#A vile force of darkness | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yanderenightmare · 1 year ago

Text

TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, step cest, none of reader's holes are safe

fem reader

Thinking about step-daddy who only married your mom to get closer to you... who thinks an unruly brat like yourself needs his firm hands and teachings to set you on the right course.

You can't believe what’s happening – can’t believe his words.

Your mind is caught in a frenzied state of denial and panic as he forces you down on your bed after you'd told him to get the fuck out of your room when he walked in on you getting dressed to go out, standing there in only a dainty set of panties.

You brace your hands against his broad chest as he bears down on you – trying to create space for you to breathe but achieving little else than if you’d been trying to lift a mountain.

He’s too big and too heavy – too strong.

He doesn’t even bother restraining your fists – not even when you start banging them against him. It’s as if he doesn’t even recognize the assault – busy burying his face in your cute cleavage, nuzzling the soft mounds with sloppy kisses and his bearded chin.

“Stop it!” You hic through tears – sobbing now that the pursuing events dawn on you, coming crashing down, wreaking through your brittle head at the feeling of your panties being tugged down your thighs – flimsy lace splintering before getting ripped off.

He disrupts your cry with a firm hand, taking hold of your chin – and you fall still in wait.

“You' gonna let Daddy eat your pretty pussy out if you know what's good for you…” His lips brush yours with the vile threat while his other hand cups your bare cunt – whispering ruggedly, “Or I might just have to put you over my knee.”

You’re frozen beneath him – eyes shimmering with gloss, staring up into his impossibly dark stare – feeling leveled under the burden of his threat.

“What’s it gonna be, sweetpea? Y’gonna behave for Daddy? Or am I gonna have to use my belt on you?”

You stay still, and he takes it as your answer – smiling at you before placing a quick kiss on your cheek.

“That’s Daddy’s good girl~”

Leaning back, he wrings his shirt off over his shoulders, revealing his bulky chest of curls and worn skin before throwing the article aside and looking back down at you with drunken eyes that give you shivers. His old muscles are flecked with age but no less brutal to behold – all intimidating enough to make you swallow thickly.

“You can cry out all you like, pretty girl~” He grins as he takes your thighs in his hands – lifting them, spreading them, then pushing them flat down against your chest – tipping your cunt up to his mouth. "A good girl knows how to scream." His breath is ticklish on your exposed sex. “But the only words I wanna hear come out of your mouth is – yes please, daddy – more please, daddy – and pretty please, daddy, can I cum?”

You whine when he licks a stripe through your folds – dark eyes glinting at the sound, chuckling hotly under his breath.

“Walkin’ ‘round my house dressed up like a little slut – teasin’ me all day long.” He gruffs. “Tch – this pretty cunt’s gonna get what you’ve been beggin’ for, and you’re gonna take it with a smile – understand that, little lady?”

Your toes are immediately curled, gripping the air for purchase as he buries his face in your muff. And he’s messy with it – spitting, then slurping it up again – splitting the lips to suck your clit, then pressing a deep kiss into it – tongue flatly running over the pearl, lapping at it like a dog. All with a heated glare – hungry like a starved animal – eagerly set on your face.

You squeeze your eyes shut to avoid it, lip caught between teeth – trying to stifle all moans.

But the folded position he has you in presses you free of air – soon leaving you to pant out like a silly bitch in heat – thighs wanting to squeeze shut but kept pinned and trembling in the harsh grip he has on them.

“Oh~ look at yah~ my little slut~” He hums between licks, a grin still slickly plastered on his face – mustache glistening with drool and arousal. “Must feel good to make you tremble like that – does my little girl wanna cum?”

You whine, trying to shake your head in denial – but the pressure builds whether you want it to or not – squeezing tight like a fist in your gut, desperate to unknot.

“Better ask for Daddy’s permission, or I won't be happy.” He adds, giving your thighs a pinch – hard enough to make you yelp – sure to leave bruises.

“Ah – no.”

You don’t want it – you curl your head to the side with a grimace.

You feel gross – reeling as his tongue circles your hotspot, unable to deny the tickle in your gut – recognizing the blossoming, knowing you’d soon bloom.

“Mgh," You whine. "Yes, please! I need – can I please cum?!”

“Call me Daddy.” He demands, talking into your cunt while nuzzling his nose against your clit.

“Please, Daddy – please, can I cum!”

Another chuckle makes you shake – almost impatiently – before he purrs, “Sure, baby – go ahead – make a mess~”

He gives your clit one last harsh suck before sticking his tongue inside you, deep with a grin, while feeling you tremor on it, tasting your sweet release like it was a victory.

You throw your head back and your chest up – whole body quaking – trembling at the thrill pulsing from your core, zipping along each limb – leaving you feeling cottony and numb from the pleasure.

You pant with softer moans when it dissipates – still feeling twitchy.

Hooded eyes with teary lashes fall from the ceiling to his face – then regret it.

The shame washes away all pleasure – making your sweat go cold.

But if he sees it, he doesn’t care. “That was beautiful, baby girl~” He moans instead, eyes still keenly set on you.

You cringe, chagrined as he kisses your slit once more – tonguing the slick opening and humming at the sweet taste.

He finishes you with a sharp kitten lick flicking off at your clit – then releases your thighs. Pulling you with him as he got up on his feet by the edge of your bed.

“C’mere – on your knees.” His fist wraps your hair – tugging your head back. “Open wide and tongue out fo’me. It's my turn.”

Your brows cinch, feeling your scalp sting from the grip, making you timidly obey.

He groans at the pretty sight – looking so cute with that dewy glow on your cheeks – plush lips wet and welcoming – pink tongue trembling in eager wait of him.

Sighing with a leer, “Such a pretty little thing~” His other hand zips down his fly, pinched free the button, and let the baggy slacks drop to the floor.

Thicker tears pool in your eyes – a horrid burn of humiliation making your tongue feel heavy, kneeling beneath him with your mouth gaping – knowing what was coming.

“This is what you wanted, right – why you've been acting like such a brat?” He pulls your face against the pudgy bulge in his boxer – warm and thick beneath the black fabric with a ripe smell of musk. “You wanna be Daddy’s big fat cock to satisfy all your greedy little holes, hm?”

You don’t close your mouth – the fist ripping your strands from their roots was warning enough to keep you pliant.

“Come on then, little slut~” He started cooing, nudging the sack against your tongue, dipping inside the warm opening. “Show me how much you want it – and don’t look away.” The smile on his face made your guts fold. “I wanna see those pretty eyes beg for it.”

He gives your hair a sharper tug, forcing out a whine from your throat. It spurs him on, making him chuckle – watching your eyes tremble up at him – struggling against his bulbous crotch, cuddling it so cutely, making him twitch.

Rasping out, “Such a needy little whore~” while his other hand dragged the band down.

Your mouth sealed closed on instinct – eyes too – shutting tightly once his cock sprung free. Whimpering when feeling it slug on your face – you tried to turn your head away – but was kept close by the hand fisting your hair.

“Bad girl, I told you to keep your mouth open and your eyes on me.” He sneered, pinching your cheeks open with the other hand – hard enough to make you wince.

You peeled your eyes open again – with tears slipping down your face as you dropped your jaw for him again.

“Playing games like a snotty brat.” He hissed, rubbing his leaky cockhead over your parted lips – smearing his pre on them like lipstick while you shuddered. “Look at you now, mmh~ such a good girl for Daddy~ taking it on your knees.”

He dabbed himself on your tongue, and you had to keep yourself from retching – tasting the bitter salt.

“Mmh~ begging for it like an eager little cum-junkie~” He groaned, lolling forward, cock sliding over the bed of your tongue and hitting the back of your throat in a soft kiss – only with half his veiny shaft in your mouth.

He licked his lips and threw his head back.

“I knew you just needed a firm grip – knew you’d make the most perfect little slut fo’me~”

You gagged when he started thrusting, hands positioning themselves on his sturdy thighs, fingers digging into the muscles as he stuffed your mouth full of his length – weighty balls clapping against your chin where spit started frothing.

He held your jaw in guidance – keeping you steady to receive him.

Throaty moans grated your ears as he abused the wet warmth – looking down at you and how you struggled, unable to take all of him. It didn’t bother him, though – the tight ring of your lips sucking along his veins was enough to make him go crazy.

It felt so right to be throat-fucking your pretty little face; he couldn't believe he hadn't done it sooner – creating such a cute mess all over you – looking so hot on your knees for him like this, with spit and pre cum slicking your face like a young prostitute in the making.

You obeyed as best you could – not used to the size or tempo. You'd given few blowjobs before and never been facefucked. But you figured the sooner you could make him cum, the sooner all this would be over.

He thought about it, too. He could cum down your throat like this, make you swallow – drink his seed like a good whore should.

But the idea is soon replaced by the thought of stuffing your sweet cunt instead – feed your womb his hot load – wear your tight pussy like it was tailored just for him.

He popped out of your mouth, and you coughed before heaving for air – panting – nearly barreling over if it hadn’t been for the grip he still had around your hair.

Pulling you up by it – his other hand found your throat, and your mouth was taken by his – kissed hungrily with teeth pulling at your lip while tickled by his facial hair.

“Mh- c’mere,” He groaned into your mouth – plopping himself down on the mattress while pulling you along by the neck. “Up on my Daddy’s lap, baby.”

He continues kissing you, with both hands slipping down to squeeze each asscheek, rolling your hips back and forth on him, making your wet cunt grind against the stiff underside of his cock.

You can’t help but make a noise as it licks your sensitive clit, rubbing over it in wet warm strokes. You balance yourself against his chest – hands placed on his muscles – pushing yourself up from slacking against him.

You’re still breathless, left gasping – too weak to fight it when he leans after you, mouth on your tits, sucking your nipples into hardened little peaks.

Your hands go to the hair atop his head, gripping the locks to steady yourself.

He chuckles at the pull, looking up at you while rasping out a filthy “Is my little girl excited to get her little pussy stuffed by Daddy’s cock?” with a lazy grin carved on his face.

And before you can deny it, he’s already confirming the statement.

“You must be – your little cunt is so fucking wet for it.” He cheered. Hand slipping between you to slap his thickness against your slit – rubbing himself between the lips with a mocking pout on his lips. “This poor little pussy, cock-starved and empty~ I know, I know, you want to cum on Daddy’s cock, don’t you?”

He lifts your ass up so that you’re hovering over the tip – using the other hand to angle it against your entrance.

Purring, “Don’t worry, baby~ finally gonna stretch you out nice and tight~ fuck you into size like a proper cock-toy~ fill you up with my hot cum~”

You shake your head and squirm when he begins to nudge the head inside – but both hands place themselves back on your hips, gripping them firmly enough for it to find purchase.

“There we go, ease on down it, baby~ get comfortable~” He coos, even though you’re sinking your nails into the tough muscles of his chest – gasping at the ill sting of the stretch as he pushes you down despite the tight resistance. “Oh, fuuuck – so wet and snug on me~” He sucks his teeth, snapping his hips up to bottom out deeply. “Take all of me, now~ let Daddy bottom out~”

His head hangs back – Adam’s apple bobbing up with his mouth hung wide in a silent moan while you wince – desperately wanting to lift off.

But he keeps you seated – tensely made to cock-warm him while slowly adjusting to the size – taunt walls rippling along his veins, sucking on it as it settles inside you, molding you to accept its shape.

He squares his jaw, then gives a breathy hum that makes his beard dance – lifting his head to look at where he’s got himself sheathed to the hilt – his eyes lost in it as he sets a slow pace – using both hands to steer your hips, rocking you back and forth with barely any lift to relieve you – keeping himself lodged just as deep – cozily kneading your cervix.

“That’s a good pussy right there – wet and tight and all mine.” He groans, lolling you on him sweetly. “Isn't that right, baby? This pretty pussy belongs to Daddy, doesn’t it?”

He watches your perky tits jiggle for him. Leaning forward, he gives it a suckling wet pop.

“Every inch of this slut’s body belongs to Daddy, isn’t that right, little one?” He demands a little harsher, threatening the nipple between his teeth.

“Ye-yes…” You whimper.

It’s been a while since you’ve been stretched like that – it’s been a while since your insides have been given any attention at all. When you do it for yourself, you mostly just settle for playing with your clit – happy with one orgasm to take the edge off.

This is touching on more nerves – lighting other fires – different wells – tapping all sources – you’re leaking juices all over him, practically sopping, sucking him in – all but your head overly ecstatic for the attention.

“You wanna cum again – don’t you, my little slut?” He murmurs knowingly, giving your ass a harsh slap while pressing his forehead against yours.

He groans as he picks up the pace – dragging a moan out from your chest.

You want to deny it again like before – but the pleasure allows little else than to be appreciated with heavy shuddering breaths.

“Remember the rules, sweetie. Better beg permission, or you’ll be punished.” He warns.

You spot a grin forming on his lips – sharp like a knife – before uttering the next words.

“Better say, please let me cum on your big fat cock, Daddy~”

You scowl, trying to sneer, “Fuh-fuck you…” but your voice weakens to a whine.

Still, it’s unacceptable.

“That’s not how you speak to your Daddy. Bad slut.” A harder slap cracks across your ass – this time, making you yelp.

Your hair is pulled before you recover – and you’re thrown off his lap. Placed with your knees on the floor and your face in the warm and sweaty seat he’d just been sitting.

He stands above you – using a hand to pin your wrists to the small of your back while another hard smack is given to your already throbbing rear.

“If your pussy won’t follow the rules…” He licks his lips, looking down at the sight of you bent over beneath him, sobbing fat tears from the abuse. “Then this ass is next in line.”

You flinch with the words, eyes going wide. “What?” Already shuffling uneasily, gasping once his heavy hand came back to pet the welted cheek, branded with his handprint, giving it a firm squeeze that had you wince.

“It seems you don’t understand who’s in charge here…” He chided, with a coarse finger settling on the untouched rosebud slicked in pussy-juice, rubbing it slow and steady. “But I bet fucking your tight virgin ass is gonna make that crystal clear.”

“No – please no-” You plead, jostling weakly with your remaining strength – but the digit enters you anyway.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart, but it’s too late to beg now – you gotta take your punishment,” He dismisses, digging knuckle-deep inside your butthole. “But to be honest with you… I was hoping you’d bite back like that.” He gruffs eerily at your ear. “I dream about putting your bratty ass in its proper place every night.”

His finger twists and curls inside the hole, loosening it a little before skewering another two in.

“Make you cry as I turn you into a good little butt-slut for me – get this sweet hole to gape for my cock to fill it up.”

He puts you in a headlock after pulling his three fingers out of your stretched opening – letting go of your wrists in favor of reaching under you to play with your pussy as he bullies his bulbous cockhead into the tight ring while you cry. With nails biting into your palms and your poor gushing cunt clenching around nothing.

He enters slowly, giving it shallow thrusts to fuck it open before feeding it another fat inch. Rubbing your clit between gritty fingers as he sinks inside you – burying his shaft within the snug walls of your tight ass as your hole gives in to his size, swallowing him up until he’s kissing your stomach with his heavy balls squeezed flush against your cunt.

“There you go, my little anal slut~ That’s Daddy’s brat getting taught her place!” He gives your butt another firm slap as he starts dragging out and stuffing you right back up again. “Getting her naughty ass spanked and propped with cock like a little whore~”

The fat arm squeezing your neck and the fingers swirling your clit make your head cloudy – even as your ass screams from the pounding, your cunt begs for the attention – milking nothing as it weeps with slick, running down your thighs into a little pool where you kneel.

“Aah- Daddy…” You moan through a sob. “Please…” Whimpering while you throttle his cock with your taunt ass, all but fucking yourself back on his shaft as he keeps rubbing your clit in steady patterns that have your cunt kissing the air. “Daddy, please – please let me cum…”

His chuckle is lazy and grating, feeling your cute ass swallow his cock all on its own.

“Y’know, only a real whore cums from having her ass fucked, right?”

You can’t help but buck your hips, shaking your ass like a slut as his fingers pick up the pace and rub your bundle of nerves in quicker circles. Begging, “Please…”

“Oh, what a filthy little girl~ bent over like a mindless animal, fucked in her tight ass.” He patronizes. “Okay, my sweet little slut~ I’ll let you cum – but only after I hear you Say, please, Daddy, can I cum on your big fat cock~”

You’re too close to refuse. Desperation lacing your cute moans, “Ah – Daddy, please – mh-please can I cum on your big- ah – fat cock, please, Daddy please~”

He shoves three fingers in your cunt at that, curling them into your soft spot each time he pumps them inside, finger-fucking the sloppy hole until it spurts, making you scream while you squirt, drooling on your sheets like a mind-broken mess as your thighs and ass shake from the release.

“Good whore~ Remember to say thank you.” He mocks.

“Th-thank you – thank you, Daddy~” You mewl out cutely before he sticks all three slick-glossed fingers inside your mouth – fucking the tired opening as you pant out dewy moans around them, sucking them clean of your mess.

He keeps a steady rhythm, continuing to ream your poor butt until it's his turn to cum.

“Such a good slut~” He slinks out of your pummeled ass and slaps his wet cock against your face where you rest against the bed, all sweaty and dumb from your orgasm. “Come’ere, cum-baby, tongue out as you look up at Daddy~”

He smiles, smothering you between his fat thighs while his balls cover your face, pulling back to tap the tip on your lips.

“Here it comes!”

White ropes lash your tongue, leaving a bitter taste – bejewelling your face with pretty pearls that melt down your smooth skin like drying paint on a canvas.

He groans as he tugs the last few spurts out of his balls, wiping the messy cockhead on your tongue.

“Aw, I gotta have a picture of that. Daddy’s little cum covered whore on her first day of training~”

He holds your chin, rough-handling your jaw between strong fingers as he angles your face to meet the flash of his phone.

Grinning as he sing-songs, “Say, all my holes belong to Daddy~”

Your expression is still dumb, softly blinking up at him with one eye weighed down with his cum, simply mouthing the words back to him. “All my holes belong to Daddy~”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Deku, Kirishima, Enji, Aizawa ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Toji, Kusakabe, Shiu ♡ HQ – Daichi, Kuro, Ukai

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

4K notes · View notes

sugurouge · 3 months ago

Text

— flame of despair : soulmate! sukuna ryōmen x rebirthed! f!reader

content warnings! DARK CONTENT, historical au, noncon, monsterfucking, aggressive hair pulling, dacryphilia, hurtful pet names (whore & pet), yandere themes, reader is viewed as sukuna’s property, deep throating, cunnilingus, blood, mindbreak, misogyny (he makes a nasty remark about the role of a woman), degradation

summary: Each and every life of yours will always belong to Sukuna. He will remind you of that promise with every new life, no matter the methods used. The idea of romance and being bound to your partner by soul, the thing you always dreamt of, becomes ruined and reality turns out to be a living nightmare once your soulmate claims you.

wordcount: 2.5k | my kinktober masterlist

──── ✧*･ﾟ*✭˚･ﾟ✧ ────

by clicking read more you are agreeing to consume dark content. don't interact if you cannot differentiate fiction from reality.

"No, no, let's try that again, pet."

The monster looming above you muses, mischief gleams deep in those dreadful red eyes as Sukuna watches your trembling form at his feet. You're exposed to him, the white fabric of your drape drenched with blood and water from the unfortunate weather of the recent weeks; almost as if some higher being has been angered by your reunion.

Your hair is a tangled mess from where Sukuna's claws dragged you to kneel in front of him, and your lips are bruised thanks to a previous blow to your once-pretty face. The bitter taste of iron taints your tongue, yet the flavours pale in comparison to the horror that awaits every time Sukuna decides to let you out of your cage to 'play'.

"I—"

"Who do you belong to?" Sukuna interrupts, shattering the last fragments of your dignity.

"N-no—"

No one. No one, you were trying to say. You’ve tried to tell him that for weeks, ever since he found you and claimed you, spouting wild fantasies of past lives and how, in every new one, he would always come to find you again.

But you can’t even force those two small words past your lips before a harsh slap to your cheekbone sends fresh tears streaming down your face, sobs erupting from your throat. The claws digging into your cheeks sting, they tear at your skin as sharply as his words pierce your soul. "You belong to me. You’re mine. My property, understand?"

He makes you nod, grinning as your tears glisten under the dim light of the fires dancing around his hall. "Repeat it for me." His deep voice rumbles ominously, the tip of his nose brushing almost affectionately against your tear-streaked cheek.

"I'm... I'm," you falter as your brows crease in disgust over the words about to escape your lips. You’d rather die than give him the satisfaction, the defiant glare in your eyes stating as much as you meet his gaze.

"Say it," he drawls, his voice is sending shivers down your spine. Four eyes bore into you as Sukuna seems to grow larger with each passing second, his presence is suffocating.

Yet here you are, as helpless as an infant, yet as brave as a tiger whilst you shake your head in his iron grip. You don’t even have time to blink before your face slams into the cold, unforgiving floor. Your cheek is pressed into a vile mixture of dried blood and water as a thunderstorm rages above, the temple trembling beneath its wrath.

You feel numb, the groan that escapes from deep within your lungs barely registering in your mind since you're fully overwhelmed by the high-pitched ringing that clouds your senses. But the violent tugging on your body snaps you back to this living nightmare as four hands tear at the flimsy fabric Sukuna dares to call a dress, leaving you naked and vulnerable under his cruel gaze.

Your tears mix with the blood running down the side of your temple as you stare up at him in horror. You wouldn’t even be able to attempt to cover yourself, your limbs feeling as though they don’t belong to you as they are pressed to the ground by two strong hands.

“Look at me.”

You comply, your eyes slowly focusing on the blurry demon as you blink the tears away. “Stop, please…” you hear your own voice, shaky and weak, yet apparently utterly entertaining to Sukuna, judging by the grin etched on his face.

He guides your nimble fingers over his muscular body, across his black markings and prominent pecs, as his lips graze your ear. “If you’d stop being so ungrateful�� you could enjoy all of this,” his faint whisper tickles your neck, his hot breath contrasting with the icy cold water on your back. “Just say you’re mine. Admit it.”

“I’m not yours.” You don’t even have time to groan as a third hand snakes around your throat and applies pressure to your airways, nails tearing through the first layer of your skin and continuing to dig deeper into your flesh.

“You’re mine. You have been mine from the moment you were born, you dumb whore!” he snarls, fingers forcing their way through your tangled hair, exposing your neck to his teeth. Sukuna savours every drop of your blood, every dried tear and bead of sweat before his teeth sink into your body, eliciting a defeated whine from you. Yet it’s the fourth hand applying pressure to your hip bone that has you gasping in horror, a new set of tears welling up along your lash line as you vehemently shake your head in denial.

“You’ve been mine ever since your village offered me my soulmate, isn’t that right?” he breathes, the devilish grin returning to his lips as he leans in to kiss you harshly. His tongue invades your mouth, spreading the taste of your blood to every corner before he pulls back, leaving only a thin string of saliva connecting your bodies— as faint and delicate as your bond to this monster.

“They threw you at my feet. Offered me my toy to play with in exchange for protection.” His lips trail between your breasts, greedily pressing against your heaving chest and staining your skin as Sukuna’s journey takes him further south.

“Dumb as they are. As if I’d let anyone live who treats my property with such shame.” Sukuna traces the lines of your bondmark; the action almost seems adoring by how gentle his touch is before his nail redraws the lines in red.

“You’re mine,” his eyes snap up to your face. “You’ll forever be mine. With every reincarnation, I’ll find you, claim you, and break you until you’re my queen again.”

Your voice finds its way back to you in this moment, as you cry out from the pain Sukuna inflicts on your body, his words reminding you of the horrors you witnessed that day.

How your mother dressed you in her finest dress and let you play princess, promising you the world as soon as you found your soulmate. Only for your father to push you to your knees in front of a demon, a curse—him. Sukuna Ryomen.

And your eyes saw the lines on his side as the top of his yukata pooled around his hips. The same devious mark you had on your body ever since you were a baby.

You were cursed. The entire village treated you like a lesser being, like filth and a secret, promised to stay hidden until they could rid themselves of you—all because of legends passed down for hundreds of years about the only weakness the King of Curses holds.

They all too willingly tore the beautiful dress off your body and gave the devil not what he came for, but what he most desired.

“I don't want to be a monster’s queen,” your bold statement makes Sukuna’s face deform into a hideous mask, violent laughter erupting from deep within his chest at the fighting spirit you try to uphold. “Were you not dreaming of the day your soulmate would find you like all those other pathetic little mortals do?” The words are nothing but a murmur; Sukuna doesn’t even make it sound like a question, and he leaves no room for your reply either—not when black nails dig into the fat of your thighs or strong hands pin down your wrists to the floor. “I understand, you must be claimed, to learn to appreciate your life at my feet, pet.”

The most disgusting part of this moment is not the grimace looming above you, or the horror in Sukuna’s eyes, no, it's the feeling of a wet, hot tongue lapping at your cunt while this abnormality holds you spread open like you’re on a serving plate.

Sukuna sees the aversion on your face, the way your eyes squint before you have to look away once the pleasure starts to feel undeniable as he fucks you open on his tongue. The squelching is so lewd, you can only cry over yourself.

“Stop your miserable act, whore,” Sukuna punctuates his words with a deep thrust of the thick tongue from his stomach, forcing a moan from you whether you like it or not.

The hand around your small wrists hurts, feeling as if Sukuna wants to actively burn his fingerprints into your skin as his eyes stare into the depths of your soul. You know where his tugging leads, know what you feel when the hot, sticky sensation meets the palm of your hand. Encased between your much smaller and Sukuna’s own large palm are his cocks. Your whimpers are unending as he forces your hand to drag over their shafts, his maniacal stare into your disgusted face unwavering. How dare you continue to insult him like that? You should feel grateful for his attraction towards you.

You whine the moment your head hits the floor once more, Sukuna easily pressing your form against the stone-cold ground, finally forcing your eyes to snap up to look directly into his red gaze.

There is no such thing as tenderness to be found in them, no love, no sympathy. The concept of soulmates is nothing but a nightmare for you.

“You’re hurting me…” you whisper in desperation, yet Sukuna only basks in this newfound tenderness in your eyes as fat tears stream down your cheeks.

“Then stop denying me!” Sukuna growls right next to your ear. His dominance and your own fear send shivers down your spine, rendering you limp beneath him.

The rough pads of his fingers squish your face beneath his grip—disabling you from facing anything but him. “You could have another fulfilled life…” Is this tenderness you see in his eyes? Love he held for the yous from the past? It can't be. Not him. “But you leave me no choice.” In one fell swoop, you find yourself back on your knees, your face brought up right in front of the tips of his cocks.

The cold flooring hurts your joints, making you wince once more, but your sounds are all the same to Sukuna—simply confirmation of his influence on your body. In pleasure or pain? Who cares.

However, he notices the slight shake of your head. It's causing his grip on your hair to tighten, eliciting another loud whine from you.

Your dainty fingers try to ease his grip to no avail. “Please, I don't de—” but the loud gulp of your throat cuts off any protest. The thick tip of Sukuna’s shaft spreads your mouth beyond your imagination, the salty flavour of his pre-cum coating your tongue and messing with your taste buds before he prods at the entrance to your throat, muscles trembling around his infiltration. You struggle to keep the choking at bay, swallowing back any disgusting liquids threatening to crawl back up.

Sukuna groans in satisfaction. His darkened eyes stare down at your weak figure, admiring your hollowed cheeks and stretched lips. His thumb sweetly swipes over your cheekbone, followed by a slap to the same area. When he pulls back, you choke up a mixture of nasty fluids, but there is no time to recover due to the way he forces your head to stay in place. Once more, you are overwhelmed by his length, his second needy cock now taking the spot inside your mouth. “Silence and a breedable womb are the best presents a woman can give.” As if to highlight his words, Sukuna pushes in deeper, the choked squeal of your panic drowned by his girthy cock as he holds your head in place, nails harshly digging into your scalp as he bottoms out.

