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elijahstwink · 8 months ago

Note

i also have the fantasy of fucking elijah in red door mode yooo 😳 ... but if you ever feel inspired and want to write smut abt it , Im interested in reading it ofc,, and there is also just so few red door elijah shit out there 💔

𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓖𝓸

(I’d let him punch me holy this gif is hot)

Your boyfriend is going through a rough time. You help him feel better ;)

Thank you for the request anon! I always feel like writing dark!Elijah smut so this was so fun! It’s also the freakiest thing I’ve written lol. I hope you enjoy - Dex

Warnings: Blood play, Spitting, Choking, Slapping, Oral F!receiving, Dom!Elijah, Sub!reader, Elijah’s pretty mean, overstimulation, blood drinking, degradation, use of slut, whore etc

Seperate warning for this one. This has CNC! (Aka Reader consents for Elijah not to stop when she asks him too)

Your white dress billows behind you as you sprint down the hallway and towards the red door. Your bare feet burn at each step on ragged tile. You glance back to see Elijah turn the corner. His stone cold face and bare chest are covered in blood, all emotion void from his expression. Desperation fuels your speed, your legs burning and your lungs screaming as adrenaline courses through you. Elijah follows at a steady pace, his deliberate steps echoing, his breathing animalistic. He could catch you in an instant, but he prefers the thrill of the chase. He wants to savor your fear, your pain.

His footsteps are unnervingly close as you near the door. Just a little farther…

You slam into the red wood, pain shooting through your arm as you grasp the brass doorknob. It’s locked. You pound on the door, scream, and glance back in terror as Elijah approaches.

“Elijah, please!” you plead, but he keeps coming. This isn’t your Elijah, the kind and noble man you loved. This is a monster.

You turn back to the door, pounding and screaming for help, but it’s too late. Elijah’s hand clamps onto your upper arm, yanking you toward him. You struggle, but his grip is unbreakable. His eyes darken, veins pulsing as he opens his mouth, revealing sharp fangs glinting in the darkness.

Elijah jolts upright in bed, his body drenched in sweat and trembling. Nightmares of hurting you plague him every night since the incident with his mother. The red door haunts his mind, and he can no longer ignore it.

Breathing deeply, Elijah clutches his hair and turns to watch you sleep. Usually, this sight calms him, reminding him that he isn’t the blood-covered man in his dreams. That red door Elijah is just a fragment of himself, a dark fraction everyone has.

But tonight is different. The dreams are more vivid, leaving him feeling feral and dangerous. Every small sound or touch threatens to make him lose control. He needs blood.

Elijah carefully slips out of bed, pulling on grey sweatpants. He moves silently through the dark compound, descending the staircase to the large kitchen. He rounds the island, opens the blood fridge, and light floods the dark space. He grabs three blood bags and rips into one.

As the blood overtakes his senses, veins web below his eyes. He grips the marble countertop harder, ripping open the second bag, anger rising. The taste of blood makes red door Elijah creep to the surface.

“Lijah?” you call from the doorway, wrapped in a silk nightgown. Elijah’s head snaps up, his red eyes meeting yours as the marble edge crumbles in his hand. You rush to him, but before you can reach him, he grabs you by the neck, pinning you against the wall.

Despite his aggressive state, you’re not scared. You’ve been worried for him since he returned, his personality flipping randomly between normal and red door Elijah. The worst was on Bourbon Street, when he tried to rip out a man's heart for bumping into you. Red door Elijah is possessive, never letting you out of his sight, fearing that if you walk away, he’ll start chasing you like in his dreams.

Elijah's grip on your neck is firm but not painful, and you see the conflict in his eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay, my love,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks and tracing the veins with your fingertips until they fade.

Elijah’s eyes return to their regular onyx shade, guilt washing over him as he releases your neck and drops the empty blood bag.

“Shh, you’re alright, I’m alright,” you comfort him, wrapping your arms around him as he breathes heavily into the crook of your neck.

“I- I don’t know what to do, I crave you,” Elijah growls into your skin, his fangs gently scratching along your pulse point. Your eyes shut at the contact, but an idea pops into your head. A crazy, probably stupid idea... but an idea nonetheless.

“Perhaps you need to release all the pent up anger.” You suggest carefully. Elijah pulls away from your neck and stares at you in confusion.

“What do you mean?” He places his hands on the wall either side of your head, keeping you trapped against him. You can tell by the look in his eye that he definitely knows what you mean.

“I mean,” You rest your hand flat on Elijah’s bare chest, sliding it down to cup him over his sweatpants. “Let go, take it all out on me.” You gaze up at him innocently, something you know drives him nuts. Elijah swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement.

“No y/n. I wouldn’t be myself, I could hurt you.” Elijah shakes his head, already feeling his alternate personality taking control as his cock thickens under your touch.

“That’s the thing, you won’t hurt me. And as soon as you prove that to yourself, you can start to move past this.” You explain, slipping your hand under his waistband and taking hold of his erection, his length warm in you grasp.

You completely believe what you’re telling him. You know that he would never hurt you if not for pleasure, but that doesn’t stop you feeling like this may be a mistake. After all, Elijah is pretty dominant in bed already. If normal Elijah can edge you for hours or make you cum so much you’re begging for him to stop. Who knows what red door Elijah will do.

“Do you kn-“ Elijah interrupts himself with a deep groan as you push his pants to his feet and bring your unoccupied hand down to play with his balls, rolling them between your fingers. You can’t tear your gaze from his swollen cock and the bead of arousal gathering at the tip as wetness builds between your legs. You could mentally pat yourself on the back right now for not dropping to your knees and licking it up.

He suddenly grips your wrist, rough enough to leave a mark, making you gasp in surprise and release your hold on him. When you look up, you see that his eyes have returned to that crimson shade with veins underneath them. He grabs your neck with his free hand and leans down till your faces are inches apart.

“Do you know what you are asking for?” He breaths against your lips, tightening his hold when you nod. “Words.” He commands sternly.

“Yes, Elijah.” You squeak. He smirks at you, the veins flowing under his eyes.

“And you are aware that if you say stop, I won’t.” Elijah growls. You can tell he’s holding back, needing your consent before doing anything more.

“I know. I want you…” You murmur, bravely grabbing at his crotch again before whispering in his ear, “to ruin me.”

You can visibly see when red door Elijah fully takes over, any apprehension within him vanishes as he suddenly rips your night gown off your body and steps out of his pants, leaving you both naked.

“I didn’t mean here!” You whisper, looking around anxiously. The kitchen is one of the main rooms of the compound. If anyone were to wake up it’s highly likely they’d come to this room.

You squeak as Elijah lifts you onto the centre island and pushes you to lay flat on it. The cold marble countertop against your back sends chills down your spine as Elijah stands between your legs. His eyes are clouded,

“What if someone walks in?” You ask as Elijah bends your knees so that your feet are on the counter and your core is exposed. Elijah doesn’t respond, instead grabbing the last blood bag and holding it over you with a smirk.

You don’t have time to even question what the hell he’s planning before he rips the plastic in half with his hands, drenching you in blood. God this man is lucky you love him because no other human would still be turned on while covered in blood. Elijah leans down so you are face to face, his chest is getting covered in blood now as well.

“If anyone walks in here,” Elijah dips a finger between your breasts, “I’ll snap their neck.” He growls, sucking on his now bloody finger, moaning at the taste.

Red door Elijah doesn’t seem to be the slow and steady type. His movements are rough and almost crazed as he grips your thighs and pulls your legs over his shoulders. Now eye level with your blood covered cunt, Elijah doesn’t hesitate to practically devour you. The filthy sound of his mouth slurping up the mix of blood and arousal between your folds echoes throughout the kitchen. You release a choked moan as he sucks harshly on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Normal Elijah usually starts soft and gradually builds your pleasure to its peak. So this unfamiliar pace fills you with an uncomfortable sensitivity, causing you to grip his hair in both your hands and try to push his head away. Elijah releases a disapproving grunt at your actions. He moves his grip from your thighs to your wrists and pins them straight down at your sides. Your hands clench helplessly at the sleek countertop in an attempt to find something to grip as you squirm with oversensitivity.

When your wrists are tugged on slightly, you lift your head for the first time to watch the man between your legs. Elijah’s face is coloured crimson and veins are moving beneath his skin. A whimper passes your lips when his tongue thrusts inside you and his red eyes meet yours. His gaze is intense and demanding, practically shouting ‘behave’. You throw your head back against the marble with a loud moan as Elijah starts fucking you with his tongue. The feeling of the pointed muscle curling against your sweet spot has you arching your back. Sharp stabs of overstimulation are turning into waves of pleasure, causing you to clench your thighs around his head.

“E-Elijah I’m so close.” You wail, all your pleasure knotting together, building up in your lower stomach. Elijah hums in approval, his tongue working faster. and his nose nudging against your clit. Your moans increase in pitch as you’re brought closer to the edge, your hips jerking and your legs starting to shake. It doesn’t take more then a few thrusts of Elijah’s tongue against the spongy spot inside you before you’re coming, wailing in pleasure and practically grinding on your boyfriends face as you get lost in the euphoric feeling. Your legs are almost vibrating with the intensity of their shaking and your walls are pulsating around Elijah’s tongue as you come down from your orgasm.

Elijah pulls away quite suddenly, releasing his bruising grip on your wrists and dropping your legs from his shoulders. “Stand up.” He orders, taking a step backwards. You would have given him a ‘are your serious right now?’ type of look, if you weren’t too out of it. Instead you stay lying across the counter, trembling as you come down from your high. After a moment of silence you manage to speak out, “Elijah, Can’t.”.

“I said,” he grabs you under your arms and hauls you upwards so you are standing on shaking legs, all your weight being supported by him, “stand up.” He seethes, releasing his grip.

Your knees instantly buckle underneath you and you fall into Elijah’s chest. You would have hit the ground if not for him wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you against his chest and smirking at your feeble state.

“My naughty girl,” Elijah tugs your hair so that your head swings back, your eyes meeting his, “can’t even follow a simple task, hm?” He taunts.

His face has returned to normal, and he seems to have wiped the blood from around his mouth at some point. Elijah’s eyes are clouded with more than lust and you can see the red door version of him staring back at you. He usually talks much more during sex, and you can’t deny that you miss the comforting praise.

That thought is literally smacked away as Elijah’s palm meets your cheek in a light slap. You probably look like an idiot for a split second as you process what he just did.. and how much you liked it. You release a drawn out moan as he repeats the action before grabbing your jaw, holding your head up to his and smirking.

“Do you like that?” Elijah chuckles as you flush in embarrassment.

“If you wish to act like a slut, then I will treat you as such. Open.” He growls, pulling at your jaw as you open your mouth. Red Door Elijah is seemingly full of surprises, as he lines up his mouth with yours and spits. The feeling of someone else’s spit in your mouth would likely make you throw up. But this was Elijah, your boyfriend and the love of your life so of course it feels good. A rush of arousal wets your spent cunt as you gurgle slightly.

Elijah clamps your mouth shut, grinning like a maniac as he instructs you “Swallow,” The slide of his spit down your throat makes you moan, absolutely loving the filthiness of his actions, “Good girl.” He praises you for the first time, giving your jaw a light squeeze before releasing it.

The praise is gone as quickly as it came when Elijah spins you around, bending you over the counter. You gasp at the coldness against your sensitive nipples. He holds your hip with one hand, the other guiding his erect cock through your shiny folds. The pleasure of Elijah nudging your clit with every upstroke distracts you from the feeling on blood slowly drying on your skin.

Your mouth drops in surprise, screaming out as Elijah suddenly enters you in one bruising thrust and with no warning. The stretch is painful, but you’re wet enough that he slides in easily. Your hand shoots behind you on reflex, pushing hard against his torso. Elijah only chuckles at your pathetic attempt of pushing him away, grabbing your wrist and holding it behind your back.

“Too much Elijah, please just wait!” You plead when you feel him starting to move inside you, blood smearing the whit marble underneath you.

“Shh, take it.” Elijah shushes, not waiting for you to adjust before slamming into you again, his tip pressing against your cervix and causing you to sob out a moan. With every battering thrust of his hips, the loud clap of skin meeting skin fills the room.

It doesn’t take more than a minute before the pain dulls into a numbing ache and the pleasure overwhelms you. You’re moaning like a whore, taking every inch of his thick cock inside you, your walls fluttering around him. The way his shaft glides across your g spot makes you jerk with pleasure.

“That’s it, such a sweet little slut falling apart on my cock.” He coos, releasing your hand and pulling you up till your back meets his chest. He wraps his arm around your neck so your chin rests on his bicep and keeps working his hips back and forth, fucking into you in long, brutal strokes. The base of his cock throbs every time he bottoms out, and his balls slap against your slit with wet, filthy noises. His animalistic grunts mix with your cries of pleasure.

“Still too much for you?” He teases, laughing when his only response is a gurgle of incoherent words that you didn’t even notice came from your mouth. “Yeah?” He murmurs, pounding into you at an inhuman speed.

Elijah rests his other hand on your blood stained lower stomach, sending a jolt of warmth through you.

“Who do you belong to?” Elijah whispers, his breath tickling your ear. “Who owns this cunt, y/n?” He runs the tips of his fingers over your clit.

“Y-you Elijah!” You sob, tears forming in your eyes from the intense pleasure this man is giving you.

“That’s my girl.” Elijah praises before bringing his hand down hard on your clit. Surprisingly it wasn’t painful at all. You heard the smack before you felt it and suddenly you were gushing around his cock, the mix of his cock rubbing at your walls and the sharp pleasure to your clit plummeting you into an unexpected orgasm. Your eyes go blurry from tears as you squirt all over the counter and floor. Euphoria runs through you in a single wave as your walls uncontrollably pulsate around Elijah.

“Look at you, cumming on my cock like a good little girl. Making such a mess.” Elijah’s groans, pulling out of you suddenly. You whine at the loss, feeling your slick cunt clench at the air. Elijah turns you to face him before bending down and hooking his arms under your legs. You squeal as he lifts you up, essentially folding you in half as your knees touch your shoulders. Elijah’s hands cup your arse, and you wrap your own around his neck. He shows no strain as he holds you in mid air, turning you both so he can lean slightly against the counter.

You throw your head back and clench your eyes shut as Elijah pushes inside you again, the sensitivity of having just cum causing you to claw harshly at his back.

“Elijah, stop!” You call out, the overstimulation feeling like too much. He doesn’t listen, not that you were expecting him too.

You’re absolutely helpless as he starts moving you up and down his length, using you like some type of fuck doll. You fidget and squirm relentlessly in an attempt to make him stop.

“Look at me!” Elijah barks. You use the little strength you have to lift your head, meeting his intense and feral gaze. “You are going to shut up, take my cock and you’re going to fucking enjoy it. Do you understand?” He sneers, slowing down so you can catch your breath and come up with a coherent sentence. You’ve never heard Elijah speak so vulgar before and it strangely turns you on.

You know that if you put up enough of a fight, your Elijah would come back and stop immediately. He’d probably beat himself up with guilt while he holds you and apologises way too many times. But you don’t want Elijah to feel bad, you asked him to do this in the first place.

“I understand, wanna take it.” You rush out before crashing your lips onto his, you can feel his grin as you try to shove your tongue into his mouth. He parts his lips for you and you whimper when he sucks heavily on your tongue.

Elijah thrusts his hips up erratically, his thrusts reaching vampire speed as his climax steadily approaches. You break the kiss to bury your face in his neck when you feel your own rising in your gut.

Elijah lifts one hand to grip your hair and pull your head back to present your neck. Searing pain rushes through you as his fangs pierce your skin, mixing with the pleasure of his thrusts. Your vision goes black as your third orgasm of the night crushes you. The feeling of Elijah’s cum filling your tight cunt only prolongs your pleasure. You feel Elijah retreat from your neck as his moans fill the air, mixing with what you realise is your own screams.

Elijah slips out of you when his cock stops spurting, feeling the aggressive, lust filled haze of red door Elijah dissolving with every passing moment. He sits you on the counter momentarily to unhook his arms from underneath your legs. Then he lifts your trembling form back into his embrace, one hand holding your bum for support and the other cradling your head into his neck. Your grip around him loosens as you continue riding the waves of pleasure, shaking like a leaf in his hold.

Elijah chuckles endearingly as you moan into his neck. “Still coming baby?” He grins, kissing the top of your head. You manage a small whimper of agreement as you feel him start to walk somewhere.

Thank god for vampire speed, because Elijah has you in a warm shower within the minute. You rest against him, half asleep, as he washes the dried blood off your skin. After you are both clean and dry, you settle under the covers of your bed, cuddled up to the love of your life.

“Please tell me you don’t regret it.” Elijah mumbles into your hair. You release a tired laugh, your face pressed against his chest.

“No my love, I don’t regret it at all. Did it help?” You yawn, cuddling further into his comforting embrace.

“Definitely.” Elijah sighed, his mind feeling a lot calmer and his body tired. You tilt your head up, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss.

“Love you lijah.” You smile into the kiss as you speak. Elijah copies your grin as he responds, “Love you so much baby.”. He gives you one last peck before leaning back into the pillow and closing his eyes, waiting till he hears your cute snores before drifting into a dreamless sleep.

The couple are passed out cold by morning, still recovering from their late night. Klaus however, is very much awake as he stumbles into the living room, where Freya and Kol are engaged in an intense game of chess.

“Do not go into the kitchen!” Klaus gags, collapsing onto the couch in a dramatic heap. “And remind me to kill both Elijah and Y/N.”.

T A G L I S T (msg or comment to be on it)

@b1tchy

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uhhleeese · 2 years ago

Photo

Phoenix Bathroom 3/4 Bath Inspiration for a mid-sized transitional 3/4 white tile and subway tile ceramic tile bathroom remodel with recessed-panel cabinets, white cabinets, a two-piece toilet, beige walls, an undermount sink and concrete countertops

#subway tile shower #stone tile dloor #grey bathroom floor #dark wood window frame #large bathroom mirror #grey tile accent

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acotarxreader · 2 months ago

Text

Other Worlds part 3

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis - An unfortunate infection has the Inner Circle scrambling to try to save your life, only to settle on sending you home to receive the treatment you need, accompanied by Azriel who is about to meet a whole Other World, ours.

Warning: YN is very very ill at the start, silly, serious, Az has a panic attack boo, sickly sweet, fluff, jealous Az, agnst

A/N; You guys! It has been awhile! So long that I forgot my login and there was mild panic that @lady-of-tearshed helped to settle lol! But anyways here's a part 3 of the Other Worlds. Its always scary to write for the series because people loved part one so much but anyways here it is! Once my exams are finished I hope to write another part of Eris's fic as I kinda left ye high ad dry there! Anyways, as always, let me know what you think!!

Other Worlds and Part 2

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The feeling deep within your abdomen woke you from your light sleep, the growing pain keeping you from reaching REM. Perched up on an elbow you rubbed a lazy hand across your eyes, the buttery sheets clinging to the sweat on your back, uncomfortable heat sticking to your bones. Azriel moved slightly alongside you, burying his face further into your college hoodie you must have discarded during your sleep. The heat was choking, sending you quickly to dash to the bathroom, your cheek flushing purple from the suffocating sickly heat. Splashes of the coolest melted mountain water did little to stave away the purple blotting in your cheeks. You didn’t know if you were going to be sick or faint as the feeling of what felt like claws took hold of the muscles in your abdomen. You met the marble floor hard, that pain was nothing compared to what was growing in your abdomen. The cool marble gave some relief to your cheek as you met it but nothing could seemingly stop the inferno setting through your skin as your bones began to rattle with a chill off the stone.

“YN!” Azriel reached for your face, ice cold to the touch contradicting the feeling inside. He pulled you to your feet, your groans of pain bouncing off the tile as you clutched your arms around your waist until the pain became unsurmountable and blackout was your body’s only solution.

Your eyes hardly flickered, beads of sweat wiped with a cloth from your forehead as various fae shuffled around the room in frantic fear of Azriel’s stern orders. You groaned lightly, the pain remaining and the heat only having lessened slightly no doubt owed to the concoction of fluids Madja and her team plied you with.

“Am-am I dead?” You managed, eyes unable to open fully.

“No, love. We don’t know what’s wrong, but we’ll help you.” Azriel’s soft words were followed by a glare at the panicked-looking healer team, which couldn’t seem to figure out what was happening.

“I-I think it's the appen-appendix” You attempted to sit up, Azriel gently guiding you back down.

“What? What is that love? Do we need to banish it? Poison it?” He sank to his knees at your bedside, running his thumb over your hand in soothing circles as you gave a gentle smile.

“Out-it needs to come out- I’ll get sep-sepsis”

“Who is that? Can I get him now to fix you?” You gave the weakest of smiles. You’d die at the hands of medieval magic medicine, but at least you’d die with your love by your side. You fought the dark pull of sleepiness, its taunting comfort calling to you to dance with it, to stay with it. Rhysand burst through the door, boxes of supplies and tinctures in hand, Madja looking grateful but hopeless.

“Try these!” Nesta called over Rhysand’s shoulder, Cassian and Feyre holding multiple other elaborate glass bottles.

“I’m afraid we’ve tried all those” Azriel’s head whipped up from your direction to Madja’s melancholy voice, the look of a female who had exhausted the resources available to her.

“No” Tears rimmed Azriel’s eyes, looking back to you, waiting for a witty comment or comforting word, only a greying pasty complexion looked back.

“Well we could… no I’m not sure” “What Nesta!?” Azriel sprang to his feet, looking to the eldest Archehon like she was the answer to all his pleas.

“Well Azriel we could… we could send her home? Other world disease, other world solution?” Nesta shuffled from one foot to the other, an unusual discomfort in her own skin radiating as Cassian shared a concerned look with Rhysand.

“But-but what if you send her in the wrong place? Or what if-what if she can’t come back?” He looked amongst the four, all of which didn’t want to answer but Rhysand finally filled the airspace.

“She will die here Az”

“And what if she dies there?” his voice rattled.

“Then at least she can die knowing everything possible was done for her, we should want that for her” Cassian added softly, taking hold of one of Azriel’s shoulders in his hand. The healer team looked amongst themselves before looking to their leader to speak.

“She hasn’t got much longer, we must decide” Madja spoke with a kind firmness that Azriel knew so well.

“Fine, but I go with her” “Azriel” The four friends spoke in unison, being cut off by Azriel’s raised hand.

“You would not allow your mates to go alone, YN is the closest I’ve ever gotten to a mate, perhaps she is my mate but the human stuff is getting in the way, I don't know. Regardless, I will accompany her to her end, no matter what way that may present itself. Get Amren right away, Nesta and her will send us together” With the orders of the Spymaster the inner circle reluctantly went about the necessary preparations, fully unsure if this would even work or simply kill you both on conjuring. It didn’t matter to Azriel, in every reality he’d lose you and in every reality he would stay with you.

“Az how do we know when to try to pull you back?” Feyre did her best to hide her worry but it was easily read by her friends. Azriel took a moment to think, he didn’t know how time worked in our realm or how his friends would find him, all he knew is he had to get you to help.

“Your birthday Feyre, I’ll be home to help you blow out the candles” He hugged her tightly before doing the same to Cassian and Rhysand, the three ignoring that this could be goodbye forever.

“Until we meet again” Were Azriel’s final words to his friends before he took your weakened body in his arms, Feyre sliding a filled satchel over a shoulder as Amren and Nesta circled around you both. Blinding light followed.

The thud of his boots on the solid oak floors of a mildew-covered yet cosy dorm room echoed off the picture-covered walls. Azriel felt like he might vomit, never one to enjoy being at the will of Nesta’s power. He took an unbalanced step, realising that his wings had seemingly vanished from his back, the feeling turning his already upset stomach on its head. He clutched your body into him, taking in the room that held the same scent as your hoodie he loved so much, your home, it calming him. Your deep groan skyrocketed him back into reality as he took unsure steps out of your room and into the fluorescent-lit hallway. Every cell of Azriel’s body was screaming at him to freak out, a feeling he hadn’t felt since a child of utter uselessness towards his own outcome.

“Eh, hello?” He whipped around to the small voice of an even smaller woman as she stood toothbrush and shower caddy in hand. Azriel couldn’t find his voice, the whole situation was overwhelming.

“YN?” A man called from behind the girl as he ran towards the both of you. Azriel instinctively pulled you from his grasp.

“Cammy call an ambulance!” The man shouted and the small girl ran for the phone.

“Look buddy, I don’t know who you are but you’re going to tell me what the fuck is wrong with my YN” The male snapped, managing to take your weight in his arms as pure shock rattled through Azriel. What? What? What? Bounced around the head of the Illyrian as your weight began to go fully limp in the man's arms.

The next 40 minutes were a complete whirlwind that Azriel couldn’t find his voice in. The ambulance swept you all away, the male close behind in his car. The whole vehicle experience nevermind the beeping alarms within the ambulance cabin making Azriel feel fully out to sea. The next thing Azriel could comprehend he was being refused entry to the emergency bay, being forced to sit alongside the man in yet another fluorescent hallway.

“This has been a crazy fucking month” Azriel heard the man whisper under his breath.

