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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 day ago

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Cannibals [Chapter 7: Lightning and Rust]

A/N: Only 3 chapters left!!! 🥳❤️💙🦇

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), babies and parenthood, blood and violence, character deaths, I really cannot summarize this chapter you just gotta experience it, I'll pray for you 🙏

Word count: 6.8k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments ��

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You’re curled up in bed with a velvet pouch of hot stones that have gone cold, bloody rags bunched between your thighs, trying desperately to sleep, and outside a storm is brewing over Blackwater Bay and bringing with it dark skies and strikes of lightning that stalk ever-closer. Through the open window, the air tasting like late-summer rain, you can hear Helaena and the maids corralling the children back into the Red Keep. They are laughing because nobody is dead yet, not even the ailing and absent King Viserys, not even doomed little Luke Strong.

Aemond lets himself into your chambers and stands over your bed, staring down at you with some combination of annoyance and concern. You have failed him. You were not where he wanted you to be. “Why weren’t you at the beach?” Playing with your niece and nephews, collecting your seashells.

“Because women are cursed.”

Aemond smiles, perhaps a bit relieved; he has his answer. “And you more than any of them, because you’re so wicked.”

“Maester Orwyle says I can’t have more milk of the poppy for two hours.”

“Then we must listen to him. It is a powerful remedy, and we cannot endanger you.” He takes off his boots and climbs into bed, lying behind you, one hand following the curve of your waist to settle on your lower belly. “I can relax the muscles. It might ease your suffering.”

Right now? “Oh no, no, you don’t want to do that,” you warn him. “It’s very messy.”

“You think I’m afraid of your blood?” Aemond says, amused. “Everything we’re built of is the same.” He lifts the hem of your silk nightgown and reaches underneath the nest of rags, sliding there in the coppery wetness as you inhale sharply, startled but not unwilling. When Aemond removes his hand, the carnage he is stained with is bright crimson but dotted with clots. Then he licks the blood from his fingers and paints his tongue red. You can’t keep the shock from your face. Aemond grins, wets his hand again, draws a heart on your left cheek just beneath your eye. You laugh and pretend to try to shove him away.

“You’re deranged, you’re a monster—”

“Let me help you,” Aemond whispers, nuzzling blood from his lips into your silver hair. “Let me take your pain away like you quiet mine.”

And you surrender to him like you always do—worn down, overpowered, intoxicated, bewitched, seduced, perhaps all at once—and as Aemond’s hand works and the gory metallic ether of blood fills both of your lungs, the cramps dissolve into nothingness and then build to desire, and you’re opening your thighs for him and the rags are whisked away, unnecessary, forgotten, and now there is blood on the bedsheets and your fingers are twisting into the pillows strewn around you, and it doesn’t feel shameful at all anymore, because what is blood if not made from the same minerals as coins and blades and ocean and ash, and what is lust if not a fire that burns the constraints of the world away?

You kiss him as you come, moaning into his bloodstained mouth, biting his lower lip, and if the careless pressure of your teeth makes him bleed then that’s just more iron and copper and steel to add to the molten sea you are marooned in, more magma, more rust. “Enough,” you gasp when the last of the waves have passed and you are emptied and too sensitive, and Aemond knows to listen. Then you reach for Aemond’s trousers, where you can see he is hard. You are abruptly and ruinously exhausted—you struggle to keep your eyes open—but it feels wrong to not take care of him in return.

It shouldn’t take long, he’s already flushed, he’s already dripping sweat—

“No need,” Aemond says, gently stopping your hands. And as you burrow into the pillows and your eyes dip closed, your skin and hair still splattered with red, he slips away silently so you can sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t want to leave you,” Jace says, knowing that he has to anyway. “Either of you.”

You are nursing the baby in a chair by the fireplace; you needed a change of scenery from the bed. The upholstery is pale blue velvet. The blanket the baby is swathed in is embroidered with pine trees and foxes, and far beyond your skill; Lady Caro made it. She is nearly as gifted with a needle as Helaena. On the walls of the bedchamber you share with your husband are mosaics you’ve pieced together over the past nine months here at the modest castle of Heart’s Home in a cold, remote corner of the Vale. The fractured faces look in on you like curious gazes through clear windows: Aegon, Helaena, Daeron, Jaehaera, Maelor, Mother, Criston. You aren’t any closer to them now, but you feel like you are. The world seems softer, warmer, smaller.

You smile as you ghost a fingerprint over the baby’s faint dark eyebrows. He’s half-asleep as he suckles, hushed and content and entirely helpless. He has Jace’s coloring, but something about the shape of his eyes reminds you of Aegon. “We’ll be here waiting when you get back.”

“I think he looks a lot like Luke,” Jace says, admiring the baby. He’s standing with one arm draped over the back of your chair and the flickering firelight from the hearth on his face, turning his skin from snow to sunstone. “And Joffrey. His face is rounder than mine.”

“Have you been to the Eyrie to see them since the war began?” Joffrey, Rhaena, Rhaenyra’s young white-haired sons Aegon and Viserys.

Jace shakes his head. “I never wanted to be away from you for longer than necessary. I didn’t want to risk being spotted and revealing where they’ve been hidden. And I didn’t know what to say.” About us, about our marriage, about our baby.

“You should visit them, Jace. I would visit Helaena and her children if I could.” You leave out the others intentionally; Helaena is your only sibling that Jace considers blameless. You miss Aegon and Daeron just as much, but in the solitude of your own heart—in the stillness, in the silence—you aren’t sure if you want to see Aemond again. You don’t know if he will be soft with you, or vengeful or cold, or if he has filled the void of your absence with a lover, something that you cannot think about without your stomach lurching and your skull aching, and so you put him out of your mind as much as you can and stay here with the baby instead.

Jace rests a hand on your shoulder reassuringly, then strokes your cheek. He says, meaning the baby: “We’ll have to get him his own egg.”

“I hope he won’t inherit my affliction,” you murmur somberly. “I hope he’ll have a dragon someday.” Without them, we are powerless. Without them, we aren’t real Targaryens.

“Maybe there’s something you need to do first.”

You look up at Jace, not understanding.

“I’ve spent a lot of time considering what inspires a dragon to bond to someone,” he says. And you think, feeling a fleeting stab of betrayal before you stitch the wound closed with invisible thread: Because you’ve been helping the Blacks search for riders. “It seems that each creature has their own preferences. Meleys favored women who were spirited and highly intelligent. Dreamfyre has chosen two riders, both gentle, shy, and fond of animals. Seasmoke bonded to two sons of Corlys Velaryon with similar temperaments, agreeable and charismatic, Quicksilver to a father and son who were both considered weak and died young. Caraxes seems to have an affinity for warriors.” It does not escape you that Jace neglects to mention Vhagar, as if through his silence he can make the beast and her rider vanish. “And Vermithor…” Jace offers you a small, sympathetic smile, remembering that you once wanted him. “The Bronze Fury bonds to riders who are imposing in body and ambitious in spirit. And I suspect he only likes men.”

“So it was always hopeless,” you say gloomily. You recall the miniature Vermithor that Aegon once carved for you out of oak wood. You hope that Aegon is still alive somewhere, scarred but lying in wait, always underestimated, always so much deeper than he seems, an ocean that Mother and Father mistook for a puddle, messy and marginal and inconvenient.

“I believe dragons often gravitate towards riders who are mirrors of themselves. Even Vermax, he is…” Jace considers this. “He’s proud, and he’s clever, but he’s not as formidable as he imagines himself to be.”

“Like you,” you say before you can stop to consider whether Jace will be offended by it, and he gives you an amused smirk. The baby has stopped nursing and fallen asleep; you fix the bodice of your gown and cradle him against you. There are maids to take him when you’re tired, and Jace loves holding him, and Lady Caro steals him away often, but right now you don’t want your freedom. You don’t want your mind to be untethered and to wander to all the places you’re not supposed to be.

Jace continues: “What I mean is, perhaps there is some quality you must cultivate within yourself before the beast you are meant to have judges you worthy.”

“Hardly any unclaimed dragons are left now.” Then you tease: “Do you suggest I become quiet and timid so Grey Ghost will like me?”

Jace laughs. “No, I fear that’s a lost cause, princess. You could never be timid.”

You are intrigued. “Then what am I?”

“I think you’re hungry,” Jace decides. “I think you always want more.”

“I never wanted that many things.” Aemond. My family to be safe. And I wanted Vermithor.

“Every line that is drawn, every place you’re told not to go or act you’re not supposed to do, you insist upon overreaching.”

Is that why Aemond and I were so drawn to each other? you think doubtfully. Because it was forbidden? Because it horrified people who climbed high enough to live alongside Targaryens but could never understand them?

“I think Meleys would have been a good match for you,” Jace says after a while. “If she hadn’t already been claimed by Grandmother.”

“And now the Red Queen is dead.” Like Arrax, and Moondancer, and Seasmoke, and probably Sunfyre too. How many dragons will be left when this is over? How many Targaryens? You clutch the baby closer to you; he stirs in his sleep, tiny fingers grasping at nothing. “What sort of rider does Silverwing favor? What could this illiterate drunk Ulf the White possibly have in common with Good Queen Alysanne?”

Jace snickers. “That’s a good question. I’ve been ruminating on it. My theory is that since Silverwing was never ridden into battle, and has always been relatively docile and accustomed to living peacefully near humans, she was attracted to Ulf’s…how to describe it? His lack of military prowess. Or, alternatively, once Vermithor was claimed Silverwing was very, very lonely.”

You smile, and then it dies. It must be indescribably painful to be separated from one’s mate after a century together. Unsurvivable, even. “Can Silverwing fight, do you think?”

Jace heaves a sigh and shrugs. “I’m not sure if either of them can. Ulf will try, at least. Hopefully it won’t come to that, and Vermithor is enough to protect King’s Landing. Hugh Hammer is an inexperienced rider, but he’s brave and he’s committed. Each time I see him he’s better than he was before.”

Hugh Hammer is a bastard blacksmith, but he has more power in this war than I do. Ulf the White is an idiot and a drunk, but he’s a true Targaryen and I’m not. You rock your sleeping child in your arms, quieting the voices that flutter in your skull like bat wings. You kiss his wisps of dark curls and breathe in his warmth and newness and blood that is interwoven with yours.

“You could learn how to hate your own kind and claim the Cannibal,” Jace jokes.

You chuckle. “I don’t hate anyone.” Not here, not now.

Lady Caro arrives in the doorway carrying a tray of cinnamon tea. “I have come offering a trade,” she says, grinning, and shuffles excitedly across the room. She sets the tray down on the table by your chair and holds out her hands. Reluctantly, you surrender the baby. Lady Caro coos and beams at him as you and Jace sip cinnamon tea, sweet and loosing steam like morning mist into the air. “Surely by now you’ve made the logical decision to name him in my honor.”

“Carolei would be a very strange thing to call a boy,” Jace says.

“Caroson,” she jests.

You add: “Carogon. Carocaerys.”

“Awful!” Jace says, laughing.

“Have you been feeding the baby again?” Lady Caro scolds you. “We have wetnurses for that.”

“They get him all night. I want time with him too.”

“You’re barely even producing any milk. You’d make for a terrible goat.”

“Then I’ll nurse him for as long as I can.”

“You’ll end up with pitiful floppy breasts like mine.”

“Isn’t this what they’re for? Nourishing children, not being gawked at and tugged on by some man?”

Lady Caro turns to Jace, exasperated. “She has some disease. She can’t listen to anyone.”

He smiles. “She’s an untamable beast, I’m afraid. Burns up anyone who makes the attempt.”

Lord Corbray walks in, and nestled in his ancient arthritic hands is a sword in a sheath. There is a large heart-shaped ruby in the hilt. “Prince Jacaerys, I cannot begin to tell you what an honor it has been not only to host you and the princess here in our humble castle, but also to have a future king of the Seven Kingdoms born within our walls.”

Jace stands up straighter, as his mother would want him to. He’ll never look like the heir to the throne, like a Targaryen, but he can act like one. “We continue to be grateful for your hospitality.”

“To commemorate this happy occasion, I wish to gift you a cherished heirloom of my house. This is Lady Forlorn, made of Valyrian steel. She came to House Corbray over a century ago, and now I bequeath her to you. I hope she will aid you in your victory in this unjust war, and that all the realm will soon be at peace and under competent rulership.”

Jace looks at you uneasily; you pretend to be preoccupied drinking your tea. You ignore Lord Corbray’s slight against the Greens. You don’t have much choice, and you’ve had plenty of practice. Jace takes Lady Forlorn from Lord Corbray and unsheathes her, studying his reflection in the cold smoke-colored grey of the blade. His face is grave. Now he feels the weight on his shoulders of being not just a prince, an heir, a soldier, and a husband, but a father as well, something he himself never had in a way that was truthful and pure. You are alarmed to see tears gleaming in his dark eyes.

“Jace?” you say, touching his arm.

He regains his composure. “Thank you, Lord Corbray. I will treasure Lady Forlorn, and I will endeavor to always use her wisely.”

Lord Corbray smiles fondly at the slumbering baby in Lady Caro’s arms. Across the Riverlands, their sole surviving child, Jessamyn, is in hiding with her husband and children. At Lady Caro’s insistence, they fled from the Mallisters’ castle at Seagard in case Aemond and Vhagar descend upon it. He is still burning. A monster? you think. “I assume you’ve named your firstborn?”

You and Jace exchange a glance. You haven’t yet; you are afraid to discuss it with each other. There are so many possibilities—Targaryen or Velaryon or Strong—and none seem to be without some unspoken allegiance or condemnation. There are so few guiltless names left. But you think you know what Jace would choose if he dared to speak it aloud.

“We should name him after Luke,” you say. A boy, an innocent. A victim of a horrific accident that started this war.

Jace is surprised, but there is relief in his face too. “Lucerys?” he says, trying it out. Then he is solemn again. “It feels wrong to use the exact same name. Like I’m trying to replace him.”

“Lucerion,” Lady Caro suggests, still holding the baby. “It sounds like a prince’s name. It sounds like a king’s.”

Jace attaches Lady Forlorn to his belt and then takes the baby, obviously against Lady Caro’s will. “Lucerion,” Jace murmurs, smiling down at his son who is stirring awake and beginning to whimper. “Is that your name? Is that what we’ll call you?”

“Perhaps Luca for short,” you say from your chair, feeling drained and like you need to lie down. You’ll have to change your rags again soon, or you’ll bleed through them.

“Luca, the littlest dragon,” Jace proclaims, touching his fingertip to the baby’s puggish nose. Then he turns to you. “Did you have a nickname as a child? I always did and still do, of course. And Luke…” Jace trails off, thinking of his dead brother, murdered by yours.

You see your red bat traveling around the board; you feel the warmth of blood on your cheek. “They called me Red.”

“Red?” Jace is baffled. “Like the color?”

“There was a game we played when we were young, and my piece…” You close your eyes, not wanting to remember, not wanting to feel the weight of their absence. “It doesn’t matter. It was so long ago.” And you fear that Jace will hear the evasiveness in your voice and ask you more questions; but he is absorbed with the baby, and he has already forgotten.

