#( YOUR BROTHER'S BLOOD; WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? ) strike at the heart

[ashblooddragons]

As The World Caves In

Request made by @valuemyheart1

Word Count: 1742

Summary: it's been three weeks since you lost your son to Blood and Cheese. and yet your breast will not dry, they become painful, and Aemond is all to happy to help relive that pain. (also Aemond was not with Syliv he was busy talking to some unnamed lord)

Warnings: memories of B&C, grief, P in V sex, breast worship, lactation kink, still new to smut so please be kind!

I can feel the weight of my breasts, feel how they are filled with milk for babe, it's painful and I should relive it, but there is no babe to feed to take this pain away. I've been fighting the memories, fighting the image of my little boy, my little Aenar.

Oh my sweet little Aenar, he was only five moons old when those monsters came in and took him from me. All for that little Strong boy. 

They were supposed to kill my loving Husband, my dear brother, Aemond. They might have if he wasn't speaking to some Lord that was in need of ‘dire advice from the prince’ I scoff at the thought. He was in dire need of my husband? Him? As I had to stand with a dagger to my throat as that blast cheese cut my son's head off? He needed my husband more? 

No, and there is a reason that the Lord is now being sharply questioned in the black cells. 

I can still see Aemond's face when he saw what they did to our little boy. He must have heard my screams after they sliced Aenar's little head off. He looked like he was going to be sick.

I hear something behind me, like stones scraping against stone. When I turn around to see what is wrong I see two men with knifes grinning at me, one rushes forward when he sees I'm about to scream. 

“You can scream lass, but if you do I'll kill ya. Do ya understand?” He asks, gliding the dull edge off his knife down the side of my face. 

All I can do is nod and pray that all they want is my jewelry. 

My nod seems to satisfy them as the bulky one lifts his hand from my mouth moving to reach for Aenar.

I gasp and step back holding Aenar closer to my chest cooing to him when he starts to cry. 

“What do you want? My jewels, you can have them just don't just my baby boy.” I plead helplessly. I gasp when the scrawny one rips the gold and ruby necklace from my throat.

“We were sent by the Queen, the true Queen. She wants payment for her son, and we were sent to make sure the deal was done.” The scrawny one says twirling his blade in his hands as he grins at me menacingly. 

For some reason this one scares me more than the goliath. 

“What does she want? What has my sister, the ‘true Queen’ , asked of you?” I ask feeling the pit in my belly grow, I have a sick feeling my jewelry is not what they are after. 

“A son for a son.” The goliath says pointing to Aenar who is still crying. 

I can feel his little tears soak into my silk robe, feel his little heart pumping in. I feel my throat constrict in dear, feel the bile rise in my throat. Black dots flood my vision as panic takes over.

“Give a price, want double the amount done. Just don't hurt my little boy. He's only five moons, please.” I beg but from the menacing smirk on the scrawny one, and the look of mock sympathy on the goliath I know they will kill my boy.

I tried to run but the Goliath grabbed me around the waist and held my head in place. “Told to take you to watch lass.” 

I watch as the scrawny one lays little Aenar on his changing table, raise his blade and strike down. It was a clean cut at least, as it only took that one swing for my little boy's head to fall off the table and  roll across the floor only to stop at my feet. 

I don't hear them leave, I don't hear the guards run in, I don't hear Aemond calling my name. I only heard screams and the blood rushing to my ears. When I turn I see nothing but Aemond, the way he can't decide where to look, our little boy or me. I watch as the blood drains from his face and his skin turns green. 

I don't know what to say besides one word. One word is all I need to say for Aemond to know who to kill for this crime against us.

“Rhaenyra.”

I'm cut out of my thoughts by the feeling of a hand on my shoulder. I whip around ready to attack only to find not a goliath nor a scrawny man, but my wonderful husband, my dear brother, I find Aemond.

“Sorry, I asked if you were alright?” He says with that tone that tells me he knows I wasn't here.

I about laugh at the question, how am I supposed to be alright? How am I supposed to ever be alright after what I went through? But instead of bringing up that night I decide to go a different route.

“My breasts hurt, the Maesters say I just have to wait for them to dry up, but they won’t. It hurts Aemond, it hurts.” I say flinching when I touch my tender and swollen breasts. It has only been three weeks since we lost our boy, and I haven't let a drop leave me. 

I watch his pupil dilate and hear him take in bated breaths. I know that look well, he's always adored my breasts but once I came with child and they grew, and once Aenar was born he seemed enthralled with the sight of our son suckling at my breast, one of the reasons I continued even though it is frowned upon for a Princess to feed her own child. 

“I could help,” he says breathlessly, making me confused how he could help me. “I could– I could relive that pain for you.”

“H–how?”

I feel his bated breath against my lips, feel the hardness of him against my hip. Try as I might I can't fight the desire that courses through veins, nor the wetness between my thighs. 

I watch as he moves so he is now hovering over me before he kisses my lips like a man starved. It has been so long since I felt desire, felt this need. I think as I move my hips so my core can meet his length. Though we're both still clothed, the friction is enough to make me breathless.

I gasp when he sits back on his haunches and lifts me so I'm on his lap. “Time to take that Nightgown off, Darling.” He says already raising it and I'm all too happy to help.

“Fuck.” I hear him whisper as he takes in the swell of my breasts, the rich pink of my nipples and the veins that have risen from prolonged fullness.

“Gods I've missed these.” He says kissing along the tender skin making me whimper in almost pain.

“They've missed you, my love.” I say smiling when I hear the guttural growl that leaves him.

Before I know it I'm laid on my back my Husband resting his hips against mine and my peaked nipple in his mouth. I feel each draw he takes, it's a strange relief, for the desire it brings to my core is undeniable, but so is the relief of that painful fullness and stretch. 

“Aemond.” I sigh out rocking my hips against his, I need more, I need him. 

“Fuck, if you keep doing that I won't be able to hold back.” He growls out gripping my hip and kicking up the milk that has dripped down my right breast. 

“Then don't.” I say gripping his hair and forcing him to look at me.

He may hate his eye, but I find there's something ethereal about his scar and sapphire. And even if it is the last words I say, the last thing I think before my last breath I will have him know I adore every part of him, even the scars and darkness. 

I feel him untying his trousers as he continues to suck and lick at my right breast. I feel each draw of milk leave me, hear the groan of pleasure he lets loose at each taste.

I feel the leaking head of his cock against my core, feel him hesitate from gliding into me.

“Please.” Is all I need to say before he drives into me with a punishing force. 

I can hardly catch my breath as he starts bullying my cunt with sharp hard thrusts as he moves over to my left breast. All I can think of is him, no more pain, no more grief, only Aemond and the pleasure he gives me. 

With each thrust and each drag from me teat I see stars, he has always known my body better than I ever could. He could always pick up the slightest frown or smile, and now he is seeing how he drives me mad with desire, how he takes my breath away. 

“You were made for me, from your nature to this sweet little cunt that grips my cock like a vice. There is no man, or god that will ever take you from me. Do you hear me?” He says emphasizing each word with a sharp thrust to the spot he knows makes me see stars.

“I was made for you, my love, only you, always you!” I scream out feeling my peak upon the precipice. 

With one more hard thrust, I’m screaming his name as I grip his long silky hair like a lifeline. My eyes go black from the force of my peak, and I can only barely hear him let ut a groan of pleasure before he spills in me, for all I can hear clearly is the beat of my heart. 

We lay like this for a while, his hands gripping my hips, my legs around his waist, and my fingers in his hair, and him buried deep within my core his cock acting as a stopper so his seed does not leak out of me.

We don’t say anything, for we do not need to, we know this was only a moment of release, of bliss, and that within time we will hold each other close, me sobbing into his chest and him letting silent tears fall into my hair. But we will have each other and that is all we will ever truly need.

@sugutoad @ilikefelines @mmogurl @classicsimpforaaronwarner @sachaa-ff

[sunnami]

the 5 times you did (not) love each other and the 1 time you did.

summary. as the title suggests. this one was a request! i hope you enjoyed my version of this anon.

pairing/s. poly!marauders + lily / reader.

wc. 4.1k

tags. hurt/comfort, angst, peter pettigrew mention, not proofread, like seriously, fluff, happy ending.

cws: brief mention of violence and blood.

note: i am alive?? crazy. i began this fic, whilst sick, around august, nursing the worst headache ever. i wrote the middle of this fic, sick. and i think it's only fitting that i finished this fic. sick... honestly, i did not proofread any of this, i just know i lowkey love it. after the first one-thousand words, i just spiral and become delirious, so i don't even know what happened here. my first request finished! yippee! and thank you all for 2k :< i love you all so much.

i. 

SIRIUS BLACK did not love you—not even close, not even a little bit. Not even at all.

After Peter Pettigrew’s slight against his family, Sirius would never hold warmth or pity for the skittish mouse ever again. He was played for a fool. And, he did not know which betrayal had hurt more. Peter’s—or yours. (Had you known all along of your adoptive brother’s plans? Did you not think for one second that Sirius would, without a sliver of hesitation, put himself in the way of a killing curse to keep you safe? He’d have died before ever letting the fire in your eyes wither to ashes. Clearly, you did not share the same sentiment.) 

He wanted nothing to do with you. Ever. And if the rat-bastard dared to show his face, not even Death would know where to put Peter’s body to rest. Sirius would keep him alive until he begged for death—until the idea of living frightened him more than dying. And for you—beholder of his heart, captor of his soul, and co-possessor of his mind—he could only hope that you stayed far away. You had wrecked him—all of them. 

He wanted—

He did not know what he wanted. 

For when it came to you, Sirius Black was reduced to a man wandering the deserts—mistaking clouds for water, and the sands for grass blades. You had ravaged every fiber of his being; consumed his every thought and word. The most ironic part of all was that if you had been the one standing there—Sirius would have let you Avada him. Dumbledore could scold him in the afterlife—Sirius could care less. He’d have snapped his wand in half and asked someone else to fight you because Sirius had vowed from the moment he met you that he would never harm a hair on your head. He would never be the reason that tears stained your pretty cheeks. 

Well, apparently, trust and promises were not worth a damn thing nowadays. 

No, he did not love you—even as you stood on the steps of Grimmauld, your hair ruined by the downpour of rain. Your lips bruised and bitten from a nervous habit Sirius had yet to break out of you. 

“I didn’t know, Sirius,” you whispered—your voice the only sound falling on his ears amidst all the thunder and lightning. He only saw you. “Y-You have to believe me. If I knew—Gods, I would have told Dumbledore in a heartbeat. Fuck. I thought you knew me better than that.” 

He thought so, too. 

“Did you know?” Sirius began, taking a step forward and into the storm, a demeaning sneer on his lips. “That when Voldemort stood in our home, your portrait was right behind him? That was all I could look at. If I had died—you would have been the last thing I saw.” 

You had not replied. 

Sirius grit his teeth. “Go,” he said, voice hoarse. 

“Go!” he yelled, grateful for the rain as it masked his own tears as you flinched from the sound of his voice. Not the thunderclap, the lightning strike—but it was him who scared you. 

(But you had done so first.) 

When you apparated away, Sirius crumbled to the ground and pounded his fists against the asphalts where you were moments ago, screaming and cursing until he saw blood flowing with the rainwater.

It was laughable, really. The way he did not love you. 

It was not love that drove him to madness, pummeling Gideon Prewett into a bloody pulp for mentioning your name during a meeting with the Order. He had presumed you to be a Death Eater alongside your brother—Sirius instantly saw nothing but red. (He condemned Bellatrix, his own cousin, for becoming a madwoman. Yet, here he was, unraveled by the very thought of you. The very whisper of your name.) 

But whatever it was that had turned him into a fool and a hypocrite all at once, it was not love. 

ii. 

JAMES POTTER had no love for you—make no mistake about that. He loved love, and he did so fiercely and truthfully. But you and Peter had broken his trust—defiled his loyalty from the moment your brother had brought Voldemort to his doorstep. (Did you know that as he begged and screamed for Lily to hide with their son, Harry—he thought of you? For a fleeting moment, he saw your face, marked by fear and tear-rimmed eyes. And James knew straight away that he would spit on Tom Riddle’s bare feet if only to keep his family safe. If only to see you once more. Alive and well. But, you must not have thought the same—if you had conspired with Peter to sell him and Lily out to the Devil reborn.) 

The thought of you breathing was enough to keep James alive. 

But, that was not love. It was a mockery of it. 

No, he did not feel so much as a twinge of emotion for you. Not even as Mad-Eye Moody brought your limp body back to Grimmauld. It was not love that threatened the magic in his being—that simmered in his blood until the painted walls saw an indent of his fist. (“Poor thing,” McGonagall cooed as she pressed her palm over your forehead. Despite some of the members’ growing distrust for you, you still took an Unforgivable in their stead. “We can only wait. . . Four Cruciatus curses. . .”) 

What more did James need to want to rip Peter apart limb by limb? 

It was not love that rooted his feet by your side. Sitting hunched on a chair too small for his height, bags beneath his eyes, and the pale of his lips becoming noticeable to everyone who spoke to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to you lovelessly—hands desperately clutching your own. Sirius stood across the room, arms crossed over his chest, dagger-like eyes waiting for so much as a twitch of your finger. “I’m sorry.”

It was a plea this time.

He only hoped you did not ask him to love you. For James could give you the world, hand-pick the stars, and burrow his body deep beneath the ground if you had asked for it—but he could not love you. 

Everyone had told him not to hope that you would wake up. That your pretty eyes would not flutter open, and you would no longer look at him as you had before. But James was stubborn. He was selfish as he was stubborn. He did not love you—but he needed to hear the sound of your voice. And James would take it any way that he could. The soft cadence of a whisper, or a rough utterance of a single word. Molly Weasley told him to accept reality for what it was. (“You need sleep, dear,” the matriarch fussed. “There’s nothing we can do. Look at the Longbottoms. . . We can do no more for this one as we had done for them.”) 

In the still of the night, he left his reveries on the cold of your skin. “Wake up,” he demanded. 

“Wake up or else you’re the traitor everyone thinks you are,” James hissed. 

But his words held no heat—and his heart held no love for you. 

Make no mistake about that.

Then, when you finally woke up, disoriented and throat parched—a hazy recollection of the weeks before—James made sure that no more than four people could enter the room. He did not care if a hurricane, or if Voldemort himself—James had faced him once already, after all—threatened to break the door down. You were theirs to protect.

 (But not to love.) 

“We need to begin the questioning, James, you know that,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt, almost exasperatedly; weary lines written across his face. James would not allow even a toe beyond the doorway. An interrogation meant you had something to do with the attempted murder of James and his family. Whether or not you were innocent, James did not care—he just wanted you safe. 

(And a small part of him already knew that you were not your brother’s keeper. Just as they had absolved Sirius of his family’s sins. It would be unfair to not show you the same grace. But before his mind knew that, James’s heart and soul had known the truth all along.) 

He found Sirius gently tending to your every need, and already James knew that was Padfoot’s way of begging for forgiveness. The ebony-haired man hung onto your every word. He winced when you flinched, and pressed his apologies to your forehead, rasping for a kindness he did not deserve. Not after what he did. How he turned you away and cursed your name. How they betrayed you. 

James did not love you. 

But what else could he call the manacles that bound his hands and forced him to his knees when it came to you? 

Not. Love. 

iii. 

REMUS LUPIN could not bring himself to love you. But, he could not love Sirius, Lily, and James either. He was undeserving of such a privilege. But he was not allowed to love you; Remus could only hope that you saw even a shred of worth in him—to wrest each word from his lips and every breath from his lungs. But, he did not love you. No. 

Because loving you meant he was to tell you of your brother’s crimes. And Remus could not hurt you like that. 

“P-Peter?” you had asked, wearing the eyes of a fretful sibling. Remus lifted his hand to tuck a strand of hair gone astray behind your ear. Bellatrix had done a number on you—just as she had done to Alice and Frank. Remus was fairly certain that Sirius was off on a hunt for his cousin, his mind toyed with by the barbarity of war. What they could not do for the Longbottoms, they’d wring themselves dry to do for you. After the Lestranges’ attack, you suffered damage to your throat and memories. Remus could not bear to see you in such pain. 

He could not give you love, but Remus would offer up to you his every limb, and the weary skin upon his bones. 

“They. . .” Remus grimaced. How could he act as the bearer of bad news? He’d rather dive headfirst into shark-infested waters. Be anywhere else but here. In fact, Remus would rather snatch you away from the funereal walls, and hold you in his arms in the quietude of dawn, than be the one to bring anguish to your eyes. “They’re looking for him at the moment, love.” 

One question lingered in your eyes: Why? 

Luckily, Sirius was always the better one at sharpening a blunt knife. “He was a traitor,” he spat like acid. “A traitor to the Order. A traitor to us. He’s no friend of ours. Not anymore.” 

But Sirius knew—better than anyone else—how difficult it can be to truly hate little brothers, especially once they’ve gone. 

“No. . .” You trembled, almost retching as you sobbed into your palms. 

Remus held you then, the front of his shirt soaked in your tears, eyes firmly shut as you trembled and heaved in his arms. The sound of your guttural screams bounced off the four walls, and Remus had to bury his nose in your hair. You were alive. Safe. Breathing. But you felt cold as ice; an empty husk stripped bare for grief to take over. And Remus could do nothing but hold you. (He just hoped that wherever Peter Pettigrew was, Remus would not be the first one to find him. Otherwise, they would not be able to recover even a fingernail from his remains.)

“Hush, love,” Remus whispered into your ear as you cried yourself sick. Mourning the loss of your brother, reeling from the betrayal of a bond that was supposed to be stronger than blood. Remus would make him pay, he vowed as much to you. No, Remus and the wolf in him did not know how to love. But he knew how to hurt. And, that, he’d gladly do for you. His body was for you to use as a shield, his soul for you to strip bare, and his heart for you to thieve and never return. 

“Don’t cry,” said James, a shadow cast over his frames. “Not for Peter. Never. Fucking bastard will get what’s coming to him.” He laid on the vacant space of the bed, gently untangling your hands that were pressed over your heart. “I’ll make sure of it.”

They all would.

But not because they loved you. 

It was not out of love, Remus had to remind himself in the coming days, when he stayed diligently by your side as you recovered. Daily sessions with the best healer St. Mungo’s could offer—as if James would allow anything else. There were days your eyes would glaze over, your words rough and sluggish, and Remus would try his damndest to make you smile. 

It was the least he could do. 

For failing to protect you. 

But that was not love. 

(It was hope. Wretched, disastrous hope as he fell to his knees, and your name in between his teeth.)

iv. 

LILY EVANS was a fighter in all the ways that mattered. 

And from the very first moment she held Harry in her arms, eyes raking over his wrinkly, bloodied skin; all ten fingers and toes, her soft cries over his loud screaming—Lily knew she would trade her life for his in a heartbeat. Little, lovely eyes that would soon see the world in his own time. Lily adored him. Cherished every tear, snore, and giggle. She knew then, that a mother’s love was entirely different from any emotion she’d ever felt before. 

This was proven the first time Harry had gotten seriously ill. A few weeks after the attempted murder on the Potters, Harry was ceaselessly crying—screaming, even, every night—red-faced as he fussed every breakfast and dinner. Lily found herself at wit’s end. Her protectiveness had gone up a hundred measures; wouldn’t let anyone besides family or Madam Pomfrey see Harry. Yet, even with all the draughts and silly-flavoured syrups, Harry wasn’t getting better. 

“Lily dear, you cannot actually be thinking about this,” worried Molly Weasley as Lily stood in front of your door, holed away in the room where you had been recovering for the last few days. It would be the first time she saw you since the incident. More than anything she was afraid. Frightened that you would look at her differently. Whether or not that fear stemmed from love, Lily was not concerned. “We can call for another Healer from Mungo’s to have a look at Harry. . . Who knows what might. . .” 

Lily held Harry closer to her, lips firmly pressed, attempting to ignore the way his temperature was unnaturally high. “Might what, Mrs. Weasley?” She knew Molly was only talking out of concern, from a mother’s perspective at least. But she knew you better than anyone else. You would never hurt her, or Harry, that much she was certain of. And if you were the traitor everyone else was afraid of accusing you of, a sentence delivered by association to Peter—then let the guillotine fall, Lily would carry your crimes for you. 

She remembered ever-so clearly in her sixth-year, you with dreams glistening in your eyes. (“I’m going to be a Healer, Lils! Minnie said I’d be a great one. . . I want to protect those I love. . . I know I can do it. . . Oh, I can’t wait to tell Peter that I’ve gotten recommendations already to work at Mungo’s after graduation.”) 

And Lily recalled at that moment, she had felt a different kind of emotion that she had never experienced before. It was not love, of course. Tuney said she was too young and too stupid to know what real love was. But, at sixteen, what else could describe the way her heart fluttered and the way her lips threatened to break out into a smile whenever you lit up talking about your future? (It was just a crush, young Lily told herself.)

Only to be crushed and cast aside in the face of the war, where fighters took their place at the forefront of the lines, mothers and children hid; healers stretching themselves thin to be here, there, everywhere; where traitors walked in plain sight. 

“There is no one else I trust more with my life,” replied Lily. 

And that was that. 

Lily skirted around Molly and opened the door to your room, where Sirius, James, and Remus all stood at attention at the sight of her and Harry. She ignored them, and headed straight to your side. 

“Hello, love,” she greeted with all the gentleness she was made of, a smile creeping up to her eyes as Lily watched you turn your head at the sound of her voice. Truth be told, she did not know what her end-goal was in coming here. But being by your side had always made life a little more bearable, like all the illnesses in the world could not bring her down. And so, her magic had instinctively summoned her person to you. She, at least, was relieved to see colour returning to your cheeks, though the red in your eyes had dulled the hues she adored so much. 

“Is that. . .?” you croaked. 

Lily nodded. “Harry, meet—” 

One of the loves of my life, the most loyal and pure witch anyone ever has the privilege of meeting, someone I want to stay in my life forever. 

Lily’s smile wilted. “A friend.” 

Later, she would place Harry in your arms—her little hope embraced by her dream—and Lily would wonder if it was by pure magic that Harry calmed in your presence. 

For if love could hurt and destroy, could it mend and heal the broken as well?

But what a shame, for not one in that room carried an ounce of love for you.

(She would die for Harry, yes—but she would live for you.)

v. 

YOU did not love them, either. 

The very idea, thought—insinuation—was absurd. (Why, they deserved much better than you, after all.) With hands that failed to protect them, were you even allowed to hold them anymore? Did your heart have the right to breathe for them? You had failed as a sister and a friend—how much more would you have failed as their lover? Well, you’d never know. 

Because you did not love them. 

Merely wished them happiness and for the world to extend them kindness. For the sun to look brightly down on them, and for time to heal their scars and wounds. For if they were in pain, the earth would stop spinning. But such a request was not borne from love. 

Surely not. 

Because, then, that would have meant that it was love that teared you apart when Sirius cursed your name, when James turned you away, when Remus could not look you in the eyes, or when Lily—for all your history together—called you a friend. 

The whole of you was made by the parts of them. Each memory welded into the crevices of your soul. From the moment you had all found each other in the same train compartment, same common room—there was a shift in the fates that bound all five of you together. (The ties were red, but the thread was not of love.) You did not believe in Professor Trelawney’s talks of providence and destiny. 

Because if you did, then why was the universe so cruel? 

Falling—not in love—for four people who could very much do without you in their lives. Lacking severely as a sister to the point you had not noticed your brother fading and fading away into the shadows. 

Was love that unkind? That merciless? 

Then, you did not want to love at all. 

Oh, but magic or not, every creature on this earth selfish. 

You were no different. 

You wanted. 

Oh, how you yearned. 

“I LOVE YOU.” 

You barely had enough time to react before Sirius pressed his lips to the side of your head, arm covertly sneaking around your waist. The sound of the train whistling as parents yelled their goodbyes filled the station. You stood in the midst of the crowd, eyes never leaving one window in particular as you waved at Harry, now eleven-years-old and now off to Hogwarts. 

“Quite a random thing to say, husband,” you murmured, leaning into his warmth. “What for?” 

“Just because,” he replied in turn with a fiendish grin. “Well, perhaps for choosing us, for choosing me despite all my fuck-ups. For existing. For being the beautiful, wonderful, kind, precious you. I could keep on going, my darling. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” 

You wrinkled your nose, eyes rolling from fondness. “I love you too, quite unfortunately.” 

He only laughed and pulled you closer to him. “Let’s go home.” 

–

“I love you.” 

In the house built by new memories, warded by stronger protection charms, and filled with warmth and love—James said this to you each morning before he left for the Ministry, promoted after the war as Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Not one foot out of the door until he had showered you in kisses and the symphonies of his heart. James had always been loud, even in his time at Hogwarts. The war had not taken this part of him, and you figured James was too loud to let it be taken from him. He was unapologetically and unabashedly him. 

And you had loved him fiercely for that. 

“I’ll be home early tonight,” he said, a quiet intimacy washing over the both of you. The early birds of the cottage. “Wait for me?”

“Of course,” you answered without an ounce of hesitation, delicately chasing after his lips. “I love you. Be safe.” 

-

“I love you.” 

“Are you saying that to me or are you reading from the book?” you teased from where you laid on Remus’s chest, hours after James left for work, the afternoon bringing you two together in the living room. Lily was in the gardens, and Sirius was in the shed working on his motorbike. It was perfect. You felt the rise and fall of Remus’s chest beneath you, his heartbeat close to your ear. He was perfect. It was a miracle you had not fallen asleep to the tender lull of his voice. 

“Both,” he responded, hand coming up to trace the bare of your skin—a miracle you did not crumble or burn instantly from his touch. 

You hummed. “Then, I love you, too.” Then, you grinned, lifting your head to stare up at him. “You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you.” 

And, oh, how photographs could not capture the beauty in Remus’s smile as his eyes regarded you with such fire.

“My heart, my light, my desire,” Remus began, one finger ever-so softly tracing the curve of your cheek. “In vain I have struggled, it will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” 

–

“I love you.” 

Said Lily as she lied in your shared bed, red-nosed and her cheeks pale, sluggish. The Christmas holiday was generous enough to gift her with an unfortunate cold that had been going around the wizarding world. “But, please, go,” she commanded weakly, gesturing for you to join Harry who was stood by the door. “It’s a lovely day outside for making snowmen with carrots as noses and snow angels. Not for taking care of poor old me.” 

You rolled your eyes as you sat by her side, swiftly pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And I love you, which is why I would rather much be here, taking care of the prettiest snow angel to ever exist,” you countered, bringing a spoonful of broth to her lips. “Besides, Harry here has something to tell you. He’s made friends at school. One of them is Molly’s little one.” 

“Oh, you did?” Lily cooed, before sniffling weakly. “That’s lovely, darling. Tell me all about them.” 

“That’s not all, Lily mine,” you began mischievously as Harry’s eyes narrowed at you through his glasses. “This friendship apparently formed after fighting a troll.” 

“You what?” Lily croaked, emerald eyes shimmering with concern and near-dread. 

“Did you really, Harry?” James popped his head in the doorway, clapping his son on the shoulder before ushering him inside the room. A spitting image side-by-side as they took the empty space by the foot of the bed. “Good boy. Father approves.” 

“Of course you would,” Lily shot at him weakly, melting when Sirius then entered the room and greeted her with a kiss to her cheek. “And where are you all coming from?”

“Outside,” announced Remus, tugging his tie from his neck. “Sirius and I took a quick trip to Diagon Alley to get some things that’ll make you feel better, Lily love.” 

And as the snow fell outside, lazy winds against the window, your little family gathered in one room, there was one thing you knew for certain.

You loved them. 

And they loved you. 

a/n: i wrote all 4k words while sick. crazy. but anyway, i wanted to believe in love again so here i am. thank you all so much for being patient with me. i promise to do even better in the next fics!

[blakeswritingimagines]

Hell's Coming With Me

Summary: There's only one way to stop the war now.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Word count: 8.3k

You find yourself in the Red Keep, where Aemond Targaryen, the younger son of King Viserys I, and the younger brother of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, is standing tall and imposing. His face hardened with anger as he spots you. "You dare to come here after what you've done? After you betrayed my family?" He snarls, his dragon-like features becoming more pronounced as his rage builds. "I should kill you where you stand for your treachery! But instead…" Aemond's eyes gleam dangerously, "…you will earn your keep by telling me everything that has transpired since we last met. And if you lie or withhold information, so help me, I'll have your tongue. Now speak!" Your gaze does not falter at Aemond's threats. Instead, you lift your chin and meet his blazing eyes with an icy composure. As he demands answers, you respond with a voice laced with cold conviction. You stare back into Aemond's eye with your unwavering gaze, you do not back down nor shame away from his threat. "Do not think I fear you or your threats, kinslayer. I will speak, but only if you promise to listen and hear my words without blind rage and anger. A skill you don't seem to have mastered yet. You speak of betrayal, Aemond as if your own actions have not been those of a turncoat. But very well, I will indulge your curiosity. Since our last meeting, I have done what I must, to protect my claim and my loved ones."