“Thanks for finding YN-” Azriel sat up straighter, subconsciously puffing out his chest at the sound of your name on another males tongue “-I hope she didn’t cause you too much trouble, she gets kinda crazy around exam season, I’m Damien” Damien outstretched a hand that Azriel did not take, only refocusing his gaze on the double doors they took you through. The two sat in awkward silence for nearly three hours until a doctor returned to meet them.

“Well, we got very lucky, we got to her before any serious damage could be done, she's awake now if you want to see h-” Azriel stood before she could finish the sentence, bursting through the cursed double doors to find you, a small rattling intern leading the way to your room where you sat still groggy in the bed.

“Az” You gave a weak smile, morphine still flooding your system, the realisation of who you saw then sending you further upright in the bed.

“Az! What the fuck!?” You half shouted half laughed as he rushed to hug you into him, burying his head into your hair, taking deep breaths of the scent he loved so much.

“YN, I was so afraid” his voice hoarse from the somewhat vow of silence he had taken since arriving. You pushed him back, your hands wiping across his chiselled cheeks as you touched your forehead on his. He ran a hand up your arm, it catching on the IV.

“What is this?” he looked, taking in the sterile environment.

“Fluid, it's okay, it doesn't hurt. I can’t believe I’m back here, that you’re here!”

“YN you’re alive!” Damien's voice came from the doorway, sending Azriel back to his ironing board-like posture. He gave you a gentle hug under the scrutinising eyes of Azriel, your cheeks blushing.

“Damien I-I can’t believe you’re here?” “Can’t believe I’m here? You go awol for a month and then show up in the arms of this guy” Damien looked judgingly towards Azriel, arms tucked across his chest. Your sense of time was completely lost, you had been gone at least 6 months, had that translated as a month in this realm, the physics side of your brain was hurting.

“Visiting time is over” a burly nurse saved you from responding.

“I go nowhere without her” Azriel replied, the nurse only raising an eyebrow.

“C’mon Leathers, I’ll give you a lift back to the dorms” Damien replied bitterly, digging through his pockets for his keys.

“I doubt your puny muscles could carry me” Azriel whispered to no one in particular, you smiled gently.

“Go Az, stay in my room and one of my friends can bring you back to me tomorrow” You gave your best reassuring smile but met the doubtful face of the Illyrian. You leaned across the bed, beckoning him in to hear your whisper

“Az, trust me, an ICU nurse makes a naga look like a kitten” you grinned, Azriel shooting upright again, looking to the nurse with a respectful fear before kissing the top of your head and following Damien out.

Sat into the small Ford, Azriel dug what training he could to remain calm within another metal cage, this time the alarms absent.

“So, how'd you meet YN?” Damien broke the 5 minutes of dead air in the car, Azriels hand finding the handle above the door to cling to as Damien indicated onto a busy road.

“Not the ‘Jesus Christ we're going to die’ panic handle” Damien laughed at the sight, Azriel now using all training you had given him to read between the lines and not ask a silly question, he would save those for you.

“Well?” Damien tried again.

“She sort of…fell into my life” Azriel buried a grin, white knuckles growing across the handle.

“She has a tendency to do that, hard to saddle that one” he laughed, Azriel now glaring.

“She's not an animal she-”

“-oh dude I know, I get it, feminism woo-” Damien raised a sarcastic fist before returning it to the wheel “-but some women are meant to be left wild” he laughed, Azriel not returning the sentiment.

“So called ‘wild women’ are revered where I come from” he bit, Damien pulling up outside the building Azriel had hazy memories of landing in.

“And where is it you're from?” Damien raised an eyebrow, Azriel finding the door handle to allow air in.

“Somewhere YN will never need to bow to feeble insecure males” were his final words shared before exiting the car.

Azriel found your room again with some difficulty but was happy to find the door still open from the rush of excitement earlier in the night. The room felt like you, your photos and books and brilliance across every inch of the space. Azriel sat on the edge of the bed, taking it all in before the flood of sea he was thrown in overwhelmed him. Tears freely flowed down his cheeks, his hands knotting through his hair as the stress of it all reached boiling point before he fell back into the bed and allowed himself to be overtaken by the near miss you both had tonight. Sleep quickly stole away the cries.

—--

“Az, get your filthy shoes off my bed” You laughed from the doorway, skyrocketing the Illyrian upright, a daze of confusion to follow.

“YN!” He ran to you, swaddling you in his arms once again as you leaned into him.

“I-I just closed my eyes? How are you here already? How are you feeling” A rush of questions separated you both again.

“I wouldn't think too much about the time thing, it'll rot your brain sweetie-” you pulled from him, throwing down the jacket you had left Prythian wearing “-I got sent home, they said they've never seen someone heal so fast from halfway to death, those treatments from Madja must have worked wonders after surgery, I feel a lot better” you sat down on the bed, Azriel still trying to work his way through the time difference.

“YN I was so scared, I really thought you were going to leave me” “I can’t believe you’re here with me, in some ways I think I must still be in an infection-fueled catatonic state-” You looked at Azriel, his head tilted in confusion like when a dog hears the word walkies “- nevermind, I believe it, as much as I can’t, I chose to believe this is real” You smiled, eyes then landing on his bear shoulders, Azriel seemingly shrinking under the gaze.

“I know, wingless, how terribly odd, I feel like my balance is off” he laughed, a knocking coming to the door.

“She lives!” Damien beamed as you pulled open the chipping door. He squeezed you into a hug, the heat from Azriel’s eyes and your fresh stitches radiating through your body.

“Hello Dam, thank you for bringing Azriel back here”

“Oh it was no problem at all, me and ol Azills had a lovely chat” Damien clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, a huff of air leaving his nostrils as he did.

“Azriel will do just fine” he corrected.

“Nonsense buddy, you’re a friend now, c’mon we’re all going for lunch to celebrate your return from whatever place you were in” Damien left his side, taking your hand gently in his and leading you to the door.

Azriel crammed his figure into the back seat of the tiny Ford once again, trying his best to not glare holes into the back of Damien's head as he drove.

“You’ll have to tell us all of the great mischiefs I’m sure you got into YNN” Damien almost lovingly tapped your knee before returning his hands to the steering wheel.

“Not must mischief..” you trailed off, thinking of the great vast amounts of mischief you got up to in Prythian, all of which would land you in a psychiatric hospital if you tried to explain it to your friends.

Azriel folded his shoulders like a deck chair, squishing as best he could into the booth of the large, dilapidated pub some miles from your residence.

“Do they only make furniture for the miniature in this city?” He asked you under his breath and you laughed lightly as Damien returned to the table accompanied by three of your closest friends. Azriel fought the urge to block his ears as you and your friends all squealed at the sight of one another.

“I know, like howling dogs” Damien whispered across the table to Azriel as you swaddled your friends in hugs.

“You seem to have an affinity for referring to females as animals” he bit back, Damien rolling his eyes.

“Well hello there-” a red-headed female slid in alongside them, hand outstretched like a grand dame greeting a suitor “-let’s get properly acquainted” She playfully batted her eyelashes as you rolled your eyes.

“Easy Georgie” Cassy, Azriel remembered from the corridor, slid alongside his new friend. Damien gestured with his head for you to sit alongside him, allowing Ellie, Azriel's final new friend, to cap off the bench at the end.

“Tell us, tall dark and handsome, where are there more of you?” Georgie laughed, and your eyes looked down towards the menu burying a grin.

“I am a dying breed, my brothers are all mated off” Azriel answered in a somewhat serious tone, eager to end the affections of this new female as a waitress filled your glasses with refreshing water.

“Now who’s obsessed with animal analogies” Damien shot back as you took a drink to cover your confusion.

“If I was I’d correctly identify you as a little bitch” You began to sputter on the water at Azriel’s comment.

“Oh my god it’s like the real housewives” Cammy laughed as Damien and Azriel began to stare one another down.

“Okay okay enough of that” you coughed out, Damien rubbing your back to ease the deathly grip you faced for a second time in 48 hours, Azriel thought of all the ways he could have Damien taken care of, giving him comfort.

Azriel pushed around his burger on the plate, nothing compared to the food of home and simply couldn’t stomach it.

“YN, I thought you weren’t going to date boys until you finished the degree?” Ellie asked between bites of salad.

“Guess she went and found herself a man” Georgie laughed, the table other than Damien joining in.

“Tough luck Damien” The three girls laughed loudly accompanying your nervous chuckle as Azriel examined the pair of you. Soon after more teasing you found yourself at the bar top, waiting for an order of the coffee you had had dreams about.

“Hello love” Azriel joined your side, an arm wrapping tenderly around your waist, ever careful of the fresh stitches.

“Having fun?” “Yeah, it’s nice to meet the people from your stories, although I don’t remember a pig-headed troll being part of any?”

“Damien’s just being nice Az, maybe calling him a little bitch wasn’t the nicest thing you’ve done” you teasingly reprimanded him. “I call it as I see it” he proclaimed, observing the bar staff as they worked.

“It's funny how no matter the realm, the tavern will survive in any form” he laughed, kissing the top of your head as a member of staff passed a cup into your hand. You retrieved your card from your pocket, Azriel raising a hand before digging through his own pockets and pulling out coins.

“Az-” you tried but he had already placed the solid gold coins into the young staff member's hand.

“We don’t take Renaissance Fair money here buddy”

“Why do people keep calling me buddy?” You laughed at him, tapping your card on the outstretched card machine, the beep signalling a successful payment.

“What a strange place, a piece of…whatever that is containing all your wealth”

“Strange? A winged goblin takes my wages in a bank made of seashells at home and you think this is strange?” You laughed, taking a glorious sip of the coffee.

“You don’t think Gerry is helpful?” Azirel bemused as you rolled you eyes again.

“Gerry is the most helpful of anyone at home I suppose” Azriel beamed down towards your use of home, Valeris was still your home. You offered the drink to him and he took a regretful deep sip of the honey black liquid. His face contorted into shapes as the energetic liquid of life entered his system,

“Nice?” “I think Cassian’s dirt mixture was nicer” he winced out as you rolled your eyes. It wasn’t long before Azriel’s small sip of coffee had him bouncing off the walls with energy, so unused to the power of caffeine and colourings rife in our food. As the evening turned into night, the pub filled with college students ready to relax and the dance floor came to life. Georgie had the caffeine bursting Azriel quickly on his feet to swing around the dance floor with the other two girls, leaving you and Damien to chat in the booth.

“Looking for that ring before Spring YNN?” He laughed into his pint as the back of your hand gently met his chest. He quickly caught hold of it to keep it there, beckoning you to turn to face him.

“I could give it to you” he said quietly, barely audible over the booming music the was blowing Azriel’s mind some feet away.

“Dam, stop” You smiled sadly, taking back your hand.

“We were great together!”

“We were fuck buddies” You laughed in surprise at his bold statement.

“Exactly!” He joined your laugh, a familiar playfulness falling back between you both. Azriel swirled Cammy around when a sudden creep of a sugar crash headache started to slide up from the nape of his neck. He released Cammy’s hand and apologised to the girl's pleas to stay as he made his way back to the booth. Through the sea of people, Azriel found his eyes land on you and Damien, looking ever so comfortable in the booth. He watched as Damien took a ring from your finger and placed it on the one where people's wedding bands on before he leaned in and whispered something into your ear. Azriel felt a wash of rage, it chasing away any semblance of a headache from him as he shoved his way through the crowd trying to find the door. Meanwhile, you began to laugh at the obscene idea that Damien would ever be the one you’d end up with, slipping your ring back to your thumb. You looked out to see the back of Azriel’s head exit through the door as you attempted to follow him, finding it a lot harder to break through the crowd than the broad Illyrian.

Azriel stormed through the drizzle-drenched streets, crowds and crowds of people washing around him, the deafening buzz of overhead street lights had Azriel wondering how you weren’t all driven mad. He had no idea where he was, only that he wanted to go home to where things made sense and fluorescents were only found in the brightest flowers of Spring and not around every corner. The Spymaster stopped in front of an electrical goods shop, shut for the night but with the displays still on. Flashes of the news painted across the rectangular screen, more hypersonic buzzing radiating through the glass. Azriel watched in horror at the scenes of unrest, scenes of familiar trenches but with more gruesome otherworldly weapons. The sight turned his stomach, forcing his feet onward as pictures of the battlefield danced across his mind. He wandered off the step onto the road, a large SUV breaking harshly in front of him, blowing the bellowing horn in his direction, more incomparable noise. Azriel darted from the road, narrowingly missing being flattened by another SUV. This world was so noisy, so deafening he couldn’t understand you ever finding peace here.

The rain picked up its hammering from a drizzle to a drum as his rain soden boots met the pavement with increasing weight. Even the weather was different here, somehow crueller than what he faced in the darkest of storms at home. Azriel felt out of control, overwhelmed in every sense of the word, swaddled by the choking of the deafening never-ending buzz of street lamps. He couldn’t find his way through the sea of nausea and people, people chattering into their little glowing boxes, tapping a deafening finger on the buzzing screens. Buzzing, so much buzzing, all Azriel could think of until he found his breath uneven, no match for the buzzing. His heavy hips met the step outside a jeweller, the quietest of buzzing but still pinging in his ears. Calloused hands dug into his face as he tried to bring his breathing back, unable to capture its elusiveness.

“Az!” Your voice rose above the buzz, Azriel, lifting his head from his hands as you ran to him, the colour drained away from his cheeks. You caught him gently by the shoulders, his rattling bones bouncing off your rain-soaked sleeves.

“C’mon love, it’s okay” You did your best to pull his weight up from the step, guiding the seemingly shellshocked Illyrian back the few blocks to your dorm, the buzzing never really easing but breath beginning to return.

Once inside, you took his rain-soaked clothes from him, leaving him in just his undergarments before swaddling him in the duvet and guiding him down to the bed. The bone-rattling buzz continued inside your room, the maddening sound causing Azriel to claw at his ears.

“What Az, what?” you pleaded.

“It's so-so loud here!” he winced, eyes scrunched closed. You quickly darted around, unplugging everything, and shoving a pillow along the foot of the door to block the noise and light from outside. The motheaten curtains were quickly swooshed closed, soothing darkness swallowing the room until you lit a few candles to illuminate your bath back to Azriel as he lay in your bed. You discarded your own drenched clothing before sliding into the space alongside Azriel. His clammy skin clung to you as his arms wrapped around your waist.

“That, that was horrible” he whispered into your hair.

“I think you had a panic attack sweetie, a symptom of my realm” you nuzzled into his chest, eager to hear his heartbeat return to normal.

“Did I steal you away from your life here?” he questioned after a moment of comforting silence. He had seen you beam with joy many times since meeting you but never with the level of familiarity you seemed to have tonight.

“If you want to get technical, Nesta stole me” You chuckled softly before lifting to rest your chin on his peck and meet his eye.

“Details” he grinned.

“The only thing you stole was my heart” You admitted sweetly before making a retching sound “ew gross feeeeeeeelings” you mocked, Azriel rolling his eyes before kissing you sweetly.

“I bet Damien would have a few words to say about that”

“Yeah well Damien is a little bitch” You smiled, Azriel looking as proud as ever.

“My girl” he squeezed you tight.

“No one else’s”

For the following two weeks, you introduced the world a lot more softly to Azriel, with lots of breaks in the haven of safety from the buzz you had built in your room. Azriel began to see so many things right in this realm and challenged the wrong. He could see how someone could call this place home but it would never be his and he counted down what sense of time he could before you would return to his realm. Azriel’s bravery grew and one late one evening he ventured out alone into the world while you slept off a day of explaining how cars, debit cards, instant noodles and electric razors work.

The street where all the deafening had occurred was silent, as the sun sinking banished the need for overhead street lamps. He wandered with more comfort down the street until he landed at the step that you had rescued him from, a neon sign glowing in the window of the shop. “Cash for gold” Azriel read allowed, an idea sounding off in his head.

When you woke up to an empty bed, panic had stolen your voice as you began to haphazardly clothe yourself, your hand barely touching the door knob as Azriel strode in.

“Gods Az, I thought you were gone on another rampage-” You smiled, taking the flowers he offered you “-these are lovely” you beamed.

“YNN, I have a surprise for you” You raised an eyebrow as he came in, closing the door behind him. You watched him carefully cross the room, discarding the jacket you had bought for him in a charity shop, along with his other new clothing. You placed the delicate flowers on the dresser before turning to see a somewhat worried Illyrian.

“YNN, this is a strange world, filled with strange customs, but this is the custom I like the best-” “-yes”

“YN, I love you so much and I know we’ve only been officially together for a short time or a very long time, who can tell but-” “-yes” you mumbled in shock, Azriel not hearing you as he was wrapped up in anxiously delivering his speech.

“-I just know you're supposed to be mine forever and-”

“-yes”

“-I will work harder for the life you deserve-”

“-yes”

“-because you deserve the moon and stars and I want to be the one to give them to you, in every and all realms, YNN, will you be with me forever” Azriel retrieved a ring of precious stones, dazzling rays of your favourite colour danced along the precious metal as he held it out to, where it met silence.

“This is-this is where you answer, from what I’ve read” he mumbled after a moment, staving off the rising panic he wished to never feel again.

“I said yes Az” Tears brimmed your cheeks as he launched forward for you, holding you so tight that it may burst your bones.

“I love you so much YN, I don't know how I got so lucky to find you” he slipped the ring on gently, it fitting perfectly.

“I love you too Azriel” You kissed again, shielding each other from the chill of the night that leaked through the poorly insulated walls.

“I did contemplate pulling a Rhysand and have you face a beast to retrieve your own ring but I didn’t fancy trying to slip the ring under Nesta’s pillow while she slept” You laughed at him, gently hitting him into the chest, the gleam of the rings charm catching your eye.

“So now can we go get some sleep”

“I wasn't thinking of doing much sleeping tonight YN” he smirked and you returned the same, rolling your eyes.

“I don't know you didn't get down on one knee, kinda ruins it” You teased and he grinned biting his lip.

“Oh Gods I change my mind I can't be stuck with a Smart Ass for a wife the rest of my life”

“Wife” you repeated and it caused both of you to smile greatly, a tinge of sadness then panging through you.

“What about finding your mate Az?” you looked from the stones to his jewel-like amber eyes.

“I found her” he kissed you deeply, draining any and all doubt from your bones. Forever was a long time but you looked forward to its endlessness with Azriel.

------------------------

Whatcha think????

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remodelproj · 1 month ago

Text

Dark tile wall contrasted with Stone vanity & light grey tile floor. With wood accent cabinetry.

#bathroom #architecture #residential #interior design

143 notes · View notes

astrid-sorensen · 2 years ago

Text

The Farmhouse | Joel Miller x f!reader

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: sᴍᴜᴛ, ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ɴᴏᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴏғ ʀᴇᴀᴅ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏ��ɴᴛ: 5ᴋ

MASTERLIST

"Kiss me." You asked, muted. “No.” He grunted. “I ain't your boyfriend.” He whispered coldly. The words stung in the air.

Joel might have been the most closed off person you have ever met. The only sound filling the room was Ellie's repetitive giggles as she read through her book.

The pages between one hand and a sandwich in the other. You had known Joel for a few days now, learning nothing about the man except he was from Texas. Except, there had to be something behind his stoic facade, I mean he had saved you after all.

The cordycept was hurtling behind you, darkness filled the library as feet slapped patterned tile. At the end was a light, a door held open by the brawn brunette male.

With little time to spare you'd passed him, the tall rectangular wooden door sealing shut behind you.

Panting short breaths out your lungs, you stepped down the grey stone steps towards a young teen, who you would soon learn was Ellie.

"Thank you! Oh my god! Thank you!" You turned to face the man, only now getting a good view of him.

The skin complimented the golden undertone of his flesh. Thick black and grey hair sprouted along his hairline.

A week or two later, all three of you rested for the night. You'd found a small abandoned gas station, gracing Ellie with a sleep on an old, leather couch.

You and Joel shared the abused brown linoleum, not much more than a foot between you. You rolled to your side, staring at the back of Joel's head as you debated your next move.

His wide shoulders were now in front of you. You couldn't stop yours fingers from slowly shaking over his skin, tentatively. "What are you doing?" His low voice, cutting through the air like a guillotine.

"C'mon, I've seen the way you look at me." You breathed, confidently.

"Don't be ridiculous." He spat back. Not moving away from you as you continued exploring him.

"What's stopping you. This could be our last night alive, and I haven't been fucked in so long."

Joel heaved a big sigh. You fingers continued to dance under his shirt.

Joel held his breath a moment longer silently begging you would stop before he'd give into his needs.

He needed to let off some steam, some pent up angst, he needed a release.

But alas, you didn't stop. The pads of your fingers grazed circles to his stomach slowly pressing down harder before going gentler again. Articulating your craving for him.

There was a soft layer of hair all over him and you felt the resistance as you moved your hand through it.

Feeling it thicken towards the centre of his abdomen and chest and then thin once you run it towards you again.

The next thing you know he's pulling you up onto his warm strong thighs, the denim scraping against your leggings.

His hands trapped you onto his legs leaving no room for you to move as he grinned upwards, his length hardening at the friction.

You felt your core moisten a cheeky smile grazing across your lips with pride as your hands went to his broad well built upper body.

One hand ran to your clit, rubbing the area as the wetness collected into the fabric, Joel could feel it seeping through.

He tugged at the waist of them, watching where your bodies met as you sat up on you knees letting him help you tear them off along with your panties.

He pulled you back on top of him, his knees widening to a v as he planted his feet firmly to the floor.

Knees bent to keep you in place, exactly where he wanted you. He continued pulverising into a rythm.

His lip caught between his teeth, the frown on his face deepening though you thought that wasn't possible.

You fingers moved to his jeans, fumbling on the belt as he nudged you off, undoing the leather band and buttons himself.

Then shuffling them down his thighs, so his cock could spring free.

One hand to the flesh of your ass the other to the base of his genitals, rubbing the sensitive skin of his tip between you lips, lubing it up.

He was slow, taking care as you felt your body build with excitement, craving to finally have him fill you up inside just as you'd anticipated.

The thought of how well endowed he was had crossed your mind more than once. At least you finally had your answer, and you were not disheartened.

He run up your slick one last time before finally pushing into the wet opening.

He felt your pussy crowning around the tip of his dick.

His jaw swung open and in that moment you knew this must of felt as good as it did for you as it did him.

He pulled his hips back, his tip almost slipping out before he moved back up replacing it to where it once was. His thumb rubbed at your cliterous.

This man was skilful, your body squeezing him to fit him inside.

Eventually he slid all the way in, your body tense and gripping around him. Both his hands squeezed at your ass, massaging into the flesh as he began bouncing you on his dick.

"Kiss me." You asked, muted.

"No." He grunted. "I ain't your boyfriend." He whispered coldly. The words stung in the air.

I know your not my boyfriend

A moan run from your mouth.

"Shut up, don't want Ellie hearing."

Another gasp fell from you lips.

"What did I just fuckin' say?" He grumbled, stilling as you felt your pussy pulsing around his length. Your hips bucked trying to gain some friction but it was no use against his strength, stilling you.

He moved a burly hand to your face, his thumb and pointer, clamping into your flushed cheeks as his palm cupped your mouth.

You whimpered into his skin, your neck straightening as he carried on, brutally fucking up into you.

Your hands lay against his chest, holding your balance, though you weren't sure if you needed to.

You crossed your arms over the hem of your shirt lifting the fabric before Joel swiped them off, you losing your grip of the cotton.

"Stop tryin' take your clothes off." He whispered, sternly.

"Why not?"

"If we gotta run, you gonna be focused on that shirt tryna pull it back on." Joel uttered into the night.

"Fine." You grumbled. It wasn't how you'd imagined, but I guess beggars can't be choosers.

Soon his rythm became sloppy, his end nearing as well as yours.

His wet thrusts kneading into where you needed him most.

"You close?" You nodded frantically, squeezing his hand your breast as his joined in. After a few more pumps you were letting go, stilling as you felt your whole body freeze, clamping down on him as electric shocks ran through you.

He fucked you hard through your release, edging on his own. You were spent, your whole body softening as Joel used you to satisfy himself further.

Fingertips gripping harshly into your hips as he pulled them down onto him.

Heavy breaths leaving this lungs. His large hands seized you by your ribs and quickly pulled you off, throwing you in between his legs as he palmed himself into oblivion. His cum spurting up into fountains then falling down into the base of his pubes.

A gorgeous hot flush was over him. His greyed hair slightly damp and lost some of its volume. A sheen coated his forehead as he brought a hand up to it, combing slowly down his hairline before gripping the crown.

Regaining composure.

He gave himself a second to catch his breath before reaching for the bottom of the curtain, ripping of a piece of fabric and cleaning himself up before pulling his jeans back up and righting his clothes to how they were before.

He made no eye contact as he did this, then turning onto his side away from you just like he had been before.

You sat, shocked and hurt. You ached for the intimacy, praying he would drag you over to him and pull you into his clutches. He didn't.

"Sleep, long day tomorrow." He stated, before falling completely silent. You moved pulling your leggings back on and crawling over to where you originally set up camp. Closing your eyes and begging for sleep to swallow you.

You woke the next morning to Ellie nudging at your sleep. "Hey wake up! I'm really fucking hungry and were outta food."

You grumbled, sitting up from where you had lead on the carpet, rubbing a sore knot in your shoulder to ease the pain from sleeping on the floor. Joel and Ellie were all packed, bags on their backs and guns in hand.

