ve been advancing for more than fifteen minutes, now, the target still not in sight, when it should have been hit on the ten-minute mark. At least that’s what Redfly had said. Ten minutes in from the trail, a small, square wooden house filled to the brim with gun trafficking kingpins conveniently gathered there to strike a peace deal. Rounded up by a shady and nameless intel cell, for your unit to harvest and sprinkle with lead. And fade back into the green, invisible, unnamed, unheard, like you were never there. It’s not an official job. It’s mercenary work. It pays as well as the stakes are high. Frankie knows you hate those.

You didn’t want to come. You didn’t want to take this mission. You clearly stated your view on the matter, blunt and loud and from the beginning. Said it was one of Pope’s rotten plans, that he’d made a deal with god knows who, and you did not like that, you needed more intel, that it wouldn’t end well, but then Redfly had spoken, and everyone else had fallen in line, so he’d convinced you.

Him. Frankie.

And he hadn’t been very subtle or gentle about it. “Don’t overthink it, Echo. It’s just an in and out. You fuck up the whole team if you turn it down. Redfly said it’s a six men job.” You’d scoff. “Yeah well, I’m not a fucking man, Fish”, and you’d left. You barely talked to him after that. Your last words to him before stepping on the humid, soft ground of the forest were curt and cold, “I have a bad feeling about this.” Your frowned brow imprinted with a reproach.

He could have told you the team wasn’t operational without you, incomplete, flawed. He could have said they needed you, that you were essential, like water and air. But that would have been a little too transparent for comfort. You’re so perceptive. Razor sharp. You would have seen right through him.

Beside, he’s made a point so far of never treating you differently from the rest of the team. He knows what you had to overcome to get here. He respects you and your skills far too much. But then, perhaps he’d been wrong. Perhaps he should have acknowledged your differences. Openly praise you for it.

I’m not a fucking man, Fish.

Of that he’s well aware.

And so you walked in first. Probably just to prove a point, if he had to guess. Rapidly swallowed by shadows, green and dirt. You didn’t give him a chance to cover you, like he usually does. You work in tandem, you know each other’s every move, every sigh, every frown. But not today, today you ran from him, and he lost sight of you. Something he hates above all.

He doesn’t know fear. He’s got proven ways to keep it in check, it’s part of the job, part of him at this point. He saw you take a bullet, held you down while Will extracted it from you, bandaged your bruises and cuts, just like you did his. But this time’s different. This time, he can’t see you. And the last reproachful look you sent his way before you disappeared is blurring his logic, crowding his brain.

The tac vest feels too tight, all of a sudden, like his chest has expanded, and the straps of his kit are biting through the flesh of his shoulders, the sweat dripping from his sideburns an unbearable tingle.

He quickly glances at his watch. The timer tells him they’ve been in for twenty minutes. He estimates ten have passed since the shot rang. You could have found the house. On the ten minutes mark, like Redfly said. But you would have called your shot and anyway, that would have unleashed hell. Pope estimated the number of men patrolling the close perimeter at thirty. You might be mad at him, but you wouldn’t voluntarily endanger any of them. The only possible explanation is—

“Anybody got a visual on her?” Pope asks.

Frankie listens as his teammates’ voices come in in turn, with the same grim, negative answer. There’s a beat before Pope asks again, “Fish, you got a visual, man?”

“Fuck it, I’m going to get her,” Frankie replies through gritted teeth, lengthening his strides.

“Fish, you stay in line, stick to the plan,” Redfly’s order resounds through the radio, but Frankie’s already reaching a clearing, sensing Benny speeding up on his left, trying to catch up with him.

If anything happened to you… If anything happened to you he’s gonna set that fucking jungle ablaze.

—

The left side of your face hurts. Hurts worse than your worst hangover. As your brain slowly resurfaces, you take in your surroundings. Your right cheek on the rough wooden floor on which you’re lying, legs folded behind you. The rancid taste of the piece of clothe gagging your mouth. Dim light, dirty walls. Hushed conversations you can’t make out in a foreign language you know nothing of. Your hands tied up in front of you, the plastic binder cutting your wrist.

Something warm and thick is trickling down your brow and into your eye, a sharp and blinding sting that you vainly try to blink away. Blood. Ok. So that explains the pain.

Your kit’s gone, and so is your tac vest, your riffle, guns and other weapons. Panic flares in your veins. You’ve been shot, cut, wounded– but never taken. You have no idea how long you’ve been out. And what happened in the meantime. You walked into the clearing, your rifle raised and at the ready, you felt the metal brush of a blade near your neck, slicing the radio cord in one furtive motion, a shot rang out… and then everything went black.

Where’s the rest of the team? Fish and Ironhead were right behind you, you know they probably couldn’t see you but you could feel them, feel him, you always do, at a skin level. What the fuck were you thinking, stepping out of line, not following the plan? You were going to make a point and prove Fish wrong, but what point, exactly? What did you get so angry about?

You disagreed on the job, big deal. You know, deep down, it’s not about that.

It’s a six men job.

Why did it sting so hard? Fish is your closest friend in a team of men you all trust with your life, his conduct toward you permanently above reproach. How many times have you fell asleep curled up against him on a cold hard floor, only to wake up shielded by his heat, but, consistently, from a respectable distance?

Precisely. Way down in your soul, in your bones, you wanted to believe your instinctual synchronicity on the field spoke of a deeper connection. Have you waited all these years for it to become more? For him to act on it? Will he ever? Does he even think of you like this?

It’s a six men job.

I’m not a man, Fish.

Fuck. You got mad over the shadow of a feeling, over swirling smoke. And now your foolishness might have gotten them all killed.

Your mind spirals at the thought and you clench your eyes shut to push it away. This can’t be, they’re probably coming to get you, Frankie is coming to get you, he’ll find a way, he always comes through.

Frankie. Fast building tears gather behind your eyelids at the memory of the cold, angry stare he sent your way when you started advancing. You’d give everything to see his stupid pretty face right now.

Your shoulder hurts, crushed against the hard floor, sweat dripping down your back as you try to push back invasive thoughts. It was supposed to be a stealthy attack, this was the cornerstone of Pope’s plan, but now the targets are well aware of your presence, and likely getting ready to welcome your teammates. If they’re still alive, that is.

You don’t know how much time has passed. They might all be lying dead, blood flowing out of their bodies into the mud of this godforsaken jungle, as you’re trapped here, awaiting the same fate. Or worse.

Ok, focus, you’ve been trained for these kinds of situations, you’re a warrior. The light coming in from the small window on your right looks about the same as it did before you were knocked out, so you can’t have been out for too long. The surrounding room is small, square, and bare. You have to assume this is the target house. To which you don’t even know the floor plan, because Pope failed to provide the team with that piece of intel.

You make an attempt at wiggling your legs, testing how much leeway you’ve got. Not much. Your ankles, like your wrists, are bound, and you’re not sure if you can even sit up straight.

