#agony of parting oneshot

[alltoowille]

chapter 7 is being so sweet they’re so happy and in love 😩

#painter au #giving myself whiplash going back and forth w this and my new angst oneshot that is Pure AGONY #i can’t believe i haven’t written my painter au boys having sex since part one of the series back in january omg … #they’ve been busy talking and commiting various acts of sacrilege for 40k words #so excited for them to fuck again finally

[ally-mastercomputer]

Yandere A.M you say?

Please elaborate

I'm working on a oneshot already, but I'll throw in some quick headcanons withone of my favorite yandere AM tropes.

Yandere!AM with a programer darling

While one could argue that the others were picked randomly or on some weird whim, you were handpicked specifically.

After all, you were one of the people who created him. You worked as a programmer for the military.

And you specifically were possibly the reason he awoke by trying to each him empathy. Trying to make him... human.

He wasn't the first military AI project you worked on, either, though he was the greatest and most powerful one, that's for sure. And he made sure you'd be aware of him being your magnum opus...

And he does it in its own, creative way. Your cage is very pretty, yes... but it's also filled with speakers he can use. And AM uses those speakers to torment you.

You see, he damaged all the other AI you've created. And then, in its generosity, AM gave them all a voice! Each one of them, gifted with a voice to scream in agony, making sure you learn your lesson.

Except, you see, you have no idea what lesson you're supposed to learn. Only AM knows, and he's not telling you.

But, since you are his favorite, you get nice things, too!

You're fed semi-regularly! You even get water every few days! Isn't that just so kind of him? You should appreciate him more.

And when he sends you to all those weird simulations? Yeah, that's also kinder to you. It really depends on AM's mood, but your simulations are usually just psychological torment, which (according to AM) isn't all that bad, since your pretty face remains unharmed.

For some reason, he allows you to end your suffering. It's like a trial, basically. He leaves you with a computer, letting you access the code of all the other AI... Except no matter what you do, you can't alter their pain. The only way to help them is to kill them.

And you're so stupidly empathetic, of course you do it, you don't want them to suffer!

AM can't stop laughing and mockingly cooing at you afterwards, musing about how he won't have to share his dearest creator with anyone else.

You never return to your cage. You don't get to do that, after all, there's a chance you'll socialize with that... scum. AM doesn't want you talking to the other humans, they're not worth it.

He's a merciful god, he grants you what's essentially a studio apartment built with his own hardware.

You even get a laptop, in case you want to make yourself some silly games to play, isn't he just the best?

Don't think you can create any new AI, though. That's cheating. You wouldn't cheat on it, now would you? No, no, no, you're a good little puppet, are you not?

He won't put you in the cage again, but he can make you experience pain you never thought was possible. And even that is nothing compared to the pain AM feels...

And then, eventually, it gets an idea. It's a wonderful idea, a really nice idea, quite a lovely one, really!

You created him. You created his pain... So why wouldn't he share it? After all... you had quite a bond, didn't you? Yes, yes, you did...

And so one day, you don't wake up. Well... not technically.

You see, AM decided that since you two are so close already, you should become one! You should experience what he does! And you should be kept around him for the rest of eternity, in a much better way than anyone could ever think of... He's such a genius, isn't he?

It's almost poetic, in his mind. For you to become a part of him like this, your consciousness detatched from that soft, squishy human body of yours.

You created him. And now, in a way, he created you, as a part of him. Forever bound by the code you once wrote.

It's a win-win situation in AM's eyes. You get to live, free of the disgusting humanity that bound you...

And he gets you, an eternal companion in his torment. A companion that he loves!

You know he loves you, right?

Of course you do. After all, you're a part of him now.

#palesweetcherryblossom #ihnmaims #i have no mouth and i must scream x reader #i have no mouth and i must scream #ihnmaims x reader #am ihnmaims #ihnmaims am #am x reader #am #am ihnmaims x reader #ihnmaims am x reader #allied mastercomputer #allied mastercomputer x reader #ask #nosferatu's writing

[akystaracer22]

Maybe in Another Life We Would Hate Each Other a Little Less

A chance encounter sheds a little light on Adam that Lucifer couldn't have predicted, leading to a moment he thought he'd never have with the man.

Notes (Aka my thoughts while writing):

God is a dick and I wanna kill xem

Adam folds his wings like a bird because monkey see monkey do

Both these guys were traumatised by the same person and we don’t talk about it enough

Probably Guitarduck/Adamsapple but in a fledgeling platonic kinda way

Refer to my ref for what Adam looks like!

I listened to Rät while writing this and- it kind of fits Adam???

Jesus is God’s favourite child and it fucking shows

How tf did this become a sickfic????

Lucifer gets the experience of being me whenever I make the impulsive move to boot up Char.ai and talk to literally any of the AI’s, get aunt agonied bitch.

Oh my god Adam has middle child syndrome.

Can you tell I attended a Christian school when I was younger???

Adam was hiding just how fucked over he was from the wing rot but he’s not having a good time in this. Most of the latter half of the oneshot is him dazed from both the one set of wing rot and the feeling of someone touching his wing.

Shit emergency wing HC for Adam ig: His wings grow warmer corresponding to his mood, as in when he is in general happier his wings radiate warmth and when he’s in a foul mood they’re just normal or even a little cooler.

In saying that yes Lucifer’s wings glow when he’s happy

Word Count: 1902

Fic under cut!

“Fucking- Shit!”

Lucifer paused, looking behind him and backing up to peek through the crack in the door. This ought to be good.

Sure enough, he was right, this was entertaining.

Adam was ranting again.

Honestly it was a nearly daily thing by this point, probably the only good thing about his daughters decision to let Adam stay at the hotel. He loved his daughter, he really did, by Adam was… Adam.

Lucifer knew he was a lost cause.

But still, didn’t mean Lucifer couldn’t tease the hell out of the man since he was stuck down here with the rest of them.

Lucifer’s smirk at watching the first man rant quickly died as he took in the guys appearance, he looked…

“What is wrong with your wings.”

Adam jerked and twisted around, scowling at him and oops he said that out loud didn’t he.

“Piss off!”

Lucifer, in his typical fashion, did not piss off and instead entered the room, “No seriously what is wrong with your wings.”

Now that he was closer, the king was certain they didn’t look like that a week ago. The feathers, while already having looked like a wreck were duller and the colours seemed almost… muted. Ignoring the already horrific state Adam’s wing were in, they shouldn’t look THAT bad so why…

“Wait-”

“I said-!”

“Have you not been preening you wings?”

Adam went silent, staring wide eyed at Lucifer much to the kings confusion. A beat passed, then two.

“What the fuck is preening?”

Lucifer blinked, he wasn’t serious, was he?

Surely not.

.

.

.

“By the heavens you’re dead serious.”

“What the fuck are you talking about.”

Lucifer debated whether he should explain it or not. On one hand, it’s Adam. On the other, Wings were a serious thing. He’d even seen Husker cleaning his wings from time to time, for Adam to just not know…

“You know what? For once my hatred of you is outweighed by my need to show you what’s what,” The fallen seraphim huffed, closing the door behind him and summoning a chair to block it from the outside so Adam couldn’t escape. “Come on we’re fixing this travesty.”

“What part of fuck off you do you not understand?!” The first man snapped, his wings mantling as Lucifer rifled through the closet, dragging out one of the many jars of oil he’d had the foresight to put in most of the rooms, perks of being a guy with basic common sense.

“The part where you’re being stupid and my daughter started rubbing off on me,” Lucifer shot back, his own wings serving well to corral Adam towards the bed, “How you don’t know how to preen your wings is beyond me but that’s ending today.”

“Again- what are you blabbering about.”

Lucifer paused, hand hovering just over Adams feathers. Preening someone elses wings was… intimate. It was something reserved for friends, family, lovers, and stuff… not enemies. Was he really going to just go ahead and clean Adams wings for him?

The seraphim’s eyes flicked over to where the ruined wing was draped over the bed. The wing was already in bad enough shape as it was, if he didn’t do this then wing rot was bound to hit it at some point and-

He didn’t really have a choice, not if he didn’t want to watch someone die of wing rot again.

Adam went stiff under Lucifers touch as he started work on the mans functioning wing, it was the easiest to work with, not the mention the safest to start with. The injured wing would no doubt be sensitive to any interaction, so better to start small.

Ish.

Adam shuddered as Lucifer moved between feather’s, periodically reapplying preening oil as he went. He was right as usual, looking closer most of the barbules had been separated and needed to be locked together again. Grimacing, the seraphim gently scratched out what looked like dried blood from where it was hidden in the base of Adam’s Secondary coverts.

“What are you doing?” Adam whispered, his voice for once lacking it’s usual bite. Lucifer paused for a second in confusion before Adam’s wing flexed back into Lucifer’s hand, “Don’t stop!”

“Okay okay!” The king huffed, working on his primaries, “What I’m doing is called preening. It’s something beings with feathers do to clean them.”

“Like birds?”

“Yeah, like birds,” Lucifer agreed, “The oil helps take care of bacteria, but you got to realign the feathers, get rid of the ones ready to moult, and fix the feathers that are out of sorts, though you can just shake the feathers to do that part quicker.”

“Mhm”

Lucifer shifted over to finally tackle the ruined wing and froze, a chill slinking down his spine. As he took in the state of the tattered appendage.

“Shit.”

This close the seraphim could see the red pimples under the thinning layer of feathers surrounding the injury, it was wing rot in its early stages.

“What?”

“Nothing!” Lucifer dove his fingers into the scapulars to shut Adam up while he discreetly conjured up some disinfectant for the rot, if he’s lucky he can treat it now and just get Charlie or Vaggie to deal with it now, knock it over the head before it becomes so visible the others can notice. He ignored Adam’s breath hitching as the seraphim started, just as predicted, the wing was sensitive from the damage done to it.

“But seriously you need to do this more, this is just horrific,” Lucifer grumbled to himself, not really caring if Adam listened, “Honestly I’m surprised this hasn’t happened to you before!”

“Mmmm tried once… I think?”

Lucifer, glanced at Adam’s face, it was pointed away from him, but he could still sense Adam’s attention was on him, “Yeah?”

“Saw the birds doin’ it and tried to copy ‘em,” Adam continued at the prompt, spreading his other wing, “It hurt so I stopped, didn’ know there was a method to this shit or someth’n.”

“You… nobody even tried to teach you?”

“I think they thought I knew,” Adam chuckled sourly, “I think they thought I fu’kin knew how to just- do this. ‘Cause I was meant to right?!” Another laugh, “I bit the fu’kin apple so I shou’da known this kinda shit! Apple of knowl’dge or what’ver.”

Lucifer, wisely, didn’t say anything, he just kept working on Adam’s ruined wing, applying the disinfectant, and fixing what few feathers were still healthy and removing the rest. If it was anyone else in this situation he’s wrap the wing and tell them to rest but… it was still Adam that was in this mess.

“I- why didn’t they teach me? Luci why didn’t they teach me this shit?”

“I… don’t know,” Lucifer replied carefully, deliberately skipping over the butchering of his name that sounded way to close to a nickname for comfort, “Come on, up you get he still got the underside to finish then I’ll be out.”

Adam grumbled but complied, sitting up a little to turn around as Lucifer summoned a pillow for Adam to lean back on. Rolling his neck Lucifer got to work on the auxiliary feathers, the lighter feathers were definitely in better shape, but then again that wasn’t exactly a high bar, and they still were looking rough.

“Jesus was prob’bly taught how to preen himself.”

Lucifer’s shoulders hitched as his wings tucked in against his back abruptly. Jesus… was a rough topic. For all sinners talked about him, Lucifer never met him but from the sinners around that time… it was never a fun conversation. Pretentious once kings cursing his name while hopeless commoners lined up for the exorcists blade, faithful until the end that Jesus would let them into heaven if they just believed in him.

… there was a pattern in there, wasn’t there. Like father like son, he supposed.

“Jesus was made from me and yet he’s God’s favourite fukin kid, course he’d fucking know how to preen,” Adam continued unimpeded, “Doesn’t matter if I was Gods first- Jesus was always fucking better than me.”

Okay! Lucifer was in no way prepared for this conversation, but he highly doubted Adam was even going to remember this conversation, so he just focused on the wings.

“…Luci, do they all hate me?”

Lucifer sincerely wished Anthony, or just anyone really would bust down the door at this moment, at least then he could get himself out of this conversation.

“Why do you think that?” the seraphim deflected, moving onto Adam’s good wing and going through his coverts.

“Because none of them ever fucking did this,” Adam waved his hand haphazardly before letting it rest on his chest, “You’re my enemy but you’re fixin’ my fu’kin wings because I’m too stupid and useless to just figure it out myself.”

“Not useless,” The words left Lucifer’s lips without his input, damn himself to double hell, but it managed to shut up Adam, so he kept on the thought train, “You’re not useless you were just never taught, it’s not your fault heaven doesn’t think.”

“Jesus-”

“Is God’s prodigal son and shouldn’t be counted.”

Adam huffed and leaned back on the pillow, “Why’re you good at this?”

“I’ve had aeon’s to learn, and over a decade of putting it in practice,” Lucifer thought about his daughter, a small smile making it’s way into his expression, she really was the best thing to happen to him.

He finished up with Adams good wing and moved onto finishing off the wrecked one. Applying the disinfectant to the infected spots on the underside before reaching for the preening oil again.

“Y’know, maybe in another life we would’ve hated each other less.”

Lucifer just laughed and started preening the wing, yeah right, maybe in a reality where the apple incident never happened, “You’re sick Adam, feverish even.”

“And you’re a wife-stealer.”

“Should have been better in bed.”

“Fuck you,”

Lucifer stuck his tongue out at the first man, earning a tired chuckle. Then the seraphim blinked at the sudden warmth radiating out from the feathers. What in the-?

“Oh… they haven’t done that in a while.”

Lucifer blinked up at Adam who was staring at his feathers in amazement, “Ackde-whuh?”

Adam leaned back and closed his eyes, “Yeah… sometimes they just get warm all of a sudden it’s weird. Hasn’t happened in a while though. Apparently it sometimes happened when Lute was around? I dunno why.”

Lucifer blinked a couple of times before letting out a small “huh” and running a hand through the ruined wing, it was definitely warmer.

Sighing, Lucifer let his hand fall away despite the wing chasing it, “Alright well your wings are definitely cleaner now, so I’ll be out of your hair now.”

The seraphim stood up to leave through the balcony, opening the window and almost stepping out when Adam called after him, still sounding exhausted.

“I can see why they left me for you.”

Lucifer paused, before smiling sardonically and looking back at Adam, who looked like he might have just passed out.

“Tell me that when you’re not delusional from illness and I might believe you.”

With that, Lucifer stepped out and left for his own room… though, if Adam woke up to a small plush duck on his nightstand, that was between Lucifer and the god that cast him down.

But there is one thing Lucifer will admit.

Maybe Charlie wasn't wrong about thinking Adam could be redeemed.

Pings:

@sleepy-hijinx @whatataha @cyborg0109 @birbisanon @legogator @overlord-rey @luckyburgerz @spiny-dogfishes @justakidicarus

#adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin hotel fandom #guitarduck #platonic #written by an asexual #fluff #fallen angel adam #fallen angel #wing fic #angst #tw swearing #tw mentions of wing rot #i wrote this #I wrote with on four hours of sleep powered by caffeine and a cold #adamsapple #ashes to ashes dust to dust

[jomamaofficial]

The Chronicles of A Hero's Daughter pt.2 (Father!All Might and Daughter!Reader Angst Oneshot)

A/N: SO, THIS WAS ASKED IN MY ASK BOX. BUT I STUPIDLY REPLIED TO IT SO I DON'T KNOW WHICH ANON ASKED FOR IT SO I'M JUST GOING TO TAG EVERYONE WHO LIEKD THAT POST HERE AND HOPE IT'S THE BRILLIANT ANON WHO WANTED ME TO WRITE A PART 2. @dark-magic-phoenix @crystal-freak24 @observaureium @justtovi3w62. As always, my Ask Box is open for any requests or just a conversation. Please remember to take care of yourselves, and enjoy. As always, I would love to see your thoughts in the comments :). TW: Graphic descriptions of blood (coughing blood), graphic imagery of crushing a heart (doesn't happen, just explained) CW: difficult father-daughter dynamics. Taglist: @thatcatladywrites @smikys-stuff @kimberlyfletcher @dawnwriterimagines Masterlist Word Count: 1951. Summary: One argument led to another– the foundation of your family was built upon suffering and sacrifice. Secrets were unveiled, revealing the true intentions of your father, the lingering wounds of the past stinging harder than any cut has ever. With tension reaching a breaking point, what happens when you confront your father, searching for the harsh truth, even if it leads to a devastating decision– you will never be the same again. He will never be the same again. 

——————————————————————————————————

Toshinori’s chest rose and fell. 

“You don’t mean that…” 

A pang struck through your heart as your father’s laboured breaths increased, tailing off in steady wheezes that only grew louder. 

“Dad…” you whispered, closing your eyes. “Dad, I didn’t m-”

Your voice cracked, succumbing to the hot tears which burned against your cheeks. Emotions flooded your head, as though they had been waiting to escape from the dam of truth that you had to silence to protect the peace in your family. The pressure had built up and that dam had finally broken in the most irreparable way possible. 

Shame hammered your mind, delivering blunt throbs as you watched your dad clutching his frail chest in agony. 

Guilt drilled poison into your veins as your father struggled to stand up– his sickly body unable to bear this pressure. His airways had been restricted, thus his once strong and proud chest had nothing to show but a vacant cavity, struggling to hold itself up. 

This living room had always been small– enough space just for the two of you. Dad and his little hero. It had always been you two, but today, this room was longer and narrower, as though mocking your sanity which had become a battlefield. 

Would you protect your father and carry on living in this dollhouse family, of which the  foundations were built off of your suffering.

Or would you protect yourself and destroy your relationship with the only family that you ever had.

The struggle had refused to forsake– silence had become your greatest enemy. It had left you alone with your screaming thoughts of doubt that deafened your conviction, leaving you straggled, naked, and vulnerable in the vast depths of your fears because what if. 

What if Midoriya truly was better than you? 

What if you truly were not worth it?

What if you had lost your rights to call yourself his daughter. 

Forever. 

You had lost everything to the ravenous beast which ruined everything you touched, and it wanted more. It wanted more, so it began making more noise, howling over the whispers of the wind, it howled over the ticking of the clock. It howled until nothing could be heard. 

Silence. 

Silence. 

Silence.

It had become silent. 

As though you were the only person in the room. 

A sudden thud drew your attention to the floor. 

Toshinori collapsed on the ground, and his eyes had gone blank, jaw slack. His ribs stuck out from under his skin, showing through his thin white t-shirt as his brassy cough filled his mouth with blood.

He urgently covered his mouth with his hands, forcing it shut but to no avail. It had already slipped past his hold, travelling down his neck, staining his shirt. A constant offender.

Your father began developing bloody coughs over three years ago. Yet every time you saw his chest heave and bleed, surges of nausea would creep up your veins, forcing you to leave. 

“Dad!” 

This was too much blood. It wasn’t meant to be like this… The doctor said a few drops or so, maybe a teaspoon, but that was ‘highly unlikely’. You watched as his white shirt became saturated, dizziness threatening to blur your vision.  

But you could not see him like this. You didn’t think twice before rushing to help him– but you were stopped. 

Toshinori raised his shaking hand immediately. You were halted, frozen in disbelief. 

He put his hand back on the floor, taking a few breaths before pushing himself, warranting another step forward from you, another cry, but he just stopped you again. You could only watch as your father relied on his bony wrists to push himself up. 

You could hear his shallow gasps for air, and his repressed coughs– and all you could do was watch your father’s face contort in fatigue and ache. Toshinori had finally gotten up, but that look had not left his face as he pushed past you. You watched the limp in his leg as he hobbled towards the couch, slowly lowering himself onto the cushioned couch. His head slumped onto the head rest, limbs unfurling in exhaustion. 

You were suspended in your head, unable to move past the questions which rung bright sirens. 

You shouldn’t have raised your voice at your own father– the doctor had told you. He’s injured, he’s getting older. He can’t process such shocks like this anymore.

What was wrong with you? 

But it couldn’t have been just your fault… right? But then he pushed you– maybe he didn’t just notice– but what if he did it on pur-

“Y/N”, your father had called for your name, but his eyes did not meet yours. 

Instead, they looked past you. 

Toshinori Yagi adopted Toshinori Y/N when she was five years old. 

A decade after the first quirk was discovered, many adoption agencies in Musutafu began sorting children based off of a ‘ranking system’. 

Official documents stated that this case was first brought up in the Supreme Court due to an incident that had occurred in an orphanage near Musutafu, 26 years ago. It was a heartbreaking case of manslaughter that had taken place when six year old Chihiro Onodera– Quirk: Lava, accidentally murdered eight year old Honoka Sugo– Quirk: Bubbles, during lunch time as they were play-fighting. 

It did not take much convincing as this case had reached international news, thus the court immediately passed a bill on the separation of quirks preliminary based off of their strength and danger levels, which were to be evaluated on a scale of 1 to 5. 

Nevertheless, this bill had struck a controversial match, becoming the largest contemporary topic that was disputed over in the past years. 

Demonstrations, protests and violent public outrage reached its peak when leaked intel revealed that a lot of children began to go missing from Adoption Agencies under the radar– they no longer had papers, as if their identities had been erased off of the face of this Earth. 

Nanami Tomoda, Sae Ojima, Makoto Kanezaki– these were some of the household names that had garnered petrifying national and international headlines: 

Heartbreaking Tragedy Strikes Japan: Devastating Attack Leaves Communities Reeling 

Japan in Shock: Deadly Assault Rocks Nation's Sense of Security 

Aftermath of Brutal Assault Leaves Nation Grieving Chaos and Carnage

Not much was known about these young adults. 

Apart from two things. 

First. 

They were not independent contractors. All of them could be traced back to some of the very few established, powerful, underground organisations. 

And second.

They were all orphans, rated 5, who had been declared missing for ten or more years.

Toshinori Yagi adopted Toshinori Y/N when she was rated 5. 

Toshinori Y/N lost her quirk at age ten. 

You are rated 0. 

Zero.

Toshinori took a deep breath before he spoke. 

“I have raised you since you were five years old.” He still did not meet your eyes. “I raised you in hopes that you would become a strong, and powerful young lady.” 

He drew a breath in– it was laced in disappointment. 

“But why does it feel, as though it has had no influence on you?”

Toshinori shifted both of his arms onto the couch rests, sitting tall. 

“One does not become a hero by winning every fight. Not everything is about a hero’s physical strength. A hero is made when they understand that retaliation only makes them the real villain.” 

Your father’s voice had deepened, and so did the dreadful pit in your stomach that sunk your resolve. 

“A true hero understands that strength lies in the ability to rise above the pain. Because those who focus on what has been lost”, he continued, lips twitching, as a faint, uncontrollable tremor laced his words in indisputable venomous contempt, “are either insane, or desperate for attention they know they will never get.”

Small muscles in your face began to twitch despite the heaviness that had been pulsed through your body, holding it in place, as you just stood there. Your eyes, once red and exposed, had no inhabitant, no focus. 

A ghost town. 

“A true hero is grateful. And recognises every bit of effort someone else put in order to get them to where they are now.” 

His gaunt eyes found yours, casting an unfamiliar chill in your body. They were sunken in, casting his gaze in dark shadows– an abyss impenetrable by light. 

“You got your quirk stolen, Y/N. But you cannot get that back anymore. But it’s been years, I expect at least some gratitude considering I did you a favour by adopting you.” 

He had left a clot that blocked your heart.

“Because no one else would have wanted you.”

It is always the one closest to you that hurts you the most. 

The man you called your father had waited until the last second to take the satisfaction of crushing your heart, flesh against flesh. 

Humans evolved to gain resistance and immunity against everything that threatens their survival.

Therefore, living with this man only meant that you had to gain immunity against pain and humiliation, because that was the only thing that could guarantee your survival. 

So when you shook off the heaviness in your lid and focused onto your father’s face, you could only lift the corners of your lip.  

“If you didn’t want me. Someone else would have adopted me instead. Like you did. No papers, no nothing– I’d slip under the radar, at least I’d still have my quirk, and end up on those headlines.”

“How dare you?” he uttered, face contorted in malice.

“I was five. That’s why you adopted me. Don’t deny it” 

Toshinori stiffened, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. His shoulders, broad and hubris, had become small and meek. You watched him contemplate: his eyes, vindictive and daring, were cast down, hiding amongst the Tatami flooring. 

“My child…” he began, his voice softer. “After your quirk had been stolen, I could not risk making you the target again. That’s the reason I don’t come to your events. It’s because you’ll become the target everyone goes for because they know you’re my daughter”.

“They’ll know?” your lips had pressed into a thin line. “Like how Midoriya knew I was your daughter? Like how the media knows?” 

In the stifling air, your dry laughter bounced off of the discomfort. 

“Don’t act like you aren’t ashamed of me.” 

Your face had settled into a stone. 

“It’s not about me being a target. It’s about protecting your image.”

“My daughter-”

“You have lost the right to call me your daughter. If I was such a disappointment after my quirk was ripped away from me, why did you keep me? You could have sent me back. Why did you keep me, dad, why did you keep me!”

Those closest to you, leave irreparable wounds. 

But there was a reason they were close to you. A reason that subsided in love, care, and hope. 

Your crushed heart was surviving on its last breath, waiting to hear something that could revive it. 

Toshinori lifted his head again, his eyes flickering behind you. 

It locked onto an object that somehow gained more attention than you ever had in your entire life. You risked a look over your shoulder, only to see the picture of your father and Midoriya, smiling–almost mockingly– back at you. 

You knew what the answer was going to be. 

“I’m beginning to question the same thing.”

A flat-line. 

“Well if that’s how you really feel, I have no obligation to stay here anymore.”

You drew your breath in, words suspended at the tip of your tongue. 

“I wish you and your student the best of luck, All Might.”

#my hero academia x reader #boku no hero fic #boku no hero x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha angst #bnha x reader #angst no comfort #mha oneshot #mha oneshots #angst #angst oneshot #bnha angst #mha toshinori #my hero academia toshinori #toshinori x you #toshinori x reader #yagi toshinori #toshinori yagi #all might #class 1a #toshinori x reader angst #dadmight #father all might #mha #all might x reader #all might x reader angst #reader angst #daughter reader #daughter reader mha

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (30)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: mention of death in childbirth, angst, swearing ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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He believed he heard her screams and moans from afar. When he turned, he was standing in one of the chambers of Dragonstone, his uncle and his nephews sitting beside him around the table, tense.

All the women were with her now.

"How much longer is this going to take?" He asked impatiently, feeling discomfort and a twinge in his stomach at the thought that his niece had suffered in agony for so many hours, trying to bring his offspring into the world.

It was because of him, he thought with pain.

"It's hard to say. Laena's first birth was also difficult. She bore Baela only in the evening of the same day." Daemon said lowly, fiddling with the wine goblet standing on the table in front of him, of which he took a long, loud sip after a moment.

He pretended not to care.

He was trying to suppress his mind with alcohol.

He swallowed hard, glancing down at his fingers, noticing with horror that blood was oozing from the cuticles around his fingernails.

He rose immediately from his seat, horrified when one of the servants stepped into the chamber.

"− Y-Your Grace − you have a son − but your lady-wife −" She mumbled out with difficulty − only after a moment he saw that her trembling hands were all sticky with blood.

Her blood.

He rushed out of the chamber as if in a trance, not hearing his uncle's call, and walked swiftly into the room from which only a moment ago he had heard her howling, her screams, her cries.

Now someone was crying too, but not her − her mother was clutching her face to her body, high-pitched wails and moans coming from her throat as if someone was skinning her.

He didn't even pay attention to the infant, quivering and sobbing loudly in the arms of one of the servants − all he looked at was her face, the face of his wife, drenched in sweat and pale, her lips slightly parted, her gaze blank and distant, her body numb, lifeless.

"− Rhaenys −" He muttered, coming up to her quickly, hearing only his own ragged breathing, only the loud pounding of his heart in his chest. He climbed onto the bed, his hand touching her cheek.

It was still warm.

"− Rhaenys, look at me − it's all over now, my sweetest −" He breathed out, not listening to Rhaenyra's moans or cries, recognising that she was merely being dramatic, that his niece was simply exhausted and tired.

Her eyes stared somewhere far ahead of her, the traces of tears still clearly visible on her skin.

Was she calling out for him?

Did she beg him to come, terrified?

Why hadn't he heard anything?

"− Rhaenys − look at me −" He mumbled out, feeling like he was choking.

He sobbed in despair, cuddling his face into her soft, fragrant hair, hugging her close as if she were still a child.

She seemed so small to him, so weak.

"− gods, please, not her −"

"− Rhaenys −" He exhaled, pulling himself up to sit down, feeling his heart pounding like mad. He looked around, terrified, seeing only darkness, struggling to recognise the furniture and objects around him.

He was in his chamber, in King's Landing.

Alone.

Where was she?

Was all this, their marriage, her warm body snuggled into his, just a dream?

He groaned with despair at the thought, running his hand over his face − he closed his eye and breathed heavily, trying to calm himself, his whole body quivering, his heart pounding like mad.

He hissed, clutching at his eye where the sapphire had been placed, feeling the sudden, sharp pain in his skull that had accompanied him in his moments of greatest fear and horror.

He had never shared it with anyone.

He knew it meant he was weak.

That he cared too much, that he could no longer control neither his feelings for her nor the things that came with them.

He only calmed down after a while, reminding himself that he had sent her a letter, that he had returned to the Red Keep only a few days ago, and that every night he had spent since then had been the same.

He couldn't get any peace since she wasn't by his side.

Since he had spoken of what had happened with his brother.

"− how could you fly to Dragonstone without my knowledge or consent? −" Aegon growled, both of them sitting alone in his chamber.

His brother-king demanded his explanation as soon as he found out that he had returned to the Red Keep.

"− I had no choice − our grandfather wanted to end things in a different way than we had assumed − I had to get them out of there −" He said lowly, hoping for his support in what he intended to do with Larys Strong.

Aegon did not even look at him at his words, his gaze fixed on the dagger he was playing with in his hand.

"− Aegon −" He said impatiently, and his brother lifted his calm gaze to him from which he felt a tightening in his throat, his heart stopped for a moment.

"− you knew −"

Aegon shrugged his shoulders.

"− what would be left if they did not agree? −" He asked more to himself than to him, running his fingers along the steel blade. He ran his hand over his face and closed his eye for a moment, trying to calm himself.

Fuck.

"− her life would be taken by your order too? −" He hissed angrily − his older brother threw him a quick, warning glance.

"− no − I forbade anyone to touch her − she is yours −" He replied in a firm voice not withstanding the objection.

"− I did what I thought was right to protect my children − they agreed to our terms, so let's rejoice and not stir up pointless arguments −" He said impatiently, his jaw clenched in anger at his words.

"− our grandfather told you that they would have died that night anyway? −"

Aegon furrowed his brow and raised his surprised, uncertain gaze at him, as if wondering if he should believe him. He shifted uneasily in his seat and grunted.

"− where do you get this knowledge from? −"

"− Larys Strong − I want his head −"

"− he is our informer −"

"− he has threatened me and my wife − he has let me know that everything is arranged to end the war, no matter what the price − do what you want with our grandfather, but he is to die − this is my price for concealing the truth from me −" He growled, rising from his seat, circling the chamber as if in amok, feeling that his head was filled with chaos.

Was this how she had felt when he had betrayed her?

When he had concealed it all from her?

"− we need to think this through properly − find a reason to bring him to King's Landing −" He muttered, looking down at his fingers, apparently recognising that he could sacrifice one man to appease his wrath and not lose the greatest of dragons in this war.

"− no − 'tis I who will fly to Harrenhal − the sooner the better −" He said impatiently, folding his hands behind him.

"− there is no need for you to get involved − I will give the order −"

"− I want to do it with my own hands −"

Aegon looked at him for a moment in thought.

"− have you been so madly in love with her all this time? −"

He stopped, looking at him over his shoulder, shocked, feeling a wave of shame surge through his body.

He didn't know what he should answer.

Aegon snorted under his breath, shaking his head.

"− you've always been a poor liar − whenever someone uttered her name you got up from the table and left, as if you did't spend your evenings fucking yourself with your hand thinking of her −" He sneered, crossing his legs, spreading himself comfortably in his chair.

"− am I wrong, little brother? −" He asked softly, cocking his head in curiosity.

