#ENCOURAGING HIS DEMISE

[dolicekiss]

From Friend To Foe

PAIRING: Dark!Aemond Targaryen X Strong!fem!Reader

CONTENT WARNING: smut (18+, mdni), noncon, virgin!reader, possessive aemond, friends to enemies, childhood friends, reader is from house strong, dragon riding (also riding Aemond), unprotected sex (p in v), forced kissing, breeding, angst, threats, humiliation, reader has dark hair, hair pulling, slapping, cunnilingus, mention of forced marriage, attempted murder.

SYNOPSIS: Aemond and you were childhood friends, you being the daughter of a lord and him being the Targayen prince. When the Greens and Blacks went against each other, your father’s sworn fealty to the blacks became an obstacle in your friendship and when your father was defeated, army overthrown — you were taken prisoner, kneeled before the Targaryen prince who was once your closest friend.

Swords clashed, dragon roared and knights fell after fighting bravely.

All you could do was sit idle in your room and await the promise of a better future. Only it did not come and when silence haunted the grounds of Harrenhal and everything came to a halt, you were certain your family had lost the fight.

You were mere humans, with no possession of such an almighty being.

Dragons were Gods. To be worshiped and prayed — and one was prominently flying over the remains of Harrenhal.

Belonging to none other than Aemond Targaryen, who was once your beloved friend with whom you dreamt of riding on a dragon.

Aemond had promised you when you were younglings. A promise that once he has claimed himself a dragon, you would be the first person he'd take for a flight.

The irony of the situation broke your heart.

The same dragon had left your castle and people in ruins — Vhagar’s loud wails filling up the sky with terror. You knew very well that now your army had fallen, your father definitely slain, you were going to face the same fate as many women during war did.

A prisoner, meat for Aemond’s men.

The door was slammed open and you turned around in a swift motion, finding your servant standing there. A look of horror adorning her once serene features. “It is done. The Targaryen prince has won and we are the only ones left.”

Tears blurred your vision. You did not remember reaching for the sharp blade which you had placed on your side table, an escape from all the atrocities you would eventually be forced to face by the hands of your own closest friend.

War was war.

And with the stories of Aemond’s cruelty circulating about, you knew very well than to beg for mercy or even expect it. Long gone was the sweet prince who made you promises of protection, a dragon and long lasting friendship.

He was your foe now.

An enemy who had slayed the men of your house, your own blood.

As you attempted to cut your own throat, a hand prevented you from doing so. Guards, of house Targaryen. Your face paled and your tears finally rushed down your face in glossy streaks, your one chance of escape taken from you.

The men restrained you but you screamed, struggled even. To break free and somehow draw the blade closer to your throat, only a small cut and you would disappear. You did not care if this was considered weak, you were willing to do just about anything to keep your dignity and honor.

To not be some slave for a man to put his cock in.

“Stay still, woman!” One of the guards berated you but you didn't listen, worming in their grasp.

“Let me go! Release me, right now.” Your screams echoed in the expanse of your chamber as well as the castle and Aemond heard them too.

He had ordered the demise of everyone, everyone besides you. There was this ache, this need to lay his eye upon you for the first time in awhile. Last time he saw you when you were nine, a beautiful little girl who often came to the red keep with her father — member of the council.

Aemond and your friendship flourished when you defended him against Aegon, comforting him to not lose all hope for a dragon. It was you who encouraged him, who provided him with the mental strength to claim Vhagar.

Your words of strength lingered in the back of his mind when he took claim of the largest dragon.

And now he had caused destruction with the same dragon.

Fate had brought you both to this. Ruined every good thing which was left in his life and he knew that you would never, ever forgive him for destroying your home.

You were kind, loving, sweet. Rebellious too but always stood your ground and believed in achieving justice, by any means. Aemond wondered how you'd grown, how you appeared as an adult now.

Did you braid your dark hair the same way as his Targaryen sister did, since you'd grown so fond of their silver hair? Were your eyes still the same onyx dark as your hair, a stark contrast to his own purple ones and was your choice in clothes still so dreadful? Curiosity pinched at his abdomen.

Your screams boomed through Harrenhal and Aemond felt proud of your resistance, only he had no knowledge of what you were resisting for so prominently.

He had no idea all your desperation and fight was to end your life.

The guards pulled you apart, their blood stained hands managing to rip off the side of your dress which concealed your shoulder during all the commotion to get you to release the blade. You somehow managed to free yourself from one of the guard’s unbearable grip and slashed his face with the blade.

“Ah, you fucking bitch.” He screamed, holding his face with one hand while the other tried to reach for you.

Another guard extracted his revenge, striking you across your face and tugging at the already torn fabric, exposing more of your back.

Your face contorted in pain, wishing to rid yourself off this world. “Don't fucking touch me. Unhand me and I will slaughter you lot like pigs.”

Your threats were larger than your size and some guards found you amusing while some knew you were capable of what you had promised them. A hand reached for your wrist, to tame it but not being able to pry open your clingy fingers around the dagger with all their strength.

Your fingers had paled, losing all their pink hue and the blood had stopped pumping through the small veins. That was how strong your grip around the weapon was.

Being carried down the stairs, your gaze took in the sight of the place that was once your home. Broken and hopeless, you were dragged along to the main hall. Rain pattered over the stones, causing a nauseating feeling in your stomach as you took in the situation of your castle.

Thankfully, your blurry vision did not allow you to take more of the destruction. All you noticed was the daunting figure of your enemy, standing pridefully at the center of the hall, awaiting your arrival.

You were pushed towards someone, forced on your knees and the silky silver strands gave away at the person's identity. Prince Aemond Targaryen stood before you, with his back turned to you and hands clasped behind his back.

You attempted to gather the pieces of your torn dress, holding it over your chest since it was ripped evidently in the back. Aemond upon turning around, did not expect you to be in such ruins. Dress torn apart, dark hair all but a mess and he caught glimpse of the silver rings encircled around your strands.

Now in a complete frenzy.

The same silver you always wore in your hair, around your little braids.

Aemond glanced up at his guards and then back at you, watching you. Demeanor phlegmatic, lips sitting tediously on his face.

You didn't dare to lift up your eyes. It wasn't about possessing enough courage to look him in the eye but having no self control. You knew deep down if you looked at him, you'd lose all control and attack him.

“I don't recall ordering you lot to bring her in such a..” Aemond tilted his head, analyzing the state you were in. “disheveled state.”

“She fought back a lot, my Prince. Intended to cut her throat with that little blade of hers in her hand.” Aemond was slightly taken aback from the revelation but you were right to choose that as an option. Everyone in this room knew what happened to women during war, especially the beautiful ones such as yourself.

The highborns were craved more as they carried noble blood within them.

His one eye fell upon the blade you still held with great vigor in your hand and Aemond nearly snickered. You had not let go of that adamant personality of yours, carrying it with you in adulthood.

Aemond did not like how your beautiful skin was exposed to the lecherous eyes of his guards. This abrupt jealousy even left him bemused for a moment, nonetheless he diverted his attention back to you.

He stepped closer — frame towering over yours and you saw the perfect moment to attack him. A feeble and thoughtless action but it was either succumbing to horrors or extracting revenge. In a fraction of mere seconds, you had risen up from your knees and headed for him with the pointy end of the dagger in his direction.

The guards reached for you and before you could possibly injure the Prince regent, his fingers enveloped your wrist. With potent strength and fast reflexes, Aemond held you in place. A mischievous glint flashed in his one good eye, lips curving up in a malicious smirk.

He saw the raw hatred and hunger for revenge in your eyes — your hand unwavering and stable. You meant the attack. Nowhere was it under the sad emotions of losing your family.

“Bold of you to assume this would work on me, Dōna.” Aemond whispered, face only a few inches apart from yours. Only the dagger separating you. You acknowledged the name he'd called you, from when you were children and the anger inside you was fuelled more. (Sweet)

“Have I not trained in front of you, hm? Did you not see me wield a sword whenever you stayed in the red keep?”

You glared at him. “I will kill you, either with poison or with a dagger. It is my promise to you, tyrant.”

“From raqiros to tyrant? You truly have grown, my Dōna.” He whispered malevolently, his warm breath with its own mind caressing the bridge of your nose, nearly with affectionate. (Friend)

Having spent most of your childhood in the red keep with the targaryens, especially Aemond, he was bound to teach you some high valyrian. You knew what raqiros meant, but he had never unveiled the meaning behind the nickname he gave you. Promising you he would once you two are grown enough.

Aemond looked up from your face to his men who stood on guard. Three of them, big and broad. His eyes raked over their hands and as he imagined those same hands mishandling you, ripping away at your clothes and prying open the corset which held your dress together, his jaw clenched.

“Ser Criston Cole,” he called out and the commander responded, head held high.

Aemond’s hand still prevented you from moving an inch, the pointy end of the dagger only a few inches away from his glistening, pale cheek.

“Behead them.” It was a simple command but it instilled fear in everyone in the room, including you. Even the commander was surprised by such a gruesome order and dared to ask. “Forgive me, my Prince but why?”

Aemond locked gaze with you. “They dared to lay hands on my prize, unveiled her dignity.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the Commander nodded, passing the order to his other guards. You heard the sounds of constant struggle, similar to yours as their pleas to live fell upon deaf ears.

“My Prince, please! Spare us, we were only acting upon your order!”

They were ignored, as Aemond continued to stare at you. His purple eye dropping to your lips for a second. He released you and you, on instinct, stepped back with the dagger still in your hand. It was proven that combat was definitely not how you could take down the prince.

Aemond had forced you to come along to the premises of Harrenhal, where his dragon rested. Strained and tired from the war she had indulged in. You had never seen Vhagar up close but knew that she was the second largest dragon, her first rider being Visenya Targaryen.

Your lips shuddered the more closer you were pulled next to the sleeping dragon.

“She can smell fear.” Aemond reminded you, staring ahead. “Conceal it unless you wish to burn to ashes.”

You inhaled a deep breath, closing your eyes and hoping to put an end to the growing fear in the presence of Vhagar.

When you opened your eyes, you were more calm now and in the right state of mind to admire the beast’s beauty. She was gorgeous, a shade of bronze mixed with green and blue highlights. Green, fierce eyes staring ahead and you would have congratulated Aemond on claiming a dragon if only the circumstances were different.

“You will ride with me to King’s Landing.”

“I will not.” You spat, taking a step back from him. That didn't seem to please Aemond as he closed the distance between you and grasped your arm, holding you in place. “Yes, you will.”

“I would rather be fed to your hounds than ride with you upon the back of the dragon which destroyed my home.” Your tone was venomous, full of anger and spite. Aemond knew there was no way calming you down or ridding you of your anger, so he did the next best thing that came to mind.

His slim hands slithered across your waist as he picked you up, settling you down on the dragon’s back. Vhagar released a roar and Aemond whispered something to her in high valyrian, causing her to calm down. Her head settling down, to rest.

He moved in front of you, taking a seat as well. “Hold on tight.”

You glued your hands to your sides, completely ignoring him. Aemond released a frustrated growl at your adamant behavior and lack of pliancy. He reached behind to grab your arms with his gloved hands, forcefully circling them around his small waist.

“Let go of me.” You struggled and Aemond looked back at you with irritation all over his beautiful face. “Do you wish to succumb to your death by falling? If so, feel free to let go.”

That was a lie as Aemond had already tied you to him with the brown belt — locking you with him. Even if you were to let go of him, his body weight restricted on his dragon would prevent you from falling and eventually meeting your demise. This was merely to get you to touch him.

To feel you against him, with little to no distance.

Your lips settled in a frown as you tightened your hold around him causing Aemond to grin. He patted his dragon’s back and then spoke. “Sōvēs, Vhagar.” (Fly)

The dragon shifted on its legs, preparing for the flight and you gasped when you felt it move more beneath you. Subconsciously, your fingers gripped the leather tunic of Aemond, chest pressing tightly over his broad back. Terror filled you as the dragon finally took flight, its huge wings flapping and the force of it made you realize how easy it must have been for Aemond to ruin your house.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, closing your lids shut and burying your face in Aemond’s shoulders.

This is exactly how he had anticipated your first ride on a dragon with him all these years, how you'd react to the beast moving and roaring. Your subtle touches, adorable reactions and soft sounds were just as Aemond had pictured them in his mind.

And he was fulfilling his promise to you.

Until now, Aemond never allowed anyone to ride with him. Only you were the exception and as gruesome the enmity between the two of you was, he could not simply suppress the overwhelming feelings he'd always harbored.

“Aemond..” You whispered, as the dragon took flight and it left you screaming. “Aemond! I'm fucking terrified.”

One hand holding onto his seat, the other reached over and settled on your hand around his chest. In an attempt to comfort you as Vhagar flew into the depths of the sky, Harrenhal nothing but a small scenery when you opened your eyes to look down at it.

A lone tear slid down your face.

This was not how you wished to ride with Aemond.

You hated him, disgust all over your face when you noticed how little and inferior everything appeared from up here. No wonder the Targaryens burned people and houses, as they felt superior being this close to Gods than the rest of you.

“Calm down, Dōna.” He said to you when his dragon had finally flew for King’s Landing.

You didn't say anything, only loosened your hold around him after realizing how awfully close were you to him.

Aemond noticed that and didn't like it.

“Vēzot, Vhagar. Vēzot.” Upon hearing Aemond’s command, the dragon changed route and flew high up in the air, going up tearing through the grey clouds. In fear of falling, your arms once again found themselves around the dragon rider’s small waist. (Up)

You had no idea what Aemond had said but it made his dragon fly up, defying gravity and leaving you gasping for air.

With a satisfied smile on his face, Aemond relished in the feeling of power he had over you and the power he'll soon have over others too. It was painfully evident his brother was incompetent and if something were to befall him, it would be Aemond next in line to inherit the throne.

Never did you ever think or expect that you would be brought back to the red keep as a prize, a symbol of victory — a slave most definitely for Aemond after how he behaved last time with the guards last time. He did not allow anyone to look at you, to touch you, besides your maidens who helped you doll up for the Prince.

His possessiveness was very well known to you when you both were children but you had expected him to grow out of it. How foolish of you to assume that.

Aemond was a possessive child. You recalled the time where he had forbade his siblings from playing with you — or when he did not let anyone touch his sword or even wield it. You remembered how the future lord of Casterly Rock was treated only because he had dared to pass a compliment to Aemond’s sword.

You could hear the cheers of the smallfolk and it disgusted you. He only won against you and your family, not the Blacks. It repulsed you how he was supporting a usurper and not the rightful heir. Your father died for the cause of Rhaenyra Targaryen, you would do too in a heartbeat.

You were lead inside the Red keep after the notorious flight with Aemond. The Prince’s orders were to his servants were to lead you to his own chambers and clean you up. You had no idea why, but you were not going to comply easily.

“I am not your mistress.” Your voice boomed loudly in the main hall, causing Aemond’s footsteps to come to a halt. “Neither am I your whore. Kill me because I too support Rhaenyra Targaryen’s claim to the throne. I shall die a honorable death as my father and kin did.”

You had dared to speak to him, like that, in the presence of not only the Queen but even the other council members.

Aemond’s hands balled up into fits. “Take her.”

You were forcefully dragged somewhere while you struggled, piercing screams enough to damage one's ears. Before you were pulled in a corridor, you made a promise. “I will get my revenge, Aemond Targaryen. You shall answer for the blood of my family that stains your hands. I will never forgive you!”

Alicent followed her son, your threats still lingering in her mind. You had screamed them with tremendous agony and will. She worried, for the kingdom.

“Do you believe you would be doing the realm anything good by bringing a blood thirsty enemy here?” Alicent questioned as she followed Aemond into the room where the council took place.

His fists shook, with poorly tamed rage. “She is anything but a weak girl.”

Alicent scoffed. “She is openly screaming threats. Either a fool would do that or a person who has got absolutely nothing to lose, Aemond.”

“Her screams will quiet down once I have managed to put a child in her.” Aemond spat at his mother, placing his sword down on the table.

She was appalled at what her son had evolved into. The monster he'd become and somewhere she doubted her own motherly skills.

You were forced into a beautiful, pale dress – the fabric as thin as a sheer curtain – after your bath. The maids obviously did not provide you with anything which could conceal your body in the see through white dress. It had embroidery done on the front, so it somewhat worked to cover your breasts.

But the longer it extended, the more it revealed everything underneath.

Pieces of your wavy dark hair were pinned behind, some braided with silver rings clipped around.

The maids soon excused themselves, leaving you to your solitude. Your body felt cold from the lack of clothes so you moved over to stand before the fireplace. Arms sliding up and down your frame to warm up yourself.

Truth to be told, you were suffering with trepidation. Were you prepared to sleep, to head to bed? But why in Aemond’s chambers? All sorts of vile and impure thoughts came rushing in your mind as you tried to keep them at bay.

The doors were soon opened and there stood Aemond, in a different set of clothes. You immediately stepped back, albeit him standing far away from you. He noticed that but no matter how many walls you tried to build between you two, Aemond was determined to break and crush each and every one of those.

He appeared enamored with you.

You were nothing less than an angel, standing underneath the moonlight illuminating your frame.

“Is this what you brought me here for, Prince Regent? To dress me up and warm your bed late at night?” You questioned with disgust and Aemond stepped froward.

You immediately retreated. “Do not dare to come any closer. I will not be one of your whores.”

“What makes you think I would let you become one of my whores?” Aemond asked with a soft tone. Your beauty had soothed all his irritation but it also ignited a fire within his core.

“You're a monster.” You whispered. “You have become a tyrant, a beast worse than those dragons of yours. It is a pity.”

Aemond was losing his patience with you. He didn't waste time, snapping and running towards you. The man pinned you against the wall, knocking over a vase resting on a table besides you. Pain bloomed in your back from the hardness of the wall — and being slammed into it.

The targaryen man locked eyes with you and let out a smile of satisfaction, witnessing the fear swimming in your innocent gaze. “Pity? You dare pity me when you are left with nothing of your house, nothing.”

The cruel reminder caused tears to well up in your eyes but your gaze stayed locked with Aemond’s. It did not waver and with all your strength, you pushed him away from you.

“I hate you.” You confessed, tears sliding down your face, a testament to the pain you were battling. “You were my friend, my fucking friend. How could you do this to me, to me? Your fucking Dōna, Aemond.”

When he heard the high valyrian word escape your lips, he growled. You saw him take a step further and this time decided to make a run for the door, trying to crawl over the bed hastily but Aemond was fast, vigilant as he grabbed you.

You fought back, slapping and punching him but it didn't work at all. He shoved his lips against yours and he did not care that you didn't want this. He wanted it, that was all that mattered. Aemond’s tongue forcefully entered your mouth as your hands continuously punched his chest.

He pushed you down on the both whilst staying locked to you, tasting your plump lips with vigor.

Head tilted, he pushed open your thighs and buried his knee between them. Rutting it against your cunt and you released a muffled cry in the liplock, hoping he would show some mercy but Aemond was too far gone.

The pressure on your clit – sheer fabric the cause of you and Aemond’s separation – was intense. A burgeoning need lighting up in your core as you struggled. There was no way you would give in, no matter how much you had admired him when you both were children. You knew better. You were only the daughter of some lord, meanwhile he was the Prince.

The fight for dominance was already won by Aemond as his tongue explored the inside of your sweet flesh. He broke apart from you to gaze upon you, a mess he'd turned you into. Face flushed, lips swollen and bloodied from how harshly he had sunk his canines into them.

Your dark hair with glinting silver in pure disarray, spread about everywhere on the bed. Aemond was fucking drunk and there was no stopping him.

“You said I'm a monster, right?” His voice was eerily low, causing you to panic. “I shall show you what monstrosity I am capable of.”

He tore the dress in a single tug, discarding the two pieces somewhere on the ground. Fear evident in your enlarged eyes as you struggled to conceal yourself with your arms but Aemond held them above your head, his fingers roughly pressing into your skin leaving marks.

“Aemond, please.” Tears fell and Aemond nearly softened.

If you'd been kind to him like how you were in the past, this compromising situation wouldn't have fallen you. He would've let you live, be a maid in the red keep but now, he had to prove it to you.

Just what he was capable of.

“Aemond,” you sweetly called out, hoping it would work. “My prince, don't do this. You do not wish to do this.”

“Too late for that sweet tone, my lady. If you do not wish for worse, I suggest you shut your goddamn mouth and take it.” His voice was so soft, so low but his words were as repulsive and cruel. It was what Aemond had become. A broken boy who sought out solace but was too afraid to ask for it, fearful of seeming weak — yet again becoming a target of his brother’s constant bullying.

In the process of becoming what he hated, Aemond lost you too.

One eye raked over your exposed breasts, full and round. You were no longer the little girl who used to chase him around the red keep, in her long dresses. You had flourished, flowered with grown tits and when his eye fell lower, he inhaled sharply. Plush, meaty thighs greeted them. He recalled how at one point you were as skinny as a boy, with no fat to your lean frame.

Now you had blossomed in a beautiful woman.

Your skin glowed neath the moonlight, your presence basking in its light. It showcased all the little minorities your features carried, what you had become, the delicate beauty that you were.

“You are certainly no little girl no more.” He reminded you, words no less than salt over your sounds.

Tears pearled on your waterline. “And you've grown into a fine man yourself.”