His nostrils flare as he takes in your defiant stance, the audacity of your words stoking the fire of his anger. He clenches his fists, the knuckles whitening under the strain of holding himself back from leaping across the room to strangle the life out of this woman who dared to call him a kinslayer. "Your words are bold, but they're empty," he growls, his teeth grinding together in frustration. "You've betrayed us all for your own selfish ambitions. But know this, I won't let you get away with it. I'm going to make you pay for what you've done." Aemond's gaze darkens, his eyes reflecting the fury burning within him. He steps closer, looming over you as he continues to threaten you, promising retribution for your perceived betrayal. Your eyes blaze with defiance as you match Aemond's gaze. You refuse to be intimidated by his towering figure or his threats. Your voice remains calm and firm as you meet his gaze with unwavering determination. "You speak of ambition, Aemond, but it was you and your family who were willing to put my family and me in danger in order to secure the throne. Are you so blind to your own actions that you cannot see? You speak of betrayal, yet it was you who turned on us first." Your words cut through the air like a knife.

The corner of Aemond's mouth twitches as he fights to maintain control, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath he takes. The sheer audacity of your accusations sends a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, fueling the flames of his wrath. "I didn't betray anyone!" he roars, his voice echoing throughout the hall. "It was you who started this war. You and your scheming mother!" Aemond lunges forward, grabbing hold of your arm in a vice-like grip. His other hand balls into a fist, ready to strike. As Aemond grabs your arm, your instincts kick in, and with a swift movement, you twist your body out of his grip. Your heart races with a mixture of fear and determination, you take a step back, your eyes fixed on Aemond's menacing form, ready to defend yourself. "So it all comes down to this again, Aemond? You resorting to violence when you can't win an argument. Is this the kind of ruler you aspire to be - one who can't handle dissent or differing opinions? This is why I will make a better Queen than you ever will be."

Rhaenyra and Alicent burst into the room, their eyes widening in shock as they see Aemond attempting to strike you. Rhaenyra immediately steps forward, placing herself between you and Aemond. "Stop this nonsense at once, Aemond," Rhaenyra demands firmly, her eyes locked on her half-brother. His other hand uncurls from its fist, but only to point an accusing finger at his sister. "Don't interfere, Rhaenyra," he spits out, his voice dripping with venom. "This is none of your concern anymore. You chose sides long ago." He turns his attention back to you, ignoring Rhaenyra and his mother completely. "Admit it. Admit that you're working with them. That you're just another one of their puppets." Aemond's eyes flash dangerously as he waits for your response, completely oblivious to the tension building in the room. Despite the precarious situation, you hold your head up high, your gaze locked on Aemond's intense stare. You refuse to back down, your voice steady and determined. "I serve no one's agenda but my own, Aemond. Unlike you, I don't blindly follow the whims of my parents and the council. I am my own person, with my own ambitions and desires. I do not answer to them, and I sure as hell don't answer to you either."

Rhaenyra and Alicent glance at each other, a silent understanding passing between them as they step closer to you and Aemond. With a mixture of frustration and resignation, Rhaenyra speaks calmly, trying to diffuse the situation. "It was decided that both of you will marry," she says, her voice firm yet measured. "It is not a matter of discussion or choice. You will both be tied together by matrimony." Aemond's eyes narrow suspiciously as he looks at Rhaenyra, then his mother, and finally back to you. Stepping back slightly as he contemplates Rhaenyra's words. "So that's your plan, is it?" he sneers, a dangerous edge to his voice. "Force me into marriage with this traitor?" He glares at you, suspicion evident in his gaze. "Why should I trust any of you? You've all lied and schemed to get what you want. Don't think I'm going to fall for your tricks now." Aemond crosses his arms over his chest, his posture rigid with hostility.

Alicent places a hand on her son's shoulder, her touch gentle but firm. She meets Aemond's gaze with a calm yet authoritative expression. "This is not about trust, Aemond," Alicent replies quietly, her voice tinged with a hint of exhaustion. "This is about family. This marriage will strengthen our alliance and ensure the stability of our house. It's our duty to the realm, and to our families, to make this sacrifice." Rhaenyra nods in agreement with Alicent, her expression softening for a moment as she adds her own thoughts. "This marriage is not just a political union, Aemond. It's an opportunity for us all to put aside our differences and come together as a family. The war has caused enough suffering and division. We can end it now, by making this sacrifice." She looks between you two, her eyes pleading for understanding. Aemond's gaze flickers between Alicent and Rhaenyra, his face unreadable. After a moment of silence, he gives a curt nod, conceding defeat for now. "Fine," he grumbles, his tone begrudging. "I'll do it…for the sake of the realm." But despite his outward acceptance, there's a simmering resentment in his eyes. He may have agreed to the marriage, but he certainly hasn't forgotten - or forgiven - any of the wrongdoings committed against him.

As the wedding day draws near, the mood within the castle is a strange combination of excitement and anticipation. The halls buzz with talks of the royal wedding, which will unite two powerful families in an unlikely union. The bride and groom-to-be, you and Aemond, have spent weeks getting ready for the special event. The castle has been adorned with colorful banners and fresh flowers. The air is filled with the scent of blossoming roses, and the distant sound of minstrels practicing their instruments fills the air. As the months pass, preparations for the royal wedding begin in earnest. The Red Keep buzzes with activity as servants and courtiers scurry back and forth, ensuring that everything is in place for the grand event. You, meanwhile, find yourself caught up in the whirlwind of preparations, torn between the anticipation of your upcoming nuptials and the weight of the responsibilities that will come with your new role. As the day of the wedding approaches, Aemond can't help but feel a strange mix of emotions. There's excitement, yes, but also unease. He knows this union isn't one born of love or even mutual respect. It's a political necessity, a pragmatic solution to a complicated problem.

Despite his reservations, he does his best to play the part of the dutiful groom-to-be. He attends countless meetings and rehearsals, tolerating the endless discussions about seating arrangements and flower arrangements. But beneath his composed exterior, a storm of feelings brews, churning up memories of past betrayals and present uncertainties. Aemond stands outside the Septon's Hall, staring off into the distance as he prepares to enter the room where his fate - and yours - will be sealed. Despite his outward appearance of calm indifference, inside he is seething with rage and disgust. He had never wanted this, never wanted you, and yet here he was, about to become your husband. With a heavy sigh, he pushes open the door and steps inside, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you. There you stood, looking more beautiful than ever in your white silk gown, your hair coiffed into intricate braids adorned with fresh flowers. For a moment, he almost forgets why he hates you. But then he remembers your betrayal and the hatred resurfaces.

You stood in a simple yet elegant white dress, the fabric flowing around your figure like water. A small crown of flowers rests atop your head, their vibrant colors adding a touch of warmth to your cool demeanor. As Aemond enters the room, your eyes meet him, and a mixture of emotions flickers across your face. Despite the tension between you, there is a sense of resignation in your eyes, a feeling that you have reluctantly accepted your fate. But your gaze remains steady as you stand tall, facing him without an ounce of fear. As the ceremony begins, Aemond can't help but feel a mixture of revulsion and resignation. He repeats the traditional vows in a flat, monotone voice, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of hatred and resentment towards you. Your voice, on the other hand, is soft and clear, your words spoken with earnestness and determination. When it's time to say the seven sacred pledges, Aemond glares at you with venom in his eyes, his lips curling into a sneer. But you hold your gaze, refusing to show any sign of weakness or hesitation.

As the vows are exchanged, Aemond's heart feels like lead in his chest. Each word that leaves his lips tastes like ash in his mouth. But he forces himself to continue, knowing that this is what must be done. His gaze remains fixed on you, watching as you speak your vows with sincerity and conviction. The sight makes him sick to his stomach. Yet, he knows that he too must give his all, if only to save face in front of all loved ones. So, he swallows down his hatred and bitterness, replacing it with a mask of compliance. And when the final vow is made, he feels nothing but relief. Aemond grits his teeth as he utters the final vow, his voice barely above a whisper. The very thought of being bound to you in this way fills him with loathing. As the High Septon declares them wed, Aemond can't suppress the bitter laugh that escapes his throat. 'So this is how it ends,' he thinks to himself, a twisted sense of irony tainting his dark humor. You stood next to Aemond, your palms sweating and your heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. Despite the uncertainty of the situation, you force yourself to hold your head high and maintain a façade of composure. Inside, however, your mind is racing with thoughts and feelings that you can't quite untangle. As the high Septon declares you both man and wife, you gaze up at Aemond, your eyes searching for any hint of warmth or affection, but all you find is his cold, indifferent gaze.

After the ceremony, the reception begins. Aemond finds himself in the crowded ballroom, surrounded by nobles and courtiers congratulating him on his new union. He forces a fake smile onto his face, nodding stiffly in response to their well-wishes. All the while, his eyes dart around the room, searching for you. He needs to get away from all these people, to find a moment of peace before he has to pretend for the rest of the night. Meanwhile, you were stuck talking to a group of ladies-in-waiting, exchanging hollow pleasantries, and discussing the latest court gossip. However, you can't help but feel suffocated by the small talk and false smiles. After making your excuses, you slip away from the group and disappear into the crowd. Aemond watches as you slip away from the group, a grim smile playing on his lips. He knew exactly where you'd go; after all, it was one of the few places he avoided himself. Quietly, he makes his way through the crowd, heading towards the same secluded garden where he knew he would find you alone. When he reaches the arched trellis covered in vines of climbing roses, he stops, his gaze trained on your silhouette bathed in moonlight. "Well, look who decided to join me," he drawls, crossing his arms over his chest.

You turned at the sound of his voice, your eyes meeting his piercing gaze. A jolt of surprise courses through you, but you quickly regain your composure and straighten your shoulders, refusing to show any hint of emotion. "I didn't come here for you," you reply coolly, your voice steady and determined. "I came here because I needed a moment of peace from all the insufferable chatter in there." Aemond narrows his eyes, studying you closely. He can see the tension in your body, the stubborn resolve in your eyes. But he also notices something else, something softer beneath the surface. "You're doing a good job pretending you don't care," he says, his tone laced with sarcasm. "But don't fool yourself. You might hate me too, but we are married now…and we will have to learn to live with each other….."Run all you like, my lady. But you are mine now, and there's no escape."

You bite your lip hard, the sharpness of his words cutting deep. You wanted to retort, to spit back a scathing response, but the weight of his words sinks in. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. "I am not yours," you retort, your voice firm and resolute. "And I never will be. We might be married, but our hearts and minds will always remain our own. I will tolerate you because I have to, but do not mistake tolerance for affection." Aemond laughs a harsh, bitter sound that echoes through the quiet garden. His eyes flash dangerously as he steps closer to you, his tall frame looming over yours. "Oh, how delightful," he spits out, his voice dripping with scorn. "You expect me to believe that you've consented to this marriage solely for the sake of the realm? That you don't feel even a shred of fear or dread at the prospect of sharing my bed?" His gaze drops down to your lips, lingering there for a moment before he continues, "Do you think I'm so easily fooled?" You stiffen, goosebumps pricking at your skin as he draws closer. You refuse to let him see your fear, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and defiance. "Is it not enough that I've agreed to tie myself to you for the sake of our families? Do you expect me to be giddy with excitement at the prospect of bearing your children?" You hold his gaze firmly, refusing to back down. "I am not your property, Aemond. And I never will be."

Aemond grinds his teeth together, a muscle ticking in his jaw. The sight of you standing defiantly before him only serves to fuel his anger. 'How dare you speak to him in such a manner? Who did you think you were?' "Do not presume to dictate the terms of our relationship," he growls, stepping even closer until you are mere inches apart. "We are wed now, whether you like it or not. And if you refuse to cooperate, I assure you, things will be far more unpleasant for you." His hands clench into fists at his sides, his knuckles turning white under the strain. You lift your chin defiantly, refusing to be intimidated. "I am not a child, Aemond. I may be forced to suffer your touch and endure your company, but do not mistake that for submission or acceptance. I will never be your faithful little wife."

Aemond's eyes narrow, his face contorting into a snarl. The raw hatred in his gaze is palpable, his fury barely contained. "So be it," he seethes, taking another step forward until you are practically touching. "If you insist on playing the defiant maiden, then know that I will make your life a living hell. Your days of freedom are numbered." Your breath hitches in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest. His words send a shiver down your spine, the venom in his voice making your stomach churn. "Is that a threat? Or a promise?" You ask, your voice trembling slightly. "Because I assure you, Aemond, that I will not be cowed by your petty threats. I am not some damsel in distress, waiting to be rescued. I am a dragonrider, and I am not afraid of you." Aemond's expression hardens, his icy lilac eye reflecting the cold, unyielding stone of the castle walls. He studies your face, taking in every flinch, every tremble, every flicker of fear in your eyes. "So be it," he finally murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. "We shall see who breaks first."

The days pass with a tedious routine. Aemond and you have an unspoken agreement: you keep out of each other's way, each avoiding the other whenever possible. Aemond spends his days training and strategizing, while you engross yourself in your books or spend time with your friends. The only moments you do speak to each other are brief and polite, both of you keeping up appearances in public but keeping a respectful distance in private. Aemond strides into the Great Hall, his boots clicking against the marble floor. He scans the room, his gaze landing on you seated at the high table. Your beauty catches him off guard, and a sudden rush of heat surges through him. It's been weeks since the wedding day and yet he still finds himself unable to shake the image of you from his mind. He approaches you, his strides confident and purposeful. His hand gently grasps your wrist, pulling you close. "Tonight, you're to accompany me to the feast," he whispers into your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

You stiffen at his touch, your skin hot under his fingers. "I assume that's not a request," you mutter through gritted teeth, your voice laced with irritation. You glance up at him, your expression impassive, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his touch affects you. A smirk tugs at the corner of Aemond's mouth, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He pulls away, crossing his arms over his chest. "Correct," he replies, his voice low and firm. "It would be wise for you to remember that." You scoff, rolling your eyes at his arrogant demeanor. "Of course, My Lord," you reply, your tone dripping with thinly veiled sarcasm. "Because heaven forbid I refuse to be at your beck and call." You let out an audible sigh, your patience already wearing thin. "Very well," you respond, your tone laced with resignation. You adjust the loose braid over your shoulder and meet his gaze with a defiant lift of your chin. "But don't expect me to pretend to be happy about it."

Aemond smirks, amused by your feistiness. Despite your protests, he can't help but find your spirit alluring. You were unlike any woman he'd ever met, and he found himself strangely drawn to you. "As long as you understand that I won't tolerate any more of your insolence," he warns, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Tonight, you will behave like the royal you are, or face the consequences." You raise an eyebrow at his warning, your expression defiant as ever. "In case you've forgotten, I'm not some common wench to be ordered around," you retort, your voice laced with sarcasm. "And I will not bow to your every command like some mindless sycophant. So, if you expect me to behave like a 'royal,' you can forget it." Aemond's lips curl into a frown, his eyes narrowing dangerously. He steps closer, invading your personal space. His voice drops to a whisper, his words carrying the weight of a deadly threat. "You forget yourself," he growls, his eyes burning with a cold, fiery intensity. "You are my wife now, and I will not tolerate any further insubordination. You will learn to respect me, or you will regret it."

You hold his gaze, your own eyes flashing with defiance and fear. You try to mask the flicker of anxiety that flits through your expression, refusing to let him see how his nearness affects you. "Is that a threat, Your Grace?" you reply, your voice steady, though your heart hammers in your chest. You lift your chin defiantly, refusing to back down. "Because let me assure you, the only thing I regret is agreeing to this miserable union." Aemond's eyes darken, his jaw tightening as he fights to maintain control. His voice lowers even further, becoming a chilling whisper. "It most certainly is a threat," he seethes, his grip tightening around your wrist. "And one you would be wise to heed, my dear wife." His eyes flicker towards the nearest window, the moonlight casting eerie shadows across his face. He leans in closer, his hot breath washing over you. "I hope you're prepared for what comes next because once I'm done with you, there'll be no turning back."

The Great Hall is packed from wall to wall with guests celebrating yet another lavish feast. Servants weave through the crowd, bearing trays of food and wine. You sit beside Aemond, dressed in a deep red gown, your hair loose and free, flowing down your back. You remain silent, your eyes scanning the room blankly as you sip your wine. Aemond observes you quietly, taking in the way you hold yourself and the defiant expression on your face. Aemond watches you from the corner of his eye, studying your reactions. His gaze lingers on your delicate profile, the soft curve of your cheek, the fullness of your lips. He can feel the tension between you, a palpable energy that hums beneath the surface. He reaches out, his hand brushing against yours, causing you to jump slightly. He withdraws his hand quickly, not wanting to draw attention to the interaction. "Are you enjoying the feast?" he asks casually, trying to engage you in conversation. Your eyes flicker to his hand, then back up to his face. Your heart skips a beat at the brief contact, but you immediately push the feeling away, replacing it with your usual defiant expression. "As much as I can, considering I'd rather be anywhere else," you reply, your voice cold and distant as you take another sip of your wine.

Aemond watches you closely, his gaze intense and probing. He feels a pang of frustration at your aloofness, your refusal to bend to his will. He knows he must tread carefully. "Regardless, I am glad you decided to join me tonight," he says, his voice holding a hint of sincerity. "You look… lovely." Your eyes narrow at his compliment, your guard immediately going up at the unexpected compliment. You glance down at yourself, then back up at him, your expression skeptical. "Spare me the sweet talk, Aemond," you respond with a roll of your eyes. You take another sip of your wine, your gaze fixed on the crowded hall. "We both know this is nothing more than a forced performance for the sake of appearances." Aemond clenches his jaw, his gaze hardening. He can't deny your accusation; the marriage is indeed a political arrangement. But despite that, he can't shake off the desire to make you his. "If that is how you wish to perceive our situation, so be it," he replies, his voice icy and controlled. "However, do not mistake my efforts to keep you safe and respected as mere pretense."

You meet his gaze, your eyes narrowing slightly at his words. "Keeping me safe and respected?" you repeat, your voice filled with disbelief. You set your wine goblet down on the table with a thud, your hand trembling slightly. "You dare to speak of safety and respect after everything you've done to me? You've forced me into this marriage, held me captive in this castle, and now you expect me to believe you're some kind of benevolent protector?" Aemond grits his teeth, his hands clenching into fists under the table. He knows he should have anticipated this reaction, but your words still sting. Aemond stares at you, his eyes darkening with anger. The room seems to close in around him, the laughter and chatter of the guests fading into insignificance. He had thought he could maintain a semblance of civility, but your constant defiance was pushing him to his limits. "Do not test my patience," he warns, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I may have agreed to protect you, but I am not without my own needs. And I warn you, if you continue to resist me, you might just find yourself facing the true extent of my power." He pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing. "In time, perhaps you might come to understand that I am not the monster you believe me to be."

Your heart hammers in your chest, your breaths coming in short, shallow bursts as you stare back at him. Fear dances across your face, but it is quickly replaced by defiance. "And what would that take Your Grace?" you retort, your voice trembling slightly despite your attempt to remain strong. "For me to see beyond your cruel and controlling demeanor? For me to accept your rule without question, to submit to you and bow down before you like some mindless puppet?" Aemond's nostrils flare, his eyes blazing with fury. He clenches his fists, the knuckles whitening under the strain. He wants to lash out, to show you who is truly in charge here. But he knows he must maintain some level of restraint, at least for now. "I did not ask for your opinion, nor do I require your acceptance," he snarls, his voice echoing menacingly throughout the room. "But know this. If you continue to defy me, I will ensure that you come to understand exactly who holds the power in this castle." You swallow heavily, your own temper flaring as you straighten up in your seat to look him directly in the eye. "And what, pray tell, would you have me do? Shall I follow you like a docile little lamb, fawning over your every command? You may hold the power in these halls, Aemond Targaryen, but you will not break me. I will not be your puppet, nor your obedient little wife."

Aemond's eyes flash dangerously, his temper barely contained. He rises abruptly from his seat, towering over you. His hand tightens into a fist, the veins in his neck pulsating with the force of his rage. "You are treading on very thin ice," he growls, his voice low and threatening. "Your defiance will only lead to your downfall." Aemond's face twists into a scowl, his eyes burning with barely restrained rage. He can hardly believe your audacity, your blatant disrespect for his authority. But he reminds himself that you are young, inexperienced, and easily manipulated. "You are correct," he seethes, his voice dripping with venom. "I will not break you. Instead, I shall teach you your place, and remind you that disobedience comes with consequences." With that, he turns on his heel and strides away from the table, leaving you alone amidst the crowd of feasting guests. You watch him go, your chest heaving with each ragged breath. Your heart races in your chest, a mixture of fear and anger coursing through you. "Arrogant bastard," you mutter under your breath, gripping your hands tightly in your lap. "And an overly dramatic one, too." You sit quietly for a few moments, trying to calm your racing heart. Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for your goblet of wine. You take a large mouthful, swallowing it down quickly and wishing it was something stronger.

Aemond stalks away from the table, his long strides carrying him swiftly toward the entrance of the great hall. His blood boils with anger, his heart pounding in his chest. He can still feel the heat of your defiant gaze seared into his skin, and it only fuels his fury further. Reaching the entrance, he steps outside onto the balcony overlooking the castle grounds. The cool night air does little to soothe his raging emotions, but he stands there nonetheless, staring out into the darkness, lost in his thoughts. You having regained your composure, decide to slip away from the festivities and seek solace in the gardens. You quietly make your exit from the feast, the noise and laughter fading as you venture into the quiet of the gardens. The cool night air and the stillness bring a sense of peace, helping to calm your rattled nerves. You walk along the cobblestone path, your footsteps cushioned by the grass, your thoughts consumed by the events of the evening. The image of Aemond, his expression twisted with anger and rage, lingers in your mind, causing your stomach to churn uncomfortably.

Aemond remains on the balcony, his thoughts consumed by the encounter with you. His initial intention was to let you stew in your anger, to teach you a lesson about crossing him. But as he stood there, alone in the night, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret. He knew he had been harsh, perhaps too harsh. But damn it all, you tested his patience like no other. He had never met anyone quite like you - stubborn, headstrong, and defiant. Yet, he found himself inexplicably drawn to you. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and turned back towards the great hall, ready to return and face whatever challenges awaited him. You had found a quiet spot in the gardens, away from the noise and hustle of the castle. You sat on a stone bench, the chill of the night air nipping at your skin. Your heart had finally slowed to a normal rhythm, and the anger and fear faded into a dull throb. You looked up at the sky, the stars sparkling like diamonds in the inky blackness. A feeling of peace washes over you, the garden providing a peaceful escape from the tumultuous emotions of the evening.

Aemond reenters the great hall, and his earlier anger somewhat subsides. He moves through the crowd with a practiced ease, exchanging pleasantries and maintaining the facade of a gracious host. Despite his efforts, his mind keeps wandering back to you, and the defiance in your eyes. His curiosity gets the better of him, and he finds himself making his way towards the gardens. He has no clear plan or purpose, merely a desire to see you again, to gauge your reaction to the earlier confrontation. You continue to sit in the garden, your thoughts a tangled mess of emotions. The quiet ambiance of the gardens helps to soothe your frayed nerves, the sounds of crickets and soft rustling leaves providing calming background music. As you sit there, deep in thought, you sense someone approaching. Your heart rate quickens, wondering if it's Aemond. You turn to look, your eyes widening slightly as you see him walking towards you. Aemond walks into the gardens, his movements silent and stealthy. As he approaches the bench where you sit, he stops suddenly, taken aback by your beauty. The moonlight casts a silvery glow on your face, accentuating the delicate curves of your features. "Forgive me for disturbing your solitude," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I could not help but notice your absence from the feast. It seemed…unusual." He takes a step closer, his gaze fixed on you.

Your heart skips a beat as he approaches, his voice breaking the quiet serenity of the garden. You turn your gaze up to him, his presence so close that you can nearly feel the heat radiating from his body. Your guard goes up immediately, your shoulders tensing involuntarily. You force yourself to stay calm, to not let him see how his presence affects you. "I needed some time away from the noise and commotion of the feast," you replied, your voice betraying none of the emotions swirling inside you. Aemond studies you closely, taking note of the subtle changes in your demeanor. There is a certain tension in the air between you, a palpable energy that he finds both intriguing and intoxicating. "It seems we share a similar sentiment," he murmurs, stepping closer until you're mere inches apart. "The noise of the feast can become tiresome after a while." He gazes deeply into your eyes, his own dark and intense. You can feel the intensity of his gaze, the proximity of your bodies causing a shiver to run down your spine. You tilt your head up to look at him, refusing to back down despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. Your pulse quickens under his scrutiny, but you force yourself to remain calm and composed. "Yes, it can be quite overwhelming," you agree, your voice steady despite the fluttering of your heart. "Sometimes, a little solitude is necessary to clear one's head."

Aemond notices the flicker of defiance in your eyes, the stubborn set of your jaw. He admires your strength, your refusal to bow down to his authority. It was refreshing, unlike most of the women he encountered who were either fawning or fearful. "You are unlike any woman I have ever met," he admits, his voice low and gruff. "Your spirit is fierce, your determination unyielding." His gaze drops to your lips, then returns to meet your eyes. Your breath catches in your chest as he speaks, his words sending a jolt of electricity through you. You feel a surge of pride at his praise, but quickly stomp it down, reminding yourself not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how his words affect you. You lift your chin, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. You can feel the heat of his gaze as he looks at your lips, but stubbornly refuses to allow it to show on your face. You keep your expression neutral, despite the rapid thrumming of your heart. "Is that a compliment or a complaint?"

Aemond smirks, amused by your feistiness. He leans in even closer, his face just inches from yours. The heat emanating from his body is almost unbearable, yet you don't move away. "A compliment, always a compliment," he whispers, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. "It would do you well to remember that." You resist the urge to close the gap between you two, your body betraying your will. The sound of his voice, so close to your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You swallow hard, your throat suddenly parched. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself, forcing your voice to remain steady as you respond. "And what if I choose not to remember?" A wicked grin spreads across Aemond's face, his smirk revealing a hint of danger. He enjoys this game, the dance of power and dominance between you. It excites him and stirs something within him that he hadn't felt before. "If you choose not to remember, my lady, I will simply have to remind you," he purrs, his tone laced with a dangerous promise. Your heart pounds in your chest, the sound echoing loudly in your ears. Your body is hyper-aware of his proximity, the heat from his body seeping into your own. Despite your best efforts to remain calm and collected, you can't help but shiver involuntarily at his words. Taking a deep breath, you lift your chin defiantly, holding his gaze unflinchingly. "Oh, I dare you to try."

Aemond chuckles softly, finding amusement in your daring challenge. His eyes gleam with an unholy light, a predator recognizing another predator. This was more fun than he had anticipated, more thrilling than anything he'd experienced in a long time. "Very well, my lady," he murmurs, his voice a seductive purr. "Consider yourself reminded." Your heart races, your pulse thrumming in your veins. Your body is a jumble of conflicting emotions - fear, excitement, intrigue. You bite your lip, your mind warring between the desire to push him away and the inexplicable attraction you feel towards him. "And what exactly are you going to remind me of, Your Grace?" you say, your voice coming out a little too breathless to sound as defiant as you would like. A devilish smile curls the corners of Aemond's lips as he hears the slight hitch in your voice. He steps even closer, his body almost touching yours. He can smell your scent, sweet and alluring. It sends a wave of desire coursing through him. "That you belong to me," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "That every inch of you is mine to claim."

Your breath hitched in your chest, your heartbeat quickening at his words. The intensity in his eyes and the possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. But despite the powerful attraction you feel towards him, you're also intensely irritated by his blatant disregard for your autonomy. "I don't belong to anyone," you say, your voice trembling slightly, despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "And you don't own me." Aemond scoffs, his eyes flashing with irritation at your defiance. Yet, there is a spark of admiration in his gaze as well. He respects your spirit, your unwillingness to bend to his will without a fight. "Do you really believe that my lady?" he asks, his voice a soft rumble. "You may think you're strong enough to resist me, but I assure you, resistance is futile." Your frustration mounts, your temper flaring at his arrogant confidence. The fact that he sees you as a mere object to be claimed, despite your protests, drives you to snap. "You're such an arrogant prick," you hissed, your voice laced with anger and frustration. "You think just because you're the Prince, you have the right to possess anything and anyone you desire, regardless of their desires or feelings."

Aemond narrows his eyes at your harsh words, a dark scowl crossing his face. He doesn't like being challenged, especially not by someone he considers beneath him. But he also can't deny the thrill that runs through him when you stand up to him, the spark of defiance in your eyes igniting a fire within him. "Watch your tongue, my lady," he growls, his voice a low, threatening rumble. "Or I might just decide to teach you a lesson you'll never forget." Your eyes flash defiantly, the anger coursing through your veins making you bold. You step closer to him, your bodies almost touching now. "You think threats will make me submit to you? You think I'll bow down and give in because of your status and authority?" you hiss, your voice trembling with rage. "I'll sooner die than submit to someone like you." A flicker of surprise crosses Aemond's face at your boldness. Most people cower under his intense gaze and commanding presence, but you seemed unaffected. If anything, you appeared more determined, more defiant. "Well then," he says, his voice low and deadly, "perhaps we should see just how far you're willing to go." Your heart races, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You stand your ground, refusing to back down despite the danger in his voice. "Bring it on, Your Grace," you challenge, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your insides. "I'm not afraid of you."

