#THANK YOU HARR ANON FOR THE SUBMITTION!!!!

[alloveroliver]

Evil!Harr Part 1

harr anon: part 1 of some very evil!harr! its quite a doozy, so i had to split it, but harr/alice will come in the 2nd part (and guess who thoroughly enjoys the cradle gothic vibes…:D)

tw: Gore

The yawning nights never made the Magic Tower any more inviting. Loki climbs the steps with the same apprehension as always; after all, it was very hard to shake away the memories of the atrocities that had very nearly been inflicted upon him. If he listens carefully enough, he can almost hear the moans and cries of those who had been confined here, bodies prepared to undergo the gauntlets Amon Jabberwock would orchestrate.

And yet, he fears the cries he hears now may just be history repeating itself.

The marble staircase coils upward towards the private chambers of the new master, perched over an ornate writing desk like a haggard crow. Only this time, the robes have been changed from violet to black, fine silk for ragged six-string…gold eyes for red ones.

“Harr? When did you come back?”

Since the death of Amon, Harr had been swift to overthrow the Magic Tower and its brainwashed occupants. They had cowered under his superior magical abilities, the crystals holding now sway over the deflective spells and ancient incantations that forced them to their knees, burnt their hands and filled their veins with pestilence. Casting the robes of the Tower aside, Harr stood proud and furious above all, as if punch-drunk on the power he had suddenly acquired. The few that had been deemed worthy to live treated him like a god in the flesh, immediately obeyed his every whim, and allowed him to carry on with his games. For his magic was innate, beautifully so, and he was worth dying for.

Even if Loki had hated how the color of his eyes had changed.

“Loki? Ah, I’ve only been back a short time,” At the sound of his name, the elder sorcerer looks up from what appears to be numerous torn papers, detailing correspondence between members of the Red Army. Loki tries his hardest to overlook the splatters of blood and viscera on each page. He focuses on the smile he was so used to seeing, soft and reassuring, and hopes back for the days before all of this madness. “But I’m glad you’re here. I have something to show you.”

Papers flying, Loki crouches down on the other side of desk as Harr seems to reach down behind it, fiddling on with the straps on a battered leather sack. His hums a soft melody as he works, and the younger kindles faint memories in the back of his mind, when the same tune was hummed over a kitchen sink, a solo tune that soon drifted into a duet when he would come to help with dinner.

I’ve been reminiscing a lot, he thinks…and it’s with a twinge of sadness as he realizes the sorry state of affairs that have forced him to do so, if only for his own mental well-being.

But soon enough, Harr’s voice cuts into his reverie. “I’ve been thinking long and hard how to finally get through to the King of Hearts,” he hums, though there’s a distinct edge to his tone as the buckles come loose on the sack. “And I think I may have finally done it. My greatest achievement.”

The King of Hearts? “But Lancelot has always…refused your offers before.”

“Then perhaps my latest attempt has caused a…change of heart, if you will.”

No…

Harr reveals a glass tankard from the confines of his bag, sloshing around with a glossy red liquid that instantly forces the hairs on Loki’s neck to prickle. He can smell it before he sees it - spilled blood - and the sight is unfortunately not unique. He wants to vomit every time, but his throat is dry and tight, and he wants to run…but Harr is there, grinning, and Loki can only remain dumbfounded.

An adult human heart, beating wildly within a glass cage.

Loki’s slit pupils flare for a second. He looks ready to protest, jaw clenching and unclenching…but nothing leaves his lips. Perhaps he realizes what an objection means by now, and instead occupies himself by watching the disembodied organ throb in the jar. It mesmerizes him in a sickening way, how it squeezes and oozes in the red liquid, pulsing with gentle magical light.

The heart ripped from the Queen of Spades’ chest didn’t glow like this. Or the others. None of their hearts glowed at all.

Would my heart glow this way?, he thinks, only to quickly push that line of thought to the depths of his subconscious. His fingers tremble over the breastbone under his skin, where even now, he wonders if there is anything left at all.

Invisible hands pulling at the frantic muscle, ready to tear it clean from its shell…despite the heat of the room around them, Loki shivers in poorly-masked terror.

“Beautiful, no?” Harr resumes his gentle harmony, fingers curling over the remaining vessels upon the tables. “I knew Lance wouldn’t disappoint.”

Ten jars for ten men, each housing a beating heart. And Loki remembers them all too clearly. How each one faltered at the most crucial moment, letting Harr’s wicked fingers slide over their chests and drag the bleeding muscle from under the flesh, only to shove a jagged crystal into the cavity instead. They were living puppets, meat caskets for the Joker to toy with as he saw fit.

