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stu-dyingstudent · 10 months ago

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Sakura Haruno fic recs: romance-centric

I, like many others, definitely enjoy a good romance every so often. All of these recs are going to have the romantic development of the characters as the forefront of the story, so just because the fic includes a ship doesn't mean it will go on the list. That means, many of them might feel more on the slice of life side of the spectrum, but that's not the case for all!!

There is going to be a mix of ships here so if you're interested in one in specific then use the search feature!

Started: 2024.08.28

Last Updated: 2024.12.19

note: feel free to check out my master list which has a bunch of Sakura Haruno fic recs (all organized)!

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To Build a Home - RedPowder || ao3 || E || kakasaku || canon divergence || ongoing

Sakura and Kakashi are assigned a mission that will change the path of their lives forever.

Kakashi and Sakura are forced to marry on orders from the village and I know that description sounds dumb, but trust me when I say this fic is gold. I've always had a hard time with kakasaku fics because I feel the whole teacher/student thing gets swept under the rug too easily, but that's not the case here. Their past relationship from team 7 is a glaring shadow over their marriage and the guilt over the whole situation weighs heavy on Kakashi. This mission isn't easy for either of them and it takes a lot of pull and tug to ensure things don't completely blow up. To Build a Home is probably one of my favorite takes on this ship as the portrayal feels realistic and the character feel accurate to themselves. Just give it a go!

Approaching Sun - ANerdInAllHerGlory || ffn || T || sasusaku || blank period || ongoing

After 2 years, Sasuke returns to the village where friends anxiously await him. Still troubled by the mysteries of Kaguya and his personal guilt, Sasuke is split between friends and his journey. Troubled by rising casualties and international dependence on her abilities, Sakura is torn between her love for Sasuke and her duty to her village.

Approaching Sun is probably one of the most realistic depictions of Sasuke and Sakura's relationship that I have read. This takes place during the blank period and references the novels, so it feels like an actual possibility of what went down. As much as I love them, I have a hard time believing that their relationship was smooth sailing and so I think this is an interesting take.

The Fool - thekatthatbarks || ao3 || T || shikasaku || blank period || complete

Ino kicked at a pebble on the ground, her arms folded across her chest. “How long?” Shikamaru sighed and pulled the cigarette away from his lips. “The war." It was a lie somewhat. He’d liked her since they were kids but had simply ignored the budding crush expecting it to fade over time. It hadn’t and by the time the war came around, he accepted he would always carry it despite his increasing efforts to drop it. He’d tried drowning it in the river, burning it in a fire, covering it up with something else. But it was all to no avail. It stuck with him, always apart of him. “Have you ever told anyone? Chouji? Her?” "No."

I actually really like Shikamaru and Sakura as a pairing (or just working together in general); however, I haven't read much of them. The Fool was a great post-war read where with some meddling (curtesy of Ino) we get to watch the progression of their relationship into something more than friends.

Nightmare in Red - Sariasprincy || ao3 || M || itasaku || non-massacre AU || complete

Haruno Sakura used to think the eyes were the windows to the soul, but after witnessing the horrors of the Sharingan firsthand, she's convinced they are the doors. It was pure chance that led Sakura to the discovery of the disease eating through Uchiha Itachi's lungs and now that she's aware, she knows she cannot just turn a blind eye. But how is she to treat the very man who tortured her while at the same time keep her nightmares from consuming her? That she doesn't know, but she knows she has to try, even if it nearly kills her in the end.

Itachi unintentionally captures Sakura in his mangekyou after being rolled into the hospital for her to heal. While Sakura tries to work through the impacts of the genjutsu she continues to work with him in an effort to cure him of the disease infecting his body. I actually really liked how the whole thing played out. Itachi's sickness was sort of a mystery in the original series and so I found it rather interesting to see what was done in regards to it. Anyway, I love their interactions and Shisui is (like always) a great character as well.

Blind - ObsidianSickle || ffn || sasusaku || T || canon divergent || complete

It was almost time, Orochimaru was going to take his body as a vessel. He hated being used...he refused to be used. With that thought, he took the kunai in his hand and slashed across his eyes.

If you're a fan of long reads, then you might want to check this out! Sasuke is blind and Sakura helps him through it now that he's back in the village.

Ghosts - ElegiesforShiva || ffn || sausaku || M || blank period || incomplete

In love and loss, it often comes back to family, and Team 7 had always been fated, hadn't they? Deny it as she may, Sakura finds her heart strung to them with an uncanny reverence and the weight of their ghosts. Sakura-centric. Heavy, heavy angst. Slow burn Sasusaku. Canon pairings. Lots of friendship feels. Eventual (consensual) lemon.

Ghosts is a pretty dark read where basically everyone is suffering. Sasuke and Sakura in specific have an especially hard time coping with their individual struggles yet they find comfort in each other. Check TWs before going in

Home is Where the Heart is - DeepPoeticGirl || ffn || sasusaku || T || blank period || complete

And with every moment together, they get just a little closer, a little more comfortable with each other. Fall a little more in love. Post-war. Pre-epilogue.

This fic is actually adorable! Taking place during the blank period we get to see how Sasuke and Sakura's relationship slowly progresses. If you've always wondered what their travels were like then definitely check this one out.

In Times of Peace - SouthSideStory || ffn || sasusaku || M || blank period || canon divergent || complete

The war is over, and like Konoha, Team 7 has rebuilt itself from the ground up. Everything has changed, but Sasuke and Sakura remain much the same. Eleven years, she thinks, is a long time to be in love.

Sakura and Sasuke have like a secret relationship going on. Also, Sakura as a jonin sensei is so good!! I really wish that someone from the original cast actually went down that route, but whatever.

Labyrinthine - FM_White || ao3 || itasaku || M || canon divergence || complete

ItaSaku (Post Uchiha Massacre) AU: Some things are destined to be. It just takes a couple of tries to get there.ItaSaku. Light KakaSaku.

I actually really liked how this was done as team 7 is still a family, Sasuke didn't lose his mind, Itachi picked a much more respectable path imo, and the characters are all adults.

Only a Crush by Gingersoup || ao3 || kakasaku || M || canon divergent || complete

It was supposed to be an easy, fun night out. She never intended to wake up in her sensei's bed, half-naked and with no memory of what happened the night before! As she tries to unravel the mystery of that night, something sinister is growing beyond the walls of the Leaf Village... and what was only a crush spirals wildly out of control.

Sakura is unwillingly thrust into the world of illegal drugs, trafficking, and sex all while coming to terms with her new feelings regarding her former sensei. I typically don't like kakasaku, but I think this work is done tastefully well. The characters are both adults and the immorality of the relationship is not ignored, so be prepared for a lot of "we can't," "this is wrong," etc.. Anyway, Sakura is an absolute powerhouse and I thoroughly enjoyed the relationship between all of the different characters and villages!

Dreaming's End - thepiedsniper || ao3 || T || kakasaku || canon divergence || complete

Sakura didn't avoid the Infinite Tsukuyomi with the others, and all the events that happened afterward were simply the product of her dream-state. When Sakura finally wakes up from years spent in her personal "paradise," she must to learn how to start again. Kakashi is there to help her. ~*~ (TWs for genjutsu-related unreality)

Basically, imagine the entirety of Boruto was Sakura's dream in Infinite Tsukuyomi. When Sakura manages to breakout during the war she's left to deal with serious ramifications of the life she just lived. She finds herself constantly questioning what's real and Kakashi tries to help her through it. Awesome read!

Mamihlapinatapai - FM_White || ao3 || E || itasaku || canon divergence || ongoing

Mamihlapinatapai・Yagan. (n.) a look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would initiate something they both desire, but which neither wants to begin In which Sakura tries her hardest to raise one hell of a rambunctious baby by herself, Sasuke is searching for something unknown, and Itachi is the uncle.

In another life where Itachi doesn't end up dying and instead tries his best to help Sakura raise his niece in Sasuke's absence. It's my head canon that everyone came together to help with Sarada just like they did for Kuranai, and so Mamihlapinatapi satisfies that thought for me. I like how Sasuke was criticized in this since as much as I understand the necessity of what he's doing, I also find it completely unfair to his wife and daughter. Itachi and Sakura form a great bond and it's all very domestic and just super fluffy all around, which I love.

Louder than Words - SouthSideStory || ao3 || T || sasusaku || non-massacre AU || complete

Sakura hasn’t uttered a single word since the day her family died, but Sasuke is determined to hear her, one way or another. (No Uchiha massacre AU.)

Sakura gets taken in by the Uchiha family after Fugaku finds her on a mission. She's been mute ever since, but that doesn't stop her and Sasuke from forming a close bond.

Snake Bound - shefalls || ao3 || E || sasusaku || canon divergence || complete

"You... took me with you." "That's what I said." "To Orochimaru. You took me with you, to Orochimaru." Sasuke nodded curtly and shoved the medical kit a little more insistently into her hands. Sakura accepted, and prayed to every known god that Orochimaru would ignore her existence. She should've known the gods don't listen. Now only on AO3. Sequel up.

What if Sasuke took Sakura with him like she asked? Snake Bound explores that idea and it's honestly a very uncomfortable read. Their relationship is based off of the isolation and dependency their new situation puts them in. All they really have is each other and the new bond that brings is not a healthy one. Super good

Armour-Sleeved Single Hit - thatdamnuchiha || ao3 || T || madasaku || time travel AU || one-shot complete

Sasuke always told Sakura she was weak. Even after she trained with Tsunade for years he only had eyes for Naruto whom he considered strong. She would forever be invisible to him no matter how many mountains she toppled.Being a member of Team Seven despite Sasuke’s refusal to acknowledge her meant she got herself into her fair share of sticky situations. Getting stuck a hundred odd years in the past had to take the cake though.But she was just a weak little girl and compared to the shinobi of old she’d be ridiculously pathetic. Sasuke had said she was weak to him – a modern day shinobi who hadn’t been forced into battle after battle like they did in the Warring Clans Era. Obviously she’d be nothing more than a spec of dirt in the eyes of the Founders.

Sakura manages to find herself in founding-era Konoha! While trying to prove that medical ninja are capable fighters she unknowingly gains the affection of Madara Uchiha. After all, the Uchiha find beauty in strength. Super cute read!

Always You - alex-halcyon || ffn || T || kakasaku || age swap AU || complete

[AU. Age-swap] Kakashi x Sakura. From academy days to the third shinobi war and beyond, Kakashi and Sakura grow up and fall in love.

Basically, Sakura takes Rin's place on the old team 7. The progression between the characters is quite interesting as it definitely isn't smooth sailing for Kakashi and Sakura. However, even through everything they find themselves drifting towards each other. Pretty cute imo.

interim - stannide || ao3 || T || sasusaku || blank period || one-shot complete

Sasuke lives with Sakura in the weeks after the war.

Interim is such a wholesome read where Sasuke and Sakura rekindle their former relationship. Super fluffy

Hit Me With Your Best Shot - Tozette || ao3 || T || sasusaku || blank period || one-shot complete

Sasuke is actually eighteen the first time he looks at Sakura and realises abruptly that he wants her.

I think we all know by now that Sasuke has always been attracted to strength, power, so why not when it comes to romance? Essentially, one day on a mission, Sasuke discovers he has a strength kink. Watching him continuously get flustered throughout the fic because of his admiration towards Sakura's strength is so entertaining. Really fun read

the problem with how time works - MurderMittens || ao3 || E || kakasaku || generation swap AU || complete

"I don't remember you being this uncomfortable when Kakashi was nine and had a crush on you," Ino pointed out neutrally. "You thought it was flattering before." She moved to pour more wine into their glasses as Sakura exhaled sharply out of her nostrils. "Obviously! It was fucking cute when he was a kid! But now he's..." she trailed off, gesticulating feebly. Ino, taking pity on her, finished the sentence: "Now he's a stone cold hottie who looks and sounds like he'd murder the ever-loving shit out of your vagina."

Sakura and Kakashi's generations swap place and boy is it entertaining. With Naruto as his sensei, of course Kakashi has met Sakura. Now that she's back in the village after years, Kakashi decides to try his best to win her over.

on still water - summersirius || ao3 || T || shisaku || canon divergence || complete

and sometimes, there are days without rain. —shisui/sakura

I'm actually devastated that the author decided to not pursue the plot line after about chapter 15 (it was so good too), but On Still Water is great nonetheless. Some really cute Shisui x Sakura moments

never let 'em know your next move - MirrorImage003 || ao3 || T || itasaku || non-massacre AU || one-shot complete

six times itachi is surprised by sakura, and the one time he's surprised by his mother.

Sort of drabble style moments between Itachi and Sakura and it's honestly adorable.

Hatsukoi - sparklyfaerie || ao3 || sasusaku || gen || non-massacre AU || complete

Sasuke leans away as the girl turns to him, and his mother doesn't need to be any closer to guess as to the expression on his face. The girl's body language changes in an instant, and Mikoto recognizes the posture of a little girl in love. It's kind of adorable.

Probably one of the cutest sasusaku fics I have read as Hatsukoi follows them from genin to marriage! It's told in multiple perspectives and it's full of tooth rotting fluff. You get to watch the slow progression of their relationship over time and how they grow even closer in Naruto's absence. Definitely read if you want something light!

(oh, you'll probably go to heaven) please don't hang your head & cry - SafelyCapricious || ao3 || T || itasaku || time travel AU || one-shot complete

There’s no such thing as a good death. But Sakura faces her death without any regrets. Her dying is keeping her precious people safe — and that’s all she can ask for. So she dies with a smile, taking thousands of enemies with her. She wakes up and falls off the branch she’s laying on.

More of a pre-ship than anything actually romantic, so maybe this isn't the best for this list lmao.

Ghost - twilightdazzle || ffn || M || sasusaku || canon divergence || complete

Sakura is officially declared missing on a Wednesday morning. Wednesday, what a stupid day to go missing. Of course, Sakura is the only person he knows that is annoying enough to interrupt the middle of the week like this.

Sakura goes missing and this fic is basically Sasuke slowly losing his mind over it. Ghost is honestly pretty darn touching and feels true to Sasuke's character. Everyone is concerned for Sakura and that doesn't exclude him despite how nonchalant he makes himself seem.

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Send me some recs if you have any to share! I'm generally fine with any ship as long as the story is good :)

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springtyme · 9 months ago

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𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

Arthur Morgan x afab!reader || Masterlist || Arthur playlist

summary: Since joining the Van der Linde gang, you have felt yourself gravitate toward Arthur Morgan. Like a moth to a flame, this rugged yet kind man has captured your attention. On an unusually cold night, your infatuation finally comes to a head.

word count: 5.3k

warning/tags: Smut! (18+, mdni!) Fluff. Grinding. Cunnilingus. Unprotected p in v. Arthur is a gentleman. This is my first time writing for Arthur and it's been a while since I played the game, so I hope I captured him okay.

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟎) 𝐇𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐭𝐡

The moon hangs high in the star-speckled sky, casting a silvery glow on the encampment of the Van der Linde gang, with the biting chill of the night air settling in like a thick blanket. The crackling of the campfire fills the air, chasing off the chill that has settled in once the sun dipped below the horizon. Arthur sits across from the flames, his usual bravado softened by the flickering light. He gazes into the fire, lost in thought, the shadows dancing across his strong features.

You sit a short distance away, bundled in a blanket, and you shiver despite the flames dancing before you. Your eyes flickering between him and the fire. The chill in the night is more biting than you had expected, and it has settled right into your bones. You glance at Arthur, his shoulders broad and inviting; an idea sparked in your mind.

Since you joined the Van der Linde gang, you have felt pulled towards him. Like a magnet to a magnetic field, strong and irresistible. You couldn’t even fight it, not that you would want to. There is something about Arthur—a mix of strength and vulnerability—that drew you in like a moth to a flame. And, despite his immediate ruggedness, he has been so kind to you, a much gentler man than his reputation would let on.

It had all accumulated within you about a week ago, when you saw him by the river, you hadn’t meant to stumble upon him. You hadn’t seen much, you left almost immediately, not wanting to invade his space, but the view of his bare backside had been burned into your memory ever since.

There was a rawness to him in those moments of solitude, something unguarded, something real. It left you breathless and a little envious of the water that cascaded over his skin, the way it dripped and glistened under the sun. That day, you realized your feelings for him went deeper than mere admiration.

Now, amidst the crackling flames and the pull of the night, you find yourself sorting through those emotions like kindling. You wrap the blanket tighter around you, contemplating your next move. The fire pops, sending a small spray of embers into the air, momentarily illuminating the dark before they vanish into the vastness above.

“Arthur?” you call softly, hesitating for a moment.

“Yeah?” he replies, glances up from the tin cup he is nursing, his eyes sparkling with the firelight.

“Do you think… maybe I could sit closer? It’s getting pretty cold,” you say, the honesty spilling easily from your lips.

He raises an eyebrow but nods. “Sure…” You move closer, feeling a bit shy but determined to warm up. As you settle next to him, the warmth from the fire is immediately replaced by the heat radiating from his body.

“You’re freezing,” he comments, noticing how you hug your arms around yourself, still not quite warm enough.

“Yeah… I guess I underestimated how cold it would get,” you admit with a shy smile.

Silence envelopes you for a moment, but it isn’t uncomfortable. The crackling of wood and the distant calls of the night echo around you, creating a serene backdrop. Arthur shuffles a little closer, his eyes flicking toward yours, as if assessing the situation.

“Here,” he says, leaning in a bit more and draping his arm across your shoulders. “That should help.”

Your breath is caught in your throat as his warmth seeps into you, a protective barrier against the cold. You stiffen for a moment at the sudden intimacy, but his presence is steady and comforting. It feels right.

“Thanks,” you mumble, leaning into him, instinctively seeking the heat the flames couldn’t provide.

“You’re really cold,” he murmurs, his breath trailing over your ear, making you shiver for an entirely different reason. “You shoulda said somethin’ sooner.”

You nod, reveling in the closeness, a soft warmth spreading in contrast to the chill of the evening. “I didn’t want to bother you. You seemed… deep in thought,” you say, glancing up at him sideways.

Arthur chuckles quietly, the sound deep and rumbling. “Not that deep… Just thinkin’ ‘bout what’s next. You know how it is,” he replies, his gaze returning to the flames. There’s an unspoken weight in his voice, a hint of the burdens he carries. You don’t push him for more; you know better than to pry. Instead, you shift slightly, fitting into the curve of his side, embracing the warmth he offers.

“I get it,” you say softly, looking into the fire. The flames crackle and pop, sending sparks dancing into the night. You steal A glance at him, but just as you look up, he looks down at you, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as if he caught you in the act of admiring him. It makes your heart skip just a little and heat creeping up your cheeks. You quickly return your gaze to the fire, feigning indifference.

The atmosphere shifts slightly, the warmth between you growing with each passing moment, and you can almost feel the magnetic pull of his gaze. Arthur doesn’t need to say anything; the silence is filled with everything unspoken, the tension hanging like the starry sky overhead.

“Cold as it is, it sure is peaceful tonight,” he remarks, glancing up at the stars for a brief moment before his gaze slips back to you. You nod, the serenity of the night cloaking you, but it’s the closeness with him that makes the stars shine brighter. There’s something intimate about sharing a moment like this amidst the chaos of the world, just the two of you, together under the vast expanse of stars.

“Yeah, it is,” you agree, your voice barely above a whisper. A warmth blooms in your chest, and you allow yourself to lean a little further into his side, breathing in the scent of him—leather, smoke, and something distinctly Arthur.

“Y’know, sometimes I wonder how we ended up here,” he says, his tone contemplative, stirring your curiosity. “This life… it ain’t pretty, but it’s moments like this that keep us going, I reckon.”

You turn to look at him, noting the way the firelight casts shadows across his face, highlighting the rugged lines that tell stories of hardship and resilience. “It is,” you respond, then add playfully, “I guess it beats freezing alone out here.”

He chuckles softly, and the sound vibrates through you. You can’t help but study him closer, the way his mouth curves when he smiles, the tenderness that lies beneath his hardened exterior. “You got a point. Just don’t go gettin’ too used to me keepin’ you warm,” he teases, his tone playful but his eyes betraying something deeper.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you reply, attempting to sound nonchalant, though your heartbeat quickens at the thought of sharing more than just warmth.

A moment passes, and the atmosphere shifts again, charged with an electric tension. You feel his breath against your skin, each inhale igniting a flicker of desire deep within you. Tentatively, you glance up again, catching his eyes locked onto yours, and your heart races.

You look up at him, wanting to reach out and bridge the unspoken gaps between you and In that moment, as the warmth of the fire flickers and the world outside of your little bubble fades away, something shifts. Arthur’s fingers brush against your arm, a gentle caress that sends shivers down your spine. The air feels thick with unspoken words, an invitation hanging between you both.

“Y’know… I actually wouldn’t mind if you got used to me keepin’ you warm,” Arthur murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, laced with an undeniable sincerity that makes your breath hitch in your throat. The shift in his demeanor—more serious, more vulnerable—sends a rush of heat through you.

Your heart pounds against your chest, and you can’t tell if it’s from the warmth of his body or the pull of desire igniting between the two of you. “Arthur…,” you start, but the words escape you as his gaze drops to your lips.

Without fully realizing how it happens, you shift closer, your breath mingling with his. In the space of a heartbeat, he closes the gap, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss. It’s soft at first, a gentle exploration filled with a sweet urgency, but soon turns more fervent, fueled by a longing that has been building unnoticed until this very moment.

Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the surprisingly soft strands as you deepen the kiss, leaning into him, feeling the heat radiating off of his body. Arthur responds in kind, wrapping his arm tighter around you, pulling you against him, as if he never wants to let you go.

The world around you fades away, leaving only the warmth of the fire and the heat of each other. You lose yourself in the sensation—his lips moving against yours, his fingers skimming over your back, igniting every nerve in your body.

As the world outside dims, it feels like nothing else exists but the two of you. You feel his body against yours, the roughness of his hands juxtaposed with the fire’s warmth. The chill of the night fades completely, leaving only the heat that surges between you.

“Arthur,” you breathe, pulling back slightly to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his. His eyes are dark and intense, a mixture of longing and something deeper.

“Yeah?” he replies, that low rumble of his voice sending tingles down your spine. His gaze stays locked on you, filled with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt about how he feels.

“Are you gonna keep me warm tonight?”

Arthur’s breath hitches slightly at your question, a playful spark lighting in his eyes. He searches your gaze as if looking for the truth behind your inquiry, the shadows of the fire dancing across both your faces, bathing you in its warm light.

“I reckon I can manage that,” he answers, his voice low and full of promise, steadying himself as he leans even closer. The intensity of the moment is electric, wrapping around you like the embrace of the night.

With a slow deliberation, he shifts his body, creating a more intimate cocoon around you. His hand runs gently down your arm, sending waves of warmth pulsing through your skin. You feel the weight of his gaze on you, heavy yet inviting, as he moves slightly, his lips brushing past your ear.

“Why don’t we head to my tent, then?” you suggest, a nervous thrill coursing through you at the thought of such proximity. The air hangs between you, thick with possibilities.

“Lead the way, darlin’,” his voice gravelly and coaxing, a hint of mischief threaded through his words. The intimacy of the proposition sends a shiver down your spine—not from the cold this time, but from excitement.

You stand, heart racing, and reach for Arthur’s hand, your fingers intertwining with his as you lead him away from the warmth of the fire and the potential curious eyes of the camp. The chill of the night air bites against your skin, but Arthur’s presence is a comforting blanket around you. The way he moves beside you, the strength of his hand enveloping yours, intensifies the fluttering in your stomach.

As you approach your tent, the world outside fades into silence, just the two of you amidst the stillness of the night. You pause just outside, your pulse quickening as you glance back at him. His gaze is dark, heated, full of expectation, and it sends a thrilling rush through you.

Without thinking, you lean in slightly, brushing your lips against his, a teasing caress filled with anticipation. He responds instantly, his hand moving to cradle your face, deepening the kiss as his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against him.

“Let’s not waste any more time,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot and mingling with yours as he nudges you into the tent. You stumble in, laughter spilling from your lips as he follows, his gaze intensely focused on you.

Inside, the dim light casts a cozy glow, illuminating the space where your bodies stand mere inches apart. The air is thick with tension, the scent of leather and smoke surrounding you as Arthur steps closer, a predatory glint in his eye. It sends another wave of excitement coursing through you.

“Closer,” he says, voice low and commanding, and you obey instinctively, stepping into his personal space. You can feel the heat radiating from him, and the electric spark between you intensifies.

His hands find your waist, gripping you firmly as he leans down, capturing your lips again with a fierce need. This kiss is different—hungry and demanding. You melt against him, losing yourself in the taste of him, the warmth of his body enveloping you. Your fingers tangle in his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on.

Arthur’s hands roam your back, gently urging you towards the edge of the small cot amid the tent. You gasp against his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to explore further, trailing kisses down your neck as you tilt your head back in delight.