Aemond studies you closely, his eyes scanning your face, taking in your defiant expression. There's a certain allure to your bravery, your refusal to bow down to him. It's intoxicating, and it makes him want to explore further. "So be it," he murmurs, his voice a low purr. "Let the games begin." A shiver runs through your body at the sound of his words. You can feel the danger in the air, the electricity between you crackling with tension. But you refuse to back down, no matter how your heart may be pounding in your chest. "You won't win," you retort, your voice a defiant whisper. "I won't let you." A wicked grin spreads across Aemond's face, his smirk revealing a hint of danger. He enjoys this game, the dance of power and dominance between you both. It excites him and makes him feel something within him that he hadn't felt before. "If you choose not to remember, my lady, I will simply have to remind you," he purrs, his tone laced with a dangerous promise. You clench your fists, your heart racing with adrenaline and fear. you are caught in a storm of emotions, the tension between you thick enough to be cut with a knife. Aemond's predatory gleam makes you shiver, but you refuse to let him see your fear. "Maybe it's time for you to learn the meaning of losing," you replied, your voice surprisingly defiant despite the tremors that were coursing through you.

Aemond's laughter echoes around the air, a chilling sound that sends a shudder down your spine. His eyes, full of untamed lust and dominance, never leave you. "Oh, I don't lose, my lady," he drawls, his voice filled with arrogance and confidence. "Remember that." Aemond's hand snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against his hard body. He lets out a low growl, his other hand tangling in your hair as he pulls your head back, exposing your neck. His teeth graze against your skin, teasing you, the sensation causing a shiver to run down your spine. "Just remember, my lady," he whispers into your ear, his voice dripping with dominance, "you started this game." A gasp escapes your lips as his hand encircles your waist, pulling you closer to him. His grip on your hair is firm but not painful. The way his teeth graze your neck, just barely touching your skin, makes your heart race with a mixture of fear and excitement. You swallow hard, your body responding to his touch despite your determination to resist him. You try to calm your rapid breathing, but it's difficult with him so close to you. "I don't lose either," you whisper fiercely.

A low chuckle rumbles from Aemond's chest, vibrating against your body. He tightens his hold on you, pulling you even closer until there's no space left between you. "Oh, I believe you, my lady," he murmurs into your ear, his voice a seductive purr. "But we shall see who truly comes out on top." Your breath hitches in your throat as he pulls you closer, his body pressing against yours. You can feel the heat radiating off him, and you fight the urge to lean into him, a combination of fear and anticipation. "Bring it on, Your Grace," you retort, your voice shaking slightly. "You might be powerful now, but you haven't seen my strength." Aemond's laughter echoes around them, a dark, menacing sound that sends chills down your spine. He tightens his grip on you, pulling you closer still. His other hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking over your jawline. "Oh, I've seen your strength, my lady," he murmurs, his voice a seductive purr. "And I can't wait to break you."

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand cups your cheek, his thumb tracing your jawline. The feeling of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, making your heart pound in your chest. You looked up at him, defiance burning in your eyes. "And I can't wait to watch you try," your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. Aemond's eyes flash with a dangerous light, his grip on you tightening. He leans in, his lips hovering just inches away from yours, his hot breath mingling with yours. "Don't mistake my kindness for weakness, my lady," he warns, his voice a husky whisper. "Because when I'm done with you, you'll be begging for mercy." You stare up at him, a mix of fear and anticipation. You can feel his hot breath on your face, the intensity of his gaze making your stomach flip. "Save your threats, Your Grace," you say. "They won't scare me." Aemond's hand slides down from your cheek, tracing a path along your neck before moving lower. His fingers dipped beneath the neckline of your dress, his touch scorching against your skin. His other hand moves to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back further to expose your neck.

Aemond's lips crash down onto yours, his hand cradling the side of your face. His tongue invades your mouth, tasting you, asserting his dominance. His other hand travels down your body, tracing along the curve of your hip before squeezing your ass firmly. He breaks the kiss only to trail hot kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin. His hands continue their exploration, pushing under your dress to find bare skin. Caught off guard by his sudden assertiveness, you stiffen in his arms. But as his tongue explores your mouth, you find yourself melting into him, returning his kiss with a passion you didn't know you had. His touch on your body ignites a fire within you, and you can't help but press yourself closer to him. Despite your growing desire for him, you know you can't give in completely. You pull away from his kiss, panting heavily, your body trembling with need. Aemond's eyes darken with desire as he watches you, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each heavy breath you take. He trails his fingers up your thigh, inching dangerously close to your center. "Running away so soon, my lady?" he asks, a smirk playing on his lips. "I thought you were braver than that." You bite your lip, trying to suppress the moan threatening to escape your lips. You know you should pull away, and put an end to this madness, but your body betrays you, yearning for his touch. "I'm not running," you admit, your voice shaky. "Just… reminding myself of who's actually in charge here." You spoke before taking a deep breath and sat him down on the bench which didn't do much for the height difference other than how much closer you were face to face now.

A low chuckle rumbles from Aemond's chest as he watches you, his eyes filled with a predatory hunger. He slides closer to you on the bench, his body almost touching yours. "Oh, I think it's quite clear who's in charge here, my lady," he purrs, his hand moving to rest on your thigh under your dress, his fingers slowly edging towards your panties. You swallow hard as you feel his hand on your thigh, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric of your panties. Your heart pounds in your chest, a mix of fear and anticipation coursing through your veins. "Well then, Your Grace," you say, forcing a smirk onto your face, "I suppose it's time we find out just how submissive you can be…" A devilish grin spreads across Aemond's face as he hears your words. He leans in, pressing his hard cock against your entrance. With one powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you. "That I did, my lady…" he growls, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "And now you're going to get exactly what you deserve…"

Feeling Aemond thrust into you, you let out a sharp gasp. The sensation of being filled by him is overwhelming, both painful and pleasurable at the same time. You arch your back, your nails digging into the fabric of the bench as you try to adjust to his size. "Aemond…" you manage to whimper, "it hurts…" Aemond grunts as he feels you tighten around him, your tight walls clenching against his invading cock. He withdraws slowly, only to thrust back in deeper, filling you completely. "It's supposed to hurt, my lady," he groans, "that's how you know it's real…" Feeling Aemond's thrusts, you can't help but let out a series of soft moans. As much as you hate to admit it, there's a part of you that's starting to enjoy this. You look up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of tears and desire. "Please… slow down…" she begs, her voice shaking. Aemond grins down at you, his thrusts slowing slightly as he relishes in the feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around his cock. He leans down, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as he continues to fuck you senselessly.

"Don't worry, my lady," he murmurs against your lips, "we've only just begun…"

[bl00dlight]

Ghostly Flame

Aemond Targaryen x OC sister x Alys Rivers {NSFW}

Warnings ● more carpet munching, graphic language, general smut and filth, implied homophobia, age gap, dubious consent, violence against female character, heterosexuality, Aemond being depraved as fuck and lowkey the worst, oedipus complex, full blown targcest, mentions of Madame Sylvie (sorry yall), Alys Rivers being a trick ass bitch, not proof read

Word count ● 4.7k

Author's Note • Long awaited. It's finally here. Holy fuck it's actually... like insane how long this took for me to dwell on. I'm not gonna spoil anything but this one is a bit gross. In a good way. Sick sick sick.

Masterlist / Ghostly Flame ● Part I

Part II

The sight on the Prince Regent's bed was indeed, not a mere dream. He stammered as a flood of emotions suddenly whipped against his skull.

As he entered, Aemond's face darkened and the breath in his lungs all but vanished. Hs let fist slowly curl, though his eye was transfixed on the two women, watching as his paramour's mouth moved against his sister's skin. Despite it all, the disgust and rage that was brewing; for a brief moment he enjoyed the sounds and sight before him.

And yet, Aemond knew it was but a vile sin, a betrayal of both his bedmate and beloved sister. Still, the sight stirred heat within him.

Alys continued in her ministrations, her tongue moving with precision, seeking to please and to tease the princess. The witch was so engrossed in the task before her that she hadn't noticed the door or the figure which loomed in the shadows.

The sounds of his sister's mewling was enough to drive him over the edge. The prince clenched his jaw, he stalked towards the women and spoke, his voice ringing in the quiet of the room. "Alys."

Just like that the sounds of their pleasure had come to a deadened stop. Slowly Alys pulled away, and turned towards Aemond. Daera opened her eyes with a flash, her body jolting with fear and suddenly the humiliation rang true.

Aemond's own heart was hammering in his chest, his mind racing with thoughts he had never dared admit aloud.

"Tell me," Aemond whispered, his voice rough and low. "Do the both of you take me for a fool?"

Alys bowed her head and spoke gently, "My Prince, I..."

"Silence." Aemond sneered, stalking towards Alys. His fist soon met with her raven hair, gripping at it as he forced her head up at him. "I have had my fill of your vile tongue."

A silence brewed before he suddenly shoved the woman back to the ground. Alys winced as he body hit the floor with a startling thud. Daera shook, her hands in her head as she had pulled the sheets upon her bare flesh out of modesty. It was comical, still she seemed to care of propriety, even though her own brother had seen her in such a state.

Aemond grunted, raising a hand up as though he was to strike the woman before him. Alys stayed deadly still upon the ground, gritting her teeth, awaiting his hand to make contact with her flesh. Though he felt his rage stir he swiftly pulled his hand away. He could not strike her, no, instead he launched and gripped her arm, forcing her upon her feet.

"You dare humiliate me? You dare bring such shame upon me? Defiling my own blood, my sister! Upon the very bed I let your treacherous head lay, no less!" Aemond's lonesome eye was narrowed in a maelstrom of emotions, anger, betrayal, jealously, humiliation.

Yet in truth, he felt one thing; weakness.

Alys glared at him, speaking oddly calmly, "Of course not, your grace..."

"Then speak, bastard! Speak on the sight before me... of you upon my sister and why my eye was witness to it! Speak to why you... why you dare go against me, after all I have done! I spared you, or do you forget?" The prince gripped her flesh sternly and his gaze faltered as he felt sorrow bloom.

Daera looked away, she couldn't bare the scene before her. Couldn't bare what she had done, she hadn't even known what led her to do it. She had no excuse, no reason. It seemed to have happened before she had any idea it was occurring.

The princess wiped her tears, her heart aching. "Brother..." she muttered weakly, sorrowfully.

Aemond turned his head sharply, "I SHALL HEAR NOTHING FROM YOU!" He snapped at Daera, forcing her back into submission.

His gaze came to Alys once more, whom at this point was holding back a low snicker. Her hands came to his chest, and a low hum was earnt from the prince at her soothing ministrations.

"You are not so tempting as to distract me. I see you for what you are... a snake in my own den." He lowered his tone, as his hand came to her raven locks and gripped them.

Alys gave him an incredulous look once more, "You... you do not mean such things, I have been nothing but faithful, my prince."

"Yet your mouth was upon my sister? You think that faithful?" Aemond retorted swiftly, fastening his grip.

"I... I do not deny how such may seem an act of betrayal. But it was in service to you, your grace." Alys flinched as his hands laced themselves in her hair forcefully. Her voice still measured.

"Do not dare speak such folly-" His temper flared as Alys spoke over the Prince.

"It is not folly... I have brought her, swayed her senses so they may receive what is so deeply suppressed within her. She had not come for me, my prince. She came for you." Alys' voice like a siren song, she let her hands run to his cheeks. Gently stroking at his sharp features.

Silence beckoned for a moment, as Aemond found himself lured by the witch's words. Her eyes gazing with reverence upon him, yet there was a glimmer of something else. Something she had seen.

Slowly, Aemond's grip upon her hair eased flattening to cup her head, "What do you see?" He muttered, his eye scanning her carefully.

Daera's sobbing had eased now, and she watched with baited breath as her brother and the witch spoke before her. She noticed the tilt of Alys' head the low chuckle as she leaned in to Aemond's ear, muttering something unknown.

There was a noticeable shift, the sharp line of his jaw hardening as he eased into her touch. Daera caught a low hum from him, an inquisitive one as Alys nodded.

The prince turned to his sister, her trembling form. No doubt her mind already a place of torment for her. His gaze scanned over her pale flesh, silver hair - so much like his own. Though she looked more like their mother in her features. Melancholic round eyes, full lips; a soft cherubic face. She was a woman grown and yet, still appeared so much like the docile girl she once was in their youth.

Aemond leaned down, his silver hair catching in the moonlight as he gazed upon his sister sternly. His hand gripped her wrist.

"I ought to punish you." He said firmly.

Daera instantly weakened at his words, her head tilting, tears streaming as she simpered, "Brother..."

His hand suddenly clasped her cheek, silencing her whining, "Do as I say."

The Princess's eyes searched his lonesome one, her gaze coiling in uncertainty. She shook her head, disturbed by his sudden change of demanour. Her heart thundering as she knew whatever was to occur, was something she ought to be fearful of. She felt the need to beg, to plead for forgiveness. Though she remained still.

"I do not blame you, for failing to resist my Alys' charm. You are but a woman... you stand little chance against her, for even I find my resolve wavering in her wake." He slowly rose to his feet, and Alys came to him, slowly unstrapping his leathers from his chest.

"You are not... mad with me?" The Princess whimpered, squeezing her nails into her palms. Allowing the pain to distract her from her shame.

"What Alys has seen.. changes the matter." Aemond spoke with a new found clarity, though there was a bitterness that lingered upon his tongue.

Daera shook her head in response, she looked at Alys, whose hands were upon his breeches, unlacing them. Before she could continue he pulled her hands away from him. "No." Aemond muttered, slowly turning to his sister.

Daera found herself trembling once more, her eyes watery, desperately searching for answers as she whispered, "Seen what?"

It was the uncertainty in her eyes which made Aemond look away, his gaze narrowed upon the ground as he mumbled to Alys, "I cannot..."

The witch let her hands cup his face once more, soothing the fear he felt within him, "You can... and you will, desire has sown it's seed long bef-"

Aemond swiftly gripped her wrists, interrupting her, "Do not presume to know of my desires! She is my sister..."

The raven hair of Alys fell upon her pale shoulder as she turned to face the princess before her. Aemond's eye wandering for a moment upon her bare flesh... her breasts.

Daera looked into the green landscape of her eyes, flashes of them lingering between her thighs caused a spark of shame within the princess and she looked away. Alys chuckled softly, turning back to Aemond.

The witch leaned in, her hands coming back to his jaw, one slowly trailing down his neck. She hummed, smiling softly as Alys whispered to Aemond, "You are the blood of old Valyria, your grace... fire courses through your very flesh. A fire I have felt lick at my womb and that shall lick upon hers..."

Aemond's gaze met his paramour's in an intense exchange of understanding and trepidation. Though he was soothed by her gentle touch upon him, soothed by the wisdom her foresight granted him. She was right, it was not as though he held no desire for his sister. He had merely suppressed it. Why long for something that shall never be his to keep?

Their mother never sought to the betroth them, so Aemond simply focused on matters of duty; of becoming a formidable force in battle. Though he could not embrace Targaryen tradition entirely, he sought to expand upon it in other ways. He would seek to become a fierce dragonrider. A man of skill, for his legacy would be his own.

As he gazed upon his sister, he felt the sudden urge to comfort her. The tears that rolled upon her cheek meant for a greater challenge. He would not force himself upon her, but he could not deny the fire set ablaze in his blood when his eye wandered her flesh.

She was to be his destiny it seemed... and if Alys' vision proved true, the mother to his true born heir.

He stalked towards her, and once again found himself reaching over. As he extended his hand to cup her cheek she flinched, and Aemond merely persisted.

Daera however, was not so much aware of what Alys and Aemond spoke of. If anything she was still mortified by the fact her brother had seen her indulge in such sin.

Her gaze widened at the feeling of his palm upon her fleshy cheek, "Please... forgive me...I know I have tainted myself in the eyes of the Gods, but you must let me seek absolution from you. My resolve has grown weak, I see it now... I..." The princess mumbled, fanatically searching her brother's stoney gaze as he watched the trembling of her lips.

Silence beckoned, and Aemond remained still. His eye scanning over her, his thumb rubbing against the plushness of her cheeks. Her eyes that wore sorrow so beautifully, just as their mother's does. Large, comforting eyes... for a moment he felt a sense of boyish peace dawn upon him. Remembering how once, Alicent would gaze upon him with concerned filled eyes.

Though he had not spoken to his mother in many moons now, could not bare the sight of her. It was in Daera's simpering expression he found a small sense of comfort. She was but a piece of home. Though his youth was not always a happy one, there was peace. There was... a familiarity which made him wish to crawl within his sister's arms and pretend nothing bad had befallen them.

"Brother..." She whimpered, begging for him to say something; pulling the Prince from his thoughts.

Daera's eyes were caught by the familiar saunter of Alys' bare frame. She came to Aemond, leaning down as her thin, pale fingers tucked his silver hair behind his ear. Gently she cooed, "Go on, my prince... take what is yours."

With that Aemond glanced briefly and Alys, and then slowly looked back upon his sister. He moved now, shifting his weight to crawl upon the bed. His hand still gripping at her cheek, and the other now finding her waist, pulling her from the sheet and forcing her before him.

Aemond gazed softly, tentatively, at her. His hand moving to her silver curls; her hair so similar to her mother's. His fingers twirled a strand delicately, as though it were made of glass. He suddenly brought his face near her, his cheek grazing hers as he buried his nose within her locks for a moment. He breathed in, closing his eye. The familiar sweet smell of honeysuckled flesh filling his senses.

The princess was in complete shock, she had never known such affections from her brother before. Her eyes widened, her gaze meeting Alys', who came to the bed, sitting at the end as she removed Aemond's boots. Soon, her pale hand reaching over to stroke Aemond's hair gently. The princess furrowed her brow, positively unfurled by the scene before her. Her tears had all but come to a halt, not for the fact shame had left her, but for the fact she was overwrought by the absurdity of it all.

Aemond pulled back slightly, and both he and his sister let out a sharp breath. Her eyes wide, watching him carefully as he gently grazed his nose upon her cheek. His hand coming to her lips. Lips which were too, like Alicent's; swollen and quivering.

His eye, narrowed upon her and he caught her discomforted demanour. His fingers moving from her lips to cup her cheek as he muttered, "If it is absolution you seek, then let us not allow what transpired to be in vain. So, do as I say."

Daera though confused, did not protest. She nodded and heard her breath catch within her throat as he hummed slightly. Aemond brought his other hand to her cheek. A look of determination filled his eye though he seemed conflicted.

His gaze locked upon her lips, he wanted to kiss her, wanted to touch her. Though he knew not how to. Aemond grunted again, unsure of himself. An awkward tension rose as he stammered like a boy. The Prince huffed, looked down as humiliation coiled in his belly. He felt weak, he felt the fool.

He had, in truth never been with a woman as young as Daera. Though she was but a year younger than he. She was unlike Alys... unlike Madame Sylvie. Both of which had known the ways of initiating pleasure. He had never had to worry of such things, for both women brimmed with the confidence only within a mature woman, to take charge. Neither were coy, nor demure. Neither stuttered nor flinched when presented with his desire. Neither seemed so... shocked by his forwardness, nor hid behind maidenly virtue, nor looked upon him with judgement. They were women whom he felt safe with, secure with. He did not have to wear the mask he had crafted so precisely for himself. Did not have to act with the hard faced confidence of a man. Aemond could be unsure, with Alys and Madame Sylvie. He could let go of his masculine fortitude and be a boy once more.

But this was not the case with Daera. He could not help but find the judgement in her eyes, enraging. Already he thought of the million ways she may be laughing or repulsed by him. Already he thought of how she would reject him if he were not willing to do as had been taught men are to do. Take charge.

He could not falter with her, could not be seen as weak.

"Alys..." He muttered lowly, his head turning slightly as to call his paramour to guide him.

The witch continued stroking his hair, cooing softly as she gave him a knowing look, "As you would me..." Her voice soft, knowing he would understand her implication.

Aemond gave a small nod, his gaze then returning to his sister. A look of determination yet also... fear in his eye.

Daera had watched the interaction transpire as though she were but a mere spectator in her body. It hadn't felt real at all, it all seemed like an elaborate dream, and betwixt the moonlight and shadows of Harrenhal, he wasn't fully convinced it wasn't.

The princess found herself sharply returned back to reality as the feeling of her brother's breath upon her neck made her flinch. His fingers gently moving the strands of her silver curls away, before the soft and warm sensation of his lips met her neck.

Daera went to protest, but was met with the cold palm of Alys upon her other cheek, her fingers lacing in her hair as she pulled the princess' head to one side. Exposing more of her neck for Aemond to place his lips upon.

Alys smiled softly and gently stroked the coil of worry lines upon Daera's face.

"That's it." The witch lulled gently, slowly encouraging Daera to lean into her brother's touch. To which the princess slowly raised her hand to Aemond's silver strands, her fingers coiling into his scalp, earning a low groan.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation of his lips moving up her neck, his hands now moving upon her bare body, falling between her plush breasts, down onto the soft planes of her belly.

It was not long before she felt Alys' lips press into her own, a small whimper leaving the princess.

It was that sound which egged Aemond further, he kissed up Daera's jaw, hoping to siphon more of those sweet sounds from his sister. He felt the familiar touch of Alys upon the band of his breeches, already unlaced. Her cool hand shuffling them down, before reaching in, palming his stiffened length. The sudden feeling of his paramour's hand upon him made him groan. Though he swiftly pulled away from the soft flesh of his sister, his head turning to Alys' sharp face.

"I shall do it myself." His words a quiet yet sharp command.

Alys conceded and resumed her position behind him, gently she stroked his silver tresses. Slightly annoyed by his barking at her tonight. Though she supposed he probably still seethes over her seducing Daera so easily.

The princess was terribly lost in the moment. She had eased to her brother's advances and slowly, his hand came to move her head towards his and pressed into hers gently. Daera whimpered and he pulled away, catching a breath. It was with that kiss that her blood had been set ablaze by him. Suddenly, her hands reached up, catching his cheeks in her palms and attempting to force her lips back into his.

Aemond, pulled away slightly, if not only to tease her for her eagerness, but also to remind him he must remember she had not ever been touched by a man. She was unwed, a mere maiden and similarly to him, probably starved for affection.

A dark desire bloomed as he noted her pleading gaze, a sense of control he did not get with his older lovers. It felt good to be the one whom was bestowing another with affection. Filling a lovelorn void with her that he himself shared. He found her stammering endearing, familiar in a way.

He pulled back again, if not to see how her pretty face coiled in desperation. Just as his would. His hand moved to the back of her hair, gripping her strands roughly, her head tilting back before he spoke lowly, "Tell me you desire it."

Daera's eyes beamed with a sudden awakening desire. Her cunt growing warm, as she whispered, "I desire it."

Aemond's jaw clenched, his voice soft, "Do you want me?" His eye wide, expectant.

Slowly, the Princess let her hands move into his hair as she furrowed her brow, as if he had to ask, she thought. Her voice equally soft, needy, "Yes, brother."

It was those very words which set his lips to hers again. He forced his breeches from him, Alys aiding. Aemond let his knee pry Daera's legs apart, his hand moving to finally touch what he knew would already be ready for him. His fingers grazing her wet core, just as their lips upon each other grew far more intensive in their ministrations. Daera was again, shocked by how wet everything felt, and his fingers sliding between her cunt made her mouth open slightly as a moan left her.

He pushed her down, and his head turned to guesture for Alys to get behind Daera. The witch did so, moving so that her legs were parted where Daera's head lay between. Aemond looked down upon his sister then up at his paramour. His eye narrowed as he let himself slip a finger into Daera's entrance.

A sudden moan left the princess and her hands gripped at his upper arms, she found her head tilting back as a simpering gasp left her. His other hand guiding her knee upwards as he pushed two fingers within her. Slowly stretching her. His eye caught Alys again, who herself had seemed to find the ordeal so pleasing, her own hand worked upon her. He watched as she circled her cunt, then slowly fucking herself with her fingers. Though Daera hadn't noticed, she was too busy writhing beneath Aemond as his fingers had grown terribly fast.

Suddenly he stopped, pulling his fingers from her, his gaze still harsh upon Alys as she pleased herself. His jaw clenched as he had remembered the sight he had walked in upon.

Daera found herself letting out a small whine as he had stopped, she looked up at him, when she was met with his hand clasping her cheeks. Aemond spoke with a swift determination in his tone, "You will tend to Alys as I ready you."

Daera had opened her mouth to speak before Aemond interrupted, "Turn around."

With that, Daera had found herself most shocked, though slowly, hesitantly she turned to her belly and moved towards Alys.

Aemonds voice rang in the thick silence of the chamber, "Tell her what she might do." He said lowly to Alys, his gaze too busy scanning the vast expanse of Daera's pale back, her plump rear and fleshy thighs.

Alys hummed, titling her head, her hands coming to Daera's cheeks to pull her forward, "I shall take the girl's mouth." The witch spoke smugly, her hand pulling at Daera's hair as she lowered the princess' lips to her cunt. "Slowly, my pet..." Alys cooed. "With your tongue."

Daera all but whimpered as her mouth met the soft, delicate folds of Alys. She was not sure how to go about it, but she started with slow, languid licks, hoping she might gauge where Alys was brought pleasure. The witch hummed and chuckled with pleasure, her hips slowly circling as she pressed Daera's mouth upon her cunt further. She instructed the princess lowly, and soon Daera was using her tongue to circle Alys clit, winning groans from the older woman.

Aemond had found himself oddly transfixed by the sight, his paramour instructing his sister. It was as though he was watching himself in a way. Though the sight of the two woman before him, was far more thrilling than he had anticipated. Alys' head tilted back, forcing Daera to move quicker, and Aemond slowly pryed apart her thighs. His fingers finding Daera's soaked core.

He grazed her clit, winning gentle moans from her as his other hand kneaded her rear. Alys, moaned again, her peak dawning as she cried, "The prince watches us... sweet girl. He watches with reverence."

Her words sparked a quick hum from Aemond as he found himself focused on Daera again. He leaned down, his chest pressed upon her back as lewd sounds of the two women filled the chamber. He moved his sister's hair to the side, exposing her neck and back. Aemond pressed gentle kisses into her, his hands trailing her soft flesh.

As he went to kiss her again, Alys had pulled Daera's hair harshly, forcing Aemond to lose his grip slightly. He looked up at his paramour, watching as she rolled her hips on his sister mouth, chasing her endless peak.

She was indeed a woman of great fortitude, but this was not about her pleasure. This was about legacy, this was about himself and his sister... and their duty to House Targaryen. Aemond's hands wrapped around Daera's waist, suddenly pulling her away from Alys' cunt.

The witch's eyes opened swiftly, and she gasped. "Your grace?!" She barked, almost like a mother would towards her child.

Though Aemond paid little attention to Alys as he laid Daera down upon her back again. "You've had your fill." He muttered.

The raven haired woman scoffed, "So I get nothing then? I brought you the girl-"

Aemond raised his hand, his tone aloof as he gazed down upon Daera. "Leave us." Aemond spoke lowly to Alys, he was too transfixed on the way Daera had brought her hands to his cheeks.

"My Prince..." The witch begged. Alys let her gaze grow wide and discontented.

"Hm.." Aemond looked up to the older woman, his gaze unwavering, stern, "You may go."

It only took one disgruntled look from Alys before she gave a nod, biting her tongue as she moved away from the bed. She dressed herself once more and left without any protest. After all, she was but under his mercy.

The silence in the room was startling, Daera's eyes widened, and her hand came to Aemond's eye patch, though he forced her hand away. He did not say another word as he settled between her legs. Aemond moved her hand to clasp his length, guiding her hand up and down to ready himself.

His lips met hers as he moved her legs to wrapped around his hips, and slowly, Aemond let his cock graze her folds. Both of them moaning at the sensation. He felt his resolve weaken, and with that, he pushed into her entrance ever so slowly. Giving her time to adjust to him.

Her core tight, so tight he felt himself wince as he tried to push further. Daera squeezed his arm making him force her hands to his cheeks. "Calm yourself." He said lowly.

Daera obliged, she closed her eyes, trusting the sensation that currently stung with pain would soon dissolve and it did. He eased himself into her, and Daera marvelled at the sound he made when he had finally pushed within her. All that could be heard from her was a deep gasp, her head tilting back. As he rocked his hips, fucking her slowly, her hands laced into his hair and his face buried into her neck. Daera suddenly began to moan softly, wantonly as the sensation became more and more pleasurable as her core loosened. She began to feel herself relax, and he slid in and out of her with ease. Aemond at this point was all but lost, he kept moving into her, his hands cupping her face as he moved between his face in the crook of her neck or kissing her harshly. His moans growing more intense, their names flying from the other's mouth. Panting and cursing filled his chamber, alongside low growls as he relished the feeling of her warm cunt upon him.

"Sweet sister..." He grumbled, nodding as his peak was soon to come. "Have me." He said, almost sweetly against her flesh. He wanted to bury himself in her, hold her tight. And that he did, their bodies flushed firmly against each other and Daera had instinctively began to rock her hips against his.

She moaned, grappling at his hair as she whispered, "Aemond... my brother..."

It was her soft coos which triggered him to come fiercely within her. His seed causing an odd warmth to spread within her. As the moment diffused, the heat between them had caused both of them to become flushed, panting gently as they lay entwined upon the bed. The shadows enclasping them both, yet in their arms both found a sense of peace. Daera coiled into him, her head resting upon the top of his.

Aemond laid upon her, letting her arms wrap around him, her soft flesh against his taut frame felt like bliss. He breathed out, speaking softly against her skin, "Alys... she.." Aemond stammered breathlessly against her neck, leaving small kisses.

Daera raised her brow, her hands coming to his hair, gently grazing his silver tresses. The moment felt beyond intimate, she felt a strange tie to him. One that had been all but lost to their distant youths.