—

"Hey, how's watch going?"

"Fine." He replied, avoiding your gaze. God this man was difficult. There was an awkward silence as you waited. "Couldn't sleep?" He asked.

"Nah, restless." You moped. "Has anything ever snuck up on you when you were sleeping then? You know, cos you always insist on keeping watch and stuff."

"No." The male began. "But you can never be too careful."

"Hmm, I'd say fuck it. Get your sleep. Can't be killing cordys, running on an hours nap."

"Yeah but you also needed me to save your ass back there. So I think I'll stick on the side of precaution."

"Touché." You nodded, wandering aimlessly around. "You know, there's a reason I couldn't sleep."

Joel didn't answer but turned to look at you, a bored look plastered across his face, one eyebrow slightly perked in interest. "I was wondering if you wanted another repeat of the other night, you seemed to enjoy yourself."

"So did I." You flirted, eyes gazing up at the man as you wondered towards his direction.

He looked you up and down before returning his gaze into the distance, gun still firmly held against his chest. He chewed his lip, seemingly at war with himself. An entire ethical debate going on behind those black coffee eyes.

You lifted your fingers to his jawline, caressing the scraggly coarse hair of his face, scratching lightly at the skin underneath. You run it down to the exposed part of his chest, just between the collarbones before undoing a button, teasing further.

He swiped your hand off harshly slapping it away. Joel swivelled his gun down beside him.

"You want me to fuck you again?" He gritted through his teeth, half a question, half an answer.

"Mmhm." You nodded, cheekily.

"Right here?" He scowled, signally to where you were stood. The look of his face was disrespectful.

"Yep." Joel shook his head, sighing before looking around, pulling his gun off and putting it to the floor.

"Leggings down, now." He ordered. A smile crawled onto your lips, moving your fingers to the waistband of your pants, pulling them down innocently as you waited for his next order.

"Gotta be quick."

He said nothing as he pushed at you waist, edging you to turn around. He pushed you further, causing you to stumble forward til you reached the trunk of the old abandoned car.

You leant forward, arms bent up to rest your head on instead of the cold rusty metal of the car. Joel placed two hands to your ass cheeks, spreading your legs apart as he dived between them.

He spat into his hand cupping you sex and rubbing quickly, preparing you for him. He stood up, one hand flat to your lower back as he levelled himself to your hole.

"Do you want this cock?" He whispered, darkly.

"Yes, Joel. Please fuck me." You whimpered, bucking your hips back into him, but he held you in place with a deathly grip.

"Fucking Slut, you gotta be real quiet for me though." You hummed as he pressed in, forcing himself between your folds.

You cried out quickly, biting your lip to stifle the sound.

He fucked into you with violent force, your hips bones pressing into the vehicle. You felt his soft huffs behind you, the brunt force making the car rattle.

He carried on a moment longer before pushing up the back of you jacket to lay a kiss to your tailbone. "Too loud." He pulled you off, arms crossing underneath your own and lifting you a metre to the side like a toddler.

He kept one arm there, the muscle holding you up as he inserting himself again. He fucked into you harshly, the only sounds were his wet thrusts slapping into you.

You wined, rewarding you with a firm grasp of his hand against the sides of your throat. His breath heaved in the delicate eardrum of your ears. You gasped for air, you knees buckling as you came to your finish.

Shaking around him. He felt you go floppy, moving his hand down and watching you fall onto the leaves below. He moved behind you, angling your hips up so you were now on your hand and knees.

He braced your hips as he connected with you again, brutal thrusts into you from behind til you could tell he was close. Within an instant you felt him pull out, hot wet spurts on your ass as he came.

He admired the view, swiping off his ejaculate with his hand and handing it to you. You watched him innocently. He moved his fingers to your mouth and you sucked off the juice that was there. You pulled off and he twisted his hand, motioning you to clean it off. You waited patiently as he checked to see if there was anymore, finding some leaking between his thumb and pointer.

You swiped it off, the feeling sticky and salty on your tongue, swallowing all the residue down. He pulled his jeans back up, doing up his belt before fetching his gun he'd left on the floor. You followed pulling up your leggings.

"Go sleep." He ordered.

"You know I could keep watch for a while."

"No. Go to sleep, I'm not gonna ask again."

You wondered back, slumping to the floor and curling up under the blanket. You slept well after that.

—

"Are you ever gonna look at me again?" You scoffed, half joking, half annoyed. He didn't reply. "Hey, what's your fucking problem?"

"I'm just tryna get me and Ellie to Wyoming, I don't know what your so goddam pressed about."

"We had sex okay, it happened. You don't have to keep in a 10 mile radius from me."

"You asked me to fuck you and I did. Stop acting like it's anythin' more than that."

"Seriously, Joel I'm a fucking person! Or has it not occurred to you that I have feelings?"

"Not my problem."

"God Joel, your such a cunt."

He huffed.

"You were just somethin' to put my dick in. Nothing more than that." He cursed out, cruely.

Goddamit Joel, that was harsh. Where the hell did that come from?

He thought to himself.

You eyebrows raised, hurt but not surprised. Joel was cruel, Joel was cold. Your eyes then shut, a bigger smile crossing your lips as you stormed into another room, tossing down your jacket and curling up. Allowing the tears to roll down soothing yourself with them.

—

Ellie woke to the sun, shining through the newspaper clad windows, as she rose from her bed for the night. She went to wake up Joel who was already sat up, sorting through his things.

"Good morning!" She said cheerily, scanning the room quickly before asking. "Where's she gone?" Joel signalled his head to one side as Ellie wondered round and knocked on the door.

"Hey, you up yet?" There was no reply as she entered finding a bare room. She traipsed out poking her head into the other before returning to Joel. "Which one she in?"

"Next door."

"By next door do you mean in another motel, cos she sure as hell ain't there."

"What?" He growled, jumping from where he was sat and storming into the other room before booting into the next and the next. Your name rang through the halls, echoing across the bare property.

Joel ran, poking his head out to the distance. Then running to the opposite side, seeing your grey clad frame, wondering off. "Wait there!" You turned noticing the man before you began running, bolting across the field to the safety of the trees.

"God I'm too old for this." He huffed, catching his breath. You stopped running once he caught up, no reason to keep up the chase whilst he'd definitely gain on you and practically tackle you to the floor if it was what it takes.

"Fuck off Joel!" You spat, avoiding eye contact as you kept your head firmly ahead, not too certain where you were really going.

"No, about what I said."

"Oh you mean the part where you told me I wasn't even a person to you? Just a hole to put your dick in." If I remember correctly. In fact you did remember clearly, very clearly, too clearly.

"I mean" "I mean, I didn't mean it." "I didn't know what to say to you." "Fuck I'm no good at this."

"No your really not." You grumbled continuing to walk on.

"I'm tryna tell you I'm sorry."

"Oh, it was nothing. We're even, See ya!" You mocked.

"Please stay, if not just for me, for Ellie. Your the only one that gets through to her." "She loves you."

"She does not love me."

"She does, I'm old. I know that stuff when I see it. She always wakes you up first, she never picks arguments and she never walks on without you. She trusts you. "You know she'll never believe it wasn't her fault you left."

Fuck how could you do that to her, everyone she's ever loved has left her one way or another. She at least deserves a goodbye. And here wasn't the time.

"Please, don't fuckin' leave," His gruff voice broke.

"Okay, one more night." You started. "So I can say goodbye."

"Hey where the fuck were you running?" Ellie called, jointing you were you were in the clearing.

"Just tryna get a head start, your still pretty hungry aren't you?" You teased.

"Oh man, I could eat a whole horse." She laughed. You joined in letting her catch up to you as all three of you went off into the woods. The plan was to head west, go round the next town over and carry on til you found somewhere to sleep for the night.

You walked for what felt like days, taking frequents rests to put up your feet before you kept going. You were almost through the last step of your journey for the day. You'd hiked round the small town of Arlington, coming up to a country house just a couple miles out the city. The place you were coming up to was perfect, a large white farmhouse, black windows and a porch. Now you think about it it kinda reminded you of bill and franks although more secluded. The tall grass was wetter here than it was back in Boston, slightly muddying and green and almost reached you knees as you wading through, watching dusk fall over the hills.

"Woah! This is perfect!" Ellie beamed, a wide grin ear to ear in excitement. Moss had grown up the walls almost completely covering the once lavish family abode.

As you got close enough to make out the colour of the window frames, a dark brown beige, you felt a burning feeling flush over your thigh. You all ducked, hands shielding your body and chest loosly as you looked around.

At first you felt as although you had wet yourself. God this was embarrassing, until a loud echo followed. Finally registering in your brain. Your legs buckled under your weight, falling into the long grass.

You looked down to your leg, almost as if it were in slow motion. You saw your leggings dampen and a small amount of skin shown through the rip of the fabric. And it was red. So red. A gushing pool coating you as you heard more shots go off.

"Stay down!" Joel yelled, the deep gargle emitting from his chest in desperation. Almost on cue, agonising whimpers leaving your mouth as you held you hands to it.

Need to put pressure on it.

Was the only thought running through your rampant psyche. Ellie had crawled off in front, perching behind a shrub as Joel pulled out his gun, lying on his front as he angled it up to the house, towards the fence he saw the shots come over. "Fuck!" You cried out, attempting to crawl.

Joel bounded over to you, one arm under you knees and the other under your arms as he pulled you into him with haste. "Hold on tight." He demanded, leaving no room for debate.

"Joel get behind that car, you can get a better shot."

"No, I gotta to get you somewhere safe first." He snarled, as he ran as fast as he could, you hands gripping tighter to him as you bounced in his arms. He darted to the short stone wall leaped over it and dropping you to the floor behind, catching his breath and he got his largest gun into a better hold. "Don't fucking move." There was a small softness around his stern words. Those earnest iris' bleeding into your own.

You lay your head back against the bricks. Panting as you held on tightly to your leg.

Goddam this fucking hurts

There was shot after shot, echoing across the fields and into the distance.

"C'mon, let's get you inside." He picked you up again, pacing quickly towards the house. He must've took care of the shooter. Ellie ran ahead. Joel kicked down the back door heaving you inside and bringing you to the nearest seat.

You flopped down, one hand tightly griping into your hair. Joel found a cloth and placed it harshly onto the wound, your own arms folding up as you seethed in pain, muscles tensing and contracting.

He lifted the fabric, inspecting the would quickly before covering it again. He was knelt to your side both hands down as he held them straight in place.

"Ellie, you find anything?" He called. You felt dizzy and sick, agony washing over you again and again, each wave stronger than the last. Tears were welling in Joel's eyes unable to hold them back his shell shocked look terrifying you even more.

You couldn't make out her response. You turned your head to the side, a heave of vomit coming out as Joel held you there with his shoulder. You were too weak to do it yourself. "Ok, keep looking!" You felt the dizzying again.

Please don't throw up again.

Joel watched your eyes lull back and go floppy, he tapped on your face trying to bring you back.

"Hey, hey." He said, following with your name. "C'mon, stay awake for me." He moved, opting to lift your injured leg into the air, hoping to help some of the blood flow.

Ellie handed something reluctantly to Joel, he looked down at it briefly, chewing on his jaw before getting to work Joel ripped the fabric of your leggings with one harsh rip, the one leg of the fabric now it two for ease of access.

You eyes woke again.

What was going on?

Where the hell where you?

The whole place was rotten and mouldy, broken concrete everywhere. The wallpaper had been ripped at as if some had tried to scale it.

He threaded the needle, you saw white as he began. Curling the needle through your flesh. You screamed begging him to stop, crying in pain.

You fell out of consciousness, giving Joel a few seconds to carry on before you woke again, screaming the strength for him to stop. Blood had coated his whole hands, dripping onto the carpet.

"I know, I know, I know it hurts." He gritted, eyes fixed on your mutilated form. Soon he finished up, pulling the thread tight as it weaved through you flesh.

He pulled the needle off .

"It's over now." Joel sighed in relief, grateful he managed to finish it off. You head lulled back, hitting the sofa arm as a bittersweet bliss engulfed you for a short while, the excruciating pain of being sewn up finally completed.

You stayed conscious for a few minutes longer, moans and groans through you til you found some solace in sleep. "Hey soldier." He said, your eyes fluttering before looking over to him. You looked down to see a thick heavy cloth strap tightly around your wound. "Did your nap help?"

"A little, still fucking hurts like a bitch though." you croaked.

"Well, there's a decent looking bed upstairs, do wanna sleep up there?" You nodded, letting the man pick you up how he did earlier and slowly take you up the stairs. You dug your nails into his shoulders as your leg grazed him, pain sizzling through your nerves. A soft whimper fell into the air.

"Where's Ellie?"

"She's sleeping, theres a little kids room. Countless comic books she's rummaging through." The floorboards creaked as you reached the top floor, Joel carrying through the door way with care.

He gently placed you down, shaking off a dusty quilt before slowly draping it over you. He disappeared.

"Here." He said handing you an open can of spaghetti hoops. Your stomach growled at the view.

"Thanks."

You gobbled it quickly, the Texan moving to the space next to you to sit down. He pulled you carefully to lie on his chest. You were far too tired to put up a fight. Plus he was much comfier than the flat lumpy pillows. "We need to find more food."

"Your injured, need to rest."

"No, we need to find food." You said firmly.

"I'll take care of that."

"What by yourself?" You mocked, rudely. He didn't laugh. "Joel I'm still leaving, once my leg is good and I got some food, we're going our separate ways."

"Downstairs got a fireplace," He began, hesitantly. "Probably some good soil out back and it's not far from the city to find supplies." He muttered, shyly. "Plus I think I could fix the stove, maybe."

"Joel it's not gonna work. I'm-."

"Wait," You shook your head, having none of it. "Fuck, woman." He groaned. His hands had grabbed your face, pining it to the headboard in a rigid grip.

"Joel-"

"I-I need, you." He spilled, the words leaving his mouth like a broken dam.

He gravitated in.

Desperation overcoming him as he pressed his small plump lips to your dry ones, moistening them softly with his own. The grimace on his face was too intense to miss.

His dark eyes begging, pleading with you. This was killing him truly, get himself open to show you his insides.

But there was something there you hadn't seen on him before, a softness.

His rigidness blunted at the corners. "Okay? I fucking need you, I've almost lost you before, I'm not risking it again."

"What?"

He played with your lips, grazing them carefully so they only just touched as he spoke against you still.

"Don't you dare fucking leave me in this world alone." Both of your eyes were sealed shut. conveying so much love and passion as his hands held you in place.

He broke off, looking you fervently in the eyes as you looked back into chocolate ones, seeing so much vulnerability and tenderness. "Don't you dare."

He searched your face, his brows tightly embroidered together and little downwards frown on his lips.

"Okay, okay I won-"

He slowly went down you neck, kissing the skin softly. He lay small warm kisses to the collum of your neck. Something has possessed this man.

"God I need you so bad right now." He grumbled in a mild undertone.

"Do it then." He shook his head firmly, objecting.

"No, your leg."

"Don't worry, plus it might help with the pain." Joel pondered, his brown eyes wandering off into the distance.

"I have an idea." He crawled down the bed, gently tearing your other legging up you thigh, laying soft kisses as he did so. Soon he reached the top leaving you in just your underwear and you pr t shirt on top.

He slowly moved you good leg up, bending it at the knee as he pressed on the exposed part of your thigh, easing his access.

He lay a kiss too your wetness, your heart pounding in your ears. Joel started helping you take your shirt off.

"What happened to always being prepared?" You quizzed.

"It's safe here. Plus I can't resist."

"What if someone gets in."

"They won't." He growled. He laid back down, gentle kisses.

You inhaled sharply through your teeth. Jaw clenching since you'd tensed your limb trying to chase the high. "Try stay still, gorgeous." He said, his eyelashes fluttering down so he didn't see your response.

The word fell from his mouth like it was the easiest thing it the world. Like he called you that all the time, like it was made for you.

You heart fluttered, your hand moving to his hair to comb through it, gently scratching at his scalp to encourage him on. Shorts pants left your lips, your release nearby.

Your couldn't control your pelvis tilting at the motion your hole clenching, begging for something to fill it. As if on cue, Joel's thick finger poked at where you wanted him.

The action earning him your body's praise.

"J-Joel." You moaned, he softly hushed you, affectionately.

Your eyes squeezing shut as you came.

"Joel, that was the best." He pulled off his shirt and jeans, climbing in beside you before tucking you both into the blanket as you cosied tightly into him.

His hand pushing all your hair of your shoulder so he could grip your face.

He pulled you tightly into his chest, one hand gripping your neck with so much force you thought it would fracture.

"Good, get some sleep. You need your strength back." He kissed your forehead, the warmth flushing across your face.

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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 23 days ago

Text

Chains of bones: Chapter 3 full version

DARKGODAEMOND X READER/OCISH READER

Tags: DARK AEMOND, GREEK MYTHOLOGY INSPIRED AU

🔷Summary: You are a servant working for the goddess Rhaenyra and the God Daemon. You are tasked with protecting the flowers and one day, you find yourself captured by rhaenyra's greatest enemy: Aemond.

🔷Author's note: Dark af.

WARNINGS: Misogny, (no kidding) emotional manpulation, dubcon, body betrayl, vaginal sex (f recv) oral sex (f recev) rough sex, mentions of loss of virginty, emotional gaslighting and gore, blood, and a lot of...BONES. (Blood licking for this chapter) Blood drinking too...(where is this going???)

This is a dead dove

Do not eat it.

(a+ warning)

wordcount:11189 (SWEET CAROLINE OH OH OH)

Rhaenyra's pov (3th person)

Time has not been on her side. Not now, not ever.

She is standing in front of green great pillars, doors made of emeralds and watches a tired but young woman sit a throne entrusted with red shining stones and dark deep emeralds. The young woman brushes her own hair with her fingers, likely perfecting herself before Rhaenyra's arrival.

Rhaenyra remembers how they were once girls, playing tag in a garden. She remembers how she and Alicent stole cookies from the kitchens and would dress up to pretend to be princesses. Alicent wore green, she wore black. Ironic. Even in their childhoods, the gods before them played and toyed. Now they are gods themselves. And played and toyed they did. With mortals, and each other, most of all.

When she enters the throne room of Alicents mansion, she is met with a cruel reality. The reality of her own actions, or rather the absence of it. The fact that she never truly cared about one certain event in their shared confusing lives. An event not so long ago, yet not so earlier either. An assassination of a child, barely old enough to understand the powers his father had granted him.

Alicent is wearing a dark green dress, covering her cleavage. The dress reminds Rhaeyra of the play dresses they used to wear. Except this dress isn’t freely following Alicent’s movements around. That dress was freedom. This dress is a prison made of fabric. She can barely move in it, Rhaenyra can tell from the distance. The dress goes all the way to her chin. A star necklace can be seen dangling from a golden necklace and in her hands rests the scepter of truth.

A simple eying wooden broom which could pass for any simple household broom. But only the Gods can feel the true power radiating from it. Alicent finally notices her former friend, and wields the scepter at once, summoning guards from thin air. She doesn’t speak. She doesn't have to. The hatred and disdain are enough. But the disappointment, the pure utter heartbreak that is mirrored in Alicent’s eyes? That is enough to make the Goddess of Realms and delight stand down, staring at the green with grey tiles that cover the throne room floor.

Rhaenyra shows her empty hands. She means no harm to her friend. No matter how much they might have changed. She still carries love for Alicent.

Alicent, however, has gone through some changes. “You dare show your smug face here after the crimes you committed?” Her voice is a thin needle, poking painful holes in Rhaenyra's disillusion that this could be her path to redemption and forgiveness. To a solution, to stop Aemond from killing the girl.

The Queen of Delight lifts her head regardless, easily adjusting to the new hostile situation. “I don't recall the crimes you accuse me of. Daemon hired the assassins and replaced the boy's godhood.” She says, and even though it is the truth, she can feel the sting and burn of the lie.

Alicent’s hands briefly touch the curves of the wooden staff. She clasps it, as if it's her safety net in this sea where she is clearly drowning in, swallowed by waves they once faced together. “Boy,” she mutters, laughing. “Can't you even remember his name? Jaehaerys. That was his name.” She bites out, bitterly.

Rhaenyra did in fact, not recall his name on her own. She sighs. She did not come here for the murdered child, no matter how gruesome. She came here to avoid another tragedy.

“Alicent, whatever happened between us in the past-” She sets one step closer, and the moment that she does, big bright green flames erupt from the floor, swallowing the tiles, forming a barrier between the two friends.

Alicent’s voice rings out over the flames, over the noise of confused guards and disturbed servants. “You never took accountability. Daemon killed my grandson, in his bed, because you felt weak. Because you felt threatened. Because you were suffering, we all had to suffer too!”

Even before her godhood, Alicent had this great sense of justice and could read Rhaenyra as an open book. After her godhood, the two girls grew apart, but Alicent’s abilities only became stronger and more astute. The way that Rhaenyra balls her fists, steps forwards to the flame barrier and how an unintended lighting bolt shoots from her fist, confirms it all. She hit the sensitive spot. The truth. “That's a lie! Daemon never acted on my orders!” Rhaenyra shouts. But Daemon is not entirely to blame. It would have been easier if Jaehaerys had died. And she did allow him to find a solution. The God of Dragons. What else could Daemon think of for a ‘’solution?’’ Murder is how he has gotten everything in life, even her.

Alicent lets out a hollow laugh as the lighting bolt is redirected by her left tiny finger, and takes down a green shimmering chandelier, almost crushing Rhaenyra. She hates how good it felt to watch the fear on her former friend’s face. But she hates most of all that she felt relieved when Rhaenyra stopped the chandelier on time. She cared. Despite it all.

“You claim to be Queen yet you never learned the most important lesson of ruling.” It is why she supported Aegon at the council. Not this, irresponsible, young and uneducated woman that still is a child at heart.

Rhaenyra pretends that she is unharmed by her friend's cruel words. ‘’What lesson would that be?”

The fire dies out, disappearing. Alicent crosses the now clean floor to Rhaenyra to face her. She studies her friend’s expression “The truth, your intentions? They don't matter, Rhaenyra. The truth is what the people see. Your intentions are as good as your actions. You sat by and did nothing when my grandson got murdered. You sat by and did nothing but parade Daemon around, praising him, awarding him-”

Rhaenyra feels cornered, trapped, endangered and attacked. She wields her weapon, the weapon she always wielded so well in front of Daemon, her father, everyone who dared to stand in her way; playing the clueless, dumb, victim. What people expect of her. “My son was killed first.” Alicent surprises Rhaenyra with a cruel snort after hearing her outburst, trying to find sorrow for something that happened so long ago. Yes, she misses Lucerys everyday, but not as much as she did when he was just gone. Life went on, as did she. She found peace. Because there was balance.

Alicent, Alicent never had that balance. “Your son, yes. Who took my son's eye. Who did gods knows what to torment my poor son.” Rhaenyras eyes hurt briefly as she rolls them a bit too long. They teased him a bit, they didn’t lock him in a room to die. “Lucerys wasn't innocent. He was a bully and got what he deserved.” Since Alicent assented to her godhood, she has become a great judge of character. Rhaenyra knows it from her spies. Alicent is fair and good. She plays the role of Goddess of Justice very well….

Just not with her children, her flesh, her blood. Rhaenrya chuckles in disbelief, hearing how her friend defends her own murderous, dark and twisted son that is known to kill, betray and lie. “Aemond is innocent? Is that what you are saying?” Rhaenyra makes it a bit of an ill-tempered joke, making her voice light and jumpy. But Alicent takes great offense.

She points in Rhaenyra’s face, screaming at her as her face becomes red with frustration. Years of frustration and pain unleashed. “He was before your sons ruined his life!”

Rhaenyra, now offended too, laughs, scoffing as she turns away, ready to take her leave.

Alicent continues to rant, her arms movements becoming wider as she recalls the anger and hurt of that very dark day. “He only defended himself. And it wasn't enough for your sons. They had to take his eye. Maybe if you weren't around Harwin all day, you could've taught your children some decency!”

The Queen of Delight feels the blood drain from her face, as her entire body becomes a cold vase of water carrying her skeleton. She turns around so fast, that another lightning blast hits where Alicent is standing. Alicent reacts by counter-casting the spell to a nearby potted plant, who lights up in flames, burning the moment it hits. "Decency?!" Aemond killed my son!” Rhaenyra shouts, and breaks into tears. ‘’Aemond killed him!’’

Alicent’s response makes her heart break. “It was justice, Rhaenyra. I don't expect you to understand it.” Justice.

Rhaenyra shakes her head, ignoring her own pain for the good of the realm. She needs Alicent to sneak into the Underworld. Aemond will never let her in. But he would allow Alicent in. For the first time in her life, Rhaenyra is speechless as she recalls all that has happened since Driftmark.

Alicent cries, silently. “My poor boy, trapped in his own darkness. Forever. He used to call upon me. Write me letters so long they could pass for small books. No more. I don't recall the last time I've seen him or Aegon. I only recall the boys they were, once. And how those boys were taken from me. They might be alive but they might as well be dead. What good is loving someone, holding them dear to your heart, if they won't return your love?” It is as if living with ghosts, memories of people already gone. Rhaenyra knows all too well what that is like.