His pelvis presses against your mouth and nose to further restrict your breathing. Every attempt at swallowing your saliva makes you feel his cock even more, it's almost impossible to stay conscious as Sukuna opts to abuse your throat only seconds after he enters you.

It hurts—the pistoning of his hips, the repetitive assault on your throat by his thick member, and the hateful words hitting your skin with no form of defence.

Demands to take it, to stop being weak and disgusting, are just a few of the many insults you have to endure. By now, your nails have left nasty scratches on his thighs as you desperately try to relieve some of the pain he forces on your body, while your mind isn’t sure if passing out would be the safer option for your sanity.

Tears won’t stop running down your face. The mixture of your spit, tears, and his arousal creates a nearly disgusting flavour in your mouth, causing you to gag further on his cock.

“Get your act together,” Sukuna bites. At this point, it actually feels like he is ripping strands of your hair out due to his harshness.

But you can’t—it’s impossible, especially once you feel him twitch at the back of your throat, prodding against the muscles of your pharynx. The second your tongue can nearly trace the load of cum being pumped through his shaft, Sukuna pulls out. You didn’t have time to notice him stroking his second cock, couldn’t register fast enough the fate you were about to meet as one of his hands holds your head in place.

Sukuna’s deep moan rings through the echoing hall and sears into your memory while the white-hot seed lands on your face and chest, tainting your figure with his cum.

It’s the most humiliating way of claiming you.

Sukuna kneels down to be at eye level with you, proudly taking in his all-white masterpiece before his thumb swipes part of his load off your cheek and holds it in front of your lips.

You glare at him, the hatred in your eyes a challenge he will fuck out of you. “Dumb little bird,” he murmurs while smearing his cum over your tightly sealed lips before hoisting you up and over his shoulder in an instant.

Sometimes it is best to show patience. Most of the time, it is better to teach through pain. Your fate for the night shall be to learn to love your throne, positioned on top of Sukuna’s lap, stuffed beyond your capabilities until either your mind or your body gives out first.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

1K notes · View notes

nicksolemnlyswears · 7 months ago

Text

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME

(HAELENA’S TURN)

STAY WITH US

pairing: helaena targaryen x targaryen! reader, aegon targaryen x targaryen! reader

word count: ~3k

warnings: spoilers for s2e2 of HoTD, mentions of murder and death of a child, light cursing, angsty helaena, one single mention of sex. dont @ me if you find a haelena instead of a helaena. targaryen names are much too complicated for my brain

a/n: thank you guys for all the love on aegon's oneshot. i was bouncing on the walls when i saw how much love it received and that some people agree with me in terms of alicent being a shit mom. that being said you dont really have to read the first part to read this. it works as a stand alone although it is a continuation.

although the inspiration to write these oneshots was the death of a child i love how soft and comforting they've come out. it's about sympathizing and giving these characters the love they deserve.

helaena deserves so much love even more than aegon. she's an innocent in all of this trapped in the midst of war. hell even rhaenyra agrees and scolded daemon for his misdoings.

im thinking of writing one last part where it is all three of them together: reader, aegon and helaena. i'm leaning towards smut but i never know what my brain will come up with. if you’d rather have some more domestic fluffy stuff let me know and that can be arranged!

enjoy!

Your fingers close around your skirts as you fly up the stairs to Helaena's bed chambers. One of her maids leads the way. The young girl sought you out as you readied for bed, rambling about how Queen Helaena was in distress. Without further question, you slipped on your robe and followed her.

The Queen has not been well since the night her child was brutally taken from her. She continues to live day by day in constant suffering as her mind has a difficult time coming to terms with that night's events.

As it happens, saying Helaena is 'not well' is an understatement.

She might've been 'not well' after the fact, but the funeral proceedings broke the last thread of sense she was holding onto. If anyone is to blame, it is the Dowager Queen who forced her to attend and Otto Hightower who was the 'mastermind' behind it all.

It was torture to hear the people of Kings Landing shouting for her, screaming vile words about Rhaenyra, and offering condolences about a subject they barely knew a thing about.

Most had never seen the young Prince; his cold body and the gold thread around his neck were their first glimpses of him. They gasped and awed at her child as if he were a spectacle while she had no choice but to sit and watch with composure.

It is only natural she would fall apart under the pressure of such ill-conceived plans. Her overthinking mind couldn't handle it any longer when the carriage got stuck. Her thoughts coming up with the most of wicked scenarios. She had to run.

Then, there is Jaehaera, who continues to ask for her twin brother. The poor girl has never spent a day apart from him since they were conceived. It is difficult for Helaena to hear Jaehaera constantly ask where he is and when he will return. It's a never ending reminder of her loss.

Besides, how is she to explain death to a child when Helaena herself has not accepted it.

The newly assigned guard sworn to protect the Queen opens the door for you as soon as you round the corner. His anticipation worries you to no end, and you fear what lies past those doors.

Maids surround Helaena, attempting to comfort her. She screams at them to let her be, but they persist. The maids mean well. Helaena is clearly distressed, yet they don't seem to realize it's because of their overbearing presence.

The young Queen swats them away. Her fingers thread through her messy hair as she seeks an escape, and sobs rake through her slender body until she collapses on her knees. Her lips move in unreadable murmurs in between each yell.

Helaena barely appears like herself. Dark purple circles line her under eyes, and her hair is unbrushed and knotted. Her signature plump cheeks have hollowed out, indicating that she has lost weight.

"Please," Helaena cries to no one in particular, recoiling from their touch.

You barrel through the maids and kneel on the floor at an arms length from Helaena. "'Laena?" you softly call to get her to look at you, knowing that if you even attempt to touch her, she will shy away.

At the recognition of your voice, Helaena's face whips up. She falls into your arms, hiding from the other females in the room. The tears that stain her face wet your robe as you hold her close. She tucks her face into your neck, hiccuping from emotion.

"Leave us," you command with a stern gaze that borders on anger.

The maids move to leave the room, but only after notifying you that the Queen has barely eaten or bathed in days. Once the door closes shut, you coax Helaena from your arms.

"What is wrong, 'Laena?" You ask softly, cradling her face to brush away her tears. The sight of her red and blotchy face breaks your heart. She must've been like this for a long time.

"It is my fault," she hiccups as new tears follow the path of the others. Helaena hangs her head in despair. She should've fought harder to keep her son alive. There must've been something else she could've done.

"Look at me," you say sternly, forcing her to look at you. It is when her eyes meet yours that you continue, "This is not your fault."

"I was the one to point my finger," she argues while her fists clench and unclench around the fabric of her dress when a new wave of emotion takes over.

Helaena is an overly emotional person. She feels things deep in her chest. She wishes she could control it, but the more she holds it in, the nastier it gets when it gets out of her control. Her body freezes and pleads for her to run and hide.

"Helaena, this was going to happen whether you pointed your finger or not. If you hadn't done what you did, you and Jaehaera would be dead as well."

It's blunt and a bit cruel, but Helaena must understand that she had no other choice. The only way this could've been stopped was if she had been assigned a sworn protector, but the council underestimated their enemy and Ser Criston Cole was too busy getting his cock wet to do anything about it.

"I told them to spare him and kill me instead," Helaena confesses with a weep.

She lets herself go on your shoulder as you wrap your arms around her shaking shoulders. You kiss the top of her head to console her guilty conscience. Helaena did not deserve to be a victim of Daemon's terrible idea. She might just be the most innocent of Targaryens.

"I know, Helaena, you were so brave. You're a wonderful mother. This is not your fault, and nobody blames you. You did what you had to do. Jaehaera is alive and well because of you."

It's hard for Helaena to stop thinking in such a way once she starts. The thoughts cause her to imagine things that aren't really there and doubt her reality. She feels like the staff's glances are not of worry but of resentment for letting those men kill her boy. Aegon's absence makes it all the worse.

"Aegon will not look at me, much less speak to me," she whimpers, wrapping her arms around your waist.

A tear slides down your cheek. You will never compare your sadness to theirs, but seeing them hurt in such a way pains you. Their marriage was arranged, yes, but Aegon and Helaena hold deep affection for each other. They simply have a difficult time showing it.

In this instance, there is no one who understands them better than each other. It is tragic but this should bring them closer together not tear them apart.

"Aegon is grieving. He can barely stand to look at himself because he feels like he failed his family, 'Laena. I promise you he will come around."

Helaena nods with her head on your shoulder. She is not convinced, but your words soothe her for the time being. Tears continuously slide down her face, and there is nothing you can do about it. You much prefer she cries it all out than hold it in.

"Come," you tell her, holding her hand and guiding her to the bath the maids had prepared before they left. "Let's get you ready for bed.”

You keep her close to you, reassuring Helaena you're there to stay as long as she needs. You help her untie the strings of her dress, and as you hang it over the back of a chair, she slips out of her smallclothes.

She accepts your hand to step into the bath. The water has now cooled, but she doesn't complain. It is the least of her worries. Helaena sits in the tub with her arms around her knees and silently cries.

Your goal tonight is to get her to rest. You can tell she hasn't slept in a long time, which will make her feel better.

Settling on the wooden stool next to the bath, you lather soap into the sponge and ask for her arm. Helaena complies, and you gently swipe the sponge across her skin. The maids were thorough as the smell of a calming oils invades your senses. They sincerely wanted to help their Queen.

Scrubbing down her arm, you note her nailbeds, which are red and raw. You're gentle with the soap when you reach her hand to prevent it from burning. Once you rinse it out, you bring her hand up to your lips, kissing her fingertips much like your mother would do when you got hurt.

Her crying calms when she catches onto your gesture, watching you in awe.

It is easy to note how she's thinned out as you continue to bathe her. Her skin presses against her ribs, showcasing each indent, and the bony prominences of her shoulders are much more palpable. It worries you to no end. Everyone has different coping mechanisms, but this is by far the unhealthiest one.

In the morrow, you will make it your goal to get her to eat. For a start, you will ask the kitchens to bake her favorite dessert. There has never been a moment where Helaena has refused a berry tart.

"Tilt your head back for me, love," you whisper, grabbing the pitcher of clean water from the table. Brushing Helaena's hair back, you pour the water, being careful not to get it in her eyes.

As she tilts her head back, she keeps her watchful eyes on you. She is in one of the most intimate positions, yet her lilac eyes reveal the most vulnerable parts of herself. You offer Helaena a comforting smile. Moving on from this tragic accident will be difficult, but we have to start somewhere.

When you lather her hair with soap and massage her scalp, she closes her eyes with a shudder. In turn, her shoulders relax, and goosebumps appear across her skin. A quiet moan slipping past her bitten lips.

Moving on to her face, Helaena watches you closely as you grab a rag to wash her face. You're so careful and tender with her. She has not made mention of it, but your touch feels pleasant against her skin.

You dab her neck next, looking over the wound that was cast upon her. You wish for it not to scar. Helaena needs no more reminders of that night.

After finishing the bath, you help her stand and dry off. Then, you follow her to the bed, where her nightgown lies discarded. With your assistance, she quickly slips it on. Helaena is quiet as she dresses; no more tears well up in her eyes.

"Let's brush your hair," you whisper soothingly.

Delicately, you glide the brush through her silver strands. You tackle the knots methodically to prevent pulling on her hair. A couple of drops of rose oil help greatly with the task as the bristles move smoothly across the long length of her hair.

Helaena sighs softly, and, through the mirror, you can see her eyes are closed. The poor thing must be exhausted.

"How are you feeling?" You ask her, tying the plait you weaved and wrapping your arms around her shoulders. You prop your head upon hers, cuddling her into you.

"Better, I suppose," she nods gratefully, grasping your hand hanging loosely across her chest. "I am tired," she admits.

"Let's get you to bed then."

Before you can slip away, Helaena protests and holds your wrist. "No, please." You're taken aback by the desperation in her voice. Why is she refusing to rest when her body begs for it?

"Helaena, when was the last time you slept?"

Helaena appears guilty. She swallows the knot on her throat, preparing to answer. "Not since that night. The nightmares do not allow me respite."

You sit beside her on the bench, keeping a firm grasp on her hand. "Do you wish to speak about them? It might help."

Her voice is barely above a whisper. "It's always the same. They return when the nights darkest and take Jaehaera."

Helaena is terrified. Many of her dreams have become reality, and this is one she would not be able to bear witness to. The things they do in her dreams are unforgivable. She cannot lose her daughter to those monsters.

Silence takes upon the room. Helaena cannot survive in a sleep deprived state, there must be something you can do. "What if we bring her here? She can sleep with you. That way, you will know she's safe."

Helaena ponders your suggestion, her eyes drifting away. "Will you stay?" Although a question the way Helaena's voice cracks, it's more of a plead.

"Is that what you wish, my Queen?" You ask, caressing her cheek so she returns to you from that faraway place in her mind.

She's quick to nod and squeeze your hand in gratitude. "Please," she whispers, leaning into your touch.

"Anything for you."

Helaena accompanies you to Jaehaera's new chambers. The King saw it fit Jaehaera did not reside in the room where her twin brother was murdered. A wise choice.

If your memory serves you well, Jace used to inhabit the space once upon a time.

Helaena almost runs to her daughter's cot, ensuring she's alive and well. You sympathize with her, it's natural to worry about your child if another was stolen from your life.

"Mama," Jaehaera yawns when Helaena picks her up.

"You're sleeping with mummy tonight, yeah?" Helaena whispers, cradling the back of her head and kissing the crown of her head.

Jaehaera, too tired to reason or even question it, nods and nestles into the crook of Haelena's neck. The sight is eerily similar to that fateful night.

The guard posted to protect Jaehaera escorts you to the Queen's chambers, standing on the opposite side of Helaena's white cloak guard.

Once inside, you slip off your robe and join her and Jaehaera on the bed. The girl is safely nestled between you both, pale lashes fluttering shut.

Helaena reaches for your hand to ensure you do not leave, and you lace your fingers with hers. "Sleep, 'Laena. I'll keep you safe," you promise her.

All it takes for Helaena to sleep is a lullaby your mother used to sing to you. It was of great tales of the people of Old Valyria. It was your favorite growing up, and now it is Helaena's.

By the song's end, Helaena's breaths even out and she succumbs to slumber. Although her face reflects her tiredness, the resemblance between Helaena and Jaehaera is stark.

When your eyes begin to close, eager to follow Helaena and Jaehaera to the land of dreams, the door creaks open. Startled, you sit up on the bed to search for an intruder, ready to scream if need be.

Aegon stands by the door, his chest heaving and his face pale. His hair is in disarray, and his eyes are wild with worry. "Where is Jaehaera?" he asks.

"She's right here," you respond, lowering the sheets and moving your body to reveal her resting upon Helaena's chest.

Aegon sighs in relief, and after a moment of hesitation, he timidly steps closer to the bed, observing the scene in front of him. He has taken to visiting his daughter's chambers throughout the night. He doesn't trust the guards, even if he is the one who assigned them. Aegon needs to see with his own eyes that his remaining child is alive and not endangered.

He had been frightened when the guard who was supposed to be posted by her door was gone, and worse, so was his daughter. Before he could scream, a maid walked in and, upon questioning, told him Jaehaera was in the Queen's chambers with her mother and the Princess.

You lay back against the headboard and observe him. He sits on the edge of the bed, reaching over you to brush a strand of hair away from his wife's face. Then, his hand lowers as his fingertip traces the slope of his daughter's nose.

"You should talk to her."

Helaena's words are clear as day in your mind. After witnessing Aegon in the same position, you reckon it would be good if they spoke to one another.

"I wouldn't know what to say," Aegon responds with a shake of his head.

"Yes, you do," you insist, resting your hand upon his, which lays on the bed. He glances questioningly at you, silently asking you to explain.

Your voice is light and soft. The last thing you want is to wake Helaena, although your instincts tell you it is doubtful. "Nobody understands what you're going through better than Helaena. She lost a child as well and feels just as hopeless as you do. Talk to her and tell her the words you would've liked to hear."

"It is that easy?" He asks in disbelief with a scoff. He looks at you for guidance. You've helped him more than anyone in the council or his own mother.

"Yes," you chuckle, and he joins you, if only for a moment. "Would you like me to go so you can stay?" You wouldn't want to intrude in a moment that can unite a family yet again.

Aegon shakes his head and urges you to stay abed. "It is alright. I will soon talk with 'Laena."

For a brief moment, Aegon presses his forehead against yours to show his appreciation. He stands with a press of his lips to your forehead and one more glance at his family. "Thank you for everything. I hope one day I can repay you for all your kindness."

"There's no need."

He does not speak but shares a glance that says a thousand words. Aegon closes the door behind him and turns to the guards standing by it.

Their backs visibly straighten when he addresses them. "Under no circumstance are you to leave your post. Your goal is to protect the Queen and the Princesses."

After all, his heart and soul are in that room.

STAY WITH US

came out a little longer than aegon but there was much to do with lovely helaena. queen helaena is a big reason as to why i hate alicent so much. alicent has let her down time and time again. how can she fucking ask helaena not to say anything about her and cole? fuck, alicent, she's not even thinking about that.

did you enjoy this one shot? please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept keyboard smashes, emojis, words of encouragement, praise, virtual hugs and alicent and cole slander) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

1K notes · View notes

cruel-seduction · 1 month ago

Text

Bloodstained Knuckles, Burning Lips

DESCRIPTION:

You and Mattheo Riddle have been at each other’s throats for as long as you can remember. But when your best friend casually drops the bomb that Mattheo threw punches for your dignity, everything shifts. Was it just a reckless fight—or is there something simmering beneath the surface?

CONTAINS:

Enemies-to-lovers tension, aggressive confrontations, messy emotions, kiss, and curse words if that counts bad.

The chill of the Astronomy Tower was biting, a sharp contrast to the fiery ache in Mattheo’s knuckles. His hands were scraped and swollen, flecks of dried blood caked around his fingernails. His lip sported a fresh cut, a slow trickle of crimson staining the corner of his mouth. He leaned against the cold stone wall, head tilted back, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The faint sting of bruises on his ribs and the sharp throb in his temple weren’t enough to distract him from the lingering fury in his chest.

That bastard. He could still hear the vile words, the way they spilled so casually from the other boy’s mouth, as if you weren’t worth defending. As if Mattheo could ever let that slide. His fists tightened at the memory, his jaw clenching so hard it ached.

The door to the Astronomy Tower creaked open, snapping Mattheo from his thoughts. He expected to see a professor or maybe a curious student wandering too far past curfew. What he didn’t expect was you.

You stormed in, breathless and furious, your wand clenched tightly in one hand. Your eyes scanned the dimly lit space until they landed on him. He froze under your gaze, his usual bravado faltering at the raw concern laced with anger etched across your face.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Mattheo?” you snapped, marching toward him.

He raised an eyebrow, attempting to mask the exhaustion weighing him down. “Nice to see you too, princess. Didn’t know you cared so much.”

“Don’t give me that,” you shot back, pointing a finger at him. “I just heard you beat the shit out of someone in the Great Hall. Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

Mattheo shrugged, the movement stiff. “He deserved it.”

“Deserved it? Mattheo, you look like you’ve been hit by a damn Bludger!”

“It’s not that bad,” he muttered, trying to push off the wall, but the sudden wave of dizziness forced him to lean back again.

You noticed the way he winced, how his breathing hitched, and your anger flared hotter. “What part of this isn’t bad? You’re bleeding, your face is a mess, and I heard someone say your hand crunch when you hit him!”

Mattheo smirked, though it lacked his usual charm. “Yeah, well, his face is worse.”

“That’s not the point!” you shouted, exasperated.

“I didn’t need to stand there and listen to him talk shit about you,” Mattheo said suddenly, his voice low but steady. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the anger in the room seemed to still.

Your heart stuttered at the confession, but you pushed past it. “I can take care of myself! I don’t need your charity, you fucker!”

Mattheo flinched at your words, his eyes narrowing defensively. “It’s not charity,” he said, his voice sharp. “I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.”

You threw your hands in the air. “And now you’re up here bleeding everywhere like a fucking idiot! You’re not invincible, Mattheo!”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” he snapped, turning his head away.

You stepped closer, reaching out to touch his arm, but he jerked away violently. “Don’t touch me with your filthy hands,” he spat, his tone icy.

Your breath hitched at the venom in his voice, but you refused to back down. “Listen here, you little piece of shit,” you growled, your voice trembling with anger and something far deeper. “I don’t like you doing this either, but I’m not going to let you suffer when I know I can help you”

Mattheo’s jaw clenched, his fists twitching at his sides as he stared at the ground, avoiding your gaze. You were too close now, your presence like a pressure in the air around him. He hated it—how your words pierced through him, how your anger wasn’t just frustration but genuine concern. It clawed at the walls he’d built around himself.

“Why do you care so much?” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “You hate me.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Yeah, I do. So do you but you still fought for my dignity. You’re also arrogant, reckless, and insufferable. But I’m not about to let you bleed out on some freezing tower because you fought for me.”

“So you’re doing all of this because you think you owe me? Such a martyr,” he said dryly, but there was no bite to his words. He felt deeply hurt that you don’t feel anything for him but so did you, you didn’t wanna express that you felt like a princess when he fought for you. And that you would go against the whole world for him but that’s not the point.

You dropped to your knees in front of him, ignoring the cold stone pressing against your legs. “Let me see your hand,” you demanded, your tone softening slightly.

Mattheo hesitated, his dark eyes flicking to yours. There was something unreadable in his expression, a vulnerability that he tried to hide behind his usual smirk. But when you reached out again, he finally relented, holding out his bloodied hand.

You sucked in a breath at the sight of it, bruised and swollen, the knuckles split open. “God, Mattheo,” you whispered, your voice wavering. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

He watched as you carefully traced your fingers over his hand, your touch surprisingly gentle despite your earlier fury. He winced slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

“Because someone had to shut him up,” he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now.

Your movements stilled as you looked up at him, your eyes locking. “You’re an idiot,” you said, but there was no venom in your words anymore—just a soft, aching sort of frustration.

“And you’re a princess,” he shot back, but his lips curved into the faintest of smirks.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Hold still,” you said, pulling out your wand. “I’m going to fix this, and you’re going to let me. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered sarcastically, but he didn’t resist as you murmured a soft healing charm over his knuckles.

The warm light from your wand illuminated his face, and for the first time, you noticed just how exhausted he looked. The fight, the cold, the weight of whatever demons he carried—it all seemed to settle heavily on his shoulders.

“Why do you always have to make things so difficult?” you asked softly, your fingers lingering on his now-healed hand.

Mattheo’s smirk faded, his gaze dropping to where your hands rested against his. “Maybe I don’t know how to make things easy,” he admitted, his voice rough.

Your heart twisted at his words, the unspoken pain behind them. For a moment, the space between you seemed to shrink, the tension shifting into something neither of you could name.

“You can be so fucking stupid, you know that?” you muttered, a slight tremor in your voice as your hands clenched into fists. “I don’t get you, Mattheo. One second, you’re acting like you don’t care, and the next, you’re throwing punches for me. And it doesn’t make any sense.”

Mattheo finally met your gaze, his dark eyes sharp despite the weariness that hung around him. “You think I did it for you?” His voice was a low growl, but there was something different in it now—something that made your heartbeat a little faster.

You took a step closer to him, crossing your arms. “You just proved that you can’t stand people talking shit about me. But you’re too damn proud to admit you care. You think I don’t see that?”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” You leaned in a little, voice softening but still filled with anger. “Because, as much as I hate you, I know that if anyone else had said that shit, you wouldn’t have lifted a finger.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “You really are an idiot.”

Your eyes narrowed at the sound, and before you knew it, you reached forward, grabbing him by the collar and jerking him toward you. “I never asked for your protection, Mattheo,” you spat. “But I know when someone’s too damn proud to admit anything.”

For a long moment, his gaze softened, the anger in his eyes flickering out as he stared at you. The air between you both crackled with the unspoken tension, the kind of tension that had always existed between you—sharp, unyielding, and filled with more heat than either of you had been willing to admit.

And then, in an instant, everything shifted.

Mattheo’s hand shot up, grabbing your wrist, and for a split second, you thought he was going to throw you off. But instead, he pulled you closer. His breath was warm against your face as he closed the space between you, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours.

The fight had died between you both, replaced with something much more volatile. Something that neither of you had the courage to face until now. And before either of you could stop it, his lips crashed into yours.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was messy, desperate, and filled with a need that had been building for so long neither of you could deny it any longer. His hands were on you in an instant, pulling you closer, as though he feared you might slip away if he let go for even a second. Your lips moved together with a force that was both fury and longing, a collision of emotions that neither of you were ready to face.

When the kiss finally broke, both of you were breathing heavily, bodies pressed close as though the world might fall apart if you weren’t touching. Mattheo’s forehead rested against yours, and for a brief moment, everything was quiet. The storm of words, of anger, and of confusion had vanished, leaving only the lingering heat between you.

He was the first to speak, his voice raw. “You don’t make this easy, do you?” You looked at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “You started it, Riddle.”

“Looks like I made someone’s heart race for me,” he drawled, a smirk tugging at his lips, sharp enough to carve its place in your memory.

“Fuck you, asshole,” you shot back, your voice laced with defiance, but the words felt more like an invitation than an insult. Without a second thought, you crashed your lips against his, the heat between you igniting in an instant. You slid onto his lap, hands gripping his shoulders, as if the tension between you could only be resolved in that wild, desperate kiss

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle blurb #mattheo riddle fanfic #harry potter #slytherin #slytherin boys #draco malfoy #mattheo fluff #mattheo riddle drabble #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle scenarios #slytherin boys x reader

604 notes · View notes

thyme-in-a-bubble · 5 months ago

Text

plum

reprised edition

a/n: this guy has been on my mind lately, so i decided to do a thing i've been thinking about since i wrote this story: stitch this whole series into one huge oneshot, edit it, fine-tune it and finally round it off from where i just dropped it one and a half years ago.

summary: “fuck…” all the air escaped Tommy’s lungs, “I thought she was dead…” his glistening eyes didn’t rip away from your frame for even a second as he revealed, “yeah… yeah, I know her. She’s like family.”

warnings: joel miller x former firefly!reader, reprised version of my series plum, smut, dark content (traumatic past including: forced pregnancy, rape, drugging, essentially being held as a slave, death/murder, solitary confinement, suicidal thoughts), rape recovery, jackson era, age gap (20 years), fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, violence, blood and gore, torture, ptsd, panic attacks, nightmares, crying, alcohol consumption, slow burn, bff!tommy, love confessions, kissing, dirty talk, masturbation, dry humping, pussyjob, light choking, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, pull out method, angsty ending/cliff hanger

word count: 15.180

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

Clenching your fists together tight enough that the bones creaked under the pressure, you sucked in a sharp breath and readied yourself for the heavy footsteps making their way around the corner to where you hid. As soon as you saw a bright flashlight flicker in your direction, you pounced, opting to immediately jump the figure, rather than act too late and having history repeat itself. Alas, your attempted ambush didn’t pay out as you only managed to get a few good hits in before the man’s might came down upon you.

“Joel?” a different man shouted from the room opposite the one you’d hidden in, obviously picking up on the scuffle.

Your next punch then promptly fell short as the unexpectedly familiar rough voice sent goosebumps all over your already freezing skin.

You knew that voice… no doubt in your mind who it was…

“Tommy?” you just managed to call out to the not-yet-visible man, quickly coming to your attacker’s aid, before your weakened stance sent the whole scuffle directly into the rough concrete wall to the right, your already bruised temple colliding with it and knocking you clean out.

Rushing into the room, gun already lowering, Tommy swiftly extended an arm out to halt Joel as he instinctually followed your form as it dropped like a sack of potatoes, wholly ready to finish the job.

“Wait, stop!”

Holding back his punch, Joel glanced up at his little brother, observing as his wide eyes raked over your unconscious figure.