Two days later Jace and Vermax fly south to King’s Landing, and you and Luca are left in the care of the Corbrays and the maids and the ghosts that haunt the drafty stone corridors of Heart’s Home, soldiers killed in the Riverlands and the Reach, women and children burned and starved, bones devoured by dragons, generations of names forgotten.

Sometimes you giggle with Lady Caro as you drink cinnamon tea in the Great Hall. Sometimes you stand in the castle rookery listening to the ravens caw and stare out into the cold mist of the mountains, wondering what is happening in the world outside. And sometimes you have Luca nestled in your arms and walk with him around your bedchamber, introducing him to the faces of the people you left in your old life, when you were called Red and you believed you could be someone like Visenya. But you never mention Aemond, and not just because there are no mosaics of him on the wall.

You wouldn’t know what to say. You wouldn’t know where to begin.

~~~~~~~~~~

You learn Jace is back when he climbs into bed just as you are drifting off one night, silver moonlight spilling in through the glass of the window, his body folding into you, his arm skating over your waist to find your hand and weave his fingers through yours. Two months have passed since he left, moons that grow full and then vanish, milk that dries up and blood that ceases flowing and rebuilds inside you for the next child, if there will be one, when there will be one. Luca is sleeping in his own room with his maids and wetnurses. Jace’s curls tickle your throat as he nuzzles into you as if he wants to disappear.

He says: “The littlest dragon is much bigger than I remember.”

“How was Helaena?”

“Troubled, as is to be expected, but in good health. Jaehaera and Maelor are well too. King’s Landing is cold some days now. I think they’ll have snow soon. The taxes, the riots, the stockpiling of food as the Reach and the Riverlands burn…it’s a disaster. Mother is desperate. She misses Luke, I think. And Baela, and Daemon. She’s lost so much weight I barely recognized her. But she was very, very happy to hear about Luca. Hopefully she can meet him soon. Although we’ll have to be careful traveling with him while he’s so small, we’ll have to ensure he’s warm enough.”

Winter is coming, you think, remembering Cregan Stark’s army under the protection of Daemon and Caraxes. “Did you see Rhaena and the boys at the Eyrie?”

“I did,” Jace admits, as if it was a fraught experience.

“And what happened?”

“Rhaena called me a traitor.”

“For marrying and fathering a son with me?”

“No, that she understands,” Jace says. “But it is treason to love you.”

You turn around to look at him in the shadows, in the moonlight. “You told her?”

“She could tell. I cannot hide it. I am a glass jar and you and Luca are the butterflies inside.” And Jace kisses you softly, his fingers hooked beneath your chin, his flesh coming alive again after so long away: managing and conciliating, lifting Rhaenyra’s spirits, pawing through the heaps of bastards in King’s Landing for dragonriders, flying on Vermax through storms and snow.

When you kiss Jace back, when your hands go to his chest and his jaw and his face, when you open his tunic so you can feel the heat of his skin underneath, you are aware that parts of you are waking up again as well. There is a dull but definite ache of lust beginning to bloom like a blood drop soaking into white cotton.

“Are you…” Jace begins. “Do you think you’re healed enough, I mean…have you stopped bleeding?”

You hesitate. “I have.” You think of your first time with him and how painful it was, the sensation of burning, of tearing, and you can only assume it will be worse now. “But I’m rather terrified too.”

“No, no, don’t be afraid,” Jace whispers, he pleads, running his fingers through your long unbound hair. “We don’t have to do that. I won’t hurt you. I’ll wait for as long as you want.” His dark eyes travel down the white nightgown that clings to your body, your breasts, your belly, and then lower. “Can I…can I try something?”

“Try what?” you ask, bewildered. Then as Jace begins to push the hem of your nightgown up over your hips to your waist, you grin and kiss him again in the dim celestial light, cool night air rushing up over your bare legs, blood surging through your arteries to where he bends low to taste you once—a long, slow, tentative drag of the tongue—and then moans quietly and pushes your thighs further apart so he can bury himself there and lick, suck, swallow down your clear mineral wetness as it pools for him.

Something isn’t quite right—not enough pressure, not the ideal angle—but it’s exquisite to be reacquainted with this side of yourself, to know you can feel this way again, insatiable and desired. When you reach to touch Jace, there is a moment when you are startled to find dark curly hair in place of silk-smooth silver, and there is a ghost in the room like a voyeur watching, and you think dazedly: If Aemond knew about this, would he kill me?

“There,” you gasp, jolting as your husband stumbles upon the perfect place and rhythm. “Jace, right there…”

He listens, he is groaning with desperation for you, and you roll into a climax that is brief and sharp and a little painful, but good. Instead of being extinguished, you are a kindled flame. You turn over, straddle Jace, and unfasten his trousers. You begin kissing your way down his belly, nipping at him, your palm kneading his hardness, and you know he wants you but for some reason when you go to take him in your mouth, he pushes you away.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jace says, alarmed.

“I know. I want to.”

“No, seriously. Stop.”

You look at him, wounded, rejected. “Jace, I’m not doing this out of obligation. I enjoy it.”

He is staring at the wall. “I just…for you to…I’m sorry, it just feels wrong.”

“I can do things you believe are only for whores and still be your wife.”

“Shh,” he says, and his voice is gentle but his face is pained. You think of something Criston once told you when you were collecting bones from the Godswood of the Red Keep: Red, it hurts your mother when you’re like this. Are you cursed to disappoint people, to repulse them, to be eternally misunderstood? “I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?”

Jace gets out of bed and fetches a small wooden box he must have brought into the room with him when you were still half-asleep. He opens the box, debates whether to reach in, decides against it and passes you the whole box instead. “I asked the castle maester to procure some while I was away…”

You squeal with delight when you see what’s inside: three black and white bats the same breed as Sapphire was, large fanlike ears and wiggling noses and small black eyes that peer curiously up at you. When you offer them your open palms, they immediately scramble into them.

“I hope they’re good ones.” Jace chuckles nervously. “I don’t really know what makes a bat suitable or not.”

“They’re perfect,” you say, smiling. “I’ll build them a roost. I’ll introduce them to Luca.”

Yet you cannot stop yourself from thinking: Aemond wouldn’t have cared if I was still bleeding.

~~~~~~~~~~

You are snuggled up with Luca in your chair by the fire, cool midday light—the color of steel, smoke, rainclouds, ash—streaming in through the windows. The baby’s eyes have turned dark like Jace’s, and his curls grow longer. He is only half-awake and blinking drowsily, his diminutive hands clasping your fingers. He doesn’t cry often, but he doesn’t smile either. Lady Caro believes he already has the temperament of a good king, a calmness, a graveness. She says: How improper would it be for him to be full of complaints or cheerfulness, the way the world is right now? No, he ought to be serious. He ought to be grateful he’s not starving or being roasted alive.

“I have some new friends,” you whisper to the baby like a secret or a myth. “They’re asleep right now. They sleep all day, kind of like you do. But then at night they come alive and they’re free, and they fly around like hawks or dragons.”

You speak for Luca, a soft bird-trill of a voice: “What are their names?”

“Good question,” you say, smiling. “Iris, Shark, and Flood. And you’ll meet them soon.” Your eyes go to the mosaics on the walls. Jace hasn’t asked you to take them down, but he doesn’t acknowledge them either, except for the mosaic you made of him that hangs by the headboard of the bed. He beams at that one and calls it fine work. “You’ll meet the people I grew up with too. Aegon will make you wood carvings. Helaena will sew you blankets. Daeron will take you on adventures. Jaehaera and Maelor will play games with you. And Mother and Criston will love you because you won’t be like me. You’ll be sweet-tempered and honorable, and when you’re old enough you’ll have a dragon to help protect us with.”

There is a knock on the doorframe; one of Luca’s wetnurses has arrived to feed him. You regret that you can’t anymore. Lady Caro was right; you’d be a terrible goat or cow or yak.

“Princess,” the wetnurse says, curtsying before she takes the baby from you. You watch her leave with him for his own bedchamber—Lady Caro has already filled it with toys and children’s books—and as soon as they are out of sight, the darkness of your losses creeps back in like spiders scurrying down the corridors of your veins and arteries, like rust growing over steel. Then you hear the rumbling of voices downstairs in the Great Hall.

You stand and swish in your gown—one of the Vale’s anemic colors, a faint dusky rose—through the hallway and down the spiral staircase of the tower. In the belly of the castle, the commotion is louder, and you sweep into the Great Hall to find men gathered around the table closest to the roaring hearth, Lord Corbray and his knights and the maester, and Lady Caro too looking on anxiously. Jace is holding a piece of parchment in his hands, presumably just delivered by a raven. He shakes his head as he reads it. Outside, snow is falling.

Lady Caro is saying: “Well you’ll have to tell her. Oh, the poor dear, as if everything else isn’t bad enough. And only the gods know where Aemond is, he hasn’t been spotted in the Riverlands for days…” Then she spies you and shoos Lord Corbray and his men from the room. They bow to you as they depart, swift little bobs of the head. They have to; you are now both the wife and mother of future kings.

“Jace?” you say when the Great Hall is empty except for the two of you and Lady Caro.

Jace’s face is stricken. Lady Forlorn hangs from his belt. The letter is still clutched in his left hand; the right grips the hilt of his Valyrian steel sword. “I’m so sorry.”

“What?” you ask, immediately horrified. Aegon dead of his burns, Daeron killed in battle, Mother executed for treason, Aemond…? “What happened?”

“You have to believe that I had no idea about any of this, I never would have given Hugh the order if I’d been there, or let Mother do it—”

“Jace, please tell me.”

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond??

Instead, Jace says absurdly: “It’s Helaena.”

You stare at him. “Helaena isn’t a warrior.”

“No,” he agrees. “But she got to Dreamfyre somehow and tried to escape the city.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

That’s impossible. She wouldn’t leave Mother and the children. “No, she couldn’t have, she—”

“She took flight,” Jace insists. “And my mother sent Hugh Hammer after her on Vermithor.”

Vermithor was supposed to be mine, you think numbly. “And Helaena, she…she was…?”

Jace is trying to keep his voice steady; his dark eyes gleam, begging you not to hate him. “Dreamfyre attacked when Vermithor flew close to her. She wasn’t an especially aggressive dragon, but she was large and formidable, and she fought to defend her own life and that of her rider. Vermithor ripped out her throat, though Hugh was burned to death in the saddle. Then Vermithor flew eastward, and no one knows where he is now. Dreamfyre crashed to the earth, and Helaena with her. Their bodies were found on the beach outside the Red Keep.”

She can’t be dead. She never hurt anyone. She just wanted to be with her creatures and her family. She embroidered my blankets with red bats, she put ladybugs into my open palms. “Why would Helaena try to run, why would she do that?”

“I don’t know.”

You think nonsensically, as you have no way of knowing this: Because she was trying to stop something terrible from happening. “I told you to give her more freedom. And that freedom allowed her to sneak away to the Dragonpit.”

Jace reaches for you. “This isn’t your fault—”

“All of it ismy fault!” you shout at him, and Lady Caro shrinks away and covers her mouth with her hands. “If I’d had Vermithor, the Greens would have been unstoppable! And Rhaenyra never would have tried to claim the throne, and Aemond wouldn’t have been sent to Storm’s End, and Luke and Jaehaerys and Baela wouldn’t have died, and Aegon wouldn’t have been burned, and Aemond wouldn’t be destroying the Riverlands, and Helaena would still be alive, but instead I’ve always been useless!”

“You aren’t useless,” Jace pleads.

“Not normal enough to be a good wife or daughter, not extraordinary enough to have a dragon!”

Again, Jace tries to touch you, to soothe you. “Please don’t—”

You fling his hands away. “What was our marriage for if not to stop this from happening?! To end the dying, to protect the people we have left?” You whirl away from him and flee from the Great Hall, the castle, yourself. Behind you, Lady Caro is comforting Jace with soft tenderness you’ve never been capable of.

“Let her go, my prince,” she is counselling. “Give her a moment to grieve…”

You throw open the first door you pass and trudge out into the snow, no fox fur coat, bare feet. The cold stings and then your skin goes numb and it doesn’t bother you anymore. The icy mountain wind tears at your hair, flowing in long waves like the women of the Vale wear it, delicate and feminine, pretty and powerless. Tears cascade down your face; currents of red magma scorch your throat. When you close your eyes, you see the yellow butterfly that was once Helaena’s game piece.

She never hurt anyone. She never did anything wrong.

Now you are under the shadows of the soaring pine trees, their green needles so thick you cannot see the grey of the sky.

She never met Luca.

You gaze up into the branches, covered with tufts of white snow and icicles like fangs, and you have the overwhelming, ravenous feeling that you need to go home. You don’t belong in the Vale. The Vale almost killed you when you were a child, Aemond’s hands shoving you into a rushing stream freckled with ice.

And then all at once—like you’ve been hit, like you’ve been stabbed with a blade—you are flying high above the castle and the wind is raking over your cheeks, but it is not your face but Aemond’s, half-blind and half-scarred, torrential red waves of a sea of blood in his skull.

He’s here, he’s here—

And if he’s able to see through your eyes that you are outside in the forest…

The castle!!!

You bolt through the trees back towards Heart’s Home, your bare feet leaving tracks in the fresh powdery snow that is nearly up to your knees, and you stumble out of the shadows just as Vhagar soars overhead and unleashes her flames on the castle, wood burning, stones collapsing, people inside shrieking as they incinerate. You’re screaming for Aemond to stop, but he does not hear you and he does not see you either, he is high above in a place you’ve never been and never will be, he is flying, and he is hearing only devastation and he is breathing in its dark, intoxicating smoke, and as Vhagar swoops by the stable and it bursts into an inferno—horses galloping loose and engulfed in fire, dead but not knowing it yet—you run into the crumbling castle.

“Jace?!” you shout, but the air is full of smoke and the sounds of wood cracking and stones caving in are deafening. You feel blindly for the spiral staircase that leads up to the tower where your and Luca’s bedchambers are located. From the part of the castle that was once the Great Hall, you can hear Lord Corbray and Lady Caro screaming as their skin blisters and sloughs away and their flesh is cooked and their bones are charred black, and when the flames reach their lungs the screams go quiet. You cannot think about them. You don’t have any time; you must think of Luca and Jace. “Jace!” you bellow through the smoke.

And then there is a weak reply: “Here.”

You follow it into the stairwell. Parts of the wall have been blasted away; you can see the pine forest outside, the cold barren sky, the Mountains of the Moon. Jace is halfway up the steps, slumped against the fractured wall and pinned there by stones that have rained down on his legs. His bones must be broken; his face is bloodless and his curls matted to his forehead by sweat. His right hand fumbles futilely for the hilt of Lady Forlorn. Now, dimly, you can hear Luca crying.

Jace rasps as he stares vacantly up at you: “I tried to get to him. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Jace, I can do it.”

“I love you.”

“I’ll be right back.”

You climb over him and chase Luca’s wails up the staircase. Vhagar is back, and the ruins of the castle tremble when she roars, and you feel the heat of her flames radiating up through the floor. You lose your footing and clamber up the last few steps on your hands and knees, then manage to stand again and careen into Luca’s room. Half the roof has collapsed; a wetnurse is sprawled on the floor and half-buried in fallen stones, blood hemorrhaging out of her mouth and ears. You grab the baby out of his cradle and quickly bundle him in his blanket patterned with blue dragonflies. His tiny hands grasp at your face and your hair as you rush back down the spiral staircase to help Jace. Smoke needles your eyes; you and Luca are both coughing as you try to clear your lungs.