You feel the floor vibrating under your face as heavy steps approach, two men, maybe three, you estimate. Their voices louder when they speak, as they probably stand on the other side of the door, and you shut your eyes again, stalling for an issue, an idea, a miracle, when you hear the first shots fired outside in the near distance.

They come in rapid sequence, three by three, almost like a waltz, each salve getting closer to you, and if it wasn’t for the sudden commotion inside the house, you’re pretty sure you’d hear the thud of the bodies hitting the mucky ground.

They’re coming to get you, death in their stride.

You try harder to lift yourself up, ignoring the throbbing ache pounding your forehead, when someone kicks the door open. A stubby man in a loud shirt, a golden gun in his hand, covering the distance between you in a few hurried steps. He grabs you by the elbow and violently shoves you upward and against the wall, sputtering more than screaming in your face. You don’t understand the language, but you don’t need to, you know you’re about to become one of the human shields you’ve so often aimed at with your weapon.

And then it’s here. Before you have time to consider your options, or initiate your next move. Frankie’s voice, rambling and furious, instructing you to “Dive!”

You buck your knees without thinking and slide onto the floor as the content of you captor’s head is splattered on the wall above you. His limp body doesn’t have the time to hit you, Frankie catching it mid-fall and tossing it to the side as if he weighted no more than a paper doll.

Outside the room, it’s pandemonium, gunfire, men yelling, broken glass, but you don’t hear any of it, you only hear him, his heavy, short breathing, the rustling of his dirty clothes as he’s kneeling in front of you, freeing your mouth, cutting the plastic straps that bind your ankles and your wrists, cupping your face with both hands, lifting your chin up, scanning you for injuries, and his eyes, his eyes they’re not cold anymore.

“Are you hurt?” his voice sounds broken now, gone, as if all of it had been projected out of his body when he yelled for you to get down, as if he doesn’t have any left.

“Echo, baby, talk to me, you hurt? What’s that blood, is it yours?”

You’re lost in the sight of his anguished face, you don’t understand what’s happening, only his hands on your skin, brushing away tears you didn’t know were spilling, only his eyes alight with that particular glimmer, the one they shine with when he thinks you’re not looking, only the strength and tension and heat rolling off of him and pouring straight into you, through every fiber of your skin, of your being, and you stutter his name, like the little girl you had forgotten you ever were.

“I’m here, you’re ok, we’re here. You hurt? I need you to tell me if you’re hurt.”

Ironhead’s slow drawl rings out from behind the wall, a loud and forceful “Clear!” that echoes in Frankie’s earpiece, and his brother’s answer, “All clear over here.”

Pope bursts in, his tone tenser than you’ve ever heard it, “Is she here? Is she ok?”

They came through. They came to get you. Frankie’s heat is bringing the life back to your limbs, and you sit up straighter, raising your chin, gathering your wits, before you answer, “I’m fine, I’m ok, just the cut, here.”

Frankie tilts your head down to get a better look at your hairline. His hands leave your face and you whimper imperceptibly at the loss. He rips a piece of his shirt and uses it to wipe the blood from your brow so he can get a better look at your wound.

“It bleeds a lot but it looks superficial, did you lose conscious?”

Both Millers step into the room and you suddenly feel too self-conscious, discomfort crawling up your skin like raging ants, you don’t want them to see you in this position, they’ve never heard you complain once, but you sure gave them hell every time they did, especially Benny, so you push Frankie’s hand away and try to stand up on wobbly legs, with a grunt of, “I’m fine, I’m not a fucking porcelain doll, get off me.”

“Alright, she’s fine,” Benny says in a laugh, “let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Tom is the last one to step into the room, asking Pope if all the targets are down. He barely acknowledges you, or your potential injuries, you note, and you’re not sure what to make of it, you did disobey his orders and ignore his plan, after all. He most likely will never let you forget that.

So you stand taller and take a step, but your balance fails you, you vacillate a little, enough for Frankie’s firm hand to fly to your waist to steady you. A different kind of heat blooms into your lower belly at the commanding hold he’s got on you, and you will yourself to regain some semblance of composure. You’re a fucking soldier, for fuck’s sake.

“Need my rifle. And my gun,” you say, “they took them from me, I need something. I’m not getting out into that fucking jungle naked.”

Frankie’s eyes shine bright with a mischievous glimmer when he looks straight at you, a snarl tugging at the corner of his lips. Bending down, he unclenches the dead man’s grip on the golden gun and hands it to you.

“You can have this one,” he husks.

“Alright guys, let’s go,” Tom orders, and they all leave the room in a row.

You’re about to follow when Frankie turns around to face you again, crowding you into the wall until you hit the wooden panel with a surprised gasp. He's pressing his body against yours, his tac gear biting into your breast, a large hand at the base of your neck, thumbing the dip between your collarbone, the other one bruising your hip, his forehead against yours.

Your brain fills up with white noise, but your body, your body has always known. You arch up into him, your hands gripping his forearms to anchor you when he starts talking, rumbling into your mouth like a man with a fever, his low voice dripping down your sweaty skin and reverberating into your core.

“Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again, you hear me? I thought I lost you, you stubborn– you– I can’t fucking do this without you, you hear me? I need you.”

“Guys, we’re out!” Tom shouts from the front of the house.

—

The hike back to the location where the two trucks are hidden is nothing like you’ve ever experienced. Four pairs of eyes darted on you, and on a normal day you’d smacked them all, but not today, today everything feels different.

Fear, is what you experienced. Disorientation. Years of training and practice that couldn’t help you.

Your gaze strained on Tom’s back, you walk in his literal steps, avoiding deep muddy puddles and rocks, anything that could unbalance you further. On your right, Ben and Will advance together as one man, Santi on your left, and directly behind you, Frankie, so close you can almost feel his warm breath graze your skin.

His words are swirling in your head. He tipped you off your axis. Breathed his confession inside you, one you’re not ready to acknowledge. But one you’re not willing to ignore or forget.

Benny’s the first to reach the vehicles and clear the giant palm leaves you used to hide them from sight. He gets behind the wheel, Tom sitting next to him, and Will in the back.

You walk over to the second truck, the one you came in, but you don’t think you can face the road, so you climb in the back. Frankie mutters something to Santi, you can’t make out the words, but you understand when he goes around and to the driver’s seat, while Frankie gets in next to you.

“What do you think you’re doing, Morales?” you try, but your body says different, and you slide on the bench to accommodate his large frame, to welcome his heat. He looks at you, a grin etched on his lips. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, his arm circling your shoulder as he pulls you in a tight embrace.

The drive is bumpy on the uneven trail and he presses his lips against your temple, covered in sweat and dirt and blood. His grip on you is nearly primal, it steadies you, and this, this is your axis.