“Damn,” he murmurs, his voice ragged with desire. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” His breath is warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as you pull him back up to you, crashing your lips together again.

The feeling of him—his rough hands, the weight of his body—intensifies the urge coursing through you, the desire to surrender to this moment. You tug at his shirt, muscles straining beneath your fingertips. With deft hands, he works it free, his shirt falling to the ground as your hands roam over his bare skin, feeling the heat radiate off of him.

“You’re incredible,” he breathes out as you touch him, exploring every inch of his toned torso as he leans over you, the power dynamic propelling your heart rate even higher. His lips find your collarbone, brushing over the sensitive skin, making you gasp.

“Arthur,” you murmur, your voice a combination of need and admiration. He pulls back slightly, his blue eyes dark and full of intent as he studies you. There’s a possessive heat in his gaze that makes your insides curl with anticipation.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispers, his breath hovering over your lips. The way he speaks sends a ripple of excitement through you, the possibilities stretching out like the night sky above.

“I want you,” you admit, surprise mingling with clarity. The words tumble from your lips, bold and unguarded. “I want all of you.”

Arthur grins, a slow, wicked smile that sends a rush of heat through you. “Then you’ll have me,” he declares, and in an instant, he’s on you, capturing your mouth again, deepening the kiss as he pushes you back onto the cot.

The world around you fades away, engulfed in the warmth of the moment as his body presses against yours, igniting every nerve with a fervor you hadn’t anticipated. Your breath quickens as he trails kisses down your jaw, over your neck, and back to your lips, again and again, each exploration sending electrifying sparks shooting through you.

His hands roam freely, brushing against your skin while his lips do their own wandering, every touch stirring a primal need in you that’s impossible to ignore.

“Arthur,” you breathe, tugging him closer as you arch against him, the heat between you both rising like wildfire. “Please,” you beg. You need him, need him to touch you without anything between you, no clothes, no barriers.

He pauses for a fraction of a second to meet your gaze, seeking confirmation—desire laced with care—and in this moment it is as if can read your thoughts. You don’t need to voice your wish, only to confirm to him that it is okay.

“Please, Arthur,” you repeat. It is all he needs to hear. Calloused hands start to undress you, helping you shred your garments and expose your skin to the chill air of the night.

The cool air rushes over your bare skin, contrasting sharply with the heat radiating from Arthur as he leans over you, his breath warm and steady. A shiver runs through you, not from the cold, but from the heady anticipation swirling in the air. With every piece of clothing that falls away, a new layer of vulnerability is revealed, but instead of feeling exposed, you feel a sense of liberation, a boldness surging from within.

Arthur’s gaze is intense, roaming over your body as if committing every curve, every scar, and every inch to memory. His exploration is slow, deliberate, full of reverence, and it ignites a fire within you that dances just below the surface. You watch as the flickering light from the fire outside casts warm shadows across his rugged features, illuminating the desire etched in his expression.

In one swift motion, he discards your last garment, and a heat flushes through you, both from exposure and the rawness of the moment. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp that tugs at your heartstrings. There’s an honesty in his eyes that makes you feel cherished in a way you never expected.

“Arthur, I—” you begin, but he silences you with a kiss, capturing your words and folding them into the intensity of the moment. His lips move over yours with a tender ferocity, igniting a hunger that spreads like wildfire throughout your body. You respond eagerly, your hands pulling him closer, craving his touch against every inch of your skin.

He breaks the kiss, leaning down to press his lips against your collarbone, trailing soft kisses down to the swell of your breasts, his breath warm against your skin. Each movement sends jolts of pleasure coursing through you, every kiss igniting a spark that sets your nerves alight.

“Arthur…” you breathe, arching your back instinctively, wanting more of him, needing him to explore every inch of you. His hands roam freely, caressing your curves, memorizing the way your body responds to him.

“Easy, darlin’,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rich with warmth and desire. “I got you.” There’s a sweetness to the way he speaks, a reassurance that only deepens the connection between you. He lifts his head to meet your gaze, and in that moment, the world outside, the gang, the chaos of life fades entirely. All that matters is the quiet, intimate space you’ve created together.

With a gentle touch, his hands guide you back down towards the cot, his body following, pressing against you, enveloping you in his warmth. You feel the weight of him against you, the sensation almost overwhelming in its intensity as he leans down, kissing you deeply once more. The kiss deepens, both of you lost in the surge of desire that envelops you.

You pull him closer, your hands exploring the muscles of his back, tracing the lines of his form. He moves with a mix of urgency and reverence as he grinds against you, cultivating a rhythm that makes your pulse race. You feel every press of his body against yours, the heat soaring higher with each passing moment. you gasp as you feel the curve of his hardened cock through the rough denim of his jeans.

“Darlin’, I want to taste you,” he murmurs, the growl of his voice promising things that make your breath hitch. The implication sends a thrill up your spine, desire surging through you like fire. You can hardly respond, only nodding breathlessly, caught up in the intensity of his gaze and the heat radiating from his body.

“Please,” you manage to whisper, the plea escaping your lips with a mix of eagerness and urgency.

With skilled hands, he begins to move lower, trailing kisses along your body, down the gentle curve of your waist, following the soft dips of your hips. Each kiss sends ripples of anticipation coursing through you, and you arch towards him, craving more. Arthur moves with deliberate slowness, taking his time, savoring every moment, the intent in his eyes making you feel cherished and desired.

“Trust me,” he whispers, his breath ghosting over your skin, and you can hardly muster a reply as he reaches your thighs, the heat of him only intensifying your longing. You can feel the weight of his gaze as he looks at your body, and a breathless shiver runs through you; he's memorizing you, relishing each curve.

His hands part your thighs gently, and you feel an exhilarating rush of vulnerability and excitement. With a teasing touch, he trails his fingers along your inner thigh, barely brushing against your skin, igniting sparks of electric sensation. The anticipation builds within you, a tantalizing chord strumming tighter and tighter, waiting for him to play the melody that will make it snap.

“Arthur,” you breathe, the urgency of your need unmistakable now.

“Gotcha,” he replies, the smirk evident in his voice before he dips his head. As soon as his lips make contact, you let out a soft gasp, your body responding instinctively to his mouth. His warm, firm lips explore and tease – deliberate, unhurried – and the world outside the tent melts into nothing.

Every flick of his tongue sends waves of pleasure crashing over you, and you feel yourself lose track of everything—the camp, the stars, the night—nothing matters but this moment, this connection. He revels in the taste of you, eyes locked onto yours as if wanting to drink you in not just physically, but soulfully.

“Just relax, darlin’,” he murmurs against you, and the sound vibrates through you, only adding to the swirling sum of sensations. You feel his lips curve into a smile against your skin, knowing just how responsive you are to him, and that realization sends a ripple of heat coursing through you.

His movements become more fervent, focused on every inch of you, and as his tongue works its magic, you feel your body tighten, shaking at the intensity of the pleasure he’s drawing from you. “Arthur…,” you gasp again, surrendering completely to the waves of ecstasy that just keep rising and rising.

“Feel good?” he teases, glancing up briefly, and the rogue glimmer in his eyes tells you he knows just how much you're enjoying this.

“More than good,” you reply, your voice trembling with need. “Don’t stop.”

“Trust me, I won’t,” he promises, and his focus returns, deepening the intimacy of this moment. He immerses himself fully, your body moving instinctively in rhythm with his expert ministrations. The sensation becomes addictive, and with each flick, each pull of his lips, you feel yourself teetering on the edge, ready to leap.

You can feel the tension building, each wave of pleasure rolling higher within you, and you fight to hold on, pleading with him through moans and gasps. With a final, deliberate stroke against your most sensitive spot, you shatter, the world erupting in a shocking brilliance as you crest over the edge and fall into bliss.

“Arthur!” you cry out his name, your body trembling, stars exploding behind your eyes, and you lose yourself completely in the overwhelming pleasure. The waves of ecstasy roll through you, and it feels like everything fades away—nothing but you and him, anchored together in this intimate cocoon.

He continues to tease and coax you through your high, savoring every moment, every sound you make. The connection between you both deepens in this exquisite stillness—passionate and primal, a sweet collision of souls in an unforgiving world.

When the tremors finally subside, you pull him back up to your lips, hunger evident as you kiss him deeply, tasting yourself mixed with the warmth of his breath. Arthur responds, diving into the embrace, arms wrapping around you, pulling you close as you share this sacred moment.

“Goddamn,” he breathes into your mouth when you finally part, his voice rich with both awe and hunger, the need between you still pulsing like a living thing. “You’re incredible.”

You manage a breathless laugh. “I could say the same about you.”

He smirks, brushing a palm gently over your cheek, his thumb lingering against your cheekbone. “And trust me, darlin’, I’m just gettin’ started.”

Your heart races again at his words, the promise of more sending a thrilling shiver down your spine. As you pull him closer once more, ready to explore every depth of this connection, nothing seems daunting anymore—just the two of you, the embers of the fire outside, the stars above, and the wild world fading beyond the complexities of your shared intimacy.

“Then get out of those boots, and those jeans, and take me, Arthur.” Your statement hangs heavy in the air between you, a daring challenge laced with vulnerability. Something primal glints in his eyes as he gaze down at you, igniting a spark that sends butterflies swirling in your stomach

With a swift motion, he frees himself from the restraints of his jeans, the sound of the fabric falling to the earth blending into the chaos of your racing hearts. You glance down, taking in the sight of him, and a rush of lust surges through you. He’s strong, and rugged, the embodiment of passion entwined with a rugged charm that makes your pulse quicken.

Arthur positions himself between your legs, leaning forward to kiss you deeply again, his body pressing against yours, reminding you of the heat that you both share. His hands roam over your body, exploring every curve and contour, igniting sparks wherever he touches.

“Damn, you feel good,” he murmurs, his voice rough with need as he trails kisses down your body, savoring every taste, every gasp that escapes your lips. The way his lips move on your skin makes it nearly impossible to hold back, your body arching and twisting beneath him as you crave more of his touch.

“Arthur, please…” you whimper, the urgency in your voice unmistakable. You need him, need him to fill the void; you crave the connection that you both share. He meets your pleading gaze, and the sincerity in his eyes sends warmth flooding through you.

With a steady, commanding hand, he guides himself to your entrance, hesitating for only a moment as he seeks your permission. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly, a mix of concern and desire lacing his words.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you reply, breathless, your heart racing as you nod fervently. The moment stretches, the tension palpable as the air between you thickens with promise and anticipation. Arthur doesn’t need to be told twice.

In one fluid motion, he fills you, pushing deep within with a slow, deliberate intensity that leaves you gasping. Every nerve in your body ignites, overwhelmed by the sensation of him surrounding you, overwhelming you with pleasure. You feel fullness, desire, and unyielding connection as your bodies meld together as one.

“Shit,” he breathes, his voice strained as he begins to move within you, the rhythm developing as he finds a pace that balances urgency and sweetness. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure erupting inside you, a blissful spiral that pulls you closer to the edge.

You dig your nails into his back, urging him on, pushing him deeper as waves of delight crash over you with every plunge, every grind of his hips against yours, the sounds of skin meeting skin echoing in the quiet tent. Your breaths mingle, chaotic and desperate, amplifying the heat that races between your bodies.

“God, you feel incredible,” Arthur gasps, his forehead pressed against yours as he moves, each thrust igniting your senses, the pressure building within you. You can feel the heat between you boiling over, a feral need surging through you, driving you closer to the precipice.

“Arthur, I’m so close…” you cry out, the urgency of your release bubbling over as you cling to him, urging him on. With each powerful thrust, he drives you higher, pushing you toward the brink of ecstasy.

“Let go for me, darlin’,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Let it all happen.”

That encouragement is all it takes. With one final thrust, your body shatters in bliss, waves of passion crash over you as you cry out his name, the world around you dimming into nothing but pleasure and warmth.

“Yeah, just like that,” he groans. He pulls out at the last minute, spilling rope upon rope of warm, white cum over your skin, his own ecstasy evident in the way his body tensed against yours. The two of you crashing together in a flurry of shared ecstasy that sends both of you spiraling into pure delight.

As the waves of pleasure ebb away, you both lie tangled in each other’s arms, breathless and elated. The world outside fades into an echoing silence as the fire crackles softly, illuminating the tenderness of the moment shared between you.

Arthur holds you tightly, your bodies entwined beneath the warmth of the blankets and the remnants of the heat you’ve both created. In the aftermath, an intimate silence settles between you, the sound of your breathing mingling with the gentle crackle of the fire outside, a calming cadence that feels sacred in its intimacy.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mixture of concern and tenderness as he brushes his fingers along your skin. He grabs his shirt, his long, strong arm reaching it with ease, and gently wipes his cum from your thigh and stomach, the gesture both intimate and caring.

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips, feeling cherished in this vulnerable moment. “Yeah, I’m more than alright,” you reply softly, your heart swelling with a warmth that eclipses even the fire’s glow. You glance up to meet his piercing blue eyes, shimmering with sincerity and a hint of vulnerability that makes your chest tighten. It’s a contrast to the fierce man you had known; in this moment, he’s not just rugged and wild, but tender, caring.

A shy smile breaks upon his lips, and you can’t help but mirror it. “Good,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a gentle kiss on your forehead. The sweetness of the gesture sends a wave of warmth flooding through you, solidifying the bond that had cemented itself in the fiery passion of just a few moments ago.

The quiet feels different now—less charged with tension and more filled with understanding—a blank canvas where something beautiful can unfold. The shadows in the tent off the flickering light dance around you both, echoing the intricate tapestry of emotions woven from the intimacy you just shared.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss that speaks of more than just passion; this was special, it meant something. You both share a lingering smile before settling into the quiet once more, a sense of peace enveloping you amidst the chaos of the outside world.

As time drifts lazily onward, you let your eyes wander deeper into the safe haven of his presence, the warmth of your intertwined bodies gradually creating a sanctuary against the chilling night air. The crackle of the fire outside serves as a soothing soundtrack to the warmth surrounding you, and you revel in this moment—a blissful interlude that feels entirely yours.

“Let’s rest,” Arthur murmurs, stealing another kiss before pulling you closer, cocooning you in his embrace. You nod against him, content to let the exhaustion of reality slip away for a while.

As sleep intertwines with the serenity of the night, you feel his heartbeat against your cheek—a steady reminder that, for now, you have everything you need. Together, you drift into dreams, the warmth of each other’s presence cocooning you as the chill of the world outside feels light years away.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated ♡

#springtyme writes #springtyme october challenge 24 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr fanfiction #rdr 2 #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan oneshot #kinktober #flufftober #x reader

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electric-guillotines · 1 month ago

Text

Take Me Softly

Wanda x female reader

Summary: You've been waiting for Wanda to return from a mission, making sure everything is in its rightful place, tidying the house and ordering food, but when she gets home there's a strange feeling you just can't shake…

Content: 🔞 Domestic fluff, smut, mommy kink, fingering, oral, light dom/sub, improper use of dubiously acquired shadow powers, restraint (kind of), bottom!Wanda, light angst, brief reference to hydra captivity

Word Count: 3 ,663 Can be read below but is also available on [AO3]

Everything was exactly as it should be.

The smell of lemongrass incense hung in the air as a period mark on a day spent cleaning and tidying. The bedsheets were changed, the fridge was freshly stocked from a grocery delivery in the morning, and the living room was awash in cosy hues from fairy lights and candles.

You walked through the house, appraising your surroundings with a keen eye, taking in the mix antique hardwood furniture softened by plush blankets and pillows, natural rustic hues complimented by soft black, warm burgundy, and hints of sea green. It pulled a smile from you, seeing your colours together.

Being at ease with this place had taken time. You were so used to the nearly constant activity of others in the compound or the tower that the unassuming quiet of a private dwelling was, at times, rather disquieting . But you grew to appreciate it.

You loved seeing the Hudson river glittering in the morning sun and the abundant greenery that rushed to fill the space as the concrete dominion of New York City fell away–Sleepy Hollow was a pretty place to live. It certainly helped that it was almost perfectly situated between the Tower and the Compound so no matter where the team deplaned it would only be an hour’s drive to get home, so as soon as Wanda texted saying she had landed and was on her way home, you had more than enough time for final preparations.

Brimming with excitement, you took the wine out of the fridge and ordered some takeout, knowing that Greek food would be very appreciated. A platter of roasted tomatoes and peppers, fresh flatbreads, and juicy lamb kebabs seasoned to perfection, naturally with a healthy helping of tzatziki to go with it. To say nothing of the sweet pastries for after, nutty and decadent with citrus infused syrup.

Yes, everything was perfect, the only thing left was Wanda walking through the front door, safe and sound, and you could finally release the anxious knot in your stomach.

Wanda’s mission had been a long one, longer than yours at any rate which meant you were home first and spent the last few days trying to occupy yourself, trying not to think about everything that could go wrong and send yourself into a spiral of ever darkening thoughts.

You took pride in how far you’d come since your early days with the Avengers, no longer a nervous wreck expecting the worst at every turn, reflexively disappearing in a plume of shadows when you felt overwhelmed, but able to calm yourself and work through it, even if familiar words rattled in the corners of your mind.

“You can’t be proud of yourself . You sound arrogant, egotistical. Only other people can be proud of you.”

Words from a wounded mother, projecting her pain like love, wielding life lessons like a knife to cut away everything the world could hurt you with, never realising how much you bled because of her.

No.

Making you bleed was what Hydra was for.

The warmth is draining, burning out of you, leached away by a dense, icy cold that latches onto the heat of your soul like a starving thing. It’s hungry, it's so hungry, and it has you between its teeth, gnashing, chewing, swallowing, more and more and more. It feasts until you are cold, until you are empty and frozen and dead, and you are violently flung back to the waking world screaming for the mother who put you here.

The memory passed over you, acknowledged, observed, and gently pushed aside.

Today was one of the good ones–therapy had been kind to you.

You distracted yourself from counting down the minutes by drawing, situating yourself in the den with your tablet, music playing on low volume as you simply let the image take shape.

Separate missions weren’t uncommon, you and your shadowy powers were far better suited to covert ops and even in group missions that often meant scouting ahead alone or infiltrating the location with Natasha to provide better intel.

Rationally, you knew that.

Spiritually, you were more at ease when you could fight by Wanda’s side.

Checking your phone, you smiled at the message Wanda sent announcing her pending arrival and hurried upstairs to put on something a little more flattering than shorts and an oversized t-shirt. You settled on some black yoga pants that hugged your legs like a second skin and a dark red halter top Wanda was especially fond of seeing you in because it showed off your shoulders and back, not to mention how she appreciated the colour on you.

Keys in the door had you rushing downstairs, heart leaping, excitement and relief mixing into a lightheaded rush that nearly made you stumble at the last step.

There she was, back in civilian clothes for the drive home, hair still damp at the tips from a post-mission shower, and hanging up her go-bag in the entryway.

“Welcome home, mein herz (my heart) ,” you grinned.

Wanda brightened upon seeing you, eyes all but sparkling as she quickly closed the distance, drawing you into a hug that made the house feel like a home again, its missing piece finally in place.

Sliding your arms into her jacket, you burrowed into the warm space between her neck and shoulder, arms firm around her waist, greedily soaking your hands in the warmth of her back, relishing in the weight and realness of her, the unbreakable assurance that she was home and she was okay.

“Privet, dorogaya (hello, darling,)” Wanda whispered, sinking a hand into your hair. She breathed deeply, taking in the scent of your perfume, and let out a long, gentle sigh as if exhaling all the stress of the last several days. “I missed you.”

The rest of the world felt a million miles away at that moment.

The doorbell startled you both, and Wanda peered down at you with an amused quirk to her lips. “Dinner?”

“Of course, I ordered Greek.”

“That sounds perfect right now, thank you.”

With tender swiftness she kissed your nose and headed off to the kitchen while you fetched the delivery. The food was easily plated up and brought to the table that split the kitchen from the living room, already set, and you made sure not to forget the wine.

Between bites of food the details of respective missions were shared, less a formal debrief and more bridging the gaps in the timeline where one of you was missing. It was also an opening to vent if something stupid or unexpected happened to complicate things but thankfully, no such thing had occurred this time, small victories amidst the stress that came with being an Avenger.

The ‘debrief’ helped put a neat little bow on things, a capstone to the time apart. The missions were over, you were both safe and sound at home, having a nice, peaceful meal together like any normal couple after work, and chances were good you would have at least a week to yourselves.

After putting the leftovers away, you eyed Wanda at the sink, just finishing up with plates and glasses, absently drying her hands. She looked relaxed, content, the warm light of the kitchen bringing out the red in her hair.

She must have noticed you just standing in her periphery and glanced, catching you staring with a silly, besotted look on your face that you made no attempt to hide.

A soft laugh slipped out of her and she returned focus to her hands, making sure they were dry before she slipped her rings back on. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were in love,” she teased.

Oh, you were, hopelessly, deliriously so.

Humming in shameless agreement you approached her from behind and embraced her, propping your chin on her shoulder.

Wanda put the kitchen towel aside, laying her hands over yours. She started swaying a little and you followed her movement, sighing happily at the warmth, the closeness, the indelible weight of her presence in your arms.

Remembering the pastries, you tilted your head enough to catch her eye. “I was thinking we could melt on the couch for a few hours, continue with Brooklyn-99?” you said, smiling, a little coy. “There were pastries in the delivery too.”

Wanda gasped in faux shock, lightly slapping your arms. “You should have led with the pastries!”

An hour later and you were happily snuggled together in the den, surrounded by the cosy illumination of candles and fairy lights, pajamas on and blankets askew, only half paying attention to the hijinks unfolding on screen. You were far more preoccupied with the steady sound of Wanda’s heartbeat under your ear and the feeling of her slender fingers absently sliding through your hair.

When the occasional giggle or laugh resonated in her chest, warmth bloomed in yours and the urge to snuggle closer grew until it simply couldn’t be ignored.

Adjusting your position, you ended up with your head tucked against her neck, breathing in a warm mix of spiced almonds, amber, and white tea leaves, her go-to perfume a deeply sought comfort while she was gone.

Your intentions were perfectly innocent, you just wanted to feel closer to her, and a pleased little hum escaped you when Wanda’s hand slipped from your hair and down your back, fingertips tracing patterns between your shoulder blades.

But your lips were awfully close to her neck in such a position, surely you couldn’t be blamed for being enticed by your girlfriend’s wonderfully soft skin.

Nosing down the line of her jaw, you slowly mouthed at the tender flesh within reach, not fully kissing or biting, just careful little motions meant to tease.

Wanda’s breathing hitched momentarily.

She didn’t acknowledge it, but the hand tracing your spine became firm in its touch, blunt nails digging against you just enough to be felt.

Feeling encouraged, you began to leave light kisses and bites, enamored with the way Wanda subtly shifted under you.

Ordinarily you’d be waiting to see how far you could go before she turned the tables and put you in your proper place, you weren’t much of a brat, you enjoyed being her good little dolly far too much, but you liked teasing her, getting her worked up and lusting, wanting . You knew how to dress and style yourself to catch her attention, the words and tone of voice that made a switch flip in her brain just as she knew all the same tricks to make you a pretty, obedient mess for her.

Tonight, however, tonight was different.

The entire day felt different, in fact, like there was a charge in the air, and you’d dismissed it as anticipation while you waited for Wanda to arrive home, but now you could feel it in her as well, simmering under the surface.

Finally, Wanda acknowledged your mischief. “And just what do you think you’re doing down there?” she asked softly, an accusation without its edge.

The words came out in a low rasp, hungry with intent, “just trying to make you feel good, mommy.”

A light flush came over Wanda’s face. “Is that right?” she asked.

Slowly her hand slid down to your hip, tracing the thin band of skin exposed by your top riding up.

You smiled and lowered your head, kissing the pulse point in her neck. “You work so hard for the world, for friends, and for me,” you murmured, trailing your lips up to the shell of Wanda’s ear. “Shouldn’t you be taken care of like the precious thing you are?”

Wanda sucked in a breath.

You expected to feel her hand tighten on you, nails digging in as she prepared to flip your over, and yet. The charge in the air felt like a current running between your bodies.

Purposefully, you rocked your hips against hers, biting your lip at the friction. “Would mommy like that?”

Her hips rocked back and the little whimper that escaped Wanda nearly sent your thoughts into a feral tailspin, a flash of heat warming your belly and sinking lower. “I’ve got you,” you said hurriedly, scattering kisses down her jaw. “You don’t have to worry about anything tonight. Please, let me make you feel good, mommy.”

Wanda shivered under you. “Go ahead, malyshka (baby girl) .”

You slipped your hand down her front and underneath the hem of her sweater, relishing the warmth of her skin as your fingers splayed against her stomach.

She arched, tilting her head back to give you more room, and you greedily took what she offered, licking a hot, wet stripe along the column of her throat.

