#djinn x human

[monsterfuckabilitytournament]

Monster Fuckability Tournament

Round One

i'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments/notes!

Djinn:

"Although generally invisible, jinn are supposed to be composed of thin and subtle bodies (Arabic: أَجْسَام, romanized: ʾajsām), and can change at will. They favour a snake form, but can also choose to appear as scorpions, lizards, or as humans. They may even engage in sexual affairs with humans and produce offspring. If they are injured by someone, they usually seek revenge or possess the assailant's body, refusing to leave it until forced to do so by exorcism. Jinn do not usually meddle in human affairs, preferring to live with their own kind in tribes similar to those of pre-Islamic Arabia." Wikipedia

Photo credit: mythology.net

Dragon:

"Beliefs about dragons vary considerably through regions, but dragons in Western cultures since the High Middle Ages have often been depicted as winged, horned, and capable of breathing fire. Dragons in eastern cultures are usually depicted as wingless, four-legged, serpentine creatures with above-average intelligence. Commonalities between dragons' traits are often a hybridization of feline, reptilian, mammal, and avian features." Wikipedia

Photo credit: Friedrich Justin Bertuch from 1806

[flowerbetweenfangs]

Bring the Storm

M! Djinn (specifically a Jann)/ F! Reader

(Originally posted on A03)

Djinn are known as genies here in the west. A jann was a specific kind of djinn who took on the form of a storm and, strangely enough, a white camel. They were one of the few who weren't actively malicious to humans. In fact, they gave them knowledge.

I didn't seen a lot of rep and thought I'd try it out.

(From the Monster's POV)

Old torches that had rotted long ago sputtered to life, illuminating your path as you entered the cave’s mouth. 

You took one and used it to light the way. Hands ran over worn-away walls, eyes flicking across ancient pictures and carvings. A tattered map was your only guide as you attempted to navigate the tunnels. 

I figured you would try to enter the treasure room, but instead, you moved toward the library. 

An ancient door creaked open with the softest touch. You found a place for your torch and began to look through the shelves. Feverish fingers pushed between books, your breathing labored as you tried to find the right ones. 

As I crept closer, I could catch the scent of you. The way your hand rested at the curve of your neck, your eyes crinkling as you tried to read the spines of tomes long forgotten. Hear the sound of them being moved from the shelves and to a table. I flitted just out of sight, stirring the pages and papers. 

You were so entranced by the collection, I don’t think you would have noticed anything short of them bursting into flames. 

Once you’d gathered enough, I dared venture closer. I thought your attention would be elsewhere. 

Instead, you whirled around to face me. 

The grin across your face would have lit up even the darkest of rooms. So genuine… So… Overjoyed. 

We stared at one another, studying the other’s form. Slowly, you reached up to touch me. When your fingers brushed against my chest, I was a puff of smoke, my form apparating to a darker part of the library. 

Your eyes lit up, and you then began to follow me, questions running from your mouth like a broken dam. No fear. Only curiosity.  

Not about what I was, that you seemed to have already figured out. A Djinn was a rare sight. Jann even more so. I expected, fear, revulsion, begging me not to end your life. 

Instead, you asked my name. 

I told you it, reluctantly. You repeated it and smiled. 

Then, came the inquiries about the library. What ancient knowledge lined the shelves? Could I translate things written in forgotten languages? Was I present for certain events? Did I know famous figures in your history? 

You counted off on your fingers, comparing conflicting reports, and which side you found had more merit. The questions soon started again. 

They came too fast for me to properly answer, so I put a small cloud to your lips. 

Your eyes still glowed, not wanting to waste the opportunity. Lips moved against me, letting warm breath roll over my twisting form. But you remained silent if eager. My eyes drifted to the contact, and I slowly retracted. 

I informed you that I would answer three questions, in exchange for something of equal value. 

That gave you pause. 

What could a creature like me, entombed with treasures and tomes that no human could use in their entire lifetime, possibly consider a fair price to pay? You looked ready to give up your very soul for a chance to peruse the shelves. 

You nodded, now much more cautious with your curiosity. You retreated back to the books, determined to find what you could on your own. A breeze rolled over your shoulder as I, too, read along. 

If you noticed, you were too polite to say. Although you did shift so the tome could be seen from behind. 

Hours passed, pen scratching over the paper as you translated ancient words. You called for me. I never left your side, but still made a show of appearing at it. 

You told of a beast that terrorized your village, and that there seemed to be no way to defeat it. It had dried your wells and withered your crops, leaving everyone at its mercy. 

It would hold off its attacks and replenish the resources with the sacrifice of one unmarried woman a month. There was no doubt they were being sent to their death… Or worse. 

But it was better to knowingly sacrifice one than risk the entire village, the elders had rationalized. 

The ancient texts showed nothing and I could tell your task was urgent. 

Preparing, you pulled out a journal, pen hovering over the paper. The tip of your tongue pressed down in sync with the pen, the blot of ink starting to bleed. 

I reminded you of the price. Nothing in life ever came free, after all. 

The fire in your eyes remained, and I was sure even the worst storm couldn’t extinguish it. 

So, I took the pen and papers from you and set them down on the table. 

You seemed concerned, almost frightened, but you had a resolve. The line between bravery and stupidity grew thinner as I circled around you. Books flew off shelves, pages flipping to show ancient beasts. Scrolls unrolled and encircled you. Powerful winds threw your body around, threatening to slam you into the shelves.

Fists balled, you shouted at the growing storm to name its price. 

The dark clouds forming began to show images. 

The water returned after a stone was removed from each pathway, a task that could easily take twelve people. 

The crops flourished when a minion of the beast was killed, while it was small, it proved to be fast and nimble, scampering out of sight. 

And finally, the fall of the creature at the hands of a much larger shadow. In its place, a new being stood over the village as a protector. 

Three questions. Three answers. One price. 

“There are people to move the rocks blocking the water. People to kill the creature in the fields. But who will bind the new protector of the village?” 

The storm cleared, and I appeared in front of you. My touch was a light breeze as I cupped your face, brushing over your lip. You took me into your mouth, the tip of that tantalizing tongue tracing, sending a chill through my form. 

Who would have thought such a tongue would have more than a talent for words? 

Your eyes shimmered with the one thing you desired more than knowledge. Power? Or something more… Primal? But you had found your answers, and you were willing to pay the price. 

Clothes and inhibitions slipped away, and you stood before me, naked as the day you were born. Years of living in the desert had never left me feeling so heated.  

I could feel myself forming, tailoring myself to your every desire. Down to the last eyelash. Of course, it wasn’t perfect. Nothing ever is. I was still mostly fog, but enough to get the job done. The small taste we’d shared was only the beginning. 

Papers flew in the air as we slammed into the nearest bookshelf, our lips meeting. Your very breath became my own. Legs wrapped around my waist, hands tangling in smoke that became solid at your touch. 

Your thighs and calves slipped down me, before I wrapped my newly formed hands around them and I ground my hips. A moan passed your lips, the sound vibrating through me. In it, I could see a brief flash into your mind, the carnal need that you had long suppressed.

Then, I ran my hands up your body, following every slight curve and angle, before seizing your wrists and holding them above your head. They lifted you up the shelf, becoming manacles and leaving your legs dangling. I wrapped them around my shoulders. 

My newly formed mouth mingled with your lower lips. The conversation between us was rather one-sided, but I don’t think you minded listening to what I had to say. 

My tongue plunged in, drawing a sigh or moan out of you with each lick. Despite how quiet you attempted to be, each noise was an explosion in my ears. It showed me a flash of memory, a piece of your being. So much to learn... 

Fingers formed and became more refined as they continued to explore, going deeper than my tongue ever could. And what wonderful sounds they drew from you. 

What great scholar doesn’t make sure that his findings are thorough and sound? Checks all his sources, and makes sure to cite them. My hands and mouth hungrily researched, making sure to take note of every sigh and whimper that they drew from you. 

You shook, breath hitched, sweat glistening on your skin in the torchlight. Like a sacrifice to be made, but to a different beast than expected. Fog caressed your flesh and you cried out, calling my name, citing the source of your pleasure over and over again. 

What a good little student. 

When I felt that my mouth and fingers had done enough work, I slowly released you.  Sliding down safely into my arms, your legs wrapped around my waist. Far more securely this time. 

I held you close, fingers tangling in your hair. Burying my still-forming face into your neck, I inhaled your scent. Warmth mingled, the thundering of your heart signaling your own storm building.  

And I wanted to be caught up in it. 

Our lips crashed together again, your nails raking down my back. When we parted, your teeth clamped down on my neck and shoulder. You refused to let up as if you were afraid I would cease to be solid if you allowed me a moment’s respite. 

What a wonderful sensation it was. Feeling the heat of your breath, the rumbling in your throat as the primal side of you teased, seeing the hunter’s glint in your eyes. 

Hips ground into mine, a new bit of research needing to be done. 

Your back pressed to the shelf, arms and legs entangled around me. It was a sight that I wouldn’t forget. I leaned in, covering your mouth with mine. You eagerly plunged your tongue in, exploring just as I had. 

My hips rolled, and I could feel you tighten around me. A perfectly formed addition, sliding so easily inside you. Not one to rush into things, I teased. Sliding in just enough to make you writhe, trying to slide down onto me, before pulling back again. You clutched me even tighter, eyes clouding over with ecstasy. The impatience was returning, but you wanted it to last. 

I gradually let more go in, and you rewarded me with moans and sighs. Each sound stoked something inside me, and I could feel myself start to give in. 

My tongue probed as I thrust, allowing myself to finally drown in the sensation of you. 

You took me all the way inside, a catching breath coming to your lips. The new sound drew my attention, for I feared that I had harmed you. Instead, your fingers laced at the nape of my neck. You had come this far, and you were prepared to ride out the storm. 

 With that, our forms became one, fog and skin twisting and entangling with one another. The sweat and condensation covered both of us, making us slick, forcing one to cling tighter to the other. 

As I continued to thrust, your moans turned to screams of pleasure. You held onto me so tight that I feared I wouldn’t be able to move. But I pressed you firmly against the shelf, determined.  

Each time you took me in, I could feel the bond growing, tying us closer and closer together. Until it felt like a millstone around my neck. The tantalizing answers to questions unasked, just out of my reach. 

You had turned the tables on me. But rather than demanding a price, you held the answers just out of reach. 

We slipped from the shelf. I caught us, your body levitating inches from the ground. I began to thrust in earnest, bringing you into the air, forcing you to cling even tighter to me. Once more, you brought me to the brink, tantalizing me with the answers. 

I felt it slip by, fingers brushing before it was yanked away. I unraveled, spilling all I had inside you. I don’t know how much of it you were able to take or comprehend, but I could feel the change start within you. So much power and knowledge dumped inside a mortal, it was a miracle you survived. 

Thankfully, I was able to stay solid enough to guide you to the floor rather than drop you. 

As you laid on the ground, I formed a protective cloud around you. Unneeded, probably, but to let you know I was there. Your labored breathing filled my ears, and I craved the physical form again. An amorphous hand grabbed yours. And as you slipped into slumber, you clutched it tight. 

The next morning, once you’d dressed, we exited the mouth of the cave. 

The fire in our eyes was back, this time making your eyes glow in the darkness of the night. More determined than ever to bring the storm back to the village. 

[thedemonofcat]

There was a time before the bottle when Jaskier glimpsed something powerful and free, though the memory of it has faded.

Once, he was a Djinn, passed from one Master to another until, eventually, he ended up at the bottom of a lake—forgotten—until Geralt found him.

Jaskier took a liking to the witcher, not just because Geralt promised to use one of his wishes to set him free. Then Yennefer came along, and though Jaskier never knew what Geralt's wish was, it somehow became easier to stay close to him.

But Geralt never intended to set Jaskier free. It wasn’t that he disliked him—far from it. Yet no one knew what Jaskier truly was, and it seemed safer to keep him in check. Geralt’s plan was simple: he would never use the final wish, leaving Jaskier bound to his bottle but never forcing him back inside.

[monstersmashorpass]

SMASH OR PASS: Juzam Djinn, Magic the Gathering

[dragon-fics]

(DnD) Dancing & Flying (Copper Dragon X Fem Reader)

Chapter summary: After years of being with your mate, he gets a message from an old djinn friend

If you enjoyed this pls reblog and like as my work doesnt meet many ppl and I'm not doing so good. links to my AO3, DA, RiTF & Wattpad

The sky was always bright in the desert. Day or night, it was always easy to navigate. I had no fear of getting lost.

I didn’t really fear the little creatures scampering around either. With my toes in the sand and the breeze in my hair, it made me feel untouchable. Or maybe he did.

Just like every trip, it was time to return home, and the best way was in the last dark hours of the morning, strumming my lyre and skipping along as geckos and scorpions twitched and ran beside me.

On my hip bounced my shoes, a small bag of jewels and a painted dragon charm. Its soft red metallic tint made it look like a real copper dragon.

It reminded me of him.

I hummed to myself softly, feeling the rays of the sun climb the exposed skin of my legs, back and shoulders. My body buzzed with warmth, and I spun around, the tassels from my clothes jingling.

“There’s my little dancer,” purred a voice from above.

He always loved my dancing.

I couldn’t help but smile. “Where else would I be?” I shrugged a shoulder and rocked on my feet; my fingers wrapped around my lyre behind me.

The rising sun made his copper scales sparkle, his elegant wings waving to keep himself afloat. He looked so weightless.

He chuckled, a smile warming his face and my own more than the sun. “I never know where I might find you.”

I giggled. “Don’t be silly, Nerhuthan. I’d never be far from you.” I held my hands up to him, hooking my lyre on my belt.

He lowered himself down gently in front of me, his head in my hands. Nerhuthan pushed his face against them and hummed. “I’ve missed you.”

My face softened and I pecked his snout. “Well, I’m home now, Tan.” I scratched under his jaw, just where he liked it. His rear leg tapped on the ground quickly. I giggled softly and removed my hand.

Nerhuthan hummed, deep and loud. “With plenty of time to give me affection and tell me all the tales from your travels.” He sat down and set out his forearms for me to sit in.

I took my spot in his hold, and he took off towards his lair, hidden behind an outcropping of stone in a cool canyon. He tightened his hold on me gently and landed in the cave, warm candlelight replaced the dull orange of the rising sun.

I jumped out of Nerhuthan’s arms and looked over the cave. Not much had changed; the hoard was its usual size of gold, gems, and burnished metals, catching the light in its most beautiful way, adding red, blue, green, and silver hues to the cave. Hung above the hoard, and opposite our nest, was the portrait he’d had made of us; me stood in front, Nerhuthan behind me, head over my shoulder and claws around my waist caringly. My purple outfit complimented his copper scales well; similar to the teal one I was wearing now. I’d gotten used to the portrait, even if I thought was a bit over-the-top originally.

Nerhuthan slithered up behind me and put his claws around my waist. “I really like when you wear these dancer outfits.”

Heat rose to my face and lifted my head to look at him. “And why’s that? Because there’s a lot of skin on show?” I teased.

He shook his head. “No. Though I do like that too. Dragons are all natural, after all.” He winked. “But I like it more because I met you in an outfit like this.” He licked my bare shoulder delicately.

“Well ain’t you a sweet sentimentalist?” I smiled and pecked his cheek. I slipped out of his hold and made my way over to my wardrobe and dressing screen.

Nerhuthan followed me over. “How could I not admire my greatest treasure of all? And the tale of how I found her.”

I spun to look at him when I was beside the wardrobe. “Well, you have a lovely portrait to admire, don’t you?” I smirked and reached to grab my nightwear.

“Do you not like it?” his voice was soft, wounded sounding.

I looked at him quickly, feeling bad that I’d upset him. “No, I do. I like it.” I shuffled over to him and reached to pet his face. He pushed his head into my hands. I sighed softly and kissed his forehead. “I was just teasing. I just meant that when I’m not here you can still admire me.”

Nerhuthan looked aside. “It’s not the same,” he said.

My face softened, and I lifted his head in my hands. “I know it’s not. I wouldn’t want to stare at a portrait of my handsome guy over you being here.”

His lips lifted into a curl, and he licked my face, chuckling. “Knew you cared.”

I gasped and crossed my arms. “How dare you?!” I turned my back to him.

Nerhuthan nudged me with his snout. “I’m sorry.”

I sighed and touched his face softly. “It’s alright.” I went behind my screen and grabbed my nightwear. “You’re sentenced to not seeing me ‘all natural’, though.” I stuck out my tongue and got changed.

“You wound me!” he said dramatically, but he didn’t come any closer to look over the screen.

I came out in a vest and shorts, stretching and striding towards the mass of blankets and pillows. I jumped into it, sinking right in.

Nerhuthan chuckled and joined me, the bed bowing and shifting under his weight. “So, tell me, little dancer, what news have you brought?”

I rolled over, curling up as I faced him. “Well, as you know, I went to the Arn Forest, not far from here really, but the rest of the performers were eager to stay. The audiences tipped well and were very uh, friendly towards us.” That was the best way to put it, but my skin crawled.

Nerhuthan narrowed his eyes at me. “What does that mean?” a growl rose in his voice.

I chewed my lip. “They uh, were very touchy-feely. I handled it though… no thanks to any of my co-workers,” I huffed.

He was silent for a moment, contemplating my words. “Well, maybe next time I should come with you. Those that touch a dragon’s treasure—"

“—lose a finger.” I finished. “I know. And usually, I’d disagree with you, but… I think that might be needed.”

He reached a gentle paw to my face and touched his nose to my hair. “I will protect you. You know that.”

I nodded and touched his face. “Anyways. Other than that, it was fine. Heard some folktale, sang some songs. Danced a lot.”

Nerhuthan tilted his head. “Oh? And would you like to share?”

I nodded. He always enjoyed hearing about all the cultures and stories I heard about. If he could’ve been there himself to learn, he would’ve. Talking about all I’d learned always brought me back to the night we’d met, all thanks to the party hosted in Zlinding, at the hand of the ruler of Alberaad—the state we lived in.

