#blade. unspeakable | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

claramelooo · 3 months ago

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WOVEN FATES (20/20)

I know. I know! I'm late! I'm so sorry 😭

I had a serious problem with the wifi, I managed to get it working only now. But we're going to let you think that mommy left you suffering on purpose (it's more poetic that way, right?) 😅

So! That's it! Enjoy it!!! <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio x Fem Reader

Summary: After your experience. You understand what it is really made of.

Fate

You woke up feeling light. For the first time in so long… there was no exhaustion. Not even that strange lethargy that usually followed the intense acts of the night before.

Your body ached, of course — the marks, the bruises, the still-fresh cut on your palm.

But it was a different kind of pain.

A good pain. A living memory.

As if your flesh was whispering: “You survived. You belong.”

You stretched, naked — fingers interlaced, arms raised over your head, reaching out. The sheets still tangled around your legs. Sunrays slipped through the curtains like a blessing, and the whole room seemed to breathe with you.

As you moved your hands, you felt it.

The cut from Rio’s cold blade was still there. You touched it gently. It was thick. Dark red. It almost looked like it was smiling at you.

And you smiled back.

You walked to the kitchen with your heart pounding, bare feet making no sound on the cold, expensive wooden floor.

And then you saw it: the same scene as always.

Rio was leaning over the counter, trying to draw on a plate with molasses. At first glance, the lines looked clumsy, but there was a kind of care there that made you bite your lower lip to keep from grinning too wide. — it was funny seeing her like this. Your Mama, not Rio the award-winning artist, so severe that even pancake doodles were supposed to be perfect.

Agatha, as always, had her back to you, focused on the kettle and the scrambled eggs. Her movements were graceful, precise. Even when she wasn’t trying, she commanded the space.

Even in the bad weeks.

Even in the heaviest silences.

This scene never changed.

“You’re always here…” you murmured, more to yourself than to them.

“And you always look at us like it’s a miracle,” Rio said, turning around with that cheeky smile, revealing her molasses masterpiece on the pancakes. “Like it? It’s you, Agatha, and me. I thought it’d be cute.”

Agatha gave a dry chuckle, not even turning. “That little face looks like a dead fish.”

“Hey!” Rio feigned outrage, wiping her hands on a cloth. “I’m the internationally awarded artist, remember?”

You laughed out loud, sitting at the table, still feeling your body sore from the night before.

“You two are so normal in the morning, you don’t even look like the wicked witches who did unspeakable things to me last night.”

“Ooh, you do love playing that card, don’t you, sweetheart?” Rio teased, walking toward you. “So bossy and fierce last night, and now acting all innocent?”

“I wasn’t being fierce!” you protested, your face heating up even more. “That was called confidence! I knew you wouldn’t deny me anything.”

“Oh, my love,” Agatha finally turned, a mischievous smile on her lips. “You looked like a demonic princess. I must’ve done an excellent job shaping you, little gem.”

You stifled a laugh behind your fingers, shaking your head.

That’s when your Mama noticed.

“Oh my god… sweetheart.” She rushed toward you, taking your hand gently. “Does it still hurt?”

“What?” you blinked, confused. It took a few seconds to realize she was referring to the cut. “Oh. Yeah, but… it’ll pass, right?”

The smile she gave you stole the breath from your lungs. Reverently tender, Rio brought your hand to her lips.

She examined the cut, her eyes moving across your skin with almost ceremonial care. Then she blew on it — a soft, flickering breath.

The sting came like a shiver. The cut tingled, glowed…

And disappeared.

Your eyes widened.

Rio turned your palm over and kissed the back of your hand before whispering: “Better?”

You still hadn’t managed to blink. “Impressive.”

She tossed her hair back with a victorious air. “Oh, what? That simple, mediocre spell? Please. It’s nothing to me.”

Agatha rolled her eyes dramatically, clearly used to her wife’s enchanted showmanship, and murmured something in Latin just to poke her: “Vanitas vanitatum, Rio.”

Vanity of vanities, Rio.

You chuckled softly, eyes moving from one to the other, with a warmth in your chest that felt too big to hold in.

This was real.

They were here.

Bickering, flirting, caring — being your chaos and your refuge all at once.

Rio arched a brow, pretending to be offended.

“Oh. I’m the vain one, Agatha?”

“If the shoe fits…”

“Darling, the shoe fit and I strutted it down the runway of life,” Rio replied proudly, winking at you like she expected applause.

You covered your face with your hands, laughing — and when you peeked through your fingers, you realized how much you loved that routine. Even the bickering, the dramatics, the sharp retorts.

It was all so… familiar.

So yours.

The taste of coffee mixed with milk was so sweet on your tongue, it felt tailor-made for that morning.

Happiness came quietly, seeping gently through the spaces of the kitchen: in the scent of melting butter, the muffled sounds of laughter, the warmth of hands brushing now and then — accidentally or on purpose.

You found yourself smiling at them, without even realizing it. Not the forced, nervous smile from the beginning.

But a real one.

Loose. Warm. So honest it trembled.

Rio looked at you and raised a playful eyebrow.

“Falling in love, are we?”

You let out a laugh through your nose, not denying it, and Agatha murmured something like “Finally figured it out.”

The molasses on your plate had become a happy little face with horns. A clumsy attempt by Rio to draw a smiling little witch. You found it adorable.

And then…

Something sparked in your eyes.

“What happened to Wanda?”

The silence spread slowly, like smoke.

Not a tense silence. But a heavy one. Almost respectful.

Agatha placed her cup gently on the saucer, her fingers resting on the warm porcelain. Rio licked her lips, took a deep breath to answer — but Agatha spoke first.

“Her powers have been… suspended. Removed. Until you decide what to do.”

You blinked, feeling the ground fall away beneath you even though you were sitting.

“That means…”

Agatha looked at you with a half-smile. Not mocking — but with a kind of dark pride.

“That means her fate is in your hands.”

Your chest tightened. Your mind spun.

Not that you’d take revenge. Not that you wanted harm to come to Wanda — at least, not anymore.

But knowing this… Knowing you could.

Knowing you had that power.

That control.

It lit a spark.

Something dangerous. Warm. Almost… sweet.

You lowered your eyes, as if that could hide the thought. But Agatha had already seen it. She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with that wicked tenderness only she possessed:

“Do you feel it?”

“Feel what?” you asked, surprised she had sensed it.

“The weight.” She said it like revealing an ancient secret. As if no other word in the world could better fit that moment.

“Weight? Of what?” you asked, though you already knew the answer. Your brow furrowed, your chest tightened. And still, you needed to hear it from her lips.

“Of being chosen.”

It was like too-tight a hug. Or a punch straight to the stomach. You still couldn’t tell. But something inside you tore open completely. And instead of pain, what flooded your body was a kind of fever — an impossible mix of relief, fear, pride, and vertigo.

To be chosen. To be the end of one story and the beginning of another. To be the knot in someone’s fate.

Suddenly, all your years of loneliness seemed to converge in that moment. All the times you felt forgotten, invisible, too small to fit into any bigger plan… all of that now seemed like it had only ever been a rehearsal.

A quiet preparation for this moment.

The moment you would be seen. Recognized. Chosen. Marked. You lowered your head. Part of you wanted to scream. The other just wanted to cry.

That’s when Rio approached from behind.

You felt her before you saw her — warm and solid, like a wall of flesh, bone, and magic wrapped around you.

Her arms circled your shoulders with a care that nearly broke you.

The touch wasn’t possessive. It was protective.

A physical reminder that you weren’t alone.

“You are our end,” Rio murmured, her lips brushing the back of your neck, her voice rough with something that sounded like worship. “And the beginning of her story, my love.”

You closed your eyes.

The kiss she placed on your skin carried everything you couldn’t name.

It wasn’t just affection — it was a vow. A sacrament. A seal.

You felt anger. So much anger toward Wanda.

For everything she did and took.

For making you feel small. Insignificant. Replaceable.

But you also felt responsibility. You were now the guardian of a power you didn’t fully understand. In your hands, you held the fate of the woman who once tried to control yours.

And finally, there was desire. Not the wild, raw kind from a few hours ago — but something else.

A deeper desire. A more dangerous one.

The desire to stay. To remain. To belong.

To never again live in a world where Agatha and Rio didn’t exist. The desire to deserve that touch, that love, that curse.

You were fury and mercy.

You were the poison and the cure.

The punishment and the miracle.

And when Rio’s kisses spread across your skin like a profane blessing, when Agatha’s eyes burned into you with that devoted intensity, something inside you unlock and called you.

[...]

The Audi engine hummed through the city. You’d grown spoiled, always riding in Aggie’s car in the mornings. Listening to her old-people music, breathing in the scent of leather.

It was a good routine to have.

When the car stopped, your heart sank — yes, the dreaded three blocks. Always three. The safe distance between their world and the one that still couldn’t know.

You sighed, hand hovering over the door handle with hesitation.

But before you could open it, Agatha’s fingers touched yours — firm, gentle.

“Don’t go yet,” she whispered. “I haven’t looked at you enough. My little student girl.”

You smiled, still surprised by how deeply it affected you. She said those things with such dangerous ease.

And you? You felt it all like it was the very first time.

How could someone with that much power make you feel so... so alive? So silly? So absurdly young, as if time held no weight at all?

Maybe being their secret... wasn’t so bad. Maybe mystery protected. Maybe silence built something only theirs — where the world couldn’t reach.

There was poetry in the hiding.

Freedom in what didn’t need to be explained.

But the clock was merciless, and you had to go. The project presentation was that afternoon, and despite the surreal life you lived with Agatha and Rio, part of you still existed in the ordinary world.

The student. The friend. The survivor.

“The presentation’s today,” you murmured, almost like an apology.

The ride had been short but sweet. Aggie looked at you at every red light like she was about to discover a new secret on your face.

And you? You laughed. A light, clean laugh — almost adolescent.

She nodded in understanding.

“Good luck, my heart,” she said, cupping your chin before kissing you. “Show them what you're made of.”

You entered the building on trembling legs, your heart pounding in your ears. It felt strange walking through the college halls, knowing what you now knew.

Knowing what had happened.

Knowing who you had become.

The presentation room was packed.

The final project of the class, led by Lilia, had turned into a small event.

As you walked in, Alice’s eyes found yours almost immediately — and you looked away. The anger still lived there, buried beneath layers of disappointment.

Then your gaze was caught by Lilia, seated at the front.

She didn’t smile.

Her face was the same as always: elegant, unreadable, a professional mask impossible to crack. But her eyes... her eyes said something more. She looked you up and down with a focus that pierced.

And a chill ran down your spine, like a ghost had passed behind you.

“Good morning, everyone,” Lilia’s voice rang out — steady, controlled. “I hope you're ready.”

She stood with her usual grace, unhurried. Leaned her hip against the corner of the desk, arms crossed, eyes sweeping the room like she knew exactly what everyone was trying to hide.

As she read out names, calling group by group, you felt Alice’s presence inching closer — like an unwanted shadow.

She was shorter than you, but in that moment, she seemed even smaller.

Smaller on the inside.

Shrunk by guilt, maybe. Or regret.

You heard her calling your name softly.

Once.

Again.

And again.

At first, you ignored her.

You really didn’t want to deal with that shit. Not now.

But she kept going.

And you turned.

Your face was serious. Rigid. Like stone refusing to be shaped by empty words.

A look you’d never shown her before.

And now, it was the only one you had to give.

But before you could say anything — before the flood of hurt, rage, and frustration came out — Lilia’s unmistakable voice cut in.

“Girls,” she called.

Your eyes turned to her.

“It’s your turn.”

You took a deep breath.

Gave Alice one last glance. And said, barely moving your lips: “Let’s get this over with.”

You walked to the front of the room with steady steps, though your heart was pounding like mad in your chest.

Behind you, Alice hesitated, but followed — that was the deal. Even if the trust between you was broken, the work was shared.

At least on paper.

You didn’t look at her.

You didn’t have to.

This story was yours now.

Lilia leaned back slightly in her chair, fingers laced, her sharp gaze locked on you.

You plugged your USB into the projector. Took a deep breath.

And began.

“When we talk about character building, we’re taught to focus on conflict, motivation, trauma. But some creations don’t come from any of those places.”

The first images appeared on the screen: Paintings, shadows, scribbles. Fragments of a world where the real and the mythological aren’t opposites — They’re layers.

“Some characters aren’t written in ink. They’re summoned.”

You felt the room’s silence thicken, Lilia’s eyes like a knife against your skin — and still, you didn’t flinch.

“This is the story of two women. One made of absolute control. The other, of darkness in its most beautiful form.”'

You moved through the room like someone who knew exactly where they belonged.

“They appear in hidden records, in stories scholars like us would label as fiction. But what happens when fiction refuses to stay made up?”

The screen now showed a sketch of a map: three interlocking circles.

“They didn’t build kingdoms. They didn’t seek power for power’s sake. They shaped a being. A third figure. Not as heir. But as proof.”

Lilia was watching you with a hard gaze, making you want to flee from her eyes.

But you didn’t.

You stopped.

Agatha’s voice echoed in your mind: “Show them what you’re made of.”

And what are you made of?

The question slithered inside you like an ancient serpent.

You stood at the center of the room, under the weight of Lilia’s stare, under the quiet judgment, under the tense silence.

And somewhere deep within you, far beneath your skin, the answer began to rise.

You are made of your mother’s absence on Sunday mornings. Of your father’s frustration that you weren’t who he wanted you to be. Of the metallic taste of shame. Of the words you swallowed just to avoid looking weak.

You are made of the first time you saw Agatha and couldn’t tell if you were scared or mesmerized. Of the way Rio looked at you in that café, like she could paint your soul. Of the warm leather in their car. Of the scent of jasmine on her neck. Of the taste of freedom on the tip of your tongue.

You are made of the things that were almost said about you. And the ones you never allowed anyone to say.

You are made of magic that can’t be explained — only felt. And of a quiet hunger for belonging.

You are made of love. But not the soft, romantic kind. Love as a blade. A pact. A fire that burns everything down until only what’s real remains.

Your skin prickled. But your body stood firm.

On the outside, what others saw was a girl presenting a project.

But inside you, a temple was being built.

You inhaled.

Lifted your eyes.

And your voice, low and fatal, rang out:

"Proof that love can also be a kind of madness. That control can be care. And that sometimes… the best characters aren’t invented. They’re awakened."

Lilia moved for the first time. A slight tilt of her chin. Her mouth parted — not in surprise, but… fascination.

"Our characters don’t have names on paper. But they’ve left their signature on everything they touch: In the way someone leads without raising their voice. In the smile that hides entire worlds behind the eyes. In the body of someone who wasn’t made to obey… but to belong."

The final slide appeared.

Three figures dancing in blue flames, like shadows behind a sheer veil.

"This is our proposal: beings not born from a rational arc, but from a ritual. Who need no redemption — because they were born marked to be exactly what they are."

You fell silent.

And the silence after your final words was heavier than any applause.

Lilia sat like a sphinx.

Then she spoke, slowly, as if she’d swallowed shards of glass:

"You’re actually good. Truly impressive."

The words left Lilia’s lips like a rare flash of lightning in a clear sky. You didn’t answer — but your chest rose subtly, recognizing the compliment not as a gift, but as a nod of confirmation.

She was strict. Surgical.

She didn’t praise out of politeness.

But something in her tone said she had high expectations for you.

Beside her, Alice opened her mouth — hesitant, like she wanted to share the moment, soak in the glow.

But then the bell rang, shattering the spell.