You reach Jace and kneel beside him, holding Luca in your left arm and using your right to try to roll the stones off Jace’s legs, but he’s not helping you.

“Jace, please, we have to go now,” you say, but when you look at his face he’s not there. His dark eyes are glassy, his chest doesn’t rise and fall with the tide of air.

He’s gone, you think. Like Father, Luke, Jaehaerys, Baela, Rhaenys, Helaena. And you are struck by an excruciating pang of fondness for Jace more forceful than anything you ever felt for him when he was alive, and you cannot leave him here. He was your husband, he was Luca’s father. And he loved you. He must have. He said it over and over again.

“Jace?” you sob. But outside Vhagar is still flying—the gales churned up by her wings gust into the jagged holes in the castle walls—and she could be coming back, she could be returning to burn you, and Jace is dead but the baby is still alive.

You clutch Luca to you as he cries and you race down the steps, following the smoke-filled, twisted passageway. The heat is suffocating, the sounds of a dying castle engulfing, Heart’s Home turned into a graveyard, into a shattered skeleton, charred and cursed like Harrenhal. You crash through the door at the base of the stairwell and into the ground level of the castle, and you are almost out—

Something ignites, something explodes, and stones from the castle wall you are feeling your way along rip out of their centuries-old mortar and collide with you. Your ribs crack, you are thrown to the floor, but even as you scream and claw your way out of the rubble you don’t let go of the baby. You force yourself upright and stagger with Luca towards a gaping chasm where there was once a wall. There is a tremor like an earthquake. Outside, Vhagar must be landing.

Now you are in the snow again, bare feet and a gown covered with soot and wreckage. The baby isn’t crying anymore. When you glance down at the blanket he is swaddled in, the white space between the blue dots of dragonflies is turning red with blood.

Blood?

You can’t look. You can’t allow yourself to feel it; it will consume you until there is nothing left. The last vestiges of the castle are crumpling. Across the field, Vhagar is devouring Vermax’s small, broken corpse, crushing his bones in her massive, monstrous jaws.

Blood??

Aemond’s footsteps are behind you, crunching in the snow. His cloak cracks in the frigid wind like the sails of a ship. His words are full of dark, euphoric, lethal triumph, a high like nothing he’s ever known, not even when he claimed Vhagar, not even what he imagined he would feel on your wedding day when you’d be bound to each other with fire and blood in the tradition of Old Valyria. “I said I would find you, and I did.”

You hear your own voice as if from a very far distance, lightning strikes miles away but moving closer. “You killed him.”

Aemond is puzzled. You are supposed to be happy. You are saved, you are home. “Killed who?”

“He’s dead, and there will never be another. Not like this one. Jace was his father, but Jace is gone. You killed him too.”

And you turn to face him, and Aemond sees what you are holding in your arms, and only then does he understand.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #jace velaryon x reader #jace x you #jace x reader #jace velaryon #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon

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shirefantasies · 11 months ago

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Congratulations on 100 followers! 👏 🎉 🥳

This kind of a weird request but I wanted to ask how you would imagine the Fellowship would react/take care of their companion on their period? Like having severe cramps. It can be romantic or platonic relationship it's up to you but I would like Boromir to be romantic.Just lots of fluff basically.🤗

I just really enjoy reading how my favorite characters would take care of me when I'm in pain.😅

Thank you 🥰 oh same because I get reallllly bad period symptoms unless I take my supplements long enough before (and sometimes anyway 😣) so I adore being taken care of by my blorbos 🥺 doing everyone because I wanna write this with Faramir & write some wlw fluff 🥰

LoTR Characters When You’re on Your Period (F!Reader)

Warnings: small blood/pain mentions, a suggestive joke

Aragorn

✧ Your exchange is wordless; Aragorn sees the way you jolt at a sudden shock of pain, catches your eyes and gives you an inquisitive nod. You nod back and that is that, no questions asked.

✧ If you are traveling, your pace slows and Aragorn will hear no two words about it. He allows more breaks, hunts twice as hard, directs you to the softest place to sit and just gives the others firm looks if they try to give complaint.

✧ “Please,” he’ll urge you gently, taking your hand in his, “try to eat something. You’ll need your strength.” Just the sound of his voice, the care therein, practically brings tears to your eyes.

✧ Honestly, it takes a lot for him to suppress his laughter if you snap at one of the others, at least when your outburst is warranted. Glance over and you might catch him giving them an ‘I warned you’ look.

✧ Takes on more fights for you, bidding you to stand back and let him take care of things for once.

Legolas

✧ Perplexed but very concerned when he comes upon the sight of you sprawled out with a grimace of pain across your beautiful face. His first motion is to help you up, secondly asking what ails you. While he looks at you like he does not understand, his actions suggest otherwise.

✧ Every month he learns to follow it, the moon his reminder, and every month Legolas silently begins his gathering. Your favorite tea? Check. Your comfort item? Perfectly clean and ready to hand off. Your bedding? Also perfectly clean and assembled just how you like it. Even Legolas’s words are softer, more understanding in case of sudden complaint or upset.

✧ “It’s like you know what I want before I want it.” “Knowing you,” Legolas replies with a smile, “is my greatest joy.”

✧ Good luck trying to stand on your own; Legolas all but hovers around you, offering a hand whenever you attempt to rise.

✧ He becomes extra protective, taking hold of you by the waist at the first sound or sight of danger, lest anything make it worse.

Boromir

✧ All but bursts into your room the moment he hears that you are bedridden, rushing to take your hand and ask you what has happened in a whisper you can’t help a faint chuckle at before you explain.

✧ Taken visibly aback, Boromir then shakily asks what he can do, smiling when you tell him just to stay with you. “Pretend it’s a wound from some great battle,” you joke. “Oh, indeed,” he agrees before you two begin coming up with more and more ridiculous fights and scrapes you got into, Boromir’s thumb drawing circles over the back of your hand.

✧ He offers to try rubbing where it hurts, applying faint warm pressure over where your lower half is assaulting you. “How is this, my love?”

✧ Uses you having any difficulty with walking as an excuse to pick you up and carry you on his back.

✧ Does your washing up, partially just to prove your teasing about him not being brave enough wrong! He is a warrior, after all.

Gimli

✧ The others alert Gimli in a hiss after he less-than-tactfully panics that you’ve been hurt, sending his lips pursing into a shocked ‘o’ and his gaze sliding back to your stooped form.

✧ “Oh, er, well there lassie, if you need anything at all you know who to call for.” “Well,” you groan, “if you’ve any spare rags I’ll gladly take them.” “Rags? What would you want with…oh. Oh.” “Scared of a little blood, Gimli?” “No, not I,” Gimli replies despite his shaken expression, “I’m so used to the stuff by now, what’s the trouble?”

✧ Insistent as he is that dwarves are the best carers of their women, Gimli quickly works to prove his point and, in his words, win your heart with the lot of it. You’re skeptical when you see him sticking rocks in the fire, but at the end of the day the warmth is heaven upon your aching body and Gimli looks just as pleased as you feel.

✧ He probably also recommends you a strong drink under the claim that it eases pain like nothing else. Whether this is helpful or not is up to you.

✧ Goes surprisingly soft when you curl up, still facing wave after wave of cramps. Reaches over to you and strokes your hair, sitting at your side looking for all the world like a guard dog.

Frodo

✧ Your pain is interrupted by a gasp that has you looking up, meeting Frodo’s wide blue eyes glistening with concern at your sudden jerk. Familiar as Frodo is with pain, he recognizes your motion without a single question.

✧ Urges you to sit or lie still, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head like punctuation.

✧ While you rest up, Frodo tells you stories, stories of his uncle Bilbo’s adventures, tales from the days of the elves, anything to send you to a different place then you currently must be in.

✧ Offers you extra blankets or his cloak if you’re feeling cold or in need of comfort.

✧ Shy as he can be, in your time of need his hands hardly leave your shoulders or your side, quite protective even if he is smaller than you.

Sam

✧ “Whoa, easy there,” Sam tells you as he sits you down, “what happened?” Poor thing thinks you got some bad news or something the way you’re tearing up.

✧ Holds you close to his chest as you let the tears flow, shaking his head when you start to tell him it’s stupid, you’re just in pain and upset. “Can’t think of any more reasonable reasons to cry. Don’t worry, just let it all out.”

✧ Such a sweetheart, he won’t leave your side for hardly anything….except to go pick you some flowers to raise your spirits, of course!

✧ Flushes a bit at the suggestion, but one hundred percent helps you undress and change into more comfortable clothes. Even if he tries to look shyly away as much as possible.

✧ Definitely cooks you something hearty and nutritious, encouraging you to eat even just a little bit. Sam will even hand feed you spoonfuls if you’re feeling bad enough.

Merry

✧ “Oh, yeah, I know all about that!” “You do?” “Sure, I saw what my father did for Mum, after all. Come here.”

✧ Apparently what Mr. Brandybuck did for the missus was to build her the most massive nest of pillows known to Hobbit-kind. “And what’s she do in here?” You ask, waving a hand feebly over your new home. “Well, not sure what they did after that but I think I’ve heard of a way to lessen the pain.” Whether that works or earns him a smack you can decide.

✧ From your pillow pile you become queen of, well, Merry at least, though he puts on an act of being scared of displeasing you at first. You can’t help laughing as he kneels before you, asking what snacks you request or if you’d like some water.

✧ Meriadoc “chugs respecting women juice” Brandybuck has silently vowed to never once make any ill jokes at your expense. No asking if it’s your time if you express any emotion he doesn’t, no teasing you for needing help, no acting like said help is too gross for him, ever.

✧ That being said, he even does your washing up for you!

Pippin

✧ Definitely more the type to fret and worry, hands going to your back as you double over and he asks what’s wrong, are you hurt? Whether your words are sheepish or unabashed, you tell him it’s your womanly cycle and Pippin’s eyes practically pop out of his lovely little head. “O-oh. What should I do?”

✧ His cluelessness is actually perfect for the situation because he truly will do anything you say will help, whether it’s bottling up some hot water, fetching you your favorite snacks, making you tea, even singing you a song if you tell him it’ll raise your spirits.

✧ His absolute favorite thing to do, though, is offer company, tumbling onto the bed with you and chatting the afternoon away.

✧ This quickly evolves, though, and soon Pippin is holding you for dear life, an arm wrapped around the front of you where he draws warm, gentle circles lightly over your pain.

✧ “This isn’t so bad, is it?” You swat him for that, but in spite of yourself cuddle closer and join his sheepish laughter.

Faramir

✧ No questions asked, Faramir is by your side stroking your hair and getting it out of your face if it falls so.

✧ Musing over the strength it takes to fight such internal battles, he cradles you in his arms or, if you prefer not to be touched, holds your hand as he sits at your side.

✧ Well-read as Faramir is, some pain remedies swim to the forefront of his mind and he goes off to seek them.

✧ When you lie down, he tucks you in so softly, that sparkle in his eyes you love so much twinkling just for you. “This will pass,” he whispers.

✧ Blames himself if you get upset sometimes, but is reassured and happy again when you tell him he need never pull away from you.

Eomer

✧ Confused, frankly, at why you suddenly can’t walk, for he cannot conceive of a reason until you admit this is unfortunately quite normal for you.

✧ Asks you why, frowns in greater confusion and sympathy when you say you do not know, acts a little bit uncomfortable about details but still sets out to aid.

✧ Too uncomfortable to ask his sister, he opts instead to seek out a healer and practically demand anything that helps with a woman’s “well, time.” He’s getting the spirit slowly but surely, alright?

✧ Bursts into your room with an armful of everything the healer has, ready to brainstorm solutions to have you right again. You can’t help but chuckle at the whirlwind you’ve just gone through all over some cramps.

✧ He gets quite restless until you call him to your side, asking him to quit fretting and just lay with you. “Ah, that I can do,” he says with a grin.

Haldir

✧ Haldir’s steady expression drops when he learns of your ailment. Everything else he is holding or doing drops as soon as possible, too, and he is going to you.

✧ Taken aback at the sight of you, he realizes he did not know a woman’s cycle could take such a toll as to leave you bedridden. He isn’t used to seeing you so weak and is ready to do what it takes to end it.

✧ He has all these wonderful scented oils, some of which help you sleep, some of which he uses to massage you and hopefully numb the pain.

✧ In addition, he guides your breathing through waves of the ache, looking to the breeze and the rhythms around you to help you relax your body that much more.

✧ Haldir is hesitant to show you excess affection, but if you request it, his arms snake around your waist and he holds you there, both of him breathing you in like you’re all he needs and vice versa.

Eowyn

✧ “Sit down, please, I insist.” As much as Eowyn herself is the type to trudge forth through pain or fear, she would never impose the same upon you, instead tending so gently to you.

✧ Hot water always helps her, so she fetches you some as well as a treat from a baker she passed by, taking your hand after she hands it off.

✧ You had best believe this woman will tell anyone in the whole of Middle Earth to leave you alone as you rest, be they her own kin or the host of the dark lord himself.

✧ As you spend more time together, the old adage about ‘synchronizing’ seems to ring true with you both. Eowyn does not mind, honestly, because you bear the pain together and spend much time together in bed. Not the most ideal of circumstances, but if she can lay in the warmth of your arms Eowyn is a happy woman indeed.

✧ She insists so much upon your care, though, that you’ll practically have to wrestle her down so you can reciprocate…not that she minds that, either!

Arwen

✧ Who better to understand what you are going through? Her brows knit at the first sign of discomfort from you, recognizing the signs immediately.

✧ Without a word Arwen is finding out exactly what you tend to prefer- do you get nauseous and seek relief? Do you desire more sustenance and company or less?

✧ During times when you find yourself more stressed or upset than average, Arwen gives you so much grace, running her hand soothingly down your arm and reminding you all weights feel heavier right now.

✧ For all your pain, there is little bliss like being in the arms of your beloved, her soothing deep whispers brushing your ear.

✧ The most patient if you’re forced to wake up frequently in the night and rise, laying there with nothing but love in her eyes as you return.

Elrond

✧ Wise lord and healer as he is, Elrond is more than familiar with the ailments of women. In fact, he is the sort to track it for you as best as he can. So when he sees you feeling ill, sympathy crosses his serene features but no surprise.

✧ Elrond knows every remedy in the book, so he’s quickly making you some calming tea and sitting you down for some TLC.

✧ Very encouraging for you to take time for yourself and make sure you stay nourished, even if that is difficult. There is no shame in keeping your strength up, after all.

✧ Walks with you just a little ways behind, a hand resting comfortingly upon the small of your back.

✧ Sends cover for you where you are needed, no questions asked, because you are more important than tasks others can perform.

Lindir

✧ Practically trips and falls over himself running to you at your sudden shock of pain, dark eyes wide at the way you folded. You seem embarrassed to tell him and while he feels squeamish at first, that is quickly shaken off as he urges you to sit down.

✧ From that moment on Lindir has dubbed himself your personal nursemaid, naught but the call of Lord Elrond himself taking him from his work.

✧ “No, no, lie back down, I can get it,” he holds out a cautious, almost panicked hand when you wince and sit up, “what is it?”

