#Alicent is manipulative but with a gentleness

[bandulin]

I love the idea of Daemon x Alicent

Imagine this...

Alicent and Daemon get engaged in an attempt to settle the feud between Otto and Daemon. Viserys marries Laena instead. (Rhaenyra still marries Laenor and still has bastards with Ser Harwin. The Velaryons will try to get Laena's firstborn son on the throne instead of Rheanyra. Thus Team Blue is born. )

Otto keeps his position as hand (because Viserys is not falling over himself to get Rhaenyra to forgive him for marrying his best friend). In his eyes it's all the better because this way his daughter won't be corrupted by his brother anymore, so she can complain all she likes his mind is made up.

Because of this, the newlyweds stay in King's Landing, and as a boot this way Viserys and Otto can keep an eye on them, Alicent is not so isolated this time.

Daemon can't hurt Alicent physically at all and the one time he humiliates her in public (by calling her his green broodmare) Viserys tells him that one more stunt like this and their kids will get the Hightower name. (Otto was also seen leaving a conversation with Daemon but there were no witnesses in the room. No one is sure what Otto threatened him with but Daemon was visibly shaken after it. (He will deny it 'till his dying breath that he was ever afraid of Otto but the truth stands))

The point is that he can't hurt Alicent in an overt way, so he keeps needling her to cause enough distress for her to find a way out of the marriage. He is sure that if she bats her eyelashes and asks nicely enough, Viserys will annul the marriage. (He could never resist a pretty face after all)

At first Alicent is walking on eggshells afraid of his husband. She is still young and Daemon's insults cut deep, making her insecurities so much worse. She still refuses to ask for an annulment though because of her faith. Duty is more important than her feelings after all.

They have to lay together every week to make heirs, but it's a very miserable experience for both of them. Daemon can't help noticing how beautiful Alicent is, and he hates it.

Otto encourages Alicent to 'kill him with kindness' so she starts to be super nice to Daemon. Trying to have bonding time, showing interest in Daemons hobbies (mostly dragons and swords, but after about a month she finds out that he has a love for theatre (the dramatic cunt) and she is gleefully dragging him to their favourite plays) . She even let's him take her for a fly on Caraxes. (Daemon ofc knows she is afraid of it that's why he offers (as the sad excuse for a semen sack that he is)) She is trembling the whole time and she clutches Daemon so tight it leaves bruises, but afterwards Daemon respects her a lot more so it's worth it.

She even tries to resolve the past conflicts between them. She opens up about why he disliked Daemon (she refuses to use the word 'hate' even if it would be an adequate expression) and Daemon seems to be understanding and even apologetic about it. Ofc she doesn't get an actual apology but the next day there is a beautiful hightower green dress in her room with a necklace with the symbol of the seven incorporated in it. It's everything Daemon claims to hate and Alicent is so moved she cries.

Daemon is softer a bit but still not trying to make an effort to make the marriage work. So after her mooncycle is late, and a master affirms her that she is pregnant, she gives up and adapts the tactic of not bothering his husband at all if it's not necessary. She is still kind and polite when they are together but she doesn't make the effort anymore.

And Daemon... Misses her. He is too proud to reach out to her, but he can't stop himself from thinking about her every day. He keeps an ear on court gossips and tries to watch her from a distance, and he swears if Ser Criston touches her shoulder one more time he will break something. (all the while Alicent and Criston bond over their thoughts on duty and their shared ideas on cleaning up Flea Bottom. Alicent thinks the white cloaks could close the child fighting rings, while Criston believes the prostitutes wouldn't feel safe asking the guards for help even if they needed it. They also share cherry tarts sometimes as a treat)

Since getting married Alicent slowly but surely starts to get more confident in herself. Laena reaches out to her and they become fast friends. They bond over complaining about their husbands (in a polite way), and they find out they have a lot in common. They take a stroll in the gardens almost daily, and it's as much sweet as it aches for Alicent to have this friendship with someone other than Rhaenyra. But Rhaenyra is not here and even if she was Alicent is not sure they would get along again.

Alicent tries to help the common folk whenever she can, and she is loved by them in return. Otto notices (with glee) that Alicent has an affinity for politics and tries to cultivate it. He asks her opinion on resolving court matters and after a while it turns out that Alicent can be ruthless and cunning and in the end she still always comes out smelling like roses. Daemon sees this from afar and for the first time he thinks he is in love.

Parenthood brings them even closer together. Their love for their child turns out to be a wonderful base for their relationship. Daemon for the first time actually tries to woo Alicent. He is rusty but it's the effort that counts. He tells her his favourite tales of Valeria and in turn she shares the sauciest parts of Hightower history.

Aegon is a delight to them both, and spending time with him is the highlight of their day. He loves flying on Caraxes especially if his mother is with them as well, so Alicent has to get used to flying on the Blood Wyrm every second Tuesday. (She brings him a fat goat beforehand every time. They have an understanding.)

Daemon and Otto declare truce after Alicent, pregnant with Helaena, yells at them so hard they are afraid she will go into labour. (They have to make peace with each other or so help her...) Daemon tells her he loves her the very next day.

The dance still happens. Alicent leans towards team blue because of her friendship with Laena and because of the morals of the faith. Daemon still holds fond memories of Rhaenyra and wishes to fight next to her. They can't agree on it at all.

The decision is made when Helaena approaches them with the declaration that she wishes to marry the first son of Laena. Daemon would let it happen for the political opportunity alone but for Alicent the thing that settles it is the tangible love between the two of them. With love like that she would let her marry him even if he was a street urchin.

The path behind them was long and hard and in front of them it will be bloody too but at least they have each other to lean on.

[novaursa]

req for an aegon ii x reader who has a similar role of margaery tyrell? (love-bombing him so they can be betrothed and stuff)

she very easily manipulates aegon and basically uses his mommy issues to get whtv she wants (obviously bothers alicent to no end).

Web of Gold

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you handle her son like a lioness who plays with her food.

- Pairing: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Next part: aegon in love

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

It’s a beautiful morning, yet the tension between you and Alicent Hightower crackles like a summer storm. You can feel her eyes boring into you from across the room, but you’ve become quite accustomed to her watchful glares. If anything, you thrive on them.

You smile sweetly, dipping your head toward Aegon as he lounges on the Iron Throne, looking far more relaxed than any king should. He’s watching you with that same eager gleam in his eyes, waiting for whatever praise you’ll offer him next. It’s become a game for you at this point—how much can you say before he completely melts? And it’s easier than it should be.

"My king," you say softly, stepping closer, your golden Lannister curls bouncing as you move. "You look especially regal today. Like Aegon the Conqueror himself reborn. Do you know what I see when I look at you?"

Aegon straightens slightly, his eyes widening with interest. "What?" His tone is eager, as though whatever you say might be the single most important revelation of his life.

"I see a man destined for greatness. Aegon, you are so strong, so powerful, and—" you let your voice drop into a breathy whisper, "so very wise." You emphasize each word, drawing out your compliments in a way that sends a flush of pride creeping up his neck.

Aegon shifts in his seat, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "Do you really think so, Y/N?" he asks, his voice almost boyish, seeking that reassurance from you.

"Of course I do, darling. And I would never lie to you." You reach out, letting your fingers brush against his hand in a gentle, lingering touch, just enough to make his breath hitch. "Unlike others who may have their own agendas…" You throw a quick glance toward where Alicent stands, her expression tight, lips pressed thin. The corner of your mouth twitches into a hidden smirk.

Aegon doesn’t notice. He’s too busy basking in the attention you're lavishing on him. "Mother just worries," he mumbles, though even he seems half-hearted about it.

"Worries?" You tilt your head, feigning innocence. "I think she underestimates you, my love. You’ve already proven yourself to be a far better ruler than anyone could have imagined. I can’t imagine why she continues to hover over you like you’re still a boy."

You know exactly why. Alicent cannot stand the idea of you influencing her son. It grates on her to see Aegon so smitten, so easily swayed by your honeyed words. But that’s precisely what you’re counting on.

Aegon chuckles, clearly amused. "She just doesn’t understand, does she?"

"She doesn’t," you agree, leaning in closer so your voice is only for him. "But I do." You place your hand on his chest, right over his heart. "I see you for the man you are, Aegon. A man who doesn’t need his mother whispering in his ear, telling him what to do. You’re king now. You should be able to make your own decisions. Isn’t that what you want?"

Aegon’s eyes flicker with something—desire, admiration, a need for validation. "Yes," he says, his voice firm, though you know it’s more out of wanting to please you than actual conviction. "That is what I want."

You smile, letting your fingers trail lightly down his chest before stepping back, your eyes sparkling with the satisfaction of a job well done. "Then take what’s yours, my king. Trust yourself. Trust me." You cast another glance toward Alicent, who looks like she’s about to bite through her tongue.

She’s always there, lurking like a shadow, trying to pull Aegon back into her grasp. But he slips through her fingers every time you’re around. Alicent has power, but you? You have Aegon. And he doesn’t even realize it.

You turn to face the queen mother, giving her a radiant smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. "Your Grace, you must be so proud of Aegon," you say, your voice saccharine sweet, as though you’re not fully aware of the tension between you. "He’s grown into such a strong man under your care."

Alicent stiffens, her lips twitching in a forced smile. "He has always been capable," she says, her tone clipped. "Though I think he still benefits from wise counsel."

You tilt your head, pretending to consider her words, though you already know exactly how to respond. "Of course," you agree, "but I think he’s ready to make his own choices now. Don’t you?" You let the question hang in the air, a gentle reminder that Aegon is your king now, not hers.

Alicent opens her mouth to reply, but Aegon cuts in before she can get a word out. "Mother, Y/N’s right. I don’t need to be told what to do all the time." He laughs, clearly proud of himself for standing up to her, oblivious to the fact that he’s only echoing your words.

You beam at him, eyes sparkling. "Exactly, my love. You are your own man. And no one, not even your mother, can take that from you."

Alicent’s gaze narrows, and for a moment, you think she might say something sharp, but she bites her tongue. You know it’s eating her alive inside, watching Aegon slip further under your influence, but she can’t do anything about it. Not without making herself look overbearing in front of her son.

"Come, Aegon," you say lightly, turning back to him. "Let’s take a walk in the gardens. You could use some fresh air after sitting on that throne for so long."

Aegon rises eagerly, flashing you that boyish grin that only makes him seem more malleable. "Yes, let’s."

As you link your arm through his and lead him out of the hall, you don’t bother to look back at Alicent. You can already feel the weight of her stare burning into your back. You have Aegon wrapped around your finger, and she knows it.

But as long as you continue to feed his need for affection, for someone to praise him and treat him like the king he so desperately wants to believe he is, he will never stray far from your side. And Alicent can do nothing but watch.

[propheticbride]

Doing It All For Love

𐙚 Reeling after her meeting with Rhaenyra in the sept, she takes advantage of the one thing that reminds her most of her true love; you. Even if you are Aegon’s wife, Rhaenyra’s only daughter and technically, her step-granddaughter.

𐙚 Alicent x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader (tw: step-incest, age gap; alicent is reader's step-grandmother and 38/reader is 20, manipulation, slight dub-con)

AN: i am still writing lamb to slaughter i am just rlly turned on by alicent being manipulative and being in power <3 reader is of age, no i am not doing the math

Alicent can't breathe. The power, her very control on matters is slipping. Aegon is lost, Aemond a violent monster. Helaena lost to her grief. Matters possibly be any worse. Of course they could. They always can.

She had told Rhaenyra to her face that war was due, that it was inevitable. Alicent knew the succession had not been changed, that Viserys did not change his mind.

But was Alicent to blame for wanting power of her own? To have developed a taste for it since it was first forced down her throat? Was it so bad of her? Her father had drilled in her so hard Aegon’s claim that had to be what she truly wanted. Why else would she forcibly usurp the only person that has ever loved her.

But it was far too late. All of it set in place. The board was set. Time to play the game before them. But she couldn't deny her feelings. Noy truly. She was angry. Angry at her father, angry at her king, at Aegon.

“Your grace?” you call softly.

Alicent half smiles, but it isn't sincere. She isn't the queen anymore, you are. She foolishly thought if she rushed and married you to a newly crowned Aegon that Rhaenyra would bend. She didn't know Daemon would simply declare war for his better half as you were now considered a 'hostage’ in the capital.

“You are the queen. You can call me Alicent, or mother…” Alicent walks towards you, and allows her hand to reach your face. “...or grandmother.”

“You're so young to be a grandmother.” you assure her.

“You think I look young?” Alicent feeds off your validation, so eager to please. You don't know if it's sincere or a survival tactic but she doesn't care, it turns her on all the same. “You’re such a dove, aren't you? Flaunting about the keep as you please. So insistent on making me and your betters happy.”

“I just want to please you all so you don't take my head.” you admit rashly.

“Take your head?” she cocks hers. “Why would we?”

“Because my mother is…my mother is a traitor and so is my father. I have traitor’s blood.” you say softly.

“You have the blood of the dragon and you share Aegon’s blood. Not all is treacherous.” Alicent tries to calm you, even though the words affirm what you fear people say about you is true. You are the blood of a whore, a traitor. And the worst is you are no bastard, but the daughter of an even worse fate, Daemon Targaryen.

“I wish to be a good queen to you, to Aegon and them.” Alicent reaches to hold your hand and pulls you closer. You gaze up at her.

“You are a good queen. Probably more loved than I.” Alicent’s voice is calming, but not to be sweet or kind or caring. No. She wants you in a false state of comfort.

The more Alicent looks at you, studies your face. The more you look like Rhaenyra. She could see why the court confused you two at times. You didn't have a shred of Daemon in your face, she thanks the gods for that. But you have her former friend’s face. The friend she so desperately clung to as a child. The one who turned her back on her. And now her daughter was clinging to her.

Alicent leans in and kisses you, it’s gentle and she can physically feel you react to it.

You immediately pull back, “Your grace-”

“I am not the queen, you stupid girl.” she grabs your hands firmer, her nails digging into you. “You took that position, usurped it from me.”

“As you have usurped my mother.” you speak back, matching her cold tone. As soon as the words leave you, you regret it.

“I am so sorry, have I hurt you?” she asks as she brings your hands to her face to inspect. Her tone changes to soft again, as she watches blood pool around the moons her nails left in your skin.

“I want to go home!” you admit, tears streaming your face. “I want my mother.”

“I wanted your mother too once. She was my…friend. But she has turned her back on me, on you.” Alicent kisses your hands gently.

“You lie.”

“Do I sweetling? Where is your mother? If I had heard my daughter had married my enemy I’d swarm the palace with my dragon and burn it to ash. But she has not yet even made a move and it has been weeks.” she shakes her head at you, almost mocking you for being so naive.

Alicent holds your head, and leans in to kiss you again, this time more roughly. You don't react, you let it happen. Alicent controls it, every movement she has the power and orchestrates it. And you're so stupid, naive and powerless, you let her.

“What would Aegon say?” you break away, mostly to catch your breath.

“He's with painted whores as we speak.” She licks her lips. You taste like fruit, something she knew you were fond of. She watches your face fall. “Does that upset you?”

“No.” you shake your head. “I do not think so. I don't love him.”

“I know.” Alicent goes to kiss you again, and this time you kiss back.

Your hands go to her waist and you whimper into her mouth. Her hands begin peeling you of your gown, a soft white and gold, and you work to untie the strings on the back of hers.

It’s all happening so fast you can't control anything, she's in charge. You can't help it, you miss your mother. Your gown is slipped off onto the floor and Alicent reaches to pull you closer, gently turns you and then throws you lightly on her bed.

“Have you two lied together?” she asks, finishing stripping her gown down, the dark green material pooling at her feet.

You can't help but stare at her body, despite four pregnancies her body still was slender, and a soft warm color painted her skin. You watched Alicent remove her seven pointed star necklace, kiss it and set it down.

“Have you ever been with a woman?” she asks, beginning to sit beside you on the bed.

You shake your head and watch her take pieces of your silver hair in her hands. God you looked so much like Rhaenyra, she needed to have you.

“Can you kiss me again?” you ask, snapping her out of her trance.

She smiles, mostly because she knows she has you, and she does. She kisses you again, and places herself above you.

You wonder what Rhaenyra would say, what she would think. They had been childhood friends, and now you were kissing her old friend and newest enemy, about to sleep with her. It was all entrancing. Would Daemon have your head when they eventually stormed Kings Landing?

Alicent dips her fingers in her mouth, coating them with spit before settling inside your cunt. You groan, and arch your back at her touch. Pure pleasure shoots through you as she continues to pump her digits in and out of you. She watches you with hungry eyes, picturing your mother in your spot.

You're a gentle little girl, always so keen on pleasing others, Alicent smiled slightly at you finally being pleased. She knew Aegon did not take your pleasure into account, her nasty excuse of a son could not please anyone. Not even the maids he took his pleasure from.

“Feel good sweet dove?” Alicent coos, voice full of sex.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” you cry out, pressure building as you become closer to orgasm. “Please don't stop.”

“I won't, I won't.” she says softly, mostly to herself.

You looked good like this, sweat stuck to your forehead, writhing in pleasure, pleasure given by her. Alicent pulls her fingers out, which causes you to omit soft pleading for her to go back to what she was doing.

She settles between your legs, and gives small kisses on your thighs.

“Don't tease me, please your grace.” you beg.

“I’ll do what I want, won't I?” Alicent doesn't wait for your answer until she's latching her mouth on your now wet cunt, sucking and licking away, the sounds of your moans growing louder and filling the chamber.

She didn't care if maids heard, or passed by and saw. All she cared about was that you were close to cumming on her tongue. She traced your cunt up and down with the wet muscle, ensuring your clit got the most attention.

Your orgasm hits hard, causing you to wrap your legs around her head, “Gods gods gods gods!”

As you ride your wave of pleasure, Alicent licks up the mess and gives your cunt one last kiss before pulling up and looking at you. Her mouth was wet, no soaked with your cum. You blush at the sight.

“Sweet girl.” Alicent wipes her mouth on the duvet, and lays beside you.

“Do you want me to…please you, your grace?” you ask.

She shakes her head, “Dowager queen.”

As you cuddle into her side, still breathing heavily, the one thing that crosses Alicent’s mind is your mother.

[rockrosethistle]

I'm thinking about the implications again.

The numbers that the hive mind performs aren't random. Both the lyrics and the choreography will often boil down to to one purpose: to cause pain. (Pokey is ruthless.)

Sometimes it's physical, and that's easy to spot. The cops spend half of their song just kicking and pushing people to the ground. Join Us And Die literally ends with Ted getting beat up.

And when the choreography doesn't allow for it, the lyrics are specifically trying to elicit an emotional response. The hive uses Alice to torment Bill. He's watching someone he loves die in front of him. It does the same for Charlotte.

Okay, the hive gets a kick out watching people suffer. That's not new information. But the implications...

Look at Inevitable. It's a pretty significant shift from the rest of the numbers. Whereas those seem tailored for pain and fear, Inevitable seems to be comforting? Just look.

Paul walks out, and the first thing he does is hug Emma. Which doesn't seem significant at first, but think: Did Bill get that same courtesy?

Alice's first line is meant to taunt Bill. Paul's is almost consolatory; " Emma / I'm sorry / you lost." I won't dissect this completely, the theory is that this first line is genuine. Paul is actually sorry that their plan failed.

And when you take a look at the choreography, it becomes clear that it's a lot kinder than the other songs.

We see Paul waltzing with Emma and kissing her hands. And even though he's not letting her get away, he's not trying to hurt her. He's not even trying to intimidate her. He's shown more than once bending down--getting on her level, like you would to a child--as opposed to towering over her.

The lyrics aren't messing with her either. Whereas Sam is manipulative and Alice is spiteful, Paul's lyrics are reassuring.

"I'm still the man you trust," is a lot different than "Don't you twust me?" when you get right down to it. It carries with it a connotation of 'I'm okay, and you will be too.'

"What if I told you I made it?" actively contradicts the 'I killed your loved one' narrative that Alice used with Bill.

It's not like Emma is buying any of it. She's still terrified. Paul doesn't need to hurt her or taunt her in order to scare her, just singing was enough. But it's clear that he's not trying to.

The hive mind gets a kick out of watching people suffer. Emma is the leading lady. You'd think that she's the one who should have the most brutal song. But she just doesn't. It seems like her song is trying to be the kindest.

We know it's implied that once they get infected, people are still conscious inside their musical doppelgängers (source: the line "your own body is your front row seat" as well as Sam breaking through its control long enough to say "Charlotte" before falling back under).

I think Paul was conscious during Inevitable. I think he knew that they weren't escaping this. I think he knew he was eventually going to kill Emma, and there was nothing he could do about it. But I think he didn't want her to suffer.

Instead, I think he resolved to give her as kind a death as he could. He would lie. He'd tell her he was happy and that she was safe. He'd be as gentle as the hive mind allowed. She was running out of time, so he'd love her with every second they had left.

(but that's just a theory...a musical theory... and cut)

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (14/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kind of fingering, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

"Tell him the truth. Lying to my grandfather serves no purpose anyway. He's a skilled player. You have to win his trust." Said her betrothed, walking around her chamber with his hands folded behind his back as if it was simple, while she sat on her bed, looking at him in horror.

Lord Hightower had many reasons to doubt her loyalty, starting with her treacherous bloodline to the fact that, in all probability, Gwayne had convinced him that she had forced her way into his grandson's heart through his bed like a simple whore.

She lowered her gaze, fiddling with her fingers in nervous reflex – her lēkia approached her and knelt before her on one knee, taking her hands in his, slightly rough from holding the hilt of his sword.

"My grandfather is loyal to our family. I trust him. Do it, zaldrītsos."

Otto waited for her in the royal gardens in complete solitude, under one of the beautiful ancient arbours overlooking the sea. The day was sunny and hot, so she was dressed in one of the gowns of fine, thin fabric that she had ordered with her Prince's permission – she could have worn a garment belonging to his daughter, Queen Alicent, but she feared he would perceive it as an attempt of manipulation.

She was to be honest with him, as her betrothed demanded.

She sighed quietly, seeing his seated silhouette in the distance, silver trays full of lemon and apple cakes, caramelised dates, grapes and strawberries on a small white table in front of him. She blinked, coming closer with a rattle of stones under her feet, standing in front of him, feeling her heart stop in her throat.

Otto gave her a gentle, reassuring smile and held out his hand in front of him, pointing to the empty chair across from him, seeing how tense she was.

"My Lady. Thank you for agreeing to speak to the grumbling old man and listen to his concerns." He said lightly and she swallowed hard, sitting down, placing her hands on her thighs.

"Treat yourself. My daughter loves caramelised dates." He said and reached for one himself, taking a bite of it.

He chewed it and swallowed, nodding appreciatively, as if indeed their flavour appealed to him too.

"Do you know what my grandson's – and your betrothed's – favourite dish is?" He asked, looking at her curiously, as if he was challenging her.

She raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders, involuntarily grinning with amusement.

"I don't think such considerations occupy his head. He rarely delights in food, and if he does, it is more in the privacy of his own mind." She said calmly.

Otto hummed under his breath, as if her answer satisfied him, and nodded.

"Our Prince is a man of principle and loves simplicity. Deliberations on trivial things bore him and arouse his frustration, just like the romantic courting of women." He said, spreading out comfortably in his chair, placing his hands on the armrests, asking her the obvious question between his words.

How had she managed to seduce him?

She huffed under her breath and turned her gaze away, looking out at the sea stretching around them, the pleasant fresh breeze and shade cooling her sun-warmed skin.

"Like any man, he is not fond of empty words. He chooses his own deliberately and expects others to do the same. Unless he becomes enraged – then his fury erupts like a volcano." She said lightly, for some reason feeling no fear at the thought.

She had ceased to fear him long ago.

She knew that even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to truly hurt her.

"The letter you found in your chamber was sent to you on my command." He said calmly.

She froze, staring blankly ahead, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad.

It was a trial, she suddenly realised.

He wanted to see if she was trustworthy.

For some reason, a wave of sadness and disappointment rippled through her heart.

She naively believed for a moment that her person could occupy her father's mind.

Otto continued, hearing her silence full of disbelief.

"I need to know what you want, child. I need you to put your desires into words so that I can understand what kind of person is sitting right in front of me to become my grandson's wife." He said slowly, as if carefully choosing every thought that left his lips – his voice was gentle and soothing, as if he was trying to reassure her that what she was going to say would remain their secret.

She lowered her gaze, feeling her heart pound like mad in terror – not because she was afraid of him, but because his question startled her.

She didn't know what to answer.

She had never thought about it.

Until now, she had only been the fulfilment of his desires, she thought with shame, playing with her fingers, feeling certain Otto would take her silence as a bad sign, proof that her intentions were not pure.

"I am what he wants me to be." She finally muttered, feeling tears of embarrassment under her eyelids burning as much as if they were living fire.

Lord Hightower looked at her in silence and twisted in his seat with a creak of wood, as if surprised by her answer.

"Do you wish to marry him?" He asked, and she nodded without thinking.

"I want to be by his side. His presence fills my soul and heart with a strange peace. When he is beside me, I am no longer afraid. Of my father, of war, or of what will happen to me. I am not afraid of death or dragon fire. Sometimes I think it would be better for me to die in battle than to live to see the moment when I realise I have lost his affection." She choked out in a trembling voice, feeling the heavy tears one by one run down her cheeks – she was wiping them off the warm skin of her face with her hands, but they flowed anyway.

Why had she said that?

Why was she letting him know her weakness?

Maybe because deep down she hoped that he would kill her one day, she thought.

That he would not let her live to see the day when her husband would love another woman.

"Our Prince holds you in a respect and esteem that he has never bestowed on any woman before. He allows himself to be vulnerable and weak in your presence. Men, dear child, experiencing physical fulfilment without a soul bond, feel an emptiness after the act. Their desire is like a cry of desperation for purely childlike attention and tenderness – then, in his chamber, seeing him in your embrace, I saw a boy who feels protected and comforted. I'm afraid that my grandson fell in love with you."

She swallowed with difficulty, choking on her own tears, looking at him in disbelief, her heart pounding in her chest like mad.

I'm afraid that my grandson fell in love with you.

She shook her head, feeling that she could not accept those words.

He desired her, he enjoyed her, he was fond of her, but he did not love her.