The students began to disperse like leaves in the wind.

You said nothing. Just walked toward the door, leaving Alice behind, stuck in her own hesitation.

"Alright, class! Grades will be posted on the bulletin outside. Stay tuned." Lilia called out, watching the students walk through the doorway.

The work was done.

And now you could go home.

Watch a silly show with Lucky curled up beside you, always purring. Water your plants while waiting for your mommies to come home from work.

You took a deep breath.

Finally.

The peace that comes after giving your all.

But that peace was broken by the touch of a hand on your wrist.

A hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

"Hey—hey! You’re seriously just going to ignore me? You vanish for two days and when you come back, you’ve got this… this attitude..." she hesitated, as if unsure which word fit best. “Pretentious.” Her grip on your wrist tightened.

You turned on your heels, eyes cold.

Oh. My. God.

How dare she?

"Yes, Alice! I’d love to go back to the time when you were just the weird girl."

Ouch.

You knew that stung.

But well… it stung you too.

The betrayal, the lies and the silence.

She swallowed hard, as if she finally understood the real issue here. "Oh. Right. This is about the night of the party, I see."

"No, Alice." You let out a dry, cracked laugh. "This is about you. Your betrayal. Or better yet — were you ever really my friend at all?" You pointed a finger at her, each word slicing into her like a blade.

She blinked quickly, her eyes brimming with tears for a moment. "What—? Of course I was. I–I–"

"Funny… Wanda told me something else." You stepped back, arms crossed, waiting for her reaction.

Alice’s eyes widened for a split second. “Wanda…”

"The fucking witch who told you about the source. About me." You tried to control your voice, but the last part came out like a growl.

"Look. Billy said she was just some acquaintance. We didn’t… we didn’t even really know who she was."

Billy.

You remembered his eyes.

Dark. Deep. Haunted.

He had seen something in you before you even knew it existed.

And now you could see what he saw.

That son of a bitch.

What did he have to do with her?

You let out a tired sigh. The rage weighed on your shoulders like a stone. You rubbed them with your fingers, exhausted from feeling so much.

"Screw all this, okay? I don’t care anymore. I’m fine. More alive than ever." Your voice came out proud, confident.

And it was true.

You were alive.

More aware.

Stronger.

Because now you knew who you could count on — and who you couldn’t.

"The real question is: why did you agree to this? Why did you do this to a friend?"

Alice lowered her head, finally broken. The tears now fell freely, without shame. But her body remained rigid, like she was clinging to some scrap of dignity amid the collapse.

You looked away.

Not out of weakness.

But because it hurt too much to watch her fall apart.

You glanced around — students coming and going, ordinary lives, trivial problems. And you, standing in the middle of an open abyss.

"She said I could be stronger. More… powerful." The word came out broken. Like a child confessing she’d broken her sister’s favorite toy.

You stared at her in silence.

"Well… I hope it was worth it, at least."

You said it with confidence — and it was true.

But inside, you were shattered.

You closed your eyes for a moment, accepting what you’d known all along. Sometimes, people choose paths where there’s no room for you.

Deal with it.

You turned your back and disappeared into the crowd.

[...]

The door clicked shut behind you with a soft sound. And like magic, the world outside shrank into something distant, irrelevant.

Here, within the warmth of your walls, you were just… you again.

The jingle of Lucky’s collar was all it took to revive your heart.

You dropped your backpack to the floor and ran to him, throwing yourself onto the couch with a heavy sigh. The tiny furball landed on your lap in seconds, purring loud, heart racing with joy just to have you back.

"My baby!" you cried, laughing as he wrapped himself around your arm, showering you in soft, playful bites. "Mommy missed you so much…"

For a few seconds, time dissolved in that cuddle. It was just you, him, and the purring.

Until a familiar voice came from behind the couch:

“Look, my love. Seems like we’re grandparents already.”

You turned to Agatha — who murmured in agreement while fixated on the iPad screen — and frowned. What were they doing home? So early?

“You bet we are,” you replied, kissing the top of the black cat’s head. “The real question is whether Lucky was properly fed these past two days.” Your tone was stern and serious.

Agatha scoffed, sinking into the armchair across from you. “Oh, please… He’s a cat. He ate his kibble every three hours, just like he should.”

“What? What kind of kibble? Lucky only eats the three-protein blend. No fish. So you have to remove every—”

“What a spoiled, demanding little creature,” Rio cut off your avalanche of instructions.

“Oh, really? Then take a good look at the monster you created,” Agatha shot back, dramatically pointing at you and Lucky curled up on the couch.

“I created?” Rio repeated, incredulous. “Says the woman don’t-feed-the-baby-sugar-because-it’s-bad-for-them.”

“Well, it is,” Agatha shrugged, as if she had just won the argument with a bulletproof truth.

You just laughed, defeated. Being with them felt like living inside a dream — a warm, silly, messy dream you never wanted to wake up from.

But then, something white hopped across your peripheral vision. You blinked.

A little puffball.

Lucky jumped down and went straight to it, sniffing curiously.

What…?

You leaned over the couch to get a better view and saw the tiny creature, pink-nosed and alert-eyed, sniffing your cat... and for a second, you couldn’t believe it. Lucky started licking the soft white fur, and the tiny being leapt forward, giving you a full view.

Your eyes widened.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Language,” Agatha warned, eyes still on the screen.

“Aggie. Love…” Rio chimed in, her voice thick with barely restrained amusement.

Agatha finally looked. She squinted at the little rabbit, as if deciphering a secret etched into its ears... then relaxed.

“Hm. That’s Señor Scratchy,” she said, trying to sound convincing.

Rio sank deeper into the couch, arms crossed. Like she already knew what was coming — and that it would be delightful to witness.

“No, it’s not. Señor Scratchy is a rabbit… plush,” you said with emphasis, like explaining something to a child who just told a very bad lie.

Agatha raised a cynical eyebrow. She glanced again at the bunny with the faint brown spots.

“Oh. He is?” She looked back at you, feigning innocence.

“Yes, Agatha. I remember perfectly. Plush,” Rio chimed in just to tease her, earning a deadly glare from the witch.

“Mommy…” you began, but didn’t even need to finish — Agatha sighed loudly, like someone caught red-handed but determined to keep her dignity.

“Ugh, fine!” She raised her hands, standing just to pick up the little furball. “Señor Scratchy was our pet before you got here.” She petted him gently.

“What?!” You were stunned and slightly outraged.

“And we had a deal that when you came here,” she continued, stroking the bunny, who seemed to approve with closed, content eyes, “he’d behave and help you adjust to the house.” Agatha rubbed his ears, and he practically melted in her lap with pleasure.

“And to us,” Rio added now, her chocolate-bright eyes piercing right into your heart.

Then it clicked. Why hugging that bunny always soothed your worst days. It felt like touching them. Like their emotions flowed right back through him.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

“Surprise!” Agatha stood up and placed the tiny creature in your lap.

“Oh my God!” you repeated, breathless, feeling the soft fur and that cool little pink nose brushing your fingers.

“We changed him back because we didn’t want Lucky to feel lonely while we went to pick you up,” Rio explained, petting him too.

“Oh my God! I have a real bunny!” You stood up with him in your arms, spinning excitedly. “You two are the best mommies in the world!”

They laughed at your enthusiasm.

“Sweetheart, don’t shake him like that. Rabbits naturally have fast heart rates. Let’s not give a centuries-old creature a heart attack,” Agatha warned, still smiling.

“Oh. Right. Sorry. Forgot he’s not plush anymore.”

Rio burst out laughing, tossing her head back. Neck exposed, that wide smile — a spectacle on its own. All you could think was how beautiful she was.

“All right, little weirdo. No more surprises,” she pointed to the couch. “How about helping us choose your dress for your Mommy’s film premiere?”

“I already picked one,” Agatha said firmly, eyes glued to a website.

“Aggie!” Rio scolded. “We agreed she gets to choose this time, remember?”

“But it’s an important night!”

“For her too.” Rio now sounded like she was parenting a teenage Aggie. It was hilarious.

“Fine. But only tonight,” Agatha declared, pointing her finger like it was law — because obviously, your Mommy would never actually give up dressing and feeding you like her doll.

“Uh, hello? I’m still right here, remember?” you chimed in, sarcastic.

“Silence, child! Move over,” Agatha demanded, settling on the couch.

She handed you the tablet, and you started browsing through the dress options.

There were so many. All colors.

And you decided to tease her a little.

“Hmm… Which one should I pick?” you sang the words, making your Mommy visibly tense. “Maybe lace?” You saw Aggie swallow hard. “Or something made of polyester…?” You knew she’d hate that. And she really did — judging by the way she clenched the pillow like she wanted to strangle you.

“Or what about neon—?”

“Don’t you dare even think about it!” she exploded, finally.

You laughed and gave a mischievous grin, tongue pressed between your teeth.

“I got you.”

You returned your attention to the pictures. Until one of them stopped you cold.

It was long. A deep navy blue. Elegant and mysterious. A classic, sophisticated silhouette made for a red carpet. The full, structured skirt made the deep blue look almost black.

The bodice shimmered in starry blue — tight to the body, with thin straps. It came with a pair of long black satin gloves.

It was dramatic.

It was perfect.

Pure red carpet.

You whistled. “Yeah. I really got it.”

[...]

You were sweating inside the car.

The muffled sound of the crowd outside seemed distant, as if echoing through a glass dome. Cameras flashed like lightning. Shouts, flashes, and a red carpet that seemed endless. It was like standing on the edge of an abyss.

Your chest rose and fell in short, nervous breaths. The claustrophobia of the moment squeezed your waist tighter than any corset ever could.

To your left, Agatha held your gloved hand—her touch firm and calculated, as always. But her eyes, fixed on you, were pure embers. She tilted her head slightly and said, in that tone that made you tremble inside:

"Honey, breathe."

You tried. But all you managed was a dry swallow.

On the other side, Rio adjusted the choker around your neck—the one that had always been yours, even when you didn’t understand what it meant. Her fingers traced your collarbone with tenderness and reverence. Then she whispered, her lips brushing behind your ear:

"You look stunning."

A brief kiss, warm like melting wax.

"Everyone will see how you shine, my little gem."

Your gaze darted between them. And there it was—your anchor. Your temple. You felt the entire world pulling you out of that car, and yet, for a second, you wanted to stay there forever.

But the door opened.

And the world exploded in light.

You stepped out alone.

The night wind lifted the hem of your blue dress just enough to make the photographers lose their minds. It was as if you were made of liquid stardust.

They didn’t know your name.

Much less who you were.

But the dress told them your importance. And that this was where you belonged.

After the photos, you enter the building to join your staff colleagues.

"Hey!"

Yelena’s voice calls out to you in the middle of the brightly lit lobby, cutting through the noise of heels, laughter, and clinking glasses.

You turn—and there she is.

Beautiful.

A white dress shimmering like snow under neon lights. Her half-up hairstyle left a few strands loose, framing her glowing face. She looked like she’d stepped out of a magazine editorial. Or a dream.

"You look gorgeous." She smiles sincerely, her Russian accent caressing each syllable like a gift.

"You too," you reply, your heart still racing. "Seriously… wow. Like you fell from the wrong constellation."

Yelena laughs.

"Oh, stop. But thank you."

She looks you up and down and adds with a crooked smile: "You killed it out there. It was like… the birth of a star. Everyone stopped."

You shrug, shy, but your smile betrays you. "It was kinda scary."

"Scary is being in the middle of all those people trying not to look too emotional watching you shine. And I failed miserably." She nudges you lightly with her elbow. "Seriously, you’ve got talent. And presence. There’s something about you… that holds people."

You swallow hard.

You know why that happens.

Now you know it’s what a Source is.

Pure, eccentric energy.

You want to thank her, but part of you doesn’t know how. Compliments always felt like traps. But not with Yelena. With her, it’s just lightness.

Before you can respond, a woman’s voice—firm and slightly husky—calls her name:

"Yelena."

You both turn at the same time.

A woman approaches with decisive steps. Red hair. A high bun that looks sculpted. The black suit fits with millimeter precision, as if sewn directly onto her body. There’s something in her eyes that commands silence—and fire.

"We need to review the security for the outer wing. A press group got past the barrier."

Her voice doesn’t rise. But it demands.

Her gaze briefly sweeps over you. Assessing. Cutting.

Then returns to Yelena.

Yelena sighs, exasperated. "I’m coming. Two seconds."

The woman nods with an almost imperceptible movement and walks away, firm, elegant, an aura of power lingering in the air.

You can’t help it.

You look back at Yelena.

Then toward where the woman disappeared.

Then back at Yelena with raised eyebrows.

And venture:

"Girlfriend?"

Yelena chokes on the champagne she’d barely started drinking.

"Are you crazy?" she sputters, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, laughing and coughing at the same time. "That’s Natasha. My older sister."

"Oh." You blink. "Wow."

"'Wow' is what everyone says before getting scolded. Or punched." Yelena laughs but then gives you a conspiratorial smirk. "She’s got that eternal-PMS Russian goddess aura, but… she’s good people. A legend in the military, actually."

You’re still staring down the hallway where Natasha went.

"She looked at me like she could hear my thoughts."

"She probably could," Yelena replies, amused. "She’s like a retired spy, head of security, espionage master, and queen of sarcasm. Anyway, don’t flirt with my sister. I want to keep liking you."

You widen your eyes.

"Oh. No. I wasn’t." You assure the blonde.

I mean, the woman was indeed a vision, but nothing that would make you take your eyes off your mommies. It was just a burning curiosity in your chest.

But you definitely didn’t need to worry about that now.

Not when your mommies stepped onto the red carpet.

Agatha appeared first, her eyes half-lidded as if reading secrets on the horizon. The black dress was as tight as it was liquid, as if dressing her by pure will alone.

The deep neckline merged with the dark choker, revealing the swell of her breasts with a kind of threatening elegance—as if sin had learned to walk in heels.

And right beside her came Rio.

The white dress ignited under the flashes, as soft as moonlight on sheets. The high bun left her long neck exposed, her skin gleaming, her generous décolletage on display like a sacred canvas.

Her neckline was deep too, but in a way that seemed almost innocent—almost. Because nothing about Rio was ever truly pure. It just seemed that way. Until you looked again.

The two of them walked as if they’d been born for that red floor.

You lost your breath. Literally. Your heart seemed to leap so hard your vision blurred for a second.

It was pure exhilaration.

And you knew.

You knew no one—no one—would ever be able to occupy that space like they did. Not Hollywood stars. Not queens, not legends.

Because they were all those things... and so much more.

Your entire body tingled.

You gripped the champagne flute tightly, as if it could keep you grounded. But every part of you wanted to run. Scream. Bite your own lips.

Or drop to your knees right there.

The cameras went wild.

Flashes exploded like fireworks.

But you didn’t see any of that.

You only saw them.

Agatha turned her head slightly.

And for a brief second—a single, precious second—her eyes met yours.

Rio held Agatha’s arm, pulling her slightly by the waist as she whispered something in the older woman’s ear. Agatha laughed, one of those nearly inaudible laughs you knew by heart.

The most beautiful sound in the world.

You felt your legs weaken.

If it weren’t for the wall behind you, you would’ve collapsed right then.

"Fuck..." you whispered without realizing.

Yelena let out a low whistle beside you. "The witches of Hollywood have arrived. "

You smiled. But inside... inside you were melting.

Part of you wanted to run to them. Drop to your knees and beg them to claim you right there on that carpet.

The other part... just wanted to keep watching.

To etch it into your retina. Tattoo it onto your soul.