The Queen of Spades had been first, so eager to help his former friend that he hadn’t even seen it coming. But the horror on his face as Harr had stood over him, heart dripping his own blood onto the carpet, had been unforgettable. And with a single snap, the first puppet was made, jumping to his feet with vacant eyes and a luring call to draw the King into a secluded spot. Unversed in the intricacies of magic, the Black Army was swift to fall asunder.

Lancelot proved to be more difficult. He had visited Kyle that morning. Kyle had never thrown up blood before…Kyle’s eyes…had never looked so milky.

Knowing Amon’s ways, he had been privy to the darker side of magic, so when Zero had attempted to beckon him toward the training room alone, eyes vacant like those of a doll, he had already suspected foul play. But by then, he was exhausted from the years of futile conflict with the Black Army, as well as the weight of potentially retreading the footsteps of the very man who had held his father’s soul overhead. Falling to his knees with a soft smile upon his face, he had willingly surrendered his flesh to the Joker and his sickening cause.

And so, life would go on….or at least, it would seem to. Now at the helms of each side of Cradle, Harr had only to simply will his word into law. Who would go against him? Who was even left?

Loki cast a forlorn glance up the staircase towards the private quarters of his master…and the strange girl he kept caged up there.

“What do you plan to do with it, Harr?”

When the wizard turns back to his apprentice, his voice softens. “It doesn’t quite fit…does it?” he sighs. He runs his fingertips over Lancelot’s vessel, nails tapping an ancient rhythm over the glass. “Only further proof how we are not the same as the normal populace.”

Loki flinches at the use of ’we’. The dichotomy he had once fought against, being championed by his mentor, makes his gut twist uncomfortably. “Then what are you going to do?”

“There is always room for further study into the archaic world of magic,” comes the response, though there was a dangerous glint in Harr’s scarlet gaze. His mouth twists ever so slightly, the edge of a smile gracing his lips, though never enough to reach his eyes. “And I would find it most useful to expand my knowledge. The Tower may have gone far in their research…but there is always more.”

The younger wriggles a bit where he stands, pulling the hem of his jacket. “I don’t know if you should go any further, Harr. You know what…what the Tower did, do you really want to know that much?”

“You make a fair point, but this heart has such boundless energy…and I could always…consume the excess myself.”

The fear sinks deeper into Loki’s bones, his entire form only kept from shaking by every muscle locking stiff. He looks for any sign that the elder is joking, but his face is remarkably serious. “Harr…y-you can’t be serious-”

“But I very much am, Loki,” comes the cold reply, and the younger flinches at how his master’s lip curls into a sneer. Were his teeth always so sharp? “There is no need for Lancelot to entertain the masses with his magic, not when I have my rule implemented in Cradle. It would be a waste to let it simply sit here as a trophy.” And with unfamiliar malice, he suddenly grimaces. Loki’s blood freezes in his veins, and he can barely breathe “Besides, Loki Genetta, you have no right to pass judgment on me for eating the hearts of men.”

The glare was piercing. Cutting right through his soul, Loki’s legs give out beneath him. Blood-soaked memories flicker behind closed eyelids, servants in violet cloaks and a frightened madman cowering underneath his claws. It was frightening to imagine, that loss of control, the sheer desire to maim and consume…like some kind of beast. But the thrill of the hunt had pounded wild through his veins, deliciously stringing him along toward the lifeblood that he could scent in the air…feral, hot, hungry…

“You remember it, don’t you?” Harr senses the confusion in the younger’s body, how his eyes flit to the floor and his lips quivers. Moving ever closer, he wreathes himself around Loki, stroking his hair and crooning ever so sweetly into his ear. “Tell me how powerful you felt, Loki. Did it feel good to rip that man to shreds?” The contrast between face and voice was jarring, but Harr’s soothing tone still pulls tenderly upon the boy’s heartstrings. Somewhere, he hopes that his old friend is still there. “Tell me how good it felt when you cleaved that devil open. How good it felt to consume his essence.”

It was sickening to say…but Loki couldn’t deny it. The hedonistic rush of magical power as he had ripped through Amon Jabberwock with fang and claw, wild as a hellcat and with an appetite to match. Yanked by puppet strings and with Harr holding the sticks, he had lunged and clawed and bit and killed. It was sweet vengeance; surely, Harr had even told him so. Harr had promised he hadn’t been wrong, he had promised…

You were the one who told me to do it.

“It felt…amazing.”