He let his hands gently carress her face, his cheek nuzzling against her own as he whispered softly, cooingly into her ear,"She see's a silver haired boy upon the throne... a boy who comes from the flesh of two dragons. The mother... a great beauty, the father... a feared warrior. Of darkness and light, joined by a ghostly flame of longing. Separated by time, brought together by blood. It is us... sweet sister. Alys sees us."

[ophelian-darling]

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬.

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Jonathan Joestar, Joseph Joestar, Jotaro Kujo, Josuke Higashikata, Giorno Giovanna and Jolyne Cujoh - gn reader.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : There's more than a way to say I love you, yet there are many too ways to say I hate you.

TW : Obsession, delusional thoughts, verbal abuse.

enjoy ♡

𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫:

♡ : Thank you for everything you do for me, JoJo.

It fills him with blessing to know how much his words and actions are something with great meaning in your eyes. Faithful servant when in love- except that everything he does sources from the warmest atoms of his soul and from the deepest corners of his heart. Jonathan fights the world to see you happy, and rests with a smile when he earns the slightest curve of your lips; to him, it's the ultimate gift he can ever receive- your Love.

- You mean nothing to me.

Tears- everything that would wash him with agony strikes at once. the sensation of tearing the flesh of a heart open accompanies your words; deeply cutting and painful, causing all of his insecurities to float : Am I being useless again darling? Am I being a burden? Have you grown tired of me? He can't help it when he sheds these tears: He had lost all of your affection and care. the only source of warmth he had, now doused in the cruelest way possible. 

𝐉𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐡 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 :

♡ : I like you , you're awesome!

Just imagine it, that ghost of a blush coffined beneath a confident smirk and a glinting wink! Joseph catches a love fever once you state that his presence around you is enjoyable. He feels that he already aimed at the moon by gaining your trust and company- it meant that you were besotted with him in return, regardless of whatever you said about considering him as a mere brother or a dear friend. JoJo sees the colors of your eyes soften as you say so, it is surely, undoubtedly love!

- We're done.

a swift of a cut that it doesn't elicit any pain at first, then it's repeated again, slightly stinging, then it rolls down your tongue, fully sinking in his soul. How could you?! Was the thing in the middle of your chest a hard stone to not see or feel a fraction of his love towards you?! a heavy realization of being used falls on his head like a heavy anvil: the blood in his veins floats just right under his skin, painting anger as red, yet the pale dread underneath can't be helped. Why? He would scream at you, but the reasons were nothing of an importance, you just toyed harshly with his feelings. 

𝐉𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐊𝐮𝐣𝐨 :

♡ : I'm always by your side. 

It ignites a pleasant warmth within his heart and shines through his eyes; it confesses his undying love and loyalty for you, regardless of whatever mean words he utter. No force on earth can banish him from you: From the depths of Inferno to the ends of earth and above in the heavens, He would remain with you forever, his lineaments engraved under your eyelids and in the darkest curtains of your vision. JoJo doesn't show it, but he's on cloud nine to know that you're staying as well- that he finally earned your love. 

- Nobody loves you, not even me.

He's already aware. Half of people fear him, the other hates him, and there were you, probably feeling something negative swirl inside you towards him, now confirming it with each spiteful letter you let out. Couldn't you just shut the fuck up and swallow it instead of saying it out loud? He spits, the words of you reiterating louder and louder in his mind that now he can't unhear. You've just ruined everything for him, he had peacefully thought that everything went well, that your protests and complaints were just a childish fit- but now, it's all so grotesquely real: you truly hated him, and for the first time ever, he has no idea what he should do. 

𝐉𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐚 :

♡ : You're cute! I like your hair!

Nobody can stop him, the boy with a heart of diamond and eyes of warm seas! Everything in his eyes glints with beauty; especially you: everything about you is a well crafted detail, say your eyes, your smile or the contours of your face. The subject of his daydreams- they were made of spring rain drops and cotton candy, the enchanting human whom he had a silly intense crush on called him cute! Was there even a better time to be alive? to be praised by someone you adored was the epitome of being coddled beyond any wishes of a young man madly in love!

- Look at you, pathetic and ugly.

Huh?! 

It's all that he can think of as a response. Your words take a slow effect on him; as if he was trying to process it in another different light, in a gentle way that didn't convey the clear in them. At first, He's at sixes and sevens for a few minutes: people who are in love together were supposed to have each other's back, to boost each other's confidence and accept them whatever and whoever they were- so why were you saying this to him now? obviously it wasn't a joke, your voice was too cold to warm the words into a playful comment, he would have accepted them if you were just a tad above expressful, not a doll that just stares back eerily. He should be angry, but it just melts in tears, all of his hidden insecurities emerge into existence, and not even Crazy Diamond is able to fix the shatters of his heart. 

𝐆𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐨 𝐆𝐢𝐨𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 :

♡ : You mean the world to me.

Galatea to Pygmalion, Juliet to Romeo, Layla to Qays- You to Giorno. Romanticism wasn't something he was versed in, but in a blink of an eye, the world fell into a pink blur, filling everything with such amour a human never had in a little heart. GioGio ponders to himself that you were an Angel, a poor pure plumed creature that tripped and fell into the land of the stained; worth to be kept in a vitrine till the sun burns away. The smile that dances on his lips when he hears your gratitude, the joy he feels when his efforts of shielding you are finally noticed by you equate the flow of sweetness he tasted for the first time he saw you: Love.

- You're a monster. 

The gray flicker in his eyes blends with the greens of his irises; it doesn't reflect on your face that you just hurt him, while having the audacity to brand him as a monster. His patience contained all of your attitudes, he bottled up every evil word you threw at him and continued to offer more than he should for the sake of winning back some or little of your affection, but to no avail. The mayhem under his skin is concealed by force, consuming whatever left of his patience as he makes you toe the line. You're selfish- you always were, yet he can't help his love for you. 

𝐉𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐧𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐣𝐨𝐡 :

♡ : Good Girl! 

Valentine, Friends and dates- High school sweethearts and kisses! Her world is a ridiculously colored picture of a sunny day; her imagination paints a world where she is with you and nothing could ever go wrong. How much would she offer to just touch the tips of your fingers with her hands? nothing less than what she is able to count! JoJo wanders around you in the excitement of a puppy around its master, waiting for a treat or a word of praise for pleasing them. She wants you to say it again, over and over again, to no end! A Good girl was a girl in Love! 

- How annoying you are. 

She had heard someone she loved before say this, but who were they? 

Remorse falls heavily on her like a dark curtain- She'd just ruined the best thing she ever had in life. She blames herself for being too clingy, too needy and too desperate- she carries the shame and burden like weights on her shoulders, staggering as the remains of her confidence seep through the fractures. Your sweet words and praises were brightening her existence; was she to be something if you didn't adore her? The talkative, open and daring Jolyne is now nothing but a silent, gloomy and wounded little girl, asking for a little of love and receiving none no matter how much she gave. 

[restinslices]

My Baby

Bi-Han x Child!Reader (not literally a child. I’m thinking teens - young adult) (no gender specified

Word count: 2475

Summary: This but I made reader less panicked

Warnings: There is no happy ending

Bi-Han always liked to believe that while he is many things, an idiot is not one of them. People could call him rude, selfish, egotistical, bitter, humorless, and whatever other negative words they could think of. What they could never call him was an idiot. 

That’s what he always thought at least. Time seemed to test this theory however. First show of his idiocy was having hope. He had hope that his brothers would embrace the future the Lin Kuei always deserved. He hoped that one day they’d come to him and apologize for their insolence. He’d have to lecture them still and maybe give them some public punishment so the rest of his clan knew to never try what they did, but he’d welcome them back home and they’d begin walking together.

What he hoped most of all, was that you’d come back.

You, his child. One of the few people he smiled at. Few other people could jump on his back with no consequences. Now that he thought about it, you were the only one he wouldn’t immediately throw off. From the moment your mother became with child, he knew he would care for that child deeply. He promised himself that he’d cherish this child until he took his last breath, and even afterwards he’d find a way to still be there for you. You were the home where his heart resided.

And you continued to hold it, even when you left with your traitorous uncles. It left a hole inside him, and he stuffed it with hatred and resentment. He stuffed bitterness inside like one would stuff a teddy bear full of cotton. At least the bear brought joy and excitement. All he had was hate and more hate. Hatred for his brothers who betrayed him. Hatred for the child he had raised leaving him. Hatred for the new clan that dared to challenge the Lin Kuei. Hatred for Liu Kang. Hatred for his father. Hatred for the birds that sang in the early hours of the morning. Hatred towards silence but also towards noise. Hatred towards how loud the rain hit the roof of his home. Hatred towards everyone and everything.

You held his heart in your hands, and without it all he could feel was hate.

Hate.

Hate.

Hate.

Hate. 

Bi-Han would never know how you felt about everything. He would never know that having to go against him was the hardest thing you had ever done in your entire life. He would never know that when you cooked, you always accidentally made an extra serving for him. He would never know that sometimes you would dream of the past, only to wake up and be brought back to reality. 

Left to his right. Stars to his sky. Day to his night. Rain to his clouds. 

Blood of his blood. The strongest bond of all. Or at least what was supposed to be. 

He hadn't spoken to, or even seen you in months. Mayhaps that was why he was so angry and so eager to jump at the first opportunity to strike at those he deemed responsible. 

His brothers. 

***

Infiltrating the wedding wasn't as hard as it should have been. Kuai Liang must've been too happy to actually think about proper security. It made Bi-Han scoff. Proof that he was the Grandmaster for a reason, and his brother would never survive as one. 

The Lin Kuei clan was hidden as instructed. Far enough to not be seen but close enough to see practically everything. 

That everything included you. 

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't gone out of his way to find you. His eyes scanned the entire crowd until his eyes finally landed on your familiar frame, dressing in what was probably the only formal attire you could tolerate. 

You looked so… 

happy. 

Your smile was wide as you watched Kuai Liang and Harumi join hands. Not a hint of grief in your expression. Only love and joy.

 

“Bàba, do you not like the bracelet I made for you?” The world was extremely beautiful that day. It was the middle of spring and the weather had been exceptionally kind. No storms recently or anytime in the near future. Only cloudless skies and a sun shining down on the Earth below. 

You were only 10 years old then, meaning you were starting to find your own independence but the majority of you still clung onto your father like he personally put the sun in the sky. 

“The bracelet?” Bi-Han thought out loud. Bracelet… bracelet… oh! The bracelet! The one made of rubber bands that you made him a few weeks ago! He had forgotten about it. He set it down on his desk and hadn't looked at it since. “Of course I like it” he replied. He didn't hate it. It was a simple blue and white bracelet. It was fine. 

“Why don't you wear it then?”. 

“It's on my desk. I still have it” he defended. 

Him defending himself against a child? Man, he had changed. 

You mumbled something under your breath, which made him sigh in return. He hated when you did that. “I can't hear you” he reminded you for what had to have been the millionth time. You had a tendency to go quiet at times and he tried not to get frustrated with you. 

You glanced up at him, then back down at your feet as you both continued walking around the lake. Finally you said “I made us matching bracelets. See?” You lifted your wrist to show off an identical looking bracelet. “But you never wear yours…”. 

You hadn't realized how much your words stabbed him in the heart. Hell, sometimes it even startled him when he'd be reminded of how soft he was with you. He thought he'd be strict and full of discipline when he had a kid. Then you came and proved him wrong. 

All he could say was that he hadn't realized you cared so much. Thankfully though, soon after you got distracted by some animals and completely forgot about the conversation. 

He hadn't. 

Infact, the minute you got home he immediately put the bracelet on. You hadn't realized until he was putting you to sleep. 

You gasped and grabbed his wrist, “you're wearing it! You're wearing it!” You exclaimed. “You like it?!”. He simply nodded. You practically jumped up and hugged him. Of course he hugged you back. 

When you pulled away, your smile was spread ear to ear. “You're the best! The best best bestest best! We're gonna be best friends forever!”. You placed your wrist next to his so your bracelets would touch. 

Best friends forever. 

Your smile was exactly like that night. Beautiful, wide, and full of life. It started to break him down on the inside. Maybe he was making a mistake… 

“Grandmaster” he heard Sektor whisper behind him. “The bombs are in place. The Lin Kuei await your orders”. 

No. He couldn't have been making a mistake. He was supposed to turn and tell his clan to leave? No. 

Nothing was gained from sadness. 

But everything could be gained from anger. 

So that's what he forced to the forefront of his mind. Anger. Rage even. His family betrayed him and were here celebrating some wedding like nothing was going on. Was betrayal just a small thing to everyone? Did no one ever wonder what Bi-Han was feeling?

He didn't verbally respond to Sektor. Him raising his hand for his clan members to see was all he had to do. 

They all began to creep closer and closer… 

They had gotten too close. 

For whatever reason, you started to look around. More than likely becoming fidgety. Whatever the reason, you looked in his direction and froze. 

“Bà-”

The walls exploded. People screamed in panic. In the split second it took him to jump from the higher ground, he had lost you. 

Nevermind you. He couldn't be focused on you. He had to remember that you were a traitor just like your uncles. A hard pill to swallow. It nearly choked him as he made his way through his foes. The wedding guests became grass - they were cut down, their numbers growing smaller and smaller. 

1, 2, 3, 8, 12, 20

How many had he cut down before he heard Kuai Liang?

“Harumi!”

He could spot him now. Bi-Han tracked where his brother was looking to see his new bride. Blood soaked her hands and knife, bodies laid on the ground around her - necks broken or throats slit. “Harumi!” his brother called again with his hand outstretched. 

It was bitterness that led to Bi-Han shooting three large icicles in her direction. 

But it was not Harumi that suffered the attack.

You had rushed towards the woman in an attempt to push her towards your uncle, not realizing the danger you put yourself in. 

It was not her skin the ice pierced. 

It was yours.

The ice pierced through different parts of your torso and chest, the momentum of it pushing you back and pinning you to a part of the stone wall that hadn’t been destroyed.

How would Bi-Han say he felt in that very moment? Shocked? No. There had to be a stronger word for what he felt deep in his soul. Even saying he was disgusted with himself didn’t seem like a strong enough descriptor. From the moment he realized that you had been hit, the entire world went silent. Fighting went on all around him but he couldn’t hear any of it. He couldn’t see them. He had tunnel vision and the only thing he could see was realization slowly dawn on your face. 

He hadn’t meant to…

Why would he ever wanna hurt his baby?

He hadn’t meant…

“I’m sorry”

Those words hardly ever left his lips, but it was the first thing he said to you. He scanned you over in a frantic hurry. What was he supposed to do? Why was he freezing? “This isn’t a nightmare Bi-Han!” he thought, “do something! Fix this!”. But how? This wasn’t a small cut. He knew that keeping a object in the wound stopped someone from bleeding out, but fuck. Did your body know that? Blood covered your entire attire in a matter of seconds. It dripped to the ground like some twisted broken faucet. He tried to cover two areas but there was just too much blood. It seeped through his fingers.

A choking noise came from the back of your throat, followed by blood spilling down your chin. “I’m gonna die…” you whispered. The situation finally hit you. You were dying. “I’m gonna die!” your breath hitched. Bi-Han felt your hands grip his forearms tightly, making him finally look at your face. “Don’t leave me!” you cried.

Fuck, he couldn’t breathe. How selfish was he for killing as many people as he did, but feeling like the world was starting to lose its color the second someone he loved was dying? “Stay alive! That’s a command!”.

He knew the cold truth. Peasant, Grandmaster, King, Gods, death came for them all and it laughed in the face of commands. He couldn’t think of any words to ease you. How could he relax you when he himself felt like at any moment he’d throw up? He furiously blinked his tears away and grit his teeth. He wouldn’t cry because you weren’t dying! “Don’t leave me again,” he whispered.

There was so much blood. So much blood…

“What have I done?” he thought out loud in between shallow breaths. “I hurt my baby… I-”.

You began to shush him. Kind and soft your voice was - like you weren’t the one dying. He couldn’t stand it. His head fell onto your shoulder, his own shoulders shook as he tried to hold his sobs in. He was such a coward. He was the reason for his demise but he couldn’t bring himself to look into your eyes. 

“It’s okay”.

Those words surprised him. It was okay? No. Those words sounded too final. Maybe if he prayed hard enough, death would spare you and take him instead. “I forgive you”. 

“I-”

“Shhh” your voice was merely a breath now. Your hand on his cheek was weak. He could’ve easily knocked your hand away. He doubted you could even firmly grasp a cup, but he lifted his head to look at you anyway. He immediately wanted to look away. Blood covered your lips and chin, your eyes looked so hooded and tired. What had he done? “I forgive you,” you said again. How? How could you forgive him for what he had done? He couldn’t stop the tears from falling this time.

Your soft fingers wiped at his tears before cupping his cheek. “I…” you breathed out, then managed a small smile. “I was so happy to see you…”.

You were happy to see him and he killed you in return. 

That thought alone made a sob push past his lips. Those words were uttered, then Bi-Han watched powerlessly as you took your last breath. Your smile faded, your head fell forward, your hand fell from his face and to his shoulder. What he saw when he looked down at your wrist made his throat squeeze more than it already had.

You still had your bracelet.

His? Back home.

“Get up!” he pleaded in desperation. He held your head up and shook you in hopes of waking you up, but all you did was stare back at him. “Please!”. Death laughed at his begging. He placed your head on his shoulder, hands holding you close, sobs taking all the oxygen from his lungs. “Not my baby” the words came out weak. One last plea for death to bring you back and take him. Death just continued to laugh and lead you away. “Please don’t do this”.

“Don’t do what? Die? It’s too late” he thought. “The greatest gift you’ve ever received and you destroyed them. You killed them”.

For the first time since he had struck you, he looked around to acknowledge the world around him. People tore into each other, blood soaked the Earth, the dying screamed and cried. What had he done? What did he do now?

He looked to you again. His perfect child. His perfect baby. He backed away from you and your blood followed him. Your body hung in the air lifelessly. You were gone. Forever.

A large icicle formed in his hand. He looked down at it. Yes. It would do.

He pointed the sharp end at himself.

What did he do now?

Did he continue fighting the war he caused so that your death would mean something, or did he stab himself and hope he had enough of a heart to end his own life?

What did he do now?

“Omg Slices! Were you procrastinating again?” This shit is a disease- An open ending. You can decide what he does after since there will not be a part 2. Hope you enjoy! Also the way I be naming these at the last minute…

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Adoption Agency

Dean Winchester & Ben, Dean Winchester & Cassie Jr (OC), Dean Winchester & Charlie, Dean Winchester & Krissy, Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous (x2)

Synopsis: Dean is forced to take care of a kid he hasn’t seen for a while—and one he didn’t know he had

A/N: finally another fic! This one’s pretty long. I have the reader and an oc in this one, this is the first (and possibly only, we’ll see) fic I’ve done with this headcannon character I’ve mentioned before; Cassie Jr. She’s the daughter of Cassie, Dean’s old girlfriend who was in (I think??) the first season. I’m usually not a fan of OCs, but Cassie Jr is kind of my exception. Hope you guys like it! (Btw if you guys want to see more of my Ben/Cassie Jr headcannons, let me know and I might hunt down my old stuff and put it in a Masterlist)

“Ben?” Dean lowered his machete faster than he ever had when he turned the corner and saw not a vampire, but a boy he considered his son. “Ben, what are you doing here?”

“Dean?” Blood drained from Ben’s face when he laid eyes on the only father figure he’d ever trusted. “I didn’t think you’d—I mean—“

“Ben look out!” Dean’s weapon was back up in an instant when he spotted a figure rounding the corner, but Ben jumped in the way.

“Dean, no! That—she’s not a vamp!”

Dean lowered his machete again, but he kept a firm grip on it as he glanced from Ben to the girl behind him.

“Ben, what is this?” Dean asked. “Why do you even remember me? Cas told me that he—“

“He did,” Ben interrupted. “But…but things have changed.”

“Dean?” Dean turned to look at the girl as she spoke. Something about her tugged at his mind, as if he knew her. “You can’t be Dean.” Her eyes turned to Ben. “Why is he—“

“We can talk about this later,” Ben interrupted. “But we’ve gotta finish looking before that vamp comes back.”

“Looking?” Dean asked, choosing for now to ignore the nagging question of why this girl seemed to know who he was. “Looking for what?”

“We took this job because a friend of ours had an uncle go missing in this area. We tracked the vampire kills nearby, and we’re thinking that maybe the vampire is keeping some of its victims alive as blood bags—that’s why only about half the missing people turned up dead.”

“Yeah, or they’re just good at hiding their tracks,” Dean argued. “The priority here has to be killing the monster.”

“That can be your priority,” the girl spoke up. “But we’re gonna find those victims.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Dean scoffed. He was surprised when the question stopped her short, and she looked to Ben for support.

“Later,” Ben insisted. “We can do this later. Look—“ he turned to Dean. “We’re going to check upstairs for any survivors. You can do what you want.”

“You’re not going up there alone,” Dean argued.

“Like I said; do what you want.” Ben turned, grabbing the girl by the arm and encouraging her along. Dean rolled his eyes and followed right behind them.

…

Dean wasn’t surprised at the first body they found at the top of the stairs—but the kids were.

“Just because one is dead doesn’t mean they all are,” the girl said. Dean grit his teeth at the sound of the shakiness in her voice; she was in for a rude awakening, he could feel it.

“Let’s keep looking.” Ben put his hand on the girl’s arm, and Dean wondered what the connection was between them.

“Watch out!” The girl spoke a split second before you rounded the corner and swung the machete. You froze mid-strike, yanking your arm back at the last second to avoid hitting Ben in the neck.

“Ben?!” You were slack-jawed before your eyes landed on your big brother. “Dean, what is going on?”

“I’ll explain later,” Dean huffed. “Right now we—“

“Oh no.” Dean’s senses heightened at the sound of Ben’s voice.

“What’s wrong?” He demanded, sidestepping his little sister to see what Ben was seeing. “Oh.” Dean couldn’t say he was surprised, but the sight of three more bodies in the entryway of the next room caused his heart to sink.

“They-they can’t…” the girl was gripping Ben’s arm, her voice quavering. “They can’t all be dead.”

Dean didn’t see why not, but he didn’t speak.

“I take it you’re looking for someone specific,” you spoke up.

“Yeah.” Ben’s voice was shaky too, but nowhere near as panicked as his friend’s. “We’re trying to help a friend find her uncle.”

“Then let’s keep looking.” Dean resisted the urge to glare at you for this statement—he wished you wouldn’t give these kids false hope, but he supposed you probably had plenty of false hope yourself; it was just a part of being a young hunter. You hadn’t seen everything that Dean had.

Dean trailed behind while Ben, his friend, and you forged ahead to look for any survivors. As he stared at the three kids, he couldn’t help the nagging feeling at the back of his mind…

The one that said that this was just the beginning—the one that said he’d be seeing a lot more of these kids, two of whom he considered his own.

…

Dean knew even before he entered the room that it was bad. He heard an intake of breath from Ben’s friend, he heard Ben’s quiet groan, and your “oh no.”

He rushed into the room just behind the three kids, cringing at the sight of half a dozen bodies strewn haphazardly around, all drained of blood.

“Cassie…” Dean whipped his head around to stare at Ben as he finally said the girl’s name. Ben was pulling Cassie into a hug as her eyes landed on a dead man near the center of the floor.

“Cassie,” Dean muttered under his breath, too awestruck to speak. That was why he recognized this kid—she was near identical to a woman Dean hadn’t seen for years.

“I take it that wasn’t a friend’s uncle,” you said quietly from beside Ben and Cassie.

“He was the only family I had,” Cassie whimpered. That sentence caught Dean’s attention.

“The only…” No. No way. He had to be thinking about this wrong, this couldn’t be Cassie’s daughter, because that would mean…

“Dean, look out!” At the sound of your warning, Dean didn’t hesitate. Without turning around, Dean ducked out of the way, stepping away from the doorway and lifting his machete simultaneously. It was good that he didn’t question you—not that he ever had—because the vamp missed him by mere inches.

You came forward swinging, but it was no use as the bigger and faster vampire dodged your attempted blow and grabbed onto your arm, twisting until the machete clattered to the ground.

“Dean!” You cried out as the vampire bared its fangs at you, but before he could spring into action Ben was there, ripping the vampire away from you and opening up Cassie for a shot; she took off the head in a single swing. “Thanks,” you breathed to the teens. “You guys are some decent hunters.”

“Which begs the question; why?” Dean demanded as he stepped closer to the three of you. “Ben, what is going on?”

“What, are you surprised that you actually have to take responsibility for your kids?” Cassie’s outburst surprised both you and Dean, but Ben just sighed exhaustedly.

“Cassie, you know that—“

“Yeah, you recognize that name? Cassie?” Cassie was ignoring Ben, keeping her eyes on Dean. “That old girlfriend you forgot about—my mother. After you left, she had me. And then she died—because she knew you.” Cassie was out the door before Dean could even begin to process her words. Ben was starting after her, but Dean grabbed onto his arm.

“Is…is she saying…she’s mine?” Dean didn’t look like he was breathing anymore.

“She is. And so am I.” Ben pulled his arm from Dean’s grasp and rushed after Cassie.

“Dean?” You grabbed onto your big brother’s arm, hoping to stabilize him.

“What’s going on up here?” The two of you turned at the sound of Sam’s voice. “There was a vamp downstairs, I took care of it…but it looks like I missed all the real action. I just saw Ben on the staircase.”

“It’s a long story,” you said. “Maybe we should bring those two to the bunker and have a talk with them.”

“Yeah.” Your words seemed to snap Dean out of his daze. “Yeah, I’ll go find them.”

“Let me,” you insisted. “I’m not so sure they like you right now.”

…

You found Ben and Cassie right outside the house—it looked like Ben was trying to convince her to go back inside.

“You guys should come with us,” you spoke up without waiting to hear what they were talking about. “We’ve got a bunker not far from here, it’s a good place to regroup.”

“With Dean?” Cassie scoffed. “I don’t think—“

“Cassie, hear him out,” Ben interrupted. “I told you, I don’t think it’s a bad idea to at least get to know him before you hate him.”

“It’s not like you’ve been searching him out to talk to him,” Cassie argued.

“Look, guys,” you butted into the argument. “I don’t know what you’ve got against my brother, but—“

“My mom is dead.” Ben’s word knocked the wind out of you, and you completely forgot what you were going to say. You’d stayed with Dean, Ben, and Lisa while Sam was in hell. You hadn’t formed a bond anywhere near as strong as Dean had with them, but Lisa was the closest thing you’d ever had to a mother, given that yours left you at John’s motel doorstep when you were a baby. When you and Dean got wiped from Ben and Lisa’s memories, it was one of the hardest things you’d ever done to walk away.

“L-Lisa’s…” you swallowed. “How?”

“Demons,” Ben deadpanned. “Of course, she didn’t know they were demons. She didn’t understand any of it, because she couldn’t remember.”

“Why do you remember?” The three of you turned at the sound of Dean’s voice—he’d come up behind you. You glared at him; he was supposed to let you handle this. But you softened when you saw the tenseness in his jaw and fists, and the pain in his eyes. He had heard Ben say Lisa was dead.

“Not long after you left us, I got into a car accident,” Ben explained. “Had a concussion. Whatever happened knocked those memories loose in my brain, and I started to remember everything that friend of yours made me forget. I didn’t tell mom—I knew she wouldn’t understand. But it didn’t matter, anyway, because she died not long after. You abandoning us didn’t protect us.”

“I wasn’t abandoning you,” Dean forced out through the lump in his throat. “I was trying to protect you.”

Ben’s expression didn’t change from a cold indifference.

“It didn’t work.”

…

Despite Cassie’s anger and Ben’s hesitance, the teens decided to follow you to the bunker. To your surprise, yet another teen was waiting for you when you got there.

“Hey guys,” Claire greeted before her eyes landed on the extra passengers. “Who are your friends?”

“Who’s she, another kid?” Cassie scoffed, and Ben shot her a look.

“Another kid?” Claire looked from the teens to Dean. “The heck are they talking about?”

“Claire, this is Ben and Cassie—they’re my kids.”

“Only biologically,” Cassie clarified.

“Cassie and Ben,” Dean continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “This is Claire—she’s a friend. What’s going on, Claire?”

“It’s Jody.” Claire must have decided her reason for being here was more important than Dean’s family drama. “She went on a hunt a few days ago, and now she’s not answering her phone.”

Dean was instantly stiff and alert.

“Tell us everything.”

“I will,” Claire promised. “But first—I recruited some help.”

…

“Charlie.” Dean grinned widely as he pulled the redhead in for a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” Charlie said as she pulled away. “By the way, you have quite a good number of crazy kids in your corner.” Charlie eyed the troop of teens in the war room, including you, Ben, Claire, Cassie, and Krissy—who had come with Claire.

“Yeah, you’d think he’d be celibate by now just out of basic human decency,” Cassie scoffed, and Ben elbowed her.

“Hey, these aren’t mine,” Dean argued.

“That you know of,” Cassie muttered.

“Alright, that’s it,” Dean snapped. “Look, I know you’ve been through some crap, ok? But this chip on your shoulder attitude is getting old, especially considering I wasn’t even told of your existence until a few hours ago. That was your mom’s choice, not mine.”

“Oh yeah?” Cassie challenged. “And was it her choice to get killed by demons?”