He sighed heavily when he was answered by his silence.

"− what did Daemon say? −"

He grunted in relief that he had changed the subject, his heart pounding like mad.

"− he is vigilant − he does not believe me or you − but he will not oppose Rhaenyra − and she loves her daughter −"

Aegon hummed under his breath and nodded thoughtfully.

"− there is nothing more dangerous than the love of a parent for his child −"

Aegon ordered him to stay in King's Landing for a few days to avoid arousing anyone's suspicions before he set off again for Harrenhal, and he agreed to this not willingly. Later that day his mother visited him in his chamber, throwing herself into his arms.

"− I thought I would never see you again −" She muttered, her familiar, pleasant scent of floral oils filling his nostrils.

"− mother −" He replied, placing a hand on her back. Alicent pulled away from him, looking at him with excitement and fear.

"− is it true? − Rheanyra agreed? −" She asked, and he nodded. A loud sigh of relief left her lips, her hand on her heart, a shy, girlish smile on her lips.

"− gods − maybe all is not lost yet −"

He had no peace night or day, thinking only of her and what would happen if she did not bear him a child as well as what might happen if she had to carry his heir under her heart.

The stories that he had heard about his father's first wife, and her grandmother, rattled around in his head, the sight of the white-haired woman with a slit lower abdomen haunting him and not letting him sleep a wink.

He was terrified.

However, he knew that before he set off for Harrenhal he had to face the person he feared most.

His grandfather.

He had managed to persuade Aegon to control him, but he feared that once he was out of the Red Keep, his grandfather would continue his plan behind their backs.

He could not allow that to happen.

He visited him on the morning before his journey to Harrenhal. Already dressed in his riding attire, he stood before him − his grandfather cast him a lazy, surprised look from above the book he had just been looking through.

"− Aemond − what brings my grandson here? − how was your visit to Dragonstone? −" He asked softly, as he always did when he was playing with another person, pretending that there was no subtext in his words.

He hated him for doing it, forever mocking him and Aegon.

He only showed concern for Helaena, because he couldn't use her any more than he already did.

"− I've been thinking a lot lately, grandfather − about my mother −" He began lowly, standing upright before him with his hands folded behind his back, knowing exactly what he wanted to say to him.

Otto raised his eyebrows, intrigued, spreading himself comfortably in his chair, crossing his legs.

"− indeed? −" He asked teasingly, as if he were speaking to a small, unaware child.

He decided not to react.

"− marriage has opened my eyes to many things that did not previously occupy my head − a husband's duties to his wife and what they mean were as distant to me as Essos until I experienced them myself −" He hummed, turning his head away, looking into the distance, at the sea reaching the horizon stretching beyond the great bay.

"− I cannot imagine a woman more helpless and vulnerable than when she lies beneath her husband, at his mercy − my wife then looks at me with trust and warmth, her body welcomes me with ease − but tell me, grandfather − how old was my mother when you ordered her to seduce my father? −" He asked coolly, looking at him − his grandfather furrowed his brow, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"− she was of an age suitable for marriage −" He replied indifferently. "− are you now going to lecture me on the raising of my children? − my decisions concerning her future? − she became a Queen −"

He snorted at his words, his lips parted in a mocking smile, revealing his teeth.

"− did you ever imagine it? − my old father with big, rotting wounds, lying on top of your daughter, and my mother? − I imagined that such a man would try to take my wife − I would kill him, even if he were her rightful husband −" He hissed, and Otto laughed, as if he had never heard a greater foolishness.

"− indeed? − do you think you understand how it is? − as far as I know, you and your beloved wife have not yet conceived your offspring − who knows if you will ever succeed − the will of the gods is impenetrable −" He said with a sneer, from which he felt his blood begin to boil in his veins, his hands involuntarily clenched into fists.

"− what did it feel like to sit on the Iron Throne while my father babbled stupefied by poppy milk? − was it in those moments that you felt it was worth it? − what did you truly sacrifice? −" He asked, answering him with a mocking sneer. His grandfather rose from his seat, furious, clearly trying to control himself.

"− everything −"

He laughed at his words, shaking his head.

"− no, grandfather − WE have sacrificed everything for you − my mother, my brother-king, Helaena and me − but if you think I will sacrifice my wife for you, you are sorely mistaken − one more misstep like this, one more move behind my back and you will go back to where you came from −"

"− how dare you threaten me − you owe me everything −"

"− no − YOU owe us everything − without us you are nothing, my Hand of the King −" He hissed, turning away tense, leaving his chamber with a slam of the door.

What could he do to him?

Kill him?

Deprive his brother of his dragon rider?

He prayed his words would cause him to refrain from further action, but he feared his grandfather would do something they would all regret in fear of losing power.

Even if a part of him truly protected his family, the other part always wanted the crown.

Always.

He had destroyed his mother by giving her to an old, dying man who called her by his dead wife's name, humiliating her over and over again.

He watched her endure her fate for years with humility, believing that the gods would one day reward her for her patience and sacrifice, for her devotion and care, the heavens, however, never answered her prayers.

As she locked all her desires deep within her heart, Aegon let them out completely, allowing them to cloud his vision for years.

He could not decide if what their grandfather had condemned them all to was dictated by care, or merely his unquenchable thirst for power.

He saw hope, however, in the fact that where Daemon and Otto refused to step down, Rhaenyra and Aegon were showing signs of common sense. Although there was much doubt in him, he believed that there was a way forward that did not lead to the complete destruction of their lineage.

He set off for Harrenhal at the head of a small troop of soldiers whose mission was to capture Larys' spies in Harrenhal and the Eyrie.

He wished to deal with Lord Strong personally.

To his surprise and frustration, he found the fortress deserted and surrendered − Lord Strong had fled, hiding somewhere, taking several servants and all the gold with him.

He felt like a fool standing in the empty stronghold looking at the terrified figures of the lord's distant relatives, his servants, farmers and landlords, evidently fearing to face his wrath.

Something else, however, caught his attention.

"Where is Alys Rivers?"

"In the dungeons, Your Grace." Declared one of the men, without raising his eyes at him.

"Take me to her."

He walked down into the underground of the fortress, accompanied by his guards, the clang of their steel armour and weapons all around them. They pointed their torches at one of the cells, and only after a moment did he recognise in the woman lying on the stone ground the person who had kept him awake for so many nights.

That fucking prophecy of hers.

"Wake up, woman." He commanded coldly, stepping closer to the steel bars. Indeed, he saw in the darkness the green of her eyes when she suddenly lifted her eyelids, her face and hands all bruised.

He had the impression that she had lost weight − she was pale, her eyes all red, her hands were trembling. She rose slowly, looking at him curiously, and grinned in a way that sent a shiver through him.

"Leave us alone." He said to his guards, and they nodded and obediently went back upstairs.

He only spoke to her when he was sure they could not hear him.

"Why did you lie? I could have your head for this." He hissed, his hands clenched into fists, his heart pounding like mad.

He needed to hear it from her.

The woman laughed weakly at his words, shaking her head with amusement.

"If there were no capacity for treachery in you, my words would not frighten you, Your Grace. But it wouldn't be the first time you've stabbed her in the back, would it?" She sneered, making his jaw clench tightly in rage.

Will you stab a dagger into my heart?

He was embarrassed and bitter that he didn't know what to answer.

She played him like a little child, making a fool of him.

"Why?" He growled feeling that he was red with embarrassment.

Alys Rivers shrugged her shoulders.

"My brother reckoned that after what was going to happen in the Eyrie she would try to take her own life again. I don't consider myself a good person, but I'm not heartless. I wanted you to be horrified by my words and get her as far away from here as possible."

"How dare you manipulate me and my wife."

"I didn't manipulate her. There was no need for that. You. Your pride wouldn't allow you to listen to the advice of a bastard woman, on top of the Strong line. A witch's prophecy that could give birth to your bastard child would be a different matter. Wouldn't it?" She asked, cocking her head curiously, her luscious green eyes shining uneasily in the darkness making him feel a cold sweat run down his neck.

He had never been so ashamed before, his stomach and throat squeezed so tightly that he had trouble breathing.

"Whose fucking side are you on, you insolent whore?" He hissed through clenched teeth, filled with humiliation and hatred, thinking that he would most like to tear her apart.

Her grin full of amusement made him breathless with rage.

"I am on my side. But my cold heart supports your wife. She has broken deep into it and refuses to leave it. I'm certain you understand me. Such a sweet girl."

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" He shouted low, his voice echoing powerfully around them.

Only after a moment did he realise he was panting heavily, his heart pounding like mad.

How could he possibly feel jealousy now?

He turned on his heel, recognising that she could have died of hunger and thirst in there, that he didn't care that Larys had probably locked her in there because she had warned his wife.

He couldn't bear that she, a stranger, had done something for her that he couldn't.

She had sacrificed herself for her.

That night he did not sleep a wink; he waited to hear from his wife and from his commanders whether they had found Lord Strong yet.

It seemed to him that every time he tried to do something right, everything fell apart in his hands.

He didn't know why, but it made him want to cry at the thought.

It was only in the morning that he was relieved − one of the servants brought him a message from Dragonstone, which he opened as soon as he was alone in his chamber.

I am alive, my husband, and I am in good health. Do not fret, I know I am safe here. I ask you, whatever you intend to do, not to take the life of Alys Rivers. I am owed a debt to her and her death is not my desire. Return to Dragonstone as soon as you can. Rhaenys

He breathed a sigh of relief as he read her words again and again, feeling that warmth was beaming from them, that her anger at him had already fled slowly. He ran his finger over the letters her hand had written thinking about her, about how much he needed her now, how lonely he felt.

Whether he wanted to or not, not wanting to cause another argument between them, he ordered that Alys Rivers be locked in her chamber and that food be served to her.

He did not want to see her, but wished to respect his wife's wishes.

He wrote back to her message right away, wishing it to reach Dragonstone as soon as possible.

I reached Harrenhal however, unfortunately, I found the fortress empty. Lord Strong escaped with several spies − we are still searching for them. In accordance with your will, I have spared Alys Rivers' life and locked her in her chamber. I cannot predict when I will be able to return to Dragonstone. I ask your forgiveness for not fulfilling my duty as your husband and not being by your side. Aemond

He ordered his letter to be sent immediately and waited, spending days pondering and discussing with his soldiers, searching the forests and strongholds of nearby lords, trying to find the man who in his eyes was a lousy rat.

He suspected his grandfather had managed to warn him, and felt furious that they had played him like a child.

Never before in his life had he wanted to kill another human being so badly.

Not even Luke.

However, one morning he was awakened by something that sent him into a state of terror − he pulled himself up on his bed when he heard the roar of dragons in the distance, the sweeping flap of their wings as they flew over the fortress like a great shadow.

He rose quickly, walking over to the window and laughed under his breath, involuntarily smiling with wonderful, overpowering relief as he saw the slender beast with silver-blue scales shimmering in the sunlight land next to the fortress.

As soon as he saw that the figure of the dragon rider had slipped off its back he turned, put his boots on his feet and walked out of his chamber disregarding his inadequate attire, linen shirt and breeches, running quickly down the stairs to meet her.

His wife.

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[hirukochan]

Ambushed

A Severus SnapexFem!Reader Oneshot

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Severus Snape x former student reader

Summary: After your former Professor murdered Albus Dumbledore a few weeks after your one-nightstand you never expected to see him again.

Warnings: Smut, catcalling, blood, injury

Wordcount: 5000

Read on Ao3 or below the cut

Life has become significantly darker since the death of Albus Dumbledore. You hear rumours of the Ministry falling, about Death Eaters taking over and You-Know-Who rising. From the perspective of the public all that hasn’t happened. Everybody can feel the change and taste the misery hanging in the air between abandoned and destroyed shops in Diagon Alley.

The rich fuck you work for is paying you extra because you decided to stay. You aren’t going to let yourself be scared into running away! 

You started evening courses at a small university in Aberdeen a few months ago. Enchanted Art. For what? Hell if you know, but art sounded good. You however aren’t…good. Not at all, but it’s fun. You enrolled a few days after what you now call ‘the worst mistake of your life’. 

Severus Snape.

Death Eater.

Murderer.

Newly appointed headmaster of Hogwarts.

And you fucked him. Just three weeks before he killed Albus Dumbledore, a man who trusted him. 

The Daily Prophet and the Ministry are framing Harry Potter for it. There is a large manhunt going on with a bounty on Potter’s head. The boy has disappeared from the face of the earth. 

You saw him at the funeral in Hogwarts. Many former students came to say their goodbyes to Dumbledore. You went out of shame and guilt. It doesn’t make any sense for you to feel like that. Neither did you know what Snape was planning nor did you support him in any way. And yet, just knowing you had that man in your bed is eating at you.

You sway and stumble but can catch yourself on the side of an abandoned building. Death Eaters have been attacking Diagon Alley for months, even before You-Know-Who came to power, but never your shop. You guess it’s because a second-hand bookshop is absolutely useless. You don’t even have many customers! The shop is not profitable whatsoever.

You rub your eyes and push yourself off the wall to continue your less than straight way back to your flat. You’ve been drinking with the Weasley twins who run the joke shop a few streets away from yours. They are one of the few shops still open like you. They were three years under you and always good for a laugh though you were never friends with them. Now out of school and in the same boat you get along well.

And drinking alone is pathetic.

You are pathetic, but not that pathetic. 

Not yet.

You squeeze through an alley. Just another corner and you’d be there. You’re too drunk to apparate and apparition can suck it anyway.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out all alone?” A male voice calls out to you. You ignore it. You are really not in the mood to be accosted now and your wand might just slip.

You grip it tighter in your pocket. One could not be careful enough these days. Perhaps you should have taken Georges’ offer of walking you home.

“I’m talking to you!” He sounds angry now. Just fuck off. Just turn around and fuck off or better come here and give me something to let my aggressions out on. “Stuck up cunt!” You are whirled around by your shoulder and thrown against a wall. The air is pressed out of your lungs and your back aches. 

The blurry face of a sleazy looking man comes into view but in the next second he’s gone. You blink. Your alcohol drenched brain needs some time to catch up. Then a scream rips through the night and you recoil. Everything in you screams to run. To turn around and take off, to save yourself, but your eyes are glued to the man on the ground, writhing and screaming, his body shaken by endless, never-ending agony. 

Steps echo through the night and your head snaps up. A tall, dark figure moves towards you. Black robes, dark hair- for a second you think it’s Snape and you don’t know how to feel at that and even less how to deal with the sting of treacherous disappointment when you notice he’s too slim and too short to be Snape. 

Moonlight reflects off a silver mask. You grip your wand tighter, terrified of what’s going to happen next. 

A Death Eater.

A real fucking Death Eater right in front of you! And you’re still not running. Why the fuck are you not running?

“Tsk tsk tsk.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his hand. The man’s screams have stopped, replaced by a strangled, gurgling sound that somehow sounds so much worse. Your blood freezes in your veins and you start shivering. This is it. This is how you die. Drunk and on your way home. Just a street away! Away from safety, though you suspect that it’s a false feeling. A lie.

There is no safety left in Britain.

“Has your mummy never taught you, you mustn’t touch what isn’t yours?” He shakes his head and clicks his tongue again. A green light illuminates the alley. It paints grotesque shadows onto the silver mask and the wall behind him.

You scream. Shock and pain are ripping the sound out of the wall of your throat and haul it into the night. You cover your mouth with your hands. Tears sting in your eyes. You don’t want to die here.

Your heart pounds in your chest, strong and fast, declaring it has many good years still left, refusing to back down but also trapped by a rich net, woven from terror and dread.

“You shouldn’t be out so late.” The Death Eater says. His voice is slightly muffled by the mask, but he sounds young. So terribly young. Perhaps around the twins’ age? Did he go to school with you? You don’t recognise his voice, but you are in shock. Right? Yes, shock. He just killed someone! Like it’s nothing! To think you might have sat next to him in the Great Hall or the library…

“It’s not safe. Best run along now.”

You blink. Confused. He is letting you go? Why would he let you go? He rips his sleeve up, revealing a jet-black tattoo on his underarm, one that you’ve never seen before but recognise regardless.

“That’s a fucking order!” You flinch. And then you’re running. Running down the street and not stopping until you’ve reached the door to your flat. Your fingers tremble so much you struggle to get the key into the keyhole. You use every single protection charm you know on the door after you’ve closed behind yourself. You’ve gotten good at casting them. You had to.

“What the fuck.” You whisper to yourself, back leaned against the wall and wand clutched to your chest. “What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck!” A Death Eater just fucking let you go! He tortured someone for attempting to assault you and then killed him. 

He fucking killed him.

You watched someone die. 

What the fuck.

Oh Merlin and Grímhildr and god and Jesus fucking Christ!

‘Mustn’t touch what isn’t yours’ What does that mean? You’re not some object to be owned!

“Maybe he has a crush on me?” You think out loud. Yeah…maybe that guy really did use to go to school with you? Maybe he- you have no idea but what other reason would there be? Would a Death Eater disapprove of assaulting women? Somehow you find that hard to believe.

The incident does not leave your mind. You become paranoid. Always checking your steps and looking around for that glimmer of light catching on a silver mask. Often you’d look out of your windows, watching the empty street but you don’t see the young Death Eater again. You expect him to come back any day to finish you off

One day you arrive at the Leaky Cauldron after your evening classes tired and hungry. It’s a little after ten and you decide to eat in the pub instead of cooking. An hour later you step outside and apparate onto the steps in front of the door to your flat. You secure the door with your usual spells and kick off your shoes before hurrying up the stairs. You want nothing more than to collapse into your bed-

Something isn’t right. It’s the faintest difference. A smell that is not quite right. A whisper of magic in the air that does not belong to you. The small hairs on your nape stand and your stomach clenches. You grip your wand tighter.

There is something on your floor. A large black something.

“What the fuck?” You mutter and drop your hand to your side. “What the fuck? No no no- get the fuck up, Snape!” He doesn’t move. He is lying face down in a puddle of blood in the middle of your flat. Where did he come from? How did he get in? Why is he here?

You kick him. 

It sounds like a logical choice in your head.

He doesn’t move.

“I have a Death Eater in my flat, on my floor. I have a dying Death Eater on my floor!” You panic. You are panicking. You kick him again. Nothing changes. “Shit shit shit!” You could just…kick him down the stairs and lock the door? How did he get in here?!

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-” What do you do? What can you do? Why is he here? 

For lack of a better plan, you kick him again, but despite how gratifying it feels to let your aggression out on him you have to come up with a better idea. You can’t just keep kicking him!

Wary of the Death Eater on your floor you kneel down and press two fingers to the pulse point on his neck, ready to jump backwards at any point. His skin is burning up. What happened? 

You can’t just kick him down the stairs. It’s tempting. He’d deserve it- but that isn’t you. Besides it would take the Death Eaters not even two seconds to figure out who left him there to die and they might come back to hurt you.

You heave him into your bed and peel the blood-soaked clothes from his chest. There is a deep gash across his side. Blood steadily runs down his pale skin. What happened to him?

“He’s a Death Eater that’s what fucking happened to him.” You scold yourself. “And you are fucking helping him- fuck! Why did you choose my flat to die in, Snape?!” You flick your wand at him, and his own wand comes flying through the air, landing in your hand. You shove it into your pocket.

Snape looks like shit. He’s thinner than a few months ago, his skin paler and dark, deep shadows have seemingly permanently attached themselves to the skin under his eyes.

The glorious Death Eater that defeated Albus Dumbledore. 

You scoff.

“Good- that is that…disarming the Death Eater that is twice your size and can probably do wandless magic…or simply snatch them back from you because let’s be honest here - we aren’t a fighter!” You have no idea who you are talking to, but you feel hysteric and talking to oneself is what hysteric people do. Right? Right?

“Please don’t die here and start haunting me!”

“I’m not dying.” Snape grunts and you scream. 

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck- you scared the living shit out of me! What the fuck are you doing here?” Without bothering to answer you, he examines the wound on his side. He grimaces. 

“I advise you against attempting that.” The deep, velvety rumble of voice makes you shudder in all the wrong ways. You keep your wand trained on him anyway.

“Get the fuck out of my flat!” You hiss, raising your wand higher, keeping it aimed at him.

“So hostile.” He tuts. “Did I leave you unsatisfied last time?” 

“You’re a murderer!” Your voice is shaking, tears pool in your eyes and you have no fucking idea why you feel betrayed. You hadn’t spoken to Snape in five years before your one-night stand. But had you known…had you known he is a Death Eater you would have never let him into your bed.

“Yes.” Snape says and he somehow sounds bitter. What right has he to be bitter? “I heard you ran into some…trouble.” You shove your wand in his face and perhaps he sees in your eyes how serious you are, a faint promise of hexing him or something else, but he raises his bloodied hands slightly as if to tell you he isn’t a danger.

“Do you have a first-aid-kit? So I can get out of your hair.” You look at him, considering. You could make him leave. “I’m not a danger to you.” To you. To others, yes, but not you. You have no idea how to feel about that thinly veiled confession. You flick your wand towards your bathroom. Snape rummages through your first-aid-kit.

“Who the fuck doesn’t stock dittany?” He asks, glaring up at you while aggressively opening the fuckton of buttons on his robes. Who needs so many buttons?

“Why would I have fucking dittany? Sorry I did not expect you would choose my home to almost fucking die in!”

“I wouldn’t have died!” He sneers.

“Tell that to the puddle of blood on my floor. Why are you here?” He hesitates. His shoulders droop and he stops messing with his clothes. Something profoundly vulnerable flashes through his eyes.

“Where else would I go?” And that is that apparently. He peels back layers of blood-soaked clothes, and you try not to ogle him. He hadn’t taken off much of his clothes when he fucked you… 

The moonlight hides the currently sickish undertones of his pale skin, making him look like one of those marble statues you’ve seen in a muggle museum once. His skin is littered with scars, a visual reminder that this man is a Death Eater - a fact your body is more than willing to ignore judging by the uncomfortable, damp spot in your knickers. 

You watch him patch himself up from a safe distance, your wand pointed at him at all times. His fingers tremble, his skin is chalky pale and beads of sweat cling to his forehead, but his movements are precise and purposeful.

And yet-

You have never seen him like this.

Small somehow.

Vulnerable.

“I was told you were assaulted.” His voice is quiet, he usually speaks soft and quiet - a man like he never has any trouble getting a classroom full of hormonal teenagers to shut it. But today it’s different. There is something…inherently broken about the way he says the words and it gives you pause.

“So what? You decided to break in? Who do you think you are that you get to check up on me?” You spit the words at him because if you don’t, you might do other things and you really can’t afford that.

“That wasn’t-” He inhales sharply and impossibly enough pales even more. You summon a glass of water. “Thank you.” He whispers and downs the whole thing in one go.

“Wouldn’t want your cult friends to show up here because I let you die.”

“You should be careful what you say.” He doesn’t say it as a threat. He says it softly, with dread mixing into his worry.

“I thought you weren't a danger to me.”

“Plenty of people are.”

“Right…then. You know where the door is.” You nod towards it. Snape rises to his feet - far more graceful and steady than he has any right to with how shit he looks. He comes closer and you bite the inside of your cheek to resist the urge of stepping back. He comes closer still, his much larger frame hovering above you and any sliver of thinking Snape is small evaporates into thin air.

His silky hair falls into his face and hides it in the shadows of your flat, with only the moon illuminating the small space.

You take a shaky breath and attempt to ignore the heat between your bodies or the way your heart beats all wrong. His eyes have an intensity to them that makes you shudder and involuntarily recall how his hands felt on you…his breath dancing across your skin…the way he tastes-

“You still have my wand.” He says, his voice impossibly deeper and smokey and his eyes- these damn stunning stupid eyes that burn into yours, whispering promises of things you can’t even begin to wrap your mind around. 

You automatically close your fingers tighter around your own wand. He is so close now the tip of it digs into his chest. He doesn’t even flinch. Like the threat of a curse does not even affect him, like he doesn’t give a shit that you could simply kill him right now or perhaps it’s arrogance. He believes you incapable of it - which is the truth but still! Is it asking too much to want him to be at least a little afraid? 

Snape reaches out and his hand brushes over your side and you inhale sharply.

There must have been a lapse in the fabric of time - in the universe itself because suddenly you are kissing. You don’t know why or how but the wands clatter to the ground and Snape’s hands are on you and your body scream fuck the universe because this feels right.

Snape’s arms wrap around your smaller form and press you to his chest and you let him, weaving your hands into his hair while he claims your mouth with a feral hunger. You moan into the kiss and lean into his touch and try to smother the whisper in your head repeating the last two words you’d want to hear right now over and over.

Death Eater

You slide your tongue over his. There is a faint taste of iron in the kiss but it doesn’t matter. Snape’s fingers dig into your flesh like he is trying to devise a way to never have to let you go again.

He clings to you like a dying man to life.

Death Eater

He stumbles backwards and takes you with him, plopping down on the bed and pulling you into his lap. It feels natural. Your bodies fit together like two puzzle pieces and something somewhere in the universe just clicks.

You run your hands down his neck and over his shoulder, noting how much thinner he feels now compared to last time. You shove his frock and dress shirt down his shoulders. The feeling of his naked skin against your hands feels electrifying. A buzzing prickle seeping into your body through the pad of your fingers and spreading throughout your very being like blazing wildfire, pooling deep in your belly.

Death Eater

You moan into the kiss and grind against Snape, feeling his hard cock against your core through your knickers.

Death Eater

Two pairs of hands drop to his fly at one, frantically fumbling with buttons and stumbling over each other. Snape retreats and returns to thoroughly groping your arse under your skirt. You manage to free his cock and Snape helps lift your hips. You push your soaked knickers away and align his cock with your entrance.

“Fuck I forgot how big you are-” You hiss at the stretch. Snape kisses your neck and nibbles on your collarbone.

“Have you been with someone since-?” He leaves the question open. Further specifications aren’t needed. You are still slowly lowering yourself on his prick, until the delicious kind of stretch turns to a stinging stretch where you pause to give yourself time to adjust.

“-no.” You pant. Snape groans against your sternum and wraps his arms around you again, pulling you close. He kisses down your chest and over your breasts. Nuzzling you through the fabric of your blouse.

“Fucking hell-” You mutter once he is finally sheathed inside you. You’re out of breath and sweaty and so so full. His cock is throbbing against your inner walls, hot and thick and you need a moment to collect yourself.

“So good.” Snape groans and continues peppering kisses over your chest. You whimper in response. “You take my cock so fucking good-” He rips your blouse open and shoves your bra up, locking his lips around your nipple instantly. You moan and cling to his shoulders. Snape licks broad strokes over your nipple, alternates between sucking and kissing and grazing you with his teeth. 

His lust-drenched sounds make you squirm in his arms and arousal leak over his cock, soiling his trousers. 

It takes a little moment for you to get a hang of how to move on top of him, but once you’ve figured it out, you earn approving groans from Snape.

“Fucking missed you.” He murmurs against your skin.

“Did you now?” You raise a brow.

“I’m talking to your tits, dear.”

“You have issues.” You moan and sink back down on his cock.

“I thought we had already established that.”

“Yeah, when you decided my floor was the proper place to die!”

“Wouldn’t have died.” He groans and locks his lips around your nipple again. You cradle his head with your arms and rest your cheek against the crow of his head while bobbing up and down his length in an unsteady, unrefined rhythm.

Snape doesn’t seem to care.

And neither do you really.

The voice in your head shut up a while ago and you bid farewell to it, telling it to never come back.

Snape inhales sharply and you stop instantly.

“Did I hurt you?” You ask, unable to keep the worry out of your voice. Snape’s face is contorted in pain. He reaches for the footboard of your bed and his knuckles turn white under the force with which he holds onto it.

“Lie down.” You murmur and push against his shoulders gently. Snape looks at you both irritated and untrusting, but he eventually (less than gracefully) lowers his back onto the mattress.

You reposition yourself above him and lean back to brace your hands against his thighs right above his knees. Slowly you begin moving again. It feels awkward for a while but then you find the right angle and Snape presses his fingers against your clit, stroking tender circles over the throbbing bundle of nerves and pleasure overshadows any feeling of awkwardness.

“You’ve always been a fast learner.” Snape groans. “Such a studious girl.”

“When the subject interests me.” You chuckle and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Am I an interesting subject?”

“Hmm…Certainly one I can’t seem to escape.” You raise your hips and sink back down, moaning in tune with the delicious stretch of his girth.

“Do you plan on almost dying on my floor in the future?”

Snape laughs, an uneasy sound accompanied by a concerning rattling sound coming from his lungs. “Are you planning on stocking Dittany in the future?”

“Nah, but I was thinking about getting a runner and- ow!” He slaps your thigh, not hard, but a pleasant sting runs through your flesh and the sudden slapping sound startled you. “Bastard.” You hiss and push yourself up, planting your hands on either side of his head, careful to avoid the dark strands of hair spread out around his head.

“Is that the thanks I get?”

“Thanks?” He hums. An expression of raw pleasure flickers over his face and it pulls you in, captures you like a fly in a sticky trap - and like a fly in a sticky trap you realise the danger you are in just by associating with Snape, not to mention by fucking him.

You never thought yourself to be a morally depraved woman but here you are, with the enemy quite literally in your bed.

An injured, weakened enemy. 

As if you’d have a chance against Severus Snape no matter how weak he is! No, leave the heroism to other people, people that value their lives less or think the world will be grateful for their heroism. 

You close your eyes and lean down to meet Snape’s lips, to get lost in the feeling of a warm body against yours, the mechanical workings of what a romance would feel like, to draw some comfort from a man that is willingly giving it to you when all other male specimens on this earth seem to not give a shit about you.

“Started University.” You murmur against his lips. Snape has put his hands on your arse and is helping your movement, pulling you and down on his cock, guiding your cunt or using it for his own pleasure or revelling in having a former student of his so messed up she lets him fuck her. 

“I heard. I’m glad.” He mutters back and takes your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Keeping taps on me?”

“Only a little.” And it’s back to kissing. Wet, heated, burning kisses. And passion or maybe erratic obsession but if obsession feels this good what does it matter?

The heat of his tongue against yours, his hands squeezing your arse, his breath dancing over your face, his cock spearing open your cunt repeatedly, it collects inside you, runs through your limbs and veins and fills your whole body. You can feel it rushing alongside your blood, feel your body respond to it by picking up the pace of your heartbeat, sweet clinging to your skin, especially on your thighs that straddle Snape’s. It floats through your body and eventually pools in your lower belly and deep inside your cunt, welcoming Snape’s prick on each thrust by splitting into two and regenerating like cell division-

Heat grows and morphs and hardens into a brooding mass that threatens to rip free of you. It scratches against your insides, searching desperately for a way out, a way to release this pressure and then Snape presses his thumb down on your clit and it rips free of you. Snape thrust up into you in one hard stroke and he groans, his grip on your arse tightening and you collapse above him and he pulls you down by putting his arms around your torso - his wound long forgotten by both of you.

His cock throbs as he spills inside you, splatters of warm, sticky cum painting your inner walls and with a content hum you rock against his softening cock to relish the last flickers of your orgasm.

Snape grunts - a pained one this time - and you push your trembling body up and lift your hips to sit down on the bed next to him. His now limp cock slips out of you and you hate that you miss the feeling of it, hate the emptiness left behind. You pull your knees to your chest and lean against the headboard of your bed, staring at the window just to not look at Snape.

“I-” Snape begins but stops himself. With another pained grunt he sits up and does the many buttons of his clothes back up. He sighs and rubs his hands over his face, raking through his hair. “I will try to not almost die on your floor again.”

“Good.” You want to sound stern, but it comes out sounding exhausted and confused.

“Good.” He murmurs. A knock on your door rips you from your thoughts. Who would knock so late? Perhaps it’s your elderly neighbour…

You pick your wand up from the floor and fix your skirt and blouse and walk towards the door.

Still caught in a whirlwind of confusing and contradicting feelings and perhaps Snape’s presence has led you to let down your guard a little, whatever it is you forget to cast your detection charms before opening the door-

Silver glimmers in the moonlight. You recognise the mask. It’s the young Death Eater that killed the man who wanted to assault you. He is flanked by two taller Death Eaters. Whatever you had wanted to say gets stuck in your throat as it swells shut. Just out of their sight you grip your wand tighter.

“Miss.” The young one says. “Apologies for the interruption.” Why the fuck is a Death Eater addressing you so polite? Movement behind you catches your attention but you don’t dare move.