"I dearly loved my late wife. She was my closest confidante, my beloved friend, the most beautiful of women. She was strong, and my grandson is weak. Filled with complexes, he lives to prove his worth, power and strength, not seeing that he is crushing the efforts of many years, made by me and his father. He needs guides, trusted advisors who love him and who want him to prevail. I know that it was because of you that my grandson told his brother about his plans regarding Rook Rest's. I know that you advised him against plotting behind Aegon's back and sought to rally them. You advise our Prince wisely and I wish you to be his wife. As the daughter of the Lady of Runestone, you are the blood of the Kingdom of the Mountain and the Vale, which will be crucial to us when the siege of Harrenhal begins. Your task to the Kingdom will be to rally the Lords against Lady Arryn's will and to stop my grandson from acting recklessly and violently. Do you understand what I have in mind?" He asked calmly, and she nodded quickly, wiping her hot, swollen cheeks with her hands.

"Yes."

As she was fitting her wedding gown, letting the servants and seamstresses check the length of the sleeves, she thought about Otto Hightower's words and how much they surprised her.

He was a shrewd and enlightened man, of that she was convinced – he also let her know that he did not see her as an enemy or a threat, but as an opportunity for them and the Kingdom as a whole.

For some reason, something in his words and the way he said them comforted her – she felt that, at last, the burden of the war and the Crown would partly fall off the Prince's back, allowing someone more experienced to advise him on difficult and complicated matters that would have overwhelmed the wisest of men.

She shuddered as the door to her chamber opened and her betrothed stepped inside, searching for her with his eye.

"No!" She squealed, fleeing behind the light-coloured three-door screen standing nearby. "It brings misfortune. Leave."

He shouldn't see her in her wedding gown before their nuptials.

She heard his sigh of impatience and his lazy footsteps on the other side – when he stopped the servants bowed to him and left the chamber, leaving them alone.

"What did he say?" He asked calmly.

She sighed quietly, stepping closer to the wall of thin material behind which she could see the shadow of his tall figure.

"That he wishes me to win the support of the Lords of the Vale for you. That I would help him control your impulsive nature." She said, and he snorted, frustrated, turning his head to the side.

"Is that how he sees me? As an uncontrollable animal to be tamed?" He asked with a regret that made her swallow hard, her fingers touching the fabric as if she wanted to touch his chest.

His heart.

"No. But he and I know what your anger means and how dangerous it can be. That it is only when its first wave passes that your coolness and common sense returns to you. There is a fire running through your veins – that is your nature. We do not want you to burn in the heat of your own fury, regretting later the deeds done in a sudden burst of rage." She muttered and heard him draw in a breath, as if her words pained him.

"He is disappointed in me, then." He said coldly and she closed her eyes, feeling helpless against his low self-esteem.

"No, brother. He wants your victory, exactly as I do. If you craved sweet lies, you would allow Larys Strong to pour poison into your ears, surrounding yourself with lords who would praise you and your greatness. You, in your wisdom, sent for your grandfather, who is sincere, who cares for you and your family."

"Ours." He corrected her, and she smiled involuntarily with gratitude.

"Ours."

She heard him take a step towards the screen, his forehead pressed against the material – she did the same, on the other side, hearing his quiet breath.

"– I desire you –" He whispered, and she sighed, feeling his words in her nipples, her lips, the tips of her fingers and her throbbing, swollen cunt.

"– let's last until our wedding – let's make this the night we've waited and longed for –" She said in a breaking voice, feeling that she was losing the battle with herself, his scent, his presence, his closeness making her grow hot.

"– what are you suggesting? – that you won't spend upcoming nights in my bed? –" He exhaled, placing his hands on the screen wall, and she felt a wonderful shiver of pleasure run down her cheeks, along her breasts and down her spine.

"– lēkia –" She gasped and they both sighed as the door to her chamber opened and Lysa stepped inside, holding in her hand the jewellery casket she had ordered for the occasion.

"– leave us, brother –" She whispered in a trembling voice, feeling her womanhood pulsing greedily around nothing, a drop of her wetness running down the inside of her thigh.

"– visit me tonight –"

"– I can't – for at least a few days let me pretend I have dignity –" She mumbled and heard him swallow hard, as if her words caused him pain.

She knew he hesitated, that he wanted to say something more, but resigned – she saw him turn and move towards the door, Lysa bowed to him as he left the room without a word.

She exhaled loudly, stepping out from behind the screen, and Lysa gave her one warm, comforting smile.

She was her only friend.

"They have arrived, my Lady – hair adornments, a dagger and a necklace, matching your instructions in every detail." She said, tilting the lid open.

She smiled broadly as she came closer, seeing the objects lying on the cushion – a thin, delicate golden chain with sapphires framed so that they looked like three water drops – two small and one large that was lying between them – her hair pins in the shape of forget-me-nots, also made of sapphire stones, and a long, beautiful dagger, her gift for her future husband.

She had chosen her jewellery deliberately – her wedding gown was sewn from fabrics in light blue tones and browns – she wanted to show her future husband her devotion to him and her own allegiance to Runestone at the same time.

According to what she had heard, King Aegon began to slowly awaken, but he was dazed and was merely babbling, fed with the milk of the poppy by the Maester – they wanted to spare him the pain, which must have been immense anyway, looking at how much of his skin had been burned in the fire.

However, the fact that he was regaining consciousness worried her Prince, who pushed for the nuptials to take place as soon as possible – he was afraid that his brother, as soon as he found out about it, would forbid the Septon to marry them out of sheer spite.

They renounced grand ceremonies and processions – their subjects were starving, and they did not want them to think that during their great suffering they were drinking wine and dancing, mocking them.

"Thanks to my spies, we were able to prevent great misfortune – a dozen inconspicuous boats arrived under cover of darkness from Dragonstone to King's Landing, filled to the brim with food. They were to be passed on as gifts from Queen Rhaenyra to her subjects. Instead, the food will be distributed on the streets of the city just before your nuptials, so that the whole Kingdom can rejoice with you." Said Otto during the Small Council meeting – her future husband had dismissed his mother in revenge for her affair with Criston Cole, thus freeing up a seat at the table.

As she was a dragon rider and would be participating in the war, she needed to know what was happening, so she was specifically assigned a seat in the Small Council, right next to the Prince Regent's grandfather.

She threw her cousin a quick glance and saw that he was looking at her as well, his grin indicating that he was more than pleased.

"Excellent." He said.

Her betrothed, in keeping with her wishes, had allowed them to spend the nights before their nuptials apart, she knew, however, that he was frustrated and made that known whenever he could.

"No. You stay, hāedar." He said when he closed the meeting and she stood up as did everyone else gathered.

She swallowed hard when she heard the door close – she saw out of the corner of her eye that he stood from his seat and approached her with a lazy, unhurried step.

She gasped as she felt his large hand on her waist, wandering up and down, his other hand without any warning slipped under the fabric of her gown from above and squeezed softly her silky, plump breast.

She pressed her lips together, suppressing a quiet moan of pleasure when she felt his parted, moist lips run over her neck, leaving a wet, sticky trail on her skin, his hot breath making her cunt, swollen with desire and longing, clench greedily around nothing.

"– stop –" She muttered, grabbing his wrist as his hand from her waist and hip slid down between her thighs, closing on her womanhood.

"– are you touching yourself? – hm? –" He asked coldly and she shook her head, panting heavily as she felt his hard manhood pushing against her buttocks, a drop of cold sweat dripped down her back.

"– no – I suffer just as you do, lēkia – please –" She mumbled and cried out, tilting her head back as his fingertips began to gently tease what was under the material of her dress, a wonderful wave of heat surging through her loins.

"– mmm –" He hummed and let her go, leaving her alone, thirsty and quivering with desire, walking out of the room without even giving her a single glance.

Contrary to what her cousin thought, it wasn't just for him that the wait for their night together was agony – her betrothed demanded that since he couldn't touch her, she couldn't either.

She knew that he also did not satisfy his urges in any way, which made him more mischievous – he would lurk for an opportunity for them to be alone and put his hand between her thighs to caress and tease her, whispering in her ear.

"– beg, and maybe I'll fuck you –" He hissed, her hand clenched on his arm.

"– n-no – please, please, stop –"

He let her go then, his jaw clenched in annoyance and some kind of awe, as if he didn't think she could really stand it – her whole body screamed before his eyes that she wanted it, and yet she still refused him.

It was a sign of strong will for him, proof that her words were not empty and her decisions were final.

On the day the nuptials were to take place, the entire Red Keep was put on its feet – Otto feared an attack from all sides, including poisoning, so guards personally chosen by him went to the Sept, as well as to the kitchens, to keep an eye on the cooks and make sure they didn't add anything to the food.

She was surprised by this, but she felt relieved that her future husband's grandfather was watching over everything.

From the morning, Lysa and the other servants had been helping her put on her gown – it fitted her body perfectly, revealing her cleavage and shoulders – the sleeves of the bottom dress clung to her arms, while the sleeves of her top dress, the blue one, was slit at the elbows, falling all the way to the ground.

Some of her hair was pinned up in a bun at the back of her head, decorated with small sapphire flowers, while some fell in waves down her back.

A necklace completed the look – it adorned her long neck and accentuated the colour of the fabric of her gown, however, she actually hoped that this and her sapphire hair adornments would be the only things left on her body during their wedding night.

She shuddered as the door to her chamber opened and she saw Queen Alicent before her – she stepped down from the small dais and bowed to her as did her servants, whether she wanted to or not having to show her respect.

The Dowager Queen stopped before her and sighed, folding her hands in front of her.

"Do you know what kind of man you will marry? Who my son is?" She asked, and she swallowed hard, wondering how a mother could know so little about her own child.

She thought she was simply afraid of the answers to the questions she was asking herself and didn't want to know them, separating herself from who her son was in her mind.

"Yes, Your Grace." She said calmly, looking her straight in the eye. "Our Prince holds you in deep esteem and hopes to earn your praise."

She saw Alicent's lips twitch, her eyebrows arching in an expression of regret, as if her words had caused her pain, her large brown eyes filled with nothing but sadness.

She nodded, as if accepting her words in her heart, and gestured to her servant, who held a small chest in her hand.

"I wish to offer a blessing to you and my son. I ask that you accept this small gift from me, along with my desire for you to be protected by the gods themselves." Said the Queen and opened the lid – she saw a fine gold chain with a small pendant in the shape of a seven-pointed star.

She nodded, looking at it, wondering if, when she went to see her son, she would find at least a few warm words for him.

The journey in the carriage through King's Landing seemed to last for ages to her – the streets were full of happy people – Lord Hightower, according to his plan, began handing out food to the people, leading to a sudden outburst of joy.

The smallfolk, in keeping with his desire, saw this event as a sign, recognising that the gods had supported the marriage between the Prince and his relative by sending them revelry, putting an end to their hunger.

However, for how long will the supplies stolen from Princess Rhaenyra last?

When will their suffering begin anew?

She swallowed hard at the thought that the war had to end as soon as possible, but both her future husband and Dragonstone knew that neither of them had enough advantage to bring the other to its knees.

When she arrived before the Great Sept and the carriage doors opened in front of her, she froze, feeling panic – the people around her were shouting her name, throwing flowers, reaching out to her as if she were some kind of semi-divine being, a symbol of the life they would never know.

She felt overwhelmed and stunned, alone among the crowd, small without her dragon and bow, dressed in a long gown like a doll.

For some reason she wanted to cry.

"My Lady." She heard a voice in front of her, then saw Otto Hightower walking towards her between the guards. "My Lady, give me your hand."

She swallowed hard and did as he asked, placing her palm on his, rough and large. With his help, she walked down a few steps to a small wooden platform, and from it to the ground, feeling that her legs were trembling with fear.

"I am not your father, but I will be more than happy if you do me this honour. It is a difficult journey and no young woman should have to walk it alone." He said calmly, and she looked at him with big eyes, noticing something in his gaze that could have been sympathy or simple concern.

She had always dreamed of someone looking at her like that.

The way a father would look at his daughter.

She nodded, thinking in the back of her mind that if she let go of his hand she would just fall, her legs soft as cotton wool.

As she walked with Lord Hightower into the Great Sept, she heard the sound of trumpets, young girls, daughters of lords and knights throwing flowers at her feet.

It all seemed unreal to her – the temple around her was so gigantic that it took her breath away, the great, tall statues of the Seven Gods towering over those gathered to form a circle, enclosing the entire structure.

At the very centre, on a raised platform stood the altar at which stood the Grand Septon and her betrothed, a sweet emotion squeezed her throat as she looked at his face.

Though he stood erect, with his hands folded behind his back like a statue, she could see that his gaze was hot, vulnerable, his eye large, his lips parted in a heavy breath as if he longed to cry at the sight of her – the fact that she had chosen not the colour of his or her lineage, but his colour, the blue of his sapphire, something only he could understand, the expression of her devotion, her understanding, her affection.

When they stopped at the steps Otto let her go, but she, seeing her cousin's face felt more confident – she grabbed the front of her gown and lifted it, not wanting to step on it, climbing slowly upwards, her steps echoing loudly around her.

She sighed quietly as she stood in front of them, not daring to look at his face, feeling that if she did she would cry for some reason.

It was really happening.

She was to become a wife.

She looked at him and it was a mistake – she felt a squeeze in her throat when she saw him draw in the air loudly when his gaze met hers, as if he felt something deep inside himself that frightened him, his lips slightly parted in a shuddering breath.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Her cousin swallowed loudly, looked at the Septon and then behind him, nodding – Gwayne Hightower approached him with a long black cloak embroidered with green threads from which the figure of a three-headed dragon was formed at the very centre.

The crest of their family and the colours of the Hightowers.

She bowed humbly as he threw the cloak over her shoulders with a sweeping gesture, making sure the material did not slip, and she closed her eyes.

He took her under his protection.

"We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder." Said the Septon – her betrothed extended his hand to her, standing proud and upright, so she placed her palm on his – the priest entwined their joined hands with a wide, bright ribbon.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words." He said, and they looked at each other, her heart pounding in her chest once before they both opened their mouths and their lungs left the words spoken surprisingly confidently and calmly.

"Father,

Smith,

Warrior,

Mother,

Maiden,

Crone,

Stranger

I am hers | I am his

and she is mine | and he is mine

from this day, until the end of my days."

They fell silent, and though she thought he would not do it, that it would be beneath his dignity, he took her hot cheek in his hand and leaned down, looking at her as if he held the entire heritage of Old Valyria in his fingers.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love." He whispered, only a quiet sigh escaping her throat as his full, fleshy lips pressed against hers in a deep, warm, moist kiss, so tender and soft that she felt a single, lonely tear run down her cheek.

My love.

When he broke the kiss he didn't move away for a moment, just looking at her, and she smiled in a way that must have made him happy, because he smiled too, shyly and sweetly, like a little boy.

They were husband and wife.

[tallulah477]

Feral

Survive The Night Day 2: Predator/Prey

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, Dark!Neteyam, ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Oral (female receiving), P in V, Sex Pollen, Size Difference, Chasing, Primal Play (Predator/Prey Kink), Creampie, Hair Pulling, Knife Play, Restraining Holds (i.e pinning/holding reader down), Fear Kink (?), Alien Genitalia (not really the focus, but its there), Knotting, Belly Bulge

Word Count: 7.3K

A/N: Based off a dream I had where Neteyam chased me through my house and I was running for my fucking life. Why didn't I let him catch me, you ask? Cause dream Talie is stupid.

Summary: You never understood why the Na'vi don't use this particular plant in their healing practices. It's a miracle plant for the humans - cutting healing times nearly in half when used as a topical paste. You would think it would have some similar benefits to the Na'vi. You would be wrong.

**PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS - DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ**

Translations:

Tawtute - Human

Kehe rikx - Don't move

Rutxe ftang - Please stop

Kehe - No

Even considering he’s a nine foot tall blue alien, Neteyam Sully still looks extremely out of place standing on the clean, white tiled floor of the lab. 

His siblings don’t look so out of place when they visit - comfortable and familiar enough within the confines of the lab to make themselves at home among the multitude of beakers, whirling machines, and thick observation glass that make up your day-to-day workplace. Their large bodies twisting and contorting with ease when necessary to accommodate for the smaller space. 

Neteyam isn’t so lucky. He doesn’t like the human facilities, opting to follow in his mother’s footsteps and stay as far away from the skypeople as he can. He’s only here because he was ordered to be, sent by his father to fix his broken throat comm before they head out with the hunting party on a three day hunting trip.

He looks uncomfortable as he stands behind you, back stiff and arms crossed across his broad chest as he watches you tinker with the comm. Repairing tech has never been your strong suit, so it’s taking you a bit longer to figure out than it probably should have, but since you're currently the only person left in this half of the base, the responsibility has unintentionally fallen to you. 

You should be out there too. The thought forms bitterly in your head as you poke at the small opened compartment of the comm with your tweezers. Your favorite part of research is going out into the world and finding the specimens. The lab is great, a fine place for breaking ground and learning new things, gathering knowledge and data about a flora and fauna in a way that no other humans had ever had the opportunity to do before. Pandora is your home, where you grew up and lived your whole life - and yet, it’s still a mystery, and you learn something new and beautiful about it everyday. 

But the real fun is outside the lab. It’s when you're out there, in the thick of it, stepping over breaching roots and feeling the moss of the ground between your toes when you take off your shoes during a rest break. It’s feeling the gentle breeze of air along your skin and hearing the trees rustle in the canopy above you as a result, and pretending that - just for a minute - you can feel the breeze of alien air brush against your face instead of your mask.

Usually one of the older scientists, Alice, offers to stay behind at the lab to run tests and be on call for the Omatikaya should human tech ever be needed. But she’s the most knowledgeable when it comes to locating the elusive and seasonally grown plant that’s come to be known as the Rust Plant. 

So, that leaves you here, on your ass and pouting while everyone else gets to go off and have their fun. 

As far as you know, the plant doesn’t have any special properties or spiritual significance to the Na’vi. But when the red dust-like powder is collected from the center and manipulated into a liquid, the result is a miracle paste that significantly reduces healing time with human injuries. You asked about it once - why the Na’vi don’t try to make the paste for themselves to see if it will work on them - but the only answer you got back was that it had some ‘unintended consequences’ when used by the clan, so they stay away from the plant altogether. 

You don’t think about that when Neteyam walks in. 

The plant mixture, once rust red, is now a beautiful glowing purple inside the beaker - a reaction from the solution added to the powder to form the liquid base. It’s been on the hot plate for a while now, but it’s only just starting to heat up enough to provide small spirals of smoke inside the clear glass. 

You’re glancing at the clock when you hear Neteyam sniff slightly behind you. You don’t turn around, ignoring the little puffs of air that somehow sound like bullet shots in the silence, but a part of you is instantly insecure. What is he smelling? It can't be the mixture in the beaker. Despite the smoke, it doesn’t give off any kind of smell. Subtly, you press your chin to your chest, trying to see if you can smell yourself to find out if maybe it’s you giving off some kind of stench that his overly sensitive nose is picking up on, but you don’t smell anything off about you either. 

The purple liquid is still thin inside the container, needing several more minutes of constant heat in order to bubble and thicken slightly before it can be considered a usable product, but you pause your tinkering on the comm to note the time for the smoke in a small notebook. 

Neteyam lets out a loud sigh when you drop the tweezers to grab a pencil, the annoyed huff nearly ear piercing in the quiet of the lab. This time you can’t help but glance towards the harsh noise, a slight tilt of your head towards the large Na’vi and your eyes meet amber for just a second before they drop again to the paper as you scribble. 

A part of you wants to be snobby, ask a prissy ‘can I help you?’ just because you feel like he’s being so unnecessarily rude when you're just trying to help, but you keep your mouth shut. 

He doesn’t. 

“Are you nearly done?” He grunts, accented tone pitched with agitation as his feet shuffle on the tile. 

“Yes, just a few more minutes,” You say, picking the tweezers back up. “Be patient.”

You think you’ve almost got the comm fixed, just a minor replacement to the tiny inside panel, and you're thankful that’s all it is. It shouldn’t take too long. You’ve nearly got the replacement piece in place now, so all you should have to do is solder it in and it should be fine. Which is good because the sooner you can get this fixed, the sooner you can get the huffy, oversized, unfortunately very handsome despite being an incredible dick of a Na’vi out of the lab so you don’t have to feel him breathing down your neck anymore. 

It only takes another couple minutes for the smoke to consume the rest of the empty space in the beaker, thick white wisps swirling inside of the glass and spiraling out of the top. You drop the tweezers again, cutting the power off to the hot plate and grab the pencil again to log the time. 

Neteyam sniffs again, this time audibly louder and longer, before it sounds like his breath gets caught in his lungs. 

Immediately, your head spins around to stare at him wide eyed, surprise and concern flooding your chest when you notice he’s backed up a few steps. He’s staring at the bubbling beaker, yellow eyes set with suspicion and what almost looks like distress. 

“Are you o–”

“What is that?” He interrupts, voice gruff as his three fingered hand points to the beaker. 

“It’s… the mixture for our healing paste,” You reply, confused. 

“No! What is it?”

“The Rust Plant? The one that grows on the sides of river b–”

You’re cut off again by a sharp hiss, and you have just a second to register Neteyam’s dagger-like teeth as he stalks forward, spitting out a frustrated “You stupid–” before he’s jerking back, hand immediately covering his nose as if to stop himself from breathing.

He looks wild, eyes frantic as he stares at the beaker, and every muscle in his body looks tense, stung up tight like a bow ready to shoot. You’re a scientist, you’re meant to be observant, so you don’t know why you didn’t see it before. But it’s clear as anything now. The smoke doesn’t have any kind of smell to you, but to him - with the way he’s backing away and covering his nose to keep from breathing it in - it must be horrible. 

His tail is trashing behind him, so upset that you think you can almost hear a swish from it cutting through the air like a whip. 

“I need to leave,” He says suddenly. Instinctively, you back up into the desk at the sight of the large and angry Na’vi coming at you again, but he just grabs the still broken comm and turns around to storm out. 

He’s big though, too much for the small space of the lab, and his frantic tail is still thrashing as he turns. The thin appendage accidentally snaps against the side of the still smoking beaker, sending it flying off the desk and onto the ground. 

The glass shatters against the tile, glowing purple spreading across the white floor in a large puddle as the smoke spirals up into the air. Neteyam’s hand instinctively drops from his nose to grip onto his tail, holding the end of it close to him as if to keep it from swinging and smacking into anything else. But you watch, shocked and frozen in your spot as he takes one shuddering breath, and then another, tense back muscles shifting under his cobalt skin with each inhale and exhale of air. 

“Neteyam?” You ask, timidly. Dread shoots through your chest and you have the feeling that something very serious just happened, but you don’t even know what. 

He’s just standing there now, back towards you, but he’s not moving towards the door anymore. It’s like something is keeping him from moving, some unseen force that exploded out of the glass container when it burst and wrapped its tendrils around him before he could take another step. 

Whatever he was smelling from the beaker wasn’t good for him, and now it's in the air, invisible signatures swirling through the small space of the lab, and it's affecting him - the ‘unintended consequences’ of the Rust Plant on the Na’vi.

Your every instinct is telling you to stay away from him, that he’s dangerous. But he’s one of the Omatikaya, and regardless of how he views humans, you know he would never hurt you and disobey his father like that. 

“Hey,” You say, gently. You force yourself away from the desk, slowly moving around him to try to not startle him as you attempt to make your way to the airlock door. “Just relax, okay? Let’s try to air this pl–”

His deep growl has you frozen again, cold ice shoots through your veins at the predatory sound. It’s not a normal growl - not a low, quick sound made in anger or frustration. It sounds dark, a deep dangerous rumbling that came from his chest. A warning. 

You watch in horror as he slowly tilts his head towards you, the pointed tips of his sharp teeth visible under the snarled curl of his lips, glittering in the bright fluorescent lights of the lab. Your brain screams at you to run - danger, danger, danger, it shouts, but you can’t move. The realization hits hard: he’s not Neteyam anymore. The Na’vi in front of you is not the same human-indifferent, scoffing, fearless warrior son of Toruk Makto.

He’s an animal. A predator. 

Feral. 

His golden eyes are now just a thin band of dark honey encircling two endless black holes. And in their reflection you see yourself - tiny and weak. Scared.

Prey.

His body shifts slightly, just the most minuscule movements as he angles himself towards you that you probably wouldn’t have noticed had your survival instincts not been ringing alarm bells in your brain. Without thinking, you grab the hot plate, gripping it tightly at its base and holding it in front of you as your only form of weapon.

“Neteyam Sully!” You shout, and you can’t even believe how out of your mind you are to try to use his full name like an upset mother. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you stop it right now!”

There’s not even a second after the words leave your mouth, not a beat or breath or anything before he’s coming at you. 

Your body registers his sudden movement before your brain does, the roaring snarl bouncing off the walls of the lab as he lunges at you. The hot plate is out of your hands in an instant, the hard base of the plate smacking into his face with a loud cuh-thunk. His snarl is interrupted with a grunt from the hit, body jerking back a step from the impact, and you don’t wait around to see the way his eyes zero in on your retreating form again in rage. 

You can’t think - your body is moving without your brain telling it what to do. Pure panic mixed with raw survival instincts is what drives you through the door behind you, nearly smacking into the wall as you barrel down the main hallway. You hear Neteyam’s footsteps close behind, bare feet smacking against the tile. 

It’s a sound you never thought you would find terrifying. You think of little Mae, the daughter of the staff nurse and one of the science guys, and how the sound of her tiny footsteps stomping on these same tiles floors always brought a smile to your face. You could always hear her coming before you saw her, just a few seconds before she rounded the corner with unsteady steps ready to cause havoc as she tries to run from her exhausted and overstimulated mother. 

These ones are louder though. Heavier, but somehow more quiet as they rush at you from across the unobstructed hall. Your body doesn’t wait for your mind to catch up, and that’s probably a good thing considering you have no idea how the fuck you knew to take the split second turn to your right the exact moment Neteyam tried to pounce. 

You hear his snarl of anger as he rights himself, loud and echoing through the hallway. You’ve managed to best him for a second, but he’s still on your ass - gaining ground on you with his long Na’vi legs despite the cramped human-sized halls. 