*~*~*~*

The night was young and lively; the moon lit the courtyard and music filled the air. I was dancing on the raise floor, hips swaying quickly. Our partnering band played behind me and the other dancers.

The crowd in front of me was joining in the beat and offering coins into the purses hanging on our belts or at the tips of our feet. They encouraged the music, and the music encouraged us. The rhythm possessed my mind and body. Nothing could break the connection.

Until I saw him.

An elegant slender body of copper scales, topaz eyes fixated on the stage. On us. on me.

My face heated up and my thoughts paused completely. Time seemed to drag on for the couple of seconds we locked eyes. His lips curled and before I could pull myself out of this trance and talk to him, he slipped a large gold coin into the purse on my lip.

I knew I was thankful, but no words came out of my mouth. It took the dancer beside me, Miley, nudging me to speak.

“Thank you!” I shouted over the music.

He bobbed his head and remained with the crowd, and even when we tidied up our stage, collecting the dropped coins, roses and gemstones, he lingered in the courtyard.

While the musicians and dancers packed up the wagons, he was sat patiently by the archway, talking with some of the passing musicians, my boss, Jarmid, included. I glided my way over to them, curious about the gathering.

Before I reached them, Jarmid came to me. “He quite likes you. He could be a good patron. Entertain him for a bit.”

I glanced at the dragon; he looked as warm as his scales did. I wiped my sweaty brow and fixed my hair. “I’ll try.”

“You will,” Jarmid pressured, and pushed me in the dragon’s direction.

I stumbled into the ring of people and bowed to the dragon. “You’ve been of great support tonight.” I smiled as bright as I could and lifted my head.

He acknowledged me with a nod and shifted his position to see me better. “You were quite the artist up there, my lady. I enjoyed your performance.” His voice was warm and soothing, like honey, aged but not too old. He seemed trustworthy, and the bag on his chest and the jewellery he wore on his horns, neck, legs, and tail all showed he could be quite a wealthy client.

“Why thank you. You tipped ever so generously up there,” I gestured my head towards the stage.

He chuckled. “I had to. Such a masterpiece such as yourself needs to be donned with gold!”

I smiled widely and played with my hair to ease my thumping heart. “Th-That’s very sweet of you, sir.”

He waved his bejewelled paw. “Please, call me Nerhuthan.”

I nodded. “And I am (Y/N).”

*~*~*~*

Nerhuthan nudged me with his snout. “It’s good that you got home safe, and that the trip wasn’t too awful, even with the local’s… interest.”

I nodded and massaged Nerhuthan’s claw. “Me too. Also! I found the art so interesting there. The wood sculptures were wonderful!”

He nodded and hummed. “Maybe I should commission one of you.”

I laughed. “Don’t go too extreme, Tan.” I kissed his claw. “What about you? What has my pretty mate gotten up to?”

Nerhuthan smiled widely and reached behind him. “An old friend got in contact with me!” He presented a scroll with a broken seal.

“Oh wow. Who?” I took it from him and opened it up to scan through.

“Haamafaat, my old Djinn friend.”

The name bounced around in my head. Nerhuthan had won his lamp in a wager before he’d returned to the Elemental Plane. They had been friends for a number of decades by now.

“And he wishes to meet up with you?” I looked up from the letter. So far, it had been full of briefings of events in Haamafaat’s life; the reuniting of him with the other Djinni, some summoning he’d had at the hands of a distant king, and the finishing of his palace.

He shook his head. “Not just me. Us. He invited me to bring my partner if I had one. And I’d like to bring you.” He beamed.

I looked at the letter. “I wouldn’t want to impose on your boys’ day. You’ve not seen him in so long!”

Nerhuthan shook his head. “Nonsense! He’s invited you. Us. Plus, he’d call me a liar if I raved about you and not bring you—” he rolled his eyes, “—how embarrassing would that be if I blabbered on about you only for him to laugh.”

I giggled. “Alright. Let’s sleep on it. Let him know later to expect me to be with you.”

He nodded and touched his snout to my forehead. “That sounds perfect, (Y/N).” He gently took the scroll from me, and I yawned. “Let’s rest.” With a clap of his paw, the cave went dark, and I snuggled in under his wing.

*~*~*~*

Haamafaat was an eccentric guy. No major details or detailed instructions followed. Just a note saying to be ready on the evening of the full moon and “someone would be sent for us”.

I sighed and put the letter aside as I made a small pack for us. I was nervous about this and confused. Haamafaat was so strange, but Nerhuthan trusted him, and I trusted Nerhuthan.

“Do not worry, little dancer,” Nerhuthan hummed and touched his snout to the back of my neck. “We will be safe. All is taken care of.”

Nodding, I turned to look at him. “I know. I just don’t understand any of this. We’re travelling to a whole new plane! This isn’t like travelling a bit south and popping in to see some gathering of nobles in a city. We’re going to be around a bunch of Djinni and-and pixies and stuff!”

He chuckled. “We’ll be just fine, (Y/N). You’ll be fine.” He looked out the cave mouth. The sky was a dark orange, and the air was cooling. “Let’s head out, shall we?” He recommended we stay in a large, open space.

I stood up and grabbed my shawl to slip on. “Let’s.” I nodded. Nerhuthan reached to pick me up and place me on his back.

Nerhuthan kept his pace slow so I wouldn’t be thrown about as he walked out of the canyon and out into the dunes. He stood still with me and counted down to the moment we were supposed to join our guide.

When the sun and moon shared the sky, seated on opposite sides of the horizon, a portal opened in front of us from thin air. A blast of air and a glaring blue light hit us, causing a whirlwind of sand to swarm around us. I hid behind Nerhuthan’s neck and shut my eyes; the shawl caught in the wind and slapping my body.

Nerhuthan straightened his neck and watched the portal. “Haamafaat?” he questioned. I peeked an eye open. A dark figure was stepping the portal. As she emerged, we could see her better. She appeared young, with a slim sky-blue face, cracked with pale lightning bolts, and white long curly locks framing her looks. She wore a short loose white blouse and beige pantaloons, but her legs weren’t very solid looking. They were like a thick whorl of smoke curling and dancing towards the ground. Looking over her, she wasn’t much taller than me.

Nerhuthan jerked. “You’re not Haamafaat.” He bared his teeth, wings stiffening.

She shook her head. “No, Haamafaat is my father. I am Celeste. He sent me to bring you, the finest of his children.” She bowed. “It’s an honour to meet you, Master Nerhuthan.”

Nerhuthan bobbed his head, hastily. “Yes well… none of this ‘Master’ business Celeste.”

Celeste nodded and raised her head. “As you wish.” She peered over Nerhuthan’s shoulder. “Father said you would have company,” she smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.”

I nodded, squinting at the harsh light. I could feel a migraine forming. “Ye-Yes. Thank you. Great to meet you too.” I shifted on his back and rested my forehead to his neck. The pain was eyewatering. I hugged my shawl closer to me as the wind tugged on it.

Nerhuthan hummed with concern. “Can we travel, please? I’ve waited a long time to see Haamafaat again.” He reached to touch my body, and I put a hand on his paw. He knew.

Celeste agreed. “Of course. Father is eager to see you.” She turned around and floated towards the portal.

I kept my face hidden as I felt Nerhuthan step forward. Even with closed eyes, the bright portal light seeped through to hurt my eyes. A harsh chill hit me as I gripped Nerhuthan. And as soon as the shock passed, I felt warmer, and the area was calmer. A whoosh sounded behind me and all I heard was my breathing.

Nerhuthan twisted his neck to look at me. “You can open your eyes, little dancer,” he said, touching his snout to my head.

Gingerly, I opened my eyes, warm sunlight greeting me. The ground beneath us was green and lush, grass wavering in an easy breeze. A quick glance around was overwhelming. Countless islands were floating in a waterless blue sea of air. No two were the same. Some large some small. A few close ones had palaces and towers built on them. I saw a couple of shimmering blue dragons glide between the masses of dirt and green. I must have gawked because Celeste was giggling. Nerhuthan and I looked at her.

“Mortals always have the funniest reactions,” she grinned.

It was then that I saw that the portal she had opened and led us through was no longer there and had been replaced with a tall white and blue palace, clouds taking the place of hedges and steam bubbling out of a fountain, tumbling down as water would.

Feeling Nerhuthan breathing on my neck made me turn my head, slowly as my headache faded. He looked quite impressed, jaw hanging slack and eyes glistening in awe. He looked quite cute, like a stunned little dragonling.

I smiled softly at him and kissed his snout so get his attention.

Nerhuthan’s gold eyes darted down to me and cleared his throat. “This place is lovely, Celeste. May I ask, though, where does Haamafaat live?”

Celeste gestured her head towards the palace in front of us. “He’ll be in there waiting for you.” She placed something small and dark blue on her shoulder. It scampered across her chest and onto her opposite shoulder, white tipped sticky feet padding across. It was a tiny salamander. I thought it was cute.

Nerhuthan nodded. “Thank you, Celeste.” He turned his body around and made his way through the parted cloud-hedges.

“This place is wonderful,” I whispered to him, gaze moving constantly. A few swift Arrowhawks flew past Haamafaat’s island, and a large Crystal Dragon passed over us, shadowing us for at least a couple of seconds.

“It is, (Y/N),” Nerhuthan nodded, eyes following the Crystal Dragon long enough to pass through one hedge. With a jolt, he looked at his glistening legs, layered in condescension. “Oh no.” He tried to gather some of the neighbouring clouds to make a new hedge, but poor Nerhuthan just enlarged the gap.

“That’ll fix itself, Master Nerhuthan,” came a calm, respectful voice.

Nerhuthan spun around to see the owner of the voice. He was a dark blue djinn before is, dressed in a dark sapphire robe. He bore a tray in his hand and a silver torc on his neck. The tray suggested he was a servant.

Nerhuthan cleared his throat. “Thank you. I was looking for Haamafaat?”

The djinn bowed his head. “Yes, Master Haamafaat will be with you soon. He asked that I prepare tea for you while he deals with business.” He turned, dark blue mist-tail trailing behind him. “Come with me, please.” He started off down a path to the castle.

Nerhuthan felt tense beneath me as he walked, glancing back at the hedge. I pet his neck. “I’m sure Haamafaat will understand it was a mistake. You’re hardly the first to do it,” I assured.

He nodded nervously. “Yes. I hope so.”

The djinn servant led to a covered patio with a set of cream chaises set out with a table beside each. “Please, have a seat.” He went over to a nearby tea station.

Nerhuthan lay on one of the chaises and sighed softly. I slipped off and sat by his head. The servant gave use a couple cups of tea—a large cup for Nerhuthan, and a selection of tea scones, queen cakes and macarons. This place felt too fancy for me.

I slowly pulled off my shawl and looked at Nerhuthan. “I’ve never been in a palace like this.” I said, not willing to grab my tea yet, nervous to spill some on the seat.

Nerhuthan was about to respond when a voice cut him off; “It’s one of a kind!”

We quickly lifted out heads, Nerhuthan grinned. “Hello, old friend.”

Haamafaat stepped onto the patio, glass of wine in hand, contrasting with his dark blue skin and purple robes. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” He settled down opposite us. “A last-minute meeting was arranged with the caliph.” He rolled his eyes. “So, I had to send Celeste. I hope she wasn’t too… much.” He tilted his head and smiled.

I found myself shaking my head before I could stop myself.

“No. She was a wonderful guide.” Nerhuthan smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

Haamafaat nodded. “It is! Please, tell me what’s happened.”

[eemoo1o-animoo]

It was an idea that I played around with in an unfinished WIP, but I’ll ponder over it again here. What if Sebastian planned to, after his contract with Ciel, try to convince Agni to make a contract with him (for seemingly mutual benefit but really it’s for Sebastian’s emotional benefit, possibly under the guise of it being for Agni)—whether that’s through protecting Soma alongside him, or Soma’s family as a means to make Soma happy, etc, perhaps even take the manor for them to move into—and in the process try to make the contract so there were several loopholes and clauses that made the goal of the contract near or entirely impossible to achieve. And, if the goal is met, then—after a while of remorse and apprehension—he’ll eventually devour his soul. And then he’ll be able to keep him close, forever.

[fanfic-fugue]

Chapters: 13/? Fandom: What We Do in the Shadows (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Human Nandor the Relentless, Vampire Guillermo de la Cruz, Alternate Reality, Be Careful What You Wish For, Wish Fulfillment, Submissive Nandor the Relentless, Dominant Guillermo de la Cruz, it’s giving time loop…, Nandor goes to Dennys, Choking, Nandor has a pain kink, Multiple Realities

Summary:

Nandor decides to wish for what he's always wanted: to be a human again.

The Djinn can't let it be that simple, reminding Nandor to be careful what he wishes for, because what he wants may end up being a jagged pill. He finds humanity hard to swallow, but he lives and learns, one day at a time.

Even if each day is wildly different from the next, and he can't figure out what the fuck is going on.

~

This is a finished WIP, posting a new chapter every few days!

And: there’s a spotify playlist!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0EzSQO8TR7CD2NvOrhq4pY?si=c5b33c4bff564270

[ninii-winchester]

Unveiled Sorrows (Part 8)

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Reader, Sam Winchester X Reader (platonic)

Word count : 5k

Warnings : angst, spoilers s6, canon level gore, violence, language, Samuel is fucking annoying, also i made up the signal on my own (it’s not very creative lol)

A/n : This series follows canon plot line but some scenes might happen differently or be completely changed. Check the warnings for each part before continuing.

A/n 2: gif (1) from Pinterest. Credits to owner.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

It was a given that Y/n knew Dean wouldn't stay. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt like a bitch. She has been holding on for too long, pretending to be strong. It was time she dealt with her feelings. She would let herself wallow in misery. She didn't know for how long had she sat in her room. She checked that clock it read, 10am. She sighed sitting up against the headboard. She needed someone to be by her side. She didn't feel like crying, too exhausted for tears. She looked at the crib and watched Adeline sleeping soundly.

"I can't believe I'm doing this." Y/n sighed before closing her eyes. "I know this is bizarre, but I'm desperate here. I know you and Dean have a connection and you only respond to him but Cas, I need you. If you hear me please, respond." Y/n breathed opening her eyes. She peeked around her room for the angel but he wasn't there. "Dean's bitch." She muttered turning to lay on her side and gasped when she saw Castiel sitting on the other side of the bed.

"Hello Y/n."

"Cas you scared me."

"You called. I came." He replied flatly. He's back to his angel self and he's emotionless as ever. "You look terrible."

"That is comforting, thanks." She replied sarcastically. "Where've you been?"

"Around."

"I know you're busy with angel business so thank you for coming."

"You seem to be in terrible condition. And you sounded...anguished." Y/n nodded. She moved and wrapped her arms around his frame and he hugged her back awkwardly. Y/n felt safe and not-terrible. He may not be accustomed to human emotions and gestures but his presence comforted her.

Surprisingly, he stayed with her for more time than she expected. He brought her food as she didn't want to leave the room. Adeline woke up with a loud cry and y/n tended to her. When Castiel held Adeline he had half the mind to brand the child with the sigil but he knew y/n wouldn't let him, she's too small and it would hurt her. He just wanted to keep her safe but he wouldn't do anything she or Dean wouldn't allow him to.

"I have to go." Cas said all of a sudden. Y/n nodded, she knew he would stay if he could. She was grateful that he even came.

"Sure, thanks for coming Cas." She said taking Adeline from him. She didn't even get an answer when Cas disappeared.

It was around six pm when she heard a knock at her door. Y/n tensed at thought of having to interact with anyone. Bobby knew well enough when to leave her alone so either it must be really important or it was Lisa. She opened the door finding, it was the latter.

"Hey, I didn't mean to bother you but Sam called and said you didn't answer when he called, he's worried." She spoke politely. "you've been in your room the whole day and it worried me too."

"It's not a bother at all. I'm just tired." Y/n replied with tired smile. She actually was tired.

"It's not because of me is it? That you're scooped up in your room?" Lisa asked hoping it wasn't the case.

"Oh no not all Lis." The nickname and y/n's light tone made the woman feel a bit better.

"Okay." She smiled. "Sam and Dean left for my place in the morning to track the Djinn. They might be back tomorrow." Lisa informed.

"Alright." She nodded and Lisa turned to leave when Y/n spoke, "I'll uh call Sam. And thanks for checking in."

"Anytime."

Y/n closed the door when Lisa left. She grabbed her phone as saw five missed calls from Sam, each with a gap of an hour. He must've been worried. She dialled his number and pressed the phone to her ear. He picked up on the first ring.

"I know you hate me but that doesn't mean you get to leave me worried sick." Was the first thing he said as he answered the phone.

"Hello to you too." She replied.

"This isn't funny. Where have you been? You haven't left your room the whole day, you weren't answering my calls."

"You keeping tabs on me Winchester?" She teased.

"It's called caring." Sam replied, harsher than he intended.

"Sorry I was in my head. I needed space." She replied honestly.

"Take as much space as you need. Next time just let me know you're okay.!!"

"Yeah." She nodded even though he can't see her. "How's it going?"

"We've checked the place. There are three of them. We figured they'd only come out when it's me and Dean alone. So we're waiting."

"You're waiting for three Djinns to attack you while its only you two. Not to mention they're extremely powerful ones who almost killed all three of us?" Y/n sighed at their stupidity. But then, what are Winchesters if not stupid.

"That's one way to put it." Sam chuckled. "But Samuel's backing us up."

"For the record," she softly said, "I don't hate you."

"Uh thanks." He said making her chuckle. "I think i gotta go."

"Be safe, Sammy." With that Sam hung up.

It was around midnight, y/n was in the main room reading, Adeline laid in the middle of the room, staring up at the devil's trap, gazing the the symbols with curiosity. The shapes enticing the little baby. She had a good amount of sleep while being trapped inside the room so now she's wide awake keeping her mother company.