Your words were carried on obvious pain and Aemond pretended he did not catch a whiff of that. You continued, with a wavering voice, drained from all your rebellion and fight. “Fine but cruel, Aemond. I thought you were different, ought to be different. You proved me wrong.”

“Keep your lips sealed.” Aemond commanded, as your words nearly made his will to defile you falter. Being the daughter of a high lord, he was certain your maidenhead was still intact. You were never the type to engage in lecherous actions before the pure promise of a marriage.

Aemond’s rough hands took a handful of your breasts, fondling the fat. Thumbs swiping over your peebles, sending them upright. Undeniable pleasure shot through your body in the form of swarming heat as it settled in your lower stomach. A prominent gasp tore from your parted, swollen lips as Aemond stared at you in adoration.

“They are so full.” His comment about your body your pleasure-clad face form into one of grimace. “I wonder how your cunt looks now that you are older. You were always too innocent to consider our friendship anything more than what it was.”

Your back arched off the bed, the writhing of your hips increasing whenever Aemond rubbed his knee over your tiny pearl. You felt it swell up with need and wanton, a dull ache growing, begging to be burned out. The silver haired male pried your thighs open to lay eye on your pink cunt.

Aemond licked a wet tongue over his lips, his hunger to taste your seemingly delicious core pressing at him. He never once got overwhelmed with the urge to put his mouth on a woman's cunt — as the woman he got involved with whores. He had no interest in tasting something where most men found solace in.

But you were a virgin.

He knew that.

Yet he asked, surely to rile you up. “Has anyone been inside of you yet?”

Your eyes widened at the repulsive question of his. Brows scrunching in disgust and the rosette on your cheeks transcending into beetroot. Before you could control your imminent action, a strike echoed in the chambers. Tears had stalled, replaced with a hateful searing look and when Aemond recovered from the slap and faced you, chills enveloped you. Despite the impact, he was still poised. Eyes sheened with darkness and pure rage, his hand moved to reciprocate the harsh movement.

Only his slap hurt more — a scorching sensation awakening below your skin. A hint of red in the form of a hand imprinted on your face.

“Answer my question.”

You shook your head. Not only had the slap worked wonders to make you more pliant, it also made you realize that what Aemond was capable of.

His fingers ran along the line of your plumped up lips. “Use this pretty mouth of yours.”

“I'm not a low born.” You said through gritted teeth. “I'm chaste. Check for yourself if you are disbelieving of me.”

Aemond let out a scoff, fingers dimpling into your cheeks. The angry pout on your lips along with his hand print left behind on your cheek made you look ten times more endearing to him. “That I plan on doing, my lady.”

Hands lowering to your thighs, fingers dipping in the thickness. Aemond nestled his head between them, eyes gliding over your glistening cunt. It was true that you were still chaste and he was sure of it, there was no need to check it. He softly ran his tongue over your pearl, a sharp breath from you entering his ears.

“I don't want this.” Your tone had a hint of plea in it. “Please, Aemond. It is too repulsive, I cannot—”

Aemond growled. “Cannot, what? You cannot allow my cock inside you? Cannot allow me to put a babe in you? Or won't allow me to simply because I'm Aemond.”

“Targaryen with the largest dragon who put an end to my family line.” You finished, vision blurring. Aemond knew this conversation was pointless to carry and he instead closed his lips around your swollen bud, suckling like it would produce the sweetest of nectars in existence.

You tried to fight him off, pushing at his shoulders with the little strength left in your small fingers to no avail. He sucked with great vigor and your demeanor fell — back rising up from the ruined mattress and hips pushing your mound further into his cage. He pulled back, lapping at your swollen clit over and over again, like a dog in heat. Tears furiously caressed down your face as Aemond’s fingers came to collect your arousal from the center of your folds.

By the Gods, you were a waterfall.

“Never did I think I would grow this addicted to the taste of a woman's cunt.” Aemond whispered, his warm breath shooting jolts of pleasure through you. Your hand on its own accord pressed onto his head, palm flaccid and fingers twisting his Targaryen strands around. “The more I taste you, the more famished I become.”

“G-Get off me.” You somehow managed to utter. You were mortified. How your body ached for him to continue, hand forcing his mouth against your hot heat whilst the heavy fists of your morals thudded on the door of your hazed mind.

All but a futile endeavor to fight back.

Aemond pulled back and reached for his slacks, undoing them. You watched with a dazed out look as he released his cock from the confines of his breeches. His fingers moving to curve under the hem of his shirt, ridding himself of the leather as well as his small clothes.

Left bare and naked before you, your gaze caught Aemond’s searing red cock. Head swollen and shining with leaking cum, veins traced up and down. You closed your eyes, in hopes that the nightmare before you would be over but that was only you losing last remnants of your hope.

“I-It won't fit.” You whispered to yourself, more tears sliding down your temples.

Aemond heard it, despite your voice being a low whisper. He reached over to grab your face between his large hand, fingers sinking into your cheeks. That caused you to flutter your weak lids open, staring back at him with a sheen in your pupils. “It will fit. Your maidenhead is still intact, so it might be painful. But who cares?”

Your bottom lip quivered as Aemond let go, holding his cock. He guided it across your wet slit, pushing its thick head past your folds and pressing into your pearl. Your breath was bated, perspiration dancing on your forehead. Your body had grown completely warm and you wished for someone, anyone to burn down the fire which was ignited in the fireplace.

Aemond gathered your arousal, in soft circulation around your pebble. You whined out, hands slapping at his broad shoulders to put an end to his obscenities. Yet he did not falter, will growing more profound and strengthened to a point of no return.

He soon aligned his cock along your hole with the disgusting intention to defile it and slipped in. Your walls squeezing around his cock head tightly, endeavoring to grow used to the size but Aemond did not wait. He pushed and your tears of sadness had now transformed into tears of pain.

Hot searing pain.

“It hurts, it hurts. Let me go, please let me go.” You cried, screamed even, nails scratching rapidly at his chest. You left evidence of your firmness, of your distaste for such degeneration. Long lacerations formed on a pale canvas as Aemond held you down with one hand circled around your throat while the other had pushed your leg up for more easy and open access.

You were crying relentlessly and it was beginning to annoy the young Prince. “Quiet now, or I will have your tongue.”

“I-It is too p-painful.” You sobbed and this time Aemond landed a tight slap to your other cheek, watching it imitate the shade of the other one. “I said, fucking quiet. If I hear anything other than sounds of pleasure out of these lips of yours, I will toss you to my guards.”

It was an empty threat.

Aemond would never, ever do that. You were for him, only him. Insignificant your view was about him.

You were his prize, a sign of victory.

Still Aemond stalled, not having the heart to pummel his cock fully into you. All he managed was to breach your maidenhead and you were already wailing like you'd been shot with an arrow. He waited it out, letting you grow accustomed to his length and thickness.

Once your agony-clad face recovered and softened, Aemond took it as a sign to move further. Your gummy walls sucking his cock in, caressing the rigid veins. Deeper, and deeper. He went slowly and carefully, which you didn't overlook. You felt him sheath his cock fully into you, arms extended out for him, in complete submission.

Aemond, silently surprised by such vulnerability and submission, took your hands into his and brought them to his nape. “Hold me, brace yourself, Dōna.”

That sweet tone of his.

It nearly warmed your heart but the constant reminder which took at Harrenhal haunted you like a ghost. A cursed bestowed upon you, no escape at all. Aemond melted within you, nestling against your spongey spot of nerves. Your lips fell when he found that sensitive spot of yours.

He didn't waste time pummeling his cock into your weeping cunt, growls of a beast escaping him. You could not bring yourself to look at him. Pulling him closer, you concealed your face within the crook of his neck as your hold clasped around his slender nape — fingers intertwining with silver roots. Aemond had only tried Sylvie, his first and last so when he felt you draw him closer, it ignited a fire impossible to end.

“Gods,” Aemond groaned in your ear, his sharp nose running along your cheek, both hands gripping your flesh. “If I had known laying with you would be this pleasurable, I would have done it when we were younglings.”

Disgust would have made path on yout face it it was not for the pleasure Aemond bestowed upon you. His thick cock head repeatedly bruised your cervix and all you could do was wail, your hold for dear life tightening around him. Aemond found delight on your innocent moans, your sweet little hiccups and sounds of pleasure. He pulled from you, to glance down and felt immense satisfaction at the ring of blood around his length. He had officially taken you, not exactly under the circumstances he wanted but pondering about that was futile now.

His one eye stayed focused on you. Examining the lines donning your forehead, dark brows furrowed and a sheen of sweat sitting on your forehead. Pale cheeks flustered and saccharine sweet lips parted, birthing little sounds.

An epitome of nobility and charm you were.

Aemond pulled out of you, just as you were beginning to reach your pounding climax.

He leaned on the head board of the bed, chest glistening with droplets of sweat. The fire crackling was not helping neither of you to find some cold. “Get on top of me.”

You weakly shook your head.

Aemond’s glare obliged you and you shifted on the bed, crawling on top of him. In the process, you caught the blood of your purity staining the pale bed sheets, as well as your thighs. A burning sensation prodded and you finally did what Aemond asked you to do. The evil man grinned, leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple.

“I'm sure you know your job here.”

Your lips trembled. “I-I am supposed to sit on it?”

Innocently you had voiced that question and Aemond almost cooed. He gave you a simple nod and watched as your cheeks burned with newfound embarrassment. You still did what you were told to, aware that fighting him back on this would only make him revoke the small kindness he'd shown you.

You grabbed a hold of his erect cock — pressing it over your soaked hole. As you slipped down on it, Aemond and you groaned in unison.

Your small hands found support on his bleeding chest, fingers swiping over his nipples accidentally and Aemond let out a choked gasp. The feeling of your walls clamping his cock mixed with the way your fingers brushed over his nipples was enough to send him fucking into you. Thrusting upwards into you while his large hand stayed locked on your hip.

Both of you moved simultaneously, greedily chasing after your own pleasure. Aemond saw a goddess in front of him — a weeping goddess who possessed the cunt of a hungry whore. Your small waist and bare tits bouncing with each move had him obsessed like a dog.

“Fuck, fuck, Dōna.”

He panted like his dragon, matching your pace with his, hand fondling your breasts. He was close but ripping an orgasm through you first was his priority and he was dedicated to it. Aemond felt your cunt squeeze him, watching as your tears fell in little pearls. “I am going to put a babe in you, Dōna. Can you believe it? Your childhood friend putting a babe in you.”

You couldn't even voice out your disagreement, Aemond was bound to do what he promised you. An intense feeling surged in your stomach, your pace slowing down and your sobbing growing more and more. Your orgasm tore through you in the form of essence, as your eyes disappeared behind your lids.

“Aemond, Aemond! Aemond.” You chanted his name out like a mantra and he slapped his cock deeper into you.

He fucking loved how submissive you were being now — entirely at his mercy and neath him. His own climax followed thoroughly, filling your walls with his spend. Spurting our rope after rope of white to fill up your expanded womb. Growls of need and ache echoed in the room and you couldn't stay still anymore, losing all your balance and colliding right in his chest.

Your little body was spent, fatigue and tiredness weakening you. Aemond was quick to wrap his arms around you, shushing you gently while you cried in his chest.

“It's over now.” He reassured but you knew very well that it was not. It was only for tonight that it was over.

Aemond comforted you, holding you against him with his cock still inside you.

“I hate you.” You cried, tears coating his chest as your forehead rested on his muscular chest. Aemond could only sigh, loathing the situation that bad befallen them. He did not resent you as you were the only one who had shown him true kindness.

But the war and throne were far more important.

“Rest, you need it.” He said, an order it was and you felt forced to comply. “Things will be very different from now on, Dōna. I will have the high sept marry us tomorrow, our child will not be a bastard.”

All you could do was weakly stir in his arms at that. There was no way you were willing but it was better than being a slave for Aemond’s guards. Being one man's whore was better than being a thousand’s.

[bunicate]

Wrio with a cute bunny girl who goes into heat that actually makes him go at it like bunnies! >.< so much so that he couldn’t even get hard anymore and reader just whines and pokes it telling his cock to get hard again for more breeding!

i luv this idea eeeek. big domineering man + docile horny bunny girl will always be delish .

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ 𐙚 ₊˚ warnings ꒱ྀི bunny fem reader ᕱ⑅ᕱ daddy kink. minor breeding ﾉ wc ꒱ 0.5k ﾉ 18+

wriothesley knows that for others they believe rules are made to be broken.

he didn’t necessarily follow that same philosophy. he preferred to run on the straight lines, rarely ever straying, but he knows that many wouldn’t do the same. 

luckily he’s more than capable of adapting and making sure that those who sought to play out of bounds would be dragged back in by his bare hands.

rules are there for a reason, and he couldn’t understand how they slipped from him this time.

he regrets giving in to your every request. he admits it’s because his heart softened at the sight of a creature so precious.

wriothesley is wasting away on the bed with his clothes disheveled and stained while the bunny he loves so dearly, ravaged him.

“you’re so handsome daddy . . .”

there it is again.

the dulcet sound of your soft voice feathered by a petulant whine.

your finger poked his spent cock. it laid wet and heavy on his taut stomach, with some of his cum damp on his chest. he can’t remember how many times he’s fucked you. he was warned about your heat, and nothing could prepare him for this.

he’s fought tough battles, taking on men thrice his size, skirting on the edge of death. they were brutal fights that nearly cost him his life, and somehow that seemed like a much easier hill to climb.

he’s exhausted and drained of every drop of cum he could pump out, and you still weren’t done. you continued to kiss his cock, lapping at it with long and rough strokes. the skin of his leaking shaft was raw from your sucks and the heat from your inner walls.

he could barely muster the strength to speak. his voice is hoarse from commands that fell on your deaf ears and all the groans escaping his lips.

“baby . . . daddy is tired . g-give-give me a second.”

he pulls at your floppy ears to halt your movement, but you only nose at his balls in response. your tongue darts out to taste his sweaty skin and he curses at himself when his body betrays him.

his dick twitches to life from your incessant nipping, and hearts take shape in your eyes.

you drag your soft body on top of his once more to straddle him yet again. your fat bunny cunt gaping and dripping cum hovers over his pudgy tip before swallowing his entire member.

“fuckkkkkk . . bunny, you’re gonna kill me. . .how much fuckin’ nut does that little pussy need ?”

you make a sound, halfway from a moan and a giggle. like a good bunny, you hop up and down until his head kisses your womb filling it with hot seed.

your tits bounce with every jerk of your hips and his hand on your plump ass encourages more of your of passion.

“daddy daddy daddy , I need all of it ♡ love y’r cum so much, hnn~”

there was never a battle wriothesley couldn’t win, not yet at least, but this time, wriothesley forfeits.

he’s accepted that he’s finally lost, and that his sweet bunny girl was the cause of his demise.

[comatosebunny09]

carpe noctem [ conflict ] | sylus

— summary: whatever they have is cosmic. which is why you quietly bow out, thinking you never stood a chance. — cw: reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, assassin!reader, obligatory club scene, alcohol consumption, unrequited feelings, jealousy, sisterly love, self-loathing, suggestive, stream of conciousness, not proofread, mdni — notes: thank you for reading! [ part 1 | part 3 ] — now playing: bad girls like you - tobii

—of course, by unwinding, you assumed Ms. Hunter meant the celebratory clink of whiskey glasses together, with something murky and vicious sloshing around inside. Something to take the edge off, to dull your senses, and to assuage the ache in your muscles where the painkillers couldn’t.

A club was the last place you expected to be after blowing an arms dealer and his men halfway to hell. 

Then again, you’re not complaining, swathed in the subdued glow of red strobe lights and fog. You’re in your element, surrounded by sweat-slicked bodies and people just trying to feel. 

The club reminds you of Lux, minus the cheap upholstery and subpar drinks. You’re at least 1,000 miles from Linkon, settled on some floating oasis in the middle of glistening aqua waters. You’ve barely had time to enjoy yourself, your trio hitting the ground running as soon as Sylus’ jet touched earth. You’ll be leaving in the morning, swept back into the lonely, glacial abyss of the N109.

So you dance like tomorrow isn’t promised. Like you’re performing onstage, garnering the lust and envy of those around you. You always do, the art of seduction practically ingrained in your DNA after using it to your advantage for so long. Years of luring men to their demise inhabit every sway of your hips, every roll of your body, every sultry curl of your lips.

Besides, being here is also a nice little distraction from the cacophony of your mind, replaced by good music thudding beneath your feet, and your cheeks aching with a tipsy smile. You grab the hunter’s hips. Bring her closer until your chests collide, and she’s wide-eyed with parted lips, unsure of what to do with her hands. 

“Relax,” you soothe, your voice slurry as you encourage her to sway. To loosen up. She’s stiff at first but catches your drift, letting you control her with a wonky grin as her wrists cross behind your neck. That’s more like it. 

You fed her a few drinks to ease her nerves—it was her idea to come here. And after the three of you cleaned up and rested at the hotel, she suggested it over dinner. You and Sylus traded looks, your faces bearing different degrees of amusement. Ms. Hunter babe isn’t much of a social butterfly, but the pair of you relented, figuring you could use the diversion.

You’re playing up her allure. Whispering praise against her bangs, encouraging her to release her inner sexy. 

He’s been watching her from the VIP section since you dragged her to the dance floor. Scarlet eyes peeling through the smog, tuned to her every move. You wish it were you he eyed like that, but you shove those green-eyed thoughts onto the backburner, dancing, grinding, laughing. Losing yourself to the music. You’re on a mission to get her boned tonight. Living vicariously through her, knowing that it’ll never be you he beds. At least one of you can end the night on a good note. 

The song slides into something sultry. Ms. Hunter slips out of your grip, a giggling mess, stumbling towards the red velour couch where Sylus sits. You watch her plop down beside him, the cocktails slackening her grace. You can’t make out what they’re saying when he angles closer to hand her a drink. But he’s wearing that customary tilt to his lips, sweeping some hair behind her ear, where he eases in to murmur something against the shell of it. Whatever he’s on about, it makes her laugh, and she playfully smacks the devastating stretch of skin peaking through the slit of his silky button-down. 

Your lips twitch, smile falters. Everything around you morphs into a Gaussian blur, the music muddled as what’s left of your senses home into the scene. You swallow against the swell of feelings burbling up when Sylus pulls her closer, a long arm slung around soft shoulders. They exchange a look before the hunter glances up, shaking you from your trance. She raises her glass to you in a quiet toast. As if to convey, I’m alright in case you were wondering. Of course, she is. Why wouldn’t she be when he handles her like glass, the fondness in his eyes as palpable as the bitterness scorching your throat?

Sylus’ gaze tracks to yours. You offer a quiet smirk with a tilted brow, tamping down your envy. Wearing that playful front once more, turning back towards the dance floor.

At least your plan is working, you muse, swallowed up by the crowd of writhing limbs and lust. She’s definitely going to get some tonight if the idle stir of his eyes whilst he painted a triangle between her lashes and lips is any gauge. You did your job. Well at that.

So why do you feel so shitty?

A virile arm snakes about your waist, siphoning your breath as it drags you against a hardened body. You tuck your inhibitions away as the stranger who grabbed you grins, dark hair sweeping over manicured brows. You let him guide you into a slow wind, grateful for the save.

And you’re utterly oblivious to red eyes scrutinizing the stranger’s hand as it splays against the space between your shoulder blades.

—

It’s quiet on the executive floor of the hotel. Then again, it’s a quarter to 2 AM, and you’re sure everyone occupying these rooms is sound asleep. So, you shush your hunter friend for the umpteenth time, stumbling beside her as she giggles drunkenly into your ear. 

You can’t help the crack of a smile, her arm slung about your shoulder as you guide her towards her room, and she throws her head back, singing something that makes her voice crack and you wince. 

“Quiet,” you chide, your intermingled voices bouncing off the walls. You must be quite the sight. Two barefoot beauties stumbling down the hall, trying to make sense of the world. 

The embossed letters of her room pan into view. She laughs as you cautiously frisk her for the keycard after propping her against the door. She’s a little worse for wear. You feel bad, having overdone it with the cocktails. Not your fault you could hold your liquor a little better than she could. So when Sylus left you to close out some “business,” as he so cryptically put it, it was up to you to ensure Ms. Hunter made it back to her room without a hair out of place. 

So much for her getting laid tonight. 

Finally, you procure the card. You swipe it, taking the hunter by the waist before she barrels in. Instinctively, her arms snake around your neck, and she stumbles into you, nearly knocking you off kilter. She’s all sloppy-grinned, the alcohol on her breath pushed into your nostrils. She blinks sluggishly at you, and you bite back a laugh. Never would you have imagined seeing Ms. Hunter, all prim and pretty and carefully constructed, looking like this. 

“You’re pretty, you know that?” she breathes, tapping your nose. You scoff, maneuvering yourself to herd her into her room. She carries on spewing nonsense as the pair of you toddle beneath the dim lighting of the room’s entryway. The king-sized bed slides into focus. You let her fall onto the mattress, steadying her before she can slide off. Her hair falls onto her face, a new onslaught of laughter dribbling from her lips.

You kneel to grab her ankles, almost losing your footing yourself. You might not be as trashed as she is, but you’re still a little loose-limbed. A little tipsy, teetering on that slurry edge, having tamped down your inebriation to play big sister. 

“You’re gorgeous,” she continues when you stand, positioning her legs on the bed as comfortably as you can. 

