#but in that shadow lies something even darker

[hisfavegirl]

Fallen Loyalties - Aemond Targaryen x TwinSister!Reader

Summary : Now, all that remains is the echo of the lies Aemond told and the weight of the betrayal he never saw coming. And as the consequences unfold, he realize—it’s too late for apologies, too late for redemption. The loyalty you once shared is gone, and what’s left is nothing but the ruins of what you once were. The price of betrayal is always paid in regret. And now, he am paying it with his heart.

Aemond Masterlist.

Being born as Aemond Targaryen’s twin sister meant your fate was sealed from the moment you took your first breath. From the very beginning, your life was entwined with his, bound by blood, secrets, and the unyielding honor of House Targaryen. But your bond with Aemond had always been more than mere siblinghood. There was something deeper, darker, something no one dared to name aloud.

After the birth of Maelor, Aegon’s son, your marriage to Aemond was arranged without question. It was destiny, they said—a union that would strengthen House Targaryen. You accepted it with your head held high, even as your heart swirled with fear, confusion, and curiosity about how your life would change.

Now, you are carrying your first child. Years have passed since your marriage, and while you’ve grown accustomed to Aemond’s stern and controlling nature, the unspoken tension between you remains.

In your chambers, Aemond stood near the window, gazing at the flames burning in the distance. His silver hair flowed freely down his back, catching the warm glow of the candlelight. He turned when you entered, his sharp eye immediately locking onto yours.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked softly—a rare gentleness in his voice.

“Fine,” you replied briefly, your hand instinctively resting on your growing belly.

Aemond approached, his steps deliberate and measured. Despite his calm demeanor, his intensity was palpable. He stopped in front of you, his gaze fixed on your stomach as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

“He will be our legacy,” he said quietly, his voice filled with conviction. “We will ensure the blood of the Targaryens remains pure and unbroken.”

His words stirred unease within you, but you nodded, choosing not to challenge him. You knew that beneath his gentleness lay a darkness you had no desire to provoke.

As the night deepened, you wondered if your life with Aemond was truly destined by fate or if you were merely trapped in the power games of your family. But when he gently pulled you into his arms, you couldn’t deny the feeling that, for reasons you couldn’t fully understand, you were meant to be his—forever.

Loving Aemond was not something you could ever dream of letting go. It was a bond forged not only by blood but by something far deeper—something dark, consuming, and impossible to escape. You knew the kind of man he was, knew the fire that burned beneath his icy exterior. And you knew that when he was angry, even you, the one person he held above all else, could not control him.

The tension had been building ever since word reached you about what happened at Rook’s Rest. The whispers of what Aemond had done to your brother, Aegon, sent shivers down your spine. They said Aegon barely escaped with his life, and though the details were murky, the truth was clear: Aemond had crossed a line no one dared to confront.

When he returned to you, his presence was as commanding as ever, his single eye gleaming with a cold determination that made your blood run cold. He acted as though nothing had happened, as though the events at Rook’s Rest were just another necessary step in a long and bloody war.

But you knew. You had heard the screams of guilt in your own mind, the horror at what he had done to his own kin. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say a word.

You sat together in the quiet of your chambers, the firelight casting shadows across his face. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. His calmness unsettled you.

“Is something troubling you?” he asked, his voice low, his gaze sharp as it turned toward you.

Your heart leapt in your chest, your hands tightening in your lap. For a moment, you considered speaking, considered asking him about what happened at Rook’s Rest. But the image of his fury, the cold, ruthless man you knew he could become, stopped you.

“No,” you lied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Nothing.”

Aemond watched you for a moment longer, his gaze piercing, as if he could see straight through your soul. Then he crossed the room, kneeling before you. His hand reached out, brushing against yours with a surprising gentleness.

“You would tell me if there was, wouldn’t you?” he asked, his voice softer now, but with an edge that sent a chill down your spine.

You nodded quickly, forcing a weak smile. “Of course.”

He studied you for a moment longer before standing, his fingers lingering against your hand for a second longer than necessary. “Good,” he said simply, turning away and walking toward the door.

As the door clicked shut behind him, you released the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your mind raced with the weight of the secret you were keeping, the fear of what might happen if you dared to confront him.

You loved Aemond with everything you had, but you also knew the danger that came with that love. And in the end, you were willing to bear the burden of silence, knowing that to challenge him might mean losing him entirely.

The morning sun bathed the gardens in a soft golden glow as you walked down the stone pathway, Aemond by your side. The air was cool and crisp, the scent of blooming flowers mingling with the faint saltiness of the sea breeze. Your hand rested lightly on your swollen belly, and with every step, Aemond’s presence beside you felt as steady and unyielding as ever.

He had been named Prince Regent in Aegon’s stead after your brother was left bedridden, unable to rule. The weight of responsibility now rested on Aemond’s shoulders, and while others might have buckled under such pressure, he seemed to thrive in it. His sharp mind and ruthless determination were exactly what the realm needed in these uncertain times.

As you paused near a marble bench, Aemond stopped beside you. His gaze softened as it shifted from your face to your belly. Without a word, he reached out, his hand warm and firm as it gently stroked the curve of your stomach. The simple gesture, filled with an unexpected tenderness, made your heart ache.

“You should rest more,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “The child needs you strong.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing against his hand. “And you? Do you not need rest as well? The council takes so much of your time.”

He smirked, a rare flicker of amusement crossing his face. “The council is full of fools. I don’t need rest to deal with them.”

His confidence was unshakable, and while it sometimes frustrated you, it also reassured you. He would not falter, not for anything or anyone.

Aemond leaned down, pressing a fleeting kiss to your forehead, a gesture so brief it might have been missed by anyone watching. Then he straightened, his icy demeanor returning as he prepared to face the day’s challenges.

“I must go,” he said, his voice returning to its usual sharpness. “The council awaits.”

You nodded, watching as he turned and walked away, his black cloak billowing behind him. His steps were purposeful, each one echoing with the authority of a man who knew he was in control.

For a moment, you lingered in the garden, your hand resting on your belly. The child within you stirred slightly, as if responding to its father’s touch. Aemond might be a man of fire and ice, but in these fleeting moments, you saw the softer side of him—a side he reserved only for you and the life you carried.

As you made your way to Aegon’s chambers, your steps were slow, burdened by a weight you couldn’t shake. The corridor was quiet, save for the faint rustling of servants going about their duties. When you reached the heavy oak door, you hesitated for a moment before pushing it open.

The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to shield your brother from the harsh morning light. Aegon lay motionless on the grand bed, his face pale and drawn, a stark contrast to the once vibrant and arrogant man you had known. The faint scent of milk of the poppy lingered in the air, a reminder of the only thing keeping him from the agony of his injuries.

You stepped closer, your heart twisting with guilt as you looked at him. His chest rose and fell in steady breaths, his face peaceful in his drugged sleep. For a moment, you could almost pretend he was simply resting, that nothing was wrong. But the bandages wrapped around his body told the truth you couldn’t deny.

You sat down on the edge of his bed, your hand trembling as it hovered over his. Finally, you let your fingers brush lightly against his, a silent gesture of comfort he wouldn’t even feel.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. “I’m so sorry, Aegon.”

Your throat tightened as you fought back tears. You knew you couldn’t say these words to Aemond, couldn’t confront him about what he’d done to your brother at Rook’s Rest. But here, in the quiet of this room, you could let your guilt pour out.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” you continued, your voice shaking. “He… Aemond… He doesn’t see things the way we do. He believes what he did was necessary, but I—” You stopped, the words catching in your throat. “I should have stopped him. I should have done something.”

Aegon didn’t stir, his slumber too deep to be interrupted by your whispered confessions. But somehow, speaking the words aloud made the weight on your chest feel just a little lighter.

“I don’t know if you���ll ever forgive him,” you murmured, tears sliding down your cheeks now. “Or me. But I swear to you, Aegon, I will make sure he doesn’t harm you again. I won’t let this happen again.”

You sat there for a while longer, your hand still resting lightly on his. The guilt still lingered, but so did the resolve. You would find a way to make amends, even if it meant standing against the man you loved most in the world.

You spent hours in Aegon’s room, sitting quietly by his side. The book you held was one you thought he might enjoy—something light, perhaps even amusing, to ease his troubled mind. You knew, deep down, that Aegon had never been one for books. He had always preferred action to words, the thrill of battle to the quiet comfort of a story. But today, you read anyway. It was more for yourself than for him, a small act of solace amidst the heavy silence that filled the room.

As your voice softened and you turned the pages, you could almost pretend everything was as it should be. But the weight of the situation lingered, and you couldn’t escape the gnawing guilt that still tugged at you, the guilt of what had transpired at Rook’s Rest.

Just as you read the final lines of a chapter, the door to Aegon’s room creaked open. You looked up, surprised, as your mother stood in the doorway, her posture regal and unyielding, yet there was something soft in her expression as she observed you. Behind her stood Aemond, his figure just as imposing as always, his presence a shadow in the doorway.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. You quickly closed the book, your eyes flicking between your mother and your brother, knowing exactly what this visit would mean.

“Mother,” you greeted her, rising from your seat. “Husband.”

Your mother gave a small nod, her eyes softening briefly as she looked at you. “How is Aegon?” she asked, her voice full of concern as she walked over to the side of the bed, her gaze landing on her eldest son.

“He is still asleep,” you replied softly, your voice betraying the exhaustion you hadn’t realized you were carrying. “The milk of the poppy keeps him in a deep sleep.”

Aemond’s gaze never left you, his single eye narrowed slightly, as though scrutinizing every movement, every word. There was something unreadable in his expression, something far colder than the warmth your mother radiated.

“How long do you intend to stay here?” Aemond’s voice cut through the silence, his tone sharp, though there was a hint of something else beneath the edge—something like concern, but harder to place.

You met his gaze, your stomach tightening. “As long as it takes,” you replied, your voice firm but weary. “He’s my brother, Aemond. He needs me.”

Aemond’s lips tightened into a thin line, but he said nothing. His silence spoke volumes—he disapproved, no doubt. But then, a flicker of understanding passed between you, a silent acknowledgment that you were doing what you believed was right.

Your mother placed a gentle hand on Aegon’s forehead, her fingers brushing his hair back as she gazed down at him with love and worry in her eyes. “He’ll recover,” she said quietly, though there was doubt in her voice. “He’s strong, like his father.”

But you knew, in your heart, that Aegon’s strength alone might not be enough to recover from the wounds he had suffered—not just the physical ones, but the emotional scars that lingered from the events that had torn your family apart.

Aemond stepped forward then, his presence filling the room, and for a moment, you wondered what his intentions were. Would he seek to further distance you from Aegon? Or perhaps, you thought, he might simply leave, as he often did when the situation was less than ideal.

“You should rest,” Aemond said to you, his voice softer now, though his eyes remained distant. “You’ve been here long enough.”

You wanted to argue, to remain by Aegon’s side until he awoke, but you knew your body was exhausted. Aemond was right in his own way, and you couldn’t deny the exhaustion that weighed on you.

Your mother looked between you and Aemond, her gaze shifting uncomfortably. “I will stay with Aegon,” she said softly, offering you a small, reassuring smile. “Go rest, dear.”

You hesitated, but nodded in the end. “Thank you, Mother.”

Before you left, you cast one final look at Aegon, your heart heavy with worry and regret. As the door closed behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was changing—and that nothing would ever be the same again.

You stood by the window, the soft light of the fading afternoon casting shadows across the room. The quiet was almost suffocating, the weight of the day pressing down on you. Your thoughts were scattered, tangled in the webs of what had happened, and what might yet come. Aemond’s presence had become both a comfort and a source of tension, and tonight, you felt the pull of it more keenly than ever.

The sound of the door opening barely registered at first, but when it did, you knew who it was without needing to turn. Aemond. You had grown so accustomed to the sound of his footsteps, the way the air seemed to change when he entered a room.

He didn’t say anything as he stepped inside, the silence between you stretching out in a way that felt both intimate and fragile. The tension that hung in the air was almost palpable, but still, you didn’t turn to face him. There were no words between you—no greeting, no acknowledgment of what was unsaid. Just the soft rustling of his movements, the quiet anticipation that only seemed to grow as the seconds passed.

Then, as if driven by some invisible force, Aemond stepped closer, his presence suddenly surrounding you. You felt the brush of his hand before you even knew what he was doing—his fingers grazing the curve of your belly from behind. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, but it carried the weight of something unspoken. Something too deep to name.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not yet. Not when the room felt too small and your heart too heavy with the knowledge of what had been, and what still was. His touch was a reminder of everything—your connection, your shared history, and the future you were both bound to, whether you wanted it or not.

Aemond’s fingers lingered on your skin, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away. It was just the two of you, standing in this space where love, anger, and regret coiled together. You felt the warmth of his hand, the subtle pressure of his touch, and despite everything, you couldn’t deny that it still affected you. It always had.

His voice, when it came, was soft but laced with a certain edge. “I feel him,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Our child. He grows stronger every day.”

Aemond’s words were not a question, but a statement of fact. You could hear the tenderness in his tone, the quiet pride he felt as he spoke of the life you both created. It was a side of him you rarely saw, and yet, it was the side that seemed to matter most now.

Still, you remained silent, your gaze fixed on the view outside. You couldn’t bring yourself to turn, to face him and acknowledge what lay between you. You couldn’t decide if you were afraid of the man he had become, or the man he was still capable of being.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Aemond’s hand withdrew, but the room remained heavy with the unspoken words, the shared history that neither of you could ignore. You still hadn’t turned to look at him. Still, you knew he was there, watching, waiting.

The silence in the room grew thicker as you finally turned to face him. Aemond stood there, his features cold, his posture rigid as if he were carved from stone. You could feel the tension in the air, a simmering undercurrent that seemed to pulse between you like a living thing. The distance between you both felt vast, though you were only a few feet apart.

Your heart beat faster as you swallowed the lump in your throat, the question you had been holding in for so long finally spilling out.

“Is all of this truly worth it, Aemond?” Your voice trembled, a mixture of anger, fear, and sorrow. “Is it worth the cost of what we’ve done to our family? To Aegon?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened at the mention of your brother’s name. The silence that followed was thick with an intensity that made your chest ache. His gaze didn’t waver from yours, but the darkness in his eye began to surface. His fury, barely contained, was a palpable thing, swirling in the air around you.

You didn’t look away, even as you felt the shift in the room, as if the very temperature dropped with his growing anger. “Do you think this… this revenge, this destruction of our own flesh and blood, will make you whole?” The words spilled out before you could stop them, a dam breaking under the pressure of years of pain. “Does it satisfy you to see him broken, to know you’ve taken so much from him?”

There was no immediate answer. Aemond didn’t speak, but you could feel the weight of his anger pressing down on you. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eye narrowing dangerously. For a moment, you thought he might lash out, his fury spilling over into violence as it had so many times before. But he stayed still, like a predator at the edge of a hunt, waiting.

“You speak as if you don’t understand,” Aemond’s voice was low, almost a growl. “As if you don’t know why this had to happen.” His tone was dangerously calm, but it was clear that something inside him was breaking, something you had no control over. “You ask if it’s worth it—do you think I want this? Do you think I wanted him to lie in that bed, broken and helpless?” His words were sharp, his anger barely contained. “No. I did what had to be done. And you should know that.”

You felt the heat of his words burn through you, the cold fury in his gaze like a slap to the face. But you didn’t flinch. You refused to be cowed, even as your heart ached with the reality of the situation.

“He is our brother, Aemond,” you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of your emotions. “And he has always been loyal to you, even when you didn’t deserve it. Was this truly the only way? To break him, to break us all?”

The tension in the room became unbearable as Aemond stepped closer, his presence looming over you. His gaze softened, but there was a hard edge to it now, a warning you couldn’t ignore. He reached out, his hand grazing your cheek with unexpected tenderness, though it felt like an unspoken threat behind the touch.

“Don’t question me, my wife,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “You are mine. And I will not tolerate you doubting what I have done. Not now. Not ever.”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you stood your ground. His anger, the fire that burned within him, was something you had known all your life. But now, it felt different. More intense, more consuming. And still, despite the fear gnawing at you, you held his gaze, refusing to back down.

“I’m not questioning you, Aemond,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “I’m questioning whether this… this destruction is truly the only path we can walk. If we have any other choice, any chance of finding peace.”

Aemond didn’t answer immediately. His fingers brushed against your skin one last time, and then he stepped back, his posture rigid once again, though there was something unreadable in his eyes now.

“You will understand in time,” he said quietly, the coldness returning to his voice. “When you see the truth for what it is, you will know that I did what needed to be done.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there in the silence, a thousand questions swirling in your mind, but no answers to grasp.

Before Aemond turned to leave the room, his words hung heavy in the air, each syllable a promise of more distance between you and him. He paused by the door, his back to you, but his voice—so cold and matter-of-fact—was unmistakable.

“I am going to Harrenhal,” he said, his tone steady but devoid of any emotion. “I will take control of it. It is time to solidify our position.”

A shiver ran through you, a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. You were silent, waiting for him to say more, but he didn’t. The way he spoke, with such finality, made it clear that his departure wasn’t just for a short time—it would be a while before he returned, if ever.

“You need not wait for me,” Aemond added, his voice soft but laced with a cool detachment. “It will be a long time before I return. Stay here, if you wish. But do not expect my presence.”

His words stung, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt a pang of frustration, anger, and—despite it all—a strange sense of longing. The emptiness his absence would bring was something you weren’t sure you could bear, but you knew better than to ask him to stay. You knew better than to push him, not when his mind was so set on his course.

You stood frozen, watching him, but you couldn’t find the words to stop him. What could you say to make him stay? What could you say to break through the walls he had built around himself?

Without a final glance back, Aemond left, the door clicking softly behind him, leaving you alone in the room with nothing but the hollow echo of his absence.

You wanted to scream, to ask him why he had to go, why everything seemed to be spiraling out of control. But the silence that followed was more deafening than any argument. You could only stare at the door, your heart heavy with the knowledge that, for the time being, he would be gone—lost to his plans, his ambitions, and his unyielding determination.

And you? You were left standing in the ruins of what had once felt like home, wondering if you would ever truly find a way to reach him again.

It had been more than a week since Aemond left for Harrenhal, and the ache of his absence grew heavier with each passing day. The weight of your pregnancy was becoming unbearable, both physically and emotionally. Your child could arrive any moment now, yet Aemond had not returned. The silence he left behind was deafening, a constant reminder of the distance—both physical and emotional—that now lay between you.

You sat by the window of your chambers, the same place where you had stood the night he told you he was leaving. Your hands rested protectively over your swollen belly, your mind swirling with thoughts you couldn’t escape. Every kick, every movement of the life within you only deepened your longing for him, for his presence, for the reassurance only he could give.

And yet, he did not come.

Your heart ached with regret, the memory of that fateful night replaying in your mind over and over again. If only you hadn’t questioned him about Aegon. If only you had stayed silent, accepted his actions without challenge. Maybe then he wouldn’t have left so abruptly. Maybe then, he would be here now, by your side, where you needed him most.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them away. You couldn’t cry. Not now. You had to be strong—for your child, if not for yourself. But the pain in your chest refused to fade, a constant reminder of how fragile everything felt without him.

The maesters and midwives had warned you to rest, to save your strength for the labor that could begin at any moment. But how could you rest when your heart was so heavy? How could you find peace when the man you loved, the father of your child, was so far away?

The thought of giving birth without him filled you with dread. You had imagined him there, his hand in yours, his voice steadying you through the pain. You had imagined his first glimpse of your child, the way his cold exterior would melt at the sight of new life. But now, those hopes seemed like distant dreams, fading with each passing day.

You turned your gaze to the horizon, where the faint glow of the setting sun painted the sky in shades of gold and crimson. Somewhere out there, Aemond was waging his battles, securing his victories, unaware—or perhaps uncaring—of how much you needed him. You whispered his name softly, a plea carried on the wind, though you knew it would never reach him.

“Aemond,” you murmured, your voice trembling with sorrow. “Please… come back to me.”

The room grew quiet again, the stillness wrapping around you like a suffocating shroud. And as the first stars began to appear in the darkening sky, you could only hope that he would return before it was too late—before your child arrived, before the distance between you became something that even love couldn’t mend.

The next morning, the news reached you, carried on hushed whispers and hesitant glances from the servants who dared not meet your eyes. Aemond had sought the warmth of another, a bastard girl named Alys Rivers, in Harrenhal. The words struck you like a blade to the chest, the pain so sharp and immediate that you couldn't breathe.

Your mind refused to process it at first. No, it couldn't be true. Not Aemond. Not your Aemond. He had promised himself to you, bound not just by duty but by the bond you thought you shared. The very idea of him seeking comfort elsewhere while you carried his child felt like a cruel, twisted joke.

The room began to spin, your vision blurring as the weight of the betrayal crashed down on you. Your breaths came shallow and fast, panic overtaking you as the world around you grew faint.

Without realizing it, your hands had gripped the edge of the table in front of you, your knuckles white from the strain. A sharp pain in your abdomen made you gasp, and you looked down to see the crimson trail beginning to stain the hem of your gown. Blood. It was pooling beneath you, dripping onto the floor in a rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart.

The world tilted, and you swayed on your feet, your body betraying you as the weight of everything became too much to bear.

"Princess!" a servant cried out, rushing to your side as you began to collapse. Their hands caught you, but the panic in their voice only made everything worse.

"Fetch the maester!" another voice called.

"Quickly!"

You clutched your swollen belly instinctively, your heart racing as fear and despair collided within you. The child. Your child. Was something happening? Was your grief for Aemond harming the one thing that mattered most?

You tried to speak, to ask for help, but no words came. Tears streamed down your face as you were lowered onto a chaise, the cold sweat on your skin making you shiver despite the warmth of the room.

"Stay with us, princess," the servant urged, their voice trembling. "The maester will be here soon."

Your mind raced as the pain intensified, each stab in your abdomen a cruel reminder of everything you were enduring. Aemond. The betrayal. The child. The blood. It was all too much, too overwhelming. You closed your eyes, focusing on the life within you, clinging to the hope that it wasn't too late-that you hadn't lost the one thing you were holding onto.

As the maester arrived and the chaos around you grew louder, one thought consumed you: Aemond had to return. If not for you, then for the child. If not now, then before everything truly fell apart.

You lay on your bed, your body trembling as wave after wave of pain surged through you. Sweat coated your brow, and your breaths came in shallow gasps, each one a battle to keep going. Your heart clung to the fragile hope that the approaching footsteps outside your chamber belonged to Aemond. Surely, he had heard of your condition. Surely, he had returned.

The door creaked open, and your gaze snapped toward it, desperation shining in your eyes. But instead of Aemond, it was your mother, Alicent, who entered.

Her face was pale, her expression a mixture of panic and deep concern as she hurried to your side. “Oh, my sweet girl,” she whispered, kneeling beside you and taking your hand in hers. Her touch was warm, grounding, but it couldn’t erase the ache in your chest or the agony in your body.

“Where is he?” you asked, your voice weak and trembling as tears welled in your eyes. “Where is Aemond?”

Alicent hesitated, the question clearly cutting into her as deeply as it did you. She didn’t answer, but the look in her eyes was enough. He wasn’t coming. Not yet.

“You must focus now,” Alicent said gently but firmly, brushing the damp hair from your forehead. “The maester is on his way. You must save your strength for the baby. For your child.”

Her words barely reached you through the haze of pain and despair. You wanted to scream, to cry out that it wasn’t fair, that you couldn’t do this without him. But the next contraction tore through you, stealing your breath and forcing you to clutch your belly.

Alicent squeezed your hand tightly, her own fear barely concealed behind the mask of composure she wore for your sake. “I’m here, my love,” she said softly, her voice steady. “I won’t leave you. You’re not alone.”

But you felt alone. Aemond’s absence was like a gaping wound, and the betrayal that lingered in your mind made the pain all the worse. The thought of him with another while you endured this moment alone was unbearable.

Your grip on Alicent’s hand tightened as another contraction wracked your body, and you let out a strained cry. Alicent’s voice was soothing, her touch unwavering as she leaned closer, whispering words of comfort.

“The gods have given you the strength to do this,” she said, her tone resolute. “You are stronger than you know, my daughter. And you will bring this child into the world, no matter who stands beside you.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you nodded weakly, her words offering a fragile thread of resolve to cling to. You had to do this. For your child. For the one part of Aemond you still held onto, even as your heart broke in his absence.

You gripped your mother’s hand tightly, your nails digging into her skin as another wave of pain coursed through you. Alicent didn’t flinch, her other hand brushing your damp hair from your face as she murmured soft reassurances.

The maester stood at the foot of your bed, his voice calm but firm as he gave you instructions. “Now, my lady, you must push with all your strength. The child is almost here.”

Your breathing was ragged, your entire body trembling with exhaustion, but you nodded. Summoning every ounce of strength left within you, you bore down, crying out as you pushed. The pain was unlike anything you’d ever known, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” Alicent encouraged, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. “Just a little more. For the child. For yourself.”

Her words lit a fire in you, and you pushed again, tears streaming down your face as you gave it everything you had. Every thought in your mind focused on one thing: bringing your child into the world.

You thought of Aemond. Of his face, his voice, the way his hand had rested on your belly before he left. This child was his, a piece of him, and they deserved to meet their father. Even if he wasn’t here now, you clung to the hope that he would return.

With one final, agonizing push, the pressure released, and you heard it—a sharp, clear cry that pierced the room and filled your heart with overwhelming relief and joy.

“It’s a boy,” the maester announced, his voice carrying a rare note of warmth. He quickly wrapped the baby in a soft cloth and handed him to Alicent, who brought him to you.

Your hands trembled as you took him, his tiny body fitting perfectly against your chest. His cries quieted as you held him close, and for a moment, the pain and fear faded, replaced by pure, unadulterated love.

“He’s perfect,” Alicent whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she stroked your hair. “You’ve done so well, my sweet girl.”

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks as you gazed at your son, his silver hair glinting in the dim light. You kissed his forehead gently, your heart swelling with pride and protectiveness.

“Aemond,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “He’ll want to meet you. He’ll need you.”

But Aemond wasn’t there, and the ache of his absence returned, even as your son’s warmth filled your arms. You swore to yourself, in that moment, that no matter what, you would protect this child. You would give him all the love and strength you could, even if his father remained distant.

Still, as you cradled your newborn, a faint, desperate hope flickered within you. Aemond would return. He had to. For your son. For the family you had created together.

The relief of holding your newborn son in your arms was short-lived as another sharp pain gripped your body, more intense than before. You winced, gasping as the sensation spread through you, making you clutch the bedding with trembling hands.

“What’s happening?” you whispered, your voice weak and laced with fear.

The maester, who had been tending to you, looked up sharply. His expression grew grim as he examined you again. “Princess,” he began carefully, “it appears you are carrying twins. The second child has yet to be delivered.”

The words hit you like a thunderclap. Twins? Another baby? You glanced at your mother, Alicent, whose face had gone pale with worry.

“But there’s… something else,” the maester continued hesitantly. “The second child is positioned breech.”

A fresh wave of panic swept through you, stealing your breath. You turned to Alicent, your eyes wide and filled with terror. “Mother…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Alicent leaned closer, her hands gently cupping your face as she tried to calm you. “I’m here, my love,” she said softly, though her voice shook with worry. “We’ll get through this. You’ll get through this. Do you hear me?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded weakly, though fear still clawed at the edges of your mind. You knew the risks of a breech birth. You had heard the stories whispered in the Red Keep, of women who had suffered greatly in such labors.

The maester spoke again, his tone steady but firm. “Princess, this will be difficult. You must gather your strength and push when I tell you. We will do everything in our power to ensure both you and the child survive this.”