“No.” Dean’s voice was solemn now. “No, it wasn’t. And I’m sorry, I’m…I’m so sorry.”

Dean’s tone surprised Cassie, and she went silent.

“I didn’t know she was in danger,” Dean said. “And I didn’t know about you. If I did, I would’ve—“

“What?” Ben cut in. “Would’ve made them forget?”

“Ben, you know why I did that,” Dean argued. “Your mom almost got killed—I didn’t want you to be in danger anymore.”

“Well it didn’t help,” Ben said. “They didn’t care if we remembered that we knew you, they only cared that you knew us.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Dean confessed. “I put you in danger by being there, I put you in danger by staying away. I can’t bring your moms back—all I can say is I’m sorry.”

A tack hitting the floor would’ve sounded like a bomb going off in the war room as the two teens eyed their father.

“Prove it,” Cassie spoke up.

“Name what you want, I’ll do it,” Dean promised.

“This Jody chick. I wanna help you look for her.”

Dean was surprised.

“What? Why?”

Cassie looked from you, to Sam, then finally to Dean.

“Families hunt together, right? You wanna prove you’re sorry? Then let us be a family. If I think I can trust you, then maybe…maybe we can move on.”

“The last thing I want to do right now is put you in more danger,” Dean huffed.

“Tough,” Cassie argued. “Because that’s my only offer.”

Dean eyed Cassie, then Ben. The silence in his indecision reached awkward quickly.

“They saved my butt from a vamp back there,” you broke in. “They’ve got my vote.”

“Maybe a new start is a good idea,” Sam piped up.

“Didn’t realize this was a group discussion,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Alright,” he decided. “Let’s go. But you’d better not get yourselves killed.”

…

“You’ve been pretty quiet, old man.”

Dean let out a huff as he glanced back at Krissy—just his luck she’d ended up in the Impala when they were separating into cars.

“Yeah, finding out about a kid you didn’t know you had will do that.”

“Well, she can join the club,” Krissy said with a shrug.

“Club?” Dean questioned. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh just the half a dozen kids on this hunt that you’ve adopted,” Krissy said. Dean scoffed.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t know Dean,” Sam piped up from his shotgun seat. “We seemed to have picked up a decent amount of wayward teens over the years.”

“Great, just what I need.” Dena rolled his eyes.

“C’mon—“ Dean had forgotten you were in the car until you reached up and patted his shoulder. “You know you love us.”

…

“So I hit a dead end trying to track her phone, but with her laptop I’ve managed to track her web usage over the past few days.” Charlie’s fingers were moving a mile a minute on her laptop keyboard as she spoke. She had a Winchester brother over each shoulder, watching her every move as she shuffled through page after page of Jody’s online research.

“Try the most recent search,” Sam offered. “Maybe she looked up a location.”

“Do we even know what she was hunting?” You questioned Claire.

“Werewolf, definitely.” Claire and Sam exchanged a glance—she was nervous. Her last encounter with werewolves hadn’t gone so well.

“Ok, she did look up a location,” Charlie cut in. “Looks like a passport office, except…it’s really sketchy.” Charlie spun around in her chair, and it gave you a view over her shoulder of a website.

“That’s a perfect cover,” Krissy said. “I mean, anyone going to a place that bad is probably looking to disappear—so no one notices when they do.”

“Sketchy is right,” you scoffed as you looked over Charlie’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t be surprised if Jody’s computer has half a dozen viruses now.”

“It did. I took care of them.” Charlie smirked. “She can thank me when we find her.”

…

“Dean?” You caught your big brother before he went outside.

“Yeah, what’s up?” He asked, glancing out towards the Impala before reluctantly looking back at you.

“Were—um—“ your voice caught, so you swallowed and tried again. “Werewolves…they don’t really keep hostages. What if Jody is—“

“Hey, no,” Dean snapped, but he softened when your lip started to quiver. “Ok, commere.” Dean pulled you into his arms. “We can’t do that, kid. We can’t lose hope.”

“I don’t want to lose her, too,” you whimpered. Dean’s arms tightened around you.

“We’re not losing anyone, ok? Jody’s gonna be just fine—we’re gonna bring her home. I promise.”

…

“I want to go in.”

“What?” Dean eyed Cassie suspiciously as he parked at the cracked pavement outside the passport office. “Why?”

“Why do you think I came here? Duh, I want to help.” Dean huffed at Cassie’s sarcasm, but he didn’t argue. “You can take me in—pretend you’re my dad getting me a passport.” Dean didn’t miss Cassie’s smirk at the implication. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Fine,” Dean relented. “Sam, if we’re not out in half an hour—“

“I know what to do,” Sam assured him.

“Then let’s go.”

…

Dean had been in the office all of 2 minutes before he began to get nervous.

“I’ve gotta use the restroom,” Cassie had announced almost as soon as a man had come forward to help them.

“First door on the left,” the man told her; and she scampered off down a dark hallway.

Great, he thought to himself. I’m in werewolf territory with Nancy Drew.

Still, he let her go off to check the back while he kept the counter man distracted. He didn’t really have another choice.

…

“Do you think Jody’s ok?”

Claire’s question hit Sam hard—mostly because he’d been wondering that all day. Before he could speak, though, Krissy piped in.

“Look, I know I don’t know your friend—but from what you guys have been telling me, she seems awesome. I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.”

The tiny twitch of a smile on Claire’s face as she relaxed made Sam feel much better.

“They’ve been in there a while,” Ben interrupted. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the front door since Cassie disappeared behind it. Sam understood the feeling—the fear for your sibling, the helplessness when they went into danger without you. He didn’t know how Ben and Cassie got to be so close, but he couldn’t deny the obvious; they’d do anything for each other.

“Do you think we should go in after them?” Your eyes met Sam’s—you were waiting for his say-so.

“Dean said half an hour,” Krissy argued. “We should give them a chance to get some information.

“I’m not waiting any longer,” Ben insisted.

“Ben—“ Sam tried to reason with him, but Ben was already halfway out of the Impala.

You and Claire followed without a word.

“Hey!” Sam called to the two of you, but you ignored him.

“Ok.” Krissy shrugged, stepping out of the car.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Sam grumbled as he followed the teens. “These kids are gonna be the death of me.”

…

Dean was in the middle of pretending to fill out paperwork, and he was getting impatient. Cassie still hadn’t returned, and there had been no sounds of struggle either. He didn’t feel like he could go after her yet though—not with the desk worker hanging around; it would look too suspicious.

The moment the desk worker disappeared in the back, Dean dropped his pen and stepped into the hallway that Cassie had gone down.

“Cassie?” Dean hissed. “Cassie!”

A thud broke the silence from behind a door down the hall. Dean rushed towards it, his hand instinctively reaching behind him to pull out his gun. The door was locked, but it came open with a swift kick.

Dean held his gun out in front of him as he entered the room.

“Cassie!” Dean lowered his gun as he rushed towards his daughter, who was tied and gagged on the floor.

“She came outta nowhere,” Cassie gasped after Dean yanked her gag down.

“She?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. This isn’t a one-werewolf job, I guess.” Cassie shrugged.

“When is it ever?” Dean huffed as he started to untie Cassie.

“Dean look out!” Cassie’s warning came a split second too late as Dean felt a flash of pain as something hit the back of his head; then nothing.

…

“They’re not here,” you mumbled to Sam as the two of you trailed a step behind Ben into the passport office.

“They’re fine, we’re going to find them,” Sam promised.

“How can I help you?” A woman with an unnerving smile greeted as she stepped out from a dark hallway.

“That’s enough of that,” Ben huffed, reaching into his belt and pulling his gun on the woman. “The man and the teenage girl. Where are they?”

“Ben!” Sam glared at the teen. “Subtle much?”

“Subtle was Dean’s plan, and now he and Cassie are missing,” Ben argued. “It’s time for my plan.”

“Fine,” Sam grumbled, reaching for his own gun and directing his attention to the woman. “Answer his question.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” She insisted, doing a horrible job of looking aghast.

“Sam!” You we’re halfway down a dark hallway by the time you called out for your big brother. He looked to see what you were gesturing at—a door at the end of the corridor. “Hinge is broken—it looks like it got kicked in.”

“Dean,” Sam muttered under his breath. “Krissy, Claire, go with Y/N. Ben and I are gonna have a little chat with this one.” Sam instructed. He glanced at Ben to make sure he still had his gun up before putting his own away and pulling out a silver knife instead. “First things first—let’s see what you are.”

…

You slipped into the room with the broken door, Krissy trailing right behind you. You had your gun—the one full of silver bullets—up and ready.

“Dean!” You breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of your big brother, even though he was tied up and gagged. He started shaking his head the moment he saw you, which put you on instant alert. Despite this and Dean’s obvious protests, you stepped forward and pulled Dean’s gag down, keeping your gun ready.

“Two of them,” Dean gasped. “There’s two, and I don’t know where either of them are.”

“Krissy, wait.” You held your hand out to stop Krissy from untying Cassie. “One of us should be ready to fight.” She nodded, stepping away from Cassie and keeping her gun pointed at the door while you untied Dean and Claire freed Cassie.

“Where…where’s Jody?” Claire asked once they were both free.

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “I haven’t seen anyone except the werewolves. Hey,” Dean put a firm grip on her shoulder when he saw her countenance drop. “We don’t know anything yet. There’s gotta be more rooms in this place. Let’s keep looking.” Dean turned his attention to you. Where’s—“

Dean’s question was interrupted by the sound of gunshots.

…

Only about a minute earlier, Sam was questioning the female werewolf about Jody when a man came charging into the main room from a side hallway.

“Ben watch out!” Sam fired two shots at the advancing male werewolf. One missed, and the other buried itself in the man’s shoulder. It didn’t stop him, and Sam wasn’t able to fire off another shot at him because just then the woman pounced on him.

“Hey!” Dean’s voice—followed by the sound of his gun going off—came just in time, and Sam felt the werewolf on top of him collapse completely, three shots to her back finding their mark in her heart. It was only after Sam shoved the creature off of him that he realized it wasn’t Dean who saved him—Dean’s gun was pointed at the now dead male werewolf that had gone after Ben—it was Cassie who had saved Sam.

Sam watched as Cassie and Dean shared a look—a look that Sam didn’t have to be a mind reader to understand; they had earned each other’s trust in the deepest way. They had both saved the most important person in the other’s life—their brothers.

“Jody.” Your voice snapped the lot of them out of their moment.

“Right.” Dean holstered his gun and turned toward the dark hallway he’d just come from. “Come on, there’s gotta be more rooms down here. Let’s find Jody.”

…

“Hey.” Cassie’s voice got Dean’s attention, and he tilted his head towards her. “I guess you’re not so bad…you know, for an old guy.”

Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“I swear, you teens and your jokes,” he grumbled under his breath. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he admitted. “You know, for a kid.”

Cassie’s lips twitched in a smirk.

“Hey, thanks,” Dean said. “For saving my brother.”

This time, Cassie’s smile was big and genuine.

“Right back at you.”

…

There were three doors at the back of the hallway. The first was a storage closet barely big enough to fit the ancient vacuum inside. The second, a bathroom. The third…

“Hey guys.” Jody’s grin matched that of everyone looking at her. “It took you long enough.”

…

Charlie, Krissy, Claire, and Jody all returned to their various homes after a quick reunion and goodbye.

“So what’s next for you two?” Dean’s eyes landed on his two children as they lingered in the bunkered war room.

“We have guest rooms,” you piped in, but at Dean’s glare you retreated to your room to give them some privacy, an action followed by Sam a moment later.

“She’s not wrong,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I don’t know where you guys are staying but, if you wanted to it wouldn’t be—“

“You’re babbling, old man,” Cassie interrupted her father with a cheeky grin.

“Ok, ok.” Dean held up his hands in surrender. “I’m no good at this, so I’ll get to the point—you guys have a place here if you want it; I know I wasn’t there for you for various reasons, but I’m here now. I don’t like that you guys are hunting, I think it’s too dangerous, but it’s not up to me. All I can do is let you know that you always have me to back you up.”

Ben and Cassie were quiet while Dean gave his speech, and when he was done they shared a long, near telepathic look.

“Hanging around a while couldn’t hurt,” Ben said finally.”

“Yeah, might even be fun,” Cassie admitted. “I hope you like teenagers, old man.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz

[dreamcubed]

back to black | regulus black x reader

song; back to black [amy winehouse] pairing; regulus black x fem!gryffindor!half-blood!reader genre; s2l, angst, hurt comfort word count; 6,3k timeline; marauders' era warnings; swearing, implied child abuse, discrimination (of muggles and muggle-borns), references to war, references to death(s) summary; autumn was your favourite season of all time, and not even your lack of mother or friendships could ruin it for you. but, maybe a brooding boy in your year could

this took me fucking forever but here it is!! and a merry christmas to all who celebrate <33

masterlist

"you went back to what you knew."

————————————

Back to black.

Well, technically, as the first time you had only had black hair for a matter of hours before your mother scolded you for dyeing it and made you change it back. But, she was dead now, and you were about to enter the year of OWL exams at Hogwarts, so a change was well overdue.

You gazed down at your black-stained hands: the muggle way of hair dyeing had been the most spiteful way to do it. After all, your mother hated anything muggle, even though she was merely half-blood herself. Part of you suspected it was because your father was a muggle and broke her heart, but you would never be able to confirm that, since you knew nothing about the man.

With a sigh, you glanced into the mirror and observed the wet black mess on your head. It was certainly going to stain your forehead and neck.

"Fuckin' Azkaban," you murmured, noticing the stains all over the sink and floor. Maybe you should have just done it the magic way.

Well, the stains were nothing a little magic couldn't fix: you didn't care that you weren't seventeen yet, after all.

***

Quite honestly, you adored the fact that school started in Autumn, your absolute favourite season. Nothing hit the spot like a Jack O'Lantern spice latte, fresh from the kitchens of Hogwarts. You had discovered the secret entrance to it a few years back, and come by to make requests frequently.

You tightly held the warm drink as you hurried back to the Gryffindor common room before curfew hit, where no friends were waiting for you. You had always felt out of place in the red house, and had never successfully made a friend in it, let alone the other houses. They all had their distinctive groups, while you were simply an outcast. Nonetheless, you did love how Autumnal the Gryffindor colour scheme was.

Ignoring everyone who was still downstairs, you headed up to the dormitories, where you sat down on your bed and chewed on your lip for a few moments. You weren't sure what to do with yourself.

***

Regulus Black was the quiet and brooding boy in your potions, defence against the dark arts, transfiguration - and actually every class apart from divination. That didn't surprise you, as even though you had never spoken to him, he didn't strike you as a particularly spiritual man. All you really knew about him was that his older brother, the renowned Sirius Black, was in your house - and they did not get along.

He was the only person who you shared so many classes with, and that was the solitary reason that you had noticed him. Well, that and his strikingly powerful presence.

You wondered if he realised you shared so many classes together.

Probably not, though. To make up for your lack of friendships, you intensely observed the people around you, trying to pretend as if you knew them and could predict how a conversation would go with them. It was a fun game for someone so deprived as yourself, even more so when you somehow ended up in conversation with someone and got to find out how accurate in your predictions you were.

But you also loved when you were completely wrong about a person.

"A new hair colour, I see, Miss L/N," Professor McGonagall said to you as you entered the first transfiguration lesson of the year.

You nodded, "Felt I needed a change."

The witch gave you a pitiful look that made you sick to your stomach: you hated the fact that people felt the need to tread on egg shells around you because of your mother's death. You weren't upset about it - you hated the woman.

"Black suits you," she said simply, the very same second Regulus Black entered the room.

He looked up, clearly thinking his name had been called.

"Not you, Mr Black," McGonagall waved her hand dismissively, "I was referring to Miss L/N's new hair colour."

For the first time ever, you were pretty sure, Regulus Black looked in your direction and made eye contact with you. His cold grey eyes pierced through you, as if he suddenly knew every secret about you - which he didn't, you had read about legilimency and it didn't feel like that. Just as quickly as he looked at you, he looked away again, and took a seat at the back of the classroom.

You felt a shiver run up your spine - an itching, chilly sensation, that made you feel positively thrilled.

"Everyone, please take your seats," McGonagall said as the class filled up.

You looked around, noticing a few empty spots, but most prominently the space next to Regulus Black at the back of the room. Your feet were taking you towards it before your mind could kick into action, and even though you were convinced that he was glaring at you, you kept your eyes trained on to the professor as you sat down.

"This year in transfiguration, we will cover..."

McGonagall's voice faded into background noise as you became hyper aware of the boy's presence next you, whilst simultaneously doing everything in your power to make it seem like your attention was not on him but instead the lesson.

What had become of you?

***

Smudged eyeliner and a maroon knitted jumper, cold peppermint tea and torn parchment; your mind felt frantic yet empty, gazing out the window of the Gryffindor common room. Starless nights and rain against glass, blazing fire and crackling flames; you couldn't see anything outside, so you couldn't quite piece together why your eyes remained fixed on the blackness.

A sigh pushed through your lips, picking up the tea to take a sip - only for it to go down reluctantly, due to its chilly temperature. Had it really been that long since you zoned out?

Another sigh escaped you as you rose to your feet. You were the only person who remained in the Gryffindor common room, so you estimated that it was at least midnight. Definitely way too late to venture into the rest of the castle: if you cared about punishment, that was.

Pulling out your wand from your dark-washed jeans, you pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and muttered a soft, "Lumos," into the corridor. You anticipated the scream of the painted woman asking where you were headed at such an hour, but at the lack of you turned around and saw that she was presently vacated from her usual spot. Hopefully she would have returned by the time you got back.

You knew the way to the kitchens like the back of your hand, but you rarely took it so late, way past curfew. You were, of course, cautious. It would be insane not to be in an enchanted castle such as Hogwarts, which also happened to be haunted.

Your gut sensed another presence before any of your typical five senses did: lurching as it indicated that you were not alone. You quickly whispered, "Nox," and ducked into an alcove, focusing all your energy into your sense of hearing. Delicate - very delicate - footsteps. So faint you almost thought that you were hallucinating.

They stopped right by you, and you heard a soft breath.

Why did it sound so achingly familiar, yet not like any professor's?

"Who's there?"

Regulus Black.

You stepped out from the alcove and into the light of his wand, crossing your arms in the process. Regulus took one look at you and sighed.

"What do you want, Gryffindor?"

"I have a name," you muttered, "And I would like to think you know it."

He raised an eyebrow at you, and you scowled.

"I want nothing from you, Black, I merely thought you were a teacher."

He seemed to mull over your words for a few seconds, ultimately deciding that there was no way it was anything but the truth before saying, "Very well."

The question itched on your tongue. "What are you doing?"

In the dimmed light, you could only just make out the way he pressed his tongue into his cheek, a bit more aggressively than you would hope for.

"That's none of your concern."

You narrowed your eyes, "I'm pretty sure the last time someone said that, a girl ended up dead in the toilets."

"You-" Regulus cut himself off at the sound of loud, purposeful footsteps echoing down the hallway. He muttered, "Shit," before dimming his wand light and pulling you back into the alcove with him.

You held your breath as the footsteps increased in volume, almost unaware of your hand pressed against Regulus' abdomen, and his arm wrapped around your waist.

"Are you sure he was headed this way, Mrs Norris?" the unfortunate voice of Filch asked, followed by a scratchy meow.

You pursed your lips as the footsteps got quieter, only letting yourself breathe once there was complete silence again. Still, you and Regulus remained in position for a few more seconds.

"I think the coast is clear," you murmured.

"Hm? Oh, yeah," Regulus replied distractedly, slipping out of the alcove and letting his arm drop from your waist. You hadn't noticed the warmth that much, but you definitely noticed the lack of it.

"Guess Filch is on to you," you said, to fill the silence more than anything else - which was weird, as you had never been bothered by lack of conversation before.

"Bastard," Regulus replied. Maybe it wasn't a reply, but an unrelated yet relevant comment.

You lit your wand again, and turned to continue on your journey, "I'm going to the kitchens, in case you were wondering," you had hoped it would prompt him to admit to his activities, but he simply remained silent, "You can come if you want."

You had no explanation for adding that last part.

It was obvious that Regulus' first instinct had been to say no, but he must have come to the conclusion that there was really nowhere else to go while Filch was headed off on a rampage towards his original destination. So, he sighed instead, and began trailing behind you towards the fruit bowl portrait.

"Peppermint tea, Miss L/N?" the house elf nearest to you asked after you entered the magnificent kitchens, which were remarkably similar to the Great Hall.

"Actually, I think I'll take a hot chocolate, thank you," you replied, sitting down at the end of one of the four long tables. It was too late for your preferred latte, after all.

"And you, Mr Black?" another house elf asked.

It was evident that Regulus was startled that the creature knew his name, "Americano. Black, no sugar."

You weren't surprised at his request.

"Do you have a house elf?" you asked, as you knew that the Black family was pure-blooded and wealthy.

He gave a curt nod, which you took as a hint that he wasn't interested in conversation. Luckily, the house elves quickly whipped up the hot drinks and placed them in two forest green mugs in front of you.

To your surprise, he asked a question.

"How do you know about this place?"

You shrugged, "I followed the Marauders here one night."

Regulus drew back, and you realised then what a mistake mentioning the infamous quartet was: Sirius Black was clearly a sour topic.

Regardless, you still mumbled, "I think they knew I was there."

He chuckled dryly, "Probably."

"How are you gonna sleep?" you changed the subject, gesturing towards his steaming coffee.

"I won't."

You didn't press that matter further, either. But it was then that you noticed the dark circles under his eyes, sallow and zombie-like. Yet they suited him, enhanced his eery yet attractive looks, which was probably why you hadn't registered them before. They didn't appear out of place.

"Why don't you have a red mug?" Regulus asked, taking you by surprise. He was gazing at the wall display of mugs, sorted into the four house colours.

"Miss L/N doesn't like the red mugs," a house elf piped up, placing a tray of cookies in between the two of you.

"But it's your house colour."

You sipped slowly on your hot chocolate, stewing over the words you could potentially say. "I... don't like being a Gryffindor. I've never felt like I belonged."

"I don't like Gryffindors."

You scoffed, "Never would've guessed."

He raised an eyebrow.

"All Slytherins hate us."

"Yeah, because you're Dumbledore's favourite."

You shrugged.

"That and you allow mudbloods."

You paused in your movements, "So do Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, yet you don't go on a rampage against them."

"Point taken."

The school hot chocolate was delicious, you decided, and you should really have it more.

"What's your blood status?"

You shrugged, "Half-blood."

"I'm-"

"Pure-blood, I know," you sighed, "Even if the Black family weren't a so-called noble house, I would've guessed from your comments earlier."

He stared at you: a piercing, icy glare that almost made a shiver run up your spine. Almost.

"Do you really enjoy leading such a hateful life?"

His mouth parted, before he carefully swallowed and avoided eye contact, "It's not about hatred, it's about what's right."

"And what's right is abusing muggle-borns, even though they were born wizards and witches just like us?"

Regulus said nothing.

"I think that you need to stop taking Mummy and Daddy's word for what it is," you said mockingly, "You have your own brain, form your own opinions with it."

You watched his jaw clench.

"With that, I will bid you adieu," you said, picking up your hot chocolate and a few cookies, "See you tomorrow."

He didn't say goodbye to you as you left, and you didn't wait for him to.

***

Regulus watched you as you entered transfiguration the next day: you felt it before you saw his eyes glued on to you. You ignored his attentions, still sitting next to him but making no effort to engage in conversation. He made no effort either, eventually peeling his eyes away from you when McGonagall arrived to begin the lesson.

In fact, no words were exchanged between the two of you until the very end of the hour.

"I think you're wrong," he muttered.

You looked down at your parchment, furrowing your eyebrows at the answer that you were pretty sure was correct. "It's not animagi?"

"Not about that," he clarified, "About mudbloods."

You exhaled sharply through your nose.

"They aren't worthy."

"You're insufferable," you said quietly, "The existence of muggle-borns doesn't affect you, leave them alone."

"It affects the culture of wizards and witches, which affects me."

"Maybe the culture needs changing," you spat back, "Godric knows you do."

Regulus didn't reply, and you made no further attempt to talk to him.

Not for the rest of your time at Hogwarts.

***

APPROXIMATELY THREE YEARS LATER: 1979.

***

"I can't seem to face up to the facts..." you sung quietly along to the song as you gazed into the mirror of your bathroom.

"I'm tense and nervous and I can't relax..." it was playing from your record player in your bedroom, just through the open door to your right. Your graduation gift (to yourself) had been a record player, a very pleasant addition to the house that you had inherited from your mother. Especially as she hated all muggle items.

"I can't sleep 'cause my bed's on fire..." It was only three bedrooms, the third being so small it could hardly fit a twin bed in, but the master bedroom was decently sized and had an en suite. And, officially being the master of the house, that bedroom was now yours.

"Don't touch me, I'm a real live wire..." You were dyeing your hair black for the third time in your life.

After dyeing it before fifth year, you had maintained the roots up until Christmas before you went back to your natural colour, and had remained that way up until now. But, you decided that you wanted your raven locks back, and so had stopped by a muggle pharmacy for some black hair dye. There was something therapeutic in doing it manually.

"Psycho killer, qu'est-ce que c'est?" you continued to mumble, finishing up the touches of your hair, just when you heard a heavy knock on your door.

You stilled: nobody came knocking on your door. Your solitary existence remained very solitary.

Grabbing your wand off the counter, you moved into your bedroom and delicately removed the needle from the vinyl, before silently padding downstairs. You crept up to the maroon door and peered through the peephole, fully prepared to yell "stupefy" should you require.

It was the last person you expected - and considering you expected no one, that really said something.

Despite recognising the individual, you were hesitant to open the door, as you knew that said person was a renowned death eater: one of the Dark Lord's loyal followers.

"L/N, please, I know you're there," he croaked, his voice ragged and scratched.

Against your better judgement, you opened the door, only to catch sight of his ripped clothes and dripping wounds. There were bags under his eyes and his hair was longer and messy, and you had absolutely no idea what to do.

"Please, I didn't know where else to go."

You sighed, lowering your wand and stepping back to open the door wide. Godric knows that you would go to hell for helping a death eater like this.

"What happened to you?" you murmured, leading him through to your small galley kitchen. You dug through your cupboards until you found your first aid kit, and then grabbed a flannel and ran it under the hot tap.

Regulus watched you silently.

"Take off your clothes," you muttered, then added, "Except your underwear."

He obliged, and your breath hitched at the gory visuals in front of you.

"Fuckin' Azkaban."

You began cleaning him up, applying a healing potion as you went.

"I should've listened to you."

"Hm?"

"What you said about mud- muggle-borns," his eyes crinkled together, "You-Know-Who- he's... he's..."

"Batshit?" you raised an eyebrow, noting how Regulus avoided his name.

A scratched chuckle came out his throat, "Yeah."

"Did you challenge him to a duel or something?" you asked as you paused your care of him to fetch a glass of water for his throat.

"I'd be dead if I'd done that - no, I've been trying to find his Horcruxes."

"His what?"

Regulus gulped down all of the water before he replied. "There's a reason he's so fearless."

And then came his explanation and story, of how he found out about Voldemort's secret of immortality after realising that he was in the wrong, and had begun hunting down the pieces of his soul in order to destroy him for good. That led on to his explanation of how he ended up in the state he was currently in.

"The locket," he explained, "I went with Kreacher - my house elf - to this cave. I had to drink water that dehydrates you to get to the locket, and the only other water around was in this lake kind of thing. But, of course, it wasn't a normal lake. It was full of inferni."

You mindlessly continued tending to his wounds as you took all of this in.

"They started clawing at me and dragging me in - so I ordered Kreacher to leave with the locket, thinking I wouldn't survive," his voice faltered as he relived the memory, "I don't even know how I did - it's all a blur. But I couldn't go back home, or anywhere I normally go. You-Know-Who knows by now."

"So you came here?" you finally spoke.

"I- yes."

"Even though we hardly know each other."

He stared at you with darkened sorrow in his eyes, and you realised that this was far from the Regulus you knew in Hogwarts.

You sighed, pulling away from him as you finished up with the last of the injuries.

"You're the first person that came to mind," he murmured.

Your eyes flicked to the snake twisting on Regulus' wrist, the permanent sign of devotion to the Dark Lord.

"He's trying to reach me," he muttered, "Is your house well protected?"

You shook your head, "There's no reason they'd come here."

Regulus cursed under his breath, "I'm really sorry to put you in danger, please let me put some protective charms around the place."

You gestured for him to be your guest.

"Am I-"

"Yes, you can stay," you replied. You wouldn't have let him through your door if you hadn't seen the difference in his once cold eyes.

He said nothing, but gave you a look that screamed his thanks as he left through your kitchen door.

***

"He might think you're dead, you know," you said as he came back inside, while you were in the process of laying the table. He had been outside for so long that you had washed out the hair dye from your hair, which was now wet and a bit of a mess.

He didn't reply, so you looked up at his skinny and fatigued figure.

"He probably doesn't think anyone can escape his protective measures."

"Can't take any chances," he eventually murmured, taking a seat, "Thank you for the food."

You gave a small smile, sitting down opposite him. The two of you ate in a companionable silence until Regulus finally said something.

"I won't be here long. I have to continue my search."

You scowled, "No."

He paused, arching an eyebrow, "No?"