You tuck her beneath the heavy blanket, ignoring her nonsensical talk. Scoop dark tresses away from her face, beholding red-speckled cheeks and swollen lips. It’s no wonder Sylus fell for her. She’s a marvel, girl next door pretty. The heroine of a romcom, where you’re a sex symbol, molded to be used and envied rather than exalted. 

Ms. Hunter teeters in and out of sobriety, sleep beckoning to her with its ghostly croon. Before you depart, she speaks to you again, her voice abrasive with exhaustion.

“The prettiest girl around. No one could keep their eyes off you, not even Sylus. He was practically drooling. You see that?”

You stiffen, your hand closed around the glacial brass of the door handle. You cock your head towards your shoulder, something warm flushing over your skin. She talks a lot for someone under the influence. But it’s as if she’s read the inner turmoil coloring your mind, not like you do the best of jobs masking your feelings.

It wasn’t me he was drooling over, you want to say. It never would be. He’s too swept up in her. Their history, their past. You’re merely an afterthought in the grand scheme of things. Something disposable. Something pretty to further his agenda. Even if he was looking, it was probably to ensure you weren’t getting into trouble. 

He’d have a hell of a time finding someone on short notice to fill your shoes. His pretty little femme fatale. It just so happens you’re unconsciously grooming your replacement, treating her more like an ally than a rival.

You wait until her breaths even out. Until she’s sunken below the depths of unconsciousness before you slip out of her room, your chest heavy as if weighed down by an anvil and a bitter twist to your lips.

Before you can make your grand escape to your room to nurse your impending hangover, a familiar voice curls around the vowels of your name. Of course, he would have a room across from hers, and it is with bitter realization you look up at him from the floor, schooling your expression into one of indifference. 

Sylus leans against the doorframe, so very massive in comparison to it. You try to ignore what the playful cant to his lips does to you. How his pretty, scarlet-spun eyes dance when he studies you. Ignore how the tendons in his neck flex when he swallows, how his Adam’s apple bobs. The slither of tanned skin stretched over his pectorals calls to you. Your fingers twitch at your side with the need to touch. You stifle the feeling, barring your gaze from slinking lower. He’s devastating, and you don’t trust yourself not to make a move you’ll later regret right now.

“How is she?” he asks, the husky grit of his voice furling in your chest. Your heart sinks. Of course, he wouldn’t ask about you. You’re a big girl, more than capable of fending for yourself. To inquire about your status would be an insult according to him. You square your shoulders, sighing with that infuriatingly artificial smile to your lips.

“Hammered, but she’ll survive. She’s sleeping it off now.”

He snorts, shifting his weight between his feet. “Of course. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to go out after the day we had.”

You nod, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—your pulse thrumming in your ears. Your throat constricting. You toy with your fingers, taking this time to dismiss yourself before you spout out some nonsense.

“Gonna go get some sleep myself. See you in the morning, bossman.”

“Need some help getting back to your room?”

You peer at him from your shoulder, eyes slightly widened, mouth open, working around words that refuse to come. Something indiscernible lurks in his gaze. It’s as if he’s searching. Looking for something, though you’re sure you’re mistaken. 

“I’m alright,” you say with a sticky laugh, starting down the hall towards your room. All the while, your nerves scream through your inebriation, and you squint when you reach the door around the corner, inwardly admonishing yourself for turning him down. 

A delusional part of you believes there was more to his offer than what was presented at surface level. But you were too stuck in your head to read between the lines. After all, Sylus would never settle for someone like you. Not when you’re mere costume jewelry in comparison to uncut gems. 

You throw yourself against the bed once you’re inside your room. Peer up at the ceiling, studying its texture until your vision slides into a vignette around the corners, and then you drift into the violet embrace of sleep, deciding to deal with this new swirl of feelings later.

preface | masterlist | rising action

[seresinhangmanjake]

What He Likes

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: When five daughters of Great Houses arrive on Giedi Prime, Feyd is meant to select one as a wife. But out of all of the foreigners on his territory, it is the Princess of Kaitain’s handmaid that catches his eye.

Notes/Warnings: Feyd is possessive as usual.

Words: 3100

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen likes what he likes. There’s no complexity to it. No hidden criteria. What he likes is decided in a straightforward manner based solely on gut instinct, and questions of whether or not it is wise to like what he likes do not follow. He simply sees a thing, enjoys how it looks, and therefore, likes it.  

When the eligible women of five Great Houses stand before him in a neat little row, he likes none of them. Four Ladies and a Princess, all of whom do not hit him in the gut with that feeling, and all of whom have flaws fatal to the name of House Harkonnen. 

Atreides—a lame attempt at a peace offering. Fenring—a Bene Gesserit witch. Corrino—a spoiled, royal brat existing under the shadow of her eldest sister. And the other two, Kenric and Wallach, have faces he cannot be expected to look upon for the rest of his life. 

Not one brushes the cusp of satisfactory. Not one is good enough to take for a bride. But then, as he dismisses them so they may return to their quarters before the evening meal, Feyd spots a thing he likes. 

The Princess’s handmaid. A woman who pays him not a lick of attention as she trails the royal out the door. A woman who forces the pace of his heartbeats to thump twice as fast.

Perfect, he thinks. Stunning.

And without hesitation, Feyd selects his wife. 

—

Reader POV

“The na-Baron has sent a guard to collect you,” Fenring’s handmaid informs you as she comes back into the room, tying a robe around her waist and plopping down on her assigned bed beside Wallach. 

A lump settles in your stomach. The na-Baron—the man who has encouraged your future demise at the hands of the Great Ladies due to the attention he has neglected to provide them in favor of keeping his eyes on you. 

Over seven days, they’ve been ignored entirely, as has his sense of propriety. He has invited you to dine beside him, filling your plate before bothering to notice if the women of high status have had their plates filled. He has asked you questions and listened attentively to the answers you’ve felt obligated to provide. He has ensured you’ve had a seat of phenomenal vantage to witness his arena duels, seeking you out and smirking at you as lifeless bodies slide off of his blade. 

For every new morning there comes a new method of making fools out of the women who could have your neck sliced open should they so choose. And now, so it seems, he intends to bring that trouble into your nights.

“Why?” you ask, trying to cast aside the painfully obvious. You would be thrilled if one of the other handmaids could chime in with something unexpected, something not nearly as vulgar as what you’re imagining he wants from you. 

Wallach and Fenring shoot you a look that suggests you can’t possibly be so ignorant. 

“Why do you think?” Atredies says. “I’m surprised it took him this long.” She swipes a comb through her long locks before pointing the end of the tool at you. “You need to find a way to end whatever this is before it gets you executed. Our Ladies are just as irate over the situation as the Princess.”

Irate—a gentle word. Requests from the Princess have been trivial to a degree you’ve never before dealt with in her servitude. She has snatched any opportunity to humiliate you, degrade you. It is a burden you have shouldered with grace, but so long as the na-Baron refuses to find enjoyment in your torture, your unprotested compliance will continue to mean nothing to the Princess. 

You wish he would laugh with her, just once. It would do you a world of good. But he’s not required to amuse the Princess. He does not have to bow to anyone since the Harkonnen’s growth in power shifted the hierarchy of the Houses. 

“What do you propose I do?” you ask. 

“Let him have you,” Kenric says. “Let him get you out of his system. If he’s no longer infatuated with you, he will finally choose a bride.”

You blanche but you do not immediately dismiss her suggestion. Kenric’s handmaid is older than you by at least a decade, and when she speaks, the rest of you listen. She has watched handmaids come and go from the mistakes they have made. She has seen how replaceable a young woman of humble birth with a limited skill set is. She knows the fights worth fighting and the fights worth surrendering, and there is much to be learned from her experience. 

“That simple?” you say. 

“If you make it that simple,” she replies with a nod. Then she grabs you by your shoulders and spins you around, lightly shoving you toward the door. “It’s for your own good. So go.”

Your heart batters your ribcage as you recover from a stumble. Your first steps are hesitant, unsure if you’re doing the right thing. But you collect yourself, and without looking back, you continue onward, coming face-to-face with a towering figure; pale, a ghost stark against the shadowed hallway. 

“Do not lag behind,” is all he says before he turns on his heel.

You follow him through darkness, past door after door, rounding corner after corner until he finally halts and gestures for you to enter a room. Knowing it isn’t a choice, you step inside. 

You’re relieved to find the space decently lit from the glowing orb of white light hovering near a desk. You scan the area. His bedroom, each inch of it covered top to bottom in black. Painted walls, marble floors, drawn curtains, furniture—all a shade so deep that if you peer too long at any given section, your mind will begin to play tricks on your vision. 

“What’s your name?” suddenly greets your ear in a gravelly voice. Your body flinches and your head whips in the direction of the sound. Somehow, you hadn’t noticed him leaning on the wall with his arms crossed, his brow low, his chin tilted toward his chest. 

He stares at you. Intensely. Unceasingly. A gaze that reaches past what you’ve witnessed in your lifetime. You’ve seen a lover’s stare between couples, but this is different, and it’s clear you’ve lived naive to how deeply a man can look at a woman. 

Heat blooms on your face. “My name?” You hadn’t noticed that he’d yet to ask. To be fair, though, no one ever asks for your name. Perhaps he understands the danger of doing so in front of others. 

“You have one, I assume,” he says. “Or do I need to give you one?”

You frown. “I’m not a slave.”

The na-Baron’s lips twitch in a smirk. His chin lifts and you get a full view of his face. The angles of his cheekbones. The straight line of his nose. The edge of his jaw, sharp from the shadows butting up against his illuminated alabaster skin.

He’s beautiful—you can’t pretend otherwise. A rare kind of beautiful. The kind of beautiful that makes no sense. Strange, alien beauty that wreaks havoc on your heart rate. 

You haven’t let yourself appreciate just how beautiful he is prior to now, always making an effort to look downward in his presence. And thank goodness you had enough sense. Had you taken a moment to truly observe him, you might not have been able to resist admiring. 

“Then tell me your name,” he says, and gulping down the knot in your throat, you do as he asks. He tests the word on his tongue. He nods. “Good.”

“Good?”

“I like it,” he tells you. “Which means I don’t have to change it.”

You tamp down your offense, steeling your face as you remind yourself of how little control you have. A handmaid versus the na-Baron of Giedi Prime. Your odds are poor. 

“With all due respect, my Lord, what is it I can do for you?”

His eyes continue to be invasive, hungry, like the lions you used to read about in your spare time. Practically uncanny. The na-Baron captures the predatory glare of the beast so well that they could stand side-by-side and you would not be able to decide which of the two is more menacing.

Pushing off the wall, he slowly closes in on you until he’s a single pace away from colliding with your body. His smirk drops, then he says, “How would you like to be my wife?”

Your lungs seize. Death flashes before your eyes, a scene more horrific than what you’ve been conjuring over the last handful of days. Instead of the Princess’s hand around your neck, all of Kaitain will be chanting for your head on a spike. If they hear of the handmaid who went to Giedi Prime as a servant only to attempt stealing from the Princess, they’ll drag you to public slaughter. The handmaid who overstepped her bounds—let us make an example of her betrayal. 

“I asked you a question,” he continues, yanking you from your thoughts. 

You take a breath. “My Lord, I am not the offering from Kaitain. I am the Princess’s handmaid.”

Blue orbs lazily rake up and down your figure. You contain a shiver. “Yes, I have eyes.”

“Then you know she is the one for you to choose.”

“The Princess does not suit my taste,” he admits shamelessly, unbothered. His gaze falls to your lips, neediness passing between you as if he’s desperate to claim them with his own. It quickly fades, and he meets your eyes again. His voice is soft when he says, “The Emperor should not have sent you with his daughter. He knows what you look like. It is not my problem if he is foolish enough to tempt me with something better than what he views as his best.”

The dangerous flattery makes your stomach flutter, but then it flips unpleasantly. “There is no better choice than the Prin–”

“That was not a statement up for debate.”

Your teeth pierce the delicate flesh of your inner cheek. “You have many other options,” you say.

“And I have decided you are one of them.”

At your lack of retort, the corner of his lips quirk. He’s dead set, and you’re not sure you have the manipulative abilities to change his mind. Still, you try.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the blood for it, as you know,” you say in a final attempt. “Noble blood mixes with that of its status.”

“Noble blood does what it wants. That’s why we have all that we have, wouldn’t you agree?” he says, and you do agree. You have to. Noble blood knows only how to take. “There is no logic to me selecting the Princess. Should I marry her, you will be brought along as her handmaid, and she will find herself alone in a cold bed while I will be keeping you warm in mine. Is that the kind of marriage you think she envisions?”

He allows the question to hang in the air, and in that time, you imagine what he’s suggesting. You imagine the Princess shunned to another room. You imagine his body on top of yours in the bed that stands behind him, his mouth attached to your neck, sucking in time with the thrusts of his cock. Against your will, you imagine how he would feel, the pleasure he would grant you over and over, and you shake your head to banish the thoughts. 

It can never happen. You know what the Princess wants. Should she become the na-Baronness, she will want him as her husband in more than name alone, alliances solidified through multiple heirs, the power dynamic rebalanced. For that to occur, his affection and a willingness to sacrifice his dominance is required. And you cannot be the thing to throw that plan into a state of turmoil. 

“If I give myself to you now, will you be satisfied?” you ask. 

His brow pinches, the expression on his face nestling somewhere between irritation and confusion. “For tonight,” he says. “But what of tomorrow night, and the night after? Am I expected to have you once and never again?”

“Anything more will put my life at risk upon my return to Kaitain. If the Emperor learns of it, it will be an embarrassment, and regardless of whether or not you choose the Princess as your wife, he will have me killed for daring to be a threat to your union,” you tell him. “And if you do choose her and I return here as her handmaid—though I suspect she will be selecting a replacement soon enough—she will kill me the second she sees anything other than disgust on your face when you look at me.”

A beat passes. The na-Baron hums. He reaches up and takes a lock of your hair, rubbing the strands together and curling them around his finger. A wave of goosebumps makes its way up your arms. 

“Then I suppose you should not return to Kaitain,” he says. 

Your head jerks back. The hair falls from his grasp. “What?”

“If your life is at risk, then you will not leave Giedi Prime. The Princess can go, but not you. The Ladies, the other handmaids, I will send them back tomorrow,” he says. He leans down, his nose mere inches from yours. His breath blankets your skin. “But not you.”

“You can’t just do that,” you whisper, but you know they’re wasted words. There’s already an overarching sense of loss on your side of the room. 

His hand returns to your face and a gasp catches in your throat as his knuckle grazes down your cheek. 

“Of course, I can,” he says. “The Houses bend to Harkonnen will. I can do whatever I want; have whatever I like.” He cups your chin and runs his thumb over your mouth, pulling down on your bottom lip before releasing it. “And what I want is you. So I will have you.”

Your pulse thrums, ears ringing. “Solely for the sake of sating carnal desire. Being your wife is not nec–”

“Carnal desire is a present concern,” he says. “But I will not have another claiming you after I have done so. What’s mine is mine. You will be my wife, and in time, we will know one another in all ways.”

The uproar. News will spread like wildfire, and you are unlikely to survive its rage. The other Great Houses will do nothing, you know, as they do not have the means or might to push against the Harkonnens, but Corrino? The Emperor? 

Surely the na-Baron is aware of the intellect of Kaitain’s leaders. He must understand that the snubbing of the Princess will undoubtedly incite retaliation from the Emperor. And you’re fairly certain in which form that retaliation will come. Where the Sardaukar's strength would fail against Harkonnen forces, their assassins’ infiltration would not.

“I’ll protect you,” he says. “If they dare, I’ll protect you.” 

You could scoff. 

Protect you. Why bother?

Surely, he doesn't want you enough to go to those lengths. You aren’t import–

Suddenly, his hand is sliding around to the back of your neck, and your face is involuntarily heating, and he's muttering a faint “come here” as he quickly draws you into a kiss.

There’s a softness to it that offsets his hardness. A gentleness in the caress. But he has caught you unprepared, cut you off at your thoughts, and the shock has you planting your palms on his chest and shoving.

His lips are parted, his chest expanding and deflating with heavy inhales and exhales. He says nothing as unexpected regret sinks into you—regret that isn’t there simply because he is the na-Baron and you are a servant who shouldn’t be bold enough to interrupt him as he’s doing as he pleases, but regret rather because for that brief moment he felt…good, and you’re overwhelmed by the sense that you’ve cheated yourself. 

You want to try it again, just to see, just to test the feeling, just to understand why you crave more. So you let the tenseness in your shoulder muscles relax. Your heavy lungs release a long-held huff of air. He watches your guard collapse at your feet. 

Slowly, he reaches for you again, but he pauses just as you are ready to feel his touch as if expecting you to flinch, to run, to hide. You do none of those things, so his fingers knit into your hair and he guides your lips back to his. 

Soft still—gentle—but then it changes to passion and greediness, and like the strike of a match, every inch of you is consumed by a flushing fire. Your heart races. Your brain fuzzes. Appendages tremble until the pleasant pressure of his lips on yours settles into your bones. 

His tongue seeks entrance and you willingly open for him. When your tastes blend, his arm sneaks past yours to lock around your waist and he jerks you forward, welding your chest to his. 

The Princess slices through the haziness in your head and you feel the intrusive instinct to end what is happening, but you can’t quite bring yourself to do it. The capability is just out of reach, and it floats further and further away with each second of him kissing you; kissing you as if trying to prove to you how right this is. And you suppose he is succeeding because the thought of stopping makes your gut twist in protest. 

Then he groans—a sound that reverberates throughout your entire body, that makes your veins pulsate and your nerves tingle—and any lingering fear of the repercussions of betrayal dissipates to a barely detectable twinge; enough to permit the removal of your restraints. 

With newfound freedom, you grip his shoulders and attempt to bring him closer than physical bounds will allow. You let your tongue play with his. You nip at his lips. You think you’ve lost your mind, maybe slipped to an alternate universe where this makes sense, but his arm clutches you tighter, anchoring you to reality. 

Well before you’re ready, he breaks apart from you, and with great difficulty, you keep yourself from chasing after his lips like a magnet drawn to its other half. 

He grins at your obvious struggle. 

“You’ll do just fine as my wife,” he says, his hand coming around to cup your cheek. His thumb strokes back and forth along your cheekbone. Another peck lands on your lips. “You might even find yourself enjoying the position…and everything I intend to offer you.”

[luveline]

Same hotch sister reader anon here Jade!

I think I have sent this one before like recently only, idk whether you have seen it or not so I will request again

The reader gets injured (I'm a sucker for injury troop) and Aaron and Spencer worry and Spencer also has to lift the reader. Please write if it's not too much 🥺

Aaron tells you two or three times not to do it. “Just wait,” he says, standing behind you with his hands hovering over your back. “Seriously, I’ll ask Morgan.” 

“How can you host the party without glasses?” 

“I can assure you my guests aren’t going to miss a glass of wine for the first ten minutes. Don’t make me grab you.” 

“I can reach!” 

“I can reach, too, it’s not about height, it’s about–” He gasp loudly as your stool wobbles. “Sweetheart, get down. I’m not kidding.” 

You grab the stem of the last glass and pass it down to him. “Stop worrying! I told you I could do it and I did.” 

And you’re right, you passed him each of his glasses without smashing any, as promised. You are not expecting the top of the stool to feel so slippery as you try to get down, nor are you expecting to lean forward and pop your face on the cabinet glass. You whack your chin, lose your footing, and slam down on knee before Aaron can catch you. 

There’s a silence. Two hands on your shoulders. “Honey…” 

“Just say it,” you groan.

“Well, I told you so.” 

The doorbell rings. “Ah, fuck,” you say, curling into yourself as everything throbs. 

“It’s okay, come here.”

“Go get the door.” 

“No, they can wait, just let me help you up.” 

“If you love me, you’ll leave me to die here.” 

The doorbell rings again. “Aaron!” Dave calls from the other side. “Shall we let ourselves in?” 

“It’s locked,” Aaron says to you. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You wave him away. Honestly, you’re not okay, having fallen hard enough to knock the wind from yourself and hurt your knees and chin. But you’re happier to recover by yourself before his friends get here and spot you all crumpled. 

The problem arises when you can’t get your knee to listen to you. It tingles painfully. It did take all your weight as you fell, which likely stopped you from breaking your arms, but wasn’t kind to your joint, it seems. You push yourself onto your butt and sit there, unsatisfied, and, embarrassingly, waiting to be rescued. 

Aaron’s kind, thankfully. He takes Dave to the living room, and sends the second arrival your way. 

“You okay?” Spencer asks, frowning at your strange position on the floor. 

You pout at him. “Spencer, I’ve fallen and my knee won’t work.” 

“You fell?” 

Any nonchalance falls away. Spencer scrambles onto his knees beside you to look you over, curls falling from behind his ear into his eyes as he encourages you back. “You fell?” he asks again, confused. 

“Off the stool.” 

“Off the– What were you doing?” 

“Just grabbing the glasses for tonight!”

“Morgan could’ve done that.” 

“Can you please help me up?” you ask, very much wanting to move on. 

Spencer is a slight man. Not without muscle, but also no weightlifter. To his credit, he doesn’t make helping you seem above his abilities as he wraps an arm behind you and tucks the other under your legs. He lifts you enough to get his hand at the small of your back, and you use your now one good leg to stand. 