“I fucked up, Frankie,” you whisper, “I'm sorry, I thought I got you killed and–” the words die in your throat.

“That would hardly stop me, you know,” he chuckles with a hint of sadness. “Don't be sorry, you were right all along. But I’m not wasting any more time, I’m gonna make sure you never want to run off on me again.”

Santi darts a look in the rearview mirror, but you can’t see his knowing smirk, you're drowning in Frankie’s low voice, like a bee trapped in thick syrup, your hand tugging at his vest, pulling him closer with a needy moan, seeking his plush lips with yours.

“You guys know I can hear you, right?” Santi grins.

“You’re gonna hear much worse when we get to the safe house,” Frankie answers before he locks his lips on yours.

****

#FlightlessAngelWings #Pedrostoriesgift22 #Pedrostories #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fic

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falsemortal · 5 months

Text

Mirror

CW Mild Self Harm, Body Horror

Hey, where are you?

Travis?

I thought we were having dinner and drinks tonight?

Messages ping, calls are missed.

You’re scaring me, please answer.

Notification after notification, they pile up unbeknownst to Travis.

He’d stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for far too long as he washed and shaved his face before their date. His dark eyes scrutinized his aging appearance; the bruising around his creased eyes from decades of lack of sleep, the deep set of laugh lines that mocked him of happier times, and of course, the ever growing thin spot on the crown of his head.

He glances at the velour ring box on the counter. The contents made him feel hot and squirmy, like the lovesick fool he was. It was an heirloom, something he’d kept hidden in his things for so long in the hopes of possibly finding happiness, finding someone to share it with. He’d taken it to a local jeweler just last week to get it cleaned up after collecting dust for over two decades.

A small, miscalculated flick of his hand, and blood dribbled down his cheek. Iron in the air.

In a blink, he was back.

Blood soaked, not sure if it was his own or what he’d slathered on himself before the hunt. He was in pain, his panicking heart pulsing with stabs in his abdomen. He gripped the sink, the cold porcelain biting into his skin as it rooted him to the spot as she walked up behind him.

“Why are you here, Travis?” Her voice shot down his spine, it was husked like a whisper yet felt forced like a shout into his mind, “You ought to be out with the others. Like I say, we’ve been all night long trying to keep those kids safe.”

He felt his stomach tremble, bile in his throat as his body responded on its own. It felt foreign hearing his own voice forced out of him, “Ma, ah.. It’s Kaylee.”

He felt lightheaded as he relived the emotions that were swirling in his head in that moment. He felt the disappointment and pure hatred coming from the figure behind him, the woman who clearly regretted giving birth to him, regretted him existing, regretted everything to do with him because he wasn’t the ‘perfect’ Hackett, not like Chris.. not like Bobby would have been.

Her light blue eyes were like silver daggers, stabbing into his back as she waited for him to continue.

“She’s…” he choked, not able to swallow down the lump of bile. He coughs violently, unable to breathe. There is no compassion in the motherly figure as the final word comes out. “..dead.”

The world spins around him.

He’s retching into the sink, only to see vibrant red splattered everywhere before falling to his knees. Something sharp is in his throat and it burns with each shaky breath he fails to take. He heaves uncontrollably as his vision shakes and darkens, a plink! of glass finally hits the white porcelain. A brief feeling of relief.

He forces himself to look, his hand fishing around in the murky liquid until his fingers hit something. He pulls it out and chokes on phlegm as he looks at that bloody chunk of mirror that has haunted him since that summer.

His mother is yelling at him, he knows she is. She’s berating him and wailing about how fucking stupid he is. He feels it more than hears it, it’s deep in his bones. Each word is like a stab into his back, jab after jab. His knees feel weak, as he wobbles and clutches the sink to stay upright with his free hand.

Maybe she’s right.

Maybe he could have fixed it.

Maybe he’d still have a living, breathing family.

If he had tried harder..

The mirror sings in his hand.

The last time he had held it.. he thought he was dying.. was going to die. It had been a last resort, he was going to plunge it into her- Laura, whose animalistic maw bit into his forearm.

Laura.. the girl he’d fallen madly in love with in the aftermath. She’d become his best friend, his confidante–

He shakes his head, looking at the reflective piece of material. The blood running down it, he can see his reflection looking back at him.

It could be so easy. He’d see them again. They could be happy. The curse couldn’t possibly have gone with them in death.

He wants to see them. He misses them dearly, despite how they treated him. They were family- family is everything-

His thoughts are racing, spinning around behind his eyes. His reflection’s eyes glow red.

He clenches, exhaling sharply at the burn of the glass cutting into his palm. It almost felt good.. Addictive. The pain, however, made him alert to his surroundings.

The bathroom door slams open, followed by a loud gasp. “Trav, no, baby-”

He hadn’t even heard her car pull into the driveway, the slam of her car door. Nothing.

How long had he been out of it?

He’s coddled and pulled into the light again. The mirror, no, his razor clatters in the sink loudly. His hand stings and everything seems so much brighter, clearer.

Laura, his sunshine, has him. Her warm hands are on his face, forcing him to look her in the eyes. It’s hard to focus, it’s all.. too loud.. too much. Her blue eyes sparkle with unshed tears, they lock with his for a brief moment. He’s tethered to her, he knows it.

She’s pulling him out of the well again.

“Baby, what happened?” Her thumb on his cheek breaks him, he chokes as his vision burns. She’s so soft against him, cushioning his stiff joints as he goes limp. He noses into her neck, sniffling uncontrollably in her comfort, inhaling the sweet scent of her sugary, vanilla perfume.

She holds him as he lets himself go, he soaks the front of her nice shirt. It’s ugly and loud, him choking and more than likely getting more than just his tears on her.

..and she’s nothing but gentle. There’s no scolding; it’s just her shushing him, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, and rubbing his back softly. At some point, she starts to sing for him in low, soothing tones. It’s very sweet, but he doesn’t deserve it.

Her kindness makes him cry harder, just letting everything go. He’s been so pent up that the initial flow of wails, erupts into floodgates. It hurts after awhile, his eyes swollen and partially shut once he can’t get anything else to come out. He feels completely raw, battered, and a little bit.. renewed?

“Sorry,” he rasps, his voice strained from misuse and slightly muffled from his position against Laura’s chest, “M’sorry, sweetheart.”

“You’re okay, baby,” she smoothes her hand over his cheek, gently cupping his jaw, “Can I see your hand, please?”

He does exactly that, inhaling sharply as he sees his own damage from his straight razor, a birthday gift from Chris a decade ago.

You’re an old man now, huh, T.

Chris’ voice in his mind makes him wince. He feels pathetic, watching Laura gently prod at the gaping slash in his palm. It stings, but he’s had worse.. way worse.

“You’re going to need stitches, Trav,” she murmurs, straightening her back to look at him with determination, “You still have that kit here?”