Alicent points the staff in Rhaenyra’s direction, who raises her hands ready to defend herself. Alicent’s brown eyes are full of questions. ‘’I am a terrible hostess. You came here to see me, Rhaenyra? Did you perhaps came here for something important?’’ Rhaenyra is dumbstruck by her sudden peaceful mindset. ‘’I, I got so angry I didn’t realize, you wouldn’t set foot inside this mansion if it wasn’t urgent. So, for the sake of the mortals we all protect: How can I help you?’’ Alicent waves the staff, creating a comfortable table with two long chairs, one for each lady.

The servant brings tea and biscuits. Rhaenyra recalls how Alicent loved biscuits even as a little girl. When the two of them grew up together, she'd remember pages full of information and whenever she recited it right, her mother gave her and Rhaenyra biscuits. She found it odd. She felt like a dog. But Alicent said it was an act of love. She remembers holding Alicent all night when her mother died, eventually. And Alicent did the same for her.

Her mother was a kind but strict woman. She never dared say it out loud but Rhaenyra always had the impression that Alerie wasn't comfortable around the gods. She wanted to Send Alicent back to Old Town, where she would be safe. Alicent clicks her fingers and the teapot rises from the table, pouring tea for the two goddesses.

“I am here to discuss your child.” Rhaenyra says, giving a crude summary.

Alicent doesn't even seem to hear her. She is too busy adjusting the biscuits on the silver plate. When they are to her liking at long last, Rhaenyra has gone silent. “I have mothered three sons, and one daughter, Rhaenyra. Which one of my children offended you now?” She asks, and there is that venom again.

“Aemond.” Judging by Alicent’s face, she knows something is up with him. She didn’t seem shocked or surprised that Rhaenyra came here for him.

Alicent chuckles softly to herself, breaking a biscuit into pieces. “Ah. He was such a sweet boy growing up. I know we aren't allowed as mothers to have any, but he was my favourite. Aegon never did what we wanted and after they took Daeron from me, I always enjoyed spending time with him.” She tells her friend. ‘’He caught me crying, the day Daeron was sent away. He promised me he’d find a way to cheer me up. He caught a firefly for me.’’

‘’You never told me that story.’’ Rhaenyra remarks, softly. ‘’Lucerys did something for me too, when I lost Visenya. He and Jace made a lovely cake for me. With help of the servants, of course.’’ The boy was an angel but he shouldn’t be left alone near any fires or cakes.

Alicent stares into the distance. ‘’He was sweet. He was gentle, kind, good.’’ She finishes. Her gaze sharpenes. “That was until your boy stabbed his eye out, blinding him half for the remainder of his life, however. It is ironic. Aemond would forever see darkness and I would forever see darkness in Aemond. All thanks to your bastard.”

Rhaenyra sighs, hoping to finish this endless discourse.

“Aemond took his revenge.”

Alicent laughs.

“No. Not even slightly.”

Rhaenyra adjusts her posture. “Lucerys is dead.” She says hiding her emotions very well. Alicent laughs again, touching the scar she gave Rhaenyra years ago.

“You think it was about him?” She cackles at her stunned expression. “Yes you do. You always think it's about you and your perfect little family. Hah!”

She continues laughing for some time. “You aren't nearly as important as you think you are, you know?’

And with that, her final patience is gone. “Alicent, Aemond kidnapped a girl. An innocent girl. You are the goddess of Justice, you need to call him to halt and get her back.’’

She had hoped that Alicent would bristle with disgust and stand up, her chair falling as she rushed off to the Underworld to give the adult Aemond a smack across his face for what he inflicted on that poor scared mortal girl. But all Alicent does is smile, sip tea and nibble on her biscuit. It is infuriating. “Aemond has never been interested in girls. Not after….Well you know, don't you?”

"It's the truth. Daemon gave her away and he plans on marrying her.” She will have another conversation about that later tonight.

Alicent shrugs. “It sounds as if Aemond has found happiness. I won't interfere in his love Life and neither will you if you know what's good for you.” Rhaenyra is startled.

“You dare threaten me? I am the goddess of light.” Rhaenyra reminds her with a smug grin.

But Alicent is not so impressed. She never has been. She sees Rhaenyra for what she is. “Light is so useless without intent. Without meaning. It just shines. I haven't forgotten what you did to my sons, to my daughter and most of all my poor grandson. How you clawed and lied, deceived and even killed So that your side is remembered as the good.”

“My side is good!” The table shakes as Rhaenyra slams her hands on it, her frustration getting the better of her.

Alicent eats her biscuits, ignoring her outburst. “Is that why you slain my grandson? In his bed in front of his mother? Is that why you so eagerly took his godhood he was granted just that day?” Rhaenyra opens her mouth to object, but unwillingly, Alicent reminds her of a way to stop Aemond.

Rhaenyra makes sure her face is calm and collected. She knows how to get Alicent to help her. “He's going to make her a mother.” Alicent tries hard to keep her shield up but the words hit deep as roots clawing out of the earth. Rhaenyra knows all too well what Alicent would think of a young girl imprisoned to have Aemond's children.

At first, Alicent tries to deny it. She raises her hand and opens her mouth but Rhaenyra is faster. “We found blood in the garden. It's hers. Tell me, Alicent. How can you know what is happening to that girl and call it justice?” Alicent drops her biscuit, distraught as her hands go to the star necklace she carries, nervously playing with it.

She opens her mouth, ready to argue. Rhaenyra grabs her friend's hands, now cold with sweat and fear. “You know what that's like. She's forced to take his seed and she'll be squeezing out his sons soon. We know what that's like.” Rhaenyra touches Alicents arms.

Alicent cries silently, breaking down at long last. Rhaenyra joins her, trying to comfort her friend. “I couldn't save you, Alicent. I couldn't do anything to save you. But we are powerful now. Together you and me, we can save this girl.”

Alicent agrees, at long last, to at least talk to Aemond. She does not make any promises about portals or killing Aemond or saving the girl. Rhaenyra tells the news to her council, smiling as she leaves the mansion. Alicent follows her out, shadowing her wherever she goes. Her voice kills the silence. “There's one thing I don't quite understand, Rhaenyra.” Alicent stares at her friend. “Why do you care so much about what happens to this Girl?”

Rhaenyra picks her words very carefully. “She was under my protection when she was stolen. I take that as a great offense.”

Alicent hums but doesn't reply.

She could always tell very well when Rhaenyra was honest.

And much better when she was lying. Like she did just now.

READER/PETAL/UNKNOWN FIRST NAME.

You slept more than you allowed yourself to. You blame your lack of training at first, but with a bed that soft, that big, and that warm anyone could fall asleep. You stare at the ceiling, where dragons look back to you. The diamond chandeliers shimmer peacefully and you hate all of it. He put so much effort into this room for you. You can save a hungry family with one of those chandeliers. You don’t deserve any of it. It reminds you of the nights you spent on the street, in the cold, begging for food to selfish strangers who all feared they would end up like you; an unwanted orphan.

You are overwhelmed. Absolutely overwhelmed. Your senses are tested, your skin is burning and aching and you are close to crying. You slap yourself. You need to pull it together. Now. You rise from the bed, instantly regretting it the moment you are actually on your feet. Your feet hurt. You hiss, ignoring your own pain as you walk to the vanity. There must be something here. Some cream, some lotion…Anything. To get rid of your…

“Bloody horns.” You don’t care that he’s King of the Underworld, if Aemond had something to do with those horns growing out of your necklace, and into your own damn skin, he will be suffering.You pass by the large balcony and are taken back by the fact that you are watching a sunrise. A sunrise in the Underworld. It takes your breath away. The light, the way the entire room fills with sunshine is almost magical.

‘’Ahum, do you wish me to close the curtains, my Queen?’’ You should be used to people sneaking up to you by now, but no, you aren’t. You turn around, facing a girl around your own age, wearing a black servant gown. You don’t trust her. The memory of the witch who tried to kill you is all too fresh in your mind.

You reach for anything that can serve you as a deadly weapon. Can you even kill undead people? You will find out, you suppose… “I am so sorry for startling you, my Queen.” Lies, likely. Lies and deceit. You grab the perfume bottle, ready to smash it on her head.

She holds up her arms. “I am Ann. Your handmaiden.” She tells you, when slowly lowering your perfume bottle. “His grace assigned me about two weeks ago. He wants to make sure you are content, your Grace.” Content? There are horns growing out of your body! You do hear something interesting. The kidnapping was planned at least two weeks ago. So he planned this quite for a bit.

Ann grabs the small, golden hairbrush with sapphires. You roll your eyes at the expensive, excessive and unneeded fancy brush. “Shall I brush your hair? Perhaps you'd like to have a nice bath? I can prepare it for you.” She says. You don’t trust her just yet, but do agree on following her to the bathroom. You rip one of the lights on the wall, taking a sharp diamond with you in case you need it.

You follow her into the lavious bathroom, another insane monstrosity. There are mirrors covering the walls, golden tiles under your feet and the tiles have letters written in them. You can clearly spot an A. A golden, A curved into the stones. You deliberately shove your feet over the A, trying to erase it.

‘’Your highness?’’ Ann’s voice makes you realize you must look silly. You watch Ann, prepare your bath by filling a golden bathtub big enough to fit two people with water. The water comes from a demonic statue in the corner, and seems to be hot right away. Dark magic, no doubt. “Roses or lavender, my Queen?” She asks as she takes two bottles of leaves from a cabinet you didn’t even notice. She knows where everything is.

You bathed before, of course. Just not with roses or lavender. Just with water and a bar of soap that grew smaller every time. “Roses are fine.” You say, not paying too much mind to it. Lavender has such a strong scent, roses are more subtle.

“May I help you?” She asks, gesturing to the Nightgown that Aemond put you in. You nod, putting the diamond aside. She looks at it, a little distraught. You put your arms up, allowing her to undress you and to do her job.

She helps you into the warm but nice water. She begins to brush your hair. “Do you like it here, my Queen?’’ She asks, gently brushing your hairs as you eye a golden bath duck with sapphires for its eyes. You don’t. You were captured here and you don’t like how pretentious Aemond is, nor how he sometimes loses control of his own powers. You will be looking to escape. But you can’t tell Ann that. She will tell Aemond, likely.

So you lie, crawling into the skin of someone else, pretending to care about golden bathtubs and diamonds. ‘’It’s such a dreaming life. I never suspected it would be happening.’’ Sometimes the best lie is just the truth. You did not expect it to be happening, and you did not expect to ever meet Aemond at all. Life would have been perfect, had he stayed far, far away in fact.

Ann chuckles, softly. ‘’I can imagine, my Queen. My mother always told me that destiny is something that we least expect. Like, how a man had the destiny to become rich. He kept waiting for riches but he took his wife, his children and his health for granted. He already was rich, in a way.’’

Her words nestle inside your brain, working their magic. You sit up, considering her words. Dread fills your chest as you glance at your own reflection, staring at your new horns. What if she’s right? What if this is your destiny? What if somehow, Aemond is right about all this? ‘’Interesting.’’ You comment, enjoying the warm water and the scent of roses.

Ann stops brushing your hair, looking flushed and embarrassed. ‘’I shouldn’t bore you with senseless stories. I am sorry, my Queen.’’ She says.

You chuckle, but roll your eyes. The way she addresses you is obviously Aemond’s doing. You want Ann to treat you as a normal being. ‘’You should stop with the ‘’My Queen’’ thing. It makes me uncomfortable.’’ You tell her, and you steal the brush from her and give your scalp a good scratching with it. You groan, as your horns interfere with most of that idea.

Ann is a beautiful young lady and could easily impress many people, but her eyes have become as big as a bunny who is facing the huntsman. You scared her. ‘’His grace said I wasn’t supposed to address you in any other way.’’ Ann confesses, her voice small. ‘’I don’t know what to do now. The King wants you to feel at home here, and I should obey your every command. But his command was to address you properly. I feel conflicted, truth be told, your Highness.’’ You understand she is terrified of Aemond. Who wouldn’t be, in truth? You hear a soft sniffle. You sit up, reaching for Ann’s hands. You feel horrible for making her cry.

You won’t tell Aemond anything. He doesn’t deserve to know after all he did to you. And besides, even in the best marriages there are secrets. You scoff a bit at your own poor joke. Marriage. To him.‘’I won’t tell the King. You can address me how you like. I am sorry for upsetting you.’’ You say. Ann looks up, her eyes puffy.

You hope you made it a bit better.

But you only made it so far worse.

Ann snaps, throwing the brush on the tiles in frustration, tears bursting from her eyes as she falls to the ground, hugging her knees. Shocked, you try to get to her, awkwardly hanging half out of the bathtub. ‘’You shouldn’t feel bad! Not over me or my feelings!’’ The way she talks scares you. It is terrifying. You stare at this poor, tortured and tormented soul. Ann sighs, continuing. ‘’You shouldn’t be bothered about me at all. I am just a mere servant, you, you are the Queen. You should worry about other things-’’ You stop her rambling, instantly grabbing her hands, this time you manage to hold them, without slipping on the painful marble floors.

‘’Who should a Queen care for, if not her people?’’ You ask, genuinely. Not that you see yourself as a Queen. Ann smiles through her tears. You smile back, carefully. Ann returns to brushing your hair, now much more comfortable and less stiff around your presence.

She clears her throat, embarrassed. She shouldn't be. She is under a lot of pressure. Perhaps you can find some way to lighten her burdens. Make her happier before leaving the castle. Or she can come with you. ‘’Me and the servants heard rumours. Is it true the King gave you thousand roses and had a gilded carriage with seven unicorns all in a different colour to bring you here?’’

You wonder if the roses aren't secretly enchanted to cause hallucinations. Unicorns? Roses? Gifts? A carriage? Also, you didn't know Unicorns exist?

You recall a hole in the ground, and darkness. But you decide to humor her and feed the propaganda Aemond spoonfed her. If she corrects him one day, it could cost her her head. ‘’No, there were eight unicorns and two dancing polar bears.’’ You say, making the lie even less believable. Ann nods, however, buying it, to her it's the ultimate love gesture.

She sighs, dreamily. ‘’I wish someone would do all this for me. The King must love you so deeply. I shouldn’t mention, but I noticed, he seems…different since your arrival.’’ You frown. Different how?

‘’Did he get rid of that stick up his ass?’’ You ask. Ann gasps, laughing but hides her laugh behind her hands. She shakes her head, smiling as she tries her best to summarize it.

‘’Changes are happening. Let’s leave it at that.’’ What kind of changes, you wonder.

A cloud of roses appears, signaling Aemond’s dramatic arrival. You roll your eyes, sighing deeply as Aemond takes his sweet time appearing in front of you, roses surrounding him as he spawns. You look beside the bathtub for Ann, and are shocked to find her kneeling on the floor, for Aemond. You feel horrified.

There is kneeling and there is whatever Ann is doing. You assumed a curtsy would be enough to please his ego. But no. She is covering the floor, making herself as lowly as possible. It's dehumanising in any way and you want her to stand up right away.

Aemond smiles at you, admiring your naked body. “Ah. There is my beautiful wife.” He claps his hands and the candles surrounding the bathtub light up, spreading a gentle rose scent. You cover your chest with your arms. He left you here. Where did he expect you to find, somewhere with another one of his skeletons that wants to kill you?

Ann returns to brushing your hair, but can barely reach it from this angle. She keeps her eyes on Aemond at all cost. She fears him, clearly. But luckily he pays her no mind. It's like she doesn't exist to him at all. A shadow haunting a castle. You realize, she doesn’t exist for him. He sees her as a servant. A tool to dispose of when she’s no longer useful. You shudder at that thought, horrified and sick to your stomach.

His thin and gentle smile dies. He stares at you full of disbelief as if you challenged him. “Is that needed? I've seen your beautiful body two times before.’’ He has. You won't do his bidding until he tells you the truth. You want to know why you have horns now and what you are doing here.

“It's a matter of consent.” You say.

You expect him to throw a tantrum or to kill Ann for revenge or just drown you in the golden tub. But he does something else. “Ah,” he says nodding as he turns around granting you your privacy at long last. “Tell me when I can gaze upon the most beautiful creature that ever graced my presence, yes?” You wonder if he's truly in love. If he is pretending he puts too much effort into his act. But the way that he's so silly and so awkward around you almost confirms it to you that he is not acting.

You roll your eyes now his back is turned. Ann gently smiles too, helping you in a soft robe.

“When I'm dressed.” You announce, making your way to the bedroom with Ann.

You can hear him scoffing from afar. “Hah.” He comments but he does not turn around at all nor tries to steal peeks from the mirror walls. He remains where he stands, arms crossed but faithful to your command.

Ann escorts you to a chair, makes sure you sit comfortably and goes off to fetch you a dress and underwear. You wait patiently and see her return with a dark red sleeveless poofy gown that could easily save your life should you decide to jump down the balcony. It would protect you from the fall.

It's a walking statement. A walking attention catcher. It's a beautiful dress but you don't feel beautiful. You fear it'll look ugly on you. So you hate it. It's safer to hate the unknown than to try it.

Ann smiles, twirling it, making it only worse as she presents it to you as a proud mother, offering her daughter her wedding dress. “I…don't we have something less extravagant?” You ask. Ann drops the ball gown, staring as if she too sees it for the first time now. She gives a soft, almost shadow of a nod, that vanishes when Aemond comes over. He gives her an obvious glare, and you can see her tremble.

It was his choice, clearly.

Not Ann's.

The poor girl shakes, before vanishing off to the closet, getting another dress. This one is green and she looks now directly to Aemond for his approval, rather than your own. ‘’This is the dress you approved for the dinner, my King. But maybe her g-grace could wear it now?’’ You laugh, uncomfortable.

You turn to Aemond, knowing he will do anything to make you feel at home. Ann said so.. “I'm used to wearing pants.” You admit. “Easier to move around in and fight in if need be. And I look much better in pants than in a poofy dress.” You nod to the dress, allowing him to use his demonic powers on it.

Aemond nods and smiles but doesn't do anything. “Mhm.” He says, instead of turning the dress into a hope of ashes like you had hoped. “You'll adjust. I'm certain of it.” He looks at your horns full of admiration and excitement.

His answer is infuriating on its own but that he looks at you so patronizing that makes your blood really boil. “I think you misunderstand me.” You say, trying to be civil and the bigger person. You don't want to wear this monstrosity. You don't want to wear dresses. You aren't even sure how to sit in this thing or how to walk in it. You'd only trip and make a fool of yourself.

The king of the underworld lets out the most boyish annoyed groan, as a little boy being told he can't have another stuffed animal. “Petal, don't be difficult. Let me rephrase…I think you clearly have issues.” Your brows raise so far you are convinced they are in your hair. You? You are the one with the issues?

“Me?” You must have heard wrong.

He nods, solely as if he regrets it deeply. “You have never been in a ballgown before. You feel guilty and shy. But there's truly no need for it, my love. You'll look so beautiful,” his lips curl into an unintended smile picturing it. “This dress was made for you. The seamstress worked days on it. I didn't even allow her to rest. Luckily there was someone present to wake her up with cold water whenever she passed out. ” He tells you with a sweet smile. He laughs, warmly, thinking hearing such an awful thing will make you overjoyed. ‘’You see, that’s how much I care for you, my love. Everything, from your toes to your beautiful horns, it all needs to be perfect. I won’t tolerate anything less.’’

He thinks you are just being reassured but unaware he gave you again crucial information. He had a dress made for you, by what sounds like someone human. Judging the skirt and the details on the dress, that too had taken quite a while. You never made anything before so you wouldn't know just how long, but that it took that poor woman long you can understand. Days, Aemond said. But you doubt that. Weeks, likely. Months, perhaps.

You try your best to hide your disgust. You must charm him somehow. “I just think pants are practical. If I need to run-”

There is an audible gasp from Ann followed by the uttering deafening silence. Aemond nods, almost to himself, faking a smile when he slowly gets in front of you again. He crosses his arms and you focus on the bone crown on his head to avoid staring at his eye. That one, beautiful eye that is judging you, berating you and even hating you for what you just dared to mutter. That you are in fact not here to stay.

The candles stop burning one by one. You hear rattling chandeliers and the sun disappears outside the castle. Outside clouds gather, and thunder rumbles. He does not raise his voice or shout at you. But truth be told, he doesn’t have to. He is terrifying all on his own, simply by existing. “Why would you need to run?” He must be lying about his band with you. His soulmate is someone else you are certain of. Whatever reason Aemond has to keep you here, it has nothing to do with love. You can't imagine yourself being that important.

Deceit comes naturally to you. But not now. Not in front of him. When you need it, it fails you. “I…an example.” He clicks his tongue, disapprovingly, clearly noticing you lied. He takes your hands into his own, muttering Valyrian words. You don't know what he's doing but you are afraid. You watch Ann, worried he'll hurt her.

When he talks he becomes the King again and you are nothing but a mortal girl at his mercy. He scolds you as if he is talking to a child. “We talked about this. You are not going anywhere. You are my Queen and my love. You are right where you belong. The only running your legs will be doing is when I allow it.” He chuckles, clearly nervous. He pretends to care what you think of him. He pretends like he doesn’t want to scare you away.

You cross your arms, annoyed by the turn of the conversation. “Can we talk about the horns sticking out of my neck and forehead now?’’

Aemond looks at your horns, as if seeing them just now. He smirks, and his smirk tells you all you need to know. It's the smirk of a satisfied child that got his way. Again. He did this to you. “Mhm. I thought there was something different about you.” He chuckles delighted at his own joke. You are tempted to hit him, but instead you just groan under your breath.

You can't break the necklace. So you doubt you can break the horns. Maybe you can tear them from your skin. But you won't risk it.

The way you looked must have been miserable because Aemond grabs your hands, feeling your burned and damaged skin, instantly kissing your fingers and surprising you with a soft, gentle kiss that heals your burned fingers. You stare at his lips, confused. “It's nothing serious. When a wife and a husband wed, she takes his cloak. You know this. See this, little bit of …decoration as my cloak. The world will tremble and gawk. You simply are wearing your husband's cloak instead of your maiden one.” You didn't consent to any marriage and you sure aren't wearing a cloak let alone horns.

“Can you undo it?” You ask, instantly.

He avoids eye contact for a moment, clearly hurt by your words. Then he pretends he's fine again. He chuckles once more, much shallower than the first time.

“Yes, but why would I? Like I said; it's incredibly romantic.” He kisses your neck, careful to mind the new horns. “You look so beautiful with it. You look ravishing, my love.”

You don't. You never looked ravishing. You never felt uglier than now. Being an orphan, people had enough to say to you. Now, with horns and a god king for a husband, what will they say now? And how will you wield words that will root deep inside of your soul, eating away your so rare confidence? You are strong, but not invincible. “What will people say when they see me with horns?” You whisper, horrified. You look into the mirror.

Aemond grabs you tighter forcing you to meet your image. Forcing you to accept this horrible truth. “They won't even glance at you. Every tongue that dares to insult you, I will cut from their mouths. No one insults my Queen. They won't laugh. They won't point. They will stand up for you and they will bow until their knees break.” You try to imagine it. Crowds of people falling to their knees for you. You, wearing crowns decorated with bones and everyone who ever challenged you, on their knees in the dirt, bowing down for you.

There's a soft kiss on your head that awakens you from the daydream. “It's alright to like it, my little Petal. Remember that.” he whispers, reminding you of how good he can make you feel. You recall how whole you felt when he was inside of you, and need to remind yourself too of the burns and scars he gave you. How he keeps burning you somehow. Maybe he likes hurting you. Some people get turned on by it. But you aren't sure yet if Aemond is one of those people.

You hear his words again. ‘’It’s alright to like it.’’ What if he did not refer to the times you two have been together, but something else? Something so much darker, so much worse? You see him smile, as a proud boyfriend who just taught you how to do something terrible. You realize what the horns mean. Aemond didn’t do anything. You did it. By corrupting your soul.

“You did well, last night.” He adds, unaware of your realisation..He takes a look at the places he kissed last night when you two made love. He gently touches your burned skin, by your lips and your neck. “Come love. It's time I healed you.” He announces, taking you by the hand.

But that comes too soon after your horrifying realization.

“Why am I truly here?’ you ask, breaking free. He freezes and turns around, caught in his lie. He quickly smiles.

He makes himself a bit taller, adjusting his posture. “I want to heal you.” He says with that little oh so scared chuckle. You rip yourself free, not listening anymore. He is not touching you until he tells you what he’s hiding or when you are finally home again.

“No. You wont get your way until you tell me all there is.” You say. The King laughs, as his pupil darkens. You try not to be afraid, but the truth is that is easier said than done. With one snap of his little finger he can break your neck, you are certain of that.

His soft but rough voice softly rings out. “I don't think you understand how things work.” He bends his fingers slightly, as if making claws. At his command, your necklace begins to close tighter around your throat, slightly choking you. “I will heal you.”

You gasp for air as Ann rushes out of her hiding spot, her eyes full of worry. She does not help you, however. You don’t blame her. “You can after you tell me the truth.” You manage to croak out to Aemond. ‘’You can heal me, just…tell me.’’

He only laughs harder, choking you to the point where your vision blurs.

“Don't be difficult now, Petal. I would have preferred making you breathless another way, but I will keep you close. I can’t afford losing you.’’