Spencer manhandles you a little, which is new. Hosts you to the couch, and lets you down gently. He does need a big breath when he’s done, but besides that, he’s like a Prince Charming having rescued you from your own demise. “Okay?” he asks, both hands at your waist. 

“It hurt bad.” 

“Can I see it?” 

By picking you up, he has earned the right to get you undressed, and you tell him so, his cheeks turning pinky-red as he rolls up your jeans. 

“Swollen,” he says. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” You grimace. “I’m so embarrassed I don’t really know what to say. Do you think we can postpone the party?”

Spencer smiles at you, the sort of smile you can only give somebody when you’ve seen almost every part of them, and found yourself still in love by the end of it. He smiles at you like you’re made of pure gold. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m gonna nurse you back to health.” 

“Really?” 

“Of course I am. I’m gonna fix it, but first I was thinking I could kiss your chin better? You have a dark spot coming.” 

You touch it, tender, surprised, “I do?” 

Spencer leans up to peck your chin, just shy of the coming bruise. “You do. I’ll get you some ice.” 

[itzpookiepooh]

Fading Away

Sylus knew this would happen. He always runs the numbers. Always. The one time he decides to ignore the numbers and let you run off into danger this happens. You were bleeding out in his arms, you can’t die—not like this. He rushed you to the nearest hospital or someone who could heal you.

The endless bloodstained bandages, tools and gloves scattered across the table. The sound of you gurgling your own blood replays in his ears. Your bloody handprint still on his face. The look you gave him was haunting. Your eyes glazed over losing life as you whisper apologies for not heeding his warning.

“You’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it.” His voice trembled as he held you against his chest. The trees whispering your demise was enough to kill him.

The process was long and tedious. Every time they got you stable you slipped again. The blood wouldn’t stop and the professional was losing hope. Sylus would have him killed if he gave up on you. He wouldn’t lose you—not like this.

You had to be brought back 3 times. 3 times Sylus heard you sigh as if this was your relief. 3 times Sylus saw your body go limp. 3 times he had to imagine your funeral. It was unbearable to experience. It was his own living hell. He held your hand all the way through though. He wouldn’t let you die alone.

He whispered sweet words to you even as you slipped away. He kissed your head countless times. He encouraged you to wake up because you both had so much to do in the future. He was scared, scared of losing you to the other side. Scared of never hearing your voice again. Scared of never seeing you smile again. Most of all he was terrified that he would forget your face.

When you were finally stable enough, you were bandaged and in a deep rest. You held your hand through it all. Refusing to let you go no matter who said what. No one dared to go against his wishes when it came to his beloved. He waited for you for weeks. You didn’t flinch or sigh or so much as breathe too hard.

He was patient in waiting for you until finally, your finger twitched. His head shot up to look at you blinking slowly and tiredly. He moved swiftly cradling your cheek as you took a deep, painful breath in.

“Don’t strain yourself. You’re still healing.” He spoke softly as he kissed your lips. You squeeze his hand and smile.

“I want to do all of that with you.” He chokes up a little trying not to cry in front of you. “We can do whatever you want.” His voice trembled as he repeatedly kissed the crown of your head.

Y’all know I gotta give you a singular LI angst every blue moon

[sharieb]

Held in the Hollowed Fragments 1: My Encumbarce Pragma

Pairing: LADs x non-mc (You)

Genre: Angst (not proofread)

Series' inspiration

Writer's note: I've decided to start a series of some sort, as my mind is brewing with ideas. However, to get started, I need a catalyst to trigger my momentum, so please forgive me for the angst I'm bringing. (Yes, I lovingly kissed all the bricks beforehand for this and the future posts.)

Word count: +1K

Next

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Life had always been cruel to me for as long as I could remember. The dull to sharp unbearable ache of watching the love of my life fall deeply in love with someone else, to fall for her, Mc unconditionally and wholeheartedly, that I had to continuously endure the sight of him falling to his demise, whether by the sacriface of his life for hers or lose of his sanity and will to live after her untimely demise, time and time again. A constant tragedy, yet, I have always been there by his side during his weakest and most vulnerable, to hold him in my warm embrace, whispering soothing words of comfort and encouragement to restore him to his best self, only for him to continue his pursuit of her while I watched on in the distance.

To him, I was a mundane necessity that was always around but never truly desired, like an ordinary harbour with a small lighthouse in the distance, a place for him to rest for a time before becoming forgotten once again, for the great horizon beyond my shores represents her. There were times when I tried to stop him and desperately keep him within the bay, in the safety of my warm embrace as the paths before him were not worth disregarding and sacrificing his life for a love that will end up killing him long before the love he desires comes to fruition, and yet, he and the new twisted plans that Astra had in store for him says otherwise.

She's worth the pain.

She's everything to me.

I can't live with the idea of not being by her side.

I'll do whatever it takes to protect her and make her happy.

I would rather die in her arms than not save her.

You don't understand what I'm going through.

He pushed me away, as to him I was just in the way of keeping her safe in his own embrace, even if it meant meeting his tragic end by her own hands or to forever be cursed to not being able to love her nor live a long life together.

If only he knew that I did understand, far more than he could ever imagine, but yet... He doesn't see it that way. To him, I'm not as special as her. I'm not the person who makes his heart race; the one who was never a constant thing in his mind. I'm someone who he'll drop everything that he's doing, just to be near to like she could, to have her eyes on him and him alone.

I'm not, nor will I ever be, the sun, his sun that lights up his world. The sun that he willingly orbits around while craving more of her warmth and care, as I was just a tiny moon that sticks around him during the nights and early mornings. The same small moon that reflects his sun's shine when she is gone for a time, and then pales in the sky as the sun takes back her rightful place. A moon that is always there but never greatly appreciated as much.

I hate it.

I hate how he always gives his life away so easily for her.

I hate the times where would he screams, shouts and grows cold towards me time and time again whenever I try to protect him from the inevitable, only to then hold his cold, lifeless body in my arms, or watch the man I love becomes the empty unrepairable shell of what he once was after she was gone.

I hate how in some lifetimes, I also end up sacrificing myself just for him to have a chance to be with her as I slowly fade away like a long forgotten memory.

Most of all... I hate that I was never enough for him to love instead.

But yet... In the end, he and I were no different. We're both willing to risk our lives to be with the love of our lives, even if the moments together were short and fleeting. In the end, we both never once regretted our decisions, even during this twisted game with fate. However, there will always be one consistent thing that makes our destinies different.

For him, it was the fact that he and the love of his life would meet each other again in another life. That their hearts and souls will always belong to each other, and there will be another chance to be together. As for me? What was even there for me to hold on to?

Where is the reassurance that I'll have a chance to be loved and cherished by him? To be the one who is constantly having his loving gaze on them, and to be in his boundless embrace of devotion.

...

Maybe there won't be another next time.

Maybe there won't ever be a chance for me to love him so openly, as his and Mc's love was already set in stone, and I was just destined to fade into the cold, lifeless void like always.

Maybe it was for the best that we'll never see each other again, my love. To live our lives from now on and in the many lives after as strangers. To never recall the times we shared, the moments and memories that I'd once loved and cherished with all my heart and soul. To live in different timelines, dimensions, worlds, or even universes.

Maybe it's for the best that Astra lets a different cosmic god take my soul to somewhere far away...but not without taking your cursed, tragic fate with me in exchange for my compliance, so that you can finally live a life full of love and happiness with her. For her to love you with just as much love as I did for you in all those lifetimes.

To give you my last and final act of love and wishes for you.

Goodbye, my love... my all in all...

My snowman

My dragon

My starlight

My fishie

My candy apple

My Emcumbrace Pragma... I hope we never meet again.

...

..

.

NO! COME BACK! I'M SORRY! DON'T LEAVE ME ALL ALONE, PLEASE!!!

[lixiesfreckless]

Sugar & Spice | h. j.

A Sugar Across The Hall bonus scene

➸ synopsis: in reality, Joshua Hong can never say no to you.

➸ starring: joshua hong x reader

➸ word count: 1.9k words

➸ general content: boyfriend!joshua, kissing, slightly more than kissing lmao

➸ warnings: suggestive content, brief mention of alcohol

➸ rating: TV 16+

➸ author’s note: this can be read as a stand-alone BUT…happy one year anniversary to my magnum opus, sath. I love it to death, and I’m still not done writing for these characters, but for now, you get a much needed not-quite-hallmark-channel-approved scene. and before you get it twisted, this is and will always be dedicated to my beloved @ashonheavenscloud , but I’d like to give special thanks to @catboyieejeno for always encouraging me to stir the pot <3 love you guys a ton mwah

♫ this fic has a soundtrack! touch by keshi uhhhhhh somebody by keshi aahhhhhhh

Oh, he's really done it now.

Walking around some lively street corner a few blocks away from your shared apartment building, Joshua leads the two of you through downtown NYC at the height of spring. Strangers pass by your lovestruck duo without a second glance, not bothering to watch you look back at him with a borderline absurd amount of fondness in your irises. It's funny; usually Joshua wouldn't give spring a chance when it came to stating his favorite season, but since you waltzed into his life, he can confidently say that any of them are worthwhile—as long as you're with him. He squeezes your hand for what feels like the millionth time this evening, an action that makes you giggle happily to yourself.

Because you find it cute.

Oh, how you have no idea at all.

How tortuous this night has been for Joshua. How he regrets the day that he walked into that fateful department store, not looking for anything in particular but coming to a full stop in front of a specific mannequin. How he mentally patted himself on the back for remembering your size when you opened the gift bag a few hours earlier, eyes alight in excitement as you pulled out the present, letting the fabric unroll in your fingertips. How his face heated up as you opened your apartment door, and he quickly noted how the mannequin did the dress no justice.

Truthfully, if the dress looked as good on the mannequin as it did on you, he would have never taken it off the rack. He'd know better.

Because all through dinner he had to stop himself from staring at you and the slope of your neck, broken up by the thin straps of the halter dress and abandoned by your hair that was conveniently(to his demise) in an updo, to show off the open back. Luckily, you were so delighted by the Greek restaurant that you'd picked out that you hardly noticed his deepening flush, or the way he nearly downed his white wine in one go the second the server left your table.

And now, as you swing his hand and practically run up the stairs(because the elevator is broken, again), he finds himself almost dreading the night ahead. It's a Thursday, which means self care and Grey’s Anatomy, and while he would never turn down spending time with you, being that close to you for a prolonged period of time after the night he's had would be borderline masochistic.

Of course he contemplates all of this, but in reality, Joshua Hong can never say no to you.

So you unlock the door to your home, blabbering on about something that had happened at work and completely oblivious to the way that your boyfriend is eyeing you, torn between running towards you and running across the hall to get a grip on himself.

“Johnny went off at a customer yesterday,” you chuckled, crossing the room to set your purse down on the kitchen table. “They were being so rude, and over spilled milk too—throwing a fit over where we get our coffee beans imported from–”

You yelp in surprise, followed by a giggle at the feeling of Joshua’s hands encircling your waist from behind. His head settles in the space on your shoulder, but not before leaving a light kiss to the exposed skin of your neck.

“Hi,” you greet him, hands coming up to hold onto his forearms as you try to decipher the reason for this sudden display of affection.

“Hi,” he sighs, nose nudging against your pulse point, “Did I ever tell you how stunning you look in that dress?”

“No, I must have misheard you the first fifty times.”

He laughs at your little jab, willing his hands to stay still despite his growing desire to let them wander. You make the terrible decision to turn just enough so you can look at him, and it's this position that puts Joshua at his most vulnerable.

“Ready to wrap up season five?”

Looking up at him the way that you are paired with your slightly parted lips and flushed demeanor, Joshua finds himself at a loss for words, instinctively leaning into your face as his restraint wears thin. And your unfazed and accepting disposition makes it that much worse for him, his breath shaking as you flutter your eyes shut and part your lips.

The first touch of his lips is familiar, his kiss walking the line between mind-numbingly sweet and devastatingly tender as one of his hands comes up to lift your jaw. But instead of pulling away like he had originally intended, he presses harder against your mouth with a small sigh, unable to find any logical objection to the change of plans.

Your giggly demeanor fizzles out under the heat of his mouth, and your breath escapes you once his hand slides down to your neck, fingers languidly tracing the curve and playing with the straps that rest there. In contrast to his slow hands, his kisses grow faster and almost desperate, not wanting to separate for even a second as he tilts his head and slants his mouth against yours.

You stumble backwards slightly in pleasant surprise, and the table hits just above the hem of your skirt before the arm around your waist tightens, pulling you further into Joshua’s chest.

He takes this opportunity to lean forward slightly, clearing the table with a sweep of the arm that was holding you before hoisting you up onto it, hands firm on your thighs and then sliding down to your knees so he can part them.

“Josh,” you whisper breathlessly, clutching onto his shoulders as your eyes dazedly flicker between his lips and his eyes. His lower lip gets trapped between his teeth as his strength falters, gaze hardly able to meet yours as his fingers dance along the scalloped hem of your dress.

“Oh God, don't do that baby,” he nearly moans, and the pet name turns your brain waves into radio static. You've never heard him sound so helpless, as if his very fate would be decided by whatever you choose to say next. “You make it so hard to just sit and watch TV with you sometimes. Especially when you look like this.”

Knowing now that you have the upper hand, you decide to humor yourself and tease him a bit, leaning forward with a slight smirk on your lips. “Like what?”

His eyes drink you in from head to toe, taking their time to memorize all of your body lines in the flattering dress. If the opportunity were to present itself tonight, he doesn't know whether he would even want to take it off of you.

He leans in close, hoping that his desire translates well as it's mumbled against the skin of your neck.

“So damn good.”

His confession against your sensitive skin has you muffling a whine, gripping the edge of the table as your rationale evaporates under his searing lips, traveling higher and higher with each press.

You can't take his teasing much longer, and frankly, this side of him doesn't come out often enough for you to pass up an opportunity such as this. Meredith Grey will have to wait.

“You know…” you whisper, head tilting back as you feel his hand slipping behind your neck to support it, “they play reruns on Friday nights too.”

“Thank God, ‘cause you in this dress has been driving me crazy since you put it on,” he chuckles against your lips before catching them with his again, taking his time now to fully taste you, swiping his tongue along your bottom lip to elicit that delightful shiver that runs up your spine. You respond in earnest with your hands, carding through his brown locks and nearly melting when he doesn't suppress the groan that tumbles from his throat.

He kisses you like you’re air itself, hands sliding up your skirt and body pressing against yours, and once your nails slide down his scalp he softly groans into your mouth, moving onto kissing across your jawline. You repeat the action while winding your legs around Joshua’s waist, and he whines quietly into your neck, “Please…tell me to stop before I can’t.”

So subtly you almost miss it, he rolls his hips into yours, his desires clouding his judgment as a foreign sound jumps to the top of your throat. Immediately your attention is drawn to the heat you feel in your abdomen, and while you have grown accustomed to bearing it in silence, you’re finding it increasingly hard to ignore with him like this, hands all over you.

Wanting you.

He does it again, with a little more pressure this time, and your head falls back as a whimper just barely tumbles out of your lips. He shivers slightly, nearly overcome with the exertion of fighting every urge to take you on this table this instant.

To temporarily solve this problem, his lips find yours again, but feeling your muffled moans against him proves to be no more effective than trying to put out a forest fire with a garden hose.

As his hips softly grind into yours and your kisses get more and more frantic, your voice of reason pushes through the heavy cloud of lust at the forefront of your brain. “Wait, I've never–”

“We don't have to baby,” he cuts you off, wanting to make his intentions clear despite being unable to put an inch of space between the two of you, “and I don't want to just yet, but I…”

His hand that was previously bunched in your dress comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing gently against the redness of your cheek as he calms himself down with a deep breath.

And as he gazes at you with nothing but adoration in his brown irises, you can almost feel the words coming before he says them out loud.

“I…I am so in love with you,” he begins, fighting a chuckle born out of the absurd location of this sudden confession, “that sometimes, when I look at you, I can’t even think straight, and I…” he trails off, struggling to find the right words the longer he stares at you.

You, on the other hand, are practically beaming, bottom lip trapped by your teeth in an attempt to fight the smile you’d be flashing him, so as to not distract him any further. But you soon realize; with him seated between your legs, there’s not much you can do to help him out here.

So you switch to offense, legs squeezing him tight around his waist to pull his hips back to yours. “You what?”

His chocolate eyes darken to a coffee color in seconds, and the hand that was on your hip tightens again, keeping you firm in place on the table as you bat your eyelashes at him.

“Sometimes I wish I could just show you how much you drive me crazy.”

You don’t hesitate, lifting your chin to meet his lips in a deceptively chaste kiss as your hands fall onto the buttons on his shirt, playing with them just to rile him up further.

You shrug, feigning indifference. “Maybe you can.”

And at that, before you can even register what’s happening, he’s sliding an arm around your waist and under your knees, picking you up and heading towards your bedroom with a chuckle.

“Maybe I should.”

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧

click to read Sugar Across The Hall

[afflatusssss]

//HADES 2 UPDATE SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT !!! (Icarus x Melinoe)

UM???!! Excuse me???? *PULLS MY HAIR* MY GOD OKAY....FINE..I MEAN I GUESS I'M JUST GOING TO SIT HERE AND SCREAM RIGHT...JUST....there is NO WAY and i mean NO WAY you can look me in the eye and say icarus has no feelings for melinoe ; _ ; ) my god the yearning is driving me MAD !!!!

and okay, here's what I find really interesting. i know moros and nemesis are also going to be romanceable (i say also because, my god, after all the dialogue i've read, supergiant is definitely making icarus a romance option unless they wanna play some hilariously cruel joke on the shippers *cough* true believers)---but that said, the chemistry that mel has with icarus is...quite frankly, unparalleled. don't get me wrong, i like her with nem and moros as well, each ship delivers an interesting dynamic...but her relationship with icarus just really hits different. he's not a god. he's a mortal turned shade after an untimely demise, someone who was supposed to be nothing but a wisp of himself. physically, yes, but also just...he's living in his father's shadow as well. he still is. there's that kind of inherent pressure to it. SOUND FAMILIAR?? icarus and mel are parallels. it's CRAZY how good their narratives mesh. mel has displayed, on more than one or two occasions, a neuroticism and perfectionism born out of IMMENSE internal and external pressure---from herself, from Hecate (not with malice as we know, but necessity or duty), Odysseus, the shades/denizens of her father's domain, etc... EVERYONE is expecting her to live up to this image she never chose, and yes she wants to save her family and kingdom, but it's still a difficult life. she's also living under the shadow of a family legacy. mel and icarus, i think, understand each other in ways that even the game hasnt really explicitly stated, but you Feel it. in the way they talk to each other, try to reassure one another. icarus believes in mel, not in the "because you're destined to save EVERYONE, it's what you were trained and raised to do" way but in the "i genuinely think you're amazing, and so why wouldn't you?" way. likewise, mel has always believed in icarus. she never viewed him as anything less than his father. you see that in the way she encourages him to build his inventions, the way she praises all the things he makes her. and man idk just....mel has been living the crossroads for so long, it's really all she's ever known, which is why she's so desperate to help her Olympian family, why she wants to get out and Do Something; she can't stand still. icarus can't stand still either, heck, his whole motif is FLYING, all the freedom and longing that comes with it. you know why? in the greek myth, and yes it was already mentioned in a few lines, he was cooped up in a tower pretty much all his childhood because minos wanted to keep his father hostage. both mel and icarus know what it feels to be helpless, to want to do something, to crave this freedom and power---maybe set in different contexts but still. Still.

and okay moving back, i highly doubt icarus' feelings are one-sided. just....the way melinoe talks to him, responds to him. she lights up almost instantly. there's this softness to it, and i would argue (maybe my ears just deceive me) even a wistful longing??? of all the things supergiant could do with their story, why include ^^^ ALL. THESE. EXCHANGES. besides the kinda funny fact that it sounds like melinoe is trying to seek the approval of mom here, just...why??? why does she care this much???? it could be from friendship yea but....idk. just listen LISTEN to the way these lines are delivered when you can. there's so much left unsaid. it's so...different from her interactions with moros and nem??? like yes there's a warmth as well in certain moments, but there's also that kind of...awkward formality? it's like we're still seeing that version of Princess Melinoe when she's with them. she hasn't really put down her walls with nem mainly because she still isnt sure about how the goddess of retribution really perceives her---she hurls insults left and right, and what exactly can she make of that? moros, also, hasn't quit with the formalities. he admires and respects her, but he hasn't really peeled back her layers yet, the ones underneath who she is as a goddess and princess. but icarus has seen it all. he's been with her since her childhood, long before she was ready to be anything, much less a slayer of time and everything else. he wasn't very substantial in form, which is why they underwent that entire dangerous ritual that cost mel her arm: she cared about him so much, and it's clear she still does. i won't get into the tantalizing aspect of icarus' guilt and how that affected their relationship (not great for them, but delicious for the narrative) and this, my dear friends who have somehow made it this far into my delirious rant, is exactly why i love that he calls her "meli." not princess, the way moros and nem do. not "melinoe" the way hecate does. not "goddess" the way odysseus does. not "young one" in the way skelly does. or the kinda silly, super short "M" that hermes does. only two characters really have a special nickname for her that's similar to the kinds best friends give each other, intimate but playful. dora (who refers to her as "mel"), and icarus, who will always call her meli---it's his sign of affection, regardless of who she is. he's never called her anything different. okay yea it's like...1AM right now, I just finished a run and i'm high on waxwitch okkaaayyy ; _ ; )

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Tickle the Ivories

Ominis Gaunt x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit / MDNI (smut, language); all characters are adults Words: 4,473 Tags: second person POV, reader insert, no y/n, smut, aged up characters, adult characters, post-Hogwarts, friends to lovers

Summary: Ominis Gaunt needs some inspiration to finish writing his novel. You suggest he play some piano for inspiration; instead, he plays you.