You swallowed hard, clutching Alicent’s hand tightly as the pain began to mount once more. The child you carried deserved a chance at life, just as much as the one already in your arms. No matter the fear coursing through you, you had to see this through.

“Mother,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “I’m scared.”

Alicent’s gaze softened, tears glistening in her eyes as she pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You are the strongest woman I know,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “You brought your first child into this world. You can do it again. I’m here with you, and I won’t leave your side.”

Her words gave you a flicker of strength, and you nodded, bracing yourself for what was to come. The maester gave the command to push, and with Alicent’s hand in yours, you bore down once more, fighting through the pain and fear for the sake of the life still waiting to meet the world.

The maester’s voice rang in your ears, firm and steady despite the chaos in your body. “Now, princess. Push! With everything you have!”

Tears streamed down your face, your body trembling with exhaustion as you gripped the bedding tightly. Alicent held your hand, her other hand brushing the damp hair from your forehead as she whispered soothing words. “You’re so close, my love. Just a little more. You can do this.”

Summoning every ounce of strength left within you, you bore down, crying out as you gave it your all. The pain was searing, the effort monumental, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Time seemed to stretch, every second dragging like an eternity until, finally, the pressure eased, and the room was filled with the sound of a newborn’s first, piercing cry.

“It’s a girl,” the maester announced, his voice softer now, almost reverent.

Alicent’s face lit up with relief and pride, tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked at you. “You did it,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You’ve done it, my darling.”

The maester carefully wrapped your daughter in a soft cloth before handing her to Alicent, who brought her to you. Your hands trembled as you reached out, cradling your daughter against your chest. She was so small, so perfect, her silver hair already glinting in the dim light.

You stared at her in awe, your heart swelling with love and gratitude. “She’s beautiful,” you whispered, your voice breaking as tears of joy spilled down your cheeks.

The little girl’s cries softened as she settled in your arms, her tiny hand curling around your finger. You leaned down and kissed her forehead, your tears falling onto her soft skin.

Alicent stroked your hair gently, her own tears still flowing as she watched the tender moment. “Two perfect children,” she said softly, her voice full of pride. “You’ve given the realm a miracle, my love.”

Despite the exhaustion weighing heavily on you, you smiled through your tears, holding your daughter close as your son rested nearby. In that moment, the pain and fear faded, replaced by a profound sense of peace.

You had brought your children into the world, and no matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew you would protect them with everything you had.

Your body felt heavy, every breath shallow and labored as you lay back against the pillows. The world around you blurred, the edges of your vision darkening, and the voices of those in the room sounded distant, muffled.

Alicent’s voice broke through the haze, frantic and trembling. “Stay with me, my love. Please. Stay with me!” She gripped your hand tightly, her tears falling onto your skin, but her words felt far away.

Your lips trembled as you struggled to speak, your voice barely a whisper. “Mother…” you murmured, your gaze flickering toward her. “I’m… sorry.”

“No, no apologies,” Alicent cried, her voice breaking as she leaned closer. “You have nothing to apologize for. Please, just hold on!”

A single tear slid down your cheek as your thoughts drifted to Aemond. “Tell him… I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice faint and weak. “Tell him… I loved him.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, the weight of exhaustion too much to bear. Alicent’s panicked cries grew louder, but you could no longer focus on her words. Your breaths grew slower, more labored, until they faded entirely.

Alicent’s scream filled the room, raw and desperate. “No! She can’t be gone! Do something!”

The maester stepped back, his face pale and grim as he shook his head. “The blood loss… it was too great. Her body was too weak after the second birth.”

Alicent collapsed to her knees beside your bed, her sobs shaking her entire frame as she clung to your lifeless hand. The room was heavy with silence, save for the soft cries of your newborn daughter and the muffled cries of your mother’s heartbreak.

Your children were alive—two perfect children with silver hair and the Targaryen legacy flowing through their veins. But you, their mother, had given everything to bring them into the world, leaving behind only memories and the deep ache of loss for those who loved you.

When news reached Aemond, it would be a blow that no sword or fire could rival.

Alicent sat silently in the Sept, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as her tear-filled gaze remained fixed on you. Draped in white, you looked peaceful yet unnaturally still, your once-bright eyes forever closed. The candles surrounding you cast flickering light across your face, a stark contrast to the grief that consumed the room.

Her tears had not stopped flowing since your passing. You had been her strength, her light amidst the darkness of court politics and family betrayals. Now, all that remained was an unbearable emptiness.

The heavy creak of the Sept doors broke the stillness, drawing Alicent’s attention. Her breath caught as Aemond stepped through, his expression unreadable. His strides were slow but purposeful, his eye fixed on you as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

He stopped before your lifeless body, his tall frame trembling. His face was pale, his jaw clenched tightly as his hands curled into fists at his sides. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, as if time itself had stopped.

Then, slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against your cold cheek. “Wake up,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, almost pleading.

There was no response, only the deafening silence that had haunted him since he first heard the news.

Aemond’s breaths grew heavier, his eye glistening with unshed tears as he gently shook your shoulder. “Don’t do this to me,” he said, his voice breaking. “Yell at me. Tell me I was wrong. Curse me, fight me—but don’t leave me like this.”

Still, you didn’t move.

He sank to his knees beside you, his head bowing as his hand gripped yours tightly. “I thought I had time,” he murmured, his voice filled with anguish. “I thought I could make it right.”

Alicent watched her son in silence, her heart breaking anew at the sight of his pain. She had seen Aemond’s coldness, his strength, his unyielding resolve. But this—this raw, unfiltered grief—was something she had never seen before.

“You were everything,” Aemond whispered, his tears finally falling as he rested his forehead against your still hand. “You were my other half, my twin, my wife. How am I meant to go on without you?”

The Sept was silent save for his quiet sobs, the sound of a man who had lost not just his wife, but a piece of his soul.

Alicent stood by the alter, her grief-stricken face hardening with sorrowful anger as she looked at Aemond. His presence, his raw pain, was almost too much to bear. She knew how deeply he had loved you — as your mother, she had seen it from the moment you and Aemond had been betrothed. And yet now, there he was, crumbling in the face of the consequences of his own choices.

“You heard, didn’t you?” Alicent said softly, her voice laced with both sadness and reproach. “You heard the whispers. The truth of what happened. That you, my son, betrayed the woman who gave everything to bring your children into this world.”

Aemond’s head shot up, his face twisting with anguish, as though her words had struck him with the force of a dagger. His lips trembled, but no words came. The guilt gnawed at him, sharp and unforgiving.

“You did this,” Alicent continued, her voice low but piercing. “You sought comfort in another woman—Alys River—and now, here we are. Your wife is dead. My daughter is dead. You killed her, Aemond. Not with your hands, but with your heart. And it tore her apart.”

His body shook, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might collapse under the weight of the realization. His eye, usually so fierce and cold, now appeared hollow with the depth of his self-loathing.

“I never meant for it to be like this,” Aemond whispered, his voice cracked with pain. He wiped his face with his sleeve, but it did little to stop the tears. “I didn’t want to lose her. I… I thought I could fix everything. I was wrong. I killed her… I killed her with my betrayal.”

Alicent’s expression softened ever so slightly, her eyes flickering with maternal compassion despite the anger still in her voice. “You were too late, Aemond. Too late to save her. And now you’ll have to live with the consequences of your choices.”

He fell to his knees, his hands clutching his head as if trying to tear the thoughts from his mind, but they remained. His voice, a broken whisper, echoed through the silence of the room.

“Curse me,” he murmured, his hands trembling. “I deserve this. I deserve every bit of this pain. I will never forgive myself for what I’ve done to her… to us.”

Alicent turned her gaze away for a moment, the depth of her sorrow for both of you—her daughter, gone too soon, and her son, destroyed by his own remorse—overwhelming.

“Forgiveness is a long road, Aemond,” she said quietly. “But you must find it for yourself. Because it’s your future, your children, and the legacy of House Targaryen that remains. You can’t change what’s been done. But you can choose to live for them. For her.”

Aemond’s body heaved with silent sobs, and the weight of his actions, of his guilt, became the heaviest thing he had ever carried. The room was still, save for the soft cries of your children, unaware of the tragedy that had unfolded, of the terrible loss that would forever shape their lives.

And Aemond, broken and drowning in the sorrow of his mistakes, could only wish for a world where time could be rewound, and the love he had so carelessly broken could be mended. But in the end, he knew that would never happen.

Tag list : @danytar @zaldritzosrose @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

[shapard]

Tantrum🕷️

Satan x Succubus!fem!reader

Tw: Smut, slow burn, therapist x client, Satan being Satan to the low life, p in v

6k

Satan is so Hot

Part 1 > Part 2

The story begins after the cut

You exhaled slowly, your breath shaky as your eyes scanned the list of today's clients. One name stood out like a drop of blood on pristine parchment: Satan. Yes, the Satan. You’d laughed when the receptionist first told you. Surely, it was some dark joke, right? But the chilling sincerity in her eyes told you otherwise. For the next month, the King of Wrath himself would be your client. His personal therapist—or "anger coach," as they called it—was conveniently on vacation, leaving the responsibility to you.

Your fingers hovered over the file, tapping lightly on the thick paper. His profile was sparse yet enough to send a chill down your spine. Anger issues. As if that needed to be stated. Brutal, cruel, unpredictable. Lies often. Has a dangerously short temper. And the last line, hastily scrawled like a warning, stood out the most: Approach with caution.

The note on your pad detailed when and where you were to meet him: Satan’s castle. Even the thought of it made your stomach churn. The clock on your desk screeched, breaking your trance. It was time.

Your palms were clammy as you left your room, dread curling around your spine. The limousine waiting outside was overkill, with its glossy black finish and an interior too luxurious for comfort. You sank into the seat, but even its plush softness couldn’t ease the knot tightening in your chest. Your fingers toyed nervously with the fabric of your shirt. "Why am I doing this to myself?" you muttered, your voice a hoarse whisper.

The drive stretched on, the limousine cutting through a landscape that seemed to grow darker, more twisted with every passing mile. Gnarled trees loomed like skeletal hands, their shadows dancing over the cracked road. The closer you got to his estate, the more oppressive the air became, thick with heat and a faint metallic tang that clung to your throat. When the car finally stopped, your breath hitched.

The castle loomed above you like a blackened wound carved into the earth itself. Jagged spires clawed at the sky, and the air was heavy with the faint stench of sulfur. The gates creaked open, revealing a procession of imps scurrying about with feverish purpose. Their glowing eyes briefly landed on you before darting away, like vermin avoiding a predator.

You swallowed hard, stepping out of the limousine. The ground beneath your sneakers radiated an uncomfortable heat, as if the very earth resented your presence. You hesitated, looking up at the fortress before you. Every instinct screamed for you to run. But you were a therapist—for Lucifer’s sake, you’d dealt with impossible clients before. Just not ones who could incinerate you with a single breath.

A small, hunched imp dressed in a tattered butler’s uniform approached, its head bowed. Without a word, it gestured for you to follow. You obliged, your legs moving stiffly as if weighed down by chains. The castle’s interior was worse. Shadows seemed alive, twisting and curling around corners like smoke. The halls were cavernous and eerily silent, save for the echo of your footsteps against the stone floor.

You were led through corridors that gleamed with wealth. Gold littered every surface, accompanied by piles of glittering jewels—rubies, diamonds, and sapphires, carelessly heaped as if they were nothing more than pocket change. It was suffocating in its opulence, but it was the odd details that unsettled you. A scorch mark on the wall, as if something—or someone—had been obliterated there. Deep claw marks gouged into the stone.

When you entered his chamber, the atmosphere shifted entirely. Heat rolled over you in waves, and the room smelled faintly of ash. Your eyes roamed over the space, catching glimpses of heavy iron chains, monstrous workout equipment, and a hulking throne that seemed carved from molten rock. And then, your gaze rose.

He was there.

The dragon loomed in the far corner, a creature of pure, terrifying majesty. His scales shimmered like molten obsidian, and his horns, wickedly curved and sharp, glinted faintly in the dim light. His golden eyes burned like twin suns, locking onto you with an intensity that made your stomach drop. His chest rose and fell with a deep, growling breath that reverberated through the floor.

"So," he rumbled, his voice a deep, guttural drawl that made the air vibrate. "You’re the replacement.”

You froze, your body rigid as his gaze raked over you. His tone dripped with disdain, his lips curling into something between a snarl and a smirk. You felt like a mouse under the eye of a serpent.

“A succubus?” he sneered, the word laced with contempt. His massive frame shifted as he lowered his head, bringing his razor-sharp teeth dangerously close to your trembling form. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of amusement dancing in their molten depths. “For a succubus, you look... innocent.”

You flinched as his claw moved, its sharp tip hooking under the edge of your buttoned shirt. With terrifying ease, he pulled you closer, the heat radiating from him suffocating.

“Sir,” you managed, your voice wavering as you fought to hold your ground, “this is… inappropriate.”

The dragon chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Inappropriate?” he repeated, his tone mockingly sweet. “Oh, little one, we’re far beyond ‘appropriate’ here.”

For a moment, the tension was unbearable, his golden gaze locking onto yours, unyielding and searing. Then, with a huff, he released you, his massive claw retracting as he settled back.

“Let’s see how long you last,” he muttered, his voice laced with dark amusement. “They always break, you know.”

Your knees felt weak, your breath shallow as you took a hesitant step back. This wasn’t going to be like any other client you’d dealt with. And as his gaze lingered on you, predatory and calculating, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were stepping into a game you didn’t fully understand—a game where the rules were written in blood.

“Let’s start with something simple—an introduction.” You tried to project confidence, raising your voice slightly to ensure he could hear you clearly. The weight of his molten gaze bore down on you, but you kept your posture straight. “Before we can trust each other, we need to know each other.”

Your words hung in the air, daring to challenge the suffocating silence. His golden eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his reptilian features. You forced a smile and continued, your voice steady despite the thrum of fear in your chest. “My name is Y/n L/n. I’ll be your therapist for the time being. In my spare time, I enjoy drawing. Now, would you care to introduce yourself?”

The room seemed to grow hotter. A deep huff escaped from Satan’s nostrils, the force of his breath stirring the papers on your clipboard. His head tilted ever so slightly, as though studying you from a new angle. “You know who I am.” His words were low and blunt, carrying the faintest edge of impatience.

You kept your expression neutral, though your heart thudded painfully in your chest. “Of course, I know. But I’d like to hear it from you.” Your tone was calm, measured, even as the edges of his form seemed to ripple with heat.

That caught him off guard. His brows furrowed, and for a moment, his eyes lost some of their predatory sharpness. His breathing, which had been fiery and erratic, grew slower, more controlled. “I am Satan,” he said at last, his voice still low but tinged with pride. “The Sin of Wrath. The first sin.”

You didn’t flinch, though the words carried a weight that pressed against you. Liar. The truth was well-known—Lucifer was the first. But you kept that observation to yourself, instead lowering your gaze to jot something down on your notepad.

The scratch of your pen seemed deafening in the charged silence.

“What are you writing?” His tone was sharper now, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. You glanced up cautiously, noting the slight flare of his nostrils and the way his claws flexed against the stone floor.

“It’s nothing important,” you assured him, your voice soft but deliberate. “Just a few notes for me. Is that okay?”

His eyes narrowed further, glowing faintly as if testing your words for deceit. After a tense moment, he leaned back, the massive muscles in his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah… I guess.”

You allowed yourself a small exhale, the pen trembling faintly in your grip as you made another note. “Thank you. So, tell me—what’s your favorite hobby?” you asked, keeping your tone light, almost conversational.

Satan blinked, clearly caught off guard again. “Hobby?” he repeated, as if the concept were foreign to him. A pause stretched between you, and then he shrugged. “Uh… I like working out.”

Internally, you groaned. Great, you thought, suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. A gym bro with anger issues. But outwardly, you smiled, though your fingers tightened slightly around your pen.

As you scribbled his answer, you felt a subtle shift in the air. His gaze hadn’t left you, and there was something unsettling about the way he watched you now—curious, calculating, like a predator studying its prey. The edges of his mouth twitched, as if he were amused by something only he understood.

“Do you always write so much?” he asked suddenly, his voice a little too casual.

You froze for half a second before looking up. “Only when it helps me understand my client better,” you said evenly.

Satan’s lip curled faintly, exposing a hint of razor-sharp teeth. “Interesting,” he murmured, leaning forward slightly. His massive frame seemed to loom larger, casting a shadow that swallowed the light around you. “You seem… different. For a therapist. For a succubus.”

The word dripped with disdain, but there was an odd curiosity in his tone as well. Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze.

“I don’t think I fit the usual mold,” you replied lightly, though the words felt thin against the heavy atmosphere.

Satan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “No, you don’t. But we’ll see how long that lasts.”

The way he said it felt more like a warning than a casual remark. And as the room grew unnervingly quiet again, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had just stepped into something far more dangerous than you were prepared for.

“Anyway,” you began, trying to dissipate the strange tension in the air, “what do you usually do to calm yourself?” Your voice was steady, professional, but you were acutely aware of the weight of his golden gaze lingering on you.

Satan tapped his claw against his chin, the sharp tip glinting faintly in the dim light. “I work out,” he said simply.

You nodded and placed your notepad down. “Have you ever tried anything else? Something less… physical?”

He shook his head, leaning back with a nonchalant shrug. “No.”

“Interesting.” Your pen hovered over the page, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Bingo. A potential breakthrough, something to work on next week. “Maybe you should try something new,” you suggested, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction.

Satan raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Something new?”

You nodded, maintaining your professional tone. “Yes. There might be situations where you aren’t able to work out. Finding an alternative that brings you calm can help—something you enjoy that doesn’t rely on strength or exertion.”

You could see him thinking, his gaze becoming distant for a moment before snapping back to you. Then, he said it, blunt and unapologetic:

“Sex.”

Your pen slipped slightly, leaving a faint mark across your notepad as your head shot up to meet his gaze. “Excuse me?”

“Sex,” he repeated, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. “I enjoy it. Specifically, I love to dominate. It brings me a sense of calm, of control.”

The heat in the room seemed to spike as his words hung in the air, heavy and electric. You felt your breath hitch slightly, your professionalism faltering under the weight of his admission. Your teeth caught your bottom lip, a subconscious reflex as your mind betrayed you with images you hadn’t invited.

Satan, towering over you, his claws dragging possessively over your skin. His deep growls vibrating against your neck as his body pressed you into the bed like prey. The way his molten gaze would devour every inch of you, a predator savoring its prize.

The thought was dangerous, forbidden—and utterly intoxicating.

“You’re quiet,” Satan observed, a faint smirk curling at the edge of his lips. He leaned forward, resting his massive claws on the table between you. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to sit straighter in your chair, though the heat creeping up your neck betrayed your inner turmoil. “Not at all,” you lied, your voice wavering slightly.

His smirk widened, the sharp tips of his teeth glinting faintly in the low light. “Liar.”

Your breath hitched again as he stood, the sheer size of him making the room feel smaller, more suffocating. He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate, predatory. His shadow fell over you, and you tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your heart pounding furiously in your chest.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, velvety growl. “Have you ever let someone take control of you? Completely?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. His presence was overwhelming, his golden eyes boring into you with an intensity that felt like it could strip you bare.

“Let me guess,” he continued, his voice smooth and teasing. “You play the role of the confident therapist. Always in control, always composed. But I wonder…” He leaned closer, his claw tipping your chin up slightly. “What would happen if you let go? If you surrendered—for once?”

Your pulse raced as his words sent a shiver down your spine. The air between you was charged, thick with tension that felt ready to snap at any moment.

“I—” You barely managed to speak before his smirk deepened.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he purred, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “I can see it in your eyes, feel it in the way your body reacts to me.”

Your breath quickened, your mind a blur of conflicting thoughts. This wasn’t supposed to happen—this wasn’t professional. But the pull of his presence, the raw magnetism of him, was impossible to ignore.

As he leaned back, giving you a moment to catch your breath, his smirk softened into something darker, more sinister. “We’ll see how long you can resist,” he murmured, his voice like a promise—a challenge.

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of your notepad like it was a lifeline. Whatever line had just been crossed, there was no going back now. And the worst part? Some small, treacherous part of you didn’t want to.

You glanced at the clock on the wall, the ticking seconds echoing louder in your ears as you realized the session had come to an end. It felt like both a relief and a punishment. You cleared your throat, trying to regain your composure. “Our time is up for today.”

Gripping your notepad tightly, you rose from your chair, the slight tremble in your legs betraying the inner conflict you fought to suppress. “I’ll see you next week?” you asked, your voice carefully measured, though the second heartbeat between your thighs throbbed mercilessly, reminding you of how thin the line was between professionalism and raw, unspoken desire.

Satan leaned back into his seat, his massive frame exuding power and ease as his ever-present smirk stretched across his face. “You’re quite interesting, you know that?” he said, his golden eyes glinting with something dark, something dangerous.

The way his words curled in the air, dripping with molten heat, sent a shiver down your spine. And then he said it—your name.

“See you next week, Y/n.”

The sound of your name, as it rolled off his tongue like a lazy threat, like a predator marking its prey, felt like fire licking at your skin. It wasn’t just the way he said it—it was the way he owned it, as if your name wasn’t yours anymore but his to use, to savor, to command.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as you fought to maintain control of yourself. His gaze lingered on you, heavy and consuming, as if he could see every thought, every reaction you tried to bury. The room felt smaller, hotter, as if the very air bent to his will.

You took a deep breath, willing the flush creeping up your neck to subside, and bowed your head slightly—a courteous gesture, but also an excuse to break free of his burning gaze. “I’ll… take my leave now,” you managed, your voice steadier than you expected, though your body betrayed you with every trembling step toward the door.

The silence stretched, but you could feel him watching you, his presence looming even as you turned your back to him. Each step felt heavier, your legs weaker, as if some invisible tether pulled you back to him.

“Y/n,” he called softly, his voice low and dripping with amusement. It was enough to stop you in your tracks, your hand hovering just above the door handle.

You turned slightly, not enough to meet his gaze but enough to let him know you were listening.

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” he said, his smirk audible in his voice. “Next week… I expect us to get much more personal.”

Your breath caught, and you didn’t trust yourself to respond. With a hurried nod, you pushed open the heavy door, stepping into the hall as quickly as you could without outright running.

As the door closed behind you, the weight of his words lingered, wrapping around you like a vice. Each step away from his chamber only made the ache within you stronger, and the echo of his voice—dark, commanding, possessive—played on repeat in your mind.

When you finally reached the outside air, you exhaled deeply, pressing a hand to your chest as if to steady the wild beat of your heart. But no matter how much distance you put between you and him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still trapped—bound not by his hands, but by his voice, his gaze, his presence.

And the worst part? You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to escape.

______________________

Your mind drifted to Satan again, as it often did these days. His golden eyes, the low timbre of his voice, the weight of his presence—all of it lingered with you like an intoxicating haze. It was wrong to think of him this way, wasn’t it? You're the therapist. A being of ancient power. Yet his words from the last session whispered through your mind, sending a shiver down your spine: “Next week… I expect us to get much more personal.” What did he mean? The thought left you breathless, your lip caught between your teeth as you tried to push the memory away.

With a sigh, you turned your attention to the mirror, pulling yourself together. Today was a new session, and you needed to remain professional. No room for fluttering thoughts or the heat that crept up your neck every time he said your name. After all, you had a job to do, and you’d prepared exercises meant to calm, not... whatever this was. You brushed out your hair, adjusted your outfit, and gave yourself one last look. You could do this.

The drive to his mansion felt longer than usual, the limousine’s quiet luxury giving your mind too much space to wander. By the time you arrived and stepped out, your palms were clammy despite the crisp air. You gathered your supplies—a palette, brushes, a canvas—and headed to the imposing doors. They opened with a creak, and there he was, standing tall, his figure sharper than usual in a tailored outfit that clung just enough to his form to make you notice. Was he doing this on purpose? The thought made your cheeks flush.

“Satan,” you greeted, keeping your voice steady as you stepped inside.

“Y/n,” he said simply, his golden eyes locking onto yours. He always said your name like it was a secret, something sacred.

You set your supplies down, the clinking of brushes breaking the charged silence. He tilted his head, his gaze flicking over the items with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. “What is this?” he asked, his tone edged with intrigue.

“Painting,” you said, smiling softly. “It’s something that can help channel emotions. I thought it might be worth trying with you.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, but the flicker of interest in them was unmistakable. “You think this will calm me?”

“It’s worth a shot,” you replied, your tone light. “But first, I need you to… shrink a bit. Your current size might make it tricky.”

He arched a brow but complied without argument, his towering form diminishing to something more manageable. Even so, he still loomed over you, his presence filling the room in a way that made your breath catch.

You handed him one of your favorite brushes, your fingers grazing his. The brief contact sent a spark through you that you tried to ignore. “This one’s precious to me, so don’t break it,” you said with a teasing smile.

His golden eyes darkened slightly, his gaze lingering on you. “Why would you entrust me with something so valuable?” he asked, his voice low, almost reverent.

“Because I think you’ll manage,” you said simply, turning to demonstrate. The truth was, you trusted him in a way you couldn’t explain, and the weight of his gaze as you worked was almost palpable.

You dipped your brush into the paint, your movements fluid and purposeful as you applied color to the canvas. You explained the process, your voice calm, almost hypnotic, as you encouraged him to let his emotions guide him. “It doesn’t have to be perfect,” you said, glancing at him. “Just let it flow.”

Satan watched you intently, his focus shifting between your hands and your face. There was something mesmerizing about the way you moved—graceful, confident, entirely at ease. He tried to mimic your strokes but grew frustrated when his didn’t have the same beauty. Fire flickered briefly at the corner of his mouth as his grip on the brush tightened.

“Take your time,” you said gently, your voice softening. “You’ll manage.”

Those words seemed to echo in his mind, silencing his frustration. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. His golden eyes settled on you again, and this time, there was something softer in them—something that made your heart skip a beat.

“Pretty,” he murmured, the word so quiet you almost missed it.

You glanced up, assuming he meant his canvas. “It’s not bad for a first try,” you said, smiling.

But when your eyes met his, you realized he wasn’t looking at the canvas at all. He was looking at you. The intensity of his gaze made heat rise to your cheeks, and for a moment, you were lost in it.

“I… meant your canvas,” he said quickly, the faintest hint of a stammer in his voice. He turned away, focusing on his painting as if the moment hadn’t happened. “I suppose this isn’t for me,” he added, his tone returning to its usual steadiness.

You sighed softly, setting your brush down. “That’s okay. We’ll find something else to try next time.”

When it was time to leave, you gathered your supplies, his lingering gaze following you to the door. “Till next time, Y/n,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

You smiled, bidding him goodbye before stepping into the limousine. As the car pulled away, you stared out the window, your reflection blushing faintly. “Cute,” you muttered under your breath, thinking of his fleeting shyness.

And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to think of him a little differently too.

As the limousine glided down the winding road back into the city, Y/n leaned their head against the cool glass of the window. The world outside blurred into streaks of light and shadow, but their mind was too preoccupied to notice. Their chest tightened as they replayed the day's moments, each interaction with Satan etched into their memory with vivid clarity.

His golden eyes watching them, the way his brows furrowed in frustration only to soften when he heard their encouragement, and that one unguarded word he’d uttered—“pretty.” Y/n sighed and closed their eyes, the image of his intense gaze surfacing unbidden. He had said it so quietly, yet it echoed in their ears, lingering like a secret between them.