Y/n heard the sound of tires against the road and then Sam's car's horn. She didn't want to see Dean but she couldn't just hide anytime he was around. She knew it was going to be a frequent occurrence now that he knows Sam's back so she stayed seated. Sam and Dean appeared at the doorway and she shifted her gaze from the book to the men.

"How'd it go?" She asked the younger brother.

"Terrible. But we killed them."

"Basically the story of every hunt." She retorted and Sam chuckled walking towards her. He kneeled beside Addy and was going to pick her up when Y/n swatted his hands away. "Clean up first."

"You're mean." He pouted.

"No, you're dirty." Y/n shooed him away. Sam didn't argue and made his way out of the room to get cleaned. Dean, glanced at Adeline and left without a word.

Now that the Djinns were gone, Lisa and Ben were free to go back to their place. That meant Dean will leave too. She wanted to be bitter but she knew the way Dean thought. He dragged them into this, put a target on their backs and now it's his responsibility to protect them. After they left, it was just her and Bobby. Sam had been gone with Samuel again.

"Hey Bobby!" She called out to the older man who was playing with Adeline. "I think I'll move."

"You two are idjits you know that?" His reply made her snort. He was against the idea but he knew she had made her mind.

"It's the company." She teased which earned her a glare from the old man.

"You better be safe, ya hear me?" 

"You got it."

Y/n leased a house in a neighbourhood few towns over. It was her fresh start. No hunting, no monsters, no Dean. Just her and Adeline. The house was well furnished and she didn't have much stuff to set up anyway. She had a spare room for a nursery. She set everything up but she put the crib her own room. With everything she knew was out there, she wouldn't leave her baby alone.

"This is a bad idea." Sam said pacing in her new living room.

"It is not." She replied glaring at him. "Would you stop pacing."

"It's not safe. You're too far from us. We can't reach you in time if something happens." Sam said sitting on the couch.

"Sam I've monster proofed the whole house. There's salt on every window, devil traps all over the place. I've got my gun, holy water, machetes, plenty of silver...Even Bobby checked the whole place." She assured him.

Sam sighed leaning back on the couch. He still thinks its a bad idea. He just wants her to be safe.

"I got out Sam. I'm not a hunter anymore."

"Yeah but that didn't stop that Djinn to come after you. Who knows what else could be after you. You and Addy were safe at Bobby's." Sam tried to argue. "I know you left because of Dean but he won't be going over. He stopped hunting for good." She gave him a look but he continued. "He did. He made Lisa and Ben move. And he told me he's done. He won't hunt with me or anyone."

"Look, i know you think I'm unsafe but I promise you I'll be fine. I'll call you even if I doubt anything in the slightest, I swear."

"Okay." Sam accepted defeat. "Get me a beer."

"Hey, don't order me around." She kicked his leg lightly, a smile on her face. "Go get it yourself. And get me one too." This might actually be a good start. She felt happy. She could start fresh. Or could she?

She had been living under one of her aliases, Emma Parker. And her daughter Adeline Parker. The neighbourhood was decent and people were good. It had been smooth sailing for the past two months. Until she heard the news of six months old babies disappearing from locked homes and their parents being brutally murdered. It was happening too close to her location. However she didn't think it was some sort of supernatural gig, even if it was she was prepared to fight whoever it was.

Y/n's phone rang and she sighed knowing who it was and what they're going to say. She answered it begrudgingly.

"Y/n you need to go back to Bobby's." Sam told her while driving his car.

"Sam that's bullshit and you know that."

"I don't care whatever it is. You need to leave. Addy turned six months a week ago. They're killing parents and taking babies. Even if it's not our kinda thing it's not safe." Sam argued.

"Sam how long am I going to keep running? I can't lock myself at Bobby's. Addy's gonna grow up, she's gonna go to school. She's not growing up in this life Sam, I'd die before I let that happen."

"It's not safe considering what's happening in your town."

"Just because I don't hunt anymore doesn't mean I don't know how to fight. Be it a human or a monster. I'll kill anyone who tries to harm my baby." Sam didn't speak for a moment. He sighed before agreed.

"I'm in town investigating this thing. So I'll see you soon yeah?"

"Yeah."

Sam went around investigating the murders and disappearance of the children. He went to Y/n's house and the two of them brainstormed MO's, reasoning and potential suspects.

"You don't have anything to do with Harper security, do you?" Sam asked y/n who brought him a beer, with Adeline on her hip.

"Nope, why do you ask?"

"All of the houses had their services. That's the only thing in common." He said standing up and grabbing his jacket.

"Where are you going?"  She asked as he stood up abruptly.

"Well I'm on this case, as a Fed or a Hunter. Can't stay here long. It'll put a target on you." He said grabbing his things. He kissed Addy's head and then hers. "Lock the windows and doors. Stay safe." With that he walked out of the door.

After Sam left he went to watch another house that had Harper security. He watched as a man entered the house, he followed him inside. The man turned to attack him and Sam fought back, he nicked the man with a silver knife and his hand burned. It was a shifter. He left the place and Sam checked the place and found a baby. He sighed.

"Dean i need your help." He said into the phone as he got into his car.

Dean met up with Sam and sighed as he saw a baby in the backseat.

"You need help with a baby? Haven't you been around Adeline to know all the baby stuff." Dean rolled his eyes at his brother.

"No. Not most of the time. Besides I'm working a job here." Dean sighed knowing Sam's right.

The two of them headed to a store to get necessary supplies for the baby and they ran into the shifter. It took the baby pretending to be a nice old lady. But Dean watched the woman in the cctv cam and noticed her eyes were like those of shifters. Sam and Dean fought with the shifter and grabbed the baby and ran out of the store. The two of them were in a motel room Sam was going through the papers while Dean was watching BobbyJohn. Sam stopped his work to watch Dean.

"You're surprisingly good at this." Sam commented.

"I've done this before." Dean replied vaguely.

"Last I remember Ben was a full grown child." Dean glared at his brother.

"I put Addy to sleep. Once." Sam raised his brow in curiosity.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No." Dean immediately replied.

"Alright, you stay here with Bobby John and I'll go see what i can find out." Sam said getting up. Dean just nodded.

Sam was driving to meet with one of the babies' father, who was not at home during the attack. After talking to him, he reached to a conclusion that the shifter cloned himself into the husbands, knocked up the wives and is now collecting his own babies. He needed to tell Dean the baby is a shifter. He retrieved his phone from his pocket to call Dean but before he could, his phone rang.

"Hey." Sam answered.

"Hey, how's it going? Did you find anything?" Y/n asked.

"Actually, I found everything." He told her everything he found out. He just left the part where he was working with Dean.

"Well that's great. Now you have nothing to worry about since Addy is Dean's daughter and not some psycho shifter's." She said over the phone.

"Yeah I'm relieved over that." Sam responded.

"Yeah, how about you come over for dinner tonight?"

"I can't y/n, I'd love to but I've got one of the babies with me and I've got to take him to Samuel." Sam explained. "Look, I have to go but I'll call you."

Sam went back to the motel and saw a sherrif dead in the motel room and Dean carrying a baby that looked like the baby on the diaper box. He shifted.

"We've gotta take him to Samuel."

Y/n was in the kitchen when she heard the doorbell ring. She opened the door to see Sam in standing there. She knew it wasn't Sam. He was on his way to Samuel. And she knew a shifter was in town so she knew what she was dealing with.

"Sammy hi." She invited him in. She knew she had to attack when he least expects it. "I thought you were too busy to drop by."

"Yeah uh, I did. But family first you know." Family my ass Y/n thought to herself.

"That's amazing, you staying for dinner right?"

"Sure." He replied taking a seat on the couch. She watched as he kept eyeing Adeline who was crawling throughout the living room. Ever since she learned how to, she hasn't stopped.

She has to do something quick or else she'd regret it. She can't risk leaving Addy alone with the monster so she subtly grabbed a silver knife from the cabinet behind her and put it in the back pocket of her jeans. Her gun was taped under the table in the living room and it was stocked with silver bullets. She cringed at the idea that crept in her mind. The shifter doesn't know the relationship between her and Sam.

"You know..." she walked towards the shifter who was pretending to be Sam. "It's been a while since we had some fun." She dropped herself in his lap and he immediately grabbed her hips. Yep not my Sam. She thought to herself.

"I think so too." He breathed as he felt her up. She was internally cringing so bad, first this was a slimy shifter she was straddling , who on top of that was wearing Sam's face. Her best friend. She was hating the feeling of his hands on her body. She lifted her shirt over her head and he immediately distraced by that.

Men, she rolled her eyes.

He was eager to latch his mouth to her skin and she knew she had him. She slipped the knife from her pocket and stabbed him in his chest. The creature groaned and Y/n immediately jumped off him and went up to pick Adeline from the ground. The shifter removed the knife from his chest and threw it away. He grabbed her by the ankles and threw her against the wall, blood trickled down her head. He went for Adeline but y/n pushed him.

She grabbed the knife and lunged at him but he grabbed her arm and twisted it. He made her stab her own side. She screamed in pain as blood gushed out of her side. She knew better than to remove the object so she elbowed him in the neck and crawled towards the table and grabbed her gun.

He had picked up Adeline who was now wailing in his arms. She knew it was risk shooting him while he was holding her daughter but she knew she couldn't let him take her. She took a deep breath and steadied her arm. She's done it a thousand times before, she can hit moving targets. It should be easy. She gripped the gun tightly in her hand and shot twice at his vacant shoulder on the side he was not holding Adeline.

"Tell her father I want what he has. I'll be in touch." With that he ran out of the house.

Y/n watched in horror as he left with Adeline. He should've been dead. She shot him with silver bullets. What does Dean even have that the shifter wants? She clutched her side as she grabbed her phone and dialled Sam.

"Sammy. He took Adeline." Sam slammed the brakes, hard.

"What the hell Sammy?" Dean asked as Sam reversed the car and drove past the speed limit. Sam was breathing hard as he clutched the steering wheel tightly. "Would you tell me what's going on?" Dean demanded.

"Dean shut up." Sam said aggressively. Dean was shocked at his outburst. It was only a matter of minutes before they arrived a house, which Dean had never seen before. Sam ran out of the car and Dean watched as his brother kicked the door open to the house. He grabbed the baby from the back seat and followed Sam.

Sam entered the living room and the whole place was bloody, The whole place looked like a mess, shattered lamps and photo frames. A bloodied Y/n was on the couch holding a kitchen towel to her side. A bloodied knife and gun was placed on the table. He rushed to her side.

Dean walked inside the house hesitantly, unsure of what to expect. The moment he stepped inside his heart stopped. Out of everything in world this is the last thing he expected.

Y/n was barely holding onto consciousness and Sam patted her cheek to keep her awake.

"Hey stay with me." He looked down and removed the towel to see blood gushing out of her wound. "You need stitches. Dean grab the medical kit." Sam looked back at Dean who was frozen in place. "DEAN." Sam yelled.

Dean shook himself as he watched his biggest nightmare come true. The love his life barely hanging to life, bloodied. He jumped into action when Sam yelled his name, he ran inside the kitchen and checked all the cabinets. He found the box in the cabinet above the sink. He grabbed the box and another clean towel from the shelf. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey that he luckily found. He re-entered the room handing the box to Sam. She was already shirtless so it was easier for Sam to patch her up. Dean poured the alcohol on her wound and Sam cleaned the area. Y/n hissed in pain as he did so.

"Bite into it, sweetheart." Dean said place the clean towel inside her mouth. She clenched her teeth as Sam stitched her up. Her scream was muffled by the towel inside her mouth. Dean clutched her hand in his as she withered in pain. "Almost done, baby."

When Sam was done he placed a gauze over the stitches and closed the wound. Now that the blood was not oozing out her body she could keep herself awake. She removed her hand from Dean's grip and threw the towel on the floor.

"Son of a bitch." She gasped sitting up. "Give me that." She grabbed the whiskey from Dean and gulped down the liquid. "He took Addy." She tried to blink back the tears. "He said, tell her father I want what he has and he'll be in touch." She cried. Sam wrapped her arms around her as she sobbed.

At her words the two brothers immediately eyed the baby in the carseat.

"Tell us everything." Dean said. She told them everybody that happened.

"It should've died, i shot him with silver bullets, twice." She cried.

"I think it was the alpha." Sam replied.

"The alpha? As in the very first of their kind?" Y/n asked and Sam nodded.

"It would've hurt him but only shooting him in the heart would kill him." Sam added.

"I thought about it, I would've done it had he not have Addy in his arms." Y/n sobbed.

"You should've called us." Dean stated.

"Excuse me?" She glared at him.

"You shouldn't have taken on him alone, should've called us." Dean replied.

"And you think he wouldn't have noticed me calling Sam, when Sam was clearly sitting in my living room and last I remember you were busy playing house." She snapped back.

"You could've gone to the other room." Dean argued.

"And left my daughter alone? Like you did?" She yelled. This made Dean and even Sam flinch.

"Hey.. calm down. Fighting isn't going to bring Addy back." Sam intervened.

"Sammy please do something, bring her back. I don't have any reason to live besides her." She cried in Sam's chest.

"We'll get her back. I promise." Sam rubbed back in a comforting manner.

Dean watched as his brother was comforting her. He wished it was him in his place telling her that it'll be alright, they'll get their daughter back. Hell he wished it didn't happen in the first place. It was all his fault, He should've been here, he should've.... His train of thoughts was broken by the ringing of a phone. 

Sam answered his phone, it was Samuel calling.

"What?" Sam exclaimed. "Tell him we agree. Yes we'll be there. Is she okay?" Dean and y/n heard the one sided conversation. Sam nodded as he hung up. "The shifter has taken Addy to Samuel, and he's bargaining. Addy for that child." Sam said gesturing to the child. It was the first time she noticed that child's presence.

"Let's go then." She said standing up.

"I don't think you should come with, we'll bring her home." Dean said fuelling y/n's anger.

"What makes you think you're in position to give orders? In a situation regarding 'my' daughter?" She sneered, emphasising on the word 'my'.

She grabbed her shirt from the floor not caring it was stained with blood. She grabbed her gun and stuffed it in her jeans. She put on her jacket and limped towards Sam's car. Sam and Dean followed behind her, Sam put the carseat with the baby in the back. Y/n rounded the car and opened the passenger's seat door.

"I'm not sitting beside that thing or I might break its neck. Baby or not." She said sliding inside and slamming the door shut. The two men nodded and got inside the car. Dean sat in the back while Sam drove.

They reached Samuel's warehouse in a few hours. The three of them walked inside the place, the carseat in Sam's hand. Christian took them to where Samuel was. The old man stood from his seat and glanced at the shifter baby.

"Where is he?" Sam asked.

"He didn't come himself, he sent a message. He said to signal him when were ready to deal." Samuel replied.

"And how do you do that?" Y/n asked shifting her weight on her legs.

"Sacred shots." Samuel said.

"Sacred shots?" Dean asked.

"Yeah there's pattern while shooting. First you shoot left in the air then right and then twice directly in the middle." Samuel explained. The three of them nodded. Y/n watched Mark, Gwen and a few unfamiliar faces walked inside the room.

"Now we need a plan of action, Mark-"

"What plan of action?" Y/n interrupted Samuel.

"To catch him of course."

"Oh hell no. You're not using my daughter as bait for whatever sick plan you have." She said sternly.

"Y/n, I know Adeline is your daughter and I adore that kid but we have to catch him, he's the Alpha." Samuel explained. "We will get her back."

"You will not. You said you made a deal. You lied to us to bring this child here." She yelled.

"I did what had to be done."

"Samuel. This isn't-" Sam started but his grandfather cut him off.

"Sam i know she's your friend," he gestured to y/n "and you care for her child but this is neces-"

"That's enough." Dean yelled. "You will give him this child and get Adeline back." He told his grandfather. Samuel walked towards Dean, staring him down.

"And why would I do that?" Samuel challenged.

"Because she is my daughter." Dean yelled. "and you will not play anymore games, do ya hear me?" He growled staring into his grandfather's eyes.

The room fell silent at his confession and the old man took a step back. Y/n watched Dean's face turn red in anger and his adam's apple bobbed as he stared up at Samuel, daring him to go against his word. The aforementioned man nodded his head in agreement.

They had decided that it would be Dean who would go out and deal with the shifter. He went to the backyard and fired the sacred shots. He kept the baby on the ground who was still strapped in the car seat.

"I'm here." Dean yelled. He heard the leaves crunching underneath someone's steps. He turned to see an unfamiliar man walking towards him with Adeline crying in his arms. Dean's skin crawled as he watched his daughter in a stranger's arms. "I've got what you want. I'm here to deal. No games." He said to the man.

"You know it's you humans who don't stick to your words. I'm just here to get what i want. I haven't touched a single hair on your daughter's head." The man replied.

"That better be the case." Dean replied. He grabbed the car seat and walked towards the man. He set it beside the man and held his arms out for Adeline who was still crying.

"No games?" The man asked.

"No games." Dean nodded. The shifter placed Adeline in Dean's arms and he sighed in relief having his daughter back in his arms. The shifter leaned down to pick up car seat and looked around suspiciously, still not trusting Dean. He picked the seat up and when nothing happened, he walked to where he came from.

"Daddy's here, baby. You're safe, my love." Dean cooed at his daughter. Tears pooled in his eyes as his heart was beating profusely in his chest. He bounced the little baby in his arms, Adeline curled herself in his chest as if she recognised his warmth. "It's okay, angel daddy's got you." He walked back to the warehouse and Adeline had stopped crying. He opened the door to Samuel's study where everyone was waiting, Y/n ran towards him and grabbed Adeline from his arms. Sam sighed in relief at the sight of his niece. Y/n clutched her daughter to her chest, crying and kissing the little baby all over her face.

"Oh Baby you're okay. I'm glad you're okay." She said to her daughter as if she'd understand her.. Holding Adeline in one arm she turned to Dean and wrapped her arm around him. "Thank you Dean." She cried. "Thank you for saving our daughter." She sobbed in his chest. He wrapped his arm around her back and pulled her closer.