Because, in that moment, you knew:

You belonged to those women.

Forever.

The party hall was soaked in expensive perfumes, artificial laughter, and clinking champagne flutes. You mingled for a few minutes, greeted who you needed to, smiled at who you should.

You watched your mommies from afar. They gestured dramatically. It was so fucking sensual. Your cunt clenched around nothing. Fuck. You’d barely arrived and already wanted to leave.

Your legs were nearly giving out, and you needed to go to the bathroom to empty your bladder, which felt swollen from the adrenaline.

You needed to splash your face and calm down.

The bathroom was luxurious. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, and plaster moldings mimicked Greek sculptures.

You splashed cold water on the back of your neck and tried to take three deep breaths.

“Well, well, well… Looks like Agatha chose a decent dress this time.”

Wanda.

Shit.

You swallowed hard, feeling shaky. You wouldn’t show fear. Never again.

Fuck this.

“I chose it.”

The reply came out sharp, direct. Firmer than you thought you could muster. The back of your neck still dripped with cold water, but the heat of her name—Wanda—already surged through your veins like poison and desire.

You turned slowly, your damp fingers gripping the white marble sink. Wanda leaned against the wall by the door, arms crossed, a champagne flute in hand, her gaze red as freshly spilled blood.

She wore a tight wine-colored jumpsuit with strategic cutouts and a plunging neckline that nearly reached her navel. Every curve seemed placed there with a singular purpose: to provoke. Command. Destabilize.

“Chose it?” She smiled, but it wasn’t kind. “Think that makes you... one of them?”

You forced your eyes not to waver.

This was Wanda.

Her. The woman who’d kidnapped and tortured you for two fucking days. You wanted to vomit. But not now. Tonight, you were different. You were full. Full of your mommies’ presence. Full of the power growing in your chest like an unbreakable secret.

“I don’t think. I know.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow, sipping her champagne elegantly. “Hmm. And how’s it going, being their little doll?”

She stepped closer. Slow. Her heels echoed on the bathroom tiles like hammers chipping at your self-control. “Can you even handle all this, little girl?”

The taunt stung. Burned.

But instead of flinching, you smiled.

Slow.

Almost cruel.

As if, suddenly, you knew something she didn’t.

“They molded me,” you replied, lowering your voice like a forbidden prayer. “But I’m no doll. I’m fire. I’m a relic. I’m the curse they chose to love.”

Wanda stopped inches from you.

The air vibrated between you.

“You talk pretty for someone who still trembles at the sight of me.”

You smiled wider. Because yes, maybe your legs shook. Maybe your heart raced. But there was something in you now... something even she couldn’t break.

“I tremble because I feel too much. Not because I fear you.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes, as if trying to read between the lines of your soul. And maybe she was.

But you were no longer an open book.

She leaned in, her face close to yours.

Her breath brushed your lips.

“You’ll get hurt with them. Think you’re special? You’re not. It’ll hurt so much when they leave.”

You swallowed hard but didn’t look away. Instead, you lifted your chin, gaze steady.

“If it hurts, I’ll love the pain. But you, Wanda… you’ll love it twice as hard. And then, you’ll understand me.”

Silence fell like thunder.

Wanda’s expression hardened for a second. Her mocking laugh died in her throat, morphing into something heavier.

Something she swallowed dryly.

You walked past her with elegance, leaving a trail of perfume, power, and something else—a spell, perhaps.

As you opened the door, you didn’t look back.

But you felt it.

Felt her gaze burning into your back.

Felt the seed of a curse taking root in the Scarlet Witch’s eyes.

Four hours later, the car glided silently through Los Angeles streets damp with early winter rain. City lights blinked outside as if still trying to compete with the glow of the night you’d left behind.

You leaned between them, exhausted.

Your feet ached from the heels. Your skin still pulsed with the thrill of it all.

But it was more than fatigue.

It was the feeling of something completing. Like a musical note finally finding its harmony.

Rio stroked your hair while Agatha rested her chin atop your head.

“You were perfect,” the older woman murmured.

“You were born for this, little gem,” Rio added, almost like a prophecy.

You didn’t reply. Just closed your eyes.

“I just want to get home,” you whined, tired and petulant. “I want to put on cozy pajamas and sleep.”

“Oh. Sleep?” Rio said. “But you haven’t seen the surprise we prepared for you.”

There.

The moment Rio said it, you cracked one eye open. “Surprise?”

“Oh yes, darling.”

In an impulse you lifted your torso off the bench.

“Tell Ralph to drive faster.” You ordered. “Hear that, Ralph? Faster!”

The mansion was dark, save for the muffled click of Agatha and Rio’s heels on marble. They walked ahead, letting you kick off your shoes at the door, the cold floor biting your feet.

The entire house felt different. Not the furniture. The air. As if… something had shifted. As if a cycle had finally closed.

You rushed to the bedroom. You wanted your surprise now. To kiss them. Maybe… more.

But when you crossed the threshold, you froze.

There, facing the bed, stood a mirror.

Enormous. Antique. Gilded frame ornate enough to feel alive.

And you knew it hadn’t been there that morning.

In its reflection, you saw something strange.

Agatha stood behind you, dressed in black like at the premiere. Rio, beside her, in white, as if balancing the scales.

But their reflections weren’t exact.

A faint shimmer hovered between their bodies. A blue glow invisible to ordinary eyes.

And it came… from you.

You looked at your hands. Nothing there.

But in the mirror, you glowed.

A soft click sounded behind you. The door closing.

“You see it, don’t you?” Agatha asked, her voice softer than ever.

You nodded, still staring. “What… is that?”

Rio stepped closer, removing her choker and placing it on the dresser like an ancient relic returned to its altar.

“It’s the truth,” she said. “And the gift.”

Agatha took your hand.

“It was never about having you, sweetie. It was about making you accept the bond. On your own.”

Rio finished: “You walked through the trials. Lived. Grew. Cried. Shone. And through it all… you stayed. You chose us.”

And as they spoke… you felt it.

Your heart changed rhythm. As if beating in triple time. As if it had finally found its song.

The mirror glowed—not with light, but with truth. The blue bond shimmered between your bodies. No longer a reflection. Now it was real.

Now, binding all three of you.

Agatha pressed her lips to your temple.

“The bond is sealed.”

You shuddered.

Energy shot up your spine like sweet, merciless lightning. Your skin prickled. Your chest burned from the inside out.

And then… something snapped.

Something inside you that was still human.

Something that bled.

That feared.

Something that no longer existed.

You staggered, but Rio caught you—steady, like an ancient vow.

“It’s done,” she whispered, her brown eyes brimming, reflecting gold as they shimmered. “You belong to us now. In all times.”

You looked into the mirror one last time.

And you saw it.

Your eyes were no longer the same.

They glowed—fluorescent blue, alive, impossible. As if made from the very essence of the night sky.

Something utterly terrifying to human eyes.

But perfect in their world.

You had become immortal.

This story was never meant for just anyone. It was written for those who find beauty in darkness. For those who fall in love with what is eerie and strange.

Where some see fear, others find peace.

And where others give up… you stayed.

Because sometimes, the path fate weaves toward joy is terrifying.

And that’s the beauty of living.

There were no fireworks.

No music.

Only the silence of eternity, being written by three hands.

You were no longer free.

You never would be again.

Three hearts.

One curse.

And the most beautiful of destinies.

~*~

Thanks for following Woven Fates, my beloved ones. I hope this story can reach everyone who reads this story :)

And yes... the spin-off will be WandNat x Reader.

Mommy will take a rest from writing 🥱 But I'll be always here to read you, my babies.

Tag List <3

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threepandas · 4 months ago

Text

Bad End: Classic Deals

The answer was still "No", he still can't fuck me.

(But that won't stop him trying to persuade me. How long have we been in this limbo? How long until I give in?)

Overbearing cologne and cigar smoke seeps, like smog, into the room. Just as dirty and cloying as the chuckle that follows. It's a deep sound. Sleazy, masculine, and with a hint of growl. The drawling amusement of a man who knows he's the biggest threat in whatever room he stands in.

And enjoys it.

He's an absolute bastard. I hate him. I'm scared of him. He wasn't even the Demon that was supposed to show up. But? What's done is is done. And now I have to figure out a way to escape... somehow.

Because I Refuse.

Refuse! To let him eat me. In any sense of the word.

When I was... not so much "reincarnated", as that would require my memories be lost, but? I guess, Reborn? I found myself inside a story. It had just come out, before I died. So I never got to finish it. But I had seen play-throughs. Spoilers. Watched the trailers. I recognized everything, and realized what "role" as it were, someone wanted me to play. A frankly? Near psychotic, bully of a girl.

I refused. Utterly.

Not only because the Protagonist was, frankly? Just a child. But because the girl's end was a horrifying one. My character, dragged to hell. Tortured and tormented forever. Granted, they didn't call it hell. No, no, it was the "Shadow Dimensions". You know... where Demons come from. But, come on, it was clearly hell!

Instead? I trained. Ate my veggies. Did my homework. I went to fantasy church each Sunday, and dutifully prayed, to the fantasy Otome Gods. The very picture of a perfect child. Frankly? I aimed for obnoxiously so.

Just so I could get through the plot, then get the hell out of dodge.

But then? THEN? The Protagonist crashed into my life. And made me a horror story. Suddenly I was pushing innocent girls down stairs and into ponds. Spreading rumors I'd never spoken. Taking things I'd never touched. Sending men to do unspeakable things, from which she must be saved. The monster in her fairytale. From which? Her knights must surely protect her.

I'd done none of it.

Had witnesses to prove that.

But what use was the words of my friends? When the sons of powerful houses were forming a mob? For Justice, of course. Because I was Evil, obviously. I deserved it, they howled. Terrified... I ran. My friends helping break out. Smuggling me as far as they could. We split up. Them, running to their parents for help, and me? Simply running.

All the while... wondering. Horrified. Did She? The original? Suffer the same? Was the Story equally so twisted? Distorted truths and inconveniences erased? Had... gods, had she ever even been the villian? I would never know.

None the less, I fled to the one place I knew the Protagonist couldn't enter. Not yet.

Her ancestors cursed Manor. Where the final act would reveal how our families intertwined. History repeating itself, etc etc. I couldn't remember. All I knew? Was that my character met a Demon there. Some secret romance-able. But if I could convince him first? Maybe... just maybe? I could protect myself from that psychopath in pink.

What I didn't count on? What I SHOULD have remembered? Was that spells depend on material, power, and payment. The difference between getting a cup of water and a lake? Can often be how much you sacrifice to get what you need. What chalk or ink you use. How much POWER you pour in to the spell.

I don't know what the Original did. But the materials were likely the same, given I found them there. High grade, if old. However...? However? I was panicked. Foolish. Did the one thing our magic instructors told us never to do. I Cast with emotion, instead of a clear head. Poured bucket of power into the spell, like a hemorrhaging wound. Did not prick my hand for mere drops of blood, no... no I dragged the blade shallow but long.

Spilling FAR to much. Paying FAR more then the Original ever dreamed too.

Would ever DARE.

Fear makes people stupid.

What answered? Was NOT who I expected. Who I expected. It was like the house, and everything in it, was suddenly under the crushing pressure of some great boot. Walls groaned. Pillars creaked ominously. Dust rained from the ceiling as windows popped and cracked. My back, forced to bow, under the mountainous pressure. Face pressed to the blood and ink stained floor. I could barely breathe.

Pressed to the filthy floor, it was like I was being ground into it, for my audacity. Even as space itself warped and imploded, into the shape of a man. A hole in reality. Emptiness, that stepped forward into being, as casually as others go for a strole. I could barely see... but... but...?

W-was...?

Was he wearing a fucking suit‽

Lazily, cigar smoke drifted through the air. Thick cologne commanded the room. A moment, as whatever I summoned considered, whether or not to humor me. Before just like that? The pressure released. Like a bubble popping or a joint, cracking backing into place. I gasped for air. Desperately filling my lungs. Light headed from my still bleeding arm.

Weakly, I dragged my fingers along the edges and muttered a healing spell. It wouldn't be pretty, but... fuck it. I had other concerns right now.

It was only when I looked up, managing to lever my self into a sitting position, that I realized I fucked up. Really, really, fucked up. Even as I watched, classic ram horn whisped away, clouding the demon's head in a mocking halo of smoke. His thick whip of a tail, lazily coiled back and forth, before passing once more behind his back, to seemingly disappear. Leaving only black tipped claws behind. Teeth, far too sharp.

An old school Demon.

One of the Classics, as they called them. Old, strong, and impossible to kill. Notorious. The so called kings of the Shadowlands. The came from the generations before the great Demon Wars. The ones that basically slaughtered the entire existent demonic population for about twenty or so generations. Classic Demons didn't have to rapid evolve to survive like the rest.

They were just too god damned powerful to kill.

Fuck.

The Demon's vaguely bored expression oozed into a deeply amused, wolfish grin. My horrified realization must have shown on my face. And, really, what was more amusing? To a Demon. Then that moment of terror and awe? Seeing them realize that you are the Big Nasty here? Ha ha... apparently, nothing.

"Well aren't you cute, bitty Meat? I could eat you right up." He drawled.

FUCK.

There... there was no way to fix this. I could reverse the summons... but that? That only works if he decides to go quietly. Normally, you can firmly enforce these sort of things, if they refuse to disperse, but... but-! Ha ha... oh fuck. There was no way in hell, my will could possibly win out. That I could force him through a metaphorical doorway. At best, I'd be letting him free as the summoning broke down.

Shit. Okay. S-Seal a Dea...?

No. That's an incredibly fucking stupid idea.

No one has ever, on record, survived making ANY deals with an Elder Demon. The Classics were both fucking vicious and effectively Demonic warlords! Bad idea. Very Bad Idea! But it's not like I can just wait him out. What's a few weeks to is effectively an immortal? Maybe I could...?

"Aaaw, bitty Meat. Are you... panicking? How cute." A claw tipped hand holding his cigar brings it up, to meanly grinning lips. To be trapped, like prey, between predator sharp teeth. Freeing his hand, even as the other never leaves its place, casually, arrogantly, tucked into his pants pocket. "Gotta say, it's not often I get such an adorable little meal."

"Certainly adds a bit of... spice to things~" he chuckled. A deep, curling sound. Like smoke in the lungs and terrible drunken mistakes.

Then? The horrifying. Holding my eyes with his. Smirk growing, wider and wider, as the terror set in and the reality of my situation unfolded, he casually... reached out. As though it was nothing at all. No spellwork, no barriers. No thousands of years of safety measures going up in smoke. As though the breaking of cardinal rules meant nothing, and it was as simple as a breeze.

He reached out. A Demon, before any Deal was struck, past every layer of containment and protections, to ever so lightly? With those lethal, empire ending claws... grip a few strands of hair, that had escaped my careful up-do. Hanging wild, in front of my face. His finger pinched the strands. Deadly. Just in front of my eyes. Close enough to nearly feel the heat of his skin. And..?

Yank!

Sharp points of pain on my scalp. A few stands of hair, plucked free.

I all but stop breathing. It was one thing, to be powerful enough, ancient and experienced enough, to shrug off an inexperienced Mage's restrictions. After all, I was no Demon summoner. Had never studied the dark arts or Forbidden ways. It was entirely possible my restrictions were mediocre. Complete shit. But...? But-! Even I‽ knew there were certain inalienable RULES. Enforced by Reality itself. For all intents and purposes, God.

He shouldn't be able to hurt me. Not directly.