Why am I letting this get to me? Y/n thought, shaking their head. Satan was their patient. A being to be studied and guided, not… admired. And yet, there was something about him—something magnetic and impossible to ignore. His raw power was undeniable, but beneath the towering presence and occasional flashes of anger, there was a vulnerability that Y/n couldn’t help but find fascinating.

When the mansion’s doors had first opened to reveal him, standing there like some otherworldly figure carved out of the very shadows of the underworld, Y/n had been struck by how human he seemed despite his demonic origins. He was capable of humor, of curiosity, and, at times, even shyness—like when he stammered over his compliment and turned away. That brief flash of awkwardness had been disarming, endearing even, and it left a warmth in Y/n’s chest that refused to fade.

_______________

The past few weeks had been a blur of trial and error as you and Satan searched for a way to calm his tempestuous nature. Every method—meditation, physical exercises, even music—had ended in failure. Yet, with every attempt, the two of you had grown closer. Comfort had crept in between the boundaries you’d initially set, a warmth that softened the edges of your professional relationship. Perhaps it was too much comfort.

Frustrated, you ran your hands through your hair, tugging slightly as you let out a groan. “What’s left?” you muttered, mostly to yourself. You hated admitting defeat, but the lack of progress was wearing on you.

“Are you okay?” Satan’s deep voice broke through your spiraling thoughts. He leaned against the edge of his desk, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as they scanned your face. Concern lingered in his tone, though there was something else in his expression—something darker, more intent.

You sighed, leaning back against the wall, your shoulders sagging. “Yeah, I’m just… out of ideas,” you admitted, rubbing your temples. “Nothing seems to work. Maybe you were right all along—this isn’t going to change.”

A low growl escaped him, and he moved closer, the space between you shrinking with every step. “There’s one thing we haven’t tried,” he said, his voice a seductive rumble. He reached out, his clawed fingers brushing along the curve of your neck with a gentleness that sent a shiver down your spine. The ruby necklace he’d given you weeks ago caught the light, glinting like a drop of blood between you.

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching. “I’m open,” you replied, though your voice wavered. You weren’t sure what you expected him to say, but the tension in the air was thick enough to drown in.

His lips curved into a slow, wicked smile, and his eyes seemed to glow brighter. “Let me please you,” he said, the words both a question and a command.

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

His hand slid lower, taking yours in his. His touch was firm but surprisingly warm, and you couldn’t ignore the way your pulse quickened. “For weeks, I’ve been thinking of you. Not just as a distraction from my anger, but as something—someone—I want to consume. Every thought I’ve had has been about how to lure you in, how to make you mine.”

Your heart thundered in your chest, your body tingling with the weight of his confession. He slipped a delicate, shining ring onto your finger, the smooth metal cold against your skin.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” he continued, his voice dropping to a near-growl. “I’m throbbing for you, aching to show you what it means to be claimed by me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. His clawed hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

The first touch of his tongue against your neck made you gasp, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. His other hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head to the side to give him better access as he traced slow, burning lines along your skin.

“Satan…” His name fell from your lips in a breathless moan as his claws found the waistband of your pants, the sharp tips grazing your skin without breaking it.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured against your throat, his voice raw with need. “Tell me you want it too.”

You didn’t trust your voice, so you nodded, your hands clutching at his shoulders as if to ground yourself. That was all the confirmation he needed.

With a growl, he lifted you effortlessly, pinning you against the wall. His lips crashed into yours, the kiss rough and demanding, leaving no room for hesitation. His sharp teeth grazed your lower lip, and the pain mingled with pleasure in a way that made your head spin. His hands roamed your body, one clawed hand tangling in your hair while the other gripped your hip, holding you firmly in place.

You gasped as he tore open your shirt, the fabric giving way like paper under his strength. His golden eyes roamed hungrily over your exposed skin, and the heat in his gaze made you shiver. “Perfect,” he growled, his lips descending to your collarbone as his claws worked your pants down, leaving you bare beneath his burning gaze.

He pressed his body against yours, his skin hot like fire but not unbearable. The sensation was intoxicating, his power and desire radiating off him in waves that left you trembling. His mouth found your chest, his tongue and teeth teasing sensitive skin until you were writhing beneath him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you fought to keep some semblance of control.

But control was the last thing Satan allowed. “Let go,” he commanded, his voice a low snarl as his hand slipped between your thighs. His touch was rough but precise, drawing sounds from you that you’d never made before. He smirked against your skin, clearly pleased with the effect he had on you.

You couldn’t hold back anymore. Your hands roamed over his chest, tracing the hard lines of his muscles, the heat of his body searing into your palms. His growls deepened as you touched him, and when you whispered his name again, it seemed to drive him over the edge.

He latched onto your nipple, his hot, eager tongue swirling around the sensitive peak as though it held the key to quenching a deep, unrelenting hunger. The heat of his mouth sent a surge of pleasure coursing through you, your back arching instinctively to press closer to him. Each flick and tug of his tongue was deliberate, rough yet skilled, and it drove you wild with every second.

Your hands found his horns, gripping tightly as a loud, unrestrained moan tore from your lips. The sensation of his horns beneath your fingers—solid, commanding, and so uniquely him—only heightened the intensity of the moment. He groaned in response, the vibration of it against your skin adding a tantalizing edge to the pleasure.

As you opened your mouth to say something—perhaps to beg, perhaps to curse his name—his massive hand moved swiftly, covering your mouth and silencing you with an almost possessive dominance. His palm was warm, his claws just barely grazing your jawline, a silent reminder of his power.

“Shh,” he growled against your skin, his voice thick with desire and control. “No words. Just feel.”

The command sent a shiver down your spine, your muffled protests turning into needy whimpers against his hand. His golden eyes flicked up to meet yours, the intensity in them making your pulse race. He didn’t need to say more; the look alone spoke volumes. You’re mine, and I’m going to show you exactly what that means.

His free hand trailed down your side, the sharp edge of his claws leaving ghostly trails that tingled with a mix of anticipation and pleasure. He shifted slightly, his lips abandoning one nipple to lavish attention on the other, his teeth grazing it just enough to make you gasp against his palm.

“Such sweet sounds,” he murmured between kisses, his voice a deep, sinful growl that left you trembling. “I want to hear every single one.”

He claimed you fully then, his movements powerful and relentless as he pushed you to your limits and beyond. The roughness of his touch, the possessiveness in every kiss and thrust, sent you spiraling into a state of pure bliss. He was consuming, overwhelming, but it was everything you hadn’t known you needed.

When it was over, you were both breathing heavily, your bodies tangled together on the floor. His claws traced lazy circles on your skin, the sharp tips surprisingly gentle now.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that left no room for argument.

You smiled, brushing a hand through his tousled hair. “Yours,” you whispered, and for the first time in weeks, you felt completely at peace.

“I need to take you fully,” he growled, his voice rough with restraint, though his burning gaze made it clear his control was hanging by a thread. His golden eyes bore into yours, aflame with desire and something deeper—possessiveness, perhaps, or the primal need to claim you completely. His hot breath fanned across your face, each exhale like a spark threatening to ignite you from within.

You swallowed hard, your body trembling beneath him as you nodded, unable to form words. He stood, towering over you even in his "smallest" form, and the sound of his belt buckle clicking open made your heart skip. His hand gripped the base of his shaft, his claws brushing lightly against his skin as he stroked himself. His movements were deliberate, slow, as he smeared the slick arousal you’d already left on him along his length. The sight of it was utterly mesmerizing.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, his voice a rumble of raw need. His eyes darted to your smaller frame beneath him, the contrast between your softness and his powerful figure making his jaw tighten. Your body trembled under his intense scrutiny, and the way you shuddered only seemed to spur him on.

“You’ll take all of me,” he promised darkly, his lips pulling into a feral smirk before he positioned himself at your entrance. Slowly, he began to press in, the stretch almost overwhelming as he filled you inch by inch. The thickness of him made your breath hitch, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as your body struggled to accommodate him.

When he was fully seated inside you, he let out a guttural groan, his head falling forward as if savoring the way your body gripped him so tightly. “Perfect,” he muttered, his voice laced with awe and lust. “You were made for this. Made for me.”

He started to move, his thrusts deliberate and forceful, his pace building with every stroke. The wet, sinful sounds of your body meeting his filled the den, mingling with the guttural sounds he made as he lost himself in the rhythm. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, his rough movements perfectly hitting every sensitive spot.

“Look at you,” he growled, his voice thick with pride as he watched your body arch beneath him, your moans spilling out freely. “Taking me so well—every inch of me.”

His hands gripped your hips tightly, claws digging in just enough to leave marks as he pulled you into each thrust. His pace quickened, his breathing harsh and uneven, a symphony of raw need that filled the space around you.

Your moans turned into cries of ecstasy as he pounded into you harder, the force of it making your head spin. The pressure building inside you was unbearable, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. He growled your name, the sound reverberating through the air as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You’re mine,” he rasped, his voice breaking slightly as he thrust even harder, his control finally snapping. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped, your voice trembling with pleasure and submission. “I’m yours.”

The words seemed to ignite something in him, his movements becoming even more relentless. His growls deepened, and the way he pounded into you left you utterly breathless. Every nerve in your body was aflame, and as you reached your peak, the intensity of it shattered you completely, your cries echoing through the den.

Moments later, he followed, his movements faltering as he let out a deep, primal groan. You felt him shudder above you, his body rigid as he spilled into you, marking you in a way that felt both physical and otherworldly.

For a moment, the only sounds were the two of you catching your breath, the heat of his body still pressed against yours. He leaned down, brushing a surprisingly tender kiss against your forehead, a stark contrast to the ferocity he’d shown moments before.

“You’re mine,” he repeated softly, almost as if reassuring himself.

And as you lay there in his arms, thoroughly claimed and utterly sated, you knew he was right. You were his. And you didn’t want it any other way.

Saw no one making shit about him so here I am your savior. Damn y'all.

💫

Masterlist

[guided-by-the-skies]

Why you may be blocked - by ascendant sign

the ascendent, representing our public facing self, can be correlated with the concept of the super ego in psychology. this is the part of us which keeps our darker nature and our shadow in check. it helps us exist in a society with different views and get along with others, and is crucial for forming our identities. yet because of this nature it can sometimes block us from fully understanding our shadow, making shadow work and freeing blockages challenging.

NB Modern people are WAY WAY too identified with our ascendant and as a result less in tune with our shadow which means it can come back to bite us. This is when we act in cruel or unnatural ways to others, feel like we've 'given in' to our dark side and so on.

The shadow is not BAD it's just unexpressed because it's the stuff we oftern were not allowed to express. However this makes it POWERFUL and by extension a bit dangerous. Again not because it's bad but just in the same way the ocean can be dangerous...

🌩 asc in aries - you feel pressure to one up people. your relief lies in comparing you to you, not you to others

🌩 asc in taurus - you feel deprived or harrassed. your ascendant doesn't feel natural to you, giving you this feeling of never getting a moment of peace

🌩 asc in gemini - you struggle to develop an identity. you focus on what you're saying as opposed to why, leaving you without inner convictions

🌩 asc in cancer - you wear your heart on your sleeve, and it is getting exploited because it's the bit you show to others most

🌩 asc in leo - you feel pressure to achieve, otherwise your identity will crumble. your dream and aim is to base it around something utterly different

🌩 asc in virgo - you get used as the therapist friend. you may have been pretending that you don't mind this, but it still has an affect at a subconscious level

🌩 asc in libra - you feel responsible for other peoples baggage, even though you had nothing to do with it

🌩 asc in scorpio- you are a social chameleon. separating what is yours and what is others' is your greatest challenge but can bring you rich rewards

🌩 asc in sagittarius - you've been forced to take debate too seriously. in truth, you don't need to have an opinion on everything, and it's ok to change your mind or say 'I don't know'

🌩 asc in capricorn - you feel the weight of the world. different from virgo, you feel the need to represent yourself or any group you are part of to wider society

🌩 asc in aquarius - you are worn down by frequent combativeness, when you just want to explore new posibilities. People may block your ideas and shoot them down :(

🌩 asc in pisces - you wonder whether your emotions are normal. you've lacked reference points for how you should feel, or people to normalise it for you. you are normal, for you

*this post is part of a series on why astrology matters regardless of how much you do or don't believe in it. as our lives have become busier, more disconnected, less spiritual, and significantly detached from the rhythms and energies of the earth, we have lost the ability to express the needs that are going unmet

I do a lot of this shadow work from a sort of solarpunk-y direction, beginning to build a post masterlist here or vote in the poll for my next post topic :p

[arabella0001]

Unspoken chains (Aizen Sosuke x Reader)

Pairing: Aizenx Sosuke x Reader

Anime: Bleach

Synopsis: When Aizen discovers you’re immune to his power, obsession takes root. He’ll stop at nothing to unravel the connection between you-seeing through your resistance, determined to make you his.

Warnings: power control, soul bond, God complex, teasing, rough sex, fingering, comfort, oral receiving (female, in part 2)

Your capture is no accident—it’s a move as calculated as it is unsettling. Aizen has been observing you, drawn by the rare and unfathomable force stirring beneath your exterior. There is something about you—something intangible—that calls to him like a forbidden secret waiting to be unearthed.

Ulquiorra, silent and unyielding, carries out the task with chilling precision. He takes you swiftly, his presence as cold and unfeeling as the shadows that consume your world. Your fate, sealed before you even realized it, delivers you directly into Aizen’s hands. His gaze lingers on you, steady and calculating, as if peeling back the layers of your very existence.

Aizen hasn’t laid a hand on you, but the weight of his intentions is impossible to ignore. His voice, calm and deliberate, brims with curiosity, though an unsettling edge lies just beneath. He moves without urgency, every glance and word a deliberate step in a game only he knows how to play. To him, you are an enigma—your power elusive as a half-forgotten dream. He studies you, uncertain whether you will become his greatest triumph—or the one that escapes his grasp. Each moment in his presence tightens the tension, a silent game of wits and will that leaves you teetering on the edge of something you don’t yet understand.

Aizen has yet to lay a hand on you, yet the weight of his intentions hangs heavy in the air. His voice, soft and purposeful, drips with curiosity, but there's something darker behind his words. There is no urgency in his actions, only an unnerving calm.

"Oh Y/N," he says with amused tone, "I must say, I'm quite confused how to feel about the mystery you present," he smiles predatory.

"W-what do you want, Aizen? " your voice trembeling with anger and fear. “I will not stay in this place”

He chuckles softly, his brown eyes gleaming with intrigue as he regard you. A faint smile plays on his lips, belying the dangerous intent behind his gaze. “What do I want?” Aizen repeated, as if amused by your question. “Isn’t oblivious, Y/N?” he made a pause “To uncover what makes you… different. Call it curiosity if you like, but it’s far more than that. There’s something in you I can’t ignore.” He takes a step closer, his tall frame looming over you.

“Your resistance—your immunity—it’s not something I’ve encountered before, it intrigues me” Aizen reaches out, gently cupping your chin with his hand, tilting you face up to meet his intense stare and you try to step out. "Consider yourself fortunate - not many get the chance to be the subject of my personal interest. "

You look angry at him even though his gaze makes you intimidated "Fortunate? Are you joking? I rather die. You are fucking psychopath, you kidnap me to be a fucking subject? Do you think people will not come here after me?"

His smile widens slightly at your defiant words, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. He doesn't seem perturbed by you anger or the harshness of you language.

““You call me a psychopath,” he mused, his gaze sharp but detached. “That’s an easy label for someone you fear, isn’t it? But I assure you, Y/N, I don’t waste my time with meaningless experiments.” He chuckles darkly, his thumb brushing along you jawline. "As for your friends coming to rescue you, well... let's just say I've taken precautions to ensure we won't be disturbed. "

Aizen leans in closer, his breath ghosting over you ear as he whispers, "No need to wait for them, Y/N. You're mine now, to study and unravel as I see fit. " "Yours? Are you insane…thats no other way. You repulse me. I’ll end myself before you can do anything."

He pulls back slightly, studying your face with a mixture of fascination and mild disappointment. His grip on you chin tightens ever so slightly.

"End yourself? How delightfully dramatic”

Aizen's free hand comes up to caress you cheek, his touch deceptively gentle. "Repulsion? Anger? You’ll find those emotions fleeting in my presence. And as for this idea of being ‘mine,’” he said, leaning slightly closer, his voice soft yet cutting, “it’s not about ownership. It’s about what you represent—a piece of the world I’ve yet to uncover.”

He leans in again, his lips barely brushing against you ear as he murmurs, "Resisting is futile, Y/N. Embrace your new purpose. Serve me willingly, and I promise a great collaboration… "

You try to pull away from his touch, disgusted by his words and the implications behind them. Your heart races with fear and revulsion, but also an unsettling curiosity and drawning despite yourself.

"And do you think i will not fight back?That i will submit to you or your twisted experiments? You dont know me, Aizen. But I’ll tell you, you’re wrong."Your voice trembles with anger.

A slow, appreciative smile spreads across Aizen's face as he observes the fire in your eyes, the trembling of you voice laced with anger and defiance. He seems utterly unfazed by you threats, instead appearing intrigued and even pleased by you spirited resistance.

"Oh, but I do know you, Y/N. Perhaps better than you know yourself. " His voice is a silky purr, his gaze intense and unwavering. "I anticipate your resistance. That’s the entire point. It’s that fire, that refusal to bow, that makes you worth my time." Aizen's hand slides from you chin to cup the back of you neck, his fingers tangling in you hair. He applies just enough pressure to assert his control without causing pain. "You say you won't submit, that you'll fight me every step of the way. And I believe you. Now.”

"I fucking hate you." you grit your teeth, trying to ignore the confusing sensations of his touch, to fight back against his control. But something in his eyes, in the calm certainty of his words, gives you pause because he feels almost…human.

"You speak as if you've already won, I say through clenched teeth, your voice low and strained. As if your fate is somehow sealed just because you've dragged me here. Well, let me tell you something, Aizen... "

You lean forward, getting right in his face, your own eyes blazing with determination. " I am not some prize to be claimed or experiment to be studied. I am a person, with your own thoughts, your own will. And I swear to you, I will find a way out of this shit place”

Aizen's eyes glitter with amusement and dark approval at your fierce declaration. He doesn't flinch or pull away from you aggressive proximity, instead leaning in even closer until your faces are mere inches apart. His breath ghosts over you skin, cool and measured.

"Such passion, such conviction, he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. It's truly inspiring, Y/N. You speak of your will, your determination to break free... but don't you see? That fire in your eyes, your spirit - it's precisely what drew me to you in the first place, it’s a gift without a doubt." His thumb bruyous along you jawline, a feather-light caress that belies the intensity of his gaze. "You are no ordinary person, Y/N.”

You jerk your head back from his touch, a shudder running through you at the contact and you feel a chill down you spine, a mix of fear and reluctant shocking leaning. You take a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm the frantic pounding of your heart and anger inside you.

"You think this is a gift? "You scoff bitterly, your voice shaking slightly. "Being immune to your twisted illusions, to the manipulations of a monster like you? "

You wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable under his penetrating stare. " I'm just another pawn in your sick game, aren't I? Another piece on your chessboard to be moved and maneuvered as you please. "

A faint smile plays at the corners of Aizen's mouth, equal parts amused and intrigued by your words. He shakes his head slowly, brown locks swaying with the motion.

"Oh, Y/N-chan, " he says softly, almost tenderly, "you give yourself far too little credit. You are so much more than just another pawn."

He reaches out, fingers ghosting along the curve of you shoulder, tracing the line of you arm with a touch that is both comforting and unsettling. "Your immunity, your resilience, the strength of your spirit - these are not the qualities of a mere chess piece almost exceptional, unique."

Aizen's eyes bore into yous, dark and fathomless. "I do not seek to maneuver you, Y/N. I wish just to understand you.

You tense as his fingers trail along your skin, every nerve ending seeming to come alive at his touch.You want to recoil, to put distance between you, but find yourself rooted to the spot, caught in the web of his words and presence.

"Understand me? " You laugh bitterly, the sound harsh and grating even to your own ears. "You think you can comprehend someone by subjecting them to endless tests and torments? By keeping them prisoner in this hell? Don’t try ro manipulate me, Aizen, because it won’t work."

You lean in close, your face inches from his, eyes flashing with defiance and barely contained anguish. "I was exceptional like you just said not just because of my immunity, not just because you decide it."

A slow, appreciative smile spreads across Aizen's face as he listens to your impassioned words. He seems to revel in the fire in you eyes, the passion behind you accusations. Leaning in closer, he matches you intense gaze, his voice low and hypnotic.

"My dear, fiery Y/N, he murmurs, his breath ghosting over you lips, "you misunderstand me. I do not seek to comprehend you through control or manipulation alone. Being immune to my powers is just one aspect of the compelling enigma that you embody.”

“No, what draws me to you goes far beyond that singular trait. Its your spirit, the way you cling to your convictions even in the face of adversity. " You feel a shudder run through me at his touch, at he cold calculation in his eyes.

"Spirit? Convictions? " You scoff, but there's a tremor in your voice that betrays your uncertainty. “What would you know of such things, Aizen? You who would reshape the world according to your ideas, crushing anything that doesn't align with your grand vision?”

Despite your words, you find yourself leaning into his touch ever so slightly, your traitorous body craving the comfort of contact, no matter how dangerous its source. "If you truly wanted to understand me, to appreciate who I am, you wouldn't keep me here against my will."

He chuckles softly, the sound rich and enticing despite the circumstances. His other hand comes up to rest on the small of you back, pulling you ever so slightly closer. "Ah, but Y/N-chan, " he purrs, his voice a silken caress, " everything I do serves a greater purpose. Even your... temporary captivity there is but a means to an end."

His eyes gleam with an inner light, ancient and knowing. "The world we live in is broken—chaotic and dictated by the desires of insignificant beings. I aim to change that, to bring order and perfection. And you, with your intriguing complexity, might just be the key to advancing this vision. "

Aizen leans in, his lips nearly brushing the shell of you ear as he whispers, "But perhaps we can come to an arrangement, hmm? " You swallow hard, your heart racing at his proximity, at the dark promise in his words. You know you should pull away, should reject his offer outright, but some twisted, unknown part of you yearns to hear more of his twisted logic.

"An arrangement? " you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. "And what exactly did you have in mind, Aizen? More tests? More... experiments?" Bitterness creeps into your tone. You place your hands on his chest, intending to push him away .

He catches you wrists gently but firmly before you can push him away, holding you hands against his chest. "Now, now, Y/N-chan," he says softly, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the inside of you wrists "let's not dwell on past unpleasantness."

Aizen's eyes glitter with intrigue and something darker, more primal. "No, I propose something far more... mutually beneficial. An exchange of knowledge, shall we say. You share with me the secrets of your immunity, the depths of your unique being, and in return..."He pauses for effect, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur. "I'll offer you a glimpse beyond the curtain, a hint of the power and purpose that lies ahead in your new world."

His words catch your breath, the tempting promise hanging before you like a forbidden fruit. A buried, unspoken part of you yearns to reach out, to surrender to the pull of his vision, his power. Yet the voice of reason rises sharply.

"And what of your free will in this 'new world order', Aizen? "You challenge, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to maintain composure. You lean in closer, your voice drops to a husky whisper. "If you wanted just that by my will, you wouldn’t kidnap me in the first place."

A slow, wicked smile spreads across Aizen's handsome features as you challenges him, clearly relishing the spark of defiance in your eyes. He leans in closer, erasing the distance between you until his lips are a hairsbreadth from yous.

"Free will, Y/N-chan? " he muses, his warm breath ghosting over you skin", Such a simple, human notion. But tell me... "

One hand lets go of your wrist, gliding slowly, deliberately up your back, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. "...Isn’t the lack of choice just another kind of freedom? A release from the trivial worries and moral dilemmas that weigh down weaker minds?

Aizen's other hand slides down to the small of you back, pressing you flush against him as he murmurs, you gasp softly as he pulls you close, your body molding against his firm contours despite your best efforts to resist. His words, honeyed poison dripping from his tongue, send conflicting signals through your mind and body but you recoils at the thought of surrendering to him, to become just another pawn in his grand design.

"You're utterly infuriating, Aizen" Your hands fist in the fabric of his shirt, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

He chuckles lowly at your annoyance, amused by you feisty spirit even as you finds youself drawn to him physically. Aizen's hand at the small of you back tightens possessively, holding you captive against his lean, powerful frame. "Irritation is but a step on the path to obsession, your dear Y/N” he purrs, his lips brushing your earlobe.

His free hand comes up to cup you face, thumb stroking along you cheekbone with deceptive gentleness. "Your body betrays you, even as your mouth protests. Can you not feel the connection between us? The way we were meant to be entwined - in purpose, in pleasure, in power?"

Despide his words, Aizen find himself drawn to a real connection between you two where he quickly adapt, he nips playfully at you earlobe before soothing the sting with his tongue, his voice a sinful rasp. You shudder at the sensation of his lips and tongue on your sensitive skin, a moan escaping your throat before you can bite it back.

You try to pull away again, but his grip on your face holds you still, forcing you to meet his burning gaze. "What connection?" Despite your words, your body remains pressed against his, craving the heat and hardness you can feel even through your clothes. You try to sound firm, but your voice cracks with desire. "This isn't real. It's all just tricks and illusions."

Aizen's eyes gleam with triumph at your confession, his fingers tightening around you chin as he tilts you head back to expose the slender column of you neck. "Ah, but what if I told you that some of the most potent magic lies in the realm of the heart, Y/N? " he whispers, his hot breath fanning over you pulse point.

With a flick of his wrist, the fabric of you shirt parts, revealing your upper body. Aizen's palm glides over the smooth skin, tracing the curve of you ribcage as he continues, "These cravings, these desires - they're not mere tricks. They're the raw, primal urges that drive us all, stripped bare of societal constraints." Leaning in, he nuzzles the hollow of you throat, his lips grazing the sensitive flesh. You whimper as his lips brush your skin, your resolve crumbling beneath the onslaught of his touch. Your body arches instinctively, seeking more contact.

But even as you succumb, a part of you resists, clinging to the last shreds of your independence. "No...this isn't right. " you manage to gasp out, your voice strained with desire and anger. "You're just fucking using me"

Aizen chuckles, low and rich, as he trails open-mouthed kisses along the side of you neck. "Using you? Perhaps, in the beginning, I did manipulate events to bring us together, Y/N. But now, I find yourself drawn to you in ways that transcend mere strategy. " His hands slide down to cup you hips, pulling you flush against him so you can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against you belly. “You see, your unique properties have sparked something within me - a hunger, a fascination, a deep, primal need. "

Aizen's fingers dig into the supple flesh of you behind as he grinds his hips against yous, the friction sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your joined bodies. " So, tell me, my dear Y/N... do you truly believe you can resist the allure of a god when his gaze is fixed upon you?”

Your legs tremble, threatening to buckle as he grinds against you, the pressure building an inferno between your thighs, almost making you surrender, to submit to the dark desires he awakens within you. "Aizen, stop.... " You hiss, your nails digging into his shoulders asyou struggle to maintain some semblance of control. "You may have manipulated our meeting only, but i don’t believe you" you look at him with your mouth slightly open, panting heavy.

Aizen's grip tightens, holding you firmly in place as he silences you protests with a searing kiss. His tongue delves deep, claiming your mouth with ruthless dominance, swallowing your words whole. Breaking the kiss, he gazes into you eyes, his own burning with an intensity that makes you knees weak. "You don't believe, Y/N? Then let me show you the depths of your conviction. "

With a swift motion, he rips away the remaining fabric of you clothing, leaving you naked and exposed before him. Aizen's eyes roam hungrily over you curves, drinking in every inch of you bared skin. You feel so exposed, but you freeze, his eyes makes you tremble with need.