"You're in no state to do anything, Black," you said simply, "You'd be fucking useless out there right now."

You watched as Regulus digested your words, "But I can't do nothing."

You shrugged, "You haven't done nothing. I have."

"Yes, but you don't have mistakes to make up for."

The conversation once again flattened to nothing, the odd hint of tension in the air weighing down ever so slightly.

"Why did you do it the muggle way?"

"Hm?"

"Your hair."

"Oh," your eyes widened as you thought carefully, "Mainly to spite my mother."

He tilted his head in confusion.

"She wasn't a very nice woman," you explained, "Shit mother, and she also hated anything muggle. She's dead now, but I do a lot of muggle things to remind myself I'm nothing like her."

"Did she hate muggle-borns?"

You pursed your lips, "Not really, I don't think. Depends how muggle they acted. I've always theorised that my dad was a muggle and broke her heart."

"My parents were awful," Regulus murmured, "When Sirius got sorted into Gryffindor, they gave up on him. But in a way that also made things worse for me, because I was their last chance at the perfect Black heir."

You nodded.

"That's why I resent him so much."

"Maybe one day you two can get along."

He chuckled dryly, "When muggles can do magic."

***

The once sallowed dark aura around Regulus Black had morphed since Hogwarts. It wasn't brighter, that was for sure, you would describe it as a cloudy navy blue - rainy, but not thunderous. Something about him had been replaced and changed, something hard and uncaring, now softer and sympathetic. It wasn't until you were laying in your bed that night with the wind blowing against your window did you realise exactly what it was - he had been traumatised, and thus matured.

Guilt also crept into you from your darkest corners: you had stayed out of the brewing conflict from the death eaters, even though you disagreed with their values. Your cowardice had led you to self-isolate and refuse to fight, bathing in the safety of your half-blood status. Regulus Black showing up on your doorstep was karma if nothing else.

You pulled your maroon quilt further over you and nestled your head into your pillows, trying to crush the lingering sense that your life was only just beginning.

***

The whistle from your kettle blew, filling the kitchen with steam. You let out a yawn as you entered through the archway, and almost jumped when you saw Regulus stood there with two mugs before him. Living alone had been your situation for far too long.

"Good morning," he spoke, but by the strangled way he said it, it was clear that those two words had never left his mouth before, at least not as a pair.

"Morning," you raised an eyebrow, watching as he wandlessly guided the kettle through the air to pour water.

"Milk? Sugar?" he said in question.

"Milk, two sugars."

He hummed in reply, the black shirt that you had lent him clinging to his lean figure. He was skinnier than he should be, that much was obvious, but there was still muscle definition that made your stomach swarm with butterflies. You knew that you had fancied him briefly back in Hogwarts, but you had squandered those feelings when you learned of his political views.

Now he was a changed man, and he was even more attractive than he used to be, and it felt like every butterfly you had crushed had been resurrected all at once. It was overwhelming, and yet the most satisfying experience you had been a part of since the beginning of your dull adulthood.

"Here," he handed you a golden-yellow mug, "I hope it's to your satisfaction."

"Only time will tell," you replied, moving through to the living room.

You sat in a companionable quiet for a while, sipping on your tea and soaking in the ambiance of the morning.

It was when there was almost no liquid left in your mug, and your limbs were growing fidgety, that you felt words race out your mouth before you could think about them. A rushed, perhaps crossing-the-line, statement of, "Stay for a while."

You didn't know whether you meant hours or months.

***

Regulus took a turn for the worse the next day, overcome with vicious fever-like symptoms and ugly coughing fits. The mid-war conditions that you were in made it way too risky to seek professional help, especially as Regulus was a wanted death eater. So, you had no choice but to take care of him to the best of your ability: between herbal teas, homemade soups, leftover cough medicines and cold cloths pressed to his forehead, he seemed to be slowly improving. At least, he wasn't getting worse. But his body was already weakened, so his chances were worse than an average person dealing with whatever he was.

With your hair tied and sleeves pulled up, you ran the white flannel you had been using for Regulus under the cold tap, letting out an exhausted exhale. It had been approximately sixty hours since your guest was bedridden, and you had hardly slept in that time. It was quite difficult to when he would start screaming in the middle of the night during his fever dream episodes.

The pale moonlight slipped through the gaps in your vertical slit blinds, gently illuminating the white china of your bathroom sink, and probably the bags under your eyes as well. Just as you turned off the tap, you heard more screaming from your guest bedroom, so you quickly wrung out the flannel and ran back to Regulus.

"You're okay, you're okay," you murmured, pressing the cloth to his forehead, "You're safe."

His screaming stopped, and you could've sworn his eyes were slightly opened and staring at you through the darkness. "Y/N," he mumbled.

"Yes, Regulus, it's me, Y/N."

You felt his hand grip around the wrist of your hand that held the flannel in place.

"Don't leave me."

"I'm not going anywhere," you spoke gently.

"In sickness and in health..." he muttered, making you chuckle slightly.

Not forgetting the butterflies, of course.

"Yes, Regulus, in sickness and in health."

"You're... amazing..." he sighed, drifting off again into a lax slumber, his hand falling from your wrist.

You softly stroked his cheek, "Get well soon."

***

You had lost track of the days, but you knew that many suns had set and risen by the time Regulus stumbled downstairs one morning, shirtless and still evidently delirious.

"Good morning," you said, observing the man fumbling to sit down in a chair, "Would you like a cup of tea?"

He grunted.

"Feeling better then?" you asked, moving through the archway into the kitchen and setting out two mugs on the counter.

Regulus raked his hands through his hair, grunting again.

"At least you're conscious," you said half to yourself, half to him.

"Date," he said in a scratchy voice, locking his shiny eyes on to yours.

"What's the date?"

He nodded.

You gazed over at the calendar on your wall, only to realise you hadn't been crossing off the days like you typically did ever since Regulus had fallen ill. Sheepishly, you shrugged, "I don't know."

Regulus sighed.

"Sorry, I've hardly slept."

He shook his head, "Don't apologise, it's not your fault."

You didn't bother refuting that. "On the bright side, I know it's been a good few days. I think You-Know-Who would've found you by now if he was looking for you," you said, adding a, "Touch wood," and touching one of your wooden cabinets afterward.

Regulus seemed to ponder that for a moment, "I guess. Thank you for taking care of me."

"I didn't really have a choice," you replied, placing a mug of steamy tea in front of him, "But I'd do it again."

He smiled at you - a tired, but genuine, smile.

"I need to take a long shower, if you don't mind," you sighed, holding your own warm mug, "I feel gross."

"Yeah, you kinda look it."

You went to whack him, "You're one to talk."

He started laughing, which quickly turned into a coughing fit.

"Whoa, whoa, be careful," you said through laughter, "Your lungs can't take much right now."

"I'm fine," he said through splutters, "I swear."

"You should shower after me," you said when he had calmed down, "In the nicest possible way, you need it."

He didn't argue.

***

Rain pounding against the window seemed almost symbolic of the state of the wizarding world as it was: pathetic fallacy, if you will. But, you must admit, your cowardly approach to the war had led you to lead quite a cosy lifestyle in your little cottage, tucked up by fires with hot cups of tea.

At times, you considered joining the resistance, and fighting for what was right. Realistically, though, you couldn't contribute much. Your duelling skills had always been subpar and despite your alleged Gryffindor identity, you lacked courage. Surely the Sorting Hat had made a mistake all those years ago, back when you were a nervous eleven-year-old stood in front of an audience full of older kids.

Never the matter - the past was the past, and as you didn't possess a timeturner, it would have to remain the way it was.

"Something doesn't feel right," Regulus' voice made you jump out of your skin.

Ignoring your surprise, he sat next to you on the sofa.

"You don't think?"

"No," he shook his head. It had been a couple months since he showed up at your door, and these days he came and went from your home. He was currently in search of his brother, Sirius, who he knew to be a part of the resistance. Regulus had explained to you how even though they had never gotten along, he would be more likely to listen to anything he had to say than other resistance members, who would probably arrest him on the spot.

You had crafted a port key for him - something that you were in fact good at - to access your house without revealing your location. This had led to him frequently jump scaring you by appearing in your living room out of nowhere, especially since he never showed up at the same time.

"Any news on Sirius?"

Regulus shook his head, leaning back into the plush pillows, "He's as good at hiding as I am."

"At least you have something in common."

He chuckled dryly, "I just can't escape the feeling that something is brewing tonight."

"Bad or good?" you furrowed your eyebrows, but secretly you knew what he meant. A new paranoia had been itching at you all day.

Regulus shrugged, "Both. Neither. Who knows?"

You followed his gaze to the thundering sky through the window.

"What day is it?" he asked.

You thought for a moment, "Halloween."

A thunderous boom echoed outside.

Regulus grimaced, "I'll source a newspaper tomorrow. Need to find out if I'm just being paranoid."

It was right then at that moment, as lightning flashed in the sky and lit up the whole room, that you knew he wasn't just being paranoid. A historical moment was taking place as you spoke: tragic, yet hopeful.

You felt a head drop on to your shoulder, and looked down in surprise to see that Regulus had drifted off quite peacefully next to you. Smiling to yourself, you adjusted your position so he could lie on you, unable to stop yourself from indulging in affection that filled your starving appetite for touch. He nuzzled his head into you, making a light and happy sound.

Sighing softly, you let your eyes drift shut.

***

He was gone when you woke up, as often was the case. While he slept at yours almost every night, he was prone to getting back late and leaving early, desperately searching for his elder brother.

Therefore, it was quite a surprise to see him burst through the dining room door at eleven o'clock in the morning, while you were frying eggs.

"Y/N," he said breathlessly as he approached the kitchen archway, a rolled newspaper crushed in one of his hands.

"What?"

"He's gone," he said, and if it wasn't for the smile on his face, you would have thought he was talking about his brother.

You barely had time to put the frying pan down before he continued.

"You-Know-Who," he said, throwing the paper on your kitchen counter, "They're saying he's dead - but I don't believe that - either way he's gone."

You moved to look at the newspaper of moving images and writing.

"He killed James and Lily Potter," he explained, "They were friends of my brother, but apparently he couldn't kill their son. Their one-year-old son."

Eyebrows furrowed, you ran your finger over the front page.

"I hope to Merlin that he never returns, wherever he is."

You chuckled.

"Salazar, I'm so happy I could kiss you," he said quite suddenly, making your head snap up.

Silence lingered between the two of you as you stared at each other with widened eyes, becoming hyper aware of your breathing. Then, his lips were on yours, and while it was a chaste kiss, it was passionate and intimate.

When you parted, Regulus rested his forehead against yours and wrapped his arms around your figure, pulling you flush against him.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he panted.

"Me too."

***

The second time you were gathered around a newspaper together was not too long later, after the arrest of Sirius Black for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and being a suspected death eater.

"At least you managed to find and talk to him before this."

Regulus sighed, "Yeah. I guess."

You said nothing.

"He was the only one who could vouch for me. I can never earn people's trust now."

"I think you'll just need to stay on the down-low."

Regulus sighed again, taking your hand into his, "Can I stay here for that long?"

You chuckled, pulling him into your embrace, "You can stay here forever."

He smiled, kissing your head.

***

APPROXIMATELY SEVENTEEN YEARS LATER: 1998.

***

"The verdict of the state versus Regulus Black is as follows..." the judge sat in the courtroom at the Ministry of Magic announced, making your breath hitch as you crossed your fingers behind your back.

You locked eyes with your long-time fiancé who was stood in the centre of the room within a mini-cell, and saw the way his Adam's apple moved in a gulp.

"Regulus Black is found guilty of serving You-Know-Who and the anti-muggle-born terrorist movement..."

You threw your hand over your mouth, tears pricking at your eyes.

"...but is hereby pardoned from punishment due to his immense aid in defeating You-Know-Who thereafter."

Never had such a large amount of air rushed out of your lungs, as your son hugged you from the side, likely not understanding the words the judge used, but understanding the look of elation on his father's face.

You didn't stop Sirius from detaching from your side and running down to the cell as they unlocked it: in fact, you ran after him, eager to hold your fiancé in your arms. You watched as Regulus picked up his son and hugged him tightly, before dropping him to take you into his arms.

Pecking his lips, you beamed up at him with joyful tears streaming down your cheeks.

"We can finally get married," he said, kissing you again.

You giggled, "Hopefully before my bump gets too big."

Regulus' eyes widened as he moved his hand to your abdomen, his smile somehow growing even wider than it was before.

"I love you," he said breathlessly.

——————————————

masterlist

written; 02/10/2023 —> 20/12/2023 published; 21/12/2023 edited; —/—/——

[blackleatherjacketz]

Shadow and Sin: Final Chapter

Klaus Mikaelson, Elijah Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having recently moved to New Orleans, you become intimately acquainted with both Mikaelson brothers, but don't find out who they truly are until it's too late.

This Chapter: You wake up and make your choice.

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood Drinking, Near Death Experiences, Love Triangle, Witchcraft, Kissing, Crying, Fear, Angst, Manipulation

Word Count: 4.4k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

Klaus stands over your and Elijah’s bodies as he swallows the last few drops of your blood, relishing in the decadent flavor he only got a small taste of before. It’s rich and sweet, with notes of raspberries and dark chocolate, triggering his taste buds like nothing else has in over a thousand years. Draining you of this delectable elixir was what he thought he wanted most in that moment, what he believed you deserved after betraying him with none other than his own brother, his own flesh and blood behind his back. But he still can’t deny the dueling streams of tears now crystallizing on his cheeks as his sorrow dries in the aching aftermath of what he’s done.

Time always seemed to prove that everyone in his life preferred his noble brother over him; his own mother and father, his siblings, Marcellus, and now you. Even under the ancient power of a witch’s curse, he still couldn’t manage to measure up to the timeless charms of the great Elijah Mikaelson. For once in his life, he thought he had something special, a bond that transcended beauty and pheromones, one with room to embrace each other on a level he never quite had the strength to embrace in himself. If all that was a lie, if what you felt for him was nothing more than a slew of Latin incantations over a few candles in a warehouse, then he had no other choice but to make you feel the gut-wrenching pain that you caused him in return.

“Look what you made me do.” He mutters before looking down at your lifeless body, your hand still somehow reaching out toward Elijah’s even in death. The image alone is almost enough to make him feel terrible for what he did to you, for reacting as if this was all your fault, but he pushes that feeling of guilt down to the very pit of his stomach.

He’ll have plenty of time to feel bad when this is all over.

“Alright witch, show’s over… although I do hope you enjoyed it.” Klaus calls out to her with a smirk as the remainder of your coagulated blood begins to dry onto his chin. “Come on now, I can already smell your fear.” He disguises his regret by ignoring the two of you on the floor in an attempt to step outside of the circle, but is met with an invisible barrier, halting him in place.

It’s still up. But how can that be?

“Alright, she’s obviously made her choice, now let me go,” he bargains, lowering his voice to that deep, gravelly tone. “Perhaps you and I can make a deal.”

“Has she, now?” The witch appears out of nowhere, revealing that she’s been watching this entire time behind a complex cloaking spell. “Or did you take your anger and paranoia out on her before she had a chance to make a real choice, completing your own self-sabotaging prophecy?”

“Ah, you think that you know me, is that it?” He leans in as close to the boundary as her magic allows him, his heart pumping his own supernatural level of adrenaline through his veins, priming him for what’s to come. “Tell me love, have I wronged you somehow in the past? Obliterated some of your ancestors, massacred members of your coven? Or perhaps it’s more personal than that? Maybe I turned someone you love into a vampire, cutting them off from their magic entirely? A boyfriend or girlfriend, perhaps?”

“How did it feel?” She immediately deflects with a grin, casually walking around the circle as he follows her like a caged animal waiting for the perfect moment to strike. “To connect with someone on such a deep and emotional level before having them ripped away from you in an instant? And not just by some random guy off the street either, but by your very own brother?” She laughs, getting a little bit closer to the circle that ensnares him. “I can’t imagine the pits of despair that kind of betrayal would send someone to.”

Klaus nods at her words, silently acknowledging his hurt as if his actions hadn’t already made that abundantly clear. He’d been betrayed by his siblings a handful of times over the centuries, but nothing up until now had cut quite as deep as this, no matter how he tries to reframe it in his mind.

“It’s a clever plan, I’ll give you that.” Klaus forces a laugh, studying the witch as she slowly encircles him. “But not your best one, not even by half. Did you really think that you could usher in the demise of the Mikaelsons with something as trivial as this? Tear us apart over the life of some silly human girl when we’ve already performed this song and dance on our own for centuries? I mean, I’ve killed so many of their lovers in the past that I’ve honestly lost count decades ago. And I’ve certainly daggered them for much less, so as you can see, little witch, we don’t need your help.”

“No?” She stops walking and turns to face him, tilting her head with a glint of madness in her eyes. “You could have fooled me. You’ve left quite the bloody trail of destruction in the wake of your little temper tantrum, just like I knew you would.”

“As soon as this barrier breaks, and it will,” Klaus places his palms against the invisible wall between them. “I’m going to enjoy making you pay for this pathetic little attempt at a regime change. In fact, I'm going to take my time tearing you limb from limb so that even the alligators in the bayou will have trouble determining which body parts of yours they’re devouring.”

“And you said you didn’t need my help.” She laughs, looking back at you and Elijah. “Seems like I struck a nerve. And it won’t break, actually. The poor girl never made her choice, so it looks like the three of you are stuck there indefinitely.” The witch crosses her arms over her chest and takes a step back, keeping her eyes on Klaus until she reaches her collection of magical objects. “Pity.”

“Well not yet, she hasn’t, no.” He glances back as Elijah begins to stir, healing from his temporary injury just in time like he knew he would. “But I’ve learned that patience is a virtue.”

Elijah slowly comes to, blinking himself back into the realm of the living as his fingers just barely touch yours, twitching back to life while Klaus’ muffled voice echoes off in the distance. He attempts to hold your hand as he sits up next to you, feeling the cold grip of death stealing the very warmth from your body as he notices the bite mark Klaus had left on your neck.

“Oh, no, Niklaus,” he whispers under his breath as his horror stifles it, carefully gathering your limp body into his arms. This was his fault, all of it. If only he had caught onto the jealous expression in his brother’s eyes when he smelled you on his clothing that day, if only he had enough self control to leave you to your own devices after saving you from his men, then maybe you wouldn’t have ended up like this. “No.” He thinks of everything else he could have done to prevent this, to sideline his brother and stop his anger from getting the best of him like it always does, but realizes that it’s too late for any of that now. “You didn’t...”

He did.

“Oh, don’t act so surprised, brother. This isn’t the first time I’ve thwarted one of your romantic endeavors, and I highly doubt it will be the last.” Klaus keeps his eyes on the witch as he speaks to Elijah, his tone more jovial than ever.

“How could you?” His eyes glisten with remorse as his bottom lip quivers, the loss of your life weighing him down like an anchor, pulling him deeper into the waters of his despair. “She isn’t just mine, Niklaus. She was yours, too. She’s ours, she’s… my god.”

Your eyes spring open as your previous dreamlike state phases back into reality, taking your first new breath into this world, surprised at being thrust back into your body so quickly after walking through the ethereal glow of the afterlife. It was a beautiful and peaceful place, so unlike this world that you wanted to return as quickly as possible, but you get the feeling that the arms holding you close won’t allow that. Images of a long hallway and doors of different colors linger in your memory as you try to make sense of your new surroundings, figuring out what could have pulled you from the world beyond. What time is it? Where are you? Are you still dreaming? Where did the hallway go? Is Klaus still holding you, or…? No, that’s Elijah. It definitely smells like Elijah.

Your memory quickly returns to you in vibrant flashes of color and sound, blank spaces of lost time slowly filling in with truths that had previously been hidden from your mind’s eye. That night in the voodoo shop replays in your head, extending past the point of your original recollection, revealing that Klaus had threatened to kill Marie and her family if she spoke to you anymore just before compelling you to forget their entire conversation. He had also ensured that you didn’t fear him based on her reaction to his sudden presence, or based on the cards she had dealt you.

He was the King of Swords in reverse, and you had almost figured it out, but he made sure that you would never go any further in your pursuit for answers on the matter. Surprisingly enough though, he never had to compel you after that, his confession to you in the hospital holding at least half a truth. How much of your actions after that were a result of your genuine attraction to him versus the effects of the spell were still too difficult to decipher. Perhaps you’ll never know.

Elijah’s part in this whole plot feels less ominous, revealing that he only compelled you not to worry about your brother after the attack. You can hear him telling Austin to run home and forget that any of this ever happened, that you’d be safe going home with him. It’s surreal seeing flashes of your brother’s face go blank with immediate compliance, obeying the commands of someone he claimed to hate so passionately without an ounce of hesitation. It’s almost as surreal as watching Klaus and Elijah argue about you while you hovered over your own body for what seemed like an eternity.

Elijah’s tearful face slowly comes into focus as his grip on your waist and shoulders tightens. Once he feels you come back to life in his arms, a joyful sob gets caught in his throat as he hugs you in a desperate embrace, his heart pounding in his chest against yours. It takes everything he has to release you from his grasp, sitting you up to look at you as if you’re the most prized possession on the planet.

You stare back at him blankly, the amount of blood loss cramping your muscles and dizzying your head as you try not to mourn the spiritual journey he had ripped you from. Maybe it’s better that you came back. And at least he isn’t mad at you.

“Little Lotte, I thought I’d lost you.” Elijah grounds you in this world with kisses to your lips and forehead, almost as if to make sure that you still feel the same way against his skin as he strokes your hair.

“There now, see?” Klaus taunts from the other end of the circle, the both of you almost forgetting he’s still in there with you. “She’s right as rain. Nothing to fret over.”

“You forced her into transition.” Elijah states, glaring up at his brother before looking down at you solemnly, wiping the tears from his eyes and the blood from your freshly healed wound.

“Transition?” What is he talking about? And why is he looking at you like THAT?! You look into those charcoal eyes of his as they glisten with grief, morbidly reflecting the glowing candlelight surrounding all three of you. “What does that mean, transition?”

“It means that you died with vampire blood in your system,” he begins to explain as he holds you close. “Forcing you to turn into one of us if you choose to feed on human blood.”

I’m sorry, WHAT?

You give him a puzzled look. You can barely cope with the fact that a witch had cast this spell on all three of you, let alone that it maddened one of them enough to suck you dry until you took your very last breath. But now they’re telling you that you have to drink human blood if you want to survive, if you want to become one of them? You can’t help but stay silent as the gravity of your situation sinks in, weighing the pros and cons of your new dilemma as you enjoy being held by Elijah, quite possibly, for the very last time.

“Yes, well forgive me, but while our paramour was having some trouble choosing, I decided to give her a little boost. With both of our blood in her system…” Klaus trails off, waiting for the truth to sink in.

“Wait a minute, both?” You chime in, looking up at him as the evidence of your demise still stains his lips and chin. “But I only drank from Elijah.”

“Oh, I put a good amount of my blood in your coffee this morning, love. It was meant to protect you from any harm that may befall you, but it certainly serves this purpose just as well. This way I know that your body has already chosen a sire, already taken on the heavy burden of making the decision for you, which means…” He runs out of the circle and grabs onto the witch’s throat with a smirk, relishing in the look of sheer terror in her eyes.

“The boundary’s down.” Elijah whispers again, gathering you into his arms like he did the very first night you spent together, lifting you up as he stands to his feet.

“Exactly.” A maniacal grin tugs at Klaus’ lips before he shoves his hand inside the witch’s chest cavity, the sound of her ribs breaking so much louder than you thought it would be as it rings in your ears, painfully ricocheting off the inside of your skull.

You go to cover your ears to dull the sound, but instead choose to wrap your arms around Elijah’s neck as he whisks you out of the warehouse, putting as much distance between you and the witch as possible as her screams echo off the previously calm waters of the Mississippi River.

———————

In very little time, Elijah manages to take you past your apartment, bringing you to an estate in the middle of the French quarter, carrying you up a flight of stairs to an elaborately decorated bedroom before placing you in bed. A part of you wonders if it’s his bed that he’s laying you in, if he’ll eventually lay down next to you and stroke your hair until you fall asleep, but instead he pulls the sheets up close to your chest, noticing the blood on your clothes as it dries a dark shade of brown.

So much for that thought.

“You should be safe here. You can rest while I go and get something for you to drink.” He has the courtesy of disguising the morbid truth with his sophisticated turn of phrase as he stares at you with vacant eyes, realizing what you’d feared to be true.

You can already see his expression begin to change, feel his affection as it slips away, sense his love for you fading with each passing moment as the magic spell wears off just like the wretched witch had promised you it would. But why did it have to be him? Why did it have to happen so fast? Why did this spell, this curse have to force him into giving you hope by pursuing you, by challenging you intellectually and telling you everything you wanted to hear? Why did he have to pleasure you in ways you never thought possible all while making you feel safe, cherished and cared for? Why couldn’t you have fallen for someone normal without your whole world being upended in the aftermath?

“I chose you, Elijah.” You decide to tell him anyways, your palm finding familiarity on his cheek one last time as his jaw clenches with a pained sense of guilt.

“I know.” He takes your hand in his and squeezes it affectionately before placing it back onto your chest with a sobering look. “I’m sorry.” He turns away and looks down at his feet for a moment, then up at the ceiling, blinking a few times to stave off the recurring onset of remorse. “Perhaps it’s better this way. To lose the favor of my brother would be a much worse fate, although it wasn’t my intention for any of this to happen to you.”

A palpable silence creeps into the room, blanketing you both in the loss of what was in a thick and sickly feeling of unease until it finally becomes too much for you to bear.

“I know.” You whisper with a pained smile, your stomach churning with growing despair as hot tears stream down your face and onto the expensive silk pillow.

“Regardless, you still need to feed; but I understand if you don’t want to, considering everything you’ve been through tonight.” He expels a deep, heavy sigh, making sure not to look back at you before standing up and walking over to the door. “I’ll gather some of my sister’s clothing for you to wear while you consider your options.”

———————-

After hours of incessant sobbing and countless rounds of tossing and turning, you hear Klaus open your door without knocking, lazily leaning against the doorframe of your temporary bedroom. He flicks on the light and stands there silently, calmly watching you ignore him beneath the sheets until you finally turn and acknowledge him with a heated glare.

Is he here to hurt you again? To finish the job? To make you feel even more guilty than you already do for what happened? Like that’s even possible...

“I know I may be the last person you want to see right now, that we all needed a cool down period after what happened, especially me, but Elijah told me you aren’t drinking what he brought you.” He motions toward the full bag of blood on your bedside table, unopened and nearly coagulating by now. “You need to feed if you want to survive the day.”

“What do you care?” You roll over onto your other side, turning away from him just as quickly. “You practically killed me, anyways.”

“Killed you? Love, I saved you, I set you free! Have you not been paying attention?” He enters the room and walks over to the side of the bed that you’re facing, firmly planting himself on top of the covers next to where you lay. “I realize you may think I was a bit rash back in the warehouse, but Elijah would never have allowed me to free you from those shackles of compassion. To break the bond of the blind stewardship you feel toward your fellow man that landed you in a profession where you’re constantly belittled, degraded and discounted, wiping the filth off the arses of the ungrateful and untamed. When I drank from you, I saw it all… the rage you so beautifully depict in your paintings, the anger you choke down every time you speak to an entitled patient, the violence you keep at bay whenever a man looks at you the wrong way. It’s all there just brewing beneath the surface.” He reaches out and grazes his fingertips over your neck as you quickly pull back in fear. “I merely removed the filter that held you back.”

You push up onto your elbows, looking at him as if to determine if what he’s saying is actually true. Has the spell worn off enough to erase his urge to completely destroy you? Has it washed away the jealous rage that nearly put you into an early grave, or is this just another one of his moods, one of his personalities you’ll have to adapt to if you want to keep your head on its shoulders? “That was part of your plan?”

“You don’t live a thousand years as a vampire without learning a thing or two about death and its many loopholes.” He smirks. “This isn’t the first time a witch has tried to ensnare me and my family, but this one just so happened to make a mistake with her spell. She had counted solely on my rage to destroy you and turn my brother against me in the process, but beneath all the magic she imbued upon us, my desire to make you a vampire ultimately won out. I knew you’d drink that coffee I brought you, and after I saw you drink from Elijah so eagerly, well, it gave me free reign to make her think it was curtains for you.”

“So you killed me? Do you know how fucking scary that was?!” Is he serious?

“Oh, don’t be cross, love. The witch wanted blood, so I had to give it to her, just not in the way she expected… right before I ripped her heart out and ate it in front of her dying eyes for what she did to all three of us.”

Your own eyes widen as he describes his actions while you try your best to see things from his oddly optimistic point of view.

At least he isn’t trying to murder you anymore.

“What I’m trying to say is that I knew I wanted to turn you from the very first moment I saw you, witch’s curse or no. You have the potential to be powerful, fierce and terrible by my side if you’d only let me teach you how. You wouldn’t have to worry about trivial things like money, food or a job for the rest of your long life. I could show you the world, we could paint portraits and landscapes in every corner of the world: Paris, Tokyo, Berlin, Costa Rica, anywhere you want to go, I’ll take you there. But first you have to drink.”

He brings a mug of warm blood up to your face that you didn’t even notice he was holding this entire time, surprising you for the umpteenth time today.