Another whimper hit your ears and you all but growled against her skin, dragging your teeth against it with enough pressure to draw a soft groan out of her.

Every little shift made you painfully aware of how wet you were, the tingling rush of blood pulled to your lower body, the throb of your clit demanding attention–you pushed it out of mind.

Moving your hand down, your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her pajamas, relishing the way her hips canted to meet your touch, and you grinned upon finding your girlfriend in no better state than you. She was soaked, her cunt hot and sensitive as you gathered her wetness on your fingers and circled her clit.

Wanda shivered, opening her thighs to make room for you.

Her free hand sank into your hair but didn’t try to direct you, only pulling enough to make you look at her. Her face was flushed, her eyes dark and hazy in a way that almost reminded you of when lust overpowered her patience, only this was softer, needier.

Biting her lip, Wanda said, “Please, kiss me.”

A hot frisson ran down your spine and settled between your thighs at breathless quality to her voice, the urge to fuck her into the couch cushions almost intense enough to make you dizzy.

Smiling, you shifted until you were level with her, the hand between her legs slowly toying with her clit and drawing out those pretty little noises. “What was that, mommy?” you asked, far too innocently.

You added pressure when it looked like she was going to answer, her expression fracturing with pleasure, her moan swallowed by your lips.

The kiss was slow and deep, indulgent. Wanda welcomed the sweep of your tongue with a whine and an eager roll of her hips, needy hands trying to pull you closer yet she didn’t put any real strength into it.

It would take no effort for her to take control of the situation. That she didn’t made your heart swell, fluttering between protectiveness, love, and desire all over again.

You broke the kiss for air, propping your brow against hers. “Does mommy need my fingers inside her?”

“Yes, please, yes, malysh (baby) . Mommy needs you inside.”

“You’re so wet, is this all for me?”

Wanda bit her lip, rocking her hips in search of more. “Please, I need you,” she pleaded quietly.

You smiled, kissing her sweetly. “You’re so pretty when you beg for me, mommy.”

You didn’t let her say anything else, sinking two fingers into her pussy and scattering her thoughts to the wind, all focus falling to the delicious stretch of her walls and the grind of your palm against her clit. You could feel it pulsing against you, swollen and slick—your mouth watered.

Sinking your free hand into Wanda’s hair, you focused on the pace, listening to each and every sound she made as you pumped your fingers, curling them to hit the spot that had her twitching in your grasp.

The slap of your palm meeting her pussy left you almost breathless. You could feel wetness spreading on the inside of your thighs, your own cunt throbbing with need.

In want of a distraction, you growled and sank your teeth into Wanda’s neck, not hard enough to draw blood but definitely enough to leave a mark, and more than enough to send your girlfriend over the edge.

Clenching hard around your fingers, Wanda came with a loud, sharp moan, thighs shaking, hips jogging to ride out the waves of her orgasm by grinding her clit against your palm.

When she relaxed you gently pulled your hand free, sitting back a little so you could admire how slick it was.

You waited until her eyes fluttered open to suck your fingers clean, groaning at the taste.

Wanda wet her lips, dark eyes hooded. “You like how mommy tastes, malyshka ?” She husked, her accent thick as the translation to English became harder to remember. You couldn’t blame her, it was getting difficult for you too.

You nodded, fingers lingering at your lips. “I love how you taste, mommy,” you said, neediness creeping in. “I think I need more.”

Leaning down, you gently grasped Wanda’s chin between your thumb and index finger, meeting her in a slow, grounding kiss. “Would you like that, mommy?” You asked against her lips, tongue flicking out to tease them. “You want to cum in my mouth?”

Wanda nodded shakily and that was all you needed to slide off the couch and gently maneuver her to sit at the edge, pulling her pajama bottoms down her smooth, slender legs and tossing them aside.

You kneaded the muscles of her calves and moved up her thighs, scattering indulgent kisses across her skin that often devolved to bites and hickeys in a leisurely journey, delighting in each noise Wanda made, the way her hands sank into your hair for some semblance of stability.

She didn’t pull or try to control where you went, it was obvious she wanted to whenever her fingers tightened but then she just begged in breathless little whimpers, eyes boring into you, desperate and pleading.

You couldn’t possibly stay away for long.

At the first swipe of your tongue against her clit she jolted, head tilting back, nails digging into your scalp. You moaned at the taste of her, moving her thighs onto your shoulders and holding her hips.

The faint smell of snowdrop flowers and charcoal tinged the air as your energy seethed to the surface. It flowed out of your skin like oily smoke and rippled down your arms to coil around her waist, carefully securing her as she writhed in your grasp.

Wanda gasped at the chill of them on her overheated skin, eyes fluttering shut as wildly different sensations warred for her attention.

The tendrils snaked further, pushing her loose pajama top up just enough to expose her breasts and gently wrap around them, lazily teasing her hardened nipples.

Sinking down, you pushed your tongue as deep as it would go, your nose pressing against her clit. With her thighs around your head you could’ve sworn you could hear the blood rushing through her body. All you knew at that moment was heat and wetness, and a taste you couldn’t get enough of, savouring the way Wanda shivered and twitched with every flick of your tongue.

You could barely breathe and you didn’t care, your only goal was making her feel worshipped, as if you were dying of thirst and she were a fresh spring in the desert. You wanted Wanda to unravel and forget her own name, to trust that you had her and you weren’t letting go, that you would hold on so she didn’t have to.

English was no longer in reach but you knew the words falling from her lips in gasps and moans were full of praise, warming your gut and flooding your head with fog, leaving nothing but the desire to please.

Flattening your tongue, you eased your grip just enough to let her hips move, allowing Wanda to grind against you, her pace frantic and artless, feral. The throb of her clit on your tongue had you moaning and you dug your nails into her skin hard enough to bruise.

Wanda came with your name in her throat, low and strangled, desperate in its vulnerability. Her thighs shook, her back arched and you held her with firm, soothing touches, letting her ride it out on your tongue until she was too sensitive to continue, loose-limbed and panting.

Gently untangling yourself from her, you climbed up her body until you could straddle her lap, adjusting her top back into place, brushing loose hairs away from her brow until she caught her breath.

With a pleased groan, Wanda sat up.

She slipped an arm around your waist and brushed her thumb against her lips, taking in what a mess you were, hair askew and face slick with her cum, all with that same silly, besotted look on your face as before.

You knew your eyes were completely black now, only the faintest pinprick of sea green light piercing the darkness. Your loss of concentration in moments like these revealed your less human aspects, the pallor of your skin, your black eyes, the fading darkness that stained your hands and feet as if your limbs were dipped in ink.

Part of you still hated to see it, but not like this, not when she looked at you with so much love and adoration, meeting your abyssal stare as if you were the most heavenly thing she ever laid eyes on.

She kissed you softly, tasting herself on your tongue. “You did so well for mommy,” she whispered, squeezing your waist. “My lovely little shadow.”

Melting at her words, your chin dipped towards your chest, suddenly shy.

Wanda smirked lazily. “I think another shower is in order but I don’t think my legs will cooperate just yet. Would you carry me, malyshka ?”

Of all the things to make you blush tonight, scooping Wanda into your arms and carrying her upstairs felt almost childish compared to everything you just did to her, but that didn’t stop you from smiling the whole way.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda x reader #reader insert #wlw fanfic #wlw smut #wanda maximoff #lesbian #wanda smut #marvel smut #and now I flee in terror goodnight #series: Her Lovely Shadow

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loganjameshowlett · 1 month ago

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SWALLOWTAIL

01: PRAHA

pairing: joaquín torres/ex-widow!reader summary: sam, bucky, and joaquín find you with a proposal word count: 7.4k+ series masterlist | next installment

The man is unremarkable.

Slate hair on an expedition away from his forehead, though combed into a respectable style. Grey-blue eyes as murky and opaque as the waters of the Vltava. A long face, sharp chin angled into the upturned collar of his dark jacket. The café is crowded, and he does not strike you as particularly observant, sitting as he is with his eyes on his latte and a yellowed paperback whose cover has been half torn off. Foolish. New to the game, perhaps, though that is hard to picture, given his age. Maybe just new to the field. A desk jockey on his first field assignment. Could be a midlife crisis situation, you muse. Easy money, whatever the case. Laughable.

But then again, you’d take laughable gratefully after the ringer the last few had put you through.

He had made his way into the café two hours ago, and was still nursing the same cup of coffee he ordered when he came in. He rarely changed positions, skinny left leg thrown crossed over the right at the knee, elbows decorously kept off the table even as he held his book up in front of his face. He bored you within five minutes of watching him. Within three, you had realized he wouldn’t need very close watching at all, and you allowed yourself the luxury of letting your mind wander away from your mark. The couple at the table to your left was arguing in Czech– he had promised to accompany her on a trip to Sofia to visit her family and was now trying to beg off due to work– and the old man with cute tortoiseshell glasses a few tables in front of you was talking warmly to his grandchildren in gravelly-voiced Italian. The couple argued for the better part of an hour, which, at least, helped you pass the time.

When the unremarkable man stands from his unremarkable table inside of this unremarkable café beneath the watchful shadow of Prague Castle, you drain the rest of your mug. The door doesn’t have time to close before you’ve slipped out behind him. The man tracks down the road with his hands in his pocket, and boards a tram headed down the hill and across the river into the heart of Old Town. He sits in the front– you can’t believe your eyes when he hardly glances at the other passengers before sitting down– and you sit in the back, head catty cornered in the curve of the wall in order to watch him and everyone else.

The Red Room hasn’t caught onto the fact that you’ve made base in Prague, as far as you know. Most of your work you did outside of the city, and largely outside of Czechia altogether. Frankly, it annoyed you that one of theirs was toddling around your city, and such an obvious dunce at that. Though it did make the job easier. Less travel, if nothing else.

He gets off the tram in Old Town and starts ambling his way toward the Astronomical Clock. Heading towards the most touristy piazza in the city. Obvious, but not a bad move. Would be easier for him to lose a tail there than in most other parts of the city. It also, fortunately for you, made your job a lot easier.

The Red Room hadn’t entrusted him with any crucial information, obviously. They did this kind of thing sometimes, letting a desk jockey get the taste of the field when they had something menial that needed to get done and didn’t care if the operative got themselves killed. Usually low level information trade offs between Widow handlers, which is exactly what Unremarkable Man is doing in your city. It boiled down to glorified elementary school note passing, essentially. But the coded message he was carrying on a usb hung like dog tags around his neck would tell you where Solenne Rousseau would be carrying out her next mission. And with any luck, you’d be there to intercept and break her conditioning.

Seven ex-Widows were free to move about the world as they liked, armed with new identities and new lives, because of the work you’d been doing since you became a free agent two years ago. Your extensive knowledge of how the Red Room operated, even if said knowledge is a little dated these days, made your attempts to break Widow brainwashing more successful than other’s; your brief time working with SHIELD before they imploded gave you the skills and connections you needed to spirit the newly freed women away to lives where they can make their own choices and live in relative safety. The work was never done– The Red Room stole and trained up little girls faster than you could blink– but it’s the only worthwhile thing you could think to do with your life. Especially now, free from the Red Room as you are but severed from the only people you had come to trust since your Widow days.

In the thick of the crowd beneath the astronomical clock, it is easy for you to sidle right up to Unremarkable Man’s back. Your fingers are swift as they unclip the chain around his neck, and you nudge him into the path of a large group of French tourists. Their disgruntled jostling and sidestepping allows you to pull the usb and chain out from beneath his sweater without his noticing. Within seconds, the crowd has swelled between the two of you, taking you out of the range of his sight. In another few seconds, you’re out of the square entirely, taking a meandering route home. It’s a beautiful day after all, unseasonably warm for early spring, and with the day’s one task being such a cinch, you had a stretch of languid time to actually enjoy it.

You rent a two-room flat in Prague 2, close enough to your favorite part of the city, Old Town, without having to deal with the worst of the thronging tourists. The street is cobbled and tree-lined, and the building a pleasantly bright, white-painted limestone. Kids fill it with laughter and shouting on their way home from school every day, and your windows get full sun. You’ve spent the last six months trying to convince your mind to see the place as home after more than fifteen years without one, but you’re starting to think that home might be a concept too alien for you to comprehend.

You are six blocks away from your building when things start to feel wrong.

A prickle on the back of your neck, the unmistakable feeling of someone watching you. The street was just busy enough to mask anyone obviously following you at a quick glance, and looking about any more thoroughly than that would tip off any pursuers that you were onto them, so no can do. Maintaining a leisurely pace, you take a left, moving away from your building and towards a shopping street that you know is always crowded.

You’ve considered this scenario before, of course. Being who you are, it was only a matter of time before someone came after you. You try to keep on the move, lay low, continuously update your cache of false documents. The mistake you made was deciding that you could stay in Prague just because you like it. Just because it felt like a place you could one day think of as your own. Even rookies know that staying put might as well be a death sentence. Is it the Red Room closing in on you now? Somebody you went after in your SHIELD days?

The possibilities twist through your mind in a tumult as you use the crowd for cover from your pursuer. You slip into a deli that you know has a back exit, emptying into a wide alley inhabited by dumpsters and questionable puddles. You meld into the shadows at the back of the alley just in time for the door you just came out of to bang open once again. Three men pour out onto the cobblestones, taking a few steps before realizing that the freedom of direction once leaving the alley would make their mark impossible to follow now.

It takes a second for you to place the taller two, but once you do, you sigh, hand dropping from the gun holstered beneath your jacket.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?” you ask, stepping forward and crossing your arms over your chest. All three men whip around to face you. The dark-haired one all the way to the left hisses out a shit, hand coming up to his heart.

“Good to see you, too,” Sam Wilson says, your name warm and bright from his mouth. You scowl.

“Wilson. Barnes. Did you come all the way to Europe just to stalk me through my neighborhood?” You ask, leveling a decidedly unimpressed stare at the pair of them, and the wide-eyed kid they seemed to have acquired since the last time you saw them.

“We need to talk,” Bucky says, face and voice serious. You’ve always appreciated his ability to cut right to the chase. “And not in this alley.”

You have known Sam and Bucky to historically get into some bullshit, but you also know they wouldn’t have come all the way to Czechia if it wasn’t dire. It’s probably something you don’t want to hear. Something that will distract you from your own work, almost assuredly. Unfortunately, they are also two of the only people you still currently trust on Earth, and for that they deserve an audience, if nothing else.

“Fine,” you decide. “Come on.”

—

Your flat is the most airtight place you could take them to talk, but that’s not saying much. You sweep it regularly, of course: no bugs, no cameras. You looked into all of your neighbors when you moved in, and you do as extensive a dive as you can into each person that moves in after you. Still, it’s an old Central European apartment building. The walls are thin, and anyway, you’re only one person. Thorough as you are, there’s always the chance that you missed something.

But there isn’t a better alternative, so you herd the three men up four flights of stairs and into your tiny apartment. The tall ceilings help to accommodate them, but even so, you feel kind of squished. You’ve never had so many people in here before. You’ve never had anyone in here before.

“This the kid wearing your old wings?” you ask Sam, gesturing at Brown Eyes, who had immediately begun pacing the limited floor space upon entering your apartment, clearly brimming with unshed energy. His steps falter with your question, and he casts a startled kind of glance over at Sam.

“You keeping tabs on me?” Sam asks, voice sly.

“You’re Captain fucking America, Sam. I’d have to work harder to not know what you’re up to.”

“That’s Joaquín Torres, and yes, he does wear the wings now,” Sam says.

“Nice to meet you,” Joaquín says brightly, extending a hand. You glance down at it and then back up to his face, before relenting to one curt shake. “I don’t just wear the wings, I’m the new Falcon.”

“No, you’re not,” Sam interjects.

You tell Joaquín your name, trying out the whole polite, small talk thing he seems pretty eager to partake in. “They call me Swallowtail in the field.”

It was a name Maria Hill had given you, after breaking your Red Room conditioning and taking you under her wing at SHIELD, however briefly. You wear it with a pride not reserved for many other things.

“Oh, shit, you’re Swallowtail?” Joaquín asks, eyes widening. “The ops you did with Agent Hill are legendary, dude. It’s an honor.”

Your eyes narrow at him as you try to assess, for about the half-dozenth time since he busted into the alley, what his deal is. Giving up the ghost, you set your sights on Bucky instead. “What are you doing here?”

“We need your help,” he says, and the gravity of his tone stops the first response that comes to your head from actually leaving your mouth. They deserved to at least have you hear them out, you had decided. You’ll follow through on that, even if you are already bursting to just say no and be done with it.

“A piece of modified Stark technology resurfaced a few days ago,” Sam starts in. “The Aetos Device. Heard of it?”

When you shake your head in the negative, he carries on. “Stark thought it up during the very early Iron Man days. It’s a power nullifier– disrupts essentially any kind of power, from Hulk’s gamma radiation situation, to newly-awakened Inhuman genes, to every kind of mutation a mutant could be born with. In the end, Tony never built it– too much like playing God even for him, I guess– but the schematics were recently discovered to be among several dozen stolen by HYDRA during their infiltration of SHIELD.”

“Two nights ago, a teenage mutant was killed with the device as part of a demonstration for prospective buyers,” Bucky cuts in. “His mutation was too essential to the basic workings of his biology, so it didn’t just depower him– it murdered him. Slowly and painfully. They watched as he suffered a deadly heart attack in front of them.”

Your chest constricts at the thought. The ability to depower any superhero at any time is enough to bring the world to a halt, or give Hydra the upper hand they would need to take over the world, or whatever it is they want to do these days. But the effect the device had on this mutant? Hydra could deploy a mutant genocide at any time.

“The three of you are hunting it down?” you ask, surfacing from your thoughts.

“Hoping it’ll be the four of us,” Sam answers. “None of us have powers, which gives us an advantage. They can’t take our skill sets away– it has to be us. You have the most active connections and up-to-date intel on the happenings in Europe, too, which we’ll need. My source tracked someone useful to us right here, in Prague.”

“You know I don’t do teams, Sam.”

“Seems like a waste,” Joaquín says pointedly. His body language– arms crossed over his chest, chin dipped so he’s looking down his nose at you– makes you want to squirm. You know what he’s thinking, and he’d be right: no hero like the ones he’s used to would do anything in this situation except climb aboard right away. To do anything else would be selfish.

“We know how you feel about teams,” Sam cedes.

“So, then–” you start, but Bucky cuts you off.

“You trusted us before. Helped us out of more than a few binds when we were on the run. It wasn’t that long ago that we had each other’s backs. Seems kind of like a team, doesn’t it?”

“I could’ve left you idiots to fend for yourselves,” you say, feeling defensive.

“But you didn’t,” Sam responds, like you’re making his point for him. “And being a member of a team didn’t kill you then, did it?”

A beat of silence as you glare at each of them in turn, thinking.

“I think you wanna help,” Sam declares.

“Oh yeah, seems like historically you do wanna help,” Joaquín tacks on.

“Fine,” you say, stepping towards Sam and jabbing your pointer finger at him. “One mission. Then I go back to what I’ve been doing here.”

“One mission,” Sam echoes, looking at you with that stupid smile on his face.

—

It only took about ten more minutes to decide that you wanted to punch Sam Wilson in the head.

Your simple question of what next? was met with the admission that the intel they were working with and the safehouse they were working out of were both courtesy of Contessa de Fontaine. Not exactly the most trustworthy fucking person to rely on for information or safety of any kind, no matter what excuses came out of Sam’s mouth.

“I am well aware of the Contessa’s past. I don’t even trust her as far as I can throw her, believe me, but her intel hasn’t led us astray once,” Sam defends. The angrier you look, the less able to stop talking he seems to be. Good, you’d like to sit here and see how he tries to talk himself out of this one.

“You’ve relied on her intel how many times?” you ask. Bucky shoots you a stern look in the rearview mirror of the car they had led you to once you agreed to join up, like he’s asking you to let up a little on Sam. Not a fucking chance.

“A few! It’s been accurate every time. There’s no reason to think this time would be different.”

“It’s fucking stupid is what it is,” you mutter. Outside the tinted window, the crowded streets of red-roofed buildings thin into newer, sadder looking apartment blocks. Prague holds more charm than it knows what to do with usually, but sometimes this sad, Soviet remnant peaks through in communist architecture, or a certain feeling tied to a sparse, gray-skied winter day. Despite the sun, you’re feeling grim.

Joaquín shifts from the other side of the back seat, scooting forward and reaching over the console to turn the radio on, twirling the volume knob until some obnoxious slavic pop song fills the taut silence. He offers a sheepish smile and a shrug in return to the look you shoot him as he settles back into his seat.

Guess we’re done talking about that, then.

The safehouse is in a largely derelict apartment building on the outskirts of the city, close, Bucky tells you, to the private airstrip where things will be going down later in the night. The plan seems pretty simple: Jan Novotny, a pretty well-known black market arms dealer, is meeting a mysterious buyer who the Contessa claims has information on the Aetos Device. Apparently Joaquín is some kind of tech genius, and all the four of you need to do is get into the hangar, incapacitate the mysterious buyer’s guards long enough to copy shit over from his drive, and get out. With any luck, the guy will have the Aetos Device’s location stored somewhere on his drive, and the rest of the mission will be as straightforward as going and getting it.

“Seems like a longshot,” you say, when they finish explaining the plan. Your voice echoes in the apartment, which is mostly empty except for a table strewn with various supplies and a makeshift tech center you assume is for Joaquín set up haphazardly in the corner.

“Maybe, but we don’t have anything better,” Bucky says. “The guy’s not gonna have the device on him. Getting the intel like this is our most pain-free option, and will hopefully let us continue flying under the radar for a little while longer.”

“Right,” you nod. “Then we better make sure to stay under the radar tonight. If they realize we’re on them it might spook them into changing their plans and moving the device faster.”

“Why do I feel like you’re saying that because you don’t think we can manage incognito?” Sam asks.

You raise an eyebrow, looking at him and Bucky in turn. “I remember Linz. And Basel. Do you?”

“Touché,” Sam cedes. “We have a few hours to kill until we can gear up and get going.”

“I want the–” Before you can finish your sentence, Bucky is already thrusting a manila folder, the edges dotted with silver paper clips, toward you. You take it with a thank you, flipping it open immediately. The intel is sparse, only a dozen papers inside at most. A few CCTV stills printed on glossy paper are paper clipped to the front of the folder, and a rundown on Novotny complete with a mugshot of his long, scar-pocked face waits for you at the top of the pile. Glancing up, you spot a dingy plastic chair shoved haphazardly against the wall near the tech set up, and you cross the room in a few quick strides, planting yourself on the seat. You’re hoping to commit most of this stuff to memory before you get out in the field.

A few minutes later, Joaquín settles down in front of the field laptop and turns it on. The screen’s glow is the brightest thing in the dank apartment, and washes the plains of his face in pale blue. Every couple of minutes or so, you feel his eyes shift from the screen to you, lingering a few moments before turning back to whatever he is tapping away at. The fifth time he does this, you look up and meet his eyes. He freezes for a moment before glancing back at his screen, that same sheepish smile from the car spreading across his face. In the screen glow, you can just barely see the heat in his cheeks.

A few minutes later, Joaquín seems to finish whatever he was doing on the computer. Across the room, Sam and Bucky are bickering about something while Bucky cleans a gun and Sam leisurely packs things from the table into a compact duffel bag. Joaquín’s hands go to his lap, his right foot tapping rhythmically on the floor. His fidgety energy has your hackles up for no good reason.

“What was it like, working with Maria Hill?” Joaquín asks suddenly. You glance up at his face– open and expectant– before glancing down at the page you are in the middle of reading, and then back up at him again. His brown eyes seem to literally be sparkling despite the lack of real light in the room.

You apparently sit silently for too long, because Joaquín presses onward. “I mean, she’s like, mythological. Is she really that much of a badass?”

“I doubt that the things you’ve heard even come close to the truth of Agent Hill,” you tell him, before pointedly returning your eyes to the intel in your hands.

“Cool,” Joaquín says, voice colored by genuine awe. You can feel him wanting to ask more questions, but your eyes stay studiously on the folder in front of you. Eventually he gives up, standing and joining Bucky and Sam over by the gear.

When you finish reading, you snap the folder shut and stand, joining the rest of them. You hand it back to Bucky, who, in turn, hands you a pistol with a silencer affixed to the muzzle. You nod to him, grabbing a thigh holster from the mess of things on the table.