"You don't have to thank me, baby." He kissed her head, cherishing the moment. He pecked his daughter's head, grateful that she was okay.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @galway-girlatwork @deangirl96 @queensilber

@s0urw00lf @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deans-baby-momma @fullbelieverheart

@riah1606 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @hobby27

@suckitands33

[eetherealgoddess]

helloo, I just want to tell you I've been your fan since I downloaded tumblr. I can't, your fanfics are to die for. 😭 I'm sorry, I've been the one liking your stories from the start, I hope it doesn't bother you and I'm sorry if it does.

can I request a really really dark supernatural au smut bonten x fem reader? I can't explain how much I love your supernatural au fanfics😭

Although idk who you are specifically, I appreciate all your likes and the request so you don’t have to be sorry!! I embrace all feedback!! Unfortunately, I don’t think I made this dark enough, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!! ♡︎♡︎♡︎

Y’all it’s wild cuz blood actually makes me queasy and uncomfortable. Especially gore and yet I write and read it even though I gotta pause to breathe from time to time lmao. This one is FULL of blood and gore. So be mindful!! ꨄꨄꨄ

ꨄBlood Thirstyꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Bonten Djinn Au

❦Your blood is enticing to Bonten❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

The male leads are Djinn, based off of the show Supernatural, though I’ve created my own version for the story. I’ve never watched the show but I searched up supernatural monsters and found Djinn.

In this story, they’re tattooed beings who drink blood and eat flesh. They trap their victims by luring them with their glowing eyes that cause a hypnotic trance. Their tattoos will glow the same color as their eyes. They can only be killed with a silver knife laced with an antidote created by Djinn slayers.

Djinn are not mine nor is this the original type of creature. There’s also another definition that has nothing to do with the show so you should research that if you want to find out because I don’t have enough info on that to be able to explain it.

Not fully proofread

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Blood Thirsty

You were quiet, hand covering your own mouth as your eyelids flutter closed. You lean your back against the shelf of books, hiding in an aisle of the abandoned library as you sit with your knees to your chest. You contain your vomit as you listen to the sounds of your friend's flesh ripping apart, the blood splattering against the floors as the putrid smell of death reaches your nose. Your other hand is placed against your pounding heart as your body tenses, hair sticking up as you prevent yourself from having an anxiety attack.

Earlier, you and your friends had gone to a local nightclub just to get out and have fun. Because the night club is owned by Djinn yakuza members, it was a sacrificial night, the full moon being the reason for this massacre. A ritual that was made into an agreement between humans and Djinn. Djinn can survive off of animal prey, which is what they eat until the night it’s time to feed. You had no idea the building was owned by not only a criminal organization but Djinn creatures at that. Not until one of your friends said, “Who knew Djinn could give us such a great time?”

Apparently your other three friends didn’t know either, eyebrows furrowing when they heard the news. It was already dangerous to be out late at night since that’s when they prowl on a full moon, but to also attend a Djinn club is just asking to be somebody’s meal. You smacked her shoulder and asked, “Why did you bring us here knowing that it’s feeding night?”

“They’re hot!” She responds, “If they’re gonna be active tonight then I know I can score at least one in exchange for my blood!” The creatures are known to be attractive, adding to the hype of the tattooed beings. Unfortunately, your friend is so boy crazy that she’ll put everyone at risk just for a chance with a murderous creature.

You all escaped and ran as fast as you could when all hell broke loose, ending in this dark dusty library, choosing your spots to hide in. You knew you couldn’t stay in the same spot for long. You knew you were going to have to move before they stopped feeding. The blood curdling screams of your friends begin to quiet down as you look over to the original friend who put you all in this predicament. She sat at the aisle across from you, eyes wide as well as her own hand covering her mouth as her body trembled. You both eyed each other in terror before you motioned for the door opposite of the sound. It was a few aisles down. You both have the potential to make it as they continue to eat.

You nod at her before standing on your feet, crouching as you peeked behind your aisle, instantly regretting it as you turned back away from the gruesome scene. Holding your stomach you ease your way to the other side of the aisle in front of you, hands trembling as you hold your breath once pausing, listening for any movement towards you. When all you heard was the usual ripping and bone cracking you turned to look at your friend who's following behind on her own side. You both move again and again until you finally make it out of the door, sprinting down the hall until you make it outside.

Your original plan was to keep running until you didn’t hear your friend behind you, turning around you noticed her standing in place, staring to the side.

“F/n! F/n! Come on!” You call out to her, confused as to why she stopped.

“But he’s so pretty.” She says breathlessly, her eyes beginning to glow purple.

You follow her sight, startled when you notice the shirtless man with a large tattoo on the left side of his torso, as well as a symbol on his neck. His purple mullet flowing in the wind as he stands across from her, eyes and tattoos glowing purple. Blood stained his mouth as well as his chest, his hands dripping with the substance as he licked some of the liquid off his fingers. You turn away as you grab her face, turning her to face you.

“Wake up! Wake up now! We’re gonna be killed!” You shake her face as her mouth hangs open, slobber dripping as you shift your gaze back to the male who stood still. You know you should leave her, but you can’t. You know it’s her fault, as well as yours for even being out in the first place on a night like this. Tears fall down your eyes as you contemplate whether or not to leave her to die. The only way she can be pulled out of the trance is by the Djinn releasing her or death.

You could be a savior and offer yourself up, but fear overtook your senses. You couldn’t possibly save her, so you decide to make a run for it while you still can, releasing her face. Before you could run, claws wrap around your wrist, yanking you back as you fall on the grass, bottom making contact with the ground as another tattooed being crouches over you. You noticed the yellow glow against the tiger symbol on his neck as well as the symbol that matches with the purple eyed Djinn on the right side of his chest.

His smile was as cold as his golden gaze, eyes refrained from glowing as he stared down at your fearful face. Blood covered his torso as well as his hands. You could see that his teeth were also stained with red as his smile widened.

“Where do ya think you’re going?”

You could only stare back at his face before you looked over to your friend, your hand reaching out in reflex as you called out to her when she walked over to the male. A hand on your chin forces you to turn your attention back to the brunette with blonde strands hanging over his face.

“Hey! Pay attention to me. I asked you a question.” He eyes you with an irritated gaze, causing you to yelp when he squeezes your chin tightly, claws poking your skin.

“Playing with your food, Kazu?” Another shirtless man walks toward the two of you from inside the building, fresh blood covering his mouth as well as his whole torso while the large tattoo on the right side of his body as well as the one on his neck glows purple.

He stops next to you both, sniffing the air as he eyes you and your friend with a lazy smile.

“Are you radiating that sweet scent, darling?”

“N-no! I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You say as you pull back from the man’s grip.

The purple eyed man’s fingers met his chin. “Hm. Of course you don’t. You smell it?” He faces the crouching man.

“Yeah. That’s what brought me over here. Never smelled blood like that before.” The tiger symboled man pushes himself from the ground, standing over you as their intense gazes study you like you’re a new specimen.

Your eyebrows furrow as you notice their eyes becoming dim, faces turning red as they hold dazed looks on their faces.

“Man, your smell is intoxicating.” Kazutora breathes out, chest rising as he drags a large sniff of the air.

“Maybe we should preserve this one, yeah?” The short haired man suggests.

“You think boss’ll allow it?” Kazutora questions.

“Allow what?” A pink haired man entered the scene, walking until he reached the two men standing above you. His hair covered in blood as well as his face, hands, and chest, as if he rubbed himself against the liquid while feeding. You eye the blue glow of his wrist, the symbol matching the iciness of his piercing eyes. He sniffed the air, facing you as he observed your figure. Bending over, he grabs your arm, pulling you up on your feet and smelling the limb.

His face instantly warms, eyes dazed as he continues to sniff the sweet aroma, using a hand at the back of your neck to pull you closer as he nuzzles your neck. You put your hands on his chest as you pushed yourself away, his hand preventing you from moving as you struggled in his grasp.

“What is that?” He pulls back, turning to the others as he releases your neck only to keep a hold of your arm.

Kazutora shrugged. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

You hear the sound of flesh ripping along with a familiar scream of pain. Turning your head, you eye the gruesome sight. The man has your friend’s detached arm in his hand. A big gash is left where her arm used to be as her legs tremble, her eyes staying wide as they continue to glow purple. Blood drips from the wound as he bites into the flesh of the arm, more blood staining his mouth as he moans while satisfying his hunger.

Your hands shake as you eye the display in horror, tears streaming down your face as you watch your last friend become a beast’s meal. Instincts going haywire, you wanted to run away, but if you did, you knew you’d be easily captured by the Djinn considering their abilities. They have the upper hand against the human species. You’ve always wondered why they didn’t just take over. You could only stand there amongst the men, feeling helpless, weak, and vulnerable. It disgusted you to be so human in this predicament. You were going to die and you had no choice but to accept it.

“Awe, she’s crying. I think you’re hurting her arm, Sanzu.” Kazutora jokes, pointing at your tears. You ignored him as you turned your head away from your friend who’s shoulder just got bitten off, using both of your hands to cover your ears, the sound driving you crazy.

Sanzu releases you just in time for you to lean over and vomit. Bile burning your throat as you gag and dry heave.

“Disgusting.” Sanzu hissed as he walked towards the purple mullet. Kazutora leaned over with his hands on his knees.

“It’s amazing how you still smell sweet. There’s no way boss won’t take you home with us.” He beams.

“He does have a thing for sweet things.” Ran states with a cigar in his mouth, sparking it before shoving the lighter in his pants pocket.

A short man walks out of the building, the men immediately turning their attention to him. The atmosphere darkens almost as much as the voids you’d call his eyes. He gave you an icy glare, causing a rapid chill to run up your spine as well as sending alerts to your instincts. Your body tenses as he comes closer. You hear him sniffing, eyeing the blood on his mouth as well as on his chest, bloody claws by his sides. He stops in front of you, gazing into your soul as you shift in discomfort.

His gaze slightly softens as the familiar red hue forms on his face, panting softly as he drags more of your fumes through his nostrils. You eye the blood staining his platinum hair, the stench of flesh and blood surrounding you. His palm rests on the side of your neck for a moment before he uses a claw to nick the skin, slicing a small cut in between your neck and shoulder causing you to flinch. He leans in, warm breath grazing your neck before his tongue slithers against your wound. His sunken eyes widen as his hands grab your shoulders, pulling you in as you place your hands on his chest in an attempt to push him away before you yelp from the fangs piercing through your skin.

He gulps your blood down, moaning against you as you fall backwards. He lands on top of you, a hand sliding behind your neck while the other balances next to your head. Your hands grip his shoulders as your eyes shut tightly in pain. You hiss and whimper under him as the others, including Sanzu and Rin, watch as if they’re in their own trance. He finally pulls his teeth out of your neck before he grips the back of your neck tightly as he nuzzles against the wound. Your blood rubs along his face as he engulfs himself. He breathes your scent in deeply before pulling back.

He pants as he sits on top of you with intense eyes. You avoid eye contact by looking at your own blood covering the hand that felt the moisture from your neck. Your hand trembles as you look at the men who stood around you. He stands up and walks away from you. He flicks his head, motioning for them to grab you. When you see this, your fight or flight kicks in causing you to hop up and run. The only place you could go was the forest but if you stayed hidden there until the sun rose, they would have to let you go in order to not break the treaty.

“So she wants a chase?” Rin questions with a smirk as all the executives stand and watch you run.

“Bind her and bring her to the car when you’re done.” Mikey says before he hops into the car.

With a wide grin that shows their sharp stained teeth, the four men began to sprint after you, Ran dropping the cigar in the process.

You run as fast as you can, grunting and breathing hard as your heart pounds. Your chest tightens as the pain in your legs form fast from running at a speed you’ve never had to run. You hop off of mini hills as well as passing many trees. The only light allowing you to see in the moonlight shining through the leaves. You just had to find a hiding spot to survive the night. You wouldn’t have run into the forest if they weren’t blocking your way. You knew you couldn’t pass them.

You groan as the pain becomes almost unbearable, the tightening of your body making it harder to breathe. You knew you’d have to stop soon but your adrenaline is pumping and you refuse to let them catch you. At least not easily. You thank the heavens that you hadn’t worn heels, the platforms of your shoes smacking against the grassy terrain, attempting to not fall on loose twigs or branches. As you run, you also gaze around for any mud to prevent yourself from sliding on it.

You pant, mouth wide open as you peek behind you. Seeing nothing there you continue to run as you look for the perfect hiding place. If you were being honest with yourself, there’s a low chance of surviving without being caught. They probably know exactly where you are and just allow you to run because they like to play with their prey. You’re not dumb. You were just scared. You had to try. Before you could plant your feet into the ground, you run into a figure in front of you, slamming into them.

Your friend's blood stains your clothes, mixing in with your own as the man wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in as he leans over to smell your blood.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met.” A hand covers your mouth, blocking your scream. You’re forced to turn the other way, your back against his chest as he holds you in place. The other men stood in front of you in a curve, staring you down with glowing eyes.

“I don’t think I want to put her in a trance. I like it when they fight.”

“I want a taste. Mikey made you look so good.”

Suddenly, fingers connect with your chin, moving your head to the side as the person in front of you sniffs before leaning into the spot Mikey focused on.

A long tongue glides against your neck, the short haired man moaning softly before his teeth sinks in. You yelp in pain as another bite comes from behind, the man’s younger brother getting his own taste from the other side of your neck. The arm around your waist tightens you in place. You smack Ran’s shoulder as you try to push him away, tears rolling out of your eyes at the pain.

“You guys are hogging her all to yourself.” Kazutora states before snatching one of your arms. He bites into your forearm, eyes widening when the blood hits his taste buds, eagerly draining you. Sanzu does the same to the other arm, shutting his eyes as he drinks from you. You could only cry out in agony as they drain from you. Your body weakens as well as you becoming light headed. This goes on until you begin to see stars, your vision blurring. They pull away from you just in time before you faint, your body weak against the man behind you as you lean back.

Suddenly, your bottom met the ground as the man sitswith his back leaned against the tree. You begin to feel kisses littering all over your neck, lips hitting the blood that continues to ooze out.

“You taste so fucking good.” He whispers as he licks the liquid. Your eyelids are heavy as you sit barely awake. It feels like your black out drunk, going in and out of consciousness from whatever was spiked in it.

You look into the eyes in front of you, the person kneeling before you as two palms hold your cheeks, lips meeting yours as you’re forced to kiss the man. You couldn’t even flinch when he nipped your lip, blood drawing from you as you sat weakly.

“Let me go.” You whisper against his lips, not having enough strength to say much in a louder tone. He pulls back as he smirks.

“Go where? You can’t even walk.” Sanzu says as he crouches beside you, eyeing the wound on your neck and using his fingers to force you to turn towards him.

The red hue is still stuck on all of their faces, dazed eyes as if they’re intoxicated by your scent.

“I wonder what your thighs taste like.” The golden eyed man states before kneeling and pulling your leg open. He leans over and begins licking and sucking your thigh before sinking his teeth in. Another grunt leaves out of your mouth from the pain.

“I wonder how you taste down here.” A hand coming from behind slips into your pants as you try to wiggle out of his grip.

“Stop! Don’t touch me!” You cry out angrily. The hand dips into your panties, slowly rubbing up your slit before landing on your clit.

“I bet your cum is as sweet as your blood, huh?” The man behind you chuckles as he rolls his finger against your clit.

“I think we should find out.” His brother adds on, smiling as they nod at each other. Kazutora moves away from your thigh as he wipes his mouth, licking the blood he wiped from the back of his hand.

Rin pulls his hand out of your pants before reaching under your thighs and pulling them as far back as he could. Ran uses a claw to cut a slit from the zipper of your pants down to your ass. He tears a hole into the pants, stretching them to get a good view of your panties.

“No! Stop right now! Please!” Your head falls back on Rin’s shoulder weakly as you use your hands to cover yourself. Sanzu grabs them, securing your wrists above your head.

Ran leans over as he slices through the middle of your panties. He closes in and takes a big whiff of your vagina. Using two fingers, he gently spreads your lips apart with one hand while the thumb on his other hand pulls the hood of your clit back, revealing the bud.

“What a pretty pussy.” You twitch slightly as you feel a blow of air on your clit.

Your face warms up when you feel his lips grazing your clit, leaving a soft kiss on the bud. He does it once more and then again as he looks at you with intense eyes. You bite your lip, sucking your teeth as you turn away, only for Sanzu to use one hand to force you to look up at him. Leaning over with one hand still gripping your wrists, his lips meet yours. Rin keeps your legs pulled back, piercing his claws into your skin to draw some blood, watching as you flinch in pain, all the while Ran licks up your clit before he gives a few more kitten licks. Finally, he closes his mouth around the bud, sucking and flicking his tongue as he dives in.

Kazutora, who's still kneeling on the ground, licks up the blood dripping from your thighs. You whimper against Sanzu’s mouth.

“I think we should put the bind in between her breasts.” Rin says as you jolt from Ran’s tongue. Sanzu pulls back.

“We should put it on her face, that way everyone knows who she belongs to.”

Kazutora pulls back. “But she has such a pretty face, I don’t want to mark it.”

Ran continues to suck your clit as he lowers his head to lick some of your slick from the hole itself, his long tongue pushing inside as he uses a finger to rub your clit. He doesn’t pay much attention to the conversation, too obsessed with drinking your juices as your pussy contracts. Your head falls back with your eyes shut tight.

“Fine. Take her arms.” Kazutora grabs your arms as he stands up, Sanzu kneeling to tear the middle of your top open, revealing the lack of bra.

“Wow, you were already ready.” Kazu beams.

Sanzu sticks out a claw as his eyes glow, along with his tattoo. The beam reaches his hand as the claw meets with your skin, Rin holding you tighter as you scream in pain. The claw penetrates your skin as it drags into the shape of their Bonten symbol, blood dripping down as you struggle in his grip.

“Stop! Stop! It fucking hurts!” You cry out, your own nails digging into the skin of your palms. Kazutora forces you to turn to him with one hand, trapping your screams with an open mouthed kiss.