No Deal had been made. I hadn't tried to send him back and failed, thus allowing him to break free during the "you are no longer needed" portion but before completing the "Now go home". The most he should be able to do? Is threaten my environment, mental state, or emotions. Indirect attacks. Not... not direct...

Desperately I look down at my work. Looking for where I fucked up. But... but there's nothing. How? S-So, HOW?! Any harm to me, should-!

Oh.

"Well look at you, itty bitty~! Figure it out so fast, did you? What a clever little Morsel. That's right~..."

He can tank it. Even returned a thousand fold. What mortally wounds a human? Inconveniences a Demon like him. He could be down right atomized and he'd walk it off. That... that's why there's so many warnings. To keep them from ever setting foot in the Human realm. Old school Demons are all but impossible to get rid off and... and the last one that got through? Nearly wiped out two seperate Holy Orders. Took five hundred years to send back.

Finally... I let myself cry.

God damn it. I.. I messed up. This is all so fucking messed up! I just... I just wanted to travel! Visit the coast with my friends. Cute little shops. Those flower fields I'd heard about. How... how the fuck did I-? Why did I have to..? What was the POINT of all this!? If I was just going to end up HERE!? Curling into myself. I sob. Fuck it all. I'm... I'm done. Enough! I can't anymore. E-Enough...

"Hmmm..." the worst mistake of my life says, humming like he's considering something. Grinding my spellwork to smears and ruin, beneath expensive boot leather. As he strolls past me to consider the room at large. Lazily circling me like a shark.

"You know... I think I recognize this wreck. Hmmm, oh yeah. Big tits, terrible attitude. Too many bows. She tried to play the damsel in distress card, like she wasn't just as guilty as the rest. Thought I burned this place down..."

"That bitch was a real arrogant piece of work. Some Saintess. Ha! I've met actual Demons more holy." My tears had faded, dispite myself. Curiosity dragging my attention to hang on every word. The actual, original, Tragedy At The Manor had never really been revealed. As far as I knew.

"So, let me guess," his voice as he circled behind me, was sneering as he spoke of the Protagonist. Like he'd stepped in something that been left to rot. "Greedy little shit, who wants more then she deserves, and was willing to take it from everyone else. No matter the cost. Because she is the victim. The pretty little princess, forever to be saved. And fuck whoever she has to destroy to get it."

I stare up at him with shocked, tear reddened eyes. Face a mess. Uncaring how pathetic I must look by now. Covered in dust, blood, and tears. Was... was the pink horror's behavior... fuckin genetic?! This had happened before!? Oh God.

Glancing down at me, the Demon's face shifts from annoyed disgust to amusement. Something curling through the expression I can not possibly hope read. Deeper. Darker. No longer just the surface flickers of passing fun. As though settling back on his heels, from where he had been balanced on the balls of his toes. Ever ready to move.

"Shit." He breathed out sharply through his nose, a near silent snort. Grin spreading like a beast baring its teeth. Eyes dancing with something I couldn't name. "A cute little snack... no, a sweet lil Treat~ and a fight? Happy fuckin birthday to me, huh? Don't I just get all the fun? Might even decide to keep you, sweet Treat. Make you a lil pet. We could make a Deal~"

"I eat you up, you get all you could ever dream off. It'll be great, itty bitty! Power, prestige. Wealth beyond your wildest dreams. Sex with the hottest fucking demon to ever live~ C'mon, Pet. Let me get a taste~"

"Promise I only bite a little."

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ghostgirl101 · 6 months ago

Note

LOVE TRIANGLE BETWEEN FEYD FEYD + PAUL 🙏🙏🙏

Being In A Love Triangle With Paul Atreides And Feyd-Rautha Would Be Like This...

A/N: Exam season's over, writing season's started 🖤 sorry for the brief hiatus, but I've got some more stuff coming for Paul this winter since I haven't done proper relationship hcs for him yet, and then I'm gonna bounce around answering fanfic requests for the slashers and stuff 🙃 Keep in mind that requests are not open currently, as I'm catching up with ones already in my inbox for Dune and other dark fandoms.

Warnings: Mid violence.. it's Feyd Rautha, idk what to tell you 😐

Next Week's Fanfic: Oliver Quick being obsessed with you pt. 2 relationship headcanons 😎😎

🏜• CODEPENDENT CODPENDENT CODEPENDENT

🏜• That's the best and simplest way to describe this mess of emotions and twisted relationship that goes on between the three of you, because the two boys were drawn to you because of the simple fact that they found you bafflingly alluring and pretty by your own ways and looks, and that you seem to be the one living thing in the worlds that are grounding enough to give them some form of peace and love that's completely unattainable anywhere else.

🏜• For Feyd, most relationships are a means to an end, through using his uncle to ascend to power and watching him die like an animal shortly after, people being little curiosities in his mind before he gets bored of them and disposes of them, no hurt for him. And for Paul, whoever he's close to seems to suffer, through the loss of his mother mentally to her ancestors, fate dealing dreadful deaths to those he loves, dangers and unseen forces he can't control and can't stop.

🏜• There's a big part of Paul that would rather keep you away and at a safe distance from him and his Jihad, relocate you to another world or system where you could live peacefully until your old age, away from the curse that plagues his soul... but ultimately, that's more unbearable than facing the spiking risks of having your life changed and turned upside down by being melded into his.

🏜• Love has two very different meanings for the two boys, being one of passion, a bond unspeakable, incomprehensible, unbreakable, to Paul. And to Feyd-Rautha, it's laughable, confusing, petty, weak, for the dogs. Or so he says.

🏜• Being caught between the two of them at the same time? And both of them catching on and knowing about it?? Oh god

🏜• Just imagining you witnessing the fight between heirs, the cold-blooded young Harkonnen on one side facing off the intense, blue-eyed lost Atreides on the other. Both looking for you, at you, watching briefly for your attention and to pinpoint you in the room... before both noticing they're looking at the same person, and suddenly their grips on the blade have become bruisingly tight.

🏜• It kind of depends on what you're in the mood for: an unpredictable yandere madman who randomly stabs people who look at you too long for the excitement, a possessive wild Harkonnen who adorns you in diamond collars and beautiful black clothes, self-proclaiming you as Queen of the Known Universe. Or the lost blue-in-blue soul with eyes that go almost unnoticeably softer when they look at you, cryptic words spoken from the heart when there are any needed, who wakes you up during the long hot night in Arrakeen's palace to stargaze and lay together soundlessly, to stare at you for literal hours on end while he gets lost in thought.

🏜• Both? Difficult.

🏜• Paul can almost rival Feyd in terms of possessiveness, both young men being determined to keep what's theirs from harm, with that slight edge of darkness Paul developed after consuming the Water of Life being brought out any time the subject of you comes up - something he gets oddly defensive about before the conversation's even started. He'll interrupt them straight away if they refer to you by your first name to correct them to address you by your title, because even that level of intimacy and familiarity is too much for him to acknowledge.

🏜• While Paul rules over his Jihad and Fremen in Arrakis, you're quite literally his only source of stability left in the world, no true family left to ground him and remind him of what he lost and left behind. Any possessive and protective nature of his will always be deep-rooted in love, even if he doesn't admit it straight up. It's obvious through everything he says and does for you, to Gurney and Jessica and the whole of his court, as well as you. Even the Fremen nomads and Arrakeen dwellers would observe it any time Paul came stalking through the sandy streets to watch over his land, and you'd hear murmurs from the workers with looks of revered curiosity and wonder as they gossiped discreetly.

🏜• "My cousin went to present himself to the great court of Arrakeen Palace only a fortnight ago, and do you know, the whole meeting was closed and postponed only seven minutes in discussion! Well, his sihaya had been out of spirits, that's what they heard the maids say, and the God Emperor took off just like that, without a word. I'd almost think it rude. But Muad'Dib leads the way."

🏜• As for Feyd, everyone knows not to even look your way without accepting the high risk of a humiliating death or trial under his command and blade, something he'd want to do personally, as if it was a threat to his pride and manhood, staring him in the eyes through you. With Paul, he can practically read minds, so if men or women of the Sietches had any threatening or lingering thoughts revolving around you, they'd be in for the most uncomfortable, intimidating short lecture with a private audience to the Emperor himself.

🏜• It's hard to think that these two could form a sort of alliance together for your sake, because realistically to their characters, they very probably wouldn't. Each would fight to the death for you, and the last standing would be the one worthy of defending your honour and life with their own, proving themself the strongest and most capable of doing just that. Other than that, it's a hard time believing that they could just stifle their differences in rulership and rights to be with you in harmony, so being together as a three would take a lot of hard work and manipulation, and even then... No, it's too unbelievable. That's just realism. Sorry .-.

🏜• None of them want to feel betrayed by you, so whoever you pick above the other, choose through following your heart and your mind. If it is Paul, he'll easily fend off Feyd to his demise like he was prophesied to do when he rages in a mad fit over your shift in passion, but if it is Feyd, Paul would simply ask you both leave Arrakis and never return. It would make it a little less painful if he didn't have to see you again, and he'd wait out his mind until it stopped conjuring you in his dreams.

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Taglist (lmk if you want to be added to this for my future Dune fanfics): @milaeth @ennycutie @nckcn @void21 @leighta @williamtt33 @deathsimp @tatumrileyslover @beebumbo @the-dark-dreamer25 @lilepad @skboo @keicdcat @1950schick @reggiesmoon @velosrantipole @yoonessa @anonymjuni @saturnhas82moons @xlxnq @frickyea-guacamole19 @meowmeeps @chalklate @aoi-targaryen

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DUNE MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ MAIN MASTERLIST

#paul atreides x feyd rautha #paul atreides fanfic #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides x you #paul atreides imagine #paul atreides oneshot #dune x reader #dune x you #dune x y/n #dune 2 x reader #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha imagine #feyd rautha fanfic #feyd rautha x you #feyd x reader #feyd x paul #feyd x you #feyd imagine #feyd oneshot

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evilminji · 2 years ago

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I just saw a "You have to pick a Consort or we'll pick one for you!" Prompt?

And I must know? CAN they bind someone to Consortship who does not recognize their authority? Like... no really, The King Of The Dead(tm) lawfully would have NO claim upon the Living, unless they consented to his Rule. Not until they... you know... Die.

And in DP's case? Not even THEN is it guaranteed? They could just Peace Out and move on. Skip the Zone completely. So like? IS that a loophole?

A King from Nation A can not legally command citizen of Nation B. They aren't his. Only King B can. Citizen B's may CHOSE to obey King A, to be polite, but the have the RIGHT to say "fuck off, buddy". But if King A was legal cornered and told "pick a Consort Or Else(tm)"? CAN HE?

Like? Can he point to the biggest, toughest, warrior in Nation B (probably standing next to his equally terrifying wife), knowing FULL DAMN WELL this is not going to happen and planning on that, and say "Him. Fetch, you bloodsuckers."

Just FULL-ON pass the buck. And let his political opponents have time to reconsider their stances as they are dying under said warrior's Rightfully Furious Blade?

What I am saying is? Constantine. Superman. Fuck it! Batman too! You want Danny, A TEENAGER, to pick a CONSORT for ETERNITY or you'll FORCE one on him? In what feels like a VERY coercive Bad Touch sorta move?

Fine.

FINE!

He's gonna pull out his phone and look up that list Tucker made of the Magical Weirdos on the Justice League! In FACT! He heard that the Greek gods helped made Wonder Woman! Her too! He's "Consorting" the whole FOUNDING MEMBERS! And the magical ones! It's gonna be a HAREM up in this castle!

Now be good eyeballs and FETCH. He has Kingly Watching Paint Dry to get too. You can't expect HIM to do this? This is YOUR big concern, not his.

(It goes badly for the Observants, I would imagine. Those are grown Adult Heros being told to divorce their loving spouses and marry A CHILD. Or Else.)

( They Choose Or Else. And Unspeakable Violence. Unhand the child, you despicable eyeball faced cretins!)

#dpxdc #consorts #dc x dp prompt #completely non romatic #danny is still a teen #hes just sending his enemies on an Impossible Quest #minji's writing

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sorcerous-caress · 1 year ago

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Early morning cuddling

[Fluff, wholesome, nb!reader]

[Wyll, Lae'zel, Karlach, Minthara]

Part Two

Wyll

The feeling of soft warm breath against your chest is soothing, Wyll's arms are wrapped around your waist with his curled back horns below your neck, safely out of reach.

A quiet squeaking sounds just outside your window, wandering and tapping their beaks gently against the glass, the adoring feathery fans coming to say hello to the prince charming, sleeping in your arms. After all, Wyll has been making a habit of feeding the two mourning doves who made a nest just outside your shared bedroom. It's a good omen, he claims.

But he's sleeping so peacefully in your embrace, it almost feels like a crime to wake him up. Despite how adorable his morning grumpiness can be, sometimes blue blood just never washes off no matter how much Wyll claims he is a humble man of the blade.

The pure cotton sheets and featherly pillows below you say otherwise, but who are you to argue with Wyll-can't sleep unless it's on a 2000 thread count sheets-Ravengard

Calling his name, you cup his face in your hand as he leans into it. Nuzzling into the warmth of your balm as you tell him it's time to wake up. His lips meet the soft skin on inside of your hand and gently give it a small kiss. Mismatched eyes fluttering open with difficulty as he battles through the sleepiness, finally meeting your gaze.

You let him cuddle up to you, the lazy morning weather is really mellowing out your mind and making all the responsibilities awaiting you pale in comparison to staying here on this soft bed, wrapped in your beloved's arms.

Wyll seems to share a similar idea, the hero of frontier happily indulging in the sin of sloth so openly, if only you had a necklace of pearls to clutch right now. Alas, you let this handsome devil lure you back into taking a nap together, ignore the calling of the sun outside your curtains, for the world can await.

♡

Lae'zel

She's awake much before you, only when the sound of running water stirs you awake do you realise the empty spot on the bed besides you.

Lae'zel took her morning training very seriously, slipping away before the sun was up to keep both her body and mind in shape. When the fading stars in the sky are her only companions through her long jogs, a reminder of a home she once knew.

A test of self-will to resist the allure of sleep each morning.

To resist the allure of you on her bed.

Which is why she feels entitled to your touch the second she's finished with her shower, you're the prize she has rightfully earned. Drying off her damp skin as she watches you with keen eyes, noticing the way your eyes linger on each droplet she wipes off of her body.

Finishing drying her hair, Lae'zel finally joins you on the bed after what felt like long hours of torture that realistically only amounted to ten minutes tops.

She smells absolutely divine, her hair is so soft as you run your fingers through it, using it to guide her face closer to yours. Her lips taste just as sweet as her scent, with a hint of toothpaste.

But a kiss is all that you have the stamina for. You can't make it to the second kiss before dozzing off again, mind clouded by the comfort her presence brings. The unspeakable safety you feel in her arms, knowing that she would let nothing in this world ever lay a finger on you.

Even after so many years, she still keeps her sword sharp, just so your fingertips may grow softer each day. Because you at this moment, dozzing off in her arms in the early morning, is what she's fights for everyday.

The two of you stay under the warm blanket, Lae'zel has never felt a greater sense of belonging than in your embrace.

♡

Karlach

Her beloved teddy bear, Clive, is squished between the two of you.

Karlach decided that your arms were at the safest place for the second most treasured thing in her life. Whilst she got to hold you in her own arms, it's a win-win deal.

Wearing very little clothes while sleeping, her engine hums with a soft night-light red glow. Since fixing it, it's become much easier to fall asleep by her side without its blazing light and loud churning, now it's more akin to a glowing amber beneath her skin that you could easily miss in the morning light.