The boys are loud as they gear up for the mission, banter coming easily and non-stop between them. You stand to the side, fastening the pistol holster over your clothes and checking that your throwing knives are all present and accounted for. You observe them as you do this: the way Joaquín manages to pull a small smile out of Bucky, the casual, affectionate touches Bucky and Sam share. Sam ruffles Joaquín’s hair, and Joaquín elbows him toothlessly in the stomach in return. It all feels… well, kind of foreign to you. Maria was the best mentor you could have asked for and you wouldn’t change a thing about your time with her, but, like her mentor before her, she was always rather distant. Eyes on the mission, always. It’s the reason she was so good at her job, but it didn’t make much room for bonding moments between the two of you. Not that you were ever trying to bridge that gap. The only social skills the Red Room ever taught you were the fraudulent kind, meant to snare marks and do little else. The trio seem to catch onto your uneasiness, because they don’t try to touch you or tease you or fold you into their easy rapport. Fastening the pistol into its holster, you steadfastly ignore the part of you that wishes they would.

—

The airstrip is small, just a hangar with a couple small planes parked on the tarmac and a singular runway. It’s nestled within a group of fields still halfway dry and winter-yellow. The city lights wink along the horizon, all the warmth Prague has to offer out of reach. The group of you had walked two miles in the dark from the safehouse to get here, a feat that was much easier for Bucky and yourself than it was for Sam and Joaquín, burdened by the Captain and Falcon suits as they are. Joaquín had spent the entire walk complaining about how heavy the wing pack got after five minutes of wearing it, and Sam had begun threatening to relieve him of his duties before the apartment building was even out of sight.

“Okay, you two need to shut up now,” you say, voice low as you turn to face them in the dark. “Sam, you’re hanging back in the treeline, ready to provide aerial support if we need it. Buck, you’re scouting ahead so we know what to expect. The buyer’s plane is the only black one on the tarmac, and lucky for us, it looks to be parked farther away from the mouth of the hangar. Joaquín and I should be able to get in with minimal fuss and get in and out with the intel. We clear?”

“Yes ma’am,” Joaquín says, and you roll your eyes.

“Don’t get yourselves killed,” Sam says, already walking backwards toward the seam where field meets forest.

“Bucky’ll make sure we don’t,” you assure Sam. “I intend to put that metal arm to good use.” Sam laughs, and turns his back on the three of you, moving to assume position. Bucky heads toward the hangar next, while you and Joaquín hang back, waiting to hear what to expect.

Next to you, Joaquín rocks steadily from heels to toes, orange visor alternating between catching his face in the moonlight and hiding it in the shadows. When he catches you staring he cocks his head to the side, observing you right back.

“Jus’ a little nervous. Aren’t you?” he asks.

“I am not,” you reply, sweeping your gaze back toward the airstrip.

“Come on, everyone gets nervous,” Joaquín insists.

“The last time I was nervous before a mission, Mother locked me in solitary confinement for three days as punishment for my hesitation. I don’t get nervous anymore,” you tell him. Before he can reply, Bucky’s voice crackles to life in your earpiece, alerting the two of you that there are two guards stationed within and directly outside of the buyer’s plane. You nod and immediately start heading for the airstrip, but you can feel Joaquín’s eyes on you all the while.

Only about half of the lights seem to be on in the hangar and on the tarmac, casting the whole business half in shadow. A smallish group of people cluster within the hanger– you assume it’s where the deal is going down. Large, imposing men with larger guns loosely clutched in their hands mill about between the planes. It is immediately clear to you that the present company does not expect any surprises, and the guns and guards are more about showing off might than anything else.

You move forward, quick and silent in the dark, trusting that Joaquín will be behind you. He makes more noise than you, what with the wing pack, but not enough to get you into trouble. You dodge through the shadows until you are within a few dozen feet of the black plane. At this point you stop and pull Joaquín down with you behind a stack of crates. You need to observe the buyer’s guards for a few moments, get your bearings with who they are and what to expect before you jump in.

Beside you, Joaquín is watching you again. You kind of respect that he doesn’t try to hide his curious observations, and strangely, having his eyes on you is already starting to feel run of the mill.

“You always look at people like you’re trying to decide whether to disappear or stick a knife in their ribs,” he voices, though the words are pitched low enough you know that nobody else will hear him.

Because I am. “Guess which one I’m thinking when I look at you,” you mutter, but the words lack any real bite.

He grins. “You’ll warm up to me.”

“Maybe if you don’t kill us first with the yapping on the job,” you respond, turning around to shoot a glare in his direction. Really, all the talking is bad form. You assume Joaquín is more used to being up in the air with Sam these days than pulling any kind of stealth on the ground.

The two men stationed at the bottom of the plane’s stairs are more fat than muscle– all you and Joaquín will need to do is come up behind them and administer a handy little nerve pinch. They’ll be down for the count long enough for you to get in and get out, and quietly, too. You hope. You can’t get a good look at the pair inside the plane, but you should be able to use surprise and the close quarters to your advantage. You share as much with Joaquín.

“Dibs on the baldy,” Joaquín says, and that’s that. You glance back at him once more to make sure he’s ready, before melting backwards into the shadows at the edges of the tarmac. You take the long way around the plane, ducking beneath the smooth cylinder of its body until you are directly behind the pair of guards. Quick as a cat, you reach around him and pinch his ulnar nerve, hard. As he goes down, you grab his gun before it can clatter to the asphalt. Joaquín’s bald man drops to the ground a moment later, Joaquín nearly tripping on the man’s legs as he struggles to yank up the gun before it can make any noise. When he catches your unimpressed face, he sends you a wordless thumbs-up.

You mount the short flight of stairs up into the private jet first, pausing a few steps up until Joaquín is right behind you. You can see a shadow moving in the light of the cabin, indicating a guard on your left hand side, but you can’t see where the other one is. You pause for a moment, waiting to see if the other guard telegraphs their location, but you’re not lucky enough for that.

“Go left. I got your six,”Joaquín says, voice a low murmur over your shoulder. You nod once and resume your ascent. It’s nice, you suppose– you might be going in half blind, but you’re not alone this time. Not like you usually are. And goofy as he is, your gut has been telling you that you can trust him basically since you met him. No better time than the present to test out if the feeling’s right or not.

You move quickly once you get to the doorway: the first guard is seemingly on his way to the seats further down the cabin when he comes face-to-face with you. Shock flits across his features, but before he can do anything more, you grab the long body of his gun and ram the butt into the underside of his jaw, hard. Stunned, he takes a faltering step back, and you take the opportunity of his janky equilibrium to grab the gun and use it to spin him around. Once he’s facing away from you, disoriented, it’s easy to pull the gun up against his throat with both hands and choke him out. He drops like a sack of potatoes.

You didn’t see the second guard standing at the bar behind him until he dropped, and by the time you have eyes on him, he has his gun trained on you. There’s no time to think, and muscle memory moves your dominant hand to your shoulder sheath. A second later, your throwing knife finds its mark in the hollow of the guy’s throat, and he goes down. You sigh and move further into the cabin, stepping over the incapacitated one to dislodge your knife from the dying man’s throat. You wipe his blood off the blade on the fabric of his pants and resheath it.

When you turn around, Joaquín is looking at you, mouth slightly agape behind that stupid orange visor. And there you go again, hackles back up like you have something to prove. When he trains his gaze on you like this, you find that it feels like he’s looking inside of you, at all the blood-soaked bits hidden away in the dark.

“He would have shot me,” you say sharply, feeling bizarrely desperate to explain and pissed that you’re explaining anything all at once.

Joaquín holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “That was so badass,” he says, and there’s something like awe in his voice.

“Can you go do what you need to do so we can get out of here before I have to kill anyone else?” you ask, gesturing behind him. There’s an expensive looking laptop on one of the plush seats that you’re sure must be the buyers.

“Oh! Right, yeah,” Joaquín nods. He turns from you and heads down the aisle, dropping into one of the seats and opening the laptop, before producing a small drive from somewhere in his suit and jabbing it into one of the laptop’s side ports. You glance out one of the small windows: from what you can see, things still seem business as usual over by the hangar. For the moment, at least. But you can feel the clock ticking.

“How long is this going to take?” you ask, turning back to the cabin’s interior and taking a couple steps toward Joaquín.

“Not too long, if– yes, there we go,” he mutters, more to himself than you as his fingers clatter across the keyboard. He pauses to turn his face up and shoot you a teasing smirk that is far too reminiscent of Sam’s. “Would go faster if you don’t ask questions, though.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest and turning away from him to keep an eye on the door.

Half a minute later, your comm unit crackles to life in your ear, and Sam’s voice comes ringing through. “Shit, guys, you got company. Coming in from the west.”

“I have eyes on ‘em– they’re comin’ in hot, we gotta get out of here now,” Bucky responds, voice grim and urgent. You turn around in time to see Joaquín pulling the usb from the laptop and secreting it back into his suit.

“I got what we came for,” he says into his comm. “Swallowtail and I are out. Heading for the rendezvous point.”

With confirmation that the job is done, you pick your way back to the door. Before you can even glance outside, you hear rapid gunfire far too close for comfort. You veer to the side of the door and opt for looking out windows on either side of the plane first, trying to get your bearings.

“I see at least ten or twelve of them moving toward the hangar. Machine guns, all of ‘em,” you report to Joaquín.

His face is grimmer than you’ve ever seen it. “We’re gonna have to make a run for it. Once we’re far enough, I can fly us out without getting us both shot down and killed.”

“Hang on–” you start, but Joaquín is already in the doorway and counting down from five. You get behind him, ready for the two of you to stay close and move fast.

Down on the tarmac, gunfire lights up the night. All of the guards who had previously been milling around the planes are gone, running to the chaos near the hangar. Good for the two of you– should make slipping away a little easier. You’re a little more reckless this time around, Joaquín foregoing the shadows you had traveled through previously for a more straightforward path. All you need to do is get to the treeline at the edge of the tarmac; the rendezvous point is a little further into the woods, but it will be a lot harder for any of these goons to follow you or shoot you through the darkness of the nighttime forest.

But to get there, you first have to pass by the heart of the fighting.

If you have any luck, everything going on will be too much for anyone to notice the two of you fleeing. But there’s a lot of guys on the field, and Joaquín isn’t exactly dressed in an incognito way.

You’re almost there when a man shouts something in Czech. You only half catch it through the other noise, but you’re sure he’s talking about the two of you, calling attention to your escape. You turn to look behind you even as you keep running: there’s a black-suited man with a machine gun bounding down the steps of a private jet far closer to the two of you than the rest of the fighting. Within shooting range.

Time slows as you watch the man turn the machine gun on the pair of you. You’ve done a lot of death-defying things in the past, a lot of turning up broken but breathing when you should be six feet under, but you’re out in the wide open with a machine gun pointed at you fifty feet away. In the stretched out fraction of a second, you think you should start trying to accept death before you meet it.

The machine gun starts shooting. You scrunch your eyes closed, not even able to find it within yourself to hate the cowardice of not meeting your death in the eye. But no bullets find your flesh. Dazed from the adrenaline and confused by the fact that you’re still alive, you crack your eyes open and are met with a slate of gray in front of you instead of the tarmac. It takes a second for you to realize that it’s one of Joaquín’s wings, slammed down and embedded in the asphalt, the only thing standing between yourself and gruesome death.

Joaquín’s face is inches away from your own when you turn around, pale and drawn, his brown eyes wide. You’re both breathing heavily, and one of Joaquín’s arms is curled protectively around you, making sure to keep you behind the shield of his wing.

“Hold onto me and do not let go,” he instructs, his voice clearer and more commanding than it’s been all day. You comply wordlessly, locking your arms around his neck and ducking your head to his shoulder. You can feel the quick but steady thread of his pulse where your temple is pressed against the hot skin of his neck. As soon as both of his arms are fastened securely around your waist, he turns away from the gunfight and launches you into the air.

The feeling of sudden weightlessness sends your stomach into your throat and you cling tighter to Joaquín, eyes shut tightly against the frigid rush of the wind. Considering you haven’t been shot out of the air already, you have to assume Joaquín has taken you way high, way fast. You don’t actually want to know how true that is, so you opt to keep your eyes shut.

“We’re good, okay?” Joaquín’s voice comes in crisply through your earpiece despite the strength of the wind. “I got you.”

You nod against his neck, feeling a little frantic. The flying thing right after the almost being shot to death thing was doing a lot for your complete discombobulation.

“Sam, we’re coming into the rendezvous site aerially. Thirty seconds out,” Joaquín says into the comms. You hear Sam’s voice come through, but you don’t catch what he sees with how intensely you’re focusing on not throwing up on the Falcon suit. Despite all your training, sudden, violent movements have never exactly agreed with your composition.

As promised, roughly thirty seconds later you feel a dip that must indicate Joaquín is descending. The actual landing is much gentler than you expect; Joaquín takes the brunt of it before setting you on your own feet. You take a reflective step back from once your feet touch the ground, but being not entirely oriented, you stumble a half step. Joaquín’s hands tighten on your waist for a moment, making sure you can remain steady on your own before he withdraws.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah. Thank you for that,” you nod, finally starting to feel normal again now that you’re out of the air.

“You two alright?” Bucky asks, emerging through the trees to the right of you. You can see the brighter colors of Sam’s suit a few paces behind him.

You nod again. “Joaquín saved both our asses. We’re okay.”

“Attaboy,” Sam says, clearly trying to lighten the mood after such a near-miss, but the relief on his face is palpable.

“Just all in a day’s work for the Falcon, am I right?” he asks Sam, who rolls his eyes.

“Don’t push your luck, Torres.”

You’re all in for quite the walk back to the safehouse, the roundabout, forested route about twice as long as the one you took to get to the airstrip. It’s worth it to make sure none of the machine gun-toting goons are able to track you back, but the adrenaline crash after almost dying makes it tough. Sam leads the way and Bucky brings up the rear, with you and Joaquín trudging along in the middle of the formation. The silence between all of you is taut but not tense, as you listen for any signs of pursuit amidst the bucolic noises of the spring night. After a mile or so, you’re pretty sure the four of you are in the clear.

“So, the throwing knives,” Joaquín says, the first words spoken for over twenty minutes. “They’re your ‘thing’?”

“I’m trained expertly in over two dozen forms of weapons,” you inform him.

“Yeah, but you had the knives on you today before we even found you. They’re totally your favorite.”

You shrug. “They’re easy to conceal and cheap to replace.”

“Good reasons for favoritism,” Joaquín nods sagely. He has taken his helmet off, and the damp waves of his dark hair catch and reflect the bright moonlight. Surprisingly, Joaquín’s idle chatter seems to immediately work on subduing your post-near-death experience anxiety. Usually, you’d sooner knock someone out cold and drag them back to the safehouse than endure all this conversation. The response raises all kinds of red flags in your brain.

—

It’s well into the night by the time you finally reach the safehouse. Joaquín looks like he could drop where he stands, which doesn’t stop Sam from putting him to work straight away.

“Start running that information through our filters now. We need the device’s location,” Sam commands him. Joaquín lets out a tired sigh, but nods nonetheless. He frees himself from the wing pack, dropping it and his helmet on the table in the center of the room before settling down in front of his tech station. As he begins to work, Sam and Bucky start shedding gear on the table and methodically packing it into duffel bags. You opt to keep your throwing knives, of course– they essentially never leave your person– and the pistol Bucky had given you earlier in the day.

“Got it!” Joaquín says, then cows himself as if shocked by his own volume. “Vienna. The device and its schematics were last tracked to Vienna, but it’s not there anymore. There’s details of a deal that went down less than forty-eight hours ago. A man by the name of Anton Babjak is identified as the buyer.”

“Babjak,” you mutter, gathering the name in your thoughts. “He’s known as the Bobcat in darker circles. He was an assassin back in the day, but he’s been operating solely as an arms dealer since I joined with SHIELD, as far as I know.”

“We need to figure out his next move,” Sam says, face serious as you’ve ever seen it.

“I know someone who can help. We need to go to Madripoor,” you announce.

#joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres #marvel #marvel x reader #the falcon x reader #sam wilson #captain america #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #TFATWS

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brainmaggotzzzz · 3 months ago

Text

The Savior~

hwang inho x fem reader

summary: the troubled yn is saved by and guided by officer Hwang, the two of them developing a special bond, but when he thought she's dead, he went into the games unaware that she's searching for him

content warning: abuse, death, violence, illness

Desperation had shaped your life. It wasn’t that you were a bad person—you were simply trapped in bad circumstances. As a child, you endured an abusive home, where hunger gnawed at you constantly because your father squandered every bit of government assistance on alcohol. He was a violent drunk, his rage erupting in slaps, drunken screams, and the shattering of bottles against the walls. You held on as long as you could, but by sixteen, you couldn't take it anymore. You had no job, no way to support yourself, and no escape from the cycle of pain—except to run.

And so, you did.

Homeless and desperate, you met your so-called savior: an intimidating man, his body inked with tattoos, his frame thick with muscle. When he approached, you braced yourself, wary of his intentions. But his offer was better than the streets—better than sleeping under bridges or scavenging for food. He took you in, gave you shelter, filled your stomach, and surrounded you with others like you. In return, all you had to do was steal for him.

For a while, it worked. Until it didn’t.

When the authorities finally caught wind of your “operation,” they came in full force. Police sirens howled as squad cars flooded the streets around your hideout. You ran, not daring to look back, feet pounding against pavement as adrenaline and fear pushed you forward.

Then, you stood on the edge of a bridge, cigarette burning between your fingers, staring down at the waters below. The height is dizzying, terrifying. And yet, in this moment of utter desperation, it almost seems... inviting.

“Kid.”

A voice cuts through the night. You don’t bother turning around.

“Piss off. I’m nineteen, not a kid,” you snap, exhaling a stream of smoke into the cold air. The wind whips through your hair, carrying the scent of damp concrete and river mist. The thick fog rolling off the water blurs the city lights behind you, wrapping the world in an eerie, muted haze.

Suddenly, a strong hand grips your arm, yanking you away from the edge.

“What the fuck?!” you gasp, stumbling back.

“Police,” he says evenly. His tone is calm, almost too casual for the situation. His gaze drags over you, assessing. Your oversized clothes hang loose on your frame, the fabric frayed and stained from too many nights spent outside. Your shoes are scuffed, the soles worn thin. Anyone with eyes could tell you don’t have a place to go.

“I can’t go back to my family,” you mutter, breath hitching.

“You’re nineteen, right? There are other places you can go.”

“Like what?” you scoff, voice dripping with bitterness. The world had never been generous with its options.

“For starters, you could come with me.” His lips twitch into a small, almost hesitant smile.

Your eyes narrow. “Show me your fucking badge, pimp.”

Without hesitation, he pulls it out and holds it up for you to see. The metal catches the dim glow of the streetlights.

"Officer Hwang Inho."

You glance up at him, wary. He’s tall, with broad shoulders that fill out his dark jacket. His posture is relaxed but firm, the kind of stance that says he’s used to control, used to getting his way. A faint scar cuts across his jawline, barely noticeable under the shadow of stubble. Even if he weren’t armed—and he probably is—he looks strong enough to handle someone like you without breaking a sweat.

Not that you have much of a choice.

◇

He took you out to eat first, settling you into the warmth of a small, dimly lit restaurant. The scent of sizzling oil and spices filled the air as a steaming bowl of black bean noodles was placed in front of you. You eyed it warily, stomach twisting with both hunger and suspicion.

Across from you, he sat with his arms crossed, watching your every move with a steady, unreadable expression.

“Eat. It’s not poisoned,” he said, his voice even, yet edged with dry amusement. The dim light cast sharp shadows on his face, highlighting the tired lines around his eyes—eyes that had probably seen too much.

You hesitated before taking a cautious bite. The rich, savory sauce coated your tongue, and before you knew it, you were eating faster than you intended.

“You seem to be in difficult circumstances,” he noted, his gaze never leaving you. His voice was calm, measured—like he was trying to keep you from running.

“Sherlock,” you muttered through a mouthful of noodles.

“Smart mouth,” he said, shaking his head slightly, but there was no real bite behind it. You laughed, short and sharp.

“Well, no shit. My dad’s a drunk who beat me, and my mom—she’s just as bad. Everything is shit. What else was I supposed to do? I found community, a family. And your kind took that from me,” you snapped, your appetite suddenly fading.

“A family that only valued you for what you could steal for them? That’s not what family is about,” he said, his voice softer now, but firm. There was something in his eyes—something like understanding, but not quite.

You let out a bitter laugh, pushing your bowl away.

“Then I’m an orphan.”

◇

He wasn’t a bad cop. Nor was he pitying you. He simply saw through you—past the anger, the defiance, the sharp edges you wielded like armor. He saw that you weren’t just another delinquent, but someone who had been hurt, someone who had done what they had to do to survive. And he didn’t want you to be punished for that.

But the law, the very thing he had dedicated his life to, didn’t bend for circumstance. Justice. Equality. He believed in those ideals, yet even he couldn’t ignore the fact that you had committed crimes. Petty ones, yes, but crimes nonetheless.

So, he did the only thing he could. He stood by you.

At your trial, he testified on your behalf. He told them about your circumstances—the abuse, the hunger, the desperation that had backed you into a corner. Yes, you had broken the law, but not out of greed or malice. You had done it to survive.

The court listened. Instead of prison, you were sentenced to two years in a resocialization facility for adolescents. A second chance.

For the first time in years, you had stability, not to mention a warm bed, regular meals, therapy. . And every week, without fail, he visited you. He brought books, study materials, things to keep your mind occupied. He never expected gratitude, never asked for anything in return.

You wouldn’t admit it—not out loud—but you grew fond of his presence.

◇

“Mr. Officer!”

You waved lazily from the garden bench, cigarette balanced between your fingers. The garden had become your responsibility, and despite your initial reluctance, you had to admit—it looked good. Rows of neatly trimmed hedges lined the pathways, wildflowers you hadn’t even known the names of now bloomed in soft clusters, and the once-dull vegetable patch was thriving. It was the only place in the facility that didn’t feel suffocating, and that was because of you.

Officer Hwang Inho smiled as he approached, giving you a small wave before taking a seat beside you on the worn wooden bench.

“I told you to quit smoking, Y/N,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar mix of exasperation and quiet amusement. His sharp eyes flicked to the cigarette in your hand, then back to your face, as if waiting for you to challenge him.

You smirked, bringing the cigarette to your lips. “If I did, I’d be too perfect of a story for you. A juvenile delinquent turned model student, studying for cop school entrance exams because you saved her from jumping off a bridge? I won’t give you that satisfaction.”

He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

“You think too highly of yourself.”

“And you think too highly of justice,” you shot back, blowing out a stream of smoke.

“Let’s be real, if someone else had found me that night, I’d either be in a cell or dead in that river.”

He didn’t deny it. He never did.

Instead, he leaned back against the bench, gazing out at the garden.

“You’re selling yourself short. You’re not here because of me. You’re here because you didn’t give up.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.” His tone was firm, but there was no judgment in his eyes—just that same unreadable calmness he always carried. “You could’ve fought this the whole way. You could’ve refused to study, refused to put in the work. But you didn’t.”

You frowned, flicking the ash off your cigarette. “Maybe I just got tired of fighting.”

He turned his head slightly, studying you in that way that always made you feel like he saw right through you. “Or maybe you finally realized you deserve better.”

For a moment, you didn’t say anything. The cigarette burned between your fingers, the smoke curling into the cool evening air. Then you exhaled, shaking your head with a small smirk.

“Look at you, getting all sentimental,” you teased.

He huffed a quiet laugh.

“I spend too much time around you. Must be rubbing off.”

“Doubt it. You’re still the same stiff, justice-loving cop you were the day I met you.”

He glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“And you’re still the same stubborn pain in the ass.”

You grinned.

“Glad to hear I haven’t lost my charm.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the quiet hum of the garden filling the space. You wouldn’t say it out loud—hell, you barely admitted it to yourself—but these moments? These visits? They meant something. Maybe more than you were ready to accept.

��

It was only a few months before your police academy exams. You were out of the facility, free to start your life over. Your face was even plastered across their pamphlets, a shining example of their so-called success in resocialization. But the truth? It wasn’t them that changed you. It was Inho.

He had been your support system when no one else was. He never pitied you, never looked at you like some lost cause destined to be locked up forever. While others believed young offenders never truly changed, he saw your potential. He believed in you. He stood by you. And now, he was the one helping you prepare for the exams, drilling you on laws, procedures, and ethics after his shifts.

It meant a lot to you—he meant a lot to you. More than you’d ever admit.

And though he’d never say it outright, you mattered to him too. More than he was supposed to. He had seen beyond your sharp tongue and rough edges to the person underneath—a clever, resilient, and unexpectedly kind girl. Over time, he had grown to… care for you. More than he should.

In the months leading up to your exams, you got a job as a waitress in a small restaurant. The pay wasn’t much, but it was enough to afford a tiny apartment—a place of your own. Inho had even helped you furnish it, assembling cheap furniture with quiet determination. He even surprised you with an aquarium, filling it with tiny, colorful fish after you’d once mentioned that watching them swim calmed you down.

◇

One evening, he showed up at your restaurant, sliding onto a barstool with his usual composed expression.

“What could I get for you, my lord?” you asked, flashing him a teasing grin as you leaned against the counter.