Your heart is racing in your chest, pounding with fear, and the adrenaline coursing through your veins is the only thing keeping you going. You can’t breathe - shallow, panicked, quick puffs of air rip from you as you run, your high pitched gasps sounding against the hall walls as a foil to Neteyam’s predatory growls. 

“HELP!” You scream, voice cracking with how loud you're trying to scream. The desperation and pure terror are evident in your voice and you know if someone were around they would hear you for sure. Someone has to be around. They have to be. “SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE!”

No one responds. No one steps in to intervene. No one even opens their door to try to take a little bit of a peek. No one to run to for help even though it feels like you're about to get mauled to death by a Thanator. 

You’re truly alone. And that thought makes you somehow even more desperate. 

Most people have a tendency to close the doors of their bedrooms, trying to keep as much privacy as they can in the small base. Norm has no such desires, often too excited or too focused on getting to his studies that he outright forgets to close his door. 

It’s a god send now that you’re sprinting through the residency part of the outpost. Your room is one of the last down the hall. You won’t make it. Not with the way you’re shaking right now, body feeling like it's somehow both freezing over with ice and lighting on fire as the fear and adrenaline fight for dominance for your immediate attention. Neteyam’s right behind you, long stride more than twice the size of yours cutting any distance you gained through your miracle of a move back down to barely anything at all. 

He’s going to catch you. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

Throwing yourself at a random door is dangerous. Just the extra second it takes to turn the knob and push the door open could almost certainly be the difference between life and death if you even still have a chance at life at all. And even then you run the risk of it being locked. Your eye catches on Norm’s door - open and shining like a beacon of hope amongst the fluorescently lit hallway. 

You don’t have another choice. 

You turn. 

As soon as you make it through the threshold, you slam the door behind you as fast as you can. 

You don’t know what you expected, naively hoping that the door would somehow succeed in protecting you and keeping Neteyam out. It’s not even locked. 

You scream as the door explodes under Neteyam’s weight, the wood splintering as it bursts apart, smaller bits of fragmented wood spraying towards you as the feral Na’vi shoulders his way in. The bathroom to your left is the only option, and you lunge for it just as Neteyam lunges for you. The tears pouring down your cheeks burn your eyes and blur your vision, your loud hyperventilating cries make your throat raw. Another door just barely slammed in his face and your back presses against the opposite door, your panicked hand trying to jiggle the knob but your brain not reminding you how to twist it. This other door hasn’t been used in years - the bathroom that once connected these two rooms together is just used by Norm now since Mary had her baby and her and her husband moved into a larger room to accommodate the crib. It’s locked, and your fingers are struggling to twist the mechanism up to unlock it when Neteyam breaks through. 

Even through your blurred vision, you see it clearly. His arm reaches through the hole his shoulder has made, and the bathroom is too small, too fucking small because that arm looks like its reaching across the entire length of it, fingers splayed out like if he can just get one of the tips to brush you, he’ll snatch you up. 

“HELP!” You scream again. Fuck fuck fuck. You’re going to fucking die. “HELP ME!”

You watch the door in horror as Neteyam pulls his arm back, head dropping to glare at you through the opening, and your veins fill with ice. 

He looks murderous - pupils blown so wide you can’t see the golden ring wrapped around them at all. You want to drop to the ground under that stare, beg for mercy even though the look in his eyes makes it clear there won’t be any. 

“N-Neteyam,” You stutter. Your heart is pounding so fast, blood sounding like it’s rushing in your ears so fast you don’t know how you haven’t had a heart attack yet. “P-please s-stop. P-please.”

His eyes stay locked on yours through the hole in the door, dark and glaring but for some reason he’s paused his attacks. A part of you wonders if your begging is making it through to the non-animalistic part of his brain. Whatever the smoke from the mixture of the Rust Plant did to him, it has to be only temporary. He’s still Neteyam. Neteyam is still in there somewhere. 

“Please,” You try again, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re scaring me.”

He leans forward, one hand curling around the broken wood from the open hole in the door. When he speaks, you don’t know if you’re relieved to hear that he can despite the overwhelming feral actions, or if you’re horrified at how his voice comes out. 

He doesn’t sound like himself at all. His words are clipped, short words made sentences that you don’t understand as both the gravely and growled way he says them as well as overall meaning. 

“Tawtute,” He growls. “Mine.”

“Wha— I-I don’t understand,”

You scream when he hisses at you, long canines and sharp teeth on display through the damaged opening and you have a front row seat to the show as your back presses harder against the door behind you. The hand wrapped around the edge of the hole pulls back suddenly, taking with it a huge chunk of the center and the loud crack and snap of wood snaps your body back into gear. You twist the small lock on the door behind you, unlocking it and wrenching it open when Neteyam throws his body against the opposite door again. You’re out the door and into the next room, slamming the door shut behind you just as you hear the telltale crash of the wild Na’vi breaking through the other barrier. Without thinking, you round the side of the bookshelf that stands on the side of the doorframe. You push with all your might, tipping the bookshelf on its side so that it falls diagonally across the door. A dresser sits just on the opposite side of the door, the bookshelf catching on the edge of the dresser so that it blocks a good portion of the bathroom door. 

Any other time you’d be heartbroken to see the books that fall off the bookshelf in your mishandling scatter along the floor and at your feet like they were nothing more than trash. Today, though, you can’t give a shit about that. 

Your hands grip your hair in frustration as you hear Neteyam’s body barrel into the door, hot tears racing down your face as you waste valuable seconds staring at the bending wood behind the tipped bookcase. It won’t keep him back for long. He could probably easily push it out of his way, but it's something. Your only hope now is that it keeps him long enough for you to get away and that his instinct driven brain doesn’t realize he can just go back the way he came to get around the obstacle. 

Turning on your heel, you sprint out the bedroom door, heading back down the hallway towards the lab. The sound of the loud crash echoing through the empty hall makes you run impossibly faster. Was it the door finally giving way under his weight? Or was it the bookshelf being tossed to the side like it was nothing and he’s about to barrel down the hallway to finish the job that you’ve somehow managed to postpone until now?

You make it back to the lab, foot smacking against the forgotten hotplate still laying on the ground in your haste to get to the airlock. Your hand smacks against the button on the side wall, fingers practically choking the heavy handle as you go to yank it open. The oxygen masks lay forgotten on the shelf next to the door. You don’t care about them, don’t care about breathing right now because what’s good about breathing when Neteyam could end your need for it in just seconds if he catches you. 

The airlock door hisses as the seal breaks and for a split second you think you’ve done it - have somehow managed to survive this deadly game of cat and mouse you’ve inadvertently been forced to play. You can grab a mask and slip inside the airlock. Keep Neteyam locked up here in the lab while you sit safely outside until the others get back or he comes to his senses enough to remember how to open the airlock door himself. 

But no sooner than the thought crosses your mind, an arm wraps tightly around your waist and pulls you from your death grip on the thick metal door. 

You scream as you’re tossed to the floor, body pressed against the cold tile as Neteyam straddles you. His hips pin your legs down, leaving them useless and unable to buck or kick under his massive weight. You beat at his chest with your fists as hard as you can, trying to ignore how they hurt from your balled up fists trying to hit against pure solid muscle. 

Panic manifests in your desperate cries and you aim for his face too, trying to hit or slap or scratch - anything to get him off of you. You feel like an injured animal caught in a trap. And you suppose you are. 

“Get off!” You cry. “Get off me, Neteyam!”

He snarls as one of your hits lands too close next to his eye and he grabs your hands tightly in one of his, pinning them above your head.

Your screams stop, catching in your throat when the bright fluorescent lights of the lab catch on the knife on his hip. The light caresses the blade as he pulls it from its sheath, the sharp tip sparkling as he brings it to press against the base of your throat.

His face is in front of yours in an instant, so close you feel like you can barely breathe in the wake of the knife resting at your throat and the way his huge eyes feel like twin black holes threatening to suck you into their depths if you move even a single centimeter. 

“Kehe rikx,” His words are hardly more than a whispered breath against your face, but their translation rings loudly in your ears. 

Don’t move. 

The point of the knife drags against your neck, scratching lightly as he draws it down your collarbone. It pulls at the fabric at the neck of your t-shirt as he moves it down your chest, stretching and bunching it down as he scrapes the tip through the valley of your breasts. Your heart pounds under the deadly tip of the weapon and your body wants to fight, keep fighting for your life that you know could be taken from you with just a quick movement of his hand, but your fear keeps you frozen. 

Something hard presses against your trapped thighs and your eyes automatically rip themselves from the knife down to the space between your bodies, and your breathing catches in your throat again for a whole other reason. 

Neteyam’s cock is hard in his loincloth, having escaped its sheath and filling out under the thin material enough to raise a sizable tent inside it. 

He doesn’t give you time to react as his head bends down and latches onto the swell of your breast through your shirt, sharp teeth digging into it just enough for marks to surely be left even through the layers of shirt and bra. You yelp, back arching instinctively against the pain, and your body unfreezes as his teeth scrape against your breast before digging into the material of your shirt and ripping.

The loud sound of tearing fabric rips through the room and Neteyam releases the torn fabric from his mouth just to grip it with his hands instead, pulling up and out and exposing your bra clad torso to his darkened crazed eyes. The knife is still in his hand, but the blade is pointed sideways now as he uses the fingers around it to rip your shirt apart. It’s not smart, not a smart idea at all to try your hand at smacking at him again, but you have to do something. 

You don’t know what he wants anymore. What did that mixture do to him? He was chasing you through these halls, growling and snarling like a predator on the hunt for its next meal, and now he’s on top of you - hard and tearing your clothes off like he wants to fuck you. 

You only get a couple smacks in before the knife is back at your chest and you’re forced still again. Neteyam’s eyes are locked onto your chest, following the tip of the knife as he slides it under the band of your bra directly between your breasts. It cuts easily under the pressure of the sharp knife and the covering falls on either side of your chest, leaving you bare to his hungry gaze. 

There’s a mark on your breast from where his teeth had dug into it and he pauses to stare at it greedily. 

“N-Netayam,” You say, slowly. He seems a little calmer now that he has you trapped under him. You need to talk him to his senses. He’s still in there somewhere. He has to be. He’s not all animal. He can be reasoned with. “You don’t wanna do this. Plea–”

Your plea is cut off as he rises off of you, crouching back just enough to give himself room to flip you roughly over on your stomach. You grunt as your bare chest hits the cold tile, arms splayed uselessly on either side of you as you try to get your bearings from the quick movement before he’s using his knife to cut through the denim of your shorts. 

“Neteyam! Rutxe ftang! Kehe!” 

You don’t know why you think pleading in Na’vi will be any different than English, but desperation punches the frantic words out of you before you can even think about deciding to say them. Your hands finally find purchase on the ground beneath you and you try to push yourself up in hopes of crawling away, but Neteyam’s dropping the knife and taking hold of your hips before you can. 

High pitched squeaking sounds hit your ears as he drags your body across the tile. Your hands scramble frantically against the floor as you’re pulled backwards, but there’s nothing to hold onto. They just slide uselessly, voicing their protest in the way the tile screams under your grasping fingertips as you’re hoisted up with your lower half in the air. 

Your back arches against Neteyam’s hold, legs kicking in the air but doing no harm despite their efforts. The hole he’s created in your shorts is enough to have your pussy on display for him, and you can feel his breath on it - hot puffs are the only warning you get before his mouth is on you. Your voice is raw from all the screaming you’ve done, the sound crackling and almost pained as you shout again - shout for him to stop and to let you go as you kick and squirm and beg. 

You want to cry more, any drying tears of fear you have still tracked on your cheeks are replaced with tears of humiliation. Your clit pulses under his relentless tongue, pussy subconsciously clenching around nothing as he licks and sucks over the puffy folds. 

You’re wet. 

You’re so wet already, body confusing the adrenaline caused by fear and desperation and flooding it with the adrenaline that comes with arousal instead. His textured tongue slips across your sticky cunt, licking up your wetness, and a reluctant moan escapes your lips at the rough feel on your sensitive parts. 

A gleam to your right catches your attention and a flicker of hope rushes through you at the sight. Neteyam’s knife is laying on the ground next to you, scattered just far enough when he dropped it that it's a stretch for you to grab it, but not impossible. He’s distracted by your cunt, chest rumbling in what you can only describe as a more aggressive type of purr and your face contorts in unwanted pleasure as the vibrations pulse against your clit. 

You reach for the knife, using one hand pressed against the tile to gain any kind of leverage you can while your other arm stretches out towards the forgotten blade. You're not even sure what you’re going to do with it when it’s in your hand. Would you just threaten him with it? Tell him to back off and that you’ll use it if he doesn’t? Would you cut him a little to show that you’re serious? 

Would you stab him if it came to it?

Your fingers graze along the hilt of the knife, fingertips brushing along the part that it can touch and curling in, trying to coax the knife just a bit closer so you can grab it. Neteyam growls into your cunt, and you let out a gasping curse when his foot lands on your wrist, pinning it to the tile before you can work your hand around the knife. 

“You son of a bitch!” You yell, anger burning through your desperation, but all Neteyam does is push his face deeper into your pussy. His large hands rip at the back of your shorts more, fingers digging into the exposed curves of your ass to spread you apart. 

The pressure in your belly intensifies as he sucks on your clit, laving his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves before wrapping his lips around it in what feels like an almost pleasured punishment. 

You’re going to cum. Fuck fuck you’re going to cum on the tongue of the practically feral Na’vi who just chased you through the halls of your own home and made you think he was going to rip you to shreds and leave you to die on the floor for your coworkers to find. It feels so good, so so good and you wail as your pussy spasms against his relentless tongue, contracting against the wet muscle as the coil in your belly bursts in an explosion of uncontrolled pleasure. 

Neteyam groans against your core, lapping up everything you have to offer as you whine and shake. Your legs, still suspended in the air, are becoming numb - the tingling sensation of your limbs losing their life combining with the dramatic pulsing over your oversensitive cunt. 

You grunt as he drops you to the ground, his foot lifting off your wrist as he crouches back up, and you pull it to your chest, cradling it there and quickly checking for any injury as your body automatically tries to curl up in a protective ball. 

His hands are back on your hips in an instant, pulling you back again across the floor until your ass is pressed up against his front. Your blood runs cold when your bare ass meets bare skin. The bulge that was once blocked by the thin layer of his loincloth is now free - large, dominant, and demanding of attention as it presses tightly against you. 

Demanding of your attention. 

The hand on the back of your neck is uncaring as it pushes you down, forcing your face against the white tiled floor as he lines himself up with your entrance. 

“Neteyam, no! Please!” You beg, even as your back is forced to arch from the exposed position he has you in.

And maybe if this was a different situation, a different circumstance, he would have used this opportunity to tease you. Tell you to stop fussing and stay still. To be a good girl for him while he fucks your tight cunt and maybe if you’re good enough, he would let you cum again. You would let him. Neteyam is beautiful, more handsome than any other Na’vi you’ve ever seen. If he would have been kind to you and shown interest in you like that, you would have agreed to fuck him in a heartbeat. 

But he’s not himself. Doesn’t even have his mind enough to acknowledge your pleas with anything more than agitated snarls and frustrated growls. 

His cock feels monstrous as he rubs it between your soaked folds. Thick and hard as the wetness of his own slick mixes with the sticky mess you have already between your thighs. The head of his cock rubs against your tender clit and you can feel how the sheer size of it forces your pussy lips apart.

You can’t take it inside you. Fuck. You can’t. You can’t. 

You whimper when the tip makes its way back to your entrance, nudging against it before the blunt tip presses forward. Your hands press into the tile on either side of your head, mouth falling open in a silent scream even as he presses your cheek further into the floor as he pushes his cock further into you. You feel every thick inch of it as it spears you open, and you expect it to hurt. It should hurt, especially with the way you’re clamping down around him, body automatically trying to keep it out even as it bullies its way deeper inside you.

There’s pressure, so much pressure. He’s too big, large alien cock way too much for your tiny human body to take, but somehow it is. Your brain is trying to tell you to panic, that the pressure is pain and you should scream and cry and try to wiggle away from it. But it's not. He’s stretching you so much, filling you up - but it doesn’t. hurt.

And that realization hurts you more than the cock currently rearranging your guts ever could.

You know it’s the slick. Despite never being with a Na’vi yourself, you know that the wetness that coats a male’s cock to aid it with slipping out of its protective sheath has something in it that eases the pain of penetration. It’s a good thing. Inherently helpful for any relationship, especially for those between a human and a Na’vi to curb the extra struggle of the size difference. 

You always thought it was sweet. A way for Eywa to reward the loyalty of the good sky people who are lucky enough to find everlasting bonds with her own children. 

Now, the idea of it leaves a bad taste in your mouth as the cock inside you pulls out only to thrust in harder. The texture on his cock scrapes against your slick walls as he starts to fuck you, the bumps and barbs rubbing and pressing against the sensitive spots inside you that you didn’t even know you had. 

A waterfall of moans and whines rip from your throat as he moves faster, your higher pitched pathetic sounds a stark contrast to his deep guttural grunts. His hand is off the back of your neck now, instead finding a place at the side of your face as he keeps you pinned to the floor. It’s so big compared to your head that it spans the entirety of it, thumb hooking just under the edge of your jaw while his fingers curl around the top of your head as he holds you down. 

Your thighs shake underneath you as he pounds into you, thick cock so far inside you that you know there has to be a bulge in your belly. There is, you can feel it. The way the head of his cock pushes against your lower abdomen roughly with each thrust and you know that if you could move your hands from the death grip press they have on the tile, you could feel it disappear and reappear under your palm. 

He adjusts behind you, both feet planted on the ground as he crouches behind you to try to push in deeper. Pleasure soaks into your brain as you subconsciously push back against him, pussy clenching and squeezing around him trying to suck him in. 

“N-Neteyam,” And you have more to say, you do. But you can’t form thoughts anymore. Nothing else will come out other than little punched out breathless gasps. 

It takes you a long time to realize that he’s speaking, and even longer for your fucked up and fucked out raddled brain to register what he’s saying. It’s not normal sentences, it’s not even English. His words are still animalistic, growled through gritted teeth as he spits out broken Na’vi between his groans of pleasure. You grew up with the language, but you’re so distracted, so overwhelmed by him and the cock inside you that your brain can’t seem to latch on to what he’s saying. 

You think you hear the word for ‘whore’, maybe ‘take it’, something ‘baby’ but you can’t be sure. 

And then he’s leaning forward, body curving overtop yours as he covers you completely. It’s only then you feel what you’ve been too distracted to notice. The thick knot at the base of his cock, fully engorged now as it prods at your entrance. 

Your hands finally leave their place pressed against the floor as you throw them behind you in newfound panic. One hand pushes against his abdomen as best as it can, trying to slow his thrusts while the other grabs at his wrist in an effort to pull his hand away from your face. The hand on his abdomen doesn’t do anything to slow his relentless pace, but the hand on the side of your head moves to tangle in your hair, gripping it in his fist close to your scalp just hard enough to burn a little as he yanks your head back. 

You gasp at the sharp sting and your gasp quickly turns into a whimper as his knot presses tighter against your soaking hole. He’s unforgiving as he digs it against you, holding your hair tight and forcing your back to arch as you stretch even further around it. You’re too wet, pussy too wet and almost greedy and it takes him in, determined despite the obscene size of the engorged ball of tissue.

“Please!” You squeal. Please stop. Please more. “Neteyam, fuck!”

Your eyes roll back into your head when the knot slips inside you, sheathing itself within your heat with another solid push of Neteyam’s hips against your ass. His cock hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars, your vision whiting out and there feels like there’s cotton in your ears as you cum around him, squeezing him tightly as you soak his length in your juices. Your breath catches in your lungs when you feel his cock pulse inside you, twitching and feeling like it’s expanding even bigger as his own orgasm hits him. 

He holds you close, keeping you pinned and still underneath him with the savage hand in your hair and the firm grip he has on your hip - fierce and unmoving as if to keep you from running away.

As if you even could with the knot locked inside you. 

His growl of pleasure reverberates off the walls as he paints yours. Long, thick ropes of release coating your insides and it's so much, so so much that you feel like you can’t fit anymore. Like if he cums anymore, you’ll burst. The knot is still lodged inside you, locked in and refusing to let you free, but there’s no space left inside you, no space, and you feel the excess cum seep out of your hole from around his knot to trail down the insides of your thighs. 

You don’t remember blacking out, and you’re not sure when Neteyam was able to pull free from you or when he passed out next to you either. But when you wake up next, it’s to voices.

“Oh my gosh!”

“Y/N!”

“What the fuck happened?”

The bright florescent lights of the lab are blinding when you try to open your eyes. Exhaustion seeps from every pore of your body and fuck, you feel so sore. 

Norm’s shocked face is looking down at you when your eyes finally adjust to the light, Max and a few of the other scientists are behind him, faces an equal mixture of shock and horror as they stare at you with wide eyes. 

It takes you a moment to remember what happened - why you’re here, waking up on the cold floor of the lab. Naked. You scramble up, hands clutching at your chest as you desperately try to cover yourself. A deep groan to your right steals your attention from your group of onlookers, and your eyes fall on Neteyam, just waking up from his own sleep.

His eyes are back to their normal gold as they open, groggy at first and then alert in a heartbeat as it registers where he is. He’s up in a crouch in an instant, looking ready to fight but not really sure what he’s supposed to be fighting. Those golden eyes catch on the group, confusion twisting on his face and you can practically see the gears in his brain turning as he tries to figure out what’s going on. 

Then his eyes meet yours, taking in your torn clothes and near nakedness, and you sit in horror as it clicks for him what must have happened. 

And you watch as the horror in your eyes becomes mirrored in his. 

**Special thanks to @quicktosimp and @itchaboi-itchyboy for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee @f-cklife @beautiful-brown-skin-05 @minnory @localjasmine @skywonder @neteyamswillow @luvv4j4ybe11 @vampirefilmlover @aria-tempest @pocky444 @bambithewriter @xylianasblog @anemonelovesfiction @criticallybella

**Comment here to be added to/removed from my taglist!

[solkara]

❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐄𝐘𝐄 , alicent hightower and rhaenyra targaryen ❜

⌗ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 , being blind was a blessing and a curse that you had to navigate from a young age but you were lucky to have two friend's willing to do anything for you

⌗ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 , alicent hightower x fem! blind! reader x rhaenyra targaryen

⌗ 𝐬𝐨𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 , this was actually meant to be a one and done this but I think I'm gonna make it a two part so I can write it to the best of my ability without being rushed !!

house of the dragon masterlist , next part

⌗ you weren't always blind. you had your sight till you were age ten. when an assassination attempt gone wrong left you blinded. and since that day people only looked at you for what you had lost. not for what you had left. all they seven kingdoms saw a poor fragile high born girl with no sight.

⌗ but your best friends rhaenyra and alicent didn't. they saw you as more than your blindness. and dare you say they were the reason you had gotten though some of the darkest moments in your life. going out of their way to include you in everything they did.

⌗ walking hand and hand with you through the castle. reading your favourite stories. telling you the lastest court gossip. and showering you with gifts when your spirits were low. the greatest gift they ever gave you besides their friendship was your cane.

⌗ made of snow-white wood with a silver ornament on top of your house crest. over time you learn how to see without actually seeing. by tapping or banging your cane you would listen to the vibrations and gauge how near or far everything in the room was. and over time you got use to the darkness. finding a strange comfort in it.

⌗ life was good. you had everything you needed. but there was one thing that gnawed at you. something you craved that you knew you would never get. marriage. as being blind made you damaged goods and their for unwedable. meaning you would never have a family of your own.

⌗ your best friends noticing your sadness asked you what was wrong. as they watched you break down into tears and sniffles. the two held you as your tears fell. and once you were calm enough they began soothing you insecurities. "one day the seven shall grant you your wish" "you will make an amazing mother"

⌗ but deep down the two knew that they were far too in love with you to allow you to be wed off to a man. that most definitely did not deserve you. not like they did. and gradually over time their beautiful friendship bloomed into a beautiful romance.

⌗ with soft touches and gentle kisses. late night conversations about the future ahead of them. but all that came crashing down when alicent married viserys. rhaenyra was incensed and you were confused. how could this have happened? while you tried to hear alicent out the targaryen wouldn't listen to a word of it. dragging you away so you wouldn't have to either.

⌗ and so began the tug of war over you. with neither the hightower and targaryen willing to give up. though your time was mostly monopolised by rhaenyra. with the white-haired girl rarely ever leaving your side. spending countless nights in your room. but alicent still managed to find ways to see you. and though you still couldn't forgive her fully for betraying your trust. you did try your best to be there for her.

⌗ you were there when she gave birth to all her children. a comforting hand as she screamed and writhed in pain. stroking her hair and kissing her hand. whispering words of comfort in an attempt to soothe the girl who you still had so much love for. but that became so much more difficult once rhaenyra started having children.

⌗ that was when alicent's resentment how come she was being punished for doing her duty. while rhaenyra could bear bastard children and go unpunished. she got everything. the love of her father. the title of heir. you. oh how she hated how she had gotten you. how she manipulated you into staying by her side with her and her bastard children.

⌗ the hightower couldn't understand how you could still stand beside her. after she willingly betrayed you for another man and bore his children. unlike alicent who never wanted to have viserys children but had to out of duty. though she never really saw her children as viserys. as in her mind they were yours and hers.

⌗ and she was tired of you being taken away from her. so tonight she was going to do something about him. so under the cover of night she went to see you. slipping into your room she watched as you lay peacefully in bed. you looked so peaceful in nothing but a white silk nightgown. approaching the bed alicent slipped under the covers with you.

⌗ her hands immediately began exploring the body she had been denied for so long. closing her eyes alicent couldn't help but bury her nose in your hair. inhaling that comforting scent that seamlessly brought her comfort. wishing for nothing more than to drown in it. but as the hightower allowed herself to get lost in the touch smell and taste of you against her lips and body she hadn't noticed that you had started to stir in you sleep. "nyra?" you said in a hushed mumble.

⌗ alicent said nothing in response. as she silently lulled you back to sleep. seething that you called out of rhaenyra and not her. as the auburn continued to touch and kiss you as you slept she failed to realise that another figure had entered the room. and had left just as quickly. but all alicent saw was a sliver of white hair.

⌗ and by the time the next morning had came alicent was still laying next to you. but left before you woke up. as she walked back to her room with a pep in her step she bumped into the last person she wanted to see rhaenyra who smirked at her like she had been blessed by the gods. and a few moments later she found out why. as the good mood alicent hightower came crashing down.