Ann steps in front of you, protecting you. “My king, her royal highness, the Queen hasn't eaten anything yet. Mayhaps we should let her eat a bit, and you can heal her after? Women are known to be frustrated easily if not well fed.” She tries to laugh it off but she is afraid. She knows who she is defying. For you of all people.

Ann actually stood up for you. It is a clear attempt to give you some time alone, away from Aemond and his desires. He stares at you, giving you finally more space to breathe and releases you.

You gasp for air, eagerly filling your lungs. But he does not stop. He simply switches targets. He picks up Ann now, holding her in the air and choking her, much harder than he ever choked you. “Do not make me turn you into a pile of ashes. I entrust you with my most valuable possession but I won't hesitate to kill you.” He warns her, his voice becoming darker and rougher.

“My king, forgive me! I meant no offense!” Ann begins to cry, struggling to say anything else.

He growls. ‘’Yet you do. You dared to question my authority and dared to order me around! I am not your dog, I am your King, your God! She is mine and mine to do with as I please-’’ That is enough for you. You run in his direction, surprising him. You jump on top of him, tackling him to the ground. His hands stop the spell, interrupted. You pin him to the floors and stare into his eye, heavily breathing because of the adrenaline.

‘’Do not hurt Ann.’’You tell him, warning him. ‘’You want me to give you a chance and all of this madness? Stop killing people and stop treating me like your whore. You have one chance. I don’t care that you are immortal, I will find a way to kill you, Aemond.’’

“One day around you and she thinks she can order me around like I'm a dog!” He rages, but calms when he notices your hands on his clothed chest. Your hands feel the familiar hole that sits right by where his heart would be.

Ann shakes her head, falling to her knees. “No, your grace, please, my good King! No I didn't. I only had your best interest in mind. The servants know of her Grace's…” You curse as it all makes sense. You get off from Aemond. He remains on the floor, perfectly fine and even puts his arms behind his head, enjoying the show that is about to unfold. He even dares to adjust himself, so he is more comfortable.

Ann never cared about you not having eaten.

His eye is following you around, clearly lusting and feeding on your darkness as you approach Ann. “Of what?” You ask, just to clarify.

She shakes as a leaf. But you need to know this truth. You had fears and you want to know if you were right. The darkest fear of all. That you could be with child. His child. “That you and the King consummated your marriage earlier.” You turn your head to Aemond. A consummation would make any marriage legal and binding. Did he truly lie to you? Are you two married, in some secret demon pact? Is that why he took you so quickly?

Aemond rises from the ground, not paying much attention to his surroundings and ends up on a low hanging shelf with bottles. “It is true me and the Queen were…overcome with emotions,’’ You scratch your head, staring at the ground. You scoff, tears stinging. He played you. He lied to you. He married you. If he truly felt anything for you, he wouldn’t have done that. He would have been honest. About at least something.

Aemond’s words were first addressed to Ann, but they changed target. His voice becomes softer as his hands glide into your own, and you notice he somehow clings to you. As if you can save him. ‘’- but I want to wed her in a proper ceremony with proper guests and attire. She should be crowned for all to see. She deserves a wonderful wedding and that's what she'll get. No, we didn't consummate our marriage. We aren’t married, just yet.’’ You feel relief. But that doesn’t answer your other question. “But we did have a special time getting to know one another.” Aemond adds, making the story more spectaculair than it needs to be. You roll your eyes.

Ann chuckles, still terrified but carefully tries to make conversation to avoid your anger or Aemond's. “The dancing polar bears must have been quite the view.” she says, remembering the lies you told her.

You see Aemond's good eye narrow in confusion. “The what?”

She stares at the two of you. “I don't judge, my Queen, my King. I simply wanted the Queen fed in case there's…Something inside her belly.” You glare at Aemond, asking him directly with your emotions and eyes if he knows that you are with child. He turns his head away.

He doesn’t meet your eyes, clearly avoiding you at all costs suddenly. “That's quite the disturbing thought process.” He says. ‘’I think you should take your leave. Me and the Queen need to talk.’’ Ann makes a curtsy and leaves quickly after Aemond orders her, likely very happy to be granted leave at all.

He smirks as she leaves. ‘’I had no idea there was such a feisty side to that girl. The way she stood up for you, I never imagined in a million years that humans were capable of that. She is a interesting pet, don’t you agree?’’

You aren’t sure what you feel stirring up. Is it disgust or jealousy? “She's a person not your pet.” you bite out offended regardless. To your surprise, to your horror even, you added something you had no control over. An arm that tries to hit the King of the Underworld. You gasp as Aemond captures your arm quickly, smirking broadly as he leans in, caressing your face with his long blood red and white nails.

You stare at your arms, shocked and confused. Why did you do that? ‘’There is no need to be jealous, my Queen. You think I’m interested in her, when I have you, right where I want you?’’ He presses his nose to your own, kissing your lips when softly nibbling on your under lip. You hear him exhale deeply, and you taste your own blood. He bit you. He kisses deeper and longer, tasting your blood. It should feel so bad, but it feels so good. You should hate every touch, every kiss but you only seem to want more and more of him. You need to stop him.

You break the kiss.

‘’You should stop pestering Ann.’’

He grins, but doesn’t nod or agree. “She made you uncomfortable.” He responds, grabbing you by your hips. He stares into your eyes again, slowly opening your bathrobe. ‘’It’s a crime that you tried to hide all of this from my eyes. You should be punished.’’ He whispers, staring at your naked body. You try to fight your desires for him.

She only tried to stop someone from getting choked. “She means well. She wants the best for me and for you.” Or for the innocent unborn child she thought you were carrying around.

He rolls his eye, annoyed at you bringing up Ann when he is clearly trying to seduce you.

“All based on one conversation. And you are not with child. Not mine, not anyone's. ’’ He sighs dramatically. ‘’May I now heal you?’’ He's impatient. You stare at your burned finger tops that you burned when touching him.

‘’Can you at least tell me how to avoid burning myself in the future?’’ You would like to know that. There must be some way to stop yourself from burning your skin.

‘’You can’t, Petal.’’ His answer shocks and surprises you. You thought he had something to protect you from it. ‘’I apologize.’’ He adds, in a tone unlike himself. He truly regrets that he can't tell you another answer. He regrets it. ‘’I can heal you.’’ He adds. “But I can't teach you how to become immune. Nor can I cast spells that protect you against my own magic. It would not work.”

You decide to humor him. Your burns hurt and so do your bruises. You might seduce him into taking your horns away again. You nod, handing yourself over. Aemond deeply exhales, sensing your surrender and he grins as his pupil slightly widens, and briefly dark shadows dance around his fingertips.

‘’Lay on the bed.’’ He says. You raise a brow, but obey, skeptical. ‘’And get rid of the robe.’’ You do what he asks. Aemond joins you on the bed, having used his dark powers to appear right next to you, startling you. He looks at your burned fingertips, softly brushing them with his own. He begins to softly kiss your fingertips. You watch, as your skin heals right before your eyes. He is truly powerful, healing burned ruined skin with his own well mouth.

Aemond sadly only appears to use his powers for bad things. But this proves he can do great things. He could heal wounds and cure the sick. If only he wanted.

Aemond moves on to your legs, which he also injured when taking you. Scratches and bruises and even small cuts are healed when he kisses your legs, softly caressing your legs. You are trying your best to remain stubbornly in a stiff position, but Aemond simply flips you over, reaching your belly and kissing your neck, healing the sensitive skin where your horns and necklace crawled inside of. You try to suppress a moan and a curse as he begins to suck there too, making the pain go away briefly and replace it with an addictive sharp and powerful delicious feeling. ‘’Inflicting the pain can be fun, but so can be the aftercare.’’ You hear him whisper in your ear, as his fingers softly tap against your legs. ‘’I want you to understand that if we are to lay together more oftenly, this too will happen more often. I don’t want you walking around my castle with burns and scars. Not when I can so easily take your pain away.’’

You allow him to kiss and heal you, wondering how the same lips that did you so much pain now bring you pleasure and healing. ‘’I thought you liked it when I wore the scars?’’ You refer to the bones sticking out of your body. The horns and the necklace.

He pauses, caught off guard. His voice is a rough but quiet groan. ‘’No. I don’t.’’

He moves on to your belly, kissing your stomach lovingly as he takes in your breasts likely already picturing himself closer to you. But before he even touches your breasts, he kisses your forehead, healing the sensitive skin, staring in your eyes.

He then leans over your chest and begins.

He cools the burned flesh when softly sucking on your tit, causing you to feel conflicting emotions. He grins as you begin to turn your head away to avoid looking into his eyes or seeing your breast into his mouth. “Do you like your handmaiden? Is she kind and does she address you properly?” Ann is perfect. But why did he get you a handmaiden? Is she to assist and help you look pretty or is she just a way for Aemond to watch and control you?

You don't like the way he said it properly. He scared poor Ann into doing his bidding and now she won't ever stop calling you ‘’My Queen’’. As if you are somehow above her. Ann is so far a better human than you would ever be. She's kind and selfless. Brave too.

“I can wash myself.” You inform him with a slight push against his chest.

Aemond captures your wrists, holding your hand tight but soft. “A Queen should have servants. Handmaidens are more than that. You will build a life here, Petal. I want you to have female trusted friends. Having only me is not healthy.” He discovers another wound on your fingertips and brings your fingers to his mouth, kissing them and healing them.

He wants you to have friends. You are first, shocked. He does not seem like the type to have any friends himself, so why should he care that you are friendless? Then you are enraged. Because if he had not kidnapped you you would actually be around people who are your friends: Daemon and Rhaenyra. And the way how he treated you, there is nothing healthy about that.

You wait until he is done healing you. “Now you care about what's healthy? Do you remember the bench you fucked me sore and bloody on? Do you remember how scared I was in the throne room and disoriented and all you did was chain me and leave me to go Gods knows where? And when you left last night when you had-” You feel sadness stir.

Aemond doesn't laugh or deny your accusations. He seems sorrowful and full of regret. “I partly regret it. The garden was too harsh. I regret hurting you. I don’t regret making love to you. I don't regret making you lose control and having you finish. I don't regret hearing you cry in my ear how badly you wanted me. I don't regret kidnapping you either. I don't regret it now, nor ever. As for leaving you, I was merely Making the final preparations. I didn't want you to arrive in an unsuited room.” He huffs.

You feel guilt washing over you. You don't deserve any of this luxury. You don't deserve it at all. He is softly circling your skin, distraught as he finally manages to gather his courage. His voice is a strained whisper. “Would you rather I had stayed, Petal? After our …intimacy? Would that have …caused less hurt?” You don't think so. He takes your hands into his own. “When we marry, you can move into my rooms or have your own rooms. I don't mind, truly. Whatever makes you feel at home the most.” You know that is a generous offer not many Queens are gifted by their kings. You wonder if it's sincere.

He continues, nervously scratching his nails against his scalp. “I do wish to see you at least once a day, to know you are well and cared for. Once a week, I hope you'll grant me the privilege to take you somewhere fun.” You picture a festival somewhere in the Underworld and scoff. Somewhere fun. Where would that even be? He will never take you to the other world again.

“What is your idea of fun, an execution?” You remark, grumpy at this proposal.

“Sometimes.’’ He blurts out, unaware. You see him tense up and quickly try to defend himself. ‘’ I mean, no! Mayhaps a romantic dinner by candlelight or spending time in the library. I have a beautiful collection. You like to read don't you?” He knows so much about you. You read years ago for the last time.

“You know so much.” You remark, suspicious.

He continues to heal you with his mouth, and his fingertips, touching burned, bruised and injured areas of your body. He drops your hands. He does so in silence. When he speaks, your faces are close and he is touching your lips. His voice is a whisper. “I had to. For your own safety. Darker forces than myself are conspiring. I can't risk you falling into the wrong hands.”

You laugh, ignoring his warnings, thinking it is just propaganda or lies. “You make me sound like a weapon.” You say with a roll of your eyes. You aren't powerful. You aren't a weapon.

He grabs your hands again, this time pressing them to his own chest. His voice is so serious, so solid and unmoving that it makes you gulp. “Not a weapon. A solution. An answer. Hope.” He declares.

Confusing emotions fight inside of you. You never had been anyone’s hope or answer. Or a solution. “For who?” You wonder.

Aemond’s lips carefully bend into a smile. ‘’Me.’’

The answer takes you back and makes you feel unlike anything you felt before. He thinks you are his solution. His answer to his question. You doubt it. You can barely love yourself. How could anyone else, let alone the King of death manage? “How is the Handmaiden? Is she to your liking? If not we can whip her or peel off her skin.” He chuckles until he sees your glare.

“The handmaid is fine.” You say a bit indifferent. Aemond is not satisfied with your answer, eager to know what you think of your new “pet”.

“Fine? Fine? Define fine,” he chuckles as the words rhyme. “I need only the best for my Queen.” You are kissed again. He continues as you try your best to not argue with him. He grins. “She's a lucky woman, to even attend to your needs. All your staff is so lucky to have you. As am I.” His smile is soft and almost believable. You want to believe that someone can love you. But you can't.

The insecurity is too big consuming your soul.

“When she brushes your hair, is she gentle with it? Does she understand her role here? That you are her Goddess and that she is a mere ant living in the shade you cast, doomed every moment of the day to be squashed to nothing beneath your eternal heel?” You mutter a prayer at his words.

You would almost laugh at how terribly smitten he sounds. As some schoolboy that has a one sided crush on some girl that never Noticed him. But you know its not love. Its something darker than that. It's obsession

“You sound as crazy as Ann. Like how she was thinking that I'm pregnant with your baby.” You say, laughing.

You thought he'd appreciate that comment. You aren't sure why you called Ann crazy. She isn't crazy. She is terrified. And terrified people do crazy things. But it's not her fault. If anything it's yours. Aemond can't appreciate your humor. “Why is that so crazy? That is our end goal.” He reveals, staring at your belly as if he's already picturing it swelling with his own seed, your womb quickening with his child with a glare.

“Our?” You remark, unsure where he got that idea that you want any child, let alone his child. Not only is Aemond a selfish monster but he's also cruel and vengeful. You wouldn't want to squeeze out any child, and definitely not a half God. You fear for your own safety and the child's should you get pregnant after these many adventures you and Aemond share.

He ignores your hesitation, already picturing it. “Well, when we have settled and conquered our foes and danced in their blood, crushed their bones to dust, surely there's no better victory than making an heir?” He doesn't wink or wiggle his brows but instead caresses your knuckles so he can feel your warmth.

There is a silence.

You understand he's waiting for your answer. You allow him to caress and hold you. It's different from what he did before. This is no claiming and fucking. No hunger or rush. Just patience and gentleness. You enjoy it.

You don't want A child. You hope he understands. You can't risk getting pregnant. You must tell him that you fear that. “You know im a orphan.” You begin, trying to be honest about your feelings despite your mind warning you to not trust Aemond.

He nods, happy that you trust him.

“I do.” He admits.

You avoid eye contact as you look at his pale bone decorated fingers. You reach out to feel the flesh of his skin, to feel how warm he is. He's as cold as a dead corpse. “Can you promise me something, Aemond?”

He becomes tense, unsure where the conversation is going. “I don't know.” He confesses and you don't doubt that some things are beyond his control. But he is the King of the underworld. He can do more than he admits. And so can you.

“Can you promise me; that until I am ready for it, we won't have a baby?” He seems relieved at this, imagining a worse question.

“That's quite the promise to make.” He says, however playing with you and bargaining. He wouldn't give you anything for free. Not truly. He wants you to be the mother of his children. He said so plenty of times.

You sigh. Aemond warned you of a great danger. You can't escape the castle regardless and outside there is danger and darkness and forces conspiring whatever that might mean. You are good at telling when people are lying. But you can't read Aemond. You can't tell if he's lying. You aren't sure you can't tell because he's so good at hiding or because he is not lying at all. “In exchange I won't try to run.” Aemond's mouth Slowly opens at your proposal, clearly approving.

You need to know more anyway before you run. You need to know if Aemond made the forces up or if there's truly something out there lurking on you. After that you can leave. Hopefully.

He doesn't need a moment to think about it.

“Agreed.” He Nearly shouts in eagerness, smiling broadly, while kissing you.

That concerns you greatly. He is way too eager. He didn't need a single moment. “That's fast. I expected you to think about it a bit more.” You admit, wary and suspicious.

“Why, it's an amazing deal.” He smirks knowingly. “You accepted your place as my Queen, my Love and my Lady. That is all I asked for. All I wished for and all I desired. So soon too. I never expected you to yield and submit so quickly. I know I can be charming, but you surprise me.” He places a greedy kiss close to a mark on your neck, feeling your breasts with his hands as he puts you up so he can touch you properly, desire driving him. You want him to touch you. You long for it.

He kisses your neck coming closer to your collarbones as his hands disappear between your legs, touching you there. You release a gasp and accept his fingers entering your body, penetrating you as he holds you, fucking you on his fingers. You are gasping louder and louder close to moaning. He chuckles. “Just in case my little young new Queen thought to run; You can't break a deal with me. No one can. You are now doomed to stay here. Forever.” The fingers go only faster as if he arouses himself by your moans and eager cries, and his own obsessive behaviour.

You open your mouth to protest but Aemond forces more fingers inside of you, filling you up. You are penetrated much rougher and quicker and judging by his smirk he wants to keep you quiet. This is all part of some dark fantasy. “I wont fuck you today. Not with my cock. But as a young mortal Queen it's important you get your daily dose of arousal. And plenty of preparation for our wedding night.” You are disappointed, truth be told. You love how good it can feel to have him inside you and to feel him take you the way a wife is taken by her husband. You enjoy the fingers but the cock would be better. It would be rougher and harder for one. “You can try tricking me as often as you'd like but at the end of the day we both know who will be superior.”

“W-what?” you hate how pathetic you sound. You clear your throat and repeat your question without whimpering.

He just smiles, petting your hair. “Oh, darling. You should know better by now. I am the King. You can try to run away, but from now on, thanks to your own deal, you won't make it very far. Which saves me tons of headaches.” You don't understand how. But you know one for sure….

He tricked you.

He is now preventing you from leaving. Forever maybe. “You-” That bastard.

Aemond smirks and continues to send you down your path of Pleasure. You roll your eyes in your head as you finish on his fingers with a cry of need and desperation. He watches you closely enjoying your undoing. He removes his fingers from your wet cunt and smirks when he sees the damage.

His fingers are wet. He brings his fingers to his own lips and begins to lick them off. “Soon you'll be my wife. I want you prepared for that roll.” You won't be his anything.

“You tricked me!” You hiss angrily.

“Well you tried tricking me first.” He chuckles, not offended at all. He saw through your scheme and boops your nose, kissing your forehead. “My little dark Petal has sprouted. You think you can trick me after just a taste of darkness? My darling…” He laughs as if you are an adorable little animal that tried to bite him. “Not that running away without the deal would've been…I didn't lie about you being chained to me. You can't leave my side. Ever.” You wonder what would happen if you did. Would you be pulled back or killed?

“Yet I slept here. When you went off to-” You don't even know where he was off to. With who. Where. Or what he was doing.

Aemond sighs but unveils his plans.

“Collect souls.” That makes sense and the way his bored voice tells you it is true and apparently much less exciting than you imagined.

“-whatever, I slept here. Alone.” You point that out.

He exhales deeply, touching your horns gently with great care. “The chain allows us some freedom. But you can't leave the Underworld or the castle without my authority.” So that is how far the chain reaches. You could spend your time hiding away from him. But he'd find you. And so would his servants who are all except Ann eager to cut your limbs off and to slit your throat.

“I thought the Underworld was the castle?” You thought it ended there. That the castle itself was the Underworld. That there was no true roamable outside.

His eye lights up when he smiles sincerely, He takes you by the hand and drags you to the big balcony, showing you the now clear skies and big Fields. He proudly shows it to you, studying your reaction and eager to know what you think of his kingdom. “No, my dear. There’s an entire world. Rivers in every Colour. Stones and rocks and grass. It's as much alive as the world above. Just a bit different.”

You look at the colorful picture in a place full of darkness. “How is this possible? This place is supposed to be the worst isn't it? It is supposed to be death?” It doesn't make sense.

Aemond however has an answer prepared.

“Where death dances, life often comes to watch. You can't have life without death and you can't have death without life. It's a scale. The two must remain in perfect harmony. In balance.” That makes sense. In a way. It makes perfect sense.

“Why keep me in the castle, then?” You stare at the beautiful horned animals outside eating grass near a river that has a pure blue colour. Aemond sighs, clearly dreading answering that question.

“For your own protection. I have many enemies who want to hurt you. And the Underworld is not like the one above. It looks beautiful but plants and stones and even grass itself can be dangerous.” Grass can be dangerous? You do remember a Dothkraki friend who told you the same in the orphanage. You found it strange then. But now? Now you believe it.

Aemond dresses you in your robe again. “I'll have Ann arrange breakfast for you. Try to make peace with your destiny. Try to find balance. Because without balance, it will feed on you. On yourself, on your soul, on all there is.” He is preparing to leave you. You would like that. You need some time alone to think.

“Welcome home, my love. That we may spend the entirety together.” He walks to the doors as if he's a normal person. He walks out, closing the doors behind him gently. You remain near the balcony staring outside with more questions than answers and two new horns.

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rahuratna · 2 months ago

Text

Synopsis:

"Welcome, Visitor, to Jujutsu Guild Academy, tucked discreetly away in the rolling foothills of the Byre Veld Mountains. Our team of expert sorcerers, now misfits and outcasts from society, gather here to train their talented students, as well as use their exceptional skills to solve cases brought to them by those who know the true nature of the Guild ... much like yourself. We invite you to place your case at their disposal. We guarantee that you won't be disappointed."

Genre: Fantasy AU, mystery, suspense, horror, humour, detective agency

Content warnings: dark themes, murder, violence.

Rating: T

Dividers by: @sister-lucifer

Part 1

“Balance is paramount in the world of sorcery, and yet, not easily understood or visualised. The Magical Clade system, developed in the planetary turn of 214, embraces the diverse nature of magic in all forms. Bitura and Matura; the predictable and the unexplored, the two known aspects of sorcery existing side by side in a tenuously held set of universal scales, cannot be wholly characterised by our existing body of knowledge.

Let us then examine their five known components, the arcane origins of which have, thus far, been the subject of much theorising. Human, planetary, chaotic, contractual and natural, different facets of a world we have only just begun to comprehend … “

~ An Introduction to Arcane Clades, A. Zahari.

At the top of a hill in a small vineyard, near the age-smoothed arc of the stairs that lead to an imposing set of oak doors, an elderly man hesitates.

Jirou has arrived against the will of many in his village, seeking the kind of help he knows won’t be available to him elsewhere. He looks up, at the white-painted walls of the former winery, now converted for the purposes of the sorcerers who call this their base of operations.

It seems … peaceful. Idyllic, even. He can see why this place would be a retreat from the bustle and whispered condemnation of society. Now, if only he could muster the courage to –

The doors swing open, and he takes a step back. A man appears in the cool, dark entrance. He wears a short-sleeved white shirt, ideal for the balmy weather, and smart black trousers and boots. His neatly parted hair and the manner by which he adjusts his glasses mark him as one of the officials who probably run the day-to-day operations of this place.

“Good day to you. How may I assist?”

The tone is polite, clipped, professional. Jirou clutches at his straw hat, rotating it nervously within his stiff grasp. He clears his throat.

“Ah … um. Forgive me for intruding. I’m here to see … well, here for help. For my village. I’m from Setsana, just east of the river.”

The bespectacled man glances him over in frank assessment before stepping quietly back through the door and gesturing to him to follow.

“This way.”

“Eh?”

“You want to meet with the sorcerer’s guild, yes?”

“Well … yes, but I thought – “

Jirou sees a glimmer of humour in the eyes of the dark-haired official.

“You may call me Ijichi. What is your name?”

“Jirou.”

“Well, Jirou of Setsana, this agency does not screen their clientele based on location or status. You are clearly here for some assistance, and you’ve asked for it. Now the sorcerers will hear your case.”

Scurrying up the steps and into the cool foyer, Jirou glanced warily around. It was not quite what he had been expecting. The interior had indeed been re-purposed. The terracotta-tiled floor had been preserved, rustic and slightly dusty underfoot. Comfortable rugs had been placed around the airy space. Eclectic, somewhat mismatched antique furniture added a certain charm to the room.

A large hearth stood dormant against one wall, the exquisite grey river stone banded with wooden shelves. Large glass doors opened onto a walled garden on one side, a small courtyard with a carved fountain placed centrally. A wash of cool, fragrant air entered through here, beckoning languidly as Jirou followed Ijichi out and into an adjoining annex.

Clearing his throat, the farmhand addressed Ijichi again.

“Who is it that I’ll be seeing, exactly?”

“Magister Higuruma. He hears all cases and determines what action can be undertaken.”

Ijichi paused, turning slightly, his eyes kind.

“Don’t be put off by his … manner. He simply wants to get to the heart of the matter. Just answer clearly and truthfully. Try to stick to the facts. Wait here for a minute, please.”