He nods, pulling on the cabinet beside him, despite it running straight into his leg. He shifts over enough for the door to be opened and for Laura to pull out the small medical kit.

“Thank you, baby,” She settles back in front of him, leaning over to kiss his temple and then each of his cheeks. “We don’t have to do it now, but do you want to talk about it? No matter what it is, I love you, okay?”

“Love you too,” His lip twitches, averting his gaze. “Later, please.”

“Of course,” she gives him a small smile, “Now, do you have something to bite on or is this lidocaine still good?”

“It’s new,” it hurts to get more than a few words out, but he’s trying. His eyes wander back over, watching her as she worked meticulously. He’s always been fascinated by how nimble her fingers were, how quick and easy everything seemed. There’s a slight pinch as she gives him the shot, then it’s disposed of quickly into the small trash bin behind her.

She threads the needle with ease, only pausing to catch him looking at her. She cocks her head slightly, “Is it numb yet, baby?”

He shudders, feeling the uncomfortable pressure of her hand on his. He nods, giving her full access to his palm.

“Let me know if you start to feel anything, okay?” Her eyes pleaded with him after he nodded once more, “You’ve lost quite a bit of blood, Trav.”

“M’sorry,” he repeats, brows furrowing at the pressure of Laura starting her work on his hand. “M’sorry about our date.”

“Shhh, it’s fine,” her smile wobbles, a lone tear slipping down her cheek and onto his finger, “You just scared me, alright? I thought something happened at work- or.. or on your drive over-”

“I..I don’t know what I was doing,” His heart thumps, his other hand coming to rest on her thigh. It’s a weak squeeze, but it’s reassuring in nature. “I was getting ready.. and then all of a sudden there was blood.”

“Sounds like me once a month,” she gives a weak laugh, trying to lighten the mood. She then clears her throat, “I’m just glad I found you sooner than later, baby.”

Travis gives her a chuckle, it's light and hardly there. “How bad does it look, doc?”

“Well, it wasn’t that deep, so you didn’t hit an artery, so that’s good,” she studiously checks her stitching job, before finishing and wrapping it in a bandage. She holds onto his hand with both of hers, catching his eyes as she gently leans down and kisses the wound. “It definitely will take some time to heal, so nothing strenuous, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he smiles softly at her as she assists him up off the ground. He wobbles on his feet, but she holds her ground perfectly fine.

“Now, you’re going to go sit in your chair,” she nudges him in the general direction of the living room, “And I’m going to get you some water, and I’ll root around for something you can eat. Did you get groceries for this week?”

“Yeah,” he grunts as he’s manhandled into his recliner, “Went yesterday.”

A glass of cold water is thrust into his peripheral, of which he grabs and sucks down. He was parched, his head panging in the pain of dehydration.

“Slow down, baby. Don’t throw your body in shock.” Her small hand is back on him, careful and soft.

He licks his lip and grimaces at the taste; a mix of salt with the remnants of bile, setting the glass down on the side table. He gently touches her hand back, “Laur?”

She looks at him expectantly, a slight tremble in her hand as he turns his over, his thumb rolling over her knuckles.

“M’sorry,” he forces himself to look her in the eyes, “M’sorry, that I hurt you- sorry that I frightened you. I love you so very much. I.. don’t know what happened to me. Everything.. just became so loud and real.”

“Trav,” she crawls into the recliner, blanketing her partner with her body. She makes a soft noise at the feeling of his hand on her back, her nose at his throat, paralleling their pose from earlier, “What did you see, baby?”

He hesitates, everything was all still so fresh.. but he knew he was safe. Laura was here, his light in the darkness.. his beacon to come home. “..I saw Ma.”

“I was.. It was that night all over again. It felt so real, Laur,” He audibly swallows, hugging the blonde tighter to him. “She was..being herself, accusing me of.. Not being attentive enough to the family.”

He shudders slightly, “I was covered in blood- and.. and-”

“Shhh,” she kisses his throat, “You’re okay. You’re safe and here with me, baby. You’re okay.”

She sits up slightly, her hands on his shoulders. “You’re a good man, Travis. You’re kind, you’re sweet, and you’ll do anything to bring happiness to those you love.. I have plenty of first hand experience about that.”

His gaze goes downward, flushing,

She kisses his cheek, “You have nothing to worry about. We’re a team and we get through everything together, alright?”

He gives a weak chuckle, “Always.”

—-

Laura stays the night, it’s where they were going to end up anyway if they had followed through with the date. She makes herself cozy, making a quick dinner of breakfast casserole, the quickest way she could get a lot of iron back into the older man. It was rich in eggs, sausage, and spinach.. and she couldn’t lie, it’s probably one of the better things she’s able to make without looking up a recipe.

Travis is stubborn and makes sure he is the one to clean up the mess in the bathroom, he struggles using his less dominant hand, but he makes it work. Laura pops in right as he pockets the ring box, she does a thorough sweep with disinfectant spray and nudges him out of the small room so she can mop the floor.

He carefully goes down the hall, the fumes making him a little woozy.. Well that and the fact that she’d been so close to seeing the ring.

…the ring he was supposed to have proposed with tonight. He’d had it all planned out, after their dinner date, he was going to drive them out to this animal refuge she’d mentioned to him before. He’d spoken with the staff there and they’d given him a thumbs up on having a private moment in the cattle range. The blonde often talked to him about how “cute” the highland cows were, so.. why not?

But now that’s ruined, he’ll have to call them back and apologize.

Until Laura adjusts on his lap later that evening.

“Okay, I know that’s not you poking me,” she shifts again, rubbing up against the item in question. “What is that?”

“Ah, um–“ he flushes, putting his arm around her waist the best he can to try and stop her, “It’s.. it’s not. Um..”

He hears the blood in his ears as he maneuvers her off of him and stands up with her looking at him quizzically. He goes down to one, shaky knee.

“Travis, what are you doing?” Her eyes are wide, watching him pull out the box from his pocket.

“What I planned on doing today, sweetheart,” he sniffs, opening the box to show her the ring, “Laura, you’ve got my heart in a stranglehold.. and I can’t offer you much in return, but you’re my best friend and.. and the love of my life, who somehow.. keeps saving it.”

His red rimmed eyes glisten with emotion, the black pools looking like deep, far galaxies. Laura's eyes are looking back into his, her cheeks flushed beautifully with the hint of tears around her eyes.

“T-Trav-“ she sniffles, her lip quaking.

“Laura Kearney,” he tries his best to smile at her through his trembly emotions, “Sweetheart, will you marry me?”

The blonde catapults off the recliner, tackling him to the ground as she assaults him with kisses, covering him in affection as he squirms and starts to laugh at the sensations.

“Hey, hey-“ he chuckles as he bonks her lightly on the head with the ring box, “Was that a yes? Or are you trying to kill me?”