“Then you know it’s only fair that I should also enjoy such pleasure. I gave you the opportunity, after all, and absolved your sins upon the deed’s completion.”

“So I was wrong to do it?”

“Oh, Loki…taking life is wrong, but it had to be done. Come to me.

The embrace is warm, familiar, and Loki cannot contain himself any longer. He sobs into Harr’s warm arms, clinging to the cloak that now reeks of earth and freshly-spilled blood. He lets himself be soothed, coddled, lied to under the pretense of sweet whispers of comfort. He knows there is something horribly wrong with the man he had once come to know as his carer, a friend in the darkest of times, but he is powerless to stop it. Because Harr was all he had left in this world, even though the corruption that had filled his soul was nothing like the kind, gentle human being who had swept him off the ground as a child and into a loving home.

Fingers come to rub gentle circles into the individual bumps along the younger’s spine, where the same corruption begins to take hold. Loki notices it every day, his body contorting into something more animal, more beastly by the day. First had been the teeth…then the claws…then the twisting of his spine, some days leaving him yowling like a creature on all fours. A punishment by the gods, perhaps? Or a sickness of the soul, brought by Harr as he takes the worst of the sins wrought by their terror?

All he knows is that he will follow Harr until the end, even when his body contorts and his voice leaves him, until he is nothing but a monster with a feline grin.

"Your place is here with me. Cradle is still cruel to the likes of you and me, for they don’t understand the gifts we come to bear,” A pregnant pause fills the air, only punctuated by the irregular thumps of distended hearts. Unbeknownst to the young man, Harr’s grin twists into something more sinister. “Your parents were not the only ones. And I only do my work so that no more children come to suffer as you did. I keep you and rid you of your sins, and you help me to achieve the paradise we deserve.”

When Loki looks up at him once more, tears track messy lines down his cheeks. His eyes are so lost, so full of fear and hope, clinging to whatever scrap of stability he can. Harr has Loki pinned under his claws, eager to please and fearing every detachment, lest he disappear…just like his parents had.

Twisted pleasure runs hot through Harr’s veins.

“You know how much I love you,” Harr only reaches forward to stroke his apprentice’s wild hair. He watches those mismatched eyes harden to flint, only to melt once more as his fingernails scratch into the young man’s scalp. The lies taste sweet on his tongue, almost as sweet as the look of adoration upon his charge’s face. “I don’t want the pain you felt to ever come back. I want to protect you. You know that, right?”

A soft sigh breaches those plump lips, and a barbed tongue rasps his palm in a gesture of submission.

“Do not disappoint me, Loki.”

“Not you. Never you, Harr.”

[alloveroliver]

Evil!Harr, Part 2

harr anon bringing part deux to the table :D again, i LIVE for cradle gothic so there are some elements ahead!

apologies for the lateness too, i actually had an extra 3000 words on this for an epilogue (with some harr/loki/alice content :3c) but i shaved it off to save time/stop rambling. even though this still came out to 5000 words *shrug* for the harr lovers out there, we are so starved for content, its a case of go big or go home!

warning ahead: NS-FW (rated content, yandere vibes from our new overlord silver, sad loki)

please enjoy!

…

By the time Alice wakes, she finds herself beneath a curtain of stars.

Incense sticks burning out around her head, she pushes the heavy bed sheets down the length of her body amidst soft plumes of fragranced smoke. Trailing small wisps of blue and purple in the faint moonlight, she watches as they dissipate overhead, until they fade from sight. Their fumes sting her eyes a little, but perhaps it was getting used to them that bothers her so much.

Harr had suggested they would require a moment to adjust to.

Speaking of…

While her mind had been foggy, there was no doubt she had not gone to bed alone. The duvet is crumpled at her side, stray dark hairs against the pillow…but they are ice cold when her fingers play over the fabric. The tattered robe is no longer on the floor, neither are his shoes, his shirt, his trousers…

Alice shivers as the wind howls through the pillars above her head. It seems so much scarier when she is alone.

Quietly stepping out from beneath the covers, Alice places her bare feet upon the frigid marble floor. It stings to the touch - how long have I been asleep? - and her legs wobble uncomfortably, until she manages to plant her hands over the vanity table beside her and regain some balance. The movements feel slow, almost dream-like in their fluidity, but that only serves to leave Alice trembling even harder.

The ornate pillars are oppressive in their structure, more akin to the bars of a prison cell, with the view of Cradle beneath as a reality too far to reach. The wind clatters new black flags against their poles, etchings of a new order now ruling where Amon once stood, and yet…the unease remains the same.