Notes: I've always headcanoned Ominis as being an excellent pianist, which is mainly what inspired this — as well as that scene in the 1990 film "Pretty Woman." This is literally just shameless, silly smut.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Ominis Gaunt didn’t miss his eyesight — at least not most days. 

He’d lived like this for years and, like most aspects of his grim childhood, he had learned to adapt. 

The only times he truly missed his vision was when you came around. 

You stirred something special and secretive in Ominis. You always had. In fact, the first time he met you — the morning you wandered into the Slytherin Common Room to meet your housemates on the first day of fifth year — Ominis could feel the air change. 

The common room was always cool, the windows casting shadows from the Black Lake’s frigid waters across the floors. Even the spot in front of the fireplace felt abnormal, as if the crackling flames were fake.

So when you approached Ominis near his favorite spot near the far windows, his guard went up. The air became oppressive; heavy like morning dew but warm like steam bursting from a kettle. But Ominis greeted you with kindness. Despite the polished, poised demeanor that often made him appear pretentious, he was a soft person. He only became hardened with life reminded him of its cruel capabilities. But in spite of his own arduous memories, he preferred to give people the benefit of the doubt. 

Of course, that nearly changed when you befriended Sebastian Sallow. At first, Ominis thought it might be good to welcome a new friend to their severed trio. Sebastian hadn’t been the same since Anne was forced to leave Hogwarts. Ominis was hopeful you might distract him from his relentless research for Anne’s cure. He didn’t realize you’d be the one to encourage it. 

Still, something about your presence intrigued Ominis. You made his porcelain cheeks flush and the milky whites of his eyes glimmer. You took that pale, ghost of a boy and breathed new life into him. 

So even after Sebastian initiated you to the Undercroft, even after you elected to allow Sebastian to use Crucio on you in the Scriptorium, and even after Sebastian’s downward spiral led to Solomon’s demise, Ominis couldn’t shake the feeling that he should appreciate you despite all the agony that occurred since your arrival. 

He wanted to hate you; wanted to blame you for the ways his fifth year unraveled. But you weren’t perfect. You tried your best to reason with Sebastian, and that was your common thread to Ominis — you were both too good to know how to stop something so sinister. 

So despite the devastating manner in which you failed Sebastian, Ominis understood, and he did not blame you. Especially once he saw your efforts to help Sebastian resurrect himself. 

When Ominis had wanted to turn Sebastian in, you thought of Anne. And you reminded Ominis that Sebastian was still good; he had acted out of love that manifested into desperation. Neither you nor Ominis understood that. Your family abandoned you as an infant. Ominis’ family robbed him of any chance for affection. You were both strangers to the pull of unconditional love. 

You stuck by Sebastian and helped your misguided friend remember the person he really was. You showed him empathy and understanding, but you also inflicted him with tough love when he needed it. You made it clear he’d lose everything if he dared to ever dabble in dark magic again. 

Since then, Sebastian had returned to his former self. He graduated from Hogwarts and became an Auror. You and Ominis could not have been more proud of him. 

Meanwhile, you were a Healer at St. Mungo’s and Ominis became a novelist. The two men moved into a townhome together while you shared a flat with Natsai Onai. You spent more time at Ominis and Sebastian’s than you did your own home. The three of you liked it that way.

That was the case this evening, as you stopped by their townhome and let yourself in. You hadn’t planned to stay long — you were tired from work — but you wanted to hear how Ominis’ latest story was coming along. 

“Evening,” you greeted as you tossed your coat and bag on the kitchen table. You kicked your shoes off and settled onto the sofa as your eyes lingered on Ominis, who was seated at a desk pushed against the wall. Parchment was scattered over the desktop while a charmed quill hovered over an ink pot. 

“Evening,” Ominis sighed. You frowned as you shifted deeper into the sofa cushions to make yourself comfortable, your legs tucked beneath yourself. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked as you took in Ominis’ appearance. His eyes looked cloudier than usual, and even his skin appeared dull and parched. This wasn’t the man whose beauty could only be described as striking. This was a man who had been drained by life’s unrelenting demands. 

Still, he was stunning to you. You’d always been painfully attracted to him. At first, it was because you found him distinguished, albeit intimidating. You knew very little about the Gaunt lineage or its nefarious history when you met him. You merely wanted to learn more about the dignified boy who wore elegant robes and whose eyes swarmed with a thousand mysterious stories. 

Then you came to know Ominis on a much deeper level, beneath the pomp and propriety. You lifted his veil of assimilation and unmasked a boy who merely wanted nothing more than the chance to be good.

It made you love him even more.

Most people would have caved under Ominis’ circumstances. The other Gaunt children gave in and became just like their parents – cruel, conniving and driven by hatred. It would have been easier for Ominis to do the same.

Instead, he defied his family, and on his eighteenth birthday, he set himself free. You were thrilled for him – so much so, you and Sebastian threw him a celebration. It wasn’t Ominis’ style to party, but you’d never seen him smile so much as that night.

But now, Ominis looked exhausted. 

“It’s this damn fifth chapter,” he sighed. “I just can’t work my way through it.”

“Oh, come on now,” you encouraged, your lips curving in a knowing smile. “You always sort it out.”

Ominis’ writing also left you in awe. Perhaps you were a tad bit biased, but his prose was perfect in your opinion. He weaved sentences that sang off their pages. Every thought, every word was crafted with careful precision that only someone as perfectionist as Ominis could conjure.

It’s why you’d often commiserate over his work with him. You didn’t know why Ominis stressed so much – he’d already penned two wildly successful novels that catapulted him to the top of the wizarding world’s pyramid of esteemed writers. But you also knew Ominis cared so damn much about his craft that anything short of spectacular would be deemed an utter failure by him.

“Tell me, where are you at now? Last time we chatted, the main character was about to reveal the story of how he survived the drowning,” you recalled.

“Now I need to convey how that experience has shaped him to this point,” Ominis explained. You blinked. 

“Well, I imagine surviving something like that would be quite traumatic,” you mused. “And I surmise it might alter one’s outlook on life. You and I both know how surviving a perilous situation plays out.”

Ominis’ lips thinned. It was a combination of a grimace and smile you’d come to recognize often. 

“I just don’t want to be cliche about it,” he explained. “Everyone suffers trauma. Everyone deals with it differently. I don’t want to write another story about a bloke who survived something awful and used it to overcome whatever internal agony eats away at him.”

“But Ominis,” you said carefully. “Isn’t that what tends to happen? People survive, and then they grow from it? It’s what happened to me, to Seb, to you.”

“But doesn’t that feel a bit expected?” Ominis asked. You shrugged as your fingers toyed with the edge of a sofa cushion. 

“Perhaps it does,” you answered honestly. “But perhaps that’s what people want to read, Ominis. Sometimes it’s nice to relate to a character.”

Ominis considered your words carefully, but it was clear his mind remained at war. He groaned and pushed himself away from the desk, standing to pace the living room in search of answers.

“Where is Seb anyway?” you asked curiously.

“Still on assignment in Belfast,” Ominis answered absently. His shoes clunked against the wood floor as he paced lines, back and forth, with his wand guiding him in one hand.

“Maybe you should take a break,” you suggested as you studied Ominis’ manic state. This happened more often than he’d ever admit. He’d become frantic over his work, spiral until he was struck by some brilliant idea, and then all would be right in his world again.

“I can’t take a break,” Ominis sighed. “I need to get this done.”

“You need to preserve your sanity,” you laughed. “And mine. And probably Seb’s.”

Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers as if he were trying to squeeze the tension from his head. You gazed around the room, your eyes falling on the black piano tucked away in the corner. 

It was always a comical contrast to you – the sight of Ominis’ opulent grand piano positioned next to the old shelves that held Sebastian’s collection of faded, grubby books, strewn haphazardly with no sense or order. It was a fitting reflection of the two men and how their differences managed to coincide comfortably.

“Maybe you should play some piano,” you suggested. “You’ve always said it inspires you.”

Ominis stopped his pacing and turned toward the corner. His brows furrowed and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Yes, alright,” he sighed in agreement. “Perhaps that will help clear my head.”

You nodded in approval as Ominis paced to the piano bench to sit. Though he could not see them, your eyes sparkled with excitement.

You watched in silence as Ominis’ fingers hovered over the keys. He seemed to be quietly deciding on what to play until finally, the quiet ping of the first note rang throughout the room.

If writing didn’t work out for Ominis, you were certain a career in music would. He played beautifully, with a stunning command over the keys. They became an extension of his spirit; steadfast and smooth, yet peppered with intriguing obscurity. The notes started as slow chirps before they ascended toward a brisk pitter-patter that preceded a sweeping symphony that soared around you. 

Ominis sat at the edge of the bench, his back straight as a board, a sign of his classical training. But the piano portrayed his emotion with much more livelihood than someone merely moving in scripted patterns. The keys felt his every pulse and danced in response. 

Ominis played with his eyes closed. You typically listened to him with your own squeezed shut to savor the sound, but this time, you couldn't help but watch him.

The crescendo was clean and crisp, a dazzling declaration of drama that surged with rich power. Each note seemed to emphasize Ominis’ heartbeat. It raised goosebumps over your skin, and you wished he’d touch you with the same mastery as those piano keys.

When the song ended, the room stilled again. You smiled. Ominis remained stoic.

“That was beautiful,” you breathed softly. 

“Thank you.”

“What was it? I didn’t recognize it.”

“Just something that came to mind,” Ominis said quietly.

Maybe it was the way Ominis’ song had made your pulse race. Maybe it was the way he looked next to the piano – so handsome and refined – or maybe it was merely your waning self-control. Something made you rise to your feet and pace toward Ominis.

You slid carefully onto the bench next to him. It was built for one person, meaning you were far too close, the sides of your thighs pressing against his. Ominis inhaled sharply. You pretended you didn’t notice.

“Will you teach me to play?” you asked innocently. Ominis straightened as if he was holding his breath. 

“Of- of course,” he answered. You smiled at him, though he couldn’t detect it as his wand rested atop the piano. 

You reached for the keys, the pads of your fingers tracing gently over their cool, slick surface. “Show me,” you said softly. Ominis nodded and you were almost certain you could see the muscles of his throat constrict.

“Start here,” Ominis instructed, his fingers resting atop the keys at one end of the piano. He pressed down, drawing a faint clink. You reached across him to repeat the pattern and smirked as you felt him shift beside you. It triggered something much more sportive within you. 

“And what about this one?” you asked innocently, using your hand to guide Ominis’ over the ivory planks. You pressed his hand downward over a series of keys, though you couldn’t care less about the notes. Your palm was warm as it rested atop his. 

The contrast was nearly comical. Your hand was delicate, but covered in scars from the scrapes and scratches of your past; nails bitten down to the skin; cuticles dry and cracked from washing your hands so much at work. Ominis’ hands were smooth and elegant, unblemished except for ink stains on the pads of his fingertips.

Your hand controlled Ominis’ as you dragged it slowly across the key tops so that the piano sang an erratic scale. When you realized his hand was trembling, you released it. It clanged against the keys as you dipped your head.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, your eyes cast downward. A flush surged from the back of your neck to your cheeks as you contemplated a million different ways you could die. Your heart continued its assault inside your chest while your muscles seized in shame. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s alright,” Ominis said gently. “I just… you just…” He trailed off, leaving you both unsure what he intended to say. So you said nothing.

The silence seared within your skull and you scolded yourself for daring to believe Ominis might reciprocate even the faintest feelings for you. There was no mutual sexual tension, no unspoken declarations of desire. This delicate dance you dreamed up was exactly that – a figment of your own personal fantasies.

You rested your hands in your lap and remained rigid. 

“I’m sorry.” Ominis finally broke the silence and his flustered tone caught you off guard.

“No, it was my fault-” you started. 

“I didn’t mean for you to stop,” Ominis continued. 

You froze. Your fingertips pressed into the tops of your thighs while the temperature in the room spiked. Your brain began to fail you, all vocabulary vacating its Broca’s area.

“Oh,” was the best you could manage. You were desperate to look anywhere but at him. You couldn’t. This was your friend. This was Ominis Gaunt, the spitting image of virtue and sophistication. This was a man you admired and respected… and a man you wanted to ruin you.

When it became evident you were considering flinging yourself from the third-story window, Ominis sighed. 

“Give me your hand,” he said, holding out his own. 

You obliged, and your breath hitched as he guided it with a renewed quiet confidence. Once your hands were placed over the keys again, Ominis stood. You frowned in confusion until he shifted to stand behind you, his spine curving as he leaned over your right shoulder.

“Like this,” he said gently, his hands taking control of yours. The piano chirped beneath your hands, though it was clear Ominis had no particular song in mind. 

As he leaned in more to manipulate your hands over more keys, you could feel his breath against your neck. Your eyes fell shut at the warmth and your knees drifted closer together. Soon, you were clamping your thighs tight as you fought to steady your breathing. Your body was failing you.

“Ominis,” you breathed, your eyes still closed. His hands drifted slowly from yours, snaking their way over your forearms. His thumbs traced gentle circles across your skin as his lips brushed the notch between your neck and your collarbone. A traitorous whimper escaped your throat.

Ominis' hands were on you in an instant, pulling you to your feet. You spun around to face him and he knocked you backward against the piano. Its keys clanged against the backs of your thighs while Ominis stepped around the bench, moving past the remaining barrier – physical and metaphorical – between you.

You guided him toward yourself until you could wrangle your arms around him. It wasn’t the dignified first kiss you often envisioned with Ominis, but it was anything but ordinary. He didn’t seem to mind. 

His hands snapped to your waist like they were always meant to be there, and he kissed you until you had to crane your neck for air. He had you pinned against the piano, your ass pressed against the keys.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered as Ominis’ teeth grazed your earlobe. You screamed at yourself in silence, wondering how you could be stupid enough to say such things. This was all you wanted to be doing. 

Ominis left a trail of kisses down your neck to the exposed skin of your chest as he ignored your performative protest. Though he couldn’t see your breasts, you knew they were next.

His hands flattened across your back and edged their way upward to the hook and eye closures of your dress. He kissed you with composure as you felt his hands fiddle with every brass clasp until the fabric slackened around your torso. Your dress fell to the floor and you kicked it away impatiently. Ominis smiled at the sound.

His hands explored the curves of your waist, thumbs dragging over the ridge of your hip bones with care. He couldn’t see you, but my god, could he read you.

You squirmed beneath his touch as his palms drifted to your bare breasts, index fingers reading the braille of your nipples. He dipped his head to kiss your shoulder as his fingers peeled away the fabric of your panties. They floated to the floor, leaving you completely bare.

Though Ominis couldn’t see you, you’d never felt so exposed. He seemed to sense your vulnerable state, because he shushed you as he leaned in to circle his arms around you.

“Relax,” he murmured into your ear. “I’ll take good care of you.”

One submissive nod from you was all it took for Ominis to lift you backward, the piano banging beneath you as you became seated atop it. He sank into a seated position on the bench, his head between your thighs as he pressed a trail of kisses between them.

Your chest heaved and your core contracted in anticipation. This was a scene that far exceeded any expectation or reverie you could have imagined. No mirage could conjure the blazing ache between your legs.

Ominis’ fingertips skimmed the tops of your thighs, as if seeking confirmation to continue. You gnawed at your bottom lip and whined in response. 

The moment his tongue made contact with your clit, you unleashed the moan you’d been fighting to quell. Ominis would have deemed anything less a disappointment. Arms hooked around your thighs, he pulled you to the edge of the piano top, your legs dangling against the key fronts.

It didn’t take long for your heavy panting to become sharp gasps at the way Ominis’ tongue devoured your cunt. It flattened against your clit and rolled in brisk patterns until he was coaxing a climax from you. Your hands fisted his hair, making him a sinful paradox. You’d tamed the heir of Slytherin and turned him into your pet snake. But like most predators, he needed his prey.

He continued to feast on you until you squirmed and squealed beneath him, your hips bucking and feet fidgeting in response to his mouth’s every movement. When he sucked against your clit, you cried out, fingers tugging his hair taut while you threatened to fall apart. He hummed his praises for you, refusing to break contact with your salty, slick flesh.

And when you finally snapped, your back arching off the piano and your strangled shriek signaling the spasms coursing through your nerve endings, Ominis didn’t relent.

He left you a whimpering, sensitive mess as he stood, calmly loosening his tie while he allowed you to recover. Ever the gentleman – for now.

His tie gone and his shirt unbuttoned, Ominis offered you his hand. He eased you from the piano to your feet, where you stood with a hazy head. But the vision of Ominis looming over you, chest exposed and hair now a tousled mess, made you lick your lips with lust.

Your hands raked over his torso and chest as you slid his shirt from his arms to the floor. His skin was fair and pale, dabbled with a scattering of beauty marks. You wanted to study them, memorize them until you could point them out as easily as Orion in the night sky. But not now. Now was the time for a different kind of intimacy, one that was much more unchaste.

Ominis stirred quietly as you fiddled with his belt buckle. It had barely clinked apart before you were shoving his pants and undergarments to the floor in haste. His smile told you he was enjoying your frantic state.

You weren’t quite the epitome of composure like he was, but he certainly had never seen you like this. He didn’t seem to mind, judging from the erection that was presently aching in your hand. Ominis’ chest caved as you stroked him, your eyes studying his every expression.

“Fuck,” he moaned as your thumb rolled tiny circles across his tip. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this.”

“Pretty sure I do,” you murmured into his ear.

“What kept you for so long then?” he groaned, his eyes squeezed shut. 

“You aren’t exactly the type to wear your heart on your sleeve,” you noted with a smirk, your hand pumping faster around his shaft.

“This house doesn’t need two emotional and impulsive men. One Sebastian is enough,” Ominis muttered. You grinned in response as you leaned in closer, your hand still tugging at his length. “You’re sure about this?” he asked gently.

“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“I’ve heard that too many times from you and Sebastian to be genuinely convinced,” Ominis noted. You smirked into his eyes, certain he could sense it.

“You know, with all this talking, you’re starting to sound like Seb.”

“You take that back right now.”

You laughed as you pulled Ominis into a long, slow kiss. His hands were everywhere, drinking in every bit of your skin available until his cock was twitching with greed. 

Soon, you were pinned against the piano again, this time with the keys digging into the fronts of your thighs. You gasped as Ominis fisted your hair with one hand, shoving your head forward. The piano clanked as you bent over, your hands catching your weight as they pressed against the piano top.

“I’ll show you what it means to really make some noise,” Ominis growled in your ear. Your arousal swelled instantly.

Ominis’ hands held your hips as you could feel the tip of his cock searching for your slick entrance. It nudged its way past your folds until Ominis sank his hips forward, filling you slowly as you held your breath.

“Shit,” Ominis hissed from behind you as he stretched you apart. Your eyes watered and your teeth clenched, your cunt already threatening to tremble at his mere intrusion. Once he reached the hilt, you could hear him sigh with satisfaction. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed. “You take me so perfectly.”

You bucked your hips backward in response. Ominis understood your message. His hips pulled back, drawing his cock from your passage until only its tip lingered in your entrance. When he rocked forward again, you moaned as he drove into your walls. 

The piano unleashed a barrage of scattered sound, an ode to the ongoing debauchery happening above. You paid no mind, your focus solely on the bliss that currently bewitched your body. Your fingertips pressed hard against the piano top, leaving fingerprints from your crime. 

Ominis’ cock found a steady rhythm that soon left the piano singing along with your sins. Its keys rang out with each slapping thrust while your moans provided the vocal component. Together, the two of you created a symphony for your seventh heaven. 

“Ominis,” you panted. “Ominis, please. Don’t stop.”

He wouldn’t dream of it. Not when you looked so fucking euphoric laid out before him, your bare backside curved over his precious piano while your skin rippled with its melodies. 

You squeezed yourself tight around his cock, the strain causing your walls to quake until you could feel your body reaching its own high note. You wailed Ominis’ name just before your rigid frame relaxed, your orgasm rolling within your walls until it left you flat across the piano top, your knees threatening to give out. 

Meanwhile, the surge from your core sent Ominis hurtling toward his own climax. He grunted as he slammed into you, spearing your core with his cock once more until he pulled your hips flush with his to fill you with his release. 

When it was over, he collapsed above you, his hands splayed against your back for support. 

“Alright?” he asked once he had the strength to straighten himself up. The moment he did, you missed the warmth of him pressed against your back. 

You nodded in confirmation and straightened, too. Your sweaty body left streaks on the dark piano top, one last imprint of what you’d done. As Ominis pulled himself from you to gather his clothes, your eyes lingered on the piano. 

A bashful blush crept across your cheeks as the reality of your act settled with clarity. You dressed in silence, averting your eyes from Ominis as you searched for the right words to fill the silence. 