“And if I do… and I turn into a vampire, I just have to deal with Elijah being here this whole time? For all eternity?” You turn your head and glance toward the door. “I don’t know if I can deal with that on a daily basis, I mean, you guys both live here, right?”

Klaus smirks. “What you feel for Elijah will pass, no matter what that decrepit old witch told you, and I could simply compel you to forget your romantic feelings for him if you’d like, make it simple. Or I could just dagger him for the first few years, keep him locked away in a box so he won’t bother you, then by the time you’ve honed all your new skills, I’ll let you pull the blade out yourself if you so choose.”

He scoots in closer as you take the mug into your hands, watching as you blow on the warm, viscous liquid before bringing it up to your mouth. That smirk of his curls into a grin as he touches the bottom of the mug with his fingers just enough to tip it toward your lips as they open enough to drink. “That’s it, just a few sips.”

You feel a building desire to do as he tells you, despite everything he’s done to you and everyone else around you tonight, almost as if you owe him something. It’s not the same as the compulsion you remember from before, but something deeply rooted in you that you can’t quite explain as the blood pours past your lips and over your tongue. His eyes hold you fast as he watches you swallow, allowing the lifesource of some other human to spill down your throat and into your stomach, bonding you to him forever.

“Good girl.” He eventually takes the mug away from you after you take a few more sips, setting it down on the bedside table with a delicacy you didn’t know he was capable of.

“How did you get me to do that? You didn’t compel me.” You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, looking up at him dumbfoundedly. “Why did I listen to you and not Elijah? He’s been trying to get me to drink for hours.”

“Well, I don’t need to compel you, love, I’m your sire. You’ll always have a desire to please me, to do as I say.” He leans forward and gently grabs hold of your chin, wiping a droplet of blood off your bottom lip that you missed, his sudden gentleness giving you emotional whiplash. “Did I fail to mention that?”

“My sire? But I thought I chose Elijah, I chose the blue door.” You recall out loud, remembering your out of body experience when you were walking the fine line between life and death. “When I was out, when I was dead and I was coming back, there was a red door and a blue door, and I walked through the blue door thinking that was going to be…”

“Elijah isn’t as virtuous as he pretends to be, I’m afraid. He’s just as cold and ruthless as I am, only he hides behind his manners and freshly ironed suits, whereas I’ve grown to embrace it.” His hand traces the outline of your jaw, his fingers feathering down your neck and shoulders as a trail of goosebumps flashes up your arm. “He wanted to keep you from this, to hold you back from what you were meant to be, but I wouldn’t allow it.” He takes your hand in his and squeezes. “Now, why don’t we get you something more fresh to sink your teeth into?”

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

@hcqwxrtss123 @hayleym1234 @derangedangel @spnaquakindgdom @natalie668 @arbesa-mind @wolfdragon0424

@meneatervv @honeybee54321 @captainweasleybarnes @spideybv28 @babyblue01805

[johnwickb1tsch]

andar conmigo ~ part 14

gif by omg-imagine

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline/fic- Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle ~ You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you...Your old flame don John does not like this at all. Warnings: violence, fire! chapter map

After Juan’s goons drag you away, it is Anjélica who slips from the chaos and entreats every man she finds at the fiesta wearing a uniform to come to Paul’s aid. By the time she is done the Sheriff has a mob of angry vets outside his jail, demanding the soldier’s release. 

Don Juan’s money was good, but it didn’t seem worth getting lynched over. 

When Paul roars up to Las Nubes in a Willy’s Jeep filled to bursting with fellow veterans, night has fallen, and the flames have just begun to lick out of don Juan’s bedroom window. The few workers who remained home from the fiesta are frantically shouting and passing buckets of water, fighting like hell to keep the rest of the buildings and the fields from burning. 

The house is already a lost cause. 

There is a rumble of thunder in the distance, a late summer storm too far, too late. 

Paul leaps from the Jeep before it has even stopped, running for the house. He knows you are in there, and that you need him. 

Some of Juan’s toughs emerge to meet the Jeep filled with interlopers, and Paul’s brothers in arms surge to meet them head on.

Paul bursts into the house, rushing down the hall on long legs, towards the flames.

Don Juan’s bedroom door is locked. Paul throws himself at it. It takes one, two, three tries before the heavy old wood gives. The burst of heat from the room sends him back a step, before he charges inside. 

His heart falls as he sees you laying there on the floor, crumpled and bloody as a flower crushed under foot, and for a heartbreaking moment he is certain you are dead. 

“Y/n?” he pleads, diving to his knees beside you, gathering you in his arms. 

He’s never been so relieved in his life, as when you stir in his grasp, your question of “Paul?” barely audible over the roar of the flames. 

“I’m getting you out of here.” He adjusts his hold so he can carry you out–and you see the ominous shadow in the doorway. Juan has returned, and he is holding an ornate saber that has been hanging in the hallway for longer than the two of you have been alive combined.  

“Paul–look out!” You try to warn him, but your voice is so weak. Maybe he sees the fear in your eyes, for he ducks just in time for the blade to slice just over his head. 

“You’re just in time for the barbecue!” hisses Juan, slashing again. 

Paul tries to evade, but doesn’t quite. The blade clips his arm, blood spurting. Though enraged, Juan is no swordsman. Before he can swing the heavy sword around to strike again Paul tackles him to the floor, wrestling for the blade. 

An old, familiar fury fills Paul, that consuming savagery from his war days slipped from its cage, and he wants to tear this horrible man to pieces with his bare hands for what he’s done to you.

They fight viciously, rolling, cursing, hitting and biting.

“You dishonored my house!” snarls Juan. “I will kill you both!”

The heat from the fire is scalding. You feel as though your skin will melt right from your bones, and you try to roll away from the growing flames.    

In the end Paul is victorious, pounding Juan’s hand on the floor until he must let go. The soldier throws away the fancy sword into the flames on the far wall. The room is a furnace now, and the fire is spreading out the window, up the house. You all need to go now, but Juan still will not quit, rendered mad by the desire for vengeance.

Desperate to get to you, Paul punches Juan in the jaw, hard enough to knock him out cold. 

“Paul?” you cry out, coughing on smoke. 

The decision is easy for him, to leave Juan behind to the flames, when he scoops you up and barrels into the hallway to make your escape from the burning house. As he passes through the door part of the grand old hacienda collapses behind him.  

He carries you away from the blaze as far as he can before his legs give out beneath him. “Y/n?” He cradles your head in his hands,desperate for you to answer him. Tears make sooty tracks down his cheeks. You both look like you rolled in a coal bin. 

“Paul?” Your eyes open to slits, and you cough violently. 

Are you alive?

For a moment you’re certain that if Paul is here before you–you’ve died, and this is your version of heaven. 

“Thank God,” he sobs, clutching you to him. 

Maybe you’re not dead. 

How marvelous it is, to breathe fresh air, and be cradled in this man’s strong arms again. 

Maybe you should start going to church again, because when the heavens open up and the rain falls down, it feels like a special blessing from above. You sit like that in Paul’s arms for you don’t know how long, soaking wet but warmed by his body sheltering yours. 

“I thought I lost you. Jesus Christ, I thought he’d killed you.” Paul’s words are a low litany in your hair. 

“I’m fine now,” you assure him, your voice rough from smoke inhalation.  

You absolutely are not fine, but you’re alive, and right now, that’s something. 

Even better, in your eyes, Paul is alive, and that’s the greatest miracle of all. 

You tilt your head in question, and without a word Paul answers with his lips on yours, a life-giving kiss that soothes the inferno in your soul as surely as the rain outside.

You sit together in a sodden pile, watching the house burn, before the rain starts to damper the flames. Too late for don Juan, you both are certain. On whose head lays the blame? Yours, for starting the fire? Paul’s, for leaving him? Or Juan’s himself, for being the man he was? 

You are too numb to suss it out, and Paul gingerly loads you into the Jeep to take you to the doctor in town, certain you both have worn out your welcome at Las Nubes.

*divider by animatedglittergraphics

[thebardisabird]

Writing has been hard for me lately. A lot of things have happened in the past year for me that damaged my zest to write. But that passion doesn't ever truly die, I think, so I'm doing my best to pick myself and continue doing what I love. So here's my contribution to Karamatsu month. A very candid conversation and a gentle reminder.

When Karamatsu had asked you to take a walk with him, you initially had thought nothing of it. Often you two would walk Akatsuka Park together; you, because you enjoyed the benefit of being able to clear your mind with some fresh air, and he because it was how you two met, so it held a special place in the grand scheme of your friendship. 

“Ah, does the air not smell so wonderfully crisp?” Karamatsu inhales, stretching his arms out as his lungs take in the cool afternoon air. You get lost in your own breathing for a second, “Just the season for it too,” a small smile ghosts over your lips, “I love this time of year.” 

Karamatsu hums in agreement, arms crossing over his chest as he slides his eyes closed and walks with a purposeful blindness.

Your mind shifts to light conversation, “How was your week? Anything new with your brothers?”

His chuckle is airy as he peaks an eye open toward you, “Raucous as ever - but how could they not be? We share the same fire in our blood after all.” 

This made you laugh as you recalled that same exact “fiery blood” getting them in trouble with Chibita just the other night. Karamatsu hears your laughter and mirrors it, thinking of his brothers and their antics - antics he’s very much always a part of. He recollects the memories that have permanently altered his life; how he wouldn’t trade them for the world. Yet as you both walk, a chill runs through the leather of his jacket. The reality of his adulthood creeps up and reminds him that even this situation - spending every day of his adult life with his brothers, living without much to care about, or even the luxury of getting to have these walks with you whenever it pleases you both - may be temporary. But such is life, isn’t it? Shouldn’t a man his age strive for independence and distance so as to be free of burdening his family? Karamatsu tucks his hands into his armpits, a certain vulnerability striking him now. You feel the difference in his attitude almost instantly.

“Kara…you okay?” 

His answer doesn’t come right away, though he still walks with you without missing a step. His signature shades have slid down the bridge of his nose a tad, revealing the troubled look of his downcast eyes and knitted brows. In searching for a response he remains silent; though this renders to you as him not having heard you. “Karamatsu…?” you call out again, worry lacing in your utterance of his name. 

The wrinkles in his brows grow deeper, “Am I…a burden?” 

The timbre of his voice was far lighter than normal, hesitance coating his words in a way you weren’t expecting. You tilt your head with some confusion, not understanding his question as it’s phrased, “What do you mean?” 

The cedar hues of his eyes drift off to the side as though he meant to avoid your gently bewildered expression. 

“I just…I think of my brothers…I think of how we’re still living at home,” he chews his lip as he continues, “We’re adults…and yet we rely so heavily on our parents.” 

You nod as you take in his words, the idea of what he’s trying to ask beginning to formulate in your head. Karamatsu removes his hands, looking down at the guitar-worn digits, “I…” the sigh he lets out is palpable, “I feel like I have nothing to show for myself or my future. I need to know when I’ll be more than just…this.” 

Your heart sinks as you see the hurt show in full bloom on Karamatsu’s face. It’s a subject of conversation you often avoid with him, not out of dishonesty, but because you’ve seen what the call of independence has done to his family in the past. It’s a sore topic, you know this. Yet your hands find one of his own, enclosing the now tightly grasped fist and gently easing his fingers open to accept the warmth of your comforting ones. 

“Those are answers that take time…no one ever knows right away what their future holds.” 

Karamatsu looks on at the delicate hold you have on his hand before finally locking eyes with you. 

“Give yourself time and grace,” you say softly, “You’re exactly where you need to be…and the people who love you are happy to have the time with you that they do.” 

He swallows thickly at your words, there’s a kindness to them he feels he doesn’t deserve - but he absorbs each letter nonetheless. His free hand unfurls from its frustrated grasp, coming to blanket your reassuring touch with his own, thankful, one. He loses the ability to speak for just a moment, but he silently prays that the sincerity in his eyes reflects how grateful he is for you. You lend him a bright smile, tugging on the same you were still encasing, “Come, let’s finish our walk before it gets too cold.” 

The weight that on his shoulders shakes free of its hold as he’s yanked forward a hair. He stumbles before he remembers to walk accordingly, and he finds his steps feel lighter now. The pleased silence between you two doesn’t last long as he inhales once more, “Ah…”

Seeing him return to his usual self brings you joy, but that is quickly replaced with playful annoyance when he says, “I must be rubbing off on you, darling, with how poetic with your words you’re becoming,” the statement paired with the glint of his grin and his arms flared out in a dramatic display. You can’t stop your eyes from rolling though it’s easily accompanied by affectionate laughter, “If you say so, Karamatsu.”

[youknowwho-mustnotbenamed]

The "Prank"

Sirius wouldn’t be able to explain what compelled him to follow Regulus out of the Great Hall. He had been avoiding his younger brother for months after returning to Hogwarts. It has been easy—neither of them keen on speaking with the other, and being in separate years and houses kept them apart all but a few times a day. Besides, whenever Sirius’ eyes land on Regulus, a visceral rage flows through him, and makes his thoughts take a dangerous pivot toward the person he doesn’t want to be. He can feel it now—against his will, his blood turns black with the poison that flows through their family’s veins. But he won’t accept it, he won’t stoop to their level. James has taught him there is another way, one where he doesn’t have to corrupt himself.

“What do you want, Sirius?” Regulus drawls.

Sirius startles back a step, too lost in his mind to notice Regulus having stopped, or turned to face him. But sure enough, Regulus is leaning against the wall, the flickering scone overhead casting a halo over his dark curls, though he is far from an angel.

“Can’t I just talk to my little brother?”

“You aren’t my brother.”

And sure, he knew Regulus had been going to great lengths to avoid being associated with him anymore. But having a speculation—no matter how certain undeniable—is far better than having the actual confirmation. Because then, there was a small sliver of hope he hadn’t been completely manipulated, that he was just acting a part like an actor at the theater. But now, with just four simple words, Regulus has delivered a world-altering punch to his gut.

“Regulus… you don’t have to pretend. There is nobody here.” After everything he has done for Regulus, to keep him safe, to allow him to be his true self, and this is what he gets in return?

“I mean it. When Mother burned you from the tapestry, I burned you from my life.”

“No. No, you can’t mean that.” He can’t. Not his little Reggie who always sought him out after Mother’s disciplinary whip came down too hard. Not little Reggie who snuck food and potions to him despite the risk. Not little Reggie who fancied James. Not little Reggie. His Reggie would never hate him, would never disown him, because his Reggie isn’t one of them.

But this isn’t his Reggie. This is Regulus. They destroyed his little Reggie and replaced him with… this. Sirius turned for moments to lick his wounds, and they sunk their claws into Regulus and dug in deep. They turned the charming angel into a budding demon, ready to strike without hesitation. They took away his autonomy. They took away his heart. They took away… him.

“Since when were your eyes green?” Regulus demands out of nowhere. “And while I’m thinking about it, what happened to your nose?”

“Why do you fucking care?” He spits, teeth clenched.

“You know,” Regulus muses, completely ignoring him, “maybe it was because your eyes always looked so much like hers—”

In the span of a breath, the darkness seizes him and he has Regulus pinned against the wall, wand at his throat. And to his utter horror, it feels good. To have Regulus at his mercy, to have power over the scenario, to see the spark of terror in Regulus eyes as Sirius himself must have had that night.

“Don’t you dare compare me to them.”

“You are going to be one of them no matter what you do. Nothing can erase sixteen years of discipline.”

“I am not one of them.”

“You and I both know the truth, Sirius. No matter how far you run, you share their blood.”

“I might share their blood, but I will not walk the same path as them.”

Regulus scoffs. “Even with all your defiance, what have you accomplished? You are still here, with a wand to my throat, over a mere insinuation. You like the power, Sirius. I can see it in your eyes. You might have fooled your friends, but you cannot fool me.”

“I am breaking the cycle. Mother had the chance to end it, but she was afraid, and now the burden of her pain was thrust unwillingly onto us. But I won’t allow it to continue.”

“How noble.”

“Remember when it was just us, before Mother started controlling us like marionettes? Remember the pillow forts we built? Remember when we snuck chocolate out of the kitchen? Remember when we climbed to the roof to look at the stars? Remember when we rescued that baby bird? Remember when—”

“It was a lie.” Regulus spits. “You never loved me; you were always jealous that I was the child Mother wanted; that I was everything you never could be.”  

It's not fair. That night, Regulus took his life and mangled it into something unrecognizable. That is the moment his life changed, when his life took a turn he could never come back from. Not the day he met James, not the day he decided he wasn’t going to be the pureblood supremacist his mother raised him to be, not the day he started rebelling against her wishes. The day he turned his back on his only family, the only one he actually cared to save. The day he lost everything he had and turned into... this. A shattered likeness of a boy.

“I’ve been thinking about that night. And I’m glad I did it. I reminded you of who you are—a traitor who doesn’t deserve the Black family name.”

Just a mention of the night he has under lock and key, and it starts seeping out the cracks. Mother’s cold eyes, his body pressed against the scratchy carpet, pleading Regulus to help him. It’s too much, and the darkness is begging to take control of the situation, to give him power so he isn’t so weak anymore. So, he won’t be at anyone’s mercy anymore. Maybe he should just… no. He can’t. He won’t. Ever.

“Mother isn’t here, Regulus. She can’t hurt you; she can’t control you.”

“Is that what you’ve been telling yourself? That she’s controlling me? Did you think I didn’t want to point my wand at you? You know how Unforgivables work, Sirius. I wanted to hurt you. Even if I had the opportunity to go back and take a different path, I wouldn’t. Because you needed to know how much you hurt me, and you needed to suffer for it.”

When did he lose Regulus? He can’t pinpoint the moment his brother became a weapon for Mother to use. Was it when Sirius made other friends besides Reggie? Was it when Regulus had to continue putting on the mask of being Mother’s obedient little girl because he couldn’t openly be his true self in that house? Sirius wants desperately to know so he can go back in time and mend that wound so they can be brothers again.

“I wanted to, and if you don’t leave me alone, I will do it again.” Suddenly, Regulus’ wand is in the hollow of Sirius’ neck. There is no waver like it had last time. This time his eyes are hardened steel, like the blade he is so willing to plunge into Sirius. This time, Sirius has no doubt that the agony will be intensified beyond imagination. This time, Sirius actually fears Regulus.

It is all too much. The memories of that night resurfacing. The threat of Regulus’ wand. Finally losing the last bit of hope he had clung onto for his brother. The boiling darkness inside him, threatening to push him to the brink he desperately doesn’t want to fall over. He just wants to go to the common room and curl up in Remus’ arms. But Remus isn’t there, because it is the full moon, which means Sirius doesn’t get to feel better, because he has to push it all aside for Remus. To make sure his boyfriend doesn’t tear himself to shreds or hate his very skin. So, Sirius will push it all aside, like he always does. He cannot burden his friends, because then they will leave him alone with the dangerous voices in his head.

He takes the swirling maelstrom of thoughts, and violently shoves it into a heavy iron trunk with no key. Everything goes in the box. Every last thought until his heart no longer aches, until his thoughts don’t jumble. Until he is just an empty shell. Finally, finally, everything is quiet. Then he shoves the box overboard. It disappears beneath the chopping waves, and he is alone.

“Show me your arm.” The words churn themselves up from a dark place. A place that wants to punish Sirius, because he vowed, he would never ask. Because he doesn’t really want to know. Would rather live in disregard, than to see the grotesque mark against pale skin and know he failed his brother in the worst way. Then again, maybe that is why he asks, because he no longer cares for those who turn their back on him.

Sirius reaches for Regulus’ right arm. But Regulus is faster, and shoves Sirius away. That is all the confirmation he needs.

“You have it then.” He laughs, though it sounds too high and hysterical to have come from him. it sounds like Bella’s laugh. “I can’t believe it. My baby brother had the guts to go and get himself Marked.”

“Shut up.”

“Or what, you’ll Crucio me? You’d be in Azkaban before the night is up. Though, your Death Eater pals have surely taught you more creative means of hurting people. Tell me, what has Lucius taught you?”

Regulus flinches, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Another high-pitched cackle squeezes through his lungs. Regulus’ face is dawning with some kind of realization, but Sirius doesn’t pause to think. Thinking hurts too much, thinking leads to pain and regret. And Sirius is floating right now, high above pain. Untouchable, unhurtable.

His wand tumbles through his fingers, while he flicks through the catalog of prank spells. He could start off with sticking his feet to the ground, that would keep him from running. Then he could steal the air from Regulus’ lungs—that is a creative one Bella used on him once. Then he could--

Regulus is backing away now, and Sirius lets him. “Go on, coward. Go run back to your snake pit!”

Sirius turns and saunters back down the corridor, set to aimlessly wander the corridors for however long he pleases. There is a small alarm bell ringing that he has somewhere to be soon, very soon.

But why would he have somewhere to be?

Nothing ties him down.

Nobody controls him.

He is free, free, free.

Free.

Free.

Free.

★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★

Everything is wrong.

Beneath the hazy surface there is a hollowness, a betrayal, a complete ruination.

But how can he feel that way if he has no heart?

If he doesn’t feel, how can he be destroyed?

If he is untouchable, how is he dragged to his knees?

“Fancy seeing you here, Black. Where is the rest of your entourage?”

“Snivellus.” Sirius’ lips pull back in a snarl, but he isn’t sure why. It is just a boy standing there. A sad looking boy who never made the right choices, much like him. No, why would he compare himself to this lowly boy with greasy hair and a hooked nose? His hair is beautiful, he is a statement walking down the corridors, he is powerful.

Powerful.

Powerful.

Powerful and free.

“Where are they then, ready to ambush me when I round the corner?”

“Maybe.” Sirius twirls his wand, grinning at the way Snape tracks the movement warily. “Maybe I’m just the distraction while they hex your housemates.”

“You would never be too far from the action. Pettigrew is your distraction.”

“Well, if you know that, we’re too obvious. We can’t be too predictable.”

“You know, Black, with you it’s all bark and no bite. When are you going to stop hiding behind your words and actually show your claws?”

A delirious laugh bubbles up from deep inside. Finally, finally Snivellus looks scared. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. It's all wrong. “You want to know a little secret, Snivellus?” He leans in, and Snape retreats a step. “You know about the Whomping Willow on the far side of the grounds by Hogsmeade? All you need to do is get a long stick and poke the knot on the trunk.”

None of this is funny, except maybe it is? Sirius isn’t sure, but there is a wide smile on his face, stretching his cheeks painfully. Maybe the way Snape’s eyes flick down the corridor and back is funny. Maybe, the look on his face when he sees a werewolf will be funny.

“Don’t you want to know our secret? Or are you snakes too cowardly to face actual danger?”

Snape tilts his head back, consulting Sirius over the bridge of his incredibly long nose. “Why should I listen to you?”

“You shouldn’t.” Then, he turns his back to the coward, and continues his stroll through the halls, back to the common room. Or maybe he will go somewhere else. Maybe he could go feel the wind on his cheeks, to cool the fire sparking from him. Or to Remus’ bed, to wrap himself up in a cocoon of his blankets and just breathe in his scent.

A hazy thought that he should be headed to the shack with the others by now flits through his mind. But isn’t it too early? Or too late? Is it even the full moon tonight, or has it already passed, or not yet come?

“Sirius! There you are, we were worried sick.”

He ambles passed the two boys at the entrance, and flops onto their claimed loveseat by the fire. The warmth doesn’t even touch him where he is floating further and further away.

“I think we have a little longer before we need to show up.”

“It’s nearly eight-thirty. If he hasn’t already, he is going to soon.”

“Nah, we’ll be just on time.” He laughs again. It’s wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

But he cannot stop, he doesn’t want to stop. Why would he? The anguish is finally gone. He is floating high with no worries to drag him down to earth. He can just laugh and feel nothing, nothing, nothing. Everything will turn out just fine, he is sure of it.

“Sirius, what are you talking about?”

“Just giving Snivellus what he asked for. It’s about time he learned his place.”

“Sirius. Tell me what you did.” There is danger dripping in James’ tone, but there is nothing to worry about. Nothing bad can happen while he is floating floating floating.

“It’s kind of funny. He said we’re all bark with no bite, something about never showing our claws…” He laughs again, it’s pulled deep from his stomach this time. “But we have a fucking werewolf.”

“No... no, no, no. Sirius, tell me you didn’t.”

“My only regret is I won’t get to see his face.”

James tears out of the room, Peter close behind. After a moment, Sirius stumbles after them, maybe he will get to see Snivellus’ face after all.

James and Peter are much faster than he can stumble along, and by the time they have reached the Whomping Willow, Sirius is just leaving the front doors of the castle. He makes it a few more steps before he stumbles and falls. He could get up, if only to see this through, but the grass feels nice against his overheated skin, so he flops onto his back, splaying his arms and legs on either side of him.

The stars are so beautiful, so beautiful yet too dangerous to keep close. It’s fitting that he’s named after a star, isn’t it. Oh, so wrong to hold and to love, yet you keep it close anyway. He searches for his moon, but he cannot find it anywhere, the light of it snuffed out by the clouds. But he is there, and so is his brother. Two bright stars burning up everything they come in contact with.

Wrong wrong wrong. Right right right. Wrong... wrong... wrong...

★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★

The door to the shack creaks open.

But they are far too late. Remus had long ago accepted they weren’t going to show tonight. They probably gave up on him, deeming it not worthy to put their lives on the line every month for a friendship. But that is okay, because he’s survived the full without them for years prior, he can do it again.

But then, who is opening the door? The wolf is already straining at his skin, begging to burst forth. But he has been holding back. Both with the naïve hope that his friends are coming for him, and the naïve urge to feel in control for longer, even if the agony is prolonged.

He opens his mouth to shout out a warning, but all that comes out is a weak howl, splitting in half with pain. His knees collide with the hard floor of the shack as he hugs his stomach, as though that is enough to keep the monster inside.

The first bone shifts. Then another. Then his skin is torn and the wolf begins to emerge, there is no more stubborn refusal. It tears at his body to make room for itself in his place, no concern for the throes of pain that wrack his frail human body. The snapping of bone and tearing of skin always makes his stomach lurch, even after all this time. But he bares it, just as he always has.

“What the—”

Remus whips his head up, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Standing on the bottom shelf of the shack, is Snape. His eyes are wide saucers, but his wand is clenched in a white knuckled grip. Fear and magic are not a good combination, but he cannot do anything to stop it. His own magic is on the fritz right now, and he doesn’t even have his wand.

He could just let Snape run, but somehow, despite the way his body and face are warped into something… other, he knows that Snape knows exactly who he is. And knowing Snape, he will stop at nothing to hold this over his head. Or he might just go tell the whole school, then the looks always cast his direction will turn dark rather than curious or sympathetic. Merlin, he should have known better than to believe McGonagall, how was she supposed to keep him safe from hundreds of too-curious-for-their-own-good-students?

As if in response to his inner turmoil, the wolf bursts forth. After that, all his thoughts are hazy, trapped in the mist as he looses control. After that, all he can remember is screaming, and blood, and pure terror, and desperation, and magic singing the air.

[vanfleeter]

My Love II: Chapter 2

A/N: Adding a little more the suspense. Characters: Jake Kiszka, Josh Kiszka, Sam Kiszka, Sara, Vivianne. Warnings: 18+ || Gore. Vampires. Blood. Blood drinking. Murder. Death. Angst. Anger. Fear. Pain. Painful memories. Torture. Physical violence. Jealousy. Threats. Smut. Allusions to sex.

SAM’S POV

I didn’t feel a damn thing when I saw Jake again, chained to the wall and begging me to answer him as I dragged Ada from the room. I stood over her lifeless body as I recalled the look on his face. Confused, concerned, fearful. I’m sure I don’t look like the same old Sam. I sure don’t feel like I am. That Sam is guilty, remorseful. I cannot feel that right now. I must keep my emotions off in order to endure Vivanne’s torture in order to win–to survive. And if that means torturing my own brother, then so be it. Nothing matters at this point in time, not until Vivianne is finished. If Jake was able to end Chris, then I can end Vivianne.

I know turning my emotions back on will take a toll on me. I know the risks. I’ve done this before and I worked through it.

“Sam..”

I bring my attention back to my current situation and I lift my head to see Jake standing in front of me. His wrists are chained in front of him and he’s still looking at me with a look of concern mixed with fear. I simply stare back at him, not feeling an ounce of anything towards him.

“What happened to you?” He asks. “Why are you doing this?”

“Shut up..” I say, striking him across the face and sending him to the floor. “No more questions..” He lifts his head, spitting blood off to the side. I pull him back up to his feet and look him square in the eye. “Listen to me very carefully.. I don’t want to hurt you, but I have no choice.. She wants all of us dead, and I am trying to save us.. I had to flip, Jake. She’s made me into the ripper again, torturing me for the pain I put her through when I killed her husband. I had to flip so I could deal with the killings.” I take a step backwards and flex my fists. “Just take it.”

He inhales and straightens himself up. “Give me your worst..”

“I’m sorry..”

He scoffs and smirks. “No, you’re not.”

I chuckle and swing my fist at his jaw. “For once I can beat you up and you can’t do a thing,” I say as I grab his chin and force him to look at me again. “And man does it feel good.”

“Don’t worry,” He dry laughs. “When all is said and done, I’ll see to it that you get what you deserve, baby brother.”

“I’ll be waiting,” I smirk before swinging my fist and slamming it into the side of his face once more.

When the hour was up, and Jake was bloodied and bruised on the floor, Vivianne made her entrance with a pretty blonde by her side. I can hear her blood pumping through her veins as her heart beats wildly in her chest.