The contrast of pain between your chest and pleasure from your pussy shamefully causes you to near your orgasm as Ran tongue fucks you and rolls a finger around your bud. Your pussy drips with juice as your body convulses, just in time for the bind to complete as it glows a blue color that swirls into all of their signature colors before it resembles a normal tattoo. You yell out as you finally reach your limit, creaming on his face as he laps up the juice. Not long after, you finally pass out from all the overwhelming sensations.

[sahonithereadwolf]

Siyo! My name is Sahoni. I'm an indigenous and queer game designer and writer and my birthday is next month! I'd love to grab a couple things for myself so please consider checking out my shop below! 🎲 bramblewolfgames.itch.io 📚

Exceptionals is a game inspired by x-men about and for the communities and spaces marginalized folks make for themselves and the lenses through which we view the mutant metaphor. It's also been called "a better superhero rpg than the official marvel one"

Core: bramblewolfgames.itch.io/exceptionals Bundle: https://bramblewolfgames.itch.io/exceptionals-super-bundle

Like My Games? 🍓 Leave a tip and sponsor community copies at:  ko-fi.com/bramblewolf Support future development at: 📝https://www.patreon.com/bramblewolfgames

I'm currently developing Protect The Sacred, an anticolonial two-fisted pulp TTRPG in the style of Indiana Jones, Hellboy, or Jonny Quest where adventurers with folkloric powers work to protect, preserve, and reclaim a world of magic, monsters, and mystical artifacts on behalf of and on the terms of the peoples they belong to (and which they are often a part of). TLDR: Basically I made an rpg where a werewolf librarian can fight a robot eyeball tank, a mummy, and/or a grave robber selling human remains to private collectors then go do karaoke with a cynical demigod, the worlds best baker, a coffee-addicted wizard, and a person with a djinn in a ring.

[beansprean]

*definition: low on fan content, but too well-known or referenced to be a true rarepair. Canon ships like Colin x Evie or Sean x Charmaine not included.

Rarepair Poll - Threatenedpair Poll

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Three

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

no tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

Chapter One | Chapter Two

CHAPTER THREE - SORROW IN IDLE MIND

Aemond is the most put upon person in the entire history of Westeros. Aegon is the most navel gazing, half drunk prince to ever hold the title. Alyn Hull is just here for figs and a good time.

Traipsing through the narrow, winding alleyways of the Street of Silk was not how Aemond Targaryen wanted to spend this evening. Nay, this was not how he wanted to spend any evening. He mourned the cloak he wore, for he was certain that amidst the cloying scents of perfume and incense, and of the sour of human stink beneath, he’d never get the evidence out.

He wished for the quiet comforts of mother’s solar with a thick tome upon his lap as he read aloud to Mother and Helaena as they sewed. Better yet were the times when he could retreat to Helaena’s room and read only to her. She would card her fingers through his hair, brush and braid the long strands back as she always had. Other times, she’d lean into his side, soft and warm and smelling of the peppermint tea she always drank before bed. Her long curls would tickle against his neck where her head tucked perfectly, like it belonged there, on his shoulder. Aemond would adjust the warm blanket over their laps to ensure she was cozy. The book would span across them both and he would wrap an arm about her, fingers playing with her beautiful hair.

He’d read stories of the lands beyond. The tales of djinn promising wishes and sphinx spinning riddles from the furthest parts of the Essosi continent. The monstrous woman with half a snake body, and hair made of living vipers from the Basilisk Isles, would always draw gasps when he’d describe the garden of stone heroes the monster made. Helaena would gasp at all the appropriate places, look at him with wide eyes and would ask, “Do they make it out alive?” He’d brush a soft, reassuring kiss to the crown of her head and with a grin, tell her to listen.

They’d read into the night, and then when it was time for bed, Aemond would relish the sleepy kiss he’d receive, chaste and innocent, and still able to make him flush. “Goodnight, dear brother,” Helaena would murmur and he’d eagerly press a kiss to the warmth of her palm, over the lifeline, the blood they shared thrumming beneath.

Dear brother, she always said with such love and reassurance; such care and surety that he was her dearest brother, her favorite brother.

“Goodnight, my sweet Helaena,” he would tell her before floating his way back to his own bed.

Instead of all those pleasant options, he was left grimacing as a patron from the tavern they were passing expelled the contents of his stomach all over the cobblestones. His brother called his name with obvious exasperation.

“Uncivilized,” Aemond muttered, and narrowly avoided pitching forward into the mess when Aegon’s hand grabbed his shoulder and hauled him up between him and Alyn Hull, who clapped him on the back with a hearty laugh.

The smile that Aegon gave was not a jovial one, although the drinks he had at the previous tavern made him less sullen and more focused, more intent on forgetting; running as far as he could in another direction. Though not so unusual for Aegon, the lone man in his brown robe and bare feet on the corner beseeching men to return home to the loving embrace of their wives had turned Aegon’s frantic need to flee into something darker when his gaze turned inward.

Aemond saw nothing wrong with what the man said. After all, he wanted nothing more than to return to the warm fire and loving embrace of his wife.

“Gellys!” Aegon called and Aemond immediately tried to hide behind the elder boys at the woman in the doorway. “A room for us! Best Arbor you’ve got. Some Dornish as well.”

“Milord,” Gellys drawled with that familiar smile - the one burnt on the backs of his eyelids - knowing better than to address the one before her as Prince. “We’re happy to serve.” Eyes swept over the trio and Aemond tilted his head down enough that his hood made it more difficult to see, yet it did little. “And you’ve brought this sweet one again! How lovely. Bess, the usual for his Lordship.”

The brothel had changed little since Aegon had dragged him here for his nameday nearly two years ago. The tapestries which draped the sandstone walls were not so dissimilar to the ones his mother had moved into the gallery back in the Red Keep. It portrayed men and women in acts of carnality and some kind of sexual acrobatics. The acts portrayed were ones that Aemond is not so certain of, but he’d rather study the ones back at the castle and not amidst the ribald laughter that clashes with the music. Aemond was sure that beneath the flicker and shadow of the torchlight, they were littered with worn spots and moth-eaten edges.

Heleana would know the kind that dwelled amid the fabrics and he wondered if he might find a dead one to bring back to her. Something good could at least come from this ridiculous adventure.

Laughter and gentle music permeated the first floor, and Aemond was grateful to be here and not in the boisterous racket of the last tavern they’d been kicked out of.

A sandy-haired bard, pug nosed and red-faced, strummed his lute with a flourish. Along with his three minstrels behind him, also clad in various clashing frocks, the four held court along the far end of the room while women flitted between light and shadow to entertain the men. Aemond thought he also spied a few feminine patrons as well, among the settees and tables, surrounded by a variable spread of fruits, wines, meats, and cheeses.

Another yank on his shoulder by Aegon’s hand hauled him towards the staircase, and his stomach lurched with the unpleasant memories of the last time he was in this place.

It’s different this time, Aemond reminded himself while being jostled up the stairs, following his brother’s silver head, Hull bringing up the rear. He did not need to ‘wet his wick’ on this particular sojourn into The Pearl and Oyster; instead he was here to make sure that Aegon did not end up going too far off the drunken path. And as little as he paid Alyn any mind, Aemond knew that the elder boy would also ensure that Aegon did not end up dead in the river or with a knife between his ribs.

Why was this a concern now? Aegon had frolicked about Flea Bottom for years. Not even three moons ago, his brother was dragged back to the Holdfast with a split lip and double black eyes from his broken nose by two broad Gold Cloaks who’d pulled him spitting and scratching from a tavern brawl.

He gave his brother credit where it was due. Though Ser Criston taught him how to wield a blade, Aegon taught him how to throw a proper punch.

‘Blades are good for when you have them, but in a pinch, use everything you have’, Aegon had said as he whipped the apple he’d been eating with surprising accuracy straight at his forehead.

It had hit hard enough to momentarily daze him, but luckily no one was around to see.

Wariness kept Aemond from immediately divesting himself of the cloak when they entered the room on the third floor. A roaring hearth was set along the outside wall and the primary source of light for what Aemond assumed was some attempt at ambience. Swaths of dusty, crimson fabric wound through the rafters and draped down to give the illusion of some Dornish pleasure tent and not a private room of a brothel in King’s Landing. A thick rug, far too fine for an establishment like this, muffled their footsteps as they crossed the room. Woven strands of scarlet and cream, embellishments in gold etched a design that would not be too out of place in his sire’s room.

Past further drapes of fabric, Aemond could see an enormous bed in the corner. His stomach twisted uncomfortably with nerves that barely eased at the reassuring sight of his companions taking to the table by the hearth and no women bursting from behind the fabric like shrieking ghosts in the night.

When Aegon and Alyn weren’t looking, Aemond tugged aside a drape to confirm that there were none silent and hiding - assassins or whores or some secret, third option that was just as unwelcome, if undefined.

It wasn't long before a stream of women and girls arrived, bearing plates of simple fare to go with the bottles of wine bearing the marks of familiar orchards of the Arbor and the Dornish sun, and a bottle of what he was certain to be a golden vintage from the Jade Sea - the kind his sire ordered to be served only in the company of the most important foreign dignitaries.

There were young girls with downcast eyes and soft blonde curls, women with bold gazes and plump red lips, ones with Lyseni features and hair that glowed in the firelight - though nowhere as fair or pure as his Helaena. Brunettes with messy curls and giggles batted their eyes at him. A pair of raven haired twins with lilac eyes and hair shorn to their bared shoulders brought up the rear.

Alyn already claimed the twins before they even finished setting their plates of meats and fruits on the scarred wood, giggling as he pulled them in. Aegon’s half-sullen, half-hungry expression gave way to heavy-lidded eyes as a buxom brunette carded her fingers through his hair.

Aemond wondered if this was the best the brothel had to offer, for they were perhaps pretty at most, but none truly stood out. He skirted away from the curious hand of the Lyseni and narrowly avoided bumping into a little redhead swerving around him with a quiet, “Excuse me, m’lord.” Young, and pale, with straight hair, she cut a path between the other whores and set a platter of figs and dates before his brother.

The scrape of the platter against the wood drew Aegon’s eyes from watching the woman who was crooning to him up to the new arrival. His eyes opened slowly, a frown pinching at his face, and Aemond watched his brother’s hands flex against the edge of the trestle. In a fascinating display, Aegon lifted a hand to reach for a lock of that red hair, eyes glazed and face flushed deeper.

“Aye, this is one of our new girls. We thought she might be to your liking, m’lord.” A laugh shook from her, breasts jiggling close to Aegon’s head but his brother didn’t even turn to look. Instead, whatever spell overtook his brother shattered and the hand that was reaching out for the girl’s red hair smacked on the table.

“Out!” he roared at the assembled women. The redhead gave a yelp of fright and stumbled back, toppling over a chair as the brunette crooner came to get her up off the floor. It was difficult to tell what fed Aegon’s angry outburst more: the mess she left in her wake, or the mere presence of her. “Get the fuck out!”

Alyn looked stunned. The whores about them looked stunned. Aemond was stunned.

Aegon’s jaw clenched as he rose to his feet. His brother was not a large man, not like their grandfather who looked above all, but the fury on his brother’s face ignited a flame of unease in his gut. Out of the pair of them, Aegon was, strangely enough, not the one most prone to outburst especially without an obvious reason for it. “If I have to tell you again, there won’t be any money for you to share tonight. Get out!”

The room fell quiet as the door slammed shut behind the girls. Aemond slowly took off his cloak and looked at Alyn, who met his gaze with confusion and then something like dawning realization. Aegon ignored them both, pulling over one of the Dornish bottles to fill his goblet.

“For fuck’s sake, Aeg-”

“Don’t you start with me, Hull.” A pause and then Aegon reached to his right side, grabbing the chair and sliding it out. “Aemond, sit your pissy ass down and eat something. Mother’ll have me locked up should I bring you home in a cart faint from hunger.” He took a large swallow of his third cup of wine that night, garnet liquid dripping along his chin like blood and staining the old linen tunic and along his pale chest, revealed from where the laces were undone.

Alyn shifted in his chair, striking with the way his freckles stood out along his darker skin with the silver twists of his hair leaving his expression clear. Aemond met his gaze as he took the chair his brother offered. Alyn did not have purple eyes - his were a vivid jade color, but he looked far more Velaryon than his own nephews. Aemond reached a hand up to adjust his new eyepatch. He ran his thumb along the strap, where he could feel the embroidery in the leather that Helaena had worked so hard on for her dearest, favorite brother.

Aemond tried not to sigh. He would not get his goodnight kisses tonight.

A sharp kick hit his shin and Aemond gave a startled, “ow!” Indignant and annoyed, he focused back on Alyn who raised his brows with the clear look of what in the name of the Seven is going on with your brother?

What wasn’t going on with Aegon?

They both looked back at the man in question, who was tearing into a fig with his glowering expression and greedy fingers. Aemond’s stomach growled, and he grabbed one for himself before his brother could devour them all. He sniffed it first, unsure about trusting brothel food, but it smelled of warm honey. Biting into it, the taste of apple and strawberry burst on his tongue. Alyn was helping himself to one of the dried meats on another platter. It was a higher fare than Aemond had expected, but the relative cleanliness of the room belied the money that lined the pockets of the one who owned the place. At least Aegon hadn’t dragged them to something filthy and (obviously) flea ridden.

He recalled the first and only time his brother had brought him to a brothel. This very one. It was a different room, him alone with that Gellys woman who kept pestering him about the type of girls he liked, or if he’d ever touched himself. She’d brought in a Lyseni girl, young but still older than him. She had a sweet face, and for a moment he wondered if he could just pretend to get through the night.

Instead, she listened rather sweetly while he spoke of saving his sister from the unwanted betrothal with Aegon. His brother had not relished in the duty, but Aemond did. He had a dragon now, Vhagar, the largest and oldest of all of them. It was with his dragon, he explained to the Lyseni girl, that he had enough power to storm in and break up this farce of a betrothal, And they listened to him. Helaena was ever so grateful about it, charmed, and touched, and gave him a kiss on the cheek and called him her gallant knight. She didn’t even protest when he told her they would be married instead. Helaena had only hummed in her little agreeable way while mother tried to protest that they shouldn’t be too hasty. Aemond did not share that marrying Helaena, riding Vhagar, and having his mother acquiesce to his demands, might even mean that he would be who they wanted to make heir. Of course their father wouldn’t put Aegon on the throne over their eldest sister. But Aemond? Aemond rode his grandsire Baelon’s dragon, and he’d marry his sister, and he had started to outpaced Aegon in the training yard.

Aemond had proven them all wrong. They had laughed and gave him a pig, and he’d gotten Vhagar.

He was grateful Aegon was disinterested in throwing women at him this time, let alone in taking any for himself. He could at least sit here and eat decent finger foods and wait for his brother to either pass out from drinking or give up and head home.

“Did you get called into the tower as well today?” Aemond ventured in ill-disguised casualness, reaching for a piece of cheese this time. He didn’t meet Alyn’s curious gaze, for both of them were watching Aegon refill his goblet already.

A grunt was all the answer he supplied.

“What got you pulled into that old fucker’s room?”

Another grunt and a roll of his eyes. “Not blamed for once,” he muttered. “Just bullshit.”

How taciturn. Aemond shifted in his chair, and carefully offered, “You know, Abrogail got pulled into his office as well. He came to Helaena’s room himself to retrieve her.” Aegon’s flushed face reddened more, pink eyes narrowing over his goblet he held to his mouth but did not drink from.

Aemond pursed his lips and thought of the scene in the gardens earlier. Abrogail came back from their grandfather’s office far quieter than usual before so harshly snapping at his sweet Helaena and squashing one of her bugs. At the moment, Aemond had been rageful at the behavior, for his Helaena didn’t deserve that. But hours later, he had realized that, mayhaps, he’d been a little harsher than he ought to have been. He would not apologize, of course, but Helaena was always getting on him about his temper. It had been rather unusual for his cousin. He could not recall the last time she spoke so angrily that wasn’t caused by someone doing something reckless in the training yard - however that was far more mother hen than annoyed and snappy.

“Abrogail?” Alyn rolled her name around his mouth and drew it out in a tease. “And here I thought it was simply wine not getting your cock up. But Abrogail, hm? All of that yelling over some red hair?” A lazy shrug, dagger stabbing into a piece of meat before him. “Makes sense now.”

“I told you not to start,” Aegon warned once more before taking another mouthful of the Arbor red. His eyes were dark, a smirk slashing across his soft face. “Came to Helaena’s room himself, you say? Spend the night, little brother? Has our sweet sister finally let you beneath her skirts or did you creep in again even though Mother forbade it?”

Aemond felt his cheeks color, and he slapped his hand on the table. “Don’t talk about her like that.” A deep breath, the way his book from Bravos recommended. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Center. Stay within the moment. Aegon’s eyes were slicing through him, as if he could peel back the layers of skin and see what lay beneath. A gaze even more dangerous, given his brother’s dance into the land of inebriation, but Aemond simply continued. “Abby got upset with us. Her eyes were red. It looked like she’d been crying.”

His brother made a sound and took another swallow. Alyn caught his gaze again and pinned him there until Aemond gave a slight nod, confirming that this was what in seven hells was going on. Whatever had happened in their grandfather’s office, whatever had his cousin crying and Aegon ready to bite everyone’s head off like Helaena’s pet mantis.

“Both of you pulled into the old Tower’s office this morning? Maybe it’s less about those two-” Alyn waved a negligent hand towards Aemond. “And more about, say, you finally getting under your little Maiden Marchpane’s skirts?” A laugh and the bastard Velaryon snagged up the Arbor red and pulled the cork with his teeth and spat it out towards the fire. “Then you what? Left her before sunrise covered in-”

“Don’t you fucking talk about her like that!” Aegon lifted the plate of figs and flung it across the table, sending the fruit scattering and the plate clipping off of Alyn’s surprised shoulder to shatter against the hearthstones. Aemond’s single eye widened, and he pressed back in his chair even though the trajectory was nowhere near him. “I didn’t fucking touch her.” The hand that flung the plate still hung in the air, trembling as his brother loomed over the table. He lacked any sort of threatening implement but Alyn raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. “I didn’t lay a hand on her. I wouldn’t. I never do.” Defensive, as was Aegon’s nature. Defensive in the face of accusations that were true. Except for once, Aemond thought, phantom pain lancing through his face. Except for maybe now.