⌗ you were leaving with rhaenyra and her family to dragonstone. and there was nothing she could do about it. alicent cried for hours after hearing the news. even going as far as to get on her hands and knees in front of you in an attempt to get you to stay. but to no avail. as once again rhaenyra had gotten what she wanted.

anon , Could I request (if it's alright with you ofc ) Blind Reader X Rhaenyra and Alicent (or one of them ) OR Visenya and Rhaenys . Readers blindness is due to R saving them ? Now, reader is a strategist or hand on the council ? If the idea is okay with you ofc , anything you wish 🙂

[xxdark-obsessionxx]

I’m a big sucker for Psych Au fics. Reader is a cis female doctor who treats Tord with kindness. He becomes obsessed with her. Refuses to talk to any other doctor.

Tord is always on his best behavior for her which leads her to let her guard down.

BIG MISTAKE

I was supposed to be asleep five hours ago but I couldn’t until I finished this. Just know that in my heart, this takes place in Arkham. Also I'm super rusty so I apologize if anything feels off/wonky.

CW: Noncon

Dark themes ahead, please read at your own discretion and keep yourself safe. This is a work of fiction and I do not condone or support scenarios like this in real life

_____________________________________________

“You dropped this.” 

The man stares at you wide eyed as you hand him his lighter. He stands, rigid. You give him a gentle smile and press it into his palm, your other hand curling around the back of his hand. 

“I know there’s no fluid in it, so you don’t have to worry about me taking it,” you say to him. You pat his hand and step away.

The man turns fully towards you and you’re able to read the name sewed onto his shirt. 

“I-” the man- Tord- swallows hard. He quickly pockets the lighter. “Thank you.” 

You give him another smile and walk past him. He had seemed to be going the same way as you but he never caught up. Nor did you hear footsteps behind you. Once you reach the director’s office, he leaves your thoughts. You were absolutely determined to make a good first impression on your first day of the job. 

The man you met earlier had turned out to be your first patient. And oh boy, what a patient he was. Like you had promised yourself you weren’t going to judge any of these people but god damn. His file was thick. At least twenty papers were inside the manilla folder you had received from the head director’s office. Maybe even more. 

You’d never know if you kept standing outside the director’s office gawking at it. You take a deep breath. Going through it sitting down was probably a good idea. As you make your way to the breakroom, your grip on the folder is tight, trying your best to make sure you don’t drop it and reveal your patient's file. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t take you long to get to the breakroom. A few people were there but they paid you no mind. They sit, hunched over lunch or their own files. You sit and start to read. 

Løvik Tord

3 7 2 5 9

DOB: 1995

Age: 28

Hair: Dark brown with lighter brown roots

Eye: Silver

You end up skimming through this until you get to the bottom of the page. It wasn’t… pretty. 

CASE INFORMATION: 

Tord is a violent man. He is aggressive, manipulative, and has a short temper. Many doctors have tried working with him to no avail. He does not respond kindly to Dr.Casey (see page 5), Dr.Bonnie (see page 8), Dr.Roxy (see page 12), or Dr.Harley (see page 15). 

He is extremely aggressive towards Dr. Bruce (see page 20). 

You stop reading there, your chest feeling tight. You flip to page twenty. It’s not the last page like you had hoped. There were still…. Quite a bit in the file. 

Dr.Bruce has tried everything he can to help Tord. He has tried finding common ground with the patient. Has tried being lax and strict with Tord’s schedule. Has tried working with Tord and letting him sit outside. Tord had found every loophole and burned every bridge until Dr.Bruce stopped lenient treatments. Tord stabbed Dr.Bruce fifteen times before guards made their way into the room. 

It is unknown how and where he had gotten his hands on a sharp long blade. Tord was seen licking the blood of-

“Don’t worry if you can’t fix him. At this point, Doctor Markman hands his case off to fresh blood to showcase this place. No one expects you to be able to tame him.” 

You startle at the voice, goosebumps raised on your arms. “I’m sorry?” you ask with a polite smile. Anger clouded your fear. What the hell was this person talking about?

The doctor, Alice, her name tag reads, smiles at you. 

“Nearly everyone has tried working with him at this point,” she continues. “No one expects him to ever get better. He's here for murder, after all.” 

You give her a tight smile in return. “I’ll just have to see for myself.” 

Before she can keep going, you straighten up the papers and close the folder. 

“I appreciate the advice, but I must be going now,” you lie through your teeth. What bullshit! What kind of doctors run this place? 

You actually hadn’t needed to be anywhere for another thirty minutes but if this conversation continued you wouldn’t be able to hold your tongue. Everyone can be saved. With compassion and kindness and help, no one was beyond redemption. Or too far gone for help. 

You storm out of the breakroom and wander. 

“I was hoping I’d see you again.” 

Tord grins at you as he’s escorted in. His hands are cuffed and before he can sit down, the guard pats him down. 

It makes your stomach churn but you keep your face kind. 

“It’s nice to see you too,” you greet. You watch cautiously as he sits down in the plush chair. The guard leaves the room. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

It’s silent enough to hear the clock as the two of you study each other. He seems to drink you in, eyes wandering up and down, seeming to take in everything. You’d do the same if you weren’t a professional. 

“You used to dye your hair?” 

Tord raises an eyebrow. He tilts his head a little, eyes focused solely on you. It unnerves you almost as much as his file had. No patient of yours had ever stared at you so intensely in the past….

After a moment, he answers. “Yes. I fancied black quite a bit.” He gestures towards his roots. “It’s been a while since Bruce got me more dye. No one else will.” 

“I could look into it,” you clasp your hands, jumping into this opportunity. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll talk to Doctor Marksman.” 

“And what do you want from me in return?”

“I’m sorry?” 

His gaze hardens. “What. do. You. want.” He grinds out, his body rigid in the chair. His hands were clenched.

Without thinking, puzzlement falls across your face. What did he mean? What did you want? For him to get better, obviously. 

“I want you to be at ease with your mental health,” you answer, still looking puzzled. “I don’t want anything else from this job but that. I’m not dangling hair dye in front of you in exchange. I want you to feel comfortable in your skin and at home here, Mr.Løvik.” 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

“Is that really what you want?” Tord asks, an emotion you can’t quite place in his voice. “To help me get better?” 

Whatever it may be, you smile at him. 

“Of course. I want nothing but to see you succeed and be happy here.” 

Things were easier after that first session. You always started off kindly, asking Tord how his day was going. If his favorite show or movie had aired on the television today.If his favorite food had been served that morning or afternoon. If he slept fine through the dreadful storm. 

(“I know I wasn’t,” you had laughed. “I tossed and turned, jumping at each sound all night.”

“I’m sure your boyfriend was quite displeased.”

“Oh,” you chuckle. “Well, no. I have a cat but no boyfriend. I was too busy getting my decree to ever really mingle like that. Though, my poor little man was also distraught at all the thunder last night. He yowled at my door until I let him into my room and he curled up on my bed. I’ll bring pictures next time.”) 

Too well for you and only you. Tord refused to talk to anyone but you. He would sit in silence or insult other doctors during his sessions. In one instance, he broke a new doctor’s nose. The poor guy had quit on the spot, cussing Tord and the whole place out as he was escorted to the medical section. 

You were tense the next few sessions but that violent man was nowhere to be found. He kept his cuffed hands right in front where you can see them at all times. He never lunged from you. In fact, barely ever moved in his chair. 

Tord was easygoing. Polite, charming, even. He took any medications he needed obediently and put up no fuss when you’d have him describe in later sessions how he was feeling and if he was feeling any negative side effects. 

He asked about your cat. About how your favorite show was going. If the movie you were looking forward to has come out yet. If your favorite restaurant down the street from your apartment was still closed for renovations. 

Eventually, enough time had passed that you relaxed. You stopped keeping your eyes trained on his hands. You stopped worrying yourself sick about his body language. You focused on his treatments and his mental health. 

If he was going to hurt me he would have done so by now, you thought to yourself after your latest session with Tord. He was doing so much better than he had been doing six months ago. It seemed as if you were really making a difference, helping him improve. 

It had been three months since he last fought another patient. Two months since he assaulted another doctor. And five months since he refused treatment of any kind. 

You step outside the building and take a deep breath. A dopey smile sticks to your face as you walk to your car. Becoming a doctor was the best choice you’ve ever made. Nothing was more rewarding than helping people. Not even this cloudy weather could bring you down. 

In fact, nothing tried to drag your mood down. There was no traffic on the way home. Some asshole hadn’t parked in your assigned parking spot again in the parking lot of your apartment. And your sweet cat hadn’t knocked his little box over again. 

You happily reheat your leftovers and watch tv for a while before you get ready for bed. Unfortunately, your mood does come crashing down. 

In the middle of the night, thunder wakes you. You jolt up, scrambling for your phone. Your hands come up empty. Shit, you think. I left it charging in the kitchen. Ugh. Oh well, you don’t need to look at your phone to see it is late and storming. 

Another loud sound booms through your apartment. Only this time, it sounds like a crash. 

“It’s just thunder,” you tell yourself. “Nothing to be afraid of.” You lay back down. Your eyes shut and you’re just about drifting to sleep when your door creeks open. 

You bolt up, knowing damn well that your cat can’t open doors and you freeze. 

Your heart races as your mind tries to process just who was in front of you. 

“Tord?” you whimper, hands shaking. But that can’t be. That was impossible. He was supposed to be sleeping soundly in his room with the soundproof headphones you got him. He didn’t like storms. The thunder reminded him too much of gunshots and made him restless. 

Useless information floods your brain. 

“I’m home, sweetheart,” he rasps. His grin is soft in the moonlight. He reaches over to flick on your bedroom light. 

He’s gentle he’s kind he’s sweet he’s-

He’s covered in blood.

Tord steps forward and you’re frozen in bed. His eyes are wild as they drink you in. There’s blood on his hands. In his hair. Splatters on his face. 

“Oh honey how I’ve dreamed of this,” he croons at the foot of your bed. “Your apartment is just as cute as you described.” 

He grabs the edge of your blanket and pulls it off. His smile grows sappy. “You did go for the red pants like I suggested.” He giggles, staring between your legs. “I wonder if there’s a match beneath them.”

That snaps you out of your shocked stupor. You scramble off your bed, slamming your head hard against your nightstand as you try to avoid Tord’s lunging grasp. 

You lay fetal on the floor, tears in your eyes as you clutch your head. “Fuck,” you hiss.

Tord clicks his tongue. He slowly climbs off your bed, crouching next to you. “My poor clumsy sweetheart.” 

You feel his hands in your hair. 

“What do you want?” you gasp. Fear and pain mix as you start to cry into your carpet. 

His hands stroke your hair. 

“You.” 

With that, you’re powerless to stop him as he scoops you up into his arms. You thrash as he dumps you back onto your bed, pinning you down. 

“I know you're scared but it’s ok. I’ll be gentle, my love. So gentle.”

Your mind can’t wrap your head around what’s happening. Tord isn’t supposed to be tying your wrists to your headboard. He isn’t supposed to be kissing your neck and grinding his hard arousal between your legs. He isn’t supposed to be in your home. 

“Such a good girl, staying still for me,” Tord says softly as he pulls back. He slides your pants down. Disappoint clouds his eyes when he sees your panties aren’t red but it’s deepened when he pulls those down and you’re barely wet.

“It’s ok sweets. I’ll figure out what gets you going. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in needing help.” 

Anger wells in your chest as Tord fishes for something in one of his pockets. How dare he. How dare he parrot your own advice back at you. As if this was a simple therapy session. As if you were the patient and he was the doctor wanting to help. 

“Get off me!” you snarl. “You know this isn’t right Tord. Y-you’re sick! You need help!” 

Tord stops what he’s doing to stare dead eyed at you. He plucks a clean rag off your nightstand and stuffs it into your mouth. 

“Enough of that,” he scolds. “You need this as much as I do. In fact, doctors orders.” 

He grins at his own twisted joke. He fishes through his pockets again and pulls out a small bottle of lube. “Yes, just what my love needs. A good thorough fuck.” 

You desperately try to spit the rag out but your mouth is too dry. You twist and tug your wrists but to no avail. This was happening. Your gentle, sweet patient was going to take your virginity. 

Tord carefully squirts lube onto his fingers, rubbing them together. He parts your folds, humming appreciatively as he rubs your clit. 

“That’s it, my good girl. Get nice and wet for me.” 

You feel sick. Against your will, his crooning and his touches stir up arousal inside you. You close your eyes as he gently fingers you as if he was searching for something. 

A minute later, your eyes fly open as he jabs something horrible. Your pussy grows slick from it, pleasure building in your lower stomach. 

“There it is.”

You shake your head violently. Not there, you try to plead with your eyes. Anywhere but there! 

But Tord merely smiles at you and ruthlessly abuses that spot. Over and over his fingers jab and curl,  rubbing it. You squeeze your eyes tight, small moans making their way out of your throat as pleasure jolts through you.. His thumb strokes your clit and you cum embarrassedly fast. You stare at the ceiling and wish you hadn’t wanted to cum at all. 

“Good girl,” Tord praises. He pulls his fingers out, eying them appreciatively. He sticks them in his mouth and sucks, moaning. “So sweet. But I’m too impatient to try it from the source. You’ll have to forgive me, my love.” 

Panic jolts up your spine as you feel his tip pressing against your entrance. You try to climb up your bed rest but you only achieve getting a little higher up on your pillows. Tord sighs and presses forward. 

“It’ll hurt for a moment but I promise this will feel good,” Tord tries to soothe. He picks up the lube and squeezes more into his palm and strokes himself. 

You hate him. You hate him with all your heart. 

He pushed forward and once again, you squeezed your eyes tight. His hand roughly grabs your throat. 

“Eyes on me,” he snaps. “I want to see how good I make you feel.” 

The fear overturns the pain and you quickly open your eyes. He pushes further in, reaching down to run your clit. 

Tord rocks his hips a little, eyes starstruck as he stares down at you. “You’re getting wetter,” he mumbles to himself. A grin spreads across his face. 

His hips snap forward, setting a firm pace. He stops rubbing your clit to grab under your thighs. He lifts them up and pushes until they’re almost touching your breasts. 

He thrusts harder and- 

You squeal, bucking your hips as he hits that horrible spot. You can’t stop bucking your hips, jolts of pleasure stabbing your stomach and stars in your eyes. 

Tord pressed closer to you, caging you in. He holds your gaze intensely, panting a little. His eyes dart between your face and your bouncing tits. 

Like earlier, you cum fast. This one hits you harder. And Tord doesn’t stop. 

You cum again and he pulls out. “Move and I’ll beat your ass with a belt,” he growls. He pulls out a switchblade and cuts the rope off your headboard. He’s quick to tie your wrists together. 

You find yourself on your stomach, ass up. Tord firmly holds your hips. He enters again, pressing down against you. Caging you against the mattress as he pounds into your pussy hard. By the time you’re cumming again, he finally cums with you. 

You’re crying by this point. Overstimulation has you cringing, your pussy tingling as he pulls out. Once again, you start to panic. Tord had come inside you. You thrash underneath him. 

“Stop that,” he hisses, slapping your ass hard. You cry harder as he does it another three times. And another, until you finally go still. 

You hear Tord sigh harshly. “I need to be patient with you,” he mumbles to himself. He gets off of you and you hear him leave the room. 

He’s back within minutes, holding a wet hand towel. You’re gently turned over onto your back and he softly cleans you up. You can’t look at him. 

“Mrrow.” 

Your heart jolts. Your cat jumps onto the bed, purring as Tord pets him with his clean hand. Traitor. 

“You rest while I pack,” Tord says softly. He leans down to press a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll grab everything you need and love for our new home.” 

He climbs off the bed and leaves the room again. He comes back with duffel bags. Your cat paddles up to you and curls up next to you. He purrs hard as you sob your eyes out.

[homisexual11]

Jalice X Reader Headcanons

Jasper Whitlock/Hale and Alice Cullen X Reader

Warnings: cursing, mentions of vampirism… NSFW at the end.

SFW

–Alice had seen you coming and told Jasper all about it. They fell for you so quickly, even if it took Jasper a bit longer (he definitely had to meet you first and get to know you) than it took Alice (who saw you in her vision and told Jasper everything… he surprisingly took it well)

–Alice spoils you rotten. She gets you clothes, jewelry if you are a girl, literally anything, even if you don’t ask.

–Alice got your first kiss. It had been an accident, she was kissing all over your face and didn’t think and kissed your lips... It was actually cute.

–Jasper took a while before he could touch you, and when he did for the first time Alice had to be right next to you. She didn’t think he would hurt you–no, she knew–but it was for his comfort.

–”It’s alright, Jasper, you won’t hurt her/him,” is a common saying from Alice.

–Once Jasper could finally touch you, physical touch would 100% be his love language. (Along with words of affirmation)

–Alice’s love languages are gifts and quality time… but she likes all of them.

–You are their singer, which makes it harder for the poor cowboy.

–Yes, you call him cowboy. It’s just teasing, but it’s super cute.

–They give you the cutest (or most random nicknames ever) ex. “Baby Love” was used once.

–Alice unironically called you kitten for a while.

–If you turned and were together in the 2020s, you and Alice would jokingly call Jasper Pookie and he hates it so much.

–Jasper is always the first to apologize after a fight. Always.

–Jasper is such a fucking gentleman. Opening doors, guiding either you or Alice on his arm, relatively open-minded, mostly the mature one in fights. He’s also just the peacekeeper.

–Alice is very progressive in relationship stuff, but can work with whatever you need; whereas, Jasper can sometimes stick to certain older tendencies. (Although he listens to what you have to say if you’re a woman, he does think that even if you could kill him if you were a vampire, he needs to protect you.)

–Jasper wouldn’t even think about touching you inappropriately until you were married, even after that he would be hesitant… unless you were a vampire.

–Alice loves doing your hair.

–So does Jasper, but he doesn’t ask… unless you’re like laying with him and he’ll mindlessly play with your hair.

–It’s gentle love. Very much. Mostly because of Jasper, but Alice is gentle as well.

–The first area of you Jasper kissed was your hand. Argue with the wall.

–Alice casually leans her head on your shoulder a lot. She’s a cuddle bug; a lot of little touches from her like she’ll have a hand on your arm or something like that.

–Casual dominance with Jasper… anyways.

–They both are always checking if you’ve eaten or drank anything.

–Jasper 100% regulates your mood. Not all the time, but if something happens and you get SUPER mad or something like that he’ll calm you down. If you weren’t okay with it, he wouldn’t do it all the time, but in a case where something bad was gonna happen, he would.

–Jasper would let you and Alice paint his nails if you begged hard enough. (Guilt trip the already manipulated boyyyy)

NSFW

–They’re both relatively dominant. They’re both soft doms, though.

–I know you see fanfictions that are like “Oh the Major would come out and he would span–” No, boy wouldn’t harm you to save his life. The worst that’ll happen is he’ll rail you into oblivion, but never physically harm you… besides the fucking into oblivion.

–They both love to give, but receiving >>>> just depends on when you ask them though.

–Jasper would not touch you until after you got married, although Alice didn’t believe in that, she wanted the first time to be special and if you wanted it to be with all three of them she would wait.

–If you were still human, it would be SO gentle. Like S O G E N T L E. They would focus all on you, Jasper would keep his mouth away from you though.

–Jasper used his gift to make you feel pleasure, which led to overstimulation… safe to say that is what the “punishment” would be if you were into that, rather than spanking.

–If you’re not into any of that, they can be vanilla too. Jasper is obviously close to vanilla anyways, so…

–Alice loves it when you go down on her.

–Jasper was afraid to let either of you go on top at first, but after a while (and a lot of praising to him) he would.

–In that case, he would call you “ma’am/sir.” He normally calls you that, but when he says it in a whiny voice >>>>

–Once you have turned… it lasts a long time.

–Jasper will kiss you all over, ALL OVER. and Alice is just like, “Woah, save some for me–” he’s just making up for lost kisses.

–Sweetest nicknames that could go in SFW as well, but oh well.

Ex. From Jasper: “Hon, doll, sugar, darlin’, babydoll, LITTLE ONE? even princess( if you were a girl)” From Alice: “Sweet boy/girl, sweetie, sweetness, honey, baby, kitten..”

–Jasper calls it lovemaking, Alice calls it whatever most people call it at the time.

[writingsofwesteros]

Daemon takes Alicent’s daughter as his war prize after the Greens are defeated. Her youngest is pretty and pious and unwed, and Daemon takes great joy in teaching her the pleasures of the flesh. It takes only a few months for her to be completely drunk on him, to wordlessly kneel for her face to get fucked or to spread her legs to beg for his cock. Daemon is never gentle with her, taking his anger out on her pretty cunt, but she learns to love that edge to his thrusts.

When she’s heavy with child, Daemon has her visit her mother, confined to her chambers as part of her surrender. He smirks at the door as Alicent tries to convince her daughter that Daemon and Rhaenyra are monsters, but the pretty girl has been fucked dumb and treated so well she can’t believe her mother.

She’s upset when she leaves, but Daemon coos in her ear and promises to fuck it better.

Oh you know Daemon manipulates her so well; the poor thing so used to his roughness as well, it nearly shocks her if his touches ever turn gentle.

The rogue Prince enjoys the lewd noises of her gagging; his hold in those thick locks of hers only tightening as he pushes the Princess to press against his stomach. Her drool soaking his thick length as he begins to rock his hips.

"You will give me my heirs," Daemon cooed down to her; stroking her cheek as those pretty, doe eyes of hers glaze over

[kentstoji]

ㅤㅤCRYSTAL.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤparing. platonic hotd x reader. + male!oc x reader.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤsetting. house of the dragon. ㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤtype. headcanons (tw. future yandere)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤthe battle of a woman was waged in her birthing bed, surrounded by blood and sweat. alicent hightower forced herself to accept this reality when her father officially made her a political pawn in an endless game of manipulations. the prize was the hightower blood immortalized in the twisted metal of swords forming the iron throne.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤaegon was an easy birth, without concerns. fragile helaena presented herself to the world silently, carrying a tranquility that would follow her later. and y/n was fire and blood —perfectly embodying the words of her house, her father's house.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤconsidered a jewel in the eyes of the court and engraved in the memory of popular imagination, y/n was the third child of the union between viserys targaryen and alicent of house hightower. she inherited her father's gentle and pacifistic nature, trying to cling to blood ties to avoid conflicts.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ(and when her mother whispered in her ear that helaena—or even she—would be the queen, the young girl looked away, coldly ignoring the treacherous poison. however, in her heart, she lacked the strength to stop loving her mother.)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤshe was often seen in the company of her siblings, helaena and daeron. despite loving and respecting her relatives equally, aegon made her feel disproportionately uncomfortable, and aemond easily left her aside, seeking acceptance from rhaenyra targaryen's children for not having a dragon.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ"no, thank you!" y/n declined with a plastic smile when her mother suggested accompanying aegon to keep him in line. "i promised to help my sister, with little joffrey."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤand, as usual, she pretended not to feel the dissatisfaction emanating from the queen at the mention of the realm's delight.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤcriston cole made it his personal mission to escort the princess to the vicinity of princess rhaenyra's chambers. and she had to admit that he at least tried to conceal the growing disdain in his stern features. he even managed to control his cruel tongue, much to the young princess's relief. deep down, she was aware of the vision cole had crafted regarding her: immaculate, chaste, and flawless.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤthe maiden herself.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤy/n's confidant, addam celtigar, chuckled upon hearing the youngest princess's account. his broad shoulders shook violently as whispers flowed through her lips, revealing an unpleasant revelation.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ"and who will protect our little princess from criston cole?" addam inquired, not losing his characteristic good humor.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ"you're terrible!" there were no courtesies or falsehoods between them. there never were.

[tsukumomei]

AFTER ASHES 2 | Itoshi Sae

Alice in Borderland AU | PART 2

A/n: You asked for part two, and here it is. Tags; •fem + afab!reader, •forced proximity (friends to lovers-ish) CW: •wc; 16k •MDNI •aged-up•violence •gore •murder •death games •psychological distress •depictions of survival scenarios •betrayal and manipulation •themes of isolation and despair •graphic injuries •implied shower sex •coercion and power dynamics PART 1 | PART 3

Sae couldn’t remember the last time he'd woken up as well-rested as he did now. 

In this shitty world, sleep was usually restless. 

This morning, however, the room was quiet, the air warm and still, save for the gentle rise and fall of your figure nestled against him. 

Your head rested against his chest, your breath soft and steady, and your legs were tangled with his beneath the soft covers. 

He barely moved, careful not to disturb you as you shifted slightly in your sleep. His arm tightened around you instinctively, a motion so natural it surprised even him. His mind replaying the events of the night prior. Every word, every tear, every ounce of vulnerability that had passed between the two of you lingered heavily in his mind. 

Of course he’d been in his fair share of arguments before. Ex-girlfriends walking out on him, shouting matches that left him feeling nothing but irritation or relief. But last night was different.

The anguish that he knew was to come if he had let you walk out those doors wasn’t something he was used to. It had clawed at his chest, an unfamiliar ache that he couldn’t ignore, no matter how much he wanted to. For the first time, he felt the weight of what it would mean to lose someone. Not an inconvenience, but as a wound that might not heal. 

The thought of you leaving, of your presence disappearing from his life, had been unbearable in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

Closing his eyes briefly, his jaw tightened as the memory washed over him. Sae wasn’t one for grand gestures or emotional declarations. He prided himself on his reservation, his ability to remain neutral in any situation. 

But with you, that facade had disappeared, exposing something unpolished beneath.

Now, in the quiet stillness of the morning, he felt an odd sense of calm. The world outside was still as cruel and chaotic as ever, but for this moment, he could pretend it wasn’t. He could focus on the sound of your breathing, the warmth of your body against his, and the quiet realization that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to face this world without you by his side.

He looked down at you, his teal eyes softening as he watched the way your lashes fluttered slightly, still lost in sleep. His hand hesitated for a moment before brushing a strand of hair from your face, the motion so gentle it barely registered.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

Almost the entirety of his life, Sae had only ever cared about soccer. 

From a young age, he has been deemed a genius, a prodigy. It was a gift bestowed upon him by whatever god that decided to favor him. He knew it, he embraced it. 