“What, do you know her or something?” he asked, the adrenaline causing the sentence to come out sounding rather vile.

“Fuck…” all the air escaped Tommy’s lungs, “I thought she was dead…” his glistening eyes didn’t rip away from your frame for even a second as he revealed, “yeah… yeah, I know her. She’s like family.”

Jolting awake, a pair of hands quickly found your shoulders in a calming manner.

“Wow, wow, it’s okay, plum, you’re alright, you’re safe,” your frantic eyes finally came to rest on Tommy’s figure sitting beside the cot you had been placed in. Answering before you even had the chance to ask or unravel any further, he continued, “you’re in Jackson, we brought you back home.”

Sitting on the small bed with a palm rooted on the mattress for support, you trembled, “I’m home?” and the floodgates immediately burst open, letting the relieved tears flow that you’d come to believe wouldn’t ever see the light of day.

“You’re home,” the familiar person holding a worn clipboard at the foot of the cot nodded softly.

“Doctor Duncan?” the friendly face made you squeeze your eyes shut in an effort to bear the overwhelming nature of finally being safe.

“Hi Y/n,” she kneeled down to be more at your height and softly told you, “it’s good to have you back.”

Fighting hard not to let the dizzy feeling in your body win, you sobbed, “I can’t believe I’m actually here.”

“All this time,” Tommy breathed, “I thought you were dead.”

Looking up into his glossy eyes, you admitted, “I almost was…”

Not being able to resist any longer, he asked, “did the others–, are they–”

“No…” you shook your head lightly and glanced down at the dark fleece blanket draped over your aching body, “they didn’t suffer though, it was quick, painless for them…”

You honestly hadn’t thought about any of the people you’d been travelling with in ages, out of the pure need to survive, but now that you finally did, the vile memories had your empty stomach clenching in need to vomit.

“What happened?” Tommy asked, though was quickly counteracted by doctor Duncan’s soothing voice.

“You don’t have to answer that right now, sweetheart,” and gave you a pained glance.

Of course, Aria had gathered some pieces to the puzzle from just the minor check-up she had undoubtedly done as soon as you had been brought into the infirmary. She didn’t have to look any further than just your still faintly bruised wrists to get an idea of what horrors you had clawed your way out of to get back here.

“I–…uhm…” you struggled to keep your breathing steady as you let your vision drift and the painful words fall from your lips, “we were ambushed by a group of hunters. They did what they do, killed everyone without even thinking twice about it… except when they found me,” you unconsciously dug your nails into the root of your palm, hard enough for the skin to break, “I was hiding and I could hear,” you closed your eyes, still recollecting the 2-year-old memory clear as day, “every single one of them get shot. One after the other, Trevor, Alice, Benny, Sam, almost rhythmically with how fast it was. But when they found me, they didn’t pull the trigger. Said that my head was too pretty to put a bullet through it. So instead, they just knocked me out. I woke up back at their base, chained in this cell… they–… they–…” as much as you wanted to tell these people you cared so much about every single horrifying thing you’d had to endure, you just couldn’t. The words physically wouldn’t come out of your mouth.

Squeezing your eyes shut, tight enough that they hurt, Tommy’s quiet voice pulled you back from the black hole of memories you’d found yourself in.

“Jesus christ, Y/n…” he uttered, barely breathing at all.

Since your old home here in Jackson had long been occupied by somebody else, Tommy had insisted that you stay at his and Maria’s house, just till you got back on your feet, and they could find you somewhere more permanent to live.

It took a bit, but eventually, Tommy managed to twist his big brother’s arm and get him to reluctantly give a hand at setting a room up for you.

Ever since you’d gotten back, Joel had assumed that he had now understandably become a foe in your eyes with the less-than-pleasant way your first meeting had transpired. So, he just tried his best to stay far away from where you were, figured from the little he had heard through the grapevine that you’d been through enough and didn’t need to also deal with his old mug in the foreseeable future.

But still, after finally setting down the hefty mattress the two brothers had hauled halfway through town, Joel couldn’t help but let some of his curiosity slip out, “why do you call her that anyway?”

“Huh?” Tommy cocked an eyebrow as he passed Joel the bottle of water he had just taken a healthy swig from himself.

“Plum,” he accepted the much-needed drink, “why do you call her plum?”

“Oh, it’s kind of a funny story actually,” his little brother smiled, leaning back against the paint-chipped windowsill, “back in the beginning, not too long after I had joined the fireflies, she just showed up one day. Couldn’t have been more than–, hell, she couldn’t have been more than Ellie’s age back then. She just waltzed right up and demanded to speak to Marlene. And as a way to get her foot in the door, sweeten the deal a bit, her pockets were filled to the brim with plums. Fucking plums. Like, where did she even get them?” he laughed, finding the memory too entertaining for his own good, “so that’s how we introduced her, told Marlene that a little plum was here to speak to her. I guess the nickname just kinda stuck after that…”

“She was a firefly with you?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “we even quit at the same time and travelled out here to Wyoming together.”

“So, you two really go way back then?” the older man commented, still oozing with mistrust.

“Joel,” Tommy caught his brother’s eye, “she was the best man at mine and Maria’s wedding. Yeah, we go way back,” a protectiveness glistened over him, “she’s like my little sister. She is my little sister.”

The dry twig that suddenly snapped underneath your boot caused the soft strumming, that you’d become so captivated by, to stop at once. Holding your breath, Joel’s eyes found yours.

“I’m sorry,” you rushed out, all of a sudden feeling as if you’d been invading his privacy, “I–… I’m sorry…”

You hadn’t been able to sleep, so instead of just tossing and turning, you’d gone for a little walk around the slumbering town. It had not been your intention to spy on him, but the gentle music that reverberated from his guitar had drawn you in like a siren song, unintentionally making you step closer and closer to where he sat out on his dimly lit porch.

“It’s fine, you don’t have anything to apologise for,” he swiftly set the instrument aside and averted his gaze, the action giving you a stomach ache.

“No,” you moved a bit closer, slowly climbing the short steps, “I think I do…” and when you only received a furrowed brow in response, you continued softly, “I wanna apologise for punching you the other day.”

“Why?” he asked, seeming genuinely confused.

“Because that’s not the kind of first impression that I wanted Tommy’s famed big brother to have of me,” you nervously bit down on your bottom lip.

“What, he told you about me?”

“Yeah, honestly wouldn’t shut up about you. Practically idealised you,” you fiddled with your hands behind your back, “hell, I think he still does.”

“Well,” he nodded politely, still not letting his gaze stay upon you for too long at a time, “like I said, you have nothing to be sorry for,” then let out a deep sigh, “I, however, would like to apologise to you… I didn’t know who you were, and if I did, then I wouldn’t have just–”

“It’s fine,” you cut in, your face briefly crinkling up in unease, “if the roles were reversed, I’d have done the exact same,” trying and failing to catch his eye, you asked, “we square?”

“Yeah,” he offered you a light nod, keeping his vision fixed upon his interlocked hands resting in his lap.

“Okay,” you exhaled, leaning back against the railing, “good.”

“Gotta give it to you though,” he let out just the essence of a chuckle, “you throw a mean punch.”

Biting down on your blooming smile, you confirmed assuredly, “yeah, I know.”

Shaky breaths flowed in and out past your lips as you pressed your forehead against the majestic animal standing before you in the dark barn.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you sniffled quietly, attempting to ground yourself as you stroked your palm over the horse’s dark coat, “I’m home, I’m safe, I-I’m okay…”

Hearing footsteps suddenly approach the dark stall you were standing in, a rough voice broke the silence of the early morning hours, “hey Viking,” the horse by you puffed gently at the man in acknowledgement, “you ready to go?” then as he rounded the corner and finally caught sight of you, his brisk stride halted completely, “oh, hi.”

“Hi Joel,” you rushed to wipe the runny snort from your nose and the flowing tears from your cheeks, then attempted a forced smile, “you gonna head out on patrol?”

“I, uhm,” his brows furrowed in concern, “yeah.”

“You’ve been taking a lot of shifts lately,” you noticed, “don’t you usually wait till the sun comes up to leave?”

“Sometimes,” he purposely kept his replies short, then surprised you by asking softly, “you know Viking?” and reached up to pet the horse’s broad cheek himself.

“Yeah, we know each other pretty well me and him,” your faked smile grew a little more genuine, “we used to go out on patrol all the time back in the day.”

“Really? Do you–, uh, you want him back?”

“Nah, I can see he really likes you. You two make a pretty good team… Anyhow,” you glanced down at the hay-covered floor, “I don’t think I’d be that much fun for him to hang out with since I’m not so sure I’m quite ready to go out yet… think it’s at least smart to wait till I start sleeping through the night again,” you tried to jest, though didn’t manage to gain any reaction from Joel.

Lightly chewing on his inner cheek, he stared down at you with such empathy that you feared your tears might pick up again, “is that why you came out here? Trouble sleeping?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “I don’t really sleep anymore… and if I do, then I–… I am right back there… wake up screaming or crying… and I can’t talk to Tommy about all of this,” you shut your eyes a moment, “he knows me too well and I just can’t bear to see that look on his face,” locking in on Joel’s dark eyes, you uttered, “like I’m breaking his heart beyond repair.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel averted his gaze and then tried, “is there anything I can do? You can have as much time with Viking as you’d like, if that could help.”

Letting out a choked chuckle at his offhand offer, you then bit down on your bottom lip, “could you–… uhm…” you scrunched up your face and wrestled with the internal debate of if you should actually ask him or not, “it’s gonna sound silly, but could you maybe just hold my hand? Just for a little bit?”

Sucking in a breath that he never quite seemed to let out again, he glanced down at your right hand and nodded lightly, “sure,” then held his own out, palm up, for you to grasp.

For the first second, you noticed yourself stiffen up, then you abruptly felt your body let go in a way that it hadn’t quite done yet. Nearly instantaneously squeezing your eyes shut, you just tried to breathe through it, or frankly, just actually breathe at all.

He was just holding your hand. How could such a tiny thing do so much?

Joel didn’t say a word, not even let out a sound. He just stood there, holding your hand as you full-on broke down beside him.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” you wept, the reaction not seeming to surprise him half as much as it did you.

Running his thumb softly over your knuckles, he uttered simply, “it’s okay,” and you noticed how hard your body was shaking under his light grasp.

“Y-you were on your way out and I’m keeping you, it’s–, I’m really sorry…”

“I’m not in any hurry, plum. I’ll head out whenever you’re ready. You just say the word and I’ll go.”

“Oh, man…” you breathed out as your fingertips ghosted over the dusty spines of the many novels lined up in front of you.

You’d snuck out. Like a teenager in the night, you’d snuck out of Jackson. You weren’t particularly proud of it, being way too seasoned not to know the stupidity of not even leaving a note.

But it was just a small trip, a few hours tops. You’d be back before anyone would realise you were gone. You just knew that they wouldn’t have let you go if you’d spoken up, at least not alone.

With a few books already reserved, the hardcovers pressed tightly against your chest, locked in place by your forearm, you glanced up and spotted a particularly intriguing title, one that tickled a memory long forgotten. Lifting yourself onto your tiptoes and reaching your free hand up as far as it would go, your fingertips only managed to kiss the binding, not gaining nearly enough of a hold to get it down.

Giving it a few forceful pokes in hopes that it would just push the book enough for you to be able to grasp it fully and therefore quietly retrieve it, the hardcover instead came crashing down, causing not only a cloud of dust to puff up in the abandoned library but also sent a deafening thump echoing down deeper within the vast building.

Freezing up, barely even breathing at all, you glanced down at the dropped book and a cluster of bloodcurdling, guttural screeches found your ears. As silently as you could manage, you reached for your knife, having not been able to grab a firearm back at Jackson since they were under much more severe security.

Evidently, the library wasn’t as vacant as you’d thought. There turned out to be two, maybe three clickers scattered about, somewhere in the many rows of bookcases surrounding you.

Needing both hands to defend yourself, you slowly shifted the books in your arm and slid the pile onto an open spot on the dusty shelf before you. Holding your breath, you hoped the action hadn’t created too much noise.

Standing still, standing ever so still, you heard one of the creatures creep closer. Tightening your grip around the handle of your blade, you watched as the blooming fungi appeared around the corner.

Debating for a moment if you should strike out or just keep standing there, hoping you could somehow hide amongst the stories long enough for you to eventually slip out, the sudden shriek it then produced as it whipped towards you decided your next move.

Having luck on your side, your knife found purchases in the monster’s neck and as you sliced it open, exposing its mutated vocal cords. The clicker swiftly dropped to the floor, but the ruckus alarmed the rest of your exact location.

With the second one being closer than you’d imagined, the fight was a struggle, and it ultimately forced you to the ground, the infected gnawed atop of you, biting the air in hopes that your tender flesh would accompany some of it.

And just as you thought your doom had finally arrived, that you had lost all hope of triumph, a gunshot rang out amidst the books, blowing a lethal hole into the creature’s skull.

Sucking in a startled breath, you shoved the rotten corpse off of you. Before you could even manage to get back up on your feet, an outstretched hand appeared right in front of your face.

Blinking up at Joel in alarm, the loud cry of the last remaining creature had you holding your sharp tongue. Accepting his aid, you got back up and quickly took a look around, prepared for the noisy gunshot to have sent the final one sprinting straight in your direction.

As Joel spotted how your eyes promptly widened in horror, seizing the clue, he whirled around and covered your body with his broad form as he raised up his pistol, ready to unload into the clicker scampering towards you.

It was only when it laid unmoving on the ground that you noticed how his hand was holding onto your midsection and shielding you protectively. Ripping it away at once, you then gave his sturdy form a big shove, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

“What am I doing–, what are you doing here?” Joel bellowed, “the hell were you thinking running off like that? Do you know how reckless, how goddamn stupid that was?”

Fighting the urge to slap him across that salt-and-pepper cheek of his, you scowled, “did you follow me?”

Either he purposefully ignored your question or perhaps he was just way too wrapped up in his own fury not to let himself continue, “do you have any idea what could have happened to you?”

“I can take care of a few infected myself,” you wiped your blade clean against your jeans, then folded it back up and tucked it away in your pocket.

“I know that.”

“Then why–”

“Because the infected aren’t the only threat out here and you know it,” he dared to say. His twitching face softened ever so slightly at the grave look that promptly flooded your features, “they are still out there, Y/n.”

Blood boiling, you turned around on your heel, picked up the abandoned books and determinedly walked towards the exit, bumping your shoulder heatedly into him as you passed.

You’d nearly reached the outskirts of Jackson without uttering a single word to Joel. Not even once was a quick glance offered in his direction. It wasn’t like he had tried to get a verbal response from you since you’d exited the library, but just the fact that he was still there, following right behind you, just like the rapidly rising sun in the sky, made you feel like a ticking bomb.

Suddenly, you stopped your determined trek and broke the silence.

“What made you think you have the right to do that, to say something like that? You don’t think I’m already painfully aware that they’re still out there?” the uncontrollable words spewed out passed your lips like venom, “you don’t know me, Joel. You don’t get to say stuff like that just because you’re Tommy’s brother.”

“Y/n, I–”

Whirling around, you cut him off, tears blurring your bloodshot eyes, “do you really think I can’t protect myself? Protect myself against them? You don’t think I know them a hell of a lot better than any of you do? You don’t think I know all of their tactics, all of their ticks, exactly how they think better than any of you who haven’t even met them once? You don’t think I bothered to get to know every single detail about them when they held me captive? When they kept me as a fucking slave for their own sadistic pleasure? How do you think I finally escaped from there, huh? You think it was just dumb luck? Do you think I’m lucky? Is that what you would call luck? Would you really wanna call me of all people lucky?” you ignored your body’s wishes of throwing up your stomach contents instead of the painful sentences, “you have no idea what they did, what they–…” your voice broke, and you truly tried to continue, to speak, to share, knowing that the actual words would shut him up for good, but to no success. He didn’t say anything as he watched your lips frustratingly try over and over again to tell him, but in the end gave up, hissing at him right before you spun around again, “fuck you, Joel. I don’t want your help. I didn’t ask for it and I sure as hell don’t want it.”

As you began to walk away, his pleading voice stopped you, “don’t go after them on your own. With the resources here at Jackson, you could do it in a much smart way, in a way that doesn’t get you killed.”

Sniffling heatedly, you glared back at him, “what makes you think I’d actually do that?”

He glanced down at you in such a way that he looked like an immovable mountain, as if none of your threats had scared him off, “I know that look in your eye,” he uttered with unmistakable understanding shining clear through in his deep voice, “I know you’re desperate for things to get better, for you to be able to just breathe again. But I also know that that kind of desperation can be one hell of a motivator. Even if it’s not there yet, if you’re not already making a plan of attack, it’ll come,” he didn’t raise his voice once, keeping it low and steady, “and when it does, I just ask you to let us have your back, that’s all. If you ever want revenge, then let us help you.”

“I was thinking that maybe you could start helping out down in the greenhouses a bit,” Maria suggested as she, a little over a week after the library incident transpired, called you into her office to have a talk.

“Uh, yeah, sure, that sounds fine,” you shrugged, blinking back at her over the wooden desk.

Squinting her eyes at you a moment, she then went on, “there is actually something else that I wanna talk to you about…”

Already suspecting that there’d been an ulterior motive for the sudden meeting, you exhaled, “okay, shoot.”

“Plum, you’ve been back for, what, two months now? And, well, me and Tommy,” a breath paused her sentence before she continued, “we’re really worried about you,” but you didn’t offer her an answer as you simply averted your gaze with a quiet sigh, “I think it would really help if you talked to someone.”

“Maria,” you noticed how tense your body had grown and deliberately attempted to make the sore muscles relax and let go, “I can’t talk to you guys about it. I just can’t.”

“Well, maybe you need it to be someone else then. A neutral third party. You know how it can sometimes be easier to tell all of your deep dark secrets to a complete stranger, like a bartender for example, and not to your very best friend?”

“What are you doing here?” you blinked, as the figure knocking at your door turned out to be none other than Joel.

“Maria sent me.”

“Of course, she did…” you sighed as you swiftly stepped aside for him to enter the house that had only been yours for a little while now.

“She was worried that you’re not eating,” he held up a small container of food for you to see, then sat it down on the dining table directly to the right of the entryway.

Closing the door after him, you then leaned against the wall, “well, I’m not hungry.”

Glancing up at you, he exhaled, “right,” then moved towards the exit again.

Anxiously crossing your arms, you spoke up as he passed you, “hey Joel?”

“Yeah?” he stopped in his tracks, trying to catch your skittish eyes.

“Can I–…” you tried, but then promptly remembered how you had yelled at him the last time you’d interacted with each other, and even though he always seemed to see right through it, always responded to it with that usual unwavering presence, you still couldn’t help but shrivel up and say, “no, forget it, it’s not important…”

“What is it?”

“No, it’s fine,” you stared down at the swirling woodgrain on the floors and waved a hand, “you go…”

Not moving his body an inch, he spoke, “Y/n,” and made you meet his gaze.

“I just–…” you breathed deeply, “Maria told me to talk to someone and she had this idea that it might be easier if it was with someone that I didn’t really know…”

“Okay,” he nodded gently, as if you were a baby bird he didn’t want to spook away.

Feeling your heart nearly beat out of your chest, you struggled, “can I talk to you? Can I–… can I try? Try to tell you?”

“Sure,” he answered swiftly, not needing a single second to ponder it, “but are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable with Tommy or someone else?”

“Tommy still sees me as that little girl I was back when I first met him, and I don’t wanna take that away from him. I don’t wanna ruin that any more than I already have. I don’t care if your view of me changes after you hear, because you didn’t know me before. I don’t mind if you look at me as if I’m broken,” the pained exhale that then flowed out past his lips was so faint that you almost missed it entirely, “also, the thought of telling any of them exactly what happened just makes it seem so much more real, and I don’t think I could handle that…” just the thought caused fearful tears to trickle down your cheeks, “to be honest, I can barely handle it now… and you obviously don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, I would never force you to do anything,” you squeezed your eyes shut and rambled anxiously, “and it’s not like I’ve been abundantly nice to you lately, or really since we met, but I swear it had nothing to do with you, I just–”

“Y/n,” he cut you off, breathing as if he was trying to do it for the both of you, “I know, it’s fine. I don’t mind you using me as a punching bag. Rather me than someone who could potentially misinterpret it, although, with the way everyone here walks on eggshells around you, I don’t think they’d take your swings personally. So, if you want me to listen, then I’ll listen.”

“Right…”

You would surely break the skin if you kept on digging your nails into your palms as hard as you’d unconsciously been doing. Slowly moving towards the dining area, you both sat down at the table. For a long moment, you just sat there, quietly losing your mind while he patiently waited.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you uttered into your palms as you hid behind them, “I don’t know where to start.”

“Just whatever comes to you first, it doesn’t have to be in order, doesn’t have to be everything now, just start somewhere and then go from there. You can just pretend I’m not even here if that helps.”

“Okay…” you choked out a small sob, then timidly began, “they–… they had this room down in the basement… there weren’t any windows, no light of any kind, so you couldn’t really tell if it was day or night or if you were down there for 1 hour or 24. They–, uhm, didn’t wanna grow bored of me, so that’s where they’d put me in order to keep me out of sight, keep me interesting for them. They always had me restrained in one way or another, kept weapons on me to get me to behave or even occasionally drugged me, although they saved that up for the most important people there… it wasn’t even the kind of drugs that made me forget, it just felt like they threw me right back in that dark hole again and I just couldn’t do anything. I could still feel every single thing, but I couldn’t even blink.”

“I don’t really know when exactly it was, but I think it was during my first winter there that I–… it was inevitable for it to happen at some point… and they didn’t wanna try and perform an abortion, didn’t have the right equipment or the skills for it, so they just let nature run its course. And then when it happened they–…” your voice broke as you then uttered through your sobs, “you know, I didn’t even get to hold her…” silently hating yourself as you then actually admitted out loud, “and a part of me wished so hard for me to have just died during the delivery. For a while I let myself think that I’d finally found a way out. That I would finally be free. That my little girl would help me end it all… and for the longest time, I couldn’t let myself love her, because that’s not how it’s supposed to be. That’s not how you’re supposed to make a new life. It shouldn’t be a consequence of being a slave, of being raped and tortured. She was a consequence. She was a consequence, but I still grew to love her. I didn’t want her, but I still loved her… and they slaughtered her in front of me like a fucking stock animal.”

“Y/n?” you suddenly heard from over your shoulder, effectively ripping you out of your trance-like state as the fresh memories of the nauseating dream you’d woken from still flooded your being, the cold sweat still dripping down your spine.

Whipping your head around, you glanced up at the man standing in the doorway and breathed, “I’m sorry,” your arms still tightly wrapped around your knees as you sat upon the cold steps of Joel’s front porch.

Stepping out onto the moonlit deck, Joel exhaled slowly, “how long have you been sitting out here?” and slowly planted himself in one of the weathered chairs.

“I don’t know,” you uttered wearily, your eyes returning to the cluster of bushes off in the distance, “I just woke up from this nightmare and then I remembered that you–”

“That I told you to come here instead of just being alone with it,” he finished for you.

“Yeah…”

After a moment, his low gravelly voice found your ears once more, “why didn’t you come in?”

With the cold wind still tickling your face and reminding you to breathe, you answered, “I–, uhm… I don’t know…”

Your shaky legs were the ones that had prevented you from going any further and forced you to essentially curl up into a ball as soon as you had reached the small splintery steps.

“Okay,” he murmured simply.

Glancing back at him in the chair, his eyes intently glued on his interlocked fingers, you caught sight of the instrument still propped up beside him.

“Hey, Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you–…” but the rest of your sentence fell short.

“What?” he asked softly, then pressed further when you kept your mouth shut, “what is it?”

With a sharp inhale, you pushed enough of your nerve-wracking thoughts aside to ask, “would you play me something?” your eyes nowhere near his as the words left your lips.

“Oh,” his brows lifted in gentle surprise as he glanced down at the guitar, “sure,” then picked it up, “anything specific you had in mind?”

“No, just something, anything.”

“Okay,” he breathed, letting his long fingers ghost over the strings as he pondered the possibilities, “uh, alright,” and with a small nod he began to play, gently strumming out a soft song reminiscent of a lullaby.

The melody at first washed over your body like a warm sip of tea, but after a bit, the feeling changed as you felt him not only pluck at the strings of the instrument, but also the ones on your heart, unexpectedly bringing tears to your already bloodshot eyes.

“Thank you,” your shaky voice interrupted his midnight performance.

“It’s just a song.”

“No, Joel,” you clarified as the sight of your tears made him set the guitar back down, “thank you for everything.”

“Y/n,” he sighed almost painfully, “you really don’t have to thank me.”

“But I want to,” you spoke determinedly, briefly raising a hand up to wipe your wet cheek, “I–,” you let out a heavy exhale, “I am both incredibly grateful and also so, so sorry that you had to hear all of that, that you’re helping me the way that you are…”

Studying your expression a moment longer, he then uttered, “do you not want me to help you or do you just not want anyone to help you?” his earnest observation hit you like a ton of bricks, “plum, you of all people deserve help. I truly feel like I’m not doing enough, I barely do anything at all,” catching your eye, he then added assuringly, “and you did not force or trick me into this, so please stop looking at me as if you did.”

“Well, hello,” the greeting bubbled out of you as you spotted Joel walking past your front porch, “funny seeing you here.”

Stopping in his tracks, he glanced up and spotted you leaning against the railing with a breezy smile upon your face, “hi.”

Squinting your eyes at him for a second, you spoke, “I know why I’m not at the party, but why aren’t you?” the faint bustle of the gathering still softly echoed from a distance.

“I actually just came from there,” he tugged his hands into his pockets, his warm breath clear in the night air, “just on my way back.”

“Already? Damn, you must be a lot older than Tommy told me,” you teased, suddenly feeling the veranda sway slightly beneath your feet, making your fingers tighten their grip on the railing, “bailing on a party after only an hour.”

Furrowing his brows in your direction, he then asked, “Y/n, are you drunk?”

“No,” but your light-hearted lie wasn’t convincing at all so you followed it up with, “okay, yeah, I might be a little buzzed.”

“Right,” he chuckled and twisted to return to his journey home, “just don’t stay out here in the cold too long.”

“Why?” you scoffed through your giggle, halting his footsteps yet again.

“Just because the alcohol feels like it��s warming you up, doesn’t mean you won’t get hypothermia. Especially dressed like that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” waving a hand in his direction, you fibbed, “I’ll go back inside in a bit.”

“Just put on a jacket at least.”

“Nice trick, mister,” you chuckled, “but I’m not going back inside after my jacket. I know you,” one of your fingers pointed accusingly at him as he suddenly abandoned his original destination and walked up your steps, “you’ll just barricade the door or something as soon as I’m inside,” though when you saw him shrug his own thick coat off and drape it over your frame, your jovial smile fell from you joking lips, “oh, I wasn’t trying to–”

“Just shut up and take it,” he quietly cut off your protest, then rested his forearms against the railing and stared out onto the dim town beyond.

Blinking over at him for a second, you eventually gave in and accepting the warm layer, “…thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Slotting in beside him, your eyes soon drifted up to look at the night sky, absentmindedly uttering, “you know, my grandma knew the names of all the different constatations in the sky, told me all about them when I came over as a kid, but somehow, I still only remember the name of big dipper. I mean, I know them, I know every single one of them, just not the names anymore. Funny how things just slip away like that. No matter how hard you fight to remember, it all just ends up being like a dream,” you then dropped your vision to find Joel already looking at you.

Maybe it was the alcohol at work or maybe it was the months of confusing feelings finally colliding, but the next thing you knew you had leaned in and pressed your lips against his. With the whole world spinning, you felt one of his hands instinctually find purchases on your waist and the other on your cool cheek. But just as quickly as it had happened, that’s how abruptly it ended when Joel suddenly took a tense step back, his fingers still lingering a second longer as you blinked up at him in dazed amazement.