“Well, you mope about her enough. Fuck me, no wonder you got so worked up over the redhead. So what happened, hm? Did she accuse you of something? Did they say no more rides on the back of that dragon of yours?” A smirk at the double entendre, but he raised his hands in surrender before Aegon could throw something else.

Silvery hair, limp with sweat, fell into Aegon’s eyes as he shook his head. “No, nothing like that.” He raised his goblet for another drink and collapsed back in the chair, slouched and melancholy in the worst of ways. Aemond tried not to roll his eye again at the display of dramatics. “Worse.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed. “Worse?” he asked, confused. Dramatic, yes, but he also wanted to know what had happened.

A log in the grate popped and cracked from the heat as conversation fell silent. The brothel outside the door continued to bustle. There was the distant shriek and laughter of someone down the hall, but no sounds of violence. Aegon was staring into his drink as if it held all the answers he could ever need. Aemond supposed that wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. His brother had gone to drink before anything else for years now. This wouldn’t be any different.

“They brought us up to go over all the missives asking for her hand,” he finally said. Aemond strained to hear him and Alyn leaned forward in his curiosity. “Had an entire basket of scrolls wanting the heir of Harrenhal. Mother was there, and her dog, who said nothing regarding his sister.” Aegon made a face and shook his head. “I’m marrying Abrogail.”

That wasn’t what Aemond expected. “Is that why she looked like she was crying when she came back to the gardens-”

“Yes, yes, that’s exactly fucking why,” Aegon hissed through his teeth and pelted him with one of the figs scattered on the scarred tabletop. It bounced off Aemond’s chest and rolled across the table where Alyn snatched it up. “Told her to be fucking grateful, stop lying about - it doesn’t matter. Made her cry, and she best get used to it.”

“Then why the hell are you complaining about it?” Alyn asked with a shake of his head. “Aeg, you’ve panted after her for years, now here she is. You don’t have to marry your weird sister, you get to bed someone you actually like. Sounds as if for once, Tower’s done right by you. What are you so fucking upset about? That you weren’t the only choice? You’re a jealous prick, you know-”

“Done right by me?” Aegon raged, his hand holding the cup gesturing out and splashing arbor red up his wrist and across the floor. He hissed and shoved at his sleeve, where deep red scratches stood out against his pale wrist.

Alyn looked at him with an almost bored expression. “They’ve given you a cherry ripe wife-”

“No, you fucking cunt, they gave me the fucking Maiden!” Clay and wine smashed against the wall as he flung it at his friend’s head and missed this time. “The last uncorrupted, perfect thing left in my life.” A stabbing finger punctuated each point, and the resemblance to the angry, spitting rage their father rarely showed was never more pronounced. “The last one who doesn’t look at me like they wish I were someone, anyone else. They give her in all that innocent glory on a fucking gold platter-”

Alyn bit into a date. “And you made her cry.”

“And I made her fucking cry!” Aegon’s sharp bark of laughter held the familiar, manic edge and it rang in Aemond’s ears. Tears spilled down Aegon’s face amidst it. Sad. Pathetic. The self-loathing in his brother’s face made him feel sick and uncomfortable, and Aemond said nothing, couldn’t find anything to say and left it for Alyn to navigate for the time being. “I’ve never fucking touched her ‘cause I… I can’t ruin her. I won’t. Get her sick with whatever the fuck is wrong with me. No. No, and you know what’s worse?”

“The others-” Alyn began patiently, prising open the fig.

“The fucking others! Bastard had a whole bloody basket filled with little more than filth not worth to look upon her, wanting to shove their cocks in her till she breaks giving them their muddy fucking brats.”

“But you wouldn’t break her.”

“I wouldn’t! Not unless she asked me to, and I’d make it so good for her. But no, she’d burn me as soon as I touched her. Too unclean to fuck her, get her belly full of me.” Aegon groaned and collapsed into his chair, palm on his chest. “She’d burn me and I’d sing her praises. Burn my filthy damned soul just to touch her, Alyn.”

Aemond did his best not to sigh, warring feelings of relief and annoyance that Aegon’s focus was on the baseborn Velaryon across the table.

On the one hand, he didn’t mind that his brother was mostly leaving him alone. Aegon knew he was only here because of their mother’s insistence on Aemond being his brother’s keeper. While he’d rather be anywhere but here, Aegon wasn’t poking at him or trying to get much of a rise.

On the other, every time Alyn Hull opened his mouth, every time the two silver-haired miscreants shared a laugh over some inside joke, Aemond wanted to scream. They spoke with easy familiarity to annoyed tavern keepers, and every time Alyn showed how close he was to Aegon, it burned something in the pit of his stomach.

He was used to jealousy since the day he could understand his place among his siblings. He was used to the jealous feeling that he would not be Aegon, had grown used to the jealousy that Helaena had been born for Aegon and not him. It was only with the breaking of the betrothal that Aemond felt a cooling of his blood towards his brother. However, now in the face of his so-called friendship with the bastard, it reignited. Aemond still felt awkward speaking up or inserting himself into the conversation, and both of them included him to a minimal degree.

Yet, Alyn was waving a hand at Aegon’s dramatics, and while Aemond also felt annoyed at it, he knew there was more. Aegon was snappish, perpetually amused, arrogant in the way of dragonriders, and thus closer to being a god.

His brother was moody and glassy eyed, flinching whenever their mother raised her voice or moved too quickly with wild gesturing. He became wide eyed like a little child whenever Ser Criston praised him in the yard, preening beneath the encouragement. Whenever Abrogail laughed in that bright and honest way of hers at one of Aegon’s dumb jokes, Aegon looked like he’d sprouted his own pair of wings to hover above the ground. She always laughed at his jokes. Every stupid one. She always had an encouraging word for him, for all of them, but he saw the way Aegon’s shoulders would straighten, the pink on his cheeks ill disguised.

It had been like that for as long as he could remember. For as long as there was the jealousy that he was not the eldest, that Helaena was not born for him, that Aegon had a bond with a dragon so innate that no matter how much of a disappointment he was, it seemed to be the only thing truly good about him.

Aemond had thrown him into their father’s jaws, and though surprised, Aegon didn’t even flinch. Aegon had stood stoic in front of the fire and without hesitation, had spoken the truth to their father’s face, to everyone’s face.

Alyn Hull would never have Aegon stand before their gathered family and protect him, them, and their mother. Aegon would for Aemond, and so Aemond would do his best to help.

He had the most relationship experience out of everyone here. Him and Helaena were practically married already, regardless of mother’s insistence on finding him a Baratheon marriage. Confident in his unique qualification for such a moment, Aemond would rise to the task the way their grandsire did. A true Hand, when his brother needed one most.

“Did you mean to make her cry?” Aemond broke the silence that had descended with his carefully worded question, and Aegon’s pink eyes, glossy and red from drink and the tears that threatened, gazed incredulously back through the strands of his silver hair. “You can be an idiot and careless, but you’ve never been cruel to her.”

Aegon had been plenty cruel to him and Helaena, the trio of them rolling in the dirt or knocking over side tables with the bites they took out of one another. Abrogail was different; she may have grown up with them and shared blood, but she wasn’t their sibling, rather, an innocent bystander to the theatrics of his family.

Alyn looked as if he might try to catch his eye but Aemond did not grace him with a return look. Hull needed to learn his place, and be reminded that he was Aegon’s brother, and knew him best.

“Skoros mōris aōhys issa, valonqus?” Aegon’s tone was flat and sullen and did a poor job of masking his wariness. His shoulders shifted quickly straight to the way he held them when Mother would broach the subject of Aegon’s doing better and Aegon’s acting more princely and Aegon’s doing anything but being Aegon.

What is your point, little brother?

What is your end, little brother?

Fuck, Aemond thought, fingers tapping on the edge of the table. Aegon never used their mother tongue, and only did so in the most dire, dangerous moments. He’d have to tread lightly.

“Have you bothered to ask her?” Aemond tried a different approach. Surely, his brother couldn’t know her inner thoughts without asking and the obviousness of such a thing shouldn’t stoke his brother’s ire. He was never certain of Helaena’s mind until he asked, and they were twin flames who rode the eldest dragons. Two halves of a heart like those songs that she so enjoyed.

It was foolish of Aegon to think he knew Abrogail’s mind, but luckily, he was here to offer guidance.

Aegon pointedly ignored him, turning his glare to Alyn. The older boy chuckled, “What? He’s right.” Alyn muttered something but he couldn’t hear. It did not truly matter.

Aemond continued, emboldened by the agreement, “Only, when Helaena and I argue -”

Aegon let out a laugh, his usual nervous idiocy replaced with a cackle and still with that mad sounding edge. “When you and Helaena argue? You, Mother’s Holy Voice of Reason? Dreamy little Helaena and her kingdom of bugs? Arguing?”

Dreamy little Helaena had left a scar on Aegon’s forearm from when she’d bitten him so hard she drew blood when they were young, but Aegon’s memory had been dodgy of late. Even in his growing annoyance and the heated flush creeping over him, Aemond could forgive.

He could try to forgive. Later. When his patience wasn’t running out and he wasn’t grinding his teeth so hard they might break.

“That’s not -”

“Which riveting topics ignite such quarrels between you babes? Whether you obsess over your blade and books too often? If Helaena’s upset about her stupid bugs being in the wrong place? Whether she actually likes you over the attention she’s been giving that squire lately and how she giggles for him instead of you? Do not presume to know my dealings with my Maiden, valonqus. You wouldn’t know passion if it were riding your cock.” Aegon was rarely cruel, but he was good at it, and the smirk that twisted his features was just that. Cruel. “Seven knows our dreamy sister has no interest in riding you, or she probably would’ve done it already..”

It felt foolish that the first thing Aemond thought of was that no simple squire could ever be a better option than he, for he was a Targaryen and above the laws and expectations of the simple, common man. They were as close to gods as any could hope.

The second foolish thing burst from him as Vhagar burned inside, his fury and embarrassment pulled him to his feet to lean across the table and get into his pathetic brother’s face. Aegon no longer loomed over him, and was no longer as intimidating as he once was.

Aegon may have the perfect bond with his dragon, but Aemond had Vhagar.

There was nothing left to be jealous of his brother for.

“At least I know what love feels like,” Aemond snarled, his single eye locked on Aegon’s face and his teeth bared, every inch of him vibrating with the insult, the desire to curl his hands around his brother’s flushed neck barely suppressed. “At least I’m not too stupid to recognize it.”

The air in the room vanished in the wake of his outburst. The world held its breath and not even the logs popped. Not even baseborn Alyn with his japes and his commentary made a sound.

Aegon was still before him, eyes bright and sharp with a focus he’d never seen before except in the eyes of a dragon. The instinct to pull away was screaming at him but Aemond remained pinned in place. His jaw shut with a click, his eye widening when he finally registered what he’d said.

Oh yes, he’d fucked it up.

Aemond could feel Alyn’s gaze fixated on him but he didn’t move. He felt like if he moved, Aegon’s teeth would sink into his throat and rip it out. He couldn’t move as the fear and horror trickled ice through his veins, quenching that jealous, angry fire.

Aegon’s face had gone ashen; the horrid, blank look he got when Mother or Grandfather screamed at him came over him. His wisteria eyes continued to pin him. Aemond’s mouth grew dry as his brother’s ashen pallor turned pink, and then slowly red.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, and it was like Aegon was releasing him from a spell.

“Aegon,” Aemond rasped. “I didn’t-” He could speak but the abject regret and humiliation strangled him from being able to form any words.

Aegon’s face had turned a shade of purple and with a feral yell and the distant sound of a dragon’s scream coming from the open window, Aegon lunged across the table at him.

They went crashing ass over chair, food and goblets scattering and Aemond hitting the floor hard enough to knock the breath from him. A startled shout sounded somewhere, distantly, but it took everything in Aemond to focus before his brother’s fist connected squarely, solidly with his jaw. His face erupted in a million bursts of pain with a crack in his ear, yet Aemond’s fists reached up to push Aegon off, wordless yelling doing nothing to prevent his brother landing another blow.

Instinct drove Aemond now, Ser Criston’s training discarded in favor of the overwhelming voice that compelled him: get up or he’ll kill you. Get up or he’ll pummel you like Harwin Strong pummeled Ser Criston in the training yard until he was beyond bloody.

Even with his incandescent fury, Aegon was still closer to drunk than sober, and after spitting in his face, Aemond got his leg up and kneed his brother in the stomach, pushing him off and scrambling away so he was no longer pinned like one of Helaena’s favorite bugs to the display board.

Viscous blood spat from his mouth. “I take it back!” he yelled, shoving the chair in Aegon’s way while he scrambled to his feet.

With a roar, Aegon threw the chair and Aemond darted out of the way, the wood crashing against the stone wall. Alyn shouted Aegon’s name, another dragon call sounded over the city, and then Aemond felt Vhagar’s bond vibrate in his own chest, concern that was not his own clouding his mind.

Oh fuck.

“Aegon! Stop!” Aemond darted around the table to get it between them.

Alyn, the useless bastard, backpedaled out of the line of fire.

Aegon was on his heels and yanked him back by his long hair, landing another hit square on his nose. A sickening, dizzy feeling swept through Aemond at the stab of pain through his face, blood pouring from his nostrils.

Aegon reared back again.

Sunfyre was screaming across the city.

Aemond could not reach for the platter on the table to smack his brother with, and so he did the only other thing he could do: as Aegon went to throw his next punch, Aemond grabbed him by the shoulders and kneed him in the balls.

Just like how Helaena taught him.

[Chapter Four]

[furrbbyx]

imagine desert cave exploring but u stumble upon the home of a lower djinn, since ur in their home they treat u as a guest, they offer teas and other foods that are human safe but they forgot that some of the ingredients act as aphrodisiacs, (un)fortunately? theyre a good host and notice ur state and decide to help u w the effects

Ororororororor going to an antique store and u find an old lamp housing a djinn and u bring it home not knowing the creature living in it, u leave it next to ur nightstand and later before bed they see u masturbatin n decide to help get u off

M👹NSTER March: bonus story 1

You perfect human creature😍 thank you for these prompts! I haven't had the urge to write until I saw this. Also you have a great imagination.

Also I haven't written a djinn story yet homg!

I skipped school to write instead 😇

And of course I'm picking the pervert option.

gn!Reader Djinn x afab human

cw: voyeurism, swallowing cum

Not sfw

Do not reproduce, do not copy

Approx 900 words

Divider by @justlgbtthings

A strong jolt rocked through the ether of your vessel.

"Hellfire! What's happening?"

You were snoozing, drifting between dimensions before all of the commotion, and now you tried to right yourself so you could peep through the spout of the olive oil flask that you were bound to. A loud husky voice reverberated through the flask.

"Oops! Ah, damn. Didn't mean to do that, hehe."

You watched from the spout as a human woman reached out and grabbed your vessel, righting it and arranging it on a solid surface.

She moved back to admire and gave you your first view of her in full.

Your eyes nearly bulged out of the spout.

A gorgeous curvy human with and hips as vast as the Arabian desert stood before you wearing a sheer embroidered outfit.

Her skin looked like brushed copper in the light that streamed into her room. She looked a bit like a mythical spirit herself, framed by the sweetly decorated room. There were pastel cushions and stuffed animals on her bed and floor, and gauzy sparky fabric arranged on the walls. Everything about the room looked impossibly soft.

"Eee! I love it! It really goes perfect on my alter." The woman cooed.

Her voice, throaty and vibrant, pulled long dormant feelings from you. A throb traveled across your lower belly.

The woman clapped her hands together with a little hop that made her thighs jiggle.

You took a deep, deep breath feeling flustered.

It had been a few decades since you'd gotten to see someone other than the creepy oddities shop owner. Now all of a sudden there was a vision, a veritable feast before you and your promiscuous ephrit nature had you nearly drooling to taste.

Without warning another jolt crashed through the flask, or was that your heart suddenly pounding way too fast against your chest?

The woman had turned away, humming softly, and begun to undress in front of a large mirror.

Now, the sight of her plump rounded ass would have been torture enough,but you also had a view of her face as she appreciated her reflection.

You wouldn't watch, obviously! No, no, no. Too pervy. You had some manners, some sense of social norms.

You tried to cover your eyes yet found yourself peeking through them, staring hotly.

Your hand slipped down to your mouth to stifle a whimper when she slowly started to remove her blouse by opening the clasps running down the front.

When her breasts dropped heavily, freed, you couldn't help that you started to stroke between your legs hard enough to see fire flickers behind your eyes.

You swirled your fingers into the wetness that drooled from your slit.

She was obvious to your struggle, but was still so cruel to you, as she took time to admire herself from all angles. Her breasts swayed and wobbled, the nipples tight and long, pointed at you in the mirror.

You found yourself flicking your own pierced nipples and wondered how sensitive hers were. You licked your lips almost desperate to feel those buds on your tongue.

Your hips pumped back and forth against your fingers as you rubbed and caressed.

For a second you were lost in pleasure rolling down your spine. The tension had built so quickly you felt to close to release.

You began to pant watching her wriggle her hips to work the skirt down. The stretchy sheer fabric squeezed her obscenely, like a lover, as it slid over her ass. When she bent over to take it all the way off, and you glimpsed the plump folds of her pussy you were done for.

Your cum gushed and squirted with such force into the ether around you that it bowed your back into a painful arc and the angle of your cum aimed directly out the spout and landed, glistening on one fatty ass cheek.

You floated limp yet frozen in an awkward mix of afterglow and shock.