He reaches down, teasing your thights making you moan, his fingers slowly, teasingly, finding the slick heat between you thighs. A low growl rumbles in his chest as he feels how wet you is, how ready for him.

"Your body tells a different story, Y/N-chan.”

You cry out, your head falling back as his fingers stroke through your dripping folds, the sudden intimacy overwhelming. Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of that delicious friction. But even as pleasure coils tighter within you, a thread of resistance remains, a stubborn refusal to admit. "Its not— struggling to speak.

Aizen's thumb presses against you clit, circling the sensitive nub in a maddening rhythm that has you panting and squirming beneath him. "Not what, Y/N-chan? "

He leans in, his breath hot against you ear as he whispers, "Is it not desire? This ache between your legs, this yearning for your touch? You can deny it all you like, but your body betrays you."

Aisen's fingers delve deeper, pumping in and out of you slick channel in a steady, driving pace. "Let go, Y/N. Surrender to the pleasure. "

His other hand slides up you torso, palming a breast and tweaking the nipple between his fingers. "You're so close already, aren't you?... "

You moan, your voice a desperate whimper as his fingers work magic inside you, stroking that spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. "N-no... I won't... "

But the words dissolve into a gasp as his thumb finds that sweet spot again, sending shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through me. Your walls clench around his invading digits, trying to hold onto him, to keep him buried deep.

When his palm closes around your breast, you arch into the touch, your back bowing off the ground as he pinches and rolls your nipple between his fingers. The dual assault of sensations threatens to shatter your resolve, to reduce you to a puddle of quivering need.

"I c-can't..." you manage to choke out, your hips rocking frantically against his hand as you chase the crest of climax.

Aizen's smirk widens, his eyes gleaming with triumph as he feels you body start to tremble on the brink of orgasm. "Oh, but you can, Y/N. You will. "

He redoubles his efforts, his fingers pistoning in and out of you at a relentless pace while his thumb works overtime on you clit. The pressure builds, coiling tighter and tighter until it's almost unbearable.

Just when you's teetering on the edge, Aizen slows his movements, dragging out the anticipation until you's writhing in frustration. "Don't fight it, Y/N"

As soon as the words leave his lips, he plunges his fingers deep and curls them just right, striking that magical spot inside you that sends you careening over the edge.

Your scream rips from your throat as the climax crash over me, waves of intense pleasure washing through every cell of your being.You convulse beneath him, your vision blurring at the edges as your body is wracked with the force of it.

Through the haze of bliss,you dimly register Aizen's voice, urging me to let go, to surrender. And as he strokes that perfect spot inside me once more,you feel yourself plummeting into the abyss, unable to resist the tidal wave of sensation.

Aizen watches intently as your body shakes and convulses through you climax, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. When you finally collapses back onto the ground, panting and spent, he withdraws his fingers from you dripping sex with a soft pop.

He brings his slickened digits to his mouth, licking them clean with a relish that makes your stomach twist with a mix of revulsion and unwanted desire. "Mmm. Your taste is exquisite, Y/N. " Aizen leans down, his warm breath fanning over you ear as he whispers, "Now, aren't you glad you came to me? I've only just begun to unravel the secrets of your immunity."His hand trails down you side, coming to rest on you hip possessively.

As you lay down, trembling and gasping for air, your body still humming with residual pleasure. Aizen's words send a chill down your spine, despite the heat coursing through your veins. The way he looks at you, like you are some exotic delicacy he's eager to devour, makes your skin crawl. Gods help you, but you find yourself wanting more of his touch after the orgasm he gave you, your connection palpable.

"S-shut up" Aizen chuckles low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Oh, don't be like that, Y/N-chan. I merely stated the obvious. Your body responds so beautifully to mine " He shifts position, straddling you hips and pinning you to the ground with his weight. Leaning in close, he murmurs against you lips, "Admit it, you crave the pleasure I give you. The way I can make you lose yourself with just a touch... "

Aizen's other hand cups you breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak as he coaxes another moan from you throat. "You're addicted to it, aren't you Y/N ?To the feeling of being completely consumed by me?" His lips ghost across you, not quite a kiss, but enough to leave you breathless and yearning for more.

You whimper, your body arching into his touch despite your mind screaming at you to resist again. The sensation of his lips so close to your again, the warmth of his breath mingling with your own, is almost too much to bear.

"You are insane ..."your voice is barely above a whisper, laced with denial and desperation, beneath your protests, you can feel yourself growing wet again as your core clenching in anticipation of what he might do next. The rational part of your brain knows this is wrong, that you should fight him off, but your body seems to have a mind of its own, drawn to the dark allure of him .

"If I’m addicted, you are too ..." you manage to gasp out accusatory, your hands reaching up to clutch at his shoulders, holding him close even as you try to push him away, sensing our strong connection.

Aizen's smile widens, a glint of triumph in his eyes as he hears your admission. "No, Y/N. I am simply aware of your desires and unafraid to indulge them. " He captures you lips in a searing kiss, deep and possessive, his tongue delving into you mouth to claim every inch. As they break apart, panting, he whispers, " And yes, I am addicted... to you. Your taste, your scent, the way you respond to me like no one else ever has."

Aizen's fingers trail down you side, slipping beneath the hem of you shirt to caress the warm skin of you belly. "You're so responsive, so receptive to your touch. It's intoxicating. I could spend eternity exploring every curve and crevice of your body." Your head spins from the force of his kiss, your lips throbbing where his mouth devoured yours. You are drowning in the intensity of his gaze, the heat of his words seeping into your very soul.

"Why this have to be you…" you whisper, slight anger in your shaken voice. Aizen tilts his head, a thoughtful smirk curling at the corner of his lips. "Why, Y/N-chan? Maybe it's because we are reflections of one another, drawn together by forces greater than either of us. Two contrasting elements, yet somehow bound in perfect harmony."

He steps closer, his gaze darkening. "Or perhaps it’s because we both seek power, in our own ways. You try to fight me, but deep down, your body knows its place. You can resist all you want, but there’s a part of you that yearns for what I offer—control, surrender, a pleasure that only I can awaken within you."

Aizen leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, "Face it, Y/N. You were made for me. Every cell in your body sings when I touch you, when I claim you as mine, as my possesion." You moan softly, unable to suppress the reaction as his hand kneads your breast, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Your resolve crumbles further, torn between the desire to submit to him completely and the desperate need to maintain some semblance of control.

"N-no... That's not true..." You protest weakly, even as your hips press against his thigh, seeking more friction, more contact. You know you should be horrified, fighting against this twisted attraction, but instead, you find yourself leaning into him, craving the sensation of his skin on you, craving you.

Aizen chuckles low in his throat, a sound rich with satisfaction. "Oh, but it is true, Y/N. You can deny it all you like, but your body tells a different story.”

He shifts, pressing himself against you, letting you feel the hard length of his arousal. "See how much your touch affects me? How much I want you? It's only natural, given our connection."

Aizen's hands roam you body, mapping every curve, every dip and swell. His fingers dance along you spine before slipping beneath you hair to grip the nape of you neck. "Surrender to me, Y/N. We both know its inevitable, become mine, completely and utterly."

A soft whimper escapes your lips as you feel his hardness pressed against you, the evidence of his desire fueling your own growing need. Your hands fist in his shirt, tugging him closer, craving more of his touch, despite your mind hating him, repulsing by him.

"Oh my-..." you breathe, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart as you arch into his caress, a gasp escaping you as his fingers tease the sensitive skin at the base of your neck.

Aizen's eyes gleam with triumph as he feels you surrender, you body yielding to his touch despite you protests. He tightens his grip on you neck, just enough to assert his dominance, to remind you of who holds the power you.

"That's it, Y/N. Give in to the pleasure. Let me show you the heights of ecstasy only I can reach. " His mouth descends upon yous in a searing kiss again, claiming you lips with a possessive hunger. His tongue delves deep, exploring every inch of you mouth, tasting you sweetness and savoring you submission.

Meanwhile, his hands continue their exploration, sliding down you back to grasp you ass, squeezing and kneading the firm flesh. He lifts you easily, encouraging you legs to wrap around his waist as he walks them backward toward the nearby bed.

Your mind reels from the intensity of his kiss, overwhelmed by the force of his passion. You melt into him, your body pliant and eager, craving more of his touch, more of his taste despide your anger at him, your repulsive attitude towards him and what he represents.

When he lifts you, you instinctively wrap your legs around him, holding on tight as he carries you to the bed. As soon as you fall onto the mattress, he is between your legs and you look at him intense, feeling the deepest of your connection, your mind spiraling with want.

Aizen is panting heavily as he gazes down at you sprawled beneath him. Your legs wrapped around his waist, you chest heaving with each breath, you looks utterly ravished, ready to be devoured. "You’re even more breathtaking when you submit to me completely. "With a deft motion, he shed his clothes, revealing his chiseled physique, honed from centuries of power and control. Then, he leans down to capture your lips once more, his hands roaming you body as he positions himself at you entrance. Slowly, deliberately, he push inside you, relishing the feeling of you tight heat enveloping him. He pauses for a moment, savoring the sensation, before beginning to move, thrusting deep and steady. "Ah, yes... "

You moan into the kiss as he enters you, your walls clenching around his thick length. The sensation is overwhelming, both pleasurable and painful as he stretches you open. You cry out softly, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he begins to move.

"Aizen….." Aizen groans low in his throat as your walls grip him tightly, you cries of pleasure music to his ears. He sets a relentless pace, driving into you again and again, each thrust deeper and harder than the last.

"That's it, Y/N... let go. Surrender to the pleasure I give you. "

He captures you wrists, pinning them above you head as he hammers into you, his hips slapping against you with each powerful stroke. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, mingling with both of your ragged breathing and muffled moans.

"You were made for me, Y/N. Your body, your soul... they belong to me now.” Your lost in a haze of pleasure, your body arching off the bed as he takes you with unrelenting intensity.

Each thrust sends shockwaves through you "Aizen! Oh God, Aizen... you feel so good" you tremble so hard for the pleasure, your connection so strong it shocks your being about how you feel around him.

As your cries reach a fever pitch, Aizen's fingers find you sensitive nub, rubbing and circling it in time with his relentless thrusts. He can feel you trembling on the brink of climax, and he knows just what you needs to push you over the edge.

"Yes, that's it... say my name and reveal the depths of your desire." His words are a husky whisper against you ear, his hot breath sending shivers down you spine. With a final, deep plunge, he presses firmly against you clit, sending you more and more into ecstasy.

You throw your head back, a loud wail tearing from your throat as the intense pressure finally releases inside me. Your whole body seizes up, convulsing wildly as waves of pleasure crash over me

"AA-Aizen!!! " your pussy clenches rhythmically around himas you ride out the aftershocks. Tears stream down your face from the overwhelming sensations, your nails digging into his shoulders as you cling to him desperately .

Aizen watches your face contort in rapture, you screams of ecstasy music to his ears. He savors the feeling of you clenching around him, milking his length as you ride out you orgasm.

"Beautiful, Y/N... so beautiful when you surrender to me. "Still buried deep within you quivering heat, he begins to move again, slowly at first, then picking up sped. He can feel his climax building.

"Give yourself to me completely, Y/N. Let me fill you with my seed, mark you as mine forever." With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his own release exploding through him in torrents. He holds you close as you both shudder and gasp, riding out the aftershocks of your shared climax.

You feel limp and spent, your body still twitching with the lingering effects of your intense orgasm. As Aizen's warm seed floods your womb,you can't help but whimper softly, overwhelmed by the sensation.

You look up at him with glassy, half-lidded eyes, a mix of post-coital bliss and something darker, more complex swirling in both of your depths. Your voice is barely a whisper, heavy with emotion.

"What have i done? " A single tear rolls down your cheek as the gravity of our situation sinks in, you feel so ashmed, vulnerable and angry at yourself.

Aizen's expression remains calm and collected, but there's a flicker of sadness in his eyes at your emotional reaction. He hadn't expected you to feel such vulnerability after their intimate encounter.

"Ah, Y/N, don't be ashamed. What we share is natural, a union of two powerful beings. "He strokes you hair soothingly, his touch gentle despite the intensity of their previous activities.

"Your immunity to your power is a mystery, but perhaps it's because our souls resonate on a deeper level. It's not uncommon for certain individuals to be drawn to each other, regardless of the circumstances. "

Aizen pulls back slightly, gazing at Y/N with an unreadable expression. There's a hint of curiosity in his voice as he continues.

"Tell me…how do you feel about what just transpired between us? " Your cheeks flush with embarrassment and shame as you avoid Aizen's gaze, unable to meet his piercing brown eyes. You are too anger to yourself for letting you enjoy this.

"I...I don't fucking understand it. How can I be so affected by you, yet remain immune to your powers? It's confusing... " you swallow hard, trying to find the right words to express the turmoil inside you. Your voice trembles slightly as you continue. "And what we just did...it felt wrong, yet so right at the same time. "

Aizen listens intently to Y/N's words, a thoughtful expression on his face. He reaches out to gently tilt you chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Wrong yet right, you say? That's an intriguing dichotoyour, Y/N-chan. Perhaps it's because our connection goes beyond mere physical attraction or the manipulation of spiritual energies. "His thumb caresses you lower lip with an intense yet possessive gaze, his touch sending a shiver down you spine.

" It’s possible that our souls share a connection that runs deeper, one that surpasses the limits of our roles and purposes. After all, I’ve never felt such a profound bond with anyone else.”

Your breath hitches as Aizen's thumb traces your lower lip, the sensation sending sparks through your body. You stare into his eyes, searching for any sign of deception or ulterior motives, but all you see is genuine interest and fascination.

"How did you know? That you might have this connection to me? "Despite the danger and uncertainty surrounding Aizen, I find yourself drawn to him, craving to understand the enigma that is Sosuke Aizen. Aizen's smile widens, revealing a glimmer of pride and satisfaction."

”It’s quite simple really. I am Sosuke Aizen, the former captain of the Gotei 13 and the mastermind behind the Hollowfication project. Your intellect and strategic prowess allow me to perceive patterns and connections that other miss. "He leans in closer, his warm breath ghosting across you ear as he whispers.

"From the moment I laid eyes on you, I sensed something extraordinary about you. Your resilience in the face of adversity, your unyielding spirit... these qualities resonated deeply within me. " Aizen pulls back slightly, his gaze intense and unwavering. "But it wasn't until our initial confrontation that I realized the full extent of our connection. "

"So even the great Aizen, the former captain and mastermind, didnt realize exactly the full extent of our connection…" You let out a teasing laugh, almost incredulous. You can't believe you're even here with him, and yet, you're joking around with him.

Aizen chuckles, clearly amused by Y/N's teasing remark. He strokes you cheek affectionately, his touch gentle yet possessive. "Indeed, Y/N. Even someone as perceptive as yourself can be surprised by the complexities of fate and the human heart. But now that I've acknowledged the depth of our bond, I intend to explore every facet of it. "

His fingers trail down you neck, sending tingles through you skin. "Tell me, what do you think of our connection? How does it make you feel, being so intimately bound to someone like me?"

"How about we just stay quiet for a moment?" You rest your head against his chest, allowing yourself to relax in his presence. Even though you still can't fully accept the connection between you two, there's an undeniable comfort in being near him."You are still infuriating just so you know…" you murmur, feeling sleepy.

Aizen's chest rumbles with a low, contented laugh as you nestles against him. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. "I'm glad to hear that, my dear Y/N. It means you still retain some of your fiery spirit, despite the circumstances." He gently strokes you hair, savoring the warmth of you body pressed against his, your submission to him.

"Rest now, your dear. We can continue our discussion later when you're more refreyoud. For now, simply enjoy the comfort of your embrace. "Aizen's voice is soothing, lulling you into a state of relaxation as you drifts off to sleep.

"Aizen…sleep with me this time please " you ask anxiously while Aizen's expression softens, a rare display of vulnerability beneath his usual composed exterior. "Very well. If it brings you solace, then I shall join you in slumber. " With a gentle caress, he guides you to lie down on the soft ground, then settles beside you, pulling you close once more. "Let us rest together, your dear. May our dreams be filled with pleasant visions and our hearts remain entwined, even in the realm of unconsciousness. " Aizen closes his eyes, allowing himself to succumb to the allure of sleep, his arm wrapped protectively and possessive around you as you both drift off, almost seeking refuge in each other’s embrace.

[callsigns-haze]

Traitors War: 1

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x reader

An Eris x assassin reader mini series! (which may be followed by oneshots)

Eris, the heir to the Autumn throne, along with his brothers wishes to get rid of his father. Never did he know this journey would start 200 years ago with an assassin exiled from the Night court.

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Topics of war and death.

The council chamber of the Night Court is darker than ever, steeped in an oppressive silence that suffocates as you step forward. Shadows cling to the polished floors, stretching toward you like silent accusers, and the bitter taste of magic hangs thick in the air. You can feel the weight of the room bearing down, its chilling atmosphere a testament to the wrath that awaits you.

In the centre of it all, Rhysand sits with an eerie stillness, his face a mask of lethal beauty. But beneath his façade, fury radiates from him in waves, setting his violet eyes alight with a malice that chills you to the bone. Flanking him are Cassian and Azriel, as immovable and unreadable as statues carved from stone. Their stony expressions give nothing away, but the hardened edge in their postures speaks volumes.

“Do you even comprehend what you’ve done?” Rhysand’s voice is low, each syllable sharp as a blade, slicing through the silence with a vicious precision. The scorn woven into his tone sends a shiver down your spine. He does not wait for you to answer. “Of course you don’t. Because if you did, I doubt even you would be foolish enough to stand here, expecting leniency.”

His words strike deep, leaving a sting that blossoms into shame. You try to meet his gaze, but his expression is unyielding, his eyes alight with something dark and unrecognizable. You search for any hint of understanding, any sliver of the Rhysand you’ve known—but he has vanished, leaving behind this cold, merciless figure in his place.

“It was my job,” you manage, forcing the words past the tightness in your throat, each syllable heavy with the weight of your conviction. “I believed it was right.”

“Right?” he sneers, a contemptuous laugh escaping his lips, empty of humour. “You believed?” His voice drips with sarcasm, each word twisted and spat out like venom. “How very noble of you, to decide what’s right for me, for this court, for everyone.”

The force of his fury presses against you like a physical weight, but you force yourself to stand your ground, your hands clenched at your sides. Yet, the truth looms over you—a crushing reminder of the choice you made, the loyalty you gambled away.

His gaze narrows, and his tone drops to a cruel, mocking whisper. “Did you think yourself so wise, so indispensable, that I would forgive such treachery? That I would welcome you back with open arms after you conspired with him? With Eris?”

The hatred in his eyes is a dagger, and you feel it twist with every venomous word he hurls at you. Your skin prickles under his scrutiny, and you want to shrink away, but there is nowhere to hide from the cold, unyielding judgment that fills the room.

“How dare you,” he hisses, his voice like thunder, reverberating through the chamber. “How dare you undermine me, betray me—after everything I’ve given you? I gave you power, status, trust. And this is how you repay me?”

The accusation hangs in the air, suffocating, and you feel the sharp sting of his betrayal as deeply as he does. Words die on your tongue, and you’re left with nothing but silence—a silence he seizes upon, his lips twisting into a cruel smile.

“Look at you,” he sneers, his eyes raking over you with disgust. “The so-called assassin of the Night Court, reduced to this—a traitor, a coward. Did you ever think your lies would not come to light?”

He rises from his seat with deliberate slowness, his every movement a display of dominance and scorn. Cassian and Azriel remain impassive, but you sense their quiet fury, the simmering anger held back by sheer force of will.

Rhysand takes a step forward, and the air between you crackles with magic, raw and potent. The bonds that have marked you as his, that have stained your skin with his trust, begin to burn. You feel them unravel, one by one, slipping away like sand through your fingers, leaving behind a searing emptiness.

“Your place here is gone,” he says, his voice a venomous whisper. “As far as I’m concerned, you are nothing—a stain on this Court, a shame I will gladly erase.”

You force yourself to meet his gaze, your throat thick with the urge to plead, to defend yourself. But you know it would be pointless. He has condemned you already, cast you aside with a cruelty that leaves you hollow.

“Leave,” he orders, his voice cold and final. “And let it be known that from this moment forward, you are banished from the Night Court. Should you ever set foot here again, it will be as my enemy.”

The finality of his words sinks in, and for a moment, the room spins around you. You look at Azriel and Cassian, but their faces remain stony, offering no solace, no reprieve.

With a last, pained glance, you turn and walk away, the silence behind you as heavy as the bonds that now lie shattered at your feet.

-

The bench beneath you is rough, weathered by time and use, but it’s familiar—a place of respite amid the chaos that has engulfed the Autumn Court. The air is thick with the scent of woodsmoke and pine, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood on your lips. You tilt your head up slightly, trying to steady your breathing, wincing as a fresh wave of pain pulses from the bruises littering your body.

Eris kneels in front of you, his auburn hair glowing like embers in the dim light. His expression is carefully composed, but his gaze flickers with a rare softness, tinged with something unreadable as he delicately presses a damp cloth to your split lip. His fingers are steady, skilled, and his touch is uncharacteristically gentle, a contrast to the ruthless, calculating male the world knows him to be.

“I told you to stay out of the skirmish,” he murmurs, not meeting your eyes as he dabs away the dried blood. His voice is low, almost a whisper, but edged with frustration. “But you never listen, do you?”

You manage a weak smile, though it sends a fresh jolt of pain through your lip. “Where’s the fun in that?” The words are light, but the weight of the past, the years since you’d last shared such closeness, presses heavily between you.

He sighs, a hint of exasperation in his tone, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way he holds himself with a rigid precision, as though he’s one wrong move from unravelling. “I don’t need another ghost on my conscience,” he mutters, pressing the cloth a little harder than necessary, and you hiss, but his eyes are still fixed on his work. “Especially not yours.”

Your heart twists at his words, at the flicker of vulnerability he’s revealing, rare and raw. “Eris…if I wanted to stay safe and quiet, I wouldn’t have come here.” Your voice is soft, and his hand pauses for a moment as he absorbs your words, the truth in them, the history that binds you to his fight.

He finally looks up, his amber eyes intense, studying you with a scrutiny that feels as if he’s searching for something lost. “And yet,” he says slowly, his tone cold but his gaze warm, “you are still here, fighting alongside me. After everything.”

You meet his gaze, the memories flooding back—the years in the shadows, the loyalty you once swore to Rhysand that had ended with such bitter finality. And yet, in this moment, here with Eris, there is an understanding, an alliance you’d never expected to find.

“Beron has to be stopped,” you say quietly, a hardness slipping into your voice. “We both know it. We've known it for two hundred years. The things he’s done… he doesn’t deserve the power he holds over these lands. He has to fall.”

Eris’s expression darkens, and his hand, still cradling your chin, trembles slightly. “I know,” he says, his voice thick with something darker, more personal. “But it’s not that simple. Killing him means more than just power shifting—it’s risking everything, for everyone. It means blood on my hands, blood I can’t wash away.”

You reach up, your fingers brushing his, grounding him. “You’ve done this much already, led so many to stand against him. I’ve seen the way the court follows you, Eris. They believe in you.” You pause, searching his eyes. “And so do I.”

A shadow passes over his face, softening the harsh lines of his expression. “Why, after everything that’s happened, do you still believe in me?” His voice is so quiet you almost miss it, but the question lingers in the air, laden with years of unspoken words.

You hold his gaze, your voice firm, unwavering. “Because you chose to be better than him, better than I ever thought a man like you would. You chose a path that no one else would. And no matter what, that choice will always matter to me.”

He swallows, the barest hint of emotion flickering across his face, and he lets out a low, bitter laugh. “Then maybe I am a fool, too, for keeping you here—for wanting you to be by my side when it’s all over.”

You shake your head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the pain. “You’re no fool, Eris. We’re both haunted by our choices, our pasts. But right now, we have a chance to make something right.” You reach out, your fingers grazing his cheek. “And I think it’s worth it, even if it costs us everything, well.... I personally don't have anything to lose.”

For a moment, he leans into your touch, closing his eyes as though savouring the fleeting solace. Then he straightens, his face hardening once more, but there’s a spark in his eyes now, a fierceness that rekindles the fire within him.

Eris’s fingers slip under your arm, steady and firm as he lifts you off the bench. The suddenness of it makes you gasp, but he merely quirks an eyebrow, as if amused by your surprise. His hand lingers a moment longer than necessary, the rough pads of his fingers brushing your bruised skin, grounding you in the moment as he releases you. Then, with a silent understanding, the two of you begin to walk.

The camp sprawls before you, tents set up in rough but orderly rows, each one a mark of defiance against Beron’s reign. Soldiers mill around, sharpening blades, tending to wounds, and whispering quiet plans and reassurances. Fires crackle, sending up thin curls of smoke into the crisp air, their warmth a stark contrast to the heavy chill that hangs over the camp.

Eris keeps a brisk pace beside you, his gaze intense, eyes constantly scanning his surroundings. There’s a palpable energy about him, something sharp and restless, as if he’s a blade just waiting to be unleashed. The soldiers and spies nod respectfully as he passes, but there’s a new light in their eyes—a glimmer of hope, of trust in him that you’ve seldom seen in this court. Despite the darkness, they believe in him. Just as you do.

As you walk, a figure comes jogging toward you, his familiar auburn hair catching the light of the dying sun. Lucien’s face is flushed from exertion, but there’s a victorious gleam in his russet eye as he slows to a stop before you and Eris.

“We’ve taken down another one of Beron’s forces,” Lucien announces, his voice edged with satisfaction. He places his hands on his knees, breathing heavily but grinning. “One of his inner forces. His numbers are dwindling, and his support… well, it’s hanging on by threads now.”

Eris’s lips curl into a slow, calculating smile, his gaze sharpening as Lucien’s words sink in. “Good,” he murmurs, his tone a dark satisfaction laced with bitter triumph. “That’s one less hand Beron has to wield against us.”

Lucien’s gaze shifts to you, his eyes softening as he takes in your injuries. “You look worse for wear,” he remarks, though there’s a flicker of concern beneath his teasing tone. “You should be resting.”

You give him a small, tired smile, shrugging slightly. “Couldn’t leave all the fun to you, could I?”

Eris’s fingers brush your arm, guiding you forward with an unspoken insistence. “Rest will come after Beron is gone,” he says firmly, his voice brokering no argument. He looks to Lucien, his expression hardening. “With this win, we’ll need to reinforce the eastern front. Beron may be desperate, but that will only make him more dangerous.”

Lucien nods, his face growing serious. “The soldiers are preparing as we speak. Morale is high—they know Beron is losing ground.” His gaze sharpens, a glint of satisfaction sparking in his eye. “And they know they’re not just fighting for a cause. They’re fighting for you, Eris.”

Eris’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks almost vulnerable, his mask slipping just enough for you to see the weight he carries. But then he straightens, his shoulders squaring with renewed resolve. “Then let’s give them a reason to keep believing,” he says, his voice steely and resolute.

Eris’s hand brushes against yours as he guides you away from Lucien, slipping through the bustling camp. The soldiers and spies nod respectfully as you pass, but you can feel the weight of their gazes, the unspoken questions and curiosity that ripple in your wake. They’ve heard of you, the once-assassin of the Night Court who has returned to fight beside Eris. You can practically feel the stories they must tell—legends whispered in the dark, half-believed tales of your skill, your ruthlessness.