Personally, she couldn’t quite remember the sequence of events that had led to her coming here. Above all others, held in the Magic Tower’s highest room, as though she were the Cradle equivalent of a very bewildered Rapunzel. No matter how hard she tries, hands balling into fists so tight she almost cuts her palms with her nails, she struggles to make heads or tails of how she found herself slumbering here, without Harr by her side.

 Indeed…where was he?

“Alice? What are you doing out of bed?”

As if summoned by her mere thoughts, he arrives on heavy footsteps, draped in a cloak as dark as a crow’s wing. His crimson eye is wide and glassy, as if shocked by the sight of Alice up and out of her bed. Their bed, she wants to say. But when he never seems to be beside her when she wakes…can she even say that at all?

“I just woke up now,” she replies, though judging by the look of shock Harr gives her, it seems that was enough to have him on edge. “I couldn’t find you when I woke up so I just-”

“Well, I’m here now, dear,” comes the soothing reply, as the sorcerer gently places the tray upon the stand and takes Alice’s hands in his own. The touch is familiar…the scene is familiar…but she finds herself struggling to remember just how. “And there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Afraid? Afraid…of what, exactly? She can’t be sure, but given how Harr is suddenly so skittish, it doesn’t bode well. “Oh…well, I’m glad about that. Then how about we go outside tonight? We could go for a walk, like we used to do.”

“No…no, no, no…Alice, you can’t go out there.” Urgency tinges every word from Harr’s lips, and he almost trips over himself in his haste to gently press his hand against Alice’s lower back.

But she doesn’t budge. Instead, a veil of frost settles in her words. “Harr, talk to me. Please tell me what’s happening.”

“It’s not safe for you right now. I want you to stay here, where I can protect you.”

“From what? What’s out there?”

“The last dregs of Amon’s miserable campaign…I fear they may come to take you from me.”

At those simple words, Alice feels her blood freeze in her veins. Her pale gaze goes wide, waiting for Harr to simply say it was a joke, a joke in such poor taste that it wouldn’t even have been funny.

“My dear, it’s complicated…,” But Harr only sits at the foot of her bed, gently patting the spot beside him for Alice to copy the motion. She smoothes her nightdress and cocks her head as he sighs, as though he is struggling to place his words in a satisfactory manner. “At least let me give you a drink before I start. You must be parched.”

But as Alice reaches out to take the teacup from the tray, Harr takes hold and raises the rim to his lips. He takes a mouthful, a glint of mischief in his eye, and crooks two fingers to beckon her closer.

A small sigh breaks the silence. The bed squeaks as she crawls closer to almost rest on his lap. “Even in these moments, you find the time to tease me.”

When his lips touch hers, the taste is unbelievable. A saccharine sensation, as though his lips had been coated in sugar, floods her taste buds and spills down her throat. The tea is warm and soothing as she drinks from his lips, even as her hands come to gently hold his cheeks, lapping at his lips for more.

Parting for a moment, a light flush tinges his cheeks as he feeds her again. Each kiss lasts longer between mouthfuls of warm tea, until Alice no longer minds the sweetness numbing her tongue, not when it’s chased with such dizzying pleasure.

As the cup runs empty, Harr holds her face with tender hands. “You look so beautiful right now,” he murmurs, tongue running against his lips. The blood beneath her skin, pounding and flushing, tints her face a gorgeous shade of pink. “I don’t want to lose you to the outside. Not when I see you like this.”

“But I know you could protect me,” she counters.

Despite that, Harr only laughs softly and shakes his head. “When Amon fell and I overthrew the Tower, some of his lackeys managed to flee into the forest and into Cradle itself,” he begins, gently taking Alice’s hand in his own. The touch is warm, comforting after so long. “They may be small and they may be few, but the fact that they worked for the Tower is already an issue I cannot let slide. They know you’re here, and I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving loose ends.”

“And the Red and Black Armies? Would they not be able to help?”

“I have friends in both sides now, but I don’t imagine it would be enough.”

“What would be enough for us, Harr?”

“I don’t know…not yet, at least. I’m afraid I haven’t quite finished making Cradle safe enough for you just yet.” Making Cradle safe? What did he mean by that? “But you only need to wait for me a little longer, when I can finally show you what I’ve been working on.”

Something wants to protest inside her. But…every time the thought was just in grasp…just underneath her claws…it scrambles away into the recesses of her mind. Instead, the sugary tang of Harr’s sweet tea takes its place. A replacement of thoughts, a candied distraction that lured her into silence, perhaps?