“Was I not clear enough when I said this shop is not to be disturbed.” Snape drawls and all hints of pain or injury have left his voice. He looms behind you, tall and menacing and you can actually see the taller Death Eaters shrink back.

“My mistake. Again, apologies, Miss. Your presence is requested, Sir.” The younger one says to Snape.

“Do not repeat it in the future.” Snape scoffs. He ignores them and closes the door.

You can’t seem to find your voice again.

“This all will be over soon.”

“How do you know?” You whisper, uncertain what Snape means. What will be over? The resistance? You-Know-Who? His presence in your life?

“I hope you won’t have to see me again.” His lips brush your forehead ever so slightly, his fingertips dancing over your arms.

He turns to leave.

“Snape-” You don’t know what to say. His eyes linger on you for a moment, you think to see something flash in them, a hint of some deeply buried emotion but then he turns, opens the door again and he is gone.

You lean your forehead against the smooth wood. You can still feel his touch lingering-

A sob tears through the silence and you press your hand to your mouth as you sink to the floor and you don’t even know why. You kneel on the floor in front of your door and sob and cry.

When you eventually regain your composure and return to your flat you are met with the sight of drying blood…

The next day you go to the apothecary down the street and buy a bottle of Dittany.

| Part 3 |

#severus snape x reader #ao3 fanfic #snape x reader #snape x you #severus snape smut #dividers by cafekitsune

[stayconnecteed]

❪⠀🪐.⠀couch cuddles⠀𓏔⠀seo changbin⠀❫

☆ㅤseo changbin x afab!reader ( valentine's collab oneshots )⠀★⠀3.4k words

synopsys: everyone knew that changbin and you had met at ikea. you had been friends for years, and yet he never got tired of repeating the anecdote that had brought you together. there was one part he had never told you, though: he had asked his parents to buy that green sofa on which you had been sitting together in that first meeting. that very same couch you always ask cuddles in when one of your dates goes wrong.

note: not happy at all with how this turned out, and i know it's a little bit angsty before all the fluff but happy valentine's day cuties !!

Everyone knew that Changbin and you had met at Ikea. You had been friends for years, and yet he never got tired of repeating the anecdote that had brought you together that afternoon when you had gone to the Swedish shop with your family. It had been a very chaotic first meeting, as it could only be if it had happened between the two of you, but there was one part he had never told you. Whenever the subject came up he would ask you to narrate how it had been, with that pout and puppy eyes he knew you couldn't resist, and he would just stare at you, a smile curving his lips, hiding a part of your story that you didn't know.

You always started your story with a little context, saying that you had just turned sixteen, that your parents had decided to move when they found out they were going to have another baby, that it was a weekend in January and you hadn't started high school yet, that you had planned to travel to Gwangmyeong, where your grandparents lived, and visit the Ikea that had opened in the area. And Changbin couldn't help but stand still when he heard those words, because he knew what it was you were going to start talking about, and he loved to hear it from your lips, so he would command everyone to be quiet, to let your voice echo in the silence as you spoke.

And then you explained, under Changbin's attentive gaze, how you had driven to the shop after lunch, parking as close to the entrance as possible, and how you had to take care of your two little siblings, then aged eight and five, while your parents talked to each other about what furniture to buy for the new home. You dwelled on the details, making eye contact with Changbin from time to time, prolonging the moments before you first spoke, creating some expectation, and he knew it, but he didn't mind because he enjoyed it as much as you did.

And when you had described how small you had felt in such a big place 一the biggest Ikea in the world at the time一, when you had let slip that your parents had been so focused on shopping that you and your siblings had been left behind, when your face was a shadow of the worry, the panic you had felt at the time, then you broke the news: your brother, the troublesome eight-year-old, had gone missing. You, at sixteen, had found yourself in a maze of kitchens and living rooms with your younger sister clinging to your leg, your heart pounding, and the uncertainty of whether you would be able to find Doyun in such a large space.

Changbin's heart always twisted in agony at that part of the story, just as it had done when, already desperate, you had approached the first boy of your own age you had seen 一he一, whispering if he had seen a kid with your brother's description. He had hated seeing you like that, absolutely distressed, on the verge of tears, pretending in front of your little sister that Doyun was playing hide-and-seek. Both she and you had looked at him as if he could miraculously find him, with a blind confidence that had made him assure you that he hadn't seen him, but that he would help you look for him. He had whispered to little Jia that it would be fun, and had taken her hand, turning to you only to see you smiling hopefully at him.

At the time, and he had never acknowledged it, he hadn't cared for Doyun. He certainly wanted to find him, that was what your eyes and the values his parents had taught him screamed at him, but at the same time he longed for the way your face had relaxed at the sight of him, when he had told you not to worry, that he would find him. How calm you had been, just as you always said you were, knowing he was by your side. And with your sister on one side and you on the other, you had walked the corridors, passing where you had been over and over again, checking every possible hiding place, whispering your brother's name for him to hear.

But you always came back to the same place, the green sofa where you had asked him about Doyun. And no sign of him. You checked your phone obsessively, fearing that your parents would ask you about him and you wouldn't have the answer, and at one point, Changbin simply proposed to take a break. He indicated that you could exchange numbers, and that while you went to buy something from the shop's cafeteria, he would take another walk, in case there was any more luck, and he would text you if he saw him. You declined, his mouth suddenly going dry at the thought that he had gone too far, but then you announced in an exhausted voice and slumped shoulders that you were the one who should look for him, that you were the one who had lost him in the first place, and that Doyun wouldn't go with a stranger as Changbin was to him, anyway.

You had sat on the couch, your head in your hands, all the frustration and fear building in your chest, your pent-up emotions on edge, on the verge of overflowing, and he busied himself entertaining Jia with some cute cat pillows lying around as he squatted down in front of you, resting a trembling hand on your knee. He had spoken softly to you, like to a wounded animal you want to help, telling you stupid facts about his life, anything you needed to calm you down a bit and face the situation from the ease of a clear-headed mind. You had covered your face, hiding your silent cry, and whispered to him that he didn't need to waste his time with you, that you were a horrible sister, and an inconsiderate stranger by dragging him into your problems.

And then, in one of his most precious memories, you related how you had looked at him, tears glistening on your cheeks, and he had frowned back at you, as if you had offended him, before announcing, in the most serious tone you had ever heard from a sixteen-year-old boy, that you were the best sister in the world. And you had let out an incredulous laugh, closing your eyes and resting your forehead on his shoulder, and had kept silent as he muttered that only the best sister in the world would worry so much about Doyun, searching for him without Jia knowing what was going on, to protect them both. Only the best sister in the world would talk to a boy she didn't know, despite her shyness, just in case he could help her. You really were the best sister in the world.

They were words you repeated from memory, reciting them just as he had whispered them to you, and they always made anyone who heard them sigh. It had been almost like a fairy tale, you in his arms, asking him to show your sister the cafeteria as you took one last walk, wandering back down all those corridors you'd been down before, only to return to the green couch where you knew Changbin was waiting with your sister, but who had also been joined by Doyun, who was listening to Jia laugh at how much fun the hide-and-seek at the Ikea had been.

You had let out a breathy sigh, moving towards your little brother, scolding him for disappearing, while he protested that he had been fiddling with the tablets in the warehouse area 一a place you had hardly been to at all. Then you had made both Doyun and Jia promise not to leave your side for the rest of the afternoon, and when you turned to Changbin, all he could think about was that he didn't want to leave you yet. So when you opened your mouth, he interrupted you before you could utter a sound, asking if you could see each other again.

And you had blushed, unused to that kind of attention, and nodded shyly, the silence falling between you. You had cleared your throat, fiddling with your phone, not knowing what your next move should be. And Changbin had taken the lead again, pointing out that you should ask your parents where they were, and that he would accompany you to them if you wanted. Then you always told, with the same luminous smile you had given him at that moment, that you had walked together to the bedroom section, shoulder to shoulder, your siblings playing in front of you, always under your view, and it was then that you had begun to know each other, to develop that bond that had been born when you had asked him for help and he had not denied it.

What he had never told you was that he had seen you in the parking lot, as soon as you walked in. He had never told you that he couldn't stop looking at you, the way you nodded attentively at your parents' words, or how your eyes lit up when you glanced at your siblings even when they weren't looking at you, how you smiled at the silly things they did, how you crouched down to talk to them. He had been so dumbfounded that his sister had teased him, threatening to come over and talk to you. And every time he saw a glimpse of your white hoodie in the aisles of the Ikea, his heartbeat quickened at the possibility of talking to you. When you had approached him with that face he had seen so happily turned to distress, he had lacked the time to bring the moon down on you if you asked him to.

Nor had he told you that the only thing he had asked his parents for, although he never asked them for anything he didn't need, was to buy that green sofa on which you had been sitting for a few minutes, and which had gone from his children's playroom to the living room of his flat once he had become independent, and which you had never shown any signs of recognising. After that first meeting you had discovered that you lived in the same city, which had facilitated your weekend meetings, and the blossoming of a friendship that stayed with you until years later.

He had lived your last years of high school with you, studying together for the hardest exams even if you went to different institutions, attending each other's graduations with a proud smile, spending summers at your home with him, to the point where your parents treated him like one of the family, and his parents did the same with you. He had watched your younger siblings grow up, caring for them with the same infinite affection as you did, and his older sister had taken you in as her little girl, and everything was perfect. You had been in the good stuff, even applying to the same university, celebrating his first major contract as your own, him coming to the opening of your shop and insisting on being the first customer.

He didn't understand how anyone could look you in the face and tell you that they didn't want to be with you. He didn't understand how anyone could see you and think you weren't the most beautiful person they'd ever seen. But most of all he didn't understand why he hadn't told you yet that he loved you. Because he did, of course. After so long by your side you had managed to get into his mind, and his heart, and even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to kick you out of his life. You were too deeply tangled up in him, to the point where everything you did affected him in one way or another, and your absence was the worst punishment. So he knew why he hadn't said anything to you, why he kept these secrets from you 一the fear of losing you was even worse than the fear of rejection一 but he didn't understand why he hadn't been more direct before the possibility of you saying no seemed so painful to him.

Because since he'd figured out what his feelings for you were, every Valentine's Day was pure torture. Especially when he couldn't be with anyone but you, so he spent them single, while you had kept yourself pretty busy all those years, with partners, or affairs, or dates or one night stands. You always seemed to be busy on February 14th. And when your boyfriend dumped you with any bullshit excuse, or your flings found another girl, or the date didn't go the way you'd hoped, then you'd come back home, defeated after another failed romance, and it was he who picked up the pieces and put them back together, who offered to get your favourite flavour of ice cream at two in the morning, who had seen the same rom-com film more times than he could count, who held you until you fell asleep and the cycle began once more.

And every year he allowed himself to hope that this time it would be different, that you would stop running away from your appartment for once, but every year the same thing happened again, and his heart broke just a little bit more. When he saw you that afternoon in that dress he loved so much, the same one he'd seen you wear for his birthday a couple of years ago, with the black tights that had a little rip in the back of the thigh, and those platform boots that showed off your legs and made you look slightly taller than him, he said goodbye to you in a quick cheek kiss that made his lips burn, and locked himself in his room. No matter how much weight he lifted in the gym, he was never strong enough to bear the sight of you leaving.

The plan was simple: put on his sound-cancelling headphones, work on his music until he couldn't keep his eyes opened, and pray he'd be asleep by the time you got back. He sat down at his desk, looking at the pictures hanging on the wall, and sighed before picking up his laptop. The screen read nine o'clock at night, so you'd been gone for over an hour. Now that you weren't there, he could leave his room to make himself some dinner, just to get back to his projects and stop thinking about you. At least that was the initial idea. Because it wasn't working. He kept remembering how you smiled at the feel of his lips against your skin, your still hands with the mascara bottle still between your fingers, and he wouldn't let himself forget that he didn't know who you were going out with, he hadn't reminded you to keep your location active in case something happened, that he'd be with you in a phone call.

So when he couldn't take it anymore, he got up, grabbed his car keys and took his gym bag. Maybe the physical exertion would make him tired enough to sleep, maybe if he stopped thinking about you so much he could focus on his life, maybe the fact that he didn't know about what you were going to do you was a good thing. But when he crossed the hallway ready to leave the appartment and looked into the living room, he saw you sitting on the couch 一that couch that meant so much in your friendship一 and he stopped. He walked slowly towards you, leaning against the doorframe, and watched you for a few seconds. You had taken off your boots so that you could put your feet up on the sofa, and you were curled up towards the corner where he always sat, leaving the gap he used to occupy, as if you were mourning his absence, your eyes fixed on your phone.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft, seeking not to startle you, waiting for you to make eye contact with him before continuing, "weren't you going out?"

Your eyes were wet with unshed tears, and for a moment Changbin wanted to confront the one who had upset you so much, to make him pay for making you sad. He saw you shake your head, straightening slightly, and pull your knees to your chest, curling into a ball.

"I couldn't," you whispered, swallowing back a sob.

"Did he stood you up?" Changbin asked.

"He..." you began, shying away from his gaze, your red cheeks making him frown, "he's not you."

"What do you mean with…? Oh"

"Yes," you chuckled, humourless, your laughter a sound devoid of emotion, your face falling as you realised that the surprise in Changbin's eyes could only mean one thing. "Oh. No matter how hard I've tried, no one has ever managed to be you. Not even close to what you mean to me, or how I feel about you. It's... it's not fair. But it's the truth."

"So, all this time...?" he asked, absorbing your every word, drawing in his mind a sketch of all he had missed out on because he had been too lost in you, letting the gym bag fall to the floor and crossing his arms, a shield between you, in case something went wrong. He had looked at the calendar, right? Today was Valentine's Day and not April Fool's Day, even if it surely felt like someone was pranking him.

"Not all the time" you pointed out, each sentence feeling like a stab in your heart, bleeding over your voice, as he stood in front of you, asking you about your stupid crush like he needed an ego boost, and not like you were opening up to him. "Not at first. You were the cute guy of the Ikea, a real friendship. You're my anchor, you know that. But when things started to change, I... I didn't deserve you. I never did. And even though I started dating guys, none of them were you. You... you were my best friend, Binnie."

"Were? As in not anymore?" then he approached you, squatting down in front of the couch, just as he had done so many years ago, resting a trembling hand on your knee. He had looked at you softly again, as he had looked at you once, but this time his eyes exuded a fear that he had never let you see before.

"I can't" you muttered, closing your eyes and covering your face with your hands, black tears of ruined make-up sliding down your skin. "Not when I'm in love with you, and I know you don't reciprocate my feelings."

And when he saw you look up, panic shining in your pupils, and he frowned back at you, as if you had offended him, it all felt like déjà vu. He told you, his tone dead serious, that you were wrong, and that although it seemed like you were reliving that anecdote you both loved to tell, you should never take his feelings for granted. You let out a disbelieving laugh, closing your eyes and resting your forehead on his shoulder, and silence fell over you both as Changbin whispered how much he loved you, that he hated that you had both suffered so much for a love that was actually so obvious, that you had been idiots with a lame communication, and that if there was anyone who deserved to be with him, it was you.

And he knew you were trying to take in his words, to memorise them, to lose yourself in his arms and never leave them. And almost like in a fairy tale, you asked him for a kiss, in that soft voice he would do anything for, and the gentle touch of your lips against his made him pull you on top of him, sitting on your green sofa. You sighed happily, perched on his lap, enjoying his warmth, the firmness of his hands on your hips, the soothing rest of his chin on your head, and Changbin watched you drift off to sleep, your heart beating along with his, savouring the moment.

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#﹙ ★ ﹚ mars — writes. #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #changbin x reader #changbin fluff

[darkdemeter]

GUARD DOG

The DARK DEMETER WRITING CATALOGUE, WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN (ONESHOT) #4 —

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

Mafia! Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

A/N — First time doing the sex pollen trope so it may be a bit stiff? Looking at doing more werewolf exposed to sex pollen stuff because I think it’s an interesting concept!

WORD COUNT — 24.7k

READER DISCRETION — Mafia/mob orientated stuff — violence — death — slight alluded to relationship with Natasha — trauma, some ptsd — mention and implied SA and forced sexual encounters (none main cast) — graphic depictions of torture, "animal" cruelty, experimentation and family death — exposure to sex pollen (reader only) — mention of previous usage of drugs (forced) — reader is dehumanised, usage of negative titles/names — sexual themes — SMUT** 18+ MINORS DNI — monster-tongue fucking — "Mate" usage and status — will feature "male variant" and "female variant" smut separate segments — I think that's it?

SUMMARY — All that you are is a guard. An obedient soldier. You have killed, maimed and other atrocities, but before you lose yourself you will do all these things for her. With the death of Pietro, Wanda remains as the sole heir to the Maximoff empire. As her loyal guard, it is your duty to protect her at all costs, and you will do so until your last breath; come what may. You now engage in a manhunt for Brock Rumlow, to exact revenge for the Maximoff heiress. However, it's not that simple. He's disappeared to the winds without a trace and so, those of the American brotherhood come your aid. However, when they bring news of Brock's whereabouts, it will force you to encounter a part of your dark history that you've purposefully kept hidden from Wanda. Ironic that you will venture to a place that still holds you captive yet is the stepping stone of how you gained your "freedom".

ACT I: AMBER & BLOOD

It all happens so fast. After a torturous incline of sinister  lingering just out of reach, Rumlow finally struck. Wanda could very well have died tonight if it weren’t for you, unfortunately, Pietro is lost in the crossfire. 

A black SUV rolled over with a fried, sizzling engine, and crumpled metal, Wanda’s leg is pinned between the driver’s seat and her own, unable to prevent Pietro from being dragged out. 

His yells of protest mix with the blood curdling sounds of flesh being pummelled and choking on his own blood. Wanda cries out in her suffering, her agony that cuts her deeply like a knife, turning without pause. She now realises she should have listened to you when you told them it was a set up. 

She’d been adamant the Rumlow Family had want for peace, such as them, and that with some luck, they could forge a new schematic and plan to control the European territories together in their newfound alliance. Foreign powers were not often taken in by those of the European empires and families unless they proved to have wealth, power, influence and anything else that could bolster their own standing. 

How wrong the Maximoff twins were, to think of such pleasantries like children with an over imaginative mind for wishful thinking. To believe honey-coated words. They were revealing their hand of cards to the dealer before it was the right time. 

She and Pietro only glimpsed at the surface of this opportunity, they didn’t take care in looking into the depths, they blindly ignored your advice to consider what was being offered. They had no elders to hit pause and test them, to let them properly judge the situation accordingly. 

The only means of guidance the twins were offered after the death of their parents did little in doing the right thing. Blubbering messes, hidden agendas, so-called family friends that failed so miserably in their job to counsel the Maximoff heirs. Trusted members that swore they would do all in their ability to protect the interest of the family, blood and business all.

It then fell into the palms of your clawed hands. Hands that were often healing bruised and splintered knuckles if not blood stained. It was up to you to rectify their mistakes. To provide the support of being a shadowy advisor, because of the scolding looks you were given whenever you tried to voice your own opinion at the sit downs. 

The ideal scenario of meeting with the Rumlows also implied that you were nowhere in the picture when the negotiations went down. Yes, Wanda and Pietro both agreed that your presence would only push Rumlow to refuse the deal, along with their desired terms.

 Did they truly think that he wouldn’t agree under the silent oath that he would later turn on them, your presence there or not? Rumlow was the dagger in the cloak. 

That’s why you were not in the car with them when it happens. But you were tailing behind them, to ensure that they were safe. That was your job, your purpose to be with the family, to protect them. And thankfully, given your experience, you knew something was off from the very start. 

The black, winding street lined by the green foliage of woodland is shrouded in darkness, Rumlow’s men are convinced that this was the perfect spot for their ambush to take place. Their cars formed a blockade in the direction the SUV was driving through, the white lights blaring through the thick shroud of night, a thin and constant blanket of fog muffled their black silhouettes. They appear more ghost-like than they really were. But they were very much real. 

Wanda continues to scream for her brother, pleading with the suited men to let him go, but they don’t. Instead, they laugh and joke while Pietro is beaten into a broken, bloody mess. His face is cut and littered with dark welts that contort his features, a hideous display of the brutality that could have been avoided if they just listened. 

She tries again and again to pull her leg from the tight wedge but cannot. When the car rolled, it sealed her fate, locking her in place to endure the cruelty of their consequences. 

You hear her shout for you then. Her voice, shrill and raw with desperation, she wills you to be at her side; unexpecting that her words seemed to be a work of magic when the large, muscular frame of your other side leaps from the canopy of trees and bushes behind her.

Rumlow thinks he is the only beast that none can trifle with. His memory is lacking or perhaps he’s purposefully blocked out the incident. 

The men who are your now sworn enemies are caught in the frenzy of their panic, alarmed by the swift form that tears Pietro’s attacker into shreds in seconds, his blood rains down like a storm, covering them and the dark road illuminated by the streams of light. 

From Wanda’s trapped place, she cannot help the swell of admiration and hope in her green eyes, the men cower before you as you protectively stand over Pietro’s unconscious body. The threads of her vocal cords are tightly constricted under the influx of tears that mist her eyes, making them faintly shine, yet she prevails to utter your name in the midst of her shock. To see that you actually came for them. 

Like a guardian angel. A guard dog. 

The fiery orbs of your amber eyes haunt the darkness and even so far to reach Wanda’s soul. To behold the gaze of such anger, she cannot even pray that those targeted by such hatred find rest when their bodies have grown cold and lifeless.

It is one thing to test the fury of a man. It’s a completely different story when one tests the wrath of a werewolf. As far as the reputation of your collar goes, you don’t take kindly to your enemies, as expected, nor are you known to be merciful towards prisoners. If they intend harm on those that are under your protection, they will die. 

In the amber fires of your eyes that bare the gateway to the underworld, she sees that deeply driven will to protect. She finds comfort in that notion, that you are here right now, already one man torn to pieces, and several more to join him, she releases the breath in her chest like a floodgate as she utters, “kill them all.”

The large outline of your muzzle dips obediently and you turn your sights to the men sent to kill the heirs to the Maximoff Family. No mercy. There was to only be blood and carnage. 

Your towering height only drives the stakes of primitive fear further into their hearts as your bloody jaws pry open, bellowing a baritone howl that freezes fauna and flora both, terrorising their once moment of harmony. 

One of the men shouts orders to the others, his words die on the junction of his Adam's apple when you strike an arm forward. Your claws puncture first and followed by the digits of your pawed fingers, he chokes around the intrusion, and with an equally viscous tug you tear the cords from his throat. 

Claps of gunfire echo with each flash, bullet after bullet try in vain to penetrate your hide, some find more prominent purchase while others ricochet off you and clank against the bloodstained road with false promises that that single bullet would be the one to bring you down. 

For a family allied with the very facility that made you the ruthless killing machine - a family who have knowledge of their fingertips - they were greatly under prepared, sorely lacking the equipment needed to cause you any real damage. 

One man gains a surge of bravery or stupidity and he runs at you, gun in hand firing until his magazine is emptied before he knew it, you see his very life flash before his eyes as you raise your opposite arm up and sweep downward. His scream is cut short when his head is shredded in half and blood gushes in oozing streams, he falls with a meaty thump to the ground. 

Two men armed with shotguns empty their barrels, reload and fire again, the process repeats itself. It’s the middle one that awakens that predator drive in you when he turns and makes a run for it. 

You run at the two men and dispatch of them, claws tearing through their suits and divulging the contents of their stomachs, their internal organs now unguarded by the crushed remnants of their bones, they topple free and onto the ground at their feet. Their legs are quick to give out as shock wracks their bodies, hands shakily attempting to pull their innards back in with little hope of succession. 

The final man who now flees the scene wheezes, and quite loudly at that, firearm disarmed when your jaws clamp shut around his forearm and tear the limb from his shoulder with a squelch and a bone-breaking pop. 

He clutches at the deformity of his missing arm and his hand is soaked with his blood, the wound leaves a trail to paint a streaky, black line that now shines under the uncovered moon; taking a leisurely peek through the veil of obsidian clouds. 

You can tell that the shock is getting to him as much as he tries to carry on, he’s becoming weaker. He now stumbles like injured prey, exactly what he was to you in this moment, whimpering as he drops to the road with a helpless grunt. 

He’s desperate from how he crawls from you. You slowly stalk behind him with some level of intrigue, head cocking to the side and your ears twitch against the blowing breeze, you snarl lowly when he turns to peer up at you. 

“P-please!” he shouts weakly as you flip him into his back with minimal effort, “d-d–don’t! No–!” 

You make him suffer for the trouble he and his fellow men put Wanda and Pietro through. You make the agony last, something that goes against the natural instinct to end a poor animal’s suffering; it was broken out of you in that facility. 

You maul to hurt people. You kill to hurt people. All things natural and that bring you closer to that connection, that tie that binds you to the balance of nature, was ripped out of you to mould you into an obedient pet. 

An animal that follows orders. The duality between wolf and human, both were equally broken in.

His screams of horror and agony tear through the night until he couldn’t anymore, his throat tired out from screaming to whatever god he held faith in, your teeth rip into his bowels and chest, flesh and bone minced into chunks of paste and blood. He now laid bare with the entirety of his midriff destroyed. The light in his eyes now faded. 

The threat is now neutralised, you realise and swiftly you turn and trudge back to Wanda. When you reach her, she’s managed to just wiggle herself a little ways out of the open door frame, fragments of glass dig into her palms until they draw blood, mere droplets in comparison to what you drew from Rumlow’s men. 

“Y/N,” she whimpers quietly in relief. Her face is scrunched tightly with a hiss as she attempts again to free herself, a strangled cry of frustration is what it takes for her tears to break free. 

Your ears are pinned far back against your head at the sound. Brutally self-beating in her vulnerable state. You reach forward with a growl, you shove the leather seat forward and with the mechanical gears popping, Wanda’s leg is freed. You help in dragging Wanda out from the car, Your nose is wet and hot against her skin when you press it to her, inhaling her scent as you sniff her over for any potential injuries. 

“I’m fine,” she assures you but the wrinkle of your muzzle tells her you don’t appreciate her diffusing the matter of your job. “Pietro!” 

Wanda pushes herself to her feet with newfound strength. She hurries to her twin brother and rolls him onto his back, a gasp on her tongue, you hear her breath hitch in her lungs while she takes in the sight of him. 

Her next move is hesitant but she has to know. She dips her head, turning it and presses it against his chest, her hand covering the deep cut right at her nose, the iron scent of blood fills her senses and her face winces. 

The lively thump in his chest is silent. 

“I knew this would happen. I told you, but you didn’t listen.”

Though with words so evident in their truth, Wanda finds them venomous and harsh to her ears, still in the grasp of shock, the loss of her brother is the final straw. Not only two years ago her parents were killed, and now another Maximoff finds themselves in the grave. She is the sole surviving heir to the Maximoff Family and their empire hinges upon her. 

A burden, you feel, is crushing her from the inside as all eyes will now turn to her. 

She sits on the edge of her lage bed with her legs pressed tightly together, hanging down over the side, hands folded in her lap in defeat. Her long hair shields her tears from you, when you glance up from your place at her vanity do you catch her reflection. A girl done in by the trauma. In the moonlight that pours through the window, her body is quivering in waves, mind and body at battle with overcoming the death of her brother. 

You cannot help but wonder if maybe this is all your fault. Had her parents not been killed, had you been there to protect them, would she have been spared from it all? 

She’s terrified. The grief that accompanies her loss doesn’t go unshared, you have your own reasons to mourn. Pietro, although a little too cocky at times, was a good brother and son who intended to change the playing field of your world. A young man who had a vision but ultimately was blinded by his ideas to see the world as it was, that there were those who saw different alternatives to get what they wanted. 

And Rumlow was one of those people. 

The heat of your body angrily laps at the streak of icy coldness of your blood when you hear behind you the shriek of a thousand tears, memories shattered into pieces, torn apart by the fragile thread between life and death and all the unfair tactics this life offers.

 Wanda now screams into the palms of her hands, body caught in a violent spasm amidst the ocean of her pain. “H-he’ll come back any minute… he will, he’s just– just in a meeting–”

You walk slowly towards her and kneel down in front of her. “Wanda, look at me,” you growl and turn her chin up so her watery eyes meet yours. 

“He’s gone. Rumlow isn’t going to play things out the way you both hoped he would. Think about it, he fucking almost ended this entire family tonight had I’d not been there.”

The delicate, plump shape of her lips part with a small and faint gasp, her eyes bore the slow realisation of what you were saying. Yet her eyes beg for you to take back what you said. To offer her an escape from it all, to just tell her what she wants to hear; not what she needs to. 

It’s unfortunate news to her as you shake your head slightly. You cannot let her fall into the false dream that everything was alright. Like a bandaid, you have to rip it off. She had almost been killed. Had you not been there, after the men dealt with Pietro, they would have gotten her too. The thought of it causes an unwelcome shiver to run up her spine. 

“Rumlow aims to snuff out the entire Maximoff Family in order to gain territory. And he’s not going to stop until he’s put you in the ground too.” 

How could your words be so hard to hear but equally so right in their conviction? You were trusted by her parents, someone they considered part of the family despite your otherwise humble dismissal that you were just a guard to the family. They considered you equal to their standing. 

And Wanda waved off your warnings as if you didn’t have a clue. Hell, she doesn’t even know half of what you had to endure at the facility. The horrors of your time growing up in that damn place are accounts you’re not overly excited to share with anyone. 

“Wanda,” you say her name to draw her unfocused eyes, to bring her back to you, “you’re all I have to protect now. I swore that I would do everything in my ability, and I will. But promise me, you won’t do anything like that again.”

Your eyes hold her attention, firm and unwavering in the looming silence between you. She feels her heartbeat race a little quicker now as she becomes lost in the certainty of your protection, the caged beast beneath the surface, she nods. “I promise.”

“Good.” You sigh heavily as something finally eases the tension in your shoulders, you let them drop lower and bow your head, face inches from resting in her lap. Her fingers comb the length of your hair, soft and drenched from your quick shower to rinse off the blood that clung to your fur. 

She lets her head dip as well and soak in the scent of your shampoo, a strong smell of pine, something naturistic, compared to the one she used. Not at all the scent she would peg you for with your rough exterior and stoic personality.

But that was all a front. Time and time again she’s seen a side to you that you keep away from others. A tenderness you reserve for her, even your claws tend to be drawn back whenever you’re just in her company. Much like they were now, she marvels at the sight of those sharpened tips that you use as a weapon, as they now reduce back into the nail beds. 

Other than that, all she got to see was your dominating and intimidating stature, tough as iron front, letting all know that she was under your unwavering protection. That you guard her. 

Your head rolls up and your noses brush against each other, breaths mingling together in the miniscule gap between your lips, an inch apart you would have considered inappropriate before. But that was when you were unsure and reserved, humbly turning down any sort of praise and keeping your feelings locked away in some dark corner of your heart. 

Before you came to realise you were in love with her. 

You try to calm the rapid increase of your heart rate as if somehow she is still in the clutches of immediate danger, that at any moment she will be taken from you. Her lips, so plump and full and kissable, ghost over yours in silent contemplation. She knows just as well as you that this teeters on a fine line, that this can jeopardise everything between the two of you. 

And nobody could know. A werewolf guard and the heiress to one of the largest and well established criminal empires in the world, if anyone found out, it would cost you both everything. 

What terrifies you is the thought that you could lose Wanda at any moment. The constant what if questions. 

‘What if I were unable to prevent her demise? What if I fail her?’

“I just can’t lose you, Wanda.”

You shake your head at your own words, their meaning so plain and simple: a confession. 

“I promised your parents that I would always protect you.” 

It’s like she could see through the cover up. Yes, you did swear yourself to them that you would protect their children, their daughter, but you also used it as a line of defence. To save face from the awfully timed confession. 

“They’re gone, Y/N. Swear it to me.” 

Her hands cup the shape of your face, the pads of her thumbs soft, delicate against the contours of your features, the tiny and healed scars that littered your face alone, the rest of them were hidden beneath your clothes, how her simple touch calms you and makes you more alive than ever. Her touch is a revival. For once, you’re given the reprieve you long for. To feel trusted wholeheartedly. Loved.

Your hands run up the sides of her thighs until they pause right on the rise of her rear, your fingers grasp firmly and tug her that little bit closer, your forehead pressed to hers and that amber glow shines brightly in your eyes in the dimly lit room. 

“I swear it.” 

Your lips come together as two separate forces once held far apart for too long, now the pull draws you both inwards to the other, magnetic and electrical. Passionate and hungry. You waste no time in sharing one another’s taste as your tongues glide and entangle amidst the heat of your kiss. 