Eris leads you to a tent set slightly apart from the others, tucked away from the main cluster. He steps inside first, holding the tent flap open for you. As you enter, the scent of leather and steel greets you, sharp and familiar. Your old assassin’s gear is laid out on a small table in the centre, the black leather as supple and deadly as you remember. Knives and throwing blades glint in the firelight, each one meticulously sharpened, waiting for your touch.

You move to the table, fingers brushing over the leather armour, the silent weapons that were once an extension of yourself. You slip out of your travel-worn clothes, letting them fall to the ground. Piece by piece, you put on the gear, feeling the familiar weight settle over you like a second skin. The leather is snug, perfectly fitted to your body, and you secure the buckles and straps with practiced precision, feeling the transformation as the assassin within you stirs, roused after all these years.

Eris watches in silence, his gaze unwavering, intense. There’s something in his expression, a flicker of worry that he tries to mask but cannot entirely hide. You reach for the knives, fastening them to your belt, slipping blades into hidden sheaths along your thighs and forearms, every movement precise, deliberate.

Finally, you turn to him, adjusting the last strap on your wrist. He takes a step closer, his hand hovering just near your arm, as if he wants to touch you, to steady you, but holds back. His face is a study of quiet turmoil, the calm, composed mask he wears slipping ever so slightly.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, his voice low, almost pleading. “Sending you, alone, to Beron’s camp… It’s dangerous. Even for you.”

You meet his gaze, holding it with a steady conviction that leaves no room for doubt. “This is what I’m meant for, Eris. I know how to do this.” Your voice is calm, controlled, yet there’s a fire in your eyes, a certainty that hardens your resolve.

He looks down, his fingers clenching and unclenching as he battles with something unspoken. “You’re to burn the camp,” he murmurs, his tone almost bitter, as if the thought of sending you into that inferno cuts him deeply. “To wipe out anyone who stands in your way. You… shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

You lift your chin, reaching up to touch his face, your fingers brushing along his jawline. “If we’re going to end this war, Beron’s camp needs to fall. And I am the best suited to do this. I’ve done things like this before.”

Eris’s hand finally finds yours, his fingers entwining with yours, strong and steady. “Those days are behind you. You’re… more than just an assassin now. More than just a weapon.” His voice is barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words louder would make them real, and in that moment, you see the worry, the raw, aching fear he’s been hiding.

You squeeze his hand, grounding him, your voice a gentle reassurance. “And I’m still a fighter. I’m still someone who knows how to end a battle.” You step back, straightening, every inch the assassin who once served the Night Court. “You’re leading your forces, Eris. Let me do what I do best.”

He hesitates, his eyes darkening as his thumb grazes your knuckles, the touch tender, lingering. “If anything happens to you…”

“Nothing will,” you say, your tone firm. “I’ll be back before dawn.”

Eris swallows, his gaze never leaving yours, and you see the war within him—the tension between his duty as a leader and his fear as… something more. Finally, he releases your hand, stepping back, his expression once again composed, though his eyes betray him.

“Take my smoke hounds,” he says, voice hardening with reluctant resolve. “They’ll be at your command, lethal and loyal. If anyone stands in your way…” His mouth tightens, as though the thought of what you’re about to do pains him. “Do what you must.”

You nod, feeling the finality of his words settle over you like a cloak. The smoke hounds are Eris’s most trusted creatures—vicious, swift, creatures of shadow and flame. With them by your side, Beron’s camp will fall, reduced to ash and memory.

As you turn to leave, Eris’s voice stops you, a soft, broken whisper. “Come back to me.”

You glance back, meeting his gaze, a silent promise passing between you.

-

The forest blurs around you, dark and thick with shadows as you sprint through the trees, each stride light and precise. The silence of the woods is broken only by the quiet rustle of leaves beneath your feet and the soft, nearly soundless patter of twelve pairs of paws moving in sync beside you. Eris’s smokehounds, shadows among shadows, run with you, their sleek bodies rippling with the restrained power of creatures forged from flame and darkness. Their eyes gleam in the dim light, flickers of red and gold mirroring the embers deep within them.

Your breath comes in steady, controlled puffs, each one carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. You push your pace, weaving around trees, ducking under branches, letting the familiar rhythm of running take over. The hounds follow you with fierce loyalty, twelve shadowed phantoms keeping stride with ease, their eyes never straying from you. You’ve trained with creatures like them before; they know your signals, can read your smallest gestures. And tonight, they know their purpose as well as you do.

Ahead, you see the cliff edge through the trees, the canyon beyond stretching wide and deep, a gaping chasm that offers the perfect vantage point. Twenty-five minutes until the fire, just as planned. You mentally mark each step of the mission: secure the perimeter, then unleash the hounds. They’ll tear through Beron’s forces with merciless precision, a deadly warning sent by Eris himself.

With a soft hand signal, you urge the hounds to pick up the pace. They respond instantly, surging forward in a silent wave, each one attuned to your every movement. You can feel their excitement, their hunger to fulfill their purpose—a lethal harmony that mirrors your own resolve.

At the cliff’s edge, you pause for just a moment, looking out over the vast expanse of trees, campfires flickering faintly in the distance. Beron’s forces are spread across the valley below, unsuspecting, oblivious to the doom that will descend upon them in a matter of minutes. You breathe in, feeling the cool night air fill your lungs, centring yourself.

Then you leap into motion again, running along the edge of the cliff, the hounds fanning out beside you. The ground is uneven, treacherous, but you move with confidence, your steps sure and steady. The hounds move effortlessly, their eyes fixed forward, waiting for your command to unleash them upon the enemy below.

The minutes tick by, and you count each one, your mind focused, calculating. You know that Eris will be watching the clock, timing your return. He’ll know the moment his hounds have done their work, the moment the fires ignite, marking the beginning of the end for Beron’s camp. And he’ll be waiting, trusting that you will return alongside them.

You feel the power thrumming through your veins, the familiar thrill of the mission, the anticipation of the flames that will soon light up the sky. You glance down at the hounds, each one poised and ready, their bodies taut with barely-contained energy. With a small, barely perceptible nod, you give the signal.

You crouch low, hidden among the dense trees at the edge of the camp. The flickering glow of campfires illuminates the chaos below. Beron’s forces move with the sluggish confidence of men who believe themselves safe, unaware of the inferno waiting to consume them. You pull the bow from your back, your fingers steady as you nock an arrow soaked in pitch. With a deep breath, you draw back the string, the familiar weight and tension grounding you.

The torch at your side flickers in the cool night breeze, casting your shadow long against the forest floor. With a deliberate motion, you dip the arrowhead into the flame. Fire bursts to life, licking up the shaft, bright and hungry. The light reflects off the sharp edges of your assassin’s gear, and for a moment, you’re bathed in a fiery glow.

You take aim at the largest tent—the command centre, judging by its size and central position. The arrow flies, cutting through the air in a deadly arc, embedding itself into the canvas. Flame spreads instantly, roaring to life as the tent is consumed. You don’t wait to watch it burn. Another arrow is already in your hand, aflame and ready. This time, you aim for the storage tent where supplies are stacked high. It ignites with a burst of heat, the fire leaping from one crate to the next.

One more arrow—this time toward the soldiers’ quarters. The shot is perfect. The flames catch, and panic spreads like wildfire. Shouts rise as soldiers scramble to put out the blaze, but it’s too late. Smoke curls upward, dark and thick, a signal of chaos rising to the stars.

You sling your bow across your back and run, feet pounding the forest floor as you follow the path you memorized earlier. Your mind maps out every turn, every slope: the sharp left at the leaning oak, the shallow stream you leap across without hesitation, the narrow ridge that runs parallel to the cliffside. Your breath comes in short bursts, your heart hammering in your chest, but your focus remains razor-sharp.

Then you hear it—shouts behind you. The sound cuts through the night like a blade, and when you glance back, you see them: Beron’s soldiers, torches in hand, spreading through the trees like a swarm. One of them spots you, his shout echoing across the forest, and suddenly the hunt is on.

You push harder, adrenaline surging through your veins, but the weight of your gear slows you. The thick leather straps dig into your shoulders, the metal clasps clinking faintly with every stride. It feels like a leaden anchor dragging you down.

With a frustrated growl, you strip the bow from your back, tossing it aside into the underbrush. Next, you unbuckle the heavier pieces of your armour mid-stride, letting them fall as you run. The bracers follow, the daggers strapped to your thighs discarded one by one. You leave a trail of discarded weaponry in your wake, the promise of lighter steps driving you forward.

But the soldiers are everywhere. Torches light up the forest in jagged lines, cutting off your escape routes. Their shouts grow louder, closer, and the realization hits you: they’re herding you, pushing you toward the cliff. Panic sparks in your chest, but you keep moving, feet skimming over rocks and roots, muscles burning with the effort.

The cliff looms ahead, the forest giving way to open sky and the deafening roar of the river far below. The soldiers close in, their shouts a cacophony that drowns out your pounding heartbeat. There’s no time to think, no time to hesitate. You sprint toward the edge, the ground disappearing beneath your feet as you leap.

For a moment, there’s only silence. The world drops away, the wind rushing past you in a deafening roar. Your stomach lurches as you fall, the vast canyon walls blurring on either side. Below, the river churns violently, a silver ribbon that grows larger with every passing second.

You hit the water hard, the impact stealing the breath from your lungs. The freezing cold engulfs you, dragging you down, the current tugging at your limbs with relentless force. You fight to the surface, gasping for air, the icy water shocking your system into focus.

The river carries you away, the sounds of pursuit fading into the distance. You let it take you, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, knowing that survival is your only thought now. Above the churning waters, the smoke from Beron’s camp rises into the night, the promise of fire and destruction marking the beginning of the end.

A/N: this series was supposed to be posted in February but as you can see part one is out now but it will be a while till part 2!

[librababe99]

Ashes of Desire

CW: emotional manipulation, violence, danger, angst...

Summary: On a humid New Orleans night, you’re drawn to the dangerously magnetic Remy LeBeau, despite every warning. His red eyes and easy charm pull you into a whirlwind of stolen kisses and whispered secrets. Word Count: 1548

AN: Last post for the night y'all and I swear I'll leave your timelines alone😂❤️ I feel like I've been writing a lot of angst? But I honestly love it LOL---I hope you enjoy and as always comments/feedback are appreciated! - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

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The humid New Orleans night clung to you like a second skin, the air heavy with the scent of rain and the whispers of secrets lurking in every shadowed corner. Bourbon Street was alive, pulsing with the vibrant energy of the city—jazz music spilling from open doors, laughter mingling with the clinking of glasses, the occasional shout cutting through the noise. But none of it reached your ears. Your focus was singular, unwavering, fixed on the figure leaning casually against the brick wall just beyond the reach of the neon lights.

Remy LeBeau.

He was every bit the enigma you’d always known him to be—cool, composed, with an air of danger that clung to him like the night itself. His red eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, a predatory gleam that set your nerves on edge and made your pulse quicken. You knew better. You knew the stories, the warnings whispered by those who had crossed paths with the infamous Gambit and lived to tell the tale. He was a thief, a rogue, a man with more blood on his hands than you cared to think about. But there was something about him, something dark and magnetic that drew you in like a moth to a flame, even when you knew you were going to get burned.

He pushed off the wall with a lazy grace, his smirk deepening as he sauntered toward you, each step deliberate, measured. The slick cobblestones beneath his boots barely made a sound. The narrow alleyway you had cornered him in felt suddenly too small, too intimate, the walls pressing in on you as the space between you dwindled.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he drawled, his voice thick with that unmistakable Cajun accent that sent shivers down your spine. His gaze flickered over you, a mix of amusement and something darker, something that made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with fear. His eyes were unreadable, a storm behind a veil of indifference, and yet, you couldn’t look away.

“I could say the same about you,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, trying to ignore the way his presence seemed to fill the alleyway, crowding out everything else. You had come here tonight with a purpose, but now that you were face-to-face with him, you weren’t sure what that purpose was anymore.

He chuckled, a low, dangerous sound that curled around your insides like smoke. “Always de stubborn one, ain’t ya, chère?” he said, closing the distance between you in two strides. He reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face, and the contact sent a shock through your system. Your skin tingled where he touched you, a stark contrast to the cold fear creeping up your spine.

“Chère, you keep playin’ dis game, but you don’t even know the rules,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, the words a warning and a promise all at once.

Your breath hitched as his hand lingered on your cheek, the warmth of his skin making you acutely aware of just how close he was. You wanted to pull away, to put some distance between you, but your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch instead, craving the warmth and the danger that came with it.

“I know enough,” you whispered, though the words felt hollow, even to your own ears. What were you doing? What did you hope to achieve? This man was danger personified, a storm wrapped in charm and lies, and yet, here you were, drawn to him like an addict to their poison.

His eyes darkened, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place passing through them—something that made your chest tighten painfully. “Maybe,” he said softly, almost as if he were talking to himself. “But sometimes, knowin’ ain’t enough to save you.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and ominous, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of regret in his eyes, a vulnerability so fleeting you almost doubted you’d seen it at all. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the familiar mask of nonchalance that he wore like armor.

“You think I’m gonna save you, chère?” he teased, leaning in closer, his breath hot against your ear, sending another shiver down your spine. “’Cause I ain’t no hero. Never been, never will be.”

“I don’t need saving,” you snapped, finding your voice again, even as your heart hammered in your chest. “Especially not from you.”

The smirk that curled his lips was sharp, dangerous, and it made something inside you twist painfully. “Dat’s where you’re wrong, ma belle. I’m the one you should be runnin’ from.”

But you couldn’t run. Not now. Not after you’d come this far, not after everything that had led you to this moment. And that’s how you found yourself tangled up in his arms, lips crashing together in a kiss that was more desperation than passion, a collision of need and fear and something else you couldn’t name. It was a mistake. You knew that. But in that moment, with the world spinning around you and the taste of him on your tongue, it was the only thing that felt real.

He kissed you like he was drowning, like you were the last breath of air he’d ever have, and you let him. You let him because for once, you wanted to be the one who made him feel something, anything. Even if it was just for a moment.

But it wasn’t just a moment.

It was a series of stolen kisses, whispered words in the dark, and nights spent in each other’s arms, pretending that this—whatever it was—could be something more. You told yourself it was just a fling, just a game, but deep down, you knew it was a lie.

You were falling for him. And it was going to destroy you.

Because Remy LeBeau was not a man who could be saved. He was a storm, wild and unpredictable, and you were caught in the eye of it, helpless to do anything but watch as everything you knew was torn apart.

He warned you. He told you to stay away. But you didn’t listen. You thought you could handle it, handle him, but now you were drowning in the mess you’d made, and there was no one to pull you out.

And Remy? He was still there, still holding you close, but you could see the cracks in his façade, the way he looked at you like he was waiting for the inevitable. He wasn’t going to save you. He was going to drag you down with him, and there was nothing either of you could do to stop it.

“Remy,” you whispered one night, your voice barely audible over the sound of rain pattering against the window. The city outside was alive, but in that quiet room, it felt like you were the only two people in the world. “What are we doing?”

He didn’t answer right away, just held you tighter, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, as if he could memorize the feel of you beneath his touch. “Survivin’, chère,” he said finally, his voice rough and tired. “We’re just survivin’.”

But you both knew it was more than that. You weren’t surviving—you were burning. And sooner or later, there would be nothing left but ashes.

But even as that truth hung heavy between you, you couldn’t let go. You couldn’t walk away. Because as much as it hurt, as much as it tore you apart, you needed him. And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

So you stayed. You stayed even though you knew it was killing you, even though you knew that every kiss, every touch, was another step closer to the edge.

The nights grew longer, the days more unbearable as the weight of your choices pressed down on you. Remy was a constant presence, always there in the shadows of your mind, a reminder of everything you were trying to escape and everything you couldn’t bear to lose. The more time you spent with him, the more you felt the edges of your sanity fray, the more you felt yourself slipping further into the abyss.

You began to notice the small things, the things that only someone who was hopelessly entangled would see—the way his laughter never quite reached his eyes, the way his hands would tremble just slightly when he thought you weren’t looking. The way he would watch you when he thought you were asleep, his expression soft and almost…broken.

But those moments of vulnerability were fleeting, gone as soon as they appeared, replaced by the mask you had come to know so well. He was still Remy LeBeau, the charming, dangerous thief who could steal your breath with a smile and break your heart with a whisper. He was still the storm you had foolishly decided to weather, even as it tore your world apart.

And when the end came—because it would come, you knew that now—it would be on his terms, not yours.

Because Remy LeBeau was a thief, and he had stolen more than just your heart.

He had stolen your soul.

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Taglist: @venssu

[wholoveseggs]

Dark Star {Part One}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part One

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Bound by love that defies centuries, Elijah Mikaelson will do whatever it takes to resurrect his lost wife. Even if it means forsaking everything he believes in. Once the north star guiding his family, his shattered heart now leads him down a darker path, transforming him into a version beyond redemption. A damned soul, drawing his family into an abyss they may never escape.

♡♡ Hello my lovely followers! This will be a six part series inspired by @njeancastro316 post about red door Elijah (Girl, I've been writing this non-stop since you tagged me! thank you for the inspo). I really put my whole heart into this one, {I even made a playlist to capture the vibes} exploring the depths of Elijah's character and his struggle between love and darkness. Enjoy! && expect pain... ♡♡

6.8k words - Warnings: angst, angst and more angst, grief, heartbreak, intense violence, red door Elijah, emotional turmoil, so much Mikaelson family drama {the whole gang is here && some faves from Mystic Falls will show up later}, No smut in this part, but prepare for plenty of darkness... oh! && croissants...

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore

Prologue ~ Europe 13th Century

"This way!" A boy laughed as he darted beneath a low-hanging branch. Behind him, a small girl hurried along, lifting her skirt to keep up, her breath catching in short gasps.

"Slow down! Wait for me!" she called, tripping over roots and brambles in her haste. "I can't run as fast as you!"

The boy glanced back, grinning. "Then hurry, will you."

"We ought to be home by now." She replied, frowning.

"We are almost there," he replied, leaping over a fallen branch before turning to face her, eyes gleaming. "We can get home quicker through the woods."

"I don’t like it," she murmured, clutching her skirt tighter. Shadows crept over the path as the sun sank lower, casting an orange glow through the dense branches. "The hour grows late."

The boy shook his head, catching her hand with a reassuring squeeze. "We’ll be fine. It’s only a short way."

Reluctantly, she nodded, holding onto him. "If anything ill should happen, I’ll tell Mother."

He only laughed, tugging her down the narrow path. "If something ill happens, you may not get the chance!"

Their laughter echoed in the stillness as they raced ahead. The trees grew taller, their branches clawing toward the darkening sky, while thick underbrush crowded the trail, rustling with each step. Yet the children, lost in their game, scarcely noticed, laughing and squealing as they chased one another.

Then, a sound, a subtle, almost a whisper, seeped through the quiet. The girl stopped, clutching the boy’s arm. “Did you hear that?”

“What is it?”

“Shh,” she hissed, pulling him closer, her wide eyes searching the shadows. "Listen."

They stood in silence, the air heavy and still, broken only by their own quickening breaths.

“It’s nothing. Perhaps a deer-”

“No, it’s more than that,” she whispered. Somewhere ahead, faint and distant, came the flicker of firelight. And with it, laughter. Wild and strange.

“What is that?” the boy asked, his voice barely a breath.

“Quiet,” she said, creeping forward, pulling him toward the light.

They peered out from behind a tree, breath catching at the sight before them. A great fire blazed, roaring into the sky as shadows twisted around it. Two figures danced wildly around the flames, naked, their skin smeared with red and ash. Their laughter, sharp and otherworldly, pierced the night air.

The girl’s scream barely escaped her lips before the boy’s hand clamped over her mouth, pulling her back. They stumbled, clutching one another, then turned and fled, racing down the trail as fast as their little legs would carry them, branches clawing at their clothes.

By the time they burst into the village, their faces were pale, their breaths ragged. Villagers gathered around as the children stumbled forward, pointing frantically toward the woods.

“Demons!” the girl gasped, clutching at the skirts of the nearest woman. “They’re out there! In the forest!”

There was a hushed sadness over the compound. The lights seemed to have dimmed, and the atmosphere hung heavy, cold and suffocating. It had been that way since the night Elijah found your lifeless body on the cold pavement. The night that changed everything.

Rebekah didn’t like it here anymore. Her home felt more like a tomb than a residence. It was too quiet, too full of memories and emotions too painful to confront. Her big brother was suffering, and there was nothing she could do to help him.

She found Klaus sitting in the courtyard, staring blankly at a chessboard. The pieces were scattered, mid-game, but his focus seemed to drift in and out. Normally, this contemplative silence from him made her nervous, but today she couldn’t muster the energy to care. The weight of everything was too much.

“Any news?” Rebekah asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Klaus didn’t move, didn’t speak at first. He shifted a chess piece absentmindedly and shrugged.

The sound of Marcel’s footsteps echoed through the stillness of the courtyard. She felt one of his warm hands rest gently on the small of her back, and she leaned into him, drawing comfort from his presence.

“I’ve been asking around. Only lead I have is that he’s somewhere in Europe,” Marcel said, his voice sounding hollow.

“Well, where in Europe?” Klaus finally spoke, his gaze never leaving the board.

“Don’t know. Haven’t pinpointed his exact location yet,” Marcel sighed. “But he’s been killing low-level Strix members, leaving bodies in his wake.”

Klaus scoffed softly, moving another piece on the board. “Keep looking,”

“You almost sound like you care,” Rebekah hissed, glaring at him.

“Don’t start with me, little sister,” Klaus warned, his voice low and sharp.

“Elijah has always been there for us,” she snapped, “And when he needs our help, where are you? Sitting here, playing chess with yourself.”

Klaus’s fist slammed down on the chessboard, sending the pieces flying across the table. He stood abruptly, stalking toward her, his eyes blazing. But Rebekah didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. She held his glare with her own, unrelenting.

“What do you want me to do?” Klaus roared, his voice cracking as his anger gave way to the grief simmering beneath. “Tell me, Rebekah. How do I fix this?”

“I want you to find him!” she screamed, tears stinging her eyes. “He’s our brother, Nik!”

Klaus’s shoulders slumped. His rage deflated, leaving him hollow. “I don’t know how to fix this, little sister,” he admitted quietly.

Marcel cleared his throat, stepping forward. “Maybe we should give him some time. Let him mourn her.”

“He’s not mourning, Marcel,” Klaus growled, clenching his jaw. “He’s murdering. He hasn’t even accepted that she’s dead.”

Rebekah and Marcel exchanged worried glances.

“We can’t just let him destroy himself,” Rebekah argued, her voice breaking. “Wherever he is, whoever crosses his path... they’re doomed. He’s out of control.”

“He’s changed,” Marcel muttered, rubbing his temple. “I’ve never seen him like this. So violent, so volatile.”

“That’s why I’m worried, Nik,” Rebekah said, her tone deadly serious. “If he’s not stopped, the Elijah we know will be gone. He will become a monster.”

Klaus looked down at the shattered chess pieces scattered across the table. “We are monsters, Rebekah,” he whispered, his voice raw.

“No, Nik,” she said, her voice trembling. “Not like this.”

Klaus remained silent for a moment, then lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Suppose someone took Marcellus from you. What would you do?”

“I would raze this earth and dance on the ashes,” she answered without hesitation, the fire of her love and loyalty burning bright in her eyes.

“That’s what he’s doing,” Klaus said darkly.

“Yes,” Rebekah agreed, “but Elijah would come for me. He would find me, and help me, keep me from losing myself. Now he’s the one who needs help.”

“How do we stop him?” Marcel asked, though his voice was laden with doubt.

Klaus shook his head slowly. “We don’t.”

“Nik…” Rebekah started, her voice pleading.

“We contain the damage,” Klaus cut her off, the steely resolve returning to his voice. “I’ll go to Europe. I’ll bring him back.”

Rebekah exhaled, relief flooding through her, and she pulled Klaus into a tight hug. She didn’t say anything, just held him as though her arms alone could keep the family from falling apart. He hugged her back, and for a moment, the cracks in their family seemed to close.

Marcel stood behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently.

When she finally pulled away, Rebekah gave her brother a sad smile. “Be careful.”

Klaus nodded. “I will.”

His eyes flicked to Marcel, and the two men exchanged a knowing look. They both understood how dangerous this was. That if Elijah couldn’t be saved, they might lose him forever.

Or worse... they might have to put him down.

Two members of the Strix walked side by side, their steps echoing off the marble floors. One glanced around nervously, eyeing the high-tech security measures surrounding them, cameras in every corner, reinforced steel doors, layers of magical barriers.

"Is this really necessary? I can't stand being cooped up here. What's the point?" the taller vampire complained, his voice echoing through the empty corridor.

"Protocol," the other replied, his tone bored. "You know how paranoid Tristan can be. But I’m telling you, no one's getting in here. Not even him."

"I don’t get it. We had nothing to do with her death. Why are we hiding?"

"He doesn’t know that." The second vampire shook his head, his eyes flicking toward a monitor displaying multiple feeds from around the compound. “And he doesn’t seem to care about guilt or innocence anymore.”

They stopped at a reinforced door, pressing their palms to the scanners. As the heavy doors slid open, the two shared a final glance, the reality sinking in that even their supposed impenetrable defenses might not be enough.

They stepped into the dim room, illuminated only by the flickering light of the chandelier hanging above a long oak table. Strix members filled the chairs, their faces tense and uneasy. They had gathered in secret, far from prying eyes. Whispers of fear and uncertainty drifted across the room, but no one dared to speak above a murmur. The air was heavy with dread, and no one felt safe.

At the head of the table, Aya stood, her sharp gaze cutting through the room like a blade. She had always been the picture of composure, a pillar of strength, but now, her patience was thinning, her power waning, cracks in her armor where fear leaked through. Beside her, Tristan de Martel leaned casually in his chair, an amused smile playing on his lips, as if this was all a game to him. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the faces of his fellow Strix members, reveling in their discomfort.

“We all know why we’re here,” Aya began, her voice cold and steady, but there was an underlying tension to it, like a string about to snap. “Our ranks are thinning, and the reason is no secret.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Heads turned, glances were exchanged. They knew. Everyone knew.

“Elijah Mikaelson,” Tristan added, his voice smooth and casual, as if he were discussing the weather. His eyes gleamed with a cruel delight. “The noble brother has gone rogue. It seems the death of his beloved has… unraveled him.”

"That's an interesting way of putting it," one Strix member commented, his voice dripping with disdain. "He ripped apart fifty of my men, left a trail of bodies and witnesses, it took me days to cover it all up,"

"And how many vampires has he killed since then? Hundreds? Thousands?" another voice chimed in, sounding bitter.

"You're just scared," another vampire challenged, his tone mocking.

"Of course, we're scared. Do you know what he's capable of?" the first vampire hissed, baring his teeth.

"Silence," Aya ordered, her tone icy. The room fell quiet, the air crackling with tension. "We cannot defeat him, nor can we sit by and wait for him to tear us apart. He has lost his humanity, and it's clear that we must take action."

"We have already taken action and all it does is piss him off," the Strix member grumbled, "I have no interest in fighting a losing battle."

"You're a coward," Aya snarled, her eyes flashing with anger.

"What would you have us do?" another vampire spoke up, their voice strained, "We're no match for him."

"Perhaps we should consider a bargain," Tristan suggested, a sly smirk creeping across his lips. "Find the killer, deliver them to him, and save ourselves the trouble of being murdered."

The members murmured amongst themselves, some seeming open to the idea, while others still appeared wary.

"I cannot fathom why someone would be so foolish. Surely the person who did this knows the repercussions," a member said, a hint of fear in their voice.