He is fully aware that he did not excel at much else, except maybe having a sharp mind, but beyond that, his skill set was singularly focused.

For the majority of the human population, that kind of limitation would be–daunting, terrible even. A singular skill with nothing to fall back on might leave most people feeling hollow or unfulfilled. But Sae isn’t like most people. Since he was exceptional at the sport, his talent had paved the way for a lavish lifestyle. He’d been scouted by prestigious teams, earned endorsements worth millions, and enjoyed a level of admiration that bordered on worship.

What Sae couldn’t seem to manage, however, was maintaining relationships. 

Take his family, for example. While he was certain his parents adored him, they had never been particularly close. Then there was Rin, his younger brother, a soccer prodigy in his own right but estranged from Sae for reasons he didn’t dwell on often. At first, he thought his brother was simply going through a rebellious teenage phase, but Rin is 24 now, so clearly that was not the case. Their relationship was strained to the point of silence, a rift that neither of them seemed willing to mend.

When it came to romance, he was even more detached. 

Marriage wasn’t entirely off the table. He had thought about it a few times—but only as a practical obligation, to please his mother. Something that might happen someday,  but if it didn’t, he wouldn’t lose sleep over it. 

He figured he’d look for someone pleasant to live with, someone who wouldn’t irritate him, but love? That wasn’t a factor.

Over the years, he had cycled through multiple partners, though he wouldn’t consider most of them relationships. Maybe one or two had been serious enough to linger in his mind briefly, but they never lasted long. The truth was simple: he lacked any real interest in them. They were distractions, comforts, and once their novelty wore off, he found himself bored and ready to move on. He knew it was cold, but he also knew himself too well to pretend otherwise.

To Sae, love was subjective. A concept that held different meanings for different people. For him, it was fleeting and unnecessary. He wasn’t searching for fulfillment in a partner or expecting some grand romantic epiphany, because none of that mattered.

After all, being the best midfielder in the world was the only thing that did.

His thoughts about love had become exceedingly rare—if not nonexistent—since ending up in the Borderlands. 

Never in a million years did he think he’d find love in a place like this.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

In all honesty, Sae initially thought his first game was some prank orchestrated by his teammates. It was the first time he’d humored their suggestion to wander around Shinjuku—just a typical boys' hangout. He’d stepped away to the bathroom for less than five minutes and returned to find the café completely deserted, save for one teammate who was just as confused as he was.

Sure, he’d trash-talked amateur players, even his own brother on the field with lines like, “You should’ve just stayed home and died a peaceful death.” 

But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of his teammate’s lifeless body hanging on barbed wire, mangled and bloody. The sheer brutality of it sickened him. 

Gruesome and disgusting, the image was seared into his memory. That was the moment it hit him—this wasn’t some elaborate joke. 

This was real life, and it was merciless.

Damn, he wished he had answers. A scientific explanation for why he was suddenly trapped in a twisted place where survival hinged on playing cruel and absurd games.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

Ironically, his reputation as Japan’s greatest treasure had proven unexpectedly useful. It exceeded his expectations when a tall man with a bowl-cut hairstyle approached him one day, extending an offer to join a "utopia" he was building. The man—Ego Jinpachi—knew Sae’s value. With his athletic physique, quick decision-making, and calculated nature, Ego claimed Sae would be a perfect candidate for an executive role.

Sae hated false facades, but Ego’s proposal piqued his interest. The man claimed he knew how to escape this nightmare: collect every card in a standard deck—all numbers, all suits. It seemed plausible, and as much as Sae preferred being a lone wolf, he needed a secure place to stay. Reluctantly, he took the bait.

Life as an executive was decent. Sae was primarily tasked with analyzing the members. Their strengths, weaknesses, and potential. He liked doing that; it appealed to his love of logic, seeing everything reduced to clean, measurable numbers. 

It was a simple system: play the games, follow the rules, and the lower-ranked members would serve him like the prince he knew he was. But as days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, the reality began to weigh on him. The time it would take to return to his usual life seemed agonizingly long, each passing day dragging him further from the world he knew. 

And with that time came a mounting toll.

A growing number of corpses he’d stumble upon, the sight of lifeless eyes becoming routine. Some of them, he realized, were casualties of his own hand. The weight of survival was a constant, gnawing burden, one he carried without complaint but could never entirely shrug off.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

Being an executive came with additional rules, separate from the ones announced to the general population. 

First and foremost, they weren’t allowed to monopolize one member all the time; executives had to rotate their focus to prevent alliances and, in turn, reduce the likelihood of betrayal. 

Secondly, they cannot leave the Beach. Loyalty to the Beach is absolute, and those who will attempt to abandon the group would be hunted down and executed without mercy.

Thirdly—and most critically—don’t get attached. Ego could care less if they indulged in flings for personal pleasure, but genuine, meaningful attachments were strictly forbidden. Relationships were distractions, he believed, and could easily compromise the integrity of the group in critical situations where one might prioritize their partner's safety over the team’s survival.

Sae found none of those rules inconvenient—the third one, unnecessary, maybe. After all, who in their right mind would think about such things in a place like this? 

These regulations were strictly for the Beach’s top-ranking members, and he had no issue adhering to them. Sae ranked number four among them, just beneath Loki and the enigmatic leaders whose motives were as unreadable as their plans were precise.

He assumed his high rank was due to his discipline and ability to follow the rules without question. Completing his assigned tasks efficiently and without unnecessary drama, he had earned the trust of the leadership. 

Sae had no interest in the Beach’s politics or the power struggles that seemed to consume some of the other executives. While others schemed and whispered in the shadows, he kept his head down and focused on what mattered most to him—survival and a possible return to the real world.

The environment was tense, but the rules? They were simple to him. He didn’t understand how the previous executives—those who had held his position before—had struggled to follow such basic guidelines. Their inability to abide by them had cost them their lives, and Sae found it both baffling and pathetic.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

Sae didn’t care much about the newcomers arriving at the Beach, but you caught his eye on your first day—though not in the way you might think. 

You were staring at him while he sat on the corner of the stage. It irritated him. He figured you were probably one of those annoying fans from the real world. He didn’t care how pretty Kaiser had claimed you were; he dismissed you outright.

Typically, new members were covertly monitored by an executive of Ego’s choosing to ensure they weren’t planning any treacherous actions. For you and Kaede, that responsibility had been assigned to Aiku. But, of course, your restless, adventurous nature had other plans. Sneaking out like a little rat in the dead of night, you wandered far from the Beach, forcing Ego to redirect Sae to follow you.

That’s how he found you by the riverside that night, skipping stones under the moonlight. It wasn’t the first time someone caused trouble, but for some reason, this encounter felt different. Maybe it was the serenity of the scene—or the way you looked so carefree, a rare sight to him.

That was the night Sae discovered that you only knew him as Sae Itoshi, the beach executive—not the famous soccer player. He liked that. It meant you wouldn’t treat him like an idol, something most people failed to understand about him. He had been testing you that evening, gauging your character with every word exchanged. 

Usually, such conversations would have dragged on longer, but you struck him as the honest and righteous girl he had presumed you to be, with a solid athletic background to match. So when he reported back to Ego later that night, he made a request—an unusual move on his part. He had asked for you to be assigned to him the following morning.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

He had been right, of course—you did pull through that game, proving yourself to be competent. 

But there was one glaring flaw he couldn't overlook: your tendency to care for the other players.

Sae was convinced that one day, your misguided compassion would lead you to waste your potential. Precisely why he had pulled you out of the water during the plunge. Yet, at breakfast the following morning, despite the fresh injury you bore, that familiar glint of hope still sparkled in your eyes, unwavering and infuriatingly resilient.

Capable, impulsive, overly optimistic—was his conclusion after spending some time observing you. The trifecta of traits of a person that he couldn’t stand.

Yet, Sae decided he’d humor your antics. At least for the remainder of your time off. You were, without a doubt, the most peculiar and ridiculous person he’d encountered in this hellish world, and that said a lot considering how long he’d been here. 

No one else dared to talk to him so casually, yet there you were, barging into his personal space like it was second nature, and, before he realized it, into his life entirely.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

With no games to participate in, you were still expected to contribute to the Beach. For you, that meant looting abandoned grocery stores for supplies. Going around town with him to complete the task should have taken all of 30 minutes, but it stretched into five hours because of a crying child you found in a narrow alley. While Sae stood off to the side, you spent those hours keeping the child company, sharing your loot, and telling hopeful stories to ease his fears until his battered and exhausted mother finally returned.

On the walk back, you ranted about the cruelty of a god who would send a child to suffer in such a desolate place. Sae didn’t interrupt; he just listened, silently observing the strange contradiction of a person so compassionate in a world that rewarded nothing but survival.

Capable, impulsive, overly optimistic. The same initial words he’d used to describe you the other day.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

The more time Sae spent with you, the more obvious it became that his original intentions had shifted. At first, it was purely observational. But now? Now, spending time with you had become something he simply wanted to do. He didn’t just tolerate your presence; he found himself enjoying it. 

Your ideas of a “hangout” grew increasingly absurd, yet Sae found himself indulging you every single time. Late-night expeditions to the rooftops to count stars you could barely see, or raiding old convenience stores for snacks long past their expiration date—it was ridiculous. He knew it was ridiculous. But there he was, letting you drag him along, unable to say no to you, even when it meant doing things he normally wouldn’t.

Like the time you had insisted on climbing a rusty playground slide you’d found during one of your outings. “For nostalgia,” you’d said with that mischievous grin of yours. He’d rolled his eyes but helped stabilize the structure anyway, grumbling about how dangerous it was, even as you laughed your way down the crooked metal.

Even the touchiest subjects with you came surprisingly easy. When you had asked him about his brother, his first instinct was to shut it down. But you’d been quick to assure him that he didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to. Somehow, the sincerity in your voice had melted the usual barrier he kept firmly in place. Before he knew it, the words were spilling out. Stories of Rin, of soccer, of the rift that had grown between them. He told you more than he’d told anyone else, and for once, it didn’t feel like a burden.

You smiled at him then, though it carried a hint of sadness. “You must really love your brother, don’t you?”

Of course, he did. He just didn’t know how to fix their fractured relationship. You shared your own experience, telling him about your younger sister studying abroad, the distance between you since your parents passed, and how you’d only been able to connect through brief FaceTime calls.

“When do you think things started going south between you two?” you asked gently.

Sae hesitated before recounting the snowy day on the soccer field, his words to Rin cutting sharper than any blade, and how everything had spiraled out of control from there. By the time he finished, he glanced at you, found your face expressionless, your eyes narrowing slightly as though you were meticulously processing every detail.

You finally broke the silence. “Well, that explains a lot,” you said dryly. “I can’t believe you said those things to him. Seriously, Sae, what did you expect? Of course, Rin’s holding a grudge. You basically handed it to him on a silver platter.”

His brow furrowed, clearly annoyed. “What was I supposed to do? Lie?”

“No, not lie,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “But maybe not crush his dreams and insult him in the same breath. Just a thought.”

Sae’s lips tightened. “It’s not that simple.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “What’s not simple about apologizing? You’re the older brother, Sae. Take some responsibility for once in your life.”

He scowled, clearly not a fan of your bluntness. “Apologizing isn’t going to magically fix everything.”

You gave him a pointed look. “Maybe not, but it’s a start. And let’s face it, you owe him that much.”

Sae scoffed. “Easier said than done.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees as you tilted your head at him. “Look,” you continued, softening your tone. “Maybe you can start by telling Rin how you actually feel. Not the cold, calculated Sae stuff you feed everyone else. Be honest. That’s probably what he’s wanted from you all along.”

Sae didn’t respond right away, but the faint crease between his brows and the faraway look in his eyes told you your words had struck a chord.

You leaned back, letting the silence settle. “For what it’s worth, Sae,” you said after a moment, “it’s never too late to fix things. But you actually have to try.”

That was the day it hit him—how beautiful you really were. It wasn’t a grand revelation, just a quiet moment when you turned to look at him, laughing at something trivial, and the light caught your face in just the right way. He was stunned by the sound of your laughter, the way it seemed to echo in his chest. 

He didn’t say anything, of course. He wasn’t sure he could without making it obvious.

The time you found a two-piece swimsuit in one of the mall’s abandoned stores was a whole other ordeal. You had held it up triumphantly, inspecting the fabric and twirling it with a teasing smile before disappearing into the dressing room to try it on. When you re-emerged, you were grinning, hands on your hips, the swimsuit hugging your figure perfectly.

“What do you think?” you asked, playful mischief in your tone. “Does this suit me?”

Sae barely spared you a glance, his scowl deepening as he crossed his arms over his chest. “It doesn’t suit you. Put it back.” 

You tilted your head at him, a mock pout forming on your lips. “You didn’t even look properly!”

“I looked enough,” he shot back, turning away and feigning disinterest as he busied himself with an imaginary task on a nearby shelf.

After a moment of your dramatic sighing, you relented, changing back into your usual attire. What you didn’t know was how fast his heart was racing in defiance of his usual calm.

The truth was, he had looked, and the sight of you had made his throat tighten. 

It wasn’t that it didn’t suit you—it suited you far too well. Too perfect. As if your usual wasn’t already revealing, you’d want to turn it up a notch? And the idea of anyone else seeing you like that, of their eyes lingering where it shouldn’t, ignited a possessiveness he wasn’t ready to confront.

As you rejoined him, tossing the swimsuit aside with a little shrug, he muttered under his breath, “Good. It didn’t look comfortable anyway.” You rolled your eyes at his grumpy demeanor, blissfully unaware of the turmoil you’d left in his chest.

But, of course, he wasn’t about to tell you that.

In quieter moments, the changes in him became even more apparent. He started looking forward to the little routines you’d established like the shared breakfasts where you always tried to sneak some of his food onto your plate despite his half-hearted protests. It was annoying, but not enough for him to actually stop you.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

On the eve of your last day off, Sae had no idea what compelled him to knock on your door. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself as he stood there in the dimly lit hallway. Seeking out others’ company wasn’t something he ever did, least of all yours. He had spent most of his life avoiding attachments, yet here he was, knuckles hovering above the wood, heart beating just a little faster than it should.

Before he could talk himself out of it, the door swung open, and there you were, standing in the doorway, just as surprised to see him as he was to find himself there. For a moment, neither of you spoke. His gaze flicked down to the soft creases on your shirt, evidence of someone who had spent most of the day in bed. 

You broke the silence first, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “Missed me?”

He had, though he’d never admit it. You hadn’t shown up for breakfast, and despite telling himself it wasn’t a big deal, concern had gnawed at him all day.

He scoffed, muttering something about you being an idiot getting flushed in the toilet, but before he could retreat and pretend he hadn’t come all this way to check on you, your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist with a warmth that momentarily froze him in place.

“Come on,” you said, your tone light and full of intrigue as you began pulling him down the hall. “I want to show you something.”

To his surprise, you led him to the same riverside where he had first met you skipping stones. It was quieter now, the world around you blanketed in the soft hues of dusk. You picked up a stone and tossed it, the ripple patterns breaking the stillness of the water.

You cried that night. Not the quiet, dignified kind of crying he’d seen before, but the raw, unrestrained sobs of someone who had been holding it together for far too long. It felt like the world had cracked open in that moment, leaving nothing but you and the sound of your pain.

Sae froze, unsure of what to do. He wasn’t used to this. He didn’t know how to comfort someone, especially someone like you, who always seemed so unshakable. But as your tears kept falling, he couldn’t just stand there. Before he knew it, he had stepped forward, brushing the tears from your cheeks with the back of his hand.

And then, almost instinctively, he pulled you into a hug. It was awkward at first—Sae wasn’t the kind of man who offered affection easily—but as you buried your face into his chest, his arms tightened around you. 

It was in that moment, holding you close as your emotions poured out, that something shifted inside him. He couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but the feeling was undeniable. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, Sae found himself thinking about love—not as some abstract concept or fleeting notion, but as something tangible, something that terrified him because it might actually exist between the two of you.

Of course, it wasn’t that

He told himself it wasn’t that. 

It couldn’t be that. 

He couldn’t allow it to be that. 

But the truth lingered in the quiet between you.

The second he tried to deny that he loved you was the moment he knew he did, 

And he knew you loved him too.

He realized just then that he’d been dancing on the line bordering the executive rules he once claimed were basic, easy, and simple to follow. 

The very rules that once felt like an immovable framework for survival now seemed frustratingly fragile under the weight of your presence in his life. 

Rules were meant to be a lifeline in this chaotic world, something to keep him focused on the goal of getting out alive.

But with you, things were different. The boundaries he had drawn so clearly for himself blurred every time you smiled at him or pulled him into your harebrained schemes.

And as he stood there, he felt that line beneath his feet, thin and frayed. The rules had seemed so black-and-white before, but now they loomed over him like a quiet warning. Relationships were forbidden for a reason—attachments made people vulnerable. 

And yet, there he was, realizing that his resolve had already cracked, his intentions no longer as detached as they once were. 

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

The Beach harbored countless secrets—disgusting, gruesome, and morally irredeemable—but Sae chose to keep them from you. He wanted to protect your optimism, that rare light in his dark, unrelenting world. 

He had no desire to tarnish your spirit, especially not with the controversies that surrounded Kaede’s death.

You didn’t know, of course, and he wasn’t going to burden you with the knowledge. Kaede’s death was complicated, far more than the simple loss of a life. 

The rule at the Beach had always been clear in situations like hers: one must die for the welfare of the group. Sacrifice was the cornerstone of survival, even when it meant making decisions no one wanted to make. But your lovely best friend had managed to captivate Oliver Aiku, the mismatched-eyed executive.

Aiku had broken every rule to save her. During that game, he killed multiple Beach members, jeopardizing the very survival of the group, all in a futile attempt to protect her. The game was almost lost because of his actions. And though Aiku ended up in a coma, the Beach leaders had made it clear: the moment he woke, his life would be forfeit. 

Romantic attachments were forbidden for a reason, and Aiku’s defiance was the perfect example of why.

Sae thought about this often, about what he would do if it ever came to that for him. 

The rules were designed to execute the executive in question, it wouldn’t be you, and for him, that was enough. He could endure the consequences so long as you were safe. But then, during one emergency meeting, everything changed.

The meeting was called late that night while you were asleep in his bed. He’d slipped out as quietly as possible, careful not to wake you. In the dimly lit gathering, the upper brass announced a new, stricter enforcement of the third rule. 

Attachments were no longer just discouraged—they were deemed a direct threat to the Beach’s stability. If any member, not just an executive, they would be executed without warning. The change wasn’t meant to be announced, only silently enforced.

Sae thought the storm had passed after the meeting adjourned. He had resigned himself to maintaining his distance, believing he could keep you safe by hiding the depth of his feelings. 

But then, Julian Loki—a fellow executive—nudged him sharply as they exited the room.

“I know everything,” Loki whispered, his tone laced with venom. “You’ve got a week to drop her, or I’ll report it to the upper brass.”

He hated this—hated the helplessness that clung to him in this wretched place. If only he’d met you in the real world, somewhere untouched by the despair of the Borderlands. There, things could have been different. He would have wrapped the world in a neat ribbon and offered it to you without hesitation, but here? Here, he couldn’t.

That’s when Sae began to avoid you, distancing himself bit by bit. He reduced the time he spent with you, leaving conversations unfinished and giving excuses to sidestep your invitations. He hoped you wouldn’t notice, hoped you’d chalk it up to his usual aloofness.

But every moment spent away from you felt like a betrayal. Each time he turned his back, he could see the confusion in your eyes, the flicker of hurt you tried so hard to hide. And though he hated himself for it, Sae pressed on. Because no matter how much it tore him apart, he couldn’t let you become another casualty of the Beach’s unrelenting cruelty.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

By the end of the week Loki had given him, the Beach's darkness weighed heavier than ever. That day, whispers had circulated about a horrific incident—some girls had been raped and killed. As always, Lorenzo was tasked with the grim cleanup job. His faction, the only one with access to the Beach’s weapons, also handled the disposal of traitors' bodies, making the task both routine and sickeningly familiar.

Sae had overheard the grim details from a hushed conversation among the other members, and though he hadn’t been directly involved, he understood what it was. 

That incident pushed him to your door that night. Sae told himself it was just to catch a glimpse of you, to reassure himself. To know that you were safe, alive, and breathing. He needed that confirmation, even if it was for the last time. You opened the door almost immediately, surprised to see him standing there in the dim hallway, his face shadowed by the flickering fluorescent lights above.

Before he could stop himself, he stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. He didn’t think, didn’t weigh the consequences—his body acted on its own. Sae leaned down, cupping your face gently, and kissed you.

The world seemed to pause, the tension in his chest melting away for the briefest of moments. This was everything he’d been holding back, everything he’d refused to admit, spilling out in one act.

It took everything for him to finally pull away, it felt like ripping himself apart. Your wide-eyed expression, the way your lips parted as if to say something, nearly broke him. 

He wanted nothing more than to stay, to hold you and let the world outside cease to exist. But he couldn’t.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

During the time Sae spent apart from you, a certain blonde-haired idiot with pink, antenna-like strands framing his face had wormed his way into his orbit. The guy introduced himself as Shidou, but Sae decided that “demon” was a more fitting nickname. 

Eccentric, violent, and disturbingly enthusiastic about his bizarre ideas of “passing on his genes,” Shidou was nothing short of a chaotic force. Despite Sae’s initial irritation, Shidou had an uncanny way of sticking around.

It didn’t take long for Sae to realize that Shidou had a connection to you. Apparently, he’d been part of your team before Aiku scouted you for the Beach’s ranks. For all his oddities, Shidou seemed to genuinely respect you—perhaps even adore you . He had once made a bold statement about you being “explosive” and “his type of person,” much to Sae’s annoyance.

Sae felt a faint prickle of threat in the air, but Shidou had assured him in his usual chaotic tone, “Relax, man, it’s just platonic. She’s like a firecracker—you don’t wanna get too close, or you’ll burn your face off. 

To Sae’s surprise, he found Shidou’s presence tolerable, even useful at times. Shidou’s energy had a way of distracting other Beach members, creating just enough chaos to keep prying eyes off Sae’s dealings.

Shidou had somehow managed to introduce Sae to you and his former team, all of whom were now part of the Beach. 

The Beach, once seen as a refuge of order amidst chaos, was beginning to show cracks in its foundation. The top brass had been making increasingly questionable decisions, ones that left even the most loyal members uneasy. Sae, ever perceptive, recognized the signs of an inevitable collapse.

Determined to stay ahead of the chaos, Sae decided to take a calculated risk. He shared the extensive information he had collected about the upper brass with the team, a move that was uncharacteristic for someone as guarded as him. Yet, watching how the team operated and seeing their dedication, Sae felt an unfamiliar sense of confidence in them.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

One day, while patrolling the grounds together, Shidou casually brought up a topic that made Sae’s blood run cold.

“You really think no one notices?” Shidou said, his sharp grin as infuriating as always.

“Notices what?” 

“Oh come on mr. prodigy, the way you bribe players to keep an eye on y/n during games? Or how you threaten them if they're dumb enough to slack off? You’re basically her guardian angel, and it’s hilarious.”

Sae shot him a withering glare. “You’ve got a big mouth for someone who should be staying out of my business.”

“Hey, hey, relax!” Shidou laughed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m not ratting you out. If anything, I respect it. Kind of romantic in a creepy, stalker-ish way. I dig the commitment.”

Sae rolled his eyes and kept walking, but Shidou wasn’t done.

“Just saying, though, if you’re gonna go all knight-in-shining-armor, you might as well do it right. Want me to keep an eye on her too?”

Sae didn’t answer, but his silence was enough of an answer for Shidou. From then on, the demon became an unspoken ally of sorts. Whenever Sae couldn’t watch over you himself, Shidou had a way of stepping in, sometimes with his usual chaos and sometimes with a surprising amount of subtlety.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

There was one time Shidou went overboard, though. During a high-stakes game, he had taken it upon himself to “eliminate” a player who had been overly confrontational toward you. Sae had confronted him about it later, furious.

“I told you to watch her, not go on a killing spree,” Sae hissed.

Shidou shrugged, looking entirely unapologetic. “What can I say? The guy was bad vibes. Don’t worry, though, your princess is safe, and isn’t that what matters?”

Sae let out a frustrated sigh, knowing there was no reasoning with Shidou. Still, despite his irritation, there was a small, grudging sense of relief. For whatever reason, the demon was loyal to both of you.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

After the grueling spade game that left Sae with a deep gash on his upper arm, it was Shidou who suggested he seek you out.

“You look like hell,” Shidou commented, leaning casually against the wall. His grin was sharp, but there was a hint of something almost genuine in his tone. “You should go find y/n. I’ll make sure Loki doesn’t catch wind of it.”

Sae hesitated, brushing a hand over his wound. It wasn’t like him to need anyone, but the ache in his arm was nothing compared to the dull emptiness that had settled in his chest. Shidou’s smirk widened as if reading his mind.

“Don’t kid yourself, man,” Shidou added, a mocking lilt in his voice. “You miss her. I’ll cover for you.”

Sae scoffed, muttering something about Shidou needing to mind his own business, but his feet were already moving. Despite himself, he knew Shidou was right. He missed you—more than he cared to admit.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

Thinking about all that now, makes him realize just how fucked he is. He was supposed to visit you, not spend the night with you. Then again, he’d never been good at sticking to his plans when it came to you.

Your eyes fluttered open, your hand instinctively rubbing at them as you adjusted to the soft morning light filtering into the room. It wasn’t until a moment later that your cheeks flushed, the realization dawning on you—you were bare beneath the covers. 

Flustered, you shifted slightly away from him, your embarrassment evident in every movement. 

Sae noticed. It was amusing, really—how shy you were now, as if he hadn’t seen every part of you the night before. Still, he didn’t mind. He found your bashfulness endearing, a trait that only made you more captivating in his eyes.

You quickly regained your composure, straightened your posture, and locked eyes with him, your gaze unwavering.

The intensity of your stare made his chest tighten. He knew exactly what you were asking, even though the words hadn’t left your lips. 

You wanted the truth.

With a deep sigh, he leaned back slightly, running a hand through his hair as if bracing himself.

“Alright,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, as he tossed you a clean shirt from his drawer.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

After you finished listening to everything Sae had kept from you, you had a deadpan expression —he couldn’t quite place. He wondered if you were about to swoon or lash out at him for being so stupid.