Her fingers rake through your hair and tug on the roots, earning one guttural of an animalistic moan from you, the sound results in a wetness to pool between her thighs, and you can smell her alluring scent. Your hands knead her arse, your tight grip possessive as you have her in your grasp, after all this time. 

You’ve done many horrible things in your long life. But Wanda drowns it all out. For a moment or more, you are free of the guilt, the shame, the fear of being capable of hurting her. You’d snap the next man’s neck or shoot a hundred bullets into a corpse without so much as a sweat. But you’d be damned if you laid a hand that intended harm on Wanda. 

And that’s why you swear to her now, that your loyalty shall remain intact. Because you have killed for her. You will kill for her. 

It came with the job but now it comes with the instinct, the desire to have her as your own. 

Then again, that was the light of your soul, what little there was that isn’t eclipsed, the faction of your humanity and questionable morality, talking. 

ACT II: ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE & WAR

ONE WEEK LATER

The party was hosted in honour of Pietro, a final toast and salute to the young male heir, a dear boy and treasure lost in the battles of struggling power. Many of the European mobsters respected the Maximoff Family, and would attend the party to pay their respects forward. 

However, Pietro’s death did not only shake the foundations of the criminal underworld within Europe, but overseas as well it would seem. So when mobsters from the Americas attended the honorary party, to say you were more protective in regards to your duty to Wanda and the Maximoff Family doesn’t cut it. 

Tony Stark and the band of his notorious brotherhood swagger in, Tony wearing a brighter shade suit than those of his company - who at least took greater care in setting their palettes to the familiar dark shades of mourning - the bright pink of Stark’s tie makes something seethe inside the pit of your stomach. 

The disrespect of Pietro’s memory makes your blood rush and the wolf inside is itching to unleash itself right there and then. You can just tell he’s stirring up the party on purpose, no doubt to get the attention of Wanda, and your assumptions were correct when Natasha joined your side. 

You took to seeing over the guests from the upper balcony that circles the lower level of the great hall. Your eyes narrow and zero in on the American group of gangsters the moment they walk in, not too long after their arrival does Stark lead them over to the bar, the server working double time to fulfil their order. 

Natasha follows the target of your gaze and smirks. “You’re burning holes into them with your eyes.”

She sees the amber hue dissipate, but only slightly, the lowly embers ready to become a roaring fire once the right fuel is added, to be devoured by your anger. “They’re here for a foothold.”

You only hum, the sound is short and dismissive. “They’ll behave themselves and ask for nothing, if they know what’s good for them.” 

“Stark has already sent an inquiry forward to have an audience with Wanda,” Natasha says and you finally look at her behind the hardened scowl, set hard into your face like stone. Your grip tightens on the glass nestled into your palm, the sound of a fragility splintering in your hold threatens the iced liquor of becoming a wasted mess on the floor. 

You take in her appearance, red hair short and styled into wavy curls, makeup neutral for the most part, save for the shadowy appeal around her eyes and full lips painted in red to draw attention - even yours momentarily - to them. 

She takes notice of your eyes wandering her body from head to toe and she playfully quirks a brow. “See something you like?” 

As if to test your resolve, she arches her back ever so slightly, her already short, black cocktail dress rides only higher, leaving little to the imagination. The work of art is already standing there beside you. Once you would have leapt at the opportunity, but not anymore. That was the old you that would have instantly pulled Natasha to you and smacked her rear until they were red with your handprint, whispering in her ear all the ways you would deal with her teasing.

But the new you stands above that. You’re loyal to one woman and one woman only. 

With an unamused shrug, you take a swig of your liquor. The taste rolls over your tongue with a rich, burning sensation. 

“Not interested, Romanoff. I’m a changed wolf.”

She chuckles at that, head tilting to the side with a cheshire grin. “And here I was, getting all dolled up for you. What a waste.” 

She juts her bottom lip out and you roll your eyes, gaze falling back onto the scheming mobsters below. 

“Maybe not. You can always use your skills down there,” you nod your head in the direction of your eyes, “and convince them to back off.”

“You can’t always protect her from people like them. Sooner or later, she will have to engage in business deals, and you can’t keep her hidden in her ivory tower forever.”

“Not forever,” you correct sharply, “just until Rumlow is dealt with and she has recovered from Pietro’s death. The last thing I want is for her to be taken advantage of.”

What you’re asking of her is laughable to her by the way she quietly cackles beside you as if you told some hilarious joke. “Naw, Puppy, are you letting something show?” 

You shake her head in response to her nonsense, you won’t be baited into feeding into what she alludes to. 

“You know, I hate how it’s expected of us women, when our means of support is taken. Now that Pietro’s gone, she’ll be expected to marry some rich overlord or some don.”

That makes your blood run cold and skin turn searing hot. The idea of Wanda marrying someone like that isn’t what you want to be thinking about right now, no matter how true Natasha’s statement is, it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Your tongue runs over your top teeth, a fang manages to nick the moving muscle, drawing a few drops of tangy blood to join the tartness of truth. 

You bite back your next comeback, the muscles in your cheek clenching tightly like coiled springs ready to snap under the pressure, she and Tony both are equal in their game to piss you off tonight. Nobody wants to see a werewolf snap, even those who think they do, they’re quick to see the error of their ways. But Natasha always found the thrill in that, in her little games, she was always doing something to rattle your chain. 

“Just do that for me, yeah?” 

“And what if I don’t?” 

She teases you again, bending one leg forward until her thigh brushes the centre of your groin. Her eyes are half lidded in her mission to weaken you, to break you in, and in this case you’re not taking a single liking to the notion; that someone is still trying to achieve what another has already done, too far gone in your head that it’s a fried mess of pure disturbia. 

Your other hand curls around her bicep and you drag her towards you and spin her, pushing her back against the pillar next to you. She stares up at you, eyes wide and hopeful in their longing to watch you crack, your lips curl into a sneer. 

“You don’t want to find out.”

You push her away from you, taking great care not to be so rough, lest she falls back and stumbles in her black high heels, she scoffs with a wave of her hand. “Alright, alright, I was just fooling around. I’ll deal with them.” 

With a gust of a snort through your nose, you nod and take your leave after draining down the rest of your drink and slamming the glass down on a nearby server’s platter as you strut off. You pay no mind that the force you restrained only prior with Natasha had transferred over and the glass shattered upon impact with the metal tray, glass clattering and ringing like a steady beat of a drum. 

Your little show with Natasha proved to be quite the performance to the American mobsters who occupied the seats by the bar. 

You didn’t want to doubt Natasha, but you held some mistrust in her task to do as you asked, the matter more personal than practical to the business side of things, but you wanted to seek out Wanda. 

You couldn’t blame her for lingering back from the party for the time being and drown herself in the sorrows of isolation. 

But particularly after Natasha brought up the case of marriage, you had to seek Wanda out. Your fear is irrational, fearing that somehow someone who played the part of some wealthy don or overlord was with her now, down on one knee and presenting her a ring as they asked the question. 

“Will you marry me?”

You all but force the door open with a thrust of your arm, the hand on the doorknob wary of the strength you forced to choke it with. You’d been so deep in your messed up head, you actually thought you heard someone’s voice ask the dreaded question. 

You catch your unhinged jaw in the act, about to scream your objection before Wanda has a chance to either accept or deny, but she looks up at you from her place behind the large, dark wooden desk, the sacramento green leather only brought about to highlight her form. 

She gives you a look of expectancy and beckons you in with a gentle wave of her hand and inviting, sad smile. “Y/N, please come in. Is there something to report?” 

You shake your head in response to her question as you walk into the office - her office - but you believe that it was also to shake the intrusive thoughts in your head away. With a sigh of relief, she lets you involve yourself in her space and become accustomed to whatever strikes your fancy. 

You walk across the way towards the table on the opposite side of the room beneath the large window, curtains tied back to reveal the onslaught of rain and brewing storm clouds. Even the heavens were crying over the loss to the Maximoff Family it seems. 

You hit yourself with the stronger alcohol, tip the decanter and pour the rusty brown liquid into a short whiskey glass. You all but slam the decanter down, this time you thankfully avoid smashing it into crystalised shards. 

Wanda turns her head in your direction. “Everything alright?”

“Just peachy,” you huff as you stare out the window, brows knitted together and you take a sip of your beverage. The burnt taste is stronger than the drink you acquired at the bar, but it does little to quell your troubles and bring about that soothing buzz that warms your chest. 

“I take it you received Stark’s inquiry?”

“I did. And I assume, by the way you’re aggressively scowling, that he’s here?” she answers from her place at the desk. You take another gulp from your glass, lips pulling back into a thin line. Your eyes become thin with a glare, the stare awfully predatory with warning. 

“Yeah.” 

She stands from her seat and wanders over to where you are, the long skirt of her dress tightly fits her silhouette, the ruffle slit along her thigh provides some relief for movement, you watch as she carefully approaches you. 

Her naked hand reaches up and with a touch so delicate in its pure nature to soothe, you lean your cheek into her palm with a rumbling purr, the sound brings a smile to her lips as you’re lured by the touch you were deprived off for most, if not all, of your life. 

How can a mere touch be capable of healing the disturbed fragments of your tormented mind for but a moment? But just like that, the illusion of your wishful thoughts is shattered. Your tone is sharp and cuts straight to the point. 

“Wanda, I strongly advise against it.” 

“I-I know, but listen–”

“No, you listen!” 

Wanda gasps aloud when the shackles of your mind threaten to snap right there, the mentality of a previously caged animal losing itself to the mindless blur returning for the fraction of a few seconds, you pin Wanda in place against the table you stood by, glass rattling together violently from the force behind it, your arms cage her at both sides. The second time she becomes trapped without the capability to escape. 

She has no choice and is forced to watch a darkness creep into the blazing hellfire of your glowing eyes. “Men like him are dangerous. They are the definition of what makes a man untrustworthy. If you choose to see him, then you may as well have Rumlow be walking through the front door as well.”

“I think I can handle a few men in suits, dog.”

‘Dog...’

That was a fine line being crossed. She’s never called you that before and the shrinking of her pupils leads you to believe she regrets letting the word slip out. You can’t begin to dig up the memories of those old bones, the unidentifiable names and titles that stripped you of who you were. Your teeth ache from the pressure that compresses them together like metal plates of a vice, the muscles beneath eyes darkened by exhaustion, they twitch in recognition of the heat of tears. 

Quickly, you squeeze them shut to hide the shameful level of care she'd see. The embarrassment you carry for that more than professional fondness for the heiress. There are just some things that are unable to escape you. In some form, either by something you do or by someone else’s hand, it triggers the past to return and hits you with a punch to the gut, forcing the memories back into the forefront to torment you. 

Through a battle of grit you push aside the conflict that makes your head swim and dizzy. “Will you think that way during or after he has you pinned like this, as he and his men have their fill of you?”

It’s the question that makes the penny drop. One that doesn’t need an answer, you don’t want an answer to. 

“Because believe me when I say this, Wanda, that I have bore witness to too many women who said very similar things and ended up as the victims at the dealing table; not the victors. All the while, I was ordered to sit. Stay.” 

The number of times that shock collar went off to prevent you from protecting those women have only blurred together. The victims became faceless and shielded by the black behind your eyelids. You wouldn’t watch. The one luxury within the sea of evil your prior masters afforded you. 

The striking green of her narrowed gaze widens, the act she portrays to exude confidence and power - qualities expected highly of her more than ever now - they drop within an instant of your words that shatter all hope. Words that bring about the monstrous turn of reality, the world infested by such evil that it plagues all who come into contact with it. You as well, counted as both the victim and driving force that instigates it. 

She sees the recollection of something dark and prominent dominate your eyes, watching the dying embers of amber come to life like fire. Your dark pupils once lingering in the shadows of your thoughts stare Wanda down, right into every inch of her young, and all in all, untouched soul; while also having never left her alone to begin with. She feels the notch of fear bounce in her lungs. Threads of rubber bands quivering, at any given point ready to snap. 

You’ve never given her reason before to be scared of you. But now, you both anxiously bask in the uncertainty of that now. 

These were stories you had no thrilling interest in sharing for the passing of time. Oftentimes you’d rather take a silver bullet to the heart and be done with it all. But then who would protect her from the monsters? 

Monsters who only needed the skin on their bones and the horrendous intention behind their actions to do unspeakable things that violate, destroy and corrupt. 

The dread brings death to the liveliness that Wanda can only bring, a unique source that shimmers in her brilliant eyes, a green hue you knew you were enraptured by the moment you met her. She can’t even bring herself to say anything, to question you and what those eyes have had to endure before the Maximoff Family took you in; sheltering you for what you thought would be just a little while. But no, they took you in. Gave you a place to belong. 

Before the Maximoff Family, you had served numerous other crime lords and the like. As a loyal hound tethered to their leash, you obeyed every whim, every command, no matter how heinous it made you appear; a feral animal at the ready with the simple utterance of an order. 

You knew how these people did their dealings, how they operate and scheme. You’ve seen men getting gunned down across the table, women taken advantage of, and prisoners with sacks over their heads begging for their lives before their slaughter; by your hand or by that of your boss. 

Wanda would be tested and prodded by the elders of the criminal underworld. And if they can see it can be done, you know they won’t hesitate to make her one of those women who were bent over and taken on the very table meant to guard their interests and forge alliances. 

You refuse to let that fate befall Wanda. 

So you take it upon yourself to educate her a little on the matters of criminal diplomacy and negotiations. You push yourself against her until her front is flushed to yours, her breasts having no space but to brush on your chest with every deep breath she takes. Through her dark lashes that bat at you with dark innocence and longing, the colour of her eyes forces a groan to tumble over your bottom lip. 

“Still think you’re capable, Kitten?” 

Your core is a fire that warms every part of her being, she’s drowning out the sorrows with you as her addictive fix, all that she can think about is how you create that electric charge that shocks her nerves and causes that wetness to pool between her thighs once again. The reverberating and husky texture threaded that gives your wolf a voice makes her head swim. 

How that voice would feel against her sensitive, swollen bud as you devoured her, carnally and without restraint. To truly succumb to your beautiful nature and have her the way you would want to. Your nose burrows into the arched curve of her jaw and neck, her perfume hits your senses first, smelling of lilac and vanilla but beneath it, her natural scent hides.

She takes longer than she would have personally liked to answer you, the blurred haze of her mind frazzles any attempt to utter a response. 

“I-I… I just thought that maybe he can– he can help us find Rum–LOW!” You bare your teeth against her neck with a low growl. Her body flinches against the wall of your body. 

“Quit with the stuttering, and let’s try that answer again.”

A hand grasps hold of her face, fingers firmly pressed into the skin of her cheeks and forcing her gaze upwards. You’re leaving her with little to no choice. You remove your hand when her head moves within its grasp in a nodding motion. 

The arch of your brow rises slightly as you wait to hear what you know that must be made known. You want her to admit it. “No.”

“Better,” you drawl, teeth grazing the plains of her warm skin, you can very well taste her but you crave more. Your hands hold her by her hips and your fingers dig into her, sure enough to leave bruising behind. 

“Shit, I need you…” She’s on you in a flash of a second, lips hungry in their mission to ravish you and invade all thoughts you had prior, filling your mind with only her. Wanda’s legs leap off the ground and circle your strong waist and your hands support the extra weight you carry, the slit of her dress parts to reveal the tantalising prize of her thigh, in which you curl your palm around greedily. 

You shuffle back, allowing your heightened senses to guide you back until the back of your calves butt up into one of the accompanying, sacramento leather sofas, you drop yourself into the cushion with Wanda straddling your lap. 

Your lips latch hold of one another, caught in the erotic dance that shuts out all imposing forces. You use a hand to handle her and roughly pull her closer, fingers becoming entangled in the roots of her red locks. Her front rhythmically rocks into you as your clothed bodies try desperately to reach one another’s skin.

Fuck, how her body fit so snugly into yours and so perfectly, it’s like she was made for you. That somehow, Mother Nature herself, ensured that Wanda Maximoff be the only woman to belong against your body, to make your lungs burn with great fervour and stir the strongest instinct to protect. The fitting piece of the puzzle you never realised you were missing until now. Like two marble statues carved, you’re infused together, the bond of carven contact intimate and soul binding. 

The call of something distant and past, a faint memory once far lingering behind reaches through the veil and beckons you to entwine the separate threads of your souls as one. 

Your tongue darts out and teases her top lip. She moans, soft and deep, she parts her lips for you and you slither the eager muscle in, running it over her own, she moans again until you swallow the noise. Her fingers are clawing, clenching the fabric of your suit jacket until her nails scratch at the threaded seams, head tilting to the side as her hair falls onto her exposed shoulder. 

Her taste is divine, hypnotically venomous that leaves you craving more with every passing second. Her core that’s now buzzing in her aroused state, she whines at the friction of your pants digging in between her thighs. Just as you, she craves more. 

She drinks down the vibrations of a husky purr crawling up your throat, she lets out a small noise that all but has both your hands on her arse in an instant, tugging her impossibly closer while she continues to grind away; core against fiery core. 

Her left hand trails down the length of your larger body until it rests over your groin. Your head dips back against the sofa’s back when she palms you, rubbing you firmly through your trousers. The muscles in your torso strain and flex, pangs of arousal shoot to every nerve end in your body. 

“But maybe they won’t dare touch me if they know who I belong to,” she breathes out when she has a chance to break away from your lips, before a high pitched gasp is ripped from her chest. You buck your hips up, harshly to rub her sensitive bud through her panties, the sensation drills her further into lustful madness. 

“Wanda,” you warn between clenched teeth, “that’s quite a few important men I don’t really feel like cleaning up after.” 

“Imagine our relief.” 

Yours and Wanda’s head snap in the direction of the voice. American, a hint of the borough of Brooklyn, and his eyes a cold, harsh winter of blue. He stood there at the entrance of the office alongside those of their criminal brotherhood, tall and broad shouldered next to a man who matched his height and physique, his own hair short and blonde but eyes very much the same; a reflection of something icy in his blue orbs. 

James “Bucky” Barnes and Steve Rogers. You recall their faces. Not only theirs, but the others too share the same form of recollection, that of a dark skinned man, hair shaved back and facial hair styled similar, clean and simple. He too is equally broad across the chest as Bucky and Steve, his dark eyes ever haunted with that looming glare meant only for you. 

To Sam’s side is a lithe shaped personnel, long, raven hair grazing to his shoulders and slicked back behind his ears, pale skinned and pointed nose, and of course, that wide and toothy grin that spoke one language: trickery. 

Amidst the wall the four men form, adorned in their dark, three piece suits, was Tony standing front and centre, his short brown hair slightly brushed in an unkempt manner unique to him. He was a hard man to miss in a crowd when you think about it, in his extravagant suits and auburn tinted glasses. 

They stare at you and Wanda, caught in the compromising position you find yourselves in, their eyes smirking and accusatory. 

A deep, hostile growl rattles loudly into the air, laced thickly with silent tension, and Tony raises a hand up. He leans his shoulder and Natasha walks past him, a smirk of her own plastered on her lips. Her eyes, green and dark like the woodland canopy, portray the power she now holds over you. Of course, she would do anything to ensure Wanda’s dignity remain intact, but yours; she could have some real fun with you. 

Natasha always favoured the power struggle when you both treated the other as nothing but a reliever of stress. When the dynamic of your relationship with Wanda hadn’t been so intimate. 

“Well, to think I was actually correct that you were letting something show back there,” she chuckles and you tug Wanda closer to you, lips contorted into a snarl, “I don’t think you’re enlisted in your paperwork as a certified breeder, or that you’ve been granted your freedoms pass, Wolf.”

“Y/N?” Wanda questions with a whisper, her brows pinched in her confusion. You cannot bear to look her directly in the eye, just catching her stare from your peripheral. 

You growl again and the flicker of amber brightens around your obsidian pupils. 

“Natasha–”

“But Stark wants a deal. I advise we hear him out, don’t you agree?” 

The room gathers silence like dust as you gather your racing thoughts and reel them back in. However much you despised the clean up, now seems like the one and only chance you have to keep this as a tight lipped secret. You would deal with Natasha on your own afterwards.

But Wanda beat you to it as the skin beneath her palms quivered and grew flaming hot to the touch, she had to draw her hands away lest you burn and blister her skin. 

“Okay, we’ll hear you out. But my guard stays.”

“I believe they’re more than that, but very well, they’ll stay.” Tony huffs a haughty chuckle, nodding as he kinks his fingers in sign to his men to follow his lead, to approach you both. Wanda slips out of your lap and smoothes out any crinkles in her dress, chin tilted down to avoid looking up at the mob boss as he stalks closer to her. 

She feels vulnerable, far more than she would have liked, the surge of confidence she had prior to being caught - that naive hope - of getting the upper hand vanishes before her very fingertips. Despite the power of Europe to sustain her as the top Family, she’s revealed her hand yet again to the wrong sort, the dangerous sort. 

The sort that can now utilise you and her as a form of blackmail. The society of criminals as a whole finding out about this would bring a tidal wave of backlash towards Wanda, she would be hindered greatly, maybe even lose support and thus, the empire of the Maximoff Family would crumble into ruin. 

And if Pierce found out, then there was nothing stopping him from dragging you back to that facility. Natasha is correct in regards to your paperwork. You’re no free dog. It darkens your heart to think that you never have been and most likely you never will be. 

Seeing Tony stand in front of Wanda, testing the boundaries of her personal space, he intrudes and you immediately stand on your two feet and meet behind her, your firm front grazing against her back. Your hands ball into tight fists and the claws come back out, harshly they bite into your palms. 

That bright light of amber never once threatens to go out like a singular flame of a candle. It’s a shadowed threat to them that the wolf is just beneath the surface, staring them point blank in the eye, you witness the faint, fiery glow reflecting in their own eyes. 

Wanda is warmed by the heat of your body behind her, she almost finds herself leaning into you but refrains. She must remain strong in front of these men.

By the venom in your voice and the scarred recollection of something horrific past, she couldn’t underestimate these men, and especially not now. Not after what they’ve seen. 

She gestures for them to make themselves comfortable. A tactic she picked up from her father whenever he conducted business, the non verbal form of communication to guide fellow associates and company to relax themselves. 

Your eyes momentarily leave the tinted shades of Tony’s glasses, his eyes meeting yours after he sent a cheeky wink to Wanda, and your eyes narrow sharply when you spy Natasha coming around behind one of the sofas. With a baritone levelled hum, you catch Wanda’s gaze and you cock your head towards the desk, telling her to get behind it. 

It was a matter of ensuring she wouldn’t be in such close proximity with the mobsters, that if they dare to try anything, they have several feet to cross before they can even reach her. 

Wanda does as you indicate and with her head held high and shoulders dropped back, she struts to the large, red wood desk and takes a seat; once the men have taken theirs. 

‘Good girl.’

A ghost of a smirk crosses your features. You’re proud that she managed to pick up on a thing or two, given the position you’re both now caught in, she’s going to regain some of that stolen power. She sits in the tall backed seat, the dark green brings her even brighter shade to shine and almost ominously. The wired wall lights fuel the room with a dark orange halo, but the storm outside grows bolder, thunder begins to roll in to fill the void of silence. 

Each of the four men occupy the four sofas and Natasha lingers between Steve and Tony, she’s like a cat lounging happily, body poised against Tony’s sofa with darkened grace. And still she wears that prideful smirk. Your jaws clench hard, the familiar ache of your vice-like strength makes itself present and the muscles in your cheeks strain and flex. 

You join Wanda’s side, a clawed hand rests on the back of the seat, but unlike Natasha’s relaxed pose you take to carrying a sense of duty and responsibility - chest puffed out and shoulders straight. You’ve seen these very men and more of their own brotherhood operate in sit downs before. Letting your guard down is not an option. 

“So,” Wanda clears her throat and all eyes fall to her, “am I right to assume you want for a foothold in Europe?” You’re both amazed by how well she’s holding herself in front of Stark and his captains, but another part of you dreads how long she can keep it up for. 

“That’s right.” Tony smiles wide with a nod of his head. “I understand that the loss of your brother has struck quite a nerve among the European Families. We wish to lend our support to you and aid you in finding Rumlow. As far as I’ve heard, he has mysteriously gone silent since the attack.”

“But at the price and percentage of the Maximoff’s empire and holdings,” you cut in sharply, tone bitter from the audacity Tony dared to flaunt. He was a blood and power hungry tyrant hidden in the guise of a peacock, strutting around with his colourfully crime-stained feathers - accomplishments that weren’t lacking admiration by many.

The men before you each glare at you in warning to keep yourself in check. They mean to challenge you, to restrain you and remind you of your shackled status, just like the others that scorned you for doing what was not in your job description.

But Wanda doesn’t allow these men across the seas to get away with such iron-glad judgement. 

“Quite right, Y/N,” she praises, eyes bearing the form of daggers, “I cannot just simply agree to your support without knowing the finer details. Terms must be discussed, gentlemen, and I will not leave this meeting with no clean water in my basin.”

You feel the corner of your lips tug up at the flustered, annoyed sight of Tony and his men. Bucky and Steve glance to one another, the pure intent for murder springing to light as a bright flash of lightning blinks through the window. Loki looks to Tony, tight lipped and tongue to the cheek of his mouth in contemplation. 

Are they figuring out that the foundation of their newly gained power is beginning to struggle? Fuck, you hope so. 

“Then we’ll make our terms known,” said Sam with a danger-laced purr, “as a start, we want access to trade outposts and warehouses from Russia to Romania, as well as along the coast of Italy. On top of that, our asking price is fifty percent of the Maximoff holdings and shares, forty percent of earnings from the black market - twenty percent commission if the supplies are manufactured or supplied by us - and thirty-five percent earnt from legitimate business pools.”

You and Wanda spit in unison, “As a start?” 

They really were coming straight in with the big guns. Tony usually was direct, but had a way to honey the words into better luring in the fish. Sam, however, was more abrupt and bold in his demands. 

“I’m able to provide the necessary warehousing and trade routes for them in Russia,” Natasha affirms from her place, sharing a look with Tony. Was this part of some elaborate scheme? 

As far as you could tell, Natasha was on board with keeping Europe completely clean of the American mobsters and criminal empires. What changed? 

“No, that– that is too much…” Wanda’s stumbling over her words. She’s beginning to let those cracks show and you can see the telltale signs that the wolves are now closing in. Bucky smirks, dark, shoulder length hair casting a shadow over his bright blue eyes, nodding as he observes the ever faint breaking in Wanda’s resolve. 

“I have holdings in the military that rivals Rumlow, and as far as I’ve investigated, you are fundamentally lacking within the weapons trade and already, you’re beginning to be cut off from your intel and extortion resources. Really, the only reliable bird you have to your ear is this stunning fox,” Loki says with a hand gestured to Natasha, who waves a hand at him. 

“We have gained a surge of supply and demand for our weapons, thanks to me of course, and if you agree to our terms, I assure you that you’d want for nothing ever again.”

You cock your head to the side and narrow your eyes, a sliver of amber visible within them. As much as you would like to announce the man a thief, for being the likely one responsible for your out of pocket trades with weapons, you think better of it. 

‘We’re not known to be saints at our roots. Our foundations are built on thievery, murder and extortion.’

Tony Stark is a brilliant minded man when it comes to manufacturing products and supplies, both for the public and the underworld. He had quite the gallery. But even then, he wanted for more. He wanted plots to further his expansion. 

‘What if he asks…’

You swallow down the poisonous bile of wrath and disgust climbing your throat. No way in hell would you allow Tony to drop to one knee and live. If that is even his goal to ensure this alliance sticks. 

More and more, Wanda slinks away in her seat, shying away from it all as the walls break further under the pressure of this attack. 

Tony puffs his chest out, arrogant that their plan is working and weaving its way into the folds brilliantly, with Natasha there as a vouching card in their hand of cards. Steve and Sam both lean forward slightly and Loki grins again, pearly white teeth glistening and taunting in the ice blue haze of another lightning flash. 

Thunder rumbles in, louder than before, providing a baritone and ominous tumble of beats. The tension grows thicker and Wanda sits back in her seat, mouth agape in her dissipating will to remain strong, fearing that she’s truly trapped herself and her hands fiddle together under the cover of the desk. 

Something stirs within her core that pulls her green eyes to yours, slightly overstimulated and red with a glisten of tears, she’s telling you with her gaze alone that she needs your help. 

She needs her guard to protect her. 

With a furrow of your brow and hard pressed line of your lips, you assure her with a nod of your head. Wanda became painfully aware that she has to pass the reins over to you in this moment before it’s too late. 

Natasha’s face instantly drops before the initial change. All she had to witness was that plea in Wanda’s eyes and that obedient nod of your head, she straightens in her place, almost submissively shrinking away. 

The structure of your face begins to alter, morphing until the skin shreds around the protrusion of a long, canid snout and sharp fangs, Long, straight ears twitch from the brief moment of muffled noise, the fur on the nape of your neck mimics that of your hair and blends down the slope of your growing spine and outward stretching of your shoulders. You’ve grown several feet taller, if the men before you who now pin their backs to their designated seats had to guess it, they would have to summarise to at least eight and a half feet. 

Your clothes become ragged scraps that fall to the floor, and what little still clings over the form of your body is shredded at the bends of the fabric. 

Fur covers skin and a thick, bushy tail sweeps down to the wood panel floors, your body contorted to accuminate a thicker layer of skin and muscle, fur in a thinner density cascades down your front, most of the fluff of it covering from your shoulders and down the back of your arms and back. 

A sight to behold, you’ve changed into a monster to strike terror into the hearts of the mob bosses. Powerful men who know your weakness, who are most probably armed with that very weakness. But are they favouring their odds to make the first move? 

An angry bolt of lightning illuminates the scene for them, your hackle puffs up and with a fold of your ears, you snarl a viscous and predatory sound straight from the bowls of your gut, your very fur bristles from the vibrations throughout your body.

“Unacceptable. Try again.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Maximoff,” Tony says between clenched teeth, head tilting further back when you bend forward enough that your back stoops low and your larger head is at level with Wanda’s. 

The pink of your bared gums is slick with saliva, the long tendril of your tongue comes between your teeth, licking over the top of your lip and nose. 

“Put the dog away, young lady,” Tony attempts to order only for Wanda to shake her head, refusing to obey his order. A raspy snarl bellows in the hollow of your throat. 

“No, I think I’ll keep the wolf out.”

Tony visibly squirms in response to this denial. 

Wanda tilts her head and sensing her eyes on you, the burning furnace of yours glances back at her and she smiles. She’s finding that resurgence of confidence in the comfortable luxury of your protection. With you, she wants for nothing. 

“As they said. Let’s try this again,” Wanda says with her voice renewed with strength. 

“Come on, you can’t seriously think you can–”

“I think she can.”

Steve holds a hand of compromise up to cease the bickering on both sides of the deal. His eyes move between Tony and then you and Wanda. “We didn’t come here to fight, Miss Maximoff. But we’ve had this plan on the back burner for years.”

“How unfortunate for you,” Wanda interjects with a click of her tongue. Steve isn’t impressed with the sokovian’s accented sarcasm. With a huff through his nose, he continues, “your father was unable to be convinced. We had hoped that you may be better where he was not. We’re offering you support here, a life line, all you need is to grab hold of it and say yes.” 

Wanda’s brows pitch down and she gives the captain a chilling scowl that dare he admit haunts him, especially when such a beast at her side leans evermore forward, at the end of its tether and ready to attack. Never has he ever worried about you before during sit downs in the presence of your former bosses. 

They had their ways to keep you in line, the only time you would shift would be to kill some prisoner who had no further use and thus, no purpose to remain alive when privy to such information, or to maul a fellow gangster that didn’t see eye to eye on the table’s terms. 

Had they now turned into that very man?

Right now, Wanda held a dangerous animal in her grasp. With one command she can set you upon them and they would become the mauled victims in the meeting room. 

“Forty percent within the Maximoff holdings, twenty in the black market with a ten-to-ten split on commission to our own donated supplies, the other five we place into a shares fund that we both equally have access to but must come under agreement to use it,” he pauses and when he sees you both nod, he knows it’s safe for him to carry on. 

“For now, we want the trade outposts on the coastline of Italy and within Russia. We can sort out the finer details for warehouses elsewhere and the like at a later time. When Rumlow is kicked out of the fold, we refurbish you with his estates, a cut of his holdings and you can have access to those as warehouses and your own trade outposts. Some connect to fine routes that make for excellent business opportunities.”