Tristan's smile widened. "They were foolish indeed, and now they are the most hunted man, or woman, in the world,"

Aya's face was impassive, her mind racing. She had no doubt that Elijah would tear down the world to find his killer, and if the Strix didn't deliver them, he would do the same to their ranks. Tristan's indifference infuriated her. While he sat there with a smile, the Strix were suffering the consequences of his poor leadership.

A soft little cough pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see a small girl standing at the other end of the table. She looked no older than twelve, with delicate features and wide, doe-like eyes. She looked lost, and this wasn't a place you could just wander into.

Other members noticed her presence and got to their feet, the scraping of chairs echoing off the walls. Aya narrowed her eyes, taking in the girl's appearance.

"Who are you?" Aya asked, her voice sharp.

The girl was clearly terrified, her hands shaking, and she looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Aya found it strange. She didn't sense the power of a witch coming off her, she was just a girl, and a very young one at that.

"I-I'm sorry," the girl stammered, her voice barely a whisper, "I don't know why I'm here. I just woke up here and now, I-I'm scared,"

"How did you get in here?" Aya questioned, her voice low and menacing.

"A nice man told me to come here," the girl mumbled, her eyes darting around the room, taking in the tense, hostile atmosphere. "He wanted me to talk to you."

Aya raised an eyebrow. "And why would he want that?"

The girl shrugged, her eyes brimming with tears. "I don't know, please, I just want to go home,"

"What did he look like?" Aya pressed, her voice growing louder.

"He had dark hair, and brown eyes," the girl sniffled, trying to hold back her sobs.

Tristan's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing dangerously. The room was suddenly silent, the tension now unbearable. Aya stared at the girl, her face an unreadable mask, but inside, her mind was racing.

"What did he want you to say?" Aya asked, her voice quiet, dangerous.

The girl’s breath hitched, her words barely audible. "That... he will give all of you a slow death."

The temperature in the room plummeted, and a cold shiver ran down Aya’s spine. She struggled to hide her unease, but the implication was clear: Elijah had infiltrated their sanctuary.

"A-and that... if I can get in..." The girl gulped, her small voice quaking, "He can too."

The room fell into a suffocating silence as the weight of her words settled on the group. Tristan shot up from his chair, his face dark with fury.

“Lockdown procedures. Now.” Tristan barked, his voice commanding and harsh.

"What about the girl?" Aya asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the trembling child. Her instincts told her something wasn’t right.

"Kill her," Tristan spat, his voice cold and merciless. "She’s served her purpose."

The room erupted into chaos. Sirens blared as the compound went into immediate lockdown. The lights flickered, dimming to an eerie glow. The Strix moved quickly, vanishing into the shadows, their bodies blurring as they scattered, heading for safe rooms or exit points.

Aya hesitated for a moment, her gaze still fixed on the girl. She started toward her, but a voice in her head warned her against it. With one last glance, she turned and hurried toward the safe room.

The little girl stood trembling in the darkness, tears streaming down her face. The once-imposing vampires had fled, leaving her all alone in the icy silence.

"It's okay, sweetheart," a voice purred from the shadows, smooth and calming. The girl gasped, her heart racing as she felt a hand on her shoulder, firm yet oddly comforting.

She turned to see a tall man standing behind her, his dark hair framing his sharp features, his kind eyes watching her closely. "Run along now," he said softly, giving her a gentle push toward the door.

The girl nodded quickly, wiping her tears before scampering away, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss.

Elijah watched her go, his kind smile fading as the room returned to darkness. His eyes glinted coldly, the warmth in them vanishing like smoke. Slowly, the veins beneath his eyes darkened, spreading like cracks in the surface of his calm exterior.

He was already inside.

As the sirens echoed, he vanished into the shadows once more, his presence like a gathering storm. And what followed this storm, was pure, unrelenting destruction.

The soft drone of a news broadcast drifted through an abandoned loft, dust floating through the air. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, the room dark and shadowy, save for the light of a flickering TV. The anchor woman's face was somber, her voice solemn.

“Une tragédie a frappé Paris la nuit dernière... un incendie dévastateur a détruit un immeuble historique, laissant peu de traces de ce qui s’y trouvait. Les autorités locales confirment que l’origine du feu demeure inconnue, mais la rapidité à laquelle il s’est propagé soulève des questions.”

Subtitles scrolled across the bottom of the screen in English: "A tragic accident struck Paris last night... a devastating fire destroyed a historic building, leaving few traces of what was inside. Local authorities confirm that the cause of the fire is unknown, but the speed at which it spread raises questions."

The camera cut to images of the smoldering wreckage. Blackened stone, twisted metal, and fire trucks still spraying water over what little remained.

Elijah wasn't paying attention to the TV anymore; he had his head in his hands, hunched over in a chair, his body wracked with sobs. Bodies were strewn about the room, blood spattered on the walls and floors. A macabre painting of violence and rage. The sight of the lifeless forms weighed heavily on him, a chilling reminder of his own actions.

He didn't know how long he had been there, but it felt like an eternity. Each day blended into the next, the hours stretching into a meaningless void. Days would go by where he felt utterly detached, lost in a sea of grief and loss, and then the anger would return, awakening him to a new trail of bodies. There were so many, too many, and yet it wasn't enough.

“Les témoins affirment avoir vu des ombres avant que l’incendie n’éclate, mais aucune preuve tangible n’a été trouvée. Des sources proches de l’enquête évoquent une possible attaque ciblée, bien que les détails restent flous.”

"Witnesses reported seeing shadows before the fire broke out, but no physical evidence has been found. Sources close to the investigation say there may have been a targeted attack, though details remain unclear."

"You used a child? My love, what has become of you?"

Elijah didn't flinch, didn't react as he felt your arms wrap around his shoulders, your lips pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek. Your voice was soft, tinged with sadness and disappointment. He hated himself for it.

"She's fine," Elijah said, his voice strained, barely able to meet your gaze.

"You don't know that," you sighed, your hands moving to his chest, trying to soothe him. "And you know this isn't the way,"

"There is no other way," he replied, his voice cracking, desperation lacing his words.

"You used an innocent child, one not much older than Hope," you said, a hint of anger breaking through your sadness.

Elijah stiffened. He knew you were right. It didn't make what he did any better, and he felt his self-loathing increase tenfold.

"They killed you; I did what I had to," Elijah defended, but the words felt hollow, a pitiful excuse.

"This isn't the way," you repeated, your voice pleading, "and you don't know who did it, or why. This is all just a guess, a hunch."

He let out another quiet sob, then grabbed his glass of blood and threw it against the wall, the shards falling like crimson rain. He stared at the stain on the wall, watching the liquid trickle down, and he couldn't help but feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

"You have to stop," you whispered, appearing in front of him, your hand cupping his cheek, trying to pull him away from the dark, destructive spiral he was on.

"I can't," he said, his voice breaking, unable to look at you, this ghost haunting him.

"Please," you begged, your hand moving to his neck, gently stroking his skin, trying to comfort him. "I know this pain. It's agony, it's consuming, but I promise you, it will fade."

He pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close, trying to breathe in your scent, to feel your warmth. But he couldn't. You were an echo, a phantom he couldn't grasp.

"You can't bring me back. You know that," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a soft, sad reminder.

He didn't respond, just held you, his fingers digging into your skin, his eyes closed tightly, fighting back tears. He had spent so many nights like this, crying himself to sleep, waking up to nothing, just an empty bed, a cold room, and a hollow, broken heart.

He opened his eyes and let out a gasp as he realized he was clinging to one of the dead bodies on the floor, the vampire's skin gray and decaying, the body long since gone cold.

Elijah released the body and staggered to his feet, his head swimming with despair and self-loathing. His pain and sorrow gave way to anger and frustration, fueling the urge to hurt, to destroy anything and anyone.

"Par ailleurs, une jeune fille a disparu après ne pas être rentrée chez elle. La jeune fille, qui aurait douze ans, a été vue pour la dernière fois dans la zone de l'incendie,"

"In other news, a young girl has gone missing after failing to return home. The girl, who is reported to be twelve years old, was last seen in the area of the fire..."

Elijah snapped, grabbing the TV and throwing it against the wall, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the room. His rage burned bright, a hot, white flame. His heart raced, his breathing ragged, his body shaking with fury.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to kill, but more than anything, he wanted you. He wanted to hold you, to feel your warmth, to hear your voice. He couldn't take it anymore; he was falling apart.

Klaus was never a big croissant fan; he preferred something heartier for breakfast. But here, in France, the flaky pastry seemed to taste infinitely better. Maybe it was the morning sunlight filtering through the café windows or the distant sounds of bustling streets.

He took a sip of his espresso, his eyes scanning the crowded café, absorbing the lively atmosphere. Freya sat across from him, her brow furrowed as she read a spell book, her expression thoughtful.

"Anything in there about wrangling wayward siblings?" Klaus teased, a wry grin playing on his lips.

Freya glanced up, a slight frown creasing her forehead. "That's more your area of expertise."

Klaus let out a huff of laughter. "Fair enough."

Freya’s expression softened, a small smile breaking through. "It will be okay. We'll find him."

Klaus nodded, biting into his croissant, the flakes melting in his mouth. The clatter of dishes and murmurs of conversation surrounded them, along with the distant strains of a busker playing a violin.

"Then what? I’ve never known what to say to him," Klaus said, a hint of sadness in his voice. "He’s always the one with the wise words, not me."

"Honesty is all we have," Freya replied, her tone gentle. "We tell him we miss him, that he’s our brother, and we want him home."

"And that we need to have a funeral, or at least a memorial. Hope is very confused about what happened to her aunt," Klaus added, his gaze drifting to the people walking by the window.

"We'll do it together, as a family," Freya reassured, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. Her touch was gentle, a lifeline in the turmoil. "He needs to know we’re here for him."

"And if he doesn’t want to come back? What then?" Klaus asked, his voice heavy with concern.

"We will cross that bridge when we get to it." Freya pointed at the spell book, her expression brightening. "I’m looking into ways to calm his mind. Perhaps if he can control his rage, he can start to heal."

"I don’t wish to subdue him," Klaus said, frowning. "He deserves the right to his pain, to grieve in his own way."

Freya’s eyes widened, surprised by his response. It wouldn’t be the first time Klaus had tried to force Elijah or the rest of their family into doing things his way. Yet, despite his brashness, she knew Klaus was a man of deep, powerful emotions, capable of empathy.

"What?" Klaus asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"You’ve grown," Freya smiled. "It’s good to see."

"Don’t get used to it," Klaus quipped, taking another bite of his croissant and washing it down with a sip of his espresso. "I wish for us to go back to normal, where I’m the problem."

"You’ll never not be a problem, Nik," Freya grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Rude," he scowled.

"But true," she sighed, returning to her book with a smile.

Klaus took another sip of his espresso, his gaze drifting to the TV hanging in the corner. A news broadcast caught his attention, the images of a fire flickering on the screen. He leaned forward, his expression sharpening as he listened intently.

"De nouvelles informations proviennent de l'enquête sur l'incendie du centre-ville de Paris. La police a désormais identifié plus de deux cents corps retrouvés sur les lieux, sans aucune indication pour l'instant du nombre de personnes portées disparues. Il semblerait que les victimes étaient toutes membres de une société privée de conservation d'œuvres d'art, possédant des participations dans plusieurs pays. Alors que les autorités enquêtent toujours sur la cause de l'incendie, il a été suggéré que l'incendie avait été allumé délibérément.”

"There is new information coming in from the investigation into the fire in downtown Paris. Police have now identified more than two hundred bodies recovered from the scene, with no indication yet of how many are still missing. It's believed the victims were all members of a private art curation company, with holdings in several countries. While authorities are still investigating the cause of the blaze, it's being suggested the fire was set deliberately."

Klaus’s stomach dropped, a familiar dread creeping in. The timing was too convenient, and this 'art curation company' sounded like a cover for a secret society. He gestured to the screen, espresso still in hand, splashing a few drops onto the table. "Looks like a place for us to visit, wouldn’t you say?"

Freya looked up, her brow furrowing. "Do you think Elijah has anything to do with it?"

"If this organization is the Strix -sorry, was the Strix- then absolutely," Klaus replied, a grim smile forming on his lips. "Perhaps they gave him the answers he was looking for. Answers we weren’t able to find."

"I can’t imagine it would have been a pleasant reunion," Freya sighed, shaking her head. "I can’t say I blame him."

Klaus’s smile faded. He had tried his best, searching for months through the ashes of Elijah’s rage. He had gone from city to city, country to country, even continent to continent. And now, as he stood on the brink of discovery, he couldn’t help but wonder what condition Elijah would be in when they finally found him.

"Well then, no point in wasting any more time," Klaus said, taking a final sip of his espresso.

Freya nodded, closing her book, quickly downing her coffee before stealing the last bite of Klaus’s croissant, earning a playful glare.

"Oi!" he growled, "I was going to eat that."

"Too slow, brother," she smirked.

Klaus rolled his eyes and stood, tossing a wad of cash on the table without bothering to count. The two of them hurried out, the waiter shaking his head as he picked up the money and Klaus's empty plate.

"Americans," he muttered under his breath.

The site of the fire was a blackened husk, the acrid smell of smoke still heavy in the air. Klaus and Freya walked along the sidewalk, watching the firefighters douse the smoldering remains with water. Distant sirens echoed, a haunting reminder of the chaos that had unfolded.

"Can't believe it's still burning," Klaus mused, a slight frown on his face.

"Must have been quite the inferno," Freya remarked, her expression thoughtful.

"Magic?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I don't sense any," Freya said, shaking her head. "Whoever started it didn't use magic."

Klaus glanced at her, a smirk on his lips. "I thought you didn't think Elijah had anything to do with it?"

Freya shrugged. "Maybe he did, maybe he didn't."

Klaus wrinkled his nose, his keen sense of smell picking up the lingering scent of blood beneath all the ash and smoke. Human, vampire, a mix of the two. The fire had raged through the night, burning hot and fast, devouring everything in its path.

"I do sense death, though," Freya murmured, her brow furrowing, her expression darkening. "Lots of it."

"Well, I can't imagine there'll be much left for us to find, considering how thorough my brother is," Klaus muttered, his gaze roving over the ruined buildings, his stomach sinking.

"Why are you so sure it was him?" Freya asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Because I can smell his cologne, no1 passant guardant," Klaus replied, wrinkling his nose.

"Kinda weird that you can smell that, Nik," Freya smirked, giving him a sideways glance.

"I'm a hybrid, love; it's one of my many gifts," Klaus replied, his tone matter-of-fact.

Freya shook her head, a wry grin on her lips, suppressing a giggle as she watched her brother sniff the air, his eyes closed, his expression one of intense concentration.

"Could be someone else with the same taste in cologne; you never know," she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

"It’s very difficult to come by; only a handful of stores carry it," Klaus muttered, ignoring her teasing. "And... she bought it for him just before... you know."

"Ah," Freya's expression softened, her amusement replaced by a mix of sadness and understanding.

Klaus opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the destruction once more, the weight of grief settling on his shoulders. He missed you. Your laughter, your wit, the way you could put him in his place. He admired your loyalty, your strength, and how much you loved his brother.

"What are you thinking about?" Freya asked, her voice quiet and cautious.

"Our departed sister-in-law... the cause of all of this," Klaus said, a sad smile on his lips.

"You can't blame her, you know," Freya murmured, her eyes filled with understanding and sympathy. "I miss her too."

"It's hard to be reminded, is all," Klaus replied, a hint of pain in his voice.

Freya gave him a soft, sympathetic smile, her hand gently squeezing his shoulder. "You know... I never learned how they met," she said, trying to steer the conversation toward something less melancholy.

Klaus laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, it's quite a tale, and some parts I'm not privy to. But I can tell you that she was a novice in a convent," he began, a sparkle in his eye.

"A nun?!" Freya exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up.

"Indeed, although she hadn't taken her vows," Klaus chuckled, amused by the surprised look on her face.

"So, what happened? How did they end up together?" Freya asked, intrigued.

"For all parties involved, it was quite a dramatic affair," Klaus continued, a wistful smile forming on his lips. "But we have more important things to focus on, don't you think?"

Freya sighed, rolling her eyes. "You're no fun."

Klaus let out a huff of laughter and returned to focusing on the scents around him, trying to find a trail, something that might lead him to his brother. He caught the faintest whiff of blood, the scent leading away from the fire, and deeper into the city.

"This way," he said, striding confidently down a street, away from the site of the fire.

Freya hurried to catch up, her long legs making short work of the distance, her boots clattering on the cobblestone streets.

"How can you be so sure?" Freya asked, falling in step beside him, her voice low and cautious.

"I just am," Klaus said, his tone brooking no argument. "That bloody cologne of his is everywhere. No one else has such atrocious taste in fragrances."

"Nik..." Freya cautioned, her tone warning, her gaze flickering to the passersby, making sure no one was eavesdropping. "We don't know what's waiting for us. We can't just charge in."

"I know; that's why you are going in first, my dear sister," Klaus smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Nik," Freya protested, her expression indignant.

"Don't worry, I'll be right behind you," Klaus grinned, giving her a playful nudge as they rounded a corner.

The two of them came to a stop outside an old building, its stone façade crumbling, the windows boarded up. Klaus gestured for Freya to go in, and with a roll of her eyes, she did.

"This place is creepy," she muttered, her boots echoing on the cracked tile floor.

"There's blood, a lot of it," Klaus said, sniffing the air, his eyes closed, his body tensed. "Upstairs."

They made their way up an old spiral staircase, the steps creaking under their feet. They reached a landing; the hallway was dark and narrow.

"Down there," Klaus said, pointing at a closed door at the end of the hall.

Freya nodded and slowly approached the door, her senses alert, her magic tingling under her skin. It was eerily quiet; the silence weighed heavy in the air, pressing down on her.

She stopped at the door, her hand hovering over the handle. She looked back at Klaus, his expression calm and composed, but she could sense his nervousness, his apprehension.

"Ready?" she whispered.

Klaus gave her a curt nod. Freya took a deep breath and turned the handle, the door opening with a creak.

"Elijah?"

The two of them were met with the sight of a massacre: body parts strewn across the room, blood splattered on the walls.

Freya gasped and took a step back, Klaus's hand gripping her shoulder. His eyes roved over the carnage, landing on a lone figure in the middle of the room, standing motionless.

"Elijah," Klaus breathed.

His brother was wearing an old T-shirt and jeans, tattered and bloodstained, covered in dirt. His hair was matted and wild, his eyes haunted, the light dimmed within them.

Klaus and Freya stepped inside, careful not to slip on the blood, the floor sticky and wet. They approached Elijah slowly, his gaze fixed on the severed arm in his hand, his eyes dull and lifeless.

"Brother?" Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand reaching out.

"You are not real," Elijah murmured, not taking his eyes off the limb, his expression vacant and distant.

"Elijah, we're here," Freya said gently. "It's time to come home."

"I won't be fooled again," Elijah hissed, his grip tightening on the severed arm.

Klaus took a tentative step forward, one arm stretched behind him to protect Freya, the other held out, placating and non-threatening. "We're not illusions, brother," he said softly, reassuringly.

"Freya," Elijah breathed, his head snapping up, his gaze finding hers.

"Yes, Elijah, it's me," she replied, giving him a gentle smile.

He blinked, his eyes flicking from her face to Klaus's, his brow furrowing. "Have you found a way to bring her back?"

Klaus and Freya exchanged glances, their expressions sad and resigned. It wasn't something Freya wanted to do... to tap into such dark magic. She had been searching for you on the other side but found no trace. She believed you had found peace, and to tear you away from that would be a cursed, evil thing, an affront to the balance between life and death.

"Elijah, there's no way, not without consequence," Klaus said, his tone firm, his eyes filled with regret. "We discussed this."

Elijah dropped the severed arm, his hands clenching into fists. "You're wrong. There is a way."

"Elijah," Freya began, but he cut her off.

"Bring her back," he demanded, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I can't," Freya said, her voice quiet and regretful. "I'm sorry, Elijah. She's gone; she's at rest."

"No, no, no," Elijah growled, his hands coming up to grip his hair, tugging at the roots, his chest heaving, eyes wild.

"Brother, she's in a better place," Klaus tried, his tone firm and reassuring. "I think it's time you come home... You need to let her go."

Elijah shook his head, his breathing ragged, his whole body trembling. "No, no, no," he chanted, his eyes darting around the room, looking for something.

"Elijah," Freya murmured, her brow furrowed, her expression concerned. "Please, come with us. She wouldn't want this for you."

"No, no, no!" he growled, his voice echoing off the blood-spattered walls, his face contorted in a mask of rage.

He grabbed a nearby table and threw it against the wall, the sound of splintering wood reverberating through the air.

"Bloody hell," Klaus growled, grabbing Freya and yanking her backward, shielding her with his body.

Elijah lunged at them, his fangs bared, a murderous look in his eyes. He tackled Klaus, sending them both crashing into the wall, the plaster cracking under the impact.

"Nik!" Freya exclaimed, her magic sparking at her fingertips.

"Elijah, you've gone mad," Klaus grunted, shoving him away, sending him careening across the room. "She's dead."

"Niklaus," Elijah growled, his body vibrating with anger, the haunted, hollow look in his eyes replaced by raw, unhinged rage. "Bring. Her. Back."

"We can't, and you know it," Klaus spat, his eyes flashing yellow, his face shifting into the hybrid’s feral features. "She's at peace, Elijah. We need to let her go."

"I won't, I can't," Elijah raged, his body trembling, his eyes filling with unshed tears that threatened to spill over. His voice broke. "How can you ask me to do that?"

Freya’s heart clenched at the sight of her brother unraveling, his usual restraint shattered. "Come home, please," Freya pleaded, her eyes welling with tears, her voice thick with desperation. "We can help you."

Elijah's chest heaved, his wild eyes shifting from Klaus to Freya, barely recognizing them. "Get out," he growled, the words vibrating through the bloodstained room. His gaze locked on Klaus, his voice turning into a vicious snarl. "GET OUT!"

Klaus stared at him for a moment, his expression conflicted. Freya watched him pull a silver dagger out of his pocket, the familiar glint of the cursed weapon that had subjugated their family time and time again. She hadn't even known he had brought one with him, and her heart clenched at the sight. She didn’t want this for either of them. But given Elijah's state, she knew it was necessary.

"I'm sorry, Elijah," Klaus said, his voice solemn. He rushed forward, his movements a blur, and before Elijah could react, he buried the blade in his brother’s chest. The gasp Elijah let out echoed in the empty, ravaged room. The look on his face was heartbreaking, a mixture of shock and pain. Klaus had to steel himself against the emotion threatening to overtake him, reminding himself it was for the best, for all of them.

"Rest now, brother," Klaus murmured, pulling him into a tight embrace, cradling his body as Elijah slumped, his strength leaving him. His big brother, the north star of the family, now lost to grief.

"I thought you didn't want to subdue him," Freya whispered, her voice shaky, her eyes wide with shock as she pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.

"It was a last resort," Klaus said, his voice thick with emotion, trying and failing to hide the crack in his composure. "I couldn't bear seeing him like this any longer. I didn't think... he would be so... unhinged."

"He's grieving," Freya said softly, her eyes filled with sympathy as she knelt beside them, brushing a hand through Elijah’s matted hair. "He loves her, Nik. Losing her... it's broken him."

"I know," Klaus muttered, his arms tightening around Elijah, holding him close as if he could protect him from the demons he was fighting inside. His voice cracked, and before he could stop it, a tear slipped down his cheek. Quickly, he wiped it away, trying to maintain his strength.

"Time to go home," Klaus said, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with sorrow. "For all of us."

Freya reached out, gently taking Elijah's limp hand in hers, squeezing it tight as they prepared to leave the nightmare behind. She hoped and prayed that Elijah could feel her love through the numbness, that somewhere, deep within the wreckage of his mind, he knew they would never give up on him.

That the battle to bring you back hadn’t been in vain. It had only just begun.

{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Five}{Part Six}

[velarisdusk]

Night's Cold Embrace

Day 9: Dacryphilia | Rhysand x Reader word count: 2k author’s note: evil rhys makes me wet that is all ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

The moon hung low in the sky, casting silver slivers of light through the thick canopy of trees. The forest was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. You had needed to get away, to breathe, to think, and the woods at night had always offered solace. But tonight, the shadows seemed deeper, and the silence unnerved you in ways it never had before.

You quickened your pace, your footsteps barely audible on the soft forest floor, but the feeling of being watched clung to you like a second skin. Your heart pounded in your chest, and just as you were about to convince yourself that it was all in your head, a voice, low and smooth as velvet, cut through the quiet.

“Out here alone, are we?”

You froze, every muscle in your body tensing at the familiar voice. Slowly, you turned, and there, leaning casually against the trunk of a tree stood Rhysand. His dark clothes melted into the night, but the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable, catching the faint moonlight as he watched you with an amused, almost predatory gaze. 

You swallowed, the air suddenly feeling too thick. “What are you doing here?” Your voice was calm, though your pulse thudded in your ears, 

He pushed off the tree, moving toward you with slow, deliberate steps, his presence overwhelming the space between you. “I might ask you the same thing,” he said, his tone lazy, but there was something in his eyes that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “Wandering the woods at night, all alone? Dangerous, don’t you think?”

You forced yourself to hold his gaze, though every instinct screamed at you to look away, to run. But where would you go? The woods were vast, and you knew he’d follow. “I needed to clear my head,” you said simply, trying to keep your voice steady.

Rhysand’s lips curved into a smirk, and he took another step closer, the faint scent of night-blooming flowers clinging to him, mixing with something darker, more dangerous. “And instead, you found me,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “Unlucky for you, isn’t it?”

Your breath hitched, his words settling over you like a shadow, creeping into your chest and tightening your ribs. “I’ll leave,” you said, taking a step back, but Rhysand’s hand shot out, not to grab you, but to trail a finger down the side of your arm, just barely brushing your skin.

“You’re trembling,” he observed softly, his tone a dark purr. “Are you afraid?”

You flinched, concealing the shiver that threatened to run down your spine. “No,” you lied, though the slight tremor in your voice gave you away. 

Rhysand hummed, his fingers tracing the path of a tear that had fallen without you even realizing it. “Liar,” he whispered, his eyes darkening as he stared at the tear glistening on his fingertip. He seemed to pause, as if savoring the sight, before his gaze locked with yours again, more intense than before. “You are scared.”

Your chest tightened, the full weight of his attention suffocating. “I’m not scared of you,” you whispered, the words visible through the puff of your breath in the cool still night air.

Rhysand stepped closer, close enough that his breath fanned against your cheek. “No?” he murmured, brushing another tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Then why are you crying?” His thumb lingers there, then trails down slowly, grazing your lips. “Such a pretty little thing,” he murmured, his voice a low hum, sending an involuntary shiver through you. “It’s almost a shame to see you like this… almost.”

Your breath caught. He wasn’t just toying with you — he was feeding off this, savoring your fear like a fine wine. You tried to step back, but the tree behind you stopped you cold, your back pressed against the rough bark. “What are you–” you started, but your words faltered as Rhysand’s other hand came up to rest on the tree, caging you in.

“Shh,” he whispered, the sound almost soothing, but the heat in his gaze betrayed him. His thumb brushed across your lower lip, parting it slightly. “No need to ask, we both know you like this. I can see it all right here.” His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb dipping just inside your mouth, a gentle tease that sent heat pooling low in your stomach despite the panic tightening your chest.

You pressed your lips together, trying to suppress the trembling, but it only made his smile grow. 

“Don’t fight it,” he whispered, his voice dropping to something more intimate, his lips brushing just near your ear. “I like seeing you like this, trembling… vulnerable.” His fingers continued their slow exploration, skimming down your throat now, tracing the hollow of your collarbone. “It suits you.”