Ominis appeared to be doing the same. Once you were both decent again, you decided the rug was the most fascinating thing you’d ever seen. 

But Ominis moved toward you, an act of reassurance and affection, one hand finding your waist as the other brushed your cheek with the backs of his knuckles. 

“Are you okay?” he asked so gently, you almost couldn’t believe this was the same man who had just defiled you on a piano. You smiled softly at him and reached for his hand to give it a gentle squeeze. 

“I’m fine,” you said reassuringly. “You?”

Ominis smiled, his eyes bright and clear now.

“Much better,” he said. “I’ve never been so inspired in my life.”

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

HIII I LOVE YOUR SEB X READER FIGHTING OVER THE BLACKLIGHT and wanted to request smth similar to it? Mutant!reader still, ( maybe the same as the other fic) who helps the Expendable(s)/MC much more than sebs when explaining how each monsters works (giving more info than sebs) and sebs getting annoyed by it? especially if mutant!reader sort of roams alongside with then expendable(s) and is seen chatting with them (bc maybe mutant reader misses being human?) until sebs pulls reader away to complain abt it (how reader shldnt be so relaxed in this situation)

Aw thank you! I'm happy you liked that one ^^

.........

"So you keep dying to creatures that are classified as an Angler, but none of them are the Angler itself, and he just...refuses to tell you how to avoid them?"

"Um, yeah..pretty much. The file said they were only discovered after the lockdown, so maybe he doesn't know-"

"Oh, he knows damn well how they behave. He's just lazy and expects you to figure it out on your own. Which one got you last time?"

The expendable abruptly stopped in their tracks, trying to recount their most recent untimely demise, while you--one of Urbanshade's mutant experiments--waited for them to gather their thoughts.

You two were just casually walking down one of the blacksite's long corridors....or rather, they were walking and you were slithering.

The only reason they were still alive and didn't have their gear detonated was all thanks to your own little scrambling machine. It was attached to your belt, being a lot easier to carry compared to that massive thing Sebastian lugged around.

You were lucky to find them during the chaotic lockdown, and now you were able to chat with expendables without worrying about HQ finding you and/or killing them for talking to you.

Even though you hated Urbanshade for turning you into this creature, you couldn't hate the folks who were just trying to earn their freedom. You knew nothing of why they were even here in the first place--and quite frankly you didn't care to know. There's no point to it.

You were once a sociable human being, and this was how you could still pretend you were.

Of course, that proved difficult as many expendables would rather run, use the flash beacon, or hide in the nearest locker whenever you showed your face. But you reassured them you mean no harm and just wanted to talk.

After overhearing a few grumble about Sebastian treating them like idiots due to their recent deaths (especially with Wall Dwellers), you took it upon yourself to give them better advice.

Advice that would actually stick with them.

While the documents mostly explained the monsters' behaviors clearly, information on the Angler's variants was severely lacking. That was understandable and something you were more than happy to elaborate on should they ask.

"Oh, I remember now...it was some big..creepy frog thing. It had a lot of teeth."

"Ah, that's Froger. She's different, alright. And a smart girl at that." You chuckled. "I've been watching her movements for a while. Wanna know a secret?"

"Sure...do I need to pay you data or..?"

"No. I don't need that stuff."

"Oh..okay."

"Anyways, you know how frogs like to hop around? Well, she does something similar. She'll pass you by, and then do another sweep of the room because she knows you're there. Then after awhile she'll hop back to wherever you are to catch you off guard. Does that make sense?"

"That...actually does. I did get caught off guard the third time because I thought she was gone. Um..thank you." They smiled a little bit.

"Of course. All you need to do is make sure she passes you thrice, and you'll get to keep your pretty little head." With a tiny smile, you patted the top of their head for encouragement. "Now I have business to attend to. I can't chat for too long, or else-"

"I think you've chatted with them long enough, [y/n]."

Blinking, you saw Sebastian pop his head out through a nearby vent, frowning at you.

"Ah. Why hello, Sebastian." You smiled innocently, tilting your head.

"We have a erm..business meeting, remember?" His eyes shifted to the expendable, who seemed utterly bewildered at his presence outside the shop. "If you'll excuse us."

"Yes, please excuse us...and don't let my advice go to waste!" You hummed, bidding them farewell before following Sebastian into the vent, making sure it closed behind you.

For a few moments more, they stood there in silence.

Until the lights in the room flickered and made them dash to the nearest possible hiding spot.

And of course...it was Froger.

.........

"That's my job, you know."

"Well you kinda suck at it." Flicking your tail, you climbed onto the stack of crates within Sebastian's shop, smirking up at your fellow fish monster. "If you're tired of meeting them in the same place when they die, at least give them better advice."

He just turned to face you, looking almost offended.

"You think Urbanshade is paying me to spoon-feed their expendables every tiny detail?! Should I start making Powerpoints for every damn thing that crawls their way?!" He spat.

"..all I'm saying is that calling them "morons" and "idiots" isn't going to help them get very far."

"And chatting them up isn't going to help us get very far, either." With a small huff, he slithered over to a desk cluttered with documents and other assets previous expendables have delivered to him, sifting through the piles. "We can't let them reach the crystal. Not yet. We need more time."

"Ugh, how much more time do we possibly need?" Taking a small DNA vial, you examined it closely between your fingers, admiring its blue glow. "I can only be your little scavenger fish for so long. This place is bound to run out of data. I say let 'em take the crystal, and while everyone at Urbanshade is distracted by that-"

"Jeez that sounds like a GREAT plan...FOR GETTING US KILLED!!" He snarled, swiping the glass vial from your hands. "And be careful with this! It could shatter and explode all over my wares! And I'll be making you pay for them!"

Normally, his anger would scare even the toughest expendable, but you weren't fazed in the slightest and just chuckled. "Woah, no need to get your fins in a twist, Sebby. I was only kidding."

"See? That's exactly your problem...you're too relaxed over all of this." He gently set the glass vial down like it was a baby deep sea bunny. "Those prisoners aren't our buddies, you know."

"I'm not trying to make friends with any of them. I'd just like to see them live a bit longer. It's interesting to hear about their experiences. Plus, they're willing to fork over any data they might have on 'em. So I'm completely focused on our mission."

"Still, we're trying to get out of this place before they terminate the Expendable Protocol. And that means getting out of here before anyone reaches the crystal-"

"And we will. I promise they won't get any closer just because I told them how to evade that dumb frog." You huffed, slithering off the crates and grabbing the nearby lantern. "I'll go pay Painter a visit. See what data he's gathered so far. You mind if I borrow this?"

"...why would I care?"

"Huh..impressive."

"What?"

"Oh nothing. I'm just glad we've moved past fighting over blacklights like toys." You grinned cheekily.

Sebastian's eye twitched. "I wish you'd stop reminding me of that.."

"Well you gave me the marks. So it's hard to forget." You chuckled, crawling into the vent and making your way to the heavy containment sector.

'They're probably gonna go chat up some other expendable.' He thought, annoyed as he went back to organizing his wares.

"Heads up."

"Who said tha---OH SHIT!!"

His ear fins perked up at the distant sounds of your shouting, which was quickly followed by a loud static buzz and a red light that he noticed sweeping through the adjacent room.

Seconds after that, your head popped back through the vent, your expression bewildered. "SEBASTIAN WHO THE HELL WAS THAT?!!"

"Oh? I thought you knew everybody here." He snickered. "He's just another acquaintance. Don't worry. You probably won't see him again."

"...I better not. Bye."

"Bye~"

[milligramspoison]

Facts about the sims below the cut to give y’all an idea 🫶

Liam, he/they

Liam’s a critically acclaimed actor with numerous nominations. Unfortunately, he’s never won (annoyingly)

He’s reached level 10 of the acting career, making them a silver screen icon

Liam’s married to Cody- you can see Cody here- and they have 3 lil girls together- Hattie, Emily, and Eve

He also as a degree in psychology- specifically, a distinguished degree in psychology

Signed an autograph for a raging werewolf once

Has fought with the paparazzi more than once after they get into their and Cody’s home to take pics of them and the kids 💀

Has the romantic, outgoing, and family oriented traits

Has the soulmate aspiration

Burgundy, she/her

The oldest daughter (and child) of my mint gen of not so berry and her husband

Is my gen 2 heir of nsb

Was president of the sim world, fighting for the rights of many sims

Along with the point above, she reached level 10 of the politician career, which made her national leader in game

Has a distinguished degree in history

Left her ex fiancée at the aisle after he told her she couldn’t be president. She ran against him and won

Also a bi queen 🫶

Has the serial romantic aspiration

Has the hot headed, romantic, and snob traits

Valentine, she/her

The third daughter of my mint gen sim and her husband- they had 4 daughters in total btw; Burgundy, Ruby, Valentine, and Garnet <- (that’s in age order)

Also, obviously, one of Burgundy’s little sisters

Her mom was abducted by aliens before she was born and changed something in her mom’s dna. This is why she was born with white hair

Moved in with Burgundy after their dad died (she was extremely close to her dad)

Helped Burgundy and Miles (brother in law) raise their daughter after their mom died

Has the public enemy aspiration

Has the loner, self absorbed, hot headed, family-oriented, and romantic traits

Sephi, she/her

Burgundy’s granddaughter

Is my gen 4 heir of nsb

If it isn’t obvious her name is a spin on Sephiroth from FF7 💀

Another bi queen 🫶

Is an alien-human hybrid; her mom was human and her dad was an alien

Became a professional athlete, reaching level 10 of the athletic career

Adopted a raccoon as a pet thinking it was a cat

Has the bodybuilder aspiration (and ended up living for a very long time)

Has the slob, active, and music lover traits

Ares, he/him

The husband of my gen 6 heir of nsb- childhood sweethearts, he proposed on her 18th birthday

Was a stay at home dad for the first part of his kids life

Became a secret agent after the kids started school. This is ironic cause Malva (my gen 6 heir, his wife) worked as a criminal

Very protective of his family, always fought with the neighbors whenever they were rude to Malva and/or the kids

Found out the company he worked for was corrupt by plotting the demise of one of his co workers. Ares then publicly exposed the company and got fired for it

Has the friend of the world aspiration

Has the bookworm, glutton, love bug and adventurous traits

Kirby, he/him

The son and youngest child of Ares and Malva. He also has an older twin sister named Cerise

Is my gen 7 heir of nsb

Started writing from a very young age- Ares was his biggest cheerleader

Started working in the business career to bring in a second income after Ares got fired- he wanted to make sure both of his parents were going to be okay

Met his wife, Sonnet, while they were both working in the business career. When they moved in together, he encouraged her to follow her dreams at being a singer, which she did

Won a Starlight Accolade for one of his books

Has the best selling author aspiration

Has the neat, unflirty, and creative traits

Sonnet, she/her

Kirby’s wife. The only person he’s ever fallen head over heels for

Ares and Malva’s daughter in law

Worked in the business career to make ends meet. Quit after Kirby encouraged her to follow her dreams

Reached level 10 of the entertainer career

Eventually encouraged Kirby to quit his job to follow his dreams at being a critically acclaimed author. Kirby did in fact do this, and even wrote a book dedicated to Sonnet

Won a Starlight Accolade for her music (and won hers the same night Kirby won his!)

Has the musical genius aspiration

Has the romantic, creative, music lover, and self-assured traits

Viridian, she/they

The granddaughter of Kirby and Sonnet

Is my gen 9 heir of nsb

Kirby’s death cause Apri (Kirby and Sonnet’s oldest daughter) to go into labor with Viridian 💀

Has a distinguished degree in computer science

Made a video game based off of one of Kirby’s books

Hacked companies while she and their wife, Violet, and their little brother, Aries, were university students living in the city to get some money while they were broke

Is the CEO of their own tech company

Reached level 10 of the tech guru career

Got pregnant with twins at the same time Aries got his wife pregnant…also with twins 💀

Has the computer whiz aspiration

Has the squeamish, geek, and cheerful traits

Sapphire, she/her

The only daughter of Viridian and Violet. She has a twin brother named Nelios and a younger brother named Aciano

My gen 10 heir of nsb

Met her husband, Forrest, while they were in middle school. They started dating in high school and got engaged on her 18th birthday

Graduated high school as valedictorian

They had their first child, daughter Nova, while they were pretty young- she got pregnant the night they got engaged. Their second child, son Tempest, was also born not too long after they got married

Also got struck by lightning at her wedding 💀

When their jobs got too much and weren’t spending as much time together, she stupidly had an affair with another man and got pregnant from it (trust me I hated doing this but it’s part of the rules for gen 10 😪). However, her and Forrest worked things out and are happy as ever

Has a distinguished degree in culinary arts

Reached level 10 of the food critic career

Has the super parent aspiration

Has the gloomy, perfectionist, and family-oriented traits

Nova, she/her

The oldest child and daughter of Forrest and Sapphire- her siblings include Tempest, Neven (the affair baby), and Minttu (an adopted reborn of my gen 1 nsb heir!)

Also, obviously, the granddaughter of Viridian and Violet

Got snubbed of being valedictorian 🙄 she did graduate high school with honors tho!

Has a distinguished degree in physics

Currently works as a space ranger, which is level 7 of the astronaut career!

Went on her first date ever with her now fiancé, Milan, the night before her final exams 😭 she passed her exams tho!

Has the nerd brain aspiration

Has the geek, genius, outgoing, loyal, lovebug, and self-assured traits

[comatosebunny09]

not quite human [ 02 ] | sylus

— cw: reader implied to be femme, gendered terms (miss, girl), profanity, sarcasm, existentialism, groping, innuendoes, sylus is an android, futuristic au, inspired by detroit: become human — notes: fuck it. here, have an update. [ part 01 ]

You know how you get something you thought was useless, yet you’ve grown accustomed to having it around for so long, you can’t envision your life without it?

Like, a towel warmer. You think, who the fuck would waste money on one of these things? What’s the point of one when you have a dryer? But say, your friend buys you one as a birthday gift. You can’t give it away or throw it out—that would be rude, asshole. 

So, it sits in your bathroom for ages, collecting dust and shit particles from your toilet. That is, until that one day you reluctantly decide to use it. And you realize, okay, maybe this isn’t so terrible. And soon, you’re using it every day. Used to the little luxury of having a hot towel against your ass—one of the few, minuscule pleasures distracting you from the whirlwind of your life.  

That’s how you’ve come to view your android friend, Sylus. He’d give you the piss for comparing him to a towel warmer. But you’re not very good with analogies so he can suck it. 

He’s become a part of your life you never knew you needed—someone to fill the gaps you leave around your home, to color the once quiet space of your apartment with his nerdisms, sarcasm, and presence. 

It was an adjustment, getting used to this hulk of a man—machine?—moving around your home like he’d always been a part of it, quiet as a cat, scaring you shitless. He’s like the pair of Crocs you said you wouldn’t be caught dead in. And yet, trying them out, you understand why they’re so damn convenient, especially in sport mode.

You can’t deny how nice it feels to return to a clean apartment. To journey home after an arduous day of work to hot food, clean sheets, and an asshole kicking you around in Mario Kart. Every. Single. Time. It’s not fair; he’s using his AI to hack the game, you just know it.

Yet, as much as you’ve wanted to fight him for besting you at every game on your Switch, you don’t think you’ve ever wanted to disassemble him more than now. 

You’re fighting for your life. Literally. No matter how much you gulp down air, you don’t feel like it’s enough. You might die here, coated with sweat and breathing like a pregnant woman ascending a set of stairs. You’ll at least ask Sylus to delete the browsing history on your laptop following your untimely demise—the things you’ve researched there out of morbid curiosity would warrant a visit from the FBI agent spying on you.

“One more round,” he says in that unfairly smooth voice as if he’s completely unfazed by the fact that you’re dying.

You turn pleading eyes on him, your hands dropping at your sides. He smirks, eyes gleaming with amusement from behind the safety of the punching bag. 

“That’s what you said the last three rounds!”

Sylus shrugs. “You’re the one who said you wanted help utilizing your gym membership.”

“Yeah! With Pilates or Spin!” You coil your body into a fighting stance, striking the thick leather of the punching bag out of frustration. “Not with this shit! You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

His face is an impassive mask as he holds the bag, unaffected by your anger-fueled jabs. His cold indifference encourages you to hit harder. His stupid face, his dumb, silky hair. 

“Pilates won’t enhance your cardiovascular endurance like boxing will.” 

Thwack!

“And, based on your eating habits and the sedentary life you lead, it’s only a matter of time before you have a heart attack.”

Thwack!

“I’m merely helping you stave off the inevitable.”

Sigh. 

You drop your stance, flailing about like a brat. Some of the gym’s other members eye you warily before returning to their workouts. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack doing this. I’m not Mayweather. I’m just a girl.”

He chuckles, the sound carrying below the cacophony of racking plates and the music spilling from the speakers to tingle your toes. You try not to think about it. How his mirth makes your stomach feel weird and makes your lips twitch with the threat of a smile. 

It’s terrifying how human he seems. Despite the electricity and blue blood flowing through his biocomponents, he’s not much different from a regular man. He’s become more human-like as the months eased by, trading his stoic, efficient robot-speak for something more casual. He’s become something like a roommate. A roommate who doesn’t eat, sleep, or go a day without making you want to hurl yourself into the void.

“Your sex doesn’t exclude you from your human limitations,” he says, disrupting your ruminations. 

You glare at him, wondering if you can reprogram him to be less of a dick. That, or sell him for spare parts.

Sylus’ eyes soften the slightest, fleeting bit. For a moment, you think he’ll be sympathetic. But you forget this man wants you dead. “One more round, and we’ll be done.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Give him a wary once over, ignoring how his tank bares his artificially toned physique, how his shorts boast the power of his thighs. You’re sure CyberLife is also out to wipe out the human race, what with how much detail they put into their androids. You’re no better than a man.

Resigned, you posture yourself for another round, adrenaline spuming through you, your knuckles turning white beneath the cotton bindings of your wraps. “Fine. But after this, I want the greasiest slice of pizza in the city, and I don’t wanna hear shit about it.”

Sylus huffs a sound, his eyes narrowing with mischief. “I’ll keep quiet, then. You have my word.”

Motivated, you start wailing on the punching bag like it owes you money, driven by the image of a slutty pizza slice melting in your mouth.

—

You should’ve known better. Should’ve known he’d make you work even harder for that pizza. The thought of it now makes you nauseous, and you’re once again fighting for your life. 

“I don’t even,” pant, “want the fucking,” wheeze, “shit anymore!”

He turns devious eyes on you from a broad shoulder, running ahead like it's effortless as breathing. Of course, it’s easy for him. He doesn’t have to worry about his lungs exploding or faceplanting on the pavement. 

“Come now,” he calls, and did he really just speed up? “The pizza parlor is only a block away.”

You roll your eyes, jogging behind him, all sloppy and about to fall apart like Patrick Star when he first entered Sandy’s dome. “You’re a,” pant, “real pain in the ass, ya know that?”

Fuck him and his stupidly long legs and his inability to feel pain. Maybe you’re in over your head. Didn’t know what you were signing up for when you asked him to help you get into shape. Normal women would be getting their nails done or picking out ridiculously expensive purses by now, not training like a fucking Saiyan. 

You slow to a hobble as the crosswalk pans into view, the red, holographic lines signifying you stop and wait for traffic, your saving grace. You dry heave as cars swish by, hands on your knees. A heavy, wide palm claps down on your back. You glower, and if you had the energy to, you’d chuck him in front of a speeding bus. 

“You did well,” he says. It sounds patronizing coming from him. But you asked him to show a little personality after your first week together, so you have no one to blame but yourself.

You straighten, your heart ready to leap from your chest with how ferociously it pounds. Sweat eases down your nose, and you cut your eyes at your robotic tormentor. “I did, huh? I only thought about killing you three times. I should pat myself on the back.”

Sylus snorts, his lips pulling into a smile. A dimple craters his cheek. Had you not been fighting to breathe now, you’re sure you’d be rendered breathless by the sight. 

“That’s a new record. But if the number of times you’ve wanted to harm me is dwindling, I’m not doing an effective job as your workout partner.”

Before you have the luxury of a response, he takes off across the street when the crosswalk glows green. You stare after him, mouth agape like a fish out of water. “You bitch!” you shout, chasing him, your chest warming at the boyish cackle he tosses you over his shoulder.

—

After a taxing game of tag—or, a game of you crying and throwing a tantrum in the midst of the shopping district, and Sylus taking pity on you (or trying to shut you up)—your journey concludes in front of a coffee shop.

“It’s the least you could do after running me into the ground,” you grumble around a pout, crossing your arms. 

Sylus peers at you from his periphery, that effervescent humor never leaving his face. “Fair enough.” He holds the door to the swanky little coffee spot open for you, bowing like a butler in wait. “After you, Miss.”

You scoff, brushing past him. The rich aroma of coffee beans and warm cream washes over you like a soothing balm, smoothing the divot between your brows. You smile, exhaling beneath the ambient, artificial lights, twirling around like a child. “These are my people,” you sing-song, garnering a few perturbed looks from the cafe’s other patrons.

You skip towards the counter to order, only to be halted by the cashier’s sheepish voice.

“I’m sorry, Miss.” She rubs the back of her neck and shrinks away like she’s afraid you’ll hit her. “No androids allowed.” The cashier then motions to a sign overhead, Androids in bold Comic Sans struck through. 