✧ Sings you songs of all kinds, old tales, his own compositions, and of course your requests, again and again if you ask them of him. His harp is ready to gently play you to sleep or just to keep your mind off the pain you feel.

✧ When you wake up in the night, at first he looks frustrated, but that melts away quickly as your eyes meet, apology shining in your gaze. Instead, Lindir helps you up and sings you to sleep again upon your return.

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 2 months ago

Text

Obsidian Salt III

Summary: Demon!Rhys' plan for the Solstice comes to a head

Content Warnings: Dark!Rhys, Mental Manipulation, DubCon, Slight NSFW; a dash of slut-shaming/body issues; mentions of blood and burns, nothing super graphic.

Part One / Part Two

-------

There is only one thing I can be absolutely certain of: I have no control of my body. Flames dance from my fingers, the color and shape of them wrong. It’s not the orange and yellow hues it should be, but shades of blue and purple that don’t burn, no matter how much pours from my fingers. My skin doesn’t blister. The heat doesn’t touch me. Stranger still, I can’t feel the pull in my chest that tells me I’m using too much energy, even though I should. The words on my lips are a spell in a language I know I don’t speak, but they flow off my tongue as if it is all I have ever known.

Worse still, I can’t remember what it is exactly that I do and don’t know. There is only this thick darkness in my skull and the flames that glitter around my fingers like tiny Sprites. There is nothing before this, and nothing ahead of this. Only now, watching the pile of tomes and old books burn on the charred forest floor. A blood moon rises swiftly ahead of us.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, Witchling?” My companion’s voice is a lover’s purr, rich and silky next to my ear as he watches from over my shoulder. I can’t remember where or when I met him. All I know is that I want more of his approval. I think I might do anything for it as his hands settle on my hips. My head feels strangely empty of everything except him and the strange fog, but I don’t entirely mind the quiet, as long as I get the reward of his lips and body against my own.

“Mhm,” I hum, leaning back against the firm planes of him.

His hands slide under my shirt and skim higher, his claw tipped hands drifting with enough pressure to make me shiver without drawing blood. “We’re almost free of them.”

I take my lower lip between my teeth and bite down against the whimper threatening to slip out of me as his hands come up to cup my breasts. My body is not my own because it’s his. I crave every bit of affection he’ll give me, every touch and kiss and whisper of breath against my flushed skin feels like a gift.

“Why start by burning books?” I ask, trying not to sound so needy by moaning like I want to when he gives my nipple a harsh tug. My body betrays me in the end, chest arching into his touch, practically begging for more.

“No spells to counter us,” he replies. I know he can feel my desperation, know he’s egging it on by rocking the hard length of his erection into the supple flesh of my ass, but his hands slide back down my body, robbing me of the pleasure I so furiously crave.

His hands stop at my hips, claws dipping into my skin as he holds me in place. “Not yet, Little Witch. You’ll have your fun once we’re done here.”

I tilt my head back against his shoulder, pouting, hoping he might change his mind as I rock my ass back into him.

One of his hands leaves my hip to grab me firmly by the throat. “Don’t be greedy. You’ll take what I give you, when I decide to give it to you.”

My body freezes, held by some invisible grip even as he releases me. The loss of contact makes panic swell in my chest. “I’m sorry! I’ll focus.”

The hard lines of his face, distorted in the firelight, soften just a bit. “Good girl.”

The panic settles in my chest as the invisible grip on my body falls away. That’s better, even if he doesn’t put his hands on me again as he motions me away from the dying embers of our book pyre. At least I have him close.

Rhys walks with his hands in his pockets now, wings tucked tight behind him. His gate is unhurried, as we stride through the quiet woods, the blood moon lighting the way. I think its arrival might be important, but I have no memories of why.

“The witches will be gathering soon,” he says. “They’re expecting you.”

Violet eyes glance over my attire and he adds, “You’ll need to change.”

I don’t question him as he steps onto a well worn trail and follows it all the way to a house. My house. The memory of it comes back into focus as if it had been lifted out of a fog, though it looks strange to me now. The runes along the foundation look like they were made by children, the wards they cast are flimsy at best. Strange, I’d always thought they were the best in the neighborhood.

“You see them as I see them,” he explains as he lifts a clawed hand and tears right through the glittering ward. “Key is in your pocket.”

Right. I slide my hand into the pocket of my jeans and find the key along with a couple crushed pieces of dried rosemary. What the hell was I doing with it?

I slide the key into the lock and step into the dark house. It’s utterly silent, all the lights off. When I reach for the light switch, Rhys bats my hand away. “The neighbors don’t need to know we’re here.”

I somehow know my way around in the dark, even as the memory slowly returns, slipping out from the fog like a frightened prey animal. My room is the smallest, crammed into the attic, my footsteps echo on the stairs as we walk, but Rhys makes no sound. If anyone was in the house they would have assumed I was alone. Every once in a while I have to glance back over my shoulder to make sure he’s still there.

He only lets me turn the lights on in my cramped bedroom once he’s sure there are no windows to give us away. The sight of him having to duck to not slam his head against the slanted roof is amusing enough to make the risk worth it. He settles himself on my bed after a moment of knocking things around with his wings, long legs folded beneath him on my worn quilt, a frown crossing his handsome features.

“I’ve seen prison cells with more space,” he huffs.

I go to the wardrobe jammed in the corner, the old oak doors hanging on by a single, rusted hinge that squeaks when it opens. I wince as I start pushing old sweaters and jackets around, unsure of what I’m looking for. “What’s the dress code for this?”

The apex talon on his left wing scrapes against the wall, slashing through the worn wallpaper, and he huffs as he wraps the leathery membrane around himself like a cocoon. “Fucking witches. All so godsdamn small!”

Once he’s sure he’s not going to wreck anymore of the decor, he turns his attention back to me and I feel heat rush through me once more as those violet eyes roam over my body. “You’ll look good in black.”

A blush works its way up my cheeks as I start pushing pastel sweaters and multicolored t-shirts out of my way, looking for anything black. There’s a small, lacey thing tucked in the back and I have a distinct memory of someone telling me not to wear that to some function or another but the details or fuzzy. All I know is that someone, somewhere, made me feel small the last time I’d worn it. And I will never let anyone make me feel like that again.

I pull it out of the wardrobe and hold it out for Rhys to see. Something about him heightens all my worst emotions. My anger feels tenfold. My insecurities have tripled. I need him to quiet one and use the other, that much I do know.

His fangs glint in the witchlights the bob from the ceiling as he takes it in. “Certainly not the attire of a virgin sacrifice.”

A shadow from within the fog lets me see my grandmother’s threat from yesterday and I ball the dress in my hands up in my fists. “I’m no one’s sacrifice!” There’s something… different in my voice, and whatever it is makes the witchlights shutter.

Rhys only grins triumphantly at the sight. “That’s my girl.”

I take a shuddering breath to calm the pulsing of something I feel in my veins, something I can’t identify, something I don’t remember possessing before. Something that belongs to Rhys just as much as I do. It starts with a buzzing feeling in my spine, where his sigil sits.

“I’m going to go change.” A tendril of shadow snakes out from underneath his wings and snags me by the wrist, pulling me towards where he sits on the bed before I can even take a step towards the door.

“Why so shy?” He teases, wings unfolding enough for him to reach out a clawed hand and brush it against the buttons on my jeans. “What are you afraid I’ll see?”

I shiver at the contact, my legs moving on their own accord until my knees bump against the bed frame. He has such complete control over me, I don’t know if he even knows it. “I’m not afraid of anything!” I try to protest but my voice shakes when I speak.

He grins as his claws retract to let him pop the buttons open, large hands slowly pushing the loose fabric down my hips. It is an effort to stand still, to not climb into his lap and straddle him right here in my ratty bedroom.

Once the fabric is past my thighs my jeans fall to the floor in a pool around my ankles on their own accord, his callused hands now stroking up my exposed flesh to reach for the hem of my sweater. I am no blushing virgin, but I have never been this aroused by a simple action before either. I find myself biting my lip as I watch the way his hands move over my body. I’m scared if I move too fast or make too much noise he’ll stop, just like he did earlier, leaving me empty and cold in the loss of his touch.

He leans forward on his knees, wings parting just enough to let him lean forward without batting into the walls, to brush his lips over my stomach as he removes the sweater inch by inch. Every second passes by like an hour, his kisses slow and unhurried as if we have all the time in the world.

I squeeze my eyes shut as his lips ghost over my ribs, nose brushing up against the band of my bra. His lips are so plush and warm, I can’t help but wonder what they would feel like wrapped around my nipple. The thought makes heat pool between my legs and I instinctively clench my thighs together, looking for some form of friction to take the edge off.

He nips teasingly at the valley between my breasts, but leaves my bra in place as he finally pushes the sweater over my head and onto the floor. “Aren’t you pretty,” he purrs.

I can’t stop myself from leaning forward, one hand braced on his muscular shoulder to keep myself from falling directly into his lap. I need to kiss him. I need to have his lips back on mine.

He chuckles wickedly as he stops me with a hand on my throat, squeezing just enough to halt my movements. “What did we talk about earlier, hm?”

“Please, Rhys,” I whimper.

“After we’re done,” he promises, unbothered by the effect he has on me, knowing I’m so totally at his mercy and desperate for any attention. I think he likes keeping me here. Likes knowing he can dangle pleasure within reach and then rip it away from me before I can truly have a taste. It might be the most effective way to keep me from looking into what we’re doing and I am a fool who keeps falling for it, but anytime I start to question why I allow it, the fog returns in my head and all the questions disappear in a rush. Just as they do now.

My eyes feel heavy and my head empty as I nod, the movements of my body foreign, like a puppet being jerked around on a string.

He pulls the dress over my head with the same slow, teasing pace as he’d taken off my clothes, and it only makes the heat beneath my skin all the worse. The dress halts on my upper thighs, just long enough to cover all the important bits, and his hands linger on the hem, fingers tracing strange shapes on the inside of my thighs.

I might be desperate enough to try begging one more time, were it not for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Rhys dissolves into shadow and smoke and dives underneath the bed as the door opens and my Mother strides in, broom still in hand from the flight over.

“What are you wearing?” She says in greeting.

That pulse of anger that had made the lights flicker returns and she glances at it with one, manicured brow raised in surprise.

“I thought it looked nice-”

“You look like a whore,” she returns, hands smoothing over the green cloak dusting her shoulders. If she cares about the new display of power, she doesn’t mention it. Probably thinks it's a fluke. Or perhaps an errant flair of her own magic, she certainly has enough to spare. “Change before you head out. I’m sure your performance tonight will be embarrassing enough as it is without you being seen by everyone in that awful outfit.”

My cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“You told me you were going on a diet,” she continues to chastise. “That dress certainly proves that a lie.”

I run a hand over my stomach self-consciously, but I can’t think through the fog to find an argument.

“Honestly, Y/N, is all this a joke to you?”

“No!” I protest but she cuts me off.

“You certainly could have fooled me! Our family name is on the line here, you understand the reputation you have to uphold, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mother,” I try again, but she continues on like I hadn’t.

“Our family holds the front line against both the human world and the demon one. Do you know how much work that takes, to keep the demons leashed to their dimension and keep those stupid humans in the dark? Do you have any idea the sacrifices we’ve all had to make? The work we’ve all put in?”

“Yes-”

“Do you know how many Sisters I have lost? How many I had to decide to sacrifice to preserve our coven’s strength?”

“I understand-”

“To show weakness is to invite our destruction. This peace you have gotten to grow up in has come at a terrible price. It is not a game.”

“I know-”

“No, you don’t!” She hisses. “Because if you did, then you would have taken your lessons seriously. You would have studied harder. You wouldn’t be an example of weakness today.”

My hands are clenched so hard at my sides my fingernails have left indents in my palms. “I will not disappoint you tonight, Mother.”

“You only have one shot to prove yourself, because if the Salem girl beats you, you’re the sacrifice, you understand that don’t you?”

Rhys’s sigil on my back burns. “I know. She won’t beat me. I’ve been practicing.”

She frowns as she shifts her broom to her other hand. “I wish I believed you.”

She might as well have hit me.

“I have to hunt tonight, there are too many humans on the border.”

And as powerful and proud as my Mother is, she can’t stand there and watch me make a fool of myself. As always, the Coven provides a perfect excuse for her to not be around while I “disgrace the family name” and “make her wish I was never born”. The instances in which she said those very words flood my mind at a feverish pace, spinning round and round like a whirlwind movie performance. The burning at my back spreads all the way to my fingertips and I swear I feel the flicker of a flame between my clenched fists again.

“Do you really think so little of me?” I ask, my voice a lot smaller than I mean it to be.

“I stopped expecting big things from you a long time ago,” she retorts, straightening her cloak again. If she feels any remorse for the words or concern for my wellbeing, she doesn’t show it. I am as expendable as any other witch in the Coven, maybe more since she thinks so little of me. “Just try not to die tonight, ok?”

“I won’t be dying tonight,” I say through my teeth.

She nods, turns towards the stairs, then glances back one last time over her shoulder. “Change before you go.” Those are her parting words for my impending doom?

The door shuts behind her and I lash out and slam my fist into the wall in frustration; the first movement of my body all day that has felt distinctly mine and not so terrible intertwined with Rhys.. The wood groans under my burning knuckles, but worse still, the fading wall paper smolders, the edges burning and crinkling, the smell of melting glue filling the air. I glance down at my hands long enough to see a flicker of those blue flame disappear between my knuckles through the tears brimming my eyes.

Rhys materializes from under the bed, looking annoyed that he can’t stretch out his wings. “That was harsh, even for a Witch.”

I stretch out my hands, palms splayed, no more flames to be seen, even if the wallpaper still smolders. “Is this from you?”

“It’s the amplification of what’s already inside you,” he says.

My Mother’s words still ring in my ears. “There’s nothing inside me.”

He reaches out a hand and tilts my head up to look at him. “We both know that’s not true, Darling.”

I wish I could remember how he came to me; remember which god I needed to thank for bringing him to me. No one understands me like he does. He makes me feel seen, like I’m not entirely a burden. The fleeting moment of control I had over my body disappears, dispelled by this new touch of his hands against my face.

He wipes the tears that slip down my cheeks with his thumbs. “Ready to show them exactly what you are, Little Witch?”

I’m not going to change the dress. And I’m not going to die today either. “Yes.”

He grins wickedly, eyes going all black again. “Then let’s give them a Solstice no one will ever forget.”

Those words are the last thing I remember before the fog takes me completely. There is only darkness and shadow, floating and swirling so intensely around me that I lose sight of everything. I am not a person, I am a thought, tossed around in the dark. Dully, I am aware of sounds. Of a flash of heat on my skin. Of the distant sound of screaming. Terror becomes a companion, but it is never an emotion that comes from me, only something that walks alongside me in the dark. Through it all, there is never a moment that I am not aware of him. His being is as intertwined in the darkness as I am, I think he might very well have been its creator as well as its caretaker. Even here, the brush of him is enough to keep me from thinking too hard about it. The darkness is good and soothing and nothing to fear, no matter what sounds come from outside it.

When he finally sets me free from the darkness, it is in a world once again on fire. What looks like a celebratory parade now lays in cinders, the charred remains of a skeletal figure clutching the melted wheel on the front. The air is heavy with ash, the wind blowing embers across the blood red sky.