“Plum, I–…” he didn’t move an inch as you briefly saw a look of genuine fear wash over his severe features, “you should probably head off to bed.”

“What?” you sounded down right out of breath.

Keeping his eyes averted, he dodged, “drink some water, maybe eat a bit so that you don’t feel as bad tomorrow,” and slowly backed away, recoiling as if he had just broken a priceless vase.

Too stunned to run after him and still enveloped in his jacket, you shouted, “Joel!” watching from the porch as he disappeared.

“About the other night…” you spoke when finally, after days of trying, you caught Joel before he could slip away again.

Not letting you finish your thought, he breathed, “you were drunk,” and kept his eyes glued to the floorboard below.

“I wasn’t that drunk,” you uttered softly, staring at his tense form.

“I’m sorry,” his head shook lightly. The mental whip he lashed across his own back was so clear that you could nearly make it out yourself.

“For what?”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that,” his eyes squeezed shut as his face crinkled up in regret, “I shouldn’t have kissed you at all.”

“You kissed me?” your eyebrows shot up, “Joel, I was the one kissing you.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, keeping his eyes closed as his head gently swayed from side to side.

“Joel,” your soft voice tried to penetrate his shield as you took a step closer to him, “Joel… please, look at me…”

Face twitching like a scared little boy, his eyes finally fluttered open, brows twisting up in heartbreak as he noticed the earnest way you were gazing up at him.

It didn’t take more than a heavy shared breath for you both to wordlessly understand.

“I’m too old for you,” he murmured.

“No, you’re not,” you stated gently, taking another step towards him.

“Y/n, you don’t really like me like that,” he tried, “not really,” though his feet still didn’t move to get away.

“Just shut up. Stop making up dumb excuses. Just be honest with me, only push me away if you really don’t want this.”

“What I want is not important…”

“That’s not true… Joel, you are probably the only man in the world that doesn’t scare me. And I didn’t really get why that was earlier, because it didn’t make sense at all, but I do now. I get it now. I didn’t want it to happen, and I don’t know when it did, but Joel, I like you,” you heard your voice break as tears began to blur your vision, “and maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’m just completely blind to all of that now, but it just seemed like you liked me back…”

“Y/n…”

“But if don’t, then I’d really appreciate it if you’d just come right out and say it so that I can just leave you alone and let you forget that any of this ever happened.”

“Plum…”

“Please just tell me…” you begged, feeling his trembling breath hit your skin, “just say that you don’t like me…”

“I can’t…” he breathed, his brown eyes flickering over your face, “you deserve so much better.”

“I know,” tears finally breached and rolled down your cheeks, “so let me have something better. Show me what I deserve.”

“Wow,” Joel giggled as you unexpectedly used all of your strength to yank him inside, “hi.”

Your lips didn’t waste any more time, immediately latching onto his and needily kissing him as you kicked the door shut behind you, “I’ve missed you.”

“Plum, it’s only been a few days,” he chuckled against your peck.

“Yeah, well I still missed you,” then added as your fingers tangled in the buttons of his dark green flannel, “a lot.”

“Oh, yeah?” he hummed as you backed him up towards the couch.

“Yeah,” you beamed in between kisses, “I really wish I could go on patrol with you, be out there just the two of us, but Maria still doesn’t think I’m ready,” you then grumbled pettily, “which is complete fucking bull shit.”

“You will get there, just be patient,” the back of his legs hit the sofa and your grasp on his broad shoulders guided him the rest of the way down.

“And what if I don’t wanna be patient, huh?” you smirked, straddling his lap and capturing his lips in another ravenous kiss.

After nearly ripping the last of his buttons clean off, you parted just long enough for you to lift your warm sweater over your head. Your fingers swiftly seized the hem of your t-shirt, the last remaining layer that remained before your bare boobs sprung free inches away from his face.

Snatching your hands before you got the chance to shred any more clothing, Joel caught your dilated pupils and checked, “you sure?”

“Please Joel, I want this,” you begged, practically on the brink of tears. Still noting the hesitation in his eye, you wiggled a hand free, placed it on his bearded jaw and told him, “I am not gonna break. You won’t break me,” feeling his hold still not yield, you breathed, “please, I want this so bad, I want you, I wanna feel you, I wanna feel all of you.”

Searching your eyes, his form then slowly relaxed beneath you and the elated giggle that bubbled out of your throat as you noticed caused a smile to bloom on his stern features as well.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” you uttered adoringly.

Tightening his grasp on the edge of your shirt, Joel slowly lifted it up, his large palms swiftly smoothing down your wild hair as the cotton neckline messed it up.

“I missed you too,” his breathy tone made it difficult for you to stay back and let him get a good look at you, as the urge to have his lips again seemed absolutely excruciating. Feeling his fingers drift down from your head to where his eyes were glued to, your hips instinctually rolled down against his thighs as he uttered, “you are so beautiful,” sounding nearly hypnotised as the soft light glowing from the window behind you cast a halo of light around your perched form.

Curling an arm around your waist, his hand stretched down and breached the waistband of your jeans, promptly using the hold to yank you even closer towards him, a move that made you lose your breath.

You couldn’t hold back the desperate whine that flowed out as you felt his prevalent tent poke against your throbbing core.

“Fuck, Joel,” you shuttered as he grabbed the nape of your neck to guide you back for another taste.

Tongues danced against each other, moans were exchanged like the breath you shared and both of your wandering hands weren’t shy to explore the other’s body as you feverishly rocked down against him.

Although as one of his hands let go of the toe-curling hold it had on the left of your pebbly nipples to slide up towards your face, it never fully arrived at the assumed destination as his fingers unexpectedly enclosed around your throat. His hold was gentle, simply resting there in an effort to keep you close, but unfortunately, that wasn’t how your body understood it.

Freezing up at once, your breath got caught in your throat as tears instantly welled up in your eyes. Your whole body started shaking as your heart-breaking voice burst through your partner’s haze.

“Joel.”

Snapping out of the ecstasy at once, he reeled back and took in how quickly your whole world had flipped upside down.

Hearing him suck in a breath that never truly flowed out again, he swiftly grabbed his shredded flannel, balled up beside him, and draped it over your trembling shoulders, though his fingers just hovering as he did so, being too scared to truly touch you again.

Your hands were still frozen, mid-air, right in front of your body as you wept, “I-I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no, I’m sorry. I’m–, fuck, I’m so sorry, plum.”

As excruciating memories flared up throughout your traumatized form and lit it ablaze, you still kept on blubbering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I want this, I really, really want this,” your jaw clenched in fury as you felt your body betray you, “you gotta believe me, I wanna–, I–…” your plea got snuffed out as your sobs took over and you jaggedly sunk down and buried your face in his chest, your fingers eventually gaining enough strength to clutch against his warm frame for an ounce of support.

“I know you do, I know…”

An immediate cry burst free as you jolted awake.

Panting, your body blurred the line between reality and dream as you slowly sat up in bed. Feeling the mattress dip beside you, a groggy hand brushed against your thigh, which you instinctually shifted away from, clutching both your knees to your chest as tears dripped from your chin down onto the duvet below. Hearing a soft groan as the man beside you awoke, it didn’t take long before your sobs pierced his peaceful rest.

“Y/n?” you felt Joel sit up beside you.

“I–,” you gasped for air, “I can’t breathe.”

“Okay, alright,” you shakily turned your head to look at him, “just, uhm, look at me, focus on me,” he haphazardly thought of a way to help, “you’re right here, you’re in Jackson, you’re safe,” he abstained the urge to reach out and touch you, almost as if it could burn him, or maybe more correctly, that he could burn you.

Trembling, your hand found his, vibrating against it for but a moment before he enveloped his long fingers around it, his shoulders relaxing slightly at the gesture. Your chaotic eyes flickered down towards his chest for guidance, as your laboured breathing still survived on short little puffs that were beginning to make you feel as if you’d faint.

Noticing, Joel raised your clasped hands up and pressed them against his chest, letting your palm feel how it rose and fell beneath his worn t-shirt. Gradually, as the soft thumping of his heart tickled your hand and accompanied the intakes of air, you regained more control and your own lungs began to return to a more normal pace. Eventually, your desperate sobs turned into just a gentle trickle of tears till they too began to run out.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” you uttered, absolutely exhausted from that start to your day.

“It’s fine,” his thumb brushed over the back of your hand, then after a moment asked you softly, “are you okay?”

“I–, u-uh,” a shiver ran down your spine, “I don’t know…”

“Okay,” Joel nodded simply, letting your enveloped hands drift down from the guiding touch against his chest.

Glancing wearily out the nearby window, you uttered absentmindedly, “it’s not light out yet…”

“No, it is not,” he agreed softly.

Having no clue how many hours were left of the eerie night, you spoke, “you should go back to sleep, you can probably still get enough rest to somewhat resemble a human tomorrow.”

“Do you wanna go back to sleep?”

“No,” your answer came out instantly, the shadowy moonlight keeping the memories of the nightmare alive and preventing you from shaking it completely, “I don’t–, I–… no.”

“Okay,” his voice again was as soft as the duvet that enveloped you, “what do you need right now? What could help?”

“I don’t know…” your lip quivered as tears welled up in your eyes once more, “I just want it to be day again. You know, things are always a bit better when the sun is out… maybe that’s silly, but it just feels like it. Things kinda loosen their grip on you easier when you’re not drowning in darkness…”

“So, then we’ll wait,” he shifted his fingers to improve his grip on your hand.

“Oh, you don’t have to wait with me, it’s okay, I’m okay now that I’m awake–” you attempted, but with little success as he interrupted your fib.

“We will wait,” his eyes found yours in the darkness.

“…okay,” you exhaled, your shoulders relaxing a bit.

And there you remained for who knows how long, watching together from the warm bed as the dark skies out the nearby window gradually lightened, soon presenting clouds in shades of rose and lavender and the sun eventually cresting from beyond the adjacent mountains.

“Like that?” you asked as you tried to press upon the instrument’s strings in the same way that Joel had just shown you.

“Close,” sitting behind you, he watched your attempt over your shoulder, “like this,” with his arms already wrapped around your form, he readjusted your fingers for the pointer to stretch to an even higher spot on the neck of the guitar, pressing his own callused fingertip over yours to help you hold the stiff string down.

“Joel,” you whined softly as your hand could barely spread out that far, nor press down hard enough to make the correct sound when moulded in that manner, “I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can,” you felt the scratch of his bearded cheek against yours as you let the grip go.

“My hands aren’t big enough to do complicated chords like that.”

“Well, it’s actually a fairly basic one–”

“Oh, shut up,” you chuckled, turning your head to gaze into his warm eyes, your vision briefly flickering down to his smiling lips as you purred, “you would say that with fingers like yours…”

Capturing your lips in a sweet kiss, you let go of the guitar completely, leaving it in Joel’s hands alone as you craned your body, and your fingers found his face.

Still feeling his gentle pecks linger upon your smile, you uttered, “I don’t think I’m gonna be the next–, uh… you know what, I don’t really remember the names of any famous guitarists right now, but you get the picture.”

“You just need to practice, that’s all.”

Pursing your lips in an effort to hide your smile, “or maybe I should just go back to just watching you play.”

“You’re giving up already?” he asked playfully.

“What? It was a sweet gesture to teach me, really, but I unfortunately just don’t think I have the right anatomy for it,” you wiggled one of your comparatively small hands in front of his face before he leaned forward, attacking the palm with his tender lips.

“But do you really have to go?” you whined into his chest, your arms only tightening around his form, “I’m sure Eugene would fill in for you or–, uhm, Jesse! He’s all young and eager to be out there.”

“You’re killing me, you know that, right?” he chuckled, tilting your chin up to catch your eye.

You were officially on the verge of marching over to Maria, once more, to ask if you could go out again. You both craved the morbid normality of going on patrols, loathing so deeply the way everyone in the town treated you as if you were made of fragile porcelain, the infected out there would never change no matter how much you did, and that fact was weirdly comforting to you. But it was also, deep down, because you hadn’t left Joel’s side for weeks now and the thought of being alone again, of going back to that house that you hadn’t even slept in for who knows how long, the thought of him maybe not returning, those too clouded your mind and caused your arms around his body to cling on even tighter.

“Stay here with me where it’s warm and there aren’t any infected and where you can enjoy much, much better company than Tommy. I’m sorry, I love the guy, but it’s true,” you jested, “I am way more fun than him.”

“Yeah, you wanna tell him all of that when he comes a-knocking in a bit looking for me? Let him find out that you’re the reason I’m not doing my job?”

Slowly unravelling your arms, you took a step back and inspected his cautious expression.

“Joel, are you–… are you scared of your brother finding out about us?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it that,” he apprehensively tried, “I just–”

“What?” you severed the remnants of your clinging hug, “are you ashamed of me or something?”

“No! Oh my god, no!” he rushed out immediately, his coffee eyes growing wide, “Y/n, I am not ashamed of you in any way, please believe that,” his words dripped with desperation.

“Alright,” you breathed, though your brows didn’t unfurrow in the slightest, “but then why do you wanna keep us a secret?”

“I don’t wanna keep us a secret, I just–…” he averted his gaze and uttered, “they trusted me to help you, you trusted me enough to let me in and then I–…”

“Then I kissed you. I was the one taking that step. Do you really think your brother would believe that you took advantage of me?”

“Plum, I know what you mean to him.”

“Even so, you really think he’d believe that? That he would think you would ever do something like that to a person?”

Exhaling slowly, “I don’t know… He’s known me all his life. Seen every side of me, good and bad. I don’t know if he’d believe that, but I know I would if I was in his shoes.”

Staring down at your feet, you gnawed your bottom lip and eventually spoke, “when will you get back?”

“Maybe tomorrow or the day after that.”

Slowly lifting your eyes up to meet his, you nodded simply “okay,” though didn’t move to offer him another warm farewell.

Picking up his backpack that waited by the front door, his fingers stopped right before turning the handle and glanced back at you, “you know,” his fingers that weren’t clutching the door fidgeted apprehensively at his side, “you can stay here while I’m gone,” your shoulders relaxed as he essentially read your mind, “if you want. If that could somehow make things easier–”

But he didn’t get to finish his kind offer as you marched over towards him and snatched his head down for a kiss.

“Be safe,” you rested your forehead against his for a moment as you felt his warm palm slide over your waist, accompanying the relieved sigh that flowed out of him.

“You too,” he breathed in your scent a second longer before he slipped out of your grasp and exited the home, not daring, even once, to look back at your form through the small window adorning the door.

“Hey plum?” you heard the front door creak open, “you in here?”

Groggily, you answered, “Joel?” laying on the couch, you turned your head to spot the figure soon appearing in the doorway.

Slowing down to a stop as he crossed the threshold into the living room, he smiled at the seemingly just lazy nap he had interrupted, “heya sleepyhead.”

“How did you know I was still here?” you weakly raised yourself up onto your elbows, the room still spinning just as much as it had this morning.

“I didn’t,” he came to sit by your blanket-covered feet, “but I thought it was a safe bet since you weren’t at home. I actually found something out there that–, hey,” he finally noticed how pale your face was, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a little sick,” you shrugged.

With your calm demeanour not rubbing off on him, he asked, “you wanna go down to the clinic?” lifting his palm up to gently touch your warm forehead.

“Joel,” you grabbed his hand softly, “I’m fine, it’s just a fever. Now, what did you find?”

Eyes still brimming with worry, he kept his one hand in yours while the other unzipped the backpack leaning up against his feet, “we came across this bookstore when we were moving through an area yesterday, and I just so happen to find this,” he produced a thick copy of a book with a very familiar faded blue font.

“No way,” you snatched it up and inspected it to make sure it actually was the sequel you thought it was, “no fucking way!”

“I remembered how pissed you were at the first one’s cliff-hanger, so I just thought–”

“Joel,” blinked up at him in amazement.

“You like it?”

“Are you kidding me?” you giggled, throwing your arms around him, “I love it, I love–, I love it, thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome, it would’ve been a travesty if you never found out if they managed to get the–, uhm, sword?”

“Axe, it’s a magical axe.”

“Right,” he chuckled as you leaned back against the armrest and cracked the novel open, “hey,” your eyes flicked up to meet his again, “you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, “but you know what would make me feel even better?”

“What?” he chuckled at the sly grin that bloomed upon your lips.

“If you read me the first few chapters.”

Plucking your feet up for them to rest upon his thighs as he scooted closer, “alright. One chapter and then you try and get some more rest, okay?” he reached out for you to hand him the book.

You had no idea when the lazy morning kisses had turned into something more, something that both felt like falling asleep, but also like you were overflowing with a sudden energy as fire spread throughout your body.

Completely lost in the moment, sprawled out on top of Joel’s form, completely pressed against him as your tongue danced softly against his own, it was first when you picked up on the muffled sighs coming from your partner that you noticed the way your hips needily rocked against his own. When they had decided to seek out what they craved, you didn’t know, but you weren’t gonna stop them now, you couldn’t, it simply felt too incredible.

“Plum,” Joel groaned, though you just hummed in return as your lips wandered over his stubbly jaw, “fuck, just–,” with an arm still around your form, resting on top of his, he gently rotated your bodies, causing you to plop down on the mattress next to him, “hi, good morning,” he painstakingly reeled his head back from yours.

Curling your leg back up over his hip, you purred back, “it really is a good morning, isn’t it?” the tent in his boxers nudging against your throbbing core as you nuzzled back into him, your eyelids fluttering at the sensation.

“Maybe it’s about time we–, uh-uhm, get up?” he sucked in a deep breath, obviously attempting to simmer down the result of your escalated tender beginning to the day.

“Nah, I’d much rather stay here with you a little longer,” you breathed, “wouldn’t you?” batting your eyelashes up at him.

“I–, fuck, of course, but–”

“But what?” your fingers slid across his cheek, weaving them through his short beard.

“Don’t you think we should stop before something happens?”

“We could,” you tried your best to keep the traumatic door he was scratching at closed, “but I’m just letting you know that if you get up now, I’ll just take matters into my own hands… do you really wanna get up and leave when you know I’ll be right here thinking about you?”

“I just don’t want you to–”

“Me neither,” you shook your head quickly as you cut his worry short, “please, Joel,” your words dripped with desperation as you grabbed his wrist and pulled it down between your bodies, “I’m so fucking wet right now,” you cupped his palm against the soaked cotton between your thighs, “it would be so mean to just leave me like this.”

Listening as his breathing grew weightier, his eyes fluttered a moment as he thought it over, hand not moving an inch, “you sure?”

“I promise I will tell you if it changes,” you swore, feeling like a wildfire was tearing through your body, then let out a whimper as you felt his hand slowly withdraw, “please.”

Staring directly into your soul, he nodded softly, “okay.”

“Okay?” you asked, still dumbfoundedly clawing at his retracting hand.

“Okay, go ahead,” he clarified, caressing your confused fingers a moment before tangling his own with them, “I’m not gonna stop you from making yourself feel good.”

Letting out a jagged exhale as a soft smile bloomed on your lips, you tilted your chin up and crashed your lips into his, your relieved giggle vibrating into the kiss.

Dipping your fingers below your waistband, even just the lightest touch against your buzzing clit had you letting out a deliciously desperate sound that made you break from his adoring lips. Feeling them linger on your face a moment longer, softly pecking your flushed cheek and the tip of your nose, he then pulled back a bit, his free hand sliding up to the side of your features as he gazed lovingly at your blissful expression.

Feeling the hand clutching yours not let go as you had assumed it would, on the contrary, you felt it tighten its grip and squeeze yours encouragingly as the sloppy sounds emanating from between your legs filled the bedroom, “are you gonna join me?”

“No,” his genuine smile smooshed lightly against the pillow beneath his face as his thumb caressed your cheekbone softly, “I’m good right here.”

“But–”

“Trust me, I’ll be fine, this is all I want, all I need, just seeing you touch yourself like this right in front of me, watching you give yourself exactly the kind of pleasure you want, hearing those beautiful sounds you make, fuck…” he said, giving you all of the control, “yeah, I’m good.”

Staring back into his kind eyes in amazement, you breathed out just the remnants of a smile and uttered, “okay.”

“Just do what feels good, plum,” he encouraged, sharing your breath as you kept up the tight circles you drew over your puffy little pearl, “what you like,” he broke the intense eye contact and rested his forehead against your own, “what you need.”

His deep voice made your eyes flutter. The heated morning make-out session had worked you up so much that you barely needed anything more in order to reach that sought-after high. If he hadn’t stopped you before, if it had just lasted a minute longer you would have probably cum right there, rubbing yourself against his strong thigh. So, the addition of his words was almost too much to bear.

Lifting your entangled hands up towards his lips, he kissed your knuckles gently, tilting his head back to admire your electric expression, how your brows knitted together and your mouth hung agape.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he uttered as your moans gradually grew louder and you found yourself tumbling over the edge before you even realised you’d reached it.

After your legs had relaxed from their light flailing and your breath began to come in more gently, completely dazed, you stared up at Joel as he soon asked you carefully, “are you okay?”

“Holy shit…” you breathed as you sluggishly slipped your wet fingers back out of your underwear.

With his large hand still on the side of your face, he searched your fuzzy eyes, “plum? Are you–”

“Y-yeah, fuck,” you tightened your hand in his and lulled forward, resting your forehead against his once again, “I’m–, yeah… I’m good…”

“Hey, are you okay?” Joel asked as he felt your body suddenly stiffen up in his lap.

“I–…” you exhaled slowly, focusing your jittery vision on his warm eyes, “this just got very real all of a sudden…”

“Yeah…” his wide palm moved gently over your bare back, his respectful gaze staying on your face and not drifting down to soak up the distracting vision of your collective nude forms moulded against each other, “do you wanna stop?”

“No,” you shook your head lightly.

“Do you wanna do something else? Because you know I’m fine, we don’t have to do this.”

“No, I really, really want to, I just–…” your eyes drifted down to stare at his shoulder while you spoke sincerely, “I wanna stay here with you and not have my mind wander off and get confused…”

“I want you to stay here too, more than anything,” his fingers tangled themselves in your hair, bringing your eyes back up to meet his, “what can I do? What can I do to help?”

“I don’t know…” you offered him a shy shrug, “I guess you could try and remind me? Help keep me focused on this, on you…”

“Okay,” he agreed softly, his thumb swiping over your flushed cheek, “well, you’re right here with me, there is no one else, just you and me, plum.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, your shoulders relaxing under his comforting touch.

“And you know that I’ve got you, right? No matter what, no matter how, I’ve got you.”

Feeling a soft smile warm up your face, you echoed, “you’ve got me,” and absentmindedly rolled your hips once more against his own, rubbing your leaking cunt all over the underside of his length as it stood proud.

Leaning in to steal a chased kiss, you sneaked your hand down between your forms and ghosted your fingers over his girth. Joel sucked in a breath as you slowly gained more confidence, dancing your fingertips over his slick stained dick.

With a hand rooted on his chest as an anchor, you needily began to buck your hips against him, your weeping folds enveloping his cock as you rocked against him.

“Fuck,” Joel hissed in pleasure, his nose bumping lightly against your own as he commented on the slick sounds accompanying every desperate rock, “you’re so wet.”

Brows knitted together, you let your head drop down and hide in the crook of his neck. Your whimpers vibrated against his skin and as you felt the fire inside of you begin to grow out of control, so did the confession that irrepressibly flowed from your blissful lips.

“I love you.”

You instantly froze up, feeling your swollen clit throb against his hard cock.

“Oh my god…” he breathed, sounding utterly amazed.

“I–…” you continued to hide, “oh god, I’m sorry… I–, I’m sorry…”

“No, hey, hey,” his hands found your neck and gently pulled you back, “why are you sorry, huh?” he searched your averted gaze.

“I didn’t mean to say that.”

“You didn’t mean it?”

“No, I just didn’t mean to blurt it out like that!” completely mortified, you brought your hands up to shield your face.

“…so you–”

“I’m sorry, I just–”

“Plum,” you felt his thumbs swipe over the backs of your hands, begging them to reveal your face to him, “please stop apologizing for telling me the best thing you could ever say,” holding your breath, you slowly let your fingers fall down. Sucking in a gasp of air, he gazed into your nervous eyes and uttered earnestly, “I love you too.”

Feeling lightheaded, you breathed, “what?”

“I love you,” he repeated with a small chuckle as the words sank in.

“You–… you do?”

“Yeah, of course I do, I mean, how could I not–,” but he didn’t get to gush any further as you feverishly grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss, an amazed giggle soon interrupting from your adoring lips.

“I love you,” you smiled, planting a dozen pecks all over his face. His arms wrapped around your form and enveloped you in warmth as he contentedly rocked the both of you lightly in his embrace.

“I love you,” he beamed as you gently raised your hips up and grabbed his twitching length, aligning it with your entrance, “I lo–… love–… holy shit,” he cursed as you slowly sank down on his fat girth.

The sensation of him stretching you out had a confusing cocktail of emotions flooding your system. It both felt so beyond amazing because it was him, it was Joel, but it also had your body trembling with the assault of tainted memories.

Your wide eyes eventually locked on his as you stilled in his lap, letting the warmth of his kind eyes ground you as you breathed, sounding like you were sucking in your very first breath, “Joel,” your chest rose and fell rapidly as your vision washed over his face.

With one arm staying safely around your torso, the other hand drifted up to the side of your head, “yeah, it’s me, it’s just me,” lovingly taming your wild hair as you steadied your fevered breath.

Feeling your body relax under his touch, your fluttering eyes darkened as you instinctively rolled your hips, “Joel,” watching his face contort beautifully as you grinded in his lap, letting his cock nuzzle in that much deeper.

“Yeah, that’s it,” the arm that was tangled around you snaked down so that the hand could supportively grip your backside, “keep saying my name, just like that,” you then desperately picked up the pace, moaning intoxicatedly at the sound of his deep voice, “it’s just me, I’ve got you.”

Half of the time when his name left your lips, the mantra sounded utterly incoherent as your moans drowned it out, leaving the whispered prayer completely unrecognizable.

Asking for permission with his gaze, he kept his eyes locked on yours as he lowered his head down enough to bury it in the swell of your tit, feeling his hot tongue swipe across your skin as his cock stretched you out so intoxicatingly.

With one hand firmly aiding your fevered pace, the other one stayed right where your bodies met, swirling your swollen clit with a firmness that made it difficult for you to keep your hazy eyes open.

“Joel,” you let him take over as you neared the end, surprising you with how effortlessly he bounced you in his lap, sloppy wet sounds filling the living room as your skin slapped against each other with every needy thrust, your juices undoubtedly dripping down onto the couch at this point. Whimpering as you clambered down around him, “Joel,” you nearly choked his dick to death as you came on his cock.

Your thighs trembled violently as he let out a string of beautifully lewd moans, holding you there and fucking your spasming pussy just a few more times before he pulled you back just enough for him to yank out his angry cock, pumping it quickly in his tight fist, his forearm flexing under the strain as hot ropes of cum spilt out and painted your heaving belly.

“Fuck,” he cursed, breathing heavy as he pulled you in to kiss your cheek. Draping both of his arms around you and holding you close, you felt his heartbeat thump against your chest as you slowly regained composure of your own ragged breathing, “you okay, Y/n?”

“I–… I think so…” you blinked back at him, completely starry-eyed, “oh my god, I love you…”

“I love you,” he couldn’t help the relieved, breathy chuckle that bubbled out of him, “fuck, I’m so proud of you. You–, you’re–…” his eyes flicked across your face, his brain visibly melting at the way you looked back at him right now, “christ, I love you…”

In the bustle of your soft giggling, Tommy, smile still plastered on his lips, asked you unexpectedly, “so, how long have you been seeing him?”