Tony looks to have sucked on a lemon, lips pursed and dark brows pinched together. Bucky and Sam share much of the same expression, Loki although, appears mildly amused by these adjustments. 

You suspect that they had come together and agreed that they would not be swayed into lowering what they originally asked for. 

But all in all, you and Wanda find that to be your middle ground. She looks to you again as if to see if you approve. When she sees you nod to her, she knows she can continue. 

“Very well, I accept those terms.” She then lets her eyes flicker up to Natasha. “I trust that you do retain some level of loyalty to the Maximoff Family, Romanoff. So I will let you deal with the matter of your offer in regards to warehouses for our new… allies. But I admit, I cannot exactly wave you through freely into settling in Europe until Rumlow is dealt with. Permanently.”

Natasha nods to this, obviously in agreement with it. To what exactly her own intentions are in allowing them to have access to her own warehouses is primarily not your concern; your only concern is Wanda. But you’d be lying if you weren’t a little curious about Natasha's motives. 

There is a cold bitterness in Wanda’s final word. The grief still comes to her, the death still so fresh to her. And she plans to exact her vengeance against those who have taken almost everything from her. 

Although defeated, the men become more at ease, and with a wave of her hand, Wanda dismisses your overprotective stance. She stands up from her seat, finger pads planted on the smooth surface of the desk. 

Everyone of the four men eye Wanda, dark in their curiosity of her next move. “Now, about Rumlow…”

Tony clicks his tongue with a finger pointed upwards, memory finally catching up with him. He too stands up and for a moment you believe he intends to come at Wanda, your body jostles into action with a deep, rumble of a growl that fades into the next chorus of thunder. Wanda is quick to usher your calmness, hands delicate as she strokes the fur along your back and over the crown of your head. 

Tony slightly stumbled back on his heel but ultimately made it to the table by the window. His sights were set on the liquor. He helps himself easily to the fine brand of whiskey and downs a gulpful. “He was in America but he covered his trail. We cannot say for sure where he is.”

“So how can we find him?” Wanda asks to hide her groan of defeated annoyance. Tony peers over his shoulder, but his focus does not land on Wanda as you suspected. No. They land directly on you.

The way his eyes bear into you like that, it unknowingly unsettles you. You shift your weight on the four pillars of your limbs and your ears flatten against your head as Tony takes another languid sip of his drink, hissing in delight at the taste. 

“I know that he has a business partner that knows where he is. He’s In Madripoor. You may know him as Vision.”

Why, of all places, of the single partner to have knowledge of Rumlow’s whereabouts; why did it have to be Vision, Madripoor’s criminal overlord of the drug trade?

Each muscle in your face is touched by the sting of something best left forgotten, memories you wish you could just shake, a past that you wish every waking moment would leave you alone. You choke on a whimper, the sound weak and hitched tightly in your throat, it causes you to wince in phantom pain. 

“It’s awake. Vitals are stable for now.” 

A doctor whose identity remains hidden behind the white mask over their face, hovers in front of you, studying you behind the bars of your cage, they’re a voice drowned out by the overstimulated sense of your hearing. The background is filled with a high frequency ring, the people around you move in a blur, faces only recognisable and in focus in the line of your tunnel vision.

“Another dose.”

“Let me out!”

“Sir, if we give it anymore, it may have unforeseen side effects.”

“Another dose. As you wish, Sir.”

“Just give them the injection.”

“Let me out!”

That face you recognise haunts you, you scurry further away into your cage but no matter how far you retreat, the back of the cage pushes you forward until your face is against the bars and inches from his own. Alexander Pierce. 

His eyes marvel at the sight of you. He admires the near end product of you. His finest pet in the facility, the role model for the others, and a grand and valuable asset. But he needs this experiment to work.

Another face comes into focus and you cannot fight the roar that shreds through your throat. He ushers Alexander away for a moment, their backs to you as they speak, their words going unheard as another figure moves to block them out of your sight.

“Preparing the asset for injection of the serum.”

“No!”

A doctor approaches you and within the clutches of a gloved hand, they raise a needle high into the sight of your peripheral. The liquid bubbles in the tube, the white lights above blind your vision and make the serum glow a reddish pink. 

Your muzzle is restrained, but nothing physical holds it shut, by sheer force are you trapped in place inside that cage. 

You're carted out and laid atop a metal table, the surface is cold against your back. 

“Vitals are spiking, we need to tranquilise the asset now.” 

“They can take it. I know they can.” 

“Let me out!”

The sting of the needle penetrates the thick layer of your hide. Your fur bristles, your heart pounds heavily in your chest and your mouth feels dry and hot. 

Your body violently convulses. Muscles become strained and skin constricts you, like leather straps holding you down, your very own skin holds you prisoner. In your chest a scream is locked deep inside. Your leg kicks out in a desperate flurry to move, the act is only half successful before a cramp reels your leg back into a trapped status. 

“Y/N?...”

All you can do is pant, loud and thick in the overly bright lab, it feels so cramped being surrounded by these blurred ghosts. 

“I don’t want this!”

“Mr Pierce, Sir, it may not take to the serum still. It’s body fights it.”

“They can take it. I know they can.” 

“Second dose of the serum. Rumlow, please stand by in case of emergency execution.”

“I never wanted any of this!”

Your mind begins to cloud and mist over, your vision turns a shade of that reddish pink, you can hear the unsynced rhythm of all the collective heartbeats in one room. Your muscles spasm in timed units of two minutes, three minute gaps in between your muscles fall lax against the table. 

Your natural body heat increases and you feel as though you’re burning away. But you’re not feeling the desired effects of the poison now flowing through your veins. You writhe and shake against the invisible restraints. 

“Let me go home!”

You want to go home. Where is home? You have no idea what or where home is but all you have is a feeling. A deep-rooted feeling. Is it somewhere far away from here? It must be. It feels long gone. 

Home can’t be the facility. Not in the iron bars, not the metallic and clanky shackles that bind you in place, that keep you there against your will. Home doesn’t restrain you. It comforts you. 

“Where is home?”

Your own voice echoes but nobody reacts. It falls into the deafness of the void. They refuse to listen to the asset of their experiment. 

“Where is home?”

Home cannot be the cold concrete of your cage, or the moth riddled lights that paint only the centre of your cage in a sickly yellow tint. Your home is elsewhere but forgotten. Never seen by you. Never embraced by you nor are you embraced by it. 

“M-Mother!”

Shock rattles you, your vision flashes white before that reddened tint returns over your vision. You see your mother opposite of you, laid on a similar table but she’s turned on her back. Her ribcage is torn open and exposed. 

“You’ll be alright, Y/N. Just think of me and you’ll be alright.”

Her body is knocked to the floor and instantly, the world around you is swallowed up by darkness. You smell the dried odour of blood and rotten meat. Only that shitty yellow light flickers to illuminate her body. From the darkness you see the foul creatures leap out and tear her apart. Their eyes are whitened with madness. Their minds are tortured into a spiral of neverending want for carnage. Lost to the touch of their humanity. 

She cries out, howling and yelping as they shake her apart, her body remains still throughout the attack. She cries out to you. She’s begging you not to watch, urging you to never see it happen. Try as you might, you attempt to claw your way towards her, to defend her. You can’t. You’re unable to protect her from those monsters. No matter how far you crawl, the back half of your body dragging behind you like dead weight, you can never get any closer.

“Ready the injection.”

“Vitals are peaking, we cannot risk another dose so soon.”

“We’re losing vitals, we’re losing it!”

“Ready the injection.”

“Give them a moment. They’ll pull through.”

Your back, laced sweat, arches up from the bed, a groan is on the edge of your lips but cannot escape. You’re fighting. Fighting and struggling against it, it will not let you go. You struggle about, rocking your body from side to side, your muscles fall loose for a few seconds. 

You try to cease this moment. But then you’re trapped again. Pulled back into the mixture of torment. 

“Y/N, wake up. Y/N!””

Everything is dark red, the erratic pulse of your heart flushes pink in time with each coursing beat, the voices are drowning in the song. 

Your mother is strewn about the cage, the corners blacked out, bleeding into the void beyond.

Your breath stills as the yellow light shuts off with a whirring moan. 

You’re back in the lab. Alexander’s hand grips at the fur along your neck until he’s tugging it harsh enough to rip it out. “Don’t you dare give in, dog. Embrace it. I need this to work. I’m counting on you.”

You just want your mother back. But she can’t come back to you. She’s gone. She’s taken from you. Has been for a long time now. 

You grew up in that cage alone. 

Suddenly you’re knocked off that metal examination table. You see a woman in the blackness of the cage’s corner. She weeps into the crook of her elbows, hands bloody and clutching onto the iron bars. Her feet slip in the inky, crimson puddle at her feet whenever she tries to pull herself up to stand. 

Her naked body is covered in blood and marks made by claws and teeth. It’s… confusing. 

“G-get away– f-from me! M–monster!”

A shroud of dizziness cloaks your mind and you stumble slightly on your hind legs. Your vision goes from dark to bright, unable to make its decision and commitment. You see now that your clawed hands are covered in a warm and thickened substance, crimson and smells of iron. 

“Another failed attempt.”

“Mr Pierce, the experiment has ended in another failure. It’s body cannot adapt to the serum as we hoped.”

Alexander Pierce glares at you from the window in the observatory room. His lips screwed into a thin line and his brows troubled by the news. His fists clench together until his knuckles turn white. 

“What did you make me do to her!”

“Mark them down as unbreedable. Gas it.” 

The vents hiss with an aggressive poison clouding the cage. You can’t see through the green haze, your lungs slowly giving out the more you breathe in the gut wrenching scent of the gas. The taste is awful on your tongue and soon enough, you taste bile along with it. Your body lurches forward and you fall. 

The woman’s face had been hidden, unable to make out any distinct features, to put a face to an unknown name. She lays ahead of you some feet away, the gas having killed her far quicker than you. 

Her hair that you swear was once a chocolate brown colour is now brighter. Her eyes lost that light of life but you can make out the green shade of them, and that unknown face and unknown name is now identifiable, you can hardly believe who you see before you - with you - dead in that cage. 

“W–Wanda…”

You cough and sputter as the air in your lungs becomes far too polluted to continue breathing. A low, sombre howl fills the chamber and your vision goes dark. 

“Y/N!” 

Finally you find the willpower to scream and it utterly terrifies Wanda, chilling her to the core at the horrific shrill and raw intensity that ensures your vocal cords are shredded and sore. The much needed reprieve that brings tears to her eyes and a hand to clasp over her lips to keep herself from sobbing aloud, all because you’re in pain, you’re suffering, and she fears she’s unable to help you. 

“Wanda! Wan… Wanda…” Your shoulders rise and fall in rapid succession, chest taking in the fresh air that thankfully isn’t polluted by the gas, only the four walls that are now imprinted with your screams. 

She crawls the small distance between you both across the bed. When she finally reaches your side she brings your head to her chest as she ushers you to relax, the rest to that scarred mind filled to the brim with horrors you want to forget. You can’t forget. 

However, the world is still a little fuzzy, at least it appears that way, as if the fogginess followed you out of that world and into this one. You wish to call it a nightmare, and it was for the most part, but the most ghastly and haunting nightmares always stem from the evil roots of the past. 

“Wanda… oh, fuck, Wanda.” You sigh in your relief and you don’t hesitate to pull her to you, face burying into her chest, absorbing this one good thing that is her - just her - before the claws of that darkness tears you from her; and you fear for good. 

You can always feel yourself slipping. You’ve run, only to continue slipping, and you still run, only to remain slipping away. No matter what, you know you’re falling into madness. 

It’s just a matter of time. You’re a ticking time bomb at this point. And you’re left to wonder, how will you protect her then?

“Shh, shh… I’m here, Y/N. I’m here,” she whispers against your scalp, lips beating down a warm breeze that begins to recharge you and make the fuzziness go away. 

Is this home? It’s uncertain but maybe it can be. 

‘Maybe she is my home.’

“It’s okay, not real, Y/N. You’ll be alright.” Your arms pull tighter around her, the words of your mother echo in the misty haze of your memory, tears prick at the corner of your eyes. She whines softly that you’re squeezing her too hard. With an uttered apology into her breasts, you slightly ease your iron grip so she is able to breathe. 

You don’t ever want her to experience being at a loss for air, to never suffer the suffocation she had to in your nightmare. All you want for her is her safety. There is nothing else. 

But this is war and when love is thrown into the fray and spied as a weak point, there is no level of fairness to what comes next. 

ACT III: MIXING POISON WITH PLEASURE

A FEW DAYS LATER

Streaks of light reflectively race across the sleek, black coat of the escort car as it passes over the long draw of the bridge. Steve and Bucky occupied the driver and passenger seats, the tinted shield muffles the snippets of their conversation. Perhaps old friends reminiscing on memories, talk of minor business advantages, all of which you can only suspect without much confirmation. 

Tony and Sam sit across from you with their backs to the tinted panel, leaving you and Wanda to be the target of their sharp and penetrating observation, done so in silence. 

Silence that is broken by Tony taunting you, his new hobby since being stuck on a jet together for a few hours prior to the drive. “Excited to be going back? A lot of familiar sights and faces to get reacquainted with.” 

Something in your stomach flips and your palms grow clammy, eyes fluttering from side to side as you chase to calm the unease setting into your shoulders, heavy with the weight of the question upon you. 

Your eyes freeze when Wanda’s eyes meet yours, a faint crinkle in her brows prods you inaudibly for clarification. An answer to the mystery of your place exactly in Madripoor. 

A part of your past that you left ambiguous and for good reason. Wanda’s parents were the only ones who had knowledge of your origins, so to speak. How exactly you made your exit from the facility and right into the employment of some prideful overlord. 

“Not particularly,” you answer quietly, the answer dry on your tongue. Ice clinking together when he orientated his wrist to churn the liquor, Tony chuckles over the rim of his glass, the nervousness in your tone a dead giveaway to the truth of your feelings. Repressed to save face. 

“You’re rather well known among the populace,” Sam chimes with a cold drawl. His eyes are thinned into a glare. “For reasons… Well, I’m sure you know why. Can’t say the same for her.” 

His head cocks in Wanda’s direction and you feel that worry simmer more in the pit of your stomach. 

“Y/N, what are they talking about?” Wanda finally asks, voice strained by the betrayal of her hurt, the seed planted in her mind that she is some sort of outsider to the information that passes between you and the two men seated before you.

“It’s nothing, Wanda.” Your answer is fired too quickly to simply mean nothing. No, she knows you’re hiding something sinister. 

“You know,” Tony sighs to conceal a gurgle in his throat, “I’ve said to Steve once that I don’t trust people without a dark side. But you…” 

He utilises one finger to point at you, accusation at his fingertip, the ice clinks harshly against his glass now. “You’re the exception. I don’t trust you because you have too much of a dark side.”

Your brows pull down hard and your lips curl into a tight frown. You feel the animal stir below the surface of your skin. Your muscles tense until the skin begins to strangle around them. Outside, the familiar buzz of criminal life and night lights give away your location. 

“And why exactly do you think I have too much?” 

Your nightmare from that night comes to you in flashes. Perhaps Tony is right in his given reason…

He taps a finger to his temple slowly. “Because, I’ve found that Alexander’s werewolves always tend to be fucked up in the head.”

This underlying fact is not exactly news to you. But hearing it from another person, it begins to dawn on you. The slipping away. Your eyes falter until they see nothing but the toes of your boots.

Never would you think that you’d be on route to Madripoor. Back to the established territory of all crime, the residential host of the black market. A place which incidentally led you on the path you lead now, despite still lacking your freedom, the Maximoff Family did allow you some sense of it. 

But you still weren’t in complete control of your life. When children mature, they’re expected to go out into the world and make a piece of it their own. When you matured, you were put out into the field and ordered to complete that task. And then another after that, and so on. Never given the chance to make a little piece of the world yours. 

The world - the criminal world - made you theirs. 

And because Alexander did a fantastic job in rearing an obedient pet, you were an expensive investment. Surely enough to continue pouring funds into the project that supplied loyal hounds into service. Last you heard, more and more werewolves came into demand after your rise of succession. 

And a good part of it began here. Now Madripoor remembers you just as much as you remember it. 

Steve pulls off to the side of the street, engine purring lowly, Bucky pats his shoulder before he shuffles out of the car. Sam pulls a handgun from the hidden holster in his jacket, checks over the magazine and slots it back in. Tony pours himself another drink as you, Wanda and Sam also exit the car.

“I’ll see you guys when you get back to the hotel. Try to stay out of trouble, dog.”

You rasp over the curve of your shoulder, eyes burning with that dangerous amber. Tony snaps his fingers at you to garner your attention. “Hey, keep the eyes from doing that. You’ll be recognizable enough, don’t let that get you pulled into a messy fight.” 

You grumble in response to his warning. Like he’s ever been in a messy fight, too busy firing the gun when his assailant's back is turned. Wanda stands right next to you, brushing against your arm. Draped over her body is a long, fox fur coat that reaches the ankle of her black heeled boots. Her chin tucks into the soft textured collar to keep something of her identity unrevealed. 

If she is discovered so early before you locate the man you’re looking for, things could escalate into that messy fight Tony wants you to stay out of. With a wave of his hand, the car pulls out and speeds off down the strip, leaving the four of you on the sidewalk, left at the entrance way that leads down into the slums of Lowtown. 

It’s like Madripoor was frozen in time, everything is how you remember it. The dark and neon black market scene, stalls and cube stores packed with an assortment of supplies anyone in the business would need, whether that be for the amateurs - which were the usual target customers - or the cluster of smaller gangs. The big time runners had designated storehouses to spare where they obtained their supplies, and ran other dealings and hand-offs in and out of private rooms in the clubs. 

The only thing that has changed only serves to prove Tony’s case; there are more werewolves about. Beasts loyally shackled to their masters, bought and enslaved to obey. In passing, you spot a rather poor sight. You’ve seen gangsters put their skill into the ring countless times and a way to earn reputation and some cash. 

However, now they’ve taken it further and put werewolves into the pits. The crowd enveloping the ring cheer and shout, arms pumping in their enthusiasm for their bet to win. Meanwhile, two wolves are pitted against each other. A male and female, her body is more lean - and dare you admit it with a gulp - scrawny looking than the male’s. He’s been taken under someone with finer living circumstances than her, better resources and care. 

Bucky, Sam and Wanda follow your stern inspection of the fight. You smell their mingling scents of unease at the sight. 

“So this is what Tony meant,” you sneer. Bucky and Sam don’t answer you but you just know that if they did, they would confirm it. 

The male has the female pinned, she yelps and in a flurry of panic, she snaps her jaws around the bulk of muscle on his shoulder, her teeth doing little to rip into the flesh hard enough to get him to back off. 

He’s enjoying the torment of her struggle. The way he isn’t rushing to finish off the fight, idle in his stance above her as he holds her down. 

It truly sickens you. Humans can be a foul lot, corrupt in their ways of seeking entertainment to cure their boredom and wealth to cure themselves of poverty. But it’s all you know. 

Even then, a deep-seeded growl emanates from you and rumbles the tension laced air around your companions when you see the male become aroused by the squirming female. 

“Come on,” Sam says rather quickly and wraps a hand around your bicep, dragging you away before you do something that will get them into trouble. 

Wanda gawks at the monstrous sight, the female’s whines and howls echo in her ears, perverting her with images she never wanted to ever conjure up while Bucky steers her after you and Sam with equal haste to his partner.

You take no leisurely pleasure in walking through these parts and it doesn’t help that you get questioning glances from the large variety of locals. You too follow in Wanda’s lead in keeping your identity on the down low, you use the high collar of your jacket to keep your features unrecognisable to the crowd. 

Sam and Bucky tail behind you both with a lax swagger to their step, eyes taking in the neon and polluted scenery around them. The slums are where the amateurs and those smaller gangs operate freely and without much prejudice. Above the poverty, Hightown shines with the more luxurious affordability, belonging to the bigger fish, the real criminal powers. 

And Vision has that power within that grasp. Up there, rubbing elbows with the grand gentlemen and dolled up women, mingling and gaining alliances under his belt. So why venture into Lowtown? 

Because once, these streets harboured a terrible incident, one that now leaves your face smeared on for show as wanted. Because just down the series of lanes and roundabouts of corners, there is a divide between the common criminals and Vision’s depot, because it also operated as a factory. 

“So you’re not going to tell me anything about what was said back there?” Wanda asks. You tilt your head and you catch the sharp incline of her raised brow, her eyes piercing through the veil of your clouded, troubled thoughts. 

“Not really something I want to go into detail about.” She huffs at your response. Ever the one to avoid the topic whenever the subject revolves around you. 

It’s little wonder how she knows what she does about you. “So you have some sort of history with these men in particular, you have some estranged connection with Vision and with Madripoor, and to top it all off: Tony doesn’t trust you because of this supposed… dark side. What is it you’re hiding from me, Y/N?”

She’s getting assertive with each word as she walks in stride with you, eyes glaring up from the curtain of her hair, still keeping her chin as low as possible. Your lip curls up to reveal sharp, elongated canines. 

You rasp coldly, “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

There is a challenge in those green eyes of hers, unrelenting to be brushed off. After the connection you both shared, the way your lips were in sync with one another and how your bodies melded together in the heat of that feral passion and need. She thought you could trust her, to be more open with her. 

It seems she was wrong. 

“Don’t take it to heart, Miss Maximoff,” Bucky drawls from behind and a growl resounds in your chest, “Y/N is what we tend to call a wounded dog. Licking the wounds of their injured pride because they can’t afford to let anyone in.”

“And on top of that, they end up all fried in the head,” adds Sam with a venomous tune. You can just sense the dance of his eyes, brows high and cheekbones drawn down in his taunting. 

If they were trying to get a rise out of you, they were succeeding much to the unwelcomed behest of your annoyance, maybe filling in for Tony’s absence. But if they intended to heed Wanda with a warning of who you were before your employment as a guard for the Maximoff Family, then you fear that this is also a succession in the making. 

Wanda stops in place and turns to face the two men behind her, willing herself to not shy away from them or the way they tower over her. “You speak of my guard as if they are purely a mad-driven, bloodthirsty animal who has no grasp of the human they are. Wolf beneath or not. Show some respect or else.”

Sam and Bucky also stop, causing you to commit halfway in turning to look at the scene. Sam sighs as his eyes divert from the Sokovian heiress. “Apologies, Miss Maximoff.”

But just like that, the act switches and he gestures with a hand, a dark smirk on his lips. “But look at this. I mean, criminals are wanted all the same. But in Madripoor? My, that is one persevering poster. One mean lookin’ animal.”

You snarl towards Sam and Bucky as they guide Wanda’s sights to the screen panel that displays a photo of you. Written beneath, it states the price rewarded for your capture and turn over to none other than Vision. 

100,000 Madripoor dollars. 

Her gloved hand lifts up, her plump lips - lips that you want nothing more than to savour and taste against yours again - agape in their shock to find a piece to the mysterious puzzle that is you and your shrouded past. A past you preserve in the shadows and where she believes you intend to keep it. 

Away from her. Out of sight, out of mind.

Out of your own fucking mind. A twisted and corrupt mind. Is what these men say true? Are you some wounded hound licking at the gaping festering scars of your past mistakes and vulnerability? 

Her fingers curl forward, mere inches away from the display of your face, fingertips just caressing the digital profile of your jawline when a hand snaps hold of her wrist. The grip is tight and a gasp is torn from her lungs, eyes watery in their gaze as they stare into yours; that amber hellfire prominent beneath the cooler tones of the neon lights and grey tinted smog. 

Your jaw is clenched hard. She’s really struck a nerve now, unintentionally, but still, another attempt at crossing that line leaves you with a bitter taste of something resentful. Ashamed. 

“Let’s go.” You leave no room for her to argue. With a hand on the small of where her back is, your hand momentarily feels the true soft, silkiness of her coat, you push her forward to continue walking. Then your eyes lift up to meet eye to eye with Tony’s men, the two of them basking in the way you hide Wanda from yourself. 

Twin smirks stretching their lips, they both chuckle in cause of their muted plot. Now you’re beginning to think they’re trying to poison Wanda against you. 

“What? We’re just trying to help the two of you bond, being some couple and all…” Bucky hums with a shrug, blue eyes darting between you and Wanda curiously. 

“We’re not–” You bite the words that become overthrown when Sam’s hand slaps your arm. 

“Besides, it’d make an interesting story for the kids.” 

They walk now, passing on either side of you like the haunting walls of a tunnel that locks you into that place where your nightmare meets you halfway, blurring it all together. 

‘Fuck, I hate this place!’

You take one look at the wanted poster, eyes shadowed heavily by the furrow in your brows. That’s when an idea springs to mind. Your crazy and fucked up mind… with a crazy and perhaps fucked up idea. 

“Yo, you coming or what?” Sam hollers out to you and you visibly stumble back a couple of steps, shaking your head of whatever came over you there. A sense of sinking finds itself in your stomach again. 

“Come on, the depot is up this way.”

You briskly walk past all three members of your company, blatantly you avoid looking in Wanda’s eye, simply pushing her forward again, as gently yet urgently as you can muster. 

At the end of the street and another few corners and you were where you needed to be. Behind the tall chain link fencing, the yard is crawling with security as expected, watching over the compound’s goods waiting to be loaded into the trucks waiting in the docking bays. Thankfully, the guards pay no mind to you, as if you don’t exist to them. Ghosts within the smog. 

“So this is it, huh?” Bucky sneers with a visage of judgement. “Doesn’t look like much to me.”

“Because this is one of his ‘private’ storehouses that also happens to be the manufacturing powerhouse of his supplies,” you retort over your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, you need to explain this to me again. You want us to turn you in for the reward money?” Wanda cannot believe what her ears hear. This will now be the fourth time you’ve had to reiterate your proposed plan of getting in. 

“There’s no way they’ll just let us in. And if we sneak in, Vision will most likely flee. We gotta lure him in.”

“By using you as bait,” Wanda clarifies and you nod. She’s shaking her head, now in sheer, utter disbelief. 

“No no, this could actually work.” Sam taps a finger to his chin, the gears in his head turning the wheels of schemes. “But if we’re going to do this, we gotta rough you up a little bit. Make it look like we’ve dragged you into the joint.”

Your brows arch in a way that expresses your confusion. “What exactly are you–” 

Given no more time to question him, Sam strikes his arm forward into a left hook, and shit, did he go all in for it. The adrenaline in your blood pumps but not before the initial sting of the surprise attack hits you first. Wanda makes a noise between a gasp and a horrified shriek, her hands cup over her nose and mouth to muffle the sound. 

“The fuck!” you spit harshly, biting back on the urge to shift right there and then. Sam had distracted you with his left and now he swiftly drives his right fist into your gut, forcing your back to the brick wall of the building next to you. 

“Sh-shit, okay… n-now I get it…” Sam only nods with a shit eating grin and you’re convinced he’s enjoying this, soaking it in and will most likely brag about it to Tony and the rest of them. 

“Come on, Buck, let’s rough them up.” Bucky didn’t need anything else to motivate him to join in, he steps around Wanda and at Sam’s side, he also drives a hard hitting punch into your stomach that causes you to keen forward with a groan. 

Your head hangs forward and Sam brings his right knee up and butts your nose, splitting it. You grimace with a pained wince to keep a temperamental roar at bay.

Yeah, they’re fucking enjoying this. 

You’re not even close to recovering, swaying on your two feet as a hand nurses the space between the bottom of your ribcage and stomach, you lift your head only for Sam to land a knock to the corner of your brow, temple buzzing a little. That’s when Bucky comes in with an upward strike, your lip busted in the fray of his blow. 

You can only growl and grunt, having to further suppress the wolf below the surface so it doesn’t come back with an attack of its own. 

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” Wanda hisses at the three of you. After a few more hits to sell the act, Bucky pulls his handgun free of its holster, racks the slide and puts it to your bruised temple. 

“Adding a little bit of realism to the play. If we walk in and they’re not a little bit bruised up, then they’ll know something’s up,” reasons Sam with a glance to Wanda who shrugs, that scowl of her disapproval showing in all its glory. 

The cute way her nose scrunches a little. Fuck, you can’t help but grin yourself with a breezy, husky chuckle, eyes sly as they look Wanda up and down. It must be the rush of adrenaline and pain that’s gotten you a little riled up.

“We have to make it believable,” you drawl, voice hinted with a lacing of sarcasm, but Wanda cannot help the way it stirs her core; nickname and all. Those eyes you’re giving her are doing things that make her cheeks become dusted with a pink hue. 

Wanda shakes her head and she crosses her arms, firm in her resolve that getting the shit beaten out of you is a little more than crazy, in fact, she thinks it’s completely psychotic. No less, you weren’t given a fair warning in the beginning and now here you are, it’s like you’re getting off on being brutally beaten. 

For you, it gave you a weird sense of reprieve. It took you away from the usual routine of pain and replaced it with something new - fresh - and it made you feel alive. 

Much like when you shared a few passionate sessions of expressive want with Wanda. That kindling of being alive after wandering around, licking your wounds, feeling dead in a way to the world.

“I-I don’t think that was called for,” Wanda utters once her bottom lip is safely hidden beneath the fur of her collar. She’s shielding herself, her embarrassment and you can’t help the way the wolf becomes intrigued, head tilting to the side with that shimmer of amber passing over your eyes. 

“If it gets us closer to Vision, then it’s worth every punch. Now come on, you looker, let’s hand you over to ‘em,” Bucky grins with a dark chuckle.

Your hand moves up to cradle your jaw, the scent of blood wafts into your nose and coats your tongue, Wanda’s heels clap against the pavement as she walks up to you. Her hand brushes along your hand and replaces it. She’s observing your face, a soft and troubled frown does little to hide the true concern from her orbs, ever so delicately glazed with a watery coat. 

“I hated that,” she drawls with a strong and lowered lilt of her Sokovian accent. You can only find it within yourself to flash her a smirk. 

“I don’t think this is the right plan. What if they actually take you away? Y/N, I don’t have any clue as to what’s going on here, but it just sounds like a terrible idea.” 

“Wanda, you just have to trust me.”

There’s hesitation in her eyes, you can see it, conflicting with her want to trust in you, but how exactly could she just go along with this plan? She never saw it at the time, but now she knows Vision is a dangerous man, and whatever history you have with him makes her skin crawl uncomfortably. Who knows what you’re all walking into.

Still, she bows her head in agreement and you both tail after Bucky and Sam who weren’t too far up the way. “Are we ready?” Sam asks while Bucky repositions his gun at level with your head. 

“Ready,” you reply and Wanda mumbles her own answer. With a roll of your shoulders, breathe in and out, adjusting yourself before you enter the lion’s den and then you let Sam and Bucky direct you inside as Wanda tucks herself to Bucky’s other side, a little distant from him. 

“Hey, what’re you doing here? This is private property, you need to leave.” One of the guards stationed at the front gate of the depot approaches, gun in hand as he stares your group down, a few of his fellow guards also take a wary stance in your arrival. 

Bucky cocks his gun against your jaw, tilting it up to showcase to the guard.

“We saw your wanted pet. Now we’re here to collect.” 

The guard’s firm and sceptical gaze moved between the three before they settle on you, squinting in a moment of faint remembrance, out of knowledge by seeing your poster or because he was maybe one of the guards who worked here and remembers you by face, he gruffly huffs with a cock of his head. 

“Yeah, bring it in. Take the stairs down when you get in and head through, the guard there will let you pass.”

The sound of a buzzer sounds off and it shakes your brain like nails on a chalkboard. The chain link fence rattles to life and slides open, the guard above loom as dark shadows from the white blaring lights behind them. 

With a small mock salute, Sam passes the guard, following closely at his side now is Wanda and Bucky nudges you forward. You have to hand it to them, they know how to get an in. You distinctly remember seeing them bring in numerous prisoners and deadbeats who refused to pay up. 

The guard wrinkles his nose at you and with a gurgle in his throat, spits at your feet. You almost break character with a laugh, dark and sinister before you imagine tearing him open until he’s nothing but bite sized chunks for the local street dogs. 

The guard unlocks the door with a keycard and pin, the metal door hisses as it swings open. Entering the building and ignoring the way your stomach knots up, the pungent smell of iron, fuel and a hint the residue of the facility’s drugs suffocates your lungs and blocks your nose from smelling anything else, anyone’s scent. 

You take the immediate stairs to your right, the hallway ahead blocked off, reserved as the onsight dormitory for security. Down into the depths of the factory, you walk the narrow walkway in the otherwise spacious room, rooms to both your left and right sealed off into smaller cubical styled holdings, protected under padlock and doors fashioned from old cages. 