There is more screaming. Underneath what once might have been a floral arch, twisted in the burning ribbons are people… no witches, fighting for an escape that doesn’t come as the winged death god that has followed me all day stalks towards them with his claws out, chuckling at their plight.

Something in me recoils, fights against the invisible hands that hold me, just enough to let out a scream of horror as the witches meet a bloody end, the gore splattering across Rhys’s wings. He turns to look at me then, grinning wickedly, no violet in his eyes to be seen, only endless black pits.

The shadow in my skull parts just enough to remind me what he really is: Demon. Prince of Hel.

My hands shake at my sides. My back aches and burns like someone had tried to set me on fire, but I am wholly unscathed compared to the carnage and destruction around me.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

But the fog in my head closes in tighter, sharper now, like talons digging into my skull. I scream as I fall to my knees, but the hands that hold me won’t let me reach for my head. Blue flames still dance from my fingertips, flames I don’t remember unleashing.

“What?” Each word is a battle to get out. “What did I do?”

The blood on his hands is cold as ice as he brushes a hand over my cheek. “What you were meant to do, Little Witch. What they were always scared you could do. Don’t you see? You’re free!”

Free? Whatever the Solstice celebration was supposed to be is irrelevant now, there is only death and fire and it’s all at my hand. The moment guilt starts to creep in, the fog rips it away from me, replaces it with that same need to please him.

“You freed me?”

Invisible hands help me stand again. He braces a hand on my hip to steady me as he brushes his lips over my forehead. The fires seem irrelevant like this. “They’ll never hurt you again. They’ll never hurt us again.”

I can’t remember what he was saving me from. Before I can ask the question, a false sense of gratitude worms its way into my chest. Another gift from him. The more gifts he gives me, the more hollow and cold I feel my insides becoming. My head doesn’t know reality from the world he creates inside my mind, but my heart is another matter. There is something very, very wrong with him. With me. But I am not strong enough to fight it. The sigil at my back burns when I try.

“What now?”

Plush lips brush against mine. My body moves for me, chasing the heat of him. Chasing the blissful pleasure of emptiness that comes when he touches me. His wants are mirrored through me somehow.

“What would you like now, My Little Witch? The rest of the Coven? A throne perhaps? There is nothing in your way. I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

I don’t know that I want anything. Nothing feels real. Nothing but him.

“Want you,” I say, voice a little breathless, as if conjuring up anything of myself from within the fog is a tremendous effort. It certainly feels like it. I don’t know if that’s another gift from him or not. Everything is becoming so very muddled again.

The demon grins as he asks, “And then?”

Images swirl around my head. Each carefully planted by those invisible hands. I am powerless to resist their influence. “No more witches.”

“I couldn’t think of anything better, Darling.”

-----

Tag List:

@girl-math-aint-mathing / @hjgdhghoe / @gloomy-hag / @barb00235 / @scxrletwitches

Thank you for all your patience! <3

#rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #dark!rhys #dark!Rhys x reader #demon!rhys #demon!Rhys x reader #rhys smut #rhysand x reader smut #witchy fic #demon fic #acotar #acotar AU #acotar rhys #spooky szn fic #kinktober #my writings #my fanfic

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afreakingdork · 30 days ago

Note

Hi-a Miss Dork! I just wanna say I absolutely adore your writing (and you’re one of my biggest inspirations on this site)! Anywizzle! I noticed your little requests thing, and figured I’d conquer my social anxiety to send this.

In light of my recent adventures last weekend where I tried to fist fight one of my friends twice my size, would you be interested in a little drabble with our beloved purple boy and a s/o who’s had a little too much to drink, like world is spinning and all types of filters are gone as they speak the first thoughts on their mind kind of drunk. And he’s kind of amused, kind of worried as they stumble around talking nonsense and try to make themselves another drink they clearly shouldn’t have.

Hope you have a great day/night!

*In batman voice* “Justice.”

Writing Request: Drunk Reader x Donnie 🍺

Thank you so much! It sounds like you had a great weekend and I ope you enjoy this as well!

From now until the poll closes, if you can prove to me that you voted Hassan/Mikey in this poll then I will write any short 100-400 word request like below or draw you a doodle of your choosing!

ᴰᶦˢᶜˡᵃᶦᵐᵉʳ: ᴵ ᵃᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᶦⁿ ᵃⁿʸʷᵃʸ ᵃˢˢᵒᶜᶦᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵒʳ ᵉⁿᵈᵒʳˢᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵉᵗᶦᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵒʳ ᶦᵗˢ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉˢᵗᵃⁿᵗˢ.

Teen rated drunken mischief below!

You were gone.

Donnie had just located you and you were gone.

You had to be somewhere.

You couldn't just vanish.

Unless you had one of Leo's emergency portals which, without question, Donnie needed to get away from you in these circumstances.

The fact that he even considered removing your emergency exit talked to what a blight this night was.

You had gone out with friends. It was not an uncommon occurrence. You had been dating far long enough for him to become more than secure. He enjoyed that you were happy and liked to go out with your buddies. You always came home a tipsy snuggle bug which made it more than worth his while; these were all average events.

What wasn't was your drunk texts.

They came in delirious spurts that were basically unreadable.

He thought of them as hieroglyphics written by your gorgeous ass.

He dismissed them as a silly mistake and then received a call.

"DOOONNIIIEEEEE!!!!" You screeched through the receiver at a volume that made him pull the phone away.

"Yes, my sweet inebriated beloved...?" He was wary in bringing the phone back.

"I like you." You giggled like a school kid telling their crush and he almost bed you were about to run away in the form of hanging up.

"Is that so?" He leaned back from the blueprints he was drawing.

"Yeah..." You seemed to ponder.

The bar rumbled static behind your pause. "Having fun?"

"Yeah, totally! They have this deal! Oh, you wouldn't believe! You get this tower. It's like a storm or something and then they serve it and you go like-!" You whooped into a gesture and someone else clearly yelled.

A deep voice responded telling you to watch yourself.

"Listen here, pal!" You shouted.

Donnie was growing pale as he didn't hear the heated response past 'pipsqueak.'

"Oh, it's on!" There was a harsh clatter before the line cut off.

The terminated call screen blinked with a choice to redial.

Donnie hit the button with a quaking thumb.

An automated voice told him the number he reached-

He was at the bar before his blood pressure lowered enough that he could see where he was going. He stormed straight through the packed club and dropped his goggles with a flick of his head. It drowned out the unnecessary noise and kicked up mapping.

There'd be a trail.

There'd be every indication where you had gone.

He had your metrics down to a science.

Heat signatures.

Scent markers.

He could track you no matter where you-

You were dancing on a bar.

He stared on, unblinking, as he brought his goggles up.

You swiveled and dropped your hips to the cheering of your friends and you looked completely uninjured.

He almost didn't even care what happened.

You were safe.

You looked to be having fun.

He sighed at the anxiety he suffered, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

He bet you wouldn't mind his company and headed toward you.

Where you promptly fell from your spot because you backstepped in beat.

You disappeared behind the counter and Donnie ran.

In two leaps he was there and the moment he looked behind the bar, you weren't.

How was that possible?

He hadn't blinked.

You'd gotten into something mystic that had to be it.

His goggles were malfunctioning for not picking it up.

He heard your sweet laughter.

He rose up to see a bartender glowering down at him where he was invading the space.

Donnie shoved right by the man because a sliver of you was sitting on the counter. "Hey!!"

You looked and lit up. "Donnie!!"

You fell straight at him and he had to catch you.

"Again? That's it. Off! Off!" The bartender shooed you.

Donnie carried you as a giggling package away.

"Boop." You tried to poke the tip of his snout and pissed.

You reeked.

Even with all the assaulting scents of the bar, you in particular were exuding a dangerous amount of alcohol. He got you off to a wall before he set you down. Taking a moment to make a mental map with you safely caged by his body, he formed a breathalyzer with his ninpo and offered it to you. "Blow."

"Oh! Demanding tonight." You tittered. "Not even your birthday..."

He waited.

"Unless..." You swayed as you looked over his person. "Did you split the days again?"

"Darling, I implore you, for a moment, could you simply blow into the device."

"What device?"

He held up the glowing object more obviously.

"Why didn't you say so!?" You giggled and grabbed it.

You tongue it more than putting your mouth around it which made him shudder despite having no senses connected to the construction and he reminded you two more times to blow before you finally did with a hefty huff.

The screen ticked and Donnie thought you might have to try again before it decided 0.23% was a good score.

He blinked at it.

He looked at you where you were sliding down out of his hold.

He watched almost mesmerized as you slunk straight to your butt and very ungracefully tried and failed to get on your feet.

"What did you have?!" He squawked.

"Storm!! Whoosh!" You swung your arms.

"That doesn't mean anything! Where are your friends?"

"Where...?" You tried to move again and almost toppled over.

He hoisted you up like a toddler.

This was his night now.

Babysitting.

You were supposed to come back so cute.

Snuggle into his bed.

Instead you were fighting him like a cat that didn't want to be held. "I'll look!"

"No. I will!" Donnie glanced out for an abysmal moment.

He switched to his goggles a second later and saw scans of their paltry analytics going out and getting a cab."

"They ditched you!?"

"No! Who!?" You held his same tone.

"What happened to your phone!?" He turned on you.

You clucked. "Your forehead gets all wrinkly when you yell."

"Phone!"

"Washboard." You sang off-key notes of a bluegrass tune as you tried to play his forehead.

"No!"

He caught your hand.

"No!"

He reinforced his point by sticking his finger in your face.

Your gaze swam and you tried to bit him.

He yanked his hand away.

"Nope! No more! I'm done! I'm calling it! Bar's closed! You're going home! Those friends of yours better not have left the tab!"

"Nooo!!" You drew out your whine. "I want another drink!"

"Absolutely not! Do you want to chance alcohol poisoning?!"

You almost answered, but he hefted you up under his arm.

"Don't answer that as you aren't in the right mind to respond adequately."

You giggled and swung your dangling arms as he brought you to the bar.

it was a struggle as you kept moving, but he eventually got you there after only knocking over a total of two people.

The moment he set you on the counter to keep you out of trouble, the bartender turned on him.

"Not you again! I said no! Get that one off!"

"Fine! After I pay! Give me the stupid tab!" Donnie snapped right back.

The man rolled his eyes and moved to pull the receipt.

Donnie sighed to one side before he rolled his head back to you. "Let's get you some water-WHERE'D YOU GET THAT!!??"

You had a shot glass to your lips

He smacked it clean out of your hand on reflex.

You stared with wide eyes and hands held up to your lips where you were holding the itty bitty cup that had now shattered on the floor.

"You're paying for that!!" The bartender seethed.

"Yeah! Well!" Donnie hated his foolish response, but he couldn't take his attention away from you again.

In this form, you were far more dangerous than any foe he had ever faced.

"You are shaving years off my lifespan." He told you.

The bartender shoved him a receipt and waited with folded arms.

You were kicking your feet to a song that clearly wasn't play.

Donnie looked at the damaged and his nostrils flared at the price.

"What is this!? How much was that tiny glass!? I can gaffer you another!"

"Three spinning hurricanes, two rounds of shots, two beers, a margarita, and that tiny glass along with pain and suffering and my tip." The bartender leaned forward to illustrate he wouldn't be moved.

Donnie wrapped an arm around you to keep you in place as he got out the bills and not so silently muttered the injustice as he paid.

"Thank you, now get the fuck out." The bartender flicked his head toward the door.

"Check your reviews tomorrow and we'll see who's laughing!" Donnie sneered and hefted you like a bag over his shoulder and on the way out.

You kicked two people in the head and he had no idea how to get you home. You were far too wily to fly with in this condition. He needed to sober you up at least a little so you'd be still. That meant locating the closest food truck, which wasn't far off for the district. He paid another exuberant price for a bottle of water and a set of tacos. He chased you down twice as you tried to escape both times and eventually ninpo'd up a leash to keep you tethered to him.

You sulked straight into the offered platter of food where you immediately abandoned all sorrow for elation.

You ate while spilling filling all over your self and the ground, but Donnie couldn't help but love you.

You were the dork to match his.

You had probably dealt with far stranger after the potion fiasco that had split up his personality.

You drank heartily from your bottle and came away with a satisfied puff.

"Good?" Donnie from where you'd eventually sat own on the dirty sidewalk to eat.

"Good..." You nodded and the motion seemed to come at least a little easier to you. "Where... What happened to my friends?"

"I have no idea." He responded.

You looked up and seemed to sort of register your location. "Ugh. Did... Did i fight a guy?"

He shook his head with the same unknown.

"Must have won." You told yourself with confidence.

"Clearly." He chuffed.

"Buzzing..." Your head tipped.

You weren't moving all that much and seemed to be in a bit of a stupor. "Let's go."

"Kay." You set your trash down to leave, but he scooped it up to toss.

You didn't run away while he did so. You actually slung your arms around his neck when he went to pick you up. He held you close and flew evenly back to the closest entrance to the lair. He counted that as a win as he descended to land.

Dreams of showers and extra steamed cuddling were close at hand.

"Gonna be sick..." You burped over his shoulder.

In an instant shattering, Donnie turned his night over to patting your back while you vomited in an alley and tending to you until you recovered enough in the morning to kiss him gratitude for his care.

He supposed that was just as good.

#me #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing request #requests open #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #donatello hamato #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt Donnie #rally until the tally #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt donnie x reader #rise donnie x reader #tw alcohol

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eenslaved · 2 months ago

Text

The Lawson Brothers' Cow

The Lawson brothers brought their cow in that morning for her check-up. Jenna had been with the boys a long time; they'd been high school sweethearts way back then and after graduation she'd moved in with them.

Her transformation into their sweet, dumb cow had taken place after she'd turned 21. The three of them had talked about it but Doc Evans had doubts about whether the girl truly understood what it meant, or if she had any inkling of just how far down to subhuman status her owners would want to bring her.

Well she knew now. She was now a 22 year old pregnant cow whose owners kept her locked up and chained, and had decided to breed her just over three months ago.

The twins brought her in blindfolded, gagged, and collared, her wrists cuffed together behind her back, her ankles hobbled on a short tether. A chain linked her wrists to one of the rings on the stout collar clasping her neck, and it kept her head up and pulled back.

They had her trapped between the two of them, each of them firmly clasping one of her elbows, and they were patient as she took each shuffling, mincing step down the hall to his office, never rushing her, just murmuring soft sounds of praise as they guided her into the clinic.

"Good to see you boys," Doc Evans said, as the twins guided their cow into position for the examination.

Doc Evans took Jenna's weight, blood pressure, and took her temperature rectally. He brought a special scale over and lifted each udder onto it one at a time. They helped her squat for a urine sample, and there was barely any hesitation at all before she released her bladder. The Lawson brothers had been serious and thorough in their work of turning Jenna into her cow. Nowadays she pissed when and where they told her to, no matter who was watching.

The cows were never milked before their check-ups, whether that took place at the clinic or at their homes. Jenna's udders were painfully hard, the long nipples erect. Doc Evans gave each teat a testing pinch before expertly forcing the cow to express a fine spray of milk. He fastened his mouth on each teat and drew in the warm liquid; the taste test was one of his favorite parts of the inspection.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again, your cow produces some of the finest tasting milk in this county," Doc Evans pronounced. "You boys are real strict with her diet, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir," one of Jenna's owners replied.