Nearly choking on your tea, you somehow managed to not spit out any of the hot liquid as you glared at him in shock, “I’m sorry, what?”

Taking a casual sip of his own mug, he said, “my brother,” gloating as he lowered it again, smugly staring down into the cup, “how long have you been keeping it a secret?”

“I–…” you blinked, stunned a moment by how he could have found out, “I haven’t been keeping it a secret, I just haven’t been advertising it…”

Raising his brown eyes up to look at you, he asked you sincerely, “you happy?”

“Yeah,” a soft smile bloomed on your lips as it was now your turn to stare down at the amber beverage sloshing around in your cup, “I think I am.”

“Good,” he nodded gently, “and just for the record, he might be my big brother, but if he ever tries anything, I will not hesitate.”

“What, are you gonna beat him up for me?” you chuckled.

“Maybe,” he drew out, your giggle causing him to smile, “or maybe I’ll rat him out to Maria and she’ll make sure he gets kicked out.”

“You’d kick your own brother out of Jackson?” your brows shot up in disbelief.

“If he ever hurts you, yeah,” he admitted, “I love him, but you’re my family too, and Jackson was your home way before it was his. You deserve dibs.”

“Hey, Eugene,” you greeted the scraggly man seemingly waiting outside of Maria’s office, “have you seen Joel? Did he come in with you?”

Eyes widening a moment at your sudden appearance, he straightened up and muttered, “I–, uh, I think he’s probably checking up on Ellie, so you should over go there.”

“Uhm, no, I actually just checked there, just in case. She said she saw him ride in this morning, but hadn’t heard from him since,” fear suddenly flooding your senses as you asked tensely, “is he okay? Did something happen? Is that why the shift took so long this time? Is he in the infirmary?”

“No, no,” he raised his inked hand up in reassurance, “plum, he’s fine, he’s probably just busy or something.”

Looking him up and down, your head tilted slightly as you noticed just how tense he was and how his waiting in front of the door almost looked like he was guarding it…

“Why are you acting so weird?”

“Me?” he forced a chuckle, “I’m not acting weird. Just go home. If I spot him, then I’ll send him your way, promise.”

“What’s going on in there?” you nodded to the heavy door, firmly blocked by his frame.

“Nothing’s going on,” he said a bit too quickly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then why are you guarding the door?”

“I’m not guarding the door.”

“Oh, yeah?” you squinted your eyes, huffing out a heated breath, “then let me in. Let me go talk to Maria.”

“Maria’s not in there right now.”

“Really? Then who is?” you asked, receiving nothing but silence, “let me in, Eugene.”

“Can’t do that, plum. Just do me a favour, go home, relax–”

“Don’t fucking tell me to relax,” you roared, ripping your arm away as he tried to reach out for you.

Searching his tense eyes, your racing mind came to a conclusion quicker than the last grain of sand rushing through an hourglass, irreversible as your fist then suddenly came down upon his temple, knocking him out cold.

As you creaked the door open, you heard Joel’s low timbre before you saw him, “I’m gonna ask you nicely one last time, where is your group? We know that you moved, so where to?”

Rounding the corner, your entire body froze in shock as you saw him kneeling in front of a bloodied man strapped to a chair, a man you never thought you’d see again.

“Fuck you, man,” the beaten guy spat, “I ain’t saying shit.”

A high-pitched, guttural wail erupted throughout the room as Joel twisted the knife logged in the man’s thigh, his body shaking against the tight binds at the excruciating pain.

“Plum,” Tommy, standing in the corner, gasped, though your eyes didn’t falter their intense stare, didn’t even blink, watching the familiar man cry out as the knife was yanked out.

Whirling around in horror, Joel straightened up as soon as he saw you, attempting to block the person from your view, “what are you–”

But your hand promptly shot out, successfully warning them to stop talking. With your cold glare still locked on the dazed man, his bruised eyes slowly blinking open to look back at you, a disgusting grin immediately blooming on his bloodied face.

“As I live and breathe,” he snarled, the thick blood in his throat gurgling his sentence, “the bitch is back…” he scanned you lewdly, swollen eyes panning over your petrified form, “gotta give it to you, slipping out from under our noses in the bustles of the move, that was pretty smart, though we all just assumed you’d been ripped to shreds by a hoard of infected, but I see now that you still can’t be killed. Resilient little cunt, this one is,” he clicked his tongue, “what, have you come back for more? Missed me that much?”

Slowly, your vision never wavering, you turned your palm up before your partner, finally peeling your eyes off the man for but a moment to shoot an icy glance at Joel, wordlessly asking him to give you the knife in his hand, still dripping with crimson.

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea–” the rest of Tommy’s timid words got crushed as you swiftly glared at him as if he was next.

Reluctantly, you eventually felt the weight of the weapon being placed in your open palm. With vile tickling the back of your throat, you slowly stepped closer to the restrained man, your jaw quivering as he continued to speak out of turn.

“Real shame that you never made it, never got to see Noah’s big plan in person,” it was such a short name, yet such a big wave that crashed into you, “he misses you, by the way,” the man glanced up at you through his stringy blonde hair, clinging to his forehead, the very tips stained red by the blood oozing from his various nasty wounds, “we all miss you…”

Your whole being felt completely numb, almost as if you were dreaming. Never letting your horrified glare falter, you lowered yourself down in front of him, getting on his level and crouching at his bound feet.

With the knife heavy in your hand, your fingers tightened around the handle as he dared to utter smugly, “yeah, that’s it,” he tried to spread his thighs apart, “you’ve missed your daddy, I can see it…”

Wordlessly, your face still akin to a statue, you grabbed onto two of his grimy fingers and swiftly bent them back forcefully enough for there to sound a nasty crack. The sharp cry he let out didn’t affect you in the slightest as you determinedly straightened the broken fingers back out. Notching the knife right beneath the knuckles, you looked him right in the eye and watched his face contort in agony as the sharp blade sliced clean through his digits, letting them roll onto the floor as he screamed.

Before he could catch his breath, you reached up and sliced one of his cauliflowered ears off, listlessly letting it tumble off and join the severed digits on the floor.

Unexpectedly, amidst all the grunts and groans, the vile man erupted in laughter, throwing his head back as the crimson spewed from his gashes, “that all you got? Come on,” he had the nerve to wink at you, “give me a little sugar, dolly.”

He didn’t deserve to just die. He didn’t deserve that mercy. He deserved to understand. To be broken by the severity of his actions. To live out the rest of his days in agony knowing that no matter what he did, he would never be able to pay for what he had done, simply live in the consequential void of despair.

The bridge of your nose twitched as the tip of the blade sank into his groin, stabbing him repeatedly till your fervent strikes grew sloppy, angling up to his abdomen, and you were out of breath, panting as you watched the life leave his eyes.

Still completely silent, you stayed there, staring at his lifeless expression, your shoulders heaving with every painful breath.

Sluggishly, you pulled the weapon out of where it was still lodged in the man’s lower stomach, shakily clutching it in your stained hand as you stood back up. Your knees nearly buckled from under you as you turned for the others to see your pale face, lumbering slowly towards the exit as if they weren’t even there at all.

As Joel carefully stepped closer to your slow-moving form, he didn’t get to try anything as you swiftly dropped the blood-soaked knife back into his grasp and continued your painful trek out the door, not glancing up at his horrified face for even a moment.

Breaking the deafening silence, Tommy warily said, “he never told us where they–”

Whirling around, the sharp slap that your numb palm planted across his cheek cut his sentence short, fury still alive in your cold eyes as you stared at your friend, struggling to comprehend that he had actually dared to pull something like this without your knowledge. That both of them had.

As you turned your back on them again, he cautiously continued to speak, “you could have just let us have two seconds with him, we’d still have let you finish him off, if that’s what you wanted to.”

Your voice was hoarse as you finally spoke again, “he would have never told you where they are,” facing the door, you revealed to them, “and besides that, you didn’t need him. I already know where they are.”

“You know?” Tommy gasped, his wide eyes glued on you in surprise, “this whole time you’ve known and haven’t told us?”

“It’s not like you ever asked me,” you uttered through your gritted teeth. Casting your piercing glare upon Joel, you said, “so I’m guessing this is why your patrol shifts suddenly got unusually long, am I right?”

Barely breathing at all, he answered hesitantly, “…yes.”

“And does Maria even know?”

“Not till a few hours ago,” Tommy huffed out a pained sigh.

“What the fuck were you thinking? How could you even consider that any of this was something that I’d want? Why on earth did you take it upon yourselves to go out and get revenge?” staring Joel down, you continued, “did you somehow think that it would–, what, improve my sleep at night or just your own? Were you gonna come home one day and just go congratulations, honey! They are all dead! Do you really think that would have helped me or are you truly just incapable of thinking with anything but your fists, getting your hands dirty because of something that has absolutely nothing to do with you?” he averted his gaze as you got up in his face, “I get that you’re invested, that you want them to pay, but this isn’t your choice to make,” your finger poked his chest harshly, “you don’t get to choose for me how or even if I want revenge. I get to choose that, me, not you,” you gave him a heated shove, completely numb to the tears that streamed down your cheeks and muffled your words. With your chest heaving, watching as he didn’t try to close the gap you had forced, you uttered, the exhaustion seeping through your sentence, “things were just starting to get better and then you go and drag me right back into it.”

With your vision still locked on Joel as he just stood there and took it all, Tommy’s voice piped up once more, “plum, just–”

Cutting him off, you set the record straight, “I’m not telling you.”

“But–”

“No,” you shot him a glare and repeated, “I’m not telling you where they are. This right here,” you motioned between the brothers and ordered, “it stops now. Whatever plan you’ve been cooking up, forget it.”

You lost count of how long, how many days, perhaps weeks, you locked yourself in your house.

The unanswered knocks Joel’s fist echoed on your front door soon evolved into him stubbornly planting himself out on your pouch each and every day.

It wasn’t till the day when someone came to supply you with some more food that you finally had to open the door and consequently be forced to face him once again.

“Plum–,” he sprung up from his seat on the wobbly bench as soon as you creaked the door open.

You tried not to look at him as you swiftly bent down to snatch up the tupperware.

“Go away,” you growled wearily.

But your attempt at slamming the door shut failed as Joel swiftly stuck his solid boot in to block it, “if you would please just let me explain–”

“No,” you finally glared up at him as he pushed himself inside, “just please stop,” briefly turning to set the food down, you then ripped the door back open as he tried to close it behind him, “I don’t wanna hear whatever excuse you have,” you held it open for him to leave, “nothing you can say will ever make me forgive what you’ve done. That’ll never happen,” you sucked in a sharp breath as you blinked back into Joel’s glossy gaze, “I–… I am so mad at you…” your gaze then fluttered shut as your breaths grew unsteady, “so mad that I could easily do some very well deserved, yet regrettable things to you… but I–…” tears rolled down your cheeks as your eyes flickered back open to catch his stare, “I love you,” the phrase caused a rift to crack in your hard shell, “I won’t forgive you, but I still love you.”

With a glint of hope twinkling in his eye, Joel took a step closer to you, though halted as you raised up a palm.

“But if you ever so much as think about doing something like that again, I’ll cut your fucking balls off.”

As he then seized the sides of your face, a wistful whimper fell from your lips. Moving slowly, ever so slowly, he simply stared back at you as he inched in closer.

As soon as he pressed a gentle kiss to your mouth, an entrapped cry forced its way out of your form and even though the sensation was one you longed for, one that already began to mend your festering wound, your palms still found his broad chest and showed him back.

“You should go,” you uttered, your gaze falling to the floor as your fingers fluttered up to ghost over the fading memory of his peck.

“Plum–”

Hoping that he hadn’t noticed the already packed rucksack leaning up against the nearby wall, you whispered, “please don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

But he still didn’t move to exit out the open door, only tilted his head with terrified recognition and breathed, “…no,” as the cold air blew in betwixt your frames, “sweetheart, please don’t do what think you’re doing.”

A low sigh flowed from you as you averted your gaze, incapable of denying his accusation, “Joel–”

“Take me with you,” he demanded, “I won’t just stand here and let the woman that I love go out on a suicide mission on your own.”

“I–, Joel…” you let out a wobbly whimper, “I don’t trust you enough right now to drag you along. I didn’t even wanna do this, it’s your fault, it was you who plunged me back into it, and now I–…” your words crumbled away as your stare faded out into nothingness, intentionally having to suck in a pained breath and fill up your lungs once more to you rip yourself out of the abyss, just enough to say, “I just want it all to stop…”

Taking a step closer to you, he uttered, “please,” and caught your palm, begging you to meet his gaze, “let me help you.”

As you stared back into his pleading eyes, you felt your ramped pulse begin to settle down, and not many moments managed to pass by before you opened your mouth once more, only needing the warm touch of his hand and the soothing presence of his gaze to flip your stubborn coin.

“…they call it Paradise, the place where they moved their group. It’s somewhere down in Arizona…”

#lea’s writing #plum #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x y/n #joel miller angst #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader smut #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller hurt/comfort #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic

838 notes · View notes

fangdokja · 1 month ago

Text

🔞"I trusted you, wife, and now I'll teach you what betrayal feels like."

❤︎ Synopsis. Caught in a web of lies, a spy's double life unravels when her mafia husband discovers her betrayal—turning their love into a merciless game of dominance, vengeance, and obsession. She was his wife, his possession, and now, his prisoner.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss x Fem. Reader

♡ Novelette. #1 -The Enemy in His Bed

♡ Word Count. 8,853

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non-con, rape, blood play, forced oral, fear play, knife play, needle play, heavy bodily injury, slut shaming, objectification, psychological torment, actual torture methods, mature language, humiliation, degradation, forced orgasms, sadism, BDSM, groping, biting, bondage, nudity, fire play, gagging, physical assault and violence, choking / breath play

You are in a room that reeks of blood and mildew, the air so heavy it feels like it’s pressing down on your lungs. The faint hum of a fluorescent bulb flickering above casts the space in a sickly yellow light, illuminating the cold, concrete walls streaked with rust-colored stains. You’re tied to a chair—no, anchored. The ropes around your wrists and ankles are so tight you can feel the pulse of your blood struggling beneath them, the fibers cutting deep into your flesh. Your breathing is shallow, ragged, your chest rising and falling as if every breath might be your last.

He stands in front of you, a towering figure cloaked in shadow. His silhouette is broad and unyielding, the kind of presence that fills every corner of the room with an oppressive weight. This man—the man who used to call you lyubov moya—is no longer the husband you once knew. The ruthless Russian mafia boss whose name is whispered like a curse. His eyes, dark as pitch, are fixed on you with a predator’s focus, glinting with something primal, something vile. He’s not here to forgive. He’s here to destroy.

“Do you feel it?” His voice is low, gravelly, but it carries the force of an earthquake. He steps closer, the sound of his boots hitting the floor like a countdown. “That crawling under your skin? That’s fear. That’s regret. And yet, you still sit there,” he hisses, his tone sharp enough to flay skin, “with that fucking look in your eyes.”

His hand shoots out, grabbing your chin with bruising force. His thumb digs into the soft flesh just below your cheekbone, forcing your face upward. The light catches his features, and for a moment, you see the rage carved into every hard line of his face. But it’s his eyes that terrify you most. They’re dead things, black holes where love once flickered.

“You betrayed me,” he snarls, the words laced with venom. His grip tightens, and you hear the faint crackle of cartilage in your jaw. “My wife. My fucking wife. And all this time, you were a spy. An actress in my bed, a liar in my world.” He releases you with a violent shove, and your head snaps back, the base of your skull colliding with the chair’s hard frame. Pain blooms, hot and electric, as blood trickles from your nose, the metallic tang filling your mouth.

The room is silent except for the sound of his breathing, heavy and deliberate, like a beast stalking its prey. He circles you now, each step echoing like the tolling of a bell. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” he asks, his voice quieter but infinitely more dangerous. He crouches down beside you, the leather of his gloves creaking as he pulls a blade from his belt. It’s thin, surgical, the kind of tool meant for precision rather than brute force. “Did you think I wouldn’t break you?”

The blade glides along your collarbone, its edge so sharp it almost feels cold. He presses just enough for the skin to part, a shallow cut that wells with blood and sends a sharp sting radiating through your nerves. “This is just the beginning,” he whispers, his lips so close to your ear you can feel the heat of his breath. “You don’t get to die yet. Not until I’ve carved every secret out of you. Not until you understand what betrayal costs.”

Your pulse is erratic, hammering in your chest as he stands again, looming over you like some ancient lord of vengeance. His fist connects with your cheek, and the world spins, your vision blurring as pain explodes across your face. Blood spatters across the floor in a violent arc, warm and sticky as it drips from the corner of your mouth.

“Where’s your defiance now?” he growls, his voice shaking with fury. He grabs a fistful of your hair, wrenching your head back so your gaze meets his. “You want to look brave, milaya, but I know better. I can see it in your eyes. You’re already breaking.”

His lips curl into a cruel smile as he lets go, letting your head drop forward. The room seems to tilt, the edges of your vision darkening, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of your surrender. Not yet. Not while there’s still air in your lungs.

But he’s not done. He won’t be until every inch of you is stripped raw, every nerve exposed and screaming. He reaches for a switch on the wall, and with a flick, the room is bathed in red light. It casts his shadow on the walls, grotesque and distorted, like a demon looming over the damned.

────────────

The door creaks open, and a figure, one of his subordinates, enters the room, dragging a metal tray laden with an assortment of cruel instruments. Your heart races as the cold steel glints under the flickering lights, each tool designed for a specific kind of torment.

The Russian mafia boss nods curtly, his eyes never leaving yours as the man sets the tray down with a clatter. "You're going to tell me everything," he says, his voice low and deadly.

"And then, I'm going to show you what it means to betray the one who gave you everything." He leans in, his hot breath on your neck, his grip on your chin painful.

"But first, I want you to remember what you used to be to me," he murmurs, the words a dark caress that sends a shiver down your spine.

His hand travels down, cupping your bruised cheek before sliding down to grasp your throat. You swallow hard, the fear rising like bile in your throat, but you refuse to show it. He squeezes, the pressure increasing until your eyes water, but you don't make a sound, not even a whimper.

His eyes narrow in frustration before he releases you, the hand moving to grip your jaw instead, forcing your mouth open.

With a sneer, he brings his face closer, his stubble scraping against your skin as he whispers, "You were once my sweet little bird, singing only for me. Now, you're a caged whore for the highest bidder." He slams his mouth down on yours, his kiss bruising and possessive.

You taste the rage and desperation in him, and for a fleeting moment, you feel a pang of pity.

But it's quickly replaced with a fiery resolve to survive, to somehow escape his clutches.

His tongue forces its way into your mouth, and you bite down, hard. He pulls back with a growl of annoyance, but instead of releasing you, he laughs, a dark, chilling sound. "Good girl," he says, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

"You still have some fight left in you." His eyes scan the tray, and he selects a pair of pliers. "Let's see how much you can take."

He reaches for your shirt, his fingers deftly unbuttoning it despite your struggling. The fabric tears away from your body, exposing your bruised and bound breasts. He squeezes them, watching the pain flicker in your eyes with a twisted pleasure. "These used to be mine," he says, his voice filled with a sadistic glee. He leans in again, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "But now, I'll make sure no one else ever touches them again."

The air in the dimly lit room reeked of sweat and copper, a metallic tang that coated your tongue as you gasped for breath. His shadow loomed large, an oppressive specter that seemed to drink in your pain. The pliers in his hand gleamed under the flickering light—a surgeon’s precision wrapped in a sadist’s grip.

His voice slithered through the silence, low and venomous. “Tell me,” he hissed, his words thick with cruelty, “whose touch you’ve dared to crave besides mine.”

Your chest rose and fell, trembling under his gaze. You held your tongue, the taste of defiance as bitter as bile. His jaw tightened. Then, without hesitation, he snapped the cold steel jaws of the pliers onto your right nipple.

The first twist came like lightning, sharp and blinding, a searing current that jolted through your body. The delicate tissues twisted under the unyielding bite of the metal, the nerve endings igniting like fireworks. You clenched your teeth so hard your jaw ached, your scream lodged in your throat like a jagged stone.

He leaned in closer, his breath an unwanted warmth against your cheek. “Still stubborn, aren’t we?” he murmured, his tone laced with mockery and dark amusement. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

The second twist was slower, deliberate—a calculated cruelty that made your skin crawl. He pulled, the pliers dragging the sensitive flesh in directions it was never meant to go. You could feel the tissue straining, tearing, fibers unraveling like the threads of a fragile tapestry.

Your vision swam, black spots blooming like ink blots against the edges of your sight. He laughed softly, the sound of a predator savoring its kill. “Beautiful,” he said, almost reverent. “Even in pain, you’re mine. Always mine.”

The climax of his sadistic art came with a grotesque pop, the sound of tissue surrendering to force. The pain was an inferno, all-consuming, burning through every nerve as he wrenched the nipple free from your body. Warm blood spilled in rivulets, pooling on the filthy floor beneath you. The ruined flesh hung like a torn petal before he carelessly tossed it aside, letting it hit the ground with a wet slap.

He stepped back, his gaze fixed on your bloodied chest—a grotesque canvas of raw meat and trembling sinew. The shredded skin wept crimson tears, each droplet sliding down to trace the curve of your ribs. The room tilted; your body screamed for reprieve, but there was none to be had.

“You’re breathtaking like this,” he said softly, running a gloved hand over your mutilated breast. His touch was clinical, detached, as if admiring the precision of his own handiwork. “But we’re far from finished.”

The metal tray clattered as he reached for his next tool—a scalpel, gleaming with sterile menace. But before he could wield it, he paused, considering. With a dark smile, he reached instead for the salt.

The coarse grains glittered like tiny shards of glass as he grabbed a fistful. “Let’s ensure you remember this moment,” he whispered, and then he scattered the salt into the gaping wound.

It was as if the salt detonated on contact, each granule a fresh explosion of agony. Your body bucked involuntarily, the ropes digging into your wrists as you thrashed against your bindings. The scream that tore from your throat was raw and primal, reverberating off the walls like a wounded animal’s last cry.

His smile widened, a cruel crescent etched into his face. “Much better,” he said, almost soothingly. “Now we’re making progress.”

The pliers returned, their jaws still slick with blood as they moved to your remaining nipple. This time, you could see the shadow of his intent, the cold malice in his eyes as he clamped down. The pain came like a tidal wave, drowning you in its depths as he twisted, pulled, and twisted again.

The nipple tore loose with a sickening crunch, cartilage snapping, blood spurting in a violent arc. Your chest was no longer your own—it was a ravaged landscape of gore, a grotesque testament to his control. The raw, exposed tissue oozed and quivered, a mockery of what it once was.

He stepped back, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes drinking in the destruction he’d wrought. “You’re exquisite when you break,” he murmured, his voice tinged with satisfaction. “But don’t worry, little wife. There’s so much more of you left to ruin.”

You hung limp in the chair, your body trembling, every nerve ablaze. Your silence persisted, but his words lingered, curling around you like smoke, a promise of horrors yet to come.

────────────

The mafia boss steps back, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes never leaving the destruction he's wrought upon your body. His hand reaches down to adjust his crotch, where a noticeable bulge has formed.

He's enjoying this, the sadist, getting off on your suffering.

"You're going to scream for me," he says, his voice low and filled with a primal hunger. "You're going to beg for me to stop. And when you do, I'll make sure you never forget who you belong to."

He moves to stand in front of you, his pants tenting obscenely. He unbuckles his belt, the leather making a harsh sound as it's pulled from the loops, the anticipation in the air thick and suffocating. He unbuttons his pants, and his cock springs free, hard and angry. He strokes it, the motion taunting you, a silent challenge to see how much more you can endure.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice a whip crack that slices through the pain.

You refuse to give him the satisfaction, keeping your eyes cast down, focusing on the puddle of blood forming around your chair.

He grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. "Look at what you've done to me," he snarls. "You've turned me into a monster."

He steps closer, pressing his cock against your bruised and bleeding chest, the heat from his arousal a stark contrast to the cold steel of the pliers still digging into your skin. He grinds against you, his hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

"You're going to take this," he says, his voice a mix of anger and lust. "You're going to take every inch of me until you remember who you are."

With a brutal yank, he twists the pliers on your nipples even more so, and you feel your body convulse in a silent scream.

He takes the opportunity to force himself inside your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. "Suck it," he orders, his hand fisted in your hair, pushing your face closer to his crotch.

With a burst of defiance, you clamp down on his cock with your teeth, biting as hard as you can, feeling the warm flesh between your teeth, the taste of his pre-cum mixing with the coppery tang of your own blood.

He roars in a mix of pain and pleasure, his grip on your hair tightening as he thrusts deeper into your mouth.

The mafia boss’s eyes widen in shock, but the arousal in them doesn't waver. Instead, it seems to intensify, his pupils dilating with a dark excitement.

"Fuck, you little bitch," he growls, his voice a mix of anger and desire. "You're going to regret that." His hand moves from your hair to the back of your head, pushing down harder, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth with a sickening rhythm.

You refuse to give in, biting down again, the pain in your breasts and the metallic taste of blood only fueling your resolve to fight back.

He responds by slamming your head into the chair, stars exploding across your vision, but you don't let go. The pain radiates through your skull, but you hold on, biting even harder.

The Russian's hand trembles with a mix of rage and arousal as he pours an unmerciful amount of salt into the gaping wounds on your chest.

The agony is instant and overwhelming, your body arching off the chair as the salt sears into your flesh, setting every nerve ending alight with pain.

The scream that rips from your throat is muffled by his thick cock, still lodged in your mouth. His grip on the back of your head tightens even more, his hips jerking as your teeth graze his shaft, the scream vibrating along his length.

He watches your face contort in torment, his own expression a twisted blend of love and hatred. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Scream for me."

He pours more salt, the grains falling like a sadistic rain upon your ravaged breasts. Your teeth clench around his cock as you fight back the urge to pass out from the pain. Your eyes squeeze shut, and tears stream down your face, mixing with the blood and saliva that coats your chin. He seems to revel in your suffering, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his breaths more ragged.

The henchman, his eyes wide and slightly horrified, watches from the corner, unsure of what to do. The Russian mafia boss, noticing his employee's discomfort, turns to him with a wicked smile. "You want a taste?" he asks, his voice a dark promise.

The man shakes his head, unable to tear his gaze away from the macabre scene unfolding before him. The mafia boss laughs, a low, chilling sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "Then get the fuck out," he snaps. "I'll handle this one."

The henchman nods hastily, retreating from the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

You're alone with the monster you once called your husband.

The salt has stopped falling, but the pain remains, a constant reminder of your betrayal and his wrath.

He pulls back a bit, panting heavily, his cock still hard and slick with your saliva. He looks at your destroyed breasts with a twisted kind of fascination, the blood and salt creating a gruesome tableau. "You're so beautiful when you scream," he murmurs, his voice almost tender.

His hand reaches out to trace the edge of one of the wounds, his touch surprisingly gentle amidst the chaos.

You flinch away, the slightest of movements, but it's enough to snap him out of his daze.

The mafia boss’s hand clamps down on the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him again. His eyes are dark with lust and anger, a storm brewing in their depths. "You're going to pay for every lie," he says, his voice a promise of unspeakable torment.

He then pulls his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, the sound echoing through the room. You gasp for air, your throat raw from his rough treatment. He steps back, his gaze traveling down your body, taking in every bruise and tear. "But not before I make you feel everything I felt when I found out you were whoring around."

He grabs you by the hair, yanking you to your feet, the ropes around your ankles making you stumble. He pulls you to the tray of instruments, his eyes lingering on a long, thin knife.

The blade glitters in the light, a silent threat of the pain to come. He picks it up, his hand steady, his movements deliberate. "You're going to tell me who else has had you," he says, the knife hovering just above your skin. "Every name, every touch, every time you spread your legs for someone who wasn't me."