You were still trying to get your breathing under control while you watched her reaction.

"Hmm?" The woman turned, wiped the wet spot with her fingers and with a shockingly absent sense of grossness,she licked cautiously.

The thoughtful look the crossed her face had you clenching and dripping.

"What the?" She stuck her fingers between her plush lips and sucked heartily. She released her fingers and smacked her lips.

"Kinda spicy" she said sounding perplexed.

But you were being pushed over the edge. She was driving you insane now. Her comment caused a loud groan to escape you. Not to mention her enjoyment of your cum.

The woman's head whipped around and she eyed the room suspiciously.

"Hey! Who's there? Show yourself pervert!"

[bumble-bee202]

Welcome To Demon School Iruma Kun (Master List)

Iruma Suzuki:

Nothing yet

Asmodeus Alice:

Nothing yet

Clara Valac:

Nothing yet

Lied Shax:

Nothing yet

Jazz M. Andro:

Nothing yet

Goemon Gaap:

Nothing yet

Agares Picero:

Nothing yet

Kamui Caim:

Nothing yet

Sabro Sabnock:

Nothing yet

Kerori Crocell:

Nothing yet

Elizabetta Ix:

Nothing yet

Schneider Allocer:

Nothing yet

Soi Purson:

Nothing yet

Ameri Azazel:

Nothing yet

Zagan Johnny Western:

Nothing yet

Kimaris Quichelight:

Nothing yet

Astaroth Smoke:

Nothing yet

Gusion Sunny Grave:

Nothing yet

Eiko:

Nothing yet

Gaako:

Nothing yet

Konatsu:

Nothing yet

Azuki:

Nothing yet

Haruno:

Nothing yet

Naberius Kalego:

Nothing yet

Balam Shichiro:

Don’t worry It’s normal (Balam Shichiro x Female Human Reader)

Raim:

Nothing yet

Bars Robin:

Nothing yet

Dantalion Dali:

Nothing yet

Stolas Suzy:

Nothing yet

Orias Oswell:

Nothing yet

Morax Momonoki:

Nothing yet

Marbas March:

Nothing yet

Ifrit Djinn Eito:

Nothing yet

Murmur Tsumuru:

Nothing yet

Ipos Ichou:

Nothing yet

Opera:

Nothing yet

Azazel Henri:

Nothing yet

Amy Kirio:

Nothing yet

main story:

Nothing yet

[inkblot-mirror]

Potential interspecies Twst OCs/OCs based on mythological creatures for you all:

Kitsune: beastman x fae

Selkie: merfolk x beastman

Kelpie: merfolk x fae

Black Dog: beastman x fae

Half-Djinn: fae x human

Feel free to add more combinations

[thedreamlessnights]

Accismus - pt. 2

{previous chapter} || {next chapter}

Geralt of Rivia x gn!reader (Eventual NSFW)

Synopsis: On the journey to Novigrad, you and Geralt discover the limitations of the djinn’s wish - while also getting to know each other.

Warnings: Sexual innuendos and references but nothing particularly explicit. Mentions of death, murder, robbing, and corpses. Graphic descriptions of a mild injury, and some self-deprecative thoughts.

Word Count: 6.9k

A/N: Thank you all so much for the love on chapter one - comments are very, very appreciated! This was a very fun one to write and I’m so excited for the rest of the story ❤️

The air near Crow’s Perch smells of death. 

There’s no color. No longing, no burning passion, no life at all. It smells of a graveyard, a field after battle. Rotting skin and rotting souls. Breathe it in and your bones seem to grind the wrong way. Breathe it in, and if you have any hint of humanity left in you, you itch to leave.

Perhaps it hadn’t always been that way. Perhaps the Bloody Baron brought life to this place, once. Now, the land is desolate and people’s eyes are dull and empty. Crow’s Perch feels like the memories that haunt you every night. 

 Anyone would be a fool to ride for Novigrad without supplies - this had simply been the closest stop. You’d had half a mind to protest when Geralt suggested it, but kept silent. Your tongue had been stilled only in remembrance of your mistakes - Geralt would not be trapped here if not for you.

You do need supplies, after all, that’s without question. At the moment, you have nothing but the clothes on your back and a pouch filled with more coin than you’ve ever owned. It’s a strange contradiction. You have nothing, and yet… to some, it would seem you have everything.

If Geralt wasn’t here, you’d be wary of traveling with anything near this many crowns. Stories have haunted the roads lately, tales of bandits and corrupted knights, theft and murder and worse. But what knight or bandit would be fool enough to attack a witcher?

Geralt doesn’t have much more on him than you do, considering he’d been ripped out of Skellige without warning. You shadow him through the village, past the leering gaze of soldiers.

They spit at his feet. He doesn’t even flinch. He tells you to buy your supplies quickly, and your stomach twists as you pick some out. When you hand over the coin, blood pools onto your tongue from where you’ve chewed the inside of your cheek.

To your relief, Geralt seems to hate this place as much as you do. He moves tensely, the way one moves when paranoid - looking over his shoulder every now and again. Every second here makes the itch to leave stronger. 

He stops at an armorer, shifting from one foot to the other as he speaks, quickly and quietly. You linger a few steps away, pretending not to listen. The stare of the soldiers burns through the back of your neck. You move a little closer.

The repairs he purchases are predictable, at least. His armor. His swords. You have enough hope left in you to pray he won’t have to use those when you’re around.

It mercifully doesn’t take long before the newly-sharpened blades are strapped to his back, and he’s looking at you.

“Need anything else?” he asks pointedly. “It’ll be a while before we stop again.”

“No. I’m ready.”

He nods, striding down through the town. The mud squelches under your boots, a sickly sound. You keep feeling like you’re being watched. Even when you get to your horses, you can’t shake the feeling.

When you dare to look over your shoulder, a group of soldiers have started trailing the two of you on the bridge down - strolling leisurely behind, maybe twenty feet away. 

Geralt tucks his things into his horse’s saddle, rolling his shoulders like he’s preparing for a fight. That, more than anything else, frightens you. You have a pretty good idea of who would win - and it’s not those guards - but seeing more bloodshed is the last thing you need right now.

You shove your wares into the saddle as fast as you can, hands shaking, and when you’ve turned around again, Geralt’s already mounted. You’re quick to follow.

“Stay close,” he instructs, eyes fixed toward the guards, voice low and intense. “Ride fast.” 

“Right behind you,” you confirm.

He gives you a nod. “C’mon, Roach,” he says, presumably to his horse, hitting the reins and pulling into a straight gallop.

You follow behind him without a moment’s hesitation.

Roach. A strange name for a horse, especially a mare. Must be some reason for it.

Only when Crow’s Perch has long faded into the distance does Geralt slow down, steadily pulling at the reins until Roach has come to a stop.

You follow his lead, slowly halting next to him. Your heart is still pounding.

“Hate that place,” he mutters. “You alright?” 

“I don’t think those guards liked me very much,” you say.

He just shakes his head. “They were after me, not you. Killed a few of their men last time I was here.”

“You - ? Killed?” you stammer. “Why?”

The question escapes you before you can stop it. A strange intensity comes into his eyes, and his hands tighten on the reins.

“They were robbing the villagers. Murdering them if they didn't have enough. Couldn’t just let it happen.”

There’s a long beat where venom seeps into your chest, fiery anger that threatens to consume you. His tale is one you’ve seen too many times. Your voice is bitter when the words tumble out of you.

“Then you did the right thing.” 

Surprise flickers over his features at your response - a raised brow, piercing eyes scanning your face. It hadn’t been what he’d expected you to say. He looks like he wants to  question you, but thankfully doesn’t press any further on the subject. You swallow your anger down.

“Better get going,” he says. 

“Alright.”

He slowly coaxes Roach forward, and soon, the two of you are off. 

The ride is hellish. 

The sun is blistering. Wind whips into your face as you ride, but the air is hot and stagnant, and it doesn’t stop you from feeling like you’re being broiled. Clouds shift over the sky, but never directly block the sun, leaving you doused in both sweat and a growing amount of frustration.

Not long after you’ve left, your hands begin to feel like they’re being pasted to the reins, cramping in their position and blistering up from the friction of riding. No changes in your hold seem to make any difference to it - it flays the skin away, little by little, all the same.

Your gloves only make it worse, but something tells you that without them, it wouldn’t be any better. You resist the urge to ask Geralt for a break - you’ve wasted enough of his time as it is.

At times, riding seems intolerable. Hours pass in aches and unnerving, unrelenting pain, where sweat soaks your shirt and the fabric clings to your skin. Your legs and hands throb and sting, fingers burn as you hold the reins. Your mouth feels like it’s full of sand. You bite your tongue so you don’t beg to stop.

Eventually, the agony fades into a sort of dulled blur, and it’s easier to ride and let your mind wander endlessly. Movement becomes second nature, automatic. It’s remarkable, really, the way the mind adapts to discomfort over time.

When the two of you finally come across a stream, Geralt comes to a stop - pulling at his reins and skidding through a stretch of dirt.

Lost in your thoughts, you notice a moment too late and wind up nearly crashing into him. The tug of your reins is so sudden and sharp that your horse rears up and you have to scramble to stay on, leaning forward and desperately reaching for her neck

For a terrible moment, you think you’re going to fall off - make a fool of yourself even more. You wait to hit the dirt, wait for the rib-jarring impact. It doesn’t come. She levels out, calming, and your heart rate slowly returns to normal. 

Reaching forward to pat behind her ears, you rub soothing motions into her fur.

“Sorry, girl,” you murmur hoarsely. Your mouth is dry as the Abyss. “Didn’t mean to give you a fright.”

When she’s settled down, you find yourself locking eyes with Geralt.

“You alright?” he asks, scanning you over. The look on his face seems to be genuine concern, which surprises you.

“I’m fine. What happened? Why’d we stop?”

“Horses need a break,” he says. “We should rest here a while.”

You give him a nod. With unsteady legs, you hop off your horse, immediately grabbing some water from the saddle. It’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever tasted. Fresh, clean, refreshing - it seems to have come straight from the gods themselves. You should slow down, but you can’t seem to stop. 

A little trickles from the canteen down your cheek and throat, but you’re too tired to care. It’s cooling a little of the heat that so determinedly wants to latch onto you. 

Your hands are so blistered that you can barely put the bottle back. You’d hadn’t noticed it when drinking; pain had come second to the thirst. Now, it’s quick to come rushing back in - like you’re holding hot coals, but can’t let go. It burns and burns and won’t let up. Removing your gloves makes it worse, and so does seeing the wounds. 

Oozing blisters. They weep and sear and sting. Some of them have popped, which only worsens the risk of infection. You’ll have to bandage them up later, clean them out and wrap them up. For now, your hands shake with pain, and your stomach twists with nausea.

You should eat. It’s been hours. Problem is, your appetite is non-existent. How long will it be until you stop again? How much time has passed since you left? The sun has crossed the sky, that’s for certain, but it doesn’t look anywhere near setting. Damn it all.

Casting a glance to Geralt, you find that he’s busy with his horse near the water’s edge, a few paces away. Well, his distraction gives you an opportunity to wash your hands in the stream, at least. 

As soon as you dip them in, you’re letting out a soft noise of relief - a quick, soft breath that you can only hope Geralt won’t question. The water both stings and soothes, cooling the fervid flesh, seeming to suck the pain out as if it were venom.

It’s only temporary, though - they burn again once they’re removed. The wounds feel a little better, anyway.

But, really, it’s just more denial. The pain is awful. You want to cry. Your stomach won’t stop churning. You want to lay down on the grass and sleep. You want - need - a drink. But complaining about any of that to Geralt sounds even worse than riding again. 

You weren’t the one ripped into the sky and dragged here, after all. Any negative results coming from this journey are directly tied to your doing. Whining about it won’t help one bit, and, besides - what would he be able to do about some blistered hands? He’s a witcher, not a healer.

You pull a sandwich from your bag and settle on a rock, trying to ignore the seeping agony of your hands as you eat. Your mind, of course, turns to the wish. It’s interesting to you that you’re able to be hurt, but you suppose that’s part of your mistake in word choice. 

Protection is an ambiguous word. At the time, you’d thought of not being able to be harmed at all. The djinn must have interpreted it as a means of ‘no one else hurting you.’ 

Really, you’re lucky to have anything to show for it. Or, well… not lucky. All you’ve gotten from that djinn is rotten luck. Your first two wishes have proved that enough. Still… could have been much worse than a witcher. This witcher, at least.

You can’t help sneaking a glance at him as you eat. He’s settled down on the grass, gaze focused out toward the water, distractedly eating away at something. Is he thinking about where you’ll find the djinn? His friend who owns the tavern? That sorceress from the stories? 

As if feeling your eyes on him, he stirs, looking back toward you. Your eyes flick down to your hands in a flash, but you know he must have seen you looking at him. Shit. You don’t dare meet his eyes again, but your thoughts won’t seem to stray from him. 

All those stories you’d heard about him, and you’d still never managed to picture him right. Geralt’s certainly not someone you’d want to purposely anger, but he’s no rabid brute, either. 

He’d asked you if you were alright when you’d stopped - both times. He’d negotiated a cheaper price for the horses, even when he hadn’t needed to. He’d killed those guards because they were tormenting the villagers. 

And, all throughout the mess of the wish, he hasn’t been any crueler to you than a brief flash of frustration. You wouldn’t react even half as well if you were put in his shoes, dragged away and stuck with a fool of a stranger.

When you’d heard about the Butcher of Blaviken - the White Wolf - you’d imagined wrong. Someone callous, someone cruel. You’d pictured his eyes too yellow, his voice too piercing, his words too harsh; his frame, too beastly, and his mannerisms, much too rude. 

People had whispered horrors of him on the street; the repulsive witcher of Rivia, face marred with a scar. But Geralt isn’t repulsive. He can be a bit intimidating, sometimes, but he’s also compelling, in a way. Your eyes don’t want to stray from his form, but can’t help but shy away from his gaze. 

He’s…

He’s handsome.

It dawns on you in a moment of keen awareness. You press your fingers to your cheeks and find them hot. 

Handsome. Of course he is. He’s got himself a beautiful sorceress after all, so why wouldn’t he be nice to look at?

Honey-gold eyes, hair white as snow, a deep, rumbly voice. A piercing intensity to his gaze. The wrinkles around his eyes. The sharpness of his nose and chin.

Geralt of Rivia is handsome.

Perhaps it should have been obvious from the moment you met, but it’s been a very, very long time since you’ve found anyone handsome - much less a witcher, bound to you by a foolish wish from a djinn. More rotten luck for you.

Fate, you think - but is this really fate? Is this some sort of strange destiny to be here and now and trapped with Geralt? Whatever it can be called, you wish it would have a little mercy on you. A handsome, taken witcher you can’t get away from.

Just as you’re thinking all of this to yourself, Geralt finally stands and moves toward you, leading Roach by the reins. Your cheeks grow even warmer, as if he can somehow read your thoughts by just standing next to you. You try not to look at him. 

“We should get going,” he says. “With any luck, we’ll reach the next village before dark.”

He doesn’t wait for a response this time, which you’re grateful for. You quickly get to your feet, dusting sandwich crumbs from your lap. The thought of riding again is dreadful, but every moment spent on your horse is a moment closer to stopping for the night. Despite the gloves worsening the friction, you decide it’s better for the rein not to have direct contact with your hands. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you pull them back on. It feels like you’re flaying your skin. Then you mount again, and your stomach shifts in complaint.

You can only pray you won’t throw up.

As you watch Geralt pat Roach’s neck, you realize you haven’t given your horse a name. You’d follow in Geralt’s lead and name her after an animal, but you’re feeling too ill to think of anything, and nothing really seems to fit. Mead - that’d been your horse’s name as a child. You’d liked the sound of it. Mead will suit this one just fine.

“Ready?” Geralt asks.

“Ready.”

There’s a snap of Roach’s reins, and the two of you are off again.

It’s the same as it was before, for the most part. Blazing sun, burning hands, aching body. The pain dulls after a while, and the sun continues its course. The heat slowly disperses. The two of you canter throughout the country, and the world becomes nothing more than a blurred streak.

By the time Geralt’s pace finally slows again, you’ve forgotten how to walk. Dusk is settling into the sky, darkening the edges of the horizon and illuminating the glow of a nearby town. It’s cooled significantly, but you still feel like you’re burning.

“We should stop here for the night,” he says. “Start again tomorrow.”

You take his suggestion gratefully. Every inch of you hurts. Even with the break you’d taken, you can barely move when he comes to a full stop. You clumsily slide off your saddle and jolt your ankles in the process.

Your mouth aches with thirst. Your clothes are stiff with dried sweat. You’re filthy, hungrier than you’ve ever been, and, at this point, you’d give practically anything to sleep in a soft bed. 

Geralt, however, seems completely unphased by the ride. His eyes are bright and focused, his strides smooth and without pain, where yours are labored and rigid. As soon as you’re off your horse, he’s telling you to hold still. You don’t have any desire to argue. 

Then he starts testing the limits of the djinn’s wish, murmuring quietly to himself as he counts the steps. When he reaches the edge of the wish’s boundaries, your eyesight fuzzes. He doesn’t go far enough to invoke any of the less pleasant side effects.

Ten paces. That’s how much distance you and Geralt are allowed before the symptoms start. You’d figured as much, considering how close the two of you’d had to ride to avoid the dizziness. It’s starting to feel more like a curse - though, you can’t say it hasn’t served its purpose. You feel much safer with him around.

When he finally heads off to town, pulling Roach behind him, you blindly follow his tall, broad frame. Muscular shoulders, white hair. Not easy to lose him in this crowd, and a good thing, too. You’re dead on your feet, convinced you could fall asleep almost anywhere. 

You’re also covered in a layer of dirt that’d kicked up on the ride, and you smell so foul you’re surprised Geralt can tolerate being within five steps of you. 

Then again, the people weaving past you in the street aren’t much better. In fact, you realize, fighting off a gag, they might even be worse. The struggle not to pull your shirt up over your nose is a battle barely won. 