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you recommend, miss?”

You pointed to a few items on the menu, but he barely glanced at them—his focus was on you, standing there in that ridiculous uniform. The puffy blue-and-white striped dress, the frilly apron, and the oversized red bow on your chest made you look absolutely ridiculous.

“You look like a lost carnival attraction,” he remarked, lips twitching with amusement.

You shot him a glare before scanning the restaurant, making sure your boss wasn’t watching. Once you confirmed the coast was clear, you flashed him two playful middle fingers.

He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

When he left, you found a folded bill under his empty glass. A big tip. Bigger than it should’ve been. Big enough to make your heart race.

◇

Tonight, for the first time ever, Inho stayed over.

You hadn’t even needed to ask. You had simply mentioned, in passing, that someone had been harassing you late at night—banging on your door, shouting slurred words that dissolved into the night. The sounds were familiar, distant memories clawing their way back to the surface. You had shrugged it off, chalking it up to some drunk or a homeless guy wandering too close. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But the moment the words left your mouth, Inho had tensed. His jaw clenched, his hands curled into subtle fists. He felt it was his duty to protect you, even if you treated the whole thing like it was nothing.

Now, the two of you sat on your couch, your legs curled under you, a pint of ice cream in your hands. Some cheesy, over-the-top romance movie played on the TV, neither of you really paying attention to it.

Inho chuckled, glancing at you as you scooped another spoonful into your mouth. His gaze was warm, almost fond.

“What?” you asked, flashing him a grin. “It’s protein ice cream. It’s healthy.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

You leaned in slightly, tapping your temple with your index finger. “It’s not about how the food works,” you said, voice mock-serious. “It’s about what you think. Right now, I may be physically eating ice cream, but my mind has convinced my body that it’s a salad.”

Inho let out a real laugh, shaking his head again.

You liked it—the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way the corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly. Without realizing it, you found yourself staring at them now.

He noticed.

“Don’t,” he murmured.

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Don’t what?”

His voice was quieter this time, lower. “Or I won’t be able to hold back.”

Something in you snapped. On impulse, you crashed your lips against his.

For a brief second, he stiffened—then his hands were on you, one gripping your lower back, the other sliding up your spine as he pulled you in. You straddled his lap, fingers digging into his shoulders, your body pressing flush against his as the kiss deepened into something desperate, something unspoken that had been simmering between you for far too long.

You pulled away just enough to meet his gaze, your breath unsteady.

“Inho, I lo—”

BANG.

A loud slam against your door.

Followed by a voice that sent ice through your veins.

“I know you’re in there, bitch!”

Your fathers voice.

You froze. Just for a moment. Then, without a word, you stood from Inho’s lap, your body moving on instinct as you walked to the kitchen. Your fingers wrapped around the cool handle of a knife—just in case.

Before you could steady your grip, Inho was there, his hand closing gently around yours. His touch was firm but careful as he pried the blade from your trembling fingers. He shook his head, eyes locked onto yours.

“Let me handle it.”

You clenched your jaw. You wanted to argue. He could see it in your eyes—the same defiance, the same recklessness that had never quite left you.

“Stay back,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. Because he knew you. He knew what you were capable of.

Nevertheless, this time, you listened.

From the doorway, you watched as he stepped toward the entrance. The door creaked open.

Your father’s screams grew louder. “Give me money! You don’t care about your family at all, huh? You little traitor!” His voice was slurred, thick with alcohol, his frame barely holding itself upright.

When he tried to force his way inside, Inho caught him, shoving him back with ease.

“Leave,” Inho said, his voice low, controlled.

“And don’t come back. Or I’ll make you.”

Your father staggered but caught himself, wild eyes darting between you and Inho. His lip curled in disgust. “So this is what you are now?” He spat onto the floor. “Some high-and-mighty little saint? Think you’re better than us now? Whoring yourself out?”

Your hands curled into fists.

Your father let out a cruel laugh, swaying slightly before his gaze locked onto Inho.

“What, you think you can protect her? You think she’s some innocent girl? She’s filth. Just like her mother.”

That was it.

Inho’s patience snapped. He shoved your father hard, slamming him against the hallway wall. The impact rattled the cheap plaster, a framed picture down the hall shaking from the force.

But your father—he was always the kind to escalate.

Before Inho could react, your father let out a sharp grunt, lifting his hand—glass glinting under the dim hallway light. A shattered bottle.

The jagged edge slashed against Inho’s forearm as he barely managed to step back. A shallow wound, but deep enough to spill crimson.

Something in you broke.

Before you could think, before you could even breathe, you stormed forward. You grabbed the knife from the counter as you passed, and in seconds, the cold steel was pressed against your father’s throat.

He went still. His breath reeked of alcohol, his body stinking of sweat and cigarettes.

“Dad,” you murmured, your voice disturbingly calm. Your grip was steady. The blade hovered just over his skin. “Back off. Or I’ll slice that nasty throat of yours.”

His eyes widened slightly, and for the first time, he looked… afraid.

But before you could push it further, before you could even consider actually doing it, a strong hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Enough,” Inho’s voice was steady, but his grip was unyielding. He gently pried the knife from your fingers for the second time that night.

You didn’t fight him.

With a firm hand on your father’s shoulder, Inho dragged him—kicking, cursing—down the hall. Past the other apartments with their doors barely cracked open, nosy neighbors peeking out. Past the flickering fluorescent lights that buzzed overhead.

Straight to the exit.

Inho shoved him outside, his voice low, threatening. “If you come back here—if you so much as breathe near her again—I will personally make sure you regret it.”

Your father stumbled, glaring between the two of you. But this time, he didn’t fight. He only scoffed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and spat onto the pavement before disappearing into the night.

The second he was gone, Inho turned to you, his gaze softer now.

“Are you okay?”

You swallowed hard, your heart still pounding. You glanced at his arm, at the blood trickling down his skin.

“You’re hurt,” you said instead.

Inho exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve had worse.”

Tears well up in your eyes—tears not just from the adrenaline fading, but from the weight of everything. The ordeal, the exhaustion, the bitter fact of being born into all this. Inho’s arms wrap around you firmly, grounding you, holding you together until you gently pull away.

“Let me take care of this,” you murmur, nodding toward the cut on his arm.

You disappear into the bathroom and return with a first aid kit. “Sit down,” you say quietly. He complies without hesitation. Rolling up his sleeve, the wound becomes clearer—not deep enough to be alarming, but far from harmless.

“This might sting,” you warn, pouring antiseptic over the cut. He doesn’t even flinch, eyes never leaving your face, as if memorizing every line of you in this moment. Carefully, you wrap his arm in a bandage, then without thinking, lift his hand to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to it. He lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Come here,” he says, leaning back on the couch and opening his arms in invitation. Without hesitation, you melt into him, curling up in his embrace. The weight in your chest loosens just enough for the tears to finally spill over.

“I’m sorry,” you sniff, your voice barely a whisper. “You’re a good man. You deserve someone good, too.”

His arms tighten around you, his thumbs tracing gentle circles along your back. His voice is steady, sure. “You are good,” he murmurs. “It’s where you came from that isn’t.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, grounding you once more. You lift your head to meet his gaze, something fragile and warm blooming in your chest despite the ache.

“I think you should be over more often,” you laugh softly, tears still clinging to your lashes.

◇

You got sick.

It started slowly—fatigue, nausea, pain that you brushed off as nothing. Until it wasn’t nothing. Until the doctors said words that didn’t feel real. Your liver was failing. Without an organ donation, you were going to die.

And Inho wouldn’t accept that.

He took out loans—more than he could ever hope to pay back. Drowning himself in debt just to keep you alive. But no matter how much money he scraped together, an organ donor was nowhere to be found. You were at the bottom of the list. Forgotten. Disposable.

Everything had been going so well. You had built yourself a new life, had fought so hard to stand on your own two feet. But with your diagnosis, you couldn’t even sit for the entrance exams. Your dream—everything you worked for—slipping through your fingers like sand.

And yet, the only thing you wanted now was him.

Inho sat on the edge of your hospital bed, fingers threading gently through your hair, soothing you in the only way he could. His touch was careful, lingering, as if he could somehow keep you tethered to this world just by holding on.

You turned your head slightly, looking at him. His eyes were warm, filled with something deep, something unspoken—but beneath it, there was exhaustion. A weight he refused to show. Dark circles under his eyes, stress carved into his features. He was holding himself together for you.

“Inho,” you murmured, your voice weak, barely above a whisper.

His gaze met yours instantly, full of love—of quiet desperation.

“If I die,” you exhaled, “find someone. Someone who will make you happy.”

The words barely left your lips before he shook his head.

“Don’t.” His voice was firm, immediate.

“Inho—”

“Don’t talk like that.” His tone was sharper now, edged with something raw, something breaking. His fingers stilled in your hair. “You’re not going to die.”

You could see it in his eyes. The way his jaw clenched, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. He refused to accept it.

But you had already made peace with it.

He hadn't. And he never would.

◇

You smiled as he stepped into your hospital room, though the effort was weak. You were getting worse—more tired, more fragile. Every day, the weight of your failing body pressed down on you a little more.

For Inho, it was unbearable. Seeing you like this, the girl who once burned so brightly, now dimming before his very eyes. You were sweet—sweeter than ever, even—but he hated it. He hated the softness, the exhaustion in your voice, the way you barely had the strength to tease him anymore. He wished things were the way they were before.

He knelt beside your bed, his large hands wrapping tightly around your frail fingers. His grip was firm, desperate, as if holding on to you meant he could keep you from slipping away.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Everything.

“I—I took bribes,” he confessed, the words forced out like they physically hurt to say.

You inhaled sharply, brows drawing together.

“I told you… don’t. Stop it,” you scolded weakly, but there was no strength behind it.

His expression twisted. Then, in an instant, he was on his feet. The vase of flowers on your bedside table shattered against the floor, water and petals scattering across the sterile tile.

“Why?!” His voice cracked, raw with pain.

“Why you?! Haven’t you been through enough?! Fuck—”

His fist slammed into the wall.

You flinched, trying to push yourself up, but your body was too weak. “Inho—” Your voice wavered. “Come here.”

He froze.

“Please,” you whispered, barely audible.

“I need you.”

For the first time, it was you holding him.

As soon as he sat back down, you reached for him, your thin arms wrapping around his broad shoulders. He hesitated at first, but then he let himself sink into you, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath uneven.

You were comforting him about your own death. But in doing so, you were also comforting yourself.

His hands clung to you, holding on like he could somehow stop the inevitable. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.

“I can’t lose you.”

"Doctors orders: don't be broken hearted" You give him a weak smile.

◇

You had escaped death’s clutches.

Just when hope seemed lost, the doctor delivered an unbelievable miracle—there was an open slot for a liver transplant, and it was happening that very evening. For a moment, the world stood still. Relief crashed over you like a tidal wave, your heart pounding with overwhelming joy. It felt as if fate itself had intervened, a divine hand reaching down to pull you from the brink.

With trembling fingers, you reached for your phone, eager to share the life-changing news with the one person who had been by your side through it all—In-ho. One ring. Two rings. Three. He didn’t pick up.

You tried again. And again. But each call led to the same agonizing silence. The realization gnawed at you—he hadn't visited today. It was so out of character. He had come every single day, never failing to be there for you. Dread pooled in your stomach as your mind raced through endless, terrible possibilities.

Panic took hold. You called his station, hoping someone there had seen him. Nothing. When they refused to conduct a wellness check, dismissing your fears with cold indifference—claiming he was simply avoiding the fallout of his exposed corruption—you felt something inside you snap. You weren’t convinced. He wouldn’t just disappear.

Desperation drove you to search for any trace of his family, any contact that could lead you to him. But you couldn’t find their contact information, no leads, nothing but a void where he used to be. A sickening fear settled in your chest, deep and suffocating. What if something had happened to him? What if he needed help?

But there was nothing more you could do.

◇

The transplant went smoothly. In the days that followed, your body grew stronger, the pain dulling, your skin regaining its color. You were healing. You had been given a second chance at life.

But how could you celebrate when the person who had once made life bearable was missing?

Weeks turned to months. Still, no word from In-ho. No matter how many times you called or reached out to the police, they all gave you the same response: "He's gone. He took his own life."

You refused to believe it.

Something inside you—something unshakable—told you he was out there. Maybe hiding. Maybe in trouble. But not dead. You could feel it.

And if no one else would look for him, you would.

With a renewed sense of purpose, you threw yourself into the police academy entrance exams. It wasn’t easy, but every grueling physical test, every moment of self-doubt was drowned out by one burning thought: Find him.

You weren’t just training to become an officer like you did before—you were preparing for the hunt. To track him down, to uncover the truth, to understand why he vanished without a word.

You had survived death. Now, it was time to find the one who had once fought to keep you alive.

◇

It had taken every ounce of pressure, every ounce of intimidation—flashing your newly obtained badge, speaking in that firm, unyielding voice you had perfected over the months—but the landlord finally cracked. With a reluctant sigh, he let you into In-ho’s abandoned apartment.

The place was stale, untouched, as if frozen in time. Dust coated the surfaces, the air thick with neglect. Your eyes swept the room, scanning for anything—anything—that could tell you where he had gone. Then, on the desk, you spotted it. A small black box.

Your pulse quickened as you lifted the lid. Inside lay an unsettling card.

Three symbols stared back at you: a triangle, a square, a circle.

You turned it over. On the back, a short number.

Your brows furrowed. It was strange. Ominous. But it was the only clue you had. With a deep breath, you slipped the card into your pocket.

◇

It was another exhausting, monotonous day at the station. Piles of paperwork. Meaningless cases. Officers gossiping about weekend plans. You barely heard them, your mind consumed by that card. That number. That unsettling feeling in your gut that you were on the edge of something much bigger than you had imagined.

Then, chaos erupted at the entrance.

A homeless woman barged in, wild-eyed and frantic, her voice shrill as she waved something in the air. That same card.

“They kill people! They kill people in those games!” she screamed, her words tumbling over each other in a desperate mess. “Children’s games! But if you lose, you die! They take you and you never come back!”

Your blood ran cold.

Your colleagues barely spared her a glance. Some laughed, shaking their heads. Others muttered about calling social services. "Another crazy one," someone scoffed. "Probably off her meds."

But you knew better.

Before anyone could throw her out, you followed her outside, catching up to her in the alley behind the station. She flinched when she saw you, eyes darting around in panic.

“I need to know everything,” you said, voice low and sharp.

The woman hesitated, clutching the card like it held her last thread of sanity. “I— I don’t know much,” she stammered. “The first game… Red Light, Green Light. They wore masks. Pink jumpsuits. They shot the losers. I barely got away.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. That was...almost unbelievable.

You reached for your holster. In an instant, you had your gun trained on her.

Her breath hitched. “W-what are you—”

“You’re going to call the number on that card,” you ordered, voice steady. “And you’re going to register yourself"

"But-!"

"Shut up. Obviously I'll go in your place"

Her hands trembled as she dialed.

◇

You found yourself behind the wheel of a large van, your gloved knuckles white against the steering wheel. Around you, several people sat slumped in their seats, their bodies eerily still. But unlike them, you were wide awake.

The only reason you were here at all was because of the man now lying unconscious on a sidewalk somewhere. A guard. A masked figure in a pink jumpsuit. You had managed to knock him out, strip him of his uniform, and take his place before anyone noticed.

Thankfully, this car had a fucking GPS.

Your stomach churned as you followed the blinking route on the screen. The people in the back—were they drugged? Their chests rose and fell with slow, steady breaths. No one flinched. No one stirred. Even when the struggle had happened, even when you had dragged the unconscious man out of the van, not a single one of them reacted.

It was unnatural. Wrong.

Every turn you took, every second that passed, uneasiness curled tighter in your chest. Where were you taking them? Where were you going? Was this homeless woman bluffing? is this truly what she said it is?

But your grip remained firm. You had come this far. There was no turning back now.

◇

Your assigned quarters were deceptively innocent. A small, pastel-colored room. Soft walls. A tiny, single bed. A nightstand with a lamp that cast a warm glow.

And a camera.

It stared at you from the corner of the ceiling, its red light a constant, silent reminder. You avoided looking at it, keeping your head low, always turned away. If they recognized you, it would all be over.

Your new identity was a number. “17.”

You pulled the scratchy blanket over your head, curling into yourself. Sleep didn’t come. How could it? Not in a place like this. Not with a camera watching your every move. The childish atmosphere of the room only made your skin crawl further. It was like a twisted daycare for something far more sinister.

◇

The homeless woman had been right.

These were kids’ games. Deadly kids' games.

And you had seen it.

You had stood there, frozen, as the players carved out shapes in brittle, sugary cookies. A simple task, deceptively so. Until someone failed. Until the cookie cracked, and—

Gunfire.

A sharp, merciless sound. A sound that punched straight through bone, through flesh, through life itself.

Bodies fell. Again and again and again.

You wanted to vomit.

The thought crashed into you, violent and unrelenting—Was In-ho here? Had he stood on this very ground? Had he failed? Had he died trying to raise money for you?

You felt sick.

And then, directly in front of you, a man’s hands trembled as his cookie split in two. A broken piece tumbled onto the ground. His face twisted in horror.

You didn’t move.

A masked figure beside you—another pink-jumpsuited enforcer—turned to you. His distorted voice sent an unnatural chill up your spine.

“17.”

Your breath caught.

“Shoot him.”

Your fingers twitched around the weapon you had barely dared to hold.

The man’s eyes found yours, wild with terror. “Please,” he rasped. “I have a family. I— I can— I’ll do anything—”

You couldn’t.

You didn’t.

You stood there, frozen.

And then, just as quickly, the other guard raised his own weapon.

A deafening shot rang out.

Crimson splattered onto the sand. The man crumpled, lifeless, a final breath wheezing from his lips.

You flinched.

◇

"Seventeen."

A Square guard approached, his voice distorted by the mask’s built-in modulator. "The boss wants to see you. Follow me."

Your stomach twisted with dread, but you forced your legs to move, trailing him silently into the elevator. The ride was suffocating, each floor passed marked by a dull beep, until the doors slid open to reveal a room unlike anything you'd seen in the facility.

It was pitch black. No pastel pinks, no sterile whites—just shadows swallowing the walls whole. The darkness felt deliberate. A warning.

At the center stood a figure, clad in the same uniform as yours—only his was black from head to toe, a chilling distinction.

The guard who’d led you there gave a small bow before turning sharply on his heel, leaving you alone with the man.

"Seventeen."

The figure removed his mask, revealing a middle-aged man with cold, sharp eyes and a face that looked worn, yet calculating.

"I heard you didn’t fulfill your task today." His tone was blunt, almost bored. "For years, you did what you were told. Loyal. Efficient. And now? I’m disappointed."

Your throat was dry, but you forced yourself to speak, keeping your head low. "My apologies, Boss. It won’t happen again."

He scoffed, shaking his head with a hint of fondness. "Oh, for fuck’s sake—take off the damn mask when I’m talking to you. You’re lucky we’re friends, you know that? If it were anyone else..."

"You're lucky that I'm reprimanding you, not the capitan"

He trailed off, blissfully unaware of the truth: you weren’t his friend. You weren’t even supposed to be here.

Your hand hovered near the mask’s clip, heart hammering. Then, survival instinct kicked in.

In one swift, fluid motion, you pulled out the gun tucked at your side and fired.

The shot echoed like a thunderclap in the dark room. His head snapped back, body collapsing instantly with a sickening thud. Blood bloomed beneath him, dark as the walls.

A shudder ran through you, but there was no time to waste. Groaning through clenched teeth, you grabbed his corpse by the arms, dragging him behind a shelf. Your muscles burned, the weight of what you’d just done sinking in fast.

With trembling hands, you stripped him of his black uniform, pulling it over your own. Finally, you clipped the black mask onto your face—becoming him.

For now.

◇

You couldn’t wait any longer. You had to act. The question gnawed at your sanity—was In-ho dead? Did he lose his life in this twisted place? The very thought of it felt like fire crawling beneath your skin, burning you alive from the inside out.

In-ho… The man you loved. The man who held you when the world turned its back. The man who stayed when you were at your lowest, when death felt like mercy. He saved you—not with grand gestures, but in the quiet moments no one else ever saw. When everyone else gave up, he didn’t.

Now, you stood in this godforsaken place, knowing nothing about its rules or the monsters running it. There was only one lead, one person who might know something—might help you, if you could find a way to make them. The one they called the Captain. You remembered the name because the man you just shot spat it out with his dying breath.

If In-ho was alive, you’d find him. If he wasn’t… you’d make sure his death wasn’t in vain. Either way, someone would bleed for this.

Before you could piece together a plan, the heavy metal door slammed open. A guard in blood-red uniform rushed in, voice clipped and breathless.

“Boss. The Captain requests your presence.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Lead the way.”

The walk was silent, each step echoing through the cold, sterile hallways. You were led into a dimly lit room where he waited.

He stood there—tall, imposing—drenched in the kind of authority that made the air feel heavier. Black leather and dark tactical gear hugged his frame with terrifying precision. The smooth, black mask he wore gleamed under the harsh lights, its angular design giving no hint of the man beneath. Only the faint, steady sound of his breathing gave him away as human.

“The VIPs will be arriving shortly,” his voice was deep, measured, almost mechanical behind the mask. “Is everything proceeding as planned?”

His presence made your skin crawl—and yet, you couldn’t look away. This was the man who held all the answers.

"Yes," you answered sharply, forcing your voice steady.

"Very well." He paused, head tilting slightly—just enough to make your stomach knot. "What about the impostor?" His voice was low, mechanical… unnervingly calm.

Your blood turned to ice. Impostor? Did he know? Was this the end?

"I—Impostor?" you stammered, barely able to push the word past your dry throat.

Without warning, his gloved hand shot out. You barely registered the movement before he gripped you—unforgiving, iron-tight. There was no escape. With one brutal motion, he tore the mask from your face, the sound of ripping fabric echoing like a gunshot.

For a long, suffocating moment, he said nothing.

You crumbled, knees hitting the cold floor beneath you as though the strength had been ripped from your body too. Hands trembling, you clung to him—desperate, pleading.

"P-Please... please don’t," you gasped, voice breaking. "I—I must’ve been insane coming here... Please... don’t hurt me."

He stood frozen—like a statue carved from obsidian—unmoving, unreadable. But there was something in the way he looked at you... like you were a ghost. Something impossible.

It wasn’t death you feared in that moment—no, you’d come here knowing that was a possibility. What terrified you was dying without ever learning the truth. Without ever knowing what happened to the man you loved.

And then—his voice cracked through the silence. Flat. Mechanical. But under it… something else. Something human.

"You’re… alive."

Your teary eyes snapped up, breath hitching in your throat. "W-What?" you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

Slowly—painfully slow—he reached up. Fingers brushed against the edges of his own mask. The click of the clasps echoed in your ears as he undid them, and then… he pulled it free.

Your breath caught.

It was In-ho.

But not the man you remembered. His face was pale, gaunt. His once bright eyes were sunken, hollowed out by something you couldn’t name. Haunted. Cold. There was no trace of the man who had once pulled you from the brink.

You froze—unable to process it. How? How had it come to this?

This was the man who believed in the law, who believed in justice. The man who lifted you out of the gutter, who dragged you from a life of crime and led you to a badge… led you to him. The man who showed you what love could be.

And now… now he stood before you, running a goddamn slaughterhouse.

"In-ho…" you whispered, the name trembling on your lips like a prayer.

You staggered to your feet, reaching for him—palms cupping his face, fingers tracing every sharp, worn line, as if needing to feel he was real.

A sob tore from your throat. "Why…?"

His hands shot up, gripping your wrists tightly. He pulled you closer, so close you could feel the raggedness of his breath against your skin.

"You’re alive," he said again—but this time, it sounded less like a statement, and more like a man trying to convince himself of the impossible.

Your voice cracked as the question broke free. "W-Why are you doing this?"

"Because I love you," he said—his voice still carrying that mechanical edge, but beneath it… there was something raw. Something real. "And I hate the system that treated you like you were insignificant. As if your life mattered less… like you were unworthy of help. Of saving. They left you to rot while the privileged thrived."

His jaw clenched, his expression hard—like stone molded by years of pain and betrayal. But when his eyes found yours, they softened. There was a flicker of the man you remembered—the man who once held you when you wanted to fall.

"Here…" he continued, voice quieter now, "here… I fight that. In this place, everyone is equal. … they all bleed the same. They all get one chance, no more, no less."

And suddenly, it hit you.

He wasn’t the villain. Not to you. No, he was just like you. Broken. Lost. You saw it now—the same emptiness that lived in your chest back then, the same darkness that dragged you to the edge of that bridge.