You still grew fond of that hum, the low metallic melody that spelled a promise of a second chance at life to her, to return back what was stolen. Rewind the time and tend to the wounds.

As far as Karlach was concerned, she was living the dream. Sure, fighting had its merits, but nothing could compare to the steady sway of a mundane life. As safe as a baby in a cradle, she relished in every peaceful sleep she was granted by your side.

Her horn was growing in again, the broken one, you noticed that when it started lightly scratching the side of your neck in the early morning. You made a mental note to have a talk with Karlach about changing the sleeping arrangements, after throwing a small celebration for her horn.

Maybe you'll get her a pie from that bakery she likes, it's only a few houses away from where you lived in this small community. And the flower lady did say she got a new batch of sunflowers coming in today, it looks like lady fortune was smiling your way today.

Her strong arms made you feel safe, protected, and loved. Her legs tangled with yours under the cover as she held you tighter.

Peppering small kisses down face, you started with her forhead, just below her horns, and then moved to her closed eyelids, below her eyes, on her cute nose and cheeks.

Finally meeting her lips, just before you could pull away from what was supposed to be a gentle quick smooch, Karlach pushed you on your back and pressed her lips against yours, deepening the kiss and not allowing you the chance to slip away from her hold.

Greedily eating up all of the small noises slipping out of you, her firey eyes met yours as the kiss kept going for a minute before she finally pulled back breathless.

"Damn that's the best way to wake up." She let out with a smug grin, arms roaming your body while her lips meet your neck, a kiss after another.

But they were too light, sleep still clouded her mind as what was supposed to be passionate, neck kissing, turned into a tickling sensation against your neck that made you chuckle.

Karlach seemed a bit embarrassed by her clumsy skills, but she took it in stride and laughed it off, settling for one final taste to your lips before laying on her back and pulling you on top of her. Manhandling you so early in the morning as if you were her personal teddy bear to cuddle up with in whatever position she wished to.

♡

Minthara

It's peaceful, too peaceful for her liking. Not that she ever falls asleep to begin with.

And yet she finds herself following you to bed, joining in this routine nightly as if it was her second nature to do so. Like a guard dog would see you to the front door of your house whenever you were getting ready to go out, waiting at the doorsteps until your arrival.

You don't think she'd appreciate this euphemism if you spoke it out loud, so you keep to yourself, even when you find her waiting for you in front of the house one day when you took a little too late to come home.

With a book in her hand and the reading glasses replacement number forty-six that she will surely misplace or break before the week ends, Minthara retires to her side of the bed next to you.

You'd be lying if you said that her presence didn't help ease your mind, that the sound of pages turning didn't help lull you into dreams. She doesn't meditate during those hours either, prefering to do it for a couple hours during the day when your wide awake.

Maybe it's for safety, why she is so keen on watching over your helpless form. An old habit that came from surviving drow society, making sure no one can ever catch both of you off guard at the same time.

She's in the same place when you wake up, her hair a bit more of a mess with her fingers flipping the book to its final pages, red eyes scanning the writing with care as she takes in the information. They were always in drow language, you wondered what kind did she read? Fiction or nonfiction? Novels or science books? History or biographies?

The only thing you could make out on the pages was the small scribble at the edges of stray pages, where Minthara marked where she last left off with a pen, rather than using the various bookmarks she's been gifted.

The more you focused on the scribble, the more it looked like a tiny spider with way too many legs, but your wife simply refuse to acknowledge that whenever you wondered about it aloud.

Stretching your arms above your head, your back weighted down comfortably on the silk sheets that Minthara insisted on getting. Bright lavender in colour and unbelievably smooth against your skin, like sleeping on top of a cloud.

Seeking attention, you moved closer to her until your head was on her lap, she was sitting with her back leaning against the headboard. Her hand quickly found your neck and softly traced her fingers down your skin, settling on the nape of your neck before giving it a comfortable squeeze to massage your sore muscles.

Her hands felt...heavenly, she always know where to touch you to get the exhumation out. What body points were the most prone to stress, even now her paladin training is still engraned into her soul.

Minthara's touches always held a clear declaration of possessiveness in them, a hunger that may never be sated to own you, body and soul. She embraces you as if you were her lovers in various past lives.

The sound of a pen clicking before a small scribble is added to the edge of the page in front of you is your sign to start the day. Minthara closes the book as her full attention is directed at you, a hungry look in her eyes.

Actual hunger, mind you. You see, princesses never learn how to cook, not to mention drow women nobility, and she has been waiting all night on an empty stomach so this is your sign to prepare breakfast, be it store-bought or homemade, she never makes a fuss.

Although she does make a mean cup of coffee, if you happened to like charcoal as a drink, that is. Drows had to improvise in the underdark with no coffee beans after all. Although what use would an elf have of an energy drink? You're not sure.

♡

#♡Minthara #♡Wyll #♡laezel #♡Karlach #♡fluff #minthara x reader #minthara baerne #Wyll Ravengard #Wyll x reader #lae'zel x reader #Lae'zel #baldur's gate 3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 #Bg3 #bg3 x reader #nb!reader #fluff #Karlach #karlach x reader

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transformers-spike · 5 months ago

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Asfgh can you imagine if the bots accidentally abducted the human and the baby TToTT

The evil polycule is just staring at the empty room like

"Where's the baby. Where's our baby. What the hell- what do you mean Smokescreen took them through the portal?"

Immediate chaos. Everyone at the base assumes the cons did unspeakable things to the reader. But nah - they're like "Uh - noooo. I'll explain the details later. So can you drop me off at a specific location and ping the Decepticons? Thanks" Ratchet is having a mental breakdown over this because "WHAT DO YOU MEAN HUMANS AND CYBERTRONIANS CAN REPRODUCE" Optimus knows they fucked up but he's also like "Maybe having a child with a human will push Megatron to end the war" (Spoiler alert: it does not) Smokescreen wants to ask if he can hold the baby but Arcee is too busy chewing him out over his monumental fuck up The Decepticons are putting every resource at their disposal into finding the Autobot base and getting their human and baby back. Soundwave is working himself to scrap compiling everything he can on their location. Megatron is sharpening his blade, ready to maul everyone at the base. Shockwave... idk I guess he's like "Good look out there" and stays in his lab. Starscream wants to help for political reasons but they won't let him. Would be kinda funny if he's the one who brings the reader and the baby back tho lol - his one way of returning to the polycule Breakdown and Knock Out are ready to commit every war crime imaginable to retrieve them

#transformers x human #transformers x reader #transformers prime #maccadam #headcanon hour #tfp megatron #tfp knock out #tfp breakdown #tfp shockwave #tfp starscream #tfp soundwave #pregnancy #the saga continues #evil polycule saga

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novaursa · 10 months ago

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hiiii how are you?

I can’t stop thinking about Aemond twin sister who was also sent to Oldtown and fell in love with Gwayne.

She came back with him to King’s Landing and her mother is like pist at her. When Gwayne and Criston go to battle she follow them on Cannibal to make sure that nothing happens to him. She got injure in the fight again Meleys and Gwayne can leave her side 🥹

The Crimson Sky

- Summary: When Gwayne was ordered to go to Rook’s Rest, you followed him.

- Pairing: niece!reader/Gwanye Hightower

- Note: To read more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

- A/N: Request that I've received for Aemond should be out soon too, as it pretty much similar to this one. So, I've just made them simuntaniusly.

The echoes of footsteps reverberated through the stone corridors of the Red Keep, a haunting sound that mirrored the unease in Alicent Hightower's heart. She stood at the edge of the window in her private chambers, overlooking the sprawling city of King's Landing. The city was restless, much like her own soul, as if it sensed the storm that was brewing both within and beyond the castle walls.

The letter from Oldtown lay open on the table beside her, the ink still fresh with words that brought both relief and dread. Her brother, Gwayne Hightower, was riding toward King's Landing with a force of Hightower knights, bolstering the Green cause in their struggle against the Blacks. And with him, her daughter, her sweet girl—though hardly a girl anymore—who had been sent to Oldtown all those years ago.

"She returns with Gwayne," Alicent murmured to herself, her voice barely more than a whisper. The notion should have filled her with joy. But the rumors... those insidious whispers that had even managed to penetrate the walls of the Red Keep, refused to be silenced.

The door creaked open behind her, and Alicent did not need to turn to know who it was. The scent of parchment and ink preceded him, along with the stern, unyielding presence that had always defined him. Otto Hightower, her father, the Hand of the King, stepped into the room, his expression as inscrutable as ever.

"I take it you have heard the news," Otto said, his voice measured, betraying nothing of the emotion that Alicent knew he was capable of.

"Yes," she replied, finally turning to face him. "Gwayne is coming with her."

Otto inclined his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as they met hers. "It is as we had hoped. Reinforcements from Oldtown will be invaluable in the coming days."

Alicent's gaze drifted back to the letter, her hand trembling slightly as she touched the edge of the parchment. "But at what cost?" she asked, her voice low, almost trembling. "The rumors, Father... they say things—unspeakable things about Gwayne and her. About my daughter."

Otto's expression darkened, and he stepped closer, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "Idle gossip," he said dismissively. "People will say anything to sow discord, especially in times of war. We must not let baseless rumors cloud our judgment."

Alicent looked up at him, her green eyes wide with worry. "But the nature of these rumors... it's not just idle talk. They say she and Gwayne... that they are more than uncle and niece, that they are lovers." The word fell from her lips like a curse, and she shuddered at the thought.

"Do you believe it?" Otto's voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"I don't want to," Alicent replied, her voice breaking. "But she has been away from me for so long. And Gwayne... he has always been protective of her, ever since she arrived in Oldtown. I... I fear what may have happened in my absence."

Otto's hand tightened on her shoulder, almost to the point of pain. "Alicent," he said firmly, "You cannot allow yourself to be swayed by rumors. We must focus on the war, on securing the throne for Aegon. Your daughter's honor is not to be questioned based on the gossip of those who would see us fail."

Alicent nodded slowly, but her heart was heavy with doubt. She could not dismiss the images that filled her mind, of her daughter and her brother, together in ways that were forbidden, sinful. The thought of it made her stomach churn, and she had to close her eyes to keep from weeping. But there was something else, something that frightened her even more. Her daughter was bonded with Cannibal, the most fearsome and wild of the dragons, a creature that had never been tamed. What if the dragon’s nature had seeped into her very soul, making her reckless, uncontrollable?

"What if there is truth to it?" she whispered, the question hanging in the air like a specter.

Otto's expression softened, just a fraction, as he looked at his daughter. "If there is truth to it, then we will deal with it. But we must not act rashly. There are greater matters at stake here, Alicent. The realm needs stability, not scandal. We cannot afford to let this undermine everything we have worked for."

Alicent swallowed hard, trying to push down the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. "I cannot bear the thought of her being shamed," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "She is my child, my daughter. I sent her away to protect her, and now... now it feels as if I have lost her."

"You have not lost her," Otto said firmly. "She is returning to you, to her family. We will welcome her back with the honor she deserves. And as for Gwayne... I will speak to him. If there is any truth to these rumors, he will answer to me."

Alicent nodded, though she found little comfort in his words. Her thoughts were a tangled web of fear, love, and suspicion. She had always known that the bonds of family were complex, but never had she imagined they could become so twisted, so dangerous.

"Father," she said softly, "What if Aemond finds out? He is... possessive of her, protective. If he were to believe these rumors..."

Otto's eyes flashed with concern, and he released her shoulder, stepping back as he considered her words. "We must ensure that Aemond does not hear of this. His temper is too volatile, and his love for her... it borders on obsession. We cannot allow him to be provoked."

Alicent nodded again, but the fear lingered. The thought of her son, her fierce, vengeful Aemond, reacting to such news filled her with dread. She could only pray that Gwayne and her daughter would arrive without incident, that the rumors would prove false, and that the family could focus on the war at hand.

But as she stared out over the city once more, the uneasy feeling in her chest remained. The winds of war were blowing, carrying with them whispers of scandal and betrayal. And Alicent could only hope that her family would not be torn apart before the storm had passed.

The courtyard of the Red Keep was alive with activity, the clang of armor and the clatter of hooves echoing off the ancient stone walls as the gates swung open to welcome the Hightower forces. Banners bearing the sigil of House Hightower— the tower crowned with flames— fluttered in the wind, a proud sight that filled Alicent with a bittersweet sense of nostalgia. These were her people, the kin she had left behind in Oldtown so many years ago. Yet the emotions churning within her were anything but simple.

Aemond stood beside her, his presence as imposing as ever. The hard line of his jaw and the cold fire in his eye spoke volumes of the impatience he could barely contain. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, as if daring anyone to provoke him. Alicent knew his thoughts well enough—he was eager to see his sister, his twin, and if the rumors that plagued Alicent’s mind held any truth, Aemond’s reaction might be the spark that ignited the wildfire.

Otto Hightower stood on her other side, his expression carefully neutral, but Alicent knew him too well. He was watching, calculating, preparing for whatever might unfold in the moments to come. His eyes were sharp, taking in every detail of the approaching entourage.

Gwayne Hightower rode at the front of his men, his armor gleaming in the midday sun. There was an aura of confidence about him, the kind that only came with years of experience in both battle and court. His gaze met Alicent’s as he dismounted, and for a moment, there was nothing but the shared understanding between siblings—a connection forged long before they were drawn into the deadly game of thrones.

“Welcome, brother,” Alicent called, stepping forward with a smile that she hoped conveyed warmth rather than the anxiety gnawing at her insides.

“Sister,” Gwayne replied, his voice deep and rich with a familiarity that eased some of the tension in her shoulders. He approached her, inclining his head in a respectful greeting. “It is good to see you after so long.”

“And you as well, Gwayne,” Alicent said, her voice softer now, more genuine. “We have missed you here at court.”

Gwayne’s eyes flickered to Aemond, who had not yet spoken. “Aemond,” he greeted with a nod, but there was no warmth in his tone, only the formality of recognition between two men who were not entirely certain where they stood with one another.

“Gwayne,” Aemond responded, his voice clipped, the tension in him palpable. His eye scanned the ranks of Hightower knights, as if searching for someone. “Where is she?”

Gwayne’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “She will be here soon, Aemond. The journey from Oldtown was long and wearying.”

Alicent noted the careful wording and stepped in before her son could press further. “You must be exhausted after such a journey, all of you. The King has ordered that you be well cared for—rooms have been prepared, and a feast will be held in your honor.”

Gwayne nodded, accepting her words with a grace that belied the tension she could sense in him. “We are grateful, my lady.”

There was a brief pause, the silence heavy between them. Alicent felt the weight of unspoken questions, the rumors lingering like a shadow over their reunion. She searched Gwayne’s face for any sign that might betray him, but he was as unreadable as ever.

“How has Oldtown fared in these troubled times?” Alicent asked, choosing her words with care, hoping to probe gently without drawing blood.

Gwayne’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he recognized the maneuver for what it was. “Oldtown remains strong, sister. The people are resilient, as they have always been. Daeron is well, a credit to our House. As for… other matters, all has been as it should be.”

The last words hung in the air, heavy with insinuation. Alicent caught the slight emphasis, the deliberate choice of words, and it set her on edge. Did he mean to reassure her, or to hide something more sinister? She could not tell.

Before she could press further, the sky above them darkened, and the unmistakable sound of massive wings beating the air filled the courtyard. A shadow passed over them, causing men to look up in awe and fear as a dragon circled above. But this was no ordinary dragon—this was Cannibal, the wild and ancient beast that had never been tamed, bonded only to her daughter.