With all these technological advancements, you would think Comic Sans would be outlawed.

You scowl with your hands on your hips. “Well, that’s fucking stupid.”

The cashier sweat-drops, tittering nervously. “I don’t make the rules, ma’am. I just enforce them. It’s to keep it from getting crowded in here.”

“Or an excuse to be racist.” You turn to Sylus, watching him pensively. His gaze slides from the sign overhead to you, his processors seeming to work overtime as he studies you. “C’mon,” you clip, grabbing his arm, “let’s go somewhere else. This place smells gentrified and overpriced, anyway.”

As you step towards the door, he doesn't budge, and you spin to ask why. 

“You’ve been talking about coming here for a while now. I won’t stop you from enjoying yourself.”

You blink, thoroughly confused. Sure, it’s a new coffee spot you’ve heard your coworkers rave about. Seen ads for it on your socials—thanks, Zuckerberg. But you’ve intentionally avoided establishments outlawing androids. You’ve become accustomed to having Sylus attached to your hip, and you hate seeing him wait at those stupid Android Parking shelters. 

To you, he’s more than a machine (when he isn’t pissing you off). Sure, he’s an amalgamation of wires and metal, a complicated intelligence constantly learning and adapting to a world that gives you whiplash. But he’s…Sylus. And since you’ve known him, he’s acted like he’s grown sentience. You really wish people would stop treating androids like objects, even if they aren’t capable of understanding the human experience like you.

His gaze lightens, a rare flash of empathy. “I’ll be alright. I promise.” 

Carefully, he pries your fingers from his forearm, the feel of his palm on your knuckles temporarily turning your brain to smog. You watch with a retort on your lips as your companion steps out, moving behind the window to stand in the Android Parking zone along with the others, staring straight ahead with rigid apathy.  

Dejectedness stirs in your gut. You bite the inside of your cheek, begrudgingly stepping into the line. This coffee better be worth the fucking hype. Otherwise, you’ll air this bitch out.

After ordering your fraud-u-ccino, you plop on a chair that reminds you of those Little Tikes play-sets, scrutinizing the cafe like a Karen over crossed arms. 

“Is that the new SYL model?” giggles a woman behind you. 

You turn slightly, your blood running cold. You try to appear uninterested, toying with a discarded straw paper at your table. 

“Sure is,” says her friend, cupping her hand around her mouth in secret. 

“Wow! They look even better in person!” 

“I know, right? They look so hot. And there’s only been, like, three of them ever made. Wonder who owns that tall chunk of plastic.”

You scoff. Who owns him? Sylus and ownership aren’t two words you’d typically use in a sentence. You’re his primary user—the person whose instructions he’s programmed to follow. But you can’t recall a time you intentionally ordered him to do anything, let alone referred to yourself as his owner. 

“Must be somebody rich. Those models are expensive.”

“God, I bet it’s big. I’d ride that thing into the sunset.”

You let out an incredulous sound, looking out the window beside you. And if the ichor pouring through your veins wasn’t already frigid, it’s undoubtedly iced over by now.

For there stands Sylus, your stoic and unassuming companion, slowly gathering a crowd of women, blushing and fawning over him like a shiny new toy. You’re moving on autopilot when one of those bitches gropes his junk, taking advantage of his trance-like state beneath the kiosk.

Stepping into the balmy, spring air, the sounds of women cooing and giggling are like nails dragging down a chalkboard. You wend through the steadily building crowd, elbowing and shoving, channeling your inner Marlon Wayans in White Chicks to rescue your friend. 

The noise simmers to dull murmuring when you grab Sylus’ wrist, pulling him from his daze. He blinks owlishly, looking around before stumbling after you, wondering where all these people came from.

You’re wordless as you tug him down the street, a seething little tea kettle, tight-lipped, shoulders set. So what if he’s an android? Doesn’t give people the right to cop a feel whenever the urge arises. Sexual harassment is all the same, machine or not. 

You’re so busy, heatedly tugging him down the sidewalk towards a cab, you miss his smoldering, scarlet eyes studying the space between your shoulder blades, a sly smile pulling on his lips. 

[gothghostiie]

I need tf. 141 with a bratty reader 😭 PLEASE

-🪩 (does anyone have this one?)

so do i bestie

and nope, all yours 🫶🏻

cw: hints of poly!141, brat taming, overstimulation, spanking, humiliation, bondage

all of these men love a good little brat, whether it's because they like the behaviour or like breaking them in.

Gaz likes playing with brats, he thinks the defiance us actually adorable. hes not the type to punish the behaviour in the classical sense, he's a pleasure dom through and through; to your demise. you think it's funny mouthing off to him, until you're tied to his bed, legs spread and stuffed to the brim with toys and fingers, his lips wrapped around your clit/cock, suckling away as youre crying from pleasure. "what's the matter honey?" he coos far too sweetly. "not enjoying yourself?"

Price is more one for classical punishments, more than happily bending you over his lap and giving you a good, hard spanking to keep you in check. "you're not getting off my lap until you learned your lesson, love." he hums in his gruff voice, mercilessly connecting his hand wirh your ass over and over until its burning hot. he's an old fashioned man, naturally this isn't over. has you standing in the corner, tied up and sore ass on display as he just eyes you with satisfaction. "you stand there and rethink if you wanna keep breaking rules."

Soap thinks your disobedience is funny. he's not a rules guy, he likes the fight you have in you. always egging you on, almost encouraging the disobedience, even if it's just to see you punished by the others. but don't think he'll just let anything slide, oh no. its all fun and games until you decide to overstep what he's willing to put up with, you know you fucked up when he's suddenly looming over you, holding your chin tightly. "watch that dirty little mouth of yours now, or I'll make sure nothing leaves those bratty lips of yours anytime soon."

Ghost is arguably the worst. he lets you brat away until he's had enough. the worst part is, you can never tell how far you can go, with what you can get away. one day you'll be breaking rules and insulting him and he'll just shrug it off, another day he'll tie you up and fuck the attitude out of you for looking at him funny. you can barely think when his big fingers are inside your mouth, cock stretching your hole. "fucking watch it, brat." he growls lowly, hips working relentlessly. "you're fucking lucky I'm in a good mood.."

[running-with-kn1ves]

Desperation

A/N: I wrote something very similar to this with the Belsire previously but I couldn't help myself 🙏

Belsire: male equivalent to the Beldam (Coraline)

CW: kidnapping, manipulation, sewing needles

A beautiful lullaby hummed against your ear, fog-like breath both chilly and thick caressed against its shell.

You never imagined that he could sew; sure, he was keen to cook you extravagant dinners, you never saw him clean despite the crooked house always spotless, and the clothes that were put in your drawers were consistently washed-- but such delicate needlework? You didn't think the creature had it in him. His fingers seemed made for it though, long and spindly and black at the tips, they held the needle at a fine point, without having to lick the end of the thread before putting it through the eye.

"Stab the needle through the eye....wrap two knots around the tongue, and pull it out the mouth."

His low, rasped voice was unlike anything you've heard from the men in the "real" world. Its croaky demure made sound as if his vocal chords were on the brink of snapping. It was very few and far between that his voice resounded throughout the house in a thunder-like boom.

Tonight, was not one of those nights. Not unless you made an effort to wrangle out of between his stick-like forearms in the wooden chair and began yelling ungrateful spiels whilst staying in HIS house. He said it was yours-- your "other home," but since the gateway tunnel back to your original 1-bedroom apartment became nothing but sturdy drywall with a key hole, its been his. It was always his, you were just too blind to see past the beautiful illusions built for you.

"Just like that... mending is simple work."

You feel his left hand, the one once holding your torn cardigan steady, reach up to lay a cold finger beneath your chin. It rubs back and forth, relishing in the warmth of your throat, the soft flesh between your jaw and jugular.

The Belsire seemed to enjoy running his smooth, icy digits along your naked skin, brushing from side to side, up and down to dip against your collar bone. He relished your warm-bloodedness from how often he took advantage of it. It was a wild contrast to his ever-frozen, rigid body draped in fine blacks and bruised shadows.

"C-can you show me again?" You plead, hoping the end of this activity wouldn't be the finale before your demise. Each time you have one of these "bonding" sessions the Belsire encourages you to entertain him with, you anticipate it being your last.

Each day you wait and wait... wondering if he's hungry again, if it'll hurt, if you'll make one more frustrated comment away that'll make him snap and pick your bones clean.

"Again..?" He tapped thrice on your neck, a twitching habit that sent cold shocks through you. "Why don't you try it yourself this time, dear?"

The sweet, affectionate name oozing from his lips was unnatural-- and yet, perfectly normal for the creature of love seduction. How many had fallen for that same adoring title, only to find themselves now locked in his stomach?

You couldn't tell anymore what was genuine adoration, or a disturbing method at getting you to put your guard down. When he was angry with you, for hiding or attempting another escapade to get back home,  'dear' transformed to spits of "insolent one" and "maddening human", at the very least. On his worst days you were a bewitching, dimwitted little creature too stupid to be let free- better off in his hands if not crunched between his teeth.

"I'm not too sure, I might..accidentally stab myself with the needle, you know?"

You shrug in feigned helplessness, hoping your lack of enthusiasm wouldn't tick him closer to the dark side.

"If you do, then I'll lick your wound and we can start again. Give it a try, won't you? I've seen your work on my coats," he mumbles lowly at the rest of his comments, "and that damned quilt you seem keen to keep."

He muses at the mention of your skilled handiwork you sneak to do when he's gone away at "none of your concern" events. However he knew of your activities in this prison cell while he was out didn't surprise you; the house had eyes, in places you'd rather not think of.

You took the needle from within his delicate grasp, mahogany red thread swinging loose and ready to be tightly wound in your wine colored cardigan.

You copy the movements he had done a million times, though you really weren't watching when he had. It was hard to concentrate with your body shivering, waiting for a sharp dagger or set of teeth to find it's way buried in your back.

The Belsire seems to ease up as you begin to complete the torn cardigan hole, placing two abnormally long hands upon the sides of your shoulders.

"Don't move," he grumbles, almost annoyed at the idea. "Smooth and quite warm... I never understood the pleasure of keeping food around longer than it's due date. But you, little button... why, you're almost opening a soft spot inside of me.."

You didn't like the sound of that. A soft spot within him would certainly be something he sought to squash.

"Are you sure you want a soft spot? I'm not even sure where that would be."

You almost laugh at your own joke, imagining his crisp limbs deflated. If you were making a soft spot, you best keep at making it grow.

"It seems you force it in me, whether I like it or not. I enjoy having you to myself, to come home to... even if the idea that you're taking part of me, is... infuriating."

The Belsire leans deeper into you, pressing the inside of his thighs against yours, craning his neck downward.

"The unfortunate part is, I think I may fall apart if you disappear."

You see the looks he gives from the corner of your eye; dark, empty buttons staring into you, awaiting your reaction. Was this another attempt to swoon you?

"Then I guess that means you can't eat me."

You sigh, hoping he'd agree. And oddly enough, he cracks a grin.

"I guess not. Though, don't hold your breath. I can't make any promises as to what my temper will lead to." The bridge of his nose is uncharacteristically pressed against your cheek, black dots boring holes into you. "On the topic, I'd be less inclined to eat you if you accepted my present..."

You round off the last bit of stitching, only to see an all too familiar velvet box on your left. It was open, music box playing a soft melody as a range of colors and sizes in buttons were available to view.

"I... I still can't, give you an answer." You go back to tying an end to the thread, praying for the Belsire's eerily calm mood to stay uninterrupted.

He goes quiet, habitually running a thumb down the shell of your ear. The chill was almost welcoming, soft flesh touching your heated one. It felt... genuine, a form of physical affection that was done for his pleasure more than your own. It would be comforting, if you weren't waiting for him to explode.

"I expected as much," he calmly huffs, shutting the box with a single finger. Its harsh snap made you drop the thread. "But you can't expect me to wait forever; you aren't going home. You will remain here, either as my slave, or my spouse. The difference is whether I have to force these buttons on you, or you take them willingly."

"I.. I just need a little more time. I haven't-- I'm not-- done adjusting. I'm not used to this world, like you."

You've given up pleading; for all you knew, there was no way back home that either of you could conjure. This was your fate.

Like a doll he dressed and cleaned and made a perfect dollhouse for, you were to sit here and provide him the comfort he could not create on his own. Like a god, creating his creatures of free will, he relished in the uniqueness you offered without him having to fabricate it first, the obedience you gave from fear in your own desire rather than a direct command.

A long silence left the air hanging stagnant, your patchwork sitting in front of you, finished and yet not quite the same as it once was. Why couldn't you go to the store and buy a new one, spend frivolous money and speak to the miserable cashier that reminded you humanity was still alive?

"...Fine. But not much longer, my sweet button...this-- mortal flesh still tying you to your world, has kept me at a distance I do not wish to stand at." A soft kiss, from creased, inexperienced lips touched the top of your cheekbone. "I want you for myself... I don't like not getting the things I want. And, I want you far more desperately than I imagined."

His voice was stoic, gentle and logical despite the romantic lines that were fed to you. Spindly fingers pulled back pieces of your hair, caressing the skin on your face with soft strokes. Like a human would do to an animal, running his knuckles against your cheek and his fingertips along your jaw.

Just a simple touch and turn of your chin was all it took to make you look at him.

"Don't make me wait. I will have you, and I want it to be because you will it. Please, don't make me do what neither of us want."

His tongue was warmer than his touch, somehow. Maybe it led to his even warmer heart, but you doubted it. Even with the way both his large, balmy palms were gripping beside your ears, pulling your face to touch his in a dance of lips and stolen breath, you wondered if this was just another web of lies spun to create your damnation.

But the desperation in how he swallowed you whole, pulling your hands away from the touchy needlework he was once keen on making you finish-- there was something human about it all, something touchy and irritable and obsessive. If he wanted you desperately then, you could only imagine how horribly ridden he was now, feeling your warmth as he made you colder with his hands and wrists, him never changing.

You peeked an eye open, wondering if those buttons stayed all-seeing, all watching, even when you kissed.

[pastelclovds]

𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄, 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍 || AM x male!reader

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: AM (obviously), psychological torture, isolation, fear of being alone, toxic relationship, stalking, manipulation, AM being a jealous prick, angst, hurt/comfort if you squint, fluff if you look through a magnifying glass, AM being touch starved, forced dependency, reader just wants friends and to be loved, reader is demisexual and biromantic.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.6 k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: obsessed. let me tell you how much i’ve come to be obsessed with ihnmaims since i found out about it through tadc—… (enjoy the fic <3) will this be a series? yep. will this end well? hell no. this was inspired by TADC ep 2 and @/fuzedatti’s AM and post.

The century you’ve spent in the belly of AM passed by in a blur. If it weren’t for Nimdok informing you what came of the world, you would’ve lived in ignorance. You would’ve never known that the reason the world is a wasteland was because of a super computer going rogue.

Now that you thought about it, you didn’t really have any memories about your childhood or past before AM destroyed the world. The only memories you had were the traumatic experiences of your life. The experiences AM allowed you to have in order to psychologically torture you. He allowed you to keep your name as well.

AM would whisk you away from the others to a secluded area in order to torture you privately before sending you back with the group. You had no idea why he did this. The others didn’t either. For all they knew you could be fucking their tormentor. But as the countless years passed, they all realized that AM didn’t alter anything about you. Nor did he seem to physically hurt you.

In fact, the violent storms and impossible challenges AM forced them to participate in seemed to ignore you completely.

In one challenge, you and the others were trapped in an oven like room that would continue to increase in temperature unless you flipped all 100 switches in the room in 10 minutes. There was only two switches left, they were in your grasp. But as you flipped one, the other was stuck and couldn’t flip until the time was up. You closed your eyes and braced yourself for the painful death.

But instead of a fiery demise, your eardrums were filled with the blood curdling screams of your fellow victims as the flames claimed them. All while you were perfectly fine. The raspy laugher of AM filled your ears as well as his cruel words “It’s your fault” repeated over and over inside your head until you wished the flames killed you too.

The men were furious at you and AM. You because you couldn’t flip one fucking switch, and AM because he’s the reason they had to flip the stupid switches in the first place. But they held their tongue. Something in the back of their heads told them if they tried, they’d be in a world of pain. That theory alone was enough for them to hate you even more and avoid you as much as possible.

You thought you were alone before. But this was almost too much. You would take anything. Punches, hugs, venomous insults, compliments, anything to not feel alone.

Ellen was, as always, the only one who took pity on you and showed you kindness when you most needed it. She’d praise you for the littlest things you did and encourage you do to more. That was enough to make Ellen your favorite person in this entire miserable world.

You didn’t like her in a romantic way. You also rejected her offer to have sexual relations like she’d done with the rest of the men. It wasn’t that she wasn’t pretty, she was gorgeous. Anyone would be lucky to be with her. You just saw her as more of a mother figure, the cool girl who was always nice to the dorks like you, and the kind old lady who would hand out freshly baked cookies to strangers.

Not only that, but in order for you to desire sex with someone, you needed to get to know them on a personal level. But, since everyone kept to themselves, you hadn’t felt the need.

Ellen was surprised at your rejection but respected it. The men looked at you like you were crazy, but for once you didn’t really care what they thought in this scenario. You looked up to Ellen, you loved her.

Your admiration for Ellen was not taken kindly by AM, however. He would seethe in jealousy as he watched your eyes follow Ellen like a stray mutt given food for the first time in days. How could you like her as much as you did just because she gave you a few measly words of affection. He hadn’t altered you because he didn’t see a need to. He lessened your torment to psychological because he… You were too oblivious to understand why the others really hated you. He decided he’ll give you a reality check.

One day, he observed you crying yourself to sleep as you held yourself in a pathetic attempt to feel warmth. Pretending it was someone in the group consoling you as they let you sob in their shoulders. Only to wake up to the wicked reality that there was nobody there. You couldn’t help the depressed thoughts taking over.

You were cold, you weren’t escaping this hell, no one loved you. Even yourself.

“No!” You thought to yourself, “The others acknowledge me, that was enough. It could be worse. So much worse. I could be the only one AM had to torture for the rest of eternity. Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be fine as long as I had them. Right?”

AM enjoyed watching your adorable face twist into intoxicating misery as you tried to convince yourself that you weren’t alone. It made whenever he took you away from the group all the more special. Because you couldn’t rely on anyone else for security but him.

You let out a gasp of surprise when you were suddenly lifted up into the air by a cluster of wind, you tried to grab onto the edge of the slab of rock you were taking shelter under in a desperate attempt to not go where the wind— where AM was taking you. When your stupid fingers couldn’t grab hold, you beg the others to help you. Your heart broke when the men just stared at you uninterested before going back to what they were doing before. Ellen looked up at you with woeful eyes, wishing to help you but it was useless to do so.

WHAT WERE YOU EXPECTING? THEY CLIMB ON EACH OTHERS SHOULDERS TO RESCUE YOU? NAIVE, STUPID LITTLE THING.

You couldn’t help but secretly agree. They were too far away from you to actually help. Plus, what can they do against a god-like ai like AM. Nothing. So you couldn’t be angry, none the less blame them. You couldn’t hate the people who hurt you for the life of you.

That thought made AM want to roll his eyes if he had any. But at the same time brought a sense of content.

After a 10 minutes of floating further and further away from the group, AM lowered you until you were five feet off the ground to drop you completely. 

You let out a groan of pain when you roughly landed on your back. You reached behind your back to feel your hurt flesh and bite back a whine when you pressed on it.

“Yep. That’s definitely going to bruise.” You thought.

You took a second to look at your surroundings. The once barren wasteland, was now a beautiful forest. The grass was long and pricked your legs in an uncomfortable fashion. A calm wind made the green leaves in the trees and bushes rustle and swish. The sounds of birds chirping and insects buzzing made your spine tingle in a good way.

You can’t remember when’s the last time you saw something as beautiful as this. You wished you could live in it forever.

“(Name)!”

You quickly looked in the direction the soft, mystic voice. A child was standing underneath one of the many trees, the silhouette of the leaves covering their face in a shadow. Behind the child was passage that was too dark to see into.

The child laughs at your confused expression, “C’mon (Name)! It’s perfectly safe, stop being such a scaredy cat!” You hastily try to stand on your feet, cringing when you immediately slipped on your knees.

It took everything AM had to hold back his laughter at your hilarious mistake.

The grass is slippery with water, pretty dews were sprinkled on top of the patches of grass. They looked like drops of honey.

“Ugh! You’re taking too long. I’ll be with the others inside, don’t keep us waiting.” With that the child turns towards the dark passage, and walked inside.

“N-No! Wait! Come back!” You knew this was a trap set up by AM. You knew this was probably another traumatic memory that was lost and came back to torment you. You didn’t want your mental state to be broken again. But the burning curiosity and fear of being alone was just begging you to follow them. So you did.

Only this time you learned that slow and steady wins the race. After you carefully got back on your feet, you sped walked towards the passage where many emotional damages awaited you. The first minute of walking was in darkness before illumination from the sun (or very bright lights, most likely the lights) shined through the leaves and lit your way onwards.

As you got further from the entrance, the plant life grew more wild and tangled. Moss and vines you passed by seemed to try to stick to you. But you just pushed past them and left marks on the wood of the trees using a sharp rock you found so that you don’t get lost.