Before he could figure it out, you slapped him. 

“I deserve that,” he muttered, surrendering without resistance, holding his hands above his head slightly, despite feeling the slight sting on his right cheek..

But what came next threw him off more than anything. 

You leaned toward him and pulled him into a kiss—soft and sweet, yet enough to knock the breath out of him.

When you pulled away, your gaze softened, though determination burned brightly in your eyes. “I know you were trying to protect me, but you should’ve just told me. I don’t care about the threat, Sae. As long as we’re together, we can figure it out.”

He felt like an idiot. No—he was an idiot. An idiot for doubting you, for keeping you in the dark, for forgetting how strong and capable you truly were. Deep down, he knew he wanted to shoulder everything alone to protect your optimism, your joy—but that had been the wrong choice.

Without a word, he reached out, his hands cupping your face tenderly. “I’ll never keep something from you again,” he murmured before pressing his lips to yours once more, this time with a deeper intensity.

The moment was perfect until the door swung open, and a familiar voice broke the silence.

“Woah, you guys made up!”

You and Sae sprang apart, both whipping around to find Shidou grinning like he’d just walked in on something far juicier than it was.

“There’s a thing called knocking, you know,” you said, glaring at him in irritation.

“Tch,” was Sae’s only response, his mood visibly soured by the interruption.

Shidou ignored both of you, stepping inside and flopping onto a nearby chair as if he owned the place. “Anyway, I gotta tell you guys what I overheard this morning.” He paused dramatically, letting the tension build. “There’s only one number card left—the 10 of Hearts.”

You frowned. “Just one? And no one’s come across a face card yet?”

Shidou nodded, leaning forward, his usual grin fading into something more serious. “Not just that. There’s a rumor going around. Something about a traitor among the executives. Isagi’s the one who figured it out, but he doesn’t know who it is yet.”

Sae’s jaw tightened, and you could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “A traitor?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous.

You exchanged a tense glance with Sae, the weight of Shidou’s revelation settling over both of you like a storm cloud. The knock on the door shattered the silence, making everyone in the room flinch.

You turned to Shidou with an irritated glare. “Who else did you tell?”

Shidou threw his hands up defensively, his usual smirk absent for once. “No one, I swear. Chill.” He got up and strode to the door, muttering, “Let me handle it.”

The moment he opened the door, his cocky demeanor shifted to one of surprise. “Chigiri?” he asked, stepping aside as the red-haired man entered hurriedly, his expression grim.

Chigiri’s sharp eyes darted around the room, meeting yours with a silent understanding that seemed to say, Glad to have you back, Y/N. Then he spoke, his voice low and urgent. “We have a problem. Isagi’s been taken.”

Your heart sank, and Sae tensed beside you. “Taken? By who?” Sae demanded, his tone sharp.

“Ness,” Chigiri answered grimly. “He’s got Isagi tied up in some room, but we don’t know where. The leaders didn’t like the anxiousness from other players due to his speculations about the traitor and... they think he might be the one. They’re torturing him. God knows how far they’ve gone by now.”

Your fists clenched at the thought. “We have to rescue him,” you said firmly, looking at each of them.

Shidou raised a brow, his grin creeping back. “Oh, I’m in. Sounds like fun.”

Sae shot him a glare before turning to you. “We’ll need a plan.”

Chigiri nodded, stepping closer, his expression tense. “Yukki and Reo are already searching the grounds, but we need more people if we’re going to find him before it’s too late—”

He was abruptly cut off by the sound of screaming and the thunder of rushing footsteps echoing from the main hall. The tension in the room spiked as everyone froze, listening. The door burst open, and Bachira stormed in, his face pale but his eyes gleaming with discovery.

“There’s chaos in the hall,” Bachira said breathlessly. “You might wanna check it out.”

Everyone exchanged wary glances before immediately rushing down the main hall.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

All the Beach members were gathered, including the executives—everyone except the leaders, Ness, and Isagi. Blood was splattered across one of the walls, so much that it nearly covered the entire surface. The sight had everyone on edge, fear and confusion rippling through the crowd.

At the center of the room lay a pile of phones, next to a small sign that read: One per person. Even from a distance, you knew exactly what this meant. A game. And this time, everyone at the Beach was a player.

Your heart raced as you quickly grabbed a phone, joining the others in tense anticipation. Suddenly, the mechanical voice emanated from every device simultaneously, cold and unfeeling:

“Game Rules: 10 of Hearts: Bloodbound

Then came a riddle:

"In shadow, I watch and consume. My speech deceives. Set me free or strike me down, and the blood recedes."

The voice paused before delivering its final chilling instruction:

“Accomplish the riddle within 3 hours, and you win. Failure to do so results in death. Good luck.”

The crowd grew restless, their faces marked by confusion and fear. The riddle had left them baffled—no clear instructions, no obvious solution. The blood on the wall served as an ominous reminder of what failure might mean, and no one wanted to be the next victim.

 Kaiser stepped forward, grabbing the arm of a random girl who had been seen alone in the hall earlier, her face pale with terror.

“What if I throw you out the window right now, hmm?” he said, his voice sharp and mocking.

The girl thrashed in his grip, tears streaming down her face. A few onlookers exchanged uneasy glances before nodding in agreement with Kaiser’s words, their own fear driving them to desperation. Together, they began dragging the girl toward the window as she screamed and fought against them.

“Enough.”

Loki’s voice cut through the chaos like a knife, his calm, almost friendly tone somehow more unsettling than the violence. “Let her go,” he said, stepping into the center of the crowd.

For a moment, the group hesitated. Then, slowly, they released the girl, who fell to the floor, trembling and sobbing.

Loki smiled faintly, his composure unshaken. “Everyone, return to your rooms. The executives will review the surveillance cameras to determine who set this game in motion. We’ll handle it.”

The reaction was immediate and volatile.

“That’ll take too long!” someone shouted.“There’s a time limit! We’ll all die!” another cried.A few people sank to their knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

Where are Ego and Anri? Why aren’t they here now?” a voice rang out.

Before the chaos could escalate further, you felt Sae’s hand wrap around your wrist. “Come on,” he murmured, dragging you through the crowd. His grip was firm but not unkind, a silent insistence that you trust him. Shidou, Bachira, and Chigiri slipped away with you, the six of you retreating into an office at the back of the building.

The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of panic from the hall.

Shidou’s laugh came first—low, unhinged, and far too amused for the circumstances. “So...someone’s playing a nasty little game,” he said, his grin wide and predatory. “Who’s the rat?”

“Shut up,” Chigiri snapped, his voice icy, though his composure was clearly fraying. “This isn’t a joke, Shidou. If this is the 10 of Hearts, then the whole Beach is a trap. We’re all in danger.”

Sae crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing as he repeated the riddle aloud:

"In shadow, I watch and consume. My speech deceives. Set me free or strike me down, and the blood recedes."

“What the hell does that even mean?” Shidou muttered, spinning a small knife idly in his hand, his usual smirk replaced by something almost serious.

He let the words hang in the air, their weight pressing down on all of you. “It’s clear what this means,” he said. “Someone has to die—the person described in the riddle.”

“Everyone’s gonna think it’s Ego,” you murmured, your stomach churning. “The way the Beach runs, how cold and calculated he is...he’s the obvious suspect.”

“That’s the point,” Sae said flatly, his tone razor-sharp. “It’s too obvious. Whoever set this up wants us to waste time going after him while they sit back and watch.”

“And what if it really is him?” Chigiri countered, his voice low and tense. 

A beat of silence passed, heavy with the weight of unspoken fears.

“Then let’s find him,” you said firmly, already moving toward the door. “We can figure this out, but we need confirmation.”

Sae opened the top drawer of a heavy metal cabinet, retrieving several radios and handguns. His movements were swift and deliberate, the weight of the situation clear in his tense posture. 

He tossed a radio and a gun to each of you.

There was no time to argue. Sae gave his orders with the efficiency of a commander: “Chigiri, Bachira—find Isagi. We’ll handle Ego. Stay sharp.”

You nodded, adrenaline surging through you as the group split up. Racing down the dimly lit hall with Sae and Shidou, every creak and distant sound made your heart pound. The air grew heavier the closer you got to Ego’s quarters, an unsettling chill settling in your stomach.

When you reached the room, you froze. The door hung slightly ajar, swinging faintly on its hinges. Sae pushed it open with his gun raised, and what you saw made your blood run cold. Ego sat slumped in his chair, a gunshot wound squarely in the forehead. Blood pooled beneath him, stark against the sterile floor.

Shidou broke the silence first, grabbing his walkie-talkie. “Ego’s dead. I repeat, Ego is dead,” he said grimly, his usual eccentricity replaced with an uncharacteristic seriousness.

Sae crouched beside Ego, checking his phone. His expression darkened. “The timer’s still running,” he muttered. “This game isn’t over.”

The radio crackled to life, Chigiri’s voice cutting through the tension. “Negative. We’ve checked the third and fourth floors—no sign of Isagi. But the main hall is a mess. Lorenzo’s faction went rogue. He’s given the order to kill everyone.”

“Damn it,” Sae hissed, standing abruptly.

Shidou cursed under his breath. “Of course that freak Lorenzo would pull something like this. It’s going to be a bloodbath.”

You clenched your fists, trying to focus. Panic threatened to overwhelm you, but then your thoughts turned to the riddle. You turned it over in your mind, piecing it together.

“It’s not Ego,” you said aloud, your voice trembling with urgency. “It’s not about him. The answer—”

Sae looked at you sharply. “What is it?”

Your heart dropped as realization struck you like a bolt of lightning. “Anri’s the next target. She’s in danger.”

Without waiting for their responses, you turned and bolted down the hall, sprinting toward Anri’s quarters. Sae swore under his breath but immediately followed.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” he snapped, grabbing your wrist to stop you.

You looked at him, eyes blazing with determination. “I do. Trust me.”

Sae studied you for a beat before nodding. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Shidou trailed behind, muttering, “This better not be a wild goose chase, princess, or we’re all screwed.”

As you neared Anri’s room, you heard muffled voices and the sound of something heavy being dragged. Your pulse raced. You pushed yourself harder, desperate to reach her before it was too late.

“Stay behind me,” Sae ordered, raising his gun as he moved to kick the door open.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

The room was silent except for the muffled sounds of Anri’s panicked breaths behind the cloth tied over her mouth. Kaito, the man you remembered from the high-diving game, stood in front of her, his gun trained on her trembling form. His hand was steady, but his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil.

You stepped forward, your hand outstretched, trying to stop him. “Kaito, don’t do this,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart.

He glanced at you, his expression one of recognition. “I’m grateful for what you do for us y/n-san,” he said, his voice strained. “If she's not the answer to the riddle then she's the traitor. If I don’t do this, I’ll die. You know how this works.”

“That’s not true,” you argued. “Anri isn’t the traitor, Kaito. She’s not the threat. Don’t pull the trigger.”

Kaito hesitated, his grip faltering for a fraction of a second. “Then who is it?” he snapped. “Who else could it be?”

I don’t know. Your mind raced. You had to make up an excuse. “The traitor,” you said, your voice low but steady, “is one of the executives.”

Kaito froze, his eyes narrowing as he turned to look at Sae. “One of the executives, huh? Like him?” He raised the gun and pointed it directly at Sae.

Sae didn’t flinch, his expression cold and calculating as always. “If you think I’m the traitor, you’re even more delusional than I thought,” he said flatly.

Kaito’s face twisted in rage. “Shut up! You’ve been quiet this whole time, haven’t you? Acting like you’re above all this. You’re the one pulling the strings!”

“Kaito, stop!” you shouted, your voice shaking now. “Don’t do this!”

But Kaito wasn’t listening. His finger inched toward the trigger, and your heart stopped. 

Time seemed to stretch and distort, every second dragging on as though the world itself was holding its breath. The faint hum of adrenaline coursing through your veins drowned out every other sound. 

All that existed was the cold metal glinting in Kaito’s hand and the terrifying inevitability of his finger curling on the trigger.

You didn’t think—you just moved.

Your hand flew up, gripping the cold steel of your gun. The weight felt heavier than ever, the gravity of what you were about to do threatening to crush you. But there was no room for hesitation. A single thought pulsed in your mind: Stop him.

Kaito’s eyes flicked toward you, his finger tightening on the trigger. Time froze.

Then, in an instant, the deafening crack of your gunshot tore through the air. The recoil surged through your arm, the force jolting you backward as your ears rang with the violent noise. You couldn’t hear anything but that ringing, couldn’t see anything but the bullet’s merciless trajectory as it sliced through the space between you and him.

The impact was instantaneous. The bullet struck Kaito dead center, between his eyebrows. His expression froze in shock, the light in his eyes extinguished before he even realized what had happened.

There was no scream, no final word. Just the dull thud of his body hitting the floor. Blood spilled out in a dark, growing pool beneath him, staining the cold, hard ground.

Your breath caught, your chest heaving as if trying to force air into lungs that had forgotten how to function. The gun trembled in your grip, your arm still extended, fingers frozen in place.

This isn’t real. Right?. But the scent of gunpowder lingered, the blood creeping toward your feet.

Your hand dropped to your side, the gun slipping from your grip and clattering against the floor. It echoed loudly in the oppressive silence, jolting you back to the present.

You trembled as you lowered your arm, breath coming in shallow gasps. 

Sae was the first to react, stepping forward. “You okay?” he asked, his voice unusually soft, though his face was a mix of shock and something you couldn’t quite place.

“I…” You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. 

Shidou moved quickly to Anri, pulling the cloth from her mouth and untying her. “Damn,” he muttered, giving a low whistle as he glanced at Kaito’s lifeless body. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Anri gasped for air, Her tear-streaked face crumpled as she gasped for air.

You turned to her, your legs feeling like jelly. “Anri, what’s going on? Tell us everything.”

She nodded weakly, but her tearful eyes locked onto you with desperation. “You don’t understand,” she choked out. 

“What are you talking about?” Sae demanded, his tone sharp but not entirely unkind.

Anri’s voice trembled as she continued, “The whole thing about collecting the entire deck—it was all a lie. Ego made it up. He wanted to give the survivors hope, something to fight for, even if it wasn’t real.”

The room fell into a stunned silence.

“He lied?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

Anri nodded, her tears falling freely. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell anyone. He thought it was the only way to keep everyone from falling apart. I wanted to believe in him...”

Sae’s jaw clenched as he looked away, his hands curling into fists. Shidou let out a low whistle, breaking the heavy quiet.

“Well, that’s one way to turn the world upside down,” Shidou said, his usual smirk absent, replaced by a grim expression.

You stood up, your legs feeling unsteady beneath you. “Then what’s the point of all this?” you asked, more to yourself than anyone else.

“The point,” Sae said, his voice cold, “is that we’ve all been pawns in a game we don’t even understand.”

At that moment, Chigiri’s voice crackled through the radio. “We found Isagi,” he said, his tone urgent but slightly muffled by the static. “He’s wounded but alive. Right now, he’s unconscious, but stable. We’re bringing him back.”

You barely registered the words. Your gaze was locked on Kaito’s lifeless body sprawled across the floor, the pool of blood beneath him staining the stark white tiles. The weight of your actions pressed down on you like a crushing tide, threatening to drown you in guilt and doubt. You’d pulled the trigger to save Sae, to stop Kaito from making a fatal mistake—but the cost was written in red right before your eyes.

Anri’s confession still echoed in your mind. Ego had lied. Everything you’d fought for, every sacrifice made, was built on a foundation of false hope. The thought made your stomach churn.

Sae’s voice cut through the silence, firm and unyielding. “This changes everything,” he said, his tone dark and heavy with resolve. “But it doesn’t mean we stop. We’ll figure this out, with or without Ego.”

You tore your eyes away from Kaito’s body and met Sae’s gaze. His expression was cold and unreadable, but beneath it, you sensed an unspoken determination. He wasn’t going to let this break him, and neither could you.

“I know the answer to the riddle,” you said suddenly, your voice steadier than you expected.

Everyone turned to you, their expressions a mixture of confusion and anticipation.

“It’s not a person,” you continued. “It never was. The riddle—it’s been misleading us this entire time. We’ve been looking at each other when we should’ve been looking at something else.”

“What are you saying?” Shidou asked, his brow furrowed as he glanced between you and the others.

You clenched your fists, the pieces in your mind clicking together like a puzzle finally coming into focus. Just as you opened your mouth to say something, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall—heavy, numerous, and fast approaching.

Your stomach sank. It had to be members of Lorenzo’s faction. Without hesitation, you turned to Sae and Shidou. “I need to get to the control room and use the intercom to call everyone. We need to stop this madness before it’s too late.”

Shidou cracked his knuckles, an eager grin spreading across his face as he stepped forward. “You go do your thing. I’ll handle this group.”

You paused, concerned, flickering across your face. “you sure you’ll be okay?”

He scoffed, his voice brimming with overconfidence. “Please, those small fries don’t stand a chance against my explosion.” His pink eyes gleamed with wild excitement, his smirk widening.

Despite yourself, you laughed, the tension in your chest loosening slightly. “we're counting on you.”

Sae stepped beside you, his expression calm but resolute. He glanced at Shidou with a small nod. “Go wild little demon.”

With a final smirk, Shidou turned towards the oncoming footsteps, his posture loose but ready. “Don’t worry, I’ll make this quick. Go save the day or whatever.”

As you hurried toward the control room, the sound of Shidou’s mocking laughter and the crash of chaos behind you reminded you of the high stakes ahead—but you didn’t look back.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

The control room was eerily silent as your voice rang out through the intercom. “Everyone, stop the killings! I’ve figured out the riddle—it’s not what we thought. I need everyone to go to the rooftop. Trust me, this will all make sense soon.”

Your plea was met with hesitant murmurs from those still alive, but eventually, the survivors began making their way to the rooftop. When you arrived, the scene was sobering. The crowd had thinned drastically—only about 20% of the Beach’s original population remained. Some faces were etched with suspicion, others with grim resignation.

They watched you with a mixture of reluctance and curiosity as you stepped forward, stopping beside a large, cloth-covered crate.

“This game tricked us,” you began, your voice steady but tinged with emotion. “It turned us against each other. It made us think that to survive, we had to kill.”

You gripped the edge of the cloth, pausing for a moment to steel yourself. Then, with a sharp tug, you pulled it down, revealing the gruesome contents of the crate.

Gasps and cries of horror erupted from the crowd as they saw the pile of corpses—some old and decayed, with maggots writhing in the flesh, others desecrated beyond recognition. The freshest bodies looked like they’d been killed only hours ago.

But what drew everyone’s attention was the black crow perched atop the heap, pecking at the flesh. Its beak pierced the skin, causing fresh blood to drip through the cracks in the crate, mirroring the blood that had been seeping through the walls of the main hall.

You gestured to the crate, your voice rising to be heard over the murmurs and gasps. “This is the truth of the riddle. ‘Set me free or strike me down.’ It wasn’t about a person. It was about this.” You pointed at the crow, its black eyes glinting as it cocked its head toward you.

Sae stepped forward, his expression grim but focused. “The blood on the walls, the chaos—it all led back to this.”

You nodded. “This crow has been feeding on the bodies, causing the blood to drip. The riddle wasn’t about anyone from the beach. It was about freeing this creature—or ending its life.”

One of the survivors, trembling, stepped forward. “You mean...we didn’t have to kill anyone?”

You took a deep breath, the stench of the corpses threatening to overwhelm you, and shook your head. “No. This entire game has been a manipulation. We could’ve won without spilling any blood.”

Ignoring the bile rising in your throat, you reached into the crate and carefully grabbed the crow. It cawed loudly, its wings flapping wildly in protest. You turned to the crowd. “We end this now.”

You threw the crow into the air. It soared upward, its black wings cutting through the sky.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, a series of simultaneous chimes rang out from the phones of the survivors. The word “CONGRATULATIONS” appeared on every screen, accompanied by a message:

GAME CLEAR.

Relief and disbelief washed over the crowd. Some fell to their knees, others clung to each other, tears streaming down their faces.

You turned to face Sae, your expression heavy with guilt and uncertainty. The chaos was over, the game cleared, but the aftermath left you feeling lost. Sae, standing a step away, could see the turmoil written all over your face. He crossed his arms, his piercing gaze locking onto yours.

Your mind felt like it was fracturing, every thought fragmented and scattered. You struggled to meet Sae’s eyes. “The Beach is done,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s disbanded. And with everything that’s happened here... this place isn’t safe anymore.”

Sae stepped closer, his presence steady and grounding amidst the chaos swirling in your head. He leaned in, his voice low and calm as he whispered in your ear, “Let’s get out of here.”

Nothing more needed to be said. He reached for your hand, his grip firm and reassuring, and gently pulled you forward, away from the ruin and bloodshed behind you.

“Okay,” you said softly, your voice trembling as you squeezed his hand, nodding as you allowed yourself to follow him. 

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

The group found refuge in a high-rise building nestled in the heart of Shibuya. It wasn’t ideal, but the third floor had a pipe leaking clean water, and in this world, that was more than enough to make it a good spot to rest for the night. As you stood by the window, your gaze wandered to the streets below. Vegetation had begun to creep across the asphalt and even the walls of some buildings. It was subtle but unnatural, the way the greenery seemed to grow faster than it should. The sight made your stomach churn with unease.

Right now, everyone else was scattered—some searching for food and supplies, others scouting for vehicles, and a few simply wandering to clear their heads after the chaos. Whatever the reason, it left you alone with Isagi, who was still unconscious on a makeshift bed.

You glanced around the dimly lit room, noticing Sae’s absence. He had disappeared somewhere, as he often did when things were too quiet. 

The grime and sweat from the 10 of Hearts game clung to your skin, a constant reminder of the horrors you’d faced. The discomfort was unbearable, and the idea of washing it all away was tempting.

Deciding to take a moment for yourself, you wandered to the bathroom. As you opened the door, the sound of water cascading from the shower greeted you. You froze, realizing someone was already inside. The faint outline of a figure behind the fogged-up glass made it clear.

Your face heated in embarrassment. “Oh, sorry.” you blurted, your voice cracking slightly.

You were about to turn away when you felt yourself suddenly tugged back, your breath catching in surprise as your back pressed against his bare chest. His arm slid securely around your waist, pulling you closer. You froze as his free hand gently tilted your chin to the side, exposing the curve of your neck.

His lips brushed softly against your skin, trailing up until they reached the shell of your ear. His voice was low, almost a whisper, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Just join me,” he murmured, his tone laced with teasing warmth. “We might as well save water.”

Your heart skipped a beat, heat rushing to your face as you tried to find the words to respond. The playful smirk in his voice made it clear he was enjoying your reaction.

You felt his hands gently caressing your sides, his touch tentative yet steady. When you tried to pull away, whispering something about Isagi not having anyone to watch him, he leaned in closer, his voice low and reassuring.

“Isagi’ll be fine for a while,” he murmured, his tone steady but soft. “It’s not like he’s awake right now.”

You hesitated, caught in the moment, every muscle in your body tense. But his words and presence seemed to melt some of the heaviness in your chest. Maybe, just maybe, he was right. Maybe you needed to forget, even for a moment, all the horrible things that had happened.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what happened between you two. 

The others didn’t press on it but they gave you knowing glances.

Behind you, Isagi stirred, a low groan escaping him as he finally woke up. His face was a mess of cuts and bruises, the pain evident in his every movement. You quickly handed him a bottle of water, kneeling beside him as he struggled to sit up. He took a shaky sip, coughing a little as the water soothed his parched throat.

“You’re awake,” you said softly, relief in your voice.

He nodded weakly, his voice raspy. “Yeah... barely.” He took another sip, his eyes scanning the group before settling on you. “But I need to tell you... what I know.”

Everyone turned to him, the room falling silent as they waited. Sae leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

Isagi’s hands trembled slightly as he held the water bottle. “Ness wasn’t the traitor,” he began, his voice hoarse but steady. “He was being used... by the real culprit. I didn’t see them, but by the time everything went to hell, someone came into the room. I couldn’t see their face, and their voice... I can’t place it. Something about the second stage starting tomorrow morning.”

The air in the room grew heavy with tension.

“What second stage?” Chigiri asked, his voice sharp.

Isagi shook his head. “I don’t know. They didn’t say anything else. Just... ‘the second stage will commence.’” He paused, his gaze dropping to his hands. “Whatever it means, it can’t be good.”

Bachira let out a low whistle, trying to mask the unease in his voice. “Tomorrow, huh? Guess we’re in for another surprise.”

You glanced out the window again, the vegetation catching your eye once more. Something about it felt connected, like a silent omen of what was to come. “We need to rest and prepare. Whatever the second stage is, we’ll face it together.”

The group murmured their agreement, though the unease lingered like a shadow in the room. You couldn’t shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

Waking up to the sound of an explosion, you bolted upright, heart pounding. You rushed to the window and froze. Blimps with massive face cards attached to them hovered ominously in the sky, their shadows looming over the city. The King of Spades blimp was the most menacing of all, dropping bombs indiscriminately across Shibuya.

Panic surged through you as you turned and shook everyone awake. “We have to move—now! The next stage is starting, and we could get bombed!”

Everyone scrambled to their feet, groggy but alarmed, quickly grabbing whatever they could carry. You led them to the window, pointing at the chaos unfolding outside. Smoke billowed from the streets, and the screams of people echoed faintly through the air.

As you made your way toward the center of Shibuya, the mechanical billboard flickered to life. In bold, glowing letters, it displayed: Next Stage. Good Luck.

The words burned in your mind as the screen abruptly went dark, and then came the unmistakable sound of rapid gunfire—an automatic rifle tearing through the air like thunder.

You whipped around to see people dropping to the ground, some screaming, others eerily silent. The King of Spades blimp rained down death with relentless precision, armed with weapons that could mow down entire crowds.

“Run!” you shouted, voice cracking as chaos erupted. The survivors scattered in all directions, terror painting their faces.

Sae’s firm grip on your arm pulled you back to focus. He dragged you behind the shell of a car, shielding you as bullets ricocheted off the metal frame. His voice was sharp and steady. “Stay low. Follow me when I move.”

You nodded, adrenaline surging. The gunfire didn’t let up, the deafening noise pounding in your ears. As Sae led the way, darting from cover to cover, you suddenly pulled him toward a nearby construction site.