Her tongue doesn’t allow her to object to the suspicious words that spill from her lover’s lips. And the conversation moves on.

Harr speaks of the weather and of the world, but doesn’t permit her to see it yet. He weaves light tales of how the Black Army is doing in an era of newly-founded freedom, how the Red Army is coping after the exposure of Amon Jabberwock’s nest of lies. Lancelot Kingsley has a ‘change of heart’, he says, and wishes to abdicate the throne, longing for a better life without the pressures associated with being the King of Hearts. Ray Blackwell remains silent for now, but Harr suspects there are similar motions being made under the cloak of ravens’ wings.

And Alice believes it. She swallows these words as easily as each mouthful of tea.

…

“If the world outside is so dangerous, Harr…am I truly any safer being kept in here?”

Setting down the empty teacup upon the stand, Harr holds his love with a questioning glance. Of course she would be curious - such seems to be the in the blood of every resident from the Land of Reason - but he is already prepared.

He shakes his head at her question. “I can guarantee your safety here, darling. I can’t guarantee it outside these walls. Not until I am sure Amon’s servants are caught.”

“But what if they find me here? All of Cradle knows who I am.”

“And all of Cradle knows who I am. They would be fools to try and take you from my side. As I say, I guarantee your safety.”

“You can…how?”

Alice watches as Harr wraps his cloak around himself, rising from the bed with quiet elegance. “I am the most powerful wizard that has ever existed in Cradle. My life has been devoted to honing my talent into the purest form of sorcery, and my knowledge of the magical arts surpasses all those in the Magic Tower and the armies combined,” He turns to face his love with a knowing grin, as though flaunting his expertise. “When it comes to magic, I believe I can offer my solid word.”

“But does it not drain you? To constantly protect me?”

“Charms and concoctions imbued with magic are not hard to create, especially when I need to defend the one I love. These incense sticks are one such thing,” he murmurs, summoning a small flame on his fingertip to reignite fresh sticks that hang from an owl-shaped dish, and fill the air with perfume. “An ancient herbal formula to hide your presence from those who would hunt you, from those who would hurt you.”

Alice watches with cloudy eyes as he lights more sticks, until the scent has her eyelids growing heavier and her heartbeat slowing. But above her headboard, her fingers find purchase over the woven fabric nailed to the wood, images of animals and figures running over a green field. Crimson dogs and midnight wolves, accompanied by purple-cloaked masters, seem to give chase to a small yellow bird, but never quite in reach.

As hard as she tries, she can’t remember this tapestry. Even the material feels foreign under her palm, no matter how hard she tries to recall. “And this?”

Harr’s smile is gentle, sweeter than before. “Woven with love and magic. No matter what monsters try to chase you, they will never catch you as you sleep with that charm above your bed.”

Of course he would say something so charming. He always had a way of soothing Alice’s worries, and now is no exception. She snuggles under the duvet once more as Harr’s broad chest looms overhead, gently stoking fresh fires in the oil lanterns.

Not enough so she could see the deep red of his eye, however. That was something she didn’t need to notice…not before the incantations took effect.

She didn’t need to know their real purpose. How those incense stocks were to lower her resistance to persuasion, the woven charms to dampen her repelling energies, the elixir she consumed from his lips to stimulate pleasure from her nerves.

In time, of course.

Ignorance is bliss, and it makes Alice’s essence all the more sweeter for consumption.

 …

As the night grows longer, Alice finds her belly growing warm.

Perhaps the tea had helped to raise her temperature, she muses, but it doesn’t feel quite the same. Her chest doesn’t feel as tight as it usually would when she drinks something too hot, and the energy seems to gather in the pit of her stomach, instead of the top. It reminds her of other forms of heat, but she can only flush and shake her head in dismay. As inappropriate she finds it to be, there is little she can do to avoid Harr’s sudden roving eye and piqued interest.

“You’re feeling rather warm, dear,” He places his hand upon Alice’s forehead, soon followed by his own. The vivid scarlet of his eye is mesmerizing, and Alice finds herself subtly shifting her position to accommodate how sticky she is suddenly feeling. He breathes in, deep and even, eye fluttering closed. “And your heart…it’s racing in your chest.”

“I don’t…I don’t know what’s come over me,” Alice finds herself panting at every little touch that the wizard casts upon her, and she scolds herself for how lustful she has become in his presence. “I feel so…hot, I…,” But the sensations aren’t unwelcome, and as Harr gently rests his palm over her left breast, inhibition flees her as her breath gives way to a plaintive mewl. “Oh, Harr…”

Harr’s eye widens for a heartbeat, but the flush on his face matches the hunger in his gaze. “Perhaps it has been too long. I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?”