"In-ho…" you breathed, your voice trembling as the tears fell freely now. "I'm right here…"

You threw yourself against him, arms clinging desperately to his body as though letting go meant losing him forever. "I'm right here," you choked, your sobs muffled against the cold fabric of his uniform. "I'm alive… and so are you. We both are."

For the first time, his hand moved gently—thumb brushing your tears away, his touch reverent, almost fragile. And then his lips found yours.

The kiss was soft, unbearably so—full of longing, full of everything unspoken. Desperation, grief, love. The years you both lost. The futures you imagined but never had.

"You’re alive," he whispered against your lips, as if the words themselves were sacred. "I’ll never let you go."

His arms wrapped around you, tight, almost possessive—like he truly feared you’d vanish if he loosened his grip.

"In-ho?" you whispered, sniffling, voice hoarse from crying. "How… how did you know about the impostor?"

His breath hitched—just slightly—as if the question pulled him back to the present.

"My brother," he muttered darkly, his eyes flashing with something unreadable. "He broke in too." There was a bitter, humorless laugh. "Turns out I had two impostors on my hands."

Before you could speak, he hoisted you up with ease—like you weighed nothing. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, arms locking around his shoulders. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he held you like a lifeline.

"I love you," he breathed, forehead pressed to yours. "Without you… I was already dead."

And for a moment—just a moment—you saw it. That glint. That spark. The one that used to dance in his eyes when he looked at you. The glint of your In-ho.

And finally, for the first time in what felt like years, you allowed yourself to believe—maybe he wasn’t entirely lost. Not yet.

Not if you were here.

226 notes · View notes

kaidabakugou · 2 years ago

Text

𖤐 OCTOBER 7TH | "PLAYING WITH FIRE" 𖤐

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑! 𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐀 𝐗 𝐅! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

♱ — 𝐖𝐂: 6.4ᴋ

♱ — 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: ᴇᴇᴇ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴇʀᴇ!! ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ, ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʟɪᴇꜱ!! ꜱᴏ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʙᴇ ᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴜʏꜱ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴋɪᴄᴋ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴘᴏᴏᴋʏ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʏꜱᴍ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ!!♡

𝕹𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖞 𝖙𝖜𝖔 𝖒𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖆 𝖆𝖌𝖔,

𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙.

The taste of ash weights heavy on your tongue when you descend through the clouds towards the glare of fire below. The heat from the smoke prickling at your skin causes you to tighten your grip around the black spikes on Kirishima's back where you sat atop the crimson dragon as he rushes towards the commotion below, massive leathery wings tucking close to his large body - far too large for a juvenile like himself as his shadow swallows the night sky behind him when you emerge from the sea of smoke revealing the magnitude of destruction the town has suffered in mere moments. Streets that were once booming with vendors and some of the finest establishments you could find this far south of the kingdom, now nothing but ruins that further crumble under the weight of the wind from the red dragon’s wings as you continue to hurry towards the source that caused such calamity.

You'd traveled from the west with Bakugou, the dragon prince, and his dragon Kirishima, the Crimson Dread, under the orders of the king to deal with the issue of a fiery dragon that's been rumored to have gone rogue and has been terrorizing the southern towns at night. Upon your arrival the immensity of the situation was evident when the ancient bridges that connected to the neighboring towns were demolished for the river below to swallow, something only the great scaled beasts could manage, leaving the southerners to result in new measures and travel by boat.

It was only your second night in the town when you were setting up the fire place in your inn with Kirishima whilst you waited for Bakugou who ventured into the other side of town in search of something to cook for the three of you for the night, when the thunderous sound of an explosion in the distance alerted you. Rushing to the open area of the plaza where Kirishima could shift without causing damages to the housing nearby as you quickly mounted the dragon and headed towards the commotion. The orange glow of fire blazing in the horizon only feeding the worry that sat heavy on your chests knowing Bakugou was near that area of town, and now as you fly through the core of where the beast continues to wreak havoc, you could only pray to the gods above that he was okay.

A piercing roar ahead pulls you from your thoughts as it collides with the crackling sounds of Bakugou’s explosive magic followed by the clashing of steel from his dual swords. The silhouette of the onyx dragon comes into view amidst a pit of fire, your eyes frantically searching for your prince as you spot him beneath one of the beast's hind legs trying to wriggle out from between its three prehensile talon-tipped toes that hold him captive as the chest of the dragon begins to glow a deep orange hue, preparing to spew a stream of deadly fire upon him that was sure to leave a flaming crater in its wake from the force - one that not even Bakugou’s fire resistance could survive.

Swallowing the vile lump that builds in your throat at the thought, you lean forward against Kirishima’s back, the rough scales of the dragon’s armor brushing along your palm when you reach for the large spikes of his torso. The ones that prepare him to attack once you give him the command, but just as you take a sharp inhale to give him the order you're interrupted by the rumbling of snake-like hisses building up a thunderous roar as Kirishima leaps towards his opponent.

Catching the attention of the onyx dragon as he directs his fire towards you, but the Crimson Dread is not only known for his size, but also for his abnormal speed and agility that was rare for a beast of such calamity as he quickly rises to flash his hind legs. Sharp claws locking onto the beast’s neck, pinning him down as the horrid screeching of both dragons clashes together - one from anguish in a desperate attempt to be released and the other from a raging hunger for blood as Kirishima's claws pierce through the black scales, slashing the dragon’s throat open causing it to wriggle beneath him as it chokes in its fiery blood. But the red beast remains unsatisfied as he leans down to grasp the head of his victim in between his dreadful maw before tearing it from its body and tossing it into the fiery pits of its own creation followed by a victorious roar that seems to further agitate the flames that surround you.

You press your palm to his scales in an attempt to calm him despite how taken aback you were from his actions for he has never acted on his own without his rider’s orders regardless of the ravenous creature he was. Gently caressing his heated scales whilst you coo down at him as his snarls slowly shift into low rumbles under your touch when your soft voice reaches his ears between haggard breaths. Shaking his head with a final blow of smoke through his nostrils as his scales shudder from head to tail until he returns your pets with a content purr, letting you know he's calmed down before directing your attention towards Bakugou who was already climbing up the dragon’s side to join you on his back. Unharmed, lest a few scratches that oozed with blood yet nothing you couldn't heal later with your magic.

“All good?”, bare chest pressing against your back as he leans forward to press his palm to the crimson scales alongside yours as you look over to your side where his head rests on your shoulder. Only answering with a nod when your eyes meet his vermilion ones, not all there as he looks lost in thought before your gently nudge him with your elbow as they focus on you again, sharing the same concern for your dragon but nothing to fret about right now considering the long night you've all had as you feel him relax against you before signaling Kirishima again. Taking to the skies once more as you fly back into town for the night since you couldn't do anything else for now until the fires die out with morning come.

The ache in your muscles melts away as you sink deeper into the hot springs, the warmth enveloping your body when you rest against the edge to peer up at the night sky where remnants of the smoke from the fires obstructing your view of the stars as the faint orange hue of the horizon begins to fade, letting the sound of the water around you prevent your mind from thinking back on the prior events.

Once a dragon bonds with one rider, no other person can bond nor ride them throughout their life for they will remain loyal to their mount until they are parted by death, but Kirishima is the first ever dragon to bond with two riders. Claiming both Bakugou and you as his mates, a rare case in history that not even the wisest of maesters could decipher, tossing it up to be a result of his shifter abilities. But being a mate to the great fiery beasts of this era was not for the faint of heart as dragons undergo different stages in their lifetime that could be overwhelming for some, and your dragon’s recent stubborn behavior could only mean the beginning of one thing.

You lean over the edge towards the tray that rested on the rocks near the natural basin, reaching for the bowl of hot water to pour it over the previously strained matcha before taking the chasen and begin whisking. Too distracted to notice the water rippling behind you but your ears prick at the sound of low purrs approaching, hearing him before you feel him as sharp claws circle around your thighs. Curving along the plush skin of your hips to trail up your sides causing the hairs on your spine to rise towards your nape as he presses his nose above your rear before following the prickled skin up towards your shoulders in a slow calculated pace that causes your toes to curl against the hot stone below until his nose finds the crook of your neck - inhaling deeply as he savors your scent, the smell unlike any other causing his tail to slowly sway from side to side through the water whilst the purring amplifies. Feeling the vibrations against your back when he presses his hot chest to your skin as you lean into his frame, claws circling your abdomen when scaled arms hold you close causing you to hum at his touch as you settle back into the water.

The heat that radiates from him rivals the one around you as hot puffs of air fan across your skin, feeling the tips of his forked tongue ghost along the back of your ear where his nose is nestled into your hair. An occurrence that wasn't foreign to you since the three of you often slept wrapped around each other and Kirishima would find solace in sleeping with the smell of his mates right under his nose, but there was something different in his current demeanor.

When a dragon's heat is near, there are often visible warning signs to heed to avoid falling in their grasps when overcome with lust. The scales along their skin tend to darken in color, one of the more elusive signs to notice considering the change is very minimal but easily spotted for those that are in constant contact with the scaled giants. Their breathing patterns as well as their purring shift from long and passive inhales to heavy huffs followed by exhales of higher temperatures to their regular hot breaths. Every dragon's purrs are slightly different in melody but it's often deeper while in heat, emitting from somewhere further down their chest and at a much quicker pace than normal. The most identifiable of the signs are their behavioral changes, although already territorial, dragons tend to be more aggressive and jealous towards others lurking around their den and mates as well as seek out physical touch more often and show higher levels of affection. All signs that usually begin to manifest weeks in advance.

But Kirishima’s changes only began hours prior. Even though it wasn't the first time his heat had started abruptly, another unknown factor that the maesters could only assume as a product from his shifter abilities, it was the first time you've been in battle when it happened. Which justifies your worry while seizing the onyx dragon earlier.

The air around you felt heavy and the tension was almost palpable with the way he was holding you, like prey caught in the jaws of a predator as his claws travel along your skin, occasionally gripping at your flesh while his hold on you tightens. Moments like these remind you of the danger that he kept hidden from you most of the time until he had you in his grasp - so pliant and at his absolute mercy, he could do anything he wanted and you’d let him.

A sharp dark claw travels across your abdomen in slow back and forth motions beneath the water before trailing up the exposed skin of your chest. Circling your tits in a teasing matter that has your nipples hardening at the threat knowing it wouldn’t take much effort for those claws to rip into your skin. Kirishima smiles against your neck when he feels the way your heartbeat increases under his touch, how the rise and fall of your chest quickens the more he greedily explores your body. Savoring the way your smooth skin feels against his calloused one, the sweet scent of you downright intoxicating as he feels his teeth ache at the thought of you on his tongue. Moving his mouth to rest at the juncture of your neck at the temptation to feel your skin give under the force of his fearful maw, tearing into your flesh and watching you bleed for him as his purring deepens at the thought knowing how pretty you’d look covered in crimson to match that of his scales.

His tail curls around your ankle as it slowly travels up your leg until it’s wrapped around your plump thigh, squeezing the fat of it while scales drag against the curve of your rear. The scaled pointed tip ghosting along your inner thigh as it occasionally brushes through the tuft of hairs above your cunt at slow, almost ticklish pace that had you suppressing your moans against the edge of your cup as you bring the warm tea to your lips, enjoying it while you can knowing that it will soon be forgotten with the way Kirishima’s scorching breath was fanning over your skin alerting you of how close he was to your vital spots.

“Fuck, my love”, the searing touch of his tongue licking along your skin makes you gasp as thick drips of drool burn onto your skin, “I need you”.

“Your heat becoming too much, baby?”, you hum against him before drinking the last of your tea as you reach forward to return the cup onto its tray.

“I could just devour you right now”, he purrs close to your ear as he takes a deep inhale of your skin, continuing to let your scent invade his senses. “Will you let me, love?”

“Go ahead”, you tilt your head further giving him access as your voice falls into a breathless whisper at the feel of sharp teeth grazing against your skin. “Tell me how I taste”.

A guttural growl ripples from his chest at your words as his tongue laps at your skin again, more drool dribbles against you before his lips press to the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder sucking on that spot as you arch your back with a sigh, the feel of his teeth digging ever so slightly into your skin behind closed lips sends a whirlpool of emotions to your gut. The moans you suppressed earlier ripping from you when his fangs finally break through your flesh as a rush of warmth spreads across your skin where he eagerly drinks from you, letting your blood quench his thirst before he sucks bruising kisses higher up your neck making you squirm against him.

Tightening his grasp as he slowly moves your bodies towards the edge of the natural basin where claws circle your waist to spin you around as he looms over you, caging you between the warm stone that digs against your back and his large body as he presses himself against you. Gently nuzzling his nose into the top of your head before slowly trailing down the center of your forehead to meet your nose as your eyes lock with deep pools of scarlet staring back at you. Your hands reach for his biceps, feeling the scales shift under your touch as you continue to trail upwards towards his nape where your fingers brush through the crimson strands of his hair whilst your other hand reaches for a stray strand on his forehead, securing it behind the dark, curved, and angled horns that protrude on either sides of his head that would demand submission from even the most endowed elks that roamed the enchanted forests, a grin spreading across his lips when you do before he leans down to press his lips to yours.

Hot breaths melding with each other as claws curl around your throat pressing his purlicue beneath your chin causing your head to tilt further, giving him more access as his lips move frantically against yours - messy and wet as spit smothers against your skin while your tongue tangles with his long one until the need for air becomes inescapable. Leaning back to catch your breath as far as his firm hold around your neck allows you but he can't help but chase your lips with his sharp teeth, keeping his intentions gentle against the delicate skin but still so, so hungry for you as he nibbles on your bottom lip until it splits for him. The sting makes you hiss as lustful eyes meet your equally lewd ones when he slowly pulls back, sucking the small dribble of blood into his greedy maw until your lip slips from his own. Not giving you enough time to recover as the warm pads of his digits digging into the sides of your neck twitch as they pull you back in to meet his lips - mouths bruised and swollen as his tongue swipes against you to lick into the small cut.

Parting from your lips to press kisses on your jaw and down your neck as his hands reach down to grip your waist and hoist you up onto the edge. Stopping when he reaches the valley of your breast as he leans back to look at your body now fully on display for him, mesmerized at the sight like the first time he saw you like this and he can’t help the shudder that ripples through his scales and settles at his pelvis where his cock twitches beneath the water.

Fiery pupils dilate when they rake along the curve of your breasts and settle on your nipples, wet and glistening and so inviting as he dips his head down to capture the erect bud in his mouth. The feel of sharp teeth scraping against your skin threatening to pierce through your flesh sends shivers down your spine followed by the smooth contrast of his warm tongue alternating between fast flicks and tight curls against you that causes your hips to slightly grind forward as arousal begins to gather at your core. The faint smell of it hitting his nose only riles him further as he suckles on your tit harder while roughly kneading the other as he pulls and twists the bud between his clawed digits.

Only stopping to sink his teeth into the flesh of your chest again and again with low mumbles of ‘mine’ whispered into each nibble as he continues to trail them down your abdomen. Drowning in the increasing scent of your arousal the closer he gets to the source, his mouth unable to stay away from you other than to quickly move to another unmarked spot on your skin as his breaths become haggard at the mouth watering aroma of your drooling cunt leaking onto the stones below. Calloused hands curve beneath your thighs as he spreads you open for him, ankles resting on his broad and scaled shoulders while his mouth never leaves your skin as it reaches your pubes. Inhaling deeply into the tuft of hair as he feels the way your body twitches against his touch when he slowly pulls the hairs between his lips, his warm breaths feels almost ticklish but the sensation is quickly replaced by the slight sting from his tugging before he releases the hairs from his lips.

Diving forward again to run his nose through them, his head dipping lower and lower until the slick feel of your pussy lips meets with his own, savoring you a little longer as he trails his nose through your swollen slit causing it to part as he does. Eyes fluttering at the feel of your arousal coating his skin before finally surging forward into your heat making you arch in your spot as your arms stretch behind you to support you further from the intensity of his mouth against you. Tongue pressed flat on your pussy as he wriggles it from side to side while thick globs of saliva drip from his thirsty mouth onto you - creamy slick and viscous spit mixing together as both of you become more and more lost in pleasure.

Moans falling from your lips without a care if others residing within the inn could hear you for you’re unable to hold them with the way his tongue laps up towards your clit, circling it with just the tip before his lips wrap around the sensitive bud while his eyes look up to meet yours causing something to ripple in your stomach the closer you get to your release. Watching how they darken when he feels your fingers skim across his pointed ears, ghosting along the wet strands of hair before wrapping around one of his horns knowing it would get a reaction out of him with how sensitive they were, especially during his heat and you can't help the grin that breaks through your features when you see his lip curl with the nastiest growl you've heard resonate from his chest thus far. Strong enough to make the water around him shake causing it to ripple at the same thundering cadence while his hands pinch and knead at your thighs, feeling how the muscles clench and tremble under his touch when you feel the vibrations of his snarls against your pussy.

Causing your features to morph into a whine as you let your head roll back onto your shoulders to release a moan up towards the sky while briefly closing your eyes before your entire body jolts when Kirishima slots his hot mouth onto the length of your puffy slit. Demanding your attention as your eyes meet again, a newfound hunger in his fiery orbs as your clench around his imposing figure when the tips of his forked tongue tease along your entrance before wriggling it’s way inside - velvety walls tightening around the incredibly long and thick muscle as it spreads you open, greedily slurping every last drop of creamy arousal that pours from your messy pussy.

Both of your hands now wrapped firmly around his horns to pull him closer and the snarl that follows causes his sharp teeth to scrape dangerously against your swollen clit, sending you over the edge as static rings in your ears making the world around you spin as your release gushes into his awaiting tongue. Claws dragging up and down along your thighs leaving red, throbbing marks in their wake before they press into your hips, threatening to pierce the skin as he holds you down when your hips continue to jerk and twitch. Overstimulated as he continues to drink every last drop of your sweet nectar, not stopping until he gets his fill as your cries clash with the loud and wet squelch of your pussy ravished by his hungry maw.

Slowing his movements to ease you down from your high as his tongue slithers out of your warmth, running it through the red and swollen folds of your sopping wet pussy before leaning back to watch the pretty mess he created - thin threads of syrupy slick and viscid spit clinging to his skin causing it to glisten under the faint moonlight emerging from the smokey clouds as the distant fires begin to die down. Whimpering at the empty feeling as you fall back onto the stones breathless, your hands slipping from his horns in exhaustion only for scaled ones to catch them as he brings them towards his face, nuzzling into your palm to lay kisses onto your wrists - soft and tender unlike the previous ones as he repeats the actions on the other one before trailing up the length of your arm while slowly rising from the water to slot his body above your own.

Warm droplets of water dripping onto your skin where he continues to lay gentle kisses as his lips press against your stomach to travel up onto your breasts, briefly nibbling on the plush skin before dipping towards your collarbones; feeling how he follows the outline of your protruding bones with the tip of his nose to settle at the small hollow at the center where his searing exhales fan over your skin causing you to lean your head back to allow him more access as he wanders up the length of your throat where he slows down to feel it contract against his lips when you swallow, eliciting his purrs to return as they vibrate into your jaw until he curves along your chin to finally capture your lips in his. Tasting yourself on his tongue when it tangles with yours as it freely explores every inch of your mouth before he pulls away to peer down at your pretty face, noticing your eyes glossy with tears as he smiles down at the sight before leaning in for a kiss once more.

So enthralled with each other that you don't hear the distant call of your names when the wooden door of your room slides open. Only the feel of something hot dripping against your thigh capturing your attention, making your breath hitch into him as he pulls back to press his forehead onto yours for the both of you to peer between your bodies to reveal his large cock.

A mass of dark pubes trailing from his belly button towards the base where thick veins throb with need around a swelling knot as they fork out onto the ribbed crimson ridges that matched those of his scales leading up to a tapered tip that dripped molten globs of creamy white onto your skin where it hanged heavy causing it to curve downwards from the weight and size as it twitched the more his knot continued to grow with the overwhelming and carnal desire to empty load after load of the sticky cum that resided within the hefty balls that rested hulking between his muscular thighs inside your heat.

The same thighs that slide closer to press behind yours as a clawed hand slides along the side to grip the back of your knees and guide one leg around his waist, mirroring the action with your other leg as they lock at the dip of his back where his long tail sways languidly from side to side. Securing your bodies together as he lowers his hips to meet yours, slotting his cock between your thighs to slide his pulsing length through your weeping slit. Gasping in unison when he grinds his hips harder through the slickness as your hands snake around his broad shoulders to bring him closer, his lips already chasing yours as claws tangle in the hairs at your nape where he cups your head to deepen the kiss. His thumb smearing away the stray tears that stain your cheeks at the feel of every ridge and curve of his cock rubbing through your slick pussy, getting caught against your clit with each thrust making you mewl into his mouth as he swallows every sound.

Groans and purrs vibrating softly against you when he feels your hips roll up and fall into rhythm with his. Smiling against him when your actions elicit a broken whine to rip from his chest, amused at how such a feared beast could be reduced to such a needy thing when it came to moments like this, entangled with each other in such ways that it's uncertain where one begins and the other ends.

The growl that festers deep in his chest pulls you from your thoughts as a heated sting spreads across your bottom lip when he draws the sensitive flesh between his teeth to get your attention once more, prying your mouth open for him as he chases your bloodied lips with a carnivorous hunger that elicits another growl to crawl up his throat as clawed digits wrap around your wrists to capture your hands in his and stretch your arms above your head, pinning you beneath him and rutting his hips desperately against you until the bulbous head of his leaky cock finally presses against your entrance. Both of you falling silent as you peer down between your bodies, watching how your pussy splits open and swells around each girthy bump of his cock until it reaches the curve of his knot as it presses against your slit; ceasing his movements to relish the feel of your heat wrapped around him while you bask in the way it stretches your pussy so good you could almost feel him in your throat as you lips part around a silent moan.

Heavy knot throbbing against your entrance, not quite ready to slip inside just yet as he rolls his hips back - your pussy molding perfectly to each ridge as the friction makes you arch your back so beautifully into him. Both of your hands restrained under one of his while the other curls around your center to hold you close as his lips press along your jawline, whispering sweet praises in his mother’s tongue as he falls into a steady pace that has the telltale coil winding tightly inside you sooner than expected as white spots cloud your vision when you sink into sweet ecstasy. Soft kisses and nibbles morphing into feral bites as he grows wretched with need at the taste of your blood mixed with the tight clench of your silken walls gripping his cock so deliciously he feels he could devour you whole.

Slowing his thrusts to a gentle rock as his lips find yours again in a sloppy and panting mess - the sound from your heaving chests echoing through the area loud enough to quiet the heavy patting of feet against the damp stone floor approaching your position until a shadow obstructs the dim light of the candles that surrounded the hot springs, looming over you as it waits for the two of you to notice its presence.

“‘M gone a few minutes and you two can't keep yer’ hands off of each other that long, eh?”, both of you peer up to meet vermilion irises staring down at you with amusement. Grin spreading across his features when your eyes simultaneously trail down to look at his cock fully displayed before you, the thick vein beneath his shaft throbbing all the way up his leaking tip where milky beads of white coat his skin.

Meeting his gaze again, your sultry smile matching his own as you feel lips press to your jaw followed by the slight tickle from Kirishima’s hot breath fanning over your skin as he speaks.

“You're just in time, my prince - our little princess is just about ready to take me whole”, a dark claw brushes through the stray hairs that cling to the damp skin of your forehead as he tucks them behind your ear to press his nose to your own, voice falling into a whisper. “Aren't you, baby?”, nodding into his touch while he beckons Bakugou closer.

“Come ‘er, Katsuki… I want to watch you both as she takes my knot”, to which he complies as Bakugou lays down beside you. Pulling you towards him when Kirishima leans back from his position as you straddle the blonde, his eyes wandering down your skin as his fingers trace along the wounds that adorn your body - bruised and bloodied.

Digits stained with red as he brings them towards his lips for a quick taste, eyes fluttering when he does before he reaches for your skin again to collect more of the blood that dribbles from the bites left by the dragon, bringing them up to your lips this time where it mixes with the drooly blood from your bottom lip as you wrap them around his fingers to languidly suck on them.

Clawed thumbs dig into the fat of your hips as Kirishima positions himself behind you, curling along your spine to press his chest against you. His large physique overpowering the both of you when he stretches his wings, briefly casting a daunting shadow that consumes you before he tucks them back into place. Leaning in close to nuzzle his face into your neck as Bakugou mimics his actions to your other side, their warmth encompasses you entirely like a heavy cloth draped over you on a cruel winter. Bakugou’s lips press tender kisses along your mangled skin while a long, wet and hot tongue laps a stripe all the way to your ear where he nuzzles into you once again.

“Hold still for me, my love”, arching into Bakugou’s chest when the tip of Kirishima’s cock presses against your cunt, dripping heavy glops of precum that seared against your skin - so impossibly hot like it was made from the molten steel used to make the finest of swords. Spreading it through your slit as he strokes it up and down causing syrupy strands of arousal to leak onto Bakugou’s thighs before his cockhead catches your entrance.