Leaving Jirou stewing in the hallway, Ijichi disappeared behind another door. The faint noise of voices, the rustle of paper and a cough could be heard from within. Jirou contemplated turning around and leaving hurriedly. Not running away, no. A tactical retreat. What if this Higuruma was –

The door clicked open and Ijichi reappeared, all too soon.

“You may go in and state your case.”

And thus, Jirou’s fate was sealed.

Higuruma Hiromi was seated behind a large desk, scattered with papers in what could possibly be described as ordered chaos. Jirou entered with the air of a man braving the den of a vicious mountain lion. Higuruma certainly gave off the according aura.

Dark hair, combed back, but slightly dishevelled from the number of times he’d run his fingers through it. The sardonic set of his mouth, the aquiline nose, and above it all, the deep-set, unsettlingly attentive gaze that traced over one’s form, taking in every detail. Higuruma wore a well-tailored waistcoat, gold embroidery over the sable material, his white shirtsleeves rolled back. That faint trace of disorder spilled over here too, visible in the rumpled collar, the ink-stained hands, the dark smudges beneath his eyes that spoke of inadequate sleep, the symptom of an intellect that raced over the landscape of the mundane, gathering a horde of minutiae in its wake.

“Jirou of Setsana?”

“Yes, sir.”

Higuruma waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the seat before his desk and Jirou hurried forward to comply. On the table was a map of the area, marked with a varied array of ink colours and symbols. Jirou was also surprised to see a farmer’s almanack beside the map. He hadn’t ever expected to see such a humble, worn document on the table of such a sorcerer. The sight steadied him, somewhat.

“Thank you for taking the time to hear my case.”

He received only a nod in reply. Higuruma laced his fingers over the desktop and leaned forward, the only signal that Jirou should continue.

“Ah. Um. Our village has been experiencing … some strange things lately. Animals put out to pasture turning up dead. Lights in the forest. Sometimes … well, that’s beside the point, but I feel uneasy. Like something’s coming up from the earth to swallow us all.”

In any other setting, Jirou would never have given voice to such sentiments. Speaking to a sorcerer, however, erased those misgivings. Who knew what mysteries of the arcane Higuruma had already experienced?

The sorcerer in question unlaced his fingers, tracing them over the faded ink trees on the map, denoting the forest near the village.

“Some questions.”

“Pardon?”

“I need to ask some questions.”

“Oh … oh, of course! My apologies if I’ve not given enough – “

Higuruma cut him off, eyes steady, penetrating.

“When did these animal killings begin?”

“Six months ago … I think.”

“You are uncertain?”

“No, I – There were wolves. We found corpses of wolves. Before that. But obviously we didn’t – “

“You didn’t question when the natural predator turned up dead?”

Jirou shrugged helplessly.

“Sometimes bears come down from the mountain.”

“Hmm. And what kind of animals, besides the wolves, were killed?”

“Horses. Sheep. Cattle. Some chickens. Mainly the cows, though.”

“Who found the beasts dead?”

“Different people. I found a horse in a ditch once.”

“How did the horse appear to you?”

“Slaughtered.”

“I need more detail.”

Jirou shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Higuruma’s questions were coming thick and fast, and the elderly man was accustomed to preparing his thoughts before answering.

“Ah. Disembowelled. It’s … entrails had been removed.”

“And they were lying next to the animal?”

“Oh, no. We couldn’t find them anywhere.”

Higuruma raised an eyebrow, pausing slightly for the first time.

“Nothing?”

“No. It was like … the animal had been hollowed out. Like something had reached in and … scooped everything out.”

Abruptly, the sorcerer leaned back in his seat.

“These lights in the forest. Tell me more.”

“Oh, those are strange indeed. We’ve tried to find a pattern as to when they appear, but … they seem to come at odd times. It’s not firelight. Too bright. Almost white. Dancing. It’s definitely magery of some kind.”

“Above the trees?”

“Among them. Between them. Sometimes the trunks of the trees block the light, so we know that it’s moving.”

“And this … feeling you say you have?”

“Oh, that … “

Jirou gave a sheepish chuckle.

“I think with everything going on, I simply … You know. The imaginings of an old – “

“No.”

“I’m sorry?”

“No.”

Higuruma’s abrupt manner took some getting accustomed to. He raised his quill, pointing it at the farmhand like he was preparing to throw it, to pin him and his problem down to a board for analysis.

“Sorcery isn’t about vague incantations and undetermined outcomes. Everything about sorcery is calculated, precise. It relies on universal laws that we haven’t even begun to comprehend, and so, it seems distant or even esoteric. We try to categorise the arcane, place them into neat little pockets to aid our understanding, but that will only take us so far. Your feelings, your dreams, are all likely symptoms of the same problems that plague your village. It’s a pattern we’ve seen many times.”

Jirou gulped heavily.

“We?”

“Our guild.”

Throughout the brief, intense questioning, Higuruma had never written anything down. Now, he dipped his quill, scraping carefully around the edges of the well, and jotted something down on a scrap of parchment. He folded the note and handed it over to Jirou.

“Give this to ijichi when you leave. Permission from the authorities pending, expect our guild members to arrive within three days.”

If Jirou of Setsana had stayed for a few minutes longer, he might have been party to the sudden descent of chaos into the calm that had once reigned over Higuruma’s study. A large tapestry hanging across the left wall shifted slightly, as though in a stray breeze. One of the greyhounds stitched into the rich fabric of the hunting scene moved, the thread of the embroidered eyes snapping subtly back and forth until its gaze faced ahead once again.

Higuruma sighed heavily.

“Do you really think you’re being subtle?”

The hound peered at him. It looked slightly nervous.

“Gojo, I know you’re listening.”

The hound’s goggling took a turn for the worse, the eyes now comically bulging from the tapestry.

“Is it really this hard for you to behave like an adult?”

The hound’s mouth opened wide and new embroidery emerged from its gaping jaws, spelling out the word “YES”.

“For the love of – “

Higuruma raised a finger, shadowy flame erupting across the tip, and the tapestry suddenly folded inwards, then disgorged three occupants, two of whom stumbled right into Higuruma’s desk, the papers on top shifting across the surface of the map he had been studying. Clicking his tongue, the sorcerer folded his arms.

Bright-eyed, cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment, Itadori Yuuji reached up and ruffled his pink hair.

“Good morning, Higuruma – “

“It was his idea.”

Straight to the point as always, Kugisaki Nobara showed not an ounce of shame, her finger pointing firmly in the direction of the tapestry’s third occupant, who had stepped out with stylish flair.

Gojo Satoru, Special Grade Sorcerer, gave a bow that included a flowery, if very irritating, flourish. He straightened and eyed Higuruma cheerfully over his shaded glasses, pale hair gleaming like mage-fire in the dim light of the study. As much as Gojo played into the role of fanciful and flamboyant genius, that undercurrent of monstrous power was always present, one that those close to him had learned to bear with. His apprentices, for some reason, always seemed immune to it.

“You know, I couldn’t help but overhear – “

He received a disbelieving snort in return.

“Try another tack. I never know why you can’t just sit in on interviews instead of – “

Gojo wagged a finger.

“Oh, come on. I mean, look at me. How do you think a simple farmer would take to seeing someone like me staring at him while he tried to give testimony?”

As always, Gojo was attired as if he’d stepped right out of the pages of a racy bodice-ripper. His ruffled collar, unbuttoned fashionably low, high-waisted trousers and the long overcoat he wore over it all enhanced the roguishly handsome look only he was capable of pulling off without seeming horrendously pretentious.

Higuruma stared back, unimpressed, before pushing away the papers that had drifted over the map. Yuuji and Nobara crowded around his desk, eyes eager. He turned his attention to them.

“Assuming you two have heard Jirou’s case, what do you think the approach should be?”

Yuuji hummed thoughtfully.

“I think … maybe scout the area? Check out those woods. Look for traces of unknown sorcery.”

Nobara elbowed him aside, not to be outdone.

“And talk to the villagers. Look, I grew up in a village like this, and let me tell you, everyone’s just dying to let you know their neighbour’s business.”

Higuruma nodded.

“Good, but we’re missing something vital.”

Gojo’s hand shot into the air.

“Oooh, pick me, Magister!”

“Come, you two. Think.”

Ignoring Gojo’s pleading look, Higuruma waited patiently. Yuuji’s face had taken on a serious cast, his eyes fixed on the map.

“Uhhh … what about the animals? There must be something about the way they’ve been killed … “

“Precisely. The fact that their entrails were removed tells us something.”

Nobara’s eyes narrowed.

“Some village soothsayers read entrails. To tell people’s fortunes and that kind of thing.”

“Except, in this case, no trace of the entrails was found. You’re certainly right about soothsayers, but they need fresh kills, and for the entrails to be present in the corpse of the animal.”

“So … “

“So you’re going to help with the investigation. With my permission, of course.”

Higuruma finally met Gojo’s gaze and shook his head in silent communication. Gojo gave a small smile in return.

“No need to tell me. You need me for that … other issue. So, who’s it going to be?”

“I’ve already sent a note out with Ijichi. He should be here - ”

A knock sounded on the study door, three sharp taps in quick succession. Yuuji glanced up at the clock and grinned.

“It’s ten o’ clock on the dot. That’s gotta be - ”

If Jirou of Setsana hadn’t hurried home, he might have also witnessed the arrival of the man who would lead the investigation at his village. Brisk, measured pace carrying him across the gravel of the courtyard, Nanami Kento arrived shortly before the stroke of ten.

Formerly a member of the merchant guild, Nanami was always properly attired in formal sorcerer’s robes, a plain, pristine, royal blue waistcoat, trousers and sensible leather walking boots beneath. A yellow patterned cravat formed a slight contrast to the sobriety of his appearance.

To ordinary folk, Nanami looked particularly unremarkable. Like Gojo and Higuruma, however, there was something about him that the trained eye wouldn’t miss; a martial air to his bearing, a certain predatory awareness in his cool glance, a grace in his long stride that spoke of great strength and agility.

Passing through the foyer, he greeted Ijichi, whose communication he had received a short while ago. At the door to Higuruma’s study, he paused, hearing the voices from within. Gojo’s dulcet tones were unmistakeable. Sighing, he checked his pocket watch.

One minute to the hour.

One more minute without Gojo.

He waited, enjoying the brief silence.

At the chime of the clock within the study, he knocked and entered.

“Nanamin!”

“Right on time.”

Nobara tugged at the blonde sorcerer’s sleeve impatiently.

“Come over here. They found some animals with their guts scooped out.”

“Excuse me?”

Yuuji joined Nobara, lifting Nanami’s carry case out of his hand and ushering him towards the table.

“The new case that just came in!”

“We’re going together to investigate.”

“There’s a small village – “

“And they have these flashing lights in the forest – “

“And this old guy has a bad feeling – “

“And Higuruma doesn’t think it’s his arthritis or indigestion – “

“And he thinks bears come down from the mountain? You ever heard of anything like that?”

Raising his hands in long-suffering protest, Nanami finally gained some silence from the two apprentices. Gojo was lounging against Higuruma’s desk with a smile he wasn’t sure he liked.

“I’m out of this one, Nanami. Higuruma needs me elsewhere.”

Nodding Nanami turned his attention to the Magister who had been watching the scene humourlessly over steepled fingers.

“I assume you’ll brief me?”

“Of course. Give me two hours and I’ll have clearance from the USCRC.”

The Utilitarian Sorcery Centre for Regulation and Control was Higuruma’s old stomping ground, the legal wranglings that took place in its ancient auditoriums setting precedents for the dozens of new permutations of sorcery that came up every year. His exit from the same institution in disgrace, and his subsequent fall from grace in the public eye, was common knowledge at the guild.

There were many, however, who understood Higuruma’s decisions better than others, those from within the system who spoke on his behalf and facilitated his establishment in a fully private sense within the Jujutsu Guild Academy. He still maintained those contacts, allowing him full access to the legal records and accelerated permissions to conduct private investigations on behalf of the guild.

Nanami had never enquired as to the nature of Higuruma’s contacts. Nobody did.

Poring over the map on the table as the Magister pointed out the features of relevance, a crease began to form between Nanami’s brows.

“Animals without entrails … Hmm. That’s definitely cause for concern.”

Yuuji peered into his face curiously.

“What do you think it means, Nanamin?”

Shaking his head, Nanami adjusted the shaded glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“It’s too early for me to say. Speculation can be as dangerous as sprinting across a rickety bridge in cases like these. I can say that this probably involves the Matura aspect of sorcery, possibly some form of natural magic, or perhaps, something conceived to look that way.”

Gojo’s crystalline blue glance was also tracing with that characteristic gleam of sharp clarity over the map.

“I think, considering some of the other cases coming our way, that this would be a great opportunity to let the apprentices get their teeth in.”

He clapped his hands cheerfully while Yuuji and Nobara began to look worryingly excited. Gojo tended to have that effect on them.

“What do you say, kids? Tramping through the countryside, scraping cow dung crusts off your heels, breathing in the scent of fermented straw floors and making friends with fleas and other friendly vermin of all kinds.”

He let out a happy sigh.

“I’d love to go myself, but I’ll make this sacrifice for you, and only you, dearest Nanami.”

“How terribly kind of you,” came the dry rejoinder.

Turning to the apprentices, Nanami cocked an eyebrow.

“He does have a point, though. Go to Ieiri and assemble some evidence kits. Tell her to be on standby for receiving samples from us for analysis over the next few days. And then get yourselves prepared. You know the drill.”

“Yes, sir!”

Receiving two sharp salutes, the two over-enthusiastic youngsters scampered out of the study, their voices carrying back along the hallway.

When they were out of earshot, Gojo exchanged glances with Higuruma before reaching into his pocket and handing over a small vial to Nanami. Seeing the contents, the sorcerer met Gojo’s stare with a steady, measured glance.

“And what’s this in aid of?”

“Oh, just a little something. In case things get dangerous.”

“You think it’ll come to that?”

Higuruma stood, gathering his coat and heading for the door. “Take it, Nanami. I have a feeling that we’re going to need all the help we can get if the intelligence we’ve received so far is accurate.”

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thefriendlyferretwriter · 2 months ago

Text

Thief

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Weasley!Fem!Reader

Summary: Hatred, passion...those are basically the same anyways.

Warning: Thievery, banter, tension, make out sesh, angst

A/N: Almost 4k words, yay! Don't forget to leave a comment I love knowing what you thought!

"Wicked!" George Weasley squeals as he checks out the newest spell his twin cast on their shared charms book.

Their walk toward the Gryffindor common room is casual, so casual that the very few students they come across quickly pass them finding it suspicious that the 'trouble twins' happen to be so calm.

"She taught me to do it on regular books but not on the monster book, so your grudge is still pending."

The beginning of the afternoon sounds just like any other. The sun comes out after the morning rain and beams against the scattered droplets, bringing a certain ethereal feeling to the already breathtaking castle.

The corridors around the courtyard are empty without counting the very few students taking a walk or reveling in the sun as they digest their breakfast and wait for their next classes.

The sound of hurried stomps echoes through the open hallways and attracts both of their attention as a frown overtakes their features.

The steps get louder and they finally see the runaway, recognizing the familiar red locks.

She frantically looks behind her before shoving past her brothers and running ahead and out of breath.

Like clockwork, the twins look at their sister sprinting past them and look back at each other before naturally falling into her rushed steps.

"What did you do?!" Fred asks with the brightest smile as he huffs catching up with her.

"And to who?" George follows up catching a glimpse of a book his sister holds onto for dear life.

"Nothing!" she shouts out of breath.

"Why are you lying?!" George yells to overcome the sound of the pounding footsteps as he easily catches up to her.

"I'm not!" she yells back when another distant shout is heard.

"Weasley!" the twins look back to see no other than Mattheo Riddle rounding the corner at full speed trying to catch up to them.

Turning back Fred can't help but let out a cackle.

"You pissed off Riddle?!" George notes.

"She pissed off Riddle!" Fred cackles one more.

His fit of laughter is cut short when his sister sharply turns right and runs through one of the many stone arches to run out into the clock tower's courtyard.

He follows her and slips up barely catching himself on the pillars of the arch as he sees her stop dead in her track in front of the stone wall with her feet firmly planted on the now dark grey ground still wet from the rain.

He stands back up and hears the pounding feet behind him before he speeds back up and runs out into the courtyard catching up right behind George.

"Give me an up!" she hurries waiting for either one to move which happens to be George who bends down and joins his hands for her to climb onto.

As her brother forces on his hands, she reaches the roof of one of the hallways with a groan, still clutching the book.

As soon as the weight leaves his hands George sheepishly slides aside to stand beside Fred as they both contemplate Mattheo Riddle catching up to them and trying to climb right behind her via a pipe but failing as the rain leaves the pipe slippery and unable to be used.

Slipping down back on the ground he turns around when he hears snickers and recognizes the two redheads, glaring at them.

He turns back around and watches as the youngest Weasley stands up on the roof balancing herself as she tries to walk on the mossy-drenched roof carefully.

"Get down Weasley!" he yells as he walks in parallel with her down on the ground.

"No!" she says waddling and leaning dangerously on one side as she stops momentarily to regain balance.

"Careful little Billywig, Hogwarts' tiles aren't the same as the Burrows" Fred warns his little sister with a smile reveling in the Slytherin's anger.

"I manage just fine!" she answers pissy and frustrated.

"All this for a book?" George wonders aloud, his eyes firmly planted on his sister, wary of her safety.

He can see Riddle roll his eyes without having to look at his face.

Their bickering continues with Mattheo's incessant orders for her to get down and her blatant disregard for his demands, balancing herself on the slippery tiles.

It is Fred who puts two and two together, he leans back against the stone wall and crosses his arms.

"It's your stach isn't it." Fred's statement sounds like a question as a devilish smirk overtakes his face.

"No it's not, shut up Weasley," Matt says uninterested in the blatant provocation, still glancing upward.

The hit that lands on the back of his head is delivered by George with a warning, "Don't stare too much."

He hisses referring to Riddle's insistent stare up as his sister who keeps tugging her skirt closer to her with one hand to avoid unwanted attention up there as the other doesn't help much, still holding on to the book.

Mattheo, by instinct, slaps the hand away as soon as it's done hitting him which leads the two to have a stare-down.

A clang and a shrill scream grab both of their attention back as they see her on all fours trying to cling to the roof's tiles.

"Get down!" Riddle reiterates screaming.

"No!" she yells back with conviction.

She takes her time but sits up, takes a breather, and carefully stands back up to continue waddling her way across the roof as he continues to mirror her path.

"You damn stubborn!" he reprimands monitoring her steps.

"And you stole my parchment!" she yells back accusingly.

"I didn't steal shit!" he bellows throwing his fingers in her direction as she looks down at him, glaring in turn.

"If anything, you stole my wand!" he shouts.

The bell rings in the twins' heads as they remember the altercation that led to the current event.

"What's going on?" she asks pushing through the small crowd gathered in front of Transfiguration class.

Mattheo pushes Harry back with one finger on his chest and a threatening stare that attracts Fred to stand in front of Harry shielding him with his towering height.

"Get lost Potter," she spots Mattheo stepping in front of Draco Malfoy who was having a staredown face to face with Harry Potter.

"And you back off Riddle," he says staring down at him.

"And while you're at it how about you muzzle your buddy," he continues looking over his shoulder directly at Draco fixing the strap of his bag on his shoulder with a snarled lip.

"How about you keep the muzzle for your friend, heard he's got some trouble with an imaginary grim," Mattheo says breaking into laughter followed by his fellow Slytherin mates.

Fred is thrown aside by Harry as he bolts towards Riddle with a closed fist that collides with his cheek.

Mattheo recovers from the punch and immediately throws a punch back as Malfoy draws his wand out quickly followed by Riddle.

The crowd widens as people step back to leave enough space for the four, now five of them as Harry and the twins follow the lead of the snakes and point their wands back at them.

The rest happened incredibly fast and the only thing her mind could register was her brother violently thrown back with a stupefy sent by a rageful Draco.

The ruckus started by the casted spell only escalates when a student shows up with a professor sending the crowd into a flock of people running in different directions.

She is sent falling on her back when a student collides with her. She rolls around to stand back up when she sees the all too familiar wand left unattended on the ground.

Hearing Professor Slughorn yell for calm she snatches the wand from the ground and boosts herself forward with her feet to sprint around the corner and away from Slughorn gripping Riddle by the arm.

"I did not!" she yells at the accusation.

"Get down!" he shouts frustrated by her attempting to balance herself and yelling back at him.

Fred cackles and holds his stomach at the interaction, amused every time Riddle's face contorts in a shocked or rather offended expression due to his sister's temper.

Taking a bold step, her foot slips as she falls sliding to the roof's edge with a scream. Her hand grips the gutter tightly as the three boys hurry closer to the wall.

"Okay you've made your point Weasley, give me your hand now!" Riddle says hurriedly stepping on the stone window using this to boost himself up and gripping the stoned wall's crevice to slip his arm around her waist unable to hold either of her hands.

He's pulled by his collar and stumbles back watching as George uses his height to his advantage, boosting himself up and sneaking his arm around his sister's waist and tugging her down to his other arm holding her princess-style.

"Calm down Riddle," Fred gently grabs the notebook from his siter and walks towards him before shoving the book right on his chest letting Mattheo clutch it and stumble back as the twin steps back with a smug, demeaning smile, "Your stach is fine."

His scowl doesn't falter even with his property now in hand. Instead, his nostrils flare with a pissed-off sigh before the youngest Weasley girl is set down on her feet, still wobbly from the shock of the potentially harmful situation.

"It's not my-" his sentence is cut short by the youngest Weasley girl being set down back on her feet as she nods in gratitude, still a bit wobbly from the previous potentially harmful situation.

Her newfound safe position has him noticeably relax but the scolding expression doesn't leave his features as he points at her and her brothers back and forth while he tries to find the words to describe his frustration.

With no full sentence gracing his mind, he instead looks at the twins directing his spite on them, still pointing at her.

"Get your siblings under control," he says walking backward and away from the little family, still incredibly pissed off by the interaction.

Arithmancy is already complicated enough with the teacher's words blending in an incomprehensible mash, but the incessant feeling of his stare burning through my back is the worst.

I turn around with a scowl and spot him at his usual place at the back of the class with the rest of his friends, looking back at me with just as much venom.

Zabini is the one that spots him glaring at me attracting the rest of the table's eyes in my direction.

Despite the insistence of Blaise to stop glaring at me his death glare continues, this time accompanied by his first tightly clenched on the table.

My stare deepens and I'm ready to mouth him what's his problem when the giant bells resound and send half the class scurrying to lunch including me as I jolt up with my bag in hand intertwining my arm with Luna Lovegood.

Quickly passing the door I appreciate the covered sky as the weather is still warm regardless of the sun hiding.

'A weather announcing rain for later in the day probably' I think to myself tuning out Luna's newest rant about Nargles.

"Your head's full of them."

I hum with a frown in her direction registering her words once again.

"Wrackspursts."

My frown deepens as the word is familiar but the context escapes me.

A bell rings in my head when I remember reading the word in Luna's latest edition of the Quibbler she landed me.

An edition I forgot to give back.

"Oh talking about that, here's your-" I say opening my satchel to see the magazine sitting cozily beside another one of my textbooks right on top of Mattheo Riddle's wand when I notice the absence of my notebook.

"Oh no I must've forgotten to pack up my notebook," I note to Luna handing her back her magazine.

"That's okay. Go grab it, I'll save you a seat at lunch." she smiles.

"Thanks, I'll be right with you," I say already trotting away before turning around in a run towards the Arithmancy class.

I pass Zabini and Co on the way and find it weird that Riddle isn't amongst them before remembering his angered stare back in class and figuring out he must've taken the route of the astronomy tower to take his anger out, probably followed closely by Nott.

Typical.

My mind turns back to reality when my eyes lock on the classroom door ajar.

'Professor Vector probably pulled it behind her as she left for lunch' I think as I push the door open stepping inside.

The room looks empty and it doesn't take too long for me to notice my desk.

Empty.

My frustration builds up as I approach my desk and kneel to check the floor where I don't see any trace of my notebook.

Sighing in annoyance I let my satchel's strap fall from my shoulder and stand back up to lift my desktop to glare at the cluttered compartment.

I groan closing my eyes and throwing my head back before keeping the desktop open with one hand and starting to rummage through the mess with the other.

Scrambling through, the echo of my search is interrupted by a smug tone.

"Looking for this?"

I let go of the desktop that snaps shut loudly spinning around and backing up against the desk in shock seeing Riddle coming out of the shadow with my notebook in hand.

My shock quickly dies down and is replaced by anger as my breathing picks up and my tension rises, not liking one bit to be stuck with him in a room alone.

"Give me back my notebook," I say in a definitive pitch extending my hand as he approaches me still showcasing my notebook up in the air like a trophy.

"I'm still missing my wand," he says smugly just a few steps away from me making it obvious that this is a transaction, my notebook for his wand.

"Then go look for it, give me back my notebook," I say more sternly dismissing him and reaching out to snatch it but his reflexes beat mine as he pulls it just far enough for my fingers to miss it just by a few inches.

His hand recoils extending behind his back as he uses his body to stand just a few inches in front of me.

My scowl deepens and his smile lights up even more showing his dimples with that mischievous glint in his eyes letting me know he's amused at the situation.