“Yes, dummy! I am saying yes!” She wraps her arms around his chest, pressing her face into his neck. “I love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart,” he sighs blissfully, squeezing her lightly.

The adrenaline wears off a little as Laura sits back and looks at him. Travis takes that moment to take her hand, looking at her intently, “C..can I?”

“Please,” she smiles, watching him take the small golden ring out of the box and slide it down her finger. “It.. feels perfect? How did you..?”

“..we’ve held hands a lot, I kinda.. memorized the size of your..” he blushes, rubbing his cheek nervously, “It’s weird, I know-“

Laura cups his face, looking at him with the deepest affection she’s ever felt for someone in her life. “Shut up, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

..and they kiss.

#hackearney #travis x laura #travis hackett #laura kearney #the quarry #hackearney ficlets #i love them i love them i love them

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imagine--if · 1 year

Note

I have been wondering who Riddler’s girl partner was, being who told the police that she had seen them go into the café. His plan necessitated his capture at that point, and I highly doubt he would have left things up to chance — no, she will be important.

A/N: That's such a relevant point and I can totally work with it 💚This was so fun to write haha it's getting me back into doing stuff for The Batman againnnn 😁 enjoy reading!! And let me know if you like the new imagine blog post layout thingy (I do 😏)

Wordcount: 716

"Lieutenant, we got a witness here, says she saw someone coming down the fire escape right after the shot. She said he went into the corner diner. The guy's sitting by himself at the counter, right now."

You blink up in faux worry at the policeman, who nods at you with a stern but thankful look.

"Thank you, miss. You should go home, where it's safe."

You nod, backing away from him, as he rushes off to get the rest of his team. Police cars start pulling up outside the diner you've come to time and time again, never a hotspot for trouble and the flashes of angry red and blue reflecting in its long windows now. GCPD stream out of their cars, guns held firm in their hands, as they shuffle around the building and hesitate at the entrance. In the midst of the chaos, a shadowed, jet-black dramatic figure appears, cold eyes boring through the glass of the diner and to the quiet man in the warm navy coat, sitting peacefully indoors.

The peace is sliced through as Martinez kicks open the door, his gun entering the place before he steps in, voice loud and demanding.

"Police! Hands up!"

But the man takes his time, his gentle grip flicking and working expertly on a symbol in his drink, calmly, patiently. You smile softly in the darkness of the opposite street, looking past the heads of police and cars to watch the familiar figure work his magic so naturally. It could only ever be natural to Edward Nashton, and it was something you were so used to, but still so amazed to seeing every day, for a time that seemed like so long, but must only be a few months. You could make out his face even though you couldn't see it properly; a small, nervous smile quirking up his lips ever so slightly, his round face boyish and youthful as it turned to take in the sight of uniformed apprehenders, glaring at him as if he was the pig, an unfeeling psychopath with no story good enough to make up for what he did.

But you knew.

He blinked up at them in a mirror-like way to how you stared up at that policeman, curious and innocent, with that glimmer of something more, darker and dangerous and oh-so-clever, in those murky green hues.

And though you couldn't hear what they were saying, you whispered it anyway, gazing at the sight with a shiver of adrenaline and love and nerves and a barrel of other emotions you couldn't stop to identify.

"He just ordered a slice of pumpkin pie."

Martinez lunges forward in the diner, slamming down The Riddler with a hateful force, two other men rushing to help, rifling through his pockets, yanking out the IDs and demanding an explanation that was left unanswered. And as they worked, guns raised and eyes glaring daggers, Edward's own stare flicked suddenly from the scene to you, barely visible in the drowsy streetlight at the end of the road you lingered at.

Even from there, you could read those eyes, soft and sweet and obsessively adoring, no matter the situation, And he smiled, smiled wide and prettily, ogling for your admiration, your approval. For you to tell him that you're proud of him, that you're in this together, that you can still see him because he's not invisible now, and he never will be. That he matters, and he matters to you.

All this is said unspoken, in one loving, long glance, and then he's ripped off the counter, shoved to the cars, the crowd of police following suit, along with the infamous Batman, who catches his gaze and returns it with one of coolness and intense indifference.

You let out a breath you don't realise you've been holding as he's driven away, leaning back against e concrete wall behind you, and roll your eyes to yourself with a knowing smirk. Now would come the stream all set up and ready for them to find, and then to rake their brains over when The Riddler's 'pretty little mystery' was mentioned near the end, in the midst of the retribution, and his followers would flood the chat with crazed hearts and impatient comments, ready for the real change.

⭒❃.✮:▹𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ◃:✮.❃⭒ (message me know if you want to be removed. ghost blogs/dead accs have been removed.)

@misadventures0fdes @junebugp @simestandswithtaylorswift-blog @carley-carley-carley @lostbunn @dragovegogrimborn @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @edwardspumpkinpie @murderbimbo00 @sweetums0kitty @beel-mcburger @cml-san @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @bimboanime @phoenixgurl030 @dangerouslittlefairy @yoyoanaria @yaeyuuki @vinxlsketches @beenz-beenz @ghoulsgraveyard @birds-have-teeth @repostingmyfavs @r3ptiliaaa @for3v3rda1sy @glitterycheesecakegladiator @moonwritesblog @lilyevans1 @httpsunflowersleep @hxney-lemcn @callsigncrash @bokksieu @skateb0red @philiasoul@felicityofbakerstreet @deadlights-darling @ireadandream @tinyryder @kpopgirlbtssvt @truecobblepot @jessicainhell

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freakymutant · 8 months

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Jonatello fanfic I made ! 🫶

Feel free to give me constructive criticism, I’m 13 years old so I’m not the best at writing lol . Its also kind of sloppy (I think) so idk advice is appreciated

WARNING : angsty af lol, theres some blood but its not very in depth

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Crickets chirped, bugs buzzed. The ominous forest crept with all sorts of exotic, intriguing creatures. It was a dark night, the leaves swaying along in a steady rhythm with the cold night wind. Yet of course, there was a mission the turtles needed to take action on, which was about a new mutant that had been causing a ruckus around the town, always leaving sticks and muddy trails to the forest. Which is how they ended up right in front of it. The blue masked turtle, Leo, was already giving her brothers orders. She was the leader after all.

“Okay.. Mikey, Raph, you two go with each other —“ Before she could finish, Raphael had already interrupted her with an annoyed groan.

“Mikey?! Come on, why can’t I go with Casey?!” He asked in a miffed tone of voice.

“Oh come on dude, I’m not THAT bad!” Mikey said in a playful tone. He wasn’t so affected by Raph’s arrogance, it was normal for him, especially as a little brother. Casey let out a chuckle, but Leo wasn’t having it.

“Enough already! Raph, just go with Mikey. Just follow orders.” Leo demanded, which was followed up with an irritated huff from Raph.

“Alright .. Casey, Donnie, you two go together.” Again, Leo was interrupted.

“What?!” Casey and Donnie both blurted out in synchronization.