"You can taste the benefits of that."

"Yes, sir, we believe so."

"Now let's get her on the table and take a look at what the ultrasound shows us today."

Cows did not get to sit in a chair like female women did. Jenna knelt on the exam table, the paper crinkling beneath her, as the boys guided her into place. She flattened her udders beneath her as she lowered her forehead to the table, widening her stance for the probe.

"Babe looks good," Doc Evans reported. "Good heartbeat."

Jenna was having a boy, though none of them told her that. She wouldn't know the sex of her child until she gave birth. All discussion of her health and body was held between the doctor and her owners.

"Let's get Jenna hooked up and we can talk in my office while her udders are being drained," Doc Evans said.

They left the blindfolded and bound cow kneeling on a mat on the floor, suction cups attached and drawing forth her milk. Jenna made a few whimpering sounds of relief but then she settled down to wait, grateful they were milking her at last.

Sam and Jacob had told her that they would only fuck her mouth, ass, and udders after she was impregnated, and they had kept their word. They always kept their word. She was so damn horny all the time these days and she really missed having them in her pussy. Yesterday the boys finished their work on the farm early and they spent the extra hour working her over, Sam taking her mouth while Jacob dominated her bottom-hole until not even Sam's cock stuffed in her mouth could silence her squeals of pain. Then they held her down and spread open between the two of them while Sam licked and sucked her throbbing pussy and Jacob played with her udders until milk was leaking and spraying all over her and she was coming like a geyser, having no choice of it at all.

#huc0w #hucow fantasy #hucow training #sharing wife #shared girlfriend #bd/sm kink #bdsmplay #story by eenslaved #lactating kink #lactating breasts #lactating girl

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nart-is-a-monster · 2 months ago

Text

The following post contains people hating on a character on a skirt and a brief mention of sa and unaliving, please if any of those is something that triggers you skip the post and take care of yourself.

lets begin with the boundaries that i have

I do not feel comfortable with minors going to this or my nsfw acc simply because, is not a safe place for you to go (not even social media too but that's a different talk)

I do not like people going into any of my acc's to send my draws or content to minors bc... bitch do i even have to explain how fucked up that part is?

And last but not least; if you're going to talk shit about me at least talk shit with bases and evidence, how do you not have the first and most important rule about gossip? like??????

booooo tomatoes tomatoes tomatoes tomatoes tomatoes tomatoes tomatoes

I will not name anyone that was involved because first of all,they are minors and even tho they are old enough to know that what they're doing is wrong, naming them could do more harm than good and I think they are able to change if they just accept that their actions have consequences.... I'll be also using neutral pronouns for the ppl involved.

if you know the ppl that are in the screenshots please don't share their social media or acc's to avoid them getting harassed, also please don't harass the people mentioned here.

with that being said!

this situation has been happening for i think the last month when someone informed me about someone talking shit about my art on a private discord server.

I think that the concept of blocking blogs that have stuff that you're triggered or you don't vibe with is very simple to understand.

the persons that have been talking about how i don't draw normal stuff and how dare i to draw varian in a dress and being cute ohh no god forbid....

I don't know if you can't realize maybe I'm drawing Varian (A CHARACTER THAT DOESNT EVEN EXISTS) as trans masc and trans fem, and that anyone can have their hc and any hc are valid!

IF YOU DON'T LIKE WHAT I DO OR DRAW JUST DON'T FOLLOW ME ¡is that simple!

the situation with the person who is the owner of the server where they talk shit about me has not moderate well the place and allowed ppl to hate talk about a creator who they don't even know, neither talk to, nor they should interact with.

I tried to confront the person by sending them a text message on tumblr, said text message has been ignored and the person simply uploaded a new post back then, so....

also im going to tag this with vat7k bc the problem happened inside the fandom.

screenshots and more details under the cut

how to respect other people's boundaries

aparently y'all need a tutorial

"A certain kind of guided, detailed writing can not only help us process what we’ve been through and assist us as we envision a path forward; it can lower our blood pressure, strengthen our immune systems, and increase our general well-being. Expressive writing can result in a reduction in stress, anxiety, and depression; improve our sleep and performance; and bring us greater focus and clarity."

this is from an article of harvard that explains how writting helps to heal trauma.

remember to inform yourself before talking or using terms you don't know the meaning

trauma bonding definition

what is destructive criticism

I can accept criticism when it comes from a place of pointing out a part of my artwork that can be upgraded or a different technique i could use, or even the pose or the technical aspect of a painting/drawing, what is literally just insulting an artwork because you don't like it and have no grounds for it and is just hate... that's what i don't accept.

criticism and arguments come from a ground of respect from the both sides, not from only straight up hate and disrespect.

that's all i have to say abt it all...

please remember to be safe online and even more if youre a minor

how to be safe online

#vat7k #im tired...#cw a trans fem on a dress #cw a twink on a dress #cw varian #cw dress #cw twink #cw a pixel #cw cw

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will80sbyers · 9 months ago

Text

STRANGER THINGS 5 PRODUCTION MASTERPOST

part 002:

February 7 / 2024

The Stranger Things channel on ig posts pictures at the Hawkins memorial hospital : 1 / 2 / 3

February 9 / 2024

A video from the actress that plays Vickie in st5

Bts pictures of Vickie

Bts picture of Robin at the hospital inside room 110, Vickie has scenes at the hospital too

February 15 / 2024

It seems there are some scenes inside a barn at the farm (Robin, Mike and Will are there) / 2

FIRST LOOK AT WILL IN COSTUME !!!!!!!!!! and Robin my beloved + Mike is also there (Finn is taking the picture)

February 16 / 2024

BTS pics of Ross weeks 5-6 - FIRST LOOK AT NANCY!! lovers lake picture, El with the radio station outfit filming some action scene where Hopper's bracelet breaks, a home made tank for El to use with her powers? a drawing of a black shape/arrow?

February 17 / 2024

Bts pics of the vines inside Hawkins lab

Erica and Joyce are filming together

February 19 / 2024

FIRST LOOK AT HOPPER'S BEARD?

February 20 / 2024

It seems they are filming something that involves Castle Byers: 1 / 2

February 22 / 2024

New bts pictures from the radio station and the woods, with a stunt rehearsal of someone being thrown away / 2 / 3

Bts: scene with RED light where maybe Will is involved? / 2

Bts of the vines (video etc): 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

February 28 / 2024

The Stranger Things channel on ig posts this thing on how to make a remote radio head RRH

Some ideas on what it could mean / 2

Steve & Jonathan are involved

March 1 / 2024

New bts pics from Ross of Weeks 7-8 - FIRST LOOK AT LUCAS AND MAX ON SET!!! It seems the date could be the 12 of november 1987 (or 2 of november 1989… it's not clear, both are a Thursday) A picture of Castle Byers in the UD etc

FIRST VIDEO OF MAX AND LUCAS ON SET BTS

March 4 / 2024

Pictures of the Wheeler's home posted by the ST channel on ig… there will be a scene at the Wheelers where they brainstorm stuff about Vecna? or have breakfast/ a meal together?…and someone is eating doritos? (Mike?): 1 / 2 / 3

March 8 / 2024

Mr. Clarke is back on set? the actor posted this

March 13 / 2024

New bts picture of them filming a scene in ep. 4 (the date of filming in the lower right angle of the picture seems to be around feb. 10-13 ) initially I thought it could be a rink o mania vision but I now think it's in Mike's basement: 1 / 2 / 3

VIDEO OF MILLIE (EL) on set making a coffee dressed as El, she has the same costume of the radio station scenes and blood on her nose, indicating an action scene

March 15 / 2024

Ross posts new pictures of weeks 9-10, FIRST LOOK AT HOPPER! + random background details

Picture of the kids in the Party hands posted by Ross 😭❤️❤️❤️

The full picture of Hopper

March 21 / 2024

New pictures from the set they seem to be shooting scenes with the military

March 22 / 2024

Ross posts the FIRST LOOK AT WILL BYERS!!!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SON💞 ( in one of the pictures he seems to be inside the radio station bunker because of a suitcase being there and also radio equipment around, the other picture is at Castle Byers with a new actor playing Young Will so it could be a flashback or a vision or something like that!! ) Jonathan is in that scene too

March 27 / 2024

They start filming at a mansion that's situated at the Smoke and Rise country club in Atlanta. Eleven was there and has a scene screaming so there's some action going on, Will was also seen there later on and he looks like he has make up on like he's experiencing the effect of possessions or not feeling well. Nancy was seen there dressed with something that resembles a candy stripers costume of a volunteer nurse, Steve's car was parked outside with the radio station van and there's an antenna over Steve's car... (my theory now is that in the pre vis something makes the antenna go down into the car for the pressure, like something hitting the car from outside that breaks it)

Still at the mansion we have two stand-in actors that have been seen, one of them seems to be called Derek and he could be either a new character or using a fake name (he kinda looks like Jonathan) and there's also this audition for a kid called Derek...

Pictures of the mansion and the decorations, a dragon, butterflies etc... 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

A look of the entire house, old pictures from Google street

April 2 / 2024

My speculation from the video of the wardrobe of s5, Max could be wearing this jacket at some point during the season

April 3 / 2024

There's the neighbourhood watch at Hawkins

April 4 / 2024

Pictures from the Instagram channel, Karen is having a bubble bath, more flashbacks from the rainbow room and Hawkins massacre and something is being filmed inside the Wheeler's house

April 6 / 2024

Eddie's actor says he knows if Eddie is coming back but he's not gonna say it...

April 7 / 2024

Not sure about this but it could be a new decoration around the mansion

April 9 / 2024

Some new pictures from the filming at the mansion and it seems Joyce and Hopper are there in that scene too, parked outside... There's also a video and the lights make it look like maybe the police is involved!

Millie posted a new old picture of her in character with the vines of the upside down in the background

to be continued...

part 001 / part 003

#st5 production #st5 #byler #st5 spoilers #stranger things #stranger things 5 #stranger things 5 spoilers #st5 production masterpost part two #st5 production masterpost #st5 filming

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y11irfilm · 4 months ago

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violet – chapter 4

qimir x f!reader | chapter 1, chapter 2 & chapter 3

summary: she had no direction. a nomad who didn't choose a side. but when a vision makes her save people, she has to face her mind in the worst way possible: on a planet made of water with the man who reminds her of her past.

content: pov qimir, reader has a nickname, mention of deaths, power bond, a kind of “chosen one”, dark past, sexual tension, dark confessions, romantic feelings developing, kisses | wc: 2300+

notes: hello, another chapter of “light and darkness” (and penultimate chapter) that has now turned only violet because i wanted to change the look and it also made more sense to this name. this time, the vision will be totally the first person of the qimir, which was a mission for me but i loved doing it. i made this vision thinking totally of the feelings of a bad guy who just wanted an acolyte but found a feeling that for me should be a mess for them. — english is not my first language!

It was barely dawn when I found her on the beach.

She was wearing her nightdress, her hair was tied up and her feet were stuck in the sand.

Her eyes were closed, her breathing was irregular and her saber was in her hands. I heard her take a deep breath and let it out, her mouth gazing for seconds at the saber. She began to move the saber in slow steps, without turning it on yet.

I'd known about her ability since the forest planet case, but watching how controlled and precise her movements were, my choice was certain.

I crossed my arms over my chest, allowing myself to continue watching her until she realized my presence, which I found difficult at the moment.

She made her movements faster and faster, walking along the beach, marking her presence in the fight and sinking her feet firmly into the sand. I could feel the confusion in her mind from last night's events. She took it out on each blow in the air. She was conflicted. I let a smile appear on my face, she was becoming more connected to her power every day and allowing herself to feel her true feelings about everything around her. That was what I wanted most, the power of the two of us together against the galaxy. Desire grew in my body.

I took a step forward, then froze. I could no longer move my body anywhere. I looked up again to see if she was all right, but she was more than all right. Her left hand was raised towards me and her eyes were still closed. She was using the Force to stop me.

"Hey, jellyfish, open your eyes. It's no fun arresting someone who's not in the fight."

Its eyes slowly opened. Red. They were a blood-red shade that surprised him. How? I not only knew, but sensed that she wasn't on the dark side yet, just small steps away from a doubt I'd planted in her head a few weeks ago. Was her father as bad as he said? After watching for a few seconds, I saw them return to the dark brown I had been watching for so long.

I felt my pressure return to my body as she lowered her hand, so I began to walk until I was a few steps away from her body. I watched as her head slowly turned to the side and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Jellyfish?"

I smiled. "You seem innocent to look at, but you have dangerous tentacles. Or I may have seen you draw one of them in the sand while on one of my walks."

"It was my father's favorite sea animal. He swam with them, felt a strong connection and taught me to love them as if they were my sisters." I could feel the good taste of recalling childhood memories, she seemed at peace. "They used to call me Medusa. I miss them." I tried to find words to continue the conversation, but my thoughts were muddled. With each new piece of her past life, I become a man desperate for more and more.

"I'm going swimming."

I heard his words in the back of my mind while still stuck in the same conflicting thoughts. When I turned my head to look at her, I knew she was shining like a fucking star. I didn't remember feeling my heartbeat like that. I felt my feet take over, water getting into my clothes and my arms moving through the water towards her. I watched her sink for a few seconds and raise her body to the surface again, her eyes going towards me with a smile lighting up her face. She turned her body towards the ocean trail, moving her arms to either side and swimming away again.

"Hold on, wait a minute." I tried to keep up with her, but her nickname was true, she was a jellyfish. Medusa was born to be swimming in the ocean. I could hear her let out a few muffled laughs over the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks near the shore.

She was several meters away from me, stopping and turning her body towards me, making me stop. "Too slow for a person who lives on a planet covered in water, I'm disappointed." I couldn't remember when a smile appeared on my lips, but she noticed. "It's beautiful, it's kind. It's you." I didn't need to think to know what that meant for her. "It's a gigantic wall inside your mind, let the dark king rest for a while." Medusa slowly swam towards me and stopped a good distance away, I could feel her gaze piercing the wall. I waited for her next move, trying to anticipate and prepare my reactions. I felt drops of water splashing onto my face. She had moved her hand and splashed water on my face. Letting out a big laugh at knowing that I really wasn't expecting it.

Medusa began to walk away again, waiting for my footsteps. I just knew I had to bring her to me. I moved my arms to start swimming towards her, watched her raise her head a little and let the big laughs come out of her throat as she ran away from me. It was a beautiful sound that I wanted to hear more often.

Thoughts of a plan were emerging in my mind, and I automatically began to put it into practice. I sank into the water, using my control to avoid being found. I moved my arms quickly towards the aura I felt of jellyfish. On the count of three, I submerged back to the surface, placing my hands on his hips and pulling him to my body. "Gotcha."

Sun star. That's how I could describe his smile at that moment. "Congratulations, king." I felt a tightening in my chest. She moved her hand to one of the loose ends of my hair and tucked it behind my left ear. I felt her fingertips lightly touch my face before her hand fell back into the water. It was like a hot day, my body was burning.