The sight of the massive black dragon circling overhead sent a chill through Alicent. Cannibal was a fearsome creature, unpredictable and terrifying in its sheer size and ferocity. The fact that her daughter had bonded with such a beast had always unnerved Alicent, and now, seeing it here, so close to the Red Keep, that unease returned tenfold.

Aemond’s lips curved into a smirk as he watched the dragon’s descent. “It seems she has arrived,” he said, satisfaction coloring his tone.

Gwayne’s face was a study in conflicting emotions as he watched Cannibal. There was admiration, yes, but also a tension that Alicent did not miss. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, she thought she saw something akin to fear in his eyes—fear not of the dragon, but of what its presence might signify.

The dragon circled once more before veering off toward the Dragonpit, its massive wings slicing through the air with a sound like thunder. Alicent released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her heart racing in her chest. She turned to Gwayne, watching him closely, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Impressive, isn’t she?” she asked, her voice light, though her eyes were sharp as they fixed on his face.

Gwayne forced a smile, but it did not reach his eyes. “She is a sight to behold, indeed.”

Alicent could see the effort it took for him to maintain his composure, and it only deepened her concerns. “I trust that her presence has not caused too much trouble in Oldtown?” she ventured, testing the waters.

“None at all,” Gwayne replied, but the answer came too quickly, too smoothly. “Her dragon is as much a part of her as her blood, is it not?”

“Of course,” Alicent agreed, but her mind was racing. Gwayne’s tension was palpable now, and she could not shake the feeling that there was something more beneath the surface. The way he had watched Cannibal, the slight tremor in his voice—these were not signs of a man completely at ease.

Before she could delve deeper, the sound of approaching footsteps caught their attention. Ser Criston Cole, ever the vigilant protector, strode into the courtyard, flanked by a contingent of Kingsguard. Behind him, veiled but unmistakable in her presence, walked her daughter, the niece of Gwayne Hightower, and the twin sister of Aemond.

Alicent’s heart leapt at the sight of her daughter, so regal and composed, yet she could not help but notice the tension in her as well. There was something different about her, something that had changed in the years since they had last seen one another.

Aemond stepped forward, his eye locked on his twin, but it was Gwayne who drew Alicent’s attention. His gaze was fixed on her daughter as well, and in that moment, Alicent saw the truth in his eyes—a truth she had feared but could no longer deny.

There was more between them than simple kinship. It was there in the way Gwayne’s breath hitched as he looked at her, in the way her daughter’s gaze flickered toward him before quickly looking away. It was in the tension that hung thick in the air, in the unspoken words that passed between them.

Alicent’s heart sank, her worst fears confirmed in the space of a heartbeat. She could see it now, plain as day—the connection between them, the bond that went beyond family, beyond duty. It was something deeper, something forbidden.

“Come, we must not keep the King waiting,” Otto’s voice cut through the tension, bringing them all back to the present.

Alicent forced herself to smile, to play the role she had been born into. “Indeed,” she agreed, her voice steady even as her mind churned with a thousand thoughts. “Let us return to the Red Keep.”

As they made their way back, Alicent found herself walking beside Gwayne. She glanced at him, trying to read his thoughts, but his expression was carefully controlled once more. Yet she could not forget the look in his eyes as he had watched her daughter, nor the way his hands had clenched at his sides when Cannibal had flown overhead.

“You must be proud,” she said softly, “of how far we have come, how strong our family has become.”

Gwayne glanced at her, his smile faint but polite. “I am, sister. We have much to be proud of.”

Alicent nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. She could not shake the feeling that everything was on the brink of unraveling, that the threads of their carefully woven lives were being pulled apart by forces they could not control.

And as they walked back toward the Red Keep, with Cannibal’s distant roar echoing in the sky above, Alicent could only hope that whatever came next, her family would survive it.

The flickering candlelight bathed the walls of her chambers in a soft, golden glow, casting silhouettes that danced across the tapestries and silken drapes. The air was thick with the scent of lavender, meant to soothe nerves and calm the mind, but tonight, it did little to ease the tension coiling within you.

You stood by the window, gazing out at the darkened sky, but your thoughts were elsewhere. Worry gnawed at you, like a persistent whisper at the back of your mind, and it only grew stronger as the door behind you creaked open. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was—the familiar presence, the unmistakable warmth that seemed to fill the room whenever he was near.

“Gwayne,” you whispered, turning to face him, the concern evident in your eyes.

He stepped into the room, his expression softened with affection as he looked at you. “You shouldn’t worry, my love,” he said, crossing the room with a few quick strides until he was standing before you, his hands reaching for yours.

“I can’t help it,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly as you took his hands in yours, gripping them tightly as if you feared he might slip away. “Aemond told me what they plan—how they expect one of Rhaenyra’s dragonriders at Rook’s Rest. It’s a trap, Gwayne. They mean to spring a trap, and you’ll be there with them.”

Gwayne’s expression hardened slightly at the mention of Aemond, but his voice remained gentle as he cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. “I have faced worse, and I have always returned to you,” he said, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a tender caress. “I will return again, I promise you.”

“But this time…” Your voice broke, the fear creeping into your words. “This time feels different. Aemond is reckless, and Aegon… I don’t trust him to care for anyone but himself. What if something goes wrong?”

Gwayne leaned down, his forehead resting against yours as he closed his eyes, as if trying to draw strength from your presence. “Nothing will go wrong,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. “I will make sure of it.”

His words were meant to reassure, but you could hear the uncertainty beneath them, the fear that mirrored your own. You reached up, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer as if the closeness alone could protect him.

“I can’t lose you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your lips brushed against his. “Not now, not ever.”

His response was a soft, desperate kiss, one that quickly deepened as his hands moved from your face to your waist, pulling you flush against him. There was a desperation in the way he kissed you, as if he too was trying to cling to the moment, to the safety of the here and now.

The kiss grew more urgent, more heated, and you could feel the tension in him, the way his fingers dug into your hips as if grounding himself in the sensation of your body against his. Your hands roamed over his chest, fingers tugging at the fabric, needing to feel his skin beneath your touch.

“Gwayne,” you gasped as he kissed down the column of your throat, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “I don’t want to talk about war, or Aemond, or anyone else. Not right now.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark with desire and something deeper, something that went beyond words. “Then let’s not,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “Let’s forget everything else, just for tonight.”

You nodded, and that was all the permission he needed. His hands moved to the laces of your gown, deftly working them free as you did the same with his tunic. The fabric fell away, leaving you exposed to the cool air of the chamber, but the chill was quickly replaced by the heat of his body as he pressed against you.

You let out a soft moan as his hands roamed over your bare skin, the touch both familiar and electrifying. There was no hesitation in the way he touched you, no uncertainty—only the confidence of a lover who knew every inch of your body, who had memorized the places that made you tremble, that made you sigh with pleasure.

He lifted you easily, setting you down on the table behind you with a force that sent a few scattered objects clattering to the floor. But neither of you paid them any mind. Your focus was entirely on each other, on the way his mouth found yours again, the way your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them as he positioned himself between them, his eyes locked on yours, watching the way your breath hitched, the way your body arched toward him in anticipation. The first slow, deliberate thrust drew a gasp from your lips, the familiar stretch filling you with a deep, aching need.

“Gwayne,” you moaned, your head falling back as you clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders. The sensation of him inside you was both comfort and torment, the slow drag of his body against yours driving you mad with desire.

He didn’t hold back, his movements quickening, each thrust more forceful than the last as he buried himself deeper inside you, his breath ragged against your neck. “They know,” he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of holding back, of keeping control even as his body threatened to overwhelm him. “Alicent… Otto… they know about us.”

You bit back a cry of pleasure as you tightened around him, your hands gripping his hair as you pulled him closer, your lips brushing against his ear. “I don’t care,” you whispered fiercely, capturing his lips in a searing kiss that silenced any further words. “I don’t want to think about them either.”

The kiss was consuming, a desperate melding of lips and tongues, your bodies moving together in a rhythm that was both frantic and familiar. The table beneath you creaked with the force of your movements, but you paid it no mind, lost in the sensation of him, in the heat that built between you, spiraling higher and higher until it threatened to consume you both.

His hands roamed over your body, as if memorizing every curve, every dip, the feel of you beneath his fingertips. And you responded in kind, your own hands exploring his body, the hard planes of muscle, the slickness of sweat that coated his skin as you moved together, faster, harder.

Your breath came in short, desperate gasps, your body arching off the table as the pleasure built, coiling tighter and tighter until it was unbearable. “Gwayne,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as you teetered on the edge of release, needing that final push.

“I’m here,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with need, his pace quickening even further, driving you both toward the inevitable end. “I’m here, my love.”

The words sent you over the edge, your body shattering around him as you cried out, the pleasure washing over you in waves, pulling him along with you. He followed with a groan, his movements becoming erratic as he found his own release, his body tensing above you as he emptied himself inside you.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths, the feel of his body still joined with yours, the lingering warmth of pleasure that coursed through your veins. You clung to him, your hands gentle now, soothing as you held him close, not wanting to let go, not wanting to lose this moment.

But eventually, he pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, his eyes soft with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “I love you,” he whispered, the words a balm to the fears that still lingered in the back of your mind.

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice steady, but filled with the same deep emotion that he had shown you.

He kissed you again, this time slow and sweet, a promise in the way his lips lingered against yours. But as you held each other in the quiet aftermath, the world beyond your chambers slowly crept back in—the war, the dangers that awaited him at Rook’s Rest, the knowledge that nothing was certain.

But for now, you pushed those thoughts away, focusing on the feel of his arms around you, the warmth of his body against yours. For now, you were together, and that was all that mattered.

You sit astride your dragon, the wind whipping through your hair as Cannibal’s powerful wings cut through the air. The sound of battle echoes below, the clash of steel and the screams of men rising like a dark symphony. You can see the banners of House Targaryen and House Hightower waving in the distance, signaling the battlefield at Rook’s Rest. But your heart is not with the men below; it beats faster with each passing moment, drawn inexorably to the man on the hill, mounted on his horse, watching the sky with a tension that mirrors your own.

Gwayne.

He’s there, beside Ser Criston Cole, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. You know his eyes are on the horizon, where Meleys, the Red Queen, approaches with Rhaenys Targaryen astride her. His heart must be racing, as is yours, for different reasons. He knows the danger. You know the risk.

He’s always known, hasn’t he?

Even back in Oldtown, when you were sent away with Daeron, your brother, to be raised as a ward of House Hightower, it was clear that your life was bound to the iron will of your family. But it wasn’t duty that bound you to Gwayne; it was something else, something deeper, something forbidden.

It began with stolen glances, quiet moments in the gardens, and the brush of his hand against yours. Oldtown became your sanctuary, but it was Gwayne who became your world. The Hightower, with all its towering walls and ancient halls, held secrets—yours among them. The love that blossomed between you both was secret, tender, and as dangerous as the war that now rages around you.

Cannibal lets out a low, rumbling growl beneath you, sensing your anxiety. You press a hand to the black scales of his neck, grounding yourself. You were always a Targaryen, always bound to the dragons, but Cannibal… Cannibal was different. He was a creature of pure darkness, a beast of the old ways, feared and shunned by all but you. It was fitting, you suppose, that your fate would ride with such a dragon.

“Hold steady, Cannibal,” you murmur, though your eyes are fixed on Gwayne’s distant figure.

There’s no time to linger on thoughts of him. Meleys is close now, her crimson scales catching the light of the setting sun. Rhaenys, the Queen Who Never Was, a seasoned dragonrider and a warrior born, is a formidable opponent. You know this as well as anyone. Your jaw tightens as you prepare for what’s to come.

Gwayne’s voice echoes in your mind, a memory from nights past. “You shouldn’t do this. It’s too dangerous.”

“This is what I was born to do,” you’d whispered back to him, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “For the throne, for our family… for you.”

He hadn’t said anything more, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. He’d known then that this day might come, and he’d feared it as much as you had.

A roar splits the air, snapping you back to the present. Rhaenys has begun her assault, Meleys unleashing a torrent of flame upon Cole’s men below. They scatter like leaves in the wind, consumed by the fire. The scorpion ballistas fire their harpoons, but Meleys is swift, her aerial maneuvers deft and practiced. The shots go wide, missing her entirely.

And then, another roar—this one deeper, more guttural—resonates through the skies. It’s a sound that stops your heart, and you know it’s the same for Gwayne, though he is miles away.

Cannibal.

The battlefield below stills for a moment, as if the very world is holding its breath. Then, the black shadow of your dragon falls across the earth, blocking out the sun as you and Cannibal descend upon the fray. Rhaenys turns her head, her eyes narrowing as she sees you. There’s no time for words, no time for the politics or the pain of family betrayal. There’s only the battle.

Cannibal’s jaws open, and a blast of dark fire shoots forth, aimed directly at Meleys. Rhaenys pulls her dragon to the side, just in time, the fire missing by a hair’s breadth. The air is thick with the stench of smoke and burning flesh, the screams of men below barely audible over the thunder of dragon wings.

Rhaenys maneuvers Meleys with precision, and you feel the thrill of the challenge rise within you. Cannibal surges forward, claws outstretched, and the two dragons clash in a tempest of scales and fury. The sky is a blur of red and black, fire and blood. Meleys snaps at Cannibal’s neck, but he twists, his tail whipping around to strike her side.

Gwayne watches from his position on the hill, his knuckles white as he grips the reins of his horse. He knows your style, knows the ferocity with which you fight. But this… this is something different. This is war.

Above, another dragon’s roar cuts through the din, and you know it’s Aegon on Sunfyre. He swoops in from the west, brilliant golden scales shining in the fading light. Aemond follows on Vhagar, the ancient dragon circling above, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

It’s a dance of death, a deadly game of strategy and strength. Cannibal and Sunfyre move in tandem, each attempting to flank Meleys, forcing her into a vulnerable position. You catch a glimpse of Rhaenys, her face set in grim determination, her lips moving as she urges her dragon on.

Cannibal snarls, his teeth snapping inches from Meleys’ throat, but she’s quick, too quick. She lashes out with her claws, raking them across Cannibal’s side. He roars in fury, and you feel the impact through the bond you share with him, the pain a sharp lance in your side.

But you don’t falter. You can’t. Not now.

Sunfyre dives, his maw open wide, but Meleys is ready. She turns, a stream of fire bursting from her jaws, and it engulfs Sunfyre. The golden dragon shrieks in agony, his wings catching fire, the delicate membrane burning away. Aegon is thrown from the saddle, his body a blazing comet as he plummets to the earth below.

“No!” The scream tears from your throat before you can stop it, the sight of your brother’s fall searing itself into your mind. But there’s no time to mourn, no time to grieve.

Cannibal takes advantage of the chaos, his claws digging into Meleys’ back as he forces her downward. The red dragon roars in defiance, but Cannibal is relentless, his jaws closing around her neck, ready to end it.And then it happens.

A scorpion ballista, aimed by desperate men, fires a harpoon meant for Rhaenys. But the aim is off, the bolt instead striking Cannibal’s side, driving deep into his flesh. The black dragon lets out a roar of agony, his grip on Meleys faltering. The pain is overwhelming, the bond between you and your dragon screaming with the shared agony.

“Cannibal!” The cry is torn from your lips as you feel him falter, feel his strength ebbing away. You’re falling now, the ground rushing up to meet you as Cannibal spirals out of control. The world blurs, the sky and earth blending into one as you plummet, your heart in your throat.