“No way! I’m not going with this dull-witted jerk!” Donnie said, nudging Caseys shoulder roughly.

“Hey! What does that even mean!?” Casey fired back at Donnie, looking at him with an annoyed glare.

“Oh, use some context clues shells-for-brains!”

“No way you just said that, you’re the turtle!”

The two went on with their banter for a bit, Mikey and Raph enjoying the show a bit too much. Soon enough, Leo let a light groan escape under her breath.

“Alright, alright, enough you two!” She shouted out. The two boys were practically butting heads, but she pushed them away from each other so this argument wouldn’t escalate.

“Don’t argue too much, got it? That goes for you too.” Leo shot Mikey and Raph a piercing glare.

“Aye-aye, captain!” Mikey exclaimed, and with that, Mikey and Raph ventured off into the eerie forest. Leo sighed, then looked at Casey and Donnie, signaling for them to go too. They obliged, traveling into the uncanny forest.

The two boys stepped foot into the forest, the sound of grass being pushed up against the muddy ground and the snapping of twigs was the only thing heard in the moment. Casey was being his regular cocky self, stepping ahead of Donnie and taking the lead.

“Come on, Don-tron! Don’t pussy out now!” He said in a snide tone. The turtle rolled his eyes, scanning the area for any potential dangers.

“Yeah, okay Casey.” He said back, with a more irritated tone compared to Caseys. The gloomy forest crawled with all sorts of interesting topics, to Donnie at least, but the eeriness of it all kept him distracted. Donnie had a terrible premonition about this path, but he quickly dismissed these feelings in his head. He tried his best to focus on the main task at hand, looking for any signs of the new mutant that had been causing major disruption around the town. No one knew much about this new mutant, other than it was rather big and always made huge messes around the neighborhood.

“Keep up, would ya’?” Casey gave Donnie a huge, snarky grin as he ran through the forest. Donnie lectured him for running, as it was dangerous to run through such a dense, murky forest. Despite Donnies scolding, both boys heard a loud SNAP! from behind them. They both abruptly diverted their attention to behind them, doing a sharp 180 spin around. A dark, black figure was lurking in the depths of the forests shadows. Donnie stepped back, bumping into Casey unwittingly. He turned around out of instinct to what he had just clashed with.

“DONNIE!”

Heavy pants from their own breathing and the sound of twigs snapping, following it up with languid, raucous stomps. The two boys ran for their life through the crammed forest. Out of fear, they stuck to each other like glue. It was difficult to breath, and both of them were gasping for air as they raced through the gloomy forest, fearing for their own lives.

“You .. you know man ..” Casey stammered out through gasps for air.

“I’ve needed to tell you something.” He managed out once more, making sharp turns and dragging Donnie with him. Donnie glanced over at Casey, but then diverted his attention back to where he was running.

“What?! This isn’t the best time, Casey!” He blurted out, not in the mood for any of Caseys foolishness right now.

Casey was reluctant, with his words, and it was almost like he was putting it off. Eventually, he got out the words he needed to say.

“I.. I love you man! Like, really really! Not in a friend way. You .. you know?!” He fumbled over his words, squeezing his eyes shut as he ran through the grim forest. Donnies eyes widened in surprise, he looked over at Casey. Both of their hearts were beating out of their chests. Both for the same two reasons.

“W .. What?!” Donnie blurted out, completely dumbstruck by Caseys impulsive confession. He was so stressed in the moment, he just stopped in his tracks and looked at Casey, dumbfounded. Both of their faces tinted a crimson red color. Caseys pupils dilated, his eyes fixed on the figure behind Donnie.

“DONNIE!”

Emotion bottled up inside turtles body, before the top of the bottle bursted open and waves came flowing out. Tears streamed down his cheeks, dripping onto the boys paint splattered, torn hoodie. He didn’t even care for the aching pain in his legs, he didn’t care that he himself was covered in immense amounts of blood, he didn’t care that he was trembling. He held Casey close, not letting go for a second.

“Casey.. wake up.. please..” He pleaded, an imploring look plastered on his face as he looked down at the lifeless boy. The flow of blood from the boys chest was torrential and rapid. Donnie untied his purple mask, holding the bandana up to Caseys wound. The red blood seeped through the purple fabric. Donnies body got weaker, and weaker.. yet he never stopped begging for Casey to wake up. His sobs never stopped. His pleads never stopped. Til his body began to feel numb and tender. He stared at the limp boys body, the way his eyes were bloodshot and open. It was a horrific scene. He winced with pain as he tried to move his body. He looked down at himself, blood pouring out of his own wounds. So he waited there, and waited, and waited. Til a dark black abyss surrounded his mind, and he was finally at rest. With Casey right by his side, forever.

#jonatello #tmnt angst #tmnt fandom #tmnt 2012 #2012 tmnt #2k12 tmnt #tmnt 2k12 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #lgbtqiia+#2k12 donatello #2k12 donnie #2012 casey jones #casey jones #tmnt casey 2012 #tmnt casey jones #tmnt donnie #tmnt donatello

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emarasmoak · 2 years

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Charlie Vickers teases what to expect from Sauron in ‘The Rings Of Power’ season two. The breakout actor playing Tolkien's Dark Lord speaks out

Some pretty awesome hints on what is to come in season 2 and Charlie's hopes for his character.

Just two months ago, Charlie Vickers was a complete unknown – cast as a brand-new character in TV’s most expensive show ever, The Lord Of The Rings: The Rings Of Power. Since then, and thanks to playing Middle-earth’s most mysterious character yet, he’s shot to stardom, jumped onto magazine covers and grabbed the attention of all the right people. You might call him 2022’s breakout star to rule them all.

In The Rings Of Power, he plays Halbrand – a dashing young man with a murky past. It felt like he was one of the show’s main heroes. But as the series progressed, a shadow lengthened about him and he started acting suspiciously. The finale revealed that Halbrand is actually the dark lord Sauron in disguise.

With fans already looking towards season two (filming of which recently got underway), we met up with Vickers to find out about what’s still to come.

Hey Charlie, it’s been a pretty big week for you!

“Yeah it has been! I did some interviews this morning and then I went to the gym, went to a cafe, and did a bit of work on scenes I’m filming next week for the second season.”

Now everyone knows you’re Sauron, do you get strangers coming up to you?

“Yeah, they shout kill him! [laughs] No, that hasn’t happened yet but anyone that has said something has always been very nice.”

When did you find out you were Sauron?

“It was half-way through shooting. They took me onto the set in the Northern Waste which Galadriel discovers in the first episode. There are orcs stuck in walls. It’s nasty. They took me in there and they didn’t hail me or anything, they just said: ‘This is your kingdom, this is where you’ve been hanging out – you’re Sauron’. And I was like ‘holy shit!’”

Had you had an inkling?