The tightness in my chest continued until it was unbearable. I put one of my hands next to my chest, leaving the fabric of the robe untouched. Then I saw his irises paint a new art, but it wasn't what I had expected to see before. A violet was filling the irises of her eyes, while her smile was lighting up my heart. With one hand still on her hip, I pulled her closer, diving into her eyes.

"Why purple?" I murmured to the ocean.

She knew exactly what I was asking. "As a child, I remember hearing from the Jedi that blue represented hope and hope was them. Red was the blood of one corrupted to the steps of the dark side." Medusa slowly raised her arms, placing them on either side of my neck. The hairs on my body stood on end. I felt conflicted again. "Purple is just the combination of them. A person who lives on both sides. That's me." She murmured the words in my ear, feeling her nose move from my ear to my cheek and her lips deposit a seal on it.

My eyebrows furrowed. "When did you find out?" I saw her smile slowly disappear, replaced by a look lost in painful memories.

"When he killed her. When, when... When I saw him spit out his own blood the countless times I let the knife be plunged into his chest."

"I took his body in my arms and carried it to the ocean, swimming to them." Medusa closed her eyes for a few seconds and opened them again. The violet was still alive in her irises. "I did what my mother asked, I loved him until the last second. I let him die the way he always wanted to, alongside the countless medusozoa.

I let my hand rest on one of her cheeks, my thumb caressing her skin. I felt a wave pass us and continue with full force to the shore, I turned my face and watched the change in the sea. Medusa was controlling it. Looking at her again, she wasn't noticing her own change, living by recalling her melancholy memories.

I plunged back into her violet eyes, then to her eyebrows, her thin, upturned nose, the rosy apples of her cheeks and finally, her lips. Desire ignited every part of my body. I looked at her, letting my eyes linger on her lips. I longed to kiss her. No, my soul cried out to take her for myself. An animal was born in my chest, ready to take over every cell of her body.

Violet. She looked like a fucking goddess with those piercing eyes, trembling and alive.

"Medusa."

"Qimir."

The weeks of sharing moments in the cave. I opened my eyes as the days dawned, and she was my first sight. Her walks around the planet and my eyes following her as if they needed that to breathe in peace. Preparing food for us to eat in the silence of the ocean, while our gazes met, I couldn't keep the corner of my mouth from twitching into a half-smile as I noticed her trying to look away from the food. Sleepless nights I couldn't help but stare at her contemplating the tranquillity of the darkness, her dark brown eyes illuminating the cave sky with such admiration. "Home, yeah, it reminds me of there." Her words came out like a breath in the air, her gaze continuing upwards, seeming to be talking to someone. I knew who it was. Watching him train on the sandy beach, his feet wet from the water on the shore and his eyes focused on each blow in the air. I could feel his anger draining away in his blows.

Confused feelings. She turns me into a different man every day. A different one that frightened me. I shouldn't be confused, I knew every moment that made her the way she is, but they're moments that haven't made her even ten percent the way she is. I shouldn't be wishing for something like this, I shouldn't be feeling this way about her. But in our gazes, I didn't care about any feelings that were emerging. I just wanted her to look at me more and more.

"What's stopping you?" When she came so close to my face?

"It's going to destroy us, like your parents. We shouldn't be involved in this." I felt a wave form and hit us hard before continuing on to the rocks.

"For the guy who was going to make a massacre, that sounds funny coming out of your mouth." She wrapped her arms around my body, resting her chin on my left shoulder. Whispering into my shoulder: "A man once said that fear is a powerful emotion, when you allow yourself to feel it." I felt his face rise again and come within inches of my face. His violet eyes became my undoing. "You become free."

Those three significant words in their lives came out in one last breath of air from her. My hand went up to her face, my thumb sliding over her lips in immense devotion. My hand moved to her neck, pulling sharply and pressing my lips to hers. A guttural moan escaped my throat as I felt her hand move up to my neck, wrapping around a few locks of my hair and pulling them without any affection. My hand went down to her waist and squeezed the flesh with fervor. Running my tongue across the roof of my mouth as I devoured the tiny sounds emanating from her. The waves began to follow us each in a few seconds with their superhuman strength, but they seemed tiny for what we were feeling at the moment. I felt her other hand wrap around one side of my face, pressing my fingers together. Then I saw it.

Flashes of her running in my arms until she was in the sea, my eyes not leaving her sleeping face. She heard my voice, but couldn't understand the words. I felt a great anguish in my chest, growing with each flash in my mind. Until everything stopped and I was with her again. I abruptly moved a few centimeters away from her, still processing the images in my head.

"Qimir." She moved her hand to my face, but I swam back a few more centimeters. Regret grew in me as my eyes stopped on her hand raised in the air, watching the fingers slowly close and the hand fall back into the water. I stared into her eyes for a few more seconds before turning around and swimming to the shore. I felt her gaze pierce my back as I walked away from the beach, but I held back the urge to turn and look at her again.

I felt his presence next to my bed, lying down and his gaze piercing my back, but I didn't give up. Every second I thought about the torture of ignoring her presence, I remembered the flashes and the anguish in my chest screamed for help. I could feel her doubt growing every second in the few centimeters our bodies were apart.

Her fingers touched my upper arm and the hairs on my body stood on end at the touch. "Qimir." Her breathy voice brought me an ache I hadn't felt in decades. She moved a few centimeters closer until she was leaning her face against my back. It was unbearable to be with her and not be able to glimpse her illuminated eyes. "I can't breathe in peace with you like this." Her face pressed tightly together. "Please."

I couldn't anymore.

My body turning towards her, wrapping my arms around her and squeezing her body to mine. I didn't care about anything else at that moment, just having them in my arms. I would prevent that vision, no matter what I did.

#fanfic #qimir #qimir fic #qimir imagine #qimir smut #qimir the acolyte #qimir x reader #qimir x you #star wars qimir #the acolyte

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meinetranen · 1 year ago

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I have a Miguel o’hara request! It’s the first time him and the reader are intimate together and when he finishes he rips up the bed sheets with his claws coming out at the sametime along with his fangs coming out and attaching themselves to the readers neck and he’s just acting very ferally but then afterwards he’s a little embarrassed and he doesn’t let the reader move to clean themselves up because he wants to keep his cum inside them for as long as possible loving the idea of a part of him being lost inside them like that. Thank u if u do this request if ur busy no pressure ur works amazing !

(I got you and thank you)

FERAL.

18+ MDNI!

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Summary: It's you and Miguel's first time together, and Miguel happens to go feral.

Warning: Smutt, breeding kink, marking (mentions of blood from Miguel's fangs), Miguel loves your boobs, p in v (please use protection its a fan fiction for christs sake), love marks, and I think that's it?

(I do not speak Spanish, so if I make a mistake, please tell me. I do not mind.)

Miguel and you were watching a movie on your bed, but it was quickly forgotten when you two got close, gazing into each other's eyes as you both leaned in, meeting his lips.

The kiss already became so heated as you held onto his shoulders before your hands roamed on his back as Miguel entered his tongue inside your mouth, exploring you.

One of his hands was at your lower back, but the other was on your waist, slowly traveling down your hips.

You didn't stop him.

Miguel's hands went past your pants, meeting the hem of your panties, feeling his heart race against his chest.

Your breath quickens from his motions, and you shudder a little when the tip of his fingers traces your skin and the edge of the fabric. He seems amused by this, just by teasing you and it leaves your clit aching for more to the point you buck up your hips a little towards him.

This turns him on, and his erection only grows as his cock aches in his pants.

Miguel's fingers go past your panties, feeling your wet folds. You let out a soft whimper, feeling his finger rub against you.

"Tell me what you like," he murmurs, his head lowering down to your neck.

"My clit... rub it gently." Your breaths become heavy from the sensation of his fingers and the way he kisses your neck.

"Hmm," he hums. "How many fingers can you handle?"

"Two," you say.

You gasp quietly when he sinks his fangs into your neck, already drawing blood as it trails down your shoulders.

"You can handle one more..." he growled against your skin.

You let out a quiet moan when Miguel begins rubbing at your clitoris at a gentle pace like you said before two of his fingers enter inside of you, pumping them in and out of your cunt.

Miguel's lips never leave your neck, continuing to trail kisses as he sucks on the kiss, leaving marks for people to see.

Then, he enters another finger inside of you, stretching your walls while they clenched around his fingers.

His fingers curl a bit, hitting your g-spot, and you arch your back, your moans filling up the room while the movie is completely forgotten.

"Sabes tan dulce..." he whispers. You taste so sweet...

The pleasure fills your body, and your body is trembling from this satisfaction inside of you. You know you're closer to your climax while your sounds grow louder.

Miguel, however, pulls his hand away, and you whine from the lost feeling. You begin to question why he stopped, but he lays you on bed, bringing his fingers to his mouth.

Opening his mouth, you could see his sharp fangs, but what caught you was that he licked his fingers, taking in the taste of your cunt.

Later, he removes his shirt, showing his exposed muscular upper body, grabbing your hips towards him as you let out a yelp.

"I want you," he lowly says, gazing down into your eyes.

"I want you too," you whisper.

Miguel didn't hesitate, and he helped you remove your clothes before you were lying down beneath him, fully naked.

"Eres tan bella... Simplemente pura perfección." You're so beautiful... just pure perfection.

One of his hands went to your breasts, squeezing them gently as he leaned in, opening his mouth and capturing your hard bud into his mouth, sucking on your nipple.

Your hand went to his hair, gently pulling on it as he seemed to let out a quiet groan.

"Just so perfect... todo mío." He grumbles against your breasts. All mine.

Miguel raises his head away from your breasts as he gazes down at you. His hands went to his pants, unzipping them as he let out his aching hard cock.

You felt butterflies in your stomach as you took in the sight, seeing how thick and fairly large his cock was.

Miguel hovers above you again, holding onto his cock as he lined it up against your entrance, gazing into your eyes, waiting for an approval, and you gave him a nod.

Slowly, he slides it in, and you both gasp from the feeling.

He hisses quietly, enjoying the feeling of your tight warm walls around his cock.

You wrap your arms around his back, eyes shut closed from the feeling of being full. His cock stretching your walls.

"'S too much..." you gasp.

Miguel lowered his head to your neck again as he whispered, "Be a good girl and take it all in."

Without hesitation, Miguel begins thrusting his hips against your own, and you moan out loud as his paces are brutal.

"Miguel��" you moan and gasp at the same time.

"Mierda..." Miguel bites onto your shoulder. "So tight around me..."

Your nails dig into his back, and he groans from the feeling, clearly enjoying it as he continues to thrust inside of you, clearly drunken by the feeling of your walls around him.

The feeling of your orgasm was coming back to you, and that same pleasing sensation spread all over your body.

"Miguel... I'm gonna cum—" you moan, arching your back as the reach of your orgasm fills your body, releasing yourself onto his cock.

"That's it... let it all out." Miguel encouraged against your neck, sucking and nibbling on your skin.

His thrusts continue. However, one of his arms reaches above you, and before you know it, his talons come out, grasping onto the sheets. This stuns you a little from this new sudden act from Miguel.

He knows he's so close, and something snaps inside of him.

Gazing down to your eyes, a pleading look behind them. "Let me cum inside of you, please..."

You raise your brows, clearly stunned from the question, but you feel something inside of you.

"What?" You ask through panted breaths.

Miguel's hands grasp tighter onto the sheets, tearing the fabric. "I need to breed you, Y/N. Let me cum inside of you, please..."

Your lips slightly part from his pleading, and you've never seen him like this before.

"I want to fill you up with my cum." Miguel continues to plead, his hot breath hitting your face.

But you couldn't resist that pleading look on his face as he began to get closer to his climax. Your hands went to his face while you nod in approval.

"Okay," you whisper.

Miguel places a sloppy kiss onto your lips before he hides his face into the crook of your neck. His pace is faster and rougher, and his talons are ripping up the sheets.

Again, his fangs sink into your neck more than once as blood drips down your skin as he's panting against your ear.

"Te sientes muy bien, querida..." he whispers against your ear. "Joder... estoy tan cerca—" You feel so good, dear. Fuck... I'm so close—

Miguel continues attacking your neck as you hold onto him desperately as your body moves with his rough pace. The sheets are completely torn from his talons digging through the bed, making contact with the mattress.

"Voy a llenarte, hacer que te conviertas en mamá..." I'm gonna fill you up, make you become a mom...

Miguel's movements then stop, and he lets out a loud groan into your neck, cumming inside of you.

You feel something warm inside of you, and you brush a strand of his hair away from his sweaty face before he lays down beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You look up to the spot where Miguel had attacked your bed. "Never knew you could do that," you chuckle.

Miguel eyes the area and avoids eye contact with you, clearly embarrassed. "Oh, I'm sorry about that..."

"It's okay, I thought it felt nice too." You smile down at him before sitting up.

"Where are you going?" Miguel's grasp around your waist tightens.

"Oh, I'm going to clean myself up," you state.

"No te atrevas..." Miguel pulls you back down onto the bed, trapping you below his body. "Stay, I don't want my cum leaking." Don't you dare...

You stare up at him, clearly surprised, but you feel your hips raise when Miguel places a small pillow underneath them.

"I want to make sure that my cum doesn't go to waste." Miguel's eyes bore into yours. "That's how good you feel, cariño."

#atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara

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uzumaki-rebellion · 1 month ago

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youtube

A Tattoo and the Bloodsucker Blues Part 14

"Here's to hoping I'll fall fast asleep tonight

And I'll just need to get through this

Born in the darkness, who brings the light?

And I just, I need to get through this

Or just get used to it"

Beyonce & Willie Jones – "Just For Fun"

A.N.: Content Warning(s): 18+. Mentions of violence and religion.

Celeste groaned and rubbed the back of her head where she hit the floor. She ached all over and didn't want to open her eyes just yet. Maybe if she kept them closed, she could pretend everything in her life was normal again.

"Duchess…c'mon cousin, wake up…"

Micah's voice floated above her.

She opened her eyes and coughed. Her stomach still hurt from where Mia punched her. Celeste rolled on her side and covered her face. Micah shook her shoulder.

"We have to get out of here," Micah said.

"And go where?!"

She glanced at her cousin and the once warm rich hues of his brown face had drained away to a pallid coloring. How much blood had he lost?

She rose and stared into his hollow eyes. Fear and shame reflected back to her in equal measure. She glanced around the wrecked sanctuary. It looked like World War III had blown through the church.

Micah touched his wound.

"How bad is it?" she asked.

"I don't think he pierced any vital organs…the bleeding has slowed down. I'm not outta the woods yet."

She stood and surveyed the damage. Father Mbenga's body and head were gone. A deep, mournful sound caught her attention from a pew. Celeste carefully walked toward the noise.

"My God," she muttered.

She found Gadreel curled on his side, one of his wings ripped off of his left shoulder completely. Dark orange clots of his vital fluid darkened the wound area where a hole now lived. The gargoyle leaned back, revealing his entire wounded body to her. His skin bore the marks of a severe ass whooping.

"The father of your child is a fierce fighter," Gadreel said.

Claw marks and missing chunks of flesh aside, the damage to his body wasn't lethal.

"I don't know why he spared me," Gadreel said.

Micah wandered next to her. Gadreel looked up at her cousin.