She’s scared.

Her eyes flicker down at Jake before coming to rest on me again. I can’t control the smirk on my face. She’s fearful that I might do to her that I did to Jake.

Oh how wrong she is.

“You know what to do..” Vivianne says as she shoves the girl forward and leaves the room.

“No! Please!” The girl shouts as she bangs on the door. She looks back at me as I slowly advance towards her. “Please let me out of here! Please!”

I reach my hand around her neck and she gasps, closing her eyes tightly.

“Sam..” I hear Jake from behind me. “Don’t do it..”

“I have to..” I say before sinking my teeth into her neck. I cover her mouth to silence her screams, I just can’t stand all of the screaming. But the thrashing of her body sends me into overdrive. It gives me a bit of a challenge, but I like challenges. Soon she starts to slow down, her screaming ceasing and instead becoming soft whimpers. Her body falls limp in my arms making me tighten my hold on her.

When I was finished with her, I dropped her body and her head to the ground before turning back around to face Jake. His back was to me as he breathed deeply, trying to control himself.

“I’m sorry, did you want a taste too?” I ask as I wipe the sleeve of my jacket across my face and clean off the blood. “I seem to have forgotten my manners.”

Jake scoffs before turning back to face me. I can see his fangs retract and he inhales deeply. “Seems you’ve forgotten a lot of things.”

Bending down to the girl’s body, I swipe my finger through a small pool of blood as I step up to Jake. He tries to move away but I’m much quicker than him. Pinning his back to the wall, I held his jaw in my hand, keeping him still even as he struggled against me.

“Don’t do it..”

“I never told you this, because I wanted to keep your psyche intact.. But remember when you fed on the poor woman to gain back your strength before we went after Chris and Michael?” I swipe my finger across his mouth before shoving off of him. “You killed her.. I simply told you no, played it off so you wouldn't freak out..” I can see him struggling against the temptation to taste the blood. He’s battling with himself but I know him. The longer the temptation goes, the more his will power diminishes.

“I didn't kill her..”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t.” He says more firmly.

“You can deny it all you want, Jake.. But admit it, you’re the monster you’ve always feared. First you killed Sitovo, then you killed Chris, and the poor woman.. Shame, you never got her name.. Oh wait,” I chuckle, shaking my head. “Silly me.. You don't like to make it personal.”

“Stop..”

“Her name was Olive.. Thirty-two and mother of three children..”

“I said stop!” Jake shouts. He looks at me with fire in his eyes.

“Can’t touch me, Jake. Your powers are weak, you can't do anything..” I step closer again. “You killed an innocent woman–a mother no less.”

“Please, stop..” The images flash in his head as I feed him every memory of that night. “Please.. Please..” He drops to his knees in a fit of tears. “I didn't kill her.. I didn't kill her..”

I bend down to his level and lift his chin. His eyes filled with tears and grew irritated. “You are the monster, Jake. You killed three people, and felt no remorse..”

“Stop it!” He screams as fresh tears spill down his face. “Please!”

I grab his face in my hands and look him in the eyes. “Turn. It. Off.”

“No..”

“Turn it off, Jake. Come on, you’ve done it before.”

“I said no!”

“Come on, Jake.. It won’t be for long..”

“Please.. Please..” He mutters repeatedly as he clutches his head.

“Do you remember Edda?”

“Sam.. Please..”

“She loved you.. She trusted you.. And then you went and killed her..”

“Stop.. Just stop! Get out of my head!”

“And you’re telling everyone that I’m a ripper?” I chuckle and grab a fistful of his hair before yanking his head back. His chin shakes but he still has a small ounce of his will power to still fight me. “You were the ripper first.. Or did you forget to disclose that little detail? ‘Oh I killed once and it destroyed me and I vowed to never kill again’.. Pfft, please. Just wait until Sara finds out the truth about you. She knows you slept around a lot before you settled on Sitovo, but what about your ripper phase? How would she like it when she knows about that? She’d never look at you the same..”

JAKE’S POV

Images of Sara flashed through my head. Disappointment. Anger. Fear. Sadness. Her heart breaks as she looks at me differently. I try to reach for her but as my hand just barely holds hers, she’s pulling away.

Fight it, Jake.

Fight against Sam.

Don’t let him win. Don’t let him break you.

I’m struggling to keep my walls up. He knows everything, I can’t hide from him. He’s in every corner of my brain, pulling out all of the things that I have kept hidden for hundreds of years. Things that I have never told Sara.

“December 1545.. You tore through a little village in Spain. You spared no one.”

Images of that time period flash in my head. The screams of terror and people begging for their lives. All I could see was red. My hunger for human blood was too powerful for me to fight. I broke every rule known to the Onyx clan. I broke them all because I was lustful and couldn't control myself.

They tortured me for months after that. Kept me locked up in a cellar with little to no light and they starved me of blood until I was on the brink of death. Josh reasoned with them, promised them that he’d help me be better, teach me how to control myself.

Suddenly the images ceased and my head was clear, aside from the ringing from Sam’s prior blows. He’s pulling me back up to my feet and clutching the collar of my shirt in his hands. His eyes are focused on mine.

“I could kill you,” He says. “She wants us all dead, so really–it would work out well for her.”

“Then kill me..” I sputtered through the blood still lingering in my mouth. “I would rather be dead than to live with no humanity.”

“But it’s so freeing.” He grins.

“It won’t be easy coming back.. You will suffer..”

“That is something I will deal with when the time comes.. But for now, I’m trying to survive.. Which is what you need to do too.”

I spit in his face and his grin disappears. “As I said.. I would rather die..”

“Then so be it..” He throws me into the wall, my back slamming into the cement. He has one hand wrapped around my neck while the other one plunges into my chest. I can feel his fingers wrapping around my heart. “Don’t test me, Jake.”

“Do it..” I gasp. “Fucking… Do… It…”

His hand lets go of my heart and he removes it from my chest. His other hand loosens on my neck and he drops me to the floor.

“Your death would be the most painful to endure if I ever flip back.. I don’t think I’d ever survive that..”

After I catch my breath, I look up at him. He’s not fully switched. Sam is still there.

“But we have to fight, Jake.. We need to survive..”

I shake my head and struggle to get myself back up on my feet. “You know how hard it will be for me to turn it all back on.. I won’t want to..”

“I will make you,” He says. “I won’t let you repeat Spain.” A glimmer of hope sparks within me as I take in his words. He’s still in there.

“You might not, but I will..” Vivianne stands in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. She drops them to her sides and she makes her way over to the both of us. Suddenly she has me pinned to the wall again. “I still want you dead but keeping you as my little puppet would be so much better.. So.. Turn. It. Off.”

“Never..” I gasp beneath her hold.

“If you don't turn it off, I will have Sam rip Sara limb from limb.”

“She has done nothing..”

“She’s killed, Jake!” Vivianne shouts. “She became the monster that you feared she would be..”

“She was forced to..”

“And now I’m forcing you to turn off your emotions.. If you want her to live, then turn them off!”

I look over at Sam. He’s pleading with his eyes, begging me to switch. ‘We need to survive..’ His words echo in my head. I have to keep Sara safe. I have to protect her, even if that means turning it all off. I can only hope that she’ll forgive me.

SARA’S POV

Two days have gone and we still haven’t done anything. We know exactly where she’s keeping Sam and Jake, but Josh won’t make a move. We’ve been hiding out in this janky motel room and occasionally feeding off the staff and wiping their memories afterwards. But we can’t keep doing this. For all we know she could have killed them already and we’d be too late.

I don't know what I would do without Jake. I’m barely surviving still. Every day is a struggle and I don't have him to guide me–to help me. I can't do this on my own. Not yet. I’m not ready.

While being cooped up in this motel room, I’ve spent a lot of time reading through some of Jake’s journals. There was a lot that I still did not know about him, things that he still kept secret or fabricated.

Edda was his first kill, the one he struggled with. But then it only got worse after that. Sam, I learned, wasn't the original ripper.. Jake was. He tormented a village in Spain, covering the whole place in red. He knew what he was doing and he just didn't care. After his killing spree, and before the Onyx’s torture, he had went on a binge of feeding and sleeping with his victims. He was a menace, the side of him that he’s never admitted to nor has ever told me about.

According to his journals, that was over four hundred and seventy-nine years ago. He has been steady with his feeding–though his sleeping around was still the same. I read about his relationship with Sitovo. He wrote in such detail about her and the love that he had for her. It makes me wonder if he’ll ever write about me, but I know his journals stopped just before we met, and he hasn't written in one since.

I had been finishing Jake’s journal from 1903, how he met Vivianne and all of what she was to him. She was nothing but a woman he slept with a few times after he would feed. He chose her because he found her more pleasing than the woman he fed on. This was before she married Richard. He wrote about her not being anything like Sitovo. At the time, he and Sitovo were in the ‘off again’ of their relationship. He compared the two of them to each other, but he always spoke highly of Sitovo. I didn't realize how long they had been together before she disappeared in the seventies and left him with a broken heart.

They met in 1865, at the end of the Civil War where he fought alongside The Union. He and his brothers had lived in America from the time of the Revolutionary War, where he had met and fought against Chris, up until today. When he met Sitovo, she was fresh off a boat, first class, from London. Though he still loathed the British, he couldn't fight how he felt for her. There was no one like her. He described her as being a force of nature but also gentle and kind. She spoke with elegance and pride, and held herself in a manner that told people that even though she was a woman, they shouldn't mess with her. She was turned by the time they met so it made it easier for Jake to reveal who he was to her. He writes of how they fell in love, even of the first time they had slept together.

But when he reverts back to talking about Vivianne, it was quite the opposite. He only found her pleasing to his body, but not his soul. He never had feelings for her and he only used her for sex. He didn't stick around Louisiana for long and he ended up leaving to go back to Virginia where he reunited with Sitovo. Yet another detailed reunion.

“How many times do I have to tell you that jealousy just isn’t a good look for you?” I hear Josh say.

“And how many times do I have to tell you to stay out of my head?”

Josh chuckles and walks over to where I’m seated on the bed. “Look at you,” He says as he takes the journal. “You’re practically spewing steam from your ears like a train.” He closes the journal and sits on the nightstand beside the bed. “Come on, sharpen your fangs sweetheart. We’ve got to feed once more before we strike.”

@losfacedevil @writingcold @edgingthedarkness @i-love-gvf @katuschka @josh-iamyour-mama @sammysstolenbirks @asendingtothestarsasone @hollyco @musicislove3389 @its-interesting-van-kleep @katiegvf @tinydancer40 @gretavangroupie @lizzys-sunflower @fleetingjake @takenbythemadness @godly-sinsx @psychedelectable @dancingcarbon @oliverfuckingreed @cheersdannyx2 @piratejtk @katuschka @musicislove3389 @takenbythemadness

add yourself to the tag list in my master list!

[sinful-morningstar]

Spartober day 16 Nightmare (VerDante)

Author's Note: this is very angsty yet sweet...bittersweet? i believe is the term...anyways i felt the need for Dante to give Vergil some comfort and love yes this is spartacest..i cant write platonic dante x Vergil to save my life they always got to confess and kiss ...Other than that..Enjoy today's prompt. Prompts by whatsanapocalae1 (I use a combination of Spartober and Devil MayTober Prompts) {forgot to mention but i'm proud of myself for still going strong through these prompts despite feeling slightly uninspired and burnt out at times but i'm thoroughly enjoying this Spartober and i love these demon boys with all my heart <3 } 16: Nightmare (VerDante) Fire was blazing as smoke invaded Vergil’s nose and lungs he coughed as he ran around the house in search of someone, he wheezed holding the Yamato as he was ready to fight the intruder, he could hear a scream as he readied himself for battle.

“Mother!” he cried out to her, he could see Eva cowering in fear, her eyes widened as she saw Vergil in the corner, Vergil reached out to her unsheathing the Yamato ready to strike the demon that dared harm his mother.

She quickly stood in front of Vergil protecting him, then faded to black the sound of her body collapsing onto the floor while blood gushed out from her wounds. Eva reached back at Vergil..and that's when he woke up in a cold sweat shooting out of his bed panting as tears stung his eyes.

Footsteps could be heard from the other side of the door, Vergil curled up in on himself mirroring his past self as the images of that dreaded night ran through his head like a horror show. He sniffled gently, allowing himself to shed a few tears; he didnt realise that Dante had entered his room.

He felt a gloved hand on his bare shoulder making him flinch at the touch, Vergil looked up at Dante, his eyes puffy from crying as he glared “What do you want?!” he snapped .

Dante pulled his hand back lifting his arms up in defence “Woah, hey, watch it Verg…I was just making sure you’re okay”.he said gently.

“Leave me be Dante..” Vergil said, shaking. He sniffled once more trying to keep his cold and calm demeanour.

The younger Sparda noticed Vergil’s apprehensiveness and sighed softly realising what was going on “It’s another nightmare..isn't it?”. He said softly. His eyes fixated on Vergil.

Vergil scoffed “And so what if it is?, what do you plan to do, hmm?, your poor attempts at comfort are meaningless Dante, i wouldn't waste your breath if i were you”.

“Oh yeah? and why’s that?, still too tough to admit you need help?, why is that exactly?Why push everyone away?” Dante asked in a challenging tone showing concern but also frustration with his brother’s stubbornness ”what's the problem Vergil?”.

“You wouldnt understand…” Vergil looked away from Dante.

Dante blinked rapidly in shock, surprised by Vergil’s response “Right I wouldn't … .i have no idea what nightmares about mom are like” he said dryly and sarcastically as he folded his arms and glared at his older brother.

“H-How did you-” Vergil asked before Dante cut him off.

“I heard you cry out to her…” Dante snapped back.

“I watched her die, Dante!” Vergil said defensively.

“And i had to stay back and hear it all go down, and when i came outta that closet…you were gone..so i didn't just lose mom that day, i lost you too…and i've done nothing but lose you..over ..and over..and over, I lost you to Arkham, I lost you to Nelo angelo , I lost you to Urizen before V got you back in one piece..Literally!” Dante ranted as his voice was rough with anger and sadness.

Vergil was speechless he couldn't argue with that, while he did watch a murder in cold blood they both lost their mother they both lost their father and in the end they lost each other, countless times, and most were by his own doing; he felt immense guilt arise in his chest as he choked out a sob, he didn't know why… it felt like it had been sitting in his chest for years finally coming out his throat.

Dante wrapped an arm around him “Hey..Hey it's okay, let it out..” he said, rubbing Vergil’s back gently as he sighed “I-I’m sorry..” he said softly.

“What for? I’m the fool here, chasing after power in a blind attempt at redemption…” Vergil croaked gently as tears streamed his face.

Tilting his head gently Dante wiped away Vergil’s tears with his sleeves “ redemption?, Oh..Vergil you don't need to redeem yourself for what happened..in the end we always take down whatever shit comes our way”.

“But we couldn't stop mundus and his minions…we couldn't–” Vergil swallowed “I couldn't save mother..” Vergil said forlorn as he looked away blinking tears with a sigh.

Dante lifted his chin up “Hey…Vergil, look at me..” he said as he stared back at Vergil.

Vergil felt a lump in his throat as his eyes locked onto Dante’s, he was still quiet, his heart racing at the gesture.

“Listen..what happened to mom..no one could have prepared us for that..no one..not even Dad…” Dante said as he licked his lips nervously “we were just kids…we couldn't do anything..even if we tried..and you did try, i heard you..you tried your god damn best..you’re the best brother anyone could ask for..and one hell of a firstborn son..”.

Vergil rolled his eyes and scoffed “Dont patronise me brother…”

“I’m not…” Dante said in a genuine tone his expression was fond as he looked up at him with a weak smile. “You’re a stubborn arrogant son of a gun..but you’re still my brother..my big brother…” he took Vergil’s hand, squeezing it gently.

Vergil gave a slight smirk as he sniffled, wiping the tears away, watching as Dante took off his jacket and sat at the edge of the bed with him.

“Dante..” Vergil sighed softly as he finally calmed himself from the tears. He bit his lip before he spoke “I…I lost myself when we lost mother and father…but I never wanted to lose you too…”

“Really?” Dante asked a little unsure but he could hear the sincerity in Vergil’s voice the rare moments of vulnerability between the pair.

“Yeah…” Vergil nodded gently as their eyes met again.

Dante sighed as he moved closer to Vergil sitting right up beside him “I have to tell you something…”. His heart raced as he looked back at his twin.

Vergil brushed a strand of Dante’s hair out of his face “What is it?” he asked gently.

“I love you~” Dante said sincerely with his heart poured into every word, those three words ringing out in the bedroom, it was a confession of both brotherly and romantic love.

Blushing gently realising how close they were Vergil replied “I love you too…” he meant it every word same as Dante but to him it was more intense for him it felt like his heart was about to burst with all the pain and hardships within him alongside the newfound joy that was bittersweet as he came to the conclusion that he did in fact love him, but he knew that it was probably due to the fact they only had each other ..and they didn't at the same time..a double edged sword .

Dante leaned in closer, going in for a kiss as Vergil accepted, their lips pressed up against one another as their heart beat in unison. Vergil pulled back for a moment just a moment to process it all before going in for a deeper, more passionate kiss as he held Dante’s shoulders.

Their heads tilted as their tongues tangled for a moment , Dante’s hands ran along Vergil’s neck and through his hair pulling him closer as their kiss became more intimate. Dante pulled back with a gasp only for Vergil to pull him right back in sharing another moment before ending it.

“I couldn't stop thinking about you…” Dante confessed further “You were away for years and i didnt know what else to do…”

Vergil looked worried as he nodded understanding Dante’s words “Let’s lay down for a minute” he said as he pushed Dante down onto the bed and laid beside him.

Dante sighed softly, feeling Vergil put an arm around him resting his head against his chest.

“You’ve wanted to say that for a while now haven't you?” Vergil said in reference to his brother’s confession.

Licking his lips Dante sighed and nodded “Yeah..”

“Why..cause I broke down crying?” Vergil asked, choking up again.

“Yeah but it's not just that…” Dante said honestly.

“Then what else?” Vergil asked curiously in his voice a whisper now that they both were calm and comfortable in this moment.

“Vergil, I’ve always loved you…in every way possible…it pained me to see you do the shit you did but..I’m happy you’re back and I'm glad I have you in my arms…” Dante said as he kissed Vergil’s forehead gently.

Vergil felt tears sting his eyes as he started to cry again a mixture of sadness and happiness as he clinged onto Dante nuzzling into him.he got up holding Dante’s hand gently kissing his knuckles gently then kissed the back of his hand keeping his lips pressed against the tender flesh.

Dante pulled Vergil on top of him with a warm smile “Stay with me..maybe i can make the nightmares go away?…” he offered with a gente tone.

Vergil felt Dante’s hand caress his cheek as he kissed his brother’s palm he nodded gently “Yes..I believe having you with me will help ease the pain somewhat”.

Pulling Vergil in for a kiss Dante hummed happily running a hand through his hair messing it up making it look the way it did when they were young men. “Heh..Yeah..let’s get some rest…”

Vergil smirked as he cuddled up beside Dante happily enjoying just how close they were together, it made his heart flutter and his mind at ease.

“G'night Vergil…”

“Goodnight Dante~”

[fatallucidity]

can i request a mudano x reader in a hanahaki scenario? The reader is a childhood friend of Mudano, kyoya, and masumi

Trigger warnings! Blood, injuries, fantasy violence, swearing

“I…, I can’t..,”

The pain was too much to bear, sharp, stinging, horrible agony. You let your Oni blood go too far, and you’re paying the price. Crimson drops from your lips, staining the concrete beneath you. Drops turn into a downpour, soaking the ground. As you try to crawl to stand, you slip, letting out a choked cry as your shoulder smacks against the concrete. You barely managed to survive this Momo attack, and you fear for the worst.

You’ve let your Oni blood seep too far into your lungs, and now it’s blossoming. Literally blooming into crimson flowers that threaten to erupt from your esophagus. Naito, well, everyone else calls him Mudano, is off in the battle, fighting with ease and a brutality that borders on barbaric. You don’t have to be there to know he’s making quick work of those Momo bastards. You know he’s worried about you, and you hate that he isn’t here to help you like he always is, with that soft, beautiful voice.

As you lay there in pain, you feel the stems of the flowers crawling up your throat, threatening to emerge. You choke up, coughing and spluttering for air. You can’t scream or speak, can barely even move, and as you lie there, you fear you’ll never see them again.

Kyoka…. Masumi… Naito.

The thought of never seeing them again, the ones you call family, is enough to surge you forward just enough, and somehow you manage to crawl back to the now decimated battlefield.

Naito is standing over a pile of Momo, his expression cold and unfeeling. As he sees you, however, he freezes, his dark, obsidian eyes sparking with… worry? The Naito Mudano, feeling worry?

He rushes to your side, his deep, soothing voice like honey on your soul.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Naito is always straightforward, so blunt it’s stunning to his students. But to you, he’s gentle, kind and generous. His hand gently lifts up your chin, and he murmurs softly under his breath.

“You’ll be okay. I swear.”

His voice is the last thing you hear as you fall unconscious, the world fading into nothing.

Bright, piercing light stabs your eyes as you open them, and one of the most beautiful sounds ever in that moment greets you.

“Yo, YN! Glad you’re awake!”

Kyoka smiles down at you, holding up his signature peace sign. He strikes his charming smile, his reddish eyes softening.

“Dannochi’s been real worried bout ya. How ya feelin?”

You wince as you sit up, your voice hoarse and broken

“I feel… like hell”

Kyoka laughs softly, running a hand in his pink hair.

“Sorry about that, but your throat is gonna heal up just fine. You’ll be back to normal in no time.”

You shift your gaze, looking around the hospital room for the one you want to see most. You can’t help but feel disappointed that he isn’t there. Kyoka sighs, noticing your obvious crushed heart.

“…. Dannochi is busy at the moment. Teaching and all.”

He playfully flourishes his ring clad hand, smiling.

“Don’t worry. He’ll be back tonight.”

You perk up, feeling like an excited schoolgirl/schoolboy at seeing him again.

Kyoka smiles

“Oh, Masumi is here!”

“Course I’m here, shitty ass.”

You flinch, turning around. Masumi is standing there in the corner, his signature smile on his face. Of course, as usual he’s lurking in a dark corner, waiting for the perfect moment to scare the shit out of you. It’s a thing he’s done with you since you were kids in the academy.

You smile gently.

“Hi, Masumi.”

He tilts his head, smirking

“You look like hell”

He laughs as you toss a pillow at him, scowling.

“That’s just what I need to hear, asshole.”

Kyoka and Masumi eventually leave, Kyoka to deal with patients, Masumi for recon missions. You miss your brothers immediately, your heart feeling a tad empty.

The hours pass slowly, and you hate being stuck in this stuffy room, this tough bed, these scratchy sheets. Eventually, you drift off to sleep, a feeling of peace finally settling over your battered body.

Just as you’re fading into sleep…, there’s his voice. Comforting, gentle, deep, like the ocean’s waves soaking away your pains.

“….. I’m glad you’re okay”

This was fun to write!! Thanks for the request!! Lemme know what you think.

[dany-is-my-queen]

A Question of Loyalty XI

Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader, Alicent Hightower x reader

Word count: 1.3k

Note: I need to give a warning sign that from now on this is all based on the book, so if you haven't read Fire & Blood, you'll find lots of spoilers here </3 <3

Summary: When dragons of green and dragons of black dance, you have to choose the color that suits you best.

Rhaenyra sniffles, wiping away her tears as she looks down at her precious newborn. Y/N coos softly, her tiny hand wrapping around Rhaenyra's finger. Despite the warmth of her daughter's touch, she can't shake the chill that's settled deep within her heart. She'd thought Lucerys was safe on his journey to the Stormlands, but the news of his brutal murder had shattered her.

The fresh memory of his bloody corpse, even that was not granted to her, no, there was nothing left of him to bury.

She stared at her baby, the profound despair for what her children would have to suffer in the unending battle for the Iron Throne.

She knew that Daemon was already making moves in Harrenhal, mobilizing his forces and solidifying his alliances. He was cunning, and his skills in manipulating people were prodigious. He was not afraid to use his wits.

However, she was confined to Dragonstone, trying to gather resources and support from her loyalists while the Seven Kingdoms were swept up in the war that Daemon was yet to unleash.

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but worry about her other son, Jacaerys, who was surely on his way to the North to strike deals with Lord Stark. She prayed for him, dusk until dawn.

She speaks softly to little Y/N, trying to keep her emotions from overwhelming her. "How is it possible that your smile resembles Y/N's? Issa jorrāelagon hāedar, issa mērī hāedar (My dear girl. My only girl) Your brother loved you since he laid eyes on you, and he will watch over you your whole life."

Rhaenys watches from across the room, concern etched deeply into her features as she thinks of her own daughter, wishing you were home. "We cannot let this war tear us apart. We must stay strong for one another," She says, determination in her voice. "We will get through this."

Rhaenyra was grateful for Rhaenys’ solace, they knew that neither could afford to be slack in the war. She knew her daughter needed a mother who wouldn't let her down; Joffrey, Aegon & Viserys relied on her too.

Despite the turmoil that surrounded her, Rhaenyra found calm in the sound of Y/N's gentle breaths as she slept, holding onto the hope that you’d come around, and that Silverwing would rise again in support of the rightful heirs.

-

Aemond and you had been avoiding each other since the incident. The air between you was heavy and it was almost unbearable to be in the same place as him. You both knew that you needed to talk about what happened and clear the air.

It was a dark and stormy night, with rain pelting against the windows of the Keep. He walked up to you and sat down beside you.

Finally, he broke the silence. "Y/N, I swear on everything I hold dear, I didn't mean for it to happen. It got out of hand and I never thought Vhagar would flout my commands."

You turned to him, your eyes burning. "How do you expect me to forgive you for taking my nephew from me? I don't know how to move on from this. It's just too much."

"I know I don't deserve forgiveness, but I'm begging you, please."

You looked at Aemond for a moment before speaking softly. "I don't know how to forgive you, but I'm willing to try. I just need some time, Aemond."

Aemond nodded understandingly, his heart feeling a little lighter knowing that you were willing to try to forgive him. But then, he couldn't help himself, "I earned Storm's End for Aegon. My sister should desist before she keeps losing her children."

You looked at him with hurt and rage. You couldn't believe that he would say something like that after what he had done.

You stood up, shaking your head in disbelief. "I can't believe you, Aemond. How dare you bring that up right now?"

He watched you as you stormed out of the room, feeling more alone & stupid than ever before.

-

You and Alicent strolled through the lush gardens of the Red Keep, enjoying the peacefulness of the space. The flowers looked seemingly untouched by the factional turmoil that surrounded them.

Your mind kept drifting back to the clubfoots’ strange shit. You knew that Alicent was “close” to him, and you were worried that she might be involved in something dangerous.

"Alicent.” You began tentatively. "I'm really worried about Larys's conundrums. They seem so... cryptic. Do you know anything about them? Has he been mentioning something that seems… off?”

Alicent's face grew tense for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure. "I don't know much more than you do, Y/N.” she said carefully. "But I think it's better not to get too involved. You never know what kind of trouble you might stir up."

You frowned, sensing that Alicent was holding something back. "Trouble? Is there something you're not telling me?"

Her eyes flickered with emotion, and she hesitated for a moment before finally speaking. "There are... things that I can't share with you, Y/N. Secrets that... well, that I can't reveal. Not yet."

Your heart sank at her words. You had always known that Alicent was a private person, but this felt different. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

"Are you okay?" You asked suddenly, sensing Alicent's distress. “Are we keeping secrets from the other now?” You felt extremely guilty at that remark, since you haven’t told her about yours.

Alicent leaned toward you and tenderly placed a kiss on your lips, cutting off any further conversation about Larys. For a moment, everything else faded away - the gardens, the riddles, the world outside the enormous castle.

When you broke apart, you meekly laughed. "What if someone is spying on us?" You joked.

"They knew about you and Rhaenyra," she teased. "Only fair that they know about us too."

You smiled, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. Whatever was going, or any other political intrigue, you knew that you could trust Alicent, and that, more than anything else, was what mattered.

She would come to you when needed, would not jeopardize what was between you.

-

You felt restless as you waited for Helaena to arrive. You had always been very close with her, almost like a daughter of sorts, but there was an uneasy feeling that had settled in since the last small council meeting.

You tried to push it aside as Helaena arrived with her two children, Jahaerys & Jahaera. You greeted each other warmly, and you tried to put on a smile. Although the fear that had plumped was hard to ignore.

As you made your way to Alicent's chambers, the feeling only intensified. You didn't expect what awaited you.

The guards at the door were quickly slew. You, Helaena, and the children were ambushed by two individuals, their faces covered. Alicent was bound and gagged in the corner of the chamber. They snatched the kids from Helaena.

“Scream and you all die.” One of them spat.

“Who are you?” Helaena kept her calm, she has never been this frightened before.

“An eye for an eye, a son for a son. We only want the one to square things. The rest we won’t hurt, not a hair. Which one is it gonna be, Your Grace?” You went pale.

“Take me. Do anything with me but don’t harm them, please, please.” You desperately cried out.

You tried to wrestle with the abductors to no avail. You were hit hard from behind. Your vision started to blur as you heard Helaena pleading for them to leave the children alone.

The last thing you remembered was the muffled pleas before you blacked out.

-

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