His grip tightens, his thumb tracing a line along your jaw. "And for every lie, I'll make sure you feel it here," he says, pressing the knife against your throat, the cold steel a stark reminder of the power he holds over you.

You stand before him, your body shaking with pain and fear, but you refuse to speak.

The Russian's eyes narrow, and he presses the knife harder, a thin line of blood welling up. "Tell me," he demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

But you remain silent, your teeth clenched, your eyes locked on his.

He sighs, a sound filled with disappointment and resentment. "Very well," he says, moving the knife to your chest.

He slices through your shredded shirt, the fabric giving way easily to reveal your bruised and bloodied skin. "If you won't tell me willingly, I'll make you confess."

He starts to cut, the blade digging into your flesh, tracing patterns of agony across your stomach and ribs. You bite your lip, the pain a living entity consuming you, but you refuse to break.

He pauses, looking up at you with a mix of admiration and anger. "You're so stubborn," he murmurs, almost to himself. "I used to love that about you."

His hand moves lower, the knife grazing your navel, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. You can feel your body responding despite the pain, a traitorous arousal building within you. He notices and smirks, the knife moving lower, hovering just above the fabric of your pants. "But now, it's just another reason to make you suffer."

With a quick movement, he slices through the fabric, exposing your nakedness to the cold room. He traces the edge of the knife along the line of your underwear, the threat of what's to come clear in his eyes. "You're going to tell me," he says, his voice a seductive whisper. "Or I'll start peeling you like a damn orange."

You force yourself to remain still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

He leans in, his breath hot on your skin as he presses the knife against your inner thigh, the tip just barely breaking the surface. "Who else has been here?" he asks, his voice a dark caress.

You bite down on your tongue, tasting blood, but still you don't speak. The mafia boss’s eyes flash with anger, and he presses harder, the blade cutting through your skin. You grit your teeth, willing yourself not to scream, not to give in.

With a snarl of frustration, he slices through your underwear, the fabric falling away to reveal your most vulnerable areas. His hand moves to cup your pussy, his grip bruising. "So wet," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust.

"Do you get off on the pain I give you?" He strokes you roughly, the knife still pressing against your thigh, a constant reminder of the power he holds. "Or is it the fear?"

His thumb brushes against your clit, and despite the horror of the situation, you feel yourself respond. It's a traitorous betrayal of your own body, but you can't help it; his touch has always had this effect on you.

"You're mine," he says, his voice a low growl. "You'll always be mine." His hand moves from your pussy to your throat, squeezing tightly. You gasp for air, your eyes watering as he forces you to look at him.

"Say it," he demands. "Say you're mine."

You refuse, the word 'no' lodged in your throat, unspoken but clear.

His grip tightens, your vision swimming, but you stand firm, your resolve unbroken. He laughs, the sound a chilling echo in the room. "Fine," he says, his voice a harsh whisper. "We'll do this the hard way."

The mafias boss’s patience is at an end, his rage and lust boiling over. He yanks the knife away from your throat, the sharp tip of the blade leaving a trail of fire across your skin as he moves it downward.

With a quick, violent thrust, he pushes the knife into your pussy, the cold steel parting your wet folds with ease.

You scream, the sound a mix of agony and despair, your body trembling as he uses the knife to fuck you.

He's merciless, his strokes deep and hard, the blade sliding in and out of your tight hole, the edges scraping against your inner walls with each brutal thrust. You can feel the warmth of your blood mingling with your arousal, the sensation making you want to gag.

"You like that, don't you?" he whispers, his breath hot on your ear. "You like it when I hurt you. Fucking masochist." His free hand snakes around your throat, squeezing just enough to keep you on the edge of consciousness.

"You're such a good little slut, taking it all." He continues to use the knife, his knife thrusts growing more erratic as he gets closer to climax.

"Tell me," he grunts, his voice strained. "Tell me who you've been fucking." But you remain silent, your teeth clenched in a silent snarl of defiance.

The room spins around you, the pain in your breasts and the invasion of the knife in your pussy making it difficult to think straight.

Yet, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

The Russian's grip on the knife tightens, his strokes growing faster, harder. "I'll make you talk," he says, his voice a dark promise. "You can't hide from me forever."

The knife twists, hitting a particularly sensitive spot, and you can't help the scream that tears from your throat. He smiles, the sight of your pain seemingly pushing him closer to the edge.

As you feel the world fading around you, the older man’s grip on your throat tightens, his eyes wild with a mix of anger and arousal.

He slams the knife into your pussy one final time, the pain so intense you think you might actually pass out.

But just as the darkness begins to claim you, he pulls the knife out, the absence of the cold steel leaving you feeling violated and empty.

He throws the knife aside, his own breaths ragged and desperate, his cock pulsing with need.

"Fine," he snarls, his voice a harsh rasp. "We'll do it the old-fashioned way."

With a quick movement, he unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants down, his cock springing free, thick and hard. He grabs your hips, spinning you around so that you face the chair, your destroyed breasts pressed against the cold metal. He kicks your legs apart, and you feel the tip of his cock nudge against your bruised and bloodied entrance.

"You're going to tell me," he says, his breath hot against your neck. "You're going to tell me every name, every face, every cock that's been inside you."

His hand moves to the back of your head, pushing down until you're bent over the chair, your ass in the air. "And when you do, I'll make it all better. I'll make you forget them all."

His cock slams into you without warning, the pain so intense you can't help but cry out.

He's rough, his movements punishing, his anger and pain manifesting in every thrust. You can feel him stretching you, filling you completely, his cock hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

The Russian's cock slams into you with the force of a battering ram, the pain so intense it steals your breath away. He's not gentle; every thrust is a declaration of his dominance, a punishment for your silence.

Your body shakes with the impact, your bruised breasts smacking against the cold metal chair, the pain from the fresh wounds sending jolts of agony through your system. His hands are like iron bars, holding your hips in place as he uses you, his grip bruising your skin.

Each time he pulls out, you feel the warm gush of your blood and arousal, mixing with the sticky mess he's creating inside you.

"Who else?" he snarls, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your shoulder. The pain is a white-hot brand, but you refuse to give him what he wants.

Instead, you spit in his face, the saliva mixing with the sweat and blood that coats his skin.

He rears back, his eyes flashing with fury, and then he slams into you again, his hips moving like pistons, his cock a weapon of torment. "You think you can resist me?" he growls, his voice a dark whisper that sends shivers down your spine. "I'll make you beg for mercy, cunt."

You bite back a scream as he hits your g-spot, his fingers digging into your hips as he uses your body for his own sadistic pleasure. You can feel him thickening inside you, his orgasm building with every punishing thrust. "Tell me!" he roars, his hand reaching around to squeeze your throat again, cutting off your air supply.

"Tell me who you've been fucking, and maybe I'll let you live." Your eyes bulge, your nails clawing at the chair as you fight the urge to pass out.

After a particularly brutal thrust, the mafia boss releases your throat, and you gasp for air, your lungs burning. "You're going to tell me," he whispers, his voice a promise of more pain to come. "You're going to tell me, or I'll make sure you never feel anything but pain again."

His grip on your hips tightens, and he starts to move faster, his cock pistoning in and out of you with a wet, slapping sound. You feel your body betraying you, your walls clenching around his shaft despite the pain, the traitorous orgasm building within you.

"Never," you croak out, your voice barely a whisper.

It's all you can manage, but it's enough to fuel his rage. He slams into you again, his cock hitting a spot that makes you see white. "You're mine," he says, his voice a harsh rasp. "You've always been mine."

His hand moves from your hip to your clit, and he starts to rub it roughly, the friction sending sparks of pain through your body. "You're going to come for me," he says, his voice a dark command. "And then you're going to tell me everything."

Your body is pushed to its limits as the Russian's relentless assault continues. Each thrust feels like a hot iron rod being driven into your soul, the pain unbearable as your body is stretched and filled with his monstrous cock.

The sound of your flesh slapping against his is like a grim symphony of agony, echoing through the cold, sterile room. You can feel your insides tearing, the warmth of your blood mixing with his seed, a grim reminder of his ownership over you. His hand on your clit is a sadistic maestro's touch, forcing pleasure from your bruised and abused body despite the pain.

"Tell me!" he roars, his grip on your hips like vice. "Tell me who's been inside you, and maybe I'll stop." His voice is desperate now, a mix of anger and love warring within him, his need for control overshadowing any shred of humanity he might have once had.

But you remain silent, your eyes squeezed shut, your mind a haze of torment. The only sound in the room is the harsh grunts of his exertion and your muffled whimpers.

The mafia boss’s sadistic stroking of your clit reaches a crescendo, and despite the agony of your injuries, your body responds to his command. You cum around his cock, your muscles clenching tightly, trying to push him out even as they pull him deeper.

He groans in victory, feeling your pussy pulse and spasm around him, his own orgasm building. He fucks you harder, his hand moving faster, his thumb pressing down mercilessly on your clit, forcing wave after wave of unwanted pleasure through your trembling form. You scream, the sound a mix of pain and climax, your body shaking as you cum for the second time, blood and fluids painting the chair beneath you.

"Fuck," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "You're so fucking beautiful when you're in pain."

He doesn't stop, his thrusts growing more frantic as he chases his own release. You feel his cock thicken, his grip on your hips tightening until it's almost painful. "Again," he says, his voice a dark whisper. "Cum for me again." And despite yourself, you do, your body responding to the twisted game he's playing with your emotions and your pain.

The mafia man’s orgasm hits like a freight train, his cock pulsing inside you as he fills you with his seed. You feel the warmth of his cum mixing with your blood, the sensation making you want to retch.

But you stay silent, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing your despair.

He pulls out, his cock slick with your blood and his cum, and you collapse onto the chair, your legs giving out beneath you. You're sobbing now, the pain and humiliation too much to hold in.

He stands over you, his chest heaving, his cock still hard and glistening. "Look at what you've done to yourself," he says, his voice a mix of anger and pity.

"This is what happens when you betray me." He grabs a handful of your hair, forcing your head up so you have to meet his gaze.

His eyes are wild, the love and hurt swirling together in a toxic brew. "But I can fix you," he says, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"I can make you mine again." He releases you, and you slump back down, your head hanging limply.

The mafia boss stares down at you, his chest heaving with his own release. The rage in his eyes hasn't dimmed, but there's something else there now. Something that looks almost like hope.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice a mix of disgust and admiration. "You're still fighting." He steps closer, his hand reaching out to trace the line of your jaw, his touch gentle despite the bruises he's left there.

"But you can't win, my love."

You spit in his face again, the defiance burning in your eyes like a dying ember.

It's all you have left, and you cling to it with everything you have.

He wipes the spit away with the back of his hand, his smile twisted. "Oh, how I've missed your fire," he says, his voice a low growl. He grabs you by the shoulders, spinning you around to face him. "But it's time to put it out."

With a swift movement, he pulls you to your feet, the ropes around your ankles cutting into your skin as you stand. He yanks your torn shirt up, the fabric sticking to your blood-covered breasts.

His eyes travel over your body, a mix of hunger and disgust. "You're a mess," he says, his voice filled with contempt. "But I'll make you clean again."

He pulls you closer, his cock still hard against your stomach. "You're going to tell me," he murmurs, his voice a dark promise. "And when you do, I'll make you forget all about them."

The Russian's eyes gleam with a dark excitement as he takes in your bruised and bloodied form. He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat.

His free hand reaches down to a specific part of his belt, unbuckling it with a sharp click that echoes through the room. He then pulls out a set of keys from it and unlocks a drawer in the desk, revealing an assortment of whips, chains, and other tools of torture. His hand lingers over them, a sadistic smile playing on his lips as he selects a particularly vicious-looking whip.

The mafia boss selects the spiked whip, the leather crackling with anticipation. He takes a moment to appreciate the gleaming metal spikes, the sight of them making your stomach churn. He grabs a bottle of vodka from the same drawer, the clear liquid sloshing in the bottle as he brings it to your blood-soaked crotch.

You try to jerk away, but his grip on your hair is unyielding. With a cruel smirk, he pours the alcohol over your wounds, the stinging pain making your vision swim.

You scream as the liquid seeps into your freshly torn flesh, the coldness of the vodka a stark contrast to the heat of your blood.

He doesn't give you a chance to recover, instead bringing the whip down in a vicious arc that connects with your bruised and abused pussy with a wet slap.

The pain is a white-hot brand, searing through you as the spikes tear into your sensitive flesh.

You can feel the alcohol burning into your wounds, a fresh agony added to the symphony of pain already playing in your body.

He doesn't stop there, though; he brings the whip down again and again, each strike more precise and brutal than the last.

You thrash in his grip, trying to escape the torment, but he's too strong, too determined to break you. His strikes are methodical, a twisted dance of pain and power, the whip's spikes digging deeper with every hit.

The mafia boss then wraps the end of the whip around your throat, the spikes biting into your tender flesh as he squeezes, cutting off your air supply. You claw at his wrist, your nails leaving bloody furrows in his skin, but he only tightens his grip.

Your eyes bulge, your chest heaving for air that won't come, your vision swimming with stars.

He leans in, his breath hot against your face, his eyes gleaming with a sick satisfaction as he watches the life drain from you. "Tell me," he whispers, his voice a dark promise of more pain if you don't.

But you refuse to give in, even as your lungs burn and your chest feels like it's going to explode.

Your hands fall to your sides, your body going limp in his grip, the only sound in the room the wet, gurgling noise of your struggles. He holds you there for a moment longer, watching you with a twisted fascination before finally letting go.

You gasp for air, your throat raw and burning, the coppery taste of blood filling your mouth. He smiles, a twisted parody of affection, and pulls out another tool from the drawer.

It's a metal rod, the end shaped into a cruel hook.

"This," he says, his voice a dark purr, "Is for when you decide to be more… cooperative."

He steps closer, the rod in his hand glinting in the harsh light of the room.

You can see your reflection in the gleaming surface, a broken doll covered in blood and sweat. He runs the hook over your skin, tracing the curves of your body with a featherlight touch that's somehow more terrifying than the pain of the whip.

"You're going to tell me," he says, his voice a gentle coaxing that's more unsettling than his previous roars. "And when you do, I'll make it all better."

You spit blood in his face again, your voice a harsh whisper. "Never."

The word is a declaration of war, a challenge he seems to relish.

He laughs, a sound devoid of humor, and brings the hook closer to your pussy.

"We'll see about that," he murmurs, the hook pressing against your bruised and swollen flesh.

You tense, expecting the worst, but he surprises you by sliding it along your slit, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of your pain. The mafia boss uses the hook to spread your labia, exposing the raw, bloody mess he's made of your most intimate parts.

"Look at this," he says, his voice filled with a twisted admiration. "You're so beautiful when you're broken."

He leans in, his breath hot against your skin as he runs the tip of the hook along your clit. The sensation is so intense, you almost pass out from the pain.

"But you're going to be even more beautiful when you're mine again."

He pushes the hook inside you, the spikes scraping along the inside of your pussy, and you scream hysterically, your body arching in agony.

The mafia boss’s smile widens as he watches you writhe in pain, the hook still embedded in your pussy. He takes a step back, admiring his handiwork, and then reaches for a small, black case on the desk.

Inside, you see a collection of needles, glinting in the cold light of the room.

His eyes never leave yours as he selects one, long and thin, with a wicked curve at the end. You can feel your body tightening around the hook, your muscles spasming in a futile attempt to push it out.

"This is for when you're feeling particularly uncooperative," he says, his voice a dark purr. He takes the needle between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently.

"But I suspect you're going to be feeling quite cooperative very soon." He brings the needle closer to your pussy, the curve lining up with your clit.

You can feel the sharpness of the tip against your swollen flesh, and you fight the urge to beg him to stop.

But you won't give him that power.

With a swift, precise movement, he inserts the needle, the point piercing your clit and sliding deep into your pussy.

The pain is like nothing you've ever felt before, a searing agony that makes you want to pass out.

You scream, your body jerking against the chair, but he holds you steady, his grip unyielding. "That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with arousal.

"Take it like the good little whore you are." He starts to move the needle, twisting it inside you, the curve scraping along your inner walls.

Each twist sends a fresh wave of pain through you, making you want to vomit.

The mafia boss steps back, admiring his work, as you sob and whimper in pain. "You see," he says, his voice almost gentle, "It doesn't have to be this way. Tell me what I want to know, and I can make this all stop."

But you stay silent, your teeth clenched, your eyes squeezed shut.

He sighs, the sound filled with disappointment. "Very well," he says, his voice cold again. "But you're going to wish you had talked sooner."

He selects another needle from the case, his eyes never leaving yours.

He brings it to your pussy, the tip hovering just above your clit. "I'll give you one more chance," he says, his voice a deadly whisper. "Tell me who's been fucking you, and maybe I'll go easy on you."

You remain silent, your chest heaving with the effort of holding back your screams.

With a shrug, he pushes the second needle in alongside the first, the sensation of the sharp points tearing through your tender flesh making you want to pass out.

The Russian's eyes darken as he watches your silent defiance.

He starts to play with the needles, twisting and moving them with a precision that speaks of practice and skill. You bite down on your lip so hard you taste blood, trying not to give him the satisfaction of hearing your pain.

"So stubborn," he murmurs, his voice a mix of admiration and anger. "But you'll break eventually." He grabs another handful of needles, his eyes traveling over your body, considering where to insert them next. You can feel the cold sweat trickling down your back, the pain making your vision blur.

The mafia boss’s hand moves with the precision of a surgeon, inserting needle after needle into your pussy. Each one sinks into your flesh with a sickening pop, the pain so intense you feel like you're being torn apart from the inside.

You're a pincushion of pain, each movement sending a fresh wave of agony through your body.

The needles are inserted at different angles, some going deep while others skim the surface, the varying depths creating a tapestry of torment that makes you want to scream.

Then the Russian's hand moves with a newfound fervor, the needles sliding into your flesh with an eerie grace.

The hook remains lodged deep inside you, the spikes scraping along your swollen walls as he twists it in a sickening rhythm that matches the insertion of the needles.

The pain is so intense, it feels like your entire body is on fire, your pussy a focal point of agony that threatens to consume you.

You feel the wetness of your blood mixing with the lubricant he's used, creating a macabre dance of red and clear fluids that dribble down your thighs.

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "You're mine," he whispers, his voice a dark promise. "You've always been mine, and you always will be."

His words are a knife, twisting in the wound of your soul, as he adds another needle, the metal scraping against the hook with an almost musical sound. You can feel the sharp points digging in deeper, the pain an almost tangible presence in the room. "Tell me," he says, his voice a gentle coaxing that makes your skin crawl. "Tell me who's been fucking my wife."

The mafia boss slightly smirks, stepping back from you, as his eyes gleaming with a twisted excitement.

He reaches for a small, red canister on the desk, the label written in a language you don't recognize.

You know what it is, though; you've seen it used in interrogations before. It's a can of lighter fluid, and you know what he's planning.

He douses the needles and the hook with the fluid, the harsh smell of the gasoline-like substance filling the room.

Your heart races, fear mixing with the pain as he takes a step back and flicks open a lighter.

The flame dances in the air, the light flickering over the needles embedded in your pussy, making the metal glint ominously.

"This is your last chance," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Tell me, and I'll make it quick."

The flame hovers near the needles, the heat making your skin crawl. You clench your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the unimaginable agony that's about to come. "Who have you been fucking?" he demands again.

But you stay silent, your resolve unbroken despite the hell you're enduring.

With a snarl of frustration, he brings the flame closer, the heat growing more intense until it's almost unbearable.

You can feel your skin blistering around the base of the needles, the smell of burning flesh making you gag.

The mafia boss’s hand hovers over the needles, the flame reflecting in his eyes. "Fine," he says, his voice cold. "You want to play the martyr, I'll give you a performance to remember."

In one swift motion, he presses the lighter to the needles.

The fluid catches fire, the heat searing through your pussy in an explosion of agony that makes you arch off the chair.

You scream, the sound echoing through the room as the flames dance along the metal, the heat spreading through your insides like molten lava. The mafia boss watches you burn, his expression a twisted mix of anger and fascination.

The needles glow red-hot, the heat so intense it feels like your soul is being torn from your body. You can feel the flesh around the hook contracting, the spikes and needles digging deeper with each spasm of pain.

The flames lick at your tender flesh, the pain so intense that it's all you can focus on.

Your screams fill the room, a cacophony of agony and despair that seems to echo off the walls.

The mafia boss watches, his eyes alight with a perverse excitement as he sees you finally break.

Your body jerks and spasms against the chair, the ropes cutting into your skin as you struggle to escape the fire.

The needles are embedded so deeply now, the metal searing your insides as the flames dance around them.

The smell of your burning flesh fills the room, a sickeningly sweet aroma that makes your stomach churn.

────────────

The flames from the needles flicker and die out, leaving behind smoking metal embedded in your burnt flesh. The hook remains lodged deep inside you, a constant reminder of his dominance.

Your body is a wreck, a canvas of bruises, cuts, and burns, a testament to the extreme lengths he's willing to go to break you. Your breathing is shallow and erratic, each inhale a battle against the pain that threatens to swallow you whole.

The mafia boss’s smile fades as he watches you slip into unconsciousness, your body a broken doll in the chair.

He sighs, his frustration clear as he puts out the last of the flames with a damp cloth. He's impressed by your endurance, by the sheer force of your will to survive and not give him what he wants.

But he's not done with you yet.

He can't be.

You're his, and he won't let you die until you're his again.

The mafia boss leans in, his breath warm against your cheek, as he presses a soft, almost tender kiss to your bruised and bloody lips.

The contrast between his gentle touch and the agony of your burnt flesh sends a shiver down your spine.

His hand moves to the hook, gripping it firmly as he slowly pulls it out of you, the spikes tearing through your raw, swollen pussy with a wet, squelching sound that makes you whimper despite being unconscious.

The hook comes out with a final, sickening pop, leaving a gaping wound in its place.

"You're so stubborn," he murmurs, his voice a soft caress that seems to mock the pain he's inflicted on you. He carefully removes the needles one by one, his movements efficient and precise despite the anger that still lingers in his eyes.

Each removal sends a fresh wave of pain through your body, making you jerk and gasp even in your unconscious state. "But that's what I love about you," he says, his voice a mix of admiration and frustration.

The mafia boss sets aside the bloody needles and hook, reaching for a first aid kit that seems out of place in the room of torture.

He cleans your wounds with a gentle touch, his fingers deftly applying ointment and bandages to the burns and cuts. You can feel the coolness of the medical supplies against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the flames that had just been there.

He seems almost disappointed that you're not awake to see his 'care' for you, his eyes lingering on your bruised and broken form with a disturbing mix of love and anger.

"You're going to be okay," he whispers, his voice a strange blend of sweetness and malice. "I'll make sure of it."

He tapes the last bandage into place, his eyes lingering on the gaping hole where the hook had been. His thumb traces the edge of the wound, the pad of his finger coming away sticky with your blood.

He brings it to his lips, tasting you, his eyes closing for a brief moment before he opens them again, the anger in them burning like the embers of a dying fire.

You're vaguely aware of the pain as he tends to you, the fog of unconsciousness lifting slightly.

Each touch feels like a brand, a reminder of your submission to his will.

He wraps you in a blanket, lifting you with surprising gentleness from the chair, and carries you to a cot in the corner of the room.

He lays you down, his hand brushing through your hair, his touch surprisingly tender. "Rest," he says, his voice a command wrapped in a velvet glove. "You'll need your strength for tomorrow."

The mafia boss locks the door behind him with a final click, leaving you alone in the cold, sterile room.

The cot is hard and uncomfortable, but it's the closest thing to relief you've felt in what seems like an eternity.

Your eyes fully drift shut, the darkness behind your lids offering a temporary reprieve from the horrors you've endured.

But sleep doesn't come easy.

The pain keeps you on the edge of consciousness, a constant reminder of the hell you're in.

510 notes · View notes

loeh · 2 months ago

Text

BooHoo

Milf!reader continuation

Marrying Lant Agriche, the ruthless head of the notorious Agriche family, was never a life you envisioned for yourself. But fate had other plans, and now, here you were, trapped in a world you never chose. You had two children: Irvyn and Ilysia, twins. Despite your hopes that they would inherit only your traits, they both carried their father's dark hair and the haunting, ruby-red eyes that marked them as his children—a constant reminder of the bloodline you had been forced to join.

Growing up, painting had always been your sanctuary. It was your escape from a world that could never truly understand you. From a young age, you dedicated yourself to your craft, perfecting it until you knew you could paint even if you lost your sight—an ability you alone truly grasped.

But your family, the (L/n) lineage, was known for far more than just artistic talent. They were descendants of demons—beings capable of unimaginable destruction. For forty generations, your family had carried the legacy of these dark forces, but it was only you who had inherited the full brunt of the demon’s abilities. You could commune with the dead, summon creatures from other realms, and manipulate forces no mortal should control. The world soon took notice of your powers, and suitors came—hungry to claim the strength they believed would make them invincible.

But none of them stirred your heart. Your heart had already been taken by someone who did not belong to your world—someone outside the reach of bloodshed and darkness. And so, you vowed never to marry, to end the (L/n) bloodline with yourself. Your parents, understanding the dangers of your gifts, supported this decision, knowing all too well the havoc your power could bring. They feared for you, and for anyone who would come too close to your world.

Then came Lant Agriche. A vile man, the head of a family built on cruelty and manipulation. He had over four wives and countless children—each one a pawn in his ruthless quest for power. Lant made it clear that he intended to make you his wife, and no refusal was accepted. His power and arrogance were suffocating. But Lant did not understand rejection. When you refused him, he threatened violence, promising to destroy your parents, and the man who had captured your heart. In the end, you had no choice but to surrender. Your life as you knew it shattered, and with it, the nightmare of your bloodline’s legacy became a brutal reality.

You were forced into a marriage with a man whose cruelty knew no bounds, and soon, you were pregnant with his children.

Irvyn and Ilysia came into the world—your children, born from the very man you despised. For a long time, you wanted to hate them. They were the living proof of the bond you were forced into—a bond forged through deceit and violence. Yet, you couldn’t. You could never hate them, no matter the circumstances of their birth. They were your flesh and blood, and they were all you had left.

Luckily—or perhaps unluckily—your children did not inherit the full extent of your demonic powers. They did not possess the terrifying abilities you had, nor the dark legacy of your bloodline. In many ways, this was a blessing. But you knew the world would never see them as ordinary. They would always carry the weight of their father's name, and that was a burden you would have to protect them from at all costs.

So you made a vow. You would protect them. You would train them, make them stronger, teach them how to survive in a world that was not kind to those like them. They would grow up not as pawns in a dangerous game, but as individuals capable of taking control of their own fate. You would help them escape this hellhole. You would give them a chance to live their lives to the fullest, free from the darkness that threatened to consume them.

Now, at just seven years old, Irvyn and Ilysia were already deadly in their own ways. They were perceptive, clever, and more than capable of navigating the treacherous world you had been forced to endure. They were still children, but you saw the fire in their eyes—the same defiance you once held within yourself. You would protect that spark, no matter what it took, and one day, they would rise above the curse of the Agriche name. They would be stronger than you ever were. They would be free.