Gwayne watches in horror, his voice lost to the wind as he sees you falling, sees Cannibal spiraling down in a trail of blood and fire. He digs his heels into his horse’s sides, urging the beast forward, racing toward where you’ll land, desperate to reach you.

Above, Aemond’s fury is unleashed. Vhagar, enraged by the sight of his fallen kin, descends with a vengeance. The ancient dragon’s roar shakes the very earth as he closes in on Meleys, who is weakened, bloodied. Rhaenys barely has time to react before Vhagar’s jaws close around Meleys’ neck, and with a sickening crunch, it’s over.

Meleys falls, lifeless, to the ground, her crimson scales dulling as death claims her. Rhaenys, too, falls silent, her body still and broken beside her dragon.

But Gwayne’s thoughts are not with the dead queen or the defeated dragon. His only concern is you. He rides hard, faster than he’s ever ridden, his mind racing with fear and hope. He can’t lose you, not now, not like this.

Cannibal crashes into the earth with a sound like thunder, his massive body crumpling from the impact. The force of the fall throws you from the saddle, sending you tumbling across the scorched ground. Pain explodes through your body as you hit the earth, the breath knocked from your lungs.

Darkness edges your vision, but you fight it, fight to stay conscious. You can’t succumb, not yet. Gwayne is coming. You have to hold on.

As the world begins to fade, you hear it—the sound of hooves pounding against the earth, growing closer, and closer. Gwayne. He’s coming for you. You try to move, to reach for him, but the pain is too much, your body too broken.

The last thing you see before the darkness claims you is his face, twisted in anguish, as he leaps from his horse.

You barely feel the impact as you fall into his arms, the world around you blurring into a haze of pain and shadows. Gwayne's voice is a distant echo, calling your name, but the sound is faint, drowned by the thunderous roar of the battle still raging in the skies above.

"Stay with me," Gwayne pleads, his voice thick with desperation. His hands tremble as they touch your face, your hair, as if he's afraid you're already slipping away. Blood is everywhere—yours, Cannibal's, staining the ground beneath you. He can't seem to stop the flow, no matter how hard he tries.

"Cannibal..." you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. Your hand reaches out instinctively, searching for the bond you've always felt so strongly. But there's only silence. Cannibal, the dragon who was feared by all, lies broken, motionless, his once powerful body now just a dark mass on the blood-soaked earth. The bond between you and your dragon fades, leaving a gaping void in your heart.

Gwayne’s heart shatters at the sight of your pale face, your bloodied form cradled in his arms. He knows he should call for the maester, for anyone who can help, but the thought of leaving your side, even for a moment, is unbearable. He pulls you closer, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your cold skin.

"You’re going to be fine," he says, but the words sound hollow, even to his own ears. There’s too much blood, too much pain, and he can see the life slipping from your eyes. "You have to be fine. I won’t let you go. I can’t..."

You try to speak, to comfort him as you always have, but the effort is too great. The darkness is pulling you down, dragging you away from him, and there’s nothing you can do to fight it. The world is growing colder, quieter, and all you can think about is Gwayne. How much you wanted to tell him that you loved him, how much you wanted to stay with him, away from the chaos of the war that has torn your family apart.

Gwayne’s tears fall freely now, his chest tightening with grief. He’s never felt so helpless, so utterly powerless. He presses his lips to your forehead, a silent vow passing between you both.

"I will keep you safe," he whispers, his voice breaking. "No matter what, I will keep you safe. I swear it on my life, my love. I will not lose you. Not to this war, not to anyone."

The sound of approaching footsteps jolts him back to reality, and he looks up to see Ser Criston Cole riding towards them, his expression grim. Behind him, the battlefield is a smoldering ruin, the bodies of men and dragons alike littering the ground. Aegon’s fall has sent a shockwave through their ranks, and the once glorious day has turned into a nightmare.

"Get her to the maester, now!" Cole commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Aegon’s alive but barely, and we need to regroup. We can’t afford to lose her too."

Gwayne doesn’t respond, his focus solely on you. With a strength born of sheer will, he lifts you into his arms, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. In his mind, you are.

As he carries you toward the tents, each step feels like a mile, the weight of his promise bearing down on him. The battle rages on, but in that moment, Gwayne doesn’t care about the throne, the war, or even his duty. All that matters is you, and the vow he’s made to keep you safe, no matter the cost.

He won’t let you die. He can’t. Not when there’s so much left unsaid, so much left to live for. He’ll fight for you, as fiercely as you’ve fought on the back of your dragon. And if it means going against the very family he’s sworn to serve, then so be it.

As Gwayne reaches the maester’s tent, he refuses to let go of you, even as the maester tries to take you from his arms. He holds on, even as the world around him spins out of control. He won’t let go. He can’t.

And as the darkness finally overtakes you, the last thing you hear is his voice, a whispered promise that anchors you to the world.

“I will keep you safe,” he vows again, and this time, the words are as unbreakable as the bond you once shared with your dragon.

Even if it takes his last breath, Gwayne Hightower will not fail you.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd gwayne #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #hotd x female reader #gwayne #gwayne x y/n #gwayne x you #gwayne x reader #gwayne hightower

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mihii-i · 28 days ago

Text

disgustingly beautiful.

Pairings: ashley graves x fem!reader

CW: nsfw, female reader, tcoaal (yes this is a warning), slightly toxic, mention of grinding lol, wlw, ashley being herself smh, horror themes, mentions of the dark themes in the game except incest, like cannibalism and demon worship, andrew still exists here ok but he's not important, goes similar to the original storyline in start of ep. 2 but obviously different, I made her actually accurate unlike those male reader fics so no she doesn't smell like strawberries and roses she lowk crusty like shes supposed to be in the game, INCEST FANS DNI AND GO SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP, not proofread.

A/N: this is a repost. Considering the controversy of this fic when I last posted. And if anyone wants to cry about this be my guest. This was tagged appropriately, and the fic has no correlation to your braindead argument of this game containing incest so therefore it MUST be shit. So please if you find it so hard to interact with other content or actually EDUCATE YOURSELF ON THIS GAME like a sensitive bitchbaby then simply leave. I’m so sick of people making such disgusting accusations lightly because of a game they know nothing about. Saying “you probably touch your siblings!!” Isn’t funny or cool, and isn’t justified because of a fucking game. You’re a sick individual if you think it’s okay to leave threats or accuse people of this. Thank you for reading this, ily all, and have a good day <3 🕯️

"Ashley, cut that out."

Your face scrunched up in irritation as her slender fingers repeatedly toyed with each little feature along your face, defined by the darkened undertones of exhaustion played onto your expression. Pursing your lips, you exerted more weight onto the blade of your shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut once more in surprise as you felt Ashley's relentless pokes along your skin again in a perservered attempt to bother you.

It was quite complicated, to be honest. Every action performed by her was tainted with unspeakable malice and cruelty, disregarding the lives of others around her as the words she spat out were nothing short of being downright venomous. Despite her flaws overtaking any minute amount of a redeeming quality within her, you couldn't help but find yourself entranced by Ashley. Even with a tar soul so far gone and corrupted, so much so that demons themselves acknowledge her vile nature in your shattered eyes, she was disgustingly beautiful.

At first, trying to get on her good side was nothing short of a fucking nightmare. Your attempted gestures of affection, and even countless tries to establish merely a distant friendship with her was always met with an aggressive or degrading remark slapped right in your face. The times when you'd even brush a hand along her shoulder, her hand would swiftly plant itself atop yours, letting out an attention drawing scream claiming that she "knew what you were doing."

Finally being able to befriend Ashley had mentally exhausted you to an inconceivable limit after countless tries, only to be met with strings of toxic behavior and insults upon getting close to her. Initially, the constant berating only led you to believe that your efforts to pursue this insane woman were futile, that you had wasted your time on someone who clearly would've preferred if you jumped into a burning pit and kept away from her.

That's what you thought until you learned about why exactly she is the way she is. Despite being associated with such an awful person, you couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for Ashley upon figuring out her closed off nature, how she only had her brother, how everyone who became friends with her purely disregarded her for Andrew in the long run. Especially other women whom she couldn't bring herself to trust, her heart feeling the need to cut out everyone else to remain the sole person that stuck by her brother's side in a twisted sense of codependency.

Yet when you approached her in a way to remedy those plaguing issues of hers, assuring her of the fact that you only intended to stick by her side, that her brother was of no importance to you, you were met with a strangely sweet variant of this cruel person. She'd adhere to you like a magnet ever since that, clinging onto you wherever you went and snapping aggressively at anyone who posed a threat to your relationship according to her. At times Ashley would nuzzle into you like a puppy, while other times she'd slap your arm and spit in your drink as some crazy prank. However, the most unexpected thing to come out of your relationship ended up being her trust placed so deeply within you that she proudly declared you as her girlfriend—even brushing off her brother at times to be with you.

Your hand curled into a fist around her pointer finger which was prodding at your face, her usual cheeky expression plastered onto her face as you practically forced her to stop."I said cut it out." your tone wasn't harsh, which was quick for her to pick up on. Ashley simply raised her eyebrows, knowing full well that even if she continued her relentless assault and teasing, you still didn't have the heart to be mad at her.

She shuffled closer to you in response, causing you to slowly lower your hand clamped around her finger as she smiled.

"C'mon. I was just having fun...besides you know that I can't help myself. I'm stressed out (Name), lemme fidget around a little!" That devilish grin of hers always found a way to drive you insane, warm breath fanning against your cheek as your heart beat faster with ever word escaping past her pretty lips.

You grumbled, rolling your eyes at her antics while instinctively placing a hand along the fabric covering her elbow.

"If you're gonna get that close to open your mouth make sure you use some mouthwash...! don't want to know how chewed up people smell."

"But why not? Doesn't the only girl I love also love every flaw about me? Don't you beautiful?"

"Ashley, you're such a pain in the ass.."

"..in what way?"

Your back and forth banter made an exasperated sigh push past your throat, unable to suppress the slight grin twitching at the corners of your lips at your playful argument.

"Fuck you.." you muttered out, face reddened from her previous remark. "Mm. Love you too, (Name)."

Rolling over onto your back, you blankly gazed up at the tattered ceiling, grime and scratched off paint decorating the wall of the shitty motel Andrew had rented for the three of you in with what little—near nonexistent, money he could scrape together. Your eyes flickered to Ashley's hand as she had also rolled onto her back, a small trinket sliding out of her grip as she lay flat and sprawled out on the mattress. Curious, you squinted at it, recognizing the talisman which the demon had supposedly granted to her in exchange for a soul recharge.

You nudged her shoulder gently, noticing her pinkish irises roll across her eyes to glance over at you. "Any luck with it?" You inquired, only leading her to shake her head in response as she closed her hand in a fist around the talisman, causing it disappear in the palm of her hand. "Stupid demon guy won't even come to me in my dreams to recharge the damn trinket." She replied, heaving out a defeated sigh as her eyelids dropped down to close. The enclosed room's air only made the situation more frustrating, with the foul scent of the room giving off a strong odor in which it was hard to breathe.

To be fair, the conditions here were far better than the awful apartment you were quarantined in. Atleast you weren't being left to starve and die as prime time for organ harvesting here.

You blinked, feeling Ashley nuzzle shoulder to shoulder with you as she shoved the trinket back into the pocket of her shorts, rough movement causing a sting as her proximity against you hit your thigh pretty hard in the process..

Her head found itself buried into the crook of your neck, hands tightened around the fabric of your shirt neckline as she breathed out, voice growing soft and somewhat hopeless."What am I even gonna do now?" She murmured quietly, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her tone as the rusty bed only creaked below you at the faintest movements. You craned your neck over to rest your chin atop her head, nose burying into her unkempt, yet oddly soft hair.

"I dunno. But atleast we have each other, right Leyley?"

You could only smile at the little nod you felt against your neck, her grip around you tightening as she spoke up once more, a bit more hostile like usual. "It better be that way. I'll cut your throat and blow your brains out if you even think about leaving me." She hissed under her breath, hunching her shoulder to gesture to the gun situated atop the run down wood of the bedside table. Ashley lifted her head up, eyes transfixed onto yours deeply, occasionally stuttering over across your lips.

Quickly taking notice of her interest, you decide to flash her a cocky smile, raising an eyebrow with each slam of air from outside brushing through into the room. "Ley. All you gotta do for a kiss is just ask." You mused confidently, taking pride in the way her breath hitched as Ashley's head was clouded with a whirlwind of different thoughts and emotions. On one hand, she obviously wanted to focus on the talisman, and the peculiarity of the demon's absence. On the other, she just wanted you. Badly.

And within moments, you felt her lips drag along yours in one harsh motion, slamming against yours as the occasional chapped ridges scraped along your skin like a stone. But you didn't care. You couldn't care any less as long as it was Ashley's body so deliciously pressed against yours chest to chest. The way her hand grazed along the fabric of your breast allowed you to sink into the sense of your bodies molding together in complacency with your feelings. How you allowed this absolute psycho to claw at your body without regard for what she did as long as you could feel her against you.

A quiet moan left the two of you almost simultaneously as your lips interlocked with each other, tongue brushing along the ridges in temperance. You could only furrow your brows as every crevice tucked in your head grew hazy from Ashley's weight shoved against yours, mind only being clouded with her, and her only.

Unable to help the whines clawing up your throat upon feeling her clothed cunt brush along yours, you simply take up the decision to throw every ounce of dignity you have out the window at this moment and allow yourself to grind shamelessly against her, with Ashley doing the exact same. It wasn't long before the enclosure only harbored the wanton moans and pants, sinful noises echoing in your ears as they rang repeatedly, drilled into your brain.

—

Chest heaving, you couldn't help the strained breath of relief that left you at Ashley's curled up form beside you. Although you both were still fully clothed, each article of clothing had been roughed up quite a bit and pushed up or down midway, exposing a mild sliver of skin. Ashley chuckled, basking in the fleeting warmth fostered between you two as she snuggled closer affectionately, silently pleading you to stay beside her.

To which you couldn't deny such a request form your dear psycho girlfriend.

As if in the epitome of perfect timing, you heard the creak of the motel door as it cracked open, revealing Andrew's unamused expression as his expression dropped. Ashley only smirked at him, wrapping her arms around you tighter as a flaunting gesture of affection. He only rolled his eyes st the sight of his sister snuggled up to you, to which you let out a nervous laugh.

"Seriously? I leave for a bit and this is what happens?"

"Cry about it, Andy."

A/N: so instead of my original a/n, I’m gonna lash out at these pussies who claim that I’m “defending incest” when I try to explain this game to them, because apparently we can’t read now and neglect school!!

Has nobody taken an English class??? Have you not analyzed things enough to realize that not everything is surface level?? Seriously. “Get a job!!” Oh yeah you have fun with your $2 a month job at a burger joint while failing class and claiming school is a scam, but don’t take it out on people who want a higher education and maybe a job that’s not coming home to a damn 1x1 box as a home. And don’t even get me STARTED on the shower accusations…like, yes I just stepped out of the shower thank you while you sit here typing hate and spending your WHOLE DAY typing hate with those grubby little Cheeto fingers and a bottle of Mountain Dew at your side. Also lemme add that the overweight jokes are even funnier considering that I’m underweight so I just laugh at those.

“Mad?” Yes I am!!! I know I shouldn’t be venting here but it’s a reupload of my most controversial fic and I feel like I can do whatever. I’m just honestly sick of the sibling accusations in particular because they’re just gross. Yes, I have a younger brother and no, I’m not a fucking weirdo because I play this game!! No I’m not diddling my siblings like you weirdos claim (and probably are projecting with) I’m making this little dipshit noodles while he watches despicable me for the 700th damn time so stop with these absolutely DISGUSTING AND VILE accusations and get a life seriously. If you really are as “employed and cool” as you claim the best thing you can do is ignore something than send hate.