“Harr, I…oh, my dear, I need-”

The air seems to fill with the scent of flowers, sweet and fragrant, and Alice begins to wonder why her head feels like its spinning. Similar to her first tumble into Cradle, the crystal lights and burning candles glitter and fragment before her eyes and a single glint of scarlet draws her in like a moth to the flame. Harr’s breath quickens - she almost swears blind that she can hear him purring - and it is with a sigh that she tumbles into his warm embrace. Into his arms she lands, where he waits with a deceptively rough kiss.

“My dear Alice…do you want me?”

Breathless and heavy-lidded, she croons. “…Yes.”

This is rather unlike how he used to be. Harr was a gentle lover at first, sweet and soft as could be. But oh, it would have been a lie to say that a little spice wasn’t welcome right now. Because every time Alice rubs her thighs together, runs her fingers over Harr’s broad shoulders, the heat in the pit of her belly grows warmer, roars louder through her veins until her heart feels ready to burst out of her ribcage.

Unbeknownst to her, Harr almost salivates at that very thought.

“Feeling good?” he asks between kisses, one hand trailing down to rest upon the folds of her nightdress, crumpled up and barely obscuring her underwear. Alice nods and chews her lip, if only to suppress her whimpers. “And how about…here?” Another nod, and the rush of validation to his ego is purely delightful.

Harr presses his fingers down against the soft material and rubs small circles through it. Given how Alice squeaks and whines under his ministrations, even as he only stimulates her folds through her undergarments, he preens himself knowing how easily she surrenders to him. Even now, she soaks through the white fabric, dampening his fingers and matching her breathy moans with faint wet noises.

The scent is intoxicating. He knows the taste will be even more so.

“Let me make you feel even better.”

His path down the length of her torso makes a brief stop at her heaving chest, where her breasts perk even through the material of her gown. Harr gently laps at the first with his tongue, rubbing the second between two fingers until both stiffen and Alice keens against him. The fabric grows cold as he lifts his mouth away, and the sensation against bare flesh makes his lover squirm.

Kisses to the exposed skin work even better, and he lavishes both with licks and sucks, all while skilled fingers continue to press and curl at her lower lips. Alice finds her body rocking harder into the actions of its own accord, following the motions as though this were a dance she was well-versed in already, and Harr greedily welcomes the movement. She was so close to her peak already, and with barely any effort? He takes great pride in knowing her body like the back of his hand.

And so he permits himself a satisfied grin as he moves to the apex of her thighs, knowing that as the wet material slides down her legs to bunch at her ankles, he can play her like a fiddle, her pleasure entirely at his bidding.

“Hold still for me, darling. Let me taste you.”

When the first lap of his tongue reaches her core, Alice chokes on her own breath. He is ravenous in his actions, tongue and lips licking, sucking, reaching every inch of her that he possibly could.

As predicted, her essence is heavenly. Harr can’t contain each little grunt and moan as he kisses here, bites there, lets himself get absolutely lost in the heady stimulation of his every sense. Alice’s cries are the sweetest music to his ears, her nails scraping his scalp a delicious kick that makes him groan louder against her flesh. Harder, faster, he sucks at her nub and plunges his tongue and fingers, all while she can barely string together a coherent sentence above him.

With surprising speed, Alice finds herself shuddering under the force of her orgasm, teeth clenched to hold back the shriek of surprised ecstasy. The constant coaxing of her chest and neck had left her pliant and ready, until the heat in her lower stomach could no longer handle the sorcerer’s wicked mouth and hands. Her own palms raised to muffle her cries, Alice rides out the waves with drunken satisfaction.

But Harr feels her muscles contract around his fingers, thighs squeezing the sides of his head as Alice rolls her hips into his mouth to prolong her climax, and he knows that he is doing well. It’s a small victory, knowing he had total domination over her pleasure, but it greatly strokes his ego to know that as she moans and begs for only him. And that no other man will ever know such sweetness.

Harr raises his head from between Alice’s legs, tongue swiping hungrily at every trace of her that may have remained. Such a sinful tongue, she muses, but gives no protest as he crawls up the length of her body, tangling it with her own in a bruising kiss. She tastes herself in his mouth, along with hints of magic and blood. A bitter tang, her clouded brain remarks, but remains unable to voice how her palate judges it.