“This way!” you urged, pointing toward the half-finished building just beneath the blimp marked with the Jack of Spades.

He didn’t argue, following your lead as the two of you weaved through debris and chaos. The shelter of the construction site offered temporary relief from the relentless assault, but the tension in the air remained palpable. Both of you leaned against a wall, chests heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

Ahead, you spotted a small group of players gathering under the half-collapsed scaffolding, their faces etched with fear and exhaustion. But it wasn’t them that caught your attention. Off to the side, huddled beneath a scrap piece of corrugated metal, was an old man.

His frail frame trembled, and his hollow eyes darted around as though searching for something—or someone. He clutched his stomach, his thin fingers shaking from either hunger or fear.

“Wait here,” you said to Sae, stepping toward the man.

Sae grabbed your wrist, his sharp gaze narrowing. “Don’t. You don’t know who he is or what he wants.”

You glanced back at him, your jaw tightening. “He needs help, Sae. Look at him.”

Sae didn’t reply but his expression spoke volumes. He didn’t trust the man, but he knew better than to try to stop you.

You knelt in front of the old man, careful to keep your guard up. “Are you okay?” you asked softly.

The man flinched at first, his hollow eyes darting between you and Sae before slowly reaching out. His cold, bony hand trembled as it grabbed your arm. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, cracking under the weight of his fear. “Today... today’s the last day on my visa. I—I’m scared. I don’t want to die here.”

Your heart clenched at the desperation in his voice. His frail figure seemed impossibly small under the weight of his fear.

You knelt beside him, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. “Don’t worry, sir. I’m good at spade games. Maybe I can help you.”

The old man’s lips quivered, and he shook his head frantically, as though unable to believe what he was hearing. “You’d... you’d do that? For me?” His voice broke, tears welling in his sunken eyes. “Thank you... thank you.”

Behind you, Sae leaned against the nearest beam, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on the interaction. His expression remained impassive, but his silence carried unspoken skepticism.

When the game was announced, the rules rang clearly through the air:

Jack of Spades: Runner’s Gambit

Objective: Locate and deactivate the "key bomb" among several identical decoys before the timer expires.

Time Limit: 2 hours.

Conditions: Randomly detonating bombs will keep players on the move, and traps are scattered throughout the site, with some hidden under debris or disguised as safe areas. Failure to disarm the key bomb triggers a massive chain reaction, destroying everything within a wide radius.

The holographic instructions faded, and the timer began. 

2:00:00.

The first explosion echoed through the site, deafening and close. Dust and debris erupted from a distant corridor, and you could hear the panicked screams of players scrambling to safety. You watched in horror as one unlucky man sprinted into a patch of seemingly stable ground—only for the tiles to collapse beneath him, impaling him on steel bars below.

“This isn’t even a game,” you muttered, your grip tightening on the old man’s hand. “It’s a death trap.”

“Stay sharp,” Sae warned, stepping over rubble as his eyes scanned for hidden triggers.

A woman ahead reached for a suspicious box tucked under a steel beam. The moment she opened it, a smaller bomb detonated, flinging her backward into a concrete wall. Her lifeless body slid to the ground, smoke rising from her charred hands.

You averted your eyes, unable to stomach the sight of another corpse. The scene was all too familiar now, but it never got easier. Just then, the old man brushed his hand against the wall, and a faint click echoed ominously. Your instincts kicked in as you grabbed him and pulled him into the nearest empty room.

Behind you, Sae slammed the door shut just as the explosion roared through the hallway, the force rattling the walls and sending dust cascading from the ceiling. The sound of shrapnel tearing through the air was deafening.

“Don’t touch anything unless you’re absolutely sure,” Sae said firmly, his voice cutting through the ringing in your ears. His gaze darted to the old man, who looked shaken and pale, clutching his chest as he gasped for air. “We’ll stay here for a bit and figure out a plan. No more mistakes.”

The old man sat on the floor, his frail body trembling. He muttered an apology, his voice barely audible over the sound of your own racing heartbeat. “I—I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay sir,” you said softly, crouching next to him. You could see the guilt etched into his weathered face, and something about it tugged at your heart.

“I wasn’t always like this, you know,” he began suddenly, his voice carrying a melancholic weight. “I used to have a garden. My wife loved dandelions... She used to plant them everywhere. Said they were weeds, but beautiful ones. She always found beauty in the things other people overlooked.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt shift in conversation. The room fell quiet except for the distant echoes of chaos outside. Your gaze shifted to Sae. He was leaning slightly toward the door, head tilted as if trying to catch any sound that might signal danger. Yet, it was clear from the subtle flicker of his eyes when they met yours that he was listening too.

“She used to hum this silly tune while she worked in the garden,” he continued, a faint smile tugging at his lips before it quickly faded. “I haven’t heard it in years, maybe—” He stopped.

Your chest tightened. It felt like one of those moments where words weren’t necessary—where just listening was enough. Still, you found yourself reaching out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at you, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, searching for something—comfort, understanding, or perhaps just someone to hear him.

“I wish I wasn’t sick,” he said suddenly, his voice trembling.”

“Sick?” you asked gently, though your throat felt dry.

He nodded, his gaze distant. “The doctors said it’s only a matter of time... I’ve been running on borrowed time for years now.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that.

You stayed in that room a little longer, the tension easing just slightly as the old man’s story settled over you like a fragile peace.

1:07:00The old man, who had introduced himself as Seiichi Suzuki, kept talking about his life as you sat together in the dusty, dimly lit room. His voice was soft and unhurried, weaving tales of his late wife who used to plant dandelions in their garden and the quiet nights they spent watching old movies. His words warmed your heart, but they also stirred bitter memories of your grandmother and little sister—memories you’d tried to bury.

Sae leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes flickering between you and Seiichi. He didn’t say much, simply observing as you listened intently, caught in the old man’s melancholy nostalgia.

00:21:00

You bolted out of the room, leaving the bittersweet stories behind. Your heart raced as you sprinted through the treacherous maze of the unfinished building, desperately trying to find the central bomb. Traps were everywhere—loose floor panels, nearly invisible tripwires, pressure-sensitive tiles. Each step felt like a coin flip against death.

The timer ticked down mercilessly, its digits glowing ominously. 

00:05:00.

As you scanned the area, the old man suddenly tugged at your sleeve.

You turned, breathless and confused. “What is it?”

Seiichi hesitated, his frail frame trembling, his eyes swimming with guilt. His voice cracked as he spoke. “I have to tell you something.”

You frowned, dread coiling in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

He took a shaky breath, his hollow gaze locking with yours. “In this place... you can live forever. The illness doesn’t bother me here. I can eat, sleep, and breathe without pain. It’s a paradise compared to what I left behind.”

“What are you talking about?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He lowered his gaze. “I’m the Jack of Spades.”

The world seemed to stop. His words hit you like a physical blow. “No…” you breathed, shaking your head. “No, that can’t be true.”

He nodded slowly, his voice trembling. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I swear. I—I just wanted to survive. But this game…” He gestured to the bomb strapped to his chest, the blinking red light a cruel reminder of the stakes. “This bomb is the key. It’s the one you need to disarm. If you don’t, everyone dies.”

Your voice cracked as you shouted, “There has to be another way! We can’t do this!”

Sae stepped forward, his face set in grim determination. “The rules are clear. There isn’t another way.”

The old man’s lips quivered as he forced a weak smile. “You’ve been so kind to me. Kinder than anyone has been in years. That’s why I’ll let you disarm it. At least I can do one good thing before it’s over.”

Your eyes burned with unshed tears as you clenched your fists. “But why? Why are you doing this? Why would you stay here? The real world—”

“The real world?” Seiichi cut you off, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “The real world threw me away. I worked my whole life, gave everything I had, only to be left with nothing. My wife’s gone. My body’s falling apart, and I couldn’t even afford to die in peace. Here…” He gestured around the building. “Here, I’m somebody. I’m alive. I’m... free.”

You stared at him, your chest tight. “What happens if we win? If we beat all the games? Do we just… replace the game masters?”

Seiichi’s smile faltered, his expression unreadable. “You’ll find out after you beat the last game.”

“That’s not an answer,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“It’s the only one I can give,” he said softly.

With trembling hands, you reached for the bomb strapped to his chest. Seiichi remained eerily still, his weary eyes watching your every move. You could feel Sae’s tense presence behind you, his unspoken support grounding you as you worked to disarm the device.

Finally, with a soft click, the main bomb’s timer froze. 

00:00:15 

You let out a shuddering breath, relief washing over you.

But Seiichi wasn’t smiling. He looked down at his abdomen and then back at you, tears brimming in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you everything.”

“What?” Your stomach dropped as he pulled his shirt up, revealing a smaller bomb strapped to his stomach. The timer blinked rapidly. 

00:00:01

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, we can stop this! There has to be a way!”

“It’s too late,” he murmured, his voice steady now. “This is my punishment for losing, for trying to survive as the Jack. But... thank you. You gave me something I hadn’t felt in years—kindness.”

The timer reached zero before you could say another word. 

A deafening explosion rocked the room, and blood and viscera splattered everywhere. You felt warm droplets hit your face and arms, your vision blurring as the horror unfolded.

Sae grabbed your arm, pulling you back as the shock set in. His voice was distant, his words muffled by the ringing in your ears. All you could do was stare at the spot where Seiichi had been standing, now reduced to nothing but a memory and a pool of blood.

Sae knelt beside you, his face grim but calm. “It’s over,” he said, pulling you to your feet.

You couldn’t speak. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on you, suffocating. As the congratulations chimed on the surviving players’ phones, you realized there was no victory here.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

The memory haunted you, a weight you carried but rarely spoke of. You were just 12 years old when your world began to crumble. It started with a phone call—a desperate call for help as your grandmother gasped for air, her frail body struggling to keep going. You’d fumbled with the phone, trembling as you dialed 911, your heart pounding in your chest.

The ambulance came quickly, sirens screaming through the quiet neighborhood as it whisked her away. You clutched your little sister’s hand tightly, her 8-year-old face pale with fear. “She’ll be okay,” you whispered, trying to sound sure for her sake. But deep down, you weren’t.

At the hospital, they admitted your grandmother immediately. The doctors spoke in hurried voices, throwing around words you didn’t fully understand: “surgery,” “critical condition,” “insurance.”

Insurance.

The word stuck in your mind like a thorn when the hospital administrator pulled you aside, explaining in the coldest, most detached tone that without insurance or the ability to pay, the surgery couldn’t happen.

You pleaded, tears streaming down your face as you begged them to save her. “Please! She’s all we have!”

But they shook their heads, their sympathy overshadowed by policy. They told you to take her home.

At just 12, you became the caretaker. You and your sister tried to make sense of medicine schedules and meals. Your hands, still clumsy and small, learned how to hold a damp cloth against your grandmother’s feverish forehead. You watched her grow weaker with every passing day, her once-strong voice now barely a whisper.

Your sister would cry herself to sleep most nights, and you’d sit beside her, stroking her hair and promising her that you’d figure something out. But you didn’t know how.

Eventually, your grandmother passed away in her sleep, leaving a void that nothing could fill. 

The system stepped in after that, deciding you and your sister were too young to stay together. Despite your protests, your pleas, they separated you—sent you to different foster homes.

You were shattered, but you refused to give up. You clung to the one thing you could control: your education. You threw yourself into school, finding solace in textbooks and the hope of a future where you could take back the reins of your life.

Every scholarship application was a lifeline, every exam a stepping stone. You worked tirelessly, fueled by the memory of your grandmother’s love and your sister’s smile.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

The night was suffocating, heavy with silence that stretched endlessly between you and Sae. Your legs moved mechanically, one foot in front of the other, but your mind was somewhere far away, buried under the weight of the last game. 

Blood clung to you, drying into your clothes, your skin, your hair. You looked like you bathed in it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Sae walked a step ahead, his sharp eyes scanning the area until they landed on a building with a generator buzzing faintly outside. He stopped, glancing back at you, his brow furrowed with concern.

“We’ll check here,” he said, his voice low but firm. “There might be water inside.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t even look at him. Your legs continued moving only because his hand wrapped around your wrist, guiding you forward when you stopped. His touch was gentle, yet firm enough to pull you out of your daze, if only for a second.

The generator buzzed faintly as Sae pushed open the door. Inside, dim lights flickered to life, revealing an old but functioning water system. He walked over, testing the tap. Clear water poured out, and he exhaled softly, satisfied.

“Sit,” he said, glancing at you. His tone wasn’t sharp, but it left no room for argument.

You obeyed mechanically, sinking onto a low bench nearby. The blood, now sticky and drying, clung to your clothes and skin. Without waiting for you to protest—not that you would—Sae filled a bucket with water, grabbed a nearby cloth, and knelt in front of you.

The first splash of cold water on your hands made you flinch slightly, but you didn’t pull away. Sae worked silently, pouring water over your skin, the dried blood swirling down in faint red spirals. He didn’t look at your face as he rubbed your arms clean, methodically wiping away every trace of the nightmare you’d lived through.

He moved to your face, his touch gentler now as he dabbed the cloth over your cheeks. The coolness of the water stung where your skin was raw, but still, you stayed silent, your gaze fixed somewhere past him.

“You don’t have to talk,” he murmured, dipping the cloth into the water again. “But don’t shut down completely. Not from me.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, but you couldn’t muster a response. He tilted your chin up slightly, washing away the streaks of blood on your neck and jaw. His hand was steady, his movements careful.

You didn’t react, didn’t meet his eyes. Sae worked silently for a while, pouring water over your hair to rinse out the dried blood clinging to it. The water dripped down in rivulets, pooling around your feet, carrying away the evidence of everything you’d endured.

The weight of it all finally crushed you, and the words spilled out before you could stop them. “I can’t do this anymore,” you said, your voice trembling, raw. “I can’t keep going like this. It just—it never ends.”

Sae froze, standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable. You felt his eyes on you, but it only made the emotions boil over faster.

“I tried to pretend,” you continued, your voice rising, frantic now. “I thought I could find hope when Anri told us that collecting the deck was a lie. But I can’t—I can’t! What’s the point of all this? Why are we even fighting? The real world isn’t any better than this place!”

Your chest heaved as you fought for breath, your hands gesturing wildly, aimlessly. You paced the small space, unable to stay still, as if movement could somehow release the storm raging inside you.

“Just relax,” Sae said quietly, his voice calm but firm, trying to anchor you. 

“Relax?” you snapped, turning on him, your voice sharp with desperation. “How am I supposed to relax, Sae? Every day, it’s another game, another death, another reason to keep losing pieces of myself. And for what? To go back to a world that’s just as cruel? Tell me how that’s worth it!”

Sae stepped closer, his expression softening in a way that caught you off guard. But the weight of everything—the games, the deaths, the lies—was too much to bear. You backed away, your hands trembling. “Let’s just get out of here,” you muttered, your voice cracking under the strain.

You weren’t lying—you were grateful for him. But gratitude couldn’t stop the mental exhaustion tearing you apart. Your legs carried you down the empty streets, Sae keeping pace a few steps behind, his silence unnerving yet oddly comforting.

Then, it happened.

A sack was suddenly thrown over your head, rough hands yanking you backward before you could scream. You felt yourself being shoved into a car, the cold press of a gun barrel against your temple freezing your blood.

Your mind raced, but your body stayed limp, unresponsive. You were too drained, too dead inside to even react. It was as if your spirit had been snuffed out, leaving only a shell to endure whatever came next.

The car sped off, the rough motion making you dizzy. The sack over your head limited the already stifling air, and you began to feel the sharp pangs of oxygen deprivation. Each breath grew shallower, your lungs straining against the suffocating fabric. Your heart pounded in your ears, but even fear felt distant—a dull ache compared to everything else you’d been through.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang. The car jerked violently, the tires screeching as it swerved out of control. You felt the rear tires pop, the vehicle lurching to one side before skidding to a halt.

Before you could process what was happening, chaos erupted. Gunshots rang out, deafening and sharp, followed by sounds of shouting. Then, you felt hands grabbing you and pulling you out of the car.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

You awoke to the sensation of cold water splashing onto your face. Gasping, you bolted upright, disoriented and panicked. Your heart raced as you muttered under your breath, “Sae….”

Your eyes darted around the dimly lit room. It was small and barren, with a few scattered supplies and a faint smell of smoke in the air. Then, you noticed him—a man with spiky, dark purple hair, a teasing smile playing on his lips. .

“Oi, relax, princess,” he drawled, his thick accent making the words sound both casual and cutting. “Yer not dead… yet.” He chuckled, his teasing tone laced with something almost mocking. “Though with that panicked look on yer face, maybe ya wish ya were.”

You scowled and backed away, only to notice another man lounging nearby. His hair was short and flat, mostly white except for a strand in the middle that was dark green, matching the underside of his hair. He leaned against the wall, smirking at you, his posture lazy yet somehow predatory.

“You’ve got quite the voice when you’re panicking,” he quipped, his tone smooth and flirtatious. “Almost makes me want to hear you scream again—though maybe for a different reason.” His dark green eyes sparkled with mischief as he winked.

Your skin crawled, and you instinctively put more distance between yourself and the two strangers. “Who the hell are you? And why did you save me?”

The purple-haired man snorted. “Save ya? Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. We didn’t save you.” He jerked his thumb toward the other side of the room. “He did.”

Confused, you followed his gesture to see a figure crouched by a campfire at the far end of the room. The man wasn’t facing you, his broad shoulders illuminated by the flickering flames. He seemed focused, stirring something in a pot over the fire.

“Barou?” The name left your lips in disbelief as he turned slightly, the light catching his unmistakable bloodshot eyes.

For a moment, you almost didn’t recognize him. His usual spiked hair was down, framing his face in a disheveled mess. The harsh lines of his features looked softer, though his intense gaze remained as sharp as ever.

“You’re finally awake,” Barou said gruffly, his voice low and steady. He turned back to the fire, dismissing your shock like it was nothing.

You blinked in surprise. “So, you were the one who saved me?” you asked, your voice soft but edged with curiosity.

Barou didn’t look up from the fire. He didn’t even acknowledge the question. His focus remained on the pot as he stirred its contents, the quiet crackle of the flames filling the silence.

You hesitated, then pressed further. “What happened to you after the bombing? Where did you go?”

He didn’t respond. Not even a glance in your direction. Instead, he grabbed a metal bowl, poured some soup into it, and handed it to you without ceremony.

“Eat,” he grunted. His tone left no room for argument.

You frowned, taking the bowl but still pressing. “Barou, you can’t just show up out of nowhere and expect me to—”

“I need your help to take down the King of Spades.” His sharp voice cut through your protest like a blade.

Your jaw tightened. “Barou, I can’t just—”

“Eat,” he repeated, already turning to leave. “You’ll need your strength. I’m not wasting time on your whining.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving you in stunned silence.

You stared after him for a moment, then looked down at the steaming bowl in your hands. Despite your frustration, you took a sip of the soup. The rich, savory flavor hit your tongue, warming you from the inside. Typical Barou. Even in a world like this, he somehow made the best food.

As you ate, the two other men—Otoya and Karasu, as they had introduced themselves earlier—approached and settled nearby.

“So, what’s your deal?” Otoya asked, leaning back against the wall with a casual smirk.

You glanced up at him, unsure of how much to say. “I can’t help you. I need to find Sae,” you admitted, your voice firm.

Otoya raised an eyebrow at that. “Itoshi Sae? That’s who you’re looking for?”

Your eyes widened slightly, surprised he knew the name. “Yeah... wait, do you know him?”

Karasu laughed, the sound low and amused. “Do we know him?” He exchanged a look with Otoya, who chuckled as well.

You tilted your head, confused. “What? Why is that funny?”

Otoya leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You really don’t know what he did before he came here?”

You frowned, your gaze flickering between the two of them. “I do know. He’s a soccer player. Why? Was he famous or something?”

Both men froze, staring at you in disbelief. Otoya blinked, his expression somewhere between shock and exasperation. “Was he famous?” he repeated, his voice tinged with incredulity. “You really don’t know who you’ve been hanging around with, do you?”

Your cheeks flushed slightly, but you straightened your back. “I knew he was good at soccer, okay? He told me. I just didn’t realize he was... that famous.”

Karasu smirked, leaning back again. “Well, now you do. You’re rolling with someone who’s been in the spotlight his whole life. No wonder you’re trying to find him—he probably makes a great bodyguard.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but decided not to.

───🃁🃜🃚🃖🂭🂺🃁───

You really wanted to escape that day. Just give your thanks and run away to find Sae. But your body was too worn down, your mind too frazzled. If you tried to leave, you’d probably collapse somewhere along the way. Staying with Barou and the others felt like your only option, even if it gnawed at your pride.

The more time you spent with the trio, the heavier the weight of your insecurities became. Watching Otoya and Karasu move with precision and ease while Barou commanded the group with unshakable authority only served to remind you of how useless you felt. Every task Barou gave you seemed to highlight your flaws, but you couldn’t bring yourself to argue. Guilt gripped you tightly, reminding you how much of a burden you must have been to Sae—yet he never once complained.

Over time, you pieced together the answers to the questions you’d asked Barou before. After the bombing of your previous shelter and before being scouted to the Beach, Barou had established a sort of trailer park community in the outskirts. He still carried himself like the all-powerful king, but to his credit, he worked just as hard as anyone else. He protected the residents, shared resources, and upheld a semblance of order. His gruff demeanor remained, but there was an undeniable sense of responsibility behind it.

For reasons you couldn’t entirely explain, you began following Barou’s orders without question. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was the desperate need to keep moving, to keep your mind occupied. Whatever the reason, you found yourself falling into a rhythm, no matter how uncomfortable it made you feel.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and cast the trailer park in a warm, orange glow, you sat by yourself, staring at the skyline. Exhaustion seeped into your bones, but the stillness gave you space to reflect.

Barou’s voice broke the silence. “Still sitting there like a lump?”

You turned to see him standing a few feet away, his arms crossed and his usual scowl in place.

“I’m not a lump,” you muttered, but the fight in your voice was weak.

He stepped closer, his towering figure casting a long shadow over you. “You’ve been moping around long enough. Either do something useful or stop wasting everyone’s time.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m trying, okay? I’m just—” You stopped yourself, unsure of what to say.

Barou huffed, his gaze softening ever so slightly. “Trying doesn’t cut it in this place.”

His words stung, but deep down, you knew he was right.

You looked up at him, determination flickering in your eyes. “Then give me something to do. Something real. I’ll pull my weight.”

Barou smirked faintly, his sharp eyes gleaming in the fading light. “Good. Don’t make me regret saving your sorry ass.”

As he walked away, you felt a strange sense of resolve settle over you. You weren’t sure if you’d ever stop feeling like a burden, but for now, you’d keep moving forward. And when you found Sae again, you’d make sure to thank him properly—for everything.

if you enjoyed my work please consider donating on ko-fi ^^

[worldofkuro]

idk if it sounds selfish but i need more comfort in my life rn, so i wanna ask for help.

if it's not really a big deal, i wanna see some comfort between alastor and reader when they were teens. maybe after he already told her that he wants to marry her, and something made her feel insecure and bad about herself. so she called Marie and ask Alastor to come, so she could lie down in his arms and listen him telling her that he loves her anyway.

or any other plots because I'll be okay with everything if it's fluff. thank you.

Of course dearest, anything for you to feel better. For those who will notice it, their last sentence is from the song “ Follow You” by Bring me the Horizon. I love this song and I thought it was pretty fitting. So here ,my dear, this scenario isn’t very long but I hope it will make you feel better. 

Follow You

You were coming back from school, trying to contain your tears. 

You had told Alice about Alastor’s wedding proposal and she was excited for you but some other girls heard you and made fun of you. How could a man see you desirable enough to be his wife? Most of the time, you didn’t care about their vile words, but you didn’t know why, today it was hurtful. Of course, Alice had taken your side immediately swearing at them like a sailor.

You didn’t greet your parents as you went immediately into your bedroom, hiding yourself under the blankets. You couldn’t even look at yourself in the mirror. Were you even worth being Alastor’s wife? He would always say you were “endearingly stupid”, did it mean he saw you as a stupid girl? Was he manipulating you?

Were you worth being special to someone’s heart?

You jerked your head up as you heard a knock on your window. You wiped your eyes and saw Alastor, his fist against the glass, staring at you. You opened the window quickly, scared he would fall.

“ Alastor, what are you doing here?”

“ I heard my mother talking with yours through the telephone, saying you didn’t feel well, so I came to check on you.” he entered your room, looking at you. You saw his eyes stopped at your tearied one. You tried to look away but he gripped your face, making sure he could watch your expression. “ Who?”

“ What..?”

“ Who made you cry?” he said with a gentle smile but his eyes had a dark glint.

“ No one.. It’s just… Am I worth it , Alastor?”

You gasped as Alastor forced you to lay on your bed, pushing something soft in your arms. Looking down on it you almost cried some more as you saw Eamon staring back at you. You squeezed it against your chest as Alastor laid next to you, observing your face.

“ Dearest, you’re just like a jewel. Being desired by people and those who can't have you are jealous. You are like a fresh breeze in summer, so short and yet so welcomed. You are much more than how you perceive yourself.”

“ But.. I feel like I’m going to be a useless wife…”

“ Hah! You, my dear, a useless wife? You could be doing nothing at home, as long as you are waiting for me, I would feel the happiest. But why would you think that? You have always been to my side, always accepted me. Why would I choose someone else to be next to me for my entire life? How could I look at anyone else now that my eyes have seen you?”

“ Alastor.. Do you love me…?”

He looked perplexed but wrapped his arms around your body, staring at your eyes without blinking.

“ I don’t know what love is about. But if loving you is wanting to devour you all, to protect you, you have your attention on me all the time, then I guess.. that I love you. But please, dearest, remember that even though I adore you, more than anything, my love is tainted with darkness. No matter how much I’m obsessed with you, I’ll drag you down to hell with me. I'm telling you, you're all I need, I promise you, you're all I see. I’ll never leave.” he stared at you, waiting for your answer.

“ I’ll follow you.’ you breathed, staring at his chocolate eyes. “So dig two graves because when you die, I swear I'll be leaving by your side. So you can drag me through hell, I’ll follow you.” you smiled sweetly at him as he beamed at your words, his cheeks flushed. He squeezed you against his body, Eamon between the both of you. 