Again, sorry for this. It’s just TikTok comments have taken one of the worst tolls on my mental health and I find hate extremely annoying because people get upset at anything and piss their pants..but I appreciate all of you, truly. Thank you.

#wlw #tcoaal x reader #tcoaal #the coffin of andy and leyley #ashley graves #ashley graves x reader #leyley graves #tcoaal leyley #Ashley graves x fem!reader #tcoaal x fem!reader #DNI if you like incest #dni if uncomfortable #tcoaal ashley

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muzansfangs · 10 months ago

Note

Hiii! I hope ur still accepting requests. Recently, an idea has stuck in my head. What about taking bath with Aizen and his s/o? I hope you will accept it!

Cleanse my soul.

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader; mention to Shinji Hirako, Kisuke Urahara, Kensei Muguruma, Rojuro Otoribashi, Lisa Yadomaru, Hiyori Sarugaki;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, vaginal fingering, cock-warming, vaginal sex, creampie, fear play, smoking, clit-edging, jealousy, nudity, Lieutenant Aizen, morally grey reader, mention to attempted murder, violence, gore, blood, talks about the future, betrayal, trust issues, turn back the pendolum arc, established relationship;

Plot: He was back, knocking on your door in the dead of the night. His Lieutenant badge had been damaged, the gleam in his chestnut eyes telling you he had succeeded in accomplishing his plan. He always seeked your company, after long days of work and unspeakable crimes committed to chase his dream of becoming a God. You were the only thing he would have never given up to on his climb to the Heaven.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Reading by the window to distract yourself, you had watched in agitation the way your Captain had left the barracks to investigate on the sudden disappearence of Kensei Muguruma and and some members of his squad. Your stomach churned, apprehension leaving space to the mournful feeling of being forced to accept a brutal reality no one else in your Division was prepared for: at the end of the night, you were either going to say goodbye to Hirako Shinji, your Captain, or to Sosuke Aizen, his Lieutenant, your boyfriend.

No one else knew what was really happening, besides you, Kaname Tosen and Gin Ichimaru, the young prodigy Sosuke seemed to be so enthusiastic about. The secrets you harbored behind your soft smile, when you conversed with your friends, as if you had not just witnessed to some poor inhabitants of the Rukongai vanishing before you wary eyes, when you lied for him, when you cradled his face in your hands and reassured him everything was going to be okay, when he silently pleaded you to cleanse his soul by fucking you up against a wall and telling you the world was soon going to acclaim you their queen, were slowly consuming you up from the inside like acid sizzling the delicate walls of your stomach.

Despite that, you had chosen him above anything and anyone else. You were the priest absolving him from the sins he kept on staining his soul with for the sake of his ideals. The real question was: who cleansed your soul?

You often queried whether his efforts to keep your hands clean were actually successful. You were not innocent. You were guilty as well. You had just betrayed the Soul Society and your friends. Your idle tongue was as sharp as Sosuke’s blade. You wondered how many of your friends had already fallen by your boyfriend’s hand. A massacre was taking place outside and there you were, safe in your dorm and hoping Kisuke Urahara was not going to disrupt your lover’s plans.

Someone knocking on your door made you flinch, back straightening as a ramrod as you settled your book down on the ebony desk, careful not to make a sound. What if Sosuke had failed? Maybe he had sold you off too, after being arrested. The mere thought of your beloved boyfriend throwing you to the wolves made chills run down your spine and your mouth turn to chalk. Would Sosuke really do such a thing to you? You wondered, once again, if he loved you as much as you did.

You mentally rebuked yourself for assuming the worst. Sosuke loved you. Why were you doubting his feelings for you? Probably, you were just projecting onto your relationship the ominous feelings, swallowing you in a whirlwind of fear and anxiety, that you experienced when you watched him work cold-heartedly, sacrificing souls, to the chilling phenomen known as Hollowfication.

Your hand reached for your zanpakuto, your bare feet sliding onto the wooden floor without making a sound, just like he had taught you throughout the years you had spent together. You took a sharp intake of breath, tightening your grip on the hilt of your katana until your knuckles turned white. The visitor was masterly suppressing their reiatsu, making it impossible to detect their presence and identify who they were. You knew what you had to do, in case Sosuke’s failed and the guards went after you. Killing comrades, however, was entirely different from massacring Hollows. You were a shinigami, not an assassin. If the person knocking on your door was not your boyfriend, your blade was going to drip viscous, crimson blood of a shinigami.

Hiding your katana behind your back, you slided the door open, ready to become a full-fledged traitress. The lean frame occupying the threshold made you discard the blade onto the floor instinctively, the sound of the weapon clattering against the parquet echoing in the silent night, as your hands clutched the fabric of Sosuke’s shihakushō and pulled him inside. He had come back safe and sound.

It only meant one thing: the Fifth Division had lost its Captain.

You relished the bittersweet taste of happiness achieved through betrayal, when you smashed your lips onto his, hand scrambling to your side to slide the door shut. Yet, you had learnt to be selfish, you had grown familiar with the sensation of enjoying moments of peace and unbridled excitement, when other people were in pain. Sosuke held you close to his chest, his hands cupping your cheeks as he kissed you back with equal fervor. His hair were disheveled, the badge indicating his status of Lieutenant was gone, the black fabric of his uniform torn in some parts, dirt dusted his clothes and visage.

“Are you hurt?” you dared murmuring against his lips, ignoring the way he was already trying to disrobe you.

“Unscathed. — he shortly informed you — But I could use a bath” he added, mouth voraciously assaulting the crook of your neck, whilst you were attempting to make a small conversation to know details about his victory.

However, right now, when you were in his arms and his teeth were nipping at your tender flesh, Sosuke did not seem to give a iota about further explanations. He had won. He had promised to come back to you and there he was, pushing you towards the bathroom, heedless of the corners biting onto your sides as he forced you to stumble backwards to reach the destination he had chosen for you two to spend the rest of the night at.

You winced pathetically against his lips, the chilly, wintry air blowing through the small, wide-open window of your bathroom leaving goosebumps on your now naked shoulderblades. The rustle of your clothes landing onto the floorboard accompanied you to the edge of the bath, as he finally let go of you and began to undress himself before your glossy, dreamy eyes.

No matter how many times you had traced the outlines of his abs with your lips, or fingertips, every single time his body was bared for you to contemplate you lost any cognitive capacity of thinking straight. Sosuke had always got you in a chokehold from the day you first met at the Academy.

He was that kind of man who outfoxed everyone around him, the sweet-natured guy with glasses no one would have ever accused of committing bloodcurdling felonies. Sosuke Aizen was far from being an ordinary man, some stranger easy to forget about. He had captivated you effortlessly in the palms of his hands, like a clueless butterfly delicately landing on the fruity, multicolored petals of a carnivorous plant only to be devoured to the bone. You had become one with him.

You realized you had been fantasizing about him again only when his hand reached for you chin, forcing you to crane up your neck and meet his gaze. His glasses were gone, his beautiful chestnut brown eyes boring into yours in anticipation as he brushed his thumb over your cheek “Focus on me” he commanded, his words no longer sugar-coated, the typical honeyed tone slipping out of his mouth when he talked to you absent.

His ravenous side strived to take over, evidently. He desired you like a helpless shipwrecked person hoped to find water in a deserted island, adrift amidst the salty water of the Ocean.

Seldomly you had recognized the diabolic gleam in his eyes outside the safe walls of your dorms. His lust, his thirst for power, his greed and ambitions were never showcased in his ever so kind eyes, the same pretty eyes bewitching you right now. Sosuke was the incarnation of the infamous wolf in sheep’s clothing. He had people bamboozled, unable to see him as nothing less than a noble, proficient and polite man minding his business and even reprimanding his Captain for the sake of his Division.

A man with leardship, but uncapable of doing any harm.

Perhaps, it was because you knew him so intimately that his demons had grown familiar with yours that you often asked yourself if you were a mere pawn in his hands, a pretty diamond pin to wear in order to fool people about his real intentions. You hesitated, a small frown creasing your forehead as you watched Sosuke impassibly stare at you in confusion.

“Tell me something, Sosuke. — you started, miraculously modulating your voice in a firm but soft tone — Are you going to abandon me, once the world will be in your hands?”.

His eyes clouded over for a moment, your stomach churning in apprehension. What if you had ruined it all? You impudent mouth, your lips quivering in fright, your heart pumping fast in your chest had revealed you were scared of losing him, or to be fair, of him.

Sosuke’s jaw clenched, his other hand gripping your hip to push you back towards the cool edge of the tub, the still warm water sparkling under the moonlight dimly enlightening the room “When the world will be nothing but a possession of mine, I will give it to you” he stated, making your stomach somersault.

Regrets for having even asked him such a silly question gnawed at your stomach, guilty conscience weighing on your shoulders like a heavy read. You blinked a few times in a row, watching as your boyfriend sidestepped you to climb into the tub. The sound of the water splashing onto the floor, overflowing from the edge, filled the air. Sosuke leaned his back against the bath, arms comfortably positioned on each side of it, penetrative gaze commanding you to join him.

Resisting was impossible. Entering the water, you snuggled into his chest, your back adhering to his firm abs as your neck reclined. Your hair tickled his chin, his jawline, his eyes closing to finally relax. He would have never admitted it, but you could tell he was exhausted. Even Kings needed to slack off, to ignore their duties and enjoy the small moments of bliss their life granted them.

“I need you to believe in me” he spoke out then, velvet voice playing the chords of your heart, as you swallowed thickly.

“I believe in you”.

“Then don’t doubt my love for you. Never” he asked of you tiredly, his arms now leisurely encircling your waist to bring your body closer to his, skin to skin, his mouth gliding down the curve of your neck.

You hummed, thighs parting, when his hand slipped further down your body, disappearing underneath the translucent water “I’m sorry. But this is all so scary, Sosuke. I was afraid—”.

“Afraid of what? That you mattered less than glory and honorifics?”.

You squeezed your eyes shut, his deft fingers parting your dewy folds as if they were a syrupy fig for him to feast on, the scene reminding you of a depraved bucolic lyric about a Greek, Attic shepherd corrupting a modest nymph by a river. A blasphemy you were condoning sheepishly.

The moans you let out were not the answers he was trying to coax you to pronounce “Answer me” he pressed.

“N-No!” you stammered, hips rocking as he plunged a finger into your tight hole, causing him to pull it out and gently pinching on your clit. While the action obviously did not hurt you, it sent waves of electricity running through your body. You jolted onto your seat, toes curling as you lolled your head back onto his shoulder.

Sosuke’s teeth nibbled onto your earlobe, before he hushed you “Hush, love. Can you just recall what I have taught you? Provide me a good argumentation and I won’t prolong this torture further” he whispered, his brown eyes shifting to a small cabinet at his right, making his blood boil in his veins.

Why did you still keep such an object in your house?

Were you maybe going behind his back? Were you actually siding with that frowsy scientist he had taken care of nearly an hour ago? Kisuke Urahara would have not been a problem anymore, whatever was the reason behind your injudicious decision of discarding that water-pipe in such a place for his eyes to see. A small test of your loyalty would have sufficed to prove how deeply you cared for him, to understand whether your devotion was pure and solely on him, or not.

Hazy, you clasped your hand over your mouth to muffle out another whimper threatening to erupt from your throat. Rationality left your body, when he touched you. How were you supposed to force your brain to properly function, when Sosuke was flicking your throbbing clitoris torturously between his thumb and index? Despite that, you knew damn well the only solution to your problem was doing exactly what he had said.

Tears prickling in your expressive eyes, you pushed your knees together, only for Sosuke to chide you and run his fingers through your drenched hair. His nails scraped your scalp ever so lightly, but it was enough to stop your futile struggle.

“You have such a pretty mouth, darling. Let me hear your voice, hm?” he mumbled, one of his arms sliding around your abdomen and pulling you flush against him while the other pinched your clitoris again.

You squealed out in overstimulation, your body too sensitive to endure more of this edging. It was his usual wicked game of power and self-control. Sosuke was in command, yet he made sure you always had your chance to make his ministrations cease. All you had to do was playing your part, like a pretty ballerina moving under his instructions. A false step and you sprained your ankle.

You huffed, cheeks heating up in embarrassment and shame for your total lack of backbone, when it came done to him “A Goddess shall never be afraid” you blurted out, sinking further into the water as a satisfied hum resonated from behind you.

True to his words, he stopped playing with your pearl, fingers merely delving into your pussy instead. Scissoring them gently into your warm cavern, Sosuke pressed his lips against your nape, eyes darkening in lust and a something shady you had failed to see due to your position.

“That’s right. You’re the future wife of a God. No matter how powerful and cruel a divinity is… — he started, one of his hand reaching out to grasp that water-pipe irking him to no end — A man is nothing without his woman” he finished, inspecting the smoking device between his fingers.

His words had left you breathless, your inner walls squeezing his fingers as you writhed in his arms. Your moans echoed in your small dorm, probably the shinigamis in the backyard had heard you too, but you did not care, nor did him. They knew better than coming after the Lieutenant’s girlfriend.

The respect he had gained through the years surpassed even the one your comrades had for the late Shinji Hirako.

Your eyelids had shut, relishing into the way he fingered you so deliciously, and your mouth was hanging open to release those shamelessly high-pitched cries of pleasure he loved so much. The hard wood of the pipe resting against your bottom lip, though, made your eyes snap open again.

Dread washed over you, as Sosuke’s fingers tangled your hair, yanking them back harshly “You still keep his gifts. Smoke for me then. Smoke to celebrate his incoming downfall, darling” he crooned, your blood running cold in your veins as he gripped your wrist and directed your hand up to make you grab the object yourself.

Yout shaky hands did wrap around it, teary eyes meeting his cold ones “S-Sosuke, I am sorry! I just forgot to throw it away, I promise” you apologized profusely, watching how he softly smiled at you and prompted you to raise your hips enough for him to impale you onto his cock.

“I know you did. — he cooed, the bulbous head of his shaft stretching your aching hole, as you languidly looked at him and whimpered as he buried himself deep into your welcoming core — I suggest you to smoke in his honor one last time, darling. Cry for his departure” he whispered, mouth leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your neck.

And you mourned Kisuke’s fate. Oh, you did it so convincingly, for after cock-warming your beloved boyfriend for a while he then began to thrust into you in hard, punishing thrusts making you sob tears of pleasure. You hiccuped, blurry vision, smoke filling your lungs, as you exaled through your nostrils.

Body sore, heat overflowing with Sosuke’s hot seed, you collapsed against chest. His arms held you close to him, as he watched the device sink into the now murky water, forgotten forever like the destiny of all those Captains and Lieutenants who had been unlucky to cross his path.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! Uhm, I feel too ashamed to say anything about this. If it is not toxic, it’s not Sosuke to me. Ah, my first red flag crush… Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this as much as I adored writing it!

Likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Until next,

X O X O

TAGS: @onyxino @velaenaa @villainsrtasty @stygianoir @noirfan12 @bucciaratizippers @linkwho1 @0wh1te0 @bakugosgirl01 @persuasivus because I think you might enjoy it💫

#aizen sosuke x reader #azien sosuke smut #aizen smut #aizen x reader #sosuke aizen x reader #bleach smut #bleach x reader #aizen sosuke smut #lieutenant aizen

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