The thin fabric of the nightdress is ripped easily between frantic hands, baring her torso beneath him. In her muddled thoughts, she doesn’t protest, other than to stare into that hungry scarlet eye, watching how he almost growls at the prospect of devouring her. His voice is deep and beautiful, an edge of danger that clenches the muscles of her belly with ardent want. Bare beneath him, a beast chained only by a thread, her breath catches between something akin to a cry and a moan.

Outlined by the presence of the moon, his silver form looms overhead. Bare as the day he was born, hot and heavy between his legs; he takes himself in hand and presses his head between her slick folds. Alice’s muddied thoughts only amplify the pleasure, and she simply falls back into the sheets, lips parted as her lover moves to embrace her ever closer.

“Let me have you, my dear. Every inch of you. Show you how much I love you.”

As he sheathes himself within her, the tightness of her stomach unravels in seconds.

“H-Harr, wait, I–!”

Already over stimulated, Alice jerks and jolts beneath him at the brusque intrusion, torn apart by the strength of yet another climax. But Harr pays it little heed, only smiling with clear satisfaction that he was the one to bring his lover to her peak in such a fashion. Saliva dripping down her chin, eyes unfocused and bleary, chest heaving amid shreds of her negligee…she is a picture of decadence and debauchery, and it drives him forward with a fanged grin and a snap of his hips.

“Already, my dear?” he croons, taking a handful of her beautiful golden locks and bringing her face closer. The kiss he gives is burning to the touch; searing every inch of passion he can muster into the promise that this was only the beginning. “Then you’ll definitely enjoy this.”

The coupling is frenzied, a pair of wild animals caught in the depths of unbearable heat. Alice finds herself dragged and draped like a doll all across the length of her bed, and even beyond that. A shameful look crosses her beautiful face as she glances back at Harr over the shoulder, hips raised high as he takes her from behind with powerful thrusts. But such innocent expressions of guilt, knowing what they do is wrong, only serves to stir the beast in his belly; he bites down hard into her nape, pushing her forward and snapping his hips faster into her warmth.

The nausea is briefly chased away by the sheer pleasure building, as Harr seems to push himself deeper into her guts.

On all fours like an animal, Alice cries out as her thighs begin to quiver once again, the telltale knotting of her stomach indicating she is not far from another orgasm. And yet behind her, the sorcerer continues to pound into her like a man possessed. His dark hair fans over his face, his one red eye feral as sweat drips from his brow and runs his rivulets down the column of his throat. The power he must be exerting is dizzying to imagine; Alice doesn’t have to imagine hard as Harr suddenly slams his length deeper, her core pulsing and dripping around him.

When had he accrued such stamina? Where had he found such power? Alice wants to entertain the thoughts, but finds her legs rend wide as he flips her over, teeth latched in her throat.

His hands knead her breasts, grasp her hips, pull her hair…his savagery knows no bounds as he fucks her. There is no other word for it. And despite the brutality with which he claims her, Alice cannot find herself complaining at all.

“Mine…you’re mine, aren’t you…my dear,” he groans, a brief moment of lucidity as he rolls his hips into her tight warmth. “Waiting here for me, my little darling…”

The bite aches as he pulls his teeth away, and Alice swears she can feel something hot dripping from the wound. But her mind is reduced to primitive thoughts by their aggressive style of play, more akin to wild mating than the tender love-making they once had.

Yet she still pushes herself into his thrusts, screams his name, coaxes him onward. “Yes, Harr, yes! Yours!”

“Only me…only for me,” he huffs between each powerful roll of his hips, almost jerking Alice up the bed in his urgency. His stomach is tightening, the muscles taut and outlined as she runs her hands over his sides, his back, his arms, everywhere she can reach. “Mine, mine, mine.”

They fall together over the edge in a cacophony. Alice caterwauls at the top of her lungs when Harr’s slender fingers jolt and rub her nerves as he pistons into her, never letting up as she crumbles beneath him into a disordered, screaming mess. She rakes her nails down his shoulder as the floorboards threaten to splinter, his guttural roar filling her ears when each thrust suddenly warms her insides with hot stickiness. He twitches, pulses, thick and wet, all kinds of words of worship spilling from his mouth as he proceeds to fill her.

The stimulation is too much…the heat is too much for her body to take, and Alice sinks into sweet oblivion. Guided by the warm hands of her lover, lain against sweat-coated pillows as willowy fingers card through her hair and over her scalp. The gentle touch burns so sweetly, a numbing fire that tingles with an edge of magic; just enough to make her eyelids grow heavy and the strength leave her muscles.