Your breath came out in shallow gasps as his touch continued to roam, gentle but purposeful. You should’ve pushed him away, should have said something — anything — but the weight of his power over you held you still, the darkness in his gaze drawing you in despite yourself. “Why are you doing this?” Your voice trembled, fear bleeding through every word.

Rhysand leaned in, his lips barely an inch from yours, teasing the air between you. “I wonder,” he started, his breath warm as it ghosted over your lips, a sharp contrast to the night’s biting chill, “just how far I can push you before you break.”

His words sent a wave of heat straight through you, the dark promise in them both terrifying and intoxicating. You hated that your body responded to him, your pulse quickening, skin tingling under his touch. It was wrong, you knew it — but with every slow brush of his fingertips, every dark murmur, the line between fear and desire blurred. 

“Where do you get off, torturing people like this?” you demanded, trying to mask the shiver in your voice. “Is this some kind of game to you?”

Rhysand chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “A game? Perhaps. But it’s one I’m quite skilled at.” He traced a slow line down your lip with his thumb, his gaze never leaving yours. “And you’re playing so beautifully, darling.”

His thumb brushed across your lips again, this time more insistently, and before you could stop yourself, your mouth parted, the pad of his thumb slipping past your lips. The taste of salt lingered from the tear he’d wiped away earlier, and you held back a groan; whether it was from the shame curling in your chest or the undeniable need spreading through you, you couldn’t tell.

Rhysand’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched you, completely in control, knowing exactly how to unravel you. “Good girl,” he whispered, his voice low and mocking. His thumb withdrew from your mouth, but before you could catch your breath, his lips replaced it claiming yours in a slow, heated kiss. 

Each brush of his lips against yours made you want to recoil, to resist, but you couldn’t. The fire in your veins drowned out everything else, and the more you tried to hate it, the more your body betrayed you. Every sensation twisted, wrong yet so fucking good, and you found yourself leaning into him, kissing him back, despite everything. 

When he pulled back from the kiss, his gaze dropped to your tear-streaked face. The way his lips curled into a smirk sent another ripple of dread and heat through you. “Look at you,” he murmured, almost in awe. “Still crying.” His voice was soft, mocking, the edge of it sharp enough to cut. “You’re beautiful like this…” He leaned in, his tongue flicking out to catch another tear slipping down your cheek. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, savoring it. Your body tensed at the feel of his tongue, so slow, so deliberate. A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, and when his eyes opened again, they were filled with something primal. “Keep doing it,” he whispered, his lips not ghosting over your cheek, licking up the next tear that spilled free. “Cry for me, pet.”

You gasped at the sensation, at the way his lips moved over your skin, as though your fear — your misery — was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. “Gods, you have no idea what it does to me,” he purred, pulling back to meet your wide-eyed gaze. His fingers slipped beneath your chin, tilting your head up, forcing you to hold his gaze as another tear slipped from the corner of your eye. “You don’t have to fight it, it only makes you more enticing.”

“I will not give into you, just leave me be–”

“Is that so?” He leaned in, his breath tickling your ear. “Then why do you look like you’re about to melt under my touch? You may not want to admit it to yourself,” his fingers traced a slow path down your neck, each touch sparking an involuntary reaction in you, “but don’t you lie to me,” he growled. 

You clenched your jaw, trying to stay defiant, but the way he spoke, the way his fingers made contact with your skin…

“You’re twisted,” you manage, less conviction in your voice than moments ago. “This is… sick.”

Rhysand’s eyes softened just a fraction, though the predatory glint never left them. “Twisted? Maybe. But I find it quite fascinating how, despite your hatred for me, you fall into me so easily every time.” He tilted your head back slightly, making you look up at him. “It’s as though, no matter how much of a fight you put up, there’s a small part of you that’s curious.”

You felt a heat rise in your cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and an unfamiliar, unsettling thrill. Rhysand’s gaze was intense, his fingers lingering near your jawline, caressing your skin with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with his demeanor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, though it came out weaker than you intended. More tears slid down your face and Rhysand’s eyes followed their path with wicked delight. He kissed them all away, his tongue dragging slowly across your skin, savoring the taste of it. “Let go,” he encouraged softly, his voice coaxing. “You don’t have to fight it. I promise, it will feel even better if you just let yourself be overwhelmed.”

His lips returned to yours, this time with a gentler touch. You hesitated, battling your instinct to resist the rising warmth inside you. The kiss was different now, softer, and filled with a different kind of intensity that made it harder to pull away with every passing second. 

Rhysand’s hands roamed over your body, his fingers tracing the curves of your waist and the softness of your hips as he pressed you against the rough bark of the tree, His touch was a mix of firm control and gentle exploration, each caress sending shivers through you. His lips parted yours, deepening the kiss with a sensual, slow burn that left you breathless. His tongue danced with yours in a languid, intoxicating rhythm, pulling you closer. 

When he finally broke away, his gaze was filled with satisfaction and something more vulnerable, almost tender. “See?” He murmured, his voice low and soothing. “It’s not so bad to give in, is it?”

You could barely respond, the mix of emotions swirling inside you — fear, shame, desire. You swallowed hard, struggling to find your voice. “This… this isn’t what I wanted.”

Rhysand’s gaze remained fixed on you, unwavering as always. “Maybe not what you planned,” he said softly, “but sometimes what we need isn’t always clear until it’s right in front of us.”

He took a step back, finally giving you a moment to catch your breath. “Think about it,” he said, his tone more contemplative now, “and if you ever find yourself wanting more… you know where to find me.”

With that, he turned and melted into the shadows of the night, leaving you alone in the cold, moonlit clearing. The lingering warmth of his touch and the haunting promise of his words left you unsettled… and oddly curious.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

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[yanderecookierunkingdom]

Interlude: Six Becomes Five

Prev | Next

The gentle crackle of the fire, admist the soft crickets chirping, was all the noise coming from the camp. Gingerbrave, Strawberry Cookie, Wizard Cookie, and Carameleon Cookie were all sleeping soundly, light snores coming from them.

Nearby, you rested with White Lily Cookie nearby, soft breath coming from your mouth.

Pure Vanilla Cookie sat in front of the fire, staring at it with an unreadable expression in his face. Wind gently blowed and rustled his hair for a moment, not held down by his hat. That and his staff rested on the tree near you.

Pure Vanilla Cookie didn't know what to think now that things had truly settled down.

He still felt.. lied to, in a sense. Not by you, or White Lily Cookie, but by Shadow Milk Cookie. The taunts and lies of the Cookie still swirled in his mind like toxic waste, gripping at him and drowning him.

That.. and he couldn't get your look out of his mind. The expression on your face when Shadow Milk Cookie had slammed you against a wall. The look of horror, shock, and terror before you fell unconscious.

It made him feel sick. The healing spells he desperately tried to cast before Shadow Milk Cookie chased them off still made him feel lightheaded.

He looked at his trembling hands. He exhaled shakily, clenching them.

Are you awake still?

He jolted at the sound of the Light of Compassion. "Ah!" He then exhaled to calm himself and his trembling. "C-Compassion. You surprised me."

Don't try and lie. I'm a part of you currently, Pure Vanilla Cookie.

Pure Vanilla Cookie paused before he pulled his knees to his chest. "I can't get their face out of my mind." He swallowed thickly. "How they looked when they slammed into that wall, I.." His hands came up to run through his hair. "I thought Shadow Milk Cookie had crumbled them."

Primordials are far harder to kill than your mind allows you to realize.

Pure Vanilla Cookie gave a small nod, but he was still trembling. He was too far in his own thoughts to even notice the footsteps coming from behind him. He only noticed when the figure sat beside him - it was you.

"You're awake still?" You asked, frowning. "Did something happen?"

Pure Vanilla Cookie chuckled softly. "If something did happen, you would be the first to realize, my friend."

"Friend," you repeated. "Friend, friend, friend." Pure Vanilla Cookie blinked, confused as he watched you repeat those words. "Are we really still friends?"

His cheeks turned a shade darker. "What do you mean..?"

"I mean, I shared the Light of Compassion with you, I saved your life, you saved mine, and just.." You looked at him, frowning softly. "Does that.. seem like something just friends would do?"

Pure Vanilla Cookie glanced away, resting his hand over his mouth. He chuckled softly. "Hm.. to some, maybe." He then smiled at you. "But I'm guessing that you want to be something more?"

You grinned. "How'd you guess?"

He hummed, opening his eyes to look at you. "Just a hunch, it seems."

With a soft laugh, you gently grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it. Then you looked up at him, then his mouth. "May I?"

His blush darkened. "Of course."

You moved forward and kissed him, the both of you closing your eyes. Pure Vanilla Cookie felt his body relax, resting his hands on your shoulders. After a few more moments, you both broke apart, small breaths escaping the both of you.

You kissed his head. "I love you, Pure Vanilla Cookie."

He smiled. "I love you too, Sparkling Joy Cookie."

taglist: @snail-noodle @average-crk-enjoyer @looking4userthatworks @ori-stole-the-cheese-again @sqiddgie @justalittledumb @ax0lotly @ihatemyselffromthestart-blog @ravenkake @ohnoivefallen @craixe @xxcrispxx @hrtsy2 @imaginarydreams

[korraven]

Peek-a-Boo

Everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. The mission had been straightforward, but those never stayed simple, did they? Gambit crouched behind a stack of crates, the darkened corridor barely lit by flickering emergency lights. His breath was steady, but his mind raced. He’d been separated from the team, and worse, he had no idea where she was. Y/N.

He had been keeping tabs on everyone, but somehow, in the middle of all the chaos, she’d vanished. His heartbeat quickened at the thought of her lost, maybe hurt. The usual cool confidence he carried with him was slipping. He was tweaking bad. But Remy knew he had to stay sharp, stay focused. Losing his cool wouldn’t do Y/N or anyone any good.

The soft crackle of a radio broke through the silence, but it was faint—too faint to get anything useful. Gambit grimaced and pushed onward, moving through the shadows like a ghost. He knew how to stay invisible when he needed to, but this time, it wasn’t a game. He needed to find her.

He could feel his nerves tightening, something he wasn’t used to. They’d always had their little game—sneaking up on each other during missions. He’d lean in, whisper “Peek-a-boo” in her ear, and she’d respond with “I see you,” the two of them sharing a playful smile before moving on to whatever danger awaited. It was their thing.

But now? Now there was no playful whisper, no lighthearted moment. Just silence, and the gnawing worry that something had gone wrong. Gambit wasn’t the type to lose his edge, but right now, his usual swagger was being replaced by something darker—fear.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, ducking into another hallway. His mind raced with a thousand possibilities—each one worse than the last. He shook his head trying to rid of those thoughts, not Y/N. Not his chér.

Then he heard it. A quiet shuffle behind him. He spun around, cards charged and ready, but before he could react, a pair of hands covered his eyes.

“Peek-a-boo.”

For a split second, Gambit’s heart stopped. His body froze as his mind caught up with the fact that she was there, right behind him. He let out a shaky breath, and a grin spread across his face, relief flooding his chest like cool water after a blistering heat.

He reached up, taking her hands off his eyes and spinning around. “I see you, chérie,” he breathed, his voice low and full of emotions he didn’t usually let surface.

Y/N smiled at him, though he could tell she’d been through the ringer. Her hair was a little messy, and there was dirt on her cheek, but she was very much alive.

“Aww, were you worried Remy?” she teased lightly, though her own eyes glimmered with relief.

“Worried? Nah,” he lied, the smirk returning to his lips. “Gambit don’t worry ‘bout nothin’.” But even as he said it, the way his hands lingered on her arms told the truth. He’d been scared as hell.

Y/N chuckled softly, but her hand reached up to touch his cheek for just a moment, a silent thank you for the unspoken concern. Gambit gave her a lopsided grin, his nerves finally settling, but just beneath the surface, he knew—this was no game anymore.

“Next time, don’t wander off too far from Gambit, huh?” he said, his voice more serious than usual.

“I’ll won’t go to far, promise.” she replied, her smile soft but firm.

“Cher…” Gambit spoke again, this time his voice soft.

“Yeah?” Y/N hummed looking him in his eyes.

Gambit let out a deep sigh, cupping her girls cheek with his hand.

Gambit’s thumb continued to trace soft circles on her cheek, and the air between them grew thick with unspoken feelings. His eyes, usually dancing with mischief, were serious now, searching her face like he was memorizing every detail. He leaned in, just enough that their foreheads brushed together, his breath warm against her lips.

"Good, chérie. Let’s keep it that way," he murmured again, his voice barely audible, filled with a quiet intensity.

Y/N’s heart raced, the closeness making her head spin in a way that had nothing to do with the mission. Her hand slid up to rest on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her fingertips, steady but strong. She didn’t say anything—she didn’t need to. The way her eyes softened and the way her lips parted slightly was enough to tell him everything.

Gambit hesitated for just a fraction of a second, like he was giving her a chance to pull away. But when she didn’t, when her eyes fluttered closed in anticipation, that was all the invitation he needed.

He closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was gentle at first, as if testing the waters. But the second he felt her respond, he deepened it, his other hand sliding around her waist, pulling her closer.

“Remy—” Y/N let out a breathy sigh, her voice trembling slightly.

Gambit held her close, his gaze pouring into hers, every second feeling like it stretched out between them. “Shh, chére… *Je veux savourer ce moment au cas où je n'aurais pas l'occasion de le faire à nouveau*,” he whispered, his accent thick, the French words slipping from his lips with an intimacy that made her pulse race.

She smiled softly and pecked his lips once more, a lingering touch before pulling back, her hand gently slipping from his chest. “We need to get back to the others,” she murmured, her breath still unsteady but her resolve strong.

Gambit sighed deeply, his arms loosening around her. He knew she was right, but he didn’t want to let her go—not yet. “D'accord, chérie,” he said reluctantly, his smirk returning as his hand brushed her cheek one last time. “But this ain’t over.”

Y/N chuckled softly, giving him one last look before turning to lead the way, her heart still pounding from the kiss, knowing they had a mission to finish but also knowing things between them would never be the same.

[novaursa]

I love your writing! Could you please do one where Targaryen reader (it can be Rhaenyra's sister) is taking Gwayne for the first time to meet her dragon and takes him for a ride. Thanks

The Wild Heart

- Summary: You introduce Gwayne to your dragon, Grey Ghost.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: The reader is the younger sister of Rhaenyra and bonded to the dragon Grey Ghost. I've broken my own rule about 1000 words here, but since you guys like Gwayne so much, I've decided to expand this a bit more. Enjoy.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

You stand on the edge of the ridge, the sea breeze tangling itself in your silver-blonde hair, lifting strands into the crisp, salt-filled air. Below, the waters of Blackwater Bay shimmer like molten silver, catching the light of the setting sun. Behind you, the Red Keep is barely visible, a hulking shadow against the vast sky. But it's not the castle that holds your attention today—it’s the man beside you, Gwayne Hightower, and the dragon that waits in the distance, somewhere between the clouds and the sea, hidden in the wilderness just beyond the Dragonpit.

He stands close, his expression serious, but you can feel the underlying excitement radiating from him. Gwayne has heard the tales, the whispered stories of your dragon, Grey Ghost—wild, elusive, temperamental. Unlike the dragons housed in the Dragonpit, Grey Ghost has never truly been tamed. He lingers along the coast and cliffs, only returning when he chooses. Not a single rider before you had ever claimed him, not until you.

You glance at Gwayne, studying his face as the wind picks up. His strong jaw is set in a determined line, and his eyes, a bright shade of blue, seem darker in the fading light. He’s dressed in his Hightower armor, though you both know he’s not here for battle. The armor is more a shield for his nerves, a thin veil of control in the face of what’s to come.

"Are you ready?" you ask, your voice quiet but firm, just loud enough to be heard over the gusts of wind.

Gwayne turns to you, and for a moment, a flicker of something—perhaps doubt, or wonder—passes across his face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by a faint, teasing smile. "As ready as a man can be to meet his future wife's dragon," he replies, the words tinged with amusement, though there’s a touch of nervousness there too.

You smile at that, a small curl of your lips. "Grey Ghost isn’t like the others in the pit. He won’t simply obey because I will it. He’s… unpredictable." You let the words hang in the air for a moment, hoping to prepare him for what’s coming. "But he’ll listen to me. Trust that."

Gwayne nods, though you can sense the weight of his uncertainty. He’s seen dragons before, of course. As a member of House Hightower, he’s familiar with their majesty and their danger. But this is different. This is your dragon, your bond. And Grey Ghost is no mere dragon of the pit. He is wild fire made flesh, with wings of smoke and ash.

You take a step forward, motioning for him to follow as you descend the rocky path that leads to the clearing below. Your boots crunch against the stones, the sea below crashing against the cliffs. Gwayne is right behind you, silent now, his presence a steady warmth at your back. Together, you approach the place where you know Grey Ghost waits.

As you round a bend in the path, the clearing opens up before you, vast and wild, with tall grasses swaying in the breeze. And there, at the far end, resting in the shadow of a massive stone outcrop, lies Grey Ghost.

Even from this distance, the size of him is breathtaking. His scales, a smoky grey that gleam faintly in the dying light, seem to blend with the rocks around him, making him appear almost ethereal, as though he’s part of the landscape itself. His wings are folded close to his body, but you know their full span would darken the sky if he chose to spread them wide.

Gwayne inhales sharply, and you feel his awe as though it were your own.

"Gods," he murmurs, almost under his breath, as he gazes upon the beast.

You step closer, your heart quickening with the familiar pull of your bond. Grey Ghost stirs, his massive head lifting as he senses your approach. His eyes, burning like molten gold, lock onto yours. There’s recognition there, an unspoken understanding, but also a warning—a reminder of his wild nature.

You stop a few feet from him and extend a hand, palm up, in a gesture of peace. "Come forth." You speak in the High Valyrian tongue, your voice steady, commanding.

Grey Ghost watches you for a moment longer, then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he rises to his feet. His wings unfurl slightly, the leather-like membranes rustling in the wind as he stretches his neck toward you. There’s a rumble deep in his throat, a sound that vibrates through the ground beneath your feet. But he does as you bid, moving forward with a grace that belies his size.

Gwayne stands frozen at your side, his breath caught in his throat, though his hand instinctively moves to the hilt of his sword—a gesture of protection more than aggression. You place a calming hand on his arm, shaking your head gently.

"He won’t harm you," you whisper, though you’re not entirely sure if you’re saying it to reassure him or yourself. "Not if I’m here."

With slow, deliberate movements, you step closer to Grey Ghost, your fingers brushing against the rough texture of his scales. He is warm beneath your touch, like the heat of a roaring fire contained within his massive frame. Grey Ghost’s eyes never leave you, and for a moment, there’s a connection, a silent exchange of trust and respect.

Turning back to Gwayne, you gesture for him to come closer. "It’s alright," you say softly. "He knows me. And now, he must know you."

Gwayne hesitates, his hand still hovering near his sword, but after a brief moment of consideration, he takes a step forward. His gaze never leaves Grey Ghost’s hulking form, his caution palpable. Slowly, almost reverently, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against the dragon’s side, just as yours had moments before.

The air between the three of you seems to still, the wind dying down as though the world itself is holding its breath. Grey Ghost rumbles again, a low, deep sound that resonates through the ground, but he doesn’t move. He allows the touch. 

Gwayne exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he keeps his hand on the dragon’s scales. "He’s… magnificent," Gwayne says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve never seen anything like him."

You smile softly, feeling a swell of pride for both your dragon and for the man standing beside you. "He is," you agree, your voice filled with warmth. "And now, he knows you. We are bonded, all three of us."

Gwayne turns to you then, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, the world around you seems to fade away—the cliffs, the sea, even the dragon. It’s just the two of you, standing on the precipice of something new, something shared.

"I never thought…" he begins, his voice trailing off as he searches for the right words. "I never thought I could be part of something like this. With you, and with him."

You step closer to him, your hand finding his, your fingers intertwining. "You are," you say softly, your voice full of certainty. "We’re a family now, Gwayne. You, me, and Grey Ghost. Nothing will come between us."

The wind whips around you as you stand before Grey Ghost, the great dragon looming like a mountain of muscle and smoke. His golden eyes, burning with an otherworldly light, follow your movements as you step back, placing yourself beside Gwayne. The sun has set below the horizon now, leaving the world bathed in twilight, and the only sounds are the crashing of the waves far below the cliffs and the steady, rhythmic breathing of the dragon.

Gwayne stands beside you, his hand still resting on the dragon’s rough scales. His expression, a mixture of awe and anticipation, is hard to miss. He’s faced battle, seen the dangers of war, but this—this is something entirely different. You can sense the excitement beneath his calm demeanor, the way his hand trembles ever so slightly as he brushes his fingers against Grey Ghost's side.

"You’ve never flown before," you say quietly, watching him as his eyes trace the dragon's form.

He turns his gaze to you, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint smile. "No. Never." His tone is light, but there’s a seriousness beneath it, a readiness that makes your pulse quicken.

Grey Ghost shifts his weight, the massive bulk of his body rumbling like distant thunder as he crouches low, the leathery membranes of his wings unfolding slightly. He is waiting, waiting for your command, and though you feel his wildness, his untamed spirit, you know that in this moment, he will listen to you.

You take Gwayne’s hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. "Do you trust me?" you ask, though you already know his answer.

He doesn’t hesitate. "Always," he replies, his voice steady, his eyes locked on yours.

You squeeze his hand gently, then release it as you step toward Grey Ghost. With practiced ease, you place one hand on the dragon's flank, the other gripping the harness that’s fastened around his neck and shoulders. You swing yourself up onto his back, settling into the familiar place between his powerful wings. The leather beneath you is warm, and you can feel the rise and fall of his breathing beneath your legs.

You look down at Gwayne, who is still standing at the dragon’s side, his expression now unreadable.

"Come," you say, holding out your hand to him. "You won’t fall. I promise."

For a moment, he hesitates, glancing from you to Grey Ghost’s immense, heaving body. But then, with a nod of determination, he steps forward, gripping the harness as you had shown him. With a bit of effort, he hoists himself up behind you, his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist as he settles into place.

You can feel the tension in his body, the uncertainty of being so high above the ground, but there is also trust—trust in you, trust in the dragon.

You glance back at him, offering a reassuring smile. "Hold on tightly. The first flight is always… exhilarating."

Before he can respond, you lean forward and place your hands against Grey Ghost’s neck. "Fly!" you command in High Valyrian.

With a roar that shakes the ground beneath you, Grey Ghost unfurls his wings, the massive span of them catching the wind in a sudden, powerful gust. The muscles beneath you ripple as the dragon gathers his strength, and then, with a single, mighty leap, you are airborne.

The world falls away beneath you, the cliffs and sea nothing but distant shapes as Grey Ghost ascends, his wings beating with a rhythm that you can feel deep in your chest. The wind tears at your hair and clothes, the rush of air so loud it drowns out all other sound, but you don’t mind. This—this is freedom, the sky opening up before you, endless and vast.

Behind you, Gwayne holds on tightly, his arms firm around your waist. You can feel his heart pounding against your back, the thrill of the flight coursing through him as it does through you. The dragon rises higher, soaring above the clouds, and for a moment, you are suspended in the sky, weightless and free.

Grey Ghost lets out a triumphant roar, a sound that echoes across the sky, and you laugh, the exhilaration of the moment filling you with joy. You glance back at Gwayne, his face flushed from the wind, his eyes wide with wonder.

"Are you alright?" you shout over the wind, your voice barely carrying in the rushing air.

He grins, a wide, genuine smile that lights up his entire face. "This is incredible!" he calls back, his voice filled with awe and exhilaration. "I never imagined…"

His words trail off as Grey Ghost dips suddenly, his wings folding slightly as he begins a rapid descent, plummeting toward the sea below. You feel Gwayne’s grip tighten around you, his breath catching in his throat, but you don’t panic. You know Grey Ghost, know his every move, and this—this is part of the ride.

At the last moment, just before you reach the surface of the water, Grey Ghost flares his wings, catching the air and leveling out. The sea stretches out beneath you, the waves glistening in the moonlight, so close you can almost touch them. The dragon skims the surface, his claws barely grazing the water, sending up sprays of mist as you fly.

You laugh again, the sound of it lost to the wind, and Gwayne’s laughter soon joins yours. His tension is gone now, replaced by the sheer thrill of the flight. He leans into the movement, trusting you, trusting the dragon, and for a moment, it feels like the three of you are one—a single being soaring through the sky, untethered and wild.

After what feels like an eternity—and yet, not nearly long enough—Grey Ghost begins to climb again, his powerful wings lifting you up, up, up, until you are soaring high above the sea once more. The land is a distant memory now, the world below nothing but a blur of blue and grey.

You turn your head slightly, glancing back at Gwayne, who is still grinning, his eyes alight with excitement. "This is only the beginning," you say, your voice soft, though you know he can hear you over the wind.

He meets your gaze, his expression suddenly serious, though the joy still lingers in his eyes. "I’ll follow you anywhere," he says, his voice steady, filled with quiet resolve. "Wherever you go—whether it’s the skies or the earth—I’ll be with you."

Your heart swells at his words, and for a moment, you are overwhelmed by the depth of his devotion. You reach back, placing your hand over his where it rests at your waist, your fingers intertwining with his.

"And I’ll always have you by my side," you whisper, though the wind carries your words away.

Grey Ghost lets out a soft rumble, a sound that vibrates through both of you, as though he, too, understands the significance of this moment. Together, the three of you fly on, the stars beginning to twinkle above, as the night stretches out endlessly before you.

[pretzel-box]

Hello ●♡●

Do you mind if request a pregnant!reader who gets sent down into Hadal Blacksite?

She was arrested for being associated with a famed drug dealer (you may pick) and was now sent to life in prison. But Hadal picked her up and sent her to retrieve the crystal.

Eventually she meets Sebby, from that point on you can drive the story ^^

Sorry if this sounds weird. First time requesting someone 😅

words: 1,1k

tags: pregnant! female reader, comfort

The sound of the facility’s massive gates clanging shut echoed in your ears, the final barrier between you and the world you once knew. The cold, harsh reality of the Hadal Blackside settled over you like a shroud, suffocating and oppressive. You had heard the stories about this place—the darkness, the desperation, the things that lurked in the shadows. But nothing could have prepared you for the weight of it, the feeling that you were truly, utterly alone.

Except you weren’t alone.

A hand instinctively rested on your stomach, where a life grew inside you. The life of a child whose father had betrayed you, framed you for crimes you hadn’t committed. The memories flooded back—the frantic nights, the lies, the realization that the man you had once trusted with everything had set you up to take the fall for his empire’s sins. You hooked up with a man, knowing he had money and you would be financially secure till he used you and you found out about the truth behind his business. Blinded by drugs, money and criminal motivation he blamed you and exposed you in front of the police and now, you are here, sent to this hellhole with no hope of return, carrying his child.

You wandered through the winding, decaying corridors, your mind racing with fear and uncertainty. The facility was a labyrinth of rusted metal, flickering lights, and shadows that seemed to move on their own. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and something far more sinister yet metallic, something that made your skin crawl.

It wasn’t long before you stumbled upon a small shop tucked away in one of the darker corners of the facility. The space was cluttered with all manner of items, some useful, some strange, all scavenged from the depths of this godforsaken place. Your eyes fell on the shopkeeper, a tall, serpentine figure with fluorescent blue eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light. His long, coiled tail was laying casually over the slight wet floor, and his gaze was sharp, assessing you with a mixture of curiosity, caution and unmotivation.