Immediately feeling the stretch of every ridge and curve again as your lips part around a loud whine, both men reacting instantly as hands roam every inch of your body in a mixture of soothing touches and hungry kneads from sharp nails that twitch at the urge to tear at your skin to elicit more of those sweet noises to rip from your body. Kirishima doesn't waste time to settle on a fast pace that knocked the wind from your lungs, lost in the way your pussy sucked him further - squeezing him so tightly he couldn't help but to nibble on the skin of your neck again, fangs piercing anywhere they could reach causing his purring to morph into wet gurgles from your blood while Bakugou leaned back to ogle at the sight.

In all your years together, nothing riled him up more than moments like these. The both of you look ethereal above him - recalling all the times he had the same thoughts and he fears they might fall short to the sight before him. The first time he laid eyes on Kirishima when the crimson hybrid shifted into a fierce dragon for him to ride after many had failed to mount the fiery beast; the same beast that never allowed anyone to get too close to him, yet there you were mounted on his back treating a tear to his wing while cooing down sweetly at the scaled giant while all his rider could do was just stare at the two of you in awe in that field of freshly bloomed blue irises all those springs ago. He never thought that just winters later he would find himself by a ditchfire and a chalice filled of your joined blood, a scar on each of your left palms to prove it - wed by fire and blood to be sealed by a long night of mating.

And now, as the hard stone cushioned by a the thin bedding of moss forming on the rocks dug into his back as he stared up at the two of you above him, your skin riddled with bites and blood with Kirishima still latched onto your neck as you cried out into the night to soon take his knot, the sight before him rivals all the others for he thinks he's never seen the two of you so beautiful as this very moment.

His heart skipping a beat when both of your eyes meet his own, reaching for him as your hands curl around his shoulders while claws press against the dip of his skull to bring him closer to your bodies. Your lips pressed against his while Kirishima nuzzles the crook of his neck, smiling against Bakugou when you feel his breath hitch at the dragon’s fangs piercing into his flesh. The taste of both of his mates blood mixing on his tongue turn his thrust violent, extremely so you can't contain the overstimulated squeals that ripped from your chest and before you can register it he thrusts forward in a hard roll of his hips until you feel it - a wet pop as you're stuffed to the brim with his knot. Your eyes rolling while you feel lightheaded at the mixture of his thick, knotted cock grinding deep inside of you along with the heat that radiates from their bodies engulfing you completely.

Claws suddenly digging into your flesh as Kirishima yanks your bodies closer to him, switching from marking Bakugou’s neck to yours back and forth while lips brushed against skin in a mantra growled in the old draconic tongue.

Mine mine mine

“You're mine, yeah? My blood?”, each question is followed by a pull of his lips against your skin and all you can do is desperately nod against him as salty tears stain your cheeks while your cunt spasms around him, squeezing and pulling him deeper as he grinds rapidly into you.

“Both of you were made for me”, he snarls as his lips chase Bakugou’s next, piercing his bottom lip in a much more hurried manner than he did yours causing a groan to vibrate loudly from the blondes chest as the redhead devours him.

“You were born bound to me, right?”, your bodies were dripping in sweat and your brains were fogging with the overstimulation of both pleasure and pain, as the dragon reminded you who you belonged to while switching between your bodies; licked, sucked, and bitten into the skin of the familiar things pinned beneath him. Chasing your sweat with teeth and tongue, drunk on the scent of home - of mate. Many would call the love Kirishima felt for the two of you an obsession, but that pales in comparison to the unwavering hunger and passion he felt for you.

His thrusts turn vicious, borderline animalistic as he rolls his hips forward once, twice, three times until you finally feel it. The rush of cum pouring in hot, always so impossibly hot, heavy globs against your velvety walls as he ruts his hips close to bury himself deep in your pussy to ensure you were plugged up and stuffed full with his seed that continued to pour inside of you in a never ending river that had the both of you falling depleted against the blonde making him groan at the sudden weight pressed against him. All three of you panting as your bodies relax against each other, hearts beating as one while you let the soothing sounds of the water splashing behind you ease you down from your highs.

But the Crimson Dread was nothing if not insatiable, leaning back as clawed digits captured Bakugou’s chin between them to bring him closer, pulling him into a kiss while you trailed kisses along the blonde’s jawline. Your ear pricking when you hear the redhead speak into the kiss and you can’t help the grins that follow at his words.

“Your turn, my prince”, he whispers while maneuvering your bodies into the warm water to soothe your wounds and prepare you for the long night ahead.

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am-i-interrupting · 6 months ago

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Across the River | Viktor x Jinx’s Older Sibling

Chapter 4 | Sleepy Studies

Summary: After the explosion and disappearance of Vi, you take your little sister across the river to Piltover. You struggle to keep the two of you afloat but manage to get Jinx to the academy. This is where she procures an internship that changes your lives.

“What is your sister like?” Viktor asked during one late night.

“Why?”

“Simply curious. I was an only child.”

“Okay,” Jinx said slowly, looking Viktor up and down. “Well, they’re like. . . Geez, I don’t know. I mean, when I was little I spent waaay more time with them than with V— We’ve always been close. I don’t really know how to describe it.”

Viktor noticed her cut off and raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t question.

He tapped something Jinx wrote twice. She looked down and her lips curled up. She wiggled her pencil in her hand for a moment before she flipped it and erased what she’d written, replacing it with something else.

“Perhaps phrasing it differently will help? What is it like having siblings?” the question phrased plural on purpose.

Jinx shrugged. “I mean, you’ve got someone to look up to, I guess. Someone who’s your friend and your bully all wrapped up into one present and shoved in your hands but the wrapping paper is kind of wet which is weird because that’s not how presents are supposed to be, right? It’s kind of off putting because it’s kind of gross. Then you open it up and look at the box and the box is weird too. It’s like purple instead of brown. And then when you finally open the box, it’s like all your insecurities are there in the shadows and then you put it in the light and boom! Unconditional love that you definitely don’t deserve but it’s hidden because of insults and petty drama.”

A pause.

Viktor blinked once, twice.

Jinx looked him up and down.

“Does that make sense?”

“None at all.”

“Oh.”

She was quiet for a moment. She looked off into the space before her. Unmoving, slightly unnerving.

She sniffed. She shrugged. She bounced back, leaning into his personal space. “Welp! That’s the best I got.”

Viktor shook his head with a bemused slight quirk to his lips. “Alright, so,” he began, pointing at some of the runes.

The rest of the night passed by until it was closer to early morning. Viktor stretched his arms out behind his back. Jinx was standing, leaning her back against the table, bending backwards. She’d taken out her pins that held her bun in place and long braids pooled on the table, one even hanging off.

“Do you think that trees cry when they’re cut down?” Jinx asked. “That they know they’re going to die?”

“And I will take that as our sign to call it,” Viktor said.

Jinx gave an over exaggerated groan in reply but Viktor could tell by the way she was twirling the end of one of her braids and occasionally hitting her face with it, she was feeling the pull of sleep begin to tug.

She tilted her hips towards the table and moved her leg. In one fluid motion she was upright. Then she almost fell. Quickly she righted herself and shot Viktor a giant smile.

Viktor grabbed his crutch. He situated it beneath his arm and curled his fingers around the handle.

Jinx let her body weight all go to one foot as she kept the door open. The only thing which prevented her from falling was her hold on the doorknob.

When he walked through, she followed him.

“Ow! Shit!” she yelled.

Viktor’s head whipped back and her braid had gotten caught between the doors. She jerked the door open and yanked her braid out of the way. It hit his leg and the door closed.

“I see why you keep your hair up,” Viktor said.

Jinx scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I like my braids being down, even when they do get caught on things.”

“May I ask why that is?”

“Because, they keep me grounded. Without their weight I feel like my head is floating away from me,” she said.

“Then why don’t you wear them down?” he questioned.

“Stupid Upper City people,” she muttered under her breath. “They think it’s ‘unhygienic’ because they drag on the floor. Yeah, they do and guess what! I clean them every day. They don’t even drag on the floor unless I’m hunched over.”

“I didn’t think you the type to let others people’s opinions bother you,” Viktor told her.

“I don’t! Normally. It’s just doing all these things and following all these stupid fucking rules is how I got here,” she said with a pointed gesture at the academy floors. “I can’t lose that now. Sis worked too hard to get me here.”

Viktor could empathize with the struggle. Being not only from the Undercity but also disabled prevented an entire load of problems up here. He’d take them though, over the polluted air. At least here he could breathe.

Viktor held the door open for Jinx. He waited until she was a decent bit away before letting the door fall closed.

“Let me haul you a taxi,” Viktor said, worried for the girl in her tired state.

She shrugged but didn’t fight him.

They sat in the backseat of the taxi. Jinx’s braids pooled in the floor.

She scooted closer to him. She slowly pushed her hand between his arm and torso until he tentatively let her wrap their arms together. Her head immediately plopped down on his shoulder. He tensed.

“I don’t even get to do my building anymore up here,” she said as she nuzzled her face against his shoulder.

“Building?” he asked as he forced his body to relax.

“Yeah, before we came up here, I used to build all sorts of gadgets. I mean, I still do but I can’t do it as often. I can’t even find a place to test my bombs and since the Industrialist took over the Undercity, we don’t go down there much. Just on special occasions.”

“You build bombs?”

Jinx laughed a bit. “Yeah.” She closed her eyes and sank against him. “Smoke bombs—“ internally he sighed in relief— “real bombs, guns.”

“Huh,” was all he could say.

The rest of the ride was relatively silent. That is until Jinx started snoring and some drool seeped through his shirt. He didn’t make any attempt to move her though.

The automobile came to a halt. With a quick word to the driver and careful movement, he slipped out. He walked into the apartment building and knocked the door labeled 07.

A couple long moments passed. He raised his hand to knock again as it but it jerked open.

“The fuck do you want at one in the— Oh, it’s you. Hi,” you said as you processed who exactly stood in front of you.

Viktor felt his stomach do the smallest twist. Your hair was a mess. Your shorts were hanging off one hip and up too high on the other. A strap of the tank top you wore was twisted.

“Jinx is asleep in a taxi. I would bring her in myself but ah,” he gestured with his crutch.

“Oh, yeah,” you said as you walked out of the threshold of the apartment. “She sleeps like the dead.”

You yawned as you walked with him to the taxi.

Jinx’s head was lulled forward. Her chin touched her clavicle but still she snored on.

You crawled a bit into the automobile and put your hands beneath her legs and her back. You pulled her closer to you until you could heave her up in your arms. Her head bobbled and smacked you in the chin. She just groaned and used her hand to push your face away.

“Ow,” you said in a monotoned voice. “Anyway, thanks for getting her home.”

“Of course, it was my pleasure. Do you need me to open the door for you?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Inside you put Jinx to bed. You slipped off her shoes, pulled her vest down her arms, undid her belt. You undid the buttons of her shirt and slid on an oversized one before slipping off her button up and pulling off her pants.

She pulled the blanket around her and face planted in her pillow.

“Thanks, sis,” she mumbled, half asleep.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said.

Still, you moved her face so she wouldn’t suffocate on her pillow and brushed her bangs out of her face. You placed a kiss right above her brow.

Then you grabbed your own covers to wrap yourself in and laid back on the couch where you’d been, wondering why you felt all warm inside by the man who kept caring for your sister with you.

#viktor arcane x reader #viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor arcane x you

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ssj2hindudude · 14 days ago

Text

Ok, so with Hades 2 getting an update and one step closer to finally coming out of early (hopefully), out of pure excitement, I decided to make this based on patterns I've seen in the past two games. Buckle up, because this is a long one! I bring you

Hades 3 Predictions

Protagonist

Hades 1: Zagreus (Zag)

Hades 2: Melinoe (Mel)

Hades 3: Macaria (Max) - Goddess of Blessed Death

I don't care what the Mythology Guy on YouTube says, multiple sources have accepted her as a daughter of Hades and not just a mix-up of Heracles' kid. Even if it was, Zagreus had a similar problem with Dionysus and the game was able to circumvent that so I don't see why that couldn't happen again here.

Also, I'll say this now, I'm not against woke stuff being in the game as long as it doesn't overstep any boundaries (gotta remember this is someone's religion after all). But even though it literally says she's Hades' daughter, I think it would be amazing to make her She/them (hence, the neutral name "Max") just for the sake of Persephone going around screaming "I collected the whole set!"

Class

Zagreus: Fighter

Melinoe: Mage

Macaria: Thief/Rogue

Using Pokemon's Gen 6 starters as a reference point (and then Google), I found out the basic RPG classes are Fighter, Mage, and Rogue and noticed a pattern in the games' fighting styles. Mel is obviously a Mage, Zagreus could go either way but with how much he just brute forces his way through his game, I opted more for Fighter.

So that leaves Rogue for Macaria which is actually pretty interesting that a child of Hades hasn't had a more stealthy role yet. Imagine your character having times where you don't have the option of forcing your way through like where you could instantly die or lose an important item or something. Instead, you work from the shadows and find yourself in situations where you have to sneak by, like a boss you're completely under-leveled for or a chamber that'll lock if you're caught and then you have to fight your way through.

It also fits because with how little sources there is on her, the only logical explanation besides it being fake is that she's so sneaky that no one can get any solid information on her!

Color scheme

Zagreus: Red/fire colors and Black

Melinoe: Green and Orange (plus Arachne's dresses)

Macaria: Yellow/White and Blue/Purple

This is more of an aesthetic thing that I noticed where Zag wore red and Mel wore orange and they had cooler colors as accents to their looks. I figured Macaria could continue the trend of warm colored clothing with a darker accent or as a change go dark with light accents instead. Maybe a cloak over her clothes like Raven from Teen Titans for extra mystery.

Eyes

Zagreus: Left Red Right Green

Melinoe: Left Green Right Red

Macaria: Switch on command?

Another aesthetic that a lot of people probably noticed was that the siblings had one of each of their parents' eyes and they were inverse to one another. I figured to be different, something could be done where Macaria can actively switch both of her eyes to change from Overworld green to Underworld red and that could have some impact on gameplay such as how she sees the world, switching between the dimensions to get to different areas.

That or she could just have an inverse where one eye is White with a Red iris and the other is Black with a Green iris because genetics are fun like that.

Parental Figure

Zagreus: Nyx

Melinoe: Hecate

Macaria: Helios

As much as I want Hadephone to give at least one of their kids a happy childhood, I think we all know where this is headed. Something will go wrong and Max will end up with a foster parent and according to the pattern, it's minor deities with some role in the story of how Hades "kidnapped" Persephone. Nyx is the river they crossed into when they entered the Underworld and Hecate is the goddess that helped Demeter figure out what was going on.

So, by that logic, I figured the next logical step would be the old retired sun titan that saw the whole thing go down. Of course, I'm not saying Apollo or anyone like him is fit to raise children, but I'd imagine this version of Helios would be more like an older version of him that's a lot more mellow and less likely to rant for two hours about his hit single after you asked him what time was on the sundial. Something more like a chill old man that also had a lot of energy (which is a HUGE help in raising a kid), kind of like Jiraiya from Naruto only he's not a total perv.

Hub/Safe Zone

Zagreus: House of Hades (Castle)

Melinoe: The Crossroads (Camp)

Macaria: The Chariot (Mobile home)

This one's a little tough but I figured if Zag was raised in a permanent structure while Meg was raised in a stationary campsite, maybe Max could grow up in a structure that moves, kinda like a mobile home. And no, Helios' Chariot would definitely not be the same as Chester's place from the Fairly odd Parents. But since he's retired, it would have little power and be more like a dimly lit abandoned mansion creeping slowly on the ground to the tune of the sun's position as if instinctually following an old routine.

Teacher

Zagreus: Achilles (Illiad)

Melinoe: Odysseus (Odyssey)

Macaria: Perseus

Ok, this one was also tough because the Iliad and the Odyssey were the two major Greek mythology works and the other two games already covered them. Meanwhile, Homer's other works cover literally everything else so it wasn't like I could just pick the protagonist from it for Max's teacher.

Why Perseus? Well, while he's not exactly the only Greek hero, he's one of the more iconic ones that strangely haven't been covered yet by the other games. Hercules was in 2, Jason's ship was there by reference, Theseus was a villain in 1 (and for good reason) even though his idiot brother who was into Persephone wasn't (but that could change here, who knows?) I mean, there's also Atalanta but at the same time her story basically goes raised by a bear (badass) kills a boar (also badass) and then gets "tricked" into marriage by a clever dude with Golden apples who stops her competition leaving a bunch of dead suitors in her wake (again, badass)

But I chose Perseus not only because he's iconic enough to stand out (not nearly as Jackson but I digress) but also because his main myth was focused on stealth. He didn't fight Medusa, he snuck her while she was asleep using a magic invisibility helmet (much like Hades' helm!) and chopped her head off. Perfect hero to train a rogue ninja like Max!

Goal

Zagreus: Escape the Underworld by going up

Melinoe: Save the Underworld by going down (and up as a side quest)

Macaria: Explore the Underworld? Spy/Reconnaissance? Go sideways?

So, one thing that Hadephone ficlets from Webtoon said that caught my attention was that Macaria was known to help souls escape the underworld without Hades' permission. Not sure if this is mythologically accurate but it does suit her rogue role really well so I'm using it here.

Her goal could be to travel around the Underworld looking for lost souls that want to go back for something in the Overworld (like finding out how they died, leaving a message for a loved one, etc.), taking pity on them, and sneaking them above and then sneaking them back down when the time comes. It shows her mother's compassion and even a little bit of a rebellious side like her brother!

Mini-Bosses

So, what I noticed is the three bosses you have to fight in each run fall under three categories:

Someone close that the MC regularly interacts with in the main hub: Meg and the Furies; Hecate

Rampaging beast that has to be put down: Lernie the Hydra; Cerberus

Annoying egotistical jerk that won't listen to reason: Theseus; Scylla and the Sirens (and Eris)

I won't count the Olympus route in Hades 2 though since that part doesn't seem to be finished yet and I haven't seen the update.

Since Zag did Friend-Beast-Jerk and Mel did Friend-Jerk-Beast, I think Max should do Beast-Jerk-Friend. It would be a nice twist to have her have to fight through a friend before reaching her goal. Also, she could start with Jerk, but it doesn't seem right to put them through a Jerk fight at the beginning of every run since the first boss is the one she has to fight the most and the Jerk has a tendency to be straight up obnoxious and annoying.

Also, since Zag fought a group of familiar friends (except Alecto) and Mel fought a group of jerks (mainly Scylla), I think it would be fitting to have Max fight a group of beasts at the start.

So, I probably would pick these three:

Beasts: Chimera

Ok, before you say it, yes, I know Chimera is one monster. However, both beast bosses were monsters with multiple heads so this one should follow the trend. Plus, it's practically three different monsters because when fighting it, Max would have to fight the Lion head, the Goat head, AND the Snake tail. I figure it's gonna be one of those monsters that just happened to settle near where Max has to lead the souls between the worlds.

Jerk: Cottus the Hecatoncheires

Ok, Zag's jerk was a Greek Hero while Mel's jerk was a Greek Monster, and I was thinking the next logical step would be a minor deity, but then I remembered Eris covered that. Then I thought we could do a Titan instead but Chronos is a titan who was the final boss in 2 so that wouldn't really work either.

However, I remembered that the three main groups tossed into Tartarus during Titanomachy were the furies, the cyclopes, and the Hecatoncheires who weren't even mentioned yet. So let's fix that!

Percy Jackson already used Briaries so even though he's the most famous and was said to be the only one left, I decided to keep the three of them this time and chose Cottus instead because his name either means the Striker or the Furious which definitely sounds like someone who won't listen to reason. Plus neither Theseus nor Scylla worked alone so this sorta follows the trend while also keeping it separate since, again, he has multiple heads, literally a hundred. In fact, he could even be made bipolar or have multiple personalities to reflect this, leaving him prone to extreme mood swings and be hard to reason with.

I imagine he'd be imprisoned around where Max is sneaking souls back in since she logically can't use the same entrance twice or she'd risk getting caught.

Friend: Tom

Yes, you read the name right. This one is interesting because while Zag's friend was a love interest, Mel's friend was her Foster Parent so to follow the trend, we have to pick someone close that they regularly interact with. I was thinking the usual child of Nyx but again, Eris already did that so that's out. (I know, she's even making my work difficult -_-)

Looking at friendly characters, there was usually two love interests (one a child of Nyx), the mentors, and the comic relief friend with a mysterious past (Skelly and Pandora)

So, what bigger twist than to have your comic relief friend be that final boss? The obligation to fight Max could be related to their past and they could still be on good terms with Max back at the hub.

Seeing that Skelly is a skeleton and Dora is a shade, they pretty much cover a dead body and spirit already, leaving just straight up living mortals left. UNLESS we went with something more mechanical.

I was thinking Max could find an abandoned Automaton in the Overworld (perhaps near Hephaestus' workshop), find a way to fix him, and when he activated he has no memory because his microchip or something is missing. For the time being, seeing that he's an auTOMaton, Max decides to call him Tom and he goes with it.

As for the boss fight, I was thinking Tom gets hacked somehow, which explains why he has no idea what Max is talking about when she brings it up. In the first half of the fight, Tom is normal sized and uses a barrage of mechanical weapons, but after getting him down to about half health, Max finds out he can actually change form to become colossal sized and she has to sneak her way into his head to temporarily shut him down. By the time Max gets back to the Chariot, Tom's miraculously back to normal, meaning the hacker can only trigger him at the entrance to the final level. As the game progresses, Tom keeps going back there to find out what's going on, only to get hacked every time and end up in a Re-Zero situation.

Main Villain

Zagreus: Hades

Melinoe: Kronos

Macaria: At first Ouranos, then Gaea

Ok, hear me out: the pattern here is generational. First it was Hades, then it was his dad, so logically, what would come next is his parent's PARENTS.

More importantly, both games have a twist-but-not-such-a-twist in the boss reveals. "OMG, you mean the guy running the underworld DOESN'T just sit at his desk all day?!?" "WHOA, the guy showing himself as a silhouette was the guy in the phrase 'Death to Chronos'?!?" So, I figured I'd complete the chain of iconic Greek myth villains by having Ouranos appear as a puppet for Gaea. "Wait, I thought I was listening to Ouranos hatch a plan to get revenge on the gods, you're telling me it was his ex-wife?!?"

Yup, you read right. The plot would follow that Max would keep sneaking shades to and from the Underworld and whenever you complete a run, Max first overhears someone talking about manipulating the Gods to have them overthrown, talks to Helios who says it sounds like Ouranos trying to get his body back and take back control, only for the later twist to be it's actually Gaea. I know, big surprise, Mother Earth hates the gods. Go figure.

Love Interests

Zag: Meg and Than

Mel: Moros and Nemesis (and Eris, I think?)

Max: Oizys/Miseria and Hermes?!?

Ok, just gonna get the token child of Nyx love interest out of the way and I thought it would be interesting to make it the girl this time. Oizys is a daughter of Nyx who is the goddess of misery (hence Miseria. I imagine she tells Max to call her Miseria because it's easier to pronounce). I figure she'd be introverted and quiet much like Thanatos but in a more awkward and shy way, kind of like Dusa in 1 and Echo in 2. She would be timid especially because some interpretations have her also be the goddess of Anxiety.

The other love interest is usually someone else related to Hades' realm. So, for the guy, my thought is this time it could be Charon...just kidding! No, as tempting as that is because this one was REALLY hard (seriously, I couldn't find any non-Nyx male characters related to Hades' realm and there's nothing online about Max having a canon husband or anything!), Charon is too weird an option as he serves more as an uncle figure for the three of them (ugh, there's a Hadephone joke in there that I don't wanna touch)

I was also considering one of the three kings picked to judge the shades, but they're just dead mortals. The others were deities with Meg as the exception but the furies are still a huge part of Hades' gimmick.

Then, I thought of something insane. There is one god that's related to Hades' realm, extroverted (since Miseria's already an introvert), and they even have something in common because he's also the god of stealth.

...ok, before you call HR, hear me out: Hermes. The man's known as a psychopomp which is very similar to what Max does, he's one of the younger deities and doesn't even have a wife, and he's basically the ninja of greek mythos. Ok, maybe he does have his dad's promiscuous nature that makes him unlikely to settle down with anyone, but we're talking dating here, not necessarily marriage.

Look, I couldn't find anyone else to fill the role besides mortals and the man's already got the favor of Max's siblings. I can at least see it working, but I am open to better ideas for guy deities related to Hades' realm.