“Morfydd [Clark, who plays Galadriel] and I were both theorising from the start. We chemistry tested together a couple of times and we were like ‘there’s something going on here’. I auditioned playing Satan from Paradise Lost and Richard III!”

Looking back on season one it’s clear Adar, played by Joseph Mawle, nearly recognises Halbrand as Sauron…

“Yeah, Joseph and I worked really hard in creating that story and it’s something we see more of in the second season. We see Adar and Sauron’s time and how they first connected. Adar’s going to have to do some saying sorry at some point though [for what he did in season one].”

And what about the connection between Sauron and the Stranger, played by Daniel Weyman?

“I’m not sure that Sauron knows that an Istar [the Stranger] has been sent from Valinor. We know [from Tolkien’s writings] that they were sent in the Second Age [when The Rings Of Power is set]. The Blue Wizards were sent and for the record I’m not sure if the Stranger is Gandalf. I know everyone thinks it is, but I genuinely don’t know. Of course he has some lines which mirror what Gandalf says [in Peter Jackson’s film trilogy] but I genuinely don’t know. I don’t think Sauron’s aware of that yet. He may have felt some disturbance when [the Stranger] crash-landed [in episode one]. He may have felt something because of course The Stranger is a Maia too. I think he will be a very troublesome foe in the future because he’s the closest thing to Sauron in Middle-earth in terms of power. I hope there’s some kind of dynamic to come there.”

What else can you tell us about season two – what can we expect from Sauron?

“All I can say is we’re getting into the meat of it now. The world has been established in season one and now we can get into the lore. I’m talking about the stuff at the heart of The Rings Of Power: the Akalabeth [the downfall of the kingdom of Numenor]. Sauron is out there now and there’s no longer any questions or theories about who he is – which is a shame for some I guess. We’re gonna be with him while he’s doing shit, while he’s out there manipulating people and taking on the elves.”

Eventually, he’s going to have to transform into the Sauron we know – would you be willing to get in the suit yourself?

“I have thought about that. When we get to the fifth season, am I going to have to look for another job? It’s one of those things. What did they do in The Mandalorian [when Pedro Pascal took off the helmet]?”

I guess it’s more like Obi Wan Kenobi, when Hayden Christensen suited up for Darth Vader after playing Anakin Skywalker…

“I would love to do that. I would love to do some acting through a suit, even if it’s just with prosthetics and not actually Sauron’s famous big suit [from the films]. There’s so many cool things that our Sauron could be at that stage. I’ve seen interpretations of him when he’s been deformed and artist drawings when he could no longer take his fair form [as Halbrand]. I loved it. So fingers crossed I can eke more time out on the show!”

Tell us about the promised two-episode battle we’re getting next season…

“I haven’t read that yet. I think it comes towards the end of the season. We’ve only got the first three scripts, three episodes. But [showrunners J.D. Payne and Patrick McKay] told me about it and it’s super exciting. The best thing is it’s in the lore. If you go to the appendices, you’ll see what’s about to happen. I think it’s going to be pretty epic.”

#halbrand #sauron #the rings of power #trop spoilers #charlie vickers #trop speculation #trop season 2 #trop interviews

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lightning-of-farosh · 9 months

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Mermaid Legend

I think this was a livewrite at some point but i never edited it and i never posted it. have some mer-legend!

Sand billowed out in small, rolling clouds, kicked up by a flat, pink fin. Fish darted out of the way, fleeing beneath the shadow of wide stingray wings and into the deep corners of a reef. Nothing followed them; the merman happy enough to weave between a shiver of frowning sharks.

He bopped one on the top of the head and darted off into deeper, bluer waters.

Desert stretched out before Legend; flat and full of sand, of wilderness, of everything and nothing all at once. He dragged his fingers along the ocean floor, winding back and forth with no set direction only to turn and watch as the murkiness he created settled grumpily behind him.

Spring had given way to summer, the waters warmed by currents from the south. Storms were replaced by bright blue skies and heavy sunlight that drew gold patterns along the sand. Legend admired the way they played across the stripes along his tail.

A sea turtle passed below him. No place to go, no place to be.

Dropping his hand, Legend traced the pattern along its shell with a finger and watched it head deeper into the blue. Sounds echoed from further out; whales and dolphins and beasts that had more teeth than he did. He debated heading over to see what the fuss was about but turned, instead, into a roll and kicked off in a random direction.

Darkness passed over him and Legend curled, watching the triangular shadow for a second. It flittered from left to right then back again and he darted after it, chasing across the sea floor with a boyish grin on his lips. One kick got him close enough that he could pounce, burying his fingers into the sand—

An octopus flashed bright red and scurried in the other direction.

Legend blew a few bubbles after it in apology and turned on his back, watching the shadow dart back and forth above him. Metal settled against his chest and he reached up absently, running his fingers along the edge of a ring before tangling his fingers in the leather necklace it was hanging from.

A bird passed over head. Another followed. He followed them with lazy flicks of his tailfin and spread out his arms to glide. The heaviness of the warm waters settled in his skin, chasing away the coolness that had been there for so long. Blonde hair drifted around his face, swirling like a pleasant storm. Pink was returning to it after all those years of dying it black and blonde.

He had missed it.

Somewhat.

Fish scattered around him and Legend flared out his fins, using the drag to slow him to a stop. There were shadows above, shadows below. A school broke and formed around him, twisting as one and parting as many.

Legend swam below it, settling with his back in the sand to watch feathers break the surface of the water as beaks snatched what they could. It would have been easier for the birds with a pod of dolphins circling like a pack of shepherds because the fish would have nowhere to go.

As it was, the school simply parted and most of the birds shot back into the sky empty bellied.

Wondering—briefly—which group he should play with, Legend brushed his tail back and forth through the sand. It rose around him, drifting like a storm cloud across his bright scales, and there was a distant rumble of thunder.

He twisted, eyeing the sunlight that drifted through the surface, at the shadows of birds and fish and half formed clouds that dotted the bottom of the sea. Ignoring the dance of predator and prey behind him, Legend kicked away from the sand and broke the surface. His hair stuck to his face and ears, clinging to his skin and he wiped it out of the way with a scowl.

There was a pod of clouds in the distance. Grey. Dark. Heavy. They were singular in the sky; a patch of darkness on a blue canvas.

A seagull squawked above him. Legend glanced up at it and frowned.

“Yeah, yeah,” He told it and rolled his eyes. His fin caught the water and he kicked forward, diving back under the surface and shooting off towards the out-of-place storm. A few smaller fish got caught in his wake and were brushed to the side, little fins rushing to dart out of his way.

Legend didn’t notice, arching over the remains of a small fishing boat, around a small forest of kelp, and twisting between two of the larger boulders.

One scraped along his dorsal but he ignored it, watching the sky darken the closer he got to the storm. The water grew shallower; crab claws replacing small schools of fish and old nets threatened to snatch him from where they had been caught along rocks and branches of white streaked coral.