"I know you have it," he says cooly moving my notebook just a bit so that I can see it but not enough to reach it without having to end up face-to-face.

I've had enough.

"Give me my notebook back Mattheo," I say done with his games.

His smile dies down as well as the flicker in his eyes leaving place to an expression I can't read.

Is it anger?

Annoyance?

His arm lowers at his side and I don't waste a second before reaching for the journal, grasping at it and tugging when I notice that his hand doesn't let go of it no matter how hard I may tug.

I look up ready to ask him if he's really gonna waste more of my time with his little game before my thoughts are cut short as my gaze reaches his, fixated on mine in a more intense way than before.

My frown softens when my eyes catch his hand reaching the desk letting his fingers graze the surface.

My hand stops tugging and I stay focused on his hand memorizing every detail, from the veins that appear to the reddened knuckles from a previous fight.

I look back up at him and notice that the red knuckles are accompanied by new cuts on his face, one on his eyebrow and another hidden by a bandaid on his nose.

As a last attempt try to move aside thinking that putting distance between us will help me tug on the notebook better but it's like he can read my mind and steps in front of me.

Chest to chest he uses his body weight to push mine back against the desk.

I don't know what to say, the action leaves me breathless and confused.

What is going on?

I see him hesitate. Would it be possible Riddle has become speechless for the first time?

I see it in the way he's trying to talk. Trying to speak but he can only open his mouth and hesitate before closing it back up in frustration

The silence is killing me. I try to be patient and wait, even enticing him to take his time and nodding subtly when he opens his mouth yet again but he's left unable to speak and lets out another sigh of frustration switching his gaze from one eye to the other.

He whispers something, something so quiet I don't catch it.

I want to ask him to repeat himself but I don't get the time to when his lips crash onto mine. The action takes me by surprise but it's like he anticipated it as his arm that was holding my journal let go and surrounds my waist to replace my weakened legs that gave out on me to lean me against the desk.

With my eyes closed, I can only feel. Feel his lips against mine, soft and experienced but I sense that he hesitates testing the water maybe to see if I'm going to push him away.

I should, I want to.

I taste the remnant of mint, probably from a previous gum.

His lips leave mine and I open my eyes to make direct contact with his. I can barely see his irises with how dilated his pupils are.

My brain is on overdrive but no thought finds any conclusion. Every possible movement is blocked by my body frozen on the spot and every word I wish to say is replaced by an exhale.

I feel his hand, the one that was grazing the desk travels up my neck to rest on my cheek as his lips catch mine again.

His hand is warm like his lips and entraps me in a daze.

The haze in my head thickens and leaves me to nourish my urges like my desperate need to anchor myself as I let my notebook fall from my hand and grip the desk behind me letting my other hand grab his neck where the tip of my finger brushes against one of his locks and I decide instead to grip a handful of his curls.

The action brings a pleased hum from him and triggers my own when the arm that's wrapped around my waist tightens and my feet leave the floor as I feel myself being seated on my desk.

His lips don't leave mine as both his hand cradles my face before they follow my lead and travel up to entangle in my hair, stepping closer to me and standing between my legs.

One of his hands remains in my hair as the other brushes down to my neck and descends to brush my knee.

Lost in the feeling my hand grips his soft hair harder leading him to groan as I hum once again without having any control over my voice.

I feel his hand grab a handful of my thigh but the feeling is easily forgotten when I feel his teeth biting my lower lip with a sting that causes me to gasp. A gasp that gets cut off when his tongue swoops in and locks our lips back together.

I feel really hot and I can't think. I believe I'm gonna overheat when his hand travels up my thigh and I feel like a bucket of ice water is thrown onto me.

My eyes shoot open and the hand that was enjoying the softness of his curls joins my other hand that was gripping the desk to push him off me.

The push is so violent that he bumps against the desk right behind mine and needs to hold onto it to not fall as I slip off my desk.

The silence isn't noticeable as our heavy breathing fills the emptiness of the room.

All my senses crash on me and this time the fog in my brain is lifted leaving me in full control of my actions instead of a puppet to my urges.

He stands back up and stares back at me breathing heavily before wiping his mouth with his fingers letting them linger.

I mirror his action without thinking feeling my lips all plump.

What am I doing? Why did I do that?!

I just…made out with Mattheo Riddle?!

The heat that was possessing me turns cold as I frown.

That was stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

Thinking back to it my hand travels down to my skirt, tugging it down as my stare leaves his to stare into the void thinking back to everything.

Riddle is an opportunist and saw an opening. He took me by surprise and my body just reacted.

It was a mistake.

My eyes are probably the size of the sausage I'm supposed to be eating for lunch right now and that's when everything comes back to me.

How long have I been here? Has Luna waited for long? What time is it?

I came in here looking for my notebook.

My eyes focus back and I realize I need to get out right now. My eyes look back at his as he stands there just as frozen as I am. That's when I decide to make the first step looking down to spot my journal on the ground right beside my bag.

I quickly kneel down in a panic as his presence, with the knowledge of what just happened, makes me panic more and more the longer I stay here with him.

Clutching my bag I shove my book in there before scrambling to feel the outline of his wand as I see him in the corner of my eyes arranging his messed up hair.

The second my hand brushes against his possession I snatch it from my bag before stomping toward him and shoving his wand on his chest as he clutches it not breaking eye contact.

His hand mindlessly brushes against mine as he grips his wand and I snatch mine away as if he burnt me before shoving past him so fast I bump harshly into his shoulder out of the room leaving him there all alone to run toward the Great Hall like I should've done all along.

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #slytherin boys

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victimeyez · 2 months ago

Text

The Dollhouse

Chapter 28 of Professional//Victim

Tommy is paralyzed for his client, and begins his role as a doll.

CW: Captive whumpee, intimate whumper, drugged whump, dehumanization, "willing" whumpee, medical whump, medical torture, doll whumpee, doll fetishization, desecration of remains, and strong horror elements.

Dae-Ho opened the door with a warm smile and eyes filled with excitement. Tommy recognized him from the brief video chat they’d had over Caius’s phone.

“Tommy, Caius, Sam! You came! Please, please come inside!” He ushered them in like family long since seen. Stepping into the foyer, Tommy took a quick moment to take in the place. The lobby more resembled the waiting room of a spa, designed to be warm and calming. A wax heater perfumed the air with some scent, clean and slightly sweet. A fountain feature built into the far wall made for an exquisite accent, incorporating rustic slabs of warm-toned river stones with a little waterfall trickling through merrily. It was carefully fashioned to appear naturalistic, leaning away from a cool cement design that could bring to mind cemetery features.

Neatly aligned chairs and couches were offered for anyone waiting, furbished with a soft tan hide and cushy padding tight enough to still offer support. An enormous persian rug carpeted most of the room, light and clean with dark blue accents to help balance the warmer tones. There was an office attached, and a small counter crafted to still appear open and welcoming. A soundscape of soothing nature sounds permeated quietly, accompanied by string instrumentals light enough to calm but not depress,

I could never afford to die here, Tommy thought. There was a distinct feeling he always got when they visited the ritzy places many of his clientele inhabited. Truly, it was almost the same that he felt in his life before. As an impoverished punk in ill-fitting thrift store clothing, whenever he visited anywhere that displayed a modicum of wealth, he got a distinct feeling of being alien and misplaced. I don’t belong here. He knew it, and everyone else did, too. He did his best to act otherwise, but he simply couldn’t hold his space the way people experienced with luxury could. Especially now, deprived as he was within his meager living space. Even the rest of Caius’s house felt too fancy for his worth.

If Dae-Ho judged him, he did not show it. His eyes twinkled excitedly behind his horn-rimmed glasses, kind and inviting. He was exquisitely dressed in a fitted black suit, with subtle paisley dyed slightly darker in a shadow-like effect. In lieu of a tie, he wore a well tied cravat of magenta with a matching pink and white pocket square. He wore shiny saddle shoes with shiny magenta laces. If he had donned a top hat and a cane, it would not have looked out of place.

“Tea or coffee for you gentleman?” Dae-Ho swept a hand towards a stand beside the desk, laden with various coffee and tea accoutrements.

“Coffee sounds good,” Sam suggested.

“I wouldn’t turn down an earl grey, if you have it. Would you like anything yourself, Dae-Ho? Tommy would be happy to serve you,” Caius asked, his customer service voice in full force. Dae-Ho smiled and waved his hand easily.

“Nonsense! You are all my guests, I am excited to have new additions to the tea party. I make everything for it myself, though dinner tonight will be catered so we can maximize our time together. If you’d accompany me to the mortuary, I have a sanitized space available where you can prepare Tommy.” Dae-Ho took Tommy’s hand in his and squeezed lightly, giving Tommy a giddy look as if they were sharing a private joke. He led them back down a couple hallways, followed closely by Caius and Sam.

There was an electronic keypad Dae-Ho unlocked to enter the lab, and he held the door for Caius and Sam without letting go of Tommy’s hand. His grip was oddly gentle, his hands a little damp, the only indication he might be nervous. The flooring inside was a black and white tile dotted with intermittent drains, with a wall of morgue drawers along the back. There was a main slab in the middle of the room, but it resembled an adjustable hospital bed more than a classic metal autopsy table. No railings, allowing for easy access, but it was padded and covered in a shiny laminate for cleanliness. Other rolling racks and trays were stored neatly to one side. Sam whistled, looking around appreciatively, as if being shown some kind of pornography for custom labs. There was an acrid smell to the room here though, a far cry from the melted wax scents in the foyer.

“I have something special for you, Tommy. I had it tailored to you, per those measurements Caius sent,” Dae-Hold told him, dropping his hand to go collect his gift from one of the cabinets. Tommy wasn’t aware of any measurements Caius had sent him, but he knew Sam occasionally took his body measurements when he lost weight. Dae-Ho came back with a long and thin gift box, wrapped and tied thoughtfully with a silky red ribbon. The bow it culminated in looked complicated, and he hesitated to touch it when Dae-Ho set it on the slab before him.

He had been trying to read Dae-Ho since they met eyes at the door. There were plenty of things he could surmise about him from the state of the manor, the decoration, and his personal sense of style. It was interesting how he was treating them like friends, dropping the formal pretense of a business transaction in spite of his careful state of dress. Tommy had anticipated being regarded as a doll from the very start, not that Dae-Ho would acknowledge him and act so fondly. He had asked Tommy to say hello to him over the phone, but Tommy had dismissed it as a kind of wind-up doll desire. Pull the string to hear what your dolly has to say!

What he couldn’t tell yet was Dae-Ho’s intentions. His joy and hospitality felt very genuine, regardless of the circumstances.

You know this, you just can’t quite put your finger on it. What does a doll have to offer?

“Tommy?” Dae-Ho prompted, when the gift wasn’t readily accepted.

A doll offers…

The coin dropped. He remembered then, something he had already forgotten that he knew.

A doll offers companionship. He wants a companion. One without needs, one that never disagrees or dislikes the things he likes. Companionship without the emotional risk of genuine human connection.

A people pleaser. Specifically, a Dae-Ho pleaser. I can do this. I can be this doll.

Tommy shifted gears abruptly to accommodate, straightening his posture and smiling brightly. Dao-Ho flinched in surprise, but Tommy was tuning in.

“Wow, this is beautiful Dae-Ho! You are so thoughtful. I’m afraid to open it, it already looks so nice, I don’t even know where to start,” he gushed, touching the sides of the box reverently. He tipped his head down slightly to look up at him through his eyelashes, giving a shy but flirtatious smile. Dae-Ho’s eyes immediately widened, giving him a broad grin back, even taking a step closer as if Tommy had magnetized him.

“The pleasure is all mine, I wanted you to have it. Would you like help opening it?”

“Yes please,” Tommy said, giving him a little embarrassed smile. Dae-Ho’s eyes gleamed manically, and he tugged on one end of the ribbon, drawing it slowly to watch it unfurl.

When he lifted the lid, Tommy got a look inside. It took a second to make sense of what he was looking at, but after his experience with all the strappy nightmares Caius put him in, this one was easy to figure out. Unfolded, it was a thickly braided wire armature with leather straps attached to buckle it on. It was shaped a little like a stick figure with no head. He could make the leap without an explanation - this would buckle like a body harness onto him, with a wire skeleton that they could use to pose him. He tested a wire braid with his hands, and it was pretty strong, but still bendable by hand with some force.

Tommy felt nauseous looking at it. He’d known he would be paralyzed, but this felt grotesque. The threat of impending helplessness made the little color he had drain from his face.

“You’ll be the best dolly,” Dae-Ho reassured him. Tommy kept his forced smile, but he held it with a grim resolve.

“Thank you Dae-Ho, this is very special.”

He numbly followed orders to strip, and stand there naked, his arms and legs held away from his body as the armature was attached. The wire at the top had a smaller ring that attached the metal spine through his collar. He supposed it was easier to get it on before he was paralyzed, but once it was on, he was out of time to remain autonomous. Stiffened now with the armature in place, Dae-Ho generously helped him onto the table. As he laid down, he felt as if he was resting his head in the cradle of a guillotine. When Sam lined up a tray of shots and leaned over him, Tommy imagined the rope in his gloved hands, ready to cut it and get the session started in earnest.

“What I’m going to be administering today is a series of pain blocks at the base of each limb. These are localized anesthetics that will prevent any sensation at all throughout each appendage, until it starts to fade after about seven hours. He also will be unable to move the limbs at all. I had one of these done when I got surgery on my arm – I had to hold my arm in my other hand when I walked for the rest of the day, otherwise it would start swinging like dead meat from my shoulder.”

Dae-Ho laughed like Sam was telling a joke.

“The only parts he’ll be able to feel, or have any muscle control, will be from here-” Sam drew imaginary lines with his finger over where Tommy’s thigh connected to his groin over to the base of his hip, severing his legs completely.

“-to here.” He drew lines from the base of each of Tommy’s shoulders down through his armpits.

“Ah…” Dae-Ho flanked Tommy’s other side and reached out to touch him, stroking an appreciative hand down his chest to his stomach.

“So smooth,” he complimented.

A gentle hand like that could have been something Tommy enjoyed, but under the circumstances, it revolted him. Dae-Ho’s hand stopped just above his groin and he held Tommy’s hip instead.

“Will he still be able to feel pleasure?”

Tommy’s stomach churned. Sam looked slightly put off, as if disgusted by the idea. Like he hadn’t unloaded down Tommy’s throat the night before.

“Yes, he should still be able to feel…everything. Like that.”

“Good,” Dae-Ho breathed. He reached up to touch Tommy’s lips, tracing them with a finger. As part of his “dollification”, Caius had used a lip stain on him that made them look pinker and plumper. He’d even glued on false lashes, delicately curled to give him a more doll-like appearance. The final touch had been the colored contacts, wide emerald irises on top of his natural greens.

“I have a few rules for you, so I need you to listen closely, okay?” Dae-Ho reached up to tap his own ear, as if instructing a toddler. The top of the wire armature was uncomfortable against the back of his skull under where Tommy was laying. He nodded.

“One - dolls are always happy.” Dae-Ho smiled and pointed to the corners of his mouth. Tommy answered by mirroring his smile in a mirthless mask.

“Good! Two, dolls do not speak. If Dae-Ho wants you to speak, Dae-Ho will tell you.” Dae-Ho pointed to himself, as if it was not clear, even when slipping into third-person. Tommy nodded. It would be a nice break from trying to guess what the right things to say were, at least.

“Three, dolls do not cry. Dolls are happy to be with Dae-Ho, dolls do not speak and complain, and dolls do not cry. Okay?”

Hadn’t he just been thinking about that? It was eerie. He definitely hadn’t said anything about it to Dae-Ho, and wracking his brain, he couldn’t recall Caius saying anything about it. They hadn’t discussed it in the short video call.

Sometimes he did this with Caius, when he would say something and Caius would look at him like he’d just read his mind. I was just thinking that! Are you having one of your little psychic moments, Tommy? He would ask playfully.

Psychic - as if. If he was, he would have run before Caius could take him. Maybe he wouldn’t have agreed to finally go to church with Mom, for just one Sunday. If he hadn't gone, he never would have met Caius’s mother. He never would have met Caius. And sure, cancelling would have disappointed Ma, but that wouldn’t have been any change of pace.

“I’ll go start the tea. When I come back - we follow the rules, okay?” Tommy gave Dae-Ho a mechanical nod, and he breezed out.

Tommy counted ceiling tiles while Sam cleaned a spot by his hip with an alcohol wipe. He hated needles. He didn’t usually go weak at the knees about them anymore, not after all the hundreds of injections they’d put him through over the years. Vaccines, antibiotics, scar treatments, anesthetics, muscle relaxants, steroids, cocktails Sam cooked up and didn’t even tell him what he was being injected with. Not to mention, more stitches than he could count.

He remembered, suddenly, something he hadn’t thought about in a long time. His piercer, back home, a lifetime ago. She worked out of a tattoo parlor with no name, just the generic TATTOOS sign on the side of an old road in a bad part of town. His bad part of town. But she was gentle, as gentle as one could be with a needle, and he knew because he’d gotten other piercings elsewhere.

Anika was tall, making him feel especially small when she stood before him as he sat on the edge of the tattoo table. She was so pretty, with all her piercings, her voice deep and sweet. He’d liked her short hair, but her new braids looked good too, loose strands framing her face with the rest swept into a high messy bun. He liked the way she laid her baby hairs, in tiny little curls around her hairline.

“Alright, don’t forget to breathe. Quick pinch. Breathe in…” Tommy took a slow breath in, and the needle slid through the shell of his ear. She quickly slid the piercing into place, leaving it in as she retracted the piercing needle. “-aaaaand breathe out. Good boy, you always take it like a champ.” His heart fluttered a little in his chest, the way she said it.

Words like that were different nowadays. Maybe that’s why Caius chose him. Saw his hopeless need to please somehow, and decided to make Tommy please him.

Sam pushed the needle into his shoulder. Breathe in, Anika said, an echo from years ago. He breathed in, slow. The numbness started to streak down his arm immediately, and Sam pulled the needle out. Breathe out…good boy, Tommy, she complimented. It didn’t matter that she never called him Tommy, when he knew her. It didn’t matter that she never even remembered his name.

She talked him through each injection, comforting even as Sam worked with clinical austerity. Tommy focused on his hands, making them into fists, relax, fists, relax. Curling his toes, uncurl, curl, uncurl. Until they felt weaker, and weaker, and numb, until he couldn’t feel them at all. Like they’d been amputated, no signal at all that they were even there.

The best he could do was wiggle a little by tensing his stomach. His limbs, the bulk of his bodyweight, were suddenly dead weights, fleshy anchors he couldn’t unbind. This wasn’t just being tied up - he was completely imprisoned in his body.

Tears welled in his eyes before he could stop it. It felt like the contacts might actually help a little as he blinked them back, trying to compose himself. Sam returned to his side, holding a steel water bottle.

“Open,” he coaxed, twisting the lid off. Tommy did, but Sam pinched his nose anyway, pouring the water into his mouth. At least, he’d expected water, but there was a kind of chemical taste to it, something sweet. He swallowed it to keep from choking, but when Sam pulled the bottle back, a pink trickle dribbled down the side.

Bastard, Tommy swore internally. He should have guessed Sam was drugging him when he waited until Tommy was unable to move to have him drink. Caius pulled a tissue from his bag and dabbed around Tommy’s lips.

Completely unable to move, no matter what happened, for the next seven or so hours. Fed aphrodisiacs, while he couldn’t fight back, while he couldn’t attempt to cover himself. The helpless feeling suddenly became overwhelming, and a few tears overflowed, even as he struggled to hold them back.

“Oh dear. It’s alright, little one, be brave for me,” Caius cooed. He ran a hand softly over Tommy’s belly, soothing him with a gentle touch. In spite of everything, it helped. He wiped the tears away with the tissue.

“Is it scary?”

Tommy’s throat was too thick to speak. He managed a nod. Caius gave him a look of sympathy, more than Tommy would have expected after his demands. Sam’s face reflected his similar bewilderment.

“This won’t be so bad. He just wants to play with you, he doesn’t have any plans to hurt you. You can eat and drink, he really does have a tea party planned. We will be with you in case you need anything. Did you have fun at the aquarium?”

“Yes,” Tommy croaked, and then cleared his throat. “Yes, I did, thank you, it was beautiful. I had a lot of fun.” Less hoarse this time, and the leaking from his eyes was quickly subsiding.

Caius did a little more shuffling in his bag, and his touch returned to Tommy’s face with a powder brush, covering up the pink on his nose and the red around his eyes. “I had fun with you, too,” Caius admitted, and something about it brought a funny smile back to Tommy’s face.

Deep breaths. You can do this. You don’t even have to talk. Play dolls with him. Just…babysitting.

Definitely not babysitting, another part of him reminded cruelly. He wanted to know if you can feel pleasure, they drugged you with the aphrodisiac. You’re going to spend the day as the perfect unwilling fuck doll and there’s nothing you can do about it. Tommy tried to shove those thoughts to the side in order to keep his newfound composure.

Sam pinched and poked his arms to test the numbness. It might as well have been done to someone else, for the amount of sensation Tommy got from it. When Dae-Ho came back, his gaze on Tommy was hungry.

“Let’s get you dressed up again, shall we?”

The armature harness had replaced the fashion harness part of the outfit that he had chosen, but Dae-Ho pulled his stack of clothes from the counter where Tommy had folded them.

Trying to bend the armature to make his limbs follow was unsuccesful. After some fussing, Dae-Ho realized he could bend it much easier by manipulating Tommy’s limbs themselves, letting his weight help apply force to bend them the way he wanted. The wire was strong enough then to hold him in place. Dae-Ho posed him a few times for fun, and then used it to bend his limbs in positions that made dressing him easier.

“I should use these for all my bodies!” Dae-Ho exclaimed, a little breathy from the effort. Tommy had been dressed by Caius and a few others before, when he was unable - or unwilling - to dress himself. Not in the things some of the clients wanted, especially at the beginning. Tommy knew better than to fight back much anymore, though he had just made his little stand in the car earlier.

When he was dressed again, in his blousy white dress shirt and black latex pants and matching bowtie, Dae-Ho laced him into a pair of saddle shoes with spats. He was settled into a wheelchair, lowered in with practiced ease by Dae-Ho. He was deceptively strong underneath his fine suit. Tommy was wheeled to the stairs then, Caius and Sam trailing behind, and stopped at a stair lift waiting at the bottom. He’d only ever seen them in commercials before, of elderly people smiling as they buckled themselves into the seat to be pulled up the stairs on a motorized track. He could see it installed up the wall, rounded off at the corners to go up the stairs, turn onto the landing, and continue up the next flight that changed direction.

Dae-Ho turned to Sam.

“Doctor, will you please help me move it onto the lift?” Sam had a pinch in his forehead, but after a hesitant look to Caius, he agreed. Not being able to feel or move his limbs was uncomfortable to Tommy - any part of him that wasn’t supported hung limply down, and he couldn’t help at all. As he was settled into the chair and buckled in, his arms bent awkwardly in front of him. Sam moved his hands into his lap, and one immediately fell off, dangling strangely. The best he could do was attempt to sit up and back to move his arms back in, but they were nothing more than warm dead anchors hanging from his shoulder. He also couldn’t adjust his hips to sit up, so he hung uselessly in his harness.

With the press of a button, the chair let out a grinding sound and started to advance up the wall. At the corner, he heard his ankle bash the wall, but he couldn’t feel it at all. The helpless feeling was significantly worse than when he was bound and he could strain against his bindings - this was more intimate, more violating, the way it robbed him of the little autonomy he had left.

The machine went slower than walking speed, so the others met him again at the top after passing him. Dae-Ho already had another wheelchair ready, and he flopped haphazardly in with a push. The acrid smell had grown sharper, turning sour and musty, though the upstairs appeared clean and brightly lit. Caius wrinkled his nose slightly, struggling to be polite, but Sam gave a look of open disgust.

Tommy was wheeled into a lavish dining room, made up as the pinnacle of a lavish art-deco design. It felt like it belonged in a scene from The Great Gatsby. The center of the room was dominated by a round table - and the rest of the company had already found their places. Dolls were seated around the table, some propped up in chairs, others in wheelchairs like Tommy. They were of varying sizes, some child-size while others appeared as tall as Caius. There were a variety of designs among them - some very simple, others far more realistic. One had clearly been a scarecrow, a few were just mannequins, and a couple of halloween prop dummies with plastic heads and hands. One seat held a long body pillow with a pillowcase featuring an anime girl posed in a vulnerable way, blushing.

There was a gigantic Barbie and Ken, their placid smiles unsettling at such a size. Next to them sat what looked like a crash test dummy that had been badly painted, the mouth too low on the face, the eyes too far apart. A large green power ranger plushie had a spot, as well as a plastic Optimus Prime that stood up stiffly in his chair. One seemed to be an evil clown animatronic, another one a human-sized plushie blue tiger.

Tommy preferred that to the ones that were obviously sex dolls, made with an attempt at realism that was undermined by their soulless faces and cartoonish proportions. Most of the dolls were dressed in roaring 20’s outfits, but the sex dolls wore skimpy club wear that highlighted their enormous plastic breasts and tiny waists. Other more detailed mannequins had closer to human proportions, all slightly different shapes and sizes, but their plastic faces were identical - one face for all the “women”, and another for the “men”. Their eyes were sunken, but more lifelike in color and size, the glossy glass orbs taking on a wet look. Wigs, flapper dresses, patterned suits, and fake eyelashes abound.