Boons

Zag: Aphrodite; Ares; Artemis; Athena; Chaos; Demeter; Dionysus; Hermes; Poseidon; Zeus

Mel: OLD - Aphrodite; Ares; Chaos; Demeter; Poseidon; Zeus; NEW - Apollo; Hephaestus; Hera; Hestia;

Max: Chaos; OLD - Artemis; Athena; Demeter; Dionysus; Hermes; NEW - Apollo; Hephaestus; Hera; Hestia; Rhea; BONUS: PERSEPHONE

Lastly, we've gotta have a list of 10 main Gods that they can get boons from. (It's dangerous to go alone, take this!)

First, Chaos is pretty much indispensable. Their boons are the most interesting of all of them because they all have a big help coupled with a big detriment.

Next, we can pretty much cut out all of the old gods used again in 2 because we gotta keep this interesting! Except for Demeter tho, because Grandma. Or, we could also throw in Rhea because she hasn't been mentioned yet either and actually likes her kids so DOUBLE GRANDMA

But, that just means bringing back the rest of the old ones from 1 that got either cut out or side-tracked. And yes, I also suggested Hermes as the love-interest AND am bringing him back as a boon.

Finally, that leaves the four newer gods from 2 to make things fair. But I'm not keeping it all old though, because as an added bonus, I think Persephone should finally be around to give one of her kids a boon. After all, she's more likely than Hades to condone what Max is doing, so of course she's gonna lend her support. I imagine it'll be kind of a cross between the boon Hades gave in 2 and what Demeter has been giving only for grassy spring magic instead of icy winter magic. Something to show her duality as the Goddess of Spring and the Queen of the Underworld.

On that lovely note, that's all I could come up with for now, so reblog with what YOU think should be in Hades 3 if Supergiant decides to make it a trilogy.

#supergiant games #hades supergiant #hades #hades 2 #hades 3 #persephone x hades #hades game #zagreus #melinoe #macaria #greek gods #greek mythology #greek tumblr #percy jackson #greek myth retellings

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cambion-companion · 2 years ago

Note

Here’s ya girl who has gone completely feral over astarion. He’s the babiest baby. Okay, here’s the prompt. My characterisation could be a bit (or a lot lol) off bc I haven’t played the game Y E T so feel free to change the things that seem OOC.

Established relationship, but the beginnings of it, on a mission to find a way for astarion to be in the sun again. Reader has given astarion time to work on his sexual trauma so they haven’t been having sex for some time. Reader is 100% ok w that. But they have a big argument over something (not related to sex) and astarion doesn’t know how to resolve the situation other than reverting back to his seductive artifice and using sex as a way to ensure his safety (in this case, emotional safety). Reader figures it out because they (or she) are not dumb. They reassure astarion and he lets himself be vulnerable but also, it turns out that astarion wants that sexual intimacy. But reader decides this will be all about astarion and making him feel good and loved. Body worship, astarion’s praise kink, just everything focused on astarion’s pleasure in a way he has never experienced and that makes him completely unravel once he comes. Not a subby reader, tho. You know me, I don’t do subby.

If this is too long of a prompt, just the sexy part will be ok. Thank you so much, i have such astarion brainrot DDDD:

I Want to Live

word count: 1700

gn!reader x Astarion | Baldur's Gate 3 fanfic | 18+ only

"I don't think we should use the tadpoles for anything, Astarion." You put your hands on your hips, glaring at the sulky Elf in front of you.

This tense conversation between the two of you had gone on far longer than you'd have liked. Astarion seemed insistent on using whatever advantage the Illithids had unintentionally given your party. Despite not yet knowing the implications of doing so.

Astarion's silver hair glinted in the firelight that warmed your back, his eyes shone like droplets of blood. "You might as well leave me alone, spoilsport." He waved an imperious hand in your direction, sneering at you in the way he knew would hurt you most. "Since you insist on being boring and unimaginative."

You ground your teeth. "I'm trying to keep us safe."

"And a fine job you're doing, my sweet." His lilting voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Why don't you ask Arabella how her parents are doing?" He paused, then feigned surprise. "Oh wait..."

Your eyes widened as a jolt of genuine pain lanced through your heart at his callous words. Astarion was aiming to do damage and, like always, he knew how to push your buttons.

Magic sparked at the end of your fingertips as you fought to control your rage. It was the lack of verbal response that alerted Astarion to the fact he might have pushed a little too far with you. His face almost looked regretful for a moment, or perhaps it was a trick of the firelight casting shadows across his features. You didn't gain much insight because of the tears blurring your vision as you quickly turned away and strode as far away from the vampire spawn as you could.

Shadowheart, who always seemed to overhear everything, cast a worried glance your direction before leveling a glare on Astarion who still watched after you with a blank look.

You sat yourself upon your bedroll before the campfire and listened to Volo squeakily tune his lute. Wyll and Gale were over by their tents chatting and Lae'zel sat on a boulder by the river sharpening her sword.

You had thought Astarion would understand and perhaps even agree with you, and the rest of the camp for that matter, that the parasites should not be utilized to gain control of other beings. It was convenient and downright useful, yes...but not worth an unknown cost.

You had thought...since that night when the two of you had become intimate...that he'd maybe come to care for you. But that jab about Arabella's parents, who you'd failed to save, only confirmed that the vampire did not have your best interests at heart.

Sighing, you moved your bedroll away from its usual place beside Astarion's and arranged it next to where Karlach slept. You could feel multiple pairs of eyes watching you move about but you didn't much care at the moment.

Karlach gave you a curious and concerned look as she came over and got comfortable for the night. "Are you alright? I could hear you and Astarion going at it...and not in the fun way."

You grunted and moved your body to the side so you could scrape out a rock that had been digging into your back. "It's fine. He's just an ass." You said these words loud enough for him to hear.

Karlach shrugged and nodded as if this were common knowledge. She gave you a jolting pat on the back before getting comfortable in her own bedroll.

As the breathing patterns of your companions slowly deepened in slumber, you could not find any rest. You tossed and turned as best you could in such primitive sleeping arrangements. You missed your bed back in Baldur's Gate above the taproom of the Shadowcat Claw, the familiar bustle of voices and a mug of ale in your belly lulling you to sleep. Out in this wilderness, with the thought of your argument with Astarion tugging at your thoughts...you had to get up.

As quietly as you could, you slid out of your bedroll and got to your feet. A quick observation of your companions told you they were all in a deep sleep. All except Lae'zel who sat on the boulder still, keeping silent watch. She nodded at you curtly as you passed and didn't ask any questions, for which you were grateful.

You crept through the foliage down to the place in the forest by the river where you and Astarion had had your midnight tryst. You could still feel his moonlight hair running through your fingers, his fangs on your neck as you arched it just for him. The trust...you thought you had at least earned a little bit of his trust.

"I thought I'd find you here." His voice was velvet, it shivered straight through your defenses to your heart.

"I wanted to be alone, Astarion." You tried to keep your own voice cool and collected, but you ached to hold him in your arms again.

Astarion had followed you from the campsite into the woods. He'd been fully aware of your restlessness, of course he had. He entered your line of sight now, looking very much like a cat stalking its prey. His ruby eyes were dark and trained on your face. "Come now, you're far too obvious for all this bluster. Do you not want to feel me again?" He gave you a crooked smile, showing his teeth. "A second taste, perhaps?"

You felt the hollowness of his words and saw the carefully arranged expression he wore like a mask. Beneath the facade you could make out the telltale twitch of a facial muscle, the tenseness of his eyes, indicating anxiety.

You sighed. "I thought we were passed these games."

"Games?" Astarion's tongue flicked out to wet his lips. "Games are all part of the fun, my dear. So good at getting the blood pumping."

You folded your arms. "I want an apology."

This tripped him up. For a moment the facade slipped, and he seemed genuinely taken aback. "Apologize?" Then he was back to his usual bluster. "Me? Apologize for what?"

"For having a go at me today. Bringing up Arabella's parents when you know how upset I am about it." Astarion made a noise as if to speak but you cut across him. "That was cruel, Astarion, and I deserve better from you."

"I didn't..." Astarion sighs heavily, his eyes glancing down to the ground then back at your face. "I apologize." The words seemed to pain him in some way. "I wanted to get a rise out of you, that's all. Now let's forget about that and have some fun."

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow, saying nothing, simply watching his face lit in the silver moonlight. His unconvincing grin slowly slipped off his face, a troubled frown replacing it. The two of you looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, you spoke.

"You're testing how much I care for you, aren't you?" Your voice was soft, almost inaudible over the rippling stream.

Astarion seemed momentarily taken aback, he seemed to consider taking shelter once more behind his mask of pompous indifference. But then his shoulder's slumped slightly, the fists at his sides loosened. That was all the answer you needed.

You stepped forward and placed your hands around his, tugging him closer. He did not resist, his footfalls light as ever as he drew near. Close enough to feel his breath warm your lips.

"I care about you, Astarion." Your voice was still soft amidst the rustling leaves and sparkling water. "I discourage you from using the tadpole's powers because I couldn't bear to see your will overtaken by yet another monster."

Astarion was silent for a long time, his scarlet eyes turned silver as a moonbeam fell across his pallid face. When he spoke, his voice sounded strained. "What if it's too late for me? To be anything other than a monster? My only choice is which one." He laughs forcefully, bitterness twisting his mouth.

"I won't let that happen." You encircled him tenderly in a hug, pulling him to rest flush against your body. "We're in this...together."

"Together." The word was echoed back to you, his voice framing the syllables as if it were a foreign tongue.

You turned your face into him and kissed his neck softly, feeling his body tense in your arms and then slowly relax. You kept your lips against his skin, over where Cazador had sunk his fangs all those centuries ago.

Astarion's hands slowly slid up your hips to rest against your lower back as he held you close. Your lips caressed his neck, throat and trailed up to his jaw until you pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I love you." You murmured.

You felt him tense again, not pushing you away, but his hands tightened on your back. "I..." Astarion hesitated. "I'm not quite ready to say those words back to you, my dear."

"I know." You felt no anger, no hurt. You accepted him however he wished to come to you, grateful for this rare moment of vulnerability beneath the stars.

You pushed him back gently until his back made contact with the base of a large sycamore tree. A huff of air left his lungs, quickly claimed by your mouth as you kissed him hungrily this time. Your hands made quick work of his clothing and Astarion became eager to help the process along.

"Vixen." He murmured and you laughed against his lips, your tongues teasing each other.

"You're beautiful, Astarion." You held his face in your hands and kissed his mouth lightly, not allowing him to turn away even as the compliment made his eyes search yours for hints of disingenuity. "I want nothing from you in return." You said firmly, reading his emotional turmoil through your shared Illithid connection. "This is just for you." You kissed his mouth, his cheek, his forehead. "To keep."

Astarion's head fell back to rest against the tree trunk as you continued lavishing affection upon him. He moaned your name softly to the night sky as you slowly sunk to your knees before him, the dirt and rocks digging unheeded against your knees. His fingers twisted in your hair and guided you to where he wanted you most.

"Good, my love." You praised him, your words causing his body to shake with increasing pleasure. "Show me."

The night was long and full of bliss. A genuine exchange of pleasure, without the previous facades and plays at affection. You felt the change as surely as he did, and when the others awoke in the morning it was to find your bedroll pulled back right next to where Astarion lay curled against you.

"You owe me five gold, Shadowheart." Gale mumbled.

#baldurs gate 3 fanfic #astarion x reader #astarion bg3 #gale bg3 #shadowheart #bg3 fic #bg3 astarion x reader #astarion x tav #karlach #astarion romance #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction

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vee-vee-writes · 4 months ago

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Part One: Reigniting Old Feuds (Thranduil x poly!reader x Thorin)

This is part one of a request made by @satans-bitch.

Original request: "the reader being in a polyamorous relationship with Thranduil and Thorin but recently they have both been getting jealous of each other so the reader has to help them sort their shit out cause they keep annoying the reader with their bickering."

Y/N had grown up on tales of Dale as a small child. A magnificent city of opportunity, trade, and hope with bustling paved streets and stone watchtowers that touched the sky. The city whose rivers ran gold with wealth and no man, women, or child suffered. Until the Sack of Erebor had forced its residents to flee down the mountain to escape the jaws of the dragon as he left his hoard to feast. Since then, tales of longing had been passed down from parent to child aching for the day Dale could be reclaimed.

Unlike many of Dale’s descendants who had built a new home upon the lake, Y/N’s ancestors had fled further from the jaws of the dragon to the edge of Mirkwood. By no means a glamorous life, the small village offered safety and security away from the shadow of the mountain. Yet it was still close enough that word of Smaug’s defeat had reached the village quickly. Packing up what little supplies and labour you could spare, you’d made for your ancestral home.

While expecting the city to have been somewhat damaged from Smaug’s night raids, the corpses of orc, goblin, man, elf, and dwarf had been unexpected. Y/N quickly came to learn the reason; the Battle of the Five Armies. So, the cleanup began, determination to see the beauty of the city restored bringing Y/N into the service of Bard the Dragonslayer, newly named king of Dale. The pairs shared goals brought a quick and easy friendship, with the King appointing them one of his advisors.

It was within this role Y/N came to know both the King of Carven Stone and the Elven-King. After their reluctant truce against their orcish enemy, it was decided in the months following the war that the three would meet in Dale to attempt to rekindle treaties of old. Under the impression it would only be the three of them meeting for the first greeting both kings were taken off guard when Bard announced another would be joining them. Yet neither king had protested once they laid eyes upon the human joining them. While Bard had initially requested your attendance as a mediator between the three, he soon noticed each king stealing glances at Y/N when he thought no one was looking.

Outside of the trade talks each king began to seek Y/N out. The excuse of asking their opinion on Dale’s trade needs and desires was used by each king to bridge the gap and invite them to dinner. From there Y/N’s connection with each monarch flourished. Each lavished Y/N with attention and trinkets over the first fortnight of the talks. But the fixations of their rival on their new beloved did not escape either king.

Trade talks devolved into arguments and heated glares across the table despite Bard and Y/N’s placating. The King of Dale began to regret bringing Y/N into the talks despite their prowess as an advisor. While he recognised it was not their fault, Y/N had become a source of tension between Thranduil and Thorin. Y/N found themselves in a precarious situation.

While on one hand Y/N wished to step back from the talks and the kings hoping that it would calm tempers. They knew it would not be easy nor polite to ignore the requests of a king. A selfish part of Y/N didn’t want to step away either, desperate to remain as close to the pair as possible for the short amount of time they had left together before the discussion ended. There was the potential that they may never see one another again.

Yet that would not be the case. In the final days of the gathering each King made their way to Y/N to confess their feelings. The Elven King came to confess first, inviting them on a stroll under the stars. Thranduil was silver tongued, waxing together elegant declarations of admiration. While the king generally refused to speak of his first wife, Thranduil had stressed that in the centuries since her loss he had never felt so strongly for another. It was as though Y/N had hung the stars back into a sky that had been drained of all colours. If she would have him then Thranduil would be theirs for eternity. His confessions had taken the human by surprise and well assuring Thranduil she was just as interested in him Y/N had asked for time to think his proposition over.

Not to be out done Thorin appeared upon Y/N’s doorstep at first light the next day. Whisking Y/N away to his own private residence, they were greeted by an extraordinary feast upon the dining table. After breaking their fast Thorin was quick to assert the depths of his feelings, his surety that after all this time Y/N was his one, and his intentions to court them officially should they accept. Flattered Y/N had assured Thorin of their admiration for him but let slip Thranduil’s proposition from the night before. The Dwarven King’s blood boiled at the thought of the Elven scum anywhere near Y/N but honouring their request for time to mull everything over he bit back his jealousy.

After Thorin’s confession a very flustered Y/N had burst into Bard’s home seeking his counsel. Once he had been filled in on the situation by his distressed friend, the King of Dale made the decision to send out envoys to each of the Kings requesting that trade talks be paused until the situation was resolved. Over a very early pint Bard gave Y/N some much needed hard advice; they should follow their heart but keep in mind that any decision to choose one king over the other could be the spark to rekindle Dwarven/Elven feuds. A bitter tea to swallow but something Y/N knew in their heart to be true; the last few meetings had demonstrated it to no fault. While Y/N was open to the possibility of a polyamorous relationship it was doubtful that two kings, let alone two people who barely got along, would accept such a proposal. Retiring to their home for the rest of the day Y/N knew what had to be done. Each suitor would have to be notified that for the benefit of the three kingdoms Y/N could not accept either betrothal. With any luck the sting of rejection would not sour anything further.

Part two is available now! Check out more of my works here.

#the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #the hobbit fic #the hobbit x reader #thorin x reader #request #thranduil imagine #thranduil fic #thranduil x reader #thorin x poly!reader #Thranduil x poly!reader #Thorin vs Thranduil

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zombiecheri · 2 years ago

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A Girl And A Samurai

Pairing: Mizu x Fem!reader

Tags: mizu kills a man, you get to know her. there's nothing more in first chapter at least

A/N: haven't written anything in ages so excuse me if there are some errors. had to get this out of my system. next chapter will be more spicy!

Chapter 1

"you drown not by falling into a river, but by staying submerged in it" - Paulo Coelho

It wasn't supposed to happen like that. The man, your father entrusted to accompany you back to the village, simply haven't showed up and you sat in the small inn pondering what to do next. It was foolish to even consider going back alone. With autumn season nearing it's end, cold winter air was creeping from the north rattling against the old wooden walls of the inn. Not to talk about groups of men wandering around and waiting for an opportunity to rob, rape and kill women on the road.

road, which would take at least a week.

you were brave and reckless but far from stupid, you wouldn't even last 3 days on the road. but you had to.

had to

With winter nearing, you couldn't get stuck in an inn where you hardly knew anyone with no food and barely any money left. Waiting for your family to send another person to accompany you back would also take too long. It seemed like an impossible situation and you were about to start panicking until a solution presented itself.

Big hat. That was the first thing you noticed about the stranger. Then you saw a scabbard that glistened in the morning light and the weird tinted glasses that hid their stare. Accidentally overhearing the conversation between him and the innkeeper got your hopes back up. Coincidentally strange samurai also happened to be headed to your village. It seemed that you haven't run out of luck completely. Convincing the samurai to let you accompany him to the village took a lot of effort and begging on your part but the very next day you both were headed to your home, walking out from an old inn into the road surrounded by fallen leaves.

The air was crisp and fresh brushing against your skin and twirling colourful leaves around you. Samurai was quiet but you didn't mind the silence that much. You noticed even back in the inn that he didn't like to waste time on small talk so you silently followed him on the road enjoying the scenery around you.

The first night you spent out in the woods surrounded by trees looming around you, the temperature dropping significantly but thankfully samurai made a fire so the cold late autumn weather didn't bother you much. Both of you ate quietly and you settled to sleep near fire while samurai took watch. The fire cast shadows that swirled with each flicker. It was hard to fall asleep when you could feel his gaze on the back of your head and the anxiousness seeped into your skin sending warn signals to your mind about the whole situation. You barely knew the stranger and while he agreed to let you tag along with him, you were too quick to trust him. Who knew what he'd do? You two were completely alone in woods. Even if you wanted you couldn't shout for help because there wasn't a soul who could hear you.

It seemed that while your mind was racing, your body was having other problems and soon exhaustion took over making you fall into a troubled slumber. It didn't last long. You awoke with a jolt, clutching your hand against your chest, nightmare slowly fading away as you took in your surroundings eyes searching for a tall form of a samurai except he was nowhere to be seen. Panic seeped into your skin and settled heavily in your stomach. You glanced around frantically searching for him, the fire long gone, late autumn chill creeping up and leaving goosebumps on your skin.

He left you. That was your first thought and in the blind panic you stood up, walking in a random direction hoping to catch up to him. You wouldn't survive alone in woods. At least it seemed that your belongings were not touched at all but what good it would do if you ended up dying anyways?

You walked around blindly for a while until you heard a strange sound and slowly, with careful steps went to the direction where you heard it from, light coming down from above helping you lead the way. It appeared there was a small river deep into the woods, you could hear the sound of water rushing down disappearing in the darkness down the way where faint light from the moon couldn't reach it. That's when you noticed the samurai. It appeared that your panic was short-lived and suddenly you felt foolish. He didn't abandon you, he just simply cleaned himself in the water while you were sleeping. He was dressing up when your eyes zeroed in on his chest. Rather, on a strange fabric covering the area. bindings? why would a man need bindings around his chest you wondered before realization hit you and you let out a quiet gasp, taking slow steps backwards.

He, or rather, she was on you before you even managed to blink. The tip of the sword brushed against your neck and you finally let out a loud gasp falling on the cold ground scrambling on your feet to get away from the samurai. She pulled her sword away, grabbing your kimono and bringing her face closer until you could feel her cold breath against your skin. Eyes, icy like the river, bore into you seemingly trying to pierce you with the gaze alone and all you could do was stare back at her gaping like a fish out of water.

If looks could kill

Another shiver took a hold of your body and then you heard it, her voice, almost as cold and deadly as her eyes, whispering against your ear,

"If you tell anyone about this I will kill you"

And brave and reckless you were, but mindless you were not for you believed her every word and managed a tiny, shaky nod not trusting your voice to speak. She let go of you then, dropping you unceremoniously on the ground and going back to finish dressing up as you sat there wondering if luck was at your side or you were truly foolish to believe so.

Next morning you both continued your walk again. You quietly gathered your supplies after eating and followed her on the road not missing the stare which now you knew hid eyes colour of a chilly winter sky. The silence once welcoming now hung in the air threatening to deafen you. Tension so thick you could almost taste it on your tongue. Walk was short lived because not even an hour in, your luck decided to test you again.

Three men, seemingly out of nowhere appeared right in front of you two their gazes dark, their eyes even darker and you cursed in your head noticing their ugly stares fixed on your body. Your samurai just stood there staring down at them without saying a word before slowly tilting her head to the side and whispering for only you to hear,

"stand back"

You did as you were told and watched as the three men laughed at your companion.

"You think you can take us?" Said one of them, voice raspy filled with amusement and mockery as he took out the small blade and dangled it in front of the samurai while other two laughed. "Give us the girl and maybe we'll let you walk away"

You heard it then. A faint chuckle, melodic and deep so unlike the laugh coming out of awful men in front of you and a part of you, mistrustful and weak and so, so foolish, wondered if she'd actually give you to them. It seemed that you didn't have to wonder long because she unsheathed the sword and before you even managed to blink, her sword was slicing the hand dangling a rusty blade.

It felt like time slowed down, hand fell on the ground blood oozing out from the wound painting everything red and you felt like you were underwater, your ears filled with cotton. You didn't even notice your shaky legs giving out as you fell on the ground yet again.

It ended as fast at it started and soon one man lay dead on the ground, blood pooling around him, his sliced hand laying next to him clutching that rusty metal as other two were running away with panicked gasps and curses. There wasn't a drop of blood on the samurai as she turned around putting the sword back into the scabbard. She noticed your fallen form and tilted her head an unkind smile appearing on her face as she took slow steps towards you, like an animal stalking it's prey.

"are you scared?" Her voice held a hint of mockery, tone almost bored. You realized then that she expected you to run. To cry. A demon, an onryō wearing a mask of a human with mixed blood and eyes so unlike anything you've ever seen before. She expected you to be scared or disgusted and while you were shocked and maybe scared a little bit, there was a hint of something deep inside you, something that made you walk all those miles away from home, made you brave and made you reckless.

A hint of curiosity.

You were curious about her. A lone samurai, a woman, something completely unheard of, walking around for a purpose you didn't know and killing with such precision and skill that left you speechless. That intrigued you, that pulled you in and made you want to understand, to unravel the mystery that was the woman standing in front of you. So really, how could you help it? How could you stop the curiosity taking over your body and how could you stop the words that stumbled out of your mouth catching both of you by surprise.

"What's your name?"

Such a simple, innocuous question. There was a dead man laying in his own blood and there was a samurai in front of you who killed him in mere seconds and you wanted to know her name?

She let out a laugh then. A real laugh, throwing her head back and wrapping arms around herself all hints of mockery and distrust disappearing from her face. The sound pulled you in, mesmerized you and took you by surprise so sudden you felt foolish. foolish for the way your cheeks warmed and foolish for the way your treacherous heart speed up it's rhythmic beating against your chest.

"It's mizu" was all she said after she calmed down and oh, you were such a foolish girl after all.

The walk afterwards wasn't as unpleasant anymore. Tension hanging in the air disappeared and took the silence with it. For some unknown but quite welcoming reasons she even indulged in small talk with you. You got to know about her purpose and in return she got to know about your life in village.

Mizu. Set on a path towards killing four white men in japan. Mizu, whose blue eyes lost it's icy edge and reminded you more of a warm summer sky instead, of clear ocean - wild, untamed but beautiful and deadly. And you wondered, if you tested your luck once more, could you drown in them or drift above.

#mizu blue eye samurai #mizu #blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #blue eye samurai fanfic #mizu x you #mizu x fem!reader #writers on tumblr #haven't written anything in ages #it's on ao3 as well with the same title

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