You would always be together, the both of you. Alastor would always be by your side, like a curse, clawing at you to keep you from leaving, even if you would never think such a thing.

Your love was twisted, tainted in dark obsession but it was perfect for the both of you. Maybe people wouldn’t consider it as love, but you knew deep inside, Alastor would always chase after you if you were to run away. If you were to run away because of your feelings, your fears, everything, the only person who would chase you would be Alastor. And you knew he would never stop.

He would follow you.

[propheticbride]

Lamb to Slaughter I

𐙚 Following Aegon's crowning of King, you attempt to settle into your new reality, with absolutely idea of what is happening around you. Your only company? The one eyed Prince himself.

𐙚 Aemond Targaryen x Reader (tw: manipulation, slight non-con, incest)

The nights following Aegon’s coronation were chaotic, whisperings of Rhaenyra’s claim lay about plainly as others argued the whore was not the rightful heir after all. Doors remained closed tight, no one talked too loud, servants kept to themselves. War was brewing, that was for certain.

You remembered the night your father died, your mother had snuck into your room and had gently woke you up. Cradled you as she gave you the news, you being the only Viserys doted on after Rhaenyra. And in some sick way, Alicent was sure you were her favorite too.

At first you did not comprehend how he was dead. He was not in good health, but to die so suddenly had left you confused.

‘My sweetling, he was not well. You saw. So weak, so poor in health.’ she spoke as she pet your hair.

Tears caked your face, hair matted to your skin, ‘I just don't understand.’

She sighed, ‘My poor girl.’

When Alicent had left that night, you had felt a void inside. Heartbroken and scared at the news. You found yourself in a familiar place, slipping out of your own chambers and into Aemonds. You wouldn't bother Aegon at that hour, him too drunk to even wake or want to comfort you. So instead you slipped into your more understanding brother’s space, the one who gently held you when you were scared and kissed you so gently.

But now, everyone's attention had been guided to Rhaenyra and her war. Everyone in the keep insisting she would come with fire and blood. And where you would seek Aegon’s affections, it would now be shunned upon. He was married after all, with two children and now king. He could no longer lie in bed and keep you entertained with his flea bottom stories.

✮⋆˙

“He's too busy now brother, too busy for me.” you complain, stitching at Aemond’s ripped attire. “He drinks a lot, I know this. But never stops by my chambers anymore. He must be so occupied with being king.”

Aemond doesn't reply, just makes an agreeing sound as his one eye watches you sew.

“How is Helaena? I know you two spend time together, she will not speak to me either. I wish she would, I get so lonely.”

“I talk to you.” Aemond reminds you.

You nod, giving him a gentle smile, “You’re always so good to me brother.”

His hand finds your arm, gently rubbing you to calm you.

“No one tells me anything. It’s…” tears form in your eyes.

“My love…”

“No!” you slam his arm away, getting up and begin to pace. “You are not to call me that! You are gone for days, on that beast you claim to be a dragon. Mother will not come visit me, Aegon has completely shunned me. Cole will not look at me and my dear sister will not speak to me. I am going insane in my room. Please. Please, what is happening?”

Aemond studies you for a moment, as if he were examining your outburst.

“I’ve never known you to yell. At all people, me.” he finally speaks.

It hurts you. The pain that settles in your chest after his words are enough to make you sick.

“I did not mean-” you return to him, placing your hand on his shoulder. “Please forgive me. I cannot stand if you are mad at me. I am losing my sanity. I'm so lonely.”

“Am I not enough to keep you happy?” he questions.

“I miss our mother, and our brother.” you admit. “When father was alive I wasn't so…lonely.”

“Because he kept you company.”

“I just want Aegon to visit again. Or mother. Or even Haelena. Please just ask them. Ser Kavvin does not let me leave ever. It’s like I am a prisoner.” it’s almost as if you were praying to the gods. Gentle and begging. Please please please.

Aemond is silent again, until he rises and kisses your head, “I’ll tell mother and brother to visit you my sweetling, it must be so awful for you to be cooped up in here, I am sorry Vhagar has my interests as of late. My priority has always been you.”

You beam at his words, the remembrance of your outburst a memory it seemed. Although the court was terrified of Aemond, you were not. Perhaps some of you was, but he was gentle and sweet to you, you almost had no reason to be scared. He took care of you, bringing you jewelry and new gowns, dining with you in place of your mother. He was the only human interaction you had gotten as of late, everyone else so preoccupied with Aegon.

“Is it?” you ask. Out of place, and you know it, but you cannot help yourself.

“I always thought we’d marry. Aegon had Haelena, but who has you, but me.” Aemond begins to cup your face. “I enjoy our time together, but there are matters I must attend to this afternoon. But don't worry, I will have mother or Aegon visit you.”

You struggle to understand his words, “What do you mean. Have me?”

He smiles and shakes his head, giving you a kiss on the lips before finding himself out of your chamber.

✮⋆˙

If anything Aemond does well, it's keep a promise. As he said, Alicent finds herself in your chambers a little after nightfall. She had maids run you a hot bath, your white hair gently slipping through her fingers as she brushed it.

“Why haven't you visited me?” you finally ask after too much silence.

“Aegon is being prepared to finally rule, I have been attending to it.” she says. “I am sorry, I haven't seen to you. I do feel bad.”

“Why must I be confined to my chambers.” you turn to her, violet eyes looking up at her.

“I do not trust…” she tries to collect her thoughts, not sure how to word it for you to understand best. “Aegon thinks it’s best if you are under protection. He thinks you might be a target for Rhaenyra’s anger.”

“Rhaenyra.” you say your sister’s name. “Rhaenyra is upset that father replaced her as heir?”

“Yes my sweet. She is upset that your father changed his mind about the succession. He decided he wanted Aegon on the throne after all.”

“I miss him.” you say after a while. “He was very sick…but he kept me company.”

“I am sorry, I am. I know it is no excuse but you must forgive and understand how daunting this has all been. So much has been done and needs to be done, the realm may be at war soon-”

“At war?” you interject, worry in your tone. “War? Why war?”

Alicent catches herself, she has slipped.

‘Do not mention the mess with Rhaenyra to her, I would not have her worry’ Aegon’s voice played in her head.

“No war my sweet, I only forget myself. I am sure Aegon will come to peace with Rhaenyra, and maybe she will even be seen back in the keep. You’d like that, right? I know you were fond of her son, Jacerys, I know you two were close.” Alicent goes back to braiding your hair, scared her words have put unrest in you. You did scare rather too easy.

“I don't want anyone at war.” you murmur.

“No war.” Alicent nods. “Aegon will be a good king, and make peace. I know it.”

✮⋆˙

If you were honest, you were close to Jacerys, spending time in the garden together and studying. Rhaenyra had taken a liking to you, mostly due to your shared father also taking a liking to you. You were not close with Lucerys, you did not know him well. You did not spend time with him nor were you very thoughtful towards him. No time truly spent between you.

So news of his death broke the in the red keep, you found yourself indifferent. No tears were shed, but your heart hurt for Jacerys.

Aemond had returned from dragon back, Aegon so delighted of his brother's victory, the murder of a child, that a feast was thrown. You were allowed in your finest green silk and finally allowed out of your chambers, where you sat among several counsel members and your family along with some court attendees. Aemond had been silent for most of the feast, ignoring the praise he had received, most of them insults for Rhaenyra. You watched him closely, hoping, begging he would make eye contact with you. But he did not.

For hours it went on like this, Aemond slowly sipping and eating at the feast presented in front of him, not truly present at the party that was all for him and his victory.

Aegon, ever drunk, was quite present. Too present.

“My sweet sister!” his voice calls, and you turn to him. “Where have you been hiding?”

“My chambers, on your ruling.” you murmur.

“My ruling? Why would I ever…” he hiccups and slams himself down in the chair beside you. “I have missed you soooo much. Your absence has been noted, why do you scorn me so?”

His words don't make sense to you. Your mother’s words and now his, dancing in your head. You hadn't noticed, not truly noticed, until you briefly look at him, that Aemond is staring at you. For the first time in the entire night, he simply stares. But his gaze is far from comforting.

“I’ve been in my chamber, lonely.” you admit, looking back at Aegon.

“Well…I have missed you my girl, so much. It's so lonely…” he whispers the next part, “my bed… has been rather lonely.”

Aemond stands, everyone quickly glancing at him. He excuses himself from the table, with Aegon’s hand on you all you truly can do is watch.

“He’s upset” you mention.

“Ah yes. He’s been so moody since that business with the dragons. Don't know why though. They're all traitors. I’ll have all of their heads.” Aegon smells like alcohol, a smell you’re familiar with but still sensitive to.

“Aegon!” your mother’s voice rings. “I do wish you would not speak of such things with her, you know better.”

Alicent attempts to pull Aegon up from beside you, but he is quick to shove her away. You stand, shocked at the whole ordeal.

“I think I will head to bed.” you insist.

“I think that would be best, sweetling.” Alicent nods.

When you enter your chambers, you don't notice Aemond at first. He's facing the bookshelf, one your late father filled with stories of old and history. The one thing you both bonded over.

When you do notice him, it’s when you're half naked, pulling your sleeping slip on.

“Your skin is always so beautiful.” his voice startles you.

“Aemond!” you jump, clinging to your fur blanket, attempting to cover yourself.

“I've seen you already, have you forgotten me already?” you're not sure if he's as drunk as your other brother was, but his voice is calm and almost soothing.

“You should be in bed, the hour is late and I know you are upset.” you try to reason with him, knowing that when he is upset he is easiest to get to.

“But you always grant me so much comfort.” Aemond steps towards you, allowing his hand to cup your face, thumb lining your lips. “Do you remember the night I lost my eye. I was in so much pain. And you found me, alerted the guards to me. And that night, before we left, you let me in your bed for the first time. And we laid there together in peace.”

You watch his face as he talks, there's always been a certain amount of devotion you showed Aemond. That night you had found your cousins and him, screaming at the top of your lungs that alerted the guards to the situation. And he was not wrong. That night Aemond had been restless, in pain over his lost eye. Where your mother usually slept beside you, she had taken a leave of absence from your bed that night, allowing Aemond to replace her.

“You were always so sweet to me, where they laughed, you had always welcomed me. For dolls, for tea…for anything. So gentle. So kind.” Aemond sounds breathless, like he was praying.

“Aemond-”

“Shhhhh.” he licks your closed lips, causing you to gasp.

Aemond was always strict with the affection he gave you; always keeping his hands to himself, always to be careful that your mother did not catch a glimpse of how hungrily he would stare at you. But never this brazen. You did not know what to make of it.

“Please.” you beg. “We can't-”

“Can't what. You have no husband, and I have no wife. This is right. We were born to be together.” Aemond presses his forehead towards you. “Ever since that night I lost my eye, and you welcomed me so warmly into your bed I have wanted you since. Why won't you let me take you?”

“We can't…Aegon…he-”

Aemond’s face twists in anger, “Don't mention him! Do not speak of him!”

The outburst scares you, taking a step back and clutching your fur tighter.

“Drop it.” his face changes, as does his voice. His entire demeanor shifts. He unclips his cloak from his armor, letting the fabric fall to your chamber floor. “I said…drop it”

You drop the fur immediately, standing there almost bare for him. He looks over body, with a hungry gaze and a curious eye. Your slip was a thin silk, something your mother would die if she ever found you dressed in. But the sun had been hot as of late, and her nightgowns were too heavy. The several slips had been a gift of Aemond, now you had known why.

“I have waited years for you. Years for you to come to your senses of what I am to you. What you are to me. I am sick of waiting my sweet, I need you now. And I will have you now.” Aemond’s hands gently pull your slip down, allowing your naked body to be in full view for him. “You’re mine. You always have been. I just need to prove it to you."

[jenchan-writingmultis]

Twisted Wonderland Boys x Fem Reader in their respective Fairytales (Series)

─────❅───── This was an ask by @cartoonykat I couldn't compile it in the inbox, m sorryyy (╥﹏╥) "Hi, I was wondering if you could do a Twisted Wonderland Boys (Except ortho) x Reader, Where they are in their respective Disney tale, or a fairytale that fits their character?" A/n: This is a pretty broad idea that makes me want to do a whole series about it! Maybe I’ll do everyone… but first I’ll put housewardens and their vice housewardens first! Thank you for requesting this! I was a bit lost how I can do this one but hopefully I hit the right point! It’ll be split into a series, cause when I was writing I realized, it got long. Hope you like it! About the Gender, I put fem, but the gender wasn't that specific in each part, it's very vague. Masterlist

─────❅───── Content Warning: This Fic will be tagged as 16+ since it is a bit suggestive along with mentions of Gorey themes (Azul), it’s very vague. I haven’t finished Book 6 and Book 7 because I’m stuck in Tartarus, but they’re not done here yet. Riddle (Suggestive Themes), Leona (Cussing, Blood mention), Azul (Obsession, Manipulation, Cussing once, Potential Cannibalism? (He eats merpeople who are turned into Polyps). The reason for potential OOC was cause I mixed both the classic Villains with the personality of our beloved boys Due to the Tumblr Limit, Each one will be divided unfortunately, hopefully it's an easy navigation for all of you! ─────❅─────

First Batch would be: Riddle, Leona, Azul Second Batch would be: Kalim, Idia, Malleus

List of Villains interconnecting with each character:

Riddle = Queen of Hearts

Leona = Scar

Azul = Ursula

─────❅───── Sypnosis: After an experiment gone wrong, you and Grim along with Deuce concocted a potion that exploded in your face, you fell into deep slumber, and due to the effects of the potion, it caused you to dream about your boyfriend/s reigning as their… villain counterparts?! And why are you in the outfit of the main character? What’s going on? ─────❅───── Riddle:

When you woke up as Alice, you didn’t expect to see Riddle in his housewarden outfit. This time, however, he was acting a bit strange. By strange, he was hostile with you, reminding you of the time when he was still in his strict, crazy, unjust ruler phase.

You thought that you were probably dreaming because there’s no way Riddle would ever be rough with you like this. Even before, he was often gentle with you, especially knowing that you were magicless. He was harsh with his words, sure, but he never laid a finger on you. The only time he did was during his overblot, but after that, he was the softest man you’d ever encountered.

“State your name,” he glanced at your figure sprawled down Infront of him, voice amplified with authority as he gripped a staff adorned with a heart symbol. He was the true image of a king—or rather, a queen. His authoritative presence reminded you of the true Queen of Hearts, whom he admired and aspired to emulate.

“Riddle don’t be ridiculous” You were hurt that he didn’t remember you since you two were practically dating in the real world, a vein throbbed on his head, patience running thin. He slammed his staff on the ground, the force sending shockwaves through the air and producing a loud clang. "I said, state. your. name.” he glared down at you, looking at you as if you were a feeble flea in front of him. "You're quite bold talking back to me"

Getting intimidated, you immediately stated your name as well as the reason why you were here truthfully, at first, he wanted to laugh at your face, transported to another world? Don’t be stupid, as if he’d believe you.

You managed to convince him that you truly were not from here by pointing out the fact that he didn’t know who you were despite ruling Wonderland. He, as the ruler, should have data on every citizen of his region, right?

That made him pause. He should have beheaded you for disrespecting him in front of his people, but you did have a point; Despite his anger issues and his pride taller than himself, he listened to what you said. “I see” tracing his fingers along the side of his staff. Narrowing his eyes at you, he continued, "If what you say is true, then you will have to stay here until I figure out how to send you back to your world."

“You’re helping me?” You finally lifted your head to look at his expression, wondering if he was lying or not, then again this was Riddle we’re talking about, he doesn’t do empty promises. Scoffing, he turned around to leave, the crimson mantle that draped on his shoulders fluttered prettily, he really was pretty.

“I rather have you gone than stay here for a while longer, so please, do appreciate that I tolerate you” he walked away, soldiers bowing in sync as he left the throne, “Trey, escort them to the guest room” he added, voice fading, Trey walks towards you, offering his hand to help you stand. “Well, this is a surprise, he spared you” he chuckles a bit while you look at him incredulously, unlike Riddle who had a housewarden outfit but a bit more exaggerated; Trey looked like a completely different person with his knightly outfit, and hair still the same, albeit neater than his usual.

“Trey?” you asked, he looked confused as you are, “Yeah? My name’s Trey Clover, you heard your royal highness, you get special treatment” Straight to the point as always, he ushers you to the guest room.

Sitting down on the soft bed, you didn’t know what to do next, will Riddle find a way to get you back home? Wake you up? You didn’t know, but you felt comforted by the fact that some familiar faces were around, despite them not knowing you.

Riddle didn’t understand himself; he kept a close eye on you while you were free to roam his territory. Truthfully, he was going to punish you, when he heard the news about a rat skewering and destroying some of his lands; however the moment he saw you, he felt an odd feeling as if he knew you, keeping his stoic façade as you were pushed inside and in front of him, he was going to be rough as usual with criminals, but for some reason, he really couldn’t with you.

You also acted as if you knew him with the way you looked at him and the way you got hurt with his harsh tone. Seeing you wither infront of him made his heart feel unpleasant and he didn’t want to see that expression you again, so he decided to stop talking to you; It was unlike him to not only halt your punishment but also offer you a bed to sleep in and have his servants feed you.

Should he be worried that you have that kind of effect on him? He could guillotine you any time, but the way you unconsciously trusted him, thinking about having you executed made him feel bad.

Part 2 (Riddle)

[soulofapatrick]

The Beauty and the Brawn - Emmett Cullen x Reader

Summary: You try to prove to Emmett that he won’t hurt you with his enhanced strengths

Words: 2k

Warnings: Oral (F!recieving) 

Notes: idk what this is really, just had the idea for a few days 

Y/N’s POV

Emmett is strong, stronger than most vampires having gotten enhanced strength when he was changed. He’s always seen it as an added perk as it’s not something drastic like Alice’s future telling or Benjamin’s elemental manipulations, it was just that he was a little stronger than the others. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Then he met me and now, as much as I tell him otherwise, he sees his strength as a curse. He gets scared he’ll get too carried away with me, forget I’m still human and accidentally hurt me or kill me. As much as I reassure Emmett that he could never hurt me he will still try and avoid the topic, kissing me the most he trust himself to do. Every time we get hot and heavy and I guide things on a little he backs up with that pained look in his eyes. Everything about him screams that he wants me back but the pain in his eyes tells me he’s scared which always catches me off guard as this is Emmett Cullen. Outgoing, loud and loving Emmett… too scared to even touch me at times despite how much his feelings were mutual. 

Today is no different and I decide to take a different approach, even if it doesn’t mean sex. I just want Emmett to see that he can trust himself with me and that I’m not as fragile as he thinks. We’re sat on his bed, a bed he got Carlisle to get without specifying why. The Cullen’s don’t know me yet except maybe Alice and Edward because of their gifts but they apparently haven’t said anything to the others. Emmett doesn’t want them to all bombard me and he’s also worried about how Rosalie will take it that he’s moved on already which I understand and I agreed to take it as slow as he wants with meeting them.

Emmett’s hand is on my thighs as we sit shoulder to shoulder, watching a movie on the TV he also had installed. I’m barely paying attention to it though, focusing on his icy touch on my bare skin, being in only shorts as it’s just us here for another day to two. Emmett said the others had gone on a hunting trip and he elected to say home. I say fuck it, it’s now or never so I’m turning my body to face him, reaching over to cup his cheek and I ask, “Do you trust me?” 

“Of course I do, why-“ He’s frowning until I begin shifting, moving onto my knees and turning my body towards him, “Y/N, I-“

“Just trust me baby,” I stroke his cheek reassuringly, watching him lean into my palm and those beautiful golden eyes flutter shut for a moment. With Emmett’s eyes still closed I shift my body further until I’m straddling him, legs either side of his thick thighs. His muscles tense as he realises I’m seated, arms resisting ever so slightly when I guide his hands to my hips, holding them there to show him that he won’t hurt me. The heat seems to rise between us as I lean in, lips almost touching his as I whisper, “Emmett, I trust you. I trust you with everything.” 

His eyes fly open at this, the confusion and fear in them until he sees I’m not lying to him, keeping my face open and honestly so he can see the trust and love and it works as his expression softens, “Y/N.” He’s whispering, voice filled with emotions that I can’t quite decipher so I just lean forwards again and capture his lips in a gentle and pliant kiss. The kiss is tender and slow, as if we’re exploring each other for the first time. My heart is racing as I feel the softness of his lips against mine, the taste of him sweet and familiar, the tension in Emmett’s body slowly melting away as he gets lost in the kiss so I take another risk and deep it. Emmett’s hands are moving up and down my sides and back, testing the waters cautiously and the feel of his hands on my skin sends shivers down my spine, knowing I want more. 

Too soon am I having to break the kiss as unlike Emmett I still need to consume oxygen. His golden eyes have darkened a little with love and desire, a soft sound leaving him when I caress his cheek gently, “Emmett,” My voice is a barely above a whisper, as if scared to break the moment, “I need you. Need all of you.” 

Emmett’s eyes widen in surprise at the bluntness of my words, looking at me intently as if trying to decipher if I’m really serious about what I said. I can see the mixture of emotions playing across his face - desire; love; fear and protectiveness. I stay seated in his lap as I wait for his response, letting him work through his emotions and letting him decide. He wants me but he’s afraid of hurting me, his hands retreating again so I catch them in mine and squeeze reassuringly. His eyes flick down to our interlocked hands before back to my face before he’s swallowing and mumbling out, “Start with a shower first?” 

“Whatever you want Pretty Boy.” I’m nodding, guiding one of his large hands to my cheek and pressing a kiss to his open palm before he’s surprising me and drawing me into another kiss. This one’s different, he’s not holding back as much, it’s hungrier almost. There’s an urgency to the kiss, his lips moving with more purpose as his moves to the back of my head, deepening the kiss. His other hand finds it’s way back to my waist, pulling me flush against him. It’s like he’s been holding back for so long and how he’s finally allowing himself to let go and now he can’t seem to get enough. I respond with equal fervour, my hands tangling in his hair as we explore each other’s mouths. 

Emmett’s breaking the kiss before me, standing up effortlessly and cradling me in his arms as if I weight nothing which I guess I really don’t for him. I’m wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders, holding on tight as he carries me to the bathroom, feeling his muscles tense and flex under his shirt with each step. He’s setting me on the counter, a playful smile on his face and a rumble in his chest when I squeal at how cold the counter is. He’s stealing another kiss from me before moving to turn on the shower, letting it heat up and moving back over to me, standing between my legs. He’s looking at me with a soft expression, making sure this is what I really want, his hands running over my waist and pulling back slightly to ask, “You sure about this, honey?” His eyes are filled with concern and love, making me feel even more secure in my decision. 

To prove my point I pull my shirt over my head and letting it fall to the floor, watching Emmett’s lips part slightly in a hitched breath at the sight of me now bare except for a pair of shorts. Emmett’s eyes are skimming over my body, taking in every dip and curve and scar on display to him. His hands coming up to gently trace along my arms and down my sides, as if savouring the feeling of my skin against his fingertips. Despite his obvious desire he still checks with me if this is okay, eyes flicking back up to mine every few seconds until I’m guiding his hands up to my breasts, watching his reaction. He surprises me by dragging me into such a tender and loving kiss as he explores this new territory. 

Our bodies press together, Emmett’s hands now tracing circles on my back as he deepens the kiss, his very obvious arousal pressing into my thigh but he’s taking it slow as if he’ll spook me. His lips move down my neck as he murmurs against the skin, “You’re so fucking beautiful.” His large hands grip my hips and I’m soon standing again, feeling cold fingers dip into the waistband of my shorts. 

“Please.” I’m practically begging and Emmett’s groaning into the crook of my neck, surprising me again as he sinks to his knees as he slides the shorts down my legs, throwing them aside before his gaze finds mine and I’m having to bite my lip at the sight of Emmett on his knees for me. His strong hands grip my hips as he begins nosing at my thighs, lips ghosting over them and teeth grazing until he’s nudging my legs apart enough blow cold air over my slickness, making me gasp and squirm. Before I can say or do anything those skilled lips are kissing my folds, nose bumping my clit before he licks a confident stripe up, gauging my reaction. His tongue flutters against my clit before he’s eating me like a starved man, hands gripping my hips tight enough that I can’t wriggle away from the pleasure. 

My hand is gripping his hair, the other bracing myself against the counter as he moans, sending vibrations through that oversensitive bundle of nerves. He’s dipping his tongue in and out of my core with precision and sloppiness before he moves back to my clit, my body trying to jerk away but his grip is tight enough to promise bruises and fuck that just makes everything more intense. All too soon I can feel myself starting to pulse around his tongue that hasn’t stopped fucking into me and my hands tugs almost painfully at his hair while my head falls back with a whine, my thighs trying to clamp around Emmett’s head as my vision partially whites out and all I hear is white noise, unsure if I’m crying out Emmett’s name. 

“Emm, fuck Emmett, too much.” I’m begging and he finally pulls back, looking up at me with half-lidded eyes and he looks fucking dirty, his mouth and chin shiny with my juices and his golden eyes have darkened even more. His thumbs caress my hips as he pulls himself to his feet moving to kiss me with a cheeky grin when I lightly push his face away saying, “No, clean your face first.” 

“I do believe a shower was suggested.” He agrees and I’m nodding, tugging at his shirt to which he complies, pulling it over his head and I can’t help wet my lips at how good he looks. Sure, I’ve seen Emmett change but this is different, he’s baring himself for me and me alone. His shirt reveals his chiseled abs and braid chest, my eyes roaming over his muscular physique with appreciation. His defined biceps and broad shoulders are evidence of the immense physical strength he possesses and the way his tone torso tapers down to his waist makes me want to run my hands over his hard body. As he undresses further, my gaze is drawn to his thick thighs, my heart racing against as he’s straining against his boxers and fuck, he is in no way small. The boxers barely able to contain him, the angry red head slipped past the waistband, precum wetting his v-line a little, “Come on lovely, eyes up here.” 

I tear my eyes away from his enticing bulge, feeling heat rising to my cheeks at being caught. But I can't help the desire that courses through me as I watch him step out of his boxers, completely naked before me. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I can feel the anticipation building between us as we move towards the shower. As we step under the warm water, Emmett pulls me close, his hands roaming over my wet skin as we continue to explore each other's bodies. I know this is only the beginning, and I can't wait to see what other surprises Emmett has in store for me.

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Twilight Masterlist