“You look lost,” he said, his voice smooth and surprisingly gentle, given his intimidating appearance. His large claw-like hands rubbing against each other as he kept staring at you.

You hesitated for a moment, the reality of your situation crashing down on you all over again. You didn’t know who to trust, if anyone, in this place. But you were desperate, scared, and you needed someone—anyone—to help you.

“I…I was sent down here,” you began, your voice trembling slightly as you spoke. “Framed for something I didn’t do. And now…” You paused, your hand instinctively moving to your stomach again. “Now I’m here. Alone. And I’m pregnant.”

The shopkeeper’s expression shifted, the hard edges softening as he took in your words. For a moment, he said nothing, simply watching you with those piercing blue eyes. Then, with a quiet sigh, he moved forward, his tail shifting with a sinuous grace as he approached.

“My name’s Sebastian,” he said, his tone gentle now, almost kind. “And this is my shop. My wares are on my tail, batteries on the table next to me…” He paused for a moment, his gaze softening as he took in your exhausted, tear-streaked face. “And you can rest here, free of charge.”

His words were simple, but they carried a weight of kindness that you hadn’t expected to find in a place like this. The offer of refuge, even just for a little while, was more than you could have hoped for. A small, shaky breath escaped your lips, and you nodded, the tightness in your chest loosening just a bit.

“Thank you,” you managed to say, your voice still trembling slightly.

Sebastian nodded, gesturing to a makeshift bed in the corner of the shop—a crude but inviting space with blankets neatly folded on top. “It’s not much,” he said, almost apologetically, “but it’s better than most places around here. You should get some rest.”

You glanced over at the bed, the exhaustion of the past few days weighing heavily on your shoulders. The idea of lying down, of letting your guard down for just a moment, was terrifying. But you were so tired—tired in a way that went beyond physical fatigue. Your heart ached with the burden of your situation, and the weight of your unborn child felt heavier with every passing moment.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sebastian studied you for a moment longer before reaching out, his clawed hand hovering near your shoulder as if he was unsure whether to offer comfort. “This place…it’s not for people like you. It's even a surprise that they send you down here.,” he said quietly. “But you’ll find that most of us down here have our own stories. We all carry something.” His gaze flicked briefly to your stomach before meeting your eyes again. “Some more than others.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, quickly followed by another. The enormity of your situation, the betrayal, the fear for your unborn child—it all came crashing down on you, and you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

Sebastian moved closer, his presence unexpectedly reassuring despite his fearsome appearance. “You’re safe here, for now,” he said softly, his voice like a balm to your frayed nerves. “At least as safe as you can be in this place. I’ll help you, as much as I can.”

You didn’t know why, but something in his words, in the way he looked at you, made you believe him. Maybe it was the way he seemed to understand without needing to ask questions, or maybe it was simply the fact that he was offering help when you felt most alone. Whatever the reason, you found yourself nodding, a shaky breath escaping your lips.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words barely audible.

Sebastian nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’ll be okay,” he assured you, his tone firm but comforting. “We’ll figure this out, together.”

As you stood there, the reality of your new life beginning to sink in, you realized that for the first time since you had been sent down here, you didn’t feel completely alone. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And as you looked up at Sebastian, the man who had so unexpectedly become your lifeline, you felt a small spark of hope flicker to life within you.

Maybe, just maybe, there was a future for you and your child in this dark, twisted place.

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Dragon Blood

Chapter 3: Your newfound fear of dragons causes you to run away from Dragonstone, but you're naive to think a certain prince with an odd fondness of you would let you go so easily.

Vermithor's claiming left you with endless nightmares. The monster's fury and the screams of the unfortunate dragonseeds haunted your nights and filled your days with dread. The castle, once a place of routine and stability, now felt a platter above hungry predators.

Desperation led you to the head of staff, where you made up a story about distant family in the Reach. "They've asked me to come live with them," you lied, your voice trembling but determined. "Please, I need to leave Dragonstone."

The head of staff was a stern woman with a soft spot for you. She eyed you suspiciously but eventually nodded. "Very well then. I'll arrange for your transfer to a local inn. You may leave as soon as you are ready."

The next day, you gathered all of your belongings and set out on the path leading away from Dragonstone. Each step was heavy with the weight of leaving behind the life you knew and stepping into the unknown.

Suddenly, the sky darkened as a massive shadow passed overhead. You looked up, heart-pounding, to see a dragon descending right onto you. Vermax landed with a powerful thud, sending dust and pebbles flying. You froze, your newfound phobia of dragons paralysing you.

Prince Jace dismounted, his armor gleaming in the sun, a picture of authority and grace.

He approached you with a measured stride, his expression unreadable. "It is high treason for a servant to lie about their supposed family in the Reach."

Fear seized you, and you took a step back. "My prince—"

He cut you off, his eyes blazing with anger. "Do you have any idea how foolish you are? A pretty girl, travelling alone, unarmed and unprotected? Do you have any inkling of what could happen to you on the road? The dangers you could face? What if some slaver found you? What then?"

His words struck you like a blow, and you felt your knees weaken. "I just..."

“You think you can just walk away?” Jacaerys said, his tone low and challenging. “After everything you’ve seen, everything you know? You think that freedom is yours to take?”

“I want none of it! I just want to be safe,” you replied, your voice trembling.

“You’re a Targaryen, y/n. There’s no running from that.”

The weight of his words pressed down on you. “I’m not! Im not... like you, not like the queen,” you whispered. “I’m just a servant. I have no wish to claim a dragon, not anymore—”

You felt your lower lip trembled, your fears cutting off your speech.

Jacaerys softened slightly, though his tone remained stern and dismissive. "You're lucky. It's not every commoner who gets offered an escort from a prince."

You looked up at him in surprise. The closeness of his presence made your breath catch in your throat. His eyes were intense, studying you with a mix of frustration and something else, something darker.

You hesitated, fear and doubt swirling within you. Jacaerys stepped even closer, his presence overwhelming. “Do as I say,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. “You will learn how to command a dragon. Claim your birthright at least once.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you could see no way out. He was your prince, your sovereign, and you had to obey him. You nodded reluctantly.

He took you by the hand, leading you to Vermax. The dragon's eyes followed your every move, and you could feel its rumble shaking the ground beneath you.

Jacaerys stepped closer, his presence both intimidating and oddly reassuring. "Say 'Lykiri to command Vermax to obey."

"Lykiri," you repeated nervously, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Louder," Jacaerys insisted. "Dragons respond to strength."

You took a deep breath and tried again, louder, “Lykiri!"

Vermax's eyes flicked to you, and with a low rumble, the dragon shifted, acknowledging your command. Your eyes widened. The realization that the dragon had listened to you sent a rush of adrenaline through your veins.

Jacaerys stepped up on the dragons offered wing with practiced grace, then pulled you by the hand, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Vermax won't harm you," he assured, seating himself behind you on the saddle, his voice closer now, almost tender. "Feel the dragon's strength."

As you settle on the dragon's back, Jace's presence was solid behind you and reassuring. He guided your hands to grip the saddle, his own hands briefly covering yours.

“Say ‘soves’ to command him to fly.” He spoke in your ear. “Confidently. Command him.”

“Soves!” You spoke loudly.

“And hold on tight.” He instructed, placing his hands on the saddle In front of You.

Syrax took off, the ground falling away beneath you. The sensation of flight, the rush of wind, and the power of the dragon beneath you were overwhelming. Despite your fear, there was an exhilaration, a feeling of freedom you had never known. The world below became a blur, the wind whipping through your hair, your heart pounding with a mix of terror and joy.

The force of the takeoff pressed you back against him. Wind whipped past you. The world below became a blur, and the vast sky opened up around you.

You gasped for breath, the wind making it difficult to breathe. Sensing your struggle, Jace tightened his grip around your waist, his hand moving to your chest, guiding you. “Breathe with me,” he said, his voice steady and close. “In… and out. Slowly.”

You tried to follow his lead, inhaling deeply as he did, his presence grounding you. Gradually, your breath steadied, and you began to adjust to the sensation of flight, the terror giving way to awe.

Jace leaned closer, his voice just above the wind’s roar. “You’re doing well,” he said, his tone softer now, almost… proud.

The adrenaline coursing through you was intoxicating, and as Vermax soared through the skies, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of exhilaration unlike anything you’d ever experienced.

Tears sprang to your eyes, not from fear, but from the overwhelming beauty of it all—the vast expanse of the sky, the powerful dragon beneath you, and the realization that you were flying. Truly flying.

As tears streamed down your cheeks, Jacaerys noticed and pulled you closer. “Are you crying?” he asked, his tone somewhere between teasing and concern.

“I… I’ve never felt anything like this,” you admitted, your voice catching with emotion. “It’s… it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!”

You looked out over the landscape, your fear gradually giving way to amazement. The world seemed vast and beautiful from this height, and for a moment, all your worries and fears seemed small and distant.

When Vermax finally landed, your heart was still racing, but it was no longer from fear. Jace helped you dismount, his hands lingering on yours. His gloved hand wiped away your tears, your eyes shining with a newfound light.

"Thank you," you said, your voice barely a whisper.

He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Remember your place, y/n" he said, repeating the same words he once spoke to you. "Not everyone is a dragon. Don't let them think they can push you."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. As he mounted Vermax once more, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this moment had changed something between you, something you couldn’t quite name.

Jacaerys gave you one last look, his expression bittersweet, before Vermax took to the skies again, leaving you standing there, breathless and overwhelmed by the experience.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

In the small town where you’d settled, life had taken on a simple turn. The days were long, filled with the clatter of mugs and the hum of conversation as you served folk in the tavern. Despite the work being tiring, there was a certain peace in the predictability of it all. The days were repetitive, but you were away from the politics and dangers of Dragonstone, away from the volatile nature of the court.

Yet, despite this newfound contentment, your thoughts often strayed back to the prince. In quiet moments, when your duties were done and you were alone in your small room above the tavern, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. It started innocently enough, a simple memory on his sharp gaze, the way his eyes seemed to pierce through you. But then, your thoughts became something more—something that made your breath hitch and your heart race.

You remembered the way he had stood so close to you, his tall frame towering over you, the heat of his body radiating against your skin. The memory of his voice, low and commanding, echoed in your ears, stirring something deep within you. There was a part of you that couldn’t forget the intensity of his touch, the way his hands guided you, strong and possessive, as if you were something that belonged to him.

Your thoughts became bolder, imagining what it would feel like if he had pulled you closer, if his lips had brushed against your skin. The idea of his power over you sent a thrill through your body, a tantalizing mixture of fear and desire. You found yourself longing for that feeling again—the rush of adrenaline, the helplessness of being under his control, the undeniable pull between you.

But with that heat came a deep sense of shame. You were low born. Nothing more than a commoner, a servant, and he was a prince of the realm. How could you, a mere tavern girl now, dare to feel this way about someone so far above your station? The very idea of it felt wrong, inappropriate, yet you couldn’t stop the thoughts from creeping in, couldn’t stop your body from reacting to the memories of him. The shame gnawed at you, making you feel small and unworthy, but it also made the desire burn hotter, a forbidden fire you didn’t know how to extinguish.

In your free time, you’d found solace in the company of a local pastor, a kind man who offered to teach you to read. You took to the lessons eagerly, and in time, he began to trust you with his collection of books. Most were on the Targaryens and their dragons.

The stories of the dragons captivated you. You learned their names, their temperaments, and the legends about them. And with each passage, your connection to the past, to the blood in your veins, grew stronger, even if you tried to suppress it.

But even more, these stories fed your thoughts of Jace. The more you read about the Targaryens, the more you understood the weight of the name he carried, the expectations, and the burden of his lineage. You wondered if he ever felt trapped by it, as you felt by your own place in society. And as you delved deeper into these histories, your fantasies of him grew more vivid, more intense, until you could almost feel him with you, his presence a ghostly weight that pressed against you in the night.

You couldn’t stop wanting him, couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like if the world were different, if you were different. You kept these feelings to yourself, unsure of what they meant or what you would even do if you were to ever see him again. For now, the tavern was your world, and Jace was a distant memory—one that haunted your nights and invaded your dreams with yearning.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Jacaerys Velaryon had little time for distractions. His days were filled with duties—securing alliances for his mother, studying the intricate web of Targaryen bloodlines, and practicing his skills in combat. Every moment was a reminder of the precarious position his family held in the realm, the constant threat of war looming on the horizon. There was no room for error, no room for weakness.

And yet, despite his best efforts, his thoughts would often stray to you.

It was infuriating how easily you crept into his mind. A mere servant, a girl of no consequence, and yet he couldn’t stop thinking about you. It started innocently enough, a fleeting memory of your purple wide-eyed expression when he had pulled you from the throne room, saving you from Vermithor. But those memories became something more.

He remembered the way you had trembled under his touch, the way your breath hitched when he had drawn close. It should have pleased him, the power he held over you, but instead, it had sparked something else—a desire that he found both confusing and inappropriate. You were beneath him, a commoner with no claim to anything, yet the memory of your body pressed against his, your soft curves against his hardened armor, lingered in his mind, refusing to be banished.

As he pored over maps and documents, his thoughts would drift to the feel of your skin under his hands, the warmth of your body against his. He wondered what it would be like to explore that warmth further, to strip away the layers of clothing that separated you and discover your body for himself. The thought alone made his blood run hot, and he cursed himself for allowing such distractions.

His days were a blur of meetings and training, his nights spent in restless sleep, plagued by dreams in which you featured prominently. He dreamed of claiming you, of possessing you in a way that no one else could, of making you his despite the vast chasm that separated your stations in life.

It was maddening. You were nothing, a nobody, and yet the thought of you with another man, of someone else touching touching whats his, filled him with a rage. How dare you make him feel this way, weak and conflicted?

The internal struggle only intensified as he learned more about the Targaryen bloodlines. It was that realization that troubled him the most. You were of Targaryen blood, however diluted, and that meant something.

His rational mind insisted that you were still nothing more than a servant, your bloodline a mere footnote in the grand history of his house. But another part of him, a darker, more primal one, demanded he claim you, possess you, and ensure that no one else could.

Even as he trained with the sword, his muscles burning from the exertion, his mind would wander to the way you had looked at him, the mixture of fear and something else in your eyes. It was intoxicating, the way you had both feared and desired him, and it made him want to see that look again, to push you further and see just how far he could go before you broke.

And then there was the shame. The shame of wanting someone so far beneath him, the shame of knowing that he was betraying everything he had been taught by even entertaining these thoughts. You were a bastard, a servant, a commoner, and he was a prince of the realm. It was absurd, scandalous even, to think that there could be anything between you. Yet, despite the shame, despite the knowledge that he was crossing a line, he couldn’t stop himself.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tag list:

@alwaysdaydreamingoffiction

@rav9n-16

@dracaryxzs

@jacaeryvardaddy

@ericasabe

@alessiaparigim

[cece693]

My Wolf (Dark Jacob Black x M! Vamp Reader)

This was a request, and I would post the original, but it would reveal the plot twist.

Summary: Jacob killed the Cullens for you—being rejected by the boy he loved—what else would he do? But was he really the one who orchestrated all this?

tags: dark Jacob, death, plot twist, reader isn't what they seem, Cullens bashing

Becoming a vampire was supposed to be a new beginning—a chance to stand alongside Bella and the Cullens, to be part of something greater than yourself. At first, it was everything you imagined: strength, speed, and the comfort of a family who understood what it meant to be different. But there were darker sides to this new life that no one had warned you about—the endless thirst, the gnawing emptiness that came with immortality. Still, you tried to adapt, to embrace the life you had chosen.

But then there was Jacob.

What began as harmless infatuation soon morphed into something darker, more twisted. He followed you everywhere, his presence an unsettling shadow that grew more oppressive with time. He couldn’t accept what you had become, and his feelings turned into something far more dangerous. You found yourself trapped between his growing obsession and your own struggle to adjust to this new existence.

When Jacob finally confessed his feelings, you tried to let him down gently, explaining that there could never be anything between you. But your rejection only fueled his rage. His eyes darkened, his body trembling with barely contained fury, and in that moment, you knew you had lost him.

He was no longer the boy you once knew; he was a beast unleashed.

Emmett was the first to fall, his strength no match for the fury of a heartbroken werewolf. Rosalie followed, her beauty marred by the brutal force of his claws. Alice and Jasper were next, their bond shattered like glass beneath his relentless assault.

And then there was Bella.

You stood there, motionless, as Jacob’s fury turned on her. Your sister—your blood—reduced to nothing but a casualty of a war she never saw coming. But as she lay broken, her eyes searching yours for some comfort in her final moments, you offered none.

Because deep down, this was what you had wanted. You had orchestrated it all.

Jacob was nothing but a tool, a means to an end. You had played on his obsession, his unwavering need to protect, to love, and twisted it into something monstrous. You had whispered words of rejection, knowing it would push him over the edge, knowing he would seek revenge in the only way he knew how.

And as the Cullens fell, you felt nothing. No remorse, no regret. Only a cold satisfaction that finally, after all the lies and deception, they were paying for what they had done to you. For turning you into this…monster.

When Jacob looked at you after Bella succumbed, you let out a tiny smirk. Even in his madness, he knew you were the one who had set him free. And so, you kept him around. Not out of love, not even out of gratitude, but because he was yours now. A weapon you could wield as you saw fit. As long as he behaved.

The Cullens had tricked you, but you had outwitted them all. And now, in the ashes of their downfall, you stood as the victor.

[charliemwrites]

Since I’ve been going pretty hard on dark fics lately….

Who’s up for some childhood friend Simon?

In his worst moments, when he thinks of his inevitable premature and violent end, he hopes that he’ll be able to hold out long enough to die in your arms. Even if they have to fly him straight from the battlegrounds to you, lay him in the grass outside your flat, he wants your face and voice that puts him to his final sleep.

Most moments aren’t his worst moments. But he still thinks of you and prepares. Everything is going to you, of course. Price knows. You’ll get Simon’s tags, his mask, a flag. You’ll get a letter.

He started one night after you two reunited, a little drunk from a thank-fuck-we-survived post mission celebration. It’s a little wobbly and ramble in some places, but never threw it out - never reread it either. Finished it in one hour, three pages long.

He’s added onto it since then. On hard night, nights he misses you. When he’s nostalgic and tipsy, when he wakes up from nightmares soaked in your blood. It’s about 12 pages now. Different colors of ink, different types of pages. Even one slanted and awkward because his writing hand was broken so he had to use the other.

He doesn’t bring it home to you with him. Doesn’t want you to accidentally discover it and think it’s something else. It stays where Johnny will find it if the worst happens; Simon trusts him to give it to you.

He never really thought about it the other way round. Couldn’t stand to face the prospect again. Not when he can feel the bullet scar beneath your shirt sometimes, or sees you rubbing at it in cold weather.

(He doesn’t consider it his worst moments but he knows you would - that he’d crawl in that grave with you.)

But it’s almost happened again. You’re sitting caddy-corner to him at a briefing table, listening to Price as he explains the situation. Simon’s watching you watching Price. Your shoulders are relaxed, fingers fiddling with your temporary access card. Not nervous, just occupied while you focus.

You’re not worried at all. Simon feels like he’s falling apart right here. One shake of the stupid uneven table and all his pieces will just slide apart into a useless pile.

Without looking away, your hand slides across the table and hooks around his. He doesnt startle - he’s ghost right now, and ghost is rock solid - but his fingers twitch around yours. You shoot him a quick smile and then refocus on Price, picking at a worn patch on the skeleton design of Simon’s glove.

Duct tape for a collapsing soul.

Price concludes, “You’ll stay here, safe and sound with an escort.”

Simon speaks up for the first time in what feels like days.

“I’m not bein’ deployed, skipper. Not right now.”

Price snorts. “‘Course not. You’re on leave with little miss here in sweden.”

“Sweden,” Simon repeats, unimpressed. Not one of the Laswell’s better lies.

“Land of tall blondes,” you chime.

“No one else knows I’m a blond.”

You shrug. “Their loss.”

Simon snorts, you grin, and Price dismisses you both in short order.

You’re staying in Simon’s room; the captain didn’t even offer you temporary quarters. Not that you minded, happy to toss your things amongst his and climb into his bed.

He cleans his favorite gun impulsively at the desk while you futz around on his computer - probably investigating the latest set of unreleased movies he bribed from Laswell.

“You get ten minutes of brooding left and then we’re getting food and watching a movie.”

He scowls down at the magazine, oiled cloth in hand.

“I’m not brooding.”

“It’s like you have your own lighting. I swear those shadows are darker next to you.”

“That’s just how light works.”

“Oh it would have been so much cooler if you said, like, ‘I am the shadows’.”

He pauses, casts you a long, flat look. You beam.

“Ooh, yeah, with that face too! C’mon, say it!”

He blows out a dramatic breath, then grumpily repeats, “I am the shadows.”

You laugh, hopping up from the bed to approach. He shifts his gear out of the way, clearing a space for you to lean against his desk, your knee touching his.

“Im alright, Si. There’s nowhere safer I could be.”

He sets the pieces in his hands aside, flexes his fingers spasmodically.

“Could just not know me. Anywhere would be safer than knowing me.”

You click your tongue, purely derisive. “That’s stupid.”

“That’s just facts, babes.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s your guilt complex. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here.”

He arches his eyebrows - not that you’ll be able to see it past the mask. But you know him well enough to just know.

“Right here?” he challenges. “On a military base? With who fuckin’ knows out to get you? Just because you lived two doors down from me in kindergarten?”

You sigh, that one that tells him you’re employing extra patience purely out of love and experience.

“Right here, Si. Wherever you are,” you confirm.

“Should cut your losses,” he says, trying his best impression of the machine he became after he lost everyone but you. He’s never felt less protected in the mask.

As always, you see right through him.

“A bullet couldn’t take me from you, Simon Riley. The ‘Ghost’ doesn’t stand a chance.” You curl your fingers around the back of his neck, duck down until your forehead knocks against the hard mask’s. “Because it’s me n’ you ‘til the sun stops rising.”

An oath made of picked daisies and shared blood. The weight of it presses on his chest so hard he feels buried again. Layers of earth crushing him, you up above, the only heaven he knows or needs.

“Me ‘n you,” he rasps.

You let him stay like that another moment. Absorbing the warmth of your fingertips, crept beneath the edge of the balaclava. Breathing with you until he’s sure you’re synched. Heart, breath, blood, down to the firing of your neurons.

“Alright, no more brooding. You’ll feel better with some food.”

Simon exhales, sloughing off the gloom and pessimism that weighs on Ghost’s shoulders. You’re here, right here. Nothing will happen to you when he’s still breathing.

“Think I have a few more minutes.”

“Nah, it compounds when I brood with you.”

“You brood like a rainbow broods.”

You snort and flick at his mask, tugging him up with you towards the door. He lets himself settle, listening to your cheerful babble all the way to the mess.

[newlynova]

MDNI. every night you wake up in a cold sweat— arms and legs too heavy to move, tongue weighed down by blocks of cement. you can barely breathe on your own, stale air trapped in your lungs as the glowing eyes in the shadow of your bedroom watch you squirm. pinned under by the weight of darkness, it seems that the demon in the corner of your room wants to give you more of a reason to squirm. cw void!stiles stilinski, sleep paralysis, somnophilia, dubcon. 1k.

"you're finally awake, hm?" a low voice breathed into your ear, the ghost of a fingertip brushing along the thin strap of your tank top. their touch was cold, sending an uncontrollable shiver down your spine as their fingers danced along the length of your chest.

"but not truly, are you? if you were… you'd be recoiling from me in disgust, you'd be screaming," they gave a sharp tug on your spaghetti strap, pulling on the elastic band far enough that when released, it made a harsh smack against your skin, the pain from the snap would have made you wince, would have at least prompted a scared whimper from your lips. but, you could barely make a sound— your limbs betraying you, laying uselessly by your side.

the edge of the bed dipped under the weight of the demon, the shadow of the night concealing his features with a dark mask. "i can see why the boy is so fond of you," the figure murmured to himself, their voice barely above a whisper. their fingers danced up the curve of your shoulder, ghosting over your neck before settling beneath your jaw, shifting your head in their direction.

"you're a lot stronger than you seem… a lot more stubborn than i realized," the figure leaned over you, their face just mere inches from your own. "but, you're not strong enough to evade me. you're in my domain now, and i will not allow you to break free from me so easily."

underneath the pale white glow of the moon, you could finally see who the intruder was— your best friend, your childhood crush: stiles stilinski. but, it wasn't really stiles, was it? no. no, it wasn't.

his skin was too pale, and the warmth in his chocolate brown eyes had transformed into something more… predatory. the hold stiles maintained on your throat tightened, his chapped lips curling up into a wicked smile. it was as if the boy you knew had checked out, and something else, something darker had checked in instead.

"you're a beautiful girl, did you know that? with such a pretty face, i can understand why the boy has allowed you to consume his every waking thought," stiles gave your neck a gentle squeeze, your pulse growing faster beneath his grip. you could barely breathe, the cool slivers of air you were allowed in barely filling your lungs. "i think i'll keep you here… make you mine and toy with you whenever i need. how does that sound, hmm? for me to keep you around like a pet?"

stiles leaned closer, the tip of his nose mere centimeters away from yours. you could feel the coolness of his breath fanning over your lips, his hand twitching against your throat. you wanted to scream, to push him, to hit, to do something. but, your body was powerless and the weight of his control over you was suffocating.

his other hand lingered over your hip, thumb brushing along the curve of your hip bone before shifting over to the warmth between your legs. your stomach grew sour as he peeled your thighs apart, your limbs stiff as he opened your body up to him. the smile on his lips grew larger, the white pearls of his teeth exposed as a cheshire grin painted itself across his face.

"look at you," he whistled as he straightened back up, his eyes now locked on the sight of your vulnerability. a damp patch had formed at the front of your panties, the thin fabric clinging to the outline of your folds. "look at how your body betrays you, darling. i'm not even touching you yet… but, here you are… already wet and aching for me like the good little pet you're meant to be."

the hair along your arms and legs stood on end as stiles licked at his lips, a glint of hunger swirling in his eyes. you wanted to throw up, the feeling of his gaze on your body making you grow nauseous. "i can feel your mind fighting your body, darling," stiles's tone darkened, his voice dropping an octave as he shifted into a comfortable position between your legs. "you're trying to convince yourself that you don't want this… that your body doesn't want to be bent, and stretched, and spread by my hands,"

"but, guess what?" stiles tugged the silver zipper of his jeans down, the rustling of fabric making your mouth grow dry. "it's better if you don't fight it. you're mine now, after all, it'll be better in the long run if you give in now, darling."

the weight of stiles's cock slapping against your cunt almost made you jolt in surprise, the heaviness of his erection prompting your cunt to flutter around emptiness. your clit twitched beneath the weight, his hips grinding against you at a languid pace. you wanted to push him away, wanted to hate the feeling of his dominance consuming you. but, even under the spell of sleep paralysis, you couldn't quite push him away. at least, mentally.

"that's my good girl," stiles praised with a wolfish grin, his large hands cupping the back of your knees, forcing your legs up towards your chest. he had folded you into a position of his desire, pushing your panties to the side with one hand while the other squished your thighs together to keep you in place.

the head of his flushed cock glided through your messy pussy lips, collecting and smearing your arousal around before dipping slowly into your entrance. your brain couldn't fight against him anymore, the burning stretch of his cock diving deep into you almost coaxing a moan through your dry lips.

"open yourself up to me, pet," stiles grunted as his hips slowly began to rock into you, the hooked curve of his cock catching against the sensitive gooey spot along your walls with each thrust. your cunt clenched around his cock, strangling his length and drawing him in deeper and deeper. "and, let me make you mine."