#manhwa x reader #yandere manhwa x reader #dion agriche x reader #manhwa fanfiction #roxana x reader #roxana agriche x reader #manhwa #yandere manhwa #Lant agriche x reader #the way to protect the female lead's older brother x reader #the way to protect the female lead's older brother

538 notes · View notes

lalunanymph · 5 months ago

Text

MARRY THE TRAITOR ; gojo satoru

⟡ the day you met your demise is the same day you met gojo satoru, your betrothed from a world so different from yours—a cruel prince who is undoubtedly in love with someone else. as the stakes rise and you race against the clock to beat your brutal fate, can you make the ultimate choice between your heart or your happily ever after?

includes: arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, unrequited love, slow burn, yandere!gojo, prince!gojo, princess!reader, reader is referred to as 'cerena', princess cerena has pink hair and feminine features, reader has transferred into cerena's body, isekai-ed reader, mentions of death, language, suggestive, explicit smut (not between reader and gojo though lmaosgfj), themes of classism

⟡ masterlist

ACT 1, SCENE 2: THE TUNNELS

“Do not touch me,” your deathly warning stills the entire room. “Do not speak to me like this and if you wish to protect her reputation—”

Your eyes fall on the maid still cowering on the floor, her eyes turned to the ground, but a shadow of a smirk on her face belies her true intentions.

She was attempting to frame me… or, Cerena. She is trying to get us in trouble with this powerful, spiteful man.

“Next time, choose someone else who doesn’t make it obvious that this is all a ploy to smear my name.”

Such words falling from your lips take you aback because they don’t belong in your day-to-day vocabulary, but in this instant, it feels right to throw them in his face.

You turn your back on his gaping, surprised expression, picking up the hem of your gown to make your graceful departure. But, as you sweep your gaze over the sweeping stone pillars touching the ceiling and the scaglia flooring which looks so out of place with your perception of what reality is, you find yourself faltering, looking at one of the maids for help.

“Where is my room?” you stammer, drawing more of their confusion and adding to the disarray of this already convoluted scene.

The man glares at you, looking you up and down as if he is trying to piece together your odd behavior.

“What do you mean you don’t know where your room is?”

Chagrin and embarrassment well up inside your chest, staining your cheeks, and you clear your throat.

“I… seem to have misplaced my bearings today. I do not feel well. Could someone please lead me to my chambers?”

A second of agonizing silence engulfs the entire room. Then, a mousy, brown-haired maid steps forward, bowing graciously.

“Let me take you to your chambers, milady.”

You breathe a quiet sigh of relief. Preparing to follow her, your path is once more blocked by this infuriating man who will not relent in drawing out your humiliation.

Darkness settles in those clear, azure eyes, and his jaw is clenched, though he doesn’t put his hands on you again.

“We are not done speaking about this yet, Cerena. I will make you own up to your mistake… whether you like it or not.”

Paralyzed to one spot, you watch as he departs from your side to kneel down and gently gather the maid in his arms, guiding her to her feet as he speaks to her in low tones, a look of endearment and tenderness softening the harsh edges of his azure eyes.

It hits you then like a lightning bolt.

He is obviously and irrevocably head over heels in love with that simple maid.

The jarring change of his temperament from blatant vengefulness to tender consideration shocks you to the core, numbing your entire body with the prejudice and injustice of it all, freezing you to the spot.

“Milady?” The maid who volunteered to lead you back to your chambers approaches you carefully, interrupting you from your ruminations. “Shall we?”

You nod after a moment, dazed, and turn your back on the vile memories of the spectacle you were forced to endure, following behind her silently.

The sound of your heels on the red limestone floor echo in the solitary quiet, and you fidget with your hands. Eventually, your curiosity wins and you clear your throat, getting her attention.

“I apologize that you had to see that.”

To your surprise, the maid chokes back a gasp, quickly darting her eyes to the ground when you turn your gaze to her.

“It is fine, milady,” she stammered, lacing her fingers together in a tight grip; you notice she is trembling slightly, and unable to look you in the eye for longer than a few seconds.

“You seem afraid of me.”

You meant it as an observation, but to her, it was a reprimand. She bows her head a few times, shoulders tight and tense with fear.

“I apologize, milady. I will do better next time. I will not—”

“Hey, hey,” you reach out to grab her arms, your voice low and soothing; trying to earn her trust. “Calm down. I am not going to scold you. I am just… stating a fact. Why are you so afraid of me?”

Her lower lip trembles and her brown eyes shift from you again, onto the red stone floor.

“Milady… you’re… not well known for being the most patient princess in the realm. And you love to berate and belittle the people who work for you. We are all trying our best to accommodate you, Your Highness, so please, cut us some slack and we will show you how devoted we are to the crown and to your wellbeing.”

It’s a trained answer, one she recites from the top of her head like a prayer of mercy.

You drop your hands, aware that your bizarre attitude may be scaring her.

“I am… sorry. Please. Accept my apologies. I did not sense I was being unreasonable.”

Her surprise is a palpable emotion that sweeps across her face, and she actually gasps, taken aback by your heartfelt apology.

“Milady, it’s… please, do not apologize to me! I am but a lowly servant and you should—you should not demean yourself like that—”

“It’s alright,” you stop her refusal with a sheepish wave of your hands, attempting to soothe her misgivings. “I have done you wrong and I wish to take accountability over it. I truly am apologetic for… my behavior.”

The young woman looks at you like she’s never seen you before, her eyes wide and unflinching.

“What is your name?” You inquire politely, and the look of surprise in those coffee brown eyes deepen. Somewhere, shimmering in its depths, you see a hint of respect and reverence.

“Elara, milady.”

You nod, forcing a kind smile so as not to petrify her further with your raging confusion and stuttering awkwardness.

“Elara. A beautiful name. Could I ask you a few questions—and please, be as truthful as you can when you answer them.”

She doesn’t hesitate to nod, the fear guarding her heart easing slightly, allowing her defenses to weaken.

Your inquisitiveness is at an undeniable peak, and you need to whet your suspicions or else you would go insane.

“Who was that man from earlier? The one who claims we are engaged?”

The young woman fails to temper her look of obvious confoundment, slowing her pace so she can tilt her head to the side and regard you.

“Milady, are you feeling unwell?”

Her concern ticks you towards an internal panic. Your laughter sounds strained even to your own ears, and you shake your head, struggling to come up with a viable excuse.

“I suppose… The chill of today is making me foggy.”

Elara purses her lips, noting your look of disarray, but doesn’t keep the information you seek from you.

“That man is your betrothed, milady. The Crowned Prince of the Northern Haleway—Prince Gojo Satoru. You both have been engaged for a very long time, since the tender age of nine, and are set to be married this following year.”

Immediately, your stomach sinks to your toes, and you release a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding.

A crowned prince?

Betrothed and married by this year?

You?

The questions swirled in your mind like a raging tempest, and you must’ve worried her with your stunned silence for she stopped in mid-stride, reaching out to tap your shoulder.

“Milady?”

You shake your head, trying to tame the panic down before it could consume you and you would fall to your knees, shaking and sobbing from the uncontrollable fear.

“Wh… who am I?”

This time, she gasps, unable to hold back her dread when she hears your question, her brown eyes wavering with fear.

“Milady, shall I fetch for the physician?”

Her tone rises up a decibel, and you shush her, shaking your head vehemently. Spotting a relatively hidden alcove, you grab her arm and tug her into the secluded spot, her bright, brown eyes shining with confusion even in the dim lighting of this dark nook.

“Please. Trust me when I say this—I have no idea who I am, where I am or who everyone else is around here. I’m not from this world. I am not from this land. My name is Y/N, and I am not this Princess Cerena or person you think I am.”

Elara gapes, unable to believe her ears. She gives you a probing look, as if to determine if you were trying to pull her leg.

But, when your gaze doesn’t falter for a single second, she takes one step back, a look of horror bleeding across her features.

“Impossible. This is… how can you… what do you mean you are not from this world?”

You take a deep breath and try your best to explain your side of this confusion.

“The last thing I remember before waking up in the middle of the prince’s tantrum was a man hitting me over my head to steal my purse. He was a thief and he—” your voice shakes, all the tension and confusion coalescing into a tight ball underneath your throat, triggering your desperate tears which you try so hard to fight off.

“—he left me to die in an alleyway. I thought I was dead… that my life was over, but then, I opened my eyes and the first thing I saw was… Satoru, you said? Yes. The first thing I saw was him. Satoru. I’ve never met him before in my life.”

Elara is dumbfounded, that much you can expect. But, she doesn’t refute your words.

Believing you without a single shred of doubt.

Was Cerena such an awful person that even a bit of kindness can sway her to my side?

Your thoughts are loud, ricocheting around the recesses of your mind and you wait for her to believe you.

Elara eventually dips her head forward, absorbing your words.

“I… have faith in your words, milady.” Her gaze is scrutinizing. “You are different, there is no doubt about that. Your words, your expressions, certain phrases you use. You are not Lady Cerena, and for that, I believe it is a blessing.”

She clasped her hands in front of her body, having relieved herself of the burdensome thoughts shrouding her mind.

Without preamble or a word in from you, she gestures towards the end of the hallway, showering you with some much needed kindness you didn’t know you were desperate for until she gives you a wry smile. Your heart squeezes longingly in your chest.

“Come. You must be tired from your… journey. I will prepare your room and then, you may rest.”

For an hour after that, you sit around in your room, bored to death.

There wasn’t much to do in a world like this besides wearing pretty dresses, lounge around and being alert for any strange sounds coming from outside the hardwood doors.

Your bed is lavishly decorated with the best wool these lands could offer, warm yet cool under your touch to insulate you from the mountainous chill. A peek inside Cerena’s closet confirms that most of the treasury money her parents must’ve sent down to Northern Haleway went to these carefully crafted pieces of organza, lace and encrusted jewels upon mountains of sheer and gossamer dresses. Even her cloaks were of the highest quality—mink and lambskin leather, tailored to fit her body perfectly.

Like a diabetic in a candy store, you excitedly shift through the elaborate pieces, feeling their fine workmanship. Many of them were low cut and sleeveless, intended to show off her petite shoulders and defined collarbones. It was obvious she had an eye for such aesthetic advantages.

Having seen yourself in the mirror, you conclude that Cerena is one of, if not, the most beautiful woman you have ever seen in your life.

With her cascading, naturally-tinted strawberry blonde curls and fine nose, her visage could easily strike admiration in hearts around the world, no matter where her dainty feet took her.

In contrast, you were less feminine and refined than her, a paltry shadow in the face of such regal beauty that you flinched and eventually stepped away from the mirror, as if looking at another woman’s reflection for too long may scorch you.

Choosing to lay listlessly on the bed, you weren’t used to such free time on your hands.

Back in your home world, you would be using this ample stretch of relaxation to clean up your apartment, cook, or perhaps, even get started on another bouquet arrangement you often did for your friends at no cost.

Your eyes slip close, though sleep struggles to find you.

Eventually, you’re driven to your feet, tired of this fatiguing ennui weighing heavily on your shoulders.

Slipping your feet into a pair of fine satin slippers, you ditch the loud heels for whispery footsteps on the stone floor, taking this opportunity to explore the castle.

You touch the cool stones, feeling the heat from the sconces above bathe your skin with a warm glow. The castle is structured in such a way that the winding hallways and open windows brought in as much natural sunlight as possible. Stopping shy of a larger balcony, you step outside and feel the cool air grazing your cheeks.

Northern Haleway’s stronghold was located up a steep foothill. Below, as far as the eye could see, lay craggily rocks and sharp jagged cliffs which would kill anyone upon impact.

You shudder at such natural magnificence, and force your feet to take you down the hallway, every step echoing softly behind you.

For such a big castle, there weren’t many around, and you supposed this wing where Cerena lived was explicitly ordered to be emptied for the sake of the princess’ unstable mood swings.

I wonder… where can I find the throne room…

You had only ever seen such regalia in picture books and movies. A part of you wanted to witness it in real time; to see if the sheer splendor matches your imagination.

However, as you cross the threshold into an elaborate sitting room, you hear whispers and movement from the other end of a closed door.

Curious and hesitant at the same time, you let your inquisitiveness get the best of you, taking one step closer to the elaborate doorway, pressing your ear to the wainscoted surface.

“... mhm… oh… Satoru…”

Your ears burn and you smother a gasp with your open palm.

Muffled grunts could be heard from the other end of the door, and a sinking feeling rests heavily in your gut.

The lewd sounds were unmistakable. You could easily picture the ghastly, horrid man from before, with his towering height and broad shoulders, ramming the entirety of his cock inside the maid’s smaller, but willing body.

Her cries echo feebly, laced with ecstasy and pleasure.

Without warning, you feel someone touching your elbow and nearly squeak, if it weren’t for Elara’s wide brown eyes dominating your vision. Catching your composure in time, you bite your lower lip hard enough to taste blood, hoping to every god above that the prince and his lover did not catch your slip up.

“Milady—”

You shush her with a finger to your lips, shaking your head frantically. Elara takes your cue and quietens, those coffee hues widening when she picks up on the same sounds you were eavesdropping on.

Her mouth falls open wider, a scandalized look taking over her features.

Satoru and Miri find respite in reaching their peak at the same time, their desperate gasps and moans twining as one. You hear them kiss passionately, and it makes your gut turn to think that the same man Cerena is engaged to is so blatantly flaunting his affair right in the very same castle she lived in.

Anger rises inside of you, dark and tarry like a bubbling vat of acid.

No matter how horrible a woman was painted to be, she did not deserve this treatment from someone claiming to be her fiancé.

You were upset on Cerena’s behalf, especially when the heir himself chuckled, a low and disturbing sound.

“I cannot believe she stalked away from you with such boldness,” Miri muttered huskily, obviously trying to further seed this divide between Satoru and Cerena.

The man in question hummed, as if the idea of insulting and sullying the name of his future wife and queen barely ruffled his composure.

“She will pay for what she has done. I will not tolerate such rudeness and discourtesy, especially since she knows you mean a lot more to me than she does.”

You shiver at the conviction and contempt in his tone. Glancing at Elara, you note that she too seems engrossed in the conversation, unable to peel her ear off the hardwood.

Miri laughs, light and breezy, though what she says next chills you right to the bone.

“She seemed even more agitated today. I suppose she really is coming to her senses and is close to realizing that she has lost you, Your Highness. And as we all know, Princess Cerena can never lose.”

Her words drip with sarcasm and resentment, feeding the flames of Satoru’s vengefulness.

“That idiotic woman. I despise her very being,” he mutters haughtily. “Every time she opens her mouth, I wish to never hear her voice again. To wipe her from my memories and remove her from my presence. It is not enough that I am to be wedded to her, but my father seems adamant on pushing Cerena onto me like an unwanted gift.”

Miri hums. “And her attitude must not be very pleasant as well, isn’t it, my love?”

Satoru barks a laugh, like she’s just uttered the funniest thing his twisted mind could conjure.

“Pleasant? Cerena? Those two words can never exist in a singular sentence. No, she is not pleasant. In fact, she is the opposite of pleasant. She is an insolent, vicious and repulsive creature. If only I could, I will teach her a lesson so she will understand that this world is only tolerable to her because she is a princess. I wish to hurt her in ways she can never fathom and destroy her until no man would ever want her again.”

Horror steals the last of your thoughts. A warm hand clasps around your fingers and you realize Elara is lending you her strength.

You are suddenly aware of how badly your hands are shaking.

Miri giggles, as if her lover’s words are music to her ears.

“Have you given thought to the suggestion I raised before? To kill the princess?”

Your breathing stops, and Elara flickers her gaze to you, eyes wide and wavering.

Kill… Cerena?

He wouldn’t do that, would he?

Your trembles become harder to control. You have no idea what this man is capable of, and for the first time in your life, you are terrified of the power he wields, indomitable compared to yours.

The horrifying reminder comes to you in a flash.

This was a different world, one where men ruled and women obeyed.

You knew enough from the movies and books to understand that if a man wanted you dead in this era, it would be by his law and his alone.

Satoru echoes her sentiments with a chuckle.

“You really are hellbent on me getting rid of her, aren’t you?”

You can almost imagine Miri’s pout.

“She is the only thing standing in between the two of us from being together. Don’t you want to get rid of that?”

You gape, astounded by her boldness. This… this bitch!

You can’t believe the treason you’re hearing—for surely, it is treason to want a princess dead, especially for a commoner to speak such words.

Elara seems to be of the same opinion, her quivering lips weighing into a downturn grimace.

Satoru’s lazy laughter grates your ears, and you listen in for what he has to say next.

Please, you beg internally; hoping for someone to hear your desperate plea and prayer for this man to see reason and be merciful. Please, have a heart for this woman whose body I am inhabiting and do not harm her.

Your flimsy hopes break upon impact, like a sandcastle succumbing to a wave in one fell swoop.

“I promise I will get rid of her,” Satoru’s conviction punches you right in the gut, leaving you breathless and in despair. “I promise that once she is dead, I will wed you and we will be together, my love. Forever. You have my word.”

You stagger backwards, unable to listen anymore.

Tearing out of the room as quietly as your footsteps can take you, you hear Elara’s faint footfalls following behind. Her grip on your arm is steady, supporting your shaking knees.

“Milady—”

Out of earshot from the vile man and his wicked maid, you finally reveal the true fear corrupting your soul.

“Elara, please. You have to get me out of this castle.”

Her face pales, throwing her freckles into stark view.

“Milady, I-I can’t. To hide a princess is considered high treason—”

“Please,” you choked, grasping her arms, your eyes wild with fright. “You heard what the prince said. You heard what he promised. If he fulfills it, I will die here. Please. You have to help me.”

You weren’t above getting on your knees to clutch at her skirt, begging and pleading for your life. Luckily, Elara would never make you commit such an atrocity.

Her thin hands grasp yours, her mousy face filled with a fiery determination you’ve never seen a woman possess.

“I may know a place to hide you. Follow me, princess.”

She leads you straight to the other end of the castle, pushing open a heavy wooden door. It’s the maids quarters and there, she fetches a plain cloak, throwing it on your shoulders and fastening it around your throat.

“Make sure your hood is always pulled up,” she warned, beckoning you to follow her.

You pass rows upon rows of straw beds with crumpled linen sheets, aghast at the state of the help’s sleeping area. The squalor fills you with anger, especially when you compare it to the lavish beddings of Princess Cerena’s room.

Is this what the royal family allows? You seethe internally. Such pitiable states of living were reserved for animals, not humans who devoted their entire lives to serving the crown.

But, you don’t have much time to ruminate on the anger bubbling inside of you, following Elara’s silhouette through another door. She brings you into a labyrinth-like hallway barely illuminated by greasy old sconces, gesturing for you to follow her.

There is nothing you can do than to put your faith in this young, kind maid as she leads you from one winding path to another, her footsteps light and sure.

A rat scampered somewhere to your left and you shriek, earning a timely glare from Elara who shushes you.

Contrite, you swallow your unease and trail behind her like a ghostly woman of the night.

Eventually, the winding paths turn straighter, and there is another door in the distance.

This one is heavier than the last, as if meant to guard the inhabitants from something outside; or to keep them confined within.

It takes the both of you to push it wide, and when the door finally creaks open, you’re hit with a face full of cold, biting air.

Elara doesn’t waste any time, grabbing your wrist and tugging you forward.

“Come on. I know a woman who will help you. She lives in a nearby forest.”

You huff, trying to keep up with her.

All around you, standing like stalwart giants, towering pine trees press close, shrouding the behemothian castle from view, their sharp scent stinging your nostrils. Elara’s pulse is thudding against your fingers, a rapid fire rate that fills you with both determination and dread.

“What was that?” You call above the rushing of your fleeing, sensing it was safe to speak now.

She glanced back at you, lips in a thin line.

“The castle tunnels. It’s barely functional, but we use it sometimes to receive bulkier goods without being seen on the main floors.”

She guides you further into the forest, and you sense this isn’t the right time for questions. Elara makes you jump over a tiny, bubbling brook, and you were glad for swapping out your heels for these manageable slippers.

Finally, after what feels like hours dashing through the thickening forest with nothing but foliage and the cold air whipping your hair into a disarray, Elara stops you shy of a clearing.

Inside the circle is a tiny hut, smoke spewing out of its brick red chimney.

She doesn’t hesitate to walk to the door, knocking on it. When there is no reply, she does it again, firmly this time, and you wait with bated breath for whoever is on the other side to reveal themselves.

The lock clicks and your heart constricts.

An elderly woman with unruly, white hair, pries the door open, her crinkled face frowning when she sees Elara.

“Dear? Whatever are you doing here?”

Her wizened, rheumy eyes move to you, and her gaze becomes sharper.

“Who is this?”

“Nana, this is a friend,” Elara muttered, grasping my elbow and tugging me forward. “Her name is—”

“Y/N,” you supply immediately, giving her a subtle shake of your head. You would rather the older woman did not know your true identity. “It is a pleasure to meet you…”

You trail off, waiting for her to introduce herself.

Elara’s grandmother purses her thin lips, and shifts her gaze from her granddaughter to this suspiciously noble looking woman.

“Aeva,” she finally answered. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

Once reassured that her grandmother would not react badly, Elara gives her a rundown of your situation. The older woman listens carefully, never once interrupting her granddaughter.

After gathering her thoughts, she makes a swift decision, nodding and gesturing to you to come closer.

For a split second, she skims her gaze up and down your body, noting your pink curls, the clean look of your skin and nails.

“If you are to stay here with me, no one can know your true identity… Princess.”

Elara flinched, like a child caught in the middle of a lie. In reaction to her granddaughter’s flimsy attempt to hide the truth, Aeva shoots her a smug smile.

“Trying to fool an old woman who has tasted more salt of the earth than you—not a wise move, young lady.”

But, she doesn’t prod or scold her any further.

Her attention lands on you again, and her thin lips quirk downward into a heavy frown.

“If you want to stay here, you need to work, my dear. No slacking off, and definitely no people to attend to you at your beck and call. Can you bear that?”

Bless her heart. She doesn’t sense the difference in you, thinking you’re nothing more than a spoiled, childish princess.

Eagerly and without a second thought, you nod.

“Yes. I understand. I will help you with any chores you need. I am good at cooking and taking care of a hearth. You need not worry about my reliability.”

Aeva's expression wavers and she shoots Elara an amused look.

“Alright then, Princess. We shall see if your words ring true.”

Elara gives you a tight smile, one which you return. Recognizing the confidence and reassurance she was trying to instill in you.

“Take heart, Princess,” her words soothe you.

“You will be safe here.”

Days had passed since Satoru had last seen you in the annex hallway, the memory of his confrontation with you still fresh in his mind.

As hard as he tries to ignore the chiming in his head to check up on you, to seek you out and ensure you're not sulking or throwing another nasty fit, he's grateful for the quiet your absence gives him.

Miri visits his chambers almost every day, giving her body to him and warming his sheets till the morning sun illuminates the red stone floors. As he watches the rays touch her face, he traces her features softly, wishing for nothing more in the world than to do this for the rest of his life.

His love for Miri came as an anchor, providing him a lifeline when he thought he had lost everything his heart had to offer.

Though he feels it unfair to indulge in her fantasies of some day getting rid of you, Satoru can’t deny that there’s a certain appeal to that idea.

Removing his brash and volatile fiancé, and replacing her with a woman far gentler, graceful and courteous—Satoru thinks it’s Miri who should bear his ring upon her finger. Be the woman he wakes up to every morning despite her lowly status and economic standing.

Some people were more suited for the life of a royalty, and he is of the opinion that compared to you, Miri far exceeds the idea of what it means to be a Princess while you, in all your snobbishness and arrogance, deserved to be at the bottom of the barrel.

Encompassing his mindset as a whole, Satoru feels a certain fragile peace he hasn't encountered in a long while, though it all shatters one morning when his father, King Satoshi, calls him into the throne room.

Magnificent and intimidating in one breath, the great King Gojo Satoshi sits regally on his throne, the seat beside him stingingly empty.

Satoru doesn’t let his gaze linger on where his mother used to sit, instead, bowing deeply when he catches his father’s eye, awaiting his next words.

“Arise, son.”

The heir apparent to Northern Haleway straightens his back, azure eyes flinty and guarded.

“Father. You requested for me.”

Satoshi nods, his expression unreadable.

“Son, I need to ask you a question.”

Satoru steels himself for an unexpected request or a test of his allegiance; both options having been given before by his rigid and non-permissive father.

But, what his father asks next renders him stupefied and breathless, thrown completely off kilter.

“Satoru… where is your Princess?”

The young man feels his palms dampening with sweat. In response, he scoffs, shaking his head.

“Cerena? I have not seen her, Father. Why do you inquire?”

His affectionless response does not sit well with the older Gojo, who bristles and deepens his glare.

“You mean to tell me you do not care that your fiancé—who, by the way, hasn’t been seen for the past two days—has disappeared, and you’re questioning why I'm asking you about it?”

Anger drips from his accusing question, and Satoru schools his expression into neutrality, unwilling to give away his true emotions of mirth and relief.

Cerena is missing… she hasn’t been seen for two whole days… is this the Gods answering my prayers?

Satoshi, clearly angered and insulted by his son’s lack of haste and concern, sits back against his throne, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

“Satoru, I am putting you in charge of the search party for the princess. If the kingdom of Kraith—Cerena’s parents—were to know that she is lost, there will be tragic repercussions for our country. You have to find her and bring her back. Am I making myself clear?”

Satoru stiffened at the implications of what would happen should the neighboring country uncover this slight.

Trade contracts will be affected, livelihoods will be destroyed and the monetary resources Kraith offered through their bountiful grain industry would be in jeopardy.

But, that’s not all at stake.

“If you fail to find her before this week’s end,” Satoshi continues, his turquoise eyes boring deeply into his son’s ones. “I will revoke your ascension to the throne and give it to your cousin, Yuuta. Is that what you desire?”

Stiffly, Satoru shakes his head, shame and anger burning inside him like a brewing storm.

“No, Your Majesty.”

Apparently satisfied that his threats have hit their mark, Satoshi reclines into the oversized chair, his large hands curling around the bejeweled lion’s head knobs adorning the end of the throne’s arms.

“Good. I expect to hear news from you by this week’s end, Satoru.”

Taking that as his cue for dismissal, the young heir bows stiffly to his father before stepping out of the throne room. As he rounds the corner, he’s caught off guard by his lover, who darts from an alcove to block his path.

“What did he want?” Miri asks breathlessly.

Satoru frowns but doesn’t push her away, his broad shoulders sagging under the weight of the gleaming regalia and military awards pinned to his lapels. The heavy burden of his princely duties leaves him feeling hopeless and worn down.

“He wants me to find her—Cerena—and bring her back or else he will give my cousin, Yuuta, the rites of ascension.”

Miri gasps, her face blanching.

“He cannot do that!”

“He can,” Satoru runs a hand down his face, expelling a tired sigh. “He is the King and he can do whatever he wants. I have to search for her. Cerena. I need to find her or else everything I’ve worked for will be in vain.”

Miri glances over her shoulder before she wraps her arms around him.

Satoru takes comfort in her embrace, inhaling the soft scent of musk and jasmine floating from her hair.

They stay like this for a while, two lovers holding onto each other as the differences in their standing and burdens remain determined to keep them apart.

“It’s the perfect timing,” Miri suddenly gushes, pulling back just far enough so he can see the opportunity twinkling in her eyes.

Satoru’s confusion only makes her laugh and she leans in closer, as if to impart a juicy secret.

“I have received word of a woman in the village that nobody has ever seen before. She walks around town always clad in a robe and with a hood pulled over her head. She barely speaks to anyone and when asked where she is from, she claims she is not from here. Doesn’t that spark your curiosity?”

A woman who insists on being cloaked and hidden… now that is intriguing indeed.

The young prince feels a grin growing across his face, one tainted with a dawning realization.

Could it be…?

“And you suggest I follow your lead to meet this woman?” Satoru rests his broad palm on her waist, his thumb gently stroking her hip. Miri grins smugly and, unconcerned with any onlookers, leans in to whisper in his ear. Her warm breath sends a shiver down his spine.

“If that woman happens to be our princess, it would be the best chance we have of ending her without arousing any suspicion.”

Satoru’s expression wavers with something akin to regret, though he hides it the second her sparkling green eyes meet his own hooded blue ones.

“Are you sure? You want me to end Cerena’s life?”