Dae-Ho’s seat was obvious, as an empty throne of garish gold. He had a sex doll immediately to the left, and wheeled Tommy into an empty spot to the right. Caius and Sam took to a couch on the side, away from the table.

“You all get to know each other a bit, and I’ll be back with everything for the tea party,” Dae-Ho addressed his inanimate guests, and left the room.

The smell was strong, though if Dae-Ho noticed, he didn’t mind. As soon as he left, Sam started searching the room.

“We’re not casing the joint, you know,” Caius mused, as Sam made his way around the edge of the room.

“It smells like - something, I can’t put my finger on it, but it reeks in here,” Sam explained, opening the drawers of a wardrobe. He sniffed over one, made a face, and started to rummage through.

“We are directly above his embalming room, you’re probably smelling something from that,” Caius pointed out, but they all knew the smell had been fainter in the lab below. Sam ignored him, moving on to another drawer.

“Hey,” Caius said sharply, and both Tommy and Sam jumped. Well, as much as Tommy could jump.

“We are guests here. Stop touching his things, put everything back exactly the way it was, and sit. Down.” Caius hissed, and it sent Sam quickly packing everything back in. It felt a little like a mother reigning in her boys, though Tommy sat dutifully in his place at the table - not that he could do anything else.

“Just let me look at the dolls,” Sam mustered, passing the couch to inspect them. Caius sighed.

“If he comes back and sees you, he very well might invite you to the table. And if he does - you will sit down at that table and shut your mouth, so help me god.”

Sam sniffed around the circle, but he mostly just seemed curious about the dolls. He poked the animatronic in the eyes, and posed the Optimus Prime with his little hands on the table. When he got to a sex doll, he squeezed her breasts, giving a mischievous smile to Caius.

“Jealous?” He waggled his eyebrows up and down goofily. Caius rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his thin lips.

“Hardly. If you want some big silicon tits, I know a doctor who might be able to help.”

Sam twiddled with the swollen boobs. “They even have nipples.”

“Of course, how else would she breast feed?” Caius said dryly, but he was enjoying his boyfriend’s antics a bit.

Sam reached the mannequin beside Tommy, and pulled it back to sit upright so he could take a closer look.

“These ones have like - I think these are real human replacement eyes, like if you lose an eye? Do they use those on bodies?”

“No, much worse, they put these little hooked pieces inside to keep the eyelids closed,” Caius supplied helpfully. Sam and Tommy made the same face at the same time in response to the information.

“I knew a doll fucker, this guy Pete. Had a whole ‘harem’ of the things, even had a wedding ceremony with at least one of them. I almost went, just to see, but there wasn’t an open bar and the ceremony was supposed to be like two hours long. But he was collecting these mannequins that they used in a couple high end places in France or something, they were super articulated and rare. These might be those types, or something like it.” Sam squeezed one of the arms.

“What do you bet all of these have a fleshlight installed? I bet even Optimus over there is rocking something.” Sam pulled the wig hair back to get a better look, and made a face.

“Oh, shit, this thing stinks. I hope we don’t have a-” Sam stopped suddenly, freezing in place.

“Don’t,” Tommy whispered.

Sam pressed something behind the ear, palpating it with his fingers before switching to picking at it with his fingernails.

“Sam don’t-”

Sam tugged shortly, and then slower, drawing out an enormous metal pin that had been hidden inside the head. The awful smell grew much more intense, and a foul brown liquid dripped down the side of the doll’s face from where the pin had been pulled.

Why Sam couldn’t leave it be, Tommy would never know. But when Sam pushed the wig away from the hole to see, the doll’s head shifted and opened like a clam, the face swinging open and away, clicking lightly when it hit the hinge behind the other ear. Plastic blond ringlets fell in the way as Sam let go, but they couldn’t cover enough of what was inside.

The face underneath was leathery and shiny, with glass-like cracking in areas. All the shellac in the world couldn’t keep a body from rotting. The false eyes were glued over blackened sockets, obtrusive and bulging. Her lips were painted on poorly, closer resembling a beak, and the thin shell of preservative was the only thing shaping the nose, which seemed to have liquified underneath.

The smell was putrid and overwhelming, and both Tommy and Sam turned away to retch. Sam crossed the room away from it, leaving Tommy dry heaving beside the body.

With a horrified realization, Tommy looked up and counted the other dolls with the sunken, human eyes. Six total, hunched over in wheelchairs around the table. Sam was swearing, but Caius stepped up beside Tommy to look, holding a hand over his lower face.

Doing a once over of the "doll", Caius sighed.

"Damn."

Taglist:

@suspicious-whumping-egg @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday @defire @jumpywhumpywriter

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @knivestothroats @paperprinxe

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

Thank you all so much for reading!!!

#Captive whumpee #intimate whumper #drugged whump #dehumanization #“willing” whumpee #medical whump #medical torture #doll whumpee #doll fetishization #desecration of remains #and strong horror elements.

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humanpurposes · 1 year ago

Text

We're Born At Night

Chapter 1

Lady Rhaelle Targaryen of Runestone travels to King's Landing to plead for her sister's life, though the King she must bow to is a kinslayer three times over, and the very man who slaughtered her father

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Rhaelle Targaryen (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, politics, mentions of death and war

Words: 4.3k

A/n: a self-indulgent post-dance fic and I'm excited about it :)

She rocks with the carriage as it rolls over the cobbled streets of King’s Landing. Bricks and tiles in dull shades of red, yellow and browns move past the window, and the air is thick with dust and all sorts of unpleasant smells.

Her heart sinks at the absence of greenery, like the forests and fields that surround Runestone, the sounds of rivers and streams, the bright bursts of colour in the wildflowers. The Red Keep overlooks Blackwater Bay, she remembers that. She loved rising early to watch the sunrise, to see the waves glow red and gold. She loved going down to the beach below the castle to feel the warm summer sun on her face and dip her toes into the cold water.

It is autumn now. Grey clouds dull the sunlight and there is a chill in the air.

Daena sits opposite her, tugging at her sleeves and the collar of her travelling cloak. They are in matching gowns of dark green velvet, newly made for their visit to court; a cheap play for the King’s favour, but she needs all the help she can get.

Her younger sister’s constant fussing is irritating, but Rhaelle cannot blame her.

“You look beautiful, my lady,” says Morra, Rhaelle’s handmaiden who sits beside her, a sharp and observant young woman.

Daena’s harshly violet eyes glare up at her. She gives a small huff and drops her arms into her lap. “I look better in red,” she says.

“Careless talk like that will cost you your tongue the moment we’re through the castle gates,” Rhaelle warns.

Daena tuts and turns her head towards the window. “What an awful place,” she says.

Rhaelle pulls back the thin curtain with the tip of her finger. Miserable faces, crowds of bodies, market stalls, bands of mummers, and an endless array of buildings pass her by. She has prayed to the old gods and the new that their visit to the Red Keep will be short, but that is wishful thinking and she has never been much of an optimist.

Ten years ago she had been hunting with her late mother’s cousin, Ser Gerold, when a raven appeared over the hills, headed for Runestone. It had filled her with an inexplicable dread and she could not understand why until she returned to the castle to learn of the death of Laena Velaryon, her step-mother. Daemon had summoned his eldest three daughters to Driftmark to see her laid to rest and mourn alongside two sisters they had never met. In a matter of days, Ser Laenor was dead too, Daemon had married Princess Rhaenyra on Dragonstone, and had plans for three more marriages.

Their oldest sister, Alyssa, and Prince Jacaerys were married at the Red Keep little more than a month later, she being sixteen and he a boy of ten. Baela was betrothed to Prince Lucerys, and Rhaelle was betrothed to Prince Joffrey, only a babe at the time.

While Rhaelle and Daera had returned to Runestone, Alyssa had remained at Dragonstone with her husband and so her fate had been sealed.

They come to a gatehouse made of red stone, where the banners of House Targaryen loom proudly over the walls and flutter in the breeze. The sight sparks a memory Rhaelle had forgotten she had, and suddenly it feels like she never left this place at all. Her family’s sigil, the three-headed dragon, should be more familiar to her than it really is. She finds more comfort in the colours of white and bronze, black pebbles and the ancient runes of her mother’s house.

She looks down at her own sleeves, at the runes embroidered into the cuffs with golden thread. The right reads the words of House Royce: We remember. On the left though, is a saying far older, so old that no one can truly say where it came from, only that it has been passed down in proverbs amongst those who carry the blood of the first men. Now they are written in books and scripture, carved onto tombs, whispered in prayers said before a weirwood, spoken to her by her mother: Learn to die.

Did those words pass the lips of Rhea Royce when she fell from her horse and cracked her head open on a rock? Did they echo through her mind when she lay in her bed, either unconscious or incoherent for nine days?

Does Alyssa utter them to herself in the darkness of the Black Cells?

The carriage comes to a stop. Rhaelle takes a deep breath, checks that her hair is neatly pinned back, that her gown sits right and that her boots are spotless. There can be no room for weakness here, not where people will judge every move she makes, note every word she says and stare into her eyes as if to read her very thoughts.

The door is opened for her and she steps out into the courtyard clutching the hand of one of her household guards.

Lord Corlys is waiting to greet them by the steps to the castle, dressed in fine robes of sea green and silver. On his collar she spots a gleam of gold, the pin that marks him as the Hand of the King.

When she had last seen Lord Corlys he was the Seasnake, a naval hero who carved out his own legacy and built his seat of Hightide to fill with the trophies of his victories. Now Hightide is nothing more than ruins buried in ash and Lord Corlys is an old man leaning on a cane, with long silver locks, a thick white beard and a tired look in his eyes, the look of a man who has seen his last war.

He offers her a small bow of his head. “Lady Rhaelle, what an honour it is to welcome you to the Red Keep.”

Daena follows her and greets Lord Corlys with a perfect curtsey. He smiles and notes how much they have changed since he last saw them, but they were girls then, young and sweet, only grieving their first loss.

Morra takes their travelling cloaks before Lord Corlys leads them inside, followed by their household guard. The halls are quiet and solemn, the colours she remembers from childhood somehow duller and she wonders if it is because she is older.

Eyes fall to the sisters easily and whispers echo wherever they walk. She hears a faint whisper of “traitor” as they come to the great stairwell in the very heart of the castle. She looks around her and above, up into the cavernous space overhead where faces peer down from balconies and galleries, made hazy by smoke and heat from the braziers.

Traitor, the accusation clings in her stomach and throat, until Daena’s hand gently wraps around her wrist and urges her to walk on. But perhaps the whispers are right. She is the daughter of a traitor, the sister of a traitor, perhaps it is in her blood and she cannot escape it.

They are shown to their chambers in the west wing of the castle. A small reception room joins two privy chambers and two bedchambers beyond that. It is a pity, she would have liked a room where she could see Blackwater Bay or the Kingswood to the south.

Her bedroom is a little smaller than her own bedchamber at Runestone, decorated with tapestries, furnishings and details in green, gold, red and black. She looks from the window, over the towering walls of Maegor’s Holdfast of her lavishly decorated prison, a thought which she immediately reprimands herself for. She will not allow herself such pity, not while her sister is a prisoner.

Alyssa had stayed by her husband’s side through the war, donned a widow’s veil when he fell in battle and decided that she would stay on Dragonstone when Rhaenyra took King’s Landing.

The war went on. Alyssa's letters stopped abruptly. Word came that the commonfolk had revolted against Rhaenyra, and her own betrothed, the boy Joffrey, was slain in the fighting.

Then came the raven from King Aegon. Rhaenyra was dead and their remaining siblings had been taken captive: Little Aegon, Baela, Rhaena, and Alyssa. She can still the words scrawled onto the parchment: “She has been treated with no unnecessary cruelty.”

Aegon wouldn’t have dared lay a hand on Baela and Rhaena, not with Lord Corlys on his small council. Alyssa had no such protection, not with their father rotting alongside the corpse of the dragon at the bottom of the God’s Eye.

And now the man who slaughtered him wears the crown.

Lord Corlys has invited her to dine with him, in his chambers in the Tower of the Hand. Daylight fades swiftly into twilight as she crosses the courtyard that her bedchamber overlooks, past the lowered drawbridge of the Holdfast. With winter approaching, the days are growing shorter.

A servant of Lord Corlys’ leads her up a single flight of stairs, through a reception room and into a small dining hall. The table is set with fine silverware and glass cups, lit by flickering flames of candles and a blazing hearth. Lord Corlys sits at the head of the table and rises to meet her. She offers him her hand, and he presses his lips to her knuckles.

“Is your sister not joining us, my lady?” he asks.

She smiles politely. Daena fears for Alyssa’s life as much as she does, but she is not meant for the delicacy of a negotiation.

Her place is set to his right and as she sits he pours her out a glass of wine. “From the Summer Isles,” he says. “I could never understand why anyone would bother with the stuff that comes from the Arbour.”

“We are lovers of ale and cider in the Vale,” Rhaelle says, “but I trust your taste, my Lord.”

They raise their glasses to each other and take small sips as two servants bring in plates of beef, bread and butter, and roasted vegetables. They move like shadows between the candlelight, their footsteps light, their movements gentle and unobtrusive. They are gone as quickly as they came.

When the door is shut, Lord Corlys leans forward with his elbows on the table and his hands clasped together. He says quietly, “I intend to put your matter to the King in the morning.”

Rhaelle places her glass down on the table, her hand lingering on the base. Sadness suddenly strikes her heart. “You mean you have not spoken to him at all?”

“I have told him you seek to improve your position, and the position of your younger sister, of which he has been supportive.”

“But what about the matters we have discussed?” she asks.

His eyes are distant, settled on nothing in particular. He reaches to take a roll of bread from the table, but he does not eat it, he simply places it on his plate. “Lady Alyssa is an admirable woman, truly. She reminds me much of Baela–”

“Not admirable enough for you to appeal on her behalf,” Rhaelle says sharply. “I only wish to see her returned to her home, to Runestone.”

“In the eyes of the King, she is a traitor to the realm. She challenged the true line of succession.”

“As did you,” she says, “at the start of the war, you pledged your support for Rhaenyra.”

“Aye, I did, for the good of my family, and the cost was great.”

“Greater than siding with those who killed your wife?”

Corlys looks to her with a grave expression. “And Aemond killed your father, but you have come to his court, in the hopes of lobbying him, to plead for his mercy and his favour.”

But that’s different, isn’t it? Her father was a rare presence at Runestone, his name hanging over her head like an unspoken secret. He did not come to lay his first wife to rest, but he had tried to claim her inheritance and had no difficulty condemning their daughter to a marriage that would tie her to a war.

“I just want my sister to be safe,” she utters.

“I want that too,” Lord Corlys says and she can almost believe him.

“When can I speak to him? When will he release her?”

He takes a slow breath. “We must approach this matter with caution,” he says, “and it will be worth your while. Many say Aemond is a far more reasonable man than his brother was.”

“You served them both. What do you have to say on Aemond’s reason?”

A sad look falls over his face. He looks the way he did the day his daughter was buried. “Aemond is just, in his own way, but the Targaryens have always ruled with fire and blood, and he is no exception.”

When she returns to her bedchamber, she finds Daena curled up on a chaise by the dying hearth.

“She wished to see you after your dinner with Lord Corlys,” Morra mutters as Rhaelle fetches a blanket from the bed and drapes it over her sister. “It has been a tedious few months, and I do not doubt she is tired after the journey from Runestone.”

As a child, Rhaelle often wondered if she and her sisters had been born cursed. They had inherited nothing of their father’s looks save for his violet eyes; three Targaryen girls with dark curls and the stern face of their mother. Daena has always had a softness that she and Alyssa never had, a fuller face, a smaller nose, slight but pouted lips and large eyes. She looks like a doll, even in sleep.

She smooths her hand over Daena’s head, lightly so she will not disturb her, like she used to do when she was a babe. Daena makes a small humming noise in her chest but does not rouse.

She wishes her sister could rise from her sleep well rested, to a world where she would never know fear or uncertainty. Such a possibility seems close; in her heart she chases it like a hare, a flash of movement through a forest. She need only draw an arrow and strike her target.

Rhaelle is awake before dawn. By the time Daena will have started to stir, Morra has her bathed, skin scrubbed with sugar and honey then scented with lavender oil, dressed, then adds the finishing touches to her hair. She takes the top half and braids it around Rhaelle’s head like a crown, the rest falling freely down her back. With no Queen, the ladies of the court are said to follow the fashions of Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Helaena. If she is to be a lady of Aemond’s court, a Targaryen, she must appear the part.

She breaks her fast in her privy chamber. Servants bring in jugs of cherry juice, bowls of sweet stewed oats, platters of blackberry tarts and slices of apple dusted with sugar and cinnamon. The sun rises over the courtyard and a pale shade of red shines through the window where the light reflects from the red stone of the Holdfast.

Daena bounces into the room like an excitable child and takes a blackberry tart before she has even taken a seat. She will need to work on her table manners before she dines before the King and his court, Rhaelle notes. Her hair has been brought into one thick braid that falls over her shoulder and her gown is black, like Rhaelle’s, but detailed with silver rather than gold.

“What did Lord Corlys say to you last night?” she asks, following her pastry with a sip of cherry juice.

“He said that he means to put our cause to the King, and that we must employ patience.”

Daena scoffs, “patience?”

Rhaelle shares a pointed look with Morra, standing by the table. “We have no other choice,” she says, “and you will mind what you say, even in private, even when you think we are alone.”

“I thought the Master of Whispers had been put to death, or does Larys Strong still manage to spy on the Kingdom without a head?”

“And will you continue to slander the King if I find a smith to wrench out your tongue?”

Daena glares at her, then pouts her lips to stifle a giggle.

They finish their meal in relative peace and when they are done, Rhaelle is left with a pleasantly sharp sweetness on her tongue from the fruit. Morra adorns her with jewellery, all gold and set with rubies, a chain about her waist, earrings and a necklace. For the final touch she dabs tinted rosewater on her cheeks and lips.

“They say he’s terribly dull,” Daena says, patiently waiting her turn.

Rhaelle frowns at her through the mirror. “The King?”

“Tyland fucking Lannister– yes, the King.”

Prince Joffrey had been far too young to be her escort to the wedding of Alyssa and Prince Jacaerys. Aegon was already betrothed to Helaena, and so on the day of the festivities Rhaelle had been presented with a sombre looking, silver-haired Prince. He frowned constantly, which she did not doubt had something to do with the cut through his left eye. The wound and his skin was red, held together with stitches. He often had his hands balled into fists, breathing deeply through his nose as though he was in pain. He tried to talk to her about his studies, and asked her about the histories of Runestone and House Royce. He led her through one dance after dinner before he retreated to his chambers. She had despaired with Alyssa the next day that she hadn’t been allowed to be escorted by any other young man of the court. That boy is a man now, and a kinslayer thrice over.

“Better a dull King than a drunk King, I suppose,” she says quietly.

“Who’s a slanderer now?” Daena says with a wicked smile.

There are less clouds in the sky this morning. Sunlight bleeds through tall windows and floods the halls of the castle. It is more lively now, servants hurry about with baskets of food and fresh linens, men and women in all their finery walk through courtyards and galleries, though most are gathering at the throne room.

Rhaelle and Daena stay arm in arm, until they reach the entrance hall and the great oak doors that lead into the great hall.

“These carvings are new,” Rhaelle wonders aloud. The stone is cleaner here than it is in the rest of the castle, images of dragons carved into walls, pillars and archways.

She hears the ominous hum of voices on the other side of the doors. She can picture them, the staring faces like a pack of wolves eager to sink their teeth and claws into the daughters of Daemon Targaryen.

And she can picture the Iron Throne, where her uncle once sat with the golden crown of the Consolidator atop his head.

Daena leans in close to Rhaelle’s ear, tightening her hold on her arm. “But he was a dragonrider, and a warrior, surely he cannot be so dull.”

She tries to imagine that boy from the wedding feast, his serious expression, his round little face, a single sad blue eye darting around the hall. Then she imagines a killer, a bloodthirsty monster with fangs for teeth and talons for hands. She cannot place them in the same body.

“They say he has a sapphire set in the empty socket, but that he wears an eyepatch so as not to frighten the ladies at court.”

She has heard of this story, like Ser Symeon star eyes. “How considerate of him,” Rhaelle adds, glancing over her shoulder but no one seems to have heard them. She clenches her jaw and takes slow, steady breaths in the hopes that it will calm her nerves, just enough to get through this ordeal.

“I wonder if he is handsome?” Daena adds.

He’ll be wearing the Conqueror’s Crown, Valyrian steel and set with square rubies, the same worn by his brother, by Maegor the Cruel. She has only seen it in history books.

“There were awful rumours about Aegon, but he has his own now, doesn’t he?”

He will surely have Blackfyre by his side too, unless he managed to claim Dark Sister from their father’s hands once he was slain. Would he take it as a trophy of war? The thought makes her stomach churn.

“The Harrenhal whore,” Daena hisses.

This tale she is also familiar with. Aemond had marched to Harrenhal and left King’s Landing undefended. When he arrived at that cursed castle and heard the news that he had lost the capital, he slaughtered all of House Strong for treachery, save for a bastard woman, some kind of servant who he took as a bedmate. “He made her Lady of Harrenhal,” she adds, much to the ire of the realm’s Lords.

"A generous patron then," Daena chuckles, and then she falters. She lowers her voice even further till it is scarcely a breath against Rhaelle’s ear. “Will he kill Alyssa too?”

A familiar feeling of fear strikes her in her chest, squeezing on her heart and lungs. She can make no promises, not before she hears the sound of wood creaking as the doors are swung open and the voice of Ser Willis Fell calls, “Lady Rhaelle Targaryen of Runestone, and her sister, Lady Daena Targaryen!”

She drops Daena’s hand on instinct and takes a step before her like a sworn shield. The hungry faces stare up at them but she looks ahead, to the Iron Throne, to the man who sits amongst the mass of swords.

He is too distant for her to make out the details of his face, but they become clearer as she walks through the hall. If there are any whispers of “traitor,” she does not hear them.

The crown sits proudly upon his head of silver hair, long enough to pass his shoulders and fall to his chest. He is dressed all in black with no other distinguishable colours other than the silver buckles on his jerkin, and wears an eyepatch over the left side of his face.

She stops at the base of the steps leading up to the throne, knowing Daena is lingering behind her. Now she sees more of him, the line of his scar, the sharp angles of his face, his jaw, his cheeks, his nose. Most of all her attention is drawn to his mouth, to the curve of his lips, the way they settle in an expression that could almost be amused, were it not for the look of fury and hunger in his remaining eye, which is violet, like her father’s, like hers.

Lord Corlys stands by his side, but she keeps her eyes on the King and curtseys as deeply as she can. She feels her legs trembling under her skirt, her hands shaking by her sides no matter how she wills them to stop. Aemond stares at her all the while, not sparing a glance for Daena who will be following her lead.

“My King,” she says, only to find her jaw is trembling too. She dare not take her eyes from Aemond, should he take it as a sign of weakness.

She knows the words she must say, Lord Corlys had been very specific, but there’s a thick feeling in her throat, a reluctance that she never had before, now that Aemond’s one eye is boring into her very soul.

She allows herself a breath. “My King, my sister and I have come to renounce the pretender, Rhaenyra, and all those who supported her treason, including our late father–” her eyes fall to the ground before she can stop herself.

“You have come to ask something of me, cousin?” Aemond says. His voice, hauntingly gentle, draws her eyes back up to him.

“We have come to beg your forgiveness, and pledge our undying love and fealty to you,” she bows her head once more, “the one true King.”

Relief lifts a weight from her body but fear creeps under her skin like a fever, burning and chilling all at once. Murmurs fill the air and she hears Daena let out an exhale of breath, further away than she had expected her to be.

She keeps her head down as she sees movement in front of her, as the murmurs die down and the sound of tauntingly slow footsteps approach her where she kneels.

“Rise, my Lady,” Aemond says.

She does as she is instructed, straightens her body, her neck, and the last thing she lifts is her gaze.

There is something sinister in the intensity of his eye as it moves about her face, the care he takes in reaching for her hand and pressing an achingly light kiss to it that lingers on her skin, but then he does not let her go. He holds his hand firmly over hers as if to keep his kiss there. “You shall be an honoured guest in my court, Lady Rhaelle.”

She cannot tell if this is kindness or a butcher calming a lamb before the slaughter.

He goes to Daena and kisses her hand, but he does not hold her the way he did Rhaelle.

“Those of my blood who are loyal shall always have a place at my court,” he says to the hall and is met with a cautious applause.

Rhaelle meets Daena’s eye as they turn to face the crowd. Her sister frowns innocently, wide eyes begging for an explanation. Why should they trust him? Why should they have to appeal to him when they played no part in the war, when they did not challenge his brother’s inheritance? Why should they beg for forgiveness from a kinslayer King?

Aemond looks over his subjects with his head held high and his hands behind his back. He carries no sword, just a knife tucked in on his right hip. He does not regard his people with the warmth of King Viserys, instead he watches them like he’s looking for fear, like he thrives in it.

And he is so utterly captivating.

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