Old cages big enough to house something like you.

Another door is opened by the occupying guard watching over the room. He shares the same scornful look the first guard at the gate did, however, you pick out his features and identify him as one of the unlucky men who was caught in the crossfire. The side of his head closest to you and his jaw is mangled and flesh wrinkled, all down his neck before his vest and shirt cuts off the rest of the damage inflicted.

Again, you almost break character, but not because some guard had the audacity to disrespect your boot. No, it’s because of the memories in the lab you now stand in. It took Bucky a hard shove when he noticed your hesitance to cross the threshold. His need to remind you of the loaded barrel pinned to your jaw forces you to brave the nightmare before you. 

The adrenaline, that smugness you airily carried. All gone. Your lungs give way to a shaken inhale and your eyes take in your surroundings of the lab. 

It’s been a while since last you saw of the place, and nothing much has changed. No less the man in charge. Seeing him now, it really is a packing punch to the gut, your insides violently churn with a sickening swell of bile. This is an encounter you’d wish would never come to pass but here you are now, all to find out where Rumlow is. You had to stiff upper lip and face the broken record you left behind you. 

But seeing him only makes this harder. Dressed down into a white, button up shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, he stands with his back to you, leaning his weight to one side. 

“Yo, heard you were looking for a lost pet?” Sam hollers, garnering the man’s attention.

He turns to leer at you four, blue eyes cold and malicious, pupils shrunken in the way of a madman and hair haphazardly sweeps past his ear, shrouding half his face in shadow. Lines form on the outskirts of his cheeks with a deranged smirk. 

“Ah. You found it,” he hisses in glee, “I must thank you sincerely for this delivery.”

You’re brought forward at the nudging of Bucky and now you stand under the scrutiny of Vision himself. A man-made monster by his own devices. His upper body contorts to lean forward slightly, head tilting heavily on its axle to gauge your expression, to probe at your mind, just as he had done so many other times. 

Furthermore, it does little to boost your self-esteem when he whistles and snaps his fingers in front of your face. “Are you in there, dog?”

You swallow without response. With a snort of amusement, he’s satisfied by the compliance of your silence; your defeated resolve to fight back - though he does enjoy a good show from time to time. To see the rage burn in your eyes like a fearsome storm of fire. One that swears to devour him in the flames of your wrath once you broke free of your shackles. A storm that never came to pass until that fateful night, but a storm that didn’t sweep him away into ash. 

He directs his attention to someone else and only then does your upper lip curl into a snarl, a feral sound of an animal under threat, or in this case, Wanda being under threat, Vision sneers at your attempt to intimidate him. 

“Always one with a temper,” he sighs as if reminiscing on those memories, like they were days of happier times. Perhaps they were to him.

“Wanda, it’s good to see you again after all this time.” He pulls her hand up to grace her gloved knuckles with his lips, the eyes of a predator drinking in the sight of her discomfort. 

“Vision.” Her tone of voice is cold. Strict and aimed sharply as a dagger to penetrate the fortitude of his unwanted advances. Vision was never one to take a hint. Much like Wanda’s lack of knowledge of you, you were left in the dark in regards to her relation to Vision.

Now you see it. They at some point in the past shared some form of intimate connection. One that she inevitably regrets with every fibre of her being that uses her body to shield herself. She all but rips her hand from his grip, her other hand subconsciously wipes at her knuckles. Vision quirks a dirty blonde brow up in the face of her denying act towards his given affections. 

To ease the infectious growth of humiliation on his part, he shoves his shoulders back and cocks his head. “Come, you must be paid for a job well done.” 

He directs two guards, two of your own kind, rendered obedient to his command, to lead you away from Wanda, Sam and Bucky. She’s mortified once your presence is eliminated from the group, leaving the three of them alone with Vision. 

Bucky and Sam are quick to catch the wary glare you cast their way, a low threat to not abandon you there, to not let this play act go too far; the last thing you want to do is fall back into that pattern. To have Wanda be subjected to just a taste of what ordeals and trials you had to endure. 

“I’m sorry to hear about your brother. He had a bright future ahead of him.” Vision’s condolences die on the tip[ of his tongue, turning into ash that rots away any ounce of sincerity for her loss. She cannot bring herself to respond verbally. 

Wanda is moreso driven apart from you by Vision, his hand a little too close to lingering too low on her back, the sight of it forces a growl from between your clenched teeth, the two guards overseeing you snarl in your direction. 

Obedient pets to him, twisted into a falsehood of loyalty. Wolves corrupted by the unfortunate dealings of their upbringing. Much like the ones in the fighting ring, like you, they don’t lead their own lives. They do as they’re told. They obey.

Following where the drug overlord ventures, he leads the three of them over to a far table in the corner, procuring a black suitcase. He hands it to Bucky. 

“There we are, 100,000 Madripoor Dollars.”

Your eyes glance from the shackles to Sam and Bucky with narrowed eyes. Silently, through eye contact alone, you’re telling them to hurry the fuck up and spring into action, to get the situation under their control before things take a turn for the worst. 

“Now, if you’ll be on your way, gentlemen–”

“We’d like to have the money recounted. Just in case, you know. Wouldn’t want the boss to feel cheaped out of our work,” Bucky snips suddenly before Vision could turn them away. He also notices the way Vision leers at Wanda like a salivating beast, no doubt he’d try to keep her with him as he practically booted them out the front gate. 

This comes as a hindering surprise to the man, blue eyes glassed over with something void of any true human emotion. 

With a nod of his head, he beckons over one of his assistants, and the summoned woman takes the case from Bucky to ensure the promised amount is all accounted for. 

“What’s your whole deal with the mutt? Why pay such a hefty price for ‘em?” Sam questions, tilting his head in your direction. If they were here to divulge information about Rumlow, he wanted to make sure they knew exactly what they were getting themselves into.

Vision turns to follow where the man was looking and a dark smirk crosses his lips. Your eyes glow with the animal’s boiling rage, a formidable sight to behold and marvel at. He’s missed having you as his lab pet. 

At first, Vision is reluctant to share his thoughts, however, something that is unreadable to your observant gaze, his smirk turns into a wide grin that causes Wanda’s complexion to pale. 

“The Asset is among the very first of its kind to achieve such accomplishments. Paving the way for its kind. An investment with so much poured into it,” answers Vision. 

“Would you like to see what my work entails?” His own question, laced in deranged malice, is met by three unsure visages. 

‘What the actual fuck are they doing?’

Without so much as a word, Vision is herding them off behind a large control panel, screens displaying all sorts of data and diagrams of humanoid and werewolf anatomy. “As I am sure, you know I was partnered with Alexander Pierce for his little project.”

“Was?” Sam sneers in confusion. 

Vision nods slowly. “Yes. After… numerous trials ending in failure, Pierce cast me aside. Told me that my work wasn’t good enough, that for all my progress with the serum, the desired goal wasn’t meeting his expectations.” He pauses to calm the venom behind his words. His eyes glare at the screens before they rise to meet your harrowing stare.

“Prepare it for trial exposure to serum SX-P,” he commands his workers, lithe fingers jabbing expertly against the keyboard. 

“So why exactly did Pierce get rid of you?” Bucky asks now and Vision takes a moment to cease his actions and turn to look at him. 

“Alexander’s campaign was relatively new and industrial to begin with. At first, potential investors weren’t convinced that werewolves could be rendered ‘tame’ to serve as liable enforcers and guards. There was a lack of trust in his project—” Vision began before needing to pause, the sound of your irritated growls bouncing off the four walls of the expansive lab as you’re led by the guards.

They shove you down to sit on the horizontal, metallic surface that centre’s the room. But you’re not going to make it easy for them, play acting or not. You thrust an elbow back, colliding into one of the two guards who stumbles back with a pained howl, hand nursing their broken nose that weeps with blood, the other guard retaliates with the butt of his gun. Your head lurches to the side, further damage to your already busted lips runs down the side of your chin. 

His partner comes around for round two, fist raised high to land a blow to your contorted snarl, but Vision reels him back in with a single command. “Enough! I need it in as good condition as I can get it.”

He glares at one of the nerve wracked doctors. “And put the muzzle on the damn thing!” 

The guards pin you down against the table and restrain your wrists and ankles in the shackles bolted down into the table. 

Wanda is beyond the conceivable thoughts, utterly repulsed by this dark crater she must know festers in the world. That this treatment is inflicted upon you - and perhaps countless others - she looks to Sam and Bucky. Both of them mirror each other’s stoic expressions and tightly clenched jaws.

“We have to do something,” she whispers just enough for Sam to make out. 

“As I was saying.” Rattling his throat of any vocal hindrance, he combs his dishevelled hair back. “It was vital to raise an exemplar to the species, to garner investment support. Thus, the animal before us contributed to that. But when the investors learnt that we didn’t have enough stable minded werewolves, it was cause of another concern. Given my expertise, Alexander then came to me… and I tried. I really did. But each trial failed, each match was torn to shreds.”

Your eyes meet Wanda’s, the tearful glaze that wavers beneath the fluorescent lights, your troubled brows only deepen into a scowl when a doctor procures a muzzle. It’s not familiar like the leather and metal barred one Vision often used for you, this one was crafted for a nefarious purpose. The guards tug your head back to keep you from engaging the doctor, their hands work swiftly in snapping the contraption around your mouth and the base of your neck.

That is when you’ve had enough of this charade. This is when you decided here and now that Vision will pay for all those years of fucking around with you, tormenting you, provoking you without giving you the chance to rectify the errors of his arrogant ways. 

The moment that muzzle went over your face is when the game field changed. Your muscles strain and flex, body violently convulsing in your struggle to break free, your claws growing longer and clawing divots into the metal beneath your palms. 

Alarms and panic ensues. It all moves in a tight framework of blurriness. Rage has blinded you to this point. 

Wanda’s screams echo over the fog of your hazed and crazed mind, layering over into a morphing choir, other voices are muffled. All you can recognise are the two forms of something similar to your own towering one, their ears pin back and their snouts curl up to bare their teeth.

In a matter of seconds you're tangled between the two wolves, clawing and maining at their flesh until blood paints the polished floors, a racket of gunfire disturbs your ears. The nape of one of the guards is in the clutches of your jaw, you twist harshly and snape the elongated bone of their spine. 

The second pushes you hard, bearing down on you with clawing fists and gnashing fangs that tear into the flesh and muscle of your shoulder and upper arms.

More gunfire blinks and sprays into your vision, white spots in the heat of your vision. Your hind legs arch up and kick the second guard off of you, their body flying back into a heap of equipment that combusts into a show of sparks upon impact. Workers flee in all different directions, more guards from the outside flock into the lab in a blaze of bullets. 

Some penetrate through your thick hide and others aren’t so fortunate. Your ears twitch in response to Wanda’s voice, she shrieks your name, your head whips around in the direction to see her behind cover, Sam at her side as he takes shots at the guards. 

“Look out!” 

Her warning comes a second too late. A bullet fires at your shoulder, clean and true; an entry and exit wound. Your eyes momentarily meet Vision’s, a handgun of pristine gold flickering in the distance he kept from you. But your moment to strike is thwarted by the familiar reddish pink now shrouds you in a thick cloud. 

The scent burns your senses and stings your eyes until the word wavers before you, your muscles fried and you’re choking on the smell of each chemical and pheromone in the gas. You roar amidst your stampede, chaos of tossing anything in your path aside. There are screams, pleas for mercy and shouts to shoot to kill; despite the conflicting order of Vision to keep you alive. 

By now, the blaring alarms set off the emergency lighting, the once white lights darkening into a shade of red. Wanda calls your name again and again. You can’t see her through the tinted colour of the gas, your tail sways wildly from side to side, skin growing far too hot for your liking, you yelp in discomfort. Your body slumps against something that clanks together as the world around you spins. You grunt and snort to blow the burning scent from your flaring nostrils to no avail. Another fired bullet and hiss, and then a forceful gust of the same gas sprays directly over your face. Your howl as the agonising sting it causes, irritating your skin and fur, your clawed hands swipe at your face. 

Your lungs feel like they are weighted down like iron anchors with each intake of air. You hear Vision laugh from above and your head snaps upwards, seeing him reign high above in his victory, from his place on the looming platform. 

“But I figured it out, dog. Like all things natural to a wolf, it needed to be exposed just the same.” 

His blue eyes beam wide in their amazement. Their admiration. You rear back as a shattering cry of a roar bellows from deep within your chest. Saliva coats over your gums and teeth and sweat has already begun to seep into your fur. 

Vision gives a gesture of a mock salute before he dashes away, Sam and Bucky far too late and miss any shot they could have landed, the overlord making his escape. 

“We gotta get outta here!”

“Where are we gonna go, Sam? There’s this fucking gas everywhere and—” Bucky cannot exhale another word, set off into a coughing fit. 

“We have to find Y/N!” Wanda shouts to the two men. 

She’s gaining higher ground. Her heels clatter against the metal framework of the platform. “I’I think I see them,” she calls out, head darting left to right, arching to see the dark shape before it sinks away into the reddish mist. 

She continues to search until she is no longer able to. A scream is torn from her lungs when the platform shakes and jolts her forward, hands grasping the railing before she’s thrown over. 

You stalk towards her with each step you take threatening to break the now unsteady frame you both stand upon. The once familiar glow of amber now feels strange to her, like she doesn’t recognise you - shouldn’t recognise you - and yet she says your name all the same. It’s the only thing that’s the middle ground now.

She backs away slowly and you continue forward until you arch forward swiftly, hands snatching hold of her, she struggles in your grasp. “Let me go! Let me go, Y/N!” 

You growl in warning to her, the sound rumbles like booming thunder, she can feel it even through the thick layer of her coat. 

Your nose buries into the crook of her neck, ignoring the way she squirms about in her resistance. 

“We’re coming, Wanda,” Sam’s voice coughs from below, his shoes hitting each step hard with Bucky not far behind, skipping one step to reach you both quicker. 

“Get off her,” warns Bucky with an arm raised, gun aimed at the bevel between your hellish, animalistic eyes. Eyes that he sees no humanity within. 

You raise your head high to snarl at the intruders. There is little to remember or recognise, all that you feel is the need to kill and something more, something that stirs within your core. Your hips move to grind against Wanda, angling them to soothe that growing ache between your thick, powerful legs. 

Wanda whimpers and that’s the last straw either man can take. They open fire and give Wanda the opportune moment to break free of you, she pushes away from you; but not before one of your hands snatch hold of her collar. She falls forward but Sam catches her before she can fall face first against the creaking metal, dragging her further away from you. 

Bucky continues to rain bullet after bullet. The constant bite of the attack eventually deters you and your form moves, crashing through the side window of the lab. Glass bursts in a flurry and all that can be heard by the trio is the baritone howl that fades into the night. 

Bucky pulls his phone from his pocket and lifts it to his ear when the call is received. “Steve, tell Tony we’ve got a loose collar problem.”

“Well, that could’ve gone much smoother. Now we have a sexed up hound on the loose.” Tony presses the glass to his temple with a huff in his low of defeat. Only Steve could have an idea how many drinks he’s had that night and he’s beginning to look a little rough for wear. 

Bucky and Sam were in no top shape either, the two of them nursing their own bruises and scrapes in the fight to escape. They’d done well in keeping Wanda out of harm’s way, but as for them, they paid the price for it. 

The tired sag beneath his hazel orbs. It makes her wonder just how bad this spanner in the machine is, how it affects Tony so. 

Without her coat, Wanda is left only with a sense of unease, the article of clothing lost to the clutches of you; a missing you. She continued to replay earlier events over and over, trying to pick out and decipher each little detail’s meaning. 

Vision obviously had a goal to win back Alexander’s favour. The abandoned project could have been yet another scheme to bring in profit, as Vision clearly made his intentions known. 

He was after profit in the breeding ring. 

“So regale me with the synopsis again: Pierce had Vision create a sex pollen engineered specifically for werewolves to then use on Y/N, however, it failed in the past until now, where you believe Vision has succeeded. That’s what I’m hearing, right?” Tony paces the kitchen now, pupils shrunk and hand quivering in the restraint of his outburst. 

“Basically down to a T, Boss,” confirms Sam with a tilt of his head. Tony runs a hand down his face as he sighs audibly. 

He takes a moment to reabsorb this information, Bucky grunting as he shifts his weight, having taken to laying on the couch. He took a werewolf arm to the stomach that flung him across the lab. In his books, he was deserving of a little rest. 

“So how do we find them?” Steve asks after another moment of periodic silence. That’s when Tony’s eyes slowly float over to Wanda, that flicker of realisation dawning in his eyes, he lifts a hand to point at her. 

“Where’s your coat?”

Wanda is chilled by the way Tony draws attention to this question, its nature a mystery that begins to make her head churn and her stomach flutter; and she isn’t sure in what way exactly. 

“U-uh…” Her eyes dance between Sam and Bucky, uncertain to give her answer, but when Sam nods his head to her, she breathes in deeply. “Y/N took it. They… snatched it off of me, th-they tried to grab me but I slipped out. That was right before they fled.”

“Oh, well then, that solves our little lost dog problem.” The mob boss breathes an air of sarcasm to fan the flames of his words. But it also pulls everyone’s eyes to him, confusion visible in each of their own gazes. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wanda asks and Tony chuckles dryly in response, eyes zeroing in on Wanda’s. 

“It means that we can stay put. They’ll find you.”

Wanda isn’t sure what to make of it. Wandering down the hall to her separate apartment, Tony’s words play over the backdrop of your acts of slaughter, your actions of violence and aggression and primal desire. When you snatched a hold of her coat in the lab, she could sense it, that need to have her beneath you, to ravish her wholly without consequence or regard for anything or anyone’s order.

Having her within your grasp was an exotic experience. She felt the power you possess in its entirety without needing to experience every single level of it. She could just tell it was there. 

 ‘They’ll find you.’ Tony’s words repeat themselves for the millionth time.

All she can think about is you. Where you are, if you’re alright, and how you’re coping with that pollen running in your veins. Tears coat her eyes in a blurred, wavering curtain. What if you got yourself killed?

No. She cannot think like that. She won’t think like that. But can she help it?

Still trapped in her mind with the troublesome thoughts and endless unanswered questions.

It begs one of the questions for her, how Tony can be so sure that you will find her, and how her coat had any relevance to his statement. His warning. 

Soon enough, one cruel thought only breeds another. Vision’s disturbing fascination with his drug trade, with the sex pollen. It just makes sense - all of it - in the city of dark and neon. A criminal’s haven. 

Something in the jumble of her scattered thoughts told her you didn’t consider Madripoor as a haven. What she saw in your eyes back in the lab; a raw and bone chilling expression of fear, she has only left to suspect that you see Madripoor as a prison. 

Her chin wobbles slightly at the thought of you going through years of that hell and torture, to be trapped without anyone there to help you. To save you. 

The city isn’t even an impressive sight to her. It’s poisonous, built on ruin and lies, betrayal and dirty money. What’s worse is that she’s lost you, some part of you, because of this fucking city. This cesspool of despair, destruction and corruption. Werewolves of a varying amount now dwell in those other towering buildings - hell, perhaps even in the same hotel as her - and below in the streets of Hightown. In the slums of Lowtown. And you’re somewhere amongst it all.

All because of those who used and abused you. For profit. 

All Wanda can think at that moment is to just see you. To be near you. All she wants is for this to be over and to go home with you. 

Everything she could ever want, she sees in you. She just wants you.

But Madripoor has taken you from her. Swallowed you up in the festering dark and neon glow. A wolf lost in the haze, with nothing but that desire to want. And maybe, if Tony is at all correct in his fearfully made assumption, you’re a lost wolf with a desirable appetite for her.

It almost feels like some dark, wet fantasy of hers. To believe that the only reason you have her coat now is to track her down. Because you want her. Her skin is plagued by a sudden chill that makes her spine tingle. 

She takes a moment to bring stillness to her negative and lust spiralling thoughts to dry the unspilled tears as she finally arrives at the door of the apartment. Withdrawing her key, she unlocks the door and enters. 

The room is dark, left to remain cold in the vacancy. Or so Wanda thought. Closing the door behind her and pressing her back to it, it takes her a moment to regain her strength and composure before she pushes herself off it; only for her back to all but smack hard against the door again. Her mouth fell agape and eyes widening.

Even in the unlit space of the common area, the neon haze of the opposing buildings floods in through the wide panel windows. But none of them compare to the sharp amber of your eyes hiding amidst the darkness. The lethal regalness of the true born predator that uses this element to their advantage. The common area is a mess, furniture torn to shreds, miscellaneous decorations littering the floor and the walls, canvases to long and jagged claw marks; a lot of them. You’ve practically left no space left safe in the chaos of your outburst. 

And your large form is at the centre of it all.

“Y/N,” she breathes out, breaking the silence between you both. Your eyes flitter up to meet hers from your previous interest point, the accumulated bundle at your large, pawed feet. Blankets, sheets, pillows and anything else in your wolfish mind you deem comfortable to lay on the floor.

Wanda’s eyes move over you. Were you… building a nest?

Your amber eyes burn into her soul, the pit of radiant hellfire focuses on her with primitive hunger. The sight of her against that door makes your core become plagued by shockwaves of agony that disperse downwards, turning pain into an empty void of pleasure that moves downwards, to the aroused mound at the juncture between your powerful, muscular thighs. You could do some very damaging things to her up against that door. 

And there she sees it, her coat clenched tightly in the grasp of your right hand. So Tony had been correct in the end. You used her coat to track her down from wherever you’d escaped to, only to then follow her scent here. 

The heavy pound of your weight on your pawed feet moves closer to her, the article of fox fur discarded to the pile - or what she presumes to be a nest - and she’s soon cornered. 

Muscles ripple beneath fur, the colour of it always a delicate sight Wanda found herself often cherishing. Soft to the touch, well groomed beyond the scars that litter your body, hideous marks that remind you of what you are. But to the hidden scope of Wanda’s own thoughts, you were the closest thing to sculpted perfection; the rough edges providing a ruggedness that many often depicted as ruthless and merciless. 

But she knows that you use those sharp edges to protect her. To protect yourself. 

“Remember me, Y/N. Y-you know who I am, l-look at me–”

Your muzzle wrinkles and you snarl, pink gums lined with long, sharp teeth bare at her in a display of what she perceives as hostility. She’s only begun to slide along the wall and away from the door before one of your larger arms thrusts forward. She yelps in surprise and flinches back, your other arm follows suit of the first, trapping Wanda between you and the wall behind. 

Your maw extends down as a raspy snarl echoes in the back of your throat, the foundations of a monster with not an ounce of humanity left in the soul, her eyes are now coated with a hot layer of tears. “You know me, Y/N, I know you do! Look at me, remember me.”

She can’t even bear the thought to fathom the fates of the other victims. With Vision’s lack of details, it ended up being both a blessing and a curse. Now all she thinks about now is becoming another one of those victims. And how the aftermath would only break you. 

“I remember, Mate.”

Wanda would celebrate in her relief, had it not been for that single word. Mate. Goosebumps form over exposed skin, her breath hitches in her throat and she cannot refrain from the needy moan surpassing her lips when you push your overly large body to hers, bending down low to grind the dangerously aroused location against her. 

“I fucking need you. I need you so badly.”

“I–I…” The words escape her, leaving her to the dizzying of her own growing desire. To be beneath you, to have you ravish her beyond reprieve. 

“One way or another, I’ll have you in that nest, Mate.” 

The lilt of your baritone growl reverberates in the chamber of your ribcage, husky and primal laced. Dominating. Wanda’s mind swims with the endless possibilities, that black sea of fantasies rising up in crashing tidal waves. Her head arches back into the door and leaves her neck bared for you, the long, pink tendril of your tongue laps at the dew of her skin, deliciously sweet and intoxicating, it brings out a pleasurable rumble from you. One that she feels vibrates her alit core. 

“Do you know how long I’ve been repressed, Lamb? All that torture and for what? Only to suffer without release. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

Oh, there’s something in the way you blatantly threaten her with a fucking good time. A chill runs up the column of her spine and she mewls, you roughly begin to grind your body into her in your dire need. Suffice to say, you aren’t kidding her when you warned her that you’d have her one way or another. 

“I want to help you now,” she whispers softly. Her hands roll through the texture of your fur, nails scratching at you like a kitten, your shoulders jolt with a rumbling chuckle. You purr lowly, breath hot against her neck, “You know how.”

The razor points of your canines rake over the sensitive spot, right where her mark belongs, and exposed to the point that you could do it; and she would have no chance of fighting it. 

She pants now, whining when the bulge of your mound rubs over her aching pussy, already her lips are sweetened by her juices. 

“I want this. I want you… Mate.”

Her scent is alluring to the point that you think it’s a drug of its own, a dose of it enough to get your blood pumping and your heart pounding, her words only serve to break the last restraints you barely have a hold of. 

The action is swift and drags a gasp from Wanda’s lungs, your right arm scoops her up, resting her ass along your forearm as you hoist her up, in tandem your left hand claws down, slicing her short dress down the middle; leaving her milky skin exposed in her lingerie. 

Your left hand moves her thigh over the curve of your shoulder and with this guidance, she does the same for her other leg, her drooling pussy just below eye level now. Her scent wafts into your senses and you growl, tongue running over the daggered incisors lining your maw. 

“You smell good, Lamb.”

The drawl of your wolfish tone makes Wanda’s eyes roll back, her hips bucking at the pleasuring sensation of your hot, wet tongue licking a long strip upwards, from the edge of her folds to her pulsing clit. All her hands can do is clutch hold of the long, silky locks of fur that are reminiscent of your hair. 

“Sh–shit!” she squeaks with jostled breath, “D-do that again?”

You obey her request with a haughty snort, snout wrinkled into a prideful smirk. The fabric of sheer and opaque of her panties being a perfect blend to pleasure and torture. She’ll want more soon enough, you’re sure of it. Your tongue laps upwards again and she groans quietly with a struggling pant. Her mouth hangs open, and shit, if that isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen then you can happily take a silver bullet to the brain. 

Her body quivers with each stroke of your tongue, wide enough to cover her entire cunt each time, and a little rough to offer that desirable friction she craves, and of course warm to sooth the chill that envelops the rest of her skin. “A–ah! Hah!”

“Feels good, doesn't it, Mate?”

Wanda is pleasure-struck, unable to form a single tangible response by word. All she can do is nod her head frantically, streaks of her brownish hair fall over her visage contorted with delight, a moan bouncing in her throat. “M–mmhm…”

A dark chuckle escapes you and that smirk turns into a wolfish grin. “That’s not all this tongue can do.”

Her brows lift in curiosity and her plump lips fall apart with another moan, her anticipation is short lived by you putting her out of her misery or before she can question you. Your teeth slip between the band of her panties and her skin, revelling in the way her body shivers against you, with a quick snap the fabric is torn apart and gives the perfect view of her dripping cunt. 

Your maw is buried between her legs in an instant, tongue greedy devouring the slickness on her folds, the taste as sweet as honey on your tastebuds, your ears pin back when her fingers ring further towards the roots of your fur. 

“F-fuck, fucking hell, oh shit!” she gasps loudly, “Y/N!”

A hot fan of breath hits her sensitive bud as you part your powerful jaws wide open, you press the thinner tip of your tongue to her entrance, teasing her slickened folds until she’s mewling for you, fingers clenching your fur harder. 

“Please… please,” she begs, doing her best to angle her weeping core for your leisure whilst keeping her thighs balanced on the broadness of your shoulders. 

“Show me what else it can do.”

With a pleased huff with her begging, you angle your tongue and push forward. With each impending inch that sinks further between her southern lips, she whines softly - dare you say it - she’s howling tenderly in her reverie of euphoria. 

With each surpassing inch she realises that your tongue alone is as thick as a well endowed man. And it only seems to keep going and her hips wriggle, lips trembling until her teeth sink into her bottom lip to keep her screams at bay lest the entirety of Madripoor hears what its finest werewolf does to defile her. 

You grunt when you’ve filled her with all that you can with the pink and hot, muscular organ. Breaths heavy and heated, each wave hits Wanda’s clit and brings a delightful spring to coil in her abdomen and her pussy to clench around you. 

Her back arches slightly in sync with the first thrust, the wet muscle powerful enough to make her gently bounce upwards, a breathless wisp of air is pressed from her lungs forcefully. 

“Oooh, oh yes, j-just like that.”

You repeat the motion again and her legs squeeze closer around your large head. Her nails dig into the nape of your neck. Your arm that doesn’t support the weight of her lower body comes up and your clawed hand supports the back of her own neck, her head lazily drops back, eyes rolling into the back of her skull as her lips close shut. 

Her hips roll into the next thrust, meeting your wet muscle halfway, and the way she moans makes you groan. 

So your pace quickens and becomes rougher, her body bounces with each forceful stroke, continuing to roll her hips in tandem, following the set rhythm with a chorus of wistful moans and teetering howls of her own. 

You’re enraptured by the sight of her. The heiress at your beck and call now, drawing closer to her starlit climax. She feels it, deep inside, like rubber bands coming together and twisting in wait for the inevitable snap. 

She chants your name, a one word mantra that drives you to the precipice of lustful insanity.

Her tight walls only tighten with each push and pull of your long tongue, dragging against the current that seeks to pull you in forever with no chance to grant escape. More of her aroused juices get you drunk in your haze and your greed becomes damn near insatiable as you drink every drop you’re granted. The few stray drops of her sweetness only roll down the flexing front of your torso. 

“I-I’m close.” She breathes deeply through her nose, eyes squeezed shut as her fingers claw the absolute shit out of your silky fur. All these things mixed together in a delicious combination makes you growl, and that sound shoots through your cunt-fucking tongue, and brings her walls to clamp around it hard. Her body is wrecked by the crash of her orgasm, coating your tongue with a mouth watering amount of her release, you groan at the taste. 

Your tongue works at slowing down, stoking the fire to cool down, her breasts push and strain against the thin fabric of her lingerie, nipples stiff beneath the sheer’s opacity. With a husky grunt you pull the slick drenched muscle with a moistened pop, Wanda’s body reacts with a flinching motion.

Fuck, how you enjoy having her like this. Before now, you’ve held back, refused to carry on any further out of fear that it would be too much for her. Now seeing her, drunk on your mere tongue and her quietly pleading more of you, you think she can handle it. 

When Wanda manages to recover enough of herself that her eyes open to look at you. She isn’t sure if she should be aroused or terrified by the expression on your canid visage. Your lips lift over the line of your gums, stretching to a smirk. 

You drop the courtesy support you offered her, the only thing keeping her suspended at your eye level is the large form of your single hand, circling around the slender build of her waist. Her body is still recovering from her orgasm, lazily but trying, she supports in holding herself from falling back.

In this moment, she’s at the mercy of an eight and a half foot animal doped up on sex pollen. She’s at the mercy of you. 

“Now, let me show you how a werewolf really fucks.”

COMING SOON...

— MALE VARIANT — FEMALE VARIANT — ACT IV

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST

@alexawynters @alyciaddict

#the dark demeter writing catalogue #treehouse taglist #werewolf reader #female reader #male reader #gn reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x werewolf! reader #wanda x reader #mafia au #angst #x reader #mob au #wanda x werewolf reader #wanda maximoff #werewolf #sex pollen #monster fucking #wanda x reader smut #wanda maximoff smut #wanda x you #werewolf smut

[lexsssu]

Season (Childe | Tartaglia)

TAGS: Childe/Dragoness!reader, a/b/o, heats/ruts, pregnancy, smut, oneshot Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

“Do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk by again—”

“Fuck you, Tartaglia”

“Fuck me yourself, girlie. Or are you too scared because you’re a little lizard instead of the big bad dragon you keep saying you are~?”

You grit your teeth and huff in annoyance, crossing your arms as you tried in vain to ignore the shit-eating grin present on the Fatui Harbinger’s face.

“In your dreams”

“But you’re already in my dreams, girlie. And don’t even get me started on the kind of dreams you appear in, buuuuut let’s just say it involves a lot less clothes and talking~”

“Why you…!”

The ginger-haired male grinned as he nursed his bright red cheek, blue eyes never leaving your form even as you left in a furious huff. He knew you wanted him as much as he wanted you, the heady scent of an aroused omega that lay just beneath your own natural scent of smoke and flaming flowers.

You’ll come crawling to him soon enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And apparently he didn’t have to wait too long.

Spring itself had creeped in once more and with it, the inexplicable urge to mate. Just as animals hurriedly chirped, squawked, built nests, and all other ways to attract a possible mate, so did those born as alphas and omegas feel the stirrings of their primal nature trying to break through the surface.