Miri is firm in her ambitions, giving him a curt nod.

“Is it not what you desire, too? Cerena’s demise? With her gone, we can finally be together, my love.”

She intertwines her fingers together with his, squeezing his hands fondly. “We can be free to love, to show each other affection, to openly court and to meet each other in broad daylight. Wouldn’t that be a delight to experience?”

The images she paints in his mind are irresistible, and Satoru quickly forgets his earlier hesitation, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close against his body.

“Oh, Miri,” he growls, desire lacing his tone as she responds with an adorable giggle. “My beautiful mastermind—you are right. We need to strike while the opportunity is ripe.”

Satoru’s hand glides down her body, gently caressing her backside.

“The moment I see Cerena, I will keep my word and end her life.”

mtt fun fact: satoru is partial to dressing in darker colors to bring out the contrast of his white hair. it's done partially for vain aesthetics but also because he loves how the stark visual contrast tends to strike fear in his enemies hearts

dawn says: dun dun DUN .... anyone wanna bet that yn will beat his ass if he tries her 😏

!! reblogs and feedback and asks about this series are so beloved and appreciated and will motivate me to update and write faster <3

935 notes · View notes

gallusrostromegalus · 7 months ago

Text

A Miracle In The Night

Sometimes, you get an idea for a lightly fucked up short story. TW: Death, mild gore, Plot Twist :)

---

She travels through the night And listens

Some might call her home dark and cold and akin to the lowest levels of hell, But their heaven burns her eyes and skin and her very breath To her, The Endless Night is Paradise

The whole world was like this once, in the very beginning The Divine Darkness which contains the potential for every tragedy and miracle and everything in between, and she is blessed to travel through the gardens of creation.

The Night created everything, even God, who lives in the burning world and blesses the sinless beings of the night with the very force of life.

But not even Paradise is free of suffering.

It should be this way, of course- nothing would ever happen otherwise. Everything that happens is a miracle. It’s just a question of who the Miracle is for.

There will be a Miracle tonight. She can feel it- the tension is electric across her skin, gut tightening, every sense on edge.

Starvation leads to such peculiar sensitivity.

She’s on the verge of death- It should be this way, otherwise nothing could be alive. But she’s closer to the edge than usual.

It’s been so long since she felt the Burning Love of God within her. The delicious taste of good fortune in the night Chasing ecstasy with a racing heart and feeling her body fly The heat in her belly, seeping out through her until it filled her with the Divine Warmth of God’s Love.

It’s been so, so long since she’s eaten.

It’s been uneasy- the breathing of the world has been unsteady of late- too early and too late, out of time like it has become ill and all things suffer for it. There is nothing to partake of in her usual hunting grounds, so she has traveled far, far from home, into a brighter and hotter part of the night.

Here, the protective wall between her and the burning world exists only in scattered fragments, and strange and monstrous things traverse the thin veil between their worlds.

Here, the eternal night has been invaded by noxious, screaming beasts from the burning world above. They race with their bodies straddling the barrier between their worlds, far faster than anything has the right to fly, howling with a deafening voice that can be heard for hundreds of miles.

It’s a problem because she cannot hear the songs of her prey.

Everything sings, if one will listen. The high, chiming pings of the smallest stars flashing with bioluminescence around her. The long, low songs of the fire-breathers, who hunt here in the abyss for one of her oldest brothers, but return to the barrier and briefly cross it to breathe before they return. Even the earth sings- the moan and crack of her body as she shifts her weight, the almost invisible inhale and exhale of her seasons. She even builds great musical instruments of ash and smoke and an even hotter burning than the world above, singing the tale of the first days of creation in honor of the endless night.

But the behemoths do not sing.

They scream and scream and scream and their piss reeks of vile poison and overexertion. Almost like the way an injured animal can put on a miraculous turn of speed to escape pursuit. What might be pursuing such behemoths is an awful but intriguing consideration. Perhaps the behemoths are the little darting beings of the burning world, and the thing they flee the equivalent of herself. She’s seen it before, when the moon is high and she travels up to the barrier, and the little dancing bodies leap across the barrier to avoid her.

To that end, she can only wish her counterpart good hunting- both in the sympathy between one apex predator and another, and the hope that maybe it will get better at catching the behemoths before they come into her world.

Still, Where there is disturbance, There is also opportunity.

There are rumors from those that live closer to the barrier that the behemoths piss poison but shit out bounties- the wastes of these things are food direct from the burning world, where God lives, and that waste is full of The Divine Warmth of Life. The direct waste is devoured by the smallest and fastest things first, but when they are clustered at their feast, they are easier for the larger beings to partake in, and so too larger things than they until even her most beautiful borderland sister with the belly pale as the moon is now as round as it, fat with the blessing of pups.

So she has ventured as close as she dares to the world of her sisters in hopes of finding the rumored prey so full of the Burning Love of God.

She needs it. She can’t live without it.

A Miracle will happen tonight.

Whether for her or the crawling lives of the deepest night remains to be seen.

She follows the terrible screaming song of the behemoth in silence and prays for a miracle. She does not sing praise when she prays. She preys when she prays.

The highest reverence to The Divine Night is to Listen. To travel in silence, and take in all the songs of The Night.

So she makes herself silent and listens and listens and listens to the screaming song, hoping that somewhere in the noise, she can hear the soft voice of God.

This time God answers with a voice like thunder.

It really is like being too close to a lightning strike, the way the noise viscerally passes through her and lights up every nerve, teeth gritting and body thrashing as she feels the voice of God the same way she feels the body of a lover against her own.

The scream of the behemoth changes. It sputters, then pitches wildly, low visceral injury and high keening pain, like the fire-breathers when they try to hunt the largest of her brothers and become prey themselves.

Oh, what a beautiful song to something like her.

She aches, weak and tired, but hope and joy surge through her and she forces herself to move at speed, even for all the energy it takes, because perhaps the miracle is for her tonight-

She flies as fast as she can towards the dying behemoth, as does every brother and sister and ancestor and descendant, all as desperate to feast upon God’s Love as she- all of them race forward but then up, and up and up up to where the Behemoth is sinking into their world- It has run upon a fragment of the protective barrier hard enough to tear it's side and break it's back. There is the terrible acrid scent of it’s noxious piss and if she were not on the verge of starvation it might be enough to put her off the feast.

But she flies on and up- even weak with hunger she is one of the largest and fastest of her family when she needs to be, so she is the first to smell other strange things from the behemoth- burning flavors that sting her nose and mouth, as well as sweet things that confuse intrigue, and-

Oh. Oh, GOD!

It’s blood but nothing like any blood she’s tasted before- it’s actually HOT in the night, burning with the warmth of the other world even this far from it’s origin, rich and fatty and metallic like the flesh of a fallen fire-breather but even more so. She spreads her wings and sways her hips and spine to fly as fast as she can, the way a lover pursues her- full of nothing but adoration and a desire to make their bodies as one.

Then in a beam of moonlight, she sees the first of the bodies from the burning world.

The frenzy at the behemoth is a feast for the ages, from the exultant chorus above, and the fact that even with every member of her family for a hundred miles around at the feast, there are so many bodies to feast upon that a body is falling past the festivities to her, uneaten and whole.

What a strange and beautiful body it is.

She pauses, circling it even as her mouth and gut ache for it, studying the being from the burning world.

It’s hot, hotter than any body she’s ever felt before, even though it is very definitely dead, as unsuited to breathe the night as she is to breathe fire. Its wings are long and twist strangely, like the tentacles of her brothers that are hunted by the fire-breathers. It’s awkwardly shaped, like the crawling five-winged creatures of the mud, but not quite. There is an almost unsettling familiarity to its symmetry.

The fire-breathers say they used to live in the burning world, but returned to the night, and that all the beasts of the burning world had too once come from the night. It had sounded absurd, but looking upon the form of this being now, she wondered.

Well. Only the one thing to do, really.

Gently, she approaches the being, opens her mouth to embrace it, and welcomes it home to the night.

There is no love like the love the predator feels for its prey. It is reverence made flesh- O holy being, oh virtue to pursue and make one’s own.It is the flesh made reverent- Please, little being of the burning world, let her love you as she loves her own children, the weight of your body deep within her own.

There is no gratitude like the gratitude a predator feels for its prey. She owes you her life tonight, little being of the burning world. She lives from the mercy of your body alone. It is already a kindness she can never repay to live by your generosity, but oh, you made it so sweet- Your blood intoxicates her senses, your body thrillingly warm- as agonizing as the fire of the burning world is to breathe in, it’s just as wonderful to swallow.

You are so sweet, so sweet, she will remember this favor forever.

There is no miracle like the divine connection between predator and prey. Oh child of the burning world, you who brings the Warmth of God into The Endless Night, You burning being of God’s Love. She is blessed by you, messenger of God. Through you she receives the miracle of life.

Welcome, little burning being Welcome home to the night from whence you came Welcome inside her deepest self, and receive her hospitality.

She swallows the little burning being up with adoration, feeling it settle within her. Relief, ecstasy and satisfaction swirl but are interrupted by the appearance of another body. And another And another And another

The Behemoth itself falls, it’s body still curiously dynamic even torn in half- one end dives for the bottom of the night with somewhat alarming speed, where the other glides along to the depths on an angled path, the distant motion still visible with the bioluminescence it stirs up along it’s path. It is massive beyond anything she's seen before, more like a piece of geography than a living organism.

And all along its wake, hundreds of bodies spill forth from inside.

What a strange miracle this is. But she’s not one to refuse God’s Love. And if the beings of the burning world travel in huge schools with their behemoth, the peculiar notion that the little being within her might be lonely occurs to her. …Wow, she’s REALLY drunk.

Still, she eats three more of the burning beings before her guts are almost bursting with fullness, a bizarre sensation she’d only heard about from those who had been fortunate enough to feast on the fallen body of a fire-breather and had to leave the excess to the crawling beings of the bottom. So too, does she watch more bodies descend deep into the night as she returns to her world of darkness and song, the behemoth’s terrible screams now silent with rest, and the choir of the night rejoicing in this miracle.

---

Two miles above the revelry of God’s Favorite Greenland Shark, the survivors of the Titanic prayed into the endless night for a miracle, unaware it had already been granted.

#Long Post under the cut #short fiction #tw death #tw description of a dead body #tw plot twist #I am intensely curious to know when people realize what's going on in the story :)

943 notes · View notes

dragongirlpoet · 5 months ago

Text

Dark Signs 2

Pt I I Pt III

Alucard x you

Synopsis: You asked Alucard for a favour. Now you have to be careful what you wished for. "To be born a dhampir is to be born a monster" - Vampire Hunter D

TW: Dark fantasy, horror & gore elements, blood, SMUT (Alucard is feral in this one) Explicit 🔞 I Words: 3.5k

Also to @skychaser777 hope you can sleep after this 😉

The hollow stone walls echoed my shaky breaths, caving them in, the thumping of my heart violent in my ears. My skin was pricked with goosebumps, foreboding dire dwellings.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Absurd question, considering everything was inherently far from right.

There had only been one instance where I felt unsafe with Adrian.

Located in the underbelly of Wallachia was a forgotten catacomb, a labyrinth where the dead and undead alike convened. I had been extracting bile from slaughtered night creatures, told to render powerful salves when mixed with mint, myrrh and…other herbs.

Body sticky with sweat and hands grimy from reaching into revolting guts, I was almost to my fifth vial when a guttural growl stopped me dead in my tracks.

From the marrows of a tunnel, a numbing cold, laced with strangled gnawing, reverberated through the passageways.

Every fibre of my being told me to run, alas I had all but the impudence of a child. Unsheathing my iron dagger, ensorcelled to wound even the most vile, I treaded warily towards my impending doom.

The sight that awaited me was sickening. Crouched over bodies upon bodies of night creatures was a pallid, mangled man? His face was buried in their carcasses, marring at their flesh, lapping at their blood.

Before I could take another breath, the man turned, face smeared with ravaged viscera and foul, curdled blood. He had hair like the purest wisps of wheat and eyes like dark, desecrated graves.

I choked back a gasp.

“You foolish, foolish girl. You are not prepared for the evil that lurks here, feeds here..” his bellow was deafening, diabolical. Blood spilled from his fangs, splaying his torso tainted with innards and rotten flesh.

“Wh..who are…you?” I paced backwards as he stalked towards me.

“You don’t know who I am? Most fascinating…” he offered a smile so sinister, as if he had stumbled upon the most naive of fools he was soon to devour.

“I am the sun…rain…the darkness. I am sin made flesh and I am whom you should most fear. I am Alucard, son of Vlad Dracula Tepes.”

A loud “smash” rattled through the room as I retreated into our wooden dresser, knocking over a prized hourglass Alucard so often used to practise his script. The pair of glowering molten eyes trailed me — never blinking, burning caverns into my soul.

I shifted my gaze downwards to avoid stepping into glass, but that was regrettably the least of my worries. Lifting my stare, those eyes were gone — quick as spectres passing through dimensions.

Our chamber fell into a boundless black, and my human sight could not adjust acutely enough to the darkness. I flailed my arms about willing to grasp onto anything that could give me some bearing. Anxiety crept through me like poison ivy ensnaring a forsaken home.

“Adrian? Stop this please! This isn’t funny.” The volatile rhythm of my heart suddenly became too loud, too unbearable.

No amount of breaths could repress my violent trembling. A faint flicker from the corner caught my eye — Alucard’s heirloom sword. If his magical estoc was there…he is still in the room with me.

The hairs on my arms shot up, little by little.

Out of nowhere, forceful, ice cold hands prised around my throat, yanking me out of my state of terror. From behind, Alucard, voice grave like a thousand infernal souls, growled into my ear,

“Do you understand the gravity of what you’re asking?”

Whether it was fear or the vice-like grip around my neck, I couldn’t speak.

“Answer me.”

He clamped tighter.

”Ye…yesss,” I wasn’t telling a lie.

“Then let’s finish what we started, shall we?”

One minute I was in Alucard’s death grip, the next I was shoved, hard, into the stone wall, my face chafing against the abrasive mortar. I winced at the pain.

“You’re hurting me, Adrian!”

Behind, he tightened his grip on my wrists, binding them into the small of my back.

“Am I? Ohh…but you like danger, don’t you?...His other hand reached down to unfasten his pants, his erect cock sliding out… “You are drawn to the darkness, just as I am.”

He trailed the words up and down my neck, pausing ever so subtly to savour the scent of blood in my veins.

A small bead of sweat started trickling down my face…no, no, it was blood — from my collision with the wall.

Alucard went eerily still again. I felt a shift in his countenance, like a malevolent cloud obliterating sunshine.

He was hungry.

With one knee, he forced my legs apart and hauled my nightdress up, my backside fully exposed. I could feel the tip of his length against my rear — throbbing, impatient. He snaked his hands all over my naked body, grabbing at my breasts, digging into my thighs.

The scent of my blood set his every carnal need aflame.

Adrian had always been prudent — he would excuse himself at the slightest scent of my exposed blood, isolating himself in the castle dungeons for hours, as if he deserved it. Deserved to be punished for his beastly urges, deserved to be condemned for being born a monster.

Every blood-month I had would send him away for days — “I don’t want to hurt you. You’ve seen what I become when I feed… I’ll just be hunting, it’d be just a few days, and your cycle would end when I’m back,” he would say with a smile. A sad smile.

And I was utterly tired and heartbroken that my Adrian, so kind and full of love, would admonish himself, rip his spirit to shreds, for a fate that had been unfairly handed to him. I was going to end this, tonight.

Alucard nuzzled his face into my hair, taking in all my smells, heaving. His body was unyielding against mine — elegant marble against bewitching velvet. I could hear his vampiric heartbeat ringing in his ears, drowning out all sense of reason. He was an animal in heat.

“You know I cannot control myself around you. And you know what your blood does to me… Do you know how long I haven’t fed?”

His writhing cock was brandishing my cunt, starving for my hole.

“Do you know I think about what it’s like to have your blood in my veins? How much I want it, need it, desire it.

How much I want my blood in you. And you ask this of me, tonight, when I’m sitting at the precipice of hunger and lust…”

There was a sharp intake of breath.

“Hmmm you don’t know what’s coming for you. Once I do this there’s no turning back.

Do you know how long I’ve been holding out for you? To be better for you. And now you ask this of me…”

At that he yanked at my hair, forcing my head to fall back. The red trace on my cheeks bowed complete to his mercy.

Staring defiantly into his eyes, I said, “Do it, Adrian. I want you to.”

Danger, danger.

A devious smile tugged at his lips. Alucard skimmed my neck with his mouth, bruising it with reckless kisses and parlous nips. He moved precariously to suck at the aquamarine veins running down my breasts, licking slow circles about my nipples. He was a wolf dallying with his food.

A true vampire, hedonistic even in the slightest of pursuits, moving inevitably to the blood trail. He had waited so long for this.

Alucard pushed his lips delicately into my face, afraid of spilling even the smallest of drops. My blood was a sacred river, a bath of worship he would praise forever. Shaking, he ravened the scarlet off my face, sucking at the open cut, willing for more.

He was a mixture of muffled moans and enthralled ecstacy.

It was exhaultant. I adored being able to give Adrian what he most craved.

Drinking in more than necessary, the whites of his eyes were no longer — entire sockets now overtaken with crepuscular crypts darker than the blood moon that hung outside.

Alucard’s cock twitched beneath me, length growing harder and bigger by the second. Grunting, he pumped his sex and slid it against my pussy. I was light-headed with anticipation, but he had merely fondled my folds, prodding at my entrance, testing to see how wet I was.

Perhaps he had been right. Perhaps a dissolute part of me yearned for the darkness, but what I’d wanted most of all was to know that I had years, centuries — immortality, to be with Adrian.

Head over my shoulder with eyes like lacquered obsidians, he interlaced his fingers with mine, bringing them down to press at my clit. Flagging off from my most sensitive spot, he traced them up my body, slowly, torturously.

“I wonder…” fingers caressing my abdomen… “how far up…” I gasped as he adjusted them higher… “my cock will go when I’m deep inside you…” Alas settling on a spot above my navel.

A sacred river spawned between my legs.

Incapable of restraint any longer, I reached back to stroke his shaft, thumb stimulating his tip until his pre-load creamed my fingers. I lathered his fluids, relishing in the feel of his hallowed flesh tethered to my hands.

“Fuuuck.” Alucard bristled against my touch, face buried in my neck. Below, he was thrusting at my entrance, not yet entering, readying me for his carnal devotion.

”Adrian please, I need you. I want you inside…”

His last thread of resolve snapped. He rammed his boner into me from behind, stretching me, engulfing me. My tender walls were a haven to his brutal thrusts, welcoming him in. Cock barely to his hilt, he spread my bottocks apart, plunging his engorged member in.

“Ahh…ahh…” I whimpered, hands braced on the wall.

“How are you still so tight…” he hissed, enraged he couldn’t yet feel all of me.

My fingers weaved into his hair, tugging as I leaned further back into him. This feral urge, I craved it. It was scarce enough to satiate the searing lust in me, so I ground impiously against his length like the unholy girl he wanted me to be.

Tonight, he was to have his way. He was the nefarious overlord and I was but a malleable zealot. My hips were firmly held down by his hands — he wanted to control my rhythm. I was, afterall, his submissive little prey.

Alucard forced his cum-stained fingers into my mouth, swirling them about the insides of my cheeks, wresting in and out of my plush lips. I licked at them greedily, suckling on his taste. He was so deft — hands and length penetrating me in a lyrical sync, sating me above and below.

I gagged when he stuck his fingers further down, my throat wedging tight. Tears rimmed my eyes but I continued hollowing my cheeks, head bobbing. “Such a good girl…” praising as he brushed hair off my face. I was to appear immaculate while being fucked indecent.

Hypnotised by his bulge assaulting my hole, I bit sinfully on his index, tearing his skin. He pulled out from my mouth, eyes transfixed on the blot of blood.

“You’re being a naughty little lamb tonight…” His smile was insidious, like a serpent suffocating its meal.

My vampire smothered his blood over my parted lips. My tongue grazed over it, wiping it clean like I was the one writhing in blood lust. What I did had Alucard under a powerful spell. He plummeted his smug into me, our kisses heedless, crashing into each other in depraved lust.

We sucked and bit them swollen, both of us unrestrained and shameless of our monstrous love. Under, he continued hammering his heat into me, hand pushing my cunt back to swallow more of him.

Alucard was never one to trifle with a perfect opportunity. Hands at his favourite spot, he rubbed his digits forcefully at all the places his cock didn’t already fill. My knees buckled at once from overstimulation.

“Stay.” He landed a firm smack onto my soaking sex… “Still.”

“Or I won’t let you cum.” An order.

He bent me over, my backside raised to allow him easy entry. I compelled my wobbly legs to stand, muscles quivering at my bones.

“Good. Hands on the wall.”

Like his obedient little lamb, I hoisted my arms on the cold stone, squeezing taut around my feral wolf.

I was begging, moaning his name, my being in complete disarray.

Content with how tight I was clenching around his shaft, Alucard drove his erection mercilessly into me, pounding so hard I was lifted off the ground.

I cried out in pleasure and pain. “Adrian! Adrian please…”

“You like it when I’m rough with you, baby? You want me to turn you, and fucking you senseless comes with it,” he spat in between thrusts, dragging hair away from my ears to ascertain I could hear him loud and clear.

I was so deliciously filled my lewdness spilled out onto my legs. Paths of sweet nectar trickled down my trembling thighs, glazing his girth with my wicked desire.

I was so close.

Smelling my arousal and imminent climax, Alucard slammed faster into me, his own pace losing cadence.

We were so close.

He had everything timed perfectly. Just as he had countless times before — night creatures and wild animals — all unsuspecting pawns to his blood thirst. He was adept at hiding his deplorable little secret, but I knew better.

Fangs fully exposed, he grazed them masterfully over my neck, humming at my veins and arteries. Quite like a skilled chef discerning food, he was choosing which would taste most exquisite. My scarlet vessels were pulsing in tempo with my heartbeat — palpitating, quivering, waiting.

“Are you frightened? I can feel your terror in my bones…” villainy laced his snarl like a wolf finally rid of sheep’s clothing.

I had to inhale gulps of air to articulate my words, “No….” But what I said or what I thought mattered no longer. Gone was Adrian — human, moral, benign. A bestial, debased monster, instead, all consumed him.

Soulless eyes searched me once more, as if to forewarn me about my perilous decision, as if the human in him was straining to break free of his chains to stop this atrocity.

There was no turning back now.

I offered my neck to him, reckless, bloodstreams on full display. At last, with Alucard’s throbbing cock still stuffed full inside, I felt the firestorm in my core and the crushing torrent soon overcame me.

My release tonight felt different — cathartic. I was once again the delicate driftwood being dragged underwater — careless, aimless, going where the current took me. My limbs fell limp at my sides, my spirit devoid of vigour. And I knew why.

Alucard’s fangs were buried in my neck, drinking my blood as if a divine offering. When did he bite me? I felt no pain, only a rapture so heavenly I ached for more.

And so drink he did. Rivers of blood coated his lips, crimson tributaries surging down his throat. He sucked and lapped at my vital spark, clawing at my body so arduously as if I was the most cherished jewel of immeasurable value.

Like a vampire deprived of debauchery, he drank me in like sweet sin. He had no beginning and no end. And rightfully so. I was profoundly proud of my Adrian. At long last, he no longer had to be ashamed of who he was. He was liberated. He was free.

My racing heart was now a supine hum. I lay naked — pliant and frozen in his arms. The sleepy swell of the ocean lulled me into the black nothingness. I was rising and falling, so in harmony with the current.

Above, hazy sunbeams fractioned the waves like sparkling diamond necklaces. Beneath, the sombre abyss tugged at my essence, diffusing all manner of light. The ominous depth, though a macabre embrace, was one so full of promise. It was beckoning to me, calling my name — stay, stay, stay…

—

I awoke to a pall of infinite blackness.

I had been dreaming. There were shadows — silhouettes, of people I couldn’t quite make out. They were whispering, a sonnet of hurried voices, as if going somewhere, but nowhere at the same time. Then there was a lambent flame — the colour of pale amber, always in the distance but never near. Always tailing, always watching…

Where was I?

I could see nothing, hear nothing. I shifted slightly, and my shoulders were met by cool textile — silk? As more of my senses reconciled, I felt the mattress below me, a satiny divan not reminiscent of my bed. Muted was the air, hollow was the roof, and

…algid was my skin.

I was in a coffin.

Panic coiled through the ridges of my ribs, puncturing my heart like lethal thorns. I clawed and pounded at the wood…was I buried alive?

Alas, like the caves of hell being vaquished by divine light, the casket slid open, and I clambered onto a sprawling granite floor. I was heaving, frantic to take in air, clamouring at my chest as if ghostly hands were crushing my heart, splintering my valves.

Where was Adrian?

A succession of torches adorned the upper vaults, the mellow ebb of light suddenly becoming glaring to my eyes, as if I had been staring directly at the sun. I could make out the phosphorescent ripples and saffron hues that wreathed the flames.

The air smelled vaguely of mildew and crumbling concrete, while the scampering of rodents in between masonry thundered in my ears. I could hear them squeaking, the sounds of their bones compressing while they squeezed through cracks and crevices.

I could hear their heartbeats — tiny surges of blood in their capillaries.

Such fragile little things, I wonder what they’d feel when they’re crushed by the force of my teeth. If they’d feel pain, if any at all, as I drain them dry…

I was so, so hungry.

My awareness had heightened ten-fold, the anarchy of it all confounding whatever human that was left in me. The sensation of everything all at once was too much to bear and I covered my ears to drown out the distress.

Futile efforts indeed.

“Adrian? Adrian…” My voice hoarse from wheezing.

Was this what he had to endure? Being so akin with the presence of entirety, enough to render one insane. Was this why he had been so loath to turn me?

I hauled myself off the ground, bidding my legs to what looked to be a door. Scarce a blink had passed than I was face to face with a metal threshold — intricate lineations etched faintly onto the frame.

“Willing blood of the Raven Maiden,” — Enochian, words of ancient bygone, but Adrian and I had been avid philologists.

I didn’t concern myself with whether the translation had in fact referred to my blood, but I sank my fangs — a lurid extension — into my wrist and smeared them over the threshold.

The magicked portal transported me to a bed chamber, a former bed chamber, now resembling the crux of a dense forest.

Creepers cleaved through stone, while poison vines slivered across furniture. Rich moss clung to the bed frame, eating away at the tulle canopy, embedding itself into rotted linen.

That chaise…it was ours.

Horror flooded my senses as I glanced furtively around.

Our armoire, our settee, our desk.

Strewn across the floor, some shredded by tree roots dissecting the wooden panelling, lay stacks of disintegrating parchment like remnants of forgotten lore.

Vampiric speed overtaking, my eyes scanned the moth-eaten pages over.

“Come back to me.”

I choked on my tears.

“To be born a dhampir is to be born a monster.”

They fell like glass, shattering on the ink, eroding the paper more.

How long had I been asleep for?

“No, no, no…” I wept into the emptiness, anguish imprisoning my lungs, blocking off air. In spite of being undead, I had a heart, and it bled — it bled crimson, pain and grief. It bled with all the words I wished I could take back.

It bled with all the ache that I might never see Adrian again.

I scoured the castle. Every tower, every room, every dungeon, each a shell of its former mirth. The scenes ran parallel — overgrown foliage, wrecked furnishings, pillars atrophied by decay. Our home had been eaten away by the curse of time. There was no sign of life, no essence of Adrian.

With a threshing hole in my heart, I raced past the lattice of abandon toward the main doors. As the iron portcullis lifted, I recoiled at the hell that awaited me.

There, in the blistering winter, impaled upon rows and rows of stakes, dangled festering corpses of night creatures…and humans.

What have I done?

Pt I I Pt III

466 notes · View notes