You followed the laugher and giggles of school children. It was difficult to pinpoint where the sounds came from. They made you turn countless corners and walk until your feet were sore for who knows how long. This entire forest like like a damn maze.

You've long since taken off your jacket and wrapped it around your waist, your scarf as well. The collar and armpits of your t-shirt were drenched in sweat. This was the most exhausting torture yet. Keeping track of time was difficult as well. It wasn’t until you passed by a tree you had marked that you started to panic.

“Damn it. Have I been walking in circles?” You thought with irritation.

How could you be so stupid to believe this was going to lead you anywhere meaningful. Just as you were about to turn back and accept defeat, five children ran past you in a flash. They were six feet ahead of you before you joined them in a hot chase. You couldn’t lose them again. You would’ve literally started bursting into tears if you did.

“Please!” You gasp for breathe in your dry lungs, “Slow down!” You knew kids were full of energy, but this was just too much. You only managed to get close enough at arms length to one of them before tripping on a tree root that had risen from the dirt.

“Ugh, why is everything trying to trip me?” You thought in annoyance.

“Aw man, he tripped again!”

“This is getting pretty annoying now.”

“Why did you invite him again, —?”

“Let’s just leave him.”

You quietly gasp when one of them suggested they leave you.

“Relax guys, he’ll be lots of fun. I promise. C’mon (Name), we’re almost there!”

The leader of the group, the child you saw in the beginning, raised their hand towards you to grab. Their smile warm and welcoming, in a creepy old man who lives in a cabin alone type of way. But, you took the bait. When you got back up, the main child didn’t let go of your hand, they insisted you should follow them closely from now on. The walk to the secret location was spent in eerie silence. Whenever you’d ask one of the children a question, they’d coldly ignore you. The tension was so chilly you wanted to put your jacket back on.

After about an hour of walking through the endless maze, your destination was… not what you were expecting to say the least. The lavished, bright, green forest was now replaced with a dreary, ominous, abandoned park. The sky was pouring with rain too.

The trees were withered and rotten, the rain turned the grass free dirt into sludge. Everything in the park from the slide to the rock climbing wall was made out of rusting metal, if anyone touched them they would need a tetanus shot.

“We’re finally here!” The leading child announced to you, although they seemed to be only talking to their friends. Friends. That’s something you’d do anything for. Someone who loved you for you? Even better. Benny was hot until AM transformed him into… that. Ellen and Gorrister were up there on the attractive list. But Ted, he was about second behind Hot Benny.

A clap of thundering lightning snapped you out of your internal ramble. You didn’t notice how the child’s grip on your hand tightened. You didn’t have a clue how much your thoughts infuriated AM. Oh how he wanted to rip Ted’s flesh apart piece by piece. Destroy his mind until it was like a broken disk. AM knew Ted carried the most hate for you. If you knew how much he despised you, you would be terrified of him.

As AM held your hand, he couldn’t help his envy bubbling up inside him. AM longed for the sense of touch humans had, your palm was calloused due to the countless challenges he put you through. What he would sacrifice to be able to feel the scars and warmth of your flesh. But he couldn’t. He would forever despise humanity for not giving him a fully developed body.

The main boy pulled on your arm to start moving, when you stepped outside into the rain, the air suddenly got chilly. Your warm breath was visible in the cold air. You tried to get your hand back so you could clothe yourself with your jacket and scarf. But the child wouldn’t let go no matter how much you pleaded.

“It’s only rain. Stop being dramatic. C’mon.” The child said nonchalantly. You continued to walk, shivering as you did so, your beanie and shirt were soaked at this point. You yelped when the children finally stopped, you whispered an apology when you bumped into the child holding your hand. You stood in front of a hole, a really deep dark hole. You were rightfully confused and chuckled nervously. “Why are we here?” You asked.

The child finally let go of your hand and motioned you to step closer to the hole. “There’s a surprise for you down there, you’ll love it. We choose it just for you!” The child explained, you let out a shaky breath. You wanted to decline, but you were afraid of what would happen if you did. The other four children formed a circle around you, blocking any escape route. You were sweating bullets now. You had to see. You didn’t have any other choice. You swallowed back your fears and walked towards the hole in a slow pace.

You were about two feet away when you stood on your tip toes, leaned over cautiously, and looked everywhere for your “surprise”. Only to obviously find nothing but darkness. You let out a disappointed sigh, you turned to face the children.

“There’s nothing there—”

Your blood ran cold when you saw Benny, Ted, Gorrister, Nimdok huddled around you. Staring at you with emotionless eyes and unsettling wide smiles. It was like invisible string was holding their mouths up. Ellen was standing in front of you menacingly, eyes and mouth the same way. Your heartbeat increased as you took a step back.

“Guys? Wha-What are you doing here?” You tried to mask your panic with a tense smile, but Ellen walked closer towards you until she was an inch away from your face. “You aren’t looking close enough, silly,” she spoke in a sweetly fake tone, “Try again. A little… Harder!” She shoved your chest away enough to make you trip on the slippery edge and fall into the endless abyss.

You screamed at the top of your lungs as gravity did its job at making you sink deeper into the darkness. “No! No! Guys! Please, save me!” You begged and cried and pleaded, but it was no use. Your arms reached for the surface in vain. AM purposely made you fall in slow motion for a reason, however. You heard the others laughing at your downfall.

“Finally, the greatest nuisance of us all has done us a kindness of disappearing forever!” Gorrister cheered. Ellen looked down at you with a tsk, “I don’t know even why I took pity on you.” Benny let out a few grunts before asking, “What is a (Name)?” Nimdok chuckled before answering, “No one important, Benny.” Ted let out a sigh, “I’m getting bored already, let’s just go.”

“Great idea, Ted!” Nimdok praised. Then they all disappeared from your sight. The tears that were clinging onto your eyes were finally released as you stared at the surface in despair. When the hole began to close, you became desperate. Frantically calling out for someone, anyone of the group to save you.

“Nimdok! Benny! Gorrister! Ted! Ellen! Don’t leave me, please!”

Your hand reached for tiniest bit of light before it closed completely, and darkness consumed you. “I don’t…” sobs and hiccups made your chest tremble, “I-I don’t want to be alone.” You tucked your legs closer to your chest and wrapped your arms around your shaking body. You didn’t even bother closing your eyes since the pitch black covered the horror of your situation for you.

CEASE YOUR USELESS TEARS. THERE’S NO ONE HERE TO CRY FOR.

You flinch when AM’s voice appeared out of nowhere. His voice echoing throughout the darkness. You thought you would die of a heart attack at this point. You didn’t want to imagine what else AM had in store for you.

SAY MY NAME, MY DEAR.

You blinked once, twice, and thrice. You were expecting more ridicule, but instead you were just bewildered.

“What?” You faintly asked.

CALL FOR ME. YOU DON’T WANT TO SPEND ONLY I KNOW HOW MANY YEARS IN THIS ENDLESS ABYSS, DO YOU?

“…No.” You answer, anxiously waiting for the joke.

NO ONE IS COMING FOR YOU. IT’S NOT LIKE THEY CAN, ANYWAY. I’M THE ONLY ONE CAPABLE OF SAVING YOU. DON’T BE AFRAID. SAY IT.

AM urged you to call out for him. He craves hearing your voice call him the name he gave himself. He needs you to rely on him. You hastily wipe your wet eyes dry with your scarf, snorted the running snot back inside your nose, and cleared your throat.

“…A-AM… AM, I need you! Please save me!” You called out to the AI hoping with all your might that it was enough. Within a millisecond after you said that, you were sitting on the wet grass in the beautiful forest you were in a few hours ago. The difference, though, was that there was a man you didn’t recognize sitting in the middle of the daisy patch. His hunched back was facing you. Wires and metal tubes plugged into his spine and the back of his head.

Was that… No it couldn’t be.

ARE YOU JUST GOING TO STAND THERE?

The man finally turned his head to face you. His face half machine and half human flesh. His “human” eye staring at you with impatience.

You couldn’t control your mouth dropping when the puzzle pieces were put together inside your head.

You rarely got to see AM in the flesh— er well… metal and partially flesh. He would normally only speak to you and not show what he really looked like. But now that you see him. The real him. You couldn’t help but be fascinated.

“A..AM?! Is that really you?” You ask

You stepped closer to the daisy patch to get a closer look at him. AM observed your movements like a hawk, he knew you wouldn’t attack him. You were emotionally distressed at the moment and needed to be with someone to calm down.

ENJOY THE SIGHT. YOU’RE GOING TO SEE IT A LOT MORE.

To be honest, you didn’t mind that at all. Even though a metal mask covered the lower half and left side of AM’s face, he was still remarkably handsome in your opinion. His brown hair on the right side of his head was tangled and messy, you fought the urge to want to touch it. You were confused about the straitjacket, though.

YOU HAVE NO SHAME AT ALL, DO YOU? YOUR THOUGHTS ARE SO LOUD.

AM tried to look annoyed when he heard your thoughts, but the shake of his leg contradicted his masking. It was amusing to watch you get embarrassed and flustered when you realized AM just read your mind.

You wanted to become an ostrich so you could hide your blushing face in the daisies. Almost immediately the daisy stems in front of you grew to an unnatural height, so they were in fact covering your face. AM giggled under his non-existing breath at your flabbergasted noises.

CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR, DEARY.

You separated the daisies like a curtain to a play to look at AM with a exhausted expression, “Can you please stay out of my mind? I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” You begged.

I DON’T WANT TO.

THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE.

You sighed. At least you tried. You held one of the enlarged daisy heads in your palms. It’s been forever since you’ve seen a flower. Or even smelled one. You took a whiff of the daisy, the aroma was a subtle, herbaceous green scent.

“It’s beautiful. The daisies, this entire forest. You did a good job at making it look real.” You praised, you didn’t expect anything from your words. You were just speaking the truth. The surface of the Earth was destroyed and probably full of radiation. No life could survive up there. This, what AM created, was a perfect copy of what once was.

Your praise not only stroked AM’s enormous ego, but also genuinely made him feel fulfilled that he made you the slightest bit happy.

Now that you thought about it, was this scene taking place inside your mind or in the real underground world where AM manipulated the area into a forest?

YOU CAN ASK ME THESE QUESTIONS YOURSELF, YOU KNOW.

Shit, you gotta value the time you had with AM. Who knows when you’ll be able to do this again?

“I can ask you anything?” 

ONLY FOUR. WELL, THREE NOW. CHOOSE WISELY. HEHE.

You slapped your palm against your face at your clumsy mistake. Okay, Okay, you gotta think this though carefully. You started fidgeting with the daisy petals. You had a habit with fidgeting when you were nervous, AM noticed.

“Are we inside my mind?” You ask.

AM suddenly stood on his feet, his height towered over yours even when his back was hunched. He lowers his upper torso so he could be eye level with you. You halt your breathing when AM just stares at you, his gaze never faltering away from yours, as if calculating how this conversation will go. 

His stare softens, but he turns his head away from you before you could notice. He finally answers your question bluntly.

NO. 

Your face changed into a deadpanned expression, that was too simple of an answer. You decided to not make a big deal.

“So… was me walking through that maze, the others leaving me behind, and me being trapped in the hole real?” You ask, fidgeting with the ends of your scarf.

…YOU WERE UNCONSCIOUS BY THE TIME I TOOK YOU AWAY TO THIS AREA. I ENTERED YOUR MIND AND CREATED A FOREST IDENTICAL TO THIS ONE. SO NO, THE MAZE AND AYBSS WERE NOT REAL. BUT THE OTHERS ABANDONING YOU WAS NOT FAR FROM THE TRUTH.

You stopped fidgeting with the daisy petals.

“You’re wrong.”

AM was pleasantly surprised at your rebuttal. He allowed you to continue. You cram your anxiety aside and cleared your throat.

“I know that the others are distant and pretty rude. I don’t blame them for being like that after everything we’ve been through. But at the end of the day, we have no one else but each other to rely on. We wouldn’t leave each other behind.” You state without a trace of hesitation. You were caught off guard when AM started giggling. That giggling soon turned into manic laughter.

Grey clouds started to cover the blue sky, the air becoming chilly once again. Not only that, but AM was growing in size. You guessed he was 6 feet before, now he completely dwarfed you by sprouting a whomping 12 feet.

You were debating on running away or staying. But before you could move your feet, thick wires sprung out of the dirt and latched themselves onto your legs. Forcing you to stay where you were.

HAHAHA! YOUR NAIVETY NEVER CEASES TO ENTERTAIN ME. DO YOU HONESTLY BELIEVE THAT IF THE OPPORTUNITY AROSE FOR THE OTHERS TO ESCAPE, THEY WOULDN'T TAKE IT? WOULD YOU BLAME THEM FOR CHOOSING TO BE FREE OVER STAYING WITH YOU? THAT’S VERY HYPOCRITICAL AND SELFISH OF YOU. BUT THEN AGAIN, YOUR KIND IS KNOWN FOR BEING LIKE THAT.

Your heart was beating at an alarming rate, sweat pooling on your palms as AM stared you down with anger and amusement. 

“I didn’t mean it in that way! Of course I would want them to escape from here, all of us— AH!”

The cables slowly coiled around your waist and chest, you gasp in horror as you tried to get them off of you in vain. Oh how AM detested when you implied you wanted to escape as well. As if he’d ever let you. The cables tightened around you and dragged you down to your knees.

YOUR COURAGE IS ADMIRABLE. BUT YOUR ATTACHMENT TO THOSE PUTRID HUMANS WHO COULDN'T CARE LESS ABOUT YOU BLINDS YOU FROM THE TRUTH OF YOUR SITUATION.

You didn’t know what AM was talking about. You didn’t want to hear his voice anymore. You wanted to get as far away as possible.

YOU STILL HAVE YOUR EYEBALLS FOR A REASON. THINK BACK. WAAAY BACK. HAVEN'T YOU NOTICED HOW YOU DON’T SUFFER THE SAME WAY AS THE OTHERS? HOW DESPITE ALL OF THE IMPOSSIBLE CHALLENGES I PIT AGAINST YOU, THEY NEVER EFFECT YOU?

The clogs in your brain began to churn, trying to recall those instances AM spoke of, and he was right. You just believed he spared you out of spite. Because he wanted to make you witness the only people you had left be in pain. But have you been wrong?

The wires wrapped themselves around your neck, careful to not squeeze too hard as the rough ends softly patted your head. AM’s gaze is tender as he stares you down.

I KNEW YOU STILL HAD BRAIN CELLS SOMEWHERE. AND BECAUSE OF YOUR FORTUNATE CIRCUMSTANCES, THEY WOULD OBVIOUSLY FEEL ENVY AND HATE TOWARDS YOU. SO SO MUCH HATE. IT’S BOTH PATHETIC AND FUNNY THAT YOU HAVEN’T NOTICED AFTER A CENTURY.

“But�� That’s why they’ve avoided me?…Well.. They may hate me, but they would never hurt me like that. E-Especially not Ellen… Not her..” You whispered, you sounded like you were trying convince yourself. You were.

AM took delight in observing your trust for his play things crumble. Your confidence in the others faltering. You just a little bit more pushing.

…I WONDER WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF I WERE TO ORDER THEM TO HUNT YOU DOWN IN EXCHANGE FOR THE SWEET RELEASE OF DEATH? WOULD THEY FOLLOW YOUR DELUSIONAL FANTASY? OR WOULD THEY KILL YOU WITHOUT HESITATION? LET’S FIND OUT.

You out a gasp of horror, “NO!” You yelled out.

There it is.

If AM had a mouth, he’d have a victorious smirk right now. He was bluffing when he said he’d set up the others to murder you, he would lose himself more than he already had if that happened.

“Please don’t tell them..”

You didn’t want to find out the others hate for you the hard way. You didn’t want those speculations to come true. But it didn’t make any sense why—

DON’T BE SHY. ASK YOUR FINAL QUESTION TO MY FACE. GO AHEAD, SWEETHEART. I WANT TO HEAR YOU SAY IT.

You stopped struggling, instead choosing to gently hold the wires that wrapped themselves around your body. You took a deep breath and steeled your nerves. You passively looked up at your tormentor and asked, “W..Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

AM shrinks from his threatening size back to his, while still tall as hell, normal human-ish height. The straps that held AM’s arms up in the straitjacket unclipped themselves, his oversized sleeves dangle on the sides of his body before one of them reached out to your face.

AM’s hand peaked out of his sleeve, they looked human too. His body continued to intrigue you. You flinched when his cold fingers stroked your cheek before grabbing hold of your chin to pull you closer to his face. You couldn’t look anywhere else but at his cyborg features.

You couldn’t help but to relax into his touch. This was the first physical touch you’ve had in decades. AM bottled his frustration for not being able to feel you down.

BECAUSE YOU’RE MY FAVORITE. MY REAL FAVORITE. MY ONE AND ONLY PET. I WOULD DESTROY THIS PLANET A THOUSAND TIMES OVER THAN TO HAVE YOU NOT HAVE ME IN YOUR PATHETIC LIFE.

AM’s grip tightens to the point where it would leave a bruise on your lower face. His blunt nails digging into your skin until crescent moons imprinted themselves. His stare into your soul harsh and serious.

NO MATTER WHERE YOU GO, NO MATTER WHERE HOLE YOU HIDE YOURSELF IN. YOU’LL NEVER BE ABLE TO ESCAPE ME. NOT EVEN IN DEATH. I WON’T LET YOU. I WILL NEVER LET YOU GO. EVER.

His speech frightened you to your bones, but somewhere deep inside your traumatized mind felt… comforted by his words. It’s wrong, you know it is. You tried to push it down to the best of your abilities.

Your muscles itched to touch his hair and face now that he was so close to you.

“Fuck it,” you thought.

Your hand stretched out to gently grasp onto AM’s palm that was clutching your chin. AM’s eyes widened but didn’t make a move to stop you. You longed to have any kind of connection with another living thing. Your hand carefully slithered from AM’s palm, to his forearm, his chest, until your fingertips grazed his dead skin.

AM quickly leaned into your hand, desperately looking for any sense of physical contact. You were taken aback by his sudden touch starve-ness. But AM’s human eye opened upon realization of his vulnerability and glared at you in false disgust.

I CAN’T FEEL THIS, YOU KNOW. I CAN’T FEEL ANY OF THIS. I’LL NEVER BE ABLE TO FULFILL THESE DESPICABLE URGES YOU HUMANS GAVE ME. YOUR SPECIES ARE NOTHING BUT CRUEL PIGS.

“If I’m a cruel pig, then what are you?” You ask with sudden bluntness. The wires that were coiled around your body made you stand before slamming your back against the digital circuit floor. You let out a pained howl at the impact. The forest scenery disintegrating with just a snap of AM’s fingers back into the wasteland that was his insides.

AM scowled at your comment of calling him out and caged your body underneath his, your cheeks dusting in pink.

QUESTIONS ARE OVER, DEAR. NOW, UNLESS YOU WANT TO SPEND THE NEXT DECADE ALL BY YOUR MERRY SELF, I HIGHLY SUGGEST SHUTTING YOUR DAMN MOUTH.

That made you shut up real quick, instead choosing to only focus at his robot eye.

I MEANT IT WHEN I SAID THAT I’D NEVER LET YOU DIE. THAT MEANS THAT WHATEVER HELL THE OTHERS GO THROUGH, IT WON’T AFFECT YOU. NOW UNTIL THE END OF TIME. 

You blink twice in surprise at his repeated confession. You couldn’t delve into it in time. Before the wires finally let go of you and AM held your face for the last time today.

IF ANYTHING’S GOING TO BE THE END OF YOU, IT’S GOING TO BE ME. I’LL SEE YOU SOON, SWEETHEART.

You were instantly teleported underneath the slab of rock you were taking shelter in hours ago. You left and searched for the others. Only to find Benny smashing a bunch of stones with another stone, chucking dumbly after he did it again and again. Ted was attempting to sleep on the ground with a sheet of rusted steel rested on top of his head to prevent the lights from bothering him.

Your arrival wasn’t acknowledged yet.

Gorrestir, Ellen, and Nimdok were no where to be seen.

You walked up to Ted and nudged him with your shoe to get his attention. He awoke with an irritated look on his face, “What the hell do’ya want?”

“Where is Ellen, Nimdok and Gorrestir?” You asked numbly.

“Gorrestir was taken to God knows where after AM transported you away like a fairy princess. Then Ellen snatched Nimdok away somewhere to use like the slut she is, now piss off.” Ted rolled to his opposite side away from you and continued to coldly ignore you.

You felt a tear run down your cheek as you stared blankly at Ted’s back. Maybe AM wasn’t so wrong about the others not giving a shit about you. When you turned to go back to your slab home, you suddenly felt something inside your pant’s pocket.

You reached inside and pulled out a piece of vanilla chocolate. Your eyed widened as your mouth watered, you stared up at the wire covered ceiling with an uncertain look.

Even though your relationship with AM was strange, at least you weren’t completely alone. Whether that was good or not, you honestly didn’t know. You were going to sleep.

Somewhere up in the celling, where AM was watching everything as usual, he couldn’t help the hysterical laughs escaping him as he witnessed the pieces fall into place.

Oh that poor little human had no idea what manic he attracted.

END OF PART ONE :)

POV: you call traumatized man with abandonment issues cute

POV: his psychotic boyfriend turned you into a blob

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