"Father Mbenga has been too unpredictable…erratic the last few months, Micah. We had the Daywalker in our grasp. But now…"

"I thought he was just under a lot of pressure. I didn't know he'd snap and try to kill us," Micah said.

Celeste glared at her cousin.

"How could you hide all of this from me?" she said.

"This work we do…Micah is under a vow of silence. He is a wetaderi…a soldier… for God," Gadreel said.

"What does God have to do with any of this madness?" she asked.

Gadreel laughed, his voice bouncing against the walls like shotgun blasts. Micah winced, lowering his eyes to the floor.

"It is a tale as old as the beginning of human time itself."

Celeste turned away from the gargoyle and fought to control her emotions and fear.

"I don't have time to listen to bullshit!" she shouted.

"You sound the way Mother Mary did so long ago," Gadreel said.

The gargoyle moved his mouth in a way that mimicked a very human smile.

Celeste cut her eyes at Micah. He watched her with a somber expression.

"Would you have believed me? Had I broken my vow of silence, risked years of moving in the shadows to reveal the truth to you…what would you have done? Called my mama and told her to collect me because I've lost my mind? There are two worlds, Duchess. The one you live in and the one I survive undetected among nightmares. You remember when Grand-mère used to tell everyone that I had the gift of second sight? Well…it wasn't just ghosts she was talking about. I can see things that shouldn't be seen. Supernatural beings count on humans living in ignorance. Growing up, I could see things that no child should ever have to know are real. I think you have the gift too, Duchess. Maybe not as strong as me…but you have sensitivities that draw energy to you. You attract people all the time, and even animals. Don't you remember people saying that animals, old people, and even children were drawn to you?"

"But you were the same way, Micah—"

"Exactly! We give off an aura of some kind…like a GPS signal… that breaks the barrier between worlds and attracts the supernatural the way magnets can pull iron to it. There's a light in you, and I'm sure it's why Terry latched onto you and maybe…other things have found their way near you."

"I've seen Terry's great-great-grandmother's ghost. She came to me after he left New Orleans. Now I know she was really his descendant."

"See? Did you think you were losing your mind for a minute?"

"Just a minute."

"When Terry revealed his true self, you probably didn't freak out as much as a normal person would've. The shock hit you and then you moved on to what mattered. Deep down, I'm sure you instinctively sensed something wasn't right about him or your relationship. The rational part of your mind may have even dismissed unusual circumstances because vampires are the master manipulators…and bay-bee…they can seduce humans like no other. But then they drain you…feed their unnatural bodies and move on to the next willing victim."

Gadreels's lips uncurled into a frown.

"Except, in this case…Terry didn't kill her," the gargoyle pondered.

"We fell in love," Celeste said.

"They are parasites. The only things they're capable of are hate for humanity and hurting others. Bloodlust is their core existence. You should be dead," Gadreel said.

"Yet here I am," she said.

The look in Gadreel's eyes gave her shivers.

"Something is wrong with that…just as something is wrong with you having the ability to carry a vampire's seed," Gadreel said.

He shut his eyes and shuddered. Pain coursed through him, and he groaned under his breath that smelled like raw meat.

"Micah, seek medical attention and then leave this place for good. The vampires who may have survived our battle tonight will hunt you down. They know your face… and your scent. Go as far as you can," Gadreel said.

Micah broke down in tears.

"I'm sorry, Duchess, I did my best to protect you and all the people in this city," Micah heaved out.

"I don't understand…can't gargoyles protect him at night?" Celeste said.

"The familiars and other minions will get to him before we can even discreetly intervene. He must leave and never return. I would suggest leaving the country if you can. The council may help with funds, but your life is in peril here. Go now…quickly. The feral ones heal quickly and might return."

"Is Terry alive?" she asked.

Gadreel nodded.

"He killed many and escaped. Some of his brethren are dead and some scattered. My guess is, he will hide until it is safe to contact you. Unfortunately, there are too many inbred packs and clans in New Orleans right now."

"That's why I called Father Mbenga to send word for help. He messaged as many of our contacts to send the gargoyles here. We had to wait for Terry to show up again. When he's around, the others flock to him. It's our best chance to kill the most vampires. They feel safer when Daywalkers are near," Micah said.

Gadreel choked and spat out a thick glob of bright, orange gargoyle blood that hit the floor in a liquid splat.

"There is a gathering taking place. Our spies and communication networks could not find the source that calls the vampires here in large packs. Something is in the wind and it does not bode well for humans," Gadreel said.

Celeste knelt down and kept her gaze even with the gargoyle.

"What are you really?" she asked.

"I think in your heart, you know."

Gadreel fixed his eyes on Micah.

"Micah, you must escape…leave now."

"What about you?" Micah said.

Her cousin's tone was full of distress.

"I will wait until the sun rises. Perhaps when the humans find me, I may be able to heal in my dormancy when they assume I am some strange statue that appeared in the ruins of this church."

"Terry might find you…and kill you," Micah whimpered.

Watching her cousin's eyes fill with tears, she caught on that these two had a long-standing friendship.

"That's what Daywalkers do…and why they are so precious to the clans. Don't weep for me Micah…you are named 'He Who is Like God' for a reason. Your dedication to me and the council has been admirable for the last fifteen years. It is time for you to escape a fate worse than my own."

"I don't want to leave Duchess. I have to protect her," Micah said.

"You've done all you can. Now she has to do the rest on her own. The Old Ones won't harm her, and the vampires will protect her. Right now, she lives in a sweet spot. She's the safest human on the planet until the beginning of next year when that child is born."

Micah hugged Celeste. Her emotions were ambivalent toward him, but she clung to his shoulders and shed tears for their predicament together.

"Celeste…please…don't keep this baby. You can have others later with a human. I don't want you to live the rest of your life on the run like me, but if you terminate now, we can figure out a new life somewhere, maybe in Mexico or Canada…West Africa, maybe. We always wanted to visit Ghana…connect to the motherland…anywhere, cousin…anywhere…I have enough money saved right now that could cover us for a few years until we settle somewhere far from here."

Celeste shook her head.

"I can't. Maybe if I knew the truth weeks ago…I could've done it…but now…I want to keep her."

"Don't be stupid. All you'll do is curse your life."

"It's my life…and hers."

"Micah, her mind will not waver."

Micah broke away from Celeste's arms and knelt down near Gadreel.

"Then you must stay with her, Gadreel. You can heal at her place. Celeste can revoke her invitation from him and you'll be safe from harm there until you're well. It'll take what, a few weeks for a new wing to grow back?"

"Micah! You can't put him in my house without my consent."

"I'm trying to save your life! If those vampires smell his presence, they'll think others surround you. They wouldn't even think of coming near your house again. Gadreel is your best bet. We can drive him in Terry's truck. Are you strong enough to walk?"

Gadreel nodded.

"I can't leave New Orleans until I know you're not alone in this," Micah said.

"What will we say to our family?"

"They all think I'm the chaotic bisexual with hot feet. I'll tell them I'm on a travel adventure with friends and will return when I feel like it. Don't worry about me."

Celeste glanced at Gadreel. Micah helped the gargoyle stand. He was over seven feet tall.

"He's dormant for twelve hours during the day. He can sit in your sewing room and you won't even know he's there."

Celeste looked the creature up and down.

"Oh, I'll notice him."

"Will you do it? Gadreel saved my life when I was fifteen. A feral vampire almost took me out when I was walking home alone one night after football practice. I owe him, Duchess. This situation is fucked up and I'm sorry you're in the mix."

Celeste took a breath. Life without Micah would've been torture when she was a teenager. He'd been her best friend and favorite cousin for a reason. She loved him more like a brother all her life. Now he had to leave home because he tried to help her survive.

"I'll do it."

Energized by her answer, Micah helped guide Gadreel out of the church.

"Wait, Terry had the keys," Micah said.

"His truck uses a keypad for the doors. He leaves the key fob inside," she said.

Celeste quickly punched in the code on the touchpad under the door handle. Micah lifted the truckbed cover and Gadreel squeezed his bulky body under it.

Celeste checked Micah's wound. He brushed her hands away gently.

"I'll go to the hospital and get stitched and make up a story there. Random stabbing. They'll believe it. Don't talk to anyone in the family about me. I'll notify them with my fake plans. Let the family grapevine fill you in later. I have friends in Atlanta I can go to first, and I'll couch surf until I settle further away. If you change your mind, head to our cousins in California. Word will get back to me."

They quickly hugged for the last time, and he went to his car. She watched him drive off as fresh rain fell down. Looking at the church, Celeste wondered how people would react to what they found later. She glanced around the empty street, feeling a quiet calm. Taking a chance, she ran back into the church and sought for the silver chained rope. She grabbed it and ran back to the truck.

Gadreel moved around in her cottage like a bull in a china shop. His large body appeared laughable sitting inside of Celeste's home. He looked around and sniffed the scents inside.

"He stayed with you here?" he asked.

"Yes."

The gargoyle looked at the pictures on her wall and then turned his attention to her French doors.

"His sentinel is here," Gadreel said.

The shadow was back.

Terry's shadow.

"Do not move," Gadreel said.

He inched closer to the doors and Terry's shadow jerked back, but stayed.

"What is a sentinel?"

"Daywalkers can use their shadows as an emissary to watch over their bodies when they are inactive…asleep. It is a built-in warning system of protection from vampire hunters…and the Old Ones like me. But this is an anomaly. He's using his shadow to protect you."

"From other vampires?"

"Yes, and from other night creatures that roam when humans slumber. I think I am beginning to understand why he left you…why you are still alive."

"Why?"

"Vampires have to feed. They can go three to four days without drinking human blood if they aren't able to secure regular food sources. Once bitten, other vampires will stay clear of you because you belong to another. If he stayed here long enough for his scent to be trapped in this house, then he must've been starving and left to keep from killing you."

"He would kill me? Someone he's supposed to love?"

"He is a vampire, Celeste. He cannot go against his own nature…yet he is doing it. Daywalkers need their shadows with them. He'll become weak without it. Your life meant more to him than his own. Revoke your invitation from the Daywalker. The shadow will return to him and he will no longer be welcome in this house. If you want to keep your baby alive and safe from my kind, then do what I say."

"I'm supposed to trust you?"

"Your cousin did for fifteen years. He was your closest confidante. If he trusted me with his life, then you should do the same."

"You want my baby to live? Aren't you supposed to murder her when she comes out of me?"

"You are a portal. All women are portals for life to come through. If you revoke your invitation, I will tell you how to save your child…let it be born human."

Celeste gasped and moved closer to Gadreel. Terry's shadow loomed over them. Even through the rain outside, enough moon and starlight kept it visible.

She touched her stomach. As a mother, she had the power to protect the little one inside of her, no matter who the child's father was. Celeste loved Terry. Her time with him had been special, but something instinctual and primal took over her mind. If her daughter had a chance to be human, she would do what it took to make it so.

"Terry…you are no longer welcome in my home. I revoke my invitation to be here. Leave this place."

Terry's shadow arms flew up, and it rushed toward the double doors as if it wanted to ram the glass. Instead, it disappeared like water being shut off from a faucet. Instant and abrupt. Celeste touched her chest and exhaled hard.

"Sit," Gadreel said, pointing to her sectional.

She sat down and he crouched down on his haunches, tucking his only wing flat against his back. The pink glow from her lamps gave him a surreal expression. Although he was scary looking, there was a strange handsomeness to his sharply angular face. If someone walked into her home, they would think she was holding a conversation with Satan.

"What I will tell you will determine the fate of your child. So listen to me well. Terry wasn't a human before he was born. His mother was a vampire. Someone I knew when we lived with God."

"What?"

Gadreel closed his narrow eyes and sighed.

"The Old Ones…we were the angels that followed Lusīferi when God cast us out of heaven. Lusīferi wanted the first man and woman to have free will, but God wanted to inflict predetermination. They didn't trust humans."

"They?"

"God is neither male nor female. God is not even their name. If I said it in the language of heaven, you would perish. Human ears cannot handle the power or the mere utterance of the word."

"In the beginning was the word."

"Yes. The word that started creation. It was God's name…God calling upon itself. Lusīferi—"

"Satan?"

"Lusīferi…when they were banished, they chose to become a woman for Lilitu. Some humans called her Lilith…Adam's first human companion."

Celeste jumped up.

"I don't want to know this…just tell me how to save my baby!"

"You are frightened. I understand. You have been led to believe one version of the creation and being confronted with the truth is unnerving. But you must hear it."

Celeste nodded and rubbed her right hand on her thigh out of nervousness. Gadreel clasped his hands together, his claws clicking against each other.

"Lilitu was unhappy with Adam, and Lusīferi gave her comfort. They became lovers, and Lusīferi turned Lilitu into a vampire like her. All of us who stood with Lusīferi became vampires. But several millennia passed and those of us who followed the daystar yearned to return with God. God told us we would have to fight our siblings for ten thousand years, and we did. Our wings were restored to us, but not our ethereal beauty."

"What does this all have to do with Terry? Get to the point, please. I can't take any more biblical parables. My life and my baby are on the line."

Gadreel ignored her and continued.

"Lilitu and Lusīferi fed on humans and ruled over the fallen ones who stayed loyal to them. But a thousand years ago, they parted from one another. They wandered the earth in separate places. No one knows why. But over two hundred and sixty years ago, Lilitu fell in love with a human man here in New Orleans. She fell pregnant with a child. Terry."

Celeste's eyes grew enormous. She slid down from the sectional onto the floor and tucked her knees into her chest.

"Terry was the first and only known vampire conceived with the seed of a male human. Lilitu did not want her baby born a vampire. She sacrificed herself so that Terry could be born human."

"How did she do that?"

"I cut off her head while she was in labor and left her body in the open so the sun would do the rest. She burned away, leaving a human child behind. When nightfall came again, I took the child and left him on the doorstep of the Guidry family who his father belonged to. People who didn't know of his bloodline adopted him. He was their actual family. Terry's father had stepped out on his wife with Lilitu…then sold their child away, not knowing what he had done."

"I can't believe this."

"You must. It was Lusīferi who rescued Terry from the lynching. Turned him back into something Lilitu never wanted for him."

Celeste burst into tears and covered her face, fully understanding what she had to do to save her own child. Kill Terry so that his vampire blood wouldn't taint the baby.

"He wants this child you carry, Celeste. He wants to be in her life. It's why he fought so hard in the church and killed so many…even his own kind who want you dead. Terry has turned away from his clan. Has done so for ten years. They need him, but if they can't keep him, they will take your baby and use her for their protection and my destruction."

"Why did you help his mother?"

"She was innocent. She'd been a human once. I wanted to curry favor with God and show him that humanity was worth fighting for. Purely selfish reasons."

"Then why did you follow Lusīferi in the first place?"

"I thought she was right so long ago. But on earth, she changed into someone I did not understand. Her hatred for humans turned into feeding on them to spite God and his creation. I tried to save Terry once before. Now I want to help his child avoid his fate. You must find him on your own and kill him. Only then will the baby live properly. Your blood bond with him connects you and the child. Break that bond and you will be free."

Gadreel stood and wandered into the sewing room. She closed the door behind him and rested on her bed. Normally she would pray, but would God listen to her pleas to save a baby born of fallen ones?

In the darkness, she wept.

For herself…her baby…and Terry.

Part 15 soon come...

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