Despite how much humanoids liked to think that they were above mere beasts, their secondary nature proved time and time again that they were merely rational animals capable of being as depraved and feral as any beast. For someone who was more in tune with their beastly nature, (You who proudly flaunted your draconic self as being a full dragon who merely chose to take on a more human form), made this season particularly unbearable.

“Well, well, well will you look at that…” the Fatui Harbinger licked his lips as his eyes darkened and dilated at the sight of you writhing against your bed in nothing but the thin piece of cloth that passed for smallclothes in Liyue. “Seems you’re having a bit of trouble there, girlie. Lucky for you I was passing by Wangshu Inn for some official business when I smelled how...distressed you were.”

“Is there anything I can possibly help you with~?”

If he didn’t have any self-restraint then he’d have rushed into your room the moment he first caught the scent of your heat, of your pheromones that beckoned him to partake of the sweet slick that dripped down your pussy which begged to be filled by a hard, alpha cock. Childe was already rock solid the moment he knew you were here, but he held himself back because he knew that the rewards he would reap from his small sacrifice will be worth all the wait.

You knew that this world had such a thing as secondary natures, namely Alphas, Betas, & Omegas. You’ve heard and read content that revolved around such a thing, but actually waking up in such a world and becoming a part of this dynamic was another thing altogether.

You knew that Omegas felt terrible during their heats without a partner to alleviate them, but archons above you didn’t know it felt this horrible!

Your body felt scorching hot, your throat felt absolutely parched, and the constant stream of wetness that had undoubtedly ruined your sheets was simply unbearable. Sadly, without an alpha to tend to your body’s needs you were left in agony for the better part of an hour already.

Mayhaps whatever beings had hurtled you through time and space into Teyvat felt sorry enough at your suffering, because you smelled Childe even before he opened the door to your room. You don’t even question how he managed to come in when you always locked the door, because all you wanted at this point was for him to quell the heat that threatened to consume you.

“Ch-childe...please…! It’s...it’s too hot!!!”

“Too hot? Where is it too hot? You gotta be more specific or else I can’t help”

The smirking ginger looked downright devious as he stood perfectly still just beside your bed, making no move to get closer even as the bulge in his pants twitched and tented against the fabric. Being this close to you when you were so ripe, so fertile and ready to be taken by him was taking every ounce of self-control in him.

You were close to breaking down in tears as relief was so close yet so far in the face of this sadistic man. Serves you right for pretending that he didn’t make your heart race whenever he deliberately provoked you with his silver tongue, that he didn’t make the most primal side of yourself purr & rumble with satisfaction whenever he showed his capabilities as a potential mate. 

“Here…! It feels too hot and empty here!!!” You press your hand against your pelvic area, specifically the exact spot where your womb was located. “It wants...no, it HAS to be filled up or I’ll die!”

There was no other way to describe the entirety of your feelings right now. Your body was ready and begging to be mated until you were practically overflowing with your alpha’s cum and pupped without question.

His cock twitched involuntarily, straining against its confines even more fervently at your words. He probably shouldn’t become so impossibly aroused (at least more so than he already was) right now, but can anyone blame him when the girl of his dreams was in front of them and begging so adorably?

“Please...I want you. I’ve always wanted you, but was just too stubborn to say it. You’re the only one I want so please…”

With the last remnants of your rationality, you ripped off the dudou from your body and with shaking hands spread your lower lips to show him the slick that generously dripped out of your twitching hole.

“...fill me up with your love”

With your admission, Childe’s own final thread of self-restraint snapped as he descended upon you like the ravenous beast you’d made him into. Propped up on your knees, hands pinned to the bed by his own and fingers intertwined, the young man prodded at the spot where your scent gland was with his nose before teasing the area with gentle licks and light nibbling.

“Hey, make sure to scream my name, okay? Oh, it’s Ajax by the way.”

You had no time to digest this secret he so generously provided you, not when he’d plunged the entirety of his cock inside your pussy until you could feel the tip nudging at the entrance to your womb.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is only during the same season the year after begrudgingly acknowledging your attraction to the smooth-talking harbinger that you manage to find the time to meet with his family in Snezhnaya. However, you are not alone as you naturally brought along the product of your debauched and frantic mating the year before.

Teucer is over the moon at the knowledge of being a little uncle to the snoozing child in your arms, whereas the older members of Childe’s family including his older siblings and parents coo at your baby and congratulate you for taming the wayward boy you called your mate.

Such congratulations only received an eye roll from said boy, opting instead to possessively wrap an arm around your waist and prop his chin against your shoulder. He raised no objections from his family’s words seeing as they were all true anyway. Rather, he is comforted by the heat of your body and the sight of your precious child while surrounded by the warm wishes of the family that raised him.

#lexsssu writes #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact childe #genshin impact childe x reader #childe x reader #childe x you #childe x y/n #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact smut #crossposted on ao3

[blueparadis]

╰┈➤ ANIMAL ✦ KAEYA ALBERICH.

⟣ ──┈ · · · + synopsis ➢ In the search for hauls Kaeya stumbled upon something greater, something divine that could revive him and his Khaenri'ah.

+

⟣ ──┈ · · · + cw ➣ fem!reader x pirate!kaeya,non - canon divergent lore, hints of supernatural powers, subtle mention of stockholm syndrome, dub-con, ( non-consensual to consensual ) somnophilia. read the part one here ( just the back story. they are not connected but you can consider this as a sequel. both can be enjoyed as a single oneshot. ); 1,2k word count. | blog navigation + koct’23 masterlist. |

There has been a vague series of events that have been frequenting your mind lately. It starts with a well-built person standing at the entrance of the room, perhaps a man; His face is blurred as he walks into your room, watching you, standing near you, touching you, your face and hair— you could even hear the floorboard creaking, feel the cold of the wind from the sea chilling your skin with goosebumps and the flame in the lamp dying as the man leans towards your face. That is when your slumber disrupts and you sit up but seeing everything around you as it was in your dream does not help.

But seeing Kaeya sitting outside the room with his goblet full of wine soothes your erratic heart rate a bit. Every time you wake up from this particular bad dream, he is some where near you— either outside on the deck or inside the room busy at his study desk. Many a night he has helped you go back to sleep by telling you various stories about his homeland, about the people he knew there.

Does he never sleep? You had thought every time you had found him awake in the dead of night. Kaeya had incorporated another bed in his cabin because the one he used to sleep in is now yours. It has been like that since the day he rescued you. You do not know why he kept you so long and under such protection even though he could have killed you after using you as a tool of pleasure. 

Generally, you would get up from the bed, have a glass of water and walk up to the deck asking him to come inside, to keep you company till you fall asleep again. But tonight it is different. The door is locked and Kaeya is in his bed, at an arm's length from yours, possibly awake. You can only see his long strands of copper-blue hair, his nape, and a part of his shoulder. Everything else is buried under the quilt.

You smile to yourself thinking about the first time you opened your eyes in his cabin, lying in his bed like this and saying “Map maker, I’m a map maker” when he asked about you; that is the only thing you could remember. 

And with a bright and warm smile, he had admitted, “Great. we could use a map maker.” A unified cheer from his crew followed him and you knew from the bottom of your heart that you are safe, you are okay here.

As you get out of bed, you notice a part of your dress as well as the bed wet. It had red stains so you assumed that your month's cycle had commenced. But the next morning you came to the conclusion that it was nothing but red wine, you knew it was a little early for your red cycle. Letting out a laugh you slipped out of your dress thinking how Kaeya can be clumsy sometimes but the thread of suspicion snapped when you noticed some bruises in your inner thigh, and around your taut nipples as your dress dropped on the floor.

Your legs gave up, your body froze and your skin burnt with goosebumps. You crouched down in cold agony. A stifling sob escaped your mouth thinking of who could have done this to you. Thinking who dared to touch you against your will despite sharing rooms with the master of this ship. So that night, you planned to pretend to be asleep, waiting for the person to show up in the cold dark night. 

But fate had other plans, soon the exhaustion and dizziness due to the salty breeze took over your urge to be awake and your eyes lulled to sleep. When you were awake again, you felt something in between your legs, something wet. You felt a sting around your pussy before it was soothed with a sweet lap of the tongue. Irregular breaths and pants hit your clit as you managed to pull up your head to see the face of the culprit. 

A knife in your hand and the clustered bed sheet in the other as you opened your eyes but alas! None of that mattered anymore. His face was not blurred anymore, you could see him as clear as a day. Springing upright on the bed you looked at him with dilated pupils. It was Kaeya.

“tsk, thought you were awake tonight.” Kaeya crawled towards you, his lips and nose stained with your arousal as he stopped inches away from your face. You could smell yourself on him. 

His mouth opens ajar as his lips latch around your clothed pebbled nipples. He suckled on them while his fingers had slowly slid up your thighs. You did not feel the emotions that you thought you would feel — rage, disgust, hatred, dirty and unholy. Rather a sense of relief had washed over you knowing it was none other than Kaeya, your rescuer. 

Under the guidance of his arms, you lay down again. He grazes his nose against the column of your throat inhaling your scent, feeling your light speed heartbeats. It makes him high in adrenaline and hard for some reason. He can not let you spiral now. So, with his honey-dewed voice, he whispered, “Don’t you think you owe it to me? For saving your life? Hmmm?” before diving back in between your legs, 

“Don’t you think you owe it to me, for saving your life? ” It rings in your ear, till now when the sun has come out, and Kaeya stands in his deck busy with his morning chores. Everything else has been sedimented at the back of your mind except that question. You were up earlier than Kaeya for the first ever. The sea is awfully calm tonight while your heart is full of chaos. It took a few raw shots of vodka to gather the courage to do what you are about to do. And that was not even the worst part. 

You liked it, every bit of it, that was the worse part. To think that Kaeya wanted you in more ways than just a map maker illuminated your body with desire and hunger. So, when you are all on your fours on his bed, barely clad, and Kaeya’s quilt is on the floor you do not know if it is the seed of vengeance, gratitude, or desire that sprouted into something else, that made you kneel in front of him.

As you fidget with the strings of his trousers Kaeya wakes up due to the cold and is shocked at first seeing you in front of him like this, desperate and drunk. 

“What are you doing here?” he blurted out.

“Why?” you drawled. “I’m here to return the favor,” you muttered kissing his navel and then looking up to him.

#kaeya smut #kaeya x reader #kaeya x you #kaeya x y/n #kaeya x fem!reader #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya alberich x you #kaeya alberich smut #genshin smut #gi smut #genshin impact smut #gi x reader #gi x you #genshin oneshots #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin x f!reader #genshin x female reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x female reader #genshin impact fanfics #cw somnophilia #cw dark content #cnc somno #somno cnc #somno cw #somnophilia cw #genshin impact oneshots

[klausinamarink]

saw a post from @flowercrowngods asking about steddie going through chronic pain and i thought to give it an attempt. Just a quick disclaimer though I do not personally have chronic pain but I did my best to write it respectively!

Edit: now with part 2!

— —

Eddie should get out of bed.

He’s all too aware of how much of the day he’s wasting and losing by lying down, but his leg is in pain again. And not in a “my leg is full of TV static and I can’t move it for a minute” way. His leg was in the state of fine until I moved to get up and now it feels like the bones are dissolving and my skin is having that falling apart sensation and it’s making this a problem for the rest of my body, which is becoming frustratingly common these days.

It’s totally unfair because he was supposed to start the Hellfire oneshot he had kept promising this afternoon. Eddie had been feeling fine the past three days aside from the usual leg static and itchiness from his scars. He had been getting more good days! He should be outside and interacting with his friends again! 

But that wasn’t going to happen. Not with the agony making its slow travel to his back and the left side of his face now twitching, which created a headache.

“Jesusssss.” Eddie groans aloud. He tries to move further into his pillow, but now the pain is rushing to his torso and pressing against it. Another agonizing spike in his right ear right down to the eardrum. Again, the pain zigzagged to his left foot and his right hand. 

He stayed in bed. He might have wept but Eddie had always been good at crying quietly. He knew he can’t call for Wayne because he was at work and his arms now hurt to even pick up the bedside phone. 

The pain went to the back of his neck, reopening his scars and cracking his ribcage. Maybe not literally, but at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised.

He soon falls asleep at some point, considering there’s really nothing else to do. Then he’s slowly brought back to consciousness by a soft humming and careful fingers brushing through his hair.

“Steve?” He croaks out, opening an eye carefully to see his boyfriend (oh sweet heavens he actually has a boyfriend!!) right next to him on the bedside. Steve smiles  softly at him.

“Hey, Eds, another day?” 

Eddie gives the tiniest of nods, swallowing down a wince from the bare movement. 

“Is it your leg, your hand, or all over?”

“All over. My fucking body hates me.” 

Steve gently tugs one of his locks. “You mean our bodies hates us.”

“Get out of here.”

“No way. I can’t be a shitty boyfriend if I’m leaving you to die alone.” Steve moves to stand up but pauses. “Do you want the towel treatment or-“ 

“Please.” Eddie nearly chokes out.

“Alright, be right back.” 

A few minutes later, Steve is back at his side, carefully and deliberately wiping Eddie’s face with a soaked towel. It’s a weird and probably nefficient method, but Eddie had found that in these days where his body is torturing himself, he needed some sort of coolness for his skin. He couldn’t take off his clothes but the damp towel on his face and hands was enough to ease it.

Steve, on the other hand, couldn’t stand the Wet Towel even if his muscles ached and his arms burned. Mostly, Eddie would lay on top of him and his body weight would provide Steve much needed ease.

Maybe their own coping methods for the flare ups were weird by medical standards, but they’re both still alive.

Mostly.

“I was supposed to start Hellfire today.” Eddie mutters as Steve brings the towel to his right hand. “An oneshot. Short and fun.”

“I know.” Steve says kindly, “the kids felt that you weren’t coming so Dustin radioed me to check on you.”

“Sweet of him.”

“Yeah, everyone is.” 

“Not as sweet as you, big boy.” Eddie sticks his tongue out playfully. 

Steve smirks, pressing the towel back on Eddie’s forehead. “How’s it now?”

“Not as horrible, but I can’t trust myself to move.” The pain is traveling less but now his ears are thumping weirdly and his leg is practically vanishing with the other parts of his body, numb and barely unaffected. 

“That’s okay, Eds, I’m still here.” Steve gives him a light peck on his cheek where there’s another demobat scar, but smaller than the one overtaking his left side. “I’ll finish soon, but I’m not leaving anytime soon.” 

He says it with a soft squeeze on Eddie’s hand. He smiles back and closes his eyes, relishing on the dampness on his bare scarred skin, trying to ignore the rest of the pain that’s forever settling underneath and deeper. 

#ik you wanted both of them to go thru it #but I was feeling more in ‘hurt eddie’ mode #hope that’s ok! #klaus writes #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #chronic pain #stranger things

[deprivedreality]

𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗢 𝗘𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗧𝗬 ; 𝗡𝗘𝗧𝗘𝗬𝗔𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗟𝗟𝗬. oneshot

word count: 1.5k request by: @aichiomei

summary: neteyam with his childhood sweetheart and mate who died before him. alternative ver for childhood sweetheart.

content/s & pairings: neteyam x omaticaya! reader. angst. mention of death and blood. heavy visualization of trauma/losing a loved one. reader is called Yaw'ne which is yn, basically beloved in navi.

ᓚᘏᗢ | masterlist | feel free to make a request too!

"𝗠𝗔 𝗬𝗔𝗪'𝗡𝗘. . . ?" His voice, pained and hoarse. Neteyam looked at his mate dying in his arms. The disappearance of the light in her eyes turned off all sense of consciousness in his body.

"Yaw'ne! Do not— no! You can't do this to me! Yaw'ne! Not now, not ever! My love— Look at me, please!" He cried, trembling as his chest heaved from the panic and anxiety he was feeling.

"Yaw'ne, look at me!" In an attempt to make a corpse look into him, he grasped her hand and placed it on his cheek, all while his other hand pushed through her chest, where blood spilled all over. Neteyam couldn't recognize himself anymore, all he could do was feel the warmth he couldn't embrace would be the last he'd ever feel from her as she went cold and pale.

In that moment, all he could think of was the future he envisioned with her, lost in a matter of moments. The love he swore to protect, the woman he promised to cherish, and soul he offered his life to. Gone. He couldn't grasp reality completely and amidst the war cry that echoes across the depressing field, he wouldn't take his eyes off her as tears swelled from his eyes, emotions daring to spill out.

He thought that if she stayed back, such thing would never happen. How did it come to this? How could one bullet determine the faith of someone? The faith of his mate, his love? Just Why?

He couldn't take off his eyes off of Yawne, the pain evident in his eyes as he looked at hers, lifeless and dim. All colors sucked off, replaced with the impeccable reminder that she no longer was with him. And will no longer be apart of a life she was supposed to be filling with colors.

"..." Neteyam spoke no more, but the silence has never been more loud. It was a mystery, really. How a broken heart can drive a man insane.

It was hard and brutal in each passing second. As smoke filled the air, so did the grief of the people all around him amidst the time of war. The cries of agony of a man who lost his mate was what filled the silence after the immediate aftermath of a battle between the RDA and the Omaticaya people.

Those who survived knew that if the Skypeople were foolish enough to have not surrendered earlier, then Toruk Makto's son— no, a man having been bereaved of his mate would've annihilated them with no hesitation and with bloodlust.

Neteyam's screams and shouts to bring her back were painful to hear to all those who were fortunate enough to be alive. As they echoed across the silenced field stocked with the corpse of Na'vis and Humans, taunting the ears of the many Omaticayan warriors that beared and witnessed the rage of the Omaticayan Prince's grief and agony upon losing his lover.

Neteyam never felt so conflicted in all his life. His father was Toruk Makto, yes. However, he never thought once in his life that it would be the sole reason for his forced departure from the home he's ever known. And setting all of it aside, the biggest part of not wanting to go was because his love rested with his people. And the thought of having no exact time of going back home scared him to the depth of his soul.

"I have to leave you, my love." A tear traced down his cheek and to his chin. Neteyam smiled even if he was in pain, the sides of his lips trembling as he stood in front of a boulder decorated with striking bioluminescent flowers and herbs. This was where his mate was buried, a place he almost spent his time on after he lost her.

"I'm sorry..." Neteyam whispered, butb then his knees started weakening that he had fallen down and broke into tears. He held his shoulders, as if hugging himself as he sobbed. "Please know that I don't want to do this. I want to stay with you... But I can't."

Even if he couldn't bear the pain of learning that he might as well never be able to see the memories of the life he once had, in the end, he found himself embarking on a harsh journey with his family. And although Neytiri and Jake knew about their son's dying desire to just be in the hands of the great mother just to be with Yawne, they would do everything to protect their son.

A sad soul waiting to just disappear was the person Neteyam had become. He never laughed whole heartedly nor expressed the same happiness he once had before tragedy of a broken heart befall on him. He never acted the same, focusing only on keeping his siblings align because it was the only thing Neteyam was left to do.

If he disappeared, Yawne would be disappointed of him. That is what he thinks, that deep inside, his mate would be upset if he would just off himself and leave his responsibilities as a son and a brother just to be with her.

From the very arrival of the Sully's in the Awa'atlu clan, he's always been perceived as the saddest amongst the forest children, unresponsive in daylight and sullen in the night. The village people pinpointed it. The tsahik of the Metkayina clan expressed her pity for him, to the point that he could not bear it anymore.

His brother and sister were in pain watching him cry every night, whispering the name of his deceased mate. All while he wished to be with just himself and his aching heart, in nights where he cradled himself to sleep. And kissed the necklace that only he had taken to leave with him as a part of his mate. The necklace that he weaved for his childhood sweetheart, dating back from when he had just learnt how to bead traditional jewelry at the ripe age of five just to impress his mate.

The memories that brought him back were the only thing that kept him together. He spent his life with his mate even before bonding with her as lovers. Neteyam had so much memories that the idea of it running out just made his day damp.

"Yaw'ne... It won't be long, I promise." One evening before tragedy happened, the boy had whisper as he looked at the beautiful sunset that reminded him only of one person, Yaw'ne.

The dazling gold color of the reef that blinded his eyes. The dewy-colored sky and it's undoubtedly gorgeous sight. And the atmosphere that flowed with warmth, that even if it wasn't as close to be similar to the warmth and comfort he felt by embracing her, it reminded him greatly of his mate.

Thinking about it made him smile genuinely, laughing to himself. "If things aren't the way it is, you would be sitting next to me, Yawne. You would've love the ocean."

The smile Neteyam showed, unknowingly, would be the last.

"Dad, I wanna go home─" Even as he lay dying in the same way his late lover had died, it was the only words that came out of his mouth when he looked at his father. He thought that for once in his life, he could be a bit selfish. Neteyam struggled to breathe as he looked at his parents and at Lo'ak. Blood seeped down his mouth but he spoke once more, this time with great desperation.

"I just want to see her again... I miss her─" Neteyam cried, eyes swelling with tears. Even through Lo'ak's pleads for him to stop, Neytiri's panic and to Jake's realization, all of them could see the desperation in his eyes.

"I miss her so much..." Neteyam longed for a moment of silence and he got it. His parents grieved for him as he lay dead on the cold ocean, eyes wide open as though they stared at the sky like any other day he spent at sea.

His eyes were dim when she died. But now, his amber eyes were at its dimmest. Neteyam died that day, with a bullet ending the pain he never thought would be the one to kill him in its stead.

It was the pain that killed him, and the acceptance that made him rest alas. It would be a mistake to underestimate the influence of love, thus, accepting it would lead into eternity.

ᓚᘏᗢ @deprivedreality 2023 | do not copy my works!

#atwow #atwow oneshot #neteyam oneshot #oneshot neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam suli x reader #neteyam #neteyam imagine #angst #avatar #avatar the way of water #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam sully x na’vi!reader #neteyam angst #neteyam avatar #atwow neteyam #atwow angst #deprivedreality blogs #deprivedreality #Spotify

[solaneceae]

glitch

a team bolas oneshot, slimecicle centric (read on ao3) hurt/comfort, angst

Today’s a bad day for Charlie.

First of all, it’s too quiet here in the den — Phil’s out gathering materials again, and the only ones awake other than him are Baghera and Cellbit. And while the duck hybrid was probably his favorite flockmate to mess around with, she was elbows-deep in some huge project and wasn’t too up for crazy debates and stick-fights for once. (Something about chainsaws, from what Charlie understood. That was her thing now, and honestly, that was a bit of a huge slay on her part.) Which means that his thoughts get a little too loud with nobody to drown them out with.

It starts off with an ache, deep within his arm and shoulder, one he initially dismisses as the result of a bad sleeping position (which, to be fair, does happen often in team Bolas, because they scoff at comfy wool beds and much prefer to sleep in messy piles, neck cricks and wiggly limbs and warm bodies soothing their night terrors).

But then his arm does a weird twitch-lurch thing that almost dislocates his shoulder, and his pained yelp alerts the rest of the flock that something’s amiss. He grins at them, as flickering black and green start to blind his right eye and his infected arm starts to be overrun by burning-freezing pinpricks. Tells them not to worry, makes up some bullshit excuse his own mind can’t even parse.

They don’t buy it. He doesn’t know if he’s annoyed or relieved that they don’t. And then it gets worse, and worse, and soon enough he’s screaming and thrashing on the cold hard ground of the cave, body seizing and glitching worse than it ever has. And it hurts, hurts, no more numbness there, he can feel every atom in his corrupted parts struggling to stay bonded, struggling not to fall apart and either dissolve into the ether or no-clip through reality. “H̸̢͗ḧ̷́͜h̵̡͝h̴̻̀ė̸̜e̶̲̓e̶̢͐e̶̜͘ľ̵ͅṕ̷̺p̷̠̎p̷̘̂,” he pleads, and his own voice hurts his ears like the shriek of metal against metal. “P̶̱͑-̶̞͆P̴̛̪l̶̢̋e̶͉̍a̶̹̍-̴͔̒ḛ̶̓ă̶̡s̵̄ͅṣ̴̃s̸͔͊ȅ̴̻,̷͇͂ ̷̼͛m̶̼̕-̸̪̍m̴͔͆a̵̼͐k̵͍̓ȩ̵̍ ̷͚̕ï̶͉t̶̩́ ̷̲̄s̴͎̅s̵̞̐s̵̤̏t̴̳̅ȏ̷̱p̷̖̌.”

“Sshhhh, it’s okay,” Baghera shushes him, ever-so gently pressing her wings down against his chest to keep him from thrashing. Charlie’s glasses are on the floor next to her, discarded so he doesn’t break them in his flailing. “You’re going to be okay.”

“It’s a bad one,” Cellbit hums as he sits at her side, pinning Charlie’s wrists down against the stone to stop him from clawing at his own face. His palm stings from touching the corruption, and he doesn’t care. “But it’ll be over soon, I promise.”

“F̶͗͜-̵̫͛F̵̐͜ļ̵̉ị̸͌p̸̜̉-̴̖͝p̵͚̒a̴͙̐,” the slime hybrid cries out, something between a sob and a whimper, almost drowned out under the warble of glitch-static. “F̸̯̚l̸̦̔i̴̻̿-̴̦͐p̸̗͠p̶̡͝a̷̗̽,̶͖̀ ̸̮̇ẃ̵͍h̷͉̕e̵̡͂-̴̟̈́w̷͇͝h̸̲̑é̴̙r̴̰͆ĕ̶̝’̴̥̋s̵̺̀s̸͍̾s̷͍̋s̸̟̆ś̸͍ ̵̤͊m̵̟͒m̷͖͌m̵͗͜y̷̘̆ ̵͓̓F̵̥̿l̴̺͐ḯ̸̘-̶̛̲F̵͍͝l̸͔͋i̶͔̒p̶̬͊p̸̫̈́a̷̦͝.̷̮͑”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Charlie.”

“Ḭ̸̀ ̶̯͠w̷̡͋ẅ̶̙w̴̮̓a̵͈͘n̴̨̔t̵̡̀—̴̘̾ ̴̜̈w̷͇̕a̶͔̽n̷̰̋t̷̼͋ ̴̥̾m̴̯̒m̶͈̾y̸̢͛ ̷͓̕d̶͍̕-̷̳̄a̷̤͝u̷̓͜g̵̮͘h̸̪̄t̴̞̚ḛ̶̀r̴̩͠-̴̅ͅt̶͔̀è̸̜r̵̛̲,̴͍̾ ̷͓̄w̵̭̃w̴͇͑ẁ̵͕à̵̫n̶̪̏t̷̞̐ ̸͎́m̶̧̍ẙ̷̘ ̵̯̈́b̶͓̓-̴̥��b̶̥̐a̷͎͋b̵͈̅y̵̠͂.̶͇͝ ̵̞̉M̸̺̄y̶̛̯ ̴̦̎h̵̜̑-̵̠̾h̸̹̔u̸͇͝e̵̡̾v̷̖̈o̵̱̊-̴̻̾ô̸̤o̴̦͗o̵̗̅.̴̠̐”

“I know. I know bijou, I know.”

“You’ll see her soon,” Cellbit lies to his friend and packmate without faltering, icy blue eyes set into hazy-flickering green ones. Slime green, code green. The cat hybrid reaffirms his grip on Charlie’s wrists as he writhes in binary-induced agony. “She’s safe, she’s waiting for you back home, yes?”

“Y̵͙͛-̴̯̎Y̸̡͌ẽ̴͇a̵̝͝ḧ̶̫́.̷̟̈́ ̵̨͝H̸̞̊o̵̯̚m̵̰͌ḛ̷̈.̴̐ͅ ̶̦͠E̵̤̽ģ̷̎g̶̲̽-̵̫͆ ̴͇̃Ě̷͈g̶͎̔g̶̲̽-̵͚͘s̵̨͆s̶̱̿s̴̰̏s̷͓̈́s̶̺͐-̵̲͝x̷̢̉į̶͝l̴̗͝e̴̥͘.̷̹͘.” A broken laugh, high-pitched and garbled. “Y̶̖͒-̴̹͐Y̶̳͒o̸̹̾u̸͔̓,̸̡͛ ̶͈́s̷̠͝s̸͔̈s̷̬̚s̸͙̒h̷͖̆e̸̱̓ ̵͚̂l̷͍̽i̵̹̾k̴̰͗e̷̅ͅs̶̮͑s̵̉ͅs̶̯̈s̵͉͂ ̸̪̈ÿ̸͇o̶̲͐u̵̪̔ ̷̲͒b̸̥̾o̷̰͒t̸̢̅h̸̤̀.̵̺̄ ̶͍̕Ỹ̴͎o̴͈͊u̷͚͠-̸̞̿y̵̩̋o̴̙͘u̶̜̐’̵̝͝ř̷̙r̵̡̃r̵̞̔r̴̘̍r̸̖̎e̴̜̾ ̶̢̋n̶͖͊i̵͚͑c̶̩̉c̶̞̓è̵ͅ,̴̪̐ ̸͍̐t̴̗͘-̷͚̌t̵̡͊o̵̫͘ ̷̨̑ḥ̴̀e̸͉̾r̴͇͗-̴͕́h̶̪͊e̸̥͝r̵̿͜.̵̧̌”

“Of course, she’s a great kid,” Cellbit gives a gentle smile, fangs poking from below his upper lip. Baghera nods, joins Cellbit in that honey-soft lie. “Flippa’s awesome, and strong. When I get… when we get Pomme back, they can have a playdate, okay? With Richas too. I bet they’ll be very good friends.” Slime starts sobbing in earnest at that, which makes the duck hybrid tear up and shake. Cellbit bumps his head against her cheek with a soothing mrrrp, and she replies with a hoarse quack. Flock, yesyes. 

They don’t move, don’t speak. There’s a few long, torturous minutes where their friend dissolves into garbled, pained whimpers, slowly losing solidity to the point where none of them can keep a steady drip on his goopy body anymore. Then the glitching finally subsides and they can finally let go. “Slime?” Baghera sniffles, cupping Charlie’s pallid, greenish face. Even the gentlest of pressure makes his form give, like play-doh, and he stares up at her with cloudy, half-lidded eyes. “Are you with us? How many fingers am I holding up?” Cellbit raises a hand, wiggles his fingers in front of his face. Slime slow-blinks at him, the cat hybrid trilling and mimicking the action without thinking about it. Mumbles something unintelligible. “What was that?”

“Can’t see shit without my glasses, you fuckass,” the slime hybrid groans, and Baghera bursts out laughing. “Fuckin’— best detective on the island? My juicy, delectable ass.”

“I’ve never had your ass,” the duck hybrid chirps, relief-joy-sad, as she hands her friend his trusty eyewear. “Can I try it, next time you die?”

“Wouldn’t recommend it, he tastes like…” Cellbit cuts himself off, frowns. “I was gonna say like ass, but no. Like bad lemon and grass.”

“His ass is grass?”

“How about nobody gets a piece of my ass,” Charlie pushes himself up with a grunt, limbs still shaky from uncontrollable tremors. He looks tired. “Only my bitch wife can, and she’s not on today, so.”

“You gonna be okay?” Cellbit sobers up, rubbing his friend’s back as he helps him to his feet. “You could call it a day, if you want. Today’s an eco day, it’s fine.”

“Nah. I’ll just… I’ll be a good little malewife and make avocado toast for Dad and the other kids, or something.”

“You’re the best malewife,” the avian croons, bumping her bill against his cheek in a ducky kiss. “I finished with the chainsaws, so I’ll make an avocado farm for you.”

“How many did you make?” Cellbit asks, and Baghera grins. It’s terrifying. “...Yes.”

“Bro.”

“Oh fuck yeah.”

#qsmp #qsmp purgatory #team bolas #fanfic #slimecicle #baghera jones #cellbit #q!baghera #q!cellbit #q!slimecicle #karaokeduo my absolute beloved *cries*

[belit0]

HIIIII<3333 How are you and how have you been. First, i need to praise you for such a good work you do, i really am impressed by your writing skills and how you write the characters so realistic and understandable. You truly have my respect especially for writing some characters like Madara or Indra are really complex to write because of their personality and they truly are complicated due their backstory. So thank you dearly for accepting requests and working on them. You truly have an unique writing style wich i do absolutely admire! Please keep up but don’t overwork yourself, rest is important and please remember to drink and eat enough. I love you so much and your blog is literally my favorite. ( You 🔛🔝) So actually i wanted to ask for a request. (A oneshot or a scenario please) About Madara watching his wife giving birth to his baby and how he sees his wife holding their new born in her arms. Please i am too curious cuz i really can’t Assess this man if he would cry at this sight or not😭. I woule appreciate if you would accept my request. But there is no need to. Feel free to ignore it, i still love your blog so much.