Distraction from the stench comes in the form of an inn, which Geralt seems directly headed to. Relief follows shortly after, a sweet, sinking relief that bleeds into you from head to toe. 

The Swift Oak is a large, wooden building; shoddy, most likely older than you are. Layers of faded paint peel from the sides. The slits of golden light through the wood tell you it’s drafty, and the rooms will almost certainly be freezing cold tonight. You’ve never been happier to see anything in your life. 

Even the pain seems to lessen, blisters on your hands temporarily forgotten, and you float your way through hitching your horse and following Geralt inside. Only when you reach the doorway do you come to your senses, reminding yourself to keep your head down as you step through. It’s better not to draw attention to yourself.

In the inn, the crowd is rowdy - rich with song, conversation, and argument alike. Drunken choruses of a drinking song mingle with idle chatter, overpowering the music being played but not the argument happening at a nearby table. Men yell, drink spills, and spittle flies, but you don’t see a bit of it.

In fact, you don’t notice anything but the smell of food, which is so utterly heavenly that you almost miss the way the crowd goes quiet at the sight of you and Geralt standing in the doorway. Everyone’s staring at you. Within seconds, it’s so still you can hear your own heart pounding like a drum under your ribs. A chair scrapes. A drink is slammed down on a table. People start whispering under their breath. 

You catch hints of it as you walk past.

Witcher. Mutant. Freak.

The words make you wince, and they aren’t even directed toward you. To his credit, if Geralt is bothered, he doesn’t let it show. His posture doesn’t budge. He doesn’t say a word. He couldn’t have missed the insults, could he? But, no, his hearing is miles better than yours; he must have heard it. 

“Friendly, aren’t they?” you murmur, not looking them in the eye. 

The words are low enough to hope that Geralt will hear and no one else - though, it’s more for you than it is for him - a small comfort in a silent room. You’re expecting him to ignore you, or simply nod, or maybe even shake his head in annoyance, but a smile flickers over the edge of his lips. It’s gone so quickly you can’t be sure whether or not you imagined it.

“Mhm,” he replies. “Clearly.”

Once the two of you have made your way up to the front, the conversations trickle back to life - but you don’t miss the way everyone continues to stare, eyes narrowed. You keep your eyes on Geralt’s boots - weathered and covered in dirt and mud and who knows what else. Blood, perhaps.

For some reason, that doesn’t even phase you. 

“Got any open rooms?” he asks the innkeeper. “Need somewhere to stay for the night.” 

Even she looks wary of him, eyes fixed on his swords as he speaks. Her gaze strays over to you for a moment, scanning you up and down, then returns to Geralt.

“I have. Will you be needing one room or two?”

The situation seems to dawn over both of you at the same time, and - well… booking two rooms would be a waste of money if you can’t even use them. You look intently at the ground, trying not to think about the connotations of a shared room. Geralt simply clears his throat, recovering much faster than you do.

“One,” he says. 

“Right, then,” comes the innkeeper's reply, seemingly blind to the awkwardness in the air. “Twenty crowns.”

Your hand goes for your money, but Geralt beats you to it - glancing over at you with a raised brow. The innkeeper pockets the coins and gives a sharp nod.

“You two will be wanting a bath, I’m sure. I’ll have some hot water set in the tub. In the meantime, can I get you anything to eat or drink?”

“Ale,” Geralt says. Both of them turn to you. 

You stammer out something about a bowl of stew. Alcohol on your empty stomach would make you blind drunk, and - though it’s tempting - you’ve made enough mistakes already. The woman nods. 

“Be up shortly.”

When the stew comes, it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. You swallow it down in practically a single mouthful. Geralt’s ale goes equally as quickly. 

This time, you beat him to payment. He shrugs, giving a huff. The innkeep clears your dishes, handing Geralt a key.

“Upstairs, third door on the left. Bath should be ready.”

Heading up those stairs with everyone’s eyes on your back feels like a walk of shame. It’s quickly forgotten when you open the room.

It’s much bigger than you’d expected, filled with the spiced aroma of something you can’t identify. A round bathtub sits in the corner, water still steaming, and there’s a large, pillowy bed in the center of the room. If you were alone, you’d collapse on it and sleep until midday, regardless of the dirt that veils you.

Or maybe, you’d settle into the bath - scour your skin until it’s clean, until the sweat and dirt and scum are rinsed away. Scrub the ache from your muscles. Then, fall into the cotton sheets, not a care in the world.

Instead, you do nothing at all, because Geralt is there. The collar of your sweat-stiffened shirt seems to cut into your neck, and the two of you stand motionless at the entryway. His gaze is analytical as he takes in the surroundings. Yours is almost certainly anxious. 

He isn’t nearly as dirty as you - he should bathe first, since the two of you are going to have to share the water. That gives you more time to clean without worrying about how long you’re taking or how cold the water is getting. 

That is, if the two of you are going to bathe at all. You dread the thought of riding tomorrow without washing up, but… if you’re to bathe, Geralt will have to sit ten steps away the entire time.

“You can take the tub first,” you offer.

Geralt seems surprised at that. His head tilts.

“You sure?”

“Yes. Better do it fast though, before I change my mind. I’m dirtier than you are.”

“Alright,” he says, taking a seat in a nearby chair and pulling off his gauntlets. “Suppose it makes sense. How’d you get that much dirt on you, anyway?”

“My second wish from the djinn. Let dirt follow me wherever I go.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his expression blank. You instantly regret the joke, and you’re fumbling around for what to say, because even you don’t know how you got so incredibly dirty. 

Then he smiles. It’s the fullest one yet - closed-mouth, still, but the one you’re most sure you’ve seen. It sparks a certain warmth in your chest that remains long after the action has faded.

“Huh. Certainly know how to milk a djinn for what it’s worth,” he tells you, focusing his attention on unlacing his boots.

At least he’s got a sense of humor.

“I’m very talented. Do you think the bath is ten steps away from the bed?”

“Maybe. Gonna dirty it up while I’m in there?”

“Naturally. Can’t let a witcher forget what it’s like to sleep on the ground, can I?”

That earns another small smile out of him, which makes a certain pride swell in your chest.

As it turns out, the bath is only six steps away from the bed - maybe seven or eight, when one of you are in it. It seems safe enough for you to grab a book from the nearby shelf and sit on the bed, turning yourself away from the direction of the tub. And, despite what you’d said earlier, you’re careful to not get the sheets dirty. 

With your eyes turned toward the book, your ears become your primary sense. At first, there’s only silence. You wonder if he’s hesitating, or thinking about something. Then, judging by the sounds, Geralt slowly begins to remove his armor. 

Soft clinks of steel, chainmail, and leather signify pieces rested against the wooden floor. The chair creaks as he pulls off what must be his boots, thudding one at a time against the ground. Then he stands from his seat, told by the noisy protest of the wood, and walks over to the tub.

There’s a soft splash as he enters. A long, deep sigh follows it. You’re regretting your choice to let him go first - that warm water must be nice. In any case, hearing him like this feels so incredibly intimate that you immediately turn your focus toward the book, which seems to be the most boring thing you could have grabbed: Care for Your Sword, Soldier. 

Your eyes scan over the words but don’t take in anything but random words, blocky and scrambled. Jerkin. Swamplands. Beeswax. 

You can’t stop picturing what Geralt looks like under all that armor. Guilt comes with it. He’s here trapped under what’s essentially a curse. That you made. You really shouldn’t be thinking things like that.

But… is his body scarred, like his face? He’s clearly muscular - the way his armor sits on him says enough. And you’ve heard stories of him, well… pleasing women in various towns. Or, as some had called it, ‘sating his vicious appetite.’ The tales are almost certainly as false as the accounts of his hideousness, but they won’t leave your mind.

Stop, you tell yourself. Your face is hot enough to start a fire, and your guilt is enough to weigh you down in a river until you sink to its murky depths.

You hear Geralt shift in the water, and some soft splashing follows. He must be cleaning himself, then. Which, again, you’re trying not to picture. It’s certainly not helping that this book is talking about giving a sword ‘a good rub down.’

You can’t help but wonder if this was the djinn’s plan all along - to torture you with your own mind, never able to escape. It wouldn’t surprise you at this point.

By the time Geralt steps out, marked by the sloshing of the water, you’ve nearly forgotten about how you look. That’s right, you’re still sitting in crusted layers of dried sweat. Still covered from head to toe in dirt. Still smelling absolutely disgusting.

You hear the shifting of fabric behind you - a towel against skin, perhaps? Then more shifting, more fabric. You keep your eyes staring blankly at the book, your mind firmly cemented in things that aren’t Geralt, and when he speaks, you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Bath’s all yours,” he says behind you. Your heart starts racing and you sit up, trying to calm your pulse. 

He’s dressed in a soft, cream-colored shirt and some trousers, looking much more comfortable than the armor he’d worn. When he takes a seat at the edge of the bed, the smell of him hits you - a sweet, herbal soap, most likely provided by the inn, and soft notes of the same spice that permeates the room. Perhaps the water had been scented. His damp hair falls into his eyes as he sifts through some notes, and he frustratedly pushes it away.

You force yourself to rip your eyes from his appearance before he catches you staring again and hurriedly grab some clean clothes, hair prickling on the back of your neck as you hesitate to strip down. Another glance at Geralt confirms he’s still completely turned away, focused on whatever he’s reading, but it doesn’t stop you from feeling extremely vulnerable. There couldn’t have been a privacy curtain? 

Well, there’s no point in delaying. You shed your clothes, nose wrinkling at the mess on them. The air is ice-cold on your skin, but slipping into the water feels like bliss.

Warm, still. Not very dirty. Scented, like you’d thought. You sink under the surface of it for a moment, letting the muffled world soothe you. No Geralt. No bed. No djinn. Only silky water and soft bubbling noises, melodic and gentle in your ears.

Of course, you have to surface sooner than later, and you’re careful not to hold your breath too long. The last thing you need is to come up gasping and let Geralt think you’re drowning. 

When you come back up, you’re keenly aware of two things: Geralt is still reading his notes, and your hands have started stinging to hell again. 

Everything becomes clumsy with blistered hands - grabbing the soap from the nearby stand, rinsing off sweat and dirt and anything else that’s on you. It slips to the bottom more than once, and you have to blindly retrieve it.

Then you quickly wash out your hair, grimacing as the water turns tepid and the soap smarts against the painful welts on your palms. The bath’s gone a nasty shade of grey-brown now, murky and much less appealing than when you’d gotten in. You’d been right to let Geralt go first.

When you finally get out, it’s a mess of trying not to touch anything directly against the blisters and fighting the urge to swear as you get dressed in the freezing cold air. Clothes are pulled on in a rush, and when you’re finally dried off and decent, you return to your things. 

You’ll have to see if there’s any place to wash your clothes around here. They’re so disgusting you barely want to touch them. When you stuff them in your bag, you find your fingers brushing against your coin purse, and you suddenly remember that Geralt had paid for the room.

It’s not sitting right with you that he’d done that. Not when you, for once, have the money to supply to him. You grab the money, and try to think of what to say. The coins are cool in your hands, but they still bring you the memory of ash and smoke, so you instead tuck them into a loose coin pouch and sneak in a little extra money. Better for Geralt to have it. Better to be rid of it.

“You didn’t have to pay for the room, you know,” you tell him, rising to your feet. “It’s my fault you’re here in the first place.”

He looks up from his notes and focuses his attention on you, brows furrowing. His gaze is hot on your face. You force yourself to meet it.

“Would have needed a room in Skellige, too,” he says.

“Velen prices are higher. Let me repay you. Please.”

“Alright. Not going to argue with that.”

Relieved, you hold out the pouch to him, wincing as leather brushes raw skin when he takes it. Geralt, who immediately notices (of course), freezes in the middle of his acceptance - his gaze locked on your fingers. It’s as if a string has been wound up his spine and pulled tight - every inch of him goes stiff.

“Your hands,” he says softly, setting the pouch down next to him. 

Your gut instinct is to jerk them away, which is of course what you try to do, but he’s much, much faster than you are. In a flash, he’s caught your right wrist, tilting the palm up so he can fully see the wound. 

He stares at it for a long, silent moment. Then he quickly pushes the notes off his lap and reaches for your other hand, revealing the matching blisters on that one, too.

“Didn’t tell me you were hurt,” he grumbles.

“You’re a witcher, not a healer,” you joke weakly, echoing your thoughts from earlier. “They’re only blisters.”

But as he gently pulls them forward to examine them, you can’t help wincing again. You turn your face away so he doesn’t see your grimace of pain.

“They’re hurting you.” He frowns a little, studying the wounds. “Don’t have to be a healer to help with that. Would have given you more breaks, too.” 

“And make you stay in Velen longer?”

He finally releases your hands. You immediately slump in relief and take an unsteady step back. The warmth of his grasp - you swear you can still feel it on your skin. Burning, but not painful. 

“Not making me do anything,” he says. “That djinn is. Pretty sure this wasn’t what you wanted when you made that wish.” 

He’s right. But would he hate you if he knew the truth? You only regret the wish because you know you’ll have to undo it - not because it’d brought you a witcher. You regret it because Geralt hadn’t chosen this, and it’s not fair on him to be stuck with you.

No matter what he says, the safety you feel in his presence will make you feel responsible for his being here.

“No,” you reply, voice wavering a little, “but it’s still my fault that you’re here. If I’d been smarter about what I’d wished for, you’d still be in Skellige. I’m wasting your time and your money.”

His eyes linger on your face for so long that it feels like it’s caught on fire. Then he stands without a word, walks over to the table, and calmly pulls two chairs over by the fire. “Sit. Need to bandage those up.”

This time, you don’t argue with him. Trying to bandage your hands yourself would be a disaster. You settle on a chair, watching him go through his things, gathering some herbs and bandages.

When he returns, he has a small, circular tin in his hand - some kind of herbal salve, if you’re guessing correctly - along with cotton bandages, the kind that will let you have a little movement. He takes a seat in the chair next to you, stares at you pointedly, and you immediately hold out your right hand.

His hands  - callused, warm, and deft -  start by splaying your fingers apart for him to see, applying the cooling, analgesic salve to your blisters with a surprising amount of care. His touch is delicate and gentle and makes your heart leap around in your chest, thumping the way a horse gallops. 

When the smell of the ointment hits your nose, you can’t help but be surprised.

“Celandine?” you ask. Celandine isn’t much help with healing - it dulls pain. Knowing this makes your guilt so much worse.

Geralt’s gaze stays fixed on your hands. “Yeah,” he says. “Celandine. Know your herbs, huh?”

“I used to study medicine at Oxenfurt,��� you tell him. “Learning different herbs and their uses was part of the curriculum.”

He’s quiet for a moment, taking the cotton bandage and carefully wrapping it around your right palm. He gives you an apologetic look when you wince, but the pain is nothing compared to what it was before.

“Used to?” he asks. “Radovid responsible for that?”

The memory is bitter and slimy as it crawls up your throat. 

“No. Just couldn’t afford it anymore.”

There’s a long beat where he starts applying salve to the other hand before he looks up at you, brow raised. Waiting for you to go on. You do so with hesitance.

“We were dirt poor, but my parents wanted me to get a good education,” you continue, averting your gaze from his hands to your boots. “They saved up for years, took side jobs, anything they could. Even with all of that, when I attended, I still worked two jobs just trying to pay for tuition. Went hungry. Never let them know, though. It’d have crushed them. Told myself all I needed to do was graduate, and… then it’d be over. I could repay my parents. Get a good job.”

You let out a long breath, trying to push back the stinging of your eyes.

“Halfway through my degree, their money stopped coming in.” Your throat is thick now, betraying you. “Knew they were gone before I even got the letter. Plague. Couldn’t pay tuition anymore, so…”

You stop there, afraid that if you talk any more, you’ll cry. 

Geralt is silent, and you suddenly realize you’ve said far too much. Of course he hadn’t wanted to know the tragic details of your life. He’d just been trying to make friendly conversation, not hear a sob story. It’ll do you better to keep your mouth shut from now on. Your chest heaves and you turn your face to the side, staring emptily at the bath. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. His voice is laced with pity, and for some reason, it just makes you angry. You shake your head in response, not trusting yourself to speak.

He finishes bandaging your left hand and releases it. You numbly rest it on your knee. 

“The coin you gave me…” Geralt starts hesitantly, clearly not wanting to push too far. “I’ve heard rumors that Oxenfurt will be opening its doors again.”

You stand, crossing your arms as you pace back and forth across the room.

“Keep it. I don’t have any plans on going back.”

“Not fond of the classes?”

You had been. You’d loved medicine more than almost anything. You still do, even if you don’t want to.

“Something like that,” you say distantly.

Geralt hums softly, then mercifully changes the subject. 

“Those blisters are from friction. Soften your hands when riding, let your horse have more room - that’ll help. Town ought to have a tailor, too. We can find you some gloves tomorrow.”

“Already have some. They just made it worse.”

“Better ones, then.”

He doesn’t seem phased at all by the sharpness of your tone, which deflates the anger out of you. You’re left feeling guilty and exhausted.

“Alright.” 

Geralt gets up from his seat, calmly moving the chairs back to their original positions. 

Maybe that’s part of being a witcher - being collected in any situation, even a stranger’s hysterics. Your hands feel so much better that, if the bandages weren’t there to restrict movement, you’d think that the blisters had never happened.

You want to tell him you’re sorry, but you have the feeling he’ll ask for what and you won’t be able to answer. 

For being a fool. For bringing him here. Saddling him with your sob story. Snapping at him. For everything.

“You should get some rest,” Geralt says. “Long day tomorrow. Got a preference for a side of the bed?” 

You do. Without a word, you head over to the left side - the side furthest from the door - and climb under the sheets.

Geralt settles in on the other side, but doesn’t rest, doesn’t lay down. He sits and pulls out his notes again, sifting through them as though hoping to see something he hadn’t seen earlier.

You fall asleep to the sound of shifting notes and his soft, rhythmic breathing.