Heavy waves picked up the sand and he swam up, surfacing a second time to look up at the side of a towering cliff.

A wave crashed against the back of his head and Legend cursed when he was forced back under.

Stupid, he thought, waiting for another to pass before rising again. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the different light and he kicked to steady himself, arms stretched out for balance. Crested white caps pushed against him, trying to nudge him closer to sharpened rocks but he kicked against the force, fighting to keep place.

Light flashed in the darkness. Thunder rumbled above his head.

Beyond the small patch of the storm, there was nothing but clear blue skies.

Magic.

He dropped back down and swam back, closer to the edge of the clouds and kicked hard against the bottom to shoot up. Half his torso breeched the waves.

A flash of silver steel, of brown, of green.

Lightning crashed from the heavens, echoing a howl of rage.

Legend dropped back into the water before the earth shattering boom could rattle his bones.

Definitely magic. His fingers dug into sand and he watched for any more angry flashing light—but it only flickered, fading away and leaving the clouds behind. Legend pushed off the sea floor, rising slowly, and peeked his eyes above the waves to look up at the sky. His heart was hammering in his chest, old memories of storms rising like a tsunami in his chest—

Red caught his eye and he twisted, baring his teeth in a half formed snarl.

Fire fell, spitting and sparking, into the waves. It existed for a moment in the water despite its nature and then faded, swallowed up by the unforgiving ocean. Small bits of rock tumbled down the cliffside, knocked astray by a heel.

Legend turned his gaze up to the young man backed up against the ledge.

His blade was a hungry blaze, arching to block the swing from a mace, the thrust of a sword, the arch of an axe. Creatures with the faces of pigs and canines and lizards snarled at him, climbing over each other to get closer.

Legend cursed himself for leaving his sword behind as he reached for the ring against his chest.

Well, it wouldn’t matter. A rock could bash in a monster skull if it was thrown hard enough.

He tugged on the leather necklace, prepared to pull it over his head when hands grabbed a green tunic, pulling the teenager away from the edge of the cliff.

That’s nice of them, Legend thought. They normally try to push me off it.

The teen wrenched out of their grip, green fabric tearing as he stepped back—

His weight teetered backwards, shield flung out as if for balance. Gravity wrapped hungry, desperate fingers around the heavy metal and tugged the kid off the cliff and into the waters below.

“Shit!” Legend cried, diving under the water and racing forward. Not the rocks, he begged, having to take it slow because of the sand kicked up from the storm. Not the rocks, not the rocks, not the—*

His fingers found cloth. Found skin. He wrapped his arms around a chest and kicked back, heading up and away, diagonal from any possible danger. Nails dug into his shoulders and something batted uselessly against Legend’s chest as he kicked and kicked and kicked.

They surfaced with a gasp and he looked down at messy brown hair, at wide, half-coloured eyes—

A palm shoved against his face.

Legend sputtered and a fist knocked against his chin, his collar, his shoulder. “Wait, wait!” He almost dropped back beneath the surface. “Shit, kid! Stop it—!”

“Let go of me!” Toes caught on his scales and pushed.

“Fine! Hylia,” Legend snarled. “Have it your way,” He said, shoving the kid away.

The brown haired teen stayed above the water for a second, arms and legs flailing uselessly.

And then he dropped like a stone.

“Shit!” Legend scrambled down after him. He grabbed the back of the tunic that time, wrenching the teen back to the surface.

He was coughing, gagging on salt water.

Serves him right.

“What the hell, kid!”

“Geddoff me!”

“No!” Legend shook him like a misbehaving shark. “You can’t swim, you idiot!”

A hand missed his ear by inches. “Screw you! I’m not going back with you—”

Wait, Legend blinked. What?

“—pig faced, ugly ass, red loving shit stain of a—”

“First of all,” Legend cut him off, “rude. Look at me. I’m none of those things.”

The kid splashed water at his face.

Little shit.

Legend shook him again for good measure. “Second of all, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Narrowed eyes stared at him, searched his face, caught on the point of his ears and the line of his jaw.

And then they looked down.

“You have a tail.”

Goddess, Legend rolled his eyes. “And you have legs. Let’s move on.”

“Why do you have a tail?”

“Because my mommy had one and my daddy had one and one day they decided to make babies—”

There was a splash behind them. Both turned and watched one of the lizards slipping through the waves like a serpent.

“Fuck,” Legend bared his teeth and watched the silver beast get closer. Its eyes flashed yellow in the lightening shadows as electricity sparked across the horn on its head. “Give me your sword.”

The teen muttered something.

“What?”

Brown eyes flashed. “I said ‘I dropped it’!”

“Dropped it? Where?”

“Where do you think, genius?”

Legend cursed.

The lizard was getting closer. Above them, the storm clouds were clearing.

“Don’t hit me again,” Legend told the teen, turning around and pulling him closer. “And hang on.”

Timid fingers brushed against his shoulder then gained more confidence as they brushed against the leather of his necklace and the scales along his collar. Arms locked around his neck and Legend could feel the pounding of the kid’s heart against his back.

“Deep breath,” he said and waited for the sharp sound of an inhale before dropping. Using the extra weight to spin around, Legend kick off towards the side of the cliff.

The shadow of the lizard passed overhead. Sharp, white claws were too slow and Legend’s tail slipped easily past its grasp.

His burst of speed put enough distance between them and the monster for a moment and Legend used his hands to feel for stone and kelp and sand.

Bubbles blew past his hair.

Hang on, kid, he thought, patting frantically against the sand. Hang on, hang on—

The grip around his neck loosened.

Legend’s fingers hit metal. He snatched the hilt of the silver blade, dug out the shield beside it, and tucked both against his chest as he shot towards the surface.

There was a frantic, desperate gasp against his ear and the teen shuddered against his back, shaking and coughing wetly against his shoulder.

“You okay, kid?” Legend adjusted his grip on the sword and watched as a crocodile shaped head lifted out of the water.

The monster opened its mouth bearing its curved, pointed teeth.

Legend bared his right back.

Coughing continued against his back, but the hand against his chest curled and offered a weak thumbs up.

Good lad, Legend thought, pressing the shield against his chest with one hand and hoisting the sword with the other. “Take another deep breath for me, then.”

There was a grumble against his skin. It was probably something rude.

Despite himself, Legend smiled. The kid had fight in him. That was good.

Lungs expanded and he heard the rush of an inhale. Legend dropped back below the surface and pushed himself as fast as he could, rushing forward in a roar of bubbling water. The sword was held out in front of him like a spear as sand rose in his wake, launched up with the force of his kicking. The lizard creature scrambled out of his way with a screech and Legend laughed, spinning he took the boy on his back further and further into the open ocean.

#Linked Universe #LU Legend #LU Hyrule #Fabulist Tales

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