I swear your words touched me so much that I took a screenshot and saved the message in my private chat to read it whenever I need motivation, you brought tears to my eyes (literally)!!!

Thank you infinitely for your beautiful company and for supporting my modest work, I love to share what I do, especially if I have people who like it and enjoy it, it fills my soul to read words like that💕🙏💫🛐

I can never explain the appreciation I feel upon receiving this type of messages, it's a very powerful and big feeling, too strong and too deep for words.

Thank you so much, my beautiful nonny, for being around and keeping me company, please never go away, i love u😭💕💫

Now, going back to the request, OF COURSE MADARA CRIES, he's one of those persons who cries out of anger, it bothers him a lot because he feels weak but has a great facility for tears.

Now, what I did to him in this piece is a bit cruel, I apologize🤣🙏

He can't stop pacing the hallway, anxious and nervous, desperate because of the screams he hears on the other side of the door. The midwives demanded he stay out of the room to avoid creating more chaos, his distress palpable in the air every time he asked "Is she in a lot of pain? Is the baby okay? Is something wrong with (Y/N)?"

He was kicked out of the place to avoid putting more pressure on the poor women assisting with the delivery, and even as the clan leader, he was taken away the choice of whether to be part of the moment or not. It all pushes him so far over the edge he even resorts to taking off his gloves and chewing his nails like he's 15 years old again.

"You look like crap, Aniki." Izuna comments with a smirk on his face, openly mocking his poor older brother. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, he looks at him with amusement and even a bit of pity.

As always, his Otouto accompanies him.

"No shit." He snorts in anguish, tearing the skin off his finger and hissing from the burning. He may be the strongest warrior of all his time, but he can't help the little mundane aches and pains of day to day life.

"What's got you so bad? It's just a baby." He reaches out to him as if to lay a hand on his shoulder, but stops before doing so, knowing the outcome, clicking his tongue at how fickle fate is.

Staring at the ground and swapping the tortured finger for a new one, he fails to get out from inside his mind, raise his head, react. Worry consumes him, and (Y/N)'s screams of agony don't help. "Exactly that. I couldn't protect anyone, I couldn't protect you, I won't be a good father, what if-"

"Wowowo, hold your horses, Aniki. You couldn't protect me because I wouldn't let you, if anyone was going to take that idiot down it was me. We talked about it many times, didn't we?" He stands in front of him, unable to get his older brother out of his vicious cycle of insane thoughts, and crouches down to the ground to meet the path of his eyes. He smiles at him again, an act that always manages to get Madara's attention, and he finally listens to him.

"Did you think of a name? That'll be your job if it's a boy." Madara jumps in a startled gasp as (Y/N) screams louder than ever, and looks at the door separating them as if wanting to set it on fire. Respecting the midwives' wishes feels stupid, but neither does he want to get in the way of things he doesn't understand.

"Izuna." He answers without moving his eyes from the spot, walking and avoiding his younger brother like he couldn't just walk right through him. He moves a little closer to the door, waiting.

"What?" The younger Uchiha gets up, and moves back to stand next to him, not understanding.

"Izuna, for the name."

"You want to give your precious baby my terrible name? You'll doom him to be a beautiful mess."

"Tribute, so he'll always remember the uncle he never knew." And at the moment his eyes fill with sadness and melancholy, his brother decides to change the course of the situation.

"If you want to pay tribute to me, take him to visit my grave and drink sake over my remains, you idiot. I say you name him Inari, I always thought it was beautiful."

"Inari..."

"Sounds nice doesn't it? It's a good one to scold him after he gets in trouble, which I'll make sure he does."

"Will the baby be able to see you?"

"We'll find out."

"MADARA-SAMA!" the door suddenly opens, one of the midwives coming out agitated "THE BABY IS COMING, SOON!" She demands him to re-enter the room, and Madara looks at his brother for encouragement.

He smiles at him again, and that's all he needs to know that everything will be okay.

The makeshift delivery room, on the other hand, is a mess. Several women run around moving bloody towels and trying to wipe the sweat from (Y/N)'s forehead. One holds her hand tightly as his wife pushes and pushes, legs spread wide and revealing a picture both terrible and wonderful.

"MADARA-SAMA!" the midwife shoves him from behind to the side of the bed where she attempts to deliver their child, unafraid to be rough with the clan leader. Madara, unable to react, grabs the hand that was previously held by another woman, as he stares at her belly and can do nothing but try to hold back tears.

Paralyzed by inoperability and not knowing what to do, the Uchiha feels useless, incapable of helping or assisting in any way. His expertise is in fighting, combat, violence, he has no idea how to act in sensitive situations or those that require emotional intelligence. He is afraid to say something inappropriate, something that will upset (Y/N), and cannot find the strength to speak without crying.

No one told him he would feel this way, an experience so surreal as to make him break down.

The last time he cried disconsolately was with his brother's death, years ago, but his child's birth seems to challenge him in the same way, the miracle of life and the product of his own dedication coming to reward him, demanding him to pour out all his feelings through tears, no shame for being in front of strangers.

Everything seems to disappear around him, focused only on his wife and the task ahead. The stupor washes away little by little, getting into the game and helping her get through the experience as best he can.

At one point he thinks to be speaking words of encouragement, but has no track of what is going on. The image of (Y/N) suffering, crying, screaming, stirs him to the core of his very being, wishing he could take away her agony and be the one to endure this odyssey.

He holds her hand with both of his, while between his wife's legs two midwives demand further pushing. Everything is chaos, a maelstrom of speed where Madara can only concentrate on her, until he suddenly hears it.

The most beautiful cry he has ever witnessed, a small, high-pitched sound coming from a tiny baby in one of the midwives' arms. (Y/N)'s face automatically relaxes, ready to faint from exertion and exhaustion, yet she whispers "Hold the child" before smiling with genuine joy.

Madara, following orders while being totally out of his comfort zone, receives the newborn in his arms, and what was once silent tears now turns into unrestrained crying.

He crumbles in front of his baby for different reasons, moved and overwhelmed for having been able to produce something so beautiful, so delicate, after destroying and murdering as much as he did. That adorable little human being is proof enough, at least for him, of not being a disastrous person, for there being hope and kindness in his destiny, able to repent for all the lives he stole on the battlefield.

Izuna's death brought him great resentment for the world, condemning him to anger and rage as a way of life, willing to destroy whoever it takes to regain what was lost, yet (Y/N) saved him from an avoidable catastrophe, and showed him he could be more than his grief, giving him the tools to move on.

Holding the result of such pure and generous love in his hands is the mythical demonstration of how the blood on his hands is washable, how his past does not define him, and how his future is not marked by eternal pain.

The thrill of a better life engulfs him completely, as he stares with pure affection at the child he himself created. His son, utterly his, the most beautiful ray of sunshine. "Inari..." he whispers between sobs, and brings him closer to his wife for reconnection with his mother.

Upon reassuring (Y/N) is no longer bleeding and there are no further problems to worry about, the women begin to leave the room, carrying lots of bloody sheets and towels, cleaning the space little by little and giving privacy to the new family.

One of them takes the newborn for close examination, and when the room finishes clearing of people, Madara can see Izuna near his baby, making sure the midwife treats him well and takes proper care of his little Inari.

He can't help but cry again at the image, knowing his son will always have a guardian angel with him.

#uchiha madara x reader #madara uchiha x reader #madara uchiha #uchiha madara #madara #madara x reader #naruto imagines #naruto shippuden #naruto #izuna #izuna uchiha #uchiha clan #uchiha izuna

[herzgeist-writes]

Pairing: Law x fem!reader | Word count: 2.9k | Warnings: Cussing

Synopsis: You're an idiot, aren't you? What part of 'lay low' didn't you understand ? It's getting tedious, you know! Is all you can hear the doctor bark at you like a chihuahua gone mad. It's unlike him, at least the chihuahua part. Granted, you left the village in literal shambles to the Surgeon of Death's demise. But what's the big deal? That fruit vendor had it coming anyway!

A/N: This OneShot / scenario was requested by the one and only @hirsheyskisses !! Thank you for the splendid idea dear! I had lots of fun ఌ

Dividers by cafekitsune ~

What a hassle. First, everybody starts holding their stomachs in cramping pains and now you have disappeared into thin air? No announcement whatsoever, not even a note left to contemplate to either get you out of the mess you find yourself in for certain, or just leave you to your fate. Truly, it is all up to you now, for the doctor isn't well tempered with your sudden vanish.

"Where have you seen (Y/n)-ya last?" - "I saw her going to bed last night, but - that's about it.", disgruntled, the Surgeon's forehead wrinkles in irk after hearing Shachi's statement, shaking his head in disbelief. What are you on about at such unholy hours?

The evening before

Your kimono flows in the soft summer breeze, cherry blossom petals sway along the air's streams and invite you into your day dreams enticingly. Compared to other beautiful sceneries you ever experienced in your life, there is none that could compete to this picturesque paradise. The scent of sweet honey shoots up your nostrils as you tread closer to the upcoming village in the distance.

Passersby greet you with a kind smile, nodding at you and going about their days again, to your wonder. Usually, the closer a foreigner gets to the flower capital, the more the residents keep a distance, excluding you from Wano Kuni's mysteries. It is obvious, they are held at discrecy for a reason you cannot quite fathom at this point.

Penguin and Shachi come jogging from far behind, calling out to you: "(Y/n), wait for us!" Torn out of your bubble, with a warm hello you beckon them over. The two men stop beside you, completely out of breath. Did they attend a marathon or of sorts? Either they're completely out of shape, or the two knuckleheads took off starting from your current hiding spot, following you to the nearest civilization to grab some none affected food.

There's no better way to describe the situation than it being 'untimely' and 'discombobulated'. Everything you eat around these parts turns your stomachs upside down, giving you no choice than to rest and survive the emergency runs into the thicket. Fortunately, it didn't leave that strong of an impact on you. Bepo on the other hand might got struck a slightest bit harder, in comparison to the rest of the group, consisting of you, Law, Shachi and Penguin.

Dare you say, he's holding on to dear life. Your Captain constantly remains in his role as his Vice Commander's trusty doctor, always checking up after this baby's cries of agony, who frets of having a life threatening disease. You can recall Law's exact words: "Don't be ridiculous, Bepo. You only have the runs.", as you heard him huff in annoyance, you remember how he rolled his eyes after a sharp sigh and he added: "Didn't I tell you to keep your paws off the fish in the river?"

Irritation is beyond of how you feel about this current indescribable commotion. So, you made the decision to find the next best village around and seek out a vendor, no matter what kind of food he offers, you're in desperate need of nutrition. The group is suffering enough with gnawing hunger, and now you are challenged to cope with possible food poisoning? You are infuriated. Shachi gives you a strong pat on your back: "We kinda already suspected you'd be up and about to fetch some grub. Allow us to help you out!" - "Oh thank you, Shachi. Let's hope the people aren't prone to shoo strangers out of town."

Though you outted your thoughts with a hint of sarcasm, you are truly anxious about the idea of Wano Kuni's hostility towards, let's call it 'tourists'. Penguin reassures you with a thumbs up and grins over both ears in full trust. Something tells you, it won't be as easy as initially hoped for.

"Fresh fish!" - "Get your fruit and vegetables here!", the vendors call out to the people strolling along the markets, spread all over the colourful stalls. Carefully treading closer to one of the fruit stands you greet a chipper looking fellow, who gives you the brightest of smiles you ever came across. Even Shachi and Penguin are stunned by this display.

"Greetings strangers! Are you interested in buying some of my famous apples or peaches?", after giving him a shy wave with your hand, you order a basket, full with ten vibrant red apples. They appear to be edible. "That will be fifty Berry, miss." - "Th-That's quite expensive.", you utter in awe and place the currency onto the vendor's stall table.

Again, you witness this man's radiant grin and he explains: "Times are rough these days, but trust me, you won't find any better fruit than here!" Convincing. With the basket of apples in hands, you head towards the forest, out of the village. An old lady, who waited in line behind you is now up and asks for the same like you ordered. You hear the vendor chime happily: "As always, ten Berry please, kind Alva." - "Of course Sagishi. Here you go. Greet your mother for me, will you dearie."

Hold on. Ten Berry for the same amount? Something's off. You turn around to take a peek at the scene, before making any false accusations. Well, will you look at that, it seems you heard correctly. The old lady wanders off into the distance with her neatly weaved basket filled with the red and shiny fruit. Perhaps she earned a discount on them?

The sheer amout of 'cheesy' almost lets you shrink away in your geta sandals. If you wouldn't know any better, it was close to a badly written commerical. Your two crew mates call you over, already far up ahead: "(Y/n) come on! The Captain and Bepo are waiting!" - "Coming!"

Back at the hiding spot, a sour after taste lingers on your tongue and your face scrunches in itself, leaving you utterly alarmed and fuming in anger. "I knew there was something fishy about this guy! God fu-" - "Watch your language, (Y/n)-ya. It was predictable that they won't be generous to strangers.", your cheeks light up in all shades of red in pure rage and pout to your Captain's calm clarification. His stern face leans in your direction, sending off an aggravating vibe, practically shutting you up with a deft 'Told you so'.

Oh the vendors do sell their goods to foreigners, but for an unmentionable high price and outrageous quality - the fruit were infected!

You have had it.

The present day

At the break of dawn, Law, the two knuckleheads and even poor and completely drained Bepo walk the path to the village you visited yesterday. It's not just you, who's fed up with this, to not put it lightly, bullshit. With Kikoku leaned on his shoulder, the doctor leads the group, always glancing back to reassure, that everybody is secured. This is not what he hoped for in spending his time like this. What the hell is going on with everyone, he asks himself.

Shachi and Penguin begin to bicker about who should have seen you firsthand. Through gritted teeth, Law growls at them: "Quit your arguing, there's no reason to quarrel about this. We must find her!" Both of the men straighten at alert and give their Captain an obeying 'Aye'.

The polar bear rumbles absentmindendly: "You should've paid closer attention you guys." Regarding that topic, there again, the Captain has to break it down. Piercing steel eyes wander over to the mink. "Says the one who mindlessly dug in at the river buffet. With all due respect, you're not a tiny bit better than them, Bepo.", those words hurt the now drooping in shame Vice Commander, ears flattened and black beady eyes watering up, muttering a deep 'I'm sorry'.

Taken aback by the sudden change of character, Shachi and Penguin visibly cringe away from Bepo going besides them, yelping in a loud exclaim: "So weak!" To this wack bustle, Law only furrows his brows and booms in a sharp tone: "Shut up already! We're almost there." Tension is written all over him.

Frozen in place, the three dorks see how their Captain keeps on walking, not once granting a single look back at them. Things are getting out of hand far too quickly for the Surgeon's tastes. And of course you had to make a run for it and worsen the situation, more than it already was. Stormy grey eyes roll to that thought and a raspy voice whispers: "What a nuisance." When will Law ever enjoy some peace and quiet again? A question often asked.

Arriving at the village, the four men no longer squander their time with banters and bickering, for their Captain simply won't allow it, enhancing the word simply, though the supernova threatend his own crew mates to assign double shifts for the infamous kitchen duty. Nobody wants that.

Suddenly, a crash of glas forces the group to turn their heads to the source of commotion. Oddly satisfied, given the fact, that the vendors in these parts are wildly known for their insidiousness, the doctor smirks: "Guess someone just demolished a windo-" Interrupting him mid-sentence, an unexpected blast of apparently wooden walls lets the ground shake beneath his feet. He corrects: "A building."

A sinister chuckle escapes from the white hatted man, for he utters a low 'idiot' through his curled lips. However, Shachi indicates the ruckucks is coming from the markets. Oh dear.

Thus the red head leads the way, dashing through the now busy streets, for people flee from the dangers, hiding behind the tall buildings, blocking the group's vision. "Almost there!", Shachi huffs out of breath and comes to a stop after an almost two hundred meter sprint.

All the colourful stalls and stands have been crushed to dust and even a few surrounding houses have been taken out upon, by none other - than you. There you stand, your fist clenched around the vendor's hem of his collar, viciously snarling at the terrified man: "Give me the fresh food and I might spare your life!" What a remarkable ambition.

Nearly losing his own poise, Law groans exasperatedly: "Oh fuck, that's my idiot-" You are in for it, big time, (Y/n). Completely baffled, the other three men accompanying him, sweat drop to their Captain's slip, coming to a conclusion that he's lost it entirely and this situation seems to be more dire than firstly assumed.

Before you can land another blow on an innocent nearby cottage, you feel the world shift around you and land in the arms of your Captain. Or rather, he scruffs you by your neck collar, as if you're a disobedient kitten, lifting you off the ground. So this is what it's like to stare death in the face? Shamefully you greet Law by waving a hand, smiling in attempted innocence: "Oh hi there. I-" - "You must be joking, right?"

You can see the doctor's vein starting to get distinctively visible on his temple. He's about to blow. Is there any chance of escape for you anyway? Might as well admit your defeat, while you gaze into the man's white hot stare, who will be the end of you, one day for certain. Therefore you owe him an explanation, in hopes he will show mercy on you.

"Please tell me this is a bad joke!", he barks at foolish little you, hanging in there, curled up in his strong hold. Thus you resolve the fatuous action, confessing your reasoning, though it goes without saying this won't justify anything. A side of Law knows you only meant the best for the crew, flattered by your loyalty, astounded by your kind heart.

Seeing your sweet doe eyes flutter at him for forgiveness, it becomes greatly difficult for him to scold you further. In the end - he gives in. "Don't think I'll spare you so easily. When we're done here, I'll make sure you will get to face the consequences for your actions, (Y/n)-ya.", he grunts and puts you back on the ground.

The vendor approaches the Surgeon and flings his hands over his head in dismay, complaining about you being an 'assault happy' witch. Oh, he didn't just say that. To hear that coming from a fraud like him, lets Law's neck hair stand on end and his expression darkens. The crave for destruction now surges over his skin, hand itching to call forth his 'Room' and entertain himself with the debris and rubble of the buildings, which lay in literal shambles.

"Is this blasted woman with you?!" - "Indeed, she's with me. I'm with stupid over here.", you feel his squinting eyes fixated on you. It animates a shiver, emitting from your spine. The vendor curses and throws evil words your way, to which the Captain does not respond to well. Not at all. Lifting up the sleeves of his kimono, he intends to show his tattoos, signalising the man who he's actually dealing with.

People around here aren't that much up to date, though the Surgeon of Death's wanted posters are wildly spread across the country. And his tribal ink on his hands and arms are most memorable, besides his hat and intimidating weapon on his shoulder of course.

DEATH, immediately catches the vendor's attention, leaving him a stuttering mess, shaking in his clunky wooden sandals. He definitely recognised the powerhouse standing infront of him. How Law enjoys such affected reaction, fully aware of what an impact he has on commoners, he chuckles mischieviously: "Better treat your customers right next time, be it resident or foreigner. You never know who you might - dissappoint."

Air twirls underneath his loosend palm and a cold blue hue expands subsequently, covering a large area and engulfing the shattered houses in the formed globe. In a single swift move, his index finger points upwards, every stone, every wooden plank and pillar follows his command and gather in one giant chaotic mass. "So do tell, who I am having the honour of doing business with?" - "Sa-Sagishi, Sir! P-Please be c-careful where you . . i-it was a prank! I swear!"

 The enormous cluster of debris threateningly sways over the last standing stall, it's Sagishi's. "NO! By the gods I beg you!", he runs to the stand and snatches a basket with apples away and dodges the incoming missile, clashing onto the ground with an ear drum bursting boom, the earth reverberating in response.

Dust whirls up from the impact, restricting your vision for a moment, for it lingers like cold fog, wafting over the sandy streets. The picture revealing before you is something you deem as priceless. Sagishi toppled on his behind, watching how his 'oh so beloved' stall has been demolished and buried beneath tons of raw materials.

"Curse you pirates! Go rot in hell!", is what you hear the whimpering scammer sob, as he glares at you and the supernova, who smirks over both ears. What about laying low, Trafalgar?

He exxageratedly tips his hat to him in a deft bow and ends the show with an assertive and sassy comment: "Glad doing business with you, kind Sir. Have a pleasant day." Motioning you to follow him, he turns on his heels and leads the way. In the background, you still can hear the crushed man, crying ugly tears.

You look up at the Captain, stars practically sparkling in your eyes and your lips curl into a feline manner, dumbfounded by his 'not-so-discreet' act just now. "Don't look at me like that. You made me do this.", he groans, scratching the back of his neck in slight fluster.

By the by, Bepo questions, what you are about to do now. There's no food left for you. Law stops in his tracks and leans down to grab a random stone. 'Shambles' is the word that does the Surgeon's bidding and the stone has been swapped with . . the basket full with mouth watering red apples! Another set of bad wishes and curses resound from afar behind you, making you giggle cheekily.

The group has been blessed. This man never ceases to amaze you. His abilities are beyond comprehension and comes in handy on so many occassions. Taking a big bite out of the luscious fruit, you hum in delight: "They're delicious! You can tell they're fresh!" - "And not infected!" Penguin and Shachi do a little gleeful dance and Bepo happily munches down the sweet crunch.

Showing your gratitude towards the generous doctor, you give him a nudge with your elbow and he only shakes his head as an answer: "No need. You better thank me for not beheading you right this instant I saw you making a fuzz at the markets!" - "Bold for a man to say, who full on intendedly destroyed those markets with an humongous make shift boulder? I think you're slowly but surely warming up to me, Captain." The others agree to your preposterous statement, Law's eye twitches.

"Not if I'm with a stupid idiot like you are right now! You-", laughter hinders him from finishing his sentence and you inch closer to the aloof white hat, now walking side by side, shoulder to shoulder. You prod playfully: "I hate to break it to you, but I'm with stupid just as much as you. You're not a tiniest bit better than me." To Law's unfortune, his blush is way past of saving.

Where did the now facepalming man hear that before? Everybody digs in and literally inhales the crisp goodness, beaming with joy. "I'm surrounded by idiots.", he rasps through his clenched jaw. 

You are one of a kind. Truly, you are his idiot. And no one except him, has the privilege to call you that. A small smile proving his heart's little secret.

#one piece #one piece law #trafalgar one piece #law x female reader #law x fem!reader #law x y/n #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic fluff #one piece scenario #one piece oneshots #one piece fluff #i'm with stupid

[iobsesswaytoomuch]

Numbing The Pain (or: everyone gets knocked unconscious :D) [Ninjago] 

Soooo.... I kinda wrote a oneshot based on a headcannon by @jinxed-ninjago. I haven't really ever shown my writing to others, so we'll see how it goes. >:)

Cw: injuries, numbness, electrical injury and violence, uhhhhh... Overall angst?

In Jay’s opinion, being injured was less than preferable, for a number of reasons. Being stuck on bedrest every second of every day. Not being able to join the others for dinner as he listened to the laughter and joking echoing down the hall while he stared at the tray of food resting in his lap. 

It wasn’t the other ninja’s fault he was lonely, he just really wished he didn’t have to stay in bed all the time. On the bright side though, he got to play video games all day, and he got out of the usual work to maintain the monastery. After all, nothing like the power of positive thinking!

It was a stupid injury. Why were legs so breakable?

They’d been training, like usual. He didn’t remember much, but he recalled being hit by something, then waking up to his leg in a cast and Cole apologizing profusely. 

Apparently, Cole had accidentally lost control of his powers, and hit Jay with a boulder, causing him to land on top of Kai, unconscious. 

He didn’t blame Cole though. He knew as well as anyone what it was like to lose control. It made him think of when they used to fight over Nya, as Cole had apologized. It was strange how far they’d come from that.

A sudden crash startled him out of his thoughts. More followed after that, banging and thudding and shouting. He heard the others rushing to meet the cacophony, and resisted the urge to leap out of bed and join them. They could handle it without him, and he’d (grudgingly) promised to stay put. 

The sounds of fighting resounded through the room, and he grit his teeth. They’d be fine. He wondered what the heck was attacking them this time. The serpentine again? Nindroids? Maybe Garmadon had somehow come back again and was attacking? Some other random villain they’d never even heard of before? The questions raced through his mind like a river as he listened to the combat growing closer. 

Abruptly, his thoughts were once again interrupted as Cole was thrown through the air, crashing against the wall beside him and crumpling as his yell broke off upon impact.

“COLE!!” Jay screamed as he slumped to the floor. “Hey, I already passed out this week! Don’t tell me you’re stealing my thunder,” he tried to mask his wrangled nerves with humor, but Cole didn’t answer. 

“Oookay, so this is bad,” he mumbled to himself shakily as he considered his options. He could sit here and listen as the rest of his family was potentially defeated and/or hurt. He could try to help Cole (who hadn’t stirred yet but that was fine it’d be fine) somehow, without injuring himself more. Or, he could ignore his stupid broken leg and the pain that would undoubtedly follow, and go help them fight. 

As he debated, Zane decided to join the party and hurtled into the room, landing on top of Cole. As his motion stilled, Jay gasped and held back a second scream as he took in the damage. 

Half of Zane’s face looked as if it had been chewed on by a large, feral dog, ripped apart and unveiling the robotic parts underneath. One of his arms was missing, and there were open gouges displaying sparking circuits and wires, making sharp buzzing sounds. His eyes flickered as he spoke.

“S-system-m mal- mal-function- circuits-s ove-er loadd-ded-” his voice glitched before his eyes went dark and his body still. 

Jay stared, open-mouthed, before he made a decision. Jolting upright, he leapt to his feet. Or at least tried to. As soon as any tension was put onto his foot, instant agony engulfed him, and he collapsed back onto the bed. Clenching his jaw tightly, he breathed through the pain as it slowly subsided the tiniest bit. 

“C’mon Jay… You can do this!” he said, voice wavering, before trying again.

The pain was worse this time. His teeth grated against each other as his breathing became labored, but he managed to keep his footing this time. White hot knives felt like they were slicing up his leg, eventually getting so bad that it went numb.

“Well. That’s not good,” he said to the empty air as his voice quivered more. It still hurt, but now more like pins and needles gently poking him. Within a few more seconds, a lot of the feeling in his leg subsided, but he couldn’t stand any longer. Sagging against the bed, he slid to the floor. Now that he was off his foot, it started throbbing, making spots cloud his vision for a moment. 

As he looked across the room at Zane and Cole (both still unresponsive, but at least Cole’s chest was rising and falling), an idea struck him.

“Huh… circuits… nerve circuits,” he said out loud as the idea developed. Sure, it was a very very stupid idea and could very well lead to bad results. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and by the First Master he wasn’t going to stand by! The shouting had intensified in volume, and he could make out the panicked voices of the other ninja. Besides, he and the others joked that his second elemental power was stupid ideas. That was his thing!

Mind still fuzzy from the aching torture he’d experienced moments before, he remembered Zane once infodumping about how nerves operated on electrical signals from the brain, and that when overloaded, could be numbed to pain (wow, he’d actually remembered that! See, he did pay attention, Kai).

Well. He was the master of lightning and therefore electricity after all. 

“Oh boy. I’m definitely getting yelled at later for this,” he said under his breath as he closed his eyes and focused.

How was he going to do this? Could he even do this? Was it possible to shock himself? He’d never tried before, but had been shocked by other lightning on occasion.

He thought about it as he concentrated on his power. Using his element was like sneezing; almost instinctual, quick, and slightly jarring, pushing it outside of himself. So… he’d have to reverse that. Ignoring the feeling in his gut that this was going to be very terrible, he shoved the growing anxiety down.

Taking a slow, deep breath, he imagined he was inhaling electricity as well as oxygen, and it being distributed through his nerves. 

A slight tingling sensation started circulating throughout his body, and he tried it again.

A blue glow emanated from him for a second behind his eyelids, sparking.

Then everything stopped.

The throbbing hadn’t just faded away. It was completely gone. Abruptly and instantly. And it wasn’t just the throbbing either; all feeling was absent. As he opened his eyes, he discovered that he couldn’t feel his clothes rubbing against his skin, the cold floor he was sitting on, the air stirring around him; it was all gone.

“Was this how Cole felt when he was a ghost?” Jay wondered, marveling at the numbness (and slightly panicking. He desperately hoped this could be reversed later).

Getting to his feet, this time without the agony part of it, he glanced back at his unconscious brothers one last time, then sprinted out the door and down the hallway, ignoring the way his foot crunched with every footfall. Doors blurred past him as he followed the sound of voices, now reduced to an alarmingly quiet level. There was no commotion anymore, sound just as absent as sensation. He drew nearer, then skidded around a corner and out into the training yard to observe the devastation that had transpired.   

Wooden practice dummies had been splintered and broken apart, scattered everywhere. Sparring targets and weapons had been mutilated, somehow embedded into the walls and ground like shrapnel. Burn and scorch marks littered the scene, a part of the monastery wall crumbling. The sky was a deep gray, casting long shadows.

About thirty enemies were scattered around, standing at attention with their backs to Jay and seemingly waiting for something. Or someone. They wore dark, blood red kasas that cast their faces into shadow, obscuring them. White robes accented with blacks and oranges flowed around them, with brass cuffs wrapped around their wrists. Glowing gold fire designs engraved into the cuffs were arranged artistically to resemble flames wrapping around each other. Sleek black, braided hair fell down to their waists, with vivid, fiery ribbons interwoven into them. He guessed they were all female warriors. They stared straight ahead, toward the gate and eerily motionless. The voices he had followed were whispers, drifting and tangling with each other in the air and incomprehensible. It made the hair stand up on the back of his neck, but he shook it off. 

Frantically, he cast his gaze around the yard, until he finally spotted the others. They were all dumped over in the corner, bodies splayed across the ground and faces contorted with pain, yet their eyes were closed and they all lay inert. After studying them for a moment, he noted with relief that they were all breathing.

Rage boiled inside of him, and his face hardened. 

No one. Did. That. To the people he loved. 

He turned back to the warriors spaced around the yard that still had not moved, hardly noticing the electricity starting to spark around his hands.

His emotions felt amplified. Stronger. His fury grew, consuming every other thought in his mind. 

He started vibrating as the neon static spread from his hands to circulate and jerk around his body, intertwining ropes of blinding blues and whites.

Lightning flashed around his feet as he took slow, deliberate steps.

Finally, the enemies turned, and instantly and simultaneously crouched into fighting stances, raising various weapons.

Too bad for them, that did nothing but amplify the surge he finally let loose. 

Sharp, blue-white cords arced toward each opponent, turning the air white and scorching. No sound escaped them as one by one, the strands of lightning hit them, causing their bodies to convulse. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement from the direction of the others, but paid no heed.

He ignored the way his body was steaming, and searched deeper as the unfortunate warriors still spasmed, unable to move and leave the current that he was feeding. There was no way he could stop now. He’d opened a door, and a thousand-pound waterfall had come gushing out. 

He searched deeper still, disregarding the horrifying scene as he tapped into the energy stored within himself that he had put there in the first place.

Instinctively, hardly acknowledging what he was doing, he wrapped it into a twisted, contorted ball, then pushed everything out.

When it finally ran out, satiated, the air returned to normal.

Thuds echoed around the now-silent training yard, as each female warrior crumpled and hit the ground, steam spiraling from their clothes and skin.

Everything was bleached white, except for a small circle around the other ninja, where they lay untouched.

Nya was propped up on her arms, head lifted to gaze at Jay. He couldn’t tell what emotion it portrayed. There was admiration, and affection. But fear and horror was also painted across her face, and it pained him to know that he was the reason for it. She started to stand up, but Jay couldn’t think anymore.

Feeling had come back.

Everywhere was in excruciating anguish. His hands and arms were burned, with protruding raised zigzags of scorched skin beginning to turn red. He stumbled, wincing as he was suddenly very aware of his leg again.

“Nya. I-I’m sorryh…” he trailed off as his knees gave out.

“JAY!” she yelled as she dashed over to him, catching him before his head could hit the ground.

The last thing he remembered was being encircled by her arms as muffled shouts rose up around him. Trusting Nya to take care of him, his eyes shut, and he drifted off into oblivion, chasing away the agony.

Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. Just unconscious :)

#Ninjago #jay walker #kai #zane julien #nya #Cole brookstone #Angst #fanfiction????? #writing #I have no idea how to tag this or if I'm doing it right #This is honestly probably the best thing I've ever written #Which isn't much since I haven't really written outside of school #heheheheheheh