But before sleep claims her, a lullaby of ragged panting guides her there. Hot breaths fan her neck as that sinful tongue licks over her marks, with only his husky words breaking the silence.

“My sweetheart…my dear…mine.”

 …

As Alice slides into blissful numbness once more, Harr slithers up the length of her torso, only to gently card his fingers through her golden hair. The sweat begins to dry from the tips, but around her face remains a halo of strands, a stark contrast to the fading rouge of her glowing cheeks.

The time was right, her magical energy at its purest form.

He harvests what he can, the lock of hair and fresh blood safely stowed in vials for later refinement. Her sweat, her tears, her saliva, all was ripe for the taking, still seeming to crackle with traces of magic. In his heightened state of magical being, the very flow of Cradle’s universe lays itself before him, and Alice was no exception. A very different energy, yes, but one that no doubt piques the attention of the green-eyed monster that now wore his skin.

Because if he could see her potential…someone else could.

Harr knows this girl is more precious than Amon could ever have imagined. A breed from another world entirely, she was the key to his domination over Cradle.

And in her veins, the power to repel the very force that dictated his every move. She whimpers and bends to his every whim now, but to imagine how she would be sitting beside him…regal, perfect, the purest incarnation of azoth and his beloved queen.

And even better…she loves him.

A throaty purr rumbles deep within Harr’s core. “How about we dance again, my dear?” he asks, a voice as sweet and thick as molasses. His hand slides down to rest just below her navel, only to press into the soft flesh and elicit the smallest of twitches. “It’s been a long while since we indulged, and I wish to get my fill of you.”

At the most subtle of persuasions, Alice parts her thighs, still sticky, and gently flexes her spine to expose her chest. Littered with bites that the elixir refused her to feel, she looks ravished beyond compare, yet still willing and waiting for even more.

He dips his fingers into her heat with tenderness, eye trained upon the delicate expressions that run over Alice’s face. Calloused fingertips rub and curl in all the right places, lubricated by his own seed, pushing it deeper inside and swirling it around. She sighs and bucks into his touch, before an inviting smile carves over her sweet lips.

There would be plenty of time for more when they ruled Cradle side by side, when Harr could allow her to step from the birdcage in the safe knowledge he had her still in his grasp.

So as he kisses a trail down between her thighs, he allows himself another small taste of her heaven, just for now.

 …

Loki jerks his head up as he hears footsteps trailing from the entrance to the staircase. They’re light and tentative - only one person had such a gait - and the young man can’t help but gasp.

If she was awake, if she was aware…what would she say of the madness Cradle had become?

But a stronger stride soon matches those steps, and he knows that Harr will have intercepted Alice before she could have even made it past the doorframe. They had this tango many a time, some of which he had been privy to through the crack in the doorway, but it was always the same.

Ever so charming, Harr would coax his lover back to their bed with a pretty little set of lies, wrapped up neatly with Amon’s dead servants as a phantom to scare her into staying, before sating his desires with Alice’s body until she was ready to slumber once again.

The cycle never ends. The snake never stops eating its own tail.

…It’s too much.

He lies down upon the marble, the wind fanning his wild locks and filling his ears with ghostly howls. It’s a cruel and unusual punishment he inflicts upon himself, to subject himself to the sounds of the distant storm, but it seems only fair. A reminder of where he came from, the sheer despair that had once yawned painfully in the depths of his soul, now acting as his comforter for the long and lonely nights.

The humorous side might have been subjective, but the ironic side was downright cruel.

Cold marble robs him of feeling as he hears Alice’s voice from the mouth of the staircase, breathless and pleading, crying out for her lovesick captor. She simpers, she howls, she croons…a voice like the wind which carries it.

Harr responds in kind to Alice’s beautiful voice, though he cannot make out the words. If she is the wind, he is the thunder; a dangerous growl that makes the younger’s skin crawl.

…And alongside their duet, the rhythmic creaking of wooden posts against a tiled floor.

It almost seems like forever before Alice’s caterwauls finally settle down into sleepy murmurs and airy laughter. But thankfully, the silence passes much faster, and Loki distracts himself with thoughts of yesterday, of when he didn’t need to fear his only true friend snapping and tearing his organs from his chest, or constantly have the gnawing loneliness left behind by one of the few good people left in this world being completely and utterly ravaged, torn apart by the fantasies of a twisted lovesick monster.

Was it a bad thing to cry now?

Knowing he had been complicit in this awful descent into insanity?

Loki instead squeezes his throat tight